༺Masterpiece༻

XLV :: Freedom

The snow stretched out around us like a blank canvas, open and waiting, yet hauntingly indifferent. The bitter cold gnawed at my skin, stinging with a fierce, honest bite that mirrored the rawness sitting heavy in my chest. It was strange—the kind of day where everything seemed to break and fall away, yet I could almost hear a tune rising from the quiet, steady like a heartbeat, resonating with the ache of standing up and moving forward even when the ground feels unsteady beneath you. There was a certain resignation, yes, but also a strange, soft courage—a refusal to crumble.

Lying there beside Jimin, his warmth faint yet undeniable in the biting cold, I felt the weight of it all—the anger, the absurdity, the sheer emptiness of finding nothing, of throwing punches and walking away from that sterile room with nothing gained but bruises, on our faces and in our pride. But that quiet resignation was more than defeat. It was survival. Like the song, it was the feeling of saying, Yes, I know life cuts deep and everything feels so small, but I’m still here.

The moon cast a pale glow on Jimin’s face, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. The weight of the world could’ve buried us, and yet, lying here, the snow pressing into our backs, I felt the faintest spark of something that felt like hope, or at least, something enough to keep going. We are, even if it all feels so small, even if nothing is certain.

After a long, weighty silence on the couch beside Jimin, I felt the need to step away. The room was thick with remnants of today’s frustration and helplessness, the kind that clung to the walls, to my skin, refusing to dissipate no matter how many breaths I took. Quietly excusing myself, I slipped into the hallway and found myself instinctively drawn to the end of my world, as if her presence could somehow unknot the chaos inside me.

She sat in the dim glow of her bedroom, her gaze softening when she saw me approach, sensing, perhaps, that I was carrying something heavy. Without a word, she shifted to make room, patting the space beside her. The silence between us was almost comforting as I lowered myself down, letting the moment settle before I could gather the courage to speak.

“Today…” I began, voice barely a whisper, my eyes locked on the floor as if I couldn’t bear to meet hers just yet. “Today was… rough.” The weight of it all pulled me down as I struggled to find the words. “Jimin, he tried to keep everything steady, to hold his ground, and… and I let him down. I let us both down. It was like no matter how hard we tried, it all just… slipped.”

She didn’t interrupt, just waited, her hand finding mine and anchoring me with a gentle squeeze.

“And then,” I continued, my voice a shade darker, “that man, Cha… he wasn’t just vile. He was, he was revolting. He looked at Jimin like he was something to own, to belittle and dismiss, like he was nothing.” The anger surged again, boiling up as I remembered Cha’s eyes, his sneering gaze, the mockery in his voice.

“And then… and then he had the nerve to talk about you, to suggest…” I broke off, jaw clenched, feeling sick just thinking of it.

Her hand remained steady in mine, her warmth coaxing me back to calm. Her gaze never faltered, unwavering, like she understood every silent thought that I couldn’t quite voice.

"What did he suggest, Kook?"

"I cannot say that. I cannot bring myself to think of you, of any woman, of any living creature like that."

“Kook,” she said softly, her voice a gentle balm, grounding me. “You don’t have to carry this alone. It’s okay to feel this way, to be disgusted, angry. It’s human. You stood up for Jimin, and you’d do the same for anyone you care about.”

“But he just… he tore Jimin down with his words,” I said, my tone edged with helplessness. “Jimin’s been through so much, and to see him like that, to see him hurt, knowing I couldn’t take that away… and then to have that man bring you into it…”