Jungkook's Little Sister Imagines

The Last Time We Say Goodbye

is today a good day to die?

the sweat that trickled down the sensitive skin on my neck bothered me, i can feel my heart pumping louder against my chest as i shakily wiped it off of my neck. i looked at my now-slightly wet palm— no, no blood. just sweat, uno.

i continued my run along the quiet street of our village. passing by houses that differs in their exterior— showing off the owners' wealth. some dogs barked at me, some wagged their tails. some people looked at me with pity glossing their eyes, but some ignored me, pretending that they didn't see me even if i noticed how they tried their best to take their eyes off of me not to appear rude.

walking towards the stone path my dad built for our front yard, i placed my airpods back on its case and tucked it on my pocket.

the quiet house greeted me. the hole in my heart opening as i made my way to my room, passing by jeongguk's room that hasn't been opened since . . . since that day.

i took a shower afterwards. and even as i finished my shower, the house was still quiet. drying my hair with a towel, i walked up to mom's office across the hall— knowing too well that she's locked herself up again, trying to work off her grief and longing for my brother.

i gave the wooden door three knocks, "mom? you in there?" no answer. i sighed, and gave three louder knocks. "mom?" louder this time. with another sigh, i twisted the door knob and silently thanked whoever is up there that the door wasn't locked or else i'll have to shuffle through the what-seems-like hundred of keys we have here.

and there mom is, typing whatever on her computer. her eyebrows are furrowed together, creating two shallow lines in between her brows. her monitor screen lit up her eyes that looks similar to mine, and jungkook's. her lips are pouted slightly, a habit jungkook and i got from her.

i made my presence visible to hers by knocking on her wooden desk made out of mahogany, "mom." my body flinched in the slightest way possible when she lifted her head up and i saw straight to her eyes. the exhaustion, sadness, grief, and anger glossing her dark brown eyes.

"yes, uno?" her voice cracked slightly so i walked towards the water dispenser placed on her office and gave her a cup of water. "i'll prepare dinner, have you eaten?"

she placed the glass of water down, "i haven't, sweetie. the lee's brought over pasta, help yourself with those. heat it up in the microwave— i'm not hungry." she gave me a smile and shifted her focus back on her computer. the hole in my heart starts opening up again, and my stomach twisted, giving me nausea.

i closed the door behind me and walked to the kitchen. the plates clattered as i took out one from the cupboard. a silver pan is on the middle of the table, wrapped up neatly in a foil. too lazy to microwave it, i scooped myself a small serving and sat down all alone in our six-seater glass dining table.

the pasta is good, it melted on my mouth perfectly. maybe because mrs. lee is a culinary chef, cooks for a popular restaurant here in busan; or, i haven't eaten a proper meal for weeks now. on my third bite, i felt my chest tighten, and my throat closed up. i choked on my pasta as i dropped my fork and hastily poured myself a glass of water. some slipped out of the corner of my mouth as i struggled to push down the food ludged down in my throat.

fuck, i was about to follow you, jeongguk.

i sat back down on my chair, appetite all lost. my eyes watered as i stared at my leftover pasta on the plate. my mind then rushed back to its favorite hobby lately: imagining the what-could-have-been's if only jungkook was still here with us.