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Jungkook tried to focus on the fingers carding back through his hair, brushing it back from his face, on the nails lightly dragging over his exposed neck, tracing patterns he attempted to memorize - it was all that was keeping him from being sick.
There was something about the way shame bit at your stomach, tightening your chest until it felt you were suffocating and causing your stomach to lurch up through your throat. The way red heat would prickle up the back of your neck, turning your ears and cheeks pink. The heat could be felt through your fingers, shaky and burning - Jungkook conciously remembered his hands, feeling how the twitched against his stomach. He tightened them into fists, breathing out harshly through his nose.
The fingers in his hair moved up his neck, lightly scratching behind his ears.
Jungkook let his eyes fall shut, now noticing how ragged his breathing had begun. He closed his lips, biting into the inside of his cheek. He felt his eyes burning behind his lids, tears of frustrations coupled with the pathetic quiver of his lip that he couldn't bite away.
Above him, a voice shushes him. The gentle touches return to his dark hair, petting over and pushing back.
He sighs, but it comes out shuddery, watered down with emotion - and he feels panic nibble into his gut, humiliation at appearing so pathetic. It was something he had to remind himself: he isn't a teenager anymore, there's no excuse for him to depend so heavily on the people around him.
He should be able to take critisism without getting like this. He should be able to take a hit without crying like a sixteen-year-old.
The hit doesn't hurt anymore - the sharp redness on his cheek having long sense gone down, the prickling of the slap having faded. But it was the shame that remained. The shame at having been hit like that, by one of their executives, by one of the managers they see everyday, and with an audience in the room. The other members had been there; scattered around the room, but there. The majority didn't see the hit, but they had looked up when they heard the impact.
Jungkook can still feel the somber silence that had filled the room. He remembers the way his eyes followed his manager's hand, watching as it dropped back down to his side. He remembers trying so hard not to look at the other members, afraid of how pathetic he may look if he did. It was one slap - it stung, but it wouldn't bruise.
He remembers how everything had turned to static - watching the manager's lips form words that he wasn't listening to, watching the manager move away with a too-friendly pat on Jungkook's shoulder, and hearing the motion in the room slowly return back to normal. No words were said, the room remained quiet, and even the staff had turned to hushed whispers.
It had been static when a hand folded into his, holding on tight, and tugging until he could finally bother to drag his gaze over.
He didn't have to lift his eyes to know it was Jimin. The touch was familiar, the soft skin and small fingers, the way it fit in his own. His body followed on instinct, led by the older's incessent tugs until Jungkook was laying down across the couch, head in Jimin's lap.
There was a hand that was cradled under Jungkook's neck, grounding him like an anchor. Jimin's other hand had went to his hair, brushing through in a pattern Jungkook was comfortable with. The touch was where he had turned his focus, melting into chilled fingers and warm palms. For a moment, those fingers had brushed over his sore cheek, which was then a stale red, and Jungkook's heart had stopped.
He remembers how scared he had been to meet Jimin's eyes, scared of seeing anger - at him, at the manager, he didn't know, maybe that's why he was so afraid.
The fingers had lingered, tracing over the apple of his cheekbone, brushing down to his jaw, and moving back up. They hesistated, before skipping over and moving back to massage into his hair. Jungkook's heart had returned to normal, and he could breathe again, but the gentle touch had only reminded him of what had happened.
And now, minutes later, minutes of static, minutes of nothing, minutes of feeling the stares of the others, of feeling Jimin's burning gaze on him, he finally opened his eyes and flicked his eyes up to look at him.
Jimin was already looking into his, and the gloomed look had lifted considerably when it met Jungkook's. Jimin's hand moved to drape over his neck, slotting into the space perfectly. "Hey," Jimin whispered, breathy from how silent he was attempting to be, as if he were the one who was afraid. "I'm sorry."
Jungkook licked his lips, resisting the urge to look away. He kept the gaze, thinking about shaking his head but it wouldn't move, "It's okay."
"You didn't do anything wrong, you know." Jimin told him, and his hand suddenly felt heavier. "It wasn't your fault, okay? He shouldn't have hit you."
Jungkook tried to nod. Everything was becoming too overwhelming. The touch, the eye-contact, the shame, his shaky hands, the words that coursed through him. He felt the tears spill out, immediately slipped down his temple and disappearing into his hairline, leaving wet trails on his blotched complexion. They kept coming, burning as they traced down his cheeks, scorching his heated skin.
His vision blurred, and Jungkook shut his eyes tight again. He nodded again. He knew it wasn't his fault, he knew that the manager had overreacted, but he also knew that this wasn't the first time, and there was a chance that it wouldn't be the last time either. He had to know that he wasn't a kid anymore - that he picks his own battles, and he chose this life himself.
"Hyung is so sorry," Jimin cooed, and the singer hunched over, managing to press a kiss to Jungkook's forehead. His lips were soft, and they were warm, and the kiss was safe - and it was all too much.
Jungkook's lip quivered and he bit back a small sob. He turned his body into Jimin, tucking his face into Jimin's open jacket. His legs curled up into the cushions of the couch, pathetically trying to make his body fit, but he was desperate - he just wanted to make himself disappear, just wanted to be so small that everything would feel so small in comparison.
The hot tears soaked into the hem of Jimin's shirt. Jungkook's back racked with silent cries, shaking and quivering in Jimin's hold. His chest was twisting with embarrassment, knowing that everyone could see him - knowing that his hyungs were still over there, watching, that the staff was around to catch a glimpse. But in the dark of Jimin's shirt, cradled in Jimin's hands that ran over him in smooth patterns, he was safe.
"Come on, Kookie, don't get my shirt all wet." Jimin tried to tease, but his own voice was watery.
His shaking wasn't because he was cold - but that didn't make the warm sweatshirt that was thrown over his torso a moment later any less meaningful. There was a new pair of hands that came with the sweatshirt, one firm on his back and the other curled over his bicep.
"You doing alright, kiddo?"
It was Hoseok. His voice sounded tense, curt. How it got whenever he was mad. But there was emotion seeping in the subtext, his worry for the youngest clear to the room. His touch was careful, practiced, like he was thinking through every brush of his hand over Jungkook's bare arm.
Jungkook nodded into Jimin's stomach, afraid to turn his face into exposure. He knew how he looked; teary eyes, dark bags, blotchy face and the fresh cut in his lip from how hard he bit into it. He knew that the print of the hand was no longer on his cheek, but it felt like the shame was tattoed into his skin.
"Get him up." A new voice called in, unwelcomed, "I know he's crying, but we have an interview in twenty minutes. He needs to get cleaned up. There's no time for this."
Jungkook felt Jimin tense under him, but Hoseok remained in motion, still humming soft under his breath, ignoring anything the voice had suggested. Jungkook could hear Jimin part his lips, ready to say something to the manager who interrupted them, but another voice beat him to the punch.
"Give him a minute." Taehyung's voice was sharp, the usual smile in his tone gone. The coldness would hurt Jungkook, should he ever be on the recieving end, but he knew he never would be.
"You all need to understand that this is the business you're in. You've been here long enough to know that. You're idols, you don't get breathers until you're done."
Yoongi's voice came next, blunt and leaving no room for error, "He's fucking upset. Let him work it out."
Shame had crept back up Jungkook's body, burning him from the inside out. He felt it eat at his stomach, poke at the walls keeping him together. The words echoed through his mind. Idols. He chose this, he knows that this is what it's like, they've all been through his before. It's been worse, and it's been easier. He's not a kid anymore, he should be as strong as his hyungs, he should be able to bear it without crying-
"Five minutes." The manager finalized, sighing sharply through his nose. He took his steps away, heading for the open doorway, "You have five minutes to get it together."
"Or what?" Yoongi started, sitting up his spot, "The interview doesn't start until we get there. You're seriously going to threaten us right now? Who are the ones earning your money while you sit back and watch?"
"Yoongi." Namjoon whispered, effectively cutting the other rapper off. Namjoon's hand settled on Yoongi's knee, squeezing, and the leader shook his head silently.
Yoongi pursed his lips, reluctantly dropping the subject.
"Here, Jungkookie." Seokjin was next to him now, behind him. Hoseok's hands paused. Jungkook felt something cold nudge against his arm. "I got you some water."
Jimin's hand returned to Jungkook's hair, brushing through. Everyone in the room remained patient, even as Jungkook was taking a little longer than needed to catch his breath. They didn't push him. They understood what he needed, they understood how hard this could get from him, how overwhelming it could feel.
Hoseok's hands moved firm, his hand on Jungkook's bicep squeezing, a quiet cue of "c'mon, kid".
Jungkook let the hands lead him up, missing Jimin's that dropped from his hair. A second later, Jimin's touch returned, brushing over his stomach, around his waist. He was turned around, back into a seated position on the couch. He kept his eyes down, letting his bangs hang into his eyes.
Jimin's hand found Jungkook's, lacing their fingers together. He lifted the joined hands up to his lips, holding them there.
A hand came up to his cheek, over the one where he had been slapped. It formed where the print had been, but this touch was different, and Jungkook wasn't going to flinch - he lifted his gaze, meeting Seokjin's warm eyes. Seokjin smiled and let his hand slip down under Jungkook's chin, holding it steady as he raised the bottle of water up to the maknae's lips.
Jungkook drank, feeling a pink flush rising up to his cheeks. He was being babied. He should be ashamed, embarrassed to be like this at his age, babied by his older members as if he were still a young boy. The insecurity was eating at him, and Jungkook felt like all his energy was being drained, gnawed at and leaving a shell.
"You feeling alright?" Seokjin asked, moving the bottle back.
Jungkook managed a nod. He wanted to tell his hyungs that he was only slapped, that it wasn't that big of a deal, but he knew how they were seeing it, and he knew how it looked with him crying like this. Instead, he kept his lips shut.
Jimin's body molded against his side, the smaller man leaning into him. Plush lips pressed a kiss over the top of his shoulder, as Jimin moved their joined hands into Jungkook's lap. Jimin turned to lean his cheek against him, whispering again, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Jungkook whsipered back. It was - it would be.
"Do we have to do the interview?" Taehyung asked, voice back to being his soft rumble, innocent in tone as he spoke to their oldest members.
Namjoon nodded, breathing a deep sigh. "We can't cancel now, it wouldn't be fair to them."
Taehyung nodded, Jungkook mirrored the movement.
Namjoon looked to Jungkook, a sympathetic smile on his lips, one dimple in his cheek, "It will be over soon though. And then we can go back home."
The thought of having to sit through an hour long interview after all this - after crying and after being yelled at, being hit, and crying again - was exhausting, and Jungkook felt his morale deflate. But when Jimin pressed another kiss, curling closer into his side, and Taehyung moved into the spot beside him, dropping his head down on his other shoulder, and he felt the weight of the others watching over him, he knew that he would be alright.
If anything, he would be home.
Jungkook's soft "ok" was with a small smile.