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There were flowers in a crystal vase above the table when you woke up, or when you practically opened your eyes from a theoretical slumber. Tulips. Beautiful, colorful tulips that Jungkook had always given you ever since your first official date. You'd told him then that you'd never gotten flowers before, and after that little confession, he made sure there needn't be an occasion to bring you something that painted a wide, dimpled smile and sugary sweet eyes on your face. He'd come back from work with groceries and a bunch of tulips on an ordinary Thursday night. Sometimes, when you went on a date to your favorite bar, you'd come home to find a bouquet waiting for you on your doorstep. He'd kiss you when you told him he was lovestruck, and he'd tell you that he was basking in the pain and joy that the blow brought upon him.
This time around, however, there was a reason for the bouquet. There was also a note next to it. I was brass. I admit it. Give yourself time to forgive me. I won't push you, but I want you to know that I love you. And I will forever. JK.
Forever. Such a big, big word. You wondered if he knew what it meant, what it entailed, what it took for it to become a promise rather than a simple word. You doubted that he would let such a word come out of his mouth - or even in ink on his paper - if he knew that it could be his ultimate torture if the truth prevailed. Upon reflection, you doubted he would torture himself if he could simply inflict it on you by splitting eternity in half. Maybe even a quarter.
It was still quite early in the morning. The sun's rays illuminated every inch of the kitchen and living room in a pale peach hue. You were still in your pajamas. Still lacking a good caffeine boost and maybe a crumb of bread when your appetite came knocking on your door. He had woken up very early for a man who had been dead drunk a few hours ago. It didn't look like he'd nursed his hangover with a meal either, considering there were no dishes in the sink and the air didn't smell of food. The urge to plop down on the chair at the table and pull your hair from the root was fought by the need for coffee and the logical sense to look for solutions instead of crying over spilled milk. And who were you to ignore the call of logic?
And logic called for a solution as soon as you put milk in your steaming Arabica. It came in the form of your disposable cell phone ringing, which you willingly left to the light of day since Jungkook wasn't home.
"Is now a good time?" Taehyung asked. No greetings. No pleasantries. Because there was no reason to pretend winter was dulcet when its air literally tore at your skin.
"The good times disappeared the moment you did what you did, Shadow. But if you're asking if I can talk. I can. So fire away."
The sigh on the other end of the line was filled with guilt, remorse and blame. Taehyung suffered, you were aware of that, but you had no pity to lick his wounds. They were self-inflicted. And worst of all, he didn't just hurt himself. He slit too many throats with his sword, including his own. Not to mention mercy, you didn't want him to find peace, though you never prayed for more than happy days to heal a sadness that had latched onto him since childhood. He didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve the bad that life offered him, but he especially didn't deserve the good that it would have been willing to give him over the years. He sinned, and you prayed every day that God would not forgive his sins.
