“Will it hurt?”

“For you? A lot.”

“Shut the up.”

For a guy that once sat through twenty stitches with a straight face and unblinking eyes, Taehyung is unusually giddy about his first tattoo. He trusts that Jungkook will do well, or at least that's what he says. He decided to get it here for three reasons. One, he really does believe in his friend's capabilities—Taehyung of all people would know, sitting through countless high school classes preoccupied with watching the boy make a thousand sketches of roses and dragons. Two, the life in this place was drained the moment it began - Jungkook was lucky to get just a handful of customers per day so Taehyung's contribution meant a lot (at least in his mind). And lastly, he gets the friends and family discount - completely disregards his second point but anything to his ego

“The forearm shouldn't hurt too bad, just a mild sting. Even for someone as skinny as you, you'll live,” he reassures, peeling off the stencil.

Taehyung's face contorts in amazement at the thick, black outline of a fierce, open-jawed tiger marked on his arm, popping in contrast to pale flesh. It's only fitting that he's chosen a tiger. Lalisa affectionately calls him Tae-ger because he wakes in the morning with frizzy, voluminous hair and hot breath. In response, he growls lowly and nips at her shoulder because it makes her giggle and he doesn't think anything in this world could compare to that.

Jungkook's thumb activates the machine, whirring it to life. For some reason, Taehyung thinks it sounds animalistic, like a giant insect buzzing away, about to feast on his skin. The initial contact causes him to yelp, not expecting the foreign sensation of the penetrating needle. Afterwards, it simply dulls into a vibrating sensation running throughout his skin - slightly agitating. It's an indescribably annoying feeling that hovers slightly above pain, just grazing it.

“See? It wasn't that bad,” Jungkook says, tucking his tools into the wooden drawer beneath his desk. “Come back tomorrow when it's healed to get the shading done.”

Taehyung stares in awe at the gorgeous outlines of the animal, already beginning to look realistic. No doubt it would burst with life and practically growl back at him once the finishing touches are put in place. He almost wants to tell Jungkook all or nothing, the healing process, he wants to come home to his girlfriend with the completed design. Just as he's about to bid his friend goodbye, a thought crosses his mind.

“Jungkook.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you draw one last thing for me?”

 

12 missed calls ~ Dad.

With any luck, they would be frantic calls from a burning office building but luck has never been on Jungkook's side. The last time they spoke, exactly three months ago, his father was fuming, a sheet of paper crumpled in a death grip that he probably wished had been around his son's neck. He dropped out of law school — a year prior, though he's been able to unintentionally uphold a convincing lie. He hadn't mouthed a word of it to his parents, leaving the house everyday only to wind up in the small tattoo shop that he's turned into his safe haven. He can still remember the spite in his father's eyes, burning holes through his head. His tone oozed both rage and confusion, part of him wanting to throttle his son for trashing his tuition, and the other desperate to know why he hadn't given an inkling about his discontentment. Why now? He's a good kid, always has been. He doesn't lie, not Jungkook. And fact is, he didn't. 

Lazily tucking his phone away in the pocket of his jacket, stowing away troubles intended for some other day, Jungkook plops himself down on the yellow bench in the deserted subway station. Trains are running late due to maintenance, a janitor had told him, and he briefly wonders why a janitor is doing the staff's job better than them. Some people have the qualifications but lack the luck, he thinks.

He huffs an exasperated sigh, already feeling the agonizing boredom set in. Even in the abandoned station, the atmosphere threatens to suffocate with it's humidity from bodies that were previously there, leaving behind scents that have cluttered together into one unpleasant fog. It's like being haunted by a thousand ghosts in one. This place is falling apart - has been for a few years. Paint chipping off walls, lights flickering overhead, suspicious dripping from beneath the tracks and lagging ticket machines delaying impatient commuters every morning. Ah, what a city to be alive in. 

He hears her footsteps before she says his name, because for some strange reason he's able to distinguish the sound of her steps from every other. Not the sound of the heels she always wears, but the actual lightness in her movements and the glide of the tips against the floor.

“Jungkook?”

“Eunha.” He doesn't look remotely surprised, in contrast to her wide eyes and slack jaw. She looks exactly the same, staring down at him with beady eyes and pouty lips, the floral essence of her perfume ever so nostalgic. It really takes away from the stench of the place, and he wonders if she's taking in his scent as well. 

“You still take this train home.”

Just because they've broken up doesn't mean he's going to avoid taking the convenient route home, he wants to say. “Yeah.”

She takes a seat next to him, thighs almost touching before she scoots over to widen the gap. He notices that his heart doesn't pound the way it used to when she's near him. “How's life?” she asks, predictably. 

“It's fine.”

He hears the breath escape her in a quiet laugh because it feels just like the first days they were together. Short, awkward exchanges in the library and suggestive glances across lecture halls. He had asked her out for the first time in a text message, then several times after in the same form. Some of her friends deemed it cowardly but she took it as charming coyness. Their relationship was as warm as the setting sun, comforting and mutual, but then the last days came when he suddenly collapsed back into that isolated state, blocking her out without an explanation. He couldn't find a way to tell her that he thought she didn't look at him the same way anymore, that the twinkle in her eyes seemed to be reserved for other guys who looked her way, or that every missed call was like taking a dagger to the heart, and he was too afraid to keep trying - afraid that every push forward would bring them closer to the inevitable end. So he panicked at the prospect of his first genuine love perishing, somehow convincing himself that isolation would postpone it.

“You're exactly the same.”

“Yeah.”

Their smiles hold no anger or resentment, just relief that it's finally over. He still loves her, he can feel it in his veins. Not in the way that he used to but in the ways that count. He just didn't know how to leap over that hurdle in their relationship, so he avoided it and brought it to a standstill until she ultimately broke it off herself after months of confusion and frustration at not being able to break through the wall he built around himself. They could have worked through it, she had tried to propose to him over their last phone call, until his silence drove her to tears (the coughs and sobs on the other line still linger in his mind, sending chills down his spine).

It doesn't matter now. It's over, and it would have been over regardless of what he could have said. You can't avoid the inevitable. 

Except Jungkook knows better than that.

They enter separate cars when the train arrives, knowing that even being in proximity to each other would conjure up unwanted feelings of regret. He clutches his chest as he takes a seat near one of the doors, feeling his heart speed up as the shock of what just occurred sinks in. It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, his breathing labours, vision blurring. She was the light at the end of his black hole — impossible as light can't exist in the pull of one but there she was, her smile tearing through everything he thought was impossible. God, he misses her. 

Somewhere between quietly sobbing into the collar of his jacket and retrieving his journal from his bag, three words that should have been said appear in his head, immediately scratched away.

Let's start over.

 

05 April 2015

I saw her again today for the first time after our breakup. 

She was just as beautiful as I had remembered, except hair now cut short. Is it because I've
always told her how much I loved her long hair or am I being delusional for thinking perhaps
I still occupy her thoughts as much as she occupies mine? It really evokes a strange kind of 
self loathing to know that I still remember the perfume she wears, how her footsteps sound,
the small and barely noticeable tremor in her voice when she's nervous.  

I haven't been able to get her out of my head since leaving the station. I was angry at first - at 
myself or at her, I couldn't even tell with my thoughts so scattered. Every petty argument and 
scornful remark just came flooding in and I thought for a moment maybe breaking up was the
best decision. But then I remember the way she used to fit into my arms, kiss me like it was my
last on earth, and fill the void in my heart with just a smile and I wanted so bad to turn back 
time just to grab her arm and tell her not to leave.

And then I realized it was just me hurting, just me pondering over the what if's. I shouldn't
be, right? She would have left me anyway, I could feel it in my bones. She didn't love me
anymore. I never asked, never got to hear it from her own lips because it would have hurt
more. I did myself a favour, didn't I?

I loved her.

I love her.

It was inevitable.

It doesn't matter now.

 

 

 

 

 

“There's a flower shop that just opened up across the street from here,” Taehyung casually mentions, completely unfazed by the needle dragging across his skin. It's much less painful, though that's expected according to Jungkook because shading involves alternating needles that run parallel or some - Taehyung wasn't paying attention, but he brushes it off as his impressive pain tolerance because that's much cooler. 

“So?”

“Just making conversation,” Taehyung pouts in the sort of way he knows always eggs Jungkook on. There's something despondent about him this morning, like a grey cloud just descended over his head. His eyes are unusually red but Taehyung tries not to think much of it - a sleepless night of sketching, likely. “I was going to stop by there to pick up some flowers for you to sketch but then I figured we could probably pick better ones from someone's garden,” he explains nonchalantly, remembering all those times in high school when Jungkook would spend hours in the school's greenhouse just sketching shrubbery. 

“That's nice.”

“You're really depressing these days, y'know that? You've been single for months, you'd think it'd have gotten better by now,” Taehyung grumbles, and despite his gloominess, it doesn't come as a surprise. Taehyung has never had a filter. “I can get Lalisa to hook you up with one of her friends if you want. She has lots - Korean or foreign, you can take your pick.”

“I'll pass.”

Taehyung heaves a defeated sigh, slumping back against the leather seat. Jungkook looks intently at the ink penetrating the skin, dabbing away imperfections with a paper towel. At this moment, it really hits him how intricate Jungkook is with his work. This is what he's meant to do, not slaving away over mountains of paper, memorizing laws that he's probably more ready to break than abide by. 

The finished product is everything Taehyung wanted and more. A fierce tiger with it's jaw wide open, bearing sharp teeth, detailed to appear sharp and glistening. Yet there's a softness to it, in the texture and vibrancy of it's fur and the beadiness of it's eyes. He thought of Lalisa when he asked for that, not quite sure whether he expressed it well but judging from the result, it warms some part of his heart that Jungkook can decipher his messy thoughts. In return, he pays the boy in full instead of asking for a discount because he deserves it, and Taehyung doesn't think any highend artist could have done it better.

“Take care of yourself,” he says in a half-shout at the door, already eager to skip back home. They haven't mouthed many words to each other today but Taehyung figures he'd deal with that some other day, maybe over a few drinks to get him talking.

“You too,” Jungkook replies just a second too late because he's gone when he looks up. 

 

His father hasn't attempted to call him today. Anxiety lingers for a moment, then fades with a shrug. 

Is this any better than how it used to be? He can't help but wonder as he locks up the shop. He's here everyday, garnering customers by word of mouth that he offers discounts and is 'pretty good, good enough'. This is where he imagined he'd be, but not every detail of it. Escaping the dull greys and fading paints of the classrooms, libraries and lecture halls, he pictured himself in the vivacious, liberating atmosphere of his own tattoo shop, surrounded by smiling faces that would reaffirm his decision to leave. And in his vision, the one he daydreamed about every passing moment before, Eunha would be next to him. She doesn't have a knack for art but he loved the way her face lit up when he would sketch things, especially portraits of her.

But that isn't where he is - far from it. He finds himself spending hours in a dark, cramped room with a desk lamp downturned into drawings that would probably perish. This is the life he chose, and it wouldn't have made a difference if he had told his parents. Heck, it gave him time to put this place together. They would have held him back out of spite, forced him out with nothing. 

His face pales at the memory of his father's shouting, the distraught look in his eyes, and then the grief-stricken expression on his mother's face. No, he got off easy. It could have been worse. Much worse.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he instictively starts on the path he always takes to the subway station. He stops abruptly at the memory of yesterday - of her at the station, the painful throbbing in his chest, and the sleepless night that ensued. Not again. He looks down at his watch. It's overtly paranoid of him to think he would find her there again, at this exact moment, when in fact her punctuality has never been perfect, but he decides he doesn't want to take that risk. He'll wait it out a while in the shop.

As he turns to strut back, a cluster of vibrant colours catch his eye. Freesias, roses, violets, sunflowers—arranged in a rainbow from the cools to the warms across the glass window, onlooking the clear streets. He remembers his attempts at drawing roses as a child. It was one of the first things he'd ever learned to draw - shading in all the wrong places, getting the layers mixed up. As basic as it is, drawing them has become second nature to him now. 

There's a sketch pad in his bag and plenty of time on his hands. This could be interesting.

 

What the...heck. He stops dead in his tracks, the chime at the door still sounding behind him as the door swings shut.

There's a girl sprawled out on the floor in the middle of the shop - jet black hair and checkered dress fanning out at her sides. There's an opening on the ceiling encased in glass, presumably to direct more light to the plants in the shop. It's enchantingly beautiful looking up, seeing the different patterns inscribed in the glass in the shape of an ornate rose. He only now realizes that the pointed chimney outside was designed to be the stem of the rose, lined with thorns.

It's an odd sight to walk into. She's not dead, he's certain of it, from the way her chest rises and falls with every breath - such slight movements, one might not notice. At this hour, the blaring sunlight has become a soft, warm light trickling in through the windows, illuminating the girl in the centre of the room. She's definitely prettier than the average person, and he's sure it isn't just because the light is giving her an otherworldly glow.

He isn't sure if the way she's arranged the flowers was intentional - haphazardly scattered in some indefinable formation around her. Some flowers have sprouted so tall they lean into one another for support, crossing leaves and touching petals. In the way they're lined up, circling the shop, it looks as if they're a row of guards linking arms, protecting the sleeping maiden inside. 

Instinctively, he pulls the sketch pad from his bag, finding a comfortable spot on the ground a small distance from the girl. He figures he doesn't want to startle her awake (or disturb the peaceful expression on her face, breathing so delicate he thinks it might stop completely). He's left his best sketching pencil in his shop but figures any pencil would do for now, he would touch it up later because there's an explosion in his mind, shapes and lively colours inviting him in. His hand seems to move naturally on its own across the canvas while his mind soaks in every important detail he wants conveyed.

Beautiful things have always fueled his motivation, be it the grandeur of nature while walking through a forest or something as simple as a steaming cup of coffee fogging up a frosty window in the winter. But this is different—like a medley of fairytales blending together in the small enclosure of petals, vines, leaves, and thorns. And then there's her - the mysterious girl (presumably the owner) somehow completing the scene like the missing piece of a puzzle, like she's meant to be there, adopted by the flowers. 

It's arguably creepy to be drawing an unconscious girl. If one ought not to snap pictures of passed out girls at parties, what makes drawing a sleeping girl any different? Corny movies about melodramatic artists always depict the drawing of love interests as charming and romantic - but this isn't a movie, this is very real, and as hard as he tries to push it to some far corner of his mind, it persists. Minutes later, he contemplates waking the girl, pretending that he's just walked in and found her here. 

Just as he's about to carefully move to his feet, he hears her begin to stir, muttering some gibberish followed by a dragged out yawn. Her eyes open slowly, then all at once, and he catches a glimpse of her warm brown eyes before she squints at the light. It takes her a moment, just as any normal person waking from their sleep does, to compose herself and blink away the graininess in her vision until things start to make sense. Even awake, that dreamy aspect of her remains when she sits up, hair disheveled, dress rumpled and eyes groggy. Sleeping beauty minus the gracefulness. 

He almost makes a move to jump to his feet and make a run for it before she clears her head enough to see him, but his heart almost leaps into his throat when she cracks her head towards him, an audible crack sounding from the stretch. “How may I help you?” she asks, not the slightest bit fazed while his face pales.

“Uhm...” His eyes dart around the room. “Do you have any baby's breath flowers?”

She blinks at him for a few seconds, tilting her head to the side in thought. Then she moves to her feet, light and quick as a feather. “Come with me.”

 

Someone once requested that he tattoo baby's breath flowers along their shoulders, and it stumped him that he had never actually seen them before. He did it as best as he could with some pictures provided but couldn't quite capture the spirit of what he was looking for so it ended up being a very minimalistic tattoo. 

She hands him a vase of them, stems soaked in water while the flowers burst from the top, branching up tall and spread out. They're beautiful in a simple sort of way, which he thinks is a good thing contrary to the way it sounds. He also thinks it's the perfect way to describe her, seeing her face peeking to the side to read his expression curiously. Truthfully, he panicked. He didn't intend to actually buy anything, just wanting to look around and ask the owner if they would let him sketch some of the flowers he saw in the window.

She doesn't look intimidating in the slightest, her face radiating a friendliness he doesn't feel with most girls. It took him years to approach girls in the past, friends and girlfriends alike. The few months it took to become acquainted with Eunha had him believing perhaps they were meant for each other, destiny paving a way for them. But then there's her, this nameless girl still rubbing her eyes and suppressing yawns, who makes him feel at ease for no particular reason.

“Is it okay if I just... stay here and draw them?”

“Sure,” she answers nonchalantly without a hitch, turning to walk to the back room. “You can take a seat over there, I'll make some tea,” she says, pointing to the table near the counter and then casually disappears into the other room as if this has happened a million times over. 

 

“You're a really good artist,” she says, peering over his sketch pad as she takes a sip of tea. “Did you go to art school?”

“Self taught.”

“Amazing~” He sees her grin out of the corner of his eye, then continues outlining the stems. “Were you drawing me in my sleep?” He seizes up, a lump forming in his throat. She laughs at his reaction, the mellifluous sound of her voice somehow calms him right away. “Can I see?”

He flips to the previous page of his pad and watches her face light up. “Oh my gosh!” she exclaims, cradling her face in her hands, “am I that pretty or did you just draw me like that?” She's amazed at how intricate he is with the details.

“You're very pretty,” he blurts out, wondering if his face has reddened as much as her's just did at the compliment.

“You are as well,” she smiles, “the prettiest flower in this shop.” She isn't usually this forward, he can tell from the way she doesn't look him in the eyes saying all of this. Maybe it's something about him that makes her want to be, or maybe she's just trying something new and it happened to be with him.

“Then maybe I shouldn't leave.” It's his turn to be daringly out of character, growing a little confident as he sees how much she likes it too.

“Unfortunately, you're gonna have to. I have to close this shop and feed my cat soon.”

He glances down at his watch. It's very late, the sun beginning to set. From the glass windows, they can see the pink-tinted clouds against the blue sky, fading into the orange of the sun. “Yeah, I should probably get going too.”

“Do you have a roommate or someone waiting for you?”

“No, just me. I have a landlady but I doubt she's noted my absence. What about you? Aside from your cat, of course.”

She giggles. “I have a roommate. We're supposed to watch a movie together tonight. She's probably going to flip out if I'm late again.”

He nods, following her to the front entrance. Watching her securely lock the door, he's almost surprised that he isn't hesitant about what he wants to ask next. “Is it alright if I come back tomorrow?”

“Of course. What flower will it be tomorrow?”

“Violets.”

“Ooh, those are my favourite.”

He quirks an eyebrow, “you have favourites?”

“All of them are my favourites. They're like my children. They're all favourites.”

That's probably not the philosophy of most parents (not that Jungkook would know as an only child) but he doesn't question it. “Can I get your name?” he asks, finally.

“Park Chaeyoung. What's yours?”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“Well, Jeon Jungkook, I'll see you tomorrow then.” She sends one last smile his way, waving at him before she heads off in the exact same direction that he's about to go in.

He stands in the same spot, watching her go off with two things in his mind. One - what on earth he's supposed to do now because it would be incredibly awkward to walk up next to her after bidding each other farewell. Two - why he hasn't noticed her before when they take the same train and work across from each other. He's quite observant for someone seemingly absorbed in himself, noting familiar faces, where people usually sit, when in the day he sees them because the time he goes home varies and what strange mannerisms they have. But not her - he's never seen her before. Then again, it occurs to him that she doesn't really stand out at all. In the halo-like light of the flower shop where she was the centre of the room, it's impossible to miss her, but in the crowd of everyday people shoving in and out, Chaeyoung was like a tiny spider in a crowded garden. 

And then he thinks about her name, wondering why he didn't think to ask earlier (too enveloped in the beauty of the garden or the warmth of her smile?) and how her name lines up with her so well. 

That night, he forgets about the burdens of the night before. 

 

06 April 2015 ❀

Park Chaeyoung. The brightness of a jade. The petals of a flower. 

Maybe that's why her name seemed to click into place so well. She came to me in a dream, laying amongst
an army of flowers, shading her eyes from the blaring sun. And then she reached out her hand for me,
pulling me in, white petals flying everywhere. 

It's unusual... having an intimate dream about a stranger. But I feel like I've met her before - not in the 
deja vu sense that we've crossed paths in another life but in the sense that talking to her isn't a heavy
weight on my chest. It's the comfort of catching up with an old friend, sharing a laugh over tea. Except 
no friend has ever made me feel so complete, so whole. 

I don't even know her, really. She didn't even look real when I found her on that floor, as still as the 
flowers surrounding her. But then she woke up, as real as the air we were breathing, and I felt like I
could talk to her forever, and she would listen. 

 

“My cat threw up the biggest hairball this morning and wouldn't stop meowing until I refilled her bowl twice,” Chaeyoung says in a slight groan, running her fingers through her hair, “I think she's going through some phase.”

“You should have settled for a goldfish,” he replies, briefly looking up from the paper to study the bouquet of violets. They were neatly wrapped in a purple bundle, a silk bow tied at the front.

“You can't cuddle a goldfish.”

“From experience, you probably can't cuddle a cat either.”

“You clearly don't know how to handle a cat then. You don't choose when you get to cuddle it, it chooses you. Mimi didn't accept me for the first few weeks that I had her. She kept trying to run away, and tear up the sofa, and growl at my roommate. At night, she'd screech out the window for hours even after we got her spayed. I thought she hated me, and my roommate wanted to get rid of her and trade her in for another cat. I didn't know why I put up with her but I knew she was the one I wanted so I kept her. For months, I kept taking care of her even though I had to keep a safe distance. And then, I don't know when or why, but she started getting closer to me. It was gradual but eventually she ended up climbing into my lap, laying down by my bedside and cuddling with me.”

He smiles at the little anecdote. “I've seen a lot of articles about pet attachment. Cats especially just stay around for your food.”

She frowns at his simplified assumption. “That's not true.”

“How would you know that? Are you a cat whisperer?” he chuckles.

“I fell sick once,” she begins, leaning back against her seat, “it was very sudden. I came down with severe anemia. I couldn't leave my bed because it was always cold and I was too weak to move. I slept through a lot of it and had my roommate take care of me. I completely forgot about Mimi somehow... but then she came to me. I expected her to call out for food but she just sat by my bedside and wouldn't move. For weeks, she'd leave occassionally to find something but she'd always come back and sit with me. She didn't make a sound. Only when I got better did she finally go on about her normal behaviour.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment to look up at her, and sees the glimmer in her eyes as she talks. There's something so genuinely endearing about her in the way she speaks and the innate smiles in between. Right before he opens his mouth to respond, his phone goes off with a loud buzz in his front pocket, startling both of them. 

Incoming call ~ Dad.

He doubles clicks to drop the call without a second thought, stuffing it back into his pocket with a quick apology. “Who was it?” She isn't afraid to ask, as if they've known each other long enough to be blunt about their curiosities. 

“My dad.” He mentally prepares himself to give an explanation that he could have avoided. They haven't known each other for a long time but for some reason he doesn't have the heart to lie to her.

“You don't get along?”

He shakes his head, seeing her smile falter. She sits upright, gently taking hold of the hand that's gripping the pencil to get him to stop, and he does. When he looks up into her eyes, he doesn't sense concern, pity or judgment - just an eagerness to listen. “Tell me,” she urges - not firmly, but he gives in anyway.

Before long, he tells her everything—about the dullness of law school, the crippling fear of failure, the onesided quarrel with his parents. She listens intently, nodding at every significant point to indicate that she understands. It seems to go on forever but her attention never wavers, genuinely invested in his story. He tells her things - events, emotions - he hasn't shared even with Taehyung who tries subtly bring up the matter on every visit. She doesn't say a word through it all, somehow letting her eyes speak volumes about how much it affects her. She cares - really cares - and he's assured of that even in the silent, observant way that she expresses it. No amount of droning on from his parents could have given him the security that she's giving to him right now. A total stranger, giving him more comfort than his parents, and he doesn't know why.

He apologizes for blabbering on for so long but she waves it off, insisting that he continue. “I've talked a lot about myself. Why don't we talk about you?”

“What would you like to know?”

“How did you end up working in a flower shop?”

“I like flowers.” He chokes on a laugh, and she playfully slaps his arm. “I'm actually studying marine biology. I was obsessed with sea creatures as a child - all types of fish, crustaceans and sea mammals. This is sort of a small way to pay my tuition but I actually like this job a lot, probably more than studying. I also liked art. I took some lessons but paying for school is already enough of a burden.”

He wishes he could understand the feeling. He's never struggled with money until now, relying on his father to pay the fee for classes he's never given two s about. For years, he's yearned to learn something of value to him. It didn't have to be art as there were a wide range of things he's come to like in his electives. From world history to film making, he would have taken it all in a heartbeat. Then it dawned on him that his parents would have him shipped off to war before letting him enroll in such ‘menial’ things. 

She, on the other hand, loves what she does and fights for what she wants, he's learned that in the short period of time she's talked to him. He's silent for a moment after that, quietly sketching away at his drawing. Then he stops, looking up at her who's looking out the window dreamily.  In this light, she doesn't look like the otherworldly doll he found yesterday sleeping on the floor. She's very real, very approachable. “Do you like music?”

She turns to face him with an intrigued smile, and it's only up from there.

 

 

 

26 April 2015 ❀

She's a better version of me, or perhaps I'm a lesser version of her. Or maybe we're entirely different
but I want to believe that somehow we're two halves of a whole and if she makes me better, I want to be
the same for her. I'm afraid that I'll bog her down, put a cork in her smile.

We're the same, she and I. Even in the short amount of time I've known her, I could sense the cynicism
even behind her coy smiles and zest for her passions. I would be passionate about things too if I had been
given a choice. She's everything I wished I could have been, and maybe that's why I love like her so much.
I keep wondering what she thinks of me. How so, how intensely, how often. I keep telling myself that I'm
overthinking everything to lessen the blow to my ego but when she stares so intently into my eyes, I can't
ignore how much I want it to be true.

Everything has been so good since she happened. I've been sleeping well, dreaming of her, seeing her
every chance I get. It's not enough. 

 

His mind becomes engulfed with thoughts of her—her scent, her smile, her wit. Day in and day out, she was a strong enough reason to haul himself out of bed and spring to his feet with renewed life. When he finally musters up the courage to ask her on a date - a proper one away from the little street that separates them, she agrees and he's filled with the most overwhelming joy he hasn't felt in ages.

He borrows Taehyung's convertible so they can go stargazing after dinner. They park on a hill overlooking a moonlit river. The air is cool, smelling of pine. He takes in the fact that her perfume smells like floral with a hint of fruit - peach or mango - and it's a refreshing change to the bold, high end smell he's accustomed to. Suits her just as well as her name.

They look up at the stars to the tune of Birdy's Beautiful Lies - making the breahtaking sight unfittingly angsty. This is the best place to look at stars, she tells him about the many times she used to come here with her sister as kids to roll around in the sandbox nearby until their attention was captivated by the starfilled sky. She tells him about how much she hated the prospect of growing up because her sister eventually had to leave to study abroad and how she loathed it so much that she still squeezed in time every week to come here even if it meant going alone. 

“So you're saying you've never been here with anyone else?”

“I got my roommate to go a few times but she's been busy nowadays. School, work, or clinging to her boyfriend twenty four-seven.”

“Have you ever been here with a boyfriend?”

Cherry explodes in her cheeks, hoping he can't see through the darkness. “No.”

They remain in a comfortable silence afterwards, staring appreciatively at the stars. In truth, it isn't totally silent. There's music blaring from the speakers of the car, almost drowning out the subtle sounds of the night — crickets chirping, wind gusting through the trees and sifting through their hair. He tears his attention away from the sky a few moments before her, roaming down to her face. The first time he saw her, she was illuminated by the sunlight, bright and clear. Now only the pale moonlight shines on her, and he realizes how pale she is in contrast to the ink black night. Day or night, he still can't get over how beautiful she is with every lingering glance. 

“I would buy a star and name it after you like celebrities do but I'm pretty broke,” he admits with a sigh, delighted to hear her laugh at that.

“Romantic,” she giggles, “but I don't want a star. They all look the same, I probably won't even remember which one's mine.”

“I'll name these violets after you, then.” He picks up the violet bouquet from the backseat - the ones he'd actually bought this time for her. It was kind of meant as a lame inside joke, but she appreciated it anyway.

“That's sweet,” she smiles, taking them into her lap. “Except it's a little weird being named after something that's probably going to die soon.”

“I didn't take you for a pessimist.”

“It happens when you work with flowers. You do your best to love them equally, water them everyday, and nourish their soil, but it doesn't stop them from dying when you turn your back.”

Her face suddenly goes gloomy, the light draining from it. Even the darkness can't hide the underlying pathos he'd been sensing since the beginning. It's a bolt to the heart seeing her face drop, and before it can fall any lower, he brings her chin up with his fingers, and kisses the bad away.

It's their first kiss and he didn't think twice about it. All he knows is he wants to, needs to be what she is to him. They break apart, breaths shaky and fringes flat from the heat of their contact. He looks straight into her eyes, knowing well that she could either tear his heart asunder right now or piece back together what's left of it. 

She chooses the latter.

 

He walks her to her apartment because it's late and dangerous even though she insists she could beat up someone much bigger than him. He believes her though as small as she is, he thinks there's a spark in her waiting to be ignited. There's always a flipside to the seemingly reserved ones. 

When they reach the entrance to the lobby, there's an undeniable air of familiarity about this place. He swears he's stood in front of this brick wall, those glass doors, and most specifically, a crack in the window four storeys up. He's definitely been here before, but for what? To see whom? He can't remember. Everything about being with Chaeyoung seemed reminiscent of things he thinks he's seen before, but this is different somehow.

“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” he asks out of curiosity. 

“Many times, actually. I've been meaning to get one of Mimi on my wrist.” She pauses, then looks up at him, “do you think you could do it?”

“I don't even know what she looks like.”

“I could bring you a photo. Or I could just bring her, it's been a while since she left the house for anything but hunting birds.”

He stops to think for a moment, then nods. “I could do that. When are you free?”

“Hmm... Sunday works. Nobody ever really stops by Sunday so you could come over.”

“Sunday, it is.”

They smile at one another, nothing but deep admiration in their eyes. It all seemed to happen so fast but it feels right - right enough for him to pull her into another embrace that swallows up her lithe figure, burying her face into the crook of his neck as if she's belonged there her entire life. He yearns to know more about her - everything that constitutes Park Chaeyoung - because as pure and genuine as she is, he sees the toxic fragments of himself in her. 

“I love you,” he whispers. The sound of his voice is chilling so close to her ear.  “I love you so much.”

 

“New message ~ 8:25 PM. Jungkook, it's me again. I know you probably didn't expect to hear from me again. I've even come to accept that you wouldn't answer my calls either but... hear me out. I miss you. It sounds pathetic coming from me like this, but I do, I really do.  When I saw you again at the subway station, weeks ago, I really thought I could look you in the eyes and be okay with the fact that we didn't try to make it work. But then I went home that day, and it tore me apart inside to know what we could have done. That it wouldn't be so cold and lonely right now if we had tried... if you had said something. —I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't be crying over the phone to you. If you get this message... if you still feel anything for me right now... please call me back.” — Eunha

His finger hovers over the seven—delete message—because why keep it when he's finally found her who fills the gaping emptiness in his life. But he doesn't. There isn't an explanation to rationalize his decision, just a simple drop of the phone, clicking it back onto it's stand before walking off as if he hadn't seen it at all.

 

27 April 2015

Why now? Why let me know when everything's been going so well. Why didn't she tell me back when 
I was losing my mind over her - over not knowing whether she still felt the same. It doesn't matter now.
It doesn't. I have Chaeyoung now. She's mine, and she makes me feel whole, and that's all I need. She
fits in my arms better than Eunha ever did, like other girls were simply holding a spot for her until I 
found her. I feel horrible for saying something like that, but what better place to say it than here, right?

Here... where it's just me.

 

 

 

 

12 October 2015 ❀

I'm not poetic in the slightest, but poets have always been able to express things that normal people
become perplexed over. I've never had the words to describe how I felt about anyone - myself, my 
family... girls that have wandered in and out of my life like temporary ghosts. 

But she's different. I've told myself that about every person that's given me even a bit of attention but
it's never felt this certain. She's breathtaking beyond words, no matter how much I look at her. She 
only laughs when she means it, and when she talks about her aspirations or the new sweater she likes
so much, the sound of her voice goes up a pitch. But there's something melancholic about her - an
obscure sadness that she doesn't talk about or try to hide. Is it a sign that I need to tread deeper?  

I'm scared, Chaeyoung-ah. It's getting colder everyday, and I'm worried that your warmth won't be
enough... that I won't be enough, and history will repeat itself.

 

They walk through the archway of the aquarium, hand in hand, comfortably intertwined like a married couple that's bored of seeing so much of the world but never each other. She's wearing that white sweater again - the one he admitted always made his stomach stir because of how soft the material feels against his skin when he holds her and how it almost swallows her up.

At first, he's content with how much she enjoys the venture into the glowing blue lights and riveting water. But he notices her smile falter more than once in the midst of their conversations. They eventually come to a stop in front of one of the dolphin tank, and he can't help but ask.

“I actually hate places like this,” Chaeyoung admits, pressing a finger up against the glass of the tank, “I used to love coming here as a child because I thought this family was as happy as the ones standing behind me - snapping photos and giggling about the upside down dolphins. But then I realized how much these poor creatures have to suffer for our own entertainment. For the benefit of the people who work here. They always advertise this place with smiling staff and jumping fish, giving you the illusion that they're as free as birds.”

He swallows guiltfully, “I'm sorry, I didn't know coming here would be so conflicting—”

“—hypocritical, you mean. Yes,” she sighs, turning to meet his eyes, “I was feeling nostalgic. I couldn't help but say yes when you asked me, it's not your fault.”

“We can leave.”

“It's fine.” She looks absentmindedly into the water, watching the dolphins swim around in the enclosure. One of them - a baby - presses it's nose up against the window as if meaning to touch the palm of her hand, evoking aws of onlookers. There's pain in her eyes, he sees in her reflection. 

With a soft breath, he wraps his arms around her waist, so small his hands touch the sides of his jacket. She's so delicate in his arms yet he isn't afraid of holding on too tightly - she's stronger than even him, contrary to her physique. “I'm sorry.”

She encloses a hand around one of his own, the warmth of it instantly spreading all over him. “I'm not mad at you.”

“I know,” he breathes, resting his chin on her head.

They stay like that for a long moment, staring vacantly into the blue water, bubbling up to the surface. It all seems so peaceful for something inhumane beyond belief. Jungkook almost doesn't want to express the thought that comes to his mind, unsure if it's even fathomable. But it comes out anyway, and he looks to her the moment the words leave his mouth. 

“Do you think... that maybe we're living in the same illusion of freedom as them.” 

“Perhaps.” Her response is more instant than he expects, escaping in almost a whisper. 

It's enough for him. She understands. 

Yet there's so much more he wants to ask and to express. So many questions bottled up in the chamber of his mind. What can he do? How much doesn't he know? He knows she'd tell him everything if he'd just ask - except he's afraid again. Of burrowing too deep, of pushing too far.

And from that day on, he begins to address his journal entries to her.

 

 

14 November 2015 ❀

Everyday, I think I love you more and more. No, I know I love you. From your warm
hands to your invigorating aura. I want you by my side always. Always and forever. Is
that too much to ask? It shouldn't be - but when you're me, you have to limit yourself.
Good things, miraculous things, always come with a cost. And I think I'm overdue.

 

Jungkook thinks the end has come when Taehyung bursts into his apartment, eyes red and rage in his features. He looks as furious as an oncoming storm, but doesn't make a move to touch him, simply lowering himself onto the couch next to him with a ragged breath, burying his face into his hands. Jungkook grabs him a cold beer from the fridge before saying anything else because Taehyung can't be honest before a few swigs.

“We got into a fight,” he says lowly, dazed as if he can't believe it himself. “Lalisa found texts and photos on my phone from an ex-girlfriend trying to get back at me. I tried to tell her,” he chokes on a sob, “she cried, and I held her, and I told her I love her more than anything in the world and she ing left!” Jungkook flinches when the last word leaves his friend's mouth in a broken screech.

“I'm so sorry—”

“No the you're not!” Taehyung seethes, “you don't know what I'm going through right now. The only important thing in my life just ripped my heart out and stomped it into the dirt so no you ing don't get it, Jeon Jungkook! I love her! LOVE. I can't even start letting her go. Thinking about her with another man already makes me want to dig the eyes out of every man I see.” He rests his elbows on his knees, running his hands through sweaty locks so hard he tears out several strands. 

Quite frankly, he's never seen Taehyung like this. Bold, smiley Kim Taehyung who never frowned unless he was trying to make someone else smile. Yet here he is, a total shipwreck of a human being, cradling the last bit of sanity in himself because a girl dumped him. It hurts to see him like this, but there's really nothing he can do to soothe an upset tiger but wait it out, and after what seems like a minute has passed, he raises his head with a hard exhale.

“That was uncalled for, I'm sorry.” He tries to force a laugh but fails miserably. He remembers Jungkook after his breakup with Eunha - distant, quiet, and not quite himself until recently. Nowhere near the furious drunk that Taehyung is right now. 

“It's alright.” Jungkook carefully places a hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to rub it comfortingly. “I know how much you loved—love her. Is there any way you two can work it out?”

“She's already making plans to go back to Thailand for a while to clear her head,” he replies in almost a groan, “I don't know what to do. She's my everything. I can't—” he chokes, “I can't go on without her. I'll die, okay? I'll ing die. It feels like I'm drowning already. All I can think about is her.”

“Then keep trying. If you love her that much then go after her.”

“I know her, Jungkook, she's going to leave. When we first started dating, she looked me in the eyes and told me if she caught even a whiff of me being unfaithful, it would be over. No ifs, ands or buts. I'm already dead to her.” He takes a long, deep gulp of his beer, letting it burn a trail down his throat as if that would erase the truth in his words.

Jungkook takes one hard look at his friend, the despair in his eyes, the weak grip around his bottle, and the slight tremble of his lips, and has no doubt in his mind — Taehyung truly is dead.

 

Taehyung had entered his apartment a cold November night like the oncoming storm, vicious and unrelenting. A month later, Jungkook realizes Taehyung wasn't the oncoming storm — he had brought it, and it was Jungkook's turn to feel it's wrath tenfold. 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A/N: Literally 99% of Jungkook fics are angst and I'm not helping lol. Part 2 coming (hopefully) soon. Highkey it broke my heart to destroy taelice because they're my second top btsbp ship. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter!