“I’m married.”

Everything in Jimin’s world seemed to come to a screeching halt, and the low hum in his head from the alcohol exploded into a roaring cacophony, the mass of swinging bodies blending into one another in his peripherals. Your face came in and out of focus before his eyes, and he suddenly felt nauseated. Swinging unstably, he felt your cool fingers grip his arms firmly as he threatened to collapse.

“What?”

“I’m married, Park Jimin.”

He heard those words flow out of your mouth again, about as innocent as a forceful shove against his windpipe. He watched the sentence form on your lips, and listened to the vibrations of your voice bring that fact to life, yet it still seemed so surreal, so impossible that you had moved on from him, leaving him standing alone, helpless, in his memories and hopes. Yet everything, the ring, your surprise to see him, pointed to the truth that you now belonged to another man.

You spoke again as his face morphed into an ashy tone, “Jimin, are you okay? You look a little pal–”

Before you could finish your question, Jimin hunched over and vomited on the floor before your feet, making you jumped back instinctively from the pungent spray of alcohol and whatever he had for lunch.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, and Jimin stumbled sideways a few steps away from you, swaying dangerously close to the mess on the floor. To restrain him from embarrassing himself any further, you grabbed at his sleeve, taking a fistful of the material and pulling him up.

But Jimin reacted violently to your touch, ripping himself from your grasp quickly,  “Let me go! You shouldn’t touch me, what would your husband think?” he questioned, eyes wide as if he had just committed a felony. Then the alcohol took over his body again in another wave as he lurched forward again and gagged.

“Stop saying that!” you ordered, and reached for him, this time holding onto his hand, the calluses on his palms rough and familiar. “You’re drunk! We’re taking you home.”

Jimin didn’t reply, but only grumbled a string of words you couldn’t make out clearly. You took that as him vaguely giving you permission to rescue him from the chaos, and guided him away from the bar. You tried to not acknowledge the lingering gazes as you propped him on your shoulder, weighing you down significantly. Leading him out the club entrance, you waved a hand at the bartender and smiled apologetically as you asked her clean up the mess.

Stepping out into the humid August night, you wrinkled your nose as the stench of bile and vomit radiated off of him. You trotted rapidly towards your car with Jimin staggering behind you like a disobedient puppy, pulling against your grip and whining the entire way down the bustling streets of Seoul. As the shiny white body of your car slowly materialized into view, you unlocked the doors and shoved his now tired body inside, then quickly crossing over towards the drivers side. Settling down behind the steering wheel, you casted a slanted glance at Jimin beside you, who was slumped into the passenger seat, eyes shut and lips slightly agape with light slumber. You sighed exasperatedly and placed your forehead on the steering wheel in defeat.

Your phone suddenly beeped, and the screen lit up with a new text message.

Yoongi <3:

When are you coming home, honey? I miss you ): And what do you want for dinner??

Groaning loudly, you suddenly remembered that you had promised your husband that you guys would enjoy a lovely couple dinner tonight. Forcing your brain to work at its top speed, you attempted to create other solutions for sending Jimin home. Maybe you could call a taxi for him? But Jimin isn’t even conscious enough to speak, how will he pay and drag himself out of the vehicle after they arrive? Or perhaps you could get a friend to take him? No, that’s ridiculous, they don’t even know him. And if they do, certainly they will notify Yoongi that you were with Jimin, and, strangely, that was the last thing you wished to happen. As each plan you managed to conjure up was quelled by something that could go wrong, you glared at Jimin’s unconscious figure besides you, gaze so heated that it seemed to be able to burn a hole through his skin. Out of all days, you had to show up today.

But deciding that you had no better choice, you typed on the vibrant screen unwillingly.

To: Yoongi <3,

Sorry, baby ): Something suddenly came up at work. Order something and eat without me. So sorry again… love you

You leaned against the headrest of your seat, desperately trying to think of some way to compensate Yoongi later, but drawing up blank. Frustration coursed through your veins as your phone sounded again.

Yoongi <3:

Okay… I hope it’s not too bad. Don’t stress yourself out, I’ll save you some food.

You stared out the front glass of your car at the night sky, its deep hue enveloping the noisy city, trying to grasp in your head what had made you choose Jimin over Yoongi, your husband, to devote your time to tonight, and why you didn’t have enough courage to tell Yoongi the truth. He had been your emotional fortress ever since your divorce. He cared for you when you couldn’t muster up enough motivation to even complete the simple task of eating, and made sure you were doing well, that you had a sufficient amount of fresh fruit in your fridge and that your clothes were warm enough. Most importantly, while others looked at you as a woman who was incompetent to even keep her own marriage alive, Yoongi couldn’t care less what your history was. All he knew was that he loved you and that would suffice for him. As you sulked in the upholstery of the driver’s seat, guilt gnawed at you, turning and twisting your insides uncomfortably. Shaking away the thoughts that grappled at your conscious, you plugged the key into the slot and the the ignition.

The street lights along road casted a orange glow on Jimin’s features, and you had to gather up everything in your being to keep yourself from getting distracted by him and focus on the wide roads ahead. He looked older, more mature, than the last time you had seen him almost a year ago. Perhaps that was because he had just been fighting with you then. Maybe it was because he had chosen another woman over you even though he swore his faithfulness to you at the alter. You tried your best to ignore the memories that were starting to replay before your mind’s eye and gripped the steering wheel more firmly.

Weaving through the endless traffic and lines of vehicles, you abruptly remembered that you had no idea where you were taking Jimin or where he lived. Letting an irritated exhale escape your lips, you elbowed Jimin a bit.

“Yah, Park Jimin.”

“Mmm,” he hummed and shifted in his seat, his head now leaning against the car windows.

“Where do you live? Give me the address.”

Jimin turned his face towards the direction of your voice, although still refusing to open his eyes, and mumbled a string of barely detectable words. “548 Orchard St. It’s in this city.”

Where the hell is that?

---

“Yah, Park Jimin, did you gain weight?”

You gritted your teeth together as you struggled to lift him on your petite shoulders, a cacophony of footsteps bouncing off the walls of the narrow staircase as he clumsily climbed up the steps with your aid, his head lolling onto your shoulder. You had thought that after finally finding your way through the maze of streets that fortified Jimin’s apartment, you would be able to easily drop him off in his apartment and head back to your own little haven. But much to your dismay, you found yourself confronted with a looming ten story residential building, his unit being on the topmost floor of course, and a broken elevator.

Bending over to catch your breath, you glanced at Jimin, whose arm was swung your shoulder and face pink with the tinge of alcohol. You then checked the door number of the apartment before you to make sure it matched with the one he told you. It did.

“Where are your keys?”

Jimin managed a drunken grumble and patted his jacket pocket, and you reached into the fabric to retrieve it. The door clicked open with a satisfying click as you turned the lock, and you stumbled inside.

Kicking your shoes at the door, you weren’t quite sure what to expect as you slipped into the rather spacious room, but you knew that you certainly didn’t expect it to be arranged in exactly the same way as the small house you had shared with him during your marriage. Slightly taken back by the similarity, you shuffled slowly towards a large window, inclining forward to examine the various photo frames standing on the white windowsill. Your own face smiled back at you from behind the glass covers, radiating off a kind of happiness that you had forgotten Jimin was capable to triggering in you. You also observed the Jimin’s face in those photographs, and in every of them he was gazing at you, as if completely mesmerized by your presence, your smile. You had not seen those pictures in such long time that you had nearly forgotten they existed, or when you took them, or what the context of those photos were. They used to be spread out throughout your previous house, and seeing them once again triggered a strange, fuzzy feeling in your chest. But it also saddened you a bit to see that Jimin had not thrown them away yet.

A tired cough erupted from Jimin’s lips, and you suddenly felt his weight on his shoulders again as you were snapped out of your thoughts. Recalling the real reason you had come to his apartment, you straightened and turned away from the photographs. Spotting the nearest appropriate furniture to deposit Jimin on, which happened to be his couch, you limped over strenuously and flopped him down on the soft material. He groaned loudly as his body came in contact with the couch with a thud.

You left him on the furniture, trotting around the house in search for the kitchen. Upon discovering it tastefully decorated with modern designs and neatly aligned equipment, you filled a glass with water and brought it to the couch with careful steps as the liquid sloshed to and fro around the rim. Jimin was sprawled out, one leg dangling over the back of the furniture, sound asleep.

“Jimin-ah,” you shook his shoulder, and he stirred slightly, murmuring in response, but showed no signs of wanting to wake up. Sighing, you set the glass of water on the coffee table beside him and stared at his resting figure. His shirt was stained with vomit, and deep creases overtook the starchy white material. Seeing that you had already come so far, it couldn’t hurt to retrieve a clean change of clothes for him right? So despite all the objections from your brain, you padded your way to his bedroom.

His room was not much, consisting of nothing but a closet and a large bed covered in creamy white duvet. Sliding the heavy wooden doors aside, you cracked open a drawer in his closet, and gathered the first shirt you saw into your sore arms. Then, during your search for some comfortable pants for him to change into, you stumbled upon another unexpected sight.

You pinched the dark, worn fabric between your fingers and lifted it out of its storage place. The sweet perfume you used to favor still lingered on the material, although slightly masked by Jimin’s scent, which was still unchanged. Sinking down into a corner of his bed, you gawked at the old sweatshirt, and at Jimin’s inability to get rid of your memories. It wasn’t healthy for himself, or for you, to have him trapped in the past, not capable of pulling himself into reality and moving on, perhaps finding himself another girl who will make up for his lost time with you. You placed the sweater back, not wanting to see what other possessions of yours he had still not thrown away, and turned to trot back into the living room.

Jimin had woken up and was standing in his bedroom doorway, gaze unmoving from your back profile as you shut the drawer closed. You jumped at his sudden appearance, and placed a hand on your chest to calm your racing heart. He scanned your face warily, seeking for a reaction. Running your fingers through your hair, you sighed, profound and long.

“Why did you not throw them away?”

He bowed his head and allowed his weight to be supported by the door frame a bit more, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes, his head pounding agonizingly from the alcohol.

“I couldn’t.” was all he could choke out.

You closed the distance between your bodies until you were only inches apart, and your warm breath fanned his face. Pushing the pile of clean clothes from your arms into his, you whispered, voice low and firm, “Jimin-ah, you have to forget me.”

Tears began to well up in his eyes, and you watched as he squeezed his eyes closed, praying to whatever greater being out there that when he opened them again everything would vanish like a dream, that you would still be with him, that you guys never divorced. But to his utter disappointment, when his eyelids eased apart, you were still staring at him sympathetically, hand resting on his shoulders as an attempt to comfort him.

“I can’t.”

“Try harder. It will be alright in the end, I promise. Go out and meet some new people, socialize. You can’t do this to yourself, Jimin-ah. It hurts, doesn’t it?”

You examined his face, his expression wavering a tiny bit as your words tried to sway his feelings. He knew that he should do exactly as you say, make new friends, fall in love, get married to someone else. But it all seemed meaningless, negligible, for his heart was still calling out for the one person he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, approach.

“It hurts. But I still can’t do it.”

Your heart dropped, and it ached for the vulnerable man, boy, who stood before you, having been tormented by you involuntarily for the past year. But you couldn’t do anything for him, no matter how much you wanted him to wake up from this useless dream, to snap back into reality. So the only and best thing you could do was leave.

Pushing past him, you paced across the apartment to the door, stepping into your shoes. Against his better discretion, Jimin followed you, and as you pulled the door open to depart, he reached out his hand and grabbed your wrist, keeping you back.

“Can’t you stay a little while longer?”

You glanced at his desperate expression, almost having an childlike innocence, as he gripped you, eyes begging. And you almost obliged.

But Yoongi’s face flashed before your eyes, and you remembered how it felt when his smile could practically melt you into pieces, and the way he held you on sleepless nights when your insomnia kicked in, rocking you in his arms until your eyelids grew heavy. You recalled that night after your wedding when Yoongi tenderly caressed your face, the covers pulled up to your shoulders, and vowed that he would cherish you for as long as he shall live, the way Jimin should’ve but failed to do. You pried Jimin’s fingers gingerly from your wrist.

“Sorry, I have to go. My husband’s waiting.”