noc·tu·ary
(n.) a journal of nocturnal incidents
• a park jimin au •
in which a violinist misses the last train out of the city, so reluctantly seeks help from a dancer, after which the two strangers embark on a peculiar nighttime sojourn in Ne...
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Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours, midnight had already marched steadily through the night, and Jimin is finally back inside Grand Central Station. As the train pulls into the platform, people stand, bleary eyed, reactions slow, tiredness running through their veins, they gather around the door waiting for what seems like forever to get out.
All the while, Jimin remains seated. With his head rested against the worn out leather chair, hands tucked warmly inside his coat pockets, he's awake, and very much aware of his surroundings, though a part of his conscious wanders elsewhere.
When the train comes to a full halt, Jimin lingers behind the commuters filing out. His feet step onto the worn yellow band by the edge, before moving over the dirty grey floor and take him out of the almost empty platform, which was a seething mass of humanity only hours ago.
He pulls his hand out of his pocket, only enough to get a peak of the time on wrist and checking it with that of the opal faced clock atop the information booth, a habit he picked up in the early days of his work, when he was still a naive newcomer and dreaded to stain his reputation by even seconds of tardiness.
Jimin continues to stride across the main concourse, recalling the recent conversation he had with his friend just minutes ago about an event he's to attend, before his phone decided to die, leaving him alone with his contemplation and an address.
Still walking, he turns his body to glance towards the clock once again, almost as if he's looking for a excuse in the time."She's here hyung," he hears his friend's voice in his head and takes in a deep breathe, "but she's with some guy."
His sigh comes out in a huff, while he scrutinises his situation, getting vexed over his inability to choose over the simple yet inconvenient decision of whether he wants to see her again or not.
Just as he presses his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, he notices the sound of sudden footsteps approaching him. Before he can react, something— no someone— rams against his side. His quick reflexes involuntarily pull his arms out to hold onto the person's waist, steading them on their feet. Jimin hears a clatter on the ground, followed by an agitated, "Fuck!" before he retracts his arms and stands straight.
His focus falls on the figure's back, carrying a black case, and on it, a small design of white musical notes that curve to form a violin. It's her.
He watches as the young girl leans down, picking up her now broken phone. Without giving him a second to fully register the minor accident, his eyes lock with her dark, widened orbs, that only spare him a glance before turning back.
"W-wait!" Is the only thing Jimin's startled mind can shape to say, as he calls after the girl, who hastily walks away from him, her deep brown hair jumping on her back with every step she takes.
It's too late, he wants to tell her, but remains stationary in his spot, left with the faint sound of the girl's heels that tap against the floor when she turns the corner, Jimin knows she's hurrying down the stairs towards the platform he just came from, to the train he was just in, which is now on it's way out.
