It was two weeks before enlistment.
Jimin had gone through the checklist. The shaved head, the paperwork, the mental prep. Everyone had been checking in on him.
Except her.
Not because she didn't care.
But because she respected space.
Still, he found himself walking by the same tucked-away café again. Not expecting anything. Just... drawn.
And she was there.
Same window seat. Same quiet presence.
Reading another book with her glasses on, looking nothing like their old sessions—
And everything like the kind of calm he was starting to believe in.
He didn't say anything. Just approached, hesitant.
She looked up and smiled.
"You look like a man with something on his chest," she teased.
"I might be," he said. "But also... I just came to say thank you."
She tilted her head. "For what?"
"For being human with me. When I forgot how to be one."
She bit her lip. Eyes softer than he remembered.
He reached into his coat and handed her an envelope.
Her brows knit together. "What's this?"
"I'm leaving soon. Military."
Her face changed—concern laced with pride.
"I wrote something. Just in case... I never say it in person."
She looked at him, speechless. But he didn't wait.
He simply smiled, bowed slightly, and walked out the door.
The Letter (Voiceover Style)
You once told me healing wasn't linear. That it didn't have to be loud or visible or tied to someone else.
But somehow, you helped me remember what stillness felt like. What quiet peace could taste like.
I'm not in love with you. (If that's what you're thinking) That would be too soon, too unfair to both of us. But I am... grateful to have known you.
You were the breath before the leap. The silence before the song.
And maybe, if the world aligns again—
We'll meet not as patient and therapist. Not even as broken and healer.
But as two people who survived their own storms... and found each other again under clearer skies.
– Jimin
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Seoul. Late autumn.
The cold hit different after military life.
Crisper. Cleaner. Almost... kind.
Jimin sat at a small rooftop bar Yoongi liked. It wasn't glamorous—just a little hole-in-the-wall spot with warm lights and jazz humming low in the background. Seoul glittered below, blurred and blinking.
He wore a simple black cap. Jacket zipped halfway. His leave had just started, and already he felt the ache of time—how quickly it moves, how strange it is to return to places that once knew every inch of you.
Then came the familiar sound of boots on metal stairs.
"Hyung," Jimin smiled, standing up.
Yoongi gave him a look—half annoyed, half proud. "Don't stand up like you're greeting the President."
They sat. Ordered warm whiskey.
For a while, there was just the clink of ice. The city breathing beneath them.
"You're quieter than usual," Jimin said eventually.
Yoongi shrugged. "I've been writing again. That always makes me weird."
"You? Weird? Never."
A small smile tugged at Yoongi's mouth. Then silence again.
Until—
"I heard about Celine."
Jimin's hand paused over his glass.
Yoongi continued softly, "Taehyung mentioned it. Said you finally got your closure."
"Yeah." Jimin nodded. "It wasn't what I expected. But it was honest. And final."
Yoongi took a sip. "Good. You deserved that."
Then, after a moment too long:
"You've been there for a lot of us, Jimin."
Jimin looked up.
Yoongi wasn't the type to say things like this. Not without meaning them.
"You sat with me through my shoulder surgeries. Talked JungKook down from quitting everything after the scandal. Stayed close to Taehyung when his grandma passed. You've always carried us—quietly."
Yoongi turned to look at him, eyes soft.
"I don't say it much. But thank you."
Jimin's throat tightened. "You don't have to thank me."
"Yeah," Yoongi said, leaning back, "but I want to."
Silence again. But this time, it was full.
Safe.
Jimin glanced at his phone.
No unread messages. No half-typed confessions from people he used to love.
No aching curiosity.
Just stillness.
"You okay?" Yoongi asked.
"I am." Jimin smiled. "For the first time in a long time—I really am."
Yoongi smirked. "Then write. Dance. Fall stupidly in love. Just don't ghost us if you do."
Jimin laughed. "No promises."
The night carried on with quiet laughter, a new song forming in the back of Jimin's mind.
He wasn't rushing anymore.
Not searching.
Not running.
He was just...
Becoming.
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Her Reaction (Same Day, Café Window)
She watched him disappear down the cobbled street, sunlight catching on the edge of his silver ring. Gone again. Always leaving quietly.
With a shaky breath, she opened the envelope.
Her eyes scanned every word—his handwriting just messy enough to be real. Just heartfelt enough to hurt.
By the last line, her lips trembled.
Not because she was sad.
But because he meant it. Every single word.
She closed the letter, pressing it against her chest, then laughed under her breath—eyes still glassy.
"God, you're not supposed to thank your therapist, Park Jimin," she whispered.
Then added softly, like a confession only the café plants could hear:
"But I'm glad you did."
Flash-Forward: One Year Later, Spring in Seoul
It was early. The kind of spring morning where the cold hadn't quite left but the cherry blossoms already had.
She walked out of the university building, clipboard in hand, rushing between back-to-back lectures.
A familiar voice called her name from across the quad.
She turned—paused mid-step.
There he was.
Hair grown out. Uniform gone. Dressed in all black, coffee in hand.
Same soft eyes. Same smile.
He lifted the coffee cup like a toast.
"Didn't think I'd recognize you without the glasses," he teased.
She grinned, stunned.
"I could say the same, soldier."
"Civilian now," he said, taking slow steps toward her.
Then, quieter: "Maybe... friend too?"
She looked at him—older, lighter.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, heart just a little faster.
"Let's start with coffee," she said.
And they walked off together, sunlight trailing gently behind them.
Talking. Just talking.