• 7- ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ •

What the hell did I just do?

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I fucked up. Freak. I can practically hear it echoing, sharp and cold, like it's still hanging in the air. I didn't mean it, but God, it came out anyway, didn't it?

I've said shit before-hell, I'm known for it -but this feels different.

Maybe it's the look on her face, or the way she shrinks into herself, curling up like she's trying to disappear. I can hear soft sobs-her sobs-and something about that... pisses me off.

I didn't mean it like that. I didn't.

I fucking swear.

But now? Now, it's too late to take it back.

I know Y/N. She's tough. She's not the type to let shit get to her, but still... still, I never thought my words would do this to her. I never thought I'd see her break like this.

Shit.

Well, congratulation JUNGKOOK, now she'll probably leave the fucking room.

I rub my face, my stomach twisting.

I'm not the guy who gives a shit about anyone's feelings. I'm not some sorry bastard who's going to sit here and beg for forgiveness. That's not me. Never has been.

But this? This doesn't feel like some random shit I said.

She's curled up in a ball, like she's trying to disappear, and I feel... I don't know. bad about it. More than bad. Something inside me twists when I see her like this, and it makes me feel like I'm fucking losing my mind.

I'm not supposed to care.

But it's my words that made her crack.

She's all curled up like she wants to disappear, and I can't stand it. I didn't want this. I didn't want her to look like that.

I open my mouth, but it feels like the words are stuck. I should've known better. I should've used a better... terminology. Now, I have to say something to stop this.

"Look, I... I didn't mean that. Okay? You're not... you're not a freak."

It sounds pathetic, even to me. But what the hell else can I say? I can't take it back. I can't unsay it.

It's already out there.

She's quiet for a moment before she resumes her crying.

The tears on her cheeks, her reddened eyes- it hits me again. I can't stand it. I hate seeing her like this. And, the only explanation I have to my reaction is- I only hate that expression on her face because I am the one who caused it.

. . . . .

The room's dark, except for the dim light slipping through the crack in the blinds.

I can hear the occasional sniffle from Y/N, but she hasn't said a word since I fucked up. She's sitting on the edge of the bed now, looking like she's been crying for hours.

Her eyes are swollen, her lips all puffy from the tears. It's like someone hit her with a goddamn emotional wrecking ball.

I'm sitting on my bed, trying not to look at her.

Trying to act like I'm not even paying attention. But I keep sneaking glances. I can't help it. She looks... quiet. Vulnerable in a way that pisses me off.

She needs water, so I slide my water bottle over. She doesn't say anything but she sips from it.

The silence in the room is suffocating, and I feel this nagging itch in my brain. I'm not good with this shit. Not at all.

But I open my mouth anyway.

"Do you believe you're a freak?" I ask, leaning back, trying to sound casual, even though I can feel her eyes on me.

She doesn't answer right away.

Instead, she gives me this look. A look that makes me want to punch myself in the face. She's looking at me with those doe-like eyes, swollen and pink, lips all pouty, like I've just shattered something precious.

It hits me harder than I expect, and I have to stop myself from slamming my fist into the wall.

She doesn't even say anything at first, just looks at me. And for a moment, I don't even know what the fuck to do with myself.

"No," she whispers. "I don't."

I feel my chest tighten at her voice.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.

There's no point in dwelling on it. No point in pretending I don't see how she's looking at me like she's a fucking piece of glass about to shatter if I breathe wrong.

"Well then," I start, trying to sound more like myself, "if you don't believe it, then that's the end of it. Anyone who says whatever the fuck doesn't mean shit." I look away, like it's no big deal. Casual. "Words are just noise. And if they come from people who don't matter to you, they don't mean a damn thing."

I feel her stare on me again, but I don't look back at her.

Not right away. I don't need to. But then again, I do want to see that face. But I've seen her broken enough, I don't need to keep touching the broken glass and bleed myself.

"So if anyone calls you a freak, or a loser, or whatever other dumb shit people like to say," I continue, looking away, "don't listen. You don't have to. People talk because they think their words make them relevant. It's their problem, not yours."

I don't even know if what I'm saying makes sense, but at least it sounds wise. Or like I'm trying to be wise. Maybe she'll buy it. Hell, maybe I'll even buy it.

The truth is, I don't want to see her cry again because of me.

However, I'm not going to fucking apologize.

Wait, did I just talk shit about myself to make her feel good?

. . . . .

Y/N's back to her usual self-chatty, nosy, and annoyingly full of energy. It's like she's making up for lost time, filling every inch of silence with her never-ending rambling.

I sit on my bed, flipping through my phone, pretending I don't hear her.

But it's impossible.

Her voice is like a damn siren-high-pitched, relentless, and completely incapable of being ignored.

"So, anyway, I found this café downtown -super cozy, good vibes, blah blah blah -but here's the kicker," she says, waving a hand for dramatic effect. "They serve this matcha-ginger blend, which sounds absolutely disgusting, but hear me out-"

"No," I say flatly, not even looking up.

She stops mid-sentence, offended. "You didn't even let me finish."

"Didn't need to. If the sentence starts with 'matcha,' it's already a crime."

She gasps. Like, full-on dramatic, hand-to-the-chest, how dare you gasp. "You are so painfully uncultured."

I glance at her, deadpan. "Yeah, sorry, I must've missed the life-changing experience of drinking overpriced pond water."

She scowls, her hazel eyes narrowing. "Oh my god, you're insufferable."

"And yet, here you are. Still talking to me."

"I have no choice! You're my roommate!"

"Could've fooled me. You talk like you're trying to convert me to the Church of Y/N."

She throws a pillow at me. I catch it before it can smack me in the face, thank heavens for reflexes.

"Oh, you are so annoying," she huffs. "I don't even know why I try with you."

"Me neither. You should probably stop."

Her eyes narrow, and I can tell she's debating whether to throw something harder at me. I expect another pillow, maybe even her shoe, but instead, she smirks.

Ooh, dangerous. Not.

"You know what?" she says sweetly, tilting her head. "I was gonna be nice and invite you out this weekend, but since you're clearly allergic to fun, I'll just take TAE...-"

She cuts herself off. Just for a second.

It's barely anything. A hitch, a blink, a breath too sharp. But enough for me to notice.

She swallows and plasters on a smile. "I mean-I'll just go by myself."

I don't react.

I won't react.

I won't ask.

I'd only ask if I cared.

But do I care? Nah. I don't fucking care.

Fuck.

I turn my head to look at her, turning my phone off. "Who?"

Her smile stretches too wide. "No one."

I squint. "You literally just said-"

"I meant nobody." She forces a laugh, too light, too fake. "Just, you know, I was thinking of someone else. But not, like, a someone-more like... a general someone."

What the fuck does that even mean?

I keep staring at her. She won't meet my eyes now, fidgeting with a loose thread on her shorts. The shift is instant-one second she's snarky and throwing pillows at me, the next she's stiff, guarded.

I could press.

I could make a joke, push her buttons until she cracks like she always does.

But something in my chest twists-something I don't like-s

o I bite my tongue instead.

Let it go.

Let it go.

Let it-

"Right." My voice is flat. "Well, enjoy your lonely-ass matcha pond water."

She forces another laugh. "Gladly."