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The night was still as Jungkook gripped the wheel, his shoulders stiff from hours of rehearsals. The glow of city lights reflected off his windshield, casting warm, golden shadows in the quiet, empty car. He loved these moments of solitude, the rare times he could let his mind wander beyond music, beyond performance, and beyond the constant, unforgiving press of schedules.
The car hummed along the deserted roads, the streetlights blinking in a rhythmic pattern that felt comforting, almost hypnotic. But tonight, he felt different. It was a weariness he hadn’t recognized before—a dull, pulsing exhaustion that seemed to seep into his bones. He shifted in his seat, the familiar leather providing little comfort against the tightening in his chest. Part of him wished he could ignore the creeping dread that whispered in his mind, a persistent voice reminding him that tomorrow was just another day of intense practice, back-to-back interviews, and endless demands.
He glanced at his phone, which buzzed with a low glow from the center console. It was another schedule update. He had barely looked at it when he felt his stomach drop—the realization came too late as he glanced back at the road, and there it was: the red light blazing just ahead.
Instinct took over. His foot slammed the brake, but he felt the helpless skid of his car, the tires squealing against the asphalt. The shock of impact was deafening—the crunch of metal colliding, the jolt that threw him forward even as his seatbelt locked tight around him.
For a heartbeat, everything was still. There was only the faint crackle of the car radio, and Jungkook’s frantic breaths, shallow and fast as he tried to process what had happened. He looked up, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. In front of him was a taxi, its tail lights glowing, the driver stepping out with a mix of confusion and frustration etched on his face.
The man approached, his hands gesturing wildly as he muttered in agitation. But Jungkook could barely hear him over the roaring in his ears. His mind was swirling, struggling to break free of the thick haze of shock. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He’d been careful—he always tried to be careful.
As the driver’s impatient knock on the window jolted him from his daze, Jungkook tried to swallow down the lump forming in his throat. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the seatbelt, finally managing to unbuckle it before he forced himself out of the car. The cold night air hit him, but it did nothing to steady the dizzy, sick feeling inside.
“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. His mind was racing, flooded with guilt, shame, and something close to fear. What would people think? How would his fans see him? He felt the weight of the world press down on him, and for a moment, he thought he might crumble beneath it.
The driver seemed to soften slightly at the sight of Jungkook’s clear distress. The man mumbled something about the car damage and insurance, his tone no longer harsh but rather weary, perhaps recognizing the helpless, almost childlike fear in Jungkook’s eyes.
Pulling out his phone with a shaky hand, Jungkook dialed his manager. The phone felt like a lead weight in his hand as he held it up to his ear, barely registering the vibration against his palm. His manager picked up on the second ring, his voice calm, professional—a voice Jungkook had always associated with the stability he could lean on.
“Hyung… I…” Jungkook’s voice broke as he explained, stumbling over his words, each one feeling more hollow and inadequate than the last. The response on the other end was understanding, offering reassurances, telling him to stay calm and wait for help to arrive. But nothing his manager said could untangle the dread coiled in his chest.
As he ended the call, Jungkook stood beside his car, watching the faint wisp of smoke rising from the front where the metal had crumpled. He felt nauseous, his stomach churning as the reality of his actions settled in. His manager’s car arrived not long after, and he watched as the older man spoke with the taxi driver, arranging for repairs and sorting out insurance. The police arrived too, asking Jungkook a few quiet questions. He answered as best as he could, but his mind was miles away, stuck on all the ways this night had gone wrong.
The drive back to the dorm was silent, with his manager glancing at him every so often. He offered quiet words of comfort, but Jungkook barely registered them. His mind kept drifting back to the crash—the brief moment of carelessness that had sent his night spiraling out of control. He could still hear the sound of metal against metal, feel the horrible lurch of his stomach as he realized what he’d done.
As they neared the dorm, a figure caught his eye. Standing just outside the door, looking restless and anxious, was Seokjin. The faint light from the entrance cast a soft glow around him, highlighting the worry in his expression. Jungkook’s heart ached at the sight; he hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting up for him, let alone the eldest member, the one who always seemed to take everyone’s burdens upon himself. Their manager must have called his members, Jungkook thought with a heavy heart.
Before the car had even come to a full stop, Seokjin was hurrying over, his face a mixture of fear and relief. Jungkook stepped out, but the weight of shame held him back, making him hesitate to meet Seokjin’s gaze. He felt as though he’d disappointed everyone—his members, his fans, even himself.
But Seokjin wasn’t angry. Instead, he reached out, pulling Jungkook into a tight embrace. His hands were steady, grounding, as they rested on Jungkook’s shoulders. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with a quiet urgency. “Did you get hurt?”
Jungkook shook his head, his throat too tight to speak. He tried to hold back the tears prickling at his eyes, but it was a battle he was losing. The weight of everything—the accident, the shame, the unspoken expectations—threatened to overwhelm him. And when Seokjin’s hand gently cupped his face, guiding him to look up, something inside him broke.
“Oh, thank god you’re okay,” Seokjin murmured, his voice thick with relief. The tenderness in his gaze undid Jungkook completely, and the first tear slipped free, quickly followed by another. Seokjin’s arms wrapped around him, strong and comforting, and Jungkook found himself clinging to his hyung like he was the only solid thing left in a world that suddenly felt unbearably fragile.
“I’m so sorry, hyung,” Jungkook choked out, his voice muffled against Seokjin’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to… I messed up. I messed up so bad.”
Seokjin only held him tighter, one hand gently stroking the back of his head in soothing circles. “Shh, it’s alright,” he whispered, his voice a balm against the storm raging inside Jungkook. “You’re safe, Jungkook. You’re here with me. That’s all that matters.”
The dorm was quiet as they stepped inside, the dim hallway lights casting long shadows against the walls. Jungkook felt hollow, like he was moving through a dream. His mind replayed the accident on an endless loop, each second stretched out until he could feel his pulse racing again. He could still hear the sound of screeching tires, still see the blinding red of the light as his foot pressed the brake too late. The shame and regret clung to him, heavy and suffocating, and he wished he could shed it like an unwanted coat.
Seokjin kept a steady hand on his shoulder, guiding him gently through the hall. The silence between them was warm, filled with unspoken words, but Jungkook didn’t have the strength to say anything yet. He felt like a fragile shell, barely holding himself together, and the slightest push might shatter him completely.
As they reached the living room, the soft sounds of footsteps alerted them to the other members. One by one, Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon emerged from the shadows, their faces etched with worry. Jungkook’s heart sank at the sight; he hadn’t wanted them to see him like this, broken and vulnerable. He tried to avert his gaze, to hide the remnants of his tears, but the concern in their eyes felt like a silent plea, urging him to let them in.
Jimin stepped forward, his usual playful energy tempered by a quiet, genuine concern. “Jungkook, are you okay?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Jungkook opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat. He could only manage a shaky nod, his gaze fixed on the floor. He could feel their eyes on him, each one radiating warmth and understanding, but the shame felt like a wall between them. He didn’t deserve their kindness, their compassion—not after he’d been so careless.
Namjoon took a step closer, his hand reaching out but stopping just short of Jungkook’s shoulder, as if he didn’t want to overwhelm him. “We’re just glad you’re safe,” he said, his voice steady, the leader’s calm assurance evident in every word. “That’s what matters.”
The words hit Jungkook harder than he’d expected, cracking the fragile shell of composure he’d been clinging to. The guilt surged up, raw and uncontainable, and he felt his shoulders start to shake as tears filled his eyes once more.
“I… I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words spilling out in a rush. “I messed up. I wasn’t paying attention, and… and I could have hurt someone. I could have ruined everything.”
Taehyung stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on Jungkook’s arm. His touch was gentle, reassuring, but Jungkook felt himself tense up, his body instinctively pulling away. He wasn’t ready—he couldn’t bear the thought of them seeing him like this, of being vulnerable in front of the people he respected and admired most.
He turned slightly, his gaze shifting back to Seokjin, the one person who felt like a lifeline in this storm. Seokjin’s eyes held a quiet understanding, his expression unwavering as he took Jungkook’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.
“Come on,” Seokjin murmured, his voice soft, meant only for Jungkook. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
Without waiting for a response, he guided Jungkook down the hallway, leading him toward his room. The other members watched them go, their concern lingering in the silence, but Seokjin’s steady presence beside him made the world feel a little less daunting.
Once they reached Seokjin’s room, Seokjin shut the door behind them, enveloping them in a comforting cocoon of solitude. He led Jungkook to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting on his shoulder, his warmth grounding Jungkook as he struggled to collect himself.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Jungkook could feel the tension coiled inside him, the fear and shame still churning, but Seokjin’s calm presence seemed to ease the worst of it, like a soothing balm on a raw wound. Slowly, he felt his breathing start to steady, the erratic pounding of his heart easing into a more manageable rhythm.
“Hyung…” Jungkook’s voice was barely audible, a broken whisper as he stared down at his hands, still trembling slightly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I… I should have been more careful. I should have known better.”
Seokjin sat beside him, his gaze gentle and unwavering. He didn’t rush Jungkook, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, a soft, patient space that allowed Jungkook to gather his scattered thoughts.
After a moment, Seokjin spoke, his voice calm and steady. “Jungkook, you’re allowed to make mistakes. We all do. It doesn’t mean you’re any less responsible or capable. It just means you’re human.”
The words washed over Jungkook, soothing the raw edges of his guilt. He could feel Seokjin’s hand on his back, a steadying presence that anchored him, and the shame began to recede, replaced by a deep, overwhelming gratitude for the man sitting beside him.
“But I let everyone down,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I feel like I’m supposed to be perfect, like I’m supposed to hold everything together… but I couldn’t. I failed.”
Seokjin’s hand moved to his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Jungkook, you don’t have to carry everything alone. We’re a team, remember? We’re here to support each other, through everything—good and bad. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.”
The words pierced through Jungkook’s defenses, reaching the vulnerable part of him that had always felt the weight of expectations, the unspoken pressure to be the best. He felt the tears rising again, hot and insistent, and he didn’t resist this time. He let them fall, his body trembling as the release swept through him.
Seokjin wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close, and Jungkook clung to him, his grip desperate as if Seokjin were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He could feel Seokjin’s hand gently stroking his hair, the soothing motion calming him as he cried, each sob carrying away a fragment of the guilt that had weighed so heavily on his heart.
After a while, the tears began to slow, leaving Jungkook feeling raw and exposed, but also strangely lighter, as though a burden he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had finally been lifted. He leaned against Seokjin, his head resting on his shoulder, and allowed himself to take comfort in the warmth and safety of his hyung’s embrace.
They sat in silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the faint sounds of the city beyond the window. Jungkook’s breathing had evened out, his body gradually relaxing as the last remnants of tension faded away. He felt exhausted, but in a way that was almost peaceful, as though he had finally found a place to rest after a long, arduous journey.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” Seokjin’s voice was soft, the offer gentle but unwavering.
Jungkook nodded, his hand reaching out instinctively, seeking Seokjin’s steady presence. “Yes… please,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Seokjin gave him a reassuring smile, patting the bed beside him. “Alright, let’s get you comfortable.”
He moved with gentle precision, helping Jungkook out of his day clothes and into a fresh set of pajamas. Jungkook’s hands were still slightly unsteady, his fingers fumbling as he tried to button his shirt, but Seokjin’s calm, steady hands guided him, each button slipping into place with quiet ease. There was something deeply reassuring about the simple, familiar routine, the normalcy grounding him as he took slow, steady breaths.
Once he was settled, Seokjin pulled back the covers, gesturing for Jungkook to climb in. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, feeling a flicker of uncertainty, but the warmth in Seokjin’s eyes washed it away. He slipped under the covers, lying back as Seokjin settled beside him, stretching out in a way that felt natural, comforting.
Seokjin’s arm wrapped around him, pulling him close, and Jungkook felt himself relax completely, his head resting on Seokjin’s shoulder as he closed his eyes. He could feel the slow, steady beat of Seokjin’s heart beneath his ear, a calming rhythm that anchored him, easing the last remnants of fear.
“You’re safe, Jungkook,” Seokjin whispered, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet room. “You’re here, and I’m here with you. Nothing else matters.”
Jungkook nodded, his grip tightening on Seokjin’s shirt as he let the words sink in. For the first time that night, he felt a sense of peace settle over him, a quiet assurance that everything would be okay. And as sleep claimed him, his last conscious thought was a gentle reassurance, a quiet promise that he would find healing, not through perfection, but through love and support. Jungkook felt the weight of his exhaustion finally allow him to drift into a deeper, more peaceful sleep.
The morning came slowly, its pale light creeping through the window blinds, casting long shadows across Seokjin’s room. Jungkook woke first, his body still curled against Seokjin’s side. The familiar warmth of Seokjin’s embrace, the soft rhythm of his breathing, felt like the safest place in the world. For a moment, he just lay there, not moving, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that seemed to hang between them.
But the silence was comfortable. It wasn’t the heavy kind that made Jungkook feel like he was drowning in his thoughts. It was the kind that spoke volumes, where neither of them needed words to understand each other. He felt Seokjin’s hand gently resting on his back, the steady pressure a silent anchor.
It was Seokjin who stirred first, shifting slightly under the weight of Jungkook’s head, but his movements were gentle, aware of the delicate balance they shared. His voice, when it finally broke through the stillness, was soft and quiet, as though he didn’t want to disturb the calm of the moment.
“You alright?” Seokjin asked, his voice laced with tenderness.
Jungkook blinked a few times, slowly bringing himself back to the present. His mind felt a little clearer than it had the night before, though the remnants of the anxiety still lingered like an unwanted shadow. He nodded against Seokjin’s chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his hyung’s heart beneath his cheek. He wanted to say more, but the words felt too fragile, as if they might crumble under the weight of his emotions.
Instead, he simply responded with a whisper, barely audible. “Yeah. I feel better.”
Seokjin’s hand gently ran through Jungkook’s hair, a gesture so familiar and caring that it made Jungkook’s chest tighten. “Good. You’re safe, Jungkook. That’s what matters most.”
The words were simple, but they carried so much weight. Jungkook didn’t know how to express everything that was swirling inside him—how badly he had been spiraling last night, how scared he was that he might have ruined everything. But Seokjin’s calm presence made him feel like he could breathe again. Maybe it wasn’t about fixing everything at once. Maybe it was about being allowed to feel, to be vulnerable, without judgment.
Jungkook let his eyes close again, his head resting more comfortably against Seokjin’s chest. He felt the warmth of his hyung’s body against him, the way Seokjin’s arm tightened ever so slightly around him as if to reassure him. It was enough. It was more than enough.
After a few moments, Seokjin shifted slightly, slowly pulling away from Jungkook, though his hand lingered on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Come on, let’s get up. You need to eat something.”
Jungkook didn’t protest. He was too tired to argue, and the thought of food seemed distant, but Seokjin’s tone carried the kind of care that made him feel like he needed to listen. With a final, soft pat on Jungkook’s back, Seokjin pulled himself up and out of bed, stretching as he stood.
Jungkook sat up, his body still heavy with the remnants of last night, but the warmth of Seokjin’s presence lingered, helping him to find his feet. He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs off the bed, his feet landing on the cool wooden floor. The movement felt awkward, like his body had forgotten how to be fully present after the emotional turbulence of the previous night.
Seokjin disappeared into the kitchen, his presence filling the space as he clattered around, preparing something light. Jungkook took a deep breath, allowing the quiet to settle in again. He felt a little like an intruder in this moment, like Seokjin’s comfort was too much of a gift, and he wasn’t sure he deserved it.
As he made his way to the kitchen, Seokjin turned with a smile, holding a warm mug of tea in his hands. “Here,” he said, offering it with a quiet, genuine smile. “You should drink something warm.”
Jungkook took the mug, his fingers brushing Seokjin’s just briefly. He looked up at his hyung, suddenly feeling vulnerable in the wake of the previous night. “Hyung…” he began, his voice faltering. “I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’ve let everyone down.”
Seokjin’s expression softened, his eyes full of understanding. He reached out, taking Jungkook’s hand gently, guiding him to sit at the small table in the kitchen. “Jungkook, listen to me. You didn’t let anyone down. You’re human. We all make mistakes. It’s okay to feel scared or uncertain. It’s okay to mess up. What matters is that you’re here, and we’re here for you.”
Jungkook swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. The words, though simple, resonated in a way that made him feel lighter, even if just for a moment. Seokjin sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and it wasn’t uncomfortable, even in the quiet space between them.
“I…” Jungkook started again, trying to make sense of the thoughts still tumbling in his mind. “I think I’ve always been afraid of disappointing people, of not being good enough.”
Seokjin nodded, a soft understanding in his gaze. “It’s normal to feel that way. But you don’t have to carry that burden alone, Jungkook. You’ve never been alone in this, and you won’t be. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved or valued.”
The warmth of Seokjin’s words seeped into Jungkook’s chest like sunlight, chasing away the lingering coldness of self-doubt. “I want to be better. For everyone.”
“You already are,” Seokjin replied gently, his voice filled with so much sincerity. “You don’t need to do anything else to prove that.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Jungkook took a sip of the tea, its warmth spreading through him, a simple act that felt more comforting than he could explain. He felt the heaviness of his thoughts starting to loosen, the knot of guilt in his stomach unwinding just a little.
Eventually, Seokjin stood and made his way to the counter, continuing to prepare a simple breakfast for them both. Jungkook sat still for a while, lost in thought, but Seokjin’s presence remained constant, like an anchor keeping him from floating away.
“Hyung,” Jungkook said, breaking the silence. “Thank you… for everything.”
Seokjin turned, his smile soft, a little teasing. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”
Jungkook felt his chest tighten again, but this time, it wasn’t with fear or anxiety. It was with something gentler, something he could only describe as relief. He realized that, in that moment, everything was going to be okay. The mistakes, the fears, the doubt—it all felt smaller now, less overwhelming.
As they sat together, sharing a quiet meal, Jungkook understood something he hadn’t before: he wasn’t alone in this. He didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. And even though the road ahead might still be difficult, he had people by his side who would support him—no matter what.
And as the days began to return to their usual rhythm, Jungkook knew that this moment, this quiet healing, would remain with him. Seokjin’s warmth, his presence, would be a constant source of strength, and Jungkook was ready to face whatever came next with a little more peace in his heart.
The following week unfolded slowly for Jungkook. Each day felt like a step forward, yet he carried with him the quiet weight of his anxiety from the crash. Still, with Seokjin by his side, he began to feel the emotional burden of guilt easing, replaced by an odd sense of peace he hadn’t felt in months.
The other members of BTS noticed the change in him too, though none of them outright mentioned it. Instead, they adapted. They could see how Jungkook’s bright energy had dimmed a little, how his usual confidence seemed shaky around the edges. But they also noticed how much more comfortable he was with his hyung—Seokjin’s presence was like a quiet balm to Jungkook’s frayed nerves.
At times, when the others caught sight of the way Jungkook leaned into Seokjin or how Seokjin’s hand rested on Jungkook’s back when they were around each other, they simply exchanged knowing glances. There was no need for words. The bond between the two was a language all its own.
The morning after the crash, when Jungkook arrived at the practice room, the members greeted him with their usual warmth, but there was something more in the air. Something unspoken. Taehyung was the first to approach, his hands tucked into his pockets as he sidled up next to Jungkook.
"You okay?" Taehyung asked, his voice quiet but genuine.
Jungkook hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He hadn’t talked about the accident in detail, not with any of the members, and the thought of doing so felt like it might send him spiraling again. But Taehyung wasn’t pushing him, just watching him with an expression of concern.
“I’m… getting better,” Jungkook finally said, the words feeling strange on his tongue. “Thanks for asking, Taehyung.”
Taehyung’s eyes softened, and without another word, he patted Jungkook’s shoulder. “If you need anything, just say it, okay? We’ve got your back.”
It was a simple gesture, but it meant the world to Jungkook. The weight of his guilt felt a little lighter. It wasn’t just Seokjin carrying him through this—his brothers were there too. They were a team. They always had been, and even though Jungkook had often carried the weight of expectations alone, it was comforting to know he didn’t have to.
Later that day, when they took a break from practice, Jin and Yoongi were sitting in the lounge area. Jungkook made his way over, quietly slipping into the seat beside Jin, but not before stealing a glance at Yoongi, who was sitting with his legs crossed, his face impassive as usual.
“You feeling better?” Yoongi asked, his eyes flicking over to Jungkook, though his voice remained indifferent.
Jungkook looked over at him, surprised by the straightforward question. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think so.”
“Good,” Yoongi nodded. “It’s just an accident, Kook. No need to carry the world on your shoulders. It’s part of life.”
The words were blunt, but they were what Jungkook needed to hear. Yoongi, in his own quiet way, had always been there for him. Yoongi had a way of cutting through the noise, of saying the things that others wouldn’t.
Jin, too, placed a reassuring hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, his gaze kind yet firm. “We’ve all had our moments of messing up,” he said, his voice gentle but filled with conviction. “But we’re a family, Jungkook. And families don’t give up on each other.”
The truth in Jin’s words settled deep within Jungkook’s chest. His family. These people had been through everything with him—the good, the bad, and everything in between. And now, as he faced his fears and doubts, he realized just how much strength he drew from them.
Later that week, the group gathered for a team dinner, a tradition that had been established long before the chaos of their schedules had ever taken over. It was a rare opportunity for all of them to sit down together, away from the cameras and the pressure of their work, and simply enjoy each other’s company.
Jungkook felt a little out of place at first, still caught up in the remnants of his anxiety. He had been quieter than usual, the lingering tension from the crash still tight in his chest. But as he sat around the table with his brothers, sharing stories, laughter, and the comfort of a warm meal, the cracks in his facade began to heal.
Taehyung’s goofy antics had everyone in stitches, making Jungkook chuckle despite himself. Jimin and Hoseok exchanged playful banter, their chemistry always so natural, and even Yoongi, who normally kept to himself, couldn’t help but crack a smile when Jin made one of his signature bad jokes.
The conversation turned lighthearted, but Jungkook couldn’t ignore the small gestures of care he felt from each of them. They were watching him, but not in a way that made him feel like a burden. Rather, it was a sense of quiet concern—an understanding that they were giving him space to heal in his own time, without forcing him to explain anything he wasn’t ready to.
It was Jimin who broke the comfortable silence that had fallen over the group. He leaned in, his voice low but laced with affection. “You know, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin began, his eyes sparkling, “if you ever need to talk, or vent, we’re here. No matter what it is.”
Jungkook looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. He had always known Jimin to be open and empathetic, but hearing those words made something in his chest tighten. “I know,” he said softly. “Thanks, Jimin.”
“Seriously,” Jimin added, his gaze softening. “We’re all in this together. You’re not alone, Kook.”
The words sunk in deeper than Jungkook expected, and for the first time since the accident, he didn’t feel so alone in his struggles. Maybe he had been carrying the weight of perfection, of constantly trying to prove himself, but here, in this room filled with laughter and warmth, he could finally let go of that burden, even just a little.
As the night wore on, and the group returned to the dorm, Seokjin and Jungkook lingered at the back of the group, walking side by side. Seokjin glanced over at Jungkook, noting how much more at ease he seemed, the tension that had plagued him for days starting to loosen.
“You doing okay?” Seokjin asked quietly, nudging Jungkook with his elbow.
Jungkook nodded, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. I think… I think I’m finally starting to feel like myself again.”
Seokjin’s eyes softened, his gaze full of pride and care. “Good. You don’t have to do it all alone, Kook. We’re a family. We’ll always be here for you.”
Jungkook let out a breath, the weight of his worries suddenly feeling lighter. He reached out, brushing his fingers against Seokjin’s in a small, quiet gesture of gratitude.
The older man smiled, his hand lingering just a moment longer before he gently squeezed Jungkook’s hand.
Together, they walked into the dorm, where their family waited for them, each member part of the mosaic of strength, love, and understanding that held them together. Jungkook felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude, not only for Seokjin but for all the members who had stood by him, never once wavering, never once letting him feel like he was facing the world alone.
And, as they settled in for the night, Jungkook finally felt ready to take on whatever the future held—knowing, deep in his heart, that he didn’t have to face it alone. His family would always be there to walk with him, through the light and the dark.
Jungkook’s healing process wasn’t a straight path. Some days felt like a small victory—his heart a little lighter, his steps a little steadier—while others still felt like he was wading through quicksand, with the weight of guilt and fear threatening to pull him under. But the key difference now was that he wasn’t alone. Every step, every setback, and every small triumph was shared with those who mattered most to him: his family, his brothers.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when Jungkook first began to feel like he might truly be healing. They were in the practice room, as usual, running through choreography for their upcoming performance. He could feel his body responding with more energy than he had in days, his movements sharper, more fluid. The weight in his chest, though still there, was beginning to feel less heavy.
Jungkook glanced over at Seokjin, who was watching him from the side, always aware of his presence, always offering a quiet form of reassurance with just a glance. The older man had been so patient with him these past few days, his subtle gestures of care like a steady anchor for Jungkook’s scattered thoughts.
After practice, when the members were gathering their things to head home, Seokjin approached him, his voice soft but full of warmth. “You did great today,” he said with a smile. “I can see you’re starting to feel a bit more like yourself.”
Jungkook looked at him, his heart tightening a little at the sight of Seokjin’s comforting smile. “Yeah, I think so.” His voice still had a certain hesitance to it, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced, but there was something about Seokjin’s presence that made him feel like it was okay not to be fully healed yet.
“Baby steps,” Seokjin added, his tone gentle. “There’s no rush. You’ll get there in your own time. And I’ll be here, every step of the way.”
The sincerity in Seokjin’s words made something in Jungkook’s chest flutter. He nodded, his lips curving up slightly in a faint smile. “Thanks, hyung. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Seokjin didn’t respond with words, just a quiet chuckle as he ruffled Jungkook’s hair affectionately. “You’ll always have me, Kook,” he said, his voice carrying a sense of finality. As if he meant it, every word of it.
The next few days were a delicate balance between moments of progress and moments of regression. On some days, Jungkook felt himself slipping back into the old habits—shutting himself off, pushing away the people who cared about him. But the members knew him too well to let that happen. They each found their own ways to check in on him, to remind him that he wasn’t alone.
Taehyung, with his playful energy, would draw Jungkook into spontaneous games of video games or silly challenges, anything to get him to laugh and break the tension that lingered in the younger member’s shoulders. Even when Jungkook didn’t feel like joining in, Taehyung would stay close by, his presence a constant reminder that laughter was just a breath away.
Jimin was always the one who could read Jungkook’s moods best. One evening, after a long practice, Jungkook sat off to the side, staring at his phone without really seeing it. His fingers hovered over the screen, but he didn’t have the heart to check any of the notifications, not yet. He felt drained, emotionally and physically, and the weight of the world still clung to his chest. Jimin, sensing this, wandered over quietly, his voice a soft whisper.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jimin asked, sitting down beside him on the couch. There was no pressure, just the warmth of his presence.
Jungkook shook his head, the words still stuck in his throat. He wanted to talk about it, he did, but the thought of reliving the accident, of reopening the wound, made him feel sick. But Jimin didn’t press. Instead, he simply rested his head on Jungkook’s shoulder, his arms wrapping around him in a comforting embrace.
“You don’t have to,” Jimin murmured. “But I’m here if you need me. I’m always here, okay?”
Jungkook blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. The gentle comfort of Jimin’s embrace was a balm to his restless soul. He nodded, his voice soft and strained. “Thank you, Jimin.”
Seokjin continued to be his pillar through all of this. Sometimes it was a reassuring smile across the room during a practice session, sometimes it was a quiet word after a difficult day, or a gentle touch when Jungkook felt on the verge of crumbling. But there were moments when Jungkook realized just how much Seokjin had been carrying, too.
One night, after a long rehearsal, Seokjin led Jungkook back to his room. They both collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion tugging at their limbs. Seokjin’s hand rested on the back of Jungkook’s neck, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Jungkook’s mind was still buzzing from the day’s events—the performances, the rehearsals, the responsibilities. But it all felt so far away when he was here, with Seokjin. Safe. For the first time in days, he let himself relax completely.
“Hyung,” Jungkook said quietly, breaking the silence. “I know I’ve been… a lot to handle lately. I’ve been hard on myself.”
Seokjin turned to look at him, his eyes soft. “You don’t need to apologize, Jungkook. You’ve been through something really difficult. You’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling.”
“I know,” Jungkook replied, his voice breaking slightly. “But I just… I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to keep leaning on you.”
Seokjin’s fingers tightened gently at the back of Jungkook’s neck, pulling him just a little closer. “You’re never a burden. I don’t want you to carry everything alone. We all carry each other’s weight, Jungkook. That’s what family is for.”
Jungkook exhaled a shaky breath, feeling a tear slip down his cheek before he could stop it. “Thank you, hyung,” he whispered.
Seokjin smiled softly, brushing a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “No need to thank me. Just… take your time. I’ll always be here.”
For the first time since the accident, Jungkook felt a sense of peace settle in his heart. He wasn’t perfect, and he would never be, but that was okay. He didn’t have to be perfect. He just had to be himself—and he had a family who would love him through the hard times.
The days continued to pass, and Jungkook’s progress, though slow, was undeniable. There were still moments when the weight of the accident pressed down on him, but he learned how to lean on those around him when he needed it. He found solace in their presence, in the quiet moments of understanding, in the gestures of care that didn’t require words.
The breakthrough came one afternoon when he finally found the courage to pick up his phone and check the messages from his manager. With a deep breath, he opened the thread, his eyes scanning the messages. There were apologies from the driver, reassuring words from his manager, and a few text messages from the members checking in on him.
For the first time since the crash, he didn’t feel a knot of panic in his chest. He didn’t feel overwhelmed by the pressure. Instead, he felt a small sense of relief. It wasn’t over yet, but it was getting better. He was healing. And as long as he had his family by his side, there was nothing he couldn’t face.
One evening, as they gathered for another dinner, Jungkook found himself laughing—genuinely laughing. Taehyung had cracked a joke that was so ridiculous it was impossible not to laugh. And as the sound of his laughter filled the room, Jungkook realized something important.
He wasn’t defined by his mistakes. He wasn’t the sum of his fears or his guilt. He was part of something bigger—a family that would always love and support him, no matter what. And for the first time in a long while, Jungkook felt free.
Seokjin, sitting across the table, caught his eye and offered him a small, knowing smile. It was a smile of pride, of unconditional love, and of unwavering support.
Jungkook smiled back, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks.
He was healing. And he was ready to move forward.