—First life. Jung Family's Residence, year 2027—

For the rest of the afternoon after I had the talk with Hoseok, I secured myself in my old room.

I had never noticed it when I first got back or when I first entered the room, but everything was pretty much the same. My old small bed was still there, the white paint all over the bed frame had been chipped yet the other parts were still intact. The wall seemed like it was freshly painted, and it made me feel like everything in this room had stopped, frozen in time, while the world out there kept going on, spiralling out of control as lives being torn apart.

The only difference I noticed was how small this room felt all so suddenly. Not only because I had grown a lot, for the last time I was sleeping in this very room was during my college days, but also for how much life had been weighing me down. How much I have experienced and had gone through ever since I left this place.

I sat with my legs crossed on the bed, opening an old shoebox that I had just retrieved from my closet earlier. I smiled when I looked at its content, finding everything that I had left behind was still in there. My time capsule, I remembered calling it. And I also remembered how I was sitting the same way I was doing now, sitting crossed-legs on the bed, placing all of this stuff inside the box while I imagined how I would react on the day I would be opening it and looking through them again. Except unlike today, I was not alone. Taehyung was there with me, sitting with his own long legs crossed right across from me on the bed as he added a few things of his own choosing into the box.

I swallowed thickly as pain came to me along with the memory of my long, lost best friend. And my chest clenched even tighter when I pulled out an old polaroid of us, of Taehyung and me, taken on the day we were leaving our homes to attend college.

We were standing next to my father's old car, with our backs on the vehicle while Taehyung had his arm around my shoulder. Our young faces were beaming with excitements despite we were probably still exhausted after packing up our belongings and did our best to fit everything inside the trunk of the car. Seeing our happy, oblivious faces, it made me smile, as I remembered all the things we talked about on that day as we were ready to leave the town. But the smile faded as I looked down under the picture and read the scribbled words, written down with a black marker underneath—

"Reaching for our dreams — 2015"

Dreams.

A wave of emotions came to me just then, as I remembered how we were when we were young. We were so full of hope. We had big dreams. We wanted too many things in life and we believed that we would be able to reach for them as long as we were brave enough to leave our small town. And we were brave enough. We did it all together. But then everything changed. I could not remember when did everything go so wrong; how the both of us changed, how our dreams and our hopes changed. In the end, we both changed into different people and then so did our lives.

And none of those changes was for the good.

That was when I lost him.

"I can't do this again. I can't stay with you."

His face came into mind when I pulled out a few other things that were his; his headband, his golden-rimmed glasses, a silver ring with a ruby stone that he bought during a trip we took on our senior year.

"He doesn't deserve you."

I closed my eyes to hold back the tears that were threatening to come flowing out when his voice echoed in my head. That did nothing to help, however, when his face returned to me. And I was seeing him again; the painful look in his eyes when I reached out to him, the betrayal and anger in his dark gaze when I walked away, the way he kept his eyes on me while I was reading my vow to another man, and then his sad, broken smile which he gave me when he spoke to me with a bitter tone—

"Be happy."

—right before he turned away from me, and walked out of my life only to never return to me again.

I exhaled a long, deep breath, and my whole body shook as every emotion came flowing in and out of me. I stayed that way for a while, until I heard the sound of the front door opening and closing from downstairs.

Opening my eyes, I could hear a soft murmur of a conversation that was happening downstairs. I recognised the voices as my father and Hoseok, and deep down, I knew that I had to come down soon to face him again. The only thing I could do was look around me, letting my eyes scan through the clustered mess I had made on the bed. Taking each of the items in front of me in my hands, I grazed on each one before I started placing them back into the shoebox, one at a time, taking my time to give me another silent moment for myself before I had to face the storm that was coming.

Just when I finished cleaning up and had placed the top lid back on the box, a soft knock on my door called for me.

"Hey," Hoseok muttered carefully when I looked up.

"Hey."

"Um—Dad is back. He asked to see you," he said, looking hesitant for a moment as he searched my face, probably looking for any indication that I was ready to run away. I wanted to. But I also knew that the conversation I was about to have was completely inevitable.

"Sure," I told him as I put away the box. "I'll be down in a second."

"Okay," he sighed, tapping his fingers on the doorway. "Were you, um—looking through your old stuff?" He tilted his chin towards the shoebox on the bed when I raised my brows.

"Oh—" I looked down on my worn down 'time capsule' and smiled. "Yeah," I sighed, "It's just, um—coming back here brings a lot of memories, you know? All the good ones and bad ones, and I just—" I stopped a bit my lips, not even noticing how my fingers were starting to scrap along the chipped edges of the box when I spoke.

"I remember him. Taehyung." I looked up at my brother, forcing myself to smile. "I wish I know where he is so I could tell him that I'm sorry."

Hoseok returned my smile. "Yeah, well—one step at a time, okay? You can start with meeting the guilty old dude downstairs and talk to him."

I could not help but chuckle at what he had referred to our dad with. "Yeah, I guess I should get on with it, huh?"

My brother slipped his hands into his pocket and nodded. "Just let me know if you need me there. I'll be there for you."

His words put a broad, relieved smile on my face. My chest felt warm when I knew that I would not be alone, that I was no longer fighting on my own. His support was everything I needed, and I vowed to myself to always let him know that.

"Thanks, big brother."

A solemn tune of music is softly heard when I walked downstairs. My parents had always had a certain fondness of music, that it became something that had been a huge part of the house. The one part that had once made this place a home. It was when music was being played at the end of the day, as the whole family gathered together after having a long, busy day of their own.

An image of a younger me, sitting in the living room with my brother and our parents after dinner, talking and laughing with either music or TV playing in the background, appeared in my mind, making me smile with a bittersweet feeling in my heart. As I arrived downstairs and turned into the living room, however, it became clear to me that the music was one that was neither mine nor my father's preference.

I found him sitting in the living room, right beside his record player with a couple of cups of tea placed on the table in front of him and a thick white folder set beside it. The appearance of the tea was certainly a relieving sight to see when I was half expecting to see him resort on glasses of liquors. He had yet to notice me coming as he was looking ahead with such a longing look in his eyes, and I silently questioned myself if there were tears lingering there.

I was hesitant to interrupt him while he was in his moment at first. But with a deep breath, I decided that there was no need to delay this any longer. It was not that I was so eager to leave the house, I just wanted to get through this and move on.

So I cleared my throat, as gently as I could to not startle him, before I spoke, "I never really understood Jazz music."

My father turned his eyes on me, and his gaze softened when he finally saw me standing there. "I didn't think that it would be the kind of music I would listen to either," he chuckled. The glow in his eyes gleamed even more prominent and so did the tired lines around his eyes when he smiled. "But your mother sure did love to listen to Jazz. A lot. I ended up getting used to it and found a way to enjoy it."

I turned my eyes away from him and stared at the old record player. "Do you still listen to Mom's old records a lot? Or is it just because of me?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. When I think about her." He released a long, deep breath with his eyes closed before he looked at me again, meeting my eyes as he spoke, "I loved your Mom. I really did. And I still do. There was—is never a time when I stop thinking about her."

There were a lot of things that came into my head. So many questions and all kinds of responses that I was dying to give him after hearing that. But I bit my lips and looked away instead.

"Sit down," he gently spoke to me, making me turn to look at him again. "Come sit. I made us some tea, since Hoseok told me that it helps make your stomach feels better. I know that the treatments would get you occasionally sicker than usual."

I nodded. "Thank you," I said as I sat down in front of him.

"How are you feeling now?"

Looking down on my entwined hands, I suddenly regretted that I have let everyone saw me in pain. That made me feel not only weak, but completely embarrassed of myself. Of my condition. Yet I merely shrugged it off. "I'm fine. I took a few medicines that are helping me to do stuff and endure the pain. It comes and goes—you know, the pain. Most of the days, I just feel really tired and sleepy."

My father only nodded his head and drank his tea calmly. "How long have you known?"

"A few months. I was—it was only after I agreed to start taking treatments when I accepted Hoseok's offer to move in with him. I already found out that I was sick a few weeks before he came around, so it was not like he had been there since the beginning either." I told him, wanting to let him know that he was not the only one who was left out of the loop. And that there were times when Hoseok were not there by my side.

"Hoseok told me everything. All about what you are going through. And he also told me how he came to find you," he said after clearing his throat. He roughly released a scoff and chuckled bitterly right after. "This family certainly needs to fix how we communicate with each other."

His words got me laughing lightly. "Well, I certainly can't argue on that."

"What you said last night. I—" he started. I was still avoiding his eyes when he spoke, but I had to look up at him when he stopped and suddenly fell silent. I already felt his eyes before I saw them, but his deep gaze still caught me by surprise. When I was expecting to see his pride, to see him staring at me with his usual belittling look in his eyes, all I saw then was guilt, warmth, and something else that made me squirm on my seat.

My father shook his head and leaned back. I kept my eyes on him without saying anything as he rubbed his palms on his face roughly. An exasperated grunt came out of him next before his eyes found me again. "I deserved it."

My eyes went wide. "What?"

"I deserved everything you said. I was drunk last night, but I think your words—everything you said last night ended up sobering me up that I stayed up all night, thinking. Like, really thinking, about everything." He reached for his tea, as if he needed to swallow up his pride with it before he could continue. I said nothing and chose to wait for what he was about to say next. "I was never the best parent. For you, at least. I should have—"

He looked away again. "You were a child," he said suddenly, then raised his hand while looking at me again when he thought I would stop him or argue with him. Which I was never planning to do, but I had let him anyway just so he could continue. "You may be already of age back then, being in university and all. But you were still a child then, and you were my child. I was supposed to be the adult one. I should have been the one protecting you, making sure that you were choosing the right path. Instead of blaming you when I failed and then pushed you away. I was supposed to support you no matter what, and be there for you so you would know where to run to when you needed to."

Biting my lips, I remembered those moments when I went home, hoping to have my family to support me. Instead, I was put in the corner with everyone's eyes looking at me, different looks in their eyes as they regarded me—all with despise, disappointment, sadness, betrayal. While I was there, all alone and feeling all kinds of small, like a deer caught in a headlight. Or worse, like a rabbit being preyed by predators that were not there to eat me up, but burn me alive instead.

All because I wanted to be true to my own heart, to what I felt I needed to do.

I felt helpless when all I wanted was to be able to feel loved, to love, to forgive, only to not be forgiven by the people who meant the most to me.

"And I pushed you away just the same. All of you," I suddenly said, instantly leaning back in my seat with my eyes on the abandoned cup of tea on my side of the table. I started to think that I could understand why my father kept resorting to that sweet drink while talking. Admitting my own faults and asking for forgiveness tasted terribly bitter. Like sandpaper. Not that I knew how sandpaper would taste like. "I really think that aside to communicating, our family needs to learn that guilt tripping is really not the best thing to do to make a person do what you want them to."

My father's brows were lifted then. "Guilt trip, huh?"

I shrugged. "It's practically what you guys do. What any of us do when we want things to go our way. You guys tried to guilt trip me by using Mom's condition and my own by refusing to support me or to acknowledge my decision. Then I did the same, trying to make you regret your decision and your acts of hurting me by not talking to you guys." I shook my head when I remembered how childish it seemed now. I also remembered how hurt I was back then that I felt like it was the most appropriate thing to do. That it would be better to stay away from the people who I had thought had hurt me the most. Even if they were my own family, my own blood.

"But I guess that's how we lost each other. We just—stopped trying altogether."

"We also say unnecessary things when we are emotional," he added, shifting in his seat and looking terribly ashamed of himself.

"Yeah, we did that too. We said some hurtful things to each other, too many times to count, even," I admitted with a bitter scoff.

"Forgive me for being a jerk father," he suddenly added, catching me by surprise. Again. And I was starting to feel glad that I took my medicine before heading down here, or else, I might have had to add a heart problem into the long list of things I was dealing with. "I should have—"

"Apology accepted," I quickly stopped him, smiling at him when I saw the surprised look on his face. "I know how hard it is to apologise. And I also apologise for being such a hard-ass myself. Can't help it if our pride and stubbornness run in our family."

He chuckled. "Yes, feel free to blame me and your mother for that part," he said, stopping abruptly as if he was caught of guard when he mentioned about my mother. The empty look in his eyes returned, followed by a sad smile when he sighed. "I missed her. So much. I still do."

I only nodded and looked down. Through my peripheral vision, I saw him reaching out to grab the folder on the table. "I supposed this was your true reason why you decided to come home," he said, holding the folder tightly in his hands. The dark, solemn look in his eyes returned full force. "I, uh—I had considered in telling you to ask for the hospital and search them for yourself when I was still angry about the situation earlier. But it's been years and I'm not sure how a hospital works. I'm not sure if they would still keep anything regarding your mother."

His knuckles tensed around the folder. It was as if he was trying to hold on to it like his life depended on that single folder. A folder that held the proof of my mother's last moments, the last token of her life and her last battle that still existed. "I couldn't keep these at home," he continued with a shaky voice. "So I put this in the deposit box I had in my office. I never thought I would be seeing this thing—or even touch it ever again."

He held it tight one last time before he finally handed them to me. I received the folder carefully and kept my eyes on it as I held it in my hands. "Thank you," I muttered, merely glancing up briefly before looking down on it again.

"Do they, uh—" he started, stopping to clear his throat. If I was not so engrossed in reading my mother's name on the folder, I might have caught my father brushing away his tears. "Did they say anything to explain why you need this?"

I shrugged. "Not really, just to figure out if there's anything that might help understand why my body seems to be rejecting the medicines they are giving me."

"What?" he choked, making me look up again. "What do you mean? H—how bad is it? How—did they tell you the chances of you getting better?"

Right that moment, I could see fear in his eyes. Fear for me. And I was nearly lost for words. "I, uh—I don't know," I started, then I forced myself to smile. "I mean, I still think that I'll be alright. I'm here, aren't I? I'm still capable of going to places, taking trips and I'm still allowed to work. I have more good days than the bad days."

At least, for now. But I chose not to tell him that.

My father still had his eyes on me, as if he was not buying any of it. But then he just nodded.

"These files," I continued, wanting to make things lighter after making things tense due to my slip up. The last thing I wanted was to let other people think that everything is much worse than it truly is. At least, I preferred not to think that it was. "I'm not sure what they are going to do with it, but—well, they asked me if there's any history of any similar illness happening in our family and all I could think of was Mom. And when they asked me about how her condition before—" I lost my ability to finish my own sentence when I remembered my mother, and I had to take a deep breath to push the pain in my chest away. "I just—didn't know what to say to them since I wasn't there to see it for myself and witness how she responded to her treatments, or what kind of treatments she had gotten back then."

I watched my father's pained face twisted to cringe. "I'm sorry," he released an angry sigh, while I released a relieved sigh of my own knowing that the anger was not meant for me, but for himself. "I shouldn't have forbidden you to see your Mother then—you know, during her last moments, when it was obvious that she needed you the most."

"Well, I was there. Technically."

"I was—" he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, showing me his droopy brows as he stared at me. "I couldn't understand why you were so adamant in staying with that—that man, and to marry your husband, back then. Why you kept going back to him when we obviously had witnessed you getting hurt because of him. Why you would choose him over us, time and time again."

As Jungkook was mentioned, his face came to my mind. Then all of a sudden, I was enveloped by all the emotions I have ever had for him, the way he had once managed to make me feel safe, loved, and hopeful. Then I soon realised how much I missed him.

I missed him a lot.

"If you can't understand why, then you probably won't be able to understand how much Mom had loved you when she was alive to be able to forgive you every time you made any kind of mistakes."

Once again, I saw him flinch. He said nothing as a tear fell from his eyes.

If it was any other time, I would have probably eased my way over to hug him. But knowing my father, it was probably wiser to just leave and let him have a moment. So I pushed myself off my seat and started to walk away.

"I should probably, uh—go. Thank you so much for retrieving this for me," I told him, smiling at my father before turning on my heels and started making my way to the stairs.

"You know—" he called out all so suddenly, stopping me in my tracks. His tears were gone, but the pained look in his eyes, all the regret was still there when he looked at me. "I know, I can't change how I was in the past or fix what I did to all of you, to you, your mother, even Kara. And I know that you might not want anything to do with me again after this, or with any of us, if you really can't take us back. But I am still your family. I am still your father. And I will be there to support you whenever you need me to."

This time, the smile that came out of me was the most genuine one, just as genuine as his words and the strong gaze he was sending me, and just as warm as the flutter I felt in my chest.

"Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate it."

The house that had seemed so empty and somber before suddenly started to look a bit lighter as I slowly walked up the stairs. But not so much as my heart. My father's voice came to me, echoing in my head—

"I couldn't understand why you were so adamant in staying with that man—"

And then everything else, everyone's voices also came along, asking me all the questions I kept asking myself for years.

"Why do you keep forgiving him, ______? Why do you keep giving him more chances even after he had screwed you up so many times?"

"Why are you taking him back?"

"To forgive does not mean to take him back and give him what he doesn't deserve."

My knees lost their strength when the answer came to me as soon as the questions stopped, as soon as my heart felt like it was going to be ripped apart all over again. I fell on the floor, hugging the thick folder close to my chest as if it could help me fight off the pain. Not the pain that Jungkook had given me, or the pain from the demon that was slowly killing me, but the pain of not having him by my side and not being able to see or hold him in my arms.

Because I loved him.

I still loved him more than anything else in the world.