Spring Day // Kim Taehyung ( V )

Chapter 52 - I found a love

George's POV:

It's hard to believe a month has gone by since our trip to Jeju. The days seem to blur together, and I often find myself caught in the quiet aftermath of everything. Jackson left me hanging—abandoned in a way I didn't expect—and ever since, he's been distant, almost like I've become invisible to him. It's been a difficult adjustment. Seeing him every day, sharing the same space, yet feeling worlds apart.

Before, I would catch him in small acts of affection—kissing my cheek before parting for class, holding my hand while we walked through the hallways. Those moments felt like the fabric of our connection, tangible and real. Now, he walks past me without a trace of recognition, like I'm a stranger. Each passing moment feels like a tiny fracture in my heart, breaking it into fragments I can't quite pick up.

I remember the warmth of his embrace, the whisper of "I missed you so much" even when he'd just seen me the day before. That warmth, that tenderness—fading into an indifferent silence. It hurts to see him do so well without me, to watch him move on, seemingly unaffected. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get used to the ache, or if I'll always carry this weight of longing.

Yet, strangely enough, the pain has softened over the past few days. The sharp sting of heartbreak that once consumed me now feels more like a dull ache. I no longer cry when I see him pass by. I don't lock myself away in my room anymore, shutting the world out. I've started to accept that what we had might be gone for good—that some chapters are meant to end.

Part of me still hopes for reconciliation, a flicker of desire to mend what was broken. But another part, the quieter, more rational side, fears that reopening that door might only lead to more pain. I confided in my friends about these mixed feelings, and they've been supportive, telling me they're happy for my progress.

But deep down, I wonder—am I truly happy? Am I genuinely moving forward, or just pretending to? I'm not completely over Jackson. Still, there's this strange force—something I can't quite name—that keeps me from falling entirely into despair.

That force? Taehyung.

It's hard to admit how much he's changed my perspective. Since our trip to Jeju, we've grown closer. We exchanged numbers, and now I find myself talking to him almost every day. I pour out my feelings—about Jackson, about everything that weighs on my mind—and I feel a strange sense of relief. Taehyung listens. He offers comfort without asking for anything in return, and I find myself relying on that.

I know he likes me. He's told me he wants to help me feel better, to be there whenever I need a distraction or someone to lean on. And maybe that's okay. Maybe it's okay to lean on him, even if I feel guilty about it. Because with him, I'm not just avoiding the pain—I'm starting to believe I can live beyond it.

The truth is, I see the difference. When I'm with my friends, I feel their warmth and support. But with Taehyung, it's different—more personal, more genuine. He's the one who's been helping me breathe through the ache.

Today, as Sarah and I walk to the bus stop, she notices my smile. It's faint, but real. It's been a while since I've genuinely smiled—since I allowed myself to feel happiness without guilt or hesitation. I'm still hesitant, still uncertain about what's next. But for now, I'm just trying to be present.

She tilts her head, eyes glinting with curiosity. "George, you're smiling again. Who's the reason?"

The question catches me off guard. I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. "What do you mean?"

She smirks knowingly. "Who's making you smile like that?"

My mind flickers—Taehyung's name lingers, warm and familiar. I realize I wasn't just thinking about him; I was smiling because of him. Because he's been the one to help me see that maybe, just maybe, I can find happiness again—not in the past I lost, but in what's unfolding around me now.

And in that moment, I understand something vital. The process of healing isn't linear, and it's not about forgetting. It's about finding new ways to move forward, even if that means acknowledging the small, fragile hope that someone like Taehyung can help me rebuild what I thought was lost forever.

Taehyung's POV

It's been nearly four months since I first met George. Three months of waking up each day with her in my thoughts, of feeling something I can't quite name but know is growing stronger. Lately, I've realized that my feelings for her are deepening—more than I expected or thought possible. Every moment spent with her, whether over the phone or in person, feels precious, like a fragile secret I want to hold onto forever.

I don't know what she feels in her heart—I try not to read into it too much. Maybe she's just a friend, someone I enjoy being around, nothing more. But even so, her happiness has become my obsession; her smile, my reward. Sometimes, I catch myself hoping—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, she might feel something more. Yet, I know better than to cling to such hope. Timing, circumstances—they're never on our side.

Flashback.

"In two weeks, you'll have to start packing," our manager announced, voice steady but heavy with the inevitable. We all sat in silence, the weight of the words sinking in. No one wanted to leave—not yet. We'd grown attached to this place, to each other. The thought of leaving behind these moments, these bonds, felt like tearing away a piece of ourselves. But the reality was clear: our comeback was scheduled for next month. We had to be ready.

I wasn't ready. Not for the goodbye, not for the distance. Not until I was sure George was okay.

"Focus," Namjoon Hyung said softly, breaking the silence. "You worked so hard to get here. Don't let this distract you now. Think about the fans, think about the future. We can't afford to lose sight of that."

His words echoed in my mind—reminding me of the purpose, of the duty. Yet, I felt a quiet stirring of resistance. I didn't want to leave without telling her everything I'd been holding inside.

"Two weeks to finalize the tracks," the manager continued, voice pragmatic. "Then we'll head back to Seoul. Pack your things."

Yoongi's voice cut through the room, tinged with frustration. "Why now? We still have two weeks left here."

Two weeks left with her.

End of flashback.

I've been racking my mind, trying to find the right way to tell George about the impending departure. I want her to know how much she's changed my perspective—how she's made me feel alive in ways I never knew before. I want to tell her how these past four months have been the most meaningful of my life, how she's helped me accept parts of myself I once despised. More than anything, I want her to understand that she's awakened something in me—love, perhaps, or at least the possibility of it.

But the words catch in my throat. The fear of destroying what we have paralyzes me. What if I tell her how I feel and she doesn't feel the same? What if it ruins our friendship entirely? I've become so accustomed to being her source of comfort, her pillar of support—I worry that if I reveal my feelings, I might lose her altogether.

I hate feeling so vulnerable. I hate feeling this weak in her presence. All I want is to see her happy, even if that means suppressing my own desires. But the truth is, I'm falling—deeply, irreversibly—and I don't know how to handle it.

I fear the pain that might come. I'm afraid that in trying to take away her pain, I'd only end up absorbing it myself. Falling in love feels like stepping into a storm—beautiful but dangerous. It can either heal you or break you apart.

There are only thirteen days left. Thirteen days to gather the courage, to speak what's in my heart. I want her to know that she's opened my eyes to a new way of seeing the world, that these months with her have been the most extraordinary chapter of my life. I've discovered parts of myself I never knew existed—parts I've come to accept, to embrace.

Most of all, I want her to know that I found love during these four months—not just fleeting affection, but something real, something profound. And I can't let that slip away without a fight.