unloved letters | pjm
pairing :: park jimin / reader
genre :: break up!au, angst
word count :: 3.2k
note :: this is the first time i’m posting a fic on this site and it’s my first story i’ve ever written in years (since c. 2014/15?), so please let me know what you think! this story was inspired by Why We Broke Up by Daniel Handler and Maira Kalman and i recommend it if you haven’t heard of it before 💕
You sat at the edge of your bed, somewhat overwhelmed. Thoughts teetered on a thin string of happiness and apprehension. Fond memories turned into shadows of a distant stranger, a bittersweet heaviness creates its home in your chest. Fumbling with ripped notebook pages, you decide that one more thorough read of the scrawled blue ink would be enough.
Hey love,
Dear Jimin,
It’s been months since things ended between us and by the time that you open this letter I would have already left for Busan. You’ve probably picked up the cardboard box I’ve mailed this letter with, its contents softly rattling as you take it into your home; you’ll find bits and pieces of the relationship we shared for the past few years in it and although I’m thankful for the rollercoaster memories they contain, I decided it best to return them to you instead.
Maybe by the time this gets to you, you’re already at the studio while Hoseok brings this pathetic box in for you. He’ll probably be confused, thinking it’s some weird gift from a fan instead and will debate whether it should just be thrown away before setting it on your kitchen counter. You will possibly get this box at the worst of times, maybe right before your world tour begins and have our memories you’ve suppressed into nothingness crash into you like violent waves meeting shore time and time again, abruptly just as you had ended things months ago. You told me things would be okay but you
The dull thud of this box as its dropped from the front of your doorstep, to your counter, and hopefully right into your room, is for you. As much as you would like to avoid the repercussions of what had happened, the thud serves as a reminder that there is so much more for you to unpack than meekly accepting that your heart is broken. Namjoon and Hoseok still check up on me like you should have been doing, but instead you decided it best to disappear, didn’t you?
You were one of my only lifelines in Seoul and now it feels odd to find home in a city where all you could think about is where things had gone wrong. The dregs of our relationship come to follow me wherever I go, and it hurts knowing that these memories replay without you by my side. It makes me wonder if you’ve been suffering as much as I have. It had been isolating to feel so assured that you were going to come back, at least in some way, yet it’s like you never existed instead. As if the moments stretched between us have stretched itself to nothingness, years turned into paper-thin fibres. The time I fell in love with this city was the time I fell in love with you, and I remember clutching your hand with anxiety bubbling in my chest, white noise ringing in my ears, as we took the train to Seoul for the first time together. Jimin, you have come so far from where you began. Didn’t I tell you that you deserved better than what home offered you?
At your place back in Busan, you stared at me in the middle of your room, “I’m so nervous, but you have them printed out right?”
“Yeah I do,” I laughed a bit and waved the freshly printed train tickets in front of you. You were almost entirely swallowed by your black hoodie, snapback slightly off, but were too busy frantically running around your room, looking for your phone and ID.
Then you stared at the papers I had in my hand, almost boring holes into them.
“I’m so nervous.” We weren’t even at the station yet.
“Clearly.”
“Wait, aren’t you nervous too?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to freak you out more.”
“HEY IT’S NOT THAT BAD.” You were always such a whiny baby, but that didn’t help my lame attempt of suppressed laughter.
“Whatever you say.” Then you gave me that annoyed look, but you still took my hand when we got to the station. Our parents wished us luck, that they would visit if we were both successful… And sometime after, they did.
As we were approaching Seoul, you squeezed my hand tighter. I had the window seat, but I looked up at you, “I think you’ll be okay… You know you can do it, I know you can do it—you deserve it more than anyone I know.”
“I guess, but I just wish I could audition with you or be there, you know?” You tell me, saying it as your thumb grazes my hand a bit more fondly. It was oddly quiet, almost like we were the only ones there.
“Me too, but just know you’ll make it… I just know you will. Hopefully I make it, too.”
Then you didn’t hesitate to correct me, without skipping a beat—“You? Not making it? Doubt it. You were recommended for a reason.”
“But this is the National Company! I don’t even know if I’ve prepared enough. Well anyway, this was recommended for you too.” Then you shook your head, almost like you were shrugging the doubts off my shoulders and smiled at me, eyes crinkling to small moons, like they always did. The ticket is here for you now. You can’t use it to take you back to that time or back home, but I can leave it here to remind you where you came from.
The pitter-patter of the rain can’t help but make me smile right now—you did it. It’s a cold comfort, somewhat literal, as the breeze blankets me into a now-familiar embrace. It used to be your arms instead, enveloping me in your warmth and kissing away the tears and the fears that plagued my mind. Loving crescent-like shapes replaced by the cold distance of the night sky’s.
It reminds me of the first few times you began to leave Korea for tours. Although you told me I could’ve gone with you, I couldn’t leave in the midst of rehearsals for our showcase at the National Company. They made me one of their grand soloists that year, perfecting my routine was a priority and it made me wish you were there with me or that I was there with you… somehow. The brief phone calls and the oddly timed ones (thanks time zones) weren’t enough sometimes. Staying up wearing one of your shirts on a video call wasn’t enough sometimes. And somehow, we made it work… We caught up whenever you were back home, times where you’d surprise me during rehearsal or asking me to lunch when I thought you’d still be someplace else. Nights where we would stay up, talking about the things we missed while watching a movie in your room or mine; days where things would get serious and doubts began to cloud our conversations, concluded with tears being wiped by the other; comforting words and gestures.
The longer time we held on, the less time we had for each other. The more success we found in our respective fields, the less present we were for each other. Comfortable silence began to ebb away and replace itself with hesitant touches and calculated movements. We tiptoed around each other’s feelings rather than holding each other through the tears. We made it work, we tried to make it work, and then it didn’t. So, here’s your shirt back.
It used to be a thin veil of cotton comfort, casing me in its threads while you were gone. Then as time passed, it didn’t feel right anymore, like it wasn’t sufficient enough to sew the loosened ends of the uncertainties that came with this relationship. I love you no less, but it made me question if it was worth it, and I know at some point you felt it too.
Maybe it was my mistake being someone in a city too big to shelter their being, who knew absolutely nothing but the comfort from your smile, the seclusion of mirrored walls and the too-bright lights illuminating the too-big stage. It consumed me in its vastness, swallowing me up before I could take the last few steps to exit their expanse. Perhaps we were just love that had gone cold, too comfortable and too afraid to address how things were falling apart in front of us. I want to apologise for the things the boys had to go through, picking up the pieces that you should have been picking up after leaving me without explanation, but why should I apologise on your behalf anymore?
On that same thought, why should I keep these? Each photo you find in this box feels ten times heavier now that they’re memories I don’t want to remember. From the photos we shared at my first showcase, to yours, to our group photos when we still performed together, and the album of polaroids I started with you after our first anniversary… I shouldn’t keep these, but I didn’t have the heart to throw them away.
“Y/N! Do you want to go to the amusement park with us today?” Taehyung had asked me. We were all trainees back then so we couldn’t stay too long. We took too many photos at the photo booth together though, ones of just us and ones with everyone else too. Dahae and Jiyoung were there to keep me company whenever the girls and the boys split up. I remember leaving with them before you because we had training earlier than you did, I also remember we couldn’t hold hands because your company was already starting to promote Bangtan through social media. They didn’t exactly know about me either, so by the time I showed up backstage for your debut showcase, they thought I was some family member, a cousin maybe? Well, until you kissed me in front of everyone else in the room… yeah, that didn’t add up huh? Thanks for being subtle, babe.
I hope you remember each memory, each photo in detail. Knowing you, you probably do. I know I couldn’t forget them for a reason either.
When times were rough, you had told me that we were pulling a 70-30; that I had to try harder than what I was capable of rather than understanding what I was going through. You disguised it as communication, rather than admitting to yourself that it was a roundabout way of telling me you wanted to end things. You began to believe that you were the only one who bore the weight of our problems, but I was with you with every step of the way, even when the distance and the hours between us had to fluctuate as Bangtan began to reach heights unimagined. Maybe we were both too stubborn to let each other go… because we both knew what we had to do. It was time to let go.
Your hand had held mine then, guiding it in your so-called expertise. The arcade lights were full of life. It felt unreal to be with you then, brimming with laughter, giddy with nervousness but surrounded by a silence that only existed in the world we created together.
Our face masks were on, but for a brief second, you had kissed my forehead without it. Success from what seemed like the tenth or eleventh attempt for the small plushie, “I told you I was a pro.”
I raised my eyebrow, laughing, “What type of pro has to try more than ten times to win?”
“Hey, practise makes perfect.”
“Sure thing, buddy.”
“I don’t know who that is and whose plushie that is but from what I know it isn’t yours anymore.”
“Really?” I rolled my eyes, you were so petty. “Hmm, babe? Does that sound better?”
“Yep.” You passed the small bear to me, holding my hand until we left the arcade and its silence.
I’m letting you go. Just like the claw finally loosened its hold from the prize, after what seems like the tenth try, it’s time. It’s only fair, the world’s equilibrium once shifted, and now it’s reclaiming itself, slowly falling back into its place.
I never want to be the person in the way of you achieving what you’ve deserved all your life, that would be hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it? But as the time rolled onwards, I faded into the background as your spotlight began to shine brighter. I never imagined being that disposable to you.
Disposable like how you threw away bus and movie tickets we’ve had over the years from our dates. Maybe my sentimental ass just thought it would be a great idea to hoard them to look back together, but that isn’t an option anymore. I kept all of mine anyway, except for ones that flew away in the chill of autumn winds; ones that have made themselves a part of the streets we’ve walked together. Somewhere their remnants are there, someplace else they’re no longer in existence, just like what we have now.
At least the boys had the decency to call me while I was alone in Seoul and all I got from you was half-assed updates via Kakao Talk. Tour was hard, you told me you needed space and I gave you that. You and Hoseok had death threats sprout out of nowhere during the tour, you stopped answering my FaceTime calls during that time… was it unreasonable for me to be scared?
“Dahae, he’s not picking up.”
“Y/N, he’s probably tired… didn’t you talk last night?”
“No. That was Tae, and with all of these death threats I’m seeing I can’t help but get worried? I don’t know, I know he’s probably safe, but I miss him, and we just don’t talk anymore.”
“Long distance is hard, you both knew that it was going to happen.”
“And we’ve been okay for years… but that’s the thing, you know? We’re just okay? Like it’s just mundane or weird now, sometimes I even question if he still wants to be with me. It’s like he’s just saying we’re still together because it’s what’s familiar.”
“Well, do you still love him?”
“Is that even a question? Of course, I do. It just makes me wonder if he still does if he doesn’t even want to talk to me.”
“Hmm, I don’t know Y/N. It seems like you know what you have to do.”
I didn’t even know you were back in Korea that week until Jungkook had asked to get food with me. You barely responded to any of our messages and Jungkook said he barely saw you around, maybe it was paranoia and the insecurities starting to creep up on me, but wouldn’t that seem odd to you, too? The next time we saw each other, it was by accident, I was talking to Taehyung about us and you had walked in the middle of our conversation.
The tension in the room was indescribable, then pent-up frustration and anger bubbled in my chest, “How do you feel about us?” It made me feel so small and vulnerable to ask you, I felt like my paranoia was something that should have been blamed on me for not being enough.
A screaming spree cut through the air. Yoongi had to calm us down, either for our benefit or for his, to continue sleeping, I’m not sure, but I can tell you with 100% assurance that the argument only made me feel like shit and that all we had going for us was going to shit.
A couple of days after, you had gone to the dance studio, we talked through what happened and it alleviated some of the strain. You gave me my own Chimmy, another item you said was to keep me company while you were away. You told me to keep him so that I remember that you were there with me, but were you? Is that what 70-30 looked like to you?
It was in bold red letters in front of us, Jimin.
I’ve spent these last few months wallowing and hollowing myself out because of the isolation. You did nothing to alleviate that pain, rather you perpetuated it. You lied to me. You ended things without explanation, you told me we were going to maintain some semblance of our relationship. You told me you would stay. Attached to my side for a month and then disappeared, this wasn’t what your promise meant. When you gave me your promise to wear those years ago, it was concrete and assuring. A simple band that reminded me daily what we had was worth it all, but I’m done blaming all of this on myself. I’m done justifying it with a promise you failed to keep, a lie wrapped around our fingers.
Dahae and everyone else in the company had seen it happen in snippets, and they told me I deserved better, but how could I believe that when all I knew was you? When our anniversary passed a couple of weeks ago, I shoved all these souvenirs into the cardboard box in front of you now and have shipped it your way. Feel its immensity and its weight. This is what I’ve been carrying without you. How much weight has landed itself onto your shoulders since you left? Or have you passed it onto Taehyung and Jungkook, like you usually do? The necklace you gave me for my birthday is in there too. I couldn’t keep it when its chain kept searing itself into my skin, reminding me of things that were no longer true.
There’s only so much to performing that keeps me going. There’s only so much to staring at mirrored walls all day, dancing until you feel the callouses that have formed over the years thicken more under the repeated pressure. You know how it feels to stare at mirrored walls, to see your own reflection distort in front of you. I felt it too. I began to dim, I began to believe I could only reflect the light that you radiated, but now it’s time to let go because I’m realising my worth. We shone together, we shared the stage, and although stage lights still consume us in different places at different times, I saw myself stumbling more. It was gone, the flame within me began to die out. But it was a part of us, dancing made us love. It was something we shared. As your fame began to skyrocket, the dynamic between us only began to slow down until it ceased to exist.
So here I am, word vomiting onto these pages for you. Beginning with your confession letter and it’s in there too. This is it, the last thing you’ll hear from me because I’m going back to where it all began. Memories that plague me, ones of us from back home, I’m replacing them and moving forward, now truly accepting that you’re gone, and you don’t care. You stopped, and I don’t want to beg anymore. I don’t want to be miserable any longer because I deserve better than what you put me through.
Good luck, I love you. You know where to find me, but you won’t need it.
Y/N
