Stay With Me: A Jeon Jungkook Fanfiction

Out~

"Why do you keep bumping into me?" Are his first words.

What? As if.

"Kook-" I start, but I get cut off before I can finish. "Jungkook, my name's Jungkook. You can call me Jungkook." He tells me for the second time today. I sigh, "Whatever. I'm going out anyways." I push Jungkook out of the way as I head to the door. "And where are you going? Where are you going looking like that at this time?" He huffs.

I stare down at my puffy pajamas and roll my eyes at him, "Out. I'm going out, mwo?" He seriously doesn't think that I'm going to stay here with him willingly.

"But you have to come home before 11:00 p.m." Jungkook says to me, avoiding my eyesight. What the heck?! Doesn't he know I have a life too? "I'm 19 years old Jeon. 19 years old! I don't need a curfew." I yell one last time before leaving his home. I'm so kind as to shut his door respectfully.

Why do I get the short end of the stick? Do I really sound like I want to be here with this man who I don't know at all?

But when I shut his door, it made me seem like I actually care about him.

Ha.

I remember slamming the door of my apartment when I was a rebellious teenage girl. I took it all for granted, all my parent's love. I wanted to go out with my friends when I was younger, 15 years old, 16 years old, 17 years old. I never knew what would come for me. Haunt me for the rest of my life.

What an idiot I was.

And would my parents even be proud of me and my choices? No, because I am a huge disappointment to humanity.

I'm left to walk alone in this world now.

It's dark out now, the sky covered in a pitch-black blanket, the stars as little openings in the sky, the only light in this dark world.

And I pray that my parents are up there in those stars, looking down on me through the smog of the scary world that lies in my path, in which I have to make my own choices. I'm not a kid anymore, I don't need to cry.

I make it to a little shopping center a few streets down from Jungkook's home. Street lights are dim and not bright enough to pave the way for walking. I notice a small thrift shop nearby, next to a bunch of other small stores. I decide to purchase a few things at the cheap store. This seems reasonable.

I pull the door open, pushing me inside with a bump. I'm lazily greeted by a young teenage girl who's busy tapping away on her phone, her pink acrylic nails making little tap-tap sounds on the screen. She sort of reminds me of my younger self. When all I cared about was Instagram and shopping with the people I had called my friends. She sighs and motions for me to continue on with my search through the store as if she deserves to be working someplace better.

I make my way through the first aisle of the store, picking up cheap shirts and jeans, leggings and a jean jacket as I go along. To my luck, I find a nice pair of used, deep plum purple-red and still shiny, Dr. Martens. Every now and then when I start to feel lonely in the store, I hear the click-clicking of the girl's gum noises which give me reassurance that I'm not alone.

I carefully scope out another section of the store, which is filled with simple cheap foods that you can make in 5 minutes. I grab some cup-o-noodles and a case of water before ending my search. I still have to cover the tax.

When I'm done finding all my items, I walk up to the counter to pay. Another girl has now appeared next to her friend, with a name tag that reads, 'Min Hwa Soo'. She gives me a once-over with her eyes and nudges her friend. I let a great sigh escape my lips, noticing that this is what teenage girls do to size up other teenage girls. I can tell that they want to laugh at me, but that doesn't matter. I'm tired and I need some fresh and clean clothes. "So, you're here all by yourself?" The girl, Hwasoo, raizes a brow up to me. I clear my throat, not having any time to deal with teenage nonsense. "Uhm, I'm 19 years old, ma'am. I can manage on my own, thank you very much." The two girls exchange glances as if they know something I don't, and then they start to giggle. What the hell?

"Paper or plastic?" The first girl asks, returning her gaze back to me with a subtle expression on her face. "Uh...plastic please," I tell her. The second girl bags up the rest of my clothes and hands me two plastic bags. "Have a great night," They say, an emphasis on great, with obvious fake smiles plastered across their faces. I ignore them as I push open the door, letting it swing behind me with a clang. Teenagers; can't get enough of them.

Walking back towards what is supposed to be my home, I've never felt more alone in my life. Living with someone so bitter and cold. Like the ice that never melts, never thaws. But I'm no use either, I'm just as icy. I probably won't ever heal from these wounds. Most of the street lights have gone off now, even though the sky is pitch black.

As I make it up to Jungkook's place, the lights are off inside, dark and dreary. I unlock the door with a click and head inside. I see not one, by two dark shadows splayed out on the yellow loveseat. A girl, no less, snuggled up beside Jungkook, one blanket wrapped around their shoulders.

And then everything registers. Like a key unlocking a lock, a switch turning on, my brain clicking back to life and reality. And another reassurance that everyone in this world completely sucks.

A girl, holding Jungkook's hand, watching a movie with him.

I don't know why but I feel something inside of me churn and twist. My stomach is hurting, my heart racing and eyes stinging. I've never felt this feeling before. What is it? Why does it feel like my emotions are being played with? I realize that I'm just standing there in front of two people, one who hasn't shown me sympathy. My parents died for God's sake! Where are the loving, compassionate feelings?

Jungkook just stares at me, eyes wide, but he has a small, faint smirk hidden in the crests of his cheeks, that shows me what he's thinking. Because my feelings don't matter.

And the girl, she's shocked, I guess. Probably more hurt than I am that her boyfriend, nonetheless, didn't even mention that there's another girl living in his house.

Or, wait.

Their house.

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