53: Flesh Wounds

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I gave it up, Y/N.

...

He gave up what?

Long after Jungkook's gone, you're finally dressed, and the bathroom is no longer steamy, you mull over that last, obviously meaningful statement that he threw at you before his departure.

He gave up what?

The video? The muffin?

You wish you could think it's something as shallow as that, but the reality is that his tone implied at much deeper waters.

Some inequivocabile feeling in you pushes your mentality to muse over a further meaning, reviewing every gesture and change in his facial position, every vocal shift and tone movement. He meant something, but what?

You can't help but feel, in context, that the statement was much more emotionally revealing then you're  currently understanding. Jungkook sounded awfully sincere when he said it, tone silky and informative, as if he was letting you know in plain speech every emotion beating in his heart.

But that's the whole problem, isn't it?

He didn't tell you what he was feeling; instead, he jam-packed every emotion into four words and your name, then dropped that lovely little bomb at your doorstep with a bow tied around the pin for you to decipher. 

He wasn't talking about the video; so what was he taking about?

Tapping your finger on the fabric of the comforter, you tug on the hem of your alpaca shirt and stare up at the ceiling.

Your head hurts.

Whoever said that girls are more difficult to understand than boys has most likely never dealt with Jeon Jungkook before.

"Hey." A soft knock on the door makes your heart jump in your chest, and you huff a little before turning to see Namjoon peering into the room. "You ready to come in here? We have a couple things to discuss."

He looks amazing today, superbly angled face framed unstyled golden-brown hair. The soft fringe falling down his forehead somehow gives Namjoon a gentler feel, still cool and masculine but at the same time compassionate and impressionable.

Unmovable iron covered in fluffy wool.

"Sure." You stand fluidly, rubbing the slightly sore skin of your left leg under your sweatpants.

Namjoon leads you into the living room where everyone is gathered, faces sober for once.

Your eyes clash with Jungkook's gorgeous black ones, so totally different from the playful gaze he graced you with minutes ago in the private space of your room.

With the depth of his eyes staring back at you, his words echo far back in your head, a faint whisper of silky admittance.

I gave it up, Y/N.

Still not knowing what he meant, you shake his voice out of your head and make yourself scan the room, taking in the seven men who've adopted you. Each and everyone has an internal intensity about them, eyes quiet but riotous within.

Even light-hearted Hoseok is looking blankly out he window, his eyes shadowed with seriousness.

"Holy crap," whispers Jimin under his breath. His orange hair is kind of sticky-up, like he's been running his fingers through it, and he's sitting on the couch with his elbows braced on his knees. "I can't believe we're going to do this. This is the most freaking idiotic thing-"

"We're gonna get blown to pieces," says Yoongi. It seems that in the face of reality, he's forgotten all about any beef between himself and Jungkook. Now his pretty eyes are creased with subtle stress, lips pursed. "How will this even work? We thought we could just...walk in?"

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