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You’d think they’d be stunned—nervous, maybe shy away after everything. But no—if anything, it’s as though they become each other, two souls bleeding into one. Inseparable becomes too small a word—too inadequate. They breathe the same air, laugh in the same breath, take the same steps like shadows stitched together—up until the day life demands they walk separate paths.
Graduation feels like a blur—caps thrown in the air, cheers echoing against the school walls—but none of it registers for Jungkook. His gaze has been searching, scanning through the crowd of gowns and beaming faces, yet—no Taehyung.
Confusion gives way to panic. Where—
His heart stumbles. It has to be a mistake. Taehyung wouldn’t just—
But then there’s his father—standing tall in his military uniform, words crisp as he talks with school officials. Jungkook doesn’t need to hear to know. That gut-deep dread coils tighter in his chest. His dad knows something.
And Jungkook—he just knows.
His pulse thrums in his ears, deafening. Breath hitching, he takes a glance around. His parents are distracted—good. He uses it. Slipping past the crowd, he pushes through bodies and fleeting congratulations that barely graze him. The air feels heavier with every step. His lungs fight for air, legs quickening—faster, faster—
He reaches the school entrance.
And that’s when his stomach drops.
His bike—right where he left it. But Taehyung’s?
Gone.
For four years, their bikes stood side by side. Rain or shine, fight or laughter—always. And now—empty space. Like Taehyung was never there. Like he’s already gone.
Jungkook swallows hard, chest tightening. His fingers curl into fists. "Fuck, Tae..." His voice cracks—a fragile sound swallowed by the wind. Panic claws up his throat. "Where have you gone?"
A beat. His heart pounds. Decision burning beneath his ribs.
"I’m coming to get you," he mutters, jaw clenched.
His legs swing over the seat, sneakers finding the pedals. Fingers white-knuckled on the handlebars. He kicks off—wheels spinning, heart racing faster than the road blurring beneath him.
Every push is a prayer. Hold on—please, just—wait for me.
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