APR 5, 2019
12 : 45 PM
KIM TAEHYUNG.

kim taehyung doesn't know how to react.

he's been slaving himself on the case for far too long the bar of his sense of normalcy is at rock bottom (albeit failing miserably to follow any leads for the past two years despite having jeongguk as his sole focus—it's rather upsetting; taehyung feels like a failure). he's put all his time and energy he never thought he had into jeongguk, but what happens after? he's really never given that any much thought. what if he found him? what does he say? how does he act?

there are just... too many emotions. he can't just pull a Spin The Wheel and opt for whichever the pointer lands on—taehyung can't pin it on just one, and he's overwhelmed. he can't even think. he feels so fucking awful for some reason. he doesn't feel ready, but he has to be.

for jeongguk. for jeongguk he always has to be ready.

taehyung often thinks he was an oblivious contender to the problem. it's something he always mulls about after he pins missing flyers on city alleys every saturday. akin to the awful feeling of survivor's guilt, taehyung feels partially responsible for jeongguk's disappearance. hypothetically, it could've been avoided. he could've avoided it. just a single difference. just one, single difference.

if only he was one step ahead.

just one step.

"jeongguk," taehyung says. his voice cracks.

jeongguk sits up by the window hospital bed. it's been so long—he's almost forgotten how jeongguk looked like. the same monochromatic image on his missing flyer is still drilled into taehyung's mind. it feels weird seeing him right in front of him. here.

right now.

"you're... back," taehyung whispers, approaching him. "you're back."

taehyung feels tears. he can't really tell.

jeongguk stares at him. he looks awfully nonchalant, but taehyung is too drilled into his emotions to even try and comprehend anything. it feels like a blur.

"we're suspecting a lot of psychological stress," the doctor beside him informs, a clipped chart on his right. "the trauma caused mild psychogenic mutism. we're suggesting psychotherapy and prescriptions to anti-anxiety medications. for now, he should rest. it's best not to overwhelm him."

the doctor's gaze shifts to namjoon. hoseok left to go back to work, but the detective persisted to come.

"he..." he sighs. "he doesn't seem to remember much about the incident. even if he did, it's best not to push him. wait it out."

"is he okay?" taehyung asks, eyes still fixed on jeongguk. "he's not hurt, is he?"

"he's very avoidant on physical check-ups. we suspect it has to tie in with what he went through, so it's best to leave him for now so he doesn't react badly. for now, a wheelchair is adviced instead of the usual crutches. i advice bringing him back in a few weeks for an eval when his mental state is a little bit better."

"jeongguk," taehyung calls gently. it feels so... weird. it feels weird calling out his name. it's been a long time. "i'm sorry."

jeongguk stares at him. his eyes are dull. empty.

taehyung's face falls. "what happened to you?"

-

jeongguk stays with taehyung for the mean time.

his lease was over nearly two years ago. jeongguk doesn't particularly have any close living relatives left, except for a few distant ones abroad.

when jeongguk went missing, taehyung took over his remaining lease, took up two more part-time jobs while balancing university, and used his meager budget to fund the apartment full-price in hopes he'll return. eventually it took too much of a toll on his expenses, especially with his unwavering student debt accumulating every semester. taehyung eventually broke off the next lease; he felt awful.

taehyung still has all of jeongguk's stuff.

he thought about stockpiling them into the public storage across the street, but it felt... off. doing it would feel like jeongguk wasn't coming back, and that scared him. he latched onto hope like a life line and stowed all of his things in his spare room.

but he's back.

jeongguk is back.

"i have all of your things," taehyung says, smiling weakly. "you don't have to worry about anything."

jeongguk doesn't say anything.

he stares blankly at the wall as taehyung pushes the handle of his wheelchair, stationing him by the cashmere couch in the living room.

"jeongguk," taehyung starts carefully. "just... take your time, okay? you don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready."

jeongguk's blank eyes are fixed on the wall.

there are so many things taehyung wants to say to him. he's lost two years—two. taehyung wants to tell him everything. he wants to say how badly he's looked for him. how badly he's cried every night when he watches their stupid talent show skit on tape during the dawn of freshman year. how badly he's watched jeongguk's stupidity on the videos of his phone in case he forgets how he sounds like. how badly he's missed him because taehyung literally does not feel real right now.

"you being here..." taehyung trails off. "that's all that matters."

it's all he could muster.

-

it's quarter to midnight.

taehyung hears something.

he's not one to stupidly wander out his room when he hears a noise because frankly, he does not have enough stamina to brawl out a robber if, hypothetically, there is one (it really doesn't help that he lives alone either).

but jeongguk is here. he's not alone anymore.

he half-heartedly leaves his room, bleary eyes scanning his dingy flat before lifting the switch to his drabby living room. yellowish light fills the room in delay while taehyung stares.

empty.

he hears a noise again. like plastic clacking onto the tiles. then a cumulative noise, muffly and hushed.

"jeongguk?" taehyung calls wearily, rubbing his eyes with calloused fingers. "that you?"

noise.

taehyung trails slowly toward the source. it's louder now. muffly, but it's a clear distinction to just stifled noise. there are definite voices now.

"jeongguk?" taehyung calls, opening the oaked door to the room.

jeongguk is staring at taehyung's old tube tv, the bright screen flashing into his eyes as he gazes blankly into it. he's on the ground with a sprawl of old tapes haphazardly lounged on the tiles. he stares wordlessly at the screen, his back oddly straight to the rail of the bed.

he's watching their old tapes.

"our tapes," taehyung starts. "you're watching them?"

no response. jeongguk's eyes are fixed on the screen.

"we were always into those," taehyung says, voice still raspy from sleep. "wanted to stray away from the crowd."

taehyung recalls jeongguk's persistence to use tapes. taehyung remembers thinking it was ridiculous and useless—mostly useless (because who the fuck would waste their time when literal phones exist)—, but looking back at it now, the tapes sort of... amplify the memories. a tape feels like a keepsake. like a memorabilia he could always look back on.

no response.

slowly, jeongguk turns his head. his eyes shift oddly toward taehyung.

then he stands up.

taehyung's eyes widen. "hold on, i'll get your wheelchair—"

taehyung halts.

"what the hell happened to your left leg?"

jeongguk lifts his gaze slowly, eyes staring peculiarly at him. he tilts his head.

"what do you mean?" jeongguk asks out of sheer confusion, spindly fingers raking at his umber hair. taehyung's eyes widen almost instantaneously at his voice. "i've always walked like this."

taehyung purses his chapped lips.

jeongguk has always had a limp on his right leg—not his left.

-

PHEW.
i'm sorry for the delay ... this chapter has stayed in my drafts for so long LOL . i was trying to hatch out something good BC obviously this is like... One of the turning points of the story and i can't just bs it. i'm not a big biiig fan of this chapter since it's a bit boring? but this is a necessary bridge for the story so pls await for more exciting chapters!