Winter; the season that the young boy eagerly awaited upon as he sat by his bedroom window. The hush breaths escaping from his slightly parted lips would fog up the glass separating him from the harsh cold of the outside world. But deep down, it was the unforgiving reality he yearned for. His delicate fingers would trace intricate patterns on the dust along the windowsill, and he would hold them up to his eyes and think to himself how someone who was so pure and so connected with the world could become tainted by the shadows of his past hidden beneath his bed and silenced by the ghosts trapped within the walls. The empty void in his heart was overwhelming; it consumed his entire being and drove him to the brink of insanity. Every waking moment felt like he was stuck in a trance. 

Each morning, he would get out of bed and go to the bathroom to examine the stranger staring back at him in the mirror - how his eyes gradually became more vacant, the sparkle in them long gone; how is cheeks were always flushed a scarlet red, the only colour present on his otherwise pale face, even though he didn’t have a fever. His lips were the only feature that were indicative of his youth; perfectly plump and a faint shade of pink, once used to steal the breath away from his lover. His knuckles would go white when his hands gripped the sink tightly as a violent sob shook his small frame. The pitter patter of teardrops hitting the porcelain would be drowned out by the loud, painful beating of his heart in his ears. He felt sorry for the stranger in the mirror. He sympathised with him. He too, felt alone. They would comfort each other in silence for an hour. After that, the boy would turn around, walk out the door, and lock the stranger away. Because just like winter, his heart was cold.

When the snow started to fall, he would venture outside. He would shiver against the light breeze blowing through his hair and let out a soft giggle when a snowflake brushed the tip of his nose. He would sit on the swing alone in a nearby park and admire how the world around him was being painted white and being erased of all memories hidden within the kaleidoscope of colours. It was like getting a new canvas to paint on - the start of the next masterpiece. For the first time in months, he felt comfortable. He hated the warmth of the sun; it reminded him of too many painful things. Like the fact that he can never feel the warm presence of someone else’s body next to his ever again. 

He would fall asleep alone and wake up alone.

And that’s how it will always be.

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“J-Jungkook? Jungkook, wake the up. Wake up!” A frantic voice was calling out to him. He felt as if he were drowning under the weight of the world, falling deeper and deeper until he could no longer see the reflection of the sun against the surface. He didn’t bother reaching out; no one could save him anyway. The hands at his throat and chest forced the last breaths out of him. He wanted to stay like this forever. 

He was safe here. No one could hurt him.