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—what if i can't forget?
OCTOBER 4: PARK JIMIN
==
he feels lethargic, strangely. even after that strange concoction of a protein shake mrs. kim recommended, park jimin didn't think that his four hours of sleep would affect him that much. he is proven wrong by the massive headache drilling into his brain after a few benchpresses.
jimin winces the slightest and places the weight onto the holder behind him, dabbing his pale forehead with a washcloth. he can't become so weak; his stamina was only built after years of workouts, anyway. scratching his temple with a few shaky fingers, he frowns and stares at his lap.
sighing, jimin leans back onto the firm bench and clasps the weight in his—quite frankly small—fingers, exhaling three times and pushing upwards. he stifles a silent groan as his migraine pounds harder, and after just a few more presses he drops the weight back and sits up with empty, sore lungs.
his dark eyes trail up to meet another guy staring incredulously at him, an eyebrow cocked and mouth stupidly gaping. jimin narrows his eyes in contempt.
"what?" jimin snaps. "never seen a short asian guy work out, is that it?"
the man shakes his head quickly and stumbles away with a quick, incoherent apology, and jimin curses softly under his breath. he can't help but notice just how much he's changed from four years ago.
four years ago. jimin stares at his hands, calloused with pink blisters and white scars from doing college work at twelve a.m. after long shifts. he squeezes them into gentle fists and finds them quaking with vigor, anxious to pull, rip, tear, do something because every goddamn time he thinks about four fucking years ago—
jimin shakes his head and lies back down, chest heaving against his old, big shirt. he takes the metal pole of the weight in his hands once more, wrenching his eyes shut and opening them after a long, deep breath.
"i'm not even that fucking short," he mutters through gritted teeth. after completing a set of twenty more benchpresses, he pauses momentarily to catch his breath. c'mon, park. keep going, you gotta. it's just a little more.
jimin pauses.
just a little more. the words rebound through his mind, picking away at every little memory of he and, and—and his best friend, his long gone, long dead best friend. swallowing down pent up feelings and words he wishes he could tell someone, jimin pushes up once more. and then once more. and then another.
