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courtneytheeartist · 1 month

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I really like how this story handles Mental Health💜🤌🏽

dawning (kth)

summary: He’s never invited into your world during these late night sessions. You always push him away or ignore him. This is new.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader

rating: sfw

genre: established relationship au, angst, bit of fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 2.2k

warnings: heavy depictions of depression and panic attacks, a brief line where taehyung worries oc is s**cidal

a/n: another piece from my aggressively depressed era when i was trying to work some stuff out in my writing, but this one is very self-indulgent (and has a happier ending than the last one lol). and the background picture of the banner is mine! :)

MASTERLIST

He doesn’t hear you get up.

He wakes in the middle of the night and rolls over in bed to find cooling sheets in the spot next to him. Lying flat on his back, he listens for sound but there’s nothing, just the chirpings of nighttime insects and the cars passing by on the streets below. It’s not the first time he’s woken to find you gone, but it hurts the same.

The fact that he’s not enough for you.

Taehyung swings his legs out of bed and sighs as his feet press against the hardwood floor, rubs the heel of his hand into an eye. The clock on the nightstand reads 2:53am, and you really could be anywhere. There are nights when you’ve just gotten up to curl on the window seat in the living room, but there have been other times where you’ve left the apartment altogether. Sometimes you go to your favorite twenty-four-hour diner for a cup of coffee, and on one horror-filled night, he’d even had to call the cops to help track you down when you’d decided to take a late night walk in the park.

You say you just need to clear your head sometimes, but if he’s honest with himself, he’s terrified that you’re trying to get yourself killed.

He stands, snatches a sweatshirt off of the chair in the corner, takes a breath as he slips it over his skin.

He’ll find you; you’ll be okay.

He saunters into the living room, moonlight painting everything a pasty white, and confirms what he already knew to be true: you’re not here. It looks as though you didn’t touch anything either, everything being just as the two of you had left it before going to bed – wineglasses and dirty dishes on the coffee table (he’d take care of them in the morning), television remote precariously balanced on the arm of the couch.

The only thing different is your missing shoes by the door.

He slides his feet into his own sneakers, mentally running through all the places you could possibly be: the diner, the park. Hell, you could be wandering around the city mindlessly—how would he find you then?

The thought speeds him on as he hastens down the stairs and outside. He could try calling your cell phone, though you almost definitely wouldn’t pick up. You probably have it on silent anyway. You do that a lot; you say the noise bothers you.

But at times like this, it scares the shit out of him.

He strides down the sidewalk with purpose. He’ll check the diner first, and if you’re not there, the park will be next. Last time, you were found traipsing around the pond by the south end, and it’s possible you might be there again.

These worries are for naught though as he spots you through the window of Stella’s, coffee mug cradled in your hands.

The bell tinkles as he walks in the door, and your eyes immediately snap up to lock with his, some emotion swirling there that he just can’t put a name on. He slides into the booth seat across from you, signals your usual waitress for a cup of coffee, and makes an attempt at a smile.

“You were gone.”

“Yeah,” you say, quiet. “Just needed to clear my head.”

He takes a moment to study you, assesses the pain in your posture. “Scale of one to ten?” he asks. You frown at your cup, think.

“Eight.” You fiddle with a spoon. “I woke up and it was hard to breathe.”

He sighs. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

You’re frowning at your coffee again, haven’t looked him in the eye since he walked in. “You seemed peaceful,” you say. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

He reaches across the table to take your hand; you stiffen but doesn’t pull away. “I’ve told you, you’re never a bother. If I can help, let me help.”

You slide your hand from his grip, and there’s a long silence before you whisper, “What if you can’t?”

“What happens if you don’t let me try?” he asks, and your eyes finally meet his.

You say nothing—just stare at him—the hurt that he sees everyday peering out from under your lashes.

“Please, sweetheart, just try to help me understand what’s going on in your head.”

You break eye contact again to look long and hard out the window, and he knows he’s lost you.

“I can’t,” you say.

He slumps back in his seat, once again defeated. A cup of coffee is set in front of him, along with some creamer, and he gives the waitress a feeble smile in thanks, decides to focus on this task instead.

He pours the creamer into his mug and reaches down the table to grab a few packs of sugar, carefully tips them in. He doesn’t look at you, just slips a spoon into the cup and stirs, trying his best to not get angry.

Because he does, he wants to help. And you won’t let him in. He’s so tired of waking up to find you gone or crying in the bathroom or curled up by the window with that blank look on your face. All of this hurts him too; why can’t you see that? He just wants back the girl who wasn’t afraid to take a leap and kiss him on a rainy night in April after an umpteenth study date, and he knows you want that woman back too—he can see it in the way that you look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

He looks up at the sound of your voice and is horrified to see tears streaking down your face.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this hard,” you choke out, and any frustration that he was previously feeling dissipates immediately.

He slides into your side of the booth and hesitantly wraps an arm around your shoulders. You neither lean in nor resist and so he pulls you closer, tightening his embrace until you’re muffling your sobs in his shirt.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “I promise. I’m right here.”

Taehyung just so happens to look up when you walk into the room, hair swinging past your shoulders and a textbook tucked under your arm. You’re pretty, beautiful actually, but you carry yourself in a way that suggests you don’t know it. Your eyes flick up to his and he reflexively looks down at his desk, embarrassed to be caught staring.

He busies himself with his phone, trying to act nonchalant, and he can feel the blush creeping into his face when you quietly take the seat next to him.

“Can I borrow a pen?” you ask after a few awkward seconds. He nods and fumbles around in his bag, still not looking at you for fear that he’s making a fool of himself—he can’t even find a damn pen. And sure enough, when he finally does locate one in the very depths of his backpack and hands it to you, your lips are twisted with barely held back laughter.

He’s thankful when the professor walks into the room and your eyes are no longer trained on him, making his heart beat faster than it ever has.

It’s barely a week before Taehyung once again wakes to find your side of the bed empty. He scrubs a hand down his face, gives a light shake of his head to clear the fog of sleep.

The clock on the nightstand reads 4:37am.

He rolls out of bed, rubs at his bicep where the faint prickling of pins-and-needles irritates the muscle. Then comes the habitual check for any noises that might indicate that you’re still in the apartment.

Nothing.

He slips on a jacket, slides his feet into a pair of boots, and tromps out of the room, stumbling into the wall ever so slightly from the grogginess that still weighs him down. He hopes you’re at Stella’s; he could use a cup of coffee right about now.

He crosses through the living room and is halfway out the door when he hears the voice.

“Hey.”

He spins on his heel and almost topples over. You’ve got your knees pulled up to your chest on the bench seat by the window, half of you bathing in pearly moonlight, the other half veiled in shadow.

“Hi,” he blurts. “I thought…I thought you were out.”

You shake your head, the bare hints of a smile gracing your lips. “No.”

He scratches at the back of his neck, never knowing what to do in the situations where you’re actually here. On most nights he just putters around, keeping an eye out while you impassively stare at the streets outside.

But tonight, you toe the vacant spot next to you.

“Sit with me,” you murmur.

That immediately gives him pause. He’s never invited into your world during these late night sessions. You always push him away or ignore him.

This is new.

He nudges off his shoes, drops his coat on the couch, and slowly makes his way over to where you’re curled by the window. Deciding to let you set the pace, he takes a cautious seat, back straight, hands in his lap.

“This okay?” he asks.

You cant forward, hair swinging to cover your face, but he thinks you’re laughing at him just a little bit and the knot in his chest loosens ever so slightly.

You guide him back so that his spine is pressed against the wall of the tiny nook, his legs swinging up to bracket the spot where you kneel. Then you turn so that your back is resting against his chest, before pulling his arms to wrap around your waist.

“This,” you whisper. “This is better.”

He lets out a long exhale, can’t help burying his nose in the hair at your neck. “Love you.”

You hum, leaning back in his embrace, and little by little, he feels the tension leave your body. It warms him from head to toe, holding you, the city lights keeping you both company.

And after a while, still propped up against him, you fall asleep.

His heart is in his throat, absolutely stunned into silence by the way the sleek, midnight blue dress you’re wearing hugs every curve and slope of your body. He truly doesn’t know how he’s gotten so lucky or what he could have possibly done to deserve your presence in his life.

You slide up to his side, a coy little smile flirting with your mouth as you slip your hand into his.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You aimlessly walk through the streets, arm in arm, laughing at the most random things and goofing off, and when he looks at you, you just seem so…happy.

You get to the park and he feels it’s now or never, so he pulls you to a halt. You look up at him, your tongue poking through your smile, and he’s lost all of his words, doesn’t even know what he could say that would ever be enough for you. Enough for this.

So he merely gets down on his knee and pulls out the ring.

He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t have to, because you immediately gasp out a “Yes!” and join him on the ground, tightly wrapping your body around his. He clutches you to him, makes a silent promise to do everything in his power to make you happy.

To give you a reason to smile.

He’s jolted awake by your hands on his chest, shaking him violently. Eyes snapping open, Taehyung finds your face hovering over his, clearly panicked and crying.

He immediately bolts upright. “What? What’s wrong?”

You curl against his chest, sobs racking your frame. “Can’t,” you choke out. “I…I-I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” He tugs you tight against him as you shake your head.

“I-it’s suffocating,” you mumble. He tries to loosen his hold and pull away, but you latch on with a “No!” and he hesitantly wraps his arms back around you.

“I…I woke you up,” you say, sobs beginning to subside.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “It’s fine.”

“You wanted to…to help.”

Oh.

Wow.

“You want me to help? Just tell me how. You want to talk about it?”

You shake your head again, vigorously. “Please. No.”

“Then how—”

“Here,” you blurt. “Just stay here.”

He gives your shoulders a squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” You press closer. “I know.”

He rubs his hands up and down your back as you gradually ease into him, your breaths evening out, and for the first time he feels hopeful. You may not be close to talking about it—may not be anywhere near opening up fully—but at least there’s this.

At least you let him hold you up.

The clock on the nightstand reads 6:13am.

a/n: pls consider liking, replying, reblogging, or sending an ask! <3

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