Heartbeat // JK

25- Last Call

I'd been staring at the folder for two hours.

Not reading.
Just... staring.

The matte black cover hadn't moved. Neither had I.
Not really.

I'd shifted positions on the couch six times, wiped off half my lipstick, undone the top button of my dress — but the truth was, I hadn't left this moment since I walked through my front door. Since I dropped this deal like a loaded weapon on the table and stepped back to see if it would explode.

It didn't.
It just sat there.

Clinical.
Clean.
Lethal in its precision.

A three-month agreement that somehow required all of me but didn't want to admit it.

No social media.
No unsanctioned performances.
No boyfriend.
At least, not where anyone could see.

My fingers hovered over the final page — the one stamped with my name and that blank, waiting signature line.
I didn't touch it.

Because nothing about this felt like a beginning.
It felt like a transaction dressed up as hope.

My phone was face up beside me. Still. Silent.
No notifications.
No clarity.

I thought about calling Taehyung again. About hearing his voice say something warm and ridiculous to distract me from the cliff edge I couldn't stop pacing.

I didn't.
Instead, I stood.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just... standing.
Because I couldn't sit in that room another second.

My feet hit the floor like a decision.
Bare. Cold. Real.

I didn't grab a notebook. I didn't grab a brush.
I went to the closet.

The suitcase sat where I'd shoved it months ago, half-buried behind shoes I never wore. I pulled it out, stiff zipper scratching open like a challenge.

Empty.
Waiting.

I dropped it on the floor and started throwing in whatever felt like mine.

Makeup bag.
The jeans he once traced with his eyes.
Oversized hoodie.
The top that made me feel like I might survive being seen.

My hair was still mostly styled, limp now, curls falling out like breath.
Mascara ghosted under my eyes.
Lip gloss worn off somewhere between Sierra's warning and Taehyung's voice in my ear.

It wasn't neat. It wasn't strategic.
It was survival.

I zipped the suitcase, chest heaving like I'd run a marathon.

And still — no plan.

No booked flight.
No idea where I'd sleep.
No idea if I'd come back tomorrow or next week or at all.

Just a gut feeling that I couldn't sit still anymore.

I hesitated at the table just long enough to slide the folder into my tote. The weight of it felt heavier than it should — like I was carrying a question I didn't know how to ask.

I grabbed my coat.
Slid my phone into the side pocket of the suitcase.
Stared at the apartment one last time.

I didn't text Jungkook.

I just opened the door — and walked into the night.

***

The airport looked different at 3 A.M.

Too bright. Too still. Like the world hadn't decided if it was still night or pretending to be morning. Everything buzzed faintly — vending machines, intercoms, the soft scrape of suitcase wheels on linoleum.