start anew | ksj
⇒ summary: it’s been five years since you left your hometown, vowing never to return, but a simple invitation to a christmas party and a yearning to know whether or not you’re truly over the heartbreak you left behind has you wondering if, maybe, the christmas spirit and promise of a new beginning can change your mind.
⇒ christmas!au, exes!au
⇒ pairing: kim seokjin x female reader
⇒ word count: 11k
⇒ genre: soft angst and fluff (everything is just melancholy, alright?)
⇒ warnings: alcohol consumption
⇒ a/n: for @sonnenfuchs, from your secret santa!! here it is luce, i tried to make it as not angsty as possible but it looks like i didn’t try hard enough. this does have a happy ending though, if that’s any consolation!! merry (late) christmas and happy new year!! i wish u and the rest of the gc all the best ♡
When the train pulls into the run-down station, cement littered with trash and paint on the walls chipping, you feel sick to your stomach.
The sight of this poor old thing, empty and dilapidated, leaves you nauseous as the train pulls in, screeching as it comes to a stop. You’re the only one getting off at this stop, one out of the four other people that are taking this sad little train on a journey to nowhere, stepping onto the platform with your suitcase by your side and vow echoing in your mind, one that swore you’d never return.
Looks like Christmas brings out the optimist in all of us.
Even though it’s been nearly five years since you’ve ever looked back, took that first step onto the midnight train going anywhere—to the airport, actually—on the path to a life that doesn’t leave you wallowing in sorrow, you remember this place like the back of your hand. Remember the way that the sign above your head shook when a train pulled into the station too quickly. Remember how the gate on the way out would get stuck sometimes, and would only take a hard kick to come loose.
You look down at the faded pink bench waiting on the platform, and you remember how he used to kiss you on that. How he used to press his fingers into your skin and his mouth onto yours as you kissed and kissed and kissed in the dim light of an empty train station in the early hours of the morning. Remember how you would hop onto any train that came by, together, letting it take you wherever the wind blows. Remember how he would press you into the dirty wall of the train station, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and your cheek and your neck, promises in the form of hickeys on your collarbones.
People always ask you why you left, but the thing is that he did first.
You give a soft kick to the gate on your way out, feeling it dislodge beneath the toe of your boot as you press it open. It’s nearly ten at night. The roads that surround you are quiet, cars whizzing by every once in awhile, headlights flickering in the darkness. No taxis in this town.
Pulling out your phone, only then are you reminded of the shitty cell service in the area, the bars on your phone phasing in and out of existence as you try to scrounge up enough reception to make a call. With enough effort (it seems as though you still know all of the tricks to getting service in this town), your phone musters up two measly bars. You press call.
“Y/N?”
“Yoongi?” You breathe out into the phone, feeling this foreign sense of comfort at the sound of your once-best friend’s voice. It’s been too long, but at the same time, it hasn’t been long enough.
“Why are you calling me? Did your train just pull in?” He asks, and his voice is groggy and soft, almost too quiet for you to be able to hear him. If it weren’t for the deafening silence that surrounds you, you probably wouldn’t even be able to make him out.
“Yeah,” you answer, and you wonder if this sad chatter warrants you asking him a favor. Even if you were best friends once, back when you found joy in being holed up in this small town with people you loved (not anymore), you haven’t spoken in five years. Things have changed. So have you. “Could—could you come and pick me up? You know where.”
“Aw, Y/N, I would, but I don’t have a car with me. My buddy Namjoon borrowed it for the weekend. You remember Namjoon, right? Lanky kid from college. I can send him to pick you up, if that’s alright?” Yoongi says into the phone, and there’s so many memories laced in the words that leave his lips. Memories of you and him taking his beat-up Cadillac for a midnight drive to McDonald’s, nearly crashing it into the lake at the local park after you took a wrong turn. Memories from the college years you spent in this little town, at the local university that deserves a lot more credit than it’s given. Memories of Namjoon and Yoongi and you and him, together as friends.
“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to be an inconvenience for anybody,” you say, swiftly declining the offer as you put others’ needs over your own. How typical of you. Guess some things will never change, no matter how much you want them to.
“Are you kidding? I know for a fact he only goes to sleep at three in the morning. Here, I’m gonna text him,” Yoongi says, and you know him well enough, even after five years, to know that once he says he’ll do something, he’ll do it.
“Yoongi, you really don’t have to—”
“Done. He’ll be there in ten,” Yoongi says happily. “Don’t worry about inconveniencing us, Y/N. We all want you back.”
Not all of you do, you think to yourself bitterly.
“Thanks, Yoongi. Sorry for calling you so late at night,” you say, unable to stop the apology from spilling from your lips. You already know Yoongi’s going to berate you for it.
“Stop apologizing, Y/N. You know I don’t mind. I was awake, anyway. What, did you think that after college, I turned my life around and started to go to bed at reasonable hours?” Yoongi jokes, making a smile force its way onto your lips, even if only a little. Always the jester. “Wow, you really don’t know me.”
“Yoongi, I—”
“I’m glad you’re back, Y/N. I really am,” Yoongi tells you, voice a hushed whisper. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Yoongi,” you finally admit, letting the words tumble out. If nothing else, you always regretted leaving him when you took that step onto the metal flooring of the train. He was the one person worth staying for.
“See you, hey? Don’t forget about me,” Yoongi says, and it’s a promise you know you’ll end up keeping, one of only a few. With that, he hangs up, leaving you standing in the silence, letting the crickets soothe your racing mind and aching heart.
There’s not a twig in this town that hasn’t been tainted with the memory of him.
A car pulls up in front of you after another five minutes of you contemplating to yourself, wondering why on Earth you came back after you swore you never would, wondering what could possibly have drawn you here yet again. It certainly isn’t him.
The window of Yoongi’s Cadillac rolls down, and in the hazy light of the street lamp above your head, you make out the grinning, albeit tired, face of Kim Namjoon. He still looks the same, only, he’s dyed his hair. It looks nice on him.
“Y/N? Is that really you?” Namjoon says, leaning his head out of the window as he squints. “Damn, I almost didn’t recognize you. You look so different.”
“Hey, Namjoon,” you say sheepishly.
“Long time no see. Hey, jump in! Yoongi sent me to come and fetch you, so your honored and esteemed chauffeur waits for you,” Namjoon says, tipping his head to emulate a full-body bow as he points to the backseat.
You wheel yourself and your baggage up to the car, and Namjoon, ever the gentleman, hops out of the car to help you stuff your single suitcase into Yoongi’s ridiculously small boot. You’d always teased him for having such a tiny storage space. Told him he’d be a shitty murderer since he wouldn’t be able to hide a body in the back of his car.
You climb into the passenger seat of Yoongi’s car, and everything feels uncomfortably familiar. You had always dreaded returning, promising to yourself that you never would, for that feeling of nostalgia crawling up your skin is simply too taxing on you. The dice that hang from Yoongi’s front mirror haven’t changed, though they’re definitely a bit browner than they used to be. His seats are the same level of worn, feel loved and familiar under your fingertips as you run them across the leather. One look in the backseat and you can still make out the stain from when Yoongi decided to drink five bottles of RedBull in one sitting, spot the missing lever in the backseat that prevents the back right window from being rolled down. One look in the backseat and images flash across your mind, images of the two of you giggling as you secretly made love in the backseat of his car, images of you falling asleep on his shoulder during one of your many road trips.
“Been a while, hey?” Namjoon asks, breaking the silence and catching your attention. “Where do you want me to drop you off? Your parents live around here, don’t they…?”
“Not my parents’. I don’t want to bother them,” you say quickly. “Yoongi’s, if that’s alright.”
“Fine and dandy by me,” Namjoon says. He gives your shoulder a nudge, warm smile on his face. “Hey, cheer up a bit, will you? You’re back, it’s nearly Christmas, and everyone’s feeling festive as fuck. No need to be all sad and mopey, alright?”
You muster up a tense smile at his words just to get him to politely shut up, not wanting to hear another word about you being back. You’re well aware that you’re here.
“It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you, you know,” Namjoon says. “Not since you graduated and flew off to God-knows-where. Bet you’re making millions now, hey? CEO of some high-tech company that I’ve never heard of.”
You chuckle, appreciative of the effort Namjoon is making to keep you engaged. This mindless chatter thing, it’s kind of nice. A bit redundant, but nice. “I wish.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re doing much better than you’re letting on. I mean, you left, and we’re all still stuck here, working menial jobs as we live our everyday lives. Did college disappoint you that much?”
“No,” you say, answers short and quick. Namjoon can be the one doing all of the talking. That, you’re fine with.
“I should hope so. God, those were the best years of my damn life. We had so much fun. I still remember that time that you and Yoongi played beer-pong half-naked at that one party. That was so hilarious. The two of you kept complaining about how the splash from the ball was getting you guys all wet,” Namjoon reminisces, laughing at the memory. “Man, Seokjin was livid when he saw the two of you doing that together. Nearly flipped the whole damn table over.”
The mention of his name renders you speechless as a terrible taste enters your mouth, one your tongue can’t get rid of. You’ve done so well at repressing the memories of him, tainted with love and loss, but all it takes is one mention from Namjoon’s big mouth to have them all coming back up again, like vomit.
Your knee-jerk reaction to the sound of his name as the picture of Seokjin in all of his glory flashes through your mind is to cough. Violently, too. Namjoon immediately slows down as he pats your back through your dry-heaving.
“Whoa, you okay? Don’t die on me now, you just got here. What will Yoongi say if I arrive at his house with your dead body?” Namjoon asks, alarmed. “Was it something I said?”
You shake your head furiously, still recovering, not wanting him to think it was his fault. It’s yours, really. Yours for coming back. Yours for not knowing what to do when you did. Yours for thinking about him when you know he’s not thinking about you. Not anymore.
“It wasn’t you, no. Just… some spit went down the wrong tube, that’s all,” you lie.
“Man, I hate when shit like that happens,” Namjoon says, shaking his head. “It’s such a pain. I feel like I’m dying when really, my body’s just playing a mean prank on me.”
You chuckle helplessly, unable to respond as thoughts of him plague your mind. God, what’s wrong with you? Why are you still thinking about him? It’s been five years, five years of repressed memories and vows that you would never make the same mistakes. Five years of a new life, new friends, new home, one where you don’t have to dwell on the past, where you can finally start living in the moment.
But being back here, it’s like living in the past. It’s like being trapped in a world you no longer control. You used to rule everything here, crown on your head and him by your side, but now, you’re just a bystander.
You never saw Yoongi’s house before you left. He had an apartment all throughout university, right near campus, one that you knew like the back of your hand from how often you were over there. But then you graduated, packed your bags and never looked back, and you never got to see Yoongi’s house. He was so proud of it, too, when he scored a lease right after commencement. Told you all about it. You remember him being particularly excited about finally being allowed a pet. Kid’s wanted a dog all of his life.
Even in the darkness, Yoongi’s house emanates an aura that closely resembles the person residing within it. It’s a small building, fake black shutters on the sides of each of the white-rimmed windows. Small, a little lopsided, but it looks more like a home than a house, even from the outside. Yoongi’s done well. You know he has, because even though this house isn’t the biggest, isn’t the most expensive, it’s pretty and quaint and cozy, all things that a house should be. That a home should be.
“You’ve reached your destination,” Namjoon says in his best automated-female-robot voice, breaking as he reaches Yoongi’s driveway. “Here we are. Nerd Central, as I like to call it.”
You allow yourself to chuckle at Namjoon’s words as you get out, the outside lights your only source of illumination as you make your way to the back of the car, where your lone suitcase is. Namjoon gets out too, just to help you yank it out of the tiny boot of the car.
“Wish I could stay with you guys, but you know what they say. Three’s a crowd. Also, I have a dog at home that needs feeding. So, gotta blast,” Namjoon says as he bids you not a goodbye, but a see you later, instead. “You’re hanging around for Hoseok’s Christmas party, right? I’m sure we’ll see each other before then, but just in case, I’ll see you there, too.”
Namjoon sends you a warm smile as you tentatively approach Yoongi’s front door. Once he sees you taking that first step, he’s revving up the engine of that beat-up Cadillac and zooming off into the night.
You raise your fist to the wood, letting it hover in front of the door. You pause. What if Yoongi’s asleep? He didn’t know that you were going to show up at his front door, lost and dazed. Maybe, he doesn’t want you here. That’s fine. You don’t want to be here either. You’re a phone call away from calling a lonely Uber and going back to the city, where you think you belong. You don’t need to be here. Why should you?
But then, before you can panic and run, all of the lights inside turn on, and the door opens.
“Y/N?” Yoongi asks when he sees you, but it’s not in disappointment at your sudden arrival. He looks surprised. Almost happy.
“Hey,” you reply, sheepish. “Sorry I didn’t warn you beforehand that I would show up at your door. I just didn’t want to bother my parents this late at night and I had nowhere else to go—”
Yoongi says nothing, just envelopes you into this bone-crushing hug that lets the warmth of his body seep into yours. It’s been too long since you’ve hugged somebody like this. Too long since you’ve seen Yoongi, relished in the company that you treasured for years on end. You almost thought you might have forgotten him.
“I missed you,” Yoongi breathes into your skin before he lets you go. “Never apologize for being here. Ever.”
“I just—I don’t want to intrude—”
“You’ll never be an intruder in my life, Y/N. You’re family,” Yoongi promises as he looks you dead in the eyes, hands firmly planted on your shoulders. “I’ll never be bothered by you.”
You force out a smile—the only thing you can do under Yoongi’s piercing gaze, full of love and concern. “I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow, I promise. I can stay with my parents.”
Yoongi shakes his head, tugging you inside, suitcase skipping on the doorframe. “You can stay here for as long as you like, Y/N. I got room.”
Breathing out a sigh of relief, you send Yoongi a thankful smile as you take in the sight of his home. Just like you thought, it’s cozy, reeking of Yoongi’s ever-constant presence. The beige paint on the walls is chipping away at the corners, and his rug is covered in what you assume to be dog fur, judging by the sleeping creature taking up residence on Yoongi’s sofa as you pass by the living room. You never met Yoongi’s dog before you left.
“Don’t worry about Holly,” Yoongi says casually when he notices how she catches your eye. “She’ll go right back to sleep if you wake her up because she’s lazy as hell.”
“She reminds me of you,” you muse thoughtfully, making Yoongi chuckle. It’s always so uncanny, how dogs and their owners mirror each other’s personalities without them even trying. The dog picks you, not the other way around.
Yoongi brings you into his kitchen, recently renovated (the stainless steel oven glows in the fluorescence of the light above your heads, and everything just smells new), marching over to his fridge and whipping out a Cherry Coke. Old habits die hard, and Min Yoongi stocks up on so many Cherry Cokes that his dentist is probably crying themselves to sleep.
“Want? I remember you used to love these, back in the day,” Yoongi asks, shaking the can slightly as he offers it to you.
You started liking them because of Yoongi, in school. He discovered them one day in the vending machine outside of the building and instantly fell in love, easily wasting away dozens of dollars just to grab a can before class. And then suddenly, he had everyone hooked on them by college. Everyone who stayed, at least. You would dare each other to shake up the cans vigorously before drinking them, drop Mentos into the bottles and watch them explode. Seokjin used to order them for you at the local 50’s themed diner, ask for two straws so you could share the beverage over the booth.
Isn’t it strange how the smallest things can bring back the biggest memories?
Isn’t it strange how even if you leave, you’re never really gone, and how even if you forget, you’ll always end up remembering?
Dwelling on the past holds you back from seeing the future, but seeing the future makes you want to stay in the past.
“Sure,” you say, nodding as Yoongi holds it out for you, grabbing himself one while you take the can from his hand. Before opening it up, you tap on the top with your nail, three times in quick succession.
“You still do that? God, you’re weird,” Yoongi says when he notices, shaking his head fondly as he leads you to the living room and sits down on the couch, you following his actions. “I swear, you’re like the only person on Earth who taps their soda can before opening it. Actually, you and Seokjin both—”
And then Yoongi pauses as he looks up at you, apology written all over his face as he realizes what words just left his mouth. You see how his eyebrows drops, concern and regret washing over his face like a tidal wave as his lips part, unable to speak.
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says, a hand resting on top of yours as you shake your head. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine, Yoongi,” you promise, the mention of his name less like a stab wound to the heart and more like a pinprick. Not enough to make you bleed, but just enough to let the pain reenter. “I’m over it, I swear.”
You’re a liar. You know that much.
“I’m going to have to see him here anyway, aren’t I?” You continue helpfully, not wanting your best friend to feel too bad about a slip of the tongue. “No point in trying to avoid it.”
“But I know that it’s still a sensitive topic, Y/N,” Yoongi says, and goddamn him for being your best friend, because it’s so easy for him to see right through you. “If it wasn’t, you’d have come back sooner.”
“I’m getting better,” you insist. It’s a lie, and you and Yoongi both know it. If you really were getting better, then why couldn’t you let it go? You haven’t forgiven yourself yet, and you haven’t forgotten him, either.
Just then, the creature between your bodies stirs, and a small dog lifts her head up in wonder and confusion. Through her hazy eyes, she meets yours, tilts her head, unable to recognize the face in front of her, and goes right back to sleep.
“Holly!” Yoongi says, but she doesn’t budge. “Holly!” He calls again. “Oh, fuck it, she won’t wake up. Here, you finished with that?” He motions to your Coke can, now empty. “Cool. I can take it and show you up to your room.”
Yoongi snatches it from your hand before you can protest him doing everything for you, tossing it casually into the trash can in his hallway (the high school basketball skills never left him, it seems) before leading you up his creaking stairs.
When you set foot on his second floor, it occurs to you how much you don’t know about him anymore.
Min Yoongi is a music producer, but you only figure that out now, after a quick peek into the office beside his bedroom. Littered along the walls inside are old vinyls, hot pink Post-Its with reminders and lyrics and chords. Three keyboards, at least, and an impressive display of some hefty desktops. Min Yoongi always liked music, but he studied business in university. You never knew what he dreamed of doing.
“That? Oh, it’s a fuckin’ mess in there,” Yoongi says, grimacing. “I really need to clean it up one of these days.”
“Is this what you do?” You ask, in awe.
“Yeah,” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s kind of nice, actually. Real cozy, and I get to work from home and it keeps my financially stable. Still in debt though, hashtag college.”
You laugh to yourself as Yoongi drags you out of what is easily your favorite room in the house, shows you to his single guest bedroom. It’s drab but comfortable, and easily more than what you could ever ask for.
“Thank you, Yoongi,” you say as he leaves you to it, bidding you goodnight. “For all of this.”
Yoongi meets your eyes and you’ve never been too good at reading through the haze in his own, but you can make out the love he holds in his heart for you, the appreciation for the friendship that never left his side. He nods softly, so faintly that you almost can’t make it out, before closing the door behind him.
Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.
The first thing that you do on your first official day back is go grocery shopping. Yoongi wrangles you out of bed surprisingly early for a guy who used to sleep right until his 2PM classes in college with little to no effort. He stands over your bed, tired eyes blinking away the sleep left in them as he comes into focus.
“What, did you think you’d just get to dissociate and stay holed up in my guest room?” Is the first thing he asks you, hands on his hips as he looks down at you. “Come on, lazy. I need to go grocery shopping and get some sort of host gift for Hoseok, since that’s a thing that you’re supposed to do when you go to a party.”
You groan, wrenching the covers from where they’re tucked in at the foot of the bed just so you can hide under them, shield your face from Yoongi’s leering gaze. Five more minutes, you mentally beg. Being back requires a lot of energy to face the horrors that each day brings forth.
You hear Yoongi’s footsteps as they get farther and farther away from you. “I’m leaving in thirty and I’m taking you with me, whether you like it or not. No makeup necessary. We’re going to the supermarket.” With that, the door slams shut, and you roll over onto your back and sigh.
Thirty minutes later you’re trudging outside and waiting on the step of Yoongi’s front porch as he bickers with Namjoon to get his car back. You don’t understand why you can’t just go grocery shopping later.
Eventually, Namjoon shows up outside Yoongi’s door in that poor old Cadillac, and Yoongi’s tugging on your arm to get you to stand up so you can actually start going places instead of lounging in the hermitage that is Yoongi’s house.
“Knew we’d see each other again, Y/N,” Namjoon says happily as you climb into the backseat of the car. “Are you guys dropping me back off at home first or do I get to third-wheel your platonic get-together?”
“I’m gonna drop you off at the curb and you can walk home, fucker,” Yoongi says, and Namjoon just laughs. He knows Yoongi too well. Yoongi’d never do that to him.
You end up swinging by Namjoon’s little flat in the center of town, dropping him off right outside the lobby with a goodbye and a “see you at Hoseok’s party tomorrow!” He waves happily as you drive off, and you realize that it’s been a while since you’ve seen people so full of love and light in this town. It’s been a while since you believed there was any of that in this place.
The grocery store is the same one that was there five years ago, down to the flickering sign that they never bothered to replace. It smells the same, reeks of cigarette smoke and metal, and it’s the strangest scent that feels like home thus far. You never thought this lone, run-down supermarket would mean so much to you. It’s decently packed, unsurprisingly so since it’s so close to the holidays—even people in this small little town have shit to do before Christmas is upon them. You manage to snatch the last small-sized grocery cart from the rack and wheel it back to Yoongi, who grins as he drops a full carton of apple cider into it, snagged from the display shelf in the entrance.
“You want anything while we’re here, Y/N?” Yoongi asks as you wheel into the store.
“No thank you,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m only going to be here for a few days—no point in buying me anything nice.”
Yoongi chuckles. “That’s exactly the point, you dumbass. You’re here and staying with me and as your proud best friend-slash-host, I feel morally obligated to buy you some nice things while we’re here. You can’t say no. That’s not allowed.”
“But I don’t want you to waste your money on anything for me,” you insist. Yoongi’s hardly paying attention to you, too busy inspecting a box of clementines. He shrugs and drops the entire thing into the cart.
“It’s not a waste if it’s on you,” Yoongi says, not even meeting your pleading eyes. “Come on, man,” he nudges your shoulder, “don’t you miss those shitty store-brand fake Doritos that taste like spray cheese on a corn chip? I know you do.”
Before you can protest, Yoongi’s tugging you and the cart towards the chips aisle and grabbing a family-size packet of those generic cheese chips that taste like cardboard and Cheetos. He cuts off all your indignant cries without any qualms, insisting that he can spare some spare change worth of shitty chips. If you won’t accept anything else from him, you’re forced to accept this.
You suppose it isn’t that bad that he’s buying you some of the chips that you lived off of during your college years, reaching down into the cart and opening the packet, allowing yourself to indulge in a few. Eating these chips is like eating garbage, but it’s garbage that’s strangely addicting. You don’t want to know what kinds of drugs are in these chips. Ignorance is bliss.
You and Yoongi parade around the grocery store happily as you finally learn what it’s like to let loose again, the tension from being back in the one place you swore you’d never return to leaving your shoulders. Being back here is finally starting to remind you of the good times rather than the bad ones, memories of you running down the aisles at midnight with your futures bright and your eyes brighter.
There’s not a place in this town that doesn’t remind you of him but that’s okay, because the memories you have of you and him together are better kept as dreams than nightmares.
“Which holiday cake says ‘Thanks for hosting this party even though we all drew straws and yours was the shortest so you had no choice’ best?” Yoongi asks when the two of you are staring over the mildly-refrigerated display of desserts and pastries. You had told Yoongi that cakes were foolproof host gifts, so here you are.
“You drew straws?” You ask in confusion. “I thought you guys liked hosting holiday parties.”
“We did,” Yoongi admits. “But that was before you left. You made hosting the holiday parties so easy, helping us with all of the invitations and decorations and planning. But then you left, and all of us realized that we didn’t really know how to uphold the tradition without you.”
Yoongi’s words leave you in a stunned silence as they sink in. When you left, you thought that you were doing everyone a favor. When you left, you didn’t think anyone would want you to stay, other than Yoongi and your parents, really. You thought that leaving would be best for you, for Seokjin, and for everyone else. You didn’t see a point in staying.
You didn’t realize that they would miss you.
You don’t realize that they miss you until you come back and they tell you that they do.
“Oh,” you say, speechless. “I didn’t think that you guys would miss me like that.”
“Y/N?”
You thought you’d be prepared to face him. You really did, because you wouldn’t have come back if you thought you weren’t. But when you make eye contact, meet his fluttering brown irises, and realize that even though your mind told you it was ready, your heart knows that it isn’t, and your heart knows better than anything else. Even the sound of his voice is enough to have sirens blare in your brain as the memories come flooding back.
He looks good. That might be the one of the worst parts of this whole thing, how fucking good he looks and how much of a mess you are in comparison. Seokjin is wearing a suit that fits him impossibly well, navy blue tailored in all of the right places, a red tie around his neck that compliments his skin tone impeccably well. It doesn’t look like he’s missed you a single bit, not from the way he holds his head high and radiates confidence.
You, on the other hand, are makeup-less, wearing the slouchiest clothes you packed—you thought you were just going grocery shopping, for fuck’s sake—and, quite frankly, look awful. You know you do. The past five years haven’t been kind to you, and it shows, from your slightly crooked haircut to the bags under your eyes.
It’s evident to see how much of a toll your relationship (or lack thereof) has taken on the both of you.
“How about this chocolate one, Y/N?” Yoongi’s voice interrupts your whirring brain. “Y/N?” His words trail off when he sees who’s in front of you.
“Seokjin?” You ask, as if your eyes are deceiving you, like he’s not really there, in all of his glory.
He looks just as beautiful as the day he left you. And that’s the worst part.
“When did—when did—you came back?” Seokjin says, unable to form much of a coherent sentence as the sight of you registers.
“Believe me, I didn’t think I would either,” you joke, unsure on how to break the block of ice that’s formed between the two of you.
“I just…” Seokjin says, trailing off. “I didn’t know you were coming back.”
“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Seokjin,” you say, and sure, it’s bitter and petty and biting, but it’s the truth. Seokjin deserves to take at least some of the blame for how you’ve been moping about for the past five years. It’s only fair.
Clearly, your words catch Seokjin off guard. His mouth parts to say something but nothing can come out, and the sight makes you feel a little bolder.
“I—”
“Y/N? Is everything okay?” Yoongi asks, coming up behind you with a frozen chocolate cake in hand. Seokjin’s bright expression immediately dims when he sees him approaching, standing next to you protectively. “Oh, hey, Seokjin.”
“Hey, Yoongi. Are the two of you—?”
“I invited Y/N back for Hoseok’s Christmas party, but I didn’t think she’d actually come,” Yoongi jokes, earning an indignant nudge in his shoulder from your elbow.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Seokjin comments mindlessly, words stiff. “I didn’t know that you had invited her.”
“I know.” Yoongi nods.
“Oh,” Seokjin says, taken aback by Yoongi’s bluntness. You’ve always loved that about him. “Well, it’s nice to have you back, Y/N. Are you—”
“We’re staying together,” you say, knowing fully well that it’ll tick Seokjin off even though he has no right to be pissed. “If that’s what you wanted to know.”
Seokjin’s entire body stiffens. “Okay, then. I’ll see you both at Hoseok’s party tomorrow night, then?”
“Looking forward to it,” Yoongi says, nodding his head. Seokjin sends the two of you a tight smile, grin forced, before turning around and walking the other way.
You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in when he’s out of sight, sighing deeply as you mentally calm your racing heart. No matter how long it will be, it will always be too soon to see him again.
“Are you okay, Y/N?” Yoongi asks, voice laced with concern as he carefully places the cake in the cart, his other hand resting soothingly on your shoulder. “I didn’t know he’d be here. I’m sorry.”
“I’m okay,” you respond. “Thanks for talking to him for me.”
“You know I’d do anything for you,” Yoongi promises. “But I’m glad you’re feeling alright. It’s good practice for tomorrow, since you’ll have to see him there anyway.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Yoongi,” you assure him. “I’m not a snowflake. I won’t melt under his touch.”
“I know,” Yoongi says, sighing. “I just don’t want him to break your heart again.”
The last time you went to a Christmas party hosted by one of your friends, you were a senior in college, on your way to getting your fucking Bachelor’s, and a little bit drunk off of a couple of beers you had had prior to arriving. Being mildly buzzed is really the only way to show up to a Christmas party, when you think about it.
This time, there’s no alcohol in your system, though you may as well chug a glass of wine or two anyway with all of the jitters running through your body. You could do with something ease your worries.
You don’t know why you’re so nervous. You really don’t. You’ve been psyching yourself up for this single event ever since you hit ‘Checkout’ on the airline website, confirming your plane ticket. This Christmas party is, essentially, the only reason why you’re back. A chance to briefly reconnect with everyone before flying off to the city you now come home, unable to tolerate being here any more than you absolutely have to.
The mere thought of having to face Seokjin again makes you want to stay at home.
But you’ll never get over it if you can’t learn to deal with it, and you’ll never learn to deal with it if you can’t will yourself to. Fear is but a word, and you are but a girl.
So, you pull your makeup out of your single suitcase, put on your nicest dress, and decide that maybe, if all goes well, you’ll be able to go back to your anonymous city life in peace. You’ll be able to leave this all behind without the regrets you left after you moved, find peace in new beginnings outside of the town that’s caged you in.
“Ready to go?” Yoongi asks as he knocks on the doorframe of his guest bedroom, alerting you of his presence. You look up, mascara finished on only one eye, and see him standing happily outside your room in what is the ugliest Christmas sweater you’ve ever laid eyes on.
Oh, right. You forgot that these parties involved a running tradition of ugly Christmas sweaters.
You got rid of all of yours when you left.
“Clearly not,” Yoongi comments to himself, answering his own question as you raise a brow in objection. “You actually look nice. The fuck?”
“Am I not allowed to look nice for a Christmas party?” You cry as you apply the rest of your mascara, trying not to blink so you don’t go smudging it everywhere.
“No,” Yoongi says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Jesus, it’s been five years and already you forget what is easily the most important tradition of our annual Christmas bashes? Leaving really did change you.”
You pout in protest to your words, setting your makeup aside and standing up. You dust off your dress just to make a show of how nice you look. Yoongi rolls his eyes in what can only be interpreted as an absolute fondness, shaking his head as he taps his fingers on your doorframe on his way downstairs. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and for a second, you think you might actually look like you belong here.
---
“Move out the way, people! Please get out of my way! I have a delicacy in my hand!” Yoongi shrieks as he walks into Hoseok’s house, making periodic beeping noises, just in case he needs to alert anyone further of his presence. He’s carrying the store-bought cake in both hands and treating it like it’s the world’s most precious diamond. In a way, shitty, high-calorie store-bought cake kind of is.
The first thing that you hear when you step inside behind Yoongi, not wanting to prevent him from getting the cake in his hands to its designated spot, is Hoseok’s boisterous laugh. It’s been five years but even you can’t forget the sound of it ringing through your ears like jingle bells. He must be on the floor at the sight of Yoongi in all of his glory, parading through his house with a cake in his hands, ugly Christmas sweater and Santa hat proudly on. You’d be laughing, too.
It’s so strange, being back. It feels like something of an out-of-body experience, where you’re watching everything happen but can’t picture yourself in the scenario. Like you’re watching a movie play out right before your eyes, only you’re one of extras. In books, they always talk about time freezing but the two main characters continue on, kissing and all of that nonsense as the world stops for them. But when you’re here, and you’re standing in the middle of Hoseok’s living room, surrounded by people who don’t have nearly as many regrets as you do, it feels like you’re the frozen one. Like you’re stuck in this awful suspended animation as everything around you keeps going, as the world turns but leaves you behind.
“Y/N!” Hoseok shouts, breaking you out of your trance. “Is that really you? My God, you haven’t changed a bit!”
Seeing Hoseok may very well be the most refreshing breath of air you’ve taken this entire trip. You only have good memories with him, thoughts of only laughter and light when you think back to university with him. Hoseok was the one person you knew you’d end up missing when you left.
“Hey, Hoseok,” you say, though you doubt he hears you over the sound of terrible karaoke to Mariah Carey on his television and the crushing of your bones as he envelopes you in a hug. “It’s been a while.”
“What?” Hoseok shouts.
“It’s been a while!” You repeat yourself, a little louder. It looks like you’ll be doing that a lot this evening.
“Sure has!” Hoseok says, swishing the glass of champagne in his hand. “Wow, adult life is really treating you well! You’ve never looked better, you know!”
“Thanks! You look nice, too!” You reply back, already getting tired of shouting.
“I know! Hey, where’s your ugly Christmas sweater? Come on, you invented that tradition!” Hoseok asks, nudging you when he finally takes in your outfit of the night.
You shrug helplessly, unable to produce a good enough excuse for your attire. You’re about to make something up when Hoseok bids you goodbye, trampling off to someone else.
Turning the corner, you enter Hoseok’s crowded kitchen, filled with people you recognize and people you don’t as they help themselves to the monster of a buffet Hoseok has on his counter. It looks like you could probably have a three-course meal just from picking one thing from each plate, but suddenly your appetite is gone and all you feel is a craving for something to drink.
Some alcohol could really do you good, you think as you help yourself to a beer. You have the slightest feeling that you might need to loosen up for tonight, just so you can survive. You don’t remember these parties being this overwhelming, but then again, being back has never been that overwhelming either. Not until now.
With a full bottle of beer in your stomach, you feel a little better. A little safer, really, knowing that now you can blame the words that leave your mouth on the alcohol rather than on you.
Seokjin’s here, somewhere, but you haven’t seen him yet and if you get lucky, you won’t have to see him at all. You’ll distract yourself with mindless chatter, hide in Hoseok’s bathroom until he leaves. If you’re lucky, he’ll swing in and out of this party in an hour or so, busy with some business thing he’s probably keeping himself occupied with. If you’re lucky, you’ll come to this Christmas party, celebrate with your old friends, and leave with no intent on returning. If you’re lucky, all will go as planned.
Somehow, someway, Namjoon manages to convince you to join in on an awful cover of something by Michael Bublé—you can’t really make out much over the sound of everyone else’s screaming, or maybe it’s all just noise from your unyielding mind—on Hoseok’s karaoke machine with some guy named Jungkook. You’ve never met him before, but he seems nice enough and clearly enjoys giving it all to Christmas-flavored karaoke. They sing at the top of their lungs and you hide behind their booming voices, loud enough for them to hear you but nobody else.
It may as well be the most fun you’ve had in a long while, terrifyingly so. Having fun is fine, but ever since you left, you’ve developed a fear of attachment. A fear of commitment, to a person, to a place, to a thing. With fun comes memories, and with memories comes a promise to stay. And that’s a promise you don’t think you can keep.
A clearly drunk Yoongi wraps his arm around you halfway through the night, when it may as well already be Christmas Eve with how late it’s getting. He’s swinging an empty wine glass in his hand and has a loopy smile on his face, one you’re far too familiar with to think that it could be anything else but the face of pure haziness. He turns his head to look at you, eyes crinkling up in delight.
“Enjoying yourself so far, Y/N?” He asks, slurring his words slightly.
“Doing swell,” you say, laughing at the sight of your best friend in front of you. “You okay there, hot stuff?”
Yoongi nods but then has to grab onto you for balance, and so you take the liberty to leading him to the somehow empty couch in Hoseok’s living room so you can set him down. Drunk Yoongi was mildly fun to take care of during your college years, but now that you’re older, you find that it’s just more of a hassle.
“Come on, big guy,” you say, encouraging him as he collapses onto Hoseok’s couch cushions. As you’re leaning over him, making sure he’s not too drunk, you finally meet eyes.
Seokjin looks like a fish out of water in this place, the only other person in the entire vicinity who deigned not to wear an ugly Christmas sweater, staring at you with his pupils dilated and eyes blown wide. Even in the dim light of the fairy lights that Hoseok’s strung up and the flickering bulbs of his lamps, he glows.
You turn away first, not wanting to pay him too much attention as you turn your focus on Yoongi, who’s weakly clawing at your shoulder. You call Namjoon over and ask him to help deal with the hammered mess that is Min Yoongi, and dash outside, desperate for a breath of fresh air.
You knew this was a bad idea,. You get outside and heave, exhaling heavily as you trip over your own feet on the way down to Hoseok’s lawn. Eventually, you settle down in the grass, allowing yourself to decompress. You should have known being back wouldn’t be good for you. It’s all still too much, too much thought and too much regret and too much fear. Repression is only as strong as you are, and you’ve never been very strong.
You tilt your head up, allowing the cool winter breeze to send goosebumps along your skin as you stare up into the night sky. At least there’s one thing in your life that’s constant.
You don’t know how long you’re out here, immune to what most others would call the biting cold of December nights, staring up at the stars like a hopeless romantic, wishing for something more. You? You’re just hopeless.
“Too crowded?”
You turn your head to the source of the voice, and see Seokjin stepping outside as well, softly closing Hoseok’s front door behind him.
“I guess,” you say, turning back to face the road. “I just needed to clear my mind, that’s all.”
“I noticed that you were gone,” Seokjin says, sitting down in the grass a safe distance away from you. The two of you are no longer on the basis where you can sit together and act like everything’s fine. It’s not. Not between the two of you. “I don’t know if it was because of me, but I wanted to come check on you.”
“I appreciate that,” you say, and for once, you actually mean it.
“Are you and Yoongi a thing?” Seokjin asks, and your heart breaks, because even five years ago you knew that this was always his biggest fear. His worst nightmare.
“We’re not,” you tell him. “We never have been.”
It’s an answer to the question he should have asked you five years ago, a response to what he should have told you instead of deciding that enough was enough. Relationships end because people don’t communicate, and the biggest flaw that the two of you share is that neither of you have ever been good at expressing yourselves.
“I’m sorry,” Seokjin says. “I shouldn’t have doubted that.”
“I wish you would have listened to me,” you admit, and oh God, the words feel like vomit coming up your throat. Like one wrong move, and it’ll all come spilling out. You knew you shouldn’t have come back. You should have known the night would end like this, end with you crying about what-ifs and could-haves and wishing that you’d have never returned.
“Me too.”
Silence settles upon you, like dust after a storm. You welcome it with open arms, because sometimes silence is all you need to hear. In the right moments, it’s so much louder than noise.
“How long are you staying?” Seokjin asks you, still avoiding your gaze. One small turn to face him, and you see that he’s staring up at the stars, thumbs twiddling in his lap. He’s always looked at the same sky that you have. You just didn’t notice.
“I’m leaving in two days,” you say, already looking forward to your December 26th ticket back home.
Is the city really a home if the people that make one aren’t there?
“Oh,” Seokjin says, somewhat dejectedly. “I was hoping you’d stick around for a bit longer.”
“Why?” You ask, finally turning to him. “Why now? Why are you asking me to stay, five years too late?”
Seokjin meets your eyes, and it doesn’t look like he’s crying now but it looks like he has before. He’s got the same pain that you do, visible in his chocolate irises. You just never took the time to see it.
“Because five years too late, I have things that I want to say to you. That I should have said, but didn’t. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You can leave. I won’t hold you back, like I did before. I won’t make the same mistakes,” he says, and it sounds like a swear, a vow, a promise. It’s frightening, because it makes your heart skip a beat as the hopeless romantic in you think that he means it.
He didn’t mean it last time.
“I can’t stay, Seokjin,” you tell him. “It’s too painful for me here. Everything reminds me of you.”
“Everything here reminds me of you, too,” he admits, and the words catch you off-guard, take you aback. Suddenly, the stars aren’t as important anymore.
Everything seems to pale in comparison to the thought that he might have missed you too.
“Don’t stay for me,” Seokjin says, changing his mind. “Just… just meet me? At the diner. Tomorrow, for lunch. I’ll be there at noon. You don’t have to come,” he says, standing up. “Don’t feel obligated to show. I know that—I know that you feel a lot of pressure to please others, but I want you to think about yourself. Just this once.”
His footsteps crinkle in the frozen grass as he heads back inside, leaving you left with nothing but yourself, your thoughts, and the stars.
When you tell Yoongi that you’re going out at 11:45 in the morning of Christmas Eve, he looks at you with his eyebrows raised, bewilderment riddling his features. But you’re already running late and you’ll chicken out if you think too hard about this, so you bid him a goodbye and run down to the nearest bus stop, leaving him speechless in his own doorway.
You still remember the bus route like the back of your hand. Five years and not a damn thing has changed, same stops, same creak of the wheels. Being on this bus, sitting alone in the back corner (nobody wants to travel on Christmas Eve), you almost feel like yourself again. Like you’re back in college, and the world that surrounds you is warm and bright. Like anything is possible.
You wish it were the same now. But the town that you’re in brings back only memories you wish would go away. Even during Christmas, the lights are dim and the sky is dull and nothing really feels worth celebrating anymore.
It’s muscle memory that tells you to ring the bell so you can get off. Nothing else, not when your mind is cloudy and fogged over with worry and regret. Your brain just barely recognizes the buildings the bus passes by, telling your hand to press the button when it realizes you’re at your stop. That’s what most things are these days, really. Muscle memory that just tells you to do things you already remember. That’s what these past five years have been.
You get off at the stop, staring right at the glowing 50’s diner in front of you. It’s all lit up like a Christmas tree, holiday lights dancing to the beat of the corny Christmas music that you can hear coming from inside. It’s so festive, so cheerful, a beacon of happiness in this dreary town, bleak without the smiles of rambunctious college teens to cheer it up.
Almost. Almost is such a shitty word because it’s never enough. Almost is what almost stops you from reaching out to open the door, what makes you pause right outside, unsure if it’s worth taking another step. You don’t know what lies on the other side of the door, what future awaits you in the booth that used to be yours. It’s 12:06 and Seokjin is definitely there, definitely waiting for a girl that won’t come for him.
You almost leave out of spite, out of revenge. It’s high time he get a taste of his own medicine.
But you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to step backwards, turn around and get on a bus ride home. Can’t bring yourself to leave him sitting there, alone on Christmas Eve of all days, hopeless and hopeful all at the same time. Because if you run from this then you’ll never stop. All you know how to do is run, run away from the problems that plague you, the memories that weigh you down. When was the last time you faced something head on? When was the last time that you decided that you were stronger than your weaknesses?
You take that first step, and it almost feels like a new beginning. Almost.
He sits in the same booth that you always sat in. Old habits die hard and these are some of the oldest. Some things that you just can’t let go of, no matter how hard you try. You walk over to him, positive that it’s your legs, not your heart that draws you towards him.
“Hey,” you say softly, sitting down across from him.
Seokjin’s expression lights up at the sight of you. “Hey,” he says, keeping his eyes glued to the menu. You already know what he’s going to order. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Me neither,” you admit helplessly. The only thing you can do these days is lie, but perhaps for today, it’d be worth it to tell the truth.
The waitress swings by to ask for you drink orders, and without thinking, Seokjin orders two Cherry Cokes. Muscle memory.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seokjin says immediately afterwards. “I didn’t know if you wanted something different. I shouldn’t have just—”
He’s starting to sound like you, apologetic and worrisome and concerned.
“It’s fine, Seokjin,” you say. “Cherry Cokes are still my favorite.”
“Mine too,” Seokjin replies, breathing out a sigh of relief.
It’s so strange to see him like this, so hesitant and tentative when all your life, you’ve known him as confident and boisterous and unabashedly himself. Like your mere presence sends him spinning back into uncertainty, akin to something of a first date.
In a way, this kind of is one.
“Do you, uh—do you still get the same stuff here? Menu hasn’t changed,” he asks you, chipping away at the ice that’s settled between the two of you with a toothpick. This is so fucking sad.
“I guess,” you say, and you tell your heart not to skip a beat at the thought of him still remembering your exact order, like these five years haven’t happened and everything is back to the way it was. “Do you?”
“I haven’t been here in five years,” Seokjin admits. “But I do.”
“Seokjin, I—”
“I missed you,” Seokjin interrupts, voice soft and shaky. It’s so quiet you almost don’t hear him over the sound of the traffic outside. “I know you think I didn’t, but I did.”
He renders you almost entirely speechless, brain unable to process his sentences as it comes up with blanks, response empty.
“It hasn’t been the same here, since you left. For any of us,” he tells you, and the sincerity in his voice is such a change from the way you last heard it, five years ago when he was screaming his head off at you and telling you that your relationship was useless.
The waitress arrives at the most inopportune (or opportune) time with your Cherry Cokes, two cans beside two ice-filled cups. She places them down on your table and Seokjin orders for the both of you, request rolling off his tongue like nothing’s changed. When she leaves, you’re stuck in silence again as the two of you grab your respective drinks, tapping on the lid with your fingernails, out of habit.
You do it at the exact same time.
Old habits die hard.
If Seokjin notices he makes no mention of it, just pours the beverage into his cup and begins drinking.
“I wasn’t going to come back,” you tell him honestly, because it’s high time that you started being truthful to yourself. “I didn’t want to run the risk of seeing you again.”
“I don’t blame you,” Seokjin says, chuckling to himself. It’s like looking back on the past five years of your life through the lens of an older, wiser version of yourself. One that recognizes that things aren’t always as they seem, and that just because something ends doesn’t mean it’s gone. “I broke your heart.”
Hearing the words from him almost make it feel like it never happened. Like your heart never shattered in his palms a week before graduation. Like he didn’t know how delicate it was to begin with, how one wrong move and it would all come crashing down.
“I wish you hadn’t.”
“Me too.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” You ask, hoping to change the somber mood, though you doubt anything either of you say could make so much as a dent in it.
“I’m sorry,” Seokjin says again, and oh God, you’re getting sick of hearing him apologize. Hearing the words tumble off of his tongue again and again because he feels like he can’t say it enough. “I’m sorry for being jealous and untrusting and unloving. I’m sorry for not treating you with the respect you deserved. You could have done so much better.”
“But you were the best I could have done,” you say before you can stop yourself from spiraling back down into a hole of regret, love and loss. “You were all I ever asked for.”
“And I couldn’t even give you that,” Seokjin says.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Seokjin,” you tell him. “I’m over it.” And for once, you finally believe yourself when the words spill out. You finally think that you’re right.
“I’ll always worry about you, Y/N,” Seokjin responds. “I love you.”
Sirens go off as your entire heart halts. “Seokjin?”
“I love you,” he repeats. “And it’s okay if you don’t love me back, because I don’t deserve your love after the way I treated you. I’m not saying this to make you stay, because you should do what’s best for you. Not for me. You’re so kind to others, Y/N. I want you to be kind to yourself, too.”
Blinking furiously, you will yourself to make the tears go away, because goddamnit. Goddamn Kim Seokjin, who will always make you swoon and fall in love with him, even after five years of solitude, of separation. Goddamn Kim Seokjin who is warm and bright and owns up to his mistakes, cares more about you than you probably care about yourself. Goddamn it, because even after five years worth of a broken heart all it takes is one phrase to begin to patch it up.
“You can’t just say things like that,” you whisper to yourself. “How do you think it makes me feel?”
“I shouldn’t have told you, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”
“Seokjin, I—”
Your food arrives, a welcome interruption in an afternoon that feels like it’s just getting worse and worse. You drown yourself in the meal in front of you, food the only thing that can take your mind off of the thumping of your own heart and the unadulterated sadness that leaves your mouth. There are so many what-ifs and could-haves in this world, but dwelling on the past makes you scared of the future. And you don’t want to be scared anymore.
“Thanks for doing this for me,” Seokjin says when the meal is over, the bill is paid. He walks you out of the diner, staying a safe distance away to make you as comfortable as possible. You come to the realization that you’re only comfortable when you’re near him. “You’ve always been so selfless.”
“Seokjin, I just wanted to thank you,” you say as you reach the bus stop. “For all of this. For still loving me after I thought you stopped.”
“I’ll never stop,” he says. “I don’t—I don’t know if you’ll come back again once you leave in a few days, but I want you to know that seeing you again has made me truly happy, even if our old memories bring us only sadness.”
“I’m working on that,” you tell him, and you finally fucking meet his eyes. For the first time in a long time, there is hope and wonder laced in gold among his irises, promises that you know he will give his life to keep. “I don’t think our old memories bring me sadness anymore. I think I’m finally starting to see the happiness within them.”
December 26th rolls around and there’s a whole party sending you off, bringing you to the train station so that everyone can say their goodbyes.
What’s different this time is that you’ve promised to come back, something that three days ago, you could have never imagined. This time, you look forward to the day where you step off of the platform and see Yoongi waiting for you, gummy smile wide on his face as he sees you. Maybe you’ll see Seokjin, instead, and he’ll be waiting to pick you up in his fancy car and take you anywhere you want to go.
Yoongi pulls you in for a bone-crushing hug, makes you swear that it’ll be less than five years he’ll have to wait for your return. You promise to call him more, write to him often, keep in touch as much as possible. That was one mistake you made, cutting yourself off from your old life entirely. Sometimes memories are worth remembering, after all.
When you wrap your arms around Seokjin, the world finally starts to feel like home beneath your fingertips. You begin to believe that one day, you’ll rule the world again, with him by your side just like how it was always supposed to be.
“I love you,” Seokjin murmurs into your ear before you let go. “When you get back, we can do whatever you want to do. I’ll show you the whole world, if you ask me to.”
You love him too, you just haven’t said it yet. You don’t need to. He already knows, from the way you’ve promised to return, from how you nod happily when he says he’ll see you again.
The train arrives and you look back on your farewell party, stepping off of the run-down station and into the car. One look through the window and they’re waving to you, and as you wave back, you know that no matter how far you go, you’ll always come back home.
⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!
