The paper is from the nurse, thin and lined, already a bit stained by the ink marks on his hand. And the surface of the bed is too soft and bumpy for drawing, the pencil sinking in sometimes, making the lines shakier than he would've preferred. Taehyung doesn't mind though. The sketch is taking shape, an ominous sculpted face with hollow shining eyes and hair of snakes entwined on dying branches. A bird spreads its wings on the forehead. Taehyung paid special attention to the wings, sketching each feather out carefully, smudging the edges with his finger for a sense of movement.

It’s a copy of the book cover beside him, the title Demian resting right beneath the mythical face. Taehyung found it in the games room under a pile of old Harlequinn novels, and the cover spoke to him. He never got past the first two pages of the book, but the sketching turns out to be much more enjoyable. Therapeutic almost, numbing the mind better than all the medication he's received at rehab. But today is different, his thoughts are scattered, filled with random thoughts drifting in and out.

Mostly about him.

He comes once a week, usually on a Saturday afternoon, after the sun has finally reached the window to his bedroom, basking everything in warm wintery rays.

On those days, Taehyung would get a little stir crazy, thinking about ditching this whole rehab thing once and for all. Run back to the streets, never to see him again. The thought of freedom is reassuring, reminding him that he's not here against his will, but willingly, a benificiary to the kindness of a stranger.

Taehyung’s hand twitches.

Bull.

There’s no freedom. Choices in life are reserved for the privileged, not for people like him. He tried to leave a few times already, walking out when the front desk isn’t paying attention, signaling to hitchhike down the road up front. But upstate New York is not an easy place to navigate, barely a few cars that would go by, usually just trucks distributing goods to the small towns sprinkled about the endless rolling hills. And the thought of going back to the city repulses him, even the hitchhiking car heading south makes him break into cold sweats. It was all a hellish haze - people with monstrous grins, and phantom pain slicing deeper than his flesh.

Taehyung rubs on his arm absently, feeling the tiny bumps of each scar and bruise. There's a blue pen sketch on his thin wrist, of the outline of a butterfly.

Not again, not for a while. In the end Taehyung always wanders back to the rehab, smiling at the staff sheepishly and collapsing into bed, luxuriating in falling asleep somewhere safe.

This won't last, you know - the voice pipes up in his head, matter of factly and to the point - he'll want something from you, or worse yet, he'll forget you. you'll be back on the street living off all your nasty tricks in no time. 

Taehyung’s hand slips and the pencil cuts a glaring line across the sketch.

Tsk tsk tsk, ruined it now.

Shut up. Whatever. “...don’t need this place... fine back there -”

Taehyung snaps back, voice piercing through the silence in the room feebly. He throws the pencil away and pushes the paper to the side roughly. The need comes creeping back, crawling up his tense limbs, making him shiver. His hands dig into his hair, grasping and tangling, willing for the sensation to go away. But it looms over him, the craving for something numbing and overwhelming, to make the world disappear even just for a fleeting moment. It will always be a part of him, settled in a dark corner in his heart, wandering out at the first sight of vulnerability.

ing pathetic.

Just as he closes his eyes and curls up in bed, retracting into himself, a quiet knock on the door startles and gives him pause.

“Taehyung?” The gentle voice is faraway, yet his heartbeat quickens, as the cloud on his mind dissipates. 

He gulps and whispers, “C- come in.”

The door creaks open. Black wool coat, stern profile, warm eyes. The sparsely furnished room is suddenly filled with Jeongguk’s presence, and Taehyung can’t look away.

There's a strap over Jeongguk’s shoulder - an old acoustic guitar, with small scratches on the body and neck.

Taehyung blurts out, “But it’s not Saturday.”

Jeongguk raises a brow, “Well, it’s the day before Christmas.”

“Oh, well...” Taehyung stammers, “Don’t you have better places to go to then? Hang out with the fam or something?”

“They’re away, we don't really do holidays anyways.” Jeongguk sets the guitar down by the wall, and drapes his coat over the chair under the window. He’s wearing a beige turtleneck underneath, simple and soft looking.

Taehyung eyes the brown paper bag in his hand and sniffs, “Is that what I think it is?”

Jeongguk responds with a smile, small but genuine, eyes crinkling. He holds up the brown bag, letting the logo show - Shake Shack, “Figured you might be missing fast food.”

Taehyung gives him a thumbs up, “Good thinking, old man.”

A frown, “You know you could just call me by my name.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, but steps over to join him at the table by the window, folding his legs over the seat and slacking his torso against the back.

Jeongguk retracts the bag’s contents onto the table one by one: two griddled cheeseburgers with potato rolls, two large fries, a Coke and a milkshake. “The ride was long so the food is probably cold, and I wasn't sure what drink you would want.”

Taehyung rips open the wrapping and chomps down greedily, “Damn, merry Christmas to you too.” The intoxicating fragrance of burger and fries explodes in the room. Both his hands are soon stained with sauce and dripping grease, but he doesn't even bat an eye. He half kneels onto the chair, not caring that a few drops of ketchup land on his pajama pants.

Jeongguk reaches for the milkshake for a sip, “At the rate this place is charging, you'd think they at least feed you.”

“They do -” Taehyung slurs with mouth full of food, “it's just, well, boring rich people .” At St. Jude, each meal is freshly made upon ordering, the indoor pool is heated in winter, and all the rooms have high ceilings, elegant wainscoting and a cozy fireplace. Even someone like Taehyung can tell, that this is understated wealth at its best. But why does it all feel... bland, like the artfully arranged food entirely devoid of the pleasurable assault of salt and grease.

It's fine, just a short stop anyways. Taehyung grabs the milkshake for a giant gulp. Vanilla, go figure, he makes a silly face.

“Oh yes…” he slurps it down greedily until the freeze shoots up his brain, “Agh too fast, too fast!”

Jeongguk stares, as Taehyung spits all the milkshake out of his mouth, making a mess everywhere, “Did you just spit the milkshake back through the straw…”

“It hurts man. What else was I suppose to do." Taehyung retorts insolently, and shakes his head befode going back to tackle the burger.

Jeongguk pushes his own food away, and stands up to wipe the splatter off milkshake, “How are things anyways? I hear you like to take random walks.” 

Taehyung blinks, but eventually shrugs, feet dangling off the chair, “It’s nice out, I like it. Why, what's it to you?” His gaze slides across Jeongguk’s profile, assessing.

Jeongguk’s torso pauses next to his, “The doctor prefers if you stay here for the time being. If you want to ditch later, that's fine, at least finish the treatment so it's not a waste.”

Taehyung crumbles up the empty wrapper and wipes his greasy hands on his pants. He gets up and settles back into bed, “Don’t worry, I'll be gone soon enough either way. Why do you care? Who are you, my parent?”

Jeongguk cleans up the table, gaze averted, “I'm… a friend. I want to help until you’re on your feet again.”

Taehyung doesn't admit it, but the calmness in Jeongguk’s voice eats away at his defensiveness, making him feel juvenile.

“You know you’re still weak, just one more month, give yourself one more month here and then you can do whatever you want.” Jeongguk adds.

Taehyung tries to laugh it off but an awkward little scoff pushes out instead. 

A hush settles in the room. Jeongguk grabs the guitar by the wall and gestures at the spot beside Taehyung, “May I?”

Taehyung nods and fidgets with the hem of his shirt, as the edge of the mattress sags with the weight of another. Jeongguk’s shoulders are broader than they appear from a distance, and he smells faintly of fresh shampoo and cedar. He tilts the guitar and strums out a chord.

“I've had this for a while now, figured you are probably bored here and could use some distraction.” He speaks plainly, and plays a few more notes while adjusting the strings.

Taehyung clears his throat, “As if I would know how to play a guitar.”

Jeongguk looks at him thoughtfully, then slowly, a melody drifts out from under his fingers.

The chords start out simple enough, but the sound reverberates in the room and calms Taehyung’s frazzled mind. When Jeongguk starts to sing under his breath, Taehyung’s eyes widen, and his heart stirs.  

Love of mine
Someday you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

When Jeongguk finishes, he rests his hands on the guitar with a tinge of shyness in his eyes, looking decidedly out of character. Taehyung gulps, cheeks flushing, “That was not too bad, I guess." 

The tips of Jeongguk’s ears turn red, and he hands Taehyung the guitar, “Haven’t played for so long, getting rusty. But it really is very simple. I can bring you some music sheets next time, and there are lots of online videos .”

Taehyung’s fingers tremble around the guitar. Flustered like a kid with a brand new toy, he tries to imitate the way Jeongguk holds the guitar, “Easy my , if you thought I could just learn by myself off some stupid online instruction -"

“Here-” Jeongguk interrupts his self-deprecating ramble and reaches over, correcting his hold and positioning each finger for the chord, “-bend your knuckles and get closer to the fret.”

Despite the intimate position, Jeongguk keeps his distance and stays just out of contact. Taehyung smirks mischievously and leans his whole torso into him, grabbing his hand towards the strings, "Show me, show me."

Jeongguk rips his hand out of Taehyung's grasp and gives him a reprimanding glare, "You were doing just fine right there. Focus or I'm taking the guitar back."

Taehyung rolls his eyes, but hands clutch onto the guitar, not letting go. The thought of learning to play music is so enticing. The chance to learn something pretty and pleasant, anything at all.

“Now hold still and strum with your other hand.” Jeongguk commands, body stiff and next to his yet maintaining the tiniest gap between the two.

Taehyung tries twice before finally producing a chord. He squeals happily and holds onto the guitar tighter.

“Ok now press your fingers on these two spots instead and play again.”

Taehyung steals a glance a Jeongguk’s face next to his - attentive eyes, dark determined eyebrows peeking through ruffled hair, and a faint scar on his left cheek. Time has been kind to him, even the crinkles around his eyes are endearing in their own ways. This guy may seem intimidating to some, but Taehyung has seen so much ugliness on the street, people filled with insatiable greed and dark selfish needs, Jeongguk looks like nothing but a paper tiger to him. Tightly wounded, and really no fun sometimes, but even his frosty exterior can't hide the kindness within.

He shifts his focus back onto the guitar in hand, and learn a second chord, pressing his fingers hard on the strings, and making sure not to touch the ones above or below. The guitar responds with a deep resonating note.

Jeongguk turns towards him and compliments casually, “Sounds good, you’re a quick learner.”

Taehyung grins and fails at trying to remember the last he was complimented in a genuine way. 

The rest of the afternoon passes by quickly, as Jeongguk teaches him to switch between basic chords, and play a few simple tunes. Taehyung gets to sing a little too, long forgotten songs from his childhood, when grandma used to sing him to sleep. But secretly, he enjoys listening to Jeongguk more, humming melodies with an airy voice that loosens his shoulders.

By the time dusk paints the sky orange and dusty rose, and Jeongguk leaves to drive back to the city, the voice in Taehyung’s heart betrays him and wishes for the visit to last just a little longer. He never gets the chance to tell Jungguk that this, despite all the uncertainties and unspoken things, has been the best Christmas Eve he's ever had.

------

Another month finally passes. On the day of Taehyung’s check-out, the nurses and doctors throw him a little celebration, with colorful balloons and homemade cupcakes for all the clients to share. As Taehyung the purple icing off his cupcake and chats with the nurses animatedly, he sees the familiar silhouette by the main entrance and smiles. There's not much luggage besides the guitar, just a few t-shirts and toiletries fitting neatly in the small tote bag someone left behind at the center. As Jeongguk works on the paperwork at the front desk, Taehyung goes outside to wait.

It's cold, the landscape filled with bare branches and desolate hills. The wind cuts through the opening of his worn out denim jacket, but somehow, it feels liberating. And scary.

Freedom.

He's been medically cleared of all the addictions for now, and even though he still can't walk for very long, strength is seeping back into his limbs. And it's comforting to shut off some of the obsessive dialogues looping in his head. The occasional tranquility is both exhilarating and scary.

What to do when you have nothing left to hide behind, to blame all your flaws and weakness upon? What to do when all you have left is yourself.

He walks towards Jeongguk’s pearl white Range Rover, leaning against its side to shield from the wind.

It should feel so natural by now, being alone, he's never lived any other way, really. But sometimes, inexplicably, it's still the hardest thing to do. The fear and self loathing plague him in the quiet hours, worse than any punch he's ever received.

His breath turns ragged, as white blotches swim in his vision. Deep breath, deep breath. Taehyung closes his eyes and resists the fear surging in his heart. The past, like a monster lurking in the shadows, threatens to take over at any moment.

“Ready?” The voice from behind startles him. He turns around and sees Jeongguk walking towards him.

Taehyung’s voice comes out a bit shaky, “Where to?”

Jeongguk looks at him thoughtfully, “Back to the city I suppose, or is there somewhere else you prefer to go?”

“The city sounds good, I called a friend a few days ago, could probably crash there.” He responds hesitantly, squeezing his hands together and twisting them uncomfortably. Except that friend is a dealer that never called back and will probably ask for something in return for his stay, but Taehyung pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind. He adds, “And if that doesn’t work out, I’ll find something. Bet you can't wait to get rid of me." He flashes a careless grin.

Jeongguk opens the car door for him without another word.

From the rear view mirror, Taehyung watches as the tiled roof of the rehab centre slowly recedes and disappears. He tries to not think about the city, but panic is setting in, making his hands clammy and body shiver. Fumbling through the tote bag, he finds the small white bottle of benzodiazepines pills. As he gulps one down, a hand touches his arm lightly from the driver’s seat, “Doing ok?”

Taehyung looks up and shifts his legs, “Yeah, of course. Good thing we’re leaving, couldn’t stand that stupid place.” The lies tumbles out somewhat convincingly, but the words trail off. His mind spins weakly, trying in vain to remember how many pills he’s popped since waking up.

Taehyung thumbs at the the handle of the tote bag, and feels Jeongguk’s hand retracting from his arm.

They sit in silence, as the car passes by barren farm hills and patches of birch forests. Jungkook turns on the radio and switches through the channels, finally stopping at a melancholic jazz tune that slows down the ticking time. Melodic piano notes, a nostalgic female voice, and some soulful trumpet that make Taehyung’s ears perk up.

“Chet Baker.” Jeongguk mumbles seemingly to himself, eyes staying on the road.

Taehyung wants to say something insolent but swallows the thought. Something about the music, easing the anxiousness within, shrouding the wintery landscape in magic. The trumpet and vocal weave in and out of each other, like an intricate dance that zigzags in mysterious ways.

Weariness gradually takes over. His eyelids are drooping, the music sliding into his subliminal mind as he curls up into the seat. Maybe the pills are finally working, Taehyung muses and slips into sleep.

When his eyes snap open again, the car is crawling slowly through a long tunnel, the glaring florescent light making him squint. Back in Manhattan, he sighs. There’s a wool coat on him, keeping him warm. It’s thick and comforting in its weight, the lining silky against Taehyung’s skin. He should probably sit up, give the coat back and pick a random corner to get ditched at. But instead, Taehyung chooses to cling onto the coat and soak in the faint cedar scent, waiting, for Jungkook to eventually pipe up. Denial, something he’s perfected over the years. Taehyung works on steadying his breath and hiding the anxiety bubbling up again on the inside.

They meander through the streets of midtown Manhattan. There's snow again in the city, muddled on the street by tire tracks and footprints. Taehyung feels his heart in his throat as they finally stop in front of a brownstone house on a tree-lined street.

The silence is stifling. Jeongguk hesitates but finally speaks, not looking at Taehyung, “There’s a guest room in the basement with a separate entrance, it's pretty basic but Jimin can get you some necessities if you ask him…”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow and interrupts, “Wait - is this… your house? You want me to live here?”

Jeongguk answers, voice strained and a little nervous, “Look, honestly, I’m not sure what to do either. Don’t want to kick you to the curb while you’re still recovering. You can either stay here or I drop you off somewhere else, whatever you want.”

Another pause. Taehyung finally pipes up, head tilted, eyes probing, “Let me get this straight, you want me to stay - here? But what do you want in return, what you get out of this, old man?"

Jeongguk turns in his seat to look directly at him, brows knitted, “Honestly, I don’t how to convince you, that I’m not asking anything from you. A place to stay, for a week or whatever, until you get back on your feet. It’s probably much safer than any other option you pretend to have. I suggest you take it.”

Jeongguk’s words are resolute. As if making up his mind, he presses his lips tightly and adds, “If it makes you feel better, we don’t ever have to see each other again. The basement suite has its own entrance, and Jimin’ll help you settle in. You can give him the key whenever you leave.”

Taehyung is silent. The creased lines on Jeongguk’s forehead irritate him. But he remains tongue-tied, blinking his eyes and looking away to rid of the sense of aggravation.

Don’t ing ruin it, it’s a place to stay. And what can he possibly ask that you haven't done before. Just another stranger, no more. 

When Taehyung finally responds, his voice is abrasive, and the smile on his face stiff and broken, “As you wish. I’ll be out of your way in no time."