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It is a Sunday when Jimin leaves.
In all the world’s irony, the day happens to be November 11. It’s Singles' Day, when the malls and online stores slash their prices for a chaotic whirlwind of shopping madness. A celebration of loneliness where people are taught to drown their sorrows in consumerism.
Jeongguk sits on a bench, watching the weeds sway, led by the salty breeze. There is an ache in the pit of his stomach, so deep that he thinks he knows what sitting on the ocean floor must feel like.
Jimin had agreed to meet him in person. Only after Jeongguk called twice, texted five times, and finally spelled it out:
if you’re going to break up with me, at least do it in person. meet me tomorrow at 1145, the park.
Nothing comes until the next morning.
jimin:
sorry i fell asleep last night
of course i’ll meet you
Jeongguk notices Jimin's lack of addressing a break up. He also knows Jimin is lying. He saw the green light next to Jimin’s icon on Instagram far past the time he had tried to get in touch.
But he doesn’t raise the argument. Not when he is moments away from losing the one person he has dared to open his heart to.
He watches Jimin’s car pull into the lot, watches the soft tuffs of faded blonde hair bob as Jimin gets out of the car with polished grace. Jeongguk feels pitiful in contrast, like a beggar grasping for sustenance. He needs Jimin.
But Jimin doesn’t need him.
“I’m sorry, Jeongguk,” Jimin says, eyes downcast. The permanent smile etched onto his face is absent today. “This was my first relationship and I – I didn’t know what to expect. How much it takes to be in one.”
“We –” Jeongguk distantly hears his own voice, gravely and hoarse, like he’d been crying all night. Maybe he had been. He can’t seem to keep the moments of his memory aligned. “We could work it out. I could give you space? I – I’d like to be there to support you if I can.” The words fall out on their own.
Jimin doesn’t look at him, plucks out a few weeds and twirls them between his palms. The same palms that hold Jeongguk’s heart, that are slowly slicing him from the inside out. “I’ve tried to think really hard about our future together. And I can’t see one. I don’t want to waste your time or drag you along because it will be harder in the future to let you go.”
The air in Jeongguk’s lungs turns bitter, an icy tundra. “So... does this mean...”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Jimin murmurs, finally glancing up. His eyes are hard, far from the molasses-sweet softness that Jeongguk used to love losing himself in. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”
The “oh” doesn’t make its way out of Jeongguk’s throat. He swallows down the sob that wells up, the stubborn part of his nature determined to maintain some dignity. His fists clench and he misses the weight of Jimin’s hand, the soothing circles he would rub against Jeongguk’s thumb.
“You’re amazing, Jeongguk.” A sheen fills Jimin’s eyes, his jaw tight. Jeongguk recognizes these habits, the methods Jimin uses to tuck away weakness. At least he isn’t heartless. “You’re honest, kind, handsome, and so, so talented. You will have no problem finding someone else, someone so much better.”
“But I don’t want anyone else.”
Jimin heaves a soft sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“What did I do wrong? Was it our argument about going public on social media?”
Jimin shakes his head hurriedly, hands up. “No, definitely not. You did nothing wrong. It’s going to sound so stupid, but this has nothing to do with anything you did.”
“Then what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Jimin whispers. The weeds murmur with the wind, nearly cloaking Jimin’s voice. “I meant everything I said when I said it. But I didn’t know how much my words would mean. I had no idea, but I believed it. I just didn’t know.”
In the distance, a family is laughing, holding hands while walking up the sprawling paved path. Jeongguk used to think about the possibility of starting a family with Jimin. They had briefly discussed adoption, finding a little girl they could raise together. Jeongguk’s heart ballooned, full of all the beautiful things he’d spoil her with, of waking up next to her cuddled in Jimin’s arms.
Jimin had promised to get married one day. That he could never bear to lose Jeongguk. That Jeongguk was everything he had been looking for, and more. Those words are hollow now, locked up in the back of Jeongguk’s treasures.
“I trusted you.”
Jimin ducks his head. He does not reply.
In the pivotal moments of immense loss or happiness, Jeongguk realizes that time does not have its usual pace. The seconds crawl by, lingering, as if too afraid to let go.
But Jeongguk knows he has to let go. “You’ve made up your mind, then?” he asks.
Jimin slowly nods.
Swathed by the afternoon light, Jimin looks thinner than usual, cheeks sunken in. For a second, Jeongguk feels vindicated, a selfish coil that wants Jimin to hurt as much as he does, before the bubble of love, love, love rushes over, filling him with concern.
All of the wounds, fresh and tender, are gone when Jeongguk thinks of Jimin mentally berating himself, preparing for the break up, and knowing the consequences and how heavy his actions would be. If Jimin wants this, then Jeongguk would choose to comply.
“Okay.”
Jimin looks surprised. Perhaps Jeongguk has never worn defeat so well before.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin repeats.
“It’s okay.”
It’s not okay.
“We can still be friends, right?” Despite the tenacity of his own words, Jeongguk doesn’t know if he can ever handle being just friends with Jimin, the brightest light in his orbit.
“Of course.” Warm relief floods Jimin’s face and his hardened eyes bear some semblance to the gaze Jeongguk will hold on to for years to come. “Thank you for understanding, Jeongguk.”
Jeongguk does not want to be thanked. He wants Jimin. “Yeah, yeah. It’s fine. Take care of yourself.”
“You too. Please take care of yourself.”
Jeongguk gets up first, ready to walk away first. He needs to find a space to be alone, to be safe. To figure out whether he wants to deal with this loss now, or pack it away and let it fester until it rots beyond recognition.
He manages to resist looking back at Jimin, facing ahead until he finds a spot at the opposite end of the park, overlooking the endless horizon blurred with his tears. He has a good cry, the kind of wrecked grieving that only comes from having something taken away far too soon.
When the wave passes, Jeongguk feels a fraction lighter. The fog dissipates for a few moments, less severely bogged down. Jeongguk has to move on. The prospect of even taking a step forward is the closest thing to impossible that he’s ever faced.
Jimin is gone.
The following weeks are a combination of awkward and draining.
Jeongguk has to face the task of telling people that he and Jimin are no longer together. His tight circle of friends pick up on this fairly quickly when Jimin skips out on their weekly friend dinners and Jeongguk looks like he has not showered in a millennium.
Without explicitly saying what has happened, Jeongguk notices that his hyungs have been more attentive. Yoongi takes him out for coffee, Seokjin treats him to skewers, Hoseok sends him a slew of gifs every morning, Taehyung crashes for movie nights, Namjoon treats him to a mini shopping-spree.
The bits of information slowly make their way out and his friends are nothing but supportive, even if overbearing. No one shows him pity, but Jeongguk spots the concern in their eyes, the minuscule frowns.
During the day, Jeongguk finds distraction in work and keeping busy. It works for the most part. His job is demanding, deals with angry people and their problems, which take the edge off his own. He blasts upbeat music in the car and avoids all songs that remind him of Jimin. He makes sure to never eat alone because meals used to be an arena for Jimin and him to share intimate thoughts – wishes, dreams, the quiet parts of their lives.
But there is always the night.
The nights are brutal.
Maybe there will come a night when his eyes will dry out of tears, Jeongguk reasons. He curls up in bed and waits for midnight to crawl by, unable to fight the beast of sorrow and “what ifs” that plague him from his fingertips to his toes.
“He left,” Jeongguk says to himself, nails digging into the pillow. “He left you and he’s not coming back.”
Even though Jimin insisted that Jeongguk had no fault in their relationship, Jeongguk knows there’s more to the story. There is always more. Why people suddenly change, or lose their feelings.
It is with those open-ended questions, the ones with answers that Jeongguk will likely never find, that he eventually gives in to restless slumber.
By week four, Jeongguk manages a full eight-hour night of sleep for the first time. The morning greets him and Jeongguk has a bleary revelation that even though his pillow is still soaked with tears, the next day is a fraction easier to face than yesterday.
He has not touched alcohol since the break up, afraid that he would fall too far into its palliative effects to numb the shards of pain. Alcohol is pretty great, he knows, but not for this situation.
Tonight is Seokjin's birthday and Jeongguk is kind of obligated to attend by best friend rules. Seokjin originally wanted an all-out bash at the roller rink, but once the owners found out that entailed stripper poles, fog machines, and more alcohol than their little city had ever seen, he'd been flat out refused.
So the second option is turning one of the suburban abandoned warehouses into a rave. Namjoon is able to track down two hefty generators and five porta-potties. Yoongi had hauled all his DJ equipment out of storage. Seokjin declares the sky as their limit, and is sticking to his promise of pulling the most memorable birthday their sad town has ever seen.
Which also means that Jimin is going to be there.
"Why am I here," Jeongguk says flatly. The bile in his throat overwhelms the smooth whiskey from his red cup.
"Because you're a good dongsaeng and Seokjin would have my ass if I let you leave this early," Namjoon pipes up.
"I'm honestly sure he would not be focused on me if he had your ass."
Namjoon flushes, swatting Jeongguk's face. "Just try to have a nice time, okay? Seokjin would want you to."
Jeongguk can't help but wonder if Jimin has arrived yet. Or if he's with someone. He had avoided checking Jimin's social media, but the few times that he caved into curiosity, he did not find any sign that Jimin was dating. There were still a few photos of them together on Jimin’s account – the platonic ones, enough to appease the fiery sting in his chest.
"And talk to people, if you can. It helps."
"I'll try. Thanks."
Namjoon loiters around before getting dragged away by Seokjin onto the dance floor. Jeongguk shoots them a greasy wink, entirely happy for his best friends, and stamps down the jealousy that flickers faintly.
Jimin and him used to be that couple. The duo who shamelessly flirted and thrived by showing affection in public. Jeongguk had hesitated early into their relationship, not wanting to make anyone uncomfortable, before he let Jimin coax him out of his shell.
His favorite moments with Jimin included huddling side-by-side, nose buried in the collar of Jimin’s coat, hands clasped together. Taehyung used to groan, complaining about their “love-sick gazes.” At times, Jeongguk would lock eyes with Jimin and smile that special one reserved just for him. Having it reciprocated was the fullest satisfaction Jeongguk had ever encountered.
So different was the way Jimin looked at him at the park.
Jeongguk takes another sip and wills to relax. He chats with a few acquaintances, friends of friends, while bobbing along to Yoongi’s beats. The alcohol is warm, tingling with shallow comfort. Jeongguk misses Jimin’s full-body hugs.
And as if on cue, he spots Jimin shrugging off his coat at the entrance. Even with more than a month gone since their break up, seeing Jimin still evokes a potent sting of longing, the force of it making Jeongguk feel like he could crumble. Jimin’s hair is tinged blue, or maybe that’s the neon lighting, framing the familiar curves of his smile.
He looks happy.
Jeongguk watches, helpless like prey, as Jimin greets Seokjin with a ringing laugh that sounds so foreign yet close to home at the same time. Someone off to Jeongguk’s side asks a question that he does not register, nodding anyway.
“Hey,” Hoseok says, an arm slinging over his shoulder. “Thought I’d check in on you.”
“Thanks, like I needed a chaperone.” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, focused on Jimin through the crowd.
Hoseok looks in the line of his sight and rubs the back of Jeongguk’s neck. “You got this. We’re here for you. We love you, okay?”
“Yep.”
“Come on, you gonna dance or what? Like the old days when we’d sweat our ass off at the studio. Let’s go, Gukkie.”
“Hobi,” Jeongguk whines, not up to it. The last thing he wants is to be suffocated between people. Wants to watch Jimin from afar.
“You’re a masochist.”
“I’m trying, okay?” Jeongguk pulls away, tired, so tired. He no longer has Jimin in view.
Hoseok immediately softens, perceptive as ever. “Okay, okay. You’re doing great, you know? We’re all thankful you came out tonight. Want to get some fresh air with me?”
He spots Jimin again, talking to Namjoon about something illuminated on his phone. Jimin deserves to be happy.
And Jeongguk wants to be happy, too.
Two weeks ago, Jeongguk had let go of any hope that Jimin would change his mind and come back. Now, in a building filled with laughter and celebration, Jeongguk finds the strength to let go of one more thread anchoring him to Jimin.
“Sure,” he agrees, taking another sip. “Let’s go.”
They say that “hindsight is always 20/20” – and Jeongguk begins to understand this idiom with the months that follow. Looking back provides clarity over what was once shrouded from view when he and Jimin were together, cloaked by emotion.
Little things that should have prepared Jeongguk, should have hinted that Jimin was not as ready for a relationship as he made him out to be.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been in a relationship before,” Jeongguk says with a laugh. He doesn’t mean to patronize Jimin. “I mean, you’re like, the perfect catch.”
Jimin flushes, rubbing at his neck. “I’m not. Between us, you’re the great one, Gukkie.”
“No, no, it’s all you.”
“You’re being silly,” Jimin says, rolling the name between his tongue. Jeongguk wants to hear him say it over and over. Jimin takes a long swig of his Old Fashioned and gestures at the waitress for another fill. “I guess I just never considered dating? I want to focus on my career and travel a lot before I settle down.”
A blip of warning flashes between Jeongguk’s eyes, but he quickly ignores it to keep up with conversation. “That’s understandable. We’re young, we have a lot to look forward to.”
Jimin smiles, a million watts of brilliance. “That’s exactly it. I wouldn’t want to drag someone down.”
Jeongguk presses on. He is interested in Jimin, after all. “So dating would be out of the question?” He hopes he doesn’t sound desperate, and tacks on a smooth laugh to lighten the load.
“I mean, I guess I think about it time to time. If I found the right person, then yeah, anything can happen.”
Jeongguk maintains the rest of the night’s talk floating along casual topics, such as mutual friends and what hobbies they’ve dabbled in lately. He leaves that night, traces of Jimin’s firm hug still wrapped around him like a cloak, excited for next week’s plans to catch a movie together. He’s not even sure if tonight could be considered a date, but he’s willing to take his chances.
After all, anything can happen.
“Do you think I can meet your mom one day?”
Jimin freezes mid-bite, shoulders squaring up. At his expression, Jeongguk immediately tries to backtrack.
“I mean,” he hurries, rubbing Jimin’s knee, “no pressure at all. I’m just interested in meeting the woman who raised you to be such a great guy.”
Jimin swallows, clearing his throat. He puts his burger down and covers Jeongguk’s hand with his own, nodding slowly. “You’re sweet, Jeonggukie. I’d like you to meet her one day, for sure.”
“You don’t sound so sure,” Jeongguk says, careful to leave his tone neutral.
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want you to meet her.”
A list of insinuations hang in the air. Is Jimin ashamed of him? Does Jimin think Jeongguk is asking for too much? None of it makes sense. They had made one month officially, and Jimin was the one who was telling Jeongguk how much he loves him, how much he wants them to last.
Jeongguk waits for Jimin’s words to catch up with the complex train of thoughts he knows Jimin operates on.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to meet her,” Jimin repeats. “She worries. She worries for me all the time, thinking I focus on work too much and will be alone forever. I don’t want to bring someone to meet her, get her hopes up, and then hurt her if something bad happens between us.”
His words make sense, laced with concern. His mother, a single parent, brought up Jimin with the determination to make life happen for himself, despite being betrayed by a father who did not care to contact them even on birthdays.
“I see. It’s okay, Jiminie. You’re just looking out for her.”
Jimin squeezes his hand. “Maybe when we make six months? I definitely want you to meet her. She’d love you. She already gushes since I told her.”
Having Jimin tell his mother about them was a big step of itself. Jeongguk remembers the twinge of sour frustration when Jimin had refused to tell his family until a few weeks had gone by. But he had smothered that down, eager to focus on Jimin and the growing pains that every new relationship faces.
Jimin promised to be by his side forever. Jeongguk was going to hold him to that.
Jeongguk may be able to delete Jimin’s texts and all photos of them together off his phone. But he cannot erase the memories, the shared breaths, the reverent touches of bare skin on skin, the sheer bliss of companionship.
When the new year passes, Jeongguk makes a vow to start anew. He cannot do much to physically change his situation, but he can trust that time will slowly heal the gaping wounds, and that both he and Jimin are better people because of their time together.
In a small city like their own, it is near impossible to avoid Jimin altogether. Jeongguk still hears snippets about him, catches his name in passing conversation. The blaze and hiss of his heartbeat still skips in those moments, but Jeongguk is able to pay less attention to it now.
If he ever runs into Jimin again, he thinks he may eventually be able to smile and be cordial. He had offered to remain friends, and Jeongguk aims to stick to his word even in the face of their broken promise.
“Have you talked to him?” Yoongi asks, pouring Jeongguk another shot of soju.
“No way.”
“Do you want to?”
Yoongi had asked if Jeongguk felt okay to talk about Jimin, to verbally digest things together. Out of their group, Yoongi is the friend who excels with calculating, processing and thinking topics out loud with. So despite not being completely up to the task, Jeongguk knows it would be healthy.
The soju helps, a welcome sizzle down his throat and the sweet taste of green grape.
“Yes and no. I know one day it would be nice to have a conversation with him, but I don’t know if that can happen soon.”
“Why’s that?” Another shot.
“I’d feel too overwhelmed. I’m only just starting to keep my head above the water, not constantly feeling like I’m drowning. But if I see him and talk to him now, it’ll drag me back to square one.” Admitting this, a lack of control, is strangely cathartic.
Yoongi nods. He looks tired, yet content. Jeongguk wants to feel content again.
“I spoke to him.”
Jeongguk blinks. He’s not sure how to react.
“It wasn’t planned. I ran into him at the post office. Yeah, yeah, I know who the fuck still goes to the post these days? But I had to pick up a large audio order in person. And he had been walking by right when I left the place.”
“I see. How –” The muscles in Jeongguk’s chest tighten. “How did he look?”
“He looked okay, I guess. I invited him for coffee. Wanted to see how he was doing. Don’t look at me like that, Guk, he was our friend, too. Still is.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
Yoongi leans back, stretching along the dark wooden bench. “He was hesitant at first, but we got to talking. Told me a few things that I felt you needed to know.”
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
“No, no, not like that. Nothing bad. Hopefully helpful, actually.”
Jeongguk pours himself another shot this time. Probably needs it for whatever is to come. “Okay then. I’m all ears.”
“He said that after all this time – how long has it been? Three months? He’s thought about a lot of things, things he didn’t quite understand at the time. He wasn’t able to explain why he felt a change, and he knows that hurt you even more.”
Jeongguk stares into his cup, the blurry reflection of lights morphed in the glass. He feels skewed, an incomplete version of himself.
Yoongi continues, “It really had nothing to do with you, Gukkie. You were the perfect boyfriend, more than he could have asked for. He was the one who was not ready, emotionally and in his path of life. There were things he wanted to pursue that could not be compromised, and two people on different paths cannot converge. But Guk, Guk, he really wanted it to work. He wanted, with everything he had, to be the one for you.”
“I wanted that, too.”
“Sometimes love is more complicated than we understand. He really loved you. He’s sorry he could not love you the way you deserved.”
“I couldn’t be enough for him.” Jeongguk does not mean it, but the petulant part of him does.
Yoongi shakes his head with fervor. “No one could be enough because he was not ready for a relationship to begin with. He was so new to it, he should have been more careful before diving headfirst. He fell so hard for you that he was blinded. Don’t you see? You are perfect. You are loved. You are enough. You cannot hold Jimin’s inability to see ahead as a means to standardize your worth.”
Jeongguk feels the tears before he sees them, hot beads sliding down his cheeks. Yoongi gets up and slides into his side of the booth, bringing him in for a hug. The hug is not all-encompassing and warm like Jimin’s hugs, but it helps.
“Breathe, Guk. You are enough.”
“I – I know.”
“Say it with me, ‘I am enough.’”
After heaving all the air out of his lungs, Jeongguk nods. “I am enough.” Their voices in tandem, with the clatter of dishes and customers hibernating from the snow, are empowering.
“That’s our Gukkie. You are so, so enough.”
Jeongguk manages a small grin. “Then pour up. If I’m enough, then I’ll make sure you have a big bill by the end of tonight.”
“Brat.” Yoongi says, rolling his eyes. “That’s our Gukkie, alright.”
“How are you doing nowadays?”
“After all that frostbite, I’m so happy to be out of the house,” Jeongguk huffs.
Taehyung makes a sound of agreement. “Winter was brutal. Was two seconds away from going crazy.”
Jeongguk sinks further into the soft couch. Their corner of the neighborhood cafe is a respite spot, home to many late nights of unforgettable conversation. “On Christmas, you were so determined to find the North Pole, I think you were already crazy.”
“Winter does many dark things to a man,” Taehyung says with dramatics, nostrils flared and cup raised.
Jeongguk allows himself to laugh, really missing moments like these. “Not going to argue with that.”
“But really, Gukkie. How are you?” Taehyung leans closer reassuringly.
“I – I think every day that passes, I’m better.”
Taehyung nods, pursing his lips. “It’s still hard, though, right? You’re processing things still.”
“Yeah, I mean, I don’t think I’ll completely get over him soon.”
Taehyung hums. “You’re strong. Always was the strongest one out of us. Seokjin never stops complaining how you’re the mature one when he’s supposed to be the hyung.”
“I don’t feel strong,” Jeongguk admits. He’s felt like a lone wolf for most of the past few months, surviving merely to survive.
“There’s this quote I saw on Instagram, ‘I’ve never met a strong person who had an easy life,’ or something like that. Kinda applies here, yeah?”
“Not going to comment on how lame that is. If only strength came without struggle.”
Taehyung reaches out to ruffle Jeongguk’s hair. His eyes shine with fondness. “I think you give yourself less credit than you deserve, Gukkie.”
The cafe door swings open with the tinkle of jingle bells decoration still up from the holidays. By pure instinct, Jeongguk hones in on Jimin’s unmistakable nose scrunch, red from the chilly weather, as handsome as ever. He waits for the fight-or-flight reflex, or a bitter taste behind his tongue. Nothing comes. The sight of Jimin feels like a hint of nostalgia with the scent of the distant sea.
Taehyung looks and noisily grunts. “You wanna head out? I was –”
“Nah. It’s fine.”
He watches how Jimin shimmies in place, waiting for his turn. His little mannerisms, Jeongguk had learned by heart, matching them to Jimin’s mood so that he didn’t have to speak to convey what he felt. It will take awhile to unlearn them but the idea does not seem as daunting anymore.
After Jimin picks up his coffee, he turns and inevitably spots Taehyung and Jeongguk, making eye contact. Jeongguk watches the emotions flit through Jimin’s eyes – surprise, panic, hesitation – so he chooses to make the first move.
Standing, he waves. “Hey, Jimin.”
Taehyung follows, hovering next to him.
Jimin approaches with caution, offering a tight-lipped smile. “Hey guys.” His voice is low and whispering like the tides, inextricably so Jimin-like.
“Hiya Jiminie,” Taehyung says. “Nice seeing you.”
“Were you going to hang out here?” Jeongguk asks, gesturing to the couch across them. “Feel free to.”
Jimin’s eyes widen even further before switching to relief. “Oh thanks, but I just came in to grab a drink. Got an overnight shift at the clinic in fifteen minutes.”
Jeongguk notices Jimin’s dark blue scrubs. He had been job hunting when they were together, determined to get his foot in the door at a reputable healthcare company. “That’s awesome. You got a job?”
“Yeah, I still can’t believe it myself. The interviewing process was brutal, outright murder. But I love it, it’s so challenging, every day is chaos.”
“You’ve always been one for chaos. Congrats,” Taehyung says. Jeongguk nods.
Jimin beams, his demeanor melting from apprehension into softness. “Thanks guys. Hey, sorry I really gotta get going, but maybe we can all hang out sometime if you’re free?” he asks, looking at Jeongguk with courage.
Taehyung crows. “Yeah man, let’s do it.”
Jeongguk simply nods. He doesn’t trust his words.
Jimin gets it, has always been able to read the lines between Jeongguk’s unspoken sentences. He nods and shoots them a thumbs up before shuffling out of the cafe.
After a few minutes, Taehyung murmurs, “Hey, you alright?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Jeongguk is not sure about a lot of things. How to tell people that he does not want to date again for a long time. How to take the next step in his career. How to find a place to move out on his own, to claim the independence he’s wanted for a few years.
But there are a few things he has become sure of.
Such as how loving Jimin was one of the most beautiful moments of his life, however short it may have been. And how he is no longer angry, boiling with bone-shattering pain.
Jeongguk breathes. It is a Sunday, and he has come back to himself again.