His pov
I woke up next to you, feeling your arm wrapped around my waist. Your body was so close to mine as you slept peacefully.
My thoughts were all jumbled, and my heart began to race as I felt a wave of anxiety. When I noticed that my clothes were still on, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. But as I looked back at you, I was uncertain about what to do next.
The first impulse was to kick your ass away from me. Killing you wasn't a bad idea either. It sounded like a good one. I could just strangle you or take your pillow from under your big head and suffocate you in your sleep.
An evil grin appeared on my face at that thought.
But damn... I couldn't.
With a heavy sigh, I stared at the ceiling, gathering the courage to break free from the cocoon of warmth that bound me to you. I touched your arm slowly, feeling the warmth radiating from your skin. My fingers tentatively wrapped around it, a silent plea for some distance, for a bit of space to breathe.
Just then, you shifted in your sleep, and in an instant, everything changed. Your body shifted, fully covering mine as if you were a weighted blanket that had slipped into position. It was as though you had unconsciously claimed me as your mattress for the night. I couldn't help but roll my eyes in frustration, the annoyance bubbling up inside. This was the last thing I needed. Defeated, I allowed myself to sink deeper into the pillow, trying to find comfort in this unexpected predicament.
Damn you. What the fuck am I even doing here?
I felt overwhelmed with frustration. Once again, I had lost control of my own body. I was aimlessly wandering the streets of Seoul when everything started to blur.
I noticed the small bruise on the side of your neck, and my heart sank. I was responsible for that. Was it too harsh when I injected the serum into you? I should have realized how serious it was. I wasn't thinking clearly.
I'm sorry.
As I gently touched your bruised neck, memories of what Doctor Mingyu had told you flooded my mind.
Abused?
Drugged?
No.
I felt a sudden urge to push those troubling thoughts deep into the recesses of my mind. It wasn't real; it couldn't have happened to someone like me. It was an absurd notion to entertain.
It wasn't me, not the person they claimed I was.
I couldn't bear the weight of it—in my heart, I knew the truth.
I didn't do anything wrong.
I wasn't responsible for anyone's death.
It was someone else's doing, not mine.
Please.
I wrapped my arms around your waist without realizing what I was doing. Burying my face into the crook of your neck, I took a deep breath. You had a weird effect on me.
You felt good... Somehow. In a weird way, though.
Just this once. Let me stay like this once, only for a few minutes. And then, if you will touch me again, I will throw your big and annoying ass in the deepest hole I would find. So you could never reach me. Never again.
True healing can only begin when you come to terms with what has happened to you. Embracing the darker aspects of your experience might be the key that unlocks the support and understanding you need.
It's frustrating to listen to a doctor who seems so detached, casually throwing around words of encouragement and acceptance as though they have fully grasped the depth of my pain. His confidence stings, making me wonder whether he truly understands. What if his advice is misguided? What if acknowledging my feelings leads to deeper turmoil instead of solace? The fear that the situation might spiral out of control weighs heavily on my mind, casting a shadow over any glimmer of hope.
***
The possibility loomed over everything, heavy and disquieting. The notion that the two versions of Jungkook could become one—the idea that he might wake up and confront the reality of his actions—may not bring anything good. What if he genuinely had killed his family? What if Mingyu's words about his father were not mere fabrications but chilling truths? If that were the case, the world would spiral into chaos, becoming a nightmare.
For you. For him. For everyone caught in the web of this twisted fate.
You were acutely aware of this potential horror. It's why, until now, you tried your very best to avoid mentioning one in the presence of the other, trying to shield both of them from the painful reality that could surface. Your silence felt like a rebellion against Mingyu, even as you feared that the truth might shatter everything.
At that moment, the Jungkook holding you close was unaware of the darkness swirling just out of reach. He was a boy lost in the safety of his dreams—innocent, untouched by the grotesque chaos that had unfolded in his life.
Yet there existed the other Jungkook, shackled by the horrors of memory. This version of him was plagued by relentless nightmares, experiences imprinted on his psyche in vivid flashes. He was aware—of the pain, the suffering, the abuse inflicted by his father—these memories were fragments of a nightmare that replayed every night. However, there was one chilling detail that he could not grasp: he lacked the complete picture of that fateful night when tragedy struck.
In the turmoil of that early evening, during the massacre that would forever alter their lives, neither Jungkook retained any memory. The cruel hand of fate—amplified by the treacherous drug his father had forced upon him—had stolen away his recollections. With Jungkook sedated and trapped within the fog of induced oblivion, the truth of what had transpired lingered, hidden in the depths of his fractured mind, waiting for the moment when it could come crashing to the surface.