Bleeding Daisies

The Scent Of Rain

The rain had started before dawn, tapping softly against the glass — a rhythm that used to lull Taehyung to sleep when Jungkook’s arms were still his home.

Now, it was just noise.

Another sound he couldn’t escape.

The apartment was quieter than he remembered. Maybe because Jungkook’s laughter had always filled it, or maybe because silence was the only thing that dared to stay after love left.

Taehyung sat by the window, tracing circles on the fogged glass. His reflection looked distant — eyes heavy, lips curved in a faint, tired smile. He wondered when he’d started pretending to be okay. He wondered if Jungkook was doing the same.

Across the city, Jungkook was wide awake.

His phone buzzed with messages — group chats, work emails, a new number saved with a smiley face he didn’t feel like replying to. He had promised himself to move on, to start again. Everyone told him time heals, but no one mentioned how slowly it moves when your heart refuses to follow.

He scrolled past Taehyung’s name in his contacts.

Paused.

Deleted another draft message.

"How have you been?"

"Do you still water the daisies?"

"I’m sorry I couldn’t stay."

They were all things he’d never send.

Taehyung still watered the daisies — even though they stopped blooming weeks ago. He couldn’t bring himself to throw them out. It felt like betrayal, like admitting that what they had was over for good.

He remembered how Jungkook once said, “Daisies are stubborn. They grow anywhere — even through cracks.”

Taehyung smiled at the thought, though it hurt more than it healed.

Sometimes, love wasn’t about grand gestures. It was about the way Jungkook would tuck his hair behind his ear mid-sentence, or how he’d laugh too hard at Taehyung’s half-funny jokes. It was the small things that burned the deepest.

That evening, Jungkook walked home under the same gray sky that used to see them together. Every street corner whispered memories — the coffee shop where Taehyung spilled latte foam on his sleeve, the bookstore where they hid from the rain, the park bench where they first kissed under the moonlight.

He hated how the city remembered everything he tried to forget.

When he reached his apartment, he found one of Taehyung’s sketches lying inside an old notebook — a doodle of a daisy with petals falling off, signed with a small heart. His chest tightened. He didn’t know if he was ready to let go, or if he ever would be.

Taehyung wrote letters he’d never send.

Every night, one page.

Sometimes a line, sometimes a whole storm.

“I saw a boy today with your eyes, and I had to look away.”

“Do you still play the guitar? The one with the crack near the edge?”

“I’m learning to breathe without you, but it feels wrong.”

He folded them carefully, tied them with a ribbon, and kept them in a box under his bed — a graveyard of unsent goodbyes.

Neither of them knew that one day, fate would cross their paths again.

Not because of love — but because some bonds are too heavy to sever, even when both hearts are tired.

For now, they simply existed under the same sky — two souls walking parallel lines, close enough to feel the ache, but too far to reach.

And outside, the rain kept falling — soft, endless, familiar.

Just like the love they never truly ended.