One shots | Kim Taehyung

when he misses her (part 3) | KTH

A symphony of birdsong heralded the arrival of dawn. Gossamer strands of gold wove their way through the curtains, painting delicate stripes across Taehyung's face. He stirred, the remnants of a troubled sleep clinging to him like cobwebs.

A groan escaped his lips as he stretched, the ache in his muscles a stark reminder of the night's events. Disoriented, he realized he wasn't in his bed. A wave of nausea washed over him as he recalled the raw emotions that had spilled over on the cold, unforgiving balcony floor.

His hand instinctively reached down, brushing against something cool and smooth. His eyes fluttered open to meet the tear-stained face of his ex-wife, Hani, staring back at him from the photo clutched in his hand. A fresh wave of grief threatened to engulf him, the memory of his tear-filled night a vivid tableau.

With a tired sigh, he released a shaky breath, the exhaustion etched on his face a testament to his emotional turmoil. He yelped as he tried to stand, a dull ache throbbing in his every joint. His reflection in the glass door - puffy eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot, cheeks etched with dried tear tracks - was a stranger staring back at him.

A resolute glint flickered in his eyes. Last night, amidst the storm of emotions, he had made a promise to himself. A promise to break free from the shackles of the past, to find solace in the present. He forced a smile, a tight, almost painful one, and stood tall, the promise echoing in his heart.

As he crossed the threshold into his room, the smile faltered. The room was bathed in the soft morning light, but his wife, Y/n, was conspicuously absent. Panic clawed at his throat. He rushed to the balcony, then the bathroom, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

But you were gone. His eyes fell on his neatly laid-out office clothes, a familiar routine you always followed. Confusion clouded his mind. "Where is she?" the question echoed in the emptiness, a stark contrast to the cheerful chirping of the birds outside.

A gnawing anxiety gnawed at Taehyung's gut as he descended the stairs. Each step echoed in the silence, a stark counterpoint to the symphony of birdsong that painted the morning in gold. The absence of your usual morning routine - the gentle clinking of coffee cups, the murmur of the news, the soft scent of your perfume - hung heavy in the air, an oppressive silence that screamed of your absence.

He called out your name, a tentative "Y/n?" that hung in the air like a lost prayer. The living room, bathed in the warm glow of the morning sun, seemed to mock him with its familiarity. The plush couch, where you'd curl up with a book on lazy mornings, looked accusingly empty. The throw pillows, strategically arranged just so, were untouched, a jarring testament to the disruption in your usual order.

Panic, a cold serpent, coiled itself around his heart. He pushed through the living room, his gaze darting from corner to corner, searching for any sign of you. The kitchen, usually your domain, was an unsettling portrait of stillness. The breakfast bar, where you'd leave him little notes or a playful drawing on a napkin, was bare. The stainless steel appliances shimmered coldly, reflecting the growing turmoil within him.

"Y/n?" His voice, a hoarse whisper, echoed off the gleaming tiles. He called again, this time with a desperate urgency. "Y/n, where are you?" But the only response was the mournful tick of the grandfather clock, each tick a hammer blow to his already shattering world. The silence, thick and suffocating, screamed a truth he desperately wanted to deny.

You were gone.

Denial, a desperate shield, slammed into place. No. This couldn't be happening. You wouldn't just leave. Not without a word, not after the raw emotions he'd bared the night before. He clung to the flimsy hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a simple explanation.