Aeri had always been the kind of person people liked to call cold, distant, like fog floating in the distance during cold winters. She listened more than she spoke, liked to observe and knew how to run away when it was necessary. Former lovers had called her hard to reach while therapists preferred to say that she was guarded, protecting herself from the harsh reality of the world.
She didn't think much of any of it. It wasn't that she didn't care, but she knew these people were only trying to get a grasp of her personalty and that, she hated. She was a free spirit, not someone who deserved labels pushed onto her by those who liked to comfort themselves by sticking social etiquettes to their foreheads.
What she believed in was the smell of paint in her studio, how good it felt to walk under the moonlight, and how relieved she was whenever she relapsed. All of these feelings usually never lasted for long. The euphoria always subsided rather quickly and left her with much darker thoughts.
Sometimes she thought that the relief she experienced was scary, from the way her shoulders relaxed to the way her heartbeat slowed down. She would catch herself thinking, so is that how stable people usually feel?
She didn't believe in healing; she had tried many things that had always ended up screwing her mental health further. She had once read in a book that spiritual people were less likely to fall into addictions and she had let out a humorous-less laugh. Bullshit, she had thought and shaken her head. Don't go down that street, don't text these people again, don't keep bottles in the house even if they're for guests. As if her guests ever stayed long enough to share a drink.
People viewed artists as chaotic people, and she knew better than that. Chaos only took over when structure failed, and there wasn't a day where society didn't fail them.
But when Jimin had first stepped into her life, she had rearranged the furniture placed within her without meaning to.
It reminded her of when her life had been structured; peaceful. Back when she was drowning in college work and didn't have time to focus on her thoughts. Not long after managing to take her head out of the water, she had drowned again when depression had taken over.
Her drinking habits had started as a social cue, but had ended as a way to fall into Morpheus' arms. It drowned the ached she couldn't cure, allowed her to draw at peace when her brain wouldn't shut down.
She had managed to quit twice. The second time, she had hope, she thought that for once, she was going to achieve something great. But her mom had called and her world had turned upside down once again.
She often wondered what Jimin would say if she knew the full picture, but always came to the conclusion that she wouldn't say a thing. She would listen in silence, holding her hand with an unbearable gentleness that always made her chest hurt.
The folded t-shirt resting on the back of the chair hadn't moved an inch. Because if she had touched it, the last receipt of their love would have vanished. And sleeping on Jimin's side of the bed wasn't enough, it never eased the ache. Some nights, she pressed her face into the pillow to measure how much scent remained.
Aeri had survived addiction and depression, she knew the early signs of psychological distress better than anyone. But even with that, she couldn't help but look for her everywhere, from the café to the river path; every place they had visited.
She wrote down evidences she had stored inside her mind, clues that would help her understand what Jimin could be going through. Long sleeves even in the summer, bruises she excused as clumsiness. The way she always kept her phone face down, the tension in her shoulders and how easily startled she was.
Aeri filled three pages of her notebook with these small observations and then stared at it to try and understand. She hated dissecting the life of the person she loved, but she didn't have much of a choice. She swallowed hard and wrote down another sentence, pressing the pen hard into the paper.
"Doesn't believe she deserves to be safe."
Aeri's leg tapped on the hard floor, her efforts to stay sober contradicted with how blurred her mind was. Every object reminded her of Jimin's absence, from the extra mug to the hair tie still looped around the brush handle.
She often went back to the café where they had first met, drank the same bitter espresso and listened to the same jazzy music.
"You're writing a lot these days," the barista said casually, used to seeing her sitting at the counter for several hours.
She frowned slightly and pressed her lips into a tight smile. "Research."
"For a new painting?"
"No, someone."
He politely in response and Aeri lowered her gaze. She preferred it that way; she had figured that the information she was looking for would only be given to her in informal conversations, and not when she was desperately seeking answers. Whenever she would ask directly, "have you seen her?" people's faces closed. But when she brought up the subject with questions like "do you remember the girl with the camera? She liked the corner table," people usually tried harder to give her an answer.
From the market vendor she learned that Jimin always paid her grocery with cash, probably to avoid leaving a trace. From the bookstore owner she learned she'd sold two of her most prized books, two titles she'd sworn she'd never get rid of. From a neighbor she learned that there had been shouting down the street the morning she'd left, a door car slamming, and someone crying before entering it.
She wasn't sure if the intel was accurate, but in a world where Aeri was the only one searching for Jimin, it was still something.
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