quick that this is au fanfiction. in this novel, jimin's birthdate is october 13, 1994 (not 1995).
with that said, happy reading ♡
all my love,
krissy
❦
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JANUARY 2007
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"I'm gonna get out of here soon," he admits.
The girl with short black hair pushes her turquoise windbreaker sleeves up to her elbows. "Where?"
"Seoul," he says. He nudges her. "Come with me."
"Yeah?" She scrunches her nose and pries open the plum wine. "I mean, it'd be funny. Eomma would lose her shit. But really, what's so bad about Busan?"
He shakes his head, gaze lowering. "I just can't stay here anymore."
Now she does look up. In the soft fairy lights of the makeshift bar, her skin glows with a soft golden hue, like candlelight. He can see each curve of her thin eyelashes. He can see the realization fall on her bold coffee eyes. "You're really gonna do it this time?"
"I figured it out," he says, drawing in a breath. "I'm going to stay with a cousin in Seoul. Audition around."
"When did you decide?"
"Last night."
"You like it that much? Dancing? Singing?"
A slow smile touches his lips. His gaze rises to meet hers, and she sees this fire glowing in them that scares her, this burning passion, this strange and sorrowful joy she can't understand. A laugh sighs from his lips. "I love it so much I could die."
It's the crack in his voice that gets her. That unsteadiness, proof of something so powerful within him even he can't contain it. She knows, then, that he will never change his mind. That they were always going to go their separate ways.
She swallows, reaching for a swig. "Okay," she says. "Just don't forget me when you're famous."
He rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to forget you."
"Yeah? Well, everyone forgets everybody over time."
"Not me," he insists.
But all she does is look at him with this knowing numbness in her eyes, as if all her life she's been proved right. "You don't have to be all defensive about it, you know. It's a natural thing."
"No, Nari," he says, voice lowering. "It's not."
She smiles, as if awarding him good effort for trying to prove a lie. He doesn't have time to argue again before she leans against him, tipping the bottle back again. Another breeze blows, so close he can smell the sweet wildflowers dancing in her perfume, feel its dizzying spell. Her short hair tickles her cheeks.
His chin brushes her hair as he looks down at her, at her wide eyes as they stare ahead. There's a lot he wants to say. A lot of things he wants to prove her wrong. A lot of things to confess.
But his fear wins over his desires. She drifts off to a quiet sleep. And in the end all he can do is memorize her face.
