As Long As I Can (Jiminx Reader) [Completed]

Chapter 11: Quiet Goodbyes in the Middle

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Y/n’s soft breathing filled the room. Jimin sat on the edge of the chair beside her bed, his elbows on his knees, fingers tangled loosely together.

“She went back to sleep?” her mom asked gently from the doorway.

He nodded. “Yeah. She’s... still burning up.”

Her mom entered quietly with a tray—fresh water, medicine, a small cloth. “We’ve been trying to get her to drink every few hours. Fever’s stubborn.” She looked at Jimin thoughtfully. “You’re welcome to head back if it’s too late.”

He shook his head immediately. “No. I... I can help.”

There was something about the way he said it—low and honest—that made her smile.

“Alright then,” she said kindly, handing him the damp towel. “If she stirs, wipe her forehead. And when she wakes again, help her drink. She listens to you.”

Jimin blinked. “She does?”

“Trust me,” her mom said with a knowing look. “Even fevered, she knows who she’s letting close.”

She left the room, leaving Jimin in the quiet hum of the space.

He took the towel and gently dabbed her forehead, careful not to wake her. His fingers hovered as if afraid of crossing a line, but when she murmured his name again under her breath—like she needed him—he settled into it.

He sat there, hour after hour, replacing the towel with fresh ones her mom brought, offering sips of water whenever she stirred.

Once, her eyes opened just enough to catch him leaning over, adjusting the blankets.

“You’re still here,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

“I said I came to see you, didn’t I?” he replied, softly.

“You look serious,” she mumbled, trying to smile. “You gonna cry?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not yet. Maybe if you sneeze on me.”

She laughed weakly, then winced. “Ow... don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

“Then stop being funny,” he murmured, helping her shift a pillow under her neck.

Their eyes met—just for a second. His gaze was steady, warm, unfamiliar in its intensity.

“You didn’t have to stay,” she said, barely audible.

He looked at her, quiet for a long moment.

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”

Her lips trembled into a smile, and then her eyes closed again, exhaustion taking her.

Jimin sat back, rubbing his hand over his face.

What was this?

The worry had felt too real. The ache in his chest at seeing her in bed, half-delirious, had nothing to do with obligation. It was something else. Something gentler. Something scarier.

He exhaled and looked around.

On her nightstand sat a small candy. The same kind she always gave him. He picked it up and rolled it between his fingers.

She really was creating a habit.

And without him realizing it—he wanted to keep it.

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FEW DAYS LATER...

The sun had dipped low, casting honey-gold shadows across the hilltop where they sat. The small bench creaked gently under them, nestled between tall grass and wildflowers. Below, the town moved slowly—little figures walking, kids shouting, windmills spinning lazily.

Y/n swung her legs slightly, sipping from a thermos of cold peach tea. Jimin sat beside her, unusually quiet. His cap was pulled low, but it didn’t hide the way his fingers kept fidgeting with the rim of his cup.

“You’re fidgety,” Y/n said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Did I finally break you?”

He huffed a laugh. “Maybe.”

She waited, letting the breeze fill the silence.

Then, quietly, he said, “I’m going back to Seoul in a few days.”

Y/n froze for just a moment, her grip tightening slightly.

“Oh,” she said lightly, nodding. “That’s good. Means you’re okay now, right? Strong enough to dance again?”

“Yeah.” His voice was low. “Manager says they’ll ease me in. Just light rehearsals and a few pre-recordings.”

“That’s great, Jimin.” She smiled, eyes fixed on the horizon. “I’m gonna watch every stage. Even the ones where you’re barely visible at the back.”

He chuckled, shoulders loosening. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

He glanced at her then—quietly, steadily. “I don’t want to go.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

He looked down at his hands. “I mean, I do. But not like this. Not without you. This place… you… I didn’t realize how much I needed all of it.”

She stayed quiet, still watching the view, but her smile shifted—softer now, tinged with something unreadable.

“You sound like someone who’s about to write a countryside ballad,” she teased gently.

He didn’t laugh this time. He turned to her, something sharp and vulnerable in his eyes. “Y/n, I—”

She looked at him, and something in her expression shifted—like she knew exactly what he was about to say. And she didn’t let him.

“Don’t,” she said softly, her voice threading through the quiet. “Not now. Not when you’re about to leave.”

He exhaled, the words dying in his throat.

“You’re meant to go,” she added, forcing a light smile. “I was just your slow season, remember?”

“You were more than that,” he said, almost too quietly.

“Jimin.”

Her tone held that same gentle finality. Like a door closed with care.

He nodded slowly, defeated—but not resentful.

They sat in silence again, watching the wind sway the trees below.

After a while, she slipped something into his coat pocket.

He pulled it out. A familiar piece of candy.

“You’re still doing this?” he asked, a soft laugh escaping.

“Creating habits,” she said with a grin. “So you don’t forget the girl who made you carry thermos and lie about your hiking stamina.”

He smiled, shaking his head.

But deep down, something in his chest curled tighter, afraid that one day… the candy wouldn’t be enough.

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