𝐵𝑇𝑆 𝐼𝑀𝐴𝐺𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆

𝑗.𝑗𝑘/ 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑠/ 𝐼𝐼

You stared up at the ceiling with hooded eyes, vision moist with warm dew. Your palms were slick and moist, gripping your pillowy comforter tightly despite the heat. Your walls' pale melon and carroty hues were dusky, and a glance at your phone let you know you know it was now the wee hours of the morning. Jungkook lay next to you in the small bed of your apartment. His back was turned, rising and falling rhythmically like a cushioned mallet striking a drum in perfect time. His breaths were deep and somehow melodious, though they carried only a murmur of sound. His musicality seemed to flow into every aspect of him, every beautiful trait of his amplified and songful. You could write poetry about anything of his; his voice, his selflessness, a scab on his toe. It'd be shit poetry, of course. But boy, he was a conglomeration of charms. You'd write volumes upon volumes for him anyway.

Even through your tightly coiled threads and suffocating wrappings, you found the grip around your skull easing enough for a few of your buttons and pins to grow loose and be colored in the song of his voice. The shrill whistling that blew from the corner of his mouth as he snored wasn't irritating, but reassuring and cool. It soaked into your thoughts like a fragrant balm and dissolved some of the rusted, bloody flecks that stained the worn quilt of your psyche.

Not all of them, of course. Even as your loved one dozed peacefully, his voice couldn't stabilize you enough to fight the tremors that came across your shoulders from time to time, or sing away the slashes through your wool. He couldn't cut out the jagged pieces of wire that were tangled in with your mess of threads without hacking at their security. Identity, the very concept of it, was so fragile.

It was like a brilliant, delicate prism with the capability to be nearly any any size, to filter beams of snowy light into striking hues of drive and traits. It could light up an individual, set their eyes and cheeks aglow.  It could also crack. It could be beaten and maimed, circumstance setting such traits aflame and warping young and colorful streaks into disfigured messes of smoldering, tainted light. It was influenced by everything. Because of it, youth was something you often felt you had no control over. Your surroundings felt impermanent and at times, and it felt like you as a body were all that was real and tangible. You were as temporary as everyone and everything around you. But when you ended, your world laid down with you. It was difficult to feel anything but cripplingly alone.

You felt one of Jungkook' limbs poke at your shoulder, startling you out of your pensiveness. You turned your head slightly to look at what had poked you. It was his elbow. He straightened his arm beneath the blanket to gently rub your hip.

"Hey, pretty girl," he said sleepily, lips stretching out over his small teeth. He really did look like a little rabbit, especially with his eyes black and glassy with sleep.

"How come you're aw- oh," his smile faltered as he caught sight of your eyes. You closed them, trying to blink away the moistness.

"I thought we had finished crying for today," he said, watching as you brought a hand up to scrub at your eyes.

"I'm- I'm not- my eyes get watery in the night."

"Y/n," he sighed.

"I'm sorry," you said. "Go back to sleep."

"I won't be able to." He removed your fingers from your reddening eyes and brought his own up, wiping gently at the sticky ribbons of liquid that rolled down your cheeks. His eyes were soft but focused, brows furrowed slightly at how cold your face was. The pad of his thumb rubbed the last of the residue away, and he rolled over to switch the bedside lamp on.

"You don't have to apologize for feeling things, okay? Or for thinking. All that I ask is that you consider talking to someone about your thoughts." He shoved his arm under your armpit so that it lay sandwiched in between your cold arm and your ribcage. His chest was like a log of firewood, tough and stiff but generating so much warmth that you couldn't help but feel safe near him. His body was solid thanks to the hours he spent dancing and in the gym, but it was wonderful to hug no matter how strong it got.

"You've always been someone who thinks a lot. It's a double edged sword, because it's such a gift, but-," he paused to think. "It's painful sometimes. And I don't want you to be in pain. Whether it be one of your friends, your family members, a counselor, I think it'll help you to open up to someone. And if you ever want to talk to me-," he paused again, this time for a little longer. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

You nodded, breaking eye contact. You weren't sure what to say to him. You had never been good at expression. Giving comfort, receiving it, showing gratitude, showing interest. It was all complicated. Your first instinct was to violently shake your head and deny your feelings. Deny the help. But you thought about it some, and realized you didn't know why. You didn't want to bother your partner or your loved ones with your thoughts. You were scared of the counselor being awful, and frankly, you didn't want to bother them either. But you also knew you wouldn't get better unless you talked about everything. This could be something good.

So when you looked up and said, "Okay," he saw the sincerity in your eyes and smiled a little.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. We're going to get you help," his arm tightened around your torso, and you could tell he felt lighter. You didn't feel much different. In fact, you were a little apprehensive and filled with more than a little dread. But you did feel a milky white thread enter your tangles and make a broad loop through the clutter, the first pale stitch in your cloth. No substantial change had soaked into your subconscious voice, but this was a step in the right direction. Your colorful jumble of blinding hues and gripping patterns would eventually be offset by a numbing white. You'd be able to breathe.

Someday,

you'd be able to breathe.

"Jungkook," you whispered, "Can we take a bath?"

"Of course. Give me a few minutes."

He retracted his arms from around you and slid out of bed. His socked feet hit the carpet with a thump, and he padded over to the bathroom. You listened to the hot rush of the tap as he drew the bath, to the the soft gurgling of the bubble mixture as it danced in the water. You couldn't hear them very clearly, but they were beautiful sounds. Soon, maybe you'd be able to appreciate them a little more.

☀︎︎heeeeeeeeeeeey. it's been a while, hasn't it? i'm sorry. i've been finding it really difficult to write as of late. i'm finding it difficult to write fluff without feeling like i'm being insincere (goddammit that yoongi chapter is killing me). i don't know why. however, i will try to write more regardless because y'all deserve better than literally one update a month. i tried to keep this a little vague in description so it could apply to a multitude of things. i want to tell you that whatever mental struggle it is you're going through, help is always available. don't be afraid to talk to someone to release your thoughts, opening up to people can really help. for more serious issues, i really encourage professional help, but talking to a friend or a loved one can never hurt. i'm always to open to message as well, if you want to vent about something big in your life, if you've had a bad day, or even if you've just stubbed your toe and feel like complaining about it. i love you, and i appreciate you being here.☀︎︎

☀︎︎what would you rather see next, a part two of metal and stars (sope), or yoongi's birthday chapter of many months?☀︎︎