#who up with their brain forcibly replaying parts of their childhood

[king-ludwig-ii]

12 hours until I get my drains out but I am so uncomfortable and wired with anxiety (about unrelated things) so I am awake

[baby-grayson]

Sweet Engima

Words: 5.3k Tags: @wheezeatmedolans​ @styles-dolan​ @prettyboydolan​ @evergreendolan​ @baby-turtles​ @dolanstacoma​ @kombuchagray​ @not-gbd​ @graysavant​ @someonetogray​ @dolansficsandpics​ @batgirl009 @voguekristens @letsgoget-high​ @crossedbone-kat​ @graysonsdollface 

tw: hospitals, injuries, anxiety, police, mental health, bullying, alike topics

“It’s been paid for,” the airport garage attendant said, “By a Mr. Dolan.” Kate stood in front of a plump man, wearing the frizzy hair and red eyes that come with a cross country flight. “Oh,” she stuttered, “So I can just go—go to my car?” When the man nodded, Kate picked up her backpacks from the floor of the airport garage and walked aimlessly, trying to find a clue in her memory as to where she and Grayson had left her car.

Being back in California felt surreal. When she made it to her car, throwing her bags in the trunk and sitting in the driver’s seat. She took, what felt like, her first breath in weeks. She looked to the passenger’s side, seeing the image of the 200-lb heartthrob that once sat next to her. She felt older: aged by the stress, inconsistency, and weight of what she would claim was the past few weeks, but deep down she knew it was the gravity of the past year.

Arriving at the apartment, she felt half asleep as she slugged herself up the steps and to her front door. She stopped, staring at her front door. It was ajar and not locked. She asked herself if she forgot to lock it but then remembered that it was actually Wesley who was last here. She rolled her eyes and made a mental note to give him his stuff back when she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob and pushed it open.

She stood in the door frame, wide eyed and dry mouthed.

It was a wreck.

Her entire place was a wreck.

Her Ikea couches had been shredded, bits of cushion and fluff spilling out onto her rug that also wore broken shards of her coffee table. Her wall of pictures was covered in shreds, while confetti ,made from the faces of her loved ones, decorated the floor. Her kitchen cabinets were open, spilling over with things. Her house plants had been broken and dirt stained the floor of her apartment.   She froze, not knowing how to move. She slumped one backpack down, hearing it hit the floor. She licked her top lip, trying to wet her heavy mouth. Her bottom jaw clattered as she took a step forward, her eyes still struggling to fully draw in the details of the moment.

She stepped over the threshold and noticed them. A thousand little notes written on posts its, receipts, the edges of notebook paper, newspapers, and napkins. She saw the first one and drew back. She swung her head around and read a second, hissing in a breath. Her breath turned shaky as her eyes darted between them: not feeling safe in her own home.

Slut.

Whore.

Homewrecker.

Fat Hoe.

Big nosed side hoe.

Clout Chaser.

He was Sherry’s.

He was going to be married.

Snake.

Cripple.

She took a step, nearly falling over on a large piece of a broken shoe stand. In a swift motion, she lunged herself over the threshold and slammed the door behind her. She fell against the wall next to her door. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and debated who to call first: Grayson or the police.

Grayson got there a few minutes after the first officer. When he parked his Tesla, Kate was slumped against the front door to her building looking up at the officer with a note pad, her back packs were thrown against the asphalt. Her eyes were puffy and red as she wiped a hand across her face and up through her hair. Grayson remained seated in the car, feeling helpless until another cop car pulled up. He waited until the officer by Kate walked away to greet the other car before climbing out of the Tesla and heading over to her.

She held her hands on her elbows while she leaned against the door, shaking slightly. She looked up at him through heavy lashes. Her words got stuck when they caught in her throat. She was ripped at every edge, scared small and quivering, but she was a masterpiece, her golden flecks shining in a thin layer of wet with her lips red from biting them and her petite frame accentuated in her slump.

Grayson lost all words. He wrapped both arms around her in a warm, snug embrace. He brought her head into his shoulder and gently placed a loving hand on the back of her hair. He felt a few tears soak into the sleeve of his shirt. He kissed the top of her head and mumbled, “bunny…”

When Kate looked up from her place on his shoulder, Grayson’s face was turned down. He had no words to give her, no advice to share, and no action to take. Instead, he settled on pulling her tighter and not leaving her side for the next two hours: while police officers came and went, taking shards of pots, broken plates, and notes away in sealable bags.  

While she retold her story again and again and stuttered through the list of people who might do such a thing, all of which fueled by the latest development of Grayson in her life, Grayson never left her side. He held her close in their private moments, as if cuddling her head into his chest would protect her beautiful mind from the toxic chaos of the moment; when he couldn’t manage that, he reached down and took her delicate hand in his large one, squeezing it occasionally. Was it so she could feel his presence, or he could feel hers? He felt like crying, his eyes ached with soreness from holding back tears of anger. He shook, physically tremoring with the knowledge that he might have influenced someone to do such a wretched thing to his angel: one of the only good things about his life.

Grayson’s psyche was scarred with the paranoia of his stalker episode a few years prior: not even the skillful approach of an expert therapist could not permanently remove the edge he felt when it came to the public. Sometimes at night, he would lay awake and replay that night: being in the backyard with Ethan and Cameron. Ethan’s face dropping at the sight of a body in their kitchen, a body that wasn’t Ryan or Kristina or Kyle; Cameron’s assertive resolve as she marched out of the pool and nearly broke the sliding door when she stomped into the kitchen; the echo of her voice as she demanded people; the image of Ethan calling the police next to him.

Some memories aren’t memories: their primordial haunts that only exist to remind us that we are human.

But Kate was more than a human to him. To Grayson, Kate was angelic, representing something happy and right in his ever so mixed up world. He dreamed of the day he could take her away from this place: not just that scene, but all the worst parts of his life, and make a life with her. Grayson had longed believed there was someone, or something, watching out for him, he was far too stupid to have made it this far on luck, and he was convinced, feeling it deep in his bones, that celestial being handpicked Kate to remind Grayson of the best things in life.

When Kate looked up at him from her place in his chest, while the last of the squad cars rolled away, her voice choked on her words “What am I supposed to do?”

Grayson’s bones shook. His brain felt so saturated with dark clouds, it pressed against his skull and panged in his head. His heart wanted to rip through his chest, searching for air in a breathless fog. He gritted his jaw, on the verge of his own breakdown he tightened his arms around her, causing her lips to curl from where he pressed her against his chest.

Thank God his Tesla could drive itself: Grayson could barely keep his foot on the gas pedal as his body shook. Despite his best efforts, tears started to roll down his face. Kate pulled her sweatshirt around her body, comforted by the warm feeling of being engulfed in something.

Kate silently made a quick run to the shower when the Tesla parked at Grayson’s house. She made quick work of tearing off her clothes, turning on the jets, and sitting on his bench as the water rolled off her skin: praying that the water could wash her inside of the memories of that afternoon.

Grayson’s face was red and puffy. His knuckles were white as he grabbed a bottle of water from the counter. He held it above his head and chugged, droplets spilling off the corners of his mouth. He crushed it in his fist and forcibly threw it into the trashcan. A concerned Ethan tentatively stepped out of his room and lingered in the kitchen doorway. Grayson hadn’t told him he left; Ethan only noticed Gray’s Tesla gone from the driveway. If it wasn’t for the thud of the water bottle in the trashcan, Ethan wouldn’t have known Grayson was home.

“What’s going on?” Ethan’s voice was shaky as his looked down at his brother’s feet and then back up. Grayson reminded Ethan of the last time he saw his favorite childhood teddy bear. The teddy bear was covered in stains of dirt, food, and bodily fluids from traveling everywhere with Ethan. Besides Gray, that teddy was a young Ethan’s best friend. The last time Ethan saw teddy was when their father carried its remains into a shoebox after accidentally running over it in the driveway, where Ethan had left it one afternoon when it started raining. The teddy that was once shiny, cuddly, and soft was crushed to the point of bare threads, overflowing stuffing, and rocks embedded in its surface: that was what Grayson looked like to Ethan in that moment.

Grayson nearly tore the refrigerator door off of its hinges, searching for something to pile into his mouth, “Someone got into her place,” he went to open a drawer but instead took it off of its tracks. He grunted, nearly growling at the plastic bin and trying to shove it back into its place in the fridge, “They broke—they ransacked the fucking place Ethan—not even her house—notes” He slammed the door shut and put his hands on his hips, his bottom lip curled into his mouth as he stared at the refrigerator drawer that was passively sitting on the kitchen counter. His eyes stalked up to meet Ethan’s, “You want to know what they were fucking saying about her?”

Ethan didn’t need to ask who the “her” was in the situation. He put a familiar hand on Grayson’s back, feeling his relax every so slightly at his touch. Ethan sucked in a breath and played with his mouth. Grayson sighed, putting his hands on the counter and bending forward for support. “We’re gonna get through this man,” Ethan mumbled, “like we always do.”

“I don’t know how man,” Grayson raised his thumbs from where they held the edge of the counter, “You weren’t there—you didn’t see—”

“Gray,” Ethan’s tone was paternal, “there is no other choice, this is gonna work out. But it’s not gonna work itself out by you standing here and assaulting our kitchen.”

Grayson stood up, pushing Ethan back as he let go of the counter, “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Go to her,” Ethan raised his voice slightly, he gestured an arm outward in the direction of Grayson’s bedroom, “Be there for her.”

Grayson stalked into his bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed. He heard the drum of the shower hitting the tile in his bathroom, deciding now was not the time to replay their rendezvous from a few weeks ago. He fell back, his comforter fluffing up around his head. His spine decompressed but his soul remained tense.

He picked his head up when the door to his bathroom opened to reveal Kate’s figure surrounded in a ginormous fluffy towel, as some steam filtered in behind her. Grayson sat up as she moved to sit on his lap, adjusting her towel around her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he brought her closer to him. She thumbed his shoulder, her hair dripping water in his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was low and heavy with regret.

She didn’t meet his eyes. “You didn’t do anything Grayson.” “Yes, I did,” he sighed, “I did so much.” He winced, as if he was in pain, “I should have never—I should have never done it like this.” He bit his lip, “If I was unhappy—I should’ve—I should’ve—dealt with my relationship first and found you second. I fucked it up. I fucked it all up and now I—” “Shh,” she was calm, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Yeah,” she talked with her lips millimeters away from his skin, “You could have done a lot better. But there’s no changing the past, only doing better tomorrow.”

She pulled back, meeting his eyes now, “And Grayson—don’t apologize for—that, back there. That wasn’t you, you didn’t—you didn’t do that.” Her fingers interlocked with his, she squeezed his hand, “Once upon a time, you gave me this big apology about how you didn’t handle bringing me into your life correctly. Well-“ she sighed, “I wasn’t perfect back then either.” She flicked her teeth against her bottom lip, “I had a problem—separating you from, from your fans. But I get it now, at least I think I get it better, what I’m trying to say is,” she took a breath, “You didn’t do that to my apartment, you didn’t cause that. If someone was—if someone was that unstable and that irrational—they would have done that, whether to me, or to someone else. Am I explaining myself right here? I just—You didn’t do that to me, but you can—you can help me heal from it.” For nearly the hundredth time that afternoon, she pressed her head to his shoulder, her hair soaked a circle into his shirt.

Grayson took in a deep breath, trying to let Kate’s words absolve his guilt but feeling worse when no internal resolution came. “I just—” he wanted to say he loved her, he wanted desperately to say he loved her but everything about the moment betrayed him, “I—I want you back in my life, you are back in my life, and I want to do everything I can to keep you safe, to see you happy.” Kate lifted her head from his shoulder to meet his eyes. He found serenity in her features, in seeing those big brown eyes look up at him. Grayson thumbed her skin, feeling it soft and supple under his torn-up thumb. Her words penetrated his heart, “You do make me happy.”

Grayson’s features melted into a sad image of relief, “I do? Do I really?” His lion heart gave way to a series of insecurities and inner turmoil.

Kate nodded softly, she squeezed his hand and brought it up, between their chests, “You do make me happy. And I want to—I want you to keep making me happy. I want this,” she squeezed his hand again, “To be normal. I want us to—to---to---to go on dates and to watch movies and to—to be normal. Because I think that you and I can be something, something real. But you can’t expect this to be perfect until its balanced.” “Balanced,” Grayson repeated the word: one of the only things’ money couldn’t buy him. He sighed. “Yeah, balance,” Kate kissed his cheek, “It’ll come with time, once our lives get settled,” she squeezed his hand, “once we get settled together.”

“Are you saying that you’re giving me a chance? Because I swear, if you are,” Grayson’s eyes turned down at the corners, “I won’t screw it up, I promise. You’re too good for me as it is, and if normal is what you want, normal is what you get. I’ll give you the best normal that anyone ever knew. I want you to be happy, I want to give you everything I absolutely can because after everything I’ve brought into your life, I feel like I’ll never stop saying I’m sorry.” He bit his tongue from exposing his feelings once again.

Kate shook her head, “Don’t ever say you’re sorry. At least, not to me for what you did.” She sighed and eyed the way he slouched and the wrinkled forming in the corners of his eyes, “If you didn’t do what you did,” she shrugged, “Maybe we never would have met again. So maybe we’re the silver lining in…everything.”

***

The night and next day floated by with Kate on the phone with the LA County Sheriff’s Department, her grandmother, and her boss and the twins running around in preparation for their bathbomb launch, despite the chatter on twitter than the launch was perfectly timed amid Grayson’s scandal. Grayson stopped at Monty’s to pick up burgers and shakes for Kate, driving home in the middle of the day for lunch. If it was anyone else, he would have been grossed out, but he thought the way she dipped her fries into her vanilla shake was adorable.

“How’s work going?” she licked the shake off the side of a fry before using a finger to push it in her mouth.

Grayson shrugged while chewing a bite of his vegan burger, “It’s hectic. Everything is ready for the sale, but last-minute details about the boat.” “The boat?” Kate sucked on her shake through a straw, her lips puckering around the edge of the tube. Grayson shifted his gaze away from her mouth and wiggled in his seat, “The launch party, remember I told you about how Kevin wanted to do a little celebration with us and the team? Some good promo but also a team dinner?” Kate shook her head, “You never told me about that.” She knitted her brow, “How long have you been working on that?” “Like six months, you sure I never told you?”

Kate shrugged, “Maybe we were too busy nearly committing bigamy.”

Grayson chortled so loud he spit out a piece of his vegan burger, he coughed and brought a napkin to his mouth. He wagged a finger in her direction, “That was—that was funny.” Kate responded with a proud smile.

Grayson used a napkin to wipe food from his chest, “Well I put you on the guest list, kinda assumed you’d be my plus one,” he took a sip, “You know, my little arm candy.” His wink elicited a giggle from Kate.

“Me? A party?” She placed the sandwich down on the counter. “I’m a socially awkward little nerd.”

“You’re my socially awkward little nerd.” Grayson leaned over to place a kiss on her cheek, smiling onto her skin.

Kate shook her head, “What am I supposed to wear?” Her tone was slightly incredulous: parties, truly, were never her scene. Something about large groups of people intimidated her, there was something so anonymous and nothing intimate about large gatherings. Grayson swallowed a bite of sandwich, “Something pretty, whatever you have is fine I’m sure.” He washed it down with more shake, “You’re always beautiful anyway,” he leaned across to kiss her cheek again. “Hey,” her tone held warning, “You’re not allowed to do that all the time,” she held out a finger and Grayson gave her a cheeky grin. “Besides,” she continued, “I don’t have anything to wear. Grayson, I’ve been living off the same three pairs of pants and two sweatshirts since we left for Jersey.”

“I can have something delivered, “Grayson wiped his face with a napkin, “I’ll order something.”

Parties made Kate uncomfortable. She was further reminded by this fact when made it to the boat in the LA harbor. Grayson’s assistant had driven her because the twins were bouncing across sides of the boat, trying to get everything ready to set sail. She smoothed out the edges of her black dress, that clung a little tighter than she would like—probably chosen purposely on Grayson’s part—and tentatively walked into the main room.

Everyone was in heels, even some of the men. Big heels. Chunky heels. Tall heels. Wide heels. Kate sighed and brought her toes together in her ballet flats. Her condition made walking in flats hard. To her, heels were an obtainable elegance. A signal that she was not physically built for the world she was about to enter with Grayson.

She found a chair at the side of the room and sat quietly, eyeing different faces she didn’t recognize. Something paranoid buzzed inside of her, when she began to wonder if the polite chatter people were whispering around her was about her and Grayson. She swallowed hard and sat back in her seat.

The boat lurched as it left the harbor, bobbing everyone with it. A catering team put out finger foods as the night was ready to begin. Kate stayed in her seat, searching faces in the archways for signs of Grayson.

On the other end of the boat, Ethan was turning a corner as they set sail. He rocked, “woah,” and held out a hand to steady himself. “I’m so sorry,” he looked up at the person his hand landed on, “Sherry?” Ethan’s mouth hung open. In front of him was none other than Sherry Maddox: dressed in a form fitting teal number with shiny, dangling earrings, and strappy blue shoes. Her blonde hair wore a perfect, effortless blow out. He searched her up and down, as if she was going to phase into the ocean mist around him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited,” her words were sure. She blinked her eyes quickly, her fake lashes dancing like feathers. Ethan looked around, wondering if he was so stressed that he was seeing things. In the frenzy of the past few weeks, no one thought to disinvite Sherry from the night. Ethan stammered for words, “Oh”

Sherry gave him a sickeningly sweet smile, “Good to see you again Ethan.”  As if on cue, Sherry stepped away from their exchange at the exact moment Ethan’s assistant called out to him to come to the main room. Ethan shuffled away, dizzied from what just happened.

He landed in a seat next to his brother, who sat next to Kate at their table. Kate went pale and dry to see Sherry slink against the back wall of the room. Until that moment, Sherry was nothing but a face in the tabloids to Kate. Seeing her in person, sent knots into her stomach and soul. Kate’s bottom jaw stammered as a chill went through her spine. “What’s wrong?” Grayson knitted his brow together when he saw the color leave her face. When Kate didn’t answer, he followed her gaze to the other side of the room and immediately shot out with, “What’s she doing there?” From next to him, Ethan piped up, “We never took her off the list.” His voice was grim, “Don’t worry about it Gray, she probably just wants to be photographed her peacock costume,” Kate chuckled at his last remark.

At exactly 9PM, Ethan stood up, taking to the front of the room to grab a microphone, “Hello? Is this on? Hello! I just wanted to thank everyone for coming, and for everything you do for our team. I couldn’t ask for better—” he continued his speech thanking his team. From across the room, his assistant snapped pictures of him at the microphone.

While Ethan talked, Grayson shifted in his seat, trying to find some level of comfort with Sherry in the room. He looked at Kate, “You look beautiful.” He placed his hand in her lap to hold her delicate fingers. She smiled up at him, “Thanks.” He leaned over to kiss the top of her head, “There is no one else I’d rather have next to me.” She smiled brightly under his lips. She moved to say something but was interrupted by Grayson standing up to switch places with Ethan at the microphone.  As Ethan sat down, Kate leaned, “you think I can go,” she pointed to the back of the room, “back there to take some pictures of him.” Ethan gave her a sure nod.

Grayson started his remarks while Kate quickly floated to the back of the room to start snapping proud pictures of him. His voice filled the room, “And I think the choices we made to include in this launch are special, they mean something to all of us,” he listed their scents, “Compassion, Creativity, Energy, Family, and Love. Funny thing about Love, I designed it after someone who means so much to me, I wanted it to always remind me of the person who taught me what love is. Because before her, I met a lot of girls and I thought I was ready to be serious about them: but she taught me what it’s like to know someone belongs in your life and put the energy into making them the center of your life. Kathleen Walker, I don’t know what I would do with you.”

Tears welled up in Kate’s eyes, who had given up on taking blurry pictures and resolved on taking a video. As unperfect as Grayson and her were, there was something between them that only the lucky ones get to feel.

Grayson continued his speech, moving to thank every member of their team individually.

From Ethan’s seat, he looked for Kate in the crowd but couldn’t find her. An instinct ringing inside of him, he quietly stood up from his seat and sauntered to the back of the room.

At the edge of the boat, a loud foghorn sounded as the bow cut through ocean waves like butter. Kate struggled, screaming and questioning and crying out. But Sherry Maddox was white with anger. As if being publicly embarrassed by the love of her life wasn’t enough, she was forced to sit and listen to her ex-fiancé flaunt the fact that his “love” product was formulated in the image of another woman.

Kate didn’t feel Sherry push her.

She didn’t feel her feet leave the ground.

She screamed into the night until her scream was muffled by the splash of her body hitting the water.

Her black dress floated around her, blending her in the nighttime water. She was never a very strong swimmer: but what she could do was reduced to nearly nothing after the accident. Despite her best pushes, she could barely keep her head above water.

She was started to lose consciousness as she bobbed, a victim of the rough waves.

Ethan didn’t understand what he saw. He didn’t have time to process what he saw. He threw off his jacket and shoes and swan dived down into the water. With his pants and shirt soaked, he pulled Kate’s limp body toward him and, with the help of a deckhand, pulled himself back onto the boat.

As soon as the pair were back on a solid surface, the deckhand and Ethan’s assistant were surrounding them with towels and blankets. Their lips turned purple as they shivered, two wet trembling bodies in the night. On the other side of the deck, a radio rang out that the boat was returning to harbor for an emergency.

It was Grayson who insisted Kate be brought to the emergency room. He angrily rambled about her swallowing water or getting hypothermia. If it wasn’t for her exhaustion, she could have calmed him, but instead she laid as a limp body on a triage table with Grayson sitting in the corner of the room.

Kate was still wearing her soaking wet dress; her flats had been lost to the Pacific Ocean. Her hair had been messily pinned up by a borrowed clip from Grayson’s assistant. On the boat, Grayson gave her his suit jacket to help with the shivering. She gave blood, peed in a cup, and took a concussion test upon arriving at the hospital.

“Hi Miss Walker,” a peppy nurse stepped through the door, “I’m Tammy. I’m a nurse here.” She shot Kate a warm smile, “I’m just going to ask you a few questions and then check you out and hopefully we can send you right home.”

Kate nodded weakly in response, having met no less than four other Tammy’s that night.

Tammy perched on a stool with wheels and opened a folder. “Any chance you could be pregnant?”

“No.”

“Any family history of cancer?”

“Yes- my mother.”

“Any issues breathing-shortness of breath?”

“No.”

“Have you been out of the country recently?”

“No.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’m just going to take your blood pressure and then check your throat, just in case you swallowed any water, and you two should be good to go.”

Tammy was almost too happy to Velcro a blood pressure cuff around Kate’s arm and pump the balloon. Kate leaned against the wall and stared at Grayson, who had bags forming under his eyes. Neither of them said it, but they both longed for the warm, comfortable, familiar cuddle of Grayson’s bed.

“Say ahh,” Kate opened her mouth for Tammy to put her tongue compression in and shine a light in the back of her throat, “Good news, doesn’t seem to be any salt damage.” Tammy removed the compressor and went to write in her chart, “But I would still recommend some tea with honey, just in case you get uncomfortable.” Tammy closed the manilla folder, “Alright folks, I’ll check with the doctor on your other tests Ms. Walker but I think you should be good to go.” “We can leave?” Grayson didn’t mean to sound brusque or rude, but he was too tired, angry, and anxious to try and be polite.

“Let me check with Dr. Ocasio and I’ll be right back to let you know,” Tammy shot Grayson a customer-service smile before shutting the door behind them.

The fluorescent lights flickered as an LA siren sounded in the distance. Grayson’s heart broke to look at her like that: wet, sad, and hurt. Everything in him wanted to do something but found no action. He wondered if the best thing for Kate, was for him to leave her life—to leave her in peace. He shook that thought away, telling himself he was just tired, before closing his eyes and thinking about holding her in his bed later that night.

Before the thought could sweetly settle in his mind, Tammy popped her head in the door, “Oh-uh—Mr.Dolan, could you come with me for a moment? There is some—uh—paperwork, that you need to sign as her attendant.”

Grayson reluctantly stood up and followed Tammy, the first time he was leaving Kate’s side since running across the boat to be with her a few hours earlier.

Nearly seconds after Grayson departed, a wrinkly Hispanic man with salt and pepper hair gently opened the door to Kate’s triage room, “Miss Walker,” his voice was warm, comforting to her, “I’m Dr. Ocasio, pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand.

“Am I okay to go home doctor?” Under normal circumstances, Kate knew to not rush doctors, but the urgency of the night and the call of Grayson’s bed overwhelmed her. The doctor sat on the same stood Tammy took early. He nodded, “You are fine. You didn’t sustain any injuries from your little fall tonight.”

Kate stood up, “Thank you.” She stepped back when the doctor continued to talk. “However,” his elderly voice quivered, “I am afraid that your answers to some of our questions didn’t align with our test results for you.” Kate furrowed her brow, too exhausted and overwhelmed to try to put together any puzzle pieces.

“Miss Walker,” the doctor’s tone was light, as if addressing a child, “I feel obliged to tell you that—you’re pregnant.”

[jimlingss]

His Name [7]

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 Words: 9.5k Genre: Angst, Multiple Personality!Au Summary: Jeon Jungkook is a puzzle with too many missing pieces from his past and too many sides. Somehow, it’s become your job to solve him. → Inspired by the Korean Drama - Kill Me Heal Me Warnings: Topics of mental health. Mentions of death, suicide and medical disorders. Mentions of physical and emotional abuse. Disclaimer: Although this piece of work required lots of in-depth research and was attempted to be as accurate as possible, at the end of the day, I am not a psychologist and this is fanfiction. Specific things may be altered or exaggerated for story-telling purposes. Please take all medical terminologies and procedures with a grain of salt.

Cr.

“No!”

He’s laid in bed, sweat built at his forehead. (A boy with ebony hair, cold eyes grown warm.) He thrashes under the covers. (A comforting voice - “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”) He murmurs desperate pleas under his breath, a twisted knot between his brows. (BANG!)

Jungkook inhales sharply, his entire body jostling upwards. You react, switching on the lamp and sitting up. “Jungkook?” He’s gasping for breath, grabbing fistfuls of the covers, searching the premise with scared eyes. “Jungkook. I’m here.”

He finally looks at you and it takes a moment for him to ease. “I-I….I’m sorr-”

“Don’t apologize.” You put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to.”

He nods, a deep exhale later, he calms down. “Y/N. There’s something...I’ve forgotten.” Your breath hitches and you shut your eyes to prepare for his next words. “And now-”

“-I think I can remember.”

//

Jungkook had passed out earlier from exhaustion and you didn’t feel safe to leave him alone - at least that was part of the reason you were in his bedroom. The other part was because you too wanted some sort of company. The whispering word of ‘boundaries’ replayed in your head over and over again, like a mantra, making you restless. It was wrong on so many levels - you were getting too closely intimate with him. But you were unable to dwell on your wrongdoings, not when Jungkook was having another nightmare, screaming in his sleep.

And now he’s wide awake, leaning against the headboard while you sit across from him on the mattress. The warm glow of the lamp is the only luminescence in the room, casting your shadows onto the floorboards. The night is still young, dark with lurking monsters; both the past and the current conflicts haunting, peering over your shoulder with a deprecating smile.

“Tell me what you remember.”

“The boy.” He simply utters, “The boy I was telling you about. I can...I can see him. His eyes.”

You’re not sure that this is a good idea. “Who is he?” Namjoon had told you once - Jungkook forgot for a reason. His mind forcibly removed the memory. What good would come if he remembered again?

“I don’t know.” Jungkook’s head falls within his hands, temples throbbing underneath his fingertips. He composes himself down with a deep breath before closing his eyes. “An alleyway. A van. Someone I can’t see ties me up. I’m blindfolded. There’s a….bang.”

It hurts. It feels like you’re watching him break right in front of you. You can stop this. If you reach out, you can stop him from remembering. You could.

But you won’t.

You’ve already promised to help him until the end. And memories are what he wants.

The lost are forcibly revived, pried from the murky depths. A million things scream at him to stop; they were meant to die, they were meant to be forgotten. He ignores the searing pain in his head, sinking his nails into the images to drag them to the surface once more.

“Jungkook!”                     “What are you doing?!”     “STOP!”                              “You’re going to hurt yourself!”                “Please!”         “We’re only trying to help you.”

Six voices call out to him, shouting in agony over each other in haste, in absolute desperation as they trip over their own words. He lifts his hands, bringing it up to his ears to block the noise.

                                                           Stop.

He commands them silent. They fade away - into nothing more than white noise in the back of his mind. Jungkook hones in, reaching far and he can feel it. His body is embraced by the warmth, by the cold, by what was buried but never erased, simply lost. It’s a battle that he must fight alone. But as he feels your hand wrap around his own, he gains enough strength to tug the memories f r e e.

And they float out of his hands, reaching to the surface of the water. The memories erupt, ripples that flare. A tsunami wave crashes down. His eyes shoot open. His brain throbs. He screams out in torment. His hand tightens on yours.

      Darkness.                A light that shines in his eyes. It burns to the back of his lids.                                                     He can’t scream. The boy. The boy…

BANG!

It bursts underneath his eyelids. Forms and figures, photographs and scenes flash by in muted shades. It’s blurred like footage on a projector, split seconds that tell entire stories. They all melt together, shifting before he can understand what’s happening. But gradually, the distorted film begins to focus. It slows down at a timed pace, becoming less and less hazy.

                                                                    “Jungkook!”

He turns around, standing barefoot on the lush grass. He’s in the body of his five-year-old self. The cool breeze tickles his skin, the balloons tied to the fence rustle against each other. The blue one that was thrown into the sky floats to the ground. His mother is standing with his birthday cake, setting it onto the table. The sunlight pierces against the glass windows of his childhood home, shining into his eyes.

He can’t see but an older boy calls again, running to him. He wears a gummy smile, cheeks inflated-              “Jungkook! What are you doing?”

It all shifts, the scene bleeding like watercolour paint meeting a wet canvas. Jungkook finds himself at a dinner table, the sky now pitch black, the dim lights in the room. His father is laughing with his mother, the two of them appearing in full bliss and pink blushes.

The boy sitting next to an empty chair turns around to face him. “Jungkook! What are you doing? Come sit down! The food’s getting cold.”

The room is too dark, his face casted over by shadows. Jungkook cannot see his eyes. “Here. Have some.”

The strange boy with ebony locks smiles and the scene bleeds once more.

  smaller but rougher hands                                                     obsidian hair that matched the keys                a frown of concentration                                                                            “What do you think?”         Jet locks sweeping his forehead                                                              Cold eyes grown warm                          Lips upturned into a gentle smile                                                                        “I’ve improved, haven’t I?”

He is seated on the floor, legs crossed together and hands in his lap as he stares up at the backside of the boy. The sunrays puncture through the windows, blinding his eyes. Jungkook raises his hands away from the light. At the same time, the boy turns around to steal one glance, yet Jungkook still cannot see him.

The boy’s hands glide over the keys, fingers in rhythm to transform the piece into a somber and sorrowful expression. He presses down on the pedal, melting all the notes together in a slight echo. The sadness seeps into his skin, flooding the room; vibrations floating like clouds and shaking the walls. The clock ticks to the melody. The piano has a pulse of its own.

Jungkook begins to cry; droplets marking his face before dripping off his chin and onto the floor. He raises his sleeve to wipe his cheeks and he musters the strength to stand. His helpless, small body climbs onto the wooden bench that the strange boy is sitting on. The boy turns to him with a softened smile and slides over to make more room. But his face is still blurred.

Their shoulders rub together and the younger watches as the older’s hands play over the ivory.

All in the while, Jungkook is screaming at himself. The boy is so entirely important - his heart constricts in his chest - tears are relentlessly continuing to fall. He has to remember. With a dying desperation, Jungkook has to remember. He has to. Please.

Please.

That’s when time slows. Jungkook’s breath hitches and his lids open again - the boy looks at him. The corners of his mouth upturned. His cheeks are rounded. The slope of his nose. The tint of his lips. Each feature, each eyelash, each gleam in his innocent orbs. Eyes.

His eyes.

The colour of the boy’s irises are dark honey.             They match his own.  

Jungkook’s lips move. They move but his vocal chords betray him. His throat tightens, his tongue twists and his lips quiver. Please. He cannot stop the tears that downpours like a day of April rain. Yet, he begs the Heavens to allow him a chance to utter the name that is suddenly blaring in his head. It slaps him across the face, shaking him like a rag doll - asking “Why?! Why did you forget?!”

                                                                                         Y-....OON…..G-

“Yoongi.”

The puzzle pieces snap together.

[20 years ago]

The backpack is dumped out, papers and notebooks falling onto the floor. The pencils and pens roll under the bed but he doesn’t pay any attention, turning to the wardrobe to stuff in a jacket.

“Yoongi?” He calls out in a weak voice. “What are you doing?”

His older brother turns to him, gazing at the way the younger’s mouth is pouted and he’s frowning in worry, clutching onto the doorframe and peeking in slightly. “Come here.”

Yoongi rushes to the closet, opening it up to reveal canned goods pushed in one corner. In haste, he begins to pack them into the bag. “What are you doing?” Jungkook repeats, now more in curiosity than concern.

The older stops, looking outside the door before reaching over and closing it shut. He kneels down in front of his younger brother, the contrast of their height showing the age difference of four years. Yoongi is a mere age of ten and Jungkook at six.

“We’re running away.”

“Running away?” He cocks his head to one side with a frown. “Why?”

“We-..........are you happy here, Jungkook?”

He immediately answers without skipping a beat. “No.”

The two look away in silence, the younger full of hurt and disappointment while the older is full of rage and anger. “Dad doesn’t love us anymore...right?” Yoongi doesn’t answer. “He’s getting married…...what happened to mom?”

“I’ve told you before.” Yoongi lets go of Jungkook’s hands, moving to continue filling his backpack. “She’s watching us in the sky. She’s always here. And I know she would want us to be happy.” His hands halt and he looks at his brother, eyes once cold from the cruelty of life but now grown warm while he gazes at Jungkook.

“Will you come with me?”

Jungkook smiles widely, his eyes crinkling together and two slight dimples mark each side of his rounded cheeks. “Yeah. Of course I will. Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

//

The two boys, sharing the same bed since their mother’s passing, are hidden under the covers. They feign being asleep for the nosy maids who poke their heads through the door, checking for one final time. Their father who used to kiss them and bid them ‘goodnight’ have not passed by their rooms for weeks, have not spoken to them in days, haven’t even seen them.

Once the lights are flickered off and the padding footsteps fade away, the sound of a door closing echoed through the halls - they throw off the covers. “Shh.” Yoongi puts a finger to his mouth, hushing Jungkook who’s faintly giggling at their mischief. “Be quiet, brat.”

“Hey.” He whispers harshly, pouting while crossing his arms. “Don’t call me that.”

Yoongi grins, gums shown with his white teeth. “Sorry.” He lowers himself onto his knees, grasping at the two backpacks and sliding them from under the bed.

The two boys prepare for their adventure. The older helps the younger with his socks and shoes, sliding the holes of his jacket through his arms properly. Within the next ten minutes, they’re dressed in outerwear with backpacks secure around their shoulders.

“Where are we going?” Jungkook asks as he watches his brother climb out the window.

He grunts before plopping down onto the grass, reaching up to close the window again. He glances in one more time, smirking at the ingenious idea to put teddy bears underneath the covers so the two lumps mimic their bodies. “Well...I have some money with me. What do you think about catching a train to grandpa and grandma?”

Jungkook’s eyes light up. “Really?!”

“Shh. Stay quiet.” He ducks down before smiling. “Yes. We’ll stay there for awhile but what do you think about traveling the world? I know mom has saved us some money in the bank. We can get grandpa to go to the bank for us. Dad doesn’t care about us anymore, I’m sure he won’t check but we are his only two sons and he has that stupid company-” Jungkook’s ears aren’t listening anymore, his grin grown so wide that Yoongi quickly slaps his hand over the younger’s mouth to make sure he doesn’t scream in excitement. “Shh!”

“Are we really going to travel the world?” He whispers.

The two of them climb the fence together, already beginning to walk down the street and into the bushes. The big mansion behind them, more of a prison than a home, is left without another glance.

“Yes.” Yoongi nods, holding his brother’s hand. “I promise.”

//

They’re hand-in-hand, treading down the dark alley. The brick walls cower on either side of them, the endless path seemingly growing narrower. He’s too scared to look up but finds comfort in the hand that curls around his, a shield that he knows will always protect him.

“Do you know where we’re going? Are we lost?”

“We aren’t lost.” He sighs out. “I know. After this, we just have to turn the corner to the main street and the train station will be there. Trust me.”

“Well okay.” Jungkook looks up with a grin.

Jeon Corporations. It’s a rising company that came from nowhere, beating its competitors and threatening the industry. It was a result of sweat, tears...and blood - illicit methods and betrayals, all because of boundless greed. More. More. More. It’s never enough to satisfy the hunger, a diet of green bills and stock markets going up and up. But in the world of his sons, they have yet to understand - they have yet to become corrupted.

Their eyes still gleam, carrying an innocence that believes: anything is possible if they try hard enough - if they reach out into the world, the universe will respond - friendships, family and love prevails above all.

The two failed to realize how many enemies their father had in the dirty game of business.

The reality came crashing down before they had a chance to scream.

“Yoongi...what is that?”

He points to the van that drives at them, the bright headlights burning into the back of their lids. Jungkook winces away and Yoongi raises his hand. The latter boy grunts, shuffling the former behind him. “Stay there.”

The wheels screech against the gravel, nearly hitting the both of them. In the next second, the door slides open and four men in black run out. “Who are you?! What do you want?!”

Yoongi protects his younger brother, shielding him away from the strangers. Jungkook shakes, grabbing fistfuls of Yoongi’s jacket.

The men ignore him. “It’s these two?”

“It is.” Another grins, monstrously like the cheshire cat.

Their shadows loom over them, beasts of the night. “Come with us. We’ll take you where you need to go.” One offers his hand to the older boy, crouching down and smiling to the younger who peeks his head out.

“No. Go away.” He spits out sharply. “Go or I’ll scream.”

“Oh?” The stranger raises his brow. “Scream?”

Yoongi doesn’t waste a chance, inhaling a sharp breath to allow his vocal chords to rip out his throat but before he has the chance, the man’s smile falls and he lurches over, shoving his disgusting hand over the boy’s mouth. “Shut up! You dumb brat! Ow! He bit me!”

The other men circle the two children, ripping them apart from each other as each struggle. “Yoongi!” Jungkook shouts out in agony, crying as the man nearly pulls his limb from its socket. Tears flood from his eyes and he kicks as hard as he can, thrashing his arms around to get to his brother. “Yoongi!”

The man groans, face rising with red fury. “Will you give it up, fucker?!”

“Jungkook!” Yoongi outstretches his hand, trying to grab onto him. The tips of his fingers graze against the fabric of his jacket but slips through as he’s pulled away. “Jungkook!” He shouts out in utter frustration at his lack of strength, asking himself why he can’t protect the only thing that he has left.

“Yoongi!”

“Jungkook!”

They’re blindfolded, ankles and wrists tied together with rope that burns into their skin. No matter how much the older struggles, it’s pointless. They’re thrown into the back of the van, listening to the motor of the car fire again as they’re driven away into the oblivion.

Each bump of the road makes Jungkook’s body jump. Tears continue to mark his face and he unwillingly shakes. He whimpers, quietly, repeating his brother’s name and something finally shuffles beside him. Warm, comforting hands gently grab his. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Jungkook nods and he feels his brother’s hands touch the rope, looking for a way to undo it. But then there’s a loud- “HEY! What are you doing?!” - someone’s boot stomping against the trembling floors. The scent of booze and cigarettes waft horrifically into his nose, the breathing of the man right next to him. He grunts, as if picking something heavy up and then...CRASH!

The noise splits through the air, startling him. A soft cry blares nearby and Jungkook immediately recognizes it.

“Yoo-...ngi?” His hands fly up beside him but his small fist grabs onto air. It’s empty. “Yoongi!”

There’s silence that answers. The man plops back down into his seat, leaving the older on the floor. “The two of you better shut the fuck up. No funny business.”  

It could have been five minutes or five hours. When the van finally halts, he’s forcefully dragged up despite his knees automatically buckling. Jungkook is thrown into a corner outside the door of the warehouse, blindfold torn off his eyes. He blinks three times, clouded vision from the tears and he realizes the sky is still the shade of soot. “Yoongi?”

Jungkook’s throat croaks as his brother is thrown alongside him, blindfold also being taken off.

“Jungkook.” He gasps out. “Are you okay?” The boy searches the other’s face but his own cheek is bruised blue.

“What...what did they- they d….o to you?” He cries out, choking over his tears.

The corners of his lips upturn and he shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Shut up!”

One of the strangers turn, holding a phone in his hand with a smirk. “We’re going to call your father and see how much you assholes are worth.” He crouches down to their level, a twinkle of the devil in his eye.

Yoongi laughs, his throat tight and releasing something stiff. He looks the man straight in the eyes with a dead expression; one that a ten-year old boy should not be capable of unless he’s seen the most brutal parts of life. “We’re not worth anything. You’ve made a mistake. Our father doesn’t give a rat’s ass about us. We’re nothing more than trash to him.”

The man scoffs but doesn’t respond, a flash of worry coming across his features before it washes away. He dials the number and holds it to his ear - when it picks up several rings later, he moves it to Yoongi’s. But the boy doesn’t respond. “Say something.” The man mutters behind gritted teeth.

The older boy cocks his head to the side, refusing to open his mouth.

“Hello?” The other side of the line holds his father’s exhausted voice. Yoongi’s never been more bitter about hearing it. “Hello?”

One of the strangers who was pacing, frustrated by the child’s lack of cooperation, grunts before stomping up to him. He grabs him by the collar of the shirt, coiling up his fist and landing a bunch straight to his jaw.

Jungkook cries out and Yoongi is thrown to the ground. The phone is pushed back onto his ear but still he doesn’t utter a single word - a smirk on his lips instead, amused by the baffled men.

“Is there someone there?”

Another man, smarter and more understanding, approaches the boys slowly. Jungkook’s big brown orbs widen as it connects with his. The man smiles in a fake kindness before his shoe lifts, moving onto Jungkook’s hand. He presses it down to the ground, stepping onto the child’s skin, nearly cracking his bones. A strangled shout leaves the boy’s mouth as the pebbles compress into skin, gravel making its mark. The man sinks his weight further down and Yoongi looks on in alarm.

Yoongi struggles as Jungkook looks at him desperately, tears in his eyes. He finally complies, spitting out- “STOP IT! YOU’RE HURTING HIM!”

His father reacts. “Yoongi? Jungkook?! Where are you?! What are you doing?!”

The men smile, moving away as they commence the negotiations; infinite threats and a demand for a large sum of money. More. More. More. Greed will never end.

“Don’t be a baby.” Yoongi slumps against the ground and he manages to smile at his brother. “Stop crying.”

Jungkook whimpers, sniffling in each breath as he bites down on his bottom lip to force himself not to shake. “You’re- You’re bleeding!”

“It’s just a little blood.” He shuts his eyes, feeling his jaw pulse and the warm trickle that runs from his nose to his chin. It splashes down in crimson, bleeding centimeters across the dirt. “Listen to me.” Yoongi forces his antagonizing body to sit up and he scoots closer, pressing his forehead against his brother as he murmurs quietly under his breath. “Stop crying, will you? Jungkook.” Each word is spoken softly with care, with tenderness. “Whatever happens I’ll make sure you’re okay. I promise. We’ll leave and go to grandma and grandpa. We’ll travel the world together. There’s still a lot left to do. Are you listening?” Jungkook barely manages to nod, biting his lower lip as he continues to quiver and cry. “You need to take care of yourself, okay? Don’t just eat candy and chocolate, you’ll get cavities. I know you hate vegetables but you need to eat them. Drink water too. Jungkook, you need to eat lots and live your life well.” Yoongi twists around quickly, glancing at the men who are finishing up. He meets his brother’s orbs when he turns back. He speaks hastily, tripping over his tongue as he whispers. As if time will run out. “I love you. Jungkook, you’re a big baby and a brat sometimes...but I love you. I’ve never stopped. You’ll always be my younger brother. Forever.” If Yoongi could, he would reach out and wipe away Jungkook’s tears. If he could, the both of them would be able to escape the treacherous hold of their father and his atrocious legacy. But no matter where they run, the shadows had to follow. If only… “No matter what you believe, I want you to remember - you’re never alone.” He murmurs. “I’ll always be with you forever. Don’t forget.” Jungkook nods. “I won’t forget.”

Yoongi reminds him one last time - a plea in what his weak voice has left to muster.

“Don’t forget me.”

The man turns around, the phone call long finished and by the contorted animosity that makes his face flush, he knows that the call didn’t go according to plan. Maybe their father really didn’t want them after all. Maybe the sum of money was too small or he told them to just kill the two.

“I thought I told you to shut up!” The man grabs his gun, pointing it to Jungkook’s head. The younger boy continues to cry, now wailing out loud in pain. “SHUT UP! SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH.”

Another holds a flashlight right into the boy’s eyes, making him blind as it burns to the back of his lids. Jungkook cries harder.

“Don’t hurt him!” Yoongi shouts out, shifting to shield his brother. “I told you it wouldn’t work. Our father doesn’t care about us. He would rather we die than for him to spend a single cent.” The man looks on in horror at his words, realizing that the child is completely right. Their efforts have been futile, bringing more damage and leading them to nothing.

“The police will be called. Mark my words.” He promises them with a simper. “Now you’re going to get caught. And you’ll burn in hell for what you’ve done.”

The ten year old boy condemns them with cold eyes. The man’s face turns a shade of bright red, temper unmatched as he screams out in fury. Without a second thought, he presses down on the trigger. The sound erupts into the sky, bursting eardrums and alerting others from miles away. BANG!

The gun shoots back, bullet leaving the muzzle - it spirals in the air, straight at Jungkook.

But Yoongi lurches forward, mustering strength to throw himself in the way.

The young boy is hit. He falls to the ground. Crimson floods out like a river, staining the dirt and running to drench his shoes. Jungkook’s mouth drops into a silent scream but his vocal chords betray him. He can’t cry out for help. His breath hitches and his heart stops, shaken to the core as he watches his older brother die in front of his eyes. “Y...o...o...n...gi.”

Jungkook throws himself forward but is unable to reach his brother.

“You idiot! Why would you do that?!” The man shouts, but their heated feud blurs into nothing.

Yoongi lays on the ground, his lids fluttering as it progressively becomes more difficult to stay awake. The corners of his lips turn upwards into a soft smile and he looks at his younger brother for the last time. He mouths something that is inaudible - I love you - his gasps become shallow, onyx hair sweeping his forehead. His eyes are warm, the hue of darkened honey.

His last moments are spent gazing at his younger brother.

“Please. No!” Jungkook shakes, unable to see with the light still blinding his vision and the droplets that drip off his chin. “Yoongi! Yoongi! Please! Yoongi!”

Sirens burst through the chilling air. Shades of blue and red, flashing through the sky. The men curse under their breaths. They begin to scramble helplessly, each confused and panicked on what to do.

Yoongi smiles, finally able to rest peacefully - his eyes close. The hue of his irises are lost.

“YOONGI!”

//

He’s sitting on the hospital bed, with his knees gathered together. He stares blankly at the white wall in front of him. It reminds him of his mother’s death. The scent of disinfectant lingers in his nose and the ugly gown is stuck to his body. He hates hospitals.

When Jungkook turns to the door, through the tiny window, he catches his father arguing with the therapist in her office. “Withdraw?!” Her mouth drops in shock. “Do-...are you even aware of the trauma that your son has gone through?! He needs therapy. He needs to speak to someone. He needs help. Or else it can be detrimental to his mental state. Especially in the future and he could potentially-”

“Do you know who I am?” Jungkook’s father probs his cold eyes into hers.

“Rose.” Her chief calls her name sternly. “This is Jungkook’s father. He has authority over his son. He knows what’s best.”

She opens her mouth but knows it’ll fall upon deaf ears. The child...if he goes without help…She looks through the glass window, staring at the boy who is void of emotion, almost hollow from within. “Can I at least talk to him….one more time?”

The door slides open and she shuts it behind her.

Jungkook slowly turns his head over, making no change on his face...or rather unable to. “What did he say?” He deadpans. “Am I leaving?”

She sighs. “Soon. Very soon, Jungkook. How are you? Are you doing okay?”

“Fine.” He shrugs, watching as she moves to sit beside him on the bed. “Did you get yelled at?”

“No.” The lady shakes her head. After a pause, she takes his small hands within hers. “Jungkook. Make sure to get plenty of rest and eat healthy, okay?”

He doesn’t blink, simply tilting his head to the side. “I know.”

“Good.” She lifts her hand, stroking his hair gently. “Whatever you feel - sadness, anger, loneliness - it’s all normal. I want you to know that. You’re allowed to feel that way. It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong. I know it must be really hard for you right now. It’s tough but you’re here. You made it through. It might be difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel but it’s there. Believe me, it’s there. You’re a smart boy, Jungkook.”

“And you’re not alone.” She whispers with a regretful smile. “Anytime...you need to talk to someone, you can call me or come back here. It doesn’t even need to be me. If you can find someone that you trust, it’s good to talk about it.”

Jungkook nods, “Okay.”

And just like that, he leaves.

There’s zero treatment but bare words of advice, hastily spewed out. Jungkook is withdrawn from the hospital without any documentation or records. His father can’t have his name soiled. It cannot be released to the press. The enemies can’t have an upper hand. After all, he is the foundation of Jeon Corporations.

Photographs and films are all burnt, edges curling to red before they disappear into the fire as ash. The family registry is repaired. The maids and workers are all paid, sworn to secrecy and sent off. His clothes, toys, journals, writings are shredded and burnt. Jeon Yoongi’s existence is completely wiped, like he never stepped foot upon the planet.

His father, though remaining with a calm exterior, cries once more behind locked doors. He suffers within his hidden grief. Each time he lays his eyes in his son’s innocent orbs, he’s reminded of the family he used to have. He’s reminded of the eldest son he could’ve saved, his wife that passed away, the sacrifices he made for his own greed, the million regrets that will only continue to fester and never dissipate. It is the burden he carries with the sins he has committed. And though he had brought justice to the men who harmed his child, ended their lives more brutally than they ended his son’s, he is still ridden with guilt.

Every time he looks at Jungkook, a self hatred locked in the depths of his soul magnifies and appears. It’s not until he’s brought back to his senses and the child is cowering away in the dark, crying and shaking, bruises and cuts inflicted by his own hand, does he realize what he has done. Living in such a way, the cycle of hatred continues and continues, building and building.

His eyes grow stone cold. Jungkook’s father becomes numb to pain, unable to cry.

No one mentions the name ‘Yoongi’ again. His death is buried, hidden away like he never existed. And though the younger boy promised, his mind cannot contain the pain; the injury and torture. Slowly, the nightmares stop. The tears that he wakes up with dry out. He no longer lifts his arm to the other side of the bed in the middle of the night, looking for a warm body. He doesn’t long for company or warm words. The agony dims to the back of his head. The hue of his brother’s brown orbs begin to fade away.

Jungkook forgets.

[Present Day]

“Come in…”

The door opens, closing a beat later as you step in. Jungkook’s father is seated in the arm chair, already waiting for your arrival. Unlike the last time you exploded into his office, you’re much calmer this time. “Mr. Jeon.”

“Dr. Y/N. Glad to see that you’ve booked an appointment with me properly this time.”

You force a tight lipped smile as you settle into the chair across from him. “I’m very sorry about my….outburst.”

“It’s understandable.” He waves his hand. “Anyone who’s with my son for a long period of time is bound to go crazy once in awhile.” Your nails seep into the leather of the seat, almost painfully as you suppress the bubbling anger inside your stomach. Jungkook’s father’s eyes are cold as he scrutinizes you. “What did you come here for?”

“In order to help your son…” You state, looking straight into his pupils. “I need to know what happened twenty years ago.”

He chuckles, head falling back. “What is there to know?”

“Your son….” You swallow hard. “Yoongi.”

The corners of his mouth fall into a straight line, a tone that would chill you to the bone if you were even a bit afraid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”

He gets up, back turned to you as he moves away.

You stand-

“Jungkook remembers.”

His father halts, freezing mid-step and he cranes his neck towards you, as if not believing his ears. “What?”

“Jungkook remembers.” You repeat, looking at him in desperation. “And the only way I can help him is if I understand what happened back then.”

He downcasts his head, a faint smile of regret twisted on his lips. “You don’t need to know anything.” A murmur leaves his mouth. “This is my business, not yours.”

“It is my business.” You affirm, taking a step forward. “I need to know why you didn’t allow him to seek medical attention. I need to understand why you hid your eldest son’s death.” He winces under your accusations. “Not for me. But for Jungkook.”

“He’s too afraid of asking you himself.”

“I-...I did what I had to do.” He grips the back of his office chair, looking away from you. “I had to protect my only son left….and you’ve just undone everything. Do you know what you’ve done?”

“And what have you done?” The knot between your brows tighten. “Running away….trying to forget…” You know what it’s like. “Those things don’t work. You tried to protect him but you only brought him harm.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” Your throat croaks out. “All he’s longed for was company. He feels like he’s been thrown away by you - that you don’t care.” You take a staggering inhale, trying to calm your nerves and stop your shaking hands. “Those two….that’s how they felt and that’s how Jungkook still feels. That’s the reason why-”

“-all of this began.” He sighs out, finally lifting his head. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I apologized, it would fix nothing.”

“But there’s so much you can do.” You retort desperately, taking yet another step. “He’s reaching his hand out. Your only son left, Jungkook. He always has. You just have to-”

“Leave.” He cuts you off, turning around. You’re only faced with the sorrow of his voice. “Please. Leave.”

In the moment that you part your lips, ready to step back - the door slams open behind you.

It crashes against the wall, startling and when you turn your head, your eyes grow wide. “Jungkook?”

His long strides fill the distance and he catches your hand within his, interlacing his fingers between yours. He searches your face for anything that might be amiss but is relieved to find you perfectly fine. The minute that Jungkook heard you were going to his father’s office, he came running. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t look at his father once, simply beginning to tug you away.

His father shrinks back, pain struck on his face. “Jungkook.”

The called man turns to look at his father, jaw clenching and teeth gritting together. His innocent, brown eyes instantly flash with anger. His grip tightens on you involuntarily and he only loosens it when you cry out. “What do you want from me?” He asks in a lower tone, his face contorts.

An internal struggle.                  “Jungkook.”     “Let me help you.”

A husky pitched voice with a timber that shakes your core emits from his chest. “Do you know what you’ve done to me?” But he fights the alter, thrashing against them to regain control. “You hurt me.” “I don’t want to hear what you have to say.” He grunts out, half between a rough roar and his usual smooth tone. He twitches, furrowing his brows hard to the point where it pulsates his forehead. The alter in his head continues to speak, begging him to let go but he doesn’t.

The man who holds your hand, morphs between Yoongi and Jungkook.

“I will never be able to forgive you. You have no place to mess with my memories. You have no place to remove him from my life.” He breaths out, chest hyperventilating but finally the husky tone is lost in his clear voice. Jungkook has won the battle. “You have no place as my father.”

He turns on his heel, storming out of the room with you in his hand.

Immediately you catch Jungkook’s fiancée, Inhye, looking on in concern; absolutely confused with a frown that mars her beauty. “I’m sorry.” Jungkook glances at her, stopping for a split second.

You realize he was with her when he came running for you.

She smiles, the corners of her lips upturning as she shakes her head. “It’s fine. I understand.”

He nods before brushing past her, the both of you escaping the building.

“Ju-Jungkook.” You cough out, trying to catch your breath as he opens the car door. “Wh-”

He stops, turning to you with a softened smile. “Y/N.” He tilts his head, an expression that you can’t decypher on his face. He reaches out, perhaps to envelop you into an embrace but he stops himself, arms dropping to his side. You knaw on the bottom of your lip, holding back the tears that flood your eyes and hoping he doesn’t notice. Jungkook eases, his anger dissipating as he whispers-

“Let’s go home.”

//

The ballad that floats from his mouth is a tune of fine silk, somber but sweet. His notes are low and deep, melodic melodies full of tenderness that are delicate like luminescent bubbles. Each lyric interweaves with his inner pain. Yet, he continues to softly sing as if it could vanish the hurt. “Jungkook?”

He grins at you, sitting atop a kitchen stool, mouth pulled into a box shape. “No. It’s Taehyung~”

“Taehyung?”

“Yeah.” He looks away to the ceiling, humming the notes as he swings his legs. “Hey Y/N. Do you want to drink with me?”

As a therapist, you should discourage the use of substances. Drinking with your patient wouldn’t exactly be the most appropriate or healthy atmosphere that you’re trying to promote. But with his eyes, staring up at yours and his voice more of a begging request than a question, you can’t help but give in.

That’s how you find yourself lips to a bottle, taking a quick swig of the bitter liquid, sitting side by side with him in the backyard on the grass. “The first time I ever went out drinking…” Taehyung begins with a laugh. “It was at some random party and the police were called. I nearly got busted but I managed to climb out the window and over the fence.”

You smile as his head falls back in more rambunctious laughter. “Don’t tell Jungkook or he’ll kill me but...I ran down that street naked.”

“Naked?!” Your eyes double in size. “How-what?! Your clothes were off?”

He nods, clutching his stomach. “It was a dare.”

“Oh my god.” You take another sip. “I’m definitely going to tell Jungkook.”

“Don’t!” He shoots his hands out. “He’ll kill me. Or he’ll beat me up.” He visibly shudders. “That guy’s too strong for his own good.”

The both of you look up at the night sky, swirled with the shade of ink. Somehow in his backyard, unlike in the city, you’re able to see the glittering stars that litter the black veil. The longer you stare, the more beauty is uncovered. “You sing well.”

From your tiny remark, the corners of his mouth turn up. Taehyung downcasts his head to the ground, stealing a glance at you before he looks away again, cheeks blooming with a rose hue.

He inhales a breath, parting his lips as his chest emits the mellifluous melodies once more. The tune and lyrics are unfamiliar to your ears. His baritone voice, gentle yet shaking the cotton of dandelion flowers. You shut your eyes, soaking in the music while feeling the mild breeze kiss your cheeks; completely unaware that his tender gaze is pinned on you.

As Taehyung sings to you, the bitterness that once laid in his notes are lost.

“That was beautiful, Tae.” Your lids flutter back, turning to look at him. He smiles, hands on the grass and before you’re even able to blink, he’s leaning forward and pecking his pillow lips on your cheek.

“Thank you.”

You’re stunned, mouth agape from the spontaneous action. He moves back, eyes blinking several times as his body posture shifts, nose wrinkling as he winces once. “Y/N?” The pitch of his voice has changed and he looks around in confusion.

“Who…”

He sighs in exasperation. “Did Taehyung do something out of conduct? I’m sorry. Oh, but it’s me. Namjoon.” The man scans the premise, the bottle in his hand and how close he’s sitting beside you. He smiles, dimples marking each side of his cheek. “Were you drinking with Taehyung?”

“Oh..yeah..I was. Sorry.”

He waves his hand. “There’s no need to apologize. I trust your judgement. If anything, I’m glad that you’re here to keep him under control.” There’s a pause as he takes a drink of the alcohol but then winces right after, putting it on the ground far away from where he’s seated. “I’m just curious.”

“About what?”

“Well…” Namjoon scratches the back of his head. “Are you allowed to do this? I mean...don’t you have a lot of rules and regulations in your field of work, Y/N? Living with us is already…”

“I do.” You sigh. “To be completely honest with you, I’m not even sure of what I’m doing.” You connect your eyes straight into his, deciding to be honest. If there was anyone who knew the situation and how to articulate words well with objective logic, it was him. “I think I’ve gotten too involved, Namjoon. I failed to keep my personal life and feelings separate from work.”

He laughs lightly. “Don’t beat yourself over it. You’re not a robot, Y/N. You have feelings too. If anything, I’m glad you feel this way. You work hard and deserve some kind of meaningful relationship in your life, platonic or romantic…..not saying that you don’t have any meaningful relationships…..you know what I mean.” He smiles, for once tripping over his words and you laugh with him, feeling eased. “It shows that you truly care about Jungkook.”

“Thanks, Namjoon.”

There’s some warm silence that lingers before he clears his throat. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing to do now that Jungkook remembers?” His question catches you off guard and though you haven’t formally written up your plans, you already have an idea.

“Try to heal. Whatever way possible. So he can continue life, be happy, live....”

Namjoon nods. “Thank you. Jungkook...he’s grown up to be a good, young man. I’m glad that there’s finally someone out in the world that’s able to help him. You won’t give up on him, right?”

“I won’t.” You promise and his shoulders loosens, content with your firm answer.

Another big smile takes place on his lips as he whispers more gratitudes, murmurs under his breath.

You don’t notice the way he cowers away, blinking a few times as he scrambles desperately to look at your profile. He’s pulled away before he can struggle to remain conscious. He’s gone before you realize. “Y/N?”

“Jung-...no..wait...who-?”

“Jimin.” His eyes crinkle into half-moons. “It’s been awhile, right? Last time we got interrupted. Sorry. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

You shake your head. “No. It’s perfectly fine, Jimin. You don’t have to worry.”

“Are you okay now? Are you feeling better?” His concern is evident through the furrow of his brows.

“I’m fine. Perfectly healthy.”

He giggles without restraint. “Good. I’m glad. Don’t get sick anymore.”

“I won’t.” You perk your head to one side, still staring at him. “Or at least I’ll try not to. It’s not like I have any power against the viruses or germs that enter my body.”

“Then I’ll give you all my strength.” He says sweetly. You’re unable to respond when he suddenly stands up and walks off to a bush, plucking a paled orange carnation flower. “Here.”

“Wha-?” You move to stand too, taking the stem from his outstretched hand. “Jimin, you really don’t need t-”

“I know.” He intercepts, scratching the back of his neck coyly. “But I wanted to. Plus, you deserve flowers. No one else ever gives you them.”

“I-...” You’re speechless, confused on what to say but with his bashful nervousness, eyes flickering to question what he’s just done, you melt into a smile. “Thank you, Jimin. It’s really lovely.”

He gleams, nodding his head. “You’re welcome. But don’t tell Jin. He’ll kill me if he knew I picked another one of his flowers.”

You hum, stepping inside the house to grab a vase. It’s a lovely shade of tangerine, pale to the tip of the petal and a floral scent that wafts into your nose. Though it’s a shame that it was taken from the bushes instead of being left to continue to grow and then wither, the thoughtfulness of Jimin makes your heart skadaddle inside your chest. You’re glad you can at least preserve it longer before it wilts.

He follows behind you. When you fill the vase with water, he watches with his chin in his hands, elbows propped up on the kitchen counter. “Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“Jungkook…” Jimin smiles fondly, eyes moving the floorboards. “He’s a rascal.”

“He pushes people away, hates affection, PDA, all that stuff. Sometimes he acts like he’s still the youngest in the family or that he’s five years old.” He playfully huffs out. “But….take care of him, okay?”

“I will.”

Jimin tilts his head, eyes in half-moons with his lips upturned.

Then he wrinkles his nose, as if mid-sneeze, face scrunched up. His breathing changes, posture standing straight. His eyes open as you’re setting the vase on the counter. “Jimi-?”

“Oh ho ho...so that’s who took another one of my flowers?!?!” He suddenly shouts, pointing straight at the plant. “I’ve told him a million times!”

“Jin?”

He snaps his fingers, a smirk playing at his lips. “You finally guessed me.”

You scoff. “Of course I would.” Jin beams, walking towards you in a few strides before he shuffles behind. “What are you doin-” He snakes his arms around your waist, hugging your back. You laugh, repeating your words. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing?”

“Just stop moving.” He scolds. “Don’t move.”

You still your body, letting it mold against his embrace as he props his chin on your shoulder. A million questions run through your mind, why he’s suddenly behind you and hugging you. If you truly knew what he was up to….it’s so he won’t cry...or at least, you won’t see his tears.

“I know saying this won’t mean anything...and it might even be selfish of me.” Jin sighs, whispering in your ear. “But do you know what I’ve always wanted to do?”

You murmur back to him, “What is it?”

“Live.”

“I want to live.” His wish is simple, so plain and straightforward that it’s almost silly. But with the drawn out silence, you both acknowledge the painful truth of how his longing to live is unattainable. “I want to see the world with my own eyes. I want to travel, to breathe and feel the air on my skin. I want to see my own reflection in the mirror. I want people to call my name. I want to love, Y/N.”

“Jin-”

“Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t skip on meals. Sleep well. I know Jungkook may seem like a naive boy but he’s a young, capable man. Don’t just rely on yourself. He’s trustworthy. Rely on him.”

You’re quiet for a few moments. “Why does it sound like you’re going away?”

“Hmm….I don’t know.” He quips back with a more mischievous tone.

But your mind begins to work backwards. Why is it that all the alters are making an appearance?

“Are you going somewhere?”

“No. I’ll be here.” He responds softly. The kitchen lights flicker, a glow that illuminates your silhouette to the floor. “It’s just...you might be seeing less of me.”

“Less of you?”

Jin laughs, holding you tight in his arms like you’ll disappear. Like he’ll disappear. There’s nothing but silence until he lets you go. “Jin?”

He swivels his head to the open backyard doors, a cool draft entering the house. His eyes widen significantly and he takes off running outside. “Stars! Stars! There are so many stars, Y/N! Come outside and look!”

He spins on his feet, opening up his arms as if he welcomes the entire sky’s weight on his shoulders. His eyes sparkle and he wears a genuine, huge grin - infectious. You smile too, despite being confused. “It’s so pretty!” He exclaims, falling back onto the bed of grass. “Come look with me.”

Hoseok tugs you down, placing his head in your lap. He snuggles up closely, enjoying the cozy feeling and the breath of a breeze whisking through his hair. As if reminded of something, he grabs your hand and puts it on top of his head. You automatically know what to do, carding your fingers through his locks gently. “This is so nice.”

“Are you enjoying yourself that much, Hoseok?” You already know who he is, understanding his bright personality and enthusiastic behaviour.

“Yes.” He exhales. “I wish I could live like this forever.”

The serenity that lasts ten minutes - him blinking up at the stars as you stroke his hair gently - is only broken when he speaks again. It’s serious this time, no longer humorous and happy in his expression. “I know it’s a lot to ask you. But please take care of Jungkook.”

His eyes move from the boundless heavens to your orbs. The corners of his lips turn upwards. “Listen. This guy really likes to work out so don’t let him starve or I’ll come back in a heartbeat, Y/N! He can also be pretty messy without me or Jin to keep things clean. Sometimes his laundry is in a heap before he does anything about it.” You nod and he continues without a breath taken. “I’m proud of him. He’s come such a long way. From the little scared boy into what he is now.”

“Jungkook’s existence is a gift. Please cherish him.”

Hoseok gazes into your eyes, sealing the moment and imprinting it into his brain. His hand reaches up to move a strand of hair falling in front of your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. You open your mouth to speak but he interrupts with a laugh. “I think Yoongi wants to talk to you. He keeps swearing at me and pulling me away.”

“Yoongi?”

He sheepishly nods and then shuts his eyes, hands on his chest.

The minute he opens them again, it’s a completely different person - though he is no longer a stranger.

“Ugh. Ew. What is up with this sappy atmosphere?” He rolls off of your lap onto the grass, jumping to his feet. He curses underneath his breath as he shoves his hands into his pocket, making his way back inside the house. “Jesus Christ. It’s cold.”

“Yoongi?”

He ignores you, stomping childishly up the stairs as you follow behind him, scrambling as you shut the doors. “Why are you following me?” He barks at you with narrowed eyes.

You don’t feel threatened at all, even smiling and he seems unimpressed that his bluntness doesn’t hold any affect on you anymore. “I don’t know.” You chime out with hands behind your back, looking away. “Why can’t I?”

“Suit yourself, stalker.”

Yoongi walks to the end of the hall, opening the door to the room that is unused; the room that is empty except for one thing - the piano.

He turns around as you shut the door. “Play with me.”

Like a command from an owner to a puppy, you plop down onto the bench alongside him. It’s Jungkook’s skin, body, clothes but you know inside, it’s a very different man. “I-I don’t play that well….”

“You did it well last time.” He murmurs, hands laying on top of the keys. “Don’t worry. Just play.”

He waits for you to begin, watching you closely as you inhale a breath and press down on an ivory key. The note erupts into the air, singing clearly and then the tips of your fingers slide across the piano. He immediately smiles, gums shown with his teeth as he joins you. The both of you end up with a happier melody, laughing as he somehow throws in commercial jingles inside the classical piece. You move your shoulders as he sways to the rhythm, the room flooded with joy and smiles.

“You’re really curing Jungkook.” He remarks above the music, looking at you as his hands sweep on the ebony. You’re too concentrated to look up at him, to realize he’s gazing at you.

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to understand. I don’t expect you to. I don’t want you to.” He whispers, the piece slowing down in tempo. “But it feels like there’s seven of us. Seven individuals. All sharing one body. And the fact that you want us to disappear….it hurts.”

You still, freezing as the words shoot you like a bullet. “Yoongi.”

He steals a glance, smiling at you. “Don’t stop.” He scolds, eyes looking at your fingers that aren’t moving. You look back to the piano, melting in your spontaneous chords with his to create a soothing harmony. Melancholy and heartbreak begin to seep into the strings and echos. But this time, rather than the last, it sounds like it’s full of…...hope.

“I’m glad. I’m happy.” He says. “I just want Jungkook to be happy. I want you to be happy. If us leaving is all that it takes then...I’ll be happy to do it.”

“Yoongi.” Your voice cracks as you call his name.

“He doesn’t need us anymore. He’s not the scared boy that he used to be.” Yoongi sighs.

The four of your hands are in rhythm with each other. The vibrations drift to the walls and cracks of the windows. It’s amazing how the two of you can play together, how he can reach over between your hands or over them, pressing on notes that explodes music in the room. He’s more than talented, a gifted genius in the arts that would’ve led him to famous concert halls, pouring not just his sorrows but his soul. Each time he plays, with or without you, you’re always caught into a trance. It’s surreal, like a dream. If only...he was still alive…

The piece ends, last notes reverberating off the floors and ceilings.

“Y/N.” Yoongi looks straight into your eyes, his own are of honey hues, once cold grown warm. “Do you love Jungkook?”

In the hold of his gaze, with vulnerable honesties that you’ve been trying to subdue, it all becomes undone.

The glass of the boundary wall shakes. The cracks widen, spreading across and extending to each end. It barely holds, splitting grooves marking the millimeter. Then it shatters. Jagged shards falling to the ground, a million rhinestones sparkling and shimmering in the light. The glass of the boundary wall breaks.

“I do.”

No matter what familiar corner you turn, the scent of disinfectant follows. Except this time, it’s not clinging onto your clothing. You don’t need it to. Your mind no longer drifts away into the impossible.

Your arms are by your side, calm and collected as the door slides open. He’s seated across the table, stunned and slightly confused. You did call him after all.

Five strides to the table where you look your chief directly in his orbs.

“I’m here to terminate my position as Jeon Jungkook’s psychologist.”