Jungkook | Saved

3 Part 1

Five years ago. 21. Kim Hospital.

They say I'll get cured here. They say this will be my new home until I can get better. Because my parents don't know how else to help me. They believe me when I tell them about Y/N's murder. But with the police calling it an accident, my protesting and my pain isn't recognized. I might as well be making it up. The only thing they believe is my sudden obsession with cutting myself.

So what else is there than to cure my madness?

I walk in and keep my head low. Honestly, I have no interest in anything. I'm quiet. A vow of silence. I don't respond. I barely look into people's eyes. Not even my parents. I can't. Not after what happened.

I'm crying despite my parents around, despite the receptionist and a doctor being around. Because people no longer exist. It's just my tears that are with me.

"I can't promise you he'll be who he was before. But I can promise that he'll find the tools he needs to heal before leaving this place."

"Thank you," my mother cried, clinging to my father.

My father had a grim look on his face as he glanced my way then back to the doctor, "Please take care of him."

The doctor handed my parents his card with a reassuring smile, "If you want to plan visits or calls, you can set up appointments here. My personal email is also attached, so feel free to send me any questions."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

The doctor stood up with my parents, all of them looking at me as I silently cried to myself. It broke my parents hearts as they turned to leave. But they felt this was their only chance to get their son back.

If it's possible.

Because even as I cry, I stare emotionless at nothing. How can I ever be happy again? How can I ever be normal again?

The doctor called for some nurses, but not before he introduced himself. He leaned down in front of me and searched my eyes for a while. I kept my gaze steady, mostly because I didn't seem to have any feeling in my face.

"My name is Kim Namjoon. I'll be the head doctor over you. Though, I do have a couple of assistants."

"....."

"You may think that I'm here to force you to talk. To force you to heal. But I'm not."

My fingers twitched and I stopped crying. But my eyes were still glued to the wall.

Namjoon was confident, "I'm here to give you the space and the time you need to heal. If you wish to talk to me, I'll be here for you. And if you ever want my help, all you have to do is ask." He stood up as two male nurses came into the room. He smiled softly as he looked down at me, "There's more to tell you as far as our daily schedules and meals go, but for now, these two gentlemen will be escorting you to your room."

I stood up without resistance, though they had plenty of muscle on them to handle two more of me if needed. But I didn't have the energy to do so. I went pliantly and kept my head down to keep myself from looking at anything. Only when I got to my room did I look around. It was simple, just a bed under a window and chair tucked under a small plastic desk. That's it. But it's not like I really needed anything else.

They provided the clothes I'd wear. Simple white cotton pants that tied at the waist, and a pull over shirt that buttoned up six buttons. This was only to the patients that were staying here. The patients that they thought needed a careful watch. And that was me.

The first week went by in a flurry of tears and screaming in my room. I refused to leave. I refused to see anyone. But of course that wouldn't go encouraged. Despite my resistance, the strong male assistant nurses restrained me and hooked me up to an IV to get fluids in my body. Because otherwise, I'd starve to death.

But I want to die.

With no way to cut myself, this was the next best thing I could think of. The hospital was smart enough to not have sheets on their beds. So choking to death wasn't an option. Sure, I could have probably hit my head constantly on the wall or something but I lacked the energy to even do it.

It's just me and my thoughts, my body and the IV's.

I'd stay sedated until weeks later. Because by the time a month rolled around, I had finally realized I was stuck in here for good. There wasn't any way I was going to escape my fears and die. They wouldn't let me die like I wanted. So I started eating on my own.

Namjoon decided to take me off the IV's and heavy meds when I started mumbling. When I started eating. He took it as a sign that I was ready to be heard. But despite my mumbling, despite my will to eat on my own now, I still remained silent in our therapy sessions.

I still remained a shadow of who I once was.

We were just sitting in the room in silence, but he never looked annoyed or uncomfortable. He was always patient. Kind. His smile never wavered. And after weeks of silence I felt I could trust him.

And today I can't sit still. I feel more comfortable standing up and looking out his window.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Hearing my voice after weeks of silence was strange. It was raspy and foreign. A lower pitch than normal. But it actually felt nice to talk.

Namjoon crossed his leg over the other, "Yes I have. And you?"

I keep staring out the window, ignoring his question, "Are you dating someone right now?"

"No."

"How come?"

He smiled a bit, thinking fondly of someone, "She and I... Well... I think we were on two separate pages. She was too wrapped up with her work while I on the other hand was looking to settle down."

I turned from the window to see an almost sad glint to his eyes, "She didn't want to settle down?"

"I'm not really sure," he said with some regret in his voice. "For her, work is everything. She was the top of her class, very very smart, got the best internships.... Just... I think our priorities were too different."

"Are you still in love with her?"

He looked at me with empathy and heartfelt emotion, "Yeah I am."

I stared wide eyed, perhaps doe-like. My heart ached in my chest. Because the sad look in his eyes seemed to look like me. Or at least, how I feel. There's so much regret in his eyes. And yet it looks like he's been dealing with it for a long time. But somehow he's still smiling.

'I want to be like him...'

"Jungkook?"

His face turned from a smiling one to one with concern and worry. I saw it change as he stared at me, as he got up and walked over to me. And it wasn't until I turned away and stared into the window that I noticed that I was crying. Seeing myself cry just made me cry more. Because I look pathetic. I feel pathetic.

And.... I just miss her.

"Jungkook..." he whispered, staying just a foot away.

And a foot away he stayed for the rest of our session. Even when I kept crying, crouching down close to the floor and cried, he never left my side. He stayed quiet and let me cry. It's embarrassing and humiliating, but there's some sort of relief that's spreading through me. A type of weight being lifted. Even if it's only being lifted a centimeter, it still feels one hundred times lighter.