trying to behave (but you know we never learned how)

Chapter seven

February 2013

Dinner is quiet, like dinner always is with the Parks.

Jimin isn't hungry, but then again, Jimin's never that hungry anymore.

The silence is a little overbearing but he welcomes it, picking at his food with a robotic routine motion that he's damn near perfected lately.

See thing, do the thing, move on with life.

It works, has made the past two months a little tolerable, if that's even possible and Jimin's not sure if it is.

Whatever it is though, it makes it easier for him to pretend that he doesn't want to just curl up into a ball and sleep his life away, maybe never wake up so it would just stop hurting.

He's not sure how to make it stop; isn't sure if he ever can.

Jimin's almost done pretending that he likes the beef laid out in front of him when his dad speaks up and breaks through the peaceful quiet, curt and crisp.

The younger boy heaves out a sigh, hopes of a no-interaction dinner dashed.

'How was school?' Sharp, disinterested, unapproachable.

It makes Jimin almost not want to reply.

He lightly stabs through the meat on his plate with his chopsticks and lets it sit where it is, throws his father a quick glance out of the corner of his eye; hopes he doesn't notice how tired and sore his eyes look. Highly doubts he would, anyway.

'Was okay,'

'And work?'

'Work's alright too,' Jimin shrugs, bringing the food to his mouth and chewing slowly so he doesn't have to talk about it more; doesn't have the strength to communicate, because work is definitely not okay; it's tired and dull and his supervisor creeps the shit out of him lately.

He would like to quit, thanks.

But he can't say that, because talking about his problems is strictly forbidden, apparently.

(Even if he could, he'd have to explain to his father, why and he doesn't have a proper response to any of it. Jimin mostly attributes it to him being a demotivated little bitch, in general terms.)

'I hope you're studying hard with the work,' the older man replies flatly, in a tone that indicates that he doesn't care whatsoever. Jimin shrugs again, swallows the meat and the lump rising in his throat.

'I'm trying,'

'That's good,'

'Yeah,'

The silence falls back on them, and the younger boy quickly, discreetly scarfs down his dinner so he can just leave. It's suffocating now, and his father has made him feel not good enough in less than five seconds by doing absolutely nothing and it's not helping.

Nothing's fucking helping.

'You'll be 18 this year,' his dad's voice pierces through the stillness again and Jimin almost sighs out loud. He's not in the mood for this conversation. He's not in the mood for anything, but he's definitely not in the mood for this; he never is every time it gets brought up. 'What have you planned?'

'I don't know. Work. Senior Year,' Jimin mumbles, scraping up the last of his food and looking up at the older man briefly so he doesn't get lectured about ignoring adults when they're speaking, and god knows he's heard that too many times. 'Nothing specific,'