(Jimin POV)
___
I see you in the halls,
leaning against a locker.
I see you everywhere,
in the faces of strangers,
and the air kicks my stomach.
But why is it,
that when I'm sitting beside you,
I feel nothing.
___
He wears a blank expression, and I know why he wears it --- it's a mask.
I want to rip it off, but I'm afraid all I'll see is skin and bone underneath,
for what if it's all he feels now?
Nothingness, for me.
He sits on the other aisle of the transit bus, after almost a week, looking outside the window to snow.
No, it's not snow, it's a land of white sand, as he'd once called it.
I look away, brushing a strand of hair from my blue jeans. It floats gently to the speckled black floor, vibrations humming through the metal embossing the large vehicle.
He's a seat away.
I don't regret what I've done. I miss him, I'm sure my chest does, but I can't be a slave to my emotions when my thoughts have imprisoned me for years.
But he's a seat away.
Yes, and so is death a step from the sidewalk.
He shifts in his seat, leaning his back on the maroon seat, eyes fluttering close. I want to tell him; open your eyes, open your eyes,
you'll miss your stop, you'll miss your stop,
you'll miss our stop,
you'll miss me.
But it's my stop that always comes first.
And I knew then that I was begging him to stop me.
I wanted him to open his eyes, to feel something, to voice out,
to speak.
It was as if he was mute again and I hoped I hadn't stolen the voice from his lungs.
My bus stop flashed across the screen overhead, once, twice, three times.
In autonomy, I gathered my backpack, shrugging it on, ignoring the ball of red inside my cheeks. My feet stepped off from the platform, the wind quickly hiding behind my ears and between my fingers.
With a swish, the doors closed.
___
(Jungkook POV)
___
I couldn't open my eyes.
I couldn't watch him leave.
The doors closed and I opened my eyes, staring outside the window. His hair stuck out in all directions, the wind failing to smooth it down. He stepped away from the bus and the driver revved up the engine.
Only to brake again.
The streetlight glared red, and some passengers exhaled in annoyance.
I gulped, still keeping an eye on the boy outside walking away.
The sidewalk light for the pedestrians flashed green, numbers counting down until the road's streetlight would flash green again.
8 seconds.
7,
he looks so beautiful.
6,
it pains me.
5,
i miss him.
4,
he left me.
3,
he left me.
2,
he left.
With a jerk, I pulled the yellow bar overhead, signalling the driver not to accelerate again. A ding sounded and I grabbed my backpack, running through the doors swishing open into the frosty air.
I was throwing my pride away, I knew, but I was quickly catching up to a boy whose hair reminded me of my favourite colour, whose eyes almost looked burgundy in the sun, whose lashes was the spectrum running wild, wings of a butterfly beating wild.
"Wait!"
I called out and he froze, turning around as various cars zoomed by on the road beside us, hurling more wind in our directions.
I breathed heavily, smoke rising from my lips in untraceable patterns.
He stared back at me, his years of practice tracing his face emotionless.
"Do you-," I gulped in another set of air, the extra wind from the cars zooming past us beside the sidewalk of no aid.
"Do you miss me?"
He searched my face, and I hated it when he did that, because I was an open book and he, an experienced reader.
"Yeah."
Hope glowed in my chest, and suddenly, our separation seemed pointless, a week of being apart not making any sense.
"Enough to try again?"
He looked down at his sneakers and his lashes brimmed with little snowflakes, the howling of wind the only music.
"I, I don't know." He admitted. "It wouldn't make sense."
"What wouldn't?"
"Us. You. Me --- we don't equal a future."
why do you speak in numbers
when your words are far more beautiful?
"How are you so sure of that?"
His expression mulled, "because people don't change. I won't change, and neither will you." He sighed, "just because we were together doesn't mean our flaws weren't apparent. You and your overthinking, me and my sadness."
"I need someone who's more emotionally stable, someone with more potential in helping me build a real future," he finished.
It hurt, it hurt like a slow simmer.
"But I still want you," my voice dimmed.
His eyes sighed along with him, "Jungkook, you don't understand! I'm literally standing here and saying that you're not worth it, yes, you're not worth it, yet you still fucking want me."
"How low is your self-esteem?" He asked.
"I want you," tears brimmed along the edges of my eyes. I kept a straight face, refusing to let it crack.
"But I don't."
"I know you don't want you, but I still want you."
"Jungkook-" he helplessly breathed.
I was letting him break me.
"Your emotions are lying to you," he explained.
I stepped closer to him, face inching close. "The only lies here are from you."
"So tell me a lie," my voice wavered, "tell me you love me."
His eyes spoke, like how the cars spoke with the wind, melting to produce a sound so perpetual.
"I don't know what love is."
And that wasn't a lie, he wasn't lying.
___
