dear Junmyeon (jung eunji/kim junmyeon)

x • Junmyeon

The moment Junmyeon stepped into the house, he knew something was wrong. The house was in a pristine condition as always, and even though that was what he preferred for his day-to-day, trepidation reverberated from within his bones, as shudders ran down his spine.

It was quiet, too quiet that he could hear his erratic heart sprinting against time itself, as he called out, "Eunji?"

Never did he think he would be the one calling out. She was always there waiting for him, always, that he never had to voice his need for her. Yet that day, the walls of his house echoed with his call plea for his wife, going frantic every second.

He ran from the front door straight to their room.

"...she is holed up in your room..." The old housekeeper's words rang through his consciousness, as well as his wife's desperate voicemails, "...it's better if I let you go."

NO, Junmyeon found himself thinking, don't let me go.

He took three flights of stairs going up to their room, and on the hallway overlooking the space downstairs, he stopped for a while as he saw himself walking away from Eunji. She had collapsed on the floor watching her husband retreating steps, her expression was void, yet, beads of tears rushed down her sunken cheeks.

Dread settled in, she looked gaunt that even he himself felt suffocated, in spite of that he taunted her effort to ask him to spend a little time with her for lunch. It definitely flew above his mind that she must have gathered her courage to propose him with such a simple wish when she should not have because he has sworn to bestow her the world itself.

The door to their room was slightly ajar. Junmyeon dashed to the wooden barrier, pushing it wide until it collided with the wall. He noted the heavy waft of flowers in the air before he even saw it; the scarlet petals were in correspondence with the crimson droplets that dotted on her side of the bed.

One of his knees dropped to the floor, "Eunji?" He called out, looking around in the hope to see her anywhere. He shakily reached for the red petals that were covered in crimson red, inching closer to losing his own mind - as realization weighed on his most innate feelings. 

The agonizing thought that his wife might be hurt tormented him. His legs were weak; it felt like the floors sucked the bottom half of his body whole - refusing any strength left. His shoulder sagged as his head hung low, reminiscing as the horrible words that he said to her made a retreat and pierced at his consciousness, beating him to a pulp.

The ringing in his pocket was muffled by the fabric of his trousers, however, the vibration shock him from his part reverie. As he fished his phone out, his mood instantly change when he saw the caller's name.

All of his words were anything but kind; he had forgotten how long it was since he had called her beautiful while looking at her like she was his world like he was the luckiest man in the universe for deserving a woman like her. The secrets that he once vocalized to her ears as his fingertips traced her rosy cheeks; now it morphed into every nightmare there is.

He was projecting himself on her - he had verbalised his every sorrow and regret, and it destroyed her soul. He has not liked himself for a while now, and he attributed it to her. She was a poor soul who was caught between his greed and hatred for himself, and he hated himself more for doing so. But at the same time, hurting her was the only retribution that he could give himself, for he could not, and will not be able to let her go.