𝕕𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕦𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕠

He remembers discussing it with Yoongi, before. How sometimes, the heavier days left them feeling fatigued to the bone, wishing for solace — to sleep and simply vanish from existence. In their conversations, the focus tended to be on Yoongi, who felt those moments more acutely and more often, but Jungkook knew the feeling as well as he did his own reflection. How there were times, under his stepfather's hands, that Jungkook wished the blows would fall a little harder. Sharper. That they would bring a peaceful darkness, and remove from Jungkook the burden of needing to get up the next day, to continue as if nothing were wrong. To go through the motions of living when he had no desire to look further down the line.

But his stepfather doesn't hit him anymore, and in the absence, Jungkook wonders if there was a part of him that wanted such treatment all along. If a part of him invited it, as he wants to tonight.

The streets echo with a chorus of voices, laughter and harried yells, a population making the most of the twilight hours of their weekend. Jungkook slumps into a seat on the first train that arrives at the station, staring down the too-bright car and watching the handles sway back and forth with the rattling, once a comforting motion, and now too jarring and brusque. He leaves when it gets to be too much. Lets the flow of passengers guide him back out onto the street, where the acrid scent of nicotine hits his nose, the sharp and sickly sweet smell of soju, and even that hurts for reasons Jungkook refuses to let himself dwell on.

It doesn't take long to get what he wants. A couple of bumped shoulders, a clumsy foot thrown out against a shin. Nothing so extreme that an apology wouldn't suffice, but he keeps his expression sullen, nonchalant, and the bait is too easy for the thugs to take. The blows are familiar. Knuckles, elbows, occasionally a knee or two, but Jungkook's been here so many times before that this is nothing, he doesn't even feel the pain, and he laughs because he's right. Because all the times before where he's had to reassure his friends, he's been right all along. It doesn't hurt. Is that all?

They stop because — sirens. Far off enough in the distance that Jungkook knows no one will come looking for them, not here in this tiny alley, when there's so much more for the officers to patrol. He tastes metallic on his tongue, the warmth pooling in his cheek a sharp contrast with the cool metal behind his back, and he leans, until the top of his head presses against the store shutter. Glances up towards the sky, and finds only darkness, not even the North Star to guide the way.

A tangled clump of grass blows down the street, wrinkled and twisted, too limp for the green color of the blades. Jungkook chuckles, and every time he inhales, the knife slices through his stomach again.

No, the North Star has to be — somewhere. Jungkook grits his teeth as he picks himself up off the ground, hands closed into fists. The few who pass him by give him a wide berth. The corners of his lips sting, hot, pulsing.

He finds not the highest point in the city, but it's still enough — he can make do with the glittering lights below in lieu of the hidden stars above. A small guardrail by the side takes Jungkook higher still, his arms outstretched, fingers weaving through the billowing wind. This is, Jungkook thinks, the closest he can ever come to touching the stars, and he stares for an extended moment, wondering what colors he'd paint the sky, if he could. If anything could come close to the beauty of the city, the city he's always tried so hard to escape.

He's taken a train across the country, half a day away, and yet he's never felt so separate from Seoul as he does now. No matter how bright the lights are below, it's the darkness that envelops him now, comforting and all-encompassing. No matter how far his hands reach, all he can grasp is night.

With that realization, the fear fades. Jungkook stumbles, and in that moment of lost balance, it feels like he's about to fly.

Jungkook closes his eyes, letting the wind rush against his sleeves and the howl of the air quiet his thoughts. No need for the past, nor the future — only now.

Just one step forward.