https://youtu.be/MWASeaYuHZo

Scars To Your Beautiful - Alessia Cara

A little boy was flinging the waffle in his hands at the side of the street. Jungkook watched, his heart pounding so hard that it physically hurt as the world passed by from the passenger seat of the black beast of his motor BMW, or more precisely, his father's. "Son?" The soft voice startled him more than it should've. With wide eyes, he looked to his side. He could notice straight lines under the man's eyes, a few silver hairs peeking from underneath the perfectly combed black hair. "Your mother texted. She is asking what do you want to eat?"

Simple question. Domestic question. Yet Jungkook's tongue suddenly tied. He hasn't been asked what he wanted to eat for as long as he's left home to be on his own. He didn't know what he wanted to eat. He didn't know anything about himself anymore. God! He couldn't even say the name of the dishes he once drooled over. It seemed crazy to Jungkook as though the world had changed while he was locked up on one end of the world. 

Everything moved on. New children born, people dead, and he was still stuck like a broken star, the darkness staying firm as he waited for the crash for the last six years. 

"I'd like to get out, please," he asked in an unsteady voice, feeling the sensation in his chest, his body trembling as he controlled the soft noise that was willing to get out. 

Mr. Jeon's forehead was brushed with creases. He feared. He willed his questions away. "Are you feeling okay?" His tongue began swelling as he looked at Jungkook's forehead sweating. 

"Please," Jungkook repeated again, his left hand clutching into a fist. 

"Stop the car," Mr. Jeon asked the driver. 

The rumble of the engine softened and Jungkook opened the door near the sidewalk to get out. Mr. Jeon got out from his side and skirted to Jungkook's side. "Son, are you okay?" 

"I need to be on my own."

The man looked unsure, unmoving.

"Please... I'll follow you home soon. Please, I want to be on my own for a while. I am okay." Jungkook blinked his eyes, trying to emerge from the blur. He couldn't see the color of the sky or hear any voice out of the cacophony of noises. Everything struck him all at once. But he heaved and breathed under the textured fabric of his blazer. 

His steps began, taking him away from his father. The man's voice silenced and then he turned around, seeing his father standing on the other side of the road, his face pale as if he had seen a ghost walking.

Jungkook smiled at him. 

Mr. Jeon's chest rose and fell as he trembled, but nodded at Jungkook nonetheless before getting back inside the car.

As the black vehicle left, Jungkook slumped down on the concrete road, breathing, looking at his textured black pants. His own skin looked foreign to him in a color that wasn't grey. His vision returned gently, his chest regulated, rhythm changed, and his hand unclenched. 

He sat there, being a spectacle for people. Children giggled at him, and adults turned and looked at him sitting in the middle of the road in a black and expensive suit. He didn't mind the reactions. In fact, he felt curious to know what the prying eyes were seeing, what they were thinking about him. He didn't stand up until his tie stopped choking him.

When he did, he looked around. The first thing that caught his attention was a pair of glass doors. He walked closer to be able to read the sign. Polyc. It was written in Broadway format.

As he swung open the doors, he found himself in a different world. 

The soft colors of the walls were calming. At the expanse of cream, numerous artistic designs were displayed. What he found were pictures of people modeling their tattoos, computer-generated designs, and hand-made art, all of which spoke to him.

The only issue he found with the place was the slow whirring of needles. It made him crush his molars together. "Would you like to get a tattoo, sir?" A man with a whole tattoo sleeve on his right hand approached Jungkook, holding a print of a design in black and red ink. 

"Can you do it quickly?" Jungkook asked, not wanting to hear the whirring for long. 

"If it isn't intricate design, sure," the man with the tattoo said, ushering Jungkook towards one of the many white leather chairs. "Do you have something in mind?"

It's going to be fine. 

I am going to be fine. 

I'll find a purpose again.

I'll try.

I'll live again.

"Hope." The word escaped Jungkook's lips, the sound soft and welcome to his ears. "I want to hope."

"Certainly," the man held the chair so Jungkook could settle in it. "Where do you want it and how big? I can show you some fonts."

As he turned to get the design papers from the drawers, Jungkook noticed a big mirror in front of him. His head raised slowly, but in the end, he couldn't find it in himself to raise his eyes too. 

I'll look at myself one day. 

Soon.

I will look at myself.

One day. When I am ready.

Timidly, he placed a finger at one font which had a twine underneath the word, supporting its weight. "This one."

After a few minutes of pain and a great deal of tolerating the whirring noise later, Jungkook got up and walked toward the counter. Only when he didn't stop and opened the door, his tattooist screamed his name. "You didn't pay, sir."

Jungkook stared at his face for a moment too long. He could feel embarrassment on his heated cheeks. "Sorry," he said slowly. "I am sorry. I forgot."

"It's okay," the man smiled, startling Jungkook. He got behind the counter and began to make the bill. "Whatever it is." He said. "You should know that nothing is permanent, except now your tattoo." He laughed. "It will pass." 

Jungkook found strange ardor in the kind smile and the warm words of the stranger. When he stepped out of the shop, he heard Bongos playing. The sound was thought-provoking.

Unable to resist, he started walking towards it.

**

Jimin was holding Iseul close to his chest as he walked on the sidewalk. The boy was wide awake. It was his first time outside the house, so he was living the experience to the fullest, not crying, only trying to make tiny noises that were disappearing somewhere deep in his throat, as he drooled all over himself.

Jimin was laughing. His attention was on Iseul and his safety.

Rose was brought into the hospital for a check-up along with the baby. As they had to wait for the results of a few blood tests, Jimin decided to take a trip to his car, but then he saw Iseul trying to turn his head to look at the road, so he decided to take a small walk on the side.

Jimin heard the sound of Bongos coming from ahead and realized how far he'd walked away from the hospital. Iseul was doe-eyed, stunned as he tried to focus on the music and Jimin laughed out loud, looking at his face. "You want to hear it. Don't you?" He asked. 

"Yes," he replied himself and laughed even harder. "I can't wait to hear you speak." He gushed, rushing towards the sound. 

A feeling of deja vu surpassed him out of thin air and he stopped on the road for a moment, trying to pinpoint something. He focused on the people, trying to find someone with a familiar face. He focused on acquainted fragrance, but everything was jumbled in his senses. 

His eyes were spotting a black dot ahead, his mind a bit hazy when his phone rang. His hands automatically pulled out the phone from his pocket, pressed the answer key, and brought it to his ear. "Where are you, Jimin?" Rosenow's voice resounded. 

"I am coming," Jimin answered mechanically, the colors still flashing in and out of his eyes.

Turning, he rushed back towards the hospital with an unsettling feeling in his chest. 

**

Jungkook took off his shoes before he silently entered the house. His left wrist was warm and bright pink skin was peeking from under his sleeve. He carried two bouquets with the same hand. The house smelled like something he had no memory of. Lots of food. 

His mother's soft voice and his grandmother's rough laughter rushed the blood in his head so fast it collided with his skull. "Eomma," his lips moved slowly. 

Leaving everything, the woman ran towards Jungkook and practically launched herself into his arms. The man was so much taller than his mother that he picked her up slightly off the floor, his lips stretching in a genuine smile as his eyes teared up. He wanted to speak again, but the happiness made him breathless.

Watching the other lady approach slowly, he put his mother down and leaned towards the frail woman to kiss her cheek while he handed her a bouquet. 

"My hero," Grandmother took the bouquet, plucked one rose, and placed it behind her ear. "How do I look?" She asked. 

Jungkook bent on his knees, the distorting happiness and a blinding need to cry altogether confused him. 

While his mother was wiping her tears, standing beside them, his grandmother seemed to have vowed to not shed a tear. "How is it possible?" He said. "You look even more beautiful than I last saw you."

"I told you your grandfather was a magician who cast spell on me." She scrunched her nose, her wrinkles falling into place over her nose. Jungkook hugged her torso, laughing while tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn't mind them anymore. They were just there, unable to hold on, unable to bear the amount of happiness he had forgotten his body was capable of taking as he froze in time.

It dawned on him then. These people, his family... They all have suffered with him. He didn't want to hurt them. 

Getting on his feet, he handed the other bouquet to his mother, who clutched it to her chest and took Jungkook's palm to walk him inside. 

The house was exactly how he left it save for the vases that looked like they were real gold, studded with crystals. On taking a closer look, he realized that the furniture was different, too. Newer. Fancier. 

His eyes met with his father's relieved face. Nodding at him without saying a word, he conveyed that he had hope, he was going to be fine now. 

After years, they all sat together for dinner and it wasn't silent. Jungkook talked and felt like he was seventeen years old again. The same cheeky boy who'd share jokes with his grandmother, who'd been spoiled rotten by his mother. The same boy who was silently understood and encouraged by his father. 

"Your room is- I redecorated." His mother said nervously. 

The nervous energy from the woman was new, and Jungkook understood that as much as they were anxious for him to talk to them, he wasn't ready yet.

Everyone knew what had happened, but it was obvious that he needed to talk about it, show his trust, and confide in them. Perhaps that would get rid of the new barrier he was seeing between them. It was as if he didn't know these people, even when he was related to them by blood. "I am sure it is pleasant. I trust you, Mother," Jungkook held her hand, kissing her knuckles.

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7 Jun, 2023