I Know

                                    

                                          
Upon entering your apartment after you arrive home from that disaster of a dinner, you lazily throw your jacket on the floor and shuffle over to your bedroom with your bag in hand.
                          
Plopping down on the soft expanse of your bed, you exhale while sifting through your bag that sits on the ground, but stop when something catches your eye.
                          
Lifting up the black accessory fully on to your bed, you spot a bright yellow piece of paper sticking out from one of the side pockets that definitely wasn't there this morning.
                          
Curiously taking out the folded paper, you unravel it quickly, eager to see what it is.
                          
Eyes widening, your lips part slightly upon seeing the small letters written on the note that's addressed to you.
                          
I miss you.
                          
The first sentence reads in rushed letters and you know exactly who is writing.
                          
I know I'm not supposed to talk to you, but I had to.
                          
I promise I'll make this right. Wait for me just a little longer.
                          
The small scribbles written down make your heart leap with rushes of warm.
                          
At the very bottom, a final sentence is squished in the small expanse of paper, saying: If all the things in the world were as pure as the snow, we wouldn't have to wait for tomorrow to come. He writes out a small saying you had said so many times.
                          
As meaningless as it had sounded then, he listened each time you had said it. It signaled that even among the most difficult things that are inevitable to come, there's still a light at the end of the tunnel; an escape.
                          
The last marking is a small J, confirming the one writing is indeed who you think it is.
                          
Smiling lightly, you grab a piece of paper and pen.
                          
-
                          
And that's how it began.
                          
You and Jungkook finally found a way to communicate.
                          
For the past couple days, you've both been able to become temporary spies and make do with a high school-level task of passing notes.
                          
Except you aren't two students at school. No, you're two coworkers who have a stalker and have to resort to such levels just to ask how each other are. 
                          
But suddenly, things don't seem so bad. Sure, you would still rather be able to talk to him freely like before without worrying about who's watching, but you think that you'll be able to be okay for the time being.



                          
***



                          
Scribbling something down on a notepad during a break, you quickly jot down words in response to what Jungkook had written you earlier.
                          
At first you had both just written and asked each other about your potential perpetrator, silently passing ideas of who it could be. He said Yoongi's also been trying to figure something out, much to your pleasant surprise.
                          
But still, there's been no luck.
                          
And now, your messages have developed to simple small talk and jokes that seem so tedious to write down and not just say out loud, that you've had to adjust.