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He’s not sure what it is, if Jungkook’s truthful, that’s bringing him down. He feels as dark and low as the rain clouds outside, releasing their stresses in a slew of raindrops that beat against the window. It’s dragged down his energy, letting him practise for only a short while before his slip ups had made even sweet, always supportive Hobi yell - “Yah! Will you pay some attention to your God damned feet! If you step on me one more time I’m having you arrested for GBH!” - and call an early end to what was supposed to be three hours of work on their choreo - “No, no, we can’t do this, not with that one stepping wrong and bumping us every thirty seconds. Pack your stuff, whatever. Sorry, Namjoon, I can’t be dealing with this this morning.”.
Was that it? Was he feeling low because he couldn’t seem to get his feet in the right place or his arm to raise at the right time? Or was that a side effect of his mood? Either way, he felt like burrowing into his bed and never resurfacing, smothering his slim body in as many blankets that he could find around the dorm.
Burrowing further into his hoodie, Jungkook taps through a million updates on his social media, finding no joy in the smiling faces of the fans or the antics of other friends. Not even the sweet, loving words of his mother seemed to help to pick up his mood, her wishes of health and happiness for the day simply dissipating in his head the second he read them.
There was a lead weight in his soul, dark and menacing with it’s poison, and he was damned if he could shift it. It felt like it was eating him - corroding down until the very fabric of his being started falling apart, rough and torn at the edges. Had it been building up for a while? Sure, he’d had off days before, they all had, but this was something worse. Something that was consuming him faster than he could get rid of it.
He felt bad - he’d done nothing but mope all day and hadn’t even had a chance to apologise to his hyungs for letting them down.
Christ. He’d let them down.
He’d promised himself, right from the beginning, that he would never let his hyungs down. That he would always be doing his best, pushing forward, no matter what problems he encountered. That he would be the best God damned maknae anybody could ever ask for.
Yet here he was, bundled in a million layers, totally unresponsive to the world that bustled around him, having disappointed - for definite - at least one of his hyungs and making a number of them at least probably slightly irritated at his lack of focus.
Christ knew what Namjoon thought of him. Big, strong leader-sshi, watching his maknae fall apart at the seams. He probably thought he was pathetic, not even worth the time to find and talk to after he’d left the practise studio.
Just the thought of it crushed Jungkook until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
His hands shake as he wraps his arms around his legs, resting his forehead on his knees as he tries so desperately to ignore the burning in his eyes. He will not cry. He refuses. It’s not happening.
And yet it is - the weight in his chest manifests as a flood of tears. They track down his face and soak into the knees of his jeans like the rain outside soaks the world, heavy and incessant. They tear from his poor soul and rip through his throat as he sobs quietly, forgotten in an unused office somewhere towards the top of the building. The only sound is Jungkook’s hitched, pained breathing. He’s awful. This shouldn’t be happening. He needs to get over himself and apologise to his hyungs. Maybe go back and practise a bit more in his spare time to make up for what he wrecked earlier.
Somewhere outside there’s a rumble of thunder and the tell-tale lightning. Fitting, given that he’s losing his temper, now.
It feels sometimes that all he ever does is wreck things - gets in the way, steps wrong, doesn’t hit a note right, stutters or says the wrong things in interviews or on variety shows. He wonders briefly how anybody puts up with him, deals with his failures on a daily basis.
Honestly, his hyungs deserve medals for it.
Jungkook is old enough to know that screaming his woes out won’t help anything but just young enough to feel that throwing a temper tantrum at himself is totally 10/10 justified. He settles for sobbing louder into his knees, fingernails digging into his palms as he hugs himself tighter.
He doesn’t register the sound of the door opening over his crying. He doesn’t register the chair that’s pulled up in front of him, the body that sits in it. At least, not until there’s a hand on his arm and another stroking over the back of his head, placating and scaring him at the same time.
Jungkook looks up with splotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, struggling to see through the moisture that clings to his eyelashes. There’s another thunderclap outside that makes him jump and Hoseok is right there to soothe him.
“I’m sorry, Kookie,” He begins, usual smile replaced with something more sober, more serious. His hands are as soft as his voice and his eyes. Jungkook wants to lean in, wants to be warm next to his hyung, wants to - this he will admit - be babied for a while as the pain forces itself out of his soul. He tips forward a little bit, feeling very, very small.
“I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry. I’m a pretty crappy hyung, huh? We should have taken a break for ten minutes, gotten coffee or something, maybe, but I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” Hobi snorts slightly, rubbing circles into the nape of Jungkook’s neck. “Namjoon yelled at me for it after, there was shouting, it wasn’t great. Don’t piss that guy off, he’s probably got connections to the mafia or something that would kill you in your sleep. Sounds like something out of a drama.”
There’s a tiny spark of warmth that shifts some of the lead in his chest and it sort of stops the tears. He’s still shaking, he can still only just make Hoseok out through blurry eyes and God knows he still feels like one of the rainclouds, but he’s more grounded. Maybe.
“N- No,” He stutters, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be letting my mood affect work and stuff. I’m going to stay back an- and do some more practise, I at least owe you guys that-”
“Hey. Who said you owed us anything? We all have bad days, dongsaeng, today is just one of yours.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I fucked up-”
“Yah, with language like that, I’ve half a mind to wash your mouth out with soap. I suppose that hot chocolate will have to suffice, though.”
From somewhere behind him - when the hell...? - Hoseok takes two cups of the crappy instant hot chocolate from one of the vending machines down the hall, offering one to Jungkook’s shivery form. The younger takes the cup and nods quietly in gratitude. It’s warm in his hands - still shaky - and is sweet on his tongue. It washes away the taste of his own disappointment in himself as well as any other dark words he had, leaving him feeling lighter, brighter. It’s easier to breathe.
Holding his cup steady, Hobi manoeuvers his chair into the space next to Jungkook’s, looking out of the window. “Ah, I hope this rain stops soon. I think it’s putting a downer on everybody, to be honest. At least we aren’t out in it, right?”
Jungkook nods, taking another sip of his drink. Slowly, though not all that subtly, he leans across and sets his head on Hobi’s shoulder. He’s warm and solid, familliar and welcoming as his arm comes up to wrap around Kook’s shoulders.
“I really am sorry. I had a pretty bad night’s sleep last night, I’ve been kind of grumpy and tired since I got up. We have nothing else to do today, though, so I can get an early night tonight.” Hoseok grins. “Before then, though, we should totally stop somewhere and get snacks and stuff because I’m feeling a movie marathon coming on.”
Jungkook can’t help but laugh, wiping at the last traces of his tearful moment. “Of course you are, hyung. Can we get bibimbap from somewhere? I didn’t get breakfast and I’m kind of really hungry.”
“Well we can’t have our maknae starving, can we? Remember what I said about Namjoon? If I let you starve he’d not only call the mafia in on me but he’d probably at least knock me out himself before I got dragged off somewhere, bruised and battered. My pretty face doesn’t deserve that, nor does yours. Let’s go and get lunch, Kookie.”
With some kerfuffle where Hobi’s chair gets stuck under Jungkook’s and they somehow half-break one of the arms off, both members stand up and shuffle out of the office, giggling quietly as they dump their empty cups into a bin. It’s a silly thing - Jungkook hadn’t noticed the Sharpied-on smiley face on the other side of his cup and it makes him laugh. It shifts more of the lead from his heart, clears his head a bit more.
As they step from the building, not even the rain is a burden. Instead, they both take great pleasure in jumping into puddles, soaking themselves and each other through, heading up the street and towards where the clouds look just a little lighter, letting the sunshine through.
To: Namjoonie;
From: HobiHope<3;
Taking JK for lunch. Dont worry, i wont poison him or anything :*
To: HobiHope<3;
From: Namjoonie;
You better not. He doing any better?
To: Namjoonie;
From: HobiHope<3;
Better, kind of soaked. Puddles are good for the soul, Joonie!
To: HobiHope<3;
From: Namjoonie;
Aish. If either of you gets ill, it’s your ass on the line.
To: Namjoonie;
From: HobiHope<3;
Is that a threat or a promise? ;))))
To: HobiHope<3;
From: Namjoonie;
Enjoy your food, brat :P Make sure Kookie eats well, we’ll see you when you get back. Stay safe.