It was damn right late in the night now, probably 3am in the morning. 

"3AM tastes like your sleep drunk words, sloppily mumbled into my ear, messily kissed into my neck. I miss you so much."

The latter shut his eyes once more and tried to fall into the sleep he needed to replendish badly. He let out a frustrated groan as he propped himself up and leaned back against the headboard, letting his eyes wander around the room. His room was pitch dark, other than the small area that could be seen thanks to the dim light coming from the windows where he forgot to close the curtains. 

When is she coming back? 

His hand traveled to the other side of the bed, her side of the bed. 

It was cold— it's been the same way for the past week. 

The other side of the bed was empty and untouched for the past week, with no signs of her returning back to him. There were absolutely no signs of her coming back to the place she claimed home. 

For a week, he endured through without her presence.

In the day, he would go by his normal routine of washing up and brewing some coffee, hoping somewhere in between, she would appear and hug him right behind, saying that she missed him. He'd then spend his day sitting on the sofa by the door, staring at it and hoping that the girl would open it and throw herself right into his arms. He'd blankly stare at the door for hours, occasionally sipping on his coffee that went cold long ago. 

At night, he would lay in their bed. He'd try to imagine what it'd be like if she came back to him, he'd try to piece all his imagination to form a story in his head. Then he would close his eyes and try to get some sleep, the sleep he lost days and nights ago. But again, he would always lose. He couldn't sleep a bit, in hopes that you'd come.

On some nights, he'd give up trying to get a wink of sleep and get up to get some wine to drink himself to sleep instead.  But no matter how many shots he down or bottles he empty, her name is still the only thing he manages to remember.

On other nights, he'd pray for her, hoping that she went to sleep tonight with a smile on her face, feeling content with herself, wiping away those tears that he had caused her and rest. 

And on some other nights, he would retrieve his phone from the nightstand after glancing at the photoframe that showed an example of pure happiness. He would play the voice notes and voicemails she left him, listening to her sweet voice as he finally drifted off to sleep.

He would think about how much he missed her being so close to him, interlacing his fingers with hers as she looked at him with a beautiful smile. He guessed that this was the aftermath he got for missing her like this, for missing her too much.

He would immerse himself in his longing for her.

Hongbin missed Hyomin so so much it started to hurt.

It felt like she set his insides on fire, and since then his mind had been a firepit of 'what if's, ashes of maybe she'll come back, smoking with apologies. He always wished that he could lose these feelings as fast as he lost her, because it hurt so much everyday not seeing her smile because of him. 

Hongbin wanted her to come back to him. He wanted her to just come sit over there with him, let him put his arms around her and tell him that it's all okay. Hongbin needed that more than anything else in the world. 

"Oh darling, it breaks me, not knowing if you really loved me or if you just needed someone to heal your pain."

When he's finally getting around to picking up the pieces of him that fell to the floor when she dropped him and walked away. Every once in a while though, he'll pick up a piece that looks like his, and even fits pretty nicely to his. But then he'll realize it's a piece of her, and he can hear himself shattering all over again. 

It's really freaking scary not being in a part of someone's life anymore. You aren't in their daily routine, they aren't in yours. You have to find something else to fill that spot, that empty hole. But nothing seems to fit quite right and that's so frightening— getting used to a brand new routine without something that you've gotten to know so well.

"I'd let you kill me all over again if it meant I got to kiss you one more time." He whispered, with his head leaned back against the headboard as a lone tear trickled down the corner of his eye. 

Let me tell you what it's like to fight against memories. 

She will tell you that she loves you. She will caress your heartstrings like they're taking the most expensively made guitar, and you will never feel more comfortable than in those moments when her lips curve into a smile. Or if you're lucky, she'll press hers against yours. Yet in the evening, when she is blanketed by quiet and cannot escape her loud mind, the fight you never knew you were in begins again, even as night slips into morning and you are still conversing. 

She will tell you that she is upset, that there are nights that she doesn't have the best rest. You will offer comfort to her, offer to stay by her side and talk to her in an effort to create the bond you desire, and she will thank you graciously yet won't really open up. 

Even so, you will never once for a moment imagine the possibility of someone else.

If she can find space somewhere in her cluttered mind to truly think about you, she will eventually explain that her heart torn, that it's leaning towards you but that there are times where she remembers him, the one who held the heart your fingertips can only seem to graze just long enough to leave fingerprints. 

She will give you the option to leave that truly screams 'please don't go', and it will be up to you to decide whether or not the wait this war is worth going through despite the always possible injuries you may incur.

It's you turn to lose sleep. You tick off each day in your mind; you reread the conversations and mentally relive the moments you spent together and question how it could have been possible that you left any room for error. Any room for her. You question everything, the genuinity of her feelings and the current status of yours. You don't know what to think, you don't know what to feel, but your heart won't stop leaning towards her. 

You decide that it is worth it. You decide that she is.

You find temporary happiness again. You lose yourself in the look she has in her eyes when you are alone. 

The way she teases you, effortlessly switching from what you would expect in a girlfriend to last night with the guys except with a lot less testosterone, a touch that sends tremors down your spine and a laugh that whispers "stay". 

Your smile finally touches your eyes and the light in them is extraordinary, the only description being that they are reflecting the light she had radiated all along. 

You will remember him. If she cares enough or isn't blinded enough by her heart's longing, she will resist saying his name around you. She will refuse to talk about the issue but you will know by the way her touch has changed and the way her eyes have lost that light. 

That something is wrong. 

You will remember everything you don't want to remember, the warmth inducing good times and the guilt inducing bad times you've shared as well as the day she told you, and in those moments you will somewhat understand her pain, but never truly. 

The decision is still yours. You can choose to walk out of her life at any time, but you don't. You have this desire to see her happy. 

The possibility of how she could be once free from his ghost excites you in a way you haven't been since the age of seven and you continue to hold onto that idea. You continue to fight. You hope for the best with your heart somewhat breaking a little bit more every time you see that look at her eyes again. 

The look of guilt over you and pain and longing over him. 

Your eyes develop a look of their own, the light is still there but the determination in them and you as a whole is stronger, and if you're lucky, she gets over him. If you're not, she doesn't. You will simply be left alone to wonder about her abrupt disappearance. 

And in some, you may never even know this war was being waged.

Jungkook was in utter despair. He didn't know what to do, how to feel. Reality was harsh; and soon it's going to befall on him, he'll then know the pain it brings. He knew that sooner or later, he was going to explode and create a massive black hole that will destroy everything in his way.

It is amazing how someone can break his heart and he'd still love them with every broken piece of it. 

He knew what was ahead of him, he knew clearly what he was going to get. 

"Mum, I really really love her." Jungkook muttered weakly as he clenched his fists together, trying to keep himself composed. "I don't know how to put it, I— it's complicated." He tried to explain the situation to his mother, who was sitting across him with a warm smile, a hint of sadness for her son behind the smile. 

She nodded, "I understand, Jungkook-ah." She paused, reaching forward and picking up the wine glass on the mohagony table in front of her. She swirled the purple liquid in the transparent glass, sniffed its fragrance and took a subtle sip from it. She smiled discreetly to herself and placed the wine glass back on the table. 

"They say expectations are the root of all heartache and you know this adage intimately. You've begun to add hope to your expectations, a Molotov cocktail that you're just holding in your hands: one of these days, it will explode in your face and leave scars that run deeper than burned and broken skin. Stop standing in the ruins of broken glass and broken trust, son." 

Jungkook looked up, his mother saw so much pain and despair in his eyes it ached her too, seeing how much her own son was going through. Her lips sealed into a thin line as she thought of what to say to her son next, she had to choose her words wisely to avoid hurting Jungkook any further. 

"One of these days you will find what you're searching for, and it will burn you, like acid spilled on skin. But you will just smile with tears in your eyes and say, this is good. Why do you crave the things that hurt you, darling?" She asked, wanting to know why Jungkook was willing to go through this pain— this hell, just for this girl. And she wanted to know how this girl was like, what she had to make her precious son think of her in such a great way. 

The latter looked down to his hands right down to his fingertips— those fingertips that lingered on Hyomin's delicate features. His eyes then traveled to the green flannel he was wearing, and let out a soft chuckle. 

Hyomin said that he looked stunning in flannels, so she got him another one. And of course, he wore that so many times he thought that the colours were fading off. 

He locked eyes with his mother, then spoke. "She's special, mum. She makes me feel good about myself even when I don't smoke, I don't drink and I don't mess around. She makes me feel special. She cares about all the little things that some people don't even bother looking at, she pays extra attention to the small things. She thinks about other people more than herself. Mum, she's perfect to me and I can't even begin to express how much love I feel for this girl because it feels so extraordinary and this feeling is so weird." 

Jungkook's mother in a quick breath, "Baby, their love for you should not feel like a tattoo, etched upon your skin with a thousand needle pricks, bleeding you slowly bit by bit. Sure, it's pretty. Sure, it's "permanent". But when it's all said and done, when you get that tattoo removed because they're gone, and it hurts too much to look at, all that will be left is a scar you can't hide from yourself."

"Son, you have to spare a thought for yourself. If you know it's going to hurt you, and if you know she's worth it, risk it. But if you think the aftermath wouldn't be pretty for you, or her even, you have to keep it to yourself. There are some regrets better left alone, and an unanswered voicemail with your voice all over it is one of them. Don't pick up that phone. Don't dial that number. Don't make this harder than necessary. You know yourself more than anyone, right?" 

It was late, but she knew she had to talk her son through if she wanted his heart to stay as a whole. She knew Kim Hyomin was indeed the one for Jeon Jungkook but she still didn't want her son to get hurt. Afterall, she knew her own son well. 

Because if this ended on a bad note, it definitely meant that Jungkook would resume to his bad ways and Mrs Jeon didn't want that at all. She had enough of Jungkook's bad days as a bad boy, she didn't need any more, she had anough troubles and headaches from those times. It was downright just terrible, she didn't want to relive those moments at all costs. 

She was the type of parent that would sit with her child at night, and no matter how late it was, she would talk to her child and make sure that he wouldn't go to sleep upset or devastated. She made promises to herself when she was a teenager, that she would give her everything to her child if she had to. She wouldn't let her child sit in a corner of the house, a place they called home, to cry and lose themselves in tears without doing anything to make them feel better. 

"Playing Phantom of the Opera, you wear the mask with ease, and they can only see the pupils of your eyes. They think you're smiling but I know your crying eyes crinkle the same, either way. Do you act for the audience, or for yourself? Jungkook, do you realize it? You're carrying around the pieces of your heart in a jar; one by one you give them away, and one by one they come back in smaller fragments. Stop letting people break your heart, stop breaking your own heart. You deserve so much better, act like it." 

She leaned back with crossed arms, waiting for her son to say something to counter her argument. "What if I really love her, mum? What if I'm willing to give my everything, even if there's nothing back in return? What if I love her that much, to that extend?" The boy asked, innocently. 

"Then go for it. You go for it, son. You are tingled with loss and heartache but you are made up of love and confidence— do not forget that even lions have their bad days. Bravery sometimes mean facing the wounds on the inside. Bravery sometimes means conceding the fight today so you can fight tomorrow."