I Can't Hear You [Namkook]

Helpless

Eleven months later.....

Authors pov

Dean threw his hands in the air the five other men looking at him. "Will you get him out of his fucking room?" Yoongi nodded popping another gummy bear into his mouth. Seokjin rolling his eyes. 

"Like he's going to listen to you." Seokjin never quite forgave Namjoon for getting distracted with a boy and letting them suffer for as long as they did. No amount of therapy and anger really was really able to make him feel less guilty that Namjoon choose him over that kid. His choice was satifying and loyal sure but Jin wasnt sure just how much more misery he could stand to see Nmajoon put himself through. As much as he wanted to be Namjoons that wasnt going to happen. Even if he held it agaisnt the younger for the rest of his life. He needed to accept that, he needed to let Namjoon be happy again. 

Taehyung sat on the couch and shot Jin a dirty look running his hands through a sleeping Hoseoks hair. "Well he obvioduly isn't going to listen to you either so its worth a shot." 

Yoongi shot them a glare and Jimin threw him a clean wash rag from the kitchen doorway. "For the smell babe." He said and Yoongi nodded gratefully making his way up the staircase to the familiar long corridor to the last door on the left. It was pitch black, inside and he pushed the cloth to this nose inhailing the scent of downey instead of Namjoons musk. 

"Hey sleepy head. You awake?" Namjoon downed the glass in front of him gagging at the flavor of the cheap whisky. He ignored Yoongi and glared when the elder turned the light on. Namjoon pulling his gun on him and Yoongi scoffed. "What are you going to do? Shoot me?" he said pushing the gun without a clip in it to the side and scoffing. "There isn't any bullets in that gun sweety." Namjoon scoffed and threw the gun at the wall halfheartedly. 

"Yeah wiehsh dhey wiere in mey head inshtead." Yoongi cringed, Namjoon had that dammed deaf voice. Something he'd let himself slip into, he hateed speaking and he literally ignored eveyone. Dean being the only one he would speak to and normally it was a 'stop staring' or 'heres money go get me booze' but instead of telling him to fuck off. Not that he would hear it anyway Dean always complied because if he didn't Namjoon wouldn't be here. He'd be dead, by his own hands.

"Get up Namjoon." Not bothering to read his lips he just grabbed the unopened vodka bottle and ripped the top off taking a swig and spitting some of it back up on his stained black shirt that stunk. God it fucking stunk Yoongi wasnt really sure the last time somone forced Namjoon to shower or even change his clothes but it had been a while. He went to move the blood stained shirt from Namjoons desk and was shocked when Namjoon decked him in the head. Yoongi getting too pissed to deal with his shit grabbed the youngers face and forced him to look at his face. "Listen to me you bastard. Kepping that fucking thing isn't going to make you feel any better. If you want to see him pick up your fucking phone, take a shower and go see him." Namjoon glared at him tossing the bottle to the ground and clutching the fabric. "Jesus your like a feral fucking animal." Yoongi leaned on the desk rubbing his cheeck hearing the door open from behind him. A pink haired Jimin entering and Yoongi felt Namjoon physically relax. 

No one blamed Namjoon for what happed, well besided Jin but that was a whole other issue. They were all okay and That's all that mattered, no one blamed Jungkook either but ever since the doctor deemed him okay and Seokjin gave Namjoon his ultimatum no one has spoken to him. "Hey Joonie." Jimin voice was delicate and he moved in front of the older. "It's my birthday today, you know?" He said pulling a peice of cake from his back and placing it on the desk. "I know you arent feeing good still, but well it would be nice for you to just eat with us. Please?" Namjoon held up an okay sign with his hand and wrapped the bloody white shirt around his arm tying it.  Before taking off his own shirt and tossing it somewhere on the floor grabbing a hoodie from the back of his closet and putting it on. Finally he mouthed a thank you grabbed the bottle of vodka and cake before leaving the room. 

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"Jungkook, good your home I just wanted to talk to you about something. Firstly though, how did the job interview go?" Yugyeom said smiling at him in the doorway as he took off his shoes and scarf diligently reveling the deep scar on his throat. His hand struggling slightly still, even after the therapy and skin grafts it just wasnt the same. 

"Not so good..." he said his voice barely above a whisper, a result from his throat being slit. 

"Oh... oh well thats okay I just wanted to umm..." The sound a little feat padding agasint the tile floor could be heard as a young boy jumped up for Jungkook to pick up. 

"Uncle Kookie!" He squealed and Jungkook held him up concentrating on his grip of the young child before putting him down. 

"JI, why dont you go watch your cartoons me and Jungkook have grown up stuff to talk about." The little one nodded and ran into the living room Jungkook followed his friend into the kitchen to sit at the table. "Jungkook, you know how you said you'd find an apartment and job soon. 

"I'm trying it's just really hard. No one will hire me because of my voice and the scar..."

Yugyeom put his hands up to his face, "I know but Jungkook its been almost a year and you know how she feels about you still living here. Due to Junior getting older, I'm really sorry but you need to maybe try harder." 

"If you want me to leave just say it." His voice growing horse, not really feeling like talking anymore and the other male looked at him. 

"What? Jungkook I cant hear you." Jungkook composed himself. 

"If you want me gone say it!" It was the loudest he could muster and it hurt, he strained his trachea and vocal cords and if he yelled again he'd be coughing up blood in no time tearing a hole. 

"Jungkook, I-" He wasn't going to deal with this being thrown away. When everything happed he had nobody, not Namjoon, not the others. His family was dead, so he called his childhood friend who convinced his wife to take pity on him and let him live with them. Grabbing a bag he stuffed it with the little bit of clothes he owned and a blanket, making his way to the door pulling down the coat and scarf before leaving. It was cold in October and he managed to find his way to a booth at a twenty four hour diner. He pulled out his phone... but he had no one to call.