If there was one thing you loved about living in Korea, it was the colder seasons. The cool breath of winter breeze had somehow s into your layers of coats, sending chills down your spine. You shivered a little. As you rubbed your gloved hands together for warmth, you couldn’t help but feel the beginnings of goose bumps on your arms. Fortunately, it hadn’t started snowing yet. You inhaled the night air sharply, feeling the sheer coldness pierce your lungs and bring stinging tears to the rims of your eyes. Gosh, it was good. So good that you began to laugh.

What a complete crackhead I must seem to the neighbours. Your ribs and face ached, but still your laughter echoed around the empty oval. The sound was unwelcome, a mockery of the peaceful scene around you. The absurdity of your situation both unsettled and tickled you. If the prickly ahjumma from upstairs peeked out of her window now, she would probably call the police on the suspicious, well-padded figure below. Cackling alone in the park, on a night of minus 4 degrees Celsius.

Stuff her for being nosy then. After seemingly a good decade or two, you dropped onto the park bench exhausted. The pounding of your heart slowed. The breeze danced in the tendrils of your hair, gentled caressed your flushed cheeks with a touch reminiscent of your mother. Finally, you took in the beauty of your surroundings. The last golden flashes of gold and peach flashed through the trees, contrasting strongly against the Korean winter sky. The neighbourhood park was nothing special. However, in the twilight it was transformed into a place of dreams. In the cold air, you could feel alive. In the sunset, you could feel happy. Well, almost. Heck, you had even laughed. Laughed like how you used to. But nothing could overpower the pangs of hurt and sadness, sadness at the fact that you were now spending your birthday alone in a park.

The snow started to fall. You trudged back to your first-floor apartment. The minute it took to cross the road felt too long, as if your steps had been filmed in slow motion. Your skin tingled as snowflakes kissed each and every piece of exposed skin. It was cold, too cold now, even for the likes of you. Yet the snow always felt warmer than your own apartment would ever be. Your first-floor apartment had come with its own porch. You liked to think of it as your special place. It also became your Yoongi’s special place when he had moved in. Your meandering strings of thought were snapped as you were reminded of him. Back in high school, you had been somewhat known for your temper. Now it struggled against its chain as you thought of your boyfriend. Well, some ing boyfriend he is, you snarled internally. You tore off your boots and hurled them into the corner of the veranda. A dozen layers of jackets soon followed.

What a strange sight for the neighbours, the foreign girl stamping around on her porch in the middle of winter. In pink pyjamas. Pink pyjamas he had bought for you, actually. In fact, he had a matching identical pair just for the laughs. Exactly 2 years ago on this same evening, you two had been parading around in them. Senselessly drunk on birthday champagne. You felt angry tears prick at your eyes and pushed the hilarious memory away. Sinking into your favourite deck chair, your teeth chattered with cold and rage. You screamed curses and hell into your mind. you, Min Yoongi. you for leaving your girlfriend alone on her birthday. you for probably forgetting. you for just never coming home recently. you for just never being here.

A lone tear dropped onto the armrest. You gazed as it in shock. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. You weren’t supposed to be like this on your special day, alone on your porch freezing and pathetic.

“I know I’m not really like this-” Your own sentence was cut off by your barrage of wails and tears. You gripped the arms of the deck chair, trying to find some sort of stability in the onslaught of pain that now washed over you. It hurt. It ing hurt, the realisation that this wasn’t the first time that this had happened to you. You recalled the night of your 2^nd year anniversary with Yoongi, you had also been trying to laugh off your loneliness on the park bench. That had been only 3 weeks ago. Your anger and rage and sarcasm and irritation, it was all gone now. Your chest heaved. Every time you breathed, it fed the aching of the tight knot in your chest. It was disgusting, that you could hear your own voice repeating “Yoongi” over your chokes and sobs. Eventually, your chest heaved slower and slower. Your breathing gradually lost its raspiness. Drained and numb to the cold, you fell asleep in your pink pyjamas on the porch chair.

In the morning, you felt disgust and contempt at yourself. Ironically, you felt the tiniest sliver of amusement; it had certainly been a birthday to remember. Your cheeks were salty, your feet were cold and your parkas were littered all over your porch. It didn’t help that the upstairs ahjumma and her dog were now staring at you from the pavement outside. Your face burning a similar shade to your pyjamas, you snatched everything and dashed inside. You needed a shower. Immediately.

In the amazingly warm water, you cringed at last night’s events.

“What the came over me?” You groaned to the ceiling as you remembered your episode of manic laughter and sobbing. You scolded yourself countless times. I totally overreacted. Why was it only now you remembered that Yoongi now had to work endlessly as the deadline for his mixtape approached? You knew that he was extremely stressed. He had implored you to be understanding, he had reassured you that his sometimes week-long studio sessions would provide the breakthrough both of you needed. Stress made people forget. Yeah. Stress always made people forget.

It hadn’t even been a totally terrible birthday. Your friends and colleagues had all sent the expected birthday cards, flowers and knick knacks. Your mother had perhaps sent the best gift of all; a large package filled to the brim with poptarts, the Food for the Gods. If there was one thing you hated about living in Korea, it was the absence of poptarts. Also the absence of your mom. I’ll definitely visit her next summer. Yoongi would have released his mixtape by then, and it would’ve taken the underground hip-hop community by storm. You two would’ve return to normal, only with a little more coin in pocket and fame. Of course, you two would. Your mom would be ecstatic at seeing him again.

On the morning of your birthday, your best friends had spammed you with hilarious texts. They had even rung you at the ungodly hour of 6 ‘o’clock to yell their ‘best wishes’. Namjoon and Ayoung really knew what pissed you off. You smiled as you thought of your best friends. I would never have survived in Korea without them. Ayoung had been your roommate during your failed stint at your local college. You had made sure she knew her way around and perfected the Californian accent by the end of her first week. When it was your turn to be new and clueless in her home country 6 years ago, she had returned the favour.

After Namjoon had painstakingly proved to you that he was worthy of dating your best friend, you and Ayoung’s inseparable partnership had included him to form an inseparable trio. The three musketeers. Perhaps the three stooges would be more suitable. Kim Namjoon, Choi Ayoung, Y/N. The summer of 20XX had been one of the best summers of your life. And you hated summer. Days of melted icecream and ferries to Jeju. Nights of bonfires and discussing dreams under star splattered skies. Oh, how you missed that year. The one year between the worlds of a college exchange student and a qualified woman. The fun. The freedom. The memories flowed like the burning water down your back.

The humidity in the tiny bathroom was now unbearable. Sighing, you switched the stream of water off. You towelled yourself off and stepped out. With the cursed pair of pink pyjamas under your arm.

The coldness of your apartment hit you head-on. You were a deer frozen in headlights as the chilly air attacked you through the flimsy towel. So cold, so white. The white and cream theme had been an attempt to be hip and modern. It had been your idea, and Yoongi had been opposed to your paintbrush like the stubborn soul he was. You remembered how you had argued for a classier living space, and Yoongi storming off, yelling he couldn’t give a thousand s for it. You remembered the fabulous feeling of your ‘classiness’ shattering as Yoongi had come back and made love to you on the new white couches. The chuckle that came out of your mouth was out of place. Now the space seemed Antarctic: devoid of passion, creativity, life. You almost wished you had stayed in the bathroom, enveloped in steam and nostalgia. Maybe we should redecorate after Yoongi finished his mixtape. You tossed the pink pyjamas onto the couch. Even the crude pink livened the scene a bit.

The kitchen was a little better. It was defiled by present wrappings and the remains of cake. The cake you had bought yourself. It should have been a happy day, yesterday. Your best friends had spoilt you, you had liked all your cheesy little presents. For some stupid reason, tears threatened to spill again. No. You didn’t let them. You would not be that pathetic figure laughing and crying in the park last night. You turned to walk to your bedroom for something to pull on. The cold was getting to you. You glimpsed those pink pyjamas again. Lying there on the couch. Stupid Yoongi had a matching pair in a closet somewhere. You remembered that he had bought them as a couple thing, as a joke. Exactly 2 years and 1 day ago, those pyjamas had morphed into something more than cheap cotton. You two had paraded around in them, drunk on birthday champagne. You had danced like a wild thing, even had twerked in his face. He had been shocked but ecstatic, realizing that there was some truth to the stereotype of crazy foreigner. 2 years and 1 day ago, you two had been out taking shots out on the porch. Exhausted, stuttering. His promise still rang in your mind. Even if his vision had been blurry and his breath had reeked, he had still promised.

“Y/N, I’ll always be here for you. N-n-no matter what ing comes, I’ll be here.”

You had looked somewhat sober for a moment. Then you had vomited over the railing.

Except, now he wasn’t here. That’s why you weren’t happy. The revelation developed to new heights. You hadn’t been happy for a long time. You didn’t care if you were selfish or overreacting or whatever, you wanted him. How you had wanted, how you craved for his laughter to mingle with yours last night in the park, for his calloused hand to anchor you to reality as you cried your heart out. his mixtape, his studio, his dreams. all of it just for a little moment. It had been your birthday. He hadn’t been here. You expected tears, a breakdown, another episode of sad laughter. It never came. this apartment. Its coldness even suppressed your own emotions.

Changed and armed with your essentials, you stepped out of that cold, cold place. You looked back and a flutter of curtains upstairs attracted your attention. Of course. You waved to the nosy ahjumma. Afterall, you wouldn’t be back for a little while. You had texted Yoongi you needed a little space. No reply. He was probably busy penning lyrics. He would understand. He had to understand, he had forgotten your own birthday.

“Y/N?!” Ayoung’s shrill cry of surprise was adorable. You banged on the door again, impatiently. There was a scramble inside for a good 5 minutes before Ayoung’s flushed face greeted yours. Inside, a rather out-of-breath Namjoon reprimanded you.

“Hey birthday girl, I know we’re all close and that but next time could’ya at least give us a heads up?”

Kim Namjoon, just admit the fact that I interrupted you two during a quickie.

“It’s really, really bad, surprising people like that. You know, high blood pressure is quite common in young people these days.”

You rolled your eyes. You loved him, you cherished his loyalty to you and Ayoung during all these years, but his excuses always made you question that.

“You ing sound like my Grandpa. High blood pressure, sounds more like a quick session to me.”

He mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like “”. Red-faced Namjoon wasn’t common, so you played with him a bit further. Anything to distract you from your own troubles.

“Ayoung! Ayoung! Ayoung!”

Being the total sweetheart, she was, she rushed over to help her bestfriend.

“Your boyfriend was being a- pabo,” you pouted with an expression that could put Girl’s Generation aegyo to shame.

You exploded into laughter as both she and Namjoon cringed at your face and the slaughtering of their language. Laughter was great. This was great. You had your two best friends, and that was all you needed. You didn’t need an absent boyfriend and the place where both of you lived as practically strangers. At least, not right now. Yoongi could continue with the mixtape he was so besotted with.

Now came the difficult part of informing Ayoung and Namjoon that they wouldn’t be having quickie sessions for a while now. You were staying for a couple of days. Until the pathetic, crying little girl in pink pyjamas was totally and utterly out of your life. It would be good for you. Yoongi as well. He had always found your ‘clinginess’ one of your most annoying traits.

After your explanation, after retelling the pain and realisations of your birthday night, Ayoung sat down on her sofa and cried. The eyes which you thought had been dehydrated already were soon wet. Soon you sat beside her, both of you wailing. The tears were nothing like the night before, but each one still contained a drop of desperation and loneliness. One by one. Drip. Drop. Namjoon forced you into his warm, strong arms. He held you. Namjoon’s embrace was reassuring and stable. Comforting. You noticed that compared to Namjoon, recently your boyfriend’s had been little unsure, a little distant. The last time he had even embraced you was not even recent. Such an insignificant detail triggered a second flood of tears. Ayoung’s sobs began to still. Yours continued. Namjoon clutched you as sob after sob wracked your frame. He held you as your wails began to take the form of whispered pleads. The desperation and isolation you had kept beneath your smile began to take the form of words. Ayoung covered her ears. Those words were not nice to hear. Namjoon held you until you stopped trembling.

You looked up to face a smiling Ayoung. Despite her smile, you could see the sadness in her stunning brown eyes. You turned to Namjoon. He had turned his face away and let you go. You knew he could not bear to face the breaking down of one of his closest friends.

“Why did you cry Ayoung? You didn’t really ... I mean you guys had never liked Yoongi anyway.”

Silence.

“It’s for the best, you know. I mean, it’s for only a couple of days. I love him, I still ing love him. But I can’t stay in that place. I can’t wait for someone who never comes home. I can’t wait for someone who leaves me alone on my birth-” You started trembling again. Ayoung still smiled. Why is she smiling? Why is she ing smiling?

“I wore those ing pink pyjamas, I waited for him all night. Still the bastard-”

You were interrupted by Namjoon this time. His usually deep, velvety voice was tired and strained.

“My girlfriend, your best friend, didn’t cry because of sadness. Ayoung cried with happiness, Y/N. Happiness that after all this ing time, after all these ing months, you-you’ve started to accept...”

Both Namjoon and Ayoung knew he didn’t needed to finish his sentence.

Of course, Yoongi never came home anymore. He had to break his promise that “no matter what ing comes, he would always be here for you”. He wouldn’t have magically run back into your arms for a trivial matter like your birthday. You knew clawing onto hope was useless. You should’ve let the last memory of him stepping out of your door lay to rest. Even if you’re weren’t happy, letting go would’ve made him happy. He had never liked your clinginess. Yoongi was gone, completely gone from your life. A strange peace settled over you for the first time, and for once your conflicting emotions stayed asleep.

I’m fine. I’m fine now, you see. I’m already fine and my boyfriend has been dead for 6 months.

You forced yourself to start accepting those horrible, horrible words. You hoped you really would, in time. The corner of your mouth turned up slightly.

Well Yoongi, this really has been the tiest birthday.

Whether he was in heaven or hell or purgatory or oblivion, you hoped he was laughing at your words. He had always loved your warped sense of humour.