The Definition Of Forever (Inked Hearts 1)

Seventy-six

AN:

Dedicated to @orcaforest for the smile your comments bring to my face!

"Sogam"

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Diana first person POV:

I haven't talked to Jungkook since I left his bedroom on Saturday. I haven't seen BangTan either, but I'm supposed to see them soon to work on the choreography. I haven't slept since then, I've barely eaten, and not spoken to anyone at all. Including Thomas.

I don't know what to say to him, to either of them.

I know that the longer I wait before saying anything, anything at all, just makes it worse, and this isn't the kind of thing that will eventually go away if I ignore it for long enough.

So what the hell do I do?

"Just... promise me that you'll be ok. Even if you aren't now, promise that you will be."

The way I'm feeling now, I don't know if I ever will be ok. But I promised him to try, and he deserves the truth.

"And what if I did?"

I've been avoiding my phone like the plague because I have a sneaking suspicion that there's a text waiting for me that I in no way want to answer.

There was nothing wrong with his question at all really. But it's not the question itself that makes my heart go cold, or even what it implies, but the backstory that comes with it.

It's not like I did anything particularly wrong with Jungkook either, nothing that couldn't pass as something else, or be forgotten. But that's the thing; I don't want to. I don't want to forget or pass it off as something it wasn't, or rather something it could be.

No. Stop, Rue. That's impossible. And it's everything I've worked so hard to avoid.

But I told him I'd tell him the truth. And I do want to. But I just don't know what that is anymore.

*Ding Dong*

Sliding off my chair and more or less falling to the floor, I get up and head for the door. Undoing the latch and turning the handle revealing a sadly smiling Kate loaded with bags on each arm.

"Hey, LA!" she winks at me.

"Hey, New York." I chuckle and stretch out my arms to take some of the bags she carries.

The nicknames were something that originally developed over text but then became an in-person thing as well.

Together we carry the bags into my living room, and I peek into them and see what looks to be the entire 'code 7' package: Ice cream, chocolate bars, fruit smoothies, iced green tea, hot chocolate, freeze-dried fruit, chips, Cheetos, and pretzel bites, two notepads, pens, and a significant stack of tissues.

"Wow!" I huff, looking through the bounty of goods. "You're an angel!"

"Nope! Just a mind-reader!" She smiles and makes herself comfortable on the couch.

I like talking to her. Not just because of who she is, and the fact that I now consider her one of my all-time best friends, but also because we talk in English. Don't get me wrong, I'm now perfectly fine speaking in Korean, but English is still my first language and what I'm most comfortable in. I guess that's how I might describe our friendship: comfortable, effortless, easy, relaxing, homey.

"Here," she chuckles, taking out a notepad and a pen. "Go to town girl!"

Chuckling myself, I take them and open the pad to a random page. Uncapping the pen, I take a deep breath, let the pen fall to the snow-white paper, and scribble the messiest design, moving my arm in the most frantic of motions, as if trying to direct all my pain and inner conflict out onto this paper.