Five stages of grief; taegguk

BARGAINING -4-

Hello Jungkookie,

I didn't eat waffles by the river just because they smelt good. Neither did I do it because they were my favorite- with strawberry icecream and cherry-flavored cream. 

It was too cold for a November morning, to chilly to go out only in my hospital pajamas and slippers; it was too early to leave the place I've foolishly started to feel comfortable in.

I hadn't realized that bailing it could potentially mean a long-time rising panic attack that strikes you as you escape the routine. 

Fortunately for me though, Jimin did know. Funny, right? To know my friend did research on me, research on how I might react to the outside world.

I feel like I'm some kind of a laboratory experiment, to be honest.

So, as I was saying, Jimin made sure I wouldn't be too upset going out. He talked to his therapist, spoke with my doctor, and even explained his plan to my mother. For weeks now, he's been sneakily asking me what my favorite color is so he could buy a blanket especially for this occasion; what my favorite food is so he could practice making it into the late hours of Monday afternoon. 

You can imagine how shocked I was when he suddenly showed up in my hospital room (at 2 AM, might I add), high on adrenaline and dressed in ugly dark green hiking pants, his hair messy from not having enough time to comb it as he slept in on his plan to abduct me when the medical staff is not around (so maybe my doctor didn't like the idea of me leaving the hospital grounds, what about it). 

I felt almost okay as we hade a run for it, I like the sound of my breathy giggles when we got caught by the guard- I sounded like a child. Sounded like I'm happy.

He must've heard it too because he let us through, not before forcing us to promise we'll be back by 5 (we weren't).

Much to my further surprise, Jimin's therapist was waiting to pick us up outside. For a short minute I thought Jimin stole a car and is going to drive us to wherever the fuck he's intending to go, himself. Truth be told, I almost turned around at that point.

But with a squeeze of his hand, my friend assured me that's not the case.

Jimin's therapist, Min Yoongi of a name, is a noble fine-looking doctor with a firm handshake and small piercing cat eyes. His left cheek twitches as he speaks, he has a nervous habit of pursing his lips into a thin line, and an unhealthily enomerous crush on Jimin, but, as I learned from the experience, he doesn't like to be remainded of any of that. 

He doesn't really speak, doesn't smile either so how can I sense something incredibly assuring about him? How could I relax completely at the back of his car?

How could I still, even being around a stranger, open up about you, as we were sitting on the red-colored blanket with loads of yummy food spread around us, my favorite song playing from the car that was parked a few meters away?

I was just so sad, baby, so my tears spilled over, and my eyes swelled, so did my heart- choking it out, I confessed how I believe you're still alive. I do believe in each of my theories. Maybe the reality is escaping me slowly but at least I'm crazy and in love. At least in my head you're not dead.

The mud made my thin freshly washed shoes turn dark brown and yellow, and my toes quickly started to freeze until I finally couldn't feel them anymore.

Mr. Min didn't say a word as he spread the chequed blanket over the grass, chilly under my fingertips, moist as I sat down; but seeing me tremble helplessly, the pale man handed me his scarf.

It's pretty, much like him, red, soft, warm too, swallowing my neck like a blanket, and though the color doesn't match my light blue pajamas, Jimin looked at me as if I'm the most mesmerizing creature in the world.

Mr. Min kept to himself as we talked - he sat down a few feet away from us with a thick book, rarely glancing up but when he did it was surely when he heard the bell-like sound of Jimin's giggles. 

He's smitten, really, it's funny to watch.

It's because of that that I felt comfortable - they were blushing, their eyes sparkled though there was no sun- sparkled with the sheer light of their souls, intertwined so beautifully together, and as if written in a book, the pair jumped back in shock when their fingers brushed together, what a lovely chaos.

They reminded me of us. Of you.

It hurt, but it was a pretty pain nevertheless.

In the false comfort of familiarity, I blurted out how I don't believe you're dead, how every inch of my body refuses to listen to a lie so cruel. 

Jimin's eyes twinkled with the need to stop my pitiful rambling but he let me finish - that's why I told him my stupid theory of how you got sick of me and are now pretending to be dead. Told him I like that theory far batter than I do the lies. 

By the time I was done, both our faces were soaked with tears, hands trembling, shaking to comfort each other.

And Jimin looked at me; my beautiful little friend, pain and something else cracking in his eyes, looked at me then, and said ...

"It's possible, Tae. It could happen. I believe you."

"Jimin," it was the first time Yoongi spoke, tone warning, almost shockledly angry, and though Jimin flinched at the cold threat he didn't take it back.

Hope blossomed like an ugly flower inside my chest that morning.

Yours,

Tae