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“So,” says Seokjin. “There’s no easy way to begin a conversation like this…”
Everyone in the room shifts in an uncomfortable silence. Jungkook thinks that it’s the understatement of the century.
The office is small, and dark. Whichever professor occupies this space is clearly not very fond of artificial lighting. It makes Jungkook feel grateful for the big window at his back; without a little light, the room would be too stifling to bear.
Seokjin sits poised and collected at the plain desk situated in the middle of the room, Jungkook standing just behind the chair that he’s sitting in. Across from them sits Jungkook’s parents, in two plush, mismatching armchairs. To Jungkook’s right, Eunha; to his left, Yoongi.
“I do want to preface by saying,” continues Seokjin, the picture of professionalism. “I appreciate you both taking the time out of your days to come and discuss this matter with all of us. We just want to understand your request, and possibly be able to share a different perspective for you to consider.”
Jungkook’s parents give minute nods of their own in acknowledgement, but still say nothing.
Seokjin pauses then, clearly hesitating to say the next part in Jungkook’s presence; even standing behind him, Jungkook can tell that Seokjin is apologetic.
“Ultimately, we will respect and honor whichever decision you make regarding your son.”
Jungkook does his best not to let the formality sting. He knows exactly who in this room is on his side.
There is another brief, stifled silence. Jungkook’s parents acknowledge Seokjin’s preface with comprehending nods. Jungkook’s mother folds her hands over her lap. His father clears his throat.
Seokjin waits for one of them to say something, but when neither does, he nods and continues speaking.
“Right,” he says. “Well, um. I guess we could start with discussing your decision to. . . pull Jungkook from the show?
Jungkook’s father nods, his eyebrows twitching in an almost condescending way.
“Of course,” says his dad. “As you may or may not know, we agreed to allow Jungkook to pursue his preferred career of choice, with the simple conditions that he would still strive for something practical, and that he would maintain his grades.”
Nods ripple the room. He goes on.
“However, upon further discussions and new opportunities arising, we have come to realize that pursuing performance is not the practical vision we had for our son.”
Jungkook’s dad purses his lips, appearing to all the world as if he’s choosing each word carefully, right here in the moment. But, Jungkook knows better; he knows that his dad has been sitting on these words since the day Jungkook told them about his desire to pursue music seriously.
It makes his blood boil.
“Composition was the more ideal option, but he chose not to devote himself to that route.” His dad goes on uninterrupted. “And, with the lack of structure, plus his weekly allowance, we felt we were simply enabling him to become an unproductive member of society.”
Jungkook can feel more than hear Yoongi’s quiet intake of breath behind him.
“Of course, we don’t need to get into all of the details, but as you would have it, an important business partner of mine informed me that he would be having an opening in his very successful company soon, and that he would be looking for someone young and bright like our son.”
The words sound so false coming from his father that Jungkook nearly scoffs.
“This prompted us to reevaluate our decision to allow Jungkook to pursue his impractical degree. . . we have had discussions at length with Jungkook on these matters, and have all but one been in agreement that changing his major to business and simply maintaining his hobbies on the side would be the best course of action.”
A stretch of silence. Jungkook clutches the back of Seokjin’s chair like a lifeline, his heart beginning to thud painfully.
“Jungkook is young, and naive to the real world of career sustainability,” reasons his dad. “I don’t expect anyone as young as all of you to understand; you don’t have children of your own, so it’s a difficult concept. But, sometimes, you know what will be in your child’s best interest. When you get to be my age, you will have earned the life experience necessary to reward you with that sort of foresight. So, I understand how it may seem cruel or unreasonable. But, my foresight informs me that ensuring Jungkook’s future now with good decisions regarding his career choices is the best option,” he concludes. “That is why we’re pulling him from the show.”
Never once does his dad look at anyone besides Seokjin for the duration of his little speech. Maybe that’s what makes Jungkook’s restraint break.
How could he still somehow be so invisible to his own family when they’re sitting right in front of him? Discussing his life?
“Yeah,” Jungkook interjects breathlessly, speaking fast so that he doesn’t lose the sudden burst of confidence. “I mean. Logically, it makes sense, but. . . I mean.”
His father finally looks at him. His face is blank, but his eyes are impatient. Jungkook smarts, his cheeks prickling with shame.
He says, “…What about me?”
“What do you mean, what about you?” His father responds immediately, stoic. “All of this is about you.”
Jungkook breathes.
“I know. But I’m not talking about what you think I need,” he says. “What about... what I want?”
Jungkook’s father stares at him for several drawn out seconds. The blankness of his expression is slowly bleeding into visible agitation.
“I have just explained why what you want may not always align with what you need.”
“But—”
“If. . . I may interrupt? Sir,” Seokjin cuts in, pointedly addressing Jungkook’s dad. “I fully acknowledge your argument, and—”
“This is not an argument.”
Seokjin stills, swallowing.
“Right,” he says. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just meant. . . I understand your point of view, and I even agree for the most part.”
Jungkook’s father echoes, “...But?”
“But. . . I believe it’s a little more complicated than just predicting what will be most beneficial for your son in the long run,” Seokjin rations. “It’s smart, and it’s proactive. . . but it’s presuming that Jungkook will somehow fail in the career he’s chosen for himself? And with all due respect, sir, I just don’t think that’s a realistic possibility.”
Jungkook’s dad shakes his head, gaze darting to rest stubbornly on the desk instead of at any of them. Still, Seokjin tries.
“Your son is extremely talented Mr. and Mrs. Jeon,” his voice softens marginally. “Especially for his age. If he were to devote the time and energy I know he’s willing to in order to succeed in this field, I have no doubt in my mind that he would be just as successful as he would be in business. Possibly even more so.”
“It is a frivolous industry,” Jungkook’s father responds. “Who knows if by the time he is finished with schooling he’ll even be entering the same environment he trained for?”
“That is very true,” Seokjin agrees. “But unfortunately, the same could be said for many fields.”
For the first time since the meeting began, Jungkook’s mother inserts herself into the conversation. She speaks gently, more to placate her husband than anything. In the darkness of the office, it makes Jungkook’s heart squeeze.
“Jungkook,” she murmurs softly. Her tone lends to the idea that she’s attempting to mediate, but the words that come out don’t match. “We donated a significant amount of money to this program. The very least you could do in return is obey our wishes.”
It breaks Jungkook’s heart a little.
That pain quickly turns to frustrated anger.
“Exactly!” he protests, throat tight. “You donated a lot of money to a show that you aren’t even going to let me be a part of now? What kind of sense does that make, mom? Is that the kind of financial responsibility you’re trying to instill in me?”
“You will watch your tone when you speak to your mother, Jungkook,” his dad clips sternly. “And, it is not up for discussion anymore.”
“Yes, it is!” Jungkook demands. “This is my life, dad. Why don’t I get a say in it?”
“Because, you are young, and—”
“And I’m not stupid ,” he insists. “if you would just listen to me for once, you’d understand where I’m coming from—”
“I don’t need to understand you,” says his father. “I need to raise you, and keep you safe, and ensure that you will have a good life when I am gone.”
Jungkook’s eyes betray him. They water, and his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the tears from slipping in front of everyone.
“How could I have a good life,” he whispers. “When you’re robbing me of every good thing I’ve ever wanted?”
His dad hardly bats an eye.
“Do not be melodramatic.”
Jungkook pauses for a long time. Eventually, he shakes his head in tearful disbelief.
“You are never going to hear me,” he realizes. “You never have. All that matters to you is keeping up appearances for people who couldn’t give less of a fuck about what happens to you in the long run.”
“Watch your language—”
“I’m your son.” Jungkook pleads. “Why doesn’t that matter more to you?”
For the first time, his parents have the decency to look ashamed. More so because they have an audience, but their embarrassed expressions are enough to give Jungkook one last spike of courage.
“You’re putting words into my mouth,” is all his dad responds. “You know I care about you.”
Jungkook laughs humorlessly, still clutching Seokjin’s chair.
“How am I supposed to know that? All you do is treat me like an asset. Like a fucking chess piece that you can move wherever you want on the board as long as it will benefit you. You don’t care how I’m doing, or what I feel. You’ve never asked. And if I told you, you’d find a way to turn it into a weapon anyway—”
“Jungkook—”
“I’m not fucking finished speaking.” He’s shaking, but he goes on. “Why can’t you listen to me? I don’t care about whether or not what I’m doing is practical! Maybe I want it that way. But you’d never know because you don’t bother to ask!”
His mother stares down at her lap in shame, and his father breathes a little heavier. All Jungkook can think is, good.
“Because it’s childish to think that you can sustain a lifestyle that has no sense of structure.”
“Okay,” Jungkook nods, chewing anxiously at his lip. “Then let me learn my lesson. Let me try, and fail. And if I fail, then I’ll do what you want.”
His dad scoffs.
“That is a waste of time, and of money. I refuse to enable your desire to refrain from contributing to society just because of some sort of science experiment regarding your independence.”
Jungkook blinks. If a tear slips, he doesn’t notice it. He doesn’t care, not anymore.
He can’t keep doing this.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Then don’t.”
His father sits up straighter in the armchair. “Excuse me?”
Jungkook repeats, “Don’t. Don’t enable me. Don’t support me. Don’t claim any responsibility for me.”
His mom tries to interject once again with her tender voice.
“Jungkook—”
“If you’re so worried,” he silences her. “About the future and where your money best lies, then by all means, don’t waste it on me.”
“Don’t be unreasonable,” his dad grits.
“I’m not being unreasonable,” Jungkook says. “I’m done.”
“What?”
Jungkook nods.
“I’ll figure it out on my own,” he decides, then and there. “I’m not dropping out of the show, and I’m keeping this major. If you want to pull your tuition money because you won’t support me, do it. I don’t care. I’ll get loans, I’ll apply for scholarships. I don’t care. I got a new job. I’ll find a way.”
His dad shakes his head. “It’s not possible, Jungkook.”
Jungkook smiles emptily.
“Yeah, well, luckily I’ve learned how to live without you believing in me,” he mumbles. “I’ll manage.”
Once again, his mom tries to intervene.
“Honey,” she says in that soothing tone of hers. “We can figure something out. You don’t have to do this—”
“I’m done,” he interrupts. “Thanks for coming. Don’t contact me again.”
“Jungkook—”
Jungkook lets go of the back of Seokjin’s chair, steps around the desk, and leaves the office without another word.