When Taehyung suggests you all go on a one-week road-trip to Busan to enjoy Jimin's "last days of freedom" before his marriage, you aren't very much surprised -after all, your best friend is a master at coming up with stupid plans.
But feigning that...
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You're single for... two years, two months, and twenty days.
Precisely, since you and Kim Seokjin have broken up.
You find it pretty miserable and pathetic to keep track of the time elapsed since that faraway: " Take care of you, (Y/N)," tumbled off his mouth, stretched in a dim smile. But you find even more miserable and pathetic the fact that you can still remember every tiny detail of that Sunday morning, flashing in the back of your mind like it happened yesterday: the autumn knocking at the doors of a chilly September almost coming to the end –a carpet of golden Ginkgo leaves cloaking the sidewalks brimmed with people; the pale sun creeping over the horizon and bathing your bedroom situated at the tenth floor of a block of flats –lemony clouds curling in the abnormal clear sky; hoodies and shirts and jeans flying out an almost empty closet and landing in two branded luggages –you, helpless and gutted, laying against the doorframe to admire his broad shoulders, aware that the back-hug you gave him yesterday morning (in a pitiful attempt to make him change his mind) was the last.
You don't know how many tears you shed after the entrance door shut on his liquid, soft stare –brimmed with a type of affection that couldn't be called love , no more.
You don't know how many pieces your heart shattered into, once you were left alone to deal with a life that had always been extraordinary even in the company of yourself only –but it had a sweetest taste, when he was around.
What you know, it's that your heart never recovered (and you neither).
In the present, a tangle of tight barbed wire wraps around your vital organ, stingy enough to ward off every type of emotion that could generate an earthquake deep inside of you.
You're so used to counting on yourself and spending your days in a routine made of many small, personal things that you've forgotten what it means to share it with someone else. You can't remember the last time the most intense goosebumps gripped at you for the slightest touch of a finger on your skin; your heartbeat stopped reverberating from your toes to your ears for the smallest smile blooming for you –it only pounds feebly to reassure you about its presence, but that's that; it's a blur memory by now, the heat flushing along your cheekbones for a languid stare lingering upon your figure a little longer; and you've forgotten how it feels to have your stomach twist and turn at the mercy of pleasure and desire, bubbling up at the mere sight of a bare body tensing up at the slightest stretch or movement.
Falling in love, being loved back... you've forgotten how such a natural reaction works, to the point that you can't help but ask yourself if it'll ever happen again –if you've ever felt it in the first place, actually, grasping the true, big meaning behind it.
Namjoon, caught up in one of his non-required philosophical explanations blurted out just when you were a little bit too cuddly (a little bit too in deep) and inclined to express your feelings out loud, used to tell you that it was just a temporary chemical reaction: "When two people fall in love, our body releases substances, you know? Dopamine, adrenaline, norepinephrine... they increase, that's why we feel euphoric. Isn't it fascinating?"
