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Paper Hearts

Summary:

“Kookie? Hey, listen to me. I’m coming to you right now.” He’s running, eyes scanning alleyways as he passes because something inside him knows. “I’ll be to you in just a second, alright?”

Thoughts of dark corners and shadows and nameless faces-

“Please.”

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Yoongi hates the word scared. Hates the way it sounds as it stutters out of pursed lips, curls into the air with desperation. Hates the broken, rough edges that cling to crevices hiding in the dark. He hates. Hates its everything.

Has since he was six years old and hiding under a blanket because mommy and daddy were yelling right outside his door. Don’t be scared, his brother had whispered from across the room but that confused him because it wasn’t actually fear that had him fisting the sheets. It was the fact that his heart was in his throat and his stomach was twisting itself in knots and his head was swirling with questions and pleas, praying that everything was okay, that everything would be okay. Scared wasn’t big enough. It was too small and plain to contain all that he felt. So he stopped using the word. Deleted it from his vocabulary altogether.

It doesn’t exist.

Not as his phone rings a little past 2 in the morning. Not as he shuffles over to grab it. Not when he sees Jungkook’s name light up the screen, presses accept, says yeah? with a halfhearted mumble.

But then the breathing on the other side is jagged and harsh and strained. “Yoongi-hyung,” the voice is too soft. Too wrong. “Hyung…I…I…can you,” the voice breaks.

Yoongi’s stomach drops and there’s a word echoing in the back of his mind, reminding him of late nights and too fast heart beats. Don't be scared. “Jungkook? Hey, hey what’s wrong? What happened?” He’s grabbing for his shoes mechanically, ice working its way through his veins as he ties the laces haphazardly. 

One. Two. Three seconds pass and then, “I…can you just come.”

“Of course I can. I’m already outside. Just tell me where you are, okay?” Yoongi’s head is spinning because something is very wrong and Jungkook is still a kid and please, just let him be okay.

Jungkook’s breath hitches. “I don’t…I was walking back to the dorm from the studio, and I think…I think I made it a block before,” there’s a pause, and Yoongi swears he can hear muffled crying.

“Kookie? Hey, listen to me. I’m coming to you right now.” He’s running, eyes scanning alleyways as he passes because something inside him knows. “I’ll be to you in just a second, alright?”

 Thoughts of dark corners and shadows and nameless faces-

“Please.”

-and Jungkook. Cute Jungkook walking all alone.

The ice is burrowing deeper into his chest. “Right here, Kookie. I’m almost there.” He’s not stupid. He can make the connection. The cold air is burning his eyes, and so he blinks hard a few times, wills away the images that flicker through his head, vivid and unforgiving.

Maybe he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

Yoongi's two blocks from the studio now so he slows a bit. The streets are dimly lit, and he has to strain to see anything, but then his eyes catch on a red sweater peeking out from the shadows. “I see you. I’m here.” Yoongi says over and over until he’s made it across the street and is kneeling in front of Jungkook.

Jungkook has his arms wrapped around himself, tear tracks running down his cheeks. And there’s so much rushing up inside of Yoongi at the sight that he thinks he might actually need to be sick, but then he thinks of Jin and Namjoon and how they always trust him to be the calm one. To know what to do. So Yoongi grits his teeth and reaches a gentle hand towards the maknae, bites down harder when the younger flinches away because yeah, he’s not wrong after all. Something’s lodged in the back of his throat, but he swallows it down. Not now. Not now. “It’s me. It’s just me,” he says softly.

Jungkook’s eyes haven’t left his. “I know. I know,” he repeats as if trying to convince himself. There’s a light breeze, and Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, lightly placing it over the boy in front him because his red sweater is in tatters. “Yoongi-hyung?” The older looks up, shuddering slightly when he notices how far away and empty Jungkook’s eyes are. “I couldn’t stop them. Maybe if it had just been one…” he’s shaking now, chest heaving with every word. “I couldn’t b-because there were three…and I did try. I did. But everything hurt, and it still..” there’s new tears trailing down his face, and so Yoongi reaches a hand out again, running his fingers through the maknae’s hair and ever so carefully moving to cradle him against his chest.

He lets out a heavy breath because this is not happening. Not to them. Not to their Kookie. “You don’t have to say anything right now.” Words somehow spill out of his mouth, and Yoongi pulls back to meet Jungkook’s gaze. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”

They move slowly down the empty sidewalk. Yoongi supporting the injured boy to the best of his ability, legs moving as fast as his body will allow with the added weight. He ignores the bite marks littering Jungkook’s shoulders, an angry violent red against his pale skin, and the blood staining the boy’s jeans between his legs and down the back.

Yoongi stops thinking altogether because this has a name, and it’s right there, teasing the edge. But he can’t yet. Can’t let it break the surface because when it does it’s going to break him right along with it.

And right now Jungkook needs him in one piece, so he just whispers the same three things over and over again.

I’ve got you.

We’ll be to the dorm soon.

You’re going to be okay.

 

*~*~*

 

Unsurprisingly, the lights are still out when the two stagger through the front door, hands hurriedly fumbling for the lock, breaths coming a little easier when the familiar click sounds. Jungkook’s head is pressed into the nape of Yoongi’s neck, wet splotches coating the skin there, and Yoongi stops, stiffens for a half second before decidedly moving towards his own bedroom.

Jungkook shifts. “They can’t know. I don’t want them to know.” His hands are fisting Yoongi’s shirt, and then he’s trying to pull away.

For a moment, Yoongi wants to let him because he deserves to be able to make his own decisions. He deserves to be able to say yes or no and be listened to. Deserves so damn much because Jungkook is good and kind, and this- this is just too much. Nonononono.

He almost lets the the thoughts swallow him, bury him under a mountain of grief, but then the weight on his shoulder begins to lift, centering him, and so he simply lets his body react.

“Kookie. They have to know.” Jungkook stills, so Yoongi presses on. “Seokjin-hyung…he can help.”

Jungkook’s no longer resting his head on the older, but instead has moved to look at him with eyes so impossibly filled with hurt and fear that Yoongi’s own heart clenches. “It’ll be okay,” he hears himself whisper.

And maybe Jungkook sees the storm that’s raging behind the slowly fracturing mask that Yoongi is trying so hard to keep in place, but he nods so Yoongi pushes the door open.

Seokjin is already shifting in his bed as the door creaks open, fingers finding the lamp to flood the room with a soft glow, rubs at his eyes, opens his mouth to ask a question that doesn’t quite make it out. A hand instinctively shoots up to cover his mouth, and Yoongi sees his hyung’s eyes taking in the mess that is Jungkook, watches as his face twists, and imagines (or knows really) everything that’s coursing behind that horrified expression.

The rest happens in a blur and before Yoongi realizes it, he’s gently setting the shaking boy down on his own bed, and then turning to face Jin who’s now just a few steps behind him.

“What happened?” It’s quiet, nothing more than a whisper, but the silence is broken, and hushed sobs are starting to wrench their way out of Jungkook’s chest. Seokjin’s eyes are pleading with him for some kind of answer, but Yoongi shakes his head and slides down to sit on the floor, breathing out gentle reassurances to the the crying maknae.

“Kookie-ah,” it’s Seokjin’s voice again. Quiet but firm this time. “What happened?”

Jungkook’s breath hitches, and Yoongi intuitively grabs for his hand, thumb kneading careful circles along the back. The skin on his knuckles is rough and raw, scabs beginning to form along the edges, and Yoongi silently, fleetingly hopes Jungkook got a punch in on those bastards.

“I don’t,” Jungkook stutters out. “I can’t. Please. Please. I…”

The air is suffocating, and Yoongi really needs to start breathing again so when Seokjin gathers the shaking boy up into his arm, he backs himself into the wall on the opposite side of the room and just watches. Watches as Jin slowly rocks Jungkook back and forth, fingers carding through his hair. Listens as the sobs grow louder and more raw. Clings to the steady, melodic voice that utters gentle comforts through it all.

He’s not sure how much time passes before the cries stop, but he realizes with a jolt that the silence might actually be worse.

“Yoongi…” He hears. Seokjin-hyung.

Jungkook is lying still on the bed, finally finding some kind of sleep, and Yoongi whispers a thank you to no one in particular.

That god awful name is back again, trying to crack through the surface, but Yoongi is too drained to stop it this time so he sucks in a ragged breath, waits for Jin to lift quietly off the mattress and then lets go. “You know what happened, don’t you?” Yoongi barely recognizes his own voice. He runs a hand through his hair, gaze flickering up towards the ceiling. “How could this…” He stops to look at Seokjin, wonders if his own eyes are just as pained, if his cheeks are just as wet. “Hyung…,” Yoongi whispers, and Jin is moving towards him. “Hyung, he…he was…” Hands are gently stroking his head, and he can vaguely make out the face that’s now inches from his, but it’s blurry and his jaw is aching and it’s all so messed up and, “Jungkook…Jungkook was raped.”

And everything shatters.

Notes:

Twitter: @jazzieshoesJK
just made so in the process of putting it together, but definitely come talk to me. I’d love to be friends!

Chapter 2

Notes:

So I feel really bad because I had fully intended to post this chapter last Thursday, but I've been crazy busy with graduation stuff (just finished undgrad! yay!) and life in general. And I feel even worse because it's not even a long chapter, but I think I'd rather give you guys something earlier than make you wait a few more days. I promise to make it up to y'all next time. Side note, I may make edits to this chapter at some point tomorrow.

Warning: this chapter does contain details of rape

Chapter Text

He shouldn’t have had his headphones in. He should have been paying better attention. He should have left the studio with Jimin earlier that night. Maybe then he’d be in his bed right now, covers pulled up tight, dreaming. Safe.

That’s all Jungkook can think when calloused hands yank and pull and drag until he’s pressed against a brick wall, an arm locked across his throat. His heart is thundering in his chest loud and painful in his ears, and he really should have noticed the figure looming out from the shadows because now he’s lost the chance to fight back.

His lungs are burning and he’s gasping to get a full breath of air, sputtering something out about money and to just take his wallet and go. But that only earns him a knee to the groin, and then he’s cursing with whatever breath he has left as his legs go weak, and he really just wants to be home.

There’s a car sweeping passed and a hand covering his mouth, a vicious grip turning him around until his chest is flush against the cold brick, head slamming into the wall with a force that makes his teeth clash together.

A hot breath grazes his ear, whispers, snakes a hand under his sweater.

Not interested in money, kid.

And Jungkook stops breathing.

There’s a heaviness in his chest that presses down into his core, that has his blood running cold as unwanted fingers glide across his stomach. He knows what’s about to happen, and the thought triggers a flood of panic that has him kicking and biting and straining against the weight bearing down on him, mind flashing to Tae and Namjoon, and just someone please.

A blur of twisted limbs, colliding, pulling, and he’s trying to run but then there’s two new figures grabbing at him, pinning his arms to his back. And a fist connecting with his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him, forcing him to the ground.

The hands are everywhere now, and Jungkook can’t stop the pleas that spill from his lips in desperation because this isn’t happening. But the voices only spit out amused laughs that crawl their way into Jungkook’s skin, burn holes into his bones.

We’re going to take good care of you.

His pants are bunched up around his ankles now, and Jungkook bites down on the inside of his cheek because he knows what’s coming breath breathe breathe, but it’s not enough and a scream rips from his throat at the pain that shoots up his spine and radiates through every part of his being. Pushing into him and through him and-

“Stopstopstop. Please.” He’s crying and screaming and trying to shift away from the mouth roaming over his neck and across his shoulders.

No one can hear you, love.

Jungkook can feel a wetness begin to trickle down his thighs, and god it hurts. Hurts so damn much.

Scream for me.

And on top of all the pain, Jungkook feels a gnawing sickness building in the pit of his stomach that grows and twists as his mouth is stretched open, choking, gagging, trying to breathe.

He’s sobbing uncontrollably when the second one tears into him, scream muffled by the hardness that’s shoving into the back of his throat, fast and unrelenting. And it’s so dark and he can’t, and the shadows won’t stop. Ripping tearing biting. Touches setting fire to his skin, whispers stabbing into whatever’s left.

So fucking beautiful.

His voice is hoarse, but he can’t stop screaming or crying, begging pleading praying. His world crashing down around him in sickening groans and cruel teeth, and the sticky wetness between his legs just grows and grows because he’s being torn in two. And oh god oh god please please please. But no one hears him.

And Jungkook wishes he were dead.

 

*~*~*

 

There’s bruises crisscrossing his thighs, hard ground pressing into his bare skin, and he quickly pulls up his pants. Fights the nausea that rushes up as his jeans cling to flesh and a dark liquid soaks through. He can’t think because all there is is pain and the smell of blood flooding his senses, making him want to shrink until he’s nothing.

Another car whizzes passed, and Jungkook flinches, realizes he needs to get away. Needs to get home. He makes himself move, reaches for his phone that’s only a few inches from his feet. His body is screaming at him to stop, and he has to bite into his shoulder to muffle the sob that spills out. His vision is dotted with tiny star bursts as he fumbles to get a hand on the buttons.

Jungkook is shaking, throat hoarse and tight, and he thinks he must be crying, but he can’t tell because everything seems so far away. There’s a buzzing in ears, and he knows his breaths are coming out too quickly, but he can’t stop. Can’t stop the images barreling through his head, and Jungkook wants to scream again because their hands are all over him.

Scream, love. Scream.

No. Stop. Stop.

He shakes his head, runs a hand over his face, shoves down the panic that’s bubbling up in his chest. “Just breathe,” he whispers.

One call. Come on.

He swallows the lump in his throat, punches at random buttons until his most recent call is lighting up the screen.

Jimin.

But that makes him freeze, sends his heart racing because Jimin (sweet, innocent Jimin) can’t see him like this. It’s too much. So he ends the call after two rings and chokes on another sob. Okay. Okay. Breathe. It’s fine.

He looks at his phone again, glancing at the recent calls list.

Yoongi-hyung.

He’ll know what to do.

And that’s all Jungkook thinks when he presses the call button, yeah?, whispers out his name.

Then everything else is hazy, and Yoongi’s coming, and it hurts. Lights flickering on the street, screams (his screams) echoing off the walls. Yoongi’s kneeling in front of him, reaches out, but nononono stop. Hands. They won’t stop. And then there’s a voice, and he knows that voice and it’s okay. I know. I know. These hands aren’t going to hurt him, not like the others. No, not like the three of them.

And did he just tell Yoongi that?

Moving. They’re moving, and there’s so much pain. Blinks and he’s on a bed and Seokjin-hyung (Seokjin?) is asking him a question, but he can’t answer it. His voice is raw and whywhywhy?

So beautiful.

Jungkook can’t breathe. Can’t-

And someone is holding him close, rocking back and forth, but he still can’t pull air into his lungs.

You’re safe. I’m right here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

Safe. Breathe. Breathe. Dark.

Chapter 3

Notes:

So this came out not exactly as I had planned. When I outlined this chapter, Jungkook acted a little bit differently, but when I started writing, the characters pulled me in a different direction. I do hope it turned out okay, and that the characters stayed true to their personalities. Please let me know what you guys think of this.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

He had a toy soldier once.

He took the small, beat up thing everywhere, showed it off to the friends that would listen (isn’t it cool, hyung? isn’t it?). His mother found it amusing, laughing whenever he attempted to buckle it into the seat next to himself. He’s too little for the seatbelt, Kookie, she’d smile.

And Jungkook would puff out his cheeks, look at her with big eyes, but you said I had to wear a seatbelt so I’d be safe, a-and I just wanted him to be safe too.

You know what? You’re right, his mother had said as she reached over to help with the buckle. You two keep each other safe, okay?

Okay.

And that was that.

Jungkook cried the day he lost his soldier. Buried himself under a mountain of blankets and whimpered into the pillow, until his mom came in and dug him out, whispering in that voice that always seemed to make everything alright again.

We can’t protect each other anymore.

She wiped the tears from his cheeks. No, but you still have me. I’m right here.

I’m right here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

He blinked. The walls were starting to shift, and he wasn’t in his bed anymore. Don’t cry, sweetheart, she said.

Oh don’t cry, love.

Scream. Scream

The walls are gone. And it’s dark, so so dark. What happen-

Wake up. Wake up.

Why can’t he remember?

Spin spin spin. Around and around. Hands. Stopstopstop. Hurts.

Kookie, open your eyes. Come on.

Fire on his skin. Water in his throat. Burning, drowning, fall fall fall. Breathe.

When he wakes with a gasp, it’s to Yoongi’s gentle voice and soft hands patting his shoulder. It’s still dark outside, the glow from the lamp splaying shadows across the ground. He flinches away from the touch resting on his arm, pushes his body back against the wall, wishes he could just melt into it. Disappear.

Yoongi puts his hands up quickly, and there’s something sparkling in the corner of his eye. “I’m not going to hurt you, Kookie. Never.”

He hears, and he nods in response, but it doesn’t stop the shaking rattling through his frame. His head is pounding, and there’s nausea clawing it’s way up his throat and the images won’t stop flashing through his mind and just stop.

Stop. Please please.

Tears slip out from his eyes which he now has squeezed shut and, “Jungkookie, look at me.” Seokjin’s voice now. “No one here is going to hurt you, okay? Can you just nod if you understand me? Please, Kookie.”

He does.

“Good, good. Now I just need you to try and slow down your breathing. Can you do that for me?”

But the air is frozen in his lungs, making his chest ache and his vision blur.

The images though are crystal clear, bright as day.

Don’t cry, love. I know you enjoy this.

-take good care of you.

Seokjin’s hands are on his face. “Jungkook. Jungkook I’m going to scoot closer to you, okay? I’m going to try and help you breathe.”

He feels himself being lifted up slightly until his back is resting against something firm and warm. There’s a hand over his heart and Seokjin’s voice is closer now. “Breathe with me.”

Jungkook tries, focuses on the chest rising and falling behind him and the hand rubbing circles over his heart. Opens his eyes and stares at the light radiating from the lamp. It’s not dark here. He’s home. It’s okay now. Seokjin-hyung and Yoongi-hyung are here. Calm down.

His breaths are coming out much slower now, so he leans his head back, turns to rest his forehead on the older’s neck.

Seokjin lets out a heavy sigh, continues to rub circles over the maknae’s chest. “There you go. You’re doing so good. I’ve got you.”

“I’m okay. It’s okay,” Jungkook whispers, his own hand coming to rest on top of Seokjin’s.

“Okay.”

They sit like that for another hour, Jungkook falling in and out of sleep (Seokjin stays still the entire time) until he hears them whispering about a hospital. The word sends sparks over his skin, and he shifts upward, tries not to wince at the movement. Yoongi is sitting on the edge of the bed, and Jungkook meets his gaze. “No hospitals,” he says, firm, soft, scared. He doesn’t want anyone else to know. Doesn’t want to sit in a white room that smells of antiseptic. Doesn’t want to be prodded with cold metal instruments, looked at by strangers, asked questions about, about that. No. He can’t.

“Kookie…you’re hurt, and I think-”

“No.” It comes out a lot harsher than he intended, but it doesn’t matter right now. “No hospital,” he says again, looks from Seokjin to Yoongi.

Something shifts in Yoongi’s eyes, face softening, lips pressing together for a second. “Okay. Okay.”

Jungkook relaxes slightly then and watches the silent conversation going on between his two hyungs, but Yoongi is firm and eventually Seokjin just shakes his head and lets out a breath.

The sun hasn’t started coming up yet, and the dorm is still quiet because for once they don’t have a schedule before dawn. The clock across the room reads 4:20, and Jungkook watches as the seconds tick by, tick tick tick. Yoongi brings him a cup of water at 4:26. He takes a sip.

Tick tick tick.

Seokjin runs a hands through his hair.

Tick tick tick.

He realizes the bed is probably covered in blood at 4:34.

Tick tick tick.

At 4:41 he tells Seokjin he needs to shower.

Seokjin agrees, “Let me help you though. Yeah?” And Jungkook nods, mainly because he can’t seem to get himself off the bed without bursts of pain making him hiss and cringe. Yoongi is leaning against the door, fists clenched hard enough to turn the knuckles white as they stumble passed. He leaves the room without a word before they’ve made it into the bathroom, and Jungkook is sorry. He must say it out loud because Seokjin shushes him and says he has nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. None of this is your fault. 

Jungkook doesn’t believe him.

Together, they make quick work of his clothes, and he watches as Seokjin wordlessly puts the clothes into a paper bag and places it in a corner. “Just in case,” he mumbles. And Jungkook understands then, doesn’t say anything in response.

He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror, doesn’t even look down at his own skin because he knows what’s there. Can feel it. His hyung helps him into the tub, and he sits, closes his eyes (if he focuses on the sound of the water hard enough, he can’t hear their voices). Hands start massaging his scalp, and he breathes in, exhales. He’s safe. It’s safe here. Seokjin softly wipes at the cuts and marks that Jungkook is sure cover his body, (teeth grating over his chest, biting into flesh hard enough to make him scream. fingers and nails digging into hips as those sickening groans grew louder and louder. so fucking beautiful. scream, love.) and suddenly the water is too hot and it’s burning his skin. Scream.

When he opens his eyes, Seokjin’s mouth is moving but he can’t hear anything. And there’s red swirling, mixing with the water, bright and vivid against the white of the tub. His blood. Because of them. Because-

And then Jungkook lets out a small hiccup and then a sob, and then he’s crying. Stubborn tears trickling down his cheeks, and he tries to stop them but then Seokjin starts humming, tells him it’s okay to let it all out.

So he does.

He sobs and cries as Seokjin finishes rinsing out his hair, as he ever so gently dries him off and gets him into some clean clothes. Cries when his hyung lays down next to him on the bed (with sheets that smell new and clean and Yoongi must have come back in to change them), kisses his forehead, continues humming even as his own eyes fill with unshed tears, and Jungkook can’t help but feel so so sorry.

 

*~*~*

 

The next time he wakes, there’s yelling coming from outside the bedroom door. It takes Jungkook a second to remember where he is, but when he sees Seokjin sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, his mind clears.

“He doesn’t want to go, Namjoon,” Jungkook hears. The voice sounds angry, low and raspy, and guilt begins working its way into Jungkook’s chest, makes itself at home next to his heart because Yoongi rarely gets mad at Namjoon.

“-know as well as I do that he needs to at least go and get checked out. This is seri-”

“Do you think I don’t know that,” Yoongi bites out, words clipped and harsh.

Namjoon’s voice is softer this time. “No, I know. I know you do. I’m sorry.” Seokjin stands up, takes a breath and moves towards the door. “I just think that a hospital can better check him over than we can. What if it’s worse than-”

“Stop,” Seokjin’s voice this time. “You’re going to wake up the kids. And…and I’m not ready for that yet.”

It’s silent for a bit and then, “He doesn’t want to go,” Yoongi says, “and we are not making Jungkook do something he doesn’t want to do.” Heavy footsteps echoing. A door slams shut.

“You’re right,” Seokjin whispers so softly that Jungkook has to strain to hear it. “But so is he.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, voice farther away this time. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Okay.” One, two three. “He’s hurting you know….Yoongi, I mean. This is hard for him.”

“I know.” Jungkook hears the door open and close.

Seokjin shuffles back into the room, and Jungkook notices how exhausted the older looks, eyebrows furrowed together and lips pressed together in a straight line. Seokjin sits on the floor on the opposite side of the room, presses the palms of his hands into his eyes, and Jungkook thinks he hears soft crying, pretends he doesn’t.

Tick tick tick.

Notes:

The good news is that I've already started chapter 4, so it should be up really really soon! I might have to take a minor break after chapter 4 though because that one is turning out to kind of emotionally draining (mainly because it's Tae, Jimin, and Hoseok finding out, and they have a lot of emotions). Thanks again for reading! Your comments have been so motivating, and I greatly appreciate each and every one.

Chapter 4

Notes:

So this was supposed to be a longer chapter, but I ended up just making it 2 chapters instead so the next one should be up in a day or two. Also, I would just like to say that Taehyung was very difficult for me to write. I have no idea why, but I struggled through the middle part of this chapter. I'm not sure how it turned out, but I hope it's okay.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Yoongi regrets it as soon as he slams to door. He’s not mad at Namjoon. Not really. He’s just angry, so so angry and hurt and upset. And why did this have to be happening to them (them because Jungkook was theirs and this kind of thing spreads like a toxic gas, infects everyone. is going to hurt and break them all down, not in the same way that it will for Jungkook, but in a way that leaves their hearts shattered but still beating, that rips them up slowly, burns from the inside out until there’s nothing but ash. them because they were all going to carry this weight).

He sits on the cold ground, watches the sunrise with a bitter hatred because today was meant for grey tinged clouds and heavy rain. There’s a slow creaking, and then Namjoon is sitting next to him, leg barely touching his own. The silence that stretches between them is laced with uncertainty. No one knows what to say. No one has anything to say because what is there really.

“He’s just a kid,” Yoongi says finally.

He sees the gears turning in Namjoon’s head and can almost hear the hesitation in his voice when he finally does speak. “So were you.”

Yoongi glances at him, turns back to look at the sky, wishes it would rain. “Yeah,” he whispers.

There’s not a cloud in sight.

 

*~*~*

 

When the two of them make their way back inside, they find Seokjin blocking Taehyung’s way to the bedroom door. “-can’t go in there. Not right now.”

“But why? Jungkook is in there, isn’t he?”

Seokjin shoots Namjoon a look, motions his head towards the door. “He’s upset. Go sit with him, Joonie.”

Taehyung is staring at him, mind working a mile a minute, so Namjoon hurries toward the door, closes it without a word. Seokjin lets out a breath.

“Why can’t I see Jungkook?” Taehyung stutters out in Yoongi’s direction.

Tae was still a kid in most respects, playful and lighthearted in that childlike way that made you want to hold him close. Always smiling because that’s just who he was. Sometimes he forgot that Taehyung wasn’t actually 12 years old, and that was his fault. So when Yoongi sees the boy’s mouth downturned in a grimace, he sighs, motions the younger one over and moves to sit on the couch. His own pulse is echoing in his ears because this isn’t something he ever wanted to have to do (again). “Tae-”

“How bad is it? How bad is he hurt?” Taehyung has his jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides, and Yoongi shakes his head because sometimes Tae is too perceptive for his own good.

Seokjin guides him to sit on the couch, kneels down in front of him. Locks his eyes with Taehyung’s, blinks rapidly a few times. “Bad,” and that’s all he says (doesn’t know how to say the rest).

Taehyung nods, subconsciously scoots closer to Yoongi and pats his knee, draws patterns across it with his finger. “I heard him crying,” he says, voice hushed and airy. “The walls are thin. Jimin did too. I told him it was just a dream. Don’t know if he believed me or not.”

Yoongi knows Taehyung won’t cry. Not yet. Maybe when his body caught up with his mind or after they tell Jimin (because when Jimin cried it would make it real for him).

No. Taehyung wouldn’t cry now. So Yoongi counts to three and makes his decision. “Jungkook was raped, Tae.” He doesn’t regret his decision even as Seokjin’s breath hitches and Taehyung’s finger stills.

Seokjin would probably yell at him later, but that was okay because he knows he’s right. They shared this. This was all of their’s to bear.

Taehyung’s finger is shaking slightly when he continues tracing patterns over Yoongi’s jeans. He doesn’t look up. There’s a rustling coming from one of the other rooms, Namjoon’s voice filtering through the door, and then there’s the distinct sound of retching, and no one questions who it’s coming from.

Taehyung is chewing at his bottom lip, and Yoongi catches the slight shake in his jaw. “Let me see him,” the younger whispers suddenly, moves to stand. Seokjin grabs for his hand but misses, brushes his fingertips. “Please. Just let me.” His lip is swollen from where he’d been biting it and his eyes have lost some of their usual light, but when they lock on Yoongi’s (strong and determined), he doesn’t see a 12 year old boy. “Please, hyung.”

“Yeah. Go,” he breathes, watches as Seokjin trails behind, door opening and shutting in one motion. He leans back on the couch, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, tells himself to just stay calm.

Don’t think.

Repeat repeat.

Calm.

 

*~*~*

 

They find the two of them on the bathroom floor. Jungkook’s hands are clenching the sides of the toilet bowl, forehead covered in a light layer of sweat. Seokjin clicks his tongue when he enters, notifying the others of his presence, pats Jungkook’s head softly, while Taehyung stays in the background.

Namjoon looks scared. Looks more like a lost child than the strong, sure leader he’s always been, and so Seokjin gives him a knowing look (i’ve got it) and tells him to go make sure Jimin and Hoseok were still asleep. Namjoon leaves without a word, squeezes Seokjin’s hand as he passes, rustles Taehyung’s hair.

It feels like something thick and hot is burning a hole through Taehyung’s chest, dripping a fiery liquid into his stomach when he sees Jungkook curled in on himself. Looking so small and defeated and broken, and everything inside him is shouting and crying and he moves without thinking, places a hand on Jungkook’s back, ignores the way he stiffens at the contact. “Jungkookie,” he soothes, lets his voice register. “It’s me. It’s Tae.”

And when Jungkook looks at him, Taehyung’s heart breaks, shatters into millions of tiny pieces because the hurt filling those soft brown irises is screaming at him, sucking the life from his bones. So he gathers Jungkook up, leans himself against the wall, and holds the boy close. Rests his chin on top of his head when Jungkook starts to cry. “Tae…Taehyung, I-I couldn’t…,” he sobs, curls his hands in the older’s shirt.

But Taehyung just shushes him, runs his long fingers through his hair. “Shhh, shhh,” he hums, and then, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

When the door clicks shut, he doesn’t hear it.


*~*~*

 

Jimin cries when they tell him. Hoseok walks out.

(Attacked? What do you mean attacked?)

Seokjin holds Jimin through the first fit of tears, clenches his teeth together and doesn’t cry.

(You mean like mugged?)

Namjoon goes after Hoseok without a word. Yoongi doesn’t follow.

(Eyes pleading with Hoseok to just understand. Apologizing when he does.)

Jimin won’t stop crying.

(No, Jiminnie, that’s not what he means.)

Seokjin has to leave the room. Yoongi sees the tears as he passes, pulls Jimin to lay on his lap instead.

(Then, wha-)

(-three men)

(No no no no. Please no.)

Yoongi brushes the hair from Jimin’s eyes, tells him to breathe. It’s okay. It’s okay.

“But it’s not,” Jimin stutters out, and when Namjoon drags Hoseok back inside, eyes rimmed red, Yoongi knows he’s right.

Notes:

Yeah....not sure how I feel about this one. I'm much happier with the way the next one is coming along. Anyway, as always, thanks for reading!

Chapter 5

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When he sleeps, Jungkook dreams of shadowed faces and ghost-like hands. They hold him down and don’t let him breathe, cut him with sharp claws while he screams and begs, tear him open over and over again. Something brushing across his cheek and Kookie it’s just a dream, wake up, wake up. And he knows it’s not real, knows that he’s home, but their fingers still burn his skin even as he opens his eyes and presses himself further into Taehyung’s embrace. Can still feel that disgusting breath on his neck as tears escape from under his lashes.

No one can hear you.

Sometimes the voice that floats into his subconscious is Taehyung’s, low and kind (you’re safe now. i’m right here). Most of the time, though, all he can hear is them, whispering and jeering. Hears you know you like this and scream, love, scream and so fucking beautiful.

They won’t stop and maybe something in his head is actually broken because he still feels trapped and wrong and not safe. Never safe. Taehyung tells him that it’s over now, but Jungkook doesn’t actually think it is. Not really.

He tosses and turns on the bed, kicks at the body lying next to him until someone comes and holds him down, soft, gentle. But it still sends him into a panic, and he jerks away, chants nononono, tries not to cry because this can’t happen again.

Taehyung’s voice filters back into his subconscious, “Jungkook. Jungkook.”

“Let him go, Tae. He’s scared,” Yoongi’s voice now.

“But he’s making himself bleed again.” The hands holding him let go though, and Jungkook curls in on himself. “It’s just me, Kookie. I’m not going to hurt you. I-I’d never…” Taehyung chokes, and Jungkook knows that he’s crying, but he can’t open his eyes.

He whispers out a sorry before drifting back into a fitful sleep.

 

*~*~*

 

Yoongi is the one that cleans him up in the tub the second time. When he asks where the others are, Yoongi just sighs, says there had been an interview scheduled for today. Hoseok, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Taehyung had gone. “Jimin-hyung?” he asks.

“Asleep on the couch.”

But that’s not like Jimin, and Yoongi’s lips have tightened into a straight line. “He’s upset,” Jungkook says, matter of factly, stares at the bottom of the tub. Feels the guilt eating at the corners of his heart because sometimes Jiminnie felt too much and too big.

Yoongi hums. “He cares about you. We all do, Jungkookie.” He grabs the towel from the counter.

Jungkook looks up. “I’m okay.” It doesn’t sound true even to him.

But Yoongi nods, starts to carefully dry him off. “I know,” he says.

 

*~*~*

 

Seokjin brings him soup when he gets back, pulls up a chair next to the bed and offers him the bowl. Jungkook doesn’t want to eat it, tries to tell him he’s not hungry, but Seokjin simply places the dish in his hands and doesn’t stop staring until he brings it to his lips. The broth warms his throat, carries the heat down into his stomach, and he hadn’t actually realized how sore and raw his throat was. His hand is shaking as he brings it to his neck, eyes darting to Seokjin, pleading with him to somehow stop the voices and the memories that are darting into his subconscious and why hadn’t he noticed before how the skin at the corners of his mouth was cut and rough-

So good, that mouth of yours.

-from being pried open.

So good, love.

Bile sitting (stuck) in the back of his throat, head and bare skin forced up and down and back and forth against rough asphalt as he cried- screamed at them to stop. And the moon above him bright and hideous as it mocked him because no one was coming to save him. Just watching as they tore him apart, as they ripped the soul from his body, leaving nothing but a shell behind when they finally (finally) left his body bleeding on the ground.

We’re going to take good care of you.

No.

It’s over. It’s over.

And Jungkook closes his eyes at the onslaught of too vivid, too loud words echoing in his ear, tells Seokjin he’s going to be sick, bile barely making it into the trashcan that’s hastily shoved under his chin.

When the dry heaves stop, he lays back down on the bed, turns to face the wall (please go), and Seokjin leaves, soup in hand without a word.

 

*~*~*

 

“Jimin, please come eat something,” Jungkook hears, knows it’s Namjoon right away even though it’s nothing louder than a whisper.

There’s movement on the edge of the bed, and the fingers that had been grazing his own for the last two hours shift away. “Not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten all day.” Pans clank in the kitchen, and Jungkook can almost picture Seokjin fumbling around to throw something together for dinner. “Please, Jiminnie.”

Silence.

Fingers interlace with his again. “I just don’t want to eat right now, hyung.”

A beat.

Then two.

Namjoon lets out an exasperated sigh. “Alright. The food will be ready soon if you change your mind.” The door hums and then clicks closed, taking the sound of pots and pans with it.

Jungkook counts to three, squeezes Jimin’s hand.

Jimin squeezes back.

 

*~*~*

 

The clock reads midnight when Jungkook manages to scoot off the bed and shuffle to the living room. His skin is crawling and itching, and he just needs to move. Just for a second. So he ignores the pain radiating up his spine and takes his first tentative steps out of the room he’s been holed up in for almost twenty four hours.

Yoongi is sitting hunched over on the couch, scribbling words onto a notepad when he enters, and Jungkook clears his throat, waits for the older to look up. But he doesn’t, so Jungkook takes a few more steps forward, startles at the sudden voice. “Did you need something, Jungkookie?” Yoongi’s eyes still haven’t left the notepad though.

Jungkook clears his throat. “No…no, just want to move around for a minute.” The words don’t sound quite as hoarse as they had earlier.

Yoongi puts the pencil down and glances up. He looks tired. “Do you want me to sit outside with you? Fresh air?”

But the thought of leaving the dorm makes Jungkook shudder, so he shakes his head, says he’s just going to get a glass of water and then go back.

Yoongi nods, smiles gently. “Okay.”

And Jungkook is almost thankful for the lack of coddling and touching in that moment as he turns to walk to the kitchen, fills a cup with water from the sink.

There’s talking coming from the living room suddenly, a low hum that Jungkook can’t quite hear. He starts moving back toward the bedroom, realizes Namjoon is one of the voices.

“You should sleep, hyung.”

“I will soon.” Yoongi.

Jungkook stands in front of the bedroom door, opens it as quietly as possible.

“-you doing okay?” The words are soft and not directed at him. 

He hurries into the room, catches the short, clipped I’m fine Yoongi bites out before the door shuts. Doesn’t let himself wonder about it for too long.

Notes:

I think the plot is going to pick up in the coming chapters (just as heads up). As always, thanks for reading, and I appreciate every single one of y'all's comments.

Chapter 6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The dorm is quiet a lot of the time. Clocks ticking and footsteps echoing, voices never rising above a low mumble. The younger ones haven’t played video games for a long while now, opting to spend any free time curled up next to Jungkook or sitting somewhere near. Namjoon paces constantly, spends hours on the phone speaking in hushed tones and yes, I know it’s been two days, but he’s still not well- yes, yes I understand.

It’s always the same.

Whisper whisper.

Repeat.

Jungkook’s not sure how much the company knows, how much has been forced out of the members, but he suspects it’s little to none since Namjoon only mentions the words sick or unwell when talking to their managers. Jungkook is glad they don’t know.

He walks to the living room more often now, sometimes makes his way into the kitchen to see what Seokjin is cooking (and it seems like Seokjin hasn’t actually stopped cooking), asks to try whatever it is because that makes his hyung smile and those are rare these days. He feels guilty for that, so Taehyung tells him daily that it’s not his fault. Nothing is his fault, and Jungkook will shake his head because his brain can’t seem to convince his heart of the sentiment.

Head over heart. Heart over head.

It’s a war that never seems to have a winner. Just makes him feel too much and too little at the same time.

He notices that the others argue more often.

Not with him. Never with him.

Mostly, they take it outside, but occasionally when they think Jungkook is asleep, he can catch bits and pieces of the frustration and anger sputtered, thrown, cried out.

(-are we doing?)

(Eat. It’s been days.)

(I don’t know, Hoseok. I-)

(Stop. Stop asking. Stop worrying about ME.)

It makes the hole in his chest grow, and he briefly wonders how big it can get before swallowing him. Though he thinks it may have already happened because he doesn’t actually feel alive anymore. Jungkook mentions it to Jimin once, lets the older tuck his head into his chest and cry with I’m sorry’s pressed into the fabric of his shirt. Jimin kisses his forehead when he leaves, hurried footsteps out of the room before there’s more crying and Seokjin’s voice asking what’s wrong and oh, Jimin, just breathe. it’s okay, baby. it’s okay.

Jungkook doesn’t mention it again.

Hoseok is never home anymore. He spends full days at the dance studio perfecting old choreography because they haven’t been given anything new. Seokjin drops off food for him twice a day, and Yoongi walks over at sunset and waits until Hoseok is too exhausted to even lift an arm before taking him by the hand so that they can walk home together. No one says anything about it.

They don’t mention how quiet Taehyung is either. Smiles and laughs on cue, but it always seems forced and somehow sad. Namjoon does most of the talking at interviews, makes sure he has enough to say to fill up the time. The fans still notice though, and when one of the PDs tells Tae to snap out of it (grow up. we don’t have time for this. forget about whatever it is.), Namjoon politely excuses the group, says something came up and walks out. He sits next to Taehyung in the van, doesn't let the younger apologize because it’s not his fault. Taehyung cries at that statement.

 

*~*~*

 

It’s been three days since, and for the most part, Jungkook is improving physically. The pain in his backside is more of a dull ache, and his limp is almost completely gone. Seokjin makes sure to clean the cuts and marks that cover his shoulders and chest twice a day, but he know they’re not actually getting any better because he can’t stop picking and scrubbing at them. Seokjin asks him why, and Jungkook tells him that the dark purple bruises on his skin make him feel dirty, make him hear their voices whenever he showers so he has to scrub and poke and just get clean. He can’t stop, doesn’t know how. And Seokjin must mention it to Yoongi because the next time he bathes, Yoongi sits in the bathroom with him and talks low and calm at all the right moments. It helps.

They have a performance in two days. Thankfully, it’s short and it’s in Korea, but Jungkook still doesn’t know if he has even that in him. Namjoon assures him that it’s okay if he doesn’t feel up to it, that he can make up another excuse. Jungkook wants to let him with every fiber of his being, but he knows suspicions are growing and people knowing is almost worse than the idea of standing on a stage, so he tells them he’ll go. He can do it.

The days leading up to the show go by in a blur, and Jungkook almost changes his mind last minute, but Taehyung holds his hand as they walk to the van and nestles close in the seat next to him. He remembers to breathe. In and out. In and out. Let’s Taehyung’s soft singing fill his ears for the entire ride. If he focuses hard enough, he can pretend it’s just another performance.

In and out.

In and out.

He chooses a long sleeve shirt to wear, changes in a separate room away from the chaos. The hum from the bass vibrates in the air, sends a tingling sensation through his feet and up his legs. He has five minutes. Five minutes to pull himself together and be Jeon Jungkook the singer, dancer, idol. Two minutes ’til showtime someone knocks on the door, and then Namjoon pokes his head inside.

“Ready?” he asks. But Jungkook knows it’s not so much a question as it is a statement because it’s time.

He nods and stands, subconsciously tugging on his sleeves until he can awkwardly hold on to them. The heat from Namjoon’s hand radiates through Jungkook’s shirt as they line up on the platform. “You can do this, okay?”

His eyes flit to the ground, and the roar of the crowd is already making the stage shake before they’ve even announced their name. Seokjin and Namjoon shuffle around, and when he looks up Jimin is looking at him, lips quirking up in a soft smile when their eyes meet. Their worry is tangible, and Jungkook can feel it suffocating him, twisting it into an impossible knot of black and gray and white.

Speakers calling out their name, and the platform is rising until it’s level with the stage, crowd bellowing impossibly louder. And the view in front of him is like a black ocean, dangerous and wild-

Lights.

Familiar music thrumming across his skin.

-shrieking and breaking in waves.

His body remembers this dance though, legs carrying him over the stage like they have hundreds of times. The pounding of the bass mirroring the beating in his chest, blood rushing through his ears and-

Step step.

Sing.

Voice carrying up and over and through even though it’s as if shards of glass are lodged in his throat, mouth tasting blood and dust each time he swallows. The music rises rises rises, and Jungkook lets himself drown in the black of the ocean and in Jimin’s high, breezy voice.

In and out.

Step step.

Sing.

 

*~*~*

 

His knees give out as soon as they’re off the stage, head spinning in a haze of lights and sounds as the adrenaline leaves his body in a rush. But it’s not safe yet because there’s cameras searching and waiting, hunting for a story, so when arms encircle and lift him from behind, Jungkook hastily accepts the help. Let’s out a quiet thank you when he sees it’s Hoseok, who gives him a quick nod before wrapping an arm around his waist and giving an over-exaggerated smile as he presses close in a showy display of affection, cooing about how cute their maknae is to the cameras they passed.

When they reach their room backstage, Jungkook attempts to gently pull away from Hoseok but ends up shoving the older away as he hurries to the trash bin and empties the contents of his stomach. There’s not much, but it goes on for several minutes.

Jungkook wipes his mouth when he’s done, and Yoongi helps him up and to the van. He dreams, and the others talk, a collage of voices and images behind closed eyes.

(-just needs more time.)

(Should we ask for help?)

Help.

Scream, love. Scream.

(-take a break.)

(Jimin, you have to start eating again.)

(-not good for you. We’re worried.)

So good.

So fucking beautiful.

(We’re doing everything we can.)

(-crying.)

(-not good enough.)

 

*~*~*

 

Home.

He doesn’t remember walking inside, but when he opens his eyes he’s on Yoongi’s bed, and Yoongi is next to him. He’s used to waking to Jimin or Taehyung, and the surprise must show on his face because the older pets his hair. “They went to get food with Namjoon,” he mutters.

“Oh.”

Yoongi smiles down at him. “Yeah. They’ll be back soon though.”

Jungkook moves to rest his head on Yoongi’s thigh. “Okay.”

The silence doesn’t feel as bad as it usually does. Mostly because Yoongi ruffles his hair periodically and makes comments about the book he currently has splayed open. For a short while everything almost feels normal, and Jungkook breathes a little bit easier.

He dozes as Yoongi work careful ministrations with his fingers into his scalp, but the nightmares resurface like clockwork and Jungkook screams himself awake.

“Jungkookie, it’s a dream. It’s just a dream.” Soft and calm and sad.

Yoongi hasn’t moved an inch, uses his thumb to brush away the tears on his cheek Jungkook hadn’t realized were falling. He doesn’t know what makes him ask, but the question tumbles off his lips before he can think better of it. “Hyung, are they ever going to stop?”

“Yeah. Yeah they will, Kookie.”

“How do you know?” And his voice sounds so small even to his own ears.

Yoongi tilts Jungkook’s head up, so that he’s looking at his face. “They’ll stop. Not forever and not all at once, but I promise you that they will happen less and less. It’ll get better, and you are going to be okay.” He sounds confident and sure, staring into his eyes for a long moment, and Jungkook thinks he might actually believe him.

 

 

               

Notes:

Alright guys, if all goes according to plan Yoongi's backstory will happen next chapter, so yay! As for this chapter, I tried to give glimpses into the others members thoughts and mindsets without actually saying anything directly, but I'm not sure how successful I was with that so feedback would be much appreciated. Please and thank you! Also, I apologize about how short I've been making chapters, but I'm taking a class 8-5 and working, so I have a limited amount of time for writing (which makes me sad), but I hope I'm making at least the quality good.

Chapter 7

Notes:

This chapter was HARD. I think I rewrote it about 4 times, and I'm still not completely happy with it. I think I may have had too much going on, but I'll let you guys decide.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jungkook only talks to Yoongi about what happened.

Minor details at first. Things they said, places they touched, ways they held him down. There’s not much feeling behind any of it. Memories and flashbacks stitched together into sentences that Jungkook doesn’t really have control over, flooding out of his mouth in soft tones, light breaths grazing Yoongi’s ear. Repetitive and mechanical, and Yoongi knows if it’s like this he can handle it.

Still, Namjoon and Seokjin don’t think it’s a good idea, tell him in not so many words that it could be triggering because-

But they never finish the sentence, and Yoongi could almost laugh. Almost. Their faces always look tired and drawn though, creases etched into their foreheads and dark purple bruises coloring the skin beneath their eyes. It’s different than the usual exhaustion, so Yoongi tries to hold his tongue, reminds himself that the two of them mean well. It works most of the time, but then Namjoon suggests that maybe Kookie should see a counselor. could talk to someone else-

The glass is shattering on the tiled floor before Yoongi even registers it leaving his hand. Sparkling crystal covering the space between them, and Yoongi tilts his chin up until his eyes find, lock on Namjoon’s, anger painting his vision red because Namjoon doesn’t get it. Will never get it.

Can’t.

The rational part of his mind beckons him to relax- calm down, calm down. not his fault. not his fault- but he’s too far consumed, and he hates that it’s impossible for the rest of them to understand (and why does he have to). Right now, Jungkook needs him, Min Yoongi. Not a stranger. Ice in his veins, and Namjoon doesn’t actually know a damn thing.

Yoongi doesn’t apologize when he says it, doesn’t pick up the glass shards in front of his feet, just turns on his heel and walks out, fists clenched tight. None of them get it, and he can handle it which is exactly what he tells himself when the details start to get more vivid. Start to become less like a monotone reciting from the page of a book and more like an old recording, grainy and sporadic but still alive and real.

He can handle it.

(I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe because he was in my mouth and oh god, oh god.)

Delete delete.

(oh god.)

Delete.

Don’t think.

Yoongi whispers out meaningless comforts each time he finds his voice, a steady softness that seems so out of place against the harsh, troubled gasps blanketing the room. It’s an empty, repetitive monologue that means nothing except to serve as a reminder that he’s still there, that Jungkook is being heard and someone is listening. It’s all that he can offer because he doesn’t know how to fix this.

How to fix them.

Because they are broken. Different pieces and different parts, but broken all the same. Stuck together with tape and glue that doesn’t hold up for long, dries up and wears out again and again.

Seven days.

One week.

That’s all it’s been.

One week since.

 

*~*~*

 

Eight days.

Jimin doesn’t eat enough. Scrapes a couple of spoons of rice into his mouth before excusing himself, and no one knows what to do. They all have been eating less, but Jimin’s face has started to thin out and his waist is pulled in taut against his ribcage. There’s always two empty chairs at the table now, and the silence is somehow more deafening with only five. Utensils screeching and groaning, echoing the desperation and the he’s fine he’s fine he’s fine because Jimin is starving himself, and it’s so much easier to pretend that they can’t see it. So when Hoseok says Jimin just needs time, that it’ll get better, they listen.

It’s ignorant, selfish even, and they all know it but Taehyung is the only one who puts the remainder of his heart on his sleeve and voices it aloud. “He’s making himself sick, hyung. I don’t know what to do. What do we do?”

It’s a loaded question.

And as Taehyung’s eyes cling to his, lost, trusting (still so so trusting), Yoongi wants to tell him he doesn’t know, that he’s scared too, but the words catch in his throat long enough for him to realize that he doesn’t actually know what he feels anymore -everything? nothing?- so he pats the younger’s arm, it’ll be okay, because it’s the only thing he can do and the only answer he has.

Taehyung nods like he understands.

On the tenth day, Taehyung finds Jimin throwing up in the bathroom. Clear liquid the only thing coming up because there’s nothing left in his stomach, and it’s enough. Paper bound illusions ripping through the okays and fines, leaves Taehyung to sink to the floor next to Jimin, unsteady hands guiding the other away from the mess in the toilet and on the floor and- “Seokjin-hyung…hyung.”

Taehyung is crying and Jimin is crying and Yoongi stands at the door as Seokjin kneels down on the tile with his brows furrowed to stave off his own tears, wraps Jimin up in his arms and locks eyes with Yoongi.

Tape and glue cracking, tearing, and Yoongi can see the breaks. Can see the breaks in the three of them folded up on the floor. Knows he has the same ones and maybe these breaks can’t ever be fixed. He doesn’t know anymore, and the weight pressing down on him is getting heavier with each passing day because no one is actually moving on or getting better. Jungkook needs time. They all need time, but it’s hard to watch and it’s even harder to feel, harder and harder with every second that ticks by. Time seems more content to play the part of devil’s advocate, slow then fast, fast then slow.

Forward forward.

Rewind rewind.

Pausing on the worst possible parts and dragging Jungkook through hell over and over, beating Taehyung with hit after hit, trapping Jimin in an impossible, overwhelming prison, leaving Hoseok to see nothing but black and white, while Namjoon and Seokjin try to keep them all afloat as they struggle to breathe themselves.

And him, Yoongi.

He’s cracks on top of cracks because time likes irony, doesn’t know sympathy. It’s been one giant circle leading him right back to where he was five years ago. Five years ago when strong arms pinned him to the wall, hit and punched hard enough to make his left eye swell closed for days, when a man he barely knew decided to take something from him. Left him numb and cold until he could start to put the pieces back together, and then time being the bitch she is dropped him right back off at the beginning. And now, he’s on the opposite side of it all, and Yoongi thinks it’s almost worse because he knows the pain but can’t do anything about it. Is left to watch and bleed out quietly into the recesses of his heart.

Yoongi takes a moment to tiptoe away from the door, away from the scene playing out in front of him and slides down against the wall right outside the bathroom. He can’t do it all again.

I can handle it, Namjoon.

You can’t, you cant.

His head is pounding. Loud, incessant ringing in his ears, and Yoongi tries not to hear the way Taehyung is pleading with Jimin (Jiminnie…Jiminnie please just talk to me. what can I do?) and how Seokjin is trying to coax words out of the now sobbing boy.

Delete.

Don’t think.

And Jimin is choking out broken sentences in between gasps because he’s crying so hard because it’s my fault. it’s my fault.

“No no, baby. Why would you think that?”

Yoongi’s doesn’t want to listen to the rest. His head and heart are already so full, ready to burst with everything tucked inside. He almost wishes the ringing in his ears was louder.

Stop thinking.

“I left him.”

“Wha-”

“I left Jungkookie th-that night and I-I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry. So so sorry.” Ragged breaths that tear their way out of Jimin’s lungs, cries settling deep in his chest. “All my fault. It-”

Yoongi can hear Taehyung sniffling. “Jiminnie….”

“I was hungry. I got hungry. That’s w-why I left. I was so stupid.”

“No. No, Jiminnie. Shhh, shhh. It’s okay.”

“Sh-should’ve waited.”

Sobbing.

“Why didn’t I just wait?”

Gasping.

“It’s my fault, hyung. It’s my fault Jungkook was-”

No.

Don’t think. Don’t think.

“It’s not. I promise you it’s not.”

Yoongi gets up to leave because this hurts, aches down into his bones because the pain is tangible and Jungkook’s words are mocking in his ear (i begged them to stop, but they just kept taking turns….hyung, it hurt. it hurt so much) as Taehyung whispers Jimin’s name like his life depends on it, and Yoongi’s own nightmare is as clear as it was five years ago (saw the way you’ve been looking at me. i know you want this). Dark dots dancing across his vision, and he stumbles to get to a standing position.

Breathe, Min Yoongi. Breathe.

You’re okay.

Feet trudging out of the room mechanically, Jimin’s I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry catching in the air and caressing Yoongi’s retreating back.

It feels like a knife.

 

*~*~*

 

The sun is setting, bright vibrant hues painting the sky, and Yoongi is numb. Stares out the window and doesn’t feel a thing. His phone vibrates somewhere in his pocket, and he lets it go to voicemail because Jungkook and Tae and Jiminnie are asleep, and if it’s not one of them then it’s not important. He can’t bring himself to function for anyone or anything else.

Inhale. Exhale.

He can feel a cramp working its way up his leg, dull ache too persistent to be ignored.

Time to move.

It’s been uncharacteristically quiet in the kitchen for the last hour which isn’t exactly concerning, but is somewhat strange. The living room is silent as well, and Yoongi half expects to find it empty.

Seokjin is there though.

He’s flipping through the pages of one of their old photo books, a soft warmth glowing in his eyes and subtle upward quirk of his lips. “The kids look happy here,” Seokjin says, not bothering to glance up.

Yoongi sits on the couch, directly behind the other’s position on the floor and looks over Seokjin’s shoulder. The pictures are bright, all light and smiles, but the people in them look foreign and unfamiliar. Strangers trapped in a glossy sheet of paper, and Yoongi suddenly feels his stomach churn.

Some of the pages have smudges and creases, and Yoongi becomes painfully aware of the fact that each worn page features Jungkook with Jimin or Jungkook with Taehyung, and Seokjin must have flipped back and forth between them, fingers smoothing over the faces in the pictures until the ink started to smudge. Small dots where the paper is rippled and raised, and Yoongi hopes this hasn’t become routine for his hyung. “Hoseok?” Seokjin asks suddenly, finally turning away from the book.

Yoongi shakes his head, shrugs slightly, and even though he knows Seokjin already understands, he still clarifies out loud. “Studio again. Left a few hours ago.”

Seokjin sighs, falls back to rest his head on Yoongi’s knee. “He’s going to wear himself down.”

Yoongi hums in agreement. “But it’s the only thing he knows to do.” Emotions through movement. Feelings through action. It’s how Hoseok has always been and now is no different. “He’ll work through it on his own.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Maybe.

He’s not sure himself. Not sure of anything.

“How are you managing?” Seokjin pats at Yoongi’s calf awkwardly, waits a few seconds. “You haven’t said much about…about anything.”

Numbness tingling in his fingertips and toes.

“Nothing to say.” So so numb.

“I just think-”

Shut up shut up.

“Is that all you and Namjoon know how to do?” Yoongi snips out through clenched teeth. Seokjin winces almost imperceptibly, soft eyes shifting to look downward, and Yoongi should stop now because Seokjin is only ever kind but he feels like a puppet in his own skin, anger plucking at the strings. “Thinking going to make it all better, hyung?” He spits the words, rough and harsh, aims them directly at Seokjin.

“Yoongi…” Seokjin whispers, and there’s fear lacing the edges. Something dark and sad flickering in Seokjin’s eyes.

And it should be enough to make Yoongi shut up, but his mouth isn’t his own anymore. Ice coats his lips. “Tell me what you think then. Huh?” He hears the older sigh. Stop. “Think I’m having a hard time?” Stop talking. “Think I need to talk about how I feel? Want me to go through it with you again, hyung?”

He knows he’s crossing a line, but nothing seems real anymore and time is moving in an odd direction.

Men grabbing Jungkook.

A man grabbing him.

Forward. Rewind.

Tick tick ticking of the clock on the opposite wall jeering as he shuffles over to it, yanks it down- tick ti- flings it at the door. He feels empty, cold. Like he did before.

He hears Seokjin gasp somewhere off to his right. “Yoongi, please.”

Please.

(Stop stop, please.)

Yoongi hates that word too.

Glazed eyes looking into his. Hands holding onto his wrists. “Stop now. It’s okay.” And Yoongi doesn’t understand. Doesn’t understand until Seokjin carefully uncurls his fingers, turns his hand up and Yoongi sees the crescent shaped cuts in his palm and the thin rivets of blood dripping towards his wrist. He looks up to see the concern in Seokjin’s face, and time rights itself again.

Yoongi lets his shoulders sag, head falling forward to rest against Seokjin’s chest. Breathes in. Seokjin clicks his tongue before gently pulling Yoongi to the kitchen to bandage his hand. Yoongi doesn’t say another word.

 

*~*~*

 

He avoids everyone except Jungkook.

Tries to avoid another incident because he’s a jumbled bag of emotions, and he won’t forgive himself if he yells at Tae or Jiminnie. Seokjin doesn’t try to talk to him again, but Yoongi knows that he’s at least mentioned it to Namjoon, and they’re not going to leave it alone forever.

So Yoongi waits.

Plans conversations in his head because he doesn’t want to say something he regrets.

But he’s tired, exhaustion dulling his senses, and it’s almost as if he never made it out of the hell that dragged him down five years ago. Sometimes he’s okay. A lot of times he’s not. And it’s all so damn confusing and unfair because this, he’s already been through this.

And now Jungkook.

God, god.

Empty and too full. Numb numb numb.

He can’t he can’t he can’t.

FRAGILE.

It’s stamped across his body in big bold letters. He knows it is. Can tell by the way Seokjin stares in his direction for a little too long, how Namjoon lowers his voice whenever he’s around.

FRAGILE. BREAKABLE. HANDLE WITH CARE.

Guilt padded box enclosing-

He’s not.

-silent screams because he’s taking up too much room.

He is.

Breakable.

 

*~*~*

 

Yoongi waits.

Listens to Jungkook.

Waits.

Holds Jimin. Plays with Taehyung’s hair.

Waits.

Smiles (tries) at Seokjin.

Waits.

Blinks. Breathes. 

Half expects it when Namjoon pulls him outside with a, “Do you want to talk?” muttered under his breath.

Yoongi sighs, turns. “No.” He’s surprised at the composure in his voice.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“Seokjin-hyung said-” But Yoongi doesn’t hear the rest, gazes up at the clouds, strange sickly calm settling in his bones. Namjoon gestures at his wrist. “How’s your hand?”

“Fine.” Mechanical, rushed.

He’s slipping.

“You’re not sleeping,” Namjoon says, voice taut, low, and Yoongi can’t help but notice that it’s not a question.

“None of us are,” and his eyes still haven’t left the sky.

Fingers lightly gripping his shoulder, and somehow there’s pain in the touch. Yoongi knows Namjoon is waiting for him to turn, to look at him. “Is it bad again?” He hears, and Yoongi turns then, takes in the soft eyes crinkled around the edges with worry and pity and fear just as they had been that night.

(Yoongi…Yoongi-hyung, wha-)

He shrugs off Namjoon’s hand.

(Don’t move, hyung. Don’t- It’s okay. It’s okay.)

“It’s fine.”

Cheek pressed up against a wall, and Yoongi remembers every detail.

“Okay,” Namjoon sighs, and when Yoongi shifts his gaze back up the sun hurts his eyes. “No one expects….we’re all having a hard time.”

His skin is itching. Yoongi ignores the feeling.

Wishes Namjoon would stop talking. “I just mean I know this is hard for you.”

Hard.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

And Yoongi hates that it is. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly. “Leave it, Namjoon.”

“Hyung, you can’t-,” the other stops himself, and Yoongi thinks just maybe the conversation is over but then Namjoon spins him around, hands gripping his shoulders. “You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to be okay. None of us are. So I know you’re not because…”

Something hot sparks in Yoongi’s chest. “Because what? What? You can say it, Namjoon.”

(You look so pretty like this. Don’t cry now.)

It hurts.

“Yoongi.”

(Stop. Stop screaming. He can’t hear you. Namjoon or whoever can’t hear you.)

Yoongi swallows, holds his breath. “Because I was raped? That it? That the word you were looking for?”

He’s made of paper, thin and delicate, folding and creasing with the wind, but no one knows it. Blown away with the lightest of touches, and it’s pathetic. Namjoon’s maybe always seen it, but he’s silent now.

And Yoongi is glad.

Three.

So-

Two.

-glad.

One.

“What are you talking about?” But it’s not Namjoon’s voice, and Yoongi knows who's it is before he’s even finished lifting his head. Hoseok. “What-”

Dread settles in Yoongi’s stomach, throat tightening with the other’s name, “Hobi…”

Eyes searching both of their faces, and “Namjoon-ah, what does he mean?”

Yoongi can feel his heart thud thud thudding in his chest, and he wants to scream. “Hoseok, it’s okay. It’s over. I’m fine,” Yoongi says, light, slow, hopes his voice isn’t shaking.

No no no.

Panic because Hoseok is pleading. “It didn’t-” (happen to you too?), and Yoongi wants to tell him no, but he can’t lie. Not to Hoseok. Not right now.

So Yoongi holds his breath, closes his eyes. “I-” Words sticking in his throat, burning his lungs and, “…yeah. Yeah, Hoseokie, it did.”

Notes:

So I didn't get to all of Yoongi's backstory, but Jimin had some issues going on that kind of needed to be addressed. But GUYS, this is chapter 7, and for some reason, I'm never able to get passed chapter 7 in any story I've written. I know, it's awful. I don't know what's wrong with me, and I don't want to leave you guys hanging so BOMBARD me with messages if you have to. BOMBARD. I crack under pressure.

Chapter 8

Notes:

We did it! Yes, WE because you guys are amazing and left the most encouraging, motivating comments. I can't thank you all enough!

Also, please do read the two announcements/requests at the end because they're kind of important.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Seokjin had been an accident.

An unintended consequence of stupid decisions that looked a lot like too much alcohol on a particularly bad night. Yoongi doesn’t remember the conversation, doesn’t remember all that much after Seokjin’s offhanded comment about the young girl found raped and murdered a few miles from our dorm and how sad. I couldn’t imagine- could you?

And those last three shots of vodka must have choked out a hard yes, slurred through the rest of the (his) nightmare because he had woken the next morning pressed into Seokjin’s side, dried tears marring his cheeks in a grim reminder. Yoongi had expected questions, but Seokjin just smiled and pulled him into the kitchen for breakfast without a word, pan sizzling on the stove when he finally whispered out an I’m sorry, Yoongi. Sorry for all of it, and then plates set down on the table with a quick I love you at the end.

But that had been it. They never talked about it again.

Quietly skidded around the obvious with a mutual understanding. Topic off limits. Avoid avoid.

Swept hastily under a rug to make everything nice and neat.

Until Jungkook.

Innocent comments and questions really, and maybe if Yoongi wasn’t so fucking weak and pathetic he’d of just taken them for what they were. Maybe then he wouldn’t be standing outside with a quite obviously distraught Namjoon and Hoseok and a silent, painful monologue rattling his brain.

Maybe maybe maybe.

But there’s been too many of those lately, and Yoongi thinks it might be better to accept everything as it is, dwell on the what ifs later when Hoseok doesn’t seem quite as hysterical and there isn’t the impending sense of dread sitting heavy on his chest.

Focus on the now because Hoseok is shaking, shaking hard enough that Yoongi can see the tremble in his limbs from a few feet away, and if he wasn’t so lost in his own head it would be more than mildly concerning.

“You’re lying,” Hoseok says finally, voice angry and bitter but there are tears shining in his eyes. “It’s not funny. It’s not…Namjoon-ah tell him.”

Fists clenched tight, and Yoongi can’t come up with anything half decent to say. For a brief moment, plays with the idea of telling Hoseok to forget it, that he must have heard wrong, but there are tears running down his cheeks now, a horrible darkness flickering across his eyes, and it’s too late. Too late to take it back.

“Hoseokie, it’s okay,” Yoongi breathes, thin wispy catches of air that he wishes sounded more sure. “I’m okay now.”

“When?” And the word is too harsh to be coming from Hoseok’s mouth, but it’s his lips that are moving. “When, Yoongi?”

The wind picks up, whistles through his hair and Yoongi can feel the pinpricks of sweat on the back of his neck. “A long time ago. It was-”

“Damn it, Yoongi. When?” Hoseok chokes, and he’s crying freely now, eyes squeezed shut against the tears.

Namjoon isn’t talking, won’t even lift his head, and it’s so unfair because Yoongi doesn’t want this, tried so hard to make sure it never happened, and if Namjoon had just kept his mouth shut- but no, that’s not right either. It’s no one’s fault. He wants to believe that, wants to erase the guilt that’s resting near his heart, growing with every shuddering breath he sees Hoseok take. “Five years,” he whispers suddenly, surprises himself. “Before debut. Before you were even in the company. It was just me and Namjoon then.”

A breath, and Yoongi watches as Hoseok’s face contorts in pain, shatters and crumples, grates out a broken, “Who?”

But he can’t go there. Not out here. Not like this.

Hand covering his mouth, body flush and hard against his back. And-

No no. It’s okay.

Namjoon takes a few steps forward, finally looks up. “Hoseok, not now. Stop. Please.” It sounds desperate and pleading, lacks the authority of a leader, and Yoongi knows it’s going to do nothing  to quell the fire that’s been started.

Knows the words that come out of his mouth next are only going to make it worse, but they’re already rolling off his tongue. “Doesn’t matter,” he says quietly, ignores the voice screaming in his ear (liar, liar). “You weren’t ever supposed to know. I didn’t want-”

But he doesn’t finish. Doesn’t finish because Hoseok is screaming, yelling at him or Namjoon. Possibly both of them. He doesn’t know anymore. Arms wrap around himself, and he turns away from the noise as the voice in his head gets louder and louder.

So pretty. So so pretty.

Been wanting to do this for so long. Know you have too.

He feels like he’s spinning, falling maybe, hears Namjoon say his name. But he must stay standing because the ground never comes, and Yoongi’s almost disappointed. His head is pounding, nausea churning his stomach-

So good for me.

-and Namjoon is yelling back now, quit it, lower your voice Hobi.

“How could you not tell me? Why did you-”

The noise is deafening, jumbled up mess of hurt and pain, crashing over him in waves. Hears his laugh echo against invisible walls (see? told you I’d make you feel good). Screws his eyes shut further as blackness begins to claw its way through, can still make out faint words and how dare you how dare you how dare you, can tell it’s Hoseok by the sharp crack at the end.

And Yoongi wants to tell him that everything is fine, that he got through it, and that look, he’s alive and breathing and here because Hoseok isn’t good with words and Namjoon doesn’t know Hoseok like he does. Doesn’t notice the impossible amount of pain buried under the anger or the panic that laces the space between every breath.

But his body isn’t cooperating (sorry, try again), and Yoongi cringes at the way Namjoon is shouting, hurling reprimands at the other because why didn’t you tell me? is inconsiderate and selfish and why are you being like this?

But Hoseok doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body, and Yoongi wonders why Namjoon doesn’t at least know this. Wonders if he’s the only one that can hear the shuddering across every syllable and the slightly higher pitch of Hoseok’s voice.

Why didn’t you tell me?

(I could have helped you.)

How dare you how dare you how dare you.

(I love you I love you I love you.)

Hoseokie.

His warm, bright Hoseok.

A switch flicks back on, but when Yoongi opens his eyes Hoseok is gone, dark silhouette blurring in the distance.

 

*~*~*

 

Namjoon apologizes, says he’s sorry for raising his voice, for bringing it up at all. Yoongi tells him it’s okay, even though nothing about the last two weeks or five years is, because they’re trying and that’s all anyone can do.

When Seokjin asks about it, Yoongi just shrugs, lets Namjoon scrape over the details. Only interrupts to say that Hoseok didn’t mean the things he said, he’s not good with this kind of thing. And Yoongi can’t help but smile at that because it’s not something any sane person should ever be good with.

Namjoon leaves right after, heads to the company to rework their schedule and plan ways to remove Jungkook from the week’s activities. Seokjin calls to tell him that he and Taehyungie can do an extra interview or two if needed, and Yoongi can hear the quiet thanks on the other line, knows then that they’re trying to lighten Jimin’s schedule (maybe his and Hoseok’s now too). Another minute of hushed whispers (-shouldn’t have yelled….make sure he comes home tonight), and then Seokjin hangs up with a sigh.

Seokjin looks awful, Yoongi thinks. Watches as the older moves around the kitchen and takes in just how drawn and pale Seokjin’s skin is, winces at how unnaturally thin he is around the hips and chin, and Yoongi knows it’s not on purpose because he’s seen the other eat once the younger ones are asleep. Realizes that Seokjin just forgets to take care of himself sometimes, but for some reason the thought doesn’t make it any less worrisome. “Have you eaten yet today, hyung?”

Seokjin shakes his head, smiles. “Not yet.” Tosses some kind of spice into the pan. “I will in a bit. I’m making Jimin’s favorite. It’s been a while since he’s had it, and Taehyungie said it might be a good idea, so…” But he trails off, and Yoongi’s not exactly sure what to say because the truth is too agonizing to say aloud.

Jimin’s not okay. He’s not okay because Jungkook is broken and in pain. And Jungkook is broken because three inhuman monsters decided to take and violate and crush an innocence (sweet and kind and happy) that was never their’s. Shattered seven lives (re-shattered his), and didn’t stick around to see the damage. Didn’t watch as Hoseok withered and wilted and lost his wings. Will  never know how Taehyung yells and cries into his pillow late into the night when he thinks everyone is asleep. Won’t care that Jimin and Jungkook are shrinking shrinking shrinking to nothing or that he, Yoongi is taking a headfirst dive into dark, twisty waters yet again. And they’ll never see the way Namjoon and Seokjin are slowly hurting themselves so that maybe, just maybe, everyone else will hurt a little less.

Tape and glue isn’t enough, was never enough, Yoongi realizes, because broken bones need more than just time and a bandage. It’s a terrible terrible truth, feels too heavy on his shoulders so when Seokjin leans over to ask if he’s okay, he shakes his head, says no. no, I’m really not.

A pat on his shoulder and, “Yeah, me too.” And Yoongi thinks it’s the most honest thing either of them have said in a long time.

Seokjin gives him a small smile when he leaves, disappears into one of the bedrooms with a plate of food. Yoongi sighs, picks up his phone and scroll scroll repeat. It’s 4:02.

 

*~*~*

 

5:10.

Taehyung walks out with a mound of cold food, throws it in the trash without a word before slumping down onto the couch. When Yoongi peaks into his bedroom to check on Jungkook, he grabs a pillow and blanket, hands it to Taehyung when he passes, makes sure to mention that he’s leaving and will be gone for at least hour and oh, the others are asleep. Yoongi gives him one last knowing glance as he closes the front door, and Taehyung looks almost thankful.

Click of the door, and he takes a deep breath.

Starts walking toward the studio.

The sun is just starting to set.

 

*~*~*

 

The music is loud, and Hoseok is dancing. Low drop of the bass and high pitched keening in the background, and Yoongi’s never heard this song before, has never seen this dance. He recognizes some of the movements, twist here, turn there, but Hoseok always manages to somehow make everything look new. Alive. Replaces action with emotion and writes it across the floor.

Yoongi thinks it’s beautiful, finds a sad elegance in the pain currently being painted over the floorboards. It’s almost poetic. Would be maybe, if not for circumstance. Would be if the thoughts and touches and memories that he’s spent years hammering down down down, that he’s worked to smother and snuff out just so he can breathe, weren’t laid out in a heap all over again as if they had never really left to begin with.

Hiding and waiting. Letting him believe the worst was over and done with, that he could get up every morning and look in the mirror without hating, blaming the face staring back. Regain some kind of control over his mind-

Told you, you wanted this. Look at you being so good for me.

-even though his body had betrayed him, had responded to his hands (made him ache with self-loathing because he hadn’t wanted it). Continued to betray him even after because he didn’t used to be scared of dark rooms, didn’t used to have the air snatched from his lungs with unbidden touches.

He’s not the same person. Not the same Min Yoongi.

Wonders how different the him now is from the one that set foot in Seoul for the first time all those years ago. But that’s another what if question, and those have never done him any good. Hoseok probably wouldn’t agree, would say it’s the what ifs that make life fun, open your eyes to new things, and then he’d smile bright and big, belief vast enough for both of them.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The music is slowing.

Soft, fading chords, and Yoongi wishes that were the case now. But belief and smiles are hard to come by these days-

Hoseok pauses, stops.

-don’t exist at all today.

A thousand heartbeats, and then the song is over.

Yoongi breathes.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. “Pretty fucked up, isn’t it? All of this.”

Waits.

Hoseok turns, lets out a dry humorless laugh. “You think?” But there’s no anger or malice in the words, and this- this is okay.

“Could be worse, I guess,” Yoongi tries, moves to sit on the floor, back resting against the wall, and there’s a half second that Yoongi thinks he’s pushed it a little too much, but then Hoseok lips quirk up at the corners and he clambers over to Yoongi’s spot on the floor.

Sighs softly when his shoulder is pressed up against the older’s. “I guess I could suddenly lose all coordination. You guys would be screwed then,” Hoseok laughs lightly. “Jimin and Jungkookie aren’t exactly the most patient when teaching new choreography.”

Yoongi smiles, and it’s foreign but not unpleasant. “Neither are you.”

Hoseok nudges his arm. “But at least I don’t expect you guys to have the hang of it after two run throughs.”

“True.”

Somewhere to the right, the air conditioner clicks on, slight hum filling the room in a familiar rhythm. A few minutes pass, and then there’s shuffling in the hall, a blend of voices, and some of the staff must be calling it a night. Hoseok leans his head back, stares at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For earlier I mean.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I didn’t mean to-” Hoseok blinks, runs a hand over his face. “I was…I don’t know what I was. Am.” A breath. “It’s hard. Hurts too much.”

Yoongi nods. “I know,” he says, presses a little closer, hopes Hoseok understands.

Thinks he does when the other puts a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry I can’t fix it. I wish I could. I’d do anything.”

“Me too.”

They sit in silence for a while, pressed against each other because it’s the only comfort they can offer. Yoongi knows Hoseok is thinking, can see the gears turning and the crease between his eyes, knows whatever it is, is weighing heavy on his mind, so he’s not really surprised when Hoseok finally does ask. “Will you tell me?”

Four words, but Yoongi understands. “Hoseok-”

“I know it’s awful. I know…” Pauses, one two three. Swallows. “I just can’t stop thinking and imagining,” and Hoseok is looking at him now, “and I don’t want any of it to be true because it’s so horrible. I see you and Jungkook, and I picture…god, I can’t even…”

And Yoongi already knows how this is going to end because he’s never been able to deny Hoseok anything, so he takes his hand, squeezes gently.

Tape and glue.

Hoseok squeezes back before swiping at his eyes. “Let me help. Let me do something.”

Okay.

Because tape and glue was never really a solution and maybe Hoseok can help him re-align the breaks.

So Yoongi closes his eyes, hits reset and begins.

Notes:

First, I apologize for the ending because I guess it counts as a cliffhanger, but Yoongi's character decided to go off on a few tangents in this chapter. I WILL get to his entire backstory, which brings me to my first question. This isn't at all going to have any affect on the storyline, so I don't want you guys to worry about that, but would you prefer if I switched back to more of a Jungkook focus in the next chapter and waited to finish the Yoongi/Hoseok conversation? OR would you rather I went ahead and finished out Yoongi's story first? LIke I said the order isn't important for what I have planned, so it really is up to you guys.

Okay, second. This one is more of a humble request. I posted another story on here the other day (it's just a short introspective Jungkook piece) because I needed an outlet that wasn't quite as emotionally draining as this little angst boat here. BUT I need requests, prompts, quotes from you all. Any pairing, no pairing (preferably non-au and as you've probably realized I'm best at writing angst or hurt/comfort), whatever you can think of because I really think periodic breaks will help me to finish out this story. So if you have an idea you'd like me to try (I can't guarantee I'll get around to all or even most of them) then please head over to that post and leave me a comment there!

Congrats if you made it through that entire author's note. You're awesome, and I love you.

Chapter 9

Notes:

Okay, first I'M SO SORRY. I didn't mean to drop off the face of the earth but life has frankly been shit, and I'll talk more at the end, but if I still have any readers just know I'm crazy sorry I left you guys hanging like that.

Second, I apologize for this chapter because it's in all honestly not good. That's not me being down on my writing or anything, but this is seriously a rough, choppy chapter. I decided I would post it so I could get the plot going again and then I could just come back after a chapter or 2 and edit it because to me it kind of reads like a frame? of the chapter if that makes any sense it all. I just know that if I didn't post this, I would just sit and stare at it forever and never move on. So there's my second apology.

God, this is such a crappy author's note after a year. Wow if I still have anyone reading this you deserve mad props.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rewind.

It’s his brother that introduces them one July afternoon.

“…my roommate up at the university,” Jihoon says, but Yoongi is only vaguely listening. He smiles and shakes his hand to be polite. He has nice blue eyes, Yoongi thinks.

They talk for a while after that, but it’s mainly just Jihoon lecturing him about calling home more often so Yoongi busies himself with some light stretches. He’s heard this all before anyway. He says okay and yes and I will, and even though it’s halfhearted maybe he’ll actually try this time.

Jihoon doesn’t believe him.

Yoongi’s not surprised.

If it had been another day he might have tried to explain, might have said i’m just working really hard, i really want this, for me, for us. But there’s already an orange tint to the light that’s filtering in through the blinds, and he just really doesn’t have the patience today. “I should get back to practice,” he says instead.

Jihoon looks like he wants to say more, but before he can his roommate starts ushering him towards the door. “Come on. Can’t you see your brother wants us gone,” he laughs.

“That’s not-” Yoongi starts, but the man with blue eyes waves him off with a smile.

“Work hard, kid.”

The door shuts and they’re gone.

Yoongi lets out a breath as he shuffles over to the stereo. His phone is sitting on the top, small light blinking indicating he’s missed a text or call. Probably both.

He sighs, hesitates for a half second before the phone is in his hands and pressed to his ear.

Ring.

Ring.

Ri-

“Hey, mom.”

 

Yoongi tries to hang out with Jihoon more often, tries to call home more too. It’s not as bad as he thought it would be. His dad never asks how he’s doing, but he doesn’t tell him he’s making a mistake (throwing away your life) either, so Yoongi’s okay with it.

Namjoon asks him that enough anyway.

Sometimes they all go out to get drinks together. Yoongi likes when Jihoon’s roommate comes because he’s pretty good at listening. They don’t talk about anything important, but Yoongi likes it all the same.

“We should go out together one day, just us two,” blue eyes says one night.

“Yeah, sure.”

 

They go out on a Friday, and everything is fine until there’s an unwanted hand on Yoongi’s thigh. He pushes it off gently the first time. He’s more firm about it the second.

“What’s wrong, baby?” blue eyes whispers, brings his fingers to caress the back of his neck.

Yoongi stands quickly, chair skidding out from behind him and clattering on the floor. The bar hushes for just a moment. Blue eyes puts his hands up and, Yoongi releases a breath.

The bar whizzes back to life.

“Sorry, guess I just read you wrong.”

Yoongi nods. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Why are you leaving then?”

“Early morning tomorrow,” he mumbles, turns on his heel and doesn’t look back.

He feels bad about it as soon as he gets home.

He makes sure to smile the next time he sees him. Blue eyes smiles back.

 

*~*~*

 

“You’re shaking,” Hoseok says.

Yoongi can’t respond, knows Hoseok doesn’t mean for him to, so he focuses on quelling the nausea churning deep in his gut. He can hear his heart beating in his chest, low rumble in his ears and god how is he supposed to say the next part?

Hoseok’s fingers twitch from beside him, reaches out towards him but, “no. no, just…not right now.”

Hoseok stills, hand going slack, and Yoongi doesn’t even have it in him to be sorry. “It happened two weeks after that,” he tries. The words stick in his throat, and Yoongi swallows again and again, fights the tightness that’s building up up up but it’s not helping. Nothing’s helping.

“What happened?”

Up and up.

“You know what.”

“Yoongi….”

He knows he has to say it, knows that was the whole point of all this, and it’s just Hoseok.

Just Hoseok.

“Hoseokie,” Yoongi chokes out, voice thick and scratchy. “God…I can’t…”

The other is pressed close to him in an instant, “Right here. I’m here.”

Up and-

“I’m right here, Yoongi.”

He holds his breath.

“It was 2 weeks later…a Thursday.”

Breathes.

You can do this.

“I was at the studio, and he came to see me. I didn’t know he was coming.” His skin is itching like there’s something trying to claw it’s way out. Hoseok’s fingertip grazes his pinky.

“He tried to come onto me again. I told him no. I said it again and again, Hoseokie.” He thinks he might be crying now. “I told him I didn’t want to, but he just grabbed me and then the next thing I knew I was shoved up against a wall.”

There’s a buzzing in his ears.

Hoseok’s crying.

He can see the tear tracks out of the corner of his eye.

“I begged him not to, but he just…” Yoongi swallows. It’s a little bit easier this time. “I screamed. I told myself not to give him that, but it hurt so damn much.”

(Stop. Please stop.)

(Shut up shut up shut up)

(Namjoon! Namjoon, please.)

The tears are falling freely now, sees them hit the floor with a quick burst. Yoongi thinks they might be taking the hurting in his chest along with them though.

Hoseok’s hand moves to cover his. Yoongi smiles lightly. The tightness isn’t as bad anymore.

“Namjoon found me about an hour afterward. It messed him up for a while. I mean messed me up too obviously but you understand,” he laughs bitterly.

Hoseok is quiet, and finally Yoongi lifts his head to look at him. There’s worry and pain in his eyes, and he’s sorry to be the cause this time.

“I’m okay,” he whispers because he thinks Hoseok needs to hear that.

There are still tears on his face, but his lips upturn slightly, eyes crinkling around the edges. “Yeah.”

Yoongi moves to lean his head up against Hoseok’s shoulder. A sigh and then, “Jungkook will be too.”

“We all will.”

Notes:

***Please ignore this author note if you don't want to read about some personal things going on in my life

Yeah, see what I mean about not good? I swear I'll fix it, but let me get back to jungkook first.

Anyway, about life being shit. I'll just be blunt because there's no proper way to address this. My little sister passed away recently, and I have been straight up trying to figure out how to do life again. I didn't think I was going to be able to for a while, but I'm doing much better now I think. I know this might be overshare, but I felt like it was something I needed to tell you all because each and every one of you always made my day with your comments and the love you showed this story. It's not something I really want to talk about or go into, but I wanted you all to know.

I'll try my best to post more chapters, but I have a request. It's been SO long since I've heard your thoughts on Paper Hearts and like I said it makes my day to hear from you all, so I'd love to read your comments whether it's on a certain chapter (except maybe not this chapter because it's crap) or the story as a whole. Even if it's redundant or something you've said before, I'd appreciate it so much. I'd like to find my love for writing and this story again.

I love you all and thank you for reading <3

Chapter 10

Notes:

I'm back? For a little while at least. I swear I don't mean to make these once a year updates a habit. Life just hasn't quite been on my side in that department. I have a lot to say, but I'll talk more at the end.

I did want to apologize though for the timeline. I'm sorry if it's confusing in this chapter, and also I'm sorry for the random bouts of disjointedness and jumbled emotions. Most of that was purposeful, but I may have overdid it. Anyway, we can talk about that at the end too. Just know that this is kind of like Jungkook's perspective of things post Chapter 6.

Alright read away!

(also yes, I'm still planning on editing chapter 9 because yikes)

WARNING: there are a few brief descriptions of assault and references to an eating disorder in this chapter

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jungkook is numb.

Feels like he isn’t in his own body a lot of the time.
 
He doesn’t mind it though. It’s easier to be empty.

Easier to breathe.

Easier to exist.

 
It’s probably not normal, probably not healthy in the slightest, but Yoongi told him he’d be okay, and this, this is the only way he knows how to be.

 
So he shoves and presses until the memories are locked tight tight tight in a barely lit corner of his mind. Just vaguely visible. Present. Always present, but easy to ignore.

 
A small box collecting dust, and Jungkook breathes.

 
He tries to sleep less often, tries to talk a little bit more, and it’s not hard exactly but it doesn’t feel quite right either. Jungkook isn’t sure that part is entirely his fault though. The others are trying to be normal, trying not to let him see the way things are falling apart, but they’ve never been good at hiding their emotions (neither is he really).

 
The arguments are always out of earshot, but Jungkook never fails to catch a few words. Sometimes it’s about him, but sometimes it’s not, and Jungkook doesn’t quite understand that. The numbness always starts to give way then, box cracking open just the slightest bit, enough for their hands to stroke his cheek, for their voices to tell him how beautiful he is, enough for pinpricks of guilt to stab at his gut because he did this. He did this to them.

 
When the air catches in his lungs, it’s usually Taehyung that leads him away. Guides him to a farther room on the other side of the dorm where there isn’t a sound. Snuggles up in the bed with him as a movie plays in the background. He talks about his games, laughs and pouts because, “Jungkook, are you even listening to me?”

 
And then Jungkook will say he’s sorry, will say he’s sorry, sorry again and again, and Taehyung will give him a puzzled, almost panicked look as his fingers knead soothing circles along the edge of his ear.

 
“It’s okay, Jungkookie. It’s okay.”

 
But it can’t be.

 
Can’t be because Taehyung’s laugh is empty.

 
Empty like he is.

 
And Jungkook has no one to blame for that, but himself.

 
Yourfaultyourfaultyour-

 
Eyes squeezed shut, box hammered down and down and down, and Jungkook shifts out of Taehyung’s grasp.

 
A tilt of the head. Furrowed brow.

 
“Let’s finish the movie, Kookie.”

 
A boxy grin.

 
It hurts.

 

*~*~*

 

He slipped in front of Jimin once.

 
Told him something he shouldn’t have as Jimin ran a thumb across his cheek, accidentally bumped a bruise he had on the side of his jaw.

 
Jungkook had winced.

 
Jimin apologized.

 
Gentle fingers ghosting over the bruises Jungkook knew were there. They had faded mostly, easy now to cover with makeup, but Jimin looked at them as if he were seeing them for the first time so Jungkook had held his breath.

 
Had let his hyung trail his hand over the ugly purple green marks, fingers going still as he placed them in a line over each spot. Jungkook had watched as his eyes widened in realization, watched him blink back tears quickly, wanted to cry himself when Jimin smiled sadly, placed a quick peck on his nose. Fingers continued down his neck, following the marks to where they ended.

 
A rough hand around his neck, squeezingsqueezing.

 
Jaw pried open, and it’s mean and awful and please, it’s enough. Enough.

 
A heavy sigh.

 
Jimin stared back up at him. A thousand heartbeats stuffed between them, and he had heard every one. “What did he do to you, Jungkookie?” Jimin breathed.

 
A pause. And then,

 
“What did they do to you?”

 
Heard them all crack too.

 
Jimin had been crying when he said the last part. And maybe that’s what did it. Or maybe Jungkook had just been weak in that moment.

 
Regardless of the reason, Jungkook had told him.

 
Not all of it.

 
Not even most of it.

 
But even so-

 
(“My mouth.”

 
“Wha-”

 
“I wouldn’t-” Jungkook closes his eyes. “I wouldn’t open my mouth unless I was screaming.”

 
Jimin’s breath hitches.

 
“The bruises. They held-” But he can’t finish the rest, struggles through the knot in his throat until Jimin shushes him.

 
“I know,” he says. “You don’t have to say anymore.”

 
And when Jungkook opens his eyes, the tears won’t stop. Jimin pulls him closer, lets his arms wrap around just loose enough to let Jungkook pull away if he wants.

 
He doesn’t, so Jimin hugs him tighter. Lips chastely pressed to his jaw, and then his hyung is tucking his head into the crook of his neck.

 
Jungkook’s cries are silent as Jimin sobs.)

 
-it had been enough.

 

 

 They try to hide it from him, and Jungkook plays along.

 
Pretends he doesn’t see the way Jimin stares at his food for a little too long or the way Seokjin presses his lips together in a fine line when the younger says he isn’t hungry.

 
Jimin was withering. Withering fast and hard when all he ever did was bloom, and Jungkook needs to fix it.

 
Has to fix it.

 
So he embraces that familiar numbness that vibrates through him again and again, tries to remember what it feels like to be whole.

 
Breathe. Smile. Repeat.

 
When Seokjin fixes dinner, he eats.

 
When Taehyung tells him a story, he listens, laughs when he’s supposed to.

 
And Jimin.

 
When Jimin holds his hand, he squeezes, tight, firm.

 
And it should be okay like this. Should be okay because he’s better, and it’s not a big deal.

 
He’s fine.

 
Just like Yoongi said he would be.

 
So he doesn’t understand why.

 
Doesn’t understand why Taehyung’s eyes are still empty like his. Doesn’t understand why Jimin’s face still seems to be thinning out. Doesn’t understand why Seokjin is currently hunched over the stove, tears splashing with a quiet hiss as they hit the burner.

 
And it’s all wrong because he’s trying to be better.

 
Don’t they see?

 
Seokjin turns and Jungkook steels his nerves. Tries once more. “It’s okay, hyung,” he says, but the words are harsh as they leave his throat and Seokjin is looking at him like’s he’s seeing someone else and all Jungkook can see in his face is an awful sadness.

 
But even then, his hyung smiles, eyes softening when they meet his and something in Jungkook breaks and breaks as guilt licks like a fire across his skin, as vivid, terrible memories slam into his brain, and for just a moment hate rises up hot in his chest.

 
Hate for his hyungs.

 
Hate because they won’t let him forget. Won’t let him be numb. Remind him of that night every time they so much as look at him because somehow it’s burned into their souls too.

 
Hate.

 
But it’s only for a second.

 
And guilt is there to welcome him back with open arms when it passes.

 
Jungkook doesn’t smile back. He turns to leave, and Seokjin doesn’t follow.

 
He talks to Yoongi that night because the box in his mind is open.

 
Like always, Yoongi just listens, and Jungkook is thankful.

 

*~*~*

  

The next day, Jungkook’s parents call.

 
They don’t know.

 
Probably will never know, Jungkook decides.

 
He tunes out half of the conversation and when he hangs up, he’s surprised to see Hoseok staring at him. Is surprised to see Hoseok at all. His hyung is never home anymore, and Jungkook squashes that guilt before it can surface.

 
Hoseok doesn’t lift his gaze, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and Jungkook can see the silent question.

 
“I’m fine, hyung,” he rolls his eyes, catches himself a bit too late, but Hoseok doesn’t say anything. He’d always been too lenient with him.

 
The silence stretches on, and Jungkook is just about to get up to leave.

 
“You sure you’re alright, Jungkookie?” He hears.

 
There’s a concern in his voice that Jungkook doesn’t like.

 
“Didn’t realize you still cared.” And it’s a low blow. Jungkook knows it is.

 
He’s seconds away from taking it back because he never meant to use that against him. He already knows why Hoseok leaves so much these days, realized he coped with things differently a long long time ago. He starts to apologize, but then there’s cautious hands turning him around and Jungkook is swallowing a lump in his throat because Hoseok is still so gentle even though he’s dirty and cruel and god, he missed-

 
“I care, Jungkookie,” Hoseok says, and it almost sounds like a plea. “I care so much. I’m sorry I haven’t been here, but that’s hyung’s fault, not yours, okay? You can always talk to me.”

 
-him so much, and Jungkook only manages to nod because his head is pounding. An aching at the back of his skull and how is it possible to feel so much hate and love all at once?

 
Hoseok ruffles his hair quickly and then he’s gone.

 
I care so much.

 
Jungkook wishes he didn’t.

  

*~*~*

  

It was bound to happen.

 
They all knew it.

 
Jimin had been like this before. Years ago. Back when the stress was new. Back when the pressure to be perfect, to be something was all that mattered. None of them had dealt with it well. Jimin had dealt with it the worst.

 
They had tried to help him themselves. Tried to fix him when they realized something was wrong. But that had failed miserably. And Jungkook had just watched as Jimin continued to disappear. Breathed once more when the managers finally noticed (Namjoon had told, but Jungkook would never tell Jimin that). Then there were doctors. Then a few prescriptions. Everyone working to make sure Jimin stayed on track.

 
They cycled through appointments, pills, meal plans and every night Jungkook would make Jimin promise that he wouldn’t do it again.

 
I promise, Kookie.

 
You don’t have to worry anymore.

 
Jimin had gotten better after that.

 
But this is now. Three years in the future and there hasn’t been any pills or doctors for a while, and Jimin’s heart is still too big.

 
Taehyung is yelling suddenly, and Jungkook knows why.

 
When he opens the bedroom door, Seokjin tells him it’s fine, tells him it’s nothing as he scrambles passed, but Jungkook can hear sobbing. Can hear Jimin as clear as day.

 
They’re in the bathroom. Taehyung’s voice echoes the slightest bit. Seokjin is talking, and Jungkook doesn’t try to make out what’s being said.

 
He already has a pretty good idea.

 
…don’t have to worry…

 
Jungkook wraps an arm around his middle, tries to quell the nausea turning in his own gut as his heart screams and aches. Fists clenching because the fire is back too, and Jimin had promised. A sob is working it’s way out of his throat when Yoongi emerges from the room, and suddenly Jungkook can’t breathe.

 
Jimin promised and Jimin lied.

 
Jimin never lies.

 
It’s so much. Hurts so bad that he hates him for it.

 
Yoongi glances up at him, and Jungkook retreats back into the bedroom.

 
Slams the door closed, and when no one follows him, he cries.

  

*~*~*

  

It happens like he thought it would.

 
Jimin is coaching him through a panic attack after one of his nightmares. It’s usually Yoongi that does this, but Yoongi is gone and that fact alone makes Jungkook panic a little bit more.

 
Jimin is good though.

 
His voice is soft, and his eyes are kind.

 
He tells Jungkook they can’t hurt him anymore, tells Jungkook it was only a dream.

 
Breathe, sweet boy. Breathe with me. That’s it.

 
There’s another voice too, and Jungkook realizes that it’s Tae rubbing circles on his back.

 
The nightmare recedes slowly, drags its claws over his body as it goes, and Jungkook shivers. Feels wetness on his cheeks as voices filter through his head one more time.

 
Scream, love. Scream.

 
So beautiful.

 
Jimin smiles at him.

 
I promise, Kookie.

 
“You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you here,” Jimin whispers as he wipes at his tears.

 
Jungkook shakes his head. “Liar,” he whispers.

 
Jimin pauses, head tilting to the side slightly.

 
“Liar,” he says again, louder this time. Jungkook feels Taehyung’s hand still on his back.

 
“Kookie, I don’t understand.”

 
And Jungkook almost laughs because he doesn’t either. Doesn’t understand the anger coursing through his veins or the guilt that’s suffocating him. One of them though, makes it too hard to breathe, so he clings to the other, clings to the one that’s rising hot and sharp in his chest.

 
Let’s fire burst from his lungs and, “How could-…you promised. You said you wouldn’t do it again. You fucking promised-“

 
“Jungkook!”

 
Guilt eating through a cage as it burns.

 
“You fucking liar,” he screams because Jimin is so broken, and it’s his fault. His fault for all of this, but he tried, triedtriedtried-

 
“Jungkook!”

 
Namjoon’s voice filters through the roaring in his ears. It’s low and firm, and Jungkook’s body is still programmed to react to that tone, mind snapping back into focus all at once.

 
“Stop. Now.”

 
Then silence.

Notes:

First off, thank you for reading!

I struggled a lot with picking this story back up. When I started Paper Hearts 2 years back, it was the story my heart wanted to tell. I was writing it for me, and it made me happy to share it. Then my life shifted and things changed, and every time I tried to come back to this story and these characters, I felt so distant. Like it wasn't mine anymore. I was really distraught by this for a long time because I loved Paper Hearts, and I hoped somewhere my heart still did too. And then a few months ago, I opened it one more time, and suddenly there was a story I wanted to tell with these characters again.

I'm telling you all this because this is honestly the first thing I've written for over a year. I wrote this chapter 5 times, 5 different ways, and I still don't know if this is the right one in terms of how it fits overall, but it's the one that my heart wanted to tell.

So yeah, anyway I had to backtrack with Jungkook. I honest to god couldn't get myself to start any other way. I hope the timeline wasn't too bad, but you all can let me know in the comments. I meant for the flow of time (and honestly vomit of emotions) to be a bit disjointed, but I'll leave that up for yall's interpretation. I really hope his jump in character was believable because yes I realize it's maybe a different route than most were expecting, but I have a whole essay in my head as to why I wrote him this way. Again, leave a comment for how you felt about that.

Okay, last thing and then I swear I'm done. I just wanted to thank you all for always leaving the kindest words in the comments. I hope you all know that I read every single one. I felt so much love from all the ones you left last chapter, and I am always in such awe that you take the time to write the most thoughtful things (not just about my story but everything) even though you don't know me and gahhh I just really love every single on of you. So thank you for making things just a little bit brighter. Wow I wrote a novel again. I'm done.

But please comment! I have to know what you all are thinking and I miss you guys!

Chapter 11

Notes:

So this is 2000 words of pure word vomit. Jungkook is feeling way too many, complicated things, that make him really hard to write. I didn't even go back to edit this because I was just way too drained so please excuse that. Idk how I feel about this chapter, but that's nothing new. What is new though is that I didn't wait a year to update so YES!

Anyway, go ahead and read away

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It’s almost as if he’s still dreaming. The sickly calm that had washed over him at Namjoon’s voice is fading, something dark churning deep in his gut instead. His body tries to stop it from bubbling up, tries to force the tension out of his limbs because it knows obedience, knows how it’s supposed to react. And Jungkook has always been good and respectful, says thank you, says yes sir, doesn’t talk back, doesn’t yell at his hyungs and what is wrong with him?

He’s good. He is he is he is.

Namjoon had always said so, had always made sure to tell him again and again, but right now Jungkook can hear it. Can hear the disappointment in his voice, and Jungkook can’t breathe.

Namjoon had told him once that it was okay to get upset, said that he didn’t have to hold his tongue if something was bothering him just because he was the youngest. “You can talk to us, Jungkookie. Doesn’t matter what it is.” But Jungkook had just shook his head, smiled and said he never had any complaints. Namjoon had ruffled his hair then, chuckled. “Aigoo, our maknae is too good. What would we do without you?”

So good for us.

His head is spinning spinning spinning, and Jungkook grimaces.

Was good, his brain corrects.

Past tense. Everything’s past tense now, and it’s not fair.

Someone starts to say something, but their voice catches on the first syllable, and then there’s nothing but quiet again. Jungkook wants to scream. Mind and body pulling him in two separate directions, skin crawling with something awful, something being pulled from deep within his bones. His fists clench at his sides, jaw tightening hard and firm. Something ready to burst.

“Kook…” Jimin whispers softly. He sounds sad, sounds as if he’s trying to reach out an invisible hand towards him, and Jungkook hates himself a little more even as he takes a step back.

He hurt them. Can’t seem to stop hurting them. They’ve told him over and over that it isn’t his fault, the only ones to blame are those monsters, Kookie. But that’s not enough. It’s not enough, and they’ll never get that because they weren’t there.

They weren’t there.

Jungkook’s heart clenches.

No one was there.

And it’s like a light clicks on in that instant, a sudden moment of clarity among the inner turmoil plaguing his thoughts.

Jimin is looking at him, concern and confusion softening his gaze, and Jungkook drops his head to stare at the floor. He can’t look at Jimin. Doesn’t want to because he knows Jimin will see that he meant it. Meant every word that left his mouth, and that shouldn’t be okay. He shakes his head, tries to stop his heart from beating out of his chest, blood rushing in his ears.

And yet he’s not sorry.

Why isn’t he sorry?

No one was there.

“What’s going on, Jungkook?” And finally. Finally, Namjoon is cutting through the silence again but his voice is still calm and steady, and Jungkook’s stomach drops further.

They don’t get it.

Jungkook used to think Namjoon’s ability to keep calm under pressure was something admirable. “Jungkook?” he hears Namjoon say again. Was something to be looked up to.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek. Right now though, it feels like a stab to the chest as his own body shakes with everything bubbling up inside, burning, branding hate and anger under his skin as it surfaces.

“What happened, Jungkook?” And again there’s the question.

Jungkook lifts his head. How is he supposed to answer that? Opens his mouth just for it to snap closed again, and Jimin must see because he let’s out a breath suddenly says, “Hyung, it’s okay.”

And Jungkook is reminded of how they got here in the first place. It’s been maybe three minutes, time slowing down just to spite him and Jungkook laughs. Tight and miserable. Is it really okay?

Namjoon gives him a look at that, eyebrows creased together in concern, glances from him to Jimin and back again, another question already forming on his lips, but Jimin cuts him off. “Nightmare. It was just a nightmare,” Jimin supplies quickly, words spaced and edged with worry. His eyes never leave Jungkook’s face as he speaks.

Just.

Jungkook’s lips quirk at the edge, mind freezing cold and fast on that word, mind grappling for something tangible to hold onto.

Just a nightmare, hyung?” Jungkook grits out, voice wavering the slightest bit. Jimin and Namjoon are looking at him. Taehyung is looking at the floor. Jungkook had almost forgotten he was in the room.

Jimin hesitates, fingers twitching at his side as if they want to reach out to him. “No. No, not just, Kookie.” Jungkook watches his hand still, watches his shoulders visibly droop down. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Namjoon clears his throat. “I don’t know what happened, but it’s obviously something we need to sit down and talk about. I understand if you don’t want to right now, Jungkook, but-“

“Talking is supposed to help?” Jungkook cuts in, small sound coming from the back of his throat that he thinks might be a laugh.

“Jungk-“

“No, hyung. Let’s talk. I’ll start,” he says, wills himself to stand tall even as the world is collapsing inside him somewhere unseen. Presses on because it’s the only part of how he feels that makes sense.

“Jimin hasn’t been eating.”

The words feel sharp on his tongue, cut deep in the small room. Blood is rushing through his ears again, but somehow he still catches the strangled noise that leaves Jimin’s lips. It almost stops him from continuing, but he pushes on. “He’s not eating, and he’s sick and no one is doing anything about it.”

He’s angry.

Angry at them for hurting along with him.

Angry at them because they have no right to hurt when they weren’t there.

No one was there.

Angry because they love him so much.

“Jungkook, it’s not- this isn’t…”

(This isn’t like you.)

And no, it really isn’t, but who was he then? He can’t remember. Can’t remember anything but pain and hurt and hate, twisting twisting until it’s surging up and out all at once, and he knows he should try to stop it, but he just doesn’t care anymore. He’s tired. Tired of being hurt and angry and sad and numb, and not knowing which of those he was going to be feeling from one moment to the next.

“You’re right, hyung,” Jungkook seethes. “Getting raped does that to you.”

Silent silent silent. And something in his chest breaks further, shatters again and again until he’s sure there’s nothing but broken shards of glass left.

He hates himself.

Hates them.

(Loves them.)

Namjoon’s features are etched with pain, jaw jutting outward, clenched, trembling. He looks exhausted. “Jungkook-ah, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says slowly. “Hyung didn’t mean that all. I just want to help. Please just-“ he stops himself, choked inhale of breath following instead.

Defeated not exhausted.

Jimin lets out something akin to a sob, throat failing to catch it, coughs once, twice, and Jungkook wonders if he’s trying not to cry. “I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers suddenly, and god he sounds so destroyed.

His fault.

Jungkook grits his teeth. Words still echoing off of too tight walls. Suffocating.

He hates himself.

Blames himself.

But maybe he blames them too.

They weren’t there.

They didn’t help him. They didn’t stop them.

It’s irrational. Is it? He knows that. Head spinning. Does he know that? There’s a pounding at the back of his skull, eyes squeezed closed, clenches his fist until he can feel his nails break the skin.

“Sorry for what happened?” Jungkook asks. His voice shakes this time.

Breathe.

“Sorry for lying?”

Breathe.

“Jungkook, stop. Please.” Low, quiet- Taehyung. The new addition makes Jungkook pause for a moment (minute? second?). Taehyung sounds scared, and it almost quells the anger churning deep in his gut, but it’s too much, too much, and he still can’t breathe.

They weren’t there.

No one can hear you, love.

Palm of his hand pressed to his temple, and he shakes his head. Too much. Too much.

No one’s coming.

Jimin is shaking, Jungkook can see it from where he stands. He moves closer, notices Taehyung’s hand resting on the small of Jimin’s back.
Jimin’s eyes focus on his as he closes the distance. “I’m trying, Kook. I- I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for breaking your promise?”

And god is it even about that anymore?

No one was there. No one. No one.

(Loves them.)

Someone’s phone dings, shrill in the air.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

“That’s enough.” Namjoon.

Ding.

“We can get some air.”

Ding.

“Or do you want some time on your own?”

Ding.

And then Jungkook remembers something. Remembers something from that night and he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it even as it leaves his mouth, voice catching on nothing as the words tumble off his lips. “Sorry for leaving me alone that night?”

Time slowing until it’s unmoving, until all he can hear is everyone’s stilted breaths.

He doesn’t mean it.

Stop.

“I-” Jimin swallows.

So good for us.

“Jungkook, that’s not fair. He didn’t know. None of us would have-“ He feels Namjoon’s hand on his shoulder, and it’s like ice. He shrugs it off harshly, feet carrying him forward until he’s inches away from Jimin.

He wants to stop. This time he wants to stop

Everything aches. His hyung is crying.

Stop.

“Sorry for not picking up the phone?” he says, low and pained.

A terrifying stillness.

It’s new information to everyone except Jimin. Minds ticking away at what that implies, and it’s not even the full truth. He knows it’s not, knows he had barely let it ring that night, but Jimin doesn’t, probably thinks he really did miss his call.

Dinging in the background once again, and Jungkook almost moves to smash the phone, but suddenly there’s an awful awful sound coming from Jimin’s mouth, and Namjoon is cursing as the other sinks to the floor, Taehyung gliding down with them.

Namjoon chances a glance at him from his spot on the carpet. “Maybe you should step out-“

“What the fuck, Jungkook? What the fuck?” Taehyung snaps abruptly, catches the other off guard, and time is moving again.

He can’t breathe. He really can’t breathe, and it’s not a nightmare this time. He thinks he yells something in reply as he takes a few steps back, feels sick, feels so so sick. Jimin won’t stop apologizing, chanting it like a mantra in stuttered gasps.

“You know he’d never do anything to hurt you on purpose,” Taehyung bites out.

He does. Of course, he does.

Glass shards crumpling until there’s nothing but dust left, filling his chest up and over, and he’s suffocating, gasping for air.

And still there are words spilling out, mean and cruel. Metallic taste on his tongue the only thing reminding him that this is real.

What did he do? What did he do?

His knees buckle as soon as his back hits the door.

He didn’t mean it.

Not all of it.

How could he mean any of it?

He presses his hands over his ears, repeats one sentence over and over and over. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, doesn’t know anything. It’s too loud. Too loud.

So pretty for us.

His lungs burn. He needs air, needs to breathe.

Scream, love. No one’s coming.

High pitched wheezing, and he’s going to die, he’s going to-

“Jungkook!”

The voice is loud, close, shocks his system just enough for him to take one gasping inhale. The dark edges spotting his vision lessen ever so slightly, Taehyung’s face focusing for a fraction of a second. There’s hands covering his own, warm and soft, and Taehyung must see the recognition briefly flit across his feature because his hands are gently guided down away from his ears, pressed to something firm, warmth still encircling them, and Jungkook clings to it. Clings to it even as he still struggles to pull air into his lungs.

His eyes try to focus once again, and he sees the tears. Taehyung is crying, tap tap tapping on the ground, and someone is talking, dull in his ears and-

“-didn’t deserve it. You didn’t. You could never ever deserve something like that. I swear you didn’t. Please stop saying that.”

And oh.

That’s what he’s been repeating, he thinks. Lips halting their movements.

Taehyung is still crying.

He tries to take a breath. Stutters, chokes.

“Hey. hey, I’m right here,” Taehyung says, turns his chin so that their eyes meet. “Breathe with me, Kookie. Please breathe with me. You’re okay. I promise you’re okay. No one’s going anywhere. No one’s going anywhere. Breathe.”

Jungkook does.

Taehyung presses their foreheads together, careful, slow, whispers, “Good. You’re doing so good.” And then he smiles.

And Jungkook’s heart falls falls falls, aches because all he can see in his hyung’s eyes is a love he most certainly doesn’t deserve.

Notes:

Please comment and tell me what you think! Those are honestly the most motivating thing. I'm almost done with the next chapter, so you guys might actually see that in the next week or 2.

OH! I made a twitter (@jazzieshoesJK) specifically for bts/fanfic stuff. I literally am just getting around to updating it so there's like nothing on it yet, BUT I would love to talk to you guys on there. I love talking about the characters and plot and other fics, so let's be friends! I might also take fic requests on there. Undecided but who knows? Maybe twitter will keep me from writing novels on these author notes.

Please follow and come talk to me! I'll follow back of course. Drop me a comment here to. Love you all <3

Twitter: @jazzieshoesJK

Chapter 12

Notes:

Well, this chapter came out of nowhere. The part I had written got pushed back because the characters decided to just do their own thing, and I actually think this might be the longest one so far. I struggled back and forth on this chapter, but I'm going to try a new thing where I don't constantly criticize my writing, so we'll see how it goes. My emotions were shot for like 3 days while I wrote this, so hopefully I was able to effectively get some of that across here. As always, let me know!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Namjoon still has an arm wrapped around Jimin’s back when most of Jungkook’s lungs return to him. Taehyung is crouched down in front him, thumb and index finger carefully massaging at his ear in that familiar way that’s theirs as his opposite hand continues to cradle Jungkook’s own against his chest (cautious, gentle. always gentle), and Jungkook tries to be. For a moment, he just wants to be.

His head is swimming even now, thoughts muddled and unclear, but Taehyung whispers and it’s okay. He’s alive. Not dying.

Not dying.

“You’re doing so good, Kookie.”

So good, babe. You’re so good for me.

Jungkook’s fingers twitch in Taehyung’s hold, gaze wandering for a moment before he blinks rapidly a few times, shudders slightly, and it’s just Taehyung. Just Taehyung. They’re not here. He hears shuffling and maybe Jimin’s name coming from the other side of the room, but he ignores it, focuses on the way Tae speaks, the way his eyes scan slowly over his features, the way he smiles. Just a moment. Please just a moment.

“Is he okay, Taehyung?” Namjoon asks just barely loud enough to hear.

Taehyung finds Jungkook’s eyes, quirk of the head, a silent question, and Jungkook nods. He’s fine. He’s fine. The dark spots in his vision are almost gone.

Taehyung doesn’t look like he believes him as he places a hand over Jungkook’s heart, and Jungkook knows it’s still beating too fast, knows there’s still a slight gasp with each breath he takes, but it’s better than it was before, and Taehyung can just hang his head and sigh. He gives Jungkook a look but doesn’t argue.

“He’s doing better,” he says pointedly, craning his neck the slightest bit to reply.

Jungkook hears Namjoon exhale loudly, the need to answer his hyung himself suddenly rising up because he’s not broken like everyone thinks he is (like he feels he is). Jungkook takes a breath. “I’m fine, hyung. M’fine.”

He pulls his hand away from Taehyung’s and sinks back against the wall next to the door, knees coming up to his chest. There’s a flash of hurt in Taehyung’s eyes for a moment, but he quickly reels it in, leans back to rest on his heels with a quick nod.

“Good. That’s good to hear, Kook.”

“You’re fine then, Jungkook?” High, soft. Jimin looks up at him, and Jungkook’s heart stutters, skips because Jimin is smiling at him. Tear tracks on his cheeks, but still he looks at Jungkook like there isn’t a single thing wrong, and the guilt in Jungkook’s chest just magnifies, anger snuffed out for a brief moment.

He stares at Jimin, scrambles for words and, “Yeah, hyung. I-”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Jimin pulls out of Namjoon’s grasp as he stands and dusts at his jeans even though there’s nothing on them. Jungkook’s tongue stills in his mouth.

“Where are you going?” Namjoon asks, pushes himself upright as well.

“Jimin?” Taehyung says barely above a whisper, and Jungkook hugs his legs closer to his chest.

Jimin moves towards the door. “Just…the other room. I need to…” He’s searching for words. “I…I’ll just be in the other room, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, twists the knob and pulls the door closed with a quiet click. Taehyung turns to Namjoon.

“Yeah. I got it.” Namjoon's feet carry him across room, but he makes sure to pause next to Jungkook says, “We can talk later. Don’t worry, okay?”

Namjoon pats his shoulder once before he pulls Taehyung aside. Jungkook doesn’t try to hear what they’re saying, finds himself too busy focusing on bottling up the plethora of emotions he doesn’t understand, the ones that make him into something he’s not. When Namjoon leaves, he barely notices.

“We’ll just be here,” Taehyung calls to him and moves to sit against the wall just a few inches from Jungkook. He leans his head back, and Jungkook waits for him to speak, but it doesn’t come.

The silence roars in his ears instead.

 

It’s exactly fifteen minutes later that Taehyung does finally open his mouth.

“Did you mean it?” He murmurs, and it’s so casual that Jungkook can’t bring himself to be surprised.

He turns his head to look at Taehyung and finds he’s still staring up at the ceiling, fondness settling in his eyes somehow and Jungkook wonders what he’s seeing, only sees chipped, white paint when he looks himself.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly in reply, and Taehyung nods like it’s the answer he expected.

“I didn’t want to say it,” Jungkook continues. “I know it’s not hyung’s fault. I know that. I do. I don’t know what’s wrong…everything’s just…” Rush of words and it's too jumbled together, syllables running into each other towards the end.

“Jungkook. Jungkook, breathe.”

Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, lips upturning at the corner slightly when he does, and he lets his hand fall back down to his side. He flicks his gaze to the wall in front of them.

“I told Yoongi he was a bad hyung once,” Taehyung says suddenly. Jungkook is working on sucking in steady breaths as he looks at him, confusion evident on his face, but Taehyung continues on without notice, eyes still staring straight ahead. “Actually I think I used the word shit,” he laughs.

“He’d been ignoring me all week. Holed himself up in the studio like usual, you know? I guess he was making progress or something because he asked Jimin to record a guide for him one day,” Taehyung smiles, moves so he’s sitting up straighter. “I was sad he didn’t ask me I think, but me and Jiminnie…we have completely different voices and hyung needed Jimin’s sound, not mine. And it was fine. I was okay with that.”

“Hyung, wha-”

“I have a point, Jungkook. Promise.” Taehyung ruffles Jungkook’s hair quickly and clears his throat.

“So things were fine for a day or two. Yoongi hyung was still ignoring me, but I knew things would go back normal as soon as the guide was done. That’s when Jimin got sick,” he sighs when he says the last part, memory still vivid. “He couldn’t record, and I just wanted to help.”

Jungkook lets the grip around his knees slacken, finds himself turning the slightest bit so he can see Taehyung better.

“Hyung let me try. I recorded it maybe twenty times, ran my voice to the ground but guess what? Not a single one was good enough. It sounds so stupid now, but it hurt. I was frustrated and then Yoongi hyung told me to go home, and well somehow, it went from me saying sorry to me asking why he liked Jimin’s voice better. He told me I was acting like a child, and I guess you know the rest.”

“It took me a whole hour to start feeling guilty, but hyung never let me apologize. I tried to as soon as he got home, but he just shook his head and sat me down, told me there was nothing to be sorry for.”

Taehyung looks contemplative, shifts his gaze to meet Jungkook’s eyes. “He told me sometimes what we feel overpowers what we know.”

And for a moment it’s as if he’s seeing something Jungkook can’t once again as he stares, but then his eyes crinkle around the edges and he turns his head, makes random motions in the air with his hand. “He said some other stuff after that, went on in his long metaphors he likes to speak in. I don’t think Yoongi hyung can help it sometimes.”

Taehyung laughs, a lightness in his voice as warmth settles over his features. “I think I understood what he meant though, and I think you might too, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, lets his palm settle against his temple. His fingers curl into the strands until he can feel the tug against scalp.

Jungkook shakes his head.

“I don’t know what I feel.”

“Are you worried about Jimin?” Taehyung asks quietly.

“Yes.”

“Are you upset with him?”

“Yes.” The fingers laced in his hair tighten, frustrated groan slipping past his lips. “No,” he corrects. “I don’t know. I don’t know, hyung.” He looks at Taehyung, pushes down the tears he can feel pooling at the corners of his eyes. “I know it’s not fair. I know it’s not fair to hyung or…”

…to any of you.

Taehyung shuffles closer until their knees are touching. “Jungkook…what happened…everything that’s happened isn’t fair.” Taehyung’s voice cracks at the end, shoulders tensing, and Jungkook hears the choked sigh that pushes itself up Tae’s throat before curling, rough and harsh into the air.

“Who gives a damn about fair? Those men…those-,” the venom in his tone is unmistakable and Jungkook stiffens-

So good for us.

Bites at his cheek as Taehyung exhales a few times, shakes his head, tries to find Jungkook’s gaze. “I wish…all of us, we’d take your place if we could, Kook. I-”

Ice freezing in his chest (no one can hear you), and Jungkook scrambles to grab Tae’s wrist. “No. No, don’t say that,” Jungkook pleads, sudden nausea turning his stomach.

Scream, love. Scream.

Not his hyungs. Never his hyungs.

The thought makes him sick, and he swallows, wills away the images and the voices, and please please please. “Don’t. Not ever again. I- it was me. It was me, hyung, and there’s nothing-” Jungkook’s feels his chest tighten, abruptly aware of the pain filling it, so much pain. “I’m glad it wasn’t any of you,” he whispers.

Taehyung’s face falls, a sob lodged somewhere in the back of his throat suddenly, as he rests his forehead on Jungkook’s knee. Breathes. “We just don’t know what to do. We can’t fix it, Jungkook. We can’t,” Taehyung cries, lets the tears freely fall down his cheeks. “We don’t know how to help you. I don’t know how to help you.”

And Jungkook feels that awful sickly calm settle in his bones once again, a coping mechanism to the onslaught of hurt.

“You can’t, hyung.”

Jungkook cards his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, once, twice, and Taehyung cries just a little harder. “You can talk to me, Jungkook.”

“I can’t. Not about…I can’t tell you that, hyung.” Shakes his head, feels the shame burn somewhere deep.

Taehyung lifts his head, sudden tendrils of anger making his voice rise in pitch. “Then tell me what to do, Jungkook. I can’t keep doing nothing. Jimin…I can’t help Jimin, and I can’t help you, and no one talks to me about anything anymore. I’m just here. I’m here and I’m useless, and I-”

Fear. That's what Jungkook hears in Taehyung's voice, recognizes it even through the disconnect in his body. Internalizing fear is what Taehyung did, what he'd always done until he couldn't anymore, and then Jimin would fix him but Jimin isn't here now, and Jungkook cringes inwardly at the thought, realizes it wouldn't matter if he was because Jimin couldn't even fix himself. It's all different now. Everything's different.

“I thought about you that night,” Jungkook whispers suddenly, and it’s not to hurt him. He’s tired of hurting everyone, but he just needs Taehyung to see, needs him to understand that there's so much dark twisting inside him, so much that he's trying to sort through and this, this situation, this nightmare, whatever this is can't be fixed.

“I thought about all of you,” Jungkook clarifies, forces his mouth to keep moving. “But I thought about you and Namjoon hyung first. I hoped one of you would come, would stop it because you always…but you didn’t,” he breathes, lets his fingers pick at the loose thread on his jeans for a moment before he forces himself to look at Taehyung. “And it’s not your fault, but I’m still…I’m trying not to be, and I just-”

“Jungk-”

Numb. He doesn’t want to be numb again, but Taehyung looks as if there’s no life left in him, and he can’t. He can’t. He turns his head away because he needs to be alone. Needs to be alone before he says something else he regrets.

“You should go check on Jimin, hyung.”

“Jungkook, please.” But there’s no fight in Taehyung’s voice anymore.

Jungkook’s fists clench where they rest on his knees. “If you want to help me then go.” It’s harsh, too harsh, and somehow it always ends up like this. 

Please, go. Please

“He needs you.”

Taehyung doesn’t argue, and Jungkook sinks into the wall as the door opens, pauses halfway. Please go. Please please please.

“You can blame us, Jungkook,” Taehyung whispers, and Jungkook pictures him hesitating at the doorway. He keeps his head buried in his arms.

“You can blame us if it helps.”

The door starts creaking closed, a quiet we love you slipping past just before he hears the click.

Jungkook tells himself not to cry.


*~*~*


Seokjin pulls him out of the room a few hours later, forces him into the kitchen, and Jungkook lets him. He slips into a chair just as Yoongi and Hoseok stumble through the door. They look tired. Yoongi has dark circles under his eyes, but he smiles at Jungkook easily when he enters. Hoseok ruffles his hair, and Jungkook tries not to lean into the touch, voices in his head still tearing and biting.

Dinner goes by in a blur, clink clinking of glass, and no one says much. No one mentions how Jimin and Taehyung are missing either. Jungkook does his best to ignore the sting in his chest, does his best to ignore most everything, but he doesn’t miss how Namjoon slips out quietly to take a call, features rigid. It’s past eight, and it’s not odd, but it’s not normal either. Jungkook squashes the anxiety in his gut before it starts.

It’s half an hour later when they put on a movie. Jungkook curls himself into the farthest edge on the couch, doesn’t complain. Tries to pretend everything’s fine, and that nothing had happened just a few hours ago. Jungkook thinks they might be pretending too, and even if it’s just for a little while Jungkook is thankful. Seokjin sits next to him, pats at his thigh absently as if he just needs to know that Jungkook is there. Yoongi and Hoseok sit next to each other on the floor, backs resting gently on the couch.

It’s so very familiar, and Jungkook breathes.

Seokjin steps out for a little while, and Jungkook hears the hum of a conversation coming from the kitchen until Yoongi gets up and it’s quiet again. Jungkook sees the way Hoseok looks at Yoongi when he returns, sees Yoongi’s lips pressed into a fine line and the minute shake of his head. Jungkook stops himself from asking, stops himself from wondering.

It’s fine.

And he believes it. For a few more minutes, he believes it.

Then there’s a knock at the door, and Jungkook knows. Knows it’s something very much not fine.

Hoseok turns to glance at him, looks like he’s about to say something, but then Seokjin is shuffling into the room, footsteps careful. “Jungkook, can we talk to you for a minute?” He keeps his voice steady, light.

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, hyung.”

“The kitchen. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Jungkook snuffs out the fear in his chest and follows.

Murmur of voices, and he’s not even surprised to find their manager speaking to Namjoon when they enter. They quiet as soon as the two of them step through the door. Seokjin clears his throat.

“Jungkook. Good to see you,” Sejin says, and Jungkook can’t tell if he looks sad or nervous.

Namjoon’s jaw tightens as Jungkook mumbles a quiet yes. Seokjin squeezes his arm gently as his thoughts start to race, heart rate following.

Breathe.

“Jungkook, I needed to talk to you about a few things.” Sejin motions for him to sit. Namjoon and Seokjin remain standing. “I understand you’ve been…unwell.”

And there’s something. Something there.

Jungkook chances a glance at Namjoon, doesn’t miss how his eyes dart to the floor, and Jungkook feels his breath stutter.

“You’ve been unwell,” Sejin continues. “And I’ve done my best to make sure that you had some time to…to just have some time, Jungkook-ah.” Sejin’s voice shakes, and that’s not normal. That’s not normal.

Jungkook chokes, white sparks dancing across his vision and-

“I wanted you to have all the time you needed.”

-he knows.

It echoes in the back of his skull, panic rising so quickly that he can actually feel the second his mind turns in on itself, closes up and up-

He knows he knows he knows.

-and up.

Jungkook is too numb to flinch when Sejin pats the back of his hand. “But there’s others asking questions now. Other staff that are concerned, and I don’t know if I can keep it completely quiet anymore. I think there’s a few I’ll have to tell something to. I won’t…I’ll tell them as little as I can, but…” The words die on his lips.

Jungkook shivers. Panic fading impossibly further into that familiar numbness.

“I”m sorry, Jungkook,” Sejin says quietly. "If you need anything, just ask, okay?"

Jungkook only nods.

Sejin taps his shoulder gently as he leaves, says he’ll let himself out and then it’s quiet.

“How long has he known?” he whispers after a few minutes, eyes boring holes into the table.

Breathe.

Namjoon sighs roughly. “A few days after. I told him a few days after.”

Numb numb numb.

“He had to, Jungkook,” Seokjin whispers, subtle plea in his tone. “All this time…we wouldn’t of been able to cut activities like we’ve been. You needed time…”

“So it’s my fault then?” Jungkook looks up from the table to find Seokjin’s gaze. He’s not sure if his voice is shaking with anger or hurt.

“Of course not.” Seokjin blinks his eyes rapidly a few times, stops himself from moving closer.

There’s quiet footsteps behind him, and Jungkook doesn’t bother looking, knows it’s Yoongi or Hoseok, maybe both, but it doesn’t matter.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” The words stick in his throat, and Jungkook isn’t even sure what he means.

Yoongi sits in front of him, leans back in the chair with a sigh. “This is just how it is, kid.”

Jungkook flinches. “How it is? What the fuck do you know?” Jungkook cringes at the tone, but stays firm, doesn’t take it back.

He hears Hoseok’s sharp intake of breath, but Yoongi barely blinks. “I know you’re upset. I know you’re hurting. I know you’re scared-”

“You don’t know anything. You don’t…” Jungkook clenches his fists against the tears trying to fall down his cheeks, eyes squeezed closed. He won't cry. He won't cry.

“Okay,” Yoongi nods. “Why don’t you tell me then?”

And his voice is so soft, so genuine, and Jungkook shakes his head jerkily, barely hears a quiet mumble of words over the roaring in his ears.

“You can yell if you want. No one else is in here.”

That makes Jungkook look up, finds Yoongi wasn’t lying. It’s just the two of them.

"Whatever it is." 

“I’m not scared. I’m not a child,” Jungkook takes a few breaths, he needs to say this. “I don’t need to be fixed. I don’t.”

Yoongi nods, urges him on.

“What happened…you can’t fix it. None of you can fix it, and I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to think about it, but you all make it so hard, and you’re hurting so much for no reason, and I’m just fucking tired. I’m tired, hyung.”

“It’s not for no reason, Jungkook. You know that.”

Jungkook’s gut twists painfully, bites his lip when he feels a wetness on his cheeks. “And now other people…” He lets his head drop, hears the way he’s wheezing in between each breath.

He hates himself for being so weak, swipes angrily at the tears. “All I do is cry and hurt everyone, and I'm tired of being like this. I'm not even me anymore, and I don't understand how you all still...," voice catching in his throat and, "god stop crying stop crying.”

Yoongi kneels down in front of him suddenly. “Jungkook, listen to me. You’re allowed to cry as much as you fucking want, alright? No one is going to think any differently of you because of something like that." He lets his hands rest on the sides of Jungkook's legs, lets his head drop briefly before he's looking at Jungkook once more. "You're still you, and I need you to hear me. Even if it doesn't feel like it, you're still you. You're still our Jungkook. You're still the Jungkook that we..." Yoongi pauses, breathes, "...that we love, okay? There isn't anything that could change that, and you know hyung doesn't lie."

And Yoongi looks so sure, looks so much like he wants to do nothing but hold him, and Jungkook feels the snap right before he starts sobbing, pulls at Yoongi, and Yoongi obliges easily, holds Jungkook close until he quiets.

He takes Jungkook’s hand then, pulling him to stand. “Let’s go lay down.”

“Not a kid,” he says, almost out of reflex, even as he lets Yoongi lead him out of the kitchen.

“No, you’re not, but I’m still your hyung.” He thinks he sees Yoongi smile. “Now come on.”

And Jungkook tries one more time to just be.

 

Notes:

Let me know your thoughts in the comments! I enjoy reading your perspectives so so much.

I think we're finally at the turning point to start that slow, upward climb with Jungkook's character. A few more things to come still, but it's getting there. I'm curious to know what you all think might go down still. Like actually really curious, so let me know maybe?

Quick announcement. I started posting those cut scenes I mentioned as part 2 of this fic, so check them out if you'd like! Not sure when the next update will be, so I just ask for your patience. I promise I have every intention of finishing this story. Love you all!

Twitter: @jazzieshoesJK

Chapter 13

Notes:

Finally! As usual, thank you for your patience with me. It’s not long so apologies for that, but I ended up cutting it into two chapters instead of one. But anyway, we'll talk more at the end, so read away!

Update 3/31/21: This chapter was posted in 2019 so new readers and long time readers, just know that the update date is incorrect. I don't know if ao3 is glitching or what, but it won't let me fix it. I'M SORRY. Of course, doesn't mean this won't be updated because it certainly will. When is the better question. I'll do my best to make it soon though!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

(“We’re going to talk tomorrow,” Seokjin says steadily as Yoongi enters the kitchen.

He doesn’t turn around, and Yoongi wonders how he knew it was him until he sees the way Seokjin’s hands are gripping the edge of the counter, realizes he was going to say the same thing to whoever walked in first.

“We’re talking tomorrow,” Seokjin repeats more firmly, nods to himself once, twice before he spins around to face him, and it startles Yoongi. Startles him not because of the movement but because Seokjin’s cheeks are wet. Clear tear tracks running down his face, and he’s not crying anymore but he had been, and Yoongi feels the ache.

“All of us,” Seokjin continues, eyes squeezing closed for a brief moment, so he doesn’t see Yoongi nod. “I know you want Jungkook to come to us on his own, make his own decisions, and-… and I get that, Yoongi, but I…” he cuts himself off with a heavy breath, head tilted towards the floor.

He’s expecting Yoongi to disagree, expecting an argument from the way he keeps his stance tense, shoulders rigid and fists tight.

But Yoongi only sighs, swallows. “Okay.”

They need to talk, should have a long time ago maybe. Yoongi had decided that somewhere between Hoseok yelling at him through tears and Jungkook-

You can’t fix it. None of you can fix it…I’m tired, hyung.

-sobbing into his chest, trying to sound angry, trying so hard, Yoongi thinks, but really just sounding scared and hurt and Yoongi knows what that’s like all too well. Knows where pushing it down down down can get you.

Yoongi swallows again. He won’t make Jungkook talk, won’t force him into anything he doesn’t want, but he can ask him to listen. That he can do. “Okay, hyung,” he whispers.

Seokjin’s shoulders shake. “It’s…it’s okay, right? This is okay? It won’t…”

-make it worse?

Seokjin doesn’t ask for help often, doesn’t let himself sound small or uncertain. He’s strong. Has been for as long as Yoongi can remember. Not strong like Namjoon who’s level headed and sure, or like Jimin who kept his heart wide and open. Not strong like any of them really. His strength was his own, and if Yoongi had to describe it in a single word he’d say it was love. Simple yet vast, gentle yet steadfast, bright and free and selfless, and Yoongi sees it here too. Clear in the way he’s made a decision even though he’s unsure and he doesn’t know if it’s right or wrong, in the way he still asks for help, lets himself finally be just the slightest bit vulnerable, and it’s okay. It’s okay like this.

“No, I don’t think it will,” Yoongi says softly. “It’ll be okay. Talking is okay.”

And he means it.

Seokjin nods, tension seeming to drain out of his body. “I just don’t know what else to do. We’ve always talked,” he murmurs and then finally looks back up. “We’ve always talked, Yoongi.” His eyes soften when he says his name, lips pursing together gently.

“I know.”

Seokjin gives him a small smile, corners of his mouth just barely quirking up. He shifts his weight to the opposite leg before his eyes widen a fraction as if he’s remembered something. Mouth parting open and he pauses, hesitates for a moment and then, “Did you tell Hoseok?”

Yoongi doesn't know why he smiles, can’t tell if it’s sad or relieved. “Yeah,” and it’s more of an exhale of breath. He raises his head, didn’t realize he’d lowered it. “Yes, hyung, I did.”

Then it’s still for a moment, and Yoongi thinks he should say more, elaborate maybe, but a door clicks, creaks open somewhere in the other room, and they both glance towards the sound briefly before Seokjin starts busying himself with putting away dishes in case someone walks in.

“You don’t have to tell him,” Seokjin says, reaches up to put a plate on one of the top shelves

A pinprick of shame rushes up the expanse of Yoongi’s neck because he knows exactly what the other means, wonders if he’s always been that easy to read. He huffs out a short laugh, but it feels out of place. “That obvious?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “No. I just know you.”

“Side effect of being roommates for too long.”

It’s an attempt at lightness, and Seokjin lets it pass with a gentle laugh. “Probably.”

There’s a tiredness still sinking through his limbs, pulling him down and resting heavy on his chest, but it’s more of a dull ache than a sharp pain and somehow that’s an improvement.

“Really though, Yoongi,” Seokjin tries again. “It’s not an obligation. You don’t owe that to anyone.” He puts down whatever was in his hand and turns to catch Yoongi’s gaze. “Not that, okay? It’s for you-…for you and whoever else you decide to let in.”

Yoongi bites his lip, question tickling the back of his throat because it’s something he’s been thinking about for a long time now.

Would it help?

Maybe Jungkook wouldn’t feel as alone then. Maybe he’d feel understood, more hopeful, more something. Another part of him though is scared of making it worse. Scared that it would push him away, make him worry, make him think he needed to be okay. And Jimin. He’s scared of that too because if he told Jungkook how could he keep that from the rest of them? He’d have to tell. He’d have to tell, and Jimin wouldn’t…it would hurt him. Hurt him so bad and Taehyung too, and Yoongi couldn’t live with that.

A hand on his shoulder.

“Yoongi?”

The breath locked up in his his lungs releases, stuttered and heavy. His eyes dart to the hand resting lightly on his shoulder and then back to Seokjin. “Do you think it would help?” he asks in a whisper.

“I don’t know, Yoongi.”

Fingers squeeze his arm softly and then drop away. Yoongi shakes his head, clenches his jaw. “Be honest with me, hyung. Do you think it would help, Jungkook?”

He has to know. Needs to know.

Seokjin sighs, a sadness coming to rest in his eyes, looks like he’s thinking hard about how to word his answer. He reaches to brush Yoongi’s hair back, but then pauses, lets his arm fall back to his side. “Would it have helped you?” he asks quietly.

Yoongi pauses, chokes out a bitter laugh. “Maybe.”

Would it have helped him?

He’s not sure.

Seokjin lifts his hand again, and this time he does card gentle fingers through Yoongi’s hair. “Okay.”

And Yoongi nods, shoulders drooping down, leans into the touch. “Okay.”)


*~*~*

Maybe-

He wakes with a jerk, head pounding and warmth on his wrist. Hoseok stares at him in concern before his eyes soften. Yoongi looks down at his arm, and Hoseok pulls his hand away.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to sca-”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi cuts in quickly, waves him off. Hoseok deflates visibly, and Yoongi flinches. “I’m fine, Hoseok-ah,” he tries again, softer this timer. “Don’t apologize, okay?”

There’s a murmur of voices in the background, staff fumbling around to adjust cameras and lighting. Yoongi heaves himself out of the chair with a grunt.

“We’re done for the day,” Hoseok says when he’s fully upright. “We can go home.”

Yoongi blinks. “I thought we still had another take.”

“Namjoon.”

Oh.

“He convinced them to just use what they had,” Hoseok says with a shrug, says it like it didn’t quite play out so simply.

Yoongi lets it be. Gaze searching until he finds Jungkook tucked away on one of the chairs in the corner, fondness filling the cracks in his bones.

He’d handled himself well today. Had tried his best to answer questions, to speak when spoken to, and smile, smile for the camera, over here, good good. Hadn’t complained even though he had every right to.

The schedule had been last minute. An “unforseen circumstance” on the part of the studio, and Namjoon had been furious. Had made several phone calls, voice low and steady as he spoke to whoever was on the other end. He never yelled just kept his words tight and clipped before he headed to Jungkook’s room-

“They said it had to be today. I tried to…”

“It’s okay, hyung. I can go. It’s not a big deal.”

-came back out looking impossibly exhausted.

The night before had broken something in him. Had made whatever was keeping him upright buckle, and Yoongi thinks that’s partly his fault.

“-have to be okay.”

“Because what? You can say it, Namjoon.”

Partly because of Jungkook and Jimin and all of them. Namjoon had filled him in that night. Had told him what Jungkook said, the way Jimin-

“I’m sorry. Sorry sorry sorry-”

-had splintered, cracked deeper still.

And they needed to talk, had to talk. Seokjin was right.

Yoongi squeezes his eyes closed, opens them to see Jimin staring at him in concern just a few feet away. His heart clenches. He forces himself to smile, and Jimin returns it.

God, they didn’t deserve this.

None of them did.

Hoseok grabs his arm. “Let’s go to the car, hyung.”

Yoongi nods mechanically, allows Hoseok to pull him along. He glances back to see Jimin whisper Jungkook’s name (Jungkookie, we’re going now), see how it takes everything in him to not pet his hair or take his hand, the way his voice stays soft and light before he turns to leave, and Jungkook. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, call his name maybe (hyung…) but then uncertainty latches itself onto his features, and his lips snapped closed.

Yoongi turns back around, hurts, always hurts. He squeezes Hoseok’s hand and Hoseok, sweet perfect Hoseok doesn’t say anything, just squeezes back.

Tonight.

They’d fix it try tonight.


*~*~*


It’s 7 pm, and Yoongi makes tea.

His nerves are skittering under his skin. Seokjin is getting Jungkook. He’s supposed to get Jimin and Tae. Namjoon and Hoseok are already in the living room. He takes a breath, spoon clinking as he swirls it in the mug.

He’s making tea.

Ridiculous.

He grips the counter, head tilting up towards the ceiling. Breathe.

Maybe.

He hasn’t decided yet.

Breathe.

“I can get them.”

He jumps at the sound, calms himself quickly.

It’s Hoseok.

Yoongi clears his throat. “No, no it’s okay. I got it.”

One more breath, and then he pushes himself up and out of the kitchen, smiles at Hoseok in a way he hopes looks reassuring.

It’ll be fine.

They need this.

They need this.

Breathe.

Walks.

Stops suddenly.

“…hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

It sounds like the tail end of a conversation, voices a little muffled, a lot exasperated, and Yoongi finds himself pausing at the door, tea in hand forgotten for a moment, task forgotten too.

“He does, Tae. He…his eyes- the way he looked at me like,” Jimin’s voice trails off, and Yoongi imagines a shake in his jaw. “He was crying, and he…he couldn’t breathe, Taehyung. He couldn’t breathe, and I- I did that. I hurt him and-”

“Jimin, stop.”

It’s a murmur, soft enough that Yoongi almost misses it.

“You can’t do that to yourself,” Taehyung whispers again after a brief pause. “Thinking like that…it won’t help you or Jungkook. It’s-…you’re trying, Jimin. You’re trying,” and Yoongi thinks maybe he looks up here, takes Jimin’s hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Yoongi isn’t sure what he expects. Silence? Resignation? A quiet okay?

One of those or all of them.

But-

“How do you know that?”

-what he doesn’t expect is for Jimin to yell.

“How could you possibly know that?” and it’s almost a scream.

Yoongi steadies himself, snaps out of the surprise quickly so he can open the door. Taehyung looks towards him, a subtle fear rooted in his eyes, but Jimin doesn’t spare him a glance, just moves to stand.

He laughs bitterly then. “You don’t get it. None of you get it,” he chokes, voice picking up in volume as he continues. “I did everything wrong. It’s my fault. Mine. You heard what Jungkook said, Taehyung.” He turns to Yoongi, and Yoongi sees the tears stinging the corners of his eyes but he sees an anger there too that he doesn’t recognize. “I left him. I left him alone, and then I didn’t even pick up the phone. He was alone and hurt, and I didn’t help him.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi says before he can continue. “You didn’t do anything-”

“Stop!” Jimin rasps out harshly. “Stop saying that.”

“Listen-”

But Jimin’s falling too fast, anger filling in what’s broken and it’s not the same anger Jungkook has. Hasn’t been festering somewhere deep. It’s reactive, loud, rash, has Jimin pushing past him and out the door.

Yoongi follows, and Taehyung is right behind him. “Jimin, stop. Where are you going?”

They’re almost to the front door. Hoseok and Namjoon look up from their spot on the floor, confused. Jimin is grabbing a jacket, slipping his shoes on.

It’s dark out.

“Fucking stop, Jimin.” Yoongi says roughly, grabs at his shoulder but Jimin jerks away. He’ll follow him. Of course he’ll follow him, but Jimin could give them the slip if he really wanted to.

It’s dark out.

“Take a breath, Jimin.” Namjoon.

Hoseok is reaching for his shoes, and Yoongi eyes his own as Jimin crouches down to tie the laces briskly.

“Don’t be stupid.”

Yoongi cringes inwardly because it’s harsh but Jimin isn’t listening, isn’t hearing.

Stop.

His hand is on the doorknob.

It’s dark out.

“Jimin.”

Stop.

“Hyung, don’t.”

It’s a small voice, and Yoongi’s heart flips.

Jungkook.

“Hyung,” Jungkook breathes again, Seokjin firm at his side.

A pause.

Too short.

Too long.

Jungkook takes a careful step forward. “Please, don’t.” Sad, it sounds so sad, wounded almost. Another step. Small small small. “But if- if you have to…I’ll go. I’ll go with you, hyung.

And Jimin stiffens, crashes, body sagging down and inwards. He looks up at Jungkook and the tears aren’t falling, but they’re there.

Seokjin walks to him. “Let's go sit down, Jimin.”

A nod.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading and for waiting and being amazing as usual. I'm actually moderately pleased with this chapter, so I'd appreciate your feedback/comments! I love hearing your perspectives. The majority of this chapter has been written for a while now, but there was one scene that was just so incredibly hard to get from my head to paper, but I had a bit of inspiration the other day and managed to get it done. Maybe you can guess which one.

As always, I appreciate every one of you so so much. I hope these chapters have been worth the wait lately. The talk is coming up which has seriously needed to happen for a while. We'll see how it goes. Until next time, lovelies!

Twitter: @jazzieshoesJK

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