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

Chapter 24: "The Things You Left Me

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Jimin’s POV

The silence in her house was too loud.

It had been three days since the funeral, and yet it felt like time had folded in on itself—moments tripping over memories, hours stretching like forever.

Jimin stood in her room, the walls still dressed in her scent. A faint trace of lavender and vanilla lingered in the air, clinging to the soft fabric of her clothes that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to pack yet.

Half-filled boxes sat on the floor like forgotten thoughts. Her sketchbook lay open on the table, a half-finished drawing of the tree she used to sit under. He ran a finger across the pencil lines she’d left behind, as though touching them might bring her back for even a second.

The chair she always curled into by the window was still there, cushion dented from her weight. Her cardigan hung over the armrest, and in the corner, the plant she loved stood quietly, soil still dark from the last watering.

His chest tightened.

He could still hear her.

Laughter echoing faintly from the hallway. The soft hums of her favorite song in the kitchen. The way she used to knock lightly on his door with candy in hand, saying, “Exchange? One sweet for one smile?”

The kind of memories that made his heart ache because they didn’t ask for permission—they just came and crashed into him, wave after wave.

He reached over to the chair and picked up the scarf she always wore. It was soft. Still warm, somehow. Jimin pressed it to his face, closing his eyes. Her scent wrapped around him like a second skin.

It was unbearable how alive she still felt here.

Yet she was gone.

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He was folding some of his clothes—more for the sake of movement than actual intent—when a knock sounded at the door.

Her parents stood there. Her mother’s eyes were swollen, red from too many nights of crying. Her father’s hands shook slightly as he rubbed her back. They looked like two people hollowed by grief, still standing only because they had each other.

“She left these,” her mother whispered, holding out a soft parcel and a glass jar.

He took them gently, heart pounding.

The package was wrapped in a piece of pink cloth, tied with ribbon. Inside, carefully placed, was her diary.

And in the jar—strawberry candies. Bright, glimmering little memories.

“She said they were for you,” her mother continued, voice trembling. “After everything.”

Jimin couldn’t speak. He nodded, hugging them to his chest like they were the most precious things in the world.

Because they were.

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The jar felt heavier than it should have.

It sat on his desk now, beside the diary, catching the soft moon light. Strawberry, lemon, and grape swirls peeked through the glass—her favorites. Bright wrappers crinkled softly under his fingertips as he slowly unscrewed the lid.

The moment he opened it, the scent hit him.

Familiar.

Warm.

Like her.

He picked up the first candy—a heart-shaped strawberry sweet, wrapped in shiny red foil—and stared at it for a long moment. It was almost ridiculous, how something so small could make his chest ache so deeply.