jeon jΟ
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lovestrippedbare) wrote2019-07-25 07:56 pm
lovestrippedbare) wrote2019-07-25 07:56 pm
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It would be easier to be angry.
The thoughts are there, the right words take shape in his mind. Questions, mostly. Wondering how this plan was ever supposed to work — how Jungkook could be expected to focus on the words on the page, how his pencil is supposed to find the right strokes, how he was ever supposed to listen to teacher's lessons — when his mind won't stop occupying itself with images of Yoongi. Of a form slumped against the cold concrete of pillars, holding up the bridges that connect their city. Of footsteps down an alley, bright and distinct against the muffled laughter and the sharp scent of alcohol. Of train cars swaying, left and right, keeping time with the music he loves so well, though there aren't any keys to mete out the melody.
It would be easier to be angry, because none of this is going to work. Homework assignments missed, test sections left blank.
A month is plenty of time to deal damage. They knew this. Learned how distant graduation really was when staring across the broad expanse of the principal's desk, impassive gaze and soft sneer behind smeared spectacles.
The only reason why Jungkook's father doesn't leave bruises this time is because his son puts up no resistance, weight muffled as his shoulders meet the wall, head turning easily with the slaps against his cheek. Funny, how he learns only now, when it's too late to apply the knowledge. When it's too late to reverse all the times they learned a new shade of violet, too late to undo all the times spring flourished across Jungkook's skin in soft greens and yellows.
It would be easier to be angry, but Jungkook finds himself the recipient of wrath instead, papers snapping against the polished surface of his bedroom desk. He lifts his gaze, chin too weighted to follow.
"Jeon Jungkook," she says, voice sharp with disbelief. "Yah. What is this? These grades — you practically failed your end of year exams."
How can I be expected to focus?
"You think I haven't noticed? You think I haven't heard from your teachers — the classes you've skipped, the times you've left yaja early. Your father works too hard putting food on this table, saving up for your education, for you to wallow in whatever it is that's going on in head," she insists, slapping the papers against the desk a few more times. Jungkook doesn't flinch.
"We've signed you up for hagwon this summer. And you'll stop staying out so late with those troublemaker friends of yours."
The papers slide neatly onto his lap, red characters scattered among the black. The door slams behind him, curtains shivering in its wake.
It would be easier to be angry, but Jungkook finds that he feels nothing at all.
The thoughts are there, the right words take shape in his mind. Questions, mostly. Wondering how this plan was ever supposed to work — how Jungkook could be expected to focus on the words on the page, how his pencil is supposed to find the right strokes, how he was ever supposed to listen to teacher's lessons — when his mind won't stop occupying itself with images of Yoongi. Of a form slumped against the cold concrete of pillars, holding up the bridges that connect their city. Of footsteps down an alley, bright and distinct against the muffled laughter and the sharp scent of alcohol. Of train cars swaying, left and right, keeping time with the music he loves so well, though there aren't any keys to mete out the melody.
It would be easier to be angry, because none of this is going to work. Homework assignments missed, test sections left blank.
A month is plenty of time to deal damage. They knew this. Learned how distant graduation really was when staring across the broad expanse of the principal's desk, impassive gaze and soft sneer behind smeared spectacles.
The only reason why Jungkook's father doesn't leave bruises this time is because his son puts up no resistance, weight muffled as his shoulders meet the wall, head turning easily with the slaps against his cheek. Funny, how he learns only now, when it's too late to apply the knowledge. When it's too late to reverse all the times they learned a new shade of violet, too late to undo all the times spring flourished across Jungkook's skin in soft greens and yellows.
It would be easier to be angry, but Jungkook finds himself the recipient of wrath instead, papers snapping against the polished surface of his bedroom desk. He lifts his gaze, chin too weighted to follow.
"Jeon Jungkook," she says, voice sharp with disbelief. "Yah. What is this? These grades — you practically failed your end of year exams."
How can I be expected to focus?
"You think I haven't noticed? You think I haven't heard from your teachers — the classes you've skipped, the times you've left yaja early. Your father works too hard putting food on this table, saving up for your education, for you to wallow in whatever it is that's going on in head," she insists, slapping the papers against the desk a few more times. Jungkook doesn't flinch.
"We've signed you up for hagwon this summer. And you'll stop staying out so late with those troublemaker friends of yours."
The papers slide neatly onto his lap, red characters scattered among the black. The door slams behind him, curtains shivering in its wake.
It would be easier to be angry, but Jungkook finds that he feels nothing at all.