Jimin's footsteps out the door are drowned out by the volume of a torrent of rain.

He opens the front door and sighs at the downpour, eyeing the distance from the safety of inside the house to the door of the car he's driving.

"Perfect," he grumbles in a whiny voice. "I've got no luck, and all is right in the world."

Happy to stay dry and warm inside, you languidly hold out a tiny umbrella to him, hanging it from one finger by the string attached to the handle. "Here. I found this in the living room."

He takes it from you, a less than grateful expression on his cute face, making his cheeks puff out. "Wow. Thanks."

He clicks the button, and a pink and yellow polka-dotted umbrella unfolds into a circle barely big enough to cover his head.

"Delightful," he sighs, with one last glance at the sea of rain. "Well...anchors away, I guess."

His boots clunk off of the hardwood floor, moving outside into the storm.

Then he's gone.

The water falls in a heavy, dense sheet that swallows Jimin whole, along with the bright burst of color that is his umbrella.

You stay at the door, peering into the dismal waterlogged scene, and wait until the sound of an engine cranking growls through the slats in between the streaks of rain.

A cold burst of wind shrieks in toward you, bringing with it icy cold raindrops. Grimacing you shut the door again and lock it against the onslaught.

You can hear the rain still pounding down on the roof from every place in the house. Usually, rain makes you feel cozy and warm inside, but when you're practically alone in a dark, unfamiliar house with echo-y floors and dark corners, it feels more like the setting of a horror movie.

You shiver and turn on every light in the house, except for the bedrooms.

As you flick on the last light in the hall, your stomach begins to growl loudly.

At least you have food now.

Peeking into Jungkook's room, you see that he's still asleep. The way he sleeps isn't like a normal person. Most people turn every now and then, shifting the blankets with the soft moving of the breathing chest.

Jungkook looks dead.

He doesn't move or shift, and the ever-slightest breaths that inflate his chest are barely noticeable unless you're looking hard.

Heck, maybe he is dead.

A tiny burst of panic floods your chest, but it's instantly extinguished when a little snore cuts through the silence of the room.

Your stomach answers in turn, growling loudly again.

Guess it's time for food.

Turning on your heel, you head back down the hall toward the kitchen, your soft footsteps padding lightly on the wood floors, making lonely echoes throughout he empty house.

The rain is painting the entire city monotone outside, and its steady pinging against the roof and walls are making you feel sluggish and lazy.

Slowly, you make two sandwiches with some of the stuff that Jimin left you. It seems like it takes forever to spread the mayonnaise on the bread, and to later on the meat and cheese and vegetables. Your body is moving at a snail's pace.

When you're finished, you balance both plates in either hand and clasp a small packet of chips between your teeth, returning down the path to Jungkook and his dark room.

You get inside the door, and stop at the sight of a solemn figure sitting up in bed.

The blinds of the window have been rolled up, and Jungkook is sitting at the edge of the bed with his feet flat on the floor, watching the translucent droplets roll down the window pane.

"Hey, you're awake," you say quietly, as not to startle him. "I brought you a sandwich. Are you hungry?"

There's no response.

His shoulders stay stiff and unyielding, the straight plank of his body neither relaxing or tightening at the sound of your voice.

It's as if you aren't even there.

You set down the plates beside the glass of water on the bedside table, which has no ice left in it, and round the bed to where the black-headed man sits still.

When you finally do catch a glimpse of Jungkook's handsome face, you don't quite know what to make of it.

He's just...blank.

Gone.

His mind isn't left in his body.

Those big doe eyes that you secretly admire so often are wide open, not blinking as they stare vacantly at the storm raging a wall away. His lips are closed, tightened, pressed into a thin line. Every so often, his nostrils flare for breath.

You don't know what to say, or do.

Your mind brings back the phrase Jimin used only a while ago as he plunged into the icy water and disappeared.

Anchors away.

That's what this is - anchors away.

All the things that anchor Jeon Jungkook to this world - whatever relationships and bonds and emotions - they're not here now.

They've been lifted, allowing the ship of his mind to be swept away from the safe shore of his body, floating cold and alone in the middle of a sea of emotional instability. He's off somewhere in the air, floating adrift along an invisible current of heartbreak and trauma.

You're scared that if you touch him, he might never get back.

"Jungkook," you choke thickly, extending a hesitant, shaky hand toward his statue-like form.

What do you do?

You can't just leave him like this.

Your fingers brush the material of his shirt, just  barely.

And, like you've shot him, Jungkook crumpled in on himself.

You gasp when he just falls over, curling up to lay on his side on the bed, wide-eyed gaze never leaving the window. If you weren't looking so closely, you could miss the almost  unseeable tremors wracking the length of his body.

Jungkook exhales, and it's shaky and unstable.

"I'm sorry," he whispers hoarsely. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to."

Didn't want to what?

Your heart is hurting for him. He's so absent, lost in whatever past event made him leave in the rain.

Jungkook bares his teeth in a pained grimace, his head straining against the pillow. "I don't want to. Don't make me, please. Don't make me."

He chokes on the words, like they're burning his throat and tongue as they leave. In the dim light let in from the window, you watch a tear slip down the smooth skin of his cheek.

It catches on the cross, then drips into oblivion as it soaks into the sheets.

Your eyes hover over that cross.

Whatever that tattoo represents, you're watching Jungkook bear it right now. You're watching him suffer through it with every bone in his body, watching the haunting damage that the lasting burden has cost him.

Jeon Jungkook is broken.

You bet that they all are, in some way.

You bet that you are too.

You're all falling to pieces in front of each other, living with it,  just trying to keep yourselves glued together with whatever you can.

Any reservations flee you in that moment.

Gently, you tiptoe to where Jungkook's head rests on the bed, ragged tears still periodically falling from his red-rimmed eyes. You lift his head up with his shoulders, and slide beneath them so he's pillowed in your lap.

You just want to let him know, for some uncertain reason, that someone is here with him. You want him to know that he's not totally alone in the rain, not totally alone in the past.

You're breaking too, but you're here.

You're here.

You cradle Jungkook like a lost child until his vacant eyes drift closed, protected in your arms from the storm that rages on around you.

[A/N]
Unedited
Was this the cuddle time you were expecting?😉😂😂
Fake love is a bop.
BBMAs tonight.
Honey Bunny update coming soon.
That is all.
❤️PB