This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and situations are purely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional. The characters are not based on real individuals, and no connection to actual persons is intended.

This story contains questionable actions and themes that do not reflect my personal beliefs, values, or approval. They exist solely for the sake of the plot and narrative development, and are not meant to be endorsed or encouraged.

Bottom line: it’s fiction. Take it for what it is — a fictional story created for entertainment purposes.

The first part of this story (Chapters 1–23) is available for free on my Patreon, on Ao3, and on Amazon Kindle Unlimited (edited version for publication).

This is the second part of the story. Please read the first part before continuing with this one :)

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A persistent, grating sound. Taehyung wants to ignore it, but he can’t—not anymore. He tried with all his might to slip back into that dream, but the dream has vanished, leaving behind only that noise. So, he opens his eyes. Above him, a sky-blue ceiling. Daylight pours in through a large square window. He tries to turn his head slightly to the left, but his neck aches terribly, as if it’s been frozen in place for ages. That’s when he notices something in his mouth—a tube prying it open while artificial oxygen is pumped into his lungs. The unbearable noise comes from a machine monitoring his heartbeat. It grows even more irritating as panic takes hold of Taehyung.

He starts to hyperventilate. And it’s awful when you’ve got a tube in your throat forcing air into your lungs, air that now wants to escape. For a moment, he thinks he’s going to die, that he’ll suffocate, and that only makes things worse. He lifts his hands, trying to grab the tube, but the effort is as painful as if his arms were made of lead. His muscles scream in protest, so fiercely that his arms drop back onto the mattress. His eyes widen. He’s terrified he might be paralyzed.

At that moment, a nurse enters the room, a clipboard in her hands, which nearly falls when she sees that Taehyung is awake.

“Oh, dear!” she exclaims. She presses the red button on the remote hanging from the bed to summon the doctors, then places her hand over Taehyung’s, seeking his gaze. “Stay calm, it’s okay. You’re okay. I know this is a traumatic awakening, but we’ll get those tubes out now, I promise.”

Taehyung nods frantically. He’s still panicking, but the fact that the nurse is there with him, making such comforting promises, significantly improves the situation. He closes his eyes, trying to calm down, even if just for a moment, because he knows the room will soon fill with doctors, and everything will become too chaotic to process. He tries to focus, to recall how on earth he ended up in the hospital. He only remembers that he was supposed to meet Jungkook, and then—nothing. It’s as if someone has torn the last pages of the story from his memory. The fear that he might have been in an accident with Jungkook chills his blood—despite being the one in the hospital bed, with a tube in his throat and atrophied muscles, he’s dying of worry over whether Jungkook might be hurt. Or worse.

He opens his eyes when steady hands remove the tube from his mouth. His throat burns horribly. “Don’t try to speak, or it’ll make it worse,” the doctor says as Taehyung’s eyes flutter open. Taehyung presses his lips together and nods, his nostrils flaring as he draws in air. “Moisten your throat with saliva. Good, like that. Swallow. Excellent. Well done. It’ll get better now. Not perfect, but better. Keep moistening your throat a little more because I need to ask you some questions, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to answer. Do you understand?”

Taehyung nods. He follows the instructions, but his throat burns as if he’s caught the worst flu of his life. Meanwhile, a young doctor circles the bed, observing and taking notes. He must be a trainee. “Good, we’re ready. Can you tell me your name?”

Taehyung parts his lips. They’re dry and cracked in multiple places, and it hurts terribly. “Tae…hyung…”

“Excellent. And when were you born?”

“De…cember… thir…ty…”

“That’s correct. Excellent. Do you remember why you’re here?”

Taehyung shakes his head. The doctor’s expression grows thoughtful for a moment, but then he nods, as if reaching a conclusion. He shines a light into Taehyung’s eyes, and Taehyung hates him for it. He knows what he’s supposed to do, so he follows the light with his gaze. Right, left. The doctor repeats the motion a couple of times before switching off the tiny flashlight and tucking it back into his coat pocket.

“Something unpleasant happened. Very unpleasant. Something the police will want to talk to you about. Not now—you need at least a few hours to recover. But you should prepare yourself for the fact that they’ll want to speak with you before nightfall.”

“I… don’t remember… anything…”

The doctor presses his lips into a thin line. “I know, kid, I know. But they’ll still want to talk to you.”

“Was I… in… a car accident?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I’m afraid someone attacked you. Possibly to rob you. They hurt you badly, but you’re a strong guy, aren’t you? You’re still here to tell the tale.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes. That’s strange. He looks down at his body. Everything seems to be in place, so where exactly was he injured? He could keep the question to himself, but that would be foolish when the person with the answer is standing right there.

“Where…?”

“Just below your stomach. A knife wound. A few centimeters higher, and you wouldn’t be here right now. Thankfully, whoever hurt you didn’t know what they were doing, clearly. But don’t dwell on it—you’re safe now. You’ll be fine soon. The fact that you’re awake is a wonderful sign. Your parents are on their way.”

Taehyung nods. He doesn’t know how to feel. The new information leaves him deeply unsettled, though he can’t pinpoint why. His mind is still too tired to piece together what happened or to grasp the weight of those words. For now, they’re just facts. The doctor speaks, and Taehyung absorbs them, but apart from unease and a sense of alienation, he feels nothing. It’s as if this grim story isn’t his at all but belongs to someone else. He’ll face the consequences of the experience eventually, probably. For now, he can only focus on what he can control—or rather, on what he can’t.

“I… can’t move my legs… or arms… Am I… maybe…?”

“No,” the doctor says quickly, understanding where Taehyung is going. “You’re fine. You’ve just been asleep for thirteen days—your muscles are sore from disuse. They’ll recover in a few days with some exercise. Don’t worry about it now. Trust me, kid. You’re okay. It’s actually a surprise you’ve woken up already. That’s a great, great sign.”

Thirteen days.

The news hits him like a slap to the face.

Taehyung feels his heart speed up, and the machine immediately betrays him, the beeping intensifying.

Thirteen days in a coma.

Someone stabbed him.

But why?

And who?

Suddenly, a face full of hate flashes in his mind. A man pounding on his apartment door, shouting that he’s a slut. It’s Miguk. Miguk, who drugged him and tried to assault him. Miguk, who wanted him dead. The metallic clang of a knife hitting the floor echoes in Taehyung’s memory. And the blood. So much blood. Taehyung begins to tremble so violently that his teeth chatter. The doctor says something urgently to the nurse—a medication name. The nurse injects a liquid into his IV. Taehyung’s teeth chatter so hard he wonders if they’ll break—and just then, the tremors subside. His body relaxes, his mind releases the panic.

But the memory remains.

Now he knows.

Miguk tried to kill him.

Miguk almost succeeded.