when yoongi was 9, he kept wondering why the parks were suddenly replaced by another family in their house. yoongi didn’t see jimin for a long time, wondered where he went because he couldn’t even say goodbye to his then only friend and neighbor. now, yoongi is 24, and he’s staring at a boy who looks so familiar standing in his patio, drinking something from a mug as he scrolls on his phone. when he looks up, he catches yoongi staring, smiles, puts his mug down on the little coffee table and jogs across the street right to where yoongi is in his own patio.
“you don’t remember me?” the boy says in smooth english. yoongi stares at him for a while, and the boy opens his mouth again, speaking in korean this time. “yoongi-hyung, it’s jimin.” and yoongi felt really stupid because he could have sworn nobody smiled like jimin did. jimin. his jimin. his old best friend that mysteriously disappeared, went to america, and now he’s back.
yoongi’s laugh is shaky, feeling really embarrassed because jimin recognized him with one look, and yoongi didn’t. he doesn’t know how much time he has with jimin, but just like he always believed, first love never dies, and he didn’t even realize he missed someone he thought he already forgot.