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A clock ticks in the quiet, open space of the large book store. Seokjin wandered in a while ago, curiosity peaked after reading the sign outside that promised ‘a place to escape and discover worlds unlike our own’.
He hadn’t realized it until then, but he’s been looking for somewhere to escape to for longer than he’s comfortable with admitting.
So, after buying himself a coffee from a café across the street, Seokjin entered the almost-empty store and spent the majority of his free time on his birthday wandering through the shelves.
He picked up random titles that sounded intriguing, read the summaries and either put them back in their place or sitting down in a plush, comfortable chair at the back of the store. Then, he’d take a few minutes to read through the first chapter and decide whether or not he wanted to buy the book and continue the story at home. After the first hour, he’d already managed to build up a pretty impressive pile.
There’s only one clerk manning the cash register near the front of the store, and she seems fine with letting Seokjin treat the store like a library. In fact, she doesn’t acknowledge him at all besides the good-natured smile and quiet ‘hello’ she welcomed him with when he first came in. So, he takes it as a sign that he was supposed to find this place today, and soaks up as much of the unobtrusive, comfortable solitude as he can.
Now, a clock’s ticking is the only sound that fills the space besides his own careful breaths and the infrequent turning of pages of the book in his lap.
Seokjin feels... alone.
Not lonely, not lonesome, just physically and literally alone. He’s learned how to become okay with his own company over the last couple of years. His family have fallen into the deep folds of their own lives and the new people in them, not forgetting him but forgetting the affection they all had for him when Seokjin was much younger.
His friends... his relationships that he’s built since leaving home, his closest companions and the two that he cherishes most in this world... they’re happy for him. They love him. They congratulated him, but — he’s not sure if ageing is something truly worth celebrating.
As the clock ticks and his coffee cools and his fingertips caress the new, untouched pages of the books, Seokjin finds his mind pulling away from the stories — the escape — only to land right back in the place he’s been avoiding all day.
30 years old.
30 and... alone. Not lonely. Not lonesome.
Alone.
Because isn’t everyone alone, when one truly considers the weight of their own mind? There aren’t two hearts in his body. There’s only one voice inside his head. Only one of him to keep and store all of the memories he's spent his whole life trying to make remarkable and truly worthy of remembering. He can share memories, like stories, but only he has the gift of recalling his perspective. His words. His emotions.
Being alone in his mind is not the same as being alone in life; he knows that. But something about the number this year, the way that it rounds out, the way that it defines so much for so many... it burns into his consciousness like a white hot brand.
Has he truly lived a life he can be proud of? He's sure he has. He's so sure. Right?
Seokjin's certainty wavers, tides swinging back and forth, the yes and the no and the in between that whispers 'maybe, you just can't remember'.
As he closes the book in his lap and turns his head to look towards the front of the store, out of the windows that keep him and the books free from the icy cold air outside, free from the roaring sounds of the city, Seokjin tries to remember.
-
It gets late and the clerk finally makes her way over to Seokjin to let him know that she'll be closing up very soon. He lets her ring up his concerningly large stack of books and even buys himself a tote bag with the store's logo printed on the front to carry them all in, before leaving the waste of a day behind. He leaves his rolling anxieties for the time being, too. He's let himself stew in them for long enough; he's let them flicker on and off for as long as he could without allowing them to ruin his day altogether.
He couldn't let that happen; he's still got a dinner to attend.
-
“Hyung, do want the last piece?”
Taehyung reaches across the long table, the last piece of expensive meat pinched between his chopsticks that he offers up to Seokjin’s waiting mouth.
The dinner was exactly what he needed; his friends showered him with compliments, promised him they’d pay for the meal, bought rounds upon rounds of drinks for all of them to warm their chilly bodies with. They asked him what he did with his day off and he told them honestly, soaking up the praise for having spent his free time wisely — and they would’ve done the same no matter what he said.
When the table settings and side dishes get taken away, leaving the group of seven with only their abundance of alcohol, Seokjin leans back in his chair and looks around at them all. He lets Hoseok and Jimin’s loud, joint retelling of a story they were all a part of fade into white noise so that he can think more clearly about all of the ways in which he’s grateful for each of them. Grateful for their honesty. Their individuality. Their loyalty to each other, before anyone else.
Yoongi’s knee presses up against Seokjin’s own beneath the table, warm and solid and constant, and it makes him want to cry. He’s tipsy, but it’s not the alcohol that’s making his throat close up. It’s the strong hand that finds his, that links their fingers together in a silent acknowledgement of both his existence and his importance to the man who takes him as he is.
Seokjin’s eyes fill with unshed tears, and so he lowers his head down to his lap so as not to worry those around him. No doubt, if Namjoon or Jimin saw, they’d pounce on the opportunity to console him.
But of course, someone notices anyway.
A chair scrapes against the hardwood floor and then a weight slumps against Seokjin’s back, a body folding over his own as a pair of arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, holding him close and tight and secure.
“Did you have a good birthday, hyung?” Jeongguk whispers into his right ear, close enough to Yoongi’s side that Seokjin’s sure he heard it, too.
“Yeah.” Seokjin nods as he brings the hand that isn’t clasped in Yoongi’s up to pat at Jeongguk’s wrist.
They all acknowledge him, but say nothing about his watery eyes, his reddening nose, his difficult breaths.
Because they all know what it’s like to feel alone.
But when they’re together; when they’re seven... it’s impossible to feel lonely. Lonesome.
“Yeah, I did.”