Chapter 2: Log

I don’t hear anything from Hoseok for the next few hours. The remaining members, on the other hand, keep me busy through constant messaging and questioning. Unfortunately, no matter who I ask about Hoseok’s whereabouts they all answered the same—‘I don’t know.’

I grit my teeth, feeling like I’m being left out to dry for too long. ‘What is he doing hiding away after randomly saying all that—did he even mean it or is he just playing with me?’ I breath in, the pain in my chest swelling until I exhale.

“What kind of sick joke is this??” I grumble as I collapse onto the couch. Picking up my phone, I glare at the blank screen irritably. My fingers tighten around the device. Ready to throw it, I stare at it like it’s a challenge not expecting for it to refute. My eyes widen when a message chimes and I read certain person’s name before the caller ID.

‘Ahri! Hoseok posted a log on Youtube!’

I don’t bother replying or checking who it’s from and instead fumble to unlock my phone. I hastily navigate through it, heartbeat drumming, until I find their channel. I hesitate to click the newest video, the thumbnail a picture of Hoseok in a small dimly lit room—possibly a studio or a closet of music equipment, it is difficult to tell the difference. Everything becomes eerily silent as I am greeted by the buffering symbol.

Hoseok’s eyes look up into the camera, a concentrated look on his face as he readjusts the webcam. By the moment of silence when he sits back down and looks around in search for words I assume the video isn’t edited, possibly posted by himself and without the approval of their company.

I curl up into the corner of my couch, huddling into the armrest as I bring the screen closer to my face with eyes glazed. He continues to look around the room, elbow on armrest and fidgeting with his bottom lip.

Hoseok finally sits up, eyes finding the camera. He presses his lips into a tight smile, tutting softly before speaking.

“Hello,” he says formally in a low voice. He laughs awkwardly to himself, evidently nervous. He hums in thought, still unsure where to begin as he adjusts in his seat again. “Earlier this morning—as many of you know—the accident two years ago,” he sighs in frustration for being unable to order his thoughts and sentences chronologically. He his lips and starts again, eyes becoming darker in the lighting. As an anxious mannerism, he begins to massage his right ear lobe.

“Over two years ago I was involved in an accident that made many of you worry,” he purses his lips, nodding, “This morning I recalled memories from before that.” He pauses and rolls his neck slightly, his fingers dragging down from his lobe across his jaw and neck. “I remember it all now,” he says as he smiles down at the desk. “I don’t know how but fragment by fragment, I got my memories back.”

Hoseok remains somewhat vague in the chiaroscuro-like lighting with long dragged out pauses that seem to go as far as the sea, my breath held for the entire journey. I notice my muscles weakening to his every breath and prolonged sighs.

“I’m sorry to our ARMYs and members that I didn’t tell first,” Hoseok apologizes after his cloud of thought passes, “I had to tell someone first—” his voice fades out, becoming more tender and warm than before, and his smile brightens just a tiny bit sweeter. “Because she meant—means,” he corrects himself, his reminiscent smile fluttering, “means a lot to me.”

My eyes widen as they meet with his through the screen. I feel his presence as his shy smile brightens both our rooms, causing my heart to rise and leave my chest.

“I’m sorry for making you all wait for so long,” he continues with his eyes drifting somewhere further than the camera. “It must have been hard for you all. I’m so sorry.”

Something about how he said his last apology and looked dead into the camera made my heartbeat come to a sudden stop. As selfish as it sounds, it felt directed to me. It felt personal and bitterly warm.

“So as of today, I am the Hoseok who debuted four years ago and the Hoseok who foolishly debuted again two years later. When you look at me, please think of memories from four, three years ago too.”

I feel my heart clench, the words sounding strangely familiar like they were once my own.

“I am the one and only Jung Hoseok, J-Hope,” he smiles cheekily as he adds a phrase he hadn’t used since the accident, “I’m your hope.” He laughs softly in embarrassment, the words tumbling off his tongue with odd familiarity. “I’ll work harder to become a better and whole J-Hope. Thank you.” He leans over to turn off the camera, pausing for a moment to hesitantly add, ‘I love you all.’

I sit on the couch in dumbfound, staring at the once again blank screen of my cell phone.

“He really does remember,” I murmur under my breath. My mind drifts out of the confines of my head to suddenly relive all the memories with the Hoseok I had left two years ago, and I become desperate to see him again face-to-face. Be it to hear him explain in person, apologize for giving up on him or just to see him once more—or maybe, if it’s not too much to ask, to be given the chance to love him again.

Author's Note: I WROTE THIS JUST RIGHT NOW BECAUSE HOSEOK WILL DROP SOMETHING TONIGHT AND THAT GIVES ME ALL THE REASONS TO WRITE