December feels like some disturbing parallel universe in which Kim Taehyung no longer drops by the small corner tattoo shop periodically just to smear a temporary smile on his brooding younger friend's face and instead, finds Jungkook waiting concernedly outside his apartment door until he hears the sound of bare feet dragging across cold tiles until he's (partially) greeted by the droopy, red eyes of a person one would likely accuse of suffering from shell shock at a first glance. In the first weeks after his breakup with Lalisa, Taehyung would show up to the shop just to shoo off customers disturbing his heartwrenching monologues about how much he hates her, how much he never needed her anyway and she was an utter distraction that stopped him from prospering — only to come back the very next day, tears burning trails down his swollen cheeks, tightly clutching photographs of her until slits formed in his palms. 

To put it simply, with every gasping breath he took talking about her, part of him seemed to dissipate into the air with a sliver of his sanity. 

“If you're here to give me another stupid ing speech about how I need to move on, I swear to I'm going to put my fist through your face,” he grumbles so messily he almost sounds drunk. Yet he's entirely sober, Jungkook is sure of that - he hasn't had a drop of alcohol since he nearly poisoned himself stumbling into that grimy bar a few weeks back with Jungkook tailing behind him trying to empty out every shot glass he hollered at the bartender for. He's grateful for that, because if Taehyung had even an ounce of drink in him, his threats would certainly be more than idle.

“I just wanted to make sure that you're alright.”

“I'm in' brilliant, can't you see?” Taehyung gives him the most feigned eating grin, “I've never been better. Never,” he seethes through gritted teeth. It's like looking into the eyes of the devil himself in the form of a dysfunctional human being. 

The urge to backtrack and hightail it out of there is insurmountable, but the memory of Taehyung turning up every day at his all time low, attempting to comfort him with genuine smiles and reinforcement, solidifies his decision to stay. 

“Please, just... let me talk to you.”

“Just go home, Jungkook, it's pointless.”

“Tae—”

“Leave,” he groans, shoving the door forward before Jungkook wedges his foot between it and the hinge, grimacing at the pressure. 

“Please, hyung. I miss you. Just talk to me for a bit, I want to help.”

Taehyung can only scoff, grinning wryly. “You? Miss me? That's a ing shock.”

“I know,” Jungkook says quietly, “just let me in for a sec, alright? I'll try to be tame, I promise. You can kick me out any time you feel like I'm stepping out of line.”

There's hesitance at first - a few moments of Jungkook staring absentmindedly at the way Taehyung's fingers press feebly into the edge of the door until his scowl turns to a vulnerable pout - before he finally takes a step back, hinging the door open slightly for Jungkook to squeeze into the small enclosure.

From the small stream of light that spills in through the barely parted curtains, Jungkook sees how pale and thin Taehyung has gotten, almost ghostly. Twistedly fitting, he thinks, as he had thought to himself many times up until now that some fundamental part of his friend seems to have died. 

 

 

 

“New message ~ 3:35 AM. Please come home, Jungkook.  Please. Call me back as soon as possible. Your father... he's— beep.”

 

 

 

They've crossed the threshold of courtesies, and Jungkook finds himself in Chaeyoung's bedroom at three in the morning after being notified that her roommate had promptly moved out. Jungkook doesn't mention it, but there's a strange atmosphere that persists in the area which he could only attribute to the mild gloominess in Chaeyoung's demeanor. They had been close from what he could tell from her anecdotes of their ventures. A string of polaroid photographs hangs across her bedframe - most of herself taken by her roommate. 

“She never really liked being the model as much as she did the photographer,” she sighs dreamily.

“She reminds me a lot of my friend,” he nods, the brief image of his own friend - pre-breakup, pre-misery -  appearing in his mind. Taehyung always had that thing slung around his neck on a velvety strap - a small silver Kodak with a broken lens cap. Was it? Jungkook never really paid attention to what sounded like gibberish coming out of Tae's mouth the time he considered upgrading to a Canon, it was probably how he sounded every time he would get into the specifics of the different kinds of shading techniques when tattooing until his friend let out an exasperated groan and changed the subject. Come to think of it, perhaps it's because he'd just been focusing on the camera sitting atop Chaeyoung's nightstand with a noticeable thin layer of dust across the top. “I've never seen you use that camera.”

“Hmm?”

“The one on your nightstand.”

“Oh! That— isn't mine. It belongs to my roommate...technically.”

“Technically?”

“She and her boyfriend used to go out and take loads of pictures on it. Some days she'd stay over at his place, some days they'd come over here and wherever they were, that camera was with them. When she was packing up to leave, she contemplated taking it with her but decided she wanted to rid herself of any trace of him so she told me if I ever ran into him again, I'd return it for her.”

“I see... is that why she moved out? Because of the break up, I mean.”

Chaeyoung's features contort into one reminiscent of grief, as if it had been her relationship. It's something that both pained and enamoured him about her. In a sense, he believes she feels other people's emotions - joys and pains alike - more deeply than most. 

She nods, gently sinking her teeth into her plush lips. “She cried so much that night. I let her sleep in my bed so she wouldn't feel so alone. The way she loved him...” she pauses, inhaling shakily, “is the way almost everyone wants to be loved. So deeply, so selflessly.” 

“Don't cry, please,” he whispers, firmly pulling her into a protective embrace. Every inch of her is cold, even in the delicate locks of her hair. Something about it is unsettling.

 

 

 

 

5 December 2015 ❀

Chaeyoung-ah, do you think it's possible for love to be selfless? I wanted to ask you today but
in the midst of holding you in my arms as you cried over someone else's heartache, I was too
stunned to even remember that it's been on my mind. No matter how many times I've seen
you cry, it still deeply pains me to witness it. I almost feel victimized by your tears, and it only
further strengthens my curiosity of whether I don't want you to cry because of your own 
suffering or mine. 

You never cried this much during the summer with the exception of happy tears when I had
brought you seeds to plant your favourite flower. Winter isn't kind to any of us, but I have a
feeling it's the most unforgiving to you. 

I want to keep you warm... 

 

 

Jungkook loathes hospitals. There's always a lingering sense of dread in every sterile, disinfectant-stenched room. The sounds of groaning behind drawn back curtains never fails to send an unnerving chill down his spine. Every once and a while, a sullen-faced family walks out of yet another gift shop with white lilies clutched tightly to their chests. He never understood what they meant until one dinner with Chaeyoung. 

“Given to a loved one at say, a wedding, it represents undying loyalty and devotion. Yet, ironically, they're one of the most common flowers placed on gravestones during funerals to signify the person being cleansed of impurities and restored innocence ascending from death.”

“Mr.Jeon, your father will see you now,” a nurse gestures towards the third room to the left.

The chair beneath him screeches loudly against the floor - the same sound he'd heard several times from others who'd been in the waiting room as they got up - as he shifts his weight to his feet. Oddly, no one else seem to mind the sound. Common hospital-goers, usually preoccupied with anxiousness, had more on their minds.

Jungkook comes to understand that the atmosphere of hospital rooms depicted in movies depend entirely on the feeling the director wants to get across. When a child comes to visit a terminally ill parent one last time, right before they're about to flatline, the room is always greyed and grimy-looking, as if the characters were trapped in a concrete prison. Yet when a mother successfully gives birth, the room is filled with beaming rays of sunshine illuminating the cast against whitewashed walls and creating a halo around the spotless infant as its little plump fingers gently grasp the father's palm for the first time.

What he feels as he enters the designated room is neither the former nor the latter. The walls are more blue than grey or white, with hushed conversations behind every closed and open curtain, and the ever persistent smell of iodoform that nauseates him. Nothing seems extraordinary or notable until he reaches the very last bed by the glistening window. He remembers the day his father had chastised him so vividly the old man's furious eyes are still etched into his mind. Yet what he sees laying so utterly still before him, is what looks like only a shell of what he had last seen of his father. Cold to the touch, paled so deeply he looks as blue as the walls, eyes squinted into slits, and form so, so deathly frail. By his bedside, his mother sits, looking up at him so dejectedly his stomach turns. 

Bronchial cancer. Anything and everything the doctor elaborates after that fades to nothing.

Subconsciously, all Jungkook's energy gets channeled into intently eyeing the mid-forty-ish doctor as if looking for an answer he knows the man wouldn't blatantly disclose. He wonders if doctors are in any way trained to retain an impartial gaze when delivering news as not to dishearten the families of patients or if they've faced tragedies so periodically it's simply become another aspect of the job. 

Time slows in contrast to the quickening of his heartbeat. He can feel all three gazes zeroed in on him, a spotlight he can't avoid. What reaction did they expect? Grief? Anger? Relief? After these past few months, bitterness swelling from the pit of his stomach at the memory of his arms protectively sheltering his head in a pitiful attempt to shield himself from this man's rage...how is he supposed to feel? 

This feeling is all too familiar, bringing him back to the conflicting stirring in his head on the subway platform months ago with Eunha. Jung Eunha, who filled him to the brim with both overwhelming delight and nauseating anxieties. Eunha, who left him one wintery afternoon on that very platform, glued to the icy metal bench as he watched her disappear into the sea of passengers. He remembers how quickly grief became spite, and spite spiraled into echoing screams of regret reverberating through the walls of his mind, never once audible to this world. Never passed along to her. 

“Jungkook? Are you... are you laughing? Are you insane?” his mother exclaims in disbelief, voice hoarse, “is this what you've become Jungkook?”

He doesn't answer, for perhaps he has gone insane. In a place like this, he isn't in the right head space to even begin to process what he feels. So he laughs amidst the frustration of it all. Of all the ways he could have popped the cork and relieved the pressure, he never thought it would be like this. 

Even after the sudden impact of his mother's palm colliding with the side of his cheek, leaving it bursting with vibrant red followed by a deafening ringing in his ears, nothing could overpower the chaos in his mind. 

 

 

 

 

“Everything dies in the winter.”

The fine tip of Jungkook's pencil audibly snaps, the deep grey granite smudging the wrong corner of his messy ranunculus sketch. He momentarily wonders why she would suddenly make that statement but remembers Chaeyoung does that often, not seeming to realize how strange it sounds when said after a long lull in the conversation. 

She's referring to the flowers near the window of the shop that have already curled up and withered from the dipping temperatures. Yet all Jungkook could think about as he follows her eyes to the droopy petals is the frail, lifeless form of his father slumped against the cold hospital wall much as the weeping flowers lean against the frosty glass.

“There are some flowers that flourish in the winter.”

“I guess...”

Her tone sounds so defeated he starts to think maybe she wasn't just referring to the flowers. Much of her time now is spent keeping the temperature in this glass shop warm enough to salvage the few survivors, basking them in the sunlight that goes away far too soon. He knows when a flower has died before stepping foot into the shop from the way Chaeyoung answers the phone, speaking so softly it's almost inaudible to hide the rasp in her voice from a night of feeling utterly hopeless. 

She tilts her head towards him when she hears the faint sound of drawing breath, but he ceases for a moment before returning to his drawing. This happens often, and no matter how many times she tells him it's okay to simply say what's on his mind, he denies ever having wanted to say anything. She knows when he's lying, and he knows it even more so. 

“I wish you would tell me...” she whispers.

“Tell you what?”

“Why you've been sad lately...”

His hand falters over the canvas, throat closing up. “Sad?”

“Yeah. It just feels unfair sometimes that I always tell you what's bothering me but you—you just keep it to yourself. I'm not saying you should tell me everything if you're not comfortable but at least... let me into your heart a little.”

“Chae...”

She's crouched over next to some anemones with her back turned to him. They're still standing, with a noticeable bend angling them down slightly. The ruby red petals have paled slightly and he's noted that every time Chaeyoung waters them, she does so with nervous fingers, keeping close to the rim of the pot as to not accidentally snap the already feeble stem. 

I want to keep you warm.

She doesn't react to his embrace no matter how much she yearns to stabilize herself with the clutch of his shoulders, securing her face in his chest. She doesn't want to pour more of herself into this closed book he's presenting himself as. Her kind of love is always reciprocal, like the care she gives to her flowers in return for the euphoria they give back. All she wants is the warmth of him—just him in full, good and bad. Even if he's hurting, she wants to feel it too, so this warmth can be shared as they overcome it together. It's a matter of time - she believes, she hopes, she needs. 

 

14 December 2015 ❀

A month at most... is what the doctor says that man has to live. I'm not even surprised that
with his inflated ego, he put off getting a diagnosis for so long that it became terminal. Can
you believe that, Chaeyoung? All these months of telling you how much I wanted him dead
in any way possible... should I be happy? 

I can't quite figure out how I'm feeling, though you told me that I look sad. Your judgments
about people's feelings are always so accurate it's unsettling. Yet I can't bring myself to 
accept the possibility of mourning over that man. He only wanted me so long as I was the
person he planned for me to be. He didn't give a about my happiness so why... 

why does it hurt this much?

 

To anyone on the outside looking in, Taehyung seems to have recovered nicely. Clean and well groomed in a fluffy new sweater as he walks into the café with a glowing smile that radiates an inviting energy. It seems only Jungkook, who has experienced his mental anguish first and secondhand, can see that his heart is still ajar no matter how hard he tries to patch it up with fresh scents and deceptive tones. Rightfully so, not a day has gone by that he hasn't thought of his Lalisa - shuddered at the sound of her name from his own mind and the memories that follow suit. 

“It's over,” Taehyung says after prolonged silence, Jungkook watching him intent with hands clasped around his styrofoam cup. 

“You sure?”

“You trying to make me doubt myself?”

“No, no, it's... it's nothing.”

“You don't think it'll last, right? This whole 'new me' thing.”

Jungkook simply nods. 

“I still love her, I do... it's almost maddening, y'know? Sometimes I'd get so angry because I knew it wasn't my fault. I'd mentally call her a goddamn idiot and that she doesn't deserve me if she's just going to toss me out of her life like I'm just that disposable. But then I'd go back to hoping she'll come back so I can apologize and desperately show her that she misunderstood while crying just like I was like the pathetic man I am. The pathetic man I could only wish she would take back anyway...” He bites his lower lip, instinctively brushing the back of his hand over his eyes the way he had many times despite there being no tears this time. “I think I'm going crazy, man...”

“You weren't already a while ago?”

Taehyung stifles a chuckle. “Maybe,” he inhales, “I miss her so much. You know everyday I still check the closet by the laundry room - the one she always used to hide in to scare me when I got back from work - because for some stupid reason I have hope that she'll be there.”

“Yeah, I remember...” Jungkook replies, “are you ever actually planning on letting go?”

“I have to eventually. I made a start by washing everything that still smells like her and getting rid of her things she left behind. I just need to get my stuff back from her place and it's...” he momentarily pauses at the thought of stepping into that place again, the place where her memory lingers most.

Jungkook furrows his brows, thinking deeply for a moment. “What if I came with you? If going alone hurts that much, maybe if I came I could help you move your things faster so you don't have to be there for long.”

“Would you really do that for me?” This is the most hopeful Taehyung has looked in a while, which is startling considering the person he always is (or was) compared to Jungkook. 

“Of course.”

 

 

18 December 2015 ❀

He apparently looks worse everyday or so the people who visit him describe. The kind of 
person he was... he used to look so intimidating. Some called him confident, though 
sometimes in the wrong things. For some reason I remembered the time as a child, I
broke my right leg going ice skating. I was bedridden for weeks. It was so unbearably
boring. But then, he would always sit by my bedside and tell me stories about the time he
was my age, having done much dumber things like break a window with a baseball and 
getting the shards lodged in his shoulder. He thought maybe that recklessness was 
genetic. Perhaps it is. 

When I was starting to walk again, he would hold my arms to keep me up. When I felt
too weak to, I remember he built this weird wooden contraption with the wheels of my 
old scooter attached to the bottom to support my weight. Cool, right?

I don't know why this memory came back up but, I had a feeling something like this
would make you smile. I miss your smiles, Chaeyoung-ah. 

 

 

The familiarity Jungkook had felt on his first date with Chaeyoung wasn't coincidental at all, and every piece of that unsolved puzzle snaps together with a single click of the door unlocking, glimmering eyes and intoxicating scent he's come to cherish so much. His mind truly is frazzled for how observant he is (or believes himself to be), he never made the connection. Chaeyoung's roommate, the camera, the familiar aroma that stuck to Taehyung, the gloomy atmosphere that carried from one place to another since that day. 

“Jungkook?” she blinks, puzzled eyes shifting back and forth.

“You two know each other?” Taehyung questions.

“Well, yeah, he's my...” Boyfriend. It's so strange saying it out loud. The only person she had ever had to announce it to was Lisa who quickly picked up on the subtle changes in her behaviour. Though she doesn't have to say it again, because Taehyung still has the intuition of the girl he loves, and deciphers the awkward tension. 

“Ahhh, I see. Kook-ah, how come you never told me?”

“How could I tell you when you wanted to kill me every time I talked to you?”

“Fair enough.”

“Um,” Chaeyoung interjects, “is there a reason why you're both here? Not that I don't welcome you, this is just a bit unexpected.”

“Don't worry, we won't be in your hair for long. I'm just here to get my things I left.”

“Oh, right. Of course, come in.” She takes a step back, nudging the door open to allow them inside.

“Weird...I could have sworn I always had a scarf around this hanger,” Taehyung says, eyeing the rack by the front door. 

“Oh, yeah you don't need to worry about looking for everything. While she was packing, she put all of your things in a box under her bed,” Chaeyoung explains, though instantly feels a pang of regret seeing his expression suddenly droop, becoming sullen. 

“I see... I'll go get it then.”

“I'll help,” Jungkook starts to follow behind.

“No, it's fine, thanks. I don't have that many things so...” Taehyung responds, back still turned - and Jungkook knows he's beginning to crumble inside again, so he steps back and watches him disappear behind the door adjacent to Chaeyoung's room, closing it behind him. 

“I hope he's going to be okay,” Chaeyoung says.

“He's getting better, I think. At least compared to how he was when they first broke up.”

“Lisa...I hope she's fine too.”

There's a pause, for what seems like ages, in which they remain facing the door Taehyung had closed moments ago. Neither want to pester him about taking so long, imagining the melancholy consuming him in there.

Chaeyoung gasps as she feels arms wrap firmly around her shoulders from behind, Jungkook's head presses into the crevice of her neck. “I miss you,” he sighs.

“I miss you too,” she returns without a hitch, making his heart skip, “I wish you would tell me though...”

Part of him thinks he wants that too, though he's unsure. His thoughts are scattered, barely comprehensible - his feelings even more so. The only certainty he has at this point is what he feels for her, this burning endearment that stabilizes his whole world. The thought of losing it, God... He doesn't want to drag her into this deepening trench of a life that's only growing steeper.

“On Christmas.”

“Hmm?”

“I'll meet you at the park, under the big tree they always set up for the holidays. I'll...tell you everything then.”

“Promise?” she clasps her fingers around his, and a chill runs through his body at how unusually cold they are.

“I promise.”

 

24 December 2015 ❀

I've decided, I'm going to see him tomorrow. I want to talk. It just doesn't add up - the
things he's said to me. The way he looked at me in the hospital. I just don't understand.
I've been avoiding closure for so long I didn't think I'd ever want it. But now... I just 
need to know. 

I haven't felt the same twisted loathing that I had for many months though I don't feel
fondness either. I'm just lost and I need answers. 

You need them too, don't you? The sorrow and concern in your eyes is because of me, 
isn't it? I'm sorry, Chaeyoung-ah. You won't have to wait any longer. I know it'll hurt
when I tell you. I know you'll cry. But, if it can make you warm again, I'll tell you
anything. 

 

 

The spotlight isn't on him this time. In fact, he doesn't think it could be on anyone. There's a ruthless blizzard outside, violently bombarding the windows with huge wisps of snow that collide with the glass so hard people wonder if it could break through. Though the only thing Jungkook could hear in this moment is the thrumming of his heart, the pulsing of blood in his ears. 

“I'm sorry, Mr. Jeon passed away this morning.”

And his world collapses.

 

 

 

Emotions often intertwine, making it difficult to discern one feeling from another.  They form knots in one's conscience. 

But grief — that bitter, sinking feeling — is so distinct that once it's seeped through, it drowns you. 

He lays across the cold tiles of his kitchen floor, tear-stained journal clutched tightly to his chest. The atmosphere is suffocating, as if it's lifting some unknown pressure from his body to congregate in his throat. His vision is a cluster of blurred, faded colours. Nothing has ever felt more cold than this. Jungkook stares vacantly at his phone sitting across from his limp body, watching the screen light up intermittently. 

Chaeyoung.

He can't face her, not like this. The whirring snow outside hasn't wavered even a little, pelting the windows in dizzying white gusts. The thought of her standing under that tree, alone and waiting for him amidst the relentless storm, waiting to know the answer to this disturbance... his stomach twists and churns with guilt. 

“I'm sorry, Chaeyoung-ah... I'm so sorry...”

 

 

 

 

2016, a new year. Yet the days leading up to now have been a series of repeated cycles. The same dreadful, unwanted memories spill through the cracks of his mind, burrowing deep, conjuring turmoil. He sinks into the pillows, fingers pulling at his hair in some futile attempt to quell the anguish. Then he'd fade into unconsciousness, dreams of ink black darkness, and awaken to immense thirst that draws him to the sink. And then he would delve back into bed, shrouded in darkness again. 

His phone is off but he knows she's probably called him dozens of times, anxiety rushing through her system. He's not ready to see her again though every fiber of his being yearns for her presence, her kind hands, her assuring embrace.  The selfishness of it becomes guilt-inducing. What would he even say to her? How could he look at her again after abandoning her in the cold, false hope and broken promises. 

 

 

 

When Jungkook first found Chaeyoung, she was like a princess guarded by a battalion of flowers linked together in a protective barrier. When she walks into the icy cold shop after days of the doors having been barricaded with heaps of snow, her bloodshot eyes flicker back and forth from each and every crevice of the place. It looks like a war zone, and they had lost. Every flower is wilted, petals frozen - some snapped and crumbled to the floor. The once rich and soft soil is now solid throughout, squeezing the last bit of life from each plant. Even in death, they lean on each other, wafer thin stems crossing. All that time, love, and passion she poured into them - diminished. 

She doesn't cry, she can't anymore. Perhaps this is the price she pays for wasting her tears on someone who didn't love her the way she cherished her flowers. 

The nervous cycle of obsessively nourishing her flowers has finally broken - torn from her, really. Unlike before, she doesn't try to seek out any she can revive. Instead, she turns, silently walking out of the shop and locking the glass doors. Even the intricate roses carved into the front beneath the handles has cracked and become unrecognizable through layers of frost that cling to them.

 

 

 

Memories fade and become cloudy but photographs can salvage their essence for a lifetime. This is what Lisa used to say. Unlike many photographers who sought after grand and spectacular scenes to capture, Lisa found significance in even the smallest, barely noticeable moments. Taehyung remembers the morning after she first slept over at his place, and the way she managed to discreetly slip out of his possessive embrace to tumble out of bed, disheveled locks plastered to her cheeks, and grabbed her favourite camera, running up to the balcony. Despite being a notoriously heavy sleeper, the absence of her warmth in his arms was enough to wake him - in a state of brief panic that perhaps she's left.

But the sight that greeted him was inexplciably breathtaking. In the early morning sun, he could see her lithe figure crouched over, the bottom of his white button-up hanging from the sides of her thighs as she focuses that silver Kodak not on the sunrise but an orange stray cat that somehow wound up on his balcony and found comfort on the ledge. She explained that she couldn't help but capture that tired yet peaceful look of it, eyes closed with a gentle wind brushing at the soft fur as it basked in the morning sunrise before the heat the summer afternoon became unbearable. 

Taehyung had walked up to her that morning, in awe of her unbreakable focus and passion. No matter how much he wanted to scoop her back into his arms, hold her close and ask her never to leave his side, just seeing her like this was more than enough to satiate him. She was his - wonderful, charming La-li-sa - a slowly unravelling enigma. 

She was his. 

The lens of the silver Kodak shatters into fragments on the abandoned road past midnight. It's a new year and who would want to spend it in a place like this?

He's passed the point of drunk, bordering on delirious. He doesn't want to admit that he wants some form of her - a ghost, a whisper of the winter winds - to haunt him for even a second. Just so he could hear her, feel her, smell her again. While in some isolated corner of his mind, stimulated by the silence of the empty streets, two voices battle for dominance.

I miss you.

I hate you.

This was all because of me.

It wasn't my fault!

She deserves better than me, I'm broken and pathetic.

She's a ing idiot for walking out on me before I could explain.

It hurts, it hurts so bad. It hurts...

I shouldn't be the only one hurting. She needs to feel it. 

The pain in my heart- make it stop. Please, just-

I'm going to hurt her.

 

 

 

 

The dull stinging on the side of his face is too familiar yet somehow it stuns him every time. Chaeyoung wants to cry, he knows it from the quiver of her lips as a faint pink begins to colour in her cheeks again. But this time they weren't the happy tears of eyeing a flourishing garden or the mourning of a wilted rose. This is something entirely new to him, something that frightens him to the core. It's what he's been hiding from in the false security of his bedroom. 

“I can't do this anymore, Jungkook. I can't—” her voice cracks, “I loved you.” Loved. His heart throbs wildly in his chest. “I don't understand what I did wrong.”

Nothing, Chaeyoung, you didn't do anything. You were - are - perfect. He tightens his grip on the edge of the door.

“You don't love me anymore, do you?” she mutters, “or maybe you never did and I was just stupid.”

His mouth falls ajar, but words did not follow - just a half gasp of air as if the beginning of an interjection that gets lost in the atmosphere. No, no, I love you. I've always loved you. I love you, Chaeyoung. His thoughts are knotted up, indiscernable from one another. He doesn't know where to start, or if he can start. 

“I guess I'm right,” she laughs bitterly, leaning against the doorframe. His deadpanned expression tells her all she needs and can handle knowing.

She leaves without even a slight glance back, not catching glimpse of the frail hand that reaches out after her, closing around the air she leaves behind. 

 

 

 

1 January 2016 ❀

Don't leave. Don't leave, Chaeyoung-ah. Please don't leave. 
I'm sorry I'm like this. I'm so, so sorry. Come back, please come back. 
In that moment, when you looked at me so dejectedly, I was paralyzed
because I knew, I just knew that I did this to you. 

I wanted to hold you close to me again, tell you not to leave, but after
all that's happened, did I even deserve to touch you anymore?

I don't...and in spite of it, I want to. So bad it's tearing me up inside.
The air has been suffocating lately, I'm sure you've noticed it to. This cold,
nauseating air.

It will be over soon, this trecherous season. And when it is, I can breathe
again. I can see you smile, see you bask in the sun's warmth and lay 
amongst the flowers. I just need to wait, and then I can tell you about
it all. About him, about these dizzying thoughts, and you - Chaeyoung-ah
- you will make it okay again, right? You always do. 

I will wait. I will wait...for the warmth to come again.

 

 

Even when he closes his eyes, Taehyung knows he's memorized every square inch of her body. He knows too well the feel of her lips, the texture of her hair, the contours of her body. And he notices when even the most minute of details has changed.

Chaeyoung is exactly a centimeter taller than Lisa, similar body build and a mesh of fragrances that constitute both her and the girl she's come to adore almost as much as him. Almost, barely. He's downed a whole bottle of some spirit drink his foggy vision coudn't recognize, numbing his senses to the point where clashing into solid objects that leave dents and bruises on his ghostly pale skin couldn't invoke a reaction of any kind other than a whimsical “ow, I bet that's going to hurt tomorrow, hehe...”

Yet even in this disoriented state, he can feel that the woman beneath him is not her. His fingers trail up the flat canvas of her stomach so gently, she can barely feel he's there. Maybe that's a good thing. Nothing about this is immoral at all yet, why does it feel so harrowing? It feels as if they're trespassing into forbidden territory, guarded by no one in particular but their own consciences. 

The room is pitch black but his eyes are still tightly closed, as are her's, hiding from this reality whilst living it. He tries to discern one scent from the other, desperately seeking out the one he desires. 

He doesn't remember when or why he came here, and can only deduce that her ghost had seduced him back to this place. He only faintly remembers seeing Chaeyoung softly banging her head against the doorframe, eyes swollen and fists clenched against her chest as she was curled down to her knees. And when she had looked up at him, agonized expression reflecting his (or so he thinks, the throbbing in his head made it hard to think). One moment he closed his eyes, the next that torturous scent poured into his soul again, and then he had fallen to the very place he never imagined he'd be.

Hurt her. Hurt her...like she hurt you. 

The malignant voice in his head continues like a mantra, burning and spiteful. The other one...seems to have surrendered entirely.

 

 

 

12 January 2016 ❀

When I first thought of running away from home I felt selfish. I thought it was
cowardly to just walk out on my family because I didn't want to pursue a life 
that would undoubtedly be better for them, for us. But within a short period of
time, there was a dramatic shift in which I went from blaming myself to just 
loathing them. I decided that they were selfish, my parents who wanted to
control me, set my life up before I was capable of deciding right from wrong. 

But it was me who was wrong, I realize that now.

I was afraid, petrified at the thought of what could go terrible if I told them
how I felt. So I said nothing at all, and let them live with this fake sense of
pride in the son that they thought knew what he wanted for himself. If they
had known from the start or had the slightest inkling at all - how would 
things have turned out?

I hid from my father the same as he had hid his condition from me, afraid
of the dread that would overcome me up until his passing. But, Chaeyoung,
you know what I've learned? It increases the pain tenfold. When you realize
it's too late to figure anything out.

Too late for closure.

 

 

They're an item now, or so Taehyung tells people. Within a week he's told her that he loves her, and that he'd give her all the time she needs to heal through him if that's what she wants to do. She accepts with doubtful eyes but at this point, what does she have to do lose? It's better, she guesses, to surround herself with the company of these unfamiliar faces Taehyung calls 'friends' (and Taehyung in and of himself still barely evoking fondness in her) than let herself degrade away in the confines of her lonely apartment the way her flowers had.

“This is Park Jimin, my best friend. Jimin, this is Chaeyoung, my girlfriend,” Taehyung introduces the notably shorter boy sitting adjacent from them, gleaming eyes and gentle smile. 

I thought Jungkook was your best friend.

Was...

“Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand that she silently takes. From the way he bites his lip a little, she can tell he probably feels it - that discomforting coldness. 

“You too,” she mutters quietly. 

Jimin simply smiles and nods, turning to clear his throat and engage again with Taehyung. She knows she doesn't quite fit in, doesn't quite match the persona of this circle of strangers that Taehyung wants to become her acquaintances. No face or scent here is familiar, especially not the bright-eyed boy sitting next to her, arm loosely around her shoulders as he laughs that uproarous, deafening laugh. Not like the gentle, almost melodic one she's used to. Not like his. 

 

 

20 January 2016 ❀

I miss you so much. 

I know I don't deserve to talk to you - it's understandable that you won't pick up your
phone. I hurt you a lot, didn't I? And Taehyung, he's, helping you heal, or so he's told
me. We didn't talk long but he says you're getting better, getting warmer each 
passing day. I wish I could feel that for myself but I will be patient as you tried to be
for me.

I dreamed of the aquarium, of shattering the glass and letting free the isolated
creatures torn from their families. You were there, smiling at me in that endearing
way you always did. 

I love you, Chaeyoung.

Wait for me. 

 

“Do you really love me?” Chaeyoung asks after a moment of silence, Taehyung's steaming latte hovering just an inch away from his lips. He's visibly taken aback at the suddenness of her question.

“Of course, why?”

“You really loved...her.”

She pretends not to see the way his jaw tightens and body stiffens. “I don't care about her anymore. She's gone now.”

“What if she came back? Would you go after her again?”

“No, she's hurt me enough. I'm... I'm a lot happier with you now, so,” he sits up, clearing his throat, “let's just focus on us.”

Chaeyoung doesn't reply, and Taehyung isn't sure whether that's concerning or a relief. The girl Lisa once described as her roommate doesn't reflect in this shell of a person he sees at all. 

(“Hmm? Chaengoo?” Lisa had perked up from behind the doorframe of the other room, tucking a freshly dried warm sweater under her arm, “she's so cute! Cuter than me, even.”

Taehyung laughed amusedly, startling her with his arms wrapped firmly around her petite waist, “highly doubt that but go on.”

“I'm serious! We went to see a horror movie together and she just squealed quietly into my shoulder. And when she eats, oh my god, her cheeks puff up like a chipmunk,” she fawned, “she smiles a lot to herself sometimes, I always wonder what she's thinking but just seeing her smile, I swear, it will brighten your whole mood!”

He chuckled at her excitement, pressing little kisses to her neck as they swayed about in circles. “She sounds really nice. Maybe she'd like to double date?”

She scoffed, “I wish. She's never going to love anyone the way she loves her flowers.”)

 

 

Jungkook discovers the truth one bleak afternoon in late January from one of Taehyung's cohorts who had come by his tattoo shop. 

“That's not possible,” Jungkook's fingers, for the first time in ages, trembles slightly as they brush past the stencil on the woman's back. 

“He called her his girlfriend, sounded clear as day to me unless he was punking us. Kissed her a few times too,” Jisoo shrugs, “frankly I did prefer his last girlfriend but this one is cute too. A little shy but I'm sure she'll grow on me. She smells really nice too, did you know-”

Pressure begins to build in his head, swallowing up his focus as he knocks a few of his sketching pencils over reaching for the needle box. Jisoo winces at the sound of metal clinking in collision with the floor. This guy is supposed to be one of the best underrated tattoo artists in the local area, Taehyung had told her, flashing the impressive and intricate display on his arm whenever possible. But from the way Jungkook stumbles over his own feet, hands shaking and eyes flckering around wildly, she wonders if Taehyung is just a massive liar. 

“You okay, man?” she sits up from the leather bench, “do you need some water? You don't look so good-”

“I-It's fine, I'm fine. I'm sorry for worrying you, it's just been a while...”

 

 

3 February 2016 ❀

Is it true that you've moved on?

I've confronted everyone but you. I can't ascertain the thought until it comes from
your lips. You understand people better than they understand themselves. You
tell nothing but the truth - at any place, at any time - nothing about you is
disingenuous.

So please tell me it isn't true. Look at me and tell me I haven't waited too long.
Tell me it's okay to hold you again. Tell me that all of this was nothing but an
unpleasant dream that you will wake me from.

Tell me it's not too late.

 

 

He holds her in an embrace too firm for comfort, but only when they were looking. He chuckles a few times, takes huge swigs of pungent beer from his solo cup and only hopes to some higher power that it would be enough to distort his reality, because Chaeyoung still feels like Chaeyoung and that makes his heart uneasy.

One of her friends is here, another girl from Thailand, sitting atop Jimin's lap as she sways blissfully, sometimes teetering off before he catches her with a giggle. “Rumour has it,” she giggles, “Lalisa found herself a hottie in Thailand.”

Chaeyoung notices the sudden change in Taehyung's mood - not in his expression, which still holds a forced grin - but the tightening around her waist, crushing her to his side. 

She's never been to a house party of this size, deafening music in competition for dominance with drunken people yelling over each other, some only getting half a sentence to be audible before it's lost to the vibrations of the bass. But halfway into pushing Taehyung closer to the edge of the seat to escape his nauseating odour, she catches sight of a face that sets her mind aflame. 

“Jung...kook...” Despite being right next to her, Taehyung doesn't hear her utter his name.  She knows that he sees what she does when his exuberant laugh comes to a halt, grin fading into an impassive glare. 

“Chaeyoung...” She isn't sure if it's because she misses his voice or there exiss some filter in her mind especially for him that she ohears him as clear as glass over the booming music.

“What are you doing here?” Taehyung asks. 

“What does it matter to you?” Jungkook scoffs, “it's not like you ever gave a about what I do.”

“Are you ing brain-damaged? I worried for you all the ing time, checking up on you to make sure you haven't just blown your brains out from moping around alone all the time! And you really couldn't appreciate could you? Because all you think about is yourself—” Chaeyoung grabs the lapels of his coat, tugging him back down to her just as he's about to stand up, eyes furious and fists clenched. 

“Don't,” she warns sternly, “leave him alone.”

“Why? This er never loved you anyway so why are you defending him, hmm?” Taehyung slurs, nearly tipping off the couch.

Chaeyoung can see in the way Jungkook's nostrils flare and voice start to raise - something she thought she'd never live to see - that he's finally displaying the features of an emotion she can recognize. Deep-seated anger.

“Don't you ever ing say that!” he shouts in a huff, feet subconsciously shuffling two inches closer, making Taehyung's back reflexively hit the back of the seat, “I love her, I love her more than anything. More than you ever could in your whole pathetic life. I ed up but I still love her. You,” he looks at the older boy straight on, “you can't hold a candle to what I'd do for her.”

Taehyung isn't one to ever visibly show intimidation. Even when hurt, even at his most vulnerable, he possesses an unbreakable reserve that sets off alarms in anyone who enters his headspace. But this time was different. Jungkook has never shown this kind of fervor, and the way Taehyung could see that his friend - ex-friend, stranger, whatever he is now - has fallen apart in that single gaze - it conjures immeasurable guilt in the pit of his stomach. 

“We're leaving,” Taehyung stands, startling Chaeyoung as he carelessly yanks her to her feet. Jungkook's anger only further flares at the dispassion in the way he talks to her, treats her, touches her. 

“No,” Jungkook intervenes, “Chaeyoung, I want to talk to you.”

“She doesn't want to talk to you.”

“I wasn't asking you,” Jungkook seethes before looking directly into her eyes, “please, Chaeyoung-ah. I'm so sorry, about everything. About not telling you, I- I was afraid that you'd think less of me. Just give me a chance to explain and if you're still upset with me, I'll leave you in peace.”

“I,” she falters, contemplation encasing her in uncertainty though her heart screams, begs her to hold him close again - this person she's been missing,  “I don't know. I...”

Taehyung sees at the way Jungkook determinedly keeps her gaze with pleading eyes, and the softness in Chaeyoung's features he hadn't seen before. The sight of them conjures an inexplicable rage bubbling in his chest. He's drunk, incredibly drunk, and he finds it cruel that he can never be in the way he wants to. Not in the way that numbs his senses to the point where he thinks he can feel her again. Not in the way that flushes his memories of every trace of her or removes the agonizing emptiness in his heart. Only ever in this twisted, spiteful contortion of his mind that makes him tighten his grip on Chaeyoung's delicate wrist and forcefully tugs her past Jungkook, staggering as quickly as he could towards the exit.

Jungkook frantically follows suit, running in the direction they had disappeared in. There are too many people in this house, and the deafening music feels as though it's resisting his movements, pushing him further back into the sea of faceless bodies . He knows it's too late when he hears the familiar sound of an engine starting from outside, speeding out of the driveway. He can't hear his own heartbeat over the bass now just inches away from him - not knowing whether it's beating in a wild frenzy or sunken to the bottom of a trench. And before he knows it, his temple has coallpsed against the hardwood floor, vision fading to specks of light. 

He thinks, somewhere within this cloud of inseparable odours, he can smell the lingering traces of Chaeyoung. 

 

 

 

 

The snow storm outside is a mess of violent rain, beating down on the windows, and gusts of snow that frosts up the windshield. An icy veil falls upon virtually every mirror, further handicapping his already impaired vision in this drunken state. This, coupled with the fact that Chaeyoung, who usually doesn't speak much beyond a few utterances of agreement, hasn't stopped yelling since he fastened her to the passenger's seat and sped off. 

Her tears are hysteric, thoughts so clouded with the thought of Jungkook that she doesn't ponder on the situation she's been  into. Neither know, see, nor care where they are or where they'll end up, preoccupied with screaming profanities at each other.

“Why would you do that?!” she shrieks, in such close proximity to his ear that his head starts to spin, “you don't get to ing decide for me!”

“Why?! You're my girlfriend. You expect me to just watch your ex-boyfriend begs for you back?”

“That's not your ing choice to make!  I will talk to him if I want to!”

“Why, so you can run back to him?”

“Even if I did, that doesn't involve you!”

Taehyung's jaw clenches in unison with his grip on the steering wheel, watching the wipers struggle to carve through the increasingly solid sheets over the windshield. He's limited to a narrow opening in which all he sees is a square of the road - completely white, from the snow or his fading consciousness - he doesn't know. 

Every part of him knows at this point that he was envious of Jungkook. Not over Chaeyoung, but over the fact that he had a chance. That window of opportunity to fill that same gaping sorrow in his heart that Taehyung could see reflects his own - and that angered him. So, so much that he stole it from him, pulled her just as he was able to grasp a small piece of her again.  He hates that he knows he'll never get that so why should Jungkook? 

They're both so caught up in their own tangles of frustration that they don't realize how fast the vehicle has accelerated, gaining more traction from the slippery roads. It isn't until the icy path shifts their direction, suddenly making a sharp left, that anger shifts to petrified. 

Only Taehyung witnesses the collision, in small pieces, like a scattered puzzle. In his narrow frame of view, he sees it happen  - a flash of snow hitting the windshield, the vehicle flips and his view becomes angled, the image switches rapidly between light of snow and the dark of an unseen object clashing into them. He can't tell if the crunching sound that follows is the side of the car pressing into the deepening snow or glass beginning to pierce into him. 

Before Chaeyoung blanches and everything fades to black, she sees, exposed by the small opening in the cracked glass that lets moonlight spill through, a tattoo under the fierce tiger he notoriously treasured:

My La•Li•Sa.
Forever with you.