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.