Jungkook's Point of View

3 Years and 9 Months after Ch.23

A very gaunt, slender, and white-skinned face peered at me. His thin skin was almost translucent, stretching across the sharp cheekbones and whitened in contrast to the black winter hat that sat on his hairless head. His eyes were wide, scared, and bulging, permanently circled with bruise-like purple shadows and a maroon scar that seemed to reopen on a weekly basis.

His shoulders were hunched, slim, and drowned out by the oversized jacket that once fit tightly. Stick-like arms flopped lifelessly at his sides, and his belt was tightened almost as much as it possibly could in order to keep his old jeans on his small hips. A sparkling silver chain hung around his neck, and a too-big silver-and-red ring dangled right over his heart.

It was painful and difficult to convince myself that I was looking into a mirror rather than at a stranger.

I heaved a small sigh, wincing as my lungs ached with protest, and evacuated the hospital bathroom to return to the edge of the bed.

It was New Year's Day, and I was alone again. Umma and Appa were both working, though they promised the three of us would go out to dinner that evening. Maybe even without our delightful - but clingy - Aunt and Uncle.

Since there was only one nurse in my wing who spoke fluent Korean, I really only experienced the company of one nurse throughout my journey. She was friendly enough, but even her presence did nothing to help how lonely I was.

I was so alone. Even when my parents were with me, I was alone.

My loneliness resulted in me learning how to sing. I spent a lot of time in bed, being fussed over and lectured about not being able to do much walking around, so I had to do something interesting to pass the time.

So I sang.

My voice was empty, cracked, and broken, but somehow any bystanders found the heart to tell me it sounded beautiful. I sang when I was with my parents, and I sang when strangers who heard of my talents asked me to. If my friends were there I would sing for them, too.

I sang when I was alone, which was always.

My favorite song to sing was one I'd always listened to and loved, but only in the past few years had I really understood its meaning. Every time I sang it, I felt closer to him. I felt as though a part of him still remained inside of me, ticking along with the thud of my heartbeat. 

Of course, he was still in my heart. Nearly four years later and I struggled to go an hour without him crossing my mind. Dying really empties your mind of the present and fills it up with the past.

I was alone when I sang this time. Nothing different from the usual but still painful.

"My heart wants to cry...but I have no one to talk to," I sang softly to myself. "Sometimes, I want to smile widely, but I have no one by my side..."

I swallowed hard and ran my fingers over the ruby-studded ring that hung permantly around my neck, wondering if there was a replacement by his side.

"Maybe I'm missing you..."

I bent over and squeezed my eyes shut to erase my world and envision instead one with him.

What could he possibly be doing right now? Was he busy? How was school? How were his parents doing? Were they still divorced? What was he studying in college? Did he have a new boyfriend? A new girlfriend, maybe?

It had been four years. He'd probably had ten new relationships, while I was curled up on a hospital bed in a serious relationship with the plastic food from the nurses.

It was pitiful, really, that I still thought about Jimin every day. Every hour, even. Some weeks I would dream about him every night. 

More than anything in the entire world, I wanted to see him again. Even if it was the last thing I did, I wanted to see Park Jimin again. Supposedly I had less than six months left if everything went wrong, so in those six months I wanted to return to Korea and, even if he didn't recognize me, I wanted to know that he was okay. Maybe he really had moved on like I'd asked him to...like I hoped he would. I wanted Jimin to be happy and live a long, prosperous, and satisfying life because he deserved the hell out of it. 

My worst fear was dying in America, never knowing whether or not Jimin was happy.

...

That night, the nurses let me go home for dinner. My three consecutive asthma attacks were under control, and though they wanted to check up on me soon, they said it was okay to spend a night at home, for the first time in a few weeks.

What I certainly didn't expect was to receive good news.

"There's a surgery that's very risky," Appa was telling me. "It's not legal in the United States yet, because it was really only recently practiced in Korea. The success rate is...less than fifty..."

I widened my eyes at him. "How much less than fifty?"

"There's a thirty percent success rate," he said calmly, holding my gaze as if to keep me intrigued. "If it fails, your eyes...basically, they just won't work. The new cells won't sit right and you'll be blind for the rest of your life, and the cancer could come back...possibly taking your life in less than six months, as we know."

"How do you know about this?" I asked slowly.

"The surgeon told us. He wanted us to be the ones to suggest it rather than him."

I swallowed and looked down at the tasteless American food, prodding it with my chopsticks. "What if it works?"

"Your eye cancer would be treated. Then all we would have to do is focus on your lungs, which are doing a lot better and aren't really jeopardizing at this point."

"Let's do it," I said immediately. "What more do I have to lose?"

Umma looked pained. "Well...your sight, baby..."

I restrained from saying a dumb retort like "big deal" or "that's hardly important" and changed the subject. "When can I have the surgery?"

"As soon as we get to Seoul."

Electricity shot straight through my body, and a hundred pounds of butterflies started attacking each other in my stomach. I was abruptly so nervous it was almost violent. "Seoul?"

...

The air in Korea smelled a bit cleaner than the Los Angeles breeze. As we bustled around in the airport in search of a cab, I felt like I was stark . I wore a loose black hoodie - though all my clothes were a few sizes too big now - and my usual black winter hat under my hood, with baggy gray sweats and my favorite pair of work boots.

It was the fourth of January, but it was surprisingly a decently warm day, breaching the upper thirties. It was around six at night, and my parents more than anything wanted to go straight to our hotel and rest up from the long flight.

I, however, more than anything wanted to find my friends.

Seokjin. Yoongi. Hoseok. Namjoon. Jimin. Taehyung.

I was scared to know if they would even remember me. Were Yoongi and Hoseok still dating? Did they still work at Jimin's Market every day from 4:30 to 9?

We spent most of the evening figuring things out. Appa went to the car rental place and got us a car for the week, while Umma got on the phone with the surgeon and figured things out for my appointment the next day. The entire time I contemplated what to do with myself, and my insides felt jumpy at the idea that I was on the same land as my Jimin for the first time in too many years.

So as we settled down in our hotel room and Appa turned the TV on, I approached Umma nervously without a rational thought in mind.

"Umma..."

She looked up with warm eyes.

"Can...can you drive me to Hoseok's house?"

She exchanged a nervous glance with her husband as I stood there awkwardly wringing my hands.

"Do you know if he still lives in the same house?"

"No," I admitted. "But...I figured I would check, you know? If all six of them could possibly be in the same place, it would be there."

"Doesn't Taehyung still live at home?"

"Yeah. I'll go there if Hoseok doesn't live there anymore," I said reasonably, making up a plan on the spot. I just wanted to see them. Any of them. I wanted to know my happiness for those short six months hadn't been a delusion.

Umma agreed to drive me the half hour to our old neighborhood, though I could tell she was nervous. Throughout the car ride she kept trying to change my mind.

"Anything is possible, Kookie...they might not even live in Korea anymore..."

I just played along with her worries and waited with a pounding heart and clammy hands to arrive at Hoseok's house.

...

The sky was purple and the terrifyingly familiar steps were slick with ice. I threw a reassuring smile back at Umma to let her know I was okay before I made my way up the steps, gripping onto the railing I'd gripped so many times. It was a bizarre, nostalgic feeling...almost like I was coming home from school like any other day, almost like nothing had changed.

The doorbell was still the same. They still had the same door. The same welcome sign hung from a nail below the stained glass window. 

I was so nervous I could barely force myself to bring my curled fist up to the doorbell. I pressed it in with my thumb and waited in eerie silence as voices grew closer to the door.

"Mommy! Dow-bell!" A child's voice whined.

. Hoseok does not live here anymore.

Before I could prepare a speech to the occupants about looking for somebody, the door swung open.

My heart was in my throat and tears burned in my eyes.

Jung Hyomin stood with a pudgy and adorable toddler on her hip. The familiar girl was clad in a pair of worn-out blue mom jeans and a paint-flecked white t-shirt. She smiled kindly at me, the stranger on the door step, and cracked open the glass door. "Hello! How can I help you?"

I didn't know how to find words for a few seconds. I was just happy to see her. "Hyomin noona..."

And then everything hit her all at once.

Hyomin's jaw dropped and she set her child down behind her, taking a flying leap out into the snow with her arms flailing. She crashed into me and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, almost breaking every bone in my body in the process.

"Please be gentle," I wheezed, patting her shoulder.

"Oh my god." She was sobbing, gripping at my shoulders like they were her life savers. "Oh my god, this isn't real."

"Hi, noona," I whispered. "You're hurting me."

"I'm so sorry!" She immediately leapt off of me, holding the glass door open for me and wiping away tears that had welled up in her eyes. "Jeon Jungkook."

I grinned shyly and bowed as I entered the familiar house, waving at Umma behind me to let her know I was okay.

"What the hell has been going on for the past like six years?" she demanded, speaking the word hell quietly in front of the toddler. "What have you been doing? How have you been?"

"I've been chugging along," I said conversationally, grinning and waving at the toddler who was eyeing me thoughtfully. "Is this your baby?"

"This is Minseok," she introduced, scooping up the child and kissing his chubby cheeks. "We named him after the last part of my name and Hoseok's name..."

I swallowed before pressing in on the new topic. "Where is Hoseok?"

"He's here." She gave me wide eyes. "He is going to explode when he sees you, Jungkook. What's with the return, anyways? Are you all recovered?"

"No," I said vaguely, shifting uncomfortably in the entrance. "How about...I tell you when everyone is here?"

"Sure, sure...let me find Hoseok, okay? It's just the three of us for the night, since our parents are staying at an adult water park, whatever that means."

I followed her through the house, taking in all the rooms with round eyes. Literally nothing had changed. It was like I was walking into the past...it was like I was sixteen instead of twenty.

"Noona," I said as we made our way to the basement stairs. "Where's Jooyoung?"

"He's dead," she said shortly. "He OD'd almost three years ago now."

I gaped at the back of her head, feeling a strange weight lift off my shoulders. Jooyoung died from drug overdose? "I'm sorry to hear that...that must be hard for both you and Minseok..."

"Nah," she said with a good-natured chuckle, making her careful way down the stairs. She stopped halfway down and shimmied to the side so that I could pass by. "I'm going to leave you two alone."

"Thanks," I whispered, slipping around her and into the basement. 

Jung Hoseok was sitting in his usual chair with one knee up to his chin, a garbage on the floor below him as he clipped the nails of his knobbly toes. He looked up when I emerged from the shadows the stairs, blissful naivety alive on his unchanged face. Hoseok looked almost exactly the same other than his hair, which was cut short and styled up charmingly. 

It took no time for him to recognize me. As soon as our eyes met, his jaw dropped wide open and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He chucked the nail clippers into the garbage for whatever reason and leapt to his feet on the armchair, clutching at the roots of his hair with one hand and pointing at me with the other like he'd seen a ghost.

Then he fell backwards, head-over-heels onto the floor behind the chair.

"Hyung," I chuckled, nervously shuffling closer. "Sorry."

Hoseok was on his feet and diving towards me before I could say more, snatching me against him and wrapping his long arms protectively around my thin frame, cupping the back of my head with his slender fingers. I could feel him trembling against me, his entire body convulsing as he buried his face in my shoulder and started to sob.

I patted his back gently, silently, squeezing him tighter and fighting back tears of my own as the seconds ticked by.

He pulled back with a tear-streaked grin, wiping under his eyes and shaking his head at me. "Oh my god, I can't believe it."

"How are you, hyung?" I asked, reaching out and poking his hair. "It's pointy. Looks good."

"Oh my god," he sobbed, leaning forward and pulling me into another hug.

"Woah, woah," I giggled, pushing his shoulders gently. "Calm down, hyung. It's just me."

"Just you?" he croaked, leaning back and falling into an exhausted heap on the arm chair. "Sit down and explain everything. What have you been doing for the past...I don't know, four years?"

"I figured I would explain when everyone gets here," I said again, taking a seat on the armchair opposite him.

He frowned suddenly. "Everyone?"

I waited for him to star