[𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖯𝖫𝖤𝖳𝖤𝖣]
My legs wobble as I make one tiny step closer to the edge of the rooftop.
Isn't this what I always wanted? Isn't this better for everyone? Just do it Jimin, just one more step.
"𝖩𝗎𝗆𝗉!"
A sonorous voice echoes in the air.
"�...
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[Narrator's POV]
Lost....
The word itself is very uncomplicated, seemingly unremarkable, and unimportant. Just ordinary. Unexceptional.
The word-yes, however, the feeling-no.
The feeling of being lost is like being a ghost in a house of cards, afraid to move not to destroy your own shelter. It's like being a hollow plastic doll with a painted happy face, that teeters on the edge of the abyss of the unending void of darkness and blackness. Being lost sucks.
And there's the word Found. It's different.
The feeling of being found is that flood of relief to your heart when someone grabs your hand and lets their warmth guide you back to reality. It's that hope that blooms inside you when your Anpanman finds you. The hope that you cradle like a cherished child. Clinging to it hard and letting it be your anchor, when the darkness creeps in.
The hope that explodes in you like dynamite, transforming your once gloomy microcosmos into a shiny Hope World.
These two feelings, so contradictory, yet linked with a bond as firm as adamant, are not strangers to one boy. A boy that many, many years ago stood mere inches away from the edge of the rooftop. A boy that hesitated in his every action, doubted his every word.
The boy who lived through storms that life prepared for him, never losing hope, never stopping being strong. Not for himself, but for the one who gave him that hope, and the one who now needed that hope.
Park Jimin, that outwardly unexceptional man, who confidently steps forward, when the barista shouts his name, to provide his caffeine-deprived self with his daily dose of Ice americano.
"Ice americano?"
"Yes," Jimin nods confirmingly. He grabs the cold drink but before he can leave, his eyes land on something. A charming smile graces his lips. "And please, give me a couple of those," Jimin tells the barista.
"Which flavor?"
"Strawberry."
The barista hands two strawberry-flavored lollipops to Jimin, as he accepts them with a grateful smile and whirls around, walking away.
The years, those ten long and toilsome years, that have passed didn't stay unnoticed on Jimin. He wears a long cream trench coat, with a brown turtleneck obscuring his body. His masculine features are sharp and defined. He is as he's been before, yet at the same time no. He's now a full-grown adult.
