Silver Wings {Jungkook x Reader}

TWELVE

"J-Jungkook?"

A shaky whisper is all I can manage as I stare, aghast, at the crumpled boy seated on the bed before me. His formerly flawless complexion is marred by purplish, throbbing bruises that pepper his jawline and cheekbone. A painfully split lip oozes tacky blood, so I know that his injuries had to have been sustained recently. Another cut stretches a few inches across the skin above his right eyebrow, angry and crying crimson tears. His tight black shirt has been ripped at the shoulder, exposing his muscled shoulder whose flesh bears a single slash that drips blood onto the fabric of his shirt. His eyes are vacant yet somewhat occupied with something unreadable, staring aimlessly at me as if he has yet to comprehend who is currently watching him intently. His wings have been folded away, and I can only hope that they haven't been damaged at all.

Who could've done this to him? I think helplessly, my eyes once again flickering over his battered frame and haunted eyes. Who? A pang of sympathy shoots through me, completely disregarding his lack of sympathy or care for me when I needed it. As much as I hate him, seeing him physically hurt and emotionally drained is something that bothers me severely.

Then, his eyes clear with recognition and his bloody lip automatically curls into a sneer as he narrows his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

I sigh. I should've known that this would've happened at some point. "You're forgetting that you're forcing me to live here, so it's only natural that I come back." I point out, matching his tone. The sympathy may linger inside me, but I'm not going to let him push me around. "What happened to you?"

"That's none of your business," Jungkook snaps, wincing as he shifts his weight. My eyes fall to his hand that he currently has cradled protectively against his chest.

"I think it is my business," I respond, taking a couple steps forward to decrease the distance between us. "Hate to break it to you, but since I'm living with you, I have a right to know who beat you up."

"Well, like I said before," Jungkook growls, turning his head away slightly. I catch a glimpse of another bruise and sigh. He continues, "I don't have to answer to you. You're just a servant."

Yura's words run laps through my mind, clearing out a few more negative thoughts.

"He really doesn't hate you like he says he does. He's doing these things merely because he's afraid of being hurt by another woman."

Gritting my teeth against a snippy reply, I move away from him and head straight to the bathroom, flipping on the bathroom light before kneeling before the cabinet to rummage through the supplies for anything useful. As much as I despise his attitude, I still can't bear to see him hurt.

I find various medical supplies and gather them into my arms, kicking the door shut in my wake as I make my way back to Jungkook's side.

"What are you doing?" He regards me warily as I dump the supplies onto the nightstand beside the bed.

I refrain from answering him, knowing that anything I say will undoubtedly be slapped back into my face later on. Instead of speaking directly, I pour alcohol onto a fresh cotton ball and roughly grab his injured arm to hold him still before pressing the cotton ball against the shallow gash on his shoulder.

He hisses in pain as the alcohol bubbles on the injury and recoils, glaring heatedly at me. "What was that for? I know that you hate me but damn, you don't have to grab me like that!"

This childish piece of... no, (Y/N). You have to be calm and collected. Don't engage in his absurd behavior. I shake my head slightly and chomp down on the inside of my cheek to ward off a sharp-tongued insult. Don't stoop to his level.