수면 위에 비친 당신의 얼굴

It was a lot to take in.

“Right, the academy.” She could picture him now, running drills and furrowing his eyebrows as he tried to answer questions on some test. Hell, she knew where every government related facility was located in the city by heart, but even that didn’t really make the imagery seem to fit with Jimin of all people in that kind of building. These were places to stay away from for her, and yet again, she was seeing her presence as a danger to an unknowing Jimin. (He should probably stay away from her.) Except, this time, she was realizing that he could be a threat to her. The right thing to do would be to congratulate him, to tell him she was proud of how far he had gone, but she couldn’t. Not for a line of work she saw too much corruption by virtue of being a source of that corruption.

Instead, she smiled and nodded. “You must have worked hard.”

And if that wasn’t enough, he kept going. Sure, she nearly swore at him for laughing. The gravity of the situation at the time she was sure he didn’t fully understand. For her, it wasn’t even something she could fake laugh about it. It was business, it was—

“It was a he.”

Woohyun. It definitely had to be Woohyun.

Jungah figured as much. Of course it would be him.

And again, Jimin just kept going.

“I didn’t really expect a lot from our relationship.”

If he had said that back then, Jungah was sure she would have been even more heartbroken. Sure, looking back she knew it wouldn’t last, but she never thought about that when they were dating. Where she was now felt so far off from being fifteen—how was she supposed to take that? “I liked it, too.” Feeling small was definitely something Jungah wasn’t used to, and of course, Jimin still managed to make her feel that way despite his good intentions (and that’s probably what made it worse). Because, in truth, it was her fault. She could have told him the truth, or something closer to the truth, but she didn’t. She couldn’t then, and she couldn’t now. As she sat there, soaking it all in, her head began to droop and it grew harder and harder to look Jimin in the eye. “No, you were right to be mad. I didn’t know… I didn’t know all of it happened. I owe you an apology on behalf of them, don’t I?” Woohyun represented her family, after all. And of all the things that she could say to him, the most honest thing would be to apologize as Yoon Jungah, daughter of the Kangmulpa, whether or not he realized it. Slowly she looked back up at him, a weak smile adorned, but not forced.

“You can’t just tell me not to apologize and then say you’re sorry too. Don’t you know I’m too stubborn for that?” The bit of humor helped her relax her shoulders, even if her eyes were starting to water.

Jungah knew very well about Jimin’s mother. She also knew very well that her family must have known, too.

“the academy really kicked my ass- it was like military service all over again,” jimin winces as he recalls all the training he had to endure, no matter how hot the summer sun was or how unforgiving winter was, he ran up the mountain everyday. “ah, well, i heard military service is kind of tolerable these days. did you know they have karaoke rooms at the base camps? they don’t beat up lower ranking soldiers anymore too.” 

still, he’d do it all over again if he went back in time. meeting jungah again, he isn’t so sure. she made all those nights at the convenience store tolerable, made him look forward to the next day. he’s just not sure if the fear and the anger he’d felt back then would be worth it. 

she liked it too. it almost comforts him, makes the memory less bitter. he sinks back into his seat a little more as his shoulders relax. “good, because this would have been fucking awkward if you said otherwise.”

“i’m just as stubborn, too,” jimin grins. “i’m happy that you haven’t changed-” he pauses, looking at her properly this time. “-...a lot. from my observation.” but then again, she’s never shown him every side of her. he’s just relieved to see that she still possesses the streak of kindness she’s shown him back when they were kids.

their situation hasn’t changed much either. they’re still keeping secrets from each other, it’s just that both are now painfully aware of it.  

“my mom died two years ago,” he tells her quietly. “heart complications- she’s always been weak, y’know? could’t even consider the option of a transplant since i could barely afford the basics. and then when she died and while i was mourning and thinking of all sort of things, i briefly wondered if i should have ignored that man and continued to see you if my mom was going to die anyway.” 

jimin falls into silence, his gaze falling from her face once more. it’s difficult to look at her for so long- he almost feels guilty if he does. “it was stupid, but i realized i was still hurt from that when i thought i was over it. and listen, i told you this already but don’t feel bad- it’s not like you did it. shit happens that’s out of your control. you can’t have a say in everything that goes around you. let’s call it even, yeah? i’m sorry for yelling at you and you’re sorry because of what your family did.”

“...listen,” he continues, voice hesitant. “you have my number now, so feel free to call me for drinks or something,” jimin nods towards his business card. “you don’t have to, but it’s always nice to see a childhood friend from time to time.” 

maybe it’s just her projecting the odd nature of actually feeling sorry for a human – or anyone, for that matter – but jimin’s reply sounds more like a sharp retort, sounds defensive with a layer of pain underlying his strong front. a pang prickles at her chest. soojung stares forlornly at the top of jimin’s head. her grip loosens from his arm to shield his forehead from touching the table before she can stop herself, but she flinches and hastily pulls back before her cold fingertips can brush against his skin. he looks so small, nothing like the jimin she first met. she’s not sure how to answer, how to comfort.

“뭘 또 그렇게 힘들게 참았데.”

sitting back in her plastic seat, she tears her gaze away from his head to the bottle of soju in his hand. she interlocks her fingers together. the words come out in a hushed whisper, almost as if it’s not meant for him to hear. her lips purse into a tight line at his request (a fucked up and ridiculous one, she thinks), but she keeps her silence as he cries. another pang stings her. the sight and sound of jimin crumpling into his sobs hurt. soojung wonders if this is a good time to give him a hug, doesn’t know what to do. she’s still faintly upset that he even asked to walk with death.

his mother didn’t ask her to protect and look after her son for him to want to follow.

“안돼,” she hisses through her teeth. she can’t tell if she’s mad or sad or a mix of both.

her eyes briefly widen when he scrambles to kneel next to her. passersby may think the scene looks rather pitiful, and soojung can’t help but think so, too. no, she’s definitely sad – sad that jimin has even resorted to these thoughts, sad that she’s no help. her eyes scrunch shut the moment his fingers wrap around her hand, the skin-on-skin contact ushering in glimpses of his previous life. it takes a lot of her energy to will the imagery away, and she exhales out a shaky breath as she encloses her opposite hand around jimin’s.

his drunken begging slurs its way through the cold air, and all soojung seemingly wants to do is hug him. she gets out of her seat, the plastic feet scraping against the concrete, and drops into a deep squat after it proves worthless to get him back off his knees. cautiously, she slips her hands away from his hold, movements of her arms slow and awkward as she attempts to do just that – hug him. it’s really awkward (she hasn’t embraced anyone in well over half a century at the very least), and it shows – her arms lightly drape over around his shoulders, and she stiffly pats at his back. possibly a bad decision, in quick hindsight.

“자기밖에 모르는 놈,” soojung mumbles. her arms linger around his frame, unaware of when to pull away. she lets go anyway, trying to get him back up in his seat a second time. taking in a deep breath, she starts off again with, “어머님이…

“어머님이 아들내미를 보호해주라고 했는데. 내가 뭐가 되냐. 좀 일어나줘, 무릎 아프게 만들지 말고. 내가 할수 있었더라도 너 죽일 것 같냐? 너 네 말 들리긴 하니?”

to  who does death ask for her end, jimin wonders. has death ever feared herself, he’d have asked on a better day. “넌 뭘 간절히 원한 적 없니?”

his fingers twist around the hem of his shirt, unironed and the wrinkles folded deeper into the fabric after hours of overworking. he’s sure the scent of cheap soju and cigarettes can be smelled from far away, and he can only imagine how pitiful he looks, crying in the face of death.

“난 간절했지만, 특히 원하는게 없었어. 살다보면 좋은 날도 있다고 하길래 버틴거지,” it’s just that it never came. while flowers bloomed after winter, after all the rain, jimin stays buried beneath the dirt all this time. 

he’s had many regrets and mistakes in the past, but the death of his mother is unchangeable. her passing was unexpected, and he never got to say goodbye. he envies soojung, as she got to see his mother before she left. he wants to ask how she was, if she was smiling before she went through the door. but the questions remain unasked, as if asking and getting answers would legitimise her death for once and for all. 

her refusal is expected, but it still hurts nonetheless. he grows limp for a while, the flicker of hope that she’d say yes all gone, whatever light he had gone from his eyes. jimin stays in her embrace, unmoving, unfeeling. the touch should bring comfort, but all jimin can feel is how he collapses from within, the gaping wound in his chest an endless void. with so much emptiness in him, it shouldn’t be this difficult to breathe.  

instead of getting up as soojung tries to sit him back, he buries his face further into her shoulder, his fingers tightening around her arms. “그럼 어떻게 하면,” he speaks through gritted teeth, “어떻게 하면 더 이상 안 아플수 있는거야?” 

jimin is glaring at her when he pulls away, his eyes still glossy from tears, red and swollen.  

“살아있는게 보호 받는거냐?”

he doesn’t mean to yell, but he doesn’t know what else he can do for her to listen. 

“You’re kidding,” was all she could manage in response to him, her eyes slightly widened. Her disbelief probably wasn’t all a shock. Jimin wasn’t exactly the shining example of pure innocence when they were younger, but he wasn’t a bad person. At least, he wasn’t anything like the other people in her life.

But it had to be a joke, right?

There was no way that it could be real. There could be absolutely no possibility that life was that fucked to have Jimin being on the police force and having him saunter into her life again. That latter half was shocking enough (Seoul was big enough yet there they both were, at the same place at the same time… again) but the direction his life was going in was another one. One she was now certain that the decision on her family’s end (though with different intentions) was for the best.

The card in front of her had his name there in clear print as if to rub it in. It felt oddly mature despite the sense of dread she felt looming over her. Jungah picked up the card, stared at it, and then set it back down so she could remember to take it later. It felt a little taboo to even have it near her—if she hadn’t been so fond of him, she probably wouldn’t feel quite as guilty now. “Yeah, I’m a bit surprised…” It would probably be polite to say congratulations or to work hard, but she simply couldn’t manage it. She reached for her tea and hesitated. Another half-truth would have to be told. “But I’m sorry I can’t give you something in return; I’ve only just graduated and my father is slowly easing me into the business.”

Then he spilled the coffee.

Thank God.

Before she could hand him a napkin he was already wiping it up, seemingly preoccupied by whatever was on his mind. It was clear it wasn’t there conversation.

Even clearer when he spoke again and she felt another twinge of guilt.

He wasn’t unique in certain regards. Sure, she was vulnerable around him, but she wasn’t anymore honest with him than she was most people. What she showed him, as he put it, was only a portion of who she was. If he knew who she really was, especially now, she was sure he’d hate her.

She winced.

“It was a he?” Woohyun, maybe? She never knew how it happened exactly, but she was sure she’d be finding out shortly.

Jungah’s face quickly heated up, and an uncomfortable lump began to grow in her throat.

She couldn’t look Jimin in the eye. Not again.

Instead she honed in on the wet napkin that was more like a clump of soggy paper. She wished for another clumsy mistake (could she knock over her cup of tea?) but she knew that this was a conversation that needed to happen. He deserved some closure, despite her not being able to give him everything he deserved even now. A protagonist needed a happier ending than this, right?

“I don’t think it was my mother who ordered it. I think she knew, but kept quiet.” Some mother’s intuition or something. They never talked about it. “It was my father and grandmother… the family business is important. They like setting me up to meet with potential marriage candidates…” This part was true, even if she didn’t elaborate much. “And have since I was in middle school.” Relationships were for business. Well, disclosed relationships were, and she had yet to have one of those. Finally, she made eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“yeah, yeah, i know, i know,” jimin’s hand hover over his name card, torn between letting her keep it and covering it up out of embarrassment. “i mean, i wasn’t, i wasn’t exactly the smartest kid in class but i was pretty good in gym class. studied shit lot too for the police academy,” he finds himself explaining to her when he doesn’t have to. he knows this and he knows that she knows as well, but the memory of their time together has left a need for some sort of validation.

he just wants her to know that he’s doing well now. it’s a mixture of ‘look where i am now without you’ and ‘you no longer need to worry about me’. jimin straightens his shoulders, not wanting to look unconfident and insecure, just like how he was back in highschool. 

“oh, right,” his face hardens a little at the mention of her father. “family business...right,” jimin echoes her quietly, almost an after thought. he nods to himself numbly, casting a glance out the window because he suddenly finds himself without the energy to stare back at her.

“it was a he,” he confirms. 

marriage candidates. jimin’s shoulders shake as he laughs quietly. it’s not to mock her, it’s just that it’s all just so surreal. jimin doesn’t hate jungah; he just hates how he’s gotten involved with someone with a life that sounds like a morning drama. “i don’t care who did it,” he finally says when the weak laughter dies off. “it doesn’t matter anymore, doesn’t it? it’s been years now since it happened and i...” moved on from it? jimin can’t finish his sentence. 

jimin clears his throat.

“dont,” he’s firm this time. “don’t apologise to me. all it does is make me feel shittier about it and none of it was your fault anyway.” jimin isn’t here to make her feel bad, it’s just that he doesn’t know how honest he can be with her without hurting her feelings. “people break up all the time,” he pauses, he doesn’t want her to think he thought of her lightly to brush it off like that. “...i mean, i didn’t really expect a lot from our relationship,” he adds awkwardly. “i just... liked being around you.”

his gaze falls onto his now empty cup of coffee, distracting himself with the straw stuck between the ice cubes. “i’m not here to make you feel guilty and i’m definitely not here asking for an apology. i mean, i was pretty mean about it back when we were kids.” he made her cry. jimin winces at the memory, and perhaps it’s his turn to apologise. “i was...really scared and angry that time. i shouldn’t have blamed it all on you. they threatened me and my mom and she was really sick and...” jimin rambles on, not knowing when to stop, not knowing how much he can tell her without making an even bigger mess. 

@1013m​ 

                                                                         ‘ 어떡하지, 잠들수 없어. ’ 

absently, his eyes have come to lay themselves upon the other’s back as he ponders his unwillingness to sleep. maybe he should realize better, given how people tend to awaken when their bodies sense that they are being watched.  

                           ‘ 내일이 오는게 무서워서 잠들수 없어. ’

jimin doesn’t turn, and he has his eyes closed. the only sound that can be heard is the symphony of irregular breathing, and jimin knows he’s awake. he keeps quiet, wondering if it’s worth to break the peaceful silence.  for a while, he decides not to disturb him and the night that surrounds them. 

it’s only been less than ten minutes when jimin gets up and lights a cigarette. 

“야, 야,” jimin taps his shoulder, trying to have him turn towards him. “안 자?” 

he watches the end of his cigarette burn as he breathes it in, red hot ashes turning black before crumbling, dropping onto the floor between his feet. 

His joke brought a smile to her face. He was still a little self-depreciating (she couldn’t exactly relate to that), and that eased her nerves just a little. His laugh was even the same, a little deeper now, but it was still like she remembered it. This time she wouldn’t run off messaging her friends that his laugh was cute right after they spoke, however. Thinking back on it, it was a little embarrassing.

Jungah looked back at the painting as if it was calling her name, eyes focused directly on each texture that the artists’ brush created. If she didn’t care about preserving the work, she’d let her fingers glide in the grooves of each stroke. It would at least make her feel less awkward than being next to someone she had loved for the first time since they parted.

Nervous energy was trying to get the better of her.

But, thankfully, the compliment brought her back to reality.

“I’d hope so. I’m too young to be looking ragged,” she quipped, a natural reaction that only her vanity could manage. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear before looking over her shoulder at Jimin, giving him a quick once-over.

“You look taller.”

And tired.

But the taller part was a little better. She always liked that he wasn’t outrageously tall.

Jungah also appreciated that he was trying his best to make things less uncomfortable by rambling off facts. Jimin always was a little more insightful than his looks made him out to be, a trait that had always left her impressed. He was right that she was curious, but right now, she was more interested about what he is alluding to. It wasn’t subtle, but it did leave her feeling on edge.

“Yeah, I am.”

There was a time when his touch would have set her cheeks on fire, a combination of teenage innocence and first love would overtake her and make her not able to look him in the eye.

She wasn’t that same girl and looking at him, Jimin wasn’t that same boy who would sneak her snacks from his job.

And together, they weren’t the same at all. He didn’t send sparks through her arm this time around, but rather she simply looked at him blankly for a moment. She kind of expected to feel something more, but his kind tone left her a little confused. Even with time between them, she couldn’t help but feel guilty for whatever had happened. Specifically, whatever her father had ordered that had Jimin screaming at her.

“Sure.”

Her responses to him so far had been brief due to her level of uncertainty on simply how to act around him. It was made even worse when they sat down with their drinks and the awkward feeling of being in a drama set in with the terrible background music that filtered through the speakers. Instead of coffee she had a cup of tea steaming in front of her, something she hoped would calm her nerves in comparison to the jolt of nervous energy she’d get from coffee.

She looked up at him after contemplating whether or not it’d be possible to dive into the hot tea and ignore the situation entirely. It was a shame she couldn’t shrink herself down.

It was a shame that he was probably one of three that could make her feel this way at the moment.

“What are you doing these days?”

And there was another cliché checked off the list.

“yeah?” jimin smiles genuinely this time, his shoulders straightening. serving two years at the army has added a few centimeters to his height, but no one ever seemed to notice as they all grew as well. 

despite how lax he looks, jimin isn’t sure if he can keep anything down. the iced americano stays untouched on the table and jimin watches the condensation trickle down the plastic cup. 

jimin’s lips twitch at her question. it’s what he’d expected, but he still hasn’t figured out how to reply without making it seem like there’s a double meaning in it. “...i’m a cop. homicide detective.” and as all adults do, jimin pulls out his business card and slides it over to her. “who would have thought, huh?” he snickers. jimin wasn’t terrible as a kid, but he was never good. if there was a case where he would ever be generous with himself, he’d have described himself as just enough; dangerously balancing on the line between too much and too little, a reflection of his fear of becoming nothing and everything. he always hated the idea of being a burden. 

“you?” maybe he should take a sip of his americano, as most of the ice have started to melt and the diluted coffee is close to spilling over the rim of his glass. touching it might cause the coffee to move and spill, but leaving it alone will have the same result. jimin stares down at his glass as he hesitates over his two options. after deciding, he reaches out, fingers wrapping around the wet glass before he pulls it closer to him. 

the coffee spills.

“-fuck.” jungah may as well be a glass of coffee filled to the brim and he hates the way how he stresses over each word and move he has to make towards her. what happened in the past feels too minor to be considered as a trauma but too painful to brush it off as a sad high school memory.

he still remembers the anger he felt when he was kid, and all that remains now is just a dull, emptying sensation in his chest that makes him feel a hundred times more lighter than he is, a lot more detached than he should be. sometimes on good days, he wouldn’t think twice of it, and on bad days he’ll sulk for a while. his feelings on what had happened had never been consisted. and on a day like today, he feels tired and empty. 

it’s good, in a way, so that he can tell her jokes to make her laugh. it’s just that he won’t laugh with her. suddenly jimin longs for a cigarette, and wonders if she still wouldn’t mind if he’s to smoke besides her. 

jimin quickly wipes the mess off the table with a napkin before pushing it to the side. “it’s, uh, nice to see you again, i guess. i mean, better to see you in an art exhibition rather than anywhere else.” he rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head at himself since he realizes that he might sound passive aggressive. “it’s nice to see you looking well. i always thought you’d be well. not because of what i’ve been told by someone else, but because of what you decided to show and tell me yourself.”

he used to like her a lot.

Jimin’s silence always has a reason. 

It’s a stark contrast from his usual sharp tongue that takes every chance to sneer playfully at Junsu. They’ve got that kind of loud, relentless friendship. “That’s how brothers are, Junsu,” His mother once said, smiling fondly at Jimin.

But Junsu realized long ago that Jimin’s silence goes beyond their mere seventeen years. It’s short-lived, perhaps, yet cryptic and particular. At first, Jimin wallows and mourns in his sadness, spewing wise bullshit here and there. Junsu can only describe such moping as pathetic later on with a shit-eating grin after Jimin lands a kick on his ass. Except they both know Junsu never means it. 

Then, eventually, Jimin gives in and comes around.

Junsu prides himself in noticing all too easily that something is wrong. But he sits with Jimin in the silence, anyway—and will forever, if he must. Whether it takes Jimin two days or two years. Whether it means enduring Jimin’s vague thoughts or biking him over to the comic book store. Junsu is willing to wait.

“Fuck,” Junsu laughs. He follows Jimin out. “It’s not like we were gonna go home anyway.”

The only thing Junsu won’t do is treat Jimin any different.

And then they’re free. It’s an option they always take. Freedom. An option that’ll surely have Junsu’s mother scolding them both in the evening before shoving food into their mouths and coddling Jimin.

Junsu smiles to himself. Backpack slung over his shoulder. He crouches to unlock his bike. “I told you to save up ’n get yourself a bike, didn’t I?” Junsu yanks his bike up. He gives Jimin a once-over with a scowl, before he softens again. “Get on.” He re-adjusts his backpack so it’s flush against his chest instead of his back. “And grab onto the straps or else we’ll tip over again when we go uphill like last time. I fuckin’ hate that.” He climbs onto the bike.

They’re just boys.

But Junsu still wants to say:

Jimin. Tell me what’s wrong, will you?

“why would i buy a bike when there’s yours to use?” jimin shrugs as he climbs on behind him, adjusting his weight so he won’t fall off. “maybe you could gain some weight to keep the weight at the front, you fucking ass,” he snaps back, leaning forward to hit him with his chin. 

for as much as he wants everything to stay a secret, jimin always ends up needing to tell junsu everything. 

maybe it’s because jimin is afraid that he will disappear completely, buried under all his secrets until he can’t be pulled out of them (and no one will even try unless it’s junsu). it’s as if junsu is the only person who can prove that jimin exists in this world, living, breathing, mattering. the only proof that he’s alive. living in a position where you can easily be replaced makes jimin afraid to stay silent. there is no day without the sun. the way how jimin looks at the back of junsu’s wide shoulders is almost fond, and jimin presses his cheek against his back.

junsu smells of cheap laundry detergent, sweat and a faint trace of cigarettes that jimin had smoked besides him. junsu hates it, but jimin likes how there’s a trace of him that can effortlessly be found on junsu. 

they could easily smell the same, as they often share the same home, but junsu’s warmth has a fragrance of it’s own. 

the time taken to reach the store isn’t too long, thanks to junsu’s strength and stamina built by taekwondo training. looking back, junsu has always been taller, stronger. if he had been younger, jimin would have believed junsu could have taken over the world if he could. 

but they were just kids. 

jimin says nothing during their way there and continues his silence even when they arrive. he doesn’t mean to sulk, but junsu makes it easy for him to, allowing him to lengthen and reduce his silence however he wants to. perhaps its out of pity, or maybe it’s out of sympathy. whatever it is jimin accepts what’s given since he has nothing in the first place. 

the small bell attached to the door rings when jimin pushes it open, and jimin orders two bowls of ramen and two cans of coke before he grabs a few books and heads up for the terrace. it’s a routine, but today’s is a bit rushed. it’s obvious how difficult it had been for him to suffer so quietly for this long in the way how quickly he walks up the dusty stairway. 

jimin still says nothing when they reach the terrace, his attention focused on the worn pages of the comic book in his hands. it’s when the part time worker arrives with their order that causes jimin to break the silence. “jungah and i broke up.” he announces finally, but ever so quietly, almost buried by the sound of the wind. 

Jimin was a lot like a ghost to Jungah.

She knew he was around, floating through a life that didn’t include her for now… well, getting close to a decade now that she thought about it. They coexisted on the same plane of existence yet didn’t intrude on one another any longer. It allowed them to both move on peacefully.

(Not really. Not really at all, actually.)

As Jungah stood in front of the painting, the murmur of the other patrons bouncing around the walls of different exhibits, she would have preferred to be the ghost that was unseen, because Jimin’s presence was enough to chill her. As soon as she had walked into the room, her coat tossed over her arm, she knew she had made a wrong turn. One of many, but it was too far off from where she had wanted to be when she recognized his voice. Older, but it was still him. She’d not forget his voice so easily.

Haunting.

“Art imitates life.” Even with her heart feeling a twisting ache of remorse, Jungah kept her eyes ahead at the painting, the swirls of color reminding her of some far off memories that included him, and only him. “So, yeah. I do. Life’s shitty.” Slowly she turned her body to face him, looking him up and down and assessing how he looked now. He was the same, more or less, but his features had matured more. The world never seemed kind to Jimin (but maybe she was biased), and with the passage of time, Jungah was sure it continued to be a weight on his shoulders. She did note, however, that he was still cute, and that kicked in her own vanity. My hair better not look atrocious.

Under her jacket, she gave one of her arms a squeeze to get herself to say something that wasn’t an apology. There were few people she’d ever want to ask for forgiveness from, and Jimin was one of them. He deserved that much.

She struggled to smile.

“Jimin,” the formalities felt uncomfortable, but she supposed she should mind her manners. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”

A ghost would boo at the cliché pleasantries. She hoped he looked past it.

life’s shitty. jimin wonders if it’s a jab at their past. life was shitty back then, and life was shitty still. if it made her feel any better, if she asks for specifics, it’s less shitty than it was back then.

“that’s funny, i didn’t ask for it to imitate mine.”

jimin laughs before he realises that it’s a bad joke to make, it’s already so somber and there’s an awkward air between them as they hide too much and say too little. jimin is quick to make a straight face and look back at the art piece they’re both criticising. 

has it, been that long? the thought pushes him down into the water of memories, and jimin struggles against the currents. it almost hurts to remember. it’s a healed wound but it stings when he pokes at it. he almost resents her for asking even though it’s the right thing to do.

“...yeah.” jimin’s gaze doesn’t move away from the painting, and he counts backwards until he reaches one, taking a deep breath before he looks at her.

there’s a dilemma whether she deserves to hear an honest answer, or is he deserving to be honest with her in the first place. the silence between them as she waits for his response grows thicker and jimin shifts uncomfortably. 

the last time he saw her, she was crying. time has taken away the softness in her face, made her hard. she looked stronger now, so strong that no one would suspect that she’d cried when they said goodbye for good. 

“you look well,” he observes. he wonders how he looks like in comparison, if someone else walked into the room and saw the two standing together. would they think that she was too good for him, as well?

the thought doesn’t sting as it should; jimin had long accepted what he was, and is, now. pride doesn’t keep food the your table or the roof over your head. 

“....”

jimin hesitates, hands in his pockets as he decides whether he should let himself stick around longer. he’s sure to regret it if he doesn’t say it now. he no longer has a mother who can be threatened with; jimin has nothing much to lose anymore. 

“they say van gough cut off his ear after he got into an argument with gauguin. he must have said something that drove van gough absolutely insane. and isn’t it weird? out of all the things, it’s the ears.” 

jimin watches her, his face unreadable as if he’s testing for her reaction.

“aren’t you curious what gauguin might have said to him?”

@cityafterdark

bgm

it goes like this.

boy meets girl. they become friends, and they fall in love.

jimin’s furrows his brows when he can’t remember what happens next, but he’s certain that high school romance shouldn’t end like the way his did. when he can’t have the things granted to a seventeen year old boy without paying a price, he should have seen it coming. 

and he did. the interaction was brief but it did the job, words lingering in his head like a bad aftertaste. he tries not to think about it too much, but he always finds himself returning to where he had started. jimin gave up after a while, freely and openly sulking for the past two days.

it hurts more than his pride to have no one to wait for during his shift at the convenience store, other than a few texts from junsu. he hasn’t told him anything yet, unsure what he’s supposed to feel and if he’s even allowed to feel so angry over a girl. he’d let the anger burn out, leaving nothing but hurt and acceptance. you’re just kids, he was told. you’ll get over it in a few months.

exactly. they were just kids. jimin ignores the school bell, signalling the end of the day. they were just kids. he doesn’t look away from the window when junsu hits him lightly on the shoulder to catch his attention. jimin eyes the stream of students leaving through the school gate, and his brows furrow when he decides he can no longer hold it in.

“...we’re just kids.” he speaks so quietly that he’s not sure if junsu has heard it. jimin doesn’t turn for a while, and when he does, it’s only a peep over his arm as he slouches over his desk. “can we stop by somewhere? i don’t wanna go home yet.”

by the time soojung gets to the convenience store jimin’s at, there are remnants of a typical salaryman’s thursday night – a half-emptied shot glass, burnt flecks from his lit cigarette littered across the plastic tabletop, the bottle lid snapped off and tossed carelessly off to the side. but jimin isn’t a typical salaryman. jung soojung would never be beckoned by an average hong gildong. (she’d technically never come to the call of anything or anyone, but park jimin proves to stump her.) there’s a brief lull in her step as she takes the scene in before she takes a seat opposite him.

her gaze flickers from the top of jimin’s head to the faint, orange glow illuminating from his cigarette to the billow of smoke wafting from its tip. soojung is a patient reaper. she’s had to learn… the hard way in keeping her composure calm from dealing with passing souls. the jingle of the bell on the store’s door is jarring, almost breaking her concentration with every push and pull, but she focuses her attention on jimin’s face regardless. she notes that his buzz is different today.

(when was the last time i’ve worried over a human?)

soojung doesn’t utter a sound when jimin finally speaks up, which definitely isn’t out of the norm, but who is she to interrupt this sudden confession? (on a side note, had this moment been lighter, she wouldn’t have bit back on a joke about him always being a little 구질해.)

it’s weird. this foreign feeling of actually being worried for a human is weird. jimin’s alcohol-spurred words linger underneath her skin, and she briefly wonders if she has to take up a strong conversation with someone in the weather department to ease jimin’s fucking pain. it’s weird. she knows the skies don’t cry for man’s struggles.

her right eyebrow quips up at the mention of his mother. she had been an easy passing – had requested soojung take good care of her son. of course, she would have never expected to actually run into said son a few years down the line, never expected to befriend said son, never expected to sit across from his haggard soul in search of peace. she never expected to actually be fulfilling such a request.

“어머님이…”

jung soojung isn’t that great with dealing with humans. she’s avoided them as much as she could for centuries. there’s probably a better way she could bring up his mother’s request, so she holds her tongue. jung soojung isn’t that great with dealing with humans, and it’s evident in the way she hesitates before she scrapes her chair closer. she leans in, hand hovering over his shoulder before she carefully squeezes his upper arm.

“아니다. 울어. 뭘 또 이렇게 오랫동안 참았데? 하늘이 이해해주던 말던.”

어머님이...

when soojung mentions his mother, it makes his shoulders curl inwards, head dropping even lower to the point that his forehead almost touches the dirty plastic table. it hurts more when the grim reaper says it. it makes his mother’s passing feel real. he’s been pretending all this time, numbing himself so it won’t hurt when he’s forced to accept it. jimin holds his head in his hands, wishing desperately that soojung can act the role of no more than just a friend tonight. 

“엄마가 뭐.”

what cuts deeper is that each time he reaches for the bottle, he’s reminded of his father. something had gone wrong; it wasn’t his mother who should have died. even after her passing jimin is more tormented by the memories of his father rather than his mother. 

maybe it’d have been better if he died instead.

“기다리면, 참으면 보상 받을수 있을 것 같아서. 태어난게 죄라면, 좀 참으면 벌을 덜 받을 것 같아서. 그래서 이렇게 참아온거야.”

it’s easier to get drunk tonight, but not because of how long it’s been since he touched a bottle of alcohol. the way how the cold liquor so smoothly burns his throat as it goes down make it’s all easy. it’s a good day to get drunk. it’s a good day to ask the grim reaper to take him, too.

“그냥 확 죽어버릴까? 수정아,”

finally given the permission, jimin lets himself cry. after the first, hesitant sob, it’s easier with the second, then the third. jimin weeps loudly until he’s struggling to breathe and his view of soojung blurs, unable to be differentiated from the night that surrounds them. 

“...나, 흐윽, 나 정도면... 죽게 해주면 안 되겠냐? 

in drunk, but desperate, flurry of motions, jimin gets up only to kneel onto the ground besides where she sits. jimin blindly searches for her hand until he finds it, cold fingers tightening around her palm as he begs. 

@pullstrings

bgm

the building that holds the art gallery isn’t so big, yet it’s spacious enough to display over a several hundred art pieces. between the array of art flows a stream of guests, stopping here and there to enjoy whatever’s caught their interest. there, in the middle of the crowd, stands jimin.  

even though there’s people moving constantly like a tide rushing in and out, jimin sticks out like a sore thumb. though he cleaned up, his sense of style can’t match those who have genuine interest in art. jimin himself feels out of place, unable to understand the meaning behind each painting and each statue. he’s only here because one of his friends had invited him, and there was a promise of free food. 

for a while, he follows the stream, his legs carrying him with the direction of the people moving forward, left and right. this almost has a therapeutic effect on him, and jimin wonders how long it’s been since he walked with his mind completely cleared of worry and fear. 

what puts him to a stop is the sharp curve of the corridor, leading him to another room where only one wall holds a painting. it’s a different interpretation of van gogh’s self portrait, and jimin tilts his head to look at it from a better angle. 

he stares long enough that after a while, he feels like the portrait of van gogh is staring right back him. when the portrait somehow starts to remind him of his father, jimin looks away.

three times a coincidence equals to fate, that’s what his mother had told him. at that time, back when she was alive, it sounded like an excuse to leave things be. maybe she was tired of fighting, he assumed. but it’s just that she never tried fighting in the first place. she took so much in until it killed her, defenceless. 

he could divide his life into three parts if he wanted to, it seems right when she’s standing right besides him. 

1. before he met jungah.

jimin holds his breath, wondering if she doesn’t recognise him.

2. when he met jungah

if invariability had a law, the top of the pyramid was the sharpest and the most narrow. 

“...” 

3. after he met jungah.

she was the top of the pyramid that he couldn’t mould himself into.

 meme ) things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

i had to put this under read more since this consists mainly of dialogue and it got long