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literally one of the most beautiful fics i ever read i remember crying like 3 different times for this

Star Light, Star Bright

; Single Dad!Jimin x Tattoo Artist!Reader

; Genre: Fluff, smut, a tiny bit of angst

; Word Count: 17.5k

; Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, light biting

; Synopsis: Life has not gone exactly how Park Jimin imagined, and yet he can’t possibly imagine his life any different to what it is now. After six hard and stressful years, he’s now the happy owner of a degree along with being the proud dad of his little girl. But what happens when he meets you and his life is tipped upside down once more?

-

In Park Jimin’s 24 years of existence, he’d already had three life altering moments. The first, had been the day when his high school girlfriend had told him she was pregnant when they were only 17. He remembers the ice that had flooded his veins as the words fell from her lips along with the fear of his parents retribution.

The second, had been the day his daughter had been born and he’d held her in his arms for the first time. He remembers the sheer, overwhelming love he’d felt upon the sight of his tiny baby as she’d squirmed slightly with her face scrunched up and how he’d sworn to himself then and there that he’d do anything for her.

The third had been when he was eighteen, and the day his high school girlfriend had informed him that she was leaving them both because she didn’t want her life to stop for a baby. He’d felt numb with shock before confusion and anger had moved in like a creeping fog.

It had only been when he’d been cradling Eun-Byeol at 2am in the morning that he’d realised what he’d have to give up. He’d been applying to the local colleges for when he graduated high school, intending to stay at home to help with the baby.

His shock had been so great that he hadn’t even told his parents about Sunmi leaving him, and he’d collapsed into a fit of panic at the sudden enormity of what was ahead of him. A road that was filled with trouble and pain, covered in a smog of the unknown that he couldn’t see through.

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THIS FIC SERIOUSLY HOLDS A SPECIAL PLACE IN MY HEART PLS it's been like 1/2 years since i read it and it still makes me emo as hell ?? the authors writing is a god given talent.

soliloquy

Jimin was a boy who had an affinity for flowers. You were a girl who liked to talk to them. It all should have been very simple. Except for the incredibly complex fact that Jimin was an angel and you were painfully human, completely oblivious to his existence and how he had somehow fallen deeply and foolishly in love with you.

soliloquy (n.) - the act of speaking one’s thoughts aloud when by oneself, often when oblivious to any listeners.

pairing: angel!Jimin x reader

word count: 7k

genre: FLUFFY FLUFF that is :) and :(

A/N: this is a spin-off from my Tempting series!!! So Jimin from that series is the Jimin used here. This one-shot contains no real spoilers so you can enjoy it without reading Tempting but you might enjoy reading it to see how it overlaps with setting and characters. Jimin is a flower angel in this.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Angels were fond of familiarity. When things changed, chaos occurred; something angels tried to avoid at all costs. They were creatures of routine and rules; many of them sought out to do the same thing every day.

Jimin, however, was a fan of change. He liked how the changing of the seasons brought upon a need for him. Jimin was a flower angel; he gave the earth its color and vibrancy. His touch could bring on spring much like how his breath could spur on winter. It all sounded very grandiose and, objectively, it was, but Jimin was just one of many flower angels planted all over the world. He was just happy to do his small part.

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one of my fave smut fics ever UGHHHHSJJEH

BENEFITS

Jimin is your friend with benefits.

word count: 8.6k  genre: smut

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the amount of emotions i felt while reading this fic pls i cried and cried and rejoiced and laughed and cried some more ... 10/10

❝ blowing dandelions ❞ pjm ― m.

― summary:

as a child, you met park jimin. as an adult, the same jimin is much different.

badboy!jimin/reader | e2l, childhood friends | angst, fluff, smut | 7.8k ↬ content warnings: blowjob, deepthroating/facefucking, pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, light pain kink, mentions of death (no one major), mean!jimin, crying, fighting, light physical abuse(he like shakes u), jimin gets in a fight, tae tries to keep the peace

a/n: it’s kind of long im sorry. also this is from a fic title game i played ages ago!

→ blog masterlist

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i ugly cried at this fic pls it's so heartbreaking but i LOVED it so much

no one really knows; pjm

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: wood nymph au, angst, unrequited love.

warnings: mentions of death.

summary: he’s watched you from the tree line for some time now; admiring your compassion, grace and sense of adventure. falling in love with you was something he was warned against, but he stumbled after your every word. it was a hopeless love; for no human can see past the veil of fantasy.

words: 2.5k

song inspirations: “Nobody Knows” by Autograf ft. WYNNE.

media: moodboard

sequel: moonlight

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this was sooo 🥵🥵🥵 but the angst in it also had me tearing tf UP omg

The Favor (m)

An exploration into what an actual sexual relationship with one of the members might look like.

Warning: Jimin smut

Word Count: 10,419

Jimin’s breath fans across your face with soft puffs, making you instantly jerk away with a slight shudder. But that only makes his hot breath hit the sensitive skin of your neck instead as he digs his teeth into his plush bottom lip to keep from moaning.

You stare down at the ground, careful not to make eye contact, as you systematically edge him closer and closer to his orgasm. Throughout the months, you’ve learned Jimin’s likes and dislikes, and know the exact way to stroke him to get him off in the least amount of time. Jimin prefers long, hard strokes at first, but short, quick ones at the head of his cock as he nears his orgasm… Which is when his thighs begin to tremble and his breathing grows haggard. Like clockwork, you automatically reach for tissues to lay across his lap when he finally displays those symptoms.

Within the next minute or two, he is going to cum. And then you’ll clean up and be allowed to leave… to hide in the bathroom and pretend like none of this has affected you. You close your eyes tightly and allow yourself a deep inhale. Just one more minute of ignoring his soft groans and the aching heat between your legs, and you’ll be free…

You can’t remember how this first started. One moment, you were just delivering his tailored slacks to his hotel room after a concert, and the next moment, he had his pants pushed to mid-thigh with your hand wrapped tightly around his erection. It had somehow become a common theme afterwards. Every time Jimin had a problem, he’d call you over, and you’d take care of it for him, no questions asked. There was no need for discussion or to even think about it. He had a need, and as a staff member employed in his company, you were just a solution. It was as easy as that.

…except there was one small problem. And that was that you were almost certain that Jimin was catching feelings. And you couldn’t imagine anything more dangerous and terrifying.

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this fic PHUCKED me up for a long ass time omg the amount of pain this brought me ???? BUT ITS SO GOOD AND I LOVE IT.

lavender hues (m)

↳ fantasy au (reposted)

◇ pairing: jimin | reader ◇ genre: angst and fluff ◇ word count: 13.094 ◇ warnings: sexual content  ◇ author’s note: previously named ‘if these wings could fly’ in my old blog. I’m just reposting it with a new name. :)

Beauty. If someone asked you to define it, your mouth would probably go dry and your heart would flutter yearningly, freezing as the words turn heavy in your mind and dissolve in the tip of your tongue.

Beauty is short-lived but ubiquitous, a transparent but shimmering liquid running in rivulets through hidden alleyways and veiled landscapes that the eyes don’t notice unless they look twice. Beauty is found in the unexpected, in the withheld words of the timid poets, in longing stares and authentic, carefree laughs. Beauty is found in what the eyes can see, in what the ears can hear, in the deep reverie of the colorful minds and in the dreams held close to the heart.

Beauty is fleeting and you’re unable to grasp it. All your life you’ve chased it, extended your hands towards it, longed to touch it with your fingertips. But your steps are slow and your hands are ungifted, and you can only imagine what it would be like to create beauty, to have the hands of those that are able to reflect love and joy and pain in books and paintings.

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the pain jimin goes thru in this fic god i FELT THAT SHIT SO DEEP IN MY SOUL😭 this fic is so good tho omg

;best of me

Jimin has been in love with you, his best friend, since as long as he can remember. Struggling with his feelings he makes a terrible mistake, but maybe there’s a silver lining…? Maybe he can make you see what’s right in front of you…

pairing | park jimin x reader | feat. jung hoseok genre/warnings | angst, implied smut, mature content, unrequited love, cheating, friends to lovers, mixed povs words | 7,554

listen to | treat you better // serendipity // lean on me

sequel to | lean on me 

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i always had a love-hate relationship with hanahaki aus but THIS ONE !!!!! WAS SO DAMN AMAZING BUT HEARTBREAKING

bloom | pjm

Summary: Jimin grows flowers in the garden of your chest wrought from the pain of your unrequited love. Hanahaki AU.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff… lot’s of angst oh boy

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, Park Jimin in general, switch!reader, switch!Jimin, light fingering, thigh riding, non-protective sex, creampies, and yet sweet, soft sex? 

A/N: I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t inspired by the lyrics ‘In this dream that won’t ever come true, I grew a flower that couldn’t be blossomed’ from Fake Love

Plant

def. put a seed in the ground so it can grow

It’s a cold winter day in Seoul, Korea. The streets are covered in a thick, soft blanket of snow that began settling as soon as the bustle of people that trudged through decreased. Now, there were barely any people outside, you were sure that if you looked out, you could count the number of people easily; which was completely different to what Seoul was usually like. Snowflakes still fall leisurely and the windows are frosted over, the icy glass showing warm scenes of children playing in the snow, or couples walking hand in hand through rows of plum blossom trees that have been stripped bare, instead covered in crystalline flowers made of ice.

You don’t really care to look out, instead you find yourself seated on a sofa, legs tucked under your butt, cup of hot chocolate in your hands, keeping you warm as you snuggle further into the warm quilt wrapped around you. You’re currently in the BTS household, enjoying a happy Christmas day as you sip your hot chocolate and leisurely read your book.

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this fic brought me so much pain .... one of my all time faves pls

Petals

Words: 4k+

Hanahaki AU!

You tilted your head back to let the sun rays shine on your face, smiling at the slight breeze that passed by, ruffling your hair. The air smelled of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass and it just confirmed to you once again that spring was and would forever be your favourite season. 

“Are you going to keep standing there like a doofus or get in the car eventually?” a low, smooth voice calmly broke through your serene bubble and you opened your eyes to see Yoongi standing a few feet away, already turned towards his car parked in the lot. 

“I’m coming, jeez. What’s the rush?” you asked teasingly, bouncing towards him and ignoring the slight ache in your body that caused you to wince.

Yoongi’s eyes widened, “Careful, Y/N! You are going to hurt yourself!” 

“I’m fine,” you insisted, rolling your eyes slightly at his over-protective nature as he shot you an uncertain look that made you squirm. 

“You always say that even if it’s not true,” he replied, “I’m not going to be fooled anymore.”

Your smile faltered and you glanced away as guilt creeped up in you again. The older boy turned to head towards the car silently and you sighed at the now gloomy atmosphere. 

Settling down in the passenger seat, you buckled up before biting your lip. “…”

This time, Yoongi sighed, “Come on. Keep that smile up. You don’t wanna worry the boys more than you already have now, do you?”

“No…of course not,” you mumbled, glancing out the window. You had known you would have to face the consequences eventually when you kept such a big matter to yourself for so long. The thought of facing your friends made your throat dry like a Sahara and you coughed slightly as you tried to swallow.

Yoongi immediately shot you an alarmed look and you sighed once again, mustering up the courage to put a hand on his arm. It had been him, who had found you lying unconscious on the floor of your apartment and you knew it had shocked him greatly. You couldn’t blame him for being cross with you ever since and just silently hoped he would forgive you someday. He was your best friend after all, the big brother you never had. 

“I’m fine, Yoongi,” you reassured, smiling genuinely, “For real now. It’s over.”

He nodded mutely, turning up the car and driving out of the parking lot. Glancing back, you silently bid goodbye to the hospital that had been your host for five weeks.

“Do you remember anything yet?” Yoongi asked.

“About the boy?” you asked back.

“About Jimin,” he stressed as if the mere name would trigger something in your mind. 

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this was just sooo 🥺🥺

splinters of love • day XXX [pjm]

pairing  ⟶ park jimin x fem!Reader

summary  ⟶ a collection of drabbles (one for each day of April) based on prompts by an online prompts’ generator site. Specifically  ⟶  • day XXX ↳ in which you are a ghost and you have fallen in love with Jimin and have no idea how to make yourself visible to him without scaring the living shit out of him.

genre  ⟶ angst, fluff

rating  ⟶  PG-17

word count ⟶ 1.653 words

warnings  ⟶ mentions of a violent death (could be triggering even though it is not detailed, so beware!), jimin being wholesome and practically an angel.

series masterlist  ⟶ here  (links on mobile may not work, if you’re looking for all the works in this series, you can click on the “!splintersoflove” tag and you’ll find them all there!)

He looks peaceful.

His eyes are closed, his plump lips slightly parted, his body relaxed and seemingly so fragile between the white covers.

His blonde hair seems to sparkle under the sunlight filtering through the blinds and you are so tempted to run your fingers through the soft-looking locks, feel them under your digits.

He looks like an angel and one that stole your heart, at that.

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ugh what a masterpiece this fic was😔😔😔 genuinely was preparing myself for heartbreak and pain at the end JJWJDJSJ but the ending was so >>>>>>>

Part Of Your World | 01

; Merman!Jimin x OC

; Genre: Little Mermaid!AU /Angst / Fluff

; Word Count: 2.5k

; Synopsis: Jimin has always longed for the wide-open skies of the Above Sea. After saving the life of a beautiful human woman, he seeks to find her and finally live in his dream world. But young mermen should be careful what they wish for.

Next Chapter;

The ocean is a vast place, full of wonders and terrors that most of humanity will never see or experience. For the merpeople, this is more than enough reason as to why Under The Sea is far superior – a merperson could swim for their entire life and never see even a quarter of the ocean.

But for Jimin, it’s not enough. While speeding along the ocean currents with his brothers is fun, and discovering new caves or crevices is both dangerous and intriguing, it’s simply not enough. When he swims to where the light sparkles and shimmers down from the surface, close to the edge between his home and the beyond, he craves a life on the land. For him, humanity is endlessly fascinating.

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THE LOVE I HAVE FOR THIS FIC ???? god the amount of pain i felt for y/n during her confession scene. this fic holds a special place in my heart and i always go back and reread it😭

wherever you are

pairing: jimin x reader 

summary: he’s in love with a girl you can never be. you try your hardest to be okay with being second best, but it hurts, and it sucks, and you have had enough. 

song inspo: sober by selena gomez / before the storm by the jonas brothers ft. miley cyrus / that way by tate mcrae

genre: angst, fluff / friends with benefits, friends to lovers, college au

warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption, themes of jealousy, slut-shaming, some suggestive content

word count: 11.5k

author’s note: these songs always have the ability to leave me speechless, so of course, i needed to write them into a story. i tried my hand at writing angst, even though i’m terrible at it haha. i hope you enjoy it!!! happy reading~! :] 

(you can find more fics by me here !)

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when i tell y'all this is THEE most heartbreaking jimin fic i ever read https://archiveofourown.org/works/21420055

finally had time to read this week and omg-

first off THANK YOU SOOOO SO MUCH FOR THE DEDICATION NOTE PLS IT REALLY MEANS A LOT !!! 🥺🥺 i absolutely a d o r e your works so the least i could do is tell u how much i enjoyed it with my long ass reviews !! <3

back to the fic ,,, IM SPEECHLESS AT HOW GOOD THIS WAS FROM START TO FINISH OML😭 i already knew just from the teaser snippet that i was gonna love this fic omg ,,, and once again it did NOT disappoint at all pls this was an actual work of art😭😭

i LOVE angst and it's my fave genre so it'll prolly come off as biased when i say that this might take the spot of my fave fic of yours sjsjdksj it just pulled at my heart strings in the best way possible and i can't stop thinking bout this story omg

y/n ...... god i just wanna give my good sis a HUG !!! 😭😭 she literally going thru HELL and back in this. although she sees herself as weak , i see her as the complete opposite ,,, the way she is able to hold herself up for her family and especially her lil brother is so so so admirable and selfless ugh :( she deserves everything great in life and i really hope she realizes that ,,, cuz after everything she went thru that entire year ?????!??!???? god she's SUCH a strong person pls i love her too much😭

and for tae ... i'm not gonna lie i was so mad at him for the way he treated y/n asjsjeja BUT as you read the story it just makes you feel SO bad for him too. like losing his sister so young ... along with hyeri and daniels relationship being kept secret from him that entire time ... i completely understand his pain and hurt. though he could've handled it much differently , it's so refreshing to see him own up to his faults in the end of the story. ugh he truly deserves to heal peacefully from that trauma :(

god there was so many moments in this fic where i was a WRECK LIKE ???? the club scene with tae , and when she saw mrs bloom (cant STAND her ass😭) .... but the way my heart was POUNDING during the scene where she went thru her brothers phone and starts to question everything ???? i just LOVE the writing throughout this fic , and the anticipation from that scene specifically (AS WELL AS THE CAR SCENE W/ KEVIN OMG) had me FRANTIC as HELL😭

AND TELL ME WHY I GOT SO FUCKING EMOTIONAL WITH THAT VERY LAST SCENE OMFG ??? I CANT EVEN EXPLAIN TO YOU HOW PERFECTLY YOU ENDED THE STORY OFF WITH THAT MONOLOGUE PLS !!! 😭😭 this is one of those scenes in a fic that i will ALWAYS remember and get emotional to ... EVEN THINKING bout it is making my eyes tear tf up😭😭 was so perfect how their relationship came full circle at the end.

this fic was so heart breaking yet so beautiful and i really can't believe i'm reading this FOR FREE PLS😭 it completely amazes me how captivating your writing is. the development of the character arcs, their relationship, and the plot was so well-written and beautiful that i feel like this could have been an actual book/movie that i'd 100% buy/watch. i really look forward to whatever fic you have coming up !! i'm literally always left so impressed every single time. have a GREAT day and thank you for this fic !!! <3

poetry of the stars

❦ synopsis: yn and her family are social pariahs a year after her older brother confessed to the murder of his secret girlfriend, who was also yn's best friend. with normalcy as a thing of the past, all yn wants is to work through the summer and save up enough money to leave her town forever. but what happens when the job she gets hired for means working alongside the brother of the friend she lost?

❦ genre: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, best friend’s brother au

❦ warnings: theme of murder; guilt by association; hurt/comfort; general emotional pain; minor character death (pre-fic); lots of anger; emotional bullying; lots of sadness; taehyung is a bit 'rough' in one of the scenes; yn gets physically assaulted by someone (non-graphic);

❦ playlist: sweet night by kim taehyung; soldier by before you exit

❦ book inspo: even if i fall by abigail johnson (an absolute fav)

❦ word count: 25.4k

❦ dedication: @diorpark and @unstablecutehoe, thank you for always being so kind in your reviews, it means the world to me <3

❦ author's note: this fic was inspired by the book mentioned above, which focuses on murder, the power of love, and a search for the truth. this fic is angst-heavy, though it has a happy ending. despite the warnings, i hope you will give it a chance. side note: although this is 100% a reader/yn fic, i couldn't help but imagine actress, choi seongeun (yoo jaeyi from beyond evil) as YN. while watching beyond evil, i thought she perfectly encapsulates how i imagined YN in this fic. please enjoy this a lot! happy reading~!! :]

Every morning, there is a loud banging at the door.

It starts an hour or so after sunrise and lasts about five minutes. Most days, no one in my family pays much attention to it. My father, who lives in the guest room now, wears earplugs to bed while my mother is usually too lost in her own thoughts to notice any sort of sound. My little brother throws a pillow over his head and pretends he doesn’t hear it.

I don’t do any of these things.

Instead, I grab my brown cardigan and tiptoe downstairs, careful in skipping the third to last step. It’s creaky, and also a reminder of the person who said he would fix it eventually.

When I get to the front door, I only open it a smidge. Just enough to inspect the damage before I have to deal with it. Today’s weapon is two dozen eggs. Large, white eggs from the only grocery store in this town. The way the eggs splatter against the blue of our door would be perfect for an art exhibit in New York City. They would call it broken eggs upon a door and charge people to see it.

It’s funny because I get to see it for free.

I take a step back from the door once I realize the boys are gone. Then, I head to the kitchen for some paper towels and an extra bag. The weather is warm. Customary for the start of summer. Most people in the neighbourhood should be out for walks, but they aren’t. It may have to do with the fact that not many people live around here anymore. Almost a year ago, after the indictment, most of our neighbours sold their properties and moved away. Whether it was the reporters who drove them away or the fact that they were living on the same street as the family of a murderer, I don’t know.

“What a waste of perfectly good eggs,” I comment to myself as I gather the broken eggshells then use a paper towel to wipe up the liquid. “They should have stuck to paint balloons.” It takes me a few minutes to wipe up the best to my satisfaction. When I’m done, I tie the small bag.

Just as I’m standing up, another egg comes flying my way, pelting me square on the back. I stagger forward from the impact, grabbing the edge of the door to keep myself upright.

“Murderers!” A familiar voice yells, followed by the pelting of about a dozen more eggs. I don’t do the smart thing and race inside. What I do instead is crouch on the floor, hiding behind one of my mother’s old potted plants.

“Kill yourselves!”

“Shameless! You all deserve to be in prison!”

“You raised a murderer!”

“You call yourselves human?!”

There are about four or five voices in total. I recognize all of them as classmates. Boys I’ve known since I was five years old. We went to the same schools all our lives. Played tag and hide-and-go-seek during recess. Skinned our knees together. Made fun of our teachers together. Grew up together.

And perhaps this is what hurts the most. That while knowing me, and growing up with me, they still choose to do what they do to me. I don’t know why I’m so hurt by it. It’s been a year. I should be used to it by now. But does anyone ever get used to something like this?

After another minute or so, the pelting dies down alongside the aggressive voices. I know I should stay in hiding. It would be better that way. I should wait for them to leave so I can finish cleaning up. Our door is once again covered in a gooey mess of eggs, and I need more paper towels.

Counting to three inside my head, I squeeze my hands into fists and slowly rise to my feet. I try not to look at the boys as they stand on the road, watching me, but I can’t help it. For a brief moment, my eyes flicker to where they shake their heads at me then start walking away.

Except one.

The only one whose voice I never heard. The only one I know best from the lot. The only one who continues staring even as the other boys turn their backs to me.

As soon as our eyes meet, I lower my gaze. I used to dream about the day he would look at me for longer than a few seconds. I just never imagined it would be in this context.

I hear one of the boys shout his name and that’s when I look up again. He’s walking towards me now, up the short flight of stairs, until we are face-to-face.

I don’t know what I expected him to do, being so close to me, but perhaps, just like everything else today, I should have known what would come next in the sequence of events.

The boy I have known all my life reaches inside the pocket of his sweater and pulls out an identical white egg. His eyes are dark. Unreadable, even though I used to be able to read them so well. He used to say, YN, you’re the only one who knows me and that’s why I like you best, which always resulted in his sister smacking him on the arm for teasing me. Don’t listen to him, YN. He’s being an idiot, she would tell me.

But later, when I left their home and returned to my own, I would lay in bed with my eyes closed and pretend he really meant it. That I knew him. That he likes me best. That he sees me as more than just his little sister’s best friend. I wanted to believe I had an advantage over all the other girls vying for his attention. I liked thinking I was special to him.

That was before, and this is now.

The last time he teased me was the last time we spoke. Even at the funeral, it was his best friends who threw me out, not him. He hadn’t said a word back then. A face of stone. Grim, emotionless. He was grieving in his own way, unlike his parents who cried all through the service.

Quiet eyes boring into mine, the boy of my childhood dreams raises an arm above my head then cracks the egg between his fingers. As the cracked shell and liquid pour down my hair, I don’t break eye contact and neither does he. I watch the way his jaw sets and his lips thin out. He keeps his eyes on me while the egg runs down my cheeks and drips onto my cardigan.

And perhaps I am shameless because I whisper his name.

“Taehyung…”

A smirk hints at his lips for a fraction of a second before he replaces it with a frown. Barely there before it’s gone again. Shaking his hand out, he flicks away the remainder of the egg and stands back, distancing himself from me. I fist my hands again, and keep them tight by my side.

“Enjoy your breakfast, YN,” he jests, not a trace of a smile to be found. “Sorry, I forgot to bring the salt and pepper.”

When he leaves, I count to three again before reaching up to touch the broken egg flowing through my strands. The yellowy fluid is rancid. He used a rotten egg. I don’t know why this adds to the pain.

Turning on my feet to watch him walk down the road to meet his friends, I think back to the first time we met.

I was seven, and he was eight.

I was far too shy back then to say hello to anyone at the park. But his sister wasn’t, and neither was he. Hyeryung and her brother were social butterflies. The best of friends who had no trouble befriending me.

I was sitting in the sandbox trying to build a castle when she asked for my name. Once I told her, she ran to grab her brother and forced him to say hello to me. And when he did, my little seven year old heart felt like it was soaring. It felt like the best feeling in the world. I knew right then and there that this boy would mean something special to me.

Later, almost a week later, Hyeryung came over to my house for the first time. That was the weekend my older brother was having his eleventh birthday party. I didn’t know it back then but that was the day Hyeryung’s own little seven year old heart soared, too.

. . . ❤ . . .

Back inside the house, I stand in the foyer to gather my incessant jittering and shaky limbs. With the putrid scent of the eggs all over me, I know I need to shower if I want to feel anything like a normal human being again.

Quietly taking off my slippers, I lay them to the side and start walking towards the stairs when I hear someone slurp. The sound directs my head towards my little brother at the breakfast table with a bowl of cereal in front of him. He keeps his eyes trained on my figure, taking me in in all my misery while I stand at the foot of the staircase. Blindly, I reach up for my hair. I don’t want him to see me like this.

“O-Oh, you’re awake,” I greet anxiously, trying to smile despite the flickers of dry egg yolk on my cheeks. “Did you sleep well?”

My brother blinks twice before he reaches in for another spoon of cereal. Around a mouthful of Coco Puffs—which I’m sure are stale since I don’t remember buying a new box on Saturday—he says, “If you wanted to go out, you should have used the back door.”

“R-Right,” I mumble, glancing down at my dirty clothes. Before I look back up, I plaster on a smile. For both our sakes. “I bought some Corn Flakes on the weekend—”

“Did Tae throw eggs at you, too?”

His question feels like a blow to my stomach, sending me flying back out the door I walked in from. Just by the way he nearly whispers the question, I know he didn’t want to ask it. And even more, he is afraid of the answer.

All these years, despite their age gap, Jinnie has always proudly claimed Taehyung as a friend. Best friend, he would often correct me when Hyeryung and I teased him about it. Even more than our older brother, Taehyung spent time playing games with Jinnie or helping him with homework. I hate that I can’t fix this for him. I hate that my baby brother’s memories are muddied rotten because of his older siblings.

Slowly lifting my shoulders, I clear my throat and answer, “It wasn’t him, Jinnie, so don’t worry. I’m just going to shower and then we can study together, okay? Before Mrs. Nguyen calls for us.”

With that, I spare him one last broken smile and quickly race up the stairs. They creak absurdly with the weight of my hasty movements, but I could care less. Fresh tears are flowing down my cheeks before I even make it to the bathroom. I don’t bother wiping them and step into the cold shower.

Around fifteen minutes later, I open the bathroom door again and race to my room, dripping wet. Of course I forgot to take a towel in with me. Thinking through my actions isn’t something I’ve been doing a lot of lately. I tell myself if I think less, then the memories and the reminders of two families’ sorrows will fade away.

They never do.

Inside my room, I focus on the painting hanging on a wall next to my bed while I change into jeans and a t-shirt.

Hyeryung painted it, back when we were freshmen. It was a painting which she received a prize for at our school’s annual talent exhibition. She had painted it in under an hour. After receiving the award, Hyeryung pushed the painting into my arms.

A gift, she said. For my second favourite person in the world.

Who’s your first?

You know who.

In the painting, there are two ships. Two different colours, two different styles, two different desires. One ship was painted blue and sitting at harbour. The other ship was a bit further into the ocean, and it was purple.

When Hyeryung was asked what the ships represented, she explained, “A ship in harbour is safe – but that is not what ships are built for.”

I was standing next to Taehyung as she delivered her grandiose speech to the crowd of parents and teachers gawking at her artistry, equally as amazed by her art as I was with her words. But then Taehyung, upon noticing my awe, poked me in the side of my stomach and showed me something on his phone.

A Google search.

It was just like my best friend to quote someone and not give them credit.

Looking at the painting now is difficult. It reminds me of the person who painted it, who helped me put it up, and the person who deserved better than what she was given. A year ago, Hyeryung was a happy-go-lucky sophomore in high school who had her whole future planned out.

“I want to be a pharmacist.”

“Wait… what?”

“I said,” Hyeryung playfully rolled her eyes. “I want to be a pharmacist after uni.”

“You? Seriously? You really want to do that?”

“Why? What’s so bad about being a pharmacist?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, just that… I imagined you doing something in the arts.”

“Nah,” she shrugged. “Painting is my hobby. If I made it my career, I would end up hating it. That’s why I want to be a pharmacist, so I can make lots of money and afford expensive art equipment.” She pauses. “And also so my kids can tell their friends their mother sells drugs.”

“Hyeri!”

The walls of my bedroom are encased in her laughter, as well as my own. Every surface littered with the giggles from my our childhood—nine years old, coming home with McDonald’s and sharing fries; thirteen years old, talking about ‘whatever are we doing to do about our first kiss?’; and sixteen years old, talking about what life after graduation would be like.

My hair smells like strawberries as I unwrap the towel. Thick, mid-length tresses flow down my shoulders in a hue of black and crimson. While I sincerely regret box-highlighting my hair, I can’t help but think it’s the only thing in my life which still means something to me. This was the colour Hyeri picked out for me, while I picked blue for her. We were going to be like those girls in the animes we loved. In a way, this horrible hair-job is a way of celebrating her memory, as much as I am able to.

Jinnie is laying out his books and stationary when I walk back downstairs. Next to his things is a bowl of Corn Flakes and a jug of milk—my breakfast. Smiling to myself, I gently ruffle my little brother’s hair and sit down, crossing my legs as I do so.

Before digging into my food, I ask, “Are you going to see Jamal and Hunter at the park later? Do you want me walk you over there?”

“No.”

“No? Why not? Don’t you want to see your friends?”

Jinnie stops shuffling his pens and pencils, which are already perfectly in order, and mumbles, “They said they didn’t want me to come.”

“They don’t want you to…” as my words trail off into a mist, curdling pain seers its way in as substitute. All at once, I am rendered speechless and immobile. This news is nothing unfamiliar, and while I should be accustomed to it after the passing of an entire year, the truth is that I’m not. My little brother’s words affect me in this moment the same way they did the first time he uttered them. And the second. And the third. And all the times in between. Curling a hand over the edge of the breakfast table, I scoot forward in an attempt to wade off any worry I may pass along to the ten-year-old unknowingly. I paste on a faux jubilant smile and announce, “We’ll go for ice cream, okay? Just the two of us.” I don’t add – and he doesn’t comment – how it’s always the two of us who do anything together anymore. Our father is scarce around the home, and our mother even less so despite the fact that she does not work. Even when I bring dinner to her room, she does not touch it.

Pausing on his highlighters which he arranged lightest to darkest, Jinnie mumbles, “I don’t want ice cream.”

I bite my lip and tighten the grip I have on the table. It’s okay, it’s okay, I tell myself. It’s going to be okay. I can handle this. We may be eight years apart, but I can totally handle this. “Okay, no ice cream. Should we go get milkshakes—?”

“I don’t want stupid ice cream! I want my friends!”

Last year, after the final verdict blazed through the court and the officers took our older brother away in handcuffs, a group of news reporters heckled what was left of our family outside the courthouse. Our brother’s lawyer—the one we had to take out three different loans to afford— had arranged for a cab to pick us up discretely so that we wouldn’t end up on Channel 7 news, but it arrived late, which gave the news hawks plenty of time to interrogate us.

Mom was sobbing while Dad held her, shielding her face from the reporters. This didn’t leave much strength for Dad to protect us. When the reporters were finished recording our mother’s wails and our father’s deathly silence, they turned to Jinnie and me.

“How do you feel about your brother being in prison? Do you think you will be able to live normal lives after this?”

“Was he always aggressive? Did he ever try to hurt you?”

“Do you feel responsible for what happened?”

A video of Jinnie crying went viral on news platforms all around the country. Everyone claimed ‘he was next’ and that they hoped he wouldn’t ‘further his brother’s murderous legacy.’ They claimed his tears were fake—a ruse to gain sympathy from the town which would ‘never recover from such a harrowing loss.’

I never wanted to read the articles about us, but in the midst of my grief, I had forgotten that I was still a teenager. That I still attended high school with 600 other students who had plenty to say to me about what happened.

For the first two weeks after my brother confessed and the police arrested him, my social media was flooded with messages. Some were nice while others were accusatory. One person even made a deep-fake video of me laughing about my best friend’s death, which led to my expulsion from school. Neither of my parents fought very hard to keep me there. Good thing, too, since I wasn’t keen on staying either.

Jinnie still went, despite our court-appointed psychiatrist’s warning that he should be homeschooled like I now was. Little kids, I found, were much less technological. Instead of violent videos of a cartoon version of Jinnie getting his head chopped off by our older brother, his classmates put worms in his lunchbox, lured him with games only to throw baseballs at his head, and shunned him at recess. Even his best friends from preschool, Jamal and Hunter, stopped speaking to him publically. Their parents were afraid of our family, too.

But occasionally, one of the boys—and if he was really lucky—both of them would ask Jinnie to hang out, and it would lift his spirits. He would ask me for permission, then pick out an outfit, dust off his bike and helmet, then wait patiently for the clock to tell him it was time to go. I never admitted it to anyone, but seeing Jinnie sit impatiently on the sofa while the clock ticked was one of the happiest moments of my life. Ever since what happened, joy was rare in our house. I wanted my little brother to enjoy as much of it as he could when it came.

Watching Jinnie now, I feel like his mother. I want to fix everything for him with the twirl of a magic wand.

There are fresh tears streaking his cheeks as he grumpily rearranges his highlighters again—darkest to lightest this time—and avoids my gaze. I know he wants to apologize. Jinnie hates being mad at anyone, especially me. Especially after what happened. I know it’s because he’s afraid of losing me, like everyone else we’ve lost through months which seem endless.

“Hey, hey,” I encourage, laying my warm hands over his shaking ones. I nudge him to look at me. Plastering on a smile which I hope reads sincere, I joke, “Do you remember that time Hunter wet the bed when you were seven? And Jamal cried?”

“I didn’t cry,” he whispers in return.

“That’s right. You didn’t cry at all.”

“I helped clean up.”

“You did,” I hum, scooting closer to my brother so he knows I’m not upset with him. “You always help people, Jinnie. You’re a good and kind person. Anyone would be lucky to call you their friend. Especially me.”

A smile starts blooming on his lips as he looks up. “Are we really friends?”

“Best friends.”

And for the time being, this appeases my ten-year-old brother enough to focus on his school work. When he turns back to his stationary, he doesn’t rearrange his highlighters. Instead, he pulls out his small sketchbook and picks out his favourite pencil before pressing it to paper.

I use this time to turn on our computer and log into Skype. Mrs. Nguyen will call us in a few minutes, and I don’t want to be late for her arrival. There are already so many dreadful adjectives associated with our family’s name. I don’t want unpunctual to be another.

At exactly 8 AM, Mrs. Nguyen’s name and professional photo lights up my laptop screen. I look towards Jinnie to make sure he’s ready. When he nods his head, I click to answer the call.

“Good morning, Mrs. Nguyen.”

The middle-aged schoolteacher smiles warmly at our dual greeting. Her dark auburn hair is pulled back in a loose bun today, and she’s wearing her reading glasses. She must have had a long night because she almost never wears her glasses unless she absolutely has to. “And good morning to you,” she chirps in her usual voice. As she picks up a cup of coffee to take a sip, she asks us, “Did you both have a good morning?”

“Yes, we did,” I answer for the both of us. Short, direct answers. After a whole year of managing questions from reporters, counselors, teachers, and everyone in between, I had grown to realize the shorter I made my sentences, the easier the lives of others became. No one wants to hear about our grief. No one wants to know that our mother hasn’t left her room in a year or that our father drinks himself to sleep every weekend or that this morning, I got pelted with eggs by the boy I’ve been in love with all my life.

Mrs. Nguyen smiles and asks, “Jinnie, I marked your math test. I’m pleased to announce you received an A.” Jinnie can hardly contain his excitement as he grins and practically vibrates in his chair. “And YN, your essay on the role of censorship in advertising was a marvelous read. You also received an A. I’m very proud of you both for working so hard this term.”

“Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome, Jinnie,” Mrs. Nguyen replies before she reaches for her phone. “I would like to schedule a meeting with your parents to discuss school in September.” She scrolls through her phone for a moment before going, “Jinnie will be entering middle school, and YN—university, I presume?”

“I set up online classes with a certified sixth grade teacher for Jinnie in September,” I answer, feeling my hands shake under the table. Again, I go to grip it to keep myself from tipping over. “But I won’t be attending university.”

“Oh… college then?”

“No. Not college either.”

All of us are silent for a few moments as the significance of my answer dawns on our teacher. As Mrs. Nguyen’s brows furrow in confusion, I brace myself for her upcoming question.

“YN, you are a very smart girl. I can’t imagine that you would be alright with skipping post-secondary education. Have you spoken to your parents about this?”

“Yes,” I gulp, lying straight through my teeth. I’ve gotten very good at it—lying. Among other things. “They’re aware of my decision.”

Mrs. Nguyen sinks back in her seat, as if everything she had planned for this morning just evaporated into thin air. I feel the guilt of such crawl up my neck and begin to choke me in silence. “There are plenty of colleges and universities which offer part-time schooling, my dear. Most of them would be very accommodating to your specific needs.”

“I understand that. I’m just not interested in going to college.”

There is an edge to my seemingly mundane words which appear to slice through Mrs. Nguyen’s good conscience. Where once she deemed herself prepared to argue with me about my future prospects, she now collapses under the weight of our unspoken rule to never argue in front of Jinnie.

“Very well then.”

Though our conversation ends there, my phone screen lights up with an incoming message.

mrs. nguyen: lets talk about your decision later.

For the remainder of the next hour, Mrs. Nguyen teaches Jinnie about Egyptian hieroglyphics. Then the following hour, she tutors me in data management and statistics. While Jinnie continues drawing in the living room, and I begin packing up my belongings after the second hour nears its end, Mrs. Nguyen coughs to catch my attention. I know what’s coming before she even utters any words.

“YN, I know it is difficult due to your parents’ work, but please arrange a time for me to speak to them about the future of your education,” she says, completely unaware that it isn’t their work which keeps them from talking to her. It’s the fact that they don’t even know that she exists. “I understand that your situation is unique, but it does not mean you have to let go of post-secondary education. Most of the professional world still requires a person to at least have a bachelor’s degree—”

“There’s nothing I want to study, so there’s really no need for me to go to university, Mrs. Nguyen.”

Mrs. Nguyen leans into the camera and retorts, “You can enter university with an undeclared major and make your final decision by the end of the first term of your second year. There are options, YN. I don’t want you to close the door on your future.” When I don’t reply immediately, she goes on to tell me, “Graduation is a month away. Although you missed the original post-secondary application date, I have friends at several different universities whom I can write to in your stead. There are options.”

For the rest of the day, Mrs. Nguyen’s words replay in my head like a broken record. Every time I try to busy myself with a task or a chore or even a small hobby—like painting with Jinnie—her advice flies back to me full force and punches me in the gut.

Back before everything happened, I did dream about attending university. My older cousins loved it. Besides the studying and the late nights and the monstrous lack of self-care that goes into obtaining a post-secondary degree, they all used to gush about the parties, and the extracurricular events, and the clubs, and the boys. Most of the men my cousins are married to now were their college boyfriends.

Admittedly, hearing their stories over the years made me curious. I had wanted to attend university. Hyeri said she wanted to study pharmacy, I thought about studying wildlife biology and conservation. I had always loved animals, had always wanted to have a dog or cat or even both. I never gave it too much thought but I imagined that a degree related to animals and nature would be something I would love.

After Daniel went to prison, I stopped dreaming about anything that didn’t have to do with getting out of this town with Jinnie in tow. University didn’t factor very well into that goal, and it still doesn’t.

. . . ❤ . . .

Two days after graduation, which took place online with a guest list of exactly zero, my cousin Eloise shows up at our front door with a purple suitcase and a sunshine smile. My dad has a lot of siblings, seven to be exact, and all of them have between three to five kids each, which has led to ginormous family reunions every couple of years as our family grew up.

Eloise, nearly my twin as she was born only a month before me, was the closest friend I had aside from Hyeryung. The three of us would often go out together when Eloise would visit during the summers. We got along well, the three of us, and it was always terribly sad when Eloise would leave for boarding school at the end of August.

During my brother’s trial, Eloise’s family was the only one who came to support us. Whether it was financial or emotional support, they had plenty of it. The other members of our grand family pretended we weren’t related to them. Many of them even blocked our numbers and social media.

But Eloise was there for me, and right now, she was here with me—standing in our front door, waiting for me to let her in.

“What are you—?”

“Happy graduation, dimwit,” she greets, smiling from ear-to-ear as she cascades past our foyer and into the living room. No one is there, of course. Dad is at work. Mom is in her room. Jinnie is learning how to code in Dad’s old office. I had just turned on the stove to start preparing dinner. “Where is everyone?”

“Uh…”

Eloise turns on her heel and says, “Let me guess: Dad’s at work, Mom refuses to come out of her room, and Jinnie is being Jinnie?”

Nodding, I step closer. “Ellie, what are you doing here anyway?”

Eloise’s smile brightens. “Glad you asked! I’m moving to Australia at the end of summer for university, so I thought I’d swing by for a girls’ weekend with you before I head home to my parents.”

The words girls’ weekend sends me into a state of nostalgia. Hyeryung and I would talk about taking a trip together—just the two of us—someday after we both graduated. A trip across the country in her beat up Honda Civic Taehyung helped her buy after she got her license. We planned out all the sights we wanted to see and the restaurants and the diners we wanted to eat at and all the gifts we would buy for our friends and family on the trip back home.

When Hyeryung passed, she took the dream with her, and I hadn’t thought about it since.

“I don’t think—”

“You’re not allowed to say ‘no,’” Eloise cuts in, settling herself down on the sofa. “I’m already here.”

“Ellie, I can’t just—”

Eloise leans across the arm of the sofa and says, “Yes, you can. Your dad doesn’t work on the weekends. He can take care of Jinnie for a night or two.” Suddenly, her smile dims and I know exactly what she’s going to say. “You’re not even going to university. You never do a single thing for yourself anymore, YN. Let’s just… enjoy this weekend together, yeah?”

And that is how I end up standing in the middle of a crowd of strangers the very next night while Eloise beelines for the bar.

There is loud party music thumping throughout the spacious room covered inch-by-inch in dancing, swaying or standing bodies. The atmosphere reeks of alcohol and sweat, and it is everything I expected a club to look like.

Darting my eyes left and right, I cross my arms and try to step towards the bar in search of my cousin who is taking an awfully long time to bring our drinks. Some kind of liquor for her, and a non-alcoholic drink for me. I’ve never had alcohol before and I don’t want to start now.

Eloise is standing by the bar talking to a group of men I don’t recognize but who all look to be in their late twenties. Their starving eyes and lustful gazes continually drop down to Eloise’s outfit and I just know she’s eating up their attention.

“Hey, uh—“ I tap my cousin on the shoulder, and she turns to face me with an irritated expression. Instantly, I feel bad for intruding on her conversation and feel my heartbeat pick up speed. With ears burning red, I almost whisper, “Is it o-okay if I go home?”

“Home?”

“Yeah… I feel kind of sick.”

Eloise rolls her eyes a bit then turns back around to say something to the men. They all glance over at me then nod at her. One of them even leans in to kiss her cheek to which she slaps his chest in what can only be described as characteristically her.

When she turns back around, her irises are dark, and definitely full of disappointment. She looks just like her mother when Aunt Marci finds her kids doing something she forbid, like the time Eloise snuck out during a family dinner to meet her then-boyfriend.

“YN,” my cousin sighs, “what did I say in the cab about letting loose?”

“I’m… loose…” Even as I say it, I cringe. That was not the way to say it. Straightening my shoulders, I argue, “Ellie, this is your scene. Not mine. I don’t like it here.”

“Lots of people don’t like clubs when they first come to them,” she returns, ruffling her black hair so the curls bounce. Eloise has always been beautiful, but under the canopy of the foggy club, she looked extra pretty. I wonder what people think when they see us together. An older sister and her whiny baby sister? The popular girl and the nerd? I hated feeling so inadequate next to my own family, but right now, I feel it full force. Eloise goes on with, “But you get used to it and you have lots of fun. Look, let me order you a drink—“ I open my mouth to protest but she’s already calling for the bartender. “To be honest, I was just going to bring you a bottle of water, but this is better. Now that you’re here, I can show you why everyone loves to drink.” To the bartender, she says, “One Jack and Coke, and a Long Island Iced Tea.”

Are both of those for me?

As I’m wondering this, the bartender drops a small glass of what appears to be Coca-Cola on the table. Eloise uses the tip of her finger to slide it my way, and if not for my quick reflexes, I’m almost one hundred percent certain it would have slid off the bar top.

With anxiety racing through my bloodstream, I shakily raise the glass.

“Drink up, little cousin.”

“I’m not—”

Eloise doesn’t wait for me to finish my sentence before she tips the glass towards my mouth. The ice chimes against the walls of the glass as the crisp liquid flows over my tongue and down my esophagus. Its brumal sting gallops down my throat causing me to blink fast.

Leaning away from the glass, I mumble, “This tastes like coke mixed with something else.”

Eloise chuckles and takes two sips of her iced tea. “What you’re tasting is the whiskey.” Placing her drink down, my cousin tilts her head in mock interest. “Gosh, YN, you’re so weird sometimes. How have you graduated from high school and never had a Jack and Coke?”

“You already know I don’t drink.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I just didn’t know your social life was so boring. Didn’t you and Hyeri ever—”

I lower my gaze at the same time Eloise’s eyes widen three times their normal size.

The two of us never talked about it, but my best friend’s death was a topic Eloise trekked very quietly. In about everything else in life, my cousin is loud and boisterous. She is the life of the party and the roar of the crowd. But topics like family and death are difficult for her, and she almost never speaks of them.

After Hyeri passed, Eloise stopped bringing her up in conversation completely. If she ever did bring her up, it was with the words, ‘your best friend’ or ‘that girl.’ Never her name. It was almost as if Eloise was petrified of saying it. As if some grand significance stood idle behind our friend’s name and she could not bring herself to utter it out of fear of the unknown.

And so, because I know with absolutely surety that Eloise didn’t intend to say Hyeryung’s name, I answer her question with, “No. We never drank. At least, not together.”

Eloise nods and looks away, occasionally sipping on her iced tea as her own ears blaze.

Huh.

It must run in the family.

Minutes of silence later, two of the men from earlier return and Eloise doesn’t look my way as she instructs me to call her if I need anything and to ‘stay by the bar if you aren’t going to dance’ before walking away. Then I watch her be whisked off by men who snake up to her like she’s a film star. And honestly, she may as well be with her larger-than-life persona that I never quite grew out of being envious about.

Turning on my heel, I am about to place my Jack and Coke back on the bar top when a deep voice snickers, “You look like you’re having fun.”

The voice of my childhood dreams freezes me in place. Before I can build the courage to raise my head and look to its source, the blatant sarcasm laced with the veins of his tone buries me ten feet under. Dread, and pure, unadulterated mortification staples me to the ground even as he takes two steps closer.

“What?” He asks mockingly. It hurts. Oh God, it hurts so much. “You can’t look at me now that we’re practically strangers?”

“T-Taehyung…”

“It’s funny,” he drawls, leaning one arm on the bar top. His darkening gaze traces me from the tip of my head to the tip of my green tennis shoes. A gift from him last year. “I didn’t think you would ever have the courage to show up to a place like this. It’s not really your scene, is it, YN?”

The fact that his comment mirrors my earlier argument with Eloise is startling. Although, it shouldn’t be. I grew up with him. He knows a place like this is the furthest from my comfort zone. I just hate that he knows it. I have never fully admitted it to myself, but so much of me wishes any memories he has of me would be erased. I wish we had never been friends. Maybe then, he could be happier never having known me, and I could have lived without the guilt I carry like a phantom limb.

“My c-cousin brought m-me—”

He juts his chin towards my cardigan. “Then maybe she should have told you that most girls don’t dress like that here.” A pause. “Not unless they want to become fresh meat.”

Instinctively, I tighten the cardigan around my body. When my fingers make contact with the cotton, I realize it is the same cardigan I wore that day on my porch with the eggs. Blushing embarrassingly, I mumble, “I’m not fresh meat.”

“To one of the drunk bastards here, you are.”

“W-What do you want, Taehyung?”

At the sound of my question, one of his eyebrows does a slight jump before descending. A smirk starts to play on his lips as he seats himself at the bar. He’s wearing a black zip-up bomber jacket twice his size, and so when he leans across the bar top, it conceals much of his side profile. A disappearing act whenever he wants it.

Tapping spry fingers along the damp, wooden bar, Taehyung hums, “Well for one, I’d like my sister back.” He turns to me with a smile brewed from rage and vindication causing my heart to hammer between flashes of inordinate grief. Of their own accord, my tennis shoes skid back one step, though not quite far enough to miss the remainder of his answer. “But you can’t bring her back, can you? After people die, they’re gone forever. I wish your family had known that before it destroyed mine.”

“Breathe in, breathe out,” she instructed.

I make a face at her. “That’s the dumbest advice ever. I know how to breathe!”

“Just listen will you,” she sighed, rolling her eyes obnoxiously. “It helps with anxiety. Sure, you know how to breathe. But when you’re anxious, it’s like your body forgets what normal functioning is, so you have to help it get back on track.”

“I’m not anxious.”

“You’re literally shaking from head to toe, YN. Just breathe with me, okay, dumbass?” Holding my hands in hers, she counts me through long breaths. “Breathe in, 1, 2, 3… now slowly exhale, 1…2…3…”

Breathing is difficult when I try to focus on it with purpose in the midst of my panic. All at once, whirlwinds of agonizingly lethal pain injects my bloodstream and leaves me both immobile and ready to dash away. Except, in this smoky club where I am a stranger to everyone but two people, places to run to are miniscule in number.

I will myself not to think about it, but when I can’t help it when I do think about the breathing exercises I learned from someone who can no longer teach me anything.

1…2…3…

In the minute I stand vibrating in tandem with the thundering EDM music surrounding us, Taehyung has ordered a drink for himself, and over the rim of the thick glass, he slyly asks, “How’s your brother?”

“You can’t tell Tae.”

“Hyeri… why are you hiding this from him?”

“Dani doesn’t want me to tell anyone. Not yet.”

Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I release my arms from their crossed position. “Daniel is an idiot. An idiot I cannot believe you want to be with. Like… ew, he’s my brother.”

“He’s sexy.”

“Never say that in front of me again! Ew, ew, ew!”

“You just don’t see it because he’s your brother. But trust me… he’s….” her eyes mist over, and it’s the first time I’ve seen my best friend look so moved. “I think he’s the one. I really do.”

Droplets of cold sweat burn the back of my neck as they transcend the path downwards and split in the middle of my spine. The experience is ordinary. Perhaps, more ordinary than breathing has been for the past year. My body and all its corners have learned the art of showcasing my inner trauma in ways which I am still growing accustomed to.

The sweat clouding my back feels like rain in the middle of this putrid club. On any patch of Earth, rain gives life. On me, this rain of sweat fuels my immeasurable anguish—both for the situation and the questions I know Taehyung doesn’t really want me to answer.

He asks them to taunt me—nothing else. Lately, he has learned to become quite good at doing so.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, throwing the apology his way despite knowing that over the thud, thud, thud of the musical bass, it may go unheard. Taehyung doesn’t look at me as he takes another sip of his drink, finishing it all this time. I swallow and try again, despite my nerves begging me to stop. “I-I’m sorry, Taehyung, I—”

His eyes are menacing as he glares me down. “When I look at you, YN, there is only one thing which goes through my mind, and do you want to know what that is?”

Wobbly lips whisper, “What?”

“That I wish it had been you.”

“I think he likes you~”

“Hyeri, stop. No, he doesn’t.”

Hyeri smirks and crosses her arms. “Then why did he specifically ask me to invite you? He even made a card for you.” She pushes a small, white card with the words ‘To YN’ my way. “Do you know how many other girls he made a card for?” Staying quiet has the desired effect because my best friend giggles, “Zero. He only made this card for you.”

“Then… why didn’t he give it to me himself?”

Hyeri shrugs. “Probably because he’s too chicken. And also because he’s dumb and forgot to give it to you earlier. But the tournament is tomorrow and he really wants you to come. You’re going to come, right?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Good,” my best friend grins. “He’ll be so happy to see you on the bleachers.”

His admission punches my gut.

The sound of the EDM music echoes in my ears, as if suddenly further away than it originally was. Though I stand directly in front of him, Taehyung seems to vanish right before my eyes. In his place stands the imaginative illustration of his words and my guilt in combination of a thought I have wished to be real over and over again.

If only it was me.

If I had died instead of Hyeryung, then she and Taehyung could have moved on somehow. They would have had each other, the siblings who some thought were twins based on the closeness of their age and adoring friendship. If it had been me, they would have been able to mourn my loss then continue living because they had a rope in each other to hold on to.

It has been a year and never have I been this way for Taehyung: not during the trial, when my loyalties to my own family froze me to their side; not during the funeral, when I was removed from the venue before I could even see what picture of my best friend they chose for the service; and especially not after, when no one had heard from Taehyung in months and when he did come home eventually, almost no one recognized the man who returned—scruffy hair, exhausted eyes, and limbs so skinny that his jeans were inches from falling off his body at any moment.

As tears spring to my eyes, I don’t wipe at them. They pad down my cheeks, and I whisper, “I’m sorry, Taehyung. I wish it had been me, t-too.”

Taehyung’s gaze traces my tear-stained expression. Despite the room we are in, I feel alone with him now. In this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of us here and every single thing we do will not go unseen by the other. I feel stark naked, and I don’t like it. I hate feeling this way around him when everything I used to feel with him was the exact opposite.

Sensations heightened and heart hammering, I swallow around something thick weighing down my throat. He is staring at me, silent, even as a giggling, much-too-drunk girl bumps into his side and stays there. And so for a split second, Taehyung’s eyes dart to her salaciously stretching her hand over his chest.

Leaning her weight against him, she asks, “Wanna dance with me?”

And as if he has done it a million times before, Taehyung wraps a hand around her wrist and tears it off his chest. The gruff motion seems to startle the strange girl into sobriety, and as she blinks fogginess away, he grumbles, “No, I don’t want to dance with you.”

The girl is smart enough not to start an argument. With her tail between her legs and an embarrassed flush rises high on her angled cheeks, she throws a glance between me and him before running away. The clicking of her heels feels like pinches in my skin as it travels farther and farther away. And when I dare to look at Taehyung again, I almost wish she would come back.

Over the past year, Taehyung has been scarce around town. For one, he had just started university when the news of Hyeryung’s death reached him. Then, after her funeral, he went missing for months. Word in the neighbourhood was that he went to Scotland to see his uncle. Another group of friends said he went to New York to sell his photography. I couldn’t ask around to see which of the floating rumours was actually true.

I remember what Taehyung looked like before his sister died. I wish I didn’t, but I remember it all too well. Like a memory burned to the back of my mind.

Taehyung had a growth spurt sometime during the end of his junior year of high school. He, Hyeryung, and I went back-to-school shopping together and his mother had to buy him three new pairs of jeans because none of his old ones fit him anymore. By then, his style had changed from ‘anime fanatic’ to ‘rich art student,’ too, and so his mother shelled out over two hundred dollars on new shirts and shoes, as well. And so by the time the three of us started school again, Taehyung was suddenly a part of the popular crowd. They opened their arms to him so quickly that it gave me whiplash because I could remember only a few months before when none of them wanted to be seated close to us. We were a small school in an even smaller town, and it was difficult to join new friend groups once they had been established. But Taehyung was different and I knew it.

Hyeri called him a traitor for joining the popular crowd, but I didn’t agree. It’s not like Taehyung forgot about us. His priorities were just different now, and we had to adjust to it. I never told Hyeri, but I liked watching Taehyung bloom into the extroverted, confident, and handsome man he was becoming. It was like watching the smallest star in the galaxy learn to shine brighter than it used to.

I still feel this way, though it is quieter now. It has to be. The circumstances have forced me to be, and once again, I have learned to adjust.

“You’re pathetic,” he seethes, eyes the colour of murky water after midnight. Every word from his lips is a laceration, and a targeted whip against my heart. I am shaking beyond measure, and by now, I am too far from the table to grip it. The man in front of me keeps going. “I wish we had never met you. All you and your family ever did was bring misery into our lives. I wish my sister had been smart enough to see that.” He takes two steps closer. I don’t do the noble thing and move back. It’s like I’m glued in place with nowhere to go. “And you know what? I resent her for that, too. Maybe if she had been smart, she would have seen you for the monster you have always been.”

Taehyung does not cry.

I have known him all his life and not once has he ever cried in front of me. But tonight, he does.

Just like mine sprung with tears minutes ago, his beautiful brown eyes fill with droplets of woe, and suddenly, we are mirrored halves of grief. After a year of mourning apart, we are standing on the same foot path of heartache. Alone, but together.

I would give up anything in the world for you to not be sad anymore.

As Taehyung begins to blink his tears away, I finally take a step forward. My hand, trembling and afraid, reaches up for his face as if it is separate from my mind, screaming at me to stop. Affliction rises from a corner of my heart and rushes down to pool in my stomach. I push past that, too, and touch his face despite everything fighting against me to not do so.

Taehyung doesn’t move back. Not like I expect him to. Slowly, his eyes meet mine in the overcast of the hazy room.

The last time I was this close to him, he had kissed me. It is not a memory I think of with fondness any more. I didn’t think it was fair. What right did I have to dream about a boy whose life I had destroyed? What right did I have to love him?

I tell myself I don’t, that I never did, as I use the pad of my thumb to dust the tears off his warm cheeks. He is stiff, as I expected him to be, but two swipes later, he softens. Perhaps no one else in the raucous club would have noticed it, but I do. I feel it wash over my skin, shuddering and more illuminating than any strobe of colourful lighting around us.

Taehyung traces me with his eyes again, studying my face.

I wonder what he sees. He says I’m a monster, and I can believe myself to be. Is that what he’s seeing? A monster who should have replaced the death of a sister he loved more than anyone else in the world. What colour is this monster? Is she red like the devil? Does she have horns and claws? What love is she capable of if all she does is hurt others?

It is unkind of me, but I selfishly desire for this moment between us to last a while longer when it starts to fizzle. He reads something in my eyes and it seems to wash away the mistiness inside his mind. And then, just like he did the girl before me, Taehyung wraps his long fingers around my wrist and pushes me away.

He does not say a word to me when he walks around my figure and heads into the crowd. Watching him leave splits my heart open. I shift closer to the bar and fall against it, gripping whatever piece of wood I can touch. In seconds, I am soaked with tears all over again.

“Oh, YN…”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I shake my head and push through the pain as much as I can, smiling as I go. “It’s okay. Really, I’m fine.”

Hyeri immediately hugs me to her and grumbles, “I don’t know what happened. He made that card for you and he asked me if you were going to come. I don’t know why he would kiss her—”

“I think it was a mistake… me coming here. I’m—I’m gonna go.”

As I pull out of her arms, trying to sniffle less than I was a few moments ago, Hyeri asks, “Do you want me to beat him up for you?”

“N-No.”

Her lips push into a pout. “Tae is an idiot. You’re way better than her. Smarter and prettier and far more talented.”

“She’s literally a cheerleader and she got into a pre-med program at SNU.”

“So what?”

“Uh…”

“He’s just confused. He’s my brother, and I know he likes you. I don’t know what went wrong, but I’m going to fix this. Okay? I’m going to make him—“

“No!” Grabbing her arm, I stop all of Hyeri’s rapid, fiery movements and force her look at me. “It was just a crush. It’s not like I’m in love with him. He should be with the girl he likes, and it’s okay if that girl isn’t me. So don’t worry about it.” I bump my shoulder with hers. “Now that you’re going out with Dani, at least I know there’s a chance we’re still going to be family someday.”

“We already are,” she grins, and wraps her pinky around mine. Her fingers were always smaller than my own, and it was something her brother and I would tease her about all the time. “We’re sisters. Forever and always.”

. . . ❤ . . .

I like driving into the city.

Back when I was still on my learner’s permit, my mother had to drive everywhere with me. And by everywhere, I mean she made me drive to the grocery store or the town mall while she sat in the driver’s seat going over her various shopping lists. My mother loved lists. She could rarely function well without them. I learned how to create a list for ‘getting ready for school’ before I turned five years old. It was instilled in my brain that ‘living is only done right by those who organize their lives.’ My mother was a perfectionist, and strived for me to be the same.

I started driving alone a year ago, after I passed my second road test. It happened only a week before Hyeryung went missing. Back then, when I was cruising down the empty road behind my neighbourhood listening to Brighten at the perfect volume, I never could have imagined what a few days into the future would look like. No one could have.

There aren’t many people around at this time of day. After all, it’s 7 AM on a Sunday. Everyone is sleeping in or just getting ready to sleep in following a night of Netflix binging or video gaming. I went to bed early last night to avoid doing the same as I had grown prone to lately. With not much to do now that school is out and I am officially a graduate, I spent the past week watching a lot of television despite how it strained my eyes and gave me headache after headache.

As I pull into the parking lot of the town sports shop, I notice Kevin, the store manager, unlocking the front door. I quickly locate a parking spot then kill the ignition. I have exactly twenty minutes before the shop opens for business, which means I need to get to Kevin right away.

I pull down the driving mirror and check my face.

Eyebrows are fine.

Eye bags hidden by drugstore concealer.

My skin is a bit saggy, but that’s okay. No one will really notice.

My lips are—

I quickly apply lip tint then sigh against the driver’s seat. I’m already worn out from stress and I haven’t even gone in there yet. I think my brain knows how scary and exhausting the trek is going to be so it’s decided to keep me from trying my luck. If only I was willing to abide.

No one in my family knows that I’m here.

I wanted to tell Jinnie, but thought better of it since he’s prone to overthinking. He might have tried to talk me out of it. Dad was asleep when I left, and Mom was talking to her sister on the phone. At least, I think she was. I heard the words ‘I want to die’ a few times and she only ever says that to Aunt Yura. She said it to me once, but I think I cried too much afterwards for her to try it again. It’s messy—dealing with someone else’s emotions when your own are so amply charged. My mother transformed into a shell of the person she once was after they took my brother away in handcuffs. Over the months in trial, and between prison visits and being harassed by the town, bits and parts of my mother began chipping away until all she was left with was something unrecognizable—to us and to herself.

Kevin is fixing an arrangement of hockey sticks near the back of the shop when I walk in. He doesn’t turn around as I expect him to, which leaves me standing awkwardly between the doorway and the register, wondering if I should call attention to myself before he realizes I’m there.

“We’re not open just yet—”

Swallowing, I go, “H-Hi.”

Kevin is taller than a lot of men in our town. At six feet four inches, he towers over a great deal of the male population of Butterpond. There is a big picture of him and his basketball teammates hanging on the wall outside of the gymnasium of the local high school, and if you ever eavesdropped on a group of boys standing by it, one of them was bound to claim he would be just as tall as Kevin someday and join the NBA.

Daniel and Kevin graduated together. They were best friends once. The two of them were ‘two peas in a pod;’ consistently side-by-side growing up. Good thing, too, and perhaps only natural, since our father and Kevin’s were also best friends since childhood.

When Hyeryung’s body was found in the backseat of Kevin’s Mazda, no one knew what to think. The best friend? It was a story which ran for exactly six hours before Daniel turned himself in, unbeknownst to our family. My mother cried a lot that day, and so did Jinnie and I. Dad was a rock—his go-to emotion of choice. I can’t say much has changed since then.

Kevin never said a word about what happened the night they found Hyeryung in his car. Not to his lawyer, not to his family, not to us, and especially not to any reporter. An out-of-town podcaster running a true crime podcast reached out to him a week after they buried Hyeryung, and despite how much money they offered for Kevin’s story, he stayed mute. Whether it was because he was hiding something or because of his loyalty to my brother, no one knows.

And as I stand here, in Kevin’s shop a year after the last time I saw him, I wonder how many secrets Kevin still keeps.

“YN…”

I do my best to ignore the pang in my chest upon hearing the surprise in his tone as I take two steps forward. Kevin’s light brown eyes follow my footwork until I am standing less than a metre away from him. I can only imagine what I look like to him in this moment.

Growing up, Kevin would often refer to Jinnie and I as his siblings, too, due entirely to the fact that he spent enough time at our house to warrant it. It was fun having Kevin around. He and Daniel would play video games together or show us scary movies which we later had to lie to our parents about, and on the odd weekend, they would let us join them for fun activities, too.

I missed Kevin all these months because even though I had never said it out loud, I thought of Kevin as my big brother, too.

“How have you been?”

Kevin moves towards me with one step in my direction but then stops, like he’s afraid of the closeness. In a quiet voice, he replies, “I’m fine… what are you doing here?”

There is no one else inside the shop, but it feels like I’m being watched by a hundred people when I reach inside my tote bag for my resume. I hold it out for Kevin’s uncertain hands. “I want to work here.”

Kevin’s eyes snap up. “What?”

“You’re hiring, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I saw your job posting at the grocery store over the weekend,” I add in before he can talk me out of my request. “You need someone to work in the back of the shop.”

The hand holding my resume falls limply to his side, effectively sending my heart into overdrive. Please, please don’t say no. I need this. “YN, I can’t—” A sigh escapes him as he places my resume atop a nearby box. “I can’t hire you for that job, YN. Please look somewhere else.”

“But… why?”

“I just can’t.”

When Kevin turns around, I know exactly what he’s about to do. As someone who does it quite often, it is easy enough to note the signs on another person—Kevin is going to walk away and hope I take a hint to do the same.

But I won’t.

Because I need this job.

Besides the fact that this may be the only place in town where I can still walk in without covering my face with a mask or a hoodie, this is also the only place which receives less than a few customers a day, meaning I don’t have to face anyone who would spit on me without thinking twice. I can lie to myself all I want, but I’m not as strong as I thought I would be when my father said you’re the oldest now after they took Daniel away for the last time.

“Kevin.” Saying his name rings a bell inside my heart, somewhere deep and lonely. Perhaps it is because I haven’t said it for months and months. Or maybe, it’s because of the way he turns back around with pained eyes I’m nowhere used to seeing on him. My words are wobbly as they murmur, “Please, Kev. You’re the only one who—”

The sound of a heavy door bursting open tears us away from the disagreement. The back door of the sports shop swings open to reveal a familiar bed of brown curls, and sun kissed skin. His skin shimmers where the short sleeves of his white Calvin Klein shirt don’t reach, exposed biceps curling to accompany the grip his hands have on a small box he carries in.

Taehyung does not notice me at all, and says to Kevin, “Diego dropped these off. Should I put it next to the baseball gear?” And then he does notice me and with the way his eyes darken, I wish I had taken the initiative to hide when he was unaware of my presence.

“YN was just leaving—”

“No, I’m not leaving.” The tone and finality of my voice scares even me as I stand my ground before the older man. Though my hands shake a bit, I argue, “You can’t d-discriminate against me for this job.”

Kevin’s shoulder slump into a position which tells me he has lost, at least a little bit. Sighing to himself, he tells Taehyung, “Put it down by the baseball gear. I’ll take a look at it later.” To me, Kevin asks, “Can you lift more than 50 kilograms?” But before I can reply, he shakes his head and says, “I know you can’t, so just… just be careful, YN. Please.”

I hold my breath until Kevin walks off, heading for Taehyung who won’t stop staring at me. I turn around and squat to untie my shoelaces just to re-tie them. Anything to get him to stop gazing my way. I used to dream about the day when Taehyung wouldn’t be able to stop himself from looking at me, but now that the day is here, all I want is to go back to the way things used to be.

In more ways than one.

“Hyeri… don’t be mad…”

My best friend blinks up at me, probably thankful for the minute-long holiday from her sixth grade math homework. “What’s up?”

“I think I like—” I squeeze a sofa cushion closer to my face as a fierce blush blossoms over my cheeks. “IlikeTaehyung.”

“What?”

“IthinkIlikeTaehyung.”

Hyeryung tears the cushion off. “Say it again. I couldn’t hear you.”

With a sharp inhale, I whisper, “I like Taehyung.”

Hyeri’s shoulders drop. Her face is expressionless. “My brother, Taehyung?”

“Y-Yeah…”

Suddenly, Hyeryung’s face breaks out into the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on her. She looks like she could explode from joy. It makes my heart grow calmer. “YN! What?! Really?! Do you really like Tae?!”

“Yes…”

“This is so perfect!”

“Really?”

“Of course it is! My two best friends liking each other! What could be more perfect than that!”

“I don’t think Tae likes me, though…” I start playing with a loose string, twisting it around my forefinger. “He doesn’t even notice me. He just plays soccer or guitar all day.”

Hyeryung smirks. “Sure he does. He asked me what he should get you for your birthday.”

My brows pull together as confusion floods through me. “But my birthday is seven months away.”

“Exactly.”

. . . ❤ . . .

Everything in my chest twists and burns as I reach down for the first box of men’s winter jackets.

There are approximately four boxes of unsold menswear from the winter season which never sold out. Kevin asked me to tape them up and place them in the back, behind all the new summer items like flip-flops and sun tan lotion. I hadn’t expected the task to be so daunting. After only a few minutes of heavy lifting, my arms hurt so much that I’m afraid they may never regain proper mobility.

The pain makes me realization I am not cut out for this job despite how much I wanted it last week. But when I compare this pain to the one of feeling stuck in this little town, I ignore my body’s cries and keep pushing.

Kevin isn’t around a lot, preferring to work in his little office where no voices can be heard coming out. But everywhere I turn, Taehyung is there. He mans the register six out of the eight hours we work, and when he isn’t doing that, he strolls around the shop fixing and rearranging items on shelves that look as though they have not been touched since they were placed there.

Most of my time at the shop is spent trying to pretend I don’t notice him. But in trying not to notice him, I only end up noticing him more. Like the way he stands by the water dispenser for minutes at a time, drinking out of the small, paper cups until they get soggy instead of using a bottle. Or how he makes funny faces at himself in the store window whenever he’s bored (he’s very good at doing a horrible Joker impression. Or that he calls his grandmother every other day to check up on her, and uses the gentlest voice in order to do so. Or the fact that he pretends I don’t exist even if I walk right past him.

I know the right thing to do is to feel thankful, but I don’t. I just feel hurt, and upset, and alone. Which, considering the circumstances, is not only disrespectful to his sister’s memory, but agonizingly inhumane on my part. I’m making everything about us, when it isn’t, and that’s why, after a week of working away at Kevin’s little sports shop, I think about quitting every few hours. I feel selfish in believing I shouldn’t for the sake of Jinnie and me.

A knock sounds at the door as I’m lifting the very last box onto a sturdy shelf. My chest heaves once I lodge it up there with the rest of the boxes which will hopefully stay put until the next time Kevin decides to bring them out.

I move to the door as another knock flitters past, and before I decide to take a seat on the dirty floor of the backroom. My fingers are numb as they twist the door handle and reveal an expressionless Kevin standing behind it. He keeps his gaze locked on a spot behind me as he speaks, and yet again, I feel out-of-place.

“It’s lunch time,” he murmurs in a voice which tells me he wishes he didn’t have to speak to me at all. And I end up hating myself a little more for putting him in such a position. “Go and take a break.”

Giving him a simple nod, I watch Kevin walk away, probably to inform Taehyung of the same thing. Movement by the front door tells me that Kevin is locking up for the next hour, as is customary for lunch. I go to the small lockers where I keep my things and pull out my lunch bag. It swings from my fingers as I move to the back door, using all my strength to push it open.

Outside, the early July sun waves hello as I find my spot closest to the door. Then, I reach inside my lunch bag and pull out an old bed sheet with the Power Rangers on it that Jinnie used to sleep on. Laying it on the gravel, I push down the ends as much as I can then take a seat in a criss-cross position.

For lunch today, I packed some of last night’s leftovers: a glass noodle stir-fry I learned how to make off a TikTok recipe. Dad pretended to like it for the sake of me being his daughter, Mom hardly touched hers, while Jinnie asked for chicken nuggets instead. I didn’t think the noodles were too bad, but if I could choose between this lunch and a Big Mac, I know which one I’d pick in a heartbeat.

I swirl the noodles around with my chopsticks as a group of ants slowly trek their way up and onto my makeshift picnic blanket. They must have smelt the food and announced it to their troop.

Smilingly, I reach inside my Tupperware of noodles and locate a slice of beef then lay it on the cloth. Almost instantly, they all jump for the meat and take it away with them. I do this a few more times until all that’s left in my lunchbox are a few strings of noodles that look even less appetizing than before. So I cover it up and set it aside, then reach for a cosmic brownie I promised myself I wouldn’t eat but can’t help myself to now when my stomach grumbles out of hunger.

I’m nearing the end of the exceptionally delicious brownie when the door swings open, nearly slapping me in the face. Okay, bad lunch spot. Further away from the door next time, YN.

“What are you doing…?” It’s Taehyung, and he’s staring at me like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I lower my head out of instinct. He must notice my set up because his next question is, “You eat lunch out here?”

I nod so I don’t have to verbally reply, and also so that I don’t actually have to lift my head and talk.

“I thought you went to McDonald’s or something…” I’m silent as well unmoving in the hope that maybe he will walk back inside without questioning me further. But that’s not the case when he goes on to ask, “Why don’t you eat in the staff room?” The staff room he’s referring to is the small room next to Kevin’s office and the bathroom. It has exactly one table with two seats, a mini microwave, a kettle, and a box of napkins. I would be both stupid and heartless (perhaps more than I already am) if I sat myself in that room next to Taehyung in silence while we ate our lunch.

But now, Taehyung is waiting for an answer I don’t want to give him, but one which I have to. “I didn’t… um… I didn’t want to bother you…”

“By eating your lunch?” I stay quiet again, and I can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “It’s not like I care where you eat your lunch, but just eat in the staff room from now on. I don’t want to be held responsible for you bringing bugs into the shop.”

I know that he knows his argument is weak, and that it’s just his inherent goodness talking, so I nod and agree. Taehyung doesn’t stay outside for much longer after that. I don’t know what he came out here for, and he never shows me. After he leaves, I wait a few minutes before heading inside and to the lockers.

Kevin is waking up from his short nap and as he passes me by, he tells me to finish logging all the winter boxes into the system. It’s one of the various tasks I have to deal with, and in my opinion, probably the most difficult. I know next to nothing about Excel spreadsheets, but Kevin doesn’t know that so he’s never tutored me on it. Most of the time, I turn to Youtube or Google to help me figure it out. Now if only the physical labour was as simple.

The shop has been pretty empty today. Most days are like this considering the fact that summer only just started and a lot of the town folk go on vacation during this time. Kevin tells me that the shop doesn’t see an increase in sales until at least late July, when the vacationers return and their kids start asking for new shoes or sports gear.

As I’m finishing up the winter log, the front door chimes, announcing the arrival of a customer. When I take a peek outside, from where my door was left ajar, I notice Mrs. Bloom and her son, Cody, walk in.

Mrs. Bloom is the wife of the town’s grocery store owner, Mr. Bloom of Blooming Butterpond. Everyone who lives in our town gets their groceries from them. Their prices are reasonable, and their customer service is alright, but I still know a lot of people who order their spices online. The Blooms are one of the richest families in town and anyone who is anyone knows who they are. Mrs. Bloom is especially popular. She is friends with nearly all the women in town, young and old. Back before Daniel’s arrest, she used to be friends with my mother, too. She would come around for afternoon tea sometimes or invite our family to picnics by the lake. Daniel and her older son, Brandon, knew each other from football, too, though they were separated by a three year age gap.

Mrs. Bloom stopped calling and visiting our house first. After she did, all the other women in town followed. One by one, they all cut our family off—terrified for their own sons and daughters.

I haven’t seen nor heard Mrs. Bloom’s voice since last winter, when she gave the local news station a personal account of my brother’s violent upbringing. Not that she was even a part of it. Daniel wasn’t even born in Butterpond, but on the other side of the country while our parents were on vacation.

“Taehyung, honey, hello,” Mrs. Bloom’s voice chirps. It is cheery and full of delight, and everything which screams I come from a lot of money. “How have you been, sweetheart? I haven’t seen you around these days. Are you eating well? How’s your family?”

Taehyung’s voice is less bubbly. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Bloom. I’m fine and so are my parents.” I peek my head our further to watch him smile at Cody, a boy only a few months younger than my baby brother. “Hey, Cody. How’s soccer going?”

“I made captain!”

“No way! High five!” Cody jumps high to slap his palm against Taehyung’s. The boy I haven’t seen smile all week is nothing but in front of the customers.

Mrs. Bloom ruffles her son’s hair and grins at Taehyung with pearly white teeth. “We came here to get Cody some new running shoes and grab Brandon’s new football gear. Can you help us out today?”

“Of course. Please, follow me.”

As Taehyung leads them to the section of the shop where we keep kids’ running shoes, I slowly back away from the door and shut it behind me. Knowing myself, I’ll keep listening just to give myself something to do now that I’ve completed the winter log. And knowing Mrs. Bloom, my employment here will become the talk of the town if she sees me.

For the next few minutes, I busy myself with the physical inventory list Kevin keeps by the door. Flip-flops, swim trunks, swimsuits, sun-tan lotion, sunscreen, surf boards… After a minute or so of reading, the words seem to pile together until they may as well have been written in a foreign language. When my eyes begin to blur with the strained ill movement of my eyes, I look away, blinking furiously.

That’s when I hear two taps at the door—Taehyung’s knock.

I slowly pull it open to reveal Taehyung standing there, as expressionless as Kevin was a few hours ago.

“Uh… yeah?”

Taehyung holds up a yellow Post-It note sprawled with his messy handwriting. “I need these Nikes in size 7.” Then he pushes the paper my way before I can ask him to hold on while I go and find it.

The Nikes Cody wants are a limited edition pair of running shoes which came out only a month ago. I read about their stock number in the shop on my first day working here since Kevin wanted me to be well-aware of which shoes would be likely to sell out first and where to quickly locate them. The only thing is… Mrs. Bloom and her son are the first customers to come asking for them since I started my job, and I’ve long since forgotten what I learned last week about running shoes.

I walk through the men’s shoe aisle, scanning the boxes as quickly as possible while flipping through the inventory list just as fast.

“Level 2, Box 2C…”

Level 2 is high enough for me to need a ladder, which I pull to my side from the very end of the aisle. The ladder is shaky as I ground my foot onto the first step, careful to hold onto something so that I don’t fall off-balance. It takes me a few tries to control my breathing as I stand on top of the ladder, but eventually I’m able to find the box I’m looking for and reach inside it. The shoe box is wrapped with a thick film of bubble wrap, which I manage to tear off as soon as I’m back on solid ground.

Taking a deep breath, I squeeze my fingers to pump some energy back inside me before pulling the door open. Much to my surprise, Taehyung isn’t there like I expected him to be. With confusion growing in the pit of my stomach, I glance around several times to see if maybe he was scrolling through his phone close by, but he isn’t. He isn’t there at all.

I don’t know what I’m doing when I slowly walk out of the back room and towards the main part of the shop where anyone could see me. Usually, I never walk out when we have customers. I know Kevin has never said it, but his eyes on the day he gave me this job was enough to tell me that I wasn’t really allowed out here at all. His shop has been in the family for decades. I can’t allow my family’s reputation to destroy it.

Yet here I am, walking forward with my gut twisting the way my chest was earlier this morning. And when my eyes fall upon the scene I walk up to, the biting sensation strengthens so tight around my ribcage that it is a wonder I am still breathing.

Mrs. Bloom appears to be talking on the phone a little ways away, while Taehyung bounces a soccer ball on his knee, seemingly to show Cody how to do it. Cody is smiling and giggling cutely at the way Taehyung appears to mimic real soccer stars. I probably shouldn’t think much of it except that I do. Because this small blip in time marches in tandem with the days Jinnie would stare up at Taehyung with all the love in the world pouring from his sparkly eyes.

“Tae, I don’t think Jinnie will be any good at soccer,” I whisper to the brown haired boy. I feel bad for saying it, but Jinnie hasn’t always been the greatest at sports. That was more Daniel’s forte. But these days, Jinnie was missing our older while he went to visit colleges with our Dad, and he wanted to impress him when Daniel returned. “He can’t even throw a ball.”

Taehyung grins towards Jinnie. “Good thing that soccer balls aren’t meant to be thrown.”

I was right in the end—soccer was not Jinnie’s strong suit. But Taehyung was against my ‘poor spirits’ as he called it. He wanted to show Jinnie that it was perfectly possible for anyone to learn how to play soccer, even if it took some people longer to learn than others. And the thing is, Taehyung did show Jinnie exactly what he set out to do. Over and over again, Hyeri and I would be hanging out after school, studying for an upcoming test or painting our nails pretty in pink, and Taehyung would come by looking to hang out with my baby brother. Jinnie loved it. He started calling Taehyung his big brother, too, and Taehyung wore the badge like an honour.

I’m sniffling back tears before I even realize they’re falling while the shoe box shakes in my hands uncontrollably. That’s when Taehyung glances my way, and immediately stops what he’s doing to walk over to me.

“Are you—”

“YN YLN, is that you?” Mrs. Bloom slides past a befuddled Cody and straight up to me, bypassing Taehyung who blinks at her aggressive stance. Mrs. Bloom is a woman much taller than I am, and when she stands so close, I feel cornered in, like a mouse with nowhere to run. I try to meet her fiery eyes, but am unable to when she starts speaking again. “What are you doing here?” To Taehyung, she incredulously wonders, “Taehyung, honey, don’t tell me you work with her?”

“Ma’am, I—”

Mrs. Bloom snaps her gaze to mine. “I’m not speaking to you, YN, now am I? I’m speaking to this poor boy whom you’re troubling with your presence.” Her eyes narrow as they take me in. “The audacity! Do you lack a conscience, YN? A heart? Is your family a pack of wolves?!”

With each word her burgundy painted lips spit my way, my heart crowds in on itself. It’s hard to breathe, and I can feel something thundering inside my chest, willing me to fall to the ground in foetal position until everything around me goes away. It may work out well for her, too, since she’d have plenty of small tidbits to sprinkle her story with for the other town folk to listen to.

Though before I can move out of her atmosphere, Taehyung steps forward, and effectively shifts Mrs. Bloom’s attention to himself.

“Mrs. Bloom, let me ring you up,” he suggests with a slight wobble to his voice. His eyes are indecipherable as he looks her way. “I can offer you a 15% summer discount on the shoes.”

As he does so, I use the back of my hand to push away my tears and square my shoulders. This is not the worst thing you have ever been through, I remind myself as I start walking back to the inventory room. I can still hear the chattering of Mrs. Bloom and Taehyung at the register when I touch the doorknob. Then, as I start to pull it open, I hear Taehyung call my name.

He’s right behind me wearing an uncertain expression. It’s one I can fully read this time, and it sets my gut aflame.

“Yeah…?”

“Mrs. Bloom, she…” he raises his arm to rub the back of his neck, both awkward and unsure. “She wants you to carry Brandon’s football gear to her car.”

“M-Me?”

“Yes.”

I do my best to ignore the way my chest tightens again. My still-damp eyes swim to the front door where Mrs. Bloom stands waiting for me, one hand on her hip and frown evident even from afar. Gathering my strength, I nod at Taehyung then move towards the older woman who huffs as I reach down to pick up the box. Just like all the boxes have been today, this one is heavy, too, and I struggle to hold it up. My weak arms shake with the intensity of the weight as I walk through the door, noticing Taehyung trail behind me and up to the register.

Mrs. Bloom’s car is parked right outside the shop. It’s a silver Hyundai Palisade with a personalized licence plate which brokenly spells out her first name. As I stand there on the concrete waiting for directions about what to do with the box, Mrs. Bloom helps Cody with his seat belt. I shift on my feet as I wait, trying to imagine what worlds are inside this box which make it so hefty while she finishes up. Afterwards, she flips open the trunk then stands behind me as I try to place the box inside. Except, there’s no space since the entire trunk is filled with groceries.

Awkwardly, I stutter, “M-Mrs. Bloom, w-what should I do with the, um… with the groceries?”

“Move them, obviously.”

I don’t argue with her and start moving the plastic bags around. Her gaze is hawk-like as she watches my timid movements shuffling vegetables and produce aside to make space for the sports equipment. Eventually, I find enough space to fit the box and load it in. Then before I can move my hand away rapidly enough, Mrs. Bloom nearly closes the trunk on them.

With my heart pulsing a mile a second, I’m stupid enough to think this is all she will do when I take a step back and she turns around. In a split moment, her full hand comes flying my way, striking my right cheek.

Splintering agony explodes behind my eyelids and throughout the expanse of my brain, causing my eyes to squeeze shut involuntarily. My nose makes a weird sort of sound as Mrs. Bloom’s hand moves back, and she snickers.

“Your family will pay with hell for what they did to poor Hyeryung and the Kims,” she spits while I use my utmost power to stop my shaking hands from reaching for my face, lest I show her disrespect. “I don’t know where you found the nerve to work here, but rest assured that one of these days, someone will come along to put you in place!”

I don’t get to say anything to her as she huffs one last time before climbing into her car and driving away.

The walk back to the shop is harder than I imagined it would be. With my stinging cheek and my shaking limbs, it’s difficult to ground myself in the reality I’m living. But then I think about Taehyung behind the register, and how I don’t want him to see me like this. I start rubbing both my cheeks as I near the door and by the time I’m grabbing the handle to open it, I hope against hope that Taehyung will not question me.

Then my hope breaks when he does.

“YN…” His quiet voice is a thousand sad songs bursting through to my veins simultaneously. I know he saw everything. “Are you… okay?”

“Mhm.”

“You should have—” Taehyung cuts himself off. Should have… what? Stood up for himself against her accusations which you and the rest of the town share? “Go take a break or… something. I’ll let Kevin know—”

“No, I’m fine.”

“YN.”

I lock eyes with him. “I’m fine, Taehyung. There’s no need for you to worry about me. I can handle myself.”

And with that, I walk off to the washroom before he gains anymore courage to destroy me with words which hurt lightyears more than his silence.

“Tae, I’m fine—”

Taehyung gently blows on the scratch against my leg where I fell of his new bike.

I had been wanting to ride it all week and he had finally giving me the chance to do so, only to have me fall off barely a minute into riding. Now the two of us were sitting on the end of a sidewalk, while I tried to hold back tears as the pain from my small wound tore away at my nine year old heart.

“I’m sorry, YN,” Taehyung whispers as tears pebble along his waterline. He stares up at me worriedly. “I should have held onto you longer. I didn’t know you were going to fall off like that.”

I smile to comfort him in the place of my hand which was too afraid to touch him just yet. “If I’m with you, I don’t care about falling.”

. . . ❤ . . .

My car won’t start.

It is well into mid-July now and the nighttime air feels muddier than the crisp air our town experiences the remainder of the year. It’s obnoxiously hot, and despite the air conditioning I was stationed next to for the past eight and a half hours, it feels like pure torture to be fighting with my car’s engine out in the parking lot where Kevin’s car is missing.

Kevin and Daniel used to work on my car all the time. Well, back then it was Daniel’s car and he adored taking care of it as if Esmerelda was his daughter (yes, he named her, and no, I was not allowed to change her name). Daniel took care of her all throughout high school and when he moved away, he passed the car along to me seeing as his college town was well-equipped with accessible public transportation.

Daniel loved Esmerelda no matter what—even when she gave him a hard time. Whenever that would happen, he and Kevin would spend hours gruelling over her ‘body parts’ and experimenting with different techniques to fix her from videos they found on YouTube. Kevin was always more hands-on, though, and managed to figure out the problem much faster than Daniel did. But during the short time they managed a makeshift mechanic shop out of our family garage one summer, they both took credit for the work.

I wish Kevin was here right now to help me with my car.

I don’t know how to get home without it. Calling Dad during this hour would mean that he would have to drive after drinking, which obviously wasn’t happening. Mom would not bother to answer her phone and even if she did, the last thing she would be capable of doing it getting behind the wheel to come pick me up from a job I have yet to tell anyone but Jinnie about. Speaking of Jinnie, I wish to all the stars above me right now that Jinnie could magically come and save me. Or that I could save myself from this mess.

I just want to go home and take a shower.

Today was a bad, bad, bad day and I just want to wash everything about it down the drain so I no longer have to sit with the motions and decode them. Am I getting punished by God for what my brother did? Am I a monster for working next to Taehyung when my family is the reason why his is missing a piece? Am I stupid enough to believe I’m not awful?

As I’m contemplating all of these questions, Taehyung walks out the front door, then locks it behind him. His motions are quick—focused, as if he’s closed up shop a thousand times before. I wonder if that’s true. Taehyung didn’t go back to school like he was supposed to, and everyone in town spread rumours about where he may have gone and what he was doing when he got back. Because the sports shop is a relatively slow business most days, it doesn’t take much guessing to understand that a lot of townsfolk probably don’t even know that he works here yet. Or they do and they have just decided to move on from gossip about the Kim family.

“YN.”

There is an uncomfortable edge to his voice coupled with surprise. He says my name like he hates saying it. Hates knowing that I’m here and that he has to put up with me. I hate that I’ve put him in this position.

“Hey, uh—”

“Why didn’t you go home yet?”

I shift so he can see the upturned hood of my car. “My car won’t, um, it won’t start.”

“Then take the bus.”

His nonchalance as he starts walking towards his own car stops me from answering him. Instead, I start patting my jeans to look for my phone. I find it in my back pocket and pull it out. Google Maps says my taxi fare would be around fifty dollars, bearing traffic in mind, if I call for one right now. The last bus to my neighbourhood stopped running at least an ago. I don’t think Taehyung knows this.

Suddenly, a car horn beeps at me.

Taehyung sits behind the wheel of his car looking stoic and tense. His knuckles are burned tight around the wheel, gripping it with his might. Up above, thunder rolls across the once clear sky. Was it supposed to rain tonight? As I look up to inspect the droplets of rain, Taehyung sticks his head out the window.

“Get in.”

“Why?”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s raining. I don’t want to be responsible for you taking a sick day tomorrow.”

I don’t want to be held responsible for you bringing bugs into the shop.

His earlier words ring fierce in my ears even as I shut the hood of my car, lock it, then get into the passenger seat of Taehyung’s Toyota Camry. Doing so hits me with the regret of not sliding into the backseat. Now I’m going to have to share even closer space with him inside a car that already feels like it’s suffocating me.

Without a word more, Taehyung backs out of the parking lot.

We drive in silence for a few minutes. It’s not as though I expected either of us to fill it, although it does remind of the days when laughter was the tune of choice which played for hours and hours inside this car.

Taehyung would drive Hyeri and our friends around sometimes, or he’d bring his friend, Jimin, and the four of us would go exploring out of town. We’d always get in big, big trouble with our parents (I was grounded for a whole month one time), but it was worth it. None of us ever regret what we did together. We had all the pictures and videos and memories to prove that our youth was something beautiful.

I train my gaze on the tote bag I carry everywhere with me. Hand-stitched words read, trust the timing of your life, with Hyeryung’s name stitched at the bottom. I fold the bag over so Taehyung doesn’t notice it.

“You don’t have to take me all the way home. I can—”

Taehyung reaches out to flip the radio on. A chorus of a loud pop song starts to blare.

A bead of sweat forms and trickles down the back of my neck, and my hands start to shiver. I squeeze them into fists under the tote so he doesn’t notice them either. I sit like this for the remainder of the ride, hating myself for accepting it when I could have sat just as uncomfortably inside a taxi.

When we were kids, Taehyung and Hyeryung used to put on mini musicals for their parents. They were both pretty decent at singing, and loved the attention, so it made sense that they would show off for their family who adored them.

Taehyung loved to sing oldies music, like the kind you would have heard on the radio in the 70s and 80s. They were his parents’ favourite, and anything they liked, Taehyung would instantly grow an attachment to, as if his life’s purpose was to please his mother and father.

I always admired that about him, especially since my own relationship with my parents was something I felt as though I was always building towards but was never truly mine. And after Daniel went to prison, what was left of our relationship disappeared for good. Dad tries his best to stay out of the house as much as he can, and Mom never speaks to me unless she has to. Sometimes weeks pass and I wonder if she even remembers me and Jinnie’s names.

We are nearing a red light when the song changes. It’s a song I would recognize anywhere, and I know Taehyung would, too. What Makes You Beautiful, the song of our summers. The three of us would sing it loud and proud everywhere we went, not caring who saw or heard us. Those were the moments when I truly felt like I belonged to my friends, like they were really mine and not someone else’s.

I clench my hands tighter as Taehyung starts to hum along. He doesn’t belt the song like he used to, when he would use old plastic bottles as a microphone and make his sister and me laugh until our bellies hurt.

I don’t know when I start crying. When the first tear hits my tote and melts against the fabric, I try to sniffle up the rest so Taehyung wouldn’t see them, but the effort is futile because the boy next to me snickers and says, “Don’t cry in my car.” Then turns the radio off.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything else to me as we drive up to my house. The lights are off and it looks like no one is home except for the small lamp emitting light from Jinnie’s room. Taehyung stops the car at the edge of my street and just stares. I wish I knew what he was thinking. All my childhood was spent hoping that I would one day be able to read Kim Taehyung’s mind without him ever having to speak. But I never did.

The street light is faint so I clutch my phone in my hand as I walk out, careful to whisper my ‘thank you’ instead of voicing it normally. Taehyung ignores me and keeps staring at my house.

There is so much I want to say to him, and talk to him about. We used to be able to talk about most things with ease. Laughed about them, too. Everything from cartoons to school to politics. Now it feels like we are both shells of the people we used to be.

I walk along the sidewalk with my phone flashlight guiding me. The walk is short enough, but I don’t want to risk the fall over something I can’t see. When I get to the house, I use whatever ounce of courage I have left inside me to look back. To my surprise, Taehyung is still there. It’s too far to see in the dark, so I don’t know if he’s still staring at the house or waiting for me to go inside, but I tell myself it’s the former only so I don’t stay up all night wondering about the latter.

. . . ❤ . . .

Mom is wailing in her room.

I hear it sometime after breakfast, when I’m washing the dishes and thinking about what to cook for dinner. Dad is passed out in the basement from the night before and I know better than to ask him to check on her.

I make Jinnie put in ear plugs before I walk to her room.

The door was locked, as it always is, so I go to my room and retrieve my extra set of keys. I also grab a bottle of water that was sitting on my nightstand.

Mom is curled up into a ball at the foot of her bed—her position of choice on the less than normal days.

I place my arm under her body and help her up, sitting her against the fabric headboard. She sniffles but doesn’t say anything. I use the back of my hand to wipe her cheeks then help her take small sips of the water.

Following the second sip, she murmurs, “Is Jinnie okay?”

“Yes,” I reply, ignoring the pang of hurt which bursts my chest open. Are you going to ask about me, too? I smile and add, “We just had breakfast. Overnight oats and French Toast.”

“Okay,” she nods, but I’m not sure if she completely understands. “Take care of Jinnie. He needs to drink his milk.”

“Yes, Mom.”

I leave the room promising to bring her breakfast in a few minutes, but the wailing starts up again as soon as my foot touches the top of the stairs. I shake my head and keep walking.

Jinnie takes out his earplugs as soon as he sees me come down. There is a look on his face which tells me he’s terrified that something has happened to our mother. I wrap him up in a hug before he can question me about it. I’m thankful then, that Jinnie isn’t one of those kids who hates being touched. These days, he is the only reason I manage to keep myself upright.

“Wanna go to the park?”

My brother looks up at me with wide eyes. “Really? Can we get ice cream?”

I ruffle his hair just the way he likes and nod my approval. “Go grab your soccer ball. We’ll head out in ten minutes.”

. . . ❤ . . .

When we get to the park, I’m grateful for its emptiness. Less people means less eyes and less gossip for Jinnie to hear.

I throw a smile toward my little brother. “Do you wanna go on the swings first or play soccer?”

“Swings!”

So that’s what we do.

Jinnie and I both get on the swings together then make a competition about who can go the highest. I’m terrified of heights, absolutely hate them with all my being, but seeing the blissful expression on my brother’s face makes me fight off the demons which demand I stay on solid ground. We swing and swing for minutes until Jinnie jumps off while still in the air. I scream-laugh his name as he grins, waiting for me to hop down, too.

“That was so scary!”

“You’re a wimp!”

Jinnie giggles as I chase him down to the grassy area where he placed his soccer ball. When I’m close enough to reach it, I kick the ball with all my strength so that it goes flying over to the other side. Jinnie laughs and runs after it, his little legs taking him far and far off until I all I can see is his mop of dark hair and blue shorts.

I stand rooted in my spot, waiting for him to kick the ball to me, yet, when he does, the ball spirals past and hits the foot of someone standing behind me. I turn around to apologize only to find Taehyung staring at me, the same way he was staring at my house last night.

Of their own accord, my feet shuffle back, and I’m scared all over again.

Jinnie slowly walks up and instead of jumping up for Taehyung as he always used to, my little brother hides behind my legs. His hands are shaky as they clutch the material of my pants, and I know, without even looking at him, that he wants to go home.

“It’s okay,” I whisper so only Jinnie will hear. I place my hand over his and gently pull him to stand next to me. “We’ll go, okay? Lets go—”

But then Taehyung surprises us by bouncing the soccer ball on his right knee. He makes a show of bouncing it three times before catching the ball and placing it under his arm. Taking a step closer to Jinnie, Taehyung gets down on one knee and smiles at my brother.

“Can I play with you?”

Jinnie’s eyes widen, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. I’m sure mine look the same. “Really?”

Taehyung grins. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile in months. “Yes.”

Jinnie loosens his grip on my pants and looks up. “Can I, YN?”

Taehyung doesn’t glance my way, but I can’t help but stare at him. What is he playing at? I don’t care if he hurts me, but the idea of him hurting Jinnie makes me want to hurl. I’ve never been a strong person—emotionally nor physically, but for Jinnie, I would do anything.

I need Taehyung to know this.

Clearing my throat, I say to Taehyung, “Do you really want to play soccer with him?”

“Yeah, I do.” He looks up. “What? You don’t want me to?”

Jinnie makes a noise and pulls on my pants. He doesn’t want me to ruin his chances of playing soccer with Taehyung again. “N-No, that’s not—” I swallow my fear. “Fine. Thank—”

Taehyung gets up and looks directly into my eyes. I’m not prepared for the way it makes me tremble. His eyes are full of anger and resentment, and a darkness which I would have thought unfathomable a year ago. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for him. He didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t thank me.”

He didn’t do anything wrong?

What?

As Taehyung takes Jinnie by the hand and starts to lead him away, I fall onto a park bench thinking, then what did I do wrong, Tae?

. . . ❤ . . .

Taehyung is eating a sandwich that looks days old.

I don’t mean to sneak glances at his meal while I eat my own, but I can’t help it when the rancid smell of the sandwich attacks my nostrils. I don’t think he even knows it’s rotten. Or maybe he doesn’t care.

I do, and I hate that I still do.

I push my bag of chips his way. Taehyung looks down at like I’ve offered him tiny mice. His face twists into an irritated shape, but he doesn’t deny himself the barbeque flavoured junk food I bought on my way to work this morning.

We sit in silence while we eat. This is only the second time I’ve eaten in the staff room, and I’m already regretting it. None of the food I eat comfortably trails down my esophagus and into my stomach. It seems to lodge first in my mouth then at the edge of my throat, as if my body is waiting for further instructions.

Taehyung finishes the bag of chips within a few minutes, and I know he wants to apologize for eating all of it, but he holds himself back. He doesn’t want to say anything to me, and for that, I release a slow exhale. I don’t want to strike up a conversation with him either.

Pulling out my phone, I start to scroll through Instagram. Hundreds of pictures litter my phone screen of people my age having the time of their lives in Cancun or LA. Photographs of boys in swim trunks hugging girls in colourful swimsuits; pictures of past friends having a picnic by a sparkling lake; and photos of people celebrating summer birthdays. It reminds me of Hyeryung, and how her birthday is at the end of this month.

Tears sting my eyes.

I miss her. I miss my best friend. I want to turn back time. I want to fix the hurt my family has given to everyone in this town. I want everything to be okay again.

I don’t realize that I’m sniffling until Taehyung clears his throat. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand before looking up at him. His eyes—dark, mysterious, and totally unreadable—are staring at my phone. Or rather, what’s behind my phone case.

I turn the phone over. There is a picture of Hyeryung and me from our first day of second grade. That was also the day we decided to become best friends forever following an entire summer of playdates at each other’s houses. Hyeryung was wearing a purple shorts with a white shirt and I was wearing white shorts with a purple shirt. We had picked the outfit together when our mothers took us shopping for back-to-school clothes.

Hyeryung has her arm thrown over my shoulder while I’m clutching her waist, smiling as widely as she is. The backdrop is our second grade classroom before all the other kids came rushing in. We have one with our teacher, too, but I like this picture more because it’s just the two of us. Two best friends who thought nothing in the world could ever harm them or their friendship.

Taehyung grabs my phone out of my hands before I can fully register what’s happening. He tears the case off and reaches inside for the picture. I don’t know what to think as he stares down at it with an unfamiliar expression spreading over his features. His chest heaves, though, and his shoulders tense. Whatever he’s thinking, it isn’t good.

My theory is proven correct when the next second, Taehyung rips the photograph in half. Then in quarters. Then in tiny little pieces which scatter over the lunch table like shards of shattered glass.

“Wha—”

His eyes snap up, and this time, they are black. “You don’t get to grieve her,” he retorts. A single tear escapes his eye and falls down his cheek. “She was my sister. My family. You don’t get to fucking grieve her death.”

My heart and lungs and probably ever other organ freezes as his eyes bear into mine. I’m unmoving but even that feels tenacious in the given situation. Taehyung’s white shirt expands with the punch of his shaky exhale while his hands clench firmly on the table. I bite my lip and look down, lowering my gaze.

Every inch of my heart is hammering, like some strange person is whacking at it ferociously. I move one of my hands to grip the table, but Taehyung hits his fist against it. Instantly, my clammy palm moves away from the shaking table. For the first time in my life, I’m petrified by Kim Taehyung, and the suffocating feeling which swam over our heads only a minute ago transforms into deeply sorrowful fear.

My lunch box is still shaking when he growls, “You don’t even regret it, do you?”

“I—”

Another tear drips down his cheek. “Hyeri dated that bastard brother of yours and died for it, and you don’t give a single fuck.” He places his trembling right hand on the table and splays his fingers out over the cold material. “Why do you get to live a normal life when he took hers away? Huh? Why?! Why, YN?!” When I don’t answer, Taehyung grabs the table and flings it so it hits the wall behind him. Terrified, I rise from my chair and move back, but he’s faster. He gets up close to me and says, “Why didn’t you die? Why couldn’t he have taken his anger out on you? My sister—” I try to hold back, but when a sob wracks through my body, Taehyung’s anger deepens. “I told you not to fucking cry in front of me.”

This only makes me cry harder. I feel like my mother as I stand in front of Taehyung crying worse than I have in weeks. A choking feeling rises in my chest and squeezes my ribs tight. I just want this nightmare to end. I wish it was me who died instead of Hyeryung. I wish it every night before bed, and especially now, when Taehyung looks at me with fury lining his irises.

I want the ground to open up and take me. I wouldn’t argue. I would just go.

But then the door is being smacked open and Kevin is staring at the two of us with confusion.

He looks at me first, with my tear-stained cheeks and frightened stance, then at Taehyung, who takes a step back immediately after seeing Kevin. He doesn’t look at me again as he darts past the older man and out to the store.

“YN, are you—”

I wipe at my cheeks and force a smile. “I’m fine, Kevin. Don’t worry.”

“Should I talk to him—?”

“No!” My loudness is a surprise to both of us. Swallowing, I try again. “No, please don’t talk to him. Nothing happened. I’m completely fine. We j-just a-a… um, it was a misunderstanding. We’re fine. C-Completely fine.”

Kevin doesn’t believe and I know it. But I don’t want him to fire Taehyung or worse—talk to him about just happened. It might actually kill me.

For the next few hours, I stay far and away from Taehyung. When I need to go to the bathroom, I triple check the room before scrambling like towards it like a mouse. When I’m thirsty, I beg my stomach to hold onto until I get home to drink water. And when I feel the urge to check on him, sneaking peeks the way I’ve been doing for the last two weeks, I pinch my wrist and stop myself from doing so. All the while, my heart vibrates from the memory of our clash back in the staff room.

By closing time, Kevin swings by inventory to ask me to take out the trash.

“I would ask Taehyung, but he’s…”

“I’ll do it.”

Kevin nods. “Thanks, YN. I appreciate it.”

I time myself well.

While Taehyung goes to the bathroom, I sprint to the trash bins and pull them out, telling myself I’ll tie them when I get outside. Then I pile up all the recycling in the industrial bin and use my shoulder to push open the back door.

I haven’t been out here after it gets dark. It looks different now that the sun isn’t shining and the birds aren’t chirping and there are no ants I can see well enough to feed.

I tie the garbage bags first. Twisting the plastic around in my fingers, I tie them as tight as I can muster then squish them inside the black garbage bin. Thankfully, there isn’t much trash today so when I practice wheeling the bin, it’s easy enough for me.

Next is the recycling. We always get a lot of that. There are boxes—old and new—and various stacks of paper and other miscellaneous items that need to be properly disposed of. Unlike the garbage bags, I struggle to squeeze all the recyclables into the bin neatly. And as I’m doing so, I hear a distinct kick at garbage bin I left to sit idle behind me.

I turn around to inspect the noise, thinking it’s an animal, when I come face-to-face with Brandon Bloom.

“What are you—?”

Brandon grins, and it feels menacing. Panic flushes my system as I take a step back from the recycling. Brandon takes this as invitation to step closer until I can hear the thick breaths he takes.

“My mom’s been telling the town that you work here,” he says. “Thought I’d come here and see how you’re holding up.”

“W-Why would y-you—”

Brandon reaches for my wrist and twists it so my skin burns. I yelp, and try to loosen his grip, but he’s holding on too tight.

“You know, YN, your brother…” he grins again, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. The dread inside me is building and everything I ever learned from self-defence on YouTube slips from my mind. “He used to tell all the guys that your cute ass was off limits. Said you were too young to be with any of us. But then he went and fucked Hyeri and none of us knew.” He leans in close to me so I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “I’ve never liked hypocrites, especially ones who tell me what I can and cannot have.” He grabs my throat and squeezes. “Imagine if I fucked you right here, right now. I’d put him in his fucking place then, wouldn’t I? Bet you’d feel so fucking tight around my dick—” I bite down on his hand as hard as I can, tasting copper when he screams and jumps back. I start to run from him, reaching for the door handle, when he pushes my front against it with all his body weight. “Fucking bitch! How dare you! I’m—”

Brandon is cut off when someone charges at him. A tall body pushes him to the ground and lands two punches straight to his face. I’m trembling as I step back, and blinking so fast that my eyes may as well fall out.

“Kim, what—?”

Another punch, and this time, it’s one which knocks Brandon out.

The heaviness in my chest grows louder as Taehyung slowly stands back up. He tries to take a step towards me but I flinch and move back.

“Are you okay?” As soon as he asks me this question, Taehyung’s remorse is visible. He swallows and steps over Brandon’s body to open the door. “Go inside. I’ll take care of this.”

I do as he says and then crawl into a foetal position on the floor of the stock room. A few minutes later, I hear a cop car pull into the parking lot. The lights aren’t flashing, but I can hear the distinct sound of their radios asking for the perpetrator and the victim.

“Daniel—Daniel, no! Wait! Officers, this isn’t—“

“Ma’am, please take a step back. I understand that you are in distress but we are only doing our job. Please take a step back from the accused.”

My mother didn’t listen and grabbed Daniel’s hands anyway, hands which were bound together by handcuffs. He tried to tell her to stop, but she is a mother and a mother for her child would do anything.

“My son would never do this! Daniel would never do this! He’s innocent! Please, just listen! Please—!”

“Mom,” Daniel whispered, begging our mother to look his way. “I’m okay. Please go.”

“Daniel—”

“Mom,” he tried again, crying this time as several people at the station fell silent. “I hurt her.”

. . . ❤ . . .

The police offer to take me home but I’m not talking. Or moving. I’m not doing much of anything except staring down at my lap as the officers speak to Kevin and Taehyung about what happened almost an hour ago.

I never saw them take Brandon away, but Kevin did, and he confirmed that he would be filing a restraining order against Brandon to stop him from coming near his shop again. The officers then asked told me they would be pressing charges against Brandon in my wake. “Physical assault,” I heard one of them say. “Poor thing. She looks distraught.” The only thing they don’t do is call my parents, seeing as I’m legally an adult in our province and no one is asking where they are anyway.

Taehyung walks into the staff room to see me sitting on the ground. I have my head between my legs, taking small breaths every now and then to remind myself that I’m still alive, though I wish I wasn’t. I’ve spent a lot of time this past year wishing I wasn’t.

“YN…”

I don’t look up, and he doesn’t try to say my name again. But what he does do is sit beside me and gently touch my arm. I recoil from his touch, but he persists.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispers, one soft hand on the side of my face.

I lift it to meet his eyes, warmer than I’ve seen them all this time. He touches my neck where a bruise has formed. I wince when he touches me, and it almost makes him stop, though he doesn’t.

Taehyung reaches for the First Aid Kit sitting in his lap and tidies my wound. He doesn’t say it, but I can tell Brandon’s nails left bruising marks on my skin. Using a wipe, he cleans the wound first then dabs the slashes with a white cream which absorbs into my skin pretty quickly, but not before making me wince from the pain. I do it a few more times as he tends to all the rips, but by the time he bandages them, I’m starting to feel better. Yet, I’m well aware that I shouldn’t.

If Brandon hates me then Taehyung hates me even more. And his is a hatred I can’t fault.

“This is about all I learned from Grey’s Anatomy Medical School,” he jokes, voice above a whisper. He says it to make me laugh, but all I can muster is a timid smile. Standing up, he holds a hand out. “I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t need to. My car is—”

“I know, YN.”

Taehyung’s car is as quiet this time as it was the first time he took me home, and when he drops me off at my house, it’s he stops the car closer to the driveway than the first time, too. Jinnie meets me by the front door, worry written all over his face since I came home later than usual. I pat his head and assure him that I’m okay, and when I glance outside to see Taehyung’s car, it’s gone.

. . . ❤ . . .

Kevin closes the shop for the next few days.

He sent Taehyung and me a text telling us not to come in and ‘recharge’ before he opens the shop up again on Friday. With nothing to do, perhaps more so than usual, I set Jinnie up with his online coding class and decide to deep-clean the house. If only just to take my mind off yesterday.

My whole night was filled with nightmares. No matter how hard I tried to pretend like nothing had happened to me, that whatever did happen was nothing to be so scared about, my subconscious littered my mind with horrific images of Brandon cornering me at every turn. I imagined his Cheshire cat-like grin and his beady, dark brown eyes, and his rough hands tightening around my neck.

I woke up several times in the night, breathless and sweating.

Deep-cleaning is easier than I imagined. With Mom asleep and Dad at work, and Jinnie occupied with his hobby, I got around to everyone’s room pretty easily. Except one. It’s the room no one has been in all year.

Daniel’s room.

After they arrested him, it became an unspoken rule that none of us were to go inside ever again. In a way, I think my parents were safeguarding it for when he would return. For when he would come back and everything would go back to normal. Perhaps we were all a little delusional about it because I never thought about going inside either.

But now, I want to.

Taehyung’s voice rings in my ear as I creak the door open.

He didn’t do anything wrong.

Based on pure assumption, Taehyung must think that I did do something wrong. Something that took his sister from him.

Daniel’s room is hot and full of dust with clothing strewn here and there. There is also his unmade bed, from that weekend he came home to visit us and the weekend that Hyeryung died.

I go to his desk.

It’s filled with textbooks and loose paper. There’s even a manila folder which says, “Final Exam Prep.” I can only assume it has to do with one of the various mechanical engineering courses he was taking.

He also has a wooden framed corkboard with his university’s banner on it, a few pictures of him and his friends, and then… a picture of Hyeryung. She’s alone in the picture, standing in front of an unfamiliar house.

I pull it off the pin and take a closer look.

Hyeryung looks just like her happy-go-lucky self. A picture of pure joy in a cute floral dress and sparkly, blue flats. Her smile is even brighter than the day this picture was taken on. I don’t know what pushes me to do it, but I turn the picture over. On the other side, there is a paragraph presumably written by my best friend.

I love you, Dani.

Maybe you’re going to think I’m crazy for wanting to marry you, but I knew I would from the moment I met you. Disagree all you want, but I know I’m the only girl on your mind. Just like you’re the only man who’s ever going to be on mine.

Love,

Your Hyeri

As soon as my first tear hits the ink, I wipe it away. Then I put the photograph back where it belongs and step away from the desk. But my foot hits something hard and I reach down for it.

Daniel’s old phone.

I don’t know how long it’s been on the floor since Daniel replaced the old generation Samsung with a new one. Picking it up, I’m surprised to see it’s still intact. I sit on his bed and plug in the charger, waiting for the phone to load. I don’t really know what I’m hoping to achieve by snooping through my brother’s phone, but my inner curiosity keeps pushing me forward.

When the lock screen pops up, I try several different numbers.

Mom’s birthday.

Dad’s birthday.

His own birthday.

I know for a fact that Daniel would never make me or Jinnie his password so I gloss over that. I glance over at the picture of Hyeryung again. That’s when it hits me—I’m so stupid.

Hyeryung’s birthday logs me in and takes me straight to Daniel’s home screen in which, there is a picture of him and Hyeri at his eleventh birthday party. The first time they met and our mother made him take a picture with all the kids who attended. It’s the only picture I’ve ever seen Hyeri look shy in.

I click on his messages. There are quite a few unread ones. Oh right, he changed his SIM card, too.

At the very top of the message list is one from Kevin. I click on that, too.

kevin: look man, im sorry ok? it's not like i asked for this

daniel: what? like you didn’t ask to like MY gf?

kevin: why are you making such a big deal out of this? she doesn’t even want me. she wants you. so be happy with that ffs.

daniel: kev, you’re supposed to be my friend. i can’t believe you told her you like her. fuck man.

kevin: again, not a big deal. she said she’s in love with you so.

Kevin liked Hyeryung? Since when? And how come Daniel never told me? How come Hyeryung never told me?

There are a million questions buzzing through my mind but the one at the very top is about Kevin—did he know something about Daniel that I didn’t know? Something that could help make sense of what my brother did to my best friend?

I’m racing out of the room faster than I can fully comprehend what I’m doing. I grab my cardigan off the dinner table, slip my bag over my shoulder, then text Jinnie to let him know that I’ll be back in two hours. I need to find Kevin.

I throw open my front door while I’m still pulling my shoes on when I bump into a hard chest.

“Oof,” the voice groans, but it’s quiet enough to tell me I haven’t done any real damage.

My eyes meet Taehyung’s.

Taehyung.

Kim Taehyung.

Kim Taehyung is standing at my doorstep.

What the fuck—

“Where are you going?” He asks at the same time I question, “What are you doing here?” His cheeks seem to redden, and though I’m in a hurry, this morsel of information does not slip past me. He rubs the back of his neck and quietly admits, “I came to see if you were alright… after everything that happened yesterday.”

I nod. “I’m fine.” Then I try to sidestep him but he catches my wrist. I flinch, thinking about Brandon last night and Taehyung must notice the look on my face because he immediately lets go. “I’m in a hurry, but thanks for checking upon me, Taehyung. Really appreciate it.” I hop down the stairs in a speed of light only to be met with the reality of a missing car.

Right. Taehyung drove me home last night.

“Do you…” He walks up to me and says, “Where are you going? I’ll take you.”

“Why?”

He looks stumped. “Why… what?”

“Why do you want to take me anywhere?”

A shrug. “An apology. Of sorts.”

“What do you have to apologize for?”

“Taking the trash out was my responsibility,” he replies, suddenly unable to meet my eyes. “He never would have hurt you if I’d just done my job.”

I nod, again. I don’t really know what else to do. My heart feels like it’s caving in on itself every time I come close to him and one of these days, it may just stop altogether. “I’m f-fine. Don’t worry.” I pull out my phone and look up the bus schedule. Twenty minutes until the next bus. I can wait that long… right?

“I can still take you… wherever it is that you need to go.”

And so that’s how I end up in Taehyung’s car for the third time.

I give him the address to house but don’t tell him it’s Kevin’s. This is something I need to figure out on my own.

Kevin isn’t home when I ring the door bell, but someone else is. An older woman, probably somewhere in her early thirties, answers the door with a baby on her hip. She sizes me up and says, “What do you want?”

“Uh… I’m looking for Kevin.”

“He’s not home.”

“Okay, um. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Not for a while.”

I blink. She’s really giving me nothing. “Do you know where I could find him? It’s kind of an emergency.”

Her left brow lifts high, so high that it nearly disappears. “What kind of an emergency would a girl like you need my boyfriend for?”

I swallow to hold myself back from stuttering. Her eyes are so stern and hot on my face that I wish against all wishes that I’d ignored my curious heart and never came here at all. “It’s nothing. Thanks for your ti—”

The smack of the door being shut on my face makes me take a big step back. A whirling storm at the bottom of my stomach tells me something isn’t right here. Kevin has a girlfriend? And possibly a kid? He’s never mentioned either. Coupled with the fact that I now know about Kevin’s feelings for my best friend, I make the executive decision to jump off the porch and slip down to the window where I can clearly hear the woman talking on the phone.

Taehyung whispers, “What are you doing?!” To which I wave him off. I need all my attention on what she’s saying.

“Kevin, come home from whatever you’re doing. Some girl came to the house looking for you.” A pause. “How am I supposed to know who she is? Do you tell me about all the women you’re seeing behind my back?” Another pause. Longer than the first. “If this turns out to be like the last girl, it’s you who’s going to die this time.”

I close my eyes slowly, letting the woman’s words sink into my brain.

It’s you who’s going to die this time.

Die.

This time.

I fall back on my butt at the same time Taehyung comes scrambling over to help me. As soon as his hand touches my arm, my eyes snap open.

“We need to find Kevin.”

. . . ❤ . . .

Taehyung parks his car in the parking lot of the local bank. Through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows, we can see Kevin standing in line behind a four other people. I never would have guessed that we could find him here, but based on Taehyung’s knowledge about what Kevin usually does on his days off, this is where it begins.

“Why do you want to talk to him so badly?”

“I’ll tell you when I have concrete information.”

Taehyung sits back in his seat and huffs. He looks ticked off, but is trying hard not to show it. “If you’re going to do something that puts you in danger then…” he trails off. I can tell he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence. Not after everything that’s happened between us. “Just be careful.”

“I’m not getting out of the car just yet.” I tell him. “I’m observing.”

“Observing a twenty-three year old man at the bank?”

I nod. “There’s something that Kevin knows that he needs to share with me.”

“Can’t it wait until we go back to work on Friday?”

“No.” I breathe, thinking about the picture of Hyeryung hanging in Daniel’s room. “It can’t.”

Kevin leaves the bank fifteen minutes later. I count down the seconds until he steps out, and as soon as he touches the handle of his car, I rush to his side. His eyes blow wide in surprise.

“Y-YN!”

“Kevin,” I gulp. “I need to talk to you.”

He looks taken aback. “Talk about… what?”

I hold up Daniel’s old phone. “Do you recognize this?”

“No.”

“This is Dani’s old phone. I saw your texts to him.” His face blanks. “About Hyeryung.”

Kevin pulls on his door handle and jumps inside his car. “I don’t have anything to tell you about that. Please leave me alone.” He starts the ignition, but I jump into the passenger seat before he can back out of the lot. He looks at me with fearful eyes as my heart ricochets off its cage. “YN, please. This isn’t—”

“You know something,” I push. “I know you do, Kevin. I heard your girlfriend say that you’ll ‘die this time.’”

“You went to my house?”

“I was looking for you.”

That’s when Kevin backs out of the lot before I can get another word in. He drives with expertise, bypassing several other cars and onto the road. My heart starts screaming at me to jump out of his car right the fuck now! But I’m not listening. Instead, I buckle my belt and start throwing questions at him.

“Kevin, tell me the truth: do you know what happened to Hyeri that night?”

He’s silent, but presses harder on the gas. I clench my fists to stop myself from vomiting out of fear. I might die today, but not before finding out the truth.

“Kevin! I know you’re hiding something!”

He shakes his head and drives even faster. The road we’re on is empty, which makes it infinitely easier for him to drive carelessly. All around us is farmland with cows and horses and chickens that Hyeryung and I loved to go see on the weekends when we had nothing else to do but volunteer to help out her aging grandparents.

“Kevin!”

The man next to me presses down tightly on the gas, so hard that no turn of the break could have stopped the car from hitting the tree I never even noticed we were hurtling towards.

. . . ❤ . . .

The police officers arrested Kevin ten minutes after he woke up at the hospital. His girlfriend had been arrested several days before while I was still asleep. I didn’t undergo any massive operation after the accident, but I did need a few stitches at the crown of my head which the doctors told me would heal quickly enough.

I’m sitting in my living room on the phone with Daniel.

He isn’t saying anything. Typical. He never talks when I need him to.

“Dani,” I sigh, clutching the phone tighter against my ear. My mother is holding Jinnie in her arms on the other side of the room, watching me talk to my older brother. Or at least, attempting to. “Everything is already out in the open now. You can come home.”

“I…” I hear a sniffle. He cries like our mother does. “I can’t. YN, I… I’m not—”

“Not what?” I’m raising my voice at him for the first time and it feels exhilarating. I’ve gone all my life letting Daniel do what he wants without any of my input because I was taught to believe I was younger and therefore, less important in his decisions. But not anymore. Not after what we know now. “You’re not innocent? That you did kill the girlfriend you were in love with?”

“Am,” he corrects me in a small voice. “I still—I love her, YN. I never stopped.”

I wipe at the tear escaping my right eye. “Then come home, you jerk. Let’s go… let’s go see her. I know she misses you the most.” This time, I cry with my brother when his broken-hearted sobs pour through the line.

. . . ❤ . . .

Taehyung is sitting on my porch steps when I walk outside. It’s Hyeryung’s birthday and I planned on driving to her favourite coffee shop tonight to celebrate and order a low fat latte in her memory. Daniel planned on visiting her grave, but I don’t think I have the courage to do that just yet, and I don’t know why.

The brown haired boy looks up as the door shuts behind me. Neither of us says anything to the other until I take a seat beside him, far enough away so that I don’t make him uncomfortable. He has something in his hand—a photograph—and he hands it to me before I can ask what it is.

“I found it in Hyeri’s room,” he tells me. It’s identical to the photograph I kept inside my phone case. “I’m sorry that I… I’m sorry, YN.”

“It’s okay.”

He nods and looks out at the neighbourhood. It’s empty. The reporters stopped coming by a few days ago after Daniel promised to give one of them an exclusive interview. Now they’re all piggy-backing off that one twenty-minute segment on the local news channel.

“They kicked you out, didn’t they?” Taehyung suddenly asks. “At the funeral… my friends… they, um… they made you leave.”

“Yes.”

My voice is so quiet that I wonder if he even heard me answer him.

“Do you want to… can I take you to see her?”

“What?”

He tries to smile. I know it still hurts him to do it. “Hyeri wasn’t just my sister, she was also yours. I don’t know why I let myself forget that.” He exhales through his nose. “I see her everywhere even though she’s not here anymore.”

“I do, too.”

He wipes at his tears, and chuckles. “I wanted to hate you forever,” he admits. “I had a plan for it. I would hate you until my last dying breath.”

“And… now?”

“I don’t know.”

Why does that hurt more than a ‘yes?’

Taehyung does end up taking me to Hyeryung’s grave. He stands next to me as I place her favourite purple tulips on the ground next to her name. Under my breath, I whisper a prayer that I hope she hears.

I’m sorry it took me so long to come and see you, Hyeri. I love you to the moon and back.

He tries to buy me food after, but I deny him. So we sit in his car, in the parking lot of a random Burger King, staring out opposite windows in the hope that one of us will shatter the silence.

“I still hate you a little bit.” I look at him. This isn’t how I expected him to start talking. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel where he grips it. “You knew they were together and you never told me.” A long sigh. “But I guess you have your reasons.”

“Hyeri, you never hide anything from Tae. So why are you hiding this?”

My best friend sighs, the same way her brother does when he’s frustrated and doesn’t want to answer a question. “Tae doesn’t want me to date, much less someone even older than he is.”

“Yeah, but this is Daniel we’re talking about. Tae knows him.”

“Tae knows a lot of people. If I used this argument, he would go, ‘What? Are you going to date everyone I know then?’ He’s so stupid like that.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t like hiding things from him…”

“That’s because you have a crush on him so it’s distorting your rational thinking.”

“Hey!”

“Tell me I’m lying, YN. I’ll wait.”

Hyeryung giggles as I punch her arm. And after that, I promised myself I’ll never share the news of her relationship with anyone she doesn’t want knowing. Even back then, I knew all Hyeryung was doing was protecting her budding relationship with a boy who she was head over heels for.

“They were in love,” I murmur, quiet as a bee. “I’ve never seen two people more in love than they were with each other.”

Taehyung’s lips flatten as he presses them together. “I think I would have liked to see that.”

“I’m sorry, Taehyung.”

“I’m sorry, too. I did a lot to hurt you… didn’t I?”

“N-No...”

“YN...” his voice is even quieter than mine as my name slips past his bitten lips. “Can you look at me?”

And so I do, and I want to regret it—I want to regret looking into his beautiful brown eyes pouring into mine—but I don’t. He inches closer to me and takes my face into his warm hands. They’re big enough to encase my much smaller face, and then pull me closer.

His eyes land on my lips. I know what he’s going to do and I have to stop him before he does.

“T-Tae…” I whisper, voice timid and broken and not the least bit convincing. “Please, d-don’t. You’ll regret it…” But as my voice trails off, his eyes simmer with an unfamiliar desire.

He gazes at my lips again. They are full of hunger this time, mixing easily with the pain he pushes past in order to hold me close. “I would never regret anything with you,” he whispers just as his head curves down and our lips meet.

For a second, I don’t think about anything but his kiss. His sweet, warm kiss which I have craved in all my dreams and awakened hours. His mind-numbing kiss which touches my soul as softly as his hands trail the length of my cheeks and my neck.

I let myself experience the kiss for what it is for all the seconds he kisses me. I don’t count them, but I know it could not have been a minute he kissed me for because when we come up for air, I feel like no time has passed by at all.

And I want him to kiss me again.

“I-I’m sorry,” I whimper, not knowing exactly what I’m apologizing for this time around. “You’re confused, right? I’m confusing you—”

Taehyung kisses me again. Harder and fiercer and stronger than the first time. This time, he grabs my face with eagerness and crushes his lips to mine with a hunger akin to a starving animal and I can do nothing but kiss him back with the same intensity.

“All my life, I’ve wanted to kiss you the way I did just now,” he breathes while still holding me. “Every birthday, every celebration, every soccer match I ever won or lost—I wanted to kiss you at the beginning and the end of them.” Another kiss, then two smaller pecks. “Maybe Hyeri was scared of telling me about her and Daniel, but I was terrified of telling her about my feelings for you.”

A tear drips down my cheek, and he catches it. “She knew.”

“God,” he groans, dropping his forehead on mine. “I’ll bet she’s watching us from up there now, and making jokes.”

“The worst jokes.”

We kiss again. Then one more time. Every kiss hurts a little bit less than the one before it.

“Tae…” I whisper as the sun begins to set outside our windows. I don’t look at him as I speak. I don’t want him to see my eyes when I say my next few words. “I’m always going to be a reminder of what you lost,” I tell him as my heart twists and burns. “I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life feeling hurt because of me.”

His reply is instantaneous.

“And what about you?” He asks, almost as quiet as I am. “Am I not a reminder?” He slips his hand through mine and coaxes me to look at him. “You lost someone you love, too, YN, and I will always be a reminder of that.” He tries to smile. “But I think… if Hyeryung was here with us right now, she would tell me to go for it.”

“Go for it?”

“To tell you that I love you,” he breathes, eyes full of new tears. “I love you, YN. And I know it’s not right of me to tell you this after all the hurt I’ve put you through for a crime that was never yours, but… here I am, telling you anyway.”

I burst into sobs. “I-I’m s-so sor-ry.”

Taehyung leans over the console and pulls me onto his lap, whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and then, “I’ve never fought for anything in my life, YN, but I’m going to fight for you now. I love you, and that’s all I know.”

I hide my face in his neck as another storm of tears blows through me. I think of Hyeryung—my best friend, my sister—and her tragedy. Of the love she fought for with my brother every day and the love she died protecting. I think about my brother—the man I always looked up to—and how he will spend the rest of his life mourning his love. I think about our broken families and this town which lost someone who lit up every street and every corner she ever walked on to.

Mrs. Nguyen once told me that grief is something we carry with us all our lives. Something we can never really shake off completely. Every person in the world grieves. It is a part of human nature to love and to lose.

It’s Hyeryung’s birthday today and I don’t know how to celebrate it. But I think about how she lived and how she existed and how every square inch of her life was love. Love for herself, love for her family, love for her friends, love for strangers, and love for the man she never looked away from.

And so, in her memory, I kiss the words, “I love you,” on Taehyung’s lips and follow in her footsteps.

. . . ❤ . . .

“Tae…”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

I gulp down my fear. I can still taste the orange Fanta I had with dinner tonight at the Kims’ house. “Do you only like me because I’m Hyeri’s friend?”

“What?”

I shy away into my sleeping bag. I’m afraid he’ll see how I truly feel about him if he glances over. “I’m scared that you only spend time with me because Hyeri is my friend.”

“I’m your friend, too, YN.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“And do you… like me?”

“I do,” he whispers, voice sweet and incandescent after midnight. “I like you a lot. I’ll probably like you forever.”

I’m really blushing this time. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m going to like you forever, too.”

Star Light, Star Bright

Star Light, Star Bright Ship: Shooting Star/ Guardian Angel!Jimin | Reader Description: When you wish upon a star, you never really think he’d come to visit. Warnings: Fluff, Intercourse, Fingering, Slight Cum Play, Slight Dirty Talk, ANGST Word Count: 7,595 A/N: Fluffier (sorta) than my other writings, and maybe not as dirty. It’s still there though. I was starting to think I’d never get around to writing this but I’m so glad I finally finished!

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EEEEEE i F I N A L L Y had time to catch up to the rest of this amazing masterpiece and 😩😩

GODDDD I USUALLY DONT READ REALLY LONG-CHAPTERED FICS BUT IM SO HAPPY I DISCOVERED THIS !!!! this series has one of THEE best development i have ever seen while reading fics,, not just character development but also the growth in the relationships the characters have (yn/jimin, jimin/taehyung, yn/jungkook, etc) and i think this y/n and jimin has one of the most purest + sweetest love out there , and it just kept getting better with each chapter. it all just flowed so smoothly and beautifully😭 there were SO many instances in this series where i laughed and cooed and even teared tf up omg it takes a special type of talent to bring so many strong emotions within every single chapter. literally one of the best fics i've read on any writing platform.

and this epilogueee AHHHH its DEF one of my favorite chapters in this series😭😭 seeing y/n and jimin enter parenthood happily and the fluffiness of it all UGH my heart was exploding !!! this shit made me SO soft omg especially with the paragraph "He looks back down to the idyllic sight of his daughter deep in her slumber, her tiny hand fisting the fabric of his shirt, small body rising with every breath. And then, you—even more beautiful than when he first met you, serene and content amidst your sleep, by his side." THIS WAS SO FUCKING BEAUTIFULLLL PLS THIS CHAPTER AND THIS FIC IS THE EPITOME OF THAT ONE POST THAT SAYS "fictional men created by women>>>" LIKE ?? ONE OF THE MOST CUTEST RELATIONSHIPS WRITTEN ON THIS APP AND I MEAN THAT SHIT !! 😭

this is hella long but i really really can't express how amazing this series was and i will be rereading it whenever i want some quality fluff (and smut😭) thank you for this creation omg

Oh, What A World｜Epilogue

series summary ↣ all jimin wanted to do was get his career back. but thanks to his bosses, he’s tasting wedding cakes instead of training for a comeback. with you by his side though, he might be enjoying it more than he had anticipated.

pairing ↣ lawyer!reader x solo artist!pjm 

genre ↣ fake marriage au, fallen idol au｜pure fluff

chapter warnings ↣ flirty jokes, minor pda, passing mentions of pregnancy and breastfeeding

chapter notes ↣ here it is, the end! this scene was heavily inspired by the song by kacey musgraves (particularly the 2.0 version), hence the title of the entire series :) special s/o to ava @yoongs-jeontae, i am so grateful for all your help and advice, i quite literally would have lost my mind without you! and thank you to everyone reading, for taking a chance on a new author’s work and for all the lovely feedback. it really kept me going in moments where i was unsure and nervous about my work. i hope you all enjoy ♡ updated 16/5/2021, thanks to @hobi-gif!

Oh, What A World (2.9k)｜Drabbles｜Series Masterlist

Your decade-long love affair with New York was one born out of comfort—a sense of security that you felt standing in the familiar streets.

Where others saw a chaotic mess of people, cars and concrete, you felt a city alive—a natural ebb and flow of vitality that weaved through the gridded streets. The smoggy, humid air, the constant buzz and racket of traffic, all of that had always felt like a small price to pay.

But this time, things feel a little different.

Because as much as New York is a great place for the sprite and youthful, it’s a nightmare for parents, especially new ones.

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— the language he knew.

⁙ with you following in his steps, he knew there was only one way to stop you. ⁙

× soui’s note » im a sad bitch so here’s a sad fic. repost. 

p a i r i n g ⇀ park jimin x reader..or more likely, fuckboy!jimin who sees the one he loves fall apart.

t y p e ⇀ angst and light smut..or, is this what you call voyeurism?

w o r d s ⇀ 7,659.

» [ friends to lovers!au ] °˖✧

“Doesn’t it bother you to be alone?”

Through the singing of the birds and the rustling of trees, his nose scrunches in distaste; chopsticks hanging loosely from his fingers as his attention is sparked, and eyes drill into yours within the proximity of the park. Did it bother him? Eyes averting from your curious state, he looks down into his cup filled with ramen, heart twinging in something akin to pain and yet..the sun still grins happily upon the two of you. “I dunno,” he mumbles in honesty, “I’ve never had anyone by my side to begin with.”

He notices you bite your lip at that, eyes glimmering as they try to find any kind of hope for Jimin within the many thoughts of your mind, anything that could change him into moving on to a better him. “But you can try,” you push on, taking a sip from your water bottle. He watches you, watches you turn slightly in your seat as you gasp in pleasure from quenching your thirst — then sighs to himself when you smile softly at the oncoming giggling children running around in glee. “Stop playing around with girls like they’re toys, you know? Find someone who you know will be able to make you feel alive.”

He sighs, resting his elbow on the flat surface of the picnic table as he lays his chin on the palm of his hand, “but you’re the only one who can take that place.”

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omg ..., WHEN I CATCH THOSE GIRLS THAT DISRESPECTED Y/N-

i'm such a sucker for fics where he is comforting y/n when she's feeling insecure :(( its so heartwarming since i'm sure many of us have dealt with doubts of our beauty before

but the way he was able to reassure her of her insecurities thru his words and his actions>>>> that was TOO good and so well written omg !! and lemme into this this last part-

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby,” he confesses, though it’s not really a confession at all. He’s said it before, and it always makes me cry. “I can’t even see anyone but you.” He kisses my tears as they continue to fall.

“And pretty doesn’t come close to describing you even though you are.” He smiles and kisses both corners of my mouth. “My pretty girl.”

AHHH JUST THIS WHOLE SPEECH AT THE END !!! 😭🥺 WHY WAS THAT THEE MOST PERFECT AND SWEETEST THING HE COULDVE SAID TO HER !! not only reassuring her but also making her feel like the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen aaaaaajdjeiw that part was SO beautiful !!! gonna be thinking of this small yet perfect masterpiece for the rest of the day <3333

your biggest fan

❥ synopsis: when he shows you love, it’s the end of everything else.

❥ genre: fluff, mild smut, established relationship

❥ word count: 3.7k

❥ author’s note: today is my birthday, so this is my gift to all of you. i hope you like it. happy reading~!! :]

“Ready to go?”

The foyer is sparkling with the glitter on his suit and the radiance of his moonshine hair. I’m not sure which part of him I should place my gaze on first. There are so many parts of him worth ravishing with my eyes, but then I think of my hands, fingers and palms itching with the desire to touch him too, and I am transfixed in his delirium for another eternity.

As I walk up, he sets his eyes on me the same way. I’m wearing a gown in the colour he loves most on me: a soft pink picked from yesterday’s sunset. With one hand, I hold my purse and with the other, my block heels.

“Don’t you think I’m overdressed?”

He steps up and takes my bag, slipping the chain over his body while his other hand reaches for my heels. Easily, he crouches down and wraps a hand around my right calf and gently places my foot in the first shoe.

Without looking at me, he locks the strap around my ankle and says, “I think you’re beautiful.”

Even two years later, I find myself smiling just like I did the first time he used the delectable word to describe me. I wasn’t used to it back then, and I had craved it so much. That someday, a man would find me attractive enough to call beautiful. Then he said it on our first date and it had knocked the wind out of me. It still does.

“Jimin…”

He moves to my other foot and just like before, his steady hand guides my calf towards him where the last heel waits. He is always so careful with me. “Yes, baby?”

“I love you.”

He rises to his feet and I catch a glimpse of his smile a second ahead of the sweet kiss he gives me, which has me gasping into his mouth. Out of habit, he nips on my bottom lip then cups the back of my head and brings me closer. When I stumble, it’s into him and into his touch.

“I love you, too, darling,” he coos, and it’s in that ridiculous faux London accent he’s always taken pride in using to make me laugh. And I do. I can’t help it. The quiet giggle spills out of me faster than I can catch it. He squeezes my waist and pushes my hair back over my shoulder. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking about?”

“Maybe.”

He kisses me again. It’s a kiss shorter than the last, but it makes my heart race the same. Makes it gallop like Secretariat at the Kentucky Derby. I’m breathless, and he loves it. He keeps his hand at my neck as he whispers, “How good this dress is going to look on our bedroom floor tonight.”

“We might have to do a photoshoot.”

Again, he kisses me long and hard. We never get to go most places without kissing a fair bit prior to our departure. We never plan to do it, but I know I secretly look forward to it every time. And though I hate that it makes us late sometimes, when either of us spend a portion of the night hiding blushes and hickies, it’s worth it. It’s been years since I was a teenager, but he makes me feel like my childhood never really ended.

“As long as I have you moaning for me in our bed,” he says, “I don’t care what we do with this dress.” Quietly, he tugs down the material at my shoulder and kisses my skin. Mindlessly, my head falls back as my fingers grasp the lapels of his thick suit jacket. “I think you should push me away before I do something reckless.”

“M-Maybe I want you t-to.”

“Baby,” he whines, moving over to nuzzle my neck. It feels hot and ready for him to sink his teeth in. “Fuck, you know I’m not that strong.”

“I hate you,” I whimper as he nibbles on my jaw, and pathetically, my core aches. “Always making me the bad guy.”

He chuckles, and it’s so breathy that I find myself clenching around nothing. “If only you could see inside my head,” he smiles and kisses the corner of my mouth. “You are definitely not the bad guy.”

Then we’re laughing and he’s bringing me in for one last kiss.

Downstairs, he swings our hands back and forth as we walk to the basement. The parking lot is mostly empty. It’s characteristic of a Saturday afternoon. Everyone has something to do and somewhere to be. No one in this busy city wastes a weekend.

Jimin opens my door and waits until I’m safely inside before shutting it. I know one day we might be get too occupied with life for little things like this, but for now, I revel in the swath of happiness his gentlemanly actions provide me.

Thirty minutes later, Google Maps announces our destination to the left. Jimin finds parking space next to a silver Camry and we step out into the luminous spring breeze. He reaches for my hand as my eyes taken in the scenic venue. Even from afar, it’s gorgeous.

“This is the Marjorie Hanson Vineyard,” Jimin explains as we begin walking towards the sign which reads ‘Guest Entry.’ “Seokjin hyung really pulled the ropes to book this place.”

“How so?”

“It was booked up for the next two years, but he paid the manager under the table to be the first in for a cancellation spot.”

“He must really love Soye.”

Jimin hands the attendant the invitation we received in the mail two months ago. He throws me a look over his shoulder which tells me fresh gossip is coming. “That and he really didn’t want to be at her father’s wrath when their baby arrives in autumn.”

I gasp and he laughs, taking my hand again as he leads us in. Soye is pregnant? No wonder she missed so many days at work this past month. I thought it was because she was secretly running off to finish planning her wedding. What if it was to doctor’s appointments instead?

Jimin pouts when I hit his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you kept that from me! We tell each other everything!”

“I only found out a few days ago. I was going to tell you!”

I roll my eyes and huff. “You’re such a bad husband.”

He giggles and kisses my cheek. “I’ll tell you what he wants to name his kid later.”

“Oh my God, is it something weird?” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows at me, but doesn’t reply as we walk into the bustling crowd of guests walking around eating and chatting. “Jimin!”

He holds my hand tighter and brings us along to a line up of people waiting for appetizers. There is bruschetta, sliders, and shrimp cocktail in abundance. Everything looks so appetizing that my stomach growls. Jimin looks back at me and I turn red. I always forget how loud my stomach gets when I’m hungry.

He fills up my plate first with all the things I like and a cup of fresh juice before he gets anything for himself. Afterwards, we join my work friends at their table and everyone greets us with cheers. We mingle and converse for twenty minutes until Astrid, my closest friend, lets us all know that the ceremony is about to begin.

Seokjin takes to the podium first with his best man next to him. There is a woman sitting by the very front wiping at her tears whom I can only assume is his mother. It reminds me of my own mother-in-law and how much she tried to hold back tears when Jimin promised his life to me and I repeated the same vow back to him. That was a year ago but every time I look at anyone else’s wedding, I’m easily reminded of my own. I would marry my husband infinite times over just to experience it again and again.

About a minute later, alongside an instrumental wedding song, Soye walks out in a white gown. Her hair is done up with pins and a veil which cascades down her open back. Everyone is looking at her and all her eyes focus on is Seokjin. I know that feeling well. The one which doesn’t let you look away from the object of your affection. It’s seldom happens that I can find a good enough reason to look away from Jimin.

As I’m thinking about him, my husband squeezes my fingers and a few tears spill down my cheeks. He catches them with his finger and scoots closer to me so his hand rests over my thigh. Forever his silent devotion.

By the time the ceremony ends, most of the people in attendance are crying or on the verge of. I don’t think Seokjin nor Soye expected so many of them to be so emotional, prompting the newly married man to take the microphone and crack a few jokes and get everyone laughing.

After eating and chatting, Jimin and I take a stroll around the vineyard. There are so many pretty things to look at but what makes my eyes glow up is the photo booth. When I don’t notice a line, I grab my husband’s hand and drag him in. Though, I know I didn’t have to. He would go to the ends of the Earth for me. I’ve never had to question that.

“How many pictures should we take?”

I click on the button which says ‘4’ as I settle on his lap. The booth is far too small for two people but we make it work for us. “What faces should we do?”

“Well, I definitely want one of us smiling,” he says, and at that moment, the shutter goes off. He laughs. “Oops.”

I shake my head and settle against his chest so we’re both looking into the camera. “Okay, let’s try it.” We both make silly faces as the camera snaps another three photographs. “I think they came out well. Let me go check.”

Jimin nods at me as he reaches for his phone which has been buzzing incessantly for the last twenty seconds. He ignored it for the most part, but whoever it was calling him was pretty damn adamant about his answering them.

Outside the photo booth, I reach in for the photograph strips. The pictures are adorable. There are two in the set. Perfect for keeping on the fridge and our bedroom.

I’m still admiring them when two girls walk by, talking loudly.

“When did Jimin get married?” One of them asks. At the sound of my husband’s name, my ears perk up. “I thought he was single.”

The girl next to her chuckles. “You missed the chance to snatch that man up, Kelly. He was on the market for a while.”

“I didn’t think of him as the marrying type and with a girl like that? Is he blind or just crazy?”

“Did you see her hair? So thin and so much frizz. It’s like no one taught her how to be a woman. She’s not even pretty.”

I keep my head down as they walk past me. The last thing I need is for either of them to see the way my face is burning from the embarrassment of the center of their ill words. I know I shouldn’t care so much about what a few strangers are saying about me, but it hurts just the same.

Not wanting Jimin to see me cry, I blink back tears and stuff the photographs in my bag and wait for him to step out. Thankfully, he’s too enthralled with telling me about the ridiculous telemarketer on the phone to notice.

For the remainder of the party, my eyes cannot help by stray over to the two women who talked about me as they walked by earlier. They sit pretty far away from our table, but I can see them clearly. I try my best not to stare, but I can’t help myself from looking over a few times to gauge how they must feel about me sitting next to my husband.

Is my hair too flat for him? Too frizzy?

Is my skin too dead? Too scarred? Too dry?

Are my eyes the wrong shape? The wrong colour?

Is my body too big? Too wide? Too short?

Does he think these things about me, too?

In the back of my mind, I know he doesn’t. He couldn’t. He loves me too much. But when I let my demons roam free, they make start to convince me.

Jimin doesn’t say anything about my quieter voice and my suddenly solemn mood until we make it back to our apartment and I don’t let him help me to take my heels off. Then, I run away and he chases after me into our room in haste.

And all at once, I feel terrible for treating him wickedly.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, shaking my head at myself. The room suddenly feels too small and too big at the same time. “I’m being stupid. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Softly, Jimin sets me on the edge of the bed and sits at my feet. His hands rest on my thighs as he prods me to connect our gazes.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Seriously. I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

He lays a kiss flat on my knee. “I don’t mind if you lie to me all night,” he explains, “I’ll sit here until I hear the truth.”

“Jimin…” He kisses the other knee. My resolve crumbles. “I feel… embarrassed.”

“About what?”

“I… are you sure you want to be with me?”

His head snaps up. His eyes are lethal as they stare me down. “YN. What. Happened.” His voice is gruff and humourless. Maybe even a little angry.

“I wish I was…” I can feel my heart beating inside my throat. We are grown adults and this confrontation feels so childlike. “…pretty enough for you.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He doesn’t look at me either. He doesn’t do much of anything. But when I start to feel uncomfortable, he finally looks up at me and smiles.

“Lay back for me, baby.”

“Wha…?”

He slips his hand up to my hips and pushes me back on the bed. Then, he crawls on top of me with his legs on either side. I’m so stunned, I don’t know what to do except blink up at him.

He lowers his head until we are centimetres apart. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever fucked, did you know that?”

“I—“

He dives for my lips and bites them. First the top then the bottom. “Everyone at that wedding is so fucking lucky we left when we did,” he goes on. “Or else that photo booth would have been left out of order by the time I got through with you.” He reaches behind him to bunch up my gown. “Would’ve ruined you in this dress right there for all of them to see.” He lifts his left leg and brings it to the other side so he can turn me over and unzip the material. “I have half a mind to destroy this thing, but I know you love it so you should thank me for holding back.” As soon as he’s got the zipper down, he relieves himself of chivalry and pulls the gown off my body, leaving me in just my bra and panties. He touches my stomach first, laying a flat hand on it. “Strip for me, baby.”

“I… really?”

He leans back and lifts a brow. “I won’t ask twice.”

I move slowly because I know that’s how he likes it. I take my bra off first and put it to the side. He eyes my breasts for fractions of seconds before his eyes lower to my nether region. I’m even slower in removing the panties, and as soon as I’ve gotten them off, he grabs them from me and throws them on the ground before flipping me onto my back and getting on top of me again.

But he doesn’t touch me.

“Tell me which part of you…” he says, cool and calm and sexy, “you don’t like.”

“W-What?”

“You said you don’t think you’re pretty enough for me. Which part isn’t pretty to you?”

It’s like a jackhammer to my heart when he looks at me, eyebrow raised and plush lipped, and it leaves me squeaking out, “Jimin…”

“I asked you a question, baby,” he tuts, and to drive his words home, he pinches a nipple. “Answer it.”

“M-My… breasts.”

He grins as he slithers down my body and drops his mouth down on my right breast. His tongue swirls around the nipple slowly as he takes his time with it. All the while, a dam is breaking loose from inside me. “Tastes prettygood to me.” He rubs and pinches my other nipple as he brings his eyes to mine again. “Next.”

“Next… what?”

“What isn’t pretty to you?”

“Jimin, I’m—“

He flicks the nub, making me gasp. “Always so bad at following directions.”

“H-Hey!”

“Doesn’t matter,” he goes on, seemingly ignoring me as he kisses between my breasts and down to my navel. Then all over my stomach, he starts peppering kisses. “One of these days, I’m going to put a baby in you.” His hooded eyes meet my blushing ones as I sneak a peak down at him to find him already looking up at me. “Right…” he keeps his eyes on me as he kisses a line across my stomach. “…here. Can’t wait for you to have our kids, baby. You’ll look so sexy with your stomach big and round because our son or daughter will be in here.” He kisses further down to my womanhood. “Now tell me, what do I have to put in here—“ he slowly rubs two fingers flat over my mound, catching every inch of wetness leaking out of me. “—so we can have a baby?”

My breathing is uneven and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be thinking, but I know it isn’t anything like ‘shit, this is so hot!’ But that’s all I am thinking.

“Your…”

“Mm, that’s it, baby. You can say it. Let me hear you say it.”

“Your… come.”

He grins then holds the flaps of my womanhood open. Then slowly, he drops his head down and spits directly on the opening. I whine as he lets it drip and drip before laving his whole tongue across its expanse. “I hope you don’t think your pussy isn’t pretty,” he mumbles, “because it’s pretty fucking perfect to me.”

I throw my head back and cry out while Jimin spends the next few minutes bringing me to orgasm twice. His tongue is so wet and glorious on me that thinking is the last thing I do as my hands push and pull on his hair, leaning it messy and everything unlike the beautiful style he had for the ceremony.

As I’m coming down from my second high, he says, “There’s so much about you to love, you know that?” He kisses back up my stomach and in between my breasts again before he sets his lips right on top of mine. His eyes are so kind and so wonderful that I hate myself for the negative thoughts I let myself think when this man loves me as much as he does. “We hate getting out of bed, don’t we?” I nod and he smiles. “If the world was ours, we would stay together in these sheets all day long.” He runs his fingers through my hair and I find myself sighing. “But in a way, the world is mine because if you’re mine, I have the whole world.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shaking away tears from his confession and the guilt of upsetting him with my idiotic behaviour. “I don’t know why I let stupid insecurities get to me.”

He curls a hand over my cheek then presses a kiss to it. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby,” he confesses, though it’s not really a confession at all. He’s said it before, and it always makes me cry. “I can’t even see anyone but you.” He kisses my tears as they continue to fall. “When I asked you to marry me and you said yes, I thought I would never be that happy again. But I was. On the nights I saw you working on your wedding vows. When I watched you walk towards me on our wedding day. When we went to the store and you said ‘this dinner set would look nice in our kitchen, right?’ and I couldn’t even focus on the plates because all I could imagine was you standing in our kitchen making tea and asking me if I want some, too.” He brings me in for a long kiss I feel down to my toes. “Every day since we met, I have been so perfectly happy, baby, and it’s because I think you’re the smartest, kindest, sincerest, and most empathetic person I have ever known.” He pauses to kiss me again, and I swear I’m flying high above the clouds. “And pretty doesn’t come close to describing you even though you are.” He smiles and kisses both corners of my mouth. “My pretty girl.”

Not knowing what else to do as the emotions jump up and down inside me, I wrap my arms around my husband’s neck and breathe him in. He’s all I need. And he’s all mine. I have far too much to be grateful for.

“I love you so much, Jimin.”

He chuckles against my skin and hugs me tight. “I love you, too, YN. My honour is in being your husband.”

“And mine as your wife,” I tell him, true and honestly. I lean back from our hug so we can see each other again. I run my fingers through his hair and push the strands back. I’m smiling as I tell him, “Now about putting a baby in me…”

A grin dances onto his lips as he pushes me down onto the sheets again and hovers over my body. “As your biggest fan, your wish is my command.” He brushes my lips with his. “Let’s put a baby in you, my pretty girl.”

And with that, I’m back to crying out his name in sweet agony.

IM LITERALLY FUCKING CRYING PLS

the way you portray the emotions in this chapter (and throughout the entire fic) was so beautifully sad and tearjerking oh my goddjsjsj😩 from the confrontation with her dad, to soomins accident, to her visiting the parks at the hospital .... ITS SO MANY MOMENTS THAT MADE MY HEART ACHE SO BAD UGHHHHSKSN😭

and although i'm still a tiny bit mad at jimin , i have to admit that the way his character arc and development were written was sooo good TO THE POINT WHERE IT GOT ME FEELING LIKE SHE SHOULD TAKE HIM BACK😫 anyways !! 😭 but i LOVE the open ending omg... it made it so much more sad and bittersweet to the point where i feel so bad for jimin PLS he knows he truly fucked up and it's hard for him to forgive himself knowing that he can't have her back. and for some reason it made me even MORE emotional, thinking of all the possibilities and what could have been for the both of them, if only he never decided to cheat ..... sighhh :////

literally one of the most beautifully sad series i ever read and i'd 100% recommend to anyone who feels like sobbing djjakskdah loved this series so much !! kinda sad now it's overrrr😭

heartburn (3)

pairing: jimin x reader

wordcount: 13k

glimpse: jimin's been yearning for the day he'd get to see you again, even if it's fleeting and from afar — who would've known that the two of you would reunite under unfortunate circumstances?

alternatively, three years have already passed since jimin emotionally cheated on you six months before your wedding.

[ the finale; continuation to part one, intermission 01, part two, intermission 02 ]

[ whole load of angst, more fluff + heartwarming moments compared to the previous parts, mentions and descriptions of car accident (neither jimin's nor oc's), blood n thoughts of death, redemption arc uh-huh, emotional growth and closure (?), major longing and yearning, the type of love no one can put into words ]

notes: at the end bc i wILL get sappy :O

as i said before, this does come from somewhere and even if this is fiction, pls read with care bc this is on the heavier side <3 fair warning that i had a lot of people come into my asks and mentions saying that they've cried so if u think that this is tOO much and you’re bawling with no breaks, pls take a breather!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 thank you to every single person who's spent their time on heartburn with me; it means the most. send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

You have no one but yourself.

You have no one but yourself and it’s what you’ve always believed.

There is no safety net installed for you on the ground, waiting for you in the event that you fall because as much as it can’t reverse the drop you take, it’d atleast soften the blow. Would atleast erode the startling pain to have edges for it to hurt less rather than to dig into you mercilessly. Would atleast comfort you into the depths of the night that the debris from your impact, the remnants of it even, wouldn’t be carried by you alone.

You used to have no one but yourself until Jimin came.

Then came Soomin. Then came his parents. Then came the safety net of the love you’ve been deprived of yet unconsciously seeking.

Your heart clenches at the thought that just maybe by the events of this week alone, you aren’t completely alone. Separated, sure, but not alone. You’re still wanted in a sense that it makes the contentment within your ribs full. You’ve gotten numerous heartbreaking pleas and apologies and it reminds you that despite the pain of it all, you’re still needed. If you close your eyes tight enough to the point you feel pressure in your ears, if you think just hard enough, you’re required.

You’re needed.

It’s been mere days since Dr. Kim relayed your annoyingly ironic condition to you and it should only be normal that your first instinct is to put your hand on your chest at the dull phantom ache. The heartburn in your chest has always been there and it’s not fatal. It’s not meant to kill you but it merely exists within you. It’s meant there to taunt you that it’s only a measure of when it would hurt the least to the point that you feel normal. Normal enough to live with it; mundane to the point that you don’t hurt any more than you should.

The lack of warmth on your sides and the grasp of what it feels like to be at home; they remind you that even underneath high ceilings, against expensive cushions, and amongst structured flowers that should radiate familiarity — at the end of today and all the tomorrows you could bring yourself to think of, you have no one but yourself.

“Where does it hurt?”

You haven’t noticed at all that your dad’s been staring at the side of your face the entirety of the time you’ve been here because all that you’ve done is to stay still. You’ve detached yourself to the point you’ve forgotten you’re even in his house, one that you’ve only stepped foot in for the first time in your life. You don’t notice the way that despite being a man who carries so much gravitas with him everywhere he goes, with you, he looks scared. He looks delicate and is even more delicate with how he handles you (if he’s even doing that or he just thinks so), reminding him at every second how he barely knows his own daughter.

It’s only been a week after everything.

The first day was when you were discharged from the hospital and Jungkook personally flew you back home, keeping his eye on you ever so often that he’s startled some of the passengers at the sight of their uniformed first officer repeatedly exiting out of the cockpit with wide and wandering eyes. Taehyung was only a little bit worried when you had to turn down the opportunity of having a private plane all to yourselves for the sake of appeasing Jungkook, but he understands wholeheartedly how startling it must’ve been for the guy at first.

The second day was when you filed for temporary medical leave from the company to your father himself, having to barely skim your letter and attached results before signing his name on it. In fact, the both of you knew that you had no idea if you wanted to continue working in the first place and the whole situation is as good as handling in your resignation letter. Everything that’s happened is abrupt and out of all the people you wouldn’t gauge why and how — your dad understands and doesn’t push you further.

The third through the sixth was when you kept yourself at your new apartment, the one that’s slightly too big for only one of you. It’s lived in judging by the somehow comfortable clutter you have going all over the place, and it reminds you that you did live a life before Jimin. You’ve indulged yourself in nothing besides rest you haven’t had in so long, barely even opening your phone throughout, going so far as to put it in one of your kitchen cabinets.

You have time and it’s all for yourself with no one to wait for or wonder what time they’re coming home. There is time and you’re the only one privy to it, not having to worry if it would still be you the next day.

The twenty-five years you’ve lived don’t feel like they belong to you at all. The time feels like it’s been borrowed and doesn’t stop, not even once, for you. It keeps ticking away and you’ve only spent most of it thinking about what you could do for the next time you hear it click in your mind, no pause in-between.

You feel like they don’t belong to you at all because it feels as if you’ve lived for everyone but yourself. You used to live for the younger version of you, resembling a hollow glass sculpture of who’s supposed to be your inner child; your inner child that doesn’t remember what it’s like to be tucked to bed or kissed goodnight.

You used to live for the future phantom of you, what could’ve been you if only you are exactly the child that your father wanted. You’ve lived through thousand of hours being exactly what he wanted you to be, remembering the short-lived gratificiation you’ve felt when he was the one that pinned your wings and your shoulderboards despite loathing them.

You used to live for Jimin, the one you love or atleast loved the most. It’s beyond futile to deny that he’s the one who occupies your mind the most despite weeks having passed. For all the people you’ve lived for, your time with him is the on you’ve felt yourself the most. It feels as if living for him is the extension of living for your own, not having felt once through the better part of it all that being with him is an obligation you just needed to fulfill.

It’s been seven days since you got discharged.

Today’s the seventh day and it’s when your father called you asking if he could see you, picked you up, and drove the two of you to his house that’s too big to be occupied alone.

You know him for his wealth. One of the distinct things you know your own father for is his material, tangible, and unmistakable wealth. You don’t know him for his love. Don’t know him for his cooking or his quirky hobbies. Don’t know him that much for anything besides his wealth because it’s only one of few things he’s reminded you of with the presence.

For the rare and handful family portraits that you have, it’s evident just how much money he has. He’s clad in unmistakably expensive suits that Taehyung’s very own clothes do not stand a chance against them. For the choreographed poses by the photographer, his hand would either be on your mother’s shoulder or on your own but the most noticeable part of it would be the watch on his wrist, standing out even in black and white photos. He’s a tall man — a tall man with an even taller stack of money for his own disposal anytime, the type to have a problem with wallets because he has too much.

“Where does it hurt?” your father asks and you blank at it, not a stray glance to his side of the couch.

He doesn’t know you. You don’t know if he knows you’re hurting or if it’s an extremely lucky guess. Does he know your habits? Does he know when you’ll cry and how should he hold you if you actually do? Does he know your hurt and how it extends further than he could think of?

You don’t know him. He doesn’t know if you know that he’s been making conscious efforts. Don’t know him enough to know that the wrinkles he has aren’t from age but from these past few years alone when he’s rediscovered you after graduation. Don’t know him enough to tell that he wakes up in cold sweats out of guilt more oftenly with the thoughts that he could’ve raised you better. Do you know how he’s worried sick, yet you can’t tell if he’s lying because you can’t discern the look on his face?

It’s been too long. Far too long that you don’t even recognize your own blood and flesh.

“I’m not hurting.”

His mouth dries, his face softening as he grasps his hands.

“You don’t need to lie to me.”

He makes you clench your jaw and it’s the most emotion you’ve felt the whole week. You think you wouldn’t be bitter anymore given the years that have passed. That you’ve long accepted your fate and yet when he says it like this, in a way that makes you think for a single second that he knows you enough to know that you’re lying, you think that you’ve never moved on in the first place.

“You didn’t need to make me grow up alone so quickly by myself.”

You realize that you were young — you were too young to go through such hurt you shouldn’t have felt in the first place. Your father cheated multiple times, that one was never under wraps. Your mother was emotionally unavailable, obviously evident how she smiles harder at a newly-bought bag rather than your nanny telling her that you’ve memorized the multiplication table.

It was either one parent at a time or none at all. They were together and yet they’re absent. Neither of them are martyrs, that much you know. Your mother’s had enough and you don’t blame her for it. You’re not mad that she prioritized herself, isolating you in the process. You’re not mad that she kept staying the night away until she eventually left completely.

“And I regret everything I’ve ever done and didn’t do,” your father’s been hoping for an interaction with you, no matter how explosive it could be. He’s been waiting patiently to prepare himself for the hurt and yet he didn’t anticipate that it would hurt this much. That even his own words feel so far-fetched if he takes everything into consideration. “I-I want to fix my relationship with you, dear.”

The endearment reminds you of Mr. and Mrs. Park but the words feels different coming from him compared to them.

The way they say it is fluid. It’s natural. It’s warm and sounds like endearment in its rawest form.

The way your father says it is foreign. It’s unnatural and unsettling. It’s stale and feels like contaminated and bitter honey on your fingertips.

“And part of it is becoming honest.”

“What’re you gonna tell me now?” you quietly fumble with your fingers, soft tone reflecting his. “That you can’t come home for dinner? That your layover’s taking longer than usual?”

It’s quiet. It’s unnerving. It’s completely silent and it should be, given how there are years of unresolved tension from his side alone before it’s combined with yours.

Your father’s uneasy and he doesn’t know if he even deserves to be uncomfortable of the truth that’s caught on the base of his throat.

A mere fact he’s known all this time and yet it’s only know that he has trouble digesting it, hurt to know that if this pains him this much, he can’t even begin to imagine yours.

He should be honest to you. He should bare everything that he’s never said to you simply because he owes you transparency in a way he can’t even fathom.

Thinks once, twice.

He knows you’re hurting but he doesn’t know the entirety of why. Doesn’t know what you’ve been going through but he wishes he did. He knows it’s selfish of him but if only you could let him in as much as he’s doing now, even if laying down the truth on you is far too belated.

“You have a brother, Y/N.”

For a moment, he regrets it.

Would you have been better off not knowing? If he does you good by letting you know, he regrets that he’s said this now.

Should’ve been more thoughtful. Should’ve been considerate. You’re hurting and yet he lays down what he assumes is as explosive as a bomb to you only a week after your discharge. He should’ve been a responsible father; he should’ve been a lot of things.

“What do you mean?” you swallow to remind yourself that your voice is caught on your throat but it doesn’t feel like your own. You don’t recognize your own. “I’m an only child.”

This shouldn’t be far-fetched. Your father sleeps around and it shouldn’t be a surprise that someone’s a product of it. Someone you’re unfamiliar with but shares the same blood as you do when you grew up thinking that you were alone.

You should’ve expected something or atleast someone from your father but you don’t know why it hurts this much. Why it hurts this much even if you’ve been long bracing yourself for the impact you think would hit you anytime — just not this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers out, unable to look you in the eyes for all the reasons available. “Y-you have a half-brother.”

“Who came first?” the question plays out in your mind, something you want to know further because you know for a fact that you have nothing else to lose. “Me or him?”

Whatever the answer may be, it shouldn’t hurt significantly more than you’re hurting now. His silence is your confirmation. The weight of the world feels like it’s perched on your shoulders and you don’t know how you’ve managed to stay still all this time, the sudden realization making you conscious of the weight tenfold.

“Were you already married to her at the time?”

“Yeah.”

You’ve never been alone. Your brother came before you and yet you’re the one who’s supposed to be the first and only of your parents. They were already broken even before your came along. You’ve grown up alone and you had the opportunity not to.

You’re mad at your dad. For being an adulterer and having a kid. Did he ever take care of him? Did he ever take the responsibility? Or is it only you that grew up by yourself in this way?

You’re mad at your half-brother. It wasn’t his fault to be born and not once had tried to wiggle his way into your family. You would’ve hated him if he did but you would’ve loved the companionship. His presence alone would remind you, or the younger version of you if only you knew earlier, that you’re not alone.

You’re mad at your mother for never stepping up to be one. The more forgiving part of you thinks it’s irrational because maybe she never wanted to be one in the first place but it shakes you to your core. Maybe, just maybe, it was better to have lived in a lifetime other than this even if it forsakes anything and anyone you’ve ever lived for.

You were born into walls that were already loveless, and if there was love in the first place, it’s long been tainted and out of your reach.

“I’m sorry for everything.”

it’s pathetic for him to apologize and the both of you know it. It’s said out of formality and yet it seems impossible to practice it in actuality.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

He’s crying and he hiccups to see you still. Just as still as how you came here and as still as you remain to be.

“I should be used to hurting.”

You need a change of scenery, that much you know.

You need a change of everything; you’re no longer in the place you want to be.

You want to protect yourself; build your own safety net by the own reservations you make.

For today and all the tomorrows you could think of as far, you have no one but yourself.

THREE YEARS LATER

Soomin is twenty-one.

She’s grown-up well as what a lot of people have told her and praised her, either to her face or to her family or even in the occasional DM she’d get from people she barely knows now.

She’s beautiful, that’s what people tell her a lot. Often does she get complimented in the same breath as her older brother but she isn’t affected by it now, seeing how it makes sense that she’s pretty but she looks so much like him that she can’t deny her resemblance to Jimin. They practically have the same features but how they differ is their own charm, Jimin being the one who’s more outgoing and charismatic type while Soomin’s the more reserved yet loving type.

She’s smart too, that’s what her grades and professors tell her. She’s a dean lister and a full scholar. People come to her if they need help, almost rarely the other way around. She’s studious and yet she doesn’t let the knowledge of her being better get to her head; consistent enough to know what she’s capable enough, but never boastful of what she possesses.

Soomin feels like she should have it all with the way people praise her. It should elate her infinitely but she doesn’t know why it makes her uncomfortable to receive so much of it, genuinely confused if she even deserves it all.

She’s too poised to be as graceful, a have-it-all, that she feels pressured. Unworthy, even.

She’s stuck to the same routine she feels like she’s always had. Always been in a hurry to go home to be in the comfort of her house’s warmth as soon as the bell rings, making up excuses to turn down any extra responsibilities and commitments that keep her away from home. In fact, her parents encourage her to go out with her friends and of the like, but she finds no need for it. She has her home, that much is enough.

It was enough during those times.

She feels like she’s been wearing the same clothes for years. Some are hand-me-downs from Jimin that she exchanges using as her going-out clothes and as her pajamas. The colors in her closet don’t adhere to the people she knows that has an exact outfit for every occasion. Even opening her cabinets don’t feel as joyous as what she feels when she opens her friends’, being so used to seeing the same old garments.

It didn’t bother her when she was younger.

She feels like she’s had the same hair for years. The same haircut in the same natural color. The occasional long curtain bangs and side pieces she does herself that grows out before she even notices. She feels unlike herself yet she wears the same skin everyday but she doesn’t know which one of the two should she alter.

Soomin feels like she’s changed.

She’s smart and pretty and she doesn’t feel like she’s any of those things. She’s sensible and calculating but she no longer wants to.

She’s been the same person her whole life and it makes her want to grip her hair because nothing seems to ground her anymore — not even the same praises from people who preach her for being exactly who she is and has always been, making her loathe herself altogether.

Soomin is twenty-one when she lets go and no longer wants to think of the consequences, even if it’s just this one night.

She didn’t have to sneak out of the house because she tells her parents that she’s going out and according to her knowledge, they were the one who’s been encouraging her to do so all this time. She didn’t sneak out and yet it feels like at it with the way they gawk at her, soon picking up their jaws from the floor as they bid her goodbye with kisses on her cheek.

She didn’t feel guilty when she loaned a dress from her new blockmate, the one that has more skin, the one that’s more unlike her.

She didn’t feel apologetic when she comes into the already-noisy club as a part of her own crowd, most of them her newfound friends from this semester and a couple of their own plus-ones.

Soomin lets herself become reckless as she downs shot after shot and has enough to realize that she’s not a lightweight, much like how Jimin brags to be, but she definitely feels the kick and burn within her body.

She lets herself become curious when she’s offered a joint and politely takes one puff of it before passing it around in to the next one in the circle she doesn’t even realize she’s included in, happy enough to know that she doesn’t stick out that much.

She lets people bump into her without scowling at them. Lets guys put their hands on the small of her back as the most she’s done is roll her eyes at them playfully and giggling, not going any further than that.

She realizes that perhaps, it’s more fun and liberating to be this way. To not be as smart or as rational like how she strives to be at all times. She looks out for herself, of course, but not so much to the point that fending for her safety and wellbeing in a club as packed and busy as this become her main priority because if it was, she would already be coming home sober.

She’s not entirely comfortable, but she feels happy.

She’s not entirely okay with the scene of it all, but her stomach feels full and her cheeks are hurting from smiling.

Soomin lets the night be.

She lets whatever’s supposed to happen, happen. She hops on flow after flow until it comes to a stop, letting that halt become her limitation for the night.

And it does halt.

It does halt when the car she’s riding in screeches and skids, the sudden ringing in her ears and the pounding in her chest coming to her senses first before she realizes what’s happened.

Soomin is twenty-one when she feels like she’s dying.

Her mind goes out to her parents, on how they’d cope if she dies and who’d look out for them since it’s been years since Jimin moved out.

Her mind goes out to Jimin, on how he’d ever smile if she passes away at the very second.

To you, on how you’d take the news of her possible death as she’s your little sister figure, if you still think of her as such, and how you’d react.

To Miso, who’s settled into their home two years ago. Who will feed her? Who will she cuddle up to? Will she notice her absence?

To all the momentary figures she’s ever met that she serves as a passing recollection to. The childhood friends she invited a couple times to the first few birthdays of her life. The seatmates she’s had and the people she’s lent pencils to. The people she’s smiled to and thanked — will they light a candle for her?

Soomin is twenty-one when she cries while she bleeds because she doesn’t want to suffer alone.

( ♡ )

Jimin is twenty-nine.

He is twenty-nine when he realizes that he has no grand plans for his future, not even the faintest idea of it at bay.

He no longer thinks about his next big purchase or anything that’s bigger than the last thing he’s achieved. He doesn’t keep track of his aspirations because he learns that he barely has any for the far future. There’s no lists nor planners because one of the only things that reminds Jimin he’s still living for tomorrow are the emails that he sends himself that would act as his schedule for the next day.

Jimin stopped having grand plans since three years ago.

He has had no grand plans ever since you, three years ago.

He has no grandiose outline for his future and it’s the truth yet he feels empty when someone asks him about it, just either dismissing with a laugh or answering directly. Either way, he’d get looks of worry and pity and he hates being on the receiving end of them, which is why the phrase he uses now when asked is that he has no plans for the future yet since he’s present-oriented.

He’s present-oriented because the only thing in his mind is what he could order that can be considered as dinner from this newly-opened cafe that Yoongi wanted to check out and invite him to in the process.

It was weird enough that they’re eating dinner at a cafe and even more-so being in one at night when they’re actually looking for a meal, but it would suffice. Yoongi and him haven’t hung out outside of a work for quite some time, even if they spend almost everyday with each other at work.

Yoongi and him are alright. Not the best, but clearly better than how they used to be.

Yoongi was mad at him for the better part of three years and Jimin doesn’t blame him for it and in fact, his friend’s loathing for him afterwards was what grounded him. Humbled him, even. Months after the two of you were over, he could have a vaguely good day in which his lips turned into the faintest hint of a smile and all it takes is one look at Yoongi’s scowl for him to remember that he has little to no reason at all.

They were rocky, even more of a miracle that Yoongi didn’t break off his friendship with Jimin completely. He was one of the top people in his list that he apologized sincerely to, knowing that he had hurt him by his extension over what he did to you.

When Yoongi had caught news of your incident, he practically cried himself to sleep because out of all the people he knew, you should be the last person to even go through immeasurable pain after immeasurable pain. He recalls learning the news through Soomin, then seeing Jimin the same afternoon of, decking him hard enough to make him stumble back, before he turned in early and cried himself to sleep.

Especially during the first few months, they wouldn’t exactly fight — how it would go is that Yoongi would raise his voice to Jimin and the latter accepts it all, not even defending himself because he knows that he wasn’t in the right in the first place.

He would be antagonizing him further and Yoongi only felt minimal guilt in doing so. He would mumble snide comments under his breath whenever he’s near him, barely having to look at the younger’s guy down-set eyes to know that he’s heard him loud and clear.

Would be petty at times too. There were more than a couple times that he snatched Jimin’s phone whenever he wasn’t looking and would hide it, although it conflicted him when Jimin doesn’t even bother looking for it and goes home without it; he probably doesn’t even realize with the way he’s detached even from even his own self.

The two of them are still friends. There’s been a shift between them for sure but they’re still brothers to a degree, no doubt stemming from their synergy in and out of their studios.

Their cafe dinner is Yoongi’s idea and Jimin could now clearly see why when he puts down the menu and his friend’s still looking at it when normally, it would only take him a second to skim before choosing.

“We should open another business venture.”

The abruptness of words that come out of Yoongi’s mouth makes Jimin chuckle, putting his arms across his chest as he tilts his head.

“What are you talking about?” he squints, pouting while he counts with his fingers. “We signed five deals in this week alone.”

Yoongi’s had this idea in his mind for the longest time. Technically he could do it all by his own but he finds it hard to do it himself, now that he knows how much success he’s gotten just by pitching the idea of a small run-down studio to Jimin back when they were college students.

They’re friends. They’re practically brothers. If Yoongi had to pitch the most ridiculous business deal to a person to save him from a life-and-death situation in less than two minutes and get approval and support, it would be Jimin.

“Believe me, I know that,” he murmurs as he turns his face to the side, blocking the girl who’s been taking pictures of them for the entire fifteen minutes that they’ve been here. “But we can’t do this gig forever, y’know?”

Jimin solemnly nods, looking at his shoes as he becomes honest, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table.

“I do. I just can’t think that far ahead to see the future where we aren’t producers anymore.”

Yoongi completely disregards Jimin’s reply to him, nodding and squinting as he knows he’d get him to budge sometime these days.

“I’m thinking of a cafe. It’d look so cozy and shit, it’d be sick.”

“Nice,” he snorts, leaning back to his chair lazily. “We only have a million other cafes to compete with in this block alone.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s hear what your idea is then.”

Yoongi challenges, internally excited because he’s gonna get Jimin to talk and open up eventually into agreeing. He’d be open to suggestions, sure, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’d be accepting them.

“I do want to start something eventually,” Jimin relents much to his dismay, leaning forward to get his phone that’s vibrating from his back pocket. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”

Yoongi deadpans and is told to hold his thoughts as Jimin’s eyes skim to his phone to see an unknown number ringing him up, accepting it but not talking first in case it would just be a crazed fan of his work.

The impatience plastered on Yoongi’s face disappears soon enough the moment he sees Jimin’s features shift into something that’s heartbreakingly similar.

Something so heart-dropping.

Jimin is twenty-nine when he feels the paralyzing heartburn in his chest again that spreads all the way to the tips of his fingers.

Soomin.

Car accident.

Hospital.

Unconscious.

( ♡ )

Mr. and Mrs. Park aren’t holding up well at all.

Jimin’s dad quit smoking two and a half years ago but he feels like his lungs are caving, his eyes automatically tearing up to see his daughter in a hospital bed that looks far too foreign underneath her.

He’s tried his best to make her feel okay, ringing up the front desk politely even if he’s heaving with tears to get her what she likes. Mr. Park too utmost care in putting pillows on either side of Soomin because even when she was a kid, she wanted to be surrounded when she slept. Wanted to have a barrier so that ghosts and monsters wouldn’t reach her while she slept, the fluffy casings enough to ward them away.

Soomin’s just sleeping. She’s just asleep and tired, only this time it’s not on her bed. He wants to protect her so bad from anything that could harm her and yet he didn’t manage to protect her last night, blaming it on himself even it what happened to her isn’t within in his control.

She hasn’t been sickly nor took even a single trip to the hospital even when she was young. She was eager as a baby to take all her vitamins and didn’t loathe them just like how her older brother did. When she was learning to ride the bike, she didn’t get fussy when her dad put on every piece of protective gear he could look for, and in fact, she encouraged it even.

She has an umbrella in her bag even if the weather report didn’t say it would rain because she hates getting sick; hates feeling helpless even if it’s just a cold that makes her sinuses blocked and her head heavy. She lays to rest when her eyes strain during studying because she’d hate to pour in all the effort, only to feel the starting effects of a fatigue-induced fever the next day.

Soomin has a couple of bruises and a cast. There’s a stitch on the side of her forehead. There’s darkness underneath her eyes and she doesn’t look at peace now that she sleeps. Without those, she looks perfectly fine.

Jimin’s mom has yearly check-ups with excellent results but now she feels sick from her bones within. Her knees want to give out as if they’ve never been alright before, bearing the weight that her heart carries. This is the time that she truly feels gravity — heavy as it sinks her down to her knees and she can’t get up because the pull is simply too powerful.

Soomin doesn’t like seeing her cry. The two of them would fight the most and yet even if their arguments would get out of hand sometimes and doors would be slammed, Soomin makes sure to peek at her mom before she goes to sleep, draping a handkerchief on the doorknob for her to wipe her tears with.

She’s the closest to Soomin, not even denying when Jimin teases her about it.

Mrs. Park hurts when she sees Soomin hurt. Her heart clenches whenever she sees her daughter staring off into space with the emptiest look on her eyes, shaking it off away when she asks her if she’s okay. Her chest tightens when she knows that she can’t relieve Soomin from her pain that she doesn’t even know because she won’t tell.

Soomin doesn’t like being a burden to her family. She doesn’t want to be deadweight because she already feels guilty when her dad urges her to just get Jimin’s share of dinner if she wants more; even if it’s her brother, her family, and what family does.

Mrs. Park practically collapses on his son’s arms with how weighed-down she feels, crying to his shoulder.

“What do we do, Jimin?”

Jimin drove himself as fast as he could and yet nothing could ever prepare him for the sight of Soomin sleeping, seemingly unharmed without her few injuries but it pains him twice as much.

His sister means the world to him.

Seeing her sleeping in pain is what shakes him to the center of his gravity, holding his mother out of muscle reflex and yet he feels vacant, the words leaving him in genuine disarray.

“I-I don’t know.”

Jimin carries the weight of his parents on his arms and Soomin’s on his heart as he watches, standing in the middle of the room as he looks at them, at her.

He thought he’d never get to feel this pain again in his life and yet he doesn’t know that his hurt lasts and extends for more than a lifetime, his own tears streaming as he shakes his head repeatedly.

“I don’t know.”

Soomin’s the first person that made Jimin become a better person growing up. He hated the concept of her when he was eight years old because he thought his parents’ attention would only be on him. He’s fared for 8 years more than okay and now his parents tell him that he’s gonna have a baby sister? His mind was of a literal child’s at the time and was selfish, yet the moment his uncle drove him over to the hospital where his mom gave birth and his dad stood watch, he understood.

The moment his mom beckons him to sit beside her on the bed to hold Park Soomin, his baby sister, in what his arms could scoop up — he understood loyalty.

Jimin understood loyalty when he promised to himself that he’d never let anyone nor anything harm Soomin the moment she came into the world.

He served as great help to their parents as he practically had to shoo them just so he could give Soomin her bottle, making sure to elevate her head and support her neck. He was the one who adjusted the hot water to make sure it wouldn’t make her shriek, even if it meant undergoing through a series of trial and error just to give her a bath.

He would gather his allowance every week and eat from his friend’s lunchboxes to buy Soomin a red toy because he’s heard once that it was good for a baby’s sensory and cognitive skills. Jimin would boast about her to everyone in his homeroom class, barely even cleaning up the floors as he rushes home because he yells that his sister needs him, definitely classifying her baby babble as her signal for looking for her older brother.

Just like when she was a baby, through her toddler and teenage years, Jimin watches over her like a hawk. He’s urged his parents to atleast get something to eat downstairs to distract themselves even for a little while, making sure to call them even if his instincts feel that his little sister’s bound to wake up soon.

He’s hurt but he prioritizes her hurt first, doing everything at once while she sleeps to get to the bottom of things.

Soomin wakes up exactly at the moment her entire family is there, looking down on her with teary yet awaiting eyes.

“Hi.”

She croaks, immediately being replaced with a broken giggle when she hears the collective sigh of relief from her family.

She’s groggy. Maybe it’s the grogginess. Maybe it’s the pain.

It’s only normal that she feels disoriented because she was in a car accident merely hours ago and it’s the crack of dawn at the moment.

She does a mental headcount, clocking everyone in.

Her mom’s standing next to her dad on her left side. Her brother’s standing on her right.

They watch her intensely as they’re about to ask what’s going on in her mind, choosing to know her thoughts before asking her what had happened as they wait for the doctor and the official report.

“Where’s my sister?”

Soomin asks definitively as her head whips arounds, peering into the corners of her hospital room, oblivious to how her family reacts.

“I saw Y/N awhile ago,” she says it to herself more than she says it to them, tilting her head in confusion in a pout. “I swear.”

She asks again as the doctor comes in. She’s confused as to why her family looks like they’re seeing ghosts — how Jimin hasn’t left his spot once in confusion unlike their parents, how not a single hair on him is out of place but he’s dematerializing from the inside out.

“Where’s my sister?”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s mind is running on nothing but concern and secondhand panic.

The moment Jimin left the cafe abruptly without even a mumbled excuse as to why, he could feel it in his bones that it was serious. An emergency that Jimin can never pass up on with the way his movements are similar, in the same way that he moved when your incident had happened.

The food’s long-forgotten because it only takes Yoongi a total of three seconds before he dashes out of the door to chase after Jimin, worried at the way he’s panicked and how he knows his friend would absolutely stop at nothing, fearing for his safety even if he doesn’t the context of why he’s in this state at all.

He tailed him all the way as he tries to catch up with Jimin’s speed, his hazard lights on as he switches from lane to lane, honking excessively to clear the path all the way to the front for Jimin, his instincts settling faster than his reason.

Yoongi has a bad feeling in his gut in the same way that he’d experience when he’s watched Jimin waste himself away due to his own faults. His friend’s long changed and this situation just felt different, different in the sense that he’s entirely frazzled with the way he’s erratic.

Yoongi just follows Jimin inside the hospital, stopping when he walks through the room with no hesitance and Yoongi realizes that Jimin must not have even noticed that he tailed him in the first place, staying rooted on the ground as he waits outside the door.

All he needed was a faint glimpse inside at the flash of the door swinging open and shutting closed, two figures that he knows so well and the sound of heartbreak, one figure lying on the hospital bed.

Soomin.

He could only piece what he had seen but it’s enough to get his mind running and his heart hurting at the thought, his ears unable to block out the sounds of Jimin’s parents cries even if the door has long been closed.

What Yoongi does is wait.

What he does is be there for Jimin.

It’s been an hour since he’s been waiting from outside the room; he doesn’t know for what or for whom. He saw Mr. and Mrs. Park leave once but they don’t recognize him as they’re clearly preoccupied in hurting as what it seems like. He keeps steady watch of the door as he watches the two of them rushingly come back to it again not a full hour later, taking a glimpse once more.

He could only hope Jimin’s okay.

This time it’s different and yet Yoongi isn’t too sure that he wouldn’t throw himself away just like the last time something as grave as this happened.

Jimin walks out of the room and straight to where he sat with no questions asked, breaking down beside Yoongi as he cries for no end.

His sobs are stuck on his throat and his fingers are trembling, shaking even more when they do nothing on stopping the barrage of tears from his eyes. He explains as he heaves, a gentle hand on his back for him to take his own pace on telling him what happened.

He stays like that for the longest time until Yoongi could hear his throat cracking but he wouldn’t stop sniffling, eyes already burning out of pressure.

“Atleast drink some water.”

He nudges him as Jimin’s head is too heavy that he rested it on his shoulder, shaking a bottle of water right in front of his face that’s meant with no interaction.

The water isn’t the problem; it doesn’t even amount to anything against the elephant of the room that he dances around, skipping by it as his only intention was to tell Yoongi what happened to relieve the pain on his chest and for nothing else.

“You should call her, Jimin.”

Yoongi addresses it while Jimin’s the least hysterical he’s been for the past hour, suddenly feeling the weight from his shoulder being relieved as he shot straight up.

His eyes are bloodshoot and every bit of him hurts but he shakes his head no, closing his eyes as he swallows the lump on his throat.

“No.”

The doctor said it was only temporary. All the necessary and precautionary tests have been done, not one result pointing to the possibility that yielded to amnesia or severe trauma.

Soomin knows all the important dates in history. She knows when her parents were married, when Jimin was born, and her own birthday. She knows all the schools she’s been to and even their chants. She knows what’s the color of their family car and breezed through the question what color was the wainscoting in their house because it didn’t have any. Soomin knows what happened, albeit blurry in a sense.

“It’s just a false memory. Soomin’s still hazy,” the doctor explains kindly at the revelation that Soomin, in fact, does not have a sister. He’s been made aware in a short explanation that the name Y/N she kept looking for is her brother’s ex, nodding in understanding. “The fog in her mind will clear up eventually.”

It’s brain fog, something completely normal after an accident like hers. Her mind’s jumbled and clouded and bears difficulty in differentiating reality, but it’s only for now.

It went as far as the doctor suggesting his professional assumption, unaware that he hit home unknowingly.

“This sister of hers probably has been a coping mechanism for Soomin when she was waiting for help, detailing to how she even saw her, not unless she was physically there awhile ago. Maybe the sister she speaks of was the last person in her mind before she passed out, and she’s looking for her now that she’s awake.”

Jimin didn’t know what to do when he had heard the doctor.

Jimin doesn’t know now what to do when Yoongi, out of all the people he’d least expect to push him into contacting you, is practically begging him.

“We’re talking about Soomin, Jimin.”

“I know.”

He knows how you love her entirely, separately from him.

Knows how you would’ve loved her as a little sister even if you hadn’t even met him.

“I don’t want her to be tied up to me,” he shakes his head somberly, fiddling with his fingers as he lays his head back on Yoongi’s shoulder. “I don’t want her to feel obligated.”

Jimin knows it’s for the best. This would be the best. His guilt can’t bear stringing you along once again even if it’s indirect, refusing to come to you and barge in as if he had the right to do so; as if you’re indebted to him and he had the right to demand you to do one more thing for him.

“She doesn’t owe anything to me.”

“Even if Soomin needs her?”

Yoongi’s frustrated because out of all the times that he knew Jimin would want to see you, be with you, and now that he has a chance to do so even if the intention is not for his own appeasement — Jimin refuses.

“Because I’m Soomin’s brother at the end of the day,” he taps on his knee in succession, inhaling once after every rotation. “And it feels beyond wrong to invite my ex that I cheated on, because my sister needs her.”

He doesn’t want to do you any more wrongs.

“It would be too selfish of me — of us.”

You’re a casualty of fate, a victim of coincidence — he doesn’t want you to be any of those.

Jimin doesn’t want to hurt you any longer, even if it’s at the expense of his sister who’d benefit from seeing you. Even if it’s at the benefit of Soomin who means the world to him, as long as he won’t get to hurt the one who encompasses his own universe.

He says it with conviction even if it feels heavy and uneasy, trying to convince himself more than he’s convincing Yoongi.

“Soomin will be okay.”

( ♡ )

You’re twenty-nine.

You are twenty-nine when you realize that you no longer want to draw the bigger picture; that you find no interest in stepping back from your canvas to see the wall that it’s hung on simply because you expect nothing to wait for you to change it.

You’re twenty-nine when you wholeheartedly admit that you refrain from having commitments and avoid them until you no longer feel the guilt when you avoid groupchats and take different seats to avoid conversation.

The three years that passed have treated you well someway somehow.

You left almost everything you’ve ever had but not everyone, not finding the heart within you to abandon them entirely.

Taehyung’s still in your life, a vital part at that. He knows your dad offered you a whole wad of money you can use to live your lifetime and still have some extra left when you handed in your official letter of resignation. At the same vein, he knows that you declined the offer.

He’s offered you the job that mixes in both of the only two you’ve ever had, only having to do it a few times but still with the gusto he thinks would suffice and it did, it does.

You’re his company’s pilot, tasked to be on-call to fly his family’s private jet when the need arises. Could be for Taehyung himself for business purposes, or if his parents simply just want to have a vacation. Could be for some of their executives that need to fly in and secure deals, could be for holiday destinations that Taehyung plans in-detail for months on end.

It’s only a few times a month, the added hours not even the same length of a week’s hours when you were a commercial pilot. The pay is good, the boss is good, and even the end of the day is good.

Jungkook remains in your life too, the whole reason why you have somewhere you can call home after you abruptly left yours. He was due to move out anyway and after knowing your entire situation, he was more than eager to rent out his apartment to you. It was purely luck that he even accepted your payment for your first month of renting because you feel like his family and he shouldn’t charge family, but you insisted nonetheless.

He was willing to drop almost everything to join you at Taehyung’s company in order to be your co-pilot, willing to leave everything he’s made progress because having you as his captain is better than any hours he’d get.

Of course you denied, making him stay at the company where he is and has been in longer than you were — you did resign, but not without handing in your letter of recommendation to promote Jungkook as captain to your father, calling it in as a favor that he immediately granted.

Yoongi, most importantly, is still with you.

You both know that he wouldn’t drop neither friendships with you or Jimin and it doesn’t bother you, knowing that his loyalty for either one of you doesn’t change his moral compass towards what happened in the first place.

You’ve seen him a couple times for the past three years and although it’s significantly less than how the two of you used to hang out before all this, what matters to you is that he’s still here with you.

You meet up with Yoongi tonight, insisting to treat him to dinner as your advance birthday present to him. You’ve talked about it weeks prior, reckoning how he’s been looking forward to it the whole time.

The two of you have never stopped being friends — you know him.

You know him when something’s plaguing his mind, a look of unease on his features that he would always have difficulty in trying to hide.

The two of you have been here for the past half hour and yet it’s only been you who’s touched the food, finally breaking into asking him rather than waiting for him to speak.

Yoongi’s pupils tremble, tilting his head as he gauges the fact that you’ve been easy this whole time because you’re clueless.

“He hasn’t told you?”

You know who he is and it settles a bitter taste in your mouth, the iron washing away when you find it in Yoongi’s eyes that he’s not just saying anything to fuck with your mind or anything of the sort.

His eyes are strangely familiar with the same heartburn you’ve felt three years ago, only this time it’s much different.

“I’m honest, Y/N,” he whispers under his breath, looking down on the floor to avoid your curious gaze. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know if he’s at the right place to do this but he knows it would be wrong if god forbid anything happens to either of the people he cares about, right with the knowledge that he could’ve atleast done something.

“I-I don’t know if or how I should tell you either but it’s just,” he shakily exhales, making eye contact with you to which all he gets is the hurt in your eyes, all too familiar to him. “I’m honest.”

You listen even if the hurt persists in your chest, unknowing of the ache that’ll settle when Yoongi opens his mouth next.

“Soomin got into an accident.”

( ♡ )

The hurt you feel in your chest is unlike any pain you’ve ever experienced before.

The pain of it sticks to your skin before it penetrates your heart, leaving a trail of discomfort in its wake. It feels as if the pain is materialized into something heavy that sits on your chest proudly, making you claw at it and look down only to see nothing.

Soomin was once your family, the mildly irrational part of the back of your head confirming that she still is. She’s your personification of a sibling even before you knew you had one; even before you knew the true concept of family and how it’s harsh and unforgiving as much as it’s portrayed to be gentle and loving.

She’s the only Park Soomin you’ll ever know.

Eating dinner with Yoongi is the least of your priorities now that he’s dropped the truth on you out of nowhere, a fresh truth that merely happened just two days ago that it hasn’t even begun scabbing at the edges.

You wonder if she’s hurt.

Wondering if Soomin is hurt puts a knot on your stomach because you remember her cries when she was thirteen, recalling that it was only your third time coming over at Jimin’s family home when you hear her shriek. The two of you barely knew each other by then and yet it was only the third meeting that you saw her genuinely hurt, her tears and her whines of pain enough to remind you how you froze when you look at her.

She slipped from the fifth to the last step of the stairs and toppled all the way down from there, badly twisting her ankle that she sobs that she heard something twist and snap so badly that it instantaneously brought tears to her eyes.

It was only you and Jimin downstairs, preparing for what was supposed to be lunch, before Soomin hurt herself on the stairs.

It was too quick. It was too quick for everyone to react accordingly and realize that the moment Soomin fell in pain, the first person to reach her was not Jimin, but you.

You can’t remember the event in detail with how frazzled you were but Jimin clearly can.

He can remember it from the way your eyes snapped away from him and how they went wide, dropping the spoon on the counter carelessly.

He recalls it down to how you eyebrows furrowed in concern as you dash to his little sister, a sob of concern stuck in your throat as you lift her up slightly and assess her with trembling eyes.

Jimin saw the way you stroked her hair and wiped her sweat of panic from her forehead with the back of your hand, looking at him desperately as you ask for help to relieve Soomin’s pain.

What happened to Soomin, one that involves her being in pain, matters to you more than your own standing with her brother at the moment.

The thought of her being in pain overrules you entirely as you work in muscle memory to drive yourself to Jimin’s studio late at night when you got past the traffic from what was supposed to be your dinner with Yoongi, not stopping for anything or anyone.

You look for his studio, his shoes, just anything that would tell you he’s here, head frantically whipping around to search for him or atleast a semblance of his presence.

Until you find him.

Until your eyes finally land on him who’s just as breathless and frozen as you are.

Three years have passed and Jimin’s in front of you.

Jimin looks the same at surface-level, the only key differences from the last time you saw him is how his hair’s longer and is back to its natural color, no longer the faded blonde in your last meeting.

You look at him and you stop entirely, only a second of recognition being shared between the two of you before your anxiety over Soomin overpowers your shock for Jimin, the words tumbling out of your lips immediately.

“What happened to Soomin?”

Jimin feels like he’s underwater.

He’s underwater in the sense that he knows how to swim but he refuses to rise up to the surface, rooted down at the ground for god knows what reason. He can hear you, but he can’t talk to you. He can hear you, but your voice is muffled and having to hear it clearly means pulling himself up — and pulling himself up is what Jimin hasn’t been good at the past three years.

He’s underwater in the sense that he’s an experienced swimmer and is in a well-maintained and balanced pool that he can stay in without the need for goggles. He’s looking up at you from below the water and his eyes can see, but they sting.

He can stay down for as long as he can but at some point he needs to resurface to regain his breathing, finding himself answering you before he gets lost in the ocean of you again before he forces himself to be grounded under.

“She went to a club,” he explains as if the two of you have been seeing each other everyday to feel as casual, barely a barrier between. “She just wanted to have fun.”

Jimin adds at the end as if he doesn’t know you at all. He inputs it for good measure to be defensive as if he thinks you’re judgemental, even if he knew you wouldn’t and would be the last person to, most especially when it comes to Soomin.

You nod attentively, looking him by the eyes as if you haven’t spent the last three years not seeing his within the crowd.

You’re floating on the water in the sense that you’re not versed with swimming and it’s the only thing you can do, staying relaxed under pressure as if one wrong breath and you would be suffocating.

You’re floating on the water in the sense that you do it out of survival rather than enjoyment, the fatigue of just keeping yourself afloat about to catch up on you sooner or later that you stabilize yourself as much as you could .

“Got a couple of drinks, hopped into the back seat with her friends,” Jimin narrates from what he’s heard of the police officer in charge of the cameras, that conversation being wrapped up not even a full day ago. “The girl that was driving ran a red light through an intersection and,” his throat constricts, lodged around nothingness as he exhales sharply.

“That.”

He can’t spell it out nor can he bring himself to. Even trying to recount the events hurt enough for him that he feels as if he’s been gutted at the stomach, the pain manifesting into something much bigger than he is.

“Her side of the car was the only one that’s badly hit,” he mumbles in detail, the footage replaying clearly in his mind. “But even if, they all left her alone.”

It hurts.

It hurts the most being the witness to someone else’s pain after it had already transpired. Jimin knows he can’t do anything about it and yet he hasn’t slept even a wink for the entire time that Soomin’s been home.

He stands watch outside of her room. She lets him sleep on the spare mattress on her floor because even if she offers just sleeping beside her, Jimin says no because she’s injured and wouldn’t want to risk rolling to her side when asleep and risking hurting her. In reality, Jimin didn’t even nap the entire time that he stayed over at Soomin’s room, eyes focusing so often on her figure to see if it was rising and falling — to see if she’s still there.

Your throat is constricted and if you were once floating above the water, you’re now dunked underneath it.

“The car,” your voice croaks, “was it blue?”

Jimin’s lost for a second over what you’re talking about but he connects is soon enough, nodding at the realization that Soomin’s friend’s car was indeed blue.

It’s all the confirmation you need when you feel the bile rise to your throat, eyes widening in panic and fluttering so slowly that he panics at the sight.

He’s just about to catch you because he thinks you’re gonna faint but you whisper, your hand coming up to your mouth as your voice trembles.

“Soomin was the one in the car?”

The realization hits you before the confusion creeps to Jimin, his chest tightening at your words.

“What do you mean?”

It’s pain that you’ve never felt that surrounds you as a whole, engulfing you piece by piece that you don’t know how to ask for salvation.

He’s concerned with the way your eyes well up with tears, an emotion he can’t gauge that he’s never seen out of the five years he’s known and been with you because it’s unlike no other.

“Jimin,” your voice trembles, his name leaving you in cracks. “I was the one who called the ambulance for her.”

“I-I didn’t know,” your head’s fuzzy with the way your mind goes to your tangent of guilt, the blood circulating to your fingertips coldly. “I had a flight and I was in a rush. I-I was in a taxi so we only passed by the car.”

The accident had been so hard to notice at all.

You were called in and you remember even putting the taxi’s windows down to clearly memorize the scene as you fumble with your phone to call for an emergency, trying to relay all the details.

A blue car with people walking away from the scene, confusing enough to see everyone of the barely harmed or none at all compared to the obvious crash on the side of the vehicle.

Your guilt of not helping out is relieved when you see some people get out of their own vehicles to rush to the intersection, joined by an enforcer soon enough.

It’s misplaced guilt that you may feel but you feel so bad nonetheless. Your heart’s burning at the thought that you saw Soomin get hurt and yet unlike the time she fell down the stairs, you didn’t rush to her.

You didn’t know and you didn’t rush to her to help. What you’ve did was look on her pain, one that you didn’t even know belong to her, as witness and call someone else who could relieve it for her.

Jimin remains still, eyes blinking slowly with no anger behind them.

“You were really there?” he all but whispers. “When she woke up, she said she saw you.”

“S-she saw me?”

“She was looking for you too,” he confirms, nodding his head as the ghost of a sad smile settles on his face. “She kept asking for her sister.”

Your heart hurts more than you’ve allowed it to.

“Sister?”

“Doc said that she was disoriented at the time she woke up,” he adds to ease you but he doesn’t know if you need the reassurance in the first place because for all he knows, this upsets you more than he thinks it does. “It’s a case of brain fog, it’s normal. What she asked was somehow a false memory. Somehow a truth she believes. W-we were all just shocked.”

Shocked wouldn’t even be able to cover it.

Their mom cried even harder.

Their dad smiled, keeping his tears to himself.

Jimin remained underwater, breaking down even if he couldn’t resurface.

“I don’t know if you wanted to hear this,” he admits whole-heartedly, pursing his lips before looking at you. “I just wanted to let you know.”

Jimin feels the same sentiments he did when Yoongi got frustrated at him for not calling you, remembering his distance.

He discreetly takes a step back and yet you notice, his eyes settling on the floor as if you’ve burned him by your presence alone.

“You weren’t supposed to know in the first place.”

“You could’ve reached me.”

You’re honest when you say it. You’re sincere when you tell Jimin that he could’ve reached you and you would’ve allowed it given everything.

“I didn’t know how. I-I didn’t know where you were.”

And he didn’t — he truly didn’t know where you were or what you were doing.

He knew nothing about you and he knows he doesn’t have the right to wish for otherwise, knowing that being kept in the dark is a pain that doesn’t hold a candle to what he put you through.

“You could’ve asked Yoongi. He told me that he was offering my number to you too.”

Jimin shakes his head politely, looking down.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to me. I-I can’t do that to you.”

“I’m not obligated to you anymore, Jimin,” you mumble but you know that he heard it loud and clear, running your thumb across your knuckles; honest with every word. “But I would’ve come if I known.”

He raises his gaze to meet yours but this time it’s you who avoids his, the truth that you know within your heart weighing much lighter than it should be that you feel unused to it.

“I would’ve come if you asked me to.”

Jimin cries.

He cries as he tearfully nods, sobbing into his hands restlessly.

“Is Soomin okay?”

You ask to get him out of it but he barely even responds, crying in front of you so hard that his hiccups rack throughout his whole body.

Your hand raises on its own before it barely grazes his arm, your head tilting in sincerity.

“Are you okay?”

It’s an accumulation of everything Jimin’s ever felt.

It is every pain combined to engulf him as a whole that it feels unreal and detached from his own heart, clueless to how he had even survived last night alone with his own thoughts.

Soomin’s the Sun that Jimin’s family revolves around to, the light of their days and nights that they don’t ever want to dull.

“Soomin’s okay. She’ll be okay,” he says throughout his sobs, trying to convince the both of you. “She’ll be okay.”

“Can I see her?”

You ask because you want to.

You ask because you genuinely want to see Soomin out of your own matters of the heart and not by obligation; not by former relations nor attachments.

“You can,” Jimin says the most surely he’s ever spoken for the past three days. “Of course you can.”

( ♡ )

“Are you sure you’d be okay?”

Hoseok, your half-brother, asks for the umpteenth time for the day.

It’s been three years since you’ve met him and not one meeting with him passed without him asking if you would be okay.

It wasn’t a question if you’re okay today — it’s a question to whether you’d be okay tomorrow.

You treasure him more than you’ve ever expected that you would come to love him as family, as someone of your own blood even if it isn’t full; even if you’ve sworn at first that you only have yourself.

You can’t even begin to describe the fulfillment that you feel when someone asks what’s your relation to him whenever the two of you would spend time together outside.

You never thought you’d be able to call someone your brother and for each time that you do, your inner child gets to sleep better at night.

“It’s been three years, Hobi.”

You were the one who reached out to him the week after your father let you know about his existence. His number was left to you out of a long-shot and yet you woke up one evening with the urge to call it, not expecting the immediate answer you would receive.

Hoseok knew about you.

He was waiting for your call.

“Time isn’t always enough,” Hoseok half-heartedly smiles because he would know; the two of you would know.

Your parents were married at one point in time (it’s a memory so distant that you can’t believe it) and had you five years later.

Despite that, Hoseok’s two years older than you, his mother being your dad’s former secretary.

He knows.

He would know.

He had drove out the next morning after you called him at night, only to blank immediately when he picked up and only managed to introduce yourself in a mumble.

The two of you have already established a relationship early on, making up for the lost time.

He’s honest just as you are. Knew how the other could be just as sensitive and vulnerable.

You know about Hoseok’s pains just like he knows yours.

“I wish I could’ve protected you earlier.”

Hoseok figures that the most logical thing he could ever describe what you mean to him, despite having only known each other properly for three years, is that you’re family.

You are his family and it’s an irrevocable truth he stands by.

“It’s none of our faults we’ve met this late into our lives,” you shake your head at him, telling him a truth you no longer blame yourself for. “If I hadn’t ended up in the hospital, who knows if I would’ve ever gotten to know about you?”

Hoseok brings out his resemblance with you with the way he deadpans, scoffing to the full effect.

“2/10. Not funny at all,” he playfully roll his eyes with no real harm to it, pushing you by your arm as he knocks down your racks of tissue paper on the bar to annoy you.

Hoseok is your family.

You have a brother, and you have a family of your own blood, regardless of its entirety or even the half of it.

“You could still protect me now.”

He smiles sweetly, ruffling your hair. “I know.”

Hoseok knows about your pains and he stand from afar to be your safety net, letting you figure it out alone as you’ve always done, but this time with a cushion to soften your fall.

“Guard your heart, Y/N,” he hugs you in your kitchen counter, the warmth of familial love being something you still need practice on to receive without bawling the next minute. “Let it be yours before you share it again.”

Hoseok, as your brother, sets himself up to be your safety net in the event that what you’ve decided on now — to see your ex-fiancé’s family and specifically his sister.

He won’t tell you what to do.

What he can do is try to protect you, even if it means letting you fall a few times.

“No one should be a saint.”

( ♡ )

Soomin is recovering.

She’s in recovery as she lays in her room, her head propped up as she watches from the new TV that Jimin’s gotten her because the last one got outdated so quickly, having to wack it by the receiver in order to lower the volume.

She’s gotten most of her strength for the most part. The only noticeable injuries she has is her cast that’s soon to be removed and the faint stitch that she has on the side of her forehead, choosing to just look at her reflection from the side whenever she looks at the mirror.

She knows everyone by their footsteps. She has them committed to memory infinitely since they’ve only entered her room for about a hundred times each within the past week, even memorizing Miso’s silent steps.

But Soomin thinks, she just thinks that her mind’s playing games with her when she hears a familiar set of steps, one that’s beyond familiar yet one that she hadn’t heard in years.

She’s about to bolt out of her bed as quickly as she could, effectively stopped when her door creaks open to reveal exactly who she thought it was.

“Surprise.”

You didn’t know what to expect when you show up at Jimin’s family’s house to visit Soomin and lift her spirits even for the tiniest bit, but you know that it was somehow this.

It was somehow this, along the same vein of warmth you’ve expected because Soomin practically jumped on you and embraces you so dearly, so warm to the point you swear you could feel damp droplets the crook of your neck.

“I missed you.”

She admits even if it’s never been a lie in the first place.

For three years, the two of you exchanged messages occasionally. The birthday ones and the holiday ones, the checking-up ones at the middle of the morning, the silent confessions of how she misses you to the point that it’s not even funny anymore.

“I missed you too, Minnie.”

His parents welcomed you long ago as soon as you arrived on their property, welcomed by hugs as their son stood the respectful distance away.

You don’t know where they are now but they excused themselves, if only you knew that they’re in their room uncontrollably happy to have seen you again and for you to be there for Soomin, no hidden agenda elsewhere with their son.

You had talked about this with Jimin. Talked to him about the prospect of visiting atleast one and staying only until dinner.

That’s your only plan.

Jimin thought he would’ve been content with that plan alone but when he peeks at Soomin’s door and sees the two of you hugging; the two of you happy and beaming, he realizes that Jimin only wants one plan for his future.

He feels happy in the sense that he’s never expected to see a sight like this again or for this day to ever come, regardless the context that it’s in. He feels empty however, in the sense that he finds himself wanting more, even if this single visit alone means the world to him.

It’s nearing dinnertime when you come downstairs to the sight of Jimin sniffling, the furthest thing away from even getting started on cooking family dinner in which you sit on your chair.

“I haven’t properly apologized to you in person for everything I’ve done to you,” he says sincerely, knowing that his letters to you in your voicemail wouldn’t count as much as this does. “I’m sorry.”

He apologizes the whole night, even through his gaze at the dining table.

Even through his waves goodbye to you as you pull your car out of the driveway.

Even through his curious glances when Soomin pulls you to her and pleads that you visit again.

( ♡ )

You think you will.

You think you’ll visit Soomin again.

The drive back to your apartment to freshen up just before your planned flight schedule does more than wake you up.

You haven’t drank anything and yet you feel like it sobered you completely. It’s opened your eyes in a way you can’t even fathom to be so aware of what you were doing.

It’s in the early morning as you stand by the entrance of the plane, customer service smile on display even if it isn’t Taehyung nor his family that you’re flying out.

You bow your head as the Head of Public Relations and what seems to be his plus one pass by you, only lifting your head once they go their ways to their own private cabin that’s separated.

It’s only after you flew the short distance and the sun rises that you’re thinking clearer than you used to, saying your customary greetings upon arrival.

It’s when the passengers’ cabin opens that you see her.

Eunji, all along, was the arm candy of the Head of Public Relations on your flight.

He’s married.

And it’s not to Eunji.

She recognizes you the moment her eyes lay on you, eyes widening in realization.

She’s intimidated. Much more intimidated than she could be.

“You must be Y/N.”

Her voice snaps you out of your thought process, unnerved to look at her which confuses her even more.

Shouldn’t you know who she is?

And yet you smile, shaking your head, rattling Eunji by barely pouring in the same effort that she does.

“And you are?” your brows raise, tilting your head as the both of you wait for the executive to gather his things, a faint smile on your lips.

“Sorry, I don’t know you by your name.”

People like Eunji never change, that much you could think of. She’s a flat personality with no development because it’s who she is, regardless of the guy she’s with.

It’s in her system, something she hasn’t managed to shake off.

It’s sobering to meet Eunji for the first and last time.

“I only know you by who you are.”

( ♡ )

Loving someone doesn’t necessarily mean loving every bit that comes with them, but in your case nothing about you was unworthy of the same love that he gives you.

It’s all too domestic, all too warm.

Having someone to take care of is something he’s already tried before. Loving you and taking care of you intimidated at him first because he didn’t know if he was loving you in the way you deserved to be loved. Your heart has far too much space to carry love for others and yet only the small bit of it was allotted to receive it, already filling to the brim with how he knows that his family fills it up.

He’s spent five years with you and three years without, yet there was not one moment that Jimin didn’t stop loving you — even in his sins, even through his despair.

“I’ve already made my peace. Forgive yourself, Jimin.”

You had only told him minutes ago downstairs when you walk down on him crying again. He tells you that he’s crying out of happiness; out of selfishness at the flip side.

He’s crying because he feels so warm having all the people he loves and loves most underneath the same roof, so much so that he wants to forget everything forwards besides now.

It’s when he peeks at Soomin’s room and asks if he could sleep over but she looks over to you before she answers him, a gentle smile on your face.

“You call the shots, Minnie. This is your room anyway.”

It feels all too familiar — all too warm again.

He feels sure, he feels infinite within your roots regardless if it would forever be drought for him.

Jimin’s only one plan in the future is to have you in his hold, just once more, even if it would be the last thing he’s ever feel. He would be yours, and yours alone.

Maybe not now. Maybe it’s in the future.

Jimin doesn’t know tomorrow but he knows now.

Now when he pulls up the spare mattress to sleep on the floor, adjacent to your side where you lay next to Soomin on her bed.

Now when he turns off the nightlight and tucks the comforter neatly to both your sides.

Now when he says good night and gets one right back.

You are Jimin’s favorite pain; his favorite ache and his favorite grief.

You are his favorite roof and his favorite warmth.

You are the only grasshopper.

You are his favorite lifetime if there are four — a lifetime with you is a lifetime he’s pick four times over; one that sows, one that waters, one that reaps, and one that consumes.

He can love you from afar.

You are Jimin’s religion.

There is a home within you.

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that is it for heartburn :)) i can't even put into words nor begin to thank everyone who's spent their time on heartburn and let me know their own hearts in the process. thank you for being here! my askbox is open for you <3