Chapter Text
White walls…White walls…White walls…
The white walls are blue. The white walls are gray. The white walls are new. The white walls sway, sway, sway.
White walls…White walls…White walls…
No, no, no! No, tell them to go. Tell the voices to escape. Tell them it isn’t safe inside my head anymore. No…no…no!
All they do is talk. All they do is mock. All they do is abuse me. Please, set me free.
White walls…White walls…White f*cking walls…
Get me out of these white walls.
Knock knock.
“Mr. Park? It’s time for your feeding.” A frail voice calls out from the other side, then pushes its way through the rectangular piece of architecture. We don’t remember what it's called again. Simple things, normal things…we have forgotten the names of them all. We have been pounded silly. Punch, punch, punch . The world is spinning. Why is it spinning? Can’t it stop? Why isn’t it stopping? Please make it stop!
“Mr. Park, it's time for your medication.” Again, the frail voice. It's so angelic and soothing. God, my brain appreciates the sound. You make the voices stop.
My vision is blurry, but I can see the owner of the voice sorting through tiny cylinders. That looks like fun. I want to try.
“Drink,” So I do. I’ll do anything if it means I can listen to your voice for longer.
I see the voice curl its lips into a U. What was that called again? Happiness?
“Sleep well, Mr. Park.”
I wonder what that feels like.
–
Art is therapeutic. The way the paintbrush glides against a blank canvas, coloring it with opportunity, is akin to a soothing melody for the soul. With each stroke, emotions spill onto the surface, creating a visual symphony of expression. In the act of creation, one finds solace, a sanctuary where thoughts unravel and burdens lighten. It's a journey of self-discovery, where the subconscious whispers are translated into vibrant hues and intricate lines. Art becomes a bridge between the inner world and outer reality, offering a refuge where healing begins and inner peace flourishes.
Park Jimin's life has been filled with burdens, each one casting its shadow upon his journey. One specific burden with such unformidable weight is his relentless pursuit of happiness. Locked within the confines of a dismal treatment facility for a grueling eight months, Jimin emerged upon release, a shell of his former self, devoid of feeling.
He blames all of the bullsh*t he dealt with in the past few years to a certain son of a bitch, Han Seungwoo.
God, if Jimin could knock some sense into that guy, he would. Though his morals have always told him to never lay a finger on another being, Han Seungwoo is the one exception. How dare someone treat another human, another living soul, as if they're worthless trash, both mentally and physically? And how could Jimin be so naive and blind to all the warning signs, continuing to forgive the person who shattered his self-worth?
Unfortunately, that's what happens when teenagers fall in love. Our hearts keep beating for those who break them. Navigating an abusive relationship is like being ensnared in the treacherous grip of addiction. Similar to drugs, which promise fleeting highs followed by crushing lows, abusive relationships offer fleeting displays of affection amidst overwhelming emotional chaos. Like a narcotic's grip, the toxic dynamics of such relationships can entwine one's sense of self until breaking free feels as daunting as overcoming the most potent addiction.
As caring and attentive parents, Jimin's mother and father intervened and terminated the relationship, ensuring Jimin received the necessary support. Despite Seungwoo's persistent pleas and attempts to charm his way back into Jimin's parents' good graces, they remained unconvinced. It was a bittersweet goodbye — Jimin was heartbroken not only by the mistreatment he endured from Seungwoo but also by the realization that Seungwoo had been his first love. Regardless of the memories they shared, Seungwoo's actions had irreparably damaged Jimin and his relationships with those around him.
That's how Park Jimin found himself confined within the walls of a mental health facility for battered individuals. Locked away in the somber chambers of this facility, Jimin grappled with the echoes of his past, wrestling with the scars left by Seungwoo's betrayal and abuse. Here, amidst the sterile corridors and hushed whispers of fellow residents, Jimin embarked on a journey of healing, seeking solace in the arms of therapy and the support of compassionate professionals. Yet, even in the depths of despair, a glimmer of hope flickered within Jimin's heart, a beacon guiding him towards the promise of brighter days ahead.
And the young-man proved himself right. Now, standing firmly on his own two feet, 22-year-old Park Jimin is pursuing his passion for art at one of Tokyo's premier colleges. There's nothing that sets his heart racing quite like a painting session.
The bustling hallways and roars of laughter make Jimin’s head pound. It's been a whole year since he has been released from the facility and his body has still not adjusted fully to being a part of civilization. He clutches onto his art pad tighter, palms beginning to sweat.
With a frustrated exhale, he nudges his glasses up the arch of his nose, his steps gaining urgency. God, I hate my anxiety.
And then, like a shimmering oasis, emerges the art room, a haven of beauty amidst chaos. Despite the scattered remnants of used water cups, discarded paint tubes, and hardened brushes, there's a strange comfort in its clutter that soothes Jimin's frayed nerves.
He lays down his tools on a table, then scours the room for more paint supplies. The space is vast, big enough to host a bear encapture. Yet, instead of lumbering such, it's populated by towering sculptures that seem to touch the sky and canvases as big as the walls themselves. Jimin steps over to his canvas, 10x15 to be exact, and begins to create.
It's almost silent inside the art room — the air is gently stirred by the soft murmurs of fellow students sculpting away. So, Jimin reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his iPod. With a deft touch, he taps play on his playlist, and in an instant, his black headphones transport him into the ethereal melodies of Lamp, a Japanese band he recently fell in love with when he moved to Japan late last year.
With gentle precision, his paintbrush dances across the canvas, infusing it with hues of indigo. To Jimin, every stroke bears significance, whether it heralds joy or sorrow, or even an unintended misstep. Assigning purpose to his craft imbues him with a sense of fulfillment, elevating the meaning behind each artistic endeavor.
"Wow, that's some serious talent," remarks a voice, brimming with energy.
Jimin halts his movements instantly, swiveling to face the speaker with a neutral expression.
Ah, him.
Approaching the canvas, the newcomer delicately runs his fingers over its dry surface, emitting an impressed whistle. "What kind of paint did you use?"
Jimin maintains his gaze, but the man remains undeterred, his smile widening. "You're... Jimin, right?" he points, shifting his weight.
Jimin nods curtly in acknowledgment.
The man beams. "I'm Seokjin! You've got serious skills, girl," he chuckles, clearly amused by his own remark.
Though Jimin senses the attempt at humor, he offers only a subdued "Thanks" in response.
Seokjin remains rooted to the spot, observing Jimin's painting process with keen interest. Sensing the gaze upon him, Jimin shoots a side-eye glance in Seokjin's direction, his expression tinged with skepticism.
"Are you just going to stand there?" Jimin inquires, his tone cold.
"With admiration? Absolutely!" Seokjin retorts, his grin unwavering."What year are you in? I'm a junior, majoring in art! How did you get into art? Oh, wait, wait, you like Lamp?! I love Lamp! What's your favorite—"
Jimin abruptly slams his paintbrush on the palette, his shoulders tensing.
"Slow. Down."
Seokjin’s once beaming expression fades away, eyes glittering with worry and confusion. “S-Sorry…”
Jimin sighs. Damn, I need my meds. “I-It’s fine, Seokjin. Just…one question at a time. Please. ” He pinches the bridge of his nose out of frustration.
Seokjin gulps, shoulders dropping. “Okay, okay, yeah. So, what year are you in?”
“Freshman.”
“Oh neat! How did you get into art?”
“I found a coloring book.”
“Huh. Favorite Lamp song?”
“6 Goush*tsu.”
…
A tense silence settles between them.
Then, unexpectedly, Seokjin breaks the quiet with, "Want to be friends?"
Jimin dips his brush into a rich cardinal red, contemplating. Can he trust Seokjin? Will he understand Jimin's highs and lows, his moments of dissociation? What about those times when he feels lost in a world of numbness, isolated in a hospital room—
"Jimin!"
Oh. f*ck.
He clears his throat. "Y-Yeah. Sure."
Seokjin's hands come together in a playful clap, reminiscent of a jubilant seal. "Fantastic! Once you're done with your masterpiece, you can join me and the gang on the rooftop!" He beams, swiftly gathering his belongings and stashing them into a corduroy messenger bag adorned with pins showcasing various musical bands.
Jimin's mouth hangs open in disbelief. "O-Others? There are more of you?"
"Yep! We're gathering around 1:30. Don't keep us waiting!" Seokjin winks, punctuating his words with a click of his tongue.
"B-But I—" Before Jimin can finish his sentence, Seokjin has already skipped out of the room and down the hallway, his lively presence vanishing in an instant.
The boy blinks thrice, his mind a blank slate. What just happened?
Whatever. Jimin will just continue to do the two things he does best:
- Hate the world.
- Paint.
–
The screen fades in, showing the bustling streets of Tokyo, Japan. A Japanese news channel logo flashes on the screen before transitioning to a studio setup with a news anchor seated at the desk.
The news anchor, Aiko Tamura, clears her throat while her papers rustle underneath her. She straightens her back, brushes away a few strands of hair, and puts on that signature smile every news anchor adorns.
“Good evening, and welcome back to Tokyo Tonight. Our top story tonight sheds light on a mysterious illness that's not only affecting the health of the nation but also casting a shadow over Japan's economy. Our correspondent, Jeon Jungkook, brings us the latest on Neuroimmune Collapse Syndrome (NICS) and its economic ramifications. Over to you, Jungkook.”
The screen splits, showing Jungkook standing in front of a hospital in Tokyo, where medical personnel are rushing in and out.
“Thank you, Aiko. I'm here outside one of Tokyo's leading medical facilities, where doctors are grappling with the unprecedented challenge posed by NICS. The impact of this neurological disorder extends far beyond the confines of the healthcare system, reverberating through every sector of Japan's economy.” Jungkook exhales, then continues, “Recent investigations by health authorities have uncovered a disturbing correlation between NICS cases and the consumption of raw fish contaminated with a rare strain of bacteria known as Vibrio neurotrophicus.”Jungkook nods slightly, proud of himself for his fluency in Japanese.
The channel then cuts to a health official, wearing scrubs and a lab coat. “Our findings suggest that Vibrio neurotrophicus, present in certain species of raw fish, may be a vector for NICS transmission. While the exact mechanisms remain under study, there's mounting evidence linking the bacterium to neurological deterioration in affected individuals.” The health official states.
It then goes back to Jungkook, explaining the heartbreaking news. “For centuries, sushi has been a beloved culinary tradition in Japan, celebrated for its exquisite flavors and cultural significance. However, the emergence of NICS has cast a shadow over this cherished cuisine, sparking fear and uncertainty among consumers.”
“I used to enjoy sushi regularly, but now I'm afraid to eat it. The thought of contracting NICS is terrifying!” Says one diner, a woman with long black hair and a button up, outside a sushi restaurant.
Another appears, this time a man with crows feet and a Metallica shirt on, standing outside a different sushi restaurant. “It's heartbreaking. Sushi is a symbol of Japanese culture, but now itfeels like a risk to indulge in it.”
The screen then cuts back to Jungkook, with a more worried expression. “As Japan grapples with the devastating toll of NICS, the revelation of its potential link to raw fish bacteria sends shockwaves through our society. While authorities work tirelessly to contain the spread of the illness and safeguard public health, the specter of uncertainty looms large over our culinary landscape. Stay tuned to Tokyo Tonight as we continue to unravel this unfolding crisis.”
"And... that's a wrap!" shouted the man, the camera director, his voice amplified by the megaphone. He occupies the familiar director's chair, reminiscent of those seen on film sets.
"Fantastic work, everyone! And Mr. Jeon..." His voice trails off, growing softer.
Jungkook's anxiety flares up, his stomach knotting. "Yes?" He responds, a hint of confusion in his nod.
"...Outstanding job! Alright, everyone, let's head out for some drinks!" The camera director announces enthusiastically, gesturing with a wave of his hand.
Jungkook smirks, small enough so that only he can see it. “You guys go on without me, I’m beat.” He lets out a sigh, chest lowering down.
Their intern strolls up behind Jungkook, tossing her left arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, must be hard being Jeon Jungkook, JNN’s big and sexy new nightly news reporter, am I right?" She teases, a playful glint in her eyes and a hint of flirtation in her voice.
Jungkook groans, his hands shooting up to shield his flushed cheeks, his fingers then dragging down his face in frustration. "Please, Akiho, can we just forget about that article?" He had landed this job as a news reporter a couple years back at 24, and had only recently joined the ranks of JNN, Japanese Nightly News, the nation's premier news program. Predictably, the media had pounced on the opportunity, churning out articles that couldn't help but marvel at the handsome visage now gracing the screens of JNN.
And now, the nickname big and sexy Jeon follows him around everywhere.
Everywhere.
"Oh, come on, big J! Let me treat you to drinks!" Riku, one of the cameramen, suggests, his smile widening.
Jungkook shakes his head and politely refuses. "Not tonight, guys. Enjoy yourselves, though, okay?" He waves, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trench coat before turning to walk in the opposite direction of his coworkers.
As he continues his stroll, Jungkook hangs his head low. He never envisioned himself in this position—working for Japan's premier news agency, covering one of the nation's most pressing economic crises. It all feels like a plot straight out of a movie , Jungkook muses. Perhaps the reason his depression resurfaced upon moving east is the constant fear of everything unraveling, of witnessing it all crumble before him, and the daunting prospect of never being able to rebuild the foundation of success he's always strived for. It's a narrative tinged with bitter irony, especially considering how his family lost their savings to a shady deal with the Lotus Cartel, all because of his father's ill-fated agreement.
The root of Jungkook's father's resentment lies here. It's a bitter seed, nurtured by unjust blame heaped upon Jungkook for the family's financial downfall. Despite Jungkook's efforts to reason with his father, to show him he never willingly struck a deal with the Lotus Cartel, his father's pride proves an impenetrable barrier to accountability. It's a harsh reality Jungkook has come to embrace through countless therapy sessions, each hour a grueling testament to the weight of familial discord.
In contrast, his mother offers relief, absolving Jungkook of any blame. Whenever his father's accusations pierce the air, Jungkook finds refuge in his mother's embrace. She becomes the sanctuary for his wounded spirit, offering a listening ear and a steady presence even amidst the storm of his father's anger. In those tumultuous moments, articulating his thoughts becomes a Herculean task, each word weighed down by the fear of retribution. Yet, his mother's unwavering support provides the buoyancy he needs to navigate the tempest of his father's scorn. To her, Jungkook owes an unpayable debt of gratitude, for she remains the steadfast anchor in the turbulent sea of family strife.
She is the very foundation upon which Jungkook stands, the guiding light that led him through the tumultuous journey of life. She paved the path that enabled him to step into the hallowed halls of academia, to pursue his dreams amidst the chaos of uncertainty. Her unwavering support propelled him forward, guiding him to the pinnacle of success where he now stands.
In the depths of his being, Jungkook harbors a profound love and reverence for his mother, a sentiment etched into the fabric of his soul. Her sacrifices, her inexorable belief in him, are the pillars upon which his aspirations rest. Their bond, forged through trials and tribulations, transcends the confines of mere words. It is a bond woven with threads of resilience, trust, and unconditional love—a bond that will endure the passage of time, unyielding and eternal.
He wishes he could say the same about his father. Eventually , he thinks.
Life seemed lighter, brighter, with his cheerful best friend by his side in Korea. A beacon of positivism, his friend radiated boundless optimism, casting aside pessimism like dust in the wind. His effervescent spirit uplifted all in his orbit, infusing every moment with a sense of joy and possibility. Jungkook couldn't help but marvel at his friend's effortless grace, his ability to sprinkle sunshine wherever he went.
In the quiet recesses of his heart, Jungkook longed to emulate his friend's exuberance, to embody that infectious zest for life. He yearned to wield the power to uplift others with a mere smile, to cast away storm clouds with a single word. Yet, for all his aspirations, Jungkook found himself tethered to the ground by the weight of his own doubts and insecurities. With the presence of his bubbly friend, he glimpsed a world unbothered by worry—a world he yearned to inhabit, if only he could find the courage to break free.
In a heart-wrenching turn of events, Jungkook watched as his once-vibrant friend lost his sparkle. The effervescent joy that once danced in his eyes dimmed, his infectious laughter fading into a whisper. The warmth of his smile, once a beam of light, dulled against the shadows that now clouded his spirit. It was as if the sun itself had retreated behind a veil of clouds, leaving behind a world plunged into darkness.
Since that fateful departure, Jungkook has searched in vain for a trace of his lost companion, haunted by the memory of their fractured bond. But the void left in his absence remains palpable, a silent testament to the price of blind devotion. Though time may blur the edges of memory, the ache of loss lingers, a poignant reminder of a friendship lost to the whims of fate.
Oh, Jimin. I hope you’re okay.
Over a year had drifted by like leaves carried away by the wind since Jungkook's last connection with Jimin faded into silence. When Jimin removed Jungkook across all chat room platforms, it felt as though an invisible hand tugged at the strings of Jungkook's heart. It was a simple gesture, yet it resonated deeply within him, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste that lingered in the depths of his soul.
In that moment, emotions swirled within Jungkook like a tempestuous storm, each feeling vying for dominance over the other. Was it the echo of lost love, the pang of abandoned care, or the sharp sting of betrayal? The answers remained elusive, shielded behind a shroud of uncertainty.
But Jungkook knew he couldn't afford to linger in the shadow of the past. Like a river inexorably flowing toward the horizon, he had to keep moving forward, propelled by the weight of responsibility that lay heavy on his shoulders. For the sake of his family, he pressed on, each step a testament to his resilience in the face of adversity.
The man stops in his tracks and swivels to the left. Before Jungkook stands HappyQ , its fluorescent lights casting a warm glow onto the pavement like stars illuminating a dark night sky. The hum of the city fades into the background as he feels the growl of hunger echoing through the hollows of his stomach. In the dimming twilight, with the late evening air thick with anticipation, Jungkook sways like a reed caught in a gentle breeze, a wave of dizziness washing over him like a premonition of things to come.
With each step, the distance between him and the convenience store closes. The promise of sustenance beckons him forward, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatens to engulf him. As he pushes open the door and steps inside, little does he know that fate has a surprise waiting for him amidst the aisles of HappyQ —a chance encounter that will change the course of his night and perhaps his life forever.
–
"God, Yoongi, it was a nightmare! Those people do nothing but tear down other people's passions—completely trashing them as human beings for their interests! If that doesn’t scream pompous, self-important jerks, then I don’t know what does." Jimin huffs, his jaw tightening as his arms cross tightly over his chest, every inch of him radiating irritation.
Yoongi remains undisturbed as if he is used to hearing his friend complain about civilians every second of the day. “What did they 'belittle'?" Yoongi asks, adding air quotes with a flick of his fingers.
Jimin scoffs, sinking into the pillowy couch they bought for its cloud-like comfort. "What did they say!? What didn’t they say!" He waves his arms wildly in frustration before collapsing into the armrest, his head heavy in his palm.
Yoongi waits a few moments, letting the silence stretch. "Well?"
"They said I should incorporate purple into the ocean in my painting," Jimin finally admits, his voice dropping to a quiet, shameful whisper.
Yoongi sighs, patting his lap to invite their calico cat, Boba, who promptly hops up and curls into a purring ball. "Oh, they sound just terrrrrible ! Suggesting you add purple to your ocean?" Yoongi scoffs, dripping with sarcasm. "How absurd!"
Jimin's eyes widen, sparkling with relief. "Yes! Thank you!"
Yoongi rolls his eyes, scratching Boba’s head. "Jimin, come on. You can't just hate the world and everyone in it. They were just giving you a simple suggestion."
The other groans, tossing his head back with an exaggerated eye roll. “I hate you for being right.”
“Well, that's a step in the right direction,” Yoongi chuckles. “Besides that nightmare, did you find that group friendly enough to consider them friends?”
Jimin stares blankly at the ceiling, lost in thought. “I… I guess. It’s not like I need them, though.” He stands and heads to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to grab a seltzer. He pops the can open, taking a few deep gulps. “But I swear, if those f*ckers treat me differently after I tell them everything, I’ll cut their faces off.”
Yoongi laughs, though a flicker of apprehension glints in his eyes, knowing Jimin never jokes about things like that. He understands the depths of Jimin's struggles, the heavy burden he carries. The time Jimin spent confined within Kyoto Mental Health Center wasn’t easy; the trauma from both before and during his stay still follows him behind his every step, lingering in his heart and mind, affecting his daily life.
He watches the boy intently, who is now scrolling through his phone with a frown, and wonders what he was like before meeting Seungwoo.
During his stay in Kyoto, the psychiatrist diagnosed Jimin with borderline personality disorder or BPD, a mental health condition characterized by intense emotions, unstable relationships, and a distorted self-image. Individuals who have BPD often experience impulsive behaviors, dissociation or other transient dissociative symptoms, and severe mood swings, leading to difficulties in daily functioning.
Yoongi recalls the look on Jimin’s face at the moment of diagnosis—his eyes wide, a deer caught in headlights, yet his body frozen, paralyzed by the weight of the words. He seemed both scared and numb, sitting completely still as if turned to stone. Yoongi had tried to comfort him, whispering assurances that things would get better once he learned to weather the storm, but his words were like pebbles dropped into an abyss, disappearing into the depths of Jimin's silence. Jimin remained motionless, lost in the tempest within.
It was agonizing to watch his friend tumble down the dark rabbit hole of mental illness. Yoongi knew the landscape all too well—he was there because of his severe depression and multiple suicide attempts. Yet, witnessing someone you care for endure the same torment was a unique kind of pain, sharper and more relentless than his own suffering.
Jimin's stay at Kyoto Mental Health Center was a harrowing ordeal. He often drifted into dissociative states, hours slipping away like sand through his fingers, leaving him lost in a fog of unreality. His days were punctuated by relentless mental breakdowns, each one shattering him further. It took numerous refills of his anti psychotic medications, like lifelines in a storm, and countless behavioral therapy sessions that felt like fragile bridges over an abyss for him to finally claw his way over that formidable hurdle. Every small step forward was hard-won, a testament to his strength amid the shadows.
Jimin's family was consumed by worry for his well-being, their concern manifesting in constant visits to the facility and relentless inquiries through Yoongi after Jimin's release. Yoongi, like a guardian angel, extended his hand in kindness, offering Jimin a home and sustenance in his time of need. Gratitude overflowed from Jimin's family, expressed through gifts and checks, as they embraced Yoongi as a surrogate son, a savior in the journey to heal their beloved one.
Jimin drained the last drop of his seltzer, crushing the can effortlessly with one hand before tossing it into the trash bin with a flick of his wrist. “Yoongi, I’m heading out.”
“Where to, with whom, and for how long?” Yoongi's inquiry was automatic, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen, absorbed in his own world.
“Just down the street, alone, and I haven’t decided yet,” Jimin replied, slipping into a gray concert hoodie adorned with memories of his trip to Seoul, where he saw the musical artist grentperez live. Pulling the hood over his head, he checked the time on his phone. It's a flip phone, a Motorola V60 to be exact. “Probably until around midnight.”
Yoongi coughed, fingers dancing across the keyboard. “Alright, just make sure not to bring the police back with you,” he warned, a hint of seriousness in his tone.
Jimin chuckled at the jest, twisting the doorknob and stepping out into the hallway.
Yoongi smiled to himself, rising from his cross-legged position on the ground. He spotted the can Jimin had discarded and, with a precise movement, picked it up. Carrying it over to the row of bins, he carefully deposited it into the one marked for recyclables, satisfying his need for order and tidiness.
As Jimin descended the stairs, he slipped on his headphones, his constant companions, and made his way through the glass doors of the apartment complex's lobby. The Tokyo night enveloped him, its scent mingling with the cool breeze, as Jimin took a deep breath, finding solace in the tranquility. With a sense of purpose, he set off towards HappyQ , craving the taste of dango to soothe his restless soul.
Tokyo pulsates with life, a city that never truly sleeps—except for the quiet lull between midnight and dawn. Neon signs paint the august night with their luminous hues, casting an ethereal glow over the bustling streets. Bars and sushi restaurants hum with activity, their doors open to eager patrons seeking refuge from the nocturnal world. Night owls flit from shop to shop, their shadows trailing behind like faithful companions.
Among this vibrant tapestry, Jimin finds a feeling of alleviation in the anonymity of the crowd. He appreciates the city's energy from a distance, content to observe from the sidelines like a solitary hermit crab nestled in its shell. Some might label him a loner, but Jimin cherishes the abundance of solitude in his life, finding comfort in the quiet spaces between the chaos.
As he approaches HappyQ , the scene shifts, the storefront lit up by a single flickering bulb. Only the cashier and a lone customer inhabit the space, cocooned in a world of their own. He ascends the short flight of stairs, his footsteps echoing in the hushed ambiance. With a soft chime, Jimin steps inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet aroma of pastries.
In the refrigerated section, he finds the thing that never lets him down—a package of dango nestled amongst rows of neatly arranged snacks, and a strawberry sando beckoning to him with its vibrant colors. With a flicker of impulse, he reaches out, his fingers grazing the cool surface of his chosen treasures. In that moment, among the quiet hum of the night, Jimin finds a fleeting sense of contentment, a brief respite from the whirlwind of the world outside.
A smile of satisfaction dances across Jimin's lips as he makes his way to the cashier, content with his choices. Yet, as he stands in line, a sense of familiarity tingles at the edges of his consciousness. The customer ahead of him—the curve of his shoulders, the tousle of his hair, the subtle nuances of his fashion—echoes a haunting resemblance that sets Jimin's nerves alight with curiosity.
“Thanks, you too,” the man offers politely, his departure ushering in a moment of revelation.
Oh my God.
It's him. It's really him.
The cashier's impatient voice cuts through Jimin's reverie, snapping him back to reality. Flustered, he hastily throws his items onto the counter, his heart pounding with sudden urgency. With trembling hands, he fumbles for his wallet, but his mind is elsewhere, racing to catch up with the whirlwind of emotions crashing over him.
"Jungkook?" Jimin's voice, barely above a whisper, carries a tremor of uncertainty as he rushes out of the store, his eyes scanning the streets in frantic search. And then, he sees him—a figure disappearing into the night, heading left down the hill. With a surge of determination, Jimin calls out, the name tumbling from his lips like a prayer. "Jungkook!"
Jungkook halts in his tracks, the sound of his name echoing through the evening air like a melody he knows by heart. He pivots on his heel, his gaze piercing through the fading twilight, locking onto the figure before him with a mix of astonishment and recognition.
It's you... it's really you.
“J-Jimin?” His voice wavers with a hint of disbelief, as if the mere utterance of the name confirms the surreal moment unfolding before him.
Jimin releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his smile radiant enough to rival the brilliance of the clouds above. With a burst of energy, he descends the stairs in a sudden burst of anticipation, his heart racing in tandem with each step. As he reaches Jungkook, he throws himself forward with unabashed enthusiasm, crashing into him with a force that sends them both stumbling backward. Arms wrap around Jungkook's torso, holding on as if afraid to let go, and Jimin buries his face in the warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of Jungkook's heartbeat a soothing lullaby in the chaos of the moment.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Jimin murmurs, his voice a soft, sultry whisper against Jungkook's body, laden with layers of emotion that words alone could never convey.
Jungkook stands frozen in disbelief, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and unanswered questions. He's unsure whether to embrace Jimin with open arms or to retreat, his heart torn between longing and uncertainty. His instincts warring within him, Jungkook remains rooted to the spot, his face a mask of unreadable expression.
With a swallow that feels like a boulder in his throat, Jungkook sets the bag he's been clutching onto the ground, his fingers trembling slightly as he tries to make sense of the moment. Every thought races through his mind at breakneck speed, a cacophony of doubts and hopes clamoring for attention, leaving him paralyzed in the midst of the chaos.
When Park Jimin walked away from Jungkook, it wasn’t just a silent departure on social media—it was accompanied by a barrage of hurtful words. But it wasn’t Jimin who delivered those cutting remarks; rather, it was Han Seungwoo, the catalyst of their fractured relationship. Seungwoo relayed to Jungkook that Jimin no longer desired his company, deeming it a burden to interact with him. He painted Jungkook as dull, a mere drain on Jimin's energy, and ultimately, a waste of human existence.
And so, Jungkook walked away too. He turned his back on the memories, the pain, and the shattered pieces of their friendship, never once glancing back at the wreckage he left behind. But as he stands here now, reflecting on his journey, he realizes that the very act of falling apart was the catalyst for his growth. Despite the hurt, Jungkook has risen above, achieving milestones he once thought were out of reach. For him, the scars of the past have become the foundation of his resilience, a reminder that from the ashes of despair, success can bloom.
So why was this guy now enveloping Jungkook in a hug, their bodies fitting together as if they were pieces of a puzzle finding their perfect match, as if they were best friends reunited after years of separation?
The raven-haired boy clears his throat, gently pushing Jimin back by the shoulders. His touch is hesitant, like he’s handling a fragile piece of glass. “Um... why?” Jungkook asks, his brows knitting together in a mix of confusion and lingering hurt.
Jimin scoffs, his expression a blend of offense and hurt. “Why? B-Because you were my best friend. Surely, you remember. Unless you’re still planning on ghosting me.” His laughter is tinged with bitterness, the hood slipping off his head to reveal his tousled black hair and headphones, symbols of their shared past. The boy moves them to rest around his neck, wanting to listen to the sweet melodies of Jungkook's voice.
What? Ghost him?
Jungkook’s heart races, each beat a drum in the silence that follows. He nervously scratches the nape of his neck, the action a familiar comfort in this storm of emotions. An unsettled laugh slips through his lips, a fragile attempt to mask the turmoil within. “I—I’m not the one who ghosted you. You ghosted me.”
Jimin shakes his head, his eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and hurt. A bemused smile tugs at his lips, a shield against the raw emotions threatening to surface. “Wha—No, I—”
Jungkook’s mind is a whirlpool of memories, each one pulling him deeper into the past. He remembers the nights he spent staring at his phone, waiting for a message that never came. The pain of abandonment, like a cold blade, had carved deep scars into his heart. And now, standing before the person who once meant everything to him, those old wounds ache with a fresh intensity.
Jimin, on the other hand, grapples with his own turmoil. Seeing Jungkook again stirs a storm within him—a mixture of regret, longing, and a desperate need to bridge the chasm that time and misunderstandings have carved between them. The sight of Jungkook’s nervous smile and the familiar way he scratches his neck bring a rush of nostalgia, memories of simpler times when their bond seemed unbreakable.
Both stand there, caught in a delicate dance of emotions, each step a tentative move towards understanding and reconciliation, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them.
“Do you really not remember, Jimin? You had your boyfriend come and tell me—because now I assume you were too scared to do so on your own—how much you hated and didn’t want to be around me.” Jungkook inhales a shaky breath, each word tasting sour on his tongue. “I was apparently draining your energy ,” he says, the bitterness in his voice palpable. Jimin stands frozen, his eyes beginning to brim with tears.
“Yeah, you said I was boring, unimportant, a f*cking waste of human life, Jimin. That’s what you called me: a waste of human life. ” Jungkook's stare is intense, his jaw and fists clenched tight, his body radiating warmth from the maelstrom of emotions coursing through him.
“I—I didn’t—"
“Yeah, well, you did.”
Jungkook’s mind is a battlefield, each word a bullet fired from the past, reopening old wounds. The memory of Seungwoo’s cruel words, delivered with a smirk, still haunts him, a ghost that refuses to be laid to rest. He remembers the nights spent questioning his worth, the gnawing doubt that he was truly as insignificant as he had been made to feel.
Jimin’s heart shatters at the sight of Jungkook’s pain, the tears threatening to spill over as guilt and regret twist like a knife in his chest. He had never wanted this, never intended for his words—no, Seungwoo’s words—to cut so deep. Seeing Jungkook now, so hurt and angry, makes him wish he could turn back time and erase the mistakes that led them here.
He can’t take it anymore. It’s happening again. Oh, God, the white walls. The way they sway, the sounds of pounding against them. Jimin's mind is spiraling, each word from Jungkook pushing him further into a dark corner of his memories.
Jimin licks his dry lips, his throat tight with anxiety, clutching the strawberry sando so tightly that it squishes between his fingers, its sweet filling oozing out like the emotions he can no longer contain. “J-Jungkook, I promise I—”
“No, Jimin. I don’t feel like hearing it,” Jungkook scowls, his eyes dark and unforgiving. The bitterness in his voice slices through Jimin, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Jimin longs to see the light in Jungkook’s eyes again, to bring back the happy boy he used to know. But the walls are closing in, the pounding in his ears growing louder, drowning out his desperate thoughts.
“You’re unbelievable,” Jungkook adds, the final blow that sends Jimin’s heart plummeting. Jimin’s mind is a storm of regret and self-loathing, each accusation a heavy weight on his chest. He wishes he could turn back time, rewrite their history, and erase the pain he’s caused. But standing here, with the remnants of their friendship crumbling around him, he feels utterly powerless.
A puddle of tears begins to form around Jimin’s shoes as he cries, sobbing his heart out, overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions: pain, agony, guilt. His body trembles with each sob, the raw intensity of his grief painting a heartbreaking picture. Jungkook stands there, stunned, words caught in his throat as he watches Jimin crumble before him. Jimin collapses to the ground, hugging his legs tightly, curling into a ball of tears. His cries are so loud they seem to pierce the night, a mournful wail that threatens to wake everyone in the vicinity.
“J-Jimin! I—” Jungkook stammers, his voice faltering. The sight of Jimin's utter despair sends a shock wave of regret crashing over him. In that moment, he realizes how much his own words and actions mirror the cruelty Seungwoo had inflicted on him. What an asshole he’s become.
“I’m sorry, I... I’m sorry,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice thick with remorse. The anger that had fueled him dissipates, replaced by a deep, aching regret. He feels the weight of his own harshness bearing down on him, the realization of his own cruelty cutting deep. His heart aches to see Jimin so broken, and he wishes desperately to undo the pain he’s caused.
Jungkook sinks to the ground beside Jimin, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He holds him close, letting Jimin cry out every last tear, his own heart breaking with each sob that shakes Jimin’s body. When the storm of tears finally subsides, Jimin pulls away, his nose red and eyes puffy, staring blankly at the middle of Jungkook’s chest. His eyes linger, tracing the details of Jungkook’s outfit: a tawny brown trench coat, a black button-down with the top few buttons undone, and light wash jeans paired delicately with cedar loafers.
Jimin’s gaze slowly shifts upward to Jungkook’s face, where he sees a different expression than before. Gone is the anger, replaced by a warmth that feels sweet and inviting, like a gentle summer breeze after a storm.
Confusion and hurt still roiling within him, Jimin furrows his brows and lifts his right hand, slapping Jungkook across the face. The sharp crack of the impact leaves a red mark on Jungkook’s cheek. He gasps, his hand flying up to cup his stinging cheek, eyes wide with shock and pain.
Jungkook’s thoughts whirl. The slap is a jolt, a reminder of the raw emotions between them. Yet, beneath the sting, he feels an odd sense of clarity. The slap was not just about anger, but about the deep hurt and betrayal Jimin felt. As he cups his cheek, the warmth from Jimin’s slap lingers, a paradoxical mix of pain and the desperate desire for reconciliation.
Still reeling from the slap, Jungkook turns to Jimin, anger flashing in his eyes. “What the hell was that for?”
Jimin gathers his crumpled snacks, standing up and looking down at Jungkook, their heights now a stark contrast, symbolizing the shift in their relationship. In Jimin’s eyes, their bond is no longer equal; it’s fractured, with Jungkook at the bottom of the chasm. “f*ck you and your stupid trench coat,” Jimin spits out. “How dare you try to put the blame on me for the downfall of us? Do you even know what happened after Seungwoo?”
“N-No—”
“Exactly,” Jimin snaps, his voice dripping with venom. “So don’t assume you know everything, Jeon Jungkook. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your feelings.” His face contorts in fury, each word a dagger aimed at the heart of Jungkook’s self-centeredness.
Jimin’s stance is powerful, towering over Jungkook like a judge delivering a verdict. “I hate you! I hate you and your stupid hair and your stupid face and your stupid understanding of us! I hate you so much!” Jimin yells, his voice breaking with each declaration of hate. Every word is a crack in his heart, tearing him apart from the inside. How could he hate Jungkook, the one who once made life worth living?
Jungkook rises slowly from the ground, brushing off the gravel clinging to his jeans. He picks up his bag, a heavy weight both literally and figuratively. Clearing his throat, he nods, a mask of calm slipping over his features. “I see,” he says quietly, his voice devoid of emotion.
Jimin’s heart clenches at the sight of Jungkook’s restrained reaction. The fury that had fueled his outburst dissipates, leaving behind a hollow ache. He watches as Jungkook stands there, the moonlight casting a shadow over his face, making him seem even more distant. The boy who had once been his everything now feels like a stranger, the gulf between them widening with every passing second.
Jimin’s mind races, the echo of his own words haunting him. He feels the weight of his anger and pain, the burden of his unspoken truths. He had wanted to hurt Jungkook, to make him feel the depth of his own suffering, but now all he feels is regret. The night air is thick with tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy between them.
“T-That wasn’t me speaking, I swear. I-It’s my...” Jimin stalls, embarrassment flooding his features as he struggles to admit his personality disorder, and even more so, his apology. He gulps down the lump in his throat and opens the package of dango, needing something to fidget with to calm his nerves. “It’s just this new medication I'm on.” he finally says, the words tumbling out like a reluctant confession.
Jungkook looks at him with puzzlement, one eyebrow arching up. “Medication? Jimin, are you okay?”
Jimin nods, taking a bite of the dango, the sweetness momentarily distracting him from his anxiety. He shifts the bite to the inside of his cheek, so he can speak without the food getting in the way. “I’ve been all over the place today. I... I apologize,” he says, bowing his head slightly, his body language drenched in shame. He swallows the piece of dango and then takes a bigger bite, as if the act of eating can somehow fill the void of his regret.
Jimin grapples with a heavy weight in his chest, the weight of his secret pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He knows that if he were to open up and reveal the truth about his borderline personality disorder, Jungkook might recoil, might turn away in confusion or fear. And Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ready to face that rejection, isn’t ready to lose Jungkook all over again.
The thought gnaws at him, a persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. Could Jungkook truly understand? Could he accept Jimin, flaws and all, and stand by him through the ups and downs of managing his condition? It’s a daunting question, one that fills Jimin with equal parts hope and trepidation.
The silence between them hangs heavy, laden with the weight of Jimin's confession. He feels Jungkook's eyes on him, piercing through the night, searching for the truth behind his words. The cool night air wraps around them like a shroud, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside Jimin. He hopes that, somehow, this small act of honesty can be the first step towards mending their fractured bond. The moonlight casts a silvery glow over them, illuminating the raw vulnerability etched on Jimin's face, a silent plea for understanding.
Jungkook smiles, his two front teeth resembling those of a rabbit, something Jimin always noticed and found adorable. “Would you like to go get some coffee and catch up?” he asks, the smile never fading from his lips.
Jimin hesitates, his mind racing as he tries to decipher Jungkook’s intentions. Is Jungkook just being kind out of pity, knowing about Jimin’s medication? Or is this a genuine invitation to reconnect? The possibilities swirl in his mind, making the moment feel like an eternity. He glances at Jungkook, noticing the genuine warmth in his eyes, and wonders if this could be a chance to mend what was broken.
“Sure,” Jimin finally says, his voice frail and uncertain.
“Great! I know the perfect place,” Jungkook responds, his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nervousness. He turns on his heel and starts walking towards the coffee shop, the cool night air brushing against his skin like a whisper of hope.
Jimin follows behind, feeling like a lost puppy trailing after its owner. His feet move automatically, his thoughts scattered. He flips open and glances at his phone to check the time. Oh no!
“f*ck! I have to go, it’s past my curfew,” Jimin blurts out, shoving the last piece of dango into his mouth. With his cheeks full, he tosses the empty package into a nearby trash can and quickly hands his phone to Jungkook. “Put in your number,” he mumbles through the food, urgency clear in his wide eyes.
Jungkook takes the phone, his fingers moving quickly to enter his number. He feels a pang of disappointment but hides it behind a calm exterior. As he types, he wonders if this brief encounter will be enough to rekindle their connection or if it will leave him yearning for more.
Jimin watches, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. His thoughts are a whirlwind, filled with the hope of rediscovering a lost friendship and the fear of facing the past. As Jungkook hands back the phone, their fingers brush briefly, sending a spark of familiarity through Jimin. The moment is fleeting, but it holds the promise of a new beginning.
"You have a curfew? But you’re an adult now, why need a bedtime?” Jungkook's laughter dances in the air, like the playful melody of a forgotten tune.
Jimin swallows the last bite of the treat, the sweetness lingering on his tongue as he slides his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. “It’s Yoongi, my friend who I live with. He just worries,” Jimin explains, a bashful smile playing on his lips as he shrugs his shoulders. The warmth of nostalgia washes over him, reminding him of simpler times.
With a sigh, Jimin realizes it's time to depart. He slips his cold hands into the pocket of his hoodie, the fabric offering a comforting embrace against his skin. The night air whispers around him, carrying the scent of distant dreams and half-forgotten promises.
Before he turns to leave, he casts a backward glance at Jungkook, feeling a bittersweet ache in his chest. “I’ll see you later, Jungkook,” he says, the words soft yet heavy with unspoken longing, like a melody lingering in the silence.
Jungkook simply waves in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “See you later, Jimin, ”he replies, the words a distant echo in the night, hinting at the possibility of a future reunion.
As Jungkook remains rooted in place, watching Jimin's retreating figure, a sense of déjà vu washes over him, transporting him back to his 22-year-old self. It's as if time has folded in on itself, and he's reliving that moment all over again. An ache blossoms in his chest, a familiar pang of loss tinged with mourn, as he witnesses Jimin slipping away once more. Though the possibility of a future encounter remains, it offers little solace to the ache in his heart.
Jimin turns the corner, vanishing from Jungkook's sight like a fleeting dream slipping through his fingers. The bittersweet memories resurface, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within Jungkook's soul. It's a poignant reminder of the fragility of human connections, a realization that leaves Jungkook feeling unsettled and adrift in a sea of nostalgia.
Like a mesmerizing mirage shimmering in the desert heat, Jimin fades into the distance, leaving Jungkook grappling with the ghost of their past. It's a haunting echo of what once was, a reminder of the transient nature of love and companionship. And as Jimin disappears from view, Jungkook can't help but feel as though he's lost another cherished soul to the sands of time.
With his head hung low, Jungkook inhales deeply, the scent of his own tears mingling with the crisp night air. His senses are heightened, attuned to the slightest shifts in the atmosphere. Was he crying? The answer eludes him, lost in the haze of conflicting emotions.
As he surveys the scene, his gaze falls upon the abandoned remnants of Jimin's presence—a discarded strawberry sando, its delicate form marred by the weight of their shared history. Jungkook's fingers curl around the squished treat, a tangible reminder of their fleeting encounter. With trembling hands, he unwraps the plastic, revealing its contents like a treasure unearthed from the depths of his memories.
In that moment, as he takes a tentative bite, a sense of familiarity washes over Jungkook like a warm embrace. The sweetness of the strawberry mingles with the salt of his tears, creating a bittersweet symphony of taste and emotion. Despite the uncertainty of their future, in this small act of indulgence, Jungkook finds a fleeting sense of belonging—a fleeting respite from the turmoil of his thoughts.
But what lies ahead for Jungkook and Jimin? As he savors the last remnants of the sandwich, a haunting question lingers in the air, leaving Jungkook to ponder the unknown twists and turns of their story.
