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♡WHERE IS MY BABYBEAR?♡
::
The morning sun slips gently through the curtains, painting golden lines on the bed. Jungkook stirs awake, half expecting a soft weight at his feet, or the familiar little nudge against his arm. But when he turns, the space beside him is empty. The blanket hasn’t been tugged or clawed. The room is too quiet.
“Babybear?” His voice comes out small, groggy at first. He pushes himself up, rubbing his eyes, looking toward the corner where the little cat bed usually sits. Empty. The food bowl in the kitchen is untouched too, not a single paw print on the floor.
A strange, heavy silence falls over him. Jungkook calls again, louder this time, his throat tightening, “Babybear! Come here, don’t play hide and seek now.” He checks under the couch, behind the curtains, inside the laundry basket where Babybear sometimes curls up. But every corner is still and cold.
And then it hits him… Babybear is gone.
Jungkook sinks onto the floor, pressing his palms against his face as if he could push back the tears burning at the edges. “Oh god! Oh go..god!! What have I done. I shouldn’t have scolded him… I was too harsh. My poor baby must be so… so scared,” he whispers to himself, the memory of last night stabbing at him.
He remembers those big eyes staring back at him when he closed the door. He remembers how he scoffed and turned away, too angry to notice the way the cat’s gaze dimmed. And now, that image won’t leave his mind.
“What did you do, Jungkook? Where will you find now? Wh-what if something happens to him? Where do I find my baby?”
The house feels hollow again. Every tick of the clock sounds louder. The rooms stretch wider, colder. Jungkook hasn’t felt this ache since the day his beloved parrot died years ago. But this time, the pain is heavier, sharper, because Babybear wasn’t just a pet… he was family. He was comfort. He was warmth.
Days pass like this. Jungkook leaves food outside the gate, little bowls of milk and treats by the doorstep, hoping Babybear would return. He walks the streets at night, his voice breaking as he calls out, “Babybear!! Babybear, come home!! Kookie is sorry, baby, please, come back. I am sorry, bear.. p-please, come back to me.”
Stray cats lift their heads at him, but none of them are his. He kneels down and whispers to them anyway, asking if they’ve seen his boy, his baby, his stubborn little shadow.
At work, he finds himself distracted, glancing at his phone as if expecting a message that would never come. At home, he hugs the pillow Babybear once kneaded with his paws, pressing his face against it as if it still carried that faint, sweet scent. And sometimes, in the dead of night, he swears he hears a soft purr by the door but when he opens it, there’s nothing but the cold air waiting.
