He sat at his computer desk, room silent except for a single heart beat. However, to Jimin, the rapid pulse screamed in his ears as if he were sitting peacefully in the middle of an active construction site full of drill hammers. The same question keeps popping up in his mind, repeating over and over, tripping over words and tumbling endlessly in oblivion.

"What would it take?"

Jimin repeats the simple question aloud in an attempt to disillusion himself as to his severe attachment to the meaning. His eyes wander to his left, to the white wall overflowing with spontaneous "in-the-moment" pictures. Left to right he sees smiling faces and massive group hugs; top to bottom are bonfires and buffets, popcorn and blankets, cuts and bruises, stereo systems and one mostly empty dance practice room. 

Jimin's sight lingers on the picture fourth down and third in from the right: the practice room, all fluorescent lighting and warm colored hard wood flooring. But the captivating point of the picture instantly and harshly grabs Jimin's attention. Almost hidden in the boundaries of the picture away from the excited faces of his other group members, Jimin sees a figure standing off to the side. His eyes gravitate to the lone figure and suddenly nothing else in the picture matters. Clarity enters Jimin's mind as he takes in everything from the individual: back resting casually against a side counter with legs and arms lazily crossed, a small smirk resting gracefully against a smooth countenance, and a strong gaze fixed on a certain individual who happened to be taking the current group selfie. 

What would it take?

Jimin glances back and forth between the main visage, his own cheerful crescent-eyed smile, and the figure at the side of the picture with a hooded yet expressive stare. The intense gaze given to the unknowing Jimin was full of a mixture of emotions: an excess of pride, slight wonder, smidge of contentment, and a very slight almost imperceptible sense of love. 

Jimin tensed up as the jumbled words attempted to organize in his mind. Love? Where did that word come from? The answer dawned on Jimin before he could even finish the briefest rumination. Jimin removed his eyes from the picture in his hands and quickly perused the scattered photographs on his collage-like wall. There he was, holding Jimin tightly around the waist. There’s another one with him gently holding up an icee for him to taste. One more picture with Jimin laughing as he’s butting in between members in order to be next to Jimin. Every picture has the same piercing gaze, eyes glued to Jimin’s countenance as if waiting for a specific reaction. 

Jimin feels his heartbeat reeling out of control, a sense of longing overcoming all objections. His eyes keep traveling the pictures on the wall, adding together the amount of times he saw and felt the other’s attention. How would he have even noticed if not for this one picture? Jimin looks back to the picture held in his hands and starts to feel a quiver in his grasp. Adoration and affection, care and concern.  An overwhelming abundance of attention.

How much more attention can you give? What would it take? To take that extra step forward, to lean in just a little deeper, to hold on a little longer, to smile a little closer.