Jung Hoseok Imagines

Zero O'Clock

Your heart broke as you peered into the studio door, noticing Hobi slumped out across his desk, lyric sheets scattered all around him, many of them empty. As you opened the door, his body didn't move, but his ears picked up on the sound.

"Hobi," you whispered, tiptoeing across the floor towards him, resting your hands against the small of his back. "It's nearly midnight."

His head nodded, but the rest of his body remained still. He was clueless as to what time it was, too consumed by his own thoughts to barely recognise that you were really in the room. If it wasn't for your hand moving in circles against him, he would have been convinced you were nothing but a dream.

"What's wrong?" You then asked, kneeling beside him so that you could get a better view of his face. "Has something happened?"

As his head finally turned to look at you, you wished you hadn't knelt. His cheeks were puffy, eyes red and sore, time had been troubling for him, that was clear. But it was only when you met his eyes, could you see just how tiresome it had been.

"I don't know," he whispered back to you, running a hand through his scruffy hair. "I don't know why I'm sad, I just am."

Your head nodded, trying to keep yourself composed too, "that's alright, there's nothing wrong with just feeling low Hobi."

"It's not just that," he sighed, allowing his head to drop back down against the desk, "I'm heavy with burden Y/N, everyone else is busy writing songs, and I've had nothing come to mind all day, it's like my mind has gone blank. I'm too far behind."

Your hand moved across to rest over his, pulling across the other desk chair to sit yourself in. His body didn't react to either of your movements, only concerning you more by how damaged he was by the workload before him.

"There's no such thing as being too far behind, your feet haven't started the race just yet, but you can easily catch up," you assured him.

Although your words were intended with comfort, the metaphors you spoke in only made him feel worse. You had the way with words he dreamed of in order to get this song written, and whilst it came to you with ease, it quickly avoided him.

"I've worked so hard," he continued to vent, picking up his pen once again, "I've faced bumps in the road before, but it's as if I can't remember any words. Why me? Why now?"

As your eyes flickered across to look at the clock once again, realising just how late it was, you knew that there was no chance of Hobi even trying to be productive at this time of night.

"Run the race tomorrow," you requested of him, "come home, lay down, get some rest. Soon it will be midnight, and you're not going to be able to get much done now."

He knew you were right, every part of him was screaming for rest, but he couldn't help but resent the lack of work before him. Did he really deserve to rest when he had done nothing with his day, especially when so many others had excelled?

"What if it's the same tomorrow?" He honestly asked, sitting himself so that he could look across to you properly.

"In just a few minutes, it's a new day, and no one knows what will happen then," you assured him, brushing your hand through his hair to try and tidy it up. "At least you'll have gotten through today, and hopefully you'll be happier tomorrow too."

"You think that will work?"

Your shoulders shrugged, whilst nothing could be for certain, you were sure with a bit of time things would get easier for him.

"You just need to forget about today, let your frustrations settle, and come back tomorrow as if it's your first time trying to work on the song," you suggested to him. "Everything is new at midnight."

His head slowly nodded, trusting in your words, as he always seemed to do. It wasn't easy for him to put a smile on his face, the annoyance of not being able to write lyrics, a job that usually was something so simple for him, was something that couldn't be explained.

There was no one else to blame but himself, whilst usually he stood shoulder to shoulder with six others, being alone, he began to doubt himself. Doubt his talent, his skill, his ability to stand alone as an artist too.

"Come home," you repeated as he fell silent, quickly pulling him away from another loophole you could see him stumbling into. "Come home."

His eyes looked across as your hand reached out for him to take, carefully lifting his own up to intertwine it in with yours. The touch you had was like a security blanket that wrapped around him, convinced that the dizzy feeling would subside by sunrise tomorrow.

Careful steps were taken as Hobi pulled himself up from his desk, turning his glance away to keep himself calm. Whilst the empty papers would still be there tomorrow, his only hope was that words could be etched upon them, and that his race could start before he fell too far behind.

"I'm tired," his voice whispered as you grabbed his coat, leading him out of the studio before locking the door behind you.

Your eyes studied his expression once again, as the weight of the world lifted with him, you could see first-hand how hard it was for him to carry himself. Your arm slipped around his waist to try and support him as you headed towards the elevator.

"We'll be home soon," you assured him.

A small hum escaped from him in response to you, "I want to be home with you, I'm happy there."

His words took you by surprise, expressing emotions was a rare thing for Hobi to do, but as you'd learnt, exhaustion was always the state he found himself in when he was the most open with you.

"I'm glad," you smiled, keeping your voice quiet to relax him.

The drive home for the most part was silent, Hobi's eyes stared out of the window as he fought off sleep, determined not to leave you responsible for waking him up. You left him to his own thoughts until you pulled up outside of your apartment, quickly snapping him back out of them.

"Come on," you smiled, tapping against his arm once the car had stopped.

The two of you remained quiet once you made your way in, encouraging Hobi to head up straight to bed, just as the clock passed midnight so that his new day could begin. By the time you'd got yourself sorted too, his head was resting on the pillow, eyes tightly shut as at last his troubles gave him some time to escape from everything that was going on around him.

You carefully joined him in bed, making sure not to wake him, pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek. "You did well today Hobi," you whispered, "even if you don't think it. Relax now, your new day has already started."