a/n: ok first of all of course i’m ECSTATIC that jenkai is dating, d-a-t-i-n-g, dating, but y’all!!! this fic is still Purely Fictional ok?? lmao (anticipate another a/n at the end of the chapter)

‘cause i’d die if i saw you, i’d die if i didn’t see you there. – In Your Atmosphere, John Mayer

Jongin thinks of lashing out.

He thinks of screaming his throat raw.

He thinks of hurling a vase across her hospital room. He also thinks of gathering the broken shards into a palm of his hand and curling his fist into a ball the color of sangria wine.

He thinks of crying, too: a grown man’s hollow, muffled sob that will echo around the darkened hall and filter through the cracks on the wall, as the woman on the other side of it wills herself to be “sleeping, no, I’m sleeping—”

He thinks about a lot of things—most of them a little twisted and hysterical because that is what a flash of hot, red anger does to a person’s mind—but, her friends come over and wish her speedy recovery, and he is surprised—to say the least—to see his friends there, too.

“I mean,” he splutters, “what? You guys don’t mind that we catch up in a hospital?”

Sungwoon snickers as Kwonho waves his hand. “Dude, it’s not like we’re heartless losers who will ask you to leave your girlfriend’s side when she is unwell like this. Besides, yeah, we hadn’t seen you in three months, but, so had Jennie, you know?”

Jongin wants to think about a lot of things, but Jennie’s hospital room is becoming a melting pot of people who have missed him and more who hold his girlfriend dear to their hearts and want to tell her in person “get well soon, Jennie-ya!” It’s a chaos. He takes a glance at her—she is rolling her eyes at something that Chanyeol is telling Rosé—and quietly slinks out of the room.

“She hadn’t wanted to see anyone before you arrived in Seoul.”

Startled, he looks up to see Jisoo taking a seat beside him on the three seater metal chair and, albeit annoyed at her intrusion, resists the urge to groan unnecessary hate towards his girlfriend’s BFF, opting instead for a subtle yet powerful raise of his eyebrow at her, “Excuse me?”

There’s a teasing half-smile on Jisoo’s face as she elaborates, “Jennie made me, our manager and Joohyun unnie tell people that she wasn’t cleared for a visit yet. Imagine the panic. They thought it was worse than it actually was! Thank God it wasn’t, though.”

“She made you do that and said that it was because of me? Said my face was the only one she wanted to see?”

Jisoo throws a dry sidelong glance his way. “Now you’re just fishing for attention. Of course Jennie would never explicitly say so. We can only ask so much from her at a time.” She kind of huffs her explanation, like she expects him to—to—

“Right.” Sarcasm escapes from his gritted teeth, dribbling down his chin and making a mess.

If Jisoo notices his grand show of toxic negativity, she does not appear like it. She just carries on, “Enough about Jennie and her undying love for you”—he snorts at this and she amends—“or at least your face, now, tell me about the ROK Army! Did your superior give you a hard time? Did you really have to play football with your platoon every single day?”

By this point, he has abandoned the idea of getting some thinking done. He only feels downright mean—and towards himself in particular. This is why he feeds Jisoo lies: if only to see how infuriatingly well Jennie has been doing without him. “What more do you want to know?” He studies the nonexistent dirt underneath his fingernails, feigning ease. “Hasn’t Jennie told you enough about my military life?”

Only Jisoo does not proceed to launch at once into her trademarked bright and breezy jabber as he has expected. Instead, she takes a moment to roll her eyes and give a snort of incredulity and he somehow knows that this—whatever this is—is only going to backfire on him—and perfectly, at that.

He begins to part his lips to take back his stupid questions and beat a hasty retreat, but—too bad—Jisoo is beating him to it.

“I wish she had! Unfortunately, Kim Jongin, your name has been banned from being brought up in any of our conversation for the last three months. Lalisa forgot this one time. She was, again, wholly impressed by the fact that you know the best place to get chicken-and-beer in each and every gu in Seoul and was, for the umpteenth time, telling me about all this, like, how is that possible? O, Kai of EXO, Esteemed Dancing Machine, also Lord of Midnight Snacks, how? Over the briefest mention of your existence, Jennie—in short?—became a crying, disastrous mess of some real, goddamn epic proportions. Don’t snitch on me to her, but, I’m still looking for a fresh pair of eyes which has never seen the sight of her crying and ears that have never heard her wail. It was kind of strange? I mean, have you ever seen Jennie cry? Kim Jongin? Hey, Jongin-ah—are you listening to me?”

***

They were burying her dog under a tree on the backyard of her grandparents’ house. Like a cliché, rain started to pour down and, in front of the small coffin, she dropped to her knees and hugged herself. She made no sound, so if the muscles of her chin didn’t tremble and her eyes didn’t redden, he wouldn’t know she was crying, at least not right away. Her nails were stained with dirt; her hair, matted; and her white blouse, drenched and see-through. She was muttering another prayer when he went inside the house, looking for two clean bath towels.

She only began telling people about the passing a week after the burial, her tone when speaking to them calm and composed, like letting go was work she had to get done.

She went to his house after one of her yoga sessions. In the middle of inhaling Greek kale salad, suddenly she closed her eyes and said, her voice a hush, her pride deconstructing into a kind of sobering humility, “Yoga isn’t the only session I take these days. I’m trying to be healthy—in all aspects”—he put his fork down and reached for her hand so she would not feel lonely—“a glamorous job? Fifty grand of cash in one purse? A closet awash with designer clothes? They’re making it way too easy for me to forget who I am. But, Jongin, I hate to lose myself.”

He watched her shine in the crowd and glow under the spotlight, t any room that she entered with her winning smiles and confidence.

It never occurred to them that she had depth and a fear, too.

She shed a few tears on the day he told his friends and her about his leaving and again on the night they privately