Heartbeat // JK

16 - Cracked, Not Broken

I woke up to the sound of my phone gasping at 3%.

My neck ached. My mascara had done battle with my pillow and lost. I was still in the hoodie from last night, sleeves bunched under me like armor I'd forgotten to remove.

The sky outside was gray. Not dramatic-gray. Just dull. Like the world had stopped trying to impress me.

I sat up slowly, knees stiff from sleeping curled on the couch. The blanket from last night was still wrapped around my legs like it didn't want to let go.

I didn't feel better.

But I was upright. That had to count for something.

My phone buzzed. I squinted at the screen.

Jungkook [1 voice message]

I hesitated — thumb hovering over the play button — then tapped.

Jungkook's voice came through soft, low, and a little rushed — like he was hiding in a stairwell he wasn't supposed to be in.

"I keep checking my phone like you'll walk out of it or something."

A pause.

"The bed here's too cold. Coffee tastes wrong. You messed me up."

Another pause. Then quieter.

"I don't know how three days can feel like this much."

A breath.

"Call me when you can. Or don't. Just... don't disappear."

I stared at the screen long after the message ended. My stomach flipped so fast it felt like I missed a stair.

I didn't reply.

I just held the phone like it was some kind of proof. That he meant it. That I hadn't imagined him.

Taehyung's voice replayed in my head —
"She doesn't hate your dreams. She hates that they're working."
Then again.
"Some people only clap when you're crawling."

I stood up.

My knees cracked. My back protested. The mug from yesterday was still in the sink, the waterline a soft pink from the matcha Emma brought. I dumped it, turned on the tap, and watched it swirl away like it hadn't come with a side of psychological warfare.

I made coffee.

The machine sputtered like it hated me — which felt fair.

I snapped the photo. His sock on my nightstand, half-draped over my journal like it belonged there.

Then typed without thinking.

This is what you left me with. A sock.
Rude.
Also I maybe hugged it. Shut up.

And after a beat — softer, truer.

Miss you already. This sucks.

Then I pulled the notebook into my lap.

Not the clean one. Not the one I'd bought to look like I had my life together.

The real one — duct-taped spine, coffee stain on the cover, a doodle of a broken umbrella next to a list of chords I never used.

It fell open like it already knew what I needed.

I stared at the blank page. My hand hovered.

I wasn't trying to write about him.
I wasn't trying to write at all.

But the lyrics came anyway — not careful. Not clean.

Just... honest.

Sometimes the lights are blinding
I freeze up, lost in the silence
And I can't breathe
Till your hands pull me back to where I need