Chapter 28

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Jungkook’s POV

The thing with me, is that I’m not really that good with words.

I’ll just put across what I want to say without actually having to elaborate on my point any further than necessary, and so that’s what I’ll do now.

After that day in the hospital, Jimin stayed true to his word.

He didn’t come to visit me anymore—and it’s not like I had a shortage of visitors, no, there were at least four every ing hour of the day, but I still felt what I think was a Jimin-induced pang of loneliness. Emptiness. Coldness.

When I was deemed healthy enough to go home, he didn’t come knocking on my door. He didn’t bring flowers, or chocolate, or a pizza, or that damned sunshine-smile either. I never again woke up to the smell of fresh blueberry pancakes dripping with maple syrup, or Jimin’s notorious nearly-burnt strips of bacon and an egg with the yolk exploded across the plate.

And when I went back to school, I didn’t talk to the Bangtan Boys much, at least not while Jimin was there, preferring to stay with my friends in my own year. I’d still meet them outside of school—Taehyung would come over and play Mario Kart or Call of Duty until three in the morning. Namjoon would still meet me at the Chinese place down the road where I would sit and listen to him discuss the meaning of life, or some new album he was obsessed with. I’d still trudge over to the abandoned skate park, the meeting place the seven of us had agreed to call ‘our special spot’, with Hoseok in tow clutching his longboard and Yoongi inahling a whole packet of cigarettes just behind. And Seokjin’s routine of staying over every Thursday didn’t cease to exist.

Jimin didn’t call again, or text. If the rare occasion occurred, in which we would pass each other in the crowded hallways of the school, he wouldn’t even dare to meet my gaze. No, he would simply walk past in silence, eyes on the floor.

Very slowly, over the course of six months, I’d managed to recover fully, shake off the anorexia and gain the weight I’d had before. The depression, of course, was slightly harder to get rid of, but my lows were less frequent and intense. I was slipping back into normality.

The numbing ache of missing Jimin faded over time, too. Waking up in an empty bed became less painful, as did the lack of his infectious laughter ringing in my ears did. I guess we both just drifted away. Some things aren’t meant to happen, and Jimin and I was one of them.

The eldest year in school, the Bangtan Boys, Ji-eun, everyone, all graduated and left for college. I’d gone to their graduation, of course, watched my friends stutter out emotional speeches to the audience, throw up their dark blue hats into the air, laughing. I’d laughed and smiled along, cried, hugged them until they were breathless. I knew what would happen eventually—like Jimin, the Bangtan Boys were destined to drift away from me, too. They were two years older, two years ahead of me. They had places to go and dreams to fullfill, while I was still stuck in highschool. At the graduation, I didn’t talk to Jimin. Yes, I saw him, but I didn’t have any intention to approach him. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Things were best left alone, the way I saw it.

* * *

“I congratulate you on your most recent work, Jungkook-ssi,” Mr Kim smiles, wrinkles in his face deepening. “I just saw the published version online, and it was absolutely refreshing. The ideas, the theories in there, were just amazing. I’m eager to see the profit you manage to rake up this time.”

I smile, resting my weight on the wooden desk.

“Thank you. I worked especially hard on this—I’d had some thoughts harbouring in my head for just under a year, and I thought I’d finally put it all together.”

Mr Kim nods.

“Don’t let me keep you waiting. I look forward to your next publication.”

We are now at the top of the school, the eldest in the school, and I’d celebrated my eighteenth birthday three times two weeks ago—the first with my family, the second with my closest friends, and the third through the biggest party in Seoul of school year yet, buzzing with alcohol, loud music and people I had only exchanged a few words with.

Since last December, I’d began producing research papers in my own time, exploring into biogenetics, a field I’d always wanted to work in. They were just a place for me to write down new thoughts and ideas that’d plague my mind at three am in the morning at first. Mr Kim had caught me scribbling into my notebook during one of his lessons and was close to giving me a detention before he actually read it. He’d been amazed, and had asked me to type up a paper properly and consider publishing it online. I’d been hesitant at first—publishing a research paper, at seventeen? But after some thought, and bribery (the promise of extra credit), I’d actually done it. It’d sparked up quite a positive response, and a lot of money, too. Since then, Mr Kim has been my most loyal supporter.

I’d applied for the university I’d wanted to attend since I knew it existed, the top school in South Korea, and had got in with a scholarship given to the top four participants. I’d refused, however, and asked for it to be given to someone who needed it more than I did. I’m also currently enrolled in a college course in photography—because why not?

Now, when I’m not doing homework, I’m typing up more research papers. Publishing them online, going to discussions and meetings alongside Korea’s most prestigious scientific researchers, sometimes having to