My attention captured by the hypnotizing back-and-forth motion of my red Converses, I almost miss the loud, demanding ring of my cell phone.

  A burst of static signals the start of my voicemail as I lurch over ungracefully, my hands landing rather heavily on the cool, smooth screen. Fumbling around with it, I finally manage to bring the device to my ear and croak a brief hello into the speaker.

  A woman's voice, tired and monotonous, invites me to a small, low-budget funeral in the middle of the week after next. I listen with confusion, the information not clicking in my mind until the final, shattering sentence:

  "It will be held in the memory of Park Jimin."

-----

  It's the perfect weather for a funeral-wet, cold, bitter. The air is harsh and smells of smoke, leaves an aftertaste in my mouth that is far from pleasant. The trees, leaves long gone, stretch like bony hands towards the cloud-shrouded sky. The wind comes in occasional gusts, coloring my cheeks pink and making my insides curl with lack of warmth.

  My eyes roaming the guests, I find myself surrounded by faces I normally only see in school, hunched shoulders trembling in the cold underneath a suffocating gray sky. Guilt floods their eyes; some are even crying. I feel strangely triumphant-you regret not helping him now, don't you?

  Turning away from my -our- schoolmates, I bury my hands deep into the pockets of my fleece overcoat. My breath turns visible and floats heavenward as my ears catch snippets of conversation whispered all around me, words like suicidal, depression, razor breaking apart into separate syllables and flooding my mind.

  As if it was Jimin's fault that his sanity had broken. As if it was Jimin's fault that the last bit of light in his life was abruptly extinguished.

  As if it was Jimin's fault that I'd left him, looking back only when it was too late.

------

  "Wait!"

  A kind, harmless voice, scratched by age, rings out across the fast emptying cemetery. Hair flies in the corners of my vision as people around me turn, thinking the outburst was directed towards them. Breathing out a puff of air, I quicken my footsteps, eager to escape the overcast sky, the crooked trees, the heads of black hair.

  A hand catches me on the shoulder, and I jerk back unwillingly, held there by a grip of stone. Turning slowly, I find myself in the clutch of a white-haired, sparkling-eyed man, slightly shorter than me and dressed in robes of white. His face is lined with old age, deep creases around his nose, mouth and eyes. In his other hand is a book, an average-sized, red book, its cover a curious texture, all cracked and faded and-

  Leatherbound.

  "Jimin, he... wanted you to have this," the priest explains briefly, loosening his grip on my shoulder, much to my relief. Offering me a little more space, he takes a step back and holds out the book with slight trepidation, as if he knows I will seriously consider not taking it.

  And I do. Because just looking at the cover alone brings back a surge of memories that I barely manage to keep at bay. Because I'm afraid of what will happen when I open that book. Although I long to hold the last bit of Jimin I have in my hands, I know that the moment my fingertips brush the red, cracked leather, the details and moments and writing and confessions will all come crashing down on me. So for that one breathless moment, the book hovering in between me and the priest, I want nothing to do with any of it.

  But then black hair falling in front of dark eyes and thin fingers carving hidden words surfaces in my mind, and before I can stop myself, the book is in my hands.

------

  The wind sings against the top of my head, gently arching back strands of hair. I've been here so many times, the grainy texture of the tombstone is almost molded onto my back. Occasionally, I twist around just to trace the perfectly arranged set of marks that sit centered in the gray stone, faded like memories worn away by time. A shift in position makes my hand brush against familiar cracked leather, and I reach towards the book lying at my side to pick it up yet again.

  The book opens with a soft crackling, the spine curving to accomodate the sudden movement. I allow my fingers to flip aimlessly through the wrinkled, yellowed pages, soaked in tears of longing. My eyes occasionally catch onto an entry, briefly skim over a sentence or two, but for the most part, the words go unread.

  A shadow falls over my outstretched legs, and I look up at a fuzzy, slightly faded silhouette, framed by the sunlight shining directly behind. I smile, offer a few words of acknowledgement, and allow the comforting silence to fall over me again as the person I was waiting for sits down on the soft grass beside me, shoulders casually brushing.

  Pages continue to rustle as I flip forwards and backwards through the words, letting myself bask in the sweet peacefulness of my companion. The person by my side does nothing to remind me of his presence, though I feel it nonetheless.

  The sun dips significantly towards the horizon, shadows stretch and disfigure, and paper crackles incessantly before I feel a brush of hair against my neck, accompanied by a sudden warmth and weight at my shoulder. A ghost of a smile flickers across my face, and I press my lips to a pale, cool forehead, intercepted by a thin screen of black hair.

  "Sweet dreams, Jimin, my angel," I whisper, my voice barely revealing the pain tearing at me inside. I close my eyes, and wish this moment never ends, wish for one last second of bliss before it's all gone. I keep my eyes shut for one second longer, desperately attempting to preserve what I have.

  Because when I open my eyes again, the sun is hitting me directly in the face, the wind is blowing stronger than ever, and Jimin is gone, our love reduced to the leatherbound notebook I hold in my tear-stained hands.

------

AN: So, that's that!

I'm really proud of this ending, if I do say so myself :P

Do comment and tell me what you thought about the end (because I'm a vain, selfish bish who feeds off your compliments XD)! If I'm pleased with how you guys react, I MAY write a sequel (or some sort of weird afterthought thing)...

Farewell, my lovely readers!

Image credits: s5.favim.com