Jungkook p.o.v

you don't

--

It's been sixteen minutes and thirty seven seconds.

Thirty eight,

thirty nine,

forty,

forty o--

Ding.

I looked up at the door swinging open and then closed. And two seconds later, the middle aged woman's eyes darted to me and she exhaled slowly. She was pretty, with eyes that looked too brown and hair too black. Too familiar.

She walked to my table and sat down, thanking me for the coffee I'd already ordered for her. When she lifted the warm cup to her lips and took a careful sip, her eyes immediately registered and she looked at me as if it was almost tenderness.

Was the caramel machiato that sweet?

"So it really is you."

I nodded.

"Y-yes, I'm Jungkook."

She smiled for the first time and my heart ached even more. That smile was so similar to his.

She adjusted the expensive looking silver bracelet which touched her white dress shirt's cuffs. Her small display of hesitance or perhaps, discomfort seemed to put me on edge as well.

After she'd called me yesterday, asking to meet me at the cafe, I couldn't sleep all night. To know that this was Jimin's own mother who wanted to meet me was gnawing me whole.

She cleared her throat and dabbed her mouth with a napkin, flexing her fingers. I noticed she was wearing a wedding ring on her left hand and immediately realised she was married.

Jimin never talked to me about his father. Only had occasionally commented on his mother's absurd ideas and weekend plans back when we used to engage through patient check ups.

"Jungkook," she started.

She looked at me and her strong guard seemed to be letting down slowly.

"I have a favour to ask of you."

"Of course, you can ask anything, Ma'am."

She tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I have to go out of the country for a while, maybe even longer than four months. But you see, I have a son."

She paused to gauge some kind of reaction from me, but I remained expressionless, trying everything not to scream out his name and begging her to show him to me.

"And, he's in need of careful and constant care giving. I am sure you know he has Alzheimer's, right?"

"Yes."

She nodded and said, "which is why I am asking you to look after Jimin while I'm gone."

My eyes widened and I couldn't believe her words. I was surprised that she was asking me instead of someone, say, Yoongi.

She lifted her hand from her cup and gently placed it on top of mine, voice now on the borderline of pleading.

"Please, I'm begging you."

For the first time, I noticed how fragile and worn out she was looking. There were crow feet beside her eyes and her cheeks looked hollow.

"B-but why are you asking me? Why not ask someone like, Dr. Min or Dr. Kim?"

She smiled and squeezed my hand gently.

"I know who you are, Jungkook and how much you meant to Jimin. Yoongi had told me everything about you," she paused and her voice dropped an octave lower,

"he's never opened up to anyone like he opened up to you. You know him better than anyone else, so please, accept my favour."

I nodded and smiled back at the woman. But still, there was a weird feeling inside my chest. I couldn't decipher it even when Mrs. Park gave me her address,

even when I walked home in a daze, stumbling into strangers,

even when I sat down in my bed.

But it was when I turned on my lamp and sat up to look outside the window beside my bed.

It was when I saw the slight orange and red twinged among the once green leaves that I tore apart the feeling and remembered my promise I had made two years ago.

The night when it had snowed and I was kneeling on the street walk and begging and praying to God;

I promise if you let Jimin live, I'll never meet him again.

But I was supposed to meet him tomorrow.

So I took a shower and knelt on my knees, hands raised out before me and I prayed.

I prayed with all my heart that perhaps God can reverse my former wish and grant my new one.

That He'll let both of us live.

But maybe, just maybe, it's too late for another wish.

》

I stood outside the house. A large mahogany brick house with a cream coloured porch and double French doors. Freshly cut grass and tall trees sprayed out behind it and the fresh painted windows were welcoming. It was something I could never even dream to afford.

But the absence of flowers seemed to question me if whether, behind those doors, there really was Park Jimin.

His mother had told me that in these two years, a lot has changed.

He's 29.

He's changed.

I knew enough to know what kind of change it was the disease brought.

I gulped and pushed the images and words I'd seen on the internet last night at the back of my head. With my suitcase filled with memories and my eyes filled with desperateness, I walked up the porch and knocked on the door.

Hurried footsteps were heard and within seconds, the door was flung open and there was a relived mother.

I walked inside the house and noticed the spiralling hardwood stairs which circled to the bright top floor. My cheap sneakers immediately felt unwelcome on the shiny, expensive flooring.

She led me into the living room which had Persian rings and a sweet candle wax scent. My senses immediately registered the scent I knew so well and my brain yelled the words;

cherry blossoms.

"Jimin adores these scented candles."

I smiled at his mother, too distracted by the scent and beautiful leather and exquisite china. I caught sight of a photograph placed upon the glass fireplace's mantle.

It was of a baby Jimin presumably with Mrs. Park and an overjoyed middle aged man. I assumed it was his father.

"Where's Mr. Park?" I curiously asked.

Her wide smile faltered a bit and she looked down at her ring.

"In heaven."

She directed me to the sofa and presented me with a cup of tea. I noticed her suitcases beside the chairs and her passport on top of the coffee table.

"This is the contact page, in case you need any of the following people. Oh and, a list of the medications he needs to take. He's incredibly moody, maybe a side effect of his medications. These days, he's been locking himself in his room and refuses to eat much. Please make sure he eats a--"

She took a breath and squeezed her eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of Jimin, Mrs. Park." I tried best to reassure his mother with my words and smile.

She nodded.

"I think it's time for my driver to come. I'll call him down t--"

"Mum?"

I froze.

That voice.

My hands were shaking and I couldn't bring myself to turn around and look at the face which spoke in that beautiful voice I hadn't heard in two years.

Two fucking years, Jungkook. At least look at him now.

And so, I turned around and saw him.

It was him.

"J-Jimin.." I tried to measure my words.

His eyes which were poised upon his mother now rested on me.

And instead of the old him who would have smiled in that smile which even made the sunlight jealous of it's warmth,

the light clouds hummed in tune with his empty eyes.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"Who are you?"

--

remember me.

A/N

Y'all were sayin jimin died BITCH U THOUGHT