(Y/N) POV:

There's pain.

Then hollowness.

And then... emptiness.

A gaping growing sense of nothingness that stretches out from the numbed space of my mind down to the nerve cells in every inch of my body that slowly flicker and then extinguish. Feeling and sensation leeched from them. Pain ebbing away as if it's being drained out of my body. As if all it wants to leave behind is a husk.

Empty...empty...empty.

Fingers tracing over the red and purple, over splotches of colour across my nose, a distant hiss of breath as my fingers probe and press against too-sensitive flesh and tissue, a rippling pulse of pain that fans out, that makes my face feel like it's on fire and my head pound as if someone's taking a hammer to it. Again. And again.

Fingers tracing further out, over angry red cuts against my skin. Tracing them doesn't make the pain flare hotter, harsher, skin rough underneath my fingertips.

Touches tracing, tracing, mapping out something that's still a blurred rush in my mind, not able to sort it entirely from the onslaught of sensations and feelings that'd rushed inwards, a barrage of them until...nothing.

Until there had been nothing.

Until that nothing had threatened to drag me under.

And from that nothing.

There'd been Jungkook.

"Does it still hurt?" a voice interjects. Drawing me back down, back here. Voice re-entering my consciousness, my awareness, my senses. But I hadn't heard him come back. Hadn't heard the door open, nor the steps approach the bathroom. Hadn't heard him until he was here.

"No." voice hoarse. Croaky.

Liar.

"Where does it hurt?" he asks instead. Eyes skimming over me, their weight lighter, gentler than the brush of my fingertips against a scrape on my cheek. Skin abrasive under my touch. Fingers stilling when a hand slowly loops around my wrist. Draws my hand down.

Turns my body to his.

"It doesn't hurt as bad as yesterday."

A hammer to my head.

A constant pounding sensation.

Lungs aching to breathe.

Nose throbbing, pulsing.

Body aching in places I hadn't known there were aches.

Skin raw and sensitive.

Liar.

But some part of me relishes in feeling the sensations, layered over one another, oppressive and suffocating, merciless and harsh, attacking my senses, one sensation bleeding into another, letting myself feel every moment of it because I deserved it, I should've been on it, focused and ready but I wasn't and if I wasn't ready then I wasn't—

"1-10?"

"3. Barely."

"10 then."

"It's not that bad."

"The shock's worn off, the adrenaline's worn off. Your face must hurt like a bitch." Voice laced with sympathy, eyes heavy with it, but the kindness, the gentleness... I don't deserve it.

Just dead weight after all. If Jeon has to baby you. If you had to have your hands held every moment, from sitting out the last season to this—the sharp voice in my head hisses, a harsh roughness that only seeks to amplify the throbbing behind my sinuses, the pulsing pain rippling behind my eyes, pressure building in my temples.

I breathe out.

Shallow.

Lungs heavy, uncooperative.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"It's not about being able to handle it tough girl. It's about letting yourself know you're in pain. And it's okay. I'll get you some meds okay?" voice soft.

As if he already knows, as if he can sense that the only way to counter the heavy pounding in my head is with the gentle balm of a quiet voice.

Body slipping away, steps quiet. Quick. Flitting around his room before he returns. Fingers around my wrist, guiding me back out of the bathroom, back under dimmer lighting, exhale deeper with relief when the brightness doesn't assault my eyes as much.

But the image of my face, bruised and scuffed up, hovers in front of my eyes regardless. Mirror or not, the image of my fuck up stays clear in my head.

Burns itself there.

A reminder.

A you-deserve-it ringing in my ears, its coldness lingers.

Sinks itself deep.

Pills pressed into my hand, a bottle of water tilted to my lips, swallowing down the chalky taste of medicine.

"Thanks Kook." Words choked. Strangled.

The pressure in my lungs rises up to settle in my throat.

The pressure behind my sinuses and temples reach to press against my eyes, a stinging harshness I will down, head tilting up to blink quickly, gaze only dipping back down when the dim lights don't threaten to blur anymore.

Hand still guiding me, easing me back down onto the bed.

Dark eyes peering up at me, hands squeezing my knees before reaching for a tube. Absently my eyes settle on his hands. His right hand's knuckles scuffed slightly. Reddened.

But then his hands squeeze and withdraw from my knees. Reaching upwards towards me.

His touch is far gentler, kinder and forgiving than my own. His touch is soft. Careful. Fingers sweeping over my nose, the ointment cool, tingling. Fingers sweeping outwards in soft strokes before he eases back.

"You fell on your right." Eyes astute. Observational.

Hand featherlight and careful as he applies the same balm, touch and ointment, to the sore tenderness at my side. His touches are as if every limb of my body has been turned to glass and the slightest touch, the slightest pressure will send me shattering to the ground.

Sensing the brittleness, the fragile weakness that makes me feel a nudge away from breaking. But what's keeping him from pushing? Would it expose to him, once and for all, that I'm not good enough to be his partner? That someone he chose as his partner is someone far weaker than he ever thought? Was he afraid of learning that truth as I was of it being exposed?

"Thanks Kook." Swallowing down the choking pressure in my throat, the lump there that swells bigger at the soft squeeze of his hand at my side, at the carefulness in the gesture.

"Anytime icicle."

But how many times... how many times would he have to pick up the pieces? How many times would I have be the weaker link?

[......]

"We need to have a talk."

An all too familiar flare of panic shoots up to the surface, a clamminess to my palms as my hands still on tying my skates up. Body stiff as it straightens, spine hard and brittle, fingers trembling as I smoothen them down my legs. Eyes slowly drifting up.

Head pounding with the million implications in Coach's eyes when I look up and finally make eye contact, stomach churning with a gripping sense of nausea. That same nausea grips me tightly by the through, constricting as it closes around the breath stuck there.

A jerked nod, a too quiet affirmative.

"Yes Coach."

Something pained and contemplative flashes across her expression and twists her lips into a grimace. The nausea only inches its way up.

"You can take your skates off." Head nodding towards the unsecured laces.

A strong ripple of fear echoes through me.

Nodding again, throat closing up further, as my hands tug at the half-done laces to draw the skates off, hear them clatter against the ground.

"Practice—"

"Don't worry about it." voice soft but in its lightness, in its quietness does nothing to still or dull the roaring panic in my head, swallowing down the sting of bile in my throat, the rapidly rising nausea, breath quickening—

"You okay icicle?" head popping round the corner, eyes finding mine.

Somehow quelling the panic from the distance, brows furrowed as he looks at me.

A sympathetic flash of understanding, slipping into the empty changing room to move towards me.

Hands hovering, flitting and brushing over me. Fingers skimming over my side with a carefulness, hand coming to settle at my side.

"Yeah... we're just... Coach just wants to have a word."

Coach's expression shifts, turning sympathetic, knowing, eyes already having found whatever my own give away.

"Jungkook can be there too. We just wanted to review your practice times and make sure there's a clearer schedule you're following."

The sense of relief that pulses through me, for a moment, makes my legs feel wobbly. Unsteady on solid ground.

"Just that? But during practice—"

"We're making changes to everyone's schedules and getting more use of the smaller rinks, but we can talk about this in my office." Turning to lead the way, the hand at my side squeezes reassuringly.

"Nothing bad icicle." As if he's part of it, as if he's aware of it before I am. As if he's there to help break the news gently. My stomach swirls. Nothing ever comes good of it. An approaching sense of cold doom slowly starts to seep itself into my bones.

I nod.

But I'd seen Coach's eyes flit downwards, know she'd taken in the bruising still around my nose and how wrecked my face must look to her. Cut up and purpling. Nose swollen.

Body still sore with bruising around my sides, where my body had hit the rink's edge... where I was thankful that it had only been bruising...

But something was decidedly off about her silence when we sit down. The measured pause before she speaks. The gentleness in her voice as if in her mind I'm one step from shattering into pieces. As if she's waiting for it, as if the collision with the rink's barrier was the breaking force and she was waiting to see me fall apart.

Something twists my insides up.

Something that returns the thrum of panic and fear tenfold.

[......]

"From now on the main rink is out of bounds after the hockey team's last practice. I don't care if that's at 7 in the evening or 10 at night. The moment they're done... everyone's done."

Reproachful stare as Coach's eyes dip once more. Nose a throbbing pulse point, pain radiating in dull waves.

"I'm not in shape Coach. For the upcoming competitions... I'm not in shape." Protest welling up.

"A lot of it is mind over matter (Y/N). And right now it might feel like that but remember what I said when you were ready to rejoin after the last season?"

"I needed to stop psyching myself out."

A brisk nod.

"Exactly. Now you're not doing any on-ice training until that bruising and swelling goes down. You're going to stick to the ankle physio too and any training you do is strictly with your partner and off the ice."

Benched.

I'm being benched.

I'm being micro-managed.

I don't know whether the bile in my throat stings, the weight in my chest that grows heavier, crushing the air from my lungs, the pounding echo in my head not enough, not enough, not enough, not enough—

"It's to prevent any further injuries and if that means the rink gets closed earlier, it gets closed."

Ruined it for everyone else, ruined, ruined, ruined.

The pounding in my head grows.

"Coach I didn't mean to mess it up for the others... they're so close to competitions...we need all the rinks available for practice and not to be shut and..."

Coach couldn't limit practicing hours. Not when these competitions were make or break... not when it all came down to these competitions and whether we got through to the national title, whether we got to compete for the Olympics. I wasn't just damaging my chances, I was ruining everyone else's.

"I'm not going to let any of my skaters overwork themselves and risk an injury. Do you realise how close you came to a serious injury? What if Jungkook hadn't been there? What if you'd gotten concussed?"

Disappointment and reproach makes the sting of bile thicken, swallowing down the urge to throw up. The dismayed look in Coach's eyes makes me feel an inch tall. And she hasn't even had to raise her voice.

Was I that much of a screw up?

But she was right.

What if Jungkook hadn't been there?

Why hadn't I just sent him a text. Why hadn't I just told him?

And I already know the answer.

Know that shame and that feeling of being distinctly lacking was holding me back from telling Kook about the extra practices. Because he was doing enough being a captain, being my skating partner. He didn't need to be on babysitting duty, looking out for me and yet...

Yet...what would've happened if Kook hadn't been there?

Would I have been able to pull myself off the ice?

Would I have been able to pull myself back from the brink of what had felt like my limbs losing control, vision tunnelling and only registering the pain and the cold, the pain and the cold, the pain and the cold and—

The hand that'd been lying loosely entangled with mine readjusts its grip.

A firm hard squeeze that grounds my awareness to the palm that presses to mine, the unwavering strength that draws the panic down. Guides it down, guides the nausea back down my throat, calms the racing of my pulse, slightly, eases the tightness in my lungs and briefly...briefly helps quell the churning twists and knots of my stomach.

"But I didn't. I'm fine Coach. I'm clear to practice."

"You're not understanding me (Y/N), I know you're clear to practice. I want you to be aware of what could've happened... I need you to be aware of your limits. I need you to understand and listen to your body when it's telling you enough."

But I'd know.

I'd know if my body had enough.

I'd know because it'd be enough when I got what I needed, got where I needed to be.

I'd know because then my body would know—satisfied and tired but accomplished. Because practice would've made perfection.

And I hadn't reached perfection.

"And that accident on the ice. That was a limit. You listen to your body and your mind. Ignoring what your mind is saying... you're tiring yourself out."

Jungkook's hand tightens in mine.

And when I glance at him, there's a tightness to his jaw, a tension that I don't fully understand, a hardened edge to the way he seems to respond to Coach's words.

As if they're beratement, a comment towards him.

My fingers grasp back this time. Tighter. Squeezing. Because the last thing it could ever be was criticism towards Jungkook. For someone who was carrying both our weight, for someone who was doing everything to be there for me.

Suddenly, the pressure in my throat grows.

Guilt curdling my stomach.

Because Coach couldn't be criticising Jungkook...couldn't be faulting him for my own lapse in judgement.

"I understand Coach. It won't happen again."

"I'll do better. I'll look after her Coach."

"I already know you do Jungkook. I already trust you take care of her better than anyone else."

And that... that is a comment for me to hear.

That maybe...maybe I needed to take better care of me.

Or that maybe... I needed to do a better job at being less of a burden.

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

Knock-knock-knock.

And then an electronic beep.

Both sounds alerting me, head turning towards the door.

Tousled and freshly rumpled, shuffling in slowly. Bag discarded by the door, shoes exchanged for slippers, hoodie tugged off and draped over the back of a chair. Slow lethargic steps as he pads into the room, making a slow course for the bed.

"I can sleep fine Jungkook-ah."

"I know, I can't." brushing it off easily, hand nudging at me to shuffle along the bed to the other end, scooting in close to me.

The scent of his shampoo brushes against me, fingers brushing against damp strands.

"You didn't dry your hair properly." I murmur.

"It'll dry out." Eyes blinking at me, lips tugging up at the corners. A soft smile.

"You're always having a go at me." I point out.

"Shhh... it's late. Go to bed." Leg slinging over mine, arm loosely wrapping around me, hands flitting and brushing, drawing the blanket over my side.

"You look exhausted... why'd you make the walk over?"

"I told you... my bed wasn't feeling comfy." Liar.

But having him here in mine is comfort, it's as easy as breathing, his body moulds to mine, his body sinks into the bed with a familiarity, a belonging.

He's here because he wanted to be.

But a part of me whispers he's here because he's still worried. He's still fretting. He's still on-edge.

As if he'll wake and I'll be back on the rink again.

"I'm not going to sneak out onto the rink if that's why you're here to babysit me."

"(Y/N)." voice soft. Low. Firm.

"Hm?"

"I'm not here to babysit you. Felt odd that you weren't staying over so I snuck in." smile smooshed against the pillow, tired, droopy eyes blinking at me.

Eyes drifting down, tracing my features quietly.

"Okay." I murmur back, his head tilts close enough that his nose nudges against mine, eyes crinkling slightly. Head tilting to brush a kiss across the top of my cheek.

So careful, so, so gentle.

I hate the familiar feeling of something tightening my throat, eyes blinking at the tenderness of the gesture, swallow down the shaky breath. Lips wobbling as I smile back.

"Goodnight Koo."

"Night icicle."

[......]

Skates twisting, trying to brake harshly, recognising too late that I was speeding too quick, that my skates were losing control on the ice, the ice more liquid than solid, torn up than even, body trying to rear back at the last moment... already too late... to stop my body from falling. But my skate gets caught, the blade hooked into the ice and the sudden dip jerks my body forward, wrenching the blade free but it throws my momentum off, throws my weight off, unable to stop because the speed I'd been skating at can't manage the sudden way my body tilts forward. Skates dragging against the ice but it's blades skimming uselessly through torn-up chips of ice and puddles of water. Body twisting, bracing itself for impact, the barrier growing closer and closer, rapidly growing in size and maybe my hands can reach out and grab on but I can feel my limbs twisting, feel the wrench to my leg god no, please not my ankle, please no, not again....no, no, no, no... and then the hard SLAM of my body hitting the wall, pain lancing up my spine, bursting across my side, erupting from my face. Body hitting the wall hard and then landing on the ice. The cold attempting to offer a reprieve from the bursts of heat that flares and ripples across my skin. Agony that makes my head pound. Body coming to a still and every limb locked in place, the full force of the collision leaving it feeling drained. Unable to bring myself up. Breaths sharp against the ice, ears ringing and a distant yell that sounds like my name, but it can't be and—

"(Y/N)! Fuck... (Y/N)!"

The panic in the voice rises, alarm and terror makes it waver and it's not in the distance anymore, it's right here, hovering over me.

Kook, Kook.

Something inside me cracks. Cracks with the relief of knowing that Jungkook's here. That whatever had still been holding on after the collision shatters on realising that Jungkook is here... he's here...he's here.

Clutching onto his voice like a lifeline.

Lungs shuddering as misery tears from them, throat aching, unable to form the words, the desperate need to tell Jungkook, terror closing my throat at the fear that I can't tell where the pain's from, I can't tell through the pain if my ankle's ruined... body shaking as hands reach for me, blindly turning towards him, a pained sound torn out my throat but still my hands try to hold on, try to grip onto him, cold sinking into my clothes but the hands holding me are warm. Frantic voice, certain grip. Warm.

Warm, warm, warm.

The same warmth that holds me to him, a balm to the pain flaring across my body, tongue heavy in my mouth, the taste of blood thick and heavy, the pressure behind my eyes strong, weighing down my eyelids.

Vision spinning, blurring in and out of focus, dark spots in front of my vision, blinking dazedly at the light being shone in my eyes. Mind feeling weighted, dragged down as I try track it.

"....not a concussion... tissue is damaged and bruised..."

Eyes blinking out dark spots and the blurred edges, disorientation easing away but leaving behind the pounding echo of my heartbeat in my ears. Every thundering pulse battering my mind over and over and over again.

Weight sinking down onto my legs, relief makes them shake.

"M okay... okay..." words heavy, slurred.

"I don't care...you're not walking back to the dorms..."

Weightless and then carpet under my feet.

Body shivering with the cold, standing in front of Jungkook, a thousand questions in his eyes and the rawness there told me that time was up. I couldn't keep hiding anymore. No more secrets. No more secrets. No more secrets... don't judge me, don't hate me, don't think little of me... don't judge me, don't hate me, don't think little of me...

Dead weight...dead weight...dead weight...

All you ever do is make Jeon make up for your mistakes? Make up for where you're lacking.

Lacking...lacking...lacking—

"He's a liar. He's a liar (Y/N)." Words so sharp, so angry, seething with fury for me I realise. Not towards me... for me. He's angry and hurting for me. He's angry and upset alongside me.

But he's not a liar. If anything... he's pointed out what I was ignorantly looking past.

Not enough... not enough... not enough.

Arms clutching at me, pain flaring across my face where it presses tighter against his chest but curling closer, gripping onto him, my lifeline, my lifeline... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry Kook.

"It's okay (Y/N), it's okay, it's okay."

Is it?

"(Y/N)... (Y/N)... (Y/N)... (Y/N)..." The voice grows distant, seems to be coming from somewhere further than just above me, as if the voice wades through a great distance, wading through water to reach my ears. The disembodied voice calls for me again.

But as far as the voice sounds, the hands shaking me lightly feel real, feel there.

Voice growing louder, closer, brushing against my ear, feeling the hands stay at my side but a phantom pressure of the same hands reach my cheeks, turning my face upwards. Staring, staring—

"(Y/N)!"

My eyes flare open, blinking quickly, trying to dissociate my mind from the panic that thrums in my veins, that crushing immobile feeling, the coldness of ice seeping into skin but the face above me doesn't fade.

Dark worried eyes peering down at me, hands at my cheeks, thumbs brushing quickly against my cheeks. Realising that his face blurs in and out of focus.

Breaths tight in my lungs, body trembling as I blink upwards, voice a constant low hum of sound that doesn't immediately reach me.

"(Y/N)... (Y/N)... can you hear me?" voice wading through water, through the distance. Blinking up at him, struggling to breathe as if the same water his voice wades through is the same that fills my lungs, chokes me, tasting salt on my tongue. Sheets entangled around me, limbs feeling immobile, breathing sharper, hands scrabbling against the sheets, feel them slip away like the ice under my skates. Lurched away with a sudden yank.

"(Y/N) breathe... breathe... breathe..." words coaxing, guiding, fingers never stopping their brushing movement of wiping the damp from my skin, his own chest rising and falling in a purposely slow pattern of breaths.

The band around my lungs seems to stretch tauter.

I can't. I want to get the words out.

I can't breathe...I can't breathe...

Fingers stilling, cupping my cheeks, dark eyes holding mine, unwavering. Lips still moving. Mouthing out the same words.

Breathe. (Y/N) breathe.

Air wavery, thin. Slowly slithering into my lungs.

Trying to make them expand.

Breaths trying to follow his pattern. Following each inhale and exhale to the pattern of his own breathing, fingers gripping his wrists, feeling them, strong, real under my touch. Fingers gripping onto him.

Breathe.

"That was some bad dream huh?" voice sympathetic. Low.

Tilting closer, forehead resting against mine, my breaths still following his pattern. Nodding. Feeling drained. Shaky.

But it was real.

It was real.

The sound of my body hitting the wall with a horrifying thud, hear it echoing in my ears.

The sound of panic, frantic and rushed, Kook's voice distorted with terror.

This close I can see the panic, the concern pooled in his eyes.

See the way his throat bobs.

Feel the tremor in his hands.

"You were there though. You were there... you were calling me."

I hate how thin my voice sounds. How weak.

"I was. I am. I'm right here (Y/N)." the dampness on my cheeks, the watery blinks, the taste of salt on my mouth sinks in harder.

Relief makes tears seep from my eyes, renewed pressure behind my eyelids.

He's always here.

"Stay. Please stay." Don't leave me, don't leave me. Stay.

"You know I'll always stay." Body moving to draw back, to sink back onto his side next to me, fingers gripping his wrists tighter.

Tugging at him.

"No...no... stay."

Hands tugging him closer.

Needing to feel something... needing to feel him against me instead of the ice I can feel sinking deep into my bones. Needing to feel Jungkook.

"Okay... okay I'll stay. Right here." Voice murmuring against my cheek.

Weight sinking down over me, body pressing to mine.

A blanketing pressure that cocoons me entirely. Encompasses my every sense, my every fibre, fills it with him. Jungkook's body presses to mine, melds without space, without breath parting it.

He brings comfort on the deepest level.

Comfort on the deepest level, on a level so wholly consuming that the press of his body brings. Chasing the cold, cold remnants of my dream away.

Stay... and so Jungkook does.

[......]

"You not coming down to the rink?"

"Actually I... I'm thinking of getting a run in before practice." Swallowing down the lie easily, watching as Jungkook's face shifts from furrowed to accepting.

"Alright I'll grab my trainers and—"

"Actually I was going to go clear my head." Voice hushed.

The lie might've gone down easily enough. But it sits bitter on my tongue, it twists my stomach to see the concern and then understanding slowly grace his face.

Nodding.

Acquiescing.

Relenting.

"Alright. I'll see you in a bit. Just a few laps around the track okay? Otherwise you'll be late."

"I won't."

I won't be there.

Too good for the sport? A sharp voice hisses in my ear.

But despite that, something makes my limbs freeze at the thought of heading down to practice knowing full well it's the shared practice with the hockey team. Something cold and crippling seeps into my veins at the thought of seeing him when everything around me feels brittle. When I feel brittle and know that seeing that look of hardened indifference, of cold malice will only make me fall apart.

And he didn't deserve to see me fall apart again.

I couldn't let myself fall apart again.

Some part of me raw and battered and bruised, the aches deeper than skin-level, pain that festered and grew, a poisoned wound that became infected, was left torn open and gaping. Sore wounds too new, too recent to pour acid over.

And seeing him again... seeing him again so soon... it'd fuck me up.

And that's exactly what he'd want.

So it's the last thing I'd do.

Guilt twists my insides when Kook leans forward, a quick hug before he's straightening up, grabbing a jacket before he leaves.

"I'll head over, going to talk to Coach about some off-ice training we can do." Voice full of warmth and eagerness, the softness of his eyes makes me feel all the more worse.

Nodding and dredging up a smile as he leaves.

Body slumping as if it's zapped of every last vestige of energy, sinking heavily back down onto the bed. Hands sinking into the bedding, trying to will myself to at least stand, to get up and go on the run I'd said I would.

To follow through with my lie.

Stay sunken into the sheets, mind blurring of thought... of the will to move and go. The persistent, nagging voice dulling around the edges, growing number, quieter the more reluctant and heavy my limbs grow. Stuck.

As if my body looses its hold on itself.

Can't practice or won't practice?

It'd be so easy to sink back, sink back into the blankets, drag them overhead and let my mind just go blank.

To let it just shut off after constantly buzzing, constantly being on, on, on and the barrage of voices that keep on ringing in my ears whenever it's quiet.

It's because you don't have the discipline to see things through. Don't have the discipline to work for yourself if Jungkook isn't there holding your hand through it.

My hand moves to drag the blanket forward, to bury myself under it and maybe if I bury myself deep enough then the voice will become muted, its taunt will become too distant to hear.

A buzz against my hand, stilling my motions, insides being wrenched violently at the gentle acceptance of the stream of words that lie open in front of my eyes.

I know you won't come to practice.

I don't know if you'll go on that run.

But it will help clear your mind.

I'll see you for lunch.

Love you.

The guilt that chokes me is unforgiving and heavy, fingers curled limp around my phone.

At the gentleness there.

At the understanding.

At knowing me better than I ever give him credit for.

Go on the run... go on the run for Kook's sake. He's doing so much for you. The least you can do is do the run I ditched practice for.

You'll feel better... you'll feel better... you'll feel better.

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

The aim to run turns into a walk.

Slow and constant.

Lap after lap around the track.

Walking.

Slow

Monotonous.

The process of moving one foot in front of the other never-ending.

But a cycle I fall into.

One lap after the other.

Hoping... pleading with my mind that it'll do what Kook said.

It'll make me feel better.

But it doesn't.

It doesn't make me feel better.

It makes me feel stuck.

I could stop walking.

And head back to the dorms.

I could stop walking.

Because I've been walking and circling the same track over and over and over and over and over again.

But I don't.

I keep walking.

Round and round and round and round.

A loop my feet seem stuck in, a loop I can't seem to break myself out of.

Round and round and round and round.

Cold weak morning light to warmer sunlight. Warmer sunlight to the slow prickle of heat beginning to suffuse with my skin, sweat beginning to bead and trickle down my skin, begins to cling to the back of my neck, stick clothes uncomfortably to skin.

Round and round and round and—

A distant voice growing louder and clearer and nearer.

Too far off to register where it's coming from, turning slowly to track the sound. Jogging steps growing closer.

Voice louder and rushed and slightly out of breath.

"(Y/N)!"

"Hobi... hi." Voice turning softer, something about the heart-shaped smile and warm, warm look in his eyes softens something inside me. Makes me feel inexplicably warm.

"Been a bit of a recluse this past week...can't believe I caught you." grin deepening, heart-lips stretching wider.

He's noticed the bruising. But he says nothing about it.

Ignores it entirely.

Brushes over it.

And that lack of focus to it, to the shameful evidence on my face, he chooses to ignore it. He chooses to ignore it.

As if it's the last thing that matters.

"Been busy shaping up for competitions."

"You drive yourself hard (Y/N)...breathe a little. Come grab breakfast with me." arm slinging around me, steps brought to a stop, changing direction by the easy tug of his body drawing mine into his side.

A sense of protectiveness in the way he tucks me to him, walk slow and ambling, leading me off the tracks.

But the same loop of step after step, one foot after the other, where I'd been unable to stop, my own steps drag. Hesitant. Steps slowing.

That all-too-familiar pressure around my lungs threatens to sink in.

"Can we... can we grab breakfast off campus today?"

Clearing my throat from the lump that's trying to settle there.

Eyes dipping away from the cluster of students filtering about, eyes darting away because greater than the nausea of crossing paths with the last person I want to see, greater than that is the crippling effect of indifference and hatred, of disdain from that same person. Hating that I fear the reaction it'll bring out in me.

Rather avoid him entirely. Than risk it.

A falter in Hobi's step.

Before his hand squeezes my shoulder.

"Breakfast is on me. We'll make a small trip of it... don't tell Kook." Voice hushed. Conspiratory.

My hand reaches up to grip his fingers, grateful in a way that he doesn't know, but he seems to understand. Quiet and knowing.

Letting my steps fall into sync with his.

Letting me break from the loop my own mind had stuck my body into.

Draws me away from it, away from the noise, the bustle, the campus itself.

"I haven't been telling him a lot." The words hushed. Strangled.

Quiet admission.

It's easier when I can't feel Hobi's gaze on me, easier still when his steps don't falter, when his eyes remain trained on leading us out of campus.

When the only sign he's heard is his fingers squeezing my shoulder, is the low murmur of his voice.

Easy acceptance, soft and gentle without question, without judgement.

"I think... whatever reasons you've had for not telling him... I think you'll find more reasons to talk to him. To share with him—and I think Kook will listen. I think he's giving you time to go to him to talk. At your pace."

"Even if he might not want to hear it?"

"I think... (Y/N)... you're afraid that Kook doesn't want to. But you don't need to be."

[......]

"Do you want to talk? To me?" Hobi offers over breakfast, eyes watchful and gentle. Not broaching, not intruding. Waiting.

"Haven't you already heard from Koo?" voice slightly dejected.

Because Hobi's asking out of politeness, out of the feigned ignorance that he doesn't know, or that he can't read the proof of what reckless behaviour gets you.

Benched.

Scraped.

Looking worse for wear.

"Koo's not in the habit of spilling his friend's secrets. You know that better than anyone." A slightly reproachful edge to his look, his eyes silently questioning really? You really think Kook would do something like that?

He wouldn't.

Shame swirls through me.

"I... tripped on the rink the other night when I was practicing alone. The ice was roughed up and I shouldn't have been there."

"So why were you?"

"I needed the practice."

"But you're a skating duo. If anything shouldn't Kook have been practicing alongside you?"

"It wasn't Koo—I was trying to practice and fix some of my faults, some slip-ups I kept making in practice... stupid errors but they shouldn't have been happening..."

"So? Kook and you are a duo. If you were practicing, he should've been too. You can't practice to fix faults if they were happening when you were with Kook. Why were you alone?"

I shrug.

"Like I said. My faults, mine to fix. Kook's pulled enough extra practice as it is with me."

"So have you then. Overworking and overtraining is never the way to go (Y/N)." something in his voice shifts slightly from being just Hobi and into that tone of captainship that I recognise all too well from Jungkook's own voice.

An unwavering certainty in his voice. A careful assessment. Eyes shifting slightly from their warm gentleness to add in an edge of scrutiny that makes me feel exposed. Despite how light and soft his voice still is.

"I couldn't sleep. So I figured a spare practice wouldn't hurt. I'd go out, practice, nail it, sleep without the guilt."

"Why're you feeling guilty? Everyone makes slip-ups..." there's a tenderness there, a sense of knowing, of understanding... an empathy that at that moment for as much as Hobi tries to show he understands... he doesn't understand what it's like to be stuck in my head. He doesn't know what it's like to be stuck in my head with his voice rooted there. Sharp and barbed and taunting and cold.

Hobi doesn't know what it's like to hear those same faults pointed out with a cold unforgiving derision.

A hand reaches to cover mine.

Soft, soft, soft.

They're treating you like fragile glass. One wrong move and you'll shatter.

Everyone needs to use kid-gloves around you don't they (L/N)? Need to coddle you. Need to be careful cos you're so sensitive... you don't have the stomach to deal with the cold, hard truth. And that is that you're not good enough.

My hand stiffens under Hobi's.

A stiffness that trails from my hand, up my arm, sinks into my spine. And hardens it.

"No-one makes slip ups like me. It's not just simple mistakes Hobi... I'm screwing up everything I know... I know how to skate but these past few days... it's like—"

It's like everything I know is stuck behind this wall. It's like everything I know keeps slipping out my fingers and I'm ruining our chances. I'm ruining Kook's chances alongside mine. And I know that... I know that every time I keep making mistakes, I'm ruining Kook's image too.

"You're stuck." Voice soft.

It's Hobi's voice. It's knowing and understanding and gentle in a way that at this very moment I know is to give comfort. But it sends the reality crashing down around me. It makes my ears ring with the fact.

With the fact I've poured hours into trying to work past, what I've spent days and nights turning over and over, willing and determined to work over it. To work through it until the moment passes.

But he's right.

I'm stuck.

And I can't seem to drag myself out of it.

He reads something in my gaze, in the way my body stiffens. In the way that I can feel his fingers drawing my hand closer, drawing me nearer, the way I can see his lips mouth my name. But all I hear is I'm stuck.

"...(Y/N)... (Y/N) focus on me... I want you to tell me 5 things around you."

Hm?

5 things?

"5 things. Tell me 5 things you can notice."

5...things.

"I'll start. I can notice you've gone a bit stiff."

My lips and tongue get unstuck.

"I can feel your hand holding mine."

An encouraging nod.

Lips turning up.

Smiling.

"I can notice you're overthinking right now."

"I notice... your smiling but your lips are making that droop...when you're trying hard to keep smiling." Eyes drifting to settle on his lips. They're not heart-shaped like they usually are. He's smiling for me. He's smiling to reassure me.

His eyes swim with thinly veiled concern.

"I can tell your head's full of thoughts but you're doing a good job focusing on just me." words drawing me out, reeling me out of the thick fog my mind's trying to draw me back into. Trying to draw me back to the snare of the word stuck. Stuck, stuck, stuck.

"I can... I can feel your bracelet against my fingers. It's cord and got those beads..." eyes drifting focus down to his wrist. To the bracelet looped there. To the red beading against honeyed skin. The charm he'd threaded through painstakingly. The delight and giddiness and hopefulness that had been in his eyes when he'd held them out, long hours whiled away on making the bracelets, eyes flitting back to his lap over and over rather than focusing on the movie.

I remember him making them.

"You were really happy to get yours... but you don't wear it." fingers tapping against my wrist, absent of the bracelet.

"Cos of practice. I didn't want it to catch on my blade..." safely tucked away.

An unfailing good-luck charm. An unfailing sense of comfort whenever I wore it, brushed my fingers over the beads and charms.

"I can notice you're breathing more even now."

I hadn't noticed when it'd fallen out of pattern.

Hadn't noticed when he'd drawn it back to sync with his, level.

The thudding pressure behind my ribs eases, recedes.

Settles.

Because of Hobi.

His fingers tap my wrist.

"One more thing you notice." He prompts.

Voice level and uneven and unwavering.

My eyes sweep over. Searching.

"You made your all-in-one breakfast sandwich. Too heavy for gamedays or practice..."

"Is that why you've not touched yours? You've barely picked at breakfast." Voice musing, eyes flickering before they drift back up to meet mine.

"I don't think I can stomach it at the moment. I'll pack it up to go." Apology swirls low in my gut at not being able to swallow down the food he's put together. The plate he'd set down in front of me before making his own.

"Final thing." Fingers squeezing my wrist to say it's okay.

Forgiveness and acceptance and understanding has always come so easily to Hobi.

I wish it would to me.

I wish it would lessen the constantly swirling guilt-worry that I wasn't doing enough, that doing too much had gotten me off the ice, that anything I was trying to perfect was slipping away.

Mistake after mistake.

"You look sad." The final remark hits me.

Reading it in the pinched expression, the smile-not-his-heart-smile, the loose slope of his shoulders, the relaxed, near slumped, fatigue in his posture.

Tired. Hazy.

His eyes mirror mine.

A flicker of a smile tugging at his lips as his gaze turns pointed.

"So do you. Fancy a nap?"

A ghost of something tugs at my own lips, frail and brittle at the edges, but dredging up slowly.

"Are you being a bad influence Hobi?"

"Call it Captain's orders."

Fingers sliding through to lace mine.

Holding on.

With no intent of letting go.

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

Whatever this is, it'll go.

It'll go.

Whatever this is, it'll go.

It has to go.

Whatever this is, weighs my body down, leaden and heavy.

Mind screaming to get up, get up, you can't afford to be lazy, to slow down now, but my limbs struggle to cooperate with what the pleading voice in my head wants.

As if something weighted and heavy drags over that voice, muffles it, but I can hear it. Ringing quietly in my ears, trying to push its way to the forefront.

"Like Coach said... we'll stick to off-ice practices with the same sequencing, the same moves, but it'll keep us practiced and consistent before we take it back onto the ice." Kook calls, setting up the music piece by the speakers, back to me.

I watch myself in the mirror.

Watch myself slowly stretch, put my body through the motions of warming up.

Slow and steady. Never rush warming up.

But today it feels like my limbs wade through treacle to reach for myself, a desperation and tightness my limbs grip me with. Stretch, arm overhead, arm to the elbow. Let yourself feel the pull. Hold. Hold.

Opposite side.

"...sound good (Y/N)?"

Body coming to stand beside mine, head turned to the side to look at me.

I nod.

"We'll do the mirrored sequence first and then move into the paired lifts and turns."

"Got it."

[......]

I don't.

[......]

It's hard to control the frustration when it's at myself.

When Kook's trying so hard to help me through every single manoeuvre, limbs lifeless putty for him to shift and move and lift and turn. Because everything I do doesn't seem to be working.

I'm a beat late.

And then to make up for it, I'm two beats too quick.

And when I'm two beats too quick then Jungkook's body rushes to match mine, the transition choppier because my pacing is off. Hands slotting at between my leg and my waist, hands that know how to bear my weight, support it, clutching a fraction tighter, steadying my balance even as I fumble out of the lift, landing awkwardly.

"Shit... are you okay (Y/N)—"

"Sorry. Again." I brush off, breathing steadier, holding myself more solidly.

"I'll count us in this time."

And it helps. It helps with keeping the beats, moving on the timed counts that Kook measures out for both of us, but I jump, and my balance is off. Caught easily in Kook's arms as he lifts me, but my steadiness is thrown. Every part of the lift comes down to the balance and connection between Jungkook and me, down to the point where his hands are panned across my stomach, fingers against my sides. Everything comes down to how steady I can keep myself suspended, body airborne and held in its curve as Kook turns. Slow, to practice and test our balance.

And then quicker. In the same flurry of movement it would be on the ice.

Too late I feel my weight teeter, lips parting to warn him, alarm on the tip of my tongue—

"Got you." voice breathless, rushed, bodies fallen out of formation. But Koo catches me before my body can tumble to the floor, grip sturdy and unwavering. Eyes flashing with alarm before they crinkle, soft lines lining the creases. The curve of his lips softening from their tight press. Smile slowly spreading across his face.

Calming the rapid thud of my heartbeat.

Fingers gripping onto him tightly, spine loosening now that it doesn't brace itself for fall. For impact.

"Good catch."

His eyes crinkle further. Slowly setting me down.

"You okay? Your mind seemed to drift."

"I'm okay. I just mistimed it."

"That's alright... we'll practice it again."

Smile reassuring.

But my stomach twists nervously.

Will I get it right this time though?

Or is some part of me... stuck. Broken?

YOONGI POV:

"Hyung he hasn't come back yet." Voice fretting, that concern, frantic edge to his voice filters out the speaker. Hands not pausing in tugging on a jacket.

"Namjoon-ah, don't worry. Give him some time to calm down... whatever's happened. He probably just needs to clear his head."

"Hyung you didn't see... he's... I don't know where he's gone."

"Namjoon." Voice firmer.

Hear the rush of breath, the spill of words pause.

A quieter yes hyung?

"Jimin's fine. He's gone to cool off, he probably doesn't want to be around anyone at the moment. Just some space. We'll check on him tomorrow."

"Hyung are you sure... it's past curfew and I checked his room and Tae hasn't heard from him... he won't answer his calls..."

"Namjoonie... hyung will take care of it. So let me do the worrying, go to bed."

"Hyung... thank you." voice softer, the frazzled edge to it settling slightly.

It doesn't vanish entirely, but it settles.

And Joon hangs up as I'm pulling the door open.

Phone already dialling Jimin's number even though it's gone unanswered the past handful of times I've tried, calls spaced out, hoping he'll pick up, hoping he'll answer, leave a message... anything.

But he doesn't answer.

And though Joon had mentioned it, though I'd brushed it aside, it is past curfew.

And it's cold.

Steps hurried as I step out.

Thumb redialling again.

"Jimin-ah... pick up...pick up." But the words go unanswered, the phone rings and rings until it reaches voicemail.

Words rushed and unheard.

I trace back familiar routes, trace my way back to campus. But it's hushed and quiet.

And I can't find Jimin anywhere.

I can't see him on campus, can't find him on any of the benches or on the ice, body shrinking inwards at how much colder it seems at night.

Jimin-ah where are you?

There's a sickening pit of worry at the bottom of my stomach as I enter the medic bay, relief when I don't spot him.

Where've you gone?

For all the reassurance I'd given Joon that he was just clearing his head, from what he'd said... it'd been hours and hours ago when Jimin had left the rink.

He's been gone the whole day.

With no trace of him.

Desperately, I re-dial again.

Trying to quell the panic that tries to well up, shove down the concern that bubbles away at the thought that whispers itself into my mind. That something might've happened to him.

I swear to god Jimin—pick up.

Paces turned quicker.

Re-tracing the path back to the dorms.

Steps faltering when I see a figure slowly, sluggishly, approach from a distance.

Figure slowly growing closer, steps dragging. Even from this far away... I can tell it's Jimin.

But his body is curved inwards, a tired aching slump to his frame as he moves slowly towards the dorms entrance.

A relief that shudders through me when Jimin's features slowly come into focus, frowning at the hazed, unfocused look in his eyes.

About to move forward, towards him, to call out to him but his name gets stuck in my throat.

Faltering when I see him draw in a shaky breath. When I see his gaze drift downwards, breathe heavier.

I hadn't been wrong.

He had gone to clear his mind.

But he clearly had things still there, burdening him. Bothering him.

He still needs that space if he waited until after hours to drag himself back.

Relief at seeing him unharmed but something uncomfortable settles in my chest at seeing him quietly suffer. Alone.

Watch as he enters the dorm buildings, body slouched. Steps heavy.

And trace the steps up, each floor aglow with a dim light. Counting out the minutes, breathing evening, before I step back.

Breathing lighter.

I told you Joon.

And breathe easier when I step back into my apartment.

Though the sight of him lingers.

Weighed down. Quietly burdened.

Wondering what's gone so wrong.

[......]

It starts off with a dull ache.

Probably because the mornings are a bit colder, limbs a bit stiffer as I wake, shrinking further into my pyjamas, feet padding against carpet. Hand clutching a steaming mug. It's probably because I've slept odd, favouring one side, groaning at the annoyance of feeling that dull ache try to settle. Despite a hot shower to blast it away.

It starts off with a dull ache, shoulders slowly rolling out the tension, the stiffness, slowly warming up before heading down towards the basketball courts.

Shuffling into the courts, the space drafty, cool.

A cold breeze still rifling through the space even as the others filter in, even as voices fill the quiet and the rush of bodies moving through the space warm it up slightly.

It's a long practice.

Individual drills to paired passes and then shooting practice

Individual drills shifting to paired passes. Paired passes shifting to two lines stretching out across the court, the steady thump-thump-thump of basketballs against the floor, communications and yells muting down to try read the tells off each other. Try to gauge where the basketball might go next.

But the chill's gone, most of the stiffness has too, by the time I line up for shooting practice.

Smile turning easier, less strained, less pinched, when I shoot hoops, slowly increasing distance between the basket and me, aiming for a greater distance.

And by the time we've split off into teams to play matches, the dull throb's receded to the back of my mind.

It's fine.

Just a cold morning.

[......]

My breaths are heavier, rougher. Blinking past the brief spots of grey that hover in front of my vision, swallowing down a breath, reaching to grab my equipment, shoving it roughly into my bag.

"Hyung you should really get that checked." A voice calls from behind me, growing closer.

"I'm fine." The words are habitual, easy, second-nature to say.

Bullshit.

The dull ache's flared into hot-white flashes of pain that radiates from my shoulder down to my arm, creeps its way up to the side of my neck as if slowly...slowly my left side burns.

"Doesn't look it. You've been favouring your right side stronger this practice. And in the last game." Hyun repeats, brows furrowed. Eyes sharp with an astute watchfulness.

"It's fine Hyun." I repeat, lips twisting into a grimace rather than the feigned smile my mouth wanted to curve up into.

"What's not going to be fine is if you end up fucking your shoulder up just before the semis."

"I didn't know you cared so much. All of it for me or for the game?" I tease, shoving my bottle into my bag. Breathe, breathe.

Lips faltering at the throb of pain that flares at my shoulder's joint.

Swallow down the grimace that threatens to emerge at the flare of pain and heat that ebbs through my left side.

"For both. Don't be stubborn and go for some physio."

I roll my eyes at him, lips tugging up at the furrow on his face.

Let myself focus on the way he shakes his head, despairing and exasperated, focus on the small, small details, eyes drifting down to the tight grip on my bag.

Bending down to snag it up for me.

"I can hold my own bag Hyun."

The sudden toss is more him testing, him checking than it is to truly throw me. Left arm jerking forward to catch the bag before it falls—

"Fucking hell—" groaning at the sudden pull at my joint, at the burst of heat that ripples across my side.

Eyes flashing with accusation as my head jerks upright.

Sympathetic and frowning.

Apologetic.

"Sorry hyung... if your arm can't take that much movement, you need to rest it up."

"You fucking shit—"

"I'm sorry! Sorry...sorry..." lips twisted into a frown, eyes full of guilt.

Hovering fretfully.

"But really... don't let it get worse. Head back to the medic bay. I'll let Coach know not to expect you tomorrow."

"Getting me a day off?" lips thinned. The slightest quirked tug to my mouth.

Hissing a breath as I sling the bag across my right shoulder.

"So take it off." A flash of warmth, a light grin.

Hands steering me lightly from behind.

"So you're off now. I don't want to see your face around practice for at least two days."

"Yah... I'm the hyung."

"So act like it."

[......]

My steps drag as I approach the medic-bay's entrance. Drag because even though there's nothing like the relief of sweet-numbness as the pain meds kick in, the sight of the sign still makes my stomach lurch uncomfortably.

Remembering the first time I'd had to familiarise myself with the med-bay, remembered how thoroughly I'd become used to the place.

So even though I know I'm in good hands, the need to go reminds me just how hard it is to fully recover from an old injury, that every time I have to come back here, it's a reminder of how easily the balance teeters.

Tugging my bag off to discard to the side as I enter the medic bay, hissing quietly at the constant burning sensation, moving towards the nearest bed.

Tired of the pain rippling through my shoulder as I sink down. Hand gripping it tightly, trying to push the pain back.

Head turning to search for a doctor when my eyes fall onto the bed beside me, words stilling in my mouth when I realise that the person on the bed is someone I recognise.

The girl from last time.

But something's different about how.

A noticeable change I see immediately when my eyes fall to her face.

Face... her nose is bruised up, there's scrapes across her skin like she's taken a rough fall.

But what's worse, what's even more worrying is the blank look on her face as she stares overhead, eyes looking up and... nowhere.

A sense of unease sinks in through me at the sight of her.

At the blankness in her face that's entirely at odd with the one-off encounter I have had with her. It's wrong, it's off.

Eyes tracing down to the way her ankle's elevated, not registering the pressure at her ankle. Heat being applied, wrapped around her ankle and secured there, hands moving to test the pliancy of the limb, to see whether it's affected.

"Strained your ankle? Told you to be careful... if you took such a bad fall—" I remark, voice low.

But she doesn't seem to hear, the words don't register.

Her head stays straight, gaze fixed upwards.

Something uncomfortable twists at the sight of the blankness in her expression. Something sits heavy in my stomach at the sight, churns unsteadily at the look. It's unsettling, it's worrying.

"Hey...you good?" voice dropping quieter.

Entirely in the dark as to how she's ended up like this but knowing that something doesn't sit right at the thought of letting her be swallowed up by that emptiness.

Something that lurches up at the thought of letting her sink further and further. The look of defeat in her eyes seeming to sink deeper into her eyes.

Don't like the way it makes me feel.

The inanimate state, unmoving, absent...unable to register the doctor's hand drifting back down to her ankle, carefully testing and rotating the limb. Doesn't register the gel being applied to increase the heat being applied there.

Just...lying there. Motionless. Awake. But motionless.

"Are you hurting? Really badly?" an answer... any answer will do. In response, my own shoulder burns hotter with a vengeance.

Slowly...slowly... slowly... her head turns.

Registers me.

Blank eyes shuttering, expressions falling behind an ironclad wall.

Something desperate and aching and miserable welling up for all but one moment before the blankness seems to amplify. Swallows up the emotion.

Or rather... she tries to will it back.

A shaky breath as her head turns back to continue staring upwards towards the ceiling, arm crossing over her face, fingers trembling as she swallows thickly.

"Overworked that shoulder? I get that." a strained hollow sigh of breath.

Drawing her focus to the reason I'm here rather than the reason she is. The words sound choked, her voice is hoarse. As if she's tired. As if the very breaths in her lungs tire in drawing them to speak. As if those words were too much effort alone.

"Thought I told you to be careful. Old injuries are hard to shake."

A slight shake of her head.

Trying to dispel my concern.

"In a little bit I'm going to be as good as new. Just..." what?

Just what?

Struggling. Breaking. Not knowing how to continue.

"If you can just lie down...another physiotherapist's about to finish up." The doctor calls out to me.

I nod.

Easing myself down slowly, groaning low in my throat, painstakingly careful to not put pressure on my left as I ease down. Slowly shuffling to lie flat. Not willing to risk turning to my right.

Quietly, I join her in staring upwards. As if staring long enough will let me see what's dragged her gaze up and kept it there.

Finding only blankness.

Blankness is what she seems to want.

After a few moments my head turns, reading the despondency there.

Recognising it.

Hating it.

"Just rest before you give it another go yeah?"

Nothing.

It's okay to feel nothing, to want to feel nothing, to want to do nothing, to lack the motivation in it. The will.

I don't know if she's listening, I don't know if it's something she wants to hear.

A part of me reckons she needs to.

"Sometimes I milk the injury for what it's worth... lets me reset my mind." Voice taking a lighter tone.

Because it's okay to take longer before trying again.

It's okay for there to be a pause before you continue.

It's okay to falter.

And feel lost.

Watch the way she nods, lips wobbling as she draws in quick breaths. Shaky and thin.

Watch as she sinks back into silence, a fraught, trembling silence.

But she nods again.

And in the silence I understand her.

I know how she's feeling.

I get it.

And I know it's okay to pause. To stop.

It's important she knows too.

[......]

There's a lull of quiet. Long and heavy and drowsy.

Pain receding and warm blissful numbness where the mixture of pain-meds and the heat pad strapped around my shoulder leeches away at the pain, draws it away until nothing but ease seems to remain. Seems to sink into my limbs.

Erasing the sharp pangs of pain, dulling them down to weak throbs.

The girl beside me has stopped staring overhead, eyes fluttering shut to seek the quiet relief of her own mind, something about the familiarity of it all that haunts me, that tugs my gaze back to her every now and then.

The sound of approaching steps turns my head.

Quiet faint curiosity makes me track the figure from the entrance to the way his eyes immediately fall onto the bed beside me, rounding my own quickly, to reach her bedside.

Hand tender and familiar against her cheek, head tilting forward to murmur quietly to her, fingers brushing against her cheek.

Eyes fluttering open.

They're not blank when they look at him.

"Hey icicle... physio's not working you hard enough if you're napping through it all." Voice a low lilted tease.

A trace of a smile.

There. There's something.

Something that isn't miserable.

"Sounding jealous almost. Trust me... don't be." Slowly drawing herself up, an arm banded across her back.

Touch comforting.

"Don't be jealous of you lying around sleeping. While I had to clean up the off-ice practicing equipment today?" a fond, good-natured huff of breath.

Ice.

Eyes catching the figure-skating emblem on his kit.

"Take it easy Cap'... yknow if you wanted you could boss us around and make one of us do it..."

"Nah... not my style."

"Man of class... a man of class you are Koo."

To see the two of them, there's no doubt how close they are, comfortable.

I don't know either of them really... but something about her way of speaking seems more habitual than genuine in this instant.

It still makes him smile.

"Let's go (Y/N)... you're paying for dinner."

A nod.

Something tired and lost flashes across her face as he straightens, in that brief moment he's not looking at her.

Sometimes... it's okay to not be okay in front of others. In front of the people that matter... (Y/N).

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

"Ditching the kids Joon?" my smile curls up as I sink down into the seat opposite Joon. Smile faltering when I notice the bottles of soju, a mixture of confusion and uncertainty bleeding in when I notice his posture. Slumped and tired.

Head tilting up wearily to glance at me, a shaky sigh exhaled when he looks at me.

Relief or fatigue, I don't know.

"Tae's staying in with Jimin-ah. Jimin's holed himself away."

"Everything okay?"

Mind flashing back to the slow, trudging figure dragging himself back towards the dorm. Tired and slumped posture. Absent gaze.

"He's... Jimin's been... hiding stuff. And based on the other day... a shit-ton of stuff." Expression weary, shoulders weighed down. Hand slow as he pours himself a shot, downs it with a bitter grimace. Pours another. Pours another and pushes the glass towards me.

As if to say brace yourself, you'll need it.

Suddenly the smile on my face falters, lips pressing tight. Shot poured down my throat, swallowed quickly.

Worry swirls thick in my gut.

"Is... Is he okay? Has he gotten involved in something... something's happened—" I begin. Thoughts streaming through my head, hundreds of scenarios twisting and distorting themselves into the most horrifying, nauseating angles.

"Yknow the girl he's been seeing?"

My gaze tilts up.

Nodding.

"Well things ended between them. But it turns out... Jimin... he made things messy. Ugly. When he ended it."

Another shot downed. Expression shuttered.

"Jimin-ah ended it?" surprise colouring my voice.

Cos he'd seemed happier, brighter, livelier—even more than usual, he'd been Jimin, but he'd been somehow Jimin in a more vivid, stronger light... something about him had changed. Shifted.

And it'd been for the better.

That image of Jimin doesn't match up with the Jimin I saw, heading back to the dorms, expression bleak. Crushed.

"Jungkook, he's her skating partner, he turned up to the rink and hyung... I've never seen someone lose it. Truly lose it... we couldn't... none of us could pull him off Jimin and—"

"What did he do?"

"He went for Jimin, said it was his fault she got injured, that he'd been messing with her head, messing her up and that he lashed out. Hurt her for the sake of feeling better himself and I don't know what he said but... Jungkook...hyung if you'd seen him—" a shuddering breath.

Eyes seemingly haunted by the memory of it. Playing on an endless loop in front of his eyes.

"But Jimin-ah... he's not like that. He wouldn't do shit like that..."

The clink of the bottle against the glass, the glass nudged forward, the bitter flash of it as it pours down my throat.

Words firmer as I repeat myself.

So sure of it. Not the Jimin we knew, not the Jimin we saw.

"Jimin isn't the type to hurt others for the sake of himself..."

"Hyung the thing is... he took it. Jimin took it like he deserved it, like every word Jungkook said was true. Jimin took it. And then he ran."

There's a clarity there in his eyes. As if everything that'd been clouding it has been stripped away, as if what he sees, what he saw... Joon knows it's truth.

There's no doubt in his voice.

A cold weight plummets to the bottom of my stomach.

Twists it into unforgiving knots.

"But why—"

"I don't know. I don't know why he did it. I didn't even know it was (Y/N) he was seeing, I didn't know it was her who got injured on the rink, gods hyung there was blood there—"

(Y/N)?

A skating logo, an arm banded around her, a voice soft and gentle—Koo she'd called him. (Y/N). Bruised nose and scraped up face. Hollowed eyes... despondent, blank, vacant. Giving up.

What had I told her?

Look after that ankle.

What had she said?

You too, that shoulder.

And—she was back in the medic-bay, injured. And it was Jimin's fault?

Jimin had been the reason?

A shudder wracks me, violent and sudden, haunted by the look she'd had in her eyes. Vacant. Unseeing.

Cold, cold, cold ice seeps into my veins, into my bones at the reminder of what Jimin had looked like too.

Like whatever he'd done to her, said to her, had haunted him too. Had leeched any other emotion from him.

A mirror to hers.

"(Y/N)?" her name sounds hollow on my lips.

I haven't known her name long but the first time I really say it... the first time I come to realise who she is, I also realise that Jimin had been the reason she was lying there on the bed. Motionless. Drained.

Jimin what did you do?

"She's one of the figure skaters—"

"Yeah I know." Voice sounding distant to my ears.

Repeated strain on an old ankle injury. Flare-ups happen, be careful. I told you to skate properly if you've ended up here again—

"I saw her at the medic-bay. She got injured on the ice? Because of Jimin-ah?"

The grim truth, painful and sharp, stings as I swallow it down.

It doesn't waver. It doesn't shift. The truth remains there.

"Is... is she okay?"

That churning unsettling feeling of recognising something in her, in seeing that hollow gaze—some part of that encounter had haunted me later, had stayed with me even after she'd left, even after I'd left.

"She looks... rough." She looks like that knock on the ice didn't shatter bones, but it broke something else in her. She looks like she's struggling. And she keeps pushing herself back up but this time she might not know how to.

A sense of guilt, nauseating and crippling, sears through me. Guilt at seeing her condition and not knowing who'd caused it. And now knowing who caused it... guilt that I hadn't been able to do anything for her. That someone who was so careful, so genuine, so attentive could do something... could be the reason for... that.

Guilt that sits heavy in my chest. Presses down on my ribs.

Joon's face shutters.

"I've been trying to talk to Jimin-ah, but he's been avoiding me. I tried catching Jungkook, but he's not been around the rink either... hyung I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help Jimin."

Shoulders slumping heavily, staring into the depths of his glass.

And for the first time in a long, long time I see Joon falter. I see him, lost and confused and so, so unsure. I see doubt and hesitance on his face where he's always been so sure, so level-headed.

But for the first time something confronts us that neither of us really know how to deal with, neither of us know how to begin to approach it.

"I don't know what happened between them... I don't know why Jimin ended things... I don't know why he's hurt (Y/N) but Namjoon-ah... he needs to know it's not okay. It's never okay to lash out at someone else." Never okay to push someone else down to raise yourself up.

And this thick growing lump of unease, discomfort and pain grows knowing the person he's hurt.

That at the cost of himself, he's the reason she was in the medic-bay.

"I know hyung...I think Jimin's realising it too."

[......]

"Your face looks fucked." I observe, silence having stretched out long and painful. I feel Tae and Joon dart glances at me, warning, silently telling me to be quiet.

There's a faint brittle quirk to his mouth, head slumping back against the headboard.

Eyes drifting downwards.

"It should. I deserved it." voice low. Heavy. Accepting.

"So I've heard." Words blunter than I intend. Curt.

"I'm sure everyone's heard how much of a fuck-up I am. I'm sure everyone knows what sort of person I am too."

"And what sort of person is that Jimin-ah?" I probe.

"The worst." Words cracking with misery. Eyes blinking rapidly, gaze turning away from the ones he can feel trained on his face.

"I won't lie to your face and say what you did wasn't cruel—"

A hitch of breath. A rapid swallow. A curt nod as his head ducks lower. Tilts downwards, unable to make eye contact.

Tae's expression flashes with a warning, an unspoken be gentle that at this moment isn't what Jimin needs.

He doesn't need coddling.

He doesn't need babying.

He doesn't need to be made to feel better than he is feeling now.

Cos what he's feeling now is the delayed realisation of what he's done.

"What hyung means is... why'd you do it Jimin-ah?" Joon murmurs, gaze worried, probing.

Jimin makes eye contact for all but a few moments before his eyes slide away. Guilty and ashamed.

Voice raw. Shaken.

"I don't know why I lashed out—"

"You do. Try again."

"She was a distraction, she was messing with my head and—"

"Actually...I think it's the opposite. She was helping you take breaks, she was—she was a break from all the training, from overworking yourself... I think... she was a good thing. I think somewhere...you know it too."

Tae concludes. Eyes intense and searching, finding his answers in the unspoken silence, in the tired slump of Jimin's shoulders, in the evasive way his eyes won't meet anyone's and the way his body stills. Stills as Tae speaks.

"It's not like that." words weak, empty lies. Unconvincing to anyone in the room.

"Then what did you get out of messing with her?" Tae's words are gentler, his voice lighter. Probing in a way that the tumultuous clashing feelings inside my head can't.

You hurt someone I know. You hurt someone to feel better. You hurt someone who's already been hurt. Who's trying so hard to keep going. You hurt her more than you realise.

"It made me focus, it made me better, it made Coach happier." Words pushed past his lips, rough and angry, exhaled in one breath, eyes flashing with a hint of that fire, that same goaded, provoked reaction that—

"Did you say it made Coach happier?" and there's a bite in Joon's voice. A hardened edge that turns his stare firmer, that turns his expression stony.

The rapid swallow of breath, the way Jimin shrinks back, inwards, the shuttered expression that masks his face, the way something inside him recedes makes a bubbling anger well up, burns its way through my lungs and throat, hand curling tightly at my side.

"And what did that asshole Coach tell you Jimin-ah?"

He rears back, as if the words have struck him, a tightness in his limbs, muscles taut with it.

But his words are despairing. Pleading. Trying to hold onto the words he says because he's hurt her for a reason. And the reason has to make sense.

"Because I need to bring my A-game, because I need to win for the team. Or I'll drag them all down."

The painful silence that stretches on is uncomfortable, closes in from all angles, makes the air seem fraught—a moment from snapping. From everything crumbling down around Jimin. Eyes searching. Willing us to agree.

Right? Right? Coach is right. That's what his eyes plead.

But somewhere... he knows it's a shit excuse. Somewhere he knows just because his Coach says doesn't mean it's right.

"Minnie..." Tae begins cautiously.

But the answer sinks in. Sinks in and shatters him. Long silence where none of us know how to say the very truth that's already dawning on him... that's slowly shattering him.

"It has to be right... I can't have... I can't have fucked it all up so bad... I can't... I got (Y/N) injured. That was her blood on the ice. Because of me." fingers snaking into his hair, gripping it tight enough to hurt, knuckles whitened with force.

And that look in his eyes.

Vacant. Blank.

I know that look.

I've seen that look.

His voice cracks, wobbles under the rapidness of his breaths, the heavy thud of his head hitting the headboard and then harder still.

Trying to knock sense into himself.

Eyes clenching shut as he shakes his head.

A rapid burst of breath.

Because of me... fuck... because of me... she got injured because of me... I can't... I'm... I'm the worst person... I can't...

Head thudding harder against the headboard, hand slotting between his head and the board, body shifting closer to him.

"Jimin breathe... breathe." Voice low, trying to calm the rapid unevenness of his breaths.

"Hyung... hyung I hurt her. Hyung I—" eyes turning blindly to me, voice cracking as his fingers clutch at me desperately.

Willing me to say otherwise.

Begging me to say otherwise.

My throat tightens.

A broken sob, guttural and rough, tears past his lips.

Eyes clenching shut as his head slumps but not before I see the first streak of tears trickle down his cheeks, shaking his head as his hands burrow further into his hair. Making a cradle to hide himself into.

But he can't hide from what he's done.

He can't run from what he's done.

And the gravity of it all comes shattering down around him.

The distorted reality of it all, that maybe it'd been for something... that maybe... maybe it didn't ruin everything...

The harshness of it all comes down, bearing itself on the broken slump of his shoulders, the slumped heaviness of his head, in the broken cries, stifled and pleading.

For a truth that can't be changed.

For a reality he's done, he's exacted on (Y/N).

My hand curves around him but the sound of his cries splinter something inside me too, something cracks and cleaves itself open.

With the knowledge of what he's done now crashing down on him.

Jimin hasn't realised the extent of it all yet. He hasn't realised how much his words have sunk, how deep wounds go.

Broken, lost, defeated. Broken, lost, defeated. Broken, lost, defeated.

Jimin-ah... do you realise how far your words have reached? How deep some injuries can be?

Jimin-ah... do you realise sometimes realisation comes too late?

Heart fracturing with sympathy for (Y/N) and pity for Jimin. For knowing that at this moment he doesn't have the full picture, the full extent of it all. That maybe... maybe the type of injury he's inflicted isn't just bruises and cuts.

That maybe healing them, fixing them isn't bandage over an injury.

It's just not that easy Jimin-ah.

(AND SCENE AND DSGDSLGKSD PERHAPS THIS IS THE QUICKEST I'VE WRITTEN A CHAPTER AFTER AN UPDATE BUT ITS COS MY BRAIN WON'T STOP AJSKDKDSK OVER THIS STORY AND THE ANGST AND THE SO MUCH MORE COMING THAT NO-ONE'S READY FOR AND Midiiplier SURPRISE~ AHHHHHHHHHHHH...JUST...STUFF. SO. MUCH. STUFF. TO. COME. IT'S TIME... TIME TO BRING IN JIMIN'S SIDE TO IT ALL... TIME TO AMP UP THE ANGST EVEN MORE)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3