Jeon Jungkook Oneshots

Eye Opener

Jungkook held his head in his palms. It was an awful feeling to not feel good enough - an ugly, consuming feeling that swelled and festered from your core. He could feel the corners of his eyes sting from the tears of disappointment, and he was torn between letting them fall or rubbing them away. He’d hidden himself away from prying and pitying eyes, in the four walls of his hotel room bathroom, but he sometimes wonders why does that. Many people had told him, including his six best friends, his family, that it was fine to appear ‘weak’ sometimes, however he still endured these negative emotions alone. A strangled breath left his constricted throat, and he took a deep breath to clear the fog that had consumed his brain when he felt the need to sob. Why did he have to obsess over every little mistake he made? Was it worth it? Was he worth it?

"Jungkook?"

His head shot up hearing your voice, his palms rushing to wipe away the remnants of tears.He must admit he flinched when he heard the bathroom door rattle with the knocks of your fists,

"Jungkook are you ok? You’ve been in there a while," your concerned and gentle voice called out.

He sniffed. Obviously he considered lying but there was no point in lying to you. And now he had hesitated for too long for you to even believe whatever bullsh*t answer that came out of his mouth.

"Can I come in?" you asked again even gentler.

It was quiet, but you heard a small and broken ‘okay’ from inside. Slowly opening the door, your head peeked in finding Jungkook sat on the floor, avoiding eye contact with you, his gaze stuck to the floor. You frowned at the sound of his light sniffles. You knew very well what was bothering him, a couple of mistakes on stage sent him into a black hole of self-deprecation. So you just joined him on the floor, keeping him company until he felt more comfortable.

"You’re always so hard on yourself, baby," you whispered, craning your neck to get a look at his face.

Exhaling a long breath, he shrugged. "I practice so hard, y/n, to the point I don’t make mistakes, but I still manage to go wrong on stage," he spoke, his voice shaky, but still held a strong tension. "I’m just so frustrated, I bet I disappointed everyone."

You sighed. You weren’t tired of him talking about these feelings, of course not, you would be there whenever he needed.

"I think humans aren’t meant to be perfect, ever. Even you, Mr. Perfectionist," you tried to lighten the mood, but his lip that began to tremble stopped you from smiling. "Jungkook, I need you to listen to me, even though I’ve said this many times before. It's okay to make mistakes. If anything they are necessary to improve. Do not ever question your worth. I know that’s not going to happen at the snap of a finger, but believe me when I say that you are worth every little bit of love and praise you get." You paused. You could’ve let word vomit take over but you preferred to organise your words a little bit so his frazzled mind could understand. "There are millions of people around the world that love you not just for the talents you have but because they know you are one of the most genuine people on Earth."

Jungkook let out another rushed, heavy breath and you reached for his hand, allowing the pad of your thumb to smooth over his fidgeting fingers.

"Baby, you know your fans aren’t going to love you any less when you make a mistake. And if there are people who think of you any less because of a mere mistake then they are not proper fans who think unrealistically and you know that."

"But I worked so hard," he cried.

"I know," and you rubbed his knuckles again, "and that’s amazing too. You did your best and that’s all you can do. If you were perfect all the time I think you’d be exhausted."

It was quiet for a moment, and you were happy to hear Jungkook’s pace of breath calming down.

"Do you know what most armys think whenever you go wrong on stage?" Not hearing an answer you carry on. "They worry about you, because they know you’ll beat yourself up about it. They don’t want you to ever be sad. They want to put your mental and physical health above everything."

That was when he finally looked at you, his pink rimmed eyes that were wide and glossy, and puffy lips breaking your heart. Raising your hand, you moved the dark strands of hair that fell in front of his eyes, then proceeded to rake your fingers through the rest of his hair. Lightly scratching his scalp, you smiled lightly.

"I’m not sure what else I could say. But as long as I’m with you, and as long as the boys and armys love you, never question your abilities or yourself again. I love you, so much."

He nodded, patting his eyes dry again and whispered out an ‘I love you too’. You laid a light kiss on his cheek and stood up.

"Come on let’s order some food," you said, holding your hand out for him.

For the rest of the night you fed him food and reassurances to him and every one of them had him smiling wider and wider. He slept with his head on your chest, and if he was worth enough to listen to your heartbeat for the rest of his life and to feel your unrelenting and confident hold on him, maybe he was worth every bit of love he received—and his mistakes on stage seemed as little but necessary as the ingrain of his fingerprints.