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hollyhomburg · 1 day

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Before I Leave You (Pt.69)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The pack meet with moonbyul to discuss terms.

Tags: Violence, Angst with the happy ending on the horizon, fluff if you squint, Yoongi gets really really angry and kinda triggers the m/c, allusions to past abuse, Blood, manipulative behavior, murderous tendencies, trans! tae, Transphobia, Trans! moonbyul,

W/c: 11.5k

A/n: wow something went heavily wrong with the formatting while i was editing this! if you notice any extra lines or weird breaks (especially on mobile) i tried my best! not sure what went wrong but i might just have to physically re-type this chapter again.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

I’ll let you in on a little secret:

In every other version of this story, Hobi doesn’t get to the door in time.

In every other version, the doors would close and Hoseok would hit them with his fists and yell. Screaming himself bloody and hoarse in the futility of it all. Watching as his future with you melts away at his fingertips like ocean foam, slipping away into the sea like a piece of clear sea glass, disappearing into the deep. They’d miss you at the next station and the one after that too.

In every other version of reality, in every parallel universe, he's too late to save you.

But in this one, he gets his pinky finger between the doors just before they slam shut.

The safety feature that keeps the train from closing on any late passengers shoots open with a hiss of compressed air. It's only open for a split second but Hoseok shoves himself through the 8-inch gap and into the warm interior of the train. Jungkook is left on the other side, banging on the door, running to keep up with the car as it thuds and lurches and starts to speed up.

"Next station" Jungkook’s mouth forms the words but Hoseok doesn't hear him say it over the roar of the train. There’s only a few seconds of them staring at each other. Jungkook’s messy hair flops as he runs. The wetness on his cheeks from frustrated tears glistening in the yellow sunlight before Jungkook runs out of the platform and is left standing there at the edge. Hoseok hurdles on.

Hoseok’s blood is roaring in his ears. He puts his hands on his knees and pants. The thudding momentum of the train makes Hoseok fall over, either that or it's from lack of oxygen. One second he's looking at JK and then next he's sprawled on the dirty linoleum floor before he pulls himself upright.

His throat feels like it’s still swelling a little. He puts his hands there, trying to steady himself. Black spots dance in his vision and he catches himself for a second time on the metal rail as the train rolls and jostles.

When he coughs, there’s dark blood in the palm of his hands. Hoseok wipes it on his pajama pants and starts looking.

He knows he must look like something horrific because an old woman in the first priority row looks at him with a crinkle of concern twisting her face. “Are you alright son?” She asks, voice squeaky.

“Yeah, just a rough morning” he grabs the back of her seat as he sways, steading himself for just a second before he uses the headrest of the seat to pull himself back down the train.

Hobi combs through the train cars slowly, betting that you'll be close to the end. He takes the longer route first, better to go down to the end and work his way back up in case you're in the first three cars, just in case you decide to get off at the next station.

He searches and searches until the fear starts to take hold in his stomach, nausea or maybe it’s just motion sickness.

He draws a bit of attention as he moves. Mostly from adults, the little unpresented pups that jump back and forth between the seats without a care in the world don’t find the bruises on his neck anything out of the ordinary. But an omega pulls his pups into his lap at Hoseok's approach. Hoseok is too sick with worry to pay them any mind.

But Hoseok doesn't need to worry, because he finds you on the fifth train car.

The blue sticky vinyl seats are full of all sorts of people; A stuffy alpha in a suit and a pair of bright yellow headphones. A small elderly omega woman with a big bushel of frizzy hair and about 10 tote bags to her name muddles through her morning commute. Two freshly presented teenagers with patched-up jackets, punky and honest in their aesthetic.

But there- at the end of the car where the booth seats facing each other turn into single rows all facing the same direction. Folded into the window a figure in dark clothes hunched over trying to look as small as possible. Trying to disappear.

Trying to hide.

Anyone would be able to scent the clear and clary smell of distress and loneliness on the air. It’s the same scent that soaks Namjoon’s hospital- noxious and pungent. It hits Hoseok with such a visceral wave that he almost falls over again.

You’re wearing his sweatshirt and Yoongi’s jacket. The hood drawn up over your head to hide your sob blotchy face from the strangers. Sniffling as you look out the window. He sees you wipe your eyes. You don't look up at all. You don't even notice Hobi approaching until he's slipping into the seat next to you and sliding his hand to lace through yours. His knuckle, your knuckle, then his.

You startle. Predictably- your fear response has always been a little bit over the top. You flinch, whirling, starting when you see it’s him. Jerking your hand out of his on instinct and nearly backing yourself into the window. Getting yourself as far away from him on the narrow seat as possible.

He wants to yell at you, he wants to shout at how stupid you are for leaving something good. (Don’t you know how rare good is for people like us? Don’t you want to hold onto it?) All of the shit with his ex- with Moonbyul seems impossible- but you sacrificing yourself for others is not hard for Hobi to believe. That part of this is so painfully logical and so painfully you that if Hobi were less scared right now he might start crying.

You've always thought you were less valuable, less necessary, less loved by the pack. The last one in is the first one out. Hoseok knows you think this because he used to think that way too.

He wants to yell at you but instead his voice comes out soft, the way that the others used to talk to you back when you didn’t speak. Like he's comforting a startled animal. You are a startled animal.

"You used the train ticket" He swallows. It stings. Hurts like a bitch really. Every time he speaks it hurts. "I never thought you'd use it."

Hoseok puts his hand on the seat in front of you blocking you as you try and get up and out of your seat. Moving automatically to get away- to get safe. That might be all that you know how to do- keep yourself safe.

You stand there for a second, in stalemate. Blood drains from your face, and you stare each other down as Hoseok goes from devastated to angry and then sad again. Struggling not to cry. Hoseok doesn’t like to cry- it’s too much like begging. His body asking for what he can’t.

It’s quiet, you have to be quiet here. There aren’t too many people but a few rows in front of you is a pair of alpha's in suits with briefcases. Unseemly eyes could be hidden everywhere so you need to be quiet. Hoseok's voice is quiet anyway. He still can’t speak much above a whisper.

No quicker have you startled than you start to push at him, at his shoulders. Literally trying to push him out of the chair. Shaking your head. "You can't be here Hobi you have to go, they'll kill you-" You start to pull him up to his feet but he makes himself a lead weight.

“No- no I’m not going to let you go.” Hoseok cups your cheek, long fingers rubbing your tears away. The pads of his fingers cradling your cheek. Soft skin, your cheeks have always been so soft. Hobi’s brain gets caught on the sensation.

"This is how this is going to work; we're going to get off at the train station- and then with any luck- Yoongi and Jimin and Jungkook will already be there and we're going to go home, okay?" He tilts his face, trying to get a better look under your hood, lower lip wobbling, voice breaking, “You have to come home with me, okay?”

You’re trembling so hard that Hobi can feel it as he holds your face, shaking your head stubbornly.

"Hobi, if I don't go. Jimin’s going to die, you're going to die, Jin’s going to die. I can't not do something. Don't pretend one life outweighs three."

"I can't let you go."

You lean into his hand. Has Hoseok ever cupped your cheek before or is the first time he's touched you this way? He can't remember. There are so many firsts that he can't remember. So many firsts that haven't happened yet. Slipping through his fingers like water.

"And I can't let you die."

Hoseok holds your cheeks, thumbs skimming up and down your cheekbones, a little more hollow than usual. These last few days have stretched all of you thin and honest. The truth does not feed you, like subsiding off of air. This truth is not one that he wants to share but-

Yoongi had looked a little shocked when he’d told him, that kind of shock that sort of feels vindicating- like you matter. Hoseok doesn't understand why Moonbyul being his ex matters. But Yoongi's reaction makes him think it is.

The light fills the train car honey golden slipping away to the clean brightness of a winter day. The light flashing through the trees like some sort of strobe light, flickering across both of you here- at the back of the train where there is no one to overhear.

Hoseok pulls himself closer to you, his lips brushing your ear. "I never told you- the name of my old pack omega but I think you know her.”

The train hisses and shrieks and your hand settles over Hoseok’s bruised wrist.

“I think you know her very very well because Yoongi said you do."

Hoseok pulls you flush against him, across the seat, your foot hitting his ankle, and whispers it into your ear.

"Her name was Moon Byul-yi."

You freeze in his hold, trembling, and he pulls away to watch the visceral realization dawn on your face. You're smart. The Moonbyul he knew would have never thought to anticipate that either of you was smart. Haughty and superior to the last inch. She’d have assumed that she had the upper hand like all narcissists do. Why would prey know anything about the hunt?

You panic, your conviction is slipping away, Hoseok can see you’re struggling to hold onto it. “Hoseok- you don’t understand, I have to do this, I need to.”

He takes your hand in his. “Okay- if you want to go then I’m coming with you.”

“Hoseok.”

He shakes his head and brings the back of your hand up to his mouth to run his lips along your knuckles. Gripping it tight. Your bones and his bones all aligned, the sunburn on the back of his hands that’s always sort of there from driving and the faint scars that line your hands from cooking. Both self-inflicted and accidental.

(Love is that way too, either something that you seek out or something that happens to you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to Hoseok, you could never be the worst).

There is one scar at the bottom of your hand and the bottom of his; a line across his right palm and a line across your left one- both gotten the night that you tried to take the train. You didn’t take the train then but you’ve taken it now.

You’ve made your choice and Hoseok makes his. “Either together or not at all.”

Hoseok rationalizes it by thinking- If you were going back to Geumjae and if he was still alive, you’d never let him walk into his clutches. You would never let Geumjae lay a hand on him, so he won’t let you go to her. Will do everything in his power to get you off of this fucking train.

“I’m sorry, Hobi- I’m-”

He pulls himself closer to you. Lips touching your temple just like the sunlight. Your warm thigh pressed to his warm thigh.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing to make up for. If we want to survive this then we need to do it together.” Hoseok presses a kiss to your hairline and lets it linger there. “I won't haunt you if you won't haunt me."

“You don’t understand-“

“Why? Why do you have to be the one? If you can answer me that honestly and in a way that makes sense, then I’ll let you go.” Hoseok says the words as he drags his nose across your hairline in a small scent mark. A growl rolling in his throat. His hand itching towards the back of your neck- if he were able to scruff you- he could drag you off this train with or without your say-so.

Hoseok won't do that to you unless it's absolutely necessary. He won't scruff you maliciously but honestly, he'd damn the consequences at this point. You know the risks, and yet you let his hand settle on the back of your neck. He doesn't scruff you yet.

You are on the train now, but you could get off of it. Hoseok managed to convince you once he can convince you again. You do not respond to him, but he doesn’t need you to. He continues on word vomiting out his feelings. Drenched half in panic and half in fear that if he stops talking you’ll tell him something heartbreaking. Hoseok can’t handle any more heartbreak today.

"I know you’ve been in a lot of pain. I’ve known it since the first day I met you. But this self-sabotage- sacrificing yourself because you think your life isn't worth risking the rest of ours- this isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t the way that you get out.”

This is the question that you’ve been asking the whole time he’s known you. All of this is just trying to get out of the holes that you dig for yourself. The graves that you haunt. Graves of things that might have been and the things that should or shouldn’t have happened to you.

Your voice is so small and quiet, your palm in his tightens just a little bit. “How do I? How do I get out?”

"You can start by just getting off this fucking train."

You eye him like you think it’s impossible like it can’t possibly be that easy.

The announcer overhead is telling you you’re almost to the next stop. To mind the gap and such. The same way people mind children and precious objects. Mind the gap. Such a strange turn of phrase. How do you treasure the space between one motion ending and the other beginning? The end of one place and time and the beginning of another.

“How do I do it? How do I-”

Hoseok laces his hand with yours again and pulls you up onto your feet. The train is slowing. “I’ll show you just- follow me. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.

You do follow Hobi, you follow Hobi off the train as he coxes you softly onto the platform and onto the frosty tracks. It’s mid morning by now and the sun is streaming in that bright yellow way when he tugs you up the stairs slow. Slow because he still has to. His body aches from yesterday. Both of you are bruised and tired but together. Clinging to each other- his hand and your hand and not a breath of space between.

In the parking lot, there is a red car double parked across the lines closest to the stairs. Jimin and Yoongi and Jungkook are already standing outside, the doors blown open. Jimin falls into a squat the second he sees you. Head in his hands. Running through his hair and tugging. A cigarette discarded on the concrete bouncing before it rolls to a stop and burns.

“Oh thank fucking god, Tae would have fucking killed me-”

Jungkook groans and rests his head on the hood of the car, hitting it with an open-palmed slap. It echoes in the empty parking lot.

"That sentence is substantially less funny today than it would have been yesterday.”

Yoongi is just staring at you fists and shoulders tight. You watch him swell the closer that you walk. Every step made in trepidation. He's breathing heavy, eyes wild with panic and anger and his hair stands on end. His eyes are bloodshot and his scent is almost acidly salty. The kind of salt that guides metal to rust and break. The salt that melts cities. That crunches under your feet next to dark puddles from snowmelt.

When you're 3 paces away he seems to break, stalking up to you and jabbing a finger in your face. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again I swear I’ll-” Yoongi breaks himself off. Shaking so viscerally that it's hard for you to keep your hands by your side. but you stand your ground as Hoseok swats yoongi's jabbed finger away. his other hand tightly laced with yours.

“Yoongi, let’s just get into the car and go home- please. Let's not talk about this here.” The parking lot is mostly empty, but the danger still lingers. There’s too much to talk about. Moonbyul's name rings in Hoseok's ears like the subtle hum of hearing loss, like a high-pitched shriek. There are things more important than Yoongi's anger.

But Yoongi’s not done with you- oh- he’s boiling with rage. Shaking with it as he opens the door for you, every action, every little moment restrained. His anger is palpable. You get into the back of the Lamborghini and Hobi follows.

You can tell he wants to slam the door but doesn't. He shuts it extra extra soft but you flinch anyway. He gets into the driver's seat every moment controlled but tense, like he'll explode if he moves with any more energy than necessary, a firework with a fuse burned all the way down just begging for heat.

Yoongi waits for everyone to buckle their seat belt but you don’t, frozen watching him in the window and then the rearview mirror when he gets into the front seat. Yoongi doesn’t even get around to starting the car. Sliding the key home but the beep goes once, twice, and then a third time because you don't have your seatbelt buckled. The others wait in silence.

“Yoongi-“

“Fuck!” He kicks open his door again with a stream of spat explicatives. Slamming it shut this time. The others don't say anything, completely silent in the face of his anger.

Yoongi doesn't get angry. You've never seen him like this before. He wrenches your door open and for a horrible moment, you think he's going to yank you out of the car and tell you to get lost.

Yoongi's murmuring things to himself, so low that you almost can't make out what he's saying as he pushes himself into the backseat. The backseat of the Lambo isn’t that large. Hardly big enough to fit two people let alone four.

Jungkook lets out a belated “Hey!” at being squished up against the door but Hoseok just reaches around him and unlocks it for him to get out. Jimin is already out of the passenger seat and heading in the direction of the driver's side as Yoongi scrambles with your seat belt, jerking it over your shoulder and slamming it home.

"-Fucking asshole- of all the stupid omegas in the world I had to be mated to the fucking- dumbest- little- fucking-" The belt digs into your shoulder extra tight and Jimin starts the car wordlessly.

You're closed in on both sides by him and Hobi on the other. They switch and shuffle. Jimin pulls away from the train station, gentler this time but still faster and with more finesse than you'd do it. Yoongi is still looking at you, glaring, tears in his eyes with wet cheeks, his voice low and uncompromising.

“Give me your phone.”

“My what?”

“Your. Phone. You used it to call her didn’t you?” You nod after a second, slowly pulling it from your sweatshirt pocket and handing it over.

Yoongi takes your phone and breaks it over his thigh.

It’s a bit impressive really- the show of strength. He brings it down once and the screen breaks, winking out like a shooting star. Another and it bends just a little, a third time- and it's practically at a right angle. It breaks so easily in the face of adrenaline and anger and fear.

You make a small noise, not a whimper but a descending sound. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at you, wild. Like he’ll break even further if you complain. Hoseok’s not sure he’s ever seen Yoongi this broken.

"Just- There were pictures of Noodle and Tae on there.”

Fear and anger are an intoxicating mix to anyone- let alone someone who almost lost their person. He goes at your phone until its jagged edge bites into his hand drawing blood. Then he tosses both pieces of your phone onto the floor of the car like they're paperweights.

One of the pieces hits your shoe with a small metal clink, and even Hobi looks down in surprise at the sound.

Yoongi laughs and then bends over. Yanking the gun out of your boot. Small, shoved there. Hoseok didn’t notice. He's not sure why it surprises him- that you'd be armed. You're not an idiot, you know the risks, and you were armed the last time that you tried to run away.

He holds it out to you, long fingers wrapped around the barrel pointed at his chest. The handle facing you, the barrel of the gun level with his heart.

“You want to do the honors sweetheart?"

Jungkook’s worrying away at his lower lip, turning around, nervous. “Yoongi-" but Yoongi just holds a finger out, cutting him off. He's watching you, waiting to see what you'll do.

Jimin very gently reaches back and takes the gun from Yoongi. The beta lets him. Jimin flicks the safety off with a twitch of his thumb. And takes out the magazine one-handed that he hands to Jungkook before he puts the body of the gun barrel down in the cup holder where it rattles freely.

“Don’t fucking do that. we do not point guns at ourselves or each other in this pack.”

Yoongi hardly looks mad, he hardly reacts to Jimin at all. Jungkook's eyes flicker nervously from Jimin to Yoongi, then to Jimin's shoulder.

Jimin's flush sits on the top of his cheekbones, "Jin-hyung gets a pass obviously."

You quirk an eyebrow at your mate, not impressed in the slightest, not even intimidated truly. Hoseok doesn’t think you’ve fought since you tried to leave the first time.

“You didn’t really expect me to go unarmed, did you? Thought I could at least take one of them out- at least Moonbyul before they-” Jimin breathes hard through his teeth and Hoseok actually laughs, although he sounds a little unhinged. Yoongi runs his hands through his hair, pulling a little.

“I didn’t expect you to fucking leave me either but here we fucking are.” Yoongi has never raised his voice with you- he never raises his voice period. But anger and terror have made his words sloppy where usually they strike exact.

In the mirror, you see Jungkook’s jaw clench as Jimin accelerates home a little faster. Yoongi crowds you against Hoseok. Resting his forehead against yours, you can hear the grit in his teeth as he grinds them together nearly spitting, but it’s quiet.

“If you try something like that again, you will see a side of me that I do not want to show you. Do you understand?”

That makes you unnerved, and makes your lower lip start to tremble. Your “Yes.” Comes out so quiet that Hoseok is sure Jimin and Jungkook can't hear it in the front seat over the Lambo's purr.

You’re unable to meet his eyes, Yoongi has never been rough with you, but he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from screaming, yelling, crying. There are no words for you, no words that he could ever say that might hold you. He is so angry he can’t even fucking speak.

For a terrible moment, you think that he's going to hit the seat in front of you. But then he tucks your hair behind your ear out of your face so that he can look at you properly.

This is Yoongi's karma for leaving the pack all those months ago. He's come to know their pain so keenly, this was only a few hours of what they endured but still- this is exactly like that.

“You know- I’ve never wondered if you need me, but sometimes I wonder if you love me at all.”

His hand slides down your cheek, gentle in the way that he goes, and it hurts so much more than a slap or punch ever would. It stings. Everywhere Yoongi touches you stings.

“I know you don’t love me the way that I love you- I’m not that dumb, but-"

Your face screws into a whimper, and you can't whisper out that you're sorry quick enough. Yoongi guides your forehead back to rest against his. Still angry, still spitting the words like they take something from him. You should deny what he says and you want to, but you’re mute in the face of your mate's anger. "How many hours do you think will exist between your death and mine?” You’re silent as Jimin drives, but his eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror. You don’t see any pity in his eyes maybe because Yoongi, like you, had nearly left them broken. Had actually left and stayed gone. Yoongi will never quite deserve pity for words like those. Yoongi directs your face away from Jimin and back to his.

“How many god damn it!” He grips your cheeks, gentle, fingers that touch so softly, that cradle you, shaking all the while.

“Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last 5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough to apologize and you don't make it easy- I don't-

"Yoongi. That is enough."

Jimin is steely. Cutting him off before Yoongi can say something that he regrets and that he doesn't mean. But Yoongi won’t continue anyway. He's crying so hard he can’t see your face, can’t even see the way that you crumple.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder for the remainder of the drive. Pushing away your hands every time you try and wrap them around him until you’re crying with how frustrated you are. Keeping that one point of contact only, his crumpled face pressed against your mating mark.

He doesn’t want your touch- the touch of someone who hurt him. This is the first time that Yoongi has denied you something so simple, something so habitual as your arms around his shoulders.

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, your words come too late. "I'm sorry, i'm so sorry Yoongi I didn't mean- please believe me- I didn't- Please i'm so sorry-"

It’s a pity isn’t it; someone always has to love the other more. This is the oldest story, and there is no other story. Karma comes just in time or not at all. But right now? Right now it does not feel nice being Yoongi’s karma for leaving the pack all those months ago.

The car ride is mostly silent for the rest of the drive. The car has barely stopped when Yoongi scrambles to get out. The car door flings open with the momentum of Jimin stopping. The hood is hot when he skims his fingers across it steadying himself to round it and dash inside.

Your hands shake too hard to unbuckle yourself as Yoongi hurries, he almost runs. Hoseok gets out of the car, shouting "Yoongi!" but your mate doesn't turn around, doesn't do anything but barrel past the others. Pushing away their worried questions and hands to get inside the house.

The bindings on your hands are already bleeding a little bit, your hands chubby and swollen, and unable to see the seat buckle as you claw at it.

A warm chest hits the side of your face as strong arms reach around you. Jungkook unbuckles you, close and filling the backseat in Yoongi's absence. He holds you for a second, giving you a squeeze and a sideways hug. "Just give him a second it’s gonna be alright."

You stare at Jungkook for a second. Wiping your tears away with a curled fist. He looks tired. “I mean you’re literally his mate so- it's not like he can really...” Jungkook trails off, and the keys jingle in Jimin's hands as he waits. mute and unreadable, staring at the steps where tae stands with Jin and Namjoon.

"Aren't you guys going to yell at me too?" Jungkook snorts, and when you pull back to look at his face, he doesn't look angry, he doesn't even look tired.

"That wouldn't solve anything." Your face crumples further, but Jungkook just starts to pull you to the edge of the leather seat to hug you better under the guise of firmly setting you on your feet.

"What I am gonna do is make you go work out with me. I'm gonna make you do like- so many burpees in punishment for making me run that early in the morning."

You laugh wetly and Jungkook giggles, nuzzling the top of your head. Gripping around your waist to pick you up just a little.

Jin looks just as puffed up as Yoongi but so much less angry, wrapped in your big blue blanket like a cape, a corner pulled over his head and ears like a hood, his fluffy bunny slippers poking out below.

The wooden planks of the deck have dried in the winter sunlight and Tae is barefoot where she stands, silk robe too thin for the winter chill. looking at you with that same hollow look she’s had for the last day.

Jin doesn’t try to grab Yoongi as he stalks past. Namjoon sends a conflicted glance at him and then at you. His shoulders are pinned up by his ears, the scraggly five o'clock shadow he wears looks tear tacky. He looks at you for a single second but then heads into the house after your mate. You blanch, but you're not surprised that Namjoon needs a second before he talks to you too.

The pervasive sound of wrenching can be heard echoing out into the porch, and a look inside says that Namjoon’s got a hand on Yoongi's back where he's bent over the sink. Throwing up nothing because your mate had hardly eaten last night- worried about you and Hobi. You've never felt more undeserving of him, the guilt hits you harder than any words ever could.

You swallow at the bottom of the steps. Hoseok and Jungkook and Jimin behind you, hand on the small of your back urging you forward gently. Willing to let you stray more than a few steps away after chasing you down.

Jin is extra tall and on the upper step, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face, he places a hand over the back of your neck scruffing you smoothly and evenly until you almost fall, knees already shaky. Jungkook steps up and grabs you before you hit the floor. But Jin just stoops. Lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“When this is over, when everyone is safe, we’re going to have a long long talk about this. About why pups don’t make decisions on their own. Give me your phone.”

You can hear Jimin’s grimace in his voice, “Yoongi already broke it.”

“Are you angry with me?” You ask lower lip wobbling, tears drifting down your nose, “Please don’t be angry with me- please-” Jin squeezes the nape of your neck again, harder. You see sparkles in your vision- your body compensating for Jin's touch even though you're so tired you feel like you might pass out. You easily submit to the scruff, you'll do anything Jin asks right now just to temper his disappointment.

Hoseok grabs under your elbows to keep you standing. Between him and Jin and Jungkook- you’re a soggy little bundle of omegas. You don’t see it, but from the railing, Tae cups Jimin’s cheek.

Jin croons. “Hush pup. Come inside where it's warm. We've got a lot to talk about- mostly what we can do besides make rash decisions like that."

Hoseok's hand is on Jin's wrist before he has a chance to continue. Eyes bright with something that looks an awful lot like hope.

"About that..." Hoseok gulps, “We think we figured out how to get out of this Jinnie. I have to talk to Yoongi about it again but-” Jin tugs Hoseok onto his other shoulder.

“I think we’ve figured a way out of this.”

You sniffle where you're tucked against Jin's chest, but you’re right next to his scent gland when it swells with pride, sweet and milky. Jin runs the back of his hand softly over Hoseok's warm cheeks, and croons.

“Good puppy.”

~-~

The next time you call Moonbyul, you’re all sitting around the dining room table. The blinds are drawn and Noodle has been fed. Jimin’s collection of guns lay on the table in several neat little rows, the barrels of them pointed in the same direction like the legs of some long-dead arachnid.

A list of demands and a dialogue are written out in front of you but they're not for you. Jin and Yoongi will be doing most of the talking. You've done nothing for the last hour it took to hatch the plan other than sit obediently at the reach of your alphas. Willing to trade little 'I'm sorries' and the barest attempt at teasing after you'd gotten up to get a glass of water and they'd all flinched. Jimin had even gotten up and out of his chair before shaking his head and sitting back down. instincts reacting to your movement before his brain caught up.

"Would it make you feel better if you put me in handcuffs?"

"Only if they're the fuzzy ones."

"Jk- now is not the time.”

All in all, Jungkook and Hobi seem to be the ones who are the least angry at you for trying to pull that stunt. Jimin's just a little more tactile with you than usual pulling you to sit close to him at the table. rubbing over your knee. Fiddling with your hands and gently avoiding the wounds there.

Namjoon still can't look at you, eyes flickering away every time you speak. Not angry- but maybe still upset- still working through his feelings.

There are more important things to work through; the plan, the facts of what you know, a list with numbers sit next to your dialogue. The facts of everything connected with arrows and different handwriting and a good bit of doodles- courtesy of Jungkook and Tae (and you- when she'd prodded).

Your list goes like this:

Moonbyul is not an alpha (verified by Hobi) (ew it's so gross to think of you with another omega hyung)

Only an alpha can rule the family. (That's a little sexist) (I didn't write the rules Tae)

LEVERAGE.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ (JK- stop doodling on official FBI documents.)

Yoongi hasn't spoken a word to you since he came inside the house and you don't expect him to right now. That’s hardly the most important matter at hand. Baby steps.

Baby steps.

You call her with Jimin’s work burner. The one he keeps in his car and uses exclusively for instructions about which murder and which target needs to be taken out. Moonbyul answers on the first ring and guesses it’s you before you even have a chance to speak. The others had unanimously decided that you wouldn't be speaking for this conversation. You don't mind sitting back for this.

Whatever makes them happy, whatever makes them feel better.

Her voice strikes a chill down your spine, now that you know that she's the one who hurt Hobi. It's her he sees behind his eyes on his worst days and it's her voice he hears when his internal monologue becomes vicious and self-shaming. You hear it differently than you did before; a cross between a snake's hiss and the purr of some dark-furred jungle cat.

“Any much longer and you’re going to be late pup, you know how impatient I can be.”

It's surprisingly difficult to not give her a piece of your mind. Your hands tighten into fists, your bones and skin all tight where you'd hurt your hands. But before your knuckles can even go white a big hand covers yours, prying your fingers apart so that your fingernails don't dig into the gauze, still bloody. You look up at Namjoon. He shakes his head, just a little, and you relax your hands.

Yoongi leans over the table so that his voice comes across clearer over the speakerphone.

“I think you’ll want to be patient for this alpha- or should I say omega.”

Hoseok holds the edge of the table hard, leaning in too. He's sure the hitch of his breath must be audible over the phone. But Moonbyul doesn't remark on it. Jin’s hand remains settled on the nape of his neck and you wish you were sitting next to him too.

Yoongi scoots himself closer to the edge of the table. On the side opposite from you. “The claws of an alpha don’t suit you, cousin.”

Moonbyul laughs and none of you smile. The tone of her voice shifts, a bit more serious. “They fit me better than they'd fit you. Let me see how deep your bite is or should I ask Hoseok? Is that pup there? How about Minnie and mommy?”

Tae folds her hands over her chest, affronted, but doesn't speak either. Your hand goes hard on Namjoon's wrist and he grips yours back just as hard. Holding out his hand for Hobi's across the table.

You open your mouth to retaliate- for the comment on Tae alone (you're not sure how Moonbyul found out about your nickname for her) but Jimin mouths across the table, “Don’t” You're all silent, waiting for her next move.

Jin's FBI training kicks in. Negotiation and kidnappings had been a course he'd been required to take during his orientation to the fbi. and his voice is measured and polite.

"I think we're past the point of petty jabs and assassin's, aren't we? Let's talk, pack omega to pack omega."

“You want to parley then? Make a deal?”

Jin drums his hands across the table. Nervous but his voice doesn't shake, not even a little bit.

“This has gone on for long enough. Let’s meet.”

~-~ Moonbyul comes in with the quiet.

The hours drag on in the space before she arrives at the house. The pack perks up in the direction of every errant sound or neighbor in your cul-de-sac. The sound of the little kids across the street leaving for Saturday morning sports, of the dull scape of someone shoveling out their driveway, the rumbling of distant cars on the highway.

It’s a Sunday, isn’t it? Strange, that this kind of thing should happen on a Sunday. Jimin stares out at the driveway, leaning against the railing, and thinks it must be some sort of punishment both wretched and divine. He smokes his cigarette, spitting the smoke out like he's burning, and shakes off the shivers of a god he doesn't believe in.

He finishes his cigarette, then he and the others and ready the house for Moonbyul’s arrival.

Hobi feels every tick of the clock like the beat of his heart knowing that she’s on her way. She’d started driving after Jimin had shown her a video of his guns being thrown into the river. A meeting without any weapons will be as safe as anyone can get.

But still- the pack isn't stupid. Hobi watches from the kitchen as Jin tapes the pack’s sharpest and largest kitchen knife under the kitchen table in front of his seat as well as Jimin’s and Yoongi’s just in case.

Allowing her inside the den goes against every instinct. To have their softest most safe place violated by the presence of someone who has hurt them like this. It's almost too much. But to have the upper hand and have this meeting on their turf is more than they’ve hoped for. So Namjoon restrains his growls, hand still held in yours at the table. After a tangle of so many hours and days of all this violence, the pack takes their chances for a way out.

You'd discussed the meeting happening at the house before you'd even called and agreed. Talked it out between the eight of you the idea location for any meet up. Only Namjoon was against it- but he's been overruled by Jin and Yoongi.

You’d remained mostly silent and agreed with Yoongi when it came to a vote. Warm big eyes on him, waiting for a hint of approval that never came. Jimin thinks that wound is going to take more than simple obedience to heal.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to think, or what to do. Jin and Jimin take over most of the planning as far as what’s going to be said and how. Everything needs to be carefully orchestrated for this to not go poorly. Everyone needs to be on their best behavior.

But there is hope here, on the edge of their scheming is a plan that might work- this might really work. You all might get out of this unscathed. Even Yoongi who’s never taken a simple breath outside of this life of murder and secrets. Who has had this violence built into his blood from the moment he was born. Yoongi was born a liar. Yoongi always thought that he'd live and die belonging to his family- at the will of their beck and call.

Now he's not so sure.

He feels like he’s hyper-aware of you, in your orbit the way an addict is always aware of how little or lot is left of a drug. Every twitch and movement of your body sets him on edge. But when you’re not watching- Yoongi watches you. Tensing with every step you take in the direction of the door, heaving a thankful sigh whenever you pass by it.

He tries not to touch you but it’s hard. He’d taken your shoes and locked them in the closet upstairs, it's silly but it's necessary.

His pulse is still beating so fast that it scares him a little. The mating mark at his hip aches with every step, he wonders if yours aches with every word or breath. Pressed there against your throat where he'd kissed countless times, where he'd nuzzled sleeplessly just last night. Breathing in your scent because it soothed him.

It still soothes him, even if he doesn't want it to.

Yoongi spends every few minutes bent over the kitchen sink or the toilet, the revulsion curling up in his gut like a snake dragging its teeth down the sides of his heart. You’d left him again, actually left him again. Yoongi wants to scream and cry but-

But there are moments of you saying you’re sorry- to Tae, to Jimin, and Jungkook- who stubbornly wraps his arms around your back like a living blanket and makes you stoop forward with his weight. Or Jimin who rubs his chin across the top of your head and jostles you with the aggressiveness of his scent mark, catching your wrists in both of his hands roughly in a way that almost- almost has Yoongi intervening. He's just clumsy and tired.

All of you are.

There are other moments of Jin lingering close, speaking to you in the soft stern way that has you deflating that makes Yoongi’s body hum in that mate way- that way that lets him know you need him.

Namjoon hasn't changed the bandages on your hands yet, even though there's a tiny bit of blood on your right one. Yoongi wants to ask him to change it out but can't make his mouth form the words.

Hobi watches you from wear he rests against the couch, pointedly not sitting on the spot that Jin cleaned of blood. Holding a bit of ice to his throat and sipping on water. Able to talk now- for real. Voice strengthening with every minute.

Yoongi pauses by his side and asks, loud enough for you to overhear "aren't you angry?" Hoseok doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense. You’re looking over things and talking with Jin and Jimin, clarifying something- some rules about the family that only you and Yoongi know of. There are documents on the table with the title FBI property- do not reproduce or take off premises.

He tips his head back against the back of the couch, Hoseok’s legs sprawled out, aching from running so hard and so fast and being so out of practice with it. Fuck- Hoseok is so tired. So anxious and so keyed up by the knowledge that Moonbyul will be here within the next hour. He yawns in Yoongi’s face without covering his mouth. His stretched lips full of teeth teeth teeth.

Yoongi feels his anger quiet even before Hoseok shrugs. "i don't know if my anger would make it better. i care more about making sure we all get to wake up tomorrow without feeling like shit"

Jungkook echoes the same sentiment on his way past. “Same like- I cannot wait to nest” And Jimin nods, blonde hair fluffing. Even namjoon's subtle agreement as he does the dishes makes yoongi feel...Not better...but maybe a little less angry.

Namjoon does the dishes, but you're his close shadow. They could wait- but Namjoon needs something to do with his hands besides holding onto yours. You still haven’t talked at all, and haven't apologized verbally to him for that phone call. He wants a wide birth and you give it to him.

Survival first- and apologies and forgiveness later.

"I think motive counts for something too," Hoseok says, looking at you across the room helping Namjoon stack dishes without being asked. "You didn't mean to hurt us when you left, but you felt like you had to." Yoongi swallows hard and feels like he's the one who's been choked in the last 48 hours.

If there’s one thing Yoongi hates, it’s how love makes you forgive. (Yoongi wouldn’t be standing in this house right now with the pack if love wasn’t this way). You could hurt me and I’d ask for it, beg for it really, as long as I’m still yours. As long as you stay.

At the beginning, the fact that Yoongi loved you more always hurt the pack, Jin especially. But watching Yoongi’s eyes follow your movements as you're asked to do some small remedial task to appease the pack, watching you do it with so much sweet eagerness. the pack find that they're thankful for it.

You say you’re sorry to anyone who will listen. And Jungkook's endless replies of "it's okay" make Yoongi's ears itch in the interim.

The moments and minutes stretch out long.

But about an hour before Moonbyul is due to arrive, in the quiet panic of making sure things are ready and just waiting, Jin tries to convince you to go upstairs for the entirety of your meeting. But as much as the pack doesn't want to admit it you might be the best at getting what you want from Moonbyul. They're prepared for you to be a little bratty about it, to push back a little regardless of the circumstances.

What they're not prepared for is Hoseok standing up in the center of the room, setting his icepack on the couch with a small crunch, before he says “I want to see her again.”

It's met with an immediate rejection, and a barrage of questions from the other alpha's, Jimin and Namjoon especially have their hackles raised. Yoongi actually checks his ears to see if they're bleeding. Jin quite literally grabs Hobi and shakes him a little. But he’s convinced that he needs too. He’s got questions for her that no one else can answer.

You had been the one person who had agreed with him. Some questions can only be answered by the person who hurt you.

Moonbyul isn’t stupid- she won’t walk into your den without a few face cards in her hands. You won’t let her come here without a card up your sleeve either. But aces are aces- a royal flush will beat 4 aces every time, and it’s up to you who wears the crown.

You watch the pack put on the air of royalty. Watch Namjoon recline at the head of the table the picture of Pack alpha ease. Scent blockers are applied to all of you liberally out of necessity. You rub it into Hobi’s scent gland yourself (You won’t let Moonbyul get a wif of him).

You watch your mate settle into his shoulders; neck held high. Putting on the same Placid but brutal he'd worn the first time you'd met him. That untouchable coldness that all members of the family wear out of necessity.

But Yoongi had never been good enough at keeping the warmth out of his eyes. Even back then.

Moonbyul comes in a black car, non-descript. She's driving herself today. No extra ears or extra packmates attached to her hip. Even Hyejin is absent and it’s strange, strange to not see her get out of the car with her.

It sets you off kilter when you peer out the window. Lingering until Yoongi comes close. Your breath hitches as his hands touch your shoulders. Urging you upstairs without a word, an unspoken heaviness in his eyes.

Regardless of what you'd agreed, now that she's here. yoongi doesn't think he can do this if you're not upstairs safe.

“But Yoongi- Hobi-“ Hobi stands by the door. If he's going to talk to her you want to be by his side. But Yoongi's scared, you can see it in his face and feel it in the mating mark.

You think you'll have a few more moments to sort this out, but Moonbyul does not knock on your door, she just lets herself in.

“Cousin!” she starts, splaying her hands like she’s about to go in for a hug but Yoongi does not smile, Yoongi does nothing but glare at her until her smile and her hands both drop.

Seeing Moonbyul again after so long does not feel like just seeing her photograph. For a second Hoseok feels cold, so so cold looking at her face. Her fair skin, her silver hair. Tunnel vision and the most dizzying mix of fear and anger and alpha posturing that he’s ever felt. His instincts yell at him, screaming in his ear that he needs to run, needs to get away.

She smells different, metallic and medicinal, different than her sweet omega peppermint smell that he remembers. It's stronger now- more musky. the scent of an alpha and not an omega. Hoseok wouldn't be able to pinpoint that it was an artificial change if he hadn't smelled the same sort of hormone shift on Tae.

He’s distantly aware that there are people in between him and her, you, Yoongi, Jimin, Namjoon, and even Jungkook who fluffs up, looking determined and like he’s about to unleash all 5 years of experience he has teaching kickboxing on her. (Tae stays at the back of the room- the soft and delicate fairy star child that she is- but even she subtly stands straighter, eyeing Moonbyul’s stiff black coat with the same air that Anna Wintour might wear while viewing a subpar fashion show).

6 feet away and every bit of his instincts is yelling at him to move, to run. His heart thunders in his ears like a battalion of racehorses. How stupid of him to think he was ready- that seeing her face after all these years wouldn’t hurt- that the fear wouldn’t be there- his breath hitches and-

She grins at him and Hoseok flinches.

In his peripheries, he sees Namjoon and Jimin start to say or do something. Hoseok had put himself- almost perfunctorily in front of you. But after a second with your hand on his wrist tightening, you put yourself between him and her. Stepping around him and Yoongi in one clean movement and blocking his face from view. Moonbyul just raises her eyebrows at you. Before anything more can happen- before any jabs or warnings can be exchanged, a grey mass skitters across the floor. As quick as a bullet and twice as violent. Out for blood and the bringer of death.

Puffed up and looking large and menacing. Noodle yowls loud, a war cry, before driving his needle-like teeth into Moonbyul's ankle and right through the leather of her Louis Vuitton boots, ripping them with a vicious toss of his neck.

“What the fuck-“

Moonbyul startles, knocking into the wall in her surprise at your cat's viciousness. She hardly wastes a breath before she kicks Noodle clear across the floor.

You gasp and Tae makes a noise. But Noodle is totally fine, He goes hissing and spluttering, and claws his way right back for more not deterred in the slightest. He leaves gash marks on the shiny floor as he aims himself, back to bite her again.

You have no doubt that he’d be headed for bloodshed and her other ankle if Yoongi didn’t scoop him up from the floor and hold him to his chest. Honestly- Noodle looks more surprised at Yoongi holding him than he does about getting kicked.

“If you touch my fucking cat again, I’ll fucking kill you." Yoongi's deadly serious. No part of him joking as he says it.

It's barely 60 seconds in and this meeting is already going to shit.

Namjoon steps up and steps around Yoongi’s shoulder shoving the beta behind him as Noodle starts to squirm in Yoongi's hold. “Please, lets just get this over with.” He tips his head and gestures to the dining room table for her to sit.

Tae takes Noodle from Yoongi’s arms. Checking his stomach. Glaring at Moonbyul who does not grin, does not smile, only tucks an errant hair behind her ear.

The sound of chair legs scraping the floor is the only sound as the 9 of you sit in silence. Noodle stays in Tae’s lap, big tail swishing as his beady yellow eyes track Moonbyul across the room. Everyone’s silent, settling. Yoongi and Jimin are the ones seated closest to Moonbyul. You and Hobi are the farthest by Namjoon on the other side.

“Well- you’re the one who wanted to talk.” But Moonbyul is not looking at Jin and Namjoon and Yoongi- she’s looking at Hoseok- who can do little but look at her through his bangs. Skin burning when she looks at it. A feeling like Hoseok wants to hide and maybe shower until his skin falls off almost overcoming him and making him run.

“I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to get you fucking flayed out on this kitchen table and-”

“Jimin.” Tae cuts him off with a snap of her teeth around his name. Her hand is on Hobi’s thigh, holding him still keeping his thigh from jumping up and down under the table.

“The time for violence is over,” Jin says sternly.

Moonbyul grins, “is it?” she drags a sharp nail over a groove in the table. A spot where a bullet or maybe a knife grazed it, probably from the last few days. You wouldn’t know where it came from even if you thought hard about it.

“Some would consider the very act of possessing something that’s mine violence and you have two things that belong to me.”

Hoseok shivers, and you narrowly avoid snapping a smart retort at her. Jimin’s fingers hover around the knife under the table. Ready to wip it out and drive it clean through her hand splayed on the table. Ready to kill her in the next second if the pack wish it. He’s half convinced he should do it before she opens her mouth because Hoseok looks like he’s going to be sick all over the table and Tae is shaking faintly.

But then Jimin looks up, meets your eyes, and takes his eyes off of his target for a second. You shake your head a little imperceptibly.

“Some would also consider lying violence as well- how well do you think that the rest of your family and organization would handle the fact that they’ve been lied too?”

Yoongi settles, tilting his head. Jin and Yoongi are a dangerous pair when they talk through things like this. “We both know that all I’d have to do is pick up a phone and you’d be dead. You and your pack. If you kill me- someone will tell and you'll die. If you touch my pack again- I'll tell and you'll die. And if even think about taking my mate from me again- if i start to sense that you've tried to manipulate her away from me in the slightest- I'll kill you my fucking self."

She turns to you, mirth toying at her lips, "I got away with killing the beta once, what makes you think I can't do it again?"

Jin smiles at her, it's an honest and genuine smile. "The truth is- you gave us too much time to think. Too much time to figure it out and plan. There's a trigger clause out there. On a computer you couldn't possibly find. If I don't log in every 36 hours, an email will be sent with pictures of her recipe book to the director of the FBI, and you'll go down for it." Moonbyul turns to you, narrowing her eyes, "You'd risk going to prison or being killed? Rather than be with me?"

You shrug. "You- prison- tomato tamato. And besides- I know enough- you made sure I knew enough to be useful to them. I'd probably land a sweet gig in witness protection."

Tae pets over noodles head, smiling at you, "We could call Noodle meatball."

Yoongi straightens, getting you back on track. "We'd also send pictures and evidence to the heads of house too; you'd have to take your pick who you'd want to deal with- them or the Feds." Moonbyul goes quiet and for the first time but you know you have her backed into a corner with this. This secret- this secret is truly her undoing. She fidgets, settling herself firmly into the uncomfortable chair.

And then it comes, her concession, “What do you want?”

Yoongi nearly lunges forward with how eager he is to outline your terms. “Release Jimin from his contract. Let Y/n go and relinquish the bullshit claim you have on her. Don’t punish Jin for working for the FBI and never contact me again for my responsibilities as a beta. Leave us alone- never touch us again and you can have your empire. We won’t say a word to anyone about your true sub-gender.” He lays his hands flat on the table. "But lay a finger on any one of my packmates and I'll tell everyone what you really are."

Moonbyul is a manipulator first and foremost, and a good one at that, you don’t know if it’s honesty or a simple tactic when she turns to Tae and appeals to her.

“You’d let them do this for what? One female alpha to the other?” Moonbyul’s eyes are too empty for her to be totally honest. Jungkook can’t stop his flinch. She knows what she’s doing. How to find the weak spots in your conviction and press at them.

“One trans person to another? You'd let them forcefully out me? don't you know how wrong that is?”

You physically can’t look at her, you have to look away- and Jimin looks like he wants to punch her, jaw rolling- preparing to spit before Tae splays her hands on the table, chipped nail polish catching the light.

Tae struggles to find the right words. “I don’t know if your reasons are the same as mine.”

Moonbyul scoffs, crossing her arms. The mask slips at the same second. “Sure they are. You chose to become a woman rather than stay a man because you liked the set of qualities your life could have as a woman better. That's no different from me choosing to be an alpha over an omega because it gave my pack and me the most security.”

You know, you know in your heart that security isn't what Moonbyul's after, it's always been power, but Tae's scent starts to leak around the scent blockers, going sour.

Tae sits back in her chair. “That’s the thing- it wasn’t a choice.”

Moonbyul’s fingernails are digging into her arms in an effort to keep her hands busy. “Was it? You were comfortable being a man once until the risks outweighed the benefits of not being honest with the people you love. That seems like a choice to me- if it wasn’t a choice- you’d never have had to tell anyone- they’d just have known.”

Moonbyul has always had a terrible knack for finding people's soft spots, Hoseok knows this, and yet he can't say anything. Can't come to Tae's defense. Can't scream at her to shut up- to not touch Tae. To not find the weakest link or perhaps a link she can exploit.

Tae’s hands tighten into a fist and she swallows, before standing up from the table. Noodle falls to the floor with a jingle of his bell collar and an offended meow. Tae leaves the room heading up the stairs and leaves you behind. Done with Moonbyul and the conversation, A choice in itself. You follow her, heading upstairs after Tae with not even a glance in Moonbyul’s direction.

Moonbyul laughs and laughs and laughs, it’s a little unhinged. The pack stays silent. They just watch her. Yoongi settles into his shoulders and when she leans back in the chair and tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s still smiling.

“Alright cousin, let’s draw up terms.”

The family does things in old ways, a smear of Yoongi’s blood and Moonbyul’s blood on the bottom of a slip of paper and their names ink signed. A red seal printed with both of their initials. Paper that Jin will burn up later because what’s written on it could condemn them all. She also writes up a release of Jimin’s contract too- this one does not get burned. While Jin types up his resignation too.

“I’d still laser off your fingerprints if I were you.” Jimin is already planning on it. He’s not too worried about the loss of income or the family possibly rolling on him and using his long history of murder to put him in jail. He still has his other job after all.

In the end, Moonbyul leaves not with a bang, but with the click of the closing door, soft as all can be. Violent with the gentleness of her actions when she gets up from the table and says goodbye to Yoongi and only Yoongi. But when she makes to leave, she has to pass by the stairs where you wait.

You do not speak from up on top of the stairs, where you’d gone after Tae and left after she told you she was fine, that she wanted to be alone for a moment. Now Moonbyul smiles from the bottom step. Her teeth catch the light like the pearls at the bottom of the ocean.

“I guess it was never going to be us, was it?” Her eyes flick to the mark on your neck and all at once you’re reminded of the feeling of it;

Geumjae’s teeth sink into your throat, the pulse of your veins around his teeth, the feeling of his tongue hitting your skin and the pain and shock of it. Her smiling feels like that. Her smiling up at you makes it feel like she’s taking something from you.

“There is something in you that’s hungry pup- hungry for more than they can give you. And when they realize that- when they realize that you’re more like me than like Tae- Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for when you decide that this is not enough.”

Your finger trails down the railing of the stairs. You don’t meet her eyes. “That’s the thing isn’t it, I do get to decide, don’t I? It's my choice.”

But Hoseok is there, between you and her, and there’s no one between the two of them. Not Noodle or the others although Yoongi gets up quick and comes over to his side. Both of you hem Hobi in.

“Wait- I just have one question for you- before you go.”

Moonbyul hovers, hand on the door. Almost out of your lives for good. You keep a hand on Hobi’s back, holding him, letting him know you’re there. You can feel the tremble in his shoulders.

“Why did you do it, why did you hurt me like that when you could have just left? I’ve thought through it for years but I’ve never been able to figure it out. Did you know that you were hurting me when you did it?”

“Yes,” there isn’t a bit of remorse in her face, none at all.

Maybe Hoseok is expecting something like this- something like this: “I thought if we broke you down, we might be able to remake you into something great”

“I didn’t need to be changed I just needed you to love me.”

But there is none of that. It’s infuriating and it will bother him for years later but what Hoseok gets is this:

“There wasn’t a reason, we were just bored and waiting for my father to give me the chance to transition.” transition into power or transition into an alpha? She doesn't clarify. She’s remorseless, nothing in her inflection indicates that she regrets what she did.

“You weren’t the first.”

Hoseok feels nauseous like he's going to be sick on the entryway floor. Hobi doesn’t respond and she leaves without a second glance behind her. Out of your lives for good. Leaving Hoseok standing there in the precipice of the door, watching her pull away from the house and staring at the empty driveway after she’s gone. He'll never see her again after today.

Namjoon gets up and opens up a window, clearing the house of her smell of peppermint.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until you dab your sleeve at his cheek. Yoongi at his front and you holding him from behind, keeping him together as he cries and cries and cries. Jimin puts himself between you two and the door, a knife that he'd tapped under the table in his hands.

Jungkook huffs. "Should have stabbed her when you had the chance Minnie."

Closure escapes him, just out of his fingers. Hoseok wants to run after her and demand an apology. But he doesn’t know what’s better, an apology that’s hollow or none at all. No one talks for a moment while they watch her car pull out of the driveway and leave. No one says a word.

And then Jin gets up from the table and walks over to the kitchen. Namjoon follows him. Tae’s at the top of the steps, she’s changed her clothes from her PJs and washed off the scent blockers. Her hair hangs shaggy and messy over her glossy face, her bangs in a curly pink roller, and her skin pearly from her skincare.

She doesn’t smell distressed or upset. She doesn’t smell like anything at all but she’s wearing her favorite pink sweater. She comes close, runs her hands through Hobi's hair.

"I'll be fine, just give me a second I just need-"

"You cry for as long as you need to ho-baby."

"Yeah- cry as much as you want, use me as a napkin for all I care." your shirt is wet at the collar where Hobi burrows in.

Jin opens up the pack's liquor cabinet. Small and just to the side of the fridge. None of them really drink- but occasionally patients give Namjoon expensive bottles of whiskey for saving their lives. Jin pours himself a full glass of the most expensive bottle of it. No ice. He pours a second glass for Yoongi without asking. It’s barely noon, but when he asks “who wants a drink?” Seven hands shoot up.

~-~

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~-~

Notes:

the very fist part of this chapter where hoseok and her are on the train was a part that i liked until final edits and then it felt??? idk??? clunky??? maybe a bit repetitive???? idk what it is and it's way too late to fix it T-T

this chapter is really an ode to what i originally thought of for bily, in the og version of this story yoongi was supposed to hate the m/c at the beginning for taking him away from the pack. i think his anger at the end is entirely justified- it's also like- his karma for leaving at the beginning you know? he might take it a bit too far in his reaction but tbh- i think we can cut him some slack for everything he's ever given to the m/c- all of the unconditional love.

i think that the train is like- a metaphor for getting better, or not getting better and keeping going on the reductive patterns that make you sick, because the things that make you feel better- like picking at a sticky scab- will only make you scar deeper. this is the last moment for the m/c, the moment she starts to heal for good.

the moment where hobi and the m/c are walking up to the car and yoongi is there i litterally see him puffing up like a studio ghibli charecter you know? or maybe like noodle whenever yoongi comes close.

honestly- the line where yoongi says that she doesn't love him like he loves her made me fucking sick when i wrote it like???? not me lowkey not giving them a happy ending. but i think that the part of bily thats always been fun to experiment with is how people sometimes people hurting you doesn't change how you feel about them.

did you catch the reasons wreched and divine refrence????

the line that yoongi says “Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last ////5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough too apologize and-" is very much a refrence to what hoseok says to yoongi at the begining of the series "You won’t even tell me now when I'm fucking dying over you, suffocating under the weight of things you just won’t say- and you don’t even care!” and i think thats pretty.

i think the yoongi parts will either make you guys feel vindicated or upset. i think it's up to you if he goes too far when he's angry- but i do think it's very human of him to get so angry like...the m/c is his whole fucking world...he will get over it! don't worry! he's just momentarily angry!

the part between when the pack call her and she arrifes felt really clunky while i was editing it, i decided not to take it down too much because i wanted you guys to feel some of their anticipation- but maybe it's too much. it's this kind of part that might get seriously paired down once i go back through bily and clean it up

"fuck this bitch"- noodle probably

noodle is like my favorite charecter i swear to god i love him so so much. i had the idea that he would be the only one to get some bloodletting in since the very begining of the series before he was ever written into the story. this is also the begining of them sorta being friends like- after this noodle is alot more tolerant of yoongi.

Moonbyul discloses that she has some pretty uncomfy views of being trans in this! i think it's pretty obvious that it's not meant to be like 'this is how all trans people are' and more of an effort to contrast tae- we are also talking like fake secondary genders here as well so- do with that what you will!

i also wanted to make the point with hobi and moonbyul's part at the end that sometimes the people who hurt you have no remorse, you don't get clousrure from them because they'll never admit that they shouldn't have done something. and the biggest closure that you can get is from giving yourself the strenght to let go. in a way- this directly contrasts the parts on the train in the begining. in order to heal a wound you have to stop touching it.

this chapter may feel like an ending in a sense because it is an end of all the mafia parts. truly- after this chapter we won't see any more violence or blood or anything close to the last 6. it's all happy endings from here <3 Thank you for sticking with it!

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doodlekoo · 10 months

Text

OUCH | pjm

Summary: you hurt your foot and Jimin thinks your gonna die

Pairing: boyfriend!jimin x fem?reader (mentions pronouns a few times)

Word count: 2.4k

Rating: PG

Genre/Warnings: established relationship, injury, pain, implied?verbal abuse, explicit language, kissing, FLUFF HEH (my favourite), oc is so in love with Jimin

Note: hello fellow fluff lovers, i’m so sorry i’ve been ia for 10 months i was focusing on finishing my final year for college. tbh creative writing isn't my strong point it’s more of a side hobby so please understand i won’t be updating regularly i’ll probably be posting more so when I'm bored and feel like it ahahaha. I do want to point out thanks to all those who liked my previous stories. I really do appreciate it it’s great motivation!! anywho this story was based on when i hurt my foot (it was a more gross story but still hurt like a bitch) i tried limping home but the entire time i wished someone would carry me and care for me the way jimin does in the ff (sad i know). i originally wanted it to be longer going into detail about Jimin’s backstory but i thought short and sweet was better SO ENJOY i hope you all like it :)

and as always please let me know what you guys think and if you want more stories like this! please also leave a like and/or reblog if you enjoyed reading! :D

A warm sensation spreads through your body, engulfing you in a comforting embrace. You couldn't help but smile as a sense of contentment washed over you. The day had been a success. You followed every command and every instruction that your superiors had asked you to follow. Starting a new job was a challenging experience, one you hadn’t gone through before. The memory of your previous employment still haunts you, the echoes of your coworkers' voices reverberating in your mind as they berated you for the slightest of missteps. Not only was it stressful to deal with that every day, but you would also feel even more drained coming home after the endless regrets ran through your mind.

The more you worked at that god-awful place, the more your thoughts grew—were these issues truly insignificant, or were they looming large and you simply lacked the perspective to see them?

Your boyfriend, Jimin, was constantly begging you to quit the job since the sight of you so wrapped up in absolute guilt crushed him every day. Jimin only wanted what was best for you. The stubbornness he had over you was often a hard take but it was only ever going to be beneficial. As the begs increased in volume, your guilt scaled high, resulting in an endless cycle.

You knew you had to do it. Gathering yourself mentally and emotionally to utter those two liberating words took a great deal of courage.

"I quit."

You said it slightly quietly, still unsure. but you were stern about it with an attempt at a demeaning stare. In your head, you felt pretty confident with the way you delivered it, only to have that confidence descend with the sudden scoffs followed by the classic response, "Is that supposed to impress me?"

Perhaps Jimin was right. The testosterone in the room was unbearable at this point, and that slow, excruciating deterioration of your brain was just really not worth it. Staring back at your manager, you remained undeterred.

"I'll be handing in my notice tomorrow."

It was never worth creating an argument with your manager or anyone who lacked basic brain cells, in fact. That simple interaction only changed you for the better, and slowly but surely you felt you had a little more respect for yourself.

As you navigate the bustling street after your third shift, a palpable aura of rejuvenation surrounds you, causing your steps to take on a playful bounce. The faint aroma of coffee lingers on your clothes. The joy felt completely surreal, almost like time and space had been warped. Though the relentless bombardment of verbal abuse made your mind gradually deteriorate, it now made even the most challenging tasks a mere cakewalk.

The rain had been hammering down on the cafe windows for most of the day, so when you were met with the fortunate sun slowly peeking out from the clouds, you felt enveloped with its warmth, feeling it gradually filling your mind up with a little extra dose of serotonin.

Several metres or so away from your workplace, in a small back alley, you could smell the damp brick encroaching on your senses. Looking farther ahead, you saw the recent confrontation you were only slowly getting used to. It was amusing to you that a couple of steps were the only thing you had to worry about in your new day-to-day life. It was a sign that you were at least doing something right. You braced yourself for the steep steps that lay ahead while keeping in mind the wet, slick concrete.

And at that moment, the serotonin vanished. As the calmness of the moment dissipated, a surge of anxiety and adrenaline took over. Your heart plummeted as you failed to catch those final steps. Your foot barely brushes the step's edge. As you stumbled, your ankle gave way beneath you, sending you tumbling to the ground.

You squealed, trying not to make any noise, as a wave of pain shot from your foot up through your body when the weight followed.

"Ouch,"

You hissed in pain as you sat at the foot of the steps. Looking absolutely helpless. The surrealness seemed to slip away as the situation unfolded before your eyes. Your mind wandered in silence. As you glanced around, a wave of relief washed over you as you realised that no one had witnessed your mortifying disaster.

I'm fine. I'm fine. You managed to convince yourself that you could make it home since the distance to your house was less than a mile. I can limp; it's fine. You reached for the railing and attempted to pull yourself up, only to be reacquainted with the searing pain you'd felt before.

Fuck.

You personally don't like to worry excessively about pain and injuries because you've always considered it a waste of time to acknowledge the warnings your body gave you. As the numbness set in, you realised that the situation was far worse than you had initially thought. Your body lay still and unresponsive, leaving you with only your thoughts to keep you company.

Along with the overwhelming urge to get up and leave, you also had the nagging fear that someone could hear a small person yelping at the bottom of the steps and decide to make a huge deal out of it. You know one person, Jimin, who would take his time over an insignificant issue. He would be the one to hire a golden carriage and transport you in grandeur, as the conclusion to convincing you that you needed to rescue yourself from those said scary steps. That was the worst-case scenario in your mind. However, it reached the point where you would rather have him make this big of a deal than a complete stranger who would have thought you were weak, whereas Jimin was certain that you are not.

A soft, sad sigh escapes your lips as your hand instinctively reaches for the back pocket of your jeans. With fingers trembling in anticipation, you searched for Jimin's name. As you raised your phone to your ear, you sensed your heart rate accelerating. Your nerves were on edge, and you did not want to burden Jimin with any additional worries. Making Jimin anxious was punishment enough. Every day, catching a glimpse of Jimin's radiant smile was like a burst of sunshine, flooding your world with a second dose of serotonin. But the thought of not being able to bring that smile to his face or turn it into a beaming grin was gnawing at your insides.

"Hey, ___, I’m so sorry. I’ll be home soon! I’m just out with Namjoon and Hobi!" Jimins' amplified voice, together with the distant chatter in the background, echoed through the alleyway. "No, Jimin i-"

"It was just- Hobi wanted us to come see designs after work, and naturally we all piled into the bar! We are finishing up now!"

"Jimin, that's not why I'm calling…" You replied with a low tone.

"Huh?? Sorry babe, I can't hear you that well!" You chuckled to yourself at the agonising situation. Oh Jimin..

"Jimin, I fell.."

"Sorry, what was that??"

"I don’t know Jimin. I fell down these steps, and I can't get up. It's so embarrassing. I don't know what to do.."

"Shit. Stay there. I'm coming now. Where are you?" The way Jimin's entire demeanour shifts over the phone, it intimidates the hell out of you.

"I’m just outside that alleyway from my work... Do you know the one?"

"Yes, I do. I’ll be there in five minutes." And with that, Jimin ends the call.

"Fuck. That was my girlfriend. I’m so sorry guys, I have to go" Jimin, on the other hand, was shitting it. Hearing your frightened voice over the phone was enough for him to travel day and night to you.

"Is something wrong?" Namjoon asked, apprehensive. He'd only see Jimin's expression like this when something was seriously wrong.

"I'm not sure, I think she’s hurt. I'll see you guys soon." Jimin said, frantically stuffing all his things in his bag. "Aw, alright, I hope she’s okay," Hoseok chirped.

"I hope so too. Bye!!" And just like that, Jimin literally flew outside the bar door. Foot harsh on the pedal. On his way: to you.

You kept your eyes on the cracks along the walls, waiting for Jimin. In the end, a few people did come by, but you covered it up by sitting on the floor and talking on your phone, and they didn't seem to notice. It's currently quiet as the sun is descending. But eventually you could hear faint, sporadic panting in the distance. It was the said saviour of the day.

"___!! Oh my god, oh my god, are you okay?? What happened?!?" Jimin gasped, looking at you like a precious gem that had cracked.

"I’m alright, just a little stumble. But I can't stand up, and it’s annoying." With a faint chuckle, you replied. You looked up at him, hoping to see his gaze soften and persuade him that it wasn't such a major issue, but his anxious expression didn't fade.

Scrambling towards you, he examined your ankle carefully, gently touching it in the process.

"Hm, I’m not a doctor, but I think maybe you sprained it. We should go to the hospital." He announced it sincerely.

"NO. I mean- no Jimin, no hospital, please; it’s not a big deal."

"Are you sure? I mean, you said you couldn’t even stand up?" It was endearing that Jimin tried to convince you, but because you didn't want to feel even more embarrassed, you simply scowled at him and hoped he understood what you were trying to imply.

"Okay, okay, let’s go home then." Jimin let out a little giggle at your silliness. But he now knew it was time for him to take on the doctor role and oh how Jimin would take that role very seriously. "Right, I need to carry you to the car then, can you try and get on my back?"

Jimin crouched in front of you after turning around. You used your entire upper-body strength to push yourself onto Jimin's back by reaching for his shoulders. His arms came back around and supported you from behind before he stood up and repositioned you.

"You okay?" Jimin asks once again. "Yes. Thank you, Jimin."

You scoot closer to his back, not just so he can carry you, but also so you can embrace him. Jimin carefully made his way back up the steps and onto the busy street, attempting to find his way back to the car park. You felt embarrassed by the many stares so you cuddled your face closer into the back of Jimin's neck.

It felt safe there, and you could smell his perfume's mild flowery scent mingled with the peppermint notes of his shampoo. Oh, how he always smelled so good. You smiled into his neck and pecked him lightly. This elicited a slight chuckle from him.

Jimin gently places you in the passenger seat and carefully rearranges your legs. He tightens the seatbelt and ensures you're safe and secure. You glance up at him, speechless. After the manner in which he's been treating you, the decision to call him for assistance felt extremely justifiable. As your gaze lingers on Jimin, he catches your eye, and a soft chuckle escapes his lips once more.

"Is this okay?" Jimin asked with a grin. "Yes, Jimin, this is perfect." As your gaze met his, a rush of warmth flooded your heart. The way he looked at you with such tenderness and affection was a feeling beyond words. To have someone who cherished you so deeply was truly a gift beyond measure. A rosy hue crept up Jimin's cheeks, causing his smile to widen even further.

Closing your door and driving back to the house was quite quiet, but it also felt soothing and safe at the same time. Jimin carried you on his back once again while fumbling to retrieve his keys from his pocket to open the door. Making his way to the sofa, he plopped you down softly.

"Okay, wait there. Don't go anywhere; I’m going to find a bandage." You laughed and shook your head at his stupid yet endearing joke.

When Jimin returned 10 minutes later, he did not only return with a bandage but also with half the house. Blankets, pillows, comfy clothes, a big bowl of snacks, and on top, the said bandage. You couldn’t even see his concentrated face through the massive mountain of love.

Your laughs echoed throughout the room once again while Jimin dumped everything beside you. He then carefully helps you undress into your loungewear and, following a YouTube tutorial, attempts to wrap the bandage around your foot. Watching him all focused on you made your heart flip around the room. He is so adorable.

"Okay, I think that’s good. Now do you want a pillow under your foot as well?" Jimin asked you politely. "I think it’s alright like this." You look at him, smiling.

"Hm, scratch that, I’m getting you a pillow."

When Jimin returns from getting a pillow, he gently lifts your feet to place it beneath them. He then throws various fluffy blankets over you while tucking in the sides, making sure once again that you don’t go anywhere. Looking back at you, he moves in close, giving you a soft peck on your forehead. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he momentarily retreats before leaning back in, peppering your face with a flurry of playful kisses. The two of you erupt into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, your heads thrown back in pure love and joy.

"Now what should I put on the TV for you?" Jimin sits beside you after grabbing the TV remote. "Anything I don’t mind."

Jimin then proceeds to put on your favourite film. Pressing play; he looks at you with a soft smile. "Please be more careful; I hate seeing you hurt like this." He pats your head gently while wrapping his arm around you.

"I’ll try not to Jimin ''. You say as you move closer to him, resting your head on his chest.

Paying close attention to the rest of the movie, your sixth sense tells you Jimin isn't watching it at all; he's staring at your ankle, hoping nothing will hurt it any further.

#bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts ff #bts fluff #bts #kpop #bts one shot #jimin #park jimin #jimin x you #jimin x reader #bts jimn #jimin fluff #jimin fanfic #fluff #pjm #bts fanfic

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oddinary4bts · 2 years

Text

I want to be with you | pjm

☆summary : moving to Seoul has always seemed like a good idea, until the bubble bursts when you realize your new neighbor is Park Jimin, and he's not the sweet angel you've always imagined him to be. Will the reality of Park Jimin forever be a nightmare, or will he turn into a sweet dream?

☆pairing: Park Jimin x female reader

☆rating: 18+

☆genre: strangers (fan) to friends to lovers, idol!au; fluff, some slight angst, smut

☆warnings: cheating ex, mention of a parent dying, asshole jimin for a few moments, a tiny little bit of jealousy, alcohol consumption, throwing up (jimin and reader both be messy but they have other qualities I swear), explicit stuff: oral sex (female receiving), edging, fingering, badly written dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it babes), slightly dom! jimin, a little bit of spanking??, reader is shy and awkward and might give you a little bit of secondhand embarrassment, sad love confession

☆word count: 32.5k words (the funny thing is I edited to take out some stuff and ended up having a longer word count lmao)

☆a/n: Wow, I am so excited to finally share this with you. Before you read, I just want to warn you that English is not my first language, and I also have slight dyslexia. So, if there are any typos, feel free to tell me so I can edit them out! I hope you will all enjoy <3 (I have read it so many times that I hate it now but, yeahhh hopefully it doesn’t suck). Also, I usually exclusively write badass characters, and I tried to make the reader a softie sooo sorry if I failed hahahaha

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

1 month ago

Moving days had always been excruciating to you. Long and exhausting, and you’d always dread the moment you’d have to drag all the boxes up to your new living place. Even more so today, as you were finally moving to Seoul, after months of planning the whole ordeal.

Seoul had been a dream to you, ever since you had been little. It was hard to figure out why – maybe it was the culture, or the clash South Korea was to your home country. To get out of your comfort zone and just step into a whole new world… it had been an exciting promise, really.

Or maybe home had just never really felt like home.

Yet there was something bittersweet, about Seoul. You had visited twice, in the past – the first time just on a trip, and the second when you had roamed around the city in search of a place to move to last February. Your mother had recommended this apartment, in a posh building that had seemed just a little overpriced for you. You had fallen in love with it, the moment you had seen the view from the spacious living room. You had known you had found a home for yourself as the Seoul skyline had come into view, bathed in the glow of the setting sun.

It had been a future home for you and your ex, and maybe that was really the cause of the bittersweet feeling Seoul brought to you. Indeed, you had been supposed to move here with Collin, but he had decided to stay back, and to not follow you in your dreams. You hadn’t been selfish enough to beg him to come – God knew Collin had his own dreams back home. To build a home, get married and have a plethora of children to fill the empty rooms of his home with laughter and joy.

Something you had never really wanted for yourself. So, you had parted ways, a month before you were set to leave, and you had spent that month putting everything in order, selling the stuff you couldn’t bring along. It had made you feel as if the old you was dead, and you were leaving her behind, in the cemetery that was your hometown.

Not a place you thought one would want to raise children in.

You hmphed as you balanced a large box on your hip, eyes scanning the hall of your building as you walked towards the elevator. You didn’t know what the box was filled with, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself mentally. Heavy boxes were a danger to one’s back, and you were already straining from the effort of holding onto it. But maybe that was because you had been a little greedy, adding a smaller cardboard container above that big one. The small box stood precariously on top – goddamn, had you put books in there? – and you eyed it from the corner of your eyes as you neared the elevator of the complex your new apartment was in. The smaller box started to slip, and you quickly put a hand on top of it to keep it from crashing to the ground.

You doubted it held something fragile, but you still didn’t want to risk breaking something.

Moving days were a pain in the ass indeed. Especially considering that your family hadn’t been able to travel to South Korea to help you move. It was you, all alone, and you had already done so many trips in the elevator that you knew it by heart now – from the fingerprints that someone had left behind on the inside of the door to the coffee stain on the carpet of it.

Or so you hoped it was a coffee stain.

The keys that you held in your hand under the box jingled as you reached forward, heavy box threatening to slip out of your reach, index finger pointed towards the button to call the elevator.

You sighed in relief as the sign over said elevator lit up, indicating that your little maneuver had been a success. You straightened, and a bead of sweat formed on your brow. The box really was too heavy.

You watched the number over the elevator change as it came up from the basement, before stopping on the ground level, doors sliding open.

Sometimes, you wondered if faith existed. If there was a bigger plan to the universe, something written for you already that you couldn’t really escape from. It was the thought that crossed your mind as the doors finished moving, and a dark-haired boy – man – stared at you as you just stood there, mouth falling open.

See, there were a few things you liked about Korea. K-pop being one of those. And you had been a BTS fan for a long time now, part of the army that was their fanbase, and maybe that had contributed to your will to move to Seoul.

Actually, you fully knew it was one of the reasons.

But, nothing had prepared you for this moment. The moment an idol appeared in front of you, as if conjured by your deepest most secret desires. An angel, standing in the elevator, black hood on along with a matching mask.

It was the eyes though, that you recognized. You had spent so many hours looking at pictures of those eyes – really, you had never seen eyes such as his. And that gaze was now boring into yours, as if peering right to your soul, and you found you couldn’t quite move.

And who were you to blame, Park Jimin had always been your bias. Had been the reason why you had gotten into K-pop in the first place.

Jimin’s eyes skimmed over your figure for a moment, gaze landing on your keys.

On the goddamn Chimmy keychain that dangled from your hand, bright yellow that could have caught anyone’s eyes.

When his gaze moved back up to your face, you gulped, feeling very naked. Not that you were naked at all, but to have your bias standing in front of you like that… it rendered you completely unable to process what was happening.

“Are you getting in?” he asked in English, and there was a strain to his voice. As if it was threatening to fall into annoyance, but he didn’t want to let it go there just yet.

Your cheeks flushed bright red as your gaze dropped to the floor, embarrassment winning the war against your will to gaze at him until your eyes would fall out of your head.

You nodded, and you took two steps forward. Two steps were all that it took for you to step into the same elevator as Park Jimin. And it was surreal. He had always been just a picture or a video on the other side of a screen, except that one time you had gone to a concert. But right now, he was standing next to you, hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, eyes staring straight ahead. As if not even wanting to acknowledge your presence.

You stood awkwardly, arm starting to shake from the weight of the boxes. You glanced at the floor levels, and your eyes slightly widened as you noticed your floor was already lit up.

Was Park Jimin really your neighbor?

The elevator shot up, and the first acceleration had your arm straining to keep holding the box up, gravity threatening to win against your weak muscles.

You let go of the smaller container on top, using your chin to hold it in place as your other arm joined the one holding the whole thing. Your muscles sighed in relief, though you knew it would be short-lived.

You maybe should have worked out more when you were back home.

The metal jail in which you were encased was silent, apart from the humming it emitted as it moved up. And it really did feel like a jail, with the cold atmosphere that radiated from the man next to you. It was hard to ignore the harsh look on the small part of his features you could see, but you did your best not to look at him, as your prison passed all the floors until it finally reached the very top. The floor where only two apartments stood, on each side of the hallway, and really, how in hell could Park Jimin be your neighbor?

Your arms – plural this time – started shaking again as the elevator came to a halt, and it seemed like it took a small eternity before the doors slid open. Feeling the need to get away from Jimin, and from the ice you really didn’t want to acknowledge surrounding him, you quickly stepped out, moving towards your door. And maybe it was the rush in your steps, and the fact that your arms really were losing the fight against gravity, but the boxes seemed suddenly twice as heavy. Clutching to them proved to be useless, and the top container slid, wrecking the balance of the lower box at the same time.

You cursed as the two boxes fell to the carpeted floor, the cardboard of the larger one bending until a part of it ripped, revealing its precious treasure.

Your collection of BTS albums spilled from it, as if they were liquid, and your cheeks turned even darker as you immediately bent down, moving to pick them up before Jimin could see. A stupid thing to do, because he was standing right behind you, and the mess you had made took almost half of the hallway’s width.

With shaky hands, you tried putting the albums back into the box they had escaped from, but it only made it rip further. You stopped moving altogether as a pair of jeans-clothed legs stepped over the mess, and your eyes moved up, heart beating out of your chest.

Jimin didn’t once look in your direction as he moved towards his door – right in front of yours – putting in the code to unlock it. As the lock came undone, electronic whirring filling the awkward silence, he finally deigned to glance your way.

A hard look painted his features, and the judgment in his eyes slapped you across the face as your eyes met for a short moment. He seemed … somehow disgusted by you, as if the fact that you were Army made him want to get away from you as soon as he could. And you understood it, to a certain extent. He was famous after all, and he probably had had his share of crazy fans in the past.

That didn’t stop your heart from feeling as if it was being crushed in your chest, as if his fist had closed around it and he was about to rip it from your ribcage.

Jimin looked away as the lock finally finished moving, opening his door in a swift motion before stepping inside, not once looking back at you, kneeling there in the middle of the hallway.

When he disappeared from view, you let out a shuddering breath, your gaze falling back to the mess on the floor. You wondered when your vision had turned blurry, and it took you a moment to realize there were tears in your eyes.

You doubted you had ever felt as embarrassed as you were feeling right now.

You blinked the tears away, putting the albums in a neat pile before picking them up. It really did seem like gravity wanted to win the whole war, because the pile threatened to scatter to the ground again, but you managed to make it to your door without another accident. You had left it unlocked, and you pushed the door open with your shoulder, leaving the pile next to the wardrobe. You then went back into the hallway to gather the small container and the cardboard remnants of the traitorous box that had dared spill your secrets at the worst moment possible.

Well, the Chimmy keychain had been a traitor in and of itself too.

You moved into your apartment, kicking your shoes off by the door to put slippers on. You didn’t even look at the albums once, not wanting to deal with the shame that they still held and promised to be holding on to for a while. You left the small box and your keys on the island of the kitchen, which was the first room of the apartment, before tearing the broken package into smaller pieces you could fit in your recycling bin. You then moved through the space that was now yours, until you reached the living room, and the wide glass windows on the wall showed that same setting sun you had fallen in love with the first time you had come here.

You plopped yourself down on the black leather couch, sighing deeply as you ran a hand on your face, trying to shake the embarrassment away. And even if you knew it was early morning back home, you grabbed your phone, calling your mom on Facetime without an ounce of hesitation.

You looked at yourself on the phone screen for a time, as your living room filled ringing, until your mom finally picked up. From what you could see of her surroundings, she was on set.

“Hi sweetie”, the gentle voice of your mother said through the speakers of the phone. “How was moving day?”

“Mom, why did you recommend this apartment building again?” you asked, ignoring your mother’s question. “You did not tell me BTS would be my neighbors.”

Your mother didn’t reply as she moved away from the lights of the set, clearly searching for a calmer environment so you could speak privately. You glanced away from your phone, eyes once again sliding to the setting sun outside the windows.

“I didn’t know that BTS lived in that complex”, your mother finally replied as she seemed to find a place she judged calm enough. “I just knew it had the reputation to be very safe and private, and with your dad and I being who we are, I just figured it be best for you.”

Here’s to having a famous mother and an extremely filthy rich dad.

“Park Jimin lives next door.” You put a hand over your face as your cheeks burned red. “Mom, he seemed so disgusted when he saw my merch.”

“He helped you move?”

You shook your head, hand falling back into your lap. “No, I dropped a box in front of him and all my albums came out of it. He just scowled at it before going to his place.”

The smile that had first lit up your mother’s face slowly dwindled away. If someone knew how obsessed with Park Jimin you had once been, it was her.

“Oh”, she let out. “Maybe he was just surprised.”

“No, mom, I swear.” You gulped. “He was disgusted.”

Your mother chuckled lightly. “I’m sure you’re making it seem worse than it was. Besides, you met Park Jimin!”

The last sentence was said on a giddy tone, but it didn’t reach you at all. No, it just made you feel worse.

“Mom, I didn’t even say a word to him, I was way too shy.”

“My daughter, shy?” Your mother shook her head, even though you were very much so a shy person. “Again, I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you’re saying.”

You sighed loudly, nibbling at the dry skin of your bottom lip. “Well, it was.”

“Sarah, we need you on set”, a voice said in the distance on the other side of the line, barely even audible to you. You watched as your mother looked away from her phone, and it took a few seconds before her eyes trailed back to it.

“Listen, sweetie, I have to go. But why don’t you go introduce yourself properly to him? After all, you’re neighbors.”

“Mom what? I’m not in one of your movies, I won’t do that.”

Sarah pursed her lips, before once again glancing away from the phone. “Well then, have you finished moving already?”

You shook your head no. “I still have a few boxes to move up.”

“You should have hired a moving company to help you”, your mother said reproachfully.

“Shipping everything here was already expensive enough”, you pointed out. “It’s fine, I’m almost done.”

“Alright sweetie.” There was a silence as a soft smile slowly spread on your mother’s lips. “I can’t wait to come visit you after we wrap up this movie.”

“I can’t wait either”, you replied, and you swallowed down the lump that had threatened to form in your throat. “It’s going to be weird to live in a city where I know no one.”

“All the more reasons to go introduce yourself to Park Jimin”, your mom said teasingly, winking at you.

“Mom, no!” Though this time you did let out a small laugh.

The smile on your mother’s lips turned into a fond one. “I love you, sweetie. Take care of you.”

“Will do, mom, I love you too.”

You hung up, and your eyes trailed back to the windows. The sun had disappeared under the horizon, the light turning blue as dusk settled over the city. With a sigh, you pushed yourself up.

After all, you still had boxes to move.

***

Present day

The screaming of children had you wincing in pain, a headache threatening to win over your senses. Especially as the screaming melted into crying, and a teary-eyed and red-faced child stopped in front of you, tugging on your hand so you’d look down.

Your first week as an elementary school teacher had proven to be a complete disaster. At least you had just taught a few classes the whole week – as the English teacher, you didn’t have a full schedule. But goddamn couldn’t you wait until the day was over and you’d be sipping wine back home.

It had taken you a few days to finish moving in, after that embarrassing first day. And it had taken you only a few more days to realize just how much of an asshole Park Jimin was. How much of an even worse neighbor he was.

Really, he had woken you up in the middle of the night more than once with loud music, and sometimes when you got out of your own place, you had to refrain from gagging at the smell of the trash he left just outside of his door.

You had even brought it down once because you were afraid liquid would seep through the plastic bag and stain the carpet of the hallway. Of course Jimin hadn’t thanked you for it. Indeed, he usually pretended that you didn’t exist, barely even looking your way when you moved passed each other in the hallway in front of your homes. And when he did look at you, it was always with that same condescending and arrogant look on his face, as if he thought himself to be so much better than you.

A month ago, you might have said that he was, but now that you knew who he really was, you knew that he was rotten to the core.

Well, you maybe were being too harsh on him. Ignoring you didn’t really make him an asshole, but you had a hard time dealing with the loud music at night, especially considering it happened at least four times a week.

One would have thought that the walls of the complex would have been sound-proofed better than they actually were, but no, when he had his music on it pretty much felt as if you were standing right in the middle of his apartment.

“Teacher Y/l/n”, the child said through her sobs, and you snapped back to the present, bending down to be at a level with the child.

“What is going on?” you asked, voice as gentle as you could manage to make it through the storm of children raging around you.

The little girl mumbled something that you didn’t quite understand. Your Korean wasn’t perfect yet, and you had found that children often chewed on their syllables in a way that left you grasping for comprehension. And though you were an English teacher, you knew that most of the kids didn’t speak enough of the language to be able to talk to you. So, you always did your best with your Korean, but you knew you’d need a few weeks to adjust.

“Why don’t we go sit over there?” you said in reply, pointing to where bean bags were arranged in a circle, with a few plush toys scattered around them. “Then you can explain to me.”

You should have known better than to put all of your attention on the same kid, because by the time you had sat the little girl and handed her a teddy bear, the sound of glass breaking had you spin your head around.

A guilty round-faced boy came into view, as he looked down at the glass surrounding him. You wanted to curse loudly, but you forced yourself to smile before moving towards him.

You helped the boy to move away from the glass, as the other students looked at you curiously, all of them a little startled from the accident. It led to the room falling silent for the first time in what seemed hours, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you cleaned the mess up.

Maybe you never should have let the children have a free period, but you had felt generous as it was the last period of the week. A mistake you weren’t going to repeat.

In the relative calmness that followed the storm, you were able to have the children sit in the bean bags, along with the little girl whose sadness seemed to be long forgotten as she played with her teddy bear. You read a story to them, in English of course, until the class finally ended and their main teacher came to gather the children. The older lady would bring them back to their own class, where they’d get their school bags before their parents came to pick them up.

You were cleaning the mess left in the classroom when your colleague Chaeyoung appeared in the doorway, a tired smile on her lips.

“How was the first week?” she asked, as you straightened from where you had been kneeling on the floor, picking up the plush toys so you could put them back in the box where you had first taken them.

“The first years were a challenge to end the week with, but other than that it was great”, you replied, though your voice was filled with exhaustion.

Chaeyoung chuckled, nodding her head knowingly. “As cute as they are, they really are a challenge.”

You couldn’t agree more.

“Anyway, I was here to tell you that some of the other teachers are going to get drinks, if you want to join”, Chaeyoung said.

Thinking about going out with people you had known for just a few days made you feel even more tired inside, but you found you didn’t really have it in you to say no. After all, you had been pretty much alone for a month now, except for the week your mother had come to visit you. You needed a little socialization, especially if you wanted to make friends here.

“Sure, I’ll come”, you agreed, and the smile that lit up Chaeyoung’s face was entirely worth it.

Chaeyoung probably was the colleague that was the closest in age to you, and she also was the one who had tried making you feel the most welcomed ever since you had started working there. The friendliness with which the girl carried herself really made her easily approachable, and you knew you’d be good friends in no time.

Chaeyoung also was the only one that hadn’t acted as if the fact that your mother was a famous actress was a big deal. It had made you appreciate the girl even more.

Later that evening, after drinks, which had mostly been eating more than drinking, you found yourself in a cab on the way back home. The school for which you worked was fairly close to where you lived, but your colleagues had insisted on going to a bar that was farther away, enough for you to dread the walk home. So, getting a cab it had been, and you looked at Seoul’s streets as the car made its way towards your apartment complex.

The radio was on, volume tuned down as the driver hadn’t turned it back up after having asked you where you lived. Yet, the volume was high enough for you to recognize the BTS song that was playing, and you almost felt like rolling your eyes to the back of your head.

Though you refrained from doing so, because it didn’t sit right with you to start hating the whole group just because Jimin was an arrogant piece of shit. Instead, you bobbed along to the music, mouthing the lyrics, as your condominium finally came into view.

You paid the cab as it stopped in front of the building, thanking the driver before getting out and walking the short distance to the gate, and then to the doors proper. You walked in, the bright hall and its high ceilings a stark contrast with the darkness outside, though you barely acknowledged it as you made your way to the elevator.

Mind a little fuzzed up by the alcohol, you called for the elevator, waiting in front of the doors patiently. You grabbed your phone in the tote bag on your shoulder, opening your text messages to reply to the text Chaeyoung had sent you, before switching apps to Instagram, scrolling through it mindlessly.

It took you a few seconds to realize that the elevator was still in the basement. What was taking so long?

The basement held a parking lot, and a wide gym you had visited a couple of times so far, though you had never really been an athletic person. You had been surprised at the amount of famous people you had seen there though, but luckily enough you hadn’t run into Jimin once.

You wondered if he would have looked even more disgusted by the sight of you sweating.

Putting your phone back where you had taken it, you made to move away, deciding that you’d take the stairs instead of the elevator since it really didn’t seem like it was coming. As you were about to take the first step away, you heard it start moving, and you turned back towards it, sighing in relief. You really hadn’t felt like climbing up the nine floors.

Nothing could have really prepared you to the sight that fell upon your eyes when the doors slid open. It was almost a parallel to that first time you had seen Jimin there, though this time Jimin had an arm thrown around the shoulders of Jeong Hoseok, and he was clearly drunk out of his mind.

You stepped in, bowing to Hoseok as your eyes slid to Jimin, and to the not-so subtle stain on the front of his shirt.

From the smell of it, you were pretty sure Jimin had thrown up on himself. And really, the sour stench made you scrunch up your nose in disgust, right as Hoseok apologized for it.

“Oh”, you let out. “It’s okay.”

At the sound of your voice, Jimin opened his eyes, glassy gaze moving to find yours. You expected his features to have that same disgusted scowl he always reserved for you, but his brows fell, as if he was ashamed, or perhaps sad.

It was so human you found you had to look away.

“I didn’t know you speak Korean”, Jimin mumbled, speech definitely slurred by the alcohol.

You froze, not expecting him to talk to you directly, until your gaze slid to him again.

He was still looking at you, but his face was unreadable. Until a lazy smile broke on his lips as he turned towards Hoseok, who had his arm wrapped around Jimin’s waist to keep him up.

“She’s the new neighbor I told you about”, Jimin said, and Hoseok glanced at you.

Jimin had talked about you?

The elevator slowed down as it reached your floor, the deceleration making Jimin stumble forward. Hoseok held onto him, and Jimin once again looked at you.

“Where is your boyfriend?”

The doors slid open as you just looked back at him, feeling completely dumbfounded. What the hell was he talking about?

You remained silent, as Hoseok tried making Jimin walk out of the elevator, but the man stayed stubbornly in place. “Wait, hyung.”

You didn’t wait, walking around Jimin and Hoseok to get out, moving towards your door as your cheeks burned red. You felt way too embarrassed to stay there.

What boyfriend was Jimin talking about?

Jimin followed you, though he would have probably fallen right to the floor had Hoseok not been there. Yet, the two men were slower, and your pace turned even faster as you headed for your home.

“See, that’s what I said, she doesn’t speak”, Jimin continued, and he let out a bitter chuckle. “Army fucking hates us now.”

“Jimin-ah, let’s just get you to bed”, Hoseok gently said, mouthing an apology to you as you turned back to look at them.

Why the hell would Jimin think that Army hated BTS?

“I just fucking hate this”, Jimin spat, pushing Hoseok away.

Your eyes widened, and you quickly moved towards your door, mind still not processing what was going on. Not wanting to witness Jimin in that state either. And as you were pressing in the code to unlock the door, the unmistakable sound of someone retching had you glancing back towards Hoseok and Jimin.

Jimin was folded in half, hand on the wall to keep standing as he was throwing up, right on the carpet of the hallway. The sound made you shiver, but luckily enough you weren’t one to get sick when someone else was.

No, you had always been the mom friend in the friend groups you had had back home. Except when you happened to be the one to black out, as it usually came before throwing up for you.

“I am so sorry about this”, Hoseok apologized once again, right as he stood there, seemingly not knowing what to do anymore.

Indeed, his face had gone a shade paler, and you wondered if he was about to be sick too.

“What’s wrong with him?” you asked, unable to keep the venom from seeping into your words.

No, you rather had a lot of accumulated rage against Jimin, and seeing him like that just made you even angrier. And you didn’t know what your question really was about. It almost was rhetorical – you knew he was drunk – but maybe your mind had gone to the behaviour that had been his since you had met him.

“He drank too much.”

Obviously.

You nodded slowly, nose scrunching up in disgust as the stench reached you. Jimin retched a little more, and you looked away, feeling a little dizzy yourself. You only looked back towards them once Jimin had straightened up.

He was looking at you already when your eyes met his, and you watched as a tear rolled down his cheek, one that he dried angrily before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck”, he let out and your lips stretched into a thin line at the unexpected curse.

“Let’s get you home”, Hoseok said, glancing between Jimin and you. He then added, fixating his eyes on you, “I’ll come back to clean.”

“I can take care of it. Just get him in bed and make sure he drinks some water.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me, you know”, Jimin mumbled, and you weren’t quite sure if the words were directed at you or at Hoseok.

It didn’t really matter though, because Hoseok thanked you, grabbing Jimin by the wrist and pulling him to his door. He pressed in the code, thanking you once again before pulling Jimin inside.

“You know”, Jimin said as he resisted following his friend. “I don’t even know her name.”

Hoseok had a stern voice as he replied, “Jimin-ah, just get in.”

You watched as the door shut behind the two young men, and then your eyes slid to the mess Jimin had caused. You shivered in disgust, not really wanting to be the one to clean that. But you had said you would, so you got into your apartment, moving to find the cleaning supplies you’d need to wash it all, and to make sure it didn’t stain the carpet.

What the hell was wrong with Park Jimin?

You walked back out, aiming for the puddle of vomit that was slowly seeping into the carpet. The smell was enough to make you gag, as you put on gloves and started picking up as much as you could to put it in the plastic bag.

It wasn’t so different than cleaning up after a kid had retched, and you did everything in you not to think about the fact that Park Jimin had been the source of that mess. That you had seen him at a low point, and that he, for one, hadn’t seemed to hate you.

No, he had just looked terribly sad.

Your thoughts traveled back to the words he had uttered, skimming over the fact that he had mentioned you having a boyfriend. Stopping on that fact, in all truth. Had a boy come over to her place while you were gone for him to think that? You doubted it – no stranger could have gone past the security downstairs.

What had he meant, then?

You sighed as you finished picking up most of what hadn’t yet seeped in the carpet, before moving to actually cleaning the whole thing, eyes watering a little from the small gags you weren’t able to keep in.

Also, Jimin had mentioned Army hating them. You assumed he had meant BTS, but why the hell would he think that Army hated BTS now? Maybe it was because you had indulged into alcohol a little too, but it took a moment for your brain to formulate an answer.

The hiatus, or whatever that break could really be called. The video had come out a few weeks ago, a couple of days after you had moved in… Did Jimin really think that Army hated them for that?

You scoffed, because really he was annoying and you couldn’t help yourself. Even as you were starting to understand him, to understand the human being behind the idol, though you didn’t really know him all that much yet. One thing was for sure: understanding him didn’t justify his actions, especially considering you had never done anything to piss him off.

Unless the fact that you were Army was enough to piss him off indeed. Which came as a surprise to you, because Jimin had the reputation to be easy of approach. Clearly, people had been wrong about him, or it really was just you he hated.

It made you stop cleaning the mess, as the thought slowly formed in your head, rendering you far too sad to be cleaning.

The door to Jimin’s apartment opened, and you turned your head towards it, half-expecting Jimin to step out and be the arrogant prick you had gotten to know in the last few weeks. Instead, Hoseok stepped out, and he pressed his lips into a thin line as your eyes met.

“You really didn’t have to clean, I could have taken care of it”, he said, eyes looking over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him gently.

You sat back on your heels, glancing at the wet spot on the carpet. “It’s okay, it’s not all different from cleaning after the kids I teach to.”

Hoseok had a friendly smile playing on his lips when you looked back at him.

Looking the perfect picture of the person he projected in videos and pictures. Being exactly what you had first expected Jimin to be like.

“Well, it’s very nice of you”, he added. His gaze trailed to the plastic bag next to you. “I’ll bring that in the trash downstairs.”

The corner of your lips spread into a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

He shrugged his shoulders, before once again glancing at Jimin’s door. “I’m sorry about him, by the way.”

You wet your lips, your eyes once again going to the mess. Or rather to what was left of it. “What’s wrong with him?” you reiterated your previous question, finding you didn’t have the courage to look at Hoseok for his reply.

Though he remained silent for a moment, and you wondered if he was debating telling you the truth. And maybe he only chose to be honest because you were currently cleaning his friend’s mess, something you really didn’t have to do after all.

“He’s been having a couple of rough weeks”, Hoseok admitted, then added quickly as if afraid you’d think Jimin was indulging a little too much, “The alcohol doesn’t really have something to do with it though.”

You found you couldn’t stop the bitter chuckle that fell from your lips. It was a small awkward sound, and you wondered if Hoseok could see you blushing.

For god’s sake, were you actually talking to Hobi?

Hoseok seemed taken aback by your chuckle, maybe not expecting it from someone Jimin had said to be Army. He buried his hands in his pockets, rocking on his feet a little, as if he too was feeling a little awkward.

“I’m sorry he’s not been doing great”, you eventually chose to say, as the silence had started stretching to the point of discomfort. “I…” you trailed off, not really knowing what to add.

“Oh, he’ll get over it soon”, Hoseok said, the certainty in his voice so clear it made you want to believe it.

Yet a part of you wasn’t able to believe it at all.

“I hope so”, you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Because perhaps normal Park Jimin wouldn’t be such a shit neighbor.

There was another silence, during which you busied yourself by finishing cleaning up, before throwing away everything in the plastic bag and tying it up. You pushed up to your feet, fully conscious that Hoseok was watching you carefully, as if expecting you to say more. And though he was a lot easier to talk to than your neighbor, you had nothing else to say about Jimin.

You exchanged an awkward look, and you scraped your throat, gaze dropping to the floor. “I… really like your new song”, you finally said. “The grunge vibe is really great.”

Hoseok was beaming once you met his gaze again. “See, I told him you didn’t hate us.”

You blushed a little. “Oh?”

“Well.” He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “He mentioned you are a fan, and all.”

“He thinks I hate you?” There was genuine surprise in your voice.

“He is convinced Army in general does, yeah.”

There was another silence, one that felt quite a lot heavier.

“He is not taking that whole break thing well, is he?”

Hoseok’s face fell serious, his eyes unreadable. “He’s the one that’s taking it the hardest, let’s say.”

So, you had been right about it. And that small part of you that didn’t already dislike Jimin seemed to swell a little, pushing the negative emotions back.

“I’m sorry”, you said, unsure what you were apologizing for, and the negative emotions swerved back in.

You were sorry for what, exactly? For being Army, and the very cause of Jimin’s guilt? Or for not really feeling sorry for him at all? Because even if you knew that he was not doing great, most of you was still angered at the thought of him. At the perspective that he’d wake you up in the middle of the night again in the next few days, and that he’d look down on you like you were just a mere speck of dust.

Feeling guilty for taking a break didn’t really give him the right to be an asshole. And maybe you were a bad person for being unable to really feel bad for him, but at least you were honest to yourself about it.

Hoseok didn’t really speak to you much after that, as if sensing your discomfort. He instead wished you good night, grabbing the plastic bag from where you had left it. You didn’t move back to your apartment right away, eyes lost in a vague spot on the wall, and Hoseok’s voice had you looking towards where he was standing, waiting for the elevator to come.

“Don’t be too harsh on him”, he said. “And don’t take it personally, if he’s acting weird around you.”

Your pursed your lips. “Easier said than done.”

“I know…” Hoseok looked down at his feet, laughing lightly. “I know”, he repeated. “He’ll come around.”

“What makes you so sure of it?” you asked.

He had a knowing smile on his lips when he gazed back at you, right as the elevator dinged behind him. “Because he asked for your name until he passed out in his bed.”

***

The summer air was heavy with humidity as you walked back to your apartment, grocery bags in hand. The dark clouds up ahead promised of rainfall and storm, though for now the cement of the road was completely dry, and it almost still seemed as if it was fuming with heat, creating a mirage in the distance like one would see in the desert. Cars drove slowly in the street, as if their tires were melting, sticking to the ground and keeping them from moving at their normal pace, and really, the heat felt as if it was pressing down on everyone and everything. The worst part was that it only seemed to be getting worse by the second.

You couldn’t wait for the rain to fall, releasing the atmosphere of the heaviness that clung to it. You just hoped you’d be back home by then.

You hurried, because you didn’t really want to risk being stuck in the rain, but it seemed the universe had other plans for you. The clouds opened up as you could see your condominium in the distance, showering you so thoroughly that by the time you reached the door, you were drenched from your toes to the top of your head.

Maybe you should have gone to the grocery store in the complex. But you had been avoiding it since the end of last week, afraid you’d run into Jimin.

You hadn’t seen him since Friday night. He hadn’t given any signs of life either, his apartment remaining dead silent, to your dismay. Or maybe he had just been so hungover it was taking him a few days to recover. From the state that he had been in, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

Dripping water on the marble floor of the hall, you walked towards the elevator, bowing to the security. The man bowed to you too, but he remained silent. You knew he greeted most of everyone else, but you didn’t really mind.

You were a foreigner after all.

Hoseok’s words had turned in your head, ever since he had said them, right before he had left. You didn’t really know what to make of it. Jimin had been asking for your name… Part of you didn’t want it to mean anything, because really you didn’t want to think that the Park Jimin had an interest in you, even if it was just about knowing your name. Though the other part, the smaller anxious part of you that felt sorry for him… it wanted to know if his curiosity was about more than just knowing your name. You knew it was the remnants of the fan in you speaking, but sometimes, when you didn’t really pay attention, that part of you became louder, threatening to blossom into a flower that’d throw a shadow on the resentment you wanted to keep towards him.

You didn’t even know why you wanted to hold on to that resentment. Perhaps it was just your way of protecting yourself from him, because God knew that Park Jimin was dangerous. Beautiful, yes, but the same kind of beautiful a poisonous plant was made of, luxurious with life but able to end you all the same.

The doors to the elevator slid open, and you were relieved to see that it was fully empty. You walked in, pressing on your floor before standing to the side, eyes falling to the coffee stain on the carpet. Your thoughts provided you with an image you didn’t want to picture – Jimin, bending over to throw up in that spot.

Had he been the source of the stain on the carpet, as he had been close to stain the carpet next to your apartments? You shuddered at the thought and focused on the numbers changing over the elevator door as you went up to the very last level, trying to shake the image out of your mind.

The elevator decelerated, and the doors slid open slowly. You were about to walk out when you noticed the figure standing there.

Of course Jimin had to be there when you were drenched in rain water.

You exchanged a long look, or it just felt like an eternity because you were gazing into the eyes of Park Jimin. His face held no expression whatsoever, as if he was too tired to even muster up the usual scowl he reserved for you. And really, he did look tired, dark circles under his eyes indicating that he probably hadn’t slept much in the last two days.

Or maybe the hangover was just taking its toll on him.

The moment stretched, and you found you had to look away. Your gaze dropped to the floor, and you were about to say something – what you didn’t know – when the doors started closing, and Jimin held up an arm to keep them from doing so.

“You might want to get out before I go in”, he said, and his voice was lazily arrogant, as if he wanted for it to be cocky but exhaustion kept it from reaching its attended goal.

You rolled your eyes, nodding before taking a step forward. He was standing in the middle of the way, and your whole body started burning as you realized you had stepped closer to him. You only then looked up, meeting his empty gaze. He looked as if he was clenching his jaw, and that, more than anything, made you see red.

“You might want to get out of my way”, you said, your voice colder than his had been. Not arrogant, but maybe a little condescending.

Scratch that, it had been fully condescending.

It seemed to catch him off guard, because his eyes slightly widened and he blinked once, slowly.

“So, you finally talk”, he said, and there was the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Not the kind of smirk that might make you feel warm and fluffy inside. It rather only fueled your anger.

“I talked on Friday too, but maybe you were too fucked out to realize?” Your words were coated in honey, the poisonous kind, and you wondered where you had found the courage to speak to him like that.

Especially as his arm was still outstretched, and it almost felt as if you were frozen in place, a statue of that moment before a hug.

“Oh no, I do remember.” He smirked full on, then, and it made his eyes seem cold in some way.

Cold and sad.

“Weren’t you the one to clean up after me?” he asked, tilting his head by a few degrees to the side.

“I didn’t want the hallway to smell like you did”, you said, shrugging your shoulders. “It had nothing to do with you.”

A chuckle fell from his lips. “It rather felt as if you were eager to have a role to play in my life.”

Your mouth fell open, but you had nothing to say to that.

“Is that why you moved next door too?” he asked, and he sounded so full of himself you wanted to slap him.

Unfortunately, your courage was running out, and red flushed your cheeks.

“I didn’t know you lived next door until the day I moved in”, you admitted, and your voice didn’t sound half as confident as it did a moment earlier.

That seemed to take him aback. “Your boyfriend didn’t tell you?”

There he was again with the boyfriend thing.

“What boyfriend are you talking about?” you enquired, glancing to your right as he let his arm fall.

He cocked an eyebrow, letting out a bitter chuckle. “The one I met when you visited the apartment a few months ago?”

Of all the things you had expected him to say, admitting that he had met Collin wasn’t one of those. Why had your ex never told you?

“You met Collin?”

It was a rhetorical and useless question, but your lips had formulated it before you had been able to stop it. And Jimin didn’t answer it, as if he too knew that it was rhetorical.

“He decided to stay back home”, you admitted, hating that you were giving Jimin this tiny piece of information about you. Because it made your heart ache a little at the thought that you could have been building a life for yourself back home, if you hadn’t chosen to move to the other side of the globe.

“Is that code word for saying he dumped you?”

Jimin’s voice had taken on an even icier tone, so far away from the friendliness his idol self projected whenever he was on camera. It hurt some deep part of you, that stupid tiny part that still wanted to believe he wasn’t a total prick.

“It was a mutual decision”, you muttered, looking down at the floor.

He stayed silent, right as you started blinking away tears. You would be damned if one of them slipped on your cheek when Jimin was standing right there in front of you.

“Isn’t that what we all say when we get dumped?” he asked, and surprisingly his tone held nothing of the bite it did before. He just sounded tired, in a genuine kind of way that made him seem terribly human.

It made you look up to meet his gaze, yet you remained silent. You had no words to say to that, no clever turn of phrase, because you didn’t want to lie to his face, had always hated lying, and you didn’t want to tell him he was right either. You didn’t think you’d be able to stand the vulnerability the truth held.

He already had enough power over you.

“Anyway”, he said once the silence had stretched for a few more seconds. His lips pressed in a thin line, and your eyes dropped to his mouth. “I’m sorry about Friday.”

The last thing you had expected him to do was apologize, and you just looked at him for a moment, completely baffled. And right when awkwardness filled the air, you shrugged your shoulders.

“It’s whatever, I would have done it for anyone.”

A weak attempt at trying to regain the advantage in the conversation, though it seemed to fail miserably.

He stepped aside, to finally let you pass, and you started moving, almost gulping as you felt the heaviness of his gaze on your profile. Once you had walked a few feet down the hallway, you glanced over your shoulder, that foolish part of you that wanted to believe he wasn’t all bad winning over your rationality.

He was still looking at you, and your breath caught in your throat.

“You never told me your name”, Jimin said, voice so low you would have thought he hadn’t spoken hadn’t you seen his lips move.

“Why do you want to know?” you asked.

He looked down, eyes seeming to get lost into a void, a void you could tell was haunting his mind.

“Never mind”, he said.

You felt bad, for a moment, as you watched him get into the elevator.

The foolish part of you won.

“Y/n”, you said, right as the doors started closing.

He met your gaze, eyes a little round, as if startled you had given in to him. Though he didn’t have time to speak before the doors fully shut, completely hiding him from your view.

***

The week passed in a blur, and you didn’t get to see Jimin again, except once in the distance at the grocery store of the condominium. He had locked gaze with you, bowed his head a little and then he had disappeared from view, and you hadn’t really searched for him.

The fact he had acknowledged you existed didn’t have to mean anything at all.

Friday night came, and you found yourself accepting Chaeyoung’s invite to go clubbing, the young woman’s enthusiasm making you feel a little more extroverted than you usually were.

As a matter of fact, you had avoided clubs like the plague back home, but maybe that was just because your mom was famous, and people tended to recognize you too. Here, you had found that even though lots of people were aware of your mom’s existence, few were those that connected the dots between you two. So, you were willing to risk it and go out, because at 24 you had still never stepped foot in a club.

Chaeyoung came over at your place to get ready, and you were unsure why you had suggested it. Realized it probably had been a mistake once you remembered that Chaeyoung had no idea how rich you were.

Indeed, the girl’s eyes had been wide ever since you had gotten home, and she avoided touching something as if scared she’d break it.

“You can sit, you know”, you said, as you were yourself sat in front of one of the vanities in your dressing room.

Chaeyoung let out a nervous chuckle. “Why didn’t you mention you live in Nine One before?” she blurted, and you knew the question had been on the girl’s lips for a while now.

You shrugged. “It didn’t seem like it mattered all that much”, you replied. You met Chaeyoung’s eyes in the mirror. “Sorry.”

Chaeyoung laughed lightly, a pretty sound that resembled a melody of some sort. “No need to apologize, I’m just jealous.” She winked at you in the mirror, and you giggled along with her.

It was crazy that you had become friends after only two weeks of knowing each other. Before you could reply, your phone started ringing, and your gaze fell to it.

You felt as if your blood had turned to ice in your veins as you saw Collin’s name on the lit-up screen. It still had the heart emoji you had put next to it, back when you were together. Strangely enough, you hadn’t found the strength to put it away yet.

“Who’s that?” Chaeyoung enquired with a gentle voice, as if sensing your uneasiness.

There was no point in beating around the bush, so you replied, “My ex.”

Chaeyoung pursed her lips, nostrils flaring as if she was disgusted. “Ew.”

It made you laugh just a little, but you weren’t quite sure the joy of it had reached your eyes.

Why the hell would Collin be calling you? Wasn’t it the middle of the night back where you had come from?

“I… will take this”, you said, hesitant.

Chaeyoung nodded, looking away from you and the ringing device. “As long as you spill the tea after.”

You stifled a laugh, a real one this time, before grabbing your phone. You accepted the call, bringing the device to your ear as you got up to walk away, needing a little privacy for the conversation, whatever it might hold.

Collin’s tired voice on the other side of the line had your heart aching dully in your chest.

“Hey”, he said.

A simple word, but it was an echo of the word that had started your whole relationship. A small hey from the cute boy at the coffee shop, when you had just been seventeen and too young to see the danger in his eyes.

Or maybe you had been the dangerous one, with your dreams of leaving the country and never looking back.

“What’s up?” you asked, feeling slightly strange at having to speak English. You hadn’t spoken English since you had talked to your parents the weekend before.

You were adjusting to the Korean life far more than you had first thought you were.

“I…” Collin trailed off, and there was a silence that had you wonder what he might be thinking about.

That had you wonder what his next words might hold, and that had you beating yourself up for the hope that seeped into your mind.

“I have something to confess”, he finally finished, and this time he didn’t wait before continuing. “I’m dating someone new, and she… she’s giving birth right now.”

You were standing in the middle of the hallway leading to your bedroom, left foot in the middle of the air, but you froze in the middle of your step.

For one, you hadn’t known Collin was dating someone new, and for second… she was giving birth?

It was such a strange situation that your heart forgot to ache, as you put your foot down next to the other.

“What?” you said, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“We were together for a long time, so I wanted you to hear it from me.”

His words were filled with an information you couldn’t quite grasp. As if he was telling you something you already knew, but couldn’t grasp the meaning of. It was like listening to someone speaking another language. Knowing that the sounds they were sewing together had a meaning, but the meaning was just a little out of reach.

“You wanted to tell me your new girlfriend is giving birth?” you asked, and your voice was filled with laughter. The maniacal kind, the one that you usually let out when you were deeply hurt.

Yet there was no pain in you, only astonishment.

“Everything indicates that I’m the father, Y/n”, Collin admitted, with the gentlest voice, as if he was comforting a small hurt child.

It was like the world had stopped turning, only to start going backwards. Like crashing into a brick wall going eighty miles per hour, and looking at the aftermath, at the mess left behind that wasn’t quite human anymore.

It was horrifying, really. Because it meant so much, so much so that your brain didn’t want to understand. Maybe to try to preserve you from destruction, because it promised to be too grand, like the final scene of a horror movie, filled with gore and fear and despair.

“We broke up two months ago”, was what your brain could come up with.

Refusing to do the maths just yet, just trying to ease your body into the truth slowly, gently.

“I know”, Collin let out, and he sounded sad. Sad and guilty and everything in between. “It happened last October.”

Your memory was empty of all the souvenirs it had once held, as you tried to reach for what had happened in October.

“You remember when you told me that you were actually going to move to Korea?” Collin asked, and there was a strain to his voice, one you recognized all too well.

He had spoken the same way when his father had died, and you had held his sobbing form until the early hours of the morning, until he had fallen asleep from the exhaustion of his grief.

“It killed me, and I saw Harper and… it just happened”, he continued.

You let out a bitter chuckle, now, as the first emotion to rise from the hole in your chest surprisingly was anger. The kind of anger only a wounded soul could come up with.

“Just happened?” you repeated. “What, you walked in and your dick fell into her pussy?”

Harper had always been a source of conflict, in your whole relationship. She had been his childhood best friend, but she had been soon-to-be married for almost two years now, the wedding date having been pushed back twice because of the pandemic.

Clearly, your relationship hadn’t been the only one to die on the shore of your dreams to move to Korea, if Harper was now dating Collin.

Collin stayed silent and really, maybe you didn’t have anything to tell each other anymore. But the anger inside of you wasn’t quite done yet.

“That’s why you chose to stay, didn’t you?” you asked. “Because you put a baby in her belly, and she offered you what you’ve always wanted.”

Collin sniffled on the other side of the line. “I wanted that with you, you know. Until you decided to leave. What was I supposed to do, come with you?”

You full-on laughed this time, but there was no happiness behind the sound at all. Just a whole abyss you were afraid you’d fall into if you gazed at it for too long. “Yes, like we had planned. We even got an apartment together, remember?”

Collin echoed your own laugh with a chuckle, something between choking and scoffing. “That apartment was never mine, you signed the papers and didn’t even ask me to sign too.”

He was right. And for all you had known back then, not wanting to have him on the papers had been a good decision. You had been right, as if your past self had known about the chaos that was to come.

“Listen, thank you for telling me, Collin, but I have a friend that’s waiting for me and I really don’t have anything to say to you”, you said, voice coated in ice.

You hoped you could shape the ice into a dagger, and stab it into his heart.

“Y/n, I just wanted you to learn from me, I assumed…”

You hung up. Hung up on him and on the whole relationship you had shared, as if it had never mattered. And maybe that was it. Maybe he never should have mattered at all, because you were bound to part ways anyway.

He was bound to be a lesson in your life, as you had been bound to emigrate to Korea. Call it faith or whatever.

***

Learning that your ex-boyfriend of six years and a half cheated on you proved to be quite a motivation to get plastered, even if Chaeyoung seemed concerned at first. A few shots of tequila in, the girl loosened up, and she stopped seeing the darkness in your eyes. Or so you hoped, because you didn’t want to have to face it just yet.

You wanted to surf the crescent of the wave until the last moment possible, when it pummeled into you and swallowed you whole. You weren’t quite sure you’d ever really get out of it if you allowed yourself to feel the emotions that you could glimpse at, down that black hole where your heart used to be.

So, it was in that state of mind that you partied, drinking until your mind went numb, and then some more until your body went numb too and all you could feel was the sway of the booming music in the club.

There were no thoughts in your head, just the music and the alcohol, and for now, it was all you needed. You knew you’d come to face the emotions one day, but not today.

Today you’d party and celebrate until the night ended. And you did just that, even when Chaeyoung started showing signs of exhaustion, and started mentioning going home. Even when Chaeyoung called a taxi, and you tried to down a few more shots before the car would come.

You only stopped when your friend forced you into the taxi, gave the address to the driver and told you to call her if you needed her. As much as you would have wanted for her to stay with you, Chaeyoung had her mother to take care of back home, from what she had already told you. So, you drunkenly waved at your friend from the taxi’s window, and when she disappeared out of sight, you let the darkness engulfed you.

The taxi driver did the polite thing and let you cry in peace, though the tears mostly rolled down your cheeks silently. The pain in your chest was far too grand for the kind that’d shake your body with sobs. As if all your muscles were too exhausted, and only the tears seemed to be able to well up in your eyes.

It was surprising, how little you cried. And you stopped crying, even before you got to the condominium. No, your eyes were dry as the desert as you reached home, and you didn’t even know how you managed to pay the driver before getting out and stumbling to the doors.

You didn’t know either how you managed to get to the elevator that led to your floor, the one where you had met Park Jimin. And you cursed loudly, in English, once you saw that the elevator was out.

This night couldn’t get any worse.

You dragged your feet towards the staircase, head turning so much you were afraid you’d be sick. It made you think of Jimin, who had been just like you a week ago. That made you giggle, in that silly kind of way only alcohol could muster out of someone, and you stumbled a little as you reached the door to the staircase. You pushed it open, quite a lot more forcefully than you needed to, and this time you flew, feet not touching the ground until you fell, hands coming in front of your face at the last moment.

You laughed again then, because you were way too inebriated to feel anything. You scrambled up to your feet, swaying a little more than you had before, head spinning faster and faster for each second that passed.

You started the trek up to your floor, not really feeling how your heart beat loudly from the exhaustion. No, the alcohol was numbing that too and really, you’d give anything to stay in that state of bliss that accompanied the intoxication.

You surprisingly reached the ninth floor without another incident, and you pushed open the door that led to your hallway, before stumbling towards the door of your home, hands searching your purse for your keys.

There was no chance in hell your drunk mind would remember the passcode you had to dial to get in.

With a successful little “there you go!”, you fished out your keys, right as you reached your door. You fumbled with the keys for a moment, as you tried to get them into the keyhole. It took you quite a few attempts, and it led to you giggling a little again.

It seemed the ride home had made you a lot drunker than you had been back at the club.

You finally managed to steady your hand enough to get the key in, resting your head against the door. The key seemed to get stuck, and you let out a curse under your breath, as you tried turning it in the lock.

The lock didn’t budge. However, the door did, and you stumbled forward. Your fall was cut short by hands on your shoulders, that held you up just for a moment until you found footing again.

It took you a moment to look up, mind miles away from the man standing in front of you.

“What are you doing?” Jimin asked.

You furrowed your brows. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

Jimin cocked an eyebrow. “Your apartment was on the other side of the hallway, last I checked.” He glanced over your head. “Still is.”

You shut your eyes, as everything seemed to be moving. Even Jimin’s eyes didn’t seem to be stable in his face.

“The elevator was out”, you said as an explanation. You cracked an eye open, only to see the scowl on Jimin’s face.

The one you had started to hate more and more every day, until you loathed it. So much so that just the sight of it had anger flaring up in your chest. You had no inhibition left to refrain from telling him to go fuck himself after all.

“Do you know”, you started, a hiccup interrupting your words. “Do you know how disappointing it is to meet your favourite idol and have them be a dick to you?”

Jimin remained silent, but the expression died on his face, right as he glanced down at your keys, that had somehow stayed in your hands during the whole ordeal.

You had gotten rid of the Chimmy keychain the day before you had started working at the elementary school, and it clearly didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I had always dreamed of meeting you someday. Of meeting BTS”, you continued, shutting your eyes again, willing the world to stop turning so fast around your head. “Hobi was fine but you, Park Jimin, are a fucking asshole.”

He still didn’t say anything, right as you started feeling your insides churning.

Of course you were going to be sick right after having told him your truth.

And maybe you blacked out for a moment because next thing you remembered was being huddled over a toilet, retching everything you had drunk that night – well, what you hadn’t absorbed yet. It set your throat on fire, and cold beads of sweat rolled down your temples, along with tears, those tears that always came with throwing up.

And then there was another blank space between this moment and the next, and your mind focused back in as someone was gently wiping your face with a cool cloth. You startled back, arms rising up in front of you, in a poor attempt of defense.

“What’s going on?” you asked, and tears stung at your eyes again.

“I’m just taking your make-up off”, Jimin said, hands raised to show he was not a threat. “You can finish doing it if you want.”

You started crying then, for real. It was the last thing you remembered that night, and everything went black.

***

You had never thought your head could possibly hurt that much. Yet it pounded with a terrible headache as you slowly woke up, body feeling all too warm for your own good. And then the dehydration hit, and you cracked an eye open, trying to find something you could drink.

There was a glass of water next to your head, on a night table, and you grabbed it, downing it as if you had been parched for years. You then rested your head back on the pillow, sighing at the soft silk of it, and you dozed off.

You couldn’t tell how much longer you had slept. Once you woke up again, the headache had lessened a bit, but it was still throbbing at your temples. You knew you’d need a full day to recover from the amount of alcohol you had ingested last night. Maybe even the whole weekend.

That thought led you to another, far more painful one. Collin and his girlfriend. And his baby, and the fact that he had cheated on you, and hid it from you for months.

You sighed, heavily and maybe a little shakily too, as your heart hurt in your chest. Somehow, the tears didn’t come though, and you managed to open your eyes.

It took a moment for your gaze to adjust to the scene surrounding you. A little eternity, even. Or maybe it just wasn’t adjusting because of the unfamiliar scene.

You blinked a few times, willing your bedroom to appear to your vision, but the dark sheets stayed the same, along with the mounted TV on the wall in front of you. You only then pushed yourself up, sitting in the bed as you scanned your surroundings.

You definitely weren’t in your bedroom. Neither were you in your apartment. There were discarded items of clothing on the floor – a black pair of jeans at the foot of the mattress, two t-shirts by the window, under the dark curtains, and enough lonely socks to form a whole army of them. It was the picture on top of the dresser whose middle drawer was pulled open that caught your gaze the most though.

All the BTS members smiled at you from their spot on the dresser, looking like a little family. It was a polaroid picture, and really it was far enough for you to wonder how you’d managed to be able to tell that those were the BTS members. Then again, you had been a fan of them for years now, and could recognize them from their shadows, so maybe being able to recognize their familiar traits in the distance wasn’t too far fetched.

Your mind went blank, as you tried to remember the events of last night. All you could remember was waving goodbye to Chaeyoung, before the taxi had driven you home.

Well, clearly it hadn’t quite driven you home, because this was not your room at all.

You looked down at yourself, and at the black sheet that was pooling around your waist. You were wearing an oversized purple sweater, one you had only seen behind the screen of your phone before.

How the fuck had you managed to get to Jimin’s bedroom? And more importantly, why were you dressed in his clothes?

You pulled the sheets off from you, sighing in relief as you noticed you were wearing joggers. Then the sudden realization that he had probably been the one to change you into those clothes had your heart stopping in your chest, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Knowing how you were when you usually blacked out with alcohol, there wasn’t a high chance you had been the one to change your clothes.

You looked around, only then noticing the folded clothes next to the BTS picture on the dresser. You recognized the colors from the outfit you had been wearing the night before, and you got up from the bed, stepping around the mattress to get to your clothes.

You couldn’t help but take a good look at the picture, heart filling with endearment at how adorable it was. At how happy they all looked, frozen into eternity in that little square of memory. From the looks of it, the picture had been taken on a camping trip, and it made you smile a little to think that they had gone on camping trips together, without ever sharing those to the public.

You wondered how much they had done without sharing it to the public too. It was like realizing that all of them were complete human beings, and that they weren’t confined to the screen of your phone. It had been a thing to know it before, but you were now fully realizing it. They all had their own lives, with ups and downs like every other person on the surface of the planet.

It made their hiatus – it wasn’t really a break though, wasn’t it? – all the more understandable.

With one last look at the picture, you grabbed your clothes. The door of the bedroom was shut, and you contemplated getting changed right there because there was no way you’d bring Jimin’s clothes into your own home. You weren’t quite sure you wanted your life to be mixed with his in such a personal way.

Excluding the fact that you had slept in his bed, that is.

You changed out of his clothes and into your own, wincing a little at the smell of spilled alcohol on your top. It made your stomach churn, but it was completely empty, and it saved you the embarrassment of throwing up in the middle of his bedroom.

Though you had a sudden flashback of throwing up the night before. You doubted you had been at home, if you had ended up in his room after all.

Your purse laid on the dresser too, and you grabbed it, looking through its contents to make sure everything was in there. Your cards and keys were there, and so was your phone, though it was dead and had probably been for a while now.

Once you had made sure you had collected all your belongings, you walked towards the door, taking a deep sigh before reaching for the knob. You turned it gently, trying not to make any noise. Before getting out, you threw one last look at the purple sweater you had been wearing, longing for the feeling of its soft fabric on your skin. You pushed the thought away, and then tiptoed soundlessly out of the room, or as silently as your hungover self could manage.

It proved to be useless, because Jimin’s apartment was shaped like yours, and the hallway outside of his bedroom led you to the living room, where he was currently sprawled on the couch, playing some videogame.

He paused it as soon as you came into view, eyes sweeping over your figure once before meeting yours.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, and he sounded genuine.

You had no idea what you looked like, but from how you felt you knew you probably looked like hell.

“Good”, you replied, feeling awkward standing there. “Did you…” you trailed off, glancing at the couch, and at the blanket and pillow that were resting on one side of it. “You slept on the couch?”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Yes.”

There was a long silence as you scanned his apartment, surprised to see just how alike it was to yours. Though Jimin’s furniture was mostly darker than yours, except for the couch, which was in a lighter shade of gray. It felt like you had stepped into an alternate universe to the one you usually lived in.

“What happened last night?” you then asked, because visibly he was the only one who could answer that question, as your memories were still failing you.

He pursed his lips in an apologetic expression that had a hint of a smile in there. “You were pretty wasted.”

You nodded, pulling at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I mean… apart from that?”

He smiled a little then, and you watched it as if it was alien on his features. “You tried unlocking my door and when I opened you called me an asshole. And then you got sick”, he said that motioning in the general direction of the front door, “so I pulled you to the bathroom.”

As he spoke, you had tiny little flashes from last night – just images your eyes remembered they had seen, but it was a silent track, and you winced as he recalled the events of last night.

And really there had been more than you had thought. Apparently, you had thrown up for a while, then asked for food, then thrown up some more. Once you had started passing out on the couch, he had taken your make-up off, which had woken you up. You had then started crying, and told him everything about Collin, and you had fallen asleep on the couch, before he had carried you to his room. He admitted he had been the one to change you – promising he hadn’t looked though, right as his cheeks turned pink – and it made you want to disappear through the floor.

Park Jimin had seen you almost entirely naked. Most of all, Park Jimin had taken care of you when you had been so drunk you barely could pass as a human being. You didn’t know what to make of that.

“I am so sorry for all that”, you apologized when he was done, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

He laughed again then, and his lips broke into a grin. That smile sent your mind into a frenzy your hangover self couldn’t deal with.

“It’s okay”, he reassured you. “You clearly needed someone, I’m glad I could be there for you.”

His smile died down as he said the last words, and your gaze dropped to the ground, eyes following the lines in the hardwood floor.

“I’m sorry for calling you an asshole”, you added.

You saw him shrug from the corner of your eyes. “I honestly think it was well-deserved.”

That made you chuckle a little, and you looked up, though you didn’t find any reply to that. You exchanged an awkward look, until Jimin motioned towards the kitchen.

“I got hangover soup for you, if you want to eat that before heading home.”

There was an invitation behind those words. Maybe even a truce, to the hostility that you had shared ever since you’d met. And really, the Jimin in front of you right now was nothing like the one you had come to know in the last month. He rather was the idol you had admired all those years, and you didn’t know what had caused the switch. Though you weren’t stupid, and you were pretty sure your vulnerability had made him feel guilty, and maybe that was his way of apologizing. He had even admitted to being in the wrong, hadn’t he?

Perhaps that was the reason why you found yourself saying yes.

***

Eating proved to help ease the throbbing in your head, as did the ibuprofen Jimin had gotten for you. He had also made you drink plenty of water, as you had conversed about the weather and your work, both avoiding the subject of last night.

You were still very much so embarrassed, and you’d rather pretend it had never happened.

Jimin made it easier, as he was being quite friendlier than you had ever seen him – in person, that is – and it healed some part of the fan in you that had been hurt repeatedly by his actions, whether you had wanted to admit it to yourself or not.

Talking to him also helped ease the pain you had felt the night before, the thought of Collin somehow infrequent when Jimin was looking at you, listening to what you had to say.

There was a shadow, in Jimin’s eyes. That no amount of smiling and laughing could chase away. Every time you’d see the cloud pass in his gaze, you’d be reminded of just how human he was. How real he was. As if you’d always seen him as some sort of god, and were just now realizing that he was just like you.

A little more famous, yes, but just like anyone else.

It was a thought that hit you in the chest, whenever you thought about it. And you had thought about it quite a couple of times since you had met Jimin that first time, but mostly in the last week or two. Ever since you had seen him so drunk he had looked like he was going to die.

Maybe he had been feeling that way too. And now, he had seen you at your lowest too, and your heart warmed a little in your chest each time you remembered that he had taken care of you. He could have easily brought you back home – it wasn’t like the walk was a long one – but he had instead taken care of you. Listened to what drunk you had had to say, and comforted you, apparently. Not that you really could recall the events of last night, but you sometimes did have flashes of his eyes holding yours, with a soft expression that made you wonder about who that Jimin was.

Because he wasn’t the same as the one you’d gotten to know ever since moving to Korea, and neither was he the one that was sitting in front of you right now, talking about things that didn’t really matter, trivial conversation aimed to fill a silence that threatened to fall into awkwardness the moment you stopped talking.

After all, it wasn’t like you were friends. Neighbors, yes, who had both seen the other at their lowest, but just neighbors, nonetheless. He made it easy, though. He made talking easy, in a way you couldn’t quite understand yet. And you weren’t quite sure you’d grasp the meaning of it someday, but you were glad for it.

God knew how awkward you could get when you were in an uncomfortable situation.

“Thank you, for last night”, you said as he walked you to his door once you were done eating.

“No problem”, he replied, flashing a grin at you.

It didn’t quite exactly reach his eyes, but you liked to tell yourself it did.

“I’ll try not doing something like that again”, you added, cheeks flushing red as your eyes dropped to the floor.

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “Really, I didn’t mind. It was great to hang out with you, even if you were drunk.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened. Park Jimin, saying it had been great to hang out with you? Surely you were just stuck in a dream. One hell of a good dream, but a dream nonetheless.

“Well, I’m probably more fun when I’m sober and…” you trailed off, as your thoughts produced their first image of Collin ever since you had started eating that hangover soup – who knew hangover soup was so good?

Jimin had a gentle smile on his lips once you met his gaze again. “We all have our lows. After you cleaning up after me last week, it was the least I could do.”

The corners of your lips itched to stretch into a smile, and your heart started racing in your chest as he glanced at your lips. “Well”, you let out, gulping.

His smile turned into a knowing smirk as his eyes fell to the ground. Who had thought you’d get a tiny taste of the flirty Park Jimin on that hangover Saturday morning? Because clearly that smirk meant nothing good.

“I’ll let you head home”, he said after a moment, eyes moving back up to your face.

You almost startled as you noticed the shadows had cleared up, and his eyes were lit up with a spark of mischief.

You nodded, glancing at the door. You didn’t move, and Jimin cocked an eyebrow, hands burrowing in the pockets of his dark sweater.

“I…” you started, then your heart stuttered in your chest so bad you thought you were going to have an anxiety attack.

You took a deep breath, right as he scanned your features curiously. And then you decided to hell with your anxiety, and you formulated the question that was on your mind.

Jimin just looked at you, unblinkingly, right as the clouds moved back in his eyes.

“I don’t think we should”, he replied, before adding quickly, “Not that you’re not fun to be around. I just… I don’t think you want to be around me right now.”

There it was. A little piece of the truth that made Jimin who he was. You took it gently, tucking it in a safe corner of your mind.

“The least I can do to repay you for last night is cook some meal for you”, you said, shrugging.

Your heart was still beating out of your chest, but now that the invitation was out there, you felt as if you were relieved of the weight that was pressing down on you, weight brought on by your embarrassment about last night.

He held your gaze for a moment, before nodding curtly. “Okay.” He wet his lips, sighing once. “I’ll think about it. If you want, we can exchange phone numbers, and I’ll let you know?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath to ease the wild beats of your heart. “My phone is dead, but…”

He had his phone in his hands before you had even said your second word. “No worries, put your number in mine.”

He unlocked it, handing the cellphone to you. Your fingers brushed as you grabbed it, and for a moment you were stuck in a cheesy movie, and you could almost hear the music starting to play in the background.

For God’s sake, just the slight touch of his fingers against yours had made fireworks blow up in your mind. You really needed to get yourself in check, if you wanted to try to be friends with him.

You put in your number, before handing his phone back to him. This time, your fingers didn’t touch, and it almost disappointed you.

That scared you to no ends. Who were you to think you were worth Park Jimin’s friendship anyway?

***

If there was one thing you hadn’t expected from giving your phone number to the Park Jimin, it was how much of a texter he was. Indeed, there hadn’t been a single day he hadn’t texted you since Saturday, sending you memes he found funny or asking you about your day.

It made your heart do somersaults in your chest each time, even as you tried to calm it down. To remind it that you were just yourself, and that he was so much more than you. That you weren’t part of the same universe, other than that of being neighbors.

Maybe you were just being pessimistic, but you had to protect your heart somehow, right?

You highly doubted it really worked though. Because when you rode the elevator together with him on Wednesday evening, Jimin blabbered on and on about something you found you couldn’t really listen to, yet your heart seemed to be in synch with every word he said.

Not only was he a texter, but he was a talker too. You didn’t mind it one bit. No, it was so much more than that cold silence he had offered you for a month.

You wondered what he had been doing, in the last few days. Because the air around him didn’t seem quite as heavy as it had been before, and though there were still shadows in his eyes, you could see the sun peeking through the clouds. Sometimes they even scattered away, as if strong winds had pulled their heaviness away from him.

It was truly beautiful to see.

“What about you?” Jimin suddenly asked.

You zoned back in, glancing at him and blinking once as the doors slid open. “Uh?” you let out.

He laughed, heartily, head throwing back like you had seen him do so many times behind the screen of your phone. The real thing didn’t compare to it – no, it was so much more, like you had just been blessed by a rare phenomenon, one you knew you’d come to cherish.

“You weren’t listening to a word I said, weren’t you?”

The duality of Park Jimin confused you deeply. How could he have gone from ice itself to that warm smiley boy?

“Sorry, I’ve had a long day”, you lied.

No, it wasn’t the long day that was playing with your mind. It rather was him that clouded your thoughts, him and the fragrance of his cologne.

You hadn’t thought someone could smell so good before you’d stood in that elevator with him on a random Wednesday evening.

He pursed his lips in a sympathetic smile as you walked out of the elevator, aiming for your respective doors. “Well, I told you I wasn’t doing much tonight, and asked about you.”

Was that an invitation, hidden behind his words?

“Oh”, you let out. “I have leftover pasta from last night, so I’m probably just going to eat that and then chill.”

He nodded, that same soft smile still adorning his lips. “Sounds yummy.”

You really didn’t know where you found the courage to say that, but you said, “I have enough for two, if you want.”

He squinted his eyes a little, as if suspicious, before nodding once. “I need to take a shower, but I can come over in fifteen minutes.”

The sentence was said like a question, and you chuckled. For what you didn’t know.

“Sure, I’ll take a shower too.”

He nodded his head, grinning a little before dialing the code to his apartment. “Then see you soon.”

It’s strange, how friendship sometimes blossoms from the least expected place. Like a flower growing out of a crack in cement, or like the first weed piercing the blanket of snow after a long winter. Your friendship with Jimin felt just like that – him having been the cement you had somehow cracked open, that night you had broken down in front of him.

Just as you had had to finally let Collin go, Jimin had walked into your life, filling a hole that had threatened to swallow you whole for a time. You had never realized just how much you had wanted to find a way to make it work with Collin, until you had learned about Harper and him and their baby. In some deep dark corner of you, you had thought Collin would follow you, someday. The realization that he wouldn’t, on that Friday night, had been like a wake-up call you had desperately needed. That, and the unexpected friendship you and Jimin shared.

After that night he came over to eat pasta, you started to hang out frequently. He even invited you to the party for the release of Hoseok’s new album, though you had had to refuse. You didn’t really do parties like that. And maybe if you and Jimin had been friends for longer than 24h, you would have said yes, but you hadn’t been.

Yet, even though you hadn’t gone, he had come over to your place after. You were lucky you only taught two afternoon classes on Friday, because otherwise you would have been completely dead the next day. But everything had gone alright, and Jimin had apologized profusely for coming over so late, and he had offered getting ice cream together as an apology.

You had done that quite a lot, at the beginning. Finding reasons to hang out again, that is. Until you had stopped asking the other, just knocking on the other’s door whenever you felt like hanging out.

Slowly but surely, Jimin weaved its way into the tapestry that was your life, so thoroughly that you couldn’t imagine it without him now. Though you both never crossed that line between friendship and more, and really you were thankful for it.

You definitely weren’t ready to get involved in a relationship anyway.

And you had been right, about him becoming a better neighbor. Indeed, as the shadows in his eyes became infrequent whenever you were around, Jimin stopped acting like he had at first, the loud music becoming a rare occurrence with you usually being present. He also kept his apartment clean and organized, saying he didn’t want you to see the filth he had lived in for a couple of months. It was endearing, in some way, though you usually helped him with the cleaning, because he always helped you with yours. And he had stopped leaving his trash outside his door, preventing the hallway from taking a sour odor you really didn’t wish to smell ever again.

One late September evening, you found yourself cuddled on Jimin’s couch, holding a pillow tight to your chest as you were watching a lame horror movie. Hoseok was sprawled on the carpet, and Jimin had mentioned another one of his friends – Sungwoon – coming over later, though you hadn’t met him yet. It was strange, as he was one of Jimin’s closest friends, but then again you rarely hung out with other people.

That was a lie. You hung out with Chaeyoung and her girlfriend plenty, but that was only because Chaeyoung found way too many excuses for you to hang out together. She had mentioned the terms “double date” more than once, and each time you had glared at your friend until she had apologized. Though clearly Chaeyoung was set on one thing and one thing only – make sure you forgot everything about Collin, and it seemed she believed getting together with Jimin would be the key to that.

Perhaps it was weird, but you had promised yourself you weren’t going to indulge into the drug that Park Jimin was. And so far you hadn’t been tempted – Jimin was just an overall really friendly person, underneath that cold persona he had sported at the beginning, and he had helped you when you were at a low point.

One thing was for sure: you were aware of him, all the time. Because Jimin shone in every room he stepped in, and it was hard to look away from him. To ignore the heady scent of his fragrance, even as it made your body react in a way you always pushed away to the far back of your mind.

You blamed it on the fact that you were a woman and he, a man. It was bound to make you feel something once in a while. Not forgetting the fact that he was goddamn Park Jimin.

You scoffed and Jimin threw you a questioning glance. You slightly shook your head, to indicate that you were alright, before focusing back on the TV. Jimin didn’t say anything either, and you watched the movie for a while, without glancing at each other again. A rectangle of light near the floor also had you realizing that Hoseok wasn’t paying attention to the movie at all, instead scrolling on Instagram.

The music swelled, catching your attention, and the end of the movie flashed before your eyes, all the main characters dying one by one at the hand of a crazy ventriloquist doll, whose tongue got longer and longer with each person it killed. It was terrifyingly captivating, and you found you couldn’t look away, even if the movie was over all not the scary movie you had expected it’d be.

Once the credits started rolling on the screen, and the pumping of the blood in your veins finally slowed back down, you all moved towards the kitchen, in the hope that you’d find a wine bottle in the fridge. Which you did, and you were halfway through your first glass when Sungwoon arrived, and luckily enough the young man had brought refills for the coffers – beer and makgeolli.

And so you drank, alcohol flowing freely between you all. You found yourself attracted by Sungwoon’s gravity, and you stood close to him, while Jimin and Hoseok talked about their current projects at the kitchen table. In any other situation, you would have been uncomfortable – you barely even were comfortable with Hoseok, even though he was Jimin’s friend you had spent the most time with – but Sungwoon had a calm aura surrounding him, and you quite enjoyed it. Or maybe it was because Jimin was in the vicinity of you, and you always felt comfortable around him.

“So, your mom is a famous actress, right?” Sungwoon asked as he was leaning against the island in Jimin’s kitchen. One of his arms was folded on his chest, while the other held up the beer he was currently drinking, though you could see the bottle was almost empty.

You nodded, a slight blush creeping on your cheeks. If it wasn’t for the alcohol, you probably wouldn’t have found anything to reply, but you found yourself saying, “It’s not as impressive as it seems”.

Sungwoon chuckled, and you gazed at his smile. At the plump lips that he wet with a dart of his tongue, and that glistened in the light as he spoke again. “Right. And yet you found yourself escaping to the other side of the world.”

It was said on a teasing tone, and though your thoughts threatened to diverge towards Collin, you stopped their course before they reached destination. “I’ve always wanted to get out of my comfort zone.”

“I hope it worked.” His words were accompanied by the upward curve of his lips, and your eyes dipped to them again. His mouth reminded you of another’s mouth, and you found your gaze trailing toward where Jimin and Hoseok were sitting, at the kitchen table.

Jimin caught your eyes, his expression softening into one you hadn’t really seen on his features before. Blood rushed to your cheeks, for a reason you didn’t quite know, and you resumed your attention on Sungwoon.

“Trust me, it did.” And even though Jimin wasn’t in your line of sight anymore, he had invaded your thoughts as you had spoken the truth.

Sungwoon maintained the conversation for a while longer, as you were all too aware of Jimin’s presence in the room. You liked to tell yourself that it was reciprocated, because each time you glanced at him, he was already looking. Until he and Hoseok got up from their spot at the table, making their way to Sungwoon and you.

“Do you two want to go to Taehyung’s party?” Jimin asked as he stopped next to you.

Right, he had talked to you about that party a while ago, and you had said you’d rather stay home, which Jimin had agreed to. But that was before Hoseok had decided to come hang out with you before heading to the party. It seemed the frenzy that inhabited the young man had slowly infected Jimin, because he had an expectant look in his eyes, his lips forming a small begging pout.

You chuckled, blushing, as you avoided his pleading features. “I already told you I don’t really do parties like that.”

Sungwoon let out a small teasing tsk. “Didn’t you say you like getting out of your comfort zone?”

You were about to reply that hanging out with celebrities all the time was already enough getting out of your comfort zone when Jimin gently nudged you with his elbow.

“She’ll say yes, she can’t resist me.”

His words had sounded… somewhat possessive. As if he knew you better than anyone in the world, even though your friendship was fairly new. It struck you, just how little time mattered when you developed a true relationship with someone, no matter how platonic it was.

The worst part of it all was that he was right, in some sort of way. You found it hard to say no to him, but then again you were pretty sure most of the human population would find it hard to say no to Park Jimin.

“Well, I’m getting tired”, you lied, because in truth the alcohol had woken you up more than you had thought it possible, even if you hadn’t touched the makgeolli yet.

Jimin had a devilish smirk on his lips once you finally looked back at him again. “In that case let’s just go for an hour or two and then come home.”

Hoseok and Sungwoon’s gazes moved from Jimin to you, awaiting your reply.

“You say that, and then it’ll be seven am and you’ll be begging me to stay longer.”

He snorted. “I’d never beg you for anything, you know that.”

Immediately, his features once again softened into that small pout of his, and you punched him in the shoulder.

“Asshole.”

He massaged the spot you had hit, shrugging a little. “I’ll make you some kimchi if we go.”

It was even harder to say no when the perspective of him making you kimchi was on the table.

“The one you made in Run BTS?”

He nodded.

“I hate you.”

“Is that code word for yes?”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile was tugging at the corners of your lips. “Maybe. Figure it out.”

His expression turned puzzled, and you stole a quick look towards Sungwoon and Hoseok, who both had that same puzzled expression on their features, though it was mixed with awe. What for, you didn’t know.

“I will call a cab, then,” Jimin said, the end of his sentence going a little higher, as if it was a question more than a statement.

You nodded once, and relief flooded his gaze as he pulled out his phone. Next thing you knew, you were sitting between Jimin and Sungwoon on the backseat of the cab as you were making your way to Taehyung’s party, regretting your decision just a little. Not enough to want to head home, though.

One thing you hadn’t expected about Kim Taehyung was how weirdly extroverted he was. Not quite extroverted, but ready to throw a party in the comfort of his own place at any moment whatsoever. His parties were coveted by the celebrity scene of Seoul, though not many people were usually invited. No, Taehyung still had an intimate aura surrounding him, like he was a mystery no one could really quite decipher, and so intimate parties were more his thing.

Those parties came like a cycle, once every month if they weren’t too busy, and were usually attended by the members of BTS and a couple of other artists from Hybe. He had even started inviting the members of Blackpink and his Wooga squad, though that had been before you had started attending the parties.

In all truth, you had only gone to one, and you were still uncertain if it had been real or a product of your imagination. A lucid dream, if you will.

Tonight proved to be different, though you were taken aback by the crowd in Taehyung’s living room, illuminated by only a string of red LED lights. Jazz music was playing over the speakers in one corner, and people were mingling around, no inhibition left behind.

It was a good thing no cameras were allowed in, otherwise you were pretty sure the whole Korean entertainment industry would have gone through so much drama it would have crumbled to the ground.

A champagne fountain was in the corner of the room, glasses precariously piled one on top of the others. People stayed away from it, a man in a black tux giving the drink to the partiers, in a clear attempt to avoid an accident.

You slid your gaze to Jimin once you’d taken the room in, your eyes a little wide. Sungwoon and Hoseok had already disappeared into the crowd.

“You didn’t tell me there would be so many people”, you said through gritted teeth, right as you felt your anxiety spike through the roof.

Jimin had a sheepish look on his face, and he didn’t hold your gaze, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I honestly had no idea.” He pursed his lips, before nibbling on the bottom one. “We can head home if you want.”

Perhaps it was because you had already drunk enough for your mind to be clouded with alcohol, or maybe it was the apologetic expression on Jimin’s features, but you said, “Let’s stay for an hour and then leave”.

The sheepish expression melted into a smile. “Do you want me to get you champagne?”

Before you could reply, Hoseok came back, two glasses in hands. He handed them to you, and you thanked him, bowing your head, though you weren’t quite sure you felt like drinking more than you already had. You had never been that much of a heavy drinker after all.

“Tae says he’ll play the trumpet soon”, he informed you, right as he glanced over his shoulder.

Jimin took a sip of his glass, then seemed to reconsider his decision as he threw it back and downed it in one long gulp. You handed yours to him as he looked at you. He shook his head no, motioning for you to drink up. You scrunched up your nose, because quite frankly you had never liked champagne, but you downed the glass nonetheless.

Here’s to not getting plastered.

You scrunched up your nose in disgust as your throat burned with the bubbles of the golden liquid, and Jimin let out a childish laugh that had your heart melting in your chest. You glared at him, and he winked.

“Now let’s go party.”

You were about to say no when the music turned to an upbeat tempo, and he grabbed your hand to pull you into the crowd. You held onto the champagne flute for dear life as he led you to the middle of the living room, and when he turned around and started dancing, you just stood there awkwardly.

That made Jimin giggle harder, and he hid his face behind his hand as he laughed.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

You glared at him, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You know I don’t really dance in public.”

He grabbed the glass from your hand, and your eyes widened in surprise as he disappeared. You tried watching him through the crowd, but you were too small to see over the heads of the people surrounding you.

“Where’s Jimin?” a male voice said in your ear, startling you from its proximity.

It was Sungwoon.

“I don’t know”, you admitted. “I think he went to bring our glasses back to the pyramid.”

Sungwoon glanced in that direction, nodding once. “He’s heading back this way.”

You tried to catch a glimpse of your friend, but it proved to be useless.

“Do you like to dance?” Sungwoon asked, leaning closer again to speak in your ear, and your cheeks flushed red as his warm breath hit your ear and the smell of his cologne met your nose.

Clearly Jimin wasn’t the only man in the world that smelled too damn good for your sanity.

“Not really”, you admitted, and you wringed your hands together. “Not at all, actually.”

Before Sungwoon could say anything, Jimin reappeared. “What are you two doing?” he asked, and there was a slight strain to his voice.

Sungwoon straightened, stepping away from you. “Just talking.”

Jimin nodded, tight-lipped smile adorning his lips. You chuckled at the look on his face, and he stared you up and down, a sassy fist resting on his hip.

“What’s got you laughing?” he asked.

You tilted your head to the side. You. This whole situation, the champagne and the music. “Nothing.”

Jimin clearly didn’t believe you, as he stepped closer. “Well then, why don’t you dance for me?”

It was the way he said those last two words, so innocently and yet they were coated with velvet. It made you gasp a little, mouth falling open as you tried to find a smart-ass comment to reply, but came up short.

You didn’t have to glance to the side to realize Sungwoon was gone.

“I don’t dance”, you replied, blushing.

He smirked then, his eyes taking on a darkened shade in the red lights of the room. “I’ll show you.”

And he did. He did show you, with his hands guiding your hips as he pulled you against him, your backside flush against him. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the overall sensual atmosphere that had taken over Taehyung’s apartment, but you didn’t want to move away. Wanted to press yourself further into the solid wall that was Jimin behind you.

It was wrong, yet it felt oh so right.

You moved in unison for a while, as if you had done it many times before. As if grinding on Jimin was a common occurrence to you, the girl that had never grinded on anyone before. Jimin kept speaking in your ear, tone still friendly even with the proximity, as if the dance meant nothing.

And though you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t, you found your heart didn’t really want to believe it.

“See, you’re not so bad”, Jimin encouraged you, hot breath tickling the side of your face.

You snorted, trying not to think about his hands guiding your hips. “You’re doing all the work.”

He chuckled, before spinning you around. His hands still were on your hips, but the movement had somehow put a little distance between you, enough so that you didn’t feel uncomfortable with his proximity.

Scratch that, you felt uncomfortable with how far he suddenly was.

“Give yourself some credit, Y/n”, he said with a light chuckle. “You’re a natural.”

You knew that you in fact were anything but a natural, but you still offered him a lopsided smile. He replied with a grin of his own, one that held nothing but that friendly warmth that had been inhabiting him since the night you had broken down at his place.

You wondered what would have happened if you hadn’t tried getting into his apartment, that day. You were almost convinced you wouldn’t be friends now. You liked to tell yourself he’d have warm up to you still, but there was no way to know, and it wasn’t a parallel universe you wished to live in.

“I think Tae’s going to play the trumpet now”, Jimin said, and he let go of your hips as the music stopped.

You almost wished he hadn’t, but then again it was better for your sanity that way.

“He is so random”, you mumbled and you watched Tae as he stepped on the couch, indeed holding his trumpet.

Jimin laughed, nodding eagerly. “He is. That’s why we love him.”

You glanced at Jimin then, and it endeared you, how he looked at Tae. With a small warm smile, eyes creased at the corners with the fondness they held. It struck you then – that was how he had been looking at you earlier.

With fondness, and maybe even a little surprise. As if he hadn’t expected to be looking at you like that one day.

You truly had changed, hadn’t you? From strangers to close friends... it was the most beautiful thing in life.

Taehyung started playing the trumpet, catching your attention, and you watched the show as he free-styled some jazz music – all jazz music felt free-styled to you. He stopped once in a while, to take a breath or to let out a giggle at someone’s comment or cheer, his boxy smile on display whenever he looked at the crowd of his friends.

You found yourself gazing at Jimin, too. He wasn’t looking at you, or whenever you looked he turned his head away, as if pretending he hadn’t been looking in the first place. It was cute, and so like Jimin that you found yourself giggling a little, blush creeping on your cheeks, the fifth time you almost caught him looking.

He leaned closer to you, a crease appearing between his brows. “What are you giggling about?”

You. Your thoughts had followed that train earlier, and this time they won. “About you.”

He squinted his eyes, a pout forming on his lips. “What?”

You shushed him, nodding towards Taehyung. “It’s impolite to talk during a show”, you whispered, and he glared at you, though the corners of his lips were tugging upwards.

“Sorry, sorry.”

It just made you smile wider than you already were, as your eyes trailed back to Taehyung.

Soon enough, the young man finished is little performance, in a fit of laughter that was mostly shared by his Wooga squad, as they had been the closest to him. Whatever they had been joking about seemed to be quite funny, and you felt your heart warm in your chest.

It often did, when you saw just how happy your favourite idols were, in their natural habitat. Indeed, it was quite hard to forget you had been a big BTS fan, and really, you just wished all of them would be happy.

They were, though they were humans, and they too had their up-and-downs. You knew that more than anything, now.

It was well past 2 am when you and Jimin stumbled back home, and you didn’t even have to talk about it for you to follow Jimin into his apartment. You settled on the couch, minds still buzzing with the afterglow of the revelry the night had entailed.

You often did that – sleep overs, that is. You hadn’t stepped into his room since the dreaded night though, and you usually slept on the couch. Most times he stayed with you, though you both slept at an extremity of the couch, far enough not to touch.

So you settled on your sides, cozying up in blankets Jimin had fished in his room, and you leaned your head against the couch as Jimin looked at his phone.

The glow of the screen caressed his features gently, high-lighting the red his cheeks had taken after the alcohol had fully reached his system. He was pouting a little, as he often did when he focused on something, and it took him a moment to realize you were staring at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked once his eyes finally met yours.

You almost said that you had never been more okay in your life, but it felt like it was a lie. You had been feeling like that for weeks now, all thanks to the friendship he offered you.

“I told you we’d be coming home late”, you said as you held in a yawn.

He pursed his lips, shrugging his shoulders. “You said 7 am, and it’s not even 3 am yet.”

You chuckled. “I’m surprised I enjoyed the party that much”, you admitted, face falling serious as your eyes lost their focus on him, images of the night coming back to your mind. “Taehyung is really good at throwing parties.”

“The best”, Jimin agreed. “He even got you to dance to That That.”

You laughed, and then winced. “That was embarrassing.”

He echoed your laugh with one of his own, giggling and childish and really too cute for your own good. “I have to agree that Jungkook stole the show.”

“Doesn’t he always?” you asked, sighing dramatically.

Jimin nodded, and this time you stayed silent, as he looked at his phone again. Until a mischievous smirk moved on his lips, and you only understood why when the song started playing.

He shot to his feet, holding out a hand to pull you to a stand too.

“What are you doing?” you asked, brows knitting together as you grabbed his hand carefully.

“If you dance it now, you’d be the one stealing the show.”

You barked out a laugh that was anything but lady-like as he pulled you up. “Bitch, you’re the better dancer here.”

He shrugged again. “I won’t be dancing.”

And as if he wanted to convince you that he indeed wouldn’t, he sat back on the couch, manspreading just a little too much. Which had your eyes looking down at his lap, and you would have gouged your eyeballs out for the treachery to your heart that it was.

“That’s not fair”, you said, cheeks burning. “I won’t dance for you.”

“Then say goodbye to your kimchi.” He crossed his arm on his chest, one eyebrow cocked sassily.

“I hate you”, you mumbled, right as the chorus of the song came around.

You folded though, and you danced to the choreography, missing the beat by a little. You didn’t really care, as Jimin just started laughing, and you followed him, stopping in the middle of the dance.

“Aishi, that’s embarrassing”, you whined, hiding your face in your hands.

You heard the rustle of clothes, and you froze as Jimin gently grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. He was standing close, though the only part of him that was touching you was his palms.

Until his lips pressed against yours, and your eyes widened in surprise. You took a step back, and Jimin looked at you with that same startled look on his face.

“What did you just do?” you asked, heart beating out of your chest.

He wet his lips, and his features turned apologetic. “I kissed you.”

Now, there were many moments you could point out as having shaped your life. The moment you had decided to move to Korea, that last call with Collin, the moment Jimin had opened his door to you and you had stepped into his apartment, into his life. The day you had graduated college, and before that, the day you had graduated high school. Small moments – big moments, maybe – that had formed the mosaic of your past, and shaped you into being who you were today, into being where you were today. And maybe that was it: they had been slowly forming the mosaic of this moment with Jimin, if you chose to let him in.

And just like the sun hitting the mosaic at the perfect angle, you knew you couldn’t step away.

“Do it again”, you said, breathlessly, and a hundred emotions seemed to move in Jimin’s gaze before he grabbed your face, pulling you into the kiss.

You exploded with colors, bright and warm like an early fall afternoon, and you kissed him back, your hands resting flat against his chest, feeling the quick beat of his heart under your right palm. Your left hand slid up to the nape of his neck as one of his moved to your waist, pulling you ever so closer, right as he tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss.

Park Jimin was definitely the best kiss you had ever had in your life. As if all the ones before him had been amateurs, and he was a professional in the arts of love. And maybe he was, or he just had far more experience than you did. Or perhaps it was just that you had been waiting for him all this time, and he for you.

Jimin gently bit at your bottom lip, tongue darting out to soothe the ache as a breathy sound fell from your mouth, only to be swallowed by his. It seemed to do something to him, that sound, because next thing you knew he was pulling you closer to the couch.

He sat as soon as the back of his legs hit the furniture, once again manspreading, and this time you climbed on the throne that was his lap, straddling him. You joined your lips again, sealing the deal. Because that was what it felt like – as if you were making a deal with the devil.

Jimin was too good to be true, and too good to be yours.

The thought sparked some sense in your lust-filled mind, and you pulled away, breathing heavily as your gaze met his. He looked startled, lips a little swollen by the ministration of your mouth against his. By the fact you had been kissing, lost in the moment, just a few seconds ago.

Your hands were on his shoulders, and you pushed yourself away, until you were standing and there finally was a healthy distance between you.

“I…” you breathed and your eyes fell to his mouth, before going back to his gaze. To the shadows that were now moving in front of the sun, and you wished you could take it back.

Take the last two minutes back, and forget that you had ever kissed.

“I should go home”, you muttered.

He didn’t try to stop you. Didn’t even say anything, as if he was struck dumb by what you had just done. Maybe you were too, and maybe that explained the panic that was slowly settling into your blood, into your entire being.

What had you just done?

***

It had been a few weeks, since Taehyung’s party, and whatever had happened after that. You had tried not to think about it, had pretended it had never happened… and so had Jimin. He had shown up on your doorstep the next morning, with hangover soup, and he hadn’t mentioned anything. Had only offered you a warm friendly smile as you had just stared at him for a moment, until he had joked about you looking like a fish out of water, and that had been that.

You hadn’t mentioned it once, falling back into your usual friendship, with a safe distance that felt a little wider now. Probably because at night you still somehow remembered how little distance there had been between you, on his couch, and how much of his body you had been touching. Not that you had touched a lot… it just felt like you had.

Fortunately, it was easy, to be friends with Jimin. Had been for a while now, and you would forever be thankful that it still was after the little bump in the road that you had encountered. Though you sometimes caught the shadows in his eyes, clouds that you had imagined had scattered away after you had grown closer…

They never lingered. He smiled, and they left, as his gaze turned warm with that same fondness and friendliness and overall kind light that they always held. You liked to tell yourself that you knew enough to be able to tell if it was faked, but in reality, you couldn’t really. Maybe you just wanted to believe it to be the truth.

You had shattered the mosaic of you, as you had stepped away that night, but it was hard to convince yourself that you hadn’t done the right thing. He was Park Jimin, and you were no one. No one compared to him, and compared to the people that were part of his day-to-day life. You doubted there was a universe out there where it made sense for you and him to be together like that. And really, your friendship was enough for you, and you were perfectly happy and content keeping it the way that it was. It was a different mosaic, one that held more blues and lilacs and yellows, but they formed a work of art still worth looking at, for all the missing red that it held.

October came with chill winds and bright leaves, the color of autumn creating a beautiful landscape of their own. Jimin invited you to Busan, for the concert that was long awaited by Army. He had everything arranged for you so you wouldn’t have to worry about anything, everything down to the hotel room and the food that you’d eat. You were thankful for it, even though you could have easily paid for it all. It showed just how good of a friend Jimin was. He even organized a dinner with his family and some of the members, two days after the concert, saying that he wanted his family to meet you, as you were the person he spent the most time with now.

You were excited, for the dinner. Anxious, but excited nonetheless, as you couldn’t wait to see Jimin in the most natural setting that was his. Because Seoul never really felt natural with him. It rather was surreal, painted in a light you had never thought you’d see.

Hoseok and Jin ended up being the two only members to come to the dinner, and you sat with them, as Jimin helped his mother in the kitchen even though she had insisted she didn’t need any help. His father was supposed to come later, and it was unclear if his brother would be able to make it. It didn’t dim Jimin’s joy though, and he beamed as he moved around the kitchen with his mother.

His mother had been sweet, as Jimin had introduced you to the older lady when you had arrived at his childhood home. You could see that Jimin had her smile, though it seemed the woman’s smile was rarer than her son’s. Or maybe she was just cautious around you.

It reminded you that you were a foreigner, and that there was more than just a single world between you and Jimin. Not only was he an idol, but he was Korean, and you weren’t. It was simple, but you truly didn’t belong to the same universe. And you were okay with it – you had more stories to tell each other, from your respective universes. From your respective mosaics, that met at the edges in those shades of lilac and blue and yellow. It just wasn’t made to become one mosaic. You were two individual pieces, and it was to remain like that.

Yet, you couldn’t help but gaze at him, every once in a while. Each time you caught him already looking at you, and he offered you a cute grin, the one that had his eyes crinkling at the corners. It made your heart stutter in your chest, just a little, and you cursed at it, repeatedly.

It didn’t matter that Park Jimin had kissed you, once. You were just friends, and you hated that you sometimes felt like that about him. Like what you didn’t know… you just knew that you shouldn’t be feeling anything at all. Because he was Jimin, yes, but mostly because of Collin.

You weren’t ready to dive into anything right now. Doubted you’d ever be ready, after having been broken like you had been.

“Y/n!” Hoseok called your name, and you blinked a few times, focusing on reality. On the conversation the two men had been having, though you hadn’t listened to a single word of it.

“Uh?” you let out.

Jin had a smirk on his lips. “See, I told you.”

You furrowed your brows as they exchanged a knowing look. “What are you two going on about?”

Hoseok shrugged, running a hand through his hair. His hand then landed on the table, and your eyes dipped to the painted nails that adorned his fingers, before going back to his face.

“You two are weird”, you muttered, and then blushed as you realized what you had said. Though they just laughed, and you sighed in relief.

A little tiny part of you still felt really uncomfortable around BTS. Even if you had met all the members on more than one occasion. To be fair, Jin was the one you knew the less, but it helped that Hoseok was the one you were closest to. Besides Jimin, obviously. Yet you wouldn’t even dare call Hoseok a friend. He was just an acquaintance, at best.

“Why don’t you go help Jimin?” Jin asked, and he let out one of his iconic laughs as Hoseok punched him in the shoulder.

Your eyes trailed to Jimin, and you could see he was talking with his mother. Whatever they were talking about, it looked to be way too personal for you to want to step in.

“I…” you let out.

“You’re going to make her uncomfortable”, Hoseok said, chuckling. “Leave the poor girl alone.”

“Shut it, you agree with me anyway.” Jin punctuated his words with a small wink, that left you even more confused than you already were.

“What is going on?” you asked, cheeks starting to burn with embarrassment.

“We were saying that… Ow!” Jin yelped.

Hoseok had kicked him under the table. Yet it didn’t deter Jin, just made his shit-eating grin grow wider.

“What do you think about Jimin?” he asked, cocking his head to the side as he folded his arms on his chest.

If you hadn’t already been blushing, you were pretty sure you’d have turn beet red. Scratch that – you were pretty sure your blush had deepened so much you had turned purple.

“What…” you let out. “I…” You threw a look toward the man in question, who was still very much so engaged in a conversation with his mother, unaware of what was happening just a few meters away.

“You don’t have to reply”, Hoseok told you gently, offering you salvation.

Maybe you were stupid for not accepting it. “He’s a good friend.”

Jin’s grin faded into a knowing smile. “Friend?”

You gulped under his inquisitive gaze. “Why do you want to know?” you asked with a small voice.

“Because.” He glared at Hoseok as the young man threw him a warning glance. “You two have been spending a lot of time together, haven’t you?”

You couldn’t really deny that, so you just remained silent.

“They are neighbors, of course they have”, Hoseok replied instead.

Jin chuckled, finally nodding his head. “Right. Still, they might need help over there.”

“Just go yourself”, Hoseok said, rolling his eyes before laughing. “Leave Y/n alone.”

It was sweet, how Hoseok was trying to get Jin off your back, but you did actually feel like Jimin might need some rescuing from his mother.

Indeed, even if his back was turned to you, and his moon tattoo was the only thing you could really see, you could tell he had stiffened. And maybe it was wrong for you to feel like interrupting, but you just wanted to help your friend, right?

“It’s okay, I can ask if they need any help”, you said, pushing up to your feet.

Hoseok and Jin looked at you, the latter failing at keeping the shit-eating grin in. You couldn’t help but chuckle, though it mostly was because you were embarrassed.

Embarrassed and anxious, and probably still blushing like crazy.

You walked towards the kitchen, taking a deep breath to calm down, and to also push away the thoughts that were intrusively taking over your mind.

You weren’t stupid, and you were very much so aware of what Jin had been implying. And though Jin was right, to have a doubt about you and Jimin, he also was wrong. Because you were just you, and nothing more.

“I’m serious, Jimin-ie.” His mother’s words drifted to you, as Jin and Hoseok’s voices slowly faded in the background. “You shouldn’t be dating someone like her.”

You stopped, eyes widening.

“We are not dating, eoma.” Jimin scoffed, shaking his head. “We are just friends.”

It sounded bitter, so bitter you felt your heart clenching in your chest.

“Good, then. I’m sure she is sweet, but you shouldn’t be with someone…” Jimin’s mother trailed off, as her eyes met yours over Jimin’s shoulder. Her face changed, turning from that cold stern look she had been sporting a fraction of a second ago to a warm smile that even reached her eyes, making them crinkle in that same way Jimin’s eyes crinkled.

Jimin looked over his shoulder, not quite meeting your gaze, before looking back at his mother.

“Please don’t tell me what to do with my life.”

His voice was low, barely above a whisper, really, but you had moved closer, your steps carrying you even when your heart had stopped a few meters away. You forced your face to melt into a smile, and you really hoped it reached your eyes.

“Do you need any help with the food?” you asked, as you stopped next to Jimin. You didn’t look at him, instead focusing on his mother.

The woman slightly tilted her head to the side, before glancing at the array of food on the kitchen counter. “I’ve got it covered, thank you for offering, dear.”

You nodded, finally risking a glance at Jimin. He hadn’t looked away from his mother, and his profile was set in a harsh expression, one you recognized as the one he had offered you in those first few weeks after you had moved. It was almost startling, to see it on his pretty features right now, but you didn’t shy away from it.

He was right, you were just friends. Even though a part of you hurt at the thought that his mother wouldn’t approve of you, it didn’t change the fact that you were just friends. Had become friends by a weird twist of fate, that was true, but it was nothing more than that.

Yet, to have two people questioning you about the relationship that you shared in less than five minutes… it was scary. And it threatened the peaceful friendliness that you had been sharing since that kiss. Threatening to push it off the edge of a cliff, and you weren’t quite sure the fall would be for the better.

Jimin’s jaw was clenched, a muscle ticking under his skin, and as his mother turned, you brushed your hand against the tight fist that was hanging at his side, in an attempt to calm him down. To your surprise, his fist loosened, and half a beat later he brushed your hand too.

It brought you back to that kiss, and you pulled your hand away instinctively. He only then glanced at you, and you gulped at the sight of the shadows in his eyes. He looked troubled, haunted even, and even though he wasn’t clenching his jaw anymore, his lips were pulled into a straight line.

You breathed in, shakily, and tried to offer him a reassuring smile. You weren’t quite sure you had succeeded, even as the corners of his lips slightly tugged upwards too. The shadows didn’t really leave his gaze, and you found you couldn’t hold his eyes anymore.

Maybe that made you a coward.

***

You sighed as you took in the thin mat Jimin’s mother had placed on the floor of his father’s office, for you to sleep on. You had thanked the woman profusely still, even though a part of you was angered, at the thought that she had said what she had said to Jimin. You had tried to let it go, had tried to let go what Jin had said too, but some part of you had been struggling, grasping onto the last thread of the conversation, refusing to let it fall into silence.

Perhaps it was because Jimin’s attitude had changed, after that. He hadn’t quite smiled as he usually did, had barely joked around with his family and friends. He had instead brooded in a corner, and even Hoseok and Jin hadn’t been able to shake him out of the dark state of mind that had taken over him.

You felt guilty. Though you hadn’t quite been the culprit, hadn’t you? Except for that night when you had kissed him and imagined you could share something more than friendship…

You had been fools, the two of you.

“Y/n”, Jimin said from the doorway, and you spun around, slightly startled.

He was beautiful, in the simple pajamas he had brought for the trip. He still was wearing his earrings, and they dangled from his ears as he leaned against the doorframe, hands in the pocket of his pants.

“Hey”, you let out, eyes shying from his, falling to the floor.

An awkward silence moved around you, filling the already warm room with an uncomfortable heat that pressed down on you.

“I have to apologize”, Jimin murmured, and your eyes shot to his face.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore.

“For thinking that this dinner was a good idea.”

You didn’t like the way a sharp pain cut through your heart. Hated it, loathed it, and wished it had never reached your heart.

“The dinner was fine”, you said with a small voice.

Jimin chuckled, and it once again sounded bitter. “I know you heard what my mother said.” He scoffed a little then, before adding, “I know Jin-hyung also said something to you. He kept apologizing for it, when they left. He thought that was the reason why I’ve been upset.”

You were stuck in silence, even though you wanted to say something, anything, to reassure him. It felt as if the shadows in Jimin’s eyes were slowly taking over the whole place surrounding you.

“It wasn’t, if you were wondering”, he said after a moment, finally meeting your gaze again. Holding it was the hardest thing you had ever had to do.

“What’s wrong, Jimin?” you asked. Your voice was tiny, so tiny you wanted to disappear through the floor.

He clenched his jaw, lips pressing into a thin line, much like they had earlier. “We should have talked, about that night.”

You wanted to pretend you didn’t know what he was talking about, but it would have been useless.

“It didn’t mean anything”, you whispered.

He breathed in, his shoulders moving up a little, before falling back down into their previous position. A little lower, maybe. It made him look defeated, and oh so tired.

“I know.” He shut his eyes, sighing once again. “I’m sorry it happened.”

Your heart squeezed a little more in your chest, making it hard for you to breathe. “It’s okay, Jimin, I never was angry at you. We were both just drunk.”

He nodded, slowly, eyes still closed. “Yeah.”

The silence that fell around you then was different. Colder, and you found yourself shivering despite the previous heat.

“Well”, he let out, pushing up from the doorframe, his eyelids finally fluttering open. “I’ll let you go to bed.”

He made to turn away, and you found yourself blinking back tears. “We’re good, right?”

You didn’t know why you had asked. Only knew that fear had taken a hold of you, much like it had in a parallel night to this one, when Collin had broken up with you. Maybe you were looking for reassurance, or maybe you were just afraid to face the truth.

Because it did feel like there was a finality in the way Jimin was carrying himself.

“Of course”, he said, nodding slowly once again. “Of course we are.”

“Good”, you quickly said, scanning his features, trying to get him to look at you, because you knew his eyes never lied. “I’m glad we are.”

“Me too”, he whispered.

But he hadn’t met your gaze.

He hadn’t met your gaze.

***

Waking up the next morning felt wrong, as if the sun had risen in the west instead of the east. As if rain was going up instead of down, and as if the stars had gone black. It was strange, to have the grief of losing Collin hitting you that hard, so long after the events. It had been months, now, yet it was just hitting you how alone you felt.

You refused to think that it had something to do with your conversation with Jimin last night. You had just stated a simple truth, one that you had to learn to live with. But why did it feel like such a lie, then?

Maybe because it was, and the night you had kissed had changed everything. You had been a fool to believe it hadn’t affected your friendship. You were pretty sure it had ruined it, like the final scene of a movie, where the main character dies for no other purpose than shocking the watcher. It had put a finality, to you, and to a story that could have been beautiful.

You got up from the sleeping mat, feeling as if you were being crushed under the weight of your heart.

“Good morning, Y/n”, a voice said from the doorframe.

You turned around, slower than you had the night before, in that same setting. Except this time, it wasn’t Jimin, but his mother.

“Jimin wanted me to tell you that he had to go back to Seoul early, but he’s had a car come to get you.”

Really, the world was spinning off its axis now. Because the friend you had known in the last few months would have never left you behind, no matter the reason.

“Thank you for letting me know”, you said, eyes falling to a spot on the floor.

“There is some breakfast for you”, his mother said, unaware of the way your heart was breaking, “if you’d like to eat before leaving.”

Now, the perspective of eating a breakfast cooked by Jimin’s mother reassured you, somehow. Maybe because the woman’s food was outstanding, as you had been able to see for yourself the night before.

You nodded, offering the woman a small smile. “That sounds lovely.”

The older lady smiled back, before indicating that she’d be waiting in the kitchen. And that was how you found yourself sitting in front of her, over more food than you’d ever be able to eat so early in the morning, though everything looked delicious.

It was awkward, to be sitting there, when some part of you was aching at the thought of Jimin. His mother offered you a light conversation, asking questions about where you were from, and what you did for a living. Nothing really intrusive, and really, if she hadn’t told anything to Jimin last night, you would have even thought she liked you.

You weren’t stupid, though, and you could hear the disapproving silence that stretched between the woman’s sentences.

“And how did you meet Jimin?” she suddenly asked, after having sipped on her tea. “He never really told me anything other than that time you visited the condominium.”

You froze, food halfway to your mouth. “What?”

The lady smiled, letting out a small chuckle. “He mentioned you, last February. Said a pretty girl and her boyfriend were going to move in next door.”

Silence. That was all that your mind was able to produce after the lady’s revelation. It seemed to dim her light mood because her smile fell, and a worried creased appeared between her brows.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

You shook out of your trance, putting down the food in the plate in front of you. “No”, you murmured, eyes falling down a second after the food.

You hadn’t known. Jimin had never mentioned… that he had seen you, too, the day he had met Collin. You had barely ever spoken about it, Collin a foreign territory when it came to conversation between you. But he had admitted he had seen Collin, in that hallway between your apartments.

Why hadn’t he told you? How had you been so close to him, back then, without even knowing?

You doubted you’d ever be able to be close to him without knowing again. You were too… aware of him now that you had gotten to know him. Now that you knew his lips molded yours perfectly…

“He didn’t tell me”, you finally admitted, as Jimin’s mother still was looking at you pointedly.

Said a pretty girl and her boyfriend were going to move next door.

“Oh”, his mother let out. “But you have gotten close, haven’t you?”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. You nodded, taking a deep breath to steel yourself. “We have. Couldn’t imagine my life without him now.”

Your words hung heavily, in the air between you and his mother. You wished you hadn’t spoken them, knowing that the lady disapproved of you, together. Not that you ever would be.

“He said the same thing”, his mother admitted. “I’m glad to know he has such a good friend living next door.”

Good friend. It hurt just a little more, to hear the woman calling you that, even if you had been trying to convince yourself about it for a while.

To convince yourself? Your heart stopped in your chest, only to begin again on an erratic beat, one that had you thinking you were going to die on the spot. Of course, you were developing feelings for Jimin.

You were a damn fool.

“Thank you”, you said, eyes getting lost in the space between you and her. You didn’t really know what you were thanking her for, not as the shock of the truth was still ringing through you.

Not when you for once failed at lying to yourself, like you’d been doing for so long.

It had never been about Collin. Had always been about Jimin, and the person that he was. The idol that he was. It had been about the fact that some dirty dark corner of your mind felt… inadequate, in his light. Felt like you were tainting him, with your ordinary self. He deserved someone like him, someone that shone, with purity and kindness and everything in between.

Someone whose smile could lit up the whole room. Someone who always had kind words for the people surrounding them, and who knew how to make light of any situation. Someone that was struggling with their own shadows, but never let them affect those surrounding them.

You weren’t quite sure you could be that person. Were actually quite convinced you weren’t that person at all. That, more than anything, made you realize that maybe, maybe your friendship had always been meant to end, in one way or another. And perhaps, perhaps it was better to put a stop to it before you went too far.

Why, then, did it feel like you had gone too far already?

Because, you told yourself. Because he kissed me, and I kissed him back, and he’s all I’ve been able to think about since then.

You had been wrong, for telling him that the kiss hadn’t meant anything. It had meant the whole world to you, had shown you a mosaic of you you had cherished, for those few seconds before you had shattered it. You had been the one to pull away, and to declare it to be a mistake.

Maybe, in some parallel universe, you wouldn’t have, and you’d be together now. It was a different mosaic, one you felt as if you were looking at through some tainted glass, but maybe you had made a mistake. Knowing Jimin, he had probably decided not to mention anything to respect your decision.

To not make you feel more uncomfortable than he had clearly believed you had been. It was stupid, really, because you hadn’t been uncomfortable, kissing him.

You had felt like you were coming home after a long day of work, to the coziness of the arms of the person you were meant to love.

A pretty girl and her boyfriend.

***

Three raps, on his door.

Knock knock knock.

You had gone straight to his place, after coming home from Busan. It had been strange, to ride that car alone without him, especially as he had been the one to drive you to the city where he had grown up. He had been all you had been able to think about, for the hours between the two cities.

You were anxious, standing there in front of his place. Like you didn’t belong there, even if you had been in that exact spot many times before. It brought you back to that first time you had been there, struggling to get in thinking that it was your own home.

It took you a long time, standing there, to realize that he wasn’t going to open. So long your eyes fell down to the floor, and trailed to the place where you had cleaned his vomit, months ago.

A whole world ago.

You wished you could go back to that moment. Well, not exactly to the moment you’d been cleaning up after him, but to the days that had followed. You were pretty sure that, more than anything, had been the spark of your friendship. Otherwise, you doubted Jimin would have chosen to take care of you, that night you had stumbled in his home. God knew you would have never become friends if you hadn’t.

It took you an even longer time to give up standing there. To blink away the tears that had slowly brimmed your gaze, and to head home. Accepting your defeat.

It took you a few more days, to realize Jimin was gone. Had probably not even gone back to his place once, crashing at one of his friends’ instead. You could have texted Hoseok, to ask, but you chose not to.

As you had chosen to never contact Collin again, after he had called to tell you about Harper.

In those few days, that shone with Jimin’s absence, you found the children at work to be just a little harder to deal with, just a little harder to talk to. You found that the end of your days was just a little harsher to live through, especially as you rode that elevator where you had first met him. That felt so empty now that he was gone, though that stain on the carpet hadn’t moved. As if to say the world hadn’t changed, at all.

As if to say you were the only thing that had changed in this universe. You didn’t know if it was reassuring, or if it was making you feel worse. All you knew was that your nights were haunted with images of him, even though your days were empty with his reality.

It was like he had turned into a ghost.

“You should come with us”, Chaeyoung said from the doorframe of your class, startling you out of your thoughts.

She had invited you to hang out in Hongdae, along with her girlfriend and some of her other friends, later that night. You hadn’t decided if you were going to go yet, as if doing an activity other than work felt wrong.

Some part of you knew that it was because you were afraid to not be home when Jimin was going to come. Because you were convinced he’d come back. If there was one thing you knew about him, it was that no matter what, he’d always find his way to you.

Like that first moment you had stepped in the same elevator as him, and like the many times you had run into each other after that. He was bound to come home at some point, and you didn’t want to risk being away.

But it had been a few days, and he hadn’t come home. Or if he had, you had been at work, and you had missed him. Which you refused to believe had happened, because you refused to believe he was truly gone from your life.

Yet you hadn’t been able to text him, no matter how many times you had started writing him a text. You had written enough texts you could probably compose a poem with them all, but your story didn’t feel like poetry.

It rather felt like some broken pieces of ceramic, that could have been arranged into that mosaic you had glanced at, for a time, as you had kissed. Pieces of ceramic that had been lost in those few days of him being a ghost.

“I need to go home, but I can meet you there later?” you finally replied, glancing at your friend.

You hated the concerned look on Chaeyoung’s features, but you forced yourself to smile, trying to reassure the girl. Trying to convince her that everything was alright.

“As long as you don’t bail…” Chaeyoung trailed off, walking in to help you pick up the few toys that were still scattered around the floor. “I don’t know what happened, Y/n, but you look exhausted.”

You sighed. There was no way you’d be able to convince Chaeyoung you were fine.

“I am. I’ve been for a few days.”

“What happened?” the girl quickly asked, and the concern on her features doubled up.

You sighed, standing up from the place where you had been kneeling. You glanced around the room, trying to find the courage to speak the words that had been haunting you, but you couldn’t find it.

“I haven’t been sleeping well”, you instead chose to say.

Chaeyoung had a no-bullshit look on her face once you finally met her gaze. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t insist, instead shrugging her shoulders and offering you a reassuring smile.

“Well, if you think that getting out of the house for a time would help, I’d be happy to do something more laid back than walking around Hongdae.”

“Don’t cancel your plans for me”, you said, shaking your head as your eyes widened a little.

The last thing you wanted was for more people to be aware that you weren’t doing fine.

“My friends wouldn’t mind, they like you”, Chaeyoung replied, shrugging her shoulders again. “But if you feel like staying home, that is okay too.”

You pursed your lips, nodding slightly. “Thanks, Chaeyoung.” And you really were thankful, because you weren’t quite sure you’d be able to go out.

Were willing to try to get ready, but wanted to be able to bail if you needed to.

Even as you were getting ready, two hours later, sitting in front of the large mirror of your vanity, you still weren’t sure you were going to go. Putting some make-up on felt good, though, as it permitted you to focus on something other than the treacherous thoughts that always led back to Jimin.

To the whole world that was between you now, not because of who you were, but because it felt like the distance between you wasn’t one that could be crossed.

You had just finished applying blush to your cheeks when your doorbell rang, and you froze. Because you knew, then, that the distance had finally become smaller. Still big enough for your heart to ache, but at least the wait was over.

Because, who else would it be but Jimin? Only Chaeyoung knew where you lived, and the girl was currently at a restaurant with her girlfriend and her other friends.

You almost dropped the brush you were holding as you put it down, hands starting to shake as you pushed up to your feet. You left your phone face down on the vanity, before jogging to the door. Hating that you had chosen the room the farthest from your door for your dressing room.

It felt like an eternity, before you reached that door, and you were a little breathless when you threw it open.

Jimin stood there, hands buried in the pockets of his coat, hair a little tousled, as if he’d just tried to tame it, but failed to do so. He was wearing earrings, as he most always did, and the light caught on the silver of them as he looked up to meet your gaze. He too had dark circles under his eyes, ones that you had just hidden on your own face.

“Jimin”, you breathed.

His eyes were still haunted by those shadows, and they went a little wide as you held his gaze.

“Y/n.”

He said your name with a softness that made you feel weak all of a sudden, and you were pretty sure tears were welling up in your eyes.

“You’re an idiot”, you said, and you let out a small chuckle. “Where have you been?”

He swallowed, his Adam apple bobbing up and down.

“I needed time to think”, he replied.

You fell silent, as he looked at a spot over your shoulder, before letting his gaze drop to the floor. It took him a moment before meeting your eyes again, and you felt like dying at the sight of the dark clouds in his gaze.

“I… figured”, you murmured, gulping. “That’s why I didn’t text you.”

“Can I come in?”

You nodded, stepping aside. He walked in, and you breathed in the smell of his cologne before gently closing the door behind him.

“I was… getting ready”, you told him, feeling suddenly very awkward.

At least you had successfully blinked the tears away.

“We can sit in my dressing room?”

Jimin nodded, though he hadn’t met your gaze since he had stepped into your home. He followed you, silent as a mute, and sat in front of the second vanity in the room.

The one in front of which Chaeyoung had gotten ready, all those months ago, the night you had gone clubbing. The night you had stumbled into Jimin’s apartment as if it was your own. The night that had started it all, come to think of it.

“Where are you going?” Jimin asked as you sat back where you had been a moment earlier.

Not feeling like lying, you let the truth come out. “Nowhere.” You paused, as a puzzled expression took over his features. “Now that you’re here”, you specified, and his lips spread into a thin line.

It looked like anything but a smile.

“You can still go, if you want”, he said, before chewing on the dry skin of his bottom lip.

You shook your head no. “I’ve missed you, Jimin. I’d rather stay with you.”

He looked so sad, as you spoke the words. And then it hit you, that he maybe didn’t want to be with you.

Maybe he was there to end your relationship, once and for all.

“I…” he fell silent, his eyes falling to the scattered brushes and make-up items on the vanity. “I missed you too.”

There were some tears in your eyes again, damn you.

“Where were you?” you breathed, eyes not moving from his features.

Engraving them in your memory, and in the mosaic of you.

“I’ve been staying with Hobi-hyung”, he admitted. “I’ve been thinking, about us.”

You audibly gulped this time.

“So have I”, you whispered, and he met your gaze.

“I don’t think we’re good, Y/n”, he declared, after a short silence that lasted for an eternity.

It broke your heart, and you found you couldn’t fight the tears now.

“Oh…”

He just watched you, for a time, as a few tears escaped your eyes.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, as if the sight of those tears on your cheeks was so foreign to him, as if they were a concept he had never understood in school.

“I talked to your mother, before leaving Busan”, you told him.

He remained silent, eyes never leaving yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me you saw me too, the day you met Collin?”

He didn’t move, for a time. Even looked as if he had stopped breathing. But then he let out a small broken sound – a chuckle, maybe.

“Because you would have thought me to be crazy.”

You dried your tears with the back of your hand. “Why would I have?”

He chuckled again, and this time it sounded a little realer. His eyes took on a distant expression, as he focused on the memories of that moment months ago. “Because you were standing with your back to me, in the kitchen. I was in the hallway, and all I could see was your hair. And then you turned to look at your boyfriend, and when I saw your face, I was just struck dumb.”

You didn’t even know when that had happened. Hadn’t seen him at all, standing there. And you were the one to be struck dumb now, at his confession. At the way his words echoed in your head until you felt drunk with them.

“I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, and then you smiled at him and I assumed you were taken”, he continued. His eyes had met yours again, and you could see the truth they were shining with. “I felt strange, for a moment, and then Collin turned. He saw me, and he walked to the door, and shut it.”

A pretty girl and her boyfriend.

You remembered that. You had asked why Collin had shut the door, and he had just walked to you and kissed your forehead, before telling you to focus on what the realtor was saying.

“So, I went home”, he added. “And then when I saw you in the elevator, that day you were moving in, I assumed Collin was around. I felt awkward, because I thought he hated me.”

So, that was what it had been. It had never been about the Chimmy keychain or the mess of BTS albums, like you had believed at first. He had just thought you belonged to someone and hadn’t wanted to intrude in your relationship.

“And then I just felt uncomfortable around you, and I was a dick to you and I’m sorry I was. But when you tried getting into my apartment, and you told me what had happened, I just…”

He shrugged, and you only then noticed the silver brimming his gaze.

“I didn’t want to let you go, I guess. And you were fun to be with, so I tried to keep you around.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, as tears rolled freely down your face. He looked at them, before meeting your gaze again.

“I don’t know when I fell in love with you”, he continued, and tears moved on his cheeks too. “I think I’ve always known I’d fall for you, and then one day I realized the feelings were already there. I knew you had recently come out of a relationship, so I didn’t say anything. But that night, I just lost it… Seeing you chat with Sungwoon, seeing him flirt with you, I just hated it.”

Sungwoon had been flirting with you? It hit you then: it was jealousy, that had made Jimin act the way that he had, those few weeks ago.

“And when we kissed, and you left, I thought ‘that is it, your friendship with her is over’”, he admitted, chuckling sadly again. “So, I decided to pretend nothing had happened, and when you did the same thing, I assumed we’d just never talk about it again, and I’d do everything I could to prevent it from happening again.”

You really had been fools.

“Eoma told me she could see the love in my eyes, while we were cooking, and that I was making a mistake, to fall in love with you.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest, and you choked on a sob.

“And maybe I should have told her then”, he added, getting up from his spot to come closer to you, grabbing your hands. “I’ve sacrificed so much to be where I am. I’ve sacrificed friendships and relationships and my own health.” He paused, as if he didn’t want you to be associated with all those shadows in his life. And you were glad he had, because his next words destroyed everything in you, only to build it anew. “I’m not willing to sacrifice you too.”

You got up, letting out a small sad laugh as Jimin smiled.

“I am in love with you, Y/n”, he breathed. “And I want to be with you.”

You blinked away a fresh wave of tears, and he let go of one of your hands, to wipe the tears from your face.

“I thought you were coming here to tell me we were done”, you admitted, and another tear rolled down his cheek.

He chuckled. “I thought so too. But you had to start crying and make me weak.”

His eyes were full of emotions you couldn’t quite interpret, yet you knew they echoed those in your own heart.

“I’ve been weak for you for so long”, you whispered, as you leaned in the hand he had kept against your face.

He laughed, just a little, as you reached to dry his cheek from the lone tear.

“I’ve been weak for you before I even met you.”

He laughed again, and the sound was healing, really.

“You were my bias, you know?” you let out. “But then when I met you, I started hating you, because I thought you were an entitled prick.”

He pursed his lips, holding in a smile.

“And then you took care of me that night, and you were just so friendly I thought you were a completely different person.”

You smiled softly at the memory, and at the warmth that it raised in you.

“You started talking to me, more, and you were so friendly and bubbly. I felt like I was in heaven, for a moment, and you helped me through the grief of Collin, and of him and his new family.”

You thought about it for a time, eyes falling to his neck as you lost your focus on his features.

“I think I saw you like my own little family, for a long time, because you were filling a hole in my chest. And then you started being more, and I started looking for you in every room I was in.”

Maybe you had already been in love with him, then.

“And when we kissed, I felt like it was meant to be”, you said. “Like you were the one I was meant to find. And I guess guilt crept in, about Collin, and I know it’s stupid, but I felt guilty, and I left.”

And it was true. Your thoughts hadn’t gone to Collin, but your body hadn’t recognized Jimin to be the body it was used to, back then, and it had made panic kick in.

“I regret leaving then”, you admitted. “I wish I hadn’t, and I wish I had stayed with you.”

You breathed in and out shakily, as the truth kept flowing out of your mouth.

“I want to be with you too. I’m afraid, because you are you and I am me and there is so many worlds between us.”

He grabbed your face then, ever so gently. Eyes gazing into yours with so much love and adoration you felt as if you could die right then, and die happy.

“I don’t care about any worlds between us”, he whispered. “I just want you.”

“I’ve fallen in love with you, Jimin”, you breathed, and he pressed his lips against yours.

It was terribly soft, that first kiss after the one weeks ago. Like he was scared to make you run again, and he just wanted to get a last taste of you. Without hurting you, like the way one graze their fingers against a flower. Ever so gently, lest the petals be spoiled.

But you weren’t a flower, and you didn’t want to be treated as such. Wanted the desperation that you had been drowning in for the last few days to finally flow out of you. So, you put the feelings in the kiss, letting your lips mesh with his harder, and he breathed out, his hands falling to your waist, pulling you closer.

He tasted salty, from the tears that had been rolling on his cheeks. He tasted of honey, too, a sweet taste that you knew you’d come to love more than anything. And his hands on your waist were warm, hot, and they pulled you ever so closer, until all of your body was pressed against all of his.

You snaked your hands between you, moving to unbutton his coat. He helped you, pulling away for half a second, just enough time to let the coat fall to the floor.

When his lips crashed on yours again, the rhythm of the kiss changed, becoming frantic, as if the desperation had hit him too, and he needed to feel you.

A breathy sound fell from your lips as his tongue met yours, and he made you turn your back towards the wall, pushing you back until your ass hit the vanity. He pulled you up on top of it, and you spread your legs to make space for him, grabbing the collar of his shirt to pull him back into the kiss.

It was heated, that kiss, so heated you thought you were about to burst into flames. Into flames and fireworks and softness, as if it was more the afterglow than the explosion. And it felt like that – like that feeling of awe fireworks leave in one’s heart.

As he kissed you, hands roaming along your thighs, along your waist, you found yourself seeing that mosaic again. The one you had thought you were seeing through tainted glass. Only this time, the mosaic took form in your universe, a sight so beautiful your soul felt full, like it was incomplete until you an Jimin had finally chosen each other. It was beautiful, really, with reds and oranges and purples, along with the blues and lilacs and yellows your friendship had consisted of.

It was so much more than whatever you had had with Collin. Collin had been in your life for a long time, yes, but your soul had never been his, the way that it was Jimin’s.

Jimin moved from your lips to your neck, as you were still clutching his collar. You let it go, fingers moving to run through his hair, pulling at it. He bit your neck, then, gently, but hard enough to elicit a soft moan from your mouth.

He went crazy at the sound. Hands moving underneath your shirt, caressing the skin of your waist, before moving up to your breasts. Heat pooled between your legs as he grinded into you, and you could feel his own arousal against you, the friction making you see stars.

You hadn’t had sex in a long time and perhaps that, more than the feeling of him against you, had you pull away slightly.

“Jimin”, you breathed.

He looked up from your neck, eyes glassy with lust, lips glossy and red and swollen from your ministrations. He seemed slightly scared for a time, until you grabbed his face and pecked his lips once.

That seemed to reassure him, and a soft smile lit up his features.

“Y/n”, he breathed, too, and you felt your heart swell in your chest, with the feelings that you had for him.

“I…” you trailed off, looking between his two eyes. Gazing at the love that was warming them, taking it in and making it yours.

He was yours, and you were his.

“Can we take our time?” you asked, gently. “I haven’t…”

His eyes widened slightly, and he made to pull away, though you kept him from getting too far by wrapping your legs around his waist.

“You’re a virgin?” he asked.

Laughter burst out of you. “What?”

He wasn’t smiling, and he just looked confused.

He was truly adorable.

“I just haven’t had sex in a long time”, you admitted.

And it was true. Even before you and Collin had broken up, you hadn’t really gotten physical. Since…

You didn’t let your heart ache, as you realized he hadn’t really gotten intimate with you again, after October. After he had cheated with Harper.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asked, concern moving in his gaze.

He must have been able to read the feelings on your face.

You nodded. “I am.” You paused, glancing down at his mouth. “Please kiss me again.”

His tongue darted out, to wet his lips. “I won’t be able to go slow, if you tell me stuff like that.”

You didn’t know where your confidence came from, but you let a smirk grow on your lips. “Oh, Jimin-ie… We have all night in front of us, you better take your time.”

A smirk grew on his own lips, as his eyes grew ten times darker. But still they shone from within, with a light you hoped would never leave. “You’re lucky I’ve got a great stamina.”

You snorted, and then blushed as embarrassment raised in your chest at how awkward the sound had been. Until Jimin pecked your nose, the flirtatiousness melting into soft warmth.

“You are so cute”, he breathed against your lips, before kissing you again.

The gentleness of the action made you blush even more, though you fled from the feeling behind it, biting at his lips.

He was goddamn Park Jimin, and you were just you.

The insecurity that it brought to you menaced to shatter the mosaic again, but he chased it away as he kissed you, with more heat than you thought you could handle, until your body caved in to his touch. It was easy then, to let your thoughts dissolve into nothingness, especially as he grinded into you again, and the length of his erection brushed against your clit.

You moaned, a full noise that sounded far too obscene. He swallowed it, his tongue diving in your mouth to meet yours, establishing a rhythm that promised to be a sweet treat to your body.

Your hands pulled at the hem of his shirt, even as you didn’t remember having slid them underneath it, needing to feel the warmth of his skin. He pulled away from the kiss, to take off the piece of clothing, and it met his coat on the floor as your eyes fell to his ‘Never mind’ tattoo. Your fingers gently ran over it, and your heart beat quicker in your chest.

You had never thought you’d be touching his tattoos so intimately one day. Would have called crazy whoever would have said that you were meant to be there, in that mosaic of you.

Your phone chose that moment to start buzzing next to you, startling you. Both your gazes fell to the device, and you stayed still for a time. Until you grabbed the phone, breathing raggedly as you noticed that it was Chaeyoung. You didn’t feel like picking up the call, so you sent your friend to voicemail.

“Let me just text her”, you mumbled, as Jimin’s gaze burned on your face.

He nodded, his hands remaining on your waist as you unlocked your phone, and informed Chaeyoung that you were busy with Jimin, and that you wouldn’t be able to make it tonight.

It was worth the shit-eating smirk that was on Jimin’s lips when you looked up.

“Busy, mmh?” he said, gaze heavy with lust and desire as he looked down at the little space between you.

You nodded, feeling a wave of confidence again. “Maybe we should actually get to work though.” You bit your lip, looking at Jimin through your eyelashes, in a way that you hoped was attractive.

It made you feel awkward, though it seemed to work on Jimin, because he swiftly pulled your shirt off, and you hoped he couldn’t tell the blush on your cheeks was from being embarrassed. Luckily enough for you, his eyes had dropped to your chest, and at the black lacy bralette you were wearing.

“Fuck”, he breathed out. He looked up, meeting your gaze. “You’re so beautiful.”

Now, you felt very shy. Too shy to have him looking at you still, so you grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss again. He kissed you sweetly, with his pretty swollen lips, grinding into you for one last time before he stepped back.

“Now, let’s get you out of these pants.”

You gulped, nodding yes because you were pretty sure your voice would have failed you. Jimin unbuttoned your pants, though he didn’t make to pull them down your legs yet. Instead, he let his hand move between your legs, fingers grazing at you through the fabric.

“You’re so hot”, he said, breathing hard.

You whined, as he pressed on your clit, skilled fingers finding it right away.

He smirked, then, male pride evident in his gaze at the sounds he was already coaxing out of you, before pulling your pants down your legs. He gazed at your clothed pussy, only your black panties separating you from his hungry eyes, and you wondered if he could already see the wetness pooling there.

You doubted you had ever been wet like that before, and you had barely even started.

Before moving closer to you again, Jimin unbuckled his belt, eyes boring through yours with an intensity you had never seen in their depths. It made the hotness between your legs burn achily.

His jeans fell to the ground, though he kept his underwear on. He stepped out of the fabric pooling around his ankles, and then moved back between your legs. You blushed as he grabbed your chin to make you look up.

You had been gazing at the imprint of his hard dick.

“Eyes up here, baby”, he said, smirking, before stealing another kiss, one that led to him pushing his erection against you again.

It felt better, now that less fabric laid between you, though it wasn’t enough. You wanted all of him, lest you’d go crazy. Jimin seemed to understand it, because one of his hands found its way between your legs, and he ran his fingers on your clothed pussy, and on the wetness that was seeping through your panties.

“Fuck, Y/n”, he growled, and really, his voice was so low it sounded animalistic. “You’re so fucking wet already.”

“Please”, you breathed, and he smirked.

Smirked and pulled away, eyes going down to your clothed self again.

“I want to taste you.”

“Do it”, you murmured, as he was already kneeling down.

He didn’t wait, didn’t take his time. He pulled your panties to the side, tongue lapping at your entrance, collecting your juices. You moaned, loudly, and your head threw back as your eyes fell shut. One of your hands moved to your breast, pinching at your erect nipple through the fabric, as Jimin started working on you.

If there was one thing that was true about Jimin, it was that he knew how to use his tongue. Indeed, he skillfully found your clit, pressing small circles on it, and before you could even realize it, he slid a finger inside of you, curling it to find that sweet spot that made you see stars.

You moaned, louder, one of your hands moving to his hair, as he established a quick rhythm that had your legs shaking with sensitivity. Soon enough, he buried another of his fingers inside of you, spreading you wide open, and you clenched your walls against him.

You wanted more, and you couldn’t keep your body from telling him.

He sucked on your clit, moaning against you, and this time your pussy clenched by itself, walls holding him tightly inside.

“Fuck”, he said against you, pulling away just enough to look up at you.

You met his gaze, your own half-lidded eyes lost in the bliss of the pleasure he was giving you, and he smirked, lips shining from your wetness, before diving right back in.

Whatever he had been doing before wasn’t even half of what he could do, because this time, his tongue pressed hard against you, moving quickly, eliciting obscene moans from you, sounds tangled with his name as he inched you closer and closer to your orgasm.

And right when it was about to hit, your walls already pulsing against him, Jimin pulled away, leaving you empty. Empty and aching with the denied orgasm.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to take your time?” he asked, teasingly, once your eyes opened to glare at him.

“Fuck”, was all you could mutter back.

Jimin pressed his lips against yours, and you sucked on his bottom lip, moaning at the taste of yourself that still was lingering on his mouth. His fingers were digging in your hips, the pain a slight warning at the back of your mind.

Though you threw the warning away, because it felt way too damn good. His digits didn’t linger there for long, moving up to rid you of your bralette, and his mouth fell to your breast, sucking on it as you moaned again. He looked up, continuing his ministrations against your erect nipple, and you met his gaze, your pussy clenching around nothing. Maybe Jimin could tell, because his fingers found their way back to your pussy, and soon enough he had taken off your panties, fingers pumping in and out of you so quickly you could feel yourself withering away.

You knew you’d be nothing once the orgasm would hit. So, you grabbed onto him, right as he moved his face up and buried it in your neck. You breathed your pleasure in the shell of his ears as his fingers moved in and out, wet pornographic sounds filling the whole room.

“You’re so fucking wet”, he said again, but you barely were able to register it.

You wanted to say yes, but all that you could let out was a broken sound as your orgasm hit you out of nowhere, leaving you to shake with the waves of pleasure that moved through you.

Jimin worked you through the orgasm, thumb moving against your clit as his fingers curled inside of you, and you blinked back tears to look at him, though his face was hung low, forehead against your shoulder. Once he had milked the last of your orgasm from you, he looked up, meeting your gaze.

He looked a little crazed, as if he was in pain, and you understood why as your hand found its way to his dick, palming him through the fabric of his underwear.

He was so hard it had to be painful.

“I want to taste you too”, you murmured, too fucked out to be embarrassed with your words.

He kissed you, wildly, before pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. “Later”, he said, and he breathed it out like a promise. “For now I just want to fuck you until you’re screaming my name again.”

You hadn’t been aware you were screaming his name in the first place, but you didn’t have time to say it before he pulled you to your feet, turning you around until he had you bending over the vanity. You watched him take off his underwear in the mirror, your pussy still pulsing a little. Next thing you knew he was burying himself inside of you, so hard your thighs hit the vanity, and you screamed a moan, right as he groaned.

He was bigger than you had expected, and the stretching burned, though he remained still, to give you time to adjust. Or maybe just that had been enough to bring him close to the edge, and he had to refrain from moving otherwise he’d come.

His hands were on your hips, and you risked another look in the mirror, knowing fully well he was already looking at you.

Seeing Park Jimin, right there, impaling you, almost was enough to make you come again.

“Don’t clench around me like that”, he grunted, and he sounded as if he was in pain.

His eyes fell shut, and he started moving inside of you, ever so slowly. Slowly inching out, until he pushed all the way in again. You moaned, and his fingers tightened on your skin, before one of his hands loosened its grip, to gently run against the skin of your back.

“I don’t want to hurt you”, he murmured.

Your words finally found you again. “You’re not hurting me.”

His eyes flashed open at the sound of your voice, and you found you couldn’t hold his gaze. Not when he was fucking into you as slowly as he was.

“How do you like it?” he asked, and he bent over to press a kiss on the back of your shoulder before straightening again.

It made you feel warm inside, a feeling that cut through the lust you were drowning in, only to disappear as he started pounding into you.

“Fast?” he asked, before slowing down. “Or like this?”

When you remained silent, Jimin slapped your ass, and you moaned his name.

“As much as I love hearing you say my name like that, you haven’t answered my question, haven’t you?”

You whimpered as he slapped your ass again. Not enough to hurt, but just enough for your skin to tingle with the sting. “I want you to feel good”, you replied.

He stilled inside of you. “Look at me.”

You hadn’t even realized you had shut your eyes.

His gaze was soft when you met it. “No matter how we do it, I’ll feel good inside your tight pussy.”

It was crass, how he said the words, and it only turned you on even more.

“Then fuck me, Jimin”, you said, because really you couldn’t look at him any longer.

And so he did, pounding inside of you until he had you seeing stars, a second orgasm threatening to push you over the edge. You kept it in, knowing you’d be too ruined if you came again, especially as you were already turning sore. You wanted him to feel good before you’d let yourself go like that again.

His balls slapped against your clit as he fucked you, a strange music resonating in the room, and you held onto the sides of your vanity as he pushed harder and harder, your tits resting flat against the brushes and make-up items on the furniture. You could barely feel them there, your whole focus solely on the space between your legs, and the way he was moving inside of you, stretching you.

“You feel so good”, he praised you, and you moaned your agreement, which had him chuckling.

It felt so normal, so casual, that your heart swelled in your chest, tears moving in your gaze.

“I love you”, you breathed, unable to stop the words before they had moved out of your mouth.

He stopped pounding into you then, meeting your gaze, his own eyes creasing at the corners with fondness and love. “Y/n…”

You held his gaze for a time, until you found you couldn’t anymore. Your eyes fell shut, and you wondered if it was tears that were filling the space under your lids.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, gently, once again bending to kiss your shoulder.

“You feel so good”, you said, echoing his previous words.

He hadn’t moved from your shoulder when he spoke again. “You look in pain.”

You weren’t in pain, honestly. You were just overwhelmed with your feelings for him, and you were too much of a coward to meet his gaze.

“I am not”, you promised. “Can we move to my room?”

The question felt appropriate, aimed to make him drop his concern. And it worked, as he pulled away, leaving you empty, and he pulled you up, wrapping his arms around your waist as he kissed the side of your neck.

You shivered, tilting your head to the side, allowing him to move up your skin until he was sucking on the spot bellow your ear.

“I love you too”, he murmured against you, before kissing the hickey he had just created on your skin.

Another piece of the mosaic that was yours.

You turned in his arms, then, pressing your lips against his, kissing him until you felt so drunk with him you couldn’t even remember your own name. He picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, lips still pressed against yours.

He took a few unsteady steps towards the exit of the room, before stopping as he chuckled in the kiss. The sound was sweet and innocent even though you were butt-naked and had just been fucking like there was no tomorrow. It made you love him even more, and you wrapped your arms around his neck tighter to hold him close to you.

You never wanted to be away from him again.

He pulled away from your lips, to look over your shoulder. “As much as I love kissing you, I’ll have to look where I’m going or we’ll both end up on the floor.”

You laughed then, an airy sound that didn’t even seem like it belonged to you. As he walked, you pressed your lips against the spot where his neck met his shoulder, his earring tickling your face as you sucked on the skin, giving him a hickey in return for the one he had just put on your own skin.

He hissed, hands tightening their grip on your ass, as he finally reached your room. He carried you to your bed, putting you down before straightening. You looked up at him, then, eyes full of love and desire. He grabbed your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your skin gently, before bending down to press a sweet kiss on your lips.

“Why don’t you make place for me, mmh?” he asked against your lips, before straightening and motioning to the pillows on the other side of the bed.

You obeyed, and soon enough Jimin was hovering over you, one hand holding him up as he kneeled between your legs, his erection resting against your pelvis.

“You are so beautiful”, he murmured again, and it sounded like a prayer, like you were the god to his religion.

It made you feel shy again, and your eyes shut, instinctively.

He brushed your cheek with his knuckles, ever so gently, coaxing you to open your eyes. Only you didn’t, your insecurity meeting you full force.

How could you be having sex with Park Jimin? You were no one and…

“Look at me, Y/n”, he said, murmuring the words against your lips.

He was so close you could feel his mouth moving against yours.

“You’re intimidating to look at”, you replied, truthfully.

That made him move away, far enough for his breath to be a ghost on your skin, barely even warm from the distance.

“What?” he let out.

“Why me?” you asked, then, as you truly wondered. It was hard to believe someone like Jimin wanted to be with someone like you.

“Y/n…” he breathed, and he pecked your forehead, a sweet act that was purely done out of his love for you.

A pretty girl and her boyfriend.

“Because to me, you’re the prettiest girl in the world. The only one I see, the only one I want, and the one I want to spend my life with.” He pecked your nose then, before pulling away again. “You’re the one I am in love with, and no girl will ever compare to you.” He pecked your lips. “No one can ever compare to you.”

You are the mosaic of my soul.

It was the confirmation that you had needed, and your insecurity slowly dwindled away, replaced by the warmth he brought to your heart.

You made love then, gaze lost in each other’s, in the stars Jimin’s eyes held and the love you shared. The shadows had long left Jimin’s gaze, and they were shining, glowing with pure love and happiness, and desire. So much desire you truly felt like the prettiest girl in the world.

You hoped his shadows and clouds would never come back. Promised yourself you wouldn’t let them come back, whatever it took.

Jimin moved slowly, inside of you, until you reached another orgasm, one that took its origin in that pure feeling you shared, an orgasm that had him toppling over the edge too, spilling inside of you.

And he stayed there, for a long time, gazing into your eyes. He had long gone soft when he pulled out, his seed spilling from you. He stayed close, pressing soft kisses on your cheeks and lips, until you were giggling and blushing.

“You are adorable”, he said, and you moved your hands to his ribs… tickling him.

He yelped, pulling away from you. “Traitor”, he said, between two laughs.

It made you laugh a little more, as he sat on the side of your bed.

It was a strange sight to see. A naked Park Jimin, in your bedroom. In the place where no one but you had ever been before. The place where no one but you two would be from now on.

You turned, lying on your belly, as you looked up at him. His eyes trailed on your body appreciatingly, landing on your ass.

“I knew you had a nice ass but, fuck, the real sight is much better than what I had anticipated”, he said, teasingly, before slapping your ass for emphasis and getting up.

“Hey!” you let out, laughing as he took a single step away, and your eyes fell to his own ass. “You’re one to talk, with the dump truck you’re carrying around.”

Jimin spun around, eyes wide as he met your gaze. You burst out laughing at the same time, and you felt warm and happy and complete.

There was no more beautiful feeling in this world.

“Come, let’s get cleaned up”, he said, offering you a hand to help you stand up.

Grabbing his extended hand felt like a promise. It felt like you had just finished making the mosaic of you, and you were finally ready to gaze at the whole piece of art.

It was a promise, that you’d be together, from now on until the end.

I want to be with you.

Jimin’s words echoed in your mind.

I want to be with you too.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

AAAH. Thank you for reading me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed building the story for these two. It was fun, though the beginning was excruciating to write. Hopefully it didn’t feel like that to read it!!

Let me know what you thought of the fic! Feedback is always appreciated, and a good source of motivation for writing more stories like that ;). I might also start a taglist so let me know if you want to be added to that!

Anyways, love you lots, thank you again for reading me <3

#park jimin #park jimin fanfic #park jimin smut #park jimin fluff #park jimin angst #park jimin fanfiction #park jimin fic #park jimin x reader #park jimin x you #bts pjm #pjm x reader #i want to be with you

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taegularities · 2 years

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love me better | pjm (m)

thank you so much for this absolutely stunning banner, maggie @kth1 <33

Summary: “And your kisses taste bitter now after all.”

Park Jimin still remembers you from a fervent night, not expecting in his wildest dreams that you’d join his team to solve the case of the most dangerous thieves in the country. But he soon realises that of all things, you might be the hardest riddle he’s ever had to crack.

⋙ pairing: Jimin x reader ⋙ rating: 18+ ⋙ genre: strangers to lovers, bits of fwb, detective!au; angst, fluff, smut ⋙ warnings: quite some angst (don’t say i didn’t warn you), secrets secrets!, past minor character death/drowning (only mentioned), guns, (talk about) fears/past trauma, thefts and detective stuff, injuries, car accident, crying, unhealthy coping mechanisms, betrayal, bottled up feelings, some pov changes, hyung line cameo !! explicit sexual content: multiple (3) sex scenes, dom!jimin, sub!reader, unprotected sex (be responsible y’all), teasing, flirting, heavy sexual tension, fingering, oral (f. & m. rec.), dirty talk, lots of mid-sex convos lol, petnames, breast play, soft & rough sex, some aftercare, ... lmk if i forgot smth the fic is huge ⋙ word count: 36.7k (just like that.... sorry 😐) ⋙ a/n: GOSH IT’S FINALLY HERE. it took me 7. damn. months to finish this and !!! i so hope you guys like it 😭 thank you for beta’ing and for your patience, precious angels @missgeniality and @jimilter, you fixed this mess and were there for me alllll this time 😭 and thank you also to @btsmosphere for brainstorming with me when i found myself clueless 🤍 let me know what you all think. feedback is highly appreciated !!! <3 ⋙ uploaded to AO3, too (for those who prefer pdfs or mobile readings!)

➳ listen to the LMB playlist for the full experience 🖤

MASTERLIST | WIPS

A sudden, bright red flashes and a loud thump of his heart sounds in his ears.

Jimin’s surroundings remind him that his favourite place in the whole wide world is the luxurious, dark grey sofa standing in his quiet office. He adores it when the sun rays shine through his large open window just enough to drench his face in the comfortable warmth. Loves to watch the snow’s soft descent in the darkest and coldest winter.

The solace and peace that come with lying on the warm upholstery fabric and thinking about his current case – or nothing at all – is an unmatched feeling sent from above. With his phone turned off, one arm draped over his eyes and the other dangling from the side of the couch, Jimin thinks there might never be a way of relaxation superior to this.

It’s what he likes to do. It’s his thing.

The club isn’t.

And he doesn’t think he’d find himself here at all if it was up to him. If Hoseok hadn’t dragged him all the way up here from the far-away office in the city, Jimin would most likely still be drowning in the work that seems to advance slowly.

He doesn’t know why he’s sitting on this very stool at this very corner of the town, letting the shrill music numb his ears and the lights blind his sight. With a small sigh, he closes the camera roll and darkens the screen, shifting his focus from the phone to his bitter whiskey. Staring at a stolen item without the chance to retrieve it won’t do much right now anyway.

Once he’s stuffed the device in his pocket, he drags his eyes back to the dance floor again, pressing his full lips together as he looks for the now-familiar face in the crowd of strangers. Despite the fact that you’re someone he’s seeing for the first time tonight, he can’t seem to get enough of the sheer confidence you emanate.

Perhaps it’s that very gaze you shoot at him whenever he looks at you, too. Perhaps it’s the gentle, almost unnoticeable smile that follows and the tongue that darts out to wet your lips. There’s something about you that’s been distracting him enough tonight to forget the entire case.

And with the mysterious glances you provide him with, he doesn’t think he has to keep pondering his options.

There aren’t that many anyway.

“Are you going to try something?” Hoseok asks, nudging his friend lightly with an elbow.

You notice very well that he doesn’t avert his focus while conversing with his handsome friend – and then again, you reckon he’s trying to make clear who his attention belongs to. Subtle boldness hidden behind a sweet yet dangerous smile – your absolute favourite.

“What makes you think I want to?” Jimin responds, cocking an eyebrow while taking another burning sip of his intoxicating liquid.

Hoseok shrugs his shoulders, heart-shaped lips forming a grin as he answers, “Just the look of absolute satisfaction from you everytime she smirks at you.”

“Hey,” Jimin retorts as he places the glass back on the counter, finally meeting his friend and colleague’s eyes, “you brought me here against my will. Might as well use the night to have some fun.”

“I’m not stopping you!” The music grows louder in volume, the annoying beat dominating rather than the voices that are singing the indecipherable lyrics, and Hoseok leans close as he yells, “In fact, I’m encouraging you! It’s exactly why we’re here after all.”

Jimin laughs and nods with a squint of his eyes, an enthusiastic smile spreading across his face before he tries to find you again. Which proves to be the easiest task of the century, and his arm nearly knocks off his drink when your idle steps distract him from every movement around him.

You’re inching closer slowly, his eyes clearly subject to your attention and your head tilted in mischief. He doesn’t know your name; doesn’t know how you feel; has never seen you before – but from up close, you’re so undeniably pretty that he wishes he had. What higher power has hidden you from his greedy gaze until now?

You plump onto the seat next to him, waving off the bartender with your hand before he even gets to take your order. The man in front of you watches your actions carefully, an amused twinkle shimmering in his pupils as you lean in and ask, “Is there something you wanna say to me?”

If you thought you could render him speechless with your sudden appearance or make him stumble over his own words, you were utterly wrong. Because he seems unaffected, one side of his mouth twitching upward when he starts, “Just that…”

He smacks his luscious lips, the smile so lovely that it almost makes you believe that you’re talking to a stranger who’s out for your heart.

One of his fingers point to the dance floor, and your eyes follow, blending out the music and listening to him explain, “The guy you were dancing with was trying so hard to turn you around and make you grind against him. Poor man never got his wish though.”

“That’s because I didn’t let him touch me. Greasy fingers… he’s gross. And he has a habit of…” You pause, crafting your words carefully until you nod and add, “Of being a cocky, irritating presence in every club of the town.”

He raises his eyebrows, his mouth forming an ‘o’, and you inquire, “Right? I mean, a sane man wouldn’t annoy his ladies like this, would he? You wouldn’t, right?”

The laugh he gives you, one that you join in, is coated with sugar and honey, the pure tenor so soft, but his words so contradicting, “Of course not. Respect is given. I know how to handle my women.”

“Ah. Alright, Mister Heartbreaker then–”

“Park Jimin.”

How lovely it sounds rolling off his tongue.

“Mister Heartbreaker Park Jimin. Tell me how you handle your women.”

Jimin’s sure he’s surpassed the stage of playing coy and innocent long ago, the reasons to play around words nearly vanishing as he adds bluntly, yet carefully, “I’m someone who prefers execution over explanations.”

He is only half aware that he’s stopped talking to his friend. Which is okay – Hoseok will let Jimin and you do your thing quietly, but not without a telling smirk on his face.

And Jimin’s gaze hasn’t strayed from your eyes once since you sat down to keep him company. Any other man you usually have the pleasure – or inconvenience – to meet, knows exactly where to look; one lick of the lower lip, a tilt of the head and a finger on your knees speak volumes.

But Park Jimin seems to contain his intentions inside this fascinating brain of his; almost as hard to read as you are.

“Interesting,” you say with a cocky smirk.

Your high heels clatter against the ground sharply when you stand; a sound so clear despite the incessant thrumming of the music. A gentle finger of yours comes up to remove the disturbing, blonde lock of hair out of his face, and you give him a smile before you say, “Execute then.”

Jimin’s tongue operates in a way that lets you glance into a mind far more intriguing and alluring than you’ve ever experienced before. Men could spend full nights with you and pin you under their bodies whichever way they wanted; but the attraction that his personality exudes remains unmatched.

And when you give in to his charm and find yourself behind the club, sandwiched between the wall and him, you realise just how well and elegantly his tongue truly moves. The dance he entertains you with isn’t a soft and gentle waltz, but a wild and fast tango that melts you in his touch.

As the muffled noises permeate through the heavy door next to your body, you indulge in the way his hand trails your body, unsure where to settle as he presses a knee between your thighs. Your faces hide in the darkness, only lit by the neon green exit sign above the door, and yet you see the hunger every time you part for a single moment and stare into his telling eyes.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks breathlessly, his fingers holding your jaw in his soft grip as he searches your gaze for an answer.

You think he knows what you want – it’s always the same.

They don’t ever say no to more, and they never assume you’d walk away after exploring your skin so far. Sometimes it brings a sense of emptiness into your chest, knowing that you’re the all too ready prey that lets the predator take her home and bite.

But then again, doing this is all that you’ve ever known.

With a tempting smile and a palm ghosting over his bicep, you inch closer to his lips, letting him register the flowery scent blooming from your neck before you answer, “I want you to…”

A hand wrapping around his, you bring it to your ass, listening to him drawing a sharp breath. “...touch me here…” And then, his fingers travel to your heat through your guidance, an obvious bulge pressing against your thigh as you finish, “...and here. But not in this dusty alley and not against this cold wall.”

“Why not?” he inquires, lifting your dress before he kisses your neck softly. “A minute ago you wanted me so badly, please, Park Jimin.”

You roll your eyes at his damned dimpled grin, tempted to remark something just as snarky before you change your decision and state, “I just thought you’d rather hear me screaming and crying at full volume for you instead of trying to stay quiet here.”

“Well, to be fair, the thought of you forcing yourself to st-”

A stray cat breaks his train of thoughts, suddenly flashing by your bodies as you both flinch at the sudden interruption. With the intoxication slightly broken, you laugh, letting go of his collar as you raise an eyebrow and say, “And that’s exactly why a bed would be a better idea.”

And who is he to deny your suggestion anyway?

No, you’re a mind-numbing existence among the boring faces of strangers; one who keeps him entertained even when Jimin tackles the long ride home. As he tries to catch every green traffic light, you’re there to laugh about his jokes and baffle him with your own wit, talking about everything that crosses your mind until he drags you into his room and silences you with his awaiting, ready-to-consume tongue.

For the life of you, you can’t tell what his bedroom looks like – his fingers and his lips exploring your body drive you insane so intensely that you can’t keep your eyes open for too long. It’s a night spent in lustful moans and sweet kisses, his body tiring yours until you grow weak and limp and your eyelids flutter shut.

With one of your legs sticking out from under the thin blanket, you let his fingers graze the expanse of your skin, humming in content until you finally fall asleep. You look like a dream on his satin sheets, your face lit by the shine of the half moon that gives you a fairy-like glow that Jimin wants to know more about.

And yet, when he wakes up in the morning, with your eyes being the first memory of the turbulent night before, he finds his mattress empty. The other side of the bed seems cold to the touch, the pillow and sheets so smooth that he wonders if he imagined you. If you were here at all.

But the obvious foreign scent that he inhales in the very next moment tells him that no part of you had been a breathtaking figment of his vivid imagination.

Your calmness and enchanting mystery don’t leave Jimin’s mind until two weekends have rolled by and ended again. It takes him one distraction too many to forget the hidden emotion in your eyes and the readiness with which you gave yourself to him.

Only to disappear the very next morning.

As Jimin stops wondering what happened that night and why you suddenly vanished into thin air, he finds himself hovering above more important things than your body. Sleeves rolled up and eyes drooping, he glances at the scattered files that contain hints, evidence and protocols of the last few weeks.

Trying to figure out what the group his case deals with might do next proves nearly impossible; even more so with each robbery they successfully get away with. Reading a pattern shouldn’t be this hard. Jimin has handled cases worse than this one; no matter whether they circled around vandalists or peculiar art thieves.

What is he not seeing?

His features remain calm, but his knuckles pale. A thumb strokes the piece of paper that has crucial information about the last theft, written black on white. Reading the lines over and over again turns out to be immensely tiring; he doesn’t think staring at them or breaking his head over the words might bring him any closer to the answer.

Right when his body begs him to carry it home, Jimin’s eyes blinking to rid themselves of sleep, the door to his office opens with a click. He doesn’t expect any company at this evening hour; he’s sure the floor is empty aside from his presence still lingering in his suffocating and dimly lit room.

“Do you like it better here than at home, Hobi?” he queries.

He lifts his gaze and runs a hand through his ash-blonde hair, the sight slightly blurry until his co-worker’s shadow takes a solid form. Hoseok flips the light switch, and Jimin protests with a grunt and a shaking head, motioning him to darken the room again – but his actions still when something else catches his attention.

With one foot on the threshold and a hand clutching a bag, serene, familiar eyes stare back at him; they don’t showcase any sign of confusion or fascination the way Jimin’s do. The mystery surrounding the not-so-stranger still glows as gloomily as the last time, and Jimin finds himself wondering if it’s the sleep deprivation that’s dipping his mind into hallucinations after all.

But then you enter the room, your shoulder lightly bumping into Hoseok’s and a laugh falling out of you at the coincidence of the situation. Your lips aren’t tinted red anymore as in the night he touched you for the first and last time; but you still look like he’s known you for longer than he actually has. Like this isn’t just the second time he’s meeting your eyes.

“You might remember her,” Hoseok says, smirking at Jimin knowingly.

The younger man catches himself fast, letting out an exhausted breath before he eyes you with something akin to boredom, nonchalance. You shift from one leg to the other, glancing to Hoseok and then back to Jimin as your tongue toys with the inside of your cheek.

“I do, yeah,” Jimin confirms, thoughts drifting back to his empty mattress. In some way, a scenario like this isn’t rare after a meaningless one night stand with a stranger that has the stare of a poisonous snake. Yet, the memory bothers him. “What brings you here, uh…”

He blinks at you, watches your lips part before he fakes a guess on your name despite being fully aware of the word he whispered dozens of times that night. A sweet melody that escapes between his lips so smoothly is hard to forget.

You nod, stepping closer and stretching out a hand for him to take. Behind you, Hoseok presses his lips into a thin line, hands on his slacks-covered-hips as he observes the awkward exchange.

You feel his stare more than you see it, well aware that Hoseok probably knows that you were once trapped under Jimin’s body, filled to the brim and a moaning mess like you’ve never been. Not before Jimin, not after Jimin.

“I’ll be joining you here. My division sent me here to help you out with the… the Swan case,” you explain, tilting your head. You’re hesitating; like uttering this sentence is burning your tongue.

Jimin knew another force would join his group all too soon – he just didn’t think it’d be you.

From what he gathered, it had to be someone he knew; perhaps that one woman who’s known worldwide for solving the case of a misunderstood art thief. Or maybe the detective he met at the last gathering of his organisation – he seemed promising and skilled enough to switch to this case.

But it’s you.

The woman who has somehow, inexplicably, been haunting him since the first time her lips touched his neck and her fingers grazed his thighs. What are the odds?

Jimin chuckles quietly, a lock of hair falling into his crescent eyes that he brushes back immediately. Then, he says, “Welcome on board, then. But next time you can come to my office in the morning, if you’d like. It’s okay to take a break and go home – both of you.”

“Says you,” you tease, a mocking lilt in your voice that sounds like the soft song of chirping birds at sunrise, “besides, I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“That I can imagine.”

Because who else would walk away at the ass crack of dawn after falling asleep late, leaving him questioning and irritated?

Jimin shakes off the incessant thoughts. Apparently, they rule over his mind with a harder force than he expected or ever wanted; but with you standing here, the scene keeps reappearing over and over again.

“Do you guys need some time alone?”

Hoseok’s voice chimes through the tension electrifying you both, bursting the bubble that had excluded him till now. You finally realise that he’s still standing there too, and so you let out a deep breath before you say, “No, no, I was going to leave anyway. I just wanted to stop by and… introduce myself again, I guess.”

“And you just happened to know that I’m still here,” Jimin voices. There’s no hostility in his sweet, small voice, but something about his words sounds sharp and intense, anyway.

“I just thought I could try,” you defend, shrugging your shoulders as you nod towards Hoseok, “and saw him leaving the building.”

The man in question mimics your movements, shoulders lifting before he waves his hands and says, “But just for the record – he’s always here. I bet he sleeps in this office sometimes.”

“I do n–” Jimin’s words die on his tongue when he decides to sigh instead, pinching the bridge of his nose with sleep fogging his brain. “Anyway. When are you starting?”

“Monday.”

Closing the files, Jimin readies himself for the drive back home, eager to end the day and to rid his thoughts of the investigation. In this state, he won’t be able to glue the pieces together anyway. Hoseok whispers something to you and you converse back, both your voices fading as the rustling of Jimin’s coat fills his ears instead.

“Then enjoy your weekend,” he eventually says, shooting an unexpected wink at you that you respond to with a raised eyebrow, “luckily we get these off at least. Can’t wait to work with you, Detective.”

Whiskey and noting down his thoughts keep Jimin’s mind on track as your face creeps its way into his brain constantly.

A weekend never felt this long, and the vacant and silent loudness in his apartment never this numbing. He doesn’t know where this excitement – or tamed rage – comes from, but the more he thinks of you, the more you distract him from the task at hand.

Working with you face to face doesn’t make things easier either. Monday passes, the week progresses and you’re blinking at the stack of papers sprawled on the table in front of you, but he finds his own focus drift every now and then, much to his chagrin.

It’s only when you slump back into a chair and tell him to read the files, that he loses himself in the riddle of the papers again. But it’s always the same; never a new clue jumping out. It’s like the answer is right in front of him and he is unable to pick it out. It tickles the back of his brain; a little as though he has all the necessary puzzle pieces, but doesn’t know how to combine them.

“It’s something obvious, right?”

You sigh when he repeats the same words for the umpteenth time tonight, throwing your head back as you respond, “I think so, yeah.”

“Then why the fuck…”

“Jimin.”

“No, no, look. Okay.” He lifts his hands in front of his body, closing his eyes as he summarises, “They always rob rich people. Like, public, known people. They’re too high class for simple robberies like banks and stuff. And they always steal jewellery, like necklaces, earrings or bracelets. Never any money or pure gold bars.”

“Yes.”

“But there must be a pattern–”

“Jimin,” you repeat, grabbing his wrist before you pull his attention from the files. He turns around slowly, exhaustion yet again written all over his countenance as he leans against the table. “Take a break.”

You place the fore and middle finger of your right hand between your eyebrows, massaging the space lightly before you let your hand fall again and say, “Do this. It’s gonna help you relax. And remove this scary frown of yours.” You laugh when he smirks, crossing your legs on the chair as you lean back. “I used to do that a lot in my old division.”

“If you’re saying that, then it must be true.” Jimin buries one hand in the pockets of his slacks, the other following your suggestion and calming his expressions. “By the way.” You look at him in question, not missing the slight judgemental tone of his voice. “Why did you never tell me you’d join us here? I’m sure you already knew the night we met in the club.”

The question catches you off guard, and your eyes stick on him for a second longer, unblinking. Then, you let out a deep breath, humming in thought before you confess, “I didn’t think you’d be part of the team here. For all I knew, you could’ve been a highschool teacher or… or, I don’t know, an architect?”

“Architect,” Jimin mocks, rolling his eyes, “not an architect.”

“Well, the point is that I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I never really considered my private life important enough for a stranger to know.”

“Hmmm.” He clicks his tongue, gathering the ball of disappointment of the last weeks between his lips before they form the words he’s been desperate to ask. “Is that why you didn’t spend that night? You wanted us to stay strangers.”

You shrug your shoulders, laughing off the awkward tension between you two as you explain, “Staying? That’s not what I do.”

“What is it that you do, then?”

“I like meeting new people,” you confess, your voice so calm that it feels like you might yawn any second now. “There are a lot of lovely men out there who have a talent of doing just what I like.” You pause for a second, your lips still parted and eyes moving to the ceiling before they find him again. “And women. Love women.”

“So,” Jimin drawls, clearing his throat, “you just go around burning yourself into all these people’s memories?”

“Why? Have I burned myself into yours?”

“I mean… It took me two weeks to remember Hoseok’s name despite seeing him every single day.” Fingers lifting from the already relaxed spot on his face, Jimin taps his shiny, black boots against the ground underneath. “What do you think?”

There’s something so undeniably attractive about his fearless openness and way of talking. Most people you meet aren’t exactly the epitome of timidness and silence either, but they often meet you with a brazenness that you can’t help but live through with a fake smile. But Jimin seems to mean each one of his words. He seems to calculate them, politely and genuinely.

You, however, are just as blatant and stupid as the people you meet. And in that sense, you don’t wait long before your rotten mouth declares, “Why do you make me wanna kiss you?”

Jimin’s eyes blow wide for a fraction of a second at your shameless approach as he realises that this is not just harmless small talk anymore. Just like the night in the loud, hot, uncomfortable club, you seem to follow ulterior motives. Your hips aren’t moving to the music anymore as they did back then, but your words and the sound of your voice lure him in anyway.

He pushes himself off the edge of the table, stepping closer, slowly, before he leans down in front of you. Hands still residing in his pockets, he stares at you for a small, fleeting moment; and then, he nudges your nose and places a finger under your chin. Lifts your head to take a better look at your seductive gaze.

You close your eyes and part your lips. Get ready for him to adhere to your wishes and give himself to you. You inhale sharply when his mouth brushes against yours, and only exhale after the lightest of pecks that he graces your lower lip with.

Pictures of both of you flash through your mind: your half naked bodies colliding, right here on his chair, you straddling him and moving gently, temptingly. In your imagination, lewd sounds of moans, gasps and kisses fill the air; and you’re ready for him. Ready for his touches.

But then, he suddenly retreats; cuts through your daydream with a knife.

“I’ll kiss you when I’m the only one you want to kiss.”

The smirk that follows shows his pride over the statement he just uttered, and your eyebrows come together in a frown as irritation fills your chest and your guts. Why does he care this much? Why is he saying what he’s saying?

To add to your demise, he lifts a hand, two fingers massaging the stressed spot on your forehead before he says, “Do this. Feels relaxing.”

And before you can blink twice, he’s turned around and shifted his focus to his beloved investigation again.

Jimin is playing a dangerous game that you’ve used to battle so many men before. One to keep them yearning and wanting, but keeping your heart and mind at bay without ever letting them too close. It’s more art than a game, really, and you thought you’d mastered it very well already – until now.

Today, you find yourself losing the tug of war for the very first time in oh so long.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise that your mind is a fascinating miracle.

The conclusions Jimin drew in the last few weeks according to the available hints come easily to you – assuming you didn’t know about any of them already. As you scan files and papers, you summarise your deductions before Jimin can fully inform you about them, and the eagerness you work with almost exceeds his own spirit to hustle from time to time.

You’re munching on tiny bites of your lunch as you compare a sheet of information with a picture of some party. These are pieces of Jimin’s self-compiled folder, but he never really paid much attention to them till now. For some reason, you seem to be fixated on them; keep telling him that there’s something about it, something’s important about these.

“We’re on lunch break,” Jimin says, letting his spoon fall into his spicy soup before he leans back, “concentrate on not feeding your nose and cheeks instead.”

Your lips move with the words you read, and when you’ve reached the end of the line, you lift your face to look at him, telling him solemnly, “Give me a second. I swear I’m close.”

“Listen, you haven’t eaten anything properly since you opened the office this morning. What about tea? Coffee? Wat–”

“Wait, Jimin,” you interrupt with an annoyed shake of your head, your forehead wrinkling and your palm holding your face.

With a sigh, he shifts his attention to his meal again, fixing his eyes on the dirty dishes in the sink as he waits for you to converse with him again. Not even Hoseok is this bad. In fact, Hoseok has said that the situation between Jimin and you reminds him a lot of busy days when the older man must come between his younger friend and his work, forcing him to eat, drink and breathe.

Jimin blinks once before he decides to stare at the photograph from afar, not as concentrated as you, but taking in the content anyway. It seems like a picture from a huge gathering, a kind of party with guests from the highest level. They’re millionaires known to the entire world, living in this very country and this very city, residing in houses bigger than Jimin or you can ever dream to live in.

Three square tables are arranged in a way that all of the guests are visible on the picture, each of them occupying one side of each table. Jimin knows that at least half of them have already been robbed, and that again, half of those are so filthy rich that they never bothered to file a serious complaint. Not because they work with the thieves, but because a tie or a hair clip they own costs more than the necklaces and bracelets that they lost.

The sole, striking connection to the criminals shows in the middle of each table, in the form of a blue swan, paper folded neatly in origami style to the majestic animal. The colour of the symbol always stays the same; and the bird remains consistent, too. Jimin knows the picture is important to figure out some sort of pattern; or at least he does now, watching you work so diligently.

And it seems like you’ve finally figured it out, because only a moment later, you break his train of thoughts and nearly yell, “Heureka!”

“What? What, what?”

Your pupils shake, your mind collecting your thoughts, and you bite your lower lip as he grows nervous and repeats, “What?”

“So,” you start, excitement clearly visible in your eyes as you half lean over the table, “this list is organised by the date of the thefts and next to said dates are the names of the, uh, victims.” Your finger wanders over each line, reading the names out loud. “So the first one was this Kim guy. Who’s sitting at the very left table, on the, let’s say, west side of it.”

Jimin nods, a hand gesture pleading for you to slow down and take a breath; you oblige immediately, inhaling through the nose before you continue, “And the second person… Lee, she’s sitting on the middle table. West side, too.”

“Okay.”

“The third name on this list is Gong. Who,” you pause, returning to the picture, pointing to a bald, middle-aged man with a crooked smile, “third table. Try to guess? Yes, the west side as well.”

Jimin thinks he’s beginning to understand, his mind slowly following your blabber as nervousness and a sense of triumph bubble in his guts. You speak on, explaining to him in double time how the fourth and fifth victims both sat at the north side, on the first and second table respectively; and when your voice grows louder, Jimin raises a finger into the air.

“So that means…” he begins, the conclusion taking a clear form in his mind, “they’re working their way through people according to this photograph. Clockwise, from left to right… so then, solving the puzzle correctly would mean…”

He taps the tip of his forefinger against the shiny material of the picture, and you nod slowly, speaking before he does, “Seong Hyunwoo. He and his family are next. And if I’m not wrong… then it should happen in exactly eight days.”

His smile drops, eyes immediately searching for yours as he blinks and questions, “How do you know?”

“According to this list and the dates, they seem to follow a pattern of exactly fifty-five days.” You shuffle the pages and gather them into one, shoulders shrugging and your tone casual, almost matter-of-factly. “Probably need that time to prepare and think about their next steps and whatever.”

“This is insane.”

“Hm?”

“The fact that I was never able to solve this,” Jimin confesses; and as soon as he utters these words, discouragement floods his insides, his body falling back against the chair as his eyes turn gloomy. He gestures toward the papers, scoffing lightly as he says, “It was right in front of my eyes and I couldn’t solve it. Basic information. Might as well get fired.”

You watch him fidget with his fingers for a second, emphatic and fond; and when he refuses to meet your stare again, you tell him, “Well, finding two separate pieces is an achievement, too. Piecing them together is harder. If you hadn’t found these things, I wouldn’t have been able to conclude what we just did. And I think you just need to… sleep more, too.”

“Yeah, but…” Jimin hesitates, lips blowing raspberries in slight frustration. He wants to be happy about what the picture and the list reveal; but he can’t help but feel defeated anyhow. “Anyone would’ve found this information. And it wasn’t too hard to figure out.”

“Hey,” you interject, pouting with playful hurt, “does that mean I’m not all that smart? Maybe you didn’t want to solve the case then…”

“No, I was just saying that…”

“Ah, cut that bullshit,” you interrupt yet again, dismissing his comment with a light wave of your hand, “you’re not a bad detective. You’re awesome, but… it’s okay to look at the bigger picture sometimes. You’ll find the details once you do.”

You flash a blinding smile at him – so bright and shiny that he loses concept of time and space for a split second before gravity pulls him back into the small break room. He’s thankful. Not only for the fact that you’ve stepped closer to victory, but for your behaviour toward his whiny, childish attitude as well.

You don’t seem to judge; seem to aim for encouragement instead.

A warm palm slides across the table, settling on your fingers slowly as he mumbles, “Thank you.”

Blood rushes into your face and heats your skin, an innocent expression spreading on your countenance as you gaze at his hand on yours.

But the awkward, silent moment passes as fast as it appeared, and you join his happiness when he laughs and declares, “This is so fucking dumb. These guys are idiots… should’ve expected that people as smart as you exist.”

“Please,” you whisper quietly, barely audible as he watches your smile widen with amusement.

A hum vibrates across his chest, and he observes your sudden timidness further before he jokes, “Who the hell still says heureka, by the way?”

“Shut up!”

Under the table, you kick his shin lightly, and he cries out in pain with a tender laugh. One you turn into a symphony by adding your own, lovely sound.

As soon as you figure out the date and location of the next robbery, informing your force busy with this case, you spend your upcoming evenings and nights observing Seong’s house.

What sounds tiring and tedious in the beginning, soon proves to be even more tiring and tedious eventually. Even if it’s part of your job, you’d rather spend your nights elsewhere. But Jimin keeps you occupied – he doesn’t only provide information you might need in the upcoming time, but keeps the mood floating, too.

Now and then, you remind yourself where you are and what you’re doing. Try not to let your mind shift too much, averting your gaze from the dimpled smile he throws you in the darkness merely lit by dull street lamps.

But despite the thrill and excitement of the situation, some moments stretch too long, and when the big, awaited night finally breaks in, you say, “Any moment now.”

In the passenger’s seat, Jimin licks his lips, squinting his eyes to shoot the mansion another look before he mumbles, “I sure hope so. Couldn’t sleep at all last night.”

On cue, you yawn into your hand, leaning back with a sigh as you blink away tears of exhaustion. You, for one, would go in and warn the married couple if you could, but according to Jimin, Seong and his family have caused him and his force trouble on more than one occasion.

Apparently, they have a reputation of the prestigious, not-so-humble pair among detectives already, hiring one group for past minor thefts while consulting another at the same time. Jimin doesn’t like repeating the story of when both detective groups chased each other the same night, enabling the real thieves to escape with ease.

To say that this was the most embarrassing day of his life must be an understatement.

“If we went in, they’d just cause unnecessary drama and wake the neighbourhood. Easy for the Swans to catch the hint and abandon their mission,” he told you, eliciting a sigh of frustration out of you until you shrugged your shoulders and kept observing.

What fatigue the profession brings…

“Tired, too?” Jimin questions as you pinch your nose, blinking to rid your eyes of sleep.

“Can’t wait for today to be over.”

“Told you we should’ve brought coffee.”

“How much coffee have you had today already?

He shrugs his shoulders, fingers brushing back the blonde, smooth hair as he remarks, “Not enough.”

If you’ve ever seen a full-blown caffeine-addict before, they’ve never compared to the amounts Jimin consumes on a daily basis. There must be coffee flowing through his veins instead of blood, you’re sure of it – how he survives a day without the tell-tale, jittery signs the bitter liquid usually causes is beyond you.

But at least he looks awake – his eyes, usually such serene and calm crescent moons, stare at the street, focused and attentive. You, on the other hand, feel your gaze drooping the more time passes.

With your head hanging low, your breathing becomes more relaxed, and before you know it, Jimin is nudging your arm, his voice stern and impatient as he says, “Hey! Can’t fall asleep now.”

“I’m sorry,” you exclaim immediately, clearing your throat as you sit up, “shit, I’m sorry, how long di–”

“Barely ten minutes. It’s fine, but focus.”

“The endless waiting just…”

“I know,” Jimin confirms. When the lights of the mansion die, he leans forward, his forehead furrowed, but his demeanour still posed despite the nervousness he must be feeling. “But patience is a virtue. And it’ll be worth it in the end.”

In the quiet moment of the night, you flinch and freeze, suppressing the whimper hiding in the back of your throat before you gulp it down. You’re not sure if he’s noticed, but he side-eyes you with what you interpret or misunderstand as a hint of confusion.

Trapping your lower lip between your teeth, you blink at the now dark house you’re guarding, telling him, “My ex boyfriend used to say the same thing.”

For a moment, the silence in the car is so deafening that you reckon he might not have understood you. Or perhaps he’s moving on, unable to respond properly and acting as though you never said what you said.

But then, you feel a hand sneak to your knee; a tender touch that robs you of your senses for a moment before you turn to look at him. He’s blinking at you, full lips parted before he asks, “Are you alright?” He waits – and when you don’t answer, fighting your clogged throat, he adds, “Bad break up?”

“It was…” you start, ready to break the truth to him, but you compose yourself and sigh, “messy from beginning to end. Like… messier than we wanted it to be.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

His hand rubs against your knee before his fingers travel up. The gesture is harmless and soft, but his fingertips wandering up to your arm as if to take a load of your pain build a burning trail along their way.

If you weren’t where you are, in the middle of duties that might lead to one of the biggest nights of your life, you might let the cloak of sadness wrap your heart and open up to him. Perhaps you’d even let a tear or two flow, tell him that it was neither your nor your boyfriend’s fault who isn’t part of your life anymore.

But then, something more crashing than your thoughts happens.

The police radio chimes, unpleasant noises cracking the peace of the night before Hoseok’s voice, panic-ridden and stressed, asks, “Jimin. Jimin, you guys there?”

Jimin grabs the walkie-talkie with eyes blown wide, suddenly alarmed as he answers and Hoseok explains, “Man, they’re not coming to the Seongs. Abort the mission, it’s a trap. I repeat, it’s…”

You don’t register more of his words.

Daunting ringing, shrill and mind-numbing, blends out every sound. You only faintly hear Hoseok say that the thieves knew about your set-up. That they came prepared, attacked prepared – just not the house they were supposed to.

You expected it; you didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to fall into your quiet trap so fast – but apparently, you were stupid enough to hope. Thinking of possible scenarios, your force had split into two groups, and Hoseok’s was guarding the house listed next after the Seongs.

But as it seems, the other group had been sloppy, fully expecting that you’d be the one experiencing the action first hand. And from what you’ve understood, the tires of Hoseok’s car have been punctured, and when he rushed to help the family screaming from inside the house, he’d already been too late.

“There’s almost no trace of theft,” he says, and his voice trembles, anger and frustration filling it, “if the diamond jewellery they acquired at a charity wasn’t missing… you wouldn’t notice shit.”

In your haze, you never noticed Jimin’s infinitely sunken face, staring at the radio silently. Chest deflated and leaning back, he nibbles at his lips, throwing you a cautious look before he questions, “Which direction did they flee into? Maybe we can still catch them.”

But Hoseok sighs again, smacking his lips, “Wonho and some others were close to me and chased the car when we saw it escape, but… they lost them.” A small pause, a dull thump echoing through the speaker. And then, he continues, “Can you fucking believe they were right in front of our noses and we lost them? Didn’t notice shit?”

You swallow thickly, emotions brimming your eyes; and then you lean in, clutch the steering wheel and answer, “Yeah… yeah, I can.”

“Jewellery again, you say?” Jimin questions again, chewing on the inside of his cheeks.

“Yeah. The only hint left behind,” Hoseok confirms, falling quieter by the moment, “that and the… the blue swan.”

City lights and smiling faces that pass in a blur keep your thoughts occupied when you drive him home in silence. The tumult twirling inside you and tugging at your guts is a discomfort you maintain with unmatched strength. And even when the car engine finally dies and you hear him sigh, you think that’s it for tonight.

That you’ve kept your tears at bay successfully, shown courage and calmness.

But then, Jimin shifts, placing a hand on your shoulder as his tender voice asks, “Are you okay?”

Crestfallen and distracted, you look up at him with misty eyes. Desperation floods through the holes of your heart when you see his expression fall with yours, and as self-control starts fading, the sobs escape eventually.

Jimin doesn’t know why the failed mission affects you the way it does. As far as he’s used to his job, things can always go wrong unexpectedly – he’s neither new to this nor surprised by it, but perhaps you are. At least it’s apparent in the way your knuckles pale around the steering wheel and your body seems frozen in place.

But then, you lean forward in your seat as you bury your face in your hands, and Jimin brushes the curtain of your hair aside before he places a soothing palm underneath your shoulder blades. Your silence soon becomes a tremble, your head shaking as your muffled voice says, “We were so fucking close. So close and they knew.”

“Yeah…”

Jimin’s whisper dissipates as your sobs grow louder. He lets you dry your eyes of endless tears, his hand moving in small circles on your back as he coos whatever promises his mind can conjure. He’s upset, too – but your state draws all his attention.

And after a while that appears like an eternity, you finally slow down. Your breaths steady only slowly, your chest rising and falling heavily till you inhale a deep breath and lift your body. Your fingers brush your hair behind your ears, swollen eyes still fixated on your lap and your limbs quivering.

His hand wanders from your back to your shoulder, and he presses just once, watching you bite your lower lip nervously before you say, “This is pathetic.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is…” You sniffle and clear your throat, your voice still shaky and tears still drying. “Have you ever seen a detective lose it like this?”

Jimin blinks at you, scanning his memories of the last years that he has been in this force; and then, he responds, “No. But I also have never met two detectives who handle, speak, react or are the same.”

You smile a little at his comforting words, moving your head to meet his reassuring eyes as one corner of his mouth twitches upward. For a moment, you don’t speak a single word; let the warmth of his touch flood you instead. The crease between your eyebrows relaxes palpably, and your heartbeat finds its regular pace again as you anticipate his next move.

What is he going to do? What is he going to say? Is there any way to mend the pain he’s so unaware of; a way to let him know silently how much the broken shards of your heart are piercing your lungs?

You don’t know whether he’s searching for an answer to your unspoken questions or merely looking at your crushed state. But you do understand his urge to make you forget for at least now; drag you back into the present to him; lift the weight on your shoulders, even if just for a moment.

“There’s no one way to deal with grief,” he then whispers, hands cradling your face and gentle thumbs wiping at your tears, “and no matter where yours comes from or how you decide to react to it, it’ll never be pathetic.”

A small pause. Three beats of your heart pass. He smiles at you again, and you feel your body float.

“You’re anything but pathetic, honestly.”

In such a dark night, Jimin’s beam shines brightly, an oasis after the world let you live dehydrated and thirsty for warmth for so long. You don’t know how much longer you’ll let yourself fall into his eyes; you know you shouldn’t, and you sure as heck know that you don’t want to.

But when you lean forward and press your lips against his, you throw caution out the window like you never have before. Somehow, Jimin seems to break your armour and shatter your walls, and his strength and stubborn way to fight through your mind leave you utterly weak.

His thumb is still grazing the apple of your cheeks when your kiss deepens. His hands still remain on you when he asks you to come inside. You hope he doesn’t notice the emptiness in your soul and in your pupils; but he’s too busy anyway.

His arms pull you into him, holding you for dear life; even when he focuses on closing the door behind you and especially when your back hits the covers of the bed that you still remember all too well.

He only lets you breathe once his lips move to the skin of your neck, tender butterfly kisses driving you insane as he pushes a knee between your clothed legs. And then, breathing heavy, his weight on yours, he says carefully, “Don’t leave again. Not tonight.”

You swallow thickly as his fingers trace your bare arms, nails leaving a pale trail in their wake as you plead, “Then give me a reason to stay… please.”

Obliging, he closes the distance between you yet again, your tongues meeting for just a moment before he moves on to your jaw and your collarbones. He litters open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips wander, and his hands tug your loose, white linen shirt down enough to expose the mounds of your tits.

Teeth nibble at your flesh and his palms bury underneath your bra, pushing it away when you wrap your legs around his hips. A singular “fuck…” rolls off his tongue at the sight of you half naked. He still remembers the feeling and image of your body from the last night you spent like this, but seeing you fully sober and clear-minded awakens a desire too profound, too intense.

But then, you whimper – and when he realises that the sound resembles your gut-wrenching cries in the car too much, the feverish kisses and possessive touches suddenly stop. As the fog of lust clears and gives way to transparent and logical thoughts, Jimin understands what path the both of you have chosen, wrongfully.

“What’s going on?” you ask him quietly, lifting your head to look at him in worry.

Maybe you’re always like this. Drowning your pain while letting strangers fuck it away momentarily; perhaps there’s melancholy swimming in your eyes all the time, because you never allow yourself to feel what your body and mind want you to feel.

Your breakdown in the car seemed genuine and rare; like you aren’t used to displaying your vulnerable side in front of someone you barely know. Pathetic, you said. A human emotion so common in this world, an ideal therapy when any other kind of remedy fails. If crying is already pathetic to you, then he isn’t going to let you hide any longer.

Because contrary to your reaction in the car, all of this stems from ingenuity and affliction. And you need to let it out.

“This won’t do,” he then says, pushing up your bra and shirt again before he lets himself fall next to you.

“But I want to–”

“Listen,” Jimin interrupts gently, pulling you into him and hugging you close despite your protests, “you can talk to me about your feelings or you can’t. But I’m not doing this with you just to suppress the pain and make it come back again later.”

Tears prick your eyes, frustration running wild inside you as you box against his chest softly and exclaim, “What’s so… what’s so fucking wrong about just letting it pass for a moment?”

“It just… hey. Hold still for a moment.” He squeezes your body once, halting your movements a second before he feels your shoulders tremble again. “It just comes back later. How did you not realise that yet?”

He feels your silent crying less than he hears it in the way his shirt becomes damp. There’s not a drop of confidence left that you usually portray; instead, Jimin feels as though he’s holding a fragile shell in his arms and keeping it from shattering.

There are so many cracks inside you. He doesn’t understand why you won’t let anyone repair them.

“You know,” he begins, burying his face in your hair. He sighs when you finally wrap your arms around his torso. “I could be anyone right now.” Staring at the shadows in the dark room, he licks his lips. “Any man in this world and you’d let me distract you.”

It stings to hear it from him.

It’s like he’s gathered all your insecurities into one sentence and summarised them for you. You want to defend yourself with a meager, stupid excuse, but then he breathes in and continues, “Which is okay, you know? If it’s your thing, it’s your thing. But ignoring your condition in the process won’t help you in the long run.”

“Yeah,” you respond through gritted teeth, your voice a little too loud and his body flinching clearly. “I know. I know, okay? I’m not stupid, Jimin, and you can’t tell me what to–”

“I am not telling you what to do. But I am telling you what I won’t do. And you won’t use me for your own purposes.”

It’s harsh. So, so blatantly direct. And god, no one has ever told you an obvious truth like this before.

You pull back and lift your head, trying to decipher his expressions in the barely lit bedroom to your best abilities. You think he’s smiling at you; somehow, he’s always smiling at you.

Slowly blinking, his fingers pull the blanket behind him over both of you, the warmth and his voice causing goosebumps on your skin as he tells you, “I won’t ever say no to you if you want me like this as long as you’re not using me. When it’s genuine and not a spur of the moment decision . But… I’d still like to be the only one you want to kiss.”

Jimin’s tenderness and reassuring beam remind you of a distant presence that floats in an unknown realm now. He, too, used to let his soft fingertips wander along your bare arms; you still remember the shapes he liked to draw on your warm flesh when he lost himself in your loving gaze.

You gulp down the heavy knot in your throat before you let out a shaky breath, and when courage lets fear and agony settle down enough, you whisper, “There was someone I used to know.”

The thinking pause that follows remains quiet. Jimin hums at your words, but doesn’t interrupt you; lets you collect your thoughts until you’re ready to speak them out loud. And when you are, you reveal, “My boyfriend… the boyfriend. We’d pretty much grown up together… and I’d been in love with him since I could think.”

A bitter taste spreads on your tongue as you reminisce about what you lost, and you grimace at it before you swallow it down and continue.

“His name was Yoongi,” the knot in your throat grows thicker and bigger, the feeling of his name almost like a forbidden spell, “he somehow found himself caught in the Swans’ web, and he… didn’t escape it. Things happened and things escalated and suddenly I couldn’t protect him anymore and I blinked just once and–”

Jimin’s hand rubs your back slowly, running up and down as if to remind you to breathe between your words. There’s strength in talking about your own suffering of this level; and he’s more proud than anything that you’re powering through your tragedy this well.

You’re not crying the way you did before. In some way, it almost feels like you’re reciting a speech that you’ve practised in your mind a hundred times before, your voice rattling down sentences numbly and automatically.

“He left. Me, his friends, his family. The world?” you speak on. Jimin hums again, nearly as if to assure you that your pain is valid. “It’s why I hate the thought of them roaming it… drinking, eating, enjoying their freedom, laughing about jokes and attending parties in expensive attire. Because they don’t deserve it with the blood on their hands.”

“They don’t,” Jimin agrees, interrupting your monologue with a nod against your scalp.

Whatever he thought your outburst merely half an hour ago might mean, it wasn’t a situation of this extent. Perhaps he thought that you have an intense sense of justice, or that the infamous group of thieves insulted you or your unit on a deep, personal level.

But this is torment he never thought he’d ever have to heal or lessen.

“And it’s why I live the way I live.” Your voice shrinks, but your eyes still hold his. You see tenderness in them. See care and affection. It’s the type that might ruin you, if you just let it. “I’m not built for love or committing to one single person, Jimin. That's why I’m not picky.”

“What if one person’s worth it all, though?”

“Jimin…” you utter slowly, smiling against his chest as you bury your face in the fabric of his shirt, “just so you know… despite anything and everything… any other man wouldn’t feel the way you feel right now.”

Your words cause a clean cut across his heart and tear it into two halves. Because whatever you say, he’s still just momentary satisfaction. You won’t give in to anything more, not now, not ever.

Jimin isn’t in love with you; he doesn’t think he’s explored your being enough to admit an emotion like this to himself already. But what he does know is that he’s falling, and that the word love, as absent as it might be at the moment, won’t stay away forever. Not with you.

And although the thought hurts every little fibre of his body, he’s not ready to let you fall just yet.

Though it proves impossible, he sometimes thinks it’d be easier if he did let you fall.

Jimin vowed to you he wouldn’t let you use him – but once you open up and break the barrier to let trust float between you, he starts making up a false sense of security in his head that you’re beginning to heal. Breaks his vow, so fragile; shocked how easily he bends to your wishes – because the vow seems like a distant memory when he touches you again.

But once your weak, confused, past-revealing moments pass, your transparent expressions return, and despite anything you feel for him, your countenance never truly reveals any of your true emotions. So Jimin reckons you know exactly what you want… or don’t want – bringing back his familiar confusion.

He can’t help but hope, though.

He tries to fill the crater in your heart, your being so hard to resist. He still doesn’t let you use him when your mind goes haywire, but you’re still like a game he’s lost whenever he begins the trail of pecks and touches on other days.

So your embraces soon turn into fervent touches. Fervent touches accompanied by moans. Moans drawn out by each other that have him still hoping and hoping and hoping.

He’s unaware that you, however, do fall.

Deep into a tumult as days go by; you want to shut off your brain and your feelings, and keep ignoring whatever Jimin awakens in you whenever you find yourself pinned underneath him. Despite your constant principles that you still hold onto, it becomes harder to escape whatever Jimin’s soul is made of.

To the point where you keep denying your heart his affection, but go back to him anyway.

When they say, temporary pleasure helps fuel your loneliness, they’re not lying. As time passes and your body becomes accustomed to Jimin’s touches, you realise that emptiness feels more prominent the deeper your mind circles around him.

His face nuzzled in your neck and an arm draped around your torso, you try to focus on anything but his warmth. It’s almost as though his limbs wrapped around you leave burns on your skin; and determined to cool your body and your nerves, you say, “There’s an annual party in the town hall this weekend. Yoongi used to tell me that the Swans attend it every year, so I thought I might tell you we could–”

Jimin’s hum against your shoulder distracts you momentarily, and you quiet down as he questions with shut eyes, “Can we talk about this later?”

“Why?”

“Don’t feel like it right now…”

He lifts his face to seek your tired gaze and deflates just a little when numb eyes stare back. Again. As always. His heartbeat stops for a miniscule moment before the flicker in your pupils drags him back to life, and with confidence lacing his fond voice, he mumbles, “Let me kiss you instead… here…”

Full lips press against your jaw, a light touch that barely counts as a kiss. “Here, too.” A trail of pecks spreads across your cheeks, and his naked body shifts on top of you again as his legs part your bare thighs. “And here…”

He still tastes like whiskey and dry fruits when his mouth meets yours in a daze, and as he climbs further on you, you feel a leaking, semi-hard length brush your pelvis teasingly. You draw a breath as much as his actions allow, and he swallows your moans when the tip of his cock prods at your slick entrance carefully.

Intimacy has become a constant between you; and you realised soon enough that he wasn’t bluffing when he told you he’d never say no to you. Even if you reject his sentiment every single time. Even if he might have become the only man you want to kiss. Even if it hurts him.

As his lips find their way back home to your neck, open-mouthed kisses toying with your senses, you sigh with desire. And when his hand squeezes your waist tightly, you gasp before you say, “What are you doing?”

You know exactly what he’s doing – and you understand that every feverish touch you shared an hour ago wasn’t enough for him. It never is. Not even for you.

And still, Jimin shakes his head against your collarbones, stating quietly, “I don’t know.” A pause settles between your words when his member slides inside your heat swiftly, and he hisses sharply before he continues, “I feel like you’ll leave if I stop kissing you… so I’m trying to…”

You let out a breathy laugh, wrapping your arms around his torso as you moan softly. He’s not moving; merely kissing your shoulder and your arm, fingers travelling up and down your sides. Arousal pools around his cock, your legs widening for him and lips parted as you tell him, “Memorising only works for so long.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ll forget,” you explain, throwing your head back lightly when his hips finally fall into a familiar rhythm. You’re struggling with your words – and it’s a beautiful sight to revel in. “Everyone forgets, ‘cause I’m… nothing special to them. Just like I’m… Jimin…”

“Yes, baby,” he mutters, his cock rubbing against your walls in slow, tender motions. Whenever he becomes this sensual with you, you know the afterglow ruins you more than any feral night ever could. “I’m right here. Say what you’re trying to say.”

It’s hard to gather thoughts on your tongue and let them out for him to hear; his motions and proximity cloud your mind too much. Your fingers embark on a journey down his body, settling on the flexing muscles of his ass as he fucks you affectionately.

“Like I’m nothing special to you,” you breathe, letting him remove your hands from his bottom to intertwine his fingers with yours. He kisses your neck again, lifts your arms above your head and pins them against the mattress. “In a month you’ll be with someone else–” You cry out for a moment when your words earn you a sharp, hard thrust. “And find pleasure elsewhere.”

“Shut up,” Jimin orders, and when your words fall silent, your mewls and sounds increase, “stop talking, please.”

And just like that, the tender late hours pass with hushed, whispered words and a credulity you haven’t given in to since love hurt you the last time. It almost feels real and true; like it’s not a lucid dream that will pass once this case is over. Once you fall back into bad, old habits of drowning yourself in oblivion that might or might not numb your pain temporarily.

When he’s spilled inside you and your sight becomes blurry, he hugs you tight to his chest, blowing against your hair until he clarifies, “It’s not true by the way, you know?” You let out a small, soft sound resembling a harmless whimper, and he adds, “You do mean something to me. You’re not someone I fuck just to throw away again.”

“What if I do?” you question, your voice barely a mumble as you move closer to his warmth. “Throw you away.”

He stills for a second. Focuses his eyes on a spot in the darkness. Swallows the distress building in his throat; and then, he admits, “I don’t know.”

“What are you going to do, Jimin?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

His teeth take his lower lip captive. Painful stings come and go in waves with you, and yet, it seems like he’s always ready to indulge in your existence. Instead of rethinking his choices and fearing the inevitable, however, he leans in and kisses your scalp once again.

And that’s all he does. No more melding of your bodies. No more naive touches and dancing of your tongues. No more words.

Just a whiskey kiss and a night’s sleep that keeps conjuring your face in his dreams; over and over again.

“If I ever left, what would you do?”

The night air felt crisp and refreshing on your dry skin – despite the cold of October, you felt content. A little like you did when the first leaves fell when you were younger. You’d always been a sucker for rain and the pastel, beige serenity of fall.

But it was prettier with him. Even if the things coming out of his mouth were utter horseshit.

“Stop asking such deranged questions,” you told him, pushing him until his body lay half on the pavement.

Your legs were dangling off the edge, and you stared a few feet in front of you, observing the little family of ducks that swam past you in the still water of the river. You wondered what it was like – to keep swimming, to indulge in the chill of the liquid.

You wondered if they ever swam far enough to where the river met the ocean; were they ever aware of the vastness of the world? Or did they just realise when they landed there?

Sometimes, even today, you want to know if there was a vastness for you too that you hadn’t discovered yet. But with him, you didn’t care about the unveiled parts of the world as much anymore as you used to. You were okay staying just here, feet almost touching the surface of the water, watching waterlife, with him.

“No, but I’m serious,” Yoongi argued, rubbing the spot you slapped, “if I ever decided to like, do photography instead or something, what then?”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

He smiled, eyes fixated on the opposite riverbank, and his shoulders brushed yours scarcely as he said, “You really don’t need to think twice about it, huh?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Even if it kills you?”

“Yeah.” You grimaced, eyebrows furrowing before you turned to look at him. “Hey. What’s with the sudden, weird questions?”

“You called me weird.”

“Yoongi. Seriously,” you deadpanned, staring at him in warning. Not that your cute, little expression scared him – but he liked to act like it did anyway.

He was either in a good mood or feigning one to make you laugh, as he always did, because when he spoke again, he teased, “Look at you, enamoured by my whole being.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re so in love with me, but way too flustered to admi–”

“Hey!” you exclaimed, lifting a finger to his face that he attempted to bite with his tell-tale amused gummy grin. “Are you trying to reenact our confession?”

Yoongi nudged your shoulder before he wrapped a strong arm around you, almost pushing the cap off your head when his cheek touched yours. Fingers trailed to your tummy and opted for a tickle attack, his voice a little higher when he asked, “And if I am?”

“I just think you’re saying some weird stuff!”

“I just…” he began, squeezing your bicep lightly, and his breath grazed your face, warm and comforting in contrast to the freezing wind. “No.” He shifted, searching for words, and the tip of his shoes touched the water ever so slightly. “I just want to say that whatever shit might happen tomorrow or next week or whenever we decide to… take the next step...”

Yoongi paused and sighed, practising a firm grip around you as if to shield you from the evil of the universe. Then, he added, “You need to prioritise yourself.”

You stared into his face with sudden fear thronging its way to your heart. Despite the thorough knowledge you possessed about him, he was difficult to read at times, and you wondered why he wasn’t letting you break the seal that hid his thoughts just yet.

“What are you trying to say?” you inquired.

“That happiness comes in a hundred ways. The things we are doing and trying right now are dangerous and we might not be able to find a solution in the end,” he explained, but his words were still a riddle, dripping in mystery. He shrugged his shoulders, then said, “So if anything goes wrong… ever. I want you to understand your priorities, with or without me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, without y–”

“No, I’m being honest. Accept the love you get, and fight the hardships thrown at you, okay? I’d do the same for you. ”

His words blur in your mind, and when a body flinches next to you, you realise that you’re dreaming of an entirely different time – things have changed. The world has evolved – to the better or worse, you can’t say.

It doesn’t feel good at least; that’s what you can say with certainty.

But despite the faded images, you still remember the quiet and timid nod you answered with; still know that you had good reason to be suspicious about what he’d said.

Because why did he sound like he knew?

Why did it feel like he could glance into the future, and see how it was coloured for you – from the monochrome hues to the pitch black you’d walk through? And if he knew… why did he promise to you… why did he promise the things he promised?

Your eyes snap open before the memory can play out further – before he can pull you closer and place a kiss onto your lips.

You hate waking up like this.

As soon as Jimin entered the party thirty-two minutes ago, the urge to stray away from the bustling crowd and to transform himself into a silent sleeper grew. The gathering seems too loud, the alcohol too warm and the heat too unbearable.

Suffocating in his own newly tailored suit, Jimin tilts his head as his eyes scan the guests, your palm resting on his angled arm softly as you chew on the inside of your cheek. Each of you carrying a gun, you mentally repeat the plan for tonight – observe, converse, flee if need be.

The goal is to collect hints and keep every passing body in the chandelier-lit room safe and sound. Don’t act, just react. Or at least, do not act dangerously as long as you’re not forced to.

Boring conversations between him and other VIP guests pass, some recognising him from the news and older cases, and others inching closer to him to catch sight of the intimidatingly beautiful lady accompanying him.

The amount of times Jimin has pulled you away from thirsty eyes with ulterior motives is rising to a tiring number, and he’s close to sending you home due to the lack of happenings until–

“Jimin…” you whisper, fingers tugging at his blazer, but your eyes never leaving the ominous presence you have spotted.

“I know,” he responds. He gulps, slight tension carving a frown between his eyebrows. “Come on.”

As your nervous steps carry you closer to the faraway table, your eyes focus on the busy hands of the man occupying one of the seats. From the six chairs that surround the cloth-covered table, he’s the only one to keep himself company, and when your bodies move close enough, his gaze darts from his fingers across your body up to your faces.

His eyes look unfazed, bored even, and he stops his motions around the paper napkin when he realises that you approached him specifically. The blue swan, not supported by enough folds of the material, collapses onto the table as the man’s fingers intertwine. And before either Jimin nor you can greet him properly, he beats you to it, “May I be of help?”

While you both take a seat in front of him, the man’s stare seems to stay fixated on you. Jimin doesn’t quite understand what has enraptured him this much, but as an alarm rings in his mind in a high-pitched, jarring tone, his knees shift closer to you and his hand grabs yours underneath the table.

Holding back a shaky breath, your head turns to his for only a single moment – but it suffices to read the fear and discomfort written in your pupils like he’s never seen before. But then, the man opposite of you blinks and his attention shifts, cocking an eyebrow when Jimin smiles and answers cheerfully, “You might be!”

The guy nods calmly, flashing back a somewhat mischievous, somewhat clever smirk as he says, “I’m Kim Seokjin. Happy to help. Shoot.”

“I was actually conversing with someone about engagement rings,” Jimin explains, never mentioning his name; bullshitting his way through the talk on the spot, “and they pointed me to you. So I thought you might know where to get the best of the best.”

Seokjin points into your direction, almost as if you’re not there and decoration, his eyes resting on Jimin’s as he declares, “Your girl looks nervous about that.”

Jimin laughs, and the usually sickly and soft tone sounds ingenuine and turns your guts in a one eighty motion. He squeezes your hand as if to signal something, and then says, “She’s never been to a party this big. Or met people as big as you.”

“How do you know I’m big?”

“You look like it.”

Seokjin’s full lips fall for a slight moment, almost unnoticeably – because being in his position and big isn’t a compliment he cherishes, especially since his group always tries to be as subtle and smooth about every move as possible.

He has lovely eyes and a well shaped face, hair combed and parted on the side – if he wasn’t this intimidating, you might be able to admire his attractiveness on any other day.

“Ah,” he voices, catching his composure fast, “so. Engagement rings. If we’re talking one that’s fancy but not too over the top. Diamond rings, fourteen carat gold and zero point one carat diamond, about one centimetre ring band. Depends on what the lady likes, though.”

And then, Seokjin’s suddenly chuckling, and Jimin joins for a tiny moment before Seokjin teases, “One usually doesn’t talk about that stuff in front of their girl, though.”

Jimin shams embarrassment, rubbing the side of his neck with his free hand as he jokes, “Really? My bad. I’ve always been the oblivious one in this relationship. Not very experienced in love.”

If anyone’s well versed in emotions and love, it’s him. His heart doesn’t compare to the stone cold gemstone residing in your chest – it seems like Seokjin notices, too, because tight-lipped, he mutters, “Ah. Alright.”

When you realise that you’re just as present as the other two men, you decide to show Kim Seokjin that you’re not mute, and your heart thumps in your throat when you point to the dead blue swan and ask, “What’s with that?”

Seokjin acknowledges the half folded napkin for a moment, his gaze bored; as if he just noticed that the swan is there. Unbothered, he touches the creation with his fingertips, looking back at you slowly as he answers, “A hobby.”

“Really?”

“Mmmh. I make… all of them.”

Shit.

He must know. He must know that you know – all of them? What else would he be referring to if not the hints left behind after his glorious thefts?

“You do?” Jimin questions, and when you look at him, admiration and caution fluctuate in his eyes.

It’s impressive, Seokjin’s craft, even if it means gloom and excessively more work for you. Origami usually symbolises success and fortune, promises all the good things to the one folding the cranes or birds or flowers – if it wasn’t the arguably most dangerous thief in the country conversing with you right now, you might have praised his skills some more.

“People admire them, Mister Park.”

When he utters the name he’s not supposed to know, you inhale, and Jimin presses his fingers into your hand enough for you to clench your jaw, but keeps his calm stance. Seokjin leans forward; his voice is soft and soothing, but his eyes hide secrets and trouble behind their pupils. Duality unmatched.

“You can call me Jimin,” the man next to you tells him, his smile reappearing before, gathering bravery and intimidation, he adds, “off duty.”

“But you’re not off duty.”

“Well… let’s pretend that I am.”

“Why?” Seokjin wonders, and you blink at the casual tone of the conversation. All of you are acting as if you haven’t exposed your identities to each other so blatantly – this seems dangerous… menacing. “Are you trying to frighten me less by saying that?”

“Can anything intimidate you at all, Mister Kim?” Jimin inquires carefully, the slightest nervous tremble in his voice that you’re sure no one hears but you. “There’s a car outside. Why don’t you and I get there and we talk some more engagement rings?”

“I think I’ll pass,” Seokjin politely declines, but Jimin doesn’t give up just yet.

“And if I asked nicely?”

Your eyes flicker down for the smallest moment, and you see Jimin raise his gun under the table as cautiously as possible – though you’re still sure Seokjin realises his intentions.

“Hmm,” Seokjin hums, his face inching closer some more, “listen.”

He points to the corners of the enormous room with his eyes, his smile utterly sweet as he explains, “There are people standing in every corner. Busy conversing and talking about some bullshit the rich like to talk about. And those conversing with them are keeping a careful eye on me. All the time.”

Your heart drums in your ears, almost muffling all noise, and you’re sure things will escalate tonight if you whisper just one wrong word… just one wrong step. And Seokjin proves your thoughts, warning disgustingly softly, “Shoot me, and they’ll shoot you, and then your people will shoot them and my remaining ones might shoot innocent people.”

You gulp. This is insanity.

“A massacre on a Saturday night is genuinely not my favourite TV show.”

You freeze, blinking, and then ask, “Why are you here, then?”

“I’m here, because,” he motions between Jimin and you, shrugging, “I knew you would be. You’re here, because you knew I would be. So I thought we could talk.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Jimin asks, growing irritated with each passing second; you’re sure he’s muttering his words through gritted teeth.

“About… not letting your force meddle anymore. You,” Seokjin points at you, and your heart stills for a second, “you’ve lost someone before, haven’t you?” His eyes dart to Jimin, and he places his chin in his palm. “Wouldn’t wanna lose more people, I bet.”

You’re perplexed.

Unable to answer, you push yourself closer to Jimin, moving your head to look at him – and you catch him eyeing you carefully. There’s a cryptic feeling swimming in his stare, and you can’t quite interpret it; but you think it’s something akin to fear mixed with affection.

It looks like he’s trying to decipher whether you’d actually be affected if you lost him – and he’s not sure if he’s liking the answer you shoot back or not.

Because your waterline is damp, and your head spinning; you want to be alone with him, want to shield him, wrap your arms around him and tell him he needs to stay. To fucking stay, that one person in your life to not walk away.

Then again, you want him to keep himself out of this. Want to tell him to abandon this whole thing.

But you don’t.

Instead, you draw a deep breath, looking back to Seokjin and shaking your head. Jimin lets his hand sink along with his head, closing his eyes as Kim Seokjin brushes a finger against the table cloth, stands and leaves.

You feel the first wave of relief of the night when you step into Jimin’s bedroom almost an hour later. The car ride dragged endlessly as your lips stayed sealed, your body sinking in your seat while he attempted his best to keep his eyes on the road and not on you.

Even from the side of his eyes, he could see your limbs tremble in after-shock. He didn’t consider how much seeing your worst enemy might affect you, but in retrospect, he should’ve fully expected the turn of events. Whatever part of his brain reckoned that your heart has hardened enough to face your nightmares head-on, has now shut down and given way to remorse.

Because fuck, you must be hurting so much.

But he didn’t consider shooting questions at you like the nuisance of a detective that he is when you stared out of the car window, lost in thoughts. He doesn’t conjure the courage to do so when you take off your jacket and drape it over the leather chair in his dark, gloomy room.

And he doesn’t even bother you with his curiosity when your eyes droop further, exhaustion and pain clear in them. But it seems that he doesn’t have to anyway; because when the silence of the night becomes too loud, you state, “That asshole remembers Yoongi and mocked me for being alive in his stead.”

There’s a hint of hysteria lacing your voice, slight panic making your chest heave, and Jimin’s body shoots forward reflexively to calm your stressed nerves. Your insides are raging enough for you to prevent tears, your eyes glinting in want of revenge as your fingers close to fists and open again repeatedly.

“I should’ve shot him,” you voice, sitting at the edge of his familiar bed as your fingers tug at your scarf. God, it’s nearly choking you. “Who cares who sees? He’s the criminal, and I should’ve shot him–”

“Hey,” Jimin interrupts, a stray hair falling into his forehead and eye as he whispers your name tenderly, “I know what you mean, and I’m with you, but let’s tackle this with a cool head, okay? Get some rest now and…”

His voice fades into nothing and words die on his tongue. Everything he just uttered falls into oblivion and his hand slowly drops when he catches a glimpse of something he didn’t seem to notice all night.

It shimmers faintly in the light of the lamp on his bedside table when you remove your scarf for the first time today; there’s something unique and beautiful about it. Like it’s made of a dozen little diamonds; like it’s made just for you to wear it around your neck.

Who knew something as simple as this could drench you in grace, elegance and radiance? Who knew something as mundane as this could pierce his heart so profoundly?

Jimin only remembers to blink, once your voice pulls him out of his trance. Your fingers pinch his chin softly, raising his head to make your eyes meet as you cock your eyebrows in question. And when you look at him, it feels like you’re staring into the mirror. His gaze resembles your broken one – but the agony derives from entirely different reasons than yours.

“And…” he starts again.

He looks so much younger when he’s in pain. So much more innocent. And he thinks, maybe you’re right – maybe the only way to get rid of the sorrow is to drown in temporary pleasure again. Perhaps it’s why you took that path in your life at all.

“And?”

“Spend the night here,” he begs as if it’s not too late to step into a taxi and go home anyway. But the plea sets you on fire nonetheless. “With me.” He sighs, placing a hand on your cheek as he moves closer. “I want you. Here. Now,” as his lips draw closer to yours and he repeats, “with me.”

You wish you were strong enough to give in to your affliction and push him away. To grieve properly for once, cry and scream and talk it out; but it seems as though Jimin’s hold on you is stronger. And when he kisses you softly, cautiously, you think that his touch might be some sort of remedy anyway.

Your fingers wander to his hand that’s sliding your dress up your thighs slowly, and brings it to your waist. Arms wrap around his neck as you begin to shift on the soft-scented, light bedsheets, your back hitting the mattress when he kisses you with a stronger force.

“Why?” you question when he pecks the skin under your ears and opens your legs with his. “Why do you always ask me to stay?”

You know there is no right answer to it; none that you might want to hear. Or rather, one you do wish his mouth to utter, but one that scares the cold soul out of you. Falling for Jimin sounds like doom – like he’s falling into a trap that will leave him in peril and suffering.

When he doesn’t reply, focused on his actions, you open your mouth again.

“Because,” you add, biting your lip when he lifts your dress up to your waist, “I don’t know how to say no anymore.”

“Good,” he merely answers. “Me neither.”

In truth, you can’t read the thoughts in his whirring brain. The one whose energy is getting drained as though you’re a succubus luring him in and ruining him inside and out. Your presence tears at his heart and cuts it open like a newly sharpened knife, but he’d rather bleed out than find you gone and out of his reach.

Because your absence feels like an endless void; not like a torn heart, but like you’ve left his chest empty and taken the organ with you. And you keep squeezing. Keep squeezing all the time.

Your palms grab his face before he begins to venture down your torso the way he always does, and pressing against his cheeks, you say, “You don’t see the problem right? The difference between us.”

“I–”

“No,” you interject, closing the distance between his tinted lips and your parted ones, “you’re the type for sweet kisses. And…” You sigh, choosing your words carefully, fully aware how dramatic you must sound. “I like the bitter ones.”

And the force with which his mouth attacks yours again feels more fierce than ever before. And you let him. He knows about you; knows about your innermost feelings and fears and rules and worries. But he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest; or maybe he’s just trying to shut you up – like a child covering its ears from an inescapable truth.

Because you don’t even taste bitter. More like cherry – like sugar and honey. Promising, despite being death in disguise; a lethal imposter. Arsenic poison.

Something tugs at his heart hard as he attempts to figure you out more; and the more everything begins to make sense, the more he chooses silence. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Because when he backs away and takes off his clothes, you decipher a hint of pain and rejection in his eyes that startles you. Scares you.

But at the same time, he’s too affectionate and weak to not give in to you. You know, and he knows.

You always fear that you might be just another phase in his life that he might want to toy with and throw away; the way others do – but aren’t you doing the same thing? Letting him strip you bare out of selfish demands, with your hair hanging low, your lips on his as you find yourself without your clothes, your bra, your earrings. The necklace around your neck drops and the rings around your fingers scar his back.

The moment feels unreal, like a mirage, the ultimate illusion. You’re not doing this for the first time – his touch isn’t a stranger to you. But the quiet moments still let your thoughts overflow, and you overthink that he might be distracted and intently focused on you at the same time.

Like you’re knotting his thoughts and sending his mind into a frenzy; like he’s thinking about something not present in the moment, but that involves you nevertheless.

You’re not sure. You can’t put it in words anyway. Too hazy.

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers, and you don’t understand what he’s referring to.

But then he crawls south, and you whimper when his hand touches your thigh; the soft kisses up and down your legs make you wince enough for him to conclude that bitterness isn’t all you seek. Because he’s kissing you sweetly, gently – and you don’t seem to get enough of it.

He savours the moment, like he’s no rush – then freezes for a split second as his luscious lips reach your thigh, staring up at your squirming form; closed eyes. His jaw clenches in pain, and his heart lurches. If he wanted to, he could confront you right now.

But then he thinks, it’s alright to make you his just this once – or pretend that it’s him you want. Thoroughly. Entirely.

And every little moment you share with him in the next hour passes in a blur too fogged to remember. It’s like you’re basking in it just for the moment, no particular urge to commit it to memory but to feel him just now, just here instead.

When he’s elicited every possible sound out of you, whimpered and groaned and grunted and moaned over your body, filled you up to the brim, you don’t remember the time and date anymore.

Don’t know what day it is when he holds you close. Kisses you into oblivion. Strokes your face and exhausts your body – you think he whispers things you might dream of later. Not sure.

And when he’s spilled and finished, drawing another high out of you, the night has progressed, and suddenly he’s cleaning you up… and you wonder where time went. And why he looks at you the way he does. And why… he pushes you close without uttering a single word.

With your sweaty body sticking to his, you hum a familiar melody quietly. It sounds like you’re content for the very first time tonight; as if you’re not plagued by the everlasting distress that your restless movements usually indicate. Right now, you’re calm against his chest. Peaceful and breathing steadily.

Jimin tries to not showcase his own misery that begins batting his heart again once the fever of your touches cools down. But as the blanket of heaviness drags his being to hell and back, he parts his lips in an attempt to ease his mind. Stares at the dark ceiling and the unlit lamp, then to you and then back into the void.

And eventually, he expresses, “Being a detective has its good and bad sides… you know?” You open your eyes calmly, surprised by the change in his voice that suddenly sounds stern, serious. “Sometimes, when I solve a case, I feel like I’m at the top of the world and able to achieve absolutely anything I want to.”

“I know,” comes your response in a whisper.

You breathe in his scent, brush your lips against the lines of his chest, painfully clueless about how much it worsens Jimin’s heartbreak. Waves of thoughts flood his mind and his chest starts feeling weightless and crushed simultaneously. But chaos might lie ahead if he chooses to ignore and bask in your warmth further.

It doesn’t feel very warm anymore anyway.

“But then, there are days when nothing works out. Like now,” he continues as the grip around your torso loosens. Mild panic grows behind your ribs, but you try to conceal it. “We could’ve caught them that night, right? I thought it was because we were stupid and miscalculated. But we didn’t.”

The pauses between his words display his confusion and broken coherent string of thoughts. You know he started his speech unprepared and is now, troubled and baffled, searching for the right words to not fuel your pain. Or not to fuel his pain.

His heartbeat thumps against your ear unwaveringly while yours stands still. And you only avert your focus from its sound when he says, “There’s no way we did. Figured there must be something… or someone… telling them everything they need to know.”

You stay silent as if to not interrupt him, but the lack of words tumbling out of you seems to confirm his thoughts when you neither question nor answer his statement. You look at him carefully, drawing circles and ovals on his abs.

He gauges your reaction for a second longer, and when he’s met with quietude and a trembling finger against his skin, he finally concludes, “It’s you.”

Your voice stays absent once more, and with your answers, the movements of your hands stop, too. “The necklace you were wearing tonight was one they stole a while ago. But you know that, don’t you?”

You’ve apparently grown fond of your mute side, because you continue your apparent speechlessness until his heart drops further. He wishes he wasn’t right; wants you to grow furious, tell him that he’s gone insane, that this is nonsense and that you would never do such a thing. Not you, not to him.

But…

“It’s in your nature, isn’t it? Breaking hearts. Even mine,” he says, his voice drenched in mock but shaking at the same time. “But then again, this is not about me. You never really cared about me or what I felt or what you meant to me.”

Meant.

“Such is life.”

He sighs as soon as the last word slips past his dry lips, closing his eyes to stop the spinning of the world that you have shattered into tiny, tiny splinters. He isn’t sure whether it’s the betrayal or your own fear towards the group that cracks his soul more. But whatever it is, the emotions you ignite in him don’t seem to falter – and it seems that he hates this fact the most.

Squinting his already shut eyes tighter, Jimin’s irritation reaches a peak, and when your frozen body refuses to move, he calls out your name questioningly.

And instead of pulling up your defence and fighting against the allegations, you take a deep breath. As memories of Yoongi swim to the surface of your mind, you remind yourself why falling for the enemy might break you again. Love and fondness have no place in your life, and so you ignore the affection Jimin evokes in you and numb yourself yet again.

“Do you expect me to be scared of you… Park Jimin?” you finally speak up, eliciting a scoff out of him as he removes his arm from underneath you.

The loss of touch cuts you open and shakes your guts, but you don’t falter. Not even when you bite into your lip to suppress the sob; not even when the voices in your head scream at you to fix this, to finally make one thing in your life right.

“I don’t expect anything anymore,” he admits, words fading to a hushed whisper, tiredness seeping through. “But maybe you should be.”

“Why? What are you going to do? You won’t shoot me… you’re too smart for that.”

Jimin lets out a small chuckle; it could pass as amusement if the air around you wasn’t thick and tense and suffocating. “I’m naked and unarmed right next to you,” he says, shaking his head as he clicks his tongue. “And the weapons you’re using against me right now are more lethal anyway. What’s a gun compared to them?”

In truth, he is too smart to harm you. Not because he needs you or because having you dead might affect the progress in this case profoundly. But because imagining a world and a life without you seems ridiculous. Impossible to a degree that he finds nearly laughable.

But despite the fact that you deem him too smart for his own good, he questions your courage to come to his place with a stolen jewellery adorning your neck. It’s astounding how you might not have included this bit in your calculations while working on a case that deals with theft from A to Z.

Or perhaps…

“You did this on purpose, right? Wearing that tonight.” Jimin’s eyes finally snap open again, his head moving to find your bewildered gaze.

The intimidation knocks the wind out of your lungs, and as he scans your expressions and your naked torso, you feel self-aware for the first time since the conversation started. You tug the blanket over your body further, folding your arms in front of your chest as he adds, “You gave me a hint. Why–”

“I didn’t…”

“But you did.”

It’s the only scenario that makes sense. The fright written all over your face when you talk about the group; the paralysis that befalls you as soon as you merely mention Yoongi’s name; your tears, your crumbling body and the way you seek warmth and comfort anywhere but at home.

You never disclose your private life and never invite him to your place. Something about you always seemed like you were running away from danger and freeing yourself of guilt and pain. And now he knows why.

“Jimin, I didn’t–”

“Stop,” he exhales, his heart hammering against his chest and calmness finally fading as he props his body up on his elbow and stills your words for the umpteenth time tonight. A hand harshly wraps around your face, fingers digging into your cheeks and squeezing the flesh painfully. “Why are you doing this? Why are you fucking retreating into your stupid fucking shell like this?”

Your waterline grows damper until a single tear trails down your temple and into your hair. You stare back in disbelief and pain, placing a palm over his as he crowds your space and cages you in with his other arm.

His whole being is pleading for something, begging for the end of all of this and trying to make you his without the hardships and borders separating you both.

“Please, just…” he starts and shakes his head, blinking away tears and leaning in closer. His hair tickles the skin of your face, and his pupils move from one spot to the other. “I hate this, I hate you, I– fucking hate that all of this is a lie.”

“Jimin, you can’t–”

“Can’t what? Huh? You fucking hurt me, and you know, but I…” He pauses, drawing a deep breath; considering whether he wants to say it or not… until he does. “I still want to kiss you.”

His lips brush yours softly, almost not noticeably, and his legs shift under the blanket nervously as his cheeks grow wet. He laughs through his madness, crazy for you and every piece of you that breaks him. “I should be smarter than this, right? I should just arrest you.”

You wish as much as he does that he’d stop running to you, running for you. Nothing about your relationship spells optimism, and the reality of you keeps blinking an arrow to hell. But still, he chooses to ignore it again. Kisses you again. Crashes his lips against yours aggressively as his hands entwine with yours once more.

You’re a riddle and an open book; a mirage and a painfully real existence.

And your kisses taste bitter now after all.

When bright sunlight breaks through the window the next morning, you wake up disoriented and with an ache in your head, most likely consequent to the lack of sleep last night.

As you cover your body in clothes Jimin provided you, ready to answer any question he might present, he paces across the room idly. Dark circles of exhaustion and heartache colour the skin underneath his eyes. The lazy breakfast still stands on his living room table, the cereal softening in the milk that’s growing warm and unpalatable.

None of you can eat; both of you feel sick.

“Before… before Yoongi died,” you begin; his name feels like acid on your tongue, “Seokjin forced me to reveal the name of the traitor amidst their circles. I used to tell him that I had this weird feeling of someone betraying us. And once I stopped obsessing over it, he concluded that I got to know and just wasn’t telling him.”

Jimin’s steps halt in the middle of the room, and he inches closer to your form resting at the edge of the couch. He kneels in front of you, looking at you attentively before you continue, “It’s fucking crazy how right he was. But I convinced him that I didn’t know, that there were more important things to focus on.”

You gather memories in a chronological order to prevent your thoughts from tangling up in your mind. You rub your tired eyes, then place a palm on your dry cheek, and when you look at him again, he asks, “And then?”

“Important things like theft started becoming less important when every robbery went wrong and we almost got arrested multiple times. Then,” you draw a deep breath, the image of what happened next clearly fogging your brain, “Seokjin urged me to finally say the name. Threatened me, ‘cos he was sure I knew. But Yoongi was someone he trusted, so he didn’t consider him a traitor, ever.”

You bite into your cheek the moment Jimin’s eyebrows furrow, and a hand settles on your knee as if to assure you that he’s there for you. For you. The fraud, the cheat, the danger sitting in his ultimate proximity.

“And once things escalated, Yoongi–” you can barely complete the sentence, a sob choking your words, “jumped in and admitted everything. Signed his own death sentence. And they all…” Your fingers on your thighs begin to quiver, and when the distant memory becomes sharper and more palpable, you let out a whimper.

Jimin rubs soothing patterns against your knee, his free hand brushing away your hair before the back of his digits ghost over your drenched cheek. You don’t know when your harmless speckle of emotions turns to frantic sobbing, and the only sight you decipher through your blurred vision is his lips falling into a deeper frown.

“Hey…” he mumbles; then lifts your sunken face, but regrets it almost immediately – the red-rimmed eyes and the deep distress between your eyebrows are a sight he would erase without hesitation, if he could. “Breathe. It’s okay, yes?”

“No…” It’s really not. You wish it was. “I want to leave, I–” You hiccup, the air pressed out of your lungs. “This hurts me. I don’t want to stay with them anymore, Jimin, but…”

“It’s okay. I promise I can help you.”

“And what if you can’t? They think I owe them my life, because they were all I ever had. I don’t fucking know where my parents are, I don’t– fuck, I don’t even know if they’re alive.” It’s a cage you can’t escape – you’ve always understood, but you know that Jimin will stay adamant as well. The pensive, slow shake of his head says more than his mouth ever could. “Helping me and knowing me and being with me… it will get you killed, Jimin.”

“So what if it does?” he argues, shifting closer when your sigh exhibits every ounce of frustration you harbour. You wish you could tell him that losing another man close to your heart might break whatever remains of you. And the damage would be irreversible, the death you’d die inside everlasting. “What if I’m ready to risk all of this for you?”

“Why–”

He interrupts your question by crushing your lips with his; a frail attempt to put all his affection into the touch and to show you what he truly feels. But as soon as he starts, you push him away again, hands firmly pressing against his chest before you stand and escape his grip.

Rising to his feet, he looks into your starry, wet gaze and his feeble legs carry him merely two steps closer to you before you raise a hand and question, “Don’t you understand? How dangerous this is for you? This isn’t something you can be selfish about, Jimin…”

“Like you? Aren’t you being selfish, too?” He laughs for a moment, and the slight mock breaks your heart further. “This is ridiculous. You know I can help you. I’m a good detective and you know it. I–” Gulping, he moves another inch, stopping when you take the same step back. “You can’t tell me you don’t want my help.”

“I do,” you confess, blinking away the remaining tears as the fog in your head clears and gives way to an entirely different, desperate idea. “But I won’t risk it. I don’t care how ready you are to do so, but I won’t.”

“Please–”

“No. Fucking stop and underst–”

“Understand what?” he yells out in exasperation, and you flinch. Your hand grabs the edge of the windowsill behind you, your fingers grazing the cold metal of the gun you placed here this morning. You forgot about it.

Spleen crosses his expressions for a split second as he licks his lips. The view he presents is nearly blistering; and his voice, usually so silky and soft, grows coarse when he says, “What the fuck is there to understand?! Why are you trying to manipulate my decisions? I just… Do you know why I’m still here and running after you?”

Your chest is heaving by the time he brushes his fingers through his hair. Lost, dark eyes stare at you like he’s lost track of time and space. And when your palm wraps around the pistol grip slowly, you reckon he might not be the only one losing his mind.

Still, you want to know. Want him to keep talking.

So he does.

“Because there’s no other you in this world. I know that the earth will keep spinning, you know? And that people come and go, but if it’s someone else to stay, then I don’t want it.” His words echo in your mind like a menace, and you swallow the knot of ache in your throat when he opens his mouth to speak again. “You exist just once, and I’m in love with the full piece of you.”

With his words, Jimin stirs something in you that you’d deemed long forgotten. You didn’t know anyone could ever revive the hidden feeling again; but to you, it’s so utterly confusing and new that you shut it down and lock it in its chamber again. Maybe the lock will keep it captive better this time.

Because the truth is – no matter what you’ve come to feel towards him, you don’t know how to tackle the infamous emotion of love anymore. Jumping from one place to another – you have known nothing else, other than avoiding fondness and softness and a melting of your heart for so long. Yoongi and Jimin both couldn’t have loved you any better; but you’re not ready to commit to it just yet.

If ever.

Instead, you grip the handle of the gun tighter, watching Jimin’s eyes blowing wide when you bring the weapon to your front with a clicking noise. Both hands wrap around the metal, and you point it straight to his pained chest as he lets his arms fall.

The first human reflex to a gun is to lift your hands up; that’s what Yoongi always told you when you spiralled too much. When you got overwhelmed by weapons, danger and risks too much. But Jimin, the skilled detective every unit seems to praise day in, day out, does nothing alike. Instead, he sighs, clearly at the edge of his patience as he shifts from one leg to the other.

“You’re being absurd now,” he claims, but doesn’t move an inch. “I know you won’t.”

You know that he’s aware of the fact; and even you understand very well that there’s no scenario in this or any alternative world where you’d pull the trigger. Maybe you’ve lost the last semblance of sanity, ultimately; there’s no other reason for your actions, for your soul going awry.

Jimin knows that deep inside, your feelings rooted for him extend the phenomenon of a one night stand. It’s not a fleeting business relationship; you’re not ships in the night. But maybe it’s time to let go of the hand he tries to hold so urgently; maybe you’re too wound up and caught up in your head to make decisions for yourself that don’t end impulsively. Dangerously.

Maybe.

You have a storm to weather. And he needs to let you.

Needs to watch you step away and open wounds in his heart, the once nonchalant organ bubbling with vital desire. Your tears and sobs that never end call forth a thundercloud over your heads that lets agony and pain rain down onto your broken souls.

And when you finally whisper a, “I’m so sorry” into the quiet room and close the door behind you, Jimin collects himself enough to not run after you as he’s gotten used to. Keeps standing, lets the sunlight illuminate his face, lets his legs turn wobbly.

A small part of him keeps hoping that you might come back; but everything else inside him dies when he finally realises the absence of your voice.

The next morning, you don’t come to work.

In fact, you don’t deliver a single sign; not even a sick notice. To everyone in the office, it’s a peculiar occurrence, because you never seemed like less than a diligent detective, always motivated and eager. To Jimin, however, it’s the least of all surprises.

He doesn’t reckon he’ll ever see you again. But his office feels empty without you; as if he can hear the yawns of loneliness echoing.

His home has lost the colour you brought, even if your world was drenched in monochrome sorrow – though there was a remnant of hope in your voice. In your touch. In your whole being. Without this very voice, Jimin’s mood hits the skids.

And slowly, surely, surrender creeps closer until he realises–

No.

Thief or not, there were things between you that felt real. You weren’t a daydream – you were there, and you were you.

This isn’t something you can be selfish about.

That’s what you said to him – perhaps, however, it was you who was being selfish all along.

So when three days and eleven hours have passed, Jimin grabs his set of keys and sets the booze aside. Three days were enough to reflect on the last few weeks; the touches you shared; the insecurity in your eyes.

You were distant, not because that’s how you’ve come to know life. Not because you saw him as a one night thing – you always came back. But because in your gaze, there was always a hint of something, no matter how profusely you attempted to refuse the heart he was handing you on a silver platter. And it scared you.

The drive to your place proves endlessly unlucky; apparently, the world works against him, along with you. Red lights stop him at every intersection, suspending him helplessly. A construction site forces him to take a detour, and he spends a whopping fifteen minutes searching for a free parking spot.

He spent the last fifty-nine hours thinking and rethinking your exchange, over and over again. Words seem to come easy in his head now, and he thinks he knows what he wants to tell you after all. But then…

Exhausted, with dark circles decorating his face like cheap eyeshadow, he knocks at your heavy door, simultaneously anxious about what you might say and intrigued about what your place might look like. He remembers you mentioning your address multiple times, but you never really invited him there.

It’s prettier at yours. More trees. My neighbourhood is basically wasteland, you��d always say, shrugging his questions off.

He knew what it meant: that you weren’t ready to let anyone in just yet. That you came back to him because a little something about him lured you in, but never gave in enough to let him in, too.

Any confession or inquiry he had prepared seems to disintegrate like cotton candy on his tongue when the door opens.

His breath hitches and his heart jumps, hands clutching the frame of your entrance until his knuckles pale. A sea of jumbled thoughts keep washing in, and he’s not sure whether he wants to pamper you or yell at you.

Your hair is dishevelled, the eye contact tired but filled with pain. You stare at his feet before your pupils flicker up to his, and for a moment you look guilty. As if you’ve done something that might hurt him again.

“Just give me two minutes to ta–”

Jimin’s words die on his tongue when a stranger shows up behind you – your helpless gaze, pained and confused, seems to make sense now. But when Jimin looks at you again, your initial uncertainty morphs into fear that he can’t quite decipher. And when you speak, he understands why.

“You should go,” you nearly whisper, carrying a warning in your tone, like you’re quoting your thoughts from a few days ago. “You really should.”

What’s with you and the constant pain you carry? You might be hellbent on keeping him from the danger you bring – but why is the sting still so seething, so prominent? Why does looking at this guy, whom Jimin has never seen, never connected a memory to, tear at his heart like that?

The man rips the door open some more, fully clothed and frustrated as he observes the tension between you two, and asks, “Am I a joke to you?”

His voice is venomous, annoyed. Sounds like he was clearly expecting more of you, and you didn’t give him what he craved. Or perhaps you did, and the aftermath was something he didn’t anticipate.

Either way, his tone is agitating – and Jimin doesn’t want to hear him talk you down like that.

So he relaxes the crease between his eyebrows, counts to three internally, takes a deep breath. Gathers his irritation in his eyes, his gaze lethal and hooded; and then, he tilts his head and tells the man, “Leave.”

You release your jaw as quickly as you clench it, considering to build a barrier between the men before you change your mind. Because you don’t really want to defend the intruder standing next to you – you met him barely two hours ago, still smelling like the intoxicated air of the shabby bar.

So you keep yourself together, not feigning any anger towards Jimin – because despite the fear and unease, your heart feels soothed at the sight of him. And as you shift your weight to your other leg, gulping thickly, you turn to the guy next to you – Taesoo, was it? – to open your mouth.

His hand rests on his jangling belt, the button of his jeans undone, and before you can speak, he beats you to it, “It’d be nice if you told him something. I was here first anyway, and after the things that happ—”

“Leave,” you echo Jimin’s words, quietly but firmly.

He raises a corner of his lips in mock, shaking his head before he disappears into your room. For a moment, Jimin and you participate in a stare-off; then you avert your eyes again, brushing back your hair with a sigh.

When Taesoo emerges at your side again, pushing past you harshly, you groan, listening to him state, “You seemed like a crazy bitch all evening anyway.” You reckon he refers to your hazy, distracted state, more focused on your drinks than his touch. He nods towards Jimin, shooting one last, “Have fun with her,” before he departs.

Jimin’s jaw clenches visibly at the sound of the insult thrown at you, but his mind soon shifts elsewhere when you step onto the threshold slowly. You look tired, craving a good night’s sleep, dark circles under your eyes indicating that you’ve been awake for way too long.

But the steadiness in your voice surprises him, your arms folded as you ask him with raised eyebrows, “Why are you here?”

For such a smart, observing person, you seemingly still haven’t decoded the entirety of his feelings. He knows that somewhere inside, you sense why he drove all the way to your place, and that you understand why he’s here, waiting for something, trying to utter a little confession or two.

You either want to pull the answer out of him, or you’re still ignorant to how he looks at you.

“I miss you,” he admits, keeping his admissions present tense, fully intending on letting you know once and for all.

This game has been going on for too long. You need to stop making him chase you, need to stop acting like the mouse in this cartoon-come-to-life.

You slowly retract your steps, shaking your head in exhaustion, but he takes the same step forward, continuing, “There are a couple things I need to tell you.”

“Just,” you start, rubbing your temple, “let it be.”

“Let be what? There’s nothing here to start with.” He inches closer, his body almost touching yours, and a hot breath grazes your face as he admits, “I’m trying to make it something.”

“Don’t.”

You try to walk away, settling your hand on the door and ready to push it close again before he grabs your wrist mid-action. He invites himself in, careless about his surroundings as he calls your name.

Breathless, you watch the scene unfold in a matter of seconds: you feel his body close in, his harsh touch harden, the click of the door sounding, and suddenly… you’re trapped between him and the wall, arms pinned next to your head and his lips on yours.

Your eyes widen before they fall shut gradually. The sweetness of his tongue merges with the bitterness of yours instantly, and you let the feeling consume you; let his movements turn your body to mush.

For those fleeting seconds, the Swans don’t exist. The man who left your home a minute ago doesn’t exist. The hurdles and wall between Jimin and you, the crack between your lives – non-existent. You’re thrown back into memories of him, fond and hot, still burning before gravity pulls you back to your feet again.

With his grip around your wrists weakened, you free yourself and push him back, and he tumbles before he moves closer again. Slower this time, intimidated by your tears… frustrated, perhaps.

Your hollow eyes must be a hoax – because behind them, he sees a downward spiral, and he shakes his head in sorrow, lifting a hand. He places his palm on your damp cheek, pressing further when you don’t resist him this time but whisper, “Jimin…”

“No,” he interrupts, eyebrows furrowed as he catches your tears, “I know it sucks to lose someone like this. I know death can happen whenever and that it hurts and sucks the soul out of you. But… you can’t change what happened.”

Your lower lip and chin are quivering, your eyes red; he wonders how often you looked just like that the last few days. He wonders how many of those times he could’ve made and kissed you better.

“Fuck, this is such a cliché statement,” he adds, sniffling, mentally gripping his fractured heart to keep it from splintering more, “but it’s true, okay? And—and it’s also true that I’m here. Alive, with you, and so, so in love with you.”

He pauses. Watches the emotions swimming in your eyes, a sliver of hope and fondness and devotion glimmer.

And then, he tells you, “I know you feel the same. I just know it, and you can’t tell me otherwise, okay? I’ll take care of you… I know how to, so – please don’t push me away anymore.”

The sounds of your tears ebb down slightly, and you look at him with dozens of answers in your gaze to the one question he asked. When he repeats a hushed, “Okay?” you swallow another thick knot, fooling yourself once more as you whisper, “Stop…”

“Do you really want that? Do you mean that?”

His forehead touches yours with an intense fire burning between you, and you question for a moment whether you’d ever be able to put it out. There’s no power in this world strong enough to fight against it properly.

So you dissolve the web of lies for the first time in months, opting for the one and only truth you feared for so long as you shake your head and answer, “No.”

And as an answer, he merely sighs.

The type of sighs that convey more than a verbal response ever could. Longing, yearning, quiet affection hidden in one single exhale.

His lips and body crash against yours, and your back hits the wall with full force, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He traps you with his hands pressed against the wall, tilting his head to taste you just a little more.

Despite his impatience, his mouth works slow, and his tongue dances with yours tenderly, memorising your movements. You let your hand wander to his blonde hair, dishevelling it with a slight whimper. A shiver courses through your body, goosebumps arising all over your skin – you can’t count how often you two have done this, but it has never felt the way it does now.

Like you’re ending some kind of chase. Like you’re solving riddles you didn't know about.

Jimin's lips break the kiss when his lungs start to burn, and you take a deep, needed breath as he moves his attention to your cheek, your jaw, down to your shoulders. You lift your head to grant him access and he grabs a patch of your hair before he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Shit…” is all you manage to murmur as he holds you close, and you’re certain that he knows your knees might buckle if he didn’t.

Because your limbs are putty, weak under his touch, your mind concentrating on your surroundings as he nibbles, licks and bruises your skin.

You once heard that sex and desire puts those filled with lust through a temporary yet full shutdown of their short-term memory, and with Jimin’s body against yours, you don’t question the theory anymore. Because you barely remember the time and date; you wouldn’t know where you’re standing if the wall didn’t press against your spine.

“Still want me to stop?” Jimin asks when he emerges, brushing back your hair before he plants a peck on your nose. Then your forehead. Your temple.

Sweet, soft, lost.

His eyes crave you so clearly, but his hands touch you carefully, gauging your reaction. You shake your head, placing your palms over his rapid heartbeat as you breathe, “No.”

“Okay,” he whispers, letting his fingers slide to your hips, “okay.”

And then, his mouth is kissing down your body, slowly and cautiously, his eyes not leaving your face until your eyelids flutter shut. His hands raise the fabric of your shirt, baring your stomach and part of your breasts. His tongue leaves a flaming trail along your tummy, delicate bites teasing your sides occasionally.

His digits creep closer to your pooling heat, not as fast as you’d like him to – but when he finally presses a finger against the damp cloth of your panties, you moan out his name. Gulping, he shakes his head, biting his lip before he tells you from below, “I missed this.”

Jimin knows his obsession with you has become ridiculous. He shouldn’t have thought about you this much after being apart from you for just a few days. But you’re the mystery clouding his mind in every waking second – you’re like a case he hasn’t cracked yet. And for the first time, he doesn’t feel the desire to anyway.

This time, he won’t look for hints and clues to decipher your thoughts, but let you deliver them to him yourself. At your own pace. As long as you feel the same.

He brings his lips to your thighs, fingers tugging at your panties without ever ripping them off. You brush the hair strands off his face, eager to watch him become as delirious and hazy as you are – if he isn’t already. There’s a beginning fog in his pupils, whispering something that you understand right away.

The way he teases you throws you in a frenzy for sure, a soft, single touch that makes your guts turn and your thoughts dissolve.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, and your eyes shoot open, your gaze begging with your words.

Weak and enchanted, he obliges, continuing to lick and tease his way up until his tongue brushes the wet patch of your panties. Arousal seeps through and colours the fabric darker, despite the lack of direct touch, and he pushes a finger against the clothed entrance of your cunt. His mouth attaches to the dampness, searching for your clit until he hears you whimper and plead.

“Use your words,” Jimin says, circling his finger over your panties, “can’t hear you.”

“Take it off…”

“Take it off?” he repeats, fingertips wandering to the hem of your panties and tugging again – enough to drive you insane, but not enough to rid you of your clothing. “That’s what you want?”

“Don’t… don’t ask stupid questions,” you tell him, staring down at him, coloured lips parted and dry.

Jimin laughs for a tiny, barely-there moment; and you nearly miss the sound, because in the next moment, he’s gratifying your request eagerly. He pushes your ruined panties over your ass and down your trembling legs; watches the shiver of your body.

And as his thoughts stir and begin to run wild again, remembering the last days and your last conversation, he waves them off by dipping in right away – your touches are precious, and his mind is collapsing. But while he acts immediately, he takes his time during the actual ministrations, placing a hand on your pelvis to keep you in place before his tongue begins its eager work on your pussy.

You shiver when his lips touch your cunt, spreading your legs further, and tell him, “This feels… so–”

“I know. I know, sweetheart.”

You shake your head involuntarily when he utters the new pet name, not ready to fall for him deeper, but not strong enough to push him away either. It’s so hard to think at all… his tongue lapping up your juices, his palm holding your thigh, placing your leg on his shoulder… strands of hair tickling your skin – the world is an endless, dark chasm and it’s swallowing you whole.

Electricity and sparks only flicker in your vision when he licks you through the built-up of your high and watches you come undone with his name on your tongue. You whisper it and then yell it, entirely enrapturing him with your movements and sounds until his head is positively spinning.

His cheeks flushed red, he emerges slowly, crawling up your body to wrap an arm around your waist. But you’re way ahead, pushing his body backwards, lips finding his again as you make out on your way to your bedroom.

You barely remember how you got there, but when you push him onto your mattress hard, observing the change in his dangerous eyes, nothing else matters anyway. Albeit shaking and heavy breathing, you put all your energy into the act, throwing him onto his back as two pairs of hands start to undress him hastily.

The familiar sight of his bare body hits you like a truck, flooding yearning through you as you straddle him before he gets the chance to react.

“What are you…” he begins, but you lean in, your hair a curtain draped to the left side, and meet his lips for a brief moment.

He throws his head back, moaning quietly when you journey down his body, lips kissing every patch of skin until they touch the erect length resting against his stomach.

Leaking and aching, his cock screams for attention, and you grant his body all your focus and affection as you lean in and let your tongue run a stripe along his shaft. He doesn’t question anymore what you might be doing; instead, he groans, thick lips opening just a fraction.

“Good?” you ask as your fingers sneak around his dick, teasing, amazed by the rockhard stiffness hiding underneath the warm skin.

He opens his eyes for a split second to glance down at your naked form, barely believing that you were standing on the other side of the door, tired and insecure just minutes ago. Your naked body doesn’t just lure him in out of pure, unbridled desire, but whispers quiet, longing promises to him, too.

Like, that you want him… that you genuinely want him. That you’re doing this, letting him do this, because you missed his touches as much as he missed your gazes. Or at least that’s what he interprets.

You lick along his length once more before you angle his cock and wrap your lips around it. Your head bobs up and down slowly at first, the vibrations of your hums sending a current through his sweating body; your tits hang between his legs and your ass in the air. It’s so surreal, so heavenly that he whispers, “I’m gonna lose my mind…”

Pride floods through your guts, temporary bliss so incomparable to the pain the world inflicted on you in the previous days. You let yourself lose with him as your tongue works its way along his shaft, devouring his moans, producing extra saliva to drench his cock.

You only stop when his cock hardens impossibly, his breaths stuttering – you want him inside; want him to spill inside. So you crawl up with your nails racking his smooth skin, hands sliding along his torso, brushing the tattoo beneath his chest and his bicep that you’ve grown to love; memorised.

Straddling him with parted lips, you look down at his surreal form, your breathing erratic and eyes unfocusing as you say, “You’re pretty… so pretty.”

And perhaps your words would’ve affected him enough to let his thoughts clear if you weren’t grabbing his drenched cock again, bringing it dangerously close to where your cunt pulsates for him. Because as soon as he understands the situation, he shakes his head, stopping your attempt to ride him deliriously as he grapples your sides and flips you over in an instant.

Your back hits the mattress surprisingly, and you gasp, trapped between the bed and him; your legs still spread, but your toes curling in. Hissing and confused, you immediately, reflexively, apologise as though you’re used to making mistakes, “I’m sorry.” You wait, watching him prop up his naked body on his elbows. “What happened?”

Jimin gulps, his gaze soft but melancholic, hints of pain scattered across his dark pupils as he admits, “I can’t do it like this.”

“What?”

“You… you fucked that guy.”

“I–”

There’s no wish more profound than to fuck the thoughts of this man out of you. To make love to you through the night, reach your deepest parts, intensely enough until you can’t remember a single name but Jimin’s. But at the same time, your lifestyle has never been his – and he remembers.

So whatever desire floats inside him, he needs to fight through the haziness and be responsible. If you fucked another guy before him, he doesn’t want to be your sloppy seconds.

But when you speak again, you surprise him and, as it seems, even yourself. “I didn’t.” You place your warm palms on his soft back, pushing him closer barely noticeably. “He and I didn’t.”

Despite the questions in his shaking eyes, Jimin remains calm and collected, his lips inching closer to yours until you can feel the hot comfort of his breath grazing your face. The touch of his fingertips on your jaw, his chest against yours, arms wrapped around your shoulders set all of your nerves and veins alight.

Blood isn’t helping your heart pump anymore the way his touch does. If he chose to stay just like that, the entire night and day, you think you’d be okay with it, too.

“Why not?” he asks when he speaks again, caramel dripping from his tongue, sweet but charred, infatuated but scared.

“I…” you begin, momentarily distracted by the hard length rubbing against your clit. You moan and writhe, and he holds your face firmly, looking at you as you confess, “I kept seeing you instead.”

“Really?”

Pillowy lips kiss the expanse of your neck and settle on the crook of it, his hips moving to align his cock with your entrance without ever sliding in. It’s doesn’t resemble his usual teasing and cockiness when he drives you crazy, tortures you with touches without ever advancing. Waiting for you to beg and move, waiting for you to tell him how badly you want him.

No, this time, it’s something else – a feeling you can’t quite name. Care and fear and anger collecting in his crude and lewd motions. A nonverbal, silent plea for you to utter something, for you to seek his lips, to tell him you don’t want anything else.

Perhaps that’s the problem. Jimin has always wanted you for himself. The only one you want to kiss, the only one to haunt your dreams. Maybe he’s greedy or maybe he’s fallen too deep into all of this utter shit; but he’s always lived differently. A heart that contains love and demands love back.

Not used to the vast darkness filling the volume of your own.

But some things not even you’ll be able to deny.

“Really…” you mutter, your eyes falling close.

His nose nudges against yours; everything is a slow process, but you melt and dissolve and fall ultimately when he whispers, “Do you have any idea how much I missed you?”

“Jimin…”

“I know you like burning yourself into people’s memories,” his tip pushes into your soaked pussy, one arm letting go of your shoulder to press your thigh into the mattress, “you like them to remember you, and you like to forget them,” you whine and moan, moving your hips, begging for more, “but goddamn, putting me on your list? That was cruel.”

The coherency in his words is astounding; you don’t think you could utter more words than necessary, even if you tried. The level of hurt passing through Jimin must be profound enough for him to drown in his thoughts, even now.

“I– I didn’t,” you manage, desperate and shivering, losing every ounce of sanity.

“What is it then… that you did, huh?”

A single tear escapes the corner of your eye, and he wipes it away immediately, caging you in further as you hold onto him for dear life. The room turns a few shades darker with his dim stare, cold, but you moan and cry out when he pushes in some more.

You throw your head back, registering the touch of his fingers along your sides as you hear him ask, “Why did you hurt me again?”

You’re not sure what answer he wants. You don’t even think he realises you can’t answer at all, too focused on the way he sheathes himself inside you, piercing through you slowly, deeply.

But he doesn’t seem to expect a response either; because adjusting, shifting, balls deep inside you, he groans, “No more, okay?”

He knows you can’t give him promises that defy the life you lead. You think he understands as well as you that the future is uncertain, that none of you know what it entails. But there’s something inside you that wants to soothe both your aches, so you mumble timidly, “Okay…”

If it was up to you, you wouldn’t lay a finger on his heart anymore. But your days and your occupation, lacking moral and respect, are unpredictable. For now, however, it seems to do.

Because Jimin’s eyes close, his grunts deeper now, the grip around you tight and protective and his cock building a steady rhythm. He’s slower and softer than usual; tonight, he takes his time, focuses on your expressions and sounds.

The little droplets of sweat on your forehead. The sharpness of your nails digging into his flesh and alternating with soothing rubs. Your eyes involuntarily squinting when his damp hair strands touch your eyelids. And the sound of his name from your lips… your pleas, your moans, your breaths.

“You’re the prettiest like that,” he tells you, kissing your earlobe, “free of thoughts and worries… could look at you all day.”

The way he always looked at you during lunch breaks, lazy evenings after work or when it was your turn to lead a meeting in the office.

A series of mumbled words escape your mouth in a hurry, overwhelmed by the varying pace of his hips; once he hammers into you deep and then he pulls back and pushes in carefully. Perhaps he’s letting your bodies lead the way; because even he seems beyond the point of true consciousness. A little lost, a little dizzy.

“Don’t want you to stop,” you tell him amidst the fever dream you breathe through, and he lifts his chest from yours just enough to look at you properly.

Your bodies, hot and sweaty, quiver from the lack of contact, the temperature of the room colliding with the warmth between you as he promises, “Don’t worry.”

It’s a short, silent and tender affair, the collision of your bodies and souls. It feels like mere seconds pass when he’s wrapped his lips around your nipples; then released them; then kissed the underside of your tits, penetrating your walls and every inch of your sensitive spots.

You barely notice that his hips and legs are already stuttering, his mouth whispering sweet nothings, and you rush to bring your fingers to your clit, only for him to push your hands away and do it for you.

“Fuck,” he curses, losing his mind when your shouts grow louder. “Fuck, wanna hear this all day, you know?”

“I know,” you cry out, throwing your head to the side, and he suckles at the flesh of your soft neck.

Your legs become restless as he rubs the bundle of nerves, incessantly pounding into you, and the combined penetration brings you to the brink of insanity.

In the years you’ve allowed your broken self to cope with sex, there must have been longer sessions. Harder or faster, memorable or seething hot. Tonight, with Jimin, might not be the experience of a lifetime, and you probably won’t remember every ardent touch or impatient stare he grants you with.

But for the first time, you feel something that’s unfiltered. Not fleeting or meaningless or another get-together you’ll store with every other get-together in the past. This is real; it feels real. Perhaps not like a fairytale, but at least like its own novel.

Jimin’s stamina and endurance come to an end when you whisper his name one more time; tell him sweetly, hushed, “Want just you… please.”

He doesn’t know what your words strike in him, but it’s enough for him to let go ultimately. A groan emerges from the depths of his chest, his body collapsing on yours again, barely floating to not suffocate you beneath him. He takes a deep breath, trembling, and says, “I swear I really am… in love with you.”

You believe him. With all the emotions swimming in his eyes, evident in his touches, how could you not? With the way the world changes, how could you not reciprocate it?

And you want to tell him – but before you can, he’s letting more admissions fall, spilling inside you with a sound so intriguing that it renders you speechless. His face falls against your chest, his ear listening to your rapid heartbeat as stars explode in your vision just as much as in his; your moans broken and your body floating.

It all ends as soon as it begins.

Your naked, vulnerable bodies fall into your bed in unison, his embrace carrying you with him, both your essences spilling out of you as you catch your breaths.

“I can run a shower,” he says, a hand rubbing his face in exhaustion while the other grabs tissues from the nightstand and begins to clean you up slowly.

When he’s done, he sits up, opting to stand, but you grab his bicep and pull him back, shaking your head with big eyes staring up at him. He thinks he could die in those eyes – no dreamy sigh in this world showcases the feelings his heart carries for you.

Blinking, exhaling, you say, “Not yet.”

Obliging with a nod and affection in his gaze, Jimin fishes the discarded underwear from the floor, half hanging off the bed, and hands you yours while pulling up his own. It’s strange, the feeling of clothing against your battered sex.

But his arms caging you into a hug, impatient and urgent, make up for the discomfort immediately.

For a few minutes, you listen to the silence of the room. A few cars drive past the complex you live in, the traffic unusually busy for the isolated corner you chose as your city residence. It’s different here; quiet but still louder than what you’re used to. If you were surrounded by the silence you usually hear, you might react with more fret and panic.

“You’re still unsure,” Jimin whispers, breaking you out of your trance, “about us.”

It’s surprising. The way he continues the conversation from before like nothing happened in between. But you understand his thoughts. You know what must be plaguing him, or how painful the uncertainty of a future with you must be.

After all, confessing love, affection and otherworldly emotions doesn’t guarantee anything, right?

“Not about what I feel for you,” you admit, mumbling against his chest, “but I’m scared.”

“It’s Seokjin you’re worried about, right?” he asks, shifting closer, noticing the way you flinch at the mention of the ominous name. “We’ll end this thing soon.”

“He’s just… dangerous. He’s not just a thief, Jimin–”

“I know,” he interrupts, tangling your legs with his. It’s like he’s trying to creep closer, trying to meld your bodies with not an inch between you left. “But we were close before, so if…”

You hiss when he presses too hard, his skin rubbing against yours, and you emerge from his chest to say, “I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”

It’s the first time you refuse to address your fears. But despite your wish to steer clear from this conversation, it seems that the world still hears your worries and troubles.

The comfort of his arms, wrapped around your torso and your sorrow, doesn’t last long; just like joy doesn’t last long on any other day.

Because in an instant, you hear the smashing of your door, like someone’s broken in with an axe and demolished your entire entrance. From your bed in your room, you can’t decode what the thunderous noise is, flinching hard, reflexively pushing yourself into Jimin’s arms.

There are no voices yet, just a panting from afar, and you sit up with the blanket covering your torso, eyes darting through the room to find a weapon. You think Jimin dropped his gun in the living room when he entered; you think your own are hidden in the closet, too far for you to fetch.

And right when you remember the pistol buried underneath your things in the second drawer, your arm shooting towards it once your brain clears, your bedroom door opens with a mind-numbing thump.

“What the fuck,” you hear Jimin murmur next to you, and in your fear, you just realise now that he has risen to his feet, scouring your empty bed for a weapon in nothing but his underwear. Defenceless. “Get out.”

He says it to you, but you’re frozen in place, watching a face walk closer to you that you’ve never seen before. It happens in slow-motion, like time is standing still.

In those moments, you realise a few things.

First, the second man, right behind the first, is one of the thieves living in your mansion, a trusted accomplice of Seokjin, probably here by his command, too. He looks unamused; like he just wants out, not eager to fight.

Second, they’re carrying weapons like knives and guns, clearly in a better position than you, their eyebrows furrowed in anger that you might not be able to win against.

And third, they’re looking at Jimin.

Without a glance to you, the familiar face throws clothes at you that you didn’t see him holding before, covering your face as panic spreads in your chest. You lift the shirt off your head, instantly yelling, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“Leave, just–”

Jimin’s voice is muffled and scared, his fists ready to defend himself. But when the first hit lands, he stumbles back onto the bed, finding it difficult to keep his posture when the enemy is attacking with the grip of his gun.

You don’t listen to his pleas right away, letting out a siren scream before you curse, “You fucking bastards, you can’t–”

“Get dressed. Get in the car. No aggression, okay?” the stranger tells you, pointing to the clothes before he adds, “He’ll be fine if you stay calm.”

All those threats. The constant rivalry and wrongful doings. They’re sickening and insane – but somehow, they’re the only madness that still keeps the man you’ve fallen for safe.

“Lower the gun, please,” you say as firmly as you can, but you can hardly help the shake in your voice, the breaking of your words.

You grab the shirt and drape it over your body with quivering fingers, never leaving Jimin out of sight. He’s looking into the intruders’ eyes, still unarmed, relying on his fists once again to face the blade and the bullets.

“I’m done,” you add, still deflating at the sight of them not listening to you. Because their arms are still raised. Still pointing at him.

Jimin throws you a single look, slowly.

He doesn’t utter a word.

Then, he nods so slightly that you almost miss it – and right when you button your jeans, he gulps.

“No, don’t–”

You exclaim it into the room involuntarily, automatically falling forwards, your palms catching yourself on the bed before Jimin is going in with another reckless punch. You’re not sure if it’s an attempt to actually defend himself or to give you time, but you can barely react with the tears blurring your vision.

As if a voice whispered something to you, you pull yourself up, your breathing erratic and uneven as you walk backwards to the door. You’re not silent enough to escape without notice, but you try; you try. For him at least.

But with the door shut and in the time it gets to press down the handle, open it and run out of the room, your hair is caught in the firm grip of the familiar man, twirling you enough that you see the horror in front of you unfold.

You think the man holding you urges the stranger to finally finish the job, shakes his head, impatient and annoyed. But his hisses don’t stop his colleague.

A hook to the chin of the man you kissed a few minutes ago. A knife cutting through the back of his hand that tries to defy it. The grip of a gun smacking against a temple, letting his body fall onto the mattress and limp against the pillow.

The last thing Jimin hears are your screams, shrill and crying, his name floating somewhere in between before the world falls dark.

When Jimin opens his eyes again, the world is dark and dull.

His body is stiff and heavy when he opts to sit, and he wonders if he was tied to the bed, unable to move his limbs and head. But once he lifts his face, he realises that it isn’t his torso or his legs that are shackled to place – it’s his mind, forbidding further movement.

Because the pain shoots into his head like an arrow, sharp and stinging, the headache so shattering that he falls back into the pillow again. The spot near his face is sticky and smells disgusting. He doesn’t dare to open his eyes and examine the source.

Instead, his hand taps in the dark, searching the bedside table blindly until he touches the box of tissues and pulls out two or three. He rolls the napkins to a ball, pressing against the wound with a sharp hiss until his head stops spinning.

For a second, there’s a beep in his ears, but his first instinct of making sure he’s not too badly injured tells him that his hearing isn’t impaired. He still hears the cars outside, and still makes out the chirping crickets through the open window.

Gradually and slowly, he opens his eyes. The sight begins blurry, but clears slowly. So his vision is somewhat stable, too. But with the hit he suffered, enough to knock him unconscious, it must still be bad. Because god, it hurts. A concussion for sure.

The tissues turn as sticky as the pillow, so there must be dry blood. And he feels dizzy. But just like the pain, time won’t stop, and if he lets more of it pass, more things could happen that he's tried to avoid for months. If they haven’t happened already.

He sits up once and for all with an agonising groan, not daring to shake his head before he gets to his wobbly legs. He sways, flashbacks to older cases emerging when he suffered worse, and walks over to the standing mirror near the window.

An inspection tells him that there’s no fluid or blood spilling from his nose or ears, but his damp, dirty hair coloured red is still telling enough. He wishes he could call help, get himself checked in an emergency room, diagnosis and treatment and all. But until then, too many things can happen; and the silence of your room and your absence don’t allow him selfishness, not right now.

The scream he heard before he passed out still echoes in his mind loud and clear, fuelling the headache. Where did they take you? What happened after he closed his eyes?

If he made protecting you his biggest goal, has he failed already?

The pain in his head distracts him too much to let the tears spill, hammering with each step he takes. He walks to your closet, leans down as he searches the content of the boxes at the bottom. In theory, invading your privacy goes against the laws, but if there’s a chance to get you back like that, he can’t muster the strength to give a fuck.

He finds a passport. Doesn’t need it. Brochures for vacations in foreign countries, letters and pictures of when you were younger, with chubbier cheeks and a more radiant smile. No. Redundant.

Jimin gets up. Walks to the night table. The one on his bedside proves utterly useless, too – there’s nothing he can do with small keys, locks and copies of official documents. God, you need to take care of your things better.

It’s not until he rounds the bed and scours the content of the other night table that he finds something he can work with. For one, there’s a pack of medicine. Ibuprofen? He takes out two of those, clutching them tight in his fist. Then, right underneath it, he finds a small A6 notebook.

A first glance onto the first page reveals names he knows or has never heard of, numbers and addresses scribbled next to them. Bingo – if this isn’t the thing he was looking for, he might be screwed.

He closes the notebook and hurries to pick up the clothes off the ground as fast as his body and head allow. Even his haste movements are careful and accompanied by grunts, but he pushes through the pain as he walks across the living room and into the kitchen. He fetches himself a glass of water, swallowing the pills to dim the pain and prevent inflammation.

Somewhere on the ground, he finds the phone he possibly lost last night while attempting to win you back. Pictures of your form pressed against the wall, the feeling of your lips on his, your hands trying to resist him with your whole being without succeeding emerge from his memory. He’s not sure if it’s the injury or your missing touch that hurts more.

The phone, laying in some corner, thankfully missed by the intruders, has minimal battery life left. He picks it up impatiently, pressing a cloth against his head he found in your kitchen. And then, he dials a familiar number until the voice greets him in worry.

“Hey. Hey, where the actual fuck are you?”

Hoseok sounds exasperated, busy; he never truly curses, and when he does, there’s a valid reason behind it. The reason this time being Jimin’s absence for hours. The radio silence since last night, the not showing up to work, the never calling in sick.

“There’s so much bullshit going on, Hobi,” Jimin says, providing no context or explanation.

“Like what?”

“Like.” He tells his older friend where he went last evening. What he did since then. What happened in the middle of the night, and what’s happening now that the sunrise is still so far away. “Some people broke in and took her with them.”

“Where to?!”

Jimin sighs, kneeling on the ground with the notebook open in front of him. He flicks through the pages, searching for a clue that might help. He recognises his own name, Hoseok’s, and a few others he knows from work. Those are numbers and information that co-workers at the office exchange just to be sure, but they’re not what he’s looking for.

Until, finally, knocking out the breath of his lung, he sees it. After months of searching, nothing could have brought him closer than paying you a visit, leafing through this very notebook and settling on this very page. There were reasons why you never let him in. Fears and worries keeping you from revealing the secret faraway place your true boss – along with you – resides in. Of course this apartment isn’t your permanent residence.

It could’ve been as easy as this.

There’s an address next to Kim Seokjin’s name that Jimin doesn’t recognise. He’s not sure if it’s in this town at all, because it looks cryptic, the postal code indicating another place, another city. The address occurs more than once, and he thinks most of the names it stands next to are closely related to the Swans in one way or the other.

“Dude–” Hoseok exclaims on the other side of the speaker, impatient.

“I think I know where they are. I’ll send you the address before my phone dies.” His head throbs, and he lets out a sound of despair, cursing, “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Just an injury to the head,” Jimin says casually, like his head isn’t bursting. “That's why I was unconscious.”

Hoseok exhales in worry, something in the background creaking like he’s ready to transport his friend to the hospital immediately. Then, he states, “That could be a concussion, man. You can’t work like that. And don’t you think of–”

“I’ve wasted enough time when I was passed the fuck out.” Jimin types the address into Hoseok’s chat, sending it hastily before he says, “Sent.”

For a second, the line goes silent, but then Hoseok lets out a frustrated breath, remarking, “Shit, that’s really fucking far away. Outside the city, I believe.”

“I know, just,” Jimin confirms, desperate, scared, “if you can, get there.”

“Of course.”

Hoseok hesitates, obviously thinking about something he wants to say, fearing his friend’s answer. But he tries anyway, “But I’m calling the ambulance for you.”

“No, don’t.”

Of course.

“Jimin, I–”

“Fucking don’t. Direct order. Alright?”

Jimin can see heart shaped lips pressing together, a head shaking, two fingers curled around suspenders and hair strands hanging low. It’s the same look Hoseok sports on stressed days, and he imagines his own state and direct order aren’t any less taxing than those days.

“Listen, you goddamn idiot,” Hoseok says, close to losing his sanity and patience, “you might get into an accident, or worse. Do not–”

“I’ll take a cab then, fuck.”

“I swear, you–”

And then, the line goes dead. Not because his phone battery has given up, but because Jimin has heard and forwarded the information he needed to. One last goal now.

He digs into the pockets of his jeans, making sure that the car keys are there, but he still dives for a different object first.

Fishing out his phone again, he dials the number of a taxi, trying to sound as calm as possible. He saunters back to the kitchen, searches for a first aid kit, finding one sparsely filled, and takes out some cotton and a bandage. He tunks it into the open bottle of alcohol next to the sink, absolutely sure this won’t do long-term.

But who could care?

Leaning over the sink, he waits until part of the pain and the spinning of his head have subsided. Then, he trudges to his private car, gathering one more gun than he already carries before he enters the cab wordlessly, ignoring the driver’s remarks and shutting him up with a flash of his badge.

Then, he mutters an address, takes a deep breath and watches the world fly by.

When you open your eyes again, the world is blinding and bright.

You don’t remember exactly when they closed. Perhaps when you were sitting in the backseat, resisting their grips, yelling into the congested space of the car. Screaming his name from the top of your lungs, yearning to go back, trying to ask the world around you if he’s alright and alive.

The birds and the wind you heard through the open window couldn’t whisper to you what went on between the walls of your temporary apartment. So when they held you back, drenching a cloth with chloroform right in front of your face, you stopped resisting.

Maybe it was better to waste your hours away in unconsciousness than to worry about something you had no control over. Not like this, unarmed, trapped, the damsel in distress you never saw yourself as.

You’re not sure who brought you to your room – you’re certain it’s your room – because you don’t think you were awake enough to realise. Even though you’ve regained full consciousness, you still don’t dare to open your eyes just yet.

Somewhere in the distance, you think you hear a voice.

Only that it’s not in the distance.

It’s right next to you.

“Why are you back here?”

His voice is tender and soft, talking to you after such a long time. Your heart falls into unknown pits, because you didn’t think you’d see this day ever again. Or hear him again. A tear escapes the corner of your eyes, your hands clutching the blanket you didn’t realise was there.

He doesn’t sound like he’s drowning right now – sounds so very alive.

But you only understand his absence and your own madness when your eyelids finally do flutter open. The room is empty. And still. Cold, considering that your bedroom stands on the ground floor. Your soul is the only one alive here; and you don’t believe in ghosts.

“You’re not really here,” you tell Yoongi’s voice, rubbing your forehead like it could dissolve his face from your mind.

“Of course I’m not.”

You laugh a little, sniffling.

“So I’ve gone crazy. Cool.” Your laughter ebbs down, and you stare at the boring, white ceiling above you. For an expensive, prestigious manor, your room is as monotone as any vacant, vapid place. “It’s rude of you that you’re not here.”

You hear a familiar chuckle, sounding through your skull, and he… you… your mind says, “I think it’s worse that some part of me is still there. Not that you should forget about me, but,” he pauses, hesitating, “maybe it’s time to move on.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I think you do,” he refutes. You wonder how far your abilities of holding a soliloquy with two different voices can go. “Do you remember what I said?”

“You… you said a lot of things.”

“The day we sat at the riverbank.”

Of course your unconsciousness would remind you of the same old dream again. You’re not sure why it’s always that one conversation that your little brain always brings back, but you’re growing sick of it.

“You said to prioritise myself,” you answer, angling your legs, pulling them closer, “to not throw away my life.”

“Yeah.” He waits. Lets you think. “So?”

“So. That’s what I tried to do for so long,” you tell him, your voice breaking, not quite as firm as you’d like it to be, “when I promised you to live a better life for you, I meant it. In the beginning, I thought I could.” You shrug your shoulders, shaking your head, still dizzy from the chloroform. “But I think I butchered it.”

But he’s having none of it, arguing, “Hey. You know the security here… you know your way out blindly. Use that for yourself. You don’t need anyone to save you… you’re stronger than that.”

His voice carries a hint of your own now… the way you speak, the way you usually think when you’re not on rock bottom. Somehow, knowing that it’s you telling yourself all of this and not really him – not really anyone else – is… comforting.

You sit up. Rub your eyes. Adjust to the darkness and stare into the faint light of the lamp on the desk opposite of you. And you hear his dim voice speak one more time.

“Thought so.”

The forest shows warning signs at every other mile, ranging from visualisations of animals crossing the road or riverbanks ahead.

Sometimes, Jimin’s eyes catch sight of signs predicting falling rocks or approaching humps. But with a throbbing head and trembling hands, he never pays much attention to the subtle cautionary advices placed on the side of the road.

As the streets ascend and descend, he drives through the quiet night, surrounded by thickets and trees with a spinning mind. The voice of the navigation guides him calmly, but his heart’s beat overshadows it all.

Hoseok might kill him if he finds out his friend abandoned the cab near the office. Took one of the work cars instead. Which he’s operating right now; sure that it was safer for long distances than his private car. There was no way he’d trust a cab driver into this damned forest or risk his life, even less in a dangerous, possibly deadly situation like this.

Hoseok calls and updates him every now and then, informs him that he’s almost gathered their whole force, collecting the tools they might need, and that he will join his friend soon. Jimin knows that soon isn’t soon enough. Even he, driving around for what feels like ages, is only now reaching his goal; until Hoseok arrives, a lot can happen.

He parks a good half mile from the place he seeks, abandoning his car in the middle of nowhere to avoid attention he doesn’t need. Jogging the rest of the way, he follows the road, the sound and the lights.

And when he’s finally snuck close enough, the scenery reminds him of the ominous origins of romanticised fairytales.

You’re stronger than that, aren’t you?

When Yoongi left you alone in this world, it wasn’t to mope around – he wanted you to conquer your dreams and prioritise yourself and… live.

This isn’t living though, right? Perhaps you should start now.

You push yourself off the mattress, shaky legs carrying you until you gather your strength and plant them against the ground steadfast. Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you tip-toe to the door. You’re ready to negotiate with whoever’s standing in front of your room – ready to knock him unconscious when need be.

But when you touch the door with your fingertips, it’s already open to a slit, the yard in the middle of the manor empty and silent. Maybe you could hear a needle fall if there wasn’t distant turmoil raging inside the mansion. From where you stand, it sounds like quiet chatter, but you know it’s just the usual chaos before bedtime you’re used to from this place.

When you step out, the wind blows for a small moment, unusually cold for a warm day. You brush your hair from your face, keeping your sight clear in fear you might miss the smallest movement from the corner of your eyes.

But when nothing happens, you take a deep breath, fixating your gaze on the door on the other side before you cross the yard on your tiptoes quickly. You open the door carefully, trying not to let it creak too loudly; but it seems that no one’s in the hallway anyway.

Eyes darting to and fro, you bend a bit, taking off your shoes and placing them next to the door. Your fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt as your stare falls onto the staircase, and you begin to move slowly. Navigating through the place in darkness proves harder than you imagined.

Paranoid, you search for signs of life, holding your breath as you climb the staircase in fast motions. You hiss and cringe at every echo your steps cause, although it’s dull and barely audible. To keep your sanity, you focus on your mental map of the place, knowing that you need to reach the first floor and cross the hallway to find yet another staircase that will lead to the main exit.

You have no choice but to cross those metres.

But to your misery, you’re more nervous than you thought.

Because when you’ve crossed half the hallway on the first floor, you realise that you’ve taken a wrong turn, cursing at yourself internally – you’ve lived here for so long. You should know better. And the regret only grows when you suddenly hear voices at the end of it, panic flooding your chest before you turn on your heel and ready yourself to walk the correct path instead.

But as soon as you turn, your body nearly crashes against another person present in the hallway, and you gasp in fear as you topple a few steps back, drowning in fear. You almost slip and fall onto the marble floor, close to yelling out a cry for help.

The man, however, catches you with a hand wrapped around your arm, pulling you to your feet again until you’ve found your balance and cleared your blurry vision enough to recognise him. He’s the second man who broke into your apartment just tonight, shaking his head at his accomplice as though he was sorry for you.

You don’t know his name; know nothing about him. There’s nothing you can say to him, nothing else than to beg for him to stay quiet. As you keep staring at each other, your breath hitching and hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, you prepare yourself to run away or do something you should not be considering at all.

But then…

His grip loosens around your limb, and he gulps, backing away in quiet permission. His actions say that he’s not your enemy – that it’s okay to trust him, and that he’ll trust you in return. That you don’t deserve whatever Seokjin is cursing you with.

You don’t know why he brought you here in the first place then; but you take what you get. Guilt sometimes arrives later, you guess.

With damp eyes, your shivering legs carry you past him, your gaze never leaving his and your hands still balled into fists, ready to fight if he decides to betray you after all. But when he doesn’t move, his head hanging low, you accelerate your steps, whisper the smallest, “thank you so much”, and run into the opposite direction of where the voices are creeping closer.

Hazy and scared, you inch closer to the desired staircase, walking down the steps in alert with the entrance as your ultimate goal. You tap through the darkness until your hand is touching the handle, your breaths uneven before you step into the garden – and that’s when you see them.

The place looks like a small castle. Probably perfect to hide an entire crew of mastermind thieves, but fitting to vampires rather than a quiet mafia. The outer garden, adorned with colourful flowers, lays still, the petals and leaves slightly flickering against the mellow breeze; it wouldn’t be surprising if yellow werewolf eyes were staring back at him.

Kneeling, with the gun cocked and in his tight grip, Jimin tip-toes through the bushes that are planted at the edges of the yard. He wonders if he could see you from here – hear you breathing from a room, feel your presence, awaiting and alive.

Solving the case has become a second priority; if he can anyhow get you out of this hell and the clutches of those people, he’d consider his mission successful and cleared. He can refocus on the purpose of this case once he’s seen you breathing and well.

For a few moments, he waits. His legs twitch in anticipation, urging him forwards, telling him to trudge towards the entrance and find you in whichever room they’ve hidden you. But right when he opts to leave his crouching positions, voices seep through the air of the crisp forest night; one of them, he recognises immediately.

“Then that’s done, too,” the other guy says, and from where Jimin watches, the man silences for a second to yawn. “I really need to go to bed. You owe me.”

“You say that as if I haven’t done a hundred things for you before,” Seokjin says, a slight laugh lacing his voice so softly that, without any knowledge about him, he might sound like a casual sweetheart.

Jimin’s head focuses on registering every word the pair utters, but it proves hard with the distance between them and the still aching temple. The painkiller has kicked in at least subtly, though he still feels like the mess he was back at your apartment. The light is hidden behind the horizon, but sunrise must not be far.

He fishes out his phone, staring at the battery status, happy that the charger in the work car provided him with just enough to do what he wants to do. Tapping the symbol of the camera, he calculates the angle, hastily pressing the recording button for evidence.

“You also owe me for driving all the way to the city and back. Dealing with her wasn’t as easy as you said it would be,” the man speaks again, laughing as though he cracked the joke of the century. “She’s feisty.”

“That’s a good word to describe her.”

“I was gonna call her something else, but–”

“Anyway,” Seokjin interrupts, clenching his jaw with a dark gaze; the hands in his pocket turn to fists, “she’s gonna stay here when we start our next project.”

Seokjin mentions a name directly from the list you and Jimin wrote down weeks ago. Back when you deciphered the picture of that prestigious, rich party, rambling about cardinal points and whatnot.

The guy next to him nods, still in a clownery mood that won’t subside as he jokes, “I’m surprised that someone in this country still owns a tiara at all. I hate people who crown themselves like they’re fucking royalty.”

Seokjin joins his snicker for just a moment before he hears a rustling sound in the bushes next to him. It’s too dark to make out shadows or whatever creeps behind the trees, but he does catch a glimpse of a stray cat.

He continues nevertheless, saying, “And I need some of you to stay, too.”

The man looks baffled, even somewhat annoyed as he questions, “Me, too?”

“It’d be nice of you to do so.”

“Why?! I’ve been there every single time, and–”

Jimin’s eyes flit from the cat that disturbed his peace to the situation unfolding in front of him. In his surprise, he dropped not only the phone, but his gun, too, and retracting those now might cause too much noise. Especially with the way Seokjin’s back has already straightened in alert and his focus has shifted.

Ears clearly perked.

Not even the third presence joining the party lets his attention falter; Jimin notices it in Seokjin’s stance and in his movements. The subtle little steps towards the bush, yet not close enough to see Jimin just yet.

“Sir, we found a car about half a mile from here. It’s empty and abandoned, still intact. And the hood is still kinda warm.”

That’s all the middle-aged woman says. But Seokjin doesn’t react surprised, nor do his eyes wide. He merely nods towards the clown standing next to him all this time, telling him, “Go check it out. Keep your eyes open, though, yeah?”

This time, his colleague doesn’t bat an eye or argue further. It’s clear that he’s not feeling up to the task, especially after the long night and after preparing himself to go to bed soon. But he can’t defy his boss if he wants to sleep peacefully tonight.

The two strangers stroll away, unbothered, like they’re taking a walk. Hands in their pockets, they mumble something neither Jimin nor Seokjin can hear; perhaps an annoyed grunting and groaning.

“It’s fine to come out now,” Seokjin sings, apparently in a better mood than before.

Jimin freezes. Feels another sting in his head when he moves.

“And you might leave any unnecessary weapons right there.”

Jimin isn’t scared of Kim Seokjin.

He’s dealt with bigger psychopaths before. Those who don’t have a villain origin story, no mental health condition, nothing to justify their actions with. They brought him on the verge of death one too many times, and Seokjin, unarmed and smiling, seems like a kid’s toy compared to them.

So the fear rooted in Jimin finds it source not in what Seokjin could do to him… but what he could do to you if Jimin failed this mission and left you here to suffer.

“What happened to your head?” Seokjin asks, laughing a little, unabashed and mannerless.

“Your minions,” Jimin answers, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

He steps closer to where the enemy stands, inhaling the fresh air of the forest and the garden. It’s a wonderful place to camp or hike – if there wasn’t a nest of criminals in the middle of the woods, he might have considered a trip in the future.

“If it helps anyhow,” Seokjin defends, flashing his teeth, crinkles around his amused eyes, “I just told them to bring her here, not to knock you almost dead. I can totally talk to them if you’d like.”

Jimin puffs out an annoyed breath, his eyebrow rising in mock, but he lowers it immediately when he feels the pain behind it. Biting his lip for a second, he answers, “I appreciate the hospitality, but… it’s fine.”

“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”

Jimin is in no mood to beat around the bush. He’s sick of those games, and of this hide and seek, the cat and mouse bullshit, all the suffering they bring. Lowering his gaze, blinking, he asks, “Where is she?”

But the answer doesn't alleviate the pain or soothe his worries; only irritates him more.

“Why don’t you go look?”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. She’d be delighted to see you.” Jimin looks up at Seokjin’s words, trying not to let the admissions fog his mind enough to lose focus. “I’m not gonna act like she forgot about you in just one night, so I’ll admit that she really… like, really wants to see you.”

“Why,” Jimin begins, shaking his head slowly, “are you telling me?”

“Because I’m honest. I appreciate honesty.”

There’s something comedic about the way Seokjin says it. It’s like he’s adding absurdity to a scene he’s acting out, like he’s in a movie, building up to the climax. Hiding something to attack with as soon as the villain’s jokes have landed well enough.

If a build-up is what he wants, Jimin will play along until reinforcement arrives.

“Man,” Jimin mocks, his thumb rubbing his forefinger in nervousness, “that’s why you’re a thief, right? And why you steal and hide.”

“I steal and hide, because those people have way more than they need. Come on, Park. A fucking tiara? Set of rings they won’t use? All the diamonds in this world they’ll never wear, but they just want the thrill of owning them.”

He steps closer, brushing his fingers through his long, dark hair. He truly does resemble an antagonist in a blockbuster.

Smirking, he continues, “We get those. Then sell them to… buyers we know again. We buy things for people actually in need, and support our families who have raised us with nothing.”

“So your excuse is your chivalrous Robin Hood act?”

“Whatever,” Seokjin shrugs, rubbing his hands together, “at least Robin Hood was the first thing this whole affair made you think of. That means something.”

“Was killing Min Yoongi an act of chivalry, too, then?”

That’s what silences the man in front of Jimin immediately. He straightens his posture once more, the smile vanishing from his face, an expression so poisonous replacing it that Jimin thinks he might attack any moment.

It seems that Min Yoongi is a weakness for everyone in this household. For once, Jimin reckons it’s okay to hit that wound.

Seokjin, apart from whatever his countenance and the shadow on it suggest, remains somewhat calm, questioning with a little more vexation in his voice, “What do you know about Yoongi? You’ve known her for what, a few weeks? And you act like you know her whole damn life story. Wouldn’t be surprised if she overshared.”

He shakes his head, his smirk ingenuine and mocking, “I gotta admit, I only sent her to you as a spy. But that woman…” His voice shrinks. “Took a damn necklace we stole and wore it in front of you.”

The tone of his voice might be quiet and serene, but his words are dipped in venom and anger. He isn’t hiding it as well as he’d like.

“Kim Seokjin,” Jimin spits, not particularly veiling his own resentment, “you look so fucking noble, but then you keep a girl here against her will. Without noticing what it’s doing to her, huh?”

“I think I know what it’s doing to her,” Seokjin responds, never dropping the façade of a know-it-all, “her boyfriend died for her and now she’s suffering the aftermath of lying and hiding. Sending her to you– forcing her to do our dirty work is the least she can do to make things right.”

“Make things right…”

This time, it’s not Jimin rasping those words in fury, ridicule and indignation. Sometime during the conversation, the entrance of the mansion opened soundlessly. The climax of your very own movie proves to be right now, the dramatic moment so palpable that Jimin wonders if he’d wake up if he pinched himself hard enough.

You’re still wearing the clothes you left in. Your hair is a mess, your eyes tired, and you stand at the entrance with your arms wrapped around your body. A light sway accompanies your steps, feet carrying you to the grass and near the bush where Seokjin and Jimin stand.

If Jimin has anything to say to you or to warn you about, then he can’t remember anymore.

The only thing ringing true so clearly is that… you. That he needs you to smile. That he needs all this to be over. That he’s tired of this, losing his will to live through this moment, that he wants to flash forward to a day where you’re both okay.

In each other’s arms. His voice telling you that he loves you.

All that passes his lips instead is your name.

And you look back with the same sorrow; close to saying whatever you want to say before Seokjin side-eyes you and interrupts, “Only half expected that.”

“Jin… please,” is all you manage, disappointed in yourself that you can’t quite verbalise what you’re pleading for.

“Go back in.”

Jimin watches your head shake, stubborn and reluctant as you inquire, “Why would I?”

“You’ve done more than enough damage.”

“I haven’t done… shit,” you answer, obviously just as done with his relaxed commands as anyone else. You hate that he utters those things like they’re natural; like everyone’s bound to listen to whatever he orders. And you did, for a large part of your life – but not tonight.

“Right,” Seokjin replies, turning his head a little further, apparently not fearing Jimin all that much. No one might, standing in front of a bandaged man like him. “Fucking the enemy isn’t anything at all, right?”

For the teeny tiny moment that your and Jimin’s gazes meet, fleeting and ephemeral, his eyes signal to the bush slowly; you barely take in more of Seokjin’s scolding as Jimin touches the empty holder of his gun and lowers his hand again immediately.

One more warning from Seokjin, and he turns back to the awaiting Jimin, acting as though time stood still for him. For the leader of such a notorious group, robbing half the richest people of the country, one would think he was more careful.

But as he prepares for another endless nefarious speech, expanding the night and his ego, you move to the bush quietly, careful to not make a noise until–

Seokjin hears the susurrating swishes of the bush and its leaves within a moment, only realising what’s happening when you’ve picked up the gun with trembling hands and stuffed Jimin’s phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

You hold the gun towards the man who raised and ruined you, your arms shaking so much that Seokjin can’t quite decide whether he wants to laugh or skin you alive. But he opts for an option in between, gritting his teeth with fires burning in his eyes before, broad shoulders lifting, walks over to your form. Confidence drips in his stride, like he knows you will not pull the trigger on him.

His fists are balled, ready to serve a hit; but Jimin, with all the strength he can muster, jolts forwards, nearly falling to the ground as he tugs at Seokjin’s leg and brings his body to an uncomfortable fall.

“Shoot! Anywhere, you,” Jimin yells, holding the kicking man tight, his feet missing Jimin’s face just barely, “you don’t have to kill him, baby, just–”

You’re confused and panting, your hands sweaty around the pistol, your vision becoming blurry before you blink the mist away and take a deep breath. You realise that you’re crying, and that your chest is hurting, that it’s hard to shoot someone who has thoroughly destroyed you, but who you might never be able to hate a one hundred damn percent.

But if you hesitate, he’ll end you both. And by god… you can’t lose another man you’ve learned to cherish so dearly.

You can’t.

So your ears ring. Twice.

It shakes your guts and your heart, sobs filling the night air as you keep holding the gun, cautious to not drop it for anyone to pick up. You stare at your target; watch him scream out in agony, a bullet-sized hole in his black pants where you missed Jimin’s hand by a hair’s breadth.

He’s writhing and cursing, attempting to stand but failing immediately. Jimin looses his grip around him and gets on his feet, hurried and tumultuous voices from the inside snatching his attention as he watches you catch your breath desperately.

Seokjin’s pain overwhelms him enough to stay on the ground for the seconds that you need, and as Jimin runs over to you with a hand on his throbbing head, adrenaline floods your body enough to regain your senses.

You grab his hand tightly, just as damp as yours, and sniffle, the survival instinct so strong that you wonder if you’ve ever experienced a sight this clear. But panic still rises in your chest, and you’re beginning to ask yourself if you’ll make it out of here alive. The steps behind you, in the manor and in your head, creep closer, and you half expect someone to tear you back by your hair.

But some of Seokjin’s people never park too far from the house; and in that sense, you reach the nearest car soon enough, gathering all your power before you lift the gun and shoot into the window thrice to weaken it. You smash the handle of it against the glass, relieved when it breaks, opening the door from the inside before you scurry Jimin and yourself inside.

Brushing large chunks of glass off your seat with your bare hand, you comb through the glove box restlessly, mumbling like a mantra, “Spare key… spare key,” until you find it.

Jimin next to you bends forward, holding his rotating head as his body sways back and forth. You want to take care of him; god, what would you do to drive him to the nearest hospital if fleeing wasn’t your first and foremost priority.

“It’s okay,” you assure, pushing him back, trying to readjust his body, so he doesn’t get hurt, “we’ll get through this. It’s okay, I promise, I fucking promise.”

More tears spill as you turn on the engine, more panic and fright coursing through your body when you hear voices grow louder and people’s faces appear in your proximity. Seokjin, from where you can still see him, has managed to stand at least somewhat, albeit still wobbly on his legs, not really able to catch up to you just yet.

With a deep breath, you drive off, not minding the bumps and darkness as you make a beeline through the carefully planted garden, and to the paved road. You go well over a hundred, your recklessness shooting past limits as well; you don’t know what you’re doing or where you’re going. Not sure how long you’ll be able to escape.

You pray for a few moments of silence, and the world grants you those just for a minute or two.

Because soon enough, you hear another car in the distance, dangerously close, and when your chest begins to rise and fall harder, you allow yourself a glance at Jimin. He’s dozing off; like his body is finally allowing him some peace.

But you’re scared of what might happen if he went silent; so you nudge his shoulder, sniffling again as you exclaim, “Hey! Hey, please, look.” He opens his eyes, his lips pouting, and follows your finger pointing at the road. “We’re almost there.”

You have no clue where there is; you just need to keep him awake.

“Listen, I…” Jimin mumbles your name, managing to place a palm on your knee, “I love you, okay? Didn’t know I ever would, back… back in the club, but… you’re so fucking…”

“Shhh,” you answer, your face drenched with tears. It hurts, fuck, it hurts so much; why does he sound like he’s saying goodbye? “Be quiet, it’s okay, yeah?”

The club. Yeah, you remember. The way you danced, and his eyes; the night, the morning after, his scent. You remember.

“Fuck, just wait a second, okay?” you repeat over and over again, terrified and alarmed, losing hope when the chasing car sneaks closer.

And you think you would promise him some more, give him more reassurances that might or might not be justified.

But then… a light blinds your vision.

Like you’re in heaven. Like you’re dying.

Whatever it is, it comes towards you at a worrying speed; and you think you hear sirens blaring behind it. In your horror and as an immediate reaction, you tear the steering wheel into the wrong direction, escaping the daunting light before you realise what you’ve done.

But there’s no time for more realisations anyway. Because suddenly, your car has left the road and entered the edge of the forest. Crashed against a tree. Airbags out, your nose bleeding, oxygen pressed out of your lungs.

Jimin, next to you, eyes closed and unresponsive.

More sirens, more lights, more shouts, and more gunshots.

And you, drifting away ultimately.

The light that you blink into once you open your eyes reminds you of heaven, too. Somehow, it proves to you that you’ve found your place beyond life, and somehow, it doesn’t scare you anymore.

And maybe you’d hold onto this thought if your limbs weren’t aching. If your body was more weightless, floating on clouds and not on what you decode as a bed very fast. Dizzy and tired, you sit up slowly. The room is empty, and only one bed stands in the middle of it.

There’s an incessant beeping in your ear, and you soon decipher where it comes from. A pipe is pumping something into you, and the monitor registers your heartbeat, steady, soft, and clearly alive.

Near your bed, on the small table, rests something like a remote control, and the symbol of the bell probably means that you could summon nurses with just one single press on it. But the quietude is nice… serene. There are questions you need answered, but for a second, you bask in the peace after the world exploded left and right around you.

And when you’re ready, you do use the button – and as expected, a flurry of nurses comes in, checking and engulfing your surroundings, like you’re an unknown species ready to be probed.

“Just… just one, please,” you plead quietly, crossing your legs under the thin blanket and your hospital gown.

Everyone except one male nurse leaves, and he sits down on the bed next to you, smiling. That’s their act, you know. It’s how the medical staff looked at you that visited the manor after Yoongi’s death. Reassuring, like they could lift your pain with this smile somehow.

You adjust to it.

“Hi,” you say, your voice friendly and quiet, but carrying remnants of fear.

“Hey,” he answers, his voice sweet and deeper than expected, “my name is Namjoon.”

“Nice to meet you, Namjoon.”

“How do you feel?” Namjoon questions, looking up at the monitor before he places a thumb under your eye.

He fishes out a light from the pocket of his scrub, checking your pupils carefully. God, the constant light. Annoying.

Without awaiting your answer just yet, he places a hand on your back, asking, “Can you breathe for me for a moment?” And when you do, deep inhales and exhales, he adds, “Okay. Breathing normal. Your pulse, too. You scared the hell out of us.”

“I did?”

“Hella. An accident in the middle of some forest? Running away from thugs? We don’t get that every day.”

You smile again, appreciating his humour. He doesn’t try to sugarcoat things, doesn’t attempt to lift your worries by telling you it’s going to be okay. He seems genuine, so you answer, “Thieves. Not thugs.”

“All the same evil for me,” Namjoon admits, patting your thigh, “who could care anyway? It’s done.”

You furrow your eyebrows, somewhat glad he addressed this topic before you even had the chance to mention it. Because it gives you more reason to ask, without feeling ashamed. “What do you mean by it’s… what happened?”

“Uh.” Namjoon’s full lips part, light brown hair falling into his eyes. He looks young and sweet; perhaps that’s why he understands how to talk to you. He isn’t bored of his job yet. “When we found you, one of the cops… no, detectives said you’d torn the steering wheel and knocked you and the passenger unconscious.”

At the mention of him – not even his name – something stirs in you. You want to ask.

But you wait.

“There was this big, dramatic showdown and we waited in the ambulance, because that main guy had called us to follow him. The bad guys were outnumbered, though, partly unarmed. The detectives shot a few unconscious, and arrested some more. Found the manor you fled from, repeated everything, then put an end to the horror.”

“They… did someone die?” you ask carefully, thinking about Seokjin. You don’t want him to pass away just yet – you want him to live some more. Carry guilt, sorrow and pain some more. “The leader?”

“Nah. No one died, I think,” Namjoon confirms, shrugging, “not the leader at least. He was wounded. A lot of them were, since the detectives came on so damn strong. But there will be trials soon.”

Shit. So much happened in such a short time?

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Just two days, love. It could have been worse.”

It could have been worse.

You know worse things happened. Just not to you.

“The guy next to me… the other detective–”

“Park Jimin, right?”

“Park Jimin, yeah, yes,” you say, suddenly louder, sitting up some more as Namjoon’s hands float in front of your body, protective. “Where is he? Is he…”

Your eyes whisper the word your mouth can’t, and Namjoon doesn’t understand it for a moment long enough for you to panic before his eyes blow wide and he exclaims, “Oh, no, no! God, no. He’s… he’s just in the room next to yours. But it was worse with him… longer surgeries and check ups, and he was unresponsive for a while, ‘cause his head and all…”

“And now?”

“He’s… still passed out.” He says it like he’s sorry. Like he’s not a doctor, but a God, obliged to save every single patient entering the walls of the clinic. But apparently, not even a God can help everyone. “But he’s better. The wounds are healing, so… he’ll be okay.”

You’re not sure what you need to process first.

The fact that you’re alive? That the boss of the Swans, a group impossible to catch over years, is awaiting a trial he will lose? He can’t buy himself out of this, you’re sure. Or maybe the realisation that only a wall separates you and the sleeping presence next to your room, unaware of your thoughts or what’s happening in his force?

Whatever it is, your stay at the hospital gives you ample time to think about it all.

Because Jimin doesn’t wake up for a few more days.

You stroll through the hospital grounds, share food with strangers sitting on benches, taking in the sun. Some of them are old, smacking their lips, and their hair is grey and their smiles sweet and tender. Their spouses visit them sometimes, and you wonder how it feels to spend an eternity with someone you love like this.

There are afternoons when you cuddle up in your bed, muffling the sound of past voices, trying not to think of gunshots and screams and darkness, surrounded by trees. You throw out the nurses, urge them under tears to leave you alone.

And in the evenings after those afternoons, you take more walks. More shared snacks. Taking meds for your healing head, nose and heart. Stabilising your breathing, reassuring your traumatised lungs.

Conversations with kids who broke their arms or mothers who stay here with their sick toddlers. Terminally ill people, talking about life and how it’s important to cherish it, or, alternatively, how it’s fucked up and unfair.

Every single time, you pass his room. Peek inside, see the blonde bundle of hair. His chest falls and rises, like an angel sleeping carefully, lips shining in the sunlight, albeit pale.

And when you pass the room for the fourth or fifth time – who really knows – you catch a glimpse of him looking back. Squinting, barely awake, mouth open and arms unmoving next to him.

You don’t think you’ve run to medical staff this fast. You don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life towards anything.

There are constant tears you keep wiping away, angry at them, because they’re blinding you, blurring the sight of Park Jimin coming back to life to you. You stand in the corner of the room, holding yourself together, waiting until the nurses are done with the check-ups and have confirmed his stable state and form.

Jimin doesn’t speak much – he doesn’t say hi to them or converses with them the way you did. Namjoon tells you he’s still confused, still needs to rest. And before you can say anything more to him or the man on the bed, Jimin falls asleep again.

Tonight, they allow you to stay here.

You don’t take a no, never give in. You argue that you’re okay enough and that they’re keeping you there just for science anyway. It makes no sense, you know, and they find it funny enough to laugh with you, leaving you alone ultimately.

You hold his hand all night. You brush through the dirty blonde, light, messy hair. You press a cheek against his fingers, cry silent tears into his palms.

And you don’t leave until he opens his eyes again.

He blinks at you… smiles. Glad that you’re both still here. He doesn’t ask for an explanation, doesn’t want to know what happened over the course of The Night, as you and Namjoon have baptised the day you shall not name.

Instead, his thumb rubs the back of your hand, and the first thing he mumbles is, “We’re some tough motherfuckers.”

You laugh through your tears, relieved and breathing heavily. Your heart thumps to the beat of his; follows the rhythm of the up and down on his monitor.

“I hate this smell,” he adds, and you sob harder.

“Me too,” you tell him, “I fucking hate it, too.”

His voice… his voice. It makes you realise that he’s here, and he will stay. Min Yoongi will never be prouder of you than he might be right now. Because you’ve finally broken the metal bars of your jail.

And freedom has never felt this real.

As days pass, you and Jimin develop a quiet routine that your bodies live through automatically.

In the morning, you lay around, talking about whatever comes to your mind, focusing hard on not discussing the events that brought you here in the first place. Then, a nurse usually checks in, gives you some meds, and then leaves you for another couple hours.

Around noon, you go for a walk around hospital grounds, watching flowers bloom and children run around, fresh mothers leave with their newborn babies and elderly people conversing and bonding over similarities in illnesses.

When you come back, you eat and complain, remarking how the soup is too watery or the porridge too mushy. The orange juice here tastes too sour for some reason, and you attempt to joke about your miserable situation to endure the physical pain and frustrating smell of the hospital better.

By the evening, when the sun sets, things usually become even quieter – it’s relaxing, though, no real trace of awkwardness but of still melancholy and longing to go out into the world fearlessly again. Jimin, usually a bundle of optimism, has crawled into a shell despite still smiling now and then. Cracking a bad joke here and there.

You think it’s the pain that has made him this silent.

But when you watch the sunset through the window of his room one day, you realise what’s happening in his mind. Because you’re grazing the skin of his arm with the tip of your fingers, looking at the orange silhouette around his blonde, messy hair – but he remains unbothered, instead whispering, “It’s always so pretty. The sky during this time.”

And you answer, “It’s like no sunset’s the same, right?”

To which he states, “Right. Hospitals may be shitty, but I think I’ll remember these moments with you.” Then, he looks at you, smiling tenderly before his gaze shifts back to the sky and he adds, “Hope you will, too.”

That’s when you understand. Jimin’s painting a picture of a future that differs so much from what you imagine; like your roles have been reversed. He knows what you feel for him – but you know that he remembers your fears, too. Perhaps he thinks you might change your mind and leave.

Thinks you might back away and revisit the life you had before you met him. And more than ever, you feel like you need to clarify your thoughts and erase his doubts.

So you gulp for a moment, placing a warm palm on the back of his hand before you ask, “We can remember more of those moments, right?” You smile at him, scared you might be losing what you finally thought yours. “Together?”

When Jimin looks at you again, the smile he responds with looks ingenuine. A little like the hopeless promises you gave him weeks ago when he asked you to stay. When you’d nod yes, tell him you weren’t going anywhere despite knowing deep down that you weren’t going to last.

You know the look – his is the same. And it’s terrifying.

Rushing and panicked, you lean forward, keeping your voice calm to not overwhelm him as you whisper, “I know you think I’ll leave again. But this time…”

He waits patiently, full lips opening just by a tiny fraction. You hold his gaze for a moment, a little lost in the waves of his pupils, and when they remind you of still water, you rewind and build your sentence new.

“When Yoongi died,” your hand stops over his fingers, softly entwining your grips, “he was on a ship. With Seokjin and his people. I wasn’t there.”

Jimin’s eyes look empathic, the gap between his lips widening as if to say something soothing, but you continue, “Seokjin said Yoongi drowned, because the ship sank… and apparently, he was one of the few who could escape the accident. And, well, I believe that one of those things was a lie.”

You roll your eyes to hide the pain, hoping that Jimin doesn’t see them well up in the evening sunlight. “Ships don’t just sink.” You sniffle, your mouth twitching upwards to a grin you hardly mean, and explain, “Knowing of a death like that comes with so many side effects. Like. I was scared of the ocean. Really fucking terrified.”

You remember the sleepless nights. For the first time in your life, you felt what an insomniac felt, spending the late hours awake, contemplating love, the breaths you took, the memories you carried. Wondered if you’d ever be able to see pictures of high waves again; if you’d ever accept an invitation to a beach trip again.

But.

“I’m using past tense, because I did get over it. You know how?” Jimin stays still and silent, watching you, furrowing his eyebrows in worry as he tilts his head in question. “I watched videos of paintings. You know, those tutorials… acrylic painting stuff. I didn’t wanna learn, I just wanted to ease my mind, and to be able to sleep. And then one day, I stumbled upon this one woman painting the night.”

Starry and quiet. You remember the utensils the artist used. A lot of tape to form a circle, drawing and tapping the brush around it until she took the tape off and painted the very last object that completed the picture at last.

“The ocean at night, to be specific,” you elaborate, smacking your lips, nodding, “but you know what else it had? The moon. And I’ve always admired the moon.”

Amidst your confessions, Jimin laughs quietly, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb before he finally breaks and asks, “What are you trying to say?”

“That something will be nice about your fears, too, I guess. You’ll find something redeeming even when you’re afraid. And we can’t be afraid forever anyway.” You chuckle softly, realising how crazy you must sound – but now that you’ve started, you might go all the way after all. “When I saw the moon, it was too pretty to be scared of the ocean anymore. The reflection was beautiful.”

In the distance, you hear the chatter of passing nurses, quiet whispers and laughter. It’s a good alternative to the usually hushed talk about grief and failed days at work, and you listen to their inaudible, cheerful conversation until it’s out of reach. On agonisingly slow days, this optimism keeps you afloat.

“So…” you add, fully aware how corny you must sound – but you don’t care, because you think that after all this time… he deserves to know. “Maybe you can be the moon in this new scenario. And maybe my fears of opening up are below the surface of the ocean. If I swim up, take a breath and look at the elegance that the combination of the moon and ocean is… maybe things can be okay again then.”

You’d be the surface then, right? The carrier of everything that lies underneath the waves. The host of the fears, but focused on beauty instead of scary depths.

“Do I even make sense?” you question when he stares for too long, most likely processing the words that not even you can’t quote anymore.

“I think so,” he answers, holding onto you tight, leaning in, “it makes sense.” Soft, rosy lips brush against yours before meeting your mouth gently. It’s nothing more than a peck, a fleeting touch that he breaks to say, “But I think you should think of yourself as the moon first.”

Despite the nonsense you just uttered, his words fly by you in a moment’s notice. But you don’t question the message further. Instead, you bask in the silence of the world, watching the sun descend and the moon ascend.

You don’t ask him what he meant when you go to sleep. Neither do you question his words when several more days pass, and you get used to your nurse’s kindness. When they release you and let you walk freely and you keep coming back to visit Jimin.

Even when he leaves, still drowsy on medication, strolling through the world after weeks, you don’t wonder about the meaning behind whatever he’d attempted to let you know. Less even, when you watch the trial and Seokjin behind bars, let Jimin help you get away with some social work, because you always suffered blackmail and manipulation by Mister Kim.

Doubts and insecurities about the feelings you house for him only resurface when he doesn’t touch you anymore. He doesn’t kiss you and doesn’t tell you he loves you. Nevertheless, he stays with you. Lets his shiny, sweet personality seep through his cracks soon again, finding new jokes to cheer you up with.

But the romance you shared, the one you reckoned would finally bloom healthily now – it stays dormant.

That is, until you pull him to your car on a cold winter afternoon, refusing to tell him where you’re going despite his incessant, poking inquiries. You distract him with your favourite songs, attempting to resist his teases, ignoring the way he squishes your cheeks, the way he trolls you for cursing at other drivers.

It isn’t until you drive off the highway and through an old, historic town, following your navigation’s instructions that you land at an empty, freezing beach.

Apart from you, there are only teenagers taking an evening walk, or couples laughing their way along the shore, a hand clutching a leash while their dogs run freely. They’re covered in thick jackets just like you, and they’re wiping their hair out of their faces just like you when you exit the vehicle.

They’re living and breathing and joking around the way you are – and still, something about you and your souls separates you from the rest of the world and its inhabitants.

“I…” Jimin mutters, brushing back the tresses that keep falling into his eyes, “are you sure this is the right place?”

You smile.

There will never be enough reassurances for him to understand that you don’t fear the seaside anymore. Jimin is always careful, though, always easy on you, tries to make sure you’re okay – multiple times, until you’ve sighed in frustration and demonstrated you’re over whatever worry.

You guess this might be the ultimate confrontation, though. You might not be able to step to where the waves meet the land just yet – perhaps you’ll postpone starfish-gazing and shell-collecting to another day.

But for now, this should do. So you nod slowly, answering, “Yeah. Of course. I know you like it, and… I just wanted to thank you.”

“That’s new. No mocking today an–”

“Shut up. I’m serious. Not anyone would just force me to abandon a temporary…” you scrunch your nose in disgust, “shabby old apartment and give up the guest room for me, and you just… just thank you for being an anchor.”

Since your accident and your hospital stay, Jimin and you have adjusted to each other’s fears enough to know when to digress. Your conversations have become more light-hearted, an attempt to dodge the gloom that hangs over your heads and the trauma connected to it. You don’t bottle up feelings per se – it’s more a try to move on. To forget.

Together.

But sometimes, when the room falls quiet and the smiles and jokes die down, you’ll say something to warm his heart, or vice versa. And none of you respond with much but a soft, simple smile. Reassuring, comforting. A palm on the other’s hand. A slight nod.

Jimin does the same this time before you flash a smile back, breathing in the air as you lean against the engine hood with your arms folded around your torso. He sniffles from the cold, and for a few minutes, you stare into the distance with squinted eyes, letting the wind burn in your eyes.

You watch the waves crash against the shore and rocks. From afar, you observe a child holding a shell pressed against his ear, not quite realising that he doesn’t need it in order to listen to the ocean. You want to tell him it won’t work from here – but instead, your eyes dart to his parents, and their laughter fills you with warmth.

Seagulls make happy sounds and descend from the air, just for a moment to touch the surface of the water. And only when you’ve breathed in more of the salty air, does Jimin clear his throat, look at you and say, “Thank you, too. It’s nice to leave the house for a bit.”

“It is.”

“And you look happy today, too.”

You blink at him, not quite expecting his statement; but then you laugh a little, humming before you tell him, “I think I am. It just,” you shrug, clicking your tongue, “feels nice to not think of the past all the time anymore.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Like, I catch myself planning tomorrow’s dinner and next week’s trip to the old town,” you continue, enthusiasm and vitality in your firm voice, “or I consider buying stuff for a new hobby, and even getting another, proper degree. It’s just. Nice.”

With a purposeful shift, Jimin’s body inches closer, his shoulder touching yours, and you look at his side profile when he questions, “Do you know what major you’d choose?”

“Not at all,” you confess, shifting towards his body, too. If you could, you would put your head on his shoulder and bask in his warmth and affection. But you hold yourself back a second longer as you add, “Something fun. How about archeology? Or astronomy. Just anything, so I’ve something to do and don’t bother you all the time anymore. Perhaps get a job and move out and–”

“I don’t mind,” Jimin interrupts, nudging your elbow slightly, “you staying. I don’t mind it.”

“Really?”

“I promise.”

You let your arms fall and bury one hand in the pocket of your jacket, bringing the other to your hair to comb through it slowly. Your tongue darts out to lick your dry lips wet, gulping for a moment as you process his words, but remark anyway, “But I can’t stay forever.”

It’s a statement, but there’s a questioning tone hiding in your voice, unsure and timid, like you’re hoping he’d wave your worries off and keep you with him anyway. And to your relief, he shrugs his shoulders, giving in to your hopes as he asks, “And why not?”

You fall silent.

The last months have been nothing but a healing process, soft and quiet and well-paced. You split the chores, spent time together and alone, going for walks in the evenings and visiting places to see more of the world. No matter what you feel for him, the friendship you’ve grown to is worth more than the painful love was.

But you still can’t deny that the thought of being with him–

“Being around you is a challenge,” Jimin suddenly says, looking at you, drawing closer.

He pushes his body off the hood of the car to step in front of you, hiding the sun and the ocean. His silhouette leans in, placing a palm on your waist and wrapping the other around your own hand.

For a split moment, your heart stills, and your mind tries to make sense of his words that followed the suggestion to keep him company so immediately. So you furrow your eyebrows in wonder, pupils flickering, and ask, “Why?”

“I just,” he starts. Then pauses.

It’s a peculiar thing, his pair of eyes.

You never quite know what he might say next – you reckon that’s how he felt when he first met you. The indecipherable stare, almost succeeding in veiling fears. But you know him well enough. You understand that he’s feeling uneasy, insecure.

And when he speaks again, you know why.

“I’m still in love with you.”

Still in love…

Was there any piece of you that thought he stopped loving you? Was there ever a little voice whispering to you that he’d moved on, realised that you were no good for him? And if there wasn’t, then why are you still surprised?

“I feel like being around you without telling you this is a challenge,” Jimin continues, shrugging his shoulders, his demeanour relaxed and nonchalant, but his voice fond and loving, “and I want you to stay with me. But I needed to let this out first.”

You’re not sure if you want to cry or cheer. Wipe your tears or fall into his arms. The euphoria and rush of adrenaline you feel are strangely wrapped in bittersweetness, and when you can’t figure out how to move your body, you continue to stay still.

With your mind still somewhat functioning, however, you open your mouth, swallowing another thick lump before you ask, “Then why didn’t we…”

Do this earlier? Give in to each other months ago? Fall asleep on the same bed, kissing and smiling, indulging in understanding and solace?

“You weren’t happy,” is what he argues. He chews on the inside of his cheek and moves towards you. Lets out a sigh of longing. “And I’m just… not as good at stitching people up as others might be. I thought I was, but you did for yourself what I couldn’t have.”

If you were somewhere else or with someone else, you might be mad. In another time or space, you might’ve felt your heart break at someone’s reluctance to help you heal. But since you’ve known Jimin, you’ve realised that no one in this world should truly depend on anyone else.

When people go to therapy, or find a confidant to pour their heart out to, do they truly do it to seek help and heal in the process? Or do they do it to learn more about themselves, to finally understand what they need to do in order to find happiness and the will to exist?

Perhaps Jimin has understood something that you didn’t before – that he would guide you through sorrow, but that it was ultimately you who’d pull yourself out of it fully.

You entwine your fingers with his, shivering from the cold, and then murmur somewhat inaudibly, “Thank you. For guiding me.”

“It’s the least I could do… I just didn’t think you could take love and… everything that comes with it just yet.”

“And now?”

Jimin sighs again, and you see his eyes soften behind the blonde strands of hair that the gust keeps blowing into his face. One last step, one slight shake of his head, and suddenly, your foreheads are touching.

The hand on your waist pulls your body close and against his, and then his fingers wander to your face to settle on your cheek as he whispers, “Now you look like…”

He doesn’t speak further, but you think you understand.

Back in the hospital room, when he said you needed to be your own moon, he meant that you had to find a cure in yourself, not in someone else. He’s rather the warm sun reassuring the moon; searing hot and comforting. Like the star going down in the horizon right now.

Lately, his presence has started feeling like a constant; like home. Not like the night, but like the light of the day.

He brushes back your hair, tilts his head. He smiles, and you remember the first time he looked at you – back when you knew nothing about him except for the fact that his touch felt different.

When you left his home after the very first night. Then met him again in his office. When he told you he wasn’t a toy who you’d use to patch yourself up again, but someone who wished to be your ultimate choice; because you wanted him to be, not because you needed it for your own selfish reasons.

Since then, quite a few things have changed; with time passing, they feel different now. Less dark.

Today, his words of you being your own moon finally make sense. It wasn't because he wasn’t ready. But because he was waiting for you to be ready.

Now you look like…

You look like he’s the only one you want to kiss. Like he’s the only one whose lips you crave. No past ghosts, no haunting memories, no old habits and toxic coping mechanisms.

For the very first time, no demon gnaws at your mind when his lips touch yours once again.

okay, ngl, this was the HARDEST fic i’ve ever written and it drove me insane. i know it’s not perfect, and i’m not a detective/mystery author, but i hope this was ok and the work from over half a year worth it 🥺 i hope you guys like how it turned out !!

if you did, please please consider liking AND reblogging !! i appreciate feedback, even if it’s just keysmashing in the tags, and it’s super important to me with this fic <33 i’m happy about all (kind) words, so feel free to talk to me hehe :]

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