Touch | [BTS] p.j.m x reader

일 | One

Before we jump into sadness, take a moment to appreciate my BTS Crack video. Put a smile on your face before I rip it off with this story :D

My body ached as I lay in the same position, sobs wrecking through me. I cried out so much I was just choking on air at this point.

My arms were wrapped around his pillow, still smelling of his cologne. The image of him laying lifeless upon me was haunting. It was all I could view, as if the years of memories we made were all dumped and set on fire to leave his last breath on my mind. I could still hear his raspy voice, could feel the warm blood and smell the salty tears. 

My skin held a large scar, trailing from my heart to right below my chest. It was the glass that had impaled Jimin, slicing me in the process. It only hurt more knowing what killed him was forever scared over my heart, emotionally and now physically as well. Doctors said he had a chance of living if it weren't for the glass and metal rod going through him. But with that added onto his legs being pinned, and head smashed, he was lucky to live long enough to even bid me farewell with a kiss and an "사랑해"

Hoseok told me he held on long enough to ensure I knew of his feelings. But I don't know what's worse, not hearing the words or having them play over and over until I was screaming loudly into the bed.

The apartment was silent, of course not to others but to myself. The neighbors complained of the loud yelling, and sobs throughout the night. They complained of hearing glass smashing and walls being struck, but upon hearing of my reasoning from the headlines, their complaints grew silent. Despite it being a loud ruckus, all I heard was ringing in my ears. Jimin was no longer here to sing me to sleep, or sing of the food he cooked early in the morning. 

The shower no longer ran at night as I fell asleep, and I didn't feel his warm body intertwine around mine, the soap scent lingering. Sometimes I would run the water and get into bed, dozing off while imagining him inside. 

The water bill was high this month, but I don't care. 

The other boys haven't come to visit me yet, but Namjoon would call some nights to check on my well being. I begged him to visit, but he always remained silent. I knew why; he didn't want to see Jimins belongings or else he would just lose it. He hated for others to see him cry, he felt too weak. I was grateful to have his voice with me though. Most times it was a silent call as I just cried or stared at the wall, listening to his breathing. 

Is it bad I sometimes imagined it was Jimin breathing into the line? When Rap Mon was silent, their breathing sounded similar. I'd give anything to let Jimin breathe again. 

Today marks 4 months without Jimin by my side, and I haven't left the house once. I got groceries delivered. If I needed anything else, online shopping was the only way. I spent everyday sitting in bed, or on the couch. I never opened Jimins closet or drawers. He had left a few shirts on our bedroom floor, and I grabbed one of them, holding it in my arms. The other I left untouched as it hung half in the hamper and half out. Something I used to yell at him for; never picking up his clothes or caring enough to stick them fully in the hamper.

If he came back, I'd never yell again. I promise.

I turned over in bed, wiping my eyes as I placed his pillow gently back in its spot. His smell was fading. His cologne remained on his bedside table, and I was tempted to spray it on the cotton pillow, but at the same time it felt as if I was ruining his original smell. What lingered was from his body, not from a bottle. I want to keep him for as long as I can.

I sat up, grateful I showered in the middle of the night around 5 am when I was unable to sleep, because I now held no motivation to do so. 

I walked out of our room, wiping my eyes once more as I shut the light off. My feet made a tiny patter sound against the hardwood floor. I walked through the kitchens doorway, where I would usually smell eggs, and often burning toast, from Jimins spot at the stove. Now the kitchen held nothing but a trash full of paper plates and half eaten food. My bones were showing through my skin, food not being able to stay down. Either I'd loose appetite or my mind would linger too long and I'd end up getting sick, shuddering at the images of blood.