Chapter Text
“Dude, you’ve been staring at that document for like twenty minutes and I haven’t seen you type a single word. You’re turning into me. ”
Taehyung’s voice jolts Namjoon out of his thoughts. He’s peering around the desk divider that separates them, raising a brow. Namjoon sighs.
“I didn’t sleep again last night,” he says, running a hand through his hair. It seems that since he’s met Jeongguk, he’s been working the night shift more often than not.
“That prostitute you’ve been obsessed with can't seem to catch a break, huh?” Taehyung says. There’s a clatter somewhere on Namjoon’s desk as Taehyung throws whatever piece of crap he has in his hand at him, but he doesn’t bother looking for the carnage. Instead he shoots Taehyung an exasperated glare before his face can morph into an exaggerated yawn.
“Don’t be rude, Tae. I feel bad for him,” he says. The only thing on his mind since he’s dragged himself from the hospital, to his apartment to change clothes, and then to the police station, has been his battered face. The nurses had done their best to clean the blood, but the deep red that had bled into the corner of his eye had made Namjoon wince out loud. He knows how long that kind of injury takes to completely heal—a constant reminder of what happened, even if his body felt physically fine.
That was another issue Namjoon was avoiding by staring blankly at his computer. Jeongguk’s statement. He’s sure he’s tired of this now and doesn’t really want to make the tension between them any worse by berating him with questions as soon as he wakes up from a traumatic event. But the other part of him—the part that’s much too guilty of being nosy, wants to know the extent of what happened in that bathroom. Despite how he’d left things, Namjoon can’t quite quell the urge to be Jeongguk’s savior.
He’s such an asshole.
“Maybe you should go see him,” Taehyung pipes up after a while. “He’d probably appreciate a familiar face.” Namjoon doesn’t respond, fiddling with the scroll wheel on his mouse. “I know you want to,” he adds finally.
Namjoon sighs again. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Tae…But I mean, maybe it would be better if I stayed away from him. It seems like his life has been hell ever since we met,” he says with a shrug. He can hear Taehyung scoff beside him.
“For being a detective, you don’t really have a very good sense of reason, do you? His friend died before you met him. He was assaulted after you told him you never wanted to see him again. There was only one time he was in the hospital while you two were on good times—I’m not sure that’s beyond a reasonable doubt—“
“When did I tell him I never wanted to see him again?” Namjoon asks, finally looking over at Taehyung who seems to be surprised that he’s being interrupted. He stops playing with the bright yellow stress ball in his hand and shrugs.
“I don’t know. When you told me what you told him the other night about staying away from each other, that’s pretty much what I gathered,” he answers seriously. Namjoon looks at him for a long time, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to budge.
He makes sure Taehyung can see him roll his eyes before pushing out his chair with the backs of his legs and pulling his coat off of the back of it.
“Where are you going?” Taehyung asks, as if he didn’t already know the answer.
“To see Jeongguk,” Namjoon answers bitterly before storming out of the police station.
♛ ♛ ♛
The hospital is unusually quiet when Namjoon arrives. Apparently, Jeongguk was moved to an in-patient bed, and he ends up having to use his police badge to find out what room he’s in. When Namjoon steps into the elevator, his finger slips on the button to the seventh floor and he has to wipe his sweat off on his coat.
Half of him is afraid that Jeongguk will lash out at him once he sees him. Whether it be for abandoning him that night in the diner or for representing every bad thing that’s happened to him in the past month. The other half of him hopes that he will lash out at him. Namjoon’s not sure he can stand to see Jeongguk lying practically lifeless in a hospital bed.
When he reaches Jeongguk’s room—708, the nurse had said in a clipped tone—he’s just about to raise his hand to knock when he hears a voice, faintly. The blinds on the window into the room are closed, so he freezes for a moment to listen. He has to lean closer to the door to make out whatever’s being said, but the hallway is mostly empty, so Namjoon takes his chances.
At first, he can only hear Jeongguk crying. It worries him enough to wonder if he should just barge in there to see what’s going on, but his thoughts are interrupted by a different voice before he can.
“Shh, don’t cry, Jeongguk. I hate seeing you like this. Don’t worry about the money, alright? It’s not your fault. Just heal up and get some rest, I’ll take care of it all for you. They will never hurt you again, I promise.”
An uncomfortable, tight feeling blooms in Namjoon’s chest as he listens to the calm, caring voice of what’s clearly another man, speaking to Jeongguk softly.
“It’s too much money…” Jeongguk’s voice comes even softer, interrupted slightly by sobs. Namjoon is relieved to hear he isn’t still speaking Korean—at first, he’d thought Jeongguk had suffered some permanent brain damage and had forgotten any and all English he’d ever learned.
And maybe Namjoon had overreacted a little, but the idea of having to speak to him through Google translate after something so traumatizing happened to him had made Namjoon a little sick to his stomach. He won’t tell anyone he looked up Korean phrase books on Amazon last night. And if he can help it, maybe he won’t tell Jeongguk that he never learned Korean.
“Jeongguk, when have I ever lied to you? If I couldn’t afford it, I would tell you. I can’t help feeling like this is my fault…It’s the least I can do,” the mysterious voice says. Namjoon bristles at the fact that this man certainly isn’t a new friend.
“Please don’t say that, of course it’s not your fault…I…I was fuckin’ stupid. I should have put it in my locker as soon as I got it…I dunno how I’ll ever pay you back,” Jeongguk says, and it’s followed by a loud sniffle.
“Don’t worry about that now. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Namjoon can hear Jeongguk laugh bitterly. “Well, I’m glad you’re alive. Those men could have killed you, and you know it…God, I could just kill them myself,” he says with an incredulous laugh behind his voice. Namjoon doesn’t hear any response from Jeongguk this time. “Look, I have to go take care of some business now. I spoke with Hoseok this morning, he might come see you later today. I think he worries about you more than you know. I’ll be back soon, though, okay? Just try to get some sleep. Hey, and if you’re really worried about paying me back—that pretty mouth of yours stills works fine by the looks of it—“
Namjoon’s hand flies to the doorknob before the voice finishes that sentence, but the door swings open before he can apply any pressure. Distantly, he can register Jeongguk laughing faintly, but he’s too busy staring at the chin of a man that seems to tower over him, even if only by a few inches. He’s intimidatingly handsome, with sleek, black, styled hair and a grey three piece suit. He cocks an eyebrow at Namjoon as he looks down at him, pausing in his step. His eyes wander down Namjoon’s figure until they come to rest on the police badge hanging around his neck. Then, Namjoon watches as the man rolls his eyes dramatically.
“You people have no class,” he mutters, before shoving past Namjoon and striding down the hallway. He only looks away when Jeongguk’s quiet voice calls out to him.
“Joon?” he asks.
Namjoon finally looks over to Jeongguk, posted up in his bed at an awkward angle. There’s a thick bandage wrapped around his head, and his hair puffs out it on one side where Namjoon watches him dig a finger underneath the fabric to scratch. There’s a deep red scab on his bottom lip and a matching one just next to his right eye. Half of the whites have turned a pinkish-red and Namjoon has to suppress an obvious grimace. Jeongguk still catches it anyway.
“It looks worse than it is,” he says, touching the tip of his middle finger to the corner of his eye. Namjoon’s eyes slide down to Jeongguk’s left foot peeking out of the covers, wrapped in another thick bandage and propped up on a blue pillow. “Just sprained,” he supplies. “It’ll be good as new in a few weeks.”
“You seem…chipper.” Namjoon cringes because he’s never said that word in his life, and he makes a mental to note to make sure he completely incinerates it from his vocabulary. But Jeongguk just seems to giggle softly.
“Tryin’ to be. If I’m honest, though, I’m actually kinda embarrassed,” he says, his cheeks flushing red to match. Namjoon quirks a brow as he finally steps all the way into Jeongguk’s room, shutting the door behind him.
“What for?” he asks. Jeongguk seems to watch him closely as he moves about the room, and it makes him freeze in his place, only a few paces from the foot of his bed.
“I dunno…” Jeongguk finally looks away, but Namjoon is still frozen in place. “Too many reasons. But it seems like my streak of bad luck is finally out to kill me,” he says with a sarcastic laugh.
“Jeongguk, I’m…” Namjoon lets out a long breath between his teeth. “I’m so sorry this happened…that this keeps happening.”
Jeongguk turns his attention to the window opposite the door Namjoon came in from. The blinds are halfway shut and only the light from the outside sun is visible between the slats.
“‘S not your fault,” he mutters. He begins picking at his fingers. At first he just seems to be rubbing the pads of his fingers against each of his nails, over and over, as though it’s a nervous habit.
“Maybe…Maybe not. I feel like I can’t take my eyes off you,” he admits. He glances around the room and realizes he doesn’t see his old trench coat anywhere and he hates himself for being disappointed. When he looks back at Jeongguk, he’s tracing the edge of each of his cuticles with the tips of his nails. His eyes are still trained on the window, but they shine now.
“I wish you didn’t,” he whispers softly. A string of spit connects both of his lips when he opens his mouth and even through the whisper, Namjoon can hear that his voice is thick. He watches him swallow harshly.
He isn’t sure what to say. He’s never felt quite so lost and hopeless and help less before. And he’s not the one cooped up in a stuffy hospital room. After a while of staring at Jeongguk playing with his own fingers, he just opts for the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he opens it.
“Who was that man in here before me?” he asks carefully. Jeongguk sucks in a quick breath, as if he’d been holding it, just waiting for Namjoon to speak.
“No one. Just…a concerned friend,” he says softly. They both know he’s lying, but Namjoon doesn’t try to push it.
“Look, I, um…I don’t wanna put my foot in it but try not to…Try not to let him in here again—At least, until we’ve finished with all the official business…statements and stuff…” he says instead, scratching his head. He expects some kind of pushback, but Jeongguk just nods gingerly, looking down at his hands.
“That’s why you’re here?” he asks. Namjoon opens his mouth, then closes it again before he says something stupid.
“Not…Not exactly. If you’re feeling up for it and want to talk to me, I can take a statement for you. But we can do that later, if you’d prefer.” Namjoon watches Jeongguk for his response. He continues to pick at his fingers, but the longer Namjoon watches, the harsher Jeongguk seems to dig his nails into his skin. His hands shake with strain from how hard he’s forcing his thumbnail beneath the nail of his forefinger on his other hand, jamming it over and over into the inflamed and dry skin. “J-Jeongguk?” he asks softly, taking a step closer.
Suddenly Jeongguk gasps and his thumbnail slips, digging right into the cuticle at the bottom of his fingernail instead and Namjoon watches a tiny bead of blood bloom right where he’d sliced into it. Namjoon curses softly, grabbing a tissue from the box on the table next to his bed and wrapping it around the bleeding finger. Jeongguk lets him for a second, before yanking his arm back, away from Namjoon, and shoving his tissue-clad finger beneath his covers instead.
“I…I think it’d be better if someone else took my statement,” he says finally. Instead of looking at Namjoon, he’s staring at the end of his bed. Namjoon blinks a few times before nodding. He shouldn’t be hurt. There’s nothing to be hurt about.
“Of course…Can I…Can I get you anything?” Namjoon asks instead. He tugs on his right earlobe, suddenly finding himself afraid to say the wrong thing.
Jeongguk smiles at him, but it’s small and tight and he shakes his head. “You must be busy, Joon. I’m fine here. Just…Just go back to the station.”
Namjoon chews hard on his lip. Looking at Jeongguk, he just seems to be slipping through his fingers and Namjoon starts to wonder if he had ever actually been something he could lose. When was the last time he ever had something for himself?
Jeongguk had been that strange anomaly. Just a thing that had popped up in smudged eye makeup and a haughty attitude and carved itself into Namjoon’s side. No longer was he constantly questioning how he could have let his life become so monotonous—instead he was awake at god knows what hours of the morning, thinking about Jeongguk in any capacity. He’s always worried or frustrated or obsessed with him—obsessed with his case and how he seems so oblivious to everything happening around him.
And ultimately, he’d been a distraction. Even Taehyung had noticed. When he’d arrive at the station with bags under his eyes because he’d pulled another all nighter, staring at the mess of files on desk—at the bright, kind eyes of the last photo of his mother ever taken. When he sat and he stared because he never got any closer to the truth—no one ever got any closer—but he could never accept that his own mother was just another number. An insignificant addition to the statistics.
Then he met Jeongguk, and he had something else to worry about for the first time in a long time.
Is it his fault? Did he push him too hard? Too far into the middle of the killer’s game? It makes Namjoon feel sick to think that, perhaps, Jeongguk is more important than his dead mother right now. But he knows, deep down, that it’s true. He knows that he cares for Jeongguk more than he should, and he’s scared that the entire life he poured into solving his mother’s own murdered, means nothing now that he has a real, living person to care for.
“Are you sure?” He asks, quietly, softly. He doesn’t want to go back to the station. “I can keep you company…”
Jeongguk looks up at him. His face is still flushed but he’s not crying. In fact, his expression is stony and cold and it makes Namjoon shift between his feet.
“Don’t force yourself,” he says, and Namjoon feels the words like icicles in his chest. “I’m sorry I called.”
Namjoon blinks. “What?”
“I shouldn’t have called you. I just…I was worried about paying for an ambulance.” Jeongguk closes his eyes and tips his head back as he speaks. Namjoon can’t tell if he’s in pain or just fed up. Maybe both. But the idea of Jeongguk not calling him last night—of Namjoon finding out through someone else—it almost angers him. As if he has some kind of right to make sure Jeongguk’s okay. He must really be losing his mind.
“You can always call me for help,” Namjoon says quietly. He wants to look Jeongguk in the eye, but Jeongguk won’t look at him.
“Can I?” he asks. “Or will I put you out of a job?” He doesn’t even crack an eye to look at Namjoon when he speaks.
Namjoon sighs. “Look, I’m sorry, Jeongguk. I think…Maybe I was too harsh. I didn’t want to get rid of you. I don’t want to get rid of you. But I wasn’t just worried about my job, you know. I was worried about you too—“
“Yeah, thanks for that—“
“ I’m serious! Listen to me, Guk. Half the time the facts don’t even matter in these cases. Because there hardly are any. It’s public image that people judge you for, more than anything. I’m trying to preserve yours,” he says desperately. But something tells him Jeongguk won’t take it. Not now. He should just leave it alone.
“I never asked you to. You think I don’t know about my own public image?” Jeongguk looks at him now. “You think I don’t know that I’m the fuckin’ shit-stain of this goddamn city?” Namjoon tries to hide his flinch at Jeongguk’s tone, but he softens anyway. “I know you’re sorry. I am, too,” he says, shifting the pillows gingerly to lay down further. Namjoon ignore the itch to do it for him.
“But–”
“Go back to work, Joonie.” He can’t exactly lay on his side, but he twists half of his body to do so, and he looks up at Namjoon with his swollen, red eye. “Maybe we can talk after this is all over.”
♛ ♛ ♛
That night (or rather, very early the next morning) Namjoon finds himself clambering his way back to the hospital. He has to see him. Even though its late. Or early. He’d laid there in his own bed and stared at the ceiling and just thought about Jeongguk lying there, alone—vulnerable.
Namjoon knows its just paranoia. He knows he’s being stupid right now. But he can’t help it when he gets out of bed and gets dressed again, pulling on the clothes he’d just dumped on the floor earlier. Even if Jeongguk kicks him out, it’ll make him feel better…
Right?
He makes a beeline for the front doors of the hospital as soon as he’s parked. He’s only half aware that he looks a bit crazed right now and should probably take a breather before he goes in there and scares Jeongguk.
But as he grows nearer the glass doors, he spots a figure walking out of the hospital that strikes him as overly familiar—dark jeans and a dark, hooded jacket, with a black surgical mask to match—but Namjoon would know that figure anywhere.
“ Yoongi? ” Namjoon asks, blinking at the man that’s just ducked out of the front doors of the hospital.
Yoongi’s head suddenly whips up, eyes widening as he looks at Namjoon. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hood pulled up over his head. His hair still hangs in his eyes and Namjoon realizes he hasn’t seen him in a while, but he still looks just the same.
“What’s…What’s going on, man? You okay?” Namjoon asks, trying for a polite smile as his vision flicks over to the lobby of the hospital behind Yoongi.
“I…I-I’m fine,” Yoongi says quietly. “Just…picking up my meds,” he says with a shrug. Namjoon tries to stave off the look of pity on his face as he looks at the bags under Yoongi’s eyes. Why he would be here so late to pick up his prescription, Namjoon doesn’t know, but he tries to nod sympathetically.
“I see…Well…Call me, yeah? If you need something? Or if you just wanna talk…” he shrugs. Yoongi nods quickly.
“Yeah,” he says bluntly.
Namjoon looks at him for a moment longer, itching to say something more meaningful but he finds that he can’t. He looks at Yoongi and all he sees is his contact name on his phone as he sits alone in the graveyard, tracing his mom’s name carved in stone.
He gives Yoongi one last nod before slipping past him, towards the lobby.
“Why are you here?” Yoongi asks, his voice much louder than Namjoon’s heard in a long time. Namjoon turns around, brows raised. Behind him, he hears the automatic doors open.
“Uh…Visiting someone,” he says. Yoongi is looking at him with a kind of intensity Namjoon doesn’t quite understand.
“Why?” he asks and Namjoon does visibly frown this time.
“Um…’Cause I’m worried about them,” Namjoon says, shrugging. Yoongi continues to stare at him and Namjoon thinks this is the longest he’s ever held eye contact with him in his life. He swallows.
But Yoongi doesn’t say anything else. After blinking a few times, he turns on his heel and leaves, ducking into the cover of the night.
Namjoon feels uneasy as he walks into the hospital. He’s struggled to keep in touch with his half-brother recently. “Recently” being the past decade or so. He’s quiet and keeps to himself mostly, but Namjoon does worry that his IT job doesn’t get him out of the house enough. Though, he can’t exactly claim that he’s gone out of his way to do everything he can for him.
He shakes his head. After this is all over…