(Jimin POV)
___
I ran.
My unzipped jacket flapped against my thighs as my feet smacked the pavement in tiny seconds, my footprints disappearing in the light snow just as quickly.
It's me, me who relaxes at the tone of your laughter.
In hosts, they fell, reluctant arms trying to spread themselves around me, efforts of melting upon my face quick to stop when I didn't.
It's me, me who tries to catch your eyes in the halls.
For I was running to testify whether mine were begging to yearn around the same person, the same identity whom made my throat both rumble in laughter and dry up in sadness.
It's me, me who can't believe that it's you.
The school came in view and my breath came out in oriental patterns, like the smoke of cigarette begging to be destroyed and finished in flaky ashes.
The snow drifted and I wish I could too.
To be carried in the wind softly to the ground was a feat I wished I could perform this current moment, cheeks flushed and heart unable to hush, drumming and wanting to drift right over to him this unbelievable moment.
"It's me, it's me. ." I panted, practicing and swallowing breath at the same motion.
I wanted to scream it to the world, wanted to tell to each person whom I ran past, their face turning towards my sprinting figure in confusion.
My lungs burned, cheap leather soles of my shoes threatening to slip upon the wet ground. A thin layer of sweat trickled down the nape of my neck, and the wind whipped strands of hair into my eyes.
It's me, it's me
I let out a frustrated yell, as I rounded the shortcut to the bus stop, stitches pinning the sides of my stomach against me, but I don't stop because it's me, it's me,
It's me.
I tried to piece back his voice in my thoughts, hopes of matching it with the face I yearned to see in school each time.
The trail halted open, the street spread into two curtsies, bus stop appearing a few meters away.
I ran to the glassy box twinged with water, nearly slipping as I stumbled in.
"Jung--"
It was empty.
I frantically looked around, touching the panes of the box for some invisible conformity. But the frigid glass touched me back and my breath struggled to come to my burning lungs.
My breath came out in ragged puffs, a cry tickling the back of my dry throat.
My phone rung.
I quickly retrieved it, seeing the familiar number present on my screen.
Footsteps crunched behind me and I spun around.
Amidst the flurries, his flushed cheeks kissed them back, a phone pressed up against his ear.
It's him.
My finger slid on the 'answer' button, fingers numb and trembling.
Sheltered underneath the bus's box, I waited for that familiar voice to seep through the familiar number from that familiar face.
"Jimin," he spoke, "it's me," a smile upon his lips.
The face in front of me spoke through the phone and wind, the same voice and face in existing space and time and all abstracts I deemed inevitable but unimportant at this current moment.
"Jung--," my voice caught in my throat as a silver feeling rose in me. I couldn't say it.
I tried again, unable to complete the name. A quick and wet lightness touched my face and I wondered how the snow was melting upon my face when I wasn't even underneath it.
It wasn't the snow.
It was my tears, how I couldn't fathom when they had started.
He stepped away from the bordering trees, walking closer to me as a slow haze of snow moved around his figure, phones still pressed against our cheeks.
Flushed cheeks and eyes stood in front of me, unreal to the pale snow melting against them in a wet sheen of remnants. His phone came away, pocketing, as he stood in front of me in the bus shelter.
Deja vu unfurled throughout me when the soles of his sneakers pressed to the tips of mine.
"Say it," he whispered, lifting my phone away from my ear.
Meeting the right person is like having a word on the tip of your tongue, not knowing what exactly it is. Yet their eyes are inches away and even though the world feels as if it's stopped turning, you finally remember it.
And say it.
"Jungkook," a small choke threatening to follow.
I raised my hands, wiping my cheeks, an unhinged and indistinct light laugh escaped my lips as I took him and all of him in.
"Jungkook, it's--it's me."
He nodded, crinkles appearing besides his eyes. I stared at them, knowing now that these small hatch-marks besides his brown eyes were much more beautiful than what I'd managed the voice at the other end of the line to have.
"Speak, I--" I gulped, "I want to hear you speak more."
He bit his lip, expression softening and threatening to crumble at the same time. Water filled his eyes, his fingers reaching up to tighten around my jacket.
"Y-you said you were in love, but not wit--" He looked down at his feet, black hair falling, unable to complete his sentence.
My fingers closed around his, the cold fabric of my jacket warming.
"I finally found the definition for your name."
He kept his head down, fingers unmoving.
I leaned down, bringing my lips near his ear to murmur.
"You're my semi-colon."
He raised his head and a gust of wind flew in, snow hurrying in again around us. His hair fluttered up, strands of hair rising from his pale forehead.
"You don't complete me, and that's okay. But you do give me the chance to continue my sentence, my story, when all I wanted to do was end it."
So when your chest pressed to mine, an exchange of heartbeats fluttering through our clothes, the tears upon my shoulder revealed to me that even in some of the most casual gestures -- two more steps, three more tears, four more smiles and five more screams -- we all add in a semi-colon between our usual stops;
deciding to continue our sentences to our final stop.
___
