#i am not even requesting a day free of pain i recognize that that's laughably unlikely but how about a DAY

[serialreblogger]

hate having chronic illness. every day i have to be like “what is it boy? is it depression? anxiety? dehydration? are we hungry? did we take our meds? want your cane? need walkies? did timmy fall down the old well?” and the answer is always “mgleh. sleep now”

like NO no no no sleeping, we slept for fifteen hours every day this week, we’ve slept plenty please can we just talk about this for one second before you

Ś̶̛̗͈̯̫͈̔͑͝Ļ̷̛̛̲̆́̃͆̇Ë̵̢́͑́͐̔̍̕͠E̵̛̺͙̜̞͚̫̹̯̬̽̓̓͊̔̉̕ͅP̷̡̱̮͍̫̯̋́͊͝

and then u pass out for another 15 hours

[pffbts]

ooooh what about a scene that's more grungy and dark. That would be really interesting in your style of writing.

―genre: fluff; angst; crack.

―characters: park jimin x female reader | no supporting character.

―w.c: 1.8K

―author`s note: this is nowhere near ‘grungy’ or ‘dark’ but i guess there are some deep, underlying pent up frustration and anger in the reader which makes the core point of this little (who am i kidding? it`s almost 2K lol.) fiction. i hope you enjoy it and if it wasn`t up to your expectation then i`m sorry. maybe i`m incapable of writing something like your request. i`m really sorry. but if you like it, please leave a comment letting me know if you`re at least okay with it. thank you, baby. much love

―suggestion: listen to ‘song request’ by lee sora ft. suga of bts while reading this.

[00:10 AM] [smell of machines, a fleeting calming wind from the room heater and the voice of a winner of someone`s love]

― “hey rj, play a song to make me cry smile.” the chit of paper that was in front of his door and in his hand right now lost the confinement of his grip as he reads the words all over again.

park jimin had a fascination for the girl who lived next door, who also as the class arrangement came down with it sits in front of him. it was very laughable – the strings of coincident that occurred from the day he came across you. this girl never gave him a second glance, even if he wasn`t paying enough attention to her. it was just the nape of your neck. the way your hair ended just top of your baby spine hairs.

he was almost caught once when the teacher was passing out the school festival leaflet to the class. he was almost caught pressing that little, tantalizing spot where your hair ends.

it took him exactly two weeks and when he slumped against the window during a free period, staring at your stoic side profile to realize what he was getting himself into. not being a big talk of the class, jimin has always kept himself to his own world where somehow you existed unconsciously.

he felt like a new doctor in the town when he first discovered his feelings for you, a silent romance blooming along with the new flowers of the early spring. he felt like this operation with you would take a while. but time doesn`t listen to anyone`s bidding and soon came the end of middle school. high school came and the girl inside his mind town left him, all alone with his feelings.

it`s been four years and falling out of love has always been tough as he sits in front of his part-time job, in front of the radio mechanics and feels the edges of his round rim glasses.

*

you have heard this a couple of times – the local new late night radio jockey and the girls who whisper about him every day at the back of your class. being not a big fan of radio and their new ways of working, you didn`t spare a free glance to the radio standing on the cupboard in the corridor of your house.

every last year of school days went like this – in the middle of every lesson, there were some girls giggling in their high pitch voice and whisper squeal once in a while when someone said something evidently new about the radio jockey. curiosity got the best of you these days and when you came home two months ago on such afternoon, you told your mother that you`re going to borrow the radio that night.

“really? did your love for radio got revived, hmm?” your mother teased that night during dinner time. all you could do was let a single laugh slip out from your mouth as the chicken melted inside your mouth.

when you lay down after an orgasmic dinner, you stared back at the night-like ceiling of your room. with quiet little steps, you went back to those days when radio was the only thing you would think about. the songs, the names of all the radio jockeys of each station. you turned the tape a little further to the day when your father left both your mother and you in this home. with that went away your first hero and soon came your first love – the radio.

it was your mother`s way of keeping you occupied and not let you cry over your abandoned father. it was raining that night and when the young radio jockey asked for requests, your mother collected you in her arms making you sit on her lap and pulled the radio close to both of you. she came close to your ears and whispered, “hey rj play me a song to make me smile.” you remembered looking at your mother and letting out a stream of a giggle with her. “mummy!” “why? don`t you want to be mummy`s rj?”

you laughed at the sudden memory and when you opened your eyes, your eyebrows shot up. turning your head to your sides, you glanced the clock which read 11:57 PM. oh no, you jumped from your bed and almost ran to pick up the novel sized radio and put it on your bed. you searched your memory for the name of the station. picking it up, you let it play on its own. it was some random local song.

laying back again, you turned over facing the radio, the speaker at your eye level and a voice spoke all of a sudden almost coordinating with the widening of your eyes.

*

the current silver-blue coloured boy with round rim glass caught you staring at him with squinting eyes, looking almost like a funny character from some comic book he can`t remember the title. he waved his hand at you but you remained there, in front of your window – the curtains finally thrown apart – like a statue. jimin stared behind him, and pain suddenly shot through his neck. ugh, these late night shift really was taking a toll on his physical health.

anyway, he turned just to search for anything that you might be glaring at and not him. he really didn`t want it to be him. wait, did you actually recognized him? do you really know that he now works as a late night jockey at the local radio station? fuck.

park jimin could flirt with anyone, literally anyone. even the local dogs know only honey leaks out of his eyes. literally, everyone in the town was whipped with his very voice. all you could hear in your brain was how does this boy who sat behind you all throughout the middle school without any group of friends, without any girlfriend suddenly has a degree on how to voice fuck the whole town. you really stopped yourself from falling in that deep pit hole last night.

but it was not just that – you pulled the curtains together and fell over your bed again after that staring contest – it was that he made you remind of your first love. the way you picked out all the memorandum of emotions behind these closed doors of your head. you felt for the first time, after a really long time that somehow a ray of sun ray has entered into your room lighting up that polaroid of you sleeping by the radio as a simple, a very regular three years old.

park jimin – his voice, his little giggles and his stupid nickname for his show – what was it again? – oh yes, “an ode to the girl in front of me.” and not just that – he always asks his request callers to help him find a song for this girl he can`t fall out of love just to make her smile. you rolled over your bed and just as your face came in contact with your pillow, your eyes went wide again.

jumping from your bed and accidentally hitting your ankle you limped to the window again. the wave of scream that started building its speed up to your throat met with a red light when you saw the curtains of jimin`s room drawn in – indicating that he might be sleeping after staying up late at the radio station. hmm, acceptable, you said to yourself.

*

the show never starts until 12:00 A.M strikes. so you considered yourself that you had enough time. putting on your snapback hat, a loose white t-shirt and home shorts, you walked towards the house next door around 10:00 P.M. even though the door was lock and the only voice you could hear was the television playing some random Korean drama, you couldn`t help but put up a little smile across the corner of your lips.

completing your so-called job, you turned your back to the door and came home jogging as silently as possible. your mother asked you if she would call for takeout tonight instead of homemade food. you nodded your head, giving a soft once-over. the hard working woman in your house sometimes needed her much deserved rest, right?

then you remembered what you had to ask her. going down the stairs again, you saw your mother already on her phone. she looked up at you wiggling her brows. you sniffled a laugh and point at the radio that sat silently beside the home phone. she closed her eyes and motioned her head to let you take it with you.

smiling ear to ear, you carried it to your room. placing it on your bed, you waited for a sudden breeze of air to fill up this dry void of your heart.

park jimin took a deep breath and calmed down his highly active heart. the digital clock beside his microphone said 00:05 AM – he was five minutes late to the show but he felt like a winner at this moment.

clearing his throat, he spoke into the mic, the little chit of paper inside his grip –

“to the ones listening, this is finally the night of the much-waited ode. this is to the girl who is in front of me. this is to the girl who is there finally on the other line.”