It didn't happen right away, but you love Hoseok with all your heart. Your first thought in the morning and the only thing on your mind before you sleep, and you'd do anything to keep it that way.
Even if it hurts.
The elevator is filled with worry and confusion, built up in him during the drive to Busan.
Were you hurt?
Did Jimin get to you in time?
Were you safe?
His phone hadn't rang, and since he was too busy trying to focus on not swerving off the road while crying, he hadn't thought to call Namjoon to see what was going on.
"Hey." Namjoon mutters when he opens the door.
Hoseok looked a mess, and rightfully so. Jean jacket draped haphazardly with a few buttons fastened, loose gray shorts, and house sandals on his feet.
"Um..Jimin he-hasn't come back yet, he...uh...begged me not to call the police but...I'm getting nervous." He says.
"What the fuck do you mean, Namjoon? What the—did you call him?"
"No! You never call! It could blow his cover!"
If looks could kill.
He's red in the face, livid, when he bellows, "This isn't a goddamn movie, Namjoon! This is my—" White hot pain bleeds across his scalp, his fingers pull so tightly at his hair he feels like he can hear the strands splitting and breaking.
"She's my fucking girlfriend!" Namjoon flounders, trying to backtrack. Your boyfriend doesn't care, just drops everything but his keys and turns back around for the elevators.
"Hobi-hyung! Wait!" He doesn't. The doors close on Namjoon as soon as he's in front of them, Hobi is slumped against the wall inside face ruddy with tears.
Hoseok is right, he's an idiot and bad friend. The door rings loudly in the stairwell as he races down the steps, feet slapping loudly against the concrete stairs.
"Hobi-hyung!" The taxi speeds off, Hoseok in the back of it.
"Fuck!" People on the street look at him like he's crazy. This is insane, this is reality, this isn't a movie. He slides in the back of the next cab that pulls up, out of breath and frantic, "Follow that car, please."
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He and the cab driver stare each other down, "Now please, my friend was in that car and I missed him. Please, it's important, please. Thank you."
"P-Please Y/N, I promise," You watch him stumble, pale face but still stunning, it's disrespectful. "I didn't—" His breathing is labored, blood stained fingers clenched tightly to his side. "I didn't say anything to Hobi, Y/N please. I-I need to go to the hospital—"
"You need to go to hell, Park Jimin! Pop a squat right next to that snooping motherfucker Yoongi!" His brow creases, faint wrinkles stretched across his forehead are somewhat hidden by the hair plastered against his skin.
