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taekwonduh · 7 years

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Don’t Forget, Pt. 3

Summary: “It is okay if you do not remember me, I can do the remembering. But in a world where I hold absolutely no place in your life, not even as the girl who knew your name before your face, I think it would be a place too cruel to live in.”

Characters: Jungkook, (she/her) Reader, Taehyung

Tags: Angst, romance, food for thought

Memo (Prologue), Pt. 1, Pt. 2

There is a certain lucid quality in the way time ticks while on commute, the idea of leaving behind a neighbourhood so faithfully occupied during the past years of your life for a territory beyond breeds a sense of detachment in your system. Your body remains bound by the ropes of reality, yet your spirit wanders with no desire of ever returning.

Perhaps it is in your best interest that you cultivate the habit of breaking away every once in a while, though admittedly, the prospect of retreating into the dreams that afflict you so for comfort, be they night or day, is terribly ironic. But you cannot help it. You suppose it is to do with being born a dreamer. Trodding through life with no solid plan, the tiles behind you crumble with the lifting of each foot, and the path ahead is formed in the space where your feet land next, a future made of earthquakes that threaten to pull you under.

Nothing is ever clear to you. Not reality. Not dreams, certainly not the days ahead. And you question why you continue to go through with such uncertainty, why you have not yet called it quits with the world and cross into the other side when the boundaries that separated each half have long blurred and blended together.

You like to think that up until last night’s events, you have lived a life in search of answers to questions you did not know to ask.

His name is Jungkook.

“Y/N… You okay? Who was that guy?”

His name is Jungkook.

“Hey- hey, look at me. What’s wrong? Did he say something to you?”

His name is… his name is-

“Taehyung… I can't… I can’t remember his name.”

You remember barreling back to your bedroom, nearly ripping the drawer off its hinges with the sheer force of desperation. After all that has happened, the deja vu sensations, inexplicable memory loss, and the very bizarre but definite swap in places between you and Taehyung’s incident at the pier, you are hit with the sudden fear that perhaps in the time you spent away, the mysterious book might have disintegrated into nothingness. Another mind trick. Another surefire step towards irreversible insanity.

But you are immensely relieved to find the item still within the confines you thrust it, grasping the book and locking your door. You finally work up the courage to discover its’ contents. To learn the answers which you always believed you worked tirelessly towards, but in actual fact have been going around in cowardly circles, feigning ignorance and hoping the misaligned pieces of your memories will somehow adjust themselves and find their rightful place.

The reason why you have put the book off for as long as you have is the underlying rejection of everything you have believed in, everything you live for. The book, expectedly, throws your entire world off its axis.

There are photos of you. Photos of Taehyung. Of a boy named Jungkook. The pier. Your neighbourhood back home. Alongside these polaroids are penned memorabilia, in a recognizable style of writing belonging to a single person— it is yours.

taehyung died three years ago, on graduation day. you were supposed to meet at the intersection at 8, but he had gone to the pier instead. he died by suicide. he did not leave any note. on this day, you met with an accident trying to look for him.

please do not call mrs. kim anymore.  - 23.04.16

“Why were you at the pier?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Why would you be looking for me at the pier? We promised to meet by the school gates at eight-thirty sharp. You said if I were even a second late, you would pretend to not know me even if we managed to get into the same class in high school.”

“Taehyung?”

The train doors shut, carriage picking up speed as the now empty station is gradually left behind. There is a boy beside you. There is always a boy beside you.

He looks up from his phone. “Hm?”

The eyes you spend your entire life looking into appear foreign today. The disparity is not in its physical qualities, for the pools of liquid chocolate remain crystal clear, a reflection of the light that pours in from the glass panels adjacent your heads, it is perhaps in what lies beneath it— in what he holds within.

when you finally move on, the first thing i want you to do is pay more attention to taehyung. i feel like this all started because of his incident. if you can, save him, if you can’t, just keep waiting at the school gates. keep waiting until someone calls you and tells you the news of his demise. that is how you will keep your memories.

Even though it might not have been this life in which you lose him, you cannot help but feel as though there is a dormant element of sorrow that he locks up in a place so deep you cannot hope to find unless you sink your own two hands between his ribs and tear up whatever’s inside, destroying all that is good along with all that is bad. That is a resort you never wish to turn to, and you may only take comfort in the fact that you have somehow managed to save him. That he is here with you.

He is here.

“Do you believe in a parallel world?”

The boy cocks his head, corner of his lips elevating into a lopsided smirk that gives away intrigued amusement, curiosity of why you might suddenly pose such an uncharacteristic question. He first decides to answer it. “I could be convinced.” The shift in his gaze to meet yours sparks electricity upon your skin, and you find that although your bodies are pressed against each other’s sides, though you can feel his heat radiating towards your profile, you are beginning to think that much like the dreams you lose track of each time you awaken, you might, on a day you least expect, lose him too.

“Why do you ask?”

“Imagine that there are little doppelgängers that live on a planet and follow a timeline that is linear and parallel to ours. They live a similar life to us, except sometimes the decisions we make aren’t always one and the same. So that results in certain… branches that lead to outcomes different from the ones that happen here, in our world. Imagine, there is a whole new world created for every choice we make and didn’t make. In those worlds… do you think we are still friends?”

Taehyung shifts in his seat, his shoulder leaving yours in his act of turning his entire upper torso to face you, a position that is no doubt awkward in the limited space of his seat, but sufficient in indicating that there is something he wants to find out.

“Where is all of this coming from?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay, let’s start small then. Is this about last night? I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but it keeps bugging me. You just ran, Y/N.” You suppose Taehyung must have known the somberness he was portraying would push you further into discomfort, and as concerned as he was, he does not want to guilt-trip you into divulging anything you were not ready nor willing to. And so he contorts his features into one of his signature unsightly yet comical frowns, shape of his mouth forming a drooping rectangle, eyes slanted outwards with the pull of muscle, his eyebrows tilted at an angle to match. With that face on, he proceeds to whine in a small, child-like voice, “You ditched pier night.”

And you burst. Uncontained, heartfelt laughter tumbling from the back of your throat out your mouth, shattering the early morning daze that hung over the rest of the train car. A few eyes shift towards you. But you could care less.

“Stop making that face!” Your palms fly up to cup his cheeks, thumbs pushing and molding the flesh to rid that ghastly expression from his otherwise handsome face. Taehyung, relieved by your joyous reaction, eases back into his usual laidback demeanor, his own hands coming around yours to bring them down.

“Well?”

“Well…” You answer his prompt pointedly, sighing into your next words, “I’m still figuring things out. But what I can tell you is that ever since that coma… things haven’t been the same. I don’t know what’s different, I just- I just feel.”

“Do you think we should pay another visit to the hospital? Maybe they might’ve missed something—”

“No, it’s not that. Don’t worry, Tae, I’m working things out. And when I actually have the answers to my own questions, I’ll gladly answer yours. Hmm?”

The mystical qualities of a train ride away from home dissipates into a familiar sensation of emptiness the moment a warm hand is wrapped around your wrist, and you are lifted from your seat towards the car doors, merging with a disarray of early morning commuters on their way to offices, schools, workplaces. The crowd is thick like wet cement, your senses held captive to an atmosphere so hot and humid that instantly all bearings are lost, and you rely solely on Taehyung’s lead to get you out. If this is what ensues a commute, it has become apparent that you detest it.

“Thank God we’re not late,” your companion huffs as he straightens the quality of his pristine new uniform, smoothing out wrinkles and dusting off lint. Though you don garments that are entirely alike, only tailored to suit each gender, you have found that from the time a communal code of wear was first introduced to you both at the age of seven, your dearest friend has always managed to find ways to look starkly superior in his clothing in contrast to you.

Maybe it is in his physique, broad shoulders and filled chest to match his tall and still growing height; perhaps it was in the choice of hairstyle, kept simple enough to abide by conventional school dress codes, yet presenting a tasteful styling in the way his bangs fall in a voluminous arc down his forehead, parted just over the the arch of his left eyebrow, a classic boyish look. Today, he sports his new pair of eyeglasses, an accessory he had showed off generously earlier in the morning when he came to pick you up. The look probably would not have been considered anything special if pulled by anyone else, a sight that blends into the surroundings and is easily skimmed over. You suppose that is the leverage over you he possessed by birth.

In your trek from the train station towards your school, you are joined by many other youths sporting outfits identical to yours, and surprisingly enough, it is quite easy to tell freshmen apart from more senior students. Like yourself, they carry crisp new backpacks, bulky with the weight of brand new textbooks possibly packed inside, style their uniforms strictly in line with the specified guidelines, and in their eyes, they hone the same glint that currently shone in Taehyung’s— excited for a new start, anticipation of the new experiences to come.

Even as the school compounds gradually come into view, marked iconically by a domed roof atop a massive brown-brick structure, you find trouble in drawing out a sentiment to match your peers. To say that it feels as if you have done this before would not be a stretch; the transition from middle to high school in terms of routine does not feel all that drastic. Aside, of course, from the hour-long commute-from-Hell you now have to make. It continues to follow the same monotonous regiment of rise, work, sleep, repeat. What sort of new start could one possibly hope for? You have not the slightest clue.

Upon your arrival to the parted steel gates, beyond which is an expanse of a yellow dirt field, at the core of which is a lush, green quad where wooden benches and umbrella-like trees are spread for the students’ lounging convenience, you discover a handful of senior-looking students, supposedly part of the welcoming committee, ushering in the students with smiles much too bright for such an early morning.

Amongst them, a particularly sharp boy catches your attention with his refined posture, herculean-shoulders and tightly wound school tie; his aura alone sets him apart from the rest of his comrades, exuding sublime confidence and ultra authority in his greetings to fellow students. Supposedly having been aware of this quality, the intimidation he knew he would surely evoke in students is neutralized by two lovely crescent-mooned eyes, his plush, pink lips curved into a matching smile, displaying prominently that despite the richness of his features, he too, remains a teenager like the rest.

You observe him keenly throughout your passing through the gates, leaving the sidewalk and entering at last the compounds of your new school, and you cannot help but be tinged with disappointment when the celebrity-esque boy misses the chance to offer you one of his well-rehearsed introductory phrases. Instead, you are merely shuttled along with the rest of the crowd around the perimeters of the quad, ascending a short flight of steps to pass through a set of warm, red wood double-doors, propped open by two rubber stoppers to facilitate the heavy stream of students arriving for the school day.

Officially within your new school quarters, you and Taehyung unite with other fresh-faced students towards the completion of the first step at getting yourselves oriented— finding your class registers.

At the end of the broad, linoleum-floored hallway you now stand within, lined on one side with display shelves of trophies, medals and framed certificates, and the other, with various club announcements, colourful nutrition posters, advertisements for upcoming school events, was a large whiteboard clipped with sheets of rolling paper dictating which student was assigned to which class. You and Taehyung would refer to this whiteboard, find your classes, and disperse. Albeit due to the sheer amount of people herded around it, Taehyung suggests that you wait at the outskirts for him to come back with the necessary information. You are much too small to be pushing through a crowd like that.

“Bad news, Y/N, we’re separated,” Taehyung announces, looking evidently dejected by the conclusion of your once unbreakable nine-year fate as classmates. “You’re in one-four, I’m in five. Good thing is all the first year classrooms are on the same floor. At least that’s what I heard. Let’s get going?”

You nod affirmatively, angling your body towards the stairs. “Yeah.”

Once on the third floor, the lot of students on the way to their assigned classrooms spill into yet another boxy hallway, this one significantly less decorated, walls lined with chunks of metal lockers waiting to be taken up. The rooms are relatively easy to find, from the left of the stairway are classes one to four, and to the right are five to eight. Ultimately, this is where your and Taehyung’s togetherness reaches its momentary end, and the boy parts with you after an affectionate clap on your shoulder, wishing you good luck and a promise to meet for lunch.

The subsequent absence of his warmth beside your shoulder is larger than you ever thought it would be, and though there is the assurance in knowing Taehyung is only one room away, the fact that you now go solo licks a hot flame of nervousness up the back of your neck, your footsteps grow significantly heavier as you trudge to class.

You are amongst the final few to enter, and like any sizable crowd trapped inside a room, it is no surprise to find that the seats towards the back have all been filled, and you very barely snag a desk at the furthermost column from the door, seating yourself between a girl in front and a boy behind. As the last remaining desks are filled, a man appearing to be in his early-thirties strides into the room, obliterating every decibel of conversation with his preppy entrance, now becoming the center of utmost attention.

He dresses himself rather casually, in a blue knit vest over a white dress shirt, khaki slacks and brown boat shoes. And upon assuming position between the presentation desk and the whiteboard, he lifts his spectacled gaze to size up the class of twenty, nearly thirty-odd students seated in their neat five by five, single-file organisation of desks, all poised and perked.

“If this is the class environment for the rest of the term, we are going to breeeeze right through it.”

The stiff silence in the room is punctuated at last by the hearty chuckle that the man proceeds to let loose, joined only a second later by the harmonious laughter of the other students. The man, introducing himself as Mr. Nam, then begins to break down the events for the rest of the day— first of all going through administrative matters, sorting out the issue of lockers, handing out class schedules for the semester and recruitment pamphlets for various school clubs and sports teams. He goes on to guide you all verbally on the expected movement throughout the day: after the thirty minute homeroom, the entire school would gather in the main hall for a welcome (and for the returning students, a welcome-back) ceremony that would involve recapping last year’s achievements, laying out the expectations for this year, and the introduction of new faculty members.

Seated amongst your new classmates, some of which you have already broken ice with, you delight in the chance to catch Taehyung in his own plastic chair some rows behind you, already surrounded by a hefty group of male friends. You suppose at this stage the girls are still too shy to make advances, but surely they will come— they always do.

And at last, to conclude the two-hour long ceremony, the dean invites up a student whom he addresses as the student body president, handing over the podium to the sharp-looking student you were all but disinterested in just moments ago. The boy skips up the steps at the side of the stage, bowing slightly to the senior figure before assuming the now vacated position at center-stage.

“Good morning everyone, this is student body president, Kim Seokjin.” The cheers that erupt following this brief introduction hails mostly from the returning students seated towards the back, according to their years. Firsts being at the very front. Seokjin allows them, and perhaps himself, a moment to revel in the applause, before promptly continuing with his speech, “I’d just like to say a quick welcome to all our new students, our prestigious members of faculty and my own committee extend our warmest regards. We promise you’ll have a splendid freshman year ahead. And to all my returning juniors, friends, classmates and seniors, a great big welcome back to the grind after a wonderful two-month vacation that I am sure was well-spent.

“Now, to get on with business, I am pleased to announce that our highly-anticipated homecoming night will be held two weeks from now, on the 14th July, Friday evening. Details will be posted on the student portal, so as always, visit the site to register your attendance. No one wants to show up to a party uninvited. Following that, we will be kicking start our week-long of sports tryouts and club recruitment for our lovely freshies, there will be a fair held in the quad by your seniors to try and rope you into an extra-curricular you don’t always actually need… but will enjoy nonetheless.

“And just before we close the semester with finals, the school will be having our annual Arts Fiesta month, during which all our arts teams will hold concerts, guerilla performances, exhibitions and more. You may find all the information on the respective extra-curricular notice boards located in the main hallway on the ground floor.”

Like his professional predecessor, Seokjin continues to lay down the events for the rest of the school year, albeit his tone is laced with a code of humor much more appropriate for the audience that it keeps everyone’s focus on him. At the bell, the ceremony is concluded and you, along with the rest of the freshmen, are shuttled into the cafeteria while the seniors return to their classrooms.

The massive movement traps you amidst a bunch of unfamiliar faces, and it despairs you to know that you can no longer spot Taehyung in the crowd, having lost him to the taller bodies around you. Hoping to meet him outside the hall, you resign to the crawling pace of the crowd, one tiny step at a time until you finally pour out of the entrance like a drain unclogged.

The hallway outside is a clutter of frenzied traffic, some heading one direction towards the cafeteria, the others going another to hang out in the quad, and then there are little cliques blocking up space by the notice boards, the water coolers, chatting and waiting for their friends. You find an empty space against the wall and press your back into it, standing on your tiptoes to screen the crowd for the familiar black-rimmed glasses set against healthy golden skin.

It turns out that when put in a crowd as big as this, it is near impossible to distinguish Taehyung from literally hundreds of other people following the exact same trend. Since when did so many people start wearing geek specs?

As the last of the herd trickles out, the hallway significantly clearing and decreasing in activity, all having gone on to spend their lunch break with friends, you are stuck in the same spot, no sight of Taehyung whatsoever.

You do, however, come across a rather peculiar scene taking place inside the emptied school hall. With the bulk of students gone and faculty members returned to their classrooms or the lounge, only a handful of council members remain, busying themselves with the stacking up of plastic chairs and pushing them to the back of the hall. Amidst the myriad of floor-scraping screeches, light jokes tossed around to brighten up the otherwise mundane task, you recognize the taller of a pair of figures to be Mr. Nam, and the other to be that of a fellow student.

The humbly slumped posture of the student gives off an impression of apology, guilt, perhaps, and you can only assume the student must have done something to warrant a light chastise. As your mind wonders what could possibly have been the reason for it, you notice a bright red backpack still slung over the student’s shoulders, a hint that he could possibly only have just arrived, and therefore missed his chance to leave his belongings in the classroom.

Right at that moment, the conversation appears to be concluded by a friendly thump on the boy’s shoulder, and their bodies turn towards the doors, towards you.

That is when you see him.

Chestnut hair. Round, curious eyes. Lightly tanned, troubled skin.

He sees you too. But you are well aware of the fact that the recognition flashing in his eyes in that moment is not at all aligned with yours. You remember each other from a different time. Different memories. There is the thought of how this is even possible at all, yet he is now standing before you, gazes locked, lips pursed.

“Oh? You look familiar!” You’re certain you must not have looked anything less like a deer caught in headlights, and suddenly you are questioning why you have foolishly left yourself in plain sight, in the direct line of conversation with a teacher who looks particularly eager to be addressing his new student. “Let’s see… Y/N, right? What are you still here for? Not joining your classmates at lunch? The school food is really good, scout’s honour!”

“H- Huh?” The response comes out astray, obviously distracted. You are forced to avert your vision from a set of smoldering charcoal eyes to the kind (yet insensitive) teacher standing before you. “Yes, I plan to. Was just waiting for someone.”

“Is that so?” The man begins to smile, his larger, veiny hands coming upon the younger’s shoulders, the whites of his knuckles evident of a light squeeze being delivering from his fingers to the muscles beneath. For a first meeting, the two seem rather friendly. “Don’t tell me you know Jungkook over here?”

The focal point of your shaky vision once against resumes on the boy, who openly watches you, keenly awaiting your next response.

“Jungkook…?”

“How do you know my name?”

who… are you? his name is jungkook. he sings at the bar. he says he doesn’t want you to remember him. when you wake up tomorrow, decide what you want to do with this information.  - 22.04.16

“N- No, no I don’t.”

“Ah, is that so? Well, there’s lots of time to get friendly. He’s the last one to join us in class. Super, super late, but forgiven since we go way back.” Mr. Nam turns to the boy beside him, grin stretching even wider as his tone takes on one of affection, “See, Kooks, a whole lifetime of perks await you if you have me for a teacher in primary school!” The boy amiably joins in laughter, though the poor, ignorant man remains clueless about the massive elephant trapped between you and him. “Anyway, there’s no one left in there other than the student council. You’re better off checking the cafeteria to see if your friend’s already waiting. Go with Jungkook! He’s about to head there anyway.”

Your heart leaps from between your ribs, lodging itself in the back of your throat, and you find yourself stuttering, garbling, nearly choking, as the words struggle to gather on your tongue. “I- I- I was going to… to the washroom first, a- actually. Seeyouaround, Mr. Nam!”

And you spin curtly on your heels, ninety-degrees towards the path of escape, muscles cramping up from the restrain on your legs from bolting out of the conversation.

You are unsure if it is the heat of embarrassment earned from your display of conversational skills, or lack thereof, that burns the skin on your back with hot, white flames, or if it is the mystical properties that inevitably surround a daylight rendezvous with the very embodiment of all things you cannot explain, the equation that you are unable to make sense of that has come to mock you in the flesh.

The muscles in your leg lose strength the moment you round the corner, your entire frame doubling forward, chest heaving, breathing laboured. No matter the volumes of air you take in, the exhaustion does not recede, it instead grows in magnitude, transitioning from mere breathlessness to a frame-splitting ache blooming in the center of your chest, a sadistic twist-and-wring rhythm taking over the once steady beats resonating within ribs.

This is a feeling not at all foreign to you. In fact, it is so familiar that it is akin to a homecoming. The only thing that registers beyond the rapid pumping of blood and the hammering in your chest is the vague echoes of a paragraph that you think your mind will never be fully rid of. Not when the very subject of it has broken the chains binding it to dreams, and is now present within the realms of your reality.

my last request is this: apologize to jungkook. he says that you are someone who has suffered enough, but your pain does not nearly amount to his. you are able to forget, but jungkook remembers- he carries everything with him to the next day and the next. but let’s say you meet him and he does not recognize you- just leave him be. i think he deserves to live without you, because all his memories of you are laced with suffering. i do not want that for him in his next life, and i am sure you do not want that either.

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