Seoul 1968

Jimin fumbles with the letter in his hand before putting it into an envelope. He glues the back of it with a seal and turns it around to ink the address on the front.

Kim Taehyung

11-3499 Naksan-gil,

Seongbuk-gu, Seoul

He looks back at Namjoon’s letter to make sure he got the right address and sticks a stamp to it before getting to his feet.

Taehyung had changed churches again, so Jimin had to wait another week for Namjoon to send him his new address. He’s not too sure why his friend keeps moving so much, but a part of him thinks it might be because of his letters.

A larger part of him worries that maybe Taehyung is having a hard time there.

As Hoseok exits the shared bathroom, Jimin gets to his feet and without looking back, speaks over his shoulder as he makes to leave. “I’m going out to post this letter to Tae. Do you need anything?”

Hoseok’s reply of “yes, please pick up a brain that doesn’t keep thinking of during the finals please” is met with a stony silence and a roll of his eyes. His friend has an addiction that Jimin believes is all his own fault.

Walking down Daehakro early in the morning is always a pleasure for Jimin. It’s not the bakery with its delicious smell wafting in the air. Or the little kids playing in the sidewalks. It’s not the friendly smiles that are so familiar now even though it’s only been a couple of months since he’s moved there. And it’s certainly not the array of beautiful universities girls that fill the coffee shops and stores every day.

It’s fresh air that feels like Suwon early in the morning when the crowd is less and the world is quiet.

Daehakro in the morning reminds him of Suwon. Which in turn reminds him of Taehyung.

He heaves a sigh before turning right towards the post office. Call him crazy but he’s spending half his earnings from working at the restaurant under his building, just to stay at the goshiwon he is living in now. All because it’s the closet-dwelling near a post office.

This particular post office is just a small corner inside a stationary shop. Nothing like the big two-story post office in Suwon where Jimin had often gone with Taehyung. Carrying Namjoon’s lunch when the elder forgot it at home.

He smiles at the memory before pushing the envelope across the table towards the old man. “You always get here before mail pick up, huh Kiddo?” The man smirks before stamping the letter and shoving it into his satchel.

“I need these letters to get to their destination as quick as possible, Sir” jimin explains to the man. “I can’t have the person I’m sending these to think that I’ve forgotten about him. I can’t have him forget me either.”

“Sounds complicated” the old man scoffs, leaning over the table eyeing Jimin.

“Does it?” Jimin asks, shifting his head to the side to contemplate the old man’s words. “I guess it’s a little complicated.” He relents, smiling cheekily at the man.

A deep chuckle issues through the man’s lips and he shakes his head at the boy. “You know the best way to get someone to remember you? The best way to make sure they don’t forget?” The postmaster asks him, a hint of mystery in his tone. A promise of some great knowledge.

“What’s the best way?” Jimin finds himself whispering. He doesn’t know why he’s whispering but it seems to not matter at the moment.

“Give them something to remember you by” The old man declares, “and the best thing to give anyone is Love, my boy.”

Jimin stares at the man, the pain suddenly filling his entire being. “That’s the only thing I’m incapable of giving, Sir”.

A knowing smile graces the old man’s lips as he gets to his feet and makes his way out of the store and towards his mail truck. Just as he’s about to drive off he looks at Jimin and mumbles to him so only he can hear.

“These Letters you send to that person. These letters that never receive a reply,” He pats Jimin’s back as he continues, “these are all a little bit of love that you’re sending them every week. Every day sometimes”.

“They’re not enough” Jimin mutters bitterly, looking away from the man’s piercing eyes.

“Love is not something you calculate, my boy.” The man gruffly shoves has as if to ingrain his words into Jimin’s mind. “All the love in the world wouldn’t be of any use if it’s given at the wrong time. You need to give love when a person needs it the most if you want them to remember you. Even what little of it you can manage.”

The man soon leaves and when Jimin’s back to his bedroom, Hoseok has left for his morning class as well. But the words the postman had said to him don’t leave. For a long time, they stay with him.

*

Taehyung watches the candle flame flicker as he reads the letters he’s received that day. He smiles as he reads about Namjoon moving to Seoul. About his sister in law’s ever-changing cravings and annoying nightly karaoke sessions to “make sure the baby has a good sense of rhythm when he’s born”. He guffaws at the letters sent by Seokjin. The elder’s age-old jokes and shenanigans. He’s proud of Hoseok too, for making it into his dream university.

It’s a Tuesday, and it’s the day mail gets delivered to the pension he’s living in.

And reading those letters make him tear up in longing for a certain boy.

Jimin’s smiles. His voice. His words. The boy’s sheer panic whenever Taehyung was in trouble. Jimin’s eyes leaking with pain after getting beaten up by his father. His eagerness to meet him. The times spent with him. The good, bad and the worst.

He misses every single fraction of the second he’d spent with the boy. The startling realization that the time spent with Jimin might the smallest time period in his upcoming life, puts everything into perspective. Nineteen years of friendship compared to God knows how many more years of life he has left in his body.

He knows Jimin’s in Seoul and only God would know how hard it is for Taehyung to not just write to Namjoon for an address and just barge into Jimin’s home. He’s literally on the brink of going crazy thinking about his best friend living not too far from his own dwelling.

His mind doesn’t wander for too long though. He doesn’t allow it to. Because that’s not what he had decided for himself when he had come to Seoul.

He looks at the few unopened letters lying on his desk and blows out the candle for the night. Moving under th