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...
This story includes trigger warning like mention of attempted suicide !(I am heavily running out of ideas guys)
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The rain drizzled steadily outside the café window, casting a grayish haze over the city. Jungkook stared at his reflection in the glass, barely recognizing the face that looked back. The once-bright eyes now looked hollow, his gaze empty. He adjusted his cap, pulling it lower to shield himself from the world. This interview felt like an obligation, something he had to get through. These days, that's how most things felt.
The journalist across from him smiled warmly, seemingly unaware of the heaviness that sat within him, silent but ever-present. He had perfected his mask over the years, learning how to give people exactly what they wanted without ever revealing the truth. That mask had become a second skin, one he wore even in his most vulnerable moments.
They chatted about his career, the recent tour, his music. It was the same conversation he'd had hundreds of times before. He found himself responding on autopilot, nodding at the right moments, giving the answers he knew were expected. But his mind drifted, wandering to the dark thoughts he tried so hard to keep at bay.
At night, when he lay in bed and the world was quiet, those thoughts surfaced like ghosts haunting him, reminding him of the letters hidden beneath his mattress—letters he had written in moments of deep despair, each one addressed to someone he loved. His bandmates, his parents, even his fans. They were his final words, a testament to the pain he kept locked away. But no one knew about them. No one knew how close he had come to leaving it all behind.
He was pulled from his thoughts when the journalist cleared her throat, glancing at him with a gentle smile.
"Where do you see yourself in five years, Jungkook?" she asked, her voice calm, as if she had no idea how that innocent question would strike him like a blow.
He froze, his mind going blank. In five years? The words caught in his throat, panic rising in his chest. He forced a smile, trying to think of something—anything—that would sound believable. But the reality was that he hadn't thought about five years from now. He hadn't even thought about five weeks from now. The truth was, he didn't think he'd make it that far.
How could he answer her when he didn't even know if he'd still be here?
He looked down, gripping his coffee cup tightly, the warmth of the ceramic grounding him slightly. "I... I guess I hope I'm at peace," he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
The journalist blinked, clearly taken aback by his response. He saw a flicker of concern in her eyes, but she quickly masked it, giving him an understanding nod.
"Peace is a beautiful thing to hope for," she replied softly, not pressing him further.
He forced another smile, but inside he felt like he was unraveling. The mask was slipping, and he could feel his carefully built walls crumbling. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of things left unsaid. He glanced at the clock, silently willing the interview to end. He needed to escape, to be alone.
