Taehyung was forced to lose Jungkook to love himself. To lose his best friend, his first love. To lose the pain of his casual cruelty. He had to lose everything, and leave it all behind to find himself.
All Jungkook ever wanted was music, and Taehyu...
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20 OCTOBER, 2027 - Bangtan Private Psychiatric Treatment Hospital, Los Angeles
"Any progress today?"
That had been Dr. Bang's question every other day for the last two weeks after Jungkook had shared his regrets, and desire to reconnect with his Halmeoni. He only had phone privileges for one hour per day, and he used most of that hour to scan through her emails over the years.
It had been hard, and he'd had to stop several times before he either broke down and cried - which he'd been doing a fucking lot of lately, and hated it - or threw his phone away. But he'd kept forcing himself to read them anyway. At first it was because the way it made him feel; ugly, ashamed, absolutely self-loathing, and angry - he deserved it. He deserved to torture himself with every kind and loving word she wrote him.
Dr. Bang suggested that he reach out and speak to her in whatever form he felt most comfortable. But every time tried, he froze up.
He sighed and his head fell back against the wall, his phone loose in his hands between his bent up knees. He was sitting on his bed, in the room that had been his for the last six weeks. It was nicer than he expected - not sterile and stark, at least. The walls were wood paneling, the lights were warm, there were purple accents in his room - coloured panels on the wardrobe and the doorknobs, a painting on the wall, the color of the pen and notebook that had been on the desk, and the desk chair.
There were worse places he could be, he supposed. At least he wasn't one of the patients confined to their rooms, or unable to move without a nurse or orderly on their heels. Not anymore, at least. That first two weeks had been a fucking adjustment, that was for sure. But it wasn't like he went out all that much anyway. He felt uncomfortable, and some of the other patients had some real fucking issues with boundaries, so being a celebrity stuck here was just awesome. At least they'd been decent enough to put a guard on the floor, to make sure there were no intrusions in his room after the first week when some fucker had been waiting in his bed for him.
He really just wanted to leave. He could. He wasn't being forced to stay. But he'd made a deal with Dr. Bang about staying until Yoongi's wedding, and then he'd take a few days before moving to the private treatment centre - a retreat, Dr. Bang claimed - in the mountains in fucking Montana for more intensive, focused therapy. Immersing himself in the natural world, apparently, was going to help a lot. Getting back to nature, all that kind of holistic bull. It made him anxious, thinking about going there. More than coming to this place, because this place had made him look at himself longer in the mirror, was forcing him to see the spider web of cracks he'd been unable to acknowledge for years.
