Work Text:
01.09.16
Dear Jungkook,
It feels like yesterday you were just sat next to me, playing your stupid game and shouting every time you lost. I can still hear the ‘click clack’ of the console controller in your hands, the joystick being moved around frantically. Your console is still here; I wonder when you'll find the time to come and collect it. You left your favourite game here too. I know you must miss them. I'll send them to Jimin, he’s the only one who still talks to me.
You never write back and I'm starting to wonder what the point is anymore. I know we left on bad terms, but since you changed your number and won't answer my emails, I hope that these letters somehow find their way into your hands. I just want to talk.
It’s your birthday. I hope you're having fun. Remember last year when I took you to the arcade on the pier? It was meant to be a surprise and you did well hiding the fact you already knew. The fake surprise on your face was adorable. But I knew. That's ok. We had fun right? Nothing else matters as long as you enjoyed the time we spent together. I'll never forget that day. I wonder what you'll be doing today.
Have you found someone else? Are you spending time together on your special day? I hope she treats you better than I did, you deserve all the best. I just hope you're not suffering too much. They say time is a healer but time has done me more pain than good. I really hope that isn't the case for you.
Anyway. You probably won't read this. Either way, I wish you a happy birthday. I miss you. I don't know what else to say. You know I love you. I always will.
You look up from the paper to watch the sun stretch lazily through the window and tickle your hand as you lay the pen down. You stare blankly at your glass of water and wonder why you even bothered picking up the thing in the first place. It was probably a waste of ink. Most likely a waste of ink.
You turn your head slightly to reread your letter and let out a controlled sigh. After signing your name and tri-folding it, you tuck it neatly into the cream envelope. You dress the envelope in a stamp along with the address, but you don't get up to post it. Not just yet.
It's a struggle to write everyday but it helps. It really does. You can write everything down and calm the storm raging in you. You can reveal your emotions and not have to deal with the consequences after. It's like talking to a deaf-mute; you’re still talking to someone, even if they can't hear you or respond to you.
The sun sets lower across the cityscape and you finally force yourself to get up and post the letter before nightfall. Absent-minded, you stand and turn to grab your coat and keys.
You quietly wonder if you should send flowers too.
***
02.02.2017
Dear Jungkook,
It's been a year since you left me. A year I've been suffering but I hope within this time that you have found happiness. I hope you're not going through what I am because I wouldn't want that for you.
I don't know what I'll do today. I might take a trip down to Busan and sit by the beach. I should maybe look for a proper job… our business isn't doing so well so I've had to sell the studio and give the rest of the canvas prints away. There are still plenty left though. I don't know what to do with all the blank ones. I suppose I'll send them to you once I get round to it, if you want to talk.
Anyway, I know you'll be super busy moving on so there are just a few things I wanted to quickly get off my chest.
You spin the pen in your hand, hesitating and resisting the urge to restart the letter. You didn't want to make things worse but you were also afraid of keeping all your feelings bottled up. That's the reason he left in the first place; miscommunication and avoidance.
You didn't want to repeat the same mistakes.
I hate you. You hastily scribble out. After a moments pause, you draw two neat lines through it, deciding it was perhaps too much.
I love you. But the words didn't sit right. They felt empty and void of emotion. They were just neatly arranged lines and squiggles on a page. They didn't mean anything; not to Jungkook anyway.
You try again and again to write down your feelings, desperately wanting to release the monster residing in your heart; bitter, hateful and distasteful. Nothing seemed to work. Everything looked and sounded wrong and no words could express the emotions bouncing around in the pit of your stomach. You hate him, yes, but at the same time you understood. He'd had to leave.
A tear falls and blots the ink on the paper, bleeding it into the sheet, ruining the letter. Your eyes go in and out of focus on the page, and you eventually see the mess, the scribbles, the scratches. You'd pressed the pen too hard over in one corner of the page and made a hole, drawing on the table underneath the thin layer.
“Stop,” you whisper.
“Stop it.” You repeat in a voice with more conviction. You swat your tears away and mutter, “He's not worth your tears.”
Which is funny, isn't it? Because, even after a year, he is still worth your time.
***
Two Months Before Jungkook Left
Jungkook was angry, but he couldn't figure out why. The searing hot and heavy weight of anger rose from his stomach and pooled in his throat. Even though he had every reason to be happy, he still felt the quiet murmur of rage caress his heart. He had you, the girl of his dreams, amazing friends and a successful business. No one could ask for more.
So why did he feel this way?
Jungkook sat alone on the couch, doing all he could to calm his nerves and slow rising anger. He'd recently been feeling a lot better when you weren't around, which was quite often, seeing as you were never home these days. That's not to say you were the source of his anger, but you certainly didn't help matters.
He didn't hate you, he didn’t dislike you; in fact it was quite the opposite. You were his rock, his shoulder to cry on when things got too much. You'd seen him at his worst and had been there at his best and he trusted you with everything. You were Jungkook’s life and he honestly couldn't imagine where he’d be or what he'd be doing without you.
But every time he laid his eyes upon you, his nostrils flared and his teeth bared. Every time you did something wrong, no matter how small, his fists would clench impossibly tight and he had to remove himself from your presence. Maybe he'd had enough of you, but he couldn’t imagine leaving you. Or perhaps he'd had too much of you, but he would always crave your touch when you'd been away for too long.
He didn't know what any of these mixed and conflicting feelings meant. How was it possible to love someone with your every fibre yet be antagonised by their presence?
He heard the front door click and turned slightly, ears perking at the sound.
“Jungkook!” You called from the front of the apartment. “Jungkook, I'm back.”
He heard you shut the door, most likely with your foot, and wipe your boots on the mat. He didn't say anything, didn't move to say hello or welcome you back. He just stayed motionless, breathing even harder in his best efforts to stay in control of his anger. He could already feel annoyance creeping up in his veins like a virus.
You padded to the front room and spotted him, his back hunched, elbows resting on his knees and hands covering his face. “What are you doing?”
There was a long pause before he replied, “Nothing.”
“Clearly.” You huffed.
He pinched his temples and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to get wound up by your pettiness. “Is the car back? I need to go out.”
“Out? I brought dinner, Jimin had some left overs.” You held up a plastic bag full of food containers.
“Yeah, I'm sure he did.” Jungkook ran his tongue across the inside of his cheek and stood up, a little too quickly. He skulked over to the kitchen and started putting the dry dishes away into the cupboards, trying to distract himself and keep his hands busy.
“What's that supposed to mean?” You lowered the bag and followed him through, sounding offended and a little hurt.
“Nothing,” he repeated.
You gently placed the bag on the kitchen table and leaned on one of the chairs, quietly observing him as he tidied the kitchen with a little too much vigour. “Jungkook, what's the matter?”
He ignored you and continued to clean, asking in a deadpan voice, “Did you fill up the tank? I'm really not in the mood to go out of my way to fill it back up.”
“I did. Where do you seriously plan on going at this time of night? It's almost dark,” you sigh and shift your weight onto the other foot. “And your dinner is gonna get cold.”
“I have an order to pick up at the warehouse. You know, for the business we run?” He asked sarcastically, venom seeping into his words. “Whilst you were out frolicking all day with Jimin, I was getting stuff ready. I've been waiting all this time for the car. As strong as you think I am, I’m afraid I can't carry fifty canvases across the city.”
He finished putting the dishes away and moved to start cleaning the counter tops. All you could do was stare at him, dumbfounded. Why was he being like this?
“I've been helping Jimin with the house. You know how busy it gets when you’re moving out-"
“Listen, I don't care. He has six other friends, including me, to ask for help. I don't see why you need to be there twenty-five eight.” Every word he spoke dripped with his thick Busan accent as he realised, a tad too late, how jealous he sounded.
It's not just the fact he was a little jealous – he was a lot jealous – it was also the way you acted so carefree and oblivious to everything. He didn't understand how you could forget about picking up the major stock delivery for the business. He didn't understand how you could spend a day putting more effort into someone else and giving him such little attention when you got back home. He just simply could not understand why your priorities were so backwards and all over the place.
“Are you… jealous?” You moved closer to him, hoping your touch would somewhat calm his jittery mood. You placed a hand on his forearm, urging him to stop wiping the counter.
He stopped, stock-still, staring at your hand. “I'm not jealous.”
You laughed softly under your breath and moved to back-hug him. You didn't expect him to tense up but you rested your head against his back and smiled nevertheless. You closed your eyes and for a moment, it was almost like before. Back when Jungkook didn't have the lines of worry around his eyes; back when he didn't have the creases of anxiety pleated around his mouth. Back when Jungkook smiled every single day and lit up the world.
“Please just… get off. I need to go.” He shook you off and started towards the bedroom to grab his coat and keys.
You trailed after him, following him around like a lost puppy. “Jungkook,” you called out to him, desperation starting to lace your voice. Nothing you were doing was helping his mood and you were beginning to feel helpless. Was he mad at you? Or was he just tired?
As if he read your mind he mumbled, “I'm not mad at you.” He held up his baseball jacket and scrutinised it before tossing it on the bed and settling for an oversized hoodie to wear instead. He tugged it over his head and ran a hand through his lightly curled hair, setting the locks back in place. “I just wish we’d spend more time together.”
Which wasn't really true because Jungkook wanted to be as far away from you as possible, but felt like the only way to get over these weird feelings was to force himself to be around you more often.
Is this normal?
“I do too,” you sighed and stepped forward to attempt physical contact once again. You sank into his arms, your shape moulding into his, as you leaned against his chest. You could feel his heat radiating from beneath the thick layer of clothing and pressed yourself closer, wanting more. Nothing felt better than Jungkook. Jungkook was your sanctuary, your home.
Jungkook eventually relented and relaxed into your embrace, muscles loosening up. The tight knot in his stomach unravelled and he also let out a sigh, disturbing the loose hairs on your head. For a second he felt like his old self, the Jungkook before all the stress, jealousy and anxiety. He felt at peace and content to be with you, for once.
His head spun, unable to keep up with the speed of his unsettled thoughts; positive and bright one second, negative and consuming the next.
You both stood there, in each other's arms, taking the time to appreciate one another. Life had become so busy, you never stopped to acknowledge each other anymore. You two existed in the same place, but that was it. You did nothing more. You just were.
“I have to get to bed.” You murmur into his chest. “I've got to be up early tomorrow. The moving van is arriving at Jimin’s around nine and we’re driving down to the new house in Busan. I'll be helping with the unloading too.”
You pulled away and moved towards you dresser, undressing for a bath.
And just like that the moment was gone. Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard he was sure his teeth would break.
This isn't normal.
His fists clenched around the sleeves of his hoodie. “You're going to Busan?”
“Mm-hm,” you had your back to him as you took you earrings out and placed them in your jewellery box. “I'll be away for the day. Don't worry, I'll be taking a train back. Jimin plans on staying in the new house overnight.”
“You do realise we have a ton of orders to process, right? I have so many canvases to print and ship tomorrow it's ridiculous.” He managed to get the words out calm enough, but Jungkook felt like a whistling kettle. Boiling with frustration, about to burst with exasperation.
“I'll send someone down to help you-”
He spoke over you, irritation becoming all too clear. “This is our business. Why don't you send someone to help Jimin and come and help me?”
You turned around again to face him, a look of sympathy and regret drawn all over your delicate features. “I promised him-”
“You promised me.”
The words shouldn't have hurt so much, but they did. A pang of shame hit your stomach, coursing up to tighten around your chest. To anyone else, you sounded ridiculous. To anyone else, Jungkook sounded possessive. You were only trying to help a friend, but doing so in such a way that you were in fact neglecting the relationship that mattered the most. Yes you'd been spending more time with Jimin lately. But was it honestly that much?
Was it too much?
“Yes…” Your voice quivered and you weren't sure why but your eyes had welled up and your throat had swollen to the size of a golf ball. “But-”
“Just- forget it.” He stormed out the room, leaving an aching heart and a perplexed mind in his wake.
“I'm sorry.”
You heard the front door open and expected it to close immediately. There's a pause, the air thick with regret and embarrassment.
He held on to the door, half in half out. I'm sick of you, he thought with such hostility he was sure you could sense it. He finally realised that yes, he'd had enough of you. No matter how much he claimed to love you, he was bored of you.
His voice trailed between the hollow threshold and through thin walls, snaking into the bedroom and crawling down your spine with ice cold paws.
“Don't wait up.”
The door slammed shut.
***
It wasn't the fondest memory you had of Jungkook. There were plenty of other times and moments you could recall, where he had been much happier. There had been times where he had been so happy, you could smell the euphoria leaking from his pores. But it was the most vivid memory you had of him, what he was really like.
You try to remember other times, ones that don't weigh so much on your conscience, but they were always overpowered the same one. The way his voice sounded, cold and empty like he was totally spent with nothing left to give.
The months float by and the seasons rotate and you find yourself feeling better, somewhat. You find yourself writing more and more, the letters feeling more like a habit rather than a chore. There are times where you don't send them though, deciding to keep the odd unsent piece in a designated kitchen drawer for safe keeping. You eventually manage to offload the blank canvases to a local art supplier and send Jungkook’s consoles to Jimin’s address in Busan. You take long walks in the park twice a week, no matter what the weather and only drink a specific blend of Norwegian coffee. You find a routine to follow.
You find structure.
As long as you're held together, you can keep your feelings at bay – still in sight, but far enough so they don't affect you.
Looking for a job proved to be harder to achieve but after more months of rejected applications and one too many crying sessions on the couch, you were finally accepted as an assistant in an old bookshop. As dull and boring as it may seem to others, it was the perfect thing for you. To be in a place surrounded by lost stories and new adventures, was your dream. Where whispered tales of fantasy creatures lay dormant between dog-eared pages and where titles, older than the ancient bookshop itself, cracked and peeled off the hardback spines.
You never got tired of the smell. On days where your shift seemed as if it would never end, where customers would stamp on your every last nerve – the smell of slowly decaying pages were like a comforting blanket, warming your soul and muting the rest of the world.
And so you stand at the kitchenette, gently stirring the sugar into your coffee you brought from home. You stare at the mini noticeboard pinned above the sink and mentally take notes of your hours for the following week. It had been relatively quiet today with the odd customer coming in to look through the old classics and a few tourists gathering outside the storefront to take pictures. Not many people wanted to be out in the cold.
You walk back over and sit on the small stool behind the till point, picking up your pen again. Jungkook still never answered to any of the letters you wrote him, but it didn't upset you as much as it would have before. You knew he had his reasons. Even though you bombard him with letters almost every week, you know, deep down somewhere in the depths of your heart, that he didn't mind at all.
You blow across the top of your coffee, frowning at the ugly patterns printed on the ceramic mug. Still too hot. You gently place the mug down with one hand and start writing with the other.
It's been a few months I've been at this job. It's really peaceful, Jungkook, I believe you would've liked it. But I know your love for photography is endless and that printing your shots on those blank canvases brought you a special kind of satisfaction. I didn't want to let go of those canvases. I mean, I know they were just blank ones, but they held potential, you know? A kind of promise.
Rose, the owner of the shop, is nice. You would've liked her too. She always asks about you but I can't give her much information, seeing as you don't write back. I tell her of the time we used to spend together, although it feels like it was years and years ago. She looks at me funny sometimes, but I can't place it. I think it might be pity.
The day-
Your pen jumps across the page and you jolt out of focus as your phone rings, sounding like a foghorn in the silent store. You scramble to get it out of your pocket, bringing it to your ear in such a rush you forget to check the caller ID.
“This needs to stop.”
Your breath trips and stumbles, getting so caught up in your throat you forget how to breathe. It's been so long since you heard this voice – so, so long. You feel your face bursting into flames as your cheeks turn pink and the tip of your ears turn a bright crimson. All of a sudden, your breath comes rushing back but all too quickly. You find yourself standing up, regretting it, then sitting down again. You don’t know what to do with yourself.
“J-”
“No. I can't do this anymore-” Jimin’s voice cracks on the other end and you know it's not because of the call reception.
“Jimin, what's wrong?” You stare wide eyed out of the window, hoping no one walks through the door.
“What's wrong? Are you kidding me? I'm sat here in fuckton pile of letters wondering if this is some kind of sick joke-”
“Jimin, I don't know what you're talking about.” Your heart is working overtime, pumping the blood straight to your head. You can't think clearly and you have no idea why the first call you receive from Jimin in months is an angry one.
“You need help. This isn't good for you. This isn't good for me.” He sounds like he could burst into tears at any given moment, and you don't recall ever hearing him sound this way. “He's not here. He hasn't been here since he left that night.”
Your heart suddenly lurches, violently careening into the depths known as fury. How dare he bring that up, as if it were his place. He doesn't call for months and the first chance he gets, he reminds you of the day you lost what meant most to you. But you say nothing.
“You know where he is.”
***
The Day Jungkook Left
Jimin had settled into his new home perfectly and made it habit to come and visit you and Jungkook frequently. It was difficult, living so far away from his best friend he'd grown up with, he found it almost impossible to get used to. But being back home was a refreshing concept and he'd promised himself to make the most of it.
Two months after moving out to the coast, Jimin had hopped on an afternoon train travelling up to Seoul, wanting to surprise you both. He knew the two of you would be busy with the business but still hoped he could catch you together.
The journey had been delayed by several minutes, then by several hours, due to the heavy snowfall on the tracks. What was usually less than a three hour long journey, turned into almost six hours and Jimin was exhausted by the time he set foot on the Seoul station platform. The idea of surprising you both with a late lunch date flew out the window as he realised the time and decided it was best to head straight to the apartment.
Which turned out to be a much better plan as the apartment was closer to the station than the studio was and Jimin didn't fancy trekking an extra three miles through the blanketed streets of the city. Even through the multiple layers of wool and cashmere, Jimin was still cold to his core. The only thing that kept him from turning back and getting on the first train back home was the thought of your faces, lighting up at the sight of him.
The apartment was a mess. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, spilling from the drawers and pooling everywhere. All your fragrances had been knocked down from your vanity, some shattering, and creating a peculiar scent that cloyed in your nostrils. The coffee table in the front room had been flipped over, legs standing upright, resembling a helpless beetle stuck on its back.
The plates and cups that had once been neatly stacked on the dish rack had tumbled, littering the tile floor with shards of ceramic and glass. You swept the pieces into the pan and dumped the contents into the trash as he watched you from his place on the sofa.
You and Jungkook had never fought so hard before.
What was meant to be a peaceful night in after a long day at work had turned into something so hateful. Well, it's not what he had planned to do originally. Jungkook’s ideal night out had involved finding the cheapest bar and getting shit-faced drunk until the morning sun rose but due to the crap whether and icy roads, he thought it’d be best to stay home instead for the night. But right now, Jungkook would much rather be up to his knees in snow than be in the same room as you.
You didn’t even remember what it was that set him off. These days he was like a dormant volcano, ready to erupt at any little thing that disturbed his so-called peace. He always seemed angry and you were so tired of trying to figure out why.
“This is why I'm always out, Jungkook. I can't stand to be around you these days.” You said quietly as you gently placed the dustpan and brush back under the sink.
“The feeling’s mutual.”
A sob erupted from your chest and you clamped your hand around your mouth to control the pain. Every word he spoke, every look he gave bit at your flesh. It ate away at you, tearing through every layer until there was nothing left but bones. And even then, Jungkook still knew how to break them.
“I know you're disappointed I didn't fuck off out tonight, but you'll just have to deal with it. You only have to put up with me for a few hours and then I'll be back at the studio, out of your way.” He stood up and righted the table. He started picking up the clothes but you knew he wasn't done speaking.
“You can call your fuckboy and cancel what you had planned tonight. Tell him I'm home.”
You stand there, braced against the sink, the epitome of confused. You wondered if you heard right, the sentence playing again and again in your head. You then wondered if Jungkook was going crazy. Was he seriously accusing you of…
“Is that what this is about?” You spun around and followed behind him. When he didn’t answer, you grabbed his arm and attempted to spin him around.
“Don't touch me.” But he turned to face you, distancing himself yet again.
“You think I'm- you seriously think that I'm… that I'm cheating on you?” The words tasted horrific.
“I don't know. You tell me. Are you? Because I can't think of any other reason why you spend so much time avoiding me.” He threw the clothes back on the floor and folded his arms, staring out the window.
“Jungkook, the same can be said for you!” You shouted, astonished at the answer he gave. “You cringe when I touch you, you sleep on the sofa most nights. You-”
“You won't even look at me, Jungkook.”
Jimin approached the front door, unsure about whether he should knock or not. He'd heard someone shouting as he'd been climbing the apartment stairs and the overall vibes he was getting from this place were not what he'd been expecting.
He shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other and held his hand up to the door. He paused and took a deep breath, listening for any sign of movement in the space within. Why was he nervous all of a sudden? He shook his head and squared his shoulders, mustering the best eyesmile he could. He counted to three.
Jimin knocked.
“Who is that?” Jungkook’s head snapped towards the door and then back to you.
You shrugged, frustrated that he, yet again, avoided your point. You sat down, back towards the front door and nursed your puffy eyes with wet wipes, praying it was a neighbour that had come to tell you to pipe down or something. The last thing you needed was to fake a smile in front of anyone you knew.
You heard the door open and Jungkook clicked his tongue. He stepped aside and said in a voice full of poison, “Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.”
You turned around and almost fell off the couch. Jimin stood in the door way, clad in all black with a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. You saw his eyes widen through the lens of his glasses and wondered what all of this mess must've looked like to him. He tugged on the fabric of his turtleneck and looked nervously between the two of you, not sure how to proceed.
“What're you doing here, Jimin?” You stood up but stayed by the sofa.
“I, uh, came to see you guys. But it looks like I came at the wrong time…” He laughed nervously and looked towards Jungkook, whose face was as hard as stone.
“Came to see us or came to see her?” Jungkook pointed a finger towards you and even though he stood across the room, you still felt the jab behind it.
“I- came to see you both. Is everything ok?” Jimin looked past you to see the remnants of broken plates and cups. His voice suddenly changed as he turned to face Jungkook, face hardening. “Jungkook.”
Your heart stood as still as you, eyes locked on the both of them. They were staring each other down, Jimin unfazed by the height difference. You wanted to say something, to do something. You didn't want Jimin caught up in the mess between you and Jungkook. You were desperately searching for a solution, however temporary the fix may be, but nothing came to mind.
The first one to break was Jungkook reaching behind Jimin and snatching his scarf and keys off the hook by the door. “You know what?” He wound his scarf so tight around his neck you were sure it was uncomfortable. “Fuck you.”
“Kook-” You started, hoping the use of his nickname would bring him back down to earth. If anything, though, it made him more livid.
“No, fuck you too. I'm done.” He watched as you sobbed, no longer caring. Seeing you cry didn’t affect him anymore. He swept up his arm towards you, but looked at Jimin. “There. She's all yours. Fucking take her, I'm done.”
He pushed past Jimin and bounded out of the apartment without another word. It was the last memory you had of him, features contorted into the ugly mask of resentment and jealousy. Eyes so cold and hard, you were sure nothing could break through again and body shaking with anger.
It was the last time you saw him.
The next time you lay your eyes on him was behind a panel of glass, framed by black oak on top of a table surrounded by wreaths and other pictures of when he was younger. You stared at his black and white portrait, drinking in the way his cheeks rose and became fuller. You stared at the wrinkles in his scrunched up nose, moving your eyes down to his lips spread into a wide grin. His hair tumbled over his forehead, covering his eyebrows and making him seem younger. His eyes disappeared behind his eyelids, still shining nevertheless.
He wasn't wearing his gauges, the ones you loved so much but wore instead two silver hoops in the lobes of his ears. His bright skin looked paler against the black of his turtleneck sweater. You remembered that day as if it was yesterday, standing behind the camera in the brand new studio, asking him to smile. You remembered the sound the camera made as you pressed the shutter. You remember editing it, just moments after, adding the black and white filter and adjusting the contrast.
After the dispute in the apartment that night, Jungkook had taken to the roads. He'd gotten inside the small vehicle and taken off down the highway, driving to god knows where. He just wanted to get as far away from you as possible, as quickly as possible. Needless to say, ice and high speeds were the worst kind of mix, like oil and water.
But he thought of you – when the smoke rose from the mangled car bonnet and burned into his nose; when blood ran into his eyes and seeped onto his tongue, flooding his mouth with the taste of metal – you were the only thing he saw. He didn't regret his words and he certainly didn't regret you. The only thing he regretted was the last thing he’d said. He wasn't really done, he’d only planned to drive an hour south and turn straight back once his pride and anger had simmered down because Jungkook always came back.
But as he felt his heart stutter, as he felt his legs being crushed further underneath the remains of the car, he knew he wouldn’t be.
And he was sorry.
***
You hear Jimin across the line, sniffing and rustling what you assumed to be the letters you'd been sending. Your palm had grown clammy, the phone slowly slipping from your tight grasp and your eyes were starting to well. Your throat closes up, blocking the airway and trapping your breath in your chest.
“Please,” Jimin pleads over the phone. He says your name softly, as if not wanting to break the silence that was already so fragile. “He's gone. You need to get help, because he's not coming back. And I can't continue to ignore these letters. This isn't fair on me.”
You took the phone away from your ear and stared at it, studying the contact picture you had set for Jimin. A selfie taken by him in a grey sweater posing with Jungkook, clad in a red hoodie. You don't know when it was taken but you remember asking Jungkook to send it to you.
You couldn't hear anything Jimin was saying on the other end and you weren't trying to. You hung up just as Rose barrelled through the shop entrance, phone still held up in front of you.
She glanced at you over the stack of books in her hands. “Good afternoon! I'm sorry I took so long.” She dumped the stack on the floor in the corner and busied herself with putting them away in their correct places.
“The car broke down and so I had to call someone out to get it fixed,” she repeatedly blew a strand of hair away from her face, eventually using her hand to push it behind her ear. “Then it started sleeting. Can you believe it? Sleet in September? But it really is cold out there, I'm glad you're keeping the place warm-”
She stood to her full height, slightly out of breath and hands on hips. “You're awfully quiet today.”
You moved in slow motion, afraid to disrupt the tension in your chest. Your wide eyes rolled over to where she stood, studying you intensely. Had it been anyone else, you would've squirmed, but Rose had a way of doing everything softly. You let out a gasp as if you'd been holding your breath and that was the final straw. You throw your arm across your face and crumble, powerful sobs wracking your whole frame.
You didn't know what to do anymore. You'd been trying to cover up a crack in the wall with mere band-aids for almost two years and now they were starting to peel away, revealing the ugly fracture that still remained.
You lean into Rose’s chest as she holds you tight, not saying a word. She doesn’t complain about her soaked shirt or mention the fact that you looked like hell. She doesn’t tell you everything is going to be ok or that you were going to be fine. She simply hands you a box of tissues and leaves to make you a new cup of coffee.
You've known all this time where Jungkook was you've just been too afraid to admit to yourself. You didn't want to accept the fact that he’d never return so it was easier to pretend he'd up and left you. That way, even though the chances of seeing him again were small, you still had the hope that he was out there somewhere. Your letters to him were a mere coping mechanism. A way to keep you sane. But you let yourself get too deep and forgot your purpose.
You hear the kettle reach the boil and close your eyes, trying to let the usual smells comfort you. You hear your phone ring again but you don't pick it up. You switch it off not caring if it caused future problems. Rose comes back through with the same obnoxious mug and moves shut down the shop. After throwing the shutters down over the windows she pads over to hug you once again.
It isn't ideal, but it'll do. Having a friend is better than being alone and you realised, with a start, that for the longest time you hadn't let anyone close to you; that had been your downfall. It had been the one thing stopping you from moving on and getting over the whole ordeal.
You stare through the glass panel in the door at the busy road outside and watch as the first snowflake settles on the windowsill and it was then the storm inside you ceased to exist, leaving in its wake damaged pieces. There were many things you were unsure about and countless more things you didn't know how to approach. Yes, you were broken and no, you might never be fixed but there was one thing you knew for sure. You’d never get over Jungkook. You'd never forget the way he said goodbye and the words he said and you wished things had been different.
But you couldn't change anything.
You watch the light snowfall and hope that one day you'll love winter again. You watch as it dusts the roofs of cars and settles on the pavement, moulding around the feet of pedestrians. You drink in the wet and grey afternoon, the corner of your lips almost raising a smile. You realise with a steady heart, things aren't so bad and that you'll be ok.
You'll be ok.