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

Chapter 20: "Even When the Wind Slows

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Some things don't need to be said aloud. They're felt — in silences, in footsteps matched, in breathless pauses between laughter.

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The golden days hadn’t faded, not entirely — but they had grown quieter.

The skies still turned pink at dusk, the trees still whispered stories in the wind, and the flowers still bloomed around the garden wall. But something in the rhythm of the house had shifted. Slower. Softer. More fragile.

Y/n was growing tired more easily now. Her laughter remained, bright and teasing, but it came between longer silences. The sparkle in her eyes still returned when she saw Jimin — but it lingered a bit less each time, as though it too was catching its breath.

A week had passed since she’d run away in her wedding dress. Since her arms had flailed with joy and the wind tangled in her hair. Since Jimin watched her smile like she had all the time in the world.

Now she moved like the seconds were heavier.

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The Quiet Morning

The air that morning smelled of warm jasmine and honeyed tea. The window curtains danced lazily in the breeze. The record player in the corner played an old tune her dad loved, something nostalgic and gentle.

Y/n sat curled up on the wooden garden chair, wrapped in a thick, soft blanket. A wool cap sat atop her hair — her mom had fussed over her, as always, insisting the morning air was still too chilly for her to be outside.

But Y/n had insisted. The garden was her favorite place. Even more so now.

She watched the petals trembling on their stems, half-hoping the wind would carry a few into her lap.

Jimin came out of the house with two mugs of tea. One steaming gently in his hand, the other carefully balanced on a saucer. He walked over and sat beside her on the garden swing, quiet at first, just watching her.

She didn’t look at him right away. Her fingers were wrapped around the blanket, her chin resting against her knees.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” she finally murmured, her voice hoarse with sleep or stillness — he couldn’t tell.

“Like what?” he asked, even though he already knew.

“Like I’m going to vanish if you blink.”

His lips twitched into a soft smile, but there was something tender — almost too tender — in his eyes.

“You already vanish when I blink,” he said quietly, handing her a slice of peeled orange. “Just slower now.”

She blinked at him, eyes wide, then laughed — a real one, soft and amused. “That was poetic.”

“I’ve been spending too much time with you,” he said with a light shrug, peeling another slice.

She smiled but didn’t say anything, and the silence between them settled warm.

He watched her fingers tremble slightly as she reached for the orange. Watched the way her breath caught when she tried to sit up straighter.

In one movement, he was beside her, adjusting the pillow behind her back, tucking her blanket tighter around her shoulders, smoothing her hair gently away from her face.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Just tired.”

She said that often these days.