Jungkook p.o.v
somebody to,
--
I had dropped Jimin off at the hospital and just came home.
The events of last night had shook me so hard that I scrambled for the phone first thing as soon as I heard Jimin fall asleep.
With a desperate voice, I refused to let the tears be heard by Yoongi as I explained to him my suspicion. I let Yoongi take over when he came by this morning, taking Jimin with him to the hospital himself as I stared at them with blood shot eyes.
He would be home within half an hour now.
I sat myself on the bed, long grey cardigan draped over my quivering shoulders, staring at the beautiful photographs on his wall. Despite the rain pattering on the window, the photographs filled in the absence of the sunlight's warmth, yet not quite filling in the void that my arms yearned for.
I looked at the various sticky notes plastered on his walls and furniture, some indicating where he folded his socks, others written in black ink with the words, 'shirts'. There were blue and orange and red notes all over the room that I felt even smaller than the slight dust that coated his desk.
I decided to pluck a tissue from the tissue box and walked over to his desk.
"Messy as ever," I whispered to myself.
I folded it and wiped the tissue over the off white desk of his, feeling the cold surface even through the opaque material. I wiped the dust settling around his desk lamp and smiled when I saw the camera placed gently in the corner. I hadn't seen Jimin take anymore pictures since that day we kissed for the first time in the park.
I quickly blinked and continued to wipe the sides of the desks which still had various coffee stains from the wet bottoms of past mugs. Even the two drawer which lined the desk looked stained and I smiled wondering how many cups of coffee he drank when he would study his anatomy textbook and work on his thesis. While I did, the first drawer of the desk caught my eye.
Unlike each and every drawer which was labelled, unlike each and every inch of the walls that were covered with some type of reminder that would hail important to him one day,
this one wasn't labelled.
I felt a funny feeling at the bottom of my stomach. That was very unlike Jimin. Even if the drawer served no purpose for the Jimin that would randomly stash away his things, he would have at least labelled the drawer as 'empty.'
But he didn't.
I told myself it was a breach of privacy as my fingers curled around the knob of the cold drawer, I told myself it was wrong and that I should just curl up on his bed and watch the rain fall down and wonder when it would turn to snow,
but I didn't.
Because when I gently opened the drawer and heard it softly creak from not having been opened in years, I wish I hadn't.
There they were; the blue and black notebooks.
"Oh Jimin. . ."
I picked up the black notebook and flipped through the pages.
For the first twenty pages, they were of random words and definitions, words such amaranthine, explaining the beauty of their sounds and feelings.
But for the last twenty one pages I flipped through, watching my tears wet and swirl around the black ink, watching my finger shake and curl around the wetting pages, watching the word that was written over and over and over again;
Jungkook
And even though I felt like my tears would be enough, like the rain which pattered even harder against the window, felt like these tears would be enough to water the flowers that were dying in that park this very moment.
I closed the notebook, placing it back inside the drawer, catching sight of the blue notebook that I had gifted Jimin that day in the hospital room. I knew that whatever might be written inside that journal would rip my heart apart even more, but that was okay;
I didn't want my heart to beat if it wasn't beside Jimin's.
And so, I flipped to the first page of the thick, leather spined notebook,
wondering whether Park Jimin was crying when he wrote these words,
just like I was crying in this very moment.
--
die for.
