k-pop oneshots 🎶

imagine him • kim namjoon (bts) 🌚

Theme: A girl is diagnosed with schizophrenia, and she creates a boy she falls in love with named Kim Namjoon.

**I was always told that my mind was crazy by everyone around me, mostly by strangers. I didn't know why people told my mother that her daughter needed help when I was only at the age of eight. I thought they didn't understand him and I. They didn't and still don't understand him and I.

He is my everything, but other people can't see him. I'm the only one that sees and understands him, and apparently, I'm crazy for it. I don't just imagine him. I know my Namjoon is real.

I know he's real because of the way he laughs and smiles at me if acting goofy gets him to crack his serious expression. I know he's real when he touches my arm and tingles emerge in the same, exact spot his fingers grazed. I know he's real when I catch him staring at me and butterflies tickle inside my stomach. And I definitely know he's real when he tells me he loves me.

This is real, it can't be fake. These feelings and heartache can't be fake, it isn't. I will deny and convince myself that Namjoon wasn't just someone my mind created. He wasn't someone who just waltzed into my life when I was eight years old and told me he would take care of me forever. He wasn't just giving me fake love until I found actual love. He was real, and all of my feelings toward him were real.

But these are the facts: Namjoon did appear out of no where nine years ago, and he was created by me to ease whatever I was going through at eight. He isn't real. But I love him like he is.

"Namjoon," I say one afternoon, getting so tired I find myself flopping on the couch. Namjoon sits next to me placing my head in his lap. He hums for me to continue, and I tiredly tell him something which has him tensing under me. I'm not even sure what came out of my mouth, but I fall asleep before I question it too much.

When I wake up, Namjoon is gone. His squishy thighs aren't under my head, and he is no where to be seen in the living room. But then a waft of something that smells way too delicious travels through the room. It must be Namjoon, but if he isn't real why do I smell actual food. I knew he was real. What imaginary friend could make yummy food and not be real?

I walk in the kitchen to see Namjoon cooking something over the stove. He's wearing a white t-shirt and his muscles are flexing as he flips whatever is in the pan. My heart skips a beat just watching him. And as if he hears my chest beating and flipping like an acrobat, he turns and glances my way. I smile at him and he gestures me over.

I walk into his arms as he engulfs me in a hug. Chuckling as he kisses my forehead, I wrap my arms around his torso and watch him remove one hand from my waist and flip the pancake in the pan. Chocolate chip pancake to be exact.

"Wow! For me?" I ask when he finishes and hands the plate full of pancakes to me. Obviously I take the food. Who would I be to turn down my favorite food, especially when I'm starving, and I eat. I share them with Namjoon, feeding him every once in awhile.

Syrup dribbles down the side of his mouth, and I catch it with my finger, bringing it to my mouth and sucking it off. Namjoon looks at me. That type of look lovers give when their partner is being unbearably sexy. So I leave my finger in my mouth watching his eyes turn back to playful.

This always happens. When I get too sexual he turns me down. The most we have down is kisses on the mouth. And not even make out sessions, just pecks out of love. At moments like this I question my imaginary friend.

"Did you mean what you said earlier," Namjoon says suddenly when everything was so quiet. I don't mind him talking, but I did get a little startled. But then the question circulates my mind, what exactly did I say? Not even a second later, Namjoon clarifies "that you think I'm not real."

I didn't have a clue as to what I should say. My mother always told me that Namjoon wasn't real; that he was fake, and I created him in my mind. I didn't believe her though, and I still don't.

"Namjoon, of course you're real." I said more to myself then the boy in front of me. He looks away, and I don't know what to say to ease the pain. Before I can say anything though, Namjoon's eyes turn to me quickly, and they are red. I'm confused for a split second because he's eyes are brown.

"Are you sure?"

Then my Namjoon disappears. He's gone and everything of him is gone as well. The smell of pancakes and the plate, his sweatshirt that had its home on the back of the couch, and him. Nothing of my Namjoon was left as I sat in the dark, dusty apartment mourning my best friend.

My imaginary friend is gone, and now I have no one. No one.

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i'm on a roll. somebody better stop me before i cause an earthquake with all this extra shake 🥴