Nothing Helps | jungkook x bts

It's Dark

Jungkook has spent the last week hidden away in his room. He'd quickly decided against taking his pills a few days ago, throwing them all out on a whim. They're supposed to work. They're meant to make him better. But they don't so what's the point of keeping them around if they're only a visual reminder that's he's fucked in the head and nothing will ever help that?

He's known for a long time now that nothing helps.

That's right.

Nothing Helps.

Maybe it wasn't the smartest choice to do that, but Jungkook has never really done anything in the favour of his own wellbeing - that will never change. It hasn't changed since all those years ago, hasn't changed since he was put on all these meds, hasn't changed since he got up and left his home to rot. It certainly hasn't changed since he went to sleep last night either.

Jungkook wakes up in the dark, and of course everything is the same.

Except...he feels off, like something had shifted whilst he was unconscious. It's like he was stuck in time, the world having come to a standstill. He supposes, in some ways the darkness is like a sanctuary, a place where Jungkook could forget about his responsibilities as a functioning human being of society. And usually that's true, the darkness truly can be a sanctuary for him and he's content to let the world go by as it's enveloped in a thick cloak. But today, something is different in the darkness. Everything looks the same, but there's a nagging itch under his skin telling him something is wrong.

But there's always something wrong. Maybe it's him. Maybe Jungkook is wrong and maybe when he finally kills himself everything will be right. That's what his damned mind always tells him anyway. Nobody should ever take notice of what his mind says. This grisly grey gloom settles over him like a thunderous cloud, his own wretched shadow tugging him backwards. It's been getting worse he thinks, his general mental state that is. He can't even remember how long he's been here now...and yet he still isn't dead. All he wants is to grasp the gnarled hand of death and leave this damned damned earth.

It's rather funny really. He's so useless he can't even kill himself.

He gathers himself up on his elbows, inhaling softly as his vision starts to blur into focus. It's going to be another day of misery and drowning in his own head...he can already tell. Maybe it's the way the blood in his veins runs cold, or maybe it's the way his hands tremble or maybe it's the fact that this is just the reality of every day for him. He sighs, as he does when he feels as if he's drowning. You'd think he would be used to this by now. This overwhelming sense of nonsensical fear. He was once told that fear is something to keep us alive and happy, it helps us bring out passion of life. But...what is he to do when he feels nothing but fear and dread and bitterness? What is he expected to do when fear overtakes his life and pushes him to the edge?

He doesn't know.

And he doubts he'll ever find an answer.

Jungkook glances towards the door. Light sidles trough the gap underneath, gentle rays illuminating the corridor outside.

Someone must be awake. He glances to the clock on the bedside table, it's nearing four am. God his internal clock is so many levels of fucked - he's only ever awake at the most ludicrous times. But that doesn't matter, he's awake now with no chance of getting back to sleep.

He's only ever once had a good nights sleep here, and everywhere else he's tried to rest his head now that he thinks about it, and that was when he was all snuggled up with Yoongi a few days ago.

Jungkook likes Yoongi. Likes him a lot. He's gentle and quiet, an absolute cuddlebug but Jungkook doesn't mind. Doesn't mind one bit.

But when Jungkook is on his own, sitting in this room with nothing but his own racing thoughts, he tends to lose himself. The walls close in, boxing him inside. He sits there and waits, staring off into space endlessly until someone comes to find him.

It's a little like that now...that empty aching feeling sitting heavy in his chest as the silence rings in his ears.

But then there's socked shuffles outside his door, a gentle pitter-patter of feet dashing back down the corridor. He steps tentatively out of bed, still convinced something is wrong. His cold hand wraps around an even colder door handle. Then he opens it and sees nothing but a small scrap of lined paper.

Slightly puzzled, Jungkook picks up the note.

'You're doing everything right, be proud of how far you've made it'  the note reads in soft cursive lettering.

He stops for a moment, just staring at the words placed in front of him. Then comes that feeling of dejection, the deep ache settling in his chest as he swallows thickly. It's a recipe for hopelessness and despair. Why does it hurt? Why does it hurt him to feel loved?

He folds the note into a neat square and wanders back into his room. All the drawers were empty, he didn't plan on unpacking. For the first time since moving in he opens to the top drawer and sets the note in the corner.

Then he just thinks, stares into a dark abyss and thinks. He's so hurt, so dejected and so bitter. He hasn't made it. All he's done is wander aimlessly waiting for death to catch up to him.

He really doesn't know why he's here.

Jungkook shuts the drawer with a soft sigh, he really really really has no clue where he's going in life. It's so hard to keep up, so difficult to keep moving, to keep living. He tries his best to keep going, he's come this far...but when is enough enough?

It drives him insane - absolutely insane. But that's to be expected of course, he is Jeon Jungkook.

And who is Jungkook if not completely off his rocker?