Jungkook unpacks his own stuff, hanging clothes on cheap plastic hangers that have carried him through four dorms already. It’ll all come in time as they take each day as it comes. None of them have dared to be the first to bring up how long Seokjin’s recovery could take, or that he might never fully recover at all. All of the group’s activities have been halted indefinitely. It’s not entirely dissimilar to Seokjin’s situation, how none of it sticks. He tries to tell himself a lot of things these days. He called Sejin before he called an ambulance, like a child seeking validation from a parent before making a decision.Īs much as he tries to tell himself those 10 minutes didn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t sink in. How all Seokjin wanted to do was fall asleep and how Jungkook was too scared to let him. It was the migraine followed by the nausea and the vertigo. That night in the apartment they shared, Seokjin began to deteriorate. Jungkook didn’t expect him to act any differently. He seemed fine at first, after the initial hesitation, brushing off concerns that he needed to see a doctor, telling them all they were overreacting. It took Seokjin a few too many seconds to come around, and even more to begin to laugh it off. Taehyung was at Seokjin’s side in an instant, along with several members of staff. Jungkook didn’t even see him fall, just heard him cry out, followed by a deafening silence.
Laugh now cry later tattoo hand crack#
There was Seokjin in the practice room balancing on a stool, fiddling with the wires behind the wall-mounted television, and then there was the sickening crack of the back of Seokjin’s head hitting the floor. When it happened no one recognised the severity of the situation. He really, sincerely and desperately, wants to believe him. “It’ll come back to hyung,” Jimin says, like he can read Jungkook’s mind. Jimin’s mouth quirks into a frown, his hand sliding around Jungkook’s waist so he can back hug him, popping his chin over Jungkook’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, although it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. Jungkook jumps when he feels a hand land on the small of his back, and only realising that he was zoning out when Jimin asks, “You okay, Jungkookie?” Jungkook is having a hard time accepting that one, too. No doctor was willing to give them a straight answer either way. If Seokjin remembers, because there’s a chance he won’t. No one can tell them how long they’ll have to keep this ruse up before Seokjin remembers - if. There’s no timeline to this, no schedule to manage, no chance that his manager is going to text him saying it’s over and it’s time to go home. Now, he watches as the movers lug an endless stream of boxes back into the dorm and pieces of furniture that the members managed to snaffle away to their new apartments. Jungkook has to bite his tongue through every conversation, lump heavy in his throat making it difficult to breathe as his hands fight the urge to reach out for Seokjin, muscle memory working against him in the worst possible way. Those were the doctor’s orders: keep stress to a minimum, be patient with him, agree rather than argue even when it seemed irrational to do so.
It’s all about working with his condition instead of against it, avoiding unnecessary confusion and anxiety where possible. It has to be this way, because it’s what Seokjin remembers. No one has called the place home for more than the odd night here or there for over a year, when Jimin and Hoseok were the last members to fledge the proverbial nest despite being the two stuck sharing a room for the longest. It’s easier, in a way, to pass the insurmountable weight of the guilt over to another person than it is to accept that from time to time the universe moves in inexplicable ways taking without giving selfishly.Ī week before Seokjin is discharged from the hospital Jungkook, along with the rest of his hyungs, move back into the Hannam dorm they used to share. The accident isn’t anyone’s fault but Jungkook finds himself restless searching for someone to blame.
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