I glanced at Jungkook, his head immersed in a book whose cover remained hidden from my view. It was a stark contrast to his usual demeanor, a welcome sight of serenity. He habitually shouldered immense pressure, coiled tight like a spring on the verge of release. Now, finally granted a respite for Christmas, he was choosing to spend it with me.
We’d been friends since childhood. Our neighborhoods intertwined, our schools overlapped. We’d shared countless moments together. As we matured, my feelings blossomed, but I suppressed them. Jungkook was perpetually besieged by admirers, and he often expressed gratitude for my friendship—a genuine connection devoid of romantic interest. So, I continued to bury my affections.
I’d hoped that Jungkook’s entrance into BTS and their debut would extinguish those embers. I imagined millions of screaming fans would quell any further development. Jungkook was frequently absent for weeks, sometimes months, yet he’d occasionally appear at my doorstep, a soft knock preceding his radiant smile. Each visit reignited those long-dormant feelings, yet I remained silent.
Tonight was one of those evenings. I’d just finished decorating the Christmas tree when the familiar knock came. He stood there, holding a bouquet of my favorite flowers, purchased en route. I welcomed him, placing the blooms in a vase. Returning to my seat, I found him already settled on the floor, quietly reading. I resumed my place in my favorite armchair. Most of his visits unfolded in silence. I understood his need for respite—a life saturated with conversation, singing, and interviews. He needed a sanctuary, and I never imposed demands. I never asked questions, simply sharing his quiet company until he spoke or departed, whichever came first. Occasionally, he'd share anecdotes about the other members, their growing closeness. Once, he even hinted at introducing me to them, but I knew he preferred to keep our worlds separate, referring to me as his escape.
I was gazing out the window, watching snowflakes descend, sipping hot chocolate when I noticed a subtle movement. Jungkook was scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper, revising and erasing with an intensity that suggested internal turmoil. I fought the urge to inquire, knowing better than to disrupt the silence. Instead, I returned my attention to the falling snow, mesmerized by its silent grace.
I’d barely set my empty mug on the coffee table when Jungkook suddenly rose. I turned, frowning as he reached for his jacket. Another speechless visit. He didn’t even glance my way before stepping out into the night.
As the door closed, I rushed to the window, watching his car disappear. Tears stung my eyes. I yearned to run after him, to confess my feelings—feelings I'd harbored for years. But what was the point? I stepped back, unable to bear watching his car vanish. A soft crunch beneath my feet caught my attention. I looked down and saw the paper he’d been writing on. Folded neatly, it bore my name scrawled in his endearing handwriting. I unfolded it, my breath catching in my throat.
Merry Christmas, I love you.