Archive of Our Own

~

It took a few seconds for the static noise to be replaced by the soothing voice Jungkook finds solace in every day.

It never took too long for him to feel the loneliness creep back in by the front door. It invites itself as if it’s the tenant and Jungkook but a mere guest.

He loves his house. He does!

Whether it’s the snow falling on the sand in the winter, or the sunlight reflecting against the water in the summer, either way, there’s glitter around him making his life pretty.

Jungkook loves a simple life. His family never agreed to that concept.

You must have ambition, Jungkook.

Study hard for a prolific career, Jungkook.

Money is important, you should work to have lots of it, Jungkook.

Be successful so we can be proud of you, Jungkook.

Those speeches were repeated to him from the day he first emitted the wish to become a chef, which was quickly shut down because he’s “too slow, too shy”, to the day he decided to follow his own path and open a pottery shop, the same day his parents decided to not mention him whenever they have to update their friends about their children.

Jungkook’s brother is a lawyer, like their father. Now, that’s something to be proud of, isn’t it?

He gets it. His brother worked hard, and he can be proud because it is a hard career path to follow, after all.

But sometimes, he longs for that little pat on the back from the people around him.

You’ve done well, Jungkook.

I’m proud of you, Jungkook.

A couple months ago, he found an old radio in the boxes of his high school days that he took with him when he moved out.

It’s blue, with black little buttons and an antenna. It barely works, there’s only three channels.

Jungkook listens to only one, every day during the sunrise.

Just that little detail, the fact it didn’t have a set time it went on but followed the sunrise’s time, was enough reason to love it.

He first discovered it when he couldn’t sleep one night. He had been trying to make the radio work for some time and having nothing else to do, he chose to occupy his time with the despair for entertainment.

Suddenly, he heard it. The voice.

“Today, I will read sonnets by Pablo Neruda,” it had said.

It was the softest, most calming voice Jungkook had ever heard.

“Are you ready? I hope you have a warm blanket, it’s snowing today. I don’t have a blanket but I do have the most comfortable sweater I own, and a warm vanilla flavored coffee. I’ll take a sip while you cozy up.”

Jungkook hurried to grab his softest and fluffiest blanket. He sat by his window with a cup of tea and the radio in hand, and he listened to the poem that was read to him.

“I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or arrow of carnations that propagate fire; I love you as one loves certain obscure things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.” There was a pause, and a giggle. Jungkook had giggled along. “I find this poem to be absolutely wonderful, don’t you think so?”  

Jungkook nodded to the radio and the poem continued.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love, except in this form in which I am not nor are you, so close that your hand upon my chest is mine, so close that your eyes close with my dreams.”

There was a pause, a silence to digest the words Jungkook found himself mesmerized by, and then the voice spoke again.

“Whoever is listening, I hope you love without knowing. Love is precious, love is a flower, love is a seashell, love is a star. Those little things, you know? The ones that are unattainable, those that create folklore on Earth and all we can do is stare in wonder at their sight. Let’s love today. On this note, I wish you a good morning. Now, let’s enjoy the sunrise.” Sounds of the ocean came through the radio. Jungkook watched the sunrise through his window and fell asleep right there.

Ever since that moment, he never missed a single sunrise in the company of this voice.

Jungkook knows it’s a man in his late twenties, named Park Jimin. He googled it.

This morning is no different. Jimin reads an extract of Virginia Woolf this time, from her novel To The Lighthouse.

It made Jungkook smile, because most of the time, he has those books in his bookshelf. He grabbed it quickly and sat on his porch. It was a nice morning today. There was a little morning summer breeze, it wasn’t cold, but it was also perfect to hide under a blanket.

As Jimin started to read, Jungkook looked for the passage in the book. He was thankful to love books, because he reads them multiple times and knows exactly which passage it was. He reads along with Jimin, his book illuminated by the slow rise of the sun.

“What is the meaning of life?” Jimin reads through the radio, “ That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”

The words written on the page echoed in Jungkook’s heart like some mirror of his soul.

Sometimes, he wonders why he’s alive. Why exactly is he waking up in the morning? Why is he taking care of himself? Why did he open a pottery shop by the seaside? Sometimes, there’s no answer. When he’s in a good mood, there’s a generic answer to them. Because life is worth living, life is beautiful . It is, there’s no denying. Life has its beautiful shades. But, what is the real reason?

Jimin isn’t reading anymore and starts talking, “Today, I chose to read To The Lighthouse because I think it reflects the human heart quite realistically. We often get lost in the grandiosity of success. Success must be loud, it must be grand and obnoxious. I used to think so too, perhaps I still do on my insecure days. But I have to disagree and I think Virginia Woolf would too. She wrote it well. Life is about the little things. The match in the dark that illuminates your next step so you don’t knock your toes on the corner of a furniture. I think that’s the real success. The little happy times we find throughout our days. Those are what makes a happy life.”

“I agree,” Jungkook says to the ocean.

Jimin stopped talking and let the soft melody of a piano take over while the sun rose.

The waves were slowly melting into the sand, making it glow brightly against the bright sunlight.

It was pretty.

And so, another day starts.

First he opened all his windows and let the fresh morning air take over his little house.

He made his bed, picked out an outfit—baggy jeans and an oversized t-shirt—and hopped in the shower. He didn’t take too much time, not wanting to waste too much time on this beautiful day.

Listening to Jimin’s radio show every morning was, he was sure of it, the catalyst of his happiness.

Ever since he discovered it, not only did he start to look at his life from a different perspective, but his voice alone was as warm and comforting as the blankets he wraps himself in while listening to him.

Every morning, he started his day with pretty words spoken prettily. Every morning, he watched the sunrise and thought about Neruda, Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf or Emily Dickinson. He thought of their lives and his own, and somehow, in their vast differences, he found himself empathizing, he could relate to what they wrote. Because they’re all humans, right?

Success doesn’t define a human being above another. Success only turns a light on one human. Success is electricity, and Jungkook is a candle, or a match.

There’s sadness in that too. And he’d be a liar if he said he basked in the little happinesses every single day.

Sometimes, a love poem infuriates him, other times it makes him sad. Sometimes he wants to wake up and have arms wrapped around his waist, a kiss on his nape. He wants a breakfast cooked for him with love and care, and he wants to sit on his porch with a book and legs to caress across his lap while there’s laughter with loud squeaks of seagulls and the ripples of the waves.

He wants all of it.

Even the arguments, and the doubts, and the fear, and the tears.

Perhaps, that’s the biggest doubt of his success. Did he succeed in life if he isn’t loved?

Because that’s what it comes down to at the end of the day. When he’s old, and at the doorstep of his death, whose hand will he be holding?

He’s held his own hand for over two and half decades. If that’s more than a quarter of his life, how long does it take to make his life meaningful? If he’s living just for himself, why is he living at all? Why not cut to the chase? The ending will remain the same whether it’s now or in seventy years. Loneliness remains the same.

Those thoughts scare him at times, other times, he genuinely wonders.

What’s the point?

Is he meant to wander through life until his skin wrinkles and his joints hurt?

By the time he arrives at his pottery shop, his mind is only filled with a blurry forest of question marks.

The entire day, he drags himself through a routine he genuinely likes, he works until seven, and then he goes to buy some food. He takes the bus to go home, leaves the food he bought on his kitchen counter and goes for a walk on the beach.

He watches the sunset, picks up some pretty seashells if he sees any, watches a couple with their dog playing games, an old man reading out loud to the ocean, and him, a wanderer.

Like the little flame on a match, he’s bright in the morning and when night comes, he hopes he doesn’t extinguish yet. He hopes for a gush of wind to reignite him. Only, the lights always go out when his eyes are too heavy to keep open. And he remains Jungkook in the house by the beach.

Should he change anything?

The last time he had his mother on the phone, she nagged him about his life, because his brother is busy, successfully busy. Whereas him; he’s busy, but he has time to chill at home which he made the mistake of telling her when she called.

The next morning, Jimin read a line from Hamlet.

Jungkook loved it the second he heard it.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”

The entire day, those words floated through his mind.

The way Jimin said them, the way his voice was softer than cashmere. It had a lightness to it, like a promised reassurance he could count on every morning. It had the same certainty as the ocean, or the ground under his feet.

He googled him shortly after discovering his radio show. There wasn’t much information other than his name, his age and the history of his radio show which was rather brief.

Jimin created it entirely by himself, in his bedroom when he was a freshman in university. Jungkook found that absolutely fascinating.

Sometimes, he wonders what Jimin’s parents must have said. Are they like his? Or are they supportive? He hopes for the latter.

Lately, in the middle of the day, he finds himself missing his voice, the comfort it brings. It’s like the ocean. The ocean used to be his ultimate comfort, before Jimin’s poetic readings. But the tides are always ever changing and come a time, they become too familiar to have an impact.

“Excuse me?”

Jungkook snapped out of his thoughts and walked to the elderly woman holding two mugs.

“Yes, how may I help you?”

“Do you have any more of these?”

It was a half glazed mug with bright pink and the natural terracotta color of the clay. Jungkook was very proud of that one.

“Unfortunately, I ran out but I’ll be making these again within the next two weeks or so, so they’ll be available for sale soon.”

“You make these yourself? All of it?”

“Yes I do.”

“You’re a very talented young man, your parents must be very proud of you. If my grandson grows up to be half as talented as you, I’d be lucky.” She laughed and Jungkook didn’t know whether to accept her compliment or say something about her own expectations.

He did neither as he felt it wasn’t his place. He only smiled and went back to the counter as she kept looking through the selection of mugs he put up for sale.

He gave his attention to his budget sheet while a few other customers entered.

It was rare that he had more than one person at a time. He found it exciting, though slightly overwhelming. It must be the sunny weather that brings people in.

He looked up and they all seemed delighted. That’s one of the reassurances that he’s doing well. Although he still has a hard time fathoming it.

A man came to the counter with a pile of blank plates. Jungkook had the idea to sell those so people could paint on them and make their own.

“Hello, did you find everything?” he asks, putting his budget sheet to the side.

“Yes. You have beautiful items, I can’t believe I’m only discovering this shop today.”

Jungkook almost dropped the plate he was holding at the sound of the man’s voice. He looked up and looked him in the eyes. He looked just as bright as his voice.

“You…you’re Park Jimin?”

He looked behind himself as if Jungkook was talking to someone else, and looked back at Jungkook with confusion.

“How do you know my name?”

“You have a radio show. You read poems and pieces of literature during sunrise.”

Realization dawned upon him and Jungkook noticed a slight blush. He looked down as he smiled. Jungkook wished he didn’t hide his smile like this.

“I’m sorry, I just really love your show. It’s my favorite part of the day.”

“Thank you, you might be the only one to think so.”

Jungkook was surprised to hear that. How could anyone not love it?

It was hopeful and beautiful and gave homage to wonderful words people once felt. Jungkook found nothing but beauty in the fact feelings were passed on decades through decades.

Jungkook proceeded to wrap each plate carefully.

“Do you need paint?”

“Would you tell me how this works exactly?”

“Oh sure. So you have two options. Option one, you buy the paint and paint at home, once you’re done you bring them back and I’ll finish them in the kiln. Option two, I have a little workshop right behind there,” he pointed to the linen curtain, “You can paint there. There’s a bunch of paint, you wouldn’t have to pay for it, but a tip is encouraged.” He blushed as he said that. He couldn’t help it, he just never felt comfortable with money. If he could do everything for free, he would, as long as people were happy at the end.

“Would you assist me while I paint?”

Truth is, no one ever painted here. He himself is not sure how things should work.

“Sure,” he agrees.

“Then I’ll paint here.”

“Do you want to start today?”

“No, unfortunately I have to go but I’ll come back soon, I promise.”

“Just make sure to bring back the plates and the receipt.”

“Thank you. May I ask your name?”

“It’s Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Nice to meet you Jungkook. I’m Jimin. Oh wait, you knew that.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jimin.”

Jungkook watches Jimin walk out of his shop and he finds himself confronted with an unfamiliar feeling. It made him want to turn back time, and look up from his counter before Jimin stood in front of him. It made him want to see him walk in, it made him want to be on his porch with the sun and his voice. It made him want to understand the world, the souls, the emotions and feelings and turmoils of a human. It made him want to uncover a smile and read it like one reads a poem and wonders about a word that holds too many meanings to be anything else but folklore on Earth.

Later that day, after closing, Jungkook walked on the beach, as he often does. The beach was a little more crowded than usual, though it was slowly being deserted again the more the sun turned red.

He sat on the sand and let the ocean speak to him for a moment. He was never too fond of swimming but he did love the idea of it, the feeling of being in the water.

As he watched the sunset, he pictured himself swimming, smiling and laughing with someone, splashing water at them, having water splashed at him in return, salt in his eyes and in his mouth. He’d laugh even more, like a child. His hair would smell like the ocean, and it would feel a little dry, it’d be curlier than usual, and tangled. He’d have a hard time brushing it, so he’d ask for help and there’d be fingers in his hair and it’d be the most soothing feeling one could ever feel. He’d close his eyes, similar to the way he is right now and he’d imagine himself floating in the ocean, lulled by the comfort of another’s touch.

He opened his eyes again. The ocean greeted him with small ripples which the sand immediately claimed for itself. The sky was slowly becoming a mix of bright red, purple and a deeper blue as the sun went to hide in the moon’s embrace.

It didn’t take long for it to be completely gone and Jungkook stood up and headed home too. He took his shoes off and let his feet greet the water.

He had about two hours to spare before his flame would slowly go out and it pains him a little more each night goes by, inexplicably.

He kicked the sand lightly, making it splash in the water. As if it knew, the ripples became a little bigger, making him walk on the sand again.

“Sorry,” he whispered to the ocean.

He walked up to his home, careful to not have any sand on his feet before he stepped in.

He checked his phone. Nothing.

He looked around himself and there was only him. Only his shoes in the entrance, only his laundry on the drying rack, only his dishes in the sink, only his favorite movies on the dvds he owns, and only his favorite color to decorate a house he made his home.

He loved his life and hated it all the same.

Maybe the ocean empathized, being his only friend. It caressed his cheeks and fell, drop by drop, on the floor, on his shirt. He wiped his face with his sleeve but they were still here, keeping him company.

With his tears, he went to his bedroom and grabbed sweatpants and a hoodie. He buried himself in them, washed his face. He fooled himself in passing his tears for moisturizer going in his eyes. He’s not sad. He’s not crying.

He made himself dinner. Some rice porridge he made the day before.

He pointed the remote to the black screen facing him and put on one of his favorite movies. He took a deep breath and silently started eating, ignoring the tears and the hollowness he feels himself becoming.

That’s how he fell asleep. With the semblance of company.

When he woke up the next morning, his neck hurt and he felt a little stupid for being upset. He also woke up after the sunrise and it made him want to cry all over again.

When he made it to his shop, it was empty for hours. He spent his time putting his latest creation in the kiln, while putting the newest ones on the shelves.

He longed for the door to open for once. He always did, but he also always dreaded it because more often than not, the customer left empty handed. He didn’t care about that today. He just wanted a human to come in, smile and say hello to him.

Jungkook doesn’t know exactly when he started feeling invisible to the world, and perhaps he’s stupid and childish for feeling this way. It’s his own fault if he is unhappy in a life he tries so hard to embody happiness. He thought he was, some days he is, at least he always tries to be. Today, it’s so hard.

His hands are full of mugs and bowls when the door finally does open. He decides to cling to that little happiness like one clings to a buoy when lost at sea. He puts everything down carefully on the floor and almost runs to the front.

Jimin was here.

“Hi, I’m back,” he greeted brightly.

“H-Hi.”

Jimin smiled at him and held up the bag of plates Jungkook wrapped for him the day before.

“I didn’t forget.”

Jungkook welcomed him behind the curtain. They sat at one of the tables. Jimin patiently waited while Jungkook installed a box of paints, paint brushes and sponges, as well as water.

“How are you?” Jimin asked.

For a second, Jungkook is taken aback. There's never anyone to ask him this. As he’s looking Jimin in the eyes, he recognizes it’s not asked out of politeness but genuine wonder.

“I’m good,” he answers.

“I’m glad. Me too. I’m excited about this.”

“Should I walk you through it?” Jungkook suggests.

“Yes, please.”

He explained everything to the best of his abilities. Jimin listened to him, with his eyes wide and focused on Jungkook’s hands as he showed how he could wash the paint off if he happens to not like it and wants to redo it.

“Did you learn all this by yourself?”

“I did, for the most part. At first it was just a hobby in high school. It was the only thing I ever really truly loved, you know? So I thought, why not make a career out of it. I took a few business classes, and here I am.”

“That’s so cool.”

Jungkook smiled. It felt good to smile because of someone else.

“How long have you had your radio show? You started in university, is that right?”

“Yes. It’s been almost ten years now…wow, that’s a long time,” he chuckled, “I’m a kindergarten teacher. As much as I love the kids I teach, I also feel very lonely in every other aspect of my life. Poetry has always been my friend.”

“Poetry is reliable like that.”

Neither talked for a moment. Jungkook couldn’t help but look at Jimin as he picked a brush and started painting delicately on his plate.

He picked a blue color, a light one, the one Jungkook associates with the sky.

“Did you like this morning’s poem?” Jimin asked.

“Unfortunately, I missed it. I overslept.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook didn’t want to be like this, assuming a stranger’s feelings. But he was too familiar with disappointment to not discern its presence.

“Could I read it to you now?”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” Jimin put down his brush and with something akin to cuteness in his excitement, he dug a small book out of his bag. “I always carry the book of what I read in the morning. It’s by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Do you know of his work?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

Jimin laughed, “There’s no need to be sorry, I didn’t know of him either a few months ago. His poetry is quite nice. Are you ready?”

Jungkook nodded, resting his chin on his hand as he listened.

“ The Ocean has its silent caves, deep, quiet and alone; Though there be fury on the waves, Beneath them there is none. The awful spirits of the deep hold their communion there; And there are those for whom we weep, the young, the bright and the fair. Calmly the wearied seamen rest beneath their own blue sea. The ocean solitudes are blest, for there is purity. The earth has guilt, the earth has care, unquiet are its graves; but peaceful sleep is ever there, beneath the dark blue waves. ”

Jimin looked up from his book and Jungkook didn’t try to avoid his eyes. He let himself stare at the deep brown of his irises, his voice echoing around him like a breeze.

“The end,” he hushed.

“That was beautiful.”

“Mmh. I really like this poem.”

“How do you choose what to read each morning?”

Jimin picked up his brush and continued painting. “I like to read something that I can relate to. It makes it seem more personal, and relatable like that. This poem, for example, is meant to express the idea that the natural world, such as the ocean, contains emotions and creates spaces for happiness that can rival the darkness and depravity of the secular world. For that, he used the metaphor of seamen drowning and resting beneath the sea. Lately, I find the world to be gray and a little darker than it once was. As if there's a storm coming, you know?”

“I find those days to be quite comfortable, similar to a hug, which is paradoxical isn’t it?” Jungkook chuckled.

“Exactly. I suppose that’s the happiness amongst the darkness Hawthorne wrote about. There’s always good to find somewhere, as little as may be. That’s what I love about life. It makes me adore life.”

Another person came in. Jungkook excused himself and went to the shop side to greet the customer.

He stayed behind his counter while the person looked around but he couldn’t help and glance at the curtain he didn’t close. Jimin was hunched over his plate. Somehow, his beauty was too evident to neglect.

His hair was shiny, it looked soft too. His lips were puckered, like a beak. And he was holding the plate a little too close to his face. Jungkook couldn’t hold his fondness for the sight of him.

He couldn’t quite understand how his presence was everything. But it was. He didn’t even have to talk, though Jungkook is pretty sure the absence of Jimin’s voice would be a burning ache of yearning.

“Goodbye, have a nice day,” the person said, leaving empty handed.

Jungkook went back to Jimin, though he allowed himself to stand back and look at him. It felt kind of surreal to have his source of comfort in his shop.

It was real. Jimin is real and somehow, it made him feel real too. He felt a little less invisible.

“How’s your plate coming along?” Jungkook asked as he took back his seat in front of Jimin.

Jimin held his plate up. He was drawing a flower stem.

“What is your birth flower, Jungkook?”

“That’s a random question,” he noted with a smile.

“It is, but I think it’s an important one.”

“A tiger lily.”

“Ah, good.”

“Good?”

“Yes.” Jimin looked up at him with an almost brazen, if not cheeky, expression. “It’s a pretty one. Do you know what it means?”

“I believe it means ‘please love me’.”

Jimin nodded. “I can tell you’re easy to love.” He looked behind himself toward the curtain and then gave a plate to Jungkook. “If you’re not busy, would like to paint one with me?”

“Oh but those are your plates.”

“Please?”

“Alright.”

They painted together in silence. Jungkook found his attention divided between a paintbrush and a human. He was sure this was the definition of peace. The company of someone for the sake of it feeling good. The silence between two souls that find the other comfortable enough to embrace it. The liberty to talk if the desire arises.

Jungkook should perhaps be cautious, or more shy about it. Jimin was a stranger, after all. Yet, there was no caution in his words, or the ease he felt of just being himself, right then and there. Just for the sake of it, just because he could, just because Jimin was.

“Would you like to walk with me this evening? Along the beach,” Jungkook asked.

“I’d love to. I’ve been here for a few weeks now and I still haven’t had the time to walk around.”

“You don’t live here?” It was Jungkook’s turn to be disappointed against his will.

“No, I wish I did. My parents live here though, I visit them during the summer. They’re getting older so I try to spend as much time with them as possible. It might be corny or childish but I don’t care,” Jimin chuckled. He oozed happiness.

“I don’t find that to be corny, or childish.”

“Show me your plate,” Jimin demanded brightly.

“No, it’s a surprise. Show me yours.”

“That wouldn’t be fair, Jungkook.”

“And so, curiosity went back to sleep.”

“I don’t think curiosity ever goes to sleep.”

“No?”

He shook his head and smiled while talking and Jungkook almost tuned out his voice because his beauty was so loud. “I may not express it, but I’m still curious inside.”

“If curiosity is not expressed, isn’t it just a wonder, like a dream. It’s no longer tangible.”

“What’s that popular saying? Curiosity killed the cat?”

“Well, I personally think the cat was too eager. Maybe the cat killed the curiosity and blamed it on the envy to discover something new.”

“Maybe curiosity is too greedy.”

“I like greedy. I think greed is important, to a certain extent, of course.”

“You’re fascinating, Park Jimin.”

For the first time, Jungkook saw Jimin smile widely and brightly at him. It unleashed something within him.

He made him smile like that.

A few customers gathered in the shop so Jungkook finished his plate in haste and left Jimin while he tended to them.

As it was late afternoon already, he barely had time to be with Jimin. The few times he glanced at him, he was attentive to the brush strokes.

When seven struck, Jungkook closed quickly while Jimin patiently waited for him outside.

They walked slowly towards the beach.

“How is your summer so far?” Jungkook asked.

“It’s good. I started recording my radio show in my bedroom, during my first year of university. It’s always a little weird to be back.”

“A good weird?”

“A nostalgic weird, it’s a little uncomfortable but it’s also familiar. It’s like being nineteen again with the urge to leave this town.”

Jungkook knew exactly what he meant. He left his hometown at the first chance he got.

“So, you’re an avid listener of mine?” Jimin bumped into his shoulder lightly.

“I am. I only discovered your radio show a few months ago, by complete coincidence.”

“What’s your favorite thing that I read so far?”

“I love all of Dickinson, as well as Shakespeare. I admit to not always understanding Edgar Allan Poe, but he intrigues me enough to captivate me. My favorite might be Virginia Woolf, and Neruda. Though…Hawthorne is quite good.”

Jimin started laughing, and he hid his smile behind his hand, his cheeks tinting ever so slightly, as if the sky was reflecting on his skin.

“Should I understand you like everything?”

“More or less.” Jungkook smiled as he looked down at his feet, kicking the sand in front of him.

“Virginia Woolf is my mother’s favorite. She introduced me to all of her work. I find her writing style very…”

“Impressionistic.”

“Yes!” Jimin exclaimed with endearing excitement. “She really paints a picture, doesn’t she?”

“She does. What you read from To The Lighthouse really resonated with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jimin said, walking closer to him.

“Why?”

“What she wrote came from the dark parts of her soul.”

“Perhaps, but it’s real. Don’t you think so? Sometimes, I feel the way she felt. Like a match trying to not succumb to darkness.”

“What’s your darkness?”

“Loneliness. See that house over there?” He pointed at his house that stood on a small hill facing the ocean. “That’s where I live.”

“Loneliness is heartbreaking.”

“When I discovered your radio show, it was the most comforting thing I’ve ever been given to just have. I don’t mean to sound weird or come off as creepy, but your words, the sound of your voice, the poems you read, even just you as a person right now, they helped me feel comforted, understood. Somehow, I feel like we’ve been friends for a few months now.”

“That’s exactly why I started this channel. I never had any friends growing up and I thought someone, somewhere, might want some company too. I always loved poetry so I decided to share it, hoping someone with the same interest would one day show up and be my friend.”

“Do you think we can be friends then?”

Jimin stared at him and kept walking in silence alongside Jungkook with a smile on his lips. He walked closer to the water, until it would reach his ankles. Jungkook stayed on the sand.

“I leave in three weeks.”

“We can be friends for three weeks.”

Jungkook didn’t know why he needed Jimin to accept. He needed him to be his friend. Something in him compelled him to it.

“And after?”

“We can still be friends.”

“It’s not the same if we’re apart though. Are those friendships sustainable?”

“If they’re meaningful enough, I think so, yes.”

Jimin stopped walking to face him. The ocean was calm behind him, with a slight purple tint from the sunset sky. Jimin’s skin was golden and his hair was following the little breeze prettily. He had hope in his eyes, as well as concern and gentleness.

“Do you think we could be meaningful enough?”

“I think there’s only one way to find out.”

A smile slowly appeared on Jimin’s lips, a smile he tried to suppress by biting his lip. He kicked the water, making it splash on Jungkook.

“Well, friend, let’s race!”

“You want to race?”

“Yes! First one to the pier over there wins.”

“What does the winner get?”

“Mmmh…what do you want?”

“If I win, I want you to read me poetry, or anything you’d like. I have a bunch of books at home.”

“Really? You’d enjoy that?”

“Yes. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. If I win, I want to go skinny dipping.”

“Skinny dipping?” Jungkook couldn’t help but shy away. He started walking again.

“Yeah, I’ve never done it before and we’re young. It’s now or never.”

Now or never. Now or never.

Jungkook turned around and offered his hand to Jimin.

“Deal.”

They shook on it and stood side by side.

“Ready?”

“At the count of three?”

3, 2, 1.

They started running at the same time. Jungkook being competitive, he ran as fast as possible. He started laughing mid-way, not because he was winning but because he was happy.

In the dictionary, he remembers reading that happiness was characterized by an emotional state stemming from feelings of joy, satisfaction, contentment and fulfillment.

When he read it the first time, he must have been fourteen and he couldn’t begin to figure out how one acquires such things.

There was no instruction manual on how to reach happiness.

Along the way, whether it was in a classroom, with a boyfriend after coming out, on stage during his graduation or when he moved in this house, he understood that happiness wasn’t seashells you find and pick up one by one. It wasn’t stars that you can identify in the sky, or a flower he could pick petals from to give him answers.

Still to this day, he’s not sure he ever truly met happiness.

Well, that’s until this very moment, as he’s running on the beach with a man he met not even twenty four hours ago. A man he’s been admiring. A new friend.

They decided to be friends because they could and now they’re racing like little kids and Jungkook is so happy he could cry.

The paradox of his soul could keep him up at night but right now, he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

And when he reached the pier a couple seconds before Jimin, he felt his happiness burst like fireworks because, selfishly, he’ll be gifted with Jimin’s company, his voice and his gentle presence for a couple more hours before they both have to blow the candles out.

They raced again uphill to Jungkook’s house and Jungkook won again.

They cleaned their feet with the towel Jungkook keeps by the door. For the first time, laughter was invited inside of this house. It echoed against the walls with unfamiliarity. It was the same colors as bubbles flying in the air until they became invisible, not because they burst but because they’re too pretty to be seen in bright sunlight. Pretty things are often not for the eyes to see but for the heart to feel. Jungkook believed Jimin’s laughter was one of those beauties only his heart could fully comprehend and appreciate.

“May I wash my hands?” Jimin asked.

“Of course. The bathroom is upstairs. Would you like some dinner?”

“I don’t want to take advantage of my welcome in your home, Jungkook.”

“It’d be my pleasure to prepare dinner for you. It’s nothing fancy, just ramen.”

“Well, in that case, dinner does sound nice.”

“Great.”

Jungkook never paid too much attention to the food he cooks. Tonight, however, he wants it to be delicious. So he makes sure the ramen is cooked just right, he prepares the sauce from scratch and tries it three times to make sure it tastes just right. He plates it too instead of eating it straight out of the pan.

He’s all too aware of Jimin’s gaze on him. He came back downstairs at taste test number two. In the reflection of the window, he saw him sit on the couch and stare at his bookshelves next to the television. But taste test number three, he was just looking at Jungkook.

“Smells delicious. Thank you for this,” Jimin said as Jungkook set the plates down on the table.

“You’re very welcome.”

He watched Jimin take the first bite. He wanted to see his reaction. He wanted to see happiness, he wanted to create happiness.

He did. Jimin’s face lit up like the blaze of a match’s scratch. His eyes widened like the discovery of a hidden natural beauty. Then he hummed with excitement and he kicked his feet to the floor and his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkled and, yes…he did it.

“This is so good. Please join me in this ecstasy you created.”

It was indeed very good, and just like that, Jungkook was reminded of a simple pleasure he denied himself a little too often.

“So you can cook, you own a pottery shop, you appreciate good prose. What else makes Jeon Jungkook?”

“I’m afraid I have to disappoint you, that’s all there is to me.”

“Surely not!” Jimin put his bowl down on the table so he could face Jungkook. “Let me try to tell you.” He squinted his eyes at him, to examine him. It made Jungkook smile. “You are handsome, but that’s obvious. Girlfriend?” Jungkook shook his head. “Boyfriend?” He shook his head again. Jimin looked around them. “Your style is simple and cozy. There’s lots of blue, dark gray, brown and white, which tells me you’re simple, you don’t beat around the bush. But there’s also a delicate quality to you, a sensitivity. You love the ocean. You can cook. You’re kind enough to become friends with me, who’s still a stranger. You seem to work hard and it pays off. And…you run way too fast.”

“You got all that from…the color scheme of my house?”

“No, silly. I got it from the little time I’ve spent with you. You’re not very hard to read.”

“Alright. Let me try it with you.” Jimin sat up straight and smiled brightly. “You are very kind and gentle. But you also have your fair share of mischief.”

“Mischief?” Jimin gasped, with a hand on his chest for dramatic effect.

“Yes, look in the mirror!” Jungkook laughed. “You’re easy to get along with because rumor has it, we’re friends.”

“Is that to imply you’re difficult to get along with? Because I disagree.”

“Not necessarily, but I’ve been alone for a long time. Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll forget how to be around people.”

“Well, I think you’re doing just fine.”

“Or, maybe you’re easy to get along with.”

“No, I think it’s exclusive to you. I think we understand each other, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?”

Jimin picked up a book from underneath the table. “We have the same taste in literature.”

As if his flame had been reignited, his eyes sparkled with a reminder. “Oh! You have to read to me, that was the deal.”

“You want me to read now?”

“I want you to read always.”

“What do you want me to read?”

Jungkook got up to his bookshelf. He didn’t anticipate this question. It made him nervous. He didn’t want to seem full of himself, demanding things—what if Jimin doesn’t like his personality? Maybe he’s pitying him, that’s why they’re “friends”. Are they friends? They barely know anything about one another. But Jungkook feels comfortable around him, for some odd, unspeakable reason.

He turned around as if caught snooping where he was forbidden. Jimin looked at him with confusion and suspicion, as if he caught him.

“You choose.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Choose your favorite one. I want to get to know you.”

“Alright.”

Jimin stood up slowly and walked to the bookshelf next to Jungkook. They haven’t been this close before. Jungkook forgot what it was like to be close to another human. Another man. He stopped seeking the human touch a little too long ago, not by lack of desire but by lack of understanding of his own being.

He inhaled sharply, bracing for it to end, for the match to go out and snap in half, for its ashes to fall by his feet.

They don’t. Jimin exhales and he inhales, and somehow the lights stay dimmed.

When Jimin smiles, Jungkook exhales and he lets himself trust the man before him. He looks at the books Jungkook has, but prefers the one he has in his bag. Jungkook realizes it’s one he doesn’t own.

“Have you ever read this one?” Jimin handed him the small book.

White Nights by Dostoevski.

“I haven’t.”

“I read it last month. I think it quickly became my favorite book, or one of them. You make me think of it.”

“How so?”

Jimin opened the book, skimmed through the pages with purpose, until he found what he was looking for. Jungkook recognized the little sigh he always let out before he started reading.

“ I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year. I feel I know you so well that I couldn't have known you better if we'd been friends for twenty years. You won't fail me, will you? Only two minutes, and you've made me happy forever. Yes, happy. Who knows, perhaps you've reconciled me with myself, resolved all my doubts. ”

He stopped there and for the first time in his life, Jungkook felt as though Jimin spoke the same language as his heart.

“Should I read some more?”

Jungkook only nodded while they sat back on the couch to the sound of Jimin’s voice.

“ It suddenly seemed to me that I was lonely, that everyone was forsaking me and going away from me. Of course, anyone is entitled to ask who "everyone" was. For though I had been living almost eight years in Petersburg I had hardly an acquaintance. But what did I want with acquaintances? I was acquainted with all Petersburg as it was; that was why I felt as though they were all deserting me when all Petersburg packed up and went to its summer villa. I felt afraid of being left alone, and for three whole days I wandered about the town in profound dejection, not knowing what to do with myself. ”

Jungkook had closed his eyes along the way, only for Jimin’s voice to intrude his being.

“Mmmh…those are pretty words,” he hushes, not wanting to disrupt the softness of this moment.

Jimin continued after turning a couple pages.

“ If my arm trembles, it is because it has never been held by a pretty little hand like yours. I am a complete stranger to women; that is, I have never been used to them. You see, I alone…I don't even know how to talk to them. Here, I don't know now whether I have not said something silly to you! Tell me frankly; I assure you beforehand that I am not quick to take offense? ”

“No. Nothing,” Jungkook replied, as if Jimin was talking to him. There was no falsity in his statement though.

He opened his eyes to find Jimin staring at him with a smile that could heal any fractured soul.

“I love your voice,” Jungkook admits. He knows he’ll find shame in his confession later, right now, he needs to confess. He needs Jimin to know. “Is that silly?”

“No.”

“Are you lonely too, Jimin?”

“I am. I think we all are. Some more than others. I’ve been lonely for quite some time.”

“Let’s be lonely together for as long as we can.”

“So just for three weeks?”

“Yes.”

Three weeks…it’s not short. It’s also a blink of an eye. It’s a refuge, a temporary shelter one waits in for the rain to pass.

Jimin scooted closer to Jungkook. “You know, three weeks can be long. It all depends from which perspective you’re looking at it. Three weeks in a lifetime is nothing. But three weeks in the span of a month is almost everything. Three weeks in one year is just a moment, like a day. Three weeks in one summer is less than half of it, but if you have fun, it’s all of it. If we make everything of it, then it can be everything in a lifetime.”

Jungkook stood up and offered his hand to Jimin, “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see!”

Jungkook ran excitedly towards the entrance of his house, pulling Jimin along with him. He took two of the clean towels he kept in the entrance. They omitted their shoes at the entrance, two pairs left one next to the other, keeping company to lonely walls while they’re setting off to the beach.

The house is the only light in the dark night, casting a golden glow like a candle.

They stood in front of the water. The waves were a little more alive than the afternoon ripples.

“Let’s swim.”

“Oh, but we don’t have swimsuits.”

“Skinny dipping. I’ve never done it either. If we’re gonna make the most of three weeks, for them to be worth a lifetime, I want to experience first times with you.”

Jimin’s mouth formed an “oh” of realization and morphed into a happy grin.

Jungkook was the first one to take his shirt off, then sent a look to Jimin who understood, and they turned away from one another. Jungkook found himself eager to go in the water. To feel the salt against his skin, and the waves push his body.

His clothes were discarded on the sand and he ran in the water. He looked at the horizon, waiting for Jimin to join him.

“It’s like a little taste of Heaven,” Jimin whispered in Jungkook’s ear, like a child tells a secret to a classmate.

“The water is cold,” Jungkook whispered back.

It made Jimin laugh in agreement and Jungkook is pretty sure it’s being etched into his soul, he’ll never tire of it.

“It is. I’m freezing.” Leaving Jungkook behind, Jimin swam a little further, where Jungkook knew he couldn’t touch the ground beneath them anymore. “Oh, it’s warmer over here. Come join me.”

He looked down at the dark water he was in. There was no sunlight or blue sky to illuminate it. The moon was keeping all the sunlight to itself, the possessive little thing.

He took one step, and another, slowly letting his body float and he began swimming. The water touched his chin, it wet his hair at his nape, he could smell the salt and feel the seaweed tangle itself between his toes. The sand slowly stayed behind and suddenly there was only water to hold him.

As a reflex he stopped breathing and stopped moving. Maybe his eyes widened but an arm suddenly held him up by the waist, and Jimin under the moonlight was brighter than any sun. Suddenly the darkness of the water wasn’t too scary.

“You’re not big on swimming are you?” Jimin giggled.

“No. But right now, I don’t mind too much. Just…don’t let me go.”

“I got you. Keep moving your arms and legs to stay afloat.”

After a moment, he grew more comfortable, and Jimin loosened his grip a little though he kept his promise.

They watched the reflection of the moon on the water. It didn’t resemble much of anything but puddles of white light undulating on the surface.

The water was warmer, or their bodies grew used to the cold. It became comfortable. Like a bed you never want to leave, a hand you never want to let go of.

They swam closer to the sand, Jungkook splashed water at Jimin and had the honor of having it splashed back at him with double the amount. They fought like boys do, plunging one another under the water, not for a specific reason but just because it’s fun, because they could, because why not, because it’s everything. Jimin won, by some unexplainable rule neither knew of. They played with seaweed, turning themselves into some English gentlemen with a mustache and a bow-tie. When the cold caught up to them, they got out of the water to the warmth of the towels. Jungkook didn’t look while Jimin dried himself, and Jimin didn’t either.

They got dressed and laid down on the sand.

“That was fun.”

“Thank you for doing this with me,” Jimin said.

Jungkook smiled at the stars.

“Look!” He pointed at them but by the time Jimin turned to the sky, the shooting star was already gone.

“Oh, there’s another over there! Quick, make a wish!”

“I wish to be happy.”

“Oh,” Jimin exclaimed in surprise, “you can’t say wishes out loud otherwise they don’t come true.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Well, no, but you can’t risk it. Make another wish.”

“Alright.”

He closed his eyes and thought about it.

I wish for Jimin to last forever.

When he opened his eyes, Jimin hadn’t looked away from him.

“Don’t worry, I'll make your first wish come true.”

“How?”

“Mmmh…I don’t kiss and tell, Jungkook.”

“Kiss? And tell?”

Jimin leaned over him on his elbow. His eyes talked for his mouth. Jungkook hoped his eyes said yes. Perhaps they did, or he decided for them, as he brought his lips to his mouth, a warm, conciliatory, I’ll-meet-you-halfway-but-no-further kiss until he realized just how famished he was. In that moment, he wished he wasn’t so alone. He’d know how to calibrate his kiss to mirror Jimin’s.

When their lips parted, he couldn’t understand the surge of passion it ignited. He chased after Jimin’s lips like a savage simply because he needed to be convinced of his own realness, in this moment he shared with another man that isn’t his reflection nor an utopic presence.

At this moment, he didn’t want words, small talk, big talk, poetry talk, any of it. Just the wet sand, their wet hair dripping on their skin, the billows blurring the lines of reality around them, the smell of Jimin’s body.

He wanted to be molted, turned inside out, bared like he was just a few minutes ago in the water. He wanted to become lust like those in Ovid’s imagination.

With just the hold of his hand, he felt like everything was possible. That’s all he wanted. The time of imagination for a forever they knew couldn’t persist beyond twenty-one days.

Jungkook feels his body surrender to the simple touch of a lip. Perhaps, this was his wish.

To have his lips forever sealed with the ones of a soft voice.

A gust of wind was never forgiving. He should’ve known. It’s when he changed positions, lifting his knee to face Jimin’s body more comfortably, more daring, that the remains of a flame was blown out. The sea was suddenly louder, the house behind them brighter as if it was calling them back to reason, and the lips he was melting for now held the power to either turn him to ice or lava.

“Am I offending you?” Jungkook asked.

“No, quite the contrary.”

“Should we go back inside? I’ll give you dry clothes.”

Back on the porch, Jungkook dried Jimin’s feet with the designated towel, and let him enter first. He hung his wet shirt next to Jungkook’s jean jacket. He led him upstairs, to his bedroom where he looked for a sweater. He didn’t look when Jimin changed, though Jimin didn’t seem to mind anymore.

When he turned back around, he found his sweater to make Jimin look small, or smaller. Not in a bad way. It made him feel warm inside.

“It looks good on you.”

Jimin was leaning on the doorway, the sleeves of the sweater were covering his hands, and his lips were redder than he remembers them to be.

That’s his doing.

“It’s comfortable.”

“Thanks.”

Gratefulness sounded odd, but he was just that.

Jimin stretched his arm at him, there was a whole new softness to him.

“Come, I’ll read some more to you before I go back home.”

They sat on his couch. Jungkook covered Jimin with a thin blanket and poured him some iced tea he made a few days ago. He laid his head against the back of the couch, and looking at Jimin, he listened to every single word, he drank them as easily as this cold tea, he let them invade his body like his tongue invaded his mouth less than an hour ago.

Jimin’s voice became his lifeline. A survival kit. A survival voice.

Slowly, he fell asleep with the soft lullaby of Shakespeare’s love sonnets told in a feather’s touch.

When he woke up, he was glad to find the sky was still dark. His body was covered with multiple blankets, there were two empty glasses on the coffee table. Next to them rest love poems and an unfamiliar note.

In Dickinson’s words… “Wild nights - Wild nights!”… See you tomorrow.

His night ended with the morning every day. He only ever loved mornings.

He doesn’t bother to move, wash up or do anything other than stretch his arm to grab his radio he put on the table.

He turned it on and waited for the static noise to clear.

It almost took too long, he almost fell back asleep when he heard Jimin’s voice through the radio.

“I find the colder summer mornings to be the best ones. Would you agree with me? It’s not cold per say, but it’s not too hot yet. It’s comfortable but it could easily become a little too cold, and then you have to put on a cardigan or a sweater. Today I have a brand new sweater that I intend to keep forever.”

Jungkook understood immediately.

“It’s very thin but also warm. It’s way too big for me but that’s the best part. Well that’s half of the best part, the second half is that it’s not mine. Which brings me to today’s little gem of pretty words.”

He recognized the pages of a book turning by Jimin’s touch.

“Alright. This is from sonnet 18 by Shakespeare. I won’t read the entire sonnet, only what I think is the essence of it. Are you all cozied up? I'll wait a few seconds before I start.”

Jungkook took the opportunity to sit up a little more comfortably. He wrapped himself in the many blankets Jimin tucked him in. He was way too hot but he didn’t care.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day… the question bounced on the walls of Jungkook’s mind. The answer was so evident he wondered if it was the right one for a second.

Yes. Not only should he compare him to a summer’s day, but he is a summer’s day. He’s the whole month of August. He’s the season itself. He’s the entire year. He’s a lifetime. He’s once in a lifetime. He’s everything. He’s just a moment.

For the first time since he discovered Jimin’s show, he stopped listening and entered a hazy world of what was now called a memory.

If he closed his eyes he could pretend he was still on the beach. His clothes are damp and uncomfortable. The wind is blowing his hair into his face and it’s cold because of his wet hair. There’s sand inside his pants.

But his lips taste like salt. His hair smells like the ocean. His skin is soft, but there’s sand on it trying to make it seem rough. No one was fooled, because he melted for him from the very tip of his fingers to the core of his bones. Goosebumps had formed on his skin and he inhaled sharply, or maybe it was a gasp. A survival breath. A survival kiss.

A wild night, indeed.

He was brought back to reality by the honk of a car in the neighboring streets.

The clock showed it was eight in the morning. Oh he should get ready.

Not having time to put thought into anything, he grabbed the first outfit his hands touched, got dressed and was putting his shoes on in record time. That’s when he noticed Jimin’s shirt still hung on his door.

It was light blue, and too big for Jimin. The sleeves were rolled up and it was wrinkled at the bottom.

It was there, as if it belonged next to his own jacket.

He grabbed it and ran outside. As he ran, he put on the shirt and kept running all the way to his shop. He had the widest smile on his face, some people stared at him, some mothers pulled their kids out of his way and he just smiled and smiled and smiled.

He was running on sand, on concrete, on water, on clouds. He just ran and the more he ran the happier he got.

He felt invincible.

When he reached the shop, he unlocked the door, drank a huge glass of water and sat at his pottery table after turning the kiln on. It had Jimin’s plates in it. Acting against his desires, he didn’t look at the ones he let Jimin put inside. He didn’t let Jimin see the one he painted, so he figured it was only fair. Besides, Jungkook always finds creation deeply personal. Unless shared with the world, it’s not for the foreign eye.

He wanted to make something for Jimin. He took off Jimin's billowy blue shirt and put it on his stool, at the counter. After tying an apron around his waist, he grabbed some clay, some water and he started to spin it.

No matter how many times he’s done this, it’s always a good feeling to touch the clay. He loved to watch it coat his fingers, to feel the firm yet soft material. Clay was both fragile and strong, that’s what he loved the most about it.

With delicacy, he slowly hollowed the cylinder he formed and created a mug shape. He was careful to keep it thick and wide enough.

Once that was done, on dry clay, he carved tiny ghosts that he molded to be smooth and cute.

After sealing the handle, he very carefully put the little ghosts on the mug in a disorganized pattern and let it dry on the drying rack.

The rest of his day stays somewhat uneventful. There’s only a few customers, he could count them on one hand, but they buy a lot so it is not a bad day overall.

It was slow too. Maybe it wasn’t, but his impatience blurred his realism.

It’s when seven strikes that it accelerates again because as he locks the door to his shop, an excited Park Jimin is running in his direction with his crescent moon eyes and sunlit smile.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asked when Jimin reached him.

“Oh…my…god,” he panted. “I’m so glad I caught you. I wanted to surprise you and come by during the day but I got lost in my work and lost track of time. So I ran here as soon as I saw the time and…wow, cramp.”

Jungkook burst out laughing. “We could’ve met later. You didn’t have to sprint here. Look at you!”

“I’m good. It was imperative I see you anyway.”

“Oh, why?”

“Why?! For fun, silly. We have to have fun. First we need to go back to your place so you can change from this,” he waved his hand at Jungkook’s clothes, “to something festive.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. Come on, we can’t waste any time.”

Jimin pulled him towards the beach, in the direction of his house. Just the fact that Jimin knew where he lived made him almost obnoxiously happy. He couldn’t help but laugh it out of his body, throwing his head back as he let the world witness the effect of a kiss, of two hands intertwined, of the honor of another’s presence. 

Time was everything but wasted.

As soon as they arrived at his house, Jimin took Jungkook upstairs to his own bedroom, to his own closet. He sat Jungkook down on his bed while he looked through his clothes.

Jungkook tried to figure out where exactly this was leading but he had no clue, not even when Jimin finally found an appropriate outfit.

A green lace shirt he wore once before in his life, and black jeans.

Then he took in Jimin’s outfit. He was wearing a backless shirt. That alone makes him consciously try to not drool. He was also wearing skinny jeans.

“Do you like it?” Jimin posed for him. “It was either this or some boring linen shirt. I wear linen everyday so…tada!”

Against his knowledge, Jungkook’s body was leaning toward Jimin’s, until the clothes were shoved in his hands.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Get dressed! I’ll wait downstairs.”

He kissed his cheek and ran downstairs. Even his excitement was audible.

Not wanting to make him wait too long, he went to the bathroom.

He assessed the situation.

Messy hair, remains of clay on his cheek, on his hands, chapped lips.

He put the clothes down and turned the shower on. He washed himself at the speed of light. He didn’t bother to dry his hair, the salty oceanic air will do it for him. He gets dressed and suddenly remembers he has a body under the baggy boring clothes he usually opts for in the morning. The finishing touch was some lip balm and sunscreen and he was ready to go.

He ran downstairs with the same excitement Jimin infected his life with.

“Ravishing,” Jimin said, shamelessly devouring him with his eyes.

“I’m guessing we’re going to a party?”

“You’ll see.”

They walked through the city.

The evening lights were on, giving a golden glow to the vibrant colors of the flowers that bloomed over the course of the summer.

People kept multiplying the more they walked uphill until they reached a small crowd filled with couples, guitars and cocktails. The view overlooked the ocean. It was breathtaking.

“It’s an outdoor dance party,” Jimin said, grabbing Jungkook’s hands in his own and pulling him in the middle of the dancing crowd, closer to the musicians.

Jungkook didn’t move at first and watched Jimin sway his hips, he watched his hair flow prettily with every movement, watched the way he bit his lips seductively, laughed at the look on Jungkook’s face before he gasped because Jungkook pulled him flush to his body, and kissed him like he never kissed anyone before.

He kissed him with hunger. It’s the kind of kiss one either shies away or devotes his whole body and soul to. 

People around them cheered and they laughed it off while the rhythm of the music shifted.

They danced in the middle of the crowd. The bright pink flowers illuminated the dark night along with the lanterns scattered here and there, moonlight reflecting against the windows of the houses surrounding them, whispering into the water in silver streaks which belonged to a dreamland no one was worthy of, unless you were named Jimin.

Guitar strings accompanied their slow movements, hips swaying left and right and arms tangled around necks and waists. A slight breeze moved their hair from time to time, a strand landing in his eyes every now and then which made them chuckle elegantly before Jungkook would push it and tuck it behind his ear sweetly.

Jungkook had eyes for Jimin only. His smile, brighter than any moon, sun or star. Perhaps, the twinkle in his eyes belonged to the stars. Maybe he stole it because it suited him better. His silky hair mingled with Jungkook’s black curls as their foreheads rested against one another in a bubble of intimacy they created from themselves.

“I’m only now realizing your ephemerality is torture,” Jimin told him, his smile never faltering.

“I'd rather go to hell than miss out on you. I think you’re worth the torture.”

“So poetic,” Jimin had sighed with amusement.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Poet.”

Jimin laughed out loud, as if Jungkook had said the funniest thing in the world. He didn’t think so. But the fact it elicited such a reaction made him wish he was just as romantic as the words they read.

“I barely know you but…I think you’re my best friend,” Jimin almost whispered, like a secret no one should ever uncover but him and him only as it was for him and him only.

That’s when the world stopped. That’s when Jungkook saw something in Jimin’s eyes that reverberated in his own heart.

As simple of a moment this was, it was the most heart shattering one by far.

A once in a lifetime feeling.

The silliest and the cruelest one.

He could hear in silence of their voices, he could feel on the way home, he could see it as the lights from the city slowly stayed behind when they stepped on the sand. He could sense it in the microscopic caress of Jimin’s thumb over the hand he was holding. He could hear it in their heartbeats. When they stepped on his porch and the light illuminated the front door, he could see it in his eyes, he could feel it when their lips almost touched.

Jungkook felt himself vacillating between reason and delusion.

Should he fall or should he jump?

He never felt this before and something in him begged him to never feel it again.

He never meant to feel like this. He never knew it truly existed. It took him a total of forty-eight hours. Someone somewhere would say it’s pathetically fast.

He thinks it’s real.

Why beat around the bush?

It’s not like they had a do over of their lives, and he already has enough regrets his mother’s book club could share tea around.

If anything, he wished for it to accelerate. Let him turn back time to the first time he laid eyes on Jimin so he can feel this for twenty-four hours longer. Let him skip the uncertainty and create a world where there’s no such thing as time. There’s only them.

To fall or to jump?

Falling is accidental. It doesn’t rhyme with Jimin.

“Jungkook,” Jimin whispers against his lips.

Jungkook meets his eyes.

With a slow graze of his thumb, he caresses Jimin’s rosy cheek. He wants to memorize all of him.

He lets his lips tempt, hovering over his cheek in slow motion with the desire to feel his lips touch his skin, to feel them press into him lightly, to share warmth.

If he was courageous, he’d kiss him.

Once, to taste the salt, twice, to appreciate it.

His hands travel to Jimin’s hair.

When Jimin exhales, he feels it in his neck, but the warmth shies away, leaving his skin to fend for itself.

“Jungkook,” Jimin repeat, quieter.

His hand snakes down Jimin’s spine, pulling on the knot that holds Jimin’s top. It comes undone.

Jungkook traces each vertebrae with his fingertip, memorizing every curve, every line.

He unzips Jimin’s top at the waist so it falls on the floor.

His lips ghosted above his shoulder, his arm, his wrist, the palm of his hand, his fingertips.

The moment becomes a haze, a smokescreen of unwanted doubts tossed out the window.

It becomes a kaleidoscope of feelings too big for a body to contain, water in a glass becomes ocean in a home. His body shatters at every magnifying feeling, and every touch pours golden urushi on his sharp edges.

“Will you ever regret this?”

“No.”

“I’ll be back next summer.”

“Don’t promise it.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t say it then.”

“What else should I say?”

“Anything. You can ask me to go skinny dipping, ask me to have dinner with you, ask me to hold you, ask me to listen to you read. You can tell me a joke, you can tell me about your childhood, you can show me your favorite movie, you can kiss me until I lose my mind. You can do everything, anything. Anything else.”

“Alright.” Jimin looked down at their feet, at his top, at the little grains of sand that nestled into the crevices of the wood. “My favorite movie is a French movie. Cyrano de Bergerac. I have the dvd in my car, which isn’t parked too far from here. Do you think I can go get it, and I come back here and we watch it together?”

“I'd love that.”

“Okay.”

Jimin still wasn’t looking at him. He also wasn’t moving. Instead he laid his forehead on Jungkook’s shoulder and sighed with melancholy.

“Don’t hate me for this.”

“I won’t. I don’t.”

“My feelings are genuine. I need you to know that.”

“I can tell.”

“I just–”

Jungkook held Jimin’s head up gently so he could look him in the eyes.

“I know, Jimin. I don’t understand more than you do, nor do I want to resist any of it. Some things are just unexplainably happening. Why do we breathe oxygen? Why is the sky blue and not green? Why do we sleep during the night and not during the day? Why am I a human with a gender? Why do we fall in love? Why is destiny not always the finality? Some things have no answer, it’s just the way they are and that’s that. We met a few days ago and I feel for you a million things I thought were only ever possible in fairytales. I don’t want to know why I feel the way I do because it’s natural. I don’t seek to know why I can’t breathe carbon dioxide, I just can’t. I don’t need to know why we sleep during the night and not the day because it’s just how humans are. I don’t want to know why I’m in love with you, I just am. I’m Jungkook, a man. I breathe oxygen and go to bed at ten in the evening, most days. I met another man named Jimin three days ago and I fell in love with him. I’m happy about all of it.”

“I’m happy too.”

“So don’t worry about me doubting your sincerity. Don’t question mine either. We have three weeks so let’s be oblivious. Let’s drink wine beneath the sun, let’s write each other’s names in the sand, let’s be awkward about seeing the other naked for the first time, let’s go to dance parties in the middle of the streets, let’s have one fight just for the sake of experiencing everything, let’s meet behind the mall as if we’re sneaking out of our house without our parents noticing, let’s watch our favorite movies more times than digestible, let’s watch bad ones too so we can recreate them when we’re tipsy from the wine we drank. Let’s live for the hope of it all until we can’t anymore.”

Jimin leaned in to melt into the kiss he gave Jungkook before smiling. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“And let’s not apologize for being human and realistic.”

“Okay.”

“So, you go get your dvd, while I open a bottle of wine.”

He chose white wine, something sweet with a little bitterness to it.

It made his lips tingle with different shades of grape, citrus and peach. It was cold, which made it even better in the summer heat.

Jimin came back within twenty minutes with a dvd and ice cream.

When they sat down in front of the television, Jimin was closer to him than he expected. Now he could put his arm around his shoulder, Jimin could lean his head on him.

Very quickly, Jungkook understood why this was Jimin's favorite movie. He heard of the play, though he never read it. Seeing it in action like this was surely a whole other experience. 

The story itself was beautifully heartbreaking. It made him think of love. Love is tragic, if you think about it. It dies, it’s sacrificed, it’s abandoned or misjudged.

He couldn’t help but look at his own heart. He abandoned it under criticism when he was seven years old and got the first taste of “you’re not good enough”. He misjudged the love around him, when it was just a target he held for others to aim at.

Did he ever fall in love?

The first answer would be no. He had flings, high school romances, one night stands, situationships.

If he put some thought into it, yes. He fell in love with pottery. He fell in love with this house. He fell in love with the ocean. He fell in love with Jimin.

And when he looks back on each of these stumbles, he fell head first. In a blink of an eye. It happened instantly. He didn’t have to think twice about whether he liked the way the stairs creaked. He never thought to complain about the sand he carried on his feet each time he came home from the beach. He never pictures himself getting bored of pottery. He doesn’t envision a life without Jimin appearing in it and turning into everything he never knew he was starving for. 

Like how they’re twisted in bedsheets, because it was late and neither wanted to leave yet.

So Jimin borrowed a t-shirt and slipped under Jungkook’s sheets. Jungkook held him and he fell asleep with the rumble of a summer thunderstorm.

Jimin clung to him, which woke him up and he giggled because he was oh so fond of Jimin’s bold personality, only for it to shrink at the sound of thunder.

The next morning, he messed up breakfast because he had to cook for two, and he never really did that before. So he made too many pancakes but didn’t have enough coffee.

He also didn't know what to do because the voice he woke up to was next to him. Jimin still let him turn the radio on, he wanted to see it from his perspective. A song played through instead of Jimin’s poem and Jungkook didn’t like that so he turned it off and Jimin read to him about summer love and fleeting happiness.

Taking full advantage of his day off, he spent every single second of it with Jimin. They went to the farmer’s market where they bought one of each fruit which they ate on a towel by the water. When the watermelon he was eating touched the water, he savored it a little more, before savoring Jimin’s peach lips. They sunbathed to the sound of gentle waves and a scorching sun. When in the water, they kissed, pretending they were the only ones on Earth. And when an old man complained about them flaunting, they laughed it off with sparkles of sunlight in their eyes.

When the night fell, they went to an outdoor cinema and watched a silent film with their feet touching and their hands meeting in the bag of candies they brought with them.

The next morning, Jungkook was alone with Jimin’s flip flops in the entrance, his blue shirt on the hanger, the cup of coffee he used the previous morning, the towel he dried his body with on his porch, the flowers they bought at the farmer’s market and the dvd Jimin left on his coffee table.

With an ice cold glass of water, he listened to Jimin through his radio while applying sunscreen, a mouthful of toast and leftover peaches.

On his way to the shop, Jimin texted him to wait for him to come by to take the plates out of the kiln. When he came by, he was so excited, an old lady jumped when he expressed it. Jungkook apologized with a wide smile and let Jimin take his plates out of the kiln. Then Jimin went home to get ready and they went to another dance party where they butchered the tango. When they had to say goodnight, Jimin pulled a plate out of his bag with a tiger lily on it and the words please love me , as if Jimin had predicted what they meant before Jungkook knew their definition. Jungkook’s eyes became watery because no one ever gave him such a meaningful gift, let alone a stranger. Jimin kissed him and perhaps they were never strangers.

They built a routine of fun experiences, wine and home cooked meals, sunbathing and poetry, passionate kisses and soft touches.

It had an equilibrium of happiness, a constant rush of adrenaline.

The remains of the summer slipped away from them and became inexistant to the point that the days merged together, days of poetry were skipped in favor of sleepless nights, days off were taken for the sole purpose of experiencing summer heat and sunburns.

They did everything.

Oblivion made them everything.

They even fought.

It was after contorting themselves from laughing one evening, on the beach. They were stargazing, trying to make out patterns out of the brighter stars.

Jimin asked Jungkook to be serious because this was a critical moment. They forced their smiles away and argued about the shape of a cluster of stars. They yelled at one another like a couple on the edge of their breaking point. They were breathless in their fury and because they could, they made up with a kiss and invited back their laughter, insulting all the unhappy couples that came before them.

For three weeks, Jungkook’s flame was burning bright. No wind or rain snuffed him out, no doubt or fear made him cower into the matchstick holding him.

But his end is inevitable. A matchstick only ever goes so far.

One day they stood on sand, on pavement, on wooden floors.

Another, they stood on concrete.

Instead of the ocean, there were railroads and gravel. Instead of towels, there were suitcases. Instead of sunbathing, there was waiting with eyes on the clock, a sigh at the ready because the train was nowhere in sight even though it’s supposedly arriving in one minute.

It does. Oblivion can’t change that reality.

Jungkook looked at Jimin’s eyes. They were sad. Filled with false optimism for the sake of their hearts. It was useless now.

“I do regret it,” Jungkook said, standing in front of Jimin and his travel bags. Even he couldn’t believe the words he pronounced.

“Does that make it hurt less?”

“I don’t know.”

Jimin lowered his head, unable to answer. Jungkook knew and understood their decision. But he couldn’t help his heart from breaking loudly.

“It’s unfair. You can’t just…you can’t just let me care for you and let it end this way.”

“Come here.” Jimin pulled him into his arms, hugging him tightly one last time. “We both knew how this would end, didn’t we?”

“I’ve read the books, it doesn’t make it less painful.” I just hoped for a different fate.

“I love you,” Jimin said quietly, only for Jungkook’s ears.

Jungkook hugged him tighter, closed his eyes and basked in Jimin’s scent. A mix of salt and flowers. Light as the wind and sunny like his heart, exactly like the day they met.

“Don’t walk away just yet,” Jungkook begged. 

It was Jimin’s turn to tighten his hold. They both knew neither wanted to really let go.

One prolonged blow of a whistle broke their hearts to a finality, forcing them to break their embrace. Jimin cupped Jungkook’s face and kissed him with tears rolling down his cheeks, falling on their locked lips like salt on a wound. Jungkook let himself be transported into the haze that was their chapter one last time. He closed his eyes and savored Jimin’s lips on his, soft and sweet, too short and too painful once they left him.

“Will you be listening to me in the morning?”

“You know I will.”

He kissed him on the forehead in a way that expressed more than words would ever be capable of.

“I’ll be reading to you,” he whispers, at last.

“Wait,” Jungkook said. He opened his bag and pulled out the plate he painted and the mug he made. “Those are for you. I made this mug while thinking of you. The ghosts are cute, because you are. And they’re ghosts because you are one too, and don’t misunderstand me. I love ghosts. They’re cool and I wish there was one in my house so I could have a friend forever, you know? I guess I mean to say that you are my eternal friend.” He didn’t know why he rambled on suddenly. He just talked faster. “This plate…I guess it shows my first impression of you. It speaks for itself.”

He watched Jimin unwrap the plate.

On it was painted the view from his house with the first poem he ever heard Jimin read. I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love, except in this form in which I am not nor are you.

“Neruda?”

“The first time I heard your voice, you read this poem. I loved it immediately. I guess today it means even more.”

“And that’s the view from your living room.”

“That way you can pretend you’re here when you’re not and I can clown myself into thinking the same thing.” He kissed him one last time. “Now go before I can try to dissuade you.”

There was dissuasion possible, they both knew it. They both pretended there was another alternate ending. A farewell to their oblivion.

Jimin took his bags. One step backwards. One last tear. One last smile.

“Goodbye, Jungkook.” His voice shook, like the ground vibrates when a train comes and takes away the things that belong.

“Goodbye, Jimin.”

He didn’t mean to say those words, they just spilled out of him automatically. Like hello, how are you, or thank you, you’re welcome.

He wanted to tell him every little feeling he made him feel. How it’s only through his eyes that he loved. Now he only has his own and they’re only good for crying. And he detests his reflection. He expects too much from what he sees. Too melancholic. Too perfectionist with this irrepressible urge to rip out every single bit of ash that kills the glow of his skin.

In vain.

Perhaps that’s the way things ought to be; a simple goodbye for a simple relationship.

Jimin got on the train and sat by the window right in front of Jungkook. He wasn’t looking at him. Jungkook could still see his face contort in pain as though he was carrying the ocean in his eyes and it spilled out of him like a tsunami. He tried to hide it, but there was no way to conceal it. Jungkook didn’t bother to try. He let the tears gather on his face, on his shirt, by his feet.

He walked home with his tears.

He let them fall on his wooden floors, on his shoes. He held them on his sleeve. His skin absorbed them as if thirsty with pain.

On the door remained Jimin’s blue shirt, and the towel he used. By his sink were two glasses, but only one was Jungkook’s. 

He wasn’t alone anymore.

He moved within this space he made his, with the lingering scent of someone else and for that, he couldn’t be sad. There was no sadness in Jimin’s being, or his presence with him. It was just when he wasn’t here.

Even then, he still found a way to always be something.

Like the next morning and every single morning after that.

Jungkook woke up, made some tea and watched the summer come to an end from his porch. He turned the radio on, the static noise said good morning to him.

And then, his voice.

He knew to expect it, even though it didn’t come right away.

He heard the familiar sound of pages swish one after the other.

A sigh.

A cough.

This time, there was no introduction, no words to wake up slowly before pretty words.

“ Wild nights - Wild nights! Were I with thee, Wild nights should be, Our luxury! Futile - the winds - To a Heart in port - Done with the Compass - Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden - Ah - the Sea! Might I but moor - tonight - In thee! ”

A pause.

Pages turned.

“ And what is a kiss, specifically? A pledge properly sealed, a promise seasoned to taste, a vow stamped with the immediacy of a lip, a rosy circle drawn around the verb 'to love.' A kiss is a message too intimate for the ear, infinity captured in the bee's brief visit to a flower, secular communication with an aftertaste of heaven, the pulse rising from the heart to utter its name on a lover's lip: 'Forever’.”

Jungkook recognized their story. It began with Emily Dickinson, it flourished with Cyrano de Bergerac.

A pause…

A thud of a book put on a table. The sound of paper.

“This last piece is something I wrote yesterday, while I was on my way home. It’s not very good but…you’ll understand,” Jimin said. Jungkook knew he was talking to him from the tone alone. It was softer, personal, intimate. “I longed to love something as grand as you. When you became everything, I remained but a moment. For three weeks I lived with the hope of always, and perhaps I’m the luckiest man in the world, for only having a transient glimpse of an instant.”

And it ended with Jimin.

That’s when he understood.

Jimin was the ocean and he’s never been too fond of swimming, before him.

Jimin was the tides, rushing to meet the shore and rushing away, closing in on itself, following the moon, too shy to hold the sun, too selfish to not love sunlight. Oh, and how sunlight loved him. From sunrise to sunset, it never stopped.

Jimin was everything, while never being anything.

He put the radio down, now only emitting a soft piano melody. He stood up and leaned against the handrail of his porch, eyes on the ocean.

He remembers being happy, splashing water at Jimin, and Jimin splashing it back at him. He tasted the salt in his mouth, smelled it. He remembers the feel of his skin to his touch, something almost too soft to be real. But Jimin was real.

He was the realest part of his life.

Jungkook inhaled deeply the salt air, and he smiled at the ocean with peace in his heart, contentment in his bones, fulfillment in his soul, satisfaction in his lungs and joy in his veins.

“I love you too.”