The trees finally broke.

Just past the edge of the thickest fog, something loomed-dark, massive, and half-sunken into the woods like it'd been forgotten by time.

An old factory.
Rust-eaten. Windowless. Faint outlines of broken signage clinging to cracked cement walls.

Jungkook paused at the edge of the lot, breath curling out in pale ribbons. His shirt stuck to him like a second skin. Every part of him was cold---deep cold. That kind of chill that sinks past your muscles and settles in your bones.

From somewhere in the distance, a low animal growl echoed---maybe a wild dog, maybe something worse.

He clicked his tongue. "Great. Die to hypothermia or get eaten. Love the options."

Up ahead, he caught movement.

The guy---still walking. Heading into the factory like he owned the place. No hesitation. No look back. Just a blur of pale shirt slipping through a broken metal door.

Jungkook stared after him, teeth gritted. His instincts screamed to walk the other way. Leave. Get far, far away from the freak with a death wish and a god complex.

But logic... logic said he'd freeze out here. His soaked clothes weren't helping. His muscles already ached, and he was barely feeling his fingers. Wandering around any longer in this fog was asking to get lost.

So, as much as it made his skin crawl, he muttered, "Fucking hell," under his breath and followed the guy through the rusted opening.

Not because he wanted to.
Because he didn't have another choice.

The inside of the factory was exactly as miserable as Jungkook expected---maybe worse.

The air was thick with dust, every breath feeling like he was inhaling sandpaper. Old cobwebs hung in heavy strands from broken beams and twisted metal overhead, and the cracked concrete floor was littered with rusted scraps and shattered glass.

Jungkook coughed, pulling the damp collar of his shirt up over his mouth, eyes darting around instinctively.

And there he was.

A few meters away, sitting on the floor like a fucking corpse, back slumped against the crumbling wall.

The freak.
The psycho.

Completely unmoving. Like part of the ruins. Like he belonged here among the broken shit and the dust.

No reaction to the freezing cold.
No reaction to the suffocating air.
Nothing.

Jungkook's feet moved before he could really think about it. Step after step, slow, heavy, cautious. He stopped in front of the guy, looming over him.

The guy's eyes were closed.

Dead still.

Jungkook frowned, shoving his hands deep into his wet pockets.
"Slept that quick, huh?" he muttered, voice rough. "Figures."

Somehow, it made him even angrier.

How the hell could he sleep? Here?

Jungkook stayed standing there, breathing through his nose, trying to ignore the small, ugly twist in his gut. Because no matter how much he hated this freak---hated the night, the cold, the fucking water still dripping from his hair---
there was something about seeing him like this that didn't sit right either.

Not dead.
Not yet.
Just... barely alive in the middle of nowhere.

Jungkook clicked his tongue and shook his head, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes for a second before dropping them heavily into his lap.

This freak didn't deserve space in his brain. Definitely not after nearly getting him killed.

Still, there he was.

Jungkook sat back against the opposite wall with a dull thud, legs stretched out, letting out a long, tired breath that didn't make him feel any lighter. His wet clothes clung to his skin, and his hair stuck in messy strands across his forehead.

He ran a hand through it roughly, trying to shake off the heaviness pressing down on him.

But his eyes... kept drifting.

To him.

The guy hadn't moved once. Still slumped there against the wall like a puppet with cut strings, breathing slow and shallow, lashes resting against pale cheeks.

Jungkook's gaze dropped lower without meaning to.

His Adam's apple bobbed slightly with each breath, thin and sharp under the skin. Below that, the fabric of his shirt---already torn and clinging damply to his body---had slipped lower across one side, exposing a clean line of collarbone.

The missing buttons left the top of his chest half-open, a thin stretch of skin catching what little broken light leaked through the factory roof.

Jungkook stared longer than he should've, something ugly twisting inside him that he couldn't name.

Maybe it was anger.

Maybe it was just exhaustion.

Either way, he tore his eyes away with a scowl and leaned his head back against the wall, letting it thunk there with a dull thud.

"Fucking mess," he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes.
Even with his head leaned back and eyes shut, Jungkook found himself cracking one open.

And just like a goddamn magnet, his gaze drifted straight back to him.

Back to the freak passed out against the wall, soaked to the bone, shirt slipping further off his shoulder with every shallow breath.

Jungkook's eyes darkened slightly, something low and restless curling in his gut. He told himself it was irritation.
Yeah, irritation.
Because no matter how much he tried to look away, his eyes kept dragging lower.

Across that stretch of exposed collarbone.
Down the lines of his chest where the torn fabric clung.

But it wasn't just the skin that caught his attention this time.

Jungkook squinted, leaning forward without thinking, eyes narrowing as he tried to focus through the shit lighting and foggy breath still hanging in the air.

There-

A mark.
No. A line.
A cut.

Running right down the center of the guy's chest. Long, thin, too straight to be random.

It started at the hollow between his chest line and disappeared lower beneath the folds of the ruined shirt, blocked by the remaining buttons still clinging there.

Jungkook's brows furrowed.

It didn't look fresh. Didn't look like an injury from tonight.

It was too clean. Too deliberate.
Like... surgical.

The thought unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain.

What the fuck kind of life did this freak come from?

Jungkook's fists flexed unconsciously on his thighs.

He should've left. Should've ignored him.
But instead, he kept staring, piecing together a puzzle he never asked to find.

He didn't know what it was.
Didn't know if he wanted to.

It wasn't normal, that much was obvious.
But then again, nothing about this freak was.

Jungkook dragged his eyes away with a grunt, sitting back against the wall again, rubbing a hand roughly over his face.

He wasn't here to figure him out.
He wasn't here to save him anymore either.

He was here because he had no other fucking choice.

The air hung heavy between them, cold and damp. The only sound was their breathing---the steady rhythm of two idiots trapped somewhere between the past and the future, with no idea how to get back to either.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut.
He'd rest. For a little.
Then when the sun came up---he'd get the hell away from this nightmare.

From the freak.
From tonight.
From everything.

If only he could make it through this night.

Jungkook gritted his teeth, hunching his shoulders tighter as the cold sank deeper, gnawing through what little warmth he had left. His wet clothes clung like ice sheets, and every gust of wind felt like knives against his skin.

The noises around them didn't help either.

The endless chirp of insects, the distant, eerie crack of tree branches shifting somewhere in the fog-
every little sound jabbed at his nerves, kept him from even pretending to relax.

He let out a low, frustrated growl under his breath, dragging his hand through his hair again and sitting up straighter.

His eyes shifted automatically toward the freak slumped against the wall.

Still there.
Still unmoving.
Still looking like he didn't have a care in the world.

Jungkook frowned.

The guy didn't even flinch at the cold. Didn't react to the eerie sounds, the fog, the broken-down hellhole they were stuck in.

For a second, a stupid thought slipped into Jungkook's head before he could stop it.
Is he even alive?

Without thinking, Jungkook slid a little closer. Quietly. Carefully. Instinct more than decision.

He crouched beside him, breath ghosting out in a white cloud, studying him closer now that they were only a foot apart.

The guy's skin was even paler up close, almost translucent under the broken light leaking through the ceiling.
His lips were tinged blue.
Breathing shallow---barely noticeable.

Jungkook's chest tightened in a way he didn't like.

The freak looked like a corpse.

And just as Jungkook leaned a little closer, his body tense-

The guy's eyelids fluttered open.

Slow. Heavy.

Those damn monolids blinked once---slow and lazy---before fixing straight on Jungkook.

Their eyes locked.

For a minute that stretched too long, too thick, like the air itself went heavy between them.

Jungkook forgot about the cold, about the ache in his muscles, about the dirt under his palms.

Forgot about the punch he threw and the bridge and the water and every reason he should've hated him.

All he could see was those dead, shimmering eyes pulling him in again---
quietly, slowly---
like drowning.

Jungkook's trance snapped the moment the guy blinked again---slow, tired, like it took effort to even do that much.

Reality crashed back in hard.
Too close.

Their faces were barely inches apart.
His own body practically caging the guy in against the wall.

Jungkook's eyes widened slightly before he groaned under his breath, dragging himself back with a sharp pull. He sat down heavily just a few inches away, running a rough hand down his face.

What the fuck is wrong with me.

He didn't even realize when the hell he'd moved that close. Didn't remember crawling forward like some idiot drawn into something he didn't even want to understand.

The guy didn't react.
Didn't say a damn thing.

Just quietly let his eyes drift shut again, head tipping gently back against the wall like Jungkook wasn't even there.

Good.

Jungkook clicked his tongue quietly, settling a little further back, still wiping his damp palms against his pants. He wasn't in the mood to hear more of that polished, highbrow bullshit he liked to spout anyway.

The plan was to move farther.
Find space.
Get the hell away before he did something even stupider than tonight already was.

But... he didn't.

His body stayed locked there, heavy and unmoving, like the air itself had thickened around him.

And when he glanced sideways again---just for a second---he caught it.

That weird pull.
Like gravity shifted between them.

The guy didn't move, didn't even breathe properly, but somehow, it still felt like he was dragging Jungkook in without lifting a single damn finger.

Like some fucking magnetic.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, glaring at the broken floor ahead like it was personally responsible for this mess.

Just till morning, he told himself.
Then I'm gone.

That was final.
One night.

Just this goddamn cursed night, and then he was done.
Gone.
Ghost.

God forbid he ever crossed paths with this freak again.

Jungkook let out a slow, rough sigh and let the back of his head thump against the cold wall behind him. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to focus on anything else---anything but the fact he wasn't alone in this decaying, half-dead place.

He told himself the guy's presence wasn't a bother.
He could pretend.
Pretend he wasn't aware of the steady breathing a few feet away. Pretend he wasn't hyperaware of every tiny shift the guy made.

He sat there, pretending.
Until, of course, he fucking wasn't.

Jungkook's eyes cracked open again, almost involuntarily.

And there he was.

Still in the same spot, slumped against the wall like a forgotten thing.

Now that Jungkook actually looked---really looked---it was almost pitiful.

The freak's soaked shirt clung to him like a second skin, torn at the seams, exposing too much pale skin to the biting cold. His chest barely rose with each breath. He looked half-frozen, fragile even, like he could just... shut down at any second.

And even Jungkook, with all his anger, his exhaustion, felt something twist uncomfortably low in his gut.

His eyes dropped lower without thinking.

To the ground.

Something flickered in the edge of his vision---something darker against the cracked concrete.

Jungkook's gaze sharpened, focus narrowing.

It was blood.

Thin, faint, but unmistakable.

Trailing from the guy's bare feet.

He frowned hard, sitting up a little. His gaze traced the lines back-over torn soles, small cuts and scrapes open along the skin.

Jungkook shifted where he sat, trying to shake off the creeping chill, but his eyes dragged downward again.

And that's when he really saw it.

The guy's feet-bare, torn up---weren't just scraped.
They were bleeding. Badly.

The skin along the soles and toes was ripped open in ugly, raw patches, smeared with dirt and dark streaks that had dried half against the cold concrete. Thin trails of blood led away from where he sat, like he'd been dripping it all the way through the building without even slowing down.

It wasn't a few scratches.
It was bad.

The kind of bleeding that, if he kept it up, would freeze in his veins before morning.

Jungkook's frown deepened, stomach twisting.
How the hell was he even sitting there like that? Silent. Still. Like it didn't even hurt.

The cuts weren't clean either. Jagged. Rough. Like he'd been walking over broken glass for miles and never thought to stop.

Jungkook's fingers flexed uselessly at his sides.

He hadn't even noticed before.
Had been too pissed, too focused on surviving himself.

Now that he was paying attention, the sight sat wrong in his chest. Heavy. Tight.

The guy wasn't just cold.
He was wrecked.

And he wasn't doing a damn thing about it.
Wasn't even awake enough to.

Jungkook clicked his tongue, looking away, back to the ruined ceiling above them.

This wasn't his fucking problem.

He told himself that. Again and again.

But for some reason...
he still hadn't moved away.

Until he did.

Something in him just snapped.

Without giving himself time to think-or regret it---Jungkook shoved himself forward, crossing the distance in a few steps. His hands moved fast, almost rough, grabbing the guy's ankle and lifting his foot off the cold ground.

The guy flinched, a small jolt running through him, but he didn't pull away.
Didn't say a word.

Just stared down at Jungkook with that same deadpan, unreadable look, like he couldn't care less what was happening. Like even now, even with Jungkook holding his foot like this, he wasn't actually here.

Jungkook ignored him. Focused on the foot in his hands instead.

Up close, it was worse than he thought.
Way too worse.

Small shards of glass were still embedded deep in the skin, some almost invisible under the blood and grime. Tiny slivers glinting under the broken light like a sick joke.

His jaw tightened.
They must've come from the road---the forest---the shattered junk littering this busted---up factory.

No shoes.
And this psycho just kept walking.
Miles of it.
Bare feet.

Jungkook clicked his tongue, frustrated.

"You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath, not even sure if the guy was listening.

How the hell had he kept up?
How the hell was he still breathing, still sitting there like nothing was wrong, while every step should've felt like hell tearing him open?

Jungkook gripped his foot a little tighter, more careful this time.

He should've left him alone.
Should've let him bleed out on the road like he clearly wanted.

He just let out a frustrated breath through his nose and carefully set the guy's foot back down---not on the filthy ground, but on something better.

He stripped off his soaked coat in one rough motion, folding it into a makeshift bundle with clumsy hands. The fabric was heavy, weighed down by water and dirt, but it was better than leaving him pressing into broken concrete.

Wordless, he slid the coat under the guy's foot and lifted it gently onto it.

He handled it like it mattered.
Like the foot was made of something fragile instead of skin and bone and open cuts.

Not that he had any clue what the hell he was doing.
Not a single fucking clue.

Jungkook sat back on his haunches, staring at the mess he'd made---the guy's ankle propped awkwardly on his ruined coat, blood already soaking into the fabric in slow, dark patches.

It didn't stop.

If anything, it seemed worse now---flowing steadier, darker, staining through fast.

Jungkook dragged a hand through his hair, breathing out sharply.

The hell was he supposed to do?
He wasn't a doctor. He wasn't even good at basic first aid. He fought. He broke people. He didn't fucking fix them.

But still.

Still, he sat there.
Holding someone else's blood on his hands.

Treating a foot like it was something he couldn't afford to mess up.

The silence stretched out again, heavy and damp, the only sound the slow, wet drip of blood into his coat.

Jungkook huffed out a sharp breath, his patience---what little of it he had left---snapping.

He lifted his gaze, glaring at the guy who still sat there, back against the wall like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn't bleeding all over Jungkook's coat. Like he wasn't a half-dead wreck barely hanging onto consciousness.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jungkook snapped, voice low but cutting. "Are you crazy?"

No reaction.

Not even a twitch. Not even a blink.

"You're bleeding like hell and you're just sitting there---what, you think that's normal?" Jungkook barked out a short, humorless laugh, raking a hand through his wet hair again, making it stick up messier.

Still nothing.

The guy just stared. Eyes empty, mouth set in that same quiet, unreadable line. Almost like he was silently wondering why Jungkook was even bothering---why some idiot who threatened to kill him a few hours ago was now hunched over his foot, trying to stop the bleeding like it mattered.

Jungkook grit his teeth, looking down again at the foot he was still holding so carefully. His fingers were dirty, scraped, cold---and still, he hadn't let go.

The blood kept soaking into the coat. Kept leaking out slow and steady.

And Jungkook kept sitting there like some kind of goddamn devoted fool, cradling the freak's foot like he had any idea what the hell he was doing.

"For fuck's sake," he muttered under his breath, so low it barely even counted as words. "I should leave you to bleed out. You're probably hoping for it anyway."

But he didn't move.
Didn't let go.
Didn't stop trying to do something---anything---like it would fix this mess.

God knew why.

Not Jungkook.
Not even close.

He only shifted closer, eyes narrowing as he spotted a sharp glint lodged deep in the guy's foot.

He reached out, fingers steady despite how much his gut twisted, and touched the skin around it, pressing lightly to find the edge of the shard.

The guy let out a small sound-a barely---there hiss through his teeth.

Jungkook froze for half a second.
That tiny sound-
It shouldn't have bothered him.

But it did.

More than it should've.
It grated under his skin in a way he couldn't explain.

Clicking his tongue sharply, Jungkook refocused, brows furrowing. "Tch. Now you make a sound, huh?" he muttered under his breath.

Carefully, he pinched the shard between his fingers, angling it just right.

And with a sharp, clean motion, he plucked it out.

A fresh bead of blood immediately welled up from where it had been buried.

The guy's face barely shifted.

No gasp.
No flinch.
No tensed muscles.

Just a slight twitch in his jaw---so small Jungkook wasn't even sure he saw it at all.

Of course he didn't react.
Of course he didn't feel it.

Jungkook wiped the shard off on his already-ruined pants and glared at the guy's blank face.

"Figured," he muttered under his breath, voice low and bitter. "Wouldn't even notice if you bled out right here, would you?"

Still, he leaned back in, fingers already reaching for the next shard embedded in the skin.

Because even if the guy didn't feel it-
Jungkook did.
And something deep inside him refused to leave it there.

He stayed focused, jaw set, hands steady.
He worked silently, pulling out the shards one by one, each careful movement sharper than the last.

Single-minded.
Mechanical.
Just getting it done.

Until he felt it.

Something light against his shoulder.
Not heavy---barely there.
But real enough to make his whole body stiffen for a second.

Jungkook's eyes darted sideways.

A hand.

The guy's hand.

Fingers brushing lightly over the soaked fabric of his shirt, sliding up in a slow, unhurried motion before curling around his shoulder.

Long, slender fingers.
Too pretty for someone so fucked up.

Jungkook swallowed thickly, forcing his gaze higher.

The guy's eyes were closed again, his face tilted slightly to the side, a small crease of discomfort finally appearing between his brows.

Jungkook caught himself staring at the flutter of those lashes---dark against too-pale skin---until the guy's eyelids lifted again.

And their eyes met.

Those dark monolids stared straight into Jungkook.
Not cold.
Not empty.
But now... vulnerable.

Jungkook's throat tightened for a second he couldn't explain.

The hand on his shoulder tightened, just slightly, a small, almost unconscious grip like he needed something to hold himself to.
Like he needed Jungkook.

Jungkook forced his hands to keep moving, even though his skin was buzzing now under the guy's touch.

He pressed his fingers carefully against the last shard, breath shallow, pulling it free with a smooth, slow motion.

It slipped out clean.
Final.

The worst of it was over.

But Jungkook didn't move.
Didn't pull away.

Instead his gaze dropped immediately to the wound---now fully exposed without the shards blocking the view.

And it looked worse.

The bleeding hadn't slowed.
It had picked up---thin, steady lines trickling down the curve of his ankle and pooling in small smears on the ruined coat.

Jungkook let out a sharp, frustrated sound deep in his chest.

"Shit."

He tugged back abruptly, and the guy's hand---still loose on his shoulder---slipped away without resistance, falling back against the cracked floor with a soft, lifeless sound.

This couldn't be left open.
Not like this.

He'd already lost too much blood.
And with the cold eating away at whatever strength he had left, Jungkook didn't need some polished-words freak bleeding out next to him after he went through all this.

No time to hesitate.

Jungkook's fingers went to the buttons of his own shirt, popping them open quickly, the soaked fabric clinging stubbornly to his skin. He shoved it off his shoulders, hissing quietly as the chill bit into his bare chest immediately.

Goosebumps spread across his arms, and the cold slapped him hard enough to make his teeth grit.

Ignoring it, he wrung the shirt out roughly, squeezing out most of the freezing water, his hands working fast and clumsy.

Then he reached out again, more careful this time.

He lifted the guy's foot and brought it onto his lap, cradling it gently.
He could feel how cold the skin was against his own, how fragile the bones felt under his fingers.

Without wasting a second, Jungkook began wrapping the shirt tightly around the bleeding sole and up along the ankle, tying it off with a rough knot.

It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't even good.
But it would hold.
It had to.

His hands stayed there for a second longer than necessary, pressing the makeshift bandage gently, making sure it was tight enough to slow the blood.

The guy's body sagged slightly against the wall, breathing out a soft, low sound.

Jungkook sat there, shirtless, cold as hell, cradling this half-dead idiot's foot like it was something precious.

And for once-
he didn't have the energy to even be pissed about it.

𓆩𓃮𓆪

Jungkook's eyes fluttered open, vision slow to adjust as a thin, pale ray of sunlight cut through the broken ceiling, falling right across his face.

For a second, he just lay there, blinking blearily.
Everything hurt.
His body was stiff, heavy, like the chill from the night had crawled deep into his bones and decided to stay.

He shifted, trying to stretch out his legs, maybe move his back-

And that's when he felt it.

Weight

Something draped over him. Pressed against his chest.
Warm. Soft.
Real.

Jungkook's eyes snapped open fully.

The guy-
The fucking freak-
was sleeping on top of him.

Sprawled half over his bare chest, head tucked against the crook of his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. One arm was lazily draped around Jungkook's nape, fingers curled lightly at the back of his head.

And the worst part?
The guy was so still, so damn silent, that Jungkook hadn't even felt his breathing at first.

For a terrifying second, Jungkook thought he wasn't breathing at all.
But no---there it was.
Soft, shallow breaths, ghosting against his skin.

"What the fuck..." Jungkook muttered under his breath, voice cracked and rough from the cold.

He lay there frozen, staring up at the crumbling ceiling, brain not fully catching up to the situation.

Out of all the things that could've happened last night-
being turned into some freak's personal body pillow was not on the list.

He shifted slightly, the movement causing the guy's fingers to tighten just a little around his nape instinctively, as if his body refused to let go even in sleep.

Jungkook grit his teeth, forcing himself to move carefully.

Slowly, he shifted out from under the guy, adjusting him with rough but careful hands, laying him down onto the cracked floor with what little gentleness he could muster.

He rolled his eyes hard, muttering under his breath, "Fucking clingy freak."

His hand came up without thinking, fingers brushing the back of his own neck-
the place where the guy's hand had been loosely hooked around him all night.

The skin there felt weirdly colder now.
Like the missing warmth left a mark somehow, even if Jungkook hated to admit it.

Clicking his tongue, he shook the thought off and turned back to look at him.

Still.

The guy was still laying there.
Chest barely moving.
Face too pale under the dusty sunlight filtering in.
Lips drained of color, cracked slightly at the corners.

Jungkook's frown deepened.

It wasn't sleep.

It wasn't the peaceful deadweight of someone who just passed out from exhaustion.

It was too still.
Too quiet.
Like he wasn't just resting, but sinking deeper into something worse.

It hit Jungkook a second too late, slow and ugly.

He wasn't sleeping.

He was unconscious.

Jungkook's stomach dropped, sharp and sudden, and he immediately leaned in, checking for the shallow rise of his chest.

Still breathing---barely.
But fuck, he looked bad.

"Shit," Jungkook hissed under his breath, jaw clenching as he straightened up.

He ran a hand through his hair, scanning the broken, useless factory around him. Morning had already crawled in-a bleak, grey kind of light that didn't make anything feel warmer or better.

He didn't know what the fuck he was supposed to do.
Where he was supposed to take him.
Or even why he was bothering.

None of it made sense.

Still-
he moved before he could talk himself out of it.

He bent down, slipping one arm under the guy's knees, the other bracing under his back. He lifted carefully, body protesting from the cold and stiffness and the aftermath of the whole fucking night.

The guy's head lolled against Jungkook's bare chest immediately, soaking him in a new wave of cold.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, adjusting his grip tighter, holding him closer.
The guy was light. Too light.
His skin freezing against Jungkook's own.

Without wasting another second, Jungkook started moving-
long, fast strides carrying them out of the factory ruins, through the patches of broken ground and mist that still clung stubbornly to the trees.

He held him tighter when the wind cut sharper through the bare branches.

"Don't you fucking dare die on me now," Jungkook muttered, voice low and tight.

As if the guy could even hear him.

But Jungkook kept walking, step after step, the guy deadweight in his arms.

Every muscle in his body screamed, the exhaustion hitting him harder now that the cold morning air gnawed into his bare skin.
His head pounded. His legs dragged heavier with every stride.

But he didn't stop.

He tightened his arms around the guy's limp body and pushed forward, the busted road stretching endlessly ahead, framed by the skeletons of winter-bare trees.

It was daytime now-
the fog thinning, the sky turning a washed-out grey.

The road wasn't completely deserted anymore.
A few cars passed here and there, speeding by like blurs.

Jungkook tried waving them down-
an arm out, body shifting toward the road-
but nobody even slowed.

One.
Two.
Three cars flew right past him, tires hissing against the wet asphalt.

He cursed under his breath, breath clouding out of his mouth like smoke, arms burning from holding the guy so long.

"Fuck's sake-"

Another car approached.
He stepped closer to the edge this time, almost into the road, lifting his free arm higher, more aggressive.

The car zoomed past-
and for a second, Jungkook's heart sank.

But then-

Red brake lights flashed ahead.

The car slowed.
Stopped.

Jungkook didn't even let himself sigh in relief.
He adjusted the guy higher in his arms and started jogging toward it, legs shaky, heart hammering against his ribs.

Finally.
Finally some fucking luck.

The car door creaked open, and Jungkook slowed as he approached, chest heaving from the run.

An old man sat behind the wheel-grey hair tucked under a faded cap, lined face squinting against the sun. His car was nothing fancy, more rust than paint in some places, but Jungkook could've kissed the dented hood if it meant getting out of this hell.

The man leaned out the window, giving Jungkook a wary once-over. His eyes lingered on the shirtless, dripping Jungkook... then on the half-dead body hanging in his arms.

"You boys get into some trouble?" the man rasped, voice rough with age and suspicion.

Jungkook didn't have the energy to explain, to lie, to spin some story that made sense. He just nodded once, tight and desperate. "Yeah. Please. Hospital."

The old man stared for a second longer, like he was weighing his options.
Then he jerked his thumb toward the backseat. "Get in."

Jungkook muttered a breathless, "Thanks," under his breath and moved fast, pulling open the door.

The interior smelled like stale coffee and motor oil, but it was warm.

Jungkook eased the guy into the backseat first, careful not to jostle him too hard. The guy slumped over immediately, head pressing lightly against Jungkook's side.

Jungkook climbed in after, pulling the door shut with a dull slam. He kept the guy close, hand steady on his shoulder to make sure he didn't slide down.

The old man shifted the car back into gear, muttering something under his breath about "damn kids these days" and "what the hell kind of night you been through" before pulling back onto the road.

Jungkook leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes for a moment.
The warmth of the heater hit his bare skin like a punch.

It stung.
It burned.
It hurt.

But it was better than freezing to death outside.

For now...
they were moving.

Jungkook barely let himself breathe.

Just one second.
One damn second of sitting still.
Then he shifted, immediately dragging his attention back to the guy slumped half across him.

His eyes dropped to his feet instinctively---where the mess was.

He hadn't checked the wound since last night.

With careful movements, Jungkook lifted the guy's legs, adjusting them gently onto his lap, mindful of every limp shift of weight.

The blood-soaked white shirt he'd tied around the guy's foot was even worse now.
Deep crimson stains bled through it, darker at the center, still wet.

The bleeding had slowed, yeah.
But it was nowhere near good.
The foot itself looked pale, cold to the touch, small cuts still oozing faintly where the skin had torn up the worst.

Jungkook let his head fall back against the seat with a soft thud, breathing out slow through his nose, the weight of the guy's head still pressing lightly against his bare chest.

He was freezing, sore, drenched---and now he had someone practically dead asleep using him as a human mattress.

And he didn't even know his fucking name.

Perfect.

From the driver's seat, the old man kept glancing back through the rearview mirror, squinting at them. His gaze lingered a little too long before he finally asked, voice rough but curious:

"So... who's he?"

Jungkook cracked one eye open, staring at the roof of the car like it might offer divine answers.
He considered saying nobody.
Considered lying.
Considered not answering at all.

But the guy's unconscious body shifted a little against him, breath barely there, blood soaking into Jungkook's lap, and somehow-
the words stuck in his throat.

Jungkook clicked his tongue, tearing his eyes away from the mirror.

The old man was still staring at him through the mirror, waiting.

Expecting an answer.

Jungkook licked his dry lips, dragging his gaze away from the mess of the guy's foot, up to the cracked ceiling of the car.

"...Keepsake," he muttered finally, almost under his breath.

The word slipped out before he could catch it.
Before he could think better of it.

The old man's brows furrowed, confusion clear in the way he glanced at Jungkook again, probably trying to make sense out of the answer.

Jungkook didn't bother explaining.
Hell, even he didn't understand what the fuck he just said.

Keepsake?

Seriously?
What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

He stared blankly ahead, jaw tight, his hand unconsciously tightening around the guy's ankle---holding it steadier against his lap, like somehow that made anything make more sense.

What the hell did he just call him?
And more importantly-
why the fuck did it feel like... the right word?

Jungkook clicked his tongue in irritation, dropping his head back against the seat harder than necessary.

He was tired.
He was cold.
He was pissed.

Yeah. That's all it was.

No way in hell this freak-
this stubborn, broken, blank-faced freak-
was anything close to a keepsake.

No fucking way.

Jungkook's head was still tilted back against the seat, eyes half-shut, trying not to lose his mind entirely, when the old man's voice cut through the quiet hum of the car.

"So... you two together?"

The words hung there for a second, like they didn't make sense.

Jungkook blinked.
Slowly lifted his head.

"Together?" he repeated, staring at the back of the man's seat, like maybe he misheard it.

The old man met his eyes in the rearview mirror-this knowing, half-amused look flashing across his weathered face, like he was already making assumptions.

Jungkook sat there, completely blank for a second.
Processing.

And then it hit him.

The old bastard was asking if they were-
a couple.

A short, disbelieving laugh burst from Jungkook's mouth before he could even stop it.

"What-? What in the actual fuck..." he muttered under his breath, glancing down instinctively at the guy still knocked out cold against his chest, clinging like some half-dead kitten.

The ridiculousness of it almost made him want to shove the guy onto the opposite seat just to make a point.

But he didn't.
He just sat there, stiff and pissed and not sure who he wanted to punch more-
the guy on him,
or himself for even being in this situation.

"Not together," Jungkook muttered sharply, leaning his head back again with a rough sigh.
"Not even fucking close."

The old man just chuckled quietly under his breath, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel like he didn't believe him one bit.

And Jungkook decided he'd rather jump out of the moving car than explain himself any further.

The ride dragged on longer than it should've.

The old man kept his mouth shut after that, thankfully, and Jungkook didn't say a damn word either, too focused on the slow, weak breathing he could feel against his bare chest.

His legs were numb by the time the car finally slowed, tires crunching over gravel.

Jungkook cracked his heavy eyes open, blinking through the bright morning light.

The hospital.
Finally.

The old building stood ahead---ugly and plain, but clean and alive.
That's all Jungkook cared about.

The car rolled to a stop right at the emergency entrance.

Jungkook didn't waste a second.
He shifted quickly, adjusting his grip around the guy's body, feeling how light and freezing he still was.

Before getting out, he caught the old man's eye in the mirror.

Pissed or not, Jungkook wasn't raised to be ungrateful.
He muttered, rough and low, "Thanks."

The old man just nodded once, like he didn't need it.

Jungkook shoved open the door, the morning air cutting sharp against his bare skin, and stepped out with the guy still limp in his arms.

Without looking back, he broke into a half-run across the asphalt toward the entrance, boots slamming hard against the pavement.

The glass doors slid open in front of him, the sterile smell of hospital air flooding his senses.

"Help!" he barked the moment he crossed the line inside, voice raw.
"I need help-he's not-"

Nurses were already moving, rushing toward him, voices cutting sharp through the buzz in his ears.

Jungkook didn't stop moving until a nurse practically grabbed his arm, urging him toward a stretcher that appeared like magic from the chaos.

"Set him down-right here, sir-" she said sharply, already gloving up, another nurse coming from the side with equipment.

Jungkook hesitated for a second, fingers clenching tighter around the guy's body without meaning to.

He could feel the tremor in his own arms now---exhaustion, cold, maybe something worse grinding through him.
Still, it was hard to loosen his grip.

But he forced himself to move, lowering the guy carefully onto the stretcher.
The guy's head lolled to the side, neck too limp, skin too pale.

The nurses were already crowding him, checking vitals, cutting away the soaked shirt wrapped around his foot.
One of them barked something---something about blood loss, hypothermia, trauma response.

Jungkook stood there, soaking wet, shirtless, shoes caked in mud, watching them work around him like he was invisible.

"Sir, you need to move back," a security guard said gently, appearing by his side.

Jungkook blinked.
Realized he was still hovering, still too close.

He stepped back automatically, hands hanging empty by his sides.

He watched as they rushed the guy down the hall, voices bouncing off the clean white walls.

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

The sudden quiet hit harder than it should've.

Jungkook let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.
His knees almost buckled from how fucking empty he felt all of a sudden.

Someone tried to hand him a towel. Someone else asked if he needed to be seen too.

Jungkook barely heard them.

He just stood there, numb, the towel someone had shoved into his hands dangling uselessly at his side.

His eyes stayed locked on the spot where they'd wheeled him away, a tight knot twisting low in his gut.

The hospital buzzed around him-shoes squeaking against the floors, monitors beeping faintly from down the hall, voices paging doctors overhead---but it all sounded distant.

Like he wasn't really there.
Like he was stuck somewhere between breathing and forgetting how.

His fingers tightened around the towel unconsciously.
The cold in his bones didn't let up.

Minutes passed.
Maybe longer.
He didn't know.

No one came back for him.
No one told him anything.

He thought about leaving-
thought about just turning around and walking out the sliding doors, pretending none of this ever happened.

Pretending he hadn't picked up a bleeding stranger off a rotting floor.
Pretending he hadn't wrapped that freak's wounds with his own shirt.
Pretending he hadn't carried him half-dead into this place like something fragile.

He shifted his weight, feeling the ache digging deep into his muscles, and dropped onto one of the plastic chairs lined against the wall.

The second he sat down, the weight of everything slammed into him harder.

His head tilted back against the cold wall behind him.
Eyes burning.
Chest tight.
Hands still stained faintly with dried blood.

He didn't know the guy's name.
Didn't know a single fucking thing about him.

Just the dead look in his monolid eyes.
The way he clung to life without ever seeming to want it.

Jungkook closed his eyes briefly, the image burned behind his lids-
those pale feet, torn open and bleeding.
The slight tightening of fingers at his nape.

The slow, shallow breaths barely brushing his skin.

He dragged a shaky hand through his hair.
Let out a slow breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"You're not my problem," he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse.

But even now-
even sitting here, bloody, cold, and worn down to the bone-
he knew he was lying to himself.

Because somehow, without meaning to,
without even wanting to,
he'd already gotten involved.