SUNSHINE, jihope. [fin.]

21; away

LAST CHAPTER

Six months, two weeks, and three days.

That’s how long it’s been when Hoseok meets Jimin again.

Hoseok half-leans against the railings of the Visual Arts building’s terrace, hands stuffed in his pockets. The art project is gone at last, and somehow that makes him a little sad, a little nostalgic. He hears the door swing open and takes a moment to look up, absorbed in pushing around soil with his scuffed boot. When he sees Jimin, his breath catches.

Jimin hasn’t noticed Hoseok yet. He steps forward, pushing a hand through his orange hair to sweep the bangs from his forehead. His cheeks are fuller, lips as plush as always. He wears a fluffy blue sweater, sunglasses hanging from the neck, and dark pants that end at his leather ankle boots. Hoseok isn’t sure if he’s imagining it or if Jimin really does walk with a little more confidence. There’s no crease in his brow; his shoulders are straight and proud.

Jimin is even more beautiful than Hoseok remembers.

When Jimin left, it felt like Hoseok lost a limb. But if leaving let Jimin spread his wings, look comfortable in his own skin, then Hoseok would let him go all over again.

“You came,” Jimin says.

“You called. Of course I came.”

Jimin takes a few hesitant steps forward.

“You dyed your hair,” Hoseok says.

“Felt like a change.”

“You still come up here to smoke?”

“Don’t smoke anymore.”

He can’t help the smile from spreading. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Another step. He shoves his hands in his pockets, swaying a little awkwardly. “How—how are you?”

“I can’t say I’m good, but I’m trying.” He shrugs. “You?”

“Me, too.”

It might be a terrible idea to bring up the past so soon, but Hoseok has been wondering for a long time. “Your class’s dance performance, the one where you had a solo. You didn’t go.”

Jimin reels as if struck, and Hoseok regrets it already. “How did you know?”

“I was there.”

“You—you came to see me?”

“Yeah.”

“Even after everything?”

“It meant a lot to you. I just wanted to be there, even if you didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well. Fucked that up, didn’t I?” Hoseok sees some of the old uncertainty, the self-loathing, return to Jimin’s eyes. “Got scared.”

He imagines Jimin yanking out strands of his own hair from stress, hating himself for being so terrified but unable to fight it. If Hoseok had been there he could have held him, stilled his anxious fingers. Talked him through it. “How much trouble were you in?”

“It was pretty bad. Thought my professor was going to have me expelled. But I—um, I started seeing a therapist. For anxiety. And she talked to them for me.”

“That’s good, Jimin. That’s really good.”

“Bet I really screwed up the performance.”

“You didn’t. They covered it up pretty well, actually. Wouldn’t have even guessed there was a problem if I didn’t already know.”

“Really?” His shoulders relax—barely, but enough.