Chapter Text
Jungkook swears everything is ten times louder at night.
On an early—way too early—Summer day, he wakes up to the ringing of his phone with a thrumming headache, regretting not putting it on silent before he went to bed. It takes him a few seconds to regain half of his consciousness and when he finally does, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, groaning when he hears his back cracking, feeling his youth slipping away.
Seeing the unknown number on the screen, Jungkook considers declining the call. It’s not even four in the goddamn morning; anyone who isn’t important enough to even be on his contact list surely can wait until the sun rises. But the ring is incessant, almost as if whoever’s on the other side of the line is desperate, begging for him to pick up. And so Jungkook does.
“Hello?” Jungkook says, his voice still scratchy from sleep.
“Jeon Jungkook?”
“That’d be me.”
“This is Yeungnam University Medical Center. We are calling on the behalf of… Min Yoongi. You are listed here as his emergency contact.”
At the mention of the name, Jungkook’s blood runs cold. He blinks a couple of times before sitting up straight, leaning himself against the headboard for support. However he looks at it, a call from the hospital at four in the morning can’t be good news. “Is he…” Jungkook gulps, head spinning from the thought of at least thirty different reasons why they would call. “Is he alright?”
There’s a pause before the lady says, “I’m afraid he has been injured in a car accident and is currently undergoing surgery. Are you his relative?”
Jungkook’s breath stutters when he says, “I’m his brother. Is he alright?” he repeats his question, expecting the worst. A fucking car accident she said.
“Kook?”
Jungkook feels the duvet rustling next to him, the fabric moving around as Seokjin twists and turns into a more comfortable position before discarding it completely and plops his head on Jungkook’s lap.
“Give me a second,” Jungkook coos, smiling amidst his worry as he cards his finger through his lover’s messy bed hair. “Yes, I understand,” he speaks to the phone again. “I’ll be there as soon as possible. Thank you.”
“Who’s that?” Seokjin asks, his eyes still closed.
“The hospital,” Jungkook gently pushes his lover’s head off his lap, earning a whine of protest. He jumps off the bed and reaches for the first pair of pants he could find. “Yoongi hyung… he—”
“Yoongi?” Seokjin frowns, sitting up straight at the mention of Yoongi’s name. “What happened? Is he okay?”
"No." Jungkook messes up his hair and sighs. "He was in... in a freaking..." he trails off, pressing his tongue against his cheek. The words won't make it past his lips.
"Kook?"
Jungkook doesn’t bother changing into another shirt. He pockets his wallet, grabs his car keys, and leaves a peck on the top of Seokjin’s head. “Go back to sleep, kay? I’ll fill you in in the morning.”
Before Seokjin could say anything else, Jungkook already dashes out of the apartment, leaving his half-asleep boyfriend in panic. As he makes his run to the basement, he chants in his head the answer to Seokjin’s question: I hope so, I hope so, I sure as hell hope so.
◀◀◀
Yeungnam University Medical Center turns out to be all the way in fucking Daegu. Jungkook isn’t even going to question what Yoongi was doing driving out of town at ass o’clock in the morning.
Jungkook grits his teeth, tightening his grip on the wheel, so much that he’s sure he’s bound to draw blood one way or another. His shoulders are tense, his whole body taut, his eyes are bloodshot, battling sleep to stay wide open.
It isn’t ideal. He knows it isn’t ideal. He’s too nervous, too twitchy, fueled purely by adrenaline. One wrong move and he might end up in the ditch himself. But there’s no train to Daegu until at least another three hours and he would rather eat his own foot than pay a cab to speed across town on top of the already ridiculously high early morning fare.
So this would have to do.
He doesn’t pay attention to how fast he is going, doesn’t even realize he’s practically flooring the pedal until he slides to his exit and nearly collides with another car coming from his left. “Fuck,” Jungkook hisses, hitting the brake with a screech. His heart races, his palms sweaty and his fingers electric.
He’s fine, he’s fine. Everything’s fine. He needs to slow down. There’s no use going a hundred miles an hour if he’s not going to make it to Daegu in one piece.
Jungkook starts to pick up the speed again, this time keeping it steady at the sixty, sixty five mark. He takes the exit and follows the map, letting the GPS navigates him to the hospital. The sky is a much brighter shade of blue now, with the sun creeping its way up. Jungkook only notices that the sun has risen after he slows down.
When he finally arrives at the hospital, he stumbles his way through multiple stairs and almost knocks a few people over before finally reaching the lobby. It’s then that he realizes he’s lost. He doesn’t know the first thing about hospital bureaucracy and now the residents are staring at him weird and he’s going to waste his time—
“Can I help you, sir?” A nurse approaches him, hugging a clipboard. She seems unfazed by the sight before her, and Jungkook figures she must have seen worse breakdowns.
“I—” Jungkook blinks. “I’m looking for my brother? Min Yoongi?”
“Is he a patient?”
Jungkook nods. “I got a— a phone call earlier this morning. From this hospital. He’s…” Jungkook sucks in a deep breath before panic clouds his head again. “Said it’s a car accident.”
The nurse seems to get what Jungkook is getting at, for she walks over to a counter and motions him to follow her. Jungkook does.
“Min Yoongi…” The nurse leans her hand on the desk, eyes glued on the computer screen her colleague is manning. “Date of birth?” she darts her eyes to Jungkook.
“March 9th, 1993,” Jungkook blurts out.
The resident nods at her colleague, picks up the handset and speaks in a hushed voice, too low for Jungkook to make out, so he only stands there chewing the dead skin off his bottom lip. After hearing a thank you, the nurse grabs her clipboard, motions at Jungkook and says, “Follow me.”
The walk through the corridor is silent except for their footsteps on the vinyl floor. Jungkook is too on edge to trust his words, his entire body taut as a bow. He’s afraid he might snap the moment he’s asked to speak.
The nurse eventually stops in front of a door, the plate on it reads Dr. Kim Namjoon, neurologist. Jungkook can’t say he’s not disappointed; he had expected to see his brother right away. The nurse—Cha Hyeri, it says on her nameplate—seems to have picked up Jungkook’s confusion for she says, “Procedures usually take about two to three hours. Doctor Kim wants to see you first.”
Jungkook nods in understanding and finds the door sliding open, revealing an empty office. The nurse motions for Jungkook to step in first and Jungkook does so gingerly, feeling a little out of place. Most hospital rooms are plain white and smells like antiseptic, with jarringly white lighting and an air that sucks away your will to live. Doctor Kim’s office, however, has a welcoming air to it. Instead of clinically white furniture, there are a wooden table and a leather chair on one corner of the room, and a floor-to-ceiling cabinet filled with books adorning one side of the walls. There are plants hanging from the shelf above the doctor’s desk, and a big, potted one in the corner. The blinds are kept open, letting the natural morning sunlight filtering into the room—Jungkook didn’t even realize the lights are off.
“Have a seat,” Hyeri says, startling him. “The doctor will be here shortly.”
There are two cushioned chairs across Doctor Kim’s table that look almost as cozy as the doctor’s own swivel chair; Jungkook opts for the left one. Behind him, he can hear the nurse shuffling around, writing something on her clipboard and answering the call from her in-ear. Jungkook clasps his hands together, suddenly feeling a little cold when he remembers what he’s here for. His brother. Car accident. Surgery. He picks on the skin around his nail.
Trying to calm his nerves, Jungkook’s eyes wander. He shifts his focus to the trinkets on the doctor’s desk—a small Ryan figurine and a framed picture of a white dog which breed Jungkook doesn’t recognize, an oddly shaped Rubik’s cube, and a mug that says “Don’t get on my nerves”. Jungkook appreciates the humor.
Minutes pass like hours, and Jungkook is getting antsier the longer he sits still. The Doctor is nowhere to be seen, so Jungkook decides to straighten his legs and walk around. There are stacks of books scattered on the floor in front of the bookshelf, and Jungkook can tell they are not just there for show. They look well-worn, just like every other thing in this office. From across the room he can see the wall next to the desk better. Instead of certificates of achievements there are pictures of landscapes hanging on the wall, seemingly rather amateurly taken. The more Jungkook looks around, the more at ease he feels. Had there not been any cart of medical equipment sitting in the corner, Jungkook would have never guessed it’s a doctor’s office.
After a while, he sits back down and stares out the window, watching the trees swaying with the wind. His unease has somewhat subdued, but he still can’t shrug off the nagging feeling that he’s forgetting something. What bugs him even more is that he can’t quite put a finger on it either—he can’t remember what he can’t remember.
And then it hits him.
Fuck.
Jimin.
Jimin doesn’t know he’s here.
The person on the phone said Jungkook is saved as Yoongi’s emergency contact—Jungkook didn’t know that. But that would mean there’s no way for them to contact Jimin, unless they could get access to Yoongi’s phone and even then, they wouldn’t have a clue about their relationship.
That means Jimin has no idea his boyfriend is lying unconscious in hospital bed almost two hundred miles away from home, or that he had been in a car crash hours prior.
Jungkook scrambles to fish out his phone from his back pocket, his fingers trembling as he looks for Jimin’s contact. Just when he’s about to press dial, he hears the door sliding open, making him jolt on his seat.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” a voice says. It’s deep and amiable, much like the room itself. Jungkook looks up to find a ridiculously tall man in scrubs, a stethoscope hanging on his neck. This must be Doctor Kim, he figures.
Jungkook stands up to bow, but the doctor promptly asks him to sit back down, gesturing with his hand before taking a seat himself. Jungkook can hear the door clicking shut again; it’s probably the nurse.
“Jeon Jungkook-ssi, did I get that right?” the doctor asks. Jungkook nods once. If the doctor realizes the different surname, he doesn’t ask. “The surgery went well,” he smiles, revealing a pair of dimples on his cheeks. Jungkook lets out a huge breath of relief. “Your brother’s condition is stable. He just needs some time to recover.”
“What—” Jungkook adjusts his seat, “What happened, exactly?”
“You’ll have to see the police report about that,” Doctor Kim says. “All we know is that he suffered from a severe head injury when he was brought in. He’s lucky to have survived.”
Jungkook nods inadvertently. There’s something comforting about the doctor that makes him feel like everything’s going to be okay. Jungkook would trust this man with his life. “Can I… Can I see him now?”
“About that…” The doctor presses his lips into a thin line and clasps his hands, resting them on his desk. Jungkook doesn’t like where this is going. “We have to wait until the anesthetic wears off, but I have my suspicions.”
“S-Suspicions?”
“As I said,” the doctor pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “the injury was severe. He must’ve taken quite a hit. I dare say… there’s a high chance he might suffer from a traumatic brain injury. Would you like to see the scan?”
Jungkook shakes his head. “It’s okay. I— Baby language, please?”
The leather chair squeaks as the doctor leans back. “You ever had a concussion?” Jungkook jogs his memory, thinking about that one time a soccer ball landed on his head, or that time he fell head first from a monkey bar, but he doesn’t remember if he was concussed or just bleeding. “Headache, ringing ears, nausea, dizziness, blurry vision, trouble concentrating?”
“I… I think so? But it was mild.”
The doctor nods. “It’s like that, except on more severe cases, memory loss can occur.”
Jungkook’s heart drops. “M-Memory loss? Amnesia?”
“It’s not as dramatic as dramas make it seem to be, and short-term memory loss are more common than actual retrograde amnesia, but we can’t rule out that possibility.”
Jungkook stares at the doctor with his mouth ajar, his eyes blinking in two-seconds interval while he tries to process the information. “And retrograde amnesia is…?”
“What you might know as amnesia. Loss of past memory.” The doctor supplies him a smile. “Now, since short-term memory loss is more plausible, I thought I’d brief you before you meet him so you know what to expect.”
“Okay.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and straightens his back. “Okay. Do I need to take notes, or…”
“If it helps.” The doctor rips out a page off his notebook and hands Jungkook a pen. “So ideally, after the anesthetic wears off, he should regain consciousness right away. But,” he pauses, glancing at Jungkook, “there’s a possibility of him falling into a coma, and the longer he stays in a coma, the harder it is for him to recover.”
“How long until it’s acceptable for me to panic?” Jungkook looks up.
The doctor suppresses a chuckle. “Twenty four hours.” Jungkook jots that down. “Now, here’s the thing. When he regains his consciousness, he will most likely have little or no short-term memory at all, meaning he will be… disoriented, agitated, impulsive, or extremely emotional, even.” Jungkook nods, sticking out his tongue as he takes notes. “He may be uninhibited, or act like a child, or remain completely silent, we don’t know yet. Just keep in mind that he may not act like himself and that’s normal. It’s part of the healing process.”
“So it’s temporary?” Jungkook asks. “Will he regain his memory?”
“Most people do,” says the doctor. “It depends on the severity of the injury but judging from his condition, I’d say it’ll come to him over time. Therapy helps. Memory is the slowest part of the conscious mind to recover from an injury. It can be weeks or months before he’ll be able to routinely store new memories, too.”
Again, Jungkook nods, jotting everything down on his little note. “Can I, uh, can I have more paper?”
Doctor Kim smiles earnestly, already opening the drawer under his desk. “Here, you can have it,” he hands Jungkook a small notepad with the hospital’s name printed on the cover. Jungkook’s eyes widen.
“Really?” The doctor nods in assurance. “Ah, thank you.”
“No problem. We still have a lot to cover anyway.”
Jungkook stares at his page-long note and freezes. It’s gonna be a long day.
◀◀◀
Jimin can’t sleep.
After he ended his video call with Yoongi last night, he hasn’t gotten a blink of sleep. There’s this certain restlessness that plagues him, as if his brain is sending him warning signs. Of what, he has no idea.
His body aches from tossing and turning on the bed all night, so when the first sign of sunrise is visible from his bedroom window, he jumps on his feet and makes a beeline to the kitchen. His head hurts, his eyes sting; coffee helps.
As he waits for the espresso to drip out of the machine, he checks his phone for new notifications. A few from Instagram, some new emails from work. Nothing from Yoongi—he’s never up before noon anyway. Jimin had wanted to call him again last night, hoping his boyfriend’s honey voice could lull him to sleep. But he wasn’t going to take more hours off Yoongi’s already fucked sleeping schedule, especially not for something as trivial as this. He probably just had too much caffeine yesterday.
Jimin pours his espresso shot into a glass of milk and stirs it absentmindedly, staring out the window. It’s their second anniversary today, but Yoongi got a call for a job in Busan last week and Jimin doesn’t want him to pass on the opportunity for something that isn’t urgent. “We could always celebrate it when you get back,” he had said to convince Yoongi to take the job. Yoongi finally did, but not without a pout.
It’s been a week, and Jimin can’t say he doesn’t miss his boyfriend—he misses him quite terribly. Yoongi might sleep at odd hours, but at the end of the day, he always slips into the bed, wrapping himself in Jimin’s arms.
Sleeping alone sucks. The bed is too cold, too big, too lonely. The pillow can’t fill the Yoongi-shaped cavern on Jimin’s body.
Jimin sighs. Any other day, he’d busy himself with work and put his boyfriend’s absence at the back of his mind, only taking it out once he’s home. But now that it’s a Saturday, there’s not much that he can do besides house chores and missing Yoongi.
He pouts. Puts his empty cup on the sink. Turns on the tap. Washes the dishes from last night. Picks up the vacuum cleaner. Does everything with half a heart.
He doesn’t even bother turning on his Get Shit Done playlist as he vacuums the living room, the one Yoongi and him made to make chores more bearable. It’s futile. Nothing is bearable when Yoongi is not around.
At around nine, Jimin has finished cleaning the entire apartment. He was about to start doing the laundry when his phone vibrated on the dining table, and even though it wasn’t Yoongi’s personalized rhythm, he rushes to get it anyway.
Jimin pauses and frowns for a second when he sees Jungkook’s name on the screen. Yoongi’s brother is not one to make calls, let alone at nine in the morning.
“Hyung,” Jungkook’s voice comes through as soon as Jimin picks up.
“Kook?”
“Hyung,” Jungkook says again, this time a little more urgent, his voice laced with desperation.
“I’m here,” Jimin says. “What’s the matter?”
“Yoongi hyung…” Jungkook trails off. “He’s… Please don’t freak out.”
Jimin freaks out. “What’s with Yoongi, Kook?”
Jungkook gulps. “I… I meant to tell you, okay, but it slipped my mind and I thought maybe they must have called you too but apparently I’m the only one on his emergency contact and—”
Jimin’s ears perk up at the word emergency. “Kook,” he cuts Jungkook’s rambling short. “Where is he? What’s going on?”
Jungkook lets out a heavy sigh. “In the hospital.” Jimin’s heart freefalls. “He… He got into a car accident earlier this morning. Like, really early in the morning.”
“Where?” Jimin’s voice trembles.
“Daegu.”
“Daegu?” What the hell was Yoongi doing in Daegu?
“Yeungnam. It’s a university hospital. I— I have no idea why he’s here and I haven’t talked to the police but…”
Jimin’s head spins. If Jungkook is the one calling, that can only mean Yoongi is unconscious. And if Yoongi is unconscious, then the accident must have been— “Kook,” Jimin breathes out, “is he— is he… okay?”
Jungkook doesn’t immediately answer; Jimin braces himself for the worst.
“He’s… alive.” Well that isn’t very reassuring. “I just talked to the doctor and he said… there’s a chance Yoongi hyung might suffer from,” Jimin hears the sound of paper rustling, “traumatic brain injury and retrograde amnesia. It’s when—”
Jimin’s blood runs cold. “I know what those are,” he says a little too curtly.
“Yeah,” Jungkook sucks his teeth. “We still don’t know for sure, though. He… I mean, the drug hasn’t worn off, so… How fast can you get here?”
“I’ll take the next train,” Jimin says, already ordering a cab as they speak.
“Okay,” Jungkook says. “I… I’m sorry for not calling sooner, hyung. It’s just…”
“It’s a lot to take in, huh?” Jimin’s voice softens. For a second he sets his panic aside, realizing Jungkook must have been scared shitless when he got the call from the hospital. It’s his brother, after all.
“Yeah. I’ve been here for an hour and even now they still won’t let me see him and I just…” Jungkook takes a deep breath and whispers, “I’m worried.”
Jimin understands. His own gut is twisting and his entire skin is crawling; he’s about to burst anytime now. “I know,” Jimin finally says. “I’ll be there as soon as possible, okay. Don’t panic. He’ll be fine.” Jimin doesn’t know that, but he can pretend. “He’s stronger than you know.”
“I… I hope so, yeah.”
“Have you eaten?” Jimin tries to distract him as he changes into a pair of jeans and a clean shirt, the phone squeezed between his ear and his shoulder.
“No… I drove all the way here at… four in the morning. Don’t think I can eat anyway, my stomach feels funny.”
“Go downstairs. Get yourself some sandwich and milk or something. Worrying on an empty stomach is just gonna make you feel worse.” Jimin grabs his wallet and dashes out of the door. “I’m on my way. My cab’s here.”
“You’re taking a cab to Daegu?” Jungkook sounds surprised.
Jimin rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass. I’m taking a cab to the station.” He hears a faint oh from the other side. “Now for the love of God, please eat something and no, banana milk does not count as banana and milk.”
Jungkook lets out a dry chuckle. “Okay, hyung. Safe trip, yeah? Let me know when you’re here?”
The elevator dings; its door slides open. “I will.”
◀◀◀
Jungkook scans the rows of prepackaged food as he walks down the aisle, stopping every now and then when he sees something he likes. Now that he doesn’t have anything to do but wait, the hunger finally kicks in, so hard that he just wants to buy the whole rack. If Yoongi were here, he would’ve smacked Jungkook’s head, knowing he wouldn’t be able to finish them all and scolding him for wasting food.
Jungkook never thought the day would come when he would pray to get scolded.
He picks out a box of omurice, two triangle kimbap, a stick of sausage, and a pack of hard-boiled eggs. Then he walks over to the beverages section and grabs himself a bottle of water and banana milk and heads over to the cashier. It feels like an out-of-body experience, he thinks as he puts his card back into his wallet. His body feels light, too light to feel his own legs. It feels… surreal. Just hours ago he was in Seoul, sleeping next to his boyfriend and now—
Jungkook nearly drops his food.
He forgot to call Seokjin.
He whips out his phone from his back pocket and speed dials Seokjin’s number, hoping the elder isn’t too worried. After the fourth ring, Seokjin finally picks up.
“Yah,” Jungkook holds his phone away from his ear, already expecting Seokjin to shout. “This brat, where have you been? It’s been six hours, I thought you were kidnapped or something!”
Jungkook chuckles. “Hyung, I’m five foot ten. Literally who is gonna kidnap me?”
“Someone who’s six feet tall,” Seokjin promptly replies. “Seriously, where are you?”
“Uh,” Jungkook presses the elevator button and holds his phone away again before saying, “Daegu.”
“Daegu?!”
“Look, I know I said I’ll update you but there isn’t…” Jungkook walks into the elevator and presses a floor, “there isn’t much I can tell you for now.”
A pause. “You just forgot to call me, didn’t you?”
Jungkook can’t lie for shit. “Okay, fine, yeah,” he scratches the back of his head. “But only because it’s so overwhelming, like, I’m not even sure this is actually happening.”
“You still haven’t told me what happened.”
The elevator door opens on the second floor, and Jungkook steps aside to make way for the other people. “Car crash,” he says. It’s starting to roll of his tongue easily, or at least easier than the first time he had to say it.
“A— what?”
“Don’t worry, surgery went well,” he adds before Seokjin could panic. “But uh, he hasn’t woken up yet, still on drugs. So yeah, not much I can tell you,” except for the possibility of him losing his memory but that would freak you out so I’m not going to tell you until I know for sure.
Seokjin sighs before saying, “Okay.” Another deep breath, another sigh. “Do you need me to come?”
“No, no,” Jungkook says. “It’s fine, I already called Jimin hyung. He’ll be here in a bit, hopefully before Yoongi hyung wakes up.”
“Not for Yoongi, you idiot,” Seokjin clicks his tongue, “for you. Moral support.”
“Oh.” Jungkook pauses. “Oh.”
“Are you holding up okay? I can hear you internally screaming from here.”
A part of Jungkook wants to run into his boyfriend’s arms and tell him no, he’s not okay, and let Seokjin hug away his worries. But the other part wants to prove—God knows to whom—that he’s a big boy—he’s twenty six, for fuck’s sake—and he can handle his own shit. So far, he hasn’t trembled or wanted to cry for ten minutes straight and he’ll consider that a win.
“I’m fine, hyung.” Jungkook smiles even though Seokjin can’t see him anyway. I’m not, I’m really not. “I’ll let you know when Yoongi hyung wakes up, mkay?”
Seokjin hesitates for a moment, but eventually he says, “Okay. Keep me updated, yeah?” Jungkook hums in agreement. “I love you.”
After all this time, Jungkook’s heart still skips a beat; his smile blooms from ear to ear. “Love you, too.”
◀◀◀
“Oh, Jungkook-ssi.”
Jungkook looks up to find Doctor Kim standing in front of him, one hand in his pocket and the other one holding a paper cup. Not gonna lie, Jungkook thinks he looks cool. Like a grown-up (of course he’s a grown-up, he’s a freaking neurologist. He probably has at least three degrees in his pocket even though he’s humble enough not to parade them). Jungkook feels a twinge of envy amidst his awe.
“Doctor Kim,” Jungkook stops chewing, eyes shooting wide. He’s on his second kimbap now, the last item of food in the plastic bag. Everything else had been demolished within minutes.
The doctor offers him a smile. “Did you eat well? There’s a cafeteria on the ground floor if you’re still hungry,” he points at the elevator with his thumb.
Suddenly, Jungkook is all too conscious. He wipes the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand and puts the empty plastic containers away. “Uh, no, it’s okay,” he says, darting his tongue around to make sure there isn’t any excess ketchup on his lips. “Proper food takes time,” which is a luxury he can’t afford right now.
The doctor nods with understanding. “I’m actually heading back to check on your brother. The anesthetic should wear off any minute now. You coming?”
Jungkook has never jumped to his feet faster. “Yeah,” he nods fervently.
Doctor Kim seems to be quite popular, Jungkook notes as they walk down the corridor. Not only the nurses and residents bow to greet him, but they practically beam. Jungkook walks two steps behind him, and he can see how they’re ready to stop and make small chat with the doctor, but decide against it when they see Jungkook lingering. One particular doctor doesn’t seem to get the memo and started rambling about today’s menu anyway, but Doctor Kim cuts him short, motioning to Jungkook as he says, “Sorry, we’re kinda in a rush. Talk to you later?” and they wave each other goodbye.
The intensive care unit is behind a whole separate door at the end of the corridor. Jungkook’s heart rate starts to pick up again as he enters, suddenly regretting his decision to come here alone. If only he has Seokjin’s hand to hold, then maybe, maybe—
“Jungkook-ssi?”
Jungkook didn’t realize he had been holding his breath and clenching his fist. “Huh?”
“Breathe,” Doctor Kim smiles. He smiles a lot for someone who has to deliver bad news after bad news, but Jungkook supposes it helps soften the blow. “I know a hospital is a convenient place to pass out, but stay with me for now, yeah? We’re seeing your brother in a bit.”
Jungkook nods and relaxes his fist. The crescent-shaped indents on his palm start to throb.
As soon as they stop in front of a door, Jungkook starts to feel electric again. He just needs to see Yoongi, to know he’s alive, then maybe he can finally breathe properly. His ears start ringing, his skin prickling.
“Wait here,” Doctor Kim instructs, walking up to a man before Jungkook could protest.
They speak in hushed voices, but Jungkook can pick up bits and pieces from where he’s standing. “Respiratory rate… On pressure support ventilation… Zero end-tidal sevoflurane concentration… Administered Naloxone…”
Jungkook glances to see the two medical staffs, and apprehension begins to bubble in his stomach again. Doctor Kim has a frown on his face and a hand on his waist—that can’t be a good sign.
“…still unresponsive to verbal and painful stimuli…”
“Doctor Kim?” Jungkook’s voice cracks. “Is— Is everything alright? Can I see him now?”
The two man glance at Jungkook in unison, their faces grim. Can’t be a good sign, can’t be a good sign.
“Well, you can…” Doctor Kim sighs, his eyebrows taut. He walks over to Jungkook and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Jungkook-ssi, you remember everything I told you, right? You got everything written down?”
Jungkook nods faintly, his blood running cold.
“Good,” the doctor smiles. Jungkook can already sense the incoming bad news. “Twenty four hours. Until then, do not panic.”