nine :: lights.

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九 | lights.
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i was going to thank you guys for 50 followers in this chapter but turns out that number escalated to 60 in the span of a week (update one day later: 67 now??) thank you endlessly for this and 350, now 360 reads (nvm nearly 400 dkdjsjsjd)! this chapter is longer than the others, around 7k, as a big big thank you for all of you :]

also, please sign the BLM petitions, it's quick and easy. reply with the hashtags when you come across posts on twitter, because black lives matter, today, yesterday, tomorrow and forever. 💙

[ ♪ ]

july 5th, 2020

"the ceremony is in four days, gguk. are you sure..?"

his voice wavered, tone quiet, as if he was holding back his tears, doubt enlacing each of his words.

every year, ever since i became a lone star again, min yoongi would dial me and beg me to attend the yearly memorial in busan.

and i, clouded with guilt, would always refuse.

was there a specific reason?

...

i didn't want to be reminded of him.

no, i'll correct that sentence;

i didn't want to be further reminded of him.

although most of the frames remaining in the house were lying on their front, hiding the photographs and simultaneously taking away the feelings those pictures held, there was that faint scent of berry-scented shampoo combined with sharp orange blossom water that lingered through the air, a trace that can never be erased, a signature i never will be able to get rid of.

"positive," i coldly answered, lowering my gaze to the tiled floor of the bathroom in shame. i felt watched, ridiculed, as if a crowd was suddenly summoned, surrounding me, snickering, pointing their fingers to my cowered, trembling body as they laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

i felt ashamed of myself.

"you haven't visited busan in three years... jimin's mother is furious."

"that's one more reason not to go. i'm not attending the memorial. i'm sorry."

on the other line, yoongi let out a quiet, nervous sigh, stammering for an answer, hesitating to even speak.

i could have sworn that he was about to argue once more, that he would pester me harder, further than last year.

but what came out instead was rushed. quiet, so unlike him.

"y–yeah. yeah, okay. i'm sorry for— for bothering you. have a good day, ggukie."

i nearly had to double check the contact i was speaking to, had to ask him for his name just to make sure this was min yoongi.

"what? wait, no! please don't apo—"
            beep. beep. beep.

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