ODDS OF SURVIVAL - TAEKOOK

CHAPTERTWENTYFOUR

Taehyung wasn't sure how long it had been since he and Jungkook had set foot outside of the fence.

It seemed like weeks, but he guessed their food supplies would be running lower if it had really been that long. He knew they couldn't hide inside the fence indefinitely; they would run out of easy sources of protein or soap or toothpaste or something basic like that eventually.

All of those were supplies they would need to leave the safe confines of the fence to replenish. Taehyung wasn't going to suggest leaving for anything, though.

Instead, he waited for Jungkook to make that decision. If Jungkook decided to go out for any reason, Taehyung knew he would go with him no matter how much he'd rather stay behind.

It was too dangerous outside, and he couldn't bear the thought of waiting and worrying if Jungkook would come back alive.

He hadn't slept soundly for a single night since that day. Terrible thoughts and images flooded his mind any time he closed his eyes.

Sometimes he dreamed of the dead man; sometimes they were just people with a few of his features: his eyes, his hair, the shape of his face, staring at him with accusation.

Sometimes he dreamed of the other two men, the ones he killed to save Jungkook that day in the beginning of winter.

In his dreams, no one attacked him or threatened him. None of them even spoke to him. They just watched him, expressions glazed in silent recrimination.

Sometimes he ignored them, or tried his best to, though he couldn't seem to escape them no matter how far he ran. Other times he shouted at them, challenging their judgement of him when he'd only done what he had to, or screaming to be left alone.

Other times he wept apologies, begging forgiveness from the silent victims who only continued to stare. In the worst scenarios, he killed them. Over and over again.

Even worse than those dreams of endless, silent judgement from the faces of those he'd killed were dreams of people with no faces at all—at least they didn't start out with faces.

He would find himself surrounded by these indistinct human shapes and filled with panic, the crowd around him emanating hostility in nearly tangible waves.

They approached him one by one and he lashed out, his bare hands like blades, cutting them down before they could do the same to him.

Then once they hit the ground, their features would become clear: the dead man from the woods; he two men he'd shot in December; Donna, the new girl at work; his English professor from freshman year; Ms. Jareau; his mother; Jungkook.

Jungkook.

When he looked again, they were all Jungkook, broken and bloody on the ground, dark eyes seeing nothing.

The sight of Jungkook's terrible blank eyes always ripped him from sleep, heart racing and gasping for breath. Then he would look beside him and find the real Jungkook lying there awake, blinking slowly at him in the dark.

He wasn't sure if he was tossing in his sleep and waking Jungkook up or if Jungkook was coincidentally waking on his own, but he couldn't stand the guilt of disturbing Jungkook's already fitful sleep on top of everything else, so he let himself believe the latter.

He let himself curl into Jungkook's chest and take comfort in his living presence until he could sleep again. He never spoke a word of what he dreamed, and Jungkook never asked.

The lack of restful sleep left him exhausted and irritable during the day. He kept snapping at Jungkook over petty things. Jungkook snapped back at him, but it seemed neither of them felt motivated to properly argue, so it didn't escalate much beyond that.