BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

One liter of tears✿⁠(Kim Seokjin/Jin)

Chapter 7 – One Litre of Tears

Winter came quietly that year.
The first snow fell while Y/n slept, covering the city in silence. From her window, the world looked softer — rooftops brushed with white, the distant sound of children laughing somewhere beyond her reach.

Her hands had grown weaker, her voice sometimes caught in her throat, but her eyes still held that quiet light. She didn’t complain anymore; she only asked small things — the smell of Seokjin’s scarf, the sound of the river, a spoon of her mother’s soup.

When Seokjin entered the room that morning, she smiled faintly.
“You came early,” she said.
“I didn’t want to miss the snow,” he replied.
He brushed the flakes from his shoulders and sat by her side. “Do you remember the river?”
“Always.”

He took out a small photo from his pocket — the one he’d taken last spring, when the water shimmered gold and her hair danced in the wind.
“You looked like you belonged there,” he said quietly.
She laughed, a fragile sound. “I probably still do.”

They sat in silence, watching the snow fall.
Outside, everything moved in slow motion — the wind, the light, even time.

“Seokjin,” she said after a while.
He turned to her.
“Promise me you’ll keep laughing,” she whispered.
He blinked hard. “Don’t make promises that hurt to keep.”
“It’s not supposed to hurt,” she said gently. “It’s supposed to remind you.”

She reached for his hand — her fingers small and cold, but still certain.
“You once said the river always reaches the sea,” she murmured. “I think I finally understand what you meant.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.
“If there’s another life,” he said, his voice trembling, “find me by the water.”
“I will,” she breathed.

A tear slipped down his cheek. Then another. Then another — until it became impossible to count.

Later that evening, he found her notebook resting by her side. The last page wasn’t finished; the ink had smudged from where her hand had rested too long.

> Even if my body can’t move, my heart will still wander.
It will visit the river, the trees, the sound of your voice.
It will remember love — not as an ache, but as light.

He didn’t cry loudly. He just sat there, quietly, until the room grew dim.
Outside, the snow kept falling — each flake disappearing as it touched the window, as if carrying a secret too delicate to hold.

When spring came again, Seokjin went back to the river. He brought a single mandarin, peeled it, and let the pieces drift downstream.

The water shimmered under the sun — just like before.

And for the first time in a long while, he smiled.
It wasn’t joy, not yet. But it was something close — something that could grow.

> One litre of tears, one lifetime of love.
And somehow, both were enough.