Jimin

Both Namjoon and Jungkook spring to their feet when I round the corner to the waiting room.

”How is he?” Namjoon signs.

“Better. He’s awake now.”

Namjoon nods, and Jungkook is looking back and forth between us.

“The doctor says the alcohol and dehydration probably caused him..”  I stop signing, because Namjoon’s lips are pressed into a firm line as he watches my explanation.

“Verbalize for him,” I sign, nodding my head toward Jungkook.

Namjoon turns and looks at Jungkook, then refocuses his attention on me. “This doesn’t concern him,” he signs silently.

What the hell is his problem?

“He’s worried about Yoongi, Namjoon. It does concern him. Now, verbalize what I’m saying for him.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “He’s not here for Yoongi, Jimin. He doesn’t care how Yoongi’s doing. He’s only worried about you.”

I bury my anger, then slowly step forward and stand directly in front of him. “Verbalize for him. Now.”

Namjoon sighs but doesn’t turn toward Jungkook. He stares straight at me as he both signs and verbalizes for us. “Jimin says Yoongi’s okay. He’s awake.”

Jungkook’s entire body relaxes as his hands go to the back of his head and relief washes over him. He says something to him, and he closes his eyes, takes a quick breath, then opens them.

“Jungkook wants to know either of you need anything. From the apartment.”

I look at Jungkook and shake my head. “They’re keeping him overnight to monitor his blood sugar. I’ll come by tomorrow if we need anything. I’m staying a few days at his house.”

Namjoon verbalizes again, and Jungkook nods.

“You two head back and get some rest.”

Namjoon nods. Jungkook steps forward and gives me a tight hug, then backs away.

Namjoon begins to turn toward the exit, but I grab his arm and make him look at me again. “I don’t know why you’re upset with him, Namjoon, but please don’t be a jerk  to him. I’ve done that enough already.”

He nods, and they turn to leave. Jungkook looks back over his shoulder and smiles a painful smile. I turn and walk back to Yoongi’s room.

The head of his bed is slightly raised now, and he looks up at me. There’s an IV drip in his arm, replenishing his fluids. His head slowly rolls across his pillow as his eyes follow me across the room.

“I’m sorry,” he signs.

I shake my head, not even remotely wanting or needing any type