Chapter Text
“I ain’t getting a dog,” Kim Taehyung mumbles for what he feels like is the sixtieth time.
Park Jimin, next to him in the car, continues undisturbed, “I’m just saying, man. It might be good for reintegration and the doctor said-”
“I swear to my ancestors, if you call it reintegration one more time…” Taehyung growls in what he hopes is a threatening tone. It’s clear that Jimin has been following a lot of professionals in those few months Taehyung had been in the hospital. He seems to know exactly what to say and when to back off, but Taehyung can’t help but feel a little clinical any time he’s around Jimin.
“What else am I supposed to call it?” Jimin asks innocently, steering the car off of the freeway and unto a downtown exit.
“Discharge,” Taehyung replies in a low voice. After months of being kept in the hospital, today finally marks the day that he’s set loose in the wild again. They’re heading for Seoul, where Jimin lives in a spacious apartment in the middle of the city. Taehyung has spent the better part of the ride staring out of the window, watching the landscapes swoosh by in dizzying speeds. He’s learnt long since that his brain still has trouble processing so many new stimuli and he often feels overwhelmed or antsy.
Perfectly normal, according to dr Oh.
And Taehyung’s heard that everything he does or feels is so perfectly normal for so many times now, he can pretty much fill in the exact times his psychiatrist is going to say it. But he doesn’t feel normal.
Jimin looks at him encouragingly. They both know that it’s the longest conversation they’ve had all day. Most days are like that. It’s difficult to talk, Taehyung finds, so he mostly keeps quiet. He spends enough energy taking it all in, he doesn’t often feel like he has the capacity to do anything beyond that.
You just need time to adjust. You got to give yourself that.
“Well, you don’t have to get a dog right now,” Jimin drones on and Taehyung’s already tuning him out, forehead pressed against the window as he tries to ignore the ache in his newly operated hip, “But doctor Yang seemed to think it was a pretty good idea. He could recommend you for a service dog too. You know, to help with the seizures and… everything else.”
“You don’t even like dogs.”
“But you do.”
Taehyung stiffens. He doesn’t like it when he’s reminded of his old self. Kim Taehyung used to love dogs. Squealed at the very sight of them. The feeling of their soft fur sliding through his fingers made his heart flutter. He remembers he’d once sworn to start a doggy daycare once this BTS stint didn’t work out.
But he ain’t that kid anymore.
If Jimin notices the shift in Taehyung’s demeanor, he doesn’t mention it, still talking abundantly as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel. He’s in a good mood. And it makes sense. He and Taehyung are finally going home.
Or, Jimin is going home.
Taehyung’s just going somewhere.
The sun shines through the window and Taehyung lets his eyes close. He’s missed this. So, so much. The sun is small in this October sky, but it feels like it’s trying to hug his face alone as he presses it further against the glass. To the outside world, his smushed features must look ridiculous, but Taehyung can’t bring himself to care. He relishes in the feeling and senses Jimin smiling at him the few times he looks over.
Jimin likes it when Taehyung lets his guard down.
But the moment doesn’t last long. A sudden car horn blares as a driver rushes past and Taehyung is straight up in his seat again. His heart hammers in his throat and his mind screams danger.
PTSD, he’s learnt, is no fun. His psychiatrist was quick to diagnose him. Taehyung figures it didn’t take a genius to see. He startles at every noise, can’t sleep for shit and has the unrelenting urge to comb out his surroundings at every possible moment. It’s exhausting. And Taehyung doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand how his head works now. He never used to be like this when he was down… there. So why now?
Utterly pointless.
“It’s okay,” Jimin whispers at him and Taehyung gives a curt nod, trying to relax his tense muscles as he lets his head fall back against the headrest. He half expects Jimin to start another advocacy for the damn dog, but to his surprise, Jimin doesn’t mention it again. “Almost there,” he mutters instead.
Taehyung already feels tired beyond belief when they finally arrive at Jimin’s apartment. The drive took a little over two and a half hours, and by now, his hip is making a big fuss about moving. Which is why he stumbles quite a bit as he exits the car. Jimin’s there to help in an instant, of course he is. He takes Taehyung’s hand to support him, but Taehyung knows there’s a bit of hesitation there. There always is the moment Jimin wants to touch him. Like he’s not sure he should. Like he wants to ask permission, but is already too late for that.
And so Taehyung clamps his own, larger hand around Jimin’s, letting him know that it’s alright. It’s just Jimin this time. He’s currently lucid enough to know that. They look up at the large apartment building together and Taehyung rolls his shoulders.
A deep, dark night. Starless. Cold. In and out. No funny tricks.
He feels like he’s being watched.
With a shudder, he ducks his head down and starts for the entrance of the building. He knows where to go. Has been here before. He knows Jimin knows it too. He wonders what Jimin thinks about that night Taehyung cut into his throat.
He’s not ready to ask.
The apartment still looks pretty much the same. Jimin’s moved a couch around and the desk is in another corner, but the layout has remained as it was. Taehyung hears the car keys being thrown on the bookshelf as Jimin languidly walks into the kitchen, “Are you hungry?”
Taehyung doesn’t reply, walking around the apartment. Jimin doesn’t mind at all. He calmly lets Taehyung scour the place out, like he knows that Taehyung needs to make sure that the coast is clear in every single room. He probably does. Luckily for Taehyung, the apartment doesn’t have many rooms. Only the bedroom and the bathroom are separate, so it’s less places for danger to hole itself up. The livingroom, the study and the kitchen all share the same gigantic space, with no walls separating them. It’s just Jimin’s style, Taehyung thinks. If he wanted to, Jimin could probably perform an entire dance routine right in the living room with so much space.
“You can sit,” Jimin suggests with a smile and Taehyung moves to the couch automatically. “Are you hungry?”
Taehyung frowns as he sinks down on the soft, fluffy couch. He’s still fully clothed with his jacket and boots on, but hasn’t thought to undress. He also doesn’t know the answer to the question.
Food was.. a riddle to him now, most of the time. The last two months in the Underground, he’d been slowly starving to death. Even before that, any food they got was solely meant to keep them alive. There was no taste or joy to be had. The last few months in the hospital, he’d been put on a strict diet regime. He had to make sure he ate enough. But not too much. And most of it were bland, easily digestible foods. The first time a nurse put a bowl of unsalted cornflakes and milk in front of his nose, was the first time he was reminded of the old Taehyung.
Kim Taehyung used to love food. Almost as much as he loved dogs. He’d been a simple kind of guy, really. Some good food, some good music, a comfy chair, and he was more than happy to continue living his little life. Don’t get him wrong, he did have certain preferences. Hated anything that tried to murder your mouth from within –or what the hyungs and Kookie called ‘spicy’- and he swore to anyone that would hear he was deathly allergic to beans.
But when the food was just to his liking, there was nobody in the world happier than Kim Taehyung.
“We can get anything you want,” Jimin insists, still unbothered by Taehyung’s lack of response. “I know you must be tired of hospital food.”
“I-I don’t know,” Taehyung replies, inexplicably sweaty at the notion that he needs to make a choice.
Jimin observes him from the kitchen and the prickle at the back of Taehyung’s neck is back. It’s moments like this that he feels like a skipping record, getting stuck on the same track of thought over and over again. Not able to think past the simple sentence are you hungry?
Jimin seems to figure this out by himself, thankfully, and throws up a nonchalant hand as he walks into the living room, “There’s a pretty good kimchi restaurant around the block. We could go there.”
Jimin’s face morphs into an apology as he sees Taehyung panic right away, “Or- or we can order. It’s fine if we order too.”
Taehyung nods quickly. Ordering seems good. Because he is hungry. He wouldn’t say he’s hungry hungry. Because he knows hunger. Has played around with it for quite a few times to know what real hunger can be. But to Jimin, hunger has a different meaning. And he’s back in Jimin’s world now. And here, hunger, is just feeling like having something to eat. And so Taehyung keeps nodding, trying to file away that conclusion for future reference.
“Want me to choose a place?” Jimin suggests.
And Taehyung nods again. All the food places in Seoul he knows are the places from five years ago. And Seoul is an ever changing city. It’s uncommon for a restaurant to last more than a couple of years. Maybe he’ll ask about a few of his favorites from back in the day. But not now.
“I could go for some kimchi then,” Jimin concludes, unfazed, “you want it with fried rice, or pasta?”
Taehyung twists around on the couch in surprise, “Who eats it with pasta?”
“Nowadays, quite some people,” Jimin lets him know.
“Heretics,” Taehyung hisses in dismay.
Jimin chuckles, “Fried rice it is, then.”