“Please.”

“No”

“Come on, just this once”

“I said no.”

“You promised last time!”

“That was because I was drunk. It doesn’t count” Jungkook sighs.
 

I stomp my foot on the ground in frustration, blowing up my side bangs in the process. Why is he being so difficult? I am a major, I’m eighteen, I’m allowed to do what I want, and yet he’s still treating me like a kid. Jungkook continues wiping the needle with a piece of white cloth, ink stains spattered across its surface. He had promised that he’d be the one to mark an image across my body when I was ready, and I right now I am more than ready for it. But he’s just ignoring me, avoiding my eyes and making as if I don’t exist.

Ever since I was little, I had dreamed of having a tattoo. I would admire the people doing it from afar, and would create my own set of designs whenever I had free time, my hand spiraling across my leather-bound copybook and my hands stained with black ink that I had splattered across the page with such delicacy. We always run out of black ink at my house, especially because I’m the one that uses them all up. But hey, it’s not like my older brother, Namjoon, uses them anyway; he’s the complete opposite of me.

I lived with Namjoon all my life, ever since I was little. I didn’t remember much about my parents, only that they were the cause of him leaving the house with me in tow. I knew that he had a huge grudge against them, and that the nature of their fights most of the time was because of me. I was dyslexic, and with that came in a huge set of difficulties that came along, what with the special classes I had to take and the education fees that didn’t cost peanuts. My parents couldn’t cope with all of the stress, and finally it all exploded at home, in arguments and harsh tones and things that flew about the house. It was the moment where mom decided to use her collection of porcelain as a weapon that my older brother decided it had been enough. He wasn’t going to stand by and watch as our family fell apart, and he didn’t want me to feel as though I was the burden of it all. He explained it all to me that one time I cried and cried for my mother’s embrace, for my father’s warm hand across my cheek. I had felt this huge gap in my heart for the longest time, but soon he mended it all up for me.

If I was like this now, then it’s all because of Namjoon, and I’ll forever be thankful to what he’s done.

Coincidentally, once when he returned home with a small tattoo hidden on the underside of his wrist, I had asked and badgered him with questions until he brought me over to his friend’s studio, whereby Jungkook had been there as well. He had already mastered the art of being a tattoo artist, since his parents ran the studio, and his older brother was friends with my own. This was how Jungkook and I slowly started bonding and finding common interests with each other.

Growing up, I never really had any friends, nor in or outside of school. Most people would regard my disability as something unusual, and would just brush me off as someone that didn’t know anything better, someone that was incapable, someone that just couldn’t understand simple things. But Jungkook was different. He didn’t judge me because I mixed up my ‘b’s and ‘d’s, he didn’t say anything when I squinted hard at a book and tried figuring out what the letters meant on the page, he didn’t bully me at school or in class like all the others did.

It had always been the two of us since he’d never really talk to girls in the first place. He was well-liked within the boys’ circle, until he met a girl named Hyemi. Part of the popular group of girls and one of the most sought after at the school, she was the definition of a pure pretty princess. There was nothing she couldn’t do; painting, singing, dancing, and was even bright in all her academic subjects. Many girls and boys fell at her feet, and it wasn’t long before she started showing interest in Jungkook ever since puberty hit him hard. Not long after that, I slowly became friends with another girl going by the name of Kimberly.

I don’t really know what’s up with them at the moment. Coming back to the present, we’re now both 18 and fresh out of college, waiting for the acceptance of university applications. Jungkook has decided to start working in his parent’s tattoo shop, while I am a homeless soul roaming about and enjoying the freedom that school had never given me. After we both moved to high school, I remembered how much I struggled to keep up with the syllabus and notes, stopping the teacher whenever I found it hard cope. My hand would never cooperate, always blocking here and there at the most important times of need. But I survived, I worked hard to understand and to be someone that was normal, someone they could accept.

“Jungkook, please” I try again; lips upturned downwards thinking that it will be enough to win him over. Still, the black-haired boy royally ignores me as he puts the needle back into the wooden rack where all the technical materials are kept.

“Jungkoooook” I whine, slowly falling into desperation. His back is turned, and I quickly slip behind him before leaning over his shoulder like a kid. He’s grown so tall these past few years; one would not have recognized him. He’s now a complete one and a half heads taller than me, and it doesn’t help to comfort my short midget-like height ego.

“No is no, Y/N” he snaps back. His harsh tone bounces off the walls.

I flinch and back away. His suddenly cold attitude makes me bite my lip in nervousness.

Did I say something wrong?

I open my mouth, about to ask him what is up his these days, as he’s been acting weird lately. But before I can say anything, the door of the room rings open and signals an arrival of a customer. I turn my head, ready to flash a welcoming grin to hide the fact that we’re in the middle of a discussion, when my gaze stops onto the figure standing by the door.

With her petite frame, cute loose skirt and tucked in shirt, and her hair all up with just the right amount of messy, Hyemi stands there with her hands behind her back and her feet shifting uncomfortably, as if she is suddenly nervous of her big arrival when she’s been here too many times for me to count.

I bite back the words that are on the tip of my tongue, coating them black with jealousy. I refrain myself from saying what the are you doing here? And instead look down to start fiddling with the files presented on the counter.

“Hyemi, hi” Jungkook walks up to the counter with a smile gracing his face. His features are lighted, brighter than just seconds ago. I feel small and suddenly all the more annoyed at the said girl, at the fact that he is naturally glowing from the inside whenever she’s around.

“Hi Kookie,” she spares him a gentle smile, cherry lips spreading across her face. Her eyes shift to mine, “Hi Y/N”

I don’t reply, mainly because I don’t want to. It hadn’t always been this way. There had been a time where I didn’t resent her, where I could even consider myself friends with her. But ever since she started dressing up more to impress Jungkook, I started backing away. Already, there are a few miles between us two, miles that can’t be covered no matter how much you’d run.

“Y/N” Jungkook says my name once. It’s sharp, and without looking at him I can feel his features turning back to stone. He’d always reprimand me for not being decent with her, his ‘friend’ as he called it, but I don’t care. She’s not mine; I’m not obliged to be cordial to her.

Usually, he lets it go, but not this time. This time, he repeats my name with anger trembling at the back of his voice. A soft warning that’s supposed to shake me up. It doesn’t though; I’m not scared of him.

“It’s okay, Kookie” Hyemi replies quickly before anything can get out of hand, and my anger flares at her soft tone. Why, is little miss perfect trying to be nice?

“No Hyemi, it’s not okay” Jungkook answers steadily. He grabs onto my arm, and I can’t help but wince at his strong, firm grip. His eyes are cold, his face impassive but trying to control the frustration building inside of him. I can feel it in the way his jaw is flexed, controlled, the tightness of his cheekbones. I know him, too well.

“Y/N, stop being immature” He says.

I attempt to shake him off but he’s too strong. “No”

“You’re acting like a child”

“And I don’t care!” I wrench myself out of his grip so suddenly that I almost topple over. I’m burning. He doesn’t understand. He tries to, he always did. But not anymore. From what I can see, it almost seems like he’s given up on me, like it doesn’t matter anymore whether I’m there or not. The words, he doesn’t speak it out loud, he doesn’t even mention it, but the way his eyes flash at me are good enough of a sign. My existence is an annoyance to him, and I’m being a burden. I’m not wanted here.

I don’t know what caused this sudden change in his demeanor, but I’m not about to stay back and argue with him. If that’s what he wants, then so be it.

I have been prone to rejection, I know what it is, and the stages, and what it feels like. I know when someone wants you gone, and that someone right now is Jungkook.

“Why do you always act like that?” he growls, as if I’m his child.

I am not.

“Like what? Like I’m not good enough for you?” I spit, “Like I’m a nuisance? A—“ the words clog up my throat, and I feel the back of my eyes stinging, “—A burden?”

“Yes!” he shoots back, and shoots my heart while he’s at it, “Just—Leave me alone!”

“Fine!” I grab my jacket, my body shaking in fury at his words. I can’t believe this; I can’t believe he’s taking it all out of me when I haven’t done anything. Ripping it off the chair, I march to the door and push past Hyemi, who stumbles and manages to catch her footing. Her soft feminine voice calls out to me as I wrench open the door, practically throwing it off its hinges.

“Y/N, don’t do this” my fists clench at her words, “please”

My head turns before I can process my mind to ignore her existence like I usually do. I’m not thinking straight, my head englobed by the stabs I just received. Throwing her the deadliest glare I can muster, I murmur a hiss of words.

“Shut the up”

Once Namjoon sees my face, he’ll surely ask questions, questions that I don’t have answers for, questions that I don’t want to answer. My only sanctuary apart from our house is the tattoo studio, and just got myself a one-way ticket out of that place. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I decided that I’d go and get a tattoo myself. If Jungkook wasn’t going to do it for me, then it’s not going to be the end of the world.

It did occur to me, once or twice, that the reason I feel so jealous around Hyemi is not because of her per se, but because she’s around Jungkook as much as I am. I always tried questioning my feelings, and till now I’d faced with a blank void whenever I try to think of the subject. My mind becomes scrambled eggs and I feel my heart tighten in my chest. It’s an uncomfortable feeling that I get rid of as soon as it comes, because it is unsettling and more than a little frustrating at times. It occurs specially when Hyemi’s around, laughing at his jokes and slapping his arm lightly, as if they were the best of friends, and I was the outsider.

Maybe she does not do it on purpose, but it sure as hell looks like she knows what she’s doing.

The sky turns dark, an orange hue blossoming across the sky like orange ink. It’s getting dark, and I should be returning home before my brother sends out a SWAT team to find me. Knowing him, he can be so over protective whenever I take too long to return home. I just tell him he’s paranoid.

I keep walking, not knowing where my feet are taking me, until I hear the familiar honk of a car. Startled, I whip around and the shining headlights beaming onto my face momentarily blind me.

“Y/N? What are you doing here at this hour?” Taehyung’s head pops out from the driver’s window, and I relax, for it is only him and not any random stranger that happens to prey on innocent girls. In this part of the city, I had to admit that it is quite dangerous.

Shrugging slightly, I reply, “Nothing much”

“Get in, I’ll give you a ride”

I thank him, and hop into his car. He’s another one of my brother’s friends, and him and I have been acquainted ever since we moved over to that part of the city. Taehyung’s the definition of a pretty boy, but definitely doesn’t act like one. Sometimes, I get the impression that he’s a five-year-old kid trapped in a 21-year old body, and it’s probably the reason as to why I get along so well with him. We act and laugh like fools together, we play pranks to keep ourselves entertained and yeah, we do have a lot in common.

“Is something wrong?” Is the first thing he notes when I slide into the passenger seat. Trust Taehyung to notice the wrongness in my demeanor. I clearly am not a professional when it comes to hiding my feelings. My brother once told me I am like a painted canvas, splashed with color when emotions overtake me, depending on my moods.

He takes my silence as a positive answer, and sighs softly, “Jungkook again?”

I nod, looking out of the window while biting my lip. His statement causes my heart to quiver slightly.

“Let me guess, is it Hyemi?”

I nod again.

Taehyung lets the hand that is not occupied by the steering fall onto my head, ruffling my hair slightly in comfort.

“It’s okay” His attempt to comfort me is cute, and my mouth can’t help but twitch upwards in a soft smile. He is so awkward that I want to laugh, and that’s why he’s someone that you can rely on, whatever the problems or the circumstances.

I shift, and finally turn my head towards him. His profile is bathed by the afternoon sunset that’s slowly setting over the buildings, and an affectionate glow bursts through my chest. He’s always been there whenever I needed someone to lean on. Being the smaller sister of someone that was so busy had its downfalls, which is why Namjoon always made sure that Taehyung checked up on me from time to time. I guess from there onwards, he filled a small spot in my heart, a spot that became permanent with time.

“I just—“ I take a deep breath before continuing, “Jungkook’s been cold these past days, and I don’t know why. Today, I asked him if he would tattoo my back, and he said no. But it’s not just that, he’s been weird all week” I start playing with the edge of my shirt in an attempt to control the shakiness of my voice, “It was bad enough that we were arguing, but then Hyemi had to come along”

“He—He treats me like a kid, and I hate him for it. I’m not any younger than him” My fist balls up white and clenched, “It’s hard”

“I get it” Taehyung’s velvet alto soothes my ears, while his fingers slowly brush down my hair like a dad would do to his crying child, “It’s okay, Y/N. He’s just being a kid himself. He’ll come round in a few days”

“No” I let out a snort, “Not when the princess is around”

It had been a bad idea to get a tattoo.

Correction: a very bad idea.

The guy who did it had probably forgotten to wipe it properly with alcohol and de-toxify it from the previous patient’s skin and blood before applying it onto mine. It had felt like a thousand needles poking their way into my skin, knives jabbing at my flesh and muscle, until all that was left of me was skin and scarred bones. They had such a scary sound that I thought it would have drilled right through my body to leave a gaping hole.

It had been even more of a mistake to tattoo a word instead of just a simple design. I wanted that particular word because it meant so much to me, and somehow it brought me more pain that satisfaction when I took a peek at it in the mirror.

It had been fine the first two days, but I talked too soon, because o