She watches her boyfriend sitting on the couch, staring blankly ahead at a television that isn't even turned on.
"Jungkook, you can't keep calling out of work. I know how much you love what you do," she says, sitting down next to him tentatively, careful not to sit too close.
Jungkook blinks, and she can tell his eyelids didn't want to come back up; she knows he hasn't been sleeping very well at all.
She sighs as she receives no response, but she's grown used to it now. Ignoring her presence is how he is coping; she understands that.
She just hopes it isn't permanent.
"You know," she says, desperate to lighten the mood, "You could find much more enjoyment out of our very expensive television if you'd actually turn it on."
Jungkook stares at the black screen for a few more moments before growling in frustration and flipping their coffee table over, running his hands through his hair as he paces the room.
"I can't fucking do this," he shouts as his fingers tangle in his hair.
She sighs, desperately wishing it was her fingers running through his hair.
"I'm sorry," she says, staring at her hands in her lap as he walks away from her down the hallway. "I hope you can forgive me someday."
