Lots of Jungkook hurt/sick one shots. There will be many many triggers and I will put every trigger at the beginning of the chapters .
If you have requests , just text me and I'll write them as chapter .
My English isn't the best but I'll try to m...
Short chap (1550 words) but I want everyone who's reading this chapter to take an example and read carefully . This is a help for everyone .
Its about 'not wanting to get better.'
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Jeon Jungkook sat in the living room of his apartment, the rain tapping against the window in an almost comforting rhythm. The lights were dim, and the air was heavy. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, and Jungkook watched the second hand move round and round as if it were mocking his state—time never stopped for anyone, not even him. He sighed deeply and leaned back into the couch, his gaze shifting to his guitar, which sat untouched in the corner.
He hadn't picked it up in weeks.
This was not the first time Jungkook felt like this. The void, as he called it, had been a frequent visitor in his life over the past year. It started as just exhaustion—something that seemed understandable given BTS's relentless schedule. They had been in the public eye for years, and every smile, every performance, was met with expectations. But slowly, that exhaustion became something darker, heavier, and harder to shake off. It was as though an invisible weight was strapped to his chest, and no matter how hard he tried to breathe, he could never quite fill his lungs.
Everyone around him had noticed. Namjoon had tried to talk to him, sitting with him in the studio late at night, telling him that it was okay to feel lost. He'd spoken of his own moments of darkness, the times when the world seemed too loud and his own thoughts too quiet. Jungkook appreciated those words—he truly did—but there was a part of him that resisted. He didn't want to admit that he was struggling. He didn't want to let his hyungs or the ARMY see this side of him, the side that wasn't the strong, golden maknae.
And truthfully, deep down, a darker thought lingered: he wasn't sure he even wanted to get better.
Jungkook found a strange comfort in the numbness. It was a break from the constant pressure, the insatiable drive to be perfect. Sometimes, he thought if he allowed himself to get better, it would mean diving headfirst into the same cycle of endless striving again. He feared what lay on the other side of healing—more cameras, more interviews, more eyes watching his every move. He didn't know if he could handle that right now.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Jungkook glanced over, half hoping it would go away. But the door creaked open, and Jin's head peeked in.
"Hey, Kook. I brought some food," Jin said, his voice gentle. He stepped inside, holding a plastic bag from Jungkook's favorite chicken place. "I thought you might be hungry."
Jungkook forced a smile. He knew Jin was trying to help, that they all were, but it was hard to accept it. It felt like he didn't deserve their kindness when he couldn't even manage to be okay for them. "Thanks, hyung. You didn't have to."
Jin set the bag down on the coffee table and sat next to him, his eyes scanning Jungkook's face. "I know. But I wanted to." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "You've been in here a lot lately, Jungkook-ah. I'm worried about you."
