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

Chapter 22: "The Morning Before the Storm"

---

Morning light crept into the room in streaks of amber and soft white, slipping between the thin curtains and drawing sleepy patterns over the walls. The world was slow, calm—so calm it almost felt like time had forgotten to move.

Jimin stirred first.

His neck ached from the position he’d slept in—half-sitting, half-slouched in the wooden chair beside Y/n’s bed. His hand was still clasped in hers. He blinked, rubbed his eyes slowly, then turned his gaze to the sleeping girl.

She looked peaceful, a little too still, but her breathing was steady—soft puffs against the pillow.

Her face was pale in the morning light, but there was something so achingly beautiful about her stillness, the way the shadows curved gently under her eyes, the corners of her lips relaxed.

He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek, being careful not to wake her.

It was strange how being beside her had become the only place he felt steady. As if he was bracing himself for something, but only when she was close did he feel like he could breathe.

He carefully untangled their hands, setting hers gently back on the blanket as if afraid to break her even in sleep.

In the quiet of the hallway, he found her mother setting a small bowl on the table.

“She’s still asleep,” Jimin whispered, offering a soft smile. “I’ll just run home to change and come back before she wakes.”

Her mother gave a tired nod, the kind only someone who’s carried too much for too long can manage.

Jimin turned and left, but not before glancing back one last time at the closed bedroom door.

---

The moment he stepped into his own place, he felt the difference.

The air was colder, quieter. There was no distant sound of the television playing softly or the smell of rice being cooked or the soft shuffle of socks on wooden floors.

Just stillness.

He walked to the window and opened the curtains, letting the sunshine pour in, trying to chase away the heaviness that had settled into his chest.

And there it was—perched crookedly on the window sill.

A small plushie.

It was missing one eye, and one ear had long since flopped over permanently from too much hugging.

Jimin reached for it slowly, his fingers brushing the worn-out fabric.

The memory came back so vividly, he almost laughed.

It was only one month ago.

Y/n had dragged him to the local town’s m festival, chattering non-stop about the best shaved ice, the ribbon stalls, the games he absolutely had to win for her. She’d worn a simple hoodie with little flowers on it, her hair in a ponytail, her eyes shining like fireflies in the dusk.

He remembered the game booth—a claw machine filled with strange-looking stuffed animals.

She’d grinned, and when she won it  on the second try, she’d pushed it into his arms instead.

“You need him more than I do,” she’d said. “He’ll keep you company when I’m not around.”

He hadn't realized how much that silly gift had meant until now.

He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, plushie in hand, and let the memories flood in.

Their bicycle ride down the hill, the wind rushing past them as she screamed with laughter behind him.

The tiny lake where she’d splashed him with freezing water, then ran off barefoot as he chased her.

The bonfire night where she had danced barefoot on grass, hands raised to the stars, and he'd watched her like the moon had landed right in front of him.

He hadn’t known it then—hadn’t dared admit it—but she’d become his favorite place.

His safe place.

---

He returned to the quiet house like always, letting himself in with soft steps.

Everything looked the same. The clock ticked. The hallway smelled faintly of lemon and soap. He peeked into her room but didn’t want to wake her if she was still resting, so he headed for the kitchen.

Maybe he could surprise her with breakfast. She liked her pancakes slightly burnt on the edges. He always teased her for it, but she’d never admit it out loud.

He hummed softly as he gathered ingredients, lost in the comfort of small tasks.

Then—

A scream.

“Jimin!”

It was her mother.

Her voice—loud, breaking, panic-stricken—tore through the house like a knife through fabric.

Jimin dropped the spatula, the clatter echoing like a gunshot as he sprinted toward the hall.

He found her mother standing frozen by the bedroom door, hand trembling as she reached for the knob.

“She—she’s not responding—she’s not waking up—Jimin—”

He didn’t wait.

He pushed the door open.

There she was.

Still. Too still.

The kind of stillness that didn’t belong to sleep.

His breath caught in his throat as he crossed the room, fell to his knees beside her bed.

“Y/n…” he whispered, voice shaking.

He gently touched her face, felt the coolness that wasn’t there last night.

“Hey. Wake up,” he said, almost laughing through the tremble in his voice. “I brought you pancakes. You wanted the burnt edges, remember?”

But she didn’t stir.

Not a twitch. Not a breath he could see clearly.

His hands shook as he brushed her hair back again, like maybe this was all just a trick. Like if he just said the right words, she’d open her eyes and smile and call him stupid for worrying.

“Y/n,” he whispered again. “You promised you’d wake up with me.”

Still nothing.

And then her mother fell to her knees, sobbing, and Jimin could only stare at the girl lying before him, his chest cracking open as memories of her laughter echoed louder in the deafening silence.

The warmth of last night still lingered in the folds of the blanket.

But the world had already started to slip away.

---