Warning: depictions of death, poor writing.

살아줘

The only thing Jungkook has managed to piece together is that someone passed away. Someone who was a mutual friend of you and Forearm Guy. Someone who’s death, even this many years later, reduces you to a sobbing ball of mascara and his expensive suit jacket is ruined but he doesn’t give a . His body physically aches, his head suddenly heavy and his thoughts scattered at best, his heart, god, feels like it never learned how to function - it thuds patternless and erratic, only settling after you fall asleep in the car next to him. It’s an exhausted slumber, but after almost two hours of driving in circles, he’s grateful that your body relaxed enough to let sleep overtake it. He’s worried. Worried because this is literally the only time any kind of emotion has put more than a crease on your brow. It feels strange, glancing over at the headstrong, seemingly heartless alpha he’s slowly coming to understand and seeing instead a face stained with tears and painted with regret and sorrow and pain. It feels even worse to know that he can’t do anything to intervene. His wolf is telling him to cage you in his arms, to pick up the pieces and patch everything back together, but somewhere in the back of his mind he feels like it isn’t his place.

“Who is he?” he mumbles aloud. It’s a question that will go unanswered for a long time he knows, mainly because it’s not one he thinks he can voice aloud. Just the thought of raising the subject has his windpipe closing and tears forming behind his eyes, tears that he angrily brushes away as he makes a third loop around some shady neighborhood. “Is he why-” he talks to no one in particular, you’re asleep and it’s a sad truth that he doesn't want to accept, “He’s the one right? Your mate… t-the real one.” He has to pull over on the side of the road because he can’t keep up with the dam that breaks in his eyes and he’s driving blind. “That’s why you resent me so much right? Because you still miss him? Because you’re not ready to move on and I’m forcing my way in like a ing bulldozer?” Probably. Jungkook doesn’t know how long he sits alongside the road and cries, but the sun is threatened to spill over the horizon when he shifts the car back into gear and pulls off. Again he drives with no destination in mind as he weaves in and out of cul de sacs and parking lots and he’d bring you home if he knew the password to the flat. Instead he ends up at the edge of the forest, the border of the mountain territory just within sight. Reclining the chair, he settles in to wait, cries.

“We need you to step down.” Her words are harsh and clipped, and they grate your being down to the bone. You’re about ready to be sick all over the conference table.

“I don’t- I don’t understand. W-why would-” and your mouth is so dry the rest of the words shrivel and die before they make their way out.

“We’ve discussed the possibility of you continuing as president of JC Empire and your possible impact as the acting CEO and have decided that based off of your recent actions, you are no longer capable of upholding our standard of excellence.” She leaves off the insincere I’m sorry and walks towards the exit, the dozen other faceless bodies rising to follow her out.

“No! No no no this is so wrong. I never-” Tears fall relentlessly, blurring your vision and pooling on the papers littering the desk; they all say the same things - incompetent, insubordinate, submissive. “Please! Just wait, I can explain this, I just-” The heavy door swings open and closed, the room immediately plunging into silent darkness. “No!” You push away from the desk and stumble towards the adjacent wall, but the room is so much bigger than it just was. “Please, wait! I swear I c-can explain everything if you’d j-just come back.” You stumble around with outstretched arms, but the walls, if there are any, are too far away to reach. “Come back!” The hoarse shout burns your throat and you suddenly become aware that there’s no more air in the room. A shaky inhale leaves you more breathless and the room is spinning spinning spinning and where’s the door? and your legs are too weak to support your body and the tile ground is too cold against your face. You’re going to suffocate now, as you have so many times before in this nightmare, but that fact doesn’t make the sting of abandonment any less painful. Lying there in an impossibly large room you empty what’s left in your lungs, crying out for someone you know won’t ever come back. “M-mom.”

Dying is a strange thing. It’s certainly nothing like how it’s usually depicted - there’s no pristine white room or angels or poetic last words. It’s dark and cold and lonely and you can’t help but wonder if you’re one of the damned. And Jongkook is tempting and beautiful as hell, but he’s not exactly who you expected to see at a time like this. He’s crouched with his arms suspended above his head by invisible ropes, his strong back bare and pitted with deep lashes. Some are scarred over, jagged and dark; some are new, caked with blood and raw; some are yellow, infected and beginning to fester. It hurts to see him in pain, more so than the burning lungs that still can’t pull in oxygen, more so than being thrown away by your own mother. A figure steps into the room, from where you’re not sure, though it’s surely a product of the depths of your mind, and it’s looming towards Jungkook and you have to stop it... But you still haven't taken a breath and it’s getting harder to keep your eyes open. The fluttering lashes, erratic like a butterfly’s wings, ultimately fail to remain open in the end you give in, unresigned to watch what tortures the other is soon to face. By now you’re blue in the face and your head feels light on your shoulders and why is this taking so damn long?! A grunt and shuffling break the silence, but it quiets almost immediately, a crack that sickening resembles metal meeting soft flesh halting the struggle. “B-baby?” His voice is glass, splintered and scratching, but smooth and cooling, each word laced with concern. “Baby, you have to leave,” the panicked tone quickly rises, “Run! Please, (Y/N), get up. Please, baby, you have to get up!” But your legs are too heavy and you couldn’t run if you wanted to. The burning in your chest isn’t unlike being on fire and you want it to stop, it has to stop before everything around you is set ablaze. I’m sorry, Jungkook. Because you’ve let him down time and time again; because you can't do anything but hurt him; because deep down, you know you’ll never deserve the mate you heartlessly rejected. I’m sorry.

It comes then, after four minutes of agonizing flames their way through your body and charing everything they touch. The pain simply ceases. For every time you’ve had this dream, only one man had appeared chained up before you, one taller and thinner and with far too many teeth. Another who, in a different life, was willing to give you everything, who saw through your stone-faced facade, who gave up everything to stand by your side, who submitted. And the dynamic between the two of you wasn’t unlike him being bonded and gagged and beaten - it was a type of punishment that didn’t use whips but words and narrowed eyes and rocks. He’d do the same: tell you to run, beg for you to get away, look so concerned for your well-being despite how broken he looked. You’d do the same: shut down, give up, crumble under the pressure. Every time the same.

The outdoors became a type of therapy when you realized how easy it is to get caught up in the silence. There’s something mesmerising about the way paws imprint lightly on the deep snow, how the gentle wind conceals the impressions as it snakes lazily across the ground. It’s the fleeting nature of existence, which, like a paw print, is swept away an instant, that both fascinates and terrifies you. He left just as fast, just as quietly.

Approaching steps catch your attention and you can’t help but tense as the other’s scent floods your senses. He’s still on edge from earlier, and rightly so, as he trots gingerly to your side. The jet black wolf carries a black bag in his jaws that likely contains a change of clothes and you wish that you had the same; the dress you came in is crumpled on the seat of the car. Jungkook seems to read your thoughts and you his - he assures you that a pair of suitable clothes can be found wherever he’s taking you. The trek is fairly short considering you can’t be bothered to move faster than a slight jog. Soon the other slows to a stop in front of a decently sized structure partially obscured by trees. He enters first while you wait, listening as he shifts, rushes to change, and stumbles about the place in search of something.

“I uh, hope these are okay,” he gestures towards the stack of clothes on the bed. “The pants got to small forever ago and the shirt’s the smallest I have.” He rubs the back of his neck subconsciously, looking everywhere else but directly at you.

“It’s fine.” You sit on the edge of the bed, drowning in an XXL white t-shirt and snug in a pair of jeans that fit too well for being hammy downs from a guy, but they’re warm and his scent woven in with the fabric is comforting. “I, um- I’m sorry that I kind of freaked out earlier.” Freaked out is a bit of an understatement. “Can we just… forget that happened?”

It’s a lame way to cover up the occurance, but Jungkook nods nonetheless and clears his throat, “Already forgot,” he croaks unconvincingly, “I won’t push.” It’s a true statement in that he won’t force you to admit anything that you’re not comfortable with, but he won’t forget. It’ll continue to fester in the back of his head, questions of Who? and Why? will plague him until answered, but he’ll wait patiently even if it means slowly rotting away until there’s nothing left of him to care. “We should, uh-” he jerks his head towards the doorway, “I mean, you haven't eaten.” He motions again towards the kitchen, “I’m sure there’s something edible somewhere.” Bare feet shuffle across the hardwood and disappear through the door followed by another set, moving even more carefully and slowly than the first, taking some time to look around. The modest house screams bachelor - though it at least looks inhabited, the shelves and possessions are covered in a thin layer of dust, there’s clothes in random piles leading towards what appears to be a laundry room and the door next to it is ajar showcasing a pigsty of a bathroom. The room you exit is just as messy, undoubtedly Jungkook’s bedroom, but it looks a bit more lived in than the other spaces. The bed is carelessly made and the covers adorning it are printed Iron Man sheets with matching pillows. Beside the bed is a dresser with more clothes strewn on top and a few picture frames; one is of Jungkook and a woman that is unmistakingly his mother and another of him smiling brightly beside three other males, one with white blonde hair, another with wide-set shoulders, and the last leaning heavily into the youngest, boxy mouth revealing his straight teeth. A feeling akin to jealousy flares up and without much thought you reach out and turn the picture to lie face down.

In the kitchen you watch quietly as he looks through the cabinets trying to find something remotely appetising. He’s muttering to himself and it’s kind of cute the way he furrows his brows when his search comes up unsuccessful. “I can just run to the store,” he starts, “There’s nothing worth eating here,” he admits sheepishly. He moves to grab the black bag but you stop him with the wave of a hand.

“Don’t. I’m not hungry anyways, I’ll be fine.” From across the room you feel his eyes narrow as he takes in the way you plop down at the counter as if there’s nothing bothering you when he’s very sure that there is. “So this is where you live?” you gesture around the room in an effort to change the subject.

Jungkook nods slightly, unfooled by the attempt, “Just when I visit the pack.” His movements are careful as he moves closer, walking around the perimeter of the room rather than directly for the seat beside you. “Usually I stay at my place in Seoul; it’s more comfortable.” Stopping just short of the leather barstool he contemplates reaching out for you. He hates that you’re trying to act normal around him, wants you to do something. Scream. Curse. Cry. Anything is better than burying the situation. The ache between his ribcage is flaring up again and what he really needs is to be closer so that this restless helplessness will fade, so that he can think without his mind straying to disturbing things that he'd rather not entertain. You can sense his uneasiness and subconsciously lean towards him at which point he reaches out and catches you from tipping too far in the flimsy chair. The other arm snakes around your waist to latch on to the first, forming a tight circle around your body and securing you to the taller’s chest. And after weeks of constantly pushing the other away, you don’t have the strength to deny yourself the comfort his warm arms trap you in. Minutes tick past and you remain tightly tucked into the other alpha, eyes closed and nose nestled into his shoulder. He too has buried his face into the crook of your neck where he rubs his face slowly as if trying to permanently embed your scent on his skin. It’s nice.

“J-jungkook.” His body stiffens, breath caught in his throat. “Jungkook,” you try again, more firmly. “I’ve never actually called you by name, you know.” You shift slightly to look in his direction, “It felt like this was too real if I did. So I just… didn’t.” He knows very well that you’ve never addressed him properly; where as he called you by name or noona or CEO Park in the most sarcastic of tones, he was was always Mr. Jeon. It annoyed the out of him.

“Say it again,” he whispers, “Say my name.” His grip around you tightens in anticipation.

The name spills from your lips, tender but careful, “Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

And like that, everything changed.

A/N

I have ten years of homework to do and here I am instead…

I tried something different with the pov changes this time. Was it too awkward? Better? Let me know~ 뭐라도 말해줘~