Chapter 24: The Unexpected News

Taehyung shot upright in bed, breath hitching as though he’d been pulled out of deep water. His lungs dragged in air too fast, too loud, the thud of his heartbeat still hammering in his ears. His skin prickled with the ghost of something he couldn’t name.

For a moment, he didn’t move. The room around him was quiet—too quiet—and unfamiliar. White curtains trembled slightly in the morning light, stirred by a draft from a window left half open. The sheets under his palms were smooth and expensive, smelling faintly of fabric softener and something sharper—cologne, maybe, that wasn’t his own.

Confusion clawed up his throat. His last clear memory… what was his last clear memory?

He searched his mind and found pieces—water running in a restroom sink, his reflection wavering in the mirror, the strange heat in his skin that had made him call for Jungkook. After that… nothing but a blur of colors and muffled sounds that slipped through his fingers like smoke.

The door slammed open.

He flinched.

Jungkook stepped in, phone pressed to his ear, his voice clipped but casual. He paced two steps inside, eyes flicking immediately to Taehyung.

“Yeah, I’ll call you back,” Jungkook said quickly into the phone before hanging up. His stride was unhurried but purposeful as he crossed to the bed, lowering himself to sit at its edge. His gaze swept over Taehyung’s face, unreadable. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

Taehyung’s lips parted, but his voice was rough when he managed, “What… happened?” The question wasn’t polite. It was direct, heavy with the weight of needing an answer now.

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, the way he always did when he wanted to look harmless. “What do you mean?” His tone was light, almost teasing, before turning matter-of-fact. “You’ve been out for three days. Did you know that?”

The words hit hard, almost absurd in their impossibility.

“Three… days?”

“Mm,” Jungkook nodded. “You don’t remember?”

Taehyung shook his head slowly.

“It seemed like you took something,” Jungkook continued, watching him closely. “I don’t know what it was, but it knocked you out cold. Side effects, maybe. We should get you checked out—just in case.”

A shadow of memory stirred—restroom tiles cold under his palms, the strange buzzing in his ears, his own voice asking Jungkook for help. Then, darkness.

Jungkook’s eyes softened. “You were… acting strangely before you passed out. Whatever it was, it hit you fast.”

“I… I’m fine,” Taehyung muttered, though the words felt flimsy, his thoughts knotted in too many directions at once.

Jungkook’s hand came up, ruffling his hair in that familiar, easy way that had always felt safe. “Alright. Then go take a shower. We’ve got to head out soon.”

When Jungkook left the room, Taehyung immediately slid from the bed and went to the bathroom. He flicked on the light, leaning toward the mirror. His reflection stared back at him—no bruises, no marks, nothing to suggest anything had happened. His pulse should have eased. It didn’t.

He checked again—arms, neck, chest. Still nothing. Physically, he was perfectly fine. But deep in his gut, an unease twisted, whispering that something had happened in the hours—or days—he couldn’t remember.

The thought made bile rise in his throat. He gripped the edge of the sink, fighting it down. Should he ask Jungkook? But the idea of saying it out loud—accusing him—felt like setting fire to something he couldn’t put out.

And if he was wrong? Then he’d be destroying a friendship that had been the one steady thing in his life for years. He thought of Jungkook’s partner. His son. The damage such a suspicion could cause.

No. He couldn’t.

In the car later, Taehyung sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the blur of buildings. His fingers fidgeted restlessly in his lap.

“You’ve been quiet,” Jungkook said, glancing at him before returning his attention to the road. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” The answer was too quick, too clipped.

Jungkook didn’t press. But then he added, with an almost casual warmth, “If there’s something you want to ask me, just ask. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Taehyung hesitated, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Finally, he blurted, “Nothing… happened between us, right?”

The silence that followed was a fraction too long.

“I’m not saying I think you’d…” Taehyung’s voice stumbled over itself. “I just—don’t remember anything, and I woke up in your place, so…”

Jungkook’s mouth curved faintly, almost indulgently. “It’s okay,” he said, a low chuckle in his voice. “I get it. You lost time, and then you woke up here—it makes sense you’d think something happened.” He shook his head, glancing at Taehyung with a convincing ease. “But nothing did. You passed out before I could even get you out of the restroom. Trust me.”

The way he said it—steady, unbothered—slipped under Taehyung’s skin like warm water. It sounded true.

And yet…

He forced a small nod, staring back out the window. Jungkook wouldn’t do something like that. Not to him. Not when they were best friends.

Probably.

The rest of the ride was quiet, though unasked questions pressed between them like another passenger. Jungkook drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually against the armrest, as if nothing about the past three days lingered in his mind at all.

Taehyung kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his thoughts moving in tangled loops. He told himself to let it go. Jungkook’s voice had been so certain, so unflinching when he’d denied anything had happened. And yet… the gaps in his memory ached like an old wound.

They turned into the gated driveway of Jungkook’s mansion, the iron gates sliding open with a low hum. The house loomed ahead, glass and steel catching the late afternoon light. It was far too quiet here, like a place cut off from the rest of the world.

The car rolled to a stop in the wide garage. Jungkook stepped out smoothly, glancing over his shoulder. “Come inside. You look like you need to rest more.”

Taehyung was about to follow when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Yoongi-hyung.

His brow furrowed. Yoongi rarely called out of the blue unless something was wrong.

He swiped to answer. “Hyung?” His voice came out a little tentative, unsure whether he was ready for whatever had prompted this call.

There was no preamble on the other end—just the sound of Yoongi’s steady, low voice, but laced with something tight. Urgent.

“Taehyung… you need to listen carefully.”

Taehyung froze halfway out of the car, phone pressed to his ear. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

Yoongi exhaled, the kind of sound someone makes before saying something they wish they didn’t have to. “I don’t have time to explain right now, but—”

“Hyung, what is it?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Yoongi’s words landed like a stone in Taehyung’s chest.

“It’s about Jimin.”

The world seemed to still around him, the air too thick, his pulse too loud. “Jimin Hyung?” His voice cracked.

Jungkook had stopped just inside the doorway, turning back toward him with a faint crease between his brows. “Who is it?” he asked.

But Taehyung couldn’t answer—not before Yoongi’s next words came through the line, each one tightening like a vice around his ribs.

“He’s gone, Taehyung.”

The call cut to static, and Taehyung felt his world finally stop after hearing that.