September 23rd | jjk

Now

The days after the funeral all blended into one. One seamless, unclear blur that Jungkook lived through without thought. 

He was vaguely aware of his Mother checking up on him, and of his own replies. But he couldn't remember what was said.

She was buried the day after. Jungkook thought he knew the exact moment the earth finished packing over the top of the coffin. The moment she returned to dust; to what she had once been. He knew, because he couldn't breathe. 

His Mother had found him, hyperventilating and rocking back and forth in the corner of his bedroom. She wiped at his wet eyes, and ran him a bath, and he allowed himself to redact back to his childhood for that evening. He allowed her to baby him, to take real, total care of him. It soothed the ache, but it wasn't enough.

And then, one morning, when Jungkook woke up to the same familiar gnawingly empty sense he had for the previous week. But today, he could think. And remember his thoughts. And, for the first time in too long, he was back in his body. One thought took hold of him, and held fast until he took action.

She wouldn't want you to live like this.

So, he pulled open his own curtains. He plugged in his phone. He took a shower. 

The wardrobe door creaked slightly as he pulled it open, wanting to change out of his pyjamas and into proper clothes. Sifting through the cargo pants and selection of t-shirts, he skimmed the fingers of his good hand over the material, sighing quietly through his nose. 

And there, hanging in front of him, was her sweater. 

He knew it immediately, not by the size difference between it and his own clothes, not by the more feminine cut, but by the faint trace of her scent still lingering on the fabric. Somehow. After all this time.

He knew it by the way it felt between his clenched fingers, white at the knuckle where they grasped the soft material. 

The first time she left it at his house, she swore it was an accident. They were 13, then. The second time, she laughed and the two shared a joke about her forgetfulness. By the third, fourth, fifth and every other time that followed, her secret smile told him that she had no intention of taking it home. He liked to think it was an excuse to come and see him.

He would never know how right he had been. And now, it was one of many pieces of her tucked away in his room. His life. 

The desk rattled as his cell phone buzzed repeatedly, over and over and over, so much that it fell off the wood and landed on the ground with a clatter. In one breath, Jungkook let go of the sweater and swiped the hangers along the rail, pushing it back, back and out of sight. He dressed quickly, pulling on an old, oversized black hoodie over the top of his outfit. The light of his screen glared back at him furiously when he finally opened his phone.

84 Unopened Text Messages

29 Missed Calls

With a groan, Jungkook set himself in the desk chair and combed through the messages. They were mostly from his Hyungs, missed attempts to check up on him. He shot back to a few, apologising again for the late replies. There were social media notifications, too. 

Her page was full of empty comments, idle posts about how much she would be missed, how amazing she was, from people who had barely ever known her. Jungkook tried to scoff, but it died somewhere in the back of his throat and was reborn as a strangled whimper. 

A new text from Jin stole his attention.

SJ: If you want them, I have some of the work you missed from school.