"You should sleep soon."

Taehyung's voice resonated back to Jungkook, along with that cold December morning two years from the past. It suddenly occured to him, at five o'clock in the morning, that Taehyung wasn't there anymore. Nobody was around, awake, worrying over him for not sleeping for yet another night again. Nobody was around to care.

Jungkook stopped typing. He reread the last sentence he wrote, and realized that he'd gone completely off-topic with his words.

"You can finish that later after you've rested," Taehyung would've said. And Jungkook would've agreed and crawled himself to the bed. And Taehyung would go back to lie down with him, resting a hand on the older's waist and staying until Jungkook was in deep slumber before finally getting up and getting ready for work. Sometimes, it would be the other way around; and Jungkook would give everything to have Taehyung in his arms again.

Jungkook stays at home with his overworn sweater and countless cups of coffee. He's a writer. He used to think he writes because Taehyung exists. Until one day, he stopped existing.

He'd always ask himself that everytime he drowns himself in alcohol: Do people stop existing once they die? Or does love outweigh life? 

The writer managed to get up, grabbing his pack of cigarettes that lied on the desk on the corner, and walks around. His fingers were slightly shivering when he lights one, and in the back of his mind, he could have sworn he heard Taehyung's voice, nagging for him to put the cigarettes down. Of course, Jungkook never did.

He stopped crying months ago. Maybe it's true what they say. Maybe people really do dry out of tears.

He sat on the chesterfield sofa, elevating his feet up, bent as though he was cold and didn't have any blankets available. (Truthfully, he really was cold. He had been ever since Taehyung left.)

Do you believe such people are happy in the other world? I'd give a great deal to know.

Jungkook sighed. He can't keep going on like this, but if he didn't, then what's the point of it? What's the point of Taehyung coming into his life? He remembered how warm the sun shone when he first met Taehyung; the sky saddened and cried raindrops when he left. It turns out that weather was actually more important than he gives it credit for.

"Ah, this is silly," Jungkook got up from his seat and puffed a cigarette. "Why would you leave me?" He didn't even know who he was asking. Taehyung wasn't there to answer him. "Didn't I tell you I'm scared being alone?"

Jungkook played with the hem of his sweater, crossing his arms and placing them on top of his knees.

That night, he contemplated on going after Taehyung. He keeps trying to search for a reason not to, and everytime he always finds it. And it would usually be a thought of Taehyung's smile. That stupid, intoxicating grin, so warm, it had the power to melt glaciers. The next day, he'd wake up and light another cigarette, and continue writing a book that he started because Taehyung exists.

Perhaps he still does.