french girl • j.jk

пять

october 20th

jungkook was concerned for himself. after that incident at the bar, he quickly excused himself to jimin and assured you he was fine before going home - to the house that gave him his trust issues, but definitely not schizophrenia.

he had never hallucinated before.

he forced himself to sleep as early as ten o'clock to not deprive himself of any rest that could potentially lead him to having a breakdown. he thought, maybe it was a panic attack. maybe it brought back old memories that he tried so hard to forget.

you were the source of it. you fucked him up again, after having tried for so long to recover from his supposed trauma. or maybe it was karma? maybe he was getting what he deserved?

back to square one, you thought. jungkook acted like he'd never met you, basically avoiding you. when he sat far from you before a lecture, you thought he missed your figure in the back row so you went to sit next to him. it didn't take long for you to realize he hadn't even looked for you. ouch.

as if he was in the olympics, jungkook was walking like his life depended on it. he wasn't running, but you could only catch up to him by doing so. "hey, did i do something wrong?" you could barely get the words out because while jungkook skillfully dodged the crowd in front of him, it was quite the struggle for you. "why are you running away from me?"

you two had finally stepped outside and he stopped walking before saying, "i wasn't running."

"ha-ha. was i supposed to laugh?" he was about to walk off again, but you couldn't let him keep avoiding you - not after four days of already doing so.  "can you stop?"

"no." he was taking his apartment's route and you felt a pinch of embarrassment for knowing that.

"why? did i do something at the bar?"

he walked faster and it didn't take long before he reached his place. you hadn't left him be and the moment he unlocked the door, you forced yourself in. he sighed in irritation before entering himself and slamming the door so hard that you flinched. "calm down, cowboy."

you looked around the fancy apartment before asking, "do you live with your parents?" if he couldn't afford a sketchbook, how in the hell did he afford such an expensive place?

"no," he grumbled. "leave now."

you pouted and whined, "why?" you were in the living room that had antique looking but exquisite couches. the colors were light and creamy, similar patterns of leaves in cushions. the style fit a woman who was of age with taste for interior design, but definitely not mondern. you couldn't relate this place to jungkook at all.

"i don't want you here."

jungkook strongly felt like he was dreaming. it didn't make sense for you to be here, almost looking identical to the previous owner of his home. his heart was sinking, thoughts jumbled together. it wasn't right this way, you were literally testing his patience - or was it god's doing alongside karma?

"i just want to talk."

"do i look like i want to? get the fuck out," he grabbed your arm extremely tightly and opened the door before throwing you out, leaving you to fall. "i don't want to fucking see you."

he slammed the door shut for the second time while you stayed in the same position he left you in: vulnerable and hurt. not only emotionally, but physically too. he didn't hold you enough to leave a bruise, but it still hurt combined with the fact that he just kicked you out. you couldn't hold in your tears and dry sobbed on the cold ground. you could barely hold yourself up before the door opened yet again.

he pulled you up and forced you inside. you yelled without a second thought, "are you fucking bipolar?!"

"i'm... i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, okay?" he gently pulled you into a hug but you didn't hug him back. you just stood there, angrily trying to figure out what the hell was going on with him.

you eventually wrapped your arms around him before asking, "what's happening to you?"

he sighed and pulled back. he held your hands and your heart fluttered, regardless of what he did a minute ago. "i'm trying to stay away from you..."

you raised your brows, waiting for him to continue. he whispered, "you look like her."

"who?"

"the woman who used to live here. my first love, i guess."

you suddenly felt warm and he bit his lip when you lightly blushed. "are you confessing this time?"

he rolled his eyes and pulled you into a seat next to him. "she owned this place and lived alone. she was my mom's childhood friend, but i didn't care about her age. she didn't care about mine either..."

oh god, you thought. is this going where i think it's going?

"i didn't interact with her much up until i turned fifteen." all his memories flooded into his mind instantly, and he didn't get the chance to wonder why he was about to open up about his past to you out of all people. "i started visiting her along with my mom, and she had this special gaze on me. i felt wanted and my hormones were getting out of hand around her. she was gorgeous and didn't look her age at all, not that i cared."

"how old was she?"

"thirty nine," he said and paused. he pursed his lips and continued, "whenever my mom left to do things, she'd get closer to me. her hands always went to grab my hands, complimenting them before feeling up my thighs. it made me feel things every time, and i looked forward to being with her. i fell in love, you know?

and she loved me back. when i turned sixteen, it got more intimate and she eventually... gave me some experience."

you couldn't help but ask, "you got molested?!"

he quickly pulled his hands away from you and stood up. "it wasn't molestation or rape! i gave her my consent, and i had hers. she was the best thing to happen to me," he bit his lip and sat back down. "after you, that is."

you didn't let his confession get to your head. "kook, you can't give consent at that age..."

he gave you a look that shut you up. "i don't care what you have to say about it, but it wasn't real fucking trauma. it was love." he looked away from you. "she died from lung cancer two years ago. that's what she gets for smoking two packs a day." he chuckled bitterly.

"do you... smoke too?"

"sometimes."

"do you still love her?"

"no."

"do you like... me?" your voice squeaked.

he shyly looked at you. "i don't just like you, ayen."

that's why he was leaving out so many details of his story.