JEON JUNGKOOK

I had attended three therapy sessions in the past fortnight, and yet we seemed no closer to revealing our relationship to his pack.

Taehyung had been insistent, almost desperate, that I seek professional help, and, of course, I couldn’t refuse him. God, I was so pathetically weak when it came to him.

Yet, since my first session, I hadn’t heard a word from him. His father had made an unexpected visit and, since then, had monopolised his time. Taehyung was absent—not only from our training sessions but from my life entirely. No messages, no calls, no glances. The void he left gnawed at me, a pain I couldn’t quite name but one I deeply felt. I understood, rationally, why he kept his distance. His father’s presence meant he had to be cautious, careful. He didn’t want our secret to slip. But understanding didn’t soften the sting—it crushed me just the same.

After every session, I reached out to him, hoping for something, anything, in return. But I was met with silence. The emptiness in his absence felt heavier than ever, adding another layer to my already fragile mental state.

The first session had been harrowing in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Recounting my past in excruciating detail—reliving the emotions, the sights, the acts I inflicted upon myself—was like tearing open wounds I thought had long since scarred over. Haunting doesn’t even begin to describe it.

My eyes had brimmed with tears throughout the session, my voice wavering under the weight of memories I wished I could bury forever. But Nayeon, my therapist, encouraged me to let it all out. She said it was the first step to acceptance. "These feelings won’t ever truly leave," she’d said, "but you can learn to manage them, to focus on the present and find joy in what you have now."

Still, her words couldn’t erase the shame or the fear. I avoided delving too deeply into the worst of it—my suicide attempts, the self-inflicted harm. I worried that if I revealed too much, she might have me detained.

The second session wasn’t any easier. I knew what was coming, but that didn’t soften the blow. Nayeon delved deeper into my mind, peeling back layers I hadn’t dared touch myself. The dark thoughts, the ones I hid even from myself, spilled out. Each word left a bitter taste in my mouth. I felt disgusting, consumed with self-loathing over things I couldn’t control.

By the third session, the tears had dried up. My body had nothing left to give. Instead, a heavy, dull ache settled in—a kind of emotional numbness that felt worse than the crying.

Nayeon reminded me, again and again, that therapy wasn’t meant to be easy. Healing, she explained, wasn’t something you achieved in a few sessions. It could take years—years before I might forgive myself for the things I had done.

After each session, I returned to my room and completely unravelled. My chest would heave with sobs I couldn’t contain. I couldn’t catch my breath. It was as though something monstrous lived inside me, clawing and thrashing, desperate to escape. My body felt foreign, as though it were no longer mine.

I wanted—needed—to hurt myself, but I didn’t. Instead, I resorted to something else. I knelt on rice, a punishment I hadn’t inflicted upon myself in years. The pain was sharp, stinging, a physical manifestation of the anguish I couldn’t voice. My pride burned, but I told myself I deserved it.

The skin of my knees broke, the blood a stark, red contrast against my pale, trembling flesh. My mind, a chaotic mess, was teetering on the edge of dangerous thoughts. All I wanted was him—Taehyung. Just five minutes of his time, his presence, his voice. But he couldn’t spare me even that.

Anger simmered beneath my skin, bubbling up as I realised how reliant I’d become on him to keep me grounded. But I couldn’t help it. I needed him to pull me out of this mental quicksand, to distract me from the vile thoughts that circled endlessly in my mind like a broken record.

Eventually, I forced myself to lie down, desperate for sleep to stave off the darkness. My head hit the pillow,my eyes closed, exhaustion took over. The storm within me, for now, was silenced. But I knew it wouldn't be gone for too long.

. . .

Training begins at 8AM the next morning, but inside, I am already crumbling. My energy is non-existent; my body feels heavy, my mind hollow. All I want is to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and let the world fade into silence.

When Taehyung doesn’t show up to training again, I don’t even blink. By now, I’ve reached the point where his absence no longer surprises me—where it no longer matters. Or so I tell myself. The truth is, his absence has carved a hole in me, but I’m too exhausted to care anymore. He’s shut me out for two weeks now, treating me like I’m invisible, like I’m nothing. Maybe I am nothing to him. Perhaps I never truly meant anything if he can do this to me so easily.

Yoongi speaks, his voice sharp and commanding as always, but I barely register his words. I’ve already made up my mind not to participate today. Instead, I plan to walk—just walk until my legs give out and I find myself somewhere far from here, somewhere quiet and detached from everything.

My mind feels like a void, an expanse of impenetrable darkness. Strangely, it doesn’t hurt—not the way it used to. Instead, I feel... numb. Empty. Hollow. As if all the emotions that once consumed me have been drained away, leaving behind nothing but a shell of myself.

As Yoongi starts the session, I slip away unnoticed, weaving through the dense trees that mark the edge of our training grounds. The crisp, cold air bites at my skin, but I welcome it. I walk slowly, letting my feet carry me along the perimeter of the territory. The silence wraps around me, a bitter comfort.

After half an hour, I come across a small stream that winds its way into a secluded lake. The sight of the water, so still and serene, pulls me closer. Without a second thought, I remove my trousers and step into the stream. The icy chill pierces my skin, but I don’t flinch. I welcome it, crave it, even.

Step by step, I wade deeper into the water until it envelops my shoulders. The cold is bone-deep now, but it feels strangely soothing, like it’s washing away the remnants of whatever is left of me. I swim out towards the centre of the lake, where my feet can no longer touch the bottom.

And then, I let myself sink.

I close my eyes and hold my breath as the water wraps around me like a cocoon. It’s quiet—so blissfully, utterly quiet. There’s no sound, no movement, nothing but the gentle pressure of the water against my skin. For the first time in weeks, my mind feels still. Peaceful.

I resurface, gasping for air, and rub my eyes with trembling fingertips. My chest rises and falls heavily as I tread water, but the peace I’d felt below the surface calls to me again. I take a deep breath and dive back under, this time determined to stay longer.

Seconds turn to minutes as I swim deeper, my lungs burning with the effort. I open my eyes, the faint light above the water a distant glow, and then close them again.

Nothingness.

Is this what it feels like to die? To slip into the void, to let go of everything and just... exist in the darkness?

I let myself drift further into the depths, surrendering to the pull of the water. My lungs scream for air, but I ignore them. The pain feels distant, almost unreal. Then, instinct kicks in, and I push myself upward, desperate to reach the surface. But I’m too slow.

I take a frantic, gasping breath—only to inhale water.

Panic grips me as my lungs fill with icy liquid. My eyes snap open, wide with terror, as I thrash in the water, my limbs flailing uselessly. The pain is unbearable, a searing, suffocating agony that consumes me entirely.

And then, as quickly as it began, everything fades.

The water stills around me, and I am swallowed by blackness.

. . .

KIM TAEHYUNG

Hate-even that word felt woefully inadequate to describe the depth of my loathing for my father. In my entire life, I'd never encountered someone as utterly selfish, ignorant, and callously destructive as him.

These past few weeks have been nothing short of hell. Every single day, I despised myself more for the mask I was forced to wear in his presence, a polished, pleasant façade hiding the rage that simmered beneath. Anger consumed every fibre of my being, but I couldn't afford to act on it. He was dangerous, lethal even, and I couldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.

When he appeared out of nowhere, my stomach plummeted. Panic set in, my instincts. screaming to flee, but I couldn't. Instead, I worried for my safety, for my pack, and, most of all, for Jungkook. My father claimed his visit was simply to check on the pack's progress. Unsurprisingly, his assessment was one of disappointment. He wasn't impressed- he never was. Nothing was ever good enough for him.

The moment he left, I finally felt like I could breathe again. The house was eerily quiet, with the rest of the pack out training with Yoongi. I was alone with my thoughts, and they were as chaotic as ever. A storm raged in my head, and the silence only amplified it. The urge to scream clawed at my throat, but I didn't dare give it life.

Seated at the kitchen island, I stared blankly at the wall, trying to force my mind to stop spiraling. The sound of the front door bursting open snapped me out of my daze. A sharp, distressed cry echoed through the house, followed by frantic footsteps.

Hoseok entered first, his arms wrapped protectively around Zara, who was sobbing uncontrollably. Her hair was drenched, her skin flushed and pale, and her hands trembled as she clung to him. Behind them, the rest of the pack filed in, each of them looking like they'd been dragged through hell itself.

"What the hell happened?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended as I shoved myself off the stool and approached them. Zara looked up at me, tears streaming down her face, and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jumper.

Hoseok let out a weary sigh, his expression grave. I glanced around at the others, searching for answers in their sombre faces, but no one spoke. The tension in the room was suffocating.

Zara tried to speak, but her voice broke into a sob. Her hands shook violently in Hoseok's as she struggled to compose herself. My gaze snapped back to him, a horrible sense of dread clawing its way through my chest.

"It's Jungkook," Hoseok finally said, his voice heavy.

The mere sound of his name felt like a blade to my heart.

"W-What?" I stammered, my throat tightening painfully.

Hoseok lowered his head, swallowing hard before he spoke again. "We think... we think he tried to kill himself."

The world tilted on its axis. My breath hitched, my chest constricting as if a vice had wrapped itself around me. The words barely registered: they hung in the air, cruel and unrelenting.

"He what?" I whispered, the sound so faint it barely escaped my lips.

Hoseok rubbed Zara's arm in an attempt to comfort her. "Zara saw him... She jumped in after him, but she couldn't find him. Yoongi managed to pull him out, but he'd been under the water for minutes. He was unconscious when they brought him to the surface." Hoseok's voice cracked, and he faltered.

Zara sniffled and wiped at her swollen eyes. "He was so cold. Blue. I've never-" Her voice broke entirely, and she buried her face in Hoseok's chest, trembling uncontrollably.

Hoseok rubbed Zara's arm in an attempt to comfort her. "Zara saw him... She jumped in after him, but she couldn't find him. Yoongi managed to pull him out, but he'd been under the water for minutes. He was unconscious when they brought him to the surface." Hoseok's voice cracked, and he faltered.

Zara sniffled and wiped at her swollen eyes. "He was so cold. Blue. I've never-" Her voice broke entirely, and she buried her face in Hoseok's chest, trembling uncontrollably.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I clenched my fists, forcing my body to remain steady despite the tempest raging within. Anger. Guilt. Despair.

"They took him to the hospital," Hoseok continued, his voice subdued. "He inhaled a lot of water, but he's stable. They're keeping him under observation."

I nodded mutely, my mind racing with a million thoughts, each one more damning than the last. He tried to kill himself.

"I need to go." I managed to say, my voice rough. "I need to make sure he's okay."

Hoseok nodded in agreement. "Yoongi would appreciate the support."

Without another word, I grabbed my keys and left the house. The moment I climbed into my car, the tears I'd been holding back spilled over.

"Fuck!" I shouted, slamming my palm against the steering wheel.

How could I have let this happen? How could I have been so blind, so utterly useless? Gritting my teeth, I fought back another wave of sobs. The pain in my chest is nearly unbearable.

I drove recklessly, my only thought being to get to him as quickly as possible. When I arrived at the hospital, I barely gave the receptionist time to direct me before I was racing down the corridor to his room.

Outside the door, Jimin was pacing, his eyes red and swollen. He looked up when he saw me and stopped in his tracks.

"Taehyung," he said, relief evident in his voice. "I'd ask why you're here, but I already know."

"I need to see him," I said, my voice urgent.

Jimin nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. "He's... He's not talking to anyone. It's killing me."

I placed a hand on the door, pausing to glance back at Jimin. "I've failed him," I whispered.

Inside, Jungkook lay curled on the bed, his back to the door. He looked so small, so fragile. My heart twisted painfully as I knelt beside him, my hand gently cupping his face.

"Pups," I murmured, my voice breaking.

He didn't respond, his eyes lifeless as they stared blankly at the wall.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "I'm here now. I promise, I won't leave you again."

When his gaze finally met mine, it was filled with a pain so profound it shattered me. I vowed, right then and there, to never let him feel alone again.

Jungkook's blue eyes slowly lifted to meet mine, though they held no warmth, no light—just an empty, glassy stare that pierced straight through me.

“Talk to me,” I whispered, desperation thick in my voice as I gently ran my fingers through the soft strands of his blonde hair, trying to offer even the smallest comfort.

“What is there to say?” His voice was so faint, it barely broke the silence.

“What is there to say?” I echoed, the words tasting bitter on my tongue as frustration and anguish collided within me. My brows furrowed as I searched his face for answers. “Why the hell did you try to drown yourself? Why didn’t you speak to me? Damn it, Jungkook.” My voice cracked, laced with a harshness born from fear and guilt.

“I tried, Taehyung,” he murmured, his voice breaking as a single tear slid down his pale cheek. “I tried to speak to you, but you shut me out.” His words hit like a blow, sharp and unforgiving. “I felt so alone.”

His admission cut through me like a blade. I shook my head, my throat tight as I fought against the tremble in my bottom lip. “I’m sorry, pups,” I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.” My heart twisted painfully. How had I hurt him so deeply?

“I went to therapy,” he confessed, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “Every time it ended, I had a panic attack. I needed you, but you weren’t there. You’re the only one who understands, Taehyung, and you just... shut me out.” His voice grew louder, anger and despair blending together as tears streamed unchecked down his face.

My own vision blurred as I gazed at him, his pain radiating like a tangible force. His suffering was unbearable to witness. I closed my eyes tightly, letting my own tears fall freely, unable to stop the wave of guilt crashing over me.

“I couldn’t do it alone,” he sobbed, his breathing becoming rapid and uneven. “I just wanted it all to stop. I didn’t mean for this to happen... I just wanted the pain to go away.”

Before he could spiral any further, I instinctively moved closer, wrapping my arms around him in a protective embrace. “I don’t have any excuses, pups,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been such an idiot—such a selfish, blind fool. You are the most important person in my life, and I’ve failed you.” My breath hitched as I fought to keep my composure. “But I swear, I’m done letting you down. I’ll do everything I can to make you the happiest person in the world. I’ll prove it to you.”

His voice was muffled against my skin as he whispered, “Then why did you shut me out?”

My chest constricted at his question. “Because I let my father get in my head,” I admitted, my voice laced with shame. “But that’s not an excuse—it never should have been. I wasn’t thinking, and I was selfish. There’s nothing I can say right now to make this right, but I will prove to you that I’m here for you, always.” I pulled back just enough to rest my forehead against his, gazing into his swollen, puffy eyes.

“How?” he asked softly, doubt clouding his gaze. “How are you going to do that?”

Before I could answer, the door creaked open, drawing both our attention.

“Taehyung?” Yoongi’s voice carried a mixture of surprise and confusion as his gaze darted between us. “What are you doing here?”

I turned back to Jungkook, determination settling into every fibre of my being. Leaning in close, I whispered, “By doing this.” I pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his lips, pouring everything I couldn’t put into words into that single act.

When I turned to face Yoongi again, he looked utterly dumbfounded, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Jungkook and I are mates,” I said firmly, my voice steady with conviction. “That’s why I’m here.”

Words count— 3250

FUCKKKKKKKK THAT'S A LOTTTTTT