Jimin p.o.v
I won't,
--
I sat at the hospital's cafeteria, neglecting the food that was sitting in front of me. It's been three weeks since I've talked to Jungkook, since I've been close enough to practically taste his scent.
Namjoon, the head of the cardio surgery department and a well-renowned professor, had pulled me aside after the death of Hoseok.
He said he was aware of my change in behaviour and was going to report it to the hospital's council after the nurses and assistant in the surgery room's observations made its way around. That a doctor hesitating is the most dangerous thing of all.
By now, almost every single staff member would stop me and speculate for some type of gossip. But I didn't care about them.
I cared about Jungkook. I don't think he knows that I was behind the reason why Hoseok had died and I was scared. So scared that he'd hate me even more.
I wanted to run to him and kiss him and whisper sweet things to him, just so I could see the blush on his cheeks and the crinkles beside his eyes when he'd smile.
I walked through the hallways, numb with the scent that I'd trapped of him inside me. I don't know how long I'd walked for until I saw a blue sign, indicating I was entering the psychiatry ward.
It was early morning, just when the sun was about to rise soon and nurses would scurry once again. I am sure he'd still be sleeping so I went to go visit him secretly the second time today.
I opened the door, hoping to silently greet a peaceful sleeping butterfly, but the absence of him, replaced with a carefully strewn bed sheet, made my eyes dart in fear.
"Jungkook?!" I yelled in the vacant room. There was no one in the bathroom and it was too early for him to go around and have breakfast.
My mind thought of the worst and I ran to the window, yanking it open. There was no bloody body on the ground.
"No, please. . .Jungkook," my hoarse voice drifted. My legs gave out and I sank to the ground, growing smaller and smaller.
I crawled to his bed and lied in it, trying to savour what's left of his scent. I didn't cry because I was afraid if I did, then my tears would wash away his intoxicating scent of cherry blossoms, his favourite kind.
I should have told him I liked him.
By now, I'd become aware that my forgetting of words definitely had a reason. With my head against my pillow, I whispered a list of words that I never wanted to forget even when my brain rebelled;
Jungkook.
Love.
Art.
Inspiration.
Jungkook.
That window that I'd previously yanked open now allowed a flutter of wind to course throughout the dim room. They sent the sheets of the bed swaying, the hair on my head fluttering, the coldness of my heart yearning.
I heard the sound of pages rustling and looked up to see the sketch pad's pages fluttering, placed on the nightstand beside the box of charcoal pencils I painstakingly recognised.
The pages ruffled together and I grabbed the sketch pad. It stopped moving to rest upon a page of,
my face.
So I flipped the page and saw another one.
It was of me, in my lab coat. The black lines highlighting my cheekbones with smudges of gray and black.
And I flipped another page and then another.
All of the twenty one pages of sketches were all of me. From the first day I'd seen him to the last.
That was it, no more. I let my forehead sink into the sketch pad, gripping the creases of the pages. The harder my body shook with tears and hiccups, the more his face refused to leave my memory.
"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Kookie. . ." I whispered to the bed sheet with breaks of hiccups and sobs.
I don't know how long I cried in that bed. I refused to answer my calls and my text messages, probably from nurses asking where I was.
So when the door opened and footsteps followed and a warm hand rested upon my wet cheeks, I sat upright to frantically say,
"Jung--"
and saw a worried Yoongi.
"I've been looking everywhere for you!" He stopped yelling when he took in my red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks.
"Yoongi, he. .he left!" I cried and he pulled me into a hug.
I cried hysterically once again in his arms. He held me there hushing me and rubbing circles on my back. When I pulled away, the damp shoulder sent waves of embarrassment throughout my chest.
"It's okay, don't worry," he said with a smile, as if he read my mind. No wonder he was my best friend.
"I take that Jungkook's gone, huh."
I grimly nodded.
"I'm sure he left at his own will. He's a twenty five year old man and wasn't under high priority medical consideration, so we can't dispatch security to go looking for him," he looked down and informed me.
I buried my face in my hands, wishing I could bury my heart as well. It still beats for him and calls for him against my will.
I met Yoongi's eyes who frantically searched mine. He knew I loved Jungkook. He asked many times after he would catch me smiling to myself, lost in my thoughts during medical conferences, and I would just hum happily to his question.
"You're hopelessly in love," he'd shake his head.
So I gathered my courage and told him what I'd stopped myself from telling other neurosurgeons and specialists of the brain.
"Th-there's something wrong with me."
Yoongi's eyebrows quirked up.
"I am forgetting everything. Words and memories." I confessed with bile rising in my throat.
His face darkened and he wet his lips.
He lead me to his office and sat me down with a cup of dark coffee. While he was settling down and taking off his lab coat to reveal a black button downed shirt, I stared at the liquid in front of me. It looked so. . .dark.
I lifted the cup to my lips and took a careful sip, instantly darkening at the bitter taste. This wasn't what I used to drink. I was used to drinking the,
sweet,
rich,
sweet--
My throat welled up and I felt like I was going to throw up the sip of coffee I'd taken.
What was it that I used to drink?
I closed my eyes and thought again.
Those brown eyes.
Those pink lips.
Those blushed cheekbones.
I opened my eyes again.
The sweet scent of Jungkook.
--
forget you.
