In which she finds a bunch of pens in the pocket of his sweater and starts falling in love with him.
Request by: gmellyexo97
There was a tree, and there was rain.
There was a boy.
And there was a girl.
And that was how it started.
This is how it started:
We need to break up. Don't ask why, because I can't tell you. Please don't try to remember me, or whatever is that you called us. I love you, or at least I used to. Goodbye.
"Jiminnie," Umma called from the kitchen. "Your girlfriend's here. She wants to tell you something."
Within the five seconds following that statement, I knew something was wrong.
Chaerin always giggled when my mom called me the embarrassing nickname I'd been cursed with since the time my age was still in the single digits. She found it cute and fitting, whilst I just found it plain tortuous. Now, though, the silence drifting up the stairs in place of her wonderful laugh made me worried.
Descending noisily down the stairs, my first instinct - or maybe just habit - was to check in the living room. If she didn't come straight up to my room, she would be waiting there.
She wasn't.
Frowning in worry, I walked down the hall to check in the kitchen in some twisted form of hide and seek before I caught a familiar slender figure standing in the doorway. The wind blowing her hair around and the white sky glaring behind her made her look nothing short of stunning, but the cautious look in her eyes told me something was very wrong. I shot my mom, who was standing by the doorway with a look that was short of half as worried as I felt inside, a pointed look. She nodded, mumbled something about washing the dishes, and left the two of us alone.
"Come in," I said softly, stepping back to allow her to step in, "you don't-"
"Jimin..." Her voice was strained, like the air before a storm. My heart plummeted with dread. "We need to break up."
And two years fell apart underneath my feet.
Two years of bouquets and chocolate roses, of miniature teddy bears and kisses in the rain. Two years of firsts and lasts, of tears and laughter and tears of laughter. Two years of moonlit confessions, sunlit hair, candlelit restaurants. Two years of hand holding, two years of tight hugs, two years of promises to never let go.
Two years of love, gone.
She didn't even say I think. Just We need to break up.
"Chaerin..." I said, my voice cracking, and tried to take her hand. She drew it away so I couldn’t, and the sound of my heart breaking filled my ears. "What-"
"Please don't make this harder for me," she whispered sadly, her eyes moist. "Please don't ask why, because I can't tell you. I just - this has to end."
"Where-" I could barely form sentences through the fog of panic and hurt and confusion clouding my head. "Don't... don't leave me," was all I could manage to say in the end. "Don't..."
"Please don't remember me, or whatever it is that you called us. Try to forget. Try your hardest."
Whatever it is that you called us...
The barrier holding my emotions at bay broke, and tears spilled freely down my cheeks. "What were we to you? What am I to you?"
"I love you, Jimin." She cupped my face gently, as if she was going to break me, as if she hadn't already. "Or at least, know that I used to."
And her hand slipped from me, along with her, along with the two-year notion of us.
"Goodbye."
This is how it started:
You worthless, stupid girl. Go ahead and leave. Good riddance.
I usually avoided going downstairs.
I already knew what my parents would be doing at all times of the day - they were the kind of people who maintained a tight, predictable schedule around their entire lives. Besides, they couldn't care less if I wasn't there – to them, I existed solely to be compared to my brother.
My brother, who always won.
My parents always showered him with more praise and gifts than they ever had with me. The drawings I brought home from grade four art class were barely acknowledged with an insincere 'good job' and then stuffed into a box in the basement to rot, whereas the drawings he brought home from kindergarten craft time were cooed over and given a special place right in the center of the refrigerator door for several months. At first, I'd thought it was just a matter of age difference. An older sibling, younger sibling thing.
Then the insults started.
I was called lazy and fat because I preferred academics to sports (unlike my brother, who was excellent in both). I was called ugly and compared to a troll because I didn't put on makeup (my brother looked like an angel). My fashion tastes were insulted because I spent more money on books than on clothes. I was called worthless and stupid, dumb and with no hopes of a future, whenever I came home with a mark lower than an A minus. My parents never hit me - I think they were too disgusted to even touch me. Their eye-rolls, scoffs and constant bombarding hurt worse than any form of a hit - that is, until I became numb.
We pretty much left each other alone after my sixteenth birthday, my parents and I. My brother knew something was wrong, but he was always too scared to ask.
"Yoonmi, make dinner, you lazy girl," my dad called up the staircase. "Don't make your mother do it every day."
I sighed in exasperation, pushing my chair away from my desk and making my way downstairs. I knew from past experience that arguing with my father eventually led to sweeping up shards of broken something late at night.
"Don't take that attitude with me," my father snapped. "You don't even care about your family, do you? Spending every day in your bedroom, 'doing homework'. Look at Yoonseok. He always helps, even though he's only ten. Why can't you at least try to be more like your brother, instead of wasting time in your bedroom doing god-knows-what?"
"I wasn't taking any attitude," I mumbled under my breath, dragging my feet to the kitchen where Yoonseok was chopping onions - the only thing he knew how to chop. Cooking was most likely the only thing I was better than my ten-year-old-brother at.
"What did you say?" Dad demanded, clomping noisily into the kitchen behind me. "Just shut up and do something helpful for once, you worthless girl."
I bit my lip at the anger, indignation and hurt that stabbed at me, pulling the fridge door open to check its contents and come up with a dinner. Says the person who does nothing but yell at everyone, I resisted the urge to say.
Ten minutes later, when my father was finally finished ranting about how he has to tell everyone to do things for them to actually do it and had settled onto the couch in front of the TV and I was dicing mushrooms, Yoonseok poked me in the elbow.
"Noona," he said quietly, "I don't like mushrooms."
I sighed. My brother's only flaw was his tendency to be picky with his food. "Yoonseok, please, noona's really tired today and already spent a lot of time dicing these. Can you eat them just this once? Please?"
"But..." Yoonseok protested.
Just then, my mother came home in a flurry of heavy perfume and complaints about work. She gave me a cold look as usual before sweeping my downcast brother into a hug. When she noticed his long face, she turned to me - of course - and noticed the perfectly diced mushrooms on the cutting board.
"You stupid girl," she said. "You should know that Yoonseok hates mushrooms. Why can't you ever get anything right?"
I sighed to myself, leaning against the cupboard. Here we go again.
"What was that for?" she demanded. "If your brother doesn't like it, you don't cook it. I don't even know why your father let you cook. You never get anything right, do you? There's no point in you being here if all you do is just waste money. Be grateful we haven't kicked you out yet."
I sighed again, silently this time. My parents were the type to rant, using insults that had been repeated so many times they were more annoying than hurtful.
"You know what? We should've gotten an abortion for you. We wasted so much to raise you."
Ouch. That was a new one. Tears stung in my eyes.
"Umma, stop," Yoonseok said without any strength behind his words. "Noona's crying. It's okay, I'll eat mushrooms today-"
"No, you won't," my mother said shortly. "This useless girl doesn't deserve to cry."
I in a deep breath and promptly stormed out of the kitchen, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. At the front door, I barely registered the fact that it was raining and slipped my feet into my shoes.
"Go ahead and leave. Good riddance," my mom called from the kitchen.
"I ing hate you," I whispered furiously.
The last thing I heard before I slammed the door behind me and ran out into the pouring rain was the sound of my little brother yelling for me to come back.
I’d stopped crying a long time ago, but somehow the rain was still pouring, drumming down on the leaves above me like a band of percussion instruments. I’d reached the stage of denial/losing it, and was currently distracting myself by humming along to the beat of the rain hitting everything around me.
And then I heard her scream.
It wasn’t a scream of fear, or horror – it was a rough, broken sound of pure frustration and anger and hurt. A sound that lit my shattered heart on fire. I looked around for the source, and in the middle of the empty sidewalk, only a few feet away from me, a girl was sobbing. Her long, dark hair covered most of her face, and her drenched shoulders were trembling with pain. It looked as if she’d been in the rain for a while now, as her clothes were completely soaked through.
She was going to catch a cold like that. I decided to help her, out of pure sympathy or what I didn’t know.
-A short while back-
I tilted my head back and screamed at the pouring sky, earning me stares from the few people in my vicinity. Dropping to the wet sidewalk, I was completely unaware of the cold seeping into my body as I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed uncontrollably, feeling nothing short of weak and broken in that moment.
No one tried to help me. Strangely, I was thankful for that.
I only stopped crying when I didn’t have any tears left, and only then was I aware of my surroundings. I was several blocks away from my house, and it was raining hard. I was only wearing a light sweater and jeans, and my feet were bare.
And holy , I was cold. Trembling, I got up shakily and stumbled over to one of the large trees lining the sidewalk. I leaned against the trunk for support, feeling the constant pitter-patter of the rain falling onto me lighten considerably.
How the hell did I get here?
After Chaerin had said goodbye and left me with nothing but memories and heartbroken confusion, everything had blurred together. I remembered shouldering past her, running barefoot out onto the street, my mom calling after me – and a sharp pain in the sole of my right foot.
Lifting my foot up, I inhaled sharply when I saw a piece of glass embedded in my skin, surrounded by dark crimson blood. Thankfully, I was still sane enough when I’d first felt the pain to not step on that part of my foot anymore, so the wound wasn’t too deep. I gingerly pulled the glass out, biting my lip so I would focus on that pain and not the pain from pulling a piece of glass out of my foot.
Dropping the bloody shard onto the grass near the tree’s base, I began tapping my hand against the trunk of the tree – to, I realized a few minutes later, the beat of the rain falling all around me.
Convinced I was losing my mind, I began humming along.
“You’re gonna catch a cold, you know.” A male voice, and a hand reaching down in the corner of my eye to help me up, cut through the haze of tears covering my vision. I looked up, wanting to tell off whoever was stupid enough to try and help me when they obviously wouldn’t understand.
But the boy I latched my eyes onto was so beautiful he took my breath away.
He was just as drenched as I was, dressed in a black sweater and faded jeans, wet chunky strands of hair falling into his eyes - his eyes that were rimmed with puffy red skin, a clear sign he’d been crying as hard as I was just a few moments ago.
Maybe he would understand.
“Are you going to take my hand or not?” His voice interrupted my thoughts yet again, and I snapped back to focus to find his mildly irritated eyes looking pointedly at me.
Oh. Right.
Clasping my hand in his, I was pulled onto my feet with surprising strength and smoothness, and when my legs wobbled, threatening to give away underneath me like they had a few minutes before, I found a strong arm wrapped around my waist.
“I know I’m just a stranger, but trust me, okay?” he murmured into my ear as he helped me under a nearby tree. Once I was safely propped up against the trunk, he pulled his sweater off and motioned for me to lift my arms above my head. Complying without second thought, my mind still crowded with lingering pain, I felt a damp warmth surround me as his sweater slid, perfectly loose, around my torso.
“How is...?” I cleared my hoarse throat. “How is it still dry?”
He chuckled lightly, shrugging. “I have no idea. It probably dried a bit while I was standing here.”
“Why are you here?”
“It’s... I’d rather not say.”
“Oh.” Idiot. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“...”
“...”
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Yeah. I think I’ve stopped crying, but I’m not sure... I mean, I can’t tell with this rain.”
“I know, right? How has the rain not stopped by now?”
A weak laugh slipped from between my lips. “It has been building up for the past few weeks. They kept telling us it was going to rain.”
“But it didn’t happen until now.”
“Exactly.”
“...”
“...”
“I think I’m going to go home now. Is it okay if I leave you alone?”
“Wait.”
“Hm?”
“Y-your sweater...”
“Oh. You can keep it. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely. Hey, how about this. Can I have your number?”
“Uh...”
“Oh, right. Stupid society.”
“That, and I don’t have any paper. Wait – there’s a sticky note in my pocket.”
“Nice. Check my sweater pocket. I always leave a crapload of pens in there.”
“...”
“I told you so. Pass it.”
“...”
“Here.”
“Are you sure you can trust me?”
“Trust a girl who was just crying in the rain? Of course. It’s the perfect beginning to a cliché overdone sad romance, don’t you think?”
“Of course. Hey, aren’t you cold?”
“Nah, not really.”
“Are you sure? Your shirt’s kind of, uh, thin...”
“What? Oh, .”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m going to go now.”
“Hehe.”
“Oh, shut up."
"What?"
"You know what. Anyways, in the future, call me before you run outside in the pouring rain again, okay?”
“How would that help?”
“Well, I did make you stop crying.”
“True. Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“So, I’m gonna go now.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Oh, wait.”
“Hm?”
“What’s your name?”
“Park Jimin.”
“Thank you, Park Jimin.”
“No problem. Bye.”
A/N: This is going to be a long one so I'm going to split it into three or four parts. (Doesn't comment on how long it took me to upload this)
Chapter 14: I-- ;;;;;;;;
What is this????? I mean- how do I explain how I feel about this second ending???
GOD ITS BEAUTIFULL OK? OK.
YOONMI AND JUNGKOOK OMG
Im so guilty for actually liking them more than the Yoonmi x Jimin ;;;;
Chapter 12: When Lee Bian, Jin's crush like for forever, asks him out on a date but he finds out that it was only a dare. Bian likes him back though. But misunderstandings and stuff? :X
hehe ty
Chapter 13: Oh my god oh my god ;;;;;;;;
This was too sweet ok. Im dying ;;
And yea, I admit, I kinda- poor Jungkook T^T But everything must've been happy so far I think lol
Chapter 12: Author nim.. are you trying to kill me with emotions?? T__T
I mean this is too much, too touching and sad OMG
I like it so much but it's made to make people cry somehow, well maybe not crying for real real but still, this messed up with my poor heart hahaha
Great job!!! You're amazing ;;;;;;
Chapter 11: Again I was so imersed in this part that I took my time reading it slowly as if I wanted to not finish it ;;
Its too good, authornim. Once again, your writing style is amazing and the way you portray their feelings to each of their side of story T^T
Thanks a lot!!!!!!
Chapter 8: OMG. Its beautifull!! Each of their feelings expressed then how they met ;;;
Thanks a lot!! And will be waiting for the other parts if its any to come but do not hurry, just take your time :))
As usually, I REALLY love your writing style and it doesn't fails to make me instantly like the oneshot so much, just like with the previous one ;;;;
There was a tree, and there was rain.
There was a boy.
And there was a girl.
And that was how it started.
This is how it started:
We need to break up. Don't ask why, because I can't tell you. Please don't try to remember me, or whatever is that you called us. I love you, or at least I used to. Goodbye.
"Jiminnie," Umma called from the kitchen. "Your girlfriend's here. She wants to tell you something."
Within the five seconds following that statement, I knew something was wrong.
Chaerin always giggled when my mom called me the embarrassing nickname I'd been cursed with since the time my age was still in the single digits. She found it cute and fitting, whilst I just found it plain tortuous. Now, though, the silence drifting up the stairs in place of her wonderful laugh made me worried.
Descending noisily down the stairs, my first instinct - or maybe just habit - was to check in the living room. If she didn't come straight up to my room, she would be waiting there.
She wasn't.
Frowning in worry, I walked down the hall to check in the kitchen in some twisted form of hide and seek before I caught a familiar slender figure standing in the doorway. The wind blowing her hair around and the white sky glaring behind her made her look nothing short of stunning, but the cautious look in her eyes told me something was very wrong. I shot my mom, who was standing by the doorway with a look that was short of half as worried as I felt inside, a pointed look. She nodded, mumbled something about washing the dishes, and left the two of us alone.
"Come in," I said softly, stepping back to allow her to step in, "you don't-"
"Jimin..." Her voice was strained, like the air before a storm. My heart plummeted with dread. "We need to break up."
And two years fell apart underneath my feet.
Two years of bouquets and chocolate roses, of miniature teddy bears and kisses in the rain. Two years of firsts and lasts, of tears and laughter and tears of laughter. Two years of moonlit confessions, sunlit hair, candlelit restaurants. Two years of hand holding, two years of tight hugs, two years of promises to never let go.
Two years of love, gone.
She didn't even say I think. Just We need to break up.
"Chaerin..." I said, my voice cracking, and tried to take her hand. She drew it away so I couldn’t, and the sound of my heart breaking filled my ears. "What-"
"Please don't make this harder for me," she whispered sadly, her eyes moist. "Please don't ask why, because I can't tell you. I just - this has to end."
"Where-" I could barely form sentences through the fog of panic and hurt and confusion clouding my head. "Don't... don't leave me," was all I could manage to say in the end. "Don't..."
"Please don't remember me, or whatever it is that you called us. Try to forget. Try your hardest."
Whatever it is that you called us...
The barrier holding my emotions at bay broke, and tears spilled freely down my cheeks. "What were we to you? What am I to you?"
"I love you, Jimin." She cupped my face gently, as if she was going to break me, as if she hadn't already. "Or at least, know that I used to."
And her hand slipped from me, along with her, along with the two-year notion of us.
"Goodbye."
This is how it started:
You worthless, stupid girl. Go ahead and leave. Good riddance.
I usually avoided going downstairs.
I already knew what my parents would be doing at all times of the day - they were the kind of people who maintained a tight, predictable schedule around their entire lives. Besides, they couldn't care less if I wasn't there – to them, I existed solely to be compared to my brother.
My brother, who always won.
My parents always showered him with more praise and gifts than they ever had with me. The drawings I brought home from grade four art class were barely acknowledged with an insincere 'good job' and then stuffed into a box in the basement to rot, whereas the drawings he brought home from kindergarten craft time were cooed over and given a special place right in the center of the refrigerator door for several months. At first, I'd thought it was just a matter of age difference. An older sibling, younger sibling thing.
Then the insults started.
I was called lazy and fat because I preferred academics to sports (unlike my brother, who was excellent in both). I was called ugly and compared to a troll because I didn't put on makeup (my brother looked like an angel). My fashion tastes were insulted because I spent more money on books than on clothes. I was called worthless and stupid, dumb and with no hopes of a future, whenever I came home with a mark lower than an A minus. My parents never hit me - I think they were too disgusted to even touch me. Their eye-rolls, scoffs and constant bombarding hurt worse than any form of a hit - that is, until I became numb.
We pretty much left each other alone after my sixteenth birthday, my parents and I. My brother knew something was wrong, but he was always too scared to ask.
"Yoonmi, make dinner, you lazy girl," my dad called up the staircase. "Don't make your mother do it every day."
I sighed in exasperation, pushing my chair away from my desk and making my way downstairs. I knew from past experience that arguing with my father eventually led to sweeping up shards of broken something late at night.
"Don't take that attitude with me," my father snapped. "You don't even care about your family, do you? Spending every day in your bedroom, 'doing homework'. Look at Yoonseok. He always helps, even though he's only ten. Why can't you at least try to be more like your brother, instead of wasting time in your bedroom doing god-knows-what?"
"I wasn't taking any attitude," I mumbled under my breath, dragging my feet to the kitchen where Yoonseok was chopping onions - the only thing he knew how to chop. Cooking was most likely the only thing I was better than my ten-year-old-brother at.
"What did you say?" Dad demanded, clomping noisily into the kitchen behind me. "Just shut up and do something helpful for once, you worthless girl."
I bit my lip at the anger, indignation and hurt that stabbed at me, pulling the fridge door open to check its contents and come up with a dinner. Says the person who does nothing but yell at everyone, I resisted the urge to say.
Ten minutes later, when my father was finally finished ranting about how he has to tell everyone to do things for them to actually do it and had settled onto the couch in front of the TV and I was dicing mushrooms, Yoonseok poked me in the elbow.
"Noona," he said quietly, "I don't like mushrooms."
I sighed. My brother's only flaw was his tendency to be picky with his food. "Yoonseok, please, noona's really tired today and already spent a lot of time dicing these. Can you eat them just this once? Please?"
"But..." Yoonseok protested.
Just then, my mother came home in a flurry of heavy perfume and complaints about work. She gave me a cold look as usual before sweeping my downcast brother into a hug. When she noticed his long face, she turned to me - of course - and noticed the perfectly diced mushrooms on the cutting board.
"You stupid girl," she said. "You should know that Yoonseok hates mushrooms. Why can't you ever get anything right?"
I sighed to myself, leaning against the cupboard. Here we go again.
"What was that for?" she demanded. "If your brother doesn't like it, you don't cook it. I don't even know why your father let you cook. You never get anything right, do you? There's no point in you being here if all you do is just waste money. Be grateful we haven't kicked you out yet."
I sighed again, silently this time. My parents were the type to rant, using insults that had been repeated so many times they were more annoying than hurtful.
"You know what? We should've gotten an abortion for you. We wasted so much to raise you."
Ouch. That was a new one. Tears stung in my eyes.
"Umma, stop," Yoonseok said without any strength behind his words. "Noona's crying. It's okay, I'll eat mushrooms today-"
"No, you won't," my mother said shortly. "This useless girl doesn't deserve to cry."
I in a deep breath and promptly stormed out of the kitchen, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. At the front door, I barely registered the fact that it was raining and slipped my feet into my shoes.
"Go ahead and leave. Good riddance," my mom called from the kitchen.
"I ing hate you," I whispered furiously.
The last thing I heard before I slammed the door behind me and ran out into the pouring rain was the sound of my little brother yelling for me to come back.
I’d stopped crying a long time ago, but somehow the rain was still pouring, drumming down on the leaves above me like a band of percussion instruments. I’d reached the stage of denial/losing it, and was currently distracting myself by humming along to the beat of the rain hitting everything around me.
And then I heard her scream.
It wasn’t a scream of fear, or horror – it was a rough, broken sound of pure frustration and anger and hurt. A sound that lit my shattered heart on fire. I looked around for the source, and in the middle of the empty sidewalk, only a few feet away from me, a girl was sobbing. Her long, dark hair covered most of her face, and her drenched shoulders were trembling with pain. It looked as if she’d been in the rain for a while now, as her clothes were completely soaked through.
She was going to catch a cold like that. I decided to help her, out of pure sympathy or what I didn’t know.
-A short while back-
I tilted my head back and screamed at the pouring sky, earning me stares from the few people in my vicinity. Dropping to the wet sidewalk, I was completely unaware of the cold seeping into my body as I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed uncontrollably, feeling nothing short of weak and broken in that moment.
No one tried to help me. Strangely, I was thankful for that.
I only stopped crying when I didn’t have any tears left, and only then was I aware of my surroundings. I was several blocks away from my house, and it was raining hard. I was only wearing a light sweater and jeans, and my feet were bare.
And holy , I was cold. Trembling, I got up shakily and stumbled over to one of the large trees lining the sidewalk. I leaned against the trunk for support, feeling the constant pitter-patter of the rain falling onto me lighten considerably.
How the hell did I get here?
After Chaerin had said goodbye and left me with nothing but memories and heartbroken confusion, everything had blurred together. I remembered shouldering past her, running barefoot out onto the street, my mom calling after me – and a sharp pain in the sole of my right foot.
Lifting my foot up, I inhaled sharply when I saw a piece of glass embedded in my skin, surrounded by dark crimson blood. Thankfully, I was still sane enough when I’d first felt the pain to not step on that part of my foot anymore, so the wound wasn’t too deep. I gingerly pulled the glass out, biting my lip so I would focus on that pain and not the pain from pulling a piece of glass out of my foot.
Dropping the bloody shard onto the grass near the tree’s base, I began tapping my hand against the trunk of the tree – to, I realized a few minutes later, the beat of the rain falling all around me.
Convinced I was losing my mind, I began humming along.
“You’re gonna catch a cold, you know.” A male voice, and a hand reaching down in the corner of my eye to help me up, cut through the haze of tears covering my vision. I looked up, wanting to tell off whoever was stupid enough to try and help me when they obviously wouldn’t understand.
But the boy I latched my eyes onto was so beautiful he took my breath away.
He was just as drenched as I was, dressed in a black sweater and faded jeans, wet chunky strands of hair falling into his eyes - his eyes that were rimmed with puffy red skin, a clear sign he’d been crying as hard as I was just a few moments ago.
Maybe he would understand.
“Are you going to take my hand or not?” His voice interrupted my thoughts yet again, and I snapped back to focus to find his mildly irritated eyes looking pointedly at me.
Oh. Right.
Clasping my hand in his, I was pulled onto my feet with surprising strength and smoothness, and when my legs wobbled, threatening to give away underneath me like they had a few minutes before, I found a strong arm wrapped around my waist.
“I know I’m just a stranger, but trust me, okay?” he murmured into my ear as he helped me under a nearby tree. Once I was safely propped up against the trunk, he pulled his sweater off and motioned for me to lift my arms above my head. Complying without second thought, my mind still crowded with lingering pain, I felt a damp warmth surround me as his sweater slid, perfectly loose, around my torso.
“How is...?” I cleared my hoarse throat. “How is it still dry?”
He chuckled lightly, shrugging. “I have no idea. It probably dried a bit while I was standing here.”
“Why are you here?”
“It’s... I’d rather not say.”
“Oh.” Idiot. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“...”
“...”
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Yeah. I think I’ve stopped crying, but I’m not sure... I mean, I can’t tell with this rain.”
“I know, right? How has the rain not stopped by now?”
A weak laugh slipped from between my lips. “It has been building up for the past few weeks. They kept telling us it was going to rain.”
“But it didn’t happen until now.”
“Exactly.”
“...”
“...”
“I think I’m going to go home now. Is it okay if I leave you alone?”
“Wait.”
“Hm?”
“Y-your sweater...”
“Oh. You can keep it. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely. Hey, how about this. Can I have your number?”
“Uh...”
“Oh, right. Stupid society.”
“That, and I don’t have any paper. Wait – there’s a sticky note in my pocket.”
“Nice. Check my sweater pocket. I always leave a crapload of pens in there.”
“...”
“I told you so. Pass it.”
“...”
“Here.”
“Are you sure you can trust me?”
“Trust a girl who was just crying in the rain? Of course. It’s the perfect beginning to a cliché overdone sad romance, don’t you think?”
“Of course. Hey, aren’t you cold?”
“Nah, not really.”
“Are you sure? Your shirt’s kind of, uh, thin...”
“What? Oh, .”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m going to go now.”
“Hehe.”
“Oh, shut up."
"What?"
"You know what. Anyways, in the future, call me before you run outside in the pouring rain again, okay?”
“How would that help?”
“Well, I did make you stop crying.”
“True. Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“So, I’m gonna go now.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Oh, wait.”
“Hm?”
“What’s your name?”
“Park Jimin.”
“Thank you, Park Jimin.”
“No problem. Bye.”
A/N: This is going to be a long one so I'm going to split it into three or four parts. (Doesn't comment on how long it took me to upload this)