It was hard to keep track of the passage of time. I pretty much would either wake up from pain or get woken up by one of the boys. Maybe three hours would pass before I was given more medication and knocked back unconscious. Sometimes less. Taehyung, as promised, was always there. It was nice to get to know him in a more superficial way. As I had been warned, he was a rather unusual guy, especially by Korean norms. However, maybe because it was because I grew up in diverse America, but it didn’t really bother me, or even seem that strange. Mostly he just spoke his mind, not bothering to stop and think before saying something. Sometimes it was just Taehyung at my bedside, but often he was joined by one or more caretaker partners. The other constant was Yoongi. He never was at my bedside like Taehyung and company, but he was always in the room, mostly writing in his little notebook. I wondered if he was concerned about me, or if he just hated leaving the house that much. It could be both. Jin ensured I was awake for dinner, the only real meal we were able to have each day. By that metric, two days of my bedrest were just about over as dinner ended once again.

“Can I go to the MedLab tomorrow morning?” I whined as Namjoon helped me to lay back down once again after everyone had finished eating. I felt nasty. I had been unable to change or shower ever since the accident. Maybe once I got the doctor’s go-ahead to resume normal life, I’d be able to at least put on a new shirt. The one I was wearing was still stained with blood.

He looked down at me, his brows furrowed along with his frown, “I guess I can take you,” he was clearly apprehensive about the idea. As much as I appreciated being taken care of like this, the babying was starting to get on my nerves. When I continued to glare up at him, his face relaxed, “Okay, okay, we’ll go as soon as you wake up.”

Relieved, I let my eyes close yet again, “Thanks Namjoon,” I spoke with a heavy sigh. All I could do was hope the doctor could do something for me to get me back on my feet. I loved spending time with everybody, of course, but having to just stay still all that time was causing me to get anxious. I tried to just fall asleep again to get it over with, but for once, I was wide awake. When I opened my eyes again, I was surprised to find Yoongi was standing nearby. “Yoongi?”

“Hey,” he spoke low, his pale face tilted down to look at his feet. Taking a hesitant step forward, he gently sat at the very edge of my cot, it looked like he was uncomfortably close to slipping off of it. The way he was sitting reminded me of when I would go to high school sporting events in the summer, when I would ensure the minimum amount of made contact with the scalding how bleachers. It made me wonder why he was so afraid to be near me. Finally, he looked up, making eye contact with me. His small, coal eyes were sad, his naturally downturned eyelids accentuated by the alarmingly clear remorse on his face. I opened my mouth to cut him off, but he held up a hand to stop me. “I’m sorry, Zoey,” his deep voice was serious and quiet. His eyes wavered between mine as he was clearly having a hard time maintaining eye contact.

Despite his visible discomfort, I wasn’t about to let him stare at me with anguish in his eyes. “Yoongi,” I tried to sound confident and assertive, since apparently he felt neither. “It wasn’t your fault,” I stressed for probably the one hundredth time since the accident. No one in their right mind would blame Yoongi for what happened with the door.  Our only mistake was trying to tackle it on our own. That wasn’t something Yoongi had unilaterally decided on his own. I had been the one to bully him into spending more time with me. It was me who wanted to be his little helper. All I had wanted was to get a little closer to him.

“Zoey,” he countered me, inching closer to me on the cot, his voice dropping lower as only the right side of his lips moved as he practically whispered, “You literally just told me that you felt safe with me.” His dark eyes searched mine, clearly desperate for some sort of agreement.

“I do feel safe with you,” I replied simply. I wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted from me on that one.

He sighed, “You tell me you feel safe, and then the next day a door falls on your head,” he grumbled as he continued to speak, holding up a finger as he counted. He held up another finger before speaking again, “And before that, you came to me when you felt sick, and I made you inhale tons of concrete dust.”

I just sort of gaped at him for a moment. He’s really beating himself up about that? As I studied his face, I thought hard about how to convince him that I wasn’t a fragile little flower who needed babysitting. The last thing I wanted was for him to avoid me again because of some stupid fear he had about my heath. “First of all,” I finally spoke, once again trying to sound self-assured, “That’s not the kind of safety I meant, Yoongi.” I tried not to laugh as I said it. I had meant more along the lines of emotional and personal security, not an actual physical safety concern. “Secondly, you did help me in both of those situations,” I reminded him as I thought back to when he kept me company while sick. Sure, the concrete dust was horrible, and I’m pretty sure there were still traces of it on both us, but that had been the first time we had really gotten to know each other. I wouldn’t trade that memory for anything- concrete dust and all. And then I remembered waking up in Yoongi’s arms, my bleeding head resting securely on his shoulder. Even if it had been out of guilt, I was grateful that he cared for me. “And finally,” I spoke up again, “if you’re really worried about it, I’ll see if Hobie can score me a hard hat or something for when we hang out again.”

At long last, his sad puppy-dog eyes were hidden away as a heavy overbite grin quickly spread across his face. “I do miss having you bother me all day by my bed,” he said, his grin shifting into a large lopsided smirk. After a quiet moment of simply smiling at each other, he sighed a little, relaxing a bit as he shook his head, “You’re always so good at fighting me.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to fight me if you didn’t say such silly things,” I teased, speaking through a gentle laughter. He was right, of course, every time he tried to argue with me, I always found a way to effectively shut him down. But it was mostly because he only picked arguments on stupid terms.

He looked down at me, his face gentle and startlingly affectionate before his deep, smooth voice spoke, “You make me say silly things, sometimes.” I had been able to feel confident and even a little bit sassy just moments ago, but when he looked at me like that, I suddenly fell silent. My mind went totally blank, and I was rendered speechless. The trance was broken when he reached out, moving a strand of hair away from my face, gently placing it behind my ear as if it were made of glass. Yoongi gave me one more gummy smile before he moved to stand. “Get some sleep, America,” he whispered in my ear before turning and walking away.

When I was able to breathe again, it was sharp and sudden, as if I had forgotten how breathing even worked. What the hell was that? My mind was racing, my heart pounding, my face and neck on fire. Perhaps I had taken too much medication that day. Perhaps I was falling ill. Perhaps, I just really really needed to sleep. Perhaps… By some miracle, I managed to calm down just enough for my medication to knock me out.

I woke up quickly and suddenly the next morning, my mind still swimming, as if I hadn’t even slept at all. Managing to pull myself into a sitting position without too much discomfort, I instantly glanced over to Yoongi’s cot. He was unsurprisingly still asleep, fully covered in his dark grey wool blanket. As I scanned the room, I found that the only other person in the room that was awake was Namjoon, who was crouched by his bedside, rifling through a box of papers. He must have felt my gaze. Glancing over at me, a relatively small smile broke out over his face. The nature of Namjoon’s face, of course, meant even the tiniest smile was still wide, revealing his shallow dimples. “Good, you’re up,” he spoke just loud enough for me to hear. “Let’s get you in early before I get in trouble for something.”

He helped me up to my feet, which was quite the feat. I was grateful that I was both relatively small and Namjoon was quite strong. However, once I was standing, my head began to pound, my vision swimming. He began to let me go, but I quickly lashed out, gripping his forearm. “Namjoon,” I groaned, “I’m going to need help walking.” I hadn’t been on my feet for anything other than being escorted to the bathroom the past few days. The concept of walking suddenly felt very foreign.

“Oh right, of course,” he replied quickly, moving to my side. He s one of his arms around my waist, pulling me close as we began to walk slowly out the front door. “Let me know if you need a break,” he assured me softly, keeping his normally long strides short and slow for my sake. He did a fantastic job of supporting me as we walked down the familiar dirt path towards the MedLab. It was probably the first time that I was looking forward to going there, but even still, I was relieved. As we continued to walk, something caught my eye. “Namjoon,” I whispered urgently, “Look,” I pointed over near a little break in the trees where a giant black beast was stalking us.

Namjoon’s steps came to a sudden halt as he traced my gaze. Once he caught on to what I was staring at, he simply laughed and began to walk a