BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

One liter of tears✿⁠(Kim Seokjin/Jin)

Chapter 2 – A Tremor

The next few weeks slipped past like pages turning too quickly.
Y/n told herself the tremor was nothing—too many late nights, too much coffee. But when her pen wobbled again during an exam, a quiet panic settled in her chest.

After class she lingered behind, pressing her hand flat on the desk until the shaking stopped. She thought no one noticed, but when she looked up, Seokjin was standing by the doorway.

“Your pen’s leaking,” he said.
Y/n blinked, confused. Then she realized he was only giving her a way out, saving her from the embarrassment of being seen trembling.

“Guess I write too much,” she joked weakly.
He smiled. “Then maybe let someone else take notes for once.”

That was how it started—Seokjin sitting beside her during study sessions, quietly copying her outlines when her hand grew tired, pretending not to see the frustration behind her smiles.

At home, Y/n’s mother began to notice the small things: the dropped spoon, the uneven footsteps on the stairs. One afternoon, she suggested they visit the clinic. “Just to be sure,” she said. Y/n laughed, said she was fine, but the worry in her mother’s eyes stayed with her all night.

The following Monday, Seokjin found her on the bench behind the library, staring at her notebook.
“Studying?” he asked.
“Trying to,” she replied. “My hand’s rebelling.”

He didn’t tease her. Instead, he sat down, leaned back, and watched the clouds drift between the school buildings. “Sometimes our bodies know things before our minds do,” he said softly.

Y/n looked at him then. His tone wasn’t pitying—it was honest, like he’d already accepted that people are fragile and that was okay.

A week later, the doctor mentioned the word “tests.” Y/n tried to focus on the bright poster behind him—smiling children, blue skies, a slogan about health and happiness—but the letters blurred.

On the bus ride home, she kept her head against the window, the world sliding by in streaks of light and rain. She didn’t cry. Not yet. The fear hadn’t fully formed; it was still just a shadow at the edge of her mind.

When her phone buzzed, it was a message from Seokjin:
Did you forget your umbrella again?
She typed back: Maybe. The rain feels lighter when I walk in it.
A pause. Then: Then I’ll walk with you next time.

Y/n stared at the screen, a tiny smile forming. For a brief moment, the tremor in her hand didn’t matter.

That night, she opened a new notebook and wrote three words at the top of the first page:
Keep moving forward.