— we're not all
in the right.

OCTOBER 21:
JEON JEONGGUK

==

[ long chapter ahead lovelies c: ]

the air is warm.

there's a smell of something cooking, something remarkably delicious to his vaguely empty stomach. it feels like the old family dinners he used to sparingly attend (a regrettable decision, he decides now); his mother cooks every cuisine under the sun with such startlingly accuracy that it's hard to fathom she was self taught. usually he was tasked with turning on the electric fireplace (true wood made a smell too pungent), his father setting the table, his grandparents already three spoonfuls into their full plates. it was cozy. maybe his mother made him dinner. the thought makes him excited—college food becomes extremely monotonous after consecutive days of eating it.

college food. college. did his mother come all the way here to cook him dinner? he inhales. sharply. no, this smell isn't—

jeongguk opens his eyes.

it takes him a moment to adjust to the low lighting of his surroundings, vision blurry and a dull pain on the side of his head, near to his temple. he can't move his arms; they're immobile, somehow, painstakingly fixated behind his back. his throat is dry. when he pulls apart his chapped lips from each other, saliva pools at the corners of his mouth.

as the fuzziness finally escapes his vision, jeongguk realizes he's in a living room, large and open. the floors are a dark, waxy mahogany, and its long panels of wood stretch to his left into what looks like a kitchen. expensive leather couches surround him, positioned to face a walled t.v. screen, and framed artwork scatters the crimson walls with uncertain placement. the sharp smell still lingers—was i not imagining it?  dull lights make jeongguk squint in vain to the numerous objects scattered on the mantel of the fireplace. it's expensive. it's unnerving. it's dark and undecipherable, shadows and shapes swirling around him. where is this?

jeongguk wipes his spit against the shoulder of his shirt, and he looks down. he's on a chair. tied. hands behind his back, calves held loosely against the chair legs with rope. for a moment he stops breathing; it's almost surreal, how horribly similar it is to all of the action movies he's seen, and his heart thunders against his chest.

something shifts in his peripheral vision, and jeongguk turns left—to see taehyung, wide-eyed with a purple bruise stretching over the side of his jaw. he's in the exact same predicament as jeongguk is, immobile against a chair. a flash of relief passes over his lowly illuminated face.

"thank god, you're awake," whispers taehyung, so quietly that jeongguk almost misses it. "i've been scared out of my wits for the past ten minutes."

"where...where are we?"

"hell if i know. i don't have the slightest clue of what's going on." taehyung flicks his gaze to the kitchen. "lower your voice. someone's been in there ever since i woke up."

and then finally, jeongguk recognizes the smell: noodles. someone is cooking noodles and playing soft classical music from the television and tying two abducted men to chairs. a vague shadow falls on the floor outside of the tiled kitchen, giving no indication of who might be there.

two abducted men. "where's yoongi?" breathes jeongguk, turning back to him. "was yoongi abducted, too? did you see him?"

"i don't know, jeongguk, i—i just woke up tied in this chair next to you, and that's it."

the oxygen in his lungs seems to thin out, slowly seeping out of him as he begins to register his situation fully. he's been abducted. taken by someone he hasn't even see yet. jeongguk wracks his brain, trying to remember every event that led up to this—the coffee shop, the bathroom, and now here, in someone's living room. where's his phone? where are the others? does jae know where they are now?

"blood—" jeongguk suddenly realizes that taehyung has been talking, eyes fixated to his forehead. "jeongguk, listen. your temple is covered in dried blood. it's all up in the side of your hair."

habitually, jeongguk tries to bring a hand to his face, realizing dully he can't when the ropes constrict further against his skin. so that's what was hurting him, then. "is it?"

"do you remember how it happened? does it hurt?" taehyung inhales sharply. "the person who abducted us probably did it."

"you're bruised too, taehyung."

"what? wh—"

he suddenly stops, eyes affixed to something behind jeongguk—rather someone, as he learns when he cranes his neck to see. a man, tall with a lean build, walks leisurely out to a granite table with a steaming bowl in his hands. he quietly pushes out a chair and sits, taking out utensils and beginning to eat.

jeongguk's ears are ringing.

"wonchol," he whispers. "that's wonchol."

"what? wonchol abducted us? why?"

"same reason he shot my fucking shoulder, is my guess," responds jeongguk, voice bitter with rage. he doesn't know why he's mad all of a sudden, when he was striken with fear just moments earlier. he's tied and injured, for christ's sake—the one at a disadvantage is clearly him. but the anger still boils deep in his bloodstream.

"and why's that?"

jeongguk smiles humorlessly. "hell if i know."

taehyung's lips press back into a tight line, and he turns forward to face the television screen. minutes pass by agonizingly slow, the quiet sound of orchestral music and metal utensils clinking against wonchol's bowl being the only noises to cut through the silence. it's excruciating. his hands wring impatiently behind his chair as the rope cuts further into his skin. jeongguk needs something to happen, someone to say something: the wait is enough alone to drive him crazy. yet for some reason, he can't manage to say a single word.

after what feels like eternities, wonchol finally stands up and leaves to the kitchen, the sound of his bowl clattering into the sink. a few moments later he walks into the living room, and taehyung visibly stiffens next to jeongguk.

wonchol is sleep-deprived. that much is noticeable, even from the low light, as he stands in front of jeongguk and taehyung. he wears an untucked, wrinkled white button-up and black slacks that bunch up around his pale ankles. his skin is oily, ghostly—untouched by sunlight. the crazy, delusional look on his face he saw all those days ago is gone, replaced with a stony, almost bored expression. jeongguk stares. stares at all the wonchols he's been into contact with: the cool, extroverted grad student in his business seminar class: the lunatic with a gun to his head in the city alleyway: and now this, the poker-faced man jeongguk hardly recognizes anymore.

wonchol takes out something from his pocket—a phone, and by the way taehyung quickly tries to lean forward, it's not his own. he coolly walks around taehyung's chair until he reaches his back, where he leans down onto his knees. and suddenly, he grabs taehyung's hand and presses his thumb against the home button of the phone.

standing back up, wonchol deeply chuckles and swipes his finger against the screen. "can't believe they truly believed it. dumbass."

taehyung's breath is staggered, clearly still in shock. "give me back my phone."

"and what would be the purpose of that?" wonchol walks back to the front of them, sitting on the edge of his couch with a disturbing smile on his face. "your hands are tied, kim taehyung. don't worry, i didn't do anything: just responded to a few of your texts. can't have the police showing up at my door." he pauses, almost thoughtfully. "well. not until later, at least."

jeongguk narrows his eyes. "what the fuck are you doing, wonchol?"

"how's your shoulder, jeongguk?" avoiding the question. it's all too predictable.

"i was a bit more concerned about your whereabouts than my shoulder," responds jeongguk, warily. he remembers the situation he was in before; his words have to be played very carefully. "considering what you said. but i guess the police were too preoccupied to catch you."

"yes," wonchol glances to taehyung. "preoccupied. i appreciate the concern, jeonggukie. but even if the cops had tried their best, they wouldn't have caught me. i'm far too good at hiding."

"why are we here?" taehyung demands, trying to keep his voice stable. "where's yoongi?"

"oh, so that's his name. i wasn't completely sure if he was with you two until he started calling your names in that cafe bathroom. but he isn't of importance to me right now. not to worry, taehyung; believe it or not, i have no intention of keeping him here forever. i have things to attend to tonight. and you two are only parts of them." his mouth morphs back into a thin line. "your friend hasn't woken up yet. i suppose i gave him a bit more chloroform then i did to you. both of you were hard to knock out; i had to hit you a few times to get you fully unconscious, you know."

as if on cue, jeongguk's temple throbs. "you still didn't answer his question. why are we here?"

"i think you know the answer to that." wonchol walks to taehyung again, leaning over his chair, as the latter swallows thickly. "so, kim taehyung? got any buildings to blow up tonight, hm?"

"wonchol," don't raise your voice. your life isn't the only one at stake here. taehyung clearly isn't on his good side. choose your words wisely. "please. you know it wasn't our fault. c'mon bud, let us go."

jeongguk's words spark something in wonchol—but it isn't good. his steely gray eyes twitch, jaw clenching as a flash of anger passes quickly over his face.

"shut the fuck up. i don't have time for sugarcoated words tonight."

"listen to me—"

"i'm not the monster," taehyung spits, straining against the ropes as he pushes his face directly in front of wonchol's. "i'm nothing like that demon. it used me, and—and my memories to do this shit, okay? i didn't do any of this."

"oh, i know the difference between you and abraxas. the society taught me that much."

jeongguk inhales sharply, and wonchol seems to notice it. he pulls away and smiles. "what, surprised i know the society? i was part of it, jeongguk. for years. was the best they ever had."

"you...you're part of the society?"

"was."

"why did you leave?"

wonchol turns to taehyung.

"because of him. his story. his supposed murder. the research i conducted on his case. i used to want to be this big, righteous demon killer, jeongguk, someone who would kill abraxas once and for all and 'free' all the unlucky witnesses, first and second. just like you and your little group." so he's been tailing us all, then: that's how he knew where to find me.

"you can be," jeongguk tries, desperately adding as much compassion as possible into his voice. "we are so close, wonchol. we're so close to getting to the bottom of this. taehyung is the first living second witness with a form in abraxas; it's got to mean something, right? we're defying rules we thought we had known. we can—"

wonchol laughs. he laughs. it's horrible to jeongguk's ears. "you know nothing, jeonggukie. you didn't research in the society for as long as i did, alright? you don't know the shit i know."

"but listen—"

"did you know that abraxas isn't the only monster out there? did you know that the other world has plenty more beings like it? that the only reason they can't come to this planet is because they don't have the characteristics to?"

taehyung trembles. "what do you...what do you mean? how do you know?"

"because i fucking researched, kim taehyung," snarls wonchol, and he suddenly slams his hand on taehyung's chair in anger. "i conducted experiments, i looked at historical events, i learned. you both know nothing of the other world. you can't just 'beat' abraxas. it doesn't work like that. it's been torturing people for thousands of years—all those historical tales your teachers told you about, the executed 'witches', the mental wards with 'unknown' illnesses, that's abraxas's doing. why do you think it's been around for so long? because it's practically fucking invincible! do you understand?"

wonchol calms his breath, pulling his hand away. "after i wrote an article on taehyung's 'murder', i left the society. it was too much. abraxas only goes after the first witnesses who pursue it or get in its way, and i'm a first witness. i wasn't ready to submit to that. what's the point of letting yourself be killed in a futile cause?" he chuckles dryly. "but then again, isn't that what tonight truly is?"

jeongguk furrows his eyebrows. wonchol's words keep getting vaguer. "then why did you go after me with a gun, then? drill me about taehyung? you said yourself that he and abraxas are two different beings."

"of course they are. but abraxas has never, never done this much damage, even if it seems small in relation to different world catastrophes. not in any recorded event, however vague." wonchol's voice is cracking with fury. "and you know what abraxas's physical form was of? kim taehyung. abraxas's power has something to do with taehyung. or maybe...it's the other way around."

jeongguk can't believe his ears. he finds it ironic how he's angry with wonchol for doing something he used to do: blame taehyung for things he hasn't done. "what—because his spirit is strong, wonchol! that's it! taehyung had literally nothing to do with—"

"yes, but why?" jeongguk stops. "why is his spirit strong? why did taehyung survive this? why did abraxas gain so much power?"

silence. jeongguk turns to taehyung. and taehyung looks up, furious tears streaming down his face.

"when i woke up in the middle of the night and saw two gray eyes staring at me from outside my window, every single fucking time, i had no idea why. when i walked on the street with my best friend and a shadowy figure lurked nearby, i had no idea why. when i woke up in a bed with some old lady next to me, all of my memories gone, i had no idea. do you understand? do you understand what i went through? i knew nothing. absolutely fucking nothing. and i still don't. so do you think i really have the ability to power abraxas? to make it do the shit its done?

"i don't know why my spirit is so strong. hell, i don't even know why i'm a second witness in the first place. so don't blame all of this on me. it isn't my fault. it isn't my fucking fault! i had nothing to do with this!" taehyung is shouting now, straining against his ropes. "i hate myself as much as you do! i hate that abraxas used me to destroy things, to kill people. i hate that my problems basically killed my own father. i hate that i can't do anything about this. i hate it! i fucking hate it! but it isn't my fault!"

the last word echos, bounding against the walls of wonchol's apartment. the mellow classical music plays on. it's driving jeongguk crazy.

wonchol steps back. he rubs his temples with his thumb and middle finger, thin lips in a scowl. "i don't care if you don't know anything. no one does. you're still part of this mess, kim taehyung. you're still a reason that my fucking girlfriend is dead."

jeongguk's head spins. it isn't his injury. "wonchol, please—"

"she was what made me normal, you fucking piece of shit. she made me forget all of the other world research i had done, all of the atrocities i had read, had seen. she made me sane!" and there it is, the crazy expression on his face, hazy eyed and delusional. "you and abraxas took that away from me. you took away the only part of myself i could stand. you can't fix that. you can't fucking fix that!"

"it wasn't me," taehyung croaks, voice raw.

"tell me, kim taehyung." wonchol is shaking. "why that subway? why that day? why that time? why her? she did nothing wrong. she's better than me. don't i deserve it more?"

"stop." taehyung is on the verge of breaking down; and jeongguk can't say a thing. he's trying to argue, trying to defend taehyung. but he can't. the words won't come out. "please. stop."

"don't we deserve to be dead, instead? those who died are innocent. no witnesses whatsoever. so why them? why did abraxas target them? why did you let it?"

"it wasn't me," taehyung tries to say once more. the three words are drilling into jeongguk's brain. make it stop. get us out of here. leave us alone.

"tell me, kim taehyung." wonchol is on the verge of tears himself, his voice hysterical. "did it feel nice when you killed my girlfriend?"

"wonchol." jeongguk breaks out of his trance. his blood boils with anger, anger that he's withheld this whole time, anger that he's refused to let out. he can't keep it in. he's enraged; how dare he tie them up. how dare he hurt them. how dare he abuse taehyung like this. "shut the fuck up."

"oh? and what will you—"

"taehyung had nothing to do with this and you know it. you just want a scapegoat. someone to blame, since you're too much of a fucking coward to go after abraxas yourself. you make up excuses—oh, abraxas has been around for this long, so that means we can't kill it, huh? as if it's fucking futile? how about you try first instead of jumping to conclusions, since you're so good at doing the wrong thing. maybe it'll make you a better person. maybe it'll make you the person your girlfriend actually deserved."

wonchol's face morphs. his expression is that of absolute rage, and he scrambles away to his hallway, entering a room with heaving breaths. jeongguk doesn't know where he is going, nor does he care, at least for the moment. his cautiousness with his words completely flies out the window. he needs the break. the air is heavy, the seconds slow as if they're drenched in molasses, as taehyung tries to stop his tears beside him.

"hey," whispers jeongguk, turning to face taehyung. "we're getting out of this, okay? stay strong for me."

"it isn't my fault, jeongguk. it isn't my fault. right? i...i didn't help abraxas, did i? did i do—"

"you didn't do anything wrong, taehyung. hell, you've been the best one out of all of us. do you know how strong you are? how resilient you are for going through this with the attitude you have? i'd never be able to do it. you're fucking incredible, kim taehyung. okay? don't let that asshole brainwash you. abraxas and you are two completely different beings. you are nothing like that monster. absolutely no—"

feet echo against the waxy wooden floor, cutting jeongguk off. wonchol is back, his poker-face pristine as if he'd never lost it. something gleams in both of his hands; jeongugk can't distinguish it from the minimal light. what is it? what's it now? breathing erratically, wonchol stands directly in front of taehyung, gray eyes fixated on wide brown ones. he raises his arms.

in his hands are metal handguns.

"you wanted to know why you're really here," murmurs wonchol almost thoughtfully, as if talking about a trivial, daytime topic. "and i never quite answered that question, did i?"

jeongguk can't breathe. he should have known. he should have fucking known; the man was ready to shoot his brains out in the alleyway, so why wouldn't he right now, with taehyung and him tied to chairs and at his mercy? it's the perfect opportunity. the perfect opportunity to kill them. sugarcoating his words wouldn't have made a difference, even though he continues to try—wonchol doesn't want them to walk out of here alive.

his mind suddenly reels backward. i have no intention of keeping you here forever. of course he would say that, because they're going to die. but then he remembers.

can't have the police showing up at my door. well. not until later, at least.

i have things to attend to tonight. you two are only parts of them.

what's the point of letting yourself be killed in a futile cause? but then again, isn't that what tonight truly is?

you took away the only part of myself i could stand. you can't fix that. you can't fucking fix that!

and it clicks. wonchol is killing himself tonight, too.

"wonchol," whimpers jeongguk, his voice weak. "buddy, don't do this. c'mon. we can get through this together. let us go. we will get back at abraxas. i swear it over my heart. we'll help you, all of us, we're g-gonna get you justice, just please—"

"we're just so unlucky, aren't we?" wonchol twirls the handgun in his right hand lazily. "the fact that we, witnesses, a mere couple thousand out of billions of people are unlucky enough to be involved in abraxas, in all this mess. the fact that we aren't allowed sleep because of the nightmares that torment our minds. that fact that our closest loves are murdered right in front of our eyes, mere miles away from us." wonchol places the tip of the handgun to taehyung's forehead. the action is so horribly similar to what jeongguk experienced in the alleyway that he can't even speak.

and then the second gun is at wonchol's temple, his expression disturbingly serene, and taehyung is screaming.

"it wasn't me! don't do this! i—i didn't want to hurt y-you, i'd never, not your girlfriend, your girlfriend didn't d-deserve this, i didn't do this—"

"wonchol!" jeongguk roars. his voice is breaking. his mind is spinning. this can't be happening. "don't fucking do this!"

"if i'm dying tonight," wonchol whispers, and the tears finally escape his eyes, "then i'm taking the killer of my girlfriend with me."

wonchol suddenly flies to the side, stumbling, shocked, and disoriented.

the guns go off.

one bullet hits the ceiling.

and the other—

min yoongi stands where wonchol had once been, his wrists bruised and bleeding, sweat trickling down the sides of his face and collecting at his chin. his stance is weak. there's a stumble to his legs, but the position of his right foot is clear: he kicked wonchol, square in the back, hard enough to push him to the side. breaths fall out of his trembling lips in quiet, heavy puffs. jeongguk blinks once, twice, thrice: yoongi is still there. his brain is slow, failing to process the situation.

jeongguk slowly turns to the floor where a body lays, blood spilling from the hole in his head and collecting in a slowly growing pool on the floor. his white shirt catches red, and the gun has fallen from his hand, a few feet away from his twitching, pale fingers. gray eyes drill into jeongguk's own, lifeless and open, void of emotion—dead.

the other bullet hit wonchol.

for a moment the three of them stare in silence, breaths erratic and heart beats thundering, the dull ring in their ears encompassing every thought trying to pass their minds. yoongi's chest heaves up and down. the pain in jeongguk's temple fades from his conscious. taehyung stares at the growing puddle of blood with wide, glassy eyes.

yoongi collapses to his knees, letting out an almost relieved laugh that sounds too much like a weep. "i made it," he croaks, hands shaking. "thank god, i made it in time. i made it."

"yoongi," whispers taehyung, almost absently.

"taehyung."

"am i not dead?"

"you're alive and breathing."

"did the bullet not hit me?"

"it hit the ceiling. wonchol missed the first gun when i kicked him."

"is wonchol dead?"

yoongi turns to the floor, at the bloody corpse on the ground, lifeless and tangled. "yeah," he whispers, swallowing audibly. "he is, buddy."

taehyung leans back into his chair. his breathing is unstable. jeongguk is in a daze too, and he barely feels the warm trickle of blood running down his wrists as the ropes cut deeper into his skin. "how?" jeongguk manages to speak. "how did you...where were..."

"i woke up in the car, actually. while we were still driving. i didn't say anything, mostly since you guys weren't awake yet, but i had no idea who had taken me. i guess he didn't give me as much chloroform as you guys. so when we arrived at his house and he took us in, one by one, i closed my eyes and pretended like i was still unconscious. he didn't notice. guess he didn't know chloroform well. he tied you guys to the chairs and took me there," yoongi points down the hallway, where wonchol had walked to, "into one of those rooms. i knew it was stupid to try and fight right now; i saw the guns in his bag, and he had you guys abducted too, so i wasn't going to try and knock him out. that was like asking for a death wish. so i decided to use the fact that he didn't need me, specifically, in the living room with you guys to my advantage.

"so the moment he went out into the kitchen, i began to work on the ropes on my hand. it was fucking torture," yoongi's breath quivers as he looks at his wrists, "god, it was excruciating. he tied those things so goddamn tightly. moving made it worse. but i had...i had to get out, right? and unlike you guys, my feet weren't tied. so i used the top of the bedpost to trim down the rope, which—thank god—wasn't terribly thick. i got about halfway down when you guys started talking, and when you said his name was when i realized he was wonchol. it was going to take too long to trim the rest of the rope down, so i—"

"you just wrenched your hands out," jeongguk says, staring at yoongi's purple, blood-stained wrists, the scratches on his hands and arms. he can just imagine the pain, the agonizing feeling of sharp rope straining against already tender skin. "oh my god, yoongi, that looks like hell."

"yeah. i managed to get my hands out literal seconds before wonchol walked back in. i heard him shuffle through his back and that's when i realized he was getting his guns. he was gonna shoot you guys." he shivers, the sweat on his back growing cold. "or at least, one of you."

"and then you kicked him." jeongguk is numb. "at the exact right time, you kicked him."

yoongi smiles wearily.

"oh my god, min yoongi, you saved our lives." jeongguk feels tears sting at the corners of his eyes. "i thought we were gonna—gonna die, i thought that taehyung was—and then you came and i—"

the rest of his words are an unintelligible string of words morphing into sobs, and jeongguk tries his hardest to subdue his cries but he can't. he's so relieved. so, so relieved. he's never felt this rush before: the rush of overflowing gratitude, the rush of blood reviving his numb hands, the rush of being alive. as his sobs echo around the room—for a moment, jeongguk doesn't know who he's crying for: the tortured man next to him, the body on the floor, the weak boy inside of him—, yoongi works on their ropes. he finds a knife in the kitchen and saws away at the binds, tears collecting with his sweat, as thin fibers of the rope fall to the floor. jeongguk is utterly destroyed. wonchol, lifeless and on the floor, gnaws away at his sanity. dried blood flakes off his temple and falls to his shoulder. and the tears continue to flow.

when yoongi finally frees the two of them, jeongguk stands up, his legs wobbly and head rushing with blood. he looks to his wrists; they're blue from bruising, and a fresh cut leaks blood down the side of his forearm. but he's alive. he's breathing, standing, living. and he's so utterly grateful for that.

taehyung is looking at his hands, too, but his gaze is absent: hazy, almost displaced. his lips are parted, eyelashes fringed with crystal tears and hair wet from sweat hanging over his forehead. "i can't do this anymore," he says, quietly.

yoongi and jeongguk turn to him.

"i can't take this. just how many witnesses have been emotionally wrecked like this? tortured to the point of death by their own hands?" taehyung looks to jeongguk, eyes swimming with emotion: and it hurts him. god, it hurts him so much that he can't stand it. "why? why is my spirit so strong? why am i part of this? what did i do wrong?"

"taehyung," yoongi whispers. but he doesn't know how to respond.

"it hurts, hyung." taehyung's voice is heartbreaking. "i want to be normal. so, so badly. but i'm not allowed to have that, am i?" he wipes the blood on his wrist on his shirt. "i'm just allowed to ruin people's lives even when i don't mean to, huh?"

jeongguk is silent. he stares at taehyung, at the hurt on his face. he's given up. he's given up on everything.

"come on, tae," murmurs jeongguk, wrapping an arm around his shoulder for support and slowly walking, almost limping: away from the chairs, the blood on the floor, the man who used to lend him his notes, who used to buy the freshman food with his extra money, who used the live freely. "let's get out of here, hyung."

taehyung takes one more look at wonchol. and then he's suddenly putting his hands over his mouth, a deep groan rumbling from the back of his throat, eyes wrenching shut. he opens his mouth to the floor and vomits, trembling and chest heaving. black blood escapes his wet lips and yoongi inhales, sharply.

"holy shit, he's vomiting the blood again," yoongi rushes to taehyung, holding his shoulders and patting his back. "it's been weeks, i thought, did he—" he stops as taehyung coughs, sputtering out the last few drops onto the wooden floor.

wait. jeongguk's eyes widen. "he has only one memory left to recollect—the night abraxas 'murdered' him. that means—that means he's remembering that right now, fuck—"

taehyung wipes his mouth, sputtering weakly. "taehyung?" jeongguk takes his shoulders—almost a little too roughly, but this is urgent. "taehyung, what do you remember? what are you feeling? what's the memory?"

a pause of silence. taehyung opens his eyes, his breathing shallow.

and then he collapses.

"oh fuck—" jeongguk barely manages to grab him, and taehyung hangs limply on his left arm like a rag doll. "shit, what happened? did he go unconscious? is he—"

yoongi places two fingers to taehyung's neck, exhaling deeply. "he's alive, don't worry. i think he just fainted, or something. maybe it's something to do with his last memory? he was almost convulsing when he was vomiting."

jeongguk curses softly under his breath. taking taehyung's legs in his arms, he puts the older on his back, wincing softly at the pounding in his temple. "i think our phones are in wonchol's," jeongguk flicks his eyes away from the body, "pocket. do you...do you think you could..."

yoongi nods, understanding jeongguk's failed attempt of a question. crouching to his knees, he carefully places a bruised hand inside the pocket of wonchol's slacks and retrieves the phones. he looks at the screens bombarded with notifications and winces.

"it's almost eleven," yoongi says. "we've been gone for at least five hours. god, the others must be worried to death."

taehyung's head lolls onto jeongguk's shoulder, chin digging into his collarbone. "call jae and mrs. kim," he says softly. "they deserve to know first."

stepping past wonchol, past the cut ropes and chairs, past the classical music and red walls, the three of them reach the door. yoongi holds the ringing phone to his ear, inhaling sharply when the line clicks and a worried voice comes from the speaker. taehyung rests limply on jeongguk's back, eyes closed and cheeks not yet dried of his tears. jeongguk unlocks the door of the house and breathes deeply as the cool night air reaches his sore skin.

he's never felt so grateful to be alive.

==

5.4k words yall. ya im just as surprised this is fkin wild
honestly this comeback has me obliterated & the comeback stages )): do u ever nut and cry simultaneously )):
whats your guys' favorite song from the album? im curious
have a lovely day & kudos to you for reading this hecka long chapter BYE