𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

hoseok

TW⚠️⚠️ // gore; mental health

jung hoseok stared blankly at his psychologist. he couldn't register the point of him being here. to be fair, he also couldn't register the point of him living.

mrs. choi waved her hands in front of his face, "jung? can you hear me?"

he snapped out of his thoughts and plastered a fake smile, something he learned to be good at doing.

"i'm sorry. what did you say?"

mrs. choi sighed and took off her glasses, folding her hands across her lap. she stared at hoseok with an intent gaze.

hoseok felt uncomfortable under her stare and shifted awkwardly in his seat. he looked around the room and saw hanging family portraits and cool posters. he liked his psychologist, he guessed. he just couldn't fully commit to therapy.

as he looked at the family portraits more, he began to feel sad. he hated being sad but that's all he ever felt. why was he so sad? why did no one help?

every day after high school, it was the same. go home, get beat by his parents, and plaster on a smile to his friends. he thought it would get better after attending college, but he felt like it had only gotten worse.

his mother and father called him daily, making sure he remembered how worthless he was and that if he ever fucked college up, they would kill him.

and for some odd reason, he believed them.

"what are you thinking?" mrs. choi asked, once again.

he cleared his throat and smiled, "i'm thinking about how beautiful your family is. very beautiful."

she didn't answer, but instead continued to stare at him longer.

"may i ask why you're staring at me like this?" he questioned.

"i'm just trying to understand you, hoseok. it's hard to get you to open up and i fear that your mental health is getting worse-"

he stood up, "i'm fine. i promise i'm fine. i don't even know why my parents forced you to analyze me. i am happy."

even his words didn't sound believable to him, so he knew she wasn't buying it.

"please, sit." she gestured toward his seat, her clipboard sitting on her side table.

he sighed and sat, holding his hands as a means of holding himself together.

he didn't quite understand. his parents forced him to go to therapy- by forced, that meant adding more bruises to his skin.

but how much could therapy help if his environment was the same every day? the same evil parents. how could he improve when he was practically frozen in time?

isn't that what's therapy supposed to do? fix your mental health and give you ways to improve that? it wouldn't work. this therapy. it was hypocritical.

"how is college? do you have many friends?"

he blanked out at her questions, and instead looked out the window. it was bright, yet cold outside. he liked this weather, though. he could hide so many things in the cold.

at college, his classes were primarily focused around his dancing talent. he loved dancing. if he didn't love dancing, he would probably think he was worthless. he also liked music- singing and rapping, even producing- but he gave that up after constantly hearing he wasn't good enough from his parents.