The Photographer [Taejin]

38 찌니 (Jinnie)

"Kim Seokjin," Said a soft and sweet voice from the crack of a sandalwood door. "Please come inside"

Kim Seokjin closed the door and turned around, his eyes met Ji-soo and couldn't avoid smiling, her eye smile was bigger than his shoulders.

All professionalism went missing when she jumped out of her chair and ran to the model's arms, feeling the long years of missing her favorite patient and most successful recovery case.

"OH my, Jin, you got taller?" She asked, on tiptoe.

The model laughed.

"No, you might have gotten smaller or something" He half-joked, hugging his doctor and inhaling her floral essence.

"How long was it since we last saw each other?" She asked, breaking the hug to look at him with excitement.

"Just a couple of years" He replied, mirth on his voice.

"Why didn't you visit me sooner?" She pouted. "I missed my favorite patient sooo much"

Jin laughed.

"I'm not your favorite patient" He denied. "The photographer is"

Ji-soo pout increased.

"He stopped coming as well, leaving me all alone without your unique and outstanding way of viewing the world to keep me entertained, I was kinda sad without your puzzle like brain"

Jin laughed again, taking a seat when Ji-soo decided to seat and leave him standing. She looked at him expectantly, opening her notebook and grabbing her pink with unicorns pen.

"Tell me everything, I'm all ears," She said and he got dragged into the maze of time and banished years when he first sat on this room and bared his soul to her.

He talked and talked about Jackson, about the weird feelings he kept noticing in his disappearance, how weird it was that there wasn't a body, just a goodbye text and an anonymous call to the media. He talked about his episodes, which started from that and he couldn’t avoid. He talked about starting to re-using his medications without her consent.

"You can't do it Jinnie, it's been years since I prescribed these, they could worsen your health..." She complained, hitting Jin on his forehead.

Yet, she let him talk again. About the possible stalker, about the creepy calls, burning buildings, and a policeman with empty hands. About the tension, how uncomfortable he was with his current reality, about having to deal with all of that while mourning for one of his best friends.

He talked and talked and talked and her pen didn't stop writing down with indecipherable scribbles and frowning eyebrows.

"Also there's the issue with this boy..." He stated, dragging his words.