Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9074056.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      방탄소년단_|_Bangtan_Boys_|_BTS
  Relationship:
      Jeon_Jungkook/Park_Jimin, Jeon_Jungkook/Kim_Taehyung_|_V, Kim_Taehyung_|
      V/Park_Jimin, Jeon_Jungkook/Kim_Taehyung_|_V/Park_Jimin
  Character:
      Jeon_Jungkook, Park_Jimin_(BTS), Kim_Taehyung_|_V, Kim_Hyuna, Min_Yoongi
      |_Suga, Kim_Seokjin_|_Jin, Kim_Namjoon_|_Rap_Monster, Jung_Hoseok_|_J-
      Hope, Bang_Shihyuk
  Additional Tags:
      Friends_to_Lovers_Jeon_Jungkook/Park_Jimin, Friends_to_Lovers, Friends
      with_Benefits_Kim_Taehyung_|_V/Park_Jimin, Friends_with_Benefits_Jeon
      Jungkook/Kim_Taehyung_|_V, Open_Relationships, Domestic_Violence,
      Implied/Referenced_Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism, Jeon_Jungkook_Is_Bad_at
      Feelings, Kid_Jeon_Jungkook, Minor_Jeon_Jungkook/Kim_Taehyung_|_V, Minor
      Jeon_Jungkook/Park_Jimin, Minor_Kim_Taehyung_|_V/Park_Jimin, Idol_Jeon
      Jungkook, Blow_Jobs, First_Time_Blow_Jobs, Rimming, Barebacking, Top
      Jimin_Bottom_Taehyung, Top_Jungkook_Bottom_Jimin
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_One_He_Left_Behind_AU
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-27 Completed: 2017-01-14 Chapters: 27/27 Words: 95255
****** The One He Left Behind ******
by Kookie_andCream
Summary
     Jimin can’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Jeon
     Jungkook.
     Maybe it was at first sight, when they met each other at the nursery
     and they wailed and clung to each other until Jimin’s mother had to
     take Jungkook home as well as Jimin so they could sleep in the same
     crib.
     Maybe it was later, when everyone suddenly realized that Jungkook was
     special—what Jimin had known all along—and Jimin made a realization
     too: that he didn’t like people thinking of Jungkook that way. That
     he wanted Jungkook to be his and his only.
     And then again, maybe it was long, long after. When Jungkook left
     Busan—and Jimin—and became a member of BTS, the superstar boy band,
     and Jimin felt the pain of his absence like a gaping hole in his
     chest.
     But none of that matters now. Because the point is that Jimin fell in
     love.
     And the point is that Jungkook left.
      
     Where Jungkook is an idol but Jimin is not at first, and then later
     becomes a member of BTS as well
Notes
     I don't have much experience writing flashbacks or Jikook in second
     person, so please forgive me if there are any inconsistencies with
     tenses or pronouns!
***** Prologue *****
Jimin can’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Jeon Jungkook.
Maybe it was at first sight, when they met each other at the nursery and they
wailed and clung to each other until Jimin’s mother had to take Jungkook home
as well as Jimin so they could sleep in the same crib.
Maybe it was later, when everyone suddenly realized that Jungkook was
special—what Jimin had known all along—and Jimin made a realization too: that
he didn’t like people thinking of Jungkook that way. That he wanted Jungkook to
be his and his only.
And then again, maybe it was long, long after. When Jungkook left Busan—and
Jimin—and became a member of BTS, the superstar boy band, and Jimin felt the
pain of his absence like a gaping hole in his chest.
But none of that matters now. Because the point is that Jimin fell in love.
And the point is that Jungkook left.
~
One of Jimin’s earliest memories is of Jungkook.
~
“Come on.” Jungkook stares down at him from the top of the monkey bars,
watching Jimin struggle to pull himself up. At this point, both their cheeks
are pudgy, both their hands are clumsy, but Jungkook is still the stronger of
the two. To Jimin’s sweat-filled, toddler eyes, Jungkook’s chubby-cheeked face
and straight black bowl cut fill the blue, cloudless sky. To Jimin, Jungkook is
all there is in the world right now.
Jungkook, and getting to the top of the monkey bars.
“This is stupid, Jungkook,” Jimin pants, tugging his little body up another
rung. He looks down and his head spins at how far he is from the ground. The
distance between his feet and the rubber playground tiles is as tall as he is.
“This is a stupid dare.”
“I did it too.” Jungkook folds his arms, looking down at him and sticking his
tongue out. “I did it faster than you are.”
It’s true. Jungkook scaled the ladder on the side of the swings in just a few
seconds. It’s one of the playground equipment sets which are swings and monkey
bars combined. Jimin watched in amazed envy as he swung his short legs over the
rungs and sat down on the bars the height of Jimin’s dad above the ground as if
he were sitting on a bench.
It’s all a dare made from the safe area of the ground. It’s a stupid dare.
Jungkook’s a stupid boy.
“You’re…stupid,” Jimin huffs, finally reaching the top of the monkey bars and
flopping on top of them, small hands clenched, white-knuckled, on the bars.
“Am not!” Jungkook screeches, and he shoves Jimin.
“Don’t push me! I’ll fall, stupid!” Jimin can feel himself tipping dangerously
over the side of the monkey bars, his center of gravity tilting.
“You take that back!” Jungkook pushes him harder. Jimin loses his grip on one
of the bars and slides closer to the side. He reaches out desperately for
another bar, the sweat-slicked and slippery palm of one fist still holding onto
a bar.
“I won’t!” Jimin is nearly there, his stubby fingers just brushing the curve of
the yellow bar…
“You will!” Jungkook shoves him again, as hard as his little muscles can
muster, and Jimin knows that it’s the last shove gravity will allow for.
Suddenly, he’s falling, and suddenly, he’s losing his grip on the bars, and
suddenly…
It all happens so fast. One second he’s angry at Jungkook, another second he’s
plummeting through the air, and another second he’s lying on the ground with
his arm crushed and twisted below him, agony pulsing through it and making
tears prick at his eyes.
Jungkook’s pale face appears over the edge of the monkey bars again. “Uh-oh,”
he whispers as Jimin opens his mouth to wail.
~
When Jimin opens his eyes again, he’s in a hospital. He recognizes the scratchy
feel of the blanket and the glare of the fluorescent lights from when he had a
fever a few months ago. He can hear the distant rolling of cart wheels on
linoleum floors and smell the reek of detergent and sanitizer. But the worst
thing in here isn’t his arm in the cast, suspended next to him, with pain still
throbbing through it. The worst thing is the face looming over him.
“Jimin?” Jungkook chirps nervously, leaning over his bed, and Jimin feels like
he’s reliving a nightmare all over again.
“Go away,” Jimin mumbles, turning his face aside. “I don’t want to see you.”
He catches the hurt expression on Jungkook’s face and feels a twinge of
satisfaction.  Stupid.
“Jiminie,” Jungkook beseeches, “my mom took me all the way here to see you.”
“I don’t care. Go away! I’m here because of you!” The pain in his arm is
getting worse. He wishes he could fall asleep again.
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says plaintively and pathetically.
Jimin gives him the side-eye and narrows his eyes at him. Jungkook looks truly
remorseful, stubbing his feet against the clinically white floor.
“I still don’t want you here,” he tells him, determination resting in his cold
little toddler heart to make this as hard for Jungkook as possible.
Jungkook looks at him. His eyes light up slightly as he realizes what he needs
to say to make this all better.
He draws his stout toddler body up and takes a breath. “I’m a stupid,” he tells
Jimin without hesitation.
Jimin regards him critically. He looks back hopefully.
And then Jimin’s face breaks into a grudging smile. Something curls in his
chest—later, he will recognize it as victory.
“You’re a stupid,” he confirms.
~
Jimin is sleeping comfortably, Jungkook a weight on his mattress curled up
beside him. He just turned ten. It’s about one in the morning—because it was
Jimin’s birthday, Jungkook was allowed to sleep over, and they played video
games and talked until it was so late into the night that Jimin couldn’t keep
his eyes open. Then they brushed their teeth, showered, changed into pajamas,
and fell into the same bed, fast asleep within minutes.
The sound of the front door opening downstairs wakes Jimin up, and then the
sound of muffled sobbing. Jimin sits up groggily, blinking the sleep from his
eyes, and reaches over to shake Jungkook awake.
“Wassit?” Jungkook slurs, turning his face blindly into the pillow. “Wassrong?”
“There’s someone crying downstairs,” Jimin hisses. “It sounds like one of our
moms.”
Jungkook’s eyes fly open and he shoots upright. He’s incredibly protective of
his mom—he punched Deok In when he cracked a ‘your mom’ joke hard enough to
break his nose, and no one’s mentioned his mother—or any mothers for fear of
guilt by association—since then. The protectiveness also extends to Jimin’s mom
since he spends half his time at Jimin’s house as well. “What?”
“I think there might be a burglar in the house,” Jimin whispers.
Jungkook makes a low sound in his throat, a feral growl, and he swings his legs
out of bed. Jimin watches him, wide-eyed, as he moves to his closet, opens it,
and reaches inside. At this point, he knows Jimin’s house as well as his own,
and he draws out a baseball bat after only a moment of rummaging.
Jungkook’s usually about the least threatening kid you can find in the
neighborhood, always the first target for old ladies with cheek-pinching
fingers and cooing voices, and Jimin knows he likes basking in the adoration of
sometimes complete strangers for his baby-faced looks. But when his or Jimin’s
mother is mentioned, he turns into a person Jimin would run from if he met in a
dark alley, usually armed with something hard like his fists or a kitchen
tissue holder.
(That was one time Jimin was looking for something under the bed and came out
at the same time Jungkook emerged from the ensuite bathroom. Jungkook, being
eight at the time, thought Jimin was a monster, picked up the closest weapon in
sight—a standing kitchen tissue holder, one of the sturdy ones made out of
wood—and started whacking him as hard as he could. Jimin will never
underestimate Jungkook’s strength when threatened again. Although Jungkook has
apologized, Jimin thinks he can still feel the bruises sometimes.)
“Come on,” he says threateningly, smacking the baseball bat against the palm of
his hand.
“What about me?” Jimin asks, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice as he
stands shakily. “What’s my weapon?”
“Oh, um…” Jungkook looks around, then grabs a lopsided hammer Jimin made out of
wood last summer with his dad, on one of the rare occasions he came back from
working overseas, and hands it to him. “Here. Take this.”
Jimin clutches it fearfully. He can still hear the soft sound of someone
crying.
“Now let’s go,” Jungkook says grimly.
They creep down the stairs with their makeshift weapons held aloft, Jungkook
leading in front. The source of the noise seems to be the kitchen. They pause
right outside the doorway, peering in so they won’t be seen.
Jimin’s mother is sitting at the round kitchen table, holding the hands of
Jungkook’s mother in hers. A cup of tea stands between them. And Jungkook’s
mother is sobbing.
“Misoon,” Mrs. Park murmurs. “Calm down.”
“Do you know what he d-did to me?” Mrs. Jeon’s face crumples in, Jimin thinks,
like old newspaper at the bottom of the trash can. Like forgotten things. “He
hit me this time. My husband. He’s done bad things before, but he’s never
actually  hit  me.”
Beside Jimin, Jungkook’s fingers clench on the baseball bat until his knuckles
turn white.
“Misoon—”
“Look.” Mrs. Jeon brushes aside her hair, which has fallen over her face, and a
bruise on her cheek catches Jimin off guard. It’s so new that it’s still only
red with the faintest tinge of purple. Her lip is swollen and cut, blood
trickling steadily down her chin.
A ragged intake of breath next to Jimin.
Mrs. Park seems speechless. “You—you have to tell someone. You have to report
this.”
“I can’t.” She starts crying in earnest now, ugly, racking sobs. “I don’t have
a job. I don’t even have a degree. If I leave him, what happens to Jungkook? I
won’t be able to pay for his education. He’ll never be able to fulfil his
dreams.”
Jimin looks at Jungkook now. He looks like it physically pains him to watch
this. His normally soft mouth is a hard, taut line, and his eyes are screwed up
in an effort to keep the tears from overflowing.
“It’s only a matter of time before he starts hitting Jungkook too. The
alcohol—it changes him,” Mrs. Jeon says softly, quietly, her voice broken.
“I’m—I’m trapped.”
Jimin can’t look at her anymore. Not like this. “Let’s go,” he says quietly to
Jungkook. “We shouldn’t be seeing this.”
Jungkook lets him pull him up the stairs back into his room, where he closes
the door and turns on the Iron Man nightlight, the one he knows Jungkook likes.
He sits him down on the bed and plops down opposite him.
“Is there something you wanna tell me?” Jimin asks, trying to mimic his mom
when he’s going through hard times and she tries to comfort him.
Jungkook raises his gaze to him. His eyes are dull, blank. The eyes of a child
forced to grow up too fast.
Jimin’s never met Jungkook’s father. He’s never been to Jungkook’s house,
either—when asked why, Jungkook lost his smile and always said, “My dad
wouldn’t like it.”
Now he thinks he understands why.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Jimin says hesitantly. “But…you know you can tell
me anything, right?”
After a long, long moment, Jungkook nods.
“Okay. I’m going back to sleep.” Jimin waits until Jungkook has rearranged
himself under the covers, movements wooden and stiff, then reaches over to
switch off the nightlight. The room is dark once again, the light spilling in
from the streetlamps outside gauzy and blue due to being filtered through the
blue curtains.
Jimin gets back under the covers with a rustle which seems deafening in the
silence. He thinks Jungkook has fallen asleep and is dropping off himself when
Jungkook says, voice small against the dark, “Jiminie?”
Jimin jerks back awake. “Hmm?”
“People do...bad things,” he says haltingly. “Sometimes. To people who don’t
deserve them. And I don’t know why.”
Jimin doesn’t know what to say. His life has never been touched by any violence
beyond the senseless action movies he watches on theater screens, the fighting
held at arm’s length and separated from him by cinema 3D glasses. The fact that
domestic violence is happening to him so close to home, to the mother of the
boy who actually  lives  in his home half the time, is so unimaginable that it
knocks him off kilter. Sends his world spinning the other way. Even now, he
can’t quite believe it. Even now, the bruise purpling on Jungkook’s mother’s
cheek downstairs seems muted, far away, unbelievable.
“We don’t know a lot of things, Kookie,” Jimin says softly, staring at the
bedroom ceiling. He doesn’t dare look at Jungkook’s face for fear that what he
sees will haunt him. “But we live with them anyway.”
A rustle. And then a warm hand is inching its way into Jimin’s, the fingers
curling around his own, lying under the blankets. Jimin squeezes once. And
Jungkook squeezes back.
When Jimin wakes up in the morning, Jungkook is gone, back to his fractured
household, and the hand which held his the night before has become a memory.
~
Jungkook’s mother is right. His dad does start hitting Jungkook.
Jimin can’t describe how much it hurts to watch his friend take it, to watch
his friend suffer. Jungkook is fragile at first, coming to their middle school,
being asked about his bruises, and having to slip out to the bathroom to cry in
a cubicle. Jimin always follows him, kneels on the floor in front of him and
holds his hand, squeezes it until Jungkook squeezes back. Some guys are afraid
of their tears or showing affection, but not them. Jungkook knows better than
to refuse comfort where he can get it.
But it hurts more when Jungkook learns how to absorb it. When he learns which
brand of concealer best suits his skin tone, not to cover up pimples, but to
hide the marks left by his father. When he learns how to gloss over the cracks
in his façade so no one can see through to the broken boy within. When he
starts finding more and more excuses to stay at Jimin’s house when both Jimin
and his mother know the real reason why.
Eventually, once high school starts, he’s gotten so good at hiding it that even
Jimin has mostly forgotten that he was ever abused. They start living normal
lives again, without the awkward silences whenever the subject of fathers comes
up, without the constant tiptoeing.
Jimin is happy. And he’s blind enough to think that Jungkook is too.
~
But the real story starts when high school does. Over summer break, when Jimin
goes on vacation and returns to find his friend...different. Changed.
So that’s where our story starts as well.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Jimin and Jungkook have been nearly everywhere in Busan, but today, after the
last day of middle school has ended, they’re on top of the roof of Jimin’s
house, accessed by climbing out Jimin’s bedroom window. Below, the house is in
a packing frenzy, the crusade to stuff as much clothing into as few luggage
bags as possible led primarily by Jimin’s mom.
No one tried to chase Jungkook back out when he trailed Jimin back from school.
They’re not going anywhere over the summer, so he’s got two months’ worth of
time on his hands. He earned an absentminded hair ruffle from Mr. Park, whom
Jungkook rarely sees but who’s back from his overseas work to holiday with his
family, and a pat on the arm from Mrs. Park. At this point, Jungkook’s part of
the family—the Parks won’t rest easy unless he spends half of every major
holiday with them, meaning he has two Christmas dinners, two Thanksgiving
dinners, and two Chuseok dinners. Jimin likes to compare him to a bowling ball
once he finally staggers out of their house, loaded down with all the treats
Mrs. Park could push into his hands. He also likes to complain that Jungkook’s
the favorite son in the family. Sometimes Mrs. Park forgets to deny this.
Jimin’s done his packing, so he was allowed to wander off with Jungkook as long
as he’s back by 4:30 so they can leave for the airport. Their flight leaves at
5:00, but Mrs. Park said you have to consider  traffic jams  and  baggage
check-in  and  long queues.
“So…” Jungkook says, breaking the companionable silence. “Leaving for the
countryside, huh?”
Because the roof is sloped, they’re leaning back and bracing their feet against
the gutter so they won’t fall, as Jungkook once did when he was thirteen,
leaning forward to try to attract the attention of Suwon, the prettiest girl in
their class, while she strolled past Jimin’s house.
Thirteen was an eventful year. Jungkook had his first wet dream and freaked out
so badly that he ran all the way to Jimin’s house, climbed up the drainpipe and
into his window, and scared him out of his mind when he woke Jimin up by
looming over him and wailing about sticky stuff between his legs. A few
midnight internet searches led to the discovery of the concept of masturbation
for Jimin and many awkward questions for Jungkook when he said, clearly in a
moment of ill judgment, “So that’s what it’s called.”
Jimin slowly turned his head to gape at his friend, both their faces
illuminated blue by the light of the laptop. Jungkook seemed to realize his
mistake and found somewhere else to look, chewing his lip and frowning
furiously at Jimin’s blue covers.
“You know what this is?” Jimin asked, stabbing his finger at the computer
screen. The page they were on was some sort of kids’ health website, the title
‘Masturbation’ typed in large orange script across the top of the screen.
“Um,” Jungkook mumbled. “Um, maybe. I mean, I kind of…um. I didn’t know what I
was doing, really.”
“I cannot…” Jimin said slowly, “believe that you didn’t tell me!”
“There’s nothing to tell!” Jungkook protested, fumbling impressively. “I was
just—I was just messing around, and nothing really happened anyway—”
“What do you mean nothing really happened? Was something supposed to happen?”
“Maybe. Um. I’m not sure.” Jimin glared at a bead of nervous sweat trailing
down from Jungkook’s hairline. “I didn’t, like…yeah.”
“What is  yeah?”
“I don’t know! It’s just, there’s this really tight ball of tension thing and…”
he caught Jimin’s flabbergasted look and flushed. “I don’t know, okay? Don’t
make me explain this!”
“How did you find out about this?”
“I didn’t, I told you I was just messing around!” He was blushing hard enough
by then that Jimin thought if he put his face close enough to Jungkook’s, he’d
be able to feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. Jungkook got up to leave,
nearly knocking the laptop off the bed in his haste. “Look, you’re no help.
Thanks for the awkward interrogation and all, but it’s not what I came for.”
“What did you come for, then?” Jimin asked, neither of them realizing the irony
behind those particular words at the time.
“I don’t…really know. I just panicked.” Jungkook wavered for a tense moment,
one leg up on Jimin’s windowsill already. “Right, I’ll be going now. Bye.”
But even after Jungkook had left, Jimin was  curious.  What was
this…masturbation? Why had he never heard the word before?
Without really knowing how he’d gotten there, a while later, Jimin found
himself in Pornhub, clicking on a video titled in blaring caps, “GUY JACKS IT
IN BATHROOM (POV)”. The video opened onto a shot of a guy with his pants down
and his dick held in his hand from an angle as if Jimin were the guy, and Jimin
leaned back slightly. No messing around there.
His hand started moving, and Jimin didn’t know how to describe it. Shaking?
Pumping? The title of the video didn’t help much either. What did Jack have to
do with it? What, for that matter, was ‘it’? Or was Jacks It the name of
whoever was in this increasingly seedy video?
The guy was also making some fairly alarming sounds. It reminded Jimin of the
sounds Jungkook was making when he fell off his roof. Was he in…pain? Was it
painful to Jacks It?
After a minute while the sounds increased in intensity and volume, Jimin was
getting a little bored, so he plugged headphones into the computer, stuffed
them into his ears, and leaned back, closing his eyes. He was falling asleep
again when a particularly long, drawn-out sound of agony made his eyes snap
open. Ribbons of white something were flying out of the guy’s dick and
splashing against the bathroom wall, and Jimin was finding it extremely
unpleasant to watch. But he leaned forward anyway, studying it with a furrowed
brow the way a historian might study the Samguk Yusa, or The Memorabilia of the
Three Kingdoms, the oldest Korean history text still around today. Was this
what Jungkook felt—the “tight ball of tension thing”? What was this mysterious
phenomenon? Also, now that he’d thought of it, why was the guy’s dick so
alarmingly red and upright?
Jimin closed the tab, deleted his history because he felt for some reason that
that wasn’t entirely appropriate on a thirteen-year-old boy’s laptop, and
turned off his computer. He collapsed back into his bed, eyes wide open and
staring at the ceiling. He was trying to imagine Jungkook as the guy and
failing miserably. Jungkook’s dick wasn’t that big, obviously, and he’d never
seen it standing straight like that. (Jimin and Jungkook were at that intimate
stage of guy friendship where they knew each other’s dicks as well as their
own.) Was Jungkook implying that he hadn’t managed to make the white stuff come
out? Why would you  want  such a frightening mess?
Jimin pulled his pillow out from under his head and yanked it over his face,
groaning into it. Guys were so  complicated.
Jimin resurfaces from his memories and lands, blinking, back on the roof of his
house, fourteen years old and leaving. He can distantly hear his mom screaming
hysterically from downstairs about  towels,  they forgot to pack  towels,  and
his dad arguing back that Jimin’s grandparents will definitely have towels.
“Yeah,” Jimin says, still half-seeing thirteen-year-old Jungkook, panicky and
frenzied because his own body had turned against him, when he looks at
fourteen-year-old Jungkook lying down next to him. “Daegu. Staying with my
grandparents.”
“Have fun, I guess,” Jungkook says. “Don’t forget about me, okay?” He kicks
Jimin’s leg playfully.
“I won’t.” Jimin kicks him back.
“Bring back some pretty girls for me.”
Jimin side-eyes Jungkook, with his chubby cheeks and haphazardly curled and
dyed bangs, and feels his mouth curl up into a wicked smile. “They’d run away
screaming at the sight of you. Or spend too long pinching your cheeks to like
you.”
Jungkook scowls and swats him. “Shut up.”
“Do you remember a few days ago,  Kookie?  When Suwon declared you the most
baby-faced boy in the class, so cute that she wants to put you in a pram and
tuck you in?”
“Oh my God, don’t remind me,” Jungkook groans, flinging his forearm over his
eyes. “That was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.”
“Just give up on her, Jungkook,” Jimin says consolingly, feeling sorry for him
and his bunny teeth that girls find irresistible…on children. “You know she has
her eye on Hyunsik.”
“I can’t just give up on her. I’ve liked her since the first moment I saw her.”
Jungkook waves his hand expressively at the sky. “Since we were ten and she
moved here from Incheon.”
“I think four years is enough.”
“I think I maybe love her.”
Jimin can’t help it—he splutters with laughter at this. Jungkook props himself
up on one elbow to glare vehemently down at him. “What?” he says acidically.
“You don’t love her, Jungkook,” Jimin wheezes through his mirth. “You love the
person you think she is. The person you want her to be and whom you’ve created
in your head. You don’t even know her. She doesn’t have the faintest idea that
you like her.”
Jungkook slumps, falling back on the roof and wincing. He reaches under his
back to pull out a twig, flinging it moodily over the edge of the roof. “Maybe
you’re right.”
They fall into silence for a while, broken only by Mrs. Park having a
histrionic fit about all taxis in their area being unavailable, how can all
taxis in their area possibly be unavailable?
“Jimin?” Jungkook asks hesitantly.
“Yeah?”
“What do you think love is? Like, really?”
“Which kind?” Jimin turns his head to look at him. “Like, familial love or
romantic love or what?”
“Both.”
“I think…” Jimin pauses. His fourteen-year-old mind doesn’t really give much
thought to things like this. “You can love someone on automatic, from the
moment you see them, like a mother to her child or a child to his mother.” He
very carefully does not mention fathers. They are both aware of this. “But
romantic love is different. I think love like that is…is…seeing someone for who
they really are, with all their…flaws and stuff. Not just the good stuff. But
the bad stuff too.” He chews the inside of his cheek for a while. “I think if
you think someone’s perfect, then that’s an infatuation or a crush. Love needs
to grow, because you need to know someone to really love them.”
A moment passes while they both absorb this and Jimin wonders at his own
wisdom.
“I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love,” Jungkook says tonelessly.
“No?” Jimin asks.
“No. I’m too gullible. I love people on automatic instead of being careful
first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like…I do love people, but they’re people I’ve always loved. Like my mom. Like
you.”
“I love you too, you sappy stocking of cuteness,” Jimin says cheerfully.
Jungkook winces. “Like…my dad.”
Jimin’s smile fades. Jungkook seems small suddenly, tiny and defeated against
the might of the sky.
Jimin turns on his side to look at him. A bruise on Jungkook’s arm catches his
attention—purple lines as if someone gripped his arm too hard. Jungkook seems
to sense him noticing and rubs at the bruise, as if wishing he could wipe it
away.
“Jungkook…” Jimin pauses. He’s always felt inadequate, safe in his perfect
family and perfect life, while Jungkook has to crouch in the shrapnel of his
broken home. His parents feel the same way too, which is why they treat
Jungkook so much like their own. It’s the most they can do. “Don’t…let your dad
get you down. You’re worth more than that. You’re worth much more than how he
treats you.”
Jungkook takes a shuddering breath, chest rising shakily and then caving in
again. “I know.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, hating how little the words mean. “I really am. For
what he does to you.”
Jungkook closes his eyes, screwing them up tight against the sunlight. “It’s
okay. It’s not your fault."
“Such a blameless boy,”  Jimin remembers his mom saying over dinner last night
after Jungkook went home.  “Such a wonderful boy. He doesn’t deserve what his
father does to him.”
“No one does,” Mr. Park said, eyes troubled and sad. “But it happens anyway.”
“I’m here for you,” Jimin says haltingly, wishing he could reach out and touch
Jungkook. But Jungkook seems distant now, unreachable, and he doesn’t want to
make things worse for him. “Even when I’m on holiday. Even when I’m halfway
across the world. I’m here for you.”
“I know,” Jungkook says after a pause.
Jimin smiles faintly. “You’ll find someone to love eventually, Jungkook.
Someone who won’t hurt you.” He stands, always a precarious operation on his
sloped roof, as his mother calls for him from downstairs. “Who knows? Maybe
you’ve already met them.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Jimin forgets, in the fresh air and green, rolling meadows of his grandma’s
farm, to ask how Jungkook is doing back at home.
They can’t communicate because his mom tells him that it’s too expensive to pay
for texts or calls from Daegu to Seoul and back, and it’s not like there’s cell
phone service anyway, and Jimin is growing restless without talking to Jungkook
for so long. He wanders off through the fields and sits on a fence, holding an
imaginary conversation with Jungkook in his head. Jimin knows him well enough
by now that when he asks himself a question, he can hear Jungkook’s voice
giving a (sometimes unwanted) answer.
I’m bored, Jungkook, he thinks. The countryside is beautiful and all, but
there’s no Wi-Fi, and there’s no one to talk to except the cattle.
You should take advantage of the peace, Imaginary Jungkook says. There won’t be
any peace once you come back to the city.
Because of you, you little brat.
My job is making your life miserable. Imaginary Jungkook takes an exaggerated
bow.
Jimin sighs and leans back, bracing his palms against the fencepost. How are
things at home?
You mean your house? I’ve been checking for burglars like your mom asked me to.
No one’s come close to it.
No, not my house. Your house.
Imaginary Jungkook is silent.
How has your dad been treating you?Jimin prods.
More silence.
Jungkook?
But Imaginary Jungkook is gone. Jimin knows that he won’t be coming back for a
while.
Jimin sighs. Good Lord, I’m so lonely that even my imaginary best friend
ditches me.
He looks out over the fields, at the grass so green it seems painted and the
gently looming hills beyond. He runs his thumb over the rough wood of the
fencepost and fills his lungs with a deep breath of countryside air, unpolluted
by factory smoke or car exhaust. It’s so calm here that Jimin can actually feel
his thoughts more acutely, more clearly. It’s so peaceful that he thinks even
his heartbeat is slower than normal.
But he couldn’t live here. He’s a city boy, through and through, and though he
likes how bucolic the countryside is, he knows he can’t survive without a Wi-Fi
connection. #FirstWorldProblems.
It’s already been a month. Jimin’s exhausted all the things you can possibly do
on the farm—counting cattle, talking to his grandparents about cattle, hauling
feed, shovelling muck, collecting eggs, counting cattle, counting cattle. His
grandparents have sheep too, but they shy away at the sight of him, their short
fleece just growing back from being shorn in spring last month. Now Jimin is
reduced to looking out introspectively over the fields.
Maybe I should meditate, he thinks. I’ve always wanted to try it, but home is
full of so many distractions—namely, Jeon Jungkook getting in my hair.
He nods, settles down, and places his hands flat on top of his thighs. He’d
like to fold his legs, but the fence is narrow, and he doesn’t want to risk
sitting in the grass for fear of hidden cowpats (they exist and they are
terrifying). He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.
It’s surprisingly easy to empty his mind here. It’s quiet, but his ears don’t
ring—the lush grass seems to suck up all sound. The wind is the only thing in
the world right now, the wind and his breathing. He is at peace. He is calm. He
is at—
“Hello!” someone yells in his ear, and Jimin flails and pitches forward off the
fence.
He manages to twist and land on his side just in time. Thankfully, there are no
hidden cowpats (Jimin sends a quick prayer of thanks up to the hidden cowpat
gods), but he’s covered in grass all along his right side, and his elbow stings
from when he scraped it against the rough surface of the fence on the way down.
He stands shakily. His ankle protests—it got twisted when it got caught in a
slat of the fence as he fell.
He pivots slowly.
He doesn’t know what he expected, but maybe it was a half-deaf old man who
thought that Jimin was hard of hearing too. He wouldn’t have linked the deep,
gravelly voice to a slender teenage guy with a stylishly messed-up, outgrown
bowl cut and a box smile. But that’s who the voice came from, standing on the
other side of the fence with a grin wider than Russia in muddy wellington boots
and a striped red-and-white shirt beneath his dungarees.
“You…” Jimin says slowly, holding his ear, “you shouted at me.”
“Yep,” the boy says cheerfully.
“Why?” Jimin asks tiredly. “I was trying to meditate.”
“Oh, you were?” The boy looks briefly penitent, and then the smile comes back.
“Oops.”
Jimin sighs. “Who are you?” Maybe if he tells him which asylum he’s from, Jimin
can make a discreet call and return him—except, oh, right, there’s no cell
phone service.
“I work on the Parks’ farm.” He gestures around. “On school holidays. And I’m
Kim Taehyung!” He beams as if his name is the greatest gift he can bestow upon
Jimin.
Jimin rubs at his temples. “You…work for my grandparents?” He thought his
grandparents were more sensible than this. His grandfather is a quiet, no-
nonsense man, but he can see what his grandma would like in Taehyung—the
constant brightness, as if Taehyung is a mini sun with his own solar system
orbiting him. Jimin can feel himself getting pulled in by his gravity already
although he reminds himself that it isn’t wise to associate with manically
happy people. It could be contagious.
“You’re Jimin!” Taehyung says delightedly. “Mrs. Park’s grandson!”
“Yeah, um…I am him.”
“She talks so much about you,” Taehyung babbles, swinging himself up and over
the fence in a single, easy movement which leaves Jimin openmouthed. He is, of
course, taller than Jimin. Everyone is taller than Jimin in this cruel, cruel
world. His legs seem as long as New Zealand.
“All good things, I hope?” Jimin asks, edging cautiously away from him.
“Of course.” Taehyung advances with a frighteningly large smile. “She dotes on
you.”
“That’s…good to know.” Jimin wonders when he should start running.
Taehyung stops. His smile slides off his face like wet soap. “Are you…running
away from me?’
Jimin realizes that he is, in fact, backing away and stops himself just in
time. “No, of course I’m not…” He clears his throat. “No.”
Taehyung isn’t smiling at all now. His face looks scarily blank without it.
“I’m bothering you,” he mumbles. “I’ll go.”
He turns to leave, shoulders hunched and hurt. Jimin feels, suddenly, as if
he’s killed something precious, like a puppy.
“No, I didn’t—I’m sorry!” He sprints to catch up with Taehyung, who covers
twice as much distance as Jimin with every stride (damn long legs everywhere).
“Please don’t leave! It’s so lonely here!”
Taehyung turns with the radiant smile already in place. Jimin wants to lean
back to put some distance between himself and its brightness, but he’s afraid
it’ll offend Taehyung again, so he squints against the glare.
“It is lonely here, right?” Taehyung whips out a shovel from behind him and
leans on it. Jimin has no idea where he got the shovel. It seems like Taehyung
brings it around just so he can lean on it thoughtfully. “No cell phone
service. No Wi-Fi. No Grindr.”
“Yeah, I know, right? I can’t even use—” The last thing Taehyung said catches
up to him. “Wait, what? No Grindr?”
“Yeah.” Taehyung shakes his head gravely, as if saying ‘No Grindr’ is saying
‘No pizza’. “There’d be no point even if I could use Grindr, anyway, unless
some of the cows are gay and are registered or something—” He gestures
expressively. “Even in Daegu city you get all sorts of sketchy guys, some just
want a piece of you and leave before you even wake up, and others just wanna
date and date and marry you or something. I don’t understand why everyone can’t
just be like me. I say go on a few dates, get to know what you’re up for a
little, then tap it. And if the dick was really good, maybe get together a few
other times—but gosh, so many people I’ve met either think Grindr is some sort
of prostitution app or an app for finding prospective husbands. And the people
I meet get so offended when I lay out my base rules, like, dude? You want this
ass, you gotta work for—”
“Wait,” Jimin says hopelessly, feeling like Taehyung’s missing a major point.
“You’re—you’re…gay?”
“Yep,” he says brightly. “Bisexual, actually.”
That’s it. The shocker. Jimin is truly rendered speechless. “Maybe, um, you
shouldn’t be so upfront about it,” he finally manages haltingly. “Not everyone
is so great about queer people.”
“I only tell people around my age.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I find
that our generation is much more open about these things. Unless—” he gives him
the side-eye. “Oh, God, don’t tell me you’re a homophobe?”
“No, no, bi people are great, I mean—bi people are great,” Jimin says hurriedly
and honestly. “I’ve never had a problem with them. I think the entire LGBTQ+
movement picking up speed and people starting to come out more is amazing. It’s
not just a symbol of—of gay rights, it’s a symbol of the freedom to express
yourself. Everywhere. No matter who or what you are. And that’s—that’s really
progressive, and—yeah.”
When he looks at Taehyung, he is utterly thrown to find that his eyes sparkle
with tears.
“What…” Jimin trails off helplessly. You never quite know where you are with
Taehyung. “Did I say something wrong?”
“That was—that was beautiful,” Taehyung sniffs, wiping at one eye. “You should
be an LGTBQ+ spokesperson. Imagine the speeches you could give. Imagine all the
gays at your service.”
“Um…” Jimin doesn’t know what to say. “I have a B in Korean Language.”
“But does that matter?” Taehyung grabs Jimin’s shoulders, spinning him around
to look at the sky, and he waves his long-fingered hand over it like he’s
wiping a window. “Can you see it? The future? The rainbow-colored future? The
future where queer people can walk tall and proud? The future where queer
people can openly receive and give love? The future…led by you?” He places a
hand against his forehead dramatically. “Queer people everywhere swayed by the
power of your words! Homophobes hooked and unable to stop listening! A
wonderful world where gays can bang and be proud of it!”
Taehyung’s hand has clenched into a fist, and his eyes are brimming with tears
again. Jimin gently disentangles himself from him. “Um…that would be nice.”
Taehyung looks at him, smiling indulgently, like Jimin is being silly. “You’re
not afraid I’ll try and force you into a relationship, are you?”
“What?” Jimin’s voice is too high. “No, I mean—never.”
“Good.” Taehyung yanks Jimin in again, putting their heads next to each other
while he stares dreamily at his rainbow-colored future. “Because you’re the
only other guy my age here, and I wouldn’t want to scare you off so quickly.
And besides, for bi people, there are no friends.” Taehyung’s voice fades to a
whisper. “There is only…prey.”
Taehyung slaps Jimin on the ass, making him jump, and then walks away,
laughing.
Jimin doesn’t know how to feel. He rubs his ass. It stings.
“I think I read that on Tumblr somewhere,” he mutters.
~
Taehyung helps Jimin’s family pack. He stampedes into their cottage on the last
day they have on the farm, proclaiming that he is here to help with the
packing, yessiree, and nothing anyone does can stop him. Jimin is disgusted
with his parents for falling into his charm and becoming enamored with him
almost instantly.
Maybe it’s something about being bi, Jimin thinks, hauling a luggage bag
stuffed full and bursting at the seams down the stairs and out the door. Hell,
I should be bi if it means everyone likes me.
He reaches the car and sees his father ruffling Taehyung’s hair affectionately.
Taehyung laughs and spins away to pick up a bag. Jimin throws the luggage bag
into the boot more huffily than is necessary. First Jungkook, now Taehyung—are
they ever going to run out of boys to dote on more than their son?
Right before they drive off and Mr. Park has gone back into the house to help
his wife find her hairbrush, Taehyung drags Jimin into an alley between the
side of the cottage and the next cottage. It’s a narrow, shaded space, unable
to be seen into from outside, so Jimin is forced to stand much closer to
Taehyung than usual. Taehyung, however, does not have a problem with this. He
constantly and so flagrantly invades Jimin’s personal space that Jimin has
given up on trying to edge away.
“Promise me you’ll come back and see me at Christmas,” Taehyung says, sticking
his face close to Jimin. Jimin can feel his breath on his lips. It smells like
something sweet. Has he been drinking women’s shampoo?
“I will,” Jimin says. Taehyung edges his body closer to him, and Jimin backs
into the wall. “I…promise.”
Taehyung’s long fingers close over his wrists. Jimin can feel himself melting
at the touch. He feels strange today—like his insides have turned to mush.
Taehyung smiles, slowly and destructively, nose less than an inch away from
his. Jimin feels like the action should be accompanied by the crash of his
walls being torn down. “I’ll look forward to it,” he whispers.
It’s so fleeting and quick that Jimin isn’t even sure it ever happened. For the
briefest of moments, there are lips pressed to his, and for the briefest of
moments, there’s a body pushing him into the wall, and for the briefest of
moments, Jimin wants to surrender. To let go to the warmth and the softness of
it all. His hands reach up hesitantly to curl in Taehyung’s shirt, and Taehyung
pulls his waist closer, so close that Jimin can feel his body through his
clothes, long and slender and as warm as the heat curling in his stomach…
And then Taehyung pushes him away.
He whirls away, laughing, his face transformed and dazzling with a smile. Jimin
tries to keep sight of him, but in the blink of an eye, he’s gone. That, it
seems, is Taehyung: fleeting and insubstantial, as light and beautiful as a
dream, as quick and bright as butterfly wings.
Jimin is left gasping against the wall of the alley, chest rising and falling
as if he’s run a marathon. He lets his head drop back and thunk against the
brick, and the slight pain of the impact jolts his mind back to clarity.
What just happened?
~
Jungkook is waiting on their doorstep when they get back. He looks like he’s
been there a while—he’s dozing off with his head leaning against their door and
his long legs flung out on their porch steps. At the sound of their car pulling
up, his eyes open and he stands, stretching, his shirt lifting to reveal a
strip of skin.
Jimin drags his eyes away from the sight of it. What happened with Taehyung in
the alley has made him feel strange. What happened with Taehyung in the alley
has turned his whole world upside down. Now he can’t even look at his best
friend normally.
But…his best friend isn’t normal.
Jimin gets out and gapes at Jungkook, jaw dropping. As his parents are caught
up in the bustle of getting their luggage out of the car, the world seems to
slow around them.
“You’re so different,” Jimin manages after looking Jungkook up and down from
head to toe. And it’s true: Jungkook has grown a few inches, and his shoulders
are broader, and the baby fat has melted off his cheeks. He brushes his hair up
and to the side of his forehead—he still has bangs, but they’re cool bangs,
like Park Hyung Sik in High Society. His body narrows to a V at the waist now,
and his legs are long and thick and muscular. The way he tucks his hands into
his pockets doesn’t seem self-conscious anymore—it seems cool, easy,
indifferent. Effortless. “What the hell happened do you?”
“I started going to the gym,” he says casually. “And cutting stuff out of my
diet. And adding in more good stuff. And my growth spurt hit again. And I went
to the hairstylist and changed my hair.” He sweeps it out of his face—not that
he had to, it was never in his face anyway, but it’s one of the things cool
guys do. “Do you like it?”
“Do I…” Jimin splutters. “Do I like it?”
Jungkook blinks slowly at him.
“You look like you got run over by the fucking bus of attractiveness!” Jimin
yells.
“Language!” his mother calls from inside the house.
Jungkook grins slowly. “Wow, really?”
“You’re not Kookie,” Jimin says, backing slowly away from him. “You’re not my
friend. You’re some hot impostor who calls himself Jungkook. Give me back my
baby Kook.”
“I’d like to see whether Suwon will tuck me in now,” he says airily. “Anyway,
if she’s tucking me into anything, it’s her bed before she gets in with me.”
Jimin is distraught. “This is terrible! This is horrible! You used to be my
height and now you’re some sexy giant!”
“Puberty does wonders.”
“You had your first wet dream last year, you idiot. You ran all the way to my
house and scared the shit out of me because there was cum in your pants and you
didn’t know what to do about it.”
Normally this would have Jungkook—the old Jungkook, Jimin’s Jungkook—scowling
and making threats, but this Jungkook dismisses it breezily. “That was the old
Jungkook,” he says, and Jimin realizes with a sinking heart that even his voice
is different now—deeper, with more timbre. “This Jungkook doesn’t need wet
dreams to cum.”
“You’re still a virgin, you fool,” Jimin says, narrowing his eyes at him.
“Sure,” Jungkook says, walking to Jimin’s wall and scaling the drainpipe with
fluid, graceful ease, “but see whether it stays that way for long.”
Jimin watches him, openmouthed, as his newly-formed biceps and the muscles in
his back ripple.
“I cannot believe this,” Jimin mutters darkly, and he storms into the house.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     This was done really quick so I'm sorry if there are any
     inconsistencies >< Feel free to point them out, as always!
     <3
Jungkook, thankfully, does not stay that way for long.
He later tells Jimin that he was practicing being what he calls “Cool Kook”.
“I’m not going to be baby Kookie any longer,” he says, staring out Jimin’s
bedroom window at the tree on the lawn. “Not to everyone at school.”
“But…” Jimin trails off hesitantly. “To me?”
Jungkook looks at him for a long moment, and then his face breaks out into a
sheepish smile. That’s one thing he can never change, Jimin notes with
relief—his smile. His nose still crinkles up, and his eyes still become slits,
and his teeth are still a little bigger than average. That’s the smile of the
Jungkook he knows.
“Of course not.” He pulls Jimin down onto the bed, messing his hair up. He
knows Jimin hates it. “You know I’m not really like that.”
Jimin yells and swats at his hands, batting them away. “You’re still a dick,”
he grumbles.
Jungkook grins. “I’m still a stupid.”
Jimin can’t help but laugh at this. They have so many inside jokes by now that
it’s developed into their own language.
“Great,” Jimin says with relief. “Now you’ve admitted to being an ass, I have
decided to help you turn the most heads at your debut.”
Jungkook’s smile freezes, replaced with a look of worry. “Debut? What debut?”
“You know! When we go back to school and everyone sees the new and improved
you!” Jimin gestures expressively. “I think…you need eyeliner.” He studies
Jungkook’s face thoughtfully and then nods to himself. “Yeah. You have the body
and you have the hair, but all that’s missing is eyeliner.”
Jungkook touches his eyes self-consciously. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your eyes. It’s just that…eyeliner would really
make them pop.”Jimin gestures expressively. “You know?”
Jungkook blinks blankly at him.
Jimin holds up a finger, swinging his legs out of bed. “I’ll show you. Wait
here. I’ll be right back.”
A while later, he’s back with all the makeup he could get his hands on from his
mom’s stash—eyeliner, foundation, concealer, highlighter, makeup brushes, and
even a tube of lipstick Jungkook recoils from.
“What is all this?” Jungkook hisses like a scalded cat. He wraps his arms
around himself, perhaps to protect his fragile masculinity. “Why do I need all
this makeup?”
“You need to be beautiful,” Jimin gushes. He picks up the foundation. “Hmm,
this is liquid. Tricky.” He picks up the powdered form and a brush. “Better.”
Jungkook leans away from him. “I don’t need foundation! I’m not a girl!”
“Jungkook,” Jimin says sympathetically, advancing with the loaded makeup brush.
“Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook. Don’t you know that all the best idols wear
foundation—and not just foundation? You need to even out your skin tone.” He
taps a pimple on Jungkook’s cheek. “You need to get rid of this.” He waves at
Jungkook’s whole face. “And if you really wanna be pale like an idol, you need
the foundation to whiten your skin and get rid of this summer tan.”
“Are you sure about this?” Jungkook asks uncertainly.
“Jungkook,” Jimin says airily, “what am I ever not sure of?”
He narrows his eyes at Jimin. “Really? You want me to list every single moment
of indecision which I have suffered through throughout our fourteen years of
friendship?” He casts his eyes thoughtfully to a point somewhere above Jimin’s
head. “When you were eleven and allowed to order pizza all by yourself for the
first time and you pestered me for twenty minutes while you tried to decide
between chicken or beef pepperoni. When you held the entire family up on your
twelfth birthday because you suddenly had cold feet and decided not to go ice
skating, then wanted to, then didn’t want to, then wanted to…for an hour. Oh,
and I nearly forgot—in kindergarten, when you had to talk to Mrs. Lee about
homework but you were so scared you nearly peed yourself and had to have me in
the classroom with you while you asked her like some kind of Little League
gangster.”
Jimin huffs. “You don’t have to be mean. Now let me put this on.”
Jungkook sits stiffly and uncomfortably while Jimin dabs at his face with the
brush. “This is so weird,” he complains. “Guys don’t do this. Guy friends don’t
apply makeup to each other.”
“Fuck other guy friends. We’ll be guy friends 2.0.” Jimin brushes up his bangs
so he can brush foundation on his forehead. “You know what would be funny right
now?”
“What?”
“If I pretended to be a drag queen.”
Jungkook groans. “Oh my God, don’t. There is possibly nothing that could make
this worse except—”
“Darling,” Jimin lisps. “Darling, you are looking beautiful already!”
“I will kill you,” Jungkook growls, “with this brush.”
“I think I’m done with your foundation, honey,” Jimin simpers, waving his hand
delicately. “What’s next? Oh, right, concealer!”
“I will stuff it up your ass.”
“We just have to find the one which matches your skin tone.” Jimin rummages
through them, and then dots it over his pimples, smearing it with the pad of
his thumb to blend it. “Oh, honey, you’re a beautiful butterfly!”
“You bring dishonor and shame to drag queens everywhere.”
“Aw, look at your skin! So smooth! So pretty!” Jimin gushes, turning Jungkook’s
head from side to side. He leans forward and pats his jaw, letting out a
girlish giggle in falsetto. “Such a handsome young man.”
“Jimin, this disturbs me. This disturbs me very much.”
“So much potential.” Jimin picks up the liquid eyeliner pen with a delicately
feminine motion. “Now here comes the tricky bit. Jungkook, darling, I need you
to stay very still for this, okay? Can you do that, baby?”
“Jimin,” Jungkook says pleadingly, nearly in tears.
“Now just sit very still, honey. This is hard.” Jimin leans close to his face,
teeth digging into his lip, as he carefully flicks the eyeliner over his
eyelid. “Oh, you have a double eyelid! That makes it so much nicer.” He sits
back and surveys his work critically. A little blobby, but the desired effect
is there. He does the next eye and then sets the eyeliner aside. “Now we just
have one little thing left.”
He picks up the lipstick.
Jungkook shakes his head adamantly at this, turning away. “Nuh-uh. No. Never.”
“It’s just a subtle shade of pink, darling,” Jimin persists. “Barely even
noticeable. We just need to liven up these kissable lips of yours, hmm?”
Jungkook gags over the side of the bed. Jimin is enjoying this. Jimin is
enjoying this very much.
“Jimin, I really don’t like this,” Jungkook says uneasily.
“Stay still, baby. It’ll be over quick.” Jimin holds his jaw in his hand,
steadying his head. “Part your lips a little.”
Jungkook licks his lips nervously and opens his mouth slightly. A faraway part
of Jimin notes the way his lips give so easily at the pressure of the lipstick.
Soft.
“Perfect.” Jimin applies the lipstick with a flourish. “Perfect!” He sits back
and reaches for a mirror. “Look at yourself, honey.”
Jungkook takes the mirror and stares at himself. For a long time.
“Well?” Jimin asks, his falsetto slipping a little.
“I just…” Jungkook’s eyes are wide. “I never noticed how many things needed
fixing on my face until you fixed them.”
“They don’t need fixing, babydoll,” Jimin tilts his head to the side. “They
just need enhancing.”
“I’m afraid to touch myself,” Jungkook says, hand hovering over his cheek. He
realizes his mistaken word choice too late.
“Aw, darling,” Jimin gushes. “Poor baby, do you need to see the page on
masturbation again?” He reaches for his laptop.
Jungkook looks mortified and pained at the same time. “Jimin, this hurts.”
Jimin finally breaks character, cackling. “I know. I knew it would torture
you.” He flops down on the bed. “Gosh, being a drag queen and doing your makeup
is exhausting.”
Jungkook can’t seem to tear his eyes away from his own reflection. “I look so
different, but…better, too.” He inspects his face from all angles. “Shit, I
look like I went from iOS 1 to iOS 10 in ten minutes.”
“I told you makeup would make you look better,” Jimin says to the ceiling. “I
always know what’s best for you.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says, dazzled by the version of himself the mirror shows him.
“Yeah, you do.”
~
“Jimin, I’m nervous,” Jungkook whines, trying to fold his (now larger) frame
behind Jimin’s body. “What if they call me a girl? What if they laugh at me? I
have so much makeup on.”
“They won’t laugh at you. And you’re not wearing anything obvious like
eyeshadow or anything.” Jimin grasps his arm, trying to pull him in front of
him, but Jungkook, damn it, is stronger than he remembered. “Besides, you’re
wearing idol makeup, not girly makeup.”
“What if they don’t like it?” he wails.
“Don’t be like this,” Jimin growls. “Not after you woke me up an hour earlier
than usual to put on your makeup for you and select the manliest cologne and
brush your hair just right.”
Jungkook whimpers pathetically and tries to hide behind a tree.
“What happened to Cool Kook?” Jimin asks threateningly. “Cool Kook wouldn’t be
hiding behind a tree while high school starts. Cool Kook would already be in
there, kicking ass.”
To his surprise, Jungkook takes a deep breath and straightens up. “You’re
right.” He nods. “You’re right.” He starts striding determinedly towards the
school. “I need to be Cool Kook now.”
Walking behind him, Jimin notices how Jungkook even makes their high school
uniform—a yellow buttoned blazer and black trousers—look good now. The uniform
always makes Jimin look lumpy and potato-like, the material bunching up in all
the wrong places and feeling uncomfortably tight in others, but it seems to
stick to Jungkook’s body like a second skin, accentuating his tapering waist
and long legs.
Jimin knows how their efforts have paid off the moment Jungkook walks inside
the school. The student chatter goes instantly quiet, silence spreading up the
hallway in a palpable wave. Everyone turns to gape at Jungkook. The old
Jungkook would hunch his shoulders and stare at the floor, but this Jungkook
stands straight, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow cockily.
Someone whispers, “Is that…Jeon Jungkook?”
“JeonJungkook?”
“What the hell?” one of the jocks asks in confusion. “Wasn’t this Baby Kook?”
“Yeah?” Jungkook walks right up to him. He used to be shorter than him, but now
Jimin sees with disbelief that he’s actually a good inch taller, looming above
him. The guy shrinks back. “You got a problem with that?”
“No,” the guy mutters, staring at the floor.
“Say that again,” Jungkook smiles a dangerous smile, sharp as cut glass, and
Jimin isn’t quite sure who he is anymore when he’s smiling that smile. “Call me
that again. What you said just now.”
“N-no, Jungkook,” the guy mumbles. “I didn’t call you nothing.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
Jungkook laughs and steps away. He jerks his head at Jimin, and Jimin trots
beside him as he walks down the hall towards his locker. They pass a girl who
can’t stop staring at Jungkook, face dazed. Jungkook turns his head and winks
at her.
The girl looks like she might faint. She turns to her friends without taking
her eyes off Jungkook, whispering in rapid-fire Korean, and an eruption of
giggles breaks out in the group of girls. They all start doing that funny
little hopping dance thing with their hands curled against their chests which
Jimin has never witnessed because of Jungkook before.
Jungkook throws his bag into his locker carelessly while Jimin does the same.
He strides down the hallway as if he owns it and into the boys’ bathroom, Jimin
following.
As soon as the door swings shut, Jungkook sags against the wall of the
bathroom. “What the hell was that?” he asks breathlessly.
“You tell me!” Jimin bursts out. “I knew it. I knew you’d knock them dead. That
guy looked like he’d never tease you again and the girls all look like they’ve
met an idol.”
“This is crazy,” he exhales. “This is so crazy. This is so not me.”
“It’s working, though,” Jimin says gleefully. “No one will ever call you Baby
Kook again.”
“I guess if I wanted to put my past behind me, this is the best way to do it,”
he says, dazed.
“But Jungkook…” Jimin hesitates. “Promise me one thing.”
Jungkook lifts his gaze to look at him. “What?”
“Promise me that—promise me that you’ll never be like that with me,” he says
haltingly. “Because that Jungkook…isn’t who I made friends with. And I’m not
sure whether he’s someone I’d want to be friends with.”
Jungkook’s lips part; he looks surprised. “Is Cool Kook really that
unlikeable?” he asks in a small voice. The voice he had before Jimin left over
the summer. The voice he had before he met Taehyung. The voice he had before
Taehyung cornered Jimin in the alley and—
Okay, whoa, whoa. His mind is not going there. He’s done such a good job of not
thinking about it until now.
“He’s not… unlikeable,” Jimin says hesitatingly. “Just maybe be nicer to
people. I mean, sure, be a dick to the assholes all you want, I won’t stop you.
But make sure not to lose sight of the Jungkook I know and love. The sweet
Jungkook. Kookie. The one who cried when he stepped on a snail by accident. The
one who gave his ice cream to a little beggar kid. The one who carried me home
on his back when I twisted my ankle when I was nine.” Jimin pauses. He feels
like he’s said too much. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says eventually. “Yeah, okay.”
Jimin smiles at him. “Besides that, you’re doing great. Darling”—he slips back
into his drag queen lisp—”I am so proud of you.”
“This is so hard,” Jungkook mumbles.
“Just wait until Suwon sees you,” Jimin says to himself.
~
“Jeon Jungkook!”
Jungkook looks up. Jimin nearly drops his lunch. They’re sitting on the grass
under the big tree in the middle of the field like they always do. No one ever
joins in, although people have tried—Jimin and Jungkook always end up
accidentally excluding them, trading banter which is full of inside jokes and
can’t be understood by anyone else.
But now—Jimin almost doesn’t believe his eyes. Because it’s Suwon, striding
across the lawn with her two best female friends beside her, legs pale and slim
beneath her short skirt, skin creamy and smooth, face impeccable and almost
frighteningly flawless.
She stops in front of them, ignoring Jimin completely, and looks Jungkook up
and down. Jungkook sits there and takes it, looking coolly amused. If Jimin had
to name the look she’s giving him, he would say that she’s stripping Jungkook
down in her mind.
“They told me how much you’d changed, but I didn’t believe them,” she tells
Jungkook after a long pause while she eyes him slowly, as if she’s devouring
him.
“And?” Jungkook asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She gives him a tiny, perfect smile in return. “I believe them now.”
Jimin watches this whole exchange, openmouthed.
“More’s changed then what you can see,” Jungkook says, voice low and
suggestive.
She lifts a meticulously shaped and filled-in eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” They haven’t broken their gazes since she got here. Jimin feels like if
he waves a hand between them, he would meet something solid and electric.
“Well…” she brushes her hair lightly out of her face, “I wouldn’t mind finding
out.”
“Really.” His voice is deeper than usual. Almost seductive.
“Call me, Jeon Jungkook.” She leans down to drop a folded slip of paper in his
lap, giving a him a view down her shirt. Jungkook’s eyes slide slowly and
deliberately down from her eyes to her lips to the inside of her blazer. “And
make it worth my while.”
And then she walks off, leaving the faintest hint of flowery, sweet perfume
behind.
Jungkook unfolds the paper. A number is written on it in purple sparkly pen
with a heart drawn on the end of it.
“Jungkook…” Jimin stares at him, eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Do you know
what this means?”
Cool Kook looks indifferently back at him. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know what
this means.”
~
Jungkook doesn’t lose his shit until he gets home—meaning, Jimin’s house. Jimin
is impressed.
“I cannot,” he yells, running around Jimin’s room, “believe that Suwon gave me
her number!”
Jimin sits on his bed like the eye of the storm. “Un-fucking-believable.”
“I proved you wrong. Before summer break, you told me to give up on her.”
Jungkook points wildly at him, eyes manically happy. Jimin’s seen that look
somewhere before. In the eyes of…
No no no don’t think of Taehyung don’t you dare think of Taehyung.
Jungkook whoops, holding his hands to either side of his head. “Oh my God, what
is happening to me? What the actual fuck is happening to me?” Then his hands
drop, and he looks terrified. “Oh my God.” He clambers onto Jimin’s bed. “What
am I going to say to her?”
“What?” Jimin can’t get accustomed to his mood swings—Jungkook’s eyes are wide
and terrified now, as if he can see his life flashing before his eyes with all
his mistakes magnified threefold. “Wait, what are you talking about?”
“I have to call her,” Jungkook babbles frantically, grabbing ahold of Jimin’s
shoulders and shaking him. “I have to call her! What do I say? What do I say?”
“Leave it to Cool Kook,” Jimin says, trying to prise Jungkook’s hands off.
“Leave it to Cool Kook! Will you stop shaking me?!”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says slowly, letting go of Jimin’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’ll
leave it to Cool Kook.”
He pulls his arms and legs in, wrapping his arms around his knees and pushing
his face into his thighs. He groans long and low. “Oh, this is crazy.” And then
his head whips back up, a beaming grin plastered on it. “This is crazy!” He
bounds off Jimin’s bed and out the window, standing on the sloped shingles and
spreading his arms wide. “This is wonderful!” he yells at Jimin’s neighborhood.
Jimin climbs laboriously out the window and lays down on the roof. “Lie down,
you idiot, or you’ll fall off again.”
Jungkook obliges, but he’s still grinning stupidly. “I can’t believe the
prettiest girl in the class gave me her number.” The grin grows wider. “I can’t
believe the prettiest girl in class maybe likes me.” The grin is so wide now
that it could rival Taehyung’s. “I can’t believe the prettiest girl in class
is—coming down the street right now.”
“Wait, what?” Jimin asks, confused.
“She’s walking down the street,” Jungkook hisses, eyes fixed on a point at the
beginning of the street. Jimin squints. Sure enough, he can see a long-legged,
distinctly feminine silhouette approaching, alone for once. “Quick, quick, say
something which makes me look cool!”
“Um…” Jimin is lost. “Like what?”
“Just say something!”
“Oh my God, Jungkook,” Jimin says, voice too high-pitched and unconsciously
echoing that of a stereotypical white girl as Suwon passes in front of their
house. “I can’t believe you—you—fought off a pack of rabid dogs!”
“I know, right?” Jungkook says, face turned towards Jimin but eyes darting
periodically towards Suwon, who has paused to listen.
“Tell me more!” Jimin says loudly. “Were they…were they…scary?”
“Oh, yeah!” Jungkook says, raising his voice. “They had mangy fur and slavering
jaws and—and—big teeth!”
“Big teeth?” Jimin repeats, shocked.
“Yes! Big teeth!” Jungkook holds his fingers about an inch apart. “This big!”
“That’s so big!”
“I know!”
“Jungkook?” Suwon calls from the sidewalk.
They both look down at her.
“When are you gonna call me?” She looks prettily put out, lips pouty.
“I was just planning to tonight,” Jungkook says, voice dropping low and smooth
again. Cool Kook is back. “Once I get back from Jimin’s house.”
“Don’t forget, okay?” she wags her finger at him. “I don’t give my number to
everyone.”
“Sure thing, babes,” Jungkook says easily. Jimin recoils, babes echoing around
and around in his head.
She smiles and walks down the street.
“Babes?” Jimin repeats disbelievingly once she’s out of earshot. “Babes?
Really?”
He can see Cool Kook sliding away from Jungkook like warm butter. “I had to say
something,” he says defensively.
Jimin shakes his head. “It’s like you’re a whole different person when you talk
to her.”
“Hey,” Jungkook says softly, nudging him. “Don’t worry. I’ll never be that kind
of person to you. I know you don’t like it.” He searches Jimin’s face. “Jimin?”
“You never promised me,” Jimin says, feeling like a little kid.
“I’ll do it now.” Jungkook takes his hand and squeezes it. “I promise.”
The moment is tense, precious. It makes Jimin feel strange. Like Jungkook
really has changed, and nothing he does can reverse that change. In more ways
than one.
He shoves Jungkook, shattering it. “Dork.”
Jungkook’s face breaks into a grin. “Stupid.”
They lay on the roof, watching the sun set over the rooftops and talking like
they did before Cool Kook was ever a thing, and neither remember to pull their
hands out of each other’s.
No one tells them to.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     DISCLAIMER: The notes Jimin takes down in Biology are not necessarily
     100% correct. It's basically just stuff I could remember from 7th
     Grade Life Science lessons.
     Enjoy :)
Somehow, by the time they turn fifteen and the second semester of high school
has started, everyone knows that Jungkook and Suwon are a thing.
Jimin doesn’t know how he missed this. He found out by passing a gaggle of
girls who were giggling and wailing in jealousy about the Sujung couple. When
he stopped to ask them whether Sujung was a new student or something, they
looked at him like he was crazy and explained that it was Suwon+Jungkook.
Jimin runs to find Jungkook. Today is one of the rare days that they didn’t
come to school together, so he’s not with him already. But when they come to
school separately, there’s always a place they meet up: the swings, which are
tucked away behind a copse of trees, out of sight from the school building and
a secluded place to talk. It’s the same swings Jimin fell off of and broke his
arm climbing. It’s the same swings which gave rise to the great “Stupid/Stupid”
debate.
No one ever goes there anymore. The yellow paint is chipped and peeling and the
rubber seats are scratched, but when Jungkook and Jimin go there, all they see
is the brand-new swing set of their childhood. All they see is opportunity and
a symbol of friendship.
Jimin darts through the trees, taking the path they’ve worn down through the
undergrowth. He’s nearly barrelled into the clearing when he sees that it’s
already occupied and freezes.
Jungkook is there, sitting on one of the swings. But next to him, Suwon is too,
giggling and playing with her hair, short skirt ridden up to the tops of her
slim thighs. They’re leaning into each other the way only lovers do, their
faces and bodies angled towards each other, their eyes soft and tender. Jimin
takes a step back when he sees that their hands are linked, resting casually on
Suwon’s lap.
Jungkook’s giving Suwon a smile he’s never seen before. It’s kind of a smirk,
but a smirk he can tell girls find hot. It’s a little bit cruel and a little
bit dangerous.
This is Cool Kook. This isn’t the Jungkook he’s best friends with.
Jimin takes another step back, and a twig breaks loudly under the sole of his
sneaker, interrupting Jungkook and Suwon’s quiet, private murmuring. Suwon
looks up. “Did you hear something?” she asks, but Jimin knows he’s hidden by
the trees.
Jungkook tilts her face back towards his with his fingers on her chin. “Don’t
worry, babes. I’ll protect you.”
Jimin recoils. He turns and flat-out runs, trying his best to avoid twigs and
dry, crackly piles of leaves. Jungkook isn’t someone who says babes. Jungkook
isn’t someone who’d use their meeting place, their rendezvous, to meet a girl.
Jungkook isn’t someone who’d be able to even touch Suwon that way without
quaking with terror.
Jimin isn’t jealous. But he feels sick for some reason, his gut churning and
twisting in on itself. He can’t understand why. He doesn’t like Suwon. He’s
never seen her that way.
In fact, he’s never…really…liked…girls.
It must be because of Jungkook, Jimin thinks. How different he’s become. How
much I dislike Cool Kook.
But it’s only a matter of time before Cool Kook invades, Jimin thinks,
nauseous, as he stumbles out of the trees and towards the school building.
Before Cool Kook takes over.
And then where will that leave me?
~
Jungkook
Hey
 
Jimin glances down at his phone when it beeps with a text.
 
Jungkook
I can’t walk back with you after school today
I have some stuff to do
Okay?
 
Some stuff? Jimin thinks. He never has some stuff to do.
Except…now he has a girlfriend, so I guess he does.
He feels sick to his stomach.
 
Jungkook
I’ll be going straight back to my house after I’m done
Ok?
Jimin????????
 
Jimin doesn’t know what to say. His thumbs hover over the keyboard, but he
doesn’t know what he can type which won’t sound bitter, encouraging, disgusted,
or…betrayed.
 
Jungkook
I can see you’re reading my messages
You’re not answering for whatever reason but ok
So bye
Don’t wait up for me
 
Jimin turns off his phone.
He starts walking.
~
Jimin passes his house. But for some reason, he doesn’t want to stop. Whenever
he looks at it, all he can see is the memories he’s made with Jungkook there,
and then that leads him to the memory of Jungkook and Suwon, sitting on the
swings, sitting on their swings. And that makes him walk faster, harder. As if
his feet can carry him away from his memories.
He doesn’t need his bag, though. So he throws it onto his front porch, roughly
next to his door. He’ll pick it up later.
And then he starts running.
Being alone gives him time to think. And he doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t
want to think about why Jungkook and Suwon affect him so much when they’ll
probably break up soon anyway. He doesn’t want to think about why he’s running.
He doesn’t want to think about…a boy whose name starts with Tae and ends with
hyung.
So he lets the burn in his lungs chase the thoughts away for him. After a
while, he can’t think past the deep ache of his muscles, the pounding of his
feet against the tarmac, the stitch in his side, his gasping, ragged breaths.
He can’t do anything but occasionally reach up to swipe the sweat out of his
eyes, and then push himself more, push himself further. He doesn’t have
anything in his mind except Keep going. Run, run, run.
So this is why people exercise. Jimin’s so exhausted but so full of something
which he hates, overflowing with something he wants to squirm away from.
Himself. To lose themselves.
Jimin doesn’t know how long he runs. He thinks he closes his eyes at some
point, because for some reason that helps him run farther, push away the
inevitable giving up just a little bit longer. But after a while, he can’t go
any further. He steers his failing, burning legs to a soft-looking patch of
grass and collapses to his knees, gasping for breath. He feels like there’s
nothing inside him except pain and sore muscles, not even air. And when he
looks inside himself, he finds that whatever he was trying to escape from has
been scraped out and left somewhere on the road behind him, somewhere between
the school and…whatever this place is.
That’s all he wanted.
When Jimin can see through the sweat in his eyes and when he feels like he can
breathe again, he looks up, around him. He’s collapsed on someone’s lawn. But
it doesn’t look like he’s on the lawn of a house—for one, the doors of the
house are wide open, and pounding dance music is coming from inside.
Jimin is tired enough to flop on the grass and sleep forever and let the earth
reclaim him, but then an image flashes, unbidden, into his mind: Jungkook and
Suwon’s hands, intertwined. Seemingly without conscious effort, he pushes
himself up and walks towards the house. He has to get away. He has to get away
before whatever he temporarily left behind can catch up to him.
He staggers right in through the front door, and no one stops him. He leans
against the wall and looks around. The dance music is coming from two huge
speakers hooked up to a stereo at the other end of the room, and the entire
bottom level of the house is open, without obstruction, the floor made out of
smooth wooden planks. Mirrors run around the room. The room is occupied by a
number of twisting, writhing bodies, and it takes Jimin a moment to realize
that they’re dancing.
The walls are a beautiful explosion. They’ve been covered in swaths of paint in
every conceivable color, every variant along the rainbow and also some which
aren’t included on it at all. Graffiti has been spray-painted on top of the
paint, but it’s not the half-rate, ugly graffiti that Jimin sees on walls in
the seedy parts of town: these are works of art, with actual meaning. There’s
one which depicts a hand with long nails squeezing a pulsing heart, blood
trickling down it as the nails score the heart. YOUR HEART IS A WEAPON THE SIZE
OF YOUR FIST has been written on the heart in white paint. All the words on the
walls have been written in white paint to make them stand out from the colors.
Another is of a woman inside a birdcage with a bird on the outside turning the
key with its beak. Another is large, taking up an entire wall: two hands, both
male and calloused, nails cut short, intertwined tightly. The nails are painted
the colors of the rainbow. When Jimin looks closely, he can see cursive words
in white paint looping around and around the hands like drifting lace: Lovers,
beauty, freedom, friends.
A woman strides up to him. She’s wearing a tight shirt slashed off beneath the
bottom of her bra, the words BE SO GOOD THEY CAN’T IGNORE YOU printed in large,
black, capital block letters on the white cotton. Her bra is red and lacy.
Jimin can see it through her transparent shirt.
She’s also wearing black leggings. Her feet are bare. Jimin notes with some
envy that her stomach is flat and toned with the promise of abs which would be
visible in better lighting.
“Wow, you look wrecked,” she tells him bluntly.
“Yeah,” Jimin says, winded, waving a hand. “I know.”
“You look like you’ve been running a marathon.”
“I think I—” He looks out the window. He vaguely recognizes this part of town
and does the math in his head. “I think I’ve run about two miles.”
She whistles. “You’re a runner, then?”
“Not exactly,” he says, Jungkook and Suwon’s linked hands flashing behind his
eyelids. Suddenly, something jerks inside him, something which makes him want
to run again, run until he falls off the edge of the earth. “Only since…just
now.”
She nods in understanding. Jimin didn’t expect her to get it, but she does. She
claps him on the shoulder. She has a tiny mole beneath her left eye. Her lips
are painted a gaudy crimson red.
“Whoever you are,” she says, “we’ve all been there.” She gestures towards the
rest of the house. “I’m Hyuna. This is my dance studio.”
“I’m Jimin,” he blurts out, “but, um, I’m not really a dancing kind of person.”
“You sure about that?” She purses her lips. “Listen, Jimin, let me tell you why
I started dancing. I was in a dark place. My ex-boyfriend had gotten me into
drinking and hard drugs and then dumped me, but I was already hooked on all
that vice. I couldn’t run away from it. I went to therapy, I went to
counselling…nothing. But dancing helped me escape.” She flicks her hair over
one shoulder. “Dancing helped me reclaim my body as mine and free it from the
taint of my good-for-nothing ex. Dancing helped me lose myself. Now I have open
relationships, get laid every week, and I’m happy as fuck. No one gets hurt. No
one has to lose.” She raises her voice. “Isn’t that right, guys? What do we
think of Hyunseung?”
“Hyunseung’s a dick!” the dancers yell back. Jimin notes that they have now
formed a conga line.
“Hyunseung,” she says, smiling a dangerous smile at Jimin which makes him glad
he’s not on her bad side, “is my ex. Like they said, he’s a dick and currently
in rehab. Anyway.” She waves her past away airily. Jimin follows the movement
of her red-painted nails. He wishes he could do that. He wishes he could sweep
it all away with a gesture. “As I was saying. If you’re looking for something
which won’t hurt you, Jimin, and if you’re looking for something which makes
you stronger, if you’re looking for something to escape to…dancing will always
be waiting.”
“But…I don’t have a dancer’s body,” he protests.
“Actually, I think you do.” She steps back and appraises him. “Strong legs, if
you could run two miles without stopping and without prior experience and
you’re talking to me right now. Right build. Nice hair, although it could be
better.” Jimin is puzzled at this. She steps closer. “But really, dancing
doesn’t care about your body—not modern dancing. Modern dancing cares about
what’s in here—what you have to offer. Or what you don’t.” She places her hand
on Jimin’s chest, over his heart. Jimin notes with satisfaction that she has to
reach up to do it—she’s a good four inches shorter than him. Then she smiles.
“I leave it to you, Jimin.” She spins away from him in an exaggerated
pirouette. “But for now, go home and think about it.”
Jimin walks numbly out of the house, feeling lighter than he did when he walked
in. Is it true, all she said about him? Could he really be a dancer?
He walks back to his house. It takes him twice as long. He’s calmer now; he
doesn’t run. For once, it doesn’t feel like a sin.
~
“Jimin!”
Jimin turns as he’s walking out of the school gates. Jungkook is running to
catch up with him. Several girls follow the movement of his body hungrily.
“Jimin,” he says again, catching his arm, “where are you going? I thought we’re
walking back together. I waited at the swings, but you weren’t there this
morning.”
For a moment, Jimin wavers. Should he cancel his plans so he can walk back with
him?
But then something Jungkook said catches up with him. I waited at the swings.
The fact that he can mention the swings with his face so open and honest like
that, without telling Jimin about what happened there, makes Jimin more
certain. If he hadn’t witnessed it himself, he’d never have guessed that
Jungkook’s hiding something from him.
What else hasn’t he told him?
“Actually,” he says, pulling his arm out of Jungkook’s hand and taking
satisfaction from the confused look on Jungkook’s face, “I have stuff to do.”
He’s echoing Jungkook’s text. He revels in this small victory.
“You can hang at my house if you want,” Jimin tells him, voice flat. “I’ll be
back before dinner.”
“But, wait, I never had a chance to and I wanted to tell you about…” Jungkook
begins.
But Jimin is already walking away. He doesn’t want to hear about Cool Kook’s
escapades.
“…the swings,” Jungkook finishes, watching Jimin go.
~
“You’re flexible,” Hyuna tells him. “That’s good! Many prospective dancers are
held back by lack of flexibility.”
They’re stretching on the floor of the dance studio. Jimin is surprised to find
that he can still lay his cheek against his thighs when both his legs are flung
out straight on the floor in front of him.
“I used to take Taekwondo classes,” he says, closing his eyes to relish the
burn. “They taught me to enjoy the stretch.”
“You see? You do have some background,” Hyuna says.
He opens his eyes to look at her. “But Taekwondo isn’t dancing.”
“It involves moving your body. It involves grace, to some degree. It’s still
better than most teens, whose background is comprised mostly of sitting in
front of a laptop all day.”
“If you say so.” For some reason, he trusts Hyuna and her flippant, unconcerned
coolness. Also for some reason, Hyuna has taken it upon herself to teach him
personally.
“Are you, like, head instructor or something?” he asks her as they finish their
stretches and head towards the middle of the floor, in front of the mirror.
“No,” she says dismissively. “Here, everyone is equals.”
“Everyone is equals except Hyuna,” a guy with a purple mohawk yells as he
dances by. “She’s the best dancer here.”
“Shut up, Kyungri,” she shouts after him. “You can still do the splits wider
than I can.”
“What-evuh!” he says, rolling his eyes and pretending to flip his hair over his
shoulder.
Jimin blinks at him. Then he looks at Hyuna.
“He’s gay,” she confirms. “Very gay.”
He nods in understanding.
“Come on,” she says, stopping him in front of the mirror and moving to the
stereo to change the song. She walks back to him and stands on her tiptoes,
stretching her calves and cracking her knuckles. “This is gonna be great.”
Beyonce’s Hold Up blasts out of the speakers. Instantly, everyone in the dance
studio freezes and then rushes towards Hyuna.
“Are you sure you wanna put him on this so early?” A guy with painted nails
whispers to her. “It’s against tradition—”
“Tradition is made by breaking old ones,” Hyuna snaps. “And he’s ready.”
They eye Jimin skeptically.
“Wait, what?” he asks, confused.
“It doesn’t matter,” Hyuna says, bending her knees in a ready stance. “Ignore
them. I’m going to teach you how to dance.”
Jimin quickly learns that in this dance studio, Hyuna’s word is law, and also
that in this dance studio, Beyonce is the queen. Anyone who invokes her name
does so with reverence, and new initiates normally aren’t even allowed to dance
to her. A poster of her is given a place of honor on the wall. He’s pretty sure
that they do rituals at night in front of it.
But no one dares defy Hyuna. So Jimin dances, and dances, and dances, his body
undulating and coiling and curving out again, and he realizes that he’s good at
it. He realizes that dancing, at least, is something which won’t judge him.
Jungkook would hate this place, he thinks, running and pointing his toes and
leaping through the air, looking at the colorful walls and the conga line
chanting the lyrics the way monks chant mantras winding around him and Hyuna.
Jungkook’s style isn’t soft pop and hipster like this. Jungkook’s style is
leather jackets and black and red. He would hate this so much.
Jimin grins.
Good.
~
No trace of Cool Kook remains when he goes back. The Jungkook who bounds up to
him the moment he opens the door is his Jungkook, bunny teeth digging into his
lower lip, eyes large and dark and concerned. Not Suwon’s Jungkook. Not the
Cool Kook Jungkook. His Jungkook.
“Where were you?” he whines, grasping Jimin’s arm. “You ditched me!”
Jimin thinks that he can find it inside himself to forgive Jungkook when he’s
like this, when his eyes are huge, dark pools of liquid worry and his hands are
shaky and clutching.
“I just had some stuff to do,” Jimin says. He almost believes that Cool Kook
was never here. “Paid for some groceries for my mom.”
He doesn’t know why he’s lying. He just knows that Jungkook is hiding Suwon
from him, and he feels like the only way he can get even is to hide something
else as well. Besides, Jungkook would hate it. Jungkook would tease him about
his dancing and tease him about the studio and tease him about Hyuna, who never
has a trace of judgment or ill will in her eyelined, mascara-brushed, long-
lashed eyes.
Jungkook wouldn’t care, he tells himself. The same way I don’t care about the
ridiculous Sujung couple drama.
But he can’t help but think, Is this how our friendship will be from now on?
Riddled with secrets like traps we’re afraid to fall into?
“Let’s go up to my room,” Jimin tells him, pushing the cancerous thoughts away.
“And I can tell you about all the adventures I had paying for groceries.”
Jungkook smiles hopefully, bunny teeth out and flashing. “Okay,” he says
happily, and Jimin almost feels bad for lying to him.
Almost.
~
Jimin is taking notes in Biology the next day when the classroom door opens.
He hears Mrs. Choi walking briskly to the door, high heels tapping against the
floor, and having a hushed conversation. “Highly irregular,” he hears her say,
and someone who he thinks is the principal says, “Paying extra to get in now.”
He doesn’t lift his eyes from his notes. Mrs. Choi is notorious for giving them
hardly any time to copy notes, and he’s going to take advantage of this
distraction if it’s the last thing he does.
“Students,” Mrs. Choi announces, “we have a new student today.”
Murmurs of confusion run through the class. It’s the middle of the second
semester, and new students never join at this time, but Jimin doesn’t look up.
Mitochondria are the powerhouses of the cell, floating in the cytoplast along
with the Golgi bodies, which surround the nucleus,he scrawls in his notebook.
“He’s from Daegu,” Mrs. Choi continues. “He moved to Busan urgently due to his
parents being called away on a year-long business trip—more than a few years,
actually; he’s not sure when they’re coming back.”
The nucleus contains the nucleotide, which contains the chromosomes, which
contain DNA, Jimin scribbles. When cells divide via mitosis, the nucleus splits
itself in two and an equal number of chromosomes will stay in the now separate
cells, making them identical.
“He’s been left in the care of his aunt and uncle, who live here, in Busan. He
used to work on a farm.”
Jimin’s hand slows in the middle of writing ‘genetic code’.
“And now, I’d like you to introduce yourself to the students.”
Jimin looks up, pen clutched in shaking fingers, dread settling in the pit of
his stomach.
“Hello, students,” Taehyung says, mouth curved up in a smile, voice deep and
playful. “My name is Kim Taehyung.”
***** Chapter 5 *****
By the next day, anyone who is anyone knows that Taehyung is bisexual.
A sort of unspoken code of high-schooler honor prevents anyone from letting the
teachers get wind of it. But the school is buzzing with the news, and everyone
clusters around Taehyung, asking him how he found out, how many guys he’s slept
with, what gay clubs are like.
“Gay clubs are great!” he says enthusiastically as Jimin tries to creep by
without being seen. “The music is so loud and everyone’s shirtless and
everyone’s grinding on each other and—” he catches sight of Jimin, who
unsuccessfully tries to hide himself behind a pole. “Hold on, I need to go talk
to someone I know. See you guys later!”
He stands up, legs as long as a line of terrace houses as always. “Park Jimin!”
he booms, and Jimin cringes.
Jimin tries to scuttle away, but Taehyung is fast, godammit. He catches hold of
Jimin’s arm and drags him behind some trees. Jimin does not like this. He has
not had a particularly large amount of good experiences with Taehyung in
secluded areas.
Unless…the last time could be counted as a good experience.
Jimin shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about that.
“Listen…Jimin.” Taehyung turns his eyes on him, and Jimin is a little surprised
to see that they’re concerned. “I was thinking about what happened the last
time we met, and I got worried. I just wanna ask you…” he leans in. “The kiss,
was it consensual?”
“I…” Jimin stammers. “I, um—what?”
“I kissed you,” Taehyung says patiently. “Remember? In the alley? Between the
cottages? I just wanted to ask whether you counted that as assault or
harassment. Because if I forced you into anything, I am so, so sorry.”
He sounds genuinely regretful. Jimin is touched that someone cares that much
about what he thinks.
“It wasn’t…um.” Jimin isn’t sure how to express this while still remaining
neutral. “It wasn’t nonconsensual.”
“Oh, great!” Taehyung’s face breaks into a smile. Jimin is relieved—his face
seems alien and strange without it. “Because you know I was just playing,
right?” He punches Jimin lightly on the arm.
“Um—”
“Great, good talk! I’ll see you later!” Taehyung skips away, leaving Jimin
standing, alone, in the trees.
“Yeah,” Jimin says to himself. “I know you were just playing.”
~
“Hyuna…” Jimin says tentatively. He doesn’t know whether he can approach her
about anything which isn’t dancing-related. “I need advice.”
“Yeah? Sure.” She sits down readily next to him, folding her legs.
He swallows. Now she’s agreed, he’s chickening out. Be brave, he scolds
himself. “There’s this guy,” he begins.
She chuckles softly to herself. “Oh, I can’t count how many stories I’ve heard
which started with ‘There’s this guy’.”
“There’s this guy,” he goes on determinedly, “named Taehyung, who I met on my
grandparents’ farm. He was helping out.”
“Okay,” she says. “Established.”
“And we, um, got to talking, and right when I was about to leave, out of
nowhere, he kissed me.”
“Okay,” Hyuna says, not batting an eyelid. This is why Jimin likes her.
“And now he’s enrolled in my school,” Jimin goes on. “And today was his first
day here, and he—he dragged me aside and asked me whether the kiss was
consensual.”
“Hmm.”
“Like, whether I’d consented to it or whether he’d forced it on me, I don’t
know.”
“Go on.”
“And I said ‘yeah’, and he told me he was only playing.” Jimin takes a deep
breath. “And then he skipped away.”
He looks hopefully at Hyuna, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his
shoulders, so much lighter in relief. She looks expectantly back at him.
“And…?”
“That’s all,” he says.
She blinks slowly. “I don’t quite see where advice is needed here.”
“What do I do?” Jimin asks helplessly, unable to see how she’s missing the
point. “What if he drops another kiss on me? What do I do about him?”
“Well…was the kiss really consensual?” she asks him.
“Yeah, I guess, I mean—I don’t know.” Jimin fumbles. “It was just so sudden and
quick that I didn’t really have time to say no.”
She gives him another slow blink. “But did you want to say no?”
“Um…” Jimin searches inside himself and comes up empty. “Not…particularly?”
“Alright,” she says calmly, “but I still don’t see the problem here.”
“The thing is…” Jimin trails off. “I’m—I’m not like that. I’m not gay.”
Hyuna’s face clears with comprehension. He’s just beginning to wonder whether
she deals with these kinds of situations a lot when she points at Jimin and
yells, “Guys, we got someone in denial here!”
“That’s not what I—” Jimin begins helplessly, but immediately, everyone in the
studio drops what they’re doing and rushes over to sit in a circle around
Jimin. Jimin leans back as the guy with the purple Mohawk—Kyungri—edges closer
with his chin in his hands, asking, wide-eyed, “Have you slept with him yet?”
“I didn’t really do anything!” He feels like he’s a kindergarten teacher
surrounded by hungry kids at storytime. “Nothing happened!”
Hyuna takes over. “So this guy named Taehyung kissed Jimin here and Jimin
doesn’t know what to do about it.”
The entire crowd of dancers goes “Awwww.” Jimin’s face is burning up. “It’s not
like that, I’m serious!”
“Honey,” a guy with painted nails says, patting Jimin’s arm and reminding Jimin
unnervingly of Drag Queen Jimin, “we’ve all been at that stage of denial.”
“Did he like it?” a woman in a flannel shirt pipes up from the back. “Did Jimin
like the kiss?”
They all move closer to him eagerly.
“I don’t know!” Jimin splutters. “It was okay! It was my first kiss, so I don’t
have anything to compare it to!”
This gives rise to another wave of “Awwwww”’s. “Did you feel all gooey inside?”
A girl in a short skirt and crop top asks. “Like the world was melting around
you and Taehyung was all there was in the universe?”
“Not…exactly,” Jimin says uncomfortably. “It was really quick.”
They look disappointed.
“But I did feel…really mushy,” Jimin adds reluctantly, and their faces
brighten.
“Ask him for another kiss!” someone calls.
Jimin’s cheeks redden. “I can’t just…”
“Register on Grindr!”
“Confess!”
“Confess!”
The chant picks up. “Confess, confess, confess! Confess, confess, confess!”
Jimin covers his ears. “He doesn’t feel that way about me!”
“Confess, confess—”
“Alright, guys,” Hyuna says, standing and waving her arms in shooing motions to
disperse the crowd. “Excitement is over. It’s Jimin’s decision now.”
The crowd scatters grudgingly. Jimin is left staring at his shoes.
“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles. “I don’t know how to feel.” He flops
back on the floor and groans. “I have literally none of my shit together.”
Hyuna kneels next to him and claps him on the shoulder. “Jimin, let me tell you
a secret.” She leans closer. “None of us do.”
~
“Suwon kissed me,” Jungkook says after school the next day, nervously twisting
his fingers as he sits on Jimin’s bed.
“Oh, really?” Jimin says, feigning interest as best as he can.
“Yeah.” Jungkook looks at him—the gaze of a scared child who doesn’t understand
what’s happening. “She was like, ‘Aren’t you gonna kiss me?’ and then she
pulled me in and it was over. Just like that.”
“What did Cool Kook do?” Jimin putters around the room. He finds that it’s
easier to split Jungkook into two different people. It makes everything hurt
less for whatever reason it hurts at all.
Maybe I’m just jealous that he’s found someone, he thinks. And I’m here,
dancing my troubles away while gay people pick my imaginary love life apart.
That last bit actually doesn’t sound that bad, Jimin thinks to himself. It
sounds…kind of like heaven. Troye Sivan’s version of Heaven, anyway.
“Hello? Jimin?”
Jimin snaps back into focus. Jungkook is sitting on the bed looking concerned.
“Where did you go? You looked like you couldn’t hear me.”
“Sorry. I zoned out.” Jimin sits down on the bed and tries to still his leg,
which is jiggling up and down restlessly. He hasn’t danced today. That’s the
problem. Dancing is a drug to him now, an addiction. He’s even come to enjoy
running to the dance studio, which he makes his body do sometimes when the
images of Jungkook and Suwon are especially hard to ignore. “What were you
saying?”
“Cool Kook was gone,” Jungkook says anxiously. “He just disappeared. I was all
dorky and geeky again, and I just made some kind of shit excuse and left.”
Jimin rolls over to look up at Jungkook’s face. It looms above him like that
day when they were toddlers. Everything seems to connect to that day. “There’s
nothing wrong with dorky and geeky you,” Jimin says. “I like dorky and geeky
you.”
Jungkook looks down at his face. Jimin’s head is nearly in his lap. “But dorky
and geeky Jungkook isn’t the one Suwon likes,” he says softly.
Who cares which one Suwon likes? Jimin wants to say. The question is, which one
do you want to be?
Because I know which one I prefer. But my opinion doesn’t matter.
Instead, Jimin just sighs and looks away. “You know, one day Cool Kook will
desert you for good,” he says quietly. “And then how will you wade through the
life he’s built?”
“I don’t know.” Jungkook looks troubled. “I guess…I’ll just bring him back.”
“Or you could stop giving any shits and just be Jungkook,” Jimin says. “My
Jungkook. Kookie. Who’s dorky and geeky and nerdy and fanboys over GD and IU
and actually seems human.”
Jungkook’s lips part as he looks down at him. “Is it really so bad that Cool
Kook is none of those things?”
Jimin doesn’t know what to do with the vulnerability in his voice, so he sighs
again. “It’s not…bad. It’s just that…Cool Kook isn’t my kind of person, is all.
Cool Kook isn’t someone who’d be best friends with me. He isn’t someone who’d
even talk to me.”
Jungkook stares at him for a long time. And then he says abruptly, “Do you know
why I buffed up? Like, really?”
Jimin blinks. “I thought it was because you were fed up of being Baby Kookie.”
“Yes, kind of, but it wasn’t to attract—to attract girls or anything.” Jungkook
bites his lip. “It was because…”
He trails off. “What?” Jimin asks, pushing himself up on his elbows.
“I didn’t want to be helpless anymore,” Jungkook says, voice so full of an
inexpressible sadness that Jimin’s heart aches. “I wanted to be able to fight
back when my dad tried to—tried to hit me. And I can fight back now. I do, when
I have to. He stays away from me unless he’s…really, really drunk. But I—”
Jungkook inhales sharply through his nose. “I punched him once, Jimin, when he
was going to hit my head against the wall. And I felt like absolute shit when
he stumbled away. His nose was bleeding and his eyes were all confused and
disoriented, and he was looking at me as if I were an entirely different
person. Like…” His voice breaks. “How terrible of a person am I if I beat up my
own dad?”
Jimin’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.
“I created Cool Kook to be someone tough. To be someone untouchable. When my
dad comes at me, I’m Cool Kook. And Cool Kook doesn’t have a problem with
hitting his own dad in the name of self-defense. But all this—Suwon, and the
popularity, and the people who suddenly want to be friends with me—all this is
a side effect. That’s why I was so shocked when you wanted to put the makeup on
me.” Jungkook bites his own lip hard to stop it from quivering. “I’d never
thought that all this would happen. This was never intended. I just wanted to
leave the old Jungkook behind. The old Jungkook was—soft, and innocent, and
cried because his father still hit him when he was fourteen years old.
Fourteen. I hated being him. I hated feeling small and helpless and
insignificant, like a child. I hated being treated like some kind of punching
bag and not being able to do anything about it.”
“Jungkook,” Jimin says. Jungkook’s staring hard at Jimin’s bedsheets, and it’s
clear that saying the words have cost him. His jaw is clenched, hard and
unyielding, but his eyes brim with tears. His arms are wrapped around his
knees. He looks vulnerable. Hurt.
“Now I…I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know who I want to be.” He closes
his eyes. The words can’t seem to stop coming. “I get why you hate Cool Kook.
Cool Kook isn’t someone I’d like, either—isn’t someone the old Jungkook would
like. Cool Kook would be one of those people we’d rag on and call names. But
Cool Kook is strong. Cool Kook is someone I need to be, sometimes, when the old
Jungkook isn’t enough against the world.” He draws a ragged breath. “I feel
like I’m living a double life, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. On one side, I
have Suwon and popularity and my own little fanclub. But on the other side, I
have…you. Your family. My mom. Everything special and significant which has
ever happened in my life.” He opens his eyes. They’re haunted. “Every day, I
can feel the barrier between Cool Kook and the old Jungkook growing weaker and
weaker. But I don’t know what I’ll do when it collapses. I don’t know whether
right now I’m Cool Kook, or the old Jungkook, or…or somewhere in the middle. I
lost myself while I was trying to take control of my life. And maybe that’s
doesn’t sound scary, but it’s…it’s terrifying.”
Jimin reaches up and pulls Jungkook’s head down into his lap, stroking his
fingers through his hair. It’s something they used to do when they were kids.
Jungkook asked him to stop doing it a few years ago because he said it made him
feel like a child, but he doesn’t protest now. Instead, he goes limp in Jimin’s
lap, body slumped the way only the bodies of broken boys can be.
“I’m trying to escape from my dad,” Jungkook mumbles. “But I can’t seem to stop
wanting to be his son.”
~
“Something’s troubling you,” Hyuna says, watching Jimin as he dances.
Jimin stops. “Why do you think that?” he shouts over the music, wiping sweat
out of his eyes.
“Because you’re managing to dance Let Me Love You like a funeral dirge,” she
says, crossing the room to switch the music off. “You’re somehow making a dance
to an electropop song look like the end scene in Train to Busan.”
“Nothing’s troubling me,” Jimin says, practicing a tricky move in the mirror
and pushing his sweaty hair back from his face and singing softly. “Don’t you
give up, na, na, na, I won’t give up, na, na, na, let me love—”
“Jimin,” Hyuna says, catching his arms and pinning them to his side with
surprising strength, “if you’re going through hard times, then dance to a sad
song. Don’t put DJ Snake through this.” She unplugs the speakers from the
stereo and hooks it up to her computer instead, typing something in. “Come on.
We’ll do this tutorial.”
“You’ll dance it with me?” Jimin asks, touched.
“Yeah.” She smiles at him. Smiles from Hyuna are so rare—she prefers to express
her affection in other ways—that one from her at a time like this seems like an
almost earth-shattering act of kindness. “I’ll dance it with you.”
A few hours of hard work later, Jimin and Hyuna are spinning, pirouetting,
leaping through the dance studio, pointed toes barely touching the floor.
Everyone else has stopped to watch. A few people are recording it. When Jimin
looks in the mirror, all he sees is two bodies dancing together with all the
grace of falling leaves, with all the sadness of a thousand men and women. He
can feel his irrational pain fading away little by little with every turn of
his body and every kick of his legs. Dancing, he realizes, doesn’t need a
reason. Dancing doesn’t demand ratification. He feels like a different person,
a person who still recognizes his best friend and has never been kissed by
mysterious boys. He feels like a work of art.
He feels, for once, like he could be beautiful.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     The smut has arrived, yayyyy…;)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“Jimin!” someone sings joyfully.
Jimin turns. But he already knows who he’s going to see.
“Taehyung,” he says with something like mixed disbelief and resignation as he
runs across the parking lot towards him, waving his arms like a madman. There’s
no keeping Taehyung down, he’ll give him that. “What?”
Taehyung stops in front of him. “Well, there’s no need to look so happy to see
me,” he says, managing to make it sound both sarcastic and sulky at the same
time, and Jimin remembers just in time how sensitive he is.
“What are you talking about? Of course I’m happy to see you,” Jimin says,
wondering if this is the right thing to answer with, and, to his relief,
Taehyung’s face breaks into a smile.
“I was just wondering whether you wanna come to my house,” he asks, face
shining with hope, hands linked earnestly in front of him like a little kid. He
bounces on his toes when Jimin looks reluctant. “Oh, please please please?”
I hardly even know him, Jimin thinks. But when he looks into Taehyung’s face,
so open and honest and eager to please, he knows he can’t say no to him.
“Okay,” he says, wondering what he’s getting himself into, and Taehyung grins,
smile flashing brighter than the sun.
“We’re such great friends already,” he gushes, and he takes hold of Jimin’s
shoulders, steering him towards the gate. “This way!”
~
A few minutes later, Jungkook walks into the parking lot.
He looks around. No sign of Jimin’s distinctive orange hair. He had it dyed
that color recently. When Jungkook asked him why, he mumbled something which
sounded like “Pyuna” and refused to answer any more questions about it.
Jimin, it appears, has ditched him.
“Again?” Jungkook says aloud to no one in particular.
~
Taehyung’s house is scary.
You couldn’t even call it a house. It’s more like a…manor. It’s the only
building Jimin’s ever seen which is both meant for living in and also has a
domed turret. It hasn’t even got just one gate, because no. Taehyung walks in
through his own gate, with his own guardhouse, with his own section of lawn
which he has to walk across to get to the imposing wooden double doors. Jimin
notes that although the manor is one building, it’s divided in two by a wall.
They’re walking towards the left side. Only the right side has a car: an
expensive, sleek saloon car which Jimin thinks costs about as much as his own
house.
“Dude,” Jimin says as they pass a carefully pruned and shaped topiary in a pot,
“you did not tell me your—what, aunt?—was loaded.”
Taehyung shrugs as they walk around the fountain and up the curved driveway.
“Money runs in the Kim family. Because the aunt which lives over there”—he
gestures to the right side of the manor—“is older than my dad, she inherited
all of the money.”
“You live in this side all by yourself?” Jimin asks. He gestures to the entire
left side, which could probably house his entire extended family with room to
spare. “This whole place? Alone?”
“Yeah.” Taehyung smiles a little. “It’s kind of lonely. But then again—” He
perks up. “That’s why you’re here!”
They climb the wide, impeccably polished marble steps up to the front door—no,
doors,which are wider than Jimin’s mom’s car is long. Intricate stained glass
windows have been set into them. Taehyung presses his thumb against a keypad,
puts his face in front of an eyeball scanner, and enters in a passcode before
something beeps and the doors let them in.
Jimin gapes at him. He shrugs again, rather sheepishly. “Security.”
When the doors shut behind them and Jimin gets a chance to look around, he’s
surprised. The inside of the manor, which is open-plan, doesn’t match the
outside at all—it looks comfortable, not imposingly luxurious, with sinky
couches with thick cushions and coffee tables piled with books. Some of the
furniture could even be bought at discount sales. The wooden dining table is
scratched in places, and the sink is piled with dishes. Taehyung throws his
school bag on top of the table and turns around, walking backwards and
spreading his arms. “Welcome to my temporary home.”
“Why’s it so different from the outside?” Jimin asks as he follows Taehyung to
the living room. Taehyung directs him to sit on a couch and sits down himself.
“I had my parents’ stuff moved from Daegu to here,” he says. “My aunt’s side is
really different—all gold and white, like The Dress to some people.”
“I always saw blue and brown,” Jimin murmurs to himself, sitting down.
“It’s crazy. Even the soap holders are golden. There’s antique vases and
paintings everywhere. All that is so not my style.” Taehyung waves his hand
dismissively. “Unfortunately, I, um…ran out of stuff while I was redecorating
this place. So only the ground level is like this. The other three levels were
decorated by my aunt, and they’re…blech. Expensive. Impersonal.”
“The other three?” Jimin echoes.
“I don’t really go to the turret that often, so I only count four levels,”
Taehyung says. “I like staying in the ground level. It’s so much more lived-in,
and it feels so much more like…home.”
He sounds wistful. Jimin feels sorry for him, then, as he remembers Mrs. Choi
saying that he doesn’t know when his parents will be back. Maybe not for years.
“Anyway, do you want a drink or something to eat?” Taehyung asks, straightening
up. “I’m trying to be a good host here.”
“Um…water would be nice.”
“Okay, wait here.” Taehyung stands, then pauses. “Actually…maybe you should
follow me. I don’t want you to get lost.”
“Right,” Jimin says faintly, trailing after him. “Get lost. In your four-story
manor. Not including the turret. Right.”
Once Taehyung has led him to the cavernous kitchen and gotten Jimin his glass
of water, which he’s relieved to see is in a plain, normal glass, they get into
the elevator. He pauses with his finger hovering over the buttons. “Which
bedroom do you want us to go to?” he asks.
Jimin freezes. Bedroom? he thinks, but he says, “Um, the one you normally sleep
in, I guess.”
Taehyung nods. “Good choice. I’m pretty sure my aunt has cameras in the other
ones.”
Jimin looks uneasily around the mirrored walls of the elevator and tries to
remember how to check for one-way mirrors.
Taehyung laughs. “I’m just joking. She wouldn’t do that. She doesn’t care
enough about me.”
Jimin isn’t sure whether this is a joke. But then the elevator dings as they
reach their floor—the fourth floor.
They get out and walk down it. Taehyung was right: the upper levels are starkly
different from the others. The floor is cold, creamy marble shot through with
veins of gold, and golden ornaments and trinkets which Jimin thinks are really
quite impractical stand on the side tables. The doors are made out of wood the
color of dark chocolate.
“Have you got a Christian Grey-style playroom tucked away somewhere?” Jimin
asks jokingly.
He expects Taehyung to laugh, but instead, he turns and raises an eyebrow. “You
never know. I do love my kinks.”
Just when Jimin thinks he’s going to die from embarrassment, Taehyung breaks
the tension with a laugh which makes the whole hall seem warmer. “I’m just
kidding.” He rests his hand on the handle of a door, pausing. “Maybe.”
He twists the knob and opens the door.
This room, like Jimin expected, is luxurious as well. A large window along the
far wall gives a view of a gold-and-white bathroom, bigger than Jimin’s entire
room, the porcelain jacuzzi resting on golden, clawed feet and the shower
cubicle larger than Jimin’s bed. Jimin doesn’t know why the bedroom looks
directly onto the bathroom instead of there being a wall between them, but he
isn’t here to question the manor’s architecture. A huge four-poster bed with
gold silk hangings and white sheets stands in front of him. On either side of
it, large, gently curving out picture windows which nearly extend from floor to
ceiling reach out to the other wall, long window seats which are more like
window couches heaped with cushions in front of them. They give a breathtaking
view of the lawns and hills beyond, a color palette of gentle dark blues and
shady greens framed by the wood of the windowframes. Jimin realizes with a
start that it’s already getting dark.
“I have to get going soon, Taehyung, I can’t be walking home in the dark—” he
begins, but Taehyung turns to him with desperation etched on his features.
“Please don’t leave.” He grasps Jimin’s arm. “Sleep over. It’s so lonely here
all by myself.”
Jimin hesitates. “But my parents…”
But he sees something in Taehyung’s eyes which is truly pleading. His grip on
his arm is almost a gesture of begging.
Jimin swallows. “I’ll…I’ll tell them I’m spending the night here.”
Taehyung’s features are eclipsed by sudden, overwhelming relief. He dances
around the room, feet sinking into the thick, white fur rug, while Jimin fires
off a quick text to his parents. He puts away his phone and sets his bag
carefully down on a couch, advancing further into the room.
“You sleep here?” he asks Taehyung.
“Yeah, but maids come in and clean and tidy up once a day, so it looks
unoccupied.” It’s true; the sheets are pristinely made, tucked in and pressed
crisp and smooth. Jimin can’t see any personal possessions anywhere, not even
hairbrushes. “Like I said, this is a big place and I do all my living on the
ground level. It gets lonely being by myself all the time.”
Then suddenly Taehyung stops mid-pirouette, plopping down next to Jimin on the
couch. His face becomes serious. “Jimin. I have something to tell you.”
Jimin listens tentatively.
“Lay it all out on the table,” Taehyung says.
“Um…yes.”
“Bring it all out in the light,” he goes on.
“Yeah.”
“Open my heart for the world to see.”
“Taehyung.”
“What?”
“Please get on with it.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly. “The thing is…I wanna kiss you.”
Jimin’s heart stops. “What?”
“But I was thinking maybe I should ask you first,” he goes on. “Since you were
so apprehensive about it the first time.”
“I wasn’t…was I…?”
“Kind of. Compared to some of the people I know.” He smiles apologetically. “It
kind of takes the fun of spontaneity out of it, but consent is the most
important thing here, you know. So, what do you say?”
“What do I say…to what?” Jimin knows exactly what he’s talking about, but he’s
stalling for time. He’s not ready to accept what Taehyung’s implying.
“The question is: do you, Park Jimin…” Taehyung leans in close until Jimin has
pressed himself against the back of the couch to try to put some appropriate
distance between them, but Taehyung doesn’t stop. Jimin can smell the mint on
his breath, can remember how sweet he tasted last time. He puts his hand on
Jimin’s thigh, and the dark monster in Jimin’s belly rears its head at the
touch. “…consent?” he breathes over Jimin’s lips.
“I—” Jimin’s voice is failing him. Jimin’s body is failing him, turning against
him, heat curling in his stomach as Taehyung’s fingers dance over his leg.
“I…um—”
“Nod or shake your head,” Taehyung suggests. His fingers are wandering up, up,
up… “Yes or no.”
Jimin’s lips part. And he nods.
Taehyung smiles for a brief second. And then he leans in.
Jimin just remembers to close his eyes. He isn’t even really kissing Taehyung
back—he’s too much in shock for that. But he isn’t pushing him away, and he
likes it, likes the heat in his stomach, likes the dark guilt of pleasure which
is Taehyung’s hand on his leg. He likes how Taehyung moves his mouth, like he
knows enough to kiss Jimin into a new world, into a new life. He likes how soft
and warm having a body pressed up against him feels, with a hand on his thigh
and another on the back of his neck and a flat stomach on his. But most of all,
he likes the quiet of it all. The quiet of his thoughts and the quiet of the
room, filled only by the soft sounds of their mouths coming together and
drawing apart.
It doesn’t even occur to him yet that Taehyung is a guy, and he is, too. This
feels too right to be something some people are disgusted by, to be something
some people dedicate their lives to hating. This feels too right to be anything
but wonderful.
He mumbles something incoherent into Taehyung’s mouth, into Taehyung’s lips.
Taehyung murmurs something back with equally as little and as much meaning.
And then something changes. Suddenly, everything is hotter, everything is
tenser, everything is more urgent. Someone’s shirt rides up and someones skin
touches someone else’s, but the point is that the skin-on-skin contact
occurred, and that alone is enough to remind them that they don’t want to kiss
slowly and languidly forever.
On a whim, Jimin slides his hands under Taehyung’s shirt. Taehyung gasps and
arches into the touch, and Jimin can’t believe how warm his skin is, how
smoothly his hands slide over it. He traces his thumb over the bottom of
Taehyung’s ribcage, thinking that even if he were stripped down to the bone,
Jimin would still find beauty in it. He runs his hands up and down his waist.
He’s addicted.
Taehyung’s fingers stroke over Jimin’s neck, carressing it. Jimin tips his head
back reflexively, and Taehyung leans down, kissing his neck almost reverently,
licking over the skin. Jimin’s chest rises and falls quickly as he gasps out a
moan. Taehyung bites down, catching the skin between his teeth, and Jimin’s
eyes close. He feels wanted. He feels needed. He feels necessary. And Taehyung
being able to make him feel this way feels as potent as any drug.
Taehyung pulls Jimin up, walking backwards until his knees hit the edge of the
bed. He tips back onto the bed willingly, smiling against Jimin’s mouth when
his body falls on top of Taehyung’s. Jimin doesn’t think when Taehyung lets his
legs fall open—his body slots itself in between them, hips grinding down until
they get the friction they need and Taehyung is pressing moans like presents
into his mouth.
Sooner or later, somehow or the other, their clothes are off but Jimin doesn’t
even care. He’s too busy attacking Taehyung’s neck with everything he
has—teeth, lips, nails. Taehyung can barely speak, their hips rutting against
each other with frantic, heated movements. He gasps out, “I’m clean. You?”
Jimin draws back for a while. “I’m—” His lips part as he realizes how much he’s
been operating on automatic for the past…what, twenty minutes? Hour? “I’m a
virgin, actually.”
“Ooh.” Taehyung drags him down again, smile dangerous and curved over his
swollen lips. “I am going to have so much fun with you.”
Jimin tops. He isn’t sure why since he thought that he’d be more of a
submissive type, but Taehyung tells him that he’s a switch himself and he’d
prefer for Jimin to top the first time. So Jimin pushes in and tries not to
lose his mind in the tight, tight heat.
His teeth are digging in hard into Taehyung’s throat. Taehyung reaches down and
grasps Jimin’s hand. His fingers are still slick from the lube. “Hey,” he says
softly, voice breathy. “You can move. Don’t worry about me.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?” Jimin mumbles into Taehyung’s sweaty skin.
“It doesn’t matter once you’ve taught yourself to like the pain,” Taehyung
gasps, and that pushes Jimin over the edge.
Taehyung has the prettiest moans, deep and throaty. That’s all Jimin can think
about. Everything feels tight and urgent between his legs, and the way Taehyung
is writhing and panting under him isn’t helping. There are nails digging into
skin, and there are teeth sinking into necks, and there are hands tangled in
hair, and the tightness is becoming more and more unbearable. And then it all
disappears in the brightest, most colorful explosion Jimin has ever seen, has
ever felt. It’s better than anything his hand could ever give him. It’s better
than anything Pornhub could ever deliver. It’s beauty, pure beauty, the beauty
of sin and the beauty of freedom and the beauty of finding a slice of heaven in
the hells of our lives.
Jimin’s mind is empty beyond the warm pleasure pulsing in lazy waves between
his legs after he pulls out of Taehyung. He collapses on his back next to him.
He feels empty, liquid, spent. Taehyung’s body is a work of art: a tapestry of
bruises and bites on a canvas of skin, his own release painted in white streaks
over his own stomach.
Being with Taehyung, it seems, is a blur of sensation and needy moans during
the actual thing, and all the living is done in the aftermath. So Jimin wraps
himself around Taehyung, presses his face into the crook of his neck, breathes
him in, the promise of vice absolved of judgment clinging to his skin like
deadly perfume.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin tells him when both of them are nearly asleep and his walls
have been wheeled away for the night.
“For what?” Taehyung asks, shooting him an amused look.
“Because…” Jimin doesn’t know how to say this without sounding like a dick. “I
don’t…really have any feelings for you. I just liked fucking you.”
Taehyung doesn’t look hurt. He looks kind in the way only he can, with laughter
in his eyes and mirth in the soft lines of his mouth. “Good thing you told me
early,” he tells Jimin, patting his cheek. “Then we can both be warned before
any feelings start setting in.”
Jimin doesn’t know what to make of this. But he falls asleep with Taehyung
anyway, their bodies curled in and around each other, their hands still linked.
Before his mind loses itself to dreams, he congratulates himself—it’s the
longest time he’s went without thinking of Jungkook.
Mission accomplished.
~
On the other side of town, Jungkook waits beneath Jimin’s window. He’s been
waiting since the end of school. The Parks don’t know he’s there—he can hear
them murmuring to each other, the mundane dialogue of husband and wife, but he
doesn’t hear Jimin.
He looks up and is startled to find that it’s nighttime. Inside, he can hear
the clink of dinner plates being put away. Jimin’s curfew is always in time for
dinner unless he’s told his parents that he’s staying over at a friend’s house.
Does that mean…that he’s staying over at a friend’s house? And he didn’t tell
Jungkook?
He feels stupid suddenly, small, naïve. He’s been waiting under Jimin’s window
for hours like some kind of pathetic watchdog. What is he, Jimin’s pet? Does he
have no life beyond Jimin?
His heart feels shrunken and cold. He peels himself away shakily from the wall
of Jimin’s house and stands on the driveway, shivering as the cold night wind
blows through his school uniform. What did he think he knew about the world?
Nothing. Jimin ditched him and he didn’t even get the message—instead, he
loitered around his house until it got dark. He’s an idiot. He thought he’d
exercised and dieted his innocence away, but it never really left.
Not quite sure how he should feel other than betrayed, but feeling unwanted and
friendless anyway, he walks unsteadily down the street back towards his broken
home, back towards his broken family.
Alone.
Chapter End Notes
     I forgot to mention that the dance tutorial Jimin and Hyuna danced to
     is this one.
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMEp88LRZ8g
     Thank you <3
***** Chapter 7 *****
“Something’s different again,” Hyuna says, watching Jimin dance Justin Bieber’s
Sorry in the mirrored walls of the studio.
“What?” Jimin asks, twisting and popping his body with all he has. The beat
drops, and he can’t help but smile as the music takes over, pulling his body
along like puppet strings he can’t resist. He loves surrendering to it.
“You’re using your hips a lot more,” she says, watching him with the eagle-eyed
gaze of an experienced predator and also an experienced dance instructor (they
can be frighteningly similar at times). “If I had to say what’s different, I’d
say…you got laid, didn’t you, Park Jimin?”
Everyone in the studio gasps and turns to look at Jimin, the hands of the
especially gay and melodramatic ones placed tenderly over their hearts. Jimin
waits in the brief second before the reaction the way you wait in the short,
painless moment after you stub your toe before the agony catches up to you.
And then everyone in the dance studio rushes him, yelling and shouting nothing
in particular. There are arms being thrown around him and cheeks being pressed
to his, “darling”s and “honey”s being screamed into his ears. He thinks someone
is crying. But he’s laughing, enjoying being the target of such easy,
hysterical affection, safe in the dramatic world of these strangers he feels
like he’s known all his life. Here, he never feels like he doesn’t belong.
Here, he never feels like he’s being judged. And he can’t believe, in that
beautiful, incandescent moment, how long it took for him to find home.
The crowd parts, and Hyuna steps into the circle they’ve formed. “Kyungri,” she
says with a small smile, “show him the video.”
Jimin’ smile falters. “What…what video?”
Kyungri steps forward with glee, phone held out the way one would hold an
Oscar. Jimin takes it from him and stares at the screen. It’s him and Hyuna,
dancing to Ed Sheeran’s Give Me Love in this very studio. Jimin looks closer.
Their bodies are both moving beautifully, are both works of art, but it’s
obvious that the video was filmed with Jimin as the centerpiece and Hyuna as
the supporting dancer.
Jimin thinks that’s unfair. Hyuna is a better dancer than him.
“Look at the views,” someone squeals excitedly. It’s clear they’re all in on
this and he’s the only one who’s been kept in the dark.
“Um…”
“Read the number aloud!”
Jimin closes out of the video. His eyes grow as wide as dinner plates.
“1,143,096.” He stops. Reads it again. “1,143,096…wait, are you kidding me?”
“We shit you not,” someone shouts, and then everyone’s laughing and clapping
him on the back again. “A million views!” they’re yelling. “A million!”
Jimin can’t believe this. Jimin can’t  believe  this. A million people have
seen him dance? A million people have watched him do what he loves?
“Look at the comments,” Kyungri screeches, and Jimin scrolls down.
“‘Face like an idol’,” he reads. “‘Dances as well as EXO’s Kai.’ No, that can’t
be right…‘He could leave me on read at 4:30 and text at 8:47 and I would reply
at 8:46’.” He laughs disbelievingly. “Okay, guys, very funny…where’s the joke?”
“There is no joke,” someone yells gleefully. “You think we could personally
fabricate 100,000 comments?”
“‘Make him an idol’,” Jimin reads on, slowly believing them more and more.
‘Make him an idol already’…’What’s his name?’…‘What is his name?’…’WE NEED TO
KNOW HIS NAME GODAMMIT’.”
He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know how his life led to this
point. He looks up slowly, feeling like he’s living in a dream, and sees Hyuna
standing in front of him and holding something out.
It’s a—Jimin doesn’t believe his eyes at first—a BDSM collar with a leash. It’s
made out of black leather with a golden tag on the front. He takes it from
Hyuna in a daze. The golden tag reads ‘Park Jimin’ in looping cursive. Below
it, it says, “If found, please return to…” along with the address of the dance
studio.
“What is this?” Jimin asks in disbelief.
“Initiates normally get it when they dance their first Beyonce song,” Hyuna
explains, “but we decided to hold off since you danced to one on your first
day. But now you’ve accomplished so much in such a short time—”
“Gotten laid!”
“Gotten a million views on YouTube!”
“—that we think you deserve it now.”
Jimin turns it over and over in his hands. “I don’t have to, like,  wear  it,
do I?”
“Nah,” Hyuna says dismissively. “It’s just tradition. But you do have to wear
it once so you can take a picture with everyone in the dance studio.”
Jimin feels his mouth curl up wickedly at the corners. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay.” He fits the collar around his neck. The leather is surprisingly soft on
the inside—he’d always thought leather collars would be uncomfortable, but he
kind of likes the tug when Hyuna pulls on the leash. “Let’s do this shit.”
~
Taehyung
Jiminnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
 
Jimin looks down at his phone as he walks into school.
 
Jimin
Yeah?
 
Taehyung
So I was thinkingggggggggg
And I thought that maybeee
We should talk about stuff
Like outline our relationship and stuff
Like are we FWB or was that last thing just a one-night stand or what
 
Jimin
On the phone?
 
Taehyung
No I wanna talk in person
Do you know a place?
 
Jimin thinks.
Jimin knows.
 
Jimin
If you walk behind the science lab there are trees. Walk through the trees and
there’s an old swing set. Meet me there
 
He clicks his phone off.
~
Jungkook knows he’s stupid for trying.
But he doesn’t know what’s come between him and Jimin lately. There’s a sort of
distance Jungkook’s been trying to close, trying to cross with their inside
jokes and normal banter, but Jimin always draws away. He doesn’t know whether
it’s something he did or whether Jimin just finds Cool Kook so repulsive that
he doesn’t want to be his friend anymore.
But the thing is…Jimin is the only friend he has, really. Their friendship is—
was  so close that they never really bothered to make friends besides each
other.
Jungkook feels like a puppy no one wants. Like a puppy who doesn’t know
anything better than to trail in confusion after its owner when its owner
leaves it behind and won’t look back.
But he has to try. If this last thing fails, then he’ll stop reaching out to
Jimin. If Jimin still doesn’t want to talk, he’ll just give up.
Resolution faltering already, he squares his shoulders and heads for the swing
set.
~
As Jungkook walks the familiar path between the trees, he thinks of that day
when Suwon pressured him into taking them somewhere to be alone. He couldn’t
think of anywhere—he couldn’t take her to his house, because his dad was there,
and he definitely couldn’t take her to Jimin’s, which was his second home. The
only place he could think of was the swings.
He knew, as Cool Kook took over and led her by the hand through the trees, that
the swings had always been his and Jimin’s place and theirs only. It had, at
this point, become something sacred. It was where their friendship was first
tested. It was where they had deep talks about girls and toy car collections.
Over the years since they had found it, it had taken on many fantastical
transformations in their minds, becoming a pirate ship, becoming a jungle whose
vines they swung from, becoming a magical time-travelling machine which would
take them away to new worlds and unexplored dimensions. They’d fought off enemy
pirates with cutlasses as they stood on the seats and swung back and forth to
replicate the rocking of a boat, hanging dangerously from one hand on the
chain. They’d gripped the bars with their lives hanging in the balance as they
defended their jungle kingdom from bloodthirsty cannibals in grass skirts and
fearsome masks. They’d held on for dear life to the swings as the other pushed
them as high as they could go, light years flashing by behind their eyelids,
the world changing around them in the bright transcendence of friendship. It
was a temple dedicated to their bond, a landmark which testimonied to their
connection. No one knew about it, only them.
Until Jungkook brought Suwon there.
He’d assumed that Jimin would understand. But he knew, as Jimin started pulling
away from him after that, that he’d crossed a line. He’d violated the unspoken
rules of their friendship, and now something precious was broken, unfixable.
Somehow, Jimin knew. And somehow, neither of them could bring themselves to
talk about it.
It just got worse from there. The thing about a thread is once it starts
unravelling, it’ll just keep undoing itself faster and faster, more damage
dealt with every irreversible second. Their silences got longer. The air got
tenser. And an awkwardness which had never existed between them crept in where
their friendship should have been.
Jungkook knows he did something wrong. He knows he’s being punished. But he
doesn’t understand why he’s being punished for so  long.
Now, he tells himself, he’ll apologize. If Jimin is at the swings like they’re
meant to be in the mornings, together, he’ll man up and he’ll apologize. He’ll
tell Jimin that bros come before hoes. He’ll tell Jimin that he never really
liked Suwon that much anyway. He’ll tell Jimin anything if it means it’ll fix
whatever is broken between them.
Jungkook once read somewhere that if a friendship lasts more than 7 years, it’s
scientifically proven to last a lifetime. They’ve been friends for fourteen
years whereas Suwon is the first relationship Jungkook will ever have. He
doubts that they’ll even last into sophomore year. If Suwon is really all
that’s driving them apart, how hard can it be to denounce her and Cool Kook and
everything which has barged in between them in the name of a friendship which
is supposed to last their entire lives?
Jungkook pushes through the trees with determination sitting heavily in his
chest. And stops.
It’s Jimin. And it’s Taehyung. Sitting on the swings, Jimin where Suwon was and
Taehyung where Jimin was, facing each other and talking.
This is less serious than when Jungkook brought Suwon—Suwon is his…girlfriend
whereas Taehyung is a guy. But Jungkook still can’t believe that Jimin would
violate the sacredness of the swing set to talk to Taehyung when he could talk
to him literally anywhere else in school.
Although Jungkook did the same. Did worse. So he supposes that he has no right
to feel betrayed.
But are Jimin and Taehyung even…friends? He’s never really seen them talking
together. Jimin has never mentioned Taehyung in the (now rarer) times he talks
to Jungkook. So why are they here, in  their  place, Jimin and Jungkook’s
place, talking like they’re not desecrating holy ground just by being there?
Jungkook knows it’s wrong, but he can’t resist. He edges closer, making sure
the trees conceal him, and listens.
“So I’d just like to make this clear…” Taehyung says, businesslike. “We are
friends with benefits. FWB for short.”
Jimin keeps his eyes on his face. “Yes.”
Jungkook’s heard the phrase “friends with benefits” before. But he can’t
remember what it means. Is it like…they’re friends, but they pay for each
other, the way banks advertise benefits if you set up an account with them? Or
is it something else?
“Last night will not be the first time if we don’t want it to be,” Taehyung
continues. “We can contact each other at any time to meet up again.”
“Yeah,” Jimin agrees.
What happened last night? What do they do when they meet up?
Oh, God, did Taehyung get Jimin into drugs? Do they meet up to trade drugs?
Jungkook knew Taehyung was a shady character, arriving in the middle of the
school year like that out of nowhere and paying extra to secure himself a
place, but he never knew the extent of his nefariousness until now.
“Feelings will be kept out of this to prevent this from getting messy.”
“No feelings,” Jimin echoes.
Feelings? What do they mean? Do the drugs they take prevent them from feeling
things? Oh, no, Jungkook has to tell Jimin’s parents. He has to report him to
the Parks. He knows Jimin is—maybe was—his best friend and selling him out to
his parents is a dicky move, but it’s for his own wellbeing. None of this
sounds good.
“We can both have other partners if we so choose,” Taehyung goes on. “This is
an open thing. But if one of the other partners takes offence that this
arrangement is going on, we may break off this arrangement to preserve their
feelings.”
This is terrible. They can deal drugs with other people, too. This is
catastrophic. This is  apocalyptic.
“Therefore, we are in this for the sex and the sex only,” Taehyung says, and
Jungkook’s heart stops beating. “If at any time one of us feels uncomfortable
with this arrangement and wishes to opt out, the arrangement will stop.”
“Yeah,” Jimin says.
“I think that’s it,” Taehyung says. “We don’t have to sign a contract or
anything, right?”
“Nah.” Jimin waves his hand dismissively. “It’s been said and we’ve agreed.
That’s all that matters.”
“Yeah.” Taehyung’s eyes are on Jimin’s lips now, and suddenly, Jungkook thinks
he knows what this is all about. But he can’t believe it. He refuses to believe
it, because…Jimin never told him so. And they are or were best friends, right?
He would have said something, right?
“Come here,” Jimin murmurs, and they lean together. Jungkook shuts his eyes
when their mouths meet. He feels sick. He feels like this is all wrong. Not
because he’s homophobic, but because…Jimin is his  friend.  And now Jimin’s
here, sitting at their swing set, agreeing to have sex with a boy he doesn’t
even know.
How long has this been going on? Has it…already happened? Is that what Taehyung
meant by ‘last night’?
Is Jimin not a virgin anymore?
Jungkook stumbles away into the trees, probably making as much sound as a
rhinoceros, but Jimin and Taehyung don’t notice. They’re kissing harder now, as
if they can’t get enough of each other, but Jungkook can’t resist looking back
every time he tears his eyes away. Jimin gets up and straddles Taehyung,
sitting on his lap, and slings his arms around Taehyung’s neck like it’s the
most natural thing in the world. They open their mouths slightly, and
Jungkook’s stomach drops into his feet when he sees their tongues sliding over
each other, winding around each other. How could he not notice this? How could
he not notice this huge change taking place in his best friend?
Jungkook wants to cry. He feels like his heart had been ripped out, frozen to
ice, and then transplanted back in anyway. His face is hot with shame at being
such a fool, but his chest is cracking with the cold. He can’t believe this. He
can’t believe the boy he thought was his best friend could hide something this
big from him.
He staggers blindly down the hallway, trying to get to the bathroom. If he gets
to the bathroom, he’s safe. If he gets to the bathroom, no one needs to care
which Jungkook he shows to its tiled walls—Cool Kook or the real him, the him
he isn’t even sure of anymore.
And then Suwon looms in front of him.
“Jungkook,” she says, already reaching out her arms to wind them around his
neck, “you said you’d help me with my Geometry homework, right?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, unable to look at her, because if he does he just might
actually cry. She represents everything to him now: the thing which rent apart
his and Jimin’s friendship, the thing which dismantled that special,
unreplicable thing they had between them. “But I’m crap at Geometry. I’ll be no
help.”
“You’re still better than I am, baby,” she coos, but Jungkook leans away from
her reaching arms. He can’t touch her right now.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, slotting the apology in between them like a wall.
“I’m sorry, but I—I can’t do this right now.”
He just catches a glimpse of her delicately pretty face, screwed up in
annoyance, before he dodges her and stumbles into the bathroom.
A group of jocks are already in there, laughing their heads off at some sordid
joke their leader is telling. They’re sprawled across the sinks, dirty sneakers
propped up on the taps, and Jungkook can’t stand the sight of them.  “Out,”  he
roars, his voice suddenly so much bigger than it’s ever been, and they all
jump. They fall over themselves to scamper hastily out of the bathroom, casting
terrified looks over their shoulders at Jungkook. Jungkook catches a glimpse of
himself in the mirror. He actually looks formidable, angry, like a bully. He
looks like Cool Kook.
This isn’t who he wants to be.
He slumps over the sinks, his head dropping into his hands. Who is he? Who does
he want to be? Who does he  need  to be, right now, to fix the tattered mess of
his life and chase away the lethal chill in his chest?
“I’m a mess,” he mumbles to himself in the mirror. Cool Kook stares back.
Jungkook wants to get rid of him, eradicate him, fling him off a bridge so his
life can be as it was before  he  appeared, before Jimin started kissing
strange boys and Jungkook found himself the boyfriend of the most popular, most
materialistic girl in school. “I’m such a fucking mess.”
He just wants to be himself again.
Even if he doesn’t know who that is anymore.
***** Chapter 8 *****
“What are you now?” Kyungri asks, chin pillowed in his hands.
“Um…” Jimin looks around at the circle of dancers surrounding him, all
listening avidly with rounded eyes. They’re sitting cross-legged on the wooden
floor of the dance studio. “We’re friends with benefits.”
A lot of people look horrified at this. The faces of a few grow ominously
shadowed, and Hyuna sighs, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“Jimin,” she says gravely, “this is one thing the fanfics are right about. No
one can be friends with benefits for long without one of you catching feelings.
Friends with benefits is an invitation for trouble and broken hearts. Someone
always gets hurt.”
“No,” he says, confused. “I don’t—I don’t feel that way about Taehyung. I never
could.”
“Oh, Jimin,” Hyuna says sadly. “Maybe it’s not your feelings you should be
worried about.”
~
Jungkook is going through the ritual he does whenever he feels numb when he
finds it.
Whenever he feels empty, bored or betrayed or otherwise, he clicks into YouTube
and he looks for a new song. Jungkook loves music, has always felt like it lies
intertwined with his veins and is carved into his bones, and he thinks that if
he ever does something meaningful with his life, it’ll be something to do with
music. He thinks that heaven is kind of like a song you never get bored of.
Like happiness and wonder on repeat.
But no song can be like that. No song can be eternal except oblivion itself. So
for now, while he still walks the earth, Jungkook satisfies himself with songs
which he’ll loop for hours and hours until he’s memorized them and he’s fed up
of them. These are his drugs. These are his vices. Not of the flesh and not of
the heart, but of the ears.
That sounded more profound in his head.
He feels empty now. So he checks all his favorite artists, but they haven’t
released new songs. As a last-ditch effort, he clicks on Trending, which is
usually filled with cute puppy videos or baby vines. Trending hardly ever
actually has any good songs.
As expected, he sees the familiar thumbnail of a video of a panda falling off a
slide which has occupied the top spot on Trending for days now. But—he
squints—it’s not number 1 anymore. Another video has pushed it aside. And
though the title is some contemporary dance thing—Jungkook doesn’t normally go
for dance videos—the dancer in the thumbnail looks familiar. Terribly familiar.
Jungkook clicks on it faster than he’s ever clicked on anything.
The video opens, and, after a brief moment of buffering which feels like
torture to Jungkook, begins to play. Jungkook can’t believe his eyes. It’s a
man and a woman, with the man as the focus, the man wearing a tight tank top
and shorts which show off his muscles and toned body. But the man also has
orange hair and chubby cheeks. The man is…Jimin.
Jimin?
Jungkook’s mouth falls open as he watches Jimin twist and turn on the screen.
The song is Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran, one of Jungkook’s personal favorites,
but Jungkook has never thought of it as sad, only lonely.  But Jimin…Jimin
dances it like it’s the saddest song in the world. His expression is slack,
eyes hooded, and even Jungkook can see the hurt in them.
But somehow, Jimin has taken whatever he’s feeling and made it beautiful.
Jungkook can’t tear his eyes away as he pirouettes and spins across the dance
floor, the woman complementing him with every move they make. This isn’t a
dance. This is a story. A story so beautiful it doesn’t even need to be read,
but has to be  felt.
Jungkook’s never seen anyone do the things with their body that Jimin is doing
on the screen. He can’t believe he missed this, yet another massive thing: his
grace, so light and ethereal that it seems like a fundamental part of him.
Jimin pirouettes, and turns, and leaps, and he even does things with his head
which look like a part of the dance. Jungkook wishes he had the words to
describe it, but he doesn’t. All he sees is the boy who used to be his best
friend, very clearly doing something he loves.
The video ends. Jimin’s body, collapsed on the floor in a way which still
manages to look artistically sad, fades to black.
Jungkook closes his laptop slowly, eyes wide, Jimin still dancing behind his
eyelids. He bites his lip hard.
And he stands. Maybe it’s dumb, but he knows what he’s going to do.
~
The next day at school, Jungkook marches through the gates and makes a beeline
for Taehyung.
Taehyung is surrounded by a club of admirers, all hoping that his brightness
and laughter will rub off on them. He seemed to become instantly popular the
moment he stepped foot in school. Maybe it’s something about him. Maybe it’s
that he’s so openly bi and no one else has that courage, or maybe it’s that he
makes people feel special. Cared for.
Either way, Jungkook’s never seen it.
“Move,” he barks at the Kim Taehyung fanclub, and everyone shifts aside
nervously. He stands in front of Taehyung, who looks amused.
“Yes?” he asks, smile curving the corners of his mouth.
“I want to talk with you.” Jungkook pokes his finger in his chest. He knows
he’s being mean—he knows Cool Kook is being mean—but being mean gets you where
you want to be in life. Being mean helps you survive. “Alone.”
“I know just the place,” Taehyung says airily.
“Alone, meaning,  without  your fanclub following us around,” Jungkook snaps
pointedly at the people listening to their exchange. They shrink back.
“Alright, then.” Taehyung makes playful shooing motions at them. “Go on. I’ll
talk to you guys later.”
They disperse, throwing looks over their shoulders at Jungkook. Jungkook
doesn’t care. He stands with his arms folded, saying acidly, “Well? Where is
the place?”
“Follow me,” Taehyung says, jerking his head, and they set off.
They’re halfway there before Jungkook realizes with a sinking heart that
they’re heading for the swings.
“Wait,” he blurts, because he can’t allow that place to be invaded  again.
Soon it’ll start looking like a Pokestop.
Taehyung turns and raises an eyebrow. “Yes? Anything else you wanna say after
chasing away my friends?”
“I…” Jungkook glares at him. He can’t back out now after coming on so strong.
“No. Nothing.”
Taehyung turns back around.
A few minutes later, they’re sitting on the swings, and Jungkook feels like
he’s committing a grave sin all over again. He can’t believe Taehyung knows
about this place. He can’t believe Taehyung thinks he has the right to use the
swings as a meeting place. This was meant to be just his and Jimin’s.
Well…before.
Taehyung sits down. Jungkook remains standing, glaring down at him. He’s heard
that it’s more intimidating to appear bigger than your opponent.
Taehyung looks up. “Are you just gonna stand there and glare at me, or are you
actually gonna say something?”
Jungkook reaches into his pocket and draws out his phone. He’s saved the video
of Jimin dancing already. “This,” he snaps, thrusting it into Taehyung’s hands.
Taehyung watches it with interest. “Did you know about this?”
“Nope.” Taehyung whistles. “I’ll have to congratulate Jimin. Nearly two million
views.”
“How did you not know about this?” Jungkook demands. “Now you and Jimin are
a…are friends with benefits?”
Taehyung doesn’t seem fazed. He doesn’t ask Jungkook how he knows that, either.
“Jimin hasn’t chosen to tell me,” he says, giving the phone back to Jungkook.
“And I have no problem with that. We don’t have the kind of relationship which
means we confide everything to each other.”
You shouldn’t have a relationship at all,  Jungkook thinks angrily, but he’s a
little thrown at what Taehyung said. Some small part of him knows he’s being an
irrational dick, but the bigger part of him doesn’t care. “Well,” he says, “I
want you to stay away from Jimin.”
Taehyung scratches his head; he looks mildly troubled. “I’m sorry,” he says
slowly after a while, “but who are you?”
Jungkook scowls. “I’m Jimin’s best friend.”
“Really?” Taehyung asks. “He never mentioned you.”
Something in Jungkook drops. But he says, “Your relationship isn’t the kind of
relationship which means you confide everything to each other, remember?”
“That is true.” To his credit, Taehyung is not being a dick. Taehyung is
actually, Jungkook grudgingly admits, being very nice given the situation.
“Okay, uh…state one good reason you want me to stay away from Jimin. Another
good reason why it’s your business at all also optional.”
“You’re a bad influence,” Jungkook growls. “You’re partying 24/7 and you’re
absent from school half the time. When you  are  in school, I’m pretty sure
you’re high out of your mind. Like now.”
“And given we are only friends with benefits, why do you think I’ll influence
Jimin at all?”
“He spends time with you,” Jungkook snarls. “That leads to  influencing.”
“Actually,” Taehyung corrects, “we fuck. That doesn’t exactly count as
substantial influencing time. You can spend time with a prostitute, but that
doesn’t mean you’ll  become  a prostitute.”
Jungkook flinches at  fuck.  Taehyung sees it.
“Look, Jungkook…your name is Jungkook, right?” Taehyung asks, and Jungkook
glares at him. “I don’t think you care that much about Jimin being influenced
by me at all. I think—forgive me for saying this seeing as we’ve never spoken
before in my life—that you’re jealous.”
“Jealous?” Jungkook laughs disbelievingly. “Of what? Jimin? You think I want to
sleep with you?”
“Actually,” Taehyung says calmly, taking the insult without retaliating, “I
think it’s the other way round.”
Jungkook does the math slowly in his head. He wasn’t lying to Suwon—he really
is shit at anything involving numbers, although this hardly involves numbers at
all. “You’re saying…” Jungkook trails off. “You think I like Jimin?”
“Yes,” Taehyung says brightly. “See, you do get it!”
Jungkook narrows his eyes at him. “I get that you don’t know me,” he says
flatly, “but I’m not gay.”
“Really?” Taehyung lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. The signs all point to
jealousy.”
“I’m not jealous! I told you I’m not gay!”
“There’s an easy way to check that,” Taehyung says, and he pulls Jungkook’s
hips towards him.
Jungkook stumbles away. “What are you doing?”
Taehyung stands, fisting his hands in Jungkook’s top. Jungkook tries to back
away, but Taehyung is stronger than he looks. “Kiss me,” he says simply.
“Wh-what?” Taehyung’s leg hooks around Jungkook’s, and Jungkook trips. They
fall down in the grass, Taehyung straddling him.
Taehyung’s long fingers hold his chin, tilting it up, and he smooths the pad of
his thumb over Jungkook’s lips. Jungkook’s lips parts reflexively under the
pressure, a small gasp trickling out when Taehyung slips his thumb in his mouth
and brushes it over his tongue. Taehyung’s skin tastes sweet. How is that even
possible?
“I won’t force you into anything,” Taehyung says sweetly, bending down over
Jungkook’s body and stopping right before their mouths meet, “because consent
is important. But I’m here now, and you’re really hot although you’re kind of
an asshole, and this is an invitation. So it’s your choice now.” Taehyung slips
his thumb out of his mouth and brushes it over his cheekbone instead. “Kiss me.
Or don’t.”
“I’m not…” Jungkook trails off when Taehyung shifts his hips slightly, and the
friction sparks something dark in his belly which punches the air out of his
lungs. Suwon has never made him feel like this. “I’m not…”
“No one has to know,” Taehyung whispers.
Jungkook licks his lips apprehensively. And then he pulls Taehyung down on top
of him.
Kissing a boy is so different. Taehyung’s lips are a little chapped and a
little rougher, and they don’t taste of artificial strawberry the way Suwon’s
lip gloss tasted. They have their own sweetness.
He isn’t afraid to use his tongue, either. Suwon just sat there and let
Jungkook do all the work, gasping in this breathy, high-pitched voice into his
mouth, and to be honest, after awhile it kind of started annoying him. But
Taehyung swipes his tongue over Jungkook’s lips as a way of asking for access,
and when Jungkook opens his mouth, he slides his tongue over Jungkook’s so
slowly and deliberately that Jungkook shivers and strains closer.
Taehyung is grinding his hips down in earnest now, and the heat licking at
Jungkook’s stomach is driving him crazy. “Get between my legs,” he murmurs to
him, letting his legs fall open, and Taehyung slots his body obediently in
between them.
What would Suwon think if she could see me now?  Jungkook wonders as Taehyung’s
hands steal up his shirt and smooth over his ribs, his abs, making his back
arch when he flicks over his nipples.  Making out with a boy in the grass?
No…I don’t care about Suwon. What would Jimin think?
“What are you thinking about?” Taehyung whispers into his ear, coming up for
air in between kisses to Jungkook’s neck. His hand has found its way down the
front of Jungkook’s pants, making Jungkook stutter out a moan when he presses
down and lets him grind against the heel of his hand.
“I think I might be bi,” he whispers back. Taehyung’s fingers dance under the
waistband of his boxers, wrapping around his erection, and Jungkook’s body
arches off the ground. “Shit, Taehyung, I think I’m bi,” he groans, canting his
hips up into Taehyung’s hand.
“Great,” Taehyung says into his throat, biting down and sucking. “I am too.”
Jungkook makes a desperate sound, pulling Taehyung’s head back up to his. He
needs something to bite on, and Taehyung’s lower lip will do marvellously.
Taehyung groans, low and deep, hand tightening around him. The tension and heat
between Jungkook’s legs is becoming unbearable.
“Taehyung, shit, I’m—” Everything is so tight, everything is so bright.
“Fuck.”
Someone is shouting. It might be him. He’s grinding up into Taehyung’s hand
with all he’s got, probably smearing cum everywhere and making a mess, but it
doesn’t matter when heaven is bursting behind his eyelids. He feels like pure
light. He feels superhuman. He feels like an explosion, bright and beautiful,
burning up in his own flames.
And then slowly, slowly, it fades. And Jungkook can breathe again.
He opens his eyes. He’s lying on his back in the grass and looking up at the
sky through the canopy of tree branches, pleasure throbbing in lazy waves
between his legs. The clouds look like wisps of cotton wool against blue paint
above him. Taehyung has gotten off of his body, wiping his hand on the grass.
He notices that Jungkook’s eyes are open and says, “Well, that’s final. You’re
bi.”
“Shit,” Jungkook breathes. “I can’t believe I came from a hand down my pants.
From a  handjob.”
“It was really less of a handjob and more of you grinding into my hand.”
“Shit,” Jungkook says.  “Shit.”
“Was I that bad at delivering satisfaction, or was it so good that you have no
words?”
Jungkook rolls his head to look at him. “I don’t even like you,” he says, in
disbelief at what he’s just done.
“That’s okay,” Taehyung says, standing. “Not many people do the way I want them
to.”
And then he’s gone. And Jungkook is just a boy lying on his back in a clearing
with cum in his pants.
“My life has truly gone to shit,” he mumbles. “It’s official.”
***** Chapter 9 *****
“Something’s on your mind,” Jimin tells Jungkook, both of them newly started
tenth grade.
The tree above them casts dappled, branch-shaped shadows on Jungkook’s face,
the sunlight reflecting off his hair. He squints against the light as he looks
as Jimin. They’re sitting on the grass at lunchtime, their kimchi-stained lunch
trays set aside carelessly. It’s always kimchi for lunch here the way it’s
always sunny in Philadelphia.
Jungkook started to make that joke when sophomore year started. Jimin doesn’t
get it. When he asks him what it means, Jungkook answers haughtily that it’s
not his fault that Jimin doesn’t know American television.
A lot and a little has happened since the mess of the last year. Jimin and
Taehyung are still friends with benefits, and for once, Hyuna’s dire warnings
have proved wrong: no one is getting hurt, and neither of them feel anything
for each other besides lust. They still have great sex once in awhile when they
both feel like it. They’re still just friends.
But most importantly, Jimin and Jungkook are friends again.
They’d made up over the summer, but Jimin still doesn’t really know what
happened exactly. It’s just that on the night of the last day of school, in the
middle of washing dishes, he looked up and saw his reflection in the window and
thought,  I’m being ridiculous. Over Sujung. Over Jungkook. Over everything.
This has to stop.
Jimin, naturally, did what best friends do: he called Jungkook at 9 at night
and asked him whether he wanted to sleep over at his house. Twenty minutes
later, Jimin’s bedroom window opened and Jungkook climbed in, sweatpants grimy
from the dust of the road he’d kicked up as he jogged, hair pasted to his
forehead with sweat.
They’d talked. And they’d talked. And they’d talked. Not about all the unspoken
things which had happened to their friendship which they each weren’t sure how
much the other knew about: the people they’d both taken to the swings, Suwon,
and the distance which had grown between them, for starters. They found that if
they both tried hard enough, it wasn’t difficult to smooth over those topics
and avoid them.
Jungkook told Jimin how he’d seen the dancing video on Trending. Jimin was
surprised and a little pleased when Jungkook made him dance it again,
surrounded by the blue-painted bedroom of his childhood, his best friend
reclining on his bed the way it was always supposed to be.
And one day, somehow, it was all over the school that Taehyung and Jimin were
sleeping together.
Someone supposedly saw them kissing behind the gym. Someone else supposedly saw
them both walking together into Taehyung’s manor. Someone  else  supposedly
happened to be passing Taehyung’s manor at night and saw them fucking on the
window seats in front of the huge picture windows in Taehyung’s bedroom (Jimin
knew  that was a bad idea, but it turns out that Taehyung has an exhibitionism
kink, and it was Taehyung’s birthday, and Jimin wanted to indulge him). Rumor
led to speculation, speculation led to affirmation, and just like that,
everyone knew the truth: they were friends with benefits.
The scariest part wasn’t the catcalling and the teasing in the hallways,
although no one has  ever insulted Jimin—it seems that Taehyung’s protection of
popularity extends to him too. The scariest part was facing Jungkook and
knowing that he knew and knowing that there was no way Jimin could make him
forget.
They were sitting on the swings again. Jimin wasn’t certain, but he was pretty
sure Jungkook hadn’t brought Suwon there any more; Jimin knew  he  hadn’t
brought anyone. The swings were sacred again, reconsecrated with the teasing,
laughing conversation of their friendship.
Jimin watched Jungkook’s face anxiously. “You’ve heard?”
“About?” Jungkook asked, and Jimin knew he was going to make him say it.
Confess to it.
“Me,” he said quietly, only the trees and the sky listening to them. “And
Taehyung.”
Jungkook met his eyes. “Yeah, I know,” he said.
Jimin studied his face. He couldn’t read it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you
earlier,” he said hesitantly. “That I was gay. But I wasn’t ready to come out
to you—I wasn’t ready to come out to anyone, actually, when all this happened,
and I’m still not. It just blew up in my face.” He sighed. “But I guess this
kind of arrangement can’t go on for long without people finding out.”
“Especially since you fucked in front of a picture window,” Jungkook said.
Jimin groaned. “I knew it was a mistake, okay? But Taehyung wanted to and I
can’t really say no to him when he’s like that.”
Jungkook blinked slowly. “Look, this might be an intrusive question, but…” He
took a deep breath. “Which one of you takes it up the ass?”
“Not me,” Jimin answered. “I top.”
Jungkook regarded him cautiously. “So you never—you never take it up the ass?”
“Say bottoming and topping, Jungkook, it’s so much less awkward.” Jungkook
blushed. “To answer your question, no, I don’t. It’s always Taehyung.”
Jungkook scanned him up and down, eyes lingering on Jimin’s crotch. Jimin
crossed his legs uncomfortably. “What?”
“I don’t think I can look at you anymore without thinking that your dick has
gone up Taehyung’s ass,” he said.
I can’t look at you anymore without thinking that your hands have probably
touched Suwon’s breasts,  Jimin thought, but he didn’t say it. Neither of them
mentioned Suwon very often anymore. It just hung between them, something they
didn’t really take pains to avoid whenever they talked, but not exactly a much-
visited topic of conversation, either.
“I can’t look at you anymore without thinking that this is the same guy who had
to be taken to A&E when he was seven because he stuck his dick in a bottle of
shampoo,” Jimin said, narrowing his eyes.
Jungkook’s cheeks reddened. “I did so much stupid shit when I was a kid.”
“I agree.”
There was a companionable silence.
And then Jungkook blurted out, “Why don’t you take—why don’t you bottom? WIth
Taehyung?”
Jimin thought about it, kicking his legs. “I think…” he said slowly, “I’m not
ready to give that part of myself to him.”
“What—the part which can be penetrated? Your penetrative virginity?”
Jimin glared at him. “Shut up, he-who-lost-his-virginity-to-a-bottle-of-
shampoo.”
“Ugh. Asshole.” Jungkook realized what he’d said and cackled. “Or—not asshole.
Virgin asshole.”
“I will kill you,” Jimin threatened, picking up a branch and levelling it at
Jungkook.
Jungkook shut up. The reason he has what looks at first glance like a mole in
his knee is because Jimin stuck a pencil in his leg when they were six and they
were fighting about something and the lead broke off under his skin. He takes
Jimin a lot more seriously after that.
“Is it, like, a trust issue, then?” Jungkook asked.
“Not…exactly. I mean, I do trust Taehyung to some extent. Maybe not enough to
catch me if I fall off a building, but enough not to give me an STD or bite my
dick off when he’s blowing me.”
“TMI,” Jungkook said, hunched over and covering his ears with his eyes screwed
shut. He realized that this only strengthened the image hovering in his mind
and opened his eyes, staring at the grass. “So much TMI. My ears can never
unhear that. My ears will never come back to life.”
“Shut up.” Jimin whacked him with the branch. “I’m just not ready to give
myself to anyone like that. Maybe I never will be if it’s him.”
Jungkook scratched his head. “Gays are complicated,” he complained.
Jimin beat him with the branch.
“Ow, stop, stop!” Jungkook threw his hands up over his head. “So are you saying
that you’ve never liked girls?”
“Never liked them. It makes sense now, right? While you went off and tried to
impress girls, I stood on the sidelines and enjoyed watching you make a fool of
yourself.”
Jungkook huffs. “At least I have a girlfriend.”
Jimin tapped him wisely on the head with a branch. “But who, exactly, is
getting laid every week?”
“Virgin asshole.”
Jimin started beating him with the branch as hard as he could.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Experienced asshole! Is that bet—ow!”
And just like that, their friendship was back to normal. It had apparently been
that easy.
Jimin lands with a thump back in the present.
“Well, um…” Jungkook gnaws on his lower lip. “Yesterday…uh, before I tell you,
the reason I didn’t tell you right after it happened is because I thought you
wouldn’t wanna know.”
Jungkook waits. Jimin watches him. “Okay.”
“And, I, um, still don’t know what really happened, and what, uh, exactly
happened, and, like, the logistics of it…” he fumbles.
Jimin sits back, lets him make excuses and um and ah himself into a corner, and
thinks about life.
When it seems like the bush has finally been so thoroughly beaten around that
even Jungkook can’t stammer his way out of actually telling Jimin the point
anymore, Jimin starts listening again. He wasn’t a moment too late.
“What I’ve really been trying to say is that, um, I lost my virginity to Suwon
yesterday,”
Jimin sits up straight.  “What?”
“Yeah.” Jungkook eyes him nervously. “Or at least, Cool Kook did.”
Cool Kook is rarely busted out anymore now that Jimin’s accepted that Cool Kook
is as much a part of Jungkook as Baby Kookie is. But when Jungkook feels like
the extra justification is needed, he invokes Cool Kook.
“What was it like?” Jimin asks him.
“It was…wet.” Jungkook stares into the sky as he thinks about it. “Tight. Hot.
Not, like, Scarlett Johansson kinda hot, but more like middle-of-summer day
kinda hot. And girls make so much  noise,  you know? I don’t know why. There’s
all this whining and all this whimpering and it’s all so high-pitched that
after awhile I just wished I could wear noise-cancelling headphones and just
get it over with.” He looks at Jimin. “Is Taehyung like that?”
“Uh, no,” Jimin says loftily. “He uses his moans sparingly and with good
taste.”
“Yeah, well, with her it was more like a constant soundtrack of pig-being-
stepped-on.”
“But was it  earth-shattering?”  Jimin persists. “Did you feel like your world
was changed forever?”
“Um…” Jungkook trails off uncertainly. “Maybe? Kinda? Is that how you felt when
you had your first time with Taehyung?”
“Not really.” Jimin thinks back. “It was more of a…realization. Like an
epiphany, but gentle. Like I was crossing a boundary I knew I couldn’t go back
from.” Jimin pulls his legs in and wraps his arms around them. “I think I
always kind of knew that I was gay. But I just didn’t want to accept it. And
when I found out with Taehyung, it didn’t turn my world upside down, it more
of…expanded it.”
“Okay, that sounds like that should be a book or something,” Jungkook says. “So
anyway, I came into the condom as fast as I could and I don’t really know
whether she came too, and the next thing I knew I was walking away from her
house.”
“Why yesterday of all days, though?” Jimin asks. “Is it because it was the
first day of sophomore year?”
“No, she said it was our anniversary,” Jungkook says. “She gave me her number
on the first day of high school, remember? You were there.”
“Oh…right.” Jimin shifts on the grass. “Are you gonna sleep with her again?”
“I don’t know,” Jungkook says slowly. “The sounds were really getting on my
nerves. And it’s not like the finish was so great, either…I think I’ve had
better ones with my hand.”
“Ah, the complications of straight relationships,” Jimin says airily. “Gay
relationships are so much more straightforward—ironic, isn’t it, considering
we’re far from straight? No one gets pregnant. Everyone has great orgasms.”
“Everyone gets AIDS,” Jungkook says icily.
“Not if you use condoms and lube up and prep,” Jimin counters. “And you
straight people have all sorts of nasty shit, too. They sound like poisonous
plants. Chlamydia. Gonorrhea.”
Jungkook sighs. “Taehyung is experienced and we were both virgins. That’s the
difference.”
“Straight people,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes.
~
I have to tell him I’m bi one day,  Jungkook thinks, watching him roll his
eyes.  Or am I even really bi?
What the hell even was that with Taehyung? He said that no one has to know.
That means that he hasn’t told Jimin, right?
But Jungkook knows, with all certitude, that there will never be any feelings
between him and Taehyung. He doesn’t think Taehyung even intended for Jungkook
to cum. It was all one big, prolonged accident.
“Maybe one day you’ll find out you like guys,” Jimin says hopefully. “And we
can both fangirl over Lee Dong Wook together.”
“Yeah, not much chance of that,” Jungkook says distractedly.  Lee Dong Wook is
a beautiful piece of man cake.
He does a double take at himself for how gay he sounds.
“I would die if it meant I could kiss his pink, pink lips,” Jimin says
wistfully. “At least it meant I could see him again.”
[This is a Goblin joke. In the popular Korean drama Goblin, Lee Dong Wook is
the Grim Reaper. He collects souls after people die.]
I would kill,  Jungkook thinks.  Oh my God. What is happening to me?
Jimin begins, “Don’t even get me started on—”
“Do you mind?” Jungkook finds himself asking Jimin hastily to draw them off the
subject of hot guys. He’s pretty sure his lust will start showing on his face
soon if they don’t stop. “That I didn’t tell you right away when I slept with
Suwon?”
“Nah.’ Jimin waves his hand dismissively. “I didn’t tell you when I lost it to
Taehyung, so I guess we’re even now.”
“Promise you’ll tell me when you lose your penetrative virginity,” Jungkook
says, sticking out his pinky finger.
Jimin wrinkles his nose. “I hate that phrase.”
“Promise.” Jungkook curls his pinky finger insistently.
“Ugh, fine.” They link fingers. “I promise, stupid.”
~
Jimin goes to the dance studio after the end of school. Jungkook has a date
with Suwon, so they can’t go to Jimin’s house. Jungkook didn’t exactly seem to
be looking forward to it when he told Jimin. Jimin’s just glad that he tells
him at all now.
When Jimin gets there, there is beer being passed around. It’s Kyungri’s
birthday, which means free alcohol. Jimin grabs a can and takes a swig as he
dances.
He doesn’t normally drink, so he didn’t know it, but it turns out that he’s a
lightweight. Before the third song is even over, Jimin finds that his
coordination has mostly deserted him and the world is fuzzy and blurred at the
edges, the graffiti on the walls blending and bleeding together. He eventually
sits against the wall opposite the open door, clutching his beer.
It also turns out that he’s an emotional and talkative drinker—an unfortunate
combination. He’s already been established as the storyteller of the dance
studio, so everyone quickly abandons their dancing to cluster around him and
listen as he babbles, words growing more and more slurred as he drinks more
beer.
“You know what?” he mumbles. “You really know what? I was such a dick to
Jungkook when he and Suwon got together, and I still don’t even know why. I
can’t believe he’s still my friend. I can’t believe—I can’t believe he’s stuck
with me through all the shit I’ve put him through, you know?”
Kyungri touches his shoulder with concern. “Dearie,” he whispers, “who’s
Jungkook? We need pictures.”
“My best friend.” Jimin unlocks his phone and passes it to him without a
thought. “Just look through my photos. Nearly all of them are of him.”
Everyone in the room who has ever looked at a man and liked what they saw
groups around the phone. This means most of the dance studio, and after a few
moments of whispered conference, Kyungri says, eyes glued to the phone screen,
“Okay, honey, I think we have a problem here, because you did  not  tell us
that your best friend is such a total hottie.”
“He is a hottie, isn’t he, I mean—he has a great ass. It’s better than my ass,
It’s one of the best asses I’ve ever seen.” Kyungri holds up the phone next to
Jimin’s ass and compares them appraisingly. Then he nods. “And I’m pretty sure
he’s hung too, I haven’t seen his dick for a while but it was definitely bigger
than mine the last time I did—”
The gays in the room are huddling closer to him, hanging off his every word.
“Tell us more,” one says hungrily.
“I just—” Jimin sniffs, waving his beer can, “I just love him so much, you
know? He’s such a great person, and even though he’s straight and has a
girlfriend he’s just—he’s always loved me no matter how shitty I was being. I
just love him. I—” Jimin stops mid-sentence. The fugue of alcohol blanketing
his mind is cleared briefly with horror.
“What is it, darling?” they ask in concern.
“Oh my God.” Jimin’s knuckles whiten on the beer can. “Oh. My.  God.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I love him,” Jimin says, and suddenly, everything is crystal clear: why
Jungkook getting together with Suwon affected him so much, why he felt so
betrayed and jealous when he found out, why he felt so terrible when the
distance grew between them. “I love—I actually fucking love him.”
The gays can’t deal with this. Hyuna comes forward. “Jimin?”
“I love him,” Jimin wails. “I love him! I love him and he’s taken! I love him
and he just lost his virginity to his perfect, pretty girlfriend yesterday!”
“Oh, Jimin,” Hyuna says sadly.
“I can’t believe—” Jimin can feel tears pricking at his eyes now; the beer is
increasing his susceptibility to his emotions. “I can’t believe it took me this
long to realize.”
“Are you sure?”
“When you’re in love, it feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before, right?”
Jimin asks wildly. “It feels like—it feels like there’s a bungee cord in your
chest connected to the person, and the further you get from them, the more the
bungee cord stretches and the more it hurts. You need them the way you need air
to breathe. When you haven’t talked to them for a while, you feel like you
don’t know who you are anymore because you can’t see yourself in their eyes.”
Everyone in the studio is nodding.
“You feel like you never want to leave them,” Jimin says, feeling like his
words are slowly unravelling his life and everything he thought about it,
“because without them, you’re nothing. Without them, you’re worthless. Without
them, you have no meaning.”
“I’m sorry, Jimin,” Hyuna says, her hand rubbing circles into his shaking
shoulders.
“I can’t believe this,” he says, and the first tears of the night spill down
his cheeks. “I can’t believe this.”
~
Jungkook can’t reach Jimin.
His texts aren’t being delivered and his calls aren’t being put through because
wherever he is, it’s somewhere with no cell phone service. With every time the
smooth, automated voice tells him he can’t get through, his worry increases.
The date with Suwon was awkward. Jungkook knew what she wanted him to say, what
Cool Kook would have said, but he realized…that he didn’t want to say them. He
could see her getting more and more irritated as the night wore on. Eventually,
he just made an excuse and left.
He wants to be with Jimin right now. He needs to talk to Jimin. He needs to
hear Jimin’s voice talking to him the way only Jimin does, his voice devoid of
judgment or expectation. He needs JImin’s face to push Suwon’s frustrated and
made-up one out.
But Jimin can’t be reached. Jimin can’t be talked to.
Jungkook feels lost without Jimin in the town he’s lived in all his life. He
doesn’t know where to go. So he goes to the only place which has ever truly
felt like home to him: Jimin’s house. His best friend has got to be there.
Jungkook climbs the drainpipe without announcing his presence to the Parks.
He’s done this so many times before that he doesn’t even need to think about
where to put his feet anymore, doesn’t need to think about where the handholds
are.
He clambers through the window and into Jimin’s room. He looks around.
The room is empty.
Jungkook wanders further in and starts looking around, searching for any clue
to Jimin’s current whereabouts. He moves aside Jimin’s laptop and a box of skin
creams, and then he sees it.
He picks it up slowly. It’s a black leather collar and a leash, clearly made
for human use. A gold tag is attached to the front with Jimin’s name on it and
an address listed beneath the inscription  If found, please return to:  etched
into the metal. He runs his thumb along the inside of the collar, imagining the
warmth of Jimin’s skin on it. Jungkook’s pretty sure it’s a BDSM thing for
kinky purposes.
Does he use it with Taehyung? The thought sends up a strange pang in Jungkook’s
chest, and he remembers what Taehyung told him, months and months ago:  I think
you’re jealous.
He spots something else and puts down the collar, reaching for it. It’s a
photograph of Jimin surrounded by a bunch of people he doesn’t know, but it’s
clear that he’s close to them—he’s grinning and laughing, and he has his arms
slung around their shoulders. The girl who danced with him in the video
Jungkook saw stands next to Jimin, pulling on his leash. She isn’t smiling, but
she’s the kind of woman who doesn’t need to smile to be attractive.
Jungkook feels strange at the thought that these people are such a big part of
Jimin’s life, are so clearly his friends, but he doesn’t even know their names.
It makes him feel like there’s another Jimin hiding in his best friend the way
Cool Kook hides in him, a Jimin who dances and owns a BDSM collar and is
friends with a guy with a purple mohawk.
Jungkook sets aside the photo and picks the collar back up again, staring at
the address.
The words seem to dare him.  What will you do with what you know?
What will you do with what you don’t?
~
Jungkook thinks it’s crazy to be jogging through town at night.
He could be mugged or something. Or he could catch a fever—the autumn wind is
crisp, chilly, with a bite to it which might mean a cold later. But Jungkook’s
mind is set, and when his mind is set, there’s not much you can do to deter
him.
He hears pounding dance music when he turns into the street. As he jogs closer
to the address, he realizes that the music is coming from where he’s headed.
When he gets there, he stands on the sidewalk and gapes.
The door is wide open. Music is spilling out like liquid noise, loud, thumping
dance music which seems to shake Jungkook’s teeth in his gums. But he can hear
shouting too, drunken shouting, and among them—in fact, the loudest—is a voice
he recognizes.
He edges closer, venturing into the compound and tucking his body beside the
door so he can’t be seen from inside. He peers around the doorframe.
Jimin is there, dancing the kind of dance which doesn’t need coordination or
grace and is more just jumping up and down in time to the music. He’s
surrounded by people, most of whom including him are clutching beer cans.
Jungkook can see instantly that he’s drunk.
“Fuck girls with pretty little faces and pretty little bodies,” he yells. “Fuck
girls who call people babes and take the virginities of your best friend and
the boy you—” The last word is drowned out by the music. “Fuck girls named
Suwon!”
Jungkook freezes. He looks again, and he sees to his utter confusion that Jimin
is also crying.
“I’m such a mess,” he shouts at the crowd of dancers, some of whom are crying
with him. “I’m angry at everyone including myself. I love a boy who’ll never
love me the way I want him to and I broke our friendship. I hate the girl he’s
meant to be with. And now I’m here, trying to dance and drink all the shit in
my life away, and I’ll wake up in the morning with the reminder of my life’s
shittiness all up in my face like a fucking lighthouse.”
The guy with the purple mohawk whom Jungkook recognizes from the picture clings
wordlessly to Jimin, sobbing his eyes out.
“He’ll never hear me,” Jimin says, a twisted, masochistic smile which hurts
Jungkook to look at contorting his mouth. “I’m a coward. I’d never have the
balls to tell him.”
It hits Jungkook then.  It’s Taehyung.
Jimin loves Taehyung. They were supposed to be friends with benefits, but Jimin
fell for him, and now he can’t confess without violating the rules of their
arrangement. They have an open relationship—Jimin heard it himself—and Taehyung
must also be having a relationship with some girl.
But why Suwon? What did Suwon ever to do Jimin? Jungkook knows Jimin’s gay, so
he can’t be angry at her because she broke his heart or anything. But if it’s
not that, why is he angry at her at all?
Jungkook wants to go in and comfort Jimin. It physically hurts him to watch him
like this, crying and angry at the world and at himself. It feels like a part
of his heart is being torn out and stamped on. Because that’s what Jimin is to
him. A part of his heart. As much a part of him as he himself is.
But he knows that he wouldn’t be able to help here. He knows the only thing he
would be able to do is make things worse.
So he backs away. And he runs, and he runs, and he runs, away from the friend
he came to find, more confused and hurt than when he came.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     One chapter a day is a huge decrease from yesterday, which probably
     saw about four new chapters XD Anyway, sorry to keep you guys on your
     toes…
     But things happen in this chapter. Big things. And I think they
     deserve a day to themselves.
     Enjoy~
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jimin wakes up in an unfamiliar house.
He’s also in an unfamiliar bed. He rolls over and sits up, groaning as the
first pounding of his hangover begins, and sees rumpled sheets beside him. Oh,
God, did he sleep with someone? Did he sleep with Kyungri?
And then he catches himself. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be drunk enough to
sleep with Kyungri.
Right on cue, the door at the foot of the bed opens. Hyuna walks into the room,
towelling her damp hair, only in a bra and underwear.
Jimin scans her up and down and feels nothing. Truly gay, he thinks to himself.
The only thing he feels is mild jealousy for her toned stomach.
“Where am I?” he asks groggily, looking around and squinting against the
sunlight.
“My apartment,” she says, crossing to the closet and pulling a shirt which is
more holes than cotton out. “You just passed out in the studio and I had to
take you somewhere. I don’t know where your house is, so I took you to mine and
let you sleep in my bed.”
“Weren’t you worried I’d jump you or something?” Jimin asks, looking down at
his chest. He’s still in his sweaty tank top. There are indeterminate stains on
the cotton where beer must have spilled.
“Nah, you’re gay to the ends of your hair,” she answers, pulling on the shirt.
Jimin doesn’t know how she finds the sleeves among all those holes. “Even if
you weren’t, you were so drunk I don’t think you could have managed it.”
“What time is it?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes.
She stands on her tiptoes to peer at the clock above the bed. “Ten in the
morning.”
Jimin freezes. “Like…the next day?”
Hyuna pulls on a pair of tiny jean shorts. “Yup.”
“Shit!” Jimin yelps, bounding out of the bed in a leap which would have made an
Olympic high jumper proud. “I haven’t told my parents! They’ve probably sent
out a search party by now!”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot you’re still living with your parents,” Hyuna says, putting
her hair up in a messy ponytail.
“I’m fifteen,” Jimin moans, rushing around and picking up his bag, which is
lying in a corner. “My parents are gonna kill me!”
“We’d better get going, then,” Hyuna says, beckoning him to follow her as she
walks out the door. “Come on.”
A few frantic minutes later, Jimin is clutching on for dear life on the back of
Hyuna’s motorbike. He’s convinced it’s trying to kill him, but he’s too
thankful for the transportation to say anything.
He fumbles out his phone and dials Taehyung’s number with shaky fingers. “Turn
right here!” he yells over the wind and the roar of the engine, and Hyuna makes
a screeching right turn which leaves Jimin’s stomach somewhere behind.
“What?” Taehyung asks him over the phone.
“Nothing, I mean—listen, Taehyung, you have to help me. Can you come to my
house and charm my parents again? Tell them I slept over at your house?”
“Uh…do they know about the gay part?”
“No, no, they don’t—” Jimin makes a desperate catch for his phone as the wind
nearly tears it out of his hands. “We’re just friends!” Jimin shouts. “Okay?”
“Okay, sure, I can do that.” A pause. “One tiny problem. Where’s your house?”
Jimin yells the address into the phone.
“I’ll enter that into Google Maps. Should I wait until you get there to go in?”
“Yeah, that would be great! Thank you! I love you for this!”
A heavy, heavy pause. “Yeah,” Taehyung says, voice strangled, and he hangs up.
Jimin stuffs the phone into his pocket. “Left!” he shrieks. “Don’t miss it!”
A few minutes later, they screech to a stop in front of Jimin’s house with a
shriek of brakes. He tumbles off the bike, tottering dizzily. Not a moment too
late, a limo pulls up and Taehyung gets out.
A limo? Jimin thinks unsteadily, but he’s too thankful to say anything.
“Taehyung,” He sobs, throwing myself at him. “Thank you. You’re an angel.”
“You have leaves in your hair,” Taehyung says, picking them out of Jimin’s
hair. “They’re red, so they match.”
Hyuna looks beadily at Taehyung. “This is the FWB?”
Taehyung blinks at her. Then he blinks at Jimin.
“She’s my dance instructor,” Jimin says, waving his hand at her. “She knows
everything.”
“Okay, right. Thanks for the warning.” Taehyung waves at her. “Hi!”
“Well, it seems like I’m no longer needed here,” she says wryly. She revs the
bike engine. “Good luck, Jimin.”
Then she speeds away.
Taehyung disentangles Jimin from himself. Jimin feels boneless after the
motorcycle ride, hanging off Taehyung. Taehyung supports him up the walk,
pausing in front of the door.
“Let’s do this,” he says, and he knocks on the door.
It flies open. Mrs. Park looks like she was standing right behind it. “Jimin,”
she gasps. “We were gonna call the police.”
“I’m okay,” he says, smiling weakly.
She opens her mouth to give him the scolding of a lifetime, then catches sight
of Taehyung and does a double take. “You look familiar.”
“Yup,” he says brightly. “Remember me? The Parks’ farm in Daegu? I helped you
pack?”
“Oh!” she says, face brightening with recognition. “Taehyung, right?” Then she
frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“My parents are on a business trip,” he says, smiling apologetically. “Like, a
really long business trip. My aunt’s taking care of me here in Busan. Jimin
slept over at my house last night.”
“Oh, well—” Mrs. Park suddenly looks a whole lot more trusting. Jimin can
recognize the dazed look anyone who’s faced with Taehyung’s charm gets starting
to spread across her face. “He was in good hands, then.” She glares at her son.
“Why didn’t you text me? We have an agreement.”
“I forgot, me and Taehyung were having so much fun—” he begins.
Taehyung takes over. “We’re such good friends now!” he gushes. “We did our
homework first, cos, you know, homework is still important no matter what
you’re doing, right?” Mrs. Park nods, mesmerized. “And then we ate dinner, just
some stuff we had around the house.”
“Oh, Jimin,” Mrs. Park sighs, exasperated. “You shouldn’t have imposed on
Taehyung like that. And it’s so late now, you’re lucky it’s a weekend.”
“It was no trouble at all,” Taehyung says, smiling his winning talking-to-the-
adults grin. “It was a pleasure to have him there.”
“Oh, well, it wasn’t so bad, then,” Mrs. Park says, eyes glazed over. Then she
sniffs, trying to reassert some of her mother’s authority. “But you are still
in trouble, Park Jimin.”
“Aw, please go easy on him, Mrs. Park,” Taehyung says pleadingly. “My aunt was
in the house the whole time.”
This is not, technically, a lie. Taehyung artfully did not mention how big said
house is, nor that it is divided into two parts, each side bigger than the
Parks’ entire house compound. Jimin artfully did not add to this statement.
“Well…come in, then.” Mrs. Park holds the door open wider. “It was nice seeing
you, Taehyung. Do you want to come in?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Park, I need to go to church,” he says. “I tutor the kids
there.”
That’s it. The master move. Jimin’s mom’s eyes shine.
“Do stop by, Taehyung,” she says faintly, and she pulls Jimin in by the elbow
and shuts the door.
“Such a nice boy,” she says dreamily.
“Mom,” Jimin says, “is Jungkook here?”
“Oh, Jungkook? He stopped by for a while this morning. He went up to your room.
He might still be there.” She pauses. “He seemed a tad upset.”
“Upset?” Jimin echoes.
“Yes.”
He runs up the stairs, the pounding of his feet not quite muffled by the
carpet, and opens the door of his room.
It’s empty. The window is open, curtains flapping in the breeze—that must be
how Jungkook left. Jimin crosses the room to his bed.
The leather BDSM collar is on it along with the photograph taken in the dance
studio. A slip of paper has been placed between them. Jimin picks it up. It’s
written in Jungkook’s handwriting.
I’m sorry you feel that way about Suwon. I don’t know what came between us, and
I don’t know why you pulled away a few months ago, but if it was about Suwon or
Cool Kook, well…I won’t apologize. Because I still don’t know what I did wrong.
You won’t talk to me about it, and I thought you’d gotten over whatever
happened, but I can’t be blamed for a mistake you won’t tell me about.
We were friends. And then we weren’t. And then now we’re friends again. But
something came between us in the time that we weren’t. I think that it’ll come
back soon, because we never fixed it.
The fact is that my life is not yours to manage. I can date who I want and I
can be who I want, and you can rage drunkenly about it all you want, too. I’m
sorry if this hurts you, because it was never meant to. But it seems that
you’ll get hurt no matter what I do, so I guess it doesn’t matter.
I’m going to Suwon’s house now. You know where it is. If you want to talk to
me, go there and talk to me. I’ll never stop giving you second chances,
because…I love you, and you’re my friend. I’m going to stop pushing Suwon away.
She likes me. And I won’t let you get in between another relationship.
Jimin drops the note on the bed. He heard what he was yelling last night?
The world seems to spin, and he sit down on his bed, clutching his head.
Jungkook knows how Jimin feels about him. He heard it all. But he’s still
trying to be kind. He’s still apologizing.
It hits Jimin suddenly, for the second time, how much of an asshole he was
being—is being. He blamed Jungkook for being something he couldn’t help—for
being Cool Kook. He blamed him for surviving. And because of that, he pushed
him away.
It isn’t enough that they made up. Because Jimin never apologized. And scars,
even if they are forgotten, can always start bleeding again.
Jimin shoots to his feet and starts climbing out the window. There’s no time to
bypass his mom and make up some excuse.
He's going to Suwon’s house.
~
“Jungkook,” Suwon says, playing with his fingers, “you seem distracted today.”
They’re both lying on her bed, leaning against the headboard. She’s turned
towards him, her hand in his and her long, smooth leg flung over his hip, but
he’s staring at the far wall. All he can think of is Jimin, yelling to the
world about how much he hates Suwon. What has she ever done to him?
“I’m sorry, babes,” he says automatically, letting Cool Kook take over. “I have
a lot on my mind.”
She pouts prettily. “Last night you had a lot on your mind, too.”
“I’m stressed, okay?” It was meant to come out tender, but it ends up snappish.
Her pout disappears, and Jungkook hurriedly smooths over it. “I’m sorry.
Seriously. My grades aren’t so great right now.”
“But it’s the weekend, baby,” she says, sliding her leg over his. “And who
cares about grades, anyway?”
Jimin does, he thinks. Jimin will stay up studying so late before exams that he
can barely open his eyes to even take the exams the next day. Jimin worries and
frets and bites his nails bloody if he gets a B in anything. Jimin nags at me
more to study because he’s worried about my future.
“Yeah,” Jungkook says absentmindedly.
“You’re zoning out again, Jungkook,” she says, and there’s the slightest hint
of irritation in her voice now.
Jungkook looks at her. She must see something in his face, because she changes
tack.
“Jungkook…” she pulls their linked hands into her lap. “You know I love you,
right?”
Suddenly, it all seems wrong to Jungkook.
You don’t love me, he wants to say. You love Cool Kook. And Cool Kook doesn’t
even exist. Cool Kook isn’t who I really am.
Loving someone is seeing them for who they really are. Loving someone isn’t
getting irritated when they’re not who you want them to be.
And then it hits him.
There’s only one person I’ve been with who doesn’t expect me to be who I’m not.
There’s only one person I’ve met who doesn’t set the bar too high—who doesn’t
set the bar at all. There’s only one person I know who supports me, not Cool
Kook, and maybe he’s made mistakes sometimes, but I’ve made even more.
I’ve made even more. Like the girl whose bed I’m in, the girl whom I lost
virginity to, the girl whom I’m letting hold my hand right now.
Jungkook yanks his hand out of Suwon’s. He feels sick and panicky, because what
if it’s too late? What if the note undid everything they’d so carefully
rebuilt?
He’ll always give Jimin second chances. But Jimin is hurt more easily. Jimin
isn’t that quick to forgive. It’s not a flaw, it’s just who he is. And what
if…what if Jungkook broke their relationship forever?
He has to go.
He scrambles out of Suwon’s bed. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice shaking with
horror at what he’s done, “but I can’t do this anymore.”
“What do you mean, you can’t do this anymore?” Suwon glares at him. “What is
this?”
“Our relationship. All of it. I can’t do this anymore.”
Suwon opens her mouth and makes an ugly sound, a kind of disbelieving huff.
“You don’t get to do this to me,” she snaps. “Get back here.”
Jungkook stares at her and wonders what the actual fuck he ever saw in her.
“I’m breaking up with you, Suwon,” he says. “I’ve broken up with you. You’re
past tense. You’re a was. And this, for once, isn’t about you.”
He turns and runs out of her house.
~
As if things can be any worse, it actually fucking starts to rain.
Jimin can’t believe it. He actually took the time to peel off his beer-stained
tank top before he left and throw on a hoodie, and the sky has to fucking piss
on it. “Are you kidding me?” he yells as he runs and his foot lands in a
puddle, splashing him with muddy water up to his mid-thigh. “Are you actually
going to make this worse for me right now?”
He can barely see through the rain. He can hardly make out indistinct shapes
like lampposts and trash cans to avoid. He’s stumbling and squinting through it
and trying his best to step around puddles, but his jeans are already
splattered with rivulets of mud.
There’s only one thing which keeps him going: get to Suwon’s house, the
location of which he knows from attending a party there in seventh grade. And
apologize.
No one’s crazy enough to be out in a storm like this, so he’s staggering right
down the middle of the street. If a car comes out of the rain with the
headlights flashing at him, he’ll have no warning before he’s knocked
down—visibility is so low that he can only see ten meters in front of him.
And then an indistinct shape appears in the rain. It’s person-shaped, and it’s
fighting the torrents as much as he is, similarly without an umbrella. Jimin is
sympathetic for him. They’re the only idiots willingly out in this weather.
The figure stumbles closer, and Jimin does a double take. Is that…Jungkook?
“Jungkook!” he shouts above the roaring of the wind and the smashing of
raindrops against the pavement. “Jungkook?”
The silhouette looks up. The wind blows the hood back, and Jimin catches a
glimpse of normally feathery black hair pasted flat to his head from the rain,
clothes just as soaked as he is. It is Jungkook.
“Jimin?” he yells, slipping on the wet tarmac.
Jimin battles his way closer. He can see Jungkook’s face clearly now, raindrops
running down his cheeks like tears. They have to come close to see each other
and be heard over the rain, so they’re just a foot away from each other.
Jungkook is infuriatingly taller than him—Jimin has to look up into his face.
“I broke up with Suwon,” Jungkook shouts.
Jimin feels his face fall. “Oh, Jungkook, why? I said all those terrible things
and I don’t even know her, you shouldn’t have—”
“She told me she loved me,” he says simply.
“What—breaking up with someone is not the normal reaction to them telling you
they love you!”
“The thing is,” Jungkook says, eyelashes dusted with raindrops, “someone I love
very much once told me that loving someone is seeing them for who they really
are including all their flaws, and loving those as well. And I realized…that
Suwon doesn’t love me. She loves Cool Kook. And Cool Kook isn’t me. Cool Kook
will never be me.” He takes a deep breath. “But…someone has seen me for who I
really am. Someone has seen all my flaws and not tried to change me into a
Jungkook they like more.”
“Who?” Jimin asks, wondering whether this person will be more right for
Jungkook.
“It’s—” He looks frustrated and despairing at the same time. “It’s you! You!
You’ve never tried to change me! You hated Cool Kook because you knew his
existence would only complicate mine more! You always want what’s best for me,
even if sometimes I don’t see it. You never take all the stupid shit I do. And
I’ve said before that—that I don’t know whether I’m Cool Kook or Baby Kookie or
somewhere in the middle. But the truth is that I know who I am…when I’m with
you. You make me want to be someone better for you. I know who I am because you
do.” The rain comes down hard between them, sticking their clothes to their
bodies, getting in their eyes and doing its best to deter them. But they don’t
move. “You define me, Park Jimin. You keep me believing that life is still
worth living. You keep me believing that who I am is someone worth being.” He
gasps in a breath. “And I think—I think I love you. More than I’ve ever loved
anything else.”
Jimin is speechless.
“But I know…” Jungkook begins, and he closes his eyes against the rain. “I know
that you love Taehyung. But that’s okay. Because just having you in my life is
enough. You loving me back would be more than I deserve. It would be—it would
be a miracle. And miracles aren’t something which happen in my life.” He smiles
a painful smile, the smile of someone who just woke up on a bed of shattered
glass. “I won’t stand between you and happiness. But I had to tell you before
this consumed me. So go. Go and find your happiness. I won’t stop you.”
Jimin is still speechless. But more at his best friend’s stupidity than
anything else.
“You…” he finally manages. “You…”
Jungkook listens.
“You stupid piece of shit!” he shouts.
Jungkook blinks. “Wha—what?”
“You idiot!” he yells. “You absolute idiot! You went and said all that
beautiful stuff and then you went and ruined it!”
“What—” Jungkook looks like he’s been picked up and stuffed into someone else’s
body, on someone else’s planet—disoriented and confused. “What did I say?”
“You think I’m in love with Tae?” He’s momentarily rendered speechless yet
again. “You are literally the densest person I have ever met! You are actually
denser than the Earth’s inner core!”
Jungkook opens and closes his mouth like a fish. “But—who’s the boy you love?
Who’s the boy who fell for another girl? The one you were yelling about
yesterday?”
“It’s you, you idiot!” Jimin screams. “I’m in love with you!”
Jungkook still doesn’t get it. Jimin can see it written all over his idiotic
face.
He grabs the front of Jungkook’s hoodie and shakes him. “Do you
still…not…understand?” he yells.
“I didn’t—” Jungkook looks like he’s living in a dream. “I had no idea. I
thought—I thought it was someone else.”
“What do I have to do to make you believe me?” Jimin shrieks in his face.
Jungkook looks down at him. His body is so, so warm, even through his soaked
clothes. He licks his lips nervously.
He leans down.
You don’t think about kissing your best friend. Jimin’s never, in the fifteen
years he’s known Jungkook, thought about kissing him. Not even when he realized
he loved him. Not even when he realized that he was insanely hot. It’s just not
done.
Now it’s happening, Jimin’s body takes over, kicking out any conscious thought.
Jimin finds himself clinging to Jungkook for dear life, hanging off his body,
everything inside him melting. Jungkook doesn’t kiss like Taehyung. Jungkook’s
lips are softer, plusher, and he kisses hesitantly, like he still isn’t sure
Jimin will let him. Jimin pushes closer until their bodies are pressed together
all along their fronts. Their clothes are still cold and wet, but he can feel
Jungkook’s body heat seeping through his soaked hoodie, warming him more than
anything else could.
Jimin reaches up and cups Jungkook’s jaw, brushing his thumbs over it. When he
slides his hands down to his neck, Jungkook’s pulse beats under his fingertips
in time with his. Same heartbeat. Same hearts.
It’s a small miracle. That they’re here, with the rain coming down around them
and pasting their clothes to their bodies, touching, kissing, loving. Reminding
each other of who they are and who they need to be.
Small miracles matter just as much as big ones.
Jimin pulls away, Jungkook opening his eyes slowly. Jungkook looks at him with
parted lips, eyes hooded, as if he still can’t quite believe that this was his
miracle.
Jimin hardly can either.
“Let’s go home,” Jimin whispers.
Chapter End Notes
     Small miracles matter just as much as big ones.
     :)
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     Yes I am a terrible person I have not updated for a dayyyyyy and I
     felt guilty so I finished this at one in the morning today (today?
     Last night?).
     But anyway here you have it. It's the smut people.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jimin’s bedroom window is flung open. A pale hand reaches inside and shoves the
blue curtains aside unceremoniously, making them billow like angry blue
phantoms. Jungkook climbs in first, long legs nimble and sure, and Jimin
clambers in after him with more clumsiness, hand grasped in Jungkook’s. It’s
his bedroom window, but he’s less used to climbing in through it than Jungkook.
It says a lot.
Jimin darts to the door and closes it, locking it, and Jungkook shuts the
window and pulls the blue curtains closed. They turn to face each other. In the
sudden silence of the blue-lit room, a moment of uncertainty passes over them.
“What do we do?” Jungkook whispers, eyes large and unsure in the dimness.
“I don’t know,” Jimin says.
Jimin feels like he’s on the edge of something big, something irreversible,
like he’s tiptoeing on the edge of a precipice. But he’s afraid to fall in and
surrender himself, and Jungkook is too. They’re at a stalemate.
Jungkook takes the first, halting step towards Jimin. Encouraged, Jimin takes
one himself, closing the distance by half a meter, feeling like he’s leaving
his stomach behind. It’s funny how long distances can stretch when we dread
them.
Another step from Jungkook. And another step from him. And then, miracle of
miracles, they are standing just a foot away from each other, Jimin looking up
and Jungkook looking down.
Jungkook reaches out a hesitant hand, and Jimin is afraid to move in case he
breaks the moment. He stands as still as a statue as Jungkook cups his cheek
and brushes his thumb over his cheekbone clumsily, falteringly. “Hi,” he says.
Jimin lifts a hand and covers Jungkook’s on his cheek, running his thumb over
the knuckles. He’s never thought about Jungkook’s hands. But his hands are
wonderful, slim and long-fingered, the palms square and the fingernails trimmed
short. They look like a man’s hands, with calluses from gripping the chin-up
bar and slightly rough knuckles. But Jimin’s hands are small, fingers stubby
and thick, dwarfed by Jungkook’s. “Hi.”
The foot of space remains between them, as impossible to cross as the Pacific
Ocean on a piece of driftwood. But Jimin is brave. He steps over it, hardly
daring to breathe, until their chests are nearly touching. He’s never felt this
aware of Jungkook before, conscious of his every move, conscious of the slight
movements of his chest as he breathes.
It wasn’t like this with Taehyung. With Taehyung, it never felt like his life
was changing with every glance he dared, with every move he made. With
Taehyung, Jimin let him take over, and it was so easy to hand the reins over to
someone with so much more control and experience.
Taehyung has huge hands, the fingers almost ridiculously long, the joints
visible. The lines on his palms have always reminded Jimin of lightning—they
seem erratic, bending this way and that, as if they change their minds. Like
Taehyung himself.
But now, Jimin and Jungkook have to learn together. It won’t be easy—or maybe
it will. But Jimin knows that he’ll never forget this.
He doesn’t know where to put his hands. He lifts them and places them awkwardly
on Jungkook’s chest, both of them at once. He thinks he feels Jungkook’s heart
thudding beneath his right palm. Outside, the rain is still pouring. Their
clothes are still soaked, and they’re dripping water all over the floor.
“Let’s get these off you,” Jimin says softly, breaking the hush which seems
almost holy. “They’re wet. You’ll get sick.”
Jungkook nods numbly. He takes his hand away from Jimin’s cheek, the skin where
it rested suddenly so much colder without his hand covering it, and grasps the
hem of his hoodie. He only hesitates for a moment before pulling it over his
head and depositing it next to him.
Jimin is really, really trying not to be a pervert, but Jungkook wore a white
shirt which is now soaked and transparent. He’s never seen Jungkook’s body
since he bulked up except in clothes. But now he can see that he actually has
abs, not just the top two or anything, but all six, defined and clear as day.
Jimin can’t take his eyes away from his stomach, flat and muscular.
“Like what you see?” Jungkook asks.
Jimin’s stomach flips in shame at being caught out, but when he looks up at
Jungkook’s eyes, all he sees is a shy pleasure. Jungkook…likes it.
Jungkook pulls off the wet shirt and throws it aside with less pause. Jimin’s
lips part as he looks…and looks…and looks. His sweats are low-slung, the edge
of something black peeking over the hem, and his slightly tanned skin looks
delicious. Jimin feels weird for noticing it, but his belly button is perfect,
an innie, a few inches above the band of his sweats.
“You have a cute belly button,” he blurts out without thinking.
His face immediately colors in embarrassment. Jungkook isn’t so lenient this
time—he smirks, bunny teeth bared in a cocky grin.
“I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear that,” he says, voice mocking. “I’ve
spent thousands of nights dreaming about the day someone finally fulfils my
wildest dreams and calls my belly button cute.”
Jimin is blushing too hard to formulate a decent comeback. “Get the rest of it
off,” he snaps, then flushes furiously. That wasn’t how he’d meant to sound.
“Actually,” Jungkook says, folding his arms over his (toned, muscled, probably
rock-hard in Jimin’s humble opinion) chest, “your turn.”
He huffs. “Fine,” he says, and he wrenches his hoodie and tank top off in one
movement, tossing it aside.
Jungkook performs a quick up-and-down scan of his torso. He wants to hunch down
and hide, but he reminds himself that there’s nothing to hide from. “I used to
have abs,” Jimin mutters. “But they flew away to wherever abs go when they
die.”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook says. “I like how you look now. Soft. Like a
marshmallow.”
He makes an affronted sound.
“A cute marshmallow,” Jungkook amends.
It takes him a while to realize that Jungkook indirectly called him cute. In
that moment, Jungkook hooks his thumb into the waistband of his sweats and
pauses for a brief, torturous second.
Jimin is practically drooling at this point. It slightly creeps him out that
the focus of said drooling is his best friend of literally his whole life, but
his gay-ass hormones cannot be helped. He’s a hair’s breadth away from reaching
out and yanking Jungkook’s pants down himself when Jungkook pushes them down
his hips slowly, almost teasing him, the slide down his legs agonizing.
He steps out of his sweats and kicks them aside. Of course, of  course  he’s
wearing black boxers, probably specifically manufactured to drive Jimin mad,
his thighs thick and curved against the dark cotton. His skin looks so  soft.
Jimin wants to touch him and hold him and never let go.
Jungkook looks at him expectantly. Jimin nods, pulling down his zipper and
unbuttoning his jeans clumsily, fingers fumbling and shaky. He pushes them down
hurriedly and kicks them aside.
And then they’re just there. Standing in their underwear. Jimin is very, very
grateful he did not wear the pair of briefs with cars and roads zooming over
it.
Eventually, Jungkook jerks his head to the bed. “Come on,” he says. “Body heat
is the best way to warm up.”
He walks off without waiting for Jimin.
Jimin is already scrambling to follow. It’s a well-known fact that he loves
cuddling. He’s hit a bit of a dry patch hug-wise over the last few years
because Jungkook isn’t exactly a person who likes receiving physical affection
and it’s not like he has anyone else to hug, but he’s recently rediscovered his
love for them with Taehyung, who very much likes physical affection of any
kind. Jimin loves how warm it feels to be comfortable and feel safe and loved
in someone else’s arms, wrapped around them as tightly as they’re wrapped
around you, knowing that there’s another human body willing to be that close to
yours. Knowing that there’s another human body between you and the cold, cold
world.
Jimin slides in between the sheets. He doesn’t know how to do this gracefully.
It’s his bed, but Jungkook has already made himself comfortable in it, arms
flung out behind his head, blanket pulled up to his neck. Jimin wriggles closer
and flings his arms around him. “I knew you’d start letting me hug you
someday,” he says, muffled by Jungkook’s shoulder.
“You don’t hug,” Jungkook grumbles, but he doesn’t push him away. “You squeeze.
You make me feel like a lemon.”
Jimin squeezes him hard. “That’s the fun part.”
Jungkook sighs, but he shifts his body anyway, turning towards him and
gathering him in his arms. Jimin loves it—he can’t get enough of it. He hooks
his leg behind Jungkook’s thighs and drags him closer, tugging him in by his
waist as well until their skin is meeting in delicious contact all along their
chests and bellies and legs and Jimin thinks he could fly to heaven right now
with happiness.
“You’re such a slut for cuddling,” Jungkook sighs into his ear.
It makes Jimin jump. He isn’t used to breath that close to his skin. “Better
than being a slut for other things,” he says defensively, hating himself for
how bad his comebacks are.
“Like what?” Jungkook shifts his hips, pushing them into Jimin’s, and it isn’t
a  grind  but Jimin goes tense all over and he can feel something stiff and
hard against his hip which he is not used to feeling and he is just so bad at
this whole cuddling thing—
“Your back,” Jimin says abruptly, sliding his hand down Jungkook’s back, which
is broad and warm and full of muscles which ripple under his fingers as he
touches them. Like, seriously, back muscles? Who has  back  muscles? Actual
muscles in their back? “There’re dimples…near the base of your spine.”
There is a pause while Jimin laments his lack of smoothness.
“I actually didn’t know that,” Jungkook says eventually. “Really?”
“Yeah, they’re c-cute,” he says, stumbling over the words.
“Like my belly button,” Jungkook says, and he can just  feel  the cocky smirk.
“Shut up,” he huffs. “You know I’m not good at this.”
“What is  this?”  Jungkook pulls back to look at him. “Exactly?”
Jimin doesn’t know what to say. “It’s us,” he stammers after a few heavy
moments, “trying to figure out what to do. As two people who—” He can’t say it.
“Like each other.”
Jungkook takes his chin and tilts it up. “Love,” he says softly. “Love each
other.”
“Yeah,” he says in a small voice.
Jungkook stares at him for a while and then releases his chin. “Explain to me
the mechanics of gay sex,” he says. “You need lube, don’t you?”
Jimin is taken aback. “S-sex?”
In answer, Jungkook shifts his hips again, a slow, deliberate roll, and Jimin
bites back a gasp. “Right, yeah, you need lube.”
“Which I’m assuming you don’t have,” he says, “and relied on Taehyung to
provide.”
“Yeah,” Jimin admits.
“So, alternative methods,” he says, half to himself. He looks at Jimin.
“Rimming. How does that work?”
“It’s like eating a girl out,” Jimin stutters. “But with—you know. The back end
instead.” He glares hopelessly at him. “How do you not know any of this?”
“Of course I know it already,” he says easily. “I just like watching you
squirm.”
“Dick,” Jimin hisses.
“You know you love me,” he says, resting his forehead against Jimin’s. His lips
are so close suddenly, so in reach, and Jimin is swamped with the memory of
what happened ten minutes ago, out in the torrential rain, with water running
in rivulets down their faces and their lips moving against each other and body
heat burning through their clothes.
“Kiss me, you idiot,” he says into the private space between them, where
anything and everything and perhaps nothing, if they choose it, is possible.
“Okay.”
I could get used to this,  Jimin thinks, spreading his hands against Jungkook’s
back as their mouths move against each other. Kissing is so intimate, just them
and the quiet and the soft sounds of their lips connecting, that his heart
swells. He cups Jungkook’s shoulder blades, kissing back as best as he can,
parting his lips when Jungkook’s tongue swipes across them.
Jungkook flips them over in an easy motion until he’s on top, body laid out
over Jimin’s and pressing him into the mattress. Jimin discovers that he likes
the oddly electric pressure of Jungkook’s hip digging into his stomach. He
likes the weight of Jungkook’s body pressing him down, anchoring him, grounding
him. The warmth and softness of his skin from all sides.
He spreads his legs unconsciously, letting Jungkook settle in between them.
Jungkook doesn’t kiss that tentatively anymore—he kisses like he’s more
confident that Jimin can’t disappear now he’s pinned underneath him. His hands
are ghosting and dancing everywhere, little taps and brushes Jimin is hardly
aware of, around his ribcage and over his belly and on his thighs.
Jimin opens his eyes when Jungkook’s hands make their way between his legs. He
bites his lip, determined not to make a sound, as he slides off his underwear
with the help of a lift of his hips.
“Let me rim you,” Jungkook says. A statement and not a question.
“Yeah,” Jimin breathes, kind of afraid of what he wants. Kind of afraid of
what’s coming.
Rimming, it turns out, is nearly too much, a constant hovering on the edge of
unbearable. It’s an assault of sensation—Jungkook’s soft hair brushing his
inner thighs, Jungkook’s fingers gripping his hips and keeping his legs open,
Jungkook’s tongue swiping over him, warm and wet, nearly too sinful to
tolerate. Jimin keeps his eyes squeezed shut through the whole thing, muffling
his sounds in his forearm and trying not to snap his legs shut out of reflex.
It makes it just a little bit easier to deal with if he can’t see Jungkook.
Jimin also finds out that Jungkook is good with his hands. Really good. Meaning
that he lasts about a minute after Jungkook grasps him and starts jerking him
off before he’s coming, teeth sinking hard into the skin of his forearm,
pleasure bursting through him in searing waves which make his body buck and his
hips jerk.
There’s a mess all over his stomach. Jungkook licks it all off, Jimin’s chest
still heaving and skin still warm from a flush of embarrassment. He stares
resolutely at the ceiling. One glance at Jungkook will thoroughly wreck him.
Maybe one day.
The next thing Jimin discovers is that blowing someone is amazingly satisfying.
His throat kind of starts hurting after awhile of sucking Jungkook down and
trying to breathe and swallow back his spit around him, let alone actually
move,  but the sounds Jungkook makes, half-muffled in Jimin’s pillow, are pure,
undiluted ecstasy, making up for the ache in his throat. There’s just something
gratifying about reducing someone as strong as Jungkook to such a trembling,
desperate mess, trying to keep his moans quiet so Jimin’s mom won’t hear
downstairs.
Jungkook comes with Jimin looking at him, abs tensing erratically as he pushes
his head back against the headboard, teeth gritted in an effort not to cry out.
The warm spill down Jimin’s throat isn’t  unpleasant,  but it’s salty and tangy
and not really a taste Jimin likes. But he can’t expect that his tasted much
better and Jungkook licked it up anyway, so he swallows it down with a half-
concealed grimace. He doubts that Jungkook is sane enough to notice yet,
anyway.
Jungkook’s hands don’t unclench from Jimin’s hair until his body has stopped
shaking entirely and those small, desperate, whimpering moans have stopped
trying to push their way out of him. When Jimin straightens up, he has to wipe
his mouth and his throat feels bruised, but the sight of Jungkook collapsed
against the headboard, boneless and panting, makes it more than worth it.
Aftersex cuddling is what Jimin lives for. Nothing can compare to being tucked
up and held by someone when your body is sated and spent and wrung out, knowing
that you won’t have to move for a while, maybe hours. The warmth of Jungkook’s
skin against him is more addicting than any drug, the content, calm feeling
better than anything a smoke could dope him into.
“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” Jimin says quietly, playing with the rings
in Jungkook’s ears, his face so close to Jimin’s that his lashes brush against
Jimin’s cheeks when he blinks. “Promise me that wherever you go, you’ll take me
with you.”
Maybe it’s selfish. But loving itself is inherently selfish. Wanting someone to
be yours, forever and ever, yours and yours only—there’s nothing selfless or
sharing about that.
But what can we do? Sometimes we need a little bit of selfishness to get by.
Sometimes we need a little bit of sin to survive.
“I promise,” Jungkook says softly. He’s beautiful, Jimin thinks, up close like
this, until he can see every eyelash and every one of the flecks of gold in his
eyes. Jimin wishes he could draw, but he knows he could never do justice to the
way his thick neck and nose just slightly too big for his face work with the
rest of his features, somehow. He could never capture such beauty.
“Thank you,” Jimin whispers.
They fall asleep like that, the promise hanging over them like an umbrella, not
yet weighing on their shoulders. Outside, the rain slows to a drizzle and
quiets to a patter until it stops completely, grey clouds clearing to reveal
sunshine and a brilliant blue sky. But they don’t wake. They are tired. And
this day belongs to them.
In the distance, a bird calls mournfully, a dog howling in reply. A
celebration, perhaps, of the beauty of a future which has not yet been
glimpsed.
Inside the house, they sleep on.
Chapter End Notes
     Let's go to hell together…
     Wheeeeee
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Yay I am bad. At. Writing. Smut. I am so sorry if the smut is dry and
     dull and blerggghhhhhh I am just sorry in general.
     Love ya <3
Jimin knocks on the door tentatively. The guard recognized him and let him in,
so now he’s standing on the forbidding marble steps of Taehyung’s manor, facing
the huge wooden double doors. If he were to look in from the outside, he would
think that it’s inhabited by some kind of haughty rich tycoon—not the all-over-
the-place, overenthusiastic apparition who seems to primarily be made of
trailing sleeves and huge smiles who really lives in it.
A voice comes out of nowhere, startling him. It’s Taehyung’s voice. “Jimin?”
“Taehyung?” he asks, turning around and looking for him. He’s nowhere to be
found.
“There’s an intercom to your right.”
He looks to his right and spots a camera which turns to follow his movements.
“Uh, can I come in?” he asks uncertainly. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure, just let me get down from the shower, I’m on the fourth level…”
“Do you actually have an intercom in the shower?”
Uh…yeah.” Now that Jimin listens, he can hear the distant sound of running
water.
“Rich people,” he sighs. “It must be nice.”
“It’s lonely,” Taehyung says, the sound of the water being turned off filtering
through the speakers.
“Yeah, you’ve told me.” Jimin shuffles his feet. “Do you have any idea when
your parents are coming back?”
A pause. Then: “I have to talk to you about something too. Hold on, okay? I’ll
be down in a sec.”
“Okay,” he says, wondering what it is.
A minute later, the door opens and Taehyung steps out in just sweats. His chest
is bare. He’s towelling his hair off with a white towel. “Come in,” he says,
stepping aside.
Jimin walks in and does a double take. There are boxes everywhere and the
furniture has all been moved so it’s closer to the door. The place is in
disarray, coffee tables swept clean of stuff which is piled on other tables,
sofas askew and forming a maze.
“What’s going on?” he asks, confused. “Are you…going somewhere?”
“I’m moving back to Daegu,” Taehyung says, lowering the towel. “My…my parents
are back. I leave next week.”
Oh.
Taehyung has become such a constant presence in Jimin’s life, always sending
silly texts, always careening into class a few minutes late, always up for hugs
or ranting, that Jimin’s completely forgotten that his stay in Busan is
temporary. But now…he’s leaving. And all the wonderful, unreplicable,
heartwarming eccentricity of him is going too.
“Oh, Tae,” Jimin says, feeling like he’s going to cry.
“Hey, hey,” Taehyung says, rushing to Jimin. “Don’t get all teary on me, okay?
I still have a few days left here. You can’t get rid of me so easily.”
Jimin sniffs, Taehyung gone all blurry.
“What did you come here to tell me?” Taehyung asks, trying to be soothing. He’s
currently patting Jimin’s arm distractedly with the towel, so Jimin can’t say
how well it’s working.
“I came here to—” he sniffs again. “I wanted to tell you that we have to break
up the FWB arrangement. Jungkook and I are—in love, and together.”
Taehyung goes still. Just still. Stationary. His face seems wiped blank of all
emotion, his mouth a straight, even line and his eyes empty. For once, Jimin
can’t read his face, which worries him, because Taehyung’s face is usually the
equivalent of an emotional billboard.
“Tae?” Jimin asks.
“That’s great!” he says, brightness returning to his face like a bullet train
of sun. “I’m so happy for you!”
“Really?” he asks worriedly, unable to wipe the image of Taehyung’s scarily
blank expression from his mind.
“Yes.” Taehyung takes his shoulders and shakes him. “I am so happy you’ve found
love so early. FWB relationships aren’t good in the long run, anyway. They
start to…get complicated.”
“Was ours getting complicated?”
“No,” he says dismissively. “Ours was just a fling.” Something passes behind
his eyes—maybe a memory. “Jungkook isn’t—Jungkook isn’t hurt or anything that
we used to be FWB, right?”
“No,” Jimin says. “Not to my knowledge.”
“That’s good,” he says, almost to himself. “That’s usually the reason FWB
relationships are tricky, sometimes. But Jungkook’s a good guy.”
“Have you ever met him?” Jimin asks.
That something passes behind his eyes again, flitting over his face,
disappearing too fast for Jimin to read it. “Not really,” he says, “but you
wouldn’t be best friends with him if he weren’t a good guy.”
“I wish you wouldn’t leave,” Jimin says, feeling his throat getting choked up
again. “You’re such a great person to be with.”
Taehyung smiles ruefully. “I couldn’t stay in Busan forever,” he says,
shrugging his shoulders. “All this sea air isn’t good for me. I’m used to
living in a landlocked city like Daegu with the sea far away where it belongs.”
Jimin laughs. It sounds strangled.
“Don’t cry,” Taehyung says, cradling Jimin’s face. “Hey. I’m not worth crying
over.”
“But you’re l-leaving,” he says. “And I might never see you again.”
“I promise, okay?” Taehyung squishes his cheeks. “I promise we’ll meet again.
Whatever I end up as, whether a street beggar or a super super big Kpop star,
I’ll find you.”
Jimin tries to smile. It feels painful. “If you ever become a Kpop star, I’ll
be your number one fan.”
“Thanks,” Taehyung laughs, “but I don’t think any companies would want me.”
The sadness returns—the thought of a whole life looming ahead of them both, a
whole path to be traversed, and this is the fork in the road where they have to
separate makes Jimin desperately lonely. “I love you,” he tells Taehyung.
“You’re a good friend. The best, besides Jungkook.”
When Taehyung smiles, it seems as pained as Jimin feels on the inside. “I love
you too,” he says softly.
~
“So,” Hyuna says. She and Jimin are sitting in the middle of the circle of
dancers. Everyone’s taking a break from dancing Sorry by Justin Bieber, and
they instinctively grouped around Jimin on the floor for storytime. “To
summarize it, you and your hottie best friend Jungkook love each other and have
banged, you and Taehyung have cut off your FWB relationship, and Taehyung’s
moving back to Daegu?”
“Yeah,” he says. It’s kind of sad how hooked everyone in the dance studio is on
the drama of his life.
“Has anything went wrong with your FWB relationship?” Kyungri asks. “Has one of
you caught feelings?”
“Nah,” he says. “I’m sad because Taehyung’s leaving because he’s a good friend,
not because there’s some underlying love triangle beneath all this between me
and Jungkook and Taehyung.”
Everyone raises an eyebrow or adopts knowing looks, like they know something he
doesn’t.
“What?” Jimin asks defensively. “That’s all there is, honest! My life is not a
paperback romance novel!”
“Alright, alright,” Hyuna says soothingly. “So the hottie BFF has realized he’s
gay?”
“I think he’s bi,” he says. “He’s been chasing girls for as long as I remember.
Even in kindergarten—he always let them push him around into doing what they
wanted, then he got dropped like an errand boy who wasn’t needed anymore when
they were done with him.” He thinks back to the time a girl made Jungkook sneak
down in the middle of the night to make sandwiches for her…for a  month.
“Yeah, he was really hopeless.”
“What are you planning to do?” Kyungri asks. “With your life? After you’re done
with school and all?”
“I don’t know.” Jimin chews his lip. “I was thinking…maybe become something my
parents would be proud of, like a doctor or an engineer or something.” (The
Asian parent stereotypes are very, very real.) “But I don’t really have an
interest in medicine or engineering. I don’t really have an interest in
anything, actually, except I guess dancing. And you can’t earn money as a
professional dancer.”
“Unless you become a Kpop star,” Hyuna says.
“Yeah,” he says, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth at the sheer
absurdity of that idea, “unless I become a Kpop star. And while I’m at it, why
not make Jungkook and Taehyung stars too?”
Everyone laughs.
“Invite us to your concerts when you’re big and famous, Jimin,” Kyungri says,
swigging from his water bottle like it’s a beer. “Don’t forget us when you’re
raking in the big bucks and making fangirls swoon.”
“I won’t,” he says, grinning.
~
Jimin spends the rest of the days with Taehyung and the rest of the nights with
Jungkook. Jungkook understands—Taehyung’s leaving, and Jimin wants to make the
most of their time together while he’s still here. He takes him to see all the
Busan attractions, hiking at Geumjeong Mountain where Taehyung finds friends in
the form of monkeys, eating seafood where Taehyung becomes convinced that the
crab he’s eating is still alive, and visiting Beomeosa, a 1,300-year-old
Buddhist temple, which Taehyung enters tentatively (“What if I’ve sinned so
much that I just go up in flames?”). They go to Taejongdae park, where Jimin
nearly falls off a cliff into the sea and is rescued in the nick of time by
Taehyung and his crazily long arms, and they go to Gwangalli beach, where
Taehyung writes his name in giant letters in the sand “for the satellite space
aliens”. They go to Haedong Yonggungsa, another temple, where it’s Taehyung
this time who nearly falls over a railing and into the sea while trying to
catch a piece of paper carried past them on the wind (“litter is extremely
detrimental to the environment!”) and Jimin only manages to save him by
catching the end of his abnormally large hands.
Busan has a lot of temples. This only convinces Taehyung further that he can’t
live there permanently or he’ll spontaneously combust with the weight of his
sins. Jimin assures him that Jungkook’s laptop is so terribly plagued with
viruses almost certainly picked up from porn websites that it’s almost
unusable, and if that were true, Jungkook would have burned to ashes long ago,
but he can’t change his mind.
Taehyung’s good company. He’s always bright and never in a bad mood. He’s
always a step ahead of Jimin on the most insane hiking trails (that one was
definitely at least at a 90º degree angle) and he’s endearing in a ridiculous
way, rushing randomly off into the undergrowth to pet a stray dog and pressing
his face against the glass at the aquarium like a little kid. He buys a plush
shark keychain from the gift store as a souvenir, refusing to let Jimin pay for
it.
Jimin’s sorry to see him go. On his last day in Busan, they stand outside
Taehyung’s empty house, the doors ajar, the movers’ van gone a few hours ago,
left for Daegu. Taehyung’s chauffeured limo idles outside with his luggage
bags, waiting to take him to the airport. Jimin finds it all terribly
depressing. He thinks he’ll always find moving depressing—the empty shell of a
house, stripped of its memories and small comforts and mundane objects, soon to
be vacated by its inhabitant until it’s just a pile of brick and cement. (Or in
Taehyung’s case, marble and gold.)
Jimin really is crying now. Taehyung isn’t stopping him—his eyes are sad too.
“I’ll meet you again,” he promises, touching Jimin’s cheek. “Maybe it won’t be
here. Maybe it won’t even be in Korea. But I’ll find you.”
“I wish you didn’t have to leave.” Jimin thinks now that it was a bad decision
to spend so much time with Taehyung over the past few days—Taehyung gives a
little bit of himself to everyone he meets and takes a little bit of everyone
in return, and now he’s leaving, Jimin feels like a part of his heart is going
with him. The memories make it hurt more. “I wish you could stay here forever
and you’d never have to l-leave.”
Taehyung brushes his thumb over his cheekbone. “You know I can’t. And wishes
don’t mean anything against reality.”
“I know,” Jimin says, the tears coming faster.
“You’ll be okay without me,” Taehyung says at an attempt at lightness, but his
deep voice is heavy. “You were managing fine last year.”
Jimin makes an ugly hiccuping sound. He wants to cling to Taehyung and never
let go.
“I’ll find you,” Taehyung says. “I promise. And I love you.”
He looks out the window at the limo, drops a quick kiss on Jimin’s mouth, puts
his head down, and walks briskly away. It seems to Jimin that Taehyung thinks
if he walks faster, the separation will be easier.
Jimin stands on the marble front steps of what used to be his friend’s house
long after Taehyung’s limo has driven away, the memory of it receding into the
distance playing over and over again in his mind.
Goodbyes will never get easier for him.
~
Jimin opens the door of his room. He feels wooden, running on automatic.
Jungkook is lying on his bed, eyes at half-mast, probably dozing off, but he
sits up straight when Jimin comes in.
“Are you okay?” he asks, taking in Jimin’s dishevelled appearance and his red
eyes.
Jimin shakes his head. He climbs onto the bed, making his way slowly to the
familiar comfort of his best friend, and Jungkook opens his arms. He wriggles
into Jungkook’s lap and pulls Jungkook’s arms around his belly.
He rests his head in the crook of Jungkook’s neck and sighs. He feels heavy,
like he can never move again. It feels like there’s a rope extending out of his
chest which pulls tauter and tauter the further Taehyung gets from him, getting
more painful by the second.
Jungkook thumbs circles into his thigh. “What can I do to make it better?”
“Just be here,” Jimin says. His voice is hoarse, small, almost a whisper.
Jungkook’s thumb stills for a while and then continues.
“Okay,” he says.
It’s quiet for a while. Jimin feels some of the weight ease, lifting from him,
as Jungkook rubs patterns into his leg. He turns his head and presses his lips
to Jungkook’s neck, right on the mole.
“Shit,” he murmurs. “I forgot to get lube again.”
“It’s okay, I got some,” Jungkook says, the vibrations of his voice travelling
from his throat into Jimin’s lips and making them tingle.
“You don’t have it right now, do you?” Jimin asks, gazing up at him.
“No, I mean…” he coughs awkwardly. “Why would I bring lube with me wherever I
go, right? I mean, who  does  that…”
Jimin stares him down.
“It’s in my pocket,” he mumbles.
“Ah, Kookie.” Jimin pats his cheek. “I can always count on your dorky
awkwardness.”
“I like being prepared,” he says defensively. “Lube is an intrinsic part of
being prepared.”
Jimin hums in agreement, settling back against Jungkook.
It’s quiet for a while. And then Jungkook says, “Do you wanna do it…now?”
“What?” Jimin asks, the thread of their conversation lost.
“The lube,” Jungkook says, face slowly reddening, warmth from his neck palpable
against Jimin’s face. “Is now a good time to use it?”
“Well, we’re in a bed and we have time,” Jimin says, shifting. “Pass the lube
to me.”
Jungkook hesitates, then reaches into his pocket and draws out the small blue
bottle. To Jimin’s surprise, it’s open, the plastic which used to keep the cap
closed ripped near the base.
Jimin looks up. “You opened it? Why?”
He blushes even harder and mumbles something indistinct.
“I can’t hear you.”
“I tried it on myself,” he mutters, face burning. “I’ve been trying since a few
nights ago, but I was too afraid to p-put anything…in. Last night I managed.”
“You fingered yourself?” Jimin’s mind now is something very not PG. It’s
probably enough to make the Pope stop believing in any purity or goodness in
the world.
Jungkook closes his eyes in embarrassment. “Yes,” he says in a small voice.
“Did you like it?” Jimin pushes himself up.
“Kinda?” His voice is tiny now.
“Did you find your prostate?”
“I don’t know,” he squeaks. Jimin thinks he’s went red all the way to his toes.
“I don’t know, please don’t ask me about this!”
“So cute,” Jimin coos, knowing how uncomfortable this makes him. “You’re such
an awkward squishy poof.”
He glares at him. It would be impressing if he weren’t still sporting a burning
blush, the kind anime women have in hentai. “Are we gonna use the lube or not
or are you just gonna sit there and make me feel awkward?”
Jimin raises one finger. “Patience, grasshopper. Do you wanna top or bottom?”
The blush, which was fading, returns with full force. “Wh-what?”
“Do you wanna take it up the ass,” Jimin says patiently, “or do you wanna
stick  it up the ass? It’s an easy distinction.”
“I don’t kn-know,” he stammers. “What do you want?”
Jimin thinks for a while. “I’ve never bottomed and I wanna try.”
“You want me to…” He looks faint. “To…top?”
“It’s not that scary.” Jimin straddles him, legs on either side of his waist.
“You literally have to take your dick and put it in something. I think you’ve
had plenty of experience with your shampoo bottle.”
He seems too panicky to make a comeback. “Really?” he asks. “You trust me
enough?”
“Yeah, Kookie,” Jimin says, leaning down to kiss at the soft, pale skin of his
neck. “I trust you enough.”
~
Bottoming for the first time is painful.
Bottoming for the first time is painful and  hurts.
Jungkook has his face buried in Jimin’s neck. Jimin wishes someone could take a
picture, because he’s sure the mixture of Jungkook’s black hair clashing
against his orange hair is all aesthetic and pretty and all, but mostly he’s
just concentrating on not screaming “get it  out  of me” at Jungkook.
Jungkook releases a ragged gasp into Jimin’s neck, his legs tensed and his hips
shaking with the effort it costs him not to move, muscle bulging out along his
thighs. His fingers are digging into Jimin’s upper arms. Jimin will probably
have bruises.
It burns,  he thinks, but he doesn’t want to say that to Jungkook, not when his
bunny teeth are caught in his lower lip and his eyes are squeezed shut and he’s
the absolute picture of ecstasy.
Jimin should have prepped more. Jimin should have slid in more than three
fingers. Jungkook is thick, thicker than  four  of his fingers, and Jimin
doesn’t know when he had time to grow that big, but the point is that all of
him is inside Jimin and it  hurts.
This isn’t right,  he thinks.  Stuff isn’t supposed to go in your ass. How does
Taehyung enjoy his?
Jungkook lets out a breathy moan into Jimin’s ear, hips twitching the slightest
bit, and Jimin feels heat pool in his stomach at the sound. But he doesn’t
understand how to associate this horrible pain of being stretched beyond what
he should be with the pleasure he feels when Jungkook wraps his hand around him
and jerks him off.
Jimin considers telling Jungkook that he can’t do this, he has to stop, he’s
not ready.  But maybe this is one of those things which will hurt at the start
no matter what,  he thinks.  And putting it off won’t help.
Jimin braces himself and nudges his hips against Jungkook.
Jungkook slips in further, and he makes a desperate whimper. It sounds like
he’s dying. Maybe he  is  dying, if the fingers digging into Jimin’s triceps
are anything to judge by.
“You can move,” Jimin whispers. “Slowly.”
Jungkook presses his lips against Jimin’s neck, a gesture only he would
understand as thanks and an apology rolled all into one, and pulls out.
It gets easier to take after a while. But Jimin is just tolerating it. He isn’t
feeling anything wonderful like ecstasy or fireworks. He doesn’t want to offend
Jungkook, and the sounds Jungkook is making are honestly like nothing he’s ever
heard, but he thinks it would feel better if he jerked off to a picture of a
chair.
Jimin remembers then how when he fucked Taehyung, Taehyung would always writhe
and wriggle until he was thrusting in at a specific angle. The positions he was
willing to contort himself into for the sake of pleasure were insane. Once his
legs were bent back so far that his toes were touching the mattress and he
could kiss and suck at Jimin’s neck without lifting his head.
“Put my legs on your shoulders,” Jimin tells Jungkook. He knows he’s flexible
enough for it.
Jungkook does, teeth sinking into his lip with agony at the interruption, but
when he starts moving again Jimin feels something—just a brush, but enough to
set off a wave of electricity crackling through his body to his fingertips.
His back arches off the bed, toes curling, and his mouth falls open in a gasp.
Jungkook catches it. “Good?” he asks, and he bends Jimin’s legs back a bit
further.
It’s better now. He’s hitting whatever it is more often and more accurately,
and Jimin thinks he’s catching an inkling of what made Taehyung look like that
under him, body wracked and wrung out with unspeakable pleasure, moans tripping
out of his mouth without stopping.
“Further, please,” Jimin pants, and Jungkook looks worried for a second before
pushing Jimin’s legs down further.
They end up exactly the way Jimin and Taehyung did—Jimin’s toes touching the
mattress next to his head, thighs pressed against his chest. Jimin is very,
very thankful that he’s flexible and also very, very thankful that he can
muffle his moans in Jungkook’s mouth.
He thinks he prefers bottoming, although he wouldn’t mind topping again. The
shivers of electricity shuddering through his body are incomparable. Jimin
never wants to stop.
Jungkook comes first. Taehyung seems to like it when Jimin does that, but at
the warm, sticky rush inside him, Jimin’s eyes snap open in surprise, back
arching at the odd sensation. Jungkook is coming undone above him, head bowed
as if in prayer, mouth open. His fringe is matted together, soaked with sweat,
and his eyebrows draw together as he raises his head slowly, eyes still closed,
as if he can see something beautiful which Jimin can’t.
It doesn’t matter. Jungkook is enough beauty for him.
It seems that Jimin can’t come just from bottoming. Jungkook pulls out of him
and sucks him off with the fervor of the damned and the sinning, cheeks
hollowed and flushed, eyes half-lidded and dark, and this time Jimin forces
himself to look. Jungkook holds down his hips when he comes as they buck
convulsively, chasing heaven even as it fades away.
They spoon after sex this time. Jimin slightly resents being made the small
spoon because of his smaller size, but he can’t be bothered to care, not when
Jungkook’s chest is warm against his back and his hands are tight against his
midsection. Jimin feels safe. He feels loved. And for him, there’s no better
feeling in the world.
None at all.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     Huuuuuuuhahahaaaaaaa things are beginning to happennnnnnnn
     Can you feel the angst already because I can feel the meter slowly
     creeping up
     Heheh…
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It’s not a date, exactly.
But they are walking through Busan, Nampodong to be exact, and they are holding
hands. They can’t really show more PDA than that because this is still Korea,
and Korea is still a largely homophobic country. But their jackets conceal
their linked hands from the blurry eyesight of any nosy, homophobic ahjumma who
might ask what they’re doing, and that’s enough.
Fall is slowly tipping into winter. The air has a bite to it now which can no
longer be called pleasant, so they’re wearing jackets. Busan winters aren’t as
bitterly cold as Seoul winters—in Busan, the temperature only drops to -
4 degrees at the worst time of winter and can get as high as 10 degrees.
This date thing wasn’t planned. It’s just that Jimin’s mom went into a Gimjang
frenzy and they had to escape the household before they were enlisted to
prepare ingredients and cut and season unholy amounts of Korean cabbage.
[Author’s note #1: Gimjang is an event which occurs in Korea in late fall or
early winter where people make large amounts of kimchi which is meant to be
stored throughout the winter. This kimchi is called gimjang kimchi.]
Jimin hates garlic. In his food in tiny bits it’s okay, but he can’t stand
looking at it and peeling it and cutting it and smelling it. This means Gimjang
is usually one long, protracted headache for him because there’s so much garlic
lying around which needs to be peeled and cut that Jimin was once convinced
that his mom stripped an entire field of garlic plants and they all ended up in
their kitchen.
Jungkook’s family doesn’t do Gimjang, so if they don’t manage to escape, he’s
drafted to help make the Parks’ supply of gimjang kimchi too. Gimjang involves
a lot of salted fish which Jimin’s mom buys whole in vacuum-packed packets.
Jungkook can’t stand to look at them. He says it feels like the fish are still
alive, just paralyzed, suffering as they’re chopped up. He shudders every time
he has to come close to them. The red pepper powder also makes him sneeze like
nobody’s business, scattering germs all over the kimchi, and no one likes that.
They snuck out through Jimin’s bedroom window before Mrs. Park could force them
into helping. They wandered through Busan in their jackets, sticking close
together for warmth, and eventually ended up at Nampodong, a famous street in
Busan. They bought roasted chestnuts and are eating them now, a bag each.
They’re talking about nothing in particular.
Jungkook’s lips are more chapped than usual because of the dry air, and he
sniffles, his rhinitis aggravated by the cold. Also because of the rhinitis, he
has to wear more layers and a thicker jacket than usual. Jimin finds it
insanely cute. If he had to compare Jungkook to an animal right now, it would
be a snuffling, helpless puppy trying to toddle in layers of jackets.
“You’re so cute,” he coos, reaching above the scarf wrapped around Jungkook’s
neck to pinch his cold-reddened cheeks. “So snuffly.”
“You wait till you get rhinitis,” he growls, sniffing aggressively. “And then
see whose cheeks will be getting pinched then.”
“Do you wanna go to a jjimjilbang?” Jimin asks, gazing out at the end of the
street. “It’s cold and we don’t have a bath at home. I never get to go as often
as I’d like to.”
“I dunno,” he says uncomfortably. “I don’t like showing skin in front of
strangers. And I don’t like all the strangers either. Some of their balls hang
so low that they trail over the floor.”
Jimin laughs. “I wonder if the women’s side is nicer. It always smells
better—like perfume and flowers. Maybe they’d let me in if I told them I’m gay
and I’m more of a hazard if they let me in the men’s side.”
When he looks at Jungkook, Jungkook’s got a wistful look in his face. “What’s
up with you?” Jimin asks.
He snaps out of his reverie. “Oh, I was just…I mean, come on, every straight
Korean guy has had a fantasy at one point of sneaking into the women’s side of
a jjimjilbang. All those pretty women without anything on.”
“And all those ahjummas,” Jimin says icily, “blocking your view of the pretty
women with their saggy tits, also without anything on.”
His eyes start looking a lot less dazed. “Still, though,” he says, determined
to be pervy and creep Jimin out, “imagine if there were a jjimjilbang where
none of the women could be under 18 or over 25. Imagine what that would look
like.”
“It would look like a lot of young women trying to bathe without some creep
with a big nose and the sniffles watching them,” Jimin snaps. “On second
thoughts, we’re not going to the jjimjilbang. You’re a threat to women
everywhere trying to bathe in peace.”
He huffs. “You’re gay. It doesn’t count.”
“I don’t dream of going to the jjimjilbang just so I can see all those lovely
old-man saggy balls, do I? I dream of taking baths in the winter. Not like
you.”
He grumbles. “My wet dreams don’t care about details.”
“Ew, Kook. If I ever have to defend you in court for being a serial rapist,
I’ll say that your wet dreams don’t care about details.”
He looks horrified. “I’m not a rapist! I’d never rape anyone!”
“I know, Jungkook, I’m just teasing you.” Jimin pats his jacket-swaddled arm
reassuringly. “You’ll always have me. Please come to me if you ever feel like
you need to rape anyone.”
“You’d let me rape you?” he asks uncertainly.
“No, I’d send you to a psychologist,” Jimin says sweetly, “and make sure you’re
held in a psychiatric ward where you can’t pose a threat to anyone.”
He rolls his eyes. “I can always depend on you.”
“Yeah, you can.”
They walk on in comfortable silence for a while.
“Jimin,” Jungkook says in a low voice eventually, “does it seem to you like
this man behind us has been following us?”
Jimin darts a quick glance back. “Uh, the guy with the black hat and blue
jacket with his hands in his pockets?”
“That one.”
“Wait, let’s do an experiment,” Jimin says. They wait at a traffic light until
they can cross the street, then cross. On the other side, they wait again, and
then cross back.
Jimin glances back. The suspicious guy is still behind them, but he’s pulled
out his phone and is scrolling through it now. “He’s definitely following us,”
he tells Jungkook quietly.
“Why?” His voice pitches upward with indignation. “Is he gonna rape us?”
“Relax, Jungkook, you’re sniffling so much people probably think you have some
contagious flu.”
“If he comes any closer, he’s gonna get it,” he says, eyeing him threateningly.
“Good plan. You sniff aggressively at him and I’ll make a getaway.”
He glares at Jimin. “You’re a horrible friend.”
“Thank you.”
“Should we try to shake him off?” he asks worriedly.
“Let’s just not go into any dark alleys or anything,” Jimin says. “Stick to the
crowds. And hold onto me very tightly, please, I’m a small person and no one
will notice if he grabs me away.”
Jungkook sniggers, albeit sniffily. “Small person.”
“Small person who can still do this,” he says, and he thwacks Jungkook upside
the head.
“Ow!”
Eventually, when they have made a game of walking the most bizarre paths they
can dream up to see if the man will follow them—loop-de-loops, figures of
eight, and walking a shape which makes Jungkook giggle like a middle schooler
around the square—and the man still follows them, Jimin gets fed up.
He makes sure Jungkook’s arm is linked securely in his and then walks back
towards the man, too fast for him to change course. The man looks up, blinking,
from a brochure, which Jimin notices is held upside down.
“Do you just really like reading your brochures upside down,” he snaps, “or are
you following us?”
Jungkook draws himself to his full height beside Jimin, looming over the man.
The man adjusts his glasses. “I’m sorry,” he begins, “but I’m a street caster
for Bighit Entertainment. I was just thinking that you two would make great
Kpop stars—you walk with such grace, and with some work, you’d be able to hit
high notes which no other male singers can,” he says, nodding at Jimin. “You
have the looks, and judging by your voice, you’d be good at singing.” He jerks
his chin at Jungkook. “Please do consider. Auditions are being held right now
in the Cheonggu Building.” He reaches inside his jacket pocket and hands them
each a business card. “Here’s the address and more details. I’m really sorry
that I was following you around—I was trying to judge whether it was worth
approaching you. Auditions end tomorrow. I’m sorry again, and thank you.” He
bows and melts into the crowd.
Jimin feels like he’s been picked up and set down by a brisk, businesslike
whirlwind. He turns to Jungkook, bewildered. “What was that?” he asks.
Jungkook turns the business card over and over in his fingers. “Street…casted?”
he asks uncertainly. “Did we just get told we could become Kpop stars?”
Jimin starts bouncing up and down. “Oh my God, we should go! Jungkookie! We
have to go!”
He starts looking panicky. “But I’m sniffing! And I’m not good at singing!”
“You just got street-casted, you are not turning this opportunity down!”
“But—!”
“No buts! We’re going!” Jimin is excited. “Oh My God, oh my God, oh my God!”
“I’m not going today,” he says stubbornly.
“Okay, fine, we’ll go tomorrow when we’ve had time to prepare.” Jimin clutches
the business card like a lifeline. “I can’t believe this! I’ve never met anyone
who’s gotten street-casted!”
“We’ll probably fail the auditions, anyway,” he says sourly.
Jimin glares at him. “Well, thank you for raining on my parade, Jeon Sourkook.”
At this, he can’t help but let out a disbelieving laugh. “Jeon Sourkook?
Seriously?”
[Author’s note #2: In Korean, Jeon Sourkook would be Jeon Shinkook. But I’ll
keep it in English to avoid misunderstandings.]
“I will call you that every time you behave like a grouchy old man.” Jimin
waggles his finger in his face. “Seriously. I’ll tell my grandchildren that
once when granddaddy was young, he had a friend called Jeon Sourkook who was
more sour than Skittles.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jungkook says easily, “because I’d be around as Granddaddy
Kook. And I’d easily be able to disprove that.” He nudges Jimin. “I’ll never
leave you, remember?”
Jimin melts. “You’ll never leave me,” he says softly, leaning against
Jungkook’s chest.
They walk together towards the end of the street, dreaming of the future and
everything it holds for them, scarf ends, sniffling, and the smell of chestnuts
trailing in their wake.
~
“I wanna bring you to meet my dance studio friends,” Jimin says, bouncing up
and down on the spot as Jungkook gets changed.
Jungkook looks up and frowns. “Dance studio friends?”
“Yeah,” he says. “From the photograph. Remember?”
Jungkook thinks slowly. “I remember a woman with a mole on her cheek.”
“That’s Hyuna, she’s the impromptu leader and my senpai.” He bounces harder.
“They’re gonna help me work out a dance routine to audition with and I want you
to be there.”
“What if they don’t like me?” Jungkook looks terrified. This is one trait he’s
never lost—fear of meeting new people. “What if they make me dance?”
“They won’t, they’re not like that.” He thinks for a while. “Actually—maybe
they are, but I’d stop them before they do anything.” He pulls on Jungkook’s
arm. “Come on! Please?”
Jungkook looks reluctant.
“I’ll rim you if you want,” Jimin offers.
His face clears. “Okay, shit, yes, let’s do this.” He marches to the door and
looks back impatiently. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”
Jimin grins and follows him out.
~
Jimin’s parents know about the dancing. A friend showed them the video of their
son dancing to Give Me Love, which has now garnered nearly three million views.
They were offended at first that Jimin hadn’t told them. He was afraid they
wouldn’t let him continue, but they eventually decided to allow him to keep
dancing as long as he’s “sure it’s safe”.
When Jimin walks into the dance studio, everyone looks up as Jungkook’s bigger
shadow falls over the floor. They all stare at Jungkook. The music stops. A pin
dropping would sound as loud as a gunshot in the sudden silence.
Eventually, Kyungri points a finger at Jungkook. “It’s the…it’s the hottie best
friend!” he says in a quavering voice.
Jungkook shoots an affronted glance towards Jimin. “What?”
“They took my phone,” he says helplessly. “They saw all those pictures of you.
I couldn’t stop it.”
Hyuna detaches from the crowd and comes towards them, bare feet graceful on the
floor. “Hi, Jungkook,” she says, slinging an arm around Jimin’s shoulders.
“Make yourself comfortable. We’re just gonna start dancing now.”
“Okay, the story is,” Jimin says, walking off with Hyuna, “a street caster
randomly approached me and Jungkookie while we were walking in Nampodong. He’d
been creeping us out because he’d been following us around, but he gave us this
card”—Jimin hands it to her—“and said we should go audition for Bighit
Entertainment.”
“Bighit Entertainment?” She scans the card. “Isn’t that Jo Kwon’s company?”
Everyone gasps. Jo Kwon is revered as a legend in the dance studio for acting
as a drag queen in Priscilla, a musical where he dons a corset and wears high
heels. He supports LGBT rights, a rare thing in Korea, and is openly a massive
diva. After Priscilla aired, a massive project involving everyone in the dance
studio was undertaken to draw a picture of Jo Kwon in heels and the famed black
corset, complete with golden nipples. It’s on the wall of the studio now,
larger than a man, done beautifully with glittery spray paint and every color
they could get their hands on in the paint store. The entire wall opposite it
is dominated by a depiction of Beyonce in the Partition video on the couch,
hair tumbling over her face and butt up in the air, a black silhouette against
a purple background. It’s very dramatic. Jimin loves it.
Jungkook sits himself down in a corner tentatively, looking like he’s trying to
make himself as small as possible. Eunhee, an openly lesbian girl who
unabashedly fulfils all lesbian stereotypes by never being seen without a
flannel clothing item, goes to him and strikes up a conversation.
Jimin loses himself to the dancing. It’s easy. In the chaotic order of frenzied
yet coordinated limbs and sweat running down his face and into his shirt,
dancing has never turned him away since he discovered it. Hyuna helps him
decide what song to dance to at the audition, and within a few hours of nonstop
throwing his body into the music, Jimin is soaked with sweat and the dance is
as good as it gets.
When they take a break, Jungkook is openmouthed. Jimin throws his arms around
him and snuggles into a hug.
“You’re all sweaty, geroff,” he grumbles.
Jimin squeezes him harder.
“That’s it,” he sighs. “I’m doomed to a life as Jeon Lemonkook.”
“Or Jeon Lemon,” Jimin cackles. “Get it? John Lennon? Jeon Lemon?”
Jungkook stares at him.
“I know, I’m hysterical,” he says, chuckling. “So, what do you think of my
dancing?”
“I am offended,” he says stiffly, “that you did not tell me immediately after
you started when you’re so fucking good.”
“We weren’t really so great back then. Dancing…helped me deal with it.”
Jungkook bites his lip. “Let’s never get to that place again, okay? That
distance—it was killing me. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be in life
without you reminding me every day.”
“You’re very poetic, Jungkookie. You should act in romantic KBS dramas.”
“Ehhhhh.” He makes a face.
“Don’t worry, Jungkook.” Jimin leans against him. “I’ll never let anything come
between us again. I’ve learned my lesson from last time. And you’d better not,
either.”
“I won’t,” he says softly, carding a hand through Jimin’s hair. “Nothing can
push us apart anymore.”
~
The audition is hectic.
Jimin makes sure to tell his parents about it this time. If this is all a scam
and it’s a trap set by people who want his body parts to sell on the black
market, he wants them to be able to at least catch the fuckers who did it.
But he can see instantly that it’s not. Cheonggu Building has the Bighit
Entertainment sign on the front, and they’re ushered in as soon as they climb
the steps by a woman who helps them get where they need to go. The room they’re
directed to is filled with anxious-looking young men and women. A cloth-covered
table with a serious-looking man and woman sitting at it has been placed at the
front of the room. Everyone looks intensely nervous, including Jungkook.
Their names are taken and they’re organized into a line. Jungkook looks panicky
when they shepherd him in front of Jimin. But Jimin is right behind him, so he
can reach out and grasp his hand.
Jungkook squeezes back.
The line seems to decimate at alarming speed. None of the candidates seem
particularly Kpoppy to Jimin, and he’s confident that Jungkook will rise above
them.
The song he chose is a Zion T. one, Jungkook’s favorite artist—Yanghwa Bridge.
The judges sit up straight at the first words out of his mouth. Once he reaches
the first geurae, they’re leaning forward, on the edges of their seats.
Jungkook has a beautiful voice. It’s breathy and seems to pick you up and
caress you, brimming with emotion, and the judges wear rapt expressions, unable
to look away from his face. It never pitches weirdly or misses a note.
Jungkook’s voice is the voice of Jimin’s childhood, the voice of Jimin’s
thoughts sometimes. It’s the voice of home.
It also helps that half the judging panel is female. The woman starts to adopt
that dreamy, gooey look anyone faced with Jungkook doing something he’s
passionate about gets, dazed eyes following his plump, pink lips as they move.
When he sings eomma like a plea, her eyes glisten suspiciously.
Jungkook picked a good song. Jimin is pretty sure it’s about trying to hold a
family together and be happy even with an absent father. Jungkook’s father
isn’t absent,exactly, but the part where he seems to beg the listeners to let
him be happy tugs at Jimin’s heart. Jungkook has this habit of holding his hand
against his chest while he’s singing like he’s cradling something to his heart,
Jimin notices. Jungkook looks so good in the dark blue sweater they bought for
this occasion that he can hardly blame the female judge for practically
drooling all over the table.
When Jungkook finishes, the woman raises her hands and almost brings them
together as if she’s going to clap, then remembers she’s not supposed to and
tries to put the judgy look back on. But it doesn’t matter, because the other
people auditioning are clapping and whooping, looking at Jungkook like he’s a
Kpop star already.
Jimin doesn’t care that this is homophobic Korea—when Jungkook walks back
looking sheepish, he throws his arms around Jungkook and squeezes the breath
out of him. Jungkook squeaks in consternation while Jimin squeals, “I’m so
proud of you.”
“I can’t…breathe,” he gasps, and Jimin lets go. Once he’s gotten his breath
back, he pats Jimin’s shoulder weakly. “Knock them dead.”
Jimin’s audition passes in a blur. He’s 80% nervous, 10% just-wants-to-get-it-
over-with, and 10% hopeful. All he registers is the dancing, the dancing,
picking him up and spinning him around and whispering in his ear that
everything will be okay as long as he doesn’t stop moving.
The music ends. Jimin walks back to the others. He doesn’t dare look at the
judges.
Finally, everyone’s done auditioning. They sit on the floor tensely, cross-
legged, as the female judge comes forward with a clipboard.
“You all did a good job today. Thank you for attending the auditions. If you
didn’t make it this time, perhaps consider auditioning another time.” She looks
out at the auditionees. “And now, for the candidates we will be taking on as
trainees, if they consent. For the candidates who have been chosen and wish to
consider becoming a trainee, please come to the Cheonggu Building tomorrow at
ten in the morning to receive further instructions.”
She clears her throat. No one dares move or breathe.
“Jeon Jungkook,” she says, and Jimin can feel his entire being light up with
pride. She looks down at the clipboard again, and then looks back up at them.
She tucks it behind her back. “That will be all.”
There is a long moment while his mind goes blank.
Empty.
Thoughtless.
Numb.
And then…it registers. Jungkook was picked and not me.
Oh. Oh, oh, oh.
“There’s no more?” someone asks, the words vague in his mind.
“No more,” the woman says. “We’re sorry for the auditionees who were not
picked. We encourage you to try next time.”
And then—it’s over. People trickling out of the room disappointedly, shooting
jealous glances at Jungkook, some tinged with admiration. And Jimin, still
sitting motionlessly on the floor.
Someone touches his arm. Jungkook. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he says
softly.
Jimin lets him pull him up. He staggers out of the Cheonggu Building and into
the street, eyes staring at nothing.
This means…that Jungkook has to go and train. This means…that Jungkook’s going
where he can’t. This means…that they’ll be separated. Again.
Again.
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says to him, voice heavy, face sad. “That you weren’t
picked.”
“That’s not why I’m like this,” he says quietly. He never really expected to be
picked anyway—it seemed like a joke. Like a laugh, at the time—him, a Kpop
star?
But then Jungkook got picked. Jungkook got picked out of everyone there. And
he’s happy for him, he’s proud, he really is, but…trainees train for a long
time, many years, and they start young, in their teen years. How long will he
not see Jungkook for?
“Why are you sad, then?” Jungkook’s voice is careful, like he’s picking his way
through a minefield paved with shards of shattered glass, and Jimin recognizes
that voice—it’s that voice he uses when he thinks someone is lying but doesn’t
want to offend them by mentioning them.
Jimin raises his eyes to his. “You’re leaving me,” he says, voice echoing
hollowly down the now deserted side street. “To train.”
Jungkook laughs nervously. “What—oh, come on. I can’t become a trainee. We have
our whole lives ahead of us. I’m not Kpop star material.”
“You got picked!” Jimin shouts, louder than he meant it to be. “You have to
go!”
He meant it to sound indignant, but instead, it sounds angry, like he’s furious
at Jungkook for being picked. Jungkook flinches, and his heart drops to his
toes.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” he says falteringly. “I mean—I mean that
it’d be a waste to throw away such a good chance. You got picked, Jungkook. A
company wants you as a trainee. You’re talented enough to be a trainee. You
could actually be a Kpop star. How is the hugeness of that not getting to you?”
“It is, I guess, but—” His voice drops off uncertainly. “I just…can’t see it.
Me being a Kpop star. Me having fans. Me performing.”
“You have to take this chance,” he says, voice small against the bitterness-
cloaked blessings of the world. “I won’t let you throw it away.”
Jungkook hovers for a torturous moment. And then he says, “Okay, say I do
become a trainee. I debut. What if I never succeed? What if the entire bottom
just drops out? What do I do then? Everyone will be thinking, oh, that Jeon
Jungkook, that guy the company picked to be a big Kpop star, he failed. He’s
coming back to Busan with his tail between his legs because no one wants to
listen to or look at him.”
It hurts. It hurts JImin to hear someone he loves voice their insecurities and
doubts like that. It hurts him to imagine that life could ever be cruel to
Jungkook. “That will never happen,” Jimin says. “You’re too talented for that.
You’re good at anything you put your mind to. If you’re not, then Cool Kook
is.”
Silence reigns for a while. Cool Kook has not been brought up for a long time.
“This is too much,” Jungkook says. “This is happening too fast. I’m so young.
If I become a Kpop star, I won’t have time to really throw myself into my
studies. Maybe I’ll never even get a degree. And being a Kpop star isn’t a
steady life. It’s just like a star, in fact—Kpop stars burn brighter than
everyone around them for a brief moment, then when they start getting old and
the public gets bored of them, the group disbands. Without a degree or proper
education or any time spent in the real world, how will I survive after I’m
done being a star? After the nation doesn’t want me anymore?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Jimin reaches out and grips his shoulders. “It doesn’t
matter. This is a one-in-a-lifetime chance! Remember when we were kids and we
dreamed of travelling the world and seeing so many new faces that they start
blending together? Remember when we made the swings a magic fame machine which
would make us famous and rich if we swung hard enough? Remember when we spent
hours, hours, talking about what we would do if we were Kpop stars like Bigbang
and people sung our praises and threw roses at our feet and we couldn’t go out
in public because the fans wanted to see and touch us so much? Remember when we
dreamed of being gods? This is your chance, Jungkook! This is all of our
childhood dreams becoming reality! And you stand there and tell me that you’ll
throw it away because you don’t think you can make it?”
“I—” Jungkook falters. “But—”
“This is a chance to do something big with your life,” Jimin says, staring into
his eyes. “This is a chance to become a legend. This is a chance to be looked
up to and admired by millions. This is a chance to change the course of your
life. And you will take it.” His voice drops. “No matter whether you leave me
in the process or not. I can’t be selfish that way. Not again.”
Jungkook looks at him. “But I promised,” he says softly. “I promised never to
leave you. And now…this.”
“It’s alright,” Jimin says, although he feels like he’s telling someone that
it’s okay to cut out his heart and burn it. “It’s okay. Honestly. I’ll cope.
And you’ll become a star. I know you will.”
“I’ll meet with you,” he says. “Throughout my trainee days. Even if I do become
famous, I’ll meet with you every week, and I’ll talk to you every day, whether
through text and call or in person. And this time, nothing will stop me.”
Jimin smiles. A small mercy.
“Let’s go,” he tells Jungkook.
They walk down the street together, their step light with promises not yet
broken, shining, whole, in the space between their hearts.
Chapter End Notes
     Yay.
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     Wow I was not expecting my characters to be so real that so many
     people are actually indignant on their behalf XD
     I would just like to explain that the main reason Jimin didn't become
     an idol is so I can put you guys through the angst of him struggling
     to cope with his best friend turning into an idol loved by millions.
     In the original storyline, Jimin never became an idol at all
     (wooooohoooooooooo more angst!) BUT I thought it would be unfair to
     put you guys through that unnecessary torture. I have the ending now
     and it is I dunno what you can call it bittersweet??? Cutesy???? Idk
     anything tbh I'm just grateful I know where this fic is going at all.
     So, yay!
Jimin and Jungkook are both trying not to talk about Jungkook being picked.
They don’t know why. They should be overjoyed—Jungkook could become a Kpop
star!—but for some reason, it seems to pull them down more than it buoys them
up.
It makes them walk closer together, just now feeling how little time they might
have left to do this, until their shoulders and hips bump against each other
with every step they take like drunks. Eventually, Jungkook just slings his arm
around Jimin’s shoulder so they can stagger down the road to Jimin’s house like
some kind of swaying, four-legged monster.
It’s late, maybe midnight. It was afternoon when they exited the Cheonggu
Building, but neither of them wanted to go home and help with Gimjang. So Jimin
texted his mom that he’d be home late and not to wait up, and they spent the
rest of the day at a karaoke bar In Nampodong, singing until their voices ran
dry.
Sometimes Jimin just put down the mic and let Jungkook sing by himself, just so
he could listen. Jungkook didn’t notice. When he sings, the world stops to
listen and the birds stop singing because they could never compare. When he
sings, you want to stand as still as you can so his voice can ebb and flow
around you and pick you up and change everything you thought about yourself.
And just watching him feels like a privilege—watching him get lost in the dips
and peaks of the music the way Jimin gets lost in dance, watching him hold his
hand against his chest like he’s cradling an injured bird, watching the lashes
dust like ashes against his cheeks when he closes his eyes.
Jungkook’s going to be big one day. He just knows it.
When their voices finally ran out of steam and they walked out of the karaoke
bar, night had descended on the city and Nampodong was deserted except for the
couples still sneaking in and out of the love motels, heads bent close and the
air between them filled with the giggly whispering of lovers. One passed near
them, and Jimin felt drunk on nothing much in particular, so he whispered to
them, “Enjoy it while you can.”
They really  were  drunk, so the male lifted his bottle in a salute, the girl’s
straight, shiny hair spilling over his shoulder, and said, “Just see what can
stop us.”
Jimin laughed at that. Because so much can stop you, really, when you least
expect it, and the brave confidence of those whom life hasn’t decided to strike
down yet is something to be celebrated.
They reach Jimin’s house now. Walk in the gate. Climb the steps unsteadily,
still clinging to each other, and stand in front of the door, turning to face
each other.
The street is empty. No lights are on in any of the houses, including Jimin’s.
The lampposts are the only things which seem alive in the world, casting their
pale yellow light on the exhausted sidewalks and trees losing their red-and-
gold leaves to winter.
Jungkook raises a hand and cups Jimin’s cheek. He’s wearing gloves, so all
Jimin feels is the soft knit of the wool and the distant warmth of his skin
underneath. Jimin wants to tug it off. Jimin wants to yank away all the
pretense and show the world what they have, what is special between them, and
dare it to take it away from them again.
“I’m sorry I’m leaving,” he says quietly, words swallowed by the interminable
night. There are no stars. The city releases too much light pollution for that.
“Don’t apologize for that,” Jimin says. “Please. You’re a star and you need to
shine. I won’t get in your way.”
He sniffs. Jimin doesn’t know whether it’s the rhinitis or emotion. “I won’t
forget you,” he says, voice breaking. “Star or no star, you’ll always be the
best thing which has ever happened to me.”
“Kook,” Jimin says softly.
Jungkook leans down and kisses him, right on their doorstep, right in front of
the entire neighborhood if anyone is up to see it. It’s not the world, but it’s
good enough, and the chapped warmth of his lips moving against Jimin’s still
feels more sinful than anything else they’ve ever done behind closed doors.
Jimin raises his ungloved hands and tangles them in Jungkook’s hair, the soft,
black strands slipping between his fingers like water, and wonders whether this
is the last night they’ll get to touch like this.
Jimin knows about trainees. Jimin knows about how hard it is for a trainee to
ruin their chance of they or their band ever succeeding because of a less-than-
honorable past. You have to have an impeccable track record—never drank
underage, never kissed someone behind the gym, never smoked a joint someone
passed you just for the kick of it. Then, and only then, will the nation give
you a chance at fame.
Jimin knows that any notion of Jungkook having a boyfriend would ruin his
career forever. Just being bi is terrible enough, but having a  boyfriend?
That’s even worse.
He’ll have to stay hidden. He’s just afraid that he’ll hide himself so well
that even Jungkook will forget about him.
“Come inside,” he says against Jungkook’s lips, soft and gentle as innocent
youth, and he draws him in the house by his scarf-ends, kicking the door closed
behind him.
Across the road, a curtain twitches shut.
~
Jimin has been waiting.
Jungkook said he’d meet him in his room at 8:30 so they could walk to the
Cheonggu Building together. But it’s 8:50 now, and even Jungkook isn’t ever
this late.
Eventually, confused, Jimin leaves the house and walks to the train station.
The train judders over the tracks, swaying, and the motion calms him. He’s
hanging off a pole for stability when his phone beeps with a text.
Jimin digs in his pocket and extracts his phone. He looks at the text.
 
Jungkook
Im sry I cant meet u at ur house i had to go
 
Jimin frowns.
 
Jimin
What? Why?
 
Jungkook
I’ll explain to u later
Where r u
 
Jimin
I’m on the train. I’ll be there in like 3 mins
Hurry, you have 5 mins left to get there b4 9
 
Jungkook
I’m on my way. If u get there b4 me pls explain to them
 
Jimin
Ok…
 
The train deposits him near the Cheonggu Building at 8:56. He waits across the
street from the building so he won’t be mistaken as a rejected candidate trying
to slip in. No other candidates are there because Jungkook is the only one who
was picked. The Cheonggu Building is tucked away in a side street, so no cars
pass, and it’s quiet—deserted except for him and the woman who ushered them
through at the auditions, who stands just outside the door. She waits
nervously, wringing her hands, standing on her tiptoes to look up and down the
street for Jungkook.
8:57.
She pulls out her phone and dials a number. She places it against her ear.
“There are three minutes left and the candidate hasn’t shown,” she says
worriedly. “What’s his name…Jungkook? Describe him to me, please.”
Her eyes sweep up and down the street. Jimin darts behind a tree, deciding that
hiding is a better alternative to explaining why he’s here.
“Handsome…very handsome? Exceptionally handsome? No one really fits that
criteria except the poster of Lee Minho across the street,” she jokes,
attempting humor, but her eyes are too concerned to pull it off. “No one’s
here, in fact.”
Jimin releases a sigh of relief and checks the time.
8:58.
“What do I do if he never comes? Perhaps he changed his mind?” she listens.
“Alright…alright. I’ll go in at 9 on the dot. Punctuality is important for a
prospective idol? Correct, very true.”
“I’ll call you again when he shows up,” she says, and she hangs up the phone.
She goes back to waiting. Jimin’s agony increases as the seconds tick by. Where
is  he?
8:59.
The woman looks down at her watch. “Oh dear, oh dear,” she mutters to herself.
“And he was such a promising young man too…”
Jimin counts down the seconds silently.  20. 19. 18. 17…
And Jungkook tears in the end of the street. He’s running faster than Jimin’s
ever seen him run, hair a dishevelled mess, clothes askew, face flushed burning
red. The woman jumps. She nearly falls over the railing when Jimin rushes out
of nowhere and to him, asking, “Kookie? Jungkook? Are you okay? What happened?”
He holds up a hand, bent over double with his hands on his knees, drawing in
air in great, gasping gulps. He looks like he’s going to collapse at any
second.
“Oh, why do you do this to yourself?” Jimin fusses, holding his hair back from
his eyes. “Why do you push yourself so much?”
“Excuse me?” the woman asks in a high-pitched voice, clearly trying to regain
control of the situation. They both look at her, Jungkook’s loud, rasping
breaths filling the silence. “Which one of you is Jeon Jungkook?”
Jimin points at him. Jungkook raises his hand weakly.
“You were very nearly late, young man,” she says sternly. “Punctuality is
important for a prospective idol.”
Jungkook nods, dragging in air.
Her face changes to an expression of concern again. “Are you quite alright?”
“He’s okay,” Jimin answers quickly for him. “He’s just recovering.”
Jungkook straightens up, still breathing hard, and walks unsteadily towards the
steps. He leans heavily on the railing as he climbs them, looking like he’s
half-dead as the woman leads the way worriedly.
“Kook?” Jimin calls.
He turns questioningly.
“You’ll explain what’s going on to me when you’re done, right?”
He nods, panting.
“Text me, okay?”
He nods again. And then he turns and disappears into the building.
Jimin walks slowly out the street and waits in a cafe. He texts Jungkook the
name of the cafe so he can meet him when he’s done with all the mysterious idol
business.
He watches people pass by on the street, wondering how many of them will know
Jungkook’s name by the time Jimin’s in university.
~
Jimin waits until 11.
It gives him time to think about how much his life revolves around Jungkook.
How will he cope when he loses his sun, his life, to a nation of millions?
Jungkook stumbles into the cafe looking shell-shocked. He stares at Jimin for a
few moments while Jimin waves his arms as if he can’t recognize him, then
staggers over and drops into the seat across from him.
His eyes are wide and his hair mussed. “Oh my God,” he says. “What the hell is
happening to me?”
“What did they tell you?” Jimin asks, sipping from his bubble tea.
“Once I told them I’d become a trainee, they started explaining training
schedules, workout schedules, lesson schedules—I need to take English,
Mandarin, and Japanese language lessons, you know that? Why?” He sighs. “And
there’s a specific diet plan I need to follow. There’s a timetable and all. I’m
allowed one cheat day per week, but other than that I have to avoid butter,
fried foods, fatty meat like pork and lamb, unnecessary carbs, excessively
sweetened drinks…” He eyes Jimin’s drink thirstily. “I don’t know, Jimin. I
can’t even eat  bread  except if it’s part of a meal—that means no floury
snacks! How will I  survive?  There’s so much discipline which keeps the whole
thing going that I—I think I might die from flour deprivation before I ever
debut. Just look at this. Look how many timetables I have.” He fumbles and
holds up a thick sheaf of papers. “It’s madness. I told them about the exercise
regime I put myself on now, and they seem mostly satisfied with it, but they
want me to start weightlifting because my arm muscles aren’t defined enough.
Can you see me weightlifting? I’ll drop the thing and my foot will have to be
amputated.”
He seems mostly like he’s ranting at himself. Jimin sips his drink warily and
with less gusto, taking into consideration the fact that Jungkook looks like he
might jump him for his bubble tea. “What happened before? Which made you so
late?”
His face clouds over and he sighs. “Listen…I can’t live at home anymore.”
Jimin freezes. “What?”
“I explained the whole situation to the company and they said they’d put me up
in a dorm. There’s a really awesome guy who’ll be in the same band as me named
Namjoon who calls himself Rap Monster. And, oh my God, he can  rap.  Honestly.
He’s gonna be our leader since he was the first recruit.”
“Okay, okay, wait, but…what is ‘the whole situation’?”
Jungkook sighs.
“Is it about your dad?” he ventures cautiously.
“Yes, Jimin,” he says with the air of someone opening the floodgates, “it’s
about my dad. Someone saw us kissing last night and ran to tell my dad. He was
drunk—as usual—so he went off on me. Stuff about how he didn’t raise his son to
be a deviant—as if he’s raised me at all, God knows your dad has raised me
more—stuff about how I’m twisted, I’m wrong, so on, lah dee dah.” He sighs. “He
tried to hit me. I blocked it. He tried to hit me again. I blocked it. But the
point is that I can’t live in that house while constantly defending myself from
my dad, around such violence, so I just up and left after trying to get him to
stop.”
His eyes are sad. He’s accepted his abusive father now, and that hurts
Jimin—that he’s found a way to live in and with the pain. The violence.
“It’s made me more determined to become an idol. To rise above this. To prove
to him and myself that being bi, and being weak, and once being hit by him, is
not all that defines me.  I  define me. My  talents  define me. Not all the
perceived shortcomings I have.” He leans forward over the table, fists
clenched, eyes bright. “I’ll prove them all wrong. I’ll become the biggest star
they’ve ever seen, and see whether I’m small enough for him to hit me then.”
Jimin’s chest hurts on his behalf. “Oh, Jungkook,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.
I really am.”
“No, don’t be sorry. You’ve helped so much already. Not just you—your family.
The Parks gave me a second home when I couldn’t stay in that poisonous
household, with my poisonous father. The Parks invited me to
everything—holidays, celebrations, festivals, just to make me feel loved,
welcomed, like I  mattered.  The Parks knew how much I needed an intact family
to lean on, to belong to, and they gave me that. They took me in as their
second son. And you…you helped me remember who I was, who I had to be, when my
father as hitting me and I felt like less than nothing. You’re all important to
me. I’m so grateful I can never pay it back, and I will never forget you.” He
takes Jimin’s hand and laces his fingers through mine. “Never.”
When Jimin smiles, it feels painful with joy. He’s escaping. He’s running away.
He’s succeeding already.
“I’m happy for you,” he says, squeezing Jungkook’s hand. “Truly and forever.”
~
Jungkook goes back to Jimin’s house one last time.
Jimin promised to rim him, and rim him he does, Jungkook’s cries muffled by a
hand covering his mouth and his eyes squeezed as tightly shut as they can go.
He comes over his own belly, come trickling down onto Jimin’s bedsheets, but
Jimin doesn’t care. He lets Jungkook flip him over and pin him down and kiss
him like he wants all the air in his lungs.
They have sex face-to-face, Jungkook’s mouth never leaving his for a second. It
feels bittersweet, almost cleansed, almost pure, in the sadness of the
occasion. This will be the last time for a long time, and they both know it.
Jimin feels it in the way Jungkook doesn’t dare dig his nails into his biceps
like last time, doesn’t dare do much beyond take his lower lip into his mouth
and nibble it gently. Jimin feels it in the way he treats him like something
precious, like something fragile, like something breakable. Jimin feels it in
the way he holds him after they’re both done and their bodies are spent and
shaking, how they fall asleep looking at each other, Jungkook’s hair spilling
across his pillow, hands curled between their chests like saplings.
Every moment seems to hurt more than it warms him. He’s more desperate,
clinging to Jungkook even as he falls asleep, legs tangled in his. He wonders
whether this—this bittersweet joy—is what the rest of his life will feel like,
will be tinged with.
He wakes up crying the way he does sometimes, tears trickling out the corners
of his eyes and down his cheekbones and into the pillow. He can’t remember what
he dreamed, but he thinks it’s something about Jungkook being gone when he woke
up, and knowing that he won’t be in Jimin’s house, in Jimin’s life, for a long
time. But Jungkook isn’t gone when he really does wake up. He’s leaning over
him, eyes unspeakably sad, thumb brushing over the tears on his cheeks, his own
tears mingling with the ones already soaking the pillowcase.
They say goodbye on the doorstep. They don’t kiss this time, knowing that a
neighbor somewhere is watching them. But they do hold hands, tightly, tightly,
never wanting to let go.
Jimin doesn’t follow him to the Cheonggu Building again. They’ve promised to
meet up in that small cafe as often as they can. But Jimin knows that this part
of Jungkook’s life, the star-studded idol aspect, is something he can no longer
share in.
Jungkook’s clothes and things were dropped off by his mom at their house last
night. Jimin watches his best friend walk down the road, pulling two sad,
beaten-down luggage bags behind him, shoulders hunched as the cord between
their chests pulls tauter and tauter. It hurts Jimin already, somewhere deep
and inexpressible in him, harder to grasp than something surface-deep.
When Jimin closes the door, the house feels so much emptier already, the brick
already seeming to know that Jungkook won’t be within its four walls any
longer. It sighs around him as he climbs the stairs, shifting to accustom to
one less boy in the house.
Jimin envies it. He envies how it can stand, sedentary, motionless, and endure
the test of time without being affected by trivial things like goodbyes. He
envies how eternal it seems.
If only he could be the same.
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
     Wooooohooooo it's a filler chappie guys
     Big time skip here. I tried to keep BTS' songs and albums as
     accurately tacked to the timeline as possible so they could coincide
     with how Jimin is doing all by himself, and if I made any mistakes I
     am very sorry. Much Wikipedia surfing was involved. You always think
     all those little charts and things Wikipedia has are useless, but
     turns out that they're actually pretty damn helpful. Try to keep
     track!
     Cannnnn you feelllllll the angstttttt tonightttttttt
     (Because I can.)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
                           Three Years Later : 2015
The pulling away was gradual at first.
They met up at the cafe every day for a short time, but Jimin could see how
much it killed Jungkook to make it to those meetings. Dark circles were
appearing under his eyes and tired lines were creasing around his mouth. So
Jimin told him to take the time to sleep and rest instead—a brief respite from
his punishing schedule as a trainee.
So they met up once a week.
Jungkook told him about his life as a trainee. He told him about struggling to
dance, struggling to sing, struggling to drop his Busan dialect as they trained
him into a generic Seoul accent. He’d never had any trouble with any of these
things, but now he was going to be an idol, he was expected to be flawless. His
standards had to be higher than anyone else’s. There would be no more slacking
and there would be no more lazing around. There was just work while they pushed
him into the mold of the best, most perfect idol there could be. And if he
didn’t fit into the mold, they’d just force him in until he did.
They were kind, he told Jimin, despite the merciless training regimen. He’d met
Bang Sihyuk, and he was a kind man, kinder by far than the nightmare stories of
Lee Sooman which had been told to him by a handful of trainees who’d moved from
SM. He wanted Jungkook to do well. If Jungkook asked for something, he got it.
If he needed a break, he was allowed sometimes to stay for one day in the tiny
apartment they’d given him which he was grateful for despite the fact that the
bedroom was barely big enough to fit a single bed and he couldn’t stretch out
his arms in the bathroom without his fingers hitting the wall.
Jimin had went there, once, but he hadn’t asked to go again. Jungkook seemed
like he felt…ashamed. And Jimin hated for him to feel like that.
They didn’t have sex anymore. They didn’t kiss. They didn’t even hold hands for
fear that someone would see them and when Jungkook debuted it would catch up to
him. They were determined to keep the slate as clean as humanly possible.
Jungkook became inactive on social media for fear that something he did—a joke
he made or a post he commented on—would be interpreted as insensitive and
offensive when he was an idol and the nation was scrutinizing him.
And then, on a terrible Sunday, Jungkook sat them down in the booth they always
took—next to a window which faced away from the Cheonggu Building to symbolize
a respite from work. He told Jimin that the other members of the band they were
going to form were all in Seoul already. He told Jimin that, logically, if he
were going to be part of a band with them, he had to meet them early so they
could get acquainted. He told Jimin that, also logically…that meant that he had
to go to Seoul.
Jimin thinks he accepted this very well. He nodded and smiled and congratulated
Jungkook, and he didn’t let the happiness slide off his face until he got home,
when he collapsed on his knees in his shower cubicle and cried to the tiled
walls.
Of course, Jungkook assured him that they’d keep in contact through everything
the Internet had to offer—text, calls, FaceTime, Skype, the works. But it
couldn’t compare. Jimin couldn’t see him in the flesh. Jimin couldn’t hear his
voice without being warped by his laptop’s speakers. He couldn’t inspect
Jungkook for things the webcam couldn’t pick up—whether the dark smudges under
his eyes meant he was pushing himself too hard, whether his mouth drooped too
low with exhaustion and he needed their meeting for sleep instead.
But this was Jungkook’s life. This was Jungkook’s job. This was Jungkook’s
dream. And Jimin was happy for him, honestly—he wanted him to succeed. So he
gave him his best wishes and saw him off at the airport, standing outside the
departure hall and watching his Iron Man luggage bag recede into the distance.
If they’d thought that his training was intense, they were wrong. In Seoul, it
was upped a notch. Not just a notch—many, many notches, as many notches higher
as it could go. Jungkook started learning English, Mandarin and Japanese from
tutors, something he’d been dreading but which had been postponed in Busan due
to lack of teachers. The man who would choreograph their dances when they
debuted lived in Seoul, so Jungkook’s dancing was subjected to a more critical
eye and he had to practice more. He lived in a dorm with the other members
where they were all supposed to keep an eye on each other and make sure they
didn’t stray from their diet, so he couldn’t sneak chocolates and buns into his
mouth anymore.
But he said that training with the other members made everything a whole lot
better. There was one who mothered them all and made sure they were healthy and
even tucked him into bed when he was sick. There was one who was really grumpy
but worked himself harder than any of the rest. And he sung the praises of Rap
Monster constantly, how he was such a good leader and held the team together
with his perseverance and long-winded philosophical speeches.
One member would really surprise Jimin, he said. When Jimin pressed him for
more details, Jungkook looked over the camera and smiled as if there were
someone behind it who Jimin couldn’t see, then said he’d just have to be
patient until they debuted.
They used to talk every week like usual, but soon it dwindled to once every two
weeks. Jungkook was busy. He apologized every time he managed to call Jimin for
not calling sooner. But Jimin could see the changes in him—he was going for
special procedures for his skin, and the scattered pimples on his cheeks had
disappeared. He’d started becoming as pale as all the idols were. His hair was
shinier, with more luster, and with more volume too. He didn’t wear his silly
graphic t-shirts anymore—they became more and more rare until finally he just
switched to plain, monochrome, baggy shirts and dark beanies over his hair.
Slowly but surely, Jimin’s best friend was turning into an idol before his very
eyes.
He was becoming more comfortable in makeup, too. Sometimes he’d come back from
a session of the stylists experimenting with different makeup styles on each of
their faces and he’d have eyeliner on his eyelids and foundation on his skin.
He didn’t fidget or try to smudge it away like that first day Jimin had applied
it for him—he wore it comfortably, like he was used to it.
He gave Jimin a FaceTime tour around their dorm once. It was small, he said, an
apartment, and he shared a room with Namjoon, but it was bigger than the space
he’d had in Busan. Some of the members were scattered around the dorm in
various positions which already told Jimin a lot about them. A boy with
triangular eyes and skinny legs was slouched over the only couch, sleeping. A
hyperactive phantom thing who reminded Jimin of Taehyung was dancing around the
dorm, yelling something about hope. A guy who Jungkook introduced proudly as
Namjoon was sitting on the other bed in Jungkook’s room and studying. And when
Jungkook took him into the kitchen, a tall man with KBS drama-perfect features
with broad shoulders was cooking in, to Jimin’s utter perplexity, a pink Mario-
themed apron. When Jungkook asked him what was for dinner, he answered
“bulgogi” absentmindedly while stirring the pot and patted him on the head,
telling him to drink more water. The maternal concern was so strong that it
bowled Jimin over even through the laptop screen.
The call once in two weeks dwindled to once every three weeks. And then once
every month. And then they were so rare that Jimin hardly expected them
anymore.
He texted Jungkook. Busy? And Jungkook would reply with a Yes. When Jimin tried
to strike up a conversation, Jungkook didn’t reply.
Occasionally, he would text, You ok? And Jungkook would answer, I’m good.
Beyond that, they never interacted. Jimin tried calling, but the phone was
never picked up.
Eventually, he recognized the signs that he was an unwanted friend and Jungkook
didn’t have space in his life for him anymore. It hurt, but Jimin…there’s no
end to that sentence. Jimin just hurt.
Jimin knew he shouldn't feel betrayed. Jungkook was busy, and he was becoming
an idol—of course he wouldn’t have as much time for him as he used to. But he
hadn’t talked to him in months. No one was that busy.
It was clear to Jimin then Jungkook didn’t want him anymore. They had no common
experiences, after all, and idols don’t fraternize with commoners. Idols are
practically gods. Jimin isn’t valuable enough to take up his time.
He threw himself into his dancing. Jimin got better and better until one day
someone passed the dancing studio, came in to watch, and hired them to perform
at gigs. They have a YouTube channel, too, and videos with Jimin in them always
get the most views. Jimin was right. Dancing could be his refuge when
everything else—and everyone else—crumbled.
When Jungkook’s band debuted, Jimin was shocked. They were called BTS, which
stood for Bangtan Sonyeondan—Bulletproof Boy Scouts. Watching No More Dream on
his computer, he couldn’t believe how much Jungkook had changed—the way he
carried himself, the way he moved his face.
But he could see that they were all still boys, really. Some inkling of his
Jungkook still remained. Somehow, that hurt more.
But the biggest surprise wasn’t that. Jimin fell off his chair when he saw the
familiar long-legged silhouette doing the signature move of flinging his
glasses off his face. He scrambled for his phone and hesitated.
Would Taehyung pick up? Or was he too busy with the idol life now as well?
He dialled his phone anyway. Jimin was surprised when it was picked up on the
third ring and the voice which answered was deep and familiar, slightly
bemused. He’d thought idols would have special telephone numbers which could
only be called by other idols. “Jimin?” Taehyung asked.
“You!” Jimin gasped. “You didn’t tell me you were part of BTS! With Jungkook!”
He laughed. “We wanted to surprise you,” he says. “That’s why in all the
FaceTime sessions and Skype calls you and Jungkook made, I always hid. How are
you?”
“Don’t you dare change the subject!” Jimin said. “How in hell’s name did you
become an idol?”
“I attended the Daegu auditions as a joke—a friend was auditioning. I didn’t
even expect to get accepted. I stepped up there and told jokes and sang,
danced, rapped, and played the saxophone a little, and I guess they liked me,
because I was the only one in Daegu who got in.”
“I bet you charmed the pants off them,” Jimin said.
“Maybe.” He could hear Taehyung’s grin through the line. “Stuff happened and
more stuff happened and now I’m an idol. I don’t really know how I got here,
but I’m here now and that’s the point. But enough about me. Tell me about you!
How have you been doing?”
“I haven’t been doing much,” Jimin said. “Dancing. Finishing up high school.
Stuff like that.”
“I was strolling through YouTube the other day,” Taehyung said, “and you know
what I found?”
“What?”
“Red Dance Studio. I thought, hmm, that’s sounds interesting, so I clicked on
it, and guess who I found in their most popular videos?”
Embarrassment colored his cheeks. “Eh…”
“Park Jimin himself,” Taehyung said. “In the flesh. With at least a million
views to each of his videos.”
“It’s not like that,” Jimin mumbled. “We just mess around and someone films and
we upload it…”
“It took us a week to reach one million views on the No More Dream music
video,” he said in a hurt voice, “but your videos reach one million in days.
That logically makes you more famous than us.”
“Half the views are my grandparents! It doesn’t count!”
“I am offended!” he said in a stiff voice. “So offended!”
“I am so offended that you didn’t tell me you’re an idol!”
“I wanted it to be a surprise!”
“Well, congratulations! You’ve surprised the shit out of me!”
And then Taehyung was crying with laughter and he was crying with laughter, and
it just felt so good to know that he wasn’t so worthless that idols couldn’t be
bothered to waste their time on him.
They became better friends than before. Now, Taehyung skypes him as often as he
can, which is once every few days. Jimin follows his antics on Tumblr and
YouTube through the many Bangtan Bombs which are released. Just One Day came
out, and then N.O., and with every music stage, more fans cheered for them.
Their fanbase was growing. When Danger and Boy in Luv were released, Jimin
bought a Certified A.R.M.Y. pin and started wearing it when they skyped, just
to embarrass Taehyung. When War of Hormone came out, he learned the fan chants
and began yelling them as loud as he could the moment Taehyung’s face appeared
on the screen, making Taehyung hunch forward and cover his ears in
mortification, lavender hair falling over his face.
Jimin was pretty sure he and Jungkook weren’t and never again would be a thing
anymore, so he let himself consider other guys. He’d went to a gay bar before
but no one had done it for him, not even a stripper humping the air a foot away
from his face. Taehyung did look good enough to eat, especially with that
lollipop, but…Jimin just didn’t feel the spark anymore.
The one man he didn’t let himself consider was Jungkook. Not even when he sang
that he was eighteen and he knew what he needed to know and Jimin very much
knew that. Jungkook hurt him once, whether by accident or on purpose or a
little bit of both, and Jimin wasn’t going to let him hurt him again.
Now, he’s still in constant communication with Taehyung. He’s honestly
surprised that Taehyung manages to find time in his schedule to talk to him.
Once Jimin was idly watching a stream of BTS backstage while calling Taehyung,
and on the screen, Taehyung excused himself to take a call. It was only after
Jimin had finished the conversation, during which Taehyung lamented the lack of
steamed buns in Russia and Jimin joked that he could send some to him as
fanmail if he wanted, that he realized that the stream was live.
Jimin tried to call less once, out of respect for Taehyung’s crowded schedule.
But when they skyped the next time, Taehyung called, and he scolded Jimin for
not calling sooner.
“But you’re busy,” Jimin protested. “You’re an idol now!”
“I will make space for you in my life even if the fans are bashing our door
down,” he said loftily, and Jimin’s heart warmed.
“Thanks,” he said. “After Jungkook, I thought…”
He fell silent. He’d said too much.
“What?” Taehyung asked. “What happened with Jungkook?”
Jimin sighed. “I haven’t…I haven’t talked to him for nearly a year.”
“What?” Taehyung asked, shocked. “How can that be? When you two weren’t joined
at the hip, you were fucking!”
“Shhhh,” Jimin hissed. “I don’t know. He just kept pulling away until we just
weren’t talking anymore.”
His voice was sadder than he expected it to be. He supposed that the scar
wasn’t quite as healed over as he’d thought.
“Do you want me to call him?” Taehyung leaned back in his seat.
“No!” Jimin yelped. “No. I’m sure he has his reasons. He’s probably too busy.
That’s what he always told me when we were still talking.”
“That’s bullshit, he’s watching Iron Man reruns on the TV right now!” Taehyung
looked genuinely indignant on his behalf.
“It’s okay, Taehyung.” Jimin was just weary at that point. “It’s not your
problem.”
Taehyung was quiet for a while. “I just don’t understand how two people who’d
given so much to each other can stop talking for a year,” he said eventually.
“Maybe I should stop believing in true love.”
“I didn’t know you believed in true love ever,” Jimin replied. “Do you?”
“Yeah,” he said, eyes fixed on his webcam. “I do.”
Someone touches his shoulder.
“Jimin,” Hyuna says, and he resurfaces from the memories.
He looks up at her. He’s sprawled on the floor, a bottle of water clutched in
his hand, taking a break from practicing for the last gig before he leaves for
university. He notices that he’s crushed the water bottle and his knuckles are
white.
He releases it slowly. Her eyes are sad as she looks down at him.
“Come on,” she says, jerking her head. “Time to practice.”
He nods mechanically. Stands. Faces the mirror.
Someone starts the music back up, and he gives himself to it. He feels numb
lately. He doesn’t smile naturally unless he’s expected to. He’s turned himself
into a dancing machine, one which can’t be touched by anything trivial like
humanity, one which dances its way through the monotonous, endless days with
just enough emotion to be beautiful.
The times he gets to talk to Taehyung are the only times he feels like himself
again. Taehyung seems to shine a light in his dark corner with his eternal
bright happiness, and even though millions adore him now, Jimin doesn’t mind
sharing. Taehyung isn’t the kind of person who can be kept to yourself—he’s a
rarity, someone determined to shine bright as a star in the darkest hours, and
it would be a mortal sin to be selfish like that. Jimin is just glad that he’s
touched the lives of so many.
He dances, dances, dances. Dances until his body is spent and his movements are
getting sluggish. Dances until there aren’t any thoughts remaining in his mind
anymore, not even Taehyung’s last text about the chicken they had for dinner
being distinctly rubbery. Sometimes Taehyung is all that keeps him going.
Distantly, he hears the music stop. He stands, stock still. The sweat running
down his body, trimmed of its fat by loneliness, and the heaving of his thinner
chest are no longer things which concern him.
“We’re ready,” Hyuna says.
Chapter End Notes
     :)
     Yes things do start happening in the next chapter hoooooo boy the
     angst machine has a lot of material to work with.
     <3
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Jimin is kind of nervous.
Strike that. Jimin is very nervous.
He thought he’d become something which couldn’t be affected by trivialities
anymore, but apparently new experiences wipe that pretense away. They were
booked to perform by an outdoor dance festival,thisdance festival, and it feels
almost like a concert. They’re all milling around backstage and listening to
the audience cheer for the other performances. When Jimin peeks out the
curtain, he sees people filling every square inch of space the large field the
festival is being held on has to offer.
His stomach feels like it’s filled with crawling snakes. He can’t sit still,
and he keeps having horrifying visions of himself forgetting the dance steps in
front of hundreds of people. He’s the lead throughout the dance, switching
occasionally with Hyuna when a female lead or counterpart is needed. The
pressure on his shoulders is beginning to become excruciating.
Everyone looks like they want to be anywhere but there. Kyungri is nervously
swigging from his water bottle, squinting at it like he wishes it were a beer,
and Eunhee is twisting her flannel headband around and around between her
fingers. Hyuna is the only one who looks calm, sitting on top of an overturned
box.
She spots Jimin pacing restlessly, anxiety making him feel sick. “Jimin,” she
calls.
He walks over. “Yeah?”
“Nervous?”
“Yeah.” He bounces up and down. He wishes he could have something to calm him.
“Remember,” she says nonchalantly, “you’re the same guy who reached a million
views in his solo dance video faster than BTS in their debut video.”
Jimin stares at her. It’s like she knew what he and Taehyung were talking
about. “I will,” he says.
“And remember how many of your personal fans are out there,” she says, jerking
her chin out at the audience. “I read some of the comments on the video where
we announced we were performing here, and a lot were making plans to come just
to watch you. I think there’s a carpool being organized?”
His chest warms. “I’ll look for them.”
“By the way,” she says, handing him her phone, “read these comments.”
It’s the most popular video on the entire channel, one where Jimin experimented
by mixing ballet with contemporary. The result is that he was able to showcase
his flexibility at its limits. The other dancers are there too, but they only
come in to complement him.
He scans the screen. The top comment says:
Jimin Mochi
Oh my God, guys, can you believe that he auditioned for Bighit Entertainment
and they REJECTED him?
He blinks, bewildered. The comment has over a thousand likes and hundreds of
replies. “Wait, how did they find out…?”
“Don’t ask,” Hyuna says. “Read the replies.”
Jimin does.
WHAT????!!!!!
Wait is this just a rumor or what
My sister saw him going into the Bighit Entertainment building on auditioning
day, and she knows someone who works in Bighit. They said that Jeon Jungkook of
BTS is the only one who got in
This draws, of course, a lot of Jungkook fans.
JUNGKOOKIE
MY BABY
Oh my God I love him so much did you see him in War of Hormone
I did omg and in the promo photos with the lollipop!!!!
AAAAAAHHH
Jimin skips over these.
Did someone make this up???
Okay I did some research and my sister checked again and they said that there
was a Park Jimin who auditioned but they rejected him because he didn’t sing
and they didn’t know what his voice was like
“What?” Jimin says, indignant. “Is that honestly the reason I was rejected?”
My cousin was one of the judges and he said that it’s true there was a guy with
orange hair who danced really well but they decided not to take him in because
they never heard his voice
That’s such bullshit Jimin has such a pretty voice
Like tinkly fairy bells
Like music
So high and pretty
Jimin blushes.
GUYS YOU KNOW WHAT WE NEED TO DO
What
LIKE THIS COMMENT SO IT’LL RISE TO THE TOP AND BIGHIT WILL SEE IT, EVEN IF
BIGHIT DOESN’T SEE IT JIMIN WILL SEE IT AND HE’LL KNOW THAT WE SUPPORT HIM
Yes!!!!
Guys do it
I’ve done it
JIMINNIE WE LOVE YOU
Jimin smiles.
#PetitionforJimintojoinBighit
#PetitionforJimintojoinBighit
I like this hashtag LET’S TREND IT ON TWITTER
DONE BISH
Jimin looks up at Hyuna. “Twitter?”
“Number two on Trending,” she says, inspecting her nails.
Jimin puts the phone down slowly. “Oh my God.”
“You have fans, Jimin, and at least a hundred are probably in that crowd right
now.” She smiles at him, red-painted lips flashing in the dim blue and purple
backstage lighting. “You knock ‘em dead, Park Jimin.”
Then the commentator announces in a booming voice, “And now, Red Dance Studio,
led by Park Jimin and Kim Hyuna!”
“Oh shit, dat us,” Kyungri yells, scrambling up.
“Let’s do this shit!” Jimin shouts at them, proud that his voice doesn’t break.
And then they’re all whooping, and they run onto the stage to the cheers of the
audience.
The dancing passes by in a blur. Jimin finds that he never had any reason to be
nervous. He’s known the dancing for years now, and the dancing has never
abandoned him. But what spurs him on the most are the people indignant on his
behalf, sharing in his disappointment at being rejected, commenting and liking
and tweeting and yelling. He’s never met them, but the bonds the Internet
creates are so strong that even strangers care about him.
It makes him feel warm inside, like he holds a candle flame in his chest. It’s
only when the music stops and they begin to file off the stage that the flame
dims, sated.
But no. The audience is chanting his name—why would they be chanting my
name?—and someone shoves him back onstage as he tries to leave. He stumbles,
suddenly alone, as Hyuna turns and gives him a wink, highlighter and sweat
gleaming on her cheekbones.
The same someone pushes him into the middle of the stage and hands him the mic.
He feels weak, looking out at the whole field of people, all screaming for him.
“Guys,” he says, his voice amplified by the speakers, “I don’t deserve this.”
A wave of indignant screaming. Jimin laughs and leans back. “Seriously, I’m
just a guy who dances. I couldn’t have gotten here without Hyuna and the rest
of my dance studio. You need to cheer for them too.”
At this, a tsunami of whooping and cheering goes up, and Jimin grins. “That’s
better.”
He suddenly feels like he’s going to cry. He swipes at his eyes, holding the
mic away to sniffle, but is taken aback when a girl near the front catches his
eye. She’s raised her hand as if she’s in a schoolroom and is waving it around
and around, trying to catch his attention.
He puts the mic back to his lips. “Uh, yes?”
A staff member hands her a mic. “Tell us how you feel about Bighit rejecting
you,” she says eagerly.
At this, another indignant flood of shouts.
“No comment, guys—” he’s cut off by a wall of sound which seems almost solid.
“Okay, okay, alright. I was street-casted. I thought, hey, why not, so with the
help of my dance studio friends, they helped me work out a dance to audition
with. I went, I danced, and I got rejected. I didn’t even know that it was
because I didn’t sing until I read the YouTube comments.”
“How did it feel meeting Jeon Jungkook?” a boy near the front shouts.
“Jeon…Jungkook?” Jimin stares out over the heads of the crowd. “Well…we went
together, and we were best friends for…as long…as we could remember…”
Suddenly, a choking wave of memories rises up behind his eyelids.
Jungkook standing over him at the hospital, calling himself stupid to make
Jimin feel better.
Jungkook hanging from the rigging of the pirate ship they’d imagined out of the
swings, swaying as waves battered the ship, screaming that even if the tide
carried him far out to sea, he’d swim back to find Jimin.
Jungkook trying to reconnect with Jimin as Jimin pushed him away.
Jungkook leaning over him, brushing the hair out of his face, smiling while the
sunlight made his features hazy and angelic.
Jungkook standing in the rain, screaming that he loved him to the world and
anyone else who would listen.
Jungkook, kissing him on his doorstep, lips soft against his as across the
street, a neighbor watched, eager to tear down their heaven.
Jungkook, holding him, curled around him, making him feel like he was safe from
anything else fate could throw at them.
Jungkook, leaving.
Jungkook, loving.
Jungkook, gone.
The field has become deathly quiet. Jimin is crying onstage, tears running down
his cheeks, his soft hiccups between sobs amplified by the mic. Everyone is
watching him with wide eyes, frozen, unsure what to do. He’s clutching the mic
so hard that his knuckles have turned white.
“I’ll tell you how it felt,” he says into the mic, throat choked with tears.
“He was the best friend I could ever have, and I pushed him away because I was
jealous. And then we made up. And then he left me. And maybe this is payback
for what I’ve done, but he promised me that he’d n-never leave me—” Jimin draws
a gasping breath which ricochets around the field. “I want him to fulfil his
dreams, I really do, but does he really have to cut me off like that as if we
never—” He closes his eyes, stopping himself just before he says too much and
ruins Jungkook’s career. “I’m sorry, I—I can’t do this anymore.”
He lets the mic fall onto the stage, making a deafening clang which is
amplified throughout the field, making everyone wince and cover their ears. He
runs backstage, swiping at his eyes and his nose, sobbing in earnest now.
“Jimin,” Hyuna says, concern in her lined eyes, touching his arm, but he shakes
his head. Not now. He runs flat out away from the stage, jumping over the fence
which surrounds the field, running away, away, away. No one stops him.
Eventually, he collapses in a secluded corner of the field. He fists his hands
in the grass, trying to prevent himself from being carried away. He’d thought
he’d made himself strong. But it was really just numbness. It took this,
performing in front of hundreds, to really make him break down.
Jungkook filled so much of his life. Jungkook is what he revolved around.
Everything he did was about Jungkook. And now Jungkook is just gone, it feels
like there’s a gaping wound inside his chest which no one can fill except him.
Jimin once said, drunk on his own tears and love, that when you love someone,
there’s a cord connecting your chests, your hearts, and the further you get
away from each other, the tighter it pulls and the more it hurts, trying to
bring you back. Maybe Jungkook doesn’t feel the pain of that cord. But Jimin
does. Every single day.
He’s lonely, he realizes, lonely enough that his chest feels like it’s made of
ice. He lives in his own apartment now whom no one has ever stepped foot in
except him. His only close friend besides the dance studio members is on the
other side of Korea. He hasn’t held a complete face-to-face conversation with
another human being which isn’t about dancing for so long now that he can’t
remember the last time he did.
He misses Jungkook so badly. And he doesn’t understand why he got pushed away.
He wants to be done forgiving. He just wants to be done.
He doesn’t know how long he kneels there, drowning in his own regrets. But
someone touches his shoulder, and he looks up.
“I’m sorry, Hyuna, but I can’t—” Then he sees that it’s a man standing above
him. He wipes at his cheeks and sits back on his haunches. “Who are you?”
The man blinks at him from behind his glasses. “You don’t recognize me?”
Jimin squints at him. Now that he thinks of it, there’s more white at his
temples and there are more lines etched in his face…but he looks familiar.
“You’re the guy who street-casted us,” he says.
“That’s right. And on behalf of Bighit Entertainment, we would like to
apologize for making a mistake.” He looks down at Jimin, silhouetted by the
distance glare of the stadium lights illuminating the dance festival like some
kind of halo. “Every single one of your dance videos goes viral, Jimin. The
company head himself, Mr. Bang Sihyuk, has seen them. We’ve heard your voice
now, and we acknowledge that it was rather foolish grounds to reject you on
last time. We think that your voice can be refined to idol levels and your
dancing is already better than many top Kpop stars today.” He pauses. “I’ve
been sent here to ask you whether you would be willing to become a trainee
under Bighit Entertainment. We understand if you decide to turn us down. The
judges last time…did not fully represent the wishes of the company.”
Jimin’s eyes widen. He stands. “Are you asking me whether I’d like to become a
trainee?”
The man’s eyes are calm. “Yes.”
For a moment, Jimin is tempted to say no, just so he can be that person who
rejected an offer from the same company which rejected him earlier. But then he
thinks, Why pass up such an opportunity out of pettiness? Out of revenge?
And who am I really angry at? The company, Jungkook, or myself?
The man scans his face. “I can give you some time alone to consider the offer,
if you wish.”
“No, I think—I think I know what my decision is.” He draws himself up. “I
accept the offer.”
For the first time since Jimin’s met him, the man smiles. “The company is
pleased, and we once again apologize that you were rejected last time.” He
hands him a card. “You know the address. Be at the Cheonggu Building tomorrow
at 9 a.m. sharp. And please do try not to be nearly late like Jungkook—he
almost sent the whole company into a state of panic. My name is Mr. Lee. I’ll
meet you there.”
He walks away. Jimin can never get a word in edgewise with him.
Jimin looks down at the card in his hand, dumbfounded. He doesn’t really know
what’s going on, but…
He’s a trainee?
~
Hyuna finds out first. Jimin rants it all at her over the phone.
The next day when he walks into the dance studio, early so he can still make it
to the Cheonggu Building at nine, she’s already filming on her phone. Everyone
stands, concerned over the breakdown he had onstage yesterday, but Jimin waves
them away.
There’s an upturned fruit crate they use for making announcements which has
been pushed to the corner of the dance studio. Jimin drags it to the middle of
the room, stands on it, and holds up his hands for quiet. “Everyone,” he says,
“I have an announcement to make.” He makes sure to look at the camera as well.
They listen.
“Yesterday I had an unmerited breakdown on stage,” he says hesitantly, “which I
should not have let myself show. Any issues between myself and Jeon Jungkook
are personal and have to be worked out between us. I shouldn’t have dragged the
public in.” He presses his lips together. “But anyway, I made a mistake. After
I ran away from the dance festival, I was approached by a man named Mr. Lee. We
talked, and…” Jimin pauses for dramatic effect. “I am now a trainee under
Bighit Entertainment!”
There is a moment of shocked quiet.
And then everyone starts screaming and yelling and whooping. Hyuna stays where
she is to film, but they all rush Jimin, carrying him off the fruit crate and
bouncing him on their shoulders. He giggles, trying to keep himself steady as
they pass him around. “Park Jimin! Park Jimin!”
“This is worth a Beyonce song!” Kyungri yells.
They all look at Hyuna for approval. She gives a tiny nod.
“Yeah, bitch!” He screams, and Crazy in Love booms out of the speakers. They
let Jimin down onto the floor so he can dance. This isn’t the coordinated type
of dancing—it’s more the club type of dancing, where you jump up and down in
time to the music—but it’s beautiful nonetheless. As Jimin moves with everyone
else in the dance studio, hands above his head and hips swaying, grin large
enough for his face to split in two, he feels like part of something bigger
than himself. Something wonderful. Something crazy.
And that’s amazing.
~
Jimin’s phone rings. He stares in dread at the number before hitting the Answer
button with shaky fingers, wondering if he should have donned earmuffs.
“Tae—” he begins, but Taehyung is having none of it.
“You!” Taehyung screeches. “You get taken on as a trainee under my company and
you do not tell me?”
“You!” Jimin shrieks back. “You become an idol and you do not tell me?”
“Do you know how I had to find out?” Taehyung continues, ignoring him. “I had
to waltz through YouTube again and see the video by Red Dance Studio where you
announced it to the world…but not me!”
“I’m calling you now to tell!” Jimin protests. “That video was released only a
few hours ago!”
“And already has 500,000 views,” he says in that hurt voice. “It took us a day
to get to 500,000 views when we released Just One Day. Which is kinda ironic,
actually.”
“Shut up! You six are global superstars now! If you released a video of each of
you sneezing, it would reach a million views in five seconds! It doesn’t
count!”
Taehyung laughs, deep and low. “Congratulations, you little shit. How did it
happen?”
“Oh, um…” Jimin’s mood dims. “I kind of broke down. Onstage. In front of
hundreds of people. And then this scout for Bighit called Mr. Lee approached me
and offered me a chance to be a trainee. And I said yes.”
“Oh, yeah, Mr. Lee, I know him—wait, what?” Taehyung asks, confused. “You…broke
down?”
Jimin sighs. “Yep. Look for it on YouTube. I’m sure it’s there somewhere.”
He hears the distant sound of clicking and typing. “The one with the most views
is titled, in caps, PARK JIMIN (RED DANCE STUDIO DANCER) BREAKS DOWN AT DANCE
FESTIVAL.”
“That sounds about right,” he says, heart sinking.
“Also has a million views?” Taehyung asks uncertainly.
“Probably.”
“I’ll tell you how it felt,” Jimin hears distantly over tinny laptop speakers.
“He was the best friend I could ever have, and I pushed him away because I was
jealous. And then we made up. And then he left me. And maybe this is payback
for what I’ve done, but he promised me that he’d n-never leave me—” A
desperate, painful breath. “I want him to fulfil his dreams, I really do, but
does he really have to cut me off like that as if we never—” A pause. “I’m
sorry, I—I can’t do this anymore.”
The deafening sound of mic feedback.
“Oh, Jimin,” Taehyung says sadly.
“I didn’t mean to let it all out like that,” he says, biting his nails
unconsciously. “I just—there were all those people there, and they were all
cheering for me, and I felt…rotten. Like they were cheering for something
hollow. I’d done all this bad stuff, so bad that my best friend didn’t even
want to talk to me anymore, and I couldn’t stand that they thought that I was
something great. I had to…” He takes a breath. “I had to get it out.”
“Jimin,” Taehyung says after a pause, “I love Jungkook and all. Our friendship
has really grown since we were thrown into a band together. As per all male
friendships, I probably now know his dick as intimately as you do, and I like
to think that we are now brothers. But I honestly hate him a little for
planting this seed of self-doubt in your head.”
Jimin winces. “He didn’t—”
“He did. He’s acting like a dick for whatever reason, and it actually made you
break down onstage. To set aside your emotions, do you know how disastrous that
would be if that happens when you become an idol? You need to work this out
before you debut, ideally before you reach the really hard part of becoming a
trainee. To become an idol, you need to give more than everything you’ve
got—trust me, I should know—and you can’t have this holding you back. It’ll be
hard enough already without it.”
“There’s nothing to work out. Honestly. He doesn’t want me as a friend anymore.
He wants nothing to do with me. That’s all there is to it.”
“That’s not,” he says adamantly. “That’s not how great friendships work! That’s
like the Titanic setting sail, okay, and then it just disappears, and you’re
like, ‘Oh, let’s just not bother about why such a huge-ass ship just
disappeared like that’.”
“Tae—”
“No!” There is an impassioned bang. Jimin’s pretty sure he’s just hit the table
with his fist. “You need to investigate! You need to inspect! You need to
scrutinize the shit out of that motherfucking iceberg!”
Someone calls distantly, “That reminds me, Tae, it’s your turn to clean the
iceberg lettuce.”
“Uh, later, Jin,” he says hastily. “I’m just talking to my friend on the
phone.”
“You need to clean your room, too, don’t forget! Last time I came in to pick up
the laundry and I found a mouldy half-eaten sandwich stuffed under the
mattress!”
“I’m sorry, I’ll do it later!”
“Thank you, Tae,” the voice says, but it seems to have mastered the strictly
maternal skill of making a thank you sound both sweet and threatening all at
once.
“That’s Jin,” Taehyung mutters. “He’s scary.” There’s the sound of him wiping
his forehead. “Anyway, I refuse to be swerved from the subject! You and
Jungkook need to talk. If you don’t do it soon, I’m going to talk to him for
you.”
“No, don’t!” Jimin yelps. “Honestly, Tae. I can handle this alone.”
“That’s it,” Taehyung says. “That’s it! I’m coming down to Busan to see you and
nothing can stop me.”
“Wait, what?! That’s not necessary!”
“It so is! You broke down onstage! I have to come see you!” There’s a thump—it
sounds like clothes being thrown into a luggage bag. Jimin doesn’t know what to
do to discourage him. “I love you, Jimin, and I care about you, and I’m not
letting you go through this alone any longer.”
“But Tae,” he says, nearly in tears, “you’re an idol! You’re busy! You can’t
just gallivant south to Busan!”
“I’ll tell the company I’m inspecting the new trainee and going to greet him.
Which is true, in a way.” A pause. “One question.”
“What?”
“How many pieces do you want Jungkook’s sorry ass in exactly? I’m pretty sure I
can fit them all in my luggage bag.”
“Tae,” he pleads.
“Only joking, of course.” There’s the sound of a bag being zipped. “Bye, Jimin,
I have to go pack and make some calls. I’ll text you when I land so you can
show me around like last time!”
“No, stay there, I don’t want you to—”
“Bye! I love you!” Taehyung blows a loud, smoochy air kiss.
The line goes dead.
Jimin puts his phone down slowly and drops his head into his hands. So much is
happening all at once. He can’t keep track.
But slowly, slowly, he can feel a smile spreading across his face.
So someone does care about him after all. 
Chapter End Notes
     Okay, I would just like to elaborate on something which might upset a
     lot of people, I dunno…
     I made a mistake in the tagging, namely, the tag which used to be
     under relationships which was Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung|V/Park
     Jimin. This—a relationship between Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin, all
     at the same time, with all of them happy—is actually not going to
     happen.
     I'm sorry I misled some of you. I saw in the comments that some of
     you are saying that this has to be an OT3 fic because I tagged it
     that way. This is not true, and I felt that this needed
     clarification. Once I realized that Taekookmin would not be happening
     in this story with the way I want it, I only left the tag in because
     I meant it to mean that every single one of those three have had a
     relationship in some way, and at some point, they will each know the
     entire truth. Jimin still doesn't know that Taekook was a brief,
     purely sexual thing at this present point in the fic, so this is not
     yet true. I have now removed the tag since I see that some people
     were expecting an actual polygamous relationship between Taekookmin.
     I do have my reasons. I can only apologize, but at least hear me out.
     When I started this story, i.e., when I tagged it, I had this vague
     idea of Taekookmin all having some kind of polygamous relationship
     thing, I dunno, maybe sprinkle in a little bit of angst because Jimin
     couldn't bear to let go of either of them. But I decided that a
     polygamous relationship would be too hard to write.
     Call me a person who lives under a rock, but…in my country
     (Malaysia)? I have never experienced a polygamous relationship or met
     anyone who has been in a polygamous relationship. In fact, the way I
     found out polygamous relationships were even a thing was through
     fanfic. I have never seen an instance of polygamy except in the movie
     Swingers. Therefore, I cannot write polygamous relationships.
     This is for a few reasons. One, I understand that some people have
     had lovely polygamous relationships, and I in no way mean to offend
     anyone, and this is probably pretty ignorant of me due to
     inexperience…but it seems to me at this point in my life that
     polygamous relationships could just never work for me. The way I love
     is wholeheartedly, perhaps a tad jealously, and I could never
     entertain having a polygamous relationship unless it was a threesome
     and the relationship were purely sexual. But if I had a relationship
     which involved any sort of feelings, I would definitely not go for
     polygamy. So I just think that polygamous relationships can't work
     and therefore cannot write them.
     I don't want this fic to be purely sexual. Don't get me wrong—sex is
     marvelous! Sex is great! But so are emotions. And because of my
     personal, probably wrong opinion that polygamy can only work in a
     sexual relationship, I can't write an actual, loving, all-feelings-
     involved polygamous relationship. This means that Taekookmin can
     never be a thing, and even if it were, I would be struggling to write
     it and it would be very awkward and painful for everyone.
     Two, I am most probably wrong in my notion that polygamy can't work.
     I don't wish to misrepresent the emotions or thoughts of anyone in a
     polygamous relationship, so I just steer clear of writing about
     polygamous relationships entirely.
     I am, again, very sorry, and you would not be wrong for being angry
     at me for misleading you. Feel free to rant and scream at me in the
     comments.
     Regretfully,
     Author-nim
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     This is a very Vmin chapter, so if you'd like to skip it I'll just
     summarize what happens in the end notes, leaving out the Vmin parts.
     This was done almost entirely after midnight muahahah so if it is
     messy I apologize as always.
     Love you all <3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jimin is lost.
Airports have always made him scared, put him on edge—they remind him of when
he was a little kid and flying to Daegu to meet his grandparents, clutching
onto his father’s hand as they were swept through an unfamiliar world of
baggage check-ins and departure halls. Even now, the hectic, constant state of
motion anyone who goes to an airport is always in—the fast, head-down walks,
the rolling of luggage bag wheels on the floor, the sound of announcements
being made over the loudspeaker—make him uneasy, make him feel like he’s small
and will never get to the stage when he understands and can do adult things
again.
Jimin was right. He can’t adult. He’s shit at adulting. He’s eighteen, but he
somehow managed to get himself lost on the way to where Taehyung should have
emerged from.
He’s close to tears. He’s in an unfamiliar part of the airport even though he
thought he’d walked everywhere in the airport of his hometown at least once,
trying to hide behind the water fountains. “Departure Hall 9?” he mutters to
himself, peering out at everyone bustling by who probably knows exactly where
they’re going and exactly what they’re doing in bewildered terror. They all
look so adultish and in control of the shit in their life. “How do I get to
Departure Hall 9?”
“Can I help you, young man?”
He turns. There’s an old janitor leaning on his mop next to him. He just came
out from cleaning the toilets.
“Oh, thank you,” Jimin says, never more relieved to see a grubby one-piece zip-
up uniform in his life. “I’m, um, trying to get to Departure Hall 9.”
“Right that way,” the janitor says, pointing. “Go down the hall until you find
the numbered signs and wait in front of the one that says 9.”
“Thank you,” Jimin says, grasping at the janitor’s sleeve in wordless
gratitude. “Thank you so much. May your family prosper for generations to
come.”
He scurries away, the janitor staring after him in bewilderment. He nearly
stumbles as the ground starts moving under him—don’t tell me there’s an
earthquake happening now?—then heaves a sigh of relief as he realizes that he’s
just stepped on a walkalator.
He passes the sign for nine halfway. His eyes widen and he tries to walk back
on the walkator, pushing through people with luggage and kids, trying to fight
the interminable progress of the conveyor belt, until he realizes he can just
ride it to the end and come back on stationary ground. He runs back through the
disgruntled families he displaced a few moments before, apologizing, and then
scrambles towards Departure Hall 9.
It’s ridiculous. There’s a huge crowd gathered around the entrance, mostly
consisting of screaming teenaged girls. Oh, honestly, he thinks in exasperation
as he tries to shove his way through them. I have a friend to meet. It’s not as
if there’s an idol visiting or something—
It hits him. Oh.
Taehyung is trapped in the middle of all of them, burly bodyguards trying to
push the fans back. He’s got a cap pulled down low over his face and a mask
over his nose and mouth, but the fans must know his silhouette and movements so
well that they recognized him anyway.
They’re moving. Barely.
Jimin tries to push his way through them. He manages to get to the front
through vigorous employment of his elbows. “Taehyung,” he yells over the
frenzied female screaming. “Taehyung, it’s me!”
A bodyguard holds a forearm in front of him grimly, blocking his path, but
Taehyung shouts, “Let him in! He’s with me!”
Jimin ducks quickly under the forearm. A female fan grabs the back of his shirt
and follows him in, unable to be suppressed by the bodyguard in time. She
reaches out in the split second it takes the bodyguard to notice, an expression
of manic devotion plastered on her face, and drags her hand down over
Taehyung’s face. He tries to duck away, but her fingertips still manage to
brush his neck before a bodyguard grabs her and yanks her away.
“We’re sorry, Mr. Kim,” he yells, and Taehyung shakes his head. It’s not
obvious to everyone else, but Jimin can see it on his features, clear as day:
he feels violated, but he can’t show his repulsion for fear of offending the
fans, so desperate to touch him, to see him.
Jimin suddenly feels revolted by all this. This is all so…wrong. They don’t
treat him like a god. They treat him as something to be worshipped, but with
less respect than they have for beggars. And Taehyung can’t do anything about
it, because his life and career are built on these people, these beings which
see him as less than human.
They can’t move anywhere. The fans are slowly pressing in, closer and closer,
arms reaching out around the bodyguards to try and touch Taehyung as he shrinks
into the center, flinching away from their grasping, eager fingers. It reminds
Jimin of a scene from a zombie movie. Alone, they are powerless. But together,
sheer numbers and mass mean that the slack, wide-eyed faces and the hungrily
stretching hands will eventually overwhelm them.
“There’re too many of them,” one bodyguard shouts to the others. Their muscles,
which are the size of Jimin’s head on each arm, are no match for the might of
frenzied fans. “I’m calling for backup.” He raises his voice. “Airport
security, we need some help!”
But Jimin can see that they aren’t coming. They won’t hear in time. The fans
will push closer and closer until they consume Taehyung under the weight of
their devotion, their blind, grasping faith.
Jimin is the only one here who isn’t preoccupied. He has to do something.
“Listen to me!” he yells.
No one hears him. Taehyung shoots him a confused look, but he draws no other
reaction.
He takes a deep breath. He can’t fail this time when Taehyung so sorely needs
his help. “LISTEN TO ME!” he roars, each word so loud that it echoes around the
airport.
The fans mostly fall silent. The ones at the back who can’t hear him are still
clamoring, but the ones at the front have their eyes fixed on him in shock, a
little fear mixed in.
Good.
“I honestly don’t mean to offend you all,” he shouts, making his voice as loud
as he can go, “but does this seem safe to you?”
The last dregs of noise peter out.
He waves his arm at Taehyung. “Look at him,” he says, voice shaking with rage.
“Look at him! He’s trapped! He’s scared! And why is he like that? Because of
you!”
The ones closest to him flinch back.
“You think just because you pay for BTS albums and buy the merch and stream
their videos incessantly, it gives you a right to treat him like this?” Jimin
screams. “You think because you worship him as an idol and you would die for
him, you can subject him to this? You all are treating him as less than human.
How would you like to be in his situation? How would you like to be trapped by
people on all sides, people who would touch you and scream at you and harrass
you if they were allowed to? Can you see yourselves right now? Can you see what
animals you have been reduced to in your blind, uncaring worship?”
A pin could drop and it would be deafening.
“I’m not an idol,” he says, fighting to keep his voice under control. “I don’t
have an image to preserve. Taehyung can’t even stand up for himself because he
depends on you. But for God’s sake, have some humanity. This is me, a normal
person, standing up for him! This is me, a nobody, standing up for someone whom
millions are devoted to! You can love him, and I’m sure you all do, but is this
how you treat the people you love?”
Even the planes have seemed to stop taking off to preserve the solid silence.
“I don’t necessarily speak on his behalf or the company’s.” Jimin has never
been so angry in his life. “But I am here, and I am witnessing this, and all I
can think is…how are you not ashamed of yourself?”
He doesn’t have to raise his voice now. The place, and the whole airport, it
seems, has gone deathly silent. Even the bodyguards have turned to listen to
him.
“Because I’m ashamed,” Jimin says, voice properly shaking now. “I’m ashamed,
just looking at you, of what your devotion has reduced you to. And if the fact
that your callous worship has caused you to treat a human being as if he’s
something without feelings or fears who can be touched and trapped without his
consent doesn’t make you feel ashamed of yourselves, then I don’t know what
will.”
Hardly anyone is looking at Taehyung now. They’re all staring at him.
“We are leaving now,” he says, voice holding a concealed threat. “And if any of
you try to stop us, you will have me to answer to.”
He leads the way. The bodyguards surround Taehyung, but it isn’t needed—the
fans part to make way for Jimin, backing away under his cold, palpable fury.
They all stare after him as he goes. Jimin can feel the weight of their gazes
like chains dragging him back. But he would take the burden forever if it means
he can lighten Taehyung’s for even a moment.
A company vehicle is waiting for them. Airport security guards race up the
steps, then stop in confusion when they see that Taehyung doesn’t need the
extra protection. Jimin catches sight of their reflection in a glass windowpane
and sees that some of the fans are filming on their phones. Yet another action
to be subjected to the judgment of YouTube and the world.
Someone opens the door of the black van for them. Jimin stands aside, expecting
to meet Taehyung later, but Taehyung beckons him in. Jimin slides into the seat
after some hesitation.
The door shuts and the van pulls away from the sidewalk, the airport receding
behind them. But Taehyung won’t meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin says. “But I had to do something.”
Taehyung sighs heavily. “I know, Jimin. You had good intentions. But there are
a lot of antifans, and—don’t read me as ungrateful—that incident back there
just provided them with a whole lot of free ammo.”
Jimin slumps down in his seat, the magnitude of it just hitting him. Oh, God.
Everything I said reflects on Taehyung. All because of one moment of anger.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, and he means it this time. “I didn’t—I didn’t
think.”
Taehyung raises his eyes to his. They are inexpressibly tired. “You have to get
used to that kind of treatment, Jimin,” he says. “When you become an
idol…that’s what you’ll get, everywhere. It’s the price we have to pay for
fame: normality. Blending into the public and becoming a face among millions.
We have to—we have to shine, and that sets us apart.”
“Don’t you get fed up of it, though?” Jimin bursts out, frustrated. “The way
they try to touch you, as if—as if you’re just a figurine which doesn’t mind
handling?”
Taehyung winces slightly. A tiny movement. “We depend on the fans,” he says
simply. “They supply our paychecks. And the customer is always right.”
Jimin sighs. “This is bullshit, Taehyung. This is rotten to the core.”
Taehyung closes his eyes, but Jimin can hear the words he would say if a
company-hired driver weren’t listening in hanging unequivocally in the air
between them: I know.
Believe me, I know.
~
They’re eating room service in the hotel room of Taehyung’s posh five-star
hotel, sitting cross-legged on the floor and using a footstool as a makeshift
table. Jimin was entertaining some vision of them eating at a restaurant and
pedestrian-watching as they traded light, effortless banter, but after the way
Taehyung was welcomed at the airport, he understands now how long it must have
been since Taehyung has been able to do that.
“How’s your relationship status right now, Tae?” Jimin asks, taking a bite of
caviar. He makes a face as the eggs burst unpleasantly in his mouth, releasing
oil onto his tongue, and scoops up the whole lot and dumps it on Taehyung’s
plate. Taehyung shovels it all into his mouth. “Still got a few open
relationships going?”
Taehyung pauses, frozen in the act of bringing a hunk of steak towards his
mouth. “Ah…no,” he says, putting down his fork. “I’m single. One, because fans
would attack anyone I date, and two…I haven’t really recovered from my last
relationship yet.”
“What went wrong?” Jimin asks, curious.
“Nothing went wrong.” Taehyung closes his eyes briefly. “I mean, um…I kind of
went wrong. It was an FWB relationship and I caught feelings. He didn’t feel
the same way. I got hurt by my own foolishness. The end.” He spears a carrot
stick on the end of his fork with rather more force than is needed.
Jimin can sense that he doesn’t want to be pressed for details, so he doesn’t
push him.
“Tell me about you,” Taehyung says through a thick mouthful of mashed potato,
the fancy kind with parsley inside. “Tell me the whole story of how you got
scouted.”
“What—from the start?”
“From the start. Since you and Jungkook were scouted together.” He swallows. “I
wanna hear every detail.”
“Okay,” Jimin says, and he begins.
Taehyung is a good listener. He doesn’t interrupt, but the expressions and
sounds he makes are priceless. Jimin finds his mind wandering halfway
throughout the story, his eyes tracing over Taehyung. He knows Taehyung’s an
idol now, but…he seems like the exact same man whom he met on his grandparents’
farm in Daegu. He doesn’t look majorly different except for the fact he’s a
little paler, meaning he hasn’t undergone plastic surgery. It just goes to show
that Taehyung is special enough already to be an idol the way he always has
been.
He doesn’t have to change himself into an asshole or adopt a different version
of himself to shine. People like him the way he is, in his natural state, with
his never-ending brightness and happiness.
Not like Cool Kook,Jimin thinks, but he pushes the involuntary thought away
when his heart pangs with pain.
Jimin trails off. His eyes are focused on a drop of gravy at the corner of
Taehyung’s mouth.
“What happened after Mr. Lee touched your shoulder?” Taehyung asked, but Jimin
doesn’t care about telling the story anymore.
“Here,” he says, reaching across the impromptu table to wipe away the gravy
with the pad of his thumb. Taehyung’s lower lip dips under the pressure. It’s
as soft as he remembers.
Taehyung’s mouth parts involuntarily. They stare at each other, story
forgotten, as something strange passes between them. It looks too much like
pain reflected on Taehyung’s face.
Taehyung leans closer, eyes never moving from his, lips still parted, and his
gaze flickers down for the briefest of seconds…
“Continue the story,” he says, reaching down to pick up a dropped napkin on the
floor. He leans back. Jimin releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Not much happened after that,” Jimin says, forgetting the moment in an
instant. “He made me the offer and I said yes. I announced it on YouTube and
talked to you about it. When I met Mr. Lee at the Cheonggu Building, they
dumped all sorts of schedules and timetables and rules on me. They’ve already
made plans—I’m going to move to the main Bighit Entertainment headquarters in
Seoul in a week.”
“Yeah, I know, I found out,” he says. “I’ll be flying back there with you,
actually—the company has booked our seats.”
“Wait, really?” Jimin can’t believe his good fortune. “You’re going to spend a
wholeweekwith me?”
The grin spreading across his face is so wide that it kind of hurts. Taehyung
looks surprised and pleased.
“There’s not much we can do together, though,” he says. “I can’t really go out
in public. I’ll probably be cooped up in this hotel for most of my stay.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jimin says, bouncing up and down in excitement. “It
doesn’t matter! This week is gonna be so fun! I finally have someone to talk to
and do stupid shit with!”
“Aren’t you even a little sad to leave Busan behind?” Taehyung asks.
Jimin’s face falls a little. “Yeah…I’ll have to leave my dance studio friends
and my parents. But besides that, I can’t wait to go. Start a new life.”
“Aren’t you…” Taehyung hesitates. “Aren’t you sorry to leave all the memories
you’ve made with Jungkook here behind?”
Silence descends on them. They haven’t talked about Jungkook for a long, long
time.
“Kind of,” Jimin says, his small smile painful, “but I’ve found that scars hurt
more when you keep around reminders of them.”
Taehyung’s eyes are sad. “Oh, Jimin.”
“But just—just promise me one thing.” He sobers and leans forward over the
table, placing a hand on Taehyung’s thigh for stability.
Taehyung’s eyes drop down to Jimin’s hand on his thigh, then dart back up to
Jimin’s. “What?” he asks.
“Promise me,” Jimin says, the room utterly quiet, “that I’ll get the window
seat.”
Taehyung’s face changes into one of delighted amusement. Humor is something he
understands. “Oh, Master Park,” he says, stroking an imaginary beard. “I’m
afraid that you drive a hard deal.”
“You may receive your payment in free rein over our activities in the week you
spend with me, Master Kim,” Jimin says gravely.
Taehyung’s eyes sparkle. “I shall consider, Master Park.”
Jimin bows. “Do.”
~
The week is more fun than any Jimin’s had in ages.
As Taehyung said, they can’t really leave the hotel. But they spend long
afternoons messing around in the pool and on the beach—the hotel is Busan’s
top-rated beachside resort—with constant security to ensure Taehyung’s safety.
In the sun-soaked laughter and friendly shoving of those days, Jimin forgets
about the many videos which haunt him on social media, proving that he isn’t a
faceless nobody without a reputation to maintain after all—he’s Park Jimin,
dancer extraordinaire, trainee under Bighit Entertainment, former childhood
friend of Jeon Jungkook, and now friend and protector of Kim Taehyung, also
known as V. Some of the people who were at the airport that day connected him
with Red Dance Studio and the onstage breakdown. Jimin really tried not to read
the comments, but he caught a glimpse of them, and they weren’t good.
Who the fuck does he think he is, denouncing ARMY like that
Self-important asshole
Thinks he’s V’s friend? Hah. V wouldn’t be friends with such a pompous little
shit
He’s unstable—have you guys seen the video of him breaking down onstage?
He calls the fans dangerous? He shouldn’t be let anywhere near Taehyung
Son of a—
At that point, Taehyung grabbed the phone from him and scrolled down. “What’s
this?” he muttered, face darkening as he read.
Jimin stared at the carpet, trying to hold back tears. It seemed that as
quickly as the Internet had risen to his support, it had turned against him.
“Comments,” he mumbled. “On a video someone took at the airport.”
Taehyung pressed his lips together. “‘Brave of him to do that’,” he read. “‘So
proud of my Jiminnie.’ ‘Thank goodness Taehyung had someone to stand up for
him, those fans were crazy’. ‘I don’t understand why Jimin’s getting so much
hate. The fans were going to drown Taehyung, how can no one see that?’ ‘He did
no wrong. This is why I love Jimin—he always stands up for what he believes in,
even if everyone else tells him he’s wrong’. ‘I just love him’. ‘I love him so
much’. ‘I love you, Jimin-ah. Don’t feel bad for standing up for what’s right.
What’s right is always more important than what people think of you.’”
He lowered the phone. “Heard enough?” he asked.
Jimin wasn’t…happy, exactly, but now, at least, he knew the whole world didn’t
hate him. “They’re…nice,” he said wonderingly. “Some of them support me.”
“That’s why you need a friend like me,” Taehyung said, clicking off his phone
and handing it back to him. “Not to bring light into your life. But to help you
see the light which is already there.”
~
Taehyung helps him through the bustle of the airport this time.
Somehow, it helps to have someone just as lost as him by his side. They try to
check in their luggage at a taxi-booking counter and they leave their passports
in the bathroom before sprinting back through the airport to get them, but at
least they endure these miniature disasters together.
Taehyung is well and thoroughly wrapped up today. He’s got a fur hat with
earflaps pulled over his hair, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose,
and a surgical mask pulled over his face. He wears a huge, baggy, shapeless
coat which hides his figure and lanky movements entirely. His boots are
deliberately a little too big for him, making him waddle with far less than his
usual long-legged grace.
The bodyguards trail behind them in plain clothes at a discreet distance so as
to avoid drawing attention, scattered at strategic positions and ready to jump
in immediately if anything occurs. Taehyung makes sure to cough occasionally to
keep up the pretense that he’s sick and prevent people from coming close and
getting a good look at him. He gets a little carried away—once he fakes an
impressive hacking fit, midway through which he actually chokes and starts
coughing for real. Everyone gives them a wide berth as Jimin thumps him on the
back, Taehyung’s huge, overstuffed coat rustling as he leans over and puts his
hands on his knees, wheezing.
No one recognizes Taehyung as he toddles weakly towards their gate, Jimin’s
hand on his back a reassurance. The coat and hat are encumbrances, but Taehyung
knows better than to complain about the reasons behind this brief, stolen
moment of mundanity.
They while away the time on the flight by bickering over crosswords they
complete together and playing thumb war like little kids. Bighit booked them
first-class seats. Jimin accepts tea and a sandwich with the crusts cut off in
awe from an air stewardess. He’s never flown first-class before.
Taehyung asks the air stewardess whether they have milk. The air stewardess
smiles indulgently, drawn in by his charm.
When they alight from the plane and collect their luggage, they’re bundled into
a company car and whisked straight to the Bighit building. It’s bigger than the
one in Busan, and a man in a collared polo shirt and khaki shorts is waiting
for them in front.
“It’s Bang Sihyuk,” Taehyung hisses to him as the man goes to open their car
door. Jimin is dumbstruck—he didn’t expect the company director to treat them
as such…equals. “Call him PD-nim.”
Taehyung gets out of the car all smiles, bowing. But he really shocks Jimin by
hugging Sihyuk, nearly picking the stouter man up off his feet.
Sihyuk laughs. “Hello to you too, Taehyung.”
He turns to Jimin then. “And you must be the new trainee,” he says, smiling
kindly.
“Yeah—I mean, yes,” Jimin says hesitantly, bowing to him. “Park Jimin, at your
service.”
“Bang Sihyuk, at your service.” He shakes Jimin’s hand and then gives him a
fatherly clap on the back. “Call me PD-nim.”
“Sure thing—I mean, certainly, PD-nim.”
Sihyuk laughs. “No need to be so formal with me.” He steers Jimin towards the
main building. “Come on, now. Let’s talk details. I want to make sure you’re
comfortable in your new life. My employees are my first priority.”
“Yeah,” Jimin says softly, thinking of everything he has back at home, all the
memories he’s created…and letting them go. “My new life.”
Chapter End Notes
     Jimin goes to pick Taehyung up at Busan Airport, where someone
     recognizes him and he is mobbed by fans. They're about to be
     overwhelmed when Jimin can't take it anymore and yells at the fans,
     basically asking how they aren't ashamed in their blind, grasping
     worship of Taehyung that they think just because he's an idol they
     can mob him and try to touch him and treat him as something less than
     human. The fans let them through in silence after that. In the
     company car as they are driven to Taehyung's hotel, Taehyung is
     grateful but resigned, explaining that idols depend on the fans and
     if Jimin intends to become an idol, he'll have to get used to it.
     Jimin regrets his actions and apologizes.
     They eat a meal in Taehyung's hotel room, where Taehyung tells Jimin
     that he'll be staying with him in Busan for a week and then flying
     back to Seoul to the main Bighit Entertainment headquarters with him.
     Jimin is delighted. They spend the week messing around in the hotel
     together and strengthening their friendship while a video of Jimin at
     the airport is released, Jimin is recognized as the famous dancer
     from Red Dance Studio who recently became a trainee under Bighit, and
     antifans attack him for his actions. Taehyung takes the phone from
     him and reads him the positive comments by people who don't support
     the fans who mobbed Taehyung and are proud of Jimin for standing up
     for what he believes is right.
     They fly to Seoul without incident. They are personally welcomed by
     Bang Sihyuk, the company director, who leads them into the building
     with the promise of discussing Jimin's new life as a trainee. There
     the chapter ends.
     Thank you <3
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
     Okay wow wow wow. The stone is really rolling down the hill in this
     chapter, guys.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“So, Jimin,” Sihyuk says conversationally as he leads them down halls and
corridors inside the Bighit Entertainment headquarters. “Taehyung tells me you
were a childhood friend of his.”
“Yeah, he moved from Daegu to Busan for a year when I was fifteen. We
became—um—very close in that time.”
Taehyung shoots him a glance, lips quirking up at the corners, mouthing very
close. Jimin shushes him, but he’s smiling.
Sihyuk gives them an amused look, recognizing a secret he isn’t being let in
on. “We also gather that you are friends with Jungkook?”
Jimin freezes, then forces his limbs to start walking again. “We’ve…kind of
grown apart since he became a trainee. There hasn’t really been much time for
us to talk, and it’s not like we have any common experiences anymore which
aren’t years old.”
“But you managed to stay friends with Taehyung,” Sihyuk queries.
Taehyung glares daggers at him and mouths, investigate the motherfucking
iceberg. Jimin shakes his head at him, making a face.
“Or so I thought,” Sihyuk says, watching the venomous looks pass between them.
“Ah, yes, we are,” Taehyung says, side-evil-eyeing Jimin. Jimin didn’t even
know side-evil-eyes existed until Taehyung perfected them. “We’re just having a
small disagreement.”
“Nothing friendship-destroying, I hope?”
“No, not quite that bad.” Not now, you idiot, Jimin mouths at him.
Sihyuk chuckles. “Here we are,” he says, opening a wooden door onto a room
which Jimin sees is his office from the plaque on the door. He ushers them in,
inviting them to sit down in two seats placed in front of a desk piled with
paperwork and files. He sits down behind the desk.
Jimin looks around. The Bighit headquarters surprise him. It’s not as lavish as
he’d expect it to be as the headquarters of the company BTS, the
internationally famous, superstar boy band, belongs to. It looks like any
normal office building, really, and everyone is calm and relaxed, chatting as
they sort through and complete paperwork. Bang Sihyuk himself is in clothes
Jimin’s dad would wear when they go on vacation. None of it is presumptuous or
haughty in the least.
They start talking, businesslike stuff about training schedules and diet plans,
total costs and paperwork, where Jimin will be going and what he’ll be doing
after his debut. It’s decided that Jimin will be the main dancer and a
vocalist, he’ll start his training at the turn of the New Year, in 2016, and
he’ll debut in 2017.
“It would be only fitting to put you through the same length of training which
the other members received,” he says, shuffling through his papers. “I think—”
“Wait, what?” Jimin goes completely still. “‘Other members’?”
Sihyuk blinks at him. “The rest of BTS, of course. Your bandmates.”
The world has stopped spinning.
“I—I thought that I’d be forming a new band with other trainees or debuting as
a soloist,” he stammers. “Not—not joining BTS.”
Sihyuk leans his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “Well, I’m sure
you’ve noticed that Bighit much prefers to focus all its attention and funding
on a single group instead of many scattered ones like the bigger companies do.
We’ve found that this has worked very well with BTS. BTS is also currently
lacking somewhat in their dance line. J-Hope and Jungkook are excellent
dancers, but we think you, who already has dancing experience, will be a great
addition to the dance line. There’s also not that many members who can hit high
notes. Jungkook can, but in the event of his absence due to sickness or
otherwise, no one can take the high notes wthout straining their voice.
Taehyung here can too, but they tend to come off with a little too much timbre
and vibration because his voice is naturally deep as it is. Which is also a
strength, because we need members who can hit low notes.” Taehyung bows. “But
from what I’ve heard of your voice so far, you’ll be able to hit high notes
with ease. BTS, you see, is all about balance—each of our three rappers have
different styles of rapping which have been allowed to grow and flourish on
their own and complement each other. Our three vocals also have different
voices which come together very well. It’s only the dancing and high notes
which are currently lacking. We like to think that this balance is what has
earned them their success. The BTS members as a whole also have different
personalities which mesh well as a team. Overall, they’re all very welcoming,
and we’re sure you’ll have no problem blending in, also considering your
fortunate friendships, past and current, with two of the members.”
“But the fans,” Jimin says uncertainly. “What if the fans don’t want me in
there, like when they tried to add a member to Super Junior and the poor guy
faced so much opposition?”
Sihyuk smiles. “You’ll find that the ARMY fandom is relatively a very
considerate fandom, one the boys are proud to call theirs. They love the boys
for their true personalities. That regrettable incident at the airport is,
ah—to be expected with idols, and cannot really be avoided.” Jimin feels guilt
coil in his stomach as Sihyuk leans back in his chair. “I do not foresee any
problems with your addition to the group. If the members are happy with it,
then ARMYs will be too.”
“I’m happy with it!” Taehyung gushes, flinging his arms around Jimin and
hugging him. Hugs from Taehyung are the best. He squeezes just as hard as Jimin
does, meaning that when they’re both squeezing at their hardest, they resemble
a staggering, compressed ball of clothes and limbs. Jimin pats Taehyung’s head
distractedly, his soft, dyed-brown hair sliding under his palm.
“Do the other members know about me coming, PD-nim?” Jimin asks.
“They know that there’s a new member coming, and I must say that they are very
excited. I believe that they have undertaken a massive operation overseen by
Seokjin with Rapmon kept well out of the way of any fragile objects to clean up
the dorm and decorate and set up your room for you. It seems that it is
destined that you’ll join them—their new house came with seven bedrooms, the
last of which has been empty until now.” Sihyuk sounds fond. “Taehyung is the
only one who knows who you are. The other members have asked for it to remain a
surprise, much in the same way you would ask for the gender of a baby you are
expecting to not be revealed.”
“The anticipation in the dorms is as thick as gelatin,” Taehyung says with
satisfaction. “Seokjin is in an expecting mama fever. He bought those round
rubber things you put on sharp table corners which you use for toddlers to keep
them safe. They keep coming off. They’re very annoying.”
“I’m sure they are.” Sihyuk smiles indulgently. Jimin is beginning to feel very
grateful that he’s under Bighit and not another company—Sihyuk is the best boss
he could wish for. “We plan for you to move into the dorms today, Jimin, so you
can get to know the members. Taehyung will show you around.”
Oh, shit shit shit shit shit, Jimin thinks. I’m going to meet Jungkook. So
soon. This is too much to accept in one day. You’re going to be part of
Bangtan, Jimin! You’re going to move into their house, Jimin! The fans which
nearly suffocated you at the airport are going to love you, Jimin!
“You look less than happy,” Sihyuk observes.
“Just nervous,” he says, stomach flipping over and over in dread. What will he
say to Jungkook? How will it feel to not know his best friend?
“Well, alright, then, I suppose that that is to be expected. You’ll have about
a month to settle into living in Seoul and with the other boys. Taehyung will
help you, won’t you, Taehyung?” Taehyung nods, an eager beam blinding everyone
in the room. “At the turn of the new year, your training will begin, when I’m
sure the other members will be eager to help you. And now, a company car will
take you to the dorms. You’ll find it waiting outside.”
They’re being dismissed. Taehyung leaps to his feet and bows deeply, head
dipping lower than the edge of the table. Jimin follows suit. Sihyuk nods,
smiling.
As Jimin follows Taehyung back out the Bighit Entertainment headquarters, he
enters a state of panic.
“What will I say to Jungkook?” he hisses, clutching Taehyung’s sleeve. “We
haven’t talked for months!”
“This is the time,” Taehyung says gravely, “to investigate the iceberg.”
“Also,” Jimin says threateningly, “you ass! You knew the entire time that I was
going to be added to Bangtan, and you gave me exactly zero warning!”
Taehyung shrugs sheepishly and a little apologetically. “What can I say? I
enjoyed knowing so much no one else did, holding it over the other guys and
holding it over you too.”
“One day,” Jimin says, narrowing his eyes, “I will stop being your friend.”
“But, Jiminnie,” Taehyung says, throwing himself upon Jimin and making him
stagger down the steps unsteadily, “how will I survive without you?”
“Just get another guy with red hair!” Jimin tries to shake Taehyung off, but
Taehyung is determined. He’s like a barnacle of a man.
“No one could ever replace you!” he wails dramatically, locking his arms around
Jimin’s neck.
The company car is in sight. The driver has rolled down the window and is
leaning out, looking at them in a mixture of bewilderment and concern. Jimin
gets the feeling that he thought Jimin would be the one clinging to Taehyung,
Taehyung being the famous idol, not the other way round.
Jimin can’t stop it. He’s going down like a sinking ship. “Taehyung,” he yells
desperately, and then he keels right over, falling on his butt onto the
sidewalk.
His ass feels bruised. Taehyung is lying on top of him, just breathing, hips
wedged between Jimin’s inner thighs just like old FWB times. Jimin lets him lie
there, allowing his legs to fall open as he rests his cheek against the
sidewalk and gives up, sighing. Taehyung rests his cheek against Jimin’s other
one, hands still around his neck. His weight is a familiar comfort on top of
Jimin’s body.
“You’re lucky I landed on my butt,” Jimin pants. “You are so exhausting.”
“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Taehyung says, the vibrations of his
voice shivering through his throat and into Jimin’s jaw.
“You’re right.” Jimin closes his eyes, fully prepared to casually rest on the
sidewalk for a moment with Taehyung tangled in him as pedestrians give them a
wide berth. “I wouldn’t.”
~
Jimin advances up the steps cautiously while Taehyung beckons him forward as if
he’s a skittish dog.
“Come on!” he says in a hushed, excited whisper. “They all wanna meet you,
don’t worry!”
“Not Jungkook!” Jimin hisses.
Taehyung huffs and bangs enthusiastically on the door. “Guys!” he yells. “Look
what I brought home!”
A pause, and then the sound of brisk, distinctly exasperated footsteps. “For
the last time, Tae, we can’t adopt that stray puppy—” The door is opened by a
man with perfectly handsome features in a pink apron, wielding a cooking ladle
threateningly. He blinks and lowers the ladle when he sees Jimin. The name pops
into Jimin’s head instantly: Jin. “Oh. Um. Hi. You’re different from what
Taehyung normally brings home.”
“This…” Taehyung says dramatically, grin splitting his face from ear to ear,
“is the new member of Bangtan.”
Jin’s eyebrows shoot up, and he smiles. He stuffs the cooking ladle into the
pocket of his apron. “The boys just finished tidying up your room!” he says
delightedly to Jimin. “It should have been completed ages ago, but Namjoon
somehow managed to break a windowpane with a flying bottle cap while he tried
to open his Coke, God knows how he even manages to get up to such
destruction…come in, come in!” He ushers Jimin into the house, a brisk,
maternal whirlwind. Jimin toes off his shoes outside and steps in, looking
around. It has the look of a normally messy house hastily tidied up by five men
under the threat of a well-brandished cooking ladle—he can see things stuffed
into nooks and crannies, just nearly out of sight. The smell of something
delicious cooking wafts out from the nearby kitchen. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Park Jimin,” he says. “I’m the same age as Taehyung and Jungkook, so I
guess that makes me the third maknae. Um, I’ve known Taehyung since I was
fifteen.”
“And Jungkook since forever,” Taehyung adds. Jimin shoots him a despairing
glare, and he shrugs, mouthing iceberg.
“That’s wonderful!” Jin says, untying his apron strings and hanging it on a
coathook. “I’ll just call the boys down, God knows what they’re getting up to,
Namjoon’s probably breaking something—” Jin disappears into the kitchen for a
while, then drags out a gong, which he positions in front of the stairs. Jimin
stares at it quizically.
“Souvenir from China,” Taehyung explains at his confused expression. “You won’t
believe how useful it is.”
Jin hits it hard with the cloth-covered mallet, producing a loud boom which
resonates throughout the house and rattles Jimin’s teeth in their gums. “Boys!”
he shouts. “There’s someone down here I want you to meet!”
There is a scuffle and a crash. “I told you not to climb that ladder, Namjoon,”
a muffled voice grouches. Jimin is pretty sure, as a dedicated ARMY and
follower of Bangtan Bombs, that it’s Yoongi’s voice. “Now look at this mess.
Wait until Jin hyung sees this—”
“I will forgive whatever it is you all just broke,” Jin calls sweetly up the
stairs, “if you all get your sorry faces down here right this instant.”
Repentant silence.
“Right this instant,” Jin says, letting more venom trickle into his voice, and
there is a hurried scuffle.
“Coming,” a voice which sounds like Hoseok’s yells.
A door opens and slams. Three people tumble down the stairs, one a skinny
silhouette dressed in ripped jeans with pale blonde hair, another a haphazardly
ungraceful shape which stumbles and nearly falls over the banister, and another
a hyperactive apparition which seems to be dancing down the steps and catches
the second before he falls. Jimin’s mind supplies him with names as soon as
they appear: Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hoseok, respectively.
They stand at the bottom of the steps, Namjoon wavering with his large, round
glasses askew on the bridge of his nose. He appeals instantly to Jin. “It was
nothing, really, just a little bit of mess—”
“Our new member has arrived,” Jin says. “I want you all to meet him.”
Their gazes slide over to Jimin.
Their reactions are very different. Namjoon goes to shake his hand, Yoongi
smiles a genuine, gummy smile, and Hoseok starts screaming and running towards
him. Jimin finds the life being squeezed out of him as Hoseok clings to him.
“Hi,” he wheezes, patting his back. “Hi.”
Taehyung laughs and disentangles Hoseok from Jimin.
“We should introduce ourselves!” Jin says brightly. “I’m Jin, and this is—”
“I know who you are, hyung,” Jimin says. “Jin hyung, Yoongi hyung, Namjoon
hyung, Hoseok hyung, Taehyung.”
Jin looks thrown for a brief moment, then smiles with some embarrassment. “Oh,
right. I forgot.” He wipes his hands on his jeans. Jimin feels like he’s living
in a Bangtan Bomb. “Boys, where’s Jungkook?” he asks, sending a peal of
crippling dread slithering through Jimin.
“He’s in the shower,” Yoongi grumbles. “Won’t even let me wash my hands.”
They fall silent and listen. There’s the distant sound of singing mingled with
running water. Jimin recognizes it immediately as Jungkook’s voice. It’s so out
of place here that his stomach forgets to drop to his toes with anxiety.
“Jungkook spends very long in the shower,” Hoseok says apologetically. “Sorry.”
“I know,” Jimin says before he can stop himself. “He used to hold us up for
half an hour every time we wanted to go out.”
“Jimin and Jungkook are childhood best friends,” Taehyung says at their
confused faces, and Jimin needs to try very hard to resist the urge to whack
Taehyung and himself as well. “Me and him have been friends since we were
fifteen, too!” He hugs Jimin.
“You’re the guy he’s always skyping,” Namjoon says, recognition dawning on his
face. “And the reason he watches Red Dance Studio videos on YouTube
religiously.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Yoongi says, frowning. “You’re the dancer guy. Park Jimin.”
“That is me.” Jimin does a little pirouette, then feels foolish and stops.
“You are so good at dancing!” Hoseok yells, and he throws himself at Jimin
again. “You’re my idol,” he screams into Jimin’s ear.
“I’m honored,” Jimin gasps.
Hoseok steps away after a few moments of vigorous clinging while Jin looks on
benevolently.
“We’re very happy to have you as an addition to our family, Jimin,” he says
warmly, touching his shoulder. “Make yourself at home here. If you have any
questions, feel free to ask any of us. We’re all brothers now.”
“Except Jin hyung,” Taehyung interjects. “Jin’s our mom.”
“Yes, but only because the five of you are hopeless at managing yourselves,” he
says patiently.
“Namjoon is sometimes our dad,” Hoseok says. “Usually when he’s delivering his
philosophical speeches.”
Namjoon draws himself up and pushes his glasses up. “Frederick Nietzsche once
said that there are no facts, only interpretations,” he says gravely.
“That’s all very well,” Jin says smoothly, “but Namjoon is still counted as a
child because he is extremely determined to break things when I’m not looking.”
“‘The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem
those who think alike than those who think differently’,” he quotes back
defiantly.
Jin sighs. “Okay, Namjoon.”
The distant sound of a door opening reaches them. The singing grows louder,
Jungkook’s breathy voice floating down the stairs.
“Jungkook,” Jin calls, “come down, the new member is here!”
“Really?” he says eagerly. Footsteps thump on the floorboards overhead. “Tell
him not to go!”
Jimin wants to go so bad. Jimin wants to run away, all the way off the edge of
the earth, and hide on the moon.
“He’s not, Jungkookie, he’s going to be living with us from now on.”
“I know, but make sure he stays there!” As the footsteps get louder, Jimin’s
heart beats faster and faster, his knees feeling weaker and weaker. Taehyung
shoots him a worried look and puts a hand on his lower back reassuringly. Jimin
wants to hide behind Taehyung’s lanky frame, but he has to face this. He has to
face his worst fears, even if they’re embodied by the boy who used to be his
best friend. Jungkook’s bare feet appear at the top of the stairs, followed by
a towel tied hastily around a narrow waist, followed by a bare chest. “I want
to say hel—”
Jungkook’s face comes into view and their gazes lock. He stops dead.
Not a single person moves. The world really does stop spinning this time, and
Jimin can feel the jolt of it grinding to a stop shaking him to the core. He’s
frozen in cement, trapped, paralyzed. The cord in his chest is, oddly, hurting
even more than before now that they’re so close to each other but the distance
between them is still, if not even more, palpable.
Jungkook’s face is as open as a book in the split second of shock.
Astonishment. Recognition. And…panic.
“What areyou doing here?” His voice is too high, almost defensive, and it
catches Jimin off guard. He just stops himself from stumbling back.
“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he says, his voice much, much more cold
than he’d intended it to be. “But I guess things aren’t the same now that
you’ve been ignoring me for a year.”
Jungkook takes a step back up the stairs, shaking his head, and Jimin can see
his face closing off. “No, no, you can’t…you can’t be here. This isn’t how it
works.”
“Well, I’m sorry life didn’t let you forget your best friend forever,
Jungkook,” Jimin says. His hands, he notices, are clenched into fists at his
side. He expected a lot of things from Jungkook at their meeting. Surprise.
Confusion. But not…hostility. “Things didn’t go your way.”
“You’re angry at me.” It’s a statement. Not a question. Jungkook’s voice is
evening out now, becoming neutral.
“Of course I’m angry at you!” Jimin’s voice is rising, pitching high and low
erratically. “You’re supposed to be my best friend! What kind of best friend
ignores you for a year because they become an idol and they’re all big and
important now? What kind of best friend tells you that they don’t have time for
you in their life anymore, so have fun rotting in your hometown with all the
memories they left you with?”
“I’m not doing this,” Jungkook says, face blank, unaffected, indifferent. “I’m
not letting you make me the bad guy.”
“I’m not doing this either,” Jimin spits. “I don’t know what version of you
you’re using now because you’re too afraid to be yourself—because you have to
hide from yourself. But whoever it is, I can’t stand it. So have fun being big
and famous, Jeon Jungkook. I’m not going to let you walk all over me anymore.”
He turns and strides out of the house, slamming the door as hard as he can
behind him.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry not sorry~
***** Chapter 19 *****
Chapter Notes
     :/
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Taehyung finds him on the sidewalk. Jimin is all for a dramatic exit, but the
situation really boils down to the fact that Seoul is not his city and if he
storms off, he’ll never be able to find his way back. So he’s forced to keep
the house in sight and lurk behind a tree a few yards away.
Jimin’s loitering around a tree, on the side facing away from the house. He’s
kind of expecting Jungkook to look for him, because that’s what the old
Jungkook would do. That’s what his Jungkook would do, with an anxious face and
his bunny teeth out and nibbling furiously on his lower lip. But his Jungkook
never would have given him any reason to be leaning against a tree in an
unfamiliar city in the first place, so he supposes that there’s no point
expecting him.
He already knows who it is when a hand touches his arm. He turns his head and
sees Taehyung staring at him with an expression of concern. Taehyung, he
thinks, is a great friend. Taehyung has never ditched him. If he had fallen for
Taehyung instead, he would be in such a better and happier place right now,
namely, not crouching behind a tree and trying to hide from the dick his best
friend has turned into and whom he now has to be in a band with.
It’s a pity Taehyung isn’t ready to have any relationships since the last FWB-
turned-unrequited love. Or maybe he could be the medicine Jimin needed to get
over Jungkook.
“I’m sorry, Jimin,” Taehyung says, eyes sad. “He’s really acting like a dick. I
can talk to him if you want.”
Jimin sighs. “I’m all for you kicking some sense into his sorry ass, Tae, but I
really don’t wanna be that middle schooler who sends their BFF to talk to their
crush for them.”
“I like to think that you two are beyond crush,” Taehyung says, smiling. “I
like to think that you two have reached the level of Heathcliff and the girl in
Wuthering Heights.”
“I don’t like to think it, but I am forced to accept that our relationship at
this point is a mangled wheeze of what it used to be.”
“Aw, Jimin.” Taehyung doesn’t try to draw him back to the house—instead, he
nudges Jimin until he makes space for him and they can both lean against the
trunk of the tree. This is why Jimin likes him.
“Even you can see that we’ll never get back together, right?” Jimin says
eventually to the gently waving canopy of leaves above him. “There’s too much
distance between us to ever be crossed.”
“Maybe you don’t even really wanna cross that distance, Jimin,” Taehyung says
thoughtfully. “Pardon my opinion which is probably wrong anyway, but there’s a
big chance you’re looking for a Jungkook which he’s left behind.”
Jimin sighs. “He just…he changes so much. And I never change—at least, I try
not to. I can’t keep up with his changes. It’s so hard to be friends with
someone you can’t pin down.”
Taehyung chews his lip. “Forgive me for saying this, Jimin, but maybe you
should consider just giving up on pursuing him.”
“I should. I know. I really do.” Jimin presses his lips together. “But we have
so much history. We’ve been friends forever. We’re the classic friends-to-
lovers story. If this were a fanfiction, I would end up with Jungkook no matter
how dicky he’s being.”
“No one ever roots for the underdog,” Taehyung says, staring at his feet. His
eyes shine the way light reflects off tears, but Jimin doesn’t notice.
“I don’t want to be like that, though,” Jimin says. “I just wanna…I wanna fuck
stereotypes. Not literally. I don’t think stereotypes are very fuckable. But I
just wanna break the mold and defy storylines.”
Taehyung looks at him, something like hope gleaming in them. “If you give up on
Jungkook,” he says hesitantly, “who will you go for?”
“I don’t know. I wish I could be with you,” Jimin says, whacking Taehyung
lightly on the arm. “You’re perfect. You’ve never ditched me. You actually
genuinely care. It’s too bad that you’re not over your last FWB.”
Taehyung’s eyes widen briefly. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say
something, then sees that Jimin’s only joking and closes it again. Jimin
doesn’t see it, as he doesn’t so many other things when it comes to Taehyung.
“But I can’t let go,” Jimin sighs. “It’s just that every time I look at
Jungkook, I see all the wonderful things he did for me. Back then. All the
wonderful things he said. Even when we had sex, I always…I always felt like
something precious.”
Taehyung makes a face. “Ew. I do not want to know the intricacies of you two’s
past sex life, thank you very much.”
Jimin punches him on the arm. “You’re stuck with me for now. What I’m trying to
get at is that some part of me can’t accept all the dicky things he’s doing.
Some part of me still believes that he has a good reason for being like this.
And that part won’t let me leave him behind me.”
“Just try,” Taehyung implores. “For my sake, if nothing else. It hurts me to
see you like this, doubting yourself over someone who’s being dicky for his own
mysterious, arrogant reasons. Nothing can explain away behavior like his.”
Jimin sighs again. “I’ll try.” He looks at Taehyung. “I’m sorry, you know?”
Taehyung freezes. “What? Why?”
“I’m always talking about my problems to you,” Jimin says. “You’re always
forced to listen. I’m really sorry. You never talk about your problems to me.”
“I don’t really have any,” Taehyung says, shuffling his feet. “I’ve got nothing
on you.”
Jimin smiles. “I love you. You’re so…selfless.”
For some reason, this seems to make Taehyung look unhappy, a little resigned.
Jimin thinks it might be because he just stepped in something which looks
suspiciously like dog poo and his shoes are white.
“Let’s go inside,” Jimin says. “Face my fears. Seriously, though. If you ever
have anything on your mind, don’t even hesitate to tell me.”
“I won’t.” Taehyung follows him towards the house. Under his breath, he
mumbles, “That’s me. Kim Taehyung with no problems at all.”
~
“We’ve decided to bring in a member to help you with your singing.”
“Oh?” Jimin says pleasantly to Bang Sihyuk as they stand in the studio.
“Yes. Just to brush up your voice a bit, you know, show you how to stablize it
a bit.”
“Is it Taehyung?”
“No. Taehyung is, unfortunately, unavailable. He’s tutoring kids at church.”
Jimin blinks, flashing back to years and years ago when Taehyung told Mrs. Park
that he tutored kids at church. “Wait…that wasn’t a lie?”
“We have pictures, if you’d like to see them.” Sihyuk shoots him a slightly
quizzical look. “The kids love him and he loves them right back. He’s a
favorite among them.”
“Okay, um…right.” Jimin smiles distantly. “Who’s mentoring me, then?”
“I’ll call him in. I’ll just be leaving now—I have paperwork to do, things like
that. Goodbye, Jimin, and good luck.”
Jimin bows. Sihyuk ducks his head back and walks out the door.
A moment later, someone else walks in and closes the door behind him.
Jimin’s heart sinks. Jungkook.
Jungkook looks at him, then walks to the middle of the studio. Jimin would
normally say hello, but after how Jungkook received him last night, he doesn’t
feel much like it.
Maybe you should consider just giving up on pursuing him, Taehyung says in his
head.
The air is unbearably tense. Both to them refuse to move or say anything.
Jimin’s fixed his eyes on a point next to Jungkook’s head, lips pressed
together. He’s not going give in and look at Jungkook’s face.
If he did, he’d see tentative uncertainty, a kind of wistfulness which seems
entirely out of place. But it’s quickly glossed over.
Neither of them want to make the first move. The silence has stretched on for a
full minute until Jungkook says reluctantly, “I’m here to help you sing.”
Jimin doesn’t look at him.
“So I’ll have to listen to you…sing something.”
Jimin looks at his face then, wordlessly. It’s blank.
“Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” Jungkook asks tonelessly, suprising
him.
“You started this,” Jimin says, surprising himself. “You could always reach
out. But I’m done trying to make this work. You need two hands to clap. You
need two people to make a friendship.”
He’s proud to hear that his voice is detached and even. He’s become better at
keeping his emotions out of everything else.
Jungkook nods. Just like that. As if they’re not talking about something which
Jimin has ripped himself apart over, has picked himself to regretful, tortured
pieces over. “If I may suggest a song, perhaps consider—”
“You don’t even have your reasons, do you?” Jimin can’t stop the words from
spilling out. “You’re just being cold because you have to be. You’re just being
like this because you can’t live without pushing someone who loves you away.”
Jungkook’s lips part. Jimin can see it written all over his face, the language
of Jungkook's expressions coming easily to him from years of friendship: Do you
love me? Still?
Jimin does. But admissions of love don’t have to be admissions of
vulnerability.
“I do,” Jimin says, just in case the message doesn’t get across. “Love you. But
we can love things which kill us just as much as we love things which deserve
it.”
Jungkook flinches at this. Jimin feels a small burst of victory.
“Please,” he says, voice breaking for the first time, “can we keep feelings out
of this? I’m just here to teach you singing. I’m not here to argue with you.”
“Yeah.” Jimin gives him a bitter glance. “Let’s just forget that we once loved
each other and now we’re at the stage where we can’t even look at each other.”
Jungkook closes his eyes and takes a deep breath with the air of someone
working very hard to hold something back. “Okay,” he says, “Jimin. Sing.”
Jimin sings. He’s never minded a bit of singing in the shower now and then like
anyone else, and he’s never thought that he was great at singing. But he
guesses that he’s got to be at least okay.
When he’s done, Jungkook says, “The good news is that you can hit higher notes
than any of us can. The not-so-great news is that your voice isn’t really
stable.”
Jimin surprises himself by nodding. His voice does waver.
“I think the problem is that you sing from your throat,” Jungkook says. “You
have to sing from your stomach, sing until you can feel your abs tense.”
Jimin tries, but Jungkook still shakes his head.
“Like this.” Jungkook puts his hands on Jimin’s waist. Jimin draws himself up
automatically, stiffening. He can feel Jungkook’s warmth radiating into his
back, and he wants…he wants, so badly, to be able to lean back into his chest
and know that he won’t be pushed away. To know that Jungkook will be his refuge
the way he used to before.
Jimin realizes that he’s scanning Jungkook’s face, looking for something which
isn’t there. Jungkook looks back blankly, and it hits Jimin what he’s looking
for: the Jungkook he knows. The Jungkook he befriended and fell in love with.
But that Jungkook has left this Jungkook’s eyes completely.
“Come on. Sing. I’m not gonna wait here all day.”
Jimin jolts himself into action and sings determinedly, Jungkook’s fingers warm
on his ribs. How could he let himself get so affected by Jungkook? He obviously
doesn’t love Jimin anymore. Wanting this, wanting what he can never have—it’ll
only hurt Jimin more in the long run.
Can no one love me? he wonders. Am I so terrible that anyone I love has to put
distance between me and them to keep themselves safe from me?
He notices with a sinking heart that they still stand close together, hips
nearly touching, in utter comfort. It doesn’t even feel like a violation of his
personal space. It feels natural, meant to be. A relic of a forgotten
relationship.
Jungkook’s hands wander over Jimin’s midsection, spreading over his belly.
Jimin feels alarmed—is he copping a feel or is he actually being a good
mentor?—but he keeps on singing nevertheless. When he stops, Jungkook’s thumb
is resting casually on his lowest rib.
“Better,” he says. “I can feel your abs tensing.”
He draws his hands away, pausing momentarily, his fingertips sliding over the
thin material of Jimin’s shirt. Jimin can feel the ghost of them resting there
even when they’re gone. He closes his eyes briefly, the world spinning around
him. No. I cannot let him affect me like this.
“You have a good voice, really,” he says. “You just have to discover your
passion for music the way I did. With dancing too. I…I like dancing, now.”
Jimin watches him cautiously, wondering if Jungkook will start pushing him away
again in exchange for this strangely personal admission.
But he doesn’t. He bites his lip, a motion the old Jungkook always did, and
Jimin’s eyes can’t help but trail down to watch his teeth sink into his lip. “I
think that’s enough for today,” he says. “Meet me tomorrow in the dance
studio.”
And then he steps away. Just as Jimin manages to register that his warmth has
disappeared, the door closes, leaving Jimin with the ghost of hands on his body
and a yearning stronger than anything he’s ever felt weighing his heart down.
~
“Tae,” Jimin says, “I’m sorry to unload my problems on you again, but…”
“It’s fine, honestly,” he says. “I’ve reached that stage in life where I’m
actually genuinely interested and concerned with your problems. It’s very sad.”
They’re sitting on the balcony of the house. It’s not a very large balcony, so
their butts are still inside the house, their feet placed flat on the floor
outside and their knees drawn up to their chests, arms wrapped around their
legs.
Jimin punches him lightly. “Is it possible for someone you love to change, but
then…you love the person he changed into, too?”
Taehyung blinks. “You’re…falling in love with Jungkook’s dickiness?”
“He’s not all dick,” Jimin says hurriedly.
Taehyung sucks in breath through his teeth. “Well, from what I’ve seen, quite a
lot of him is. His dick is really quite big.”
“I know, Tae,” Jimin says despairingly. “But I feel like…there’s actually a
substantial reason behind it. It seems like there’s a barrier between us and he
can do as little about it as I can. And maybe it’s stupid, but I kind of wanna
forgive him for whatever reason it is.”
Taehyung sighs. “You know, right, that this is exactly what someone blinded by
love who wants to believe in something sounds like?”
“I know, but…” Jimin digs his nails into his palms, the crescents of pain
steadying him. “What if there’s actually not that much wrong with the new him?
What if it’s just that he’s emotionally constipated and can’t deal with his own
feelings?”
“I don’t know about you, Jimin, but that is someone I’d really not wanna fall
in love with,” Taehyung says. “Anyone who can’t face their own feelings is just
plain immature and not someone who deserves anyone’s attention.”
Jimin sighs. “I just keep coming back to him. It’s like there’s a bungee rope
tied around my waist yanking me back whenever I try to walk away.”
“Maybe you should consider other guys,” Taehyung says softly, not looking at
him.
“I did, I went to gay strip clubs and all but nothing did it for me. It’s
only—him. He’s the only one I want.” Jimin winces. “As painfully cliché as that
sounds.”
“You sure about that?” Taehyung asks. “Maybe it’s just that you don’t really
have any experience with other guys and you’re subconsciously afraid to branch
out.”
“I have experience with you,” Jimin says, picking at the tiles. “You were my
first.”
There is a silence. “I meant experience with other guys who you actually—who
you actually loved,” Taehyung says in an oddly strangled voice.
Jimin sighs. “Maybe. I just…I don’t want to be that pathetic ex who can’t
accept that he isn’t wanted anymore. You know? I have to get over him. I just
don’t know how.”
Taehyung chews and the inside of his cheek. “I have nothing to say to you,
Jimin. If you want to forgive someone, nothing will help you see his flaws.”
“I know.” Jimin gazes out at the city. “And that’s bad. Because when you think
someone’s perfect, it’s the most dangerous kind of infatuation.” He looks at
Taehyung. “I know I’m digging my own grave here. But sometimes—sometimes you
just can’t put down the shovel however hard you try.”
Taehyung looks at his feet. “I know,” he says softly. “I know how that feels.”
He allows himself one long look at Jimin’s profile, his face as he looks out
over the city. And then he tears his eyes away and goes back to being a friend.
Chapter End Notes
     :'(
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Jimin shouldn’t have let himself have an outburst like that in front of the
members. However, he’s touched that all of them (besides Jungkook himself, of
course) are concerned. Jin tenderly spoons extra rice into his bowl at dinner
and swats Taehyung’s hand away as he tries to sneak a second serving of
bibimbap. Namjoon draws him aside and gravely quotes Friedrich Nietzsche at
him. Hoseok offers to teach him the choreography for their past songs. Yoongi
is nice to him.
Everyone can see that he and Jungkook have some sort of problem, so the members
steer clear of them and look nervous whenever they’re in the same room.
Taehyung looks between them both despairingly as they steadfastly ignore each
other. Namjoon carefully edges out of the room. Jin looks like a mother whose
kids are fighting but doesn’t know how to solve it. And Jimin doesn’t know how
to feel, but he just wants to stop trying. Or caring.
He’s in the kitchen now. He just wants a glass of water, but unfortunately, Jin
keeps the glasses on the highest shelf (why? Just…why does the world have to be
so unfair to people under 176 cm?). Jimin is trying to stretch and reach it,
but his fingertips can only just brush the outermost glass even when he’s
standing on his tiptoes.
“Fuck me,” he grumbles under his breath. “My legs are fucking shorter than my
fucking  dick.”
Someone barks out a laugh. Jimin turns around and sees the edge of a foot
disappear around the corner, but he doesn’t need to see who it is to recognize
that witchy cackle.
“Jungkook?” he asks uncertainly.
Jungkook edges back into the kitchen, looking like he’s trying to be dignified
and no, of course he wasn’t just eavesdropping. “I just wanted to remind you
that we need to meet in the dance studio in an hour,” he says, lips pressed
together tightly in an expression which reminds Jimin of a toothless old woman
who’s just eaten a sour candy.
“I know,” Jimin says. “You didn’t need to remind me.”
Jungkook nods grimly and edges back out of the kitchen, sidewalking. He reminds
Jimin of a large, ungainly crab with a nose too big for its face.
Jimin can’t help it. The moment he disappears around the corner, he bursts out
laughing, clutching at his belly.
Jungkook crabs his way back into the room. Jimin shuts up, pressing his lips
tightly together, quite sure that he’s taking on Jungkook’s toothless-old-woman
expression.
Jungkook hovers uncertainly, then crosses the room to the cupboard and reaches
up. He takes down the glass and hands it to Jimin. “Here,” he says awkwardly.
Jimin blinks. “Thank —”
But Jungkook is already striding briskly out of the room, cursing when his hip
knocks painfully on the corner of the countertop in his haste. He hobbles the
rest of the way out, holding onto his hip, swearing.
Jimin sinks to the floor, clutching his glass and laughing uncontrollably.
Taehyung comes running into the kitchen a few moments later, panting. “Is
everything…alright?”
Jimin holds up the glass, wiping tears out of his eyes. “I wanted a glass,” he
says breathlessly, then can’t get any further and starts laughing again.
Taehyung blinks. “Um…okay,” he says, patting Jimin’s shoulder. “You do that.”
He edges out of the room in much the same way Jungkook did, only making Jimin
laugh harder.
~
“You look like you’ve just eaten a sour candy,” Yoongi remarks as Jungkook
crabs into the sitting room.
Jungkook sighs and plops himself down in an armchair. “That’s Jeon Sourkook for
you, hyung.”
Then he freezes. Jimin came up with that joke.
He keeps finding little traps and trains of thought he falls into which are
distinctly Jimin. It feels almost like their past friendship is haunting him.
Yoongi watches him hawkishly. “It’s something about Jimin, isn’t it?”
Jungkook’s head snaps towards him. “What? Why do you say that?”
“Ever since he came, you’ve retreated into yourself like a snail in its shell.”
Yoongi puts down his phone and folds his pale hands in his lap. “I may be
always asleep, but I’m not blind.”
Jungkook sighs. “It’s nothing, hyung. We just have a lot of shit to work out.”
Yoongi looks at him for a long time. “You’re a good person, Jungkook,” he says
eventually. “You just don’t believe it enough to remember to be one,
sometimes.”
~
“Do you know our choreo already?” Jungkook asks as he walks into the dance
studio and sees Jimin already doing the dance for Dope.
“Hoseok hyung has been teaching me,” Jimin puffs. “How in hell’s name do you
move your arms so fast?”
“You have to move them lightly. Use less force.” Jungkook does it effortlessly
while Jimin watches him in the mirror. “See? It’s faster, looks more
impressive, and wastes less energy.”
Jimin tries it again thoughtfully. Jungkook’s right.
“But that’s not what we’re here to do,” he says. “I was thinking that maybe you
could steady your voice by trying to sing while dancing.”
Jimin doesn’t like this idea. “I can’t even sing properly while I’m walking.
How will I sing while dancing?”
“That’s exactly why this is a good idea to start with. Even if your singing is
kind of crappy while you’re dancing, that means it’ll be good when you’re just
walking, and amazing when you’re standing still. Besides, eventually, you’ll
need to be able to sing while dancing. Anti-fans are vicious—they search up MR
Removed videos just to pick us apart.” Jungkook drops down on the floor and
starts stretching. “It’s better this way than the way they do it in other
companies. I’ve heard that in SM, they make the trainees sing while they’re
doing sit-ups and while their stomachs are being hit. Probably just a rumor,
but still.”
Jimin tries the move again.
“When does your training start officially?” Jungkook asks.
“Tomorrow,” he says absentmindedly. “New Year’s Day.”
Jungkook is silent for a while before he says, “You’re thinner. That before.”
It’s one of the rare times he’s referred to their past friendship. Jimin
glances at him fleetingly before saying, “That’s what comes of loneliness.”
“You had Taehyung,” Jungkook says, a slightly whiny note in his voice now. “He
was constantly skyping you.”
“It wasn’t the same. I still lost—was ignored, sorry—by my best friend. That
tends to slim you down.” Jimin is talking detachedly, keeping his eyes fixed on
himself in the mirror, as if said former best friend isn’t sitting on the floor
right now. “But me and Tae have gotten a lot closer. Separation tends to bond
two people together.”
There’s a long silence. Then Jungkook says, a definite vulnerability in his
voice now, “I’m sorry.”
Jimin doesn’t look at him. Sorry doesn’t cut it. Not at this point.
“I…can explain,” he says next. “But you probably don’t want to hear it.”
“You’re right,” Jimin says, doing a move with perhaps more viciousness than is
needed. “I can’t possibly think of any explanation which could merit a year of
ignoring me.”
He chances a glance at Jungkook in the mirror when the silence stretches on.
Jungkook’s gnawing on his lip and staring at his shoes. Jimin feels a tiny
starburst of satisfaction.
“I didn’t have anyone either,” he says. “When I came to the city.”
“All your own doing,” Jimin says tonelessly.
“It’s changed me,” he says. “Being an idol.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
Jungkook looks at him. “This is my punishment, isn’t it? For pushing you away?”
“Yes,” Jimin says. “It is. I’m glad you’ve caught on.”
Jungkook presses his lips together and gets to his feet. “Start dancing,” he
says tightly. “And sing at the same time, too.”
~
The dance studio isn’t too far from the dorm—Jimin’s learned how to get to and
fro between them by heart. But he doesn’t feel like going back and braving the
other members’ nervousness and Jungkook’s silent hostility. He wants to go
exploring, lose himself in the bright lights and city commotion of Seoul,
forget himself in the bland, accentless babble of the locals.
He tells himself not to go too far and wanders a few streets away, following
his nose to get to somewhere selling street food. He’s delighted when he walks
into a street filled with stalls. There are all sorts of things: tteokbokki,
deep-fried treats in batter, roasting chestnuts. He has some money with him, so
he can buy something to eat. His stomach growling, he reaches out for the
greasiest-looking deep-fried indeterminate treat. But then he stops.
No fried foods,  his list of rules as a trainee reads,  Especially deep-fried.
He clenches his hand into a fist and pulls it away. He looks morosely at the
tteokbokki, which is covered in a sweet sauce he’s pretty sure is off-limits
too. He eyes the chestnuts. But after being denied so many wonderfully
unhealthy things, he doesn’t feel like settling for chestnuts.
He kicks at a pebble on the road moodily and walks on, hands stuffed deep in
his pockets.
Is Jungkook trying to reach out?  He thinks.  Honestly this time? Or is he just
pulling me in so he can push me away harder?
I wonder what reason he even had for pushing me away in the first place,  he
thinks.  It can’t possibly be that he was tired of me—I’m pretty sure I’m not
that  despicable. What was it, then? Was he jealous of me and Tae’s past
history? Or was it just that he got tired of communicating? No, it can’t be
that—he seems almost hostile now, but resigned. Like he hates me but he doesn’t
even have any choice in the matter.
Jimin snorts to himself as the ground under his feet changes from tarmac to
grass and the crowds of people start diminishing. He doesn’t notice.  That’s
ridiculous. Of course he has a choice.
He stares in front of him, not seeing the thick, grey clumps of rain clouds
gathering in the sky above his head.  Maybe Tae is right. Maybe the only reason
I’m clinging onto some shreds of hope is because I want to believe that he has
a good reason. And I want to forgive him.
He screws his eyes shut tightly.  Of course I want to forgive him. No one wants
to believe that the person they love is an asshole.
He opens them again.  I’m such a fool. This kind of love is even worse than
unrequited love, because you know what it was once like for them to love you
back.
He casts his eyes down towards the ground, which has become uneven, pitted
asphalt filled with potholes and puddles. The walls are bare brick, the paint
chipped and peeling, but he doesn’t see his surroundings, doesn’t notice that
he’s walked into a seedy part of Seoul: the alleys, a dense, winding, confusing
maze of passages and narrow one-way streets whom no one, not even the locals,
walks into lightly without a good sense of where they’re going and where
they’re coming from.
I’m pathetic,  he thinks.  Pathetic and stupid and miserable and—
He finally casts his eyes up. He does a double take at his utterly unfamiliar
surroundings.
…lost.
He spins around. He’s in a narrow alleyway which reeks of cat pee, extending
for as far as he can see in front and behind him. There are many narrower
alleys branching off from it, completely indistinguishable from the one he’s
already in. Panic rises in him.  How did I get here?
Oh, no.  He starts hurrying down one alley. When he gets exactly nowhere after
walking for a minute, he breaks into a run. The alley ends abruptly in a brick
wall, where it forms a junction with another alley.
Jimin is in full-fledged panic mode now. He spins around desperately.  Where do
I go? How do I get out? How in hell’s name did I get here?
He’s nearly in tears. He starts rushing down random alleyways, hoping he’ll get
somewhere, but the moss-covered walls and dingy windows are all the same. He
thinks he sees shapes moving behind the windows and peering out at him, which
only makes him run faster.
It’s starting to get dark. He wonders vaguely whether anyone is worrying about
him in the dorms and when they’ll find his body as he pelts down another
alleyway. His breath is coming in fast, panicked gasps. He might be
hyperventilating.
When raindrops start falling, he feels something break inside him. He slows
down, stops running. He has actually become so panicked that he’s broken
through on the other side of panic and emerged in calm.
Running will not get you anywhere,  he thinks.  Climb something and look.
So he does. He climbs the least rusty and moldy drainpipe he can find, then
swings his legs over onto a rickety roof. He looks. He’s near the edge of a
maze of alleyways and passages which double in on themselves and loop-de-loop
for no apparent reason. The city is actually just a few alleys away.
He hesitates, looking down at the creaking wood he’s standing on.  Should I
chance it and just walk across the rooftops?
He shrugs.  I’ll starve to death in the alleys if I don’t, so why not?
He sets off, quite cheerful, picking his way between broken pipes and pieces of
aluminium roofing which jut out of the dingy, run-down roof shingles. The rain
is coming down in earnest now, and the rooftops are quite slippery. His foot
slides across the mold coating most of the surfaces. But he’s entered a state
of uncaring delusion.
It’s sometime in the middle of the night when he manages to find the house.
He’s seen most of Seoul while he was looking for it, and no one bothered him
because the rain is still pouring down and also because it’s the middle of the
night, so he’s satisfied: he achieved what he set out to do.
He’s just turned the doorknob when the door flies open. “Jimin!” Taehyung
gasps, barely able to be heard over the torrents of rain smashing down on the
sidewalk. “You’re soaked!”
Jimin looks down. He hadn’t noticed, but he’s drenched, dripping rainwater all
over the porch steps. He finds with some delight that this does not bother him
in the least. “So I am.”
Taehyung drags him in by one arm. “What were you  doing?  You never came back
from dance practice! Everyone’s so worried! Jin has been on killer avenging
mama mode! Jungkook feels guilty!”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t,” Jimin says, walking calmly to the
kitchen. “I want hot chocolate. Does Jin have hot chocolate?”
“No!”  Taehyung grabs his arm, then lets go. “Oh, God, you’re deathly cold.”
“One tends to become that way after walking through Seoul in the rain for
hours,” Jimin says calmly, trying to detach himself from Taehyung. He really
does want some hot chocolate.
“You’re not getting hot chocolate,” Taehyung says, dragging him back. “You’re
coming back to bed with me.”
“You wanna have sex  now?”  Jimin asks as he drags Taehyung towards his room.
Taehyung winces. “No, of course I don’t want—you need to warm up, and I don’t
think you should be alone right now.”
“Because if you wanted to…” Jimin trails off. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Taehyung looks pained. “Please don’t say that, Jimin. You’re not in your right
mind right now. You don’t mean what you’re saying and you need to warm up.”
“I’m not drunk, Tae.” But Jimin does feel a little drunk, on loneliness and
tears and regrets, and he feels like whatever he does tonight doesn’t matter,
that it’ll all be washed away in the bright sensibility of day. And besides,
he’s made so many mistakes already that a few more won’t make any difference.
Taehyung doesn’t answer. He just shakes his head and opens the door of his
room. “Strip off those wet clothes and get in.”
Jimin shucks off his clothes—he’s not sure how much Taehyung means, so he
leaves his boxers on—and makes for the bed, curling up immediately. He sighs in
comfort. He didn’t know how cold he was until he was warm.
He’s dropping off to sleep when the covers shift. He looks to his right and see
Taehyung, sliding tentatively between the sheets with him too. He lays on his
side, back turned away from Jimin.
Jimin reaches out his arms to him imploringly. “Taetae.”
Taehyung shakes his head wordlessly.
“Tae?”
He turns on his other side to face Jimin. “What?” He looks tired and exhausted
from worry and Jimin suddenly feels guilty for making him wait so late for him.
“I’m sorry I worried you.” Jimin wants to say more, but he doesn’t want to make
this about himself again. “I’m sorry I always make things about myself and hurt
people and get hurt when people don’t entertain me.”
“No, you don’t—”
“I’m making this about myself right now,” he says, smiling painfully. “See?”
Taehyung sighs. “I don’t think—”
“Tell me about you.” Jimin shifts closer to him. “Something’s been on your mind
lately.”
“Nothing’s been on my mind,” Taehyung says, watching him warily.
“It has,” he says. “I am your friend, you know.”
“I’m just worried about you,” Taehyung says after a few moments of silence.
“Jungkook doesn’t deserve you and you know that very well, but you still tear
yourself up over it.”
“That’s not it and you know it,” he says. “Tell me about your fears. Your
regrets. I’m sure you have at least one big, soul-eating one. All of us do.”
Taehyung stares at him. Then he barks out a laugh and runs his hand through his
hair. “I guess I can’t expect my last FWB not to know me well enough to know
when I’m hiding something, right?”
He looks bitter as he says this and Jimin can’t quite put his finger on why.
Then it hits him. “Wait…I was your last FWB?”
Taehyung looks evenly back at him with the air of someone finally letting go of
a secret they’ve been withholding for ages. “Yes.”
“But you said…” Jimin frowns. “You said you’ve been single because you caught
feelings for your last FWB.”
“I did.”
“Were you lying?” Jimin’s confused. He can’t understand why Taehyung would say
that.
“No.” Taehyung looks sad and resigned and somehow relieved as he says this, all
at once. “I wasn’t.”
“You…you have feelings for me?”
“Yes.”
“Tae, I…I didn’t know.” Jimin reaches out to him, then draws his hands back.
“I’m sorry.”
Taehyung shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He smiles as if he’s walking on glass.
“You can’t apologize for being something you can’t change.”
~
Jungkook feels like he’s walking on hot coals.
Jimin never came home from the dance studio. Jungkook can’t stop thinking about
where he is, how he’s feeling. When it started raining, he was in actual
physical pain. When night fell and the rain only intensified, he was in agony.
Now he’s in his room, pacing around and around it. He knows Taehyung’s waiting
just inside the door, doing the same, waiting for Jimin to come home, but
Jungkook still can’t bring himself to give up his pride and show that he cares
enough to do the same even now, when Jimin might be hurt and Jimin might be
dying and Jimin might be afraid.
Jungkook feels guilty. He feels like he’s the reason Jimin isn’t home right
now. No—he  knows  he’s the reason Jimin isn’t home right now.
It’s because of what he said in the dance studio, he knows it. He’s hurt Jimin.
He’s hurt Jimin so badly and the reason is so fucking stupid even he doesn’t
believe it anymore.
God,  he prays.  God, if Jimin comes back, I’ll tell him the reason I’m like
this and I did everything I did. I’ll do my best to stop being like this. I
promise. Okay? Okay? Just let him come back.
He knows this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be done. But that is how Jeon
Jungkook has always prayed: with bargains.
He adds more to it as the time stretches on while he crosses to the window
periodically and checks the street outside.  I’ll donate money to charity. I’ll
be nicer to the fans at fanmeets. I won’t jerk off for a week. I promise, I
swear, I promise!
He knows he’ll never be able to fulfil these promises (especially the last one,
although he’d never admit it). But he’s desperate, and desperate people do
desperate things.
He’s been staring out the window and worrying himself to pieces for so long
that he can’t believe his eyes when Jimin strides calmly up to the door and
turns the knob, clothes soaked in rainwater, as if Jin hadn’t threatened to
kill everyone with a spatula and Yoongi hadn’t been nearly reduced to tears
when he didn’t show up. But he’s there, he’s  there,  walking into the house,
and as Jungkook throws open the door of his room and runs full pelt down the
stairs, he thanks every deity he can think of and promises that he won’t even
think  about sex for a week (no small feat for a teenage boy).
He flies down the steps and to the front door, where he looks around wildly.
Jimin’s not there. Where the fuck did he go? Does Jungkook need to promise to
castrate himself and become a eunuch too to get Jimin properly, completely
back?
Then he hears voices. He spins around, feeling a little mad with desperation,
and stumbles towards them. The voices lead him to Taehyung’s room. The door is
ajar. He walks right up to it and is about to fling it open when he sees
that…Taehyung and Jimin are in there. But they’re in bed together.
They’re talking in those soft, private voices only lovers use, and it looks
like Jimin is naked under the sheets. Taehyung has a strange look in his eyes,
and Jungkook recognizes it: the look Jin gets when he watches cooking shows.
The look Namjoon gets when a fan gives him a textbook. The look Yoongi gets
when he looks at his bed. The look you give someone you love.
They used to be FWB,  Jungkook thinks.  Oh, God, I’m too late. They’re back
together again.
He stumbles away, all promises of telling Jimin the truth forgotten. It’s a
stupid truth, anyway, and one he hardly believes himself by now, examined in
the cold, sensible light of pain. Jimin’s finally given up on him and went for
Taehyung.
It’s only sensible. Taehyung didn’t push Jimin away. Taehyung didn’t ignore him
for a year. Taehyung isn’t being cold to him even now.
In that moment, Jungkook hates himself so much that he wants to burn up in his
own regret.
You’re a coward,  he tells himself.  A coward and a fool.
He casts one last glance at Jimin, his hands curled against his chest the way
they used to when Jungkook used to hold him, like he was cradling and
protecting both their hearts. He looks at the way Taehyung, someone who
deserves Jimin so much more, is looking at Jimin, entranced, like he’s all that
exists in the world. He drinks up every last drop of the pain and tells himself
as he suffers that he deserves every single bit of it.
And then he turns. And he flees, like he has from so many other things.
Chapter End Notes
     Tell me in the comments whether you're Team Jikook or Team Vmin~
***** Chapter 21 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm pretty damn surprised at the responses I got—it seems like you
     guys are evenly divided between Vmin and Jikook. I was thinking—just
     considering—maybe writing two versions of the same story, this story,
     one where Jimin ends up with Taehyung and one where he ends up with
     Jungkook.
     Or you can just read this one, however it ends. I'm fine either way.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Becoming a trainee helps take Jimin’s mind off the mess at home.
It’s crazy. Jimin has language lessons and dancing lessons and singing lessons
and probably lessons on how to have lessons, but he wouldn’t know—he has so
many lessons that he can’t even tell them apart anymore. He just does what the
person who looks like they’re in charge is telling him to do, goes home and
lets Jin mother him and push extra bowls of rice into his hands, and falls
asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
Taehyung…he doesn’t really know how to deal with Taehyung. He’s his best friend
now that Jungkook is…not, and Jimin does admit that he’s pretty damn hot and
good in bed too, but…Jimin…doesn’t really know how to feel.
Taehyung treats him exactly the same, which is a relief. Now Jimin knows
they’re there, he can see all the little signs, all the tiny, considerate
things Taehyung does for him which he doesn’t really have to do—passing Jimin
the soy sauce without being asked at breakfast because he knows Jimin likes to
eat soy sauce with half-boiled eggs, helping him sneak something wonderfully
deep-fried and unhealthy into his diet, always being ready to talk or sit and
just keep him company. Jimin feels bad now. But the good thing is that Taehyung
is willing to talk to him about it.
Sort of. They haven’t really. But he’s pretty sure that if he ever reaches the
stage where he’s ready to talk about the strange intricacies of their
relationship, Taehyung will be open to it.
They do have a deal, though. A deal which basically goes: Jimin likes hugs.
Taehyung likes hugs. Therefore, they hug.
They don’t just stand there and hug awkwardly. Sometimes when Jimin is feeling
lonely and the quiet in his room is too much for him, he walks down the stairs
and knocks on the door of Taehyung’s room, which Taehyung usually leaves ajar.
Even if Taehyung is asleep, he always rolls over and lets Jimin climb into bed
with him, and they cuddle for a bit in a completely platonic, friendly way
(okay, maybe normal guy friends don’t do this, but Jimin once said that they
can fuck other guy friends and be guy friends 2.0. Jimin’s heart stings when he
realizes that he said it while he was doing Jungkook’s makeup, years and
lifetimes and heartbreaks away).
Taehyung is warm, and although he’s kind of skinny and bony if you wrap
yourself around him wrong, he’s warm and he’s gentle. He’s not home. But
sometimes when Jimin is missing the mundane familiarity of Busan, with its sea
air and barking dogs and picturesque temples, Taehyung is close enough to it to
stop Jimin from taking a plane back home right then and there.
Jimin tried to kiss him on the cheek once. Playfully (because guy friends 2.0,
amirite?). But Taehyung turned his head away and pressed his lips together, and
Jimin could see from his expression that he didn’t want Jimin to do it.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, because he didn’t want to be a Sourkook
crabbing in and out of a kitchen a few years from now. And step one of not
being a Sourkook is apologizing, godammit. “Did I do something wrong?”
“I don’t like you to get too close,” he said, avoiding Jimin’s eyes, voice
tight and restrained. “Even cuddling, I don’t…it reminds me of everything I
can’t have, and that hurts more than having nothing at all.”
“Tae.” Jimin unwound his arms from around his neck. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
Taehyung gave him a weak smile. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I
didn’t want you to feel bad for not feeling the same way.”
“I’d still rather you tell me. But nothing can stop me from feeling bad.”
“Don’t make me regret telling you,” he said, brushing Jimin’s hair away from
his face.
“I’m trying, Taetae. But I can never apologize enough.”
“You don’t have to apologize at all.”
“I’m sorry I don’t feel the same way,” Jimin said, heart thudding painfully. “I
really am. You deserve so much better than me. You deserve someone who’ll love
you to the end of the earth and back. You deserve someone whose heart you can
break, not the other way around.”
He laughs softly. “Maybe that’s my problem. I’m not willing to break hearts. I
trip and break my own while I’m trying to avoid it.”
“It’s not a problem, it’s a blessing. You’re the nicest, most selfless person
I’ve ever met.”
“Ehhhh.”
Jimin tweaked his nose. “Don’t ‘ehhhh’ me.”
He could swear then that he saw something moving in the shadows in the hall
beyond the slightly open room door, but he dismissed it as his mind playing
tricks on him. Besides, he was here, and he had Taehyung, and nothing could
touch him now.
Well…he once believed that nothing could touch him in someone else’s arms.
But he was wrong, of course.
Sometimes, Taehyung lets Jimin nuzzle his face into his neck. Jimin just likes
the warmth. The perfection of it.
He wishes he could give Taehyung so much more. He wishes he could give him
everything he has and everything beyond that.
But he just…can’t. And hearts cannot be faulted for human sins.
~
Training whips by. Everyone in the company is kept in as good as a blood oath
to keep Jimin’s impending addition to BTS secret, under threat of firing if the
story leaks out. Jimin trains harder than ever and then harder than that. He
finds that there is a certain joy in pushing his limits, breaking them, and
finding new ones.
Talk starts to arise between him and Bang Sihyuk about when he will be
unveiled. There is a definite amount of uncertainty about how to go about it.
Press conferences are held where Jimin sits uncomfortably near the head of the
table and listens to other, far more important people argue about him, weighing
the pros and cons of the suddenness but also effectiveness of releasing teaser
videos, estimating whether it’ll be too confusing and abrupt to just force
Jimin into the public eye with no prior warning.
It’s quickly agreed on that the latter will not do. Not after BTS has been
established as a whole, complete unit for so long. They need to ease Jimin into
it the way you ease into hot water.
Jimin feels useless. He doesn’t know what to say or how to be of any use in
these technical conferences. He comes home feeling tired and drained, immensely
grateful when Taehyung is always up for a cuddle.
After much agonizing deliberation, it’s decided that Bang Sihyuk himself will
make a speech, which will be recorded and posted on all of BTS’ major SNS
accounts. The night before the speech airs, Jin decides that they need some
sort of celebration before the world reacts, a last night free of judgment
before Jimin in shoved into the spotlight. He commands everyone to put away
their mobile devices—”Yes, Yoongi, even you, I don’t care how riveting your
phone screen is right now”—and sit down for a good, old-fashioned family
dinner.
Jin is in full mama mode. He woke up early that morning to start preparing, and
dinner is a feast. They’ve all been instructed to eat less for lunch so they
could fit it all in. They aren’t disappointed—there’s grilled beef, chicken,
and fish (because no fried food), there’s stir-fried vegetables, there’s garlic
rice, and there’s even prawns, one of which Yoongi holds up reverently,
declaring that he thought he’d never see one again on his plate in his life.
There’s noodles and soup and enough side dishes to take up one half of the
dinner table. On a separate table because they ran out of space, Jin has made
dessert—homemade brownies, still gooey on the inside with melted chocolate,
drizzled with caramel. Everyone has a cup of homemade hot chocolate with
marshmallows floating in it and a chocolate chip cookie placed on the saucer
next to their plate and chopsticks.
Jin really outdid himself this time. Everyone lines up to give him a hug. Jimin
reaches with some difficulty around his broad shoulders and gives him the
special Jimin Lemon-Squeeze Hug©, earning a gochujang-scented pat on the back.
Midway through the dinner, Taehyung stands up. They were allowed to drink
tonight after the hot chocolate, Jungkook tipping it back proudly now he
legally can. Jin sipped the soju delicately with his pinky finger sticking out,
Yoongi squinted at it suspiciously, and Namjoon shrugged and reached for a
glass, nearly knocking over the bottle. Taehyung gulped it down with gusto. The
result is that he’s now drunk, and drunk Taehyung is not a Taehyung who makes
good decisions.
He raises his bottle woozily. “Everyone!”
They look at him. Jin is admiring his reflection in a glass, Namjoon is quoting
math formulae at his bottle, and Yoongi has fallen into a peaceful sleep.
Hoseok nudges him. He wakes up, smiling a gummy smile and mumbling something
incoherent about 6/8 tempos finally making sense, dammit. Jungkook is, of
course, an annoying heavyweight. He’s chugged his way through at least twice
the amount each of them have and looks only a little unsteady.
“I have an announcement to make,” Taehyung says, smiling from ear to ear. He
raises his bottle at Jimin. “On Jiminnie’s special day.”
Everyone blinks at him in various states of drunkenness. Namjoon mumbles
something about the coefficient of x.
“I’m bi!” he says, beaming.
This is followed by a brief silence. “Tae, baby, we all knew,” Jin says after a
moment, patting his own hair down. “Oh, I look handsome today.”
“What? What gave it away?” Taehyung glares at his soju bottle as if it holds
the answers.
“Probably that every time you use the computer, we find a few hundred pages on
Park Hyungsik’s abs in the browsing history,” Yoongi says, looking with
besotted love at his bottle. “You insfire me, soju. You and sleep. You remind
me that there are still ways to escape the misery we call life without actually
dying.”
“Mitch Albom once said,” Namjoon says, jumping in with the air of someone
delivering a quote which will stop world hunger and prevent the icebergs from
melting, “that there are far, far better things than any we leave behind.”
“Also the fact that you have a vibrating dildo,” Jungkook says, tipping back a
glass and blinking only a little.
“Wait, how’d you find my—I mean, what dildo? I don’t have a dildo,” Taehyung
says hastily, the effect somewhat ruined by the fact that the alcohol amplifies
his nervous guilt.
Hoseok gazes at him sadly. “Tae,” he says, “it’s bright, offensive pink. It
scarred me. Here.” He pats the left side of his chest emotionally—or at least,
Jimin thinks that’s what he was aiming for, because he ends up swatting his
shoulder vaguely instead. “In my hearteu.”
Taehyung huffs. “Well, if you all know everything about me already, I’ll just
stop talking to you, then,” he says, clearly under the impression that this is
the greatest comeback in comeback history. He sits down and begins talking
conspiratorially to his bottle. “We don’t need people, do we, soju? Nasty,
dildo-finding people. Soju is better than people…”
“I love you guys,” Jimin says, feeling like he has to say it now. “Really. All
of you. Even Yoongi when he’s yelling at the neighbor’s dog for waking him up.
Even Namjoon when he’s trying to make us all study. Even Kook although he’s a
cold-ass dick.”
“Who’s handsome? You are. Oh, thank you!” Jin coos to his reflection in the
glass.
“Kookie is a cold-ass dick,” Yoongi says offhandedly. “He’s so emotionally
constipated I’m surprised his mom didn’t mistake him for a robot.”
Jungkook glares at him. “I will have you know,” he says, waving his bottle. He
pitches forward quite suddenly, the bottle tipping him off balance, his chin
nearly landing in his miso soup. He rights himself just in time. “I will have
you know,” he says with dignity, “that I have my reasons.”
So Jungkook is drunk after all. He’s just better at hiding it. “Oh, yeah?”
Jimin says, narrowing his eyes drunkenly and trying to decide which of the two
Jungkooks weaving in and out of his vision right now has the ass which deserves
to be kicked the most. “Why don’t you tell me, then, instead of being
all…mysterious, an’ tsundere, an’ dicky and shit?”
“I’ll tell you.” Jungkook tries to crack his knuckles and misses, facepalming
Hoseok instead. Hoseok tips slowly sideways and into Yoongi. They giggle
together about a secret joke involving bubble-rap which can be Kpopped. “In
front of all these—in front of all these people and shit! Like a man!”
“Like a man,” Jimin repeats threateningly while Jin bats his lashes at his own
reflection next to him.
“It’s because,” he begins loudly, then pauses. “It’s because,” he says more
uncertainly, as if he’s half-forgotten, “you remind me of home.”
Jimin frowns and tries to digest this while Taehyung sings “Do You Wanna Build
A Snowman” with tears sparkling in his eyes and a hand clasped over his heart.
“What?” Jimin asks finally. All the alcohol in his system has not exactly aided
his comprehension, but he suspects that this would make even a stone-cold sober
Jimin confused.
“You remind me…” Jungkook says, the alcohol daze in his eyes clearing slightly
and knuckles whitening as he grips his bottle, “of home. Busan. Of being small
and vulnerable. Of always trying to run away from my dad.”
No one else is listening to them. They’re all trapped in their own blissful
alcohol-induced worlds. Jimin and Jungkook are as good as alone.
“Why is that a reason to push me away?” Jimin asks. He shoves the fog of
alcohol clouding his mind away with some effort. He has to concentrate. This is
important.
“I don’t want to feel like that.” Jungkook looks like he can’t understand why
he’s saying what he’s saying now, like he’s slowly becoming sober. “I don’t
want to wake up in the morning next to someone who makes me remember when I was
young and helpless and being hit every day whenever I look at them.”
“It’s not me,” Jimin says. The table is swaying. He grips its unsteady edges.
“It’s just…you. It’s what you see when you look at me.”
“Yes,” Jungkook whispers. “When I look at you, I remember—” He takes a deep
breath. “I remember how much you hated when I wasn’t Baby Kookie, innocent Baby
Kookie with his bunny teeth and bruises who cried in the bathroom because he
didn’t understand why the world was being cruel to him. I didn’t know how to
balance my need to be the person you wanted me to be and my need to protect
myself from everything which wanted to hurt me. So I ran away. And now I’ve
built myself up into something stronger, and no one tries to make me feel
guilty for it, because they’ve never known me before.”
“Did I make you feel guilty for changing?” Jimin asks dizzily. It’s his
mistakes, all catching up to him, looming in the darkness beyond the warm light
of the dinner table with their creeping shadows and clutching fingers. And
Jimin doesn’t know how to escape them.
“You did,” Jungkook says. “You hated Cool Kook. I hated him too, kind of. He
was an asshole. But I’m not Cool Kook anymore. I’m someone stronger who isn’t
like that. I’ve realized that you don’t have to be an asshole to be strong.”
“But you are being an asshole.” Jimin lets go of the bottle. He thinks he might
crush it and the glass will shatter in his fingers, slice him down right to the
bone and lay his regrets bare for the world to see. “You’re being an asshole to
me.”
“Only because I haven’t learned,” Jungkook says softly. “I haven’t learned to
look past those days when I’m with you. I haven’t learned how to take my walls
down. You haven’t changed at all, and that makes me feel guilty for changing.
And I hate feeling guilty.”
“Change doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. You can…change, but into a
better person.”
“What if I can’t?” Jungkook whispers. “What if my father was right? What if I’m
rotten to the core and hitting me and hurting me is all that can save me?”
“No one deserves that, Jungkook!” Jimin doesn’t know how to make him
understand. “You’re feeling guilty for being yourself!”
“But myself,” he mumbles, all the air gone out of him, “isn’t enough,
sometimes. And myself isn’t something I can run away from.”
“You don’t have to run away all the time. If you run away from your pain, it’ll
only chase you. The only way to heal is to slow down and let the pain catch up
to you, and learn from it, and live with it until it’s gone.”
“I’m not running away from my pain, Jimin,” he says tiredly. “I’m running away
from my father. I’m doing my best to not become him—someone who hurts and hurts
and hurts. But I’m already hurting you just by not doing anything. There’s
nothing wrong with you. It’s just me who’s broken.”
And he gets up, the scrape of chair legs loud against the tile floor, and walks
away.
~
“Mom,” Jimin yells over the bustle and commotion of the airport. “Mom, here!”
She looks around, finally spotting him. She walks up to him, hands flapping
like bunting in the wind. “Jimin! Your hair isn’t red anymore!”
“I dyed it a more natural color. Dyeing it red made me feel like an ambulance
siren.”
“It’s easy to spot, though,” she says, laughing and reaching up to ruffle his
newly brown hair. “I’d be proud to have an ambulance siren for a son.”
And then they’re both laughing, and Jimin leads her out of the airport, trying
to pretend he knows where he’s going.
They eat at a grilled meat restaurant halfway between the dorm and the airport.
Jimin’s mom can only visit for a moment—she’s on the way to visit a relative in
Gimpo, and her flight just so happened to transit in Seoul. They made plans to
meet for lunch. She has about three hours in Seoul.
They talk about mundane things like how the neighbor’s dog is doing, how much
better the seafood restaurant near their house has gotten since they employed a
new chef, how Jimin’s dad’s job is. It feels so good to listen to the lilts and
dips of a Busan accent that at one point Jimin just forgets what his mother is
actually saying and just listens to her speak.
Jungkook still has a Busan accent. He refuses to be trained out of it. He says
that he can’t, but Jimin knows that he can do anything he puts his mind to—he
probably just likes the reminder of home.
“How is Jungkook doing?” his mother asks him, as if she can read his thoughts,
and his mind draws a blank.
“Oh, um…” He racks his brain for something to say. “He’s…very popular with
teenage girls these days.”
She smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. “You know the hardest decision I’ve
ever had to make as a parent, Jimin?”
“Tying your tubes?” he jokes, and she swats him on the arm. “Ow, ow, okay,
sorry.”
“It was knowing about what Jungkook’s dad did to him, but never doing
anything.”
When Jimin was younger, he never wondered about this. But now he knows there’s
Social Services and stuff like that to deal with kids in his situation, and he
doesn’t really know why she never acted. “Why didn’t you, actually?” he asks.
She sighs. “Misoon—his mother—told me not to. She and Jungkook needed the money
his father earned. If I reported them, they’d lose that source of income.”
Money, Jimin thinks. It seems that everything shameful and dark in the world
comes down to money in the end. “I don’t blame you, Mom,” he says aloud.
“Jungkook wasn’t your son by blood, and legally you had no responsibility over
him. You couldn’t do anything.”
“You know, I always believed that his father broke something precious in him,”
she says, staring out the window at the passersby. “But that you fixed it every
day just by being with him.”
~
Jungkook wakes up in a state of panic.
I told him, he thinks, throwing himself bodily out of bed and pacing agitatedly
around the room. Oh, no, no, no. I told him. I was so drunk that I let it fight
its way out.
It’s a stupid reason. He collapses back onto his bed, groaning, It’s a stupid
reason. But it’s true.
He can’t stand the rush of memory when he looks at Jimin, the pain and darkness
of his past crashing over him like a tsunami: the pain of his father’s fist
meeting his cheek. The confusion as he curled up in a corner and his mother
tried to dab away the blood but wouldn’t look at his father, wouldn’t stop him.
The hopeless misery of crying in a bathroom stall by himself, believing that
he’d never escape it.
And the guilt, too. The guilt that his mother is left alone at home with his
father right now. The guilt that he’s hurt Jimin, the guilt that with every
day, he takes a step closer to becoming his father. The guilt that he’s changed
into someone Jimin doesn’t like.
He doesn’t know how to feel about Jimin. Jimin keeps him going and Jimin holds
him back. Jimin makes him feel better but makes him feel guilty too. Jimin is
the beginning and end of all things, the joint where his past and his present
connect and come together.
He once told Jimin that he knows who he is when he’s with Jimin. But the person
he is when he’s with Jimin is…soft. Vulnerable. Easily hurt. And he’s always on
edge when he’s that version of himself. He always wants to kick himself later
for letting his guard down and letting his demons inch their way closer.
He curls up in a ball on the bed. He just wishes that he knew who he was. He
just wishes that he could stop changing. He thinks that he’ll never be happy,
because happy is when he finds a version of himself he’s comfortable with.
Happy is when he has nothing left to run away from.
He stays there for as long as he can manage, wondering whether the cloak of
fame he’s earned and drawn around himself protects him or shortens the time
before his past catches up to him and breaks him all over again.
Chapter End Notes
     Hearts cannot be faulted for human sins…
     <3
***** Chapter 22 *****
Chapter Notes
     Make what you will of this chapter…
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The fans, it turns out, don’t really know how to react to Jimin.
It’s unexpected, they say. It’s abrupt. It’s out of the blue. But they’re
willing to accept it, and that’s what keeps Jimin going.
He trains harder than ever before. He’s determined to be the most perfect
version of himself he can be for the fans. He wants a lot of things: to steady
his voice. To get abs. To make his dancing more seamless. And he’s determined,
too, to get all of those things in time for his debut.
Not even his name is released—Bighit is determined to keep everything as under
wraps as possible until the teasers will start to be released in December 2016.
But netizens, it turns out, are clever little shits, and they almost
immediately figure it out through admittedly sketchy logic—Jimin is a new,
promising male trainee under Bighit, and BTS is a boy group—which is
unfortunately true. Before long, the rumor that Jimin, controversy-cloaked
viral dancer from Red Dance Studio, is the new addition to BTS is being widely
circled around the Internet and no one can do anything about it. Their
spontaneity just went down the drain.
BTS is asked about the new addition to Bangtan every single time they go on a
variety show. They’ve been instructed to be vague about it by the company, but
when asked what the new addition is like, Jimin is touched when they all sprout
fond smiles, even Jungkook. Taehyung says that he loves the new addition this
much and holds his arms as wide apart as he can, all the members adding to it
to make it wider.
The emcees try to tease details out of the members, but they’re not sure what
they can say, so after a while of artfully vague discussion, they agree on
this: the new member is very nice. Each of the boys have something to
contribute: Yoongi says that the new member always makes an effort to be quiet
when he comes into a room and Yoongi is sleeping. Namjoon says that the new
member bought him a textbook he wanted from the bookstore without being asked.
Hoseok says that the new member helped him with a dance move he was finding
difficult. Jin says that the new member is always willing to step out on
errands for him, and Taehyung says that the new member is always willing to sit
down and talk if he has anything on his mind. Jimin waits with bated breath for
what Jungkook will say, and eventually, Jungkook does say it, looking straight
at the camera like he knows Jimin’s watching: the new member is a great friend
and deserves better than Jungkook, and he always puts up with Jungkook’s
stupidity.
The emcees laugh at this. But Jimin hears the hidden meaning.
At the end of the show, the emcees ask them what they would say to the new
member if he were watching, and most say fighting. Jin says he’s proud of him
for how far he’s come. But Jungkook says, “I’d ask him to forgive the sins of
the past, and I’d tell him that I’d do anything to make it up to him, even if
sometimes I don’t show it.”
He looks at his shoes as he says this. While the emcees puzzle over what this
means, Jimin clicks the TV off.
~
He’s left on his own in the house a lot of times because BTS has their own
personal schedules. Bighit has postponed any international callings the boys
were scheduled for because Sihyuk has decided that Jimin needs all the support
he can get. But roaming around an empty, silent house filled with the ruckus of
the six boys who live there only at night, Jimin feels lonely.
He’s also getting a little restless. There hasn’t seemed to be much change in
Jungkook’s demeanor since he made his great drunk admission—Jimin, fortunately,
wasn’t quite drunk enough to forget it, and he strongly suspects that Jungkook
remembers it as well. As a result, he seems to have closed himself off again.
Jimin hasn’t really had time to think about it. He supposes that…yes, it does
make sense, and the damage Jungkook’s dad has dealt him must run much deeper
than he ever suspected. He knows that Jungkook’s gotten really good at hiding
what he needs to hide—so good sometimes that even the people who know him best
can’t read what’s on his mind.
Jimin always thought he was that one person who could peel away Jungkook’s
layers of defenses, who could pass right through his walls. But he knows better
now.
~
It’s all a flash of motion and activity and long, sweat-filled nights spent in
the recording studio and the dance studio, but seemingly in a matter of
seconds, Christmas Eve is here. Jimin’s teaser videos will start to be released
tomorrow. He checked Twitter and saw with satisfaction that ARMYs are getting
increasingly antsy as the date draws near. Many memes are being exchanged. Many
Tumblr posts are being quoted.
He wakes up in the morning and smells something delicious floating into his
room. It smells like meat. Still half-asleep, he follows the smell to the
kitchen, where Jin is cooking with his broad, shirtless back turned to Jimin.
He likes cooking shirtless sometimes. He says it makes him feel one with the
chicken (or rice, or whatever he’s cooking at the time).
Jimin feels hungry and hopes he’ll get to sneak a bit of what’s cooking before
dinnertime, so he turns on the charm. “It smells delicious,” he sings, and he
runs right up to Jin, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him. He breathes
in the smell of the meat and Jin at the same time. “What is it?”
“Turkey,” he says.
Only—that’s not Jin’s voice. And that’s not Jin’s smell. Jin usually smells
like flowers and spice and the delicious, warm mishmash of scents you get
whenever you open a heated oven. But whoever he’s hugging has a breathier
voice, higher, and he smells like clean laundry and the tiniest hint of sea air
even here, so, so far away from the sea. He sounds and smells like Busan. Like
home.
Slowly, with dread and embarrassment settling in his stomach, arms still
clasped tight around the bare torso, he stands on his tiptoes and peers over
the shoulder into Jungkook’s face.
Jimin releases him hurriedly and steps back. “Um…sorry. I thought you were
Jin.”
Jungkook turns, holding a frying pan filled with cooking slices of aubergine
and zucchini. “I’m not.”
“Where’s Jin?” Jimin says, grasping desperately for a way to make this less
awkward. He’s never quite at ease in this house because he knows Jungkook lives
here as well.
“He had a show to guest on, so I’m doing the Christmas cooking,” Jungkook says,
chewing on his lower lip with the corners of his mouth twitching upward and his
nose scrunching. Jimin knows that expression. It’s the expression he gets when
he’s trying not to laugh. “Did you want anything?”
“No, I just…” Jimin nearly tells him he wants a taste, but he can’t tell that
to Jungkook now, with his bare, toned chest on full display and the top of his
boxers peeking out over the waistband of his sweats. (Goddamn Jungkook and his
fucking black boxers. It’s like the man hasn’t owned any other type of
underwear for nearly a decade. Jimin misses the long-lost days of Superman
briefs.) “Nothing.”
He hovers awkwardly while Jungkook blinks at him, pushing the vegetables around
in the pan, a little frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows and his
small, full mouth pushed out in a pout like he’s trying to figure Jimin out.
He takes a step toward Jimin and Jimin takes a hasty step back. He scuttles out
of the way to avoid brushing against Jungkook as Jungkook walks past to pick up
a salt shaker on the countertop behind him and sprinkle some in the pan.
“I’m not poisonous, you know,” Jungkook says, leaning against the countertop
and facing Jimin, who has pressed himself against the far wall. “I don’t bite.”
“You do in bed,” Jimin says without thinking. He realizes what he’s said a
second too late, and he could honestly kick himself to hell.
A slow blush spreads from Jungkook’s cheeks to his neck down. Jimin follows the
red as it spreads down his throat and over his collarbones, and then tears his
eyes away. “We need to work this out,” Jungkook says. “All this stuff. Between
us.”
“There wouldn’t be anything to work out if you didn’t think there was,” Jimin
says. “We could just be friends again.”
Jungkook watches him unblinkingly for a while, the morning air only filled by
the sound of the spatula scraping the bottom of the pan. Jimin squirms. He’s
always felt like Jungkook is the kind of person who makes you feel like they’re
undressing you in their mind if they look at you too long.
He’s not the creepy kind, though. He’s the kind which makes Jimin blushing and
nervous, with his stomach feeling as if he’s just stepped off a cliff.
“Do you still love me, Jimin?” he asks, completely out of the blue.
Jimin coughs. “You know how I feel.”
Jungkook sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and chews on it. He’s always doing
something with his mouth. Jimin finds this very distracting and suspects that
Jungkook knows the effect it has on people and utilizes it for that purpose.
“I do,” Jungkook says finally. “You’re still the same person I fell in love
with. But I’m different.”
“Yes,” Jimin says, wondering how Jungkook manages to make stir-frying
vegetables look sexy. “You are.”
“Am I really as douchey as Cool Kook was?” he asks.
“Uh…” Jimin replies uncomfortably. “Not quite. I mean, you are making an
effort—kind of. But you’re close.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, in that plaintive, vulnerable way he has. For a split
second, Jimin glimpses through a gap in his walls, and he sees that core of him
in his eyes: the Jungkook he really is, the Jungkook he showed everyone before
he realized that he had to put up walls to keep that part of him safe.
People can change. But there’s still always a part of them which stays the
same.
“I forgive you,” Jimin says, realizing that he has. He never could hold a
grudge against Jungkook for long. “Really. But I think you have to forgive
yourself too.” He hesitates. “You need to break to reform into something
better. Sometimes. So being broken…it isn’t a sin. It isn’t a sin to heal.
Leave it behind.”
Jungkook watches him. Then he steps towards Jimin quickly, advancing so fast
Jimin doesn’t have time to step aside. “Taste,” he says, plucking a baby carrot
from the pan and blowing on it to cool it down. He holds it out to Jimin. Jimin
opens his mouth obligingly. There’s a brief moment while Jungkook’s fingers
touch his lips and Jimin’s tongue flickers out to taste his skin, on automatic.
Jungkook doesn’t wipe his hand on his sweats. He withdraws it back to his side,
and all Jimin can think as he chews is that there’s a part of him on Jungkook
now, and Jungkook doesn’t mind it being there.
“It’s good,” he says, with some surprise. “You’re almost as good at cooking as
Jin.”
“What am I not good at?” Jungkook says, and Jimin sees his trademark cockiness
flashing out.
“Shut up.” Jimin hits him on the arm. His mind informs him that Jungkook’s
bicep is very hard, thank you, and there must be a lot of muscle under that
skin, and he really would not mind—
Jimin shuts it up. His mind is his worst enemy sometimes.
“You came here to eat some, didn’t you?” Jungkook asks, smiling a little.
“Yes,” Jimin says sheepishly.
“Well…it’s for dinner, but here.” He slides a tray out of the oven and uses
tongs to pull a niblet off the turkey. He hands it to Jimin. “Careful. It’s
hot.”
Jimin takes it eagerly, then drops it into his other hand as the meat sears
him. “Ow, ow, ow,” he chants, tossing it from hand to hand, finally dropping it
on the counter and sticking his burnt fingertips into his mouth to cool them
down.
Jungkook looks amused. “I told you it’s hot.”
Jimin glares at him balefully.
“Still not as hot as me, though,” he says, striking a pose with the pan, and
Jimin huffs.
“I have to get out of here. The arrogance is suffocating me.” Jimin makes a
beeline for the doorway.
“No, stay,” Jungkook says, laughing and grabbing Jimin’s arm with his free
hand. “Don’t leave me to cook by myself like a divorced dad.”
“I don’t know how to cook,” he says helplessly as Jungkook draws him towards a
countertop and makes him sit down on top of it. “I’m no help.”
“You don’t have to cook. Just sit there and look pretty. And help me taste
things.” Jungkook scrapes the contents of the pan onto a plate, which he
covers. He looks at the ingredients laid out before him uncertainly. “Should I
make pudding? I’ve never tried before, but I know Jin has the recipe
somewhere.” He reaches for a box and holds it up. “Or maybe gingerbread men,
now the oven’s free?”
“Gingerbread men!” Jimin claps his hands and swings his legs like a little kid.
“Make gingerbread men. I’m a slut for gingerbread.”
“You’re a slut for a lot of things,” Jungkook says nonchalantly, and Jimin
chucks the box at him.
“Shut up,” he says hotly as Jungkook ducks, mouth curving up in a smile.
~
Taehyung hears voices in the kitchen. It’s Jimin’s laugh, reverberating around
the walls, high and pretty. He must be trying to coax food out of Jin. It’s
what he’d do.
Taehyung smiles fondly. He makes for the kitchen, ready to have Jimin’s laugh
and slanted eyes start off his day.
He’s about to walk in when he sees what’s going on and freezes. Jungkook has
Jimin trapped against the countertop, squeezing a tube of icing onto his nose.
Jimin is laughing and swatting him away, but Jungkook’s caging him in and he
has nowhere to go. Jungkook is shirtless. The gay part of Taehyung’s mind notes
the muscle rippling in his arms as he leans on the countertop to steady
himself, Jimin’s small hands pushing against his bare, toned chest as Jimin
tries to escape.
The look in Jimin’s eyes is like nothing Taehyung’s ever seen before. A soft,
adoring light. And it’s reflected right back at him in Jungkook’s eyes.
Taehyung backs away. He turns and stumbles as fast as he can towards the dining
room.
He wants Jimin to be happy. he really does. And he worked out long ago that
he’s not the person Jimin’s looking for. But it seems that a part of him he
thought he’d crushed long ago still lives on, mangled but alive: a tiny shred
of hope.
It’s gone now. Taehyung feels the tear in his chest where it was ripped out.
He sits down in a chair and stares at the wood of the table. He’s struggling
not to overreact. He’s struggling not to feel betrayed. But he does, somehow,
even though Jimin never gave him a sign that he wouldn’t get back with Jungkook
if he had the chance.
He just doesn’t understand. He’s been nothing but nice to Jimin. He always puts
him first. He doesn’t even try to anymore—it’s as natural as breathing. But
Jungkook…Jungkook has been distant and cold and everything which would turn
Taehyung away in a guy. Why would Jimin still choose Jungkook over him? Why is
it always the mysterious, darkly handsome men who get the lead roles in dramas,
who never fail to get the girl—or the guy, in this situation?
Someone sits down next to him. A small, blonde someone nursing a cup of tea.
Taehyung looks up, a little blinded, vision blurry with wetness he doesn’t want
to admit to, and sees Yoongi.
“Why are you so upset so early in the morning?” Yoongi asks in a raspy voice,
sipping his tea. He looks half-dead, blonde hair sticking up in a messy bedhead
the way it always looks in the morning, but Taehyung is touched that he’s
making an effort. “It’s like the sun has went out.”
Taehyung sighs. He’s going to be one of those annoying people who sigh whenever
someone asks him a question, he can just feel it. But for once, he can’t find
it within himself to care.
“It’s something to do with Jimin, right?” Yoongi says. “Jimin and Jungkook.”
Taehyung blinks at him. “What? Why do you think that?”
“The advantage of being the quiet one is that you get to know all the shit,”
Yoongi says. “People wake me up when they think I’m sleeping with their loud
dramas, and I overhear all of it. Even when I’m awake, people forget I’m
there.”
“I never forget you’re there,” Taehyung says defensively.
“Yeah, you just don’t care,” Yoongi says. “I’ll never forget the day you and
Hoseok set off a fucking firecracker outside my bedroom window. I thought the
house was being bombed. I was halfway out the door before someone told me what
was happening.”
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “We didn’t know you were sleeping.”
“It’s fine.” He blinks impassively at Taehyung. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“They’re getting together again,” he says, feeling his mouth droop down at the
corners. “I think. You all know they were past boyfriends already, right?”
“Yeah, the way they look at each other…even Namjoon has noticed, and that says
a lot.”
“I thought…I could change how Jimin thinks,” Taehyung says, looking down. “I
mean, Jungkook hasn’t been treating him so well. He straight-up ignored him for
like a year. I’ve stuck with him through it even when the training was killing
me, but…no, he still goes back to Jungkook.”
He tries not to sound bitter, he really does. But even he can hear it in his
own voice.
“It’s okay to feel like that,” Yoongi says. “Really.”
“I do want Jimin to be happy,” he says, fumbling for the words. “But I also
want…you know?”
He looks up, wondering whether he’s said too much. But Yoongi says, “I do know.
I can see it. Whenever you look at Jimin. It’s like…the way Jin looks at
expensive Mario merchandise.” He pauses, scratching his pale jaw. “Like
something you want but can’t have, but hope for anyway.”
“Yes,” he says, relieved that he doesn’t have to explain it. “That.”
“Does Jimin know?”
“He does. He feels bad. But I don’t want him to, so I put on a brave face, even
when Jungkook passes and he stops talking so he can stare at him.” Taehyung
releases a ragged breath. “Every time Jungkook comes close to him…I’ve noticed
that he takes a deep breath, like he’s filling himself with as much of Jungkook
as he can get before he’s gone. And whenever Jungkook talks, he stops what he’s
doing to listen. He looks at Jungkook like he’s what keeps the sun shining and
the world spinning when he thinks no one else is looking. And Jungkook looks at
him like that right back.” Taehyung closes his eyes. “It would be so easy to
get them together as a third party who knows how they both feel. You know—put
an end to all this drama. They’re perfect for each other, but they just can’t
see it. I could just solve it all. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Because I
still can’t let go.”
When he opens his eyes, Yoongi is sipping his tea the way old men do, with
their shoulders hunched forward, eyes world-weary and wise.
“Ah, emotions,” he says airily. “I’m so glad I left them behind long ago.”
Taehyung nudges his side with his foot. He’d expected Yoongi to be made of
something harder than stone, but he’s soft and warm. “Don’t pretend like you
don’t feel things too, hyung. You’re human even if you sleep more than any
living creature should.”
“I think you need something to take your mind off this,” Yoongi says. “You’re
focusing too much of yourself on this. All the sadness and drama woke me up and
made me come down here to try and fix it.”
“You’re right, I just—can I have some of that?” Yoongi passes him the mug of
tea. Taehyung sips it, warming his hands on it. It's justr the way he likes
it—so milky that it's almost white. “Why are you being so nice to me, hyung?
You’d normally be sleeping.”
“We underdogs have to root for each other,” he says. “Second leads and all.”
Taehyung looks at him, this tired, sleepy apparition with a messy blonde
bedhead who’s chosen this moment, of all moments, to be inexplicably kind.
“Thanks, hyung,” he says.
Yoongi takes back the mug and drinks from it. “No problem, Taetae.”
Chapter End Notes
     Bwahah. Retreats into shadows. Bwahahah.
     Gleefully,
     Author-nim
***** Chapter 23 *****
Chapter Notes
     I hope you like the Vminkook smut (scroll to the bottom of this page/
     bottom of latest chapter to read in the same series) ;) I actually
     finished this chapter yesterday and could have posted it with
     yesterday's chapter, but I decided to keep it until today so I could
     double-whammy you guys along with the Vminkook oneshot. I hope you
     guys are satisfied with the polyamory~
     <3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jimin’s teaser videos are released along with his details. Those who guessed
right flip their metaphorical tables over in victory, and the Internet is in a
constant state of  I told you so, bitches.  There are, of course, some haters
who say Jimin isn’t stable and Bangtan was perfect before he came along, but
Jimin’s fans —he has  fans,  what the actual fuck—far outnumber them.
The first variety show Jimin will appear on is on New Year’s Day. Jimin is
nervous.  He’s used to standing by and keeping out of the way as the members
get ready for their shows, but now he’s swept up in it as well.
The biggest surprise is that Jungkook latches onto him and tells him what to
do, telling him how to dress and telling him how to move so the makeup won’t
get ruined. On the van ride as they’re shuttled to the show, Jungkook sits next
to him and babbles at him about how nervous he felt for his first show, how he
was so close to crying out of nervousness that an emcee took him aside and told
him to calm down. It makes Jimin feel a little better.
“What if they don’t like me?” he whispers. “What if they judge me?”
“They’ll always judge you,” Jungkook says after a pause. “But it’s the good
fans that count. And they’ll love you. You go all sweet and giggly and
embarrassed when you’re nervous. You’re a people-pleaser. Your caveman
relatives must have people-pleased their way out of any sticky situations, so
evolution made you the ultimate people-pleaser.”
Jimin wrinkles his nose. “Are you saying that I should be as nervous as I can
manage?”
“Nah,” Jungkook says. Yoongi shoves Taehyung playfully on their other side,
making Jungkook lurch into Jimin. “I’m saying that it’s okay to be nervous.”
The show is wonderful. Jimin feels awkward in the makeup, but they put him
between Jungkook and Taehyung, so that’s a small mercy. Jimin feels kind of bad
for stealing the spotlight from the other members—the emcees are focused
completely on him, milking him for as much details as they can get before their
time runs out.
At the end of the show, someone behind the camera motions to get the emcees’
attention, tapping their watch. The emcees perk up. “Right, so we looked
through past BTS shows, and we noticed that BTS has never done the Pepero
challenge!” one says brightly.
Everyone groans and starts covering their faces, but Jimin sits, confused.
“What’s the Pepero challenge?” he asks Taehyung, but Taehyung doesn’t hear him.
He’s busy trying to squirm away from Yoongi as Yoongi pokes him.
Jungkook answers for him. “It’s this game where you get two people and put a
Pepero stick in their mouths, one end in each mouth, and they have to bite it
down to as short as possible,” he says. “Some people manage to eat it entirely.
It’s basically an excuse to get two idols to kiss—like the game where you have
to pass Post-Its with your mouth.”
“Oh,” Jimin says, blinking.
He doesn’t really have time to process this until the emcees are picking
partners for them. “We’ll go with the seating, shall we? Taehyung and Yoongi,
Jungkook and Jimin, and one of you three—Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin—has to
sit out.”
“I’ll pass,” Hoseok says immediately at the same time as Namjoon and Seokjin
say in perfect unison, “I’ll sit out.”
The emcee chuckles. “I think you just selected for us. Hoseok will sit out, and
you two can play together since you think so much in unison.”
This is really quite sadistic,  Jimin thinks.  But I bet the fans would love
this.
Jungkook isn’t avoiding his eyes like Jimin expected him to. They both sneak a
glance at each other at the same time, and Jungkook sticks his tongue out at
him to conceal his blush. Jimin laughs as on his other side, Taehyung and
Yoongi make exaggerated snorts and huffs at each other.
Taehyung and Yoongi go first. The camera doesn’t catch it, but Taehyung yanks
the Pepero into his mouth just before their lips touch to prevent himself from
inadvertedly kissing Yoongi. Yoongi chases after it just a tiny bit before he
pulls back and they make faces at each other.
Jimin watches them return to their seats, the faint blush painted onto Yoongi’s
cheeks made obvious by his pale skin, Taehyung’s long fingers twisting
nervously around each other in his lap, and he suddenly wonders.
Namjoon and Seokjin go next. True to their respective personalities, it’s
awkward, excruciatingly awkward, accentuated by Hoseok dancing up and down in
glee. They draw back before the Pepero is finished and won’t look at each other
afterward.
Jimin is busy laughing before he realizes that that means that it’s his and
Jungkook’s turn now.
His stomach flips in dread. He suddenly very much does not want to leave his
seat.
Jungkook’s already standing. “Come on,” he says, nudging Jimin’s foot. “Don’t
be chicken.”
Jimin huffs. “I am not chicken.”
“Then stand up.” Jungkook takes the Pepero stick offered to him by one of the
emcees and shakes it in his face tauntingly. “If you dare.”
Jimin stands up defiantly, then immediately realizes what Jungkook’s
done—baited him into it.  That’s what comes of nearly a lifetime of friendship,
he thinks resentfully.
Jungkook places one end of the stick between his lips. Jimin watches his tongue
dart out and taste the chocolate coating, soft and pink. “Come on,” he says
around it.
Every bad decision in my life has started with Jungkook saying ‘come on’,
Jimin laments, but he steps forward slowly and takes the end of the stick
between his lips, holding it between his thumb and forefinger to keep it
steady. It reminds him of smoking a cigarette. Or giving a blowjob.
Jungkook must be thinking the same thing, because he smirks, raising his
eyebrows, and Jimin has to turn his head away and let the stick fall from
between his lips, trying to hide his blush from the cameras.
“You can do it, Jiminnie,” Taehyung yells, messing Yoongi’s hair up. Yoongi
shouts “yah” and reaches up to ruffle his bangs too. Jimin can see their
stylists practically in tears behind the cameras.
Jimin wraps his lips around the stick again reluctantly. The emcees are on the
edges of their seats. The cameras are discreetly zooming in. Hoseok is having
what looks like a seizure of excitement. Namjoon and Jin are determinedly
turned away from each other like abashed middle schoolers, but even they’re
watching him and Jungkook.
Jungkook starts eating the stick first. He raises one eyebrow at Jimin like the
cocky little shit he is, and Jimin feels a wave of indignation rise in him at
the action. He grabs Jungkook’s shirt and steps closer just to prove that he
can, Jungkook’s warmth radiating against his chest and stomach. He has to stand
on his tiptoes to keep the Pepero level, but Jungkook still looms over him.
Jimin starts to tip backward, and Jungkook puts his hands on his waist to
steady him.
He hasn’t been this close to Jungkook since…well, Christmas Eve, really, when
Jungkook moved between his legs to smear icing on his nose. Jimin got his
revenge by throwing powdered sugar in his hair. By the end of it, Jungkook
looked like he’d been snowed on, dustings of white in his hair and nose
scrunched up as he laughed, the morning sunlight slanting in through the
windows dappling his face and chest. Jimin thought he looked…beautiful.
They never did manage to stop messing around in time to make the gingerbread
men.
Jimin looks down at the floor as their faces get closer. He can’t hold
Jungkook’s gaze now. Jungkook bites once, and Jimin bites once, and he feels
the slight rasp of the Pepero against his tongue as it gets pulled into
Jungkook’s mouth and finished. But Jimin doesn’t want to stop. He wants this
excuse to be close to Jungkook, granted to him by a variety show, of all
things. He doesn’t let go of Jungkook’s shirt, and Jungkook’s hands slide down
to his hips, and when their lips meet it’s only natural to close his eyes.
He thinks he and Jungkook are both halfheartedly trying to make it look like
the Pepero hasn’t disappeared a long time ago, but they’re really just milking
the excuse to kiss with all they’ve got. Jimin is spiralling, he can feel it,
and the feeling of Jungkook’s lips moving against his is so familiar and so
thrilling at once. He hasn’t felt it in so long that he forgot he needed it.
Jungkook tastes like chocolate and Pepero and fingers burning into his hips. He
tastes like half-forgotten lust and broken promises. Their tongues slide over
each other and Jimin just manages not to groan, just manages to stop his hips
from bucking into Jungkook’s.
And then he remembers.  We’re being filmed.
Jimin shoves him away, hard. Jungkook stumbles and nearly falls over a stool as
Jimin wipes his mouth, making a sour face at the camera. “This game is—” he
fails to find words to cover up what just happened and musters another
disgusted expression, wagging his finger. “This game is—no no no,” he says in
English.
He looks to the emcees for their reaction, holding his breath. He tries not to
sigh too loudly in relief when they collapse in fits of laughter, slapping
their knees. “Skinship so early!” they roar through their mirth.
The other members of Bangtan are frozen. Jimin can tell from one glance that
they know exactly what just happened. But they force themselves to laugh to
cover it up, all except Taehyung. He has a terrible expression on his face,
confused and upset and kind of betrayed, and Jimin remembers just in time.
Jimin reaches out to him, already mouthing the words  I’m sorry  in a way so
that the cameras can’t catch it. But he turns away.
~
“So,” Jimin says teasingly, sliding into the seat next to Taehyung’s.
Taehyung blinks dully at him. The image of him and Jungkook pressing as close
to each other as they could get as if they wanted to become part of each other
burns behind his eyelids. “What?”
“You and Yoongi?” he says, nudging him.
Taehyung blinks. “Um…what about us?”
“You two have a thing for each other!” Jimin bursts, like this is the most
obvious thing in the world and Taehyung is being dense.
“Hmm,” he says dispiritedly.
Jimin’s smile fades. “You’re upset about what happened on the show.”
“Am I always so easy to read?” Taehyung says, trying to summon a smile from the
exhausted dregs of his soul.
“Kind of. But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Taetae.” Jimin sits as close
to him as he can get until their sides are pressed together and their warmth is
leaking into each other’s skin. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”
“There’s nothing you can do. I’m just being stupid.”
“You know there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t feel bad for it, right?”
Jimin says, eyes concerned and sad and guilty. Taehyung hates himself. Taehyung
hates himself for making the boy he loves look like that, even if it’s still
better than indifference.
“Please don’t feel guilty for it,” Taehyung pleads. “That makes me feel
guilty.”
“That’s what people who love each other do, Tae. They hurt for each other.”
Taehyung looks down. “Don’t say it like that,” he says hollowly.
“I do love you. You know that.”
“I do, but—” he sucks in a ragged breath. “Can we just not talk about this?
Please?”
“We have to talk about this. If we don’t lay it all out in the light, it’ll
grow into something twisted and painful in the dark.”
“You’re starting to sound like Namjoon,” he says.
“Namjoon is right sometimes.” Jimin tries to take his hand. He moves it away.
“Tae.”
“You can’t do anything to fix it,” Taehyung says, talking fast before the words
can slip away from him, “because it’s all in my head. It’s all me. I want you
to be happy. I really do. But I want you all to myself too even though I can
never have you, and that’s selfish and terrible and shitty but I want you
anyway. There’s no way here that I won’t get hurt. There’s nothing you can do
to help. I don’t blame you and I don’t blame Jungkook. I blame myself.”
He looks down. He feels like he’s going to cry.
There’s a pause. He thinks Jimin doesn’t know what to say.
“I think Yoongi could really help make you feel better, Taehyung,” he says, and
he reaches for Taehyung’s hand again.
“I don’t want Yoongi,” he says, his voice breaking, snatching his hand away and
standing up. “I want you.”
He runs away.
He thinks he’s going to call it doing a Jeon.
~
Outside the doorway, Yoongi smiles a small, painful smile. He steps aside as
Taehyung runs past, swiping tears from his eyes. Taehyung doesn’t see him.
~
“You’re worried about something, aren’t you?” Jungkook asks him as he sits down
beside Jimin.
Jimin twists his hands hard in his lap. “Yes.”
Jungkook hesitates for a split second, then clenches his hands into fists,
drawing them into his lap. They’re not quite at the stage of putting arms
around shoulders yet. “Tell me what it is.”
“Tae…” he stops. Is he allowed to tell Jungkook this? “Tae…has feelings…for me.
And what we have is hurting him.”
Jungkook looks like he expected it. “I kind of knew,” he says.
Jimin blinks at him. “What? How?”
“It was on that night when you just came back from wandering around Seoul in
the rain and you were in Taehyung’s bed with him,” he says haltingly. “I came
down to meet you and saw you two instead. And the way he looked at you…it just
gave everything away.”
Jimin closes his eyes briefly. “Is it that obvious?”
Jungkook hesitates again. “Everyone…everyone in BTS knows,” he says eventually.
Jimin bends down and grinds his knuckles into his eyes. “Oh, this is such a
mess.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty for it,” Jungkook says, unsure how to say it. He has
Jimin and Taehyung doesn’t, so does that make him a dick for telling Jimin
this? Taehyung is his friend too, but…he doesn’t feel guilty.
It’s hard to explain. He knows that Taehyung isn’t the kind of person who would
expect them to give up what they have to make him happy. He knows that Taehyung
isn’t the kind of person who would be happy if they broke up because of him.
And he knows that Taehyung isn’t the kind of person who would want them to feel
guilty. So he doesn’t.
“That’s what Tae tells me,” Jimin says, staring at his clasped hands. “But I
do. I can’t help it. He’s just so selfless that he trips himself up,
sometimes.”
“I don’t,” Jungkook says, feeling like he has to be honest with him. “Feel
guilty. Maybe it makes me a dick, but…if I were in his situation, I wouldn’t
want or expect you to feel guilty.”
“That’s fine. It doesn’t make you a dick.” Jungkook reaches out and gently
catches Jimin’s hand, pulling it away. He’s rubbing the heels of his hands into
his eyes so hard that it looks painful. “I’m pretty sure Yoongi is interested
in him. But he…doesn’t want Yoongi. I think if he gave Yoongi a chance, it
would make everything better.”
“He should. Some kinds of problems can only be fixed with diversions.”
“I just want to give him everything I have and more,” he says, voice muffled.
“But I can’t give him the one thing he needs the most. And that makes me feel
like shit.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Jimin. You can’t please everyone. It’s the way
life works.”
“I just want everyone to be happy.” Jimin looks at him. His eyes are so, so
tired. “Is that too much to ask?”
Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. “Sometimes,” he says finally.
~
The next few days, every time Taehyung sees Yoongi, he looks immensely guilty.
Yoongi knows why: it’s because of what Taehyung said to Jimin. Yoongi doesn’t
blame him for it. The guy was just being honest.
But if he can’t be more to Taehyung, he’ll settle for being a friend. And he’ll
be the best goddamn friend in the history of fucking friendships.
Fine, if he can’t be that, he’ll at least be the best goddamn friend the Min
line has ever produced. That’s good enough.
At night, he knocks on Taehyung’s bedroom door softly. “Come in,” Taehyung
calls, and Yoongi walks in, closing the door behind him. Taehyung is sitting on
his bed. He looks instantly guilty once he sees that it’s Yoongi.
“Okay,” Yoongi says, crossing the room to sit down next to him. The mattress
dips under his weight. “Are you going to tell me why every time you look at me,
you look like you ran over my grandma and I don’t know it yet?”
He’s not going to let on to Taehyung that he knows why. Some things have to be
said.
“I said something really nasty about you and I feel bad,” he blurts out, and
his shoulders sag like he’s been carrying the burden of it around. “Like,
really bad.”
“What did you say?” Yoongi asks him.
“Jimin was telling me that he thinks getting together with you will make me
feel better and I said that I don’t want you, I want him,” he says, forcing the
words out quickly. “And now I feel really bad because you’re actually a really
nice person under all the grumpiness and you’re still trying to make me feel
better even though you know I like Jimin and, and, I think that’s really nice
of you and I was really shitty for saying that and I’m sorry.”
He drags in a deep breath, making his bangs flutter.
“That’s okay,” Yoongi says. “Honestly.”
Taehyung looks at him hopefully. “Wait, really?”
“Yes,” he says.
“You don’t take offense? You’re not hurt?” he asks uncertainly.
“No,” he says dismissively. “Not everything has to be a drama, you know.”
“I meant it, though,” he says, his entire body slumping. Caving in on itself.
“I meant it when I said I want Jimin and not you.”
“That’s fine,” Yoongi says. “Feelings are like money: they aren’t always
returned.”
Taehyung laughs at this.
“What do you think?” Yoongi asks him.
“About?”
“What Jimin said. That getting together with me will help you move on.”
“I think he has a point,” he says reluctantly. “But, like, you don’t even want
me. Right? You were just playing.”
He’s saying one thing, but his eyes as they look at Yoongi are a little
hopeful, a little bright. A little alive with the flame of potential.
“Who said that I was just playing?” Yoongi asks him.  “You  pulled away during
the Pepero game, not me.”
The breath goes out of him in a whoosh. “Wait, so—?”
“As a friend, I want you to get the man of your dreams.” Yoongi shifts closer
and takes Taehyung’s chin, tilting it towards him. Taehyung’s eyes are so wide
that he can see himself reflected in them. “But as me, I’m asking you not to
pull away.”
The seconds tick by while they stay like that, suspended in time, motionless.
Taehyung blinks at him, a tiny drop of terror diluted in the liquid of his
eyes. And a tiny bit of hope.
“Okay,” he says in a small voice.
Yoongi smiles and leans in.
Chapter End Notes
     <3
***** Chapter 24 *****
Chapter Notes
     It’s 3:32 in the morning, and I’ve just finished this chapter.
     From what I’ve gathered, my favorite fanfic author of all time,
     mindheist, rarely writes sober. This makes me think about why I like
     writing at night so much. As someone who doesn’t and never will
     drink, I’ll never experience the effects of alcohol, but I wonder
     whether the lull of darkness outside your window and the clacking of
     keyboard keys in a silent house can’t bring about the same daze.
     Words flow easier when you’re detached from yourself—i.e., running on
     that weird kind of superhuman energy you get about an hour past
     midnight. If my mother could see me now, she’d tell me to go to
     sleep, but I wonder whether pushing yourself into a stupor is really
     such a bad thing.
     Anyway, sorry for putting you through all my poetic schmuck and late-
     night/early-morning musings, I’m starting to sound as philosophical
     as Namjoon, bwahahah. Have this chapter, you guys. Thank you for
     putting up with me and please check out mindheist on this very
     website, AO3. She/he makes me want to give up writing fanfic forever
     and just crawl into a corner and cry because I can never achieve her/
     his effortless skill. It’s just nine letters to type into a
     searchbar, adding sort:hits if you’re feeling adventurous. You will
     thank me for it, trust me.
     Also, watch this video because I’m such a slut for Jungkook bareface
     and he is just so cute and mushy here that he is basically the reason
     for this entire chapter.
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLfctIFWuFE
     <3
They’re eating breakfast. The scrape of spoons against the bottoms of cereal
bowls and the sound of toast popping up from the toaster fill the crisp,
slightly chilly air, waking Jimin up a little more with each second. He sips
from his glass of milk, sneaking a covert glance at Taehyung and Yoongi. They
sat next to each other, and Jimin is pretty sure they’re playing footsie under
the table.
Jimin smiles into his cornflakes.
Jungkook sits next to him. Midway through breakfast he reached out and took
Jimin’s hand like it was nothing, eyes never budging from his phone screen. But
he snuck a wide-eyed glance at Jimin when he thought he wasn’t looking, and
Jimin knows it means as much to him as it does to Jimin.
They never really held hands, not except that day in Nampodong. Jimin likes how
neatly his fingers slot between someone else’s, the weight of a hand resting on
top of his. He likes when Jungkook rubs his thumb over his knuckles, the
simplicity of it bearing the meaning of worlds and worlds to Jimin.
A laugh catches his attention. He looks up and sees Taehyung and Yoongi bending
together over Yoongi’s phone screen, laughing at some kind of joke. Taehyung is
looking at the phone screen, but Yoongi’s attention is focused on Taehyung,
Taehyung’s cheek just inches from his nose. Jimin can’t read his expression.
But it seems…softer, somehow.
Maybe there is a way for them all to be happy, after all.
~
“We’re all heading out to get lunch,” Jin calls as they walk towards the door.
“Aren’t you two coming?”
“No,” Jimin and Jungkook say at the same time. They look at each other,
surprised.
“Well…there are leftovers in the fridge.” Jin looks between the two of them
uncertainly, eyes narrowing briefly as if he suspects something. But then he
slides his usual placid expression back on and it’s gone. “You two be good.”
“Yes, hyung,” they reply dutifully.
Jimin returns to his phone. He suddenly very much regrets that he chose to sit
on the same couch as Jungkook. He tries to discreetly inch his butt to the
opposite end, but Jungkook slides over, advancing like some kind of large-
beaked bird of prey with glittering eyes and plush lips. “We need to talk,” he
says, pressing Jimin up against the armrest.
“Um…about what? Exactly?” Jimin asks uncomfortably.
“The Pepero game.” Jungkook presses in closer. Jimin has nowhere to go. He can
feel Jungkook’s warmth seeping into his side and it makes him very uneasy.
No…it doesn’t make him uneasy. They’ve been friends for so long that Jungkook
could be using him as a chair and it wouldn’t feel like he were invading his
personal space. It’s just that…Jimin has become hyper-aware of Jungkook
whenever he’s close to him, the way he moves and the way he talks, and now with
him practically squashed against him, he feels like he can’t breathe
comfortably.
“I find that game very unfair,” Jimin says, trying to ignore Jungkook as he
casually slings a leg over Jimin’s. This puts Jimin’s hand under his butt.
Jimin doesn’t like his hand under Jungkook’s butt, and he tries to move it away
the way you walk away as quickly as you can from a bakery when you’re on a
diet.
“Why?” Jungkook sticks his face close to his. This is one of those days when
he’s giggly and soft and he can’t seem to stop smiling. He isn’t Baby Kookie
exactly, but he seems to radiate happiness from every pore of his body. It’s
infectious. Jin ruffles his hair and all the members find a way to show him
extra affection since these days are the only days Jungkook tolerates hugs.
“It’s an obvious excuse to force idols into doing skinship,” he says, trying to
keep calm and breathe normally when Jungkook’s lips are an inch away from his
cheek. “You’re happy today, aren’t you?”
“You liked it, though.” Jungkook wriggles in closer, grabbing Jimin’s hand and
placing it on top of his own thigh. Jimin closes his eyes and chants to
himself. Do not squeeze. Do not squeeze.“You wanted an excuse.”
“Maybe I did,” Jimin says defensively, using every ounce of self-control he has
left to prevent himself from squeezing Jungkook’s thigh. But he can feel the
muscle under his palm, tensing and relaxing as Jungkook shifts, and his skin is
so soft and smooth and there’s a mole beside his index finger which looks like
a perfect dark dot against his pale skin…
“We don’t need an excuse.” Jungkook puts his hand on Jimin’s thigh, about
halfway up his inner thigh, and slides it over his bare skin idly. Jimin curses
himself for choosing that day to wear shorts. He adds to his mantra. Do not get
hard. Do not squeeze. Do not get hard. Do not squeeze. “I don’t mind.”
“What happened to pushing me away?” Jimin eyes him tentatively, trying to cover
up the hitch in his breathing when Jungkook’s hand strays dangerously close to
his crotch and then slides away. “What happened to being a cold-ass shit?”
“I decided cold-ass shits don’t get laid very often,” he says casually.
Jimin chokes, concealing it by glaring at him. “Sometimes I forget that you’re
still a teenager at that tender stage when you run solely on angst and
hormones.”
“Mostly hormones.” Jungkook puts his mouth an inch away from Jimin’s ear. Jimin
jumps horribly when his breath fans over it. “I know you want me.”
“Shut up, Kook.” He tries to use the hand which isn’t resting on Jungkook’s
thigh to push him away, but the movement makes his other hand shift up
Jungkook’s thigh, the fat and muscle irresistible under his hand, and he
squeezes on automatic. He freezes once he realizes what he’s done. “Oh my God.
I’m sorry.” He jerks his hand away. “I’m sorry.”
Jungkook smirks. “I knew it.” He swings his legs over him and straddles Jimin
in one fluid, easy movement which looks far more sexy than it should be.
Suddenly, Jimin’s nose is filled with his smell: clean sheets and sea air with
a distinctive hint of Boy.
(Jimin can never be sure what Boy smells like exactly. It might be cologne. It
might be come. He’ll never know, and he doesn’t care. What he does care about
is that it makes him go weak in the knees when he smells it.)
“Jungkook, we shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, turning his head away when
Jungkook bends down to nose at his neck.
“Come on, Jimin. I woke up horny and I haven’t had a chance to jerk off.”
Jungkook’s lips come tantalizingly close to brushing against his neck, then
pull away.
“Is that why you’re all giggly and mushy? Next time I see you like this, I’m
checking you for morning wood.”
He laughs. Adorably. Infuriatingly so.
“Kiss me again, Jimin,” he whispers giddily into his ear. “Nothing’s holding us
back.”
“But—” Jimin tries.
“Not everything has to be a drama,” Jungkook says, lips so close to Jimin’s
cheek that he can almost feel the brush of Jungkook’s mouth on his skin, soft
and chapped and warm, like a phantom of want. “Let’s make this simple for
once.”
Jimin looks at him. It occurs to him then that he’s never kissed anyone besides
Jungkook and Taehyung—not a single girl or boy else. He wonders whether
Jungkook and Taehyung are really as good at kissing as he believes them to be,
or whether they’re actually crappy but he’s never had any other experience with
other people.
He doesn’t think so, though. Pleasure like that can’t be faked, rendered almost
holy in its quiet, laughing sin.
“Okay,” he says, unable to look away from the pliant, smiling line of
Jungkook’s mouth, the dimples which only appear when he’s drunk on joy and
sunlight. He loves Jungkook out of makeup so much more than Jungkook with. When
he’s barefaced and his eyes haven’t been lined to stand out and his hair is
flopping in relaxed bangs over his eyebrows, Jimin feels like this is a
Jungkook the world doesn’t get to see, a Jungkook which has only ever belonged
to him. He doesn’t even mind the blemishes scattered over his cheeks.
Appearance doesn’t factor into the equation for honesty.
He expected it to be earth-shattering after all this time, mind-blowing,
desperate, but it’s not, it’s not. It feels like coming home, kissing slowly
like they have all the time in the world and all the tears and pain it took
them to get here never existed. Jimin is struck by the utter boyness of him—the
hard, flat lines of his body against Jimin’s, the bump of his Adam’s apple in
his throat. They slowly shift down the couch until Jungkook is stretched out
above him and the back of Jimin’s head is pillowed on the armrest. Jungkook is
easy to touch when he’s like this. He submits to anything, letting Jimin smooth
the pads of his thumbs into the dimples at the base of his spine underneath his
shirt, letting Jimin run his hands up and down his sides. He’s cute and soft
and endearing, giggling when Jimin kisses the corner of his mouth, making Jimin
feel like he stepped off a cliff and left his stomach behind him, but in a good
way.
They don’t even try to move away from each other’s mouths. Jimin’s mind becomes
a pleasant blank, filled only by the feeling of Jungkook’s mouth on his, the
sounds of them kissing, the half-image of Jungkook’s closed eyes, viewed from
underneath hooded eyelids. It feels like the moment will last forever. It feels
like the world will stop spinning just for them.
The door bangs open. “Turns out the lunch place is closed,” Jin announces,
shucking off his coat and not quite catching sight of them yet. “I guess it’s
microwaved leftovers for us all now that—”
He sees Jimin and Jungkook and stops. They don’t even try to move away from
each other, instead blinking muzzily at him, shreds of wonder still clinging to
them like fog with the air of two people just awoken from a dream. Jungkook’s
heart as it beats against Jimin’s is slow and steady, unhurried.
Jin looks like he expected it. “You two,” he sighs, leaning against the
doorframe. “On the couch, of all places?”
Jimin is just beginning to process that this is probably a sign that they
shouldn’t still be like this when Taehyung’s voice filters in around Jin. “Jin,
what did you say the leftovers in the fridge again were?”
Jin’s expression changes to one of alarm as he looks over his shoulder and the
tip of Taehyung’s scuffed sneaker comes into view. “Tae, I think I left
something in the car,” he says, speaking quickly. “Could you go get it for me?”
The sneaker stops while Jimin and Jungkook freeze. “What are you talking about?
We didn’t get groceries,” he says, confused.
“No, it’s those bags of clothes I wanted to take to H&M. I changed my mind
about them, there are some old jeans in there I think Yoongi can fit. Could you
please take it for me? I have to start heating up the food.”
There is a horrible, wavering pause while Jimin thinks Taehyung will push past
him and see them. “Are the bags in the trunk?” he asks finally, and they
release relieved breaths.
“Yeah.” Jin makes shooing motions. “Go on, now. Get the other boys to help you
bring them back into the house.”
The sound of footsteps retreating on the driveway makes them sag against each
other. Jungkook pushes himself up into a sitting position, biceps rippling next
to Jimin’s head, as Jimin sits up straight slowly. Jin fixes them with a
strange look—sad and resigned.
He knows, it occurs to Jimin suddenly. About the messed-up dynamics between me
and Taehyung and Jungkook.
Is it that obvious?
“You two owe me one,” he says heavily to them, and Jimin wonders what else he
knows. “Next time the spinach needs cleaning, I’m enlisting you.”
“Thanks, hyung,” Jimin says, twisting his hands in his lap.
Jin performs a quick scan of them. “I think it would be better if you two take
some time alone for a bit,” he says finally. “It’s not exactly…hard to see what
you were doing.”
They look at each other. Jungkook’s lips are swollen and his cheeks are
flushed, his hair messed up where Jimin carded his hands through it. Jin’s
right—Jimin would bet a million won that he looks the same. They scramble up
from the couch.
“Thank you, hyung,” he says again, guilt settling in his stomach.
“It’s nothing. Just—” They pause before they scuttle out of the room. “Try to
clean this all up, okay, Jimin? The thing about pain is that if you leave it
alone, all it will do is grow.”
“I know,” he says after the moments have stretched on.
Jin nods, broad shoulders squared under the weight of the secrets no one had to
tell him. “Go on now.”
They hurry out while Taehyung’s voice drifts in through the window, oblivious.
~
They end up in Jungkook’s room.
Jungkook’s room is at the very end of the corridor, with the best view of the
gardens where Jin plants his vegetables, Namjoon sometimes conducts
experiments, and Taehyung occasionally sets off firecrackers. It’s right above
Yoongi’s room downstairs, so it’s relatively quiet. The sitting room and the
other main areas the loud members of Bangtan frequent are way on the other side
of the house.
Jungkook closes the door neatly behind him. They don’t need to agree on
anything before they’re falling onto the bed, Jimin’s back hitting the mattress
with a soft thump, their bodies performing a complicated choreography to keep
from injuring either of them. Jungkook slides himself between his bent knees,
and they kiss, his hand on Jimin’s jaw and Jimin’s hands cupping his shoulder
blades. They peel off their shirts with hardly any thought. This time, the
skin-on-skin contact doesn’t drive Jimin crazy and make him impatient, doesn’t
ignite the slow fire licking under his skin the way it usually does. It makes
him feel…content. At peace.
Jungkook’s eyes are full of something he can’t explain. They’re not doing much
more than kiss, but Jimin would say that they’re also drinking each other in,
wondering at the fact that they’re here now, together. Every little movement
they make—the way Jungkook thumbs at his hipbones, the way Jimin tilts his head
to angle against Jungkook’s mouth and catches the sunlight glancing off
Jungkook’s eyelashes—seems more like a prayer than anything Jimin could ever
muster in church.
For what is a prayer but an appreciation of life, of truth? What is prayer but
a plea for something to hold onto beyond oblivion? What is a prayer but a
thanks for the small mercies we are granted in our hells here on earth?
No matter what prayers are, Jimin knows what he’s thankful for.
They press closer together on the bed, hands tangled in hair and eyelashes
fluttering against cheekbones, a testimony to the peculiar, warped beauty of
sin.
~
“Taehyung.”
Taehyung turns. It’s Jin, sitting on the long couch in the sitting room. He’s
staring at the TV, but the TV is off. He looks at Taehyung. “Come sit and talk
to me for a while,” he says, patting the seat next to him.
Yoongi is with him—Jin caught them in the middle of a joke. He makes to follow
Taehyung as he sits down with some bewilderment, but Jin’s eyes flicker from
him to Taehyung as if he’s assessing him. “I’d rather talk to him alone,
Yoongi,” he says, not unkindly.
Yoongi nods and walks out of the room, hand half-raised in Taehyung’s
direction.
Taehyung turns to him. “Yes, hyung?”
Jin takes a deep breath. “Taetae,” he begins, “I care about you and I love you
and I only want what’s best for you, even if sometimes it seems hard to accept.
I always try to keep your best interests in mind. I would never do anything to
hurt you.”
He pauses and looks expectantly at Taehyung. Taehyung racks his brain for what
he could be getting at. “Uh…” he trails off. “I’m already circumcised, if
that’s what you mean…?”
“No, of course not.” He sighs and steeples his fingers on his knee. “I’m just
going to get straight to the point, okay, Taehyung?”
“Sure,” he says, bemused.
“I know what’s going on between you and Jimin and Jungkook,” he says. “How
Jimin and Jungkook are so obviously in love but trying not to admit it but how
you pine after Jimin. Everyone knows, even Namjoon, although Lord knows how the
man manages to notice anything when he’s so busy breaking my best china all the
time. I can see how it’s hurting you—tearing you apart from the inside.”
Taehyung’s face falls. “Hyung, I really don’t know what you could say which
could help me in this situation,” he says finally, picking his words carefully
like patches of ground to step on in a minefield.
“It hurts us all to see how much pain you’re in over something you can’t
change,” he says. “Jimin the most, I think, because he feels personally
responsible and guilty. But the thing is that when we face something we can’t
change, it’s we who have to change to adapt. And that’s why I’m telling you to
let go.”
“Let go?” he repeats, confused.
“Jimin and Jungkook are going to get a lot more touchy-feely,” he says by way
of response, not trying to swerve around the topic. “They’re only going to get
more open with their relationship. Happy people want the world to see that
they’re happy. If you don’t accept this and adapt to it so you won’t be hurt by
it, you’re going to be in a lot of pain very soon.”
“I…I don’t know what to say, hyung, I—”
“I think Yoongi is good for you,” he says, cutting him off. “Even if he doesn’t
want you as more than a friend, which I personally highly doubt from the way he
acts around you, you could do with an uninvolved friend right now, a third
party to talk things out with. I’m going to be frank with you: don’t push him
away because you hope for a dream which will never come true. Open your mind to
new experiences and new possibilities. I don’t know much about your past, but I
think I remember hearing from you once that you’ve never actually dated anyone,
only had hookups. This is the time to start! Learn!”
“I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m pushing Yoongi away,” he says finally
once he’s found the words, “when I’m not. If anything, I’m welcoming him with
open arms.”
Jin blinks. “Ah.”
“I know what’s best for me too, hyung,” he says tiredly. “I don’t need people
to tell me. I want Jimin to be happy. I really do. Even if that future isn’t
one which has me in it.”
Jin starts to look sad. “Oh, Tae.”
“I’ll get over Jimin,” he says, making to stand up. “As we do with all our
unrequited loves. You’re the oldest of all of us, hyung; you should know.”
Jin looks up at him for a long time. “Yes,” he says. “I do.”
“Even if it hurts,” Taehyung says, clenching his jaw, “it’s necessary. Like a
painful injection. Like—like—life.”
Jin nods. “You’re right.”
“Thank you for talking to me, Jin hyung,” he says, staring out the doorway
Yoongi disappeared through. “But I think I can take care of myself.”
He sprints out of the doorway, going in search of white blonde hair and a raspy
voice.
***** Chapter 25 *****
Chapter Notes
     Wowowow. This was written on a ton of bad decisions and
     unproductiveness so yayayay
     <3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The time absolutely fucking flies by.
Before Jimin knows it, his training comes to a frantic, desperate head, and
there’s suddenly talks of a comeback—the first comeback with Jimin in it. They
have to decide whether they want to write the song which will be used in a
music video themselves or whether they’d rather have someone else do it, and
when they all say yes, they actually have to write the song, which is harder
than it looks. On top of all of that, training is increased and so is the
pressure, their instructors picking at all their flaws like half-healed scabs.
It stretches all of them to their limit. They start eating out a lot more
because Jin is too tired to cook—his vaguely maternal air disappears under the
stress, and Jimin is struck about how they forget sometimes that he’s only a
few years older than them and he’s still a man, still a brother. Eating out
means hassle when they’re spotted by fans, which of course wears all their
patience thin in the ensuing chaos of trying to escape into the van unscathed
while security tries to fight its way through a crowd of girls five deep on
every side and only growing. Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok practically live in
the recording studio, messing around on the computers with different beats and
different songs, always the three to stay after everyone else is exhausted to
the bone and leaves. Sometimes Jimin is only eating breakfast when they come
back, eyes tired and drooping. But this is work, their work, and they would
have it no other way.
The vocals deal with things differently. Jimin notices that the house seems
decidedly less bright without Taehyung bouncing around it and Hoseok away at
the studio most of the time. In fact, it’s creepily silent without the distant
sound of Jin cooking, pots and pans and running water, and Hoseok screaming.
The only sound is Jungkook’s singing, which floats down the hallways and out
the windows at all times of the day like some kind of ghostly birdsong.
Jungkook loves singing. Jimin doesn’t know how he missed it before, but
Jungkook sings all the time—in the shower, in the van, even between bites at
mealtimes. He thinks this counts as both practice to steady his voice and also
the way Jimin whistles when he’s nervous.
None of the members mind, even if they’re all falling asleep and Jungkook is
belting out a song at full volume—it’s practically like listening to a radio by
this point, with Jungkook’s voice flawlessly even and steady, that no one
complains. Jimin likes falling asleep to it when the homesickness weighs too
heavily in his stomach and all there seems to be left in the world is his too-
large, empty room and Jungkook’s voice drifting down the corridor, lulling him
into dreams. Jungkook sings lullabies at night, so no one ever asks him to
stop. In the rises and dips of his breaths and flats, Jimin finds home.
Suddenly, with help from all of the members, the song is done. Namjoon when
he’s songwriting and rapping is different from Namjoon at other times—he’s
focused, clear, sharp, and he makes Jimin feel efficient and productive just by
being around him. They’re all so relieved when they’ve found a beat they think
they can dance to that the realizations of the music video still left to film
and the choreo still left to learn hit them like a wrecking ball.
They get used to the song. They learn it by heart. They’re all still writing
other songs to put on the new album, but it doesn’t have that frantic, panicked
urgency the first song of an album always has, when the thought of an entire
new album looms terrifyingly above them. They play it to their instructors, the
lyrics decided upon but the vocals for them not yet selected, and they help
them figure things out.
Jungkook gets a lot of the lines. It all boils down to the fact that his voice
is really well-suited for mostly anything you throw at him, and it isn’t
hogging lines if he’s always reliable and dependable. Jin gets about half,
something none of them take as condescension and something he almost insists
upon himself, saying that his voice isn’t nearly as steady yet. Taehyung gets
an amount somewhere between Jin and Jungkook. And Jimin, unsurprisingly, gets
all the high parts.
The members decided to be adventurous this time and write in as many high notes
as they thought they could get away with, just for the hell of it—nothing is
final yet. When they put Jimin behind the mic and asked him to show them his
vocal range, they looked impressed. He can get about half an octave higher than
Jungkook, their previous high note-singer—if it’s a good day, he can sometimes
stretch it to an octave.
Singing low parts sound strange for him. He can’t help the way his voice is
made—to be breathy and giggly, bubbling over the lines like a stream. Taehyung
is really much better suited to the low notes.
Jimin’s voice gets a whole lot deeper when he speaks in the Busan dialect. He’s
more comfortable in it, less anxious about making mistakes. Jungkook sometimes
refuses to talk to him unless he slips back into his satoori, not a hard task
considering Jungkook’s words are almost never free of the lilt and pitches of
their hometown. He tells Jimin that he likes knowing that someone else around
him shares his roots.
Jungkook lets Jimin hug him now. He’s not much of an initiator of hugs, but he
doesn’t mind receiving, and Jimin can roll with that. He’s always thought that
the way a person smells reveals a lot about them. Taehyung smells sweet,
something on the edge of gingerbread. Jin smells like spice and garlic or
whatever he’s cooking. Yoongi smells like something sharp and slightly bitter
with a snap to it. Jungkook…Jungkook smells like sunlight coming in through his
bedroom window and pooling on his blue bedsheets. Jungkook smells like
playground tiles baking in the heat of summer. Jungkook smells like comfort and
laziness, Sunday afternoons spent tossing a ball around in the garden and
getting dirt crusted deep under their fingernails when they fall onto the
ground to play. Jungkook smells like the pang in Jimin’s chest whenever he sees
him, the warmth which spreads out and into his fingertips and toes and makes
him feel like he could float away. Jungkook smells like…home, and everything
which has ever mattered to Jimin.
They fly through the choreo and music video filming. Jimin wakes up in the
middle of the night sometimes and finds his body practicing a complicated dance
move in front of the bathroom mirror. Taehyung and Yoongi grow closer behind
everyone’s backs like two sunflowers both reaching for each other’s light.
Jimin and Jungkook…are a thing, and they know it, but they have all the time in
the world—just not now. It never goes further than a few hurried kisses in the
morning before anyone is awake, when Jimin creeps into Jungkook’s room and
ambushes him.
Jungkook sleeps in only his boxers. Jimin cannot be blamed for straddling his
hips and leaning down to kiss him, delighting in the soft, slightly confused
murmurs Jungkook makes into his mouth as he wakes up to lips moving on his. But
he never pushes Jimin away. Sometimes he just lies back against the bed and
lets Jimin rub his nose into his jaw, his neck, his cheek, mouths close but
never quite getting there.
Jimin isn’t impatient. They have all the time anyone could want behind closed
doors, hidden from the world. So he never pushes Jungkook for anything racier
than a hand spread over his stomach and fingers gripping his hips loosely.
They’re slow and thorough and kind of lazy, and Jimin has absolutely no qualms
about his days being filled with soft lips and sunlight.
And then the music video is released. Almost immediately, it seems, they’re
hustled to Music Bank and Gayo Daejeon and so many other music shows to promote
that they lose count. They’re singing without their voices prerecorded, which
makes Jimin more nervous than he likes to let on, but Jungkook tells him that
the fans will forgive any mistakes he makes.
It’s actually…quite good. Jimin doesn’t forget his lyrics or mess up the
choreo. He flubs a line a bit, but he remembers it just in time. His voice
wavers only a little. To make him feel better afterward, Jin tells him the
story of how on their first stage, his pants were too loose and fell down with
the weight of the equipment. Jimin thinks he’ll die of laughter. Maybe all
idols are human, he thinks, looking around at the other members of Bangtan
flung in various states of laughter around the room, with Hoseok inexplicably
draped over a chair and Yoongi telling a story of the time one of them, no
names specified, got caught in traffic and really had to go and went in a
bottle. Or maybe it’s just these six.
It’s before something like their eleventh stage when Jungkook falls asleep
backstage, adept now at catching a few winks even while the bass of the girl
group performing onstage throbs through the walls. He shifts restlessly, and
Jimin leans against his side to steady him, talking with Taehyung about a song
they’ve both listened to. He stills, relaxed, and drops his head onto Jimin’s
shoulder.
He’s woken up by a stylist trying to put makeup on him without waking him up.
She apologizes, but he shoots her a sleepy smile.
He stands once she’s done with his eyeliner, stretching and yawning. Everyone
in the room stops talking for a moment, eyes fixed on him. He blinks groggily
around at them. “What?”
They return with a jerk back to their conversations, a little bit forced now.
The stylist noonas scuttle out of the room, mortified, hiding behind their bags
of makeup.
Jungkook looks at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Jungkook, as a friend, as someone who loves you, as someone who cares for you
and wants you to be happy,” Jimin begins, then pauses. “You’re hard.”
“What—” He looks down, then shoots his hands down to cover himself. “Oh. Oh,
shit.” He laughs shakily. “Well, this is—shit.”
“Does this happen very often?” He reaches for Jungkook, and he drops down
beside him on the couch, crossing his legs, a blush burning on his cheeks.
“Not since last year,” Yoongi calls from the other end of the room. “Maknae and
his hormones.”
“What were you dreaming of?” Jimin asks, rucking up Jungkook’s shirt so he can
draw patterns on his side.
“I—I mean—you know.” He shifts uncomfortably, shivering when Jimin’s fingertips
brush a spot between his ribs. “Wet dreams. They come and go.”
“Mostly come in your case,” Jimin says dryly, and Jin splutters out a laugh
from a few spaces down the couch. “How are you gonna perform like this,
Jungkookie?”
“I’ll manage.” He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. “Going onstage with blue
balls isn’t the best experience in the whole world, but I’ll manage.”
Jimin stays silent, letting his hand wander over to Jungkook’s belly
thoughtfully. He draws circles around his belly button, over and over again,
and looks around to check no one’s looking before tracing his faint happy trail
down and sliding just his fingertip beneath the waistband of his pants.
Jungkook jerks. “What are you doing?” Jimin can feel the heat from between
Jungkook’s legs radiating into his fingertips, and he knows all he has to do is
move an inch to touch him. But he doesn’t. He shifts so the motion is hidden
from everyone else in the room, letting his hand stay there like an invitation.
“Playing with you,” he says simply, and he brushes his fingertip lightly over
the head now. It comes away slick, coated with precome. Jungkook lets out a
stuttering gasp, hips shifting restlessly closer to his hand.
“Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish,” he warns as Jimin fondles
the head again, squeezing it just to feel it throb and spurt wetness onto his
fingers.
Jimin looks at him with a wicked smile.
~
“I can’t believe we’re doing this in a dressing room,” Jungkook says into his
mouth as he slams Jimin into the wall, kicking the door shut and reaching
behind him to lock it. The dressing room is dim without the light from the
hallway, piles of stray clothing and stage costumes littering the floor,
sequins and glitter glinting dully. They stumble over them, trying to find
somewhere to support themselves against, and end up lying on a relatively soft
pile of dresses made out of flowy cotton which makes Jimin arch his back when
they whisper against his spine.
“We’re probably getting—bodily fluids on SNSD’s outfits or something,” he goes
on as Jimin reaches down and undoes his zipper, cock twitching against the
backs of Jimin’s knuckles when his fingers rub against it through the fabric.
There’s heat pooling in Jungkook’s stomach, hot and irresistible, and Jungkook
grinds filthily up into his hand to try and relieve it, face buried in Jimin’s
shoulder.
“Who cares?” Jimin yanks his pants down his hips, Jungkook kicking them off his
ankles. “I love your boxers,” he says, cupping Jungkook’s bulge, making his
hips jerk into his hand.
“First my belly button,” he says, out of breath as Jimin toys with the
waistband as if he’s still making up his mind, “and now my boxers. It’s funny
how you ever find time to actually love me.”
Jimin laughs, tugging the boxers down. Jungkook’s fingers have been scrambling
to rid Jimin of his pants too, and he grinds eagerly up against him between his
legs, moaning at the heated, slick slide of skin on skin. Jimin guides his head
down to the crook of his neck, and he bites down, probably hard enough to leave
a bruise. Jimin gasps softly above him.
“Shit, I—I don’t have any lube,” he says, hips stuttering as the pit of his
stomach gives a disappointed throb.
“It’s okay, we can just—” Jimin looks at him, sweaty and desperate, hair mussed
and eyes wild. “Do you know what a 69 is?”
~
Jimin’s on top, knees spread on either side of Jungkook’s head, his head
bobbing between Jungkook’s legs. Jungkook has his eyes shut tight and his
entire body tensed as heat sears through him. The brush of Jimin’s hair against
his inner thighs is all that keeps him from losing himself entirely, just
enough of a distraction to ground him.
Jimin pulls off him, and he could nearly cry at the loss. “Jungkook,” he says,
“I don’t know whether you got the memo, but in a 69, both partners are meant to
be blowing each other. Or rimming, however you wanna do it.”
“Oh, right, sure—what would you rather have me do?” Jungkook stumbles over his
words nervously, hands tangled in Jimin’s hair around his ribcage.
Jimin hums thoughtfully. He still has his lips pressed to the side of
Jungkook’s cock, and the vibrations make him buck up reflexively. “Rim me,” he
says. “I like it more.”
The plus point of rimming Jimin is that, if he does it right, Jimin goes down
on him further. And he moans. Oh, God, he moans. Jungkook has enough self-
control to resist a line of naked belly dancers and hold back from eating fried
ice cream when it’s being waved in front of his face, but the one thing which
tears him apart is Jimin moaning when Jungkook’s cock is still stuffed deep
down his throat. His hips can’t stay still. They rise and jump against Jimin’s
mouth, sliding him in deeper, and Jungkook is so close to losing his mind when
Jimin pushes his hips back down. “Slow,” he says, dragging in a breath.
Jungkook could cry.
He wants Jimin to come before him, though, so he reaches around his hips to
jerk him off, fast and hard with rough tugs and twists of his hand the way
Jimin likes it. Jimin starts making these yelping whines around him, hardly
even sucking and more trying to swallow back spit around him, and Jungkook
officially Cannot Do It. He wasn’t placed on this earth to deny himself this
long, and if he holds back any longer he is actually going to break into a
million pieces of tension.
Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut when the head of his cock gets trapped
agonizingly tight between the flat of Jimin’s tongue and the roof of his mouth
when he swallows. He’s praying, he thinks, but he doesn’t think it’s anything
in particular, just a constant mantra of Oh God Oh God Oh God. Finally,
finally, Jimin comes, spurting his release in hot, sticky white strands all
over Jungkook’s chest, and Jungkook lets go.
He’s been pushing down his release for so long that when he lets it hit him, he
can actually physically feel himself cresting the wave and crashing down on the
other side into mind-blowing pleasure. Jimin isn’t trying to hold his hips down
anymore, just letting them jerk up convulsively and fuck into his mouth as
Jungkook presses moans into the soft skin of Jimin’s inner thighs. The tension
in his stomach was so tight and unbearable that the end of it feels like an
explosion.
They lie there, Jungkook’s cock softening in Jimin’s mouth as his body trembles
and shakes through the aftershocks, his fingers slowly relaxing and loosening
their grip on Jimin’s hips. Jimin reaches down to feel them. “I think you
bruised me,” he says reproachfully. He coughs. “And I’ll have a sore throat
tomorrow.”
Jungkook makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine, eyes staring at
the ceiling.
“Come on,” Jimin says, getting up slowly. Jungkook whimpers when his cock slips
out of his mouth. “We have to go onstage.”
He moves to stand, reaching for his clothes, but Jungkook grabs onto his arm.
He reaches up slowly, Jimin’s eyes shining dimly in the half-darkness of the
room, and thumbs at his cheekbone.
“What is it?” Jimin asks, a little confused, reaching up to cover Jungkook’s
hand with his.
“Nothing,” he says into the silence of the room, only the discarded outfits and
the world bearing witness. “Nothing at all.” And he lets Jimin go.
~
Taehyung can tell from one glance at them that Jimin and Jungkook have been
getting up to things which would probably make Mrs. Park cry.
They come back together from a suspiciously long time away, cheeks flushed and
lips swollen, eyes unfocused and dazed. They move the way you only can after
you come so hard you nearly forget your own name, like the world is languid and
beautiful around you and time will wait for your dreams and youth. They hurry
together out the door when their names are called for last-minute makeup, but
Taehyung catches the fleeting grasp of their hands when they tangle them
together like a promise before parting in the corridor.
He looks away .
It hurts less now, somehow, to see them both like that, together, together. The
pain of jealousy is still there, but it’s slight, more like a dull throb than a
conscious ache. Jin and Jimin were right—now he has Yoongi, it all feels
different. Taehyung begins to wonder what he was really jealous of—Jungkook for
having Jimin, or just what they had together, had created: their easy,
undemanding love.
Or…whatever the hell he has with Yoongi. He’s not quite sure. He suspects that
Yoongi has all the answers but is too lazy to share them.
Yoongi doesn’t talk to him about these things—he’s not much of a talker. But he
is much of a noticer, and he sees the downward droop of the corners of
Taehyung’s mouth. He wriggles closer and up against his side, pillowing his
head on Taehyung’s shoulder. The weight of his head resting there makes
Taehyung’s skin tingle as if he’s been handed a momentous responsibility.
He looks up from his phone and smiles one of his rare smiles, more gum than
teeth. Taehyung smiles gratefully back and leans back against him, soaking up
his warmth.
~
Back at the house, Jimin and Jungkook have condoms. And lube. They take their
time tumbling into Jungkook’s bedroom and shutting the door, pulling their
clothes off slowly, savoring the warmth of hands roaming over their skin and
lips pressed to each other’s throats. Somewhere between now and desperation,
they set aside the urgent fire which propelled them forward and made them
animals in their hunger. It’s not necessary now. It’s not called for. But they
can always find it again if the need arises.
However, that time is not now.
Jimin thinks that he’s addicted to the sounds Jungkook makes, the way his
eyelashes flutter, the way come drools out of his cock in trickles and spurts.
He’ll never get tired of blowing Jungkook. It gives him such a good view of
Jungkook slowly turning into a wreck above him, the telltale quiver of his
thighs, the milky whiteness of his come splattered on his own stomach. Jimin
licks it all off. The shiver Jungkook makes beneath his tongue is worth it.
They kiss more during sex than usual, having sex face-to-face so they can lean
together. Jimin’s always wondered at how ungraceful sex looks, sloppy and
disorganized with limbs sticking out all over the place, but Jungkook makes him
feel beautiful.
Jungkook’s favorite way to ride out his orgasms is to bury his face in Jimin’s
neck and bite down hard. Jimin doesn’t mind. Whenever he feels like he can’t do
something or he’s not enough, he reaches up and touches the bruise Jungkook
leaves, right over his jugular, red fading into blotchy purple. A talisman. A
reminder that he is wanted and he is loved.
Jimin’s preferred way to come is while grasping Jungkook’s biceps, watching the
muscle dip underneath his fingertips as he comes on both their stomachs. It’s
borderline kinky, but if there’s one thing Jimin respects, it’s kinks, and he
laps up the smirk Jungkook makes when he reaches down to draw his fingers
through the sticky white mess and push them back into Jimin’s mouth.
They kiss more afterwards, when their bodies are loose and pliant and all they
can do is wrap themselves around each other. It’s almost disgustingly vanilla.
But there’s nothing disgusting about happiness.
~
“I bet you and Jungkook are one of those disgustingly vanilla couples,”
Taehyung says a few weeks later, pointing his fork at Jimin sagely and nodding.
“What? Why?” Jimin says indignantly.
“I bet when you have sex you bend up to kiss each other,” he says, popping a
sausage into his mouth and biting the end off, “and I bet after sex you cuddle
and hug and hold each other tight like you’re never gonna let go. I bet you say
mushy things like I love you right when you’re about to come. I bet when you
look into his eyes you wanna drown in them.”
Jimin considers these statements and finds with much reluctance that they are
true.
“See,” Taehyung says with satisfaction, spooning scrambled eggs into his mouth.
“Taetae knows all.”
Jimin huffs. “Just because you and Yoongi are probably into some terrifying
hardcore BDSM shit doesn’t mean we can’t be vanilla.”
“Nah, me and Yoongi…” Taehyung looks down and pushes his eggs around his plate.
“We haven’t really…nah.”
“Wait, what?” Jimin sits up straight. “You haven’t lost it to him yet?”
“We’ve both had very sexual relationships in the past,” he says uncomfortably,
“and we feel like there are more than a few instances where the sex only hurt
us. So we’re taking it slow.”
“You and Yoongi, taking it slow?”
“Shut up,” Taehyung hisses. “They’ll hear.”
But Hoseok calls from the next room, “No point trying anymore, Taehyung. My
room is next to Jungkook’s and the sounds which come through the walls at night
are truly worthy of a high-end porn production.”
Jimin blushes. “Um.”
It’s been like this for the past week or so. Slowly but surely, Jimin and
Taehyung became best friends again, and now they will talk about anything and
everything, including that bad curry he ate at that Indian place last time
which made him explosively—
Jimin shudders. He stopped listening at that point.
Jungkook is his best friend, sure. But Jungkook is also a Best Friend He Fucks.
Jimin considers balance to be very important, so Taehyung’s role as the Best
Friend He Does Not Fuck is extremely crucial.
It started from a confession Jungkook made in bed one day, actually. They were
both lazy and satisfied after a round which was better than usual, and Jimin’s
already noticed that Jungkook opens up like a flower after sex. Jungkook was
staring at the ceiling, hands tucked behind his head, when he said offhandedly,
“You know, my first experience with a guy was with Taehyung.”
Jimin sat up straight. “Wait. What?”
“Yeah, at the swings. In the grass.”
“How in the world did you not deem fit to tell me this earlier?”
“I don’t know, I…I asked Taehyung not to tell you when it happened. This was
right after I’d found out about your dancing—when I was still with Suwon and
you and Taehyung were still FWB. You pushed me away and I didn’t know who to
blame, so for some reason I blamed Tae, of all people. I went off at him in
school—he led me to the swings and I basically yelled at him super-dickily,
saying stuff like he was a bad influence on you and I wanted him to stop seeing
you. He was super cool about it, but.” He shifts and hesitates. “Right when I
was so mad I could have punched someone, he went, ‘I think you’re jealous.’”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, yeah. So he was like, ‘I think you’re jealous because you want Jimin for
yourself.’ Obviously, this was true, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it so I
told him I wasn’t gay. And he said ‘there’s a way to test that’ and one thing
led to another, and the next thing I knew he was kissing me in the grass with a
hand down my pants and I came from a fucking handjob.”
“So we actually—we actually share our firsts?” Jimin asked, gaping.
“Not…technically.” He glanced at him. “My first was still Suwon, and that thing
with Tae wasn’t even really serious; it was just messing around and I don’t
think he even intended for me to come. But if you mean first experience with a
guy, then yes, we share our firsts.”
“But this is crazy.” Jimin leaned over him. “This is crazy! So that’s how you
realized you were bi? With Tae?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said.
Jimin just had to talk to Taehyung about it later, of course, FWB-turned-
unrequited-feelings aside.
“Taetae!” he called, diving into the couch next to him and jolting his book out
of hands. He reached down to pick it up, blinking at Jimin from behind his
round, circular glasses. “You never told me that you gave Jungkook a handjob!”
The other members in the room groaned and shuffled out, used by now to their
very loud and very detailed conversations. Yoongi ruffled Taehyung’s hair as he
went out. Taehyung reached behind himself and caught Yoongi’s pale hand, just
for a moment, not even having to look at where it was to find it. They stayed
there for a moment, and then their hands slipped out of each other’s and Yoongi
left.
“So Jungkook finally decided to tell you?” he asked, putting down his book. “I
was wondering when he’d get around to doing it.”
“I can’t believe you jerked him off like that and you never told me!” Jimin
exclaimed.
“Well, he asked me not to tell and I thought maybe he wasn’t ready. But I knew
he’d do it someday, and he did.”
“Why did you do it, though?” Jimin asked him. “You didn’t even know him.”
“Here’s the funny thing.” Taehyung pushed his glasses up the bridge of his
nose. “Remember that speech on LGBTQ+ rights you gave on your grandparents’
farm in Daegu when I called you an LBGTQ+ spokesperson and talked to you about
the rainbow-colored future? About the gay rights movement picking up speed and
showing even straight people that they shouldn’t feel afraid to be openly,
unabashedly themselves?”
“Yeah.” Jimin remembers how he viewed Taehyung then, as an odd,
overenthusiastic phantom who dared him to rethink everything he thought about
himself and forced the horizons of his world to expand.
“That prompted me to do it. See, I knew Jungkook liked guys. It was very
obvious he was pining after you. He was going all red in the face and being a
huge dick, but I can forgive jealousy.” Taehyung pauses. “He also had an actual
huge dick, so that helped.”
“Tae—!”
“Okay, okay. So I was thinking, I can make this guy see what he’s denying to
himself so easily, but why should I do it for such an asshole? But then I
remembered you and what you said and that whole speech you made, and I thought,
Where’s the harm in bringing one more bi person into the world?” Taehyung
spreads his arms proudly, beaming with pride. “So I got to kissing him and I
never even really planned to jerk him off, but, um. Things happened.”
“What kind of things?”
“Things like: he got hard and I could feel his hard-on pressing into my thigh,
and I told myself, Tae, sonny, you are not leaving this place without touching
that dick. Also, did I mention he has a huge dick?”
“Taehyung, I think there is no one in the world who knows that better than me.”
“Right, yeah. And Jungkook is actually quite hot, if, um, you haven’t noticed.
I didn’t fall in love with him or anything, but he was very hot and very
insistent so I stuck my hands down his pants and he was suddenly coming so hard
he couldn’t see for a while.”
There is a brief silence while Jimin looks at Taehyung’s long-fingered hands
and contemplates about how intimately they have known his boyfriend’s dick.
“Wow,” he says. “I never imagined how un-weird it would be to be talking to
someone who’s jerked my boyfriend off.”
“I know, right? Our friendship must be really great. This doesn’t even feel
strange.”
“I think Jungkook would be very creeped out if he knew we were talking about
his dick right now.”
“It’s weird, though, isn’t it?” Taehyung shifted his legs and pulled them under
him on the couch, curling his fingers over the ends of his too-long sweater
sleeves. “If I hadn’t met you and Jungkook, you two might never have realized
you like guys. You’d never have gotten together. Even if I’d gotten homophobic
vibes from you that day on the farm and hadn’t let on that I was gay, you
wouldn’t have said that speech and I wouldn’t have jerked Jungkook off and
Jungkook might still think he’s straight.”
“It’s strange how much you’re involved and tangled up in our lives,” Jimin
says. “If I’d never met you, things would be so different.”
“Yeah. If I’d never jerked Jungkook off, he’d never have gotten together with
you, and who knows? We might still be FWB.” He smiled a bitter sort of smile.
“Funny how I trip myself up sometimes.”
This all runs through Jimin’s head as he looks at Taehyung now. The last
sentence really gets to him, and he knows this is probably going to be
unpleasant and awkward, but he has to talk to him about it.
“Tae…” he begins, and Taehyung lifts his head from his ham, fork and knife
still poised. “Do you…still have feelings for me? And stuff?”
Taehyung blinks slowly and puts down his fork and knife. “No,” he says
eventually, carefully. “Even if I do have any residual stubborn ones, they’re
going soon.”
“Oh.” Jimin releases a relieved breath. “Oh, that’s good to hear. What made it
happen?”
“Yoongi,” he says. “Definitely Yoongi. It helped me realize how much I was
missing out on life pining over someone who’s already happily in love with
someone else. I thought you were the one, you know? But I realized that you
don’t always have to have a single one. You can have as many as you need before
someone realizes that you’re their one too. And, well.” He looks sheepish. “I
found that.”
“Aww, Taetae,” Jimin croons, pinching his cheeks. “So cute.”
He shrugs. “The FWB life is far behind me. And I can’t really blame you for
choosing Jungkook over me, I mean—Jungkook is hot, gotta give him credit for
that. And he does have a huge dick. And if the sounds which wake me up at three
in the morning are anything to go by, you have extremely bomb sex.”
Jimin covers his face, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’ll talk to Jin
about getting Jungkook’s room soundproofed or something, or maybe me and
Jungkook can work on being quieter.”
“No, don’t let me rob the joy from your sex life. Sex is always better with
moans. Trust me.” He waves his hand wisely. “It’s fine. I’ve gotten over you,
don’t worry. I’ve learned two important lessons from it all.” He pauses.
“Lesson one: do not fall in love with your FWB.”
“What’s the second?” Jimin asks, curious.
“Lesson two: Min Yoongi actually kisses quite well although his lips are
thinner than Jin’s patience when he can’t find a recipe.”
Jimin winces. “Wow, okay, way to drop that on me.”
“If you’re gonna be sharing all the disgusting details about your disgustingly
vanilla sex life, Jimin, all I can do is reciprocate.”
“Ugh.” Jimin swats him on the arm. “Seriously, though. No hard feelings? No
feelings at all?”
“No feelings at all except good ol’ brotherly love,” Taehyung says in a goofy
American-accented voice, and Jimin laughs. “100% approved by Jesus.”
“Do you think we should have one last kiss, though?” Jimin leans forward in
earnest when Taehyung balks. “One for the road. One for the memories.”
Taehyung looks at him for a while. “Okay. Okay, sure.”
They lean forward at the same time. At this point, it’s natural, and they both
know to tilt their heads left. Taehyung still tastes like something sweet
underneath the eggs and ham. Something purer and better than Jimin, for all the
sin Taehyung insists he’s committed. His hair when Jimin runs his fingers
through it is soft, quietly beckoning.
Jimin pulls away with the soft sound of their lips disconnecting. They look at
each other for a while, lips parted, and neither of them admit it, but they
both wonder for a brief moment what could have happened if things had turned
out differently.
Then Taehyung punches Jimin on the arm, breaking the moment. Jimin laughs and
pushes him back. He stands and leaves Taehyung to his breakfast, ruffling his
hair as he leaves.
Taehyung spoons eggs into his mouth, for once not feeling the heaviness which
used to occupy the pit of his stomach. He smiles belatedly as he realizes what
he is.
He’s free.
Chapter End Notes
     :')
***** Chapter 26 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Jungkook and Jimin feel kind of bad for keeping the house up all night.
But, you know, not too bad. Because Taehyung and Yoongi have decided that
they’ve taken it slow for long enough, and Yoongi’s room is only two doors away
from Jungkook’s. The creaking of the bedframe and ominous slaps if they haven’t
seen each other for a while float down the hallways at night like some haunting
phantom of sound. Hoseok has taken to sleeping at the dinner table. A while
later, Namjoon joins him. Jin now sleeps with pink, furry earmuffs to block out
the noise.
In the mornings, Namjoon and Hoseok show up for breakfast with dark circles
smudged under their eyes and beg Jin to invest the extra money into
soundproofing those two rooms. “It’s like they don’t even close the door,”
Hoseok moans, eyes dark and terrified with memory. “Even if I manage to fall
asleep, I hear the sounds in my nightmares. Once I dreamt I was walking through
a land of candy and then I found them having a massive foursome on a
marshmallow bed.”
“That sounds like a lie, Hoseok,” Jin says patiently, flipping sunny-sides-up
in a pan. “A fabrication. An untruth.”
“Okay, maybe that was stretching it. But it’s terrible. We can’t all have furry
earmuffs to block out the noise.”
Jimin spoons cereal into his mouth peacefully, humming, the deep-seated, warm
satiation of getting laid every night thrumming through his bones.
“You even hear it out in the garden,” Namjoon says, staring into the dregs of
his orange juice. “I tried sleeping there once—and this was in the middle of
winter, that was how bad it was. I’m pretty sure you can still hear the sounds
if you stand at the end of the street. We’re going to get sued by the parents
with small kids in the neighborhood soon if we don’t do something.”
Jin sighs. “Okay, fine.” He lifts the pan off the stovetop. “I’ll bring some
guys in to do it. Gosh.”
And so their rooms are soundproofed. Jimin and Jungkook are very pleased by
this. They have a feeling that Hoseok and Namjoon would fling themselves off
the roof if they learned that Jimin and Jungkook were holding back before.
Unfortunately, Taehyung and Yoongi once accidentally leave the door open. Most
of them are already asleep by then, so it’s not as bad. Namjoon comes down to
breakfast the day after, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
“I had such a strange dream last night,” he says. “I dreamt that we were all in
olden England and we had to ride in carriages. Like, there were carriages
everywhere. The sounds of the riding crops and whips were so real. And I could
even hear the reins being pulled on as if something somewhere was really
pulling at restraints.” He frowns. “And then there was this weird part where
Taehyung and Yoongi got run over by carriages. They were lying on the ground
and moaning in pain and it was so gruesome with blood and gore and all.”
Taehyung and Yoongi exchange guilty looks. Hoseok, who was unfortunately not
yet asleep by then, silently stands up, dumps his toast on Jin’s plate, and
proceeds to the bathroom to throw up.
“I felt like throwing up too,” Namjoon says sympathetically, watching him go.
“There was a horse eating their intestines who kept begging for more.”
~
Jungkook bottoms once.
He just wants to know what it feels like. “I feel weird not knowing what all
the hype is about,” he says, eyeing Jimin suspiciously. “And for your
information, there’s no need to look so happy about it.”
Jimin presses his lips together, shutting down his smile. “You finger yourself,
right?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says, digging through his pile of clothes for the lube.
They’re already bare from the night before. Jimin props himself up on one elbow
to watch the muscles in Jungkook’s back ripple as he bends over.
“I’m so glad that we’re at that intimate stage where we can discuss our private
hanky-panky without embarrassment,” Jimin says offhandedly as Jungkook
straightens up.
“I think we passed that stage around the time I gave you a striptease and
fucked myself on my own fingers in your lap,” Jungkook says, crossing the room
to the bed with the bottle of lube in hand.
“True.” Jimin shifts to make space for him. “You want me to prep you or you can
prep yourself?”
“I can prep myself.” Jungkook leans down, smiling, and they kiss for a while,
the slick sounds of Jungkook’s fingers sliding into his body filtering into the
back of Jimin’s mind. Jimin bites his lip gently, still reluctant to bite
harder than that after all this time. He’ll never be able to suppress the
twinge of guilt he feels when he wakes up and sees a bruise on Jungkook’s neck.
Jungkook has no such qualms. Jimin doesn’t think his own skin has gone unmarked
for weeks now.
Jimin’s forgotten what it feels like to top—the tight, tight pressure building
in his lower stomach, the unimaginable heat. The feeling of a body writhing
underneath him, clutching at his waist just to stay sane. Jungkook is a
wonderful bottom. His moans ring out through the now-soundproofed bedroom,
nails scoring Jimin’s back as his thighs are pushed back over his shoulders,
and when he comes he makes a mess all over his own stomach. Jimin pulls out and
leans down to lick it off. Jungkook likes the sensation more than he’d admit.
Jimin can tell from the shudders still wracking through his body even after the
aftershocks have passed, the way he glances at him from under his lashes
timidly and his cock twitches restlessly over his stomach like he still wants
more.
“You two had fun, I see,” Yoongi says dryly when they walk down to breakfast
together, cheeks flushed and lips swollen.
“Says the one who gave Namjoon dreams about horse riding,” Jungkook retorts,
and Taehyung ducks his head down and blushes.
Namjoon looks up, blinking. “Wait, what?”
“Nothing,” Jin says sweetly, distracting him with another slice of french
toast.
~
“What do you want to be in ten years, Jungkook?”
Jungkook casts a glance at him. They’re sitting on the balcony of the house
again, knees drawn up to their chests and arms slung around their legs. It’s a
small doorway and it’s nighttime, the chilly wind blowing through their clothes
and cutting through to their skin, so their sides are pressed together for
warmth. Jimin would rest his head on Jungkook’s shoulder, but he knows that
that sort of affection makes Jungkook uncomfortable.
He calls it rom-com affection. He’s fine with shoulder pats and he’s fine with
hugs and he’s fine with Jimin going down on him backstage three minutes before
they’re due to perform, but he cringes away from anything which could be found
on KBS with Lee Minho in it.
Jungkook’s body is loose and relaxed, though, and Jimin knows enough about him
to see the way his eyelids droop the tiniest bit from sleepiness. Jungkook
sleepy is a little bit like Jungkook drunk. Jungkook drunk is a rare occurrence
which Jimin has only witnessed himself once on the fateful night of The
Confession; he knows Jungkook doesn’t like drinking because it loosens him up
and turns him into someone more prone to spilling out his secrets.
Jungkook is one of those people who’ll always have secrets however well you
know them. Jimin is used to it. He doesn’t want to crawl inside Jungkook’s body
and lie alongside his bones or whatever the romance novels say. He just wants
to be beside him, and he has that.
“I want to be, um,” Jungkook says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t
know. A tattooist?”
Jimin shoots a surprised look at him. “Wait, really?”
“Or…or the owner of a duck meat restaurant,” he says decisively.
“Don’t you think you’re still gonna be an idol by then?” Jimin shifts, pressing
closer against Jungkook as the wind intensifies, and Jungkook leans into him
unconsciously.
“Nah…nah, I dunno. I’ll be thirty, and I’ll be the youngest along with you and
Tae. Jin hyung will be thirty-five. No one will wanna listen to us anymore.”
This makes Jimin’s heart pang. “People will never stop wanting to listen to
you, Jungkook.”
He shrugs. “Either that or I won’t wanna be an idol anymore. Being in the
public eye all the time is stressful. I can’t even live a normal life. I missed
most of my teenage years practicing as an idol—I’ve never been to a nightclub,
and if the group hasn’t disbanded by the time I’m thirty, I’ll be too old to do
all the youngster things everyone does.” He chews his lip. “Even if we fade
out, I think that by that time I won’t mind.”
“I still wanna be singing,” Jimin says, staring out at the unwaveringly
watchful neon lights of the city. “I think the rest of Bangtan will too.”
“Not Tae,” Jungkook says. “Tae has it all planned out. He’s gonna have two
kids, a son and a daughter, the son named Taekwon and the girl named Taeguk,
and he’s gonna bring them to the zoo and feed the pigeons shrimp crackers.”
“Detailed. Do you think he’ll find himself a wife?”
“Maybe. I don’t know why, but I feel like she’ll be this tiny little woman who
follows Taehyung around and scolds him for being weird but really, really loves
him.” Jimin hums in agreement. Jungkook opens his mouth, then something Jimin
said seems to catch up to him. “Wait, you don’t think he and Yoongi will last?”
Jimin bites the inside of his cheek. “I mean—we’re young. We change our minds.
Maybe they’ll last and become some epic love story, or maybe they’ll part ways
and each find their own forevers. I’m not sure what Yoongi is—maybe pansexual,
I dunno. I know Tae is bi. He’s still got his whole life ahead of him, and it’s
not like there’s a particular shortage of girls who want to spend their lives
with him. I don’t think you can walk five feet down any street in Seoul without
meeting someone who’s Taehyung-biased.” Jimin fixes him with a beady gaze. “I
don’t think you can walk three feet down any street in Seoul without meeting
some who’s you-biased.”
“What can I say? I’m irresistible.”
Jimin hits him. “Shut up. You don’t have a good face for dramas.”
“Yeah, Jin hyung has that covered.” Jungkook rearranges his arms with a rustle
of cloth. “It’s weird. I can’t really imagine living as an adult without being
part of BTS. When I became a trainee, I was still a—I was still a child. We
were still children.”
“I like to think we fit a lot of living into that time that we were children,
though.”
“Yeah, but—” Jungkook makes a frustrated huff. “I wanna do all that sleazy
stuff teenagers do. I wanna get so drunk that my hangover feels like it’s
killing me. I wanna smoke weed and do something truly stupid. I wanna—I wanna
go to a strip club and stuff money down some stranger’s pants.”
Jimin reciprocates his huff. “Well, if you wanna be that way—”
“No, no, not that last part.” Jungkook looks at him. “But—do you think we’ll
still last in ten years? We’ll still be together, I mean?”
Jimin sighs. “I don’t know. I like to think that we’ll never fall apart, but I
know life has other ideas. Like Tae and his grandma. He was always talking
about her, about how she lived every second of life like an adventure, and then
she…died. And it wrecked him.”
“Yeah, it did. That was…hard to witness.”
A moment of silence.
“It feels like forever now, Jungkook,” Jimin says eventually. “But this is
really just a chunk of our individual long, unpredictable lifetimes which fate
has decided we spend together.”
Jungkook’s teeth dig into his lip. “I don’t think I’ll know what to do
without—without you.” Jimin can feel him dying inside at the cheesy words. “I
imagine myself kind of lost. Like just looking at the life I have on my hands
and not knowing what to do about it.” He looks at him. “Do you?”
Jimin hesitates.
“You can be honest,” Jungkook says, but his face falls the tiniest bit.
“Living without you for those years taught me how to be independent,” he
finally says. “It isn’t as hard as it looks from the outside. I mean, yes, I
was lonely, and yes, I was confused and upset because I didn’t know what I’d
done to you to make you do that to me, but at least I had—one friend. Tae. And
my dancing was doing well and all, I guess.”
When he casts a look at Jungkook, Jungkook looks guilty.
“Oi.” Jimin nudges him. “If you keep chewing your lip like that one day it’ll
fall right off.”
“Bullshit,” he says easily, but he stops. “Are we gonna be forever, Jimin? Are
we even gonna try? Or are we just going to let what happens happen?”
“We can still fight it,” Jimin says, the roar of a motorcycle speeding by on
the road below momentarily drowning out his words. “Even if life throws all the
shit its got at us, it can’t stop us from trying.”
“Yeah.” Jimin will always feel like his stomach’s dropped to his toes with the
way Jungkook looks at him now, like he’s been searching for the world’s secrets
all his life and he’s finally found them in Jimin. “Yeah. It can’t.”
They look unblinkingly at each other for a while.
And then Jungkook stands up and offers his hand. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting
chilly.”
Jimin looks at his hand. He looks at him. He nods, taking the hand and using it
to pull himself up. He doesn’t need the support, but the point is that he
accepted it.
They walk inside together, hips bumping as they try to walk closer than they
can.
~
“Happy birthday!”
Jimin stumbles back as the solid wall of sound meets him the second he opens
the door. “Jesus in a buttercup!”
Someone splutters out a laugh. “Did he just say ‘Jesus in a buttercup’?”
“Jimin,” Jin says, swooping down upon him. He’s wearing a pink party hat with
the elastic band strapped below his chin. He takes Jimin’s elbow and guides him
into the room. “Jimin, it’s your birthday! Surprise!”
“What?” Jimin blinks around at the members of Bangtan, disoriented. They’ve
reduced the room to chaos in the way only they can. Hoseok is standing on the
dining table, Taehyung is throwing confetti into the air and cackling while
standing on the couch, and Namjoon is doing a strange undulating spider-dance
by himself in the corner. Yoongi blinks groggily and appears to be trying to go
to sleep while Taehyung leaps up and down a few inches from his head. “I
thought you sent me out to buy groceries. What is this?”
“Your birthday!” Hoseok screams, waving his arms enthusiastically. He grabs a
handful of confetti from Taehyung and throws it into the air. Most of it lands
on Yoongi, who regards him balefully as flakes of confetti settle gently in his
black hair. “Oops. Sorry.”
“Where’s Jungkook?” Jimin asks, as always searching for the only person who can
make him truly feel at ease, looking around the room and failing to spot the
head of dark hair and doe eyes.
“Wait for it,” Jin says, watching the kitchen doorway.
A moment later, Jungkook walks out bearing a cake on one of those shiny golden
cardboard circles. It’s pretty much everything Jimin isn’t allowed to
eat—mountains of cream with chocolate poured on top and ice cream melting
between the candles. He turns away from it with some effort, his stomach
screaming piteously for the carbs and unnecessary sugar. “You know we can’t eat
this,” he says to Jin.
“Today we can,” Jin sings. “Because a certain someone managed to secure a deal
with PD-nim and our instructors to let us eat this mountain of cream and fat.”
Jimin blinks. “Tae?” he asks eventually, guessing the kindest member, but Tae
is caught up in trying to scrape confetti out of the air conditioner vent
without Jin noticing and doesn’t hear him.
“I am heartbroken by your lack of faith in me,” Jungkook says, carefully
putting the cake down on the dining table. He calmly picks up a newspaper,
rolls it up, and whacks at Hoseok’s legs until he gets off with a petulant
whine. The wood creaks in relief.
“Oh!” Jimin says, surprised. “You!”
“Yes, me,” Jungkook says. “Do you know how forbidding PD-nim can look
sometimes? It’s very forbidding. It’s scary.”
“Thank you,” Jimin says, flinging himself at Jungkook and hugging him tight. He
squeezes as hard as he can.
“Ow,” Jungkook says after a while. “Your knee is in my balls.”
“Sorry.” He disentangles himself and beams at Jungkook. “Thank you.”
Jungkook’s face softens. “Anything,” he says, in the moment of ill-judgment
seemingly not caring that these are lines perfectly worthy of one of his hated
romantic dramas. “For you.”
~
There’s a special concert being held in Jimin’s honor.
He doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t think he’s all that important, but the
company insists and the members insist and the cake, sitting securely and
sinfully in Jimin’s previously deprived stomach, seems to insist too. So Jimin
just lets the wave of excitement and tickets and hairspray pick him up and
carry him to…
Gocheok Dome.
It’s majestic. Even when they arrive there for the rehearsal, the moment Jimin
claps eyes on it, he wants to cry. He’s watched baseball being played here on
his TV as a kid. He’s passed it on the street and pressed his face to the
window to watch it loom on the horizon. He never imagined for a moment that
he’d actually perform here one day, in front of fans, in front of people who
want to and pay to and come just to see him. And all in his honor.
He really is crying, shit. It’s the actual day of the concert now and he can
hear the fans screaming in the audience, and he’s doing that funny Kardashian
face you make when your makeup is perfect and you don’t want to ruin it with
tears.
Hoseok comes and pats him on the head like a dog. Jimin sniffs and grasps his
fingers speechlessly, and Hoseok smiles in his wordless language of delight.
They walk onstage. They perform a few songs, and then there’s a bit of talking
for a while when Jimin greets the fans, relieved to be able to speak in his
native Korean instead of awkward, stilted English or Mandarin or through a
translator, and they scream answers back at him.
Jimin sits next to Jungkook. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his hand with
the hand not holding his mic until he absentmindedly raises it towards his lips
to kiss the roughened knuckles and the fans go crazy.
He drops Jungkook’s hand like a hot coal, and their widened eyes meet over
their respective mics. That was close. He doesn’t think a gesture small enough
to be unconscious could give it, could give them away, but you can never be too
careful.
After that, the fans want a lot of things—Jimin is feeling generous and they
have a lot of time, so their managers help walk through the crowd and take
requests. They want Jimin and Jungkook to speak in their Busan dialect, which
they do, and the exchange quickly devolves into all the members speaking in
their respective dialects until it sounds like a wet market where merchants
from all over Korea decided to converge. They want Jimin to show skinship to
all the members, meaning tight hugs for all of them even though Yoongi grumbles
a little through it. One girl wants the members to have a pushup competition.
Jungkook aces it, as usual, achieving more than 50 in a minute (Jimin does not
even know how) and Jin comes next. The cake seems to be weighing especially
heavy in Jimin’s stomach even though it was digested a long time ago, so he
struggles into third, closely tying with Taehyung. Hoseok grabs fourth with a
victorious whoop. Yoongi doesn’t even start, standing off to the side with his
arms crossed and an amused smile which turns fond when it’s Taehyung’s turn,
and Namjoon laughs and shakes his head.
“What member do you feel closest to?” a boy near the back of the stadium asks.
He sounds young. Jimin always likes their male fans. They’re kind of a rarity,
and it’s like a breath of fresh air to see someone without breasts and long
hair waiting in the line to enter fan meets and concerts.
“That would have to be…” Jimin swivels in his chair to look slowly around at
the other members. “Don’t get me wrong, I love all the members, but…”
He sneaks a glance at Taehyung. He is glad to see that Taehyung’s smile is
genuine, encouraging even, and Taehyung knows him enough to catch him checking.
It’s okay, he seems to say with his laughing eyes. Be honest. I won’t hold you
back anymore.
Jimin gives him the tiniest of nods. Thank you.
“…that would have to be Jungkookie,” he finishes, turning his attention on
Jungkook. “We have…a lot of history together. We’ve been best friends for a
long time. We’ve had our rough patches, but I like to think that that made us
stronger together.” He smiles, stretched a little further than it should with
the undercurrent of all the things going unsaid. Friends. “I think…what we have
is something which takes years to create. And I can’t wait for a lifetime
together to see what it’ll grow into.”
The fans wail at this. Jimin looks down at his feet, shy, but Jungkook nudges
him with an elbow so they can share a secret smile.
“What does Jungkook think?” a fan screams out from the front row.
Jungkook takes the mic slowly from Jimin’s outstretched hand. “Jimin…will
always be one of the most important people in my life,” he says hesitantly. In
the bright glare of the studio lights as well as projected on the massive
screens on either side of them, Jungkook’s face is the focus of everyone in the
stadium, every feature tailored to perfection. But Jimin sees the parts the
fans and cameras don’t catch. The slight spatter of blemishes over his cheeks.
The way his lip has been overlined to account for the slight asymmetry of them.
The way his eyeliner has smudged with sweat and he’s wiped it surreptitiously
away on his sleeve to reduce the damage. All the little things which tell
Jimin, yes, he’s looking at an idol, but he’s looking at a human too. A human
which can love and hurt and cry just like any other.
“It’s true what he said—it takes years of friendship to build what we have
between us now,” Jungkook goes on. He swivels in his chair to face Jimin. Jimin
doesn’t have to; he’s been facing Jungkook the whole concert long. “I’m so glad
I have an opportunity to continue our friendship and that life hasn’t separated
us. You’re…special, and you will always be special to me. You’ll always be the
brightest star in the sky and the easiest face to find in a crowd.”
Looking at Jungkook, Jimin feels like he’s invincible. Like he can’t be hurt
anymore with someone like Jungkook protecting him. He knows what it is, and he
knows, now, why it felt like a slow, torturous death when he didn’t have
Jungkook: Jungkook is everything to him. The fact that he hurt Jimin so badly
only shows how much he matters to him. Jungkook is his life and Jungkook is his
death and Jungkook is his home.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” Jungkook’s lips part, and he takes a quiet
breath which the mic doesn’t pick up. Their lives, their worlds, their hearts
are built around things too small and monumental for microphones and cameras to
pick up. “I guess what I’m trying to say is,” he says, eyes looking at Jimin
with the certainty of a lost traveller finding home and the love of galaxies,
“you define me, Park Jimin.”
Jimin bites the inside of his cheek hard to hold back tears while in front of
them, the stadium of fans roars its hungry approval.
Chapter End Notes
     Ah, there it is—the ever-sought-after green tick of a dfinished fic.
     This fic was a journey. I gave you all virtually no warning—that's a
     really bad habit I picked up—and I haven't updated for two days, and
     I'm sorry. But the point is that this is done. And I hope you learned
     as much from it as I did.
     I love you all. Thank you.
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