Jungkook barely registers the mild pain that accompanies collapsing onto the hardwood floor of the practice room.  His chest, ribs, face, and back all hurt too much for him to acknowledge anything else.  It hurts to breathe as well, and however unhelpful, he can’t help but panic.  He knows that he’s hyperventilating, in breath only to force it back out immediately.  It burns with every movement of his lungs, but the need to panic overshadows the pain as his oxygen supply gets cut down with each insufficient breath.  He barely notices when Taehyung leaves the room.  He practically forgets that he grabbed Taehyung in the first place.

It isn’t until Taehyung returns with a brown paper bag that Jungkook realizes how he must look.  Taehyung must be worried by the unexplained bruises and busted lip with a crazed and panic look in his eye, obviously ruffled as he breathes too quickly for adequate oxygen intake.  Taehyung brings the bag to Jungkook’s mouth, forcing him to breathe as the paper bag crinkles in response to Jungkook’s ventilation.  Jungkook presses the bag against his mouth, taking it from Taehyung.  It puffs out with each exhale only to be crushed again as Jungkook inhales once more.  As time goes on, the intervals between puffed and crushed grow further and further apart.

It takes a few minutes before Jungkook doesn’t need to breathe through the bag anymore, all the while Taehyung is using his hand to gesticulate taking deep breaths, pushing his hand out and drawing it back to his chest again, syncing up their breaths intentionally to bring Jungkook back to his sense.  Taehyung rubs small, calming circles on Jungkook’s upper back with his other hand as he takes deep breaths in sync with Jungkook.  He only stops when Jungkook finally lets his hand fall away shakily, dropping the paper bag from stiff fingers.

Jungkook is still trembling, as he looks Taehyung in the eyes.  Taehyung raises his hand as if to touch something, only to pull it back as he shakes his head.  “I’ll right back.”  Taehyung quietly reassures Jungkook as he pushes up to his feet.

Jungkook simply nods as Taehyung quietly leaves the room, off in search of what Jungkook assumes is a first-aid kit.  Jungkook crawls over to the side of the room, aware of the stinging pain in his palms as his freshly scraped skin presses against the hard surface of the floor.  Jungkook finally makes it to the wall faced with mirrors, settling against the cool glass.  The cold pressure feels nice against the bruises, even though it hurts him.  The kicks that he took to his back cause a nearly insufferable amount of pain.  Jungkook breathes heavily instead of whimpering; although it may seem silly, he doesn’t want to appear weak, especially in front of Taehyung; (an irrational part of him mind reminds him of his crush on Taehyung, the same part that believes expressing pain is a sign of weakness).  He thinks that if he can convince himself that it’s not that body, his body will obey his mind’s orders because pain is, after all, in his head.

Taehyung returns with a first aid kit in hand.  He sits down next to Jungkook, eyebrows knitted together in worry as he his lips nervously.  “Where are you hurt?”  His voice is low as though he thinks that speaking too loudly will make Jungkook’s bruises and cuts hurt even more.

Jungkook raises his hands to show Taehyung, not willing to tell Taehyung about his knees or his back or his ribs.  He knows that his skin didn’t break, so Band-Aids would be of no use.

Taehyung frowns, taking Jungkook’s hand as he says, “I’ll fix you up.”  He bends over pressing a chaste kiss on each of Jungkook’s palms, soft and plump lips brushing over the fine lines of his scrapes.  Jungkook’s heart stops as Taehyung sits back up, opening the first aid kit.

Jungkook’s mind is entirely blank even though his emotions are running wildly out of control.  Jungkook watches Taehyung take care of his wound, wincing as Taehyung runs a disinfecting wipe over his palms and the heels of his palms.  Taehyung mutters an apology as he takes out antibiotic ointment to apply on his scrapes. He uses the lightest of touches to protect Jungkook from infection, smearing ointment over the affected area evenly with the pad of his pointer finger.  He chooses to wrap Jungkook’s hand in gauze in lieu of a bandage because the scrapes are too large for the Band-Aids in the kit.  He takes his time, gently wrapping Jungkook’s hand in clean gauze with the perfect amount of tension in the bandages.

Taehyung finishes after a few minutes, looking up at Jungkook to smile briefly.  The triumphant smile falls off of his face quickly when he sees that Jungkook’s face is still battered, remembering that his work isn’t quite done.  Taehyung sighs, touching his pointer finger against the corner of Jungkook’s lips where bruise has begun to form from the punch to his face.  Taehyung leans forward, first kissing a blossoming blue bruise on his cheekbone, and then pressing his lips against the corner of Jungkook’s mouth.

Jungkook is frozen in shock; staring forward as his faces heats up from blush.  Taehyung doesn’t really seem to realize what he’s done to Jungkook; he just takes out another Band-Aid, peeling the wrapper away from the adhesive and putting the bandage on corner of Jungkook’s lips.  Taehyung’s fingers gently press against Jungkook’s swollen skin.  It strikes Jungkook as odd that he could do such a thing without much forethought or afterthought for that matter.

Taehyung begins to clean up the trash that has accumulated around them in the course of patching up Jungkook while Jungkook remains frozen.  Once he thaws out, he blurts out what’s on his mind, “I like you.”  It’s not at all how Jungkook imagined confessing, but the moment has already come and gone.  He thinks he might have said it quickly enough for the words to blur together into gibberish. Nothing, not even hope, can change that he has confessed, no matter how badly Jungkook wants to unsay it.

Taehyung looks up from the ground, pausing his trash collection, and offers a genuine smile, “I like you too.  Friends like each other.”

Jungkook’s heart, which had been soaring for a moment, falls flat.  Taehyung doesn’t get it, “No… that’s not what I…” Jungkook tries to start to explain himself but fails.

Taehyung tilts his head, eyes twinkling in confusion from Jungkook’s struggle.  Jungkook can hear his heart breaking, collapsing in on itself.  It’s painfully obvious that Taehyung hasn’t even spared a thought about them being anything more than what they are now.  Liking Jungkook in a romantic capacity isn’t even a possibility where Taehyung is concerned.  He doesn’t even know that he’s drawn the line, and Jungkook doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse.

Jungkook can feel tears stinging the edges of his eyes.  He pushes up, standing on shaky legs.  “I should go.  Namjoon and Jimin and everyone will be worried.”

Taehyung stands up, “I’ll—“ He begins, only to have Jungkook cut him off with his hand.

“I’ll see you later.” Jungkook whispers, walking out of the room while trying not to wince with every step.  The pain in his chest has doubled, but this time he is unsure of whether or not this wound will heal.  If it does, it will almost certainly leave a scar.

By the time that Jungkook manages to get on the bus, his tears have begun to fall quietly.  They burn his cheek, seeping from the corners of his eyes to slide over tender skin, dripping off of his face and landing on the gauze that Taehyung carefully wrapped around his hands.

By the time that he’s back home, struggling to stick the key into the deadbolt lock, he has run out of tears.  His face is stiff, and his eyes still burn even in the absence of tears.  He still has to deal with the emotional aftermath of an inadvertent rejection.  He walks in to find Jimin tending to Hoseok.  They both stare for a moment before abandoning the task at hand.

Jimin flings his arms around Jungkook and hugs him a little too tightly, but since it comes from a good place, Jungkook keeps himself from wincing or whimpering.  Namjoon isn’t back yet, but Hoseok promises that he made it out okay.  He says they just ran in opposite directions.  Hoseok is in worse shape than Jungkook in multiple senses; both Jungkook and Jimin both have the sense to make no comment as to why Hoseok’s retreat is still their couch.

___

Namjoon walks slowly, letting pain wash over him in waves.  He’s not sure where exactly he’s stumbling off toward, but he’s fine as long as it is away from the people that attacked them.

He’s disappointed that he didn’t get a good look at any of them, considering once he started winning against them they scampered away.    He’s glad that he managed to get Jungkook to run while he could.  He’s glad that Hoseok got away soon after.  He should be thankful that the attackers dissipated after Namjoon was the last one that they were fighting, but it doesn’t sit right with him.  Namjoon knows that he was just collateral, making his friends the targets of a particularly malicious set of criminals.  (Plus, there’s a small, paranoid thought in the back of his mind that fears the attackers might be going after Jungkook and Hoseok since they ran away from Namjoon.)

Although his walking pace is astoundingly slower than usual, he manages to make headway, ignoring the quiet scrape his shoe against the concrete of the sidewalk.  His limping is probably not as bad as Namjoon feels that it is, but Namjoon is convinced that anyone would be able to tell he’d been in a scuffle with a swift once-over.  His bones ache, and Namjoon can feel blood seeping from broken capillaries in his side to form a deep, dark bruise.

“Namjoon?” His name echoes off of the faces of buildings in the form a confused, worried question in a voice that Namjoon recognizes.

He turns in the direction of where his name originated to find Seokjin standing in place with a plastic bag in his hand.  It’s clear to Namjoon that Seokjin is in the middle of a midnight run to the grocery store, but the concern that’s painted on Seokjin’s face can be see from across the street.  Namjoon is frozen in place, unsure of what to think about the worry or the quickness with which Seokjin recognized him from a distance.

Seokjin jogs across the empty street, not bothering to walk the few meters to the crosswalk.  He brings himself to a stop in front of Namjoon, taking inventory of Namjoon’s cuts and bruises.  He straightens up, taking a quick breath, “Come with me.”

Although it’s phrased as a demand, there’s a quiet softness of a simple request behind the three words.  Seokjin checks Namjoon’s wrist before softly grabbing it to lead Namjoon to wherever.

It takes a few moments for Namjoon to realize where they’re going.  Seokjin is taking Namjoon home.  The buildings are vaguely familiar from the time that he delivered Seokjin’s purchase to his house.  Namjoon quietly allows himself to be lead, trying to stave off thoughts about Seokjin and his kindness and the fact that he’s about to be an invited guest of Seokjin’s.

Seokjin doesn’t converse much with Namjoon, in fact, there’s a nervous tension that knots Seokjin’s back.  Namjoon can tell by the way Seokjin’s shirt stretches across his back.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything to him until they’re safely in Seokjin’s with his door locked.  He turns on the light in the foyer where they stand and clears his throat, “The kitchen is that way.  You can wait there, and I’ll get some bandages or… something.”

Namjoon nods, quietly making his way to the kitchen.  He extends his arm to touch the wall in order to feel for the light switch.  His fingers make contact with the cold medal edge of the switch cover.  He presses on the broad switch, illuminating the kitchen with a small click.

It’s not anywhere near what Namjoon might have imagined.  It’s rather large, and there are too many appliances that he cannot name.  It’s well kept to the point where Namjoon thinks that it might be one of Seokjin’s points of pride.

Seokjin joins him in the kitchen with a box of bandages in one hand and bandages and medical tape in the other.  Seokjin sets the assortment of medical supplies on the counter.  Rubbing alcohol wipes and ointment appear on the counter; Namjoon isn’t sure from where Seokjin pulled them out.

Namjoon leans against the lip of the counter next to Seokjin as he sorts out what items he wants to use first.  Seokjin turns to look at Namjoon’s face, only to frown, “I’ll fix your face first.”  He murmurs tearing an alcohol wipe open.

Seokjin pauses, kissing the tips of his fingers before gently tapping them on the scrape that mars Namjoon’s cheek.  Seokjin explains himself immediately, “Sorry, it’s just my little brother always came home with scrapes and cuts.  It’s a tradition in a sense, maybe more of a superstition…” Seokjin shakes his head, "It's just something that I do."

Namjoon winces as Seokjin swipes the cool wipe over his exposed flesh, wondering if Seokjin’s rambling has an underlying cause or if this is just par for the course when he takes care of others.  Seokjin gently places a bandage over the cut.  He nods at his own work with a small smile.

“Take off your shirt.” Seokjin commands in a clear voice.

Namjoon complies, ignoring the shyness that wants to explode.  His shirt falls in a pile on the floor.  Seokjin takes a step back, looking at Namjoon’s body.  There isn’t any blush that floods Seokjin’s cheeks, but a soft gasp escapes his lips.  Seokjin extends his fingers slowly, softly touching the edge of the largest bruise that darkened the skin of his ribcage.

Seokjin lifts his gaze to met Namjoon’s, “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what happened?”  Seokjin looks hopeful but sad at the same time.  He smiles sadly, “I’m probably not the person that you want to… I mean I’m… I’m just a good customer.”

Namjoon wants to tell Seokjin that he’s so much more, but he opts for the truth, “We were jumped.” Namjoon whispers while maintaining eye contact with Seokjin.

Seokjin brings his eyes back down to Namjoon’s torso, trailing his fingers over the sore skin, checking for any open wounds, “Do they look worse?”

“I landed a couple good punches.” Namjoon brags lightly, trying to ease Seokjin’s mind.

Seokjin tilts his head as his fingers come across the ink tattooed onto the side of Namjoon’s ribcage.  “Bulletproof.” He murmurs, looking at the bulletproof vest that Namjoon has on his skin.

Namjoon chuckles softly, wincing at the pain of finding it amusing, “It’s not literal.”

Seokjin looks up, biting his lower lip, “Obviously.”  He rolls his eyes, taking a step forward.  He inhales, as if he has something else to add, but Seokjin gets caught in Namjoon’s eyes.  Whatever words had been on the tip of his tongue have been lost.

Namjoon can hear his own heart beating loudly, pounding against his bruised ribs cage.  As much as Seokjin is looking in Namjoon’s eyes, Namjoon is looking into Seokjin’s.  Namjoon can feel the tension building to the point where it’s unbearable for them to continue staring at each other.

Namjoon moves forward pressing his lips against Seokjin’s, letting his eyes slide shut at the feeling of Seokjin’s plush pink lips against his own.  Namjoon’s hands automatically find Seokjin’s hips, pulling him even closer.

Seokjin takes a moment to respond, and their one word kiss becomes a full on conversation.  It’s a short conversation because once Namjoon slips his tongue into Seokjin’s mouth, scraping the ball of his tongue piercing against the roof of Seokjin’s mouth, the latter pulls away.

Seokjin immediately looks down, biting his lips after he takes a deep breath.  Seokjin frowns, “I shouldn’t, I mean I can’t.” He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut at the last part of his declaration.

Namjoon quickly realizes that he doesn’t have the time to reel or rejoice, not that he should do either in the presence of Seokjin.  Namjoon nods, picking up his shirt.  Any words that he might have wanted to say in order to smooth the transition get caught in his throat.

He feels like he’s running away, and by the time that he’s out of Seokjin’s condo, he realizes that he is.  He walks out of the building, hailing a cab despite the fact that he does not have his wallet.  He’ll pay when he gets home, he thinks.

Namjoon doesn’t know whether or not it’s appropriate to cry or not.  He wants to a little bit, but for the most part, he needs to figure out what he wants to do about his relationship with Seokjin after a very clear rejection.

He might have had a moment in which his feelings were reciprocated, but Seokjin very clearly rejected him. Within the span of a cab ride, Namjoon figures out what he needs to do.  He advises himself as if he’s telling Jungkook or Jimin or even Hoseok what to do about their woes.  He decides that he’s going to sever any and all contact with Seokjin to allow himself to heal from the wound.  He’s going to give himself a clean break.

Namjoon asks that taxi driver to wait, while he collects the necessary fare.  He’s in the apartment for a second, ignoring the group of worried people waiting for him in the living room for the time being.  He’ll let them fawn over him and express their concern after he pays for his ride.  He just needs to breathe.

a/n: didn't proofread yet! wanted to get it out asap bc it's been a while.
*from a distance* is it okay?
this doesn't answer much, but here we are.
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okay ily. i'll proofread when i'm less tired~ <3