The Last Page Of Us [JJK × Y/N]

1. THE ROUTINE OF CHAOS

From the moment he took his first breath, Jeon Jungkook was surrounded by darkness. It wasn’t the kind that came with the night, the kind that could be banished with the flick of a light switch. No, this darkness was a living thing, a beast that lurked in every corner of his life, feeding off his fear, growing stronger with every passing year.

His earliest memories were fragmented, like shards of broken glass scattered across his mind. He remembered the cold. Always the cold. A chill that seeped into his bones, no matter how many layers he wore. He remembered the silence, thick and suffocating, broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards or the distant hum of a refrigerator. And he remembered the shadows—those ever-present, looming figures that seemed to mock him from the edges of his vision, always just out of reach.

As a child, Jungkook would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, watching the darkness shift and swirl above him like a black sea. He would imagine monsters in the corners of his room, their eyes glowing with a malevolent light, waiting for him to close his eyes so they could drag him into their world. But even when he did sleep, the darkness followed him into his dreams, turning them into nightmares that left him breathless and trembling when he woke.

He grew up in a house that wasn’t a home, raised by parents who were ghosts themselves—pale, distant figures who spoke in whispers and rarely smiled. His father was a strict man, his love expressed through discipline rather than affection. His mother was a fragile woman, always on the verge of tears, her voice trembling when she spoke to him. They weren’t cruel, not in the conventional sense, but their coldness left Jungkook feeling empty, as if a piece of him was missing.

School wasn’t an escape. The other kids sensed something was different about him, something that set him apart. They called him names, shoved him in the hallways, laughed at his silence. He didn’t fight back, didn’t tell the teachers, didn’t tell his parents. He just let it happen, retreating further into the shadows, where he could hide from the world that seemed determined to crush him.

By the time he was a teenager, the darkness had become a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his being. It shaped his thoughts, his actions, his desires. He started getting into fights, lashing out at anyone who dared to cross him. He found solace in the pain, a twisted kind of comfort in the bruises and cuts that marred his skin. They were proof that he was still alive, that he could still feel something, even if it was only pain.

But the more he fought, the more the darkness grew, feeding on his anger, his despair. It whispered to him, telling him things he didn’t want to hear, showing him things he didn’t want to see. It told him he was worthless, that no one would ever love him, that he was destined to be alone. And the worst part was, he believed it.

As he grew older, the shadows of his past followed him like a curse. He couldn’t escape them, no matter how hard he tried. They were there in every room, every conversation, every decision he made. He couldn’t see the world the way others did—everything was tainted, twisted, covered in a film of black that he couldn’t wipe away.

Even now, as a grown man, the darkness was all he knew. It was his only constant, the one thing that had never left him. It was the reason he had ended up in that facility, locked away from a world that no longer made sense to him. They said he was sick, that he needed help, but he knew the truth.

He wasn’t sick. He was just lost in the dark.

And there was no way out.

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The morning began like every other in the facility—cold, sterile, and devoid of anything resembling comfort. The blaring buzz of the alarms echoed through the long, dimly lit corridors, signaling the start of another day in this soulless place. Jeon Jungkook lay on the thin mattress of his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the sound drilled into his skull. The alarm was always the same—shrill, relentless, just like the life they expected him to lead here.