badbye | Namjoon x reader

3: Honey Almonds

Weeks had passed and he didn't return. No apology; no explanation.

Nothing.

Was all that you were to him?

He once told you that he would always be there to help you through any problems you had. At the time, you thought he was being polite and friendly because you'd not known each other for long. You mentioned how much you struggled living in a foreign country. He told you he knew how it felt to be an outsider. Despite it sounding dramatic, you had believed him.

"Don't listen to those who only have negative things to say," he would whisper as he tucked the hair behind your ear as the soft summer breeze caused it to dance across your face. "You've worked so hard to get where you are now; you're worth so much. Don't let anyone make you feel any different."

Ironic, when he was the one making me feel worthless right now...

At that point, you knew he was training hard at his company but there was no way you thought it would cause any problems. Western musicians were always in the tabloids for dating people - you'd just have to learn to live with the attention that came with dating him. Even though you had known him for just over three months, at that point there was no comparable joy to being with him. In that short space of time, he fulfilled your life like nothing else. Hanging out with him was your favourite thing to do.

"I want to take away all of your problems," he softly spoke as he rested his chin on the top of your head and pulled you in closely with one hand draped around your shoulder. The sounds of the traffic on the bridge above the river was comforting and in that moment, you felt safe. He was cautious not to be too affectionate with you and it made you laugh that he'd stand there with his other hand safely tucked into his baggy sweater pants. One time when you were like this, you'd started tickling him in his sides so he automatically fell about the floor laughing. You loved that about him: he could be serious as hell yet he could be silly.

As you leant on the counter, you sniggered at yourself. You were so wrong. All the problems stemmed from him. You wanted so much more from him than a few months of softness; you wanted it all.

It left you feeling bitter.

He owed you an explanation.

Maybe that's why I can't move on?

So when you saw him a few weeks ago, you wanted to lash out at him. Over and over again, it replayed in your head. You wanted to hit him; you wanted to hold him so tightly; you wanted to dig your nails into his arms to feel how real he was; you wanted to kiss him with such passion and force that it would knock you both out.

Each time they would appear on the television advertising the lastest Samsung phone or whatever they were promoting, you would immediately switch the channel over.

It frustrated you how much control he had over you after all this time.

So when he turned up at the store again, you knew you couldn't let him have the upper hand. Part of you felt excited that he had obviously come back but the other part of you was angry that after all these years, he had decided that now was an appropriate time to show up again.

On Tuesday night, there were no customers as it was nearly midnight. Hushed buzzing of the refrigerators and the monotonous chattering on the television near the door filled the air. You were sat down at the counter, reading some of your book when you felt the sudden freezing rush of air as the door opened. The swift damp smell of cold and rain seeped through the now-open doors caused you to look up and there he was.