BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

One liter of tears✿⁠(Kim Seokjin/Jin)

Chapter 6 – The Last Autumn

The leaves changed early that year.  By the time September ended, the trees along the main street were already dressed in red and gold, the air carrying a faint chill that hinted at winter.

Y/n watched the season shift from the window of her room.  The world outside kept moving — students running for buses, neighbors hanging laundry, the hum of life going on.  Inside, things had grown slower.

Therapy had become routine: gentle stretches, careful steps, long breaths.  Some days she could walk the short path behind the house; others she just sat on the porch, wrapped in her mother’s old cardigan, listening to the wind chase fallen leaves.

Seokjin still came every afternoon.  Sometimes he brought notes from class; sometimes he just brought himself.  He’d read aloud from her favorite books, or play a song quietly from his phone.  When she was too tired to talk, he didn’t fill the silence — he simply stayed.

One afternoon, the sky was the color of faded denim.  He arrived carrying a paper bag.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Mandarins. You said you liked them when they’re a little sour.”

She smiled. “You remembered.”
“I remember too much,” he admitted. “I even remember how you used to complain about peeling them.”

He sat beside her, fingers deftly working through the thin skin of the fruit. The scent of citrus filled the air. He offered her a slice; she took it, juice bright on her tongue.

“Do you ever wish you could forget?” she asked after a while.
He looked at her carefully. “Only the parts that make you hurt.”
“And the rest?”
“The rest is you.”

For a long time, they just watched the sunlight slip between the branches.  A small bird landed near their feet, tilting its head as if listening.  Y/n felt a wave of warmth rise through the cool air — not happiness, exactly, but something deeper, steadier.

That evening, she wrote in her notebook again. The letters were uneven, but she didn’t mind.

> I used to count how many things I was losing,
but today I counted what remains.
There’s still the sky, the laughter, the sound of footsteps on dry leaves.
There’s still him.

Later that night, Seokjin texted:
Tomorrow looks clear. The river might sparkle again.
She typed back slowly: Then let’s go see it before the cold comes.

The next day, they did.  The wind was sharper, the sun lower, the trees heavy with color.  As they walked, Seokjin slipped his hand into hers — steady, quiet, no words needed.

For a brief, golden moment, Y/n felt almost weightless again.
And for him, that was enough.