“Chim Chim? Chim Chim! Jimin!”

He can hear, see, remember his best friend gawking in horror.

“Jimin? Oh my god, Jimin! Your … Your - Sir, will he be alright?”

The way his best friend’s voice faltered upon witnessing the condition and fate that he has been given.

“Jimin … Chim Chim … Mianhae, but your left … It’s been … Oh, gosh! It’s too hard to say it!”

Jimin glances down and inspects the place as to where his left leg should be.

It’s gone. From mid thigh and down. There’s nothing there at all.

“Mianhae, but your leg was caught under the car and had to be amputated to save your life.”

Park Jimin could be described in three simple words. Playful. Energetic. Happy. Or he could have been described in such ways prior to the accident.

Before, Jimin spent majority of his time in the college’s dance facilities practicing with his crew, the Flying Monkeys. When he isn’t dancing, he could be found in the homely cafe, located outside the campus, with his friends: Namjoon, Seokjin, Hoseok, Yoongi, Jungkook, and Taehyung (his best friend and roommate).

However, since the accident, Jimin has isolated himself from them. Now, he’s a pale ghost roaming around campus on crutches, because dear Lord, he absolutely refused to be pushed around in a wheelchair. Despite the constant pain shooting up his armpits, he cringed at the idea of accepting pity help from his classmates. He told them that he ‘got it’ and doesn’t need someone to ‘baby’ him. Of course, people were reluctant to leave him alone, but the boy was stubborn, and many have accepted the fact that Jimin was too prideful to accept help.

Taehyung sighs, sliding into the seat across from Jimin. “They miss you, and they worry about you,” Taehyung reports, whispering, since they’re in the library. The other guys have been endlessly texting Jimin. Most of the texts came from Jungkook; although the boy’s texts are less sincere than the rest:

Yah! Stop ignoring us!

You better show up at Hoseok’s birthday, or I will have him remove you from his friends list.

You’re being an idiot.

Jungkook’s text makes Jimin smile. He’s probably the only person who hasn’t treated him any differently. He hasn’t replied nor made an effort to see Jungkook, because he knew meeting Jungkook meant facing the others. And he isn’t ready for that.

“How long are you going to ignore them? Ignore me?”

Jimin grabs for the first thing he can find in his backpack. A notepad and pen given to him by the college counselor, because apparently, according to the counselor, these two items could replace the missing void known as his leg.

“Hoseok is having a party tonight. Well, not so much a party,” Taehyung gives it a second thought. “It’s just going to be the gang celebrating his birthday. You should come. They’ll be glad to see you again. It’ll be a great present for the birthday boy.” He gives his friend a warm smile.

Jimin scribbles in the pad. Once he’s done drawing, he holds up the pad and smiles, appearing proud; even though he just drew the sunset at the beach. Taehyung sighs, shaking his head.

Silence has been Jimin's friend.

“Yah, I’m trying here, Chim Chim.” Taehyung gazes at Jimin with emotions swimming in his eyes. There’s sadness being concealed by a glint of happiness. He looks pitiful. “Can you reciprocate a bit?” he asks hesitantly.

Jimin stands and leaves the table.

The glint of happiness disappears in Taehyung’s eyes.

His umma moving into his shared apartment with Taehyung was not the ideal situation for Jimin. Right after the accident, Jimin’s umma moved in to look after her disabled son. He protested, but was shut down after having trouble getting out of bed and struggling to bathe himself. And, there was no way, he would let Taehyung into the shower with him.

“My son, welcome home,” she greets, wearing a pink apron, indicating that she had been baking. The smell of muffins emitting from the kitchen confirms it. “I made double chocolate chip muffins. Your favorite.”

There’s music in the background. Jimin right away recognizes it as Les Miserables.

I had a dream my life would be

So different from this hell I'm living

So different now, from what it seemed

Now life has killed the dream I dreamed

Wrinkles surround his mother’s eyes - the greatest indication of her aging. Similar to Jimin, his mother looks nothing like her age. Looking twenty years younger than she really is; her beauty is like a masterpiece. In contrast to Jimin’s tanned skin, she has a fair skin tone. Thick, naturally wavy hair reaching the ends of her back. Eyes spoke volume more so than her words. That’s how expressive her eyes are; they spoke poetry. As of right now, her eyes are pleading for him to accept her kindness.

“Thanks, umma.” His lips form into a tiny smile, yet it does not reach his eyes. “But I’m not hungry.” A lie. He’s been starving. But his umma doesn’t need to know that, so he ventures into his room, stomach grumbling.  

“Wow, Tita Park! These cupcakes smell delicious! My tummy will be satisfied.” Jimin can hear his roommate screaming from the living room.

“That’s good to hear. Eat as much as you like. It doesn’t seem that Jimin will be coming out of his room anytime soon.” His umma’s last words were nothing but a mere sigh loud enough for him to hear. He can imagine her glancing at his bedroom door, biting her lips, before looking away.

When the homework is done, and there’s nothing left to do, Jimin does this peculiar thing. He puts on his earphones and turns up his iPod thats screaming obscenities, grabs a bucket of paint from underneath his desk, and repaints a portion of his wall black. As creepy and weird as it sounds, the color and music are rejuvenating for Jimin. The black on his wall looks like a hole, or an empty space, amidst the bright blue wall painting. The screaming does what he desires to do in what feels like an empty room but actually possesses tens of dozens of people.

The first to learn was Taehyung. He came rushing in, smiling, carrying a tray of cookies, without knocking. The tray of cookies dropped to the ground upon seeing Jimin lifelessly moving the paintbrush up and down. The soulless body took no notice of Taehyung’s presence. Until Taehyung, shocked, bumps into Jimin’s lamp by the door. It crashed and broke. The noise was loud enough to attract Jimin’s attention.

With a dullness in his voice, Jimin says, without turning around or stopping, “Next time, knock.”

Since then, Taehyung hadn’t had the guts to visit Jimin’s room. Neither did his mother.

In the fifth grade, after becoming friends with Taehyung, the two traveled to the next city for a festival. It was one of those annual festivals that a district school would plan just fo