- SPECIAL CHAPTER -

"From the first moment that we touched, your arms felt like home."

***

FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

Seconds seemed to pass like hours as the vintage grandfather clock by the wall counted down the last moments until striking 2 pm. Several framed children's drawings hung on the sky-blue walls, each and every one of them painted in bright and happy colors. A cheerful and energetic tune chimed from a small TV placed on a coffee table by the wall.

Even though it was evident how much effort had been put in decorating the place and making it aesthetically pleasing for a kid, the letters engraved on one of the doors could make your insides twist.

"Dr. Song - Child Psychiatrist"

The little boy hugged his navy-blue backpack close to his chest as if he was clinging on a life-saving jacket. Sitting on a beige leather couch, his legs hung in the air as he swayed them impatiently. His coffee-brown orbs repeatedly darted to and fro the receptionist typing something in her computer wordlessly and the massive ebony door a couple of meters away from him.

"Dr. Song". The boy stared at the letters that sparked overwhelming fear and anxiety in his little heart. Scrunching his nose, he squeezed his eyes shut and his chin started trembling as if he was about to start crying.

"You're a strong little man, aren't you?" The view of a man smiling warmly and ruffling the little boy's light brown hair appeared in his constrained mind. "I have some errands I have to run today so I won't be able to accompany you to your appointment with Dr. Song. You're a big man now, a man of your own, you'll be okay, right? Don't forget, daddy loves you."

The boy opened his eyes again, inhaling sharply. His small hands tightened the grip around his backpack as his shoulders started shaking. It was the first time he was alone without his father in that very same waiting room. Usually, the strong, towering figure of his dad and his large palm enveloping the boy's tiny one offered comfort and courage.

These weekly appointments had started two weeks ago when his dad explained to him that there was a man, a very smart and knowledgeable man that had wanted to speak with the little boy. He promised it would be fun and exciting, leaving out the word "doctor" on purpose.

"He's going to ask you some questions and I need you to answer them. I need you to be very frank with him, alright? His only goal is to help you, to help us. You want that, right?" The memory of his father's beaming smile made the anxiety in his chest feel less severe, less crippling. The boy's eyes started tearing up, as a lonely teardrop made its way across his pale cheek, leaving a damp trail.

The boy hissed and started frantically rubbing his eyes and straightened up in his seat, a quiet sniffle coming from his freckled nose. His dad had told him that he had been old enough and had to be strong now, he had to be a man. He wouldn't want to disappoint his father or embarrass him by crying in the doctor's office like a baby. He was no longer a baby.

The door suddenly swung open, making him jump in his seat. He quickly fixed his light-brown bangs falling in front of his eyes so that it wasn't visible that he had been crying. With the corner of his eyes, he noticed a young woman dressed as a nurse coming in, holding a little girl's hand.

"There you go, sweetie," The woman said softly, gesturing for the girl to sit on the couch. "You wait here now, your father will be out in a minute."

"Okay," The girl nodded obediently and sat next to the boy. She bent over to fix the ties on her shoe, allowing the glance the boy stole from her to stay unnoticed. She was perhaps a year or two younger than him and looked very tiny. Her wavy golden locks fell on her shoulders like a waterfall, all the way down to her waist. Her hair looked so soft and shiny that the boy caught himself staring in amazement.

"Hey," The girl suddenly looked in his direction, catching him off guard and causing him to abruptly shift his gaze. "What's your name?"

"I'm not a weirdo." He blurted out in a light panic, pinning his eyes to the wall right in front of him. Sensing her looking at him, his heart thudded in his chest and his pulse started racing.

"I never thought you were," The girl furrowed her eyebrows and leaned over, searching his gaze. "Weirdo is an ugly word. I don't call people ugly words."

He exhaled slowly and rounded his eyes, turning around to look at her. She was smiling warmly which oddly started to calm down his uneasiness.

"What- what do you know?" He stuttered nervously. "You're not a doctor."

"No, but my dad is," She smirked and pointed to the door. "I'm Dr. Song's daughter. My dad had to sign some documents for my school but he's so busy I had to bring them to his office instead."

The boy noticed her voice had a nice pleasant flow to it and reminded him of wind chimes. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear and looked at him again, a tender softness lingering in her orbs.

"You don't have to feel so uncomfortable in front of me", she spoke out. "I know you probably suppose I think you're crazy, but I don't. My dad always told me that we shouldn't call people crazy. Not everyone's minds work in the same way. There are just people who need help to get their minds to work in their favor again," she explained in a soothing, comforting tone.

"But if I'm here, then that certainly means that there's something wrong with me." The boy grumbled in a shaky voice.

"Not necessarily," the girl cocked an eyebrow, tilting her head. "Perhaps it means your mind works in a special way."

He didn't reply right away as she continued to observe him, her chestnut brown eyes anchored on his stiff body, her long eyelashes fluttering.

Having noticed how his whole body had tightened, she decided she should change the subject.

"What are those?" Her curious eyes shot to the backpack in his lap.

"N- nothing." He stammered, immediately pushing down the sketchbook and brushes that were peeking from his bag. Evident embarrassment started tainting his cheeks in pink.

"You paint?" The girl gasped and clapped her hands. "That's awesome!" His eyes flickered with bewilderment at her unexpected reaction. She slumped her shoulders and pushed her lower lip forward, her mouth forming a small pout. "I wish I could paint."

Her gaze drifted somewhere behind his shoulder melancholically. Seeing her eyes fill with sadness, the boy bit his lower lip pensively.

"I'm sure you probably have other talents that you haven't yet discovered." He uttered awkwardly and she glanced at him.

"Maybe." She agreed gloomily, pressing her lips in a thin line. "Can you show me some of your paintings?" Her whole face lit up as she pointed to the sketchbook. Noticing the hesitation in his eyes, she dipped her eyebrows and pressed her palms against each other. "Please?"

"I- I don't know." He faltered, suddenly feeling flustered for being called out like that by her. "I don't like them." What if she hated them? Most probably she would just laugh at him and mock him, like the rest of them.

"Look at that idiot, playing with crayons like a little baby! Do you love doodling, little baby?"

"Oh, come on!" She continued her plea. "Just one."

A small sigh escaped his lips as he reached down his backpack, pulling the sketchbook out. He flipped some pages until stopping at a painting he thought was alright to show her.

"Woah!" She exclaimed loudly when she took the sketchbook in her tiny hands, her eyes widened in astonishment. "That's amazing, I love that! You're such a gifted painter!"

"Thank you." He muttered and lowered his head, trying not to give away how his whole being filled with pride. "It still needs some work."

"Just amazing." She repeated as she handed his sketchbook back, her eyes sparkling. "Can you paint me?"

His breath got stuck in his throat. "Yeah, sure." He shrugged casually, but his stomach twirled from the embarrassment. "Maybe one day."

"That would be so cool," she sighed. "But I want to be dressed in red, it's my favorite color. And can there be a rose? Please, I love roses!" Her whole face beamed with excitement and as he stared at her, he noticed her little pointy nose scrunching while she talked. Her long hair, her tiny form, and her glimmering eyes echoed those of a fairy. His little heart started throbbing in his chest and he wondered what that funny feeling emerging from his stomach was.

"Yes, of course." He agreed absent-mindedly as he stared at her in awe. She had been nice to him and had loved his paintings. She wasn't like the other kids who isolated and rejected him, mocking him for living only with his father and causing him to cry himself to sleep every night. He felt a sudden flare of joy that lifted him up and brightened his spirits.

Happiness streaked through him like a comet that capitulated as soon as the door to the doctor's office flung open.

"Come in now, honey." The nurse warmly called out the little girl. "Your daddy's waiting for you."

The boy's shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched as he stared emptily at the girl beside him that stood up quickly, putting her backpack on her shoulder.

"It was nice meeting you," She said softly, waving her hand at him and he looked away, hiding his eyes filling with anguish.

"Bye." He muttered bitterly under his breath and the door closed behind her back. His chin started trembling again as the familiar loneliness set in. He glanced down at her empty seat beside him and his heart wrenched. It was like her smile had lit up the whole room and now that she was gone, darkness had taken over again.

Even tighter than before, he held onto the backpack in his lap. He slouched his whole body, desperately trying to shrink into a smaller version of himself. The more he thought of her chestnut hues that engulfed him in their warmth, the more miserable he felt. Suddenly he wanted to go, to run away to a home that no longer resembled his own house, but had taken the form of her glowing irises.

So deep in thought, he barely noticed the door eased open as two newcomers panned into view. Ultimately, it would have been impossible for him to ignore them because of how loud they were being.

It was a tall and slender man dressed in a suit, his facial features harder than stone. He had a stern look on his face and a glare that could probably break bones. His whole being emanated roughness and cold-bloodedness and the boy shuddered when their eyes met.

Then his gaze fell upon a shorter, smaller form next to the man. It was that of a boy, probably around his age, that was jumping and jostling around violently like a tasmanian devil, making it almost impossible for the man to keep him still.

"Let me go, you idiot!" The boy whined furiously. He was breathing heavily and his whole face was red with rage, his swollen upper lip twitching.

"Shut it," The man snarled, grabbing the boy by the collar and jerking his whole body with his strong arm. "Watch your mouth, you little shit!"

He turned to the wide-eyed receptionist by the door that observed the whole scene with her jaw dropped.

"Would you please tell the doctor to drug him up or something so that he would behave," he emphasized the last word and shot a deadly glare at the agitated boy. "The little brat won't stop acting up."

The boy huffed and balled his hands into fists, baring his teeth. His disheveled raven black bangs fell on the thick dense eyelashes that rimmed his eyes. His gaze held in a twist of spite and a kind of raw violence that made you shiver and captivated you at the same time.

The pale receptionist just nodded, trying to take the boy's hand but he yanked it off.

"Don't you try and pull any of your shenanigans," the cold man grumbled with a threatening menace in his rigid voice. "Or else a swollen face isn't going to be the only thing you're getting out with."

"Whatever, you asshole!" The boy spat out defiantly as he stared fearlessly at his opponent. The man's bloodshot eyes twitched and it seemed like he was on the verge of striking the little boy but somehow stopped himself from doing it in public.

"I'm coming back in an hour to pick him up," He informed the receptionist flatly, still keeping his lethal stare. "Please tell the doctor to do something with him. I can't put up with the deranged little shit anymore." He said before stepping out as the dumbfounded receptionist watched him, outrage written all over her face.

She led the boy to the beige couch and told him softly to sit and wait until the doctor's ready to see him. He simply scoffed at her and plopped his body on his seat, the anger inside of him vibrating through his skin.

His furious eyes scanned all over the place as his right foot tapped on the floor impatiently. He let out a couple of deep sighs one after another and clutched his white-knuckled hands on his knees.

"Are you retarded?" He suddenly turned to look at the brown-haired boy to his right that had been silently observing him with the corner of his eye by now, afraid to even say a word.

"Huh?" The other boy threw him a surprised glance.

"You heard me, dumbass," the black-haired one glared. "If you're here, you're either a freak or a retard. You don't look like a freak, so you must be retarded."

The brown-haired boy studied the other's face blankly, tracing from his sharp clenched jaw to his narrowed eyes that cut like knives. He was so young, yet it seemed like he had built up so much anger and resentment in his soul that it was very difficult not to notice it.

"Are you a freak?" The brown-haired boy asked.

"Pfft, no." The other scoffed.

"Then you must be a retard too."

The black-haired boy's mouth opened wide as his eyes rounded at the unexpected answer, his expression shifting in a matter of seconds from surprise to blind fury.

"Listen here, you witty dumbass!" He lashed out with exasperation as his whole face turned red again. "I'm not afraid to beat you up and I'll do it, mark my words! You think you're so smart, huh? You think you're smarter than me?" His chest heaved up and down and his nostrils flared.

The other boy just looked at him silently, clearly unfazed. This was nothing new to him - he got bullied like that almost every day and had got used to it so much that it didn't even make an impression on him anymore.

A couple of minutes later, the black-haired boy's breathing calmed down, his rage vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He pounded his fists into the couch lightly, crossing his legs and waggling the one on top. Obviously, he couldn't stay still for more than ten seconds.

"So what are you here for then?" He turned around again, his voice steadier this time. The other boy dug his teeth into his lower lip and nibbled on it anxiously, still not replying.

"Oh, you don't wanna talk about it, huh?" The black-haired one said in a mocking tone, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, then I'll go first. I'm here because everyone thinks I'm problematic. They say that I lose my temper easily and that I exhibit violent behavior." He uttered flatly as though he was reading from a book.

"Well, don't you?" The brown-haired asked cautiously.

"No," the other one scoffed and knit his eyebrows, scrunching his nose in disgust. "They're making this up because they want to keep me on lockdown."

"Is this why your father said to tell the doctor to drug you up?"

"That wasn't my father," the boy's face turned somber. "That was my bodyguard. My father's even worse."

"How come?" The brown-haired boy gasped and his stomach tied in a knot at the idea of how much more terribly could they be treating him.

"He just doesn't talk to me. He doesn't care about me. I haven't seen him in a year." The other boy gulped and suddenly his angry gaze was replaced by a distressed one.

"I'm sorry." The brown-haired boy said genuinely.

"Whatever," the other boy shrugged and something sparked in his deep eyes, much like lightning on a pitch black night. "See, I told you my story. Now it's only fair that you tell me yours." He shot an expectant look.

"My mommy left me and my daddy," The brown-haired boy mumbled so quietly that it was almost a whisper. "I've been feeling weird from time to time, like I get really scared. I- I can't explain it. My daddy says those are anxiety attacks."

"Do you think that's true?" The other one questioned.

"Um, I don't really know."

"You've been feeling sad because you don't see your mother and you miss her. Anxiety attacks, my ass!" The black-haired boy spoke out loudly, stomping his foot on the ground. "Don't tell me you believe that stuff. All grown-ups do is lie and deceive to manipulate you. They're so full of crap," he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

The brown-haired boy frowned and his face fell. His coffee-brown orbs started watering again so he started shaking his head violently in order to chase away the tears.

"Hey," the other boy whispered suddenly, leaning in. "You wanna get out of here? We can go to the arcades and play games or stuff." A mischievous fire sparked in his deep velvet black eyes.

"How are we going to do that exactly?" The first boy faltered, glancing to the receptionist sitting right next to the door, oblivious to their' plan.

"Just watch." The black-haired boy offered him a devilish smirk. "Excuse me, miss?" He called out to the receptionist and she darted her eyes to him. "My throat feels dry, I'm so thirsty. Can I have a glass of water?" He asked innocently with an angelic expression on his face.

"Of course, dear." The woman beamed and stood up, stepping out through a white door.

"Now." The black-haired boy commanded, grabbing the other one by the hand, the both of them breaking into a light sprint as they headed for the door. Suddenly the first boy stopped and turned around, reaching his right hand out, a genuinely kind smile on his face for the first time since the other boy had seen him.

"By the way, my name's Jungkook." He said softly as they both shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I'm Taehyung."

***

12 YEARS LATER

"You know you have to tell her, right?"

"Tell her what?"

Taehyung turned his eyes away from the computer to shoot a glance to Jungkook trying on his new navy-blue shirt and black ripped jeans.

"You know," Taehyung grumbled in a low voice, narrowing his eyes at his friend. "About you. About your family."

Jungkook's lips curled in a small smile as he started unbuttoning the shirt, revealing a peek at his chest.

"What do you mean I have to tell her? We're just hanging out." He shrugged with a face of utter nonchalance as though he was talking about something as ordinary as taking the bus.

"It's not just hanging out to her, you know," Taehyung's voice came out as a soft growl, his eyes not leaving Jungkook who had put down the navy-blue shirt and had started trying on an olive green one.

"Geez, Tae, chill," Jungkook spun around to take a good look of himself in the mirror. Then his eyes cast over Taehyung whose expression was practically unreadable. "Why do you sound like you're her dad?"

Taehyung's gaze shifted blindly to his feet. Why was he acting like that? It was Jungkook's fifth date with this girl he had been dating for a couple of weeks now and he seemed content. So why couldn't Taehyung be happy for his friend?

It was because he knew that girl. It was the same girl, without a doubt. There was no way he'd ever forget her innocently honest chestnut eyes that had been holding him prisoner for so many years. He hadn't seen her in over a decade, but there was no way he wouldn't be able to recognize her small pointy nose, her golden hair softly lying over her shoulder bones, caressing her skin, and her gentle smile that lit up every room she entered.

She, on the other hand, didn't seem to remember him. How could she? It had been so long ago. Moreover, he thought of himself as so plain and ordinary that it was unlikely he could have made an impression on her. It only made him feel like more of a fool for holding onto a stupid useless memory all those years. But the truth was, he hadn't stopped thinking about her since that day at the doctor's office, the day he had been struck by young love for the first time.

"Okay, I'm going now," Jungkook announced, snapping Taehyung out of his dazed thoughts. He put on his shoes and then his leather jacket, taking a last look of himself in the mirror. "Wish me luck. It's the fifth date. You know what that means." He wiggled his eyebrows and his lips stretched in a playful smirk.

Taehyung's heart dropped instantly. "Good luck," he uttered darkly as he watched his friend's back disappear behind the door. He shuffled back to his bedroom, sitting silently on his bed. Something ached inside him, cutting him in deep like a silver blade. With the pain pulsating in the back of his mind, he realized the wound would be only getting deeper with time.

***

author's note:

oops, obligatory cliche flashback chapter *shrugs*

so, this chapter had been in my drafts for so long, waiting for the right time to get published. What better time than now? *cough* after the cliff hanger in the latest chapter *cough*. I felt like I hadn't emphasized Tae and Kookie's friendship enough so I guess I wanted us to have a glimpse of how they met. Some other interesting details resurfaced as well ;)

I just wanted to make some things clear for everyone, even though I know most of my readers are mature enough to understand them, but still.

1) Taehyung and Jungkook met at a doctor's office. Just because they have visited a mental health professional, it doesn't necessarily mean that they're mentally ill. Most kids need counseling when they have problems with behavior and conduct and it's better for them and for their families that they do.

2) I think it's become clear by now that Jungkook has had some emotional and anger issues. This chapter shows how and why these issues have developed - because of the constant neglect and occasional abuse he's been going through as a child. That's the reason he's been acting up and lashing out, struggling to control his impulses as a child. A part of him still does that, even as an adult. His character is very complex and I wanted to point that out.

3) Not much has been said about Taehyung's parents up till now, but as it tur s out his mother has abandoned them and he's been raised by his father. Abandonment by a loved one during childhood could be a trigger for developing anxiety. (NOTE: Please note that it says anxiety attacks, not anxiety disorder which is a totally different thing. Everyone could experience anxiety from time to time, not everyone has an anxiety disorder.) Taehyung finds comfort in the MC's bright and soothing nature because he's been missing this at home. Taehyung no longer experiences anxiety.

4) About the time frame, Taehyung and Jungkook are both 24 years old in this story, so that means they have met and became friends at the age of 10. The MC is a year younger than them, so that means she was 9 at the time.

5) About the second time-skip where it says 12 years later, that means it's around the time where Jungkook and the MC are just at the beginning of their relationship (because if you remember in the first chapters it says that they've been dating for 2 years.)

6) Remember when in chapter 20 the MC told Taehyung she felt as if she had known him all her life? Well maybe she has known him *wink wink*

Wow, this came out longer than I had expected. I just don't want to leave any room for confusion. This chapter was some real work. Sorry if it was too depressing.

This special chapter is also a way for me to celebrate 1.5K! Thank you so much, guys! This means the world to me. 😭❤ Thank you everyone who has made the time to read, vote and comment for this story. This is of such colossal importance for me and other writers on Wattpad. I'd love to hear your thoughts of the chapter and the insight of the character's past ^_^