Unpunished/Vkook ff

Chapter 47: Hopes and Dreams

Taehyung's P.O.V

Two hands tilting me out of a dream. I opened one eye and saw my mother's most serious face. "What time is it...? Did I oversleep?"

"No, you have guests," she replied.

I followed her to the living room with a loud, uncontrolled yawn. "Did something happen?" I asked. "What do you mean 'guests'? Is it Jungkook?"

The sun was barely lighting the place up, no sounds were yet coming from our loud neighbors, and the morning birds had only begun warming up their voices. Why weren't we sleeping?

"No," Mom finally answered. "Not Jungkook."

In front of us sat Jungkook's mother. Her eyes seemed drained. The familiar smile was missing. She stayed in place, staring at the floor, only letting out bursts of unstable breathing.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"It's my son," Mrs. Jeon muttered, "everything is wrong with him. He refuses to go to school, didn't come out of his room nor let us in for the entire weekend, and he hasn't eaten throughout it at all..."

"Are you sure he's even there?" I heard my mom.

"His presence's been established by the number of times we were sent to 'fuck ourselves' and 'fuck off,'" she said.

"He hasn't eaten?!" I had to pause and process the information. I remembered the boy disappearing during a break on Friday and the text he sent me right after, saying he'd returned home since he'd grown unwell.

Mrs. Jeon jumped up. "Please, do you know what might be the reason? Is everything alright with your relationship?"

"Yes," I told her. It was more than alright, better than it had ever been, and yet, Mrs. Jeon came knocking on our door first thing in the morning, desperate for help.

I ran to my room, threw a random piece of clothing onto my body, and within less than a minute, returned, sprinting.

"May I... talk to him...?" I panted.

"We shall pray he'd be talking back."

We couldn't waste energy chattering on our way. Each of us made at least a dozen steps a second towards the Jeons' family house. When we stopped at their doorway, Mrs. Jeon nearly tore her small bag apart in a hurry to find the keys. When moving upstairs to Jungkoo's room, gravity didn't at all appear to affect us, and our speed only grew.

Mrs. Jeon gave me a hopeful look as I raised my hand. Knock. Knock. Knock. I knocked three weak knocks on Jungkook's bedroom door. No response.

"Does he lock it?"

She shook her head. "However, I don't advise—"

"Great."

I pulled the handle and stepped in; my boyfriend was crawled up in a blanket, gazing into the distance, indeed looking sick, but worse. The boy's lips seemed cracked, his eyes red, sunken, and although all signs of crying were present, there were no tears. His skin was pale as snow with very few bits of color— a reddish nose and reddish cheeks. I sat next to him, waiting for a hostile welcome with one priority alone.

Jungkook had to drink some water.

"Hey, love? What's going on?" Taking away the blanket, I attempted speaking in a tone as soft as I could master.

The boy snuggled into my lap and, again, with no tears, began crying a cry more sickening and painful than anything I'd heard before. It didn't sound human. These were the cries of a wounded animal certain of its death.