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katrinawritesthings · 2 years

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minkey/jongtae; b-side; PG-13

Picture this. You're key and you have a boring office job and you are trying to flirt with your cute secretary and have a nice casual vanilla office romance love story except your absolute Gremlin of a witness protection client keeps cockblocking you by calling you and telling you that not only did someone from his past recognize him but it was his ex boyfriend and now they're fucking again and on top of that he keeps bothering you to tell him about your crush that he keeps cockblocking you from

While he waits for the papers to print he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and frowning at the machine. Taemin is mumbling sad little words into the phone, sad little words about how lonely he is. Kibum feels a pang of guilt in his chest. He doesn't deserve this bullshit. He casts his mind around for something to distract Taemin. He casts his eyes around with it and glances out of his office window just in time to see adorable Minho glancing in. Minho notices him noticing and quickly looks away, pretending to be very invested in his work, and Kibum smiles. He's so. Cute. Then he frowns. He sounds like someone that likes tall boys, Taemin was saying to him. He hates that. He hates that Taemin has formulated an opinion about him and the kind of boys that he likes just from their mostly one-sided phone conversations. He puffs up his lips, then un puffs them because he doesn't want Taemin to hear that he's pouting. “He's not even that tall,” he says.

The handsome secretary that sits at the desk positioned neatly between Kibum’s office and three others smiles at Kibum as he steps out of the elevator. Kibum smiles back because he knows that handsome Minho doesn't smile at any of the other three when they show up to work. He knows this because he's watched from his office window. He knows that he's the only one that Minho smiles at and he also knows that he's the only one that Minho steals glances at through the day.

He smiles his best coy little flirty smile, one that says 97% “Hello fellow workplace acquaintance it's nice to see you” and 3% “It would be nice to suck your dick sometime in the future.” One with just the tiniest hint of a flirt, just so that handsome Minho will kind of feel like he's interested but won't be sure.

“Afternoon, Kibum,” Minho says and his voice is just. So deep and rich and warm and kind and lovely that Kibum feels it in his heart. He walks up to the desk, resting his hand on it, tapping his fingernails lightly but loud enough to click audibly as he smiles down at the secretary. Like always, Minho's eyes glance down to his nails, his fingers, his big hands. Minho likes his big hands. That's another thing that Kibum knows.

“Hey,” he says, polite and friendly and interested, turning his body so his chest presses up against the edge of the desk, leaning forward a little bit. He props his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hand, his other hand still clicking away on the surface. He makes sure to smile in just the right way that his eyes almost turn into little crescents, almost makes his dimples stand out. “Did you catch the Puppy Bowl last night?” he asks.

“Of course,” Handsome Minho says. He leans forward too, eagerly, fingers twirling a pen casually on his desk. “the little spaniel with The brown ears?” he prompts, and Kibum immediately melts at the memory. This time, he lets his smile turn his eyes into crescents and divot his cheek, just so Minho knows that it was because of something that he said.

“Adorable,” he agrees. “and those two little toy poodles that wouldn't leave each other alone? My favorites. And--your team won the big game after, right?” he asks. He's pretty sure that they did. He didn't actually watch the game - - he can't stand sportsball-- but he did make sure to check the scores after for Handsome Minho’s favorite team. He needs to take at least some interest in Minho’s hobbies if he wants to keep flirting with him everyday and actually get it to lead somewhere.

“Yeah, they did, they--” Handsome Minho starts, but they're interrupted by the muffled sound of a ringing. While Minho looks at the phone on his desk, confused, Kibum looks up and around at his office window. The light on the phone on his own desk is on. Sighing quietly, Kibum hikes the strap of his bag more up over his shoulder.

“That’s me,” he says, walking to his office door and pulling out his keys as he goes. Handsome Minho gives him a smile, a little disappointed, mostly understanding and supportive, and waves quietly.

Jamming his key into his door, Kibum shoulders it open and kicks it shut behind him. He barely just got in; according to his clock, his shift officially started a whole two minutes ago. He doesn't know which one is calling him but he does know that it better be important. Someone better be, like, dying or something.

He dumps his bag on the floor, grabs the phone, sandwiches it between his face and his shoulder, and slumps down into his chair; he wiggles his computer mouse with his other hand so the screen saver will go away and he can pull up the client file. Before he can even open the program, they start whining into his ear and he figures it out immediately.

“Hello, this is Kibum, Department of--”

“Kibummie, I'm miserable,” is the slurred groan that comes from the speaker. “I'm miserable and lonely and everything sucks, Kibummie.”

“Taemin,” Kibum sighs into the phone.

He deflates in his chair, rubbing his free hand over his face. He sees the file come up on his computer screen between his fingers but he doesn't bother to look at it. He already knows. Real name Lee Taemin, fake name Dylan Lim, real age 27, fake age 24. Originally from Seoul, moved to Las Vegas when he was 14, currently positioned in Los Angeles, minimum security. Been there for 3 years. Working as a dance choreographer for a local theater group. 2 Absolute Gremlins of dogs.

Entered into Witness Protection because he testified in court against a man caught trying to smuggle several kidnapped persons out of the back of a building. A building that Taemin just happened to be walking behind because he saw a cute stray cat slink back there and a man that just happened to be connected to the mob and was subsequently bought out of prison a week after Taemin helped put him in there.

Known to, on increasingly more frequent occasions, get drunk and call his assigned officer to whine about all of his problems.

“This is an emergency line,” Kibum snaps.

“I'm in an emergency of having the worst life on the planet,” Taemin snaps back at him. Kibum rolls his eyes and leans forward so he can put his forehead in his hand. Already he can tell that Taemin is in a fucking mood of all moods. From his office window, he sees handsome Minho already stealing a glance at him. He smiles tiredly and lifts two fingers from his forehead to wave before he puts his head on his desk.

“Wine or vodka?” he asks blandly. If Taemin is only vodka drunk then he'll pass out soon, and--

“Wine,” Taemin says, “and listen,” he adds as Kibum turns to silently scream into his elbow. “I'm sad and I'm miserable and I miss my friends and my new friends here just left for a Vegas vacation all week and I couldn't fucking go with them because if I do I'll get murdered and they just laughed at me when I suggested going to Reno instead and Jinki from work that's been teaching me Korean because I'm sad and gay and tired of having to pretend that I don't speak my first language, Jinki from work has started having his private phone calls in Japanese around me instead of Korean and I still can't tell him that I speak fucking Japanese also so I can still understand him and I still know all of his private business and-- did you know that he has to go to court next week? Because his friend’s girlfriend’s dad is an abusive shithead? Do you want to know all of the details to that case because I can fucking tell you and I hate it and I hate lying to him so much and it's awful and I'm miserable and I want to go home but I can't go home because I'll be murdered and....”

He keeps whining, and Kibum lets him. He's a nuisance but Kibum does understand that he is literally the only person that Taemin can talk to about this. Well, technically, one of four, but Kibum knows that he's Taemin’s favorite. Probably because he still calls Taemin by his real name instead of his fake name. He's not supposed to, but the drunk whining wore him down. And maybe he has a little bit of a soft spot for booger boy. At any rate, Kibum will know if he gets another call, an actual emergency call, and Taemin will be too drunk to remember to be mad when Kibum hangs up on him to answer it. Instead, he organizes his desk and plugs his headphones in so he doesn't have to hold the phone.

Taemin goes on for a while, blubbing out all of his problems and his worries and everything that annoyed him today. He starts repeating himself pretty soon, so it's kind of a light drunken grumpy monologue for him, Kibum has to admit. It almost makes up for how he looked up the time difference from Los Angeles to where Kibum’s office is in New York to call him as soon as he got into work.

“You really shouldn't be this drunk this early in the morning,” Kibum interjects once in the middle of Taemin telling him a third time about Jinki from work. True, Kibum’s shift starts at 2, but Taemin is 3 hours behind. He had to have started drinking around 10 in the morning to be this drunk by now.That's too early.

“Fuck you,” Taemin says, and then keeps talking.

Eventually, like always though, he talks himself out and starts just making little whiny pouty noises into the phone. Kibum glances at the time; a little over half an hour. A little less than average. Sitting up, he leans back in his chair and looks at the rows upon rows of holes in the ceiling tile above him as he speaks.

“How you feeling, champ?” he asks gently.

Taemin replies with more sad, slurred little noises and a pouty mumble of, “Lonely, Kibummie.”

“I know, bub,” Kibum says soothingly. “Last time I checked, they're still trying to tie down a source for the contacts to the guy that's looking for you. Go take a nap and then order some pancakes from somewhere and watch that scary movie that you like so much,” he says. That always cheers Taemin up.

“Texie chainsaw massakie?” Taemin asks, voice tiny.

“Sure,” Kibum says. If that's the first movie that came to Taemin’s mind, then sure. “And drink some water too so you don't get hungover at like 4 in the afternoon,” he adds. “And this weekend go out dancing at that one club like you like.” Taemin likes clubs. It's dark and it's loud and no one asks him about his past so he doesn't have to lie about it. And he gets to dance. It's good for him all around.

“Kibummie,” Taemin whines. “I like you.”

“Thanks, booger boy,” Kibum smiles. “Don't call me for at least a month.”

And when he hangs up, Taemin doesn't immediately call back, and Kibum does immediately rub his hands over his face and scream quietly in the back of his throat. What a fucking start to his shift. He hasn't even checked all of his work emails or anything yet.

When he does, though, he finds one from Minho. It's a link to a cooking video with a message, “this made me think of you : ) maybe you can try this recipe soon??”

And this, at least, is something that today has given him that he's grateful for.

“You ever think about, like, having kids someday?”

It's a bold question to throw at someone that he's been flirting with for the better part of 4 months, Kibum knows, but he's still playing up the “politely interested and only a little bit overly friendly co-worker” angle, so he's pretty sure it's fine.

Adorable Minho takes it pretty easily, in any case, smiling at Kibum from his desk. He's turned sideways in his chair so he can face Kibum’s open office door, and Kibum has rolled his own chair closer to his doorway so they can talk. They're both taking a snack break to eat a pair of cupcakes that Kibum brought in. They're from the recipe that Minho sent him last week. It's Monday now and Kibum is a little bummed that he didn't think to bring them in on Tuesday instead, but he also doesn't mind looking too eager. They're really good. And Minho has a little smudge of frosting under his nose that he is incredibly pleased with.

“I sure have,” Minho says. “I love kids. I want to adopt, like, a soccer team’s amount of them.” He runs his fingers through his hair, long and black, and then gets it caught in his tiny ponytail. Kibum doesn't try to fight to his smile as Minho blushes, fixes his ponytail, looks away, takes a bite of his cupcake, looks back. “I know that's too many though, so, realistically, probably 3?” he says.

“Cool, cool,” Kibum says, nodding. “Same, actually. Well-- I was going to start with two, and then see if I could handle that, and then maybe get a third.” he sighs dreamily just thinking about it. He's over the moon about being a daddy one day. He loves kids, how they're so tiny and sweet, so eager to learn and soak up information and figure out how to be a human, and--

“I love how eager they are to learn,” adorable Minho says dreamily. “I really want to be a parent so I can help them figure out how to be little tiny humans.”

Kibum knows that soulmates aren't real, but he also knows that he just felt warmer & gayer in his heart than he ever has for a single human person. He can't fathom how perfect adorable Minho is.

He keeps that to himself, though, because he's having fun with their light flirting and he's pretty sure that Minho is also. And he really wants Minho to be the one to ask him out first, not the other way around. He just continues the conversation, smiling his cutest smile and running his fingers through his hair every so often to make sure that adorable Minho doesn't forget about his hot gay undercut, until he has to pee.

He announces this easily, glancing quickly over his computer to make sure nothing new has come up since they've been talking, and then stands up. Stretching his arms over his head, he tells Minho that he'll be right back and makes sure to smile at him over his shoulder as he walks towards the hallway.

“Don’t get lost,” Minho calls after him. It's not the most romantic thing he could have said, and it didn't really make sense, but it was still cute, and Kibum still bites his lip. He heads to the bathroom, does his pee, washes his hands, checks his hair in the mirror, messes with his eyebrow scar to make it look extra sharp and pointy. Nice.

When he comes back, he means to spread his arms and flutter his fingers to demonstrate himself and announce how he didn't get lost, but adorable Minho speaks before he can do any of those things.

“Oh, hey-- you got a call,” he says, pointing with his thumb to Kibum’s office. “Apparently it wasn't urgent, because they didn't choose to redirect to me. They just left you a message.”

“Oh,” Kibum says, glancing at his phone. Damn. “Bad timing,” he grins, shrugging at Minho, who grins and shrugs back. “Thanks for the heads up,” he says. It sucks that he can't flirt some more, but even a non-urgent call still needs to be paid attention to. He's the lifeline for all of his clients.

He closes his office door when he steps in and slaps his headphones over his ears. Before he listens to the message, he checks who it was from-- Taemin.

Kibum sighs in the back of his throat and rolls his eyes at the ceiling. It hasn't even been a week. He slaps the button on the phone that will start playing the message for him tiredly. Better to get it over with soon.

“Hi! Kibum, uh, hi, yeah, wow. You know I didn't know you actually had an answering machine? I think this is the first time I've had to leave a message for you, haha.”

Well, Kibum thinks, raising his eyebrows blandly. He doesn't sound drunk. Maybe he actually has something important to say for once.

“I know you told me not to call you for at least a month,” Taemin continues. Kibum snorts quietly. Look how well that turned out. “But I, um. I went out dancing? Like you said? On the weekend, and last night, I, um. I don't know, it's probably not a big deal, but I felt like I should tell you anyway, um-- someone recognized me? Like, someone at the club? I mean-- I say someone, I really mean, like, he's an ex-boyfriend, but,--”

Kibum bangs his knee hard as he jolts up straight. Fuck. It actually is important. He skips listening to the rest of the message in favor of just calling Taemin back right then.

“Uh, hello?” is the reply that he gets.

“Taemin, hey, it's--”

“Kibummie, hey,” Taemin says, and it sounds like there's a smile on his face on the other line. “Hey, you called me back quick,” he says.

“What? Yeah,” Kibum says distractedly. He's pulling up all of the information on Taemin’s past contacts on his computer. Honestly, he's almost excited about this. Nothing interesting ever happens to him on this job. “I was only away from my office for a little bit,” he says. “Listen--”

“You have your own office?” Taemin asks eagerly. “Cool, that's like, fancy, isn't it? Hey-- I just realized that you called me for once? Feels weird, doesn't it?”

“Taemin--”

“I mean, not, weird weird, I mean, I kind of like it, you know, you calling me, feels nice to be, I don't know, feels like I'm a cute babe that you met at a coffee shop and I gave you my number and now--”

“Taem-- are you--? What--? Quit flirting with me,” Kibum says, baffled almost out of his urgency. Taemin’s hesitant but increasingly smooth and confident tone has completely blindsided him. What the fuck. “I already,” he starts, and then blushes, and then finishes anyway, “have someone that I've been flirting with.”

“Ooooh,” Taemin hisses heavily. Kibum puts his face into his hands. Why the fuck did he even say that. He thinks he likes sober Taemin less than drunk Taemin. Drunk Taemin is only ever interested in himself. “My aloof witness protection officer has a crush?” Taemin asks, almost coos the words into the phone. “What's he like? Is he cute? Is he tall? I bet he's tall, you sound like someone that--”

“Dylan,” Kibum snaps sharply.

“Don't fucking call me that, asshole, you promised,” Taemin snaps back even sharper.

“Focus then,” Kibum tells him. “You said someone recognized you?” He wants to get back to the important stuff. The witness protection stuff. The Taemin might get murdered stuff. The as far away from Kibum and any crushes that he might have as possible stuff.

“Oh, right, yeah,” Taemin says. There's a quiet smack noise like a palm on a forehead. “Yeah, um, my ex-boyfriend, Jonghyun,” he says.

“How ex?” Kibum asks. He types the name Jonghyun into his computer and frowns when nothing comes up. “Like, how long ago?” he clarifies.

“Uh, like, 2 years before I had to disappear?” Taemin says. “5 years ago? We met in college, when I was a sophomore, and he was a senior. He was an anthropology major, and he'd go out to excavation sites sometimes, and when he came back he'd always have a super dark tan, and he let me feel up his big beefy muscles, and he told me to hold his hands because they hurt after all of that digging....”

Taemin keeps going on, a dreamy note to his voice. Kibum lets him monologue with only a roll of his eyes, instead focusing on looking up a Jonghyun anthropology major at Taemin’s college in Vegas. He doesn't really find anything, but he wasn't really expecting to. He's not research, he's just resource direction. He opens up a request for investigation document instead, copying over all of Taemin’s information into the relevant areas and then adding in what he knows already about Jonghyun.

“Oh, and you know, he said that his Professor met the guys that found that Egyptian mummy, with the mummy juice? That everyone wanted to drink? He talked a guy that talked to those--”

“Why did you two break up?” Kibum interrupts. “ Any bad blood, or was it mutual, or?”

“Oh,” Taemin says, and he sounds disappointed. Not because Kibum interrupted him, but because of the content of his question. “We actually didn't really want to break up? We had to because of, you know, life stuff.” There's a pause and a rustle of cloth like he's shrugging. “We still hung out sometimes, though, before. You know.”

He trails off, voice little, almost like it is when he's winding down after one of his drunk rants. Kibum feels bad for the poor baby, but not as bad as he would have felt if it wasn't a mutual breakup. That probably rules Jonghyun out as a direct threat, but he's still a loose contact that needs looking into.

“And when you met at the club, what happened there?” he asks.

“Uhhhh,” Taemin sighs, and blows a big puff of air through his lips. “I was at the bar, and he was at the bar, and he was like, ‘Oh, hey, Taemin, I haven't seen you in forever, is that you?" and I was like, ‘No, my name's Dylan, I don't know a Taemin,’ but, like. Obviously he knew I was lying and obviously he recognized me, and he kept asking about it, and I--”

“And you shut him down and told him to stop bothering you and left the club,” Kibum says, pressing his clenched fist into his forehead because he knows, somehow, in his soul, that that isn't the truth.

“Well,” Taemin says, a little squeak of a word. “He started talking to me in Korean, really gently, and it made me feel. Really really really. Nostalgic. And.”

“Taemin,” Kibum says accusingly, disappointed.

“I mean, I told him not to, and I told him to call me Dylan, but I also. Got a table with him and talked to him. For a little bit.” he whines his words into the phone, pleading, desperate, like he's begging Kibum not to be mad at him. “I didn't tell him anything about what happened, we only talked about him, and, like, yeah, maybe he looked really worried and kind of suspicious, but. I'm lonely, Kibummie.”

Kibum sighs loudly and rubs his hands over his face. A mess. That's what Taemin is.

“Tell me at least you didn't give him your number,” he says.

“No, but I got his,” Taemin says. “I haven't texted him yet but--”

“Delete it,” Kibum orders. Taemin tries to protest, but Kibum cuts him off. “Promise me you'll delete it, Taemin,” he says. He knows that Taemin knows it's for his safety. He knows that Taemin isn't interested in getting murdered. He knows that Taemin isn't interested in getting anyone else murdered, either. Taemin is quiet on the other line for a long time, but then he groans quietly in the back of his throat and ends it with a heavy, sharp sigh.

“Fine,” he mumbles. At his agreement, Kibum breathes a little easier. That's one less thing that he has to worry about.

He fills in the rest of the information about what happened in the document, then slaps the print button and sends a quick email to tell the research nerds that they have a job coming up.

Then he frowns. He sounds like someone that likes tall boys, Taemin was saying to him. He hates that. He hates that Taemin has formulated an opinion about him and the kind of boys that he likes just from their mostly one-sided phone conversations. He puffs up his lips, then un puffs them because he doesn't want Taemin to hear that he's pouting.

“He's not even that tall,” he says.

“Wanna watch scary movies with-- what? Who? Oh, your crush?” and now, suddenly, Kibum can tell that Taemin is smirking. He rolls his eyes. What a turnover.

“He's only, like, an inch taller than me,” Kibum says. “If that.” The printer spits out the last page and he grabs them all, tapping them together on the desk to straighten them out.

“Yeah, okay, but, how tall are you?” Taemin asks as Kibum opens his desk drawers in search of a paperclip. “Relativity has nothing to do with it. If he's tall, he's tall, and you're thirsty.”

“Fuck you,” Kibum snaps. He doesn't need or want Taemin’s opinion. “How tall is your Jonghyun, huh?” Taemin can't talk about him being into tall boys if this big beefy muscle boy Jonghyun exists.

“He's not, he's tiny, he's baby, he's miniscule, he's small,” Taemin says. Immediately his voice has that dreamy softness to it again. “He's little, he's 5’7, he's itty--”

“What-- 5’7 is, like, average,” Kibum frowns. From the way Taemin was gushing, he was imagining a real tiny babe, not just an average human.

“No, you don't understand,” Taemin says seriously. “You have to see him to understand. He's so little. He's so tiny. He's a little pocket boy.”

“Sure dude,” Kibum says, shaking his head. He probably shouldn't have even mentioned Jonghyun in the first place; Taemin is sounding too enamored. “Don't forget to delete his number, okay?” he reminds Taemin gently but firmly. “Gotta go file some paperwork. You okay on your own?” he asks.

“Yeah, I got dance practice in a little bit anyway,” Taemin says. He sounds disappointed to end the conversation, but he doesn't protest. “Bye, Kibummie. And, thanks.”

“Later, booger boy,” Kibum says, tapping to end the call right after. He takes a moment to lean back in his chair and rub his face, then gathers up his stack of papers, pulls off his headphones, and stands up.

Adorable Minho is standing up as well, when he steps out of his office, reaching for something high on a shelf between Kibum’s office and the one next door. When he turns around, and they're standing closer together than usual, Kibum’s first thought is that the one inch that Minho has on him puts him at the perfect height to drop a kiss onto the tip of his nose.

And that thought makes him blush violently, so instead of saying something smooth and flirty, he just pushes the paperwork into Minho's hands, mumbles, “Can you get this to research for me thanks,” and scuttles back into his own office, slamming the door behind him.

When Kibum was standing in front of his closet this morning, debating on whether or not it would be worth it to wear his 3 inch platform shoes, he's glad that he decided that the answer was yes. Now he gets to look down at lovely Minho, just a little bit, down into his lovely big brown eyes.

And Minho gets to look up at him, which, if Kibum is reading his expression correctly, lovely Minho is enjoying immensely. Every time Minho looks down at the floor shyly and then back up to continue the conversation, his eyes stop for a split second on Kibum’s nose before he remembers and lifts them the rest of the way up to meet Kibum’s. And every time he does that, he blushes the tiniest hint of pink.

Kibum knows that he's definitely smirking right now, but he can't find it in himself to stop. He has no problem with lovely Minho knowing how cute he thinks he is. He's leaning up against the left side of his office doorway, legs crossed, one arm crossed over his stomach, other hand playing with his shirt collar. Minho is leaning on the opposite side of his doorway, comfortable except for his blush. Kibum is very comfortable due to that blush.

Especially after last night, when they were on their first date and Kibum was a flustered mess. He's disappointed in himself for that-- he spent so much time doing his makeup and picking out his perfect outfit that he forgot to think of anything to say or practice being cool and suave-- but he's making up for it now by being the one to make Minho blush. And it's not like last night was bad or anything. Quite the opposite-- it was the best first date that Kibum has ever been on. And he's been on a lot.

“How's your arm?” he asks, reaching out to touch just under the bruise on Minho's bicep. They both fell a couple of times each last night in the ice skating rink, but only one fall was bad enough for a bruise. And the bruise wasn't even that bad-- certainly barely enough of a tender spot to justify Kibum's touch-- but he doesn't see Minho complaining.

Instead, Minho pushes his shirt sleeve up, and in the process of doing so, brushes Kibum's hand.

“It's okay,” he says as casually as he can with a giddy smile threatening the corners of his lips. “It's already fading.” he lets his sleeve and his hand fall, but Kibum catches his hand playfully. Just for a second.

“Good, I'm glad,” he says.

“Mmm, I don't know,” lovely Minho says. “I was kind of hoping to ask you to kiss it better.” His blush fiercens to a vibrant pink, but at the same time, he manages a confident, flirty smile. Kibum is impressed. He's not sure that he would have been able to pull off that line. He bites his lip, using the action as a few extra seconds to think up something cool to say. It also earns him Minho’s eyes looking down to his mouth, which is a bonus he's happy to accept.

“I was going to offer to kiss it better last night,” he starts. It's the truth, besides the part where he's not mentioning how as soon as he had that thought he went as red as a tomato and skated away very fast. “But I didn't think you were the kind to kiss on the first date,” he finishes.

“That's why I didn't ask you,” lovely Minho chuckles. “I thought you wouldn't want to kiss on the first date.”

“Oh, well,” Kibum grins. Seems like they were both wrong. “My lips are free right now,” he offers boldly. He even lifts one finger from his collar to trace along his bottom lip. Just like he predicted, Minho follows that movement with his eyes closely before he looks back up.

“Well, I mean, if you insist,” he says smoothly. He pushes off of the wall and steps forward, into Kibum's space, close and handsome and adorable and lovely. Kibum catches a whiff of his cologne as he leans in and just for a moment, he regrets his decision to be tall today. The next moment, Minho kisses him.

It's perfect, obviously, the soft press of lovely Minho's mouth against his setting off fireworks in his head, his chest, his stomach. This is it. This is what he's been craving for almost a whole year. He played the long game and it definitely paid off.

He transfers his hand from his collar to Minho's, holding him close so he can't break the kiss too soon. They can pull apart a little bit, to readjust, to add in some soft little pecks between longer, warmer presses, but he doesn't want Minho to leave his personal bubble just yet. He doesn't share his bubble with many people and he wants this moment to be extra--

His phone rings.

It doesn't startle them out of their kiss, but it sure does stop them, a long second of pause, of realization, between them before they're both moving away. Kibum tilts his head back against the doorway, sighing heavily towards the ceiling, while lovely Minho tilts his head down, leans forward so the top of his head presses against Kibum's chest. That's nice, at least, and Kibum pats his head gently, fixes up his little ponytail, and slips into his office, closing the door sadly behind him.

That sadness turns into a sharp flare of annoyance when he sits down and reads the name on his screen.

Taemin.

Kibum sighs rough in the back of his throat. Of all of the fucking people. And he hasn't called for a while, either. At least five months, if Kibum is remembering right. He's going to have so much to whine on and on about. With a heavy air of resignation, he taps the answer button and slips his headphones on.

“What do you want, drunky?” he drawls.

Not very professional, but, whatever. His mouth still feels tingly.

“Hey-- oh-- what--? Um,” Taemin says. “Kibummie?” he asks.

“Who else?” Kibum asks, already snappish. What does that even mean. Of course it's him.

“I thought,” Taemin says. “Isn't your shift over?” he asks.

“No, I have another hour,” Kibum says. Another hour to listen to this asshole talk about nothing. Though, he doesn't sound drunk and whiny, though that just makes Kibum suspicious. “Were you trying to call someone else?” he asks. One of his other agents? “Why?” he asks.

“Um,” Taemin says. There's a pause, and then a sigh, and then, in a small, guilty voice, he says, “So you wouldn't be mad at me?”

“Too late for--” Kibum starts, and then he stops. Stops, squints, leans forward in his chair and puts his elbows on his desk. “Why would I be mad at you?” he asks softly. “What did you do?” He swears to fucking christ.

“What?” Taemin asks and his voice is way higher than it was a second ago. “Nothing, I didn't-- too late for what?” and there, his voice is too friendly, too conversational, too curious. Kibum breathes in a slow breath through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Taemin,” he says warningly.

Taemin makes a lot of noises, nonsense noises, the beginnings of words and little dismissive puffs of breath and unintelligible little sounds, and then he stops and swallows audibly. His voice is muffled like his hand is over his mouth as he says, “Remember when you told me to delete Jonghyun's number?”

“Taemin!” Kibum shouts.

“No listen I can explain.” Taemin scrambles the words into the phone, tripping over them in his haste to get them out. “Kibummie, listen, please,” he whines. All Kibum has in response to that is another long, heavy breath out of his nose. Taemin takes that as permission and continues: “I did delete his number, I really did, but then I met him at the club again and--”

“Why did you go back to the club?” Kibum interrupts. What the fuck?

“What do you mean why did I-- Was I just supposed to not go clubbing anymore? You're the one that always tells me to go clubbing.”

“Well, not at that club!” Kibum drops his face into his hands. He cannot fathom what the fuck was going on in Taemin's head. “You were supposed to delete his number and then remove yourself from any situation where you know you might run into him again.”

“Well, I didn't,” Taemin says, like that's that and Kibum shouldn't have anything else to say about it. He certainly does, but Taemin keeps talking before he can get a word in. “Anyway, he was there, and he was like hey, how come you didn't text me, and I didn't like tell him why, obviously, but then he still wanted to talk, and then so I was talking to him, and--”

“Tell me,” Kibum says, rolling his chair back but leaning forward to put his forehead on his desk. “Tell me you did not take him back to your place.” He needs Taemin to tell him that he isn't an absolute disaster and a mountain of paperwork. He needs this more than anything.

“Well,” Taemin says in a tone of voice that makes Kibum sigh yet again, a long breath of air out of his mouth and onto the carpet. “Not the first night,” Taemin says. “And, actually,” he adds, brightly, like anything he's going to say is going to dig him out of this hole, “ever since we started fucking a couple of months ago I've only ever gone over to his house.”

"Oh my god," Kibum mutters. He drags himself back up straight in front of his computer and jams hard on his mouse and keyboard to bring up his email. “You're awful in every way." Just on the other side of his office window, lovely Minho is at his own computer, long fingers tapping away at the keyboard instead of brushing through Kibum’s hair. Awful.

"I'm lonely, Kibummie," Taemin whines. "I'm lonely and it's hard.”

And then he's off, just the same as always, going on and on about how lonely he is and how hard it is and how somehow this works as an excuse to put himself and Jonghyun and whoever the fuck else in danger. How somehow this works as an excuse to be an absolute cockblock.

Kibum tunes him out with years of practice. He goes through the process of emailing the investigation department, emailing their research department, emailing the relocation department. He doesn't think Taemin will actually need to be relocated, but that's not really his decision to make. He hopes that once all of this is figured out and it gets to all of the higher-ups that they agree with him and let Taemin stay. If he's this bad now, Kibum doesn't want to know how hard having to disappear again will be for him.

As he works methodically through his emails, he catches little mumbles through his headphones.

"He promises he's never talked to anyone else about me.... do you know how hot it is when a cute boy whispers your real name in your ear after 3 years of white people calling you Dylan.... And now Jinki from work is worried about me and I know he has a crush on me and I kind of really like him too but how would I ever even get close to him anyway.... I've always said I liked being alone but I didn't mean like this....”

"Done,” Kibum says. He clicks send on the last email as he says it, then thunks his elbow on his desk and his chin in his hand with a sigh. god. Taemin is so much to deal with every time.

“He has the most soothing-- what?” There's a sort of scrambling noise on the line like Taemin is startling himself up right. “Done with what?” he asks.

“With contacting all the people to fix your mistake,” Kibum grumbles. He would have figured that would be obvious.

“Oh-- but-- I wasn't done,” Taemin says blankly. “I didn't get to the part where you would get mad at me yet.”

Kibum takes a moment to hear those words, and then to repeat them in his head and listen to them. Then he takes a moment to try to comprehend what the fuck Taemin just said to him. It doesn't work.

“Excuse me?” He asks. “There's more?”

“Um,” Taemin says, and then, very fast, all at once, like he thinks the Band-Aid approach is best for the situation, he says, “Last night Jonghyun told me that some guys were asking about me and they said they were from college but he didn't recognize them and he told them he hasn't seen me but apparently they were like really insistent and also super big and intimidating and--”

“Lee Taemin I am going to murder you with my own fucking bare hands,” Kibum hisses into the phone. He hates Taemin he hates Taemin so fucking much. Shoving at his desk, he rolls his chair to his office door and slams it open.

Lovely Minho jumps about a mile at the noise, big brown eyes wide and mouth popped open in surprise. Kibum doesn't even get to appreciate the look. Instead, he bites out, “Choi, get me ground intervention, right now,” and slams his door shut again.

“No no no no no,” and Taemin sounds panicked suddenly, urgent on the line. “No no no no, we don't-- we don't need ground intervention, what's ground intervention? Kibummie it's fine, really, I don't--”

“Yes we do,” Kibum snaps, “because you are an awful little goblin with no self-preservation skills and an absolute disregard for the lives of the people around you.”

He waits for Taemin's reply, but it doesn't come. All he gets is silence. Silence and the occasional rustle or shuffle.

He slaps open his email again to send updates to the other departments, chewing on the insides of his cheeks so he doesn't grind his teeth. Finally, as he's reading over his message to check for spelling, Taemin gives him a reply.

“That's not fair.”

Kibum hesitates with his fingers poised over the keyboard. That was a tone of voice that he's never heard from Taemin before. Quiet, steady. Angry.

No. Not angry.

Hurt.

He finishes looking over his emails and sends them. Watching the little loading icon circle away, he leans back in his chair, folding his arms. Then he unfolds them and rubs his hands over his face, sighing slowly. Remorse bubbles inside of him, just a little bit, in his stomach.

No. Not a little bit. A lot. On top of everything that Taemin has been dealing with, he didn't need that too.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I'm sorry.”

There's more silence, and then, “Kibummie?”

“Yeah, booger boy?”

“How come you were mad at me before I even said anything?’

“Oh, that.” And in spite of the atmosphere, in spite of the urgent situation, in spite of himself, Kibum laughs. Just a small, quiet chuckle. He turns to look out of his office window at lovely Minho. Minho is on the phone, speaking quietly but urgently to whoever's on the other line. Ground intervention, hopefully. The little ponytail at the back of his head bobs when he speaks. Adorable.

Kibum sighs, but not in an annoyed or angry way for once. Just in a tired, resigned way, shakes his head, and says, “Remember I told you about the cute boy that I was trying to flirt with?”

“Mm?” Taemin hums. The little sound, simple as it is, is the audio equivalent of a puppy hopefully perking his ears up, excited, intrigued. It makes Kibum chuckle again. Taemin isn't so bad.

“You interrupted our first kiss,” he sighs into the phone.

“Noooooo,” Taemin wails. Kibum has trouble believing that it's sincere. He can hear the smile curving up his mouth as he says it and, less assumptive, he can also hear the laugh that Taemin doesn't quite stifle all of the way at the end. “Your tall boy?” he asks eagerly.

“He's not that tall,” Kibum huffs. Minho is not that tall and Kibum is not thirsty.

“I bet he is,” Taemin grins back. Kibum opens his mouth to protest, but Taemin cuts him off. “What's he like?” he asks. “What was your first date like? How come you're having your first kiss at work? Does he work with you-- Wait, is he Choi? The one you were just talking to? Is he your secretary? Kibummie, that's so scandalous, oh my god. What does he smell like?”

“Can you? Like? Calm the fuck down? Hello? Mind your own business,” Kibum says. He's not really upset or anything, though. He smiles the words out with his cheek in his hand. He forgot how interested Taemin was in his love life the last time they talked. At least this time, he's not embarrassed about it.

“Absolutely not,” Taemin says, and the chipper tone of his voice says that he means it in the most gremliny way possible. “Tell me,” he demands. “Tell me what he's like.”

“Fine,” Kibum says. It's not like they don't have a couple of minutes to spare until he gets a call or an email back. He looks out of his office window again.

Lovely Minho is typing something now, focusing on his computer screen, not even glancing down at his fingers every few seconds like Kibum has to do. Kibum has been on a roller coaster of emotions in the past couple of minutes, but he still does feel soft and gay in his heart as he takes a second to calm down and just look. At his new. Boyfriend.

Just thinking the word makes a vibrant blush rise up in his cheeks, over his nose, out to his ears, down his neck. Boyfriend. He has a fucking boyfriend. Hell fucking yeah. No matter what happens today, he is Kim Kibum and he has a boyfriend.

“He's so cute,” he sighs. He doesn't even mind how dreamy he sounds, doesn't even mind the soft little coo Taemin puts into his headphones. “He's so adorable and handsome and he's a babe,“ he continues. “He has long black hair and his lips are, like, round? Like, a circle? Like a Pokéball? He doesn't have any piercings but his earlobes are so cute. His voice is, like, super super super deep, but his laugh is so high. He likes my yaoi hands. Fuck you,” he adds when Taemin snorts. He will not be made fun of for his yaoi hands.

Taemin makes an innocent little noise, so Kibum lets him get away with it and continues, “He's so kind? We went to an ice skating rink and there was this kid that kept falling down and he kept helping them back up. And we went to get dinner beforehand and he left like a $50 tip. And he's always so gentle, like, when he wants to be, because he's also really good at bickering with me? Which is wild, to consider, that we were bickering on our first date, but we were, and it was so fun. And he kind of has a lisp? It's real soft, and when he only does it when he's excited, and it's so cute, and I want to tell him how cute I think it is, but I think he's embarrassed about it? And I don't want to make him self-conscious about it, so I guess I'm going to wait until we know each other better before I bring it up. Plus he-- Oh, wait.”

“Hmm?” Taemin says, a little pout of a noise. “Don't stop, that was all so cute.”

“He sent me an e-mail,” Kibum mumbles, looking over to it. “Probably about ground intervention. I gotta check.”

Unsurprisingly, Taemin pouts even more at that news. He starts mumbling again about not needing it, but Kibum ignores that to read the email. It's simple, short:

hey I made a few calls and you should be getting another email from ground intervention pretty soon. They also said they might send someone up here but if they don't they'll call you.

Also hey, um. Not to go off topic during a serious situation, but. When you slammed open that door and called me Choi and gave me an order like that?? That was uh. Pretty uh. Pretty hot 👀

“God he wants to be on my dick so bad,” Kibum mumbles. He meant mostly to say that to himself, but Taemin still gasps like that was the juiciest thing he's heard in 10 years and then hisses boi! so loud that it just sounds like a burst of static in Kibum's headphones.

“You need to elaborate on that right now immediately!” Taemin says, borderline yells, his eagerness pitching his voice up at least a whole octave.

“I most certainly do not,” Kibum replies, not as firmly as he would like to. Honestly he would love to keep gushing about his new boyfriend. He really shouldn't, though, so he drags his focus back to where it needs to be. Pulling up all of his files on Taemin and his case, he says, “What I need to do is make sure that you tell me every single thing that Jonghyun told you last night so I can tell the other agents.”

“Man,” Taemin whines. “Fine.”

They really shouldn't be doing this here.

Kibum sits down hard, pulls perfect Minho down with him even harder. The force of it sends his rolly chair back until they thump into the printer, the cheap plastic rattling in a way that would concern him if he gave a shit about anything other than Minho's hands in his hair. Minho's mouth on his mouth, Minho's chest pressed so hard against his is like he's trying to become part of him, Minho's dick very much obvious through his pants when Kibum runs his hand up his leg.

Perfect Minho can't get in his chair with him, can't fit, but by this point they're so wild to touch each other that he tries anyway. One of his knees lands on the chair next to Kibum’s leg and the other bangs against the armrest. His hand slaps against the printer, the muscle in his forearm flexing in the corner of Kibum’s eye. The fingers of his other hand cup Kibum’s head gently, so, so, so tenderly compared to the desperation of the moment that Kibum feels his breath leave his lungs even as perfect Minho turns his face up to angle their kiss better.

Every time he kisses Minho it feels like the first time. Not in a physical way, not even really in an emotional way, but just in some way in his heart that makes sense to him and him only. Their mouths press flush together and break apart and then press together again and every single time it reminds him of exactly how he felt 2 weeks ago when he wanted to keep perfect Minho in his personal bubble with him forever.

They definitely should not be doing this here. Definitely not here in the office, door wide open, perfect Minho absent from his desk, three other agents liable to get up from their very serious jobs at any moment and find them. At least one other agent is very liable to hear them through the wall, especially when Kibum reaches underneath this chair and slams the adjustable height all the way up so Minho doesn't have to bend so much to kiss him, so it can be easier, deeper, harder. He feels like he might have broken something in his chair doing that, and by extension, someone might have heard him break his chair, but-–

“Fuck,” perfect Minho whispers, and the way the curse spills from his lips is enough to have Kibum forgetting that anything else in the world exists at all.

Minho isn't shy about cursing. He curses more than Kibum does, curses for fun, so it's not anything new. It's not nothing Kibum has never heard before. But he's never heard it in this context before. Never heard it as a soft breath, a sharp hiss, so close to Kibum’s mouth he could have swallowed it, so deep, almost rough, which is something Kibum never expected to come out of him. It sends shivers down every nerve in his body and Kibum honestly has no idea how he's supposed to resist that.

His dick certainly doesn't resist it, hard under his pants, getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, by the drag of perfect Minho’s hand down his body. Minho fumbles with the hem of his shirt, gives up, switches to the hem of his pants, hooks his fingers into his belt loops. He can't do much from this position but Kibum gets his intent anyway and copies him. Keeping one hand in Minho's perfect hair, he tries to go for Minho's zipper.

Tries being the main word there; this all started so fast, from flirting at Minho's desk to kissing against the wall to where they are now, and Kibum is too flustered, too desperate, almost fucking shaking at this point with how much he wants perfect Minho that he can barely get his hands to work right.

Minho's hand covers his for a moment; Kibum thinks he's going to help out, but instead, Minho pushes his hand back to his chest.

“I want-- you first,” he breathes, and, “Oh my god,” Kibum whispers and then, “Oh my god,” again when perfect, perfect, perfect Minho actually sinks to his knees right there.

They absolutely should not be doing this right here, right now. Kibum isn't really one for sentiment, but he usually wants his first time with a new babe to be special, extra wants that now with perfect Minho. He wants them to take their time, go on a few more dates, a bed and nice clothes and maybe some candles if he's feeling fancy. He doesn't want their first time to be rushed, a sloppy quickie in the fucking office of all places, but also.

But also.

But also, perfect Minho looks so fucking gorgeous on his knees, between his legs, huge brown eyes looking up through his bangs, swollen, flushed lips parted, wet pink tongue dragging through the seam. Maybe. Maybe a quick blowie wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it would actually be very very very good. Maybe he reaches down and gently, carefully, tugs perfect Minho’s hair free of it's tiny little pony tail. Maybe the eager smile that plays over Minho's mouth is the hottest thing he's ever-–

His phone rings.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Kibum hisses. Perfect Minho practically deflates, his sigh is so big and long. He presses his face into Kibum’s thigh and shakes his head. Kibum screams very quickly in the back of his throat and then slides his hand out of Minho’s hair. Pushing him up and away gently, he makes apologetic shooing motions with his other hand.

Minho falls dramatically backwards, flopping his long body out over Kibum's tiny office space. Then he rolls his way out, extra gangly and lanky on purpose, which isn't really enough to make Kibum laugh, but the presence of effort is enough to make him at least smile a little bit before he grabs his headphones and slaps the answer button.

"Taemin," he starts off because there's absolutely no question in his mind as to who the fuck this is. He gets a hundred calls a day from a hundred different people but there is exactly zero doubt in his mind about this one. "I swear to fucking-–"

"Kibummie, hey, good, hey, listen," Taemin says. He doesn't even sound drunk-- strike fucking two. "I want to-–"

"I cannot fathom how every single time you call me you have the worst timing in the universe," Kibum groans. He watches perfect Minho’s butt as he stands up and walks away, closing the door behind him, and feels especially homophobicly attacked. "How are you so--"

"Shut up, dude, I mean, no, I'm sorry, but, just-- listen, Kibummie, I don't really have a lot of time, just let me talk."

"What do you mean you don't-–?" Kibum’s mood softens, a little bit, to confusion now. What's he suddenly in a rush for? He looks at all of Taemin’s information on his computer, and then does a double-take. "Why the fuck are you moving so fast? Are you driving?"

"You can see my location?" Taemin asks.

"Yeah, what the fuck,” Kibum replies, touching the screen himself just to track his little dot as it is zooms around the map. "Where are you going?" he asks blankly.

"Ooh, definitely can't tell you that," Taemin says, "But maybe-- yeah, I guess I'll leave my phone on in the car when I get there so you can make sure he's okay later I guess?"

"So I can-– excuse me?" for the first time, Kibum slows down and actually processes Taemin's tone and the things he's saying. He's not drunk, but he's not casual and comfortable, either. All of his words are coming out in a rush, a mess, like he's not stable enough himself to slow down and pick them out carefully. If Kibum really listens, he can even hear his breath on the line, fast and uneven.

"No time," Taemin says again. "just–- I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry, Kibummie. About, like. A lot of stuff. I'm sorry I always called you when I was drunk and I'm sorry I wasted so much of your time and I'm sorry I teased you about your boyfriend and I'm sorry I was-–"

"Taemin, hey, stop that, you're not-– tell me what's-–"

"And I'm not like, telling you all of this because I'm guilty, I'm telling you because, like-– I know you don't like me, Kibummie, but you're really-- in the past couple years you've been the only one that I can talk to, like, honestly? Without worrying about anything? You're the only one that I haven't had to lie to, Kibummie, and I know you don't like me but I really really really appreciate that you let me talk to you, and I just wanted you to know that I do love-–"

"Shut up, Taemin, shut up, shut up, do not fucking tell me that you love me right now, shut the fuck up." Taemin is panicking, and Kibum is panicking because he's panicking, or maybe just because the things he's saying are so fucked up and panic inducing that he can't help it. He sounds like he's saying goodbye, he sounds like he's going off to fucking die, and he can't fucking do that.

"If you can't tell me where, then tell me why you're speeding somewhere," he tries to say as evenly as he can. On the other line is a short sigh, Maybe more of a weak exhale after a breath that didn't do as much as it should have.

"Because they have Jonghyun? And I'm going to give myself up to them so they don't hurt him anymore? And slash or kill him?" he says. His voice, somehow, over the course of that explanation, steadied out, filled with some sort of fucking noble resolve that Kibum cannot stand to hear right now.

"What do you mean, they? Who's they?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? Them, the bad guys, the mafia dude, the one that wants to kill me? Who else?"

"The bad guys can't have Jonghyun," Kibum snaps, "my guys have Jonghyun." It's been a whole fucking thing these past two weeks, finding him and tracking him and picking him up and questioning him and making sure he's safe, both for Taemin and around him. There's literally no way that anyone else could have him.

"Well, your guys must have fucking lost him," and Taemin is the one snapping now, a tone Kibum has never heard from him before, "because I'm pretty fucking sure that it’s him all tied up and bloody and shit in the video that they sent me and all of the pictures that they keep fucking sending me while I'm driving."

"Fuck,” Kibum says.

"Yeah," Taemin says. He swallows audibly. "But it's okay, Kibummie. I'm going to. I'm going to go get him and. I don't have anything, anymore, you know that. But Jonghyun does, he has, like, friends and family and goals that he can actually do. He has real relationships that aren't lies. And he's not-– none of this is his fault. It's all mine, you were right, I shouldn't have kept talking to him, But I don't think I really ever stopped loving him, and now-– But it's okay. I'm going to. He's going to be okay."

"Taem," Kibum says. It's weird, how the rise of Taemin’s calm is directly proportional to the rise of Kibum’s panic. "You can't-– I'm going to call some people, they're going to-– they can get him, just wait a little bit, you can't--"

"I sure can," Taemin cuts him off. "Literally, they said if I told anyone he was doneskies, so if you send anyone then they'll know and they'll-–" he cuts himself off this time with a sharp, but long, breath. "I'm almost there, I think," he says quietly. "I'm going to-- I'm going to put my phone in the glove box, so they can't see I'm on it, and-– you can keep tracking me or whatever, and-– Don't come and get me until later, but who knows, maybe you'll find me before they cut me up into too many pieces? I don't know. I didn't call you to ask for help, I just. Wanted you to know that I love you, Kibummie. Thanks for everything."

"Taemin, don't-–" Kibum shouts, but then there's nothing but clattering and a slam as Taemin throws in the phone into the glove box and closes it. "Taemin," he shouts, "Fuck!” He slaps his hands on the desk, pushes his palms into his eyes, curses again. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. His stomach churns, his heart pounds, his head burns right behind his eyes.

He tries to take some calming breaths, but that doesn't work. He doesn't understand why it's not working. He's gotten worse calls than this before. He's gotten calls full of screaming, of gunshots, calls from murderers on their victim's phones, gloating, he's been trained in high-stress situations like this specifically. So why the fuck does he feel so sick right now?

From his headphones, there is a sudden lack of noise; not a dial tone, but like a background of static that he hadn't noticed suddenly turning off so the silence seems loud and jarring. And then there's muffled rustling, a click, more clattering, and then what is, unmistakably, the slamming of a car door.

His mind is still miles behind but the noises snap his body back into focus. One hand opens up a new line to call some other department, the other types out an email to he doesn't even know who. His body is just going, flying on panic, and it's like he's not even in control of himself. He has one thought, and it's just to make sure that Taemin is-–

He turns his head to pick up a pen and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Minho sitting at his desk outside his window. Minho. Perfect Minho. Kibum cannot fathom that less than 10 minutes ago, Minho was on his knees between his legs. He cannot connect the two moments together in his brain.

What he can do, however, is roll over to his door, push it open, and, when words won't come out of his throat, beckon Minho over desperately.

Minho obeys without question, expression immediately concerned, half questions forming and barely leaving his lips as Kibum shakes his head. Kibum grabs the hand that Minho holds out, pulling him into his office, into his lap, holding him, gaining comfort from him, security, some form of stability that he can use to get himself through this.

When Kibum makes his way to the correct hospital room, peeks through the half open blinds, and sees two people in one bed, very obviously making out with each other, all of the apprehension and nerves in his chest move out to make way for an overwhelming sense of pleasure. Of karma. Of revenge. Of justice.

He shows the security guard outside the door his ID, smiling and nodding when they let him pass, and opens the door. Closing it behind him, he rolls his eyes. They haven't even noticed him. He crosses his arms, sets his face as stern as possibly can, and steps forward to stand between the foot of both beds. Jonghyun and Taemin are both in the left bed, one lying down with his leg propped up in a cast, the other sitting on the edge, body twisted away from Kibum. Eyes closed, mouths locked, fingers tangled in hair, looking the perfect picture of content gays in love.

"Y'all," Kibum snaps.

The way they both jump and snatch away from each other is the most beautiful thing Kibum has ever seen.

"I did not fly all the way across the country to watch you two gremlins make out," he says. He curls his scowl even further, just to really milk this for everything it's worth. Then, the one sitting on the edge of the bed calms himself, turns to him, and says, with the smallest, cutest, most hopeful little bean smile, "Kibummie?"

And suddenly Kibum is feeling the absolute softest he has ever felt in his entire life.

Well. A quick memory of wonderful Minho holding his hand until the very last second before he got on the plane surfaces in his mind. Soft palms, long fingers, locking with his before slipping away and lifting high above his head in a wave. The second most soft he's ever felt it in his life, then.

He still doesn't fight the smile on his face and uncrosses his arms, putting his hands on his hips instead.

"Hey, booger boy," he says. And then, to give himself some time, adds, "Get back in your own bed. You're supposed to be resting."

"Yeah, okay," Taemin sighs. He slips off the bed; Jonghyun takes his hand and holds it until he gets too far away, square palms, strong fingers, locking with Taemin’s before slipping away and lifting behind his head as a pillow.

Third softest Kibum has ever felt in his life.

To keep himself from getting absolutely sidetracked by queer joy, he looks over at Taemin as he clambers, wincing and gingerly paying attention to his ribs, into his own bed. Choppy black undercut, straight, parted in the middle. Deep brown eyes, round chubby cheeks, plump soft lips, all the same as Kibum remembers. What's different is. Everything else.

Countless piercings; Kibum knows because he tries to do a quick count and loses track halfway down Taemin’s face. Eyebrow rings, tiny jewels lining his lower eyelids, cheek studs, canine bites, septum, nose jewels, triple vertical labret, stars on the corners of his eyes. It's like the longer that Kibum looks at his face, the more he notices. That's not even talking about his ears; his left is like a jewelry box all on its own and his right-–

Kibum tries not to grimace as he gets a good look at Taemin's right ear. It's not really an ear anymore; not judging by the sheer amount of bandages covering it. To keep himself from thinking about what the bad guys were just starting to do to Taemin before the rescue, Kibum shakes his head and arches one eyebrow.

"You look different from your case picture," he says coolly. Taemin looks back at him blankly for a moment, and then a smirk curls up his mouth. It widens into a full grin, and he sticks his tongue out too, for a second, to show not just one tongue piercing, but a whole little design pierced on the surface of it.

"Yeah, I got a haircut," he shrugs. Kibum snorts. Indeed.

"You should see the rest of him." and that's a voice that Kibum has never heard before, but he can just tell that a smile lives inside of it at all times. He glances at Jonghyun: dark skin, huge brown eyes, soft round nose, thick pouty lips, sharp jaw, scruffy bleach blond hair. Healing scars on his cheeks, his lips, his collar bones, his wrists. Hospital gown sleeves rolled up to shoulders, beefy muscles Kibum has heard so much about living up to their reputation. His tongue slides over his lower lip, pushes the corner of his mouth as he looks over at Taemin. "He says he gets piercings when he's stressed," he says, sliding his eyes over to Kibum with an arched eyebrow of his own. "I can't think of any reason why he would be so stressed out, though."

Kibum laughs, but on the inside, he's grumpy. He's grumpy because Taemin was right. Jonghyun is so cute. Everything about him at first glance seems like it should be tough and dudebro and annoying, but. He is just so cute. He's so cute and little. His little mannerisms, the way his lips move when he speaks, how he keeps playing with his own hair, the way his non injured foot is swaying back and forth lazily under the blankets. He's so tiny, itty-bitty, minuscule, adorable. Kibum was so ready to come in here and roast him for causing so much trouble, but. He can't blame Taemin now. He gets it. He just met the babe 2 minutes ago and he would give up everything for him in a heartbeat too.

He can't bring himself to say any of that, though, so instead, he asks, "How's your leg?"

"Oh, bad," Jonghyun says brightly. He reaches down and pats the cast over his leg gingerly. "Better than last week, but still bad. They say I'm probably going to need a cane, but, like. Whatever." He shrugs, looking completely unbothered-– if anything, a little excited. "I'm about 2 years away from becoming an archaeology professor? And there is like, nothing hotter to me than the concept of being a professor with the biggest, loudest, gaudiest, queerest cane possible. It's going to be so fucking good. Will it fuck with my depression big time? Probably. But at least I'll be hot while I'm sad. And the big suit guys told me I could sue the bad guys for, you know, taking me hostage and trying to murk me. So that will be rad."

And Kibum thought Taemin was chatty. He has no idea how to respond to that. Thankfully, his phone chimes from his pocket and he uses that as an excuse to not have to. Mumbling "One sec" and taking it out, he reads the notification and immediately tries to fight back his smile.

It's a text from wonderful Minho: "has your plane landed yet? :) miss you :) also you're gay :)"

Kibum bites his lip giddily as he reads it over and over. It's so simple but it's so sweet and so cute and he is so gay. He texts back, "yeah about half an hour ago I texted you when I landed but I guess I didn't have service in the airport so it didn't send? I'm at the hospital though"

He's been meaning to figure out how to make his texts sound more lovey-dovey lately, but it's not super high on his list of priorities. He thinks maybe it should be, though, because looking at his reply next to wonderful Minho's makes him pout a little. Maybe all of those memes about tops being bad texters were right. Homophobic, in his opinion.

"You’re prettier than I was imagining, Kibummie."

"Wuh?" Kibum looks up from his phone, confused. Taemin is looking back at him earnestly, smiling a little, hair bouncing as he nods his head up and down eagerly.

"That's not me, like, hitting on you, or anything," he adds quickly, seriously, holding up his hands. "But, like, I don't know. The way your voice is, I was expecting someone. Different? I don't know. But I like you. You’re, you know." he gestures with both of his hands at Kibum in a way that Kibum thinks is supposed to be helpful but really isn't. "You're pretty. Cute. I like it. Cool scar," he adds, pointing.

"Oh, thanks," Kibum says, smiling automatically. He brings his fingers up to touch the end of his eyebrow. He loves his scar and he loves when people appreciate it. From his eyebrow, he pushes his hand through his hair, lets it rest on the back of his neck. For a long moment he just looks at them, both of them, two mountains of paperwork that make him feel too many emotions. He likes them and he's grumpy about it.

He opens his mouth and takes a breath, a checklist of everything he wanted to update them on running through his head. How the case is going, how the trials are going, how the search for the two guys that escaped is going, how long it'll be before Jonghyun gets called in for questioning again, how long until Taemin can finally leave the program and go back to his original life. That last part he thinks Taemin suspects, but has been desperately trying to keep his hopes low about so he doesn't get disappointed. Kibum is excited to see his eyes light up when he hears the news.

Before he can pick a place to start, his phone rings.

It doesn't just ring; it rings the one unique ringtones that Kibum has for it. Wonderful Minho's ringtone. He looks at his phone in his hand, at Minho's name in his palm, and couldn't fight back his smile if he tried. He's so gay.

"I have to take this," he says, wiggling his phone and heading for the door. "Very important business," he mumbles. The other two can wait a little bit to hear his news. They're not in danger anymore.

"It's your tall boyfriend, isn't it?" Taemin asks. "I know he's tall, Kibummie, because you're tall, you fucking liar, you're like 6 feet, I knew you were thirsty, I could tell-– hey-–" When Kibum reaches the door and glances over his shoulder, Taemin is on his knees on his bed, crawling to the end of it, looking halfway torn between smug and desperate to be paid attention to. Kibum only gives him a mischievous little smirk as he opens the door and steps out. "Tell him I say hi!" is the last thing that Kibum hears before he closes the door behind him and answers the call.

"Hello, gay baby," he smiles into his phone. There's a little bench just outside in the hallway so he takes a seat there, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. The security guard glances at him and he feels a little bad for a little moment about taking a phone call around them, but then Minho gasps audibly on the other line and he stops caring.

"That's me!" he exclaims. "I'm gay baby."

"You sure are," Kibum replies. He's feeling pretty gay baby himself, hearing wonderful Minho's voice. He checks his watch out of curiosity, then does a double take at it. Frowning, thinking about the time difference, he asks, "Aren't you still at work? "

"When has that ever stopped us?" Minho asks. And Kibum doesn't say anything in reply to that because, if he takes more than a second to think about it, then Minho definitely has a point. Minho seems to pick up on the fact that his silence means that he agrees, because he continues with, "How are the gremlins?"

"Safe," Kibum says. "Obnoxious. Cute. Secret gremlin says hi." He shrugs. "How are my gremlins?" That's the real question that he has. There hasn't been a minute that's gone by since he got on that plane that he hasn't thought about his two little puppies.

"Oh, um, " wonderful Minho says. "Well," he says, "I mean," he says. "Not. Bad." Kibum raises his eyebrows at the wall. Something in Minho's tone makes him think that maybe things are going bad.

"They still won't listen to you, huh?" He asks, not bothering to mask the smirk in his voice. He knew leaving wonderful Minho to babysit his puppies wouldn't go super smoothly, but he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to give the babe a house key and get him and the dogs to spend some time together.

"I mean, Commedes does," Minho says. "But Garcon likes to pretend I don't exist. Even when I offer him those little treats that you said are his favorite."

"Well, I-–" Kibum says, and then he stops, frowning, confused. "Garcon?" he asks. "Garcon doesn't care about treats, he likes the squeaky toys."

"No, you." wonderful Minho hesitates. "You said." He pauses again, longer this time, and then says, "The brown one?"

"No, the black-- Minho."

"Oh my god," Minho says quietly.

"Minho,” Kibum whispers.

"Oh my god," Minho says again.

"Have you been calling them the wrong-–"

"Oh my fucking god," Minho whines. He really whines it, long and high, a wail of despair almost. Kibum can't help it; He laughs, deep from his chest, feels it pulling up his shoulders and pushing up his cheeks. It's low and warm and rumbles through him and feels a lot like love, a lot like wonderful Minho is the best thing that's ever happened to him in his life.

"God, I love your laugh."

And now it's Kibum's turn to say oh my god, to hiss it through his teeth as all of his soft, warm and fuzzy emotions slap right over into sharp, hot and intense ones.

"Don't, you can't say that, don't say that, oh my god, you can't fucking say that oh, oh my god, " he hisses. "I'm in public, oh my god." He cannot deal with this in public. He cannot be this gay and in love when there are people around. He has an image that he needs to stick to. People won't be intimidated by him if they see him get all flustered because the love of his life thinks his laugh is cute.

"It's true, though," wonderful Minho says. And now his voice is warm, his smile shines through the phone, and Kibum is even gayer.

"Stop it," Kibum whines. "There's-–" he glances to the security guard and absolutely dies inside when he catches them quickly looking away and lifting their hand up to cover a smile. "The security guard is looking at me like I'm adorable, I hate it, you're making me look soft," he accuses.

"You are soft, " Minho tells him, smugness radiating throughout his tone, and then with curiosity, "they have a security guard outside their room? Really?"

"Yeah, dude," Kibum says. He latches onto this new subject as an excuse to push away all of his emotions and pretend they never happened. "They're still, like, under government protection. There are a couple of bad guys that are still out to get them. It's not like a public hospital is a secure location. I said they were safe and, like, 60% of that is because they have security."

"Damn," Minho says, sounding impressed. "Should you, like." he hesitates again, like he's not entirely sure of what he wants to say. "Should you get back in to talk to them?" he asks.

"Mmm, no," Kibum hums. He turns to the window behind him and leans down a little bit so he can peek through the blinds. Taemin has moved back to Jonghyun's bed and their mouths are locked together again. Twisting back to face forward, he smiles at the wall. "They're fine. We have all the time in the world to talk."

#minkey #jongtae #taekey #taemin #minho #kibum #key #jonghyun #fluff #oneshot #pg13 #the original Au was just the Jonghyun Taemin story with Minho Key as a b story #but then I didn't want to write any of that because it would be too hard #and so then I decided to make the b story The a story but then it wound up being like. 50/50 anyway lamo #jonghyun is the best part of this obviously #everybody jonghyun with the glasses and the spiky earrings and the cool cane #you're welcome #ydw

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cosmojjong · 3 years

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i literally cant get over the vocals in bad love. in my mind i know what kibum is capable of but that still took me aback, the fact that he confidently went for such a vocal challenging track and nailed it absolutely, that's what i love to see. the notes in the chorus beinh fully sustained... it's the way he belts those high notes and his pretty transitions from chest voice to head voice like ugh... delicious. this song was just made for him, it was made to be sung by him, it fits his style and vocal timber so well, and brings out all his vocal abilities and more

#i need to rewatch and relisten like 27 times to take it all in #kibum #bad love

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bisexualhobi · 3 years

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I need to gather all my thoughts and ofc listen to the album more but right now I feel like bad love is the best decision kibum could've taken. when he announced this comeback was a mini and not a full length album a lot of people were kinda disappointed, me included, cause after his military service I guess we all wanted a full length comeback as soon as possible.

but now I understand why he said this was the best way to show a new aspect of himself and do it as smoothly and quickly as possible. it's a short album but it packs a hell of a punch. it's pure kibum through and through. I would even dare to say this reflects kibum's own taste and choices better than face/i wanna be did. (and after reading his nme interview it's confirmed he didn't have creative control for his first album the way he did this time around).

I'm just really proud and emotional, because it's been proven that kibum had to fight tooth and nail with sm for this album. I know sm has priorities and kibum has never been one of them. he often gets pigeonholed and treated unfairly both by his own company and the public. they like it when he makes them laugh, but don't make it too flamboyant. they like to use him as comic relief or a stereotype but don't care about what he has to say beyond a quick yass girl and a crack about his mannerisms.

the fact that the entire art design and world building of this comeback is his own creation shows that kibum is so much more than a funny guy or a bitchy diva. he is a GREAT artist that can stand on his own, he can sing he can dance he can rap he can act and he can design. he's an all rounder and his creativity is a breath of fresh air in a year that has been plagued by repetitive and formulaic music in the kpop industry.

#.txt #key #shinee #kibum #bad love #just some rambles I needed to write down

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yootaesowlwrites · 3 years

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I Said You Couldn’t - Key

A43— “I said you couldn’t fall in love with me, but I didn’t say I couldn’t fall in love with you.”

Warnings: friends to lovers, slight angst, fluff.

W/C: 839

“I… look, I hate asking this of you, but if my aunt and uncle pester me one more time about finding a boyfriend, I will lose it at this dinner.” You say as you looked at your long time friend, Kim Kibum, or to the entire world, Key. “You can decline if you want to.” He could see your brows furrowed and your lips in a tight line, this wasn’t you, you were always joking around with him, but ever since you had set foot in his apartment, things were off, and he was about to find out why.

“Y/n, just tell me, don’t keep me hanging on.” He says as he leans forward. “What can I do to help?” You chew your bottom lip, your nails dig into the palm of your hand.

“Can you just please pretend to be my boyfriend for this dinner?” You ask, you could hear your heart drumming in your ears, you could see his eyes widening at your crazy suggestion. “It’s a stupid idea, I shouldn’t have even thought about it.” You lean back into the couch, tilting your head back to look up at the ceiling.

“It looks like it means a lot to you.” He says after a while of just silence. “And if it can help take away that frown you have, then I’ll do it.” You lift your head to look at him, your mouth agape in surprise. “I just have one condition.” You could see a mischievous smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“And what would that be?” You ask as you sit upright and lean forward.

“Don’t fall in love with me, don’t fall in love with my charm.” He says, a smile spreads across your lips before a giggle escaped from your lips. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, haha.” You say between giggling. “All right, deal, I’ll try my absolute best not to.”

༺༻༺༻

That was almost four months ago, and you had taken him to many more family dinners and family events, your aunt and uncle leaving you alone for the first time since you turned sixteen, and during those events you while pretending to date your friend, you fell for him, you broke that one condition he had set, to not fall for him.

You look at Kibum as he sat across from you at the table in the restaurant he was treating you to, his usual happy and funny self missing as the conversation between you became serious, you couldn’t even smile during this conversation, because you had to tell him.

“I have something I should tell you.” He says as he picks up his glass of water, you watch as he takes a sip from it before putting it down on the table.

“Hmm?” You hum as you wait for him to continue.

“You know that deal we made when you asked me to be your fake boyfriend?” He asks, you nod your head as you felt your heart clenching, you tried to hide your emotions with a blank look, but you knew your eyes would give it away soon.

“I remember that you said to not fall for your charms.” You say with a slight chuckle at the end, he nods his head, his smile barely visible to you.

“Ahem, yes…” He trails off as he begins looking anywhere except at you. “All right, well, the thing is, I fell for you.” He blurts out, deciding it was best to just spill it instead of stalling, your eyes widen, and you almost choke on your own saliva.

“I… well.” You begin to say, his eyes finally rest on you. “I thought you said not to fall for each other?” A faint smile slowly forming on your lips.

“Nuh-uh, I said you couldn’t fall for me, but I didn’t say I couldn’t fall in love with you.” He says, you nod your head as you tried to hide the smile threatening to spread across your lips.

“I see.” You say, you pick up your glass of water and bring it to your lips.

“Just, I see?” He asks as he raises an eyebrow at you. “Nothing else?” You take a sip of your water before putting the glass down. “Wait a second…” You look at him, seeing his eyes moving over your face. “You fell for me, didn’t you?”

“What if I did?” You ask as you shift around in your chair, he looks down before he started to chuckle.

“I…” He begins to say before stopping. “I wasn’t expecting this.” He places his hands on the armrests on the chair. “You know what… let’s give it a shot… let’s give it a try.”

“Let’s give it a try?” You ask as you tilt your head to the side. “Give us a try?” He nods his head.

“Yes.” He says. “Let’s give it a real try and see how it goes.” You nod your head as your smile finally breaks through and spreads across your face, almost reaching your eyes.

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gaykey · 3 years

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tbh i love how kibum did body rhythm. he really made it his. like lbr he doesn’t really do overtly sexual like i think many shawols were expecting it to be. he really made it his own and i liked the choreo!

he did!

same, i loved the choreo, it was very much his style

and like, in hindsight

body rhythm is such a key song!

like, vocally, it suits him so well, and it's a bit different in terms of genre, but underneath has just a good poppy core, which is perfect for him

he nailed it

#anon #key #he transformed the song for me tbh

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min-youngis · 4 years

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Boom - p.jm

monkey brain said make a banner on your own u hussy

~ Pairing : Park Jimin x Reader (entrepreneur x software company intern, dance partners au)

ft. Best Friend/Roommate! Jungkook and Brother! Yoongi

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour, a very very very tiny smidgen of Angst

~ Rating : R (some suggestive descriptions, a fair amount of swearing and scary adult themes like money)

~ Summary : When Jimin leaves your little trio at the age of ten when his family moves away, you and Jungkook think that's the end of it, and you're never going to see your best friend again. But cut to twelve years later and suddenly your dance class is home to the prettiest man you've ever seen (again), who happens to be your friend's business partner and also...your new dance partner? Your friends think you're dumb, but you can confirm you're dumber.

Childhood Friends to Strangers to Lovers

~ Wordcount : 29.3k (🤡)

~ Warnings : swearing, some suggestive descriptions, mild alcohol consumption, excruciatingly slow burn, inaccurate depictions of internships and company establishment, emotional constipation, badly dealt with feelings, i-like-attention-but-i-don’t-like-people y/n, people who say please and thank you and excuse me and sorry are really fucking attractive, dissociation as a coping mechanism, overthinking as an instinct

~ A/N : no a/n this time ladies i'm all out of words. this has been two months in the making. muchos gracias to @ghostiemakingposties and @thedorkyfork for helping me figure out the timelines/logistics and making the plot make a semblance of sense :D thank you, that is all, i am ti r e d.

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

2008

“My mom says we’re moving.”

He says it with all the innocence of somebody who’s completely clueless about how permanent a shift like that is, blissfully ignorant in his ten-year-old self. Over the buzzing of a bee somewhere nearby, you can hear a door shut as Jungkook runs into the house, screaming for food.

Squinting against the sunlight that filters in through the rustling canopy overhead, hitting your eyes abruptly every time that one particular leaf moves in the summer breeze, you ask, “Where are we going?”

There’s a quizzical tone in his voice when he replies slowly. “I don’t think you’re coming. Mom didn’t say anything about you coming.”

You turn your head towards him, facing his body that’s mirroring your own, laid out on the grass that smells like summer, hands and legs spread languidly because time is forever and you have nothing to do but breathe and laugh and live. Your messy pigtail pushes into the side of your head painfully, but you ignore the uncomfortable sensation, eyes widening as you fix him with a stare.

“What do you mean, I’m not coming?”

Chewing his lip worriedly, he says, “I think she means we’re moving moving.”

“It’s a scam.”

“It’s a what?”

“A scam,” you repeat decisively, turning back to face the sky, closing your eyes again and feeling powerful as you explain your new found knowledge to an eager crowd of one. “Yoongi taught me. He said that when dad tells him he won’t get dinner unless he washes up after basketball, he’s being scammed and that adults tell lies sometimes to make us do what they want us to do. He said it’s progapanda.” You, Jimin and Jungkook know that your four-years-older-than-you brother knows everything.

“Panda?” Jimin asks doubtfully.

Sagely, you nod. “Yeah. We’re being raised to be brainless machines and slaves to the catapultists.”

“What are catapultists?”

Shrugging, you reply, “No idea. But Yoongi says they’re really bad. Anyway, your mom is probably scamming you. You’re not really moving.”

“No?” he asks, hopeful tilt in his voice.

“Nope,” you blithely respond.

You hear the grass underneath his head faintly rustle as he nods in relieved affirmation, and he goes back to closing his eyes towards the bright sky.

Jimin moving. It’s laughable. Adults, you think ruefully, shifting so you can feel the warm sun on your face. Some things are permanent. Like Mr. Kibum, your dance teacher who’s taught you your entire life, and the flowers that your mom keeps in the vase on top of the shoe rack that look shockingly real for plastic. Like Yoongi's basketball that he got when he was selected for the school team and is too big for you to hold, but with which he taught you how to dribble anyway, and like the large tree in Jungkook’s backyard that you’re lying underneath right now, waiting for him to come back from the house with lemonade.

And like Jimin, who’s just always there. Even when you don’t particularly want him to be, like that one time he had come over when you were crying four years ago because Yoongi was going to middle school and you both wouldn’t be in the same bus anymore. You had been so embarrassed because Yoongi was just standing there and laughing at you, but Jimin had said that he wouldn’t tell anybody and you had believed him, because it’s Jimin.

“And anyway, Kook and I won't let you leave.”

He snickers next to you. “How are you going to stop my mom?”

“We'll cry,” you reply simply, shrugging as much as you can in your laid down position. “I do it all the time to get stuff at home. Yoongi hates it, he calls it my younger sibling privilege, whatever that means.”

He doesn’t sound very convinced when he asks, “Will it work?”

Behind you, you hear the repeated thud of Jungkook running and his mother shouting, “Slow down! You’ll end up spilling it all and I’m not going to make another bottle.”

With a grin at Jimin, you say, “Watch,” as you sit up and turn towards an excitedly jogging Jungkook and as he approaches the tree.

“I have lemonade!” he shouts loudly, lifting the glass bottle up.

But you’re more focused on Mrs. Jeon and the platter full of mini sandwiches she’s holding. The yellow, sunflower shaped digital watch on your wrist reads 12:37 PM, roughly the time at which your mother usually calls whichever house you’ve spent the morning in and asks you to come home for lunch. The plan forms in your brain. Time to show Jimin the power of tears.

“Y/N, dear, your mother just called. She wants you back home after eating this, alright?”

Remembering Mr. Kibum's pre-performance advice (‘Deep breaths. You can’t put on a good show if your head isn’t fastened on tight.’), you summon all your strength and screw up your face, shutting your eyes and squeezing as hard as you can.

“What is she doing with her face?” you hear Jungkook ask. But it doesn’t distract you. You’ve just felt water behind your eyelids.

Opening your eyes wide again, you let your lower lip wobble with practiced precision, chin trembling.

“Oh, Mrs. Jeon, is there no way I could stay for a bit longer? Just ten extra minutes, I promise.”

To your delight, she immediately looks unsure, eyes slightly widening in surprise and concern.

“Oh! – oh, but of course you can. I’ll call your mother right now and let her know. And why don’t you take some of those sandwiches for the road too? There’s no need to cry, sweetheart, you can spend as long as you want here.”

You continue with your act until she’s back in the house and the door swings shut behind her, after which you immediately right your expression, grinning smugly. Grabbing a sandwich, you sit back down and look at a bemused Jungkook and an awed Jimin.

“And that’s how you do it,” you say, satisfied with their reactions and tuning them out as Jimin fills Jungkook in.

For people who have money, adults really are terribly stupid. Jimin moving, you think again, taking a big gulp of lemonade. The thought almost makes you laugh. As if.

2020

“Y/N, could you debug my code real quick?”

“Y/N, I need ten copies of this immediately.”

“Y/N, you’ll need to stay back for a bit today to finish the patch testing.”

You rush from cubicle to cubicle, sharing harried smiles with the other interns that you meet in the hallway, running around like you with equally stressed expressions on their faces. They may have been here a few weeks longer than you, but you doubt they’re having it any easier.

You’re about to slip back into your desk after submitting the copies to Hoseok so you can get started on debugging the code you’ve just been sent, when a ringing voice calls out from the room you’re jogging past.

“Y/N! Come in here for a second, please.”

Immediately, everybody around you freezes. Slowly, they inch away from the door that you’re standing outside. Wide eyed, you meet Hyejin's gaze worriedly from across the room. She looks just about ready to drop the tray of paper coffee cups she’s holding, but tries for an encouraging smile. It comes out more as a grimace. You see pitying stares around you and foolishly wait for a few seconds for some sort of divine intervention, for somebody else who shares your name to get up and enter the room instead.

“Y/N, I don’t have all day!”

From the cubicle on your left, Namjoon hisses, “Go! Before she gets mad.”

Pulling yourself together and squaring your shoulders, you turn and look at the half open door in front of you. A plaque on the wood reads ‘Kim Jennie – Head of Product Development'.

You place your fingers on the handle and hear a fervently muttered prayer from an intern standing behind you. With a deep breath, you plaster a polite smile on your face and push the door open.

“You had called for me?”

“Repeatedly.”

Off to a lovely start, then. You walk over to her desk, stopping when you’re a couple of feet from it. She doesn’t immediately look up from her laptop, choosing to let you stew, no doubt.

You’ve just started subconsciously picking at your nails when she deigns to look at you, slowly removing her glasses and placing them on the desk.

Twice before you’ve been called to her office. The first time was because you were subbing for her sick assistant and had messed up her coffee order. The second was when they needed an intern to sit in at a high profile meeting to shorthand the minutes and you were the nearest one they could find. Both times you had received an earful – the former got you a stern admonishment and the latter an equally strict warning to ‘make it legible, at the very least, if you can manage that’.

You wonder what you’ve done wrong this time. Wracking your brains, you come up empty. You’ve been much too busy with the subjects to fuck up for the queen.

“How has your time here been so far?”

“I'm sorry?” you ask in befuddlement, certain that you’ve misheard her.

There’s a flash of a tiny smile before her mask comes back on.

“I may be firm, but I’m not heartless. Being an intern at this company isn’t easy. I just want to know how you’ve been settling in for the last month.”

Realising that you’re gaping, you hurriedly shut your mouth before clearing your throat and replying, “I’ve been learning a lot and I’m glad to have the exposure.”

“Okay, now give me the non-textbook answer.”

“I’m sorry?” you ask again, simultaneously feeling thrown off and like a damn fool.

“This isn’t college anymore, Y/N. I’m not your professor. I’m your boss, and maybe, some day, your colleague. You’re our newest intern and I know it can get a little intense, so I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable.”

You look at her suspiciously. Is this some kind of sick, twisted test? But you take in her serious but kind eyes and decide that she’s being honest enough. Now or never.

“Can you allow interns to use the fancier copiers? They’re quicker than the ones on the second floor that we use now.”

You get a raised eyebrow and for one, terrifying second, you think she’s going to throw you out of her room, out of the building, out of the company and write an email to all the other software companies in the world telling them not to hire you.

“There is no rule stating that interns can’t use the copiers here. Have you been climbing floors every time you need to copy something?”

Before you can stop yourself, you ask, feeling like a broken record, “I’m sorry?”

She rolls her eyes and you feel like a chastised child. That’ll teach you a lesson about listening to your brother’s best friend.

“Will that be all? Any other...legitimate grievances?”

“Oh no, that’s all. I’ll be – er, going then.”

You get a lazily waving hand in response and consider yourself dismissed as Jennie puts her glasses back on and turns her attention to her laptop screen. About to pull open the door, you stop short as you hear from behind you, “Maybe actually read the company policy instead of talking to Hoseok, yes? Ask my assistant for a pamphlet. I dare say Yeonjun should be able to give you more reliable information.” You can swear you detect an amused smile in her voice.

A few hours later sees you as the centre of attention in a crowd around the coffee machine in the break room, regaling the interns around you with the latest.

“She did that for me too,” Hyejin says once you’ve finished your story, taking another sip of her coffee. “She does it for all the interns but it’s usually batch wise. You probably had to go it alone since you joined late.”

Shrugging, you reply, “Either way, it was terrifying.”

Soobin gives you a soothing pat on your shoulder. “At least that’s done with. Now you’ll only have to talk to her again if you fuck up spectacularly or if you’re really, really good.”

You nod mindlessly, biting off a piece of the canteen sandwich and chewing thoughtfully.

“Hey, Y/N! Managed to get fired before even getting hired?”

You spin around and see Hoseok and Namjoon cackling like a bunch of stupid hyenas along with some other employees. Pushing past a giggling Hyejin, you storm over, seeing red.

“Jung Hoseok. How dare you make me run around the damn building just to get some copies whenI didn’t even have to?”

You’re glaring at him now, looking up at his gleeful face.

“Oh my god, did you ask her about it? What did she say? Fuck, I wish I was there.”

Huffing, you reply with your arms crossed, embarrassed. “She told me to ask Yeonjun for the company policy pamphlet.”

He howls in delight, slapping a grinning Namjoon's back. “Ah, I can’t wait to tell Yoongi about this. He’s gonna have a field day.”

Unamused, you continue glowering at him. To your increasing annoyance, he looks completely unaffected, bringing a hand up to ruffle your hair, giving you flashbacks to when he used to come over to your house to hang out with Yoongi all those years ago. You have to admit, he was a great deal nicer then than he is now, snickering at your fuming expression. You aren’t ten years old anymore.

Narrowing your eyes one last time, you turn around on your heel and begin to walk away.

“Meet at the entrance at six today?”

You don’t verbally reply, still walking and flipping him off over your shoulder.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

“Yes,” you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear before you leave the room in the crowd of interns you had entered with. Lunch breaks are only so short and those codes aren’t going to debug themselves.

“You alright?”

“Peachy,” you sigh, rubbing a finger on your temple as you let your head rest on the window next to you.

“It’s intense, isn’t it?” Hoseok asks, eyes focused on the road in front of the car.

“Yeah. I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.”

Attempting for a cheery tone, he replies, “But, hey! A month! That’s great! Most interns usually burn out by then, but you’ve managed to stick around.”

It’s a small consolation and you tell him as much, mindlessly watching the darkening sky as you get closer to home and to dinner and to bed.

“You’re doing well,” he says comfortingly. “Just give it some time. If you got through college, you can get through this.”

“When did you get so wise?” you chuckle, turning your head to see his lips quirk up in a teasing smile.

“When you were off gallivanting on the other side of the country and I was a lowly intern, just like you are now.”

Sputtering, you reply, offended, “I was in college.”

“Yes, that’s what they all say,” he sighs in a mock-patronising tone. “What’s up with your friend, though, Hyejin? She seems cool.”

“She isn’t into you, don’t bother,” you reply shortly, knowing exactly what Hoseok is asking.

“Not what I meant.”

“Hmm, I’m sure. Purest of intentions, yeah?”

Pulling up next to the curb outside your apartment, he crosses his index finger over his heart and replies haughtily, “Now that I know I don’t have a chance, yes, actually.”

You snort, unbuckling your seat belt and twisting around so you can get your bag from the back seat.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, pushing the door open.

He smiles kindly in return as he waves off your gratitude and says instead, “Don’t do any work this weekend. Product rolling week starts on Monday and you’re gonna need all your energy.”

“Is it more intense than usual?”

“Unfortunately so,” he replies through the open door to your standing frame with a grimace. “It's fun work, though. Just tiring.”

Nodding with a sigh, you shut the passenger seat and give Hoseok a wave as he smiles at you and drives away.

You trudge up the stairs, thanking all the higher powers for Jungkook and the fact that he had reached home earlier than you. You don’t think you can handle cooking right now.

“Kook! I’m home!”

You hear an unintelligible, muffled grunt from somewhere inside the house in response as you kick your flats off in the foyer and shut the front door behind you.

Moving inside, you drop your bag on the table and make your way to the utility room from where you had heard Jungkook's voice. You’re greeted by the sight of his sweatpants-clad butt as he ruffles around the open washing machine in front of him, dumping clothes into it from a basket in his arms.

“Is it laundry day already?”

You get an impatient huff in response and a muffled sound emerges. “Every day should be laundry day.”

Snorting, you reply to his face once he’s stood up and cracked his back with a grimace. “We get like three outfits a day at most. What are you going to put in there, your Halloween shrimp costume?”

“I thought we agreed to not mention that!”

He deposits the empty clothes hamper in your tired but accepting arms, gesturing you to place them on the counter behind and you do so, as you laugh, “Now why would I agree to something so stupid?”

“Because you’re stupid.”

“And you’re 22, but you still can’t figure out something more devastating than a middle school comeback, stupid.”

You watch, satisfied, as he sputters for a bit before glaring at you and turning on his heel, walking out of the room.

Grinning, you follow, feeling loads lighter after that interaction. Nothing like winning some good old-fashioned verbal sparring to get the sinews stiffened again.

He leads the way to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath as you walk behind him, your stomach rumbling something awful.

“Oh, bless your soul, it’s food!” you moan, rushing towards the box full of rice sitting on the counter.

“Lovely, so now my soul is blessed, but any other time, I’m stupid. You might want to heat – alright, then.”

You don’t pause as you rapidly continue shuffling the contents into your mouth like you haven’t eaten in days. Climbing up onto the counter, you chew and swallow, only pausing for a second in the middle to ask, “How was work?”

He brings down two tea bags from the overhead shelf. “Fine, I guess. Managed to get assigned a good story, so that’s something.”

Swallowing, you say, “That’s great! And the novel?”

With a shrug as he pours boiling water into the cups, he replies, “Haven’t made any headway. I’m still stuck at the same place.”

“Well, you have the weekend to focus on it. That’s bound to help, yeah?”

You set aside your empty box, feeling satiated, and accept the mug from Jungkook with a smile, nursing the warmth in between your palms and letting it steep as he takes a sip of his own tea while nodding.

“Hopefully. And class tomorrow should be fun, might get something there.”

You hum in response, pleased. The thought of your weekly dance class perks you up a bit as you feel your eyelids drooping at the soothing smell and steam of chamomile under your nostrils.

When you and Jungkook had found out that you’d both be coming back to your hometown for work after spending four years at different colleges, the first thing you two had done after finding an apartment to share had been re-enrolling at your old dance studio. Now Saturday mornings are exclusively reserved for listening to Taemin, Mr. Kibum's protégé, shout at you and roughly ten other young adults to ‘Dance, you lazy fools,’ like he’s an old man who’s angry at teenagers about stepping on his lawn instead of the 25 year old, recent fine arts graduate that he is. Most of the class, including Taemin, are people you’ve grown up with in the city, gone to school with, performed at recitals with when you all were teenagers.

Sliding off the counter, you take Jungkook’s cup from him and wash it along with your own. Now that you’ve been fed, you want nothing more than to go to bed so you can wake up in time in the morning. Once, you and Jungkook had made the mistake of being five minutes late, and now Taemin’s put a black asterisk next to both your names in the database, like he’s running a bloody pre school.

“Oh, and I almost forgot, Tae finally found a business partner!”

Stacking the cups on the side of the sink, you dry your hands as you reply, “I always knew he would. Is it somebody you know, from college?”

“No, he said they went to high school together and met again at a reunion party. “

You’re having trouble keeping up with the conversation at this point, feeling your eyelids becoming more insistent in their bid to shut, so you just pat an amused Jungkook on the shoulder in acknowledgement before you manage to say through a yawn, “I’m excited to meet him. ‘Night.”

“Remind me again why I didn’t dance more in college,” you groan from your sprawled out position on the wooden floor of the room.

Taemin walks up and down the three rows of tired, panting dancers, looking infuriatingly fresh and straight off the ramp despite having just run through a terrifyingly complex and intense routine. Your only consolation is the fact that he seems to be the only one.

“Because you’re a nerd,” comes the reply to your rhetoric.

You try to move your leg hard enough to connect with Jungkook's, but all you can manage is a pitifully weak love tap on his shin. He lets out a wheezy sort of laugh from his straight legged, sat down position on your right, body tiredly leaning on his palms behind him. On your other side, Hyejin is faring marginally better than the both of you. She looks a little tired, but eager to, god forbid, go another round. She always was more active in college. It used to annoy you, when she used to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go do something awful, like exercise, but now you wish you had joined her occasionally, if for nothing else but to have a stamina greater than a sedentary brick.

“On your way out, make sure you check the notice board in the reception for information about the competition.”

“Boom? It still happens?”

Taemin fixes you with a dry look as you slowly sit up and copy Jungkook’s position. “Shockingly enough, this institute runs perfectly normally even without you around, Y/N.”

Mr. Kibum taught him a bit too much, you think, as chuckles erupt around you.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Oh, please, we both know I’m only asking because a maximum of four teams used to participate when we were in school. Third place just meant second last.”

“We made it a solo and duet competition three years ago. More teams, easier to coordinate for participants. We’re doing much better than we used to.”

It makes sense. BigHit, as a studio, used to have a small but dedicated group of patrons. Everybody knew everybody, and there were only two rooms. But looking at how much bigger this new building is, and the number of students in this contemporary batch that you’re a part of, not to mention the multiple rooms that you pass by every weekend filled with screaming children learning how to pirouette and b-boy, it’s clear that there’s been an increase in customers.

The lot of you trudge outside the room, making your way to the entrance in a babble of ‘Goodbye!’s and ‘See you next week!’s. You can feel the familiar soreness setting into your legs and back, but it seems less intense than it used to be. You’re rifling through your bag for your water bottle as Jungkook reads the poster on the notice board.

“See you at work!” Hyejin calls out as she walks towards the doors, letting you give a distracted wave to her retreating back.

“Ah, shit, I think I left my bottle inside. Give me five minutes?”

Jungkook nods, not really paying attention to what you’re saying, too engrossed in the pamphlet.

With an internal groan, you turn around and walk back the way you just came until you reach the room you’re looking for. Pushing the door open, you stop to a sudden halt, feeling like the SpongeBob with headphones meme.

The sight you’re met with leaves you gaping. The man dancing inside is gliding through the music, elegance pouring out of every fingertip. His back is facing you, and you can make out the strength and control he has over his movements, shoulders fluidly firm and back flexing with each lift of his arms, slow twist of his hips through his plain white t-shirt. It seems, for a single, permanently ephemeral moment like the music is radiating from his very being, and not from the speakers on the side. You hardly realise that you’re still standing, that you’re still breathing, but watching his limbs flow with such commanding grace somehow makes you feel so, so alive.

Abruptly, the music stops, and you feel like you’ve been woken up from a year-long slumber, suddenly conscious of your body, of your existence. He still hasn’t noticed you, frozen as you are at the doorway, and he walks towards the speakers away from the door. You don’t look away, slightly out of breath, and with a start, you notice your blue water bottle on the floor next to his shoes on the side.

Gingerly, you step into the room and softly clear your throat, feeling like you’ve just desecrated someplace holy. The man turns around, speaker in one hand and phone in the other, slightly panting, and the moment comes to a standstill yet again, suspended with wild surmise.

“Y/N?”

The floppy brown hair, those twinkling eyes and pouty lips. Suddenly, you’re ten years old again, sitting with your best friend under a tree and discussing excuses to get out of doing homework.

“Jimin?”

You’re meeting each other in the middle of the room now in a tight hug, and you step away with a million questions running through your brain.

What’s Jimin doing back in this city? Why is he practicing in the studio alone? Is he staying? When did he get so pretty?

The last thought hits you like a bullet train and you impatiently shoo it away. It’s been twelve years, of course he looks different.

“You look great!” he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles, tiny dimple popping, in the I haven’t seen you in a really long time and this is how the script for such situations reads voice.

“So do you! How come you’re here?” you enthuse, referring to the same play, still reeling.

“I moved back a week ago! Do you still live here?”

“Moved out for college, came back for work-"

“Hey, Y/N, what’s taking you so lo – Jimin?”

“Kook! You’re here too?”

You watch Jungkook’s face morph through shock, surprise, confusion before mirroring your own expression of bemused joy as he meets Jimin in the middle for a hug. Seeing them like this makes your heart ache with the memory of the last time the three of you were together, that final evening under Jungkook’s tree, as the sun was setting on the horizon and you were all promising each other that you would write thrice a week. Even you and Jungkook, despite the fact that you both weren’t moving anywhere. Of course, not a single email was sent. Not unless you count that one week in college where you were avoiding your texts like the plague and used exclusively email to contact a very exasperated Jungkook (“Y/N, you literally do not even have to reply to my messages, but every time I get an email notification, I keep thinking it’s from the university and I don’t know if I should be relieved or worried when I see that it isn’t.”).

Before you know what’s happening, leave alone protest, Jungkook’s pulling you into the hug so your head is smushed into his chest, face a hair's breadth away from the side of Jimin's. He’s still giggling with Jungkook as the latter says, “Hey, this is so great! The three of us, just like old times, yeah?”

You take in the crinkles around Jimin’s eyes as he smiles, the sweet, high pitched, deliciously familiar sound of his laugh, his playful voice as he says, “It’s wild that you used to be the shortest of us,” to a faux offended Jungkook, and with the memory of him dancing like that still etched in your mind, you know that this is nothing like old times.

You push yourself out of the hug and plaster on a smile to cover how unsettled you feel on the inside. You’ve never been good with change, and this is a huge fucking change.

Laughing along for a bit, you let out an internal sigh of relief as Jimin winces and says, “Taemin and I are gonna be dancing together at the competition and he'll be here any minute, so I really should get back to practicing. He channels Mr. Kibum’s spirit even more when he has a vested interest in the outcome, and he really wants to win.”

“Oh, yeah, sure! No worries, we'll let you get back to it, then,” you utter, perhaps a tad too enthusiastic. Jimin doesn’t seem to notice anything, just giving you one of his wide smiles before the three of you exchange numbers.

Jungkook finishes entering his contact on Jimin’s phone and hands it over to him. “We should totally catch up sometime, though!”

Jimin agrees enthusiastically with a swift grin and says, “Yeah, definitely! We'll make plans soon,” and the next thing you know, and not nearly quick enough, you’re out on the pavement, absentmindedly counting the tiles as you and Jungkook walk back home.

“Are you overthinking this?”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by his question. He’s got an infuriatingly knowing look on his face that you want to smack right off.

“What’s there to overthink?”

“It really isn’t a big deal, you know. I mean, yeah, it’s been a million years since we saw him and it kinda sucks that we couldn’t keep in touch and obviously, puberty hit him like a glorious, gorgeous truck, but he’s still Jimin.”

Side eyeing him, you wonder if it’s a good thing that it sounds like he’s just read your mind.

Sighing, you reply, kicking at a pebble in front of you in half-hearted annoyance, “He’s just so...grown up. And old.”

“You're three months older than him, if I remember correct.”

Debating on whether you should direct your next kick at him instead and deciding to spare him, you say, “You know what I mean. I know he’s still Jimin, but I feel like I don’t know him at all. You should have seen him dancing, Kook, it was beautiful. So poised and graceful and wonderful and skilled. I’ve never seen anybody dance like that apart from Mr. Kibum, maybe. Who is he?”

“There, there,” Jungkook replies after your sudden, passionate outburst, patronisingly patting your head as you huff and shake off his hand. “We literally just spoke to him for the first time in twelve years. I feel weird about it too, but I’m sure we'll be more comfortable once we spend more time together. We’ve grown as well, yeah?”

First Hoseok, now Jungkook. The amount of wisdom that’s been shoved on you from unexpected quarters recently is quite astonishing.

You tell him as much, swerving his swatting hand and narrowly missing bumping into an annoyed couple walking next to you. Giggling as you simultaneously apologise and teeter precariously on your heel, trying to regain your balance, Jungkook lets you suffer for a while until he finally takes pity and grabs your hand just in the nick of time, standing you upright.

“Tae wants us to meet his partner tonight over dinner,” he says, ignoring your scowl of annoyance as you hoist your bag higher on your shoulder from its displaced position.

“I’m meeting Yoongi for dinner today, though.”

“Tell Tae that. He’s annoyed you aren’t replying to his messages anyway.”

In a mumble, you reply, “He shouldn’t take it personally.”

Jungkook just hums in response as you both climb up the stairs to the apartment, more than used to your delayed replies. “Can you get Yoongi to bake that chocolate cake again? I’ve been craving it.”

Pushing the door open, you say, already dreaming about dessert tonight and Yoongi’s cooking skills, “Me and you both, my dude, me and you both.”

Yoongi : How long will you take to reach?

Depends. How long will the cake take to get ready?

Yoongi : If you aren’t here in fifteen minutes, I’m eating it and only leaving enough for Jungkook.

Open the door.

“Took you long enough,” Yoongi huffs as you close the door behind you and step into the foyer, slipping off your shoes in the doorway.

“Hey, I was only listening to what Hoseok said. I am to, and I quote, completely relax this weekend because next week's gonna be hell apparently.”

He flicks you on the forehead, easily dodging your half-hearted counter attack before leading you into the house. The smell of food wafts out of the kitchen, nearly making you salivate. If there’s one good thing that’s come out of moving back to this city, it’s that Yoongi never moved out and where Yoongi lives, good cooking thrives. He always did pay more attention to your mother’s lessons.

You’re preoccupied with trying to guess what the smells are, eyes closed and nose sticking up, when you suddenly bump into your brother’s back.

“Move over, then. What are we waiting for? It doesn’t taste as good reheated,” you say, eagerly trying to move past his frame so you can enter the kitchen slash dining room.

But something in his manner seems shifty. Slowly, you bring the balls of your feet back to the floor and stop fidgeting as you take in his evasive expression.

Sighing, you ask, casting one last doleful expression to the doorway that’s so close yet so far, “What did you do?”

“Who says I did anything?”

At your unimpressed look, he huffs before taking a deep breath, as if to summon up some courage.

“Y/N,” he starts, his uncharacteristically sweet tone making you wary.

“Yes?” you slowly ask, simultaneously suspicious and curious.

He places his palms on your shoulders and your younger sibling instincts kick in, ready to punch him in the stomach if he tries to flip you. But there’s no trace of mischief in his unsure, slightly scared eyes. Pleased as you are that Yoongi feels the need to be cautiously terrified around you, you wonder what you’re about to hear that’s making him anticipate a negative reaction.

In a soothing voice, he says, tilting his head like how he used to talk to you when you were seven, “You know that you’re my favourite sister, don’t you?”

Okay, that’s it. With an impatient click of your tongue, you wrench his hands off and swiftly sidestep him to the kitchen doorway as you mutter, “I’m your only sister, fool.”

But the insult never leaves your mouth, stuck as it is on the tip of your tongue. You’re left halted at the doorway, gaping like a fish at the figure sat on the table, Yoongi’s voice urgently, uselessly hissing, “No, wait, don’t go in yet!” behind you and trailing off like a deflating balloon.

“Hello, Y/N,” Kim fucking Jennie says, pleasantly smiling up at you, looking completely unfazed.

“Hi- Hel- Hey, Jennie.”

Your embarrassing stutter ends in a growl as Yoongi behind you chuckles, his laughter morphing into a deeply satisfying grunt of pain as you elbow him in the stomach as discreetly as possible.

Jennie's slightly widening grin shows that maybe the motion wasn’t as discreet as you had hoped. Oh, well. As long as it hurt like a bitch.

For a moment, you just stand there, looking at her with your mind blank. Twice in the same day, you’ve been left at a loss for words, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. She doesn’t seem to be too affected, sitting calmly and steadily looking at you through her black, full-rimmed, cat-eye glasses, like a drastically younger and more female version of an Asian Dumbledore. In fact, if anything else, she seems like she’s having quite a good time. Her smile doesn’t waver, and you’re still thrown by how young and non-terrifying she looks when you aren’t in front of her in a boss-intern capacity, but all that will come later. For now, you need answers.

Thankfully, at that moment, from behind you, in a voice that sounds disgustingly like a male turtle dove cooing to his romantic counterpart, Yoongi breaks the deafening silence. “Could you give us a moment, Jennie?” he asks, and with an amicable nod from your boss, he guides you back out to the living room with his hands on your shoulders.

The moment you’re out of earshot, you whip around to face him, mustering as much anger and irritation into your gaze as you can. “What the fuck?” you hiss, distantly glad to see him a great deal more scared than he had been when he laughed at you back in the kitchen.

Not giving him a chance to reply, you rapidly continue, “What is my boss doing in your bloody kitchen?”

He holds up his palms in a placating gesture as he says, “Now, I know this is a bit of a shock-"

“Figured that out all on your own, did you?”

“-but Jennie and I are...seeing each other.”

“Oh my god. Oh god. Holy fuck. I need to sit down.”

You drop onto the couch behind you, Yoongi tentatively following your lead, gingerly perching himself out of punching range.

As you try to wrap your head around this lovely surprise, he continues, “I know she’s your mentor and stuff, but it isn’t going to be any different at work or anything. You weren’t even technically supposed to meet her today. Her car's gone for servicing and her Uber’s running a little late.”

“Okay, wait, wait. How do you even know her?”

Looking slightly less wary, now that he can tell that you aren’t going to attack him, he says, “I met her at one of those company parties last year, when Hobi made me go as his plus one.”

You straighten up so fast, it’s a wonder your spine doesn’t crack. “Last year? You guys have been dating for an entire year?”

Trying to subtly shift slightly away once again, realising that the jury’s still out on physical violence, he slowly replies, “No, no, we’ve only been together for, like, two months, promise.”

You slump again, but shoot a venomous glare at Yoongi so he won’t lower his guard. “How old is she, even? And also, does Hoseok know about this?”

“28, and yes.”

“No fucking way,” you say, now in awe for a completely different reason. “She’s a division head before thirty?”

You regret it immediately, though, as Yoongi’s visage takes on a moony eyed expression. “Yeah, she’s really smart. Did her internship and online classes at the same time and skipped a grade in school.”

“Oh, ew, ew, okay fine, I understand. Stop doing that with your face, please,” you rattle off, completely disgusted by this ghastly display.

He’s about to say something, probably flattering because that always serves to soften you right up, when you hear the soft clearing of a throat. Both of you whip your heads in the direction of the sound comically fast to see Jennie at the end of the room near the foyer, phone in one hand and bag in the other. Immediately, the two of you stand up, although for different reasons.

It looks like she’s trying not to laugh as she says, “My ride's here, so I’ll let you guys get to dinner, yeah?”

“I’ll walk you out,” Yoongi immediately replies, taking on that tone that you’re quickly getting incredibly tired of.

Jennie nods with a wide smile, eyes crinkling on the sides as Yoongi gently places a hand on the small of her back once he reaches her. You try your best not to gag. You might be 22 years old with some reasonable amount of experience in the romantic field, but there are some things that you just do not need to see.

“See you at work, Y/N!” Jennie says. All you can manage is a half nod half bow, and ridiculously, you have to actively fight the urge to salute. You narrow your eyes as Yoongi lets out a snort at your actions that he quickly and not very convincingly tries to cover up with a cough, quickly ushering an amused Jennie towards the door.

An amused Jennie, you think, hardly daring to believe it, as you make your way back to the kitchen, determined to hold the chocolate cake ransom until he tells you more about Jennie. Only Jennie, mind you. Not Jennie and Yoongi. You wouldn’t want to touch that with a five-foot pole, not anytime soon, at least. But your mentor slash potential future boss alone, on the other hand, seems really fucking cool right about now.

“I’m telling you nothing. If I have to wait for a week to get a reply, you can wait a couple more minutes to see him for yourself.”

You scowl at Tae, holding your tongue from reminding him that replying to a stupid cat video ranks much lower on the urgency scale than being armed with some semblance of information about his new business partner that you and Jungkook are going to be meeting in five minutes.

Next to you, Jungkook snickers and says in a sing-song voice, “I told you so.”

Tae continues fixing you with that obstinate glare, lips wrapped around the bright, red straw jutting out of his plastic cup filled with something that’s probably too edgy and expensive to taste good. Like everything else on this menu.

When he had sent the address to the two of you, you had exchanged one of those looks, one of those only half-joking Can he pay our rent? looks and immediately started planning lunch at home before going for lunch at this...cafe? Restaurant? Bistro? Either way, the hard, wooden table in front of you looks more comfortable than the tall stool you’re sat on and the drink you’re nursing that was advertised as coffee tastes more like mud water mixed with cheap fertiliser.

The stool opposite you, next to Tae, remains empty as you all wait for this dude that you have absolutely zero information about. It'd be nice to be prepared, is all.

“While we’re waiting,” Jungkook starts, voice pleased at the stand off that’s happening in front of him. Always a slut for drama, that one. “Did Y/N tell you that Yoongi’s dating her boss?”

Tae's eyebrow lifts higher as he lets the straw go with a pop before saying, “No, she didn’t. But I’m not surprised.”

“About her not telling you or about Yoongi dating her boss?”

“Both,” Tae replies to Jungkook’s question, fixing you with a stern glare.

Before you can defend yourself, and it'd be a mighty solid defence seeing as how you yourself found out less than twenty-four hours ago, Tae continues, “Yoongi's always had a thing for powerful women.”

Sputtering, eyes wide, you say, “But you don’t even know my brother!”

Next to you, Jungkook roars in laughter, coughing as he swallows his weird, green concoction. You don’t bother helping him. Let him choke.

“Jungkook’s told me enough about him. He seems cool. I don’t know how you’re both from the same family.”

As you huff and flip him off, Jungkook, who’s just managed to calm himself down, sets off again. You’re about to chide him for laughing at your misery when the bell atop the door you’re facing gives a happy little trill, admitting the fifth patron in as many minutes, and decidedly the most unexpected, terrifying and beautiful entrant so far.

You can’t explain what you do next. You can’t even say that Jungkook has the whole apartment brain cell because he’s hiccupping into his drink and looking incredibly stupid while doing it. But your first instinct when you see Jimin enter is to hiss, “Oh, fuck no,” under your breath, panic in your gaze as Tae looks at you in concern, before slipping off the stool and ducking under the table, hitting your head in the process.

Pain blooms across your temple, but you have no time to attend to it, as the next thing you know, you’re belatedly realising that Jimin knows Jungkook too, and however well concealed you are, the other man is doing nothing to seem inconspicuous. Summoning all your strength, you’re about to give a good, strong tug to Jungkook’s pant leg, hoping that that should be enough to get him down here too, when from above you, you hear Tae loudly saying, “Jimin! Over here!” and Jungkook giving a tiny ‘Hey, it’s Jimin!’

What the fuck?

From your vantage point, you can see a pair of white shoed feet turning and walking closer, the tall table giving you a lovely view right up to Jimin's black jean clad thighs. Your mind is running a mile a minute, wondering whether you can manage to crawl out towards the door without anybody noticing and maybe sneak back in once Jimin’s left.

Before you can make up your mind, eyes glued onto Jimin’s approaching feet, Jungkook’s head pops down next to yours, floppy hair blocking your line of sight. “You good down there? Comfy?”

With a sinking feeling, you realise there’s no escape now, Tae’s voice already giving a small whoop of welcome. You shove Jungkook’s head a bit, nudging at him to straighten so you have enough space to clamber out, plastering a smile on your face.

You pop up just as Jimin reaches the table fully, he and Tae with wide grins on their faces as they both turn towards you and Jungkook after their ‘Hey!’s.

He looks even prettier than he had yesterday at the badly lit studio, floppy hair being held back by a pair of shades perched atop his head and eyes crinkled in what you now think is a permanent smile. You feel your fake grin morphing into something softer, more genuine as he tells Tae, “You didn’t tell me your friends were Y/N and Kook!”

Tae's befuddled expression is a sight to behold as you, Jungkook and Jimin continue beaming at each other in pleasant surprise. Vaguely, you think this should worry you more, your sudden, absolute lack of panic obviously a sign of insanity. But, honestly, you think you’re fine. Apart from the whole first reaction is to hide under the table thing.

Your heart might be beating a little faster than its resting rate, and your palms may be a bit clammy, but emotionally, it suddenly feels quite easy to be around him once you’ve seen how comfortingly familiar his dimples are.

“So, you’re Tae's business partner?”

“Yup,” Jimin nods as he pushes his stool closer to the table to get comfortable. “Small world, huh?”

Jungkook nods, knee bouncing excitedly next to yours as he takes a sip of his drink, grimacing after. “Definitely,” he replies through a wince.

Your own coffee sits in front of you, untouched after that first sip. Your gaze moves a little forward and gets momentarily caught on the silver bracelet on Jimin’s wrist.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, more to prove to yourself that you can say something without embarrassing yourself, because you know that Jimin saw your little escapade and he’s just too nice to bring it up, but Jungkook and Tae won’t be quite so forgiving when they interrogate you later.

“I’ve rented a studio apartment for now,” he replies, scanning the drinks menu in front of him. You wish him luck finding something good.

“How’s Yoongi? Still plays basketball?” Jimin asks, once he’s wisely decided to not order anything.

“He's dating Y/N's boss,” Jungkook says before you can respond, still, for some unfathomable reason, drinking his sludge-in-a-cup.

“Is that...is that a problem?”

“No, Y/N's just really scared of her. Like super wimpy when she’s around.”

Your whiny protest is halted by Jimin replying thoughtfully, “I’m kinda not surprised. I vaguely remember Yoongi dating that really intense emo girl once all those years ago. I see his type hasn’t changed.”

Huffing as Jungkook snickers and Jimin gives you a teasing grin that makes your stomach give a weak flop (which will be analysed later), you decisively say, “Yoongi’s fine. He lives here too and runs a tattoo place with Jin, the super tall dude who used to be over at my house all the time. And I’m not that scared of my boss.”

“Oh! Jennie, let me get that for you. Oh, of course, Jennie, I’ll do anything you ask, I’m so far up your ass – Ouch!”

Your foot makes contact with Jungkook’s shin, effectively stopping his disgustingly high pitched, incredibly inaccurate imitation of you, but does nothing to prevent your breath from slightly catching as Jimin giggles at his antics.

The perfectly pleasant, three-way tête-à-tête is interrupted by the loud sound of palms hitting the wooden table as Tae, whom you’re amused to say you had forgotten about, whips his head between all three of you, looking completely bewildered.

“Why are you all talking like you know each other?”

“I don’t know if I feel like telling you,” you reply, feeling vindictive at his betrayed expression. Now he knows.

Jungkook’s tight lipped next to you, sulking like the child he is and periodically bending down to rub his leg entirely too times to be warranted.

Jimin, on the other hand, looks curious as well as he asks, “I actually wanted to find out, too. How do you guys know Tae?”

Of course, you’ll answer him.

“He and Kook went to the same college. I, unfortunately, know him by association. How do you know Tae?”

“High school. We ran in the same circles.”

On noticing his business partner's annoyed expression next to him, Jimin continues with a faux-curious voice, bending forward on the table, leaning on his elbows so he can pretend to be interested, “How do you know Kook?”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine at the intensity of his eye contact, however playful it may be, in favour of aiding and abetting this mission of How Annoyed Can We Make Taehyung Today by replying, “Oh, twelve years of schooling together. What about you, how do you know Kook?”

Thoughtfully humming, he’s about to respond, but he’s interrupted by Tae saying in an annoyed voice, “Jungkook, if you answer my question, I’ll pay for your lunch.”

The response comes almost too quickly, but you can hardly blame him. Shit's expensive. “We all used to be best friends here until Jimin moved away right before middle school.”

“Oh, that’s wild,” Tae says thoughtfully, shooting you a smug look at having procured the information that you were withholding.

You all order food and conversation pauses as you, Jungkook and Jimin poke around in your meals, looking for something that appears edible, contrary to Tae, who seems perfectly content chewing mouthful after mouthful of bland celery and olives.

“Do you guys have a location for the store yet?” you ask, trying to spear a half-cooked pasta piece on your fork.

“We settled on a building yesterday! It’s pretty, lots of light and air, some good backroom space too.”

“And our first shipment's arriving in a few weeks,” Jimin adds, eyeing his plate suspiciously, as if the burger's going to eat him.

“We just need models now,” Tae nods, satisfied and leaning back on his chair, squeaky clean plate in front of him.

Jungkook seems to be trying very, very hard to not look at his salad as he eats it, and after what appears to be a very painful swallow, he asks, “Aren't you guys doing the modelling?”

And suddenly, the thought of Jimin smouldering in front of a camera rushes into your mind. You really wish this place had some normal fucking water instead of the herbed shit that’s there in the glass bottle at the centre of the table, because you really could do with some cooling down.

Once Tae's clarified that yes, they will be modelling their products but they also need a female model for that clientele, you clear your throat and ask, nonchalantly enough, toying with your fork, “Have – uh, do you have modelling experience, Jimin? Did you do some stuff in college, like Tae?”

“Oh, nothing big or official. Just a couple of shoots for a few showcases and helping out a friend who majored in photography.”

“He’s being modest,” Tae grins, all Cheshire like. “I’ve seen his photos, they’re really fucking good. If our products weren’t already so great, he would’ve been able to save them.”

Half of you wants so, so bad to see these pictures, to see him looking into the camera like he’s staring into your soul, but you think you’re maybe better off watching his blushing face and crinkling eyes, covering his flush with two hands, peeking through the gaps between short fingers.

You don’t realise you’re staring until you feel Jungkook giving you a tiny pinch on your arm, unseen by the others. Hurriedly busying yourself with the food in front of you once again, edibleness be damned, you push those thoughts away, grounding yourself with the solemn reminder that you have work the next day, Hoseok's warning glaring in your mind.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly enough, Jungkook letting out a crow of victory on seeing how expensive his dish was (because this is one of those places that’s too edgy for prices on the menu) and that he wouldn’t have to pay for it. There’s a momentary panic that sets in when you’re leaving, as Jimin goes in for a hug when your hand is still up in a wave, but you get out of it unscathed enough, only slightly embarrassed.

Tae : please?

No.

Tae : i'll pay for your petrol

As much as I love your money, no. Now stop bothering me, I’m almost at work.

Tae : ugh fine. but is there anybody you know instead? that girl who came for yours and kook's housewarming? hyerin something

...Hyejin.

Tae : yes her! could you ask her, please please please?

Will you pay for my meal the next time we go out?

Tae : only if you don’t pull a kook on me and order the most expensive thing on the menu

I can work with that. I’ll talk to her today.

Tae : okay thanks lylyly, let me know by the end of the day!

Snorting, you switch off your phone just as Hoseok pulls into the car park. Surreptitiously, you look around, searching for a familiar sleek black sedan.

“She won't be here yet. Always a little late on Mondays.”

You ignore his knowing look in favour of twisting around to get your bag as you huff and reply, “You don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“Oh, Yoongi told me everything. I don’t know why I keep missing all these moments between you and Jennie, they sound like such fun.”

Feeling partly relieved that you won’t have be having a super awkward interaction with your boss slash brother’s girlfriend first thing in the morning and partly resentful that Hoseok was able to read you so easily, you half heartedly scowl up at him as the two of you walk towards the glass doors.

“How was your weekend?” he asks, pushing the elevator buttons. The lobby is mostly empty right now, nobody else waiting with you for the lift that’s currently on the topmost floor.

Dryly, you reply, “Oh, has Yoongi not told you everything about it yet?”

At his exasperated look, you respond again. “It was whatever. Dance class, dinner with Yoongi, the shocking, life altering revelation that he's dating my boss, the usual. Oh, and you remember Jimin?”

“The kid you used to hang out with all the time in elementary school?”

“Yup. He’s moved back. Opening that clothing store with Tae.”

He hums in distracted interest as the both of you watch the elevator come closer to the ground floor, stepping on as it dings.

The doors are about to shut close when you hear a hassled ‘Just a moment, please!’ from outside, and on instinct, you press the button to keep the elevator open. Not a moment later, Kim Jennie slips into view, and enters the lift with a polite ‘Thank you,’ the very picture of professionalism.

The universe has started its meddling early today.

You and Hoseok shuffle backwards, making space for her as you catch his gleeful eyes. As the doors shut and she presses the button to the seventh floor, you can feel the familiar stifling awkwardness that always seems to appear when she’s around, only now it’s ten times worse.

You’re certain the lift has never moved this slowly before, but Jennie makes no sign of saying anything to you and you sure as hell aren’t going to bring shit up. But the same can’t be said of Hoseok, apparently.

He clears his throat, absently looking at the numbers moving on the display on the top of the elevator doors, and you shoot him a suspicious glance, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Conversationally, he asks, “How’s your brother doing, Y/N?”

You could murder him, you really could.

Eyes darting between Jennie's straight back and Hoseok's slightly shaking shoulders, you shortly grit out, “Fine.”

And then, just when the door finally opens and you’re determining whether he’s an important enough employee to be missed very terribly, you catch sight of a tiny, amused smile of Jennie's face as she walks out of the lift first.

It throws you off enough to let Hoseok go without any lasting damage, only breaking out of your shock when you notice Hyejin walking towards you, annoyed look on her face. In a flash, you remember your promise to Tae. Hyejin must be kept happy and agreeable and susceptible. If not, you’re doomed to be the newest face of the VMin Experience (because it isn’t something as basic as a store). Tae just has to offer to pay for a couple more things and you’re a goner.

“Four fucking emails. The office isn’t even fully open yet and I have four codes to debug before lunch already. Fuck product rolling week.”

This is for Tae. This is so I don’t make a fool of myself on camera.

With as sweet a grin as you can muster, you reply, “Why don’t you send me half of them? I can finish it up for you.”

It doesn’t have quite the effect that you’re hoping for. Instead of simpering and agreeing and giving you one of her trademark million-watt smiles, full of gratitude and good cheer, all she does is narrow her eyes suspiciously.

“Why do I feel like you have some ulterior motive to this?”

“No! No ulterior motive, I promise. Just wanted to make things a bit simpler for you. Can I not want my closest friend to be relaxed?”

She regards you for a moment, beady eyed. Apparently deciding that you sound legitimate enough, she slowly takes out her phone and forwards two emails to you.

“Fine, but only because I’ve just been sent on a coffee run and Namjoon’s drink always takes too long to make.”

“Of course,” you reply, nodding genially as you hear a ping from your pocket. And then for good measure, you summon the lift for her, holding the door open as she steps in, smile plastered on until the doors shut on her sceptical eyes.

Tae : have u asked her yet

It’s been two minutes since we made this agreement.

Tae : so that’s a yes?

It’s an I’m-working-on-it. If you keep asking me every two minutes, I’m blocking you.

Tae : hope you aren’t planning on convincing hyejin with that sunny attitude

Fuck off.

You thank your cab driver as you exit the vehicle, watching with slight regret as he drives away. Might have been useful to have a getaway car.

Product rolling week is not, in fact, an entire week. It apparently runs only until Friday morning, after which all of you get a let-off, leading to a fake, watered down excuse of a three-day weekend.

And if it were up to you, right now on said Friday evening, you’d be curled up under covers after an early dinner (like 6 PM early), with a cup of tea and a good book, doing your damnedest to forget the just completed week from hell and mentally preparing for two, glorious, work-free days.

But no. You have no book with you. No blankets and pillows and no warm tea. All you have is Uber surge pricing and the building that you’re standing in front of that reads The VMin Experience on a small, wooden, obviously work-in-progress board.

You opt to watch from the outside for a bit, looking into the store through the glass. They’ve got two mannequins up already, one dressed in street fashion with a backwards snapback and the other in a whole ball gown, pearl string necklace included. It’s an experience, alright. Squinting, you can make out a wall that still has plastic wrap up and a ladder with a few stools, paint cartons on the floor. The store seems empty, but the message from Hyejin on your phone reads ‘COME TO THE BACK ROOM!!!’.

Casting one last, rueful look at the street, you sigh and push the door open, immediately hit by the smell of turpentine and varnish and general construction work. There are golden track lights fixed on beams from the ceiling illuminating a few naked mannequins on the floor and you pick your way through the newspapers to reach the door behind the payment counter.

The first thing you see is Jungkook speaking into his phone held in one hand and holding up an umbrella stand with the other. Then you notice Tae crouching, camera held up to his eyes, shutter clicking as he focuses away from you. You observe as Hyejin does her smoulder-smile-pout routine that fills her Instagram feed and shoot a quick thank you to the universe that she had agreed so easily to doing this shoot. There’s no way you could have done what she’s doing now without spontaneously combusting.

In the corner of the room, there’s a clothes rack pushed right up to the wall, filled with hangers and sample clothing that they’re modelling right now. You see it jiggle a bit and realise with a start that there’s somebody changing on the other side. And it doesn’t take a genius to realise who the somebody is.

At the sound of your shoes scuffing the floor, there’s a temporary halt in the proceedings as Tae turns around and says, “Oh, finally. Move that light a bit closer. This is a bitch to do alone and Jimin’s taking too long to change.”

You'd linger a bit longer on the offense that you’re feeling at being ordered about like this, but Jimin’s head pops up from behind the stands at that moment as he replies with a grunt, “This outfit has too many fucking layers, I’m stuck,” and suddenly, as you’re assaulted by a hint of his clavicle, the annoyed pout on his face and the disgruntlement in his eyes that morphs into happiness as he notices you, any and all displeasure you feel at Tae's tone flies right out the window.

You wave shakily in response, watching with a tinge of sadness as he disappears back down, only for Tae to huff and say, “Okay, Y/N, new plan. Go help Jimin with that outfit. I’m finished, Hyejin’s almost done. Just Jimin’s last shot and we can wrap up.”

You wonder what kind of expression you’re sporting at Tae's demand. Something between shock, fear and a weird, perverted, refusing-to-be-tamped-down sense of glee. Either way, you have no choice as he just goes back to photographing Hyejin, who slips right back in to model mode after giving you a big, cheery wave. Jungkook only fixes you with an apologetic sort of look as he continues to talk into his phone and move the umbrella the way he’s asked to.

He’s recently taken to dictating his novel instead of typing it out, and it’s led to you waking up at ungodly hours in the middle of the night on hearing Jungkook curse after stubbing his toe while pacing, talking into either his phone or his laptop. As a software professional, you’re glad. As somebody who quite enjoys sleeping, not so much.

When you hear another grunt from behind the clothes hanger, you’re forced into action, dropping your bag next to Jungkook’s work sling on the floor before calming your nerves with a deep breath and making your way towards the corner.

You stop right in front of the rack, gaze firmly fixed on an invisible point on the recently painted, smooth, grey wall, a few inches above your eye level. Teetering on the balls of your feet, you slowly ask, “Uh, Jimin? Do you need any help?”

Please say no, please say no, please say no. Don’t do this to me.

“Ugh, yes, please. That’d be great. You’ll have to come in through the clothes though, just move some hangers around.”

Thanks a fucking lot.

With another deep breath, you hesitantly pluck at the hanger right in front of you that’s holding a black, sequined jumpsuit that you’d probably think of buying if you hadn’t known that The VMin Experience has luxury brand pricing. Maybe if you take long enough, Jimin will be able to figure it out himself.

“Uh, Y/N? I can’t move my hands.”

No point in holding out for a hope then.

Internally sighing in acceptance of your fate, you push the hanger to the side so you can step in through the ensuing gap.

You’re greeted by the sight of your ex-best friend's naked, taut back, his arms stuck upright in a weird angle above his head, pale blue shirt stretched across his elbows and multiple white silk straps trailing out from it towards the floor.

You can’t look away from it, from the back of his neck to his shoulders, eyes trailing down until they reach the small of his back, centre of his tapering waist, and the moment you notice that he’s wearing tight, black, leather pants, you suddenly feel very warm. It’s a cramped space, and you’re covered on all sides by two walls and a tall, diagonally placed clothes rack, and the awareness that you’re so close to him, and that he’s hardly decently clothed, and that he has the prettiest fucking neck hits you like a truck loaded with arrow wielding baby cupids.

“Were you able to get in? I can’t tell, I’m afraid I’ll fall if I try turning around.”

His voice echoes in the closed space, making the privacy and proximity even more prominent, and it’s an effort to keep your voice from shaking with nerves and breathlessness as you reply, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m here. How do you want me to help?”

“Let me just turn around, give me a second. I think a thread's caught on my finger, if you could just – Oh, fuck.”

It’s instinctive, how your arms shoot out in alarm as he nearly topples over in his attempt to shuffle around, your hands landing on his waist as you straighten him, helping him regain his balance. The moment he seems stable and not a second later, you tug your burning limbs back, memory of his soft, warm skin seemingly permanently embedded in your fingertips.

He can’t see you, a random flap on the front of the shirt hanging over his eyes, and it’s probably for the best given your wide eyed, terrified expression. There’s a flush beginning at the base of your neck and rapidly climbing up, and it distantly annoys you. It’s not like you’re the one who’s half-nude and momentarily blinded.

“Okay, so if you could just untangle that strap near my finger, I think it should be fine. I just need to be able to move my elbows.”

You stop staring at the tiny litter of moles on the right side of his waist with a start, rushing into action, belatedly and furiously realising that your mouth is open and likely has been ever since you entered this holy sanctum of inadvertent porn.

Taking a tiny step closer to his frame, you lightly stand on the balls of your feet so you can begin extracting him from the fabric. He stands silently, but this close, you can feel his steady breath on the side of your head as you deliberately concentrate on getting the shirt across his elbows. You try your hardest to not touch his skin, but it’s difficult when the cloth is this tangled, and at one point, your pinkie finger ends up twisted around his, and in a flash, you’re transported to a decade ago, when the two of you had linked fingers in his backyard and solemnly promised each other that neither of you would ever, ever kiss somebody, because kissing is disgusting and gives disease.

You feel a squeeze around your finger and you flinch. From behind his makeshift veil, you hear Jimin chuckle before softly saying, “I remember it too.”

Trembling, you give a tiny quirk of your lips that is, in theory, a grin, but probably more of a grimace in execution, before you hurriedly move on. You ignore his small hands, the bracelets on his wrist, his breathy giggle as your fingers accidentally brush against the inside of his elbow, the bumpy patch of mosquito bites on his shoulder as you undo the messy loops that the straps have managed to wind themselves into.

Before you can step away, the fabric falls, revealing his face and a relieved grin, teasingly, nerve-wrackingly close to your own.

You clear your throat, rapidly stepping away, looking anywhere but at him.

“Thanks, Y/N!” he says cheerily, tying the straps at the wrist together, as you obstinately refuse to drink in the perfect way the problematic outfit fits his body that you’ve seen entirely too much of.

“No problem,” you mumble, and you’re surprised yourself at how steady your voice comes out. “Anything else I can do for you here?”

A cheeky grin followed by, “Nothing, unless you want to watch me take my pants off.”

You chuckle along with him, blocking out any and all images that your mind is conjuring as you hurriedly step away from him, ducking out from under the hangers and reappearing on the much cooler, much larger and much more oxygen-rich other side.

As you move the light around the way Tae asks you to, absently looking at Hyejin finishing up and Jungkook closing his phone with a satisfied expression, you force yourself to relax, to slow your breathing, to ignore the rustle behind you as Jimin comes through and steps in front of the camera.

You can hardly hold a decent conversation with Jungkook and Hyejin as the three of you eat dinner together at a café nearby once the shoot is over, only supplying miscellaneous hmm's and haw's as they discuss the dance competition at BigHit. It’s a small, saving grace that ensures that Jimin and Tae stayed behind to do some decorating instead of joining you. You can’t imagine just how much more you can take of these annoying, bodily reactions every time Jimin even breathes in your general direction, and you refuse to analyse them now.

“Are you alright? You’ve been sort of quiet today,” Jungkook softly asks later as the two are walking home, streetlamps casting shadows in front of you.

“Fine,” you reply, waving away his concern. “Tired, that’s all.”

He doesn’t let up. “Hyejin said you were a bit jaded while leaving the office today morning. You’re sure you’re okay?”

You run with it. It’s easier than explaining that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about the half-naked form of the third best friend of your little group from elementary school. “Yeah, I had a bit of a headache. Long week.”

“Well, it’s over now!” he says cheerily, ever the optimist. “And there's dance class tomorrow, that should be fun.”

Not if it goes anything like last week’s class, when you met Jimin for the first time in more than a decade.

You manage a small smile and he takes it, probably thinking you’re still exhausted from work, turning back to face the pavement.

“Y/N.”

“Kook.”

“Y/N.”

With an annoyed huff, you let yourself fall onto the couch behind you as Jungkook promptly does the same. His phone is open in his hands, email from BigHit open on his screen. You hadn’t bothered to read the body after seeing the subject, but apparently, Jungkook wasn’t so dismissive.

“Come on, there’s prize money. Prize money. How is this not enticing you further?”

“I haven’t danced properly in four years, Kook. And that money’s only if you win.”

“So we'll practice! Remember how well we used to dance together in those high school showcases? And how much fun you used to have? Do you remember, Y/N? Do you remember what fun is?”

He gets a little intense by the end of it and you respond with a flick to his forehead, the most you can manage in your still sleepy, exhausted haze. Both of you are tired, him from class and you from the long, sleepless night you had spent tossing and turning and willing away flashing images of bare backs and white straps and stupid giggles and tiny fingers.

And Jungkook thinks he can convince you to participate in Boom along with him when you’re in this condition.

“Why can’t you ask Hyejin?”

Absently rubbing the tender spot on his forehead that your finger had satisfyingly connected with, he doesn’t let up, only fixing you with a pleading look that you’d be more susceptible to if you haven’t been on the receiving end of it a million times before.

“Hyejin’s going solo.”

“Oh, so I’m a last resort?”

He sputters and you watch, satisfied, thinking he'll give up now, but he’s nothing if not stubborn, only scrambling momentarily before he shoves his phone insistently in your face.

“How are you so sure we'll lose?” he demands. “And even if we do – don’t look at me like that, – it isn’t that big of a deal! It’ll be fun, please? Now that you have some free time and I’ve at least got a vague sense of where I want my book to go? The competition’s three weeks away, that’s a lot of time.”

You know you have no choice but to agree once he’s given his little speech. You’re teetering at the edge of a decision when he opens his mouth again, excited look on his face.

“And we'd probably end up bumping into Jimin more!”

Shields up, defensively, you ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Confused, he replies, “We haven’t spoken to him properly yet, yeah? And we’re all so busy during the week that we haven’t had a chance to catch up since we found out he’s back.”

Relaxing a bit, you say, “Oh! Oh, yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”

But Jungkook doesn’t seem entirely convinced. A shrewd look overtakes his face, eyes narrowing in a suspicious expression that you’re not entirely fond of. Slowly, he asks, “Why? What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing! Anyway, I’m gonna go shower. We can start practice tomorrow and all my evenings are free next week!”

You ramble it all out in a rush, some unknown energy appearing as you jump off the couch and leave the room rapidly. Behind you, you can hear Jungkook mumbling in confusion, but pleased nonetheless as he registers both your names for the competition.

You wonder if you’ll be able to get through a single conversation ever about Jimin without your stomach erupting in dread and awkwardness and terrifying fear. And more importantly, you wonder how long you’ll be able to avoid it and how long you’ll be able to hide it from your shockingly perceptive roommate. When his head isn’t stuck inside the washing machine or under restaurant tables.

“Oh, it’s been too long since we did this last,” Hyejin says as she tops up your glass with some dollar store wine, setting the bottle on the centre table before she leans back on the couch, her own glass held precariously as she folds her pyjama clad legs under her, head propped up by an arm resting on the back as she faces you eagerly.

You respond with an agreeing nod as you take a sip of your second glass, cross-legged on the other end of her sofa.

“Now,” she begins, all business-like, and it immediately puts you on edge. “Are you going to tell me why you didn’t come for class today morning?”

Shrugging as nonchalantly as you can, you reply, “I over slept. Recovering from the week, I think.”

And from Jimin, a traitorous voice in your head adds. You impatiently shoo it away. You aren’t going to tell her that you woke up with your alarm, came as far as taking a shower and wearing your leggings, even began to pack your bag, before being faced by the possibility of meeting Jimin today. You can’t tell her that you chickened out at the last minute and when Jungkook knocked on your door, asking if you were ready to leave, you had faked a headache and decided to stay in. You can’t tell her that you’re avoiding your childhood best friend because he’s too fucking pretty and too fucking sweet and invokes too many bloody emotions in you that you prefer to circumvent, still not having registered them yourself.

She nods shortly, but her voice remains uncertain as she asks, “Are you sure? You did seem a bit shaken yesterday after the shoot yesterday.”

You wave away her questions dismissively. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, promise.”

She drops it, taking another slow sip. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

The two of you drink in silence for a bit, only sounds being the occasional slurp and the knocking of glass against teeth.

“Are you participating in Boom?”

Scowling, you reply, “I have been strong armed into doing so, yes.”

She grins at you over her glass as she takes a sip, “Jungkook asked me if I wanted to be his partner today. When I told him to just ask you, he got kinda squinty eyed. I think he knew you were going to put up a fight.”

Flattered about your reputation, you give a short, satisfied nod before you ask, “Is BigHit letting participants use their rooms for practice?”

“Oh, Taemin told us about all that today. All rooms are full on weekday evenings and weekend mornings. Every other time is free.”

You feel your stomach sink. You’ll be the first to admit that this wasn’t your preferred choice of activity for the next three relatively easy, work wise, weeks, but now that you’ve committed, you want to win, godammit.

She gives you a sympathetic grin, patting your knee. “I know, those are the only free slots we’ve got. But what're you gonna do?” she shrugs.

“We'll have to find a place. Maybe we'll just move around some furniture in the living room.”

Again, you both relapse into silence, thinking about how to make it work. Slowly, a tiny frown appears on Hyejin's face, the kind that she gets when she’s just thought of a possible way to get rid of an error in a code but isn’t sure if it'll work without fucking up some other section of the program.

“You could ask Tae and Jimin if you can use their shop,” she slowly says, looking at you unsurely.

Even as your heartbeat picks up, you fight to keep your face placid as she continues, “Like, I know it’s new and shit, and it’s their baby and all that, but it’s roomy enough. It isn’t like you’re both gonna go wreck the room by dancing. And that back room that we used last night for the shoot, that could work!”

She looks at you, waiting for an answer. You buy some time, contorting your expression in one of contemplation as you lean forward to refill your glass, but inside, you feel like you’re warring with yourself.

It’s a pretty good idea!

But Jimin.

They aren’t opening the shop for two more weeks!

But Jimin.

It’s not like they’re gonna say no!

But Jimin.

“I’ll talk to Jungkook about it,” you say, keeping your voice level, settling for the most diplomatic and inconspicuously evasive answer you can manage.

She nods, content with your reply as she leans back. You mindlessly make your way through your glass, once again, annoyingly, caught up with thoughts that don’t bear thinking about, when her downturned phone on the coffee table in front of the couch pings with an alert.

It’s always shocked you that you know somebody who doesn’t permanently keep their phone on silent or vibrate, but you can’t dwell on it for too long.

“Taehyung just sent me the photos from yesterday!”

Fuck.

Her excitement is infectious, though, as she clambers closer to you, grinning eagerly, phone tilted so you can see the screen loading. You place your glass on the table before leaning back comfortably, cushion on your lap and heart in your mouth. Best not to be holding delicate items when you see this.

Distantly, you wonder whether you can make a quick getaway, or come up with a believable excuse in such short notice. You had sort of envisioned yourself being alone when you saw Jimin's pictures. Last night, after the...emotional debacle, you had studiously not looked at him for the remainder of the shoot, only moving around the light when you were asked to, gaze stuck on the ground or trading funny expressions with Jungkook across the room. Your goodbye had been perfunctorily cordial, steps consciously measured as you walked out, skin burning at the memory of the hug he had left you with.

Are you excited to see Hyejin’s and Tae's photos? Yes.

Can the same be said of Jimin’s? Not out loud.

You shoot a quick prayer up, although you’re beginning to quickly lose whatever meagre amount of faith you once had, just as the screen finishes loading, tiny thumbnails appearing.

You squeeze your hand in a fist, preparing for the worst as Hyejin opens the top image. Irrational as it is, you curse Tae for putting Jimin’s photos first as you’re assaulted (blessed?) by the dancer looking somewhere to the left of the camera, body languidly, precisely positioned with all the elegance and strength that comes when he’s on stage, deliberately supercilious pout playing on his lips, eyebrow cocked in a challenge to whoever’s in the background.

Nothing big or official, my ass.

Photo after photo flashes in front of you as you take in his smug smirk in one, his hip jutting out sideways in another, his fingers partway through running them through his hair, him in the middle of a giggle that you can hear, eyes shining, dimple popping. Distantly, as you greedily drink in the white straps dripping from his outfit as he smoulders, looking like an ethereal dream, you realise that you don’t want the pictures to stop.

You don’t pay attention to how obvious you’re being until you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, pulling you out of the map you’re tracing with your eyes along Jimin’s neck, and with a start, you notice that you’ve been looking at the same image for nearly half a minute.

You shut your mouth abruptly at the expression on Hyejin’s face as she looks at you, head tilted. The silence is heavy, pregnant as you try to find some way to get out of this mess.

“Y/N,” she slowly starts, caution in her voice as she lowers the phone before you can say anything.

Not meeting her eyes, you squeak out, “Yes?”

She doesn’t say anything at first, only surveying you with that same, scrutinising, unsettling expression as you carefully retrieve your half-full glass, everything on edge.

“Something you’d like to say?”

“No, not really.”

She just hums in response, bringing the phone back up to go to the next lot of photos, these of Tae. She drops the conversation there, but you’re under no allusions as to what she’s figured out and what she hasn’t. The faint blush on your cheeks should be indication enough, if your blatant ogling wasn’t. All she does is give you a gleeful, knowing look, one that’s full of significance and that reads ‘I know what this is about, but I won’t make you talk about it now because you look like you’re about to shit a brick,’ before she clears her throat and continues scrolling through the photos.

You’re apprehensive as you do the same, leaning back to your previous position and casting a dubious sideways glance at her, but all she does is roll her eyes and say, “You think too much.”

Real genius, that one.

Either way, you’re grateful she doesn’t bring it up then. Or later, when you’re both eating ramen out of the pot as Seinfeld plays on the television. Or even in the dark, when you’re both about to fall asleep, because the older you’ve gotten, the more you’ve begun to truly appreciate the sleep part of sleepovers. The next morning, as she’s waving you away at the door, the only indication she gives that she even remembers the conversation is a wink and a ‘Don’t worry.’

She should become a therapist, what with all her golden wisdom.

“Come again?”

Exasperated, you sigh before you obediently repeat, kicking your feet up on the counter and leaning back languidly on the rolling chair, “Jungkook’s late.”

Yoongi looks at you suspiciously as he repeatedly pokes your shin to get you to remove your shoes from his precious work station. “But Jungkook’s never late. That’s your thing.”

Scowling, you impatiently swat his hand away as you reply, “Yes, I know. But he got held up at work.”

He gives up, resigning himself to moving the needles away to keep them safe from your pivoting feet. “I keep telling him he should quit. What kind of company makes their employees stay this late on a Friday evening?”

“Luxury magazines for affluent readers,” you respond, your fingers up in air quotes. “Either way, if his novel does well, he’s out.”

Infuriatingly predictably, you had chickened out of asking Tae and Jimin about using their store for practice. And Jungkook hadn’t even thought about it, which was great. In fact, you hadn’t spoken to Jimin the entire week. You wouldn’t go so far as to say you had been avoiding him, but twice, when Jungkook had tried getting the three of you together ‘like the old times', you had lied about having office work, despite the fact that this had been the most relaxing week in your intern life so far.

The past four weeknights were spent in your new practice studio: the backroom in Yoongi’s tattoo parlour. You wouldn’t say it's the most ideal of spots for multiple reasons.

One of them being that every time you’re late (read: every evening so far), Jungkook and Yoongi have a jolly good time talking shit about you. You’d think your roommate and your brother would hold some amount of love and respect, but when you had entered the room on Monday evening at 7:15 PM, they were compiling a lovely list of Top Ten Times Y/N Has Embarrassed Herself In Public. And they didn’t even have the gall to seem sheepish. Jungkook had just looked at your scowl with an amused grin and Yoongi had said, “If you’re late tomorrow, we're going to make one for the number of times you’ve whined about something stupid.”

And then on Tuesday evening, when you had dawdled for too long around the corner, trying to decide between having dinner before or after practice (and eventually settling on skipping the meal entirely), you had entered the shop at 7:21 PM, only to see Jennie and Jungkook engaged in a wonderful conversation about God knows what, all smiles and ‘Nice to meet you!’s. You were stuttering through your customary, “Oh! Hel – hi!” with Jungkook snickering in the background when Yoongi came out from the back, tossed you the keys and told you to lock up, and then swept a very bemused Jennie out the front door.

Wednesday was fun, in that Yoongi was busy with a late appointment and you and Jungkook made some headway, but on Thursday, Hobi decided to sit in, so it ended up being two hours of ‘What are you doing with your hands?’ and ‘Make it look natural, guys,’ as he and Yoongi traded sips from the emergency whiskey flask that your brother keeps in the shop.

And now, 7:30 PM, Friday evening. Two weeks left for the competition and you and Jungkook have been getting on fairly well, better than you had anticipated. If only he'd show up.

You send him a message, deciding to call him if he doesn’t reply in the next ten minutes, when you hear a polite knock on the door. Confused, you look at Yoongi with a tilt of your head. Jin’s out of town, Hobi doesn’t knock and Jungkook sure as hell doesn’t knock. He looks just as bewildered as you, letting go of the tattoo pen he was in the process of arranging and slowly walking towards the door. A louder, more urgent knock comes and you let your feet fall on the floor with a thud as Yoongi hastens to open it.

You hear the voice before you see the owner, nearly falling off your chair as you make a clear path to the sofa at the end of the room as Jimin and Yoongi carry a clearly unconscious Jungkook to it, laying him down as you rush behind them, worriedly asking the newcomer, feelings be damned, “What happened?”

“I was passing by when I saw him walk into a pole and fall down,” Jimin replies.

You don’t want to laugh, you really don’t, but as Yoongi sprinkles some water on your dance partner’s face and he slowly begins to stir, you can’t stop a simultaneously relieved and disbelieving giggle from erupting.

“He what?” you ask, calming down enough to kneel down on the floor, next to Yoongi, and look in awe at your roommate, marveling at his stupidity.

Jimin shrugs as he explains, “He was looking at his phone and just sort of walked into the pole. I didn’t know where to take him, but I remembered you saying something about your brother having a tattoo parlour somewhere here and figured I’d try my luck.”

“He weighs a ton. How did you carry him?” Yoongi asks as he adjusts Jungkook so he isn’t in danger of falling off.

“It wasn’t easy,” he replies. “What does he eat?”

“Protein mostly,” you respond, as Jungkook finally opens his eyes. You imagine it must be quite an experience for somebody to come back to consciousness and see three half-amused half-concerned faces swimming above them, but Jungkook handles it admirably.

“Wazza?” he blearily asks, drool slipping out the side of his mouth as he struggles to sit up.

The three of you back away, Yoongi handing him a bottle of water.

“You’re in my place. You fell outside. Jimin got you here.”

Jungkook gulps some water as he tenderly presses at the faintly purpling bruise right at the centre of his forehead. “Oh, thanks. Did I look cool?”

Jimin winces before replying. “You walked into a metal pole, so I’d say no.”

If your roommate were a normal, sane man, he’d be upset on receiving this news. At least slightly embarrassed. Not that his line of questioning had indicated anything even remotely resembling intelligence, but you’d think that at this point, he’d make up. But on the contrary, his glazed eyes clear up and a gleeful look overtakes his face.

“Do you think he has a concussion,” you mutter out of the side of your mouth to Jimin, as Jungkook opens his mouth to say something.

The giggle you get in response should not make you feel like prancing around in a field of roses and calling all humans your best friends.

“I remember why I was distracted! I got it!”

“Got what, a disease?”

For somebody who was recently unconscious, he’s capable of a great stink eye. You’re vaguely impressed.

“I got the next scene. Where’s my phone?”

Jimin moves towards the couch, pulling Jungkook’s mobile out of his back pocket and handing it to him. “Maybe don’t type while walking on the road next time,” he grins as he takes a seat next to him.

You hadn’t noticed Yoongi leaving the room, but he walks back in now with a bottle of fruit juice, speaking as he makes his way to the couch that the three of you are now sitting on, Jungkook feverishly going through a word document in the middle.

“This reminds me of when you all would come over and sit for hours on the couch in front of the television at home. Mom would give you all the snacks and then send me to do a grocery run at that corner shop the moment you left,” he says, fond smile on his lips as he gives Jungkook the bottle.

In a trice, that’s where you are, ten years old, Jungkook sitting wide eyed as you quickly got bored and kept changing channels because ‘This is my house, so I get to decide what we’re watching,’ and Jimin giggling ever so often at the miscellaneous cartoons you skimmed through.

“Shit, that couch was the best,” present Jimin sighs as he leans back on the seat, you and Jungkook nodding in agreement.

It’s easier to think of him that way. As your best friend of eight years that you shared all the drama and excitement and blown-out-of-proportion, self obsessed sadness that came with infancy, adolescence and preteen years, who left right before middle school, cutting your trio down to two. Maybe if he had left later, it wouldn’t be so hard to navigate him now, but you were all too young to keep in touch, and school and extra curriculars took over and now, seeing him after all these years, he’s just lying in that sweet spot between achingly familiar and unsettlingly different.

You don’t realise you’ve zoned out until Yoongi asks, “Do you guys still need the place for practice tonight or can I lock up?”

“Oh, I saw that you two were paired together in the sign-up form! Is this where you’re practicing?”

“Yup,” Jungkook replies, making sure his juice bottle is out of your reach. He’s probably noticed you eyeing it like a cat about to pounce for the last few seconds. “Where are you and Taemin practicing? Do you get extra BigHit room privileges?”

Jimin sighs a little, disappointed frown on his face that you realise, with a start, you want to kiss away. And then, belatedly, you wonder why you’re even surprised any more. “We had to drop out. Taemin got too busy with organising the competition and by the time he told me, it was too late to sign up as a solo performer.”

You can tell he’s upset, but he does an admirable job covering it up, pouted lips morphing in a wide smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he continues, “But I’m super excited to watch you guys on stage, though!”

All intentions of grabbing Jungkook’s bottle when he’s distracted fly out the window at the sympathy you feel. If that day, when you saw him dance in that practice room, is any indication, it can’t be easy for him to sit back and watch others on a stage participating in a competition he can win with his eyes closed.

“Oh, that sucks, man,” Jungkook says as you wrack your brain for something that sounds a little less hollow and a little more comforting. You come up empty and offer a sympathetic grimace, but somehow, you think he understands what you’re trying to convey. Like that secret code the three of you had, where vowels were consonants and consonants were vowels and everything had to be written upside down except every fifth letter, italics optional but preferred. You had a lot of time on your hands.

“You can watch us practice, though, maybe. And help out? You used to be the best at choreography,” Jungkook says with a grin, blindsiding you with his request.

“I’d love that!” Jimin responds, and you feel a thrill at how he doesn’t fake modesty, at the hint of cockiness that comes through in his voice.

Perhaps it’s the fact that Jungkook's just woken and the bruise on his forehead is only slightly lessening, or maybe that Yoongi’s right there, still waiting to find out if he should close up shop now or not and that he’s always been perceptive, but you force yourself to calm down. So what if Jimin watches you dance? You both went for class together for years. No biggie. Not worth giving your roommate another bruise.

“Can you dance now? Or do you want to just go home and continue tomorrow?” you ask, clutching at straws.

“I think I can dance, I feel fine. Fruit juice was great,” Jungkook says, making to get up.

“Yeah, Jennie got it from one of those organic stores she shops in,” Yoongi replies, nasty turtle dove making a reappearance.

You’re about to gag, or very pointedly look away, but before you can so much as decide on your method of conveying disgust, Jungkook, in the process of standing up, folds in on himself, knees buckling as he lets out a pained grunt. You, Jimin and Yoongi act on impulse, arms jerking out and catching him before he can fall, eyes wide with surprise and concern.

He settles back in his previous position and gingerly bends down, experimentally twisting his right ankle and hissing out a pained ‘Fuck.’

“I think it’s a sprain,” he winces, slowly moving it forward until another distressed flinch casts a shadow over his face.

Jimin bites his lip worriedly on Jungkook’s other side and you watch Yoongi help him slowly take off his shoes with a grimace.

“Y/N, there’s an ice pack in the mini fridge in my office.”

You don’t let him continue, only nodding as you swiftly rise after casting another anxious look at Jungkook, who’s looking everywhere but at his leg.

On your return, you see him lying face down on the couch, right foot propped over one arm rest as Yoongi says, “He must have fallen at a weird angle. It only seems like a sprain, but I don’t think he should dance.”

Jimin looks impressed as he watches Yoongi expertly place the ice pack in position and Jungkook huffs in simultaneous relief and disappointment.

“A million basketball injuries will do that to you,” you reply in answer to Jimin’s unasked question.

“What about the competition?” Jungkook whines.

You’re surprised to find the tinge of disappointment when you shrug and say, “We'll have to drop out. I’ll let Taemin know in class tomorrow and tell him to take us off the list.”

“But the choreography!”

Jimin steadies him as Jungkook slowly sits up, adjusting so he’s holding the ice pack, scandalised expression on his face as he looks at your drooped shoulders.

“Nothing we can do about it. Maybe we’ll try again next year.”

And then he gets that look. That expression that indicates that he’s thinking of an idea that’s good for him but sucky for you. Slowly, he swivels his head towards a confused Jimin sitting next to him before moving towards you, eyebrows scrunched, deep in thought. You can practically see the gears shifting in his head.

Warily, you ask, “Kook?”

His eyes are still narrowed and moving, but the frown slowly morphs into a small smile as he distractedly, instinctively replies to your question. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Is there...is there something on my face?” Jimin enquires, slowly backing away on the couch.

Only the cutest fucking pout I’ve ever seen in my life, your brain unhelpfully supplies.

Jungkook doesn’t directly answer, but finally begins to explain why he looks like an automated form of The Thinker, his grin slowly growing. “You guys could do it together.”

“Do what?” Jimin asks.

It, your permanently horny inner voice replies.

Out loud, you ask, “Kook, what are you talking about?”

“You guys can go for the competition together! Jimin can be your partner instead of me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t mind.”

You turn your determined, closed off face to Jimin’s calmly curious expression in astonishment.

“What?” you demand.

“I don’t mind,” he repeats, shrugging but cautious at your unexpected vehemence. “If you still want to perform and need a partner, I’d love to step in.”

Jungkook claps in glee as you continue staring, mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no sound coming out.

“Then it's settled!” he says before a shrewd expression overtakes his face, single eyebrow cocked as he looks at you with challenge in his eyes. “Unless...Y/N has objections?”

You’re caught facing the barrel of a loaded gun, Yoongi behind you, obviously already intrigued by your uncharacteristically passionate reaction, Jimin on the couch, pleasant smile playing on his face, eager with the thought of being given a chance to perform but not wanting to guilt you into anything and Jungkook, big brain Jungkook, disaster child Jungkook, waiting for you to make your decision. As soon as you see the small glint in his eyes, a niggling doubt emerges in your head about whether he’s managed to figure out your feelings before you’ve even accepted them yourself.

With an internal sigh, you plaster on a smile and reply, “Nope. No objections.”

Jungkook’s face clears, a brief flash of victory in his eyes before he beckons you closer, holding his right arm out for you to sling over your shoulder as he stands up.

Jimin gives you a satisfied grin, chuckling and taking your stupid roommate’s other arm as you nearly buckle under the weight.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Yoongi! How you and Y/N share the same blood, I’ll never know.”

Yoongi snickers, “You and me both, dude. Try not to put too much weight on your foot!”

And if you give a small pinch to the side of Jungkook’s waist where your hand is resting, that’s your business (and your satisfaction when you feel him flinch).

“Do you need any help getting him home?” Jimin asks as the three of you wait outside the building under the dark sky waiting for the cab to arrive.

You’re still reeling from the developments of the last few minutes, head terrified but heart perversely gleeful, and you don’t look directly at him when you reply, opting instead to direct your gaze at the little black dot on the map on your phone that indicates where the car is. “No, I can manage, thank you.”

Once Jungkook’s safely inside the car, Jimin doesn’t let you immediately follow suit, stopping you with a smile outside your roommate’s closed door before you can round the vehicle.

His body isn’t too close, but in your head, you run through the choreography that the two of you will be doing, and you know that that’s going to be far from true over the next two weeks.

“Hey, are you alright? You don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to. You seemed a bit uncomfortable back there, when Kook suggested it.” He looks sheepish almost, but understanding, palm coming up to rub nervously at the back of his neck and other hand inside the pocket of his black jeans.

As he slightly rocks forward and back, you want to grab his face, bring them down to your level, look him the eye and tell him, equally stern and emotional, that he has occupied so much of your mind for the last week and that if there’s anybody here who should be unsure about this, it’s him.

You clear your throat under his light gaze before you reply, confidently as you can, “I was just thrown by the change of plans. I’d love to dance with you, honestly. I still think about that day we first met- well, met again- when you were practicing and how I’ve never seen anybody dance like that before.”

You’re as surprised by he is at the confession, immediately wanting to backtrack, but you don’t have the opportunity. A faint blush emerges on his cheeks as he looks away from your gaze, eyes crinkling in an embarrassed grin.

“Ah, Y/N,” he honest to God whines before taking a few deep calming breaths. You watch in fascination as all this unravels, drinking in this new Jimin. Fondly, before you can intercept it, the thought enters- you want to see just how many sides he has, want to experience them and revel in them.

“Thank you,” he mumbles with a small smile.

You can’t help but smile back, and the two of you are left grinning softly like a pair of fools at each other until a smart rap sounds on the window right next to you, making you startle into awareness.

Both of you turn to the car and see Jungkook peering through the glass with an expectant look on his face. ‘Are you coming?’ he mouths.

Flustered, you nod and give Jimin a small wave before going around him and entering the vehicle from the other side.

You’re too preoccupied to notice Jungkook staring at you, same shrewd look as last Saturday on his face, but when he lets out a soft ‘Ahem,’ you turn your head to look at him.

His expression is closed, and hardly clear as his face only gets illuminated passingly by the occasional streetlight, but his tone leaves no room for doubt when he says, lips quirking upwards in a small, teasing grin, “If you keep smiling like that when you’re talking to him, somebody could get the wrong idea.”

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the end of the week and you’re too tired for confrontation, or that your roommate has a sprained ankle and you don’t want to cause him any more grief, or that you’ve finally accepted the state of affairs, but you don’t resort to your knee-jerk reaction of denial.

With a small sigh, you softly reply, not making much sense when taken in context of the conversation but conveying everything that needs to be conveyed either way, “Yeah.”

He looks surprised at your response, probably expecting a huff and an ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ but says nothing, just smiling at you kindly as you let your head fall on his shoulder.

“We can go to the doctor tomorrow morning and get your ankle checked, skip dance class,” you mumble as you watch the street ahead of you sideways, fingers absently fiddling with the strap of Jungkook’s bag in your lap.

He hums in reply, and you appreciate the silence, grateful that he knows you well enough to not bombard you right now.

Jimin (Do Not Interact) : Hey, this is Jimin! Park Jimin. Uhhh Chimmy Jimin. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that the shipments to the shop are a little delayed so we can practice in the backroom. It’ll be a bigger space than Yoongi's studio. I’m always here so let me know when we can start :D

You read and reread the message that was sent an hour ago, absently chewing your thumb nail.

“You do that a lot.”

“Do what?” you mumble, running through all the possibilities in your head.

Chuckling, Hoseok replies while shifting gears, “Look at your phone all worried. You’ve started a bit early today, though. And it’s still Monday. Bad weekend?”

Sighing, you reply, “Not particularly. Just...worried.”

“Anything I can help with?” he asks, patiently curious.

You flash back to ten years ago when Hoseok used to give you snacks whenever you accidentally (read: not) entered whichever room your brother and his friends were holed up in, kind, cheerful smile on his face as you shyly took whatever sweet treat you were being given that day before sprinting out of the room.

Taking a deep breath, already in awe at what you’re about to do, you tilt your phone towards him as he slows down at a signal.

He peers at the screen, looks up at you with a confused expression, and reads the message again.

“Is there something I’m missing?” he asks, as the light turns green and he starts the car again.

“First of all, why is he texting sense at 8 o' clock in the morning?”

“Y/N, have you ever considered the existence of people who enjoy waking up early?”

“Bet you’re one of them,” you huff.

He snorts before waving his hand in ‘Go on' gesture.

“Why is he sending smileys? What’s he so happy about?”

“Jesus Christ, he's just being nice, dude. How are you overthinking an emoticon? It isn’t even an emoji – are you blushing?”

“No, I’m not,” you say loudly, fighting through the unplanned flush on your face. Stupid smiley.

Your companion laughs as he sputters, “Okay, but I have a few questions myself.”

At your haughty nod after you’ve taken a few calming breaths, he continues, “Did he really think you wouldn’t remember him when you, very obviously, have a big, fat crush on him? Chimmy Jimin?”

“Stop,” you whine. In an undertone, you add, “That’s what I used to call him when we were kids. And it isn’t a crush.”

You’ve never been happier to see the office park.

“Are you going to reply?” Hobi asks, pulling into the mostly empty car park. “You know, because you’ve saved his name with ‘Do Not Interact'?”

You roll your eyes even as you know that your thumbs have been hovering over the keypad for the greater part of the last hour. “I will. Soon.”

“You literally just have to say yes or no. I’ll dictate it for you if you want. Yes Chimmy, I love you so much or No Chimmy, I love you so much.”

“Shut up,” you say, glaring at him as he laughs, thoroughly amused by himself. You both get your bags from the back, making your way into the building, text still open in your hand.

You’ve been staring at it for so long, that at first, you think you’ve imagined the green dot next to his name.

“Fuck, he's online,” you mutter in front of the lifts as Hobi giggles at your worried expression.

“Dude, just say yes or no, it isn’t a big deal.”

With a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, you slowly begin to type.

Sure, that’s a great idea! How does 6 PM today evening work for you?

“Perfect,” Hobi says, holding up three fingers in an OK sign when you tilt your screen towards him for approval.

“Smiley face?” you tentatively ask.

“It'd be accurate, you’re definitely happy."

You settle for a :) so it’s low-key before hitting send and immediately shoving your phone into your pocket, shaking your head to clear it for work.

“At the rate you’re going, you’ll have no nail left.”

“I am not entirely opposed to the idea.”

From the back of the car, Jungkook lets out a disgusted ‘Ew' even as he continues scrolling through his phone, absently biting his own index nail.

“Are you excited?”

“To get this over with? Yeah.”

Jungkook scoffs from the back. “There’s that charming Y/N optimism.”

“Don’t fight, children,” Hyejin says pacifyingly from her place behind the wheel. “We can tease her when she’s being a mess around Jimin.”

You scowl but have no comeback, because you can’t find the lie. In the backseat, Jungkook rubs his hands together like an evil fly.

“If I didn’t know that you’re perfectly capable of doing something as stupid as walking into a pole, I would’ve thought you set this up on purpose.”

He looks wounded at your comment, holding up a dramatic hand to place over his heart.

“We're here!” Hyejin calls out before any more confrontation happens, pulling up next to the curb.

“Thanks for coming along,” you sigh as you unbuckle your seatbelt, opting to leave your office bag in the car and only carrying your phone and water bottle.

Before Hyejin can reply, because obviously, the gratitude was aimed at her, Jungkook says, “No problem!”

You’re sure to gently jostle him a little as you loop his arm over your shoulder, helping him out of the car as you deadpan, “I was talking about Hyejin, fool. You practically begged to come along.”

He clicks his tongue in admonishment. “Is that any way to treat your injured best friend? After everything I’ve done for you?”

The eye roll is instinctive, but the banter serves to loosen you up a bit, weirdly calming down the butterflies in your stomach. Jungkook staying at home the entire day and not being allowed to work out means a lot of unspent energy, and you have no doubt that he’s going to be in full exuberance for the rest of the evening, at least until the painkillers kick in. You? You’d rather be anywhere but here, waiting for Hyejin to lock the car outside The VMin Experience at 5:55 PM, straight from work for dance practice with your...friend.

And if you’d prefer to spend your utopian free time scrolling through said friend's Instagram feed, that’s between you and God and your phone battery percentage.

“No thanks needed, I’m very excited to observe your reactions now that I have some background information,” Hyejin says gaily, sharing a beaming grin with Jungkook.

She pushes open the door as you let out a long, drawn out sigh and resist the urge to drop your roommate’s ass then and there when he theatrically whispers, “Happy face, Y/N. Happy face.”

________________________________

“You good?” Jimin asks, only faintly panting, a single drop of sweat running down the side of his neck as he watches you, your hands clutching at the slowly forming stitch on your hip.

“Pe- Peachy,” you reply with a weak smile, gulping for air. Your legs feel like they’re gonna give out at any moment and even with the central cooling in the room, you could really go for an ice bath.

You bend at the waist, bracing your palms on your slightly bent knees. A bottle of water appears in your line of vision and you look up to see a kindly grinning Jimin.

“Let’s take a break, yeah? Five minutes,” he says, giving you a short, and what is probably meant to be comforting, pat on your back, but only serves to drag out the ongoing process of your heart calming down.

You’d think, after nearly an hour and a half of having his hands on your waist, fingers tracing your neck, palms closing around yours and the both of you moving together, you wouldn’t continue having all these physical reactions to a mere skim of skin over your clothed spine, but when has your body ever had a logical response to Jimin’s presence in the last few weeks?

Your breath slows down as you walk slowly around the room, looking at Jimin perfecting a step out of the corner of your eye. In the corner, Hyejin's subconsciously mirroring the dance as she shoots you a grin and a thumbs up. Your eyes sluggishly move to Jungkook, who looks like his painkillers have just kicked in, his eyes fighting to stay open even as he has an amused smile on his face.

The first thirty minutes had consisted of Jungkook teaching Jimin his steps with you as a prop, which basically meant you were passed back and forth as Jungkook explained as well as he could on one leg and Jimin caught on incredibly fast. It had been shockingly simple to dance with him, to let your body move with his and dip and soar step after step as he flawlessly executed the movements after watching Jungkook just once or twice.

You had nearly gotten caught staring at the furrow in his eyebrow as he concentrated, a similar pout on your lips as you yearned to lean up and smooth it out, but Jungkook had been too preoccupied to comment and you gave yourself a good, strong pep talk to focus.

And now it’s nearing 8 PM and you’ve just completed the first proper run-through, your body burning and your nerves hyper aware but so satisfied at the completion of a smooth rehearsal. In some weird, twisted way, it’s easy to not pay attention to the nervous, frazzled, constantly overthinking voices about Jimin in your head when you’re dancing with him.

Feeling a little calmer, you turn back around while gulping some water and see Jimin gathering his hair off his forehead and tying it up in a small ponytail, shorter strands falling out and hanging as wisps.

“Ready?” he asks with a grin, hand held out in your direction when he sees that you’re looking at him.

You swallow with difficulty and try not to be too transparent about the effect this new hairstyle is having on you as you muster a smile and nod, placing your palm in his, fingers only twitching slightly.

Hyejin stifles a short giggle, morphing it into a cough as you shoot her a sharp look before she restarts the track on the phone.

The piano intro begins, build up in the song already evident as Jimin pulls you close for the start position. You let the music wash over you, anchoring yourself in the sound and running through the steps in your head. Steeling your nerves, you meet Jimin’s eyes as you straighten your back, finding them twinkling in anticipation and unwavering concentration, gaze boring deep into yours as you both begin the routine again.

The rain is starting to come down heavier as you huddle close to the wall of the security cabin, trying to fit as much of your body as you can under the awning. Your laptop bag is secure in your arms as you use it to cover your chest, trying to receive some kind of warmth against the wind that’s picking up pace.

With a sigh, you unlock your phone for the fifth time in two minutes, checking if Tae’s given you his ETA. On seeing no new messages or missed calls, you close it again and let out a low groan.

A particularly strong gust of wind makes you shiver as you idly curse at your own stupidity for not checking the time while debugging the latest code you had been assigned and ending up leaving this late. If Hobi had come to the office today, he would have made sure you left on time, probably annoyed you into it as he played his stupid, TikTok songs playlist next to your desk until you agreed.

But he’s sick and you had spent twenty minutes sitting through awfully cheery morning radio in your Uber in the morning, too scared to request the driver to change it. And now, you’re standing outside the office building in the dark, waiting for Tae to come pick you up because no cabs are available.

The last message on your phone from him reads leaving in five! and that was sent fifteen minutes ago. You’re too caught up in trying to calculate what that means, time and math-wise, that you only realise that your boss’s car has drawn to a stop in front of you when the passenger seat window is rolled down and her concerned face appears, leaning over from behind the wheel.

You immediately straighten up from the wall, absently shivering against the droplets that hit your face and arms as you politely smile. Apparently, you weren’t the last one to leave.

“Get in!” she shouts to be heard over the sound of the rain, and at this point, you’re too cold and miserable to disobey. You transfer your bag and phone to one hand, pulling the door open and sliding in as gracefully as you can when your eyes are shut and your head is ducked to avoid the rain you’re momentarily exposed to. Which isn’t very graceful at all.

You nearly moan at the warmth inside the car, immediately feeling yourself getting less cranky.

“How come you’re leaving so late?” Jennie asks, moving the car so she can stop it against the curb before turning up the heat a little more when she notices you slightly shivering still.

“I was debugging something and lost track of time,” you say with a wince.

She nods in understanding, the light of the streetlamp casting a shine on her long, straight black hair as she pushes her glasses up.

“You have a ride back home? I noticed that you and Hoseok carpool but he didn’t come in to work today.”

“Yeah, my friend’s coming to pick me up. He should be here…sometime soon, hopefully.”

“I’ll wait with you,” she says. “I don’t want you falling sick, too.”

You accept with a grateful nod, more than willing to spend the next few minutes inside here rather than out in the rain.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s a Thursday evening (night) and you’re going through the crushing, midweek existential crisis you’re prey to; or that the rain outside is getting heavier, small flashes of lightning indicating a larger incoming storm and you’re glad to have some kind of shelter; or maybe even that there’s a satisfying sort of soreness to your limbs from the now regular dancing, not painful but just present enough for you to feel content that you’ve done something, but the regular awkwardness seems practically non-existent.

Jennie doesn’t say anything, just quietly observes the rain from her seat, placid smile on her face like she’s been sheltering cold, helpless interns since she was four years old, and you feel no inclination to break the comforting silence, preferring to rub your palms in front of the heater vents, letting them warm up.

Until your phone begins to vibrate on your lap, caller ID reading Tae.

Eagerly, you accept the call, putting the phone to your ear. As fun as hiding out in your boss's car is, nothing sounds better than your bed and some pillows and a warm blanket.

“Talk to me,” you say immediately, anticipating good news.

There’s static for a while and you hear some talking in the background, something about boxes and back rooms before Tae's voice comes clear.

“There’s been a change of plans,” he starts, and you note with slight concern that there’s no sound of a running engine or rain on his end.

Warily, you ask, “What do you mean?”

A door closes in the background and now you can hear him easier, like he’s gone to a quiet place.

“A shipment got delivered early and since it was in my name, I couldn’t leave the shop.”

You feel your heart sink at his words, knowing from prior experience that it could take up to an hour for him to make it. In the suddenly deafening quiet of the car, his tinny voice through your phone rings clearly and you have no doubt Jennie heard. To her credit, she pretends to have not been paying attention, only continuing to look out of the window.

“Can you still make it?” you ask, cursing the day you and Jungkook decided to buy that washing machine that ate into your savings so much that you haven’t been able to purchase your own car.

He makes a soothing hum before replying, slowly and then all at once, “No, but Jimin is coming to get you and he should be there in five minutes tops.”

And now, in a rush, you’re seized up, unable to say anything except a tiny ‘Okay,’ in a voice that suggests that it isn’t really okay at all, if Tae's low chuckle is anything to go by.

It’s all fun and games having that rose-tinted feeling of liking somebody and being able to spend time with them and really embracing those giddy butterflies in your stomach every time you’re both in the same room, but when push comes to shove and you have to spend an extended period of time alone together without the buffer of music and the purpose of dance, you can think of few things more intimidating.

At your small tone, Tae replies, putting you more on edge, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to engage, he's pretty tired too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t mind engaging with him,” you respond, probably too defensive to seem convincing and too rushed to mask your knee-jerk panicked reaction.

He doesn’t give you a straight answer, and even though you can’t see him, you know his palm is held up in a pacifying gesture. “I’m just saying, when you like somebody, you tend to avoid one-on-one interaction with them which isn’t exactly conducive for fostering romance.”

“Fucking hell, does everybody know?” you groan as your head hits the back of the seat with a dull thud, momentarily forgetting about where you are and whom you’re with.

“Everybody except Jimin!” Tae replies cheerfully. In the background, you hear somebody asking for him.

You have no valid reply, only uttering a soft ‘Okay, bye,’ when Tae signs off by saying, “Okay, I have to go now. He’s coming in my car and should be there soon. Text me when you get home!”

Hanging up, you sigh, turning around to face Jennie who’s looking at you with a concerned expression.

“All good?”

Resisting the urge to bite your fingernails as you’re wont to do in high pressure, nervously anticipatory situations like this, you muster a weak smile and reply, “Yeah, everything’s fine. He should be here in a bit.”

She nods, accepting your half-baked response without question.

At that moment, through the sheets of rain, you see a familiar silver sedan pulling up on the opposite side of the road. Squinting, you read the number plate, and once you’ve deduced that it is, in fact, Tae's, you turn to Jennie and say, “That’s him. Thank you for waiting with me.”

She waves away your gratitude with a small smile, but stops you when you’re about to push open the door with a clearing of her throat.

Gentle but insistently, she slowly says, “From one woman to another, if you want something, you should go for it. Don’t hang around being scared or waiting for something to happen.”

So she did hear after all.

You don’t know what to make of it, don’t have any reply to her statement that won’t sound silly, can’t figure out a way to convey that yes, you agree with her one hundred percent, but this situation is different.

Your phone vibrates and you see the caller ID.

Jimin (Interact Only For Practice)

The headlights in the car opposite are blinking on and off, probably to signal to you that he’s arrived in case you don’t pick up your phone and you’re saved the bother of a reply by Jennie smiling kindly at your half-pleading half-flabbergasted expression and saying, “He's waiting for you."

With a gulp, you can do nothing but nod and stutter out another ‘Th-Thanks,’ before you push the door open and jog to the other side of the road towards your ride.

_____________________________

“Here, I thought you might need this.”

There’s a sweatshirt placed on your lap, something soft, warm and as far as you can make out in the dim lighting of the car, black.

He does look tired, faint bags under his eyes that are missing their regular sparkle. He gives you a small smile, though, as he jerks his head in the direction of the fabric he’s set down on your thighs.

“You look cold. Do you want me to turn up the heat?” he asks, slightly husky voice, all kindness. You might not be particularly fond of water at the moment, given that it’s dripping from your hair and making your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin, but given the chance, you’d drown in his voice right now.

“No, it’s perfect. Thanks for coming,” you reply, looking away under the pretense of tugging the hoodie over your head, unable to stare at him without needing to combust any longer.

It isn’t too big for you, just hanging a little bit off of your frame, but it engulfs you perfectly, immediately making you feel cozy and warm.

He starts the car, the bracelets on his arm jiggling lightly as he pushes it into gear. “No problem, really. I don’t mind helping out. Especially if it means you don’t end up staying in the rain and catching a cold.”

An easy smile accompanies his words, and you can only mumble something unintelligible in response, simultaneously flattered, shy and annoyed that you’re feeling.

A comfortable silence settles for an indeterminate period of time. It can’t be more than five minutes, but it feels like much longer before you muster up enough courage to ask, “How are things going at the shop? Everything running on schedule?”

“Yeah, more or less. Hectic, though. Nobody told us it would be this much work.”

There’s no bite in his words, just a mix of passive regret and satisfaction at taking up such a large project and seeing it go through.

“I can tell,” you reply, trying to be supportive. “Tae doesn’t send me as many cat videos as he used to anymore.”

The laugh that you get in response puts angels to shame, and you’re not sure you quite manage to keep the sappy fondness out of your expression when you take in the more relaxed droop in his shoulders and the smoothening of his face, at least a fraction of his regular happiness making a return.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” he starts, the atmosphere in the car a little lighter and easier now, thanks to your stellar comedic timing.

“About Tae's cat videos?”

He shoots you a grin as he replies teasingly, “Maybe later. I was talking about the store opening.”

“Has there been a change of date? Last I checked, it was scheduled for Friday, the 17th.”

“It still is. But Boom is on the 18th, so any last minute run-throughs we'll have to get done in the next six days.”

You nod, thoughtfully. “I think we can make that work. We’re in a pretty good position.”

“We work well together,” he says, agreeing, probably not realising that his statement has just sent every nerve ending you have on high alert, shocking you out of that false sense of security you’ve been cocooned in for most of the conversation so far.

You mumble a slow ‘Yeah,’ as he absentmindedly pulls into your road, slowing down as he reaches the apartment.

Whatever ease you were feeling earlier has flown out the window, and now you want nothing more than to leave.

“Thanks for the ride! Oh, let me give you your hoodie bac-"

“Keep it.”

You look up from his hand atop yours, stilling your fingers in their momentarily abandoned mission at the side of your hip, his palm settling atop your fisted knuckles that have fabric twisted in them.

It’s like time’s paused as you see his kind smile, feel the warmth of his hand and the chill of the tips of his fingers that are almost cupping yours.

Swallowing when he makes no attempt to move them, just looking at you half-warning and half-gentle, like he’s daring you to return his sweatshirt when you’re still cold and wet and obviously need it for the walk up to the front door, you softly ask, partly whispering, though you’re not sure why, “Are you sure?”

He doesn’t break eye contact, just gently giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it, fingers curling around the wheel once more as he replies, “Yeah, you can return it at our next practice session.”

“Okay,” you mumble, nodding unconsciously and lifting your bag from the floor of the car as if in a dream, waving goodbye hazily until you’re taking the stairs up to your floor.

You unlock the door, and the moment it shuts behind you, you’re turning around and letting your body sag against it, slumped with your bag in one hand and the keys limp in the other.

You distantly hear Jungkook calling out from the living room, his voice getting louder as he limps towards you.

“Y/N, is that you?”

You don’t have it in you to reply, only grunting as you face his approaching form absently.

“Whose jacket is that?”

Fuck.

“Wow.”

You nod, mouth open as you stop next to a similarly gaping Jungkook, frozen in front of the newly unveiled storefront.

The sound of your cab driving away goes unnoticed as you both take in the transformation from the last time you had been here, nearly a week ago.

Since the shop had finally gotten too crowded with items and display pieces, and the storeroom actually had things to be stored, you and Jimin had moved your practices back to your living room with all the furniture (a grand total of one couch and a coffee table) pushed right up to the wall. Consequentially, you haven’t seen the shop in little more than a week.

The cheap plastic board that had been there earlier is now a sleek black and silver plaque with The VMin Experience written on it in that clean, classy, elongated font. From the outside, the freshly wiped glass windows give a direct view into lit up display mannequins clothed in designs. Even at ten in the morning, everything looks sophisticated and chic. There’s a small signboard hanging from the door handle that reads ‘OPENING TODAY!’ right above the PULL sticker.

“Do you think Tae will give us a discount?” you ask, as you take in the pastel pink blazer that the mannequin on the right is wearing.

You aren’t even remotely surprised when your roommate slash the devil incarnate nudges you in the ribs with his elbow and says, grin evident in his voice even if you aren’t looking at him, “I think you’ll have better luck with Jimin.”

After Jimin had dropped you off that night and you had stumbled up to the apartment all in a tizzy, Jungkook had questioned you extensively and didn’t even have the gall to hide his amusement at your retelling. Since then, he’s taken to dropping some very unsubtle hints like leaving post-its around the house with winky faces, which is very unsettling, and always making his SIMS characters kiss whenever you happen to be around.

Mercifully, he hadn’t been too unsufferable whenever Jimin came over for practice, probably realising that it was in his best interests to not antagonise you that much.

And you? You’ve been avoiding everything that even vaguely resembles romantic emotion as staunchly and stubbornly as a mule. God and your phone battery and your browser history (that includes but is not limited to Google searches like crush songs and how to stop thinking, and multiple BuzzFeed articles about zodiac compatibility and quizzes along the general lines of Tell Us Your Favourite Disney Movies And We’ll Tell You If Your Crush Likes You Back, combined with excessive usage of your notes app) might disagree, but that’s nobody’s business.

Especially not Jungkook’s, even if he did hear you singing bubble pop in the shower once.

“After you,” he says, completely ignoring your eye roll and letting you go in front of him, more to avoid the barrage of instructions that you’re both going to be on the receiving end of the moment you step into the store, than any real goodness of his heart.

You flick him half-heartedly on the arm before pulling the door open, immediately assaulted by the smell of fresh items and air conditioning. And something like lavender?

“Oh, good, you’re both here. Could you move that rack a bit to the left?”

You and Jungkook just exchange a short, amused look before obediently moving to opposite sides of the indicated shelf with hangers of clothes and moving it, as directed, a bit to the left.

Taehyung looks uncharacteristically nervous, his usually impeccably trim nails bitten at the edges and a frazzled look on his regularly smooth, bored face, and when the two of you turn to him, ready to receive more directions, he’s in the middle of trying to shift a stand that’s very clearly bolted to the floor.

“Uh, Tae? All good there, buddy?”

You know Jungkook’s talking in that corny voice, calling his friend the superior term of platonic endearment to get him to crack a grin, and it’s worked in the past, but all Tae does now is grunt as he tries harder to push the stubborn stand.

He’s dressed casually in a loose, black and gold button-up shirt tucked into tight, black pants, looking for all he’s worth like a rich patron of a modern art museum or a front row invitee to a global fashion week, but under the lights and with the fancy clothes all around and the sheer aura of expensiveness radiating from every surface of the shop, he fits right in. Apart from the annoyed curl of his lips as he continues his attempt to move a non-budging, nailed down shelf.

An irresistible force against an immovable object, if you will.

Slowly, you and Jungkook approach him, like you’re about to pacify a tantrum throwing toddler.

Hesitantly, you place a palm on his tense shoulder, right as he realises that the stand is attached and lets out an anguished groan.

“Is something wrong?” you ask slowly, when he makes no move to shake your hand off.

He exhales harshly, jaw clenched as he gathers himself before taking a deep breath in.

The verbal reply to your question comes from behind all of you, as Jimin enters the main shop floor from the back room, partway through rolling up the full-length sleeves of his shirt. Your throat goes dry as you take in his formal pants, distantly aware that Taehyung is wearing literally the same thing but had hardly evoked more than a vague sense of appreciation from you.

“He’s been like this all morning,” Jimin says, continuing to make his way closer, looking up for just a second to shoot an amused smile before he goes back to concentrating on rolling his sleeve neatly with one hand.

You don’t know what possesses you to do it, but as you’re looking at his arms twist in his struggle to make it look artfully messy, you blurt out, “Do you need help?”

He gratefully nods, giving up and extending his right arm out to you as he continues, “He wants, and I quote, everything to be so perfect that it puts Hallmark films to shame.”

Behind you, you hear Jungkook snort and reply, “There’s nothing perfect about Hallmark films.”

The sounds of Tae and Kook arguing behind you fade into background noise as you focus on undoing what Jimin’s done so far. You’ve just about finished, tugging out a flap from the fold so it doesn’t look quite so formal and pulling away, when your wrist is caught in a gentle grip.

As studiously as you’ve avoided looking at him directly so far, you can’t stop your gaze from shooting up to his in surprise, breath catching as he smiles at you, a curious mixture of nervousness and anticipation in his eyes.

Dancing together is different from...whatever this is, intense and charged as neither of you look away. The other two have moved towards the back of the shop to prematurely open a champagne bottle for Tae's nerves, but you’re not sure you would have noticed them even if they were still bickering in the vicinity.

He loosens his grip on your hand but doesn’t let go, slightly bending as he says, “Thank you.”

You nod, not trusting your voice and just giving a smile before you gently detach yourself from him, immediately moving towards Jungkook who’s holding out a champagne glass toward you, beckoning you both to participate in the entrepreneurially sanctioned daytime drinking.

As you’re lifting your glass, letting it clink against the others and resolutely not making eye contact with Jimin who’s standing directly opposite you, his cheerful voice joining in the chorus of ‘To paying off student loans!’, your heart and head race a mile a minute.

What does it all mean?

_____________________________

“So he thanked you.”

Huffing, you impatiently repeat to Hyejin's simultaneously confused and unimpressed face, “No, he thanked me.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

You groan in frustration, letting your arms flop against your sides in abandon as you lean against the side of the closed back room that the two of you have been conversing in for the last ten minutes, ever since you caught sight of her entering the shop and dragged her back right after she congratulated the new business owners.

She had whined a bit about not getting the fancy champagne flute, but once the word ‘Jimin’ had left your mouth, she became mighty compliant.

“I think I’m missing something here. You’re losing your mind in the store room on the opening day of your friends’ shop at 12 PM because...” she trails off, looking at you expectantly with an arched eyebrow.

Something breaks inside you and the next thing you know, you’re venting out in a single breath, nearly tripping over your words, “Because I like Jimin and I think he likes me too, but I’m too scared to say anything or bring it up in case I’m wrong and also, I sort of really want it to be true but I don’t know and I’m scared and I would very much like everything to go back to when this stupid dance competition didn’t exist, because now I keep thinking about ways to spend time with him after tomorrow and I’m embarrassed and feelings suck.”

You’re gasping by the end of it, like you’ve just run a marathon with a cash prize for first place. If you weren’t somehow feeling simultaneously lighter and more exposed, you’d be amused at Hyejin’s expression, but all you can muster is a weak sort of shrug to mask any awkwardness you might be feeling.

She looks like she’s just been slapped across the face with a wet fish, eyes wide and mouth open, but before she can say anything, the door to the left opens and Jungkook walks in, a half-full champagne glass in his hand.

He takes in Hyejin’s expression and your defensive stance that’s combined with the worried furrow of your eyebrows before he slowly says, “I just came here to escape from Yoongi who keeps asking me where his Tupperware is and I’m too scared to tell him I lost it, but there’s a really weird energy in here right now.”

“Jimin thanked Y/N,” Hyejin unhelpfully supplies, looking like she’s slowly regaining her bearings after your emotional outburst.

Jungkook's eyes narrow in confusion as his head tilts, lips pursed. “I feel like there’s more to that story, but I’m not gonna hear any of it.”

You sigh, weight of everything crashing into you as you sit down on the floor cross-legged, staring unseeing at the opposite wall.

At your actions, Jungkook’s eyebrows crease in concern, but his confusion is abundantly evident when he says, “I’m, uh, sure you can tell Jimin not to thank you again if it makes you this sad. Will some champagne make you feel better?”

“Yes, please,” you say, nodding despondently as you accept the glass from him, after which he sits down next to you, twiddling his thumbs, probably wondering why he offered.

For about a minute, the two of you sit there, you completely zoned out, dissociating to cope with the reality of the situation as you take little sips and Jungkook humming something vague, his legs now stretched out in front of him.

You nearly forget that Hyejin’s even in the room until your glass is snatched from your affronted grip and you’re looking up accusingly at her exasperated face.

“Up,” she says shortly, taking one of your hands in hers and pulling you. You have no choice but to follow through, landing shakily and ruefully watching her finish off what’s left of the champagne before she hands the glass to an entertained Jungkook and places both her palms firmly on your shoulders.

Oh no.

“I’m going to tell you something, and you might not like it, but you have to hear it anyway, okay?”

You resist the urge to salute, nodding as you agree. Not that you have an option. You’ve seen Hyejin in intervention mode before, and resisting is like trying to stop a fire from burning.

“You. Are. Incredibly. Stupid.”

Your mouth drops in offense, and you make to defend yourself, but before you can say anything, from the floor, Jungkook cheers, “I knew there was something I missed. What happened?”

Not taking her eyes off of you, Hyejin replies, “Y/N likes Jimin and she thinks he likes her and she’s having a crisis.”

You have hope for a moment, when your trusty roommate scoffs behind you, and you vow to get him something good for his birthday this year, but just as you’re grinning all satisfied at Hyejin, he says, “Of course he likes her. Pfft. That was never the question.”

Coal. He’s getting coal and it won’t even be gift wrapped.

At your shocked expression, he slowly stands up, looking confused as he asks, “Did you...did you not realise?”

Near-hysterical, you reply, turning to face him fully, “No? How was I supposed to realise?”

Jungkook’s looking at you like you’ve grown a third head, like you’re the one who’s just said something completely bizarre, which is absolutely untrue.

“Wait, what did you think her crisis was about?” Hyejin asks, infuriatingly calm at this revelation and completely ignoring the fact that your roommate is spouting enough shit to fill a truck.

“Feelings? In general? I thought she knew about Jimin liking her. I thought you knew about Jimin liking you!”

You throw your arms up in a gesture of annoyance as you hiss, half-frustrated and half-panicking, “How was I supposed to know? Nobody tells me these things!”

“Dude, he's been flirting with you for weeks.”

“No, he has not. You’re wrong. Hyejin, tell him he’s wrong.”

But to your great betrayal, Hyejin doesn’t immediately contest the sheer stupidity of the statement. She gets that look you’re constantly wary of. A ‘hmm, you might have a point there,’ look.

“Actually,” she slowly begins. “Now I think about it, he might be right.”

You groan in frustration as Jungkook continues in the same voice, like he’s still bewildered that you haven’t picked up on any flirty, non-existent signs.

“He gave you his jacket and let you keep it for, like, a week? And he wouldn’t stop looking at you during the photoshoot? And he agreed to dance with you immediately, no questions asked. And don’t even get me started on that evening with the super intense eye contact outside Yoongi's studio. And he agreed to come pick you up in the rain at ass o' clock even when his shop was opening in a week and he was neck deep in work with no complaint, from what I heard. What part of this isn’t registering as ‘I want to hold your hand non-platonically' to you?”

You open and close your mouth, speechless. More out of formality, to put up a fight because weary fear and wary hope makes one do and say stupid things, you softly mutter, “He was just being nice,” but you’ll be the first to admit that there’s more than a tinge of doubt in your voice now.

Hyejin sighs, looking at you kindly as she says, all too knowingly, “I know you’re going to overthink this. But it really, really isn’t a big deal.”

“But what do I do?” you ask, desperation thinly veiled in your voice.

“Nothing, if that’s what you want. Or you could ask him out. Or you could wait for him to ask you out.”

Jungkook nods insistently next to her. “It’s all good, dude.”

Stellar contributor, that one.

Taking a deep breath in and letting it out with a whoosh, you look back at their expectant faces, trepidation in your eyes.

“First, I’d like a glass of champagne.”

The light that enters through the crack in your curtains annoys you, but not enough to make you get up and block it. Your phone is on silent, and for once, you don’t feel the constant, compulsive need to check it.

You don’t feel the need to do anything, really. Here, starfished on your bed, staring blank at the white ceiling is a good place to be. Optimum zoning out position. You’ve gotten so tuned to the sound of the clock on the wall, that you’re certain your heart is now beating in the same rhythm, and the numbness in your foot has been there for so long, you don’t remember who you were before it.

After the...talk in the storeroom yesterday, you wish you could say that your first order of business (after some liquid courage) was to walk right up to Jimin and give it to him straight, but nothing could be farther from the truth.

You had avoided him like the plague, preferring to catch up with Yoongi and hide out in the dressing room armed with clothes you can only afford in your dreams. To top it all, you also had to deal with all this new information and suddenly, you were noticing a lot of interesting things. You’d catch Jimin looking at you at odd moments, and he’d look away after shooting you a small smile that you physically couldn’t not return. He had come over all the way from the other end of the shop to ask you if you wanted another glass of champagne (you had declined), and there were fingers brushing against your shoulder, winks thrown across the room whenever eye contact was made and all of a sudden, you were consumed by this overwhelming feeling of stupidity, all of Jungkook’s points becoming more and more valid with every passing moment.

So, you did what any sane person would do. After congratulating them, and having an incredibly brief conversation with him about the final plan for the competition, you had left (after counting and comparing the amount of time he spent on his hugs with different people, and coming to the conclusion that you got two seconds extra).

You had refused to speak to Jungkook about anything even in the vicinity of the ballpark of whatever you were thinking about on the cab ride back, shovelled in an early dinner, gone straight up to your room and begun to create a definitive flowchart about possible outcomes.

It had been of no help whatsoever, and had only led to you thinking even more until you finally gave up on the project, paper landing on your bed with a comically sad finality, probably still there, lying crumpled under all the pillows.

You had flopped onto your bed, stared at the ceiling until your eyes could stay open no longer, only to wake up to your alarm at 7 AM with the same train of thought in your head continuing where it had left off.

Cut to now, two hours later. You can see your packed bag near the closed door. Jungkook’s knocked twice already, asking if you want breakfast before your big show and you’ve declined both times. You’re already showered and dressed, and both activities were a sort of background noise to the insofar ceaseless thinking in your head.

But now, you’re all thought out. You’re tired godammit, and you know that you’ve spiralled enough for a thousand exam seasons for there to still be some hope that rationality will prevail and a conclusion based on facts can be hit upon. No, you’re done thinking.

It’s time to listen to Kim Jennie, 28, Head of Product Development. No time for being scared. And maybe some advice that’s less daunting and closer to the kind of thing you can vibe without wanting to puke at the thought of, Hyejin’s ‘It isn’t such a big deal.’

Despite the sudden clarity and at least half-way confidence in your constitution, your body’s still playing catch up, and your movements are sluggish as you sit up, coming face to face with your reflection in the mirror. There’s that trepidation that you’re all too aware of in your eyes, but you brush it aside. You’ve got the power of your boss and your friend on your side. And once you tell Jungkook your plan, the moment you figure it out yourself, you’ll have anime too.

You give your reflection one final, determined nod before standing up and collecting your phone and bag. You decide to hold off on opening the curtains just yet. No need to get ahead of yourself. Maybe when you get back. After your fate’s been decided.

Your notifications range from well wishes (Yoongi: Don’t trip like you did during that performance in fifth grade.) to a compilation of cat videos (Tae: to make up for the lack over the last few weeks :D), but the message that your eyes are drawn to is from the man himself.

Jimin (Maybe Interact Sometimes): I’m excited! Let’s kill it!

Unbidden, a smile grows on your face, small at first before slowly growing until you’re beaming at your phone. The familiar pre-performance anticipation settles deep in your bones, and combined with your recently acquired confidence and the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in your stomach over the last month or so, it’s a deadly mix.

Feeling heady, you reply with some exclamation points and lock your phone, toning down the grin on your face so your roommate doesn’t think you’ve finally crossed the bend before pushing the door open.

Jungkook’s in the kitchen, sitting over a bowl of cereal, eyes skimming through the newspaper that he’s holding up with one hand. It’s a common enough occurrence, one you see nearly every morning, but it feels different today. You’ve got the enterprise of mission in you.

He notices you entering and opens his mouth to say something, but stops short. You catch sight of your reflection in the glass window behind him, and see that the grin, if not entirely blinding, is still a drastic change from your usual morning grumpiness that Jungkook has the pleasure of poking at every day.

Tentatively, he asks, rather than says, “Good morning?”

Dropping your bag, you make your way to the fridge to get some milk to fix up your own cereal as you reply, cheeriness coming through in your voice even as you try to keep it neutral, “Morning!”

You can feel his quizzical gaze on your back, and he makes no pretense of hiding it when you sit down opposite him, bowl set in front of you.

“Are you done with the newspaper?” you ask, pretending to not notice his staring, absently tapping your spoon against the side of the table as you swallow a mouthful.

He looks confused as he replies, “Am I done with – uh, yeah, here.”

You accept it with a smile and a ‘Thank you!’ before spreading it out on the table in front of you, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other as you hunch over to read.

It only takes a few seconds for Jungkook to break the silence. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, peachy. Excited about the competition!”

You look up at the fag end of your sentence, just in time to catch his deeply mistrusting gaze.

“Nervous?” he asks, like a detective looking for a lead.

You direct your gaze back to the editorial page as you shake your head and respond simply, “Nope.”

That’s a blatant lie, and you’re sure that as soon as ten minutes from now, you’re going to start realising the gravity of the situation (prize money is a powerful incentive), but that bridge hasn’t even been built yet, leave alone reached.

There’s silence for a while, you reading the paper while eating your cereal and Jungkook looking at you shrewdly, like he’s trying to read your mind and figure out how you’ve made a complete 180 from yesterday.

When you deem the time right, you say matter-of-factly, “Might ask Jimin out today.”

It’s quite unfortunate that you aren’t looking up when you utter those words. Jungkook’s in the middle of a sip of coffee, and it takes a minute for him to stop choking and sputtering.

“You what?”

“Might ask Jimin out today,” you repeat with a shrug, folding the paper after finishing the comics section and directing your gaze at his startled face.

He narrows his eyes, scepticism in his voice as he asks, “What do you mean you might ask Jimin out today?”

“For somebody who’s a journalist and about to be a published author, you’re having an awfully hard time comprehending words, aren’t you?”

He groans in annoyance as you smile pleasantly, enjoying the overall effect of this conversation.

Gathering himself, he slowly enquires, “So you just woke up today morning and decided that you’re going to do this?”

“Yep,” you reply, popping the p.

He scrutinises you carefully, looking for traces of bullshit. Finding none, he slowly begins to smile. And then you’re smiling. And then he’s smiling wider, and now you’re both grinning at each other like a pair of fools. If anybody were to walk into the kitchen now, they’d take one look before turning around and marching right back out.

Jungkook lets out a small giggle, partly in residual disbelief and partly in excitement, and your nervousness and anticipation manifests in the same way.

“When are you going to do it?” he asks, eyes twinkling as he stifles his laughter.

“No idea,” you reply, standing up with your bowl and making your way to the sink with him in tow.

“You mean you haven’t thought this to death and made a timeline down to the millisecond about how your plan’s going to unfold? I’m shocked.”

There’s no bite in his words, though, and you merely bump him on the side as you wash your bowl, him drying his next to you. “I’m tired of thinking. Time to get shit done.”

A pause as Jungkook whoops in support, and then you’re asking, “Is this a terrible idea? Should I not do this today? What if I screw up while dancing?”

You don’t know where the sudden uncertainty is coming from. Maybe everything’s finally catching up to you, but abruptly, you need some reassurance that you aren’t in over your head, that you aren’t going to fuck up.

“None of that now,” Jungkook says bossily, drying his hands and placing his palms on your shoulders, turning you so you’re facing him. “You’ve got a cash prize to win and a crush to ask out. No time for being scared and mopey. You know why? ‘Cause you’re a lean, mean singing machine.”

“I’m not lean.”

“Mean singing machine.”

“I’m actually quite nice, I think.”

“Singing machine.”

“This is a dance competition.”

He huffs in annoyance, but there’s a glint of relief in his eyes at your return to admittedly uncharacteristic optimism.

“Phineas and Ferb quotes shouldn’t be adapted,” he staunchly says, nose teasingly up in the air as he lets you go so you can pick up your bag.

“Not by you, they shouldn’t.”

“Okay, why don’t you book the cab, yeah?” he says, marching your giggling frame out the door.

The large board next to the main, high school auditorium entrance reads ‘PARTICIPANTS HERE' followed by a red arrow pointing to a small door that presumably leads to the green room.

You and Jungkook stop a few paces away, moving closer to the wall so you aren’t blocking the hallway that’s teeming with audience members trying to enter. Some of them take in your outfit and wish you luck, to which you reply with a grateful nod.

The confidence you were feeling earlier has been replaced by the shaky excitement that accompanies a performance. You wonder what you were thinking, deciding to launch your amoratic venture on the same day as the competition. Like you don’t have enough to be nervous about. But a plan is a plan, and you’re sure you’ll chicken out and/or rip all your hair out in frustration if you go another day without dealing with it.

But prize money first. Boys after.

“Y/N.”

“Yes,” you reply, trying to mimic Jungkook’s firm voice, even as your eyes take in the large crowd of people who are going to be watching.

“Let's get this bread,” he says.

You nod, taking strength in the knowledge that Mr. Kibum is judging, that you’re dancing with your childhood best friend, that Hyejin’s going to be in the green room as well, that Jungkook, Yoongi and Tae are all going to be cheering you on from the crowd, that this is dance.

The wink he offers you leaves no doubt of the fact that he means other breads as well and not just the show, but you ignore it. Focus is key.

“Break a leg!” he cheers, ironically enough seeing as how his ankle is still in a cast, despite the fact that he can walk now with a barely noticeable limp.

You shakily smile in response before waving and ducking into the room you’re supposed to go into.

Immediately, the loud noise and chatter from the corridor becomes muffled as you’re wrapped in a quiet air of anticipation and nerves that hangs heavy. A few people look up when you enter, the ones you know offer you a weak smile that you return. In the corner of the room, you spot Hyejin and Jimin doing their stretches, much like majority of the other participants strewn around.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve effectively temporarily suppressed your feelings in favour of focusing on the competition, or maybe that you’ve finally accepted them and decided to do something about them, but all you feel is a sort of calm glow when you see him. Your stomach does give a weak, little flop, but you don’t experience that urge to escape as a first instinct, like you’ve become so accustomed to recently.

You scuttle over, taking care not to hit anybody with the swinging bag dangling from your side.

“Hey,” you mumble, easily accepting Jimin’s hug as he smiles at you and grinning at a mid-split Hyejin.

You begin jogging in place to warm up to stretch as Taemin enters the room, fedora full of chits in his hand.

“It’s time to decide the order of performing! Everybody gather around.”

Hyejin smoothly gets up with her freakish core strength as you and Jimin look at each other. There’s a dash of glitter on his eyelashes, subtly sparkling in the light, and you can swear, at that moment, that he’s easily the most beautiful person in this room. Hell, in this building.

“You wanna pick?” he asks, quirking his head to the side.

Ordinarily, you’d decline. But with the clouds you’re walking on, maybe you should try your luck.

“Sure,” you reply, making your way to the slowly gathering crowd that’s surrounding a hassled looking Taemin.

You huff in preparation before sticking you forearm into the hat blindly and snatching the first chit your fingers close around. Somebody’s nails scratch you, but you’re too distracted, fighting your way out of the group of people, eager to reach Jimin on the outskirts so you can open the tightly clutched paper in your hand and see your fate.

“Ready?” you ask, once you’re standing in front of him.

He nods eagerly. There’s a flush on his cheeks, a light in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and the memory of watching him dance in that practice room for the first time all those weeks ago, with all that love and passion and elegant control enters your head unbidden. You feel a little sickened by the amount your heart warms when you think of Jimin getting this opportunity to do what he loves on stage.

You slowly open the paper, only for your heart to veritably pause for a second when you read what’s written.

No fucking way.

You look up, unable to keep the apologetic grimace from your face as you see him half-amused, half-disbelieving.

From the other end of the room, Taemin calls out “Team number 1!”

You and Jimin look at each other briefly before making your way towards him. Around you, you can hear small whoops. You think the muted laughter is from Hyejin.

“Pendrive?” he asks all business-like, hand stuck out, palm up, giving no indication that he knows the two of you, that he sees you every Saturday, that he was going to be Jimin’s partner first.

But the small ‘Good luck,’ and smile he gives as you’re both making to go away after handing over your music more than makes up for it.

Jimin leads the way to the corner of the room as the other teams go up in order and give their tracks. There’s silence for a second as you survey each other, trying to figure out just how surreal of a possibility this is.

You break it by mumbling, “Oops.”

All it takes is that stellar wit and ill-placed asinine humour for the tension in his shoulders to drop just a tad and his lips to quirk up, as he nods and says, amused, “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“We were going to go up anyway,” you reason, trying to make light of the universe screwing you over.

Agreeing, he replies, “Yeah, and now we can watch the other performers without being too distracted.”

You nod, humming, taking courage in these sad attempts at positivity.

You’re running through the choreography in your head, when you notice Jimin moving next to you, turning to face your body from his previous arms out, wrists rotating position.

“Hey,” he starts softly to get your attention, like you aren’t hyper aware of his presence and that the plan to act on your...romantic feelings is still very much present, even if it isn’t at the forefront of your brain.

You hum in reply, signalling him to continue.

“Regardless of what happens, I’m really glad I got to do this with you.”

You don’t know why you’re caught off guard, but you hide it best as you can when you reply with a smile, the most genuine one you have, “Same here.”

If anybody were to look at you, they’d see that :D emoticon that Tae's so fond of.

You think he’s going to stop there, but even as he turns back and continues stretching, feet shoulder width apart and hands on his hips, he says, “It was a lot of fun and I like dancing with you.”

You feel a warm glow at the comment, a soft shiver running down your spine as you take in the slightly reddish hue of the side of his neck and everything it indicates.

He likes likes you.

You’re not sure what possesses you to say it then, what stupid prank-pulling higher power decides that now would be a good time to do this, less than ten minutes before dancing together so you can’t even escape if things go sideways, but the next thing you know, the words are spilling out from your mouth of their own accord, tumbling over one other in a mad rush of adrenaline and bashfulness and nerves.

“Doyouwannagooutwithmesometime?”

You’re as startled as he is, maybe even more at this betrayal by your own lips, and you wish you could take it back the moment you say it, because now is not the time.

But thankfully, it doesn’t seem like he understood your stupid babble, and at the confused tilt of his head and his soft ‘Excuse me?’, you just shake your head and slowly say, avoiding his eyes, stuttering as your brain works in overtime, “I just said that...we both had a good time. Doing this, I mean. The, er – dancing.”

He accepts the explanation easily, bless his soul, but it’s still a relief when Taemin calls out that the competition is about to start and the two of you are up.

With one last nod and smile, as you force your head and heart to refocus, and manage to do so admirably well considering how close to fucking up you were, you and Jimin exit the room from the side door that leads to the auditorium, softly padding onto the dark stage behind the closed curtains and getting into the start position.

You meet his gaze as they announce your names, and the fabric of his t-shirt feels comfortably warm against your palm as they slowly open the curtains, and hundreds of eyes land on you.

The surrounding lights are bright and the attention nearly deafening, but nothing is quite as blinding and arresting as the look in his eyes as they bore into yours. The subtle pressure of his arm around your waist feels thrillingly familiar, but as you’re both waiting for the cheers to die down and the track to start, he goes off script.

Bending his head slightly, he begins to whisper, so subtly that nobody in the audience can notice unless they’re focusing very intently on his lips. Which...you wouldn’t blame them.

“You have horrible timing, but yes.”

And just like that, before you can even think about pulling away to look at him in shock, the demand for a less cryptic sentence, despite there being absolutely no doubt as to what he’s referring to, hot on your lips accompanied by the tingling certainty you feel when you look at his twinkling eyes that are partly mischievous but more noticeably excited, performance adrenaline taking strong hold, the music begins. With a small squeeze on your waist, he reverts to serious dancer mode from his previous Little Shit setting, taking a deep breath and twirling you away with a wink as you let the relief and joy and excitement flow through your body as you begin the routine.

“What’s this?”

“What’s wha – oh, fuck.”

You practically vault across the bed to get to the other side of your room so you can wrench the paper out of Jimin’s grip. He lets it go easily enough, a little startled at your sudden vehemence but amused nonetheless.

As you furiously rip it apart, not meeting his eyes, he teasingly says, “I’m pretty sure I read my name. Have you been making lists about me?”

“I have not,” you reply hotly, dropping the pieces of paper into your dustbin and gathering yourself so you can face him defiantly.

“It was a...to-do list.”

His eyebrow arches, eyes twinkling as he remarks, “At least take me out first.”

You huff, cheeks burning. “Not like that.”

He takes his shoes off, grin firm on his face as he sits cross-legged on the bed, facing your still shut laptop at the foot. “Well, you’ve got me in your room now, so I’ll let you have your way with me.”

You roll your eyes as you pick up the pizza box and place it on the centre of the bed, getting comfortable next to it.

“Second place isn’t so bad,” Jimin says thoughtfully a few minutes later, as you’re both watching the video buffer as you chew on dinner.

Nodding, feeling a warm glow at the current state of affairs and probably the most calm you’ve been in the last three weeks, not to mention an immeasurable sense of relief at not having to overthink yourself to sleep, you reply, unable to keep the shy smile off of your face, “Yeah, this is nice.”

Not that you've spoken about what this is. After the show, there had been a celebratory hug, which may have been just a tad tighter and a smidge longer than previous hugs, before the two of you were whisked away by the organisers for photos and caught up in a flurry of congratulations. As you had both stood at the back of the auditorium, blending into the shadows like the other participants that came to join you after their shows, watching the dancers on stage, there had been a kind of tension that comes with unresolved conversation. But for once, you were perfectly content just existing. There’s only so much emotional upheaval that you can manage in a day.

There had been brushing hands and awkward eye contact that was diffused by timid giggling and grins, but not much talking. Turns out, you’re both wimps.

And after you two had received second place and, along with Jungkook and Tae, eaten lunch at a nearby restaurant, right before everybody had parted ways, you had given yourself a pep talk, practiced in front of the bathroom mirror around ten times, and then gently tugged Jimin to the side and said, voice carefully controlled and tone slightly less rushed than the last time you had done this, “Hey, do you wanna come over for pizza tonight? And maybe a movie, or something?”

The smile accompanying the ‘Sure, that sounds great!’ you received was blinding, and a little relieved. Jungkook’s reaction when you told him on the way back, after letting him stew in silence for a bit, just for the fun of it, had been offensively surprised, like he hadn’t believed you’d go through with it.

(“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I had utmost faith in your plan.”

“Liar.”)

And now Jimin’s in your room (Jungkook’s probably right outside, ear pressed to the door), food in hand, The Office playing on the laptop screen (you had both agreed that a movie would require an unavailable amount of attention after such a long day), his knee comfortably resting against yours like a constant reminder that he’s there, as if you can forget.

And it’s easy.

Like an upgraded version of the old days, that comes with blushing and giggling and a nosy roommate who's given up trying to be subtle.

379 notes · View notes

wooahaes · 1 year

Text

sweet night [pt.9]

pairing: non-idol!mingyu x fem!reader

word count: ~6.0k

warnings: seungkwan heavy chapter, little actual mingyu content. mention of a flashback. rain/storm warning. more emotional talks. angst.

daisy’s notes: honestly u can thank holly for me posting this one now instead of waiting lol

summary: As the adopted daughter of the Kim family and current heir to the company, you have it all. An arranged marriage with your soon-to-be fiance who you truly fell in love with, respect from your workers for being good at your job, a good relationship with both your family and your good friends… What more could you want out of life? And yet all it takes is one night for everything to fall down, and one man to help pick up the pieces.

< previous part || masterlist || next part >

Kibum, as your big brother, knew you better than most people did.

He knew that you’re a strong person. You’d face your challenges and steel your nerves to get through them, no matter what people thought of you. Even when he heard the news of what happened, Kibum knew that you would be okay. Still, he knew you well. He knew that sometimes you’d call him and ask to meet up, always with this quiet pleading tone in your voice. It never took him long to figure out what you needed when he heard it, because it was the same tone you’ve always used with him when you were growing up. The very quiet I need my brother here tone: softer than usual, and so much more genuine than the voice you put on when you face work. A quiet plea for company that no one else could provide you.

You had called him and asked him to meet you for lunch with that same tone of voice, and Kibum knew that you needed to talk. He told you to pick the place, and he drove there as soon as he knew you’d be getting off for your lunch break. When you finally showed up, he was already there--excusing it as the (very true) fact that he’d already been in the area for work. He saw the way your eyes widened when you saw him, but that surprise faded fast and was replaced by comfort.

“So? Spill,” Kibum had said, leaning back into his chair a little casually. “What did he do now?”

You cracked a small, uneasy smile. “You act like Mingyu’s always doing something.”

Kibum stared at you for a moment, surprise lighting up his eyes. “Isn’t he?” He recovered well, but not well enough. You could tell that the hesitation came from expecting to hear Seungkwan’s name from you. “So? Spill,” he repeated. “Something’s obviously bothering you if you want to talk to me about it.”

You sucked in your cheeks a little. “Kibum--”

“I know you,” he said. “You want an honest opinion. So tell me what’s bothering you.”

You hesitated as a waiter refilled your glass before walking off again. You looked down at your hands a moment later. “I don’t know if I want to marry Mingyu anymore.”

“And?” Kibum pushed a little, watching you carefully. “That’s not all.” Your brother knew you far too well for that.

Again, the words were hard to get out. “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

With that, you needed to explain. Everything spilled out of you as a result: the dates the two of you went on, the domesticity of your living situation... and the fact he’s supposed to propose to you in a few days. It felt as though things were beginning to change between you and Mingyu, and last night was just the first time you realized it. All it took was looking over and seeing him, breathless and happy next to you underneath the stars, for you to realize the warm feeling in your chest was a direct response to the way he cared so deeply for you. He made you feel loved.

“I think...” You stared at your fingers, focusing on the little imperfections in your nails. “I feel like I’m latching onto Mingyu because he’s being kind to me. These aren’t dates, we’re just going out and being ourselves together. There’s no stress to be anyone or anything else.” For a moment, you paused. “I feel like I can be myself with him,” and you knew that Kibum was giving you a look, knowing exactly how those words sounded. “And I can’t help but think I’m starting to fall in love with him, which isn’t fair because he’s my best friend. He doesn’t love me like that.” Pain sparked up from how tightly your hands were curled around one another, nails now digging into your skin. “It’s too soon.”

“Everyone moves on differently,” Kibum said. “Some people obviously before the relationship is over--”

You gave him a pointed look, “Kibum.”

“--And some people take longer. It’s been over a month since what happened.” Kibum paused, watching you before deciding to choose his words carefully, as to not offend. “If you needed longer, you wouldn’t call me. You wouldn’t tell anyone of this.” Kibum reached out, gently unwrapping your hand and holding it. “If you think you’re ready to move on, then I support you.”

“Mingyu doesn’t love me like that.”

He pulled his hand away with a hard exhale out of his nose, looking away. He clicked his tongue, before giving you this pointed look as though you’d just lied to his face, “Are you sure?”

“Why would Mingyu love me?” You frowned. You didn’t think you were Mingyu’s type. Mingyu was smart and handsome and caring and kind and you were...

Well. You were you.

“Why did Seungkwan?” Kibum asked, “Why does anyone? Because you’re you. Just because you don’t see the reasons people love you doesn’t mean that they aren’t there. You care about people. I see it in the way you worry over the people who work for you.” When you tore your gaze away with this pout, Kibum merely paused before switching gears. “Do you know why our parents let you date Seungkwan for so long?”

“Because I told them I wanted to wait--”

“Because you two loved each other,” Kibum said. “And you actually cared about each other. All of us thought that you two were going to get married for a reason. I don’t know what happened to Seungkwan, but you two clearly connected. It’s all in the past now, but... You stood up for his comfort. You cared, and you care about Mingyu now. You’re so focused on how Mingyu feels that you don’t pay attention to how you feel.”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“Do you remember what you said to me after I came back from London?” Kibum didn’t give you a chance to answer, “You said you wanted to marry someone you like even if it’s for the company. What about you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to hesitate. “But the company--”

“Who cares about the company right now?!” Kibum rolled his eyes, turning back to you with a more stern expression. “You are not the company no matter how much you feel like you are. I’ve always worried about you because you’re married to your job--but you said it yourself. You go out with Mingyu and you don’t have to worry about work. You can just be you when you’re with him. Would you really be going out with him if all of this was just pretend?”

Would you? You’d spent time with Mingyu before, just as friends, back when you were dating Seungkwan. But these... not-dates were beginning to feel a little less so. The night on the boat, buying rings with him, falling into the grass and laughing... It all felt different. When you thought about it, you remembered the butterflies you felt with Seungkwan. The cozy feeling of loving and being loved in return. Maybe, if you truly had to think about it and compare, it felt even better when you were with Mingyu. In a way, it was healing.

When you lost Seungkwan’s love, you had felt broken. All of it had been suffocating. The shame of losing his love so publicly, the fact that he couldn’t come to you directly and tell you how he truly felt, the guilt over not seeing it sooner... It had broken you deeper than anything else. Yet when you were with Mingyu, that ache was soothed. He’d rescued you that night, and his care had helped you pick up the shattered piece and start putting them together again. Staying with him made you feel like you had a safe place to heal. Every move he’d made, he did it to take care of you. From bringing you back to his home so you had a private place to mourn the death of your relationship in peace, to moving you into his spare room so you could live with less stress instead of finding a hotel room or an apartment on such short notice. Even his proposal to you had been born from you venting your frustrations about having to date again, and solidified as a decision the two of you made to take your fates back into your own hands. Mingyu had chosen a happy business-fueled marriage with you, one of his best friends, over risking any alternative. He gave you safety when you needed it the most, and something about that made your heart yearn.

“I think you know.”

You did.

You were sure that you were starting to fall in love with Kim Mingyu.

The skies had grown darker outside, and you were stuck listening to Kibum fuss at you over keeping his old college car. You were going to call a taxi to go back to work, but the moment you said so, Kibum insisted that he’d drive you and drop you off. Admitting that you knew you’d been having problems with his car was only another nail in your coffin, because Kibum (as your older brother and occasional second mom) knew you were smarter than to keep something like that. You told him you knew it needed to have work done, but it completely broke down before you could have that appointment scheduled. You could afford a new one, sure, but you liked your car. It made you feel closer to your brother, after all. So instead of talking back to Kibum, you let him lecture you while you reminisce instead.

Two years ago, you’d been like this: heading back to your work building after lunch. However, that time had been a lunch meeting with a client your parents had sent you to. There was no Secretary Lee at this point to take care of you, no office to yourself: you hadn’t risen that high yet. Of course, traffic had been rough for you that day, and it meant that you would have been late to your next meeting with your parents and another company (something about cosmetics--you’d double check your information on the elevator ride up) had you not left as early as you were able to. They’d told you to make sure that you looked nice because this meeting was vital for you to attend.

Which only told you one thing: you were about to meet your future husband.

Ever since you’d entered the company, you knew that this day would come. That one day, you’d be married off to the son of some wealthy businessman, as much as you dreaded that thought. Although you’d never spoken about it (except to Kibum, once, and never again because he’d teased you about it), you were a bit of a hopeless romantic. You’d grown up watching dramas with your brother and grandmother, and seeing your parents love each other genuinely. Things would be different for you, though, and you knew that. Still, you couldn’t help but dream of a loving romance instead of one done like this.

You had reached out to press the button for your floor when you saw a young man quickly leave the front desk when he saw you in the elevator. He’d called out for you to please hold it the moment you clicked the button, doors already shutting by the time he arrived. You could hear the faint thump of his body making an impact (or maybe just his fist--you’d never be sure) while you were pressing the button to open the doors rapidly, as if it’d force them open faster.

A moment later, you were greeted with a wide-eyed young man who’d turned when he heard the doors open. You hadn’t caught everything he’d said under his breath, but you were pretty sure he’d been softly cursing you out. Instead, he thanked you quietly, and stepped in--keeping a decent amount of space between the two of you.

You pressed the button for floor seventeen. “What floor?”

He rattled off the same number, and you merely stepped back as the doors shut without much of a comment. A nice coincidence in all of this mess.

Despite your hesitation, you looked over at the young man. He looked close to your own age, although you couldn’t be sure if he was older or younger (his chubby cheeks were kinda cute, in your opinion). “Are you late?”

He nodded quietly, adjusting his tie. He glanced up at you, sheepish already, and admitted a “Almost.” He continued on after a moment, “I misread the address,” and he continued to fix the lapel of his jacket.

You could understand that. Your habit of leaving early for things had saved you time and time again whenever you made the same mistake while getting to restaurants you weren’t familiar with or businesses across the city. At least that habit, ingrained into you by your family, was good. “I understand.”

He nodded. “It isn’t too bad,” he said, clearly not thinking much as he stared ahead. “At least a pretty lady held the elevator for me...”

The compliment had made you smile. “Oh? How nice,” you teased lightly.

Immediately, color began to leak into his face as he grew more and more flustered. “Ah, I mean--I meant you--” He stammered, gaze meeting your own. “Not that I meant to flirt--I’m--I’m taken now. Sorry.”

Although you almost wanted to tease him (taken now? He sure didn’t sound confident), you giggled at how cute he was. “It’s okay,” you said. Had you been alone, you would have leaned against the elevator wall. You hated how slow this thing moved sometimes, the number just now ticking to nine “I won’t tell.”

“You won’t?” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good...” He looked away from you, scratching the back of his neck before sheepishly stealing another look your way. “Do I look okay? I almost spilled coffee on myself earlier,” he said, again not really thinking in a way that was actually pretty cute to you. Maybe it was because he was so close to your age that he was so open and honest. Like he could let his guard down when he was around you.

“You look cute,” you giggled. “Your partner must be lucky.”

His face immediately started going red, and he tore his eyes away from you. “I don’t think she is,” he said after a moment. “We, um, we don’t really have a choice here.”

Ah. Another person in an arranged marriage. “I know the feeling,” you said. Floor sixteen... “I hope you have a happy marriage nonetheless,” you began to straighten yourself out a little bit. “It’s important to find things that you love about the other person at least, even if you can’t love them entirely.”

“But is that fair?” The doors opened. “If you can’t love someone entirely, then it doesn’t feel fair. Even marrying a friend is better than marrying a stranger.”

The two of you stepped out together, and you faced him. “Maybe so,” you said. “But we don’t get that luxury, do we?” You took a small step back after checking the time, thankful you could take a moment for yourself in the bathrooms to freshen up. “Good luck,” you simply told him, “I hope you learn to love her.”

And he nodded back, wishing you the same as the two of you parted ways. You carefully fixed your makeup in the bathroom mirror, making sure that you looked presentable for what was about to happen. All you could do was gather your courage, taking one final deep breath and exhaling before straightening. With your nerves steeled, you made your way to the meeting room a single minute past the appointed time. You entered, bowing in respect as your parents had taught you to, and apologized for taking a moment for yourself. Then you straightened up, and realized who stood with his parents now.

Your parents introduced you to Boo Seungkwan, who immediately began to apologize for not recognizing you immediately. He didn’t want to assume that you were you and then be wrong (and have to deal with that situation as well). He wasn’t able to see your plastic ID on your lanyard, after all.

“I’m sorry I called you pretty,” he said, only to realize what he said. “Not that you aren’t pretty! You’re... You’re very pretty,” he said, “but you’ve worked hard to get to where you are. It’s an honor to meet you,” he said, taking your hands in his own, “please take care of me as we move forward.”

You’d smiled to yourself, already endeared to this awkwardly cute man who’d stumbled into your life. All you could do was ask that he did the same.

When Kibum finally dropped you off, you felt a drop of rain hit your nose. Stepping underneath the shelter, you watched the beginnings of rain as they hit the pavement before sighing. Hopefully the rain wouldn’t become too heavy--you’d left your umbrella at home that day. Yet, as the universe seemed to be against you again, you’d watched as it evolved into a heavier downpour that left you stranded at your building after everyone had started to leave. Your driver had said he’d call a different repair shop for you rather than fully admit defeat (you were already beginning to look up cars in your spare time, just to have a back-up plan), Mingyu had his driver drop you off at your work, and now you were stuck unless you wanted to call Kibum again. Mingyu had a business dinner around this time, and you likely wouldn’t see his driver for a while due to the heavier traffic. So instead you decided to call him, thanking him for trying to come get you, but that Secretary Lee had offered to drive you home instead. It’d been a lie--you were fully planning to get a taxi as soon as you could and not worry anyone further--but at least you weren’t inconveniencing anyone.

Although you were starting to regret it. With this weather, it was hard to get anyone. Most services were overly busy, and you were left sitting in the lobby, trying to get through as you paced to and fro. If only you hadn’t forgotten your umbrella--you would have tried to make it to the nearest bus station if you could. You always had the bad habit of forgetting the thing, and it didn’t help that you felt worse whenever you had to ask Seungkwan to bring it to you or for Chan to fetch it if he didn’t mind. It was your favorite umbrella, bright blue with this elegant darker pattern around the rim of it. It’d been a gift from Kibum, who thought the cute design fit you. You always thought of clearer skies when you used it.

Sitting down by the window, you began to weigh your options. Maybe you could call Minghao or Junhui--or maybe Soonyoung, who you were pretty sure didn’t live far from the building since you’d stayed late one day. He’d left at the end of the work day, only to be back within thirty minutes because he’d forgotten his portable charger (and he’d stopped in to check on you, making sure you weren’t overworking yourself too much).

Then you heard your name being called out, and there was Seungkwan with your folded umbrella in his hand.

“You forgot to take it when you moved out,” he said quietly. Seungkwan looked... bad, to put it simply. Had he been eating? Those round cheeks were slightly less so, and you couldn’t help but feel pity for him.

Then it hit you that you’d never seen him so... somber. So quiet. Even after the meeting weeks ago and the pet adoption drive. He held out the umbrella to you as he approached, and immediately backed off once you accepted it. He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it a moment later, and then he tore his gaze away from you.

With a deep breath, he finally spoke again in that same quiet voice, “Vernon told me you’re supposed to get engaged soon.” He looked up, finally meeting your eyes, “to Mingyu.”

You nodded, standing up after a moment. “And?”

“That’s good.” He took a step back. “Mingyu will treat you better.” His fingers curled tight around his briefcase, and he seemed as though he were in pain. “I know he will.”

You weren’t sure what to say, and you thought Seungkwan wasn’t sure, either. But it was the first time either of you were really speaking to one another, face to face, and alone. The first time you had Chan by your side and you could turn it into business. The second, you had Mingyu there, and you knew he had writhed a little at seeing you happy with Mingyu. Now it was just you, plain and simple and nothing more or less. Being along with him made you feel choked up, the urge to cry building stronger and stronger. You weren’t even sure why. Was it the sight of Seungkwan in general? Or the sight of him looking so... hopeless? Lost? As though everything that had made him shine was taken away from him?

“They haven’t spoken to me in over a month,” he finally said. He didn’t focus on you, gaze staring far past where you stood. “I think I lost them for good.”

Oh. Oh. “I thought you got engaged--”

He shook his head immediately. “Technically, we did. We are. But they’re upset with me,” he said, focus dropping to the floor in shame. “They should be. I know I fucked up,” he said, voice catching in his throat as he sniffled. “And I know I don’t deserve anyone’s support--and I know you hate me now and want me to go, but I...” Tears began to stream down his cheeks, and he refused to look at you as he raised his voice, “I ruined everything and I don’t know what to do anymore!”

Seungkwan broke down in front of you right then and there, and you realized just how much he’d been holding to his chest. You didn’t move from where you were standing, feeling paralyzed. “What do you mean?”

“Half of my friends won’t listen to me when I try to speak to them,” he said through a break in his sob, “and almost everyone else keeps telling me I need to talk to you. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say! I cheated on you and--and you have every right to hate me--” He wiped roughly at his eyes, “--and you should! And you do--and the person I love more than anyone else does, too. They said yes because we were in front of a crowd! I only did it so that our families knew I was serious.”

You raised your voice, anger beginning to fester, “You could have told me! I would have let you go--”

“They wouldn’t have!” He finally met your gaze again. Angry, upset, and so, so hurt. “You would have, but your parents wouldn’t! You aren’t like them. You actually cared about me and what I wanted,” he said. “I didn’t know how to tell you. You already face so much from them, I couldn’t make you break off our engagement.”

You knew things wouldn’t have been that simple. He was right about that. If you had gone to your parents to break off the engagement, you would have had to do it carefully. And what would you have even said? That Seungkwan loved someone else? Not every person like you and Seungkwan were lucky to marry for love. Seungkwan loving you at all was more than enough for them.

You took a deep breath, regaining your tight rein on your emotions. “You should have talked to me either way.”

“If I did, can you tell me you wouldn’t have gone to your parents anyway? That you wouldn’t have called your brother and gotten more people involved?” Seungkwan was going quieter again. “That you wouldn’t have taken things into your own hand even if I had begged you not to?“

You couldn’t.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” he said. “Because I knew you. You would have let me go and done anything to ensure that. I know everything’s all my fault,” he took a deep breath, “and I should have said something.” He went quiet for what felt like an eternity, and he took the smallest step toward you--as if to make this conversation more intimate despite no one else being around. “I think letting you go is hard. Even now, I think about how long we were together. How much of our lives were intertwined.” Seungkwan took one final deep breath as he looked at your face. You could see how wet his cheeks still were. “And I want to stop loving you.”

You didn’t have any words. All you knew was that you’d always feel the same.

“I think,” he started, a minute later, “I’ll always love you in some way. And I’m okay with that. Even if I never see them again, I loved them, too. I don’t regret either of those decisions.”

Decisions. You hiccuped, already feeling your own tears beginning to well up. “Boo--” You took a step back, “That’s not--This isn’t fair!” You snapped at him, catching him off guard. Every single emotion you’d carefully bottled up had finally shaken and burst out, shattering hard enough that you couldn’t fight back your tears any longer. “Do you know what I’ve gone through for the past month?! I had to pretend I was okay in front of my staff, I roped Mingyu into this stupid arrangement--” You sniffled, words escaping you for a moment. “And it hurts,” your voice cracked.

Seungkwan grew frustrated immediately. “It hurts me, too!” He snapped back, and you were thankful that everyone else was gone. The door had been propped open and set to lock after you shut it when you left. “You moved on so quickly--It felt like our relationship meant nothing to you! Mingyu will treat you better than I did, but it still hurts to see how you love him!”

You stared at him and the words he had so casually dropped as fact. “What?”

“You love Mingyu,” Seungkwan repeated, “and it hurts to see you love him so readily. I know I was a coward who should have talked to you, but seeing you with Mingyu hurts. He was my friend before he was yours,” he said. “And either you love him or you’re using him as a rebound--which isn’t fair for him. Be angry at me, scream at me, but don’t hurt your friend and mind just to hurt me.”

“It’s for business,” you said, and it stung to lie like that out loud. “Just like we were--”

“No.” Seungkwan was far colder now, his gaze trained steady on your. “We weren’t just business. You know that.”

You did. Two years of loving Boo Seungkwan couldn’t be just business, no matter how much you wished it was. “Mingyu is different.”

Seungkwan stared at you with wet cheeks that he finally reached up, wiping at his face with his sleeve. The silence grew between the two of you, and after a moment, he finally looked at you again with clearer eyes. “I always thought I’d be happy with you,” he said. “I think I would have been.” And yet he swallowed hard. “Just not happy enough.”

The sentiment hurt deep, and you weren’t sure what was worse: the public proposal, or this. “You--”

“But you wouldn’t be happy, either. You would have figured it out,” Seungkwan said. “You’re smart. You would have seen the way I looked at them sooner or later. And then you’d let me go then, too. I know you. Our parents wouldn’t have let us back out. My mom supported me, but my dad didn’t think I’d go through with it. Your parents didn’t, either,” Seungkwan took a deep breath. “You deserve someone who will love you with everything they have. I’m sorry I couldn’t do that. But they’re...”

You remembered the way he looked at them. “I know.”

“I’m scared I’ve lost them,” Seungkwan said. “And if I have, then I think I deserve it. If I could go back and do it differently, then I would.”

The question burst out of you before you could think twice: “What would you do?”

He went quiet. “I would have told you first,” he finally said. “And I think... I wouldn’t propose at all. I’d take the fall entirely,” he made his way over to you, setting his briefcase aside as he took your hands in his own. “And I’d let you go right.”

You sniffled again, staring down at his hands. Even now, they were warm around your own. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

His thumb traced over your knuckles, and you realized he turned his attention to the rain outside. “Do you need a ride home?” He looked back at you. “It’s late. I can drive you there.”

With an ounce of hesitation, you finally nodded. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

Seungkwan escorted you to his car, and you held your umbrella over the two of you. The drives the two of you used to take together used to be filled with music. If you thought back on it hard enough, you could practically hear Seungkwan’s voice as he sang to you whatever song he had on his playlists--when he wasn’t giving you history lessons on the pop industry. In another life, you’d probably be driving home with him and smiling now. Instead, all that came over his speakers were the directions to Mingyu’s home. He kept looking at you every so often, as if he wanted to speak to you again. He never did, and you couldn’t find the courage to, either.

The two of you finally made it back to Mingyu’s home, and Seungkwan stopped you before you could get out of his car. “You always told me that you were happy marrying me because it meant you were marrying for love.” His grasp was loose around your forearm, eyes boring into your own. “You always said you didn’t want it any other way. I need to know... Did... Did I hurt you that badly? Or... Do you actually love Mingyu?”

Did you love Kim Mingyu? That seemed to be the question of the day that you still didn’t know for sure. Did it count if you were falling? Instead, you pressed your lips into a tight line for a moment, unsure of what to say to him. You settled after a moment: “Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

Something lit up in his eyes, just a little. When was the last time you’d said his name? He let go of you, nodding. “Goodnight,” he said. “I’ll leave once you get inside safely.”

Without another word, you exit the car, shutting it behind you before making your way through the rain to the front door. You unlocked it, letting yourself in and stepping inside before turning back to look at where Seungkwan was watching you. He waited a moment longer, and then you watched him drive away.

When you turned around, slipping out of your heels and into a pair of comfortable house slippers, you realized you could hear the television on. Soon enough, you could see Mingyu sitting on the couch, working on a cross-stitch. He had told you once he’d teach you if you wanted: he’d been in a club back when he was younger, and he still enjoyed the hobby from time to time.

“You’re home?” You called out, and Mingyu looked up. “I thought you had a dinner.”

“A family emergency came up so they canceled,” he said, setting his needlework onto the coffee table. He stood up, “I thought you saw my text. I would’ve picked you up sooner if you had called--my driver said you told him not to worry.”

You hadn’t seen the message, but you’d check your phone for it later. “It’s okay,” you said, making your way toward your room. But Mingyu stepped into the water, stopping you as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze.

“Your makeup is messed up,” he frowned. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

You stared at Mingyu. You’d fixed your eye makeup in the car, at least as much as you could so it wouldn’t be obvious that you were crying. But the messed up eyeliner and mascara couldn’t be completely fixed since you’d forgotten to put them into your purse. “I’m okay,” you said, a half-lie. “I talked to Seungkwan.”

“And?” Mingyu said, a little more serious this time--almost as if mentioning Seungkwan made him more defensive. “Do I need to talk to him?”

You shook your head. “It’s okay,” you took a step toward your bedroom door. “I think we needed that talk.”

Mingyu edged out of your way, nodding. “If it helped, then I’m glad.” He watched as you started to open your door, hand reaching out for your wrist. He held it loosely. “He’s been wanting to talk to me, too. Should I...?”

You nodded. “I think you should, if you want to.”

“Are you still angry with him?”

You weren’t sure how to answer that. “I think,” you took Mingyu’s hand in your own, “I still have to figure that out on my own. I know he hurt me, but... I don’t know how I feel.” About him. About you. About anything now. Yet you left that part unsaid: no need in making Mingyu worry about you any more than he already did.

Mingyu thought over your words, and slowly nodded as they sank in. “I see.” Then he changed the topic, letting his hand drop back to his side. “Do you feel like going out? It could be a nice distraction if you want one.”

At first, you wanted to say no. But with Mingyu, a dinner out would actually be a good distraction for you. “I’d like that,” you said. “Let me change and fix my makeup, okay?”

When you were ready to go, Mingyu was already waiting for you, dressed down in a more casual outfit--almost as if he read your own mind. He had smiled at you when he saw your sweater and jeans, already looking a thousand times cozier than you had before. Holding Mingyu’s hand felt like second nature at this point, his hand warm around your own as he walked you to his car. He’d already started suggesting fast food for once. As much as the guy worked out, sometimes he knew that something like a good fast food meal could be kind-of healing in its own way. He’d shower you with his own culinary prowess other times: the taste always spoke for itself when the food was genuinely good. He’d take you out for ice cream afterward and split another sundae with you, showing you cross-stitch patterns he’d been looking at. He’d order a simpler one for you, if you wanted to learn.

Later that night, you had settled into place beside Mingyu on the couch. He’d continued working on his cross-stitch, actually almost done with the one he’d started days ago of a bird in a cage with roses around it. He leaned forward, careful not to disturb you too much, and turned the TV back on. Mingyu flipped through the channels before landing on a movie the two of you had seen once before, and wordlessly he wrapped an arm around you. Instinctively, you cuddled in, and almost smiled at the sigh of bliss he let out.

And then you realized that you definitely couldn’t marry Kim Mingyu like this.

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