Chapter Text
Taehyung finds the notebook in the dumbest of ways. That is to say, he lands on it face first.
Taehyung doesn’t enjoy dumpster diving. He still feels queasy eating food plucked from a moldy tin can. (Especially after the time he picked up a paper bag, and it split open into a nest of maggots. Yikes.) But half of his income goes to pay rent and the other half goes to tuition, and – dammit – a boy’s got to eat.
The Donut Shop dumpster is the least dumpy dumpster on the block. The workers take out trash at the same time every night; if Taehyung times it right, the donuts are basically fresh from the store. Sometimes he does have to extract them from a musty pool of unknown liquid, but he tries not to dwell on the negatives.
Today, Taehyung sidles up to the dumpster and pries open the lid. The donuts sit waiting at the bottom, and he lugs himself inside to grab a few. As Taehyung dives, his foot lands at an odd angle and slides. He flails his arms as his legs give out underneath him. His hand loses its grip, banging his forearm along the walls. Taehyung drops. His face smacks the bottom of the dumpster.
“Oh, fuck me,” he says to the donuts amassed around him. A rancid scent overwhelms him from all sides. Taehyung does his best not to breathe, but it doesn’t work. Instead, he rolls upright and brings a hand to the growing swell on his cheek, hissing at the pain.
As he turns, Taehyung’s hair catches in something he can’t see. “Please be a donut,” he whispers, reaching up a hand to free himself. But instead of some spurned pastry, he finds his hair tangled in the distinct spiral binding of a notebook. He unravels his hair and shuffles the book out from underneath his head.
Lying on his back and surrounded by donuts, Taehyung holds the notebook up to the light. It appears brand new. The cover is a simple white: no title, no brand name. Flipping through, he notices that not a single page has been used or torn away. It’s odd, but the notebook hasn’t even a stain or sodden corner from sitting on the dumpster floor.
“Who’d throw away a pretty thing like you?” he asks, thumbing through the pages. The notebook doesn’t answer.
Taehyung nicks a donut to his left, a pink frosted thing with rainbow sprinkles. He holds it between his teeth as he stands, ignoring the uncomfortable cling of his clothes to the dumpster floor. He gathers a dozen donuts into his arms and climbs from the dumpster, clutching the notebook in his spare hand.
~~
Taehyung takes the notebook – and the donuts – back to his apartment. He throws it on his desk and promptly forgets about it.
Months later, Taehyung comes around to cleaning up his desk. He discovers the notebook under an unopened economics textbook.
“Dumpster notebook, you waited for me!” he pronounces. He flips through the pristine pages, intently ignoring that they’d once mingled with rat poison. “Sorry it’s been so long,” he says, “I wanted to start a diary, then I got so busy.” Taehyung sits decidedly and clears an empty space on his desk. He pulls a pen from his drawer, clicks the end twice, and opens the notebook to the first page.
“Today is the day,” says Taehyung, “the day I finally start my diary.” And so, Taehyung writes.
Dear diary, he begins. He’s pretty sure that’s how you’re supposed to start a diary. He doesn’t really know; he’s never written a diary before. Taehyung frowns, tapping the desk absently. He crosses out the line and instead writes:
Hey, homeskillet.
Shitty day today. Had economics lecture for two hours, and I’m pretty sure that’s where dreams go to die. Bright side, though, the professor has this long mustache that he needs to trim more often. He always gets crumbs and food bits stuck in there after lunch, so me and Hoseok made a game where we have to guess what he last ate. Today was definitely garlic bread. Hoseok thought it was tuna sandwich, but you can tell Hoseok to suck it because I work at a cheap Italian restaurant, and I can tell a garlic bread crumb from a mile away.
Hoseok makes economics less terrible, and I don’t think I’ve ever thanked him for that. I should do that tomorrow. Maybe I’ll bring him some garlic bread.
The rest of the day I had work at the restaurant. I’m still new, but they’ve given me some extra shifts lately, and it’s helped a lot. I don’t have to dumpster dive anymore, and I even have some cash leftover after rent! Jungkook calls it my “treat-yo-self” money, but I try not to use too much. Never know when I’m gonna need it, you know?
I don’t normally mind working extra hours, but today was rough. This one group was a major pain: kept changing their order, asking for extras, making snarky comments. You know how it is. But then, they left a handful of quarters as tip. Quarters! Barely three dollars worth! Seokjin saw it all go down. He had to force me into a chair to stop me from running after them. Seriously, I was ready to chuck those quarters right back at them. Quarters. What dipshits.
I wish I had one of those expensive massage chairs. Damn, I need a massage right now.
I guess you’re the highlight of my day, aren’t you, dumpster notebook? Thanks for showing up when I needed you. You’re a real homie.
Ya boy,
Kim Taehyung
Taehyung clicks his pen shut and smiles. He kind of likes this diary thing. There’s something liberating about venting onto a page. He closes the notebook, satisfied, and walks away.
~~
The next day is a lot less terrible. Taehyung meets up with Hoseok for lunch and brings him a bag of garlic bread from the restaurant. “As proof that Dr. Sungdeuk one hundred percent was eating garlic bread yesterday,” he says solemnly, presenting evidence before the jury, “and also because you’re a great friend.”
Hoseok jumps for the bag and stuffs an entire slice in his mouth. He muffles through the dry crumbs: “It tastes so good to be wrong.”
The day gets even better because it’s board game night with his roommate. Jungkook is waiting for him when he gets home, arranging the saltiest, greasiest snack foods into ceramic bowls. Games are stacked in a precarious tower on the dining table. Taehyung spends hours ignoring his homework and being utterly devastated by Jungkook in every single round. It’s fantastic.
Before bed, Taehyung returns to his diary. He opens to the second page, ready to begin a new entry, but he stops.
A second entry is already written in well-practiced cursive. The entry says:
Dear Sir who writes in prose so odd,
Your message I have just received.
Could this have been an act of God
Or does my mind have me deceived?
Your writing on its own appeared
Upon the page while I did sleep
But was it written that I’d hear?
This ‘dumpster notebook,’ is that me?
If yes, then grant this book’s request
And write another line for me.
If fate so wills, I would be blessed
To share a good soul’s company.
Yours, in wonder,
R.M.
Taehyung reads the entry twice. And a third time. He closes the cover and opens it again. The entry still remains.
He swipes a pen off his desk and flips to the next page. Taehyung writes:
To R.M. (if that is your real name),
The dumpster notebook talks back! This is wild! I’m in shock!
Just kidding, man, I know you’re fucking with me. Unless you’re Voldemort. If you’re Voldemort, please leave me the fuck alone, you terrify me. Really though, you’re probably either Jungkook or you’re working with him to pull an elaborate prank. There’s no way Jungkook could write cursive this well, so I’m betting you’re someone else … I’m kind of impressed. Writing in my notebook is an interesting prank idea. But now I have to figure out who you are.
Let’s make a bet. I get twenty tries to guess your name. If I win, and if you’re not Voldemort, you buy me lunch.
Deal?
- Taehyung
Taehyung smirks at the page. Twenty guesses – he can find their name in twenty guesses, easy. He’s already sure the prankster must be another student, friends with both him and Jungkook, probably an English major. He goes to shut the notebook when –
Taehyung freezes.
A curl of ink sprouts just below Taehyung’s completed entry. The mark grows into a capital D and the D becomes a ‘Dearest’. Taehyung gapes as the ink scratches its way across the paper, forming tightly packed letters in uniform lines. The ink signs off with a flourish, flicking its way across the page. Taehyung reads:
Dearest Kim Taehyung,
Your humble words, they ring so sweet
That every syllable strikes me.
There’s nothing I can do
Against the joy of meeting you.
You wish to guess my name, you say?
I am no mystery, guess away!
And if I win, I’ll ask
Of you one question back.
Yours, in gratitude,
R.M.
The entry ends.
This is no prankster, Taehyung realizes. No college student with half an English major, elaborate handwriting, and too much time on their hands.
With a trembling hand, Taehyung puts pen to paper and writes:
Oh God, oh fuck. Voldemort. You’re Voldemort. Shit.
He slams the notebook shut and tosses it to the corner of the room. The notebook – the sentient notebook – watches him as it settles against the dusty baseboard. Taehyung grabs a blanket and flees his bedroom. He dives onto the couch and hides his face against the cushion. Taehyung wraps the blanket closely around him and shivers.
~~
“The notebook’s haunted, I swear. It’s a Voldemort notebook, hyung. Voldemort.”
“Tae, Voldemort isn’t real.”
“It talked back to me!” Taehyung says into the phone. He sits at the bus stop, knees bouncing erratically. “What else could it be?”
A sigh comes through the line. “I don’t know, some kid’s journal?” says a low voice. “There’s so much fancy technology in kid’s toys these days, who knows what their journals can do.”
“Kids don’t write in iambic meter, hyung.”
“If it scares you so much, just throw it away. You don’t have to keep using it.”
“I left it in my room, hyung,” Taehyung shudders, “It’s waiting for me to come back, waiting to strike. I don’t trust it. I can’t ever go home again.”
“Okay, I’ll come over and throw it away for you.”
“No, Yoongi, I can’t let you sacrifice yourself for me like that!” Taehyung closes his eyes and nods firmly. “I’ll do it. I will. This is my burden to bear.”
“It’s a notebook,” says Yoongi.
“Yes, it is. A Voldemort notebook.”
~~
Taehyung unlocks his apartment, door creaking open and casting sunlight into the dark room. He steps one foot in the entry and flips the lightswitch. Cold fluorescence flickers on.
He enters and locks the door behind him without turning his eyes from the silent hallway. He proceeds, holding his key before him like a battle-worn dagger. A roar sounds outside – a car with a growling engine – and Taehyung definitely doesn’t jump because he isn’t freaking out at all. He takes a long, slow breath. His bedroom door looms at the end of the hallway with the door cracked open. He places a hand on the surface and gives a firm push. The door swings wide.
Taehyung jumps into the room. He slices his keys assertively and launches a kick into the air. He waits. Nothing happens. He lowers his leg, slowly, and lowers his keys even slower. The room is as he left it, his bed unmade, his laundry dribbling out of the hamper. The notebook is hunched in the corner. Taehyung watches it. The notebook doesn’t move.
He walks overs and pinches the spine between two fingers. He brings it to eye-level and pokes it once. The pages crinkle in annoyance.
Taehyung sits and gingerly opens the cover. The first few pages are the same words he’s already read. But below his quaintly put, “Oh God, oh fuck. Voldemort. You’re Voldemort. Shit.” a new entry awaits. It reads:
Dearest Kim Taehyung,
A bold first guess, I must confess.
You may have chose too quick.
But though the name I cannot claim
You’ve nineteen more tries to pick!
Yours, amused,
R.M.
Taehyung frowns. He doesn’t remember Voldemort being so eloquent in the books. He’s also pretty sure Voldemort doesn’t use exclamation marks.
Taehyung flips a page and writes:
RM,
Wow, I think I was totally wrong.
So I’ve been freaking all day thinking you were some evil notebook that’d hypnotize me to murder a cat and set loose a homicidal demon snake. I’m not normally this crazy, I swear. But how else was I supposed to respond when my diary started talking back to me? I read those books when I was eight, and they really got in my head, you know?
You’re not Voldemort though. That’s cool. I’m still a little freaked out, but you don’t seem all that murdery. What’s it like living inside a notebook? Or are you like…a sentient notebook? Shit, wait, maybe you’re a ghost, and the notebook is your tie to the earthly plane. Maybe I could destroy it to set you free? Or would that just trap you here forever…
Look, I’m new to this whole supernatural business you’ve got going on. I don’t think you’re evil probably. Just tell me what I can do to help you out.
-Taehyung
Taehyung doesn’t have to wait long for a reply. As soon as he signs off, a new entry begins in hurried cursive loops.
Dearest Kim Taehyung,
I worry you’re misunderstood:
You think I live inside a book.
I am no Voldemort nor ghost.
Let’s start again, I should propose.
I am a human, same as you.
I have a body, soul, and view.
I found a notebook in the street
And once I wrote, we both did meet.
I count myself a lucky man
That you have made my world expand.
I only hope you wish to write
To me again this lonely night
Not tell me your goodbye.
Yours, in waiting,
R.M.
Taehyung bites his lip. He picks up his pen and responds.
Hey man, if you say you’re not a ghost, I believe you! Well, I believe it… but I don’t really get it. You picked up a notebook, too? Are we communicating from two different ends? I don’t understand this whole thing. But I’m glad we met! You seem really cool.
I’m sorry I made all this weird. I was kind of terrified for a bit there. But you just rolled with it? How chill do you have to be to not flip out at a talking notebook? It’s actually kind of amazing.
Your poems are so cool. How do you come up with them so fast? Are you a genius? It took you ten seconds to write that last one. I don’t know why you think I’m worth talking to when you’ve got the literary instincts of a romantic poet, but I’m glad you’re talking to me anyways.
-Taehyung
Dearest Kim Taehyung,
You cannot know how reassured
I am that you wrote back to me.
After the conflict you’ve endured,
I worried I may never meet
The kindly soul through which I’ve learned
How large the world can be.
The poetry in which I write
Are practice for these clumsy hands
My poems are my trade and life
I write in verse at every chance
So years from now my words may climb
Beyond this weary land.
Yours, in appreciation,
R.M.
Taehyung writes back and forth with R.M. until his clock blinks furiously at him a time he should long be asleep. He writes a final goodnight, waits for a hastily scribbled, “My Dear Taehyung, farewell/May morning find you well,” and sleeps with a smile on his face.
~~
Writing R.M. becomes a habit. Taehyung begins carrying the notebook around with him to classes. He checks the pages frequently, and he still can’t quite get over the thrill of seeing fresh text where there had been none before.
He starts a new entry:
RM,
Okay so I had a wacky encounter with a pigeon today.
It was following me around all day. Literally to all my classes, to work, everywhere. Except he wasn’t actually following, he was ahead of me the entire time! Like he knew where I was going! I think he was warning me about something… Anyway, I started calling him Mr. Psychic Pigeon, and I think he likes it, but I’m not sure cuz I don’t read pigeon expressions very well.
On another note , I’ve been missing my brother Yoongi lately. We weren’t that close when we were little, but once we got older we started sharing everything. I feel like that’s the opposite way things usually go, but that’s just how we are. We live in different cities now, since I’m in school and he’s off trying to make it as a songwriter. It’s awesome that we’re both doing our thing in this big world, but I really miss him.
Anyway, how are you doing??? How is your day? I know I ramble a bit sometimes, but I really want to hear your thoughts too! Tell me more about that project you were working on, the one with those flowers you were growing in your yard? Are you seeing any results yet?
You better respond quick, you punk! I’m waiting!
Love and roses and flowers and cinnamon rolls,
Taehyung
R.M. responds quickly. Only moments after Taehyung signs off the letter, a fresh dribble of ink starts at the top of the next page. Taehyung smiles a bit, wondering if R.M. also reads through the notebook in his spare time, waiting for a reply.
Taehyung reads the new entry:
My Dear Taehyung,
The conversations they must hear!
(The pigeons do outnumber us,
though harrowing to learn)
I wonder too what secrets birds
would wish for us to know.
My project with the zinnias,
alas, was cut too short.
Those darling flowers could not live
with hailstorms coming down,
with hailstorms coming down.
Winter has not yet begun, and still
some days I shiver.
My talks with you are sunlight
though days are growing shorter.
Please tell Yoongi of your thoughts.
Do not allow him to forget
how much he is loved.
How much he is loved.
Yours,
R.M.
RM,
Of course, I’ll tell Yoongi I’m thinking of him. And that I love him. Thanks for the reminder; that kind of stuff is important, isn’t it?
Do you have someone who loves you, RM? Sorry if that’s an invasive question. You don’t have to answer. I just don’t want you to be lonely.
I know it’s not much, but I really love hearing what you have to say. You’re such an interesting person, and talking to you is the best part of my day. I just want to say you’re not alone. I’m here with you on whatever crazy direction your life is going right now. If you want me to be.
Also, birds were invented by the government to spy on us, obviously. But I’m starting to think the pigeons might be on our side.
Love, hugs, and pigeons,
Taehyung
~~
The months fly by without much change. Taehyung passes economics (barely) but still meets up with Hoseok for lunch every week because otherwise he’d miss that cheesy smile. He works at the same Italian restaurant – though he’s developed a passionate revulsion to the scent of garlic – and still lives with his sometimes best friend and sometimes arch enemy Jungkook.
But what makes time pass so quickly is the journal Taehyung still writes in every night, and the endearing character who writes him back.
Taehyung has learned a lot about R.M. His real name remains a mystery, but Taehyung knows he loves to take walks in the rain just to feel the water drip down his skin. He knows R.M. buries himself in literature, that he spends days at a time hidden in his room swallowing every word. He knows he thinks too much sometimes, so much it consumes him, and he can hardly move. He knows he loves daisies because he believes there’s something beautiful in simplicity.
And it doesn’t mean anything, but Taehyung’s heart still flutters a bit every time R.M. calls him “dearest.”
It’s unusual now for Taehyung to leave his apartment without the notebook tucked under his arm or slipped into his backpack. Between classes he pulls it out and revisits old messages with an absent smile. Sitting in a vacant corner of the library, he rereads R.M.’s latest entry:
My Dearest Taehyung,
I walked along a bridge today.
The river swallowed up the sun.
I envy water’s warm buffet
That I’d have such ambition when
Occasion comes my way.
Taehyung, I have not seen your face
Nor counted freckles on your skin
But I imagine sunset’s rays
Seem poorly in comparison
To that I’ve never gazed.
Yours, in awe,
R.M.
Taehyung takes a quick glance around the library, but there’s no one to see the pink on his cheeks. He ducks his head anyway and responds:
To RM,
Asdwlkefnlknjghhh stopp, you’re gonna kill me. I’m blushing, fuck, how dare you.
I think you’re beautiful too! I think you have a gorgeous smile because you love the world around you so much. And you must have strong hands because you write all day. Strong, sexy, calloused hands. And I bet your eyes are pretty! I don’t have a reason for that one, I just know.
Take that, you beautiful cinnamon bun.
Okay, I know it’s risky, but I’m using my nineteenth guess. I think the R in R.M. stands for Ray. Like a ray of sunlight. It’s a pretty name, and it suits you, so I’m going with it even though I’m probably wrong again.
Do you remember when we first met? I said if I guessed your name, you’d have to buy me lunch. And if I couldn’t, you said you’d ask me a question. Just one question. So as much as I want you to buy me lunch, I kind of want to lose. I want to know what that question would be.
Yours,
Taehyung
Taehyung slams the notebook shut. His heart thrums with anticipation as he reconsiders the words he’d written, wondering what R.M. would think. He takes a minute to press his forehead against the cool wooden desk. Moments later, he reopens the notebook. R.M. has already written a reply:
My Taehyung,
Your kindness is too much for me
When I aspire but to see
Your face before the shining sun
To prove you rival its beauty.
And though your guess again is wrong
The name does not to me belong,
I see our game is ending soon.
You’ll hear my question before long.
Yours, in anticipation,
R.M.
To RM,
I’ll save my final guess for another time, then. I need to end with a bang – the ultimate guess to put all my other guesses to shame. I’m coming for you, mister, just watch.
And don’t try to deflect my compliments with that “your kindness is too much” bullshit. You’re gorgeous, I know it. I can tell every time you talk about nature like you’re blessed just to be near it. And every time you write back so fast I think you must have broken a wrist. And every time you tell me how much I mean to you. That’s beautiful. Everything you do is beautiful to me.
Look, I gotta stop now cuz I’m getting weirdly emotional in the middle of a library and this girl just walked in and she’s looking at me like she’s never seen a grown man cry before. Mind your own business, ho. But really, I should probably leave.
Thanks for talking,
Taehyung
Taehyung glares through his swelling tears at the girl now sitting two desks away. She jumps and stares intently away from him. Taehyung gathers his things and shuffles out the door.
~~
“Hey, Yoongi-hyung, remember that notebook I told you about?”
“The talking notebook? Didn’t you burn it or something cuz you thought it was a demon?”
“Oh my God, no, demon notebook was ages ago. I never burned it. I’ve actually been talking with the person on the other end.”
“Weird, but okay.”
“See, we’ve been talking for a while now. And things have gotten a little flirty. No, scratch that, we’re way past flirty. We’re…I don’t even know what we are. What do you call it when some absolute catch comes along and calls you beautiful and writes you love poetry? I’m just, ugh, I’m absolutely melting. Help, hyung.”
“Wow, I can’t believe we went from demon notebook to that. Have you, uh, ever actually met them?”
“No, I don’t even know where he lives. What if he’s in Peru? Or Russia? Yoongi. Russia. I don’t even like vodka.”
“Tae, just ask.”
“Fuck, I don’t know though. It’s dumb, but part of me…likes what we have right now? Like what if we meet in person, and he decides he hates me, and then that’s it, relationship over. If we just keep writing to each other, he’ll keep calling me pretty forever, and I’ll never get sick of it. It’s perfect.”
“Every real relationship takes risk, Taehyung. You need to be willing to take that step.”
“But what if it all turns out terrible?”
“Then it turns out terrible. And you feel like shit. And you cry. And you move on. That’s life.”
“Dammit. I hate that you’re always right. Okay, once he tells me his name, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna ask to meet him.”
“Wait, you don’t even know his name?”
“Thanks, Yoongles!”
~~
Taehyung puts off asking R.M.’s name. He still writes in the notebook every night, still clutches the book to his chest when he reads a new entry, but he refuses to use his final guess.
The new semester starts up. Taehyung is signed up for a poetry class; it fulfills one of his general requirements, and he hopes to impress R.M. with some poems of his own. But a few classes in, the professor says something that grabs his interest.
“Our next focus is the Romantic-era poets.”
Taehyung looks up from his notes where he’s drawn a yodeling SpongeBob. The professor stands by an appallingly bright PowerPoint screen listing names and dates Taehyung doesn’t recognize. Except for…
“R.M. is the pen name of a romantic poet whose true identity has never been uncovered. Their work was only discovered when a publisher found a notebook that contained a collection of R.M.’s poetry. The man knew he’d stumbled upon something incredible, and he published the notebook to share with the world.”
The professor clicks to the next slide, and Taehyung’s pencil drops.
“R.M.’s poems are written in letter format. When read all together, the work tells an entire story, as if we’re hearing half of a conversation between two lovers.”
The professor keeps talking, but Taehyung doesn’t hear a word. He reads the lines displayed on the screen, instinctively reaching for the notebook sitting in his backpack.
He grabs the notebook and flips it open. He hurries through the pages until he finds the exact words he’s looking for. The page lists the same lines shown on the screen:
, I have not seen your face
Nor counted freckles on your skin
But I imagine sunset’s rays
Seem poorly in comparison
To that I’ve never gazed.
Taehyung closes the notebook. He doesn’t focus for the rest of the class He doesn’t hear the professor continue to discuss R.M.’s poetry, He doesn’t hear when she notes the unusual spaces where a name should be or when she debates the mystery of the poems’ intended recipient. He doesn’t even notice the class is over until everyone around starts to leave. Taehyung tucks the notebook against his chest, holding it in place with a white-knuckled grip until he arrives back home.
~~
RM,
It’s been a long day. I’m tired, I’m anxious, and I’m confused. So just this time, please, don’t write me a poem. I just want an answer.
RM, what year is it for you? I know it’s a strange question. Please, just tell me.
I really want to be wrong.
-Taehyung
My Dearest Taehyung,
If I must write in my own voice, then of course I will. Anything for you. The year is 1820. I hope this alleviates your concern. It is unlike you to appear so troubled.
Are you well? I worry for you. Please write back soon.
Yours,
R.M.
RM,
Oh, 1820. That’s…fuck. That’s what I thought. I really hoped I was being crazy. Look, I’m sorry to be so weird and then just duck out, but I need to think things over for a bit. Give me a few days. Or a week or something. Fuck. I’m sorry.
-Taehyung
My Dearest Taehyung,
I cannot know what bothers you, but for my sake, do not despair long. Come back to me, Taehyung. That is all I ask.
Yours,
R.M.
Taehyung leaves the notebook in his room the next day. And the next. After months of carrying it close to his heart, going without it feels like losing a limb. He finds himself reaching for his backpack before remembering that the notebook isn’t there.
He distracts himself with work. A coworker conveniently comes down with the flu, so Taehyung picks up her hours. All week, he lives at the restaurant, working back-to-back shifts and subsisting on iced tea and garlic bread. Seokjin frowns like he wants to send him home, but Taehyung knows he needs all the workers he can get.
Taehyung stumbles home after another twelve-hour shift. His cheeks hurt from smiling at people he’ll never see again, and his toes hurt from stubbing them while rushing around a corner. He passes Jungkook in the kitchen, sends him a zombie grunt before shuffling to his room.
He plops onto his bed with a huff. Ignoring the growing ache in his back, he toes off his shoes and kicks them to the floor. He groans and snuggles his face into the pillow.
With his cheek melded into pillow fluff, Taehyung has a perfect view of his desk. He sees the diary, and guilt deals him a roundhouse kick in the gut.
Taehyung doesn’t know why it’s so difficult to pick up the diary again. He honestly feels a little dumb. It should have been obvious. The way R.M. wrote, the words he used – when they first met, he’d even called him “Sir.” He’d never been called “sir” in his life. And Taehyung had been so ready to believe there was someone he could love, he’d overlooked all those little signs. It was silly, honestly.
He wonders if R.M. has written back. Or maybe he’s given up and moved on. Taehyung isn’t sure which would hurt more.
He buries himself under a blanket. Taehyung can hear the erratic clinking of Jungkook bustling about the kitchen. His work clothes vex the surface of his skin, and the overhead light hums a pitch almost too high to hear. He knows he needs to get up and change into pajamas, but he only sinks further into the mattress.
Time passes. Taehyung peeks at the diary. The diary peeks back.
A crash sounds from the kitchen. Taehyung jolts up.
“All good! Damn corner cabinet,” shouts Jungkook, muffled through the wall. Taehyung sighs and rolls himself off the bed and onto his feet. He walks to the desk and opens the diary.
Taehyung pages through and winces rereading his goodbye/apology. He still doesn’t know how he feels about everything, but he feels he could have handled the situation better. On the subsequent pages though, Taehyung discovers new entries from R.M. He reads:
My Dearest Taehyung,
I will admit I am no praying man
And yet I pray for you this night.
I pray your fears to end;
I pray your heart to mend.
And as the nighttime passes by
I pray God lets me speak to you again.
Yours, in concern,
R.M.
My Dearest Taehyung,
Again, I hope that you are well
If I hurt you then I did wrong
However that I hurt, please tell
So I may humble my poor self
Or ne’er could I to you belong.
Yours, in sincerity,
R.M.
My Dearest Taehyung,
I miss you in the lightless nights
O’er which this journal pour.
I miss you in the soundless wind
That knocks upon my door.
I wonder if I could have changed
A word that I had said
To calm your heart before was took
Your incidence from me.
Yours, in solitude,
R.M.
My Dearest Taehyung,
I place my faith onto these words
That carried by the sun
Could find your beauty radiant
And bring it into light.
My faith that soon
You will be well
You will be well
I cannot know my word’s intent
Perceived by your keen eyes.
I burden words as best I can
With pieces of my heart.
So hear me now
Taehyung, I love
Taehyung, I love
Yours, in hope,
R.M.
My Dearest Taehyung,
The man of yesterday
The man who thinks too large
And writes in words e’er larger
Speaks words he’d never say
If his sense were great
Or if his heart were greater.
Forgive my brazenness
I spoke without forethought
And courtesy for naught.
I will from now on out
Leave you to your own heart,
My petulance to stop.
Yours, in farewell,
R.M.
Taehyung reads and rereads the entries. His eyes linger on the final lines: “Yours, in farewell, R.M.”
Taehyung scrabbles across his desk, tossing papers and textbooks aside. He pulls open the top drawer and gathers a stack of post-its, a half-used pack of peppermint gum, a wad of old receipts. He tosses them all to the floor and stares into the empty drawer.
“Jungkook,” he calls, voicing pitching into panic, “I need a pen. Now.”
“What?” Jungkook asks. A clamor sounds, as if a dishrack has been knocked off the counter and metal forks scattered across the floor.
“A pen,” Taehyung repeats. He searches through the rubbish, but there’s no pen in sight.
He hurries into the kitchen. Jungkook is crouched on the floor, gathering forks into his arms. “Nothing happened. I meant to drop these,” says Jungkook, clutching a dozen metal forks and reaching for another. He glances at the plastic dishrack behind him, clearly damaged from the fall. “And that,” he adds.
“Kookie, I don’t care. I need a pen. Or a pencil. Whatever.”
Jungkook shrugs, drops the forks, and snatches a food stained cookbook with notes scattered in the margins. He plucks a pen from between the pages. “Here. It’s yours anyway. I stole it for research.”
Taehyung grabs the pen and glances around the kitchen. A pot simmers on the stove, lid quivering over with rising bubbles. The counter is spattered with spilled liquids and powders and a substance that looks suspiciously like strawberry Jell-O. The microwave door swings on one hinge; the inside is darkened with soot.
“What on earth are you doing?” Taehyung asks.
Jungkook waves his fingers mystically. “Science,” he says.
“Is this for your ‘chemistry for idiots’ class?” Taehyung side-eyes the microwave. “Please don’t burn the kitchen down.”
“No promises. Science stops for no man.”
“Then…good luck? Try to survive.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Taehyung looks around one last time. His eyes linger nervously on the bubbles pulsing over the sides of the pot. The bubbles sizzle into charcoal as they hit the stove. Shrugging off his uneasiness, he returns to his bedroom.
Taehyung settles at his desk and puts Jungkook at the back of his mind. He rereads the last two poems. One is a confession, the other a goodbye. The pen turns in loops around his fingers.
He writes:
Hi.
Please don’t go. Not yet. At least let me explain first.
I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet. Sometimes when things get complicated, I just retreat into my head and pretend my problems don’t exist. But that’s a pretty shitty thing to do...to just cut someone off without an explanation. I’m sorry. You deserve better than an “I’m sorry,” but that’s all I can ever give you, isn’t it?
RM, I think I finally figured out this damn journal.
I thought there were two for a while. Two notebooks with some weird connection between them. It didn’t really make sense, but it was so cool, right? I could write to you, and you could write to me, and it was awesome. But I think there was only one journal all along. There’s you writing in 1820. And me writing in 2019.
I was so scared I’d find out you lived in Russia or something, I never even thought you’d live two hundred years in the past. This really sucks.
RM, you probably know this by now, but I love you too. God, I love you so much, it drives me crazy sometimes. Remember a couple months ago? When I was struggling in classes and was feeling really down? You wrote me every day. You told me I had value. I really needed to hear that back then. That’s when I first realized I loved you.
And every day after that, too. You’d tell me about some project you were working on, or some cool factoid about a plant. You amaze me sometimes.
What do we do, RM? I love you. Fuck, I love you. But in my time, you’ve been dead over a hundred years.
I hate this. I’m angry. Not at you. Just at something. Or the world, or this journal, or whatever. Like maybe the two of us meeting was orchestrated by some greater power that just wanted to watch us and laugh. Fuck.
I’m rambling. I know I am. What if you don’t even read this? Maybe you’re gone for good, and you’ve moved on. If you did, that’d be all my own fault. But please be reading this. Please.
-Taehyung
It’s the longest Taehyung ever waits for a reply.
He checks the journal before he falls asleep and the moment he wakes up. Nothing. He sits through lecture and nervously peeks at the pages while the professor goes off on a tangent. Nothing.
The class ends. Taehyung hurries out without making eye contact with his classmates. He passes through campus brainlessly, and the surge of students folds around him. It’s sunny today – why did he bring an umbrella?
He doesn’t remember buying a sandwich, but he finds himself sitting in the university café, munching through a BLT. The journal sits open to an empty page in front of him. Café music spills over the hushed chattering of students. Taehyung notices the song choice. He hates it. The sandwich is gone, and Taehyung doesn’t entirely know how it disappeared so fast.
What if he never hears from RM again?
“Are you okay?”
Taehyung jumps. Someone is leaning over his table with a frown.
The person continues, “You seemed kinda off in class today. Then you ran all the way here. Sorry if I’m bothering you, I was just worried.”
Taehyung squints at the person’s face. “Sorry, do I know you?” he asks.
“I’m Jimin,” says Jimin. “I sit behind you in ethics?”
“Jimin,” Taehyung repeats, not recognizing the name at all. “Yeah, sorry, you just caught me off guard. Did you need something?”
Jimin rolls his eyes and takes the seat across from Taehyung. He tosses his backpack to the floor. “I know we’re basically strangers, so you can tell me to fuck off if you want. But I’m a pretty intuitive person, and I can tell something’s bothering you.” He narrows his eyes at Taehyung, leaning in. “What’s on your mind?”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “Are you a telepath?” he asks.
“Only on my good days,” says Jimin. He suppresses a little smirk.
“Okay, uh, we can talk, I guess,” says Taehyung. “Umm…this is weird, but say maybe there was someone you were interested in? More than interested…someone you’re invested in. But you know you’ll never see them in person or even call them. Let’s say, you can only text. Hypothetically. What would you do?”
Jimin tips back in his chair. “Personally? I’d end it. Find someone else.”
“Really? Even if you were absolutely in love with this person?”
“Yeah. I’d think I deserve more love than that.”
“That’s…” Taehyung swallows. “That’s kind of harsh.”
Jimin gives him a kind smile. “Love is like that sometimes.”
Taehyung riffles his thumb through the notebook pages. “Is it possible to just move on like that? This is the first time I’ve…” He stops himself. “Can you really just go on knowing you had something so incredible, and you left it behind?”
“Would it be better if you knew there was something even more incredible ahead, and you just don’t see it yet?”
“Not really. It’d still hurt.” Taehyung frowns and clears his throat. “Anyway. Different scenario. Still totally hypothetical.”
“Of course.”
“What if you hurt someone? Nothing drastic, but something you definitely need to apologize for. You reach out, you say you’re sorry, and then you never get a response. What would you do then?”
Jimin reaches out and squeezes Taehyung’s hand. “That’s what you’re most worried about, isn’t it?” He hums softly. “The saddest stories are the ones without an ending.”
Taehyung nods.
“I hope you get the response you’re waiting for,” says Jimin. He holds Taehyung’s hand a second longer. “But if not, you’ll carry on. Just a little heavier than before.”
Taehyung blinks suddenly. He gathers the remnant breadcrumbs off his plate, licking them from his thumb. He looks at the empty chair opposite him.
He has a vague feeling someone had been –
That’s silly. He’s here alone.
He checks the notebook again, but of course there’s no response. He loads his empty plate into the bus bin and heads back to his apartment.
~~~
R.M. finally responds.
It’s late in the evening, and Taehyung returns from work exhausted. He wriggles out of his shoes and flops unceremoniously onto his bed. He groans, worming himself into a more comfortable position, and grabs the notebook off his nightstand. It’s become a habit, checking the journal every night before he sleeps.
There’s a new entry this time. Taehyung’s heart thrums, and he isn’t sure if it’s excitement or dread. He reads:
My Dearest Taehyung,
The Mistress Time has had her fun today.
Taehyung, I may outdo the rivers
Courting recluse water to obey
For such the water fell my face.
To solve a problem in our quiet minds
A flaw that both we share, I say.
Apologies, my own reply
Delayed until my eyes ran dry.
These fitful days my mind has muddled how
Some loves can drain us, others fill.
Taehyung, I love, Taehyung, I love,
These words are true and trouble so.
Have not our days been brighter yet than sunlight?
Our nights the warmest of the year?
So temporary to be happy,
So fleeting this reprieve.
Your writings in my longest winter nights
Became to me like comfort new
That one day we would join,
Together winter to endure.
A silly thought – together – like the Heroes
I once read. Crossing boundaries
And combatting societal dread.
Was I not eager too to know!
The loneliness seems willing now. Winter
Welcomes me again. Taehyung,
I am not lonely, by your visage
In my head. It is better though to stop
Lest I cannot rescind.
Yours, in brevity,
R.M.
Hi again,
I know. I feel the same.
Meeting you was one the best things to ever happen to me. I never even got to see you, but you still gave me so much support and friendship and love. I don’t regret anything.
This is really hard, though. Fuck.
I don’t think I can keep writing you. I’m sorry. I really love the idea of being friends, but I think that’s a little dangerous for me. If we keep talking, my dumb brain’s never going to stop being in love with you. I think we need to end this. For good.
I’m sorry.
-Taehyung
My Taehyung,
May every story your life tells
End with sorrow or with joy.
May you never know the loss
Of story without end.
Live well,
R.M.
Taehyung never did guess R.M.’s name.