(Jimin POV)
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My biology textbook stared back at me, the teacher's voice in the background.
I feel nothing.
I looked around at the other students, 0.7 mechanical pencils and gel pens running over pages and pages of notes.
But I feel nothing, I wanted to scream.
I picked up my pencil, attempting to note down the lesson of genomes. The graphite bit too deeply into the paper, breaking with a miniature snap.
I breathed in, inhaling, inhaling, inhaling--
exhale.
Too heavy, my chest was too heavy.
But I feel nothing, I wanted to melt into the chair.
Aren't I supposed to feel something towards this? I stared at the projector, slides of genetic coding and DNA mutation still in time and space.
I used to,
so why not anymore?
///
Jungkook leaned his head on my shoulder as the bus rounded a corner. We buoyed up for a millisecond, butterflies dipping into my stomach as gravity took over eventually, the vehicle reducing speed again.
"Jungkook."
"Hm?"
"I think my dream's dying."
"What's your dream?"
"To become a doctor."
"No, it's not."
His head rose, leaning away from my shoulder to face me. His lashes melted into themselves as a smile pulled his cheeks higher.
"You've always told me," he slowly spoke, "that your dream is to study what's inside," he pressed an index finger to my temple, "here."
"You never once said you wanted to be the one diagnosing. You're about discovery, not diagnosis."
I looked down at my hands, "but I always thought I'd hold a scalpel."
"Your dream doesn't have to involve saving everyone's breath," he said. "Besides," he leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "you wouldn't be very good at that."
"Why not?"
"'Cause you take mine away."
I grinned, warmth spreading into my chest.
"I might actually end up dying, you know, from that," he whispered softly.
I leaned into him, my own voice lowering, "and leave me behind?"
His eyes tendered more, "do I take your breath away?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll both die together," he giggled.
The bus crossed through heavy snow, the windows failing to conceal the harsh howls of the storm.
I squeezed his hand loosely, exhaling, as I thought of the university applications due soon. I guess now I would be applying in hopes of going into research instead.
I still didn't feel anything, but at least I knew what I didn't want to especially do anymore.
"Jungkook."
"Hm?"
"I'm going to miss you."
"Are you leaving me?" He lifted his head, worry in his features.
"No, not yet."
I looked at my watch, "my stop comes in five minutes, so I'll be leaving then," winking at him.
"Jimin!" He wailed. "Don't scare me like that," he pouted.
"But I'm a year older than you, and university applications are due soon," I informed him.
"Oh, yeah." He looked down, biting his lip.
I didn't know whether we'd been together long enough to have this conversation, to say the words, "I'll wait for you", or "We'll make it work".
I didn't know what the criteria for that was. How was one to decide whether another was to be pursued in a long term manner?
He made me happy.
But I didn't know whether that was enough.
Or whether it would even last.
It, being happiness, or me.
So I stayed quiet, running my thumb over his hand slowly in circles, wishing the next stop would come a little slower.
///
"Mum?"
She didn't look up, quietly sipping her tea and staring into space.
"Mum." I spoke, a little louder.
"Huh?" She jerked back into time, eyes blinking as she registered me. "Oh, you're home?"
"Yeah, have been for the past hour." I mumbled as I turned to leave.
I stopped.
Something felt odd.
I stepped back into the kitchen, looking at her again. She stared back at me, curiosity laced between her brows.
Time felt weird, the wrong kind of quiet, a lonely kind of quiet in this house.
"Mum."
"Yes?"
"M-Mum?" I breathed.
"Yes, Jimin?"
My feet felt heavy. My dream's dying, my childhood dream's dying, my Mum looks so beautiful and sad, my chest is heavy.
"I-I," my voice cracked as she placed her mug down, rising from her chair to scurry towards me.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I-I can't breathe," my voice cracked further as my arms began to loosen into jelly, my hands quivering as she held mine. "My dream's dying and I can't breathe, Mum," I squeezed my eyes shut as I let a cry or two escape from the back of my throat.
"Mum! I can't breathe." I cried, collapsing into her arms.
I let my weight fall onto her, her weak arms struggling to keep me to her as we slid down, down onto the cold tiles.
"Mama," I sobbed, my head finding its way into her lap, lungs working extra hard to keep me going. My ears felt damp as my Mother soothed back my hair.
And I thought of my Mum's laugh, warm coffee, his eyes, happiness.
But I thought of it, didn't feel it.
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