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Part : 12
Tittle : Her grave, his love...
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Quote : Why does people love others when they are gone, why can't they love back when they are alive?...
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His voice, a raw rasp that barely disturbed the silence, was thick with unshed tears. He didn't look up from the still face nestled against his chest, his gaze fixed on the pale lips that would never curve into a smile again. "Is that what you meant, Namjoon?" he whispered, the words heavy with a dawning, terrible understanding. "'Endless regret'?" The question wasn't accusatory, just a hollow echo of the pain that was tearing him apart.
Namjoon's voice, though gentle, carried a weight that settled like a stone in the already suffocating atmosphere. "The second life… it wasn't meant for you, Jungkook-ah. It belonged to someone else." His words hung in the air, each syllable a fresh wave of agony washing over Jungkook.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Namjoon reached out. His hand, steady and sure, covered Jungkook's where it clutched the fabric of her dress. He guided Jungkook's fingers, gently but firmly, until they rested on the soft curve of her belly. She was pregnant, she had his child in her womb...
The subtle swell beneath his touch registered slowly, a delayed detonation in his already shattered world. His breath hitched, a silent gasp that rattled in his chest. His eyes, wide with disbelief and a dawning horror, flickered down to the slight protrusion, and then back to her still face.
The dam finally broke. A guttural cry tore from Jungkook's throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated anguish that echoed the rending of his very soul. His grip on her tightened convulsively, then loosened as if the weight of this new revelation was too much to bear. He recoiled slightly, his body shaking with violent tremors.
The tears that had threatened finally spilled over, hot and relentless, tracing paths down his pale cheeks, each one a searing testament to the depth of his loss. He was no longer just grieving the woman he loved; he was mourning a future he hadn't even known existed, a life extinguished before it had even begun. The endless regret Namjoon spoke of now stretched before him, an infinite, desolate landscape.
The illusion of time shattered. Twenty-three years meant nothing to him. The vibrant hair flew with the air, as if she was there with him, caressing his soul. He was timeless, untouched by the natural decay that governed the mortal realm, yet eternally bound to this moment of loss.
The white and pink roses in his hands were not a yearly tradition, but a constant echo of her essence, a tangible link to a memory that refused to fade. The vibrant life blooming around her grave wasn't a softening of the cemetery's somberness, but a cruel irony, a stark contrast to the stillness that lay beneath the earth. The uncovered nameplate, 'Jeon (Y/n)', wasn't a detail overlooked, but a deliberate act, a permanent inscription of the void in his immortal existence.
His silent prayer wasn't a newfound faith, but a primal yearning, a desperate plea from a being who existed outside the constraints of divinity, yet was now humbled by a loss that transcended even his immortal nature. He wasn't asking for divine intervention, but simply for her peace, a solace he himself could never attain. The wind rustling through the rose petals carried not the whispers of heaven, but the silent lament of a demon who had learned the devastating fragility of love.
The years hadn't just passed; they had twisted and warped within him, leaving his mind a fractured landscape haunted by her memories. Now, standing at her grave, the line between reality and the desperate longing of his heart blurred completely. He saw her there, beside him, as vivid and breathtaking as the first moment their eyes had met.
Her smile was a radiant warmth that chased away the perpetual chill in his soul. The air around him filled with the delicate fragrance he so vividly remembered, a blend of soft floral notes that clung to her presence. He felt a gentle touch, a soft ruffle in his hair, a phantom caress that sent a shiver down his spine. He closed his eyes, wanting to sink into the illusion, to hold onto the feeling of her nearness, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.
But the cruel reality always returned. When he opened his eyes, she was gone. The warmth faded, replaced by the cold air of the cemetery. The soft floral scent wasn't her; it was the vibrant blooms that adorned her grave, their fragrance carried on the gentle breeze. The phantom touch was nothing more than the air caressing his hair, a cruel trick of his grieving mind. The beautiful vision was just a mirage, born from years of unyielding sorrow and a desperate desire to feel her presence once more. He was trapped in a cycle of fleeting reunions and heartbreaking awakenings, forever haunted by the ghost of his love.
Jungkook finally laid the bouquet on her grave, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the muted grey of the stone. For a long moment, he simply stared at the flowers, a silent farewell hanging in the air. Then, with a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years, he turned to leave.
Behind him stood Jimin and Taehyung, their expressions mirroring his sorrow. As Jungkook passed them, Taehyung gently placed a hand on his shoulder, a silent offering of comfort. "We'll head back to the realm now, Jungkook," Taehyung said softly. "But you… you should stay here a while. Walk in the park, maybe find a garden. Get some fresh air."
Jimin nodded in agreement, his gaze filled with concern. "He's right, Jungkook-ah. You need to… divert your attention. It's important for you." His words hung in the air, a gentle nudge towards healing, though they both knew the impossibility of truly diverting Jungkook's heart from its eternal ache.
Jungkook remained silent, his gaze distant. He offered no acknowledgment, no agreement, but his feet began to move, carrying him away from the grave. With a final, lingering look in his direction, Jimin and Taehyung dissolved into shimmering trails of dark blue and golden mist, their departure as silent and ethereal as their presence.
True to their suggestion, Jungkook found himself in a nearby park. The air was alive with the sounds of children's laughter, their carefree shrieks echoing through the green space. He sank onto a weathered wooden bench, the vibrant energy of the park a stark contrast to the stillness he had just left behind.
He inhaled deeply, the scent of blooming flowers and fresh-cut grass filling his lungs, a faint echo of the phantom fragrance that still clung to his memory. The sounds of play, the sight of innocent joy, washed over him, a temporary distraction from the endless loop of grief that had become his existence.
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[Let's make things better now]
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