lovestrippedbare | 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕞

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seokjin

𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕞

When the sun starts to filter in through his curtains, soft and with a warm, rosy glow, Jungkook finds himself immediately burying his face back in his pillows, chasing after the dark. Dramatic is not a word that he typically enjoys applying to himself, but he's not sure anything else quite fits the mood he's in, eyes still puffy from lack of sleep. He's afraid to look in the mirror. Afraid to let his limbs slip out from under his covers, out of the soft white, exposing bruises that should be varying shades of purple and pink by now.

His cheek still prickles a little against the soft cotton of his pillowcase.

The pain doesn't bother him. He's not sure that it has in years — doesn't even think that it was his primary concern the first time his father's hand slipped, too quick and direct to pass as an accident. Instead, shame is the emotion that lingers in Jungkook's bones. Not brave enough to stand up. Not strong enough to leave.

Not good enough to be loved.

A gentle knock on the door is what rouses Jungkook fully from his slumber, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he jolts up, instinctively reaching for the robe he keeps by his bed on nights like these. He's sure that he's slipped before, once or twice, in front of his mother. But enough covered tracks have always made it such that she doesn't question it when Jungkook claims that he's just clumsy, bumped into a boy at school he shouldn't have.

He's securing the robe around his waist when the door starts to creak open when he realizes — shit, his face. He doesn't know if the rash has subsided yet.

Doesn't know how he'll explain it, this time.

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Call him a busybody, but Seokjin likes checking up on everyone. He tries to always come by when Hoseok is ill, or at least offer support, fusses over his friends when they drink. When Jungkook says he won't be in school, Seokjin collects his assignments and goes over to his friend's house with a small thermos of juk and some eggs from the convenience store.

"Jungkookie, it's me," he singsongs. "I was told you needed the sexiest nurse in the peninsula, but she's busy so they sent me instead."

The door opens by centimeters, slowly enough that Seokjin has time to second-guess himself. Was that too much?

His eyes widen further, if that's even possible, when he hears Seokjin's voice. Not his mother, who'll quietly accept everything her son shares. Not his brother, who'll come in knowing, sneering. Not Taehyung, who's known Jungkook's first few days on campus.

He can't afford for the circle to widen beyond that.

But panic makes it impossible for Jungkook to string thoughts together, left fumbling with his sheets, fingers already trembling long before Seokjin makes his way inside.

"A-ah, hyung—"

Too late. He has nowhere to hide, trying his best to cup his palm over the mark.

The hand that flies up to cover his cheek only draws Seokjin's attention. The marks are a vivid purple on Jungkook's fair skin and Seokjin's eyes widen, his stomach twisting. There are different kinds of bruises. Some, the kind that feel like a victory, are worn proudly to school with a heroic story on the lips. Some are shameful, hidden things that blossom in the dark parts of a place that should be safe, that should be home. Seokjin's worn a few of both in his life, always feels like he escaped when he was deposited at his apartment.

"I brought you some food," he says, his tone a little stilted by the blank moment that's passed while he solves the puzzle.

As recognition dawns on Seokjin's face, Jungkook lowers his hands, focusing instead on the cadence of his breathing. He feels on the cusp of shaking apart. To be the recipient of blows is no longer an issue — his walls now sturdy and strong after picking himself up repeated times, learning where he needs to give and where he can push back — but the last thing that Jungkook ever wanted was for the ripples to spread. His gaze skirts lower in a matter of seconds, shoulders tense, not wanting to see the pain or confusion he may have just inflicted on his hyung.

Stupid. He should have tried harder to ward them off. Pretend to be sick, contagious.

"Thank you," Jungkook murmurs, bowing his head habitually out of respect and continuing to gather the robe around himself, hiding whatever signs he can.

Seokjin wants to say so many things at once. He wants to apologize out of sympathy. He wants to hug Jungkook, to reassure him that it doesn't look so bad. All he does is stand there for a second, trying to remember all the things he'd wished someone had said to him when he was the one coming to the door, trying to downplay marks on his face.

But mostly, he hadn't wanted to be alone.

"Do you want some company?" he offers. Then, softer, he adds, "I know how to cover those up."

His gaze flickers up at once, comprehension slowly dawning on Jungkook's features as he meets Seokjin's eyes. There's no judgment, no pity. None of the fury that he's seen suddenly lighting in Taehyung's eyes; none of the nonchalance of his teachers. No, there's something quieter there, an unspoken thread that now stretches clearly between the both of them. For a few seconds, Jungkook simply watches, hesitant to let anyone over the threshold. It takes a while, usually, before he's open to the contact.

But maybe, this time.

"Yeah," Jungkook says with a small nod, ignoring the tremble of his lips. "Will you teach me, hyung?"

There's a whole conversation in a second of eye contact and Seokjin's heart hurts. He knows what it is to have no one else, to have to learn to bear the marks and the scorn alone, or else teach himself to make a mask. By now, he's crafted several of them. The mask of the airhead narcissist, the dutiful son, the high-achieving student, all of them unburdened by the things the real Seokjin knows has left marks on his soul.

"I'll be right back," he promises. "I just have to get some things from the store." Gently, he pushes the food into Jungkook's arms and silently hopes he'll eat. There's no reason to add hunger on top of everything else.

Already he's making a list: primer, color correct wheel, concealer, foundation, setting powder, sponges, a brush. "I promise I won't be gone long."

He holds it together for a little while, arms and hands opening to receive the offered food. Jungkook knows that he'll need to make an effort. The irony is that it wouldn't be hard, if only it weren't for the exposed bruises — he's grown so accustomed to the blows that it's not too hard to pick himself up afterwards, to stomach some food. It's only upon reflection that the nausea hits, wondering when exactly it reached this point. When all of this became normal.

Jungkook's eyes are wide, staring determinedly at the thermos and nodding at the offered promise. The explanation for where Seokjin will be.

It's not until Seokjin's steps have faded in the distance that something in Jungkook breaks, heaving breaths that never seem to catch air, fingers raking through his hair and pulling, hard.

"I'm sorry," he gasps into the empty room, hugging the thermos close to his chest.

Left to his own devices, Seokjin likes meandering through the store. He'll consider things, put them back, take them after all, compare things, and on and on. This time, he beelines directly for the makeup section and grabs exactly what he came in for and then hurries right to the front. It's only as he waits to check out that he deviates, pausing to grab a chocolate bar right before it's his turn.

He pays for it all with a swipe of his card and then crumples up the receipt. Jungkook doesn't need to know the price.

He's equally swift in getting back to Jungkook's house, letting himself back in with an apologetic nod, and going to Jungkook's room. Softly, Jin makes a point of knocking, giving Jungkook a moment. "I'm back."

The outburst doesn't last long. Jungkook knows how far the closest convenience store is, knows that he's only got about half an hour at most before Seokjin will be back. He's been a burden enough already, Jungkook thinks, between the juk and now the makeup. The least that he can do is his best to hold it together and show gratitude for his hyung's time and effort.

By the time Seokjin returns, Jungkook has already retrieved a couple of bowls, spoons, and two pairs of chopsticks from the kitchen, laying them neatly on his desk. It's a little cramped, but Jungkook can't imagine taking any of this outside, where his family might see. He does, however, take the liberty of retrieving a few containers of leftover banchan from the fridge. It's not much, but it makes Jungkook feel better than offering nothing.

He's managed to eat a few spoonfuls by the time Seokjin returns, sitting up straight on the edge of the bed, leaving the chair reserved for his hyung. "Hyung," he greets with another brief dip of his head, trying for a smile. "I've really burdened you today."

The little table setting makes Seokjin's heart hurt a bit. He didn't think he'd taken that long but apparently he still took long enough. Jungkook's had time to set all this up but Seokjin can also detect a certain redness in his eyes that he's seen in the mirror a few times. It's not the same as full-blown crying but it's a similar building up of pressure. There's just no release.

And the implicit apology just makes him hurt worse and Seokjin waves a hand. "Whoever laid hands on you is the one who's made a burden," he says and there's a brittleness in his voice. It's something that Seokjin's taught himself and internalized but hasn't yet learned to believe.

Jungkook still manages to maintain a smile as he looks down at his lap. On some level, he knows that much of the fault lies with his stepfather. Conceptually, he knows that there's no excuse for hitting one's child this way, no matter whether or not they're a child only by marriage or by blood. He knows that if any of his friends were to be experiencing something similar at home, he would be doing everything in his power to get them out of that situation. He knows all of this, surely.

And yet, it's hard not to find fault in himself. How he triggers his stepfather's temper. How he can't seem to find an elegant way to extricate himself from the situation. He's not strong enough to stand up to his stepfather, he's not smart enough to keep it hidden. If he's going to stay in this situation, isn't it the least he can do to make sure it doesn't hurt anyone else?

"It's not that bad," Jungkook offers, not quite meeting Jin's gaze. "I bruise pretty easily. It probably looks a lot worse than it feels."

Seokjin frowns and slips past the table so that he can sit next to Jungkook. He doesn't care if it's overly familiar as he slides an arm around the other boy, gently hugging him from the side, conscious of bruises that might be hidden. "It's bad enough," he says. He wishes he didn't need to be teaching Jungkook how to do this. He wishes he didn't have so much practice.

"Don't worry, once I finish, you'll look like an idol trainee." He smiles and knows it isn't funny but sometimes a bad joke is a useful needle to puncture the worst parts of a bad atmosphere.

Implicit in everything he says is I know how this feels. It's happened to me too.

It's bad enough, Seokjin says, and Jungkook briefly hangs his head, letting his hyung reach around his shoulders. He really meant it — any pain or ache from the blows is negligible at best. He hardly even notices. But there's something about seeing it from Seokjin's perspective, his words soft and his touch gentle, that makes Jungkook wish that he could have done better.

Either in standing up for himself, or avoiding the blows entirely.

He offers a weak smile at the mention of looking like an idol trainee. "Not all of us are born with hyung's natural good looks, huh," he jokes, rubbing at the back of his neck, leaning slightly in Seokjin's direction. "Has hyung... used makeup a lot?"

"It's true," he says, keeping up the front for both their sakes. "But with enough makeup, you can look almost as handsome as me." The joke feels thin in the air and Seokjin offers Jungkook a weaker but more genuine smile.

"I learned how to do it in middle school. My father usually...was better about disciplining me in ways that didn't show," he said. It had only been for truly unfortunate infractions that his father would resort to something so crude as physical violence when cutting words and clear disgust were so much more efficient. "But sometimes I was very disappointing."

Jungkook's foot starts bouncing slightly against the ground, restless, uncomfortable. It's not that he minds Seokjin's presence — if anything, it's the opposite. He feels protected, wrapped up in his hyung's arm, like there's nothing that can touch him in this moment. But the images of what it took for Seokjin to build up such resilience, the notion of discipline running so deep that Seokjin can only frame himself as having been a disappointment, it's almost more than Jungkook can fathom.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No, I'm sure that hyung wasn't a disappointment. It's hyung's father who's the disappointment." Jungkook works his thumb against the palm of his opposite hand, tracing out small circles, the skin pale wherever he applies pressure. He glances up, tentative. Nervous.

"Does your father still...?"

Seokjin smiles but it's bleak. "My father hoped that both of his sons would have the same aptitude for business and finance that he did." At an early age, he'd revealed himself to be lacking in those arenas. "My father wanted me to be a stronger, smarter son." Instead, Seokjin had learned to fold things deep inside himself, to internalize pain and strive for outward perfection. It's barely adequate but as long as he doesn't do anything too shameful, it seems to keep him in his father's good graces.

"And no. I haven't lived with my family since the year before I left for America. He's very busy, so I don't see him often." Probably it's better that way. His father wouldn't want to see him and Seokjin doesn't want to be upbraided for all of his failures again.

Gently, he lays a hand on Jungkook's wrist, offering a hand to hold if he'd like an anchor. "If you ever need a place to be because you don't feel safe, my home is always open, okay Kookie?"

We're your family, Jungkook wants to protest, his brow knitting as he listens and takes in the full extent of Seokjin's relationship with his family. No matter what, Jungkook thinks it must be worse for one's family to cast them out. For one's family to not even care enough to come visit. Seokjin's parents, Jimin's parents — Jungkook doesn't understand. Sometimes he feels that even anger must be a better emotion felt than a sheer dearth of anything.

He licks at his lower lip, gaze dropping for a moment, before he nearly starts at the feel of a hand carefully resting on his wrist. Jungkook nods quickly; he's never doubted Seokjin's love and affection.

"I know," he says, before looking up to meet Seokjin's gaze. "Hyung, I'd be over all the time if it weren't for... my mom, I..."

Jungkook exhales. "I don't want to be a neglectful son."

"You're not," Seokjin says, that much immediate and certain. Jungkook is a better son than his father deserves and he shifts his hand a little, holding his friend's hand with fingers interlaced. With someone else, with the people they might want, the gesture might be loaded but Seokjin means it only as a way to share strength and offer comfort.

"You're a good son and brother. And I'm a little selfish anyway–I hate the apartment when it's empty." His smile is self-deprecating there but he expects it's not actually a surprise. There are ways in which he's transparent to his friends. "At last living alone gives me freedom to be who I really am. Sometimes."

The fingers lacing with his own draw a smile to Jungkook's lips, soft but determinedly present. He turns his own hand to make the contact closer, giving Seokjin's hand a squeeze. The feeling is at once strange and comfortable, a hyung leading his dongsaeng, but gentler somehow. Anchoring, in a moment when everything else feels chaotic.

"You know I'd rather be there," Jungkook says seriously, running his thumb briefly over Seokjin's knuckle. "I would much rather be at hyung's apartment than at the dinner table here. Not just because hyung likes it more, either."

"I know," Seokjin says. He doesn't begrudge any of them their reasons for not being at his apartment constantly, despite how much he wants them to tell their parents to go to hell. Especially now with those bruises on Jungkook's face.

"Let's eat first and then I can show you the makeup. These kinds of things feel less bad on a full stomach." They don't usually feel better because nothing can make that happen but at least food can be grounding.

It's a relief to Jungkook when Seokjin says that he knows, that he understands that Jungkook would rather be at his hyung's place. But life doesn't work in such an idyllic way — never has, and Jungkook has known that ever since the first time his stepfather hit him, when he came to the realization that the distance between them wasn't a matter of lack of familiarity alone. He simply would never, could never be that man's son.

It's funny, how he still tries.

Jungkook squares his shoulders, nodding at his hyung's recommendation. "I had a couple of bites already. It's really good," Jungkook says, quickly working to spoon some porridge into each bowl, keeping the amounts relatively even. "Hyung's cooking is always the best."

Edited 2018-12-27 00:52 (UTC)

If he told Seokjin, he would commiserate. Despite the blood that ties him to the people who made and birthed him, Seokjin is disowned in all but paperwork and only that because his father thinks it might reflect badly upon him. Otherwise, he'd likely have paid out some dispensation and then had a lawyer hand Seokjin a pen.

"I thought you were sick when I made it," he explains. "But it's comforting no matter what." Even he has memories–from sitters and nannies–of being sick in bed with a warm bowl of juk.

He wants to insist that Jungkook eat it all and not worry about him, but Seokjin knows the loneliness of being the only one at the table still picking at his food.

"I got a chocolate bar too."

Jungkook smiles ruefully at the explanation, licking his lower lip as he holds out the bowls for both of them. "I shouldn't have lied," he admits with a duck of his head. "I've worried everyone. Hoseokie hyung offered to bring my homework, Yoongi hyung asked if I was okay. Taehyungie... hyung knows a little more about what's going on with me, but I think that just made him the most worried of all."

He glances down at the warm bowl in his hands, cupping it with both before finally picking up the spoon. Juk is a dish he's had countless times before, especially whenever he's sick. It's even possible that his own mother will make it later today, though Jungkook's done his best to hide the whole ordeal from her.

It's almost routine. Too much of a mark, and Jungkook's stepfather suddenly becomes accommodating at least for that much, willing to call the school about his absence, none of it revealed to Jungkook's mother unless necessary.

Jungkook takes a bite, and finds that it's enough to bring back an appetite.

"How does hyung make juk? Is there broth in here?" he asks, scraping the spoon along the side of the bowl to keep the edges of the juk even. "Ah, chocolate after will be nice. We can split that."

Jungkook doesn't come back to life by any means but he's instantly a little more himself. Maybe with a full stomach and plenty of affection, they'll get a little closer. Seokjin goes through the motions of eating his own serving but doesn't bother hiding the way he puts the bulk of his attention on Jungkook and making sure he eats. Their fathers might not have any love to spare but Seokjin does.

"Yes. I used store-bought but sometimes, when I'm feeling very ambitious, I'll make my own broth." Very often, though, he experiments too much and the results aren't worth sharing. Not if he wants to keep his friends.

The more they sit together and talk, the easier it is to focus on Jungkook and tune out the obvious but now and then Jungkook turns his head in a way that makes the bruise impossible to ignore and Seokjin's heart hurts again. "Whatever it is that made him do that to you," he says, aware that it's abrupt. "You didn't deserve it."

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