The hospital discharge papers lay on Taehyung's lap, crisp and clinical, yet they carried the weight of something far heavier.

He was going home.

But home to what?

The car ride was silent. The air was thick with unspoken words, with glances he couldn't decipher. He could feel them watching him, their eyes filled with something, pity, worry, sadness? He couldn't tell. He couldn't tell anything anymore.

Jimin sat beside him in the backseat, his fingers twitching on his lap as if he wanted to reach out, but he didn't. Namjoon was in the passenger seat, restless, drumming his fingers on his knee. Seokjin drove, his grip tight on the wheel.

Taehyung clenched his fists.

The city outside blurred past, indistinct shapes and colors melting together. It was wrong, everything was wrong.

When they arrived, the car door opened, and a hand touched his arm. He stiffened.

"It's just me, Taehyung," Jimin said softly.

Taehyung forced himself to nod. Jimin. His voice was familiar, the way he spoke was warm, careful, but his face? Just another blur in the sea of nothingness.

He stepped out and looked up at the building before him.

Familiar? Maybe.

Safe? No.

They led him inside, through a hallway where his fingers brushed against the walls, the surfaces smooth, cool, grounding. He knew this place, his mind told him that but he couldn't picture it. It felt like stepping into someone else's life.

"Here, sit." Jimin guided him gently to the couch.

Taehyung sank down, rubbing his hands over his jeans. A lump was forming in his throat, heavy and unrelenting. He could hear them moving around, shifting uncomfortably.

They were waiting for him to say something.

He stared at his hands. "I don't know what to do," he admitted quietly.

Jungkook was the first to break the silence. "It's okay! We'll figure it out together," he said, too cheerfully, like he was trying to force light into the room. "I mean, think about it! This is kinda like a cool video game challenge. You just have to rely on other things instead of faces. Like, I dunno, my amazing voice?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

Taehyung let out a humorless chuckle. "Your amazing voice?"

"Yeah! You know it's me, don't you?" Jungkook leaned closer. "C'mon, try. Who am I?"

Taehyung sighed. "Jungkook."

"See?" Jungkook grinned. "You can still recognize me! No face needed."

But it wasn't the same.

Jungkook was trying to help, but Taehyung could hear the desperation behind the humor. He knew they were all holding back, acting like everything was normal when it wasn't.

Namjoon cleared his throat. "The doctor said your brain is still processing. You can start associating us with other things, our voices, the way we move, our habits."

Habits.

They were all the same people, weren't they? They spoke the same, moved the same.

And yet... they were strangers.

Namjoon's voice was calm and logical, as always. Jimin's voice was gentle, worried. Jungkook's voice was lively, trying too hard to keep the mood light.

But Taehyung felt nothing when he looked at them.

Their faces, those faces he should have known better than his own were blank, faceless shadows.

He swallowed hard.

"What about yourself?" Namjoon asked carefully.

Taehyung hesitated before standing. He knew where the mirror was, his feet carried him there instinctively, like muscle memory. His hands found the cool edge of the frame, and he took a deep breath before looking up.

A stranger stared back.

His own face, the same one he had seen in music videos, in photos, in the mirror every morning, was unfamiliar.

His breath hitched.

He touched his cheek. The stranger copied him.

A soft gasp came from behind him. Jimin.

Taehyung looked away sharply.

"I--I need a minute."

Without waiting for their response, he turned and walked past them, past the familiar scents of their home, into his room.

The first night back was the hardest.

He could hear them outside his door, whispering.

"Should we check on him?" Jimin asked.

"He needs space," Namjoon said.

Taehyung curled up on his bed, pulling the blanket over his head.

The room was his. His belongings were all here. But it felt wrong, like it belonged to someone else.

He picked up a photo from his nightstand, a group picture. Seven men stood together, smiling. His fingers traced over it, but the faces were just shapes to him.

Tears burned at the back of his eyes.

What if this never changed?

What if he was forever trapped in a world where everyone was a stranger?

Jimin had held his hand earlier, just like before. But it didn't help.

Nothing helped.

______________________________________

When he finally emerged from his room the next morning, the others were sitting around the dining table.

"Taehyung!" Jimin perked up immediately. "Come eat."

He hesitated before sitting.

Jungkook slid a plate in front of him. "Made your favorite."

Kimchi fried rice.

He picked up his chopsticks. Took a bite. The flavors exploded on his tongue.

His favorite.

A memory flickered, him and Jungkook fighting over the last spoonful of fried rice. He had won, but Jungkook stole a bite from his plate. They had laughed.

But no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it, the memory felt distant.

He lowered his chopsticks. "Thanks." His voice was hollow.

Jungkook deflated.

Namjoon cleared his throat. "We were thinking of helping you adjust. If you want, we can each describe ourselves to you. Maybe it'll help you remember us in a different way."

Taehyung hesitated. It wouldn't change the fact that he couldn't recognize them, but he had to try something.

Namjoon started. "I'm the leader, so I talk a lot. You always say I'm too serious, but I just like things to be structured."

Jungkook leaned in next. "I'm the cool one," he said smugly. "The golden maknae! I tease you the most. You always act annoyed, but you actually love it."

Jimin gave a small smile. "I'm the one who hugs you the most."

That made something tighten in Taehyung's chest.

Jimin did hug him the most.

But even now, sitting so close, he felt distant.

"Can I hug you now?" Jimin whispered.

Taehyung stiffened. His instinct was to say yes, but the fear was stronger. What if it didn't feel the same? What if it just reminded him of everything he had lost?

"I... not right now," he mumbled.

Silence.

Jimin quickly nodded, looking down at his lap. "Okay."

Taehyung's stomach twisted. He had hurt him. He hadn't meant to, but he had.

Everything was slipping through his fingers.

He was here, in the same house, with the same people, but he had never felt more alone.

And so, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He retreated.

Each day, he spoke less, engaged less. He avoided their gazes, not that it mattered, since he couldn't see their faces properly anyway.

The members tried. Jimin would knock on his door. Jungkook would tell jokes. Yoongi would sit quietly, offering silent support.

But it wasn't working.

One evening, as he sat alone in his room, he heard Jin whisper outside his door.

"I miss him."

Taehyung clenched his fists.

He missed himself too.

But he wasn't sure if he could ever find his way back.

______________________________________

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