#meanwhile watch me cry everyday while everyone i know just ignores me and skip classes and dont do my work and try to kms in the bathroom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ninnodesu · 3 years

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“Can I See You?” ch 3 || Modern!Thomas

AN: Put a shirt on, Thomas

It hurts my heart writing about medical stuff being done at home in a modern setting because I, myself, is studying into the medical field. ffskäpk I’ve had some complaints sent my way which I’ve not replied to in public about how Thomas is OOC because “he’s not as he is in the movies”. To that I just have to say that: Remember how the Internet has the possiblity for you to open up to new people in a totally different way than you do in real life. This story is set in the modern world, where he’s able to do just that. Open up in a different way, without prejudice and the words he would recieve outside of the internet.

Upstairs, Thomas is met with his uncle already arguing with his mama, and he lets out a huff of annoyance, he knows his uncle has already told her lies about him. His huff gets their attention as they turn towards him.

"Thomas Hewitt, is it true you ain't doing your job?", his mama’s eyes pierces him the way only she can, and he nods. "He's thinkin' with that dick of 'is, is all.", Thomas snaps his head towards his uncle and lets out a growl.

You don't know the meaning of shutting up?

"Charlie!", a small smack rings out in the room as his mama swats Charlie on the back of the head. "There will be no such language in my house!"

When Thomas sees her turn towards him again, he puts on the famous Little Tommy Eyes. The ones he always used when he would come home after playing in the woods all caked in mud. His eyes were always big as dinner plates, full of "sorry, mama "s as his small boyish voice repeated "I was just playing". That look always melted his mama, often in the middle of reprimanding him for bringing in mud into the house before she always, without fail, ended up carrying him into a bubble bath.

Everyone in the Hewitt household knows that the big mountain of a man is a Mama's boy. Always has been, always will be. And even now, in his thirties, his eyes win.

A sigh escapes his mother and she puts a hand on his back.

"Come, hun. We're goin' to have a talk. And you, boy, go be useful somewhere!", she points an angry finger at Charlie, and being a spiteful nephew, Thomas can't help giving Charlie a look that screams "I told you so" before he and his mother round the corner into the living room. They sat down at the small table located close to a window where his mother and her sister always sit to have tea together. He watched as she folded her hands on her lap, looking straight at him. “Now, Tommy. I want you to tell me what’s happenin’ here.”, she dropped her voice to the tone he remembered when he knew he was in trouble while growing up.

She was serious. “And I expect you to be honest with me, boy.”

Well… This is it. He thought.

He never bothered telling his family about you, just like he never bothered with any of his friends, he knew what that would lead to. A stern lecture about how their “lifestyle” would be compromised, how his late night endeavours on the internet would lead to the family getting caught, blablabla.

But now, he had no other choice, it was time to admit to his mother that he had met a girl on the internet that he actually liked. He drew a big breath to steady his nerves before shakily raising his hands, thankful for the fact that at least his mother had actually paid attention and taken the sign language classes seriously, unlike both his uncles. Uncle Monty not really giving a shit at all, while his uncle Charlie knew a sign here and there. He says himself that he “knows enough to get by”, a lie, since he barely knew shit.

He figured it’s best to just start.

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Meanwhile in the basement, your head jerks towards the sound of the sliding door slowly sliding open. The sound of quiet footsteps coming down the stairs, it almost sounded like whoever it was was sneaking their way down.

“Hello?”, you rasp out. No response. So you don’t bother, and return to follow the furrows of the wood on the ceiling above you. Then, a voice suddenly whispers out close to you.

“Ya’ really a password for your phone, girl.”, you recognize the voice as the older male who was arguing with Thomas earlier, and you look towards him as he comes into view, holding your phone. “I had no idea my nephew was talkin’ to such a slut.”, you frown up at him as he leans down next to you so you both can read your conversation with Thomas. You see his eyes read every single dirty word you’d said to each other. Skipping over the parts where you were only talking about everyday things. “I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business.”, you spit at him, trying your best to sound as serious as you can despite your ruined vocal cords.

He just smirks while scrolling in the conversation, making a disgusting sound as he licks his lips. A familiar moaning voice coming from your speakers. He just found the video you sent Thomas. “Oh, but you see, darlin’. It is my business.”, he proceeds to lean over you, close to your face, before he continues, “because now, he refuses to do his job. All because of you.”

His eyes rake over your whole body, one of his hands is hovering just above you, and you feel sick to your stomach knowing exactly what this disgusting old man is thinking while doing so. “To think that he got a girlie like you.”, he whistles quietly, “makes an old man like me real jealous.”, you turn your head away as he leans in and you whimper as you feel him place a alcohol filled kiss to your cheek. You can’t do anything to defend yourself, you can’t scream anymore, your eyes hurt from crying, your leg throbs, your wrists hurt. All you know at this moment is a breath reeking of alcohol, pain and a broken heart.

You feel a tongue graze your ear before he whispers into it. “Before I make Thomas kill you, I’ll make you feel good, darlin’.”, he moans out his last word and chuckles darkly before leaving you alone again. Your body is so weak at this point, your eyes burn as a few straggling tears escape, and you close your eyes. Your eyes scream for some rest.

------------------------------------------------------------

‘That’s why I can’t kill her mama’

Finishing his motivation to not kill her, he proceeds to fiddle with his fingers instead, he looks at. They've been talking for almost an hour, only stopping for his mama to think and give some pointers, his uncle sneaking away from the sliding door to the basement caught his eyes once and he glared at him. His mother’s firm “Thomas.” bringing him back to the conversation.

‘And her leg is broken’

She only opens her mouth to reprimand him for messing with his uncle. “You know we don’t disrespect family, Thomas.” Hiding a pout behind his mask, he hangs his head in shame and nods. Even if Charlie is an asshole towards him at times, he’s family. And if it’s something his mama has taught him throughout the years, it’s that family comes first. No matter what.

“But…”, she continues as she stands to walk away, and he perks up, lifting his head to look at her with hopeful eyes. “You may keep her, but only until her leg is healed.”, he shoots up and envelops her in a sweaty bear hug.

“And you share food from your plate, you hear me?”, she swats him on his arm hard enough for a loud smack to ring out, and he reacts with a raspy “Ah!” before rubbing his hand where her hand landed. “No fooling around, either. And stop fighting with Charlie!”. His face heats up at the “no fooling around”-comment. “Now come’ere. We need to gather what supplies we have.”, he grunts lightly and looks down at the red mark his mother left on his arm before trudging after her to grab medical supplies.

Down in the basement, he does his best to ignore the small jump his heart does as he sees you’ve apparently fallen asleep, or passed out, on the table. You look serene. Peaceful. No trace of the earlier fear and panic left on your now relaxed face.

Working carefully, he unbolts your wrists and ankles to help his mother stabilize your leg. Internally thanking you for choosing to wear shorts so he didn’t have to unbutton your pants, something that would most likely have made him suffer a heart attack.

“She’s pretty, Tommy.”, his mother whispers to him as she moves up to the broken leg. He follows her with his eyes and nods shyly, her voice is silent. “Do you know her name?”, he thinks for a few seconds before signing out the letters to your name, she just hums in response and proceeds to set their work up.

Since they both know they can’t safely give you proper medical care, Thomas is thankful for the fact that his mama had made use of online classes for necessary skills.

“This’ll have to do.”, she backs up a bit and eyes the work they’ve put into your leg, and nods. Wiping her hands on her apron, she singlas for Thomas and starts moving to his basement bedroom. “Come on, hun. She’s staying down here.”, his head jolts towards her and he shakes his head in protest. “This is the safest place in the house.”, he shakes his head again and raises his hand to sign out protests.

‘Please, mama, not down here’

“Thomas Brown Hewitt!”, he relents and lets out an annoyed grunt, earning another smack on his arm as she can see him roll his eyes, “Don’t sass me, child!”, she jabs a finger close to his face before ordering him to pick you up from the table. “Listen to your mama and put her on your bed, and keep that leg of ‘ers high up.”, he lets out a humming sound close to “yes” as he carries you over to the bedroom, doing his best to not wake you up. A part of him relishing in keeping your sleeping form pressed to his chest. “And make sure you give ‘er a drink!”, his mama yells back at him before he closes the door just enough to shield you from view as he lays you down on his bed.

He thinks for a moment on what to prop your leg up on and looks around. Finally finding some pieces of clothing and a blanket that he scrunches up and puts under your leg.

A glass of water is sat down on the floor, Thomas deciding to sit down on an old lounge chair across from the bed, making him face you. He leans his head on his left hand just to watch you while waiting for his mama to return with something to eat.

He has a hard time fully comprehending that you’re really here, in front of him. He’s never been a popular person, neither on the internet nor outside of it, years of bullying erasing any kind of self positivity. Sure, he did have some friends scattered around some websites, but most of them were just… there. A few permanent contacts, maybe two, or three, but here you were. Someone who had replied to one of his posts; one comment being all it took.

You always talked sweetly to him, never did you pester him about things he found uncomfortable, there was never any need to explain when and why he needed space. And you never asked where he had been or what he had done when he went away for several days to… work. You were still as happy as ever when he returned to your conversation.

You’d brighten these months for him exponentially. When he told you he worked as a butcher, carefully avoiding what exactly he butchered, you didn’t shy away like other people did. You were curious by it, fascinated almost, asking some stray questions as to how he’d gotten into it, why he chose that job and that was it. You accepted him. Nothing that had to do with him scared you.

Fishing his phone up from his jean pocket, he opened your conversation, quickly swiping past all the naughty bits to get to the more sweeter moments. Reading through them, he smiled.

Glancing up at you, an idea came to mind. He closed the conversation and started looking through all the apps to find the camera and zoomed into your relaxed face to snap a photo of you. He wanted to remember this, no matter what happened in the future. He wanted to remember the very first time he saw you this relaxed.

His door knocked, and he swiftly closed his phone as he lightly tapped the toe of his boot on the floor, his own way of saying “come in”. “I bought something to eat, hun.”, his mama came in and the room was filled with the sweet aroma of cinnamon, on a plate were two big cinnamon buns resting, still warm. Thomas couldn’t help but to close his eyes and inhale the scent. He opened them again when he heard her laugh a little.

‘If I break my leg, can I have some too?’, he grins at his own bad attempt to get a warm treat such as a cinnamon bun.

“There’s two, Tommy.”, she winks at him and he lets out a deep chuckle.

‘Thank you, mama’

His mother sits the plate down next to the glass of water on the floor before she returns to the door and proceeds to lean up against the frame. A hurtful question is starting to grow in Thomas, and even if he doesn’t want the answer, he tugs lightly at his mama’s apron to get her attention. Without looking at her, keeping his eyes low and only slightly glancing over at your breathing form, he signs one question;

‘Do I have to do it?’

His mother just hums quietly towards the question before she replies. “You can keep her till she’s better, Tommy.”, he huffs at the same answer he had gotten earlier.

'That doesn’t even make sense, mama’ 'You’ve always told me I should find someone’ 'And now, when I finally found someone I like’ 'I have to kill her’

He glares up at her, annoyance, anger and hurt visible in his eyes. She meets his eyes, but her face is empty.

“Is she an honest woman?”, he only lets out an annoyed breath. "You know family comes first...", she looks at him to finish her statement, and he does so reluctantly with plain lazy hand movements.

'No matter what’

"The girl’s your responsibility.", he starts tapping the back of his phone in an irritable way. Suddenly, there’s a sharp pain in his earlobe as she pulls him close to her, and he lets out a pained grunt at being pulled. "And you heard what I said about foolin' around!", she lets him go and he rubs the sore spot on his ear, face red as earlier.

You groan slightly as you open your eyes. You clearly remember closing your eyes to give them rest after being sore and dry after your crying. What you didn’t intend to do, however, was to fall asleep.

Scratching your scalp you realize you’re not bolted down anymore, and you hurriedly go to sit up but stop abruptly as you’re reminded about the pain in your leg. You hiss and slow down, resorting to only resting on your elbows as you look down to your… leg, in a cast? “What?”, as your brain wakes up from your unknowing nap you notice you’re also laying down on a bed instead. Slowly, you scoot yourself up to rest against the wall at the head of the bed. A light reaches through the slightly open door, a shuffling, a clinking and water flowing is heard outside. Clearing your throat, you call out. “Hello?”, you jolt slightly as a clatter rings out, the sound obvious evidence you had scared whoever was out there as it sounded like they dropped something.

Careful footsteps came your way and then a shy head popped into view and peered in on you from behind dark curls. You took the pillow from behind your back and hugged it close to your chest, like it would work as a shield. Looking at him as he peeked in through the opening of the door, he didn’t seem as frightening as before. Now, he looked like a kid. Someone who had just broken a vase and was too scared to tell his mom what he had done. But despite his innocent look, you couldn’t help the awful feeling in your stomach, that sinking realization of what he actually is, and what he’s done.

He surprised you though. Surprised you by lifting a shy hand and slowly waving it back and forth in a greeting. The gesture made you smile into the pillow, every ounce of rationality pushed aside. “Hi.”, you mumbled into the pillow. Instead of coming in, he just awkwardly stood there wringing his hands and fiddling with his fingers. Occasionally a hand would come down to pull on one of the chains hanging from his belt, like he was nervous being in your presence. You felt bed for him. Something you couldn’t believe you did, but you did feel bad for him at this moment.

“Do you… uhm… do you wanna come in?”, you ask timidly. A part of you actually wanting to talk to him. To get to know the Thomas you’ve known through your phone. He nodded, and came closer to you. But instead of sitting down or anything, he bends down next to the head of the bed and picks a plate up before setting it down in your lap. You look at the plate and then up to him. He’s in the middle of moving the lounge chair closer to you than it was before, he motions to the plate. “Oh! Is one of these… for me?”, you ask, genuinely confused. He nods excitedly as he sits down. The chair squeaked under his weight, and not long after he’s seated you’re presented with a glass of water.

Your brain is having a hard time piecing together what exactly is happening. First you’re bolted down to a table awaiting death by his hand and now he’s… feeding you? You just look at him with big questioning eyes, something he seems to notice. He reaches the glass out for you, you take it and then he starts moving his hands and fingers. “Wait… wait! Wait! Thomas, I… I don’t…”, you figure it’s sign language. Something you’ve never, honestly, bothered learning. He stops, and sighs in defeat. “I’m sorry…”, setting the glass down at the floor again, you take one of the buns and give it to him. Looking at him with an apologetic smile.

You both munched on your respective bun in silence, only real sound being you cursing at the fact that you’re dropping crumbs all over the bed, for a minute before you speak up.

"Are you… going to kill me?", your question is blunt and straight to the point as you pick at your treat, only glancing up at him in quick swipes, sadness pinging in your heart everytime you catch a glimpse of him. He looks down at the last piece of his own bun and pops it into his mouth before looking at you and shakes his head. You just nod slightly while taking a small bite. "But… you do… kill people?", he looks taken aback by your question. The only answer you get is him letting his head hang in silence. "Oh…"

He breaks the awkward tension by reaching down to pick your glass of water back up and handing it to you. Looking up at him, you meet his eyes. Those blue eyes of your Thomas. The Thomas you’ve gotten to know. The one who doesn't kill people. You keep eye contact as you accept the glass. "Thank you.", you smile as you feel tears well in your eyes yet again, but you push those tears away. Your first sip is small, but as soon as you get your first taste of the wonderful clear liquid, you quickly gulp every drop down. Your body is apparently more dehydrated than you thought. A chuckle erupts from your side before you feel a big thumb swipe by the edge of your mouth, wiping a stray water droplet away. Your face heats up slightly as you feel his thumb swipe over you and you smile towards him. Pushing away a small urge to lick his thumb as it passes by. Right at this moment, you don’t have any panic in your body. For some reason you’re calm.

Right now, it feels like you're just two friends having a tender moment. Two people with feelings not yet ready to ascend to the surface.

Not a person held hostage by a broken leg, and a murderer with an arsenal of choices.

Clearing your throat to gain his attention, you suck the remaining sticky cinnamon filling off your fingers and look over at him. “Can I ask you something?”, you don’t want to get lost in your rational fear right now, having the need to fill the space with talking, you make a conscious decision to get to know Thomas in person instead.

You’ve wanted to meet him for so long, and here he is. In the flesh. Seated in a lounge chair next to your bed, in all his behemoth glory. And by god is he attractive.

With some nutrients in your body, your brain has started to reboot. Your eyes dance over him. All broad shoulders and big arms, arms only shown because of the black wife beater that clung tightly over his chest, small beads of sweat rolling down his clavicle due to the sheer Texas heat. The hair on his chest shown over the neckline glued to him. Your eyes travel over the buffé that is this man, they follow the way his biceps flex as he reaches behind to scratch his neck. A small knot grows in the pit of your stomach as you see that familiar tattoo covering most of his right arm, now knowing what exactly it meant.

That twisted hormonal part of you took over, however, continuing your field trip, you bite the inside of your cheek as you glance on his muscular thighs clad in grayish-blue jeans with wear-and-tear rips at the knees, a strong sign this is a man who works. Your mind flashes back to the photo he had sent you when he first told you his name, and suddenly, you felt the urge to sit on his lap.

You shake your head and discreetly take a deep breath to clear your mind. You almost have to forcefully tear your eyes from his thighs. Looking up at him again, his hair looked ruffled, uncleaned. You twitched with want to tangle your fingers in it, to grab and pull on until you exposed his wide neck to your teeth and tongue, a thought of what kind of sound he would make in your ear as you bite down and drag your ton-.

Your thoughts are interrupted as he taps the side of the bed, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, realization that you’ve probably been staring like a madwoman at this poor man while he’s been waiting for your question must be clear on your face the way he looks at you, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Oh… right… sorry.”, you say sheepishly as you try to hide your most likely tomato red face by pretending to rub tiredness away with the palm of your hands. A deep “heh” comes from him and you glance at him through the space between your fingers. His hand motions you to “go ahead, ask”. “Uhm… you never told me you couldn’t talk.”, you look down and suddenly feel really stupid to ask him a personal thing like this. “I’m sorry I… I didn’t mean to sound so… disrespectful!”, he shakes his head and pulls a finger up to signal you to give him a minute as he fishes his phone up. You cock your head to the side and look at him with curious eyes as he types away, then a male voice rings out from his phone.

I can, I just don’t anymore

You raise your eyebrows. “Ooh! Can I ask why? I just… I just want to get to know you.”, your face heats up again as you decide to confess to him, “I’ve wanted to meet you for so long.”, the smile you give him is reciprocated by him, if his eyes are something to go after, before returning his gaze down to his phone to type.

It’s fine. Disease, took a knife to my face when I was a kid

The voice stops for a minute, he looks at you and you guess he’s looking for any kind of disgust, but you show none. All you do is scoot down the bed again, moving carefully as to not jostle your leg and get comfortable on the pillow. “Please, continue. I want to know.”, voice cheerily.

He visibly relaxes at your words, and it shows. He leans back, and sinks down further into the chair, almost laying halfway off it, the voice continues to spell his sentences out.

The pain was so bad. It hurt to talk, it hurt to eat, it hurt to exist. So I stopped talking, mama almost had to force food down my throat.

You only hum as a response. “So, you just decided to stop talking one day?”, you cuddled into the pillow, the masculine scent of Thomas envelops you and your heartbeat sinks down to a resting pace.

He nods, clicking from his phone’s keyboard.

Yeah. The pain was too intense, easier to stop talking, eating is also more fun than to talk, so. Besides, I’ve never really had friends to talk to anyway.

You looked at him with pity, you wanted to hug him so bad. Wanted to soothe the child inside of him that you just knew were hurting. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

It wasn’t necessary

“I guess you’re right.”, you agree with him. It never was necessary, since you never talked on the phone.

You both fall into a comfortable silence. Thomas remains seated in his chair, now lazily scrolling on his phone. You just lay there, looking at him and thinking back on when you first started talking to him. Vaguely remembering what forum it was, honestly not really caring what it was called since you basically stopped logging onto it when you had saved his contact information in your phone. You had quickly clicked on your shared interests, but there was something else with him. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. Sure, he would go silent for a few days sometimes, but it didn’t bother you. Because you knew he always came back to your conversation. He never did tell you where he lived, and now you knew why. He literally couldn’t.

You have a hard time piecing together the giant contrast. The Thomas you had gotten to know was sweet, and passionate about his hobbies. He loved his family and it was clear that he was a family man through and through. He was strong in all kinds of ways. He had also stayed up late during nights just to keep you company, talking about absolutely nothing and everything in between. You’d told him about your life, and he had briefly told you about his.

Although knowing what he did for a living. What gruesome secret he had kept from you, you still saw that same Thomas when you looked at him. Now, when the climax of your panic had died down, enveloped by the scent of him via his pillow, you saw him again.

Your Thomas.

Not the deranged, murderer, not the… butcherer, you saw nothing gruesome about him. You weren’t scared. You were bought back to those nights where you were in your bed, sharing stupid jokes, and silly videos you’d found on the internet with him. Those nights where you would laugh yourself to tears to some story he had told you from his childhood. It felt… normal. But you knew it wasn’t. Your leg was broken, badly put together in a homemade cast, and you were bedridden in a basement where awful things take place.

You’re both startled a bit as you hear the door knock slightly, you meet Thomas’ eyes and you raise an eyebrow as he taps the floor two times with his boot. “Huh…”, looking towards the door, an older woman enters. “Tommy, it’s late.”, you sit up and lean towards the wall and smile at the old lady, she looks nice, obviously his mother, and you’re happy to see her nice face instead of the old man. She looks at you, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re up, good.”, her voice is stern, held back, guarded. All you can do is nod. Her mere presence evokes the need for respect.

This is the matriarch. The one in charge. Not Thomas. Not the old man. She is. Being in your position, you know damn well it’s best to give her that respect.

You follow her eyes as she looks over at Thomas, your heart begins to race as you think this is the end. That he was only saying “no” earlier to get you relaxed enough to not fight back. “Thomas, I need to talk to her in private.”, you meet eyes with him and you shake your head in panic. You don’t want him to leave. He looks at you with kind eyes as he gets up to leave. He knows something. He signs something to his mother, she gives him a warm motherly smile before petting him on the arm and nods. “Good night, hun. Try gettin’ some sleep tonight.”, he nods back at her and then looks over his shoulder at you. You don’t dare speak at this moment. Only waiting for the old woman to approach you, which she does shortly after Thomas has left you alone, she sits down in the lounge chair next to you. Her eyes are neutral as they scan your face. “We have rules in this family.”, she starts. And you listen intently as she lists all rules you need to follow, and the reason why you’re still alive. At least for now.

Ending her one-sided conversation with you, she introduces herself as Luda Mae, but you’re to call her “ma’am”. She makes it clear that you’re not part of the family, that she’s allowing you to stay until your leg is healed, and that the only reason for that is that Thomas likes you a lot. But she also highlights that if you are caught messing with Thomas’ job, no matter how much he likes you, you will receive a punishment.

Before she leaves you to sleep for the night, she gets up to carry your bag in, and sets it down next to the head of the bed. And that’s it. “Thank you.”, you pipe up, and she stops at the door, hand on the doorknob, and looks over at you. “For the cinnamon bun, it was delicious.”. For the first time, you see a genuine smile growing on her face, and she nods. “Tommy will be down early tomorrow.”, and with that, she closes the door.

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Upstairs, Thomas closes his bedroom door quietly and proceeds to kick his boots off, he swiftly unbuckles his belt and just lets his heavy jeans fall onto the floor where he stands, a heavy clanking of chains and keys echoes in his room. He takes a deep breath of unfiltered air as his mask is removed, as he stretches his back pops in a symphony of crackles before he peels off his sweaty wife beater off and just chucks it the general direction of his laundry. His big and tired body timbers down on his bed, a dangerous crack reaches his ears and he hisses slightly and curses himself for - yet again - almost breaking his bed in half.

His thoughts are running haywire. He’s thinking back to the beginning of when you started talking, when he first saw your face in a picture. One time you’d sent him a video of when you had dropped something and you laughing heartily in the background at how “fun it is to bake” and “yes, you should totally bake more” and he chuckled. And now here you were. In his basement bedroom. Where he had touched you. Your skin is soft under his rough hands, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to touch more of you.

He rolled over to his back and stared up at the ceiling, a piece of his bottom lip captured between his teeth as he chews a bit of skin off. “Hm…”. He gets up and rummages through his pants to find his phone, unlocks it and types out a simple message.

“I can’t sleep.”

A pure lie since he hadn’t even tried sleeping yet. Hitting send, he hopes his mama had given you your belongings by now, which means you would have gotten your phone.

He goes back to bed and lays down, one foot dangling over the edge of the it, pulling up the Facebook he mainly uses for talking and following a handful of friends he’d gotten from all over the internet to scroll through, his thundering laugh the only sound in his room as he sees a few hilarious posts made by some of them. He needed this downtime, something to relax with. Lazily scrolling through his phone usually did the trick for him. It took around twenty minutes and he lost faith in you having your phone before his eyes caught a stream of notifications from you, just hailing in.

“Why the FUCK have you been lying to me?” “I thought we were at least open enough to talk about everything” “Are you even the same Thomas?” “Do I know you?” “Did you lie to me all these months to get me here?” “I fucking hate you” “I want to go home” “You really hurt me, you know” “I’ve always liked you”

All he did was watch as each message came through. He understood your flurry of emotions, god knows he of all people understood this. He’d had them all before, but years after years of bullying has made him a master at hiding his true emotions, vowing to never show anything anymore. All he showed was muscles and rage. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Not knowing what to say at a moment like this. His years of neglecting his feelings has left him… not good with moments like this. What are you supposed to say? What’s appropriate? Should he confess? Should he let you just talk?

Of course he knew what it meant to have feelings for someone, he’d had them before. But also knowing how he looked, being the town's freak show, he never acted on any crushes he had. So being this bombarded with emotions was… weird. It was new to him, and for the most part, he didn’t like new things. He locked the phone. Closed everything that had to do with dealing with this.

The messages didn’t stop, however, the insistent dinging making so he had to put it on vibrate. But even that got annoying after about five messages. He opened your conversation and read through it all.

“I’m sorry” “I just can’t” “believe that after all these months of talking” “me thinking you were a” “normal person” “you’ve been this killer” “a murderer”

He lost it at the end. And started typing out his response.

“you don’t understand”

“oh fuck off with that you don’t understand bullshit, thomas”

At this point, neither of you really cared about spelling or grammar, it was all just pure emotion filled text. Thomas was hurting, probably just as much as you. He didn’t want to be on this end of it all. He just wanted all of this to be over, hopefully, with you alive.

"you can’t excuse murder”

He locks his phone again and just lets it fall from his hand onto the floor, throwing one arm over his eyes.

I guess it’s time to sleep, then.

------------------------------------------------------------ You’re abruptly awoken the next day by the door being flung open, and you jolt hard enough for a sudden pain to shoot through your leg, making you hiss. In the door, stood Thomas and he was looking like a combination of angry and tired, this time with no shirt on, making him seem almost bigger than with one on. You only have two thoughts running through your mind at this point.

Have you grown bigger during the night? and Please let me run my fingers through that garden of hair you have on your chest

One arm crossed over his chest, the other typing away on his phone. You just stare at him at first. Not long after, that same male voice rings out;

Mama told me to shower you

You give him a defiant laugh, cross your arms and pouts like a petulant child. You hear a sigh, a sigh only amplified by his mask.

Please, stop. I’m not fighting over this

“I’m not fighting about the shower.”, you snap your head towards him, “I’m fighting about the fact that you’ve become my best friend and the fact that you didn’t tell me anything.”, you hiss. At the end of your sentence you hear a deep, deep, rumbling… laughter. Thomas is laughing. A genuine laugh that makes him have to lean up against the door frame. “What are you laughing at?”, you feel almost offended.

It takes him almost a full minute to type out a reply to you.

Tell you what? That I’m a murderer? How was I supposed to bring that shit up? “Oh hey, by the way, I kill people”?

You catch the way his eyebrows raised up in an obvious sarcastic way, coaxing you to laugh.

Come on, it’s not something I can just tell you about. I’m still the same Thomas. But I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Or at all, honestly

You narrow your eyes in his direction. You’re still mad at him, but he does have a point. How does one bring up something as horrible as all this? You battle your rational side, the rational side that strives on survival, the one that’s constantly telling you to get out, that it’s not safe here. But then you see him, and his eyes, and you’re teleported back home. Not one part of you is listening to your rational side at this moment. Because this really is the same Thomas you’ve been talking to. He looks like him, he… talks like him, and he acts like him. So you accept his offer to take a shower, and your rational side flips out and internally you throw hands with yourself for this.

Before you have time to reply to him, he’s moving towards you while typing;

Listen, sugar, I don’t have all day. So up we go

And before you know it, the bed leaves you and you’re flying. You yelp as you’re carefully thrown over his naked shoulder, your bag being picked up in his other hand. You really can’t help the giggle that escapes you at this point, desperately you try to grab on to… something as to not fall off him. “Can’t you at least carry me like a normal person and not a deer that’s been shot, you dummy?”, you feel his shoulder shake in what you suspect is a silent laugh.

For the first time, you see the rest of the house. There’s clinking coming from what you figure is the kitchen, voices talking in a hushed tone. Thomas seems to make a beeline to the stairs as a particularly harsh voice calls his name from the kitchen’s direction, he tenses up at the same time. But suddenly he stops, you can’t see anything other than the floor and heel of his boots, but you can hear a voice. “Where you takin’ ‘er, boy?”, it’s the old man that was with you yesterday. You remember his voice. You feel Thomas’ body move and see the stairs under him as he walks up, you can’t help but to raise your head and look down at the old man. He winks at you and makes a disgusting kissing face before turning away.

------------------------------------------------------------

Thomas lets out a small grunt as he sets you down in the bathtub and sets your bag down in front of you in it before pulling his phone up;

You ain’t allowed to be alone

He looks down at you sitting in the tub and makes a face as if trying to say “sorry” before pulling the curtain to let you undress somewhat in peace, knees cracking slightly as he sits down on the lid of the toilet. He hears you whine a bit. “Does she think I’m going to run away with a broken leg?”, he chuckled.

Maybe you’ll beat us all with your cast

A giggle from behind the shower curtain, and a shuffle. His eyes follow your arm as it reaches out from behind it, your hand drops your clothes on the floor. “Maybe I will! I can be fierce if I want to.”, he just hums and reclines on the toilet before your voice rings out again, a little shaky this time. “Hey, uhm… Do you mind… helping me out?”, his heart starts to race. He clears his throat as quietly and discreetly as he can.

With?

“I can’t reach the shower head and uhm… If you can lift my leg up out of the tub.”, your voice is so low, so nervous. And he can tell. His hands feel moist and he wipes them on his sweatpants before putting his phone on the floor.

With racing thoughts, his heart is going at a record speed. You’re naked. And he knows you’re naked, a thought that’s almost enough for him to cum in his pants. Getting up, his hands shake as he reaches behind the curtain, making sure to keep his face on the outside so as to not see you in all your naked glory, taking the showerhead off its handle and giving it to you blindly. When he feels you’ve taken it, he’s quick to tug his arm back.

He hears you giggle.

“Thomas, you’ve seen me naked before.”, he’s so, so happy that you can’t see him. Because he’s probably much more red than a fresh tomato at this point. And he can feel it. His face is warm.

Of course he’s seen you naked, on video. And pictures. But that’s far from the same thing as seeing you naked… In person. To help you with your leg he kneels next to the tub, he knows he has to open the curtain just a tiny bit and he is not in the mood to show you what lovely tent he’s pitching in his sweat pants at this moment. His thoughts are not of honest nature right now.

But before opening it, he needs to ask first.

I need to open the curtain, okay?

He’s thankful for the somewhat robotic male voice from his phone, because it can’t show how nervous he is. Your answer is so simple to him. “Yes.” Taking a deep breath he shoves it aside.

You look so small, curled up with your arms covering your breasts. He looks away from your face when he sees you blush as you notice his eyes, he’s shaking so badly at this point. Yet, he manages to reach out and ever so carefully lifts your heavy leg up to prop it on the side of the tub. His hair falls in front of his eyes, a slight cover for his wandering eyes, eyes he seemingly can’t control at this moment since the majority of his blood has traveled south. His breath hitches slightly as his gaze land on your sex as it get exposed because of the way your leg has to be moved from your body to get propped up, your other not doing much to cover yourself up even if you try.

He gulps and almost way too hurriedly releases your leg and basically throws the curtain closed again as he sits back. As the shower starts, he glares down at the throbbing mass of flesh twitching slightly between his thighs in an annoyed way, before mentally cursing it.

You really have to ruin everything, don’t you?

#CICU #Can I See You #thomas hewitt #thomas #thomas leatherface hewitt #modern!thomas #modern au

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9uk · 6 years

Text

Let Me Stay Close To You : prologue

⌲ summary : you were finally free from the worst nightmare of your life in high school. the doors of college welcomed you with open arms, you were set on living your best life in here, away from the toxicity back at home. that shimmer of hope in restoring your life, was somehow effortlessly crushed by a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

⌲ pairing : bully!jungkook x reader

⌲ word count : 3.7k

⌲ genre: a whole lot of angst, angry jungkook!!1!!11!!!

⌲ warnings : mentions of abuse and violent acts (blood and cuts)

⌲ a/n : hehe look foward to part 1, where things will start to transpire between jk & oc :> and namjoon would appear!

prologue > part one

People always found you an easy prey to bully. And that was because you were nice. Too nice. Well at least for their liking.

When they took your notes or stationaries without asking, you’d only smile. When they flip your lunch in the bin or purposely stain your skirt, you’d just skip your meal and quickly wash up. You wouldn’t even rat out at them or cry in the corner for their bullying acts. One of the ‘they’, included the handsome popular, Jeon Jungkook. He was the guy who was good at all sports, studies average, had a line of girls queuing for him, had his usual awesome circle of friends and he was flooded with money, being the youngest heir of the JEON Entertainment.

Life seemed to be going pretty well for him.

He was nice, to those that benefited him, to his friends, to pretty girls and so on. He exceptionally loved to pick on you, you don’t know why, but he just does, even though you’re a little unreactive to his attacks. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that your family was of no merit status, you enrolled into this elite high school purely from results of distinction and flying colours—making you an easy target. It was like you were his favourite victim. How you beared with all of his petty actions made you almost seem like a masochist. And it all started from the day you accidentally tripped him, (or more like he did not watch where he was going) he ended up falling to the ground with his lunch smashed on his face and the whole school witnessed the tragic event, trying their best to not burst out laughing at the embarassing moment for the notorious and powerful student. As a person of high popularity, it obviously tarnished his reputation ever since he started his annoying insults and bullying even though you had apologised profusely.

“Y/N, watch out!” You would turn to the direction of the sound, only to feel sharp pain at your cheeks, a rubber band shot right at you. And you hear Jungkook and other students laughing.

You would wince a little, as your skin starts to sting hard and Jungkook’s laughter falls slightly as he realised you were hurting. He only bullied you to how much you can take, and he’s never crossed the line. But the line is subjective.

Jungkook would fiddle with your hair with his pencil from behind in geography class, copy your homework and at times he would snatch the cup of berry yoghurt drink you would bring everyday to school for your lunch and drink it all at one go, leaving only a soft thanks.

Many instances like this.

But you did not mind, you paid no attention to his mischievous acts to not let him get what he wanted, which was what all bullies wanted—their victims to be affected by them.

You gradually became someone Jungkook frequently vented his frustrations on. Seeing how submissive and forgiving you were to what he did to you, made his blood boil at times.

“Hey, finish this essay for me.” Jungkook would slam the incomplete homework onto your table and place his hands in his pockets. He searches your face for any displease but your visage of kindness never falters. You only agree without hesitation. “Okay.”

The word flicked a switch in his nerves. You were like a robot, turning blind to his existence and simply following his orders. Your willingness to comply to every single thing he says is ticking him off, irritating him at its maximum.

“Okay? Is that the only word you fucking know?!” The bomb in him finally explodes and he slaps the back of your head. “Answer me.” Jungkook tugs at your ponytail and demands an immediate answer.

“No, but what do you want?” It was like, you finally spoken up. And it elicited a smirk from his cunning face.

“What do I want?” He cocks a brow playfully.“ I want-”

“Whatever my reply is, you’ll hit me, anyways.” You cut him off and look down, far too tired to deal with his bullshit. You found no point in rebutting to his words or actions, the outcome would still be similar in a way or two. You were already prepared for a slap to arrive on your exceptionally daring cheeks. Or maybe even a punch in the face.

Jungkook tongued his cheeks at your witty reply, and for not letting him finish. He feels a scorching wrath swirling in the pit of his stomach and sends you a look that could burn a hole right through walls, “I’d suggest you leave before your stupid face catches my fist.” To which you stood up and made your way out of the classroom, away from Jungkook. You could sense when he was really mad, and you would know best when to leave him alone.

Jungkook sweeps the stationaries and papers off your desk in rage and they fall, clamouring to the floor. He just couldn’t understand how you’d always seemed to have the upper hand even though he was the one clearly possessing the dominance between the both of you. He had no form of control over anything in his life—his money didn’t come from his bank, his grades were a total flop, his every movement was restricted and watched over by his parents and the media— his life was just so out of place. And meanwhile you? You had just escalated his need of having you squirming under the very tips of his fingers. Jungkook didn’t know why he was feeling this way—it was sickening.

Why were you so obedient to his ridiculous commands? It didn’t seem like you were afraid of him at all, either. You were really a one of a kind in his life—he had never met anyone like you at all.

When he interacted with you, he could truly be himself without holding back or resisting the urge to yell threats or throw violent fits. It was perhaps because of the fact that these behaviours were not condoned at home or in the eagle eye of the public, he unleashes the true nature in him onto you—someone that he didn’t need to impress—and in an exceptionally ruthless way.

For you it was a rather usual day at the school of bullies (or rather, bully) and being the introvert you were, you silently listened to music with your head in your folded arms. Peace was one of your major goals in the process of getting through this hellhole. And music brought you happiness, blocking away all the hushed murmurs and gossips, the loud mixture of squeals and ramblings of rambunctious cliques. You weren’t so much of a fan in raising the roof. While the rest went for recess, you stayed in class for a moment of silence. Or so you thought.

Jungkook digs his pockets frantically. “Ah, my phone. I left it in class. Follow me to get it would you?” Jungkook nudges Yugyeom. It elicited a roll of the yes of his friend, but Yugyeom still accompanies him like the good mate he was. “Fine.”

You peeked and noticed the classroom door had opened. Followed by voices. You would have ignored them if they were talking amongst themselves but you were the main subject of their blabbering. But also, it’s not like you really cared either way.

“Wow, isn’t that like the lamest girl in our level?” Yugyeom tucks his hands in his pockets and nods at your direction, casually picking on you.

You keep your head in between your arms, refusing to look up but listen as you discreetly lower the volume of the your phone. The least you could afford to do was to not be such an oblivious idiot to their words.

Jungkook takes a quick look at you, wonders why you stick out like a sore thumb practically everywhere for a second, then heads to his bag to collect his phone.

“Oh look, she even brings a Nintendo DS to school. How cute.” Yugyeom swipes it carelessly off your table, inspecting the game console. Your head flew up to your pink gaming device being touched by the fingers of a stranger, and not purely just any stranger—but Kim Yugyeom. You tried to snatch it back but Yugyeom was faster than you in every way, swinging it away from your reach.

“Give it back you asshole!” You shouted, tone clearly displaying your annoyance. The sound of your voice immediately grabs Jungkook’s attention away from his bag, his head whipping to your direction at the volume of your voice, never heard before.

You must be really pissed in order to have yelled like that.

A devious smirk crawls onto his features instantly.

The usual you would have not cared, letting them push your buttons but you would never go into a outburst. However, and very unfortunately, the Nintendo console was a present from your late bestfriend, the only thing you could hold onto in his remembrance. The thoughts of the sweet boy you grew up so close to never fails to have your eyes start stinging with tears but you hold them back. As always.

Yugyeom gives a sacarstically impressed pout at your outrage, too calm even after you retorted fiercely back at him. “Woah, she’s feisty.” Yugyeom calmly comments—almost scaringly too calm.

The calm before the storm.

“Kook-ah, let’s have some fun before we go for lunch, shall we?”

Though on the inside, discontentment pricks at his gut. No one shouts at him, Kim Yugyeom, son of the head boss of Kim Industries, raised with a sliver spoon in his mouth, almost everyone bend their heads upon his presence—let alone the loser who lacked both money and power. He still has the precious console in his possession, and you were beyond fury when he is unresponsive to your complains. “Give,” You clench your teeth.

“It,” You ball your hands into tight fists.

“BACK!”

Before you know it, before he knows it, before everybody knows it, the sharp edges of your knuckles are flying across Kim Yugyeom’s face with a harsh and unforgiving strength. He flies in the direction of your hit and knocks into some of the classroom desks, toppling over and onto the ground. You had just punched Kim Yugyeom. You sighed in burnt out anger, regretting your impulsive decision to punch a rich asshole in the face—for your ass was about to get sued by the second largest company in town and all of your efforts in swallowing your pride and succumbing to all of their vicious acts had gone down the drain. Solely in a swing of your arm. Because you weren’t having it that day. And so was the person witnessing this from the corner of the classroom.

Despite the refreshing reaction from you, Jungkook is enraged from the sight of his bruised friend. He grabs your wrist and slams you back onto the lockers at the back violently till they ruttle. You wonder why the bad boys in high school movies did this to their crushes. First of all, it actually really hurts. Second of all, you were no crush to Jungkook, and in the very sad reality, his punching bag. The loud clang of the metal locker doors did not make you flinch one bit as you were too, overwhelmed with anger. He saw no fear. You were so lost in your own damn little world, like always.

The locking of your gazes were so intense and filled with rage, Jungkook was a little shocked at the way you were acting. He’s never seen you this riled up before. Slowly, you calmed down and you feel emptiness surge throughout your whole body as the rage dissipates. Yugyeom was still on the ground, checking his elbows and wincing upon the tragic fall, letting his bestfriend finish the job.

“The nerve of you?” It comes out softer than he expects, perhaps because of the effect of your quick change in entire demeanour on him. He grips your wrist even tighter and kicks you in the shin.

“Do you know that you’re such an eyesore?”

Jungkook shoves at your shoulder hard, you almost feel like it dislocated.

“Do you know that your fucking ignorance makes you intolerable?” His eyes grew darker with every crude remark spat onto you, the strength exerted in his strikes and the vein popping out at his neck clearly expressing the amount resentment he has for your existence.

You are able sense that he meant every word, each sentence hitting you to rock bottom.

You were back to the normal Y/N, not showing any sort of emotions, keeping them locked up in a cage, in a place far away from your heart.

He narrows his eyes at you. Jungkook was getting annoyed, at how his actions and words didn’t even make you have the slightest tremble.

Despite his threatening form, you remained your calm composure and simply tweaked a smile.

“I do.”

What comes after those retaliating words was a sharp stinging slap on the face. The skin-on-skin contact between his hand and your face enchoed through the classroom, the slap was so brutal it sent your cheek burning and his hand print stained red on the skin. Tears start to well up in your eyes, not because of emotions but the physical pain and you held them back. Like always.

You’ve been through worse, get a hold of your damn tears.

You would tell yourself.

“Stop living,” Jungkook shows no remorse on his face and proceeds to grab your hair so tightly your scalp might rip apart.

“In,” He smashes your head to the side and something cut your forehead—the broken lock that had a piece of metal protruding. Jungkook is completely blinded by the rage and scars surging throughout his body, he doesn’t notice this and he keeps throwing you against the lockers.

“Your,”

Cut.

“Own.”

Cut.

“Fucking world!” By this time, thick blood starts drooling from the wound down to your cheeks.

“Yah yah yah, that’s enough.” Yugyeom managed to get up and reaches out to restrain his friend in time. But he wasn’t doing it for the sake of you, he was stopping his bestfriend from landing in jail for murder, or something of the sort.

Jungkook scoffs and you slide down to the ground in an exhausted defeat. Your frontal lobe was probably out in open air now, with the skin of your forehead having teared apart.

The game device is on the ground, probably broken from the rampage earlier on.

Everything feels too numb, and cuts and bruises were nothing.

“Yah, wasn’t that a bit too much?” Yugyeom looks at Jungkook while wincing at the bruise on the corner of his lip as he recalls your bloody head.

Jungkook keeps his eyes to the front, “You said you wanted to have fun. And you just got punched..real bad. By a girl.” Jungkook chuckles to lighten the mood. Yugyeom rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay her back for it someday..” He feels a dull strike upon his ego.

“But I guess that lame thing really meant something to her so I probably deserved it.” Jungkook looks at his friend in suspicion.

Since when did he become this understanding?

“Whatever. I already did the favour for you.”

Yugyeom’s brows are knitted together hard, in what seemed like confusion and worry, his eyes searching the ground for answers. He scratches the back of his neck in rapidly in frustration, as he analyses the situation earlier on.

“But it isn’t of you to be that violent. She fucking bled!”

Jungkook halts his steps.

“What?”

“Dude, she was bleeding like mad! We never got to the extent of picking on her to.. to that state!” His expression falls at the fresh memory of the harsh blow on your head.

“Were you too caught up with your thoughts or something?”

“I...Uh, didn’t know.” Jungkook furrows his eyebrows. A spark of guilt shocks him into realisation, followed by strong currents of shame washing over his whole body. For the first time, he feels apologetic, the need to check on the condition of your injury surges through him and his legs are moving on their own accord back to the classroom of that fatal accident. When he arrives to said destination, your slouched form against the lockers is long gone, the classroom had no one except a thick layer of tension lingering in the air from the incident earlier on. Instinctively, he dashes to the school’s sick bay.

Jungkook tells himself that he is this concerned about you because he is the culprit of the sharp slice on your temple, and nothing else. He still hates you deep to the core and had already planned out a series of insults he could carry on to spit on you once you would return to school. Make fun of the ugly bandage you were going to have wrapped around your head, maybe. As he views you through the rectangular glass panel fixed on the bay’s door, he catches you smiling assuringly at the anxious nurse tending to your injury.

It was the first time he saw you smile.

His muscles unknowingly relaxes at the sight.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

He can make out the words you mouthed and that rip on your head with dried up blood, for sure did not seem fine at all.

He was a monster. He was a monster to you, that is.

“I just fell.”

There’s a pang of remorse in his conscience-stricken heart.

The school nurse’s eyes widened in disbelief. Just for a brief moment, he contemplates to stop bullying your weak and pathetic form. There should be plenty other people out there to release his anger onto… he wasn’t even sure. You were the nicest and most cooperative victim so far in his journey of putting people down to feed his ego and have some sort of control over at least something in his life. And that is also why he doesn’t ever stop provoking you. Your perfect ignorance ignites his passion in tormenting you, for you weren’t an easy prey to intimidate, yet at the same time you effortlessly comply to his outrageous demands—he found it enticing.

The nurse wipes her forehead with the back of her hand dramatically, in some sort of despair to figure out how the hell was she going to fix you up with an injury this serious. Stitches was the final resort and it was going to be a huge hassle for the both of you, she explained. You simply chuckled at her over worrying and flustered form for you as she fondles hastily around the trays of medication in panic.

It was certainly entertaining to see someone worrying this much about you.

Jungkook watches your teeth slowly show and what seemed like a shy giggle falling from your lips.

It was the first time he saw you laugh.

Light starts to fill into his dark eyes and his heart does that thing again.The thing it does when he sees his first love in 3rd grade. The feeling is long forgotten and you were the cause of it gradually lighting up again. He has no idea when he started feeling these tingling sparks in his heart whenever he sees you, but he knew love was nothing but trouble. Jungkook hates to admit it, but he cares for you more than he actually shows it. And he begins to loathe himself for doing all these stupid things to you.

Indeed he wasn’t in his right mind. That morning his eggs were burnt, he broke his glass of milk, he wore mismatched socks, his mom nagged at him more than usual, his hair didn’t stay the way he styled it—rough morning for a boy who’d never been through hardships.

That’s why he was further more tilted when he realised he left his phone in class, only to come across you, who punched his bestfriend across the face. And Jungkook’s revenge got a little out of hand for his liking when he snapped back to his senses, he felt genuinely sorry for hurting you this time. That badly. He usually just did stupid tricks to you or yell insults at you—and today he made you bleed.

Maybe it was time he put a stop to this.

“Look shithead, I’m sorry for creating that ugly-looking cut on your head the other day. But hey, I’m just a tiny bit sorry okay? You still belong in the trashcan.” Jungkook repeats the apology differently for the twenty-fourth time, staring at the reflection of his own cocky face. He lets out a huff of frustration. He didn’t understand why he was practicing for a stupid apology.

Perhaps it was because it’s you.

Someone he’d never thought he would be saying sorry to.

Why was it so difficult? “Fuck it,” He muttered under his breath and ran his fingers through his hair, stomping out of the bathroom.

The loud ringings of the bell throughout the school signalled the start of hell. It was a typical Monday half the school dreaded, the other half being overly-enthusiastic nerds who worked their asses off. One of aforementioned group of people being you. You, whom was constantly buried in cheesy romance novels, to which half of them were filled with his nasty scribbles and doodles, and whom he still felt like he owed a sincere ‘I’m sorry’ to.

He hops off the black Mercedes Benz and takes his time strolling into the school building, knowing you always arrived on the dot— to probably not want to spend any more time than neccessary in this shitty system (and with him).

As he rehearses his lines once more, Jungkook trudges into the classroom with confidence. A minute late, to be specific, a strategy of making sure you were in there already.

The words memorised painstakingly in his head seem to slowly fade into a sheet of blank, and his brows knit in confusion automatically—at your empty seat.

“I’m sorry.”

But you weren’t there anymore.

#jungkook #bts #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts angst #bts smut #jeon jungkook #bangtan #bangtan scenarios #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bully!au

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