Jungkook's Love • JJK

Sixteen

You couldn't stay still, even having written another letter to Jungkook you were a ball of nervous energy. He'd been hurt? Your stomach was unsettled and nothing could calm the trepidation throwing horrible thoughts in your head. You'd tried sitting, pacing, even convinced a nurse to let you shower to try to ease the tension roiling through you.

This was your fault, you'd upended his life and now he was paying for it. If you'd stayed out of it he would be fine right now. Jungkook had taken up your case and now he was arguing with his BTS brothers and getting hurt while boxing. Did you really ruin everything you touched? Your mother certainly would agree with that statement.

Dr Kang had a different opinion when you'd gone to see her. She thought it was possible his injury had nothing to do with you at all. Didn't he work out a lot? Didn't he love boxing? Sports had risks, he'd likely been injured before, this wouldn't be the last time.

She encouraged you to think about the positives. His doctors said he would recover, he just needed time. A few months off his feet might not be the worst thing. He was a very popular idol, Hybe would be sure he was receiving the best care. He'd not be left to heal without every tool available to aid in his comfort.

None of her words helped, you hated being here more than ever. You sat down on your bed a resigned laugh bursting from your dry lips, your tongue dragging over them as you rolled your eyes at yourself. Like as if you weren't here you could just show up at his apartment and check on him? Casually walk into his hospital room if he was in one and make sure he had ice chips and fluffed pillows?

You were just a little more than a pen pal. Your heart clenched selfishly wondering if you'd hear from him again. You knew it was the wrong response, all of your energy should be devoted to hoping he was alright and recovering quickly. But part of you were sad it meant he'd likely have very little time to write back or send his PA to sit around waiting for your letters.

"Lunch time Y/N." One of the counselors poked their head into your room, it was one of the bubbly young girls, still freshly optimistic.

"It's still early." You glanced at the clock over your door and it was twenty minutes from one, nothing ever got off track here.

"Dr Woo said to tell you, don't blame the messenger." She put her hands up in defense. You curbed your retort realizing your feelings right now probably clouded your judgment.

"Alright." You walked to your dresser and switched your shirt, taking a second to drag a brush through your hair.

After lunch was group and if you skipped it again today Dr Woo would likely say you were being unreasonable. You'd only taken care of your appearance because often parents and siblings attended and you didn't want to look like a crazy person. Another dry humorless laugh worked its way up inside you, imagine trying to not blend in with all the crazy people here.

You could really think you were above everyone else? Had you not been a drunk, lazy, and depressed? A burden on your family? Many of the women here hadn't done anything worse than you. Some even less, their families unsure how else to deal with their moods had dropped them off.

This group was about understanding support systems and asking for help, which was why you found it so difficult to attend. It was a slap in the face to see family members arrive for others, desperate to restore the bonds and bring their loved one home. You knew your mother would never arrive, felt easier with you behind these walls than reaching out to build a bridge.

"You're having your lunch separately today, there's visitors in the building and they've rearranged everyone." The counselor shrugged when you joined her in the hall.