Sticks and Stones

06: Doctor

Piled under your arms are mounds of antiseptic and bandages, a roll of gauze clasped gently in your teeth as you head down the hallway to your room.
Your mom had wanted to help you clean Jungkook's injuries, but the thought of the two of them together in the same room for an extended period of time gives you heart palpitations. You're terrified of the mean boy in your bedroom accidentally revealing something crucial about the nature of your school life.
One word from him could send your carefully constructed lie crashing to the ground in a million pieces.
A million pieces that are on fire.
And have been shoved through a wood chipper. With a sigh and a shake of your head, you gently push open your bedroom door to reveal the still figure inside.
He's there, hard jaw tilted arrogantly toward the heavens as he looks up at the ceiling. At your entrance, his gaze flicks toward the door.
Just as quickly, he looks away.
The strong ridges of his brows are furrowed into a nasty glare.
"What do you want?" he mutters.
You hmph at the utter disrespect he's showing to you when in your house, but also, what should you expect? Due to the gauze in your mouth, you can't answer more than that small noise.
Instead, you trudge over your your desk and drop all of the medical supplies into it, resulting in a plastic pinging symphony.
"Sit up," you tell him bluntly. The boy huffs and crosses his arms childishly, avoiding eye contact.
"Okay, then," you say carelessly. "I'll just let the cuts on your lips and cheek get infected. Not like you need a pretty face anyways." Shrugging, you act like your about to leave the room.
There's a slight huff, then a grudging, "Fine."
Unsurprised that his vanity is what's allowing him to relent, you return to him without a word and drag your desk chair over by the bed.
"Look at me," you say, and start to dab some medicine onto his cut cheek. The action brings the two of you into the same breathing space, and you shiver in disgust.
You can't stand being so close to someone like him.
Jungkook sits still as a stone under your hand, narrowed eyes following your every motion. When the antiseptic stings, he hisses with pain. "Just so you know, if you ever tell anyone about this..." The tone of his voice is obviously threatening, as is the dark and intimidating expression on his face.
You pause to listen to his words, jaw clenching.
"What are you gonna do, Jeon? Break my rib and destroy my computer? Oh wait, you've already done that." You press the cotton ball with medicine on it hard into his wound, forcing a low whine from him. Jungkook jerks away from you, grimacing.
"What the heck, Y/N? That hurt." He looks at you with wounded, angry eyes.
"Listen to me." Fury bubbles up inside of you at the thought that he would even dare to take the verbal steps he just has. You strike out like a snake, fisting the front of his hoodie in your hand and pulling him so his face is only an inch from yours. "I let you push me around at school, where everyone believes the same stupid rumor, and that's fine. I let that garbage go," you hiss quietly. "But this is my house. This is my room. That's my mother down the hall, paying for your medicine, and the tea you're drinking. And I'm the one who brought you here instead of leaving you unconscious on the street."
You can't read all of his expression. There's definitely some shock there, and some irritation as well, but the rest is a cool blankness that you can't unravel.
So you let him go. Jungkook doesn't lean back from you, instead hovering in your face as if the distance doesn't affect him.
"Choi Y/N," he says slowly, a nasty grin spreading across his face like butter. "You're talking back. What happened to that little helpless mouse that goes to school with me?"
Of course.
As if you could make any kind of impact on him, or help him to understand the amount of kindness you and your family are offering to him.
As if he would be grateful.
As if he would have respect for mercy.
Fed up, you take a smear of the medicine and roughly splash is on his busted lip. You also slap into his hand a bottle of cream to help with the bruising.
"You can put that on yourself," you say.
Then you stand and glide out, pausing to look back at him over your shoulder. "This in't school. Don't threaten me in my own home, Jungkook."

***

You stalk into the kitchen where your mother is, leaning your weight in frustration on one of the counters.
Your head might legitimately explode at this point.
"How's he doing?" your mother asks lightly. Her sweet, beautiful face is tired, but happy, and she's stirring a bubbling pot of something that smells heavenly.
"He'll be fine," you spit through gritted teeth, then continue on in a soft mutter, "unfortunately, the arrogant little-"
"Hmm?" says your mom, to which you respond with a sheepish laugh and a quick nothing.
"Anyways, he seems like such a sweet boy," she continues. "So polite. You know, Y/N, the first thing he wanted when he woke up was to see you."
There's a sparkle in your mother's eyes that makes you wary.
"No, mom," you sigh. "No way. There's none of that going on here. Not ever."
Simply giving you an amused smile, your mom sashays over to stand in front of you. She takes your hands in hers, and smiles.
It's a breathtaking sight.
Your mother is one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen. Her skin is a milky white, eyes large and filled with a shine that hasn't been dulled by years of hard work. She's kind, and wonderful, and her beauty hasn't ruined her. The sight of her mischievous smile fills your heart with a wonderful warmth - the same warmth that keeps you going through the school year.
This - this smile, this joy- this is what keeps you from blasting the boy in your bedroom off the face of the earth with an AK47.
Your mom grins. "I may be old, but I'm not blind, Y/N. I know a handsome young man when I see one."
"Ugh!" you choke, clutching your chest at the thought. Even a single thought about being in a relationship with someone like Jeon Jungkook has your stomach roiling. You shudder violently, as if your whole body is twitching in indignation at the scenario.
"I'm not interested," you say firmly. "Trust me, I have very good reasons."
"Alright," your mom replies, amusement and mischief ringing in her voice. She shakes your head, as if your blatant refusal is merely a minor setback. "If that very good-looking boy laying in you bedroom is feeling better, you should invite him to join us for dinner."

[A/N]
Unedited and pointless 🤷🏼‍♀️