Jungkook was in his room on his bed, music blasting through his headphones as he stared up at the ceiling, hand on his stomach, the other behind his head. The paint on the ceiling wasn't completely smooth, leaving patterns for him to find with his eyes, shapes to make out with his mind. It was one of the things he found that calmed him after a long day at school.
He immersed himself into the beats of the song and let his eyes drift shut. He wasn't going to sleep; he didn't feel at ease enough to do that. What he was doing, however, was imagining the rest of his evening: completing his homework, sketching things he saw around his room, coloring old works he never finished.
Whenever he started to draw something, his mind would zone in on that, and his hand would move almost by itself, creating images that were never quite good enough. But the best part was the fact that everything else faded away. The ever looming future, the dread, the shadows.... Everything disappeared. It was the only time he—
"Jeon Jungkook!"
A slam followed the words—his door hit the wall of his room—the resonating sound echoing through his mind and shattering the relative okayness he had built around himself.
"I can't take this anymore!" His mother shouted. His breath felt shallow as he slowly peeled his eyes open and rolled to his left side so he could see her.
People always said he looked like his mother, but he could never see it. Especially in this moment, when her brown eyes were wide and teary, and her mouth was parted in something that might have been shock, might have been fury.
"Taehyung just told me you didn't eat lunch, again." Jungkook's stomach dropped as he took one earbud out of his ear. "Your brother told me you didn't eat breakfast this morning. At dinner you eat half of what you used to. Why aren't you eating? Are you scared you're going to get fat? Is that it?"
Jungkook didn't want to talk about it. Jungkook didn't want to talk to his mother, who still saw him as the person he was last year, before everything set in and made each day hell.
"I just can't eat, mom." He said.
"You have to eat. You look like a twig! When you were little you had these adorable cheeks and such a cute little bo—"
"I know." Jungkook said, his voice quiet. He could see the transformations in his body himself, everyday when he looked in the mirror in the mornings. It made him not want to, because he missed who he was.
His mom's eyes softened. "Honey, you know you can talk to me, right?"
No, no I can't, He thought, but he didn't say that out loud. If he told her, then she would take him to a doctor or something, or she would think he was pathetic for feeling that way for no apparent reason.
"I know."
After this, his mom was silent, wondering if she should and could say something, but instead she pressed her lips into a thin line and said,
"Dinner will be ready in ten minutes." And with that, she turned and left the room.
Jungkook hated every word in that sentence. Dinner meant shoving food down his throat even though it tasted like ashes, even though it would come back up later. Eating with his family meant having them try to guilt trip him into telling them everything, even though that was the last thing he wanted to do. But he knew they were still going to try and pry it out of him anyway.
His mom didn't even shut the door after she left the room, leaving it open. His brother's door was open across the hall, and he was inside, sitting at his desk, studiously doing his homework. His room was much lighter than Jungkook's, due to the fact that it was on the west side of the house and the sun was setting. The sunlight was shining off the white paper and reflecting into his brother's, Jung-hyun's, eyes, but he didn't seem to notice.
Jungkook put the earbud back into his ear and rolled onto his back. He was too lazy to shut the door so he just left it open, knowing he would just have to get up in a matter of minutes.
The whorls in the paint on the ceiling seemed so obsolete now. It only calmed him after school, not before he was about to be interrogated about something that he didn't even understand himself. The steadying breaths didn't work either, because they felt far too short, far too shallow. The music was just a buzz in his mind.
He lifted his right arm above him, flexing his wrist so he could see his fingers. What he saw there didn't surprise him. Each finger was trembling, shaking, just like the breaths that were leaving him. He couldn't hold a pencil like that, so he couldn't draw to calm himself either.
He was stuck.
Jungkook lowered his hand and rolled onto his right side, his back to the door. He closed his eyes and fought against the bugs that were crawling under his skin, the shadow that loomed behind him, and the thing that was stealing his breath. But just like every other time, he wasn't brave enough to think about it for longer than a few seconds. It scared him.
He let out another shaky breath as he prepared himself for the dinner that would likely be hellish and would probably make him want to crawl under the table and clamp his hands over his ears. It was childish, he knew, and he knew he couldn't hide from whatever was haunting him, but he could try.
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Dinner didn't go how Jungkook expected. Instead of them pestering him, they let him eat in relative silence for the first few minutes, even though he could feel the food going down thickly. They went on about their business, talking about work and school and what they were going to do that weekend. In the back of his mind, Jungkook knew he was going to stay home while they went out and did whatever they wanted to, because it was the only way to keep his breath.
As Jungkook went to eat some rice with his chopsticks, he realized just how badly his hand was shaking. It wasn't near as bad as it was when he was in his room, but it was still noticeable. He could see his mom glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes, concern painting her face, but he elected to ignore her. If he acknowledged her concern, that would lead to questions he didn't know how to answer.
He was halfway through his food and ready to excuse himself to his room when his parents finally turned towards him.
"Jungkook," His father said, his voice deep, his face weathered. "Starting next week you'll be missing your morning classes on Mondays."
Jungkook's eyebrows rose on his face until they disappeared under his black hair.
"You see," His mom started, putting her chopsticks down. "We want to understand you better, but you won't talk to us. So we hired someone who can help more than we can."
"Help with what?" Jungkook said, feeling irritation rising, but also something colder. Much colder. "What did you do?"
"You need help. None of your clothes fit anymore, you're not eating, you're always in your room. The teachers are saying you aren't participating in class. Even Taehyung says you aren't talking and hanging out with him as much. It's been months. We're worried for you."
"I don't need help!" Jungkook raised his voice to fight the crack in it, the rising panic. He was a tangled mess of emotions; by this point, he was sure no one could help.
His parents held his gaze. Jungkook's breathing sped up to keep up with his heart rate, which kept spiking. His brother had stopped eating, eyes darting between Jungkook and their parents. The air was tense with words that needed to be said and words that filled Jungkook's mind, feeding the monster.
"Jungkook..." His mother trailed off, manicured hands folded on the table.
They had hired help. Even though they couldn't see the problem, and even though they weren't one hundred percent sure as to what was wrong, they saw how pathetic he was too. They saw what was swirling behind his eyes and didn't think he could take care of it on his own, because he was weak and couldn't even fight himself.
"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you ask?" Jungkook's words were fast and breathy.
"We knew you would react like this." His mom said, voice quiet, soft, kind. "It's okay to need help every once in a while, Jungkook. It's not a bad thing."
Who could help him? He was broken.
"Cancel the appointment." Jungkook said. "Cancel it."
His words didn't hold much conviction. His mom just shook her head, a stray piece of her brown hair falling into her face.
"You meet with your therapist Monday morning."
His stomach dropped.
"Be ready to go by eight."
It dropped even further, if that were even possible. On one hand, he was glad to not have school, but he was terrified of the attention he might get for showing up late. On the other, he was meeting with a therapist. A therapist. He would surely get judged for his anxiety, the sunken in cheekbones, his thin frame, the hollow look in his eyes.
"No." He slammed his chopsticks down on the table, visibly startling his family. "I can't. I don't know this person—I don't even talk to you all and you expect me to talk to them? I don't understand, it doesn't make sense."
"Just give it a try." His father said, his voice sounding weathered and tired. "We only—"
"Want what's best for me right?" Jungkook said, straining to find some sort of solidarity and firmness in a sea of shakiness threatening to swallow him. "Then leave me alone. I'm perfectly fine."
Jungkook stood with the weight of everything pushing in on him. He looked at the wooden table, studying the cracks in it for half a second as he took a steadying breath, but then he turned away.
However, a small voice caused his steps to falter.
"You are not okay." Jung-hyun said. "Please, for us, go just once."
Jungkook didn't stop. He kept walking, around the corner and up the narrow stairway, then into his room, his fists clenched the entire way. This time, he shut the door behind him with enough force for it to slam, the sound nearly causing him to jump. His hands were trembling again, worse than they were before and the thought—the thought of—
His stomach churned.
He barely made it into the bathroom connected to his room before his dinner forced its way up.
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An:
So this is going to be one dark fic, I hope I can properly warn everyone of the trigger warnings. The last thing I want to do is trigger someone.
Thank you for reading~~