6:02 a.m.
MYG 💙
Are you sure you're alright Yoongi?
read 6:09 a.m.
You know what? Go fuck yourself
I know you read my last message
If you're not sick or in a crisis and you're just trying to be childish and ghost me I hope you don't plan on coming back
I'm done with you
delivered.
10:20 p.m.
He stood there looking at the steel numbers, trying to spark the courage to knock again. If only his ego would quiet. Thank God his ego would not quiet.
10:22 pm.
Jimin shook his head, the blunt and tart laughter a dull reverberation down the apartment hall. In reluctance and great pleasure, he pulled himself to the staircase and went on down. And went on his way with his day... and with his weeks, and year and years.
After all, acceptance is the final stage of grief.
Imitation is actualization. If you tell yourself enough times that you are able, maybe one you can learn how to kill a ghost.
10:22 p.m.
The clamor and buzz of an airport at night surrounded him on all sides; and yet there he stood curbside, unaffected. Unaffected but not untouched.
He gripped his luggage and pulled his mask up higher on his nose bridge. Look at all the families reuniting. Look at friends picking each other up for the ride home. Flashes of smiles, high pitched voices and rejoicing, weary hugs. His homecoming would be with Mateo, H82OT6, 2019 Cadillac Escalade. Look at all this love, so subtle, right next to all of this loneliness.
No, not loneliness.
Yoongi looked into the dark night sky, cold moon like ice water.
What if, across a vast space at the same moment, Jimin was thinking of him too?
Fuck him. He only wants you when he needs you and needs you because there's no one else. He wants to run you dry. He wants you to fill in the pieces that Taehyung lacks. But he'll never choose you. Fuck him.
Look at me; all this rot surrounded by all this love.
Oh, moon. How does one begin to dress a grave?