Smoke Song

Friend or Foe?

Jungkook sat on his bed, alone, kicking his legs back and forth. The bed was nothing more than a large mattress and dozens of blankets, echoing the bare feeling of the rest of the room. Outside, he heard a few antis pass, laughing and chatting about something he couldn't hear clearly. He knew he had the option of leaving, but he didn't feel like it. Everyone would watch him. They all knew who he was, and he had heard them wondering why he hadn't been killed already.

It was just one more place that wasn't home.

Home. His eyelids drooped, and his thoughts flew to the tiny studio, the four remaining CDs they'd found. How soft the blankets had been beneath him, before they'd arrived to take him away. Perhaps they'd burned the whole house down, this time.

He sighed. Couldn't anything in his life be easy?

The door opened, and Soomin walked in, running his hands through his long, messy black hair. "Hey," he said, his soft voice echoing in the empty room. "It's been awhile."

Jungkook shrugged, closing his eyes. In truth, it had only been about an hour. But Soomin seemed determined to make it seem as if he weren't a prisoner, whether that was true or not.

Soomin closed the door, walking towards the bed. Jungkook felt his lips twitch as the chair sitting beside it creaked. Soomin sighed, and from the soft knocking on the wall over his head Jungkook knew he was leaning the chair on its back legs, tipping back and forth with his lower lip caught under his teeth.

"They're saying you should walk around a bit more," he said, "Look at the grounds, watch TV in the den, that kind of thing."

Jungkook didn't answer.

Soomin hummed. "I agree with them. You won't meet anyone nice if you stay in here."

Outside, on the grounds, there were a few shouts, then silence.

"Jungkook?"

Jungkook opened his eyes, turning to look at him.

"Do you really think we're evil?"

Jungkook began to speak, then cut off, coughing, as the sound refused to come. Scowling, he rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head, curling into a ball.

"Hey, it's okay," Soomin said. "Don't force yourself."

Jungkook punched the mattress.

"I'm serious. We don't want to force you."

Jungkook shook his head.

"Really," Soomin said.

Jungkook sat up, then, kicking the blankets to the end of the bed. Soomin jumped; the front legs of the chair came down hard, and he winced, grimacing. "What's wrong?"

Jungkook shook his head, lying back down.

"It's okay to be frustrated," Soomin said. "Did you get that whiteboard yet? The council said they sent you one."

Jungkook nodded. Soomin's face lit up, and he climbed onto the bed, sitting next to him. "Can I see?"

Jungkook gave him a small smile, sitting up and pulling the board out from under one of the many pillows. His hands shook from the effort as he grabbed the pen, offering it to him.

"Your hands are getting better," Soomin said, pleased. "You should be able to write soon."

Jungkook shrugged, biting his lip. Soomin wrapped a hand around his, gently adjusting it to hold the pen properly.

"Try it," he urged, resting his chin on Jungkook's shoulder.

Jungkook nodded, swallowing hard. Soomin steadied his hand as he wrote, helping him to smooth out the letters and double-checking the words every few seconds.

I'm scared.

"You're scared?" Soomin said, eyes scanning the letters. "Why? No one here will hurt you."

Jungkook used a corner of the blanket to erase the board, and restarted the process, going a little faster this time. Soomin kept a steadying hand on his, eyes scanning the board, and Jungkook felt him press closer, as if trying to get a better view--until he felt Soomin's hand around his waist.

People say I should die.

"Those people are stupid," Soomin said, reaching out and wiping the words away with his hand. "You shouldn't have to die. You can't make music anymore anyway."

Jungkook let out a shuddery sigh, flinching as Soomin back-hugged him.

"It's normal to miss it," Soomin said. "Sometimes I miss singing with my friends. But it... it trails off. It's better not to be over there, anyway. They want to destroy everything that keeps society standing. They hurt people with their ideas. Music... Music isn't worth it."

Jungkook didn't move to write. The words hurt, more than anything that had hurt him before. He didn't want them to be true. He wanted to be able to go back to music, back to what he'd loved.

But after what he'd done, would anyone want him back? No, they wouldn't. They would call him a traitor. Taehyung especially would hate him for running away without confessing his feelings. He couldn't go back. No one would trust him anymore, no matter what he did.

Besides, that wasn't any way to repay the people who'd actually been able to heal his hands and voice. He fidgeted, setting the whiteboard aside, and let out a soft groan, rolling onto his stomach. Soomin followed him, shifting onto his side, and started to hum, running his fingers through his hair.

"It'll be okay," he said softly. "You'll get over it."

Jungkook closed his eyes and tried to believe him.

But it still hurt.