I hear a knock on the door of my room. I crack open the door. Jimin stands there, fidgeting. “Wh-What do you need, Jimin?” I stammer. Jimin looks exhausted. I reach up to touch the circles under his eyes, but stop. I drop my hand and turn away.

“Um… do you want to go get ice cream?” he asks hesitantly. I look up at him, shocked. He smiles. It’s forced, but still. It’s been so long since he’s smiled at me. I nod. His smile grows, but there’s something in his eyes. Regret? Fear? Apprehension? I shake the thought off. I follow him out of the door.

We walk to the ice cream shop. The streets are fairly empty. It’s pretty late at night. I stare at the chocolate ice cream. Jimin asks me what I want. I hesitate before pointing at the strawberry ice cream. Jimin gives me a look, but complies. He gets chocolate for himself. I avoid looking at it.

We walk to the park. I’m my ice cream when a car speeds by me. I yelp and jump. My ice cream falls onto the street. I feel tears starting to well in my eyes. Jimin stands behind me, breathing hard. There’s a look of panic in his eyes that fades when I collapse on the ground. He crouches beside me. “It’s all right,” he says soothingly. I shake my head.

“I’m sorry,” I sob. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s all my fault, it’s my fault, I’m really sorry.” Jimin understands that I’m not talking about the ice cream.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers after a moment. “It could’ve been when she was driving me to a friend’s house. It could’ve been when she was driving home from work.” I shake my head.

“But it wasn’t,” I cry. “It was my fault!” Jimin sighs. I curl in on myself, sobbing. I yearn for Mommy’s warmth, for her touch, for her hugs, for her love, for her presence. But I yearn for Jimin’s warmth, his touch, his hugs, his affection, his love, his presence, his protection, just as much as I do Mommy’s. Maybe even a little more. He’s all I have now.

I want my brother back. I want Jiminie back.

Jimin stands, and I look up at him with tears in my eyes. Is he going to leave me again?

His eyes glimmer with unshed tears.

He holds out a hand.

“Call me Jiminie,” he whispers.

I reach up hesitantly, and grasp his hand.

It’s cold.