Over the next couple of days, not much changed. Mira had no luck finding Hobie’s records, and he remained tight-lipped about his injuries. The only information that he readily relinquished was that Jungkook was not harmed, and thus was safe to move as needed. His damage was all mental. While that should have been a relief, I would have preferred the opposite. Broken bones, illness, physical ailments all had definitive treatments. Severe mental trauma- especially in a mute patient like Jungkook- had no set guidelines. Instead, we all sat around day after day, staring at him in his wheelchair. He was completely dependent on Hobie to function. Hobie brought him to the bathroom; force fed him, and moved him in and out of his bed. Jungkook would not cooperate if any other hands reached for him, slouching helplessly and heavily in his chair. He never spoke, and never moved his face. He just sat, his plump lips slightly parted, revealing glimpses of his wide front teeth.

Hobie himself was wearing a mask. He wore his usual wide smile that pushed all the way to his prominent cheek bones, his eyes creased into little crescents. Even so, I wasn’t the only one to realize it was all a farce. We all walked on eggshells around him. If anyone tried to ask him what was going on, he would very quickly and very violently remind us that he was fine. He would be fine. He wasn’t hurt that bad, and he was happy to be safe. He was fine. “He’s definitely not fine,” I murmured to Taehyung one evening as the pair of us leaned on the kitchen counter, looking out at the warm sunset sky. It had been our turn to do the dishes, but as was usual, we lingered to hang out for a while. Usually we’d be able to talk about silly things or just enjoy some banter, but we both had been rather somber ever since the reunion.

Taehyung didn’t need to ask about whom I was speaking. As much as Hobie and Jungkook had been inseparable, Taehyung had done his best to be there at every moment. To everyone’s surprise and horror, Hobie had even lashed out at Taehyung on a few occasions- whenever he tried to pry. TaeTae looked at me with his deep chocolate eyes, narrow and downturned from the lack of sleep. His rusty brown hair was infringing on his brows, but even so, I could see them furrowing in irritation. He leaned heavily on the counter, propping himself on his elbow so he could turn to face me properly, “He’ll be okay.” He didn’t sound convinced. “He has to be okay,” he murmured quietly, turning his face away from me to pick at his fingers absently. I simply continued to watch him, staying silent. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if debating whether or not to continue speaking. Finally, his resolve broke as he let his hands fall to the counter. “I saved the extra bed in my room for him,” he began, timidly, his usually gruff, deep voice uncharacteristically meek. He continued to avoid my gaze as he continued, “But I’m scared. Usually we’d mess around and stuff,” he trailed off noncommittally, lifting a hand to gesture vaguely. “I mean,” he caught himself, finally looking up to meet my gaze, his usually narrow eyes wide as he stammered, “We often ended up sleeping together-“ Yet again, he stopped to sigh, the second innuendo less subtle than the first. “You know what I mean,” he finally breathed, wringing his hands gently.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him, “Yeah, yeah, get to the point.” It was fun to tease, but I could see the source of his concern. More often than not Taehyung was in someone else’s bed by morning back at the compound, and that someone was almost always Hobie, unless it was Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung all trying to pile up together. I had decided not to question anybody directly about the ambiguousness of any of those relationships, given how the high-stress environment of the compound caused all of us to behave in extreme ways. Even so, with the way Taehyung was talking about it, this was a rather long-standing arrangement.

Thankfully, he ignored my snide tone and continued as normal, “Well, he just hasn’t been willing to talk to me, let alone sit with me, or lay down with me.” Taehyung reached up to rub his face roughly with the heels of his hands out of frustration, mussing up his already tousled rust-brown hair, “Urgh, he won’t even tell me about his injuries,” he moaned quietly to himself. “I know he needs space and time and whatever,” he mumbled into his hands before letting them slide off, his mouth pulled even farther downturned than I had thought possible.

“It’s hard, I know,” I finished for him, trying to end his internal anguish. I wondered how much time Hobie needed. How much help he and Jungkook needed. We had no way of knowing. Were we responsible for seeking therapy or more professional mental help for our friends? I supposed that would fall on me, eventually. Inwardly, I willed for them to at least get functional soon so I wouldn’t have to jump to that. Nothing sounded quite as agonizing as reliving our entire time in captivity to some Los Angeles shrink. Taehyung and I sighed in unison, each in our own thoughts.

The muffled sound of multiple voices from the living room broke us both from our introspection, and we looked at each other for clarification. When neither of us had an answer, we made our way to the source, finding everyone else gathered in the room, facing the despondent wheelchair-bound Jungkook. Tae and I quietly slipped along the nearest wall, trying not to interrupt whatever was happening.

Unfortunately, the scene wasn’t unfamiliar. If I had to venture a guess, Jin had tried to help Jungkook in some way, and he was throwing a silent, emotionless tantrum. Taehyung and I had arrived just in time to witness Jungkook squirm so violently away from Jin’s helping hands; he fell out of his wheelchair. While we had confirmed that Jungkook was perfectly able to walk on his own, he seemed to refuse to do so. When he hit the ground in an ungraceful heap, Jin and Namjoon both jumped in to help, but yet again, Jungkook only wriggled away from them. Soon enough, Hobie arrived on the scene, pushing the two aside so he could reach his young friend. Immediately, Jungkook latched onto Hobie’s one good outstretched arm, knuckles white with the force of his grip. Hobie pulled Jungkook into his arms, murmuring into his ear before settling him back on the chair. “What happened to them?” I mused quietly to Taehyung beside me. I glanced over at my companion, only to find his jaw clenched and his mouth pulled down into an unsettled frown.

Hobie carefully made sure Jungkook was properly situated in his wheelchair, replacing him at the center of the room before taking a few steps back, standing alone near the front door, his half-bandaged face shielded in the shadows. “I’m surprised he didn’t insist on rooming with Kookie,” Taehyung grumbled, his eyes his lonely, lurking friend.

I recalled my late-night conversation with Hobie the night they came home, offering Taehyung a small smile, “He wanted to room with you, Tae. Don’t worry about that.” Hobie had seemed relatively okay that night, but it was apparent that it had been a strong front to put us at ease. Even so, when he found out that Taehyung had been saving that spot for him, his joy had been genuine.

“Alright,” Namjoon grumbled as he stood from his spot on the couch in the living room, approaching Jungkook’s chair as he ran a hand nervously through the rather lengthy bleach-blonde hair on the top of his head. He squatted in front of his unresponsive brother, resting his forearms on his knees as he looked up into Jungkook’s expressionless face. “Jungkook,” he spoke firmly, as speaking to a young child, “We’re all here. This is where we live now, we’re safe.” Jungkook’s dark eyes slid slowly to meet Namjoon’s. I was able to catch his gaze flick up to Namjoon’s blonde, styled hair before settling back into nothingness. At least Hobie had been able to cut Jungkook’s hair to a semi-reasonable length again. Still, he seemed yet unaffected by Namjoon’s plea.

Hobie fidgeted, taking a small step forward, “Namjoon, please.” When all eyes landed on him, he visibly recoiled, swallowing before speaking again, “There’s no way you could understand…”

“Of course I can’t understand!” Namjoon snapped, wheeling around as he stood to face Hobie, his wide, smooth face interrupted by the creases of his glower.