BTS: I Need Your Blood, Sweat, Tears

6

    Jungkook left early again, much to Suga and V's dismay. Though it didn't matter to him whether or not he stayed, he had a job. Jimin insisted on looking at his leg, but Jungkook refused and left without a word. Not even Namjoon knew until he was already halfway home. Luckily, he didn't bother sending anyone after him.

Jungkook fell into his house and laid there on his floor. Didn't close the door, didn't put his things away. Just laid there. It was silent in his house.

When he moved again, it felt as if he'd been stoically unmoving for hours. He was surprised no one had checked on him. He would've thought one person would have seen him collapse and go to investigate.

Maybe they just knew. They knew he was a wholly lost cause.

His arm was numb from lying on it. It had a bruise from landing onto the hardwood.

Didn't matter. Didn't care. As if those people could try to clean out his insides.

No. They weren't therapists or doctors, unless he counted Jimin's self-proclamation. He moved his pant leg up to examine the damage.

He hadn't bothered to cover up the bandaging, so it was falling apart even after one shower. The lettering now brokenly read, 'Your fav Park min.'

Jimin wasn't his favourite doctor. He didn't have one, nor did he believe a visit to the hospital was enough to turn him a one-eighty. Unrealistic.

He pressed a hand to the wound. Didn't hurt. He pulled off the bandages and did it again. Something, a little pain. His fingernails picked at the stitching. Quarter inch deep cut. Enough for stitches, in Jimin's opinion. Though Jungkook would have preferred to leave it and just see if it bled him out.

A stitch came loose. Would Jimin be upset? Hoseok didn't have deep cuts, he said. Jungkook only, he said. I understand, he said.

Did he?

Another stitch. Another. Down and down the line until the string was out. He felt the string being threaded backwards through the practically dead skin. It didn't look as if it was healing. It was going backwards.

He held the string.

Rope...

No. Too tight. Afraid of not breathing. Bad idea. He'd rather slowly lose consciousness from blood loss or be hit by something so quick that he wouldn't feel it. Something long and time-inducing or short and without feeling.

A text came.

"its yoongi, next time come hang with me! please please please!"

Jungkook ignored the text.

"jimin says your leg is still messed up. is it okay?"

No.

"hey you think i could come to your house sometime? i never leave this one so i kind of want to get out of here. it gets boring."

No, no.

"stay safe, okay? i know i kind of seem crazy but im not all that. just want to be friends."

Huh.

Yoongi was strange. It didn't spark anything, but it was...strange to watch him try to be...helpful.

Jungkook tossed his phone away. No more interruptions. He trudged off to bed, lying down and wasting away his time. No more food today. The thought nearly made him feel sick.

Maybe he was anorexic.

Just another self-diagnosis based on his semi-accurate knowledge of psychological disorders. Maybe the lack of desire to eat just came with depression.

His dad had depression. Did he inherit it? Or was it just his decision?

It was too complicated to think about.

A week. Still too complicated. Ignore the calls. Not leaving. Don't answer the door. Go to work in the back. Ignore Jun.

Who cares?

Another week. Bland. Tastes like tree bark. Mineral water. Straight white rice. Air.

Don't care.

Yelling from the boss. Happy customers. Stock the shelves. Go home. Feel nothing.

More blood from the knife. Didn't feel anything. Copy the procedure Jimin did. Sloppy, but manageable.

"Hello?" a voice came from behind his door. A knock. "Hey, it's Suga- I mean... Yoongi. Did you ever get my messages?" A knock. Knock. Knock. "Jungkook?"

Jungkook turned in bed and waited for the door to open. It did. Footsteps around his apartment. Towards his room.

"Hey, Jungkook," Yoongi's voice said from the doorway. "You...okay?" Jungkook didn't answer. "Turn over, let me see you." Yoongi's hand turned Jungkook over, and was met with a pale, dark-eyed, tired face. "My God, Jungkook, what happened? What did you do?"

Jungkook didn't move, just stared blankly at the ceiling. He didn't even look at Yoongi. Yoongi attempted to move him, but his body was heavy. Not heavy with weight, heavy with a lack of motivation to move.

Why bother?

He weighed less than before.

"Come on, Jungkook," Yoongi said. "I brought Namjoon with me, we're going out to get sushi. He told me to come get you, and if I tell him you're lying in your bed looking like you're dead, he's going to come up here, too. I know you must not want that."

That was true. He didn't want that.

Jungkook sat up with the help of Yoongi's arms, and then stood, Yoongi's hand holding onto his shoulder.

"There we go, see?" Yoongi said, leading Jungkook out of the room. "We'll go out, have some food, yeah?" Doesn't matter. Never matters. Fine.

Who cares?