Jimin p.o.v
I have,
--
I was going to finally ask him.
I was going to finally ask him to go on a date with me.
But I,
I forgot the words.
No, not the kind of way that you're speechless when looking at their beauty. Although Jungkook did have that special effect sometimes.
I forgot the words.
I forgot my words.
I looked at myself in the mirror, at my scared expression and the sweat beading my forehead.
I was telling myself to remain calm, that it's okay, but my doctor side was already speculating and coming up with the list of diseases and syndromes and disorders.
Am I losing my memory?
No. No fucking way.
I've spent my whole life studying to be where I am, bullshit if I'll forget all that.
But Jungkook, oh my Jungkook. I've already embarrassed myself in front of him and if I were to do that again and him to see me all ugly, fighting for words with such an imperfect manner, then--
I won't. I won't let him see me like this.
》
It happened again, two days later.
While I wheeled a patient to their room, I forgot their age. Even though I'd just looked at their record a minute ago.
"Rest well, Mrs. H.."
I waited for the name to come to me.
Just look at the record for it, it's right there in your hand.
No, I am not losing my memory and am certainly not losing my mind. It'll come to me.
The woman looked at me, waiting for the valediction.
"Hong!"
"Um no, it's Hwang," she said.
》
What did I want in my coffee again? 2% milk? 3%?
The cashier cocked an eyebrow.
"Dr. Park, it's 2% milk, right? You told me a month ago you were switching to that."
"Ah yes! Thank you.."
I eyed his name tag,
"Haru."
I retrieved my coffee and sat at the garden. I brought the cup to my lips, my eyes wandering to the wet, beige circle it left.
What did Jungkook call that again?
I closed my eyes, searching for the word he had said when were having lunch in his room someday.
Come on, Jimin. Remember.
I opened my eyes again and laid them upon a grim boy walking towards me, a sketch pad clutched close to his chest.
"Jimin."
I refused to meet his eyes, telling myself not to look. Because if I did, all my hard work of avoiding him for the past week would have gone to waste and I would risk myself of Jungkook witnessing the ugly and imperfect part of me.
That I was a broken structure who couldn't remember his words and memories. At least, my memories of Jungkook were still there, tattooed across my heart's shivers, but what if I forget even those? What then?
