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luaspersona · 2 years ago

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i said i'd read this tn and i actually found some time! i mean, it's two in the morning, but OH MY GOD if it wasn't completely worth it 😭

this is so. well. written. like, honestly, it's so captivating! the level of detail in the story makes us feel the time agonizingly slow, every tear, every silence and ever loaded word. and that's terrible bc now i'm awfully sad omg akdjakh

i've never read a lovers to exes quite like this one before. the fragmented memories of a relationship all coming to a final one in this present, six years later. and the kiss? damn, that was heartbreaking 😭 i've never watched comet, but now i just simply have to.

anyway. your writing is actually amazing. loved the technique here, the way you dive into their feelings, into their hesitation and into their past, that comes back to haunt them.

also, wanted to point out that the moodboard is sooo pretty 😩 and i loved the "mentions of marriage" is a warning akdjakj

thanks for writing it! now i can't wait for your next works, and i'm glad i'll be able to follow you from the start

Saw You in a Dream

PJM x Reader oneshot/drabble

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

Pairing: Jimin x Reader ft Jungkook & Taehyung

Genre: fluff, angst, established relationships au, ex boyfriend!Jimin, idol!Jimin au, boyfriend!Jungkook, fiancé!Jungkook, friend!Taehyung, dream au, romance, Comet au, dream au, magic au

Audience: 18+ (minors DNI!)

Warnings: profanity, cursing, mentions of infidelity, emotional turmoil, crying, sad Jimin (so sorry!!), mentions of intercourse/intimacy, brief kissing, insecurities, mentions of anxiety, insinuations of jealousy and regret, mentions of death, mentions of marriage

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: You and Jimin have a history. He comes to you years later with the mention of a dream. Unsure if he’s still dreaming or in denial of the end, all he knows is it feels impossible to let you go.

“Because I’m so happy to see you and I don’t think I’ll ever forget you. I’m trying so hard to remember you like this.”

I saw you in a dream You had stayed the same You were beckoning me Said that I had changed Tried to keep my eyes closed I want you so bad Then I awoke and it was so sad

Song: ꒰ა♡໒꒱ to get with the sad vibes lol

°.♡➹.°

A/N: this is my first published piece on my blog and i know it’s a bit lengthy for it to be a drabble so i guess this can also be a one-shot, not sure. either way, i am glad you’re here and i am glad you’ve given my work a chance! it means the world. as for how this story came to be, it was recently that i revisited the movie Comet and was overwhelmed and inspired by the storyline and thus felt compelled to write my own version featuring Jimin. there are some timeline jumps in this story and i tried my best to make it easy to follow, so i italicized the flashbacks. i also avoided using any detailed descriptions for the reader so it can be more inclusive for my audience. lastly, i dont think badly of Jimin at all, this is simply a fictional story. i absolutely adore him. anyway!! please let me know your thoughts, it would be so so appreciated! i hope you enjoy! ·͜·

(moodboard was created by me with this story in mind)

──·──··✿ ··──·──

Six years after Jimin first met you, he finds himself standing outside your door; a clammy hand clutching a bouquet of wildflowers to his chest and mumbling to himself something you struggle to make out from where you stand, ear pressed against the door. “This is not a dream. This is not a dream,” Jimin assures himself, his voice hushed and trembling. It was his idea to visit you. Uncaring of the time that left a gaping hole between you two, he’d convinced himself to try again, prematurely deciding he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t. He tosses the bouquet to the floor, knocks three times, and with immediate regret, bends down to pick up the arrangement of Cosmos, Borage, and Snapdragons. His heart beats wildly in his chest, the silence striking a brief pang of fear in his being.

You thought you were better equipped but at the sound of his knuckles rapping a weak knock for the second time, you feel your heart jump into your throat. It’d been almost a full year since the last time you two spoke and although proving to be slightly burdensome at first, after many lonely nights of wallowing in regret, you found yourself returning to a lover of years past. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to understand how your heart races and beats inside your chest like a vicious creature that was called by the only being able to tame it.

Out in the hallway, Jimin is pacing and rubbing his forehead continuing his quiet anthem of denying this is some sort of dream. Grounding himself in a reality he’s deeply afraid of.

After another torturous moment subsides, you reach for the doorknob and pull back the door and he’s standing there in front of you; handsome, with dark and melancholy eyes, long hair falling in lazy wisps over his eyes, a nice suit, and the same black boots he wore even on days he swore he made little effort to appear well dressed. You can’t help it, you smile warmly at him, and through bright eyes that always smiled first, he returns the affection.

“Jimin, come in.”

He follows you in and absentmindedly sets down the bouquet on the couch as his eyes begin to take in your living room. His wandering eyes flutter from picture frame to picture frame, from curious knickknacks adorning your shelves to the books arranged by the stereo, then back to you. He saw it; the framed photo of you and Jungkook sharing a kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower. He doesn’t mention it, instead, he turns away sharply and faces your kitchen. Rubbing above his nose bridge the way he used to after watching sad French movies with you, denying the ending got to him as his eyes welled with tears in secrecy, he picks up the bouquet from the couch and offers it to you, a timid look invading his otherwise emotionless face.

“Your cabinets are green,” is the first thing he says to you. You meet his eyes and he swallows at the saliva in his throat; his bright eyes are sadder now, avoidant of your gaze and when you offer him tea, he shakes his head no and sits down on your couch and doesn’t say a word for what feels like an eternity.

“You wanted to see me?”

He nods. His right leg shakes and he’s sniffing, his eyes fixed on the coffee table in front of him. “Is that….?” He signals at a framed photo of Jungkook where he’s pointing at a neon sign from a bar in the states.

You nod in confirmation, offering him a tight-lipped smile.

“Ah,” is all Jimin says for a moment. Then: “I wasn’t picturing him to look like that. I hoped he’d at least be ugly, sorry.” You laugh at his honesty and he lets out a chuckle, shaking his head, sucking at his teeth, and avoiding your eyes as he continues. “I wanted to tell you that I had a dream last night. About us. About the time we were together, except it wasn’t really a dream. It was like my life was flashing before my eyes and I was seeing everything I’ve lived all over again.”

You stand in front of him, quietly eyeing him. “I thought you didn’t have dreams,” you comment, smiling at him.

He looks up at you with a grave expression. “I don’t. That’s why this got to me. And it wasn’t even like a dream, it was as if I was dying, everything moved on so quickly and I got to watch us fall in and out of love over the years. I saw us, on the first day we met; then I saw us again in Seoul the evening we argued on the rooftop before the wedding” His voice is unsteady and he clears his throat. “I saw us in my dream, in Itaewon, remember?”

You nod, succumbing to the memory he’s referring to.

✧༚

It was January. You and Jimin had been separated for almost two years at the time and you were in Itaewon after your mother stopped in the city to grab a meal before resuming the trip back home. Inpatient and driven by the boredom of the company of a mother you couldn’t converse with for long, you’d decided you would find someplace to unwind in the meantime. It was beginning to grow dark out as you made your way through the deserted street when a door swung open and a voice yelled out your name. It was Jimin. He’d seen you walk past the window of the pub he sat in with your mutual friend, Taehyung, eating stew kimchi jjigae and going over the week’s work schedule. Without your knowing, he’d begged Taehyung to lend him his jacket to hide the kimchi stain on his t-shirt moments before he bolted to the front door to call you. He offered to be Taehyung’s genie in return for the favor and he paid no mind to the way his friend asked him to leave you be. You turn at the sound of his voice, in this memory, and you can almost feel the way your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him waving at you from a distance.

You grin at him, letting him know you remember.

“I also dreamt of the last time we spoke. On the phone.” His voice is quieter now and you walk away from him, remembering that last conversation, your smile dissipating. “You really hurt me. I should’ve said I loved you more. I know that now but even after all this time, I think of that phone call and it hurts. Even if it was my fault.”

✧༚

The day of Jimin’s birthday landed on Friday that year. You were driving back home when he called you, interrupting Amy Winehouse’s ‘You Know I’m No Good.’ You bit back tears and fought the urge of allowing the call to ring and go to voicemail. How could you tell him that you’d met someone else? That you might like this person, despite being with him for two years. You met Jungkook a few months ago at an art exhibit in Busan. Both your companies were collaborating on a project and they’d sent you to meet the group of collaborators in charge of setting up the function but due to a stomach bug that swept your office, you were the only person available for the trip. He was your age, with dark round eyes, and a smile so wide you thought you’d fall in the moment he extended out a tattooed hand to greet you. He was wearing a mossy green shirt he left unbuttoned near his chest with dark pants and boots that generously made him taller than you. Later on, you would find yourself remembering the way your attention was drawn to his masculine beauty and the way he shared what he felt at any given moment. Jungkook was different; he didn’t hide his tears, have an air of indifference, or suppress his feelings of love for you out of the sake of damaging his image; you couldn’t tell Jimin this now, not today. But he knew right away. Something was astray. What was it, he asked over and over. “Nothing, Jimin. I was listening to Amy Winehouse, and it just got to the good part and I wasn’t expecting a call,” is all you offered. “Bullshit!” he shouted in turn. “Bullshit! You’re hiding something! What is it?” His voice boomed through your car’s speakers, filling you with dread. “Jimin let’s not do this right now, please.” “Why? What happened? Something is wrong, tell me,” he demanded, his voice cracking through the phone. You sat in silence, parking outside of your shared apartment. You caught a glimpse of your cat Ein fast asleep by the window, and you began to weep. “You’re not saying anything. Fuck, it’s bad isn’t it?” You don’t respond, now crying into your hands. His voice is higher now, altered and coaxed with his inevitable suffering when he says: “It’s bad. This feels bad. Infidelity bad—it is, isn’t it?”

You look at him now, your hands trembling beside you. He stands up and makes his way to you, snapping you out of the bitter memory.

“I should’ve told you I loved you more,” he says softly. His dark eyes bore into yours and it takes everything in you not to cry in front of him.

“Do you regret meeting me?” You ask him. Afraid of the answer.

“No,” he responds, almost breathless. “I’ll never regret meeting you. You were easily the best thing to ever happen to me.” You can feel your face distort as you stifle a sob. “Easily.”

He takes notice of the way you wipe the corners of your eyes and he clears his throat, shifting the attention from his sudden emotional outburst. “So, Jungkook, is it? That’s his name, right?” You nod solemnly. “I just wouldn’t have pictured this, it still hurts.”

“I know,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, you begin to chew the inside of your lip.

“And you, do you wish you’d never met me?”

“I’m glad I met you, Jimin. I am so thankful to you. I know we were young when first met and even when we considered ourselves more experienced the second time, we still didn’t know what we were doing. I needed to meet you. I don’t regret it.”

“Does he know I’m here?” He raises an eyebrow at you, almost amused. You scoff without intending to and rub your forehead, avoiding his questioning eyes. “He didn’t want me here,” he states, his jaw growing slack. He can’t help but smirk at this. “You argued to see me.”

“You sounded worried or something in the voicemail you left me, I don’t know. We didn’t fight but no, he didn’t want you here.”

“Can I?” Jimin stands and saunters over to a framed photo of Jungkook holding up Ein, baring a wide-toothed smile at you behind the camera. He holds the photo in one hand, looking it over, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “And he makes you happy?”

“He does.”

“I wish he wasn’t everywhere I looked, he’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life, there are so many pictures of him.” You’re standing beside him now, admiring the smiling man in the photo, and you feel your lips turn into a frown. There is something so gut-wrenching about looking into the eyes of the man you love while it’s Jimin that holds him out in front of him, reflecting the gloomy air that hangs between the two of you. “I thought I had more time, you know? And this dream feels like a curse. Now I can’t seem to forget anything I lived with you. Life doesn’t even feel real anymore.” He gently sets down the photo, turning to face you, sighing deeply. “I dreamt I was here. Where I am right now, talking to you like this.”

✧༚

You cried in your car, listening to Jimin curse through the phone. “Who is it? Is it that guy…? The one that worked with you in the states, the one you met at the exhibition? Fuck…I can’t remember his name. Jeon Something… is it him?” You mumbled out a stifled “Yes,” earning an agonized groan through the phone. It was quiet for a moment before his exasperated voice resumed on the other line. “Fuck, I knew it. I knew it. You felt so different these past couple of weeks and when you left you kept avoiding me. I knew it. Fuck, I knew it.” His voice was shaky and you considered hanging up, overcome with a sudden urge to run out of your car and fall to your knees on the pavement, prepared to surrender to the sorrowful remorse that shook you. “Jimin, I think I should go.” “Did you fuck him?” The accusation stinging, you stared morosely ahead at the front door of your home, your mouth gaping in silence. “Did you fuck him?” He reiterated. “No, Jimin. It was never physical, I never…” “What was it then?” He interjected, his voice accusatory and perplexed. Jimin was in Busan, visiting his father, sitting outside his coffee shop, as it began to rain. “Just through texts,” you admitted. Jimin groaned at this and you weren’t present but you could picture the way he sat doubled over, crouching and hiding his face in his arms. The rain greeted him without mercy and in moments he was drenched. Unmoving, he pressed you to continue. “Just texts? How long has this been going on?” There was a momentary fraught silence as you mustered the courage to continue this detrimental unraveling of your wrongdoings. He chewed his bottom lip anxiously awaiting a response he dreaded. It would wound him, whatever you said it would bare no difference to the antagonized feeling that had begun to swallow him whole. “Since I got back.” “Fuck,” is all he said. He was rubbing his forehead, forcing himself not to cry. He stood under the relentless rain, masking the tears that clouded his vision, an uncanny feeling of loss coursing his being. “A month.” He repeated. “Jimin, not today, I didn’t want this day to go this way-“ “-the song you were listening to,” he retorts, cutting you off. “That Amy Winehouse song. It was a commentary on our relationship. You’re checked out, aren’t you?”

You’re standing across from him now. He has an air of despair about him that makes your heart falter at the sight of him. “You’re different,” you say, breaking the silence. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and he nods slowly, silently agreeing.

Jimin’s stomach feels emptied and his limbs feel foreign; he fears that a miscalculated step will send him tumbling. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation of having lost all control of his movements. He meets your eyes and takes notice of the way your lips quiver willing you not to cry. He blinks away tears and rubs his nose, sniffing. “You’re different too,” he remarks, cracking a shy smile. “Still so beautiful, though.”

You blink at him, your fidgeting hands restless in your lap at his compliment. “You really dreamt this? Being here with me like this?” Your voice comes out quieter than you’d intended and he nods at you, a desperate look in the darkness of his tearful eyes silently begging you to believe him. “What happened in this part of your dream?”

He sighs deeply and looks down at his trembling hands. “I don’t know. I kept traveling back and forth between the beginning and the end, I don’t really know how it ends. I’m not even sure I’m not still dreaming.” He swallows hard, not wanting to break away from your stare. “I love you and I know now where we began to fall apart and I tried so hard to fall back asleep and go into that dream and fix it but I couldn’t.” His voice is low, shaky and he starts to rub above his nose bridge again when your gaze falls to the ground at him saying this. “Don’t marry him,” he drawls suddenly.

“Why are you doing this, Jimin?”

He’s standing close to you now, you can feel it. He’s standing so close you can smell his cologne; the smell reeling you back into a space and time where you loved him.

“You have an air about you I can’t explain, it’s so different, and you don’t have a ring on your finger but I’ve seen you fidgeting with your ring finger this whole time; you knew I was coming and you didn’t want me to see it, and I can see you’ve been listening to Amy Winehouse again. You’re not happy. Don’t marry him.” His voice doesn’t waver, carrying the same certainty his words always possessed. Like a tree that cannot be moved, he was always so sure of himself.

You look down at your left hand, ringless and strange looking now that it’s brought to your attention. A hand that almost resembles a stranger’s hand, reminding you of the time you asked him why he refused to marry you. You frown at him, completely unaware of how often you grazed your ringless finger, you feel your face hot with indignation.

You’re still. With your breath hitching in your throat, fat tears welling up in your eyes, and blurring your vision, you turn to face him and almost collapse into yourself when you see the innocent hope in his dark eyes. He’s sure of what you’re going to say, you can tell by the way he’s inching closer and is bouncing on the heels of his feet, eager for you to reciprocate. Jimin feels the warmness pooling in his face, his body beginning to tingle with anticipation and worry.

“I love him,” you say, watching his face distort and overcome with grief. “I’ve been tired because we’ve just moved in here. I am different, Jimin. I’m happier. And I’m not wearing my ring because it’s getting resized and I really just like Amy Winehouse,” you carefully explain. Like setting down a wounded bird, not wanting to further the injury or inflict new ones.

He takes a step back from you and a tear rolls down his cheek. His lips tremble and he rubs in between his forehead, turning away from you once more, to cry facing the cruel evidence of his delayed consciousness. Then Jimin realizes, without saying so, that you were the only person who had penetrated his being and willed him to pursue his musical career as he began to give in to defeat despite being neglected in sacrifice, and for the first time in the years you’d known him, he began to cry in front of you. In an instant, he discovered a newfound sense of woe that jolted him to sit down and sob into his trembling hands. Inconsolable with his newfound heartache, he realizes he might be too late. It’s beginning to feel like a nightmare he can’t pull himself out of. And perhaps he deserves it, perhaps it’s been written in the stars to end this way the same way it’d been written he’d see you and feel inexplicably drawn to you all those years ago.

You leave him to lament and decide to fill a vase for the bouquet that wilts in the melancholy air. Your legs lead you blindly, your mind a puddle of recollections and unnerving feelings you’re unsure how to process.

✧༚

The evening in Seoul two years ago resurfaces as you fill the vase with water. Your glassy gaze is out of focus, vividly recalling how the chilly air stung your cheeks on the rooftop. “I don’t understand why you can’t just say you have someone when they ask. You don’t have to say my name, Jimin. I just want to feel like I exist, not only when we’re behind closed doors. I am so tired of hiding,” you sighed. “You know why, baby. You know it’s not as easy as we both want it to be.” “I know, I know,” you mumbled walking past him and clipping up your hair. “So, then are you almost ready for the wedding?” “No, I can’t find my earrings. But don’t change the subject, it makes me feel so bad about myself when you act like that.” “Like what?” He side-eyed you, bracing himself for a short-tempered response. “Like you don’t care. I don’t know why you say you love me and you constantly act like the things I say don’t matter and you just change the topic. It’s so annoying,” you snapped, storming in the opposite direction. “I do care!” He called out as you faced away from him. “Hey! Come back. I said I do care, c’mon. I just don’t want to be late for the wedding, can we please talk about this later?” “Are we ever getting married?” You wondered out loud. Distracted and monotone without meaning to be, he fingered the ring he had in his pocket as he replied: “Of course, we will. I love you.” His pensive stare fixed on the distant mountains ahead, he went over his speech internally, deciding tonight would be the night he’d finally propose after years of denying you the satisfaction of publicly being linked to him as anything. But at the sound of his voice, hurt and full of resentment at being hidden from the world for so long, you spat: “Does it not bother you that I am not happy?”

Jimin watches you from where he’s seated, solemn and silent. Devastated by your response, and unable to find the right words to say, his restless leg bouncing beneath his cupped hands, he gives up his efforts of saying anything. He thought he was capable of uncovering your truth and walking away unscathed after the time you’ve spent apart, yet he remains paralyzed with agony and a slow thudding in his chest he can feel up to his ears. A nagging part of his being refusing to accept the definite end urges him not to surrender just yet and his lips part to speak just as the vase slip from your grasp and shatters into hundreds of unrecognizable pieces.

Flustered, you grab a broom and begin to sweep up the mess. “It isn’t like you to cry,” you comment, looking over at him. He sucks his teeth, a habit he picked up when he didn’t know how to come up with a lie. A habit he’d never been able to shake. “You don’t have to say anything, Jimin. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve realized in getting older that it does nothing to suppress tears. I spent my whole life being told how to be a man, how to feel, and how I should look when I am at the lowest point of my life and the truth is, I like to cry. I held on to everything for so long I never knew where to put it.” He’s not crying anymore, but his nose is rubbed into a faint blush and his piercing dark eyes are rimmed red from crying. His eyebrows furrow, a hurt expression taking over him. “Don’t tell me you love him.”

“But I do,” you retort, dumping the shards of glass into the trash bin, looking straight at him. “You can’t just show up here, talking about dreams, and tell me you still love me and expect me to leave him for you, Jimin. It doesn’t work that way.”

He knits his eyebrows, his glassy eyes void of any strength they had, hurriedly blinking away at stray tears that betray him. “No, I know that. It’s just…” he moans, running a hand through his dark hair. “I can’t exist in this world without you. I used to talk about having time to settle, I know I was naive to think we had all the time when you were slipping from me. I don’t feel that way anymore. I walk around every day, just a shell of the person I was when I wasn’t drowning in this solitude and I can’t shake the feeling that you’re who I’m supposed to be with.” He feels immobile, shaken, and discarded but he clenches his jaw and wipes at his eyes hastily to appear stronger than he is. The truth is, he’s never felt so small.

“I’m happy I met you, Jimin. I am, but I am not who you’re meant to be with. We both know that. We’ve done it all before. It was perfect until it wasn’t, and now I am with Jungkook and I’m happy. I’ve found what I was missing with you.” He winces at the latter.

Silently, he paces around the living room. His eyes look over the photographs of the two of you scattered about the place, like easter eggs full of remorse, broken promises, and deceit of years past. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to let you go,” he confesses, shooting you a pained look. He groans into his hands, a strangled sob escaping him. You hadn’t noticed, but you’re crying. “I’m glad you’re happy, I really am. Even if it’s not with me. I thought I had you the way you’ve always had me.”

You open your lips to protest and he interjects with: “Give me a moment, okay?”

You make your way closer to him, making him look up from his now crouched position. He’s crying silent tears, his gaze distant and unmoving.

“I keep thinking of that dream. If I could’ve just stayed there, this wouldn’t be happening.” He’s shaking his head, mumbling incoherent words to himself. Then out loud, a final confession: “I almost proposed to you.”

Your heart rings in between your ears and you can’t hide the trembling of your lips as you sit beside him, bringing your face into your palms. “Don’t tell me that, Jimin.”

“It’s true, the evening we argued on the rooftop when you asked why I didn’t tell the world about us, I had the ring with me but after our fight, I tossed it as far as I could when you went downstairs to greet your mother.” You frown, unsure of how to go on. Jimin’s body shakes with each sob that escapes him and he’s wishing he was wrong and that this is really still somehow a part of his dream of memories. For the first time since he walked in, he brings himself to really look at you, his stare unwavering and brimmed with sadness. He feels an irresistible urge to take your hand in his and kiss you one last time, now accepting his fate with totality.

“I don’t know how I’ll get on without you. I’m really sorry.” He hangs his head low, his voice serious and sincere. “I broke your heart and I never really deserved you but the truth is, I feel so stuck. I don’t know why it feels so impossible to let you go.”

“Why are you crying?” You ask him.

“Because I’m so happy to see you and I don’t think I’ll ever forget you. I’m trying so hard to remember you like this.” He lets out a dry laugh and offers you a sheepish grin. You smile weakly at him, wishing you could say something of comfort but not wanting to indulge in any of his false hope.

“How did your dream end? The part you left off on where we talk like this. How does that go?” You look at him through tearful eyes and he inches closer to you, his face now centimeters from yours. Your face is flushing and you can feel his breath, raising the hair on your arms.

“I didn’t finish it. I leaned in to kiss you and I woke up.”

“And how do you know you woke up?” Your eyes sting as they lock with his.

Neither of you has said anything and before you can, he mashes his lips against yours and you’re seeing it too.

✧༚

It was a cold evening in November when you first saw him. You were making your way through a crowd outside a concert, searching for your friend Taehyung who stood in line accompanied by a boy wearing a black hoodie, jeans, and a beanie. He was staring at you as if you were long lost friends, a familiar air that was so dreamy any person who came across him might understand what it feels like to fall into a dream while awake. In all of his life, he’d never felt so bewitched by another presence as you came into view. You were perfect. It was as if the Earth stood still and it was just the two of you. Your serious face brightened at the sight of your friend and you waved eagerly at the pair. His eyes smiled, then his lips pulled back into a wide grin and his first words to you were: “I think I’ve seen you before.”

#pjm:fic #pjm:angst #pjm:oneshot #pjm:sfw #pjm:l2ex #pjm:idol #luareads

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