✔️ 40 Weeks [Book 1] | Jeon Jungkook

Week 30 - Part 2

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Double upload because 40 Weeks has hit 3k reads!

This chapter also has a soundtrack. Feel free to listen along.

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Jungkook crept up the stairs, paint cans in hand, making sure to avoid any creaky places on the floor. His room door was still closed, meaning a sleeping Hyun-Ji was still inside.

He walked into what would become the nursery and turned the light on, illuminating the now empty room. He sat the paint cans down, then went back outside to the car to retrieve the rest of his hidden supplies from the trunk. With everything now in the nursery, he then went to the laundry room and filled a bucket with soapy water.

Back in the nursery, he set the bucket down carefully to not spill any water, then wrung out the sponge that was submerged in it. The associate at the hardware store told him he needed to clean the walls first to remove any dirt or spider webs that could cause imperfections in the paint. Using small circles, he began to wash the wall from top to bottom, making sure no spot was missed.

After that he had to patch the holes left by any nails that had been removed from the wall, then sand the patch down until it was flush and smooth, then he had to tape the edges of the walls to make sure the lines were clean, then put down a drop cloth, then prime the walls, then-

Jungkook dropped the sponge into the bucket, some of the suds flowing over the side and down to the carpet. He placed a hand over his heart, feeling it beating wildly, hearing it thundering in his ears.

What's wrong with me?

His chest heaved up and down, and he felt like he couldn't catch his breath. He ignored his condition and picked up the sponge again, squeezing out the excess water. He was fine just a moment ago. What was going on? Why was this happening?

His arm that made slow circles against the surface of the wall slowly came to a stop. He stared unseeing at the surface, his eyes darting from place to place across the blank canvas.

I'm scared...

Jungkook blinked several times, the emotion clawing its way through the barrier of his consciousness. Every day he pushed it down. Every day he distracted himself from it, directing his attention to work, or school, or sleep. Anything.

But he couldn't hide from it anymore, not when he was all alone in the dead of night with nothing else around to distract him. It had finally chased him down, latching onto his neck like a leech and refusing to be ignored any longer.

Why am I scared? I'm happy about this. Why am I scared?

His hand began to move again, resuming the small circles, removing tiny spider webs that went unnoticed before.

I don't have anything to be afraid of. Maybe I'm just tired.

He bent down and repeated the steps, refreshing the sponge, squeezing out the excess water, and making small circles against the wall, cleaning it off.