the anatomy of love / jungri

02. 人生的节奏？（是心跳）。

The truth is, even though Jungkook and I try our best, it's possible that things won't work out the way we intended them to. As the ancestors say, "a fish doesn't always follow the path the river has made for it", and neither will the rest of our lives unfold according to our plans.

It's something I've thought a lot about these days, the thought that lingers on the forefront of my mind, the aching question on my tongue. It's what they call the "elephant" in the room, the grey area that we fear to confront—the what-if that leaves me feeling empty on the inside.

It's the same emptiness that shrouds me as I set my wine glass on the table, leaving my hands to fall at my sides.

In that moment, as we hold each other's gazes, Jungkook's eyes flash with a multitude of expressions—in the midst of questioning and confusion, there's an undeniable hint of disappointment.

"You think I'll leave you for someone else?" he finally says, after what seems like an eternity. His voice is slightly raw, almost terse.

A slight pang racks my chest as I study the lines of hurt etched in his face.

"Jungkook..." I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I don't know why I suddenly feel guilty, like there's a pit at the bottom of my stomach. "I don't mean it like that. You know me—I've always been this way. If I want to say something, I say it."

I pause, my hand reaching out to rest on his. My fingers latch around the circumference of his palm, almost naturally. "I just—don't want you to regret it too much..." I feel my chest fall as my breath leaves my lungs. "...when you find someone better."

The disappointment in his eyes, then, morphs into something I can't quite recognize.

"Kim Yerim." he murmurs, lips parted.

That's when I sense a gripping tug in my arm, before I feel his breath on my shoulder, his lips brushing against my neck. My face is pressed against his chest as he tucks me into his embrace, forceful, yet tender all the same.

We've embraced before—the kind of embrace that result as a natural side of friendship—as a way of greeting, after a long time of not being able to see each other, as a way of condolence, whenever either of us felt down.

But not like this.

I hear his heartbeat, steady against my ear, and it suddenly relieves me when I remember that he can't hear the erratic rhythm of mine. I feel everything about him—the outline of his body, the warmth radiating from it, his scent—surrounding me.

"For two days, I didn't call you." he says, voice muffled by the fabric of my clothing. "I didn't want to push things, because I thought—you'd wake up in the morning, or the next day after, regretting that night."

He pulls back, then, his hands reaching up to hold my shoulders. "Yerim, I know I might be asking too much of you, but I want you to trust me."

"Trust you?" I repeat quietly, the syllables rolling off my tongue one by one.

He nods. "Trust that I'm in this for the long run. Marrying you—it's what I want, and our marriage is something that will be important to me, for the rest of my life. I meant it when I said I can be a good husband to you, Yerim. That means I won't leave you, unless you want me to."