~Park Jimin~ "A 22-year-old boy residing in a modest village nestled in Busan, shares his home with his devoted mother, their lives coloured by the stark realities of poverty."
~Min Yoongi~ "In the heart of South Korea, Min Yoongi was not a typical...
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It had been a long week—physically, mentally, and emotionally draining for Yoongi. Each night, after hours of work, he found himself outside Jimin’s bungalow, sitting silently on the bench in the garden, hoping… just hoping. But Jimin never came.
Yoongi didn’t blame him. Not really. He understood the pain he caused. But understanding didn’t ease the ache inside his chest.
The cold winter air wrapped around him every night, but he didn’t care. Even when his fingers turned numb and his body shivered uncontrollably, he stayed. Just in case Jimin decided to forgive him, even a little.
Each night, he skipped dinner. Some days, he missed lunch too. His appetite had long disappeared, replaced by whiskey and regret. When he returned to his apartment, hours past midnight, all he could do was drink until sleep finally took over.
And now, a week later, it was catching up to him.
That morning, when he woke up, he could barely sit upright. His head was pounding, his body aching, and a sharp chill ran through his spine. But Yoongi, being Yoongi, dressed up anyway, buttoned his shirt with trembling fingers, and went to the office.
By noon, during an important meeting, his vision blurred. Words became muffled. His body felt like it was swaying even though he was sitting.
“Sir, are you okay?” his assistant whispered, worriedly noticing the pale color of his face.
Yoongi blinked slowly. “Yeah… just a bit tired,” he muttered.
After the meeting ended, his assistant practically begged him to rest. With a small nod, Yoongi made his way to his cabin. But instead of resting, he packed up early and left the office, his steps sluggish, head dizzy—, his car turned in the direction of his apartment.
That evening, Yoongi didn’t go to Jimin’s house.
For the first time in a week, the spot outside the bungalow remained empty.
Back in his apartment, Yoongi barely made it to his room. His legs were weak, his head pounding like a drum, and chills raced down his spine even though his body was burning with fever. As soon as he collapsed on the bed, the dizziness swallowed him whole, dragging him into a restless sleep without even changing out of his office clothes.
His breathing was uneven. The room was dim, and the silence was loud. He hadn’t eaten anything since the morning, and even then, it was just a few sips of coffee.
Meanwhile, at Jimin’s bungalow…
Around 8 PM, Jimin came home from work, tired as usual. His eyes subconsciously glanced toward the gate, where Yoongi usually waited, sitting quietly on the garden bench. But today, there was no one.
He tried to ignore the pinch in his heart.
He went inside, changed into something comfortable, and forced himself to have dinner. But his thoughts kept drifting back to that empty space outside. By 10 PM, he gave in and walked up to his room, stepping onto the balcony with a faint hope.
