Archive of Our Own ^beta

                   now                   

“It’s a little bit too on the nose, don’t you think?”

Jungkook turns and glances up from his laptop, meeting Seokjin’s eye and raising an eyebrow. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’re just making a terrible pun.”

Seokjin is leaned over and hovering behind Jungkook’s shoulder, examining the book cover design he’s currently working on, hands on his hips. This was not by invitation. He just kind of apparated out of nowhere, as he often does.

The book is a romantic comedy, an apparently hilarious tale about two people who fall in love on a cruise ship that gets stuck out at sea for a month—which sounds way more like a nightmare than a comedy to Jungkook, actually, but that’s neither here nor there. The brief for the cover art requested something Jungkook has done over and over again for this particular genre: a cartoony style, flat shapes, bright colors. Baby blues, neon yellows, hot pinks.

So far, the cover art is a zoomed-in portrait of the two characters leaning towards each other on the deck of the ship, their side profiles visible, noses nearly brushing.

Seokjin holds Jungkook’s gaze for almost five seconds without cracking, but then his serious expression fades away and he starts laughing loudly—the staccato, wheezy laugh that Jungkook has come to know all too well.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself,” Seokjin says, wiping at his eyes. “God, I’m so funny.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he can’t fully suppress the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Do you like it so far?”

“I do,” Seokjin confirms, straightening back up to his full height and adjusting his tie. “It’s very on trend. I think the rest of the team will love it.”

Jungkook sighs. “Well, the trend feels never-ending. It’s been, what, like three years? Is this what romcoms are going to look like all the way up until I die?” 

“It’s possible,” Seokjin says, nodding. 

“It just seems like I’m getting assigned all the romcoms lately. I’m kind of itching to design something different. It feels like I’m doing the same thing over and over, you know?”

“We assign them to you because you’re good at them,” Seokjin says. “All of your covers generally sell the best—based on the numbers I’ve seen, anyway. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

Seokjin is part of the managing editorial team that Jungkook reports to. He works on the sales and marketing team, and Jungkook’s designs are ultimately sent to that team for approval. 

Jungkook smiles halfheartedly. “I don’t want to seem like I’m complaining. You know I’m happy to work on anything. But if you happen to notice anything new pop up, like, maybe… nonfiction…”

“Message received,” Seokjin says, clamping his hand down on Jungkook’s shoulder and squeezing once. “Wow, you’re tense. You should go for a massage. I can give you my massage therapist’s business card, if you want. She’ll change your life.”

“I don’t think that’s in my budget at the moment,” Jungkook says. “Wanna give me a raise?”

“Good talking to you,” Seokjin says brightly, whirling around and stepping out of Jungkook’s cubicle, tie flapping behind him as he heads back towards the direction of his office.

Jungkook laughs and shakes his head, turning back towards his computer. He’s honestly kind of glad Seokjin stopped by—he’d been staring at this cover for a little too long, and even just tearing his eyes away for five minutes seems to have helped him be able to look at it with a fresh perspective. He clicks and zooms into the top section, where the title and author’s name will eventually go, his brow creased in thought.

Jungkook has worked at Moonhak, one of Korea’s top publishing companies, as a cover designer ever since he graduated from university two years ago. The fact that he managed to land this job at all was nothing short of a miracle, since a company of this size and reputation would typically only hire designers with prior experience, but his aunt happened to know the hiring manager personally. 

She made a call and convinced the hiring manager to look at Jungkook’s design portfolio, along with his application, which would have likely been otherwise tossed aside. One thing led to another, and before he knew it, he had a job lined up for after graduation—and he didn’t even have to leave Seoul.

Two years in, he still really enjoys the work. Designing book covers is the perfect combination of graphic design and illustration, a marriage of the skills he’d worked diligently to master in university, graduating with a double major in fine art and design. 

There are downsides, of course, but every job has them. The cover briefs are often too specific or limited, muffling Jungkook’s creativity a little bit. The projects can often feel like a broken record, especially when he gets stuck working on books in the same genre for months, like he has been lately. But he still has a lot of fun, and he gets along well his coworkers—for the most part—so he’s happy. 

At work, anyway.

The rest of the morning passes by quickly, and after a lunch break spent at his desk, shoveling instant ramen into his mouth while catching up on emails he’d been neglecting since yesterday, he’s back to working on the cover. His white dress shirt is a little wrinkled, his collar loosened slightly, and his dark, wavy hair is tucked behind one ear as he brings his Apple pencil to his lips in thought. 

He usually works with headphones in, but they hurt his ears if he leaves them in for too long, so he’s removed them to give his ears a break. They’re sitting on his desk, next to a half-consumed mug of tea, a pad of paper scribbled with some brainstorming notes and doodles, and his tube of rose lip balm.

Staring at his screen and zoning out a little, he suddenly hears a loud and recognizable voice—Hoseok, the head of the publicity department. He doesn’t know Hoseok that well, and doesn’t often have much reason to interact with the publicists who staff the department, but he’s familiar with Hoseok because of his bright and bubbly energy. He’s always got a smile on his face whenever Jungkook crosses his path in the office, and he’s the type to always ask you how you’re doing, even if he doesn’t know you. 

There’s another voice, too, but it’s quieter and Jungkook can’t quite make it out. Two pairs of footsteps walk in tandem down the empty space between the rows of cubicles, and as they approach Jungkook’s desk, Hoseok’s voice gets louder.

“This is where most of the art department sits. They report to marketing. Oh, hello, Jungkook,” Hoseok says, and Jungkook can feel him step into the space behind his chair. “I’m just giving our latest new hire the grand tour.”

Jungkook spins around in his chair, already halfway through the effort of plastering a friendly smile onto his face, but once Hoseok and the other man come into view, it feels like time stops completely.

Just like a movie cliché, everything grinds to a halt in slow motion, and all Jungkook can hear is the sound of his heart hammering in his ears. 

His smile fades instantly. He stares up at them with wide eyes, suddenly feeling like he can’t breathe at all.

No. No, this can’t be.

Hoseok looks back and forth between the two men nervously. 

“This is Park Jimin, our newest publicist,” Hoseok says hesitantly, glancing between them. “Do you… know each other?”

Jimin looks even more shocked than Jungkook feels. He’s physically frozen, hand stuck halfway in the air, a half-finished wave that was initiated before he realized who, exactly, he was waving to. His lips have formed a soft circle, he’s paled considerably, and his eyes look like they might fully pop out of his head. 

Neither of them say anything.

The silence drags on, and then Jungkook remembers that Hoseok asked them a question.

“Yes,” Jungkook manages to say, clearing his throat when his voice comes out far weaker than he’d prefer. “We went to school together.”

That answer omits a lot of pertinent information.

The following details were excluded, for example: 

1. Jimin is the first and only person Jungkook has ever loved. 
   
2. Jimin is the person that Jungkook was convinced he would marry. 
   
3. Jungkook has spent the last four years believing he would never see Jimin again. Like, ever. Until he died. 
   

But now he’s standing right in front of Jungkook’s desk, and Jungkook has no idea what to say. Most of the words that come to mind are swear words, actually, which aren’t particularly appropriate for a professional setting. 

Jungkook tucks his hair behind his ear—a nervous habit—and he chews on his bottom lip as he musters the bravery to glance up and meet Jimin’s eye.

Jimin glances away as soon as he does it, and it makes Jungkook want to punch something.

“It’s been a while,” Jimin says, finally speaking for the first time. His voice sounds softer, more musical than Jungkook remembers it. “I had no idea you worked here, Jungkook.”

Jungkook isn’t sure whether he should be relieved or annoyed by that.

Hoseok can definitely tell this isn’t a friendly reunion. He’s tapping his shoe nervously, discomfort drifting in over his typical sunny demeanor.

“Well, I do,” Jungkook says flatly. 

“What a small world!” Hoseok declares, his body already beginning to drift towards the right, like he’s subconsciously urging Jimin to depart. 

Jimin opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it, apparently changing his mind.

And then Jungkook allows himself to look at him—really look at him, head to toe. He never thought he’d do that again, so he might as well.

It’s been four years since the last time he saw him, and a lot has changed.

He’s wearing a dark gray suit, perfectly pressed, tailored to hug his slim figure. He’s less muscular than Jungkook remembers—he looks longer and leaner now. His hair is dyed blonde, and it’s startlingly different from the black hair Jungkook was once familiar with. Although it’s obviously an unnatural color, it suits him in a way that feels natural. The honey blonde shade makes him look like he’s glowing.

Jungkook is just staring, now, and Jimin glances away again. His eyes are dark and his forehead is creased with worry. 

He’s still just as breathtakingly beautiful as Jungkook has always remembered him. Jungkook is at least willing to admit that much.

“You’re back in Seoul,” Jungkook says. It comes out more like a statement, not a question.

“I am,” Jimin says, smoothing his hands down the front of his suit nervously. “Just moved back.”

“How lovely,” Jungkook says, and he knows there’s a trace of acidity in his tone. He feels it physically in his heart, too—a dull, sickening pain. “What a small world, indeed.”

“We should be going,” Hoseok says, hand reaching behind Jimin’s shoulders to usher him along. Hoseok plasters a wide smile on his face, but it clearly takes some effort to do so. “Have a good afternoon, Jungkook!”

Jungkook just nods, spinning his chair back around to face his computer again.

His heart is still pounding a million miles a minute.

He closes his eyes, hands gripping the arms of his chair, knuckles turning white. He takes a deep breath in, then out, trying to slow his heart rate.

Jimin is here. Jimin is back in Seoul.

Jimin is in this office building.

If Jungkook’s being completely honest with himself, the icy attitude he put on was mostly a front. A way of protecting himself. Because if he let everything come flooding back, it would be too dangerous. To get lost in those eyes again—it would be easy.

It was four years ago, but this is a wound that never fully healed. 

                   then                   

Jungkook slings his giant black backpack off his shoulder and onto the classroom floor, sighing and rubbing his shoulder. He’s pretty sure it’s going to cause him premature back pain if he doesn’t unload some of his unnecessary cargo soon. There are a few too many pencil cases stuffed in there. 

He sinks down into the hard plastic chair, metal legs scraping against the tile as he scoots in closer to the long black table in front of him. It’s one of the many which are lined up in rows throughout the classroom, each one designed to seat two students.

It’s the first day of his second year at university, and this is the class he’s been dreading the most: Chemistry 101. He has to take one science course to fill his general education requirement, and of all the possible choices—biology, physics, chemistry—this seemed like the least painful, since it would at least provide him with the opportunity to potentially blow up some stuff.

At nineteen years old, all he really cares about is making art, playing video games, and causing mischief. Unfortunately, his chemistry course doesn’t really fall into any of those categories (outside the potential opportunities to make things explode), so he hasn’t really been looking forward to it. 

Luckily, all the other classes he’s taking this semester are much more in line with his interests. He’s enrolled in digital illustration, art history, painting, and a studio course worth a half-credit. Some people choose to knock out all their gen eds right away, but Jungkook plans to spread his out, so chemistry is the only one he’s taking this semester. 

Shaking his long, straight bangs out of his eyes, he taps his pencil on the tabletop anxiously, pulling out a fresh notebook. He’s about ten minutes early, so other students are still streaming in, filling the room with chatter that’s gradually increasing in volume.

After a moment, he feels the presence of a body next to him. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

Jungkook glances up. 

The owner of this soft voice is probably—no, definitely—the most breathtakingly beautiful person Jungkook has ever seen. Jungkook just sort of gawks for a moment, his body going unnaturally still. 

The guy just blinks at him, waiting for him to answer.

“Yes. Sure,” Jungkook squeaks out, scooting his chair a little bit more to the right, trying to make some room.

“Thanks,” says the terrifyingly pretty person, and Jungkook nods silently as he sits down and starts to pull his textbook out of his bag.

He has straight black hair, parted down the middle, and he’s wearing tight jeans and a red sweatshirt. Jungkook glances over at him cautiously, cataloguing his features from the side. He has full lips, a cute button nose, and piercing, intense eyes. His facial expression is totally neutral. He seems friendly enough, but he has a ridiculously intimidating aura.

Jungkook’s palms start to sweat a little.

It seems like he can’t help it—he already has a crush before he even knows this boy’s name.

Calm down, you idiot, Jungkook thinks to himself. He might be an asshole. Someone who looks like that is probably used to always getting whatever they want. 

Cute boy speaks again. “I’m Jimin,” he says, smiling. He runs a hand through his hair. Jungkook feels slightly woozy. “What’s your name?”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook says—rather intelligently, he thinks.

"Nice to meet you," Jimin says. "Are you a science major?"

Jungkook shakes his head. "Nope. Double major in art and design."

"Dammit."

Despite his nerves, Jungkook lets out a tiny laugh. "Yeah, I don't think I'll be of much help to you. I'm guessing you're not a science major either, then?"

"Nope. PR," Jimin says. "Had to take this to fill my gen ed requirement for science."

"Same. I figured I should probably stop putting it off."

"Oh, did you wait until your last year, too? I was really dreading this, if you can't tell." Jimin flips open his textbook, and Jungkook observes that his hands are very small and very cute.

"Yikes. No, not that bad, actually. I'm only in my second year," Jungkook says.

"Ah, to be young," Jimin says with a sigh. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

Jungkook scoffs, laughing again. "You're, what, two years older than me? That's not old."

"Well, I don't know how old you are."

"Nineteen," Jungkook says.

"Mmm. I'm twenty-one," Jimin replies, straightening the pencils and highlighters in front of him. "Wizened. Mature. Wise beyond my years."

"I don't know what wizened means."

"Wrinkly," Jimin says.

"Wrinkly?" Jungkook asks, turning to face Jimin. His eyes narrow, roaming over Jimin's features. "You are not."

"I am on the inside. Mentally."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means I am mentally wrinkled," Jimin says.

"Right. That's what you already said. But what—"

"We should be study buddies," Jimin interjects.

Jungkook blinks, his heart hammering in his chest. Jimin wants to be his study buddy?

Jungkook is a little baffled, completely unsure of what value he could possibly bring to the table as a study partner. Also, Jimin has only known him for, like, five seconds.

"You want... an art major to be your study buddy," Jungkook says slowly. "For chemistry. A subject about which I know absolutely nothing."

"Correct. What, do you already have someone to study with?" Jimin asks, turning to face Jungkook with a petulant look on his face. 

"Well, no."

"Then why not study with me? You seem smart."

"How could you possibly know that—"

"I can read people very easily," Jimin says.

Jungkook frowns a little. "People don't usually think I'm smart."

"Why not?"

Jungkook stumbles over that question. "Well, I mean—I didn't know what 'wizened' meant. You were there when that happened, remember?"

Jimin shrugs. "Vocabulary isn't everything. There's more to intelligence than that."

Jungkook feels something tugging somewhere deep down in his heart, like a tiny string, pulling him apart. Unwinding him just a little.

"I've always cared about art the most," Jungkook says. "My parents were never happy about that. They wanted me to pursue something smarter. Something better. I think maybe they kind of drilled into my head that I'm dumb, even if they weren't trying to."

Jimin's face softens a little. "You're not dumb."

"You don't know me. Maybe I am dumb. You wouldn't know either way."

"Of course I know you. You've already told me half of your life story just now."

Jungkook sputters, feeling his cheeks flush a little. "Sorry."

Jimin laughs, and it's soft and quiet and makes Jungkook feel alarmingly at ease.

"My mom died a year ago," Jimin says. "If we're oversharing."

Jungkook's stomach plummets all the way down to his feet. "Oh, wow. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Jimin says, although Jungkook imagines it’s probably not. "Where are you from?"

"Busan," Jungkook murmurs, lowering his voice as the professor makes her way to the front of the class.

"You're kidding. Me too."

"Really?" Jungkook is surprised—he hadn't caught on to any trace of an accent.

Jimin nods. "Born and raised."

"Do you think you'll stay in Seoul after graduation?"

"I'm not sure," Jimin says. "Realistically, probably, since most of the companies or agencies I'll be looking for jobs at are here. But I guess it just depends on where I find a job."

"Seoul might be too fast-paced for an old soul like yourself," Jungkook says.

Jimin laughs, and it sounds like music, and Jungkook is already so, so smitten.

"Maybe," Jimin whispers, turning back towards the front of the classroom as the professor begins to speak. "Maybe."

                   now                   

Over the next couple of weeks, Jungkook does his best to pretend Jimin doesn't exist. To ignore the fact that they're showing up to the same building for work every day. To forget that Jimin has just waltzed back into his life after all the years—and therapy sessions—Jungkook spent trying to get over him.

It's not going very well.

He's ridiculously distracted at work, and he's behind on his deadlines, with Seokjin constantly breathing down his neck and demanding updates. He doesn't do it in a threatening way—it's done in his typical goofy and loveable way. But it's still not ideal, because every minute Jungkook spends updating him is a minute he doesn't spend working on covers, and the cycle just repeats itself, ad nauseum.

If he's being honest with himself, Jungkook feels a little violated. This is his workplace. This is his life he's worked to build, all by himself, with no one else's help. He said goodbye to the life he thought he would have, and this is what he ended up with instead.

And now it feels like it's been invaded. Like the sandcastle of a life he's been cobbling together has been kicked over without a thought. Like he's been sent back to the beginning, a place he never thought he’d be again: existing in the same universe as Jimin, learning how to live without him.

He doesn’t even really feel like he can talk to anyone about it, at least not at work. He doesn’t want to impact how anyone views Jimin, especially people who might have to work with him in any capacity, like Seokjin. Although Jungkook's feelings are scattered all over the map, and resentment and anger are certainly included in the mix, he doesn't wish Jimin any ill will.

It might be easier for him if he did.

He feels on edge everywhere he goes in the office, especially because the publicity department is on the same floor that he works on. Any time he goes to the bathroom, to the break room, to the elevator to head down to the lobby, he's on high alert—looking both ways before he rounds any corner, like he's in some sort of sad spy movie.

It's actually impressive how long he manages to survive without running into Jimin. It ends up lasting two weeks and four days—not that he's counting.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and Jungkook attends a last-minute all-hands meeting, the whole art department crammed inside one of the tiny conference rooms on their floor. After nearly everyone has trickled out, Jungkook gets distracted by an email that comes in right as he’s about to close his laptop, that tiny ding taunting him to check it. 

He gets so mentally tied up in his potential response that he decides to go ahead and answer it before he packs up and heads back to his desk. There’s still about 15 minutes until the top of the hour, so he figures the room won’t be in use by anyone else at least until then.

About five minutes later, just as he’s about to press send, the door to the conference room opens. Jungkook glances up, startled out of his laser focus on the email. 

The person in the doorway is the last human on earth Jungkook wants to see.

Jimin is looking down at his phone, in the middle of typing something, and he takes a couple steps into the room before he realizes it’s occupied. Then he looks up, meets Jungkook’s eye, freezes in place, and immediately drops the folder of papers he’s holding. 

The papers spill all over the floor and table, scattering across the room, blown even further by the ceiling fan. One sheet flies all the way over to Jungkook, landing in his lap.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin says, panicked. He drops to his hands and knees, trying to gather the sheets.

Jungkook sighs. “It’s okay,” he says, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up. He leans over, picking up the papers that have settled on the floor near his feet. “This room is reserved until three.”

“I’m the one who reserved it for three,” Jimin says, now all the way across the room, on the other side of the table, picking up the papers that flew over there. He looks thoroughly flustered, and his slim-fitted dress shirt is a little rumpled, like he’s already been having a rough day before this happened. “I saw everyone leave, so I figured I would come get set up a little early.”

Jungkook straightens the stack of papers he’s holding, knocking the edge against the table a few times, then pauses with the papers still in his hands, stalling. He can’t decide if he should just set them down on the table, or if it would be better to cross the room and hand them to Jimin. Something about that feels like it would be getting too close to him—like if he draws that near, he’ll be burned.

Jungkook takes a deep breath in. He’s keenly aware that he’s beginning to sweat profusely under his sweater vest. All he wants to do is flee. Not just the room, but the building entirely. Maybe even the country? 

“Oh, thank you,” Jimin says, looking up and noticing the papers in Jungkook’s hands. “You can just put them on the table.”

Okay. With the giant conference table between them, maybe Jungkook can do this. He can last at least ten more seconds. Probably.

He sets the papers down delicately, like they’re a ticking bomb that might explode. Then he slams his laptop shut, shoving it in his bag in a rush, barely even unzipping the bag enough to stuff it inside.

“Jungkook. Wait.”

Jungkook freezes, slowly looking up at Jimin. 

“We should talk,” Jimin says. He’s done collecting the papers, and now he’s just standing on the other side of the table, behind a chair, both his hands on top of the back of it. It looks like he’s got it in a death grip.

“What is there to talk about?” Jungkook asks quietly. It’s not meant to be harsh—he really means it.

“A lot, probably?”

“Jimin, I really don’t—”

“I want to make it very clear I had no idea you worked here,” Jimin says. “I never would have accepted the job if I knew that.”

That stings. Jungkook hates that it stings. He hates all of this, actually.

He tries to fight the angry expression he knows must be creeping across his features like a dark storm cloud. “Sorry to ruin things for you, then.”

“No, that’s not it,” Jimin says. He grips the chair tighter. “I feel really badly about this, Jungkook. I can’t imagine how shocked you must have been to see me. Especially here. I meant I wouldn’t have accepted the job because I wouldn’t have wanted to put you through this.”

“Put me through what, exactly?” Jungkook asks, feeling his heartbeat accelerate. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. I’ve been perfectly fine this whole time. Nothing is different for me.”

Jimin swallows. He’s silent for a moment. 

“Okay,” he says eventually. “But I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

“They don’t have to be. We don’t have to interact. You can just pretend I’m not even here.”

“I can’t do that,” Jimin says softly, shaking his head. Then, in a quieter voice: “I don’t want to do that.”

Jungkook takes in a shallow, wheezing breath. It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Can’t we just try to be civil? Don’t you think we deserve that, after everything we went through?”

I can’t be civil with you, Jungkook thinks. I can’t open my heart to you again. This wall of anger is the only thing keeping me safe. 

But at the same time, there’s something else: a tug on that invisible string Jungkook always swore tied him directly to Jimin. A tiny pull, barely enough to feel. Like his soul is whispering: I’m finally home. It’s been so long.

No matter what happens, Jungkook knows he can’t listen to that voice.

And despite all that, what Jungkook says out loud is: “I guess we could try.” 

Jimin’s obviously surprised by that answer. His eyebrows shoot up, and his grip on the chair loosens.

“Oh. Okay. Well, good.”

Jungkook nods, unsure of what to say.

“Can you tell me how you’ve been, then?” Jimin asks. “And your parents, too?”

“My parents are good. I’m… fine. I’m good. I’ve been working here ever since graduation.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. I’ve been happy,” Jungkook says.

“Getting hired here right out of school is an amazing achievement. I hope you know that.”

“Well, I guess a late congratulations is better than never.”

Jimin winces.

“Sorry,” Jungkook says, running a hand over his face. “That wasn’t civil.”

“Not particularly, no.”

“I don’t… know how to do this, really.”

“I’m not asking you to be friends,” Jimin says quietly. “I just don’t want you to walk on eggshells around me. I don’t want to cause you any trouble, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why is this all about me, though?”

Jimin pauses. “What?”

“Why do you care so much about how I feel? This has to be weird for you, too.”

“Yeah. I don’t…” Jimin trails off. “I don’t know.”

Jungkook glances at the clock. 2:56PM. 

Four minutes certainly isn’t enough to unpack any of this, but maybe it’s better left packed.

“We can be civil,” Jungkook says again, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder and pushing in his chair. “But I can’t promise you anything more than that.”

Jimin looks oddly relieved. Jungkook doesn’t give him a chance to respond, though—he turns around and heads out of the conference room without another word.

He doesn’t notice his hands are shaking until he’s back at his desk. 

Jimin’s voice is ringing in his ears: I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that.

He plugs his laptop back in, but doesn’t bother to open it. 

The rest of the afternoon is a lost cause. Jungkook doesn’t get anything done. He ends up leaving five minutes early, hastily shrugging on his black puffer coat, pulling his hair up into a half-ponytail to get it out of his face as he makes his way through the lobby and through the doors to the street beyond.

The weather is chilly, but not freezing—it actually feels refreshing, like with each breath, his lungs are being cleansed of the stuffy, suffocating air from the office. He pulls out his cell phone and texts his roommate, Yoongi, glancing up every now and then to make sure he doesn’t collide with anyone on his way to the subway station around the corner. 

Jungkook — 4:56pm

i need a drink

Yoongi — 4:57pm

It’s not even five yet. You should probably at least wait until you leave the office, champ.

Jungkook — 4:59pm

already did. had to get out of there

Yoongi — 5:01pm

Let me guess. Jimin?

Jungkook — 5:02pm

yup

Yoongi — 5:03pm

Wanna talk about it?

Jungkook — 5:04pm

yeah. can you meet me at southside in 20 minutes?

Yoongi — 5:06pm 

Sure. I just wrapped up. It might be closer to 30. See you soon.

An hour later, Jungkook and Yoongi are sitting together at the crowded bar, so close their elbows are knocking. It’s about a ten minute walk from their apartment, and they come here frequently whenever they feel like they need to blow off some steam. It’s small, but the bartenders are always friendly, and the prices aren’t too steep—for this neighborhood, anyway. 

Yoongi is nursing a whiskey on the rocks, and Jungkook is already on his second beer. With messy waves falling out of his ponytail, he’s rolled up his shirt sleeves and removed his tie. He’s got one elbow on the bar, cheek resting in his hand. He knows he probably looks pathetically distraught.

“You’re on your second drink, and you still haven’t told me what happened with Jimin. Are you working up to it?” Yoongi asks, shrugging off the dark jacket he’d left on until now.

“I guess,” Jungkook says, sighing.

Jungkook met Yoongi around two years ago, so by the time they became acquainted, Jimin was long gone. Although Yoongi never knew Jimin, he’s one of Jungkook’s best friends, so he’s heard all about him. Probably more than he signed up for, if Jungkook is being honest.

“I feel like you’ve listened to me vent about him so much already,” Jungkook says, groaning. “I don’t have to talk about it. I’ll be fine.”

“Hey, I don’t mind,” Yoongi says, setting his glass down on the bar. “It’s not healthy to keep your feelings pent up.”

“I guess not.”

“So. I’m assuming you ran into him at the office?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah. I managed to avoid him up until now. But I was wrapping up in a conference room, and he had reserved it next, so he came in to set up early.”

“Did you guys talk?”

He nods again. “Mmm. I basically just tried to flee, but he stopped me and said we should talk.”

“And how did that go?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says, sighing. “Not how I expected. He asked me if we could be civil. And I said yes, completely against my better judgment.”

“That doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea, though. If you’re going to be working together, it’s probably better for things to not be awkward.”

“That’s basically what he said,” Jungkook says, laughing bitterly. “But I don’t know. I don’t know if I can… I just don’t know.”

Jungkook feels a knot forming in his throat unexpectedly. He swallows it down, embarrassed. 

“I can’t imagine how you feel,” Yoongi says, pursing his lips in thought. “This must be really difficult.”

“I thought I was mostly over it. But running into him again… it feels like the wound is still so fresh. It was different when I thought I’d never see him again. It forced me to accept everything in a way I don’t know if I otherwise would have. You know?”

Yoongi nods. “I know it took a long time for you to get over it.”

“The thing is, like… as time went on, I think it actually got worse? I know that sounds weird, but there were things I told myself after we broke up that I eventually realized weren’t true. And it’s partially because I was listening to the things everyone was telling me to try and make me feel better. I tried to believe all those things, but…”

“Things like what?”

Jungkook takes a long sip of his beer. “Everyone told me the reason I was so hung up on him was just because he was my first love. He was my first—well, my first everything. People told me that I was so young, and I didn’t have anything else to compare him to, and I would find something better with someone else later on, and everything would be okay. I let myself believe that. But then I got older, and I dated other guys, and I started to feel like I was chasing after something I would never find. Even with Chanyeol—I was with him for a year, you know? It was serious. I tried to love him, but I could never love him the way I loved Jimin.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet,” Yoongi says quietly.

“Maybe not. But honestly… I always felt like Jimin was it for me. No matter how much time passed, I couldn’t shake the feeling. I know I was young, and I didn’t know any better. But it was just something I could feel. It was like the universe had moved for us. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“And now he’s showed up in your life again. Apparently by coincidence.”

Jungkook blinks. He hadn’t thought about whether it was coincidence or not.

“Well, yeah. He said he had no idea I worked there. Which, at first, made me mad—but I can’t really blame him. I completely cut him out, too… it was the only way I could move on. I haven’t looked at any of his social media in, I dunno… two years?”

“You don’t even have a LinkedIn, do you?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “No. I never really ended up job searching, so I didn’t have to make one.”

“So it’s probably true that he didn’t know.”

“Are you saying that…” Jungkook grips his thighs on the bar stool, squeezing. “Are you saying it could be fate that brought us together again?”

“Sometimes I swear the shit you say is right out of a movie. Do you hear yourself? No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying it’s interesting that you ended up crossing paths again.”

Jungkook frowns. “Realistically, I can’t see why this would be meant to happen. We obviously don’t work together. We wouldn’t have broken up if we did.”

“Maybe that’s not it. Maybe it’s that… this will help you get the closure that you obviously need.”

Yoongi waves the bartender over and orders another whiskey while Jungkook chews on that thought.

“Obviously, you’re still hung up on him,” Yoongi says, but his tone is encouraging, not condescending. “I’m not saying that to be mean. It just sounds like you’re still struggling with the idea of whether or not you guys were meant to be together. And if you never saw him again, you’d be left wondering that forever. But now that he’s back in your life, this gives you an opportunity to get that closure. To move on once and for all, right?”

Jungkook nods, silently taking in Yoongi’s words. 

“If you talk to him a little bit, it could be good—not for the purpose of getting back together, but as a reminder of all the reasons you didn’t work out in the first place,” Yoongi continues. “I think after you break up with someone, and some time goes by, it’s easy to start seeing the past through rose-colored glasses.”

“I don’t think I am,” Jungkook says. “There were lots of reasons we didn’t work. I’ve always been able to recognize that. We both had a lot of... baggage.” 

“Mmhmm. And I know you’ve dealt with yours, but for all you know, he’s still got his.”

“Yeah. Probably. He went through a lot.”

Yoongi pauses, grimacing before he speaks again.

“I just want you to be happy, Kook. I don’t want to get all… sappy. But you’re a really good guy. And you deserve to be happy. So I just want you to do whatever will help you get there. Okay?”

Jungkook feels his heart soften a little.

“Okay. Thanks, Yoongi.” 

Yoongi is right. Jungkook is deeply comforted by the thought: if everything happens for a reason, like he believes it does, then the reason for Jimin’s reappearance in his life doesn’t have to be confusing or mysterious. It must have happened so that he’ll finally be given the chance to move on. And he deserves that. 

He deserves that so much.

                   then                   

“Tin oxide is heated with hydrogen gas to form tin metal and water vapor,” Jungkook reads aloud from the textbook. “Write the balanced equation that describes this reaction.”

“Wait. I don’t understand how we’re just... making solid metal out of gas?” Jimin says, eyebrows furrowed. “Shouldn’t we be discussing that? Doesn’t this seem like sorcery to you?”

“I don’t think figuring out how it works is part of the assignment, no.”

They’re both sitting on the carpeted floor of Jungkook’s dorm room, notebooks and textbooks spread out all over the ground in front of them. Jungkook is sitting up, with his back resting against his bed frame, legs sprawled out in front of him. Jimin is lounging on his stomach, legs kicking in the air behind him.  

Jungkook’s roommate, Namjoon, is out. Jungkook isn’t sure where, but he’s probably at the library, where he always is.

When Jungkook first agreed to study with Jimin, they started out at the library, too. They met there a couple of times per week to go over notes, work on their assignments together, and study for exams. But the library can get ridiculously crowded at peak hours, so much that you can’t even find a table to sit at, and it’s a really far walk from Jungkook’s dorm—so eventually, they started having their study dates in Jungkook’s room instead. Or Jimin’s room, if Namjoon was around and they didn’t want to bug him. 

They’re about one month into the semester now, and Jungkook has quickly come to realize that the time he spends studying with Jimin is always his favorite part of the week. Surprisingly, it has actually been helpful from an academic perspective—despite neither of them being gifted chemistry students, just having another person to ask questions, bounce ideas off of, and recognize which areas they’re struggling with has benefitted them both.

That isn’t why Jungkook likes it so much, though.

The reason why Jungkook likes it so much is lying on the floor across from him, ankles crossed, chin in his hands. He’s wearing an oversized black sweater, hair falling into his eyes, and his lips look extra pink today, like he’s wearing a tinted balm. 

Not that Jungkook noticed or anything.

Their study sessions would probably be even more helpful if Jungkook didn’t spend half the time staring at Jimin with puppy-dog eyes. The good news is that he doesn’t think Jimin has picked up on it. If he did, Jungkook might be a little embarrassed. 

He’s tried to mentally brush it aside as a silly little crush—especially since Jimin has given him no indication that he feels the same way. He’s flirty sometimes, sure, but from what Jungkook has observed, it seems like he might just be that way with everybody.

But that doesn’t keep Jungkook’s heart from skipping a beat when Jimin bursts into laughter and lets his head fall down onto Jungkook’s shoulder. Or when he grabs Jungkook’s bicep with both hands, squeezing and poking fun at him for being so strong. Or when he leans in to see what Jungkook is writing, soft hair brushing against the side of Jungkook’s face, so close that Jungkook can smell the citrus body wash lingering on his skin.

Compared to Jimin, Jungkook feels like a baby, which is one of the main reasons why he can’t imagine Jimin would ever be interested in him. It seems like Jimin has already experienced a lot—or at least he acts like he does. But Jungkook has only ever had one boyfriend, Jihoon, and that was terribly short-lived, because Jihoon cheated on him after they had only been together for a month. 

Jungkook had wanted to take things slow—he was a virgin, and it was the first time he had ever dated a guy. He thought things were going well, and Jihoon seemed enthusiastically receptive every time Jungkook suggested they try something new. 

But then he found a condom wrapper in Jihoon’s trash can, and Jihoon came clean when Jungkook confronted him about it. He’d slept with someone else. Just to take the edge off, he’d said. 

For reasons that Jungkook finds difficult to comprehend now, he was actually still willing to give Jihoon another chance after that. But Jungkook still didn’t feel ready to sleep with him—which resulted in Jihoon tossing Jungkook to the curb like garbage, too.

That’s left him with a whole lot of feelings he still hasn’t worked through.

It’s not like he loved Jihoon or anything, but it still hurt. It hurt a lot. He hasn’t dated anyone else since then, although he’s made out with a couple of random guys at parties here and there, just trying to feel something. Sadly—but maybe predictably—it never made him feel anything at all.

Jimin, though? Jimin makes him feel something. 

Jimin makes him feel safe and comfortable and understood. Jungkook is pretty shy, usually quiet around most people, nervous about saying the wrong thing. But around Jimin, it’s like he can just relax—Jimin is wacky and silly enough that Jungkook doesn’t worry about seeming weird, or awkward, so whenever he’s in Jimin’s presence, he finds jokes and stories rushing out of him in unprecedented volume. 

And Jimin seems to like it. Actually, he seems to hang on Jungkook's every word. Which is difficult for Jungkook to understand, but logically, he figures it must be genuine—because surely, if Jimin thought he was annoying, he would have found a way to wriggle himself out of this study arrangement by now.

So Jungkook doesn’t talk about it: the warm, fuzzy feeling that creeps through his belly every time he sees Jimin smile. The way his skin tingles with electricity every time Jimin touches him or brushes against him. The way it feels like he can see the entire universe sparkling in Jimin’s eyes whenever he looks at him.

No one needs to know. Especially not Jimin.

“We need to write the unbalanced equation first, right?” Jimin is asking, startling Jungkook out of his thoughts. 

Jungkook nods, glancing back down at the textbook. “First we have to write that, yeah. And then we can balance it.”

Jimin shimmies forward a little, reducing the space between them so he can see Jungkook’s textbook better. “Ow. I think I just got carpet burn on my stomach.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so lazy,” Jungkook teases.

“If you think I’m so lazy, I’ll just relax here while you figure out how to write the equation,” Jimin says sweetly, folding his arms in front of him. 

“Fine,” Jungkook huffs, but there’s no bite to his voice. He starts flipping back through the textbook, trying to find the chart of polyatomic ions. “I still don’t understand how this class is supposed to help me in the future. There are much better things I could be doing with my time. Oh, I didn’t tell you—I started sketching what I want for my first tattoo yesterday, but I’ve barely had time to work on it.”

Jimin perks up. “I didn’t know you wanted a tattoo.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve always wanted a lot of them. I would have gotten my first one sooner, but I’ve had to save up. I want to get a full sleeve, but it will take some time to finish once I start.”

“Wow. No, I didn’t realize. I think that will suit you really well, though. You’re going to draw them yourself?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, it’s important to me that I draw them. If it’s going to be on my body forever, I want it to be something I made.”

Jimin hums, looking up at Jungkook through his lashes. “I have a tattoo, you know.”

Jungkook blinks at him, eyes going wide. “What? You do? I didn’t know. I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s not somewhere you would see. Unless I showed you.”

Jungkook immediately feels heat rushing to his cheeks. He prays he hasn’t gone obviously pink.

“Do you want to see?” Jimin asks, pulling himself upright so that he’s sitting on his knees.

“S-sure,” Jungkook says weakly, immediately embarrassed by the way he stammers out the answer.

Jimin reaches down, fingers latching onto the hem of his sweater, and then he pulls it up, revealing his stomach and ribs.

Jungkook is pretty sure he might actually pass out.

Under the baggy sweaters and loose t-shirts, Jimin is actually a lot more muscular than Jungkook assumed. His abs are clearly defined, his stomach flat and taut, and he’s lean enough that Jungkook can see the outline of his ribs as Jimin rotates slightly to better show off the tattoo.

Ah, right—the tattoo. The whole point of this. Jungkook forces his eyes to focus, moving up and away from Jimin’s stomach, from the barely-there trail of hair leading down beneath his belly button, from the angled hip bones peeking out above his sweatpants.

There’s a fairly large design inked across Jimin’s ribs—scrawling letters that spell out NEVERMIND.

“Whoa,” Jungkook breathes out, eyes tracing over the letters. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Jimin says, suddenly sounding a little shy.

“Why did you get it?” 

Jimin’s still holding up his sweater, one hand tracing over his tattoo absentmindedly. “I’ve always been a little self-conscious about my body. I wanted a way to remind myself, whenever I looked in the mirror, like, with my shirt off, or whatever—that it doesn’t matter, you know? If I start to pick myself apart, analyzing my flaws too much, I just tell myself… nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have any flaws,” Jungkook says gently. The words spill out before he has a chance to consider whether they’re a good idea.

Jimin glances up, lips parted softly, like he’s surprised. He’s still holding his sweater up. Jungkook can’t decide if he should be happy about the prolonged view, or if he would rather Jimin drop the godforsaken thing before Jungkook keels over.

“I do,” Jimin says, shaking his head. “I have a lot.”

Jungkook shakes his head too, hands wringing together in his lap nervously. “No. I don’t think so.”

Jimin meets Jungkook’s eye and stares at him for a long, long moment. Seconds pass in complete silence—the only sound is their quiet, steady breathing, filling the space between them. 

Jungkook’s hands fall to either side of his body, palms up on the carpet. 

And then Jimin is crawling across the floor, over the textbooks, and settling down in Jungkook’s lap, looping his arms around Jungkook’s neck.

Jungkook is no longer uncertain about whether or not he will pass out. Now he knows he is going to pass out.

“I’ve been wondering,” Jimin breathes, so close that Jungkook can make out the tiny freckles spattered across Jimin’s cheeks, something he’s never noticed before. “I wasn’t sure. But the way you looked at me just now—the way you looked at my body.” Jimin visibly swallows, fingertips gently tracing the back of Jungkook’s neck. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“You’re not wrong,” Jungkook manages to say. He keeps his gaze focused on Jimin’s eyes—soft, unblinking. Darker than he’s ever seen them. 

Jimin’s left hand trails down, stopping when it reaches the center of Jungkook’s chest. He presses his palm flat against the soft fabric of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. 

“Your heart is beating really fast,” Jimin murmurs.

“Because of you,” Jungkook whispers hoarsely, cognizant of the way his chest is heaving underneath Jimin’s hand.

“Touch me,” Jimin says, not breaking eye contact. His voice is so soft that it doesn’t feel like very much of a demand.

Jungkook lifts his hands up from where they were resting on the floor, and he places them on Jimin’s thighs instead, palms sliding upwards a little, fingertips digging in. Jimin shudders.

“I didn’t think…” Jungkook trails off nervously. It’s so hard to focus with Jimin so close, with Jimin straddling him like this, with Jimin’s lips just a fraction of an inch away from his own. “I didn’t think that you—that you would—”

“Shhh,” Jimin says, dragging himself further up Jungkook’s lap, pulling himself so close that his hand ends up trapped between their bodies. “I do. And I would.”

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook asks, the question not much more than a warm breath against Jimin’s lips. 

Jimin nods. Their noses bump together gently, and Jimin uses the one hand he has wrapped around the back of Jungkook’s neck to pull him in, meeting Jungkook’s lips in the softest, sweetest kiss Jungkook has ever had.

But it doesn’t stay soft. Jungkook feels something like a spark light up inside him, and Jimin lets out a tiny noise, like he felt it, too. Their shy hesitancy melts away and all that’s left over is want. Jungkook sighs into Jimin’s mouth, letting Jimin take the lead, coaxing him open. Testing, teasing. Tangling his fingers in Jungkook’s hair and tugging.

In a haze, Jungkook realizes: this is what kissing is supposed to feel like.

It’s over before Jungkook wants it to be. Jimin pulls back, his gaze roaming over Jungkook’s face. He extricates his left hand from its position between their bodies, trailing up and running a fingertip along Jungkook’s jawline.

“More?” Jungkook asks, eyes half-lidded. 

Jimin smiles softly, closing the distance between them again.

                   now                   

Jungkook is nursing his second glass of champagne, his too-tight suit jacket digging uncomfortably into his shoulder blades, trying to pretend like he actually cares what Seokjin is talking about.

“It was the biggest fish I had ever seen in my life,” Seokjin is nearly shouting over the din of the mingling crowd, soft music playing in the background. “Longer than my arm. Maybe even longer than my leg. I could barely hold it up.”

“Wow,” Jungkook says, hoping there’s at least some small amount of enthusiasm present in his voice. He is not particularly optimistic about this, however. 

“I don’t know why you haven’t come fishing with me yet,” Seokjin says, turning to wave at a woman passing by who Jungkook doesn’t recognize. “You would have the time of your life. The offer still stands.”

“I don’t like boats,” Jungkook says.

“You don’t?” Seokjin asks, one eyebrow raised. He looks around. “You must not be enjoying yourself tonight, then.” 

They’re at the book launch party for that cursed cruise ship romance novel Jungkook designed the cover art for. After much deliberation, it was eventually titled Tender Hearts. Jungkook didn’t get the joke—Seokjin had to explain it to him, wheezing so hard he could barely breathe—but apparently lifeboats are also called tenders. Or something. 

And apparently Jimin wanted to make a big impression on the first book launch he ran publicity for, because the party is happening on a boat. 

Not a cruise ship—thank God. It’s a yacht. But it’s still a boat, so Jungkook doesn’t like it. 

Honestly, he’s not even sure where the aversion comes from, but he’s hated them ever since he was a kid. He just doesn’t like how they sway back and forth. It makes him feel a little nauseous. And trapped—like he can’t escape.

Luckily, this boat is still tethered to the dock and will not actually be setting sail tonight. He had made sure of that before he agreed to attend the launch party.

He usually attends the parties for all the books he works on. It’s exciting and encouraging to see the projects come to fruition—to chat with all the people who worked on the book, to witness firsthand how happy and excited the authors are, finally seeing their hard work come to life. 

He does not, however, usually attend launch parties planned by Jimin. 

The good news is that, as one of the people primarily responsible for keeping the show rolling, Jungkook figures he has relatively low chances of actually running into Jimin or being forced to interact with him. He’ll probably be so busy running around that Jungkook won’t see him at all. 

You can imagine Jungkook’s surprise, then, when Jimin approaches him no later than an hour after he’s boarded this stupid boat.

Jungkook is sitting alone on the deck of the ship, relaxing near a small cocktail table covered in a white tablecloth, a little bit separated from the loud hubbub of the party. And that was intentional. He’d peeled himself away from his conversation with Seokjin, hunted down the author of the book to offer his congratulations (and accepted over a minute’s worth of gushing about how much she loved the cover), then slipped away to enjoy a few moments of peace and quiet.

That’s when he hears the sound of a throat being cleared behind him. He groans, expecting it to be Seokjin with more fish talk, but when he turns around, Jimin is standing there, hands clasped in front of him, looking very glamorous in a tailored navy suit.

“Oh,” is all Jungkook manages to say. It is probably not the most polite greeting, in hindsight.

Jungkook immediately reminds himself: they’re supposed to be civil. This is the first time he’s run into Jimin since that day in the conference room, so it’s not like he’s had many opportunities to remember. 

He can do this. This is fine.

“Hi,” Jimin says. “You came.”

“I… I mean, yes,” Jungkook says. “I did. I always come to the launch parties for the books I work on.”

“Well, it’s… you know.” Jimin gestures at the deck beneath them, then out to the river. The cool breeze ruffles his hair. “It’s a boat.”

Jungkook chuckles sadly. “Yeah. I guess you remember how I feel about them.”

“Of course I do,” Jimin says.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say to that. He glances up at the night sky, surprised to see a few tiny stars twinkling in the distance, shining in a sea of deep black. It’s usually impossible to see them in the city.

“I’m glad you still came anyway,” Jimin says. “I was worried you wouldn’t.”

Jungkook looks up in surprise. “Why does it matter?”

“I mean, I’m the one who planned the majority of this. The boat was thematically perfect, the absolute best idea, so I couldn’t say no to it. Um… that being the case, I was kind of worried you might think that I… didn’t want you to come. Or something.”

Jungkook laughs, despite himself. The sound rings out brightly across the deck.

“No. Honestly, Jimin, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

“Oh,” Jimin says, something strange in his voice.

“What?”

“Well, I…” Jimin trails off, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “I asked them if we could stay docked. Originally, we were going to sail the river.”

Jungkook blinks. “What?”

“It wasn’t just about you,” Jimin rushes to add. “I figured there might be other people, too, who don’t like boats, or sailing, or even the water. Because I thought of you. So… anyway. I just wanted to make it more accessible. The more people who come, the better it looks. For me. So. Yeah.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says. “Okay. Well, thanks. Yeah, I probably wouldn’t have come if we were going to be sailing the river.”

Something feels weird inside Jungkook’s gut, twisting a little. It shouldn’t feel strange to him that Jimin thought about him—after all, he’s been thinking about Jimin all the time. But he can’t shake the feeling. It’s an ache, gnawing at him in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. 

This wasn’t about you, Jungkook tells himself. This wasn’t about you. He said it himself.

“Why did you decide to move back?” Jungkook blurts out. The question’s out of him before he can even realize he’s thinking it. Maybe it’s the two glasses of champagne—it seems his brain-to-mouth filter is gone. 

Jimin is quiet for a moment. “I would be lying if I said it was only for the job,” he says. “I missed it. I really missed Seoul.”

“Enough to leave Busan?” It’s hard for Jungkook to believe.

Jimin nods. “Yeah. I started to feel a little… stifled. Don’t get me wrong, it was really nice being close to my dad. I worry about him so much. But my brother is still there, and I know they’ll be alright.”

Jungkook hums in agreement. “How are they doing?”

A cocktail glass shatters somewhere across the deck, followed by the sounds of raucous laughter. Jimin turns around, sighing and shaking his head, then turns back to face Jungkook. 

“They’re fine. My dad has never really been the same since my mom passed. I’m stronger now, though, than I was back then. I’m able to support him more. Financially, and emotionally. So things are better that way, even if he’s still struggling.”

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” Jungkook’s voice is soft.

Jimin shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. Things really are better now.”

Jungkook’s memory flashes back to darker times. Images flicker through his mind, a horrifying slideshow, but he pushes the memories aside, closing his eyes for a second. 

He shakes it off, quite literally—rolling his shoulders and letting out a breath, downing the last of his champagne.

“I should get going,” Jimin says, glancing back towards the other side of the deck. “I’ve probably already been gone too long.”

Jungkook nods. “Okay.”

“It was nice to see you, Jungkook.”

The words make Jungkook’s stomach swoop, which is definitely not good.

“Yeah. It was nice to see you, too.”

Jimin smiles, his eyes reflecting the dark night sky above. 

Then he turns around and walks away, leaving Jungkook feeling unnervingly empty. 

For two different departments who generally don’t have a reason to interact much, Jungkook sure does run into Jimin a lot.

It starts after that night at the launch party, and it spirals dramatically from there—so dramatically that Jungkook is convinced the universe is plotting against him.  

The very next day, Jimin is washing his hands in the bathroom when Jungkook enters and awkwardly freezes, his instincts telling him he should leave. Then he remembers they’re supposed to be nice to each other, resulting in a five-second-long confused and uncomfortable pause where Jungkook just stands in the doorway in flight-or-flight mode, staring at Jimin and wishing he could sink deep, deep into the earth.

“Hi,” Jimin eventually says, wiping his hands on a paper towel and adjusting his tie in the mirror.

“Hi,” Jungkook replies, then rushes into a bathroom stall so quickly that Jimin probably assumes he’s about to have diarrhea.

Jungkook hears the bathroom door open and close a few seconds later, and he lets out a long, deep sigh.

But he’s not off the hook. These incidents just keep occurring. It feels like Jimin is everywhere he goes.

Later that week, Jungkook is in the break room with Seokjin, making a cup of tea while Seokjin yaps his ear off about the design brief that’ll be landing in his inbox later, when the door swings open and Jimin enters, empty mug in hand. 

“Jimin!” Seokjin booms loudly, obviously thrilled to see him. “I was going to come see you later. I need to chat with you about the event at Aladin next week.”

“Nothing bad, I hope,” Jimin says, smiling politely as he steps past Seokjin to reach the coffee maker. He notices Jungkook, then, and there’s a small falter in his step, but he recovers quickly, plastering that pleasant expression right back on his face without a hitch.

“Hello, Jungkook,” Jimin says. 

Jungkook was in the middle of pouring hot water from the kettle into his cup, and now he’s so distracted that it nearly overflows. 

“Hi,” Jungkook says, trying to think of something additional—something friendly to tack on the end. He comes up short.

“Oh. Huh. I was about to introduce you. You two already know each other?” Seokjin asks. 

Jungkook makes a sort of choked, strangled noise. Jimin winces slightly.

“We went to school together,” Jimin says, offering up the same not-technically-false answer he’d told Hoseok on Jimin’s first day. “Here in Seoul.”

“Oh! Small world,” Seokjin says, stirring his coffee. “Jimin, I didn’t think you were that young.”

“I was two years ahead of him in school,” Jimin says. “And I’ll pretend I’m not offended by your subtle implication that I apparently look old.”

“That’s not it!” Seokjin sputters out, the tips of his ears instantly turning red. “I just meant I was under the impression you had quite a bit of experience under your belt already.” 

“Sure,” Jimin says, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice. “Yes, I worked at a big PR firm in Busan for the last four years.”

“Did you hear about the job from Jungkook, then?”

Jungkook shoots a panicked look in Seokjin’s direction, like he can somehow telepathically convince him to stop asking these questions.

“Oh, no,” Jimin says, shaking his head. “I, uh… no, I didn’t. I was looking to move back to Seoul and just happened to stumble across the job listing.”

“How serendipitous,” Seokjin says. 

“I think it was,” Jimin agrees. 

“Definitely,” Jungkook chimes in, a little too loudly. Seokjin raises an eyebrow, turning to stare at him.

Why does this have to be so awkward?

It wasn’t like this on the boat. For some reason, on the boat, talking to Jimin felt almost… normal. But maybe that was a magic spell cast by the cool breeze off the water and the sparkling stars above. In this drab office building, interacting with Jimin feels like the most uncomfortable thing Jungkook has ever done.

Especially when it involves having to explain how they know each other—because that forces Jungkook to think about just how intimately they once did.

Jungkook quickly excuses himself from the break room after that, only realizing once he gets back to his desk that he hadn’t even put a tea bag in his cup. The mug clutched between his hands is filled with plain hot water.

The exasperated sigh he lets out is loud enough that Byeol, the woman who occupies the cubicle next to his, pops her head over the wall, looking at him with a relatively alarmed expression on her face. 

“I’m running down to the cafe across the street,” Jungkook announces, the angry tone of his voice oddly mismatched to the otherwise harmless statement. “To get some tea. Do you want anything?”

“Why do you sound like you’re about to commit a murder?” she asks, lowering her head slightly so that only her eyes appear above the partition separating their desks.

“I’m not. Do you want anything?”

“I want you to not commit a murder.”

Jungkook plasters a wide, saccharine smile onto his face, shrugging on his jacket. “Is that better?”

“More scary, I think.”

His smile falters. “I’ll get you a milk tea, then. Be back soon.”

He pushes in his desk chair and heads in the direction of the elevator, desperate to get some fresh air. He’s keenly aware, though, that fresh air alone isn’t going to be enough to sort out the mess and muddle of feelings that have slowly begun to take root in his heart. 

                   then                   

“I love it here,” Jimin says quietly. His head drops down onto Jungkook’s shoulder, arm linking through his and squeezing. “It’s beautiful.”

Jungkook smiles. “I know.”

They’re huddled together on a flannel blanket near the shore of the Han River. It’s late enough in the year that the weather is too chilly to comfortably spend a long time outside, but they came prepared with big thermoses of coffee and seasonally appropriate attire. Jimin is wearing a giant fuzzy zip-up jacket that’s so cute it makes Jungkook want to wrap him in a hug and never let go.

This is Jungkook’s spot. The place where he comes when he wants to draw, or relax, or think, or just be alone. He’s never shown anyone else—never even told anyone else about it, actually—but tonight, he decided to bring Jimin. 

His heart just told him that it was the right thing to do. That everything that’s his should be Jimin’s, too.

It’s a relatively deserted area, partially underneath an overpass, a little off the beaten path and not particularly well known. It’s not part of a public park or anything, but Jungkook has never gotten in trouble for sitting out here, so he’ll keep coming until he does. 

They arrived when it was still light, the sun sinking low in the sky, and Jungkook sketched for a little while until his fingers got too cold. It’s a view he’s drawn a hundred times before, but he hasn’t gotten tired of sketching it. There’s something comforting about it at this point. Even though he can picture it with his eyes closed, it’s still better to see it for real. He’s fallen in love with the sprawling view of the river and the twinkling city beyond it.

The sun has almost completely set now, and the sky is a watercolor wash of deep purples and pinks and navy blues, a few stars stubbornly peeking out from behind the clouds, refusing to be hidden. The temperature dropped even further once they lost the warmth of the sun, and Jimin has snuggled in closer to Jungkook’s side, stealing his body heat, which Jungkook really doesn’t mind at all.

Jimin glances up at him, his face half-hidden by his fuzzy jacket hood. His voice is quiet when he speaks, barely audible over the lapping water and the din of the city. 

“I’m really happy.”

Jungkook smiles, his nose scrunching a little. “Yeah?”

“I can’t remember the last time I…” Jimin trails off for a moment. “The last time I actually felt happy. Not since my mom died.”

Jungkook has his arm wrapped around Jimin, and he squeezes him a little, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. 

“I couldn’t even imagine feeling joy for a long time,” Jimin says. “It was totally inconceivable to me. Then I started to feel guilty about it, because I knew my mom would want me to be happy, but I just couldn’t bring myself to be. And now, sure, I still don’t know if I can say I’m happy all the time… but right now, I’m happy. In this moment, I’m really happy.”

“Good,” Jungkook says softly, rubbing Jimin’s arm. “I’m glad that you’re happy.”

“It’s because of you,” Jimin says. His eyes are shining, and the night sky reflects in them like a deep, watery pool. “I think I let a part of my heart die. But it feels like it’s slowly coming back to life. Maybe not all at once. But I can feel it, whenever I think about you.”

“To be totally honest, I don’t understand how that’s possible—how I could make you feel that way,” Jungkook says. “I’m just... me. I’m not special. But what matters the most to me is that you’re happy. So if you are, then I’m happy, too.”

Jimin pulls away from Jungkook’s body so that he can turn and look him in the eye. He looks like he’s not sure of what he wants to say at first, sucking on the inside of his cheek for a moment before he speaks.

When he does, it’s a question.

“Do you believe in fate?”

Jungkook’s heart flutters a little. He’s thought about this a lot, but he and Jimin have never really talked about it. 

He nods. “Yeah, I always have. Maybe a little too much.”

“I’m fully aware you might leap off this blanket and go running for the hills when I tell you this,” Jimin says, his voice still quiet. “But I think you could be it for me. I think we were meant to meet. I just… I have this feeling. I can’t explain it. Do you know what I mean? Do you feel it, too?”

Jimin’s face is open, vulnerable. Soft and expectant. The tip of his nose has turned pink from the cold. 

Jungkook has never been more certain about anything in his nineteen years of life. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I feel it, too.”

Jimin tackles him backwards onto the blanket, knocking him flat on his back, and Jungkook bursts out laughing, pulling Jimin on top of him.

“I don’t ever want to let you go,” Jimin whispers, brushing Jungkook’s long bangs out of his eyes. 

“You don’t have to,” Jungkook says, lifting his head to place a soft kiss on Jimin’s mouth. Their lips are freezing cold and a little chapped, and it’s an awkward angle, but Jungkook instantly commits it to memory as his favorite kiss they’ve ever had. 

“Okay,” Jimin says, burying his face in Jungkook’s neck. “Then I won’t.”

“I love you,” Jimin gasps, both hands tangled in Jungkook’s hair. “I love you so—I love you so much.”

Jungkook groans, his mouth dragging up Jimin’s exposed throat, breath hot and sticky against his skin. “I’m not gonna—” he chokes out, biting off a moan. “I’m not gonna last very long. Slow—fuck, slow down—”

“It’s okay,” Jimin breathes, rolling his hips again, and Jungkook groans, his grip tightening on Jimin’s thighs.

Jungkook is sitting on his twin-size dorm bed with his back propped up against the headboard, and Jimin is straddling him, riding him, biting his shoulder and rambling breathlessly about how much he adores him. 

And Jungkook thought he had a pretty good idea of what sex might feel like, but it turns out he was completely wrong.

Maybe with someone else, it would be closer to what he thought. But with Jimin, it feels like he’s been teleported somewhere else entirely—a place where nobody exists but the two of them, a place where their love is the only thing that has ever existed. A place where nothing can touch them. Nothing can hurt them. 

In this dream-like moment, Jimin became his first. Jimin will be his first forever, now—nothing can ever change that.

And deep down, in the most golden depths of his heart, Jungkook knows that Jimin will be his last, too.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Jimin murmurs against his forehead. “Feels so good. Are you still okay?”

Jungkook nods against him, unable to resist the urge to buck his hips a little, and Jimin lets out a gasp, tightening his grip on Jungkook’s hair. 

“Feels too good,” Jungkook says, panting. It feels like the heat in his belly is spreading to the rest of his body in a way he didn’t know was physically possible. Like if someone lit a match, he would explode. “You feel amazing. Like so, so good, I don’t—”

“Touch me,” Jimin gasps, burying his face in Jungkook’s shoulder. “If you’re going to—please touch me—”

Jungkook’s hand-eye coordination is greatly suffering due to the overwhelming sensations coursing through every nerve, but with a shaky hand, he manages to reach into the space between their bodies and wrap his palm around Jimin’s cock. Jimin lets out a broken moan as Jungkook begins to stroke him, his back arching. And then Jimin clenches, and it’s all warm, tight heat, and Jungkook goes barrelling over the edge before he’s ready. 

He comes immediately, crying out into Jimin’s shoulder, and Jimin’s legs shake as he comes a few moments later, spilling all over Jungkook’s hand, clinging onto him for dear life.

Jungkook tilts his head back, resting it on the edge of the headboard, trying to catch his breath. 

“Baby,” Jimin breathes, reaching up to push Jungkook’s sweaty hair off his forehead. 

“Mmm,” Jungkook groans. His ears are ringing and his vision has gone a little fuzzy. He’s pretty sure that isn’t normal, but it’s not like he has the experience to know for sure. Maybe he should ask.

“Is it normal that my ears are ringing?” Jungkook asks, his voice coming out gravelly. 

Jimin giggles, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “That means it was good.”

“It was definitely good,” Jungkook says, still breathing a little hard. His eyes flutter open again, and he’s startled by the visceral sight in front of him: Jimin, his Jimin, very obscenely naked and sticky, still straddling him, arms looped around his neck, now leaning back to get a better look at him. 

His hair is damp and disheveled. His chest is flushed and sweaty. He’s looking at Jungkook with a million stars in his eyes.

He is the most beautiful person Jungkook has ever seen. 

“I love you,” Jungkook says quietly, arms wrapping around Jimin’s waist. He’s suddenly overcome with emotion, and he tries to swallow down the knot that’s just formed in his throat, blinking a couple of times.  

Jimin leans forward, nuzzling his face into the side of Jungkook’s head. Jungkook tightens his grip, memorizing the feel of his palms pressing into Jimin’s back.

“I’m so glad it was you,” Jungkook whispers.

“It was inevitable, I think,” Jimin murmurs. 

Jungkook kisses his temple. “I think so, too.”

                   now                   

“I don’t think it really matters,” Yoongi says, shoving a big bite of pork into his mouth. “If it’s dirty, then it gets washed with everything else that’s dirty. Everything comes out the same in the end.”

Jungkook stares at him, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, horrified.

“So you’re telling me you wash your darks and your whites together. All in the same load. And colors, too. Together? Everything together??”

Yoongi nods. “Yup.”

“...And I’ve lived with you for two years without realizing what a monster you are.”

“I mean, I guess? It never seemed important enough to bring up.”

“You know how passionate I am about laundry!” Jungkook nearly shrieks. Yoongi jolts a little, shielding himself with a couch pillow. 

“Did you have a rough week or something?” Yoongi asks, tentatively peering out from behind the cushion.

Jungkook sighs. “Yes. I mean, no. Well… I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says. “That’s crystal clear, thanks.”

“I just keep running into Jimin. Like, a lot.”

Yoongi pulls his feet up under him on the couch, shifting his weight. “How’s that going?”

“Awkward. So awkward. And it’s weird, because, like… after I ran into him at that party, I thought maybe things could be normal between us. Or at least, like, not super uncomfortable. But every time I run into him, it’s like I forget how to speak. I totally freeze up.”

“Maybe it’ll just take time,” Yoongi offers. “The more you see him, the less weird it will be, probably.”

“I dunno,” Jungkook says softly. “Honestly, I don’t know if it will ever stop being weird.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. The quiet sound of the television fills the silence between them.

After a few moments, Jungkook’s phone lights up on the coffee table, vibrating and sounding a tiny ding.

“I recognize that notification sound, you stubborn idiot,” Yoongi says. “I told you to take your work email off your phone. There’s no reason for it. It’s just gonna keep stressing you out.”

“Sometimes important things come up,” Jungkook says defensively. He stares at his phone, still lit up on the table, practically begging to be checked. He glances over to Yoongi nervously.

Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Don’t do it.”

“I’m not going to do it. I’m just thinking about it—”

“Jungkook.”

Jungkook lunges forward and grabs his phone, then leaps off the couch, knowing Yoongi is way too lethargic at all times to actually chase after him. 

“You little brat!” Yoongi calls after him, but he makes no motion to interfere.

“It’s probably nothing,” Jungkook says. He stops sprinting once he reaches the kitchen, and he leans back against the counter as he unlocks his phone and swipes up to check his inbox. “I’m sure it’s just—”

He trails off, staring at his screen.

The newest email at the top of his inbox stares right back at him.

(no subject)
from: Park Jimin    7:43pm

“Why are you looking at your phone like that?” Yoongi asks, one eyebrow raised. “Please tell me you’re not fired.”

“Um,” Jungkook says. “I’m not fired. Jimin just emailed me.”

“Oh. Are you guys working on a project together or something?”

Jungkook shakes his head. His heart is beating embarrassingly fast. “No. We’re not.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts even higher. “Oh.”

“I’m gonna…” Jungkook trails off, slowly inching towards the hallway. 

Yoongi nods. 

Jungkook heads down the hall and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Then he sits down on his bed, phone in his hands. He chews on his bottom lip nervously.

Slipping the hair tie off his wrist, he nervously pulls his hair up into a ponytail, securing it and tucking the loose strands behind his ears. He isn’t even sure why he does it—he likes to pull his hair back whenever he needs to concentrate really hard on something. Honestly, in this scenario, he’s probably just doing it to buy time.

He feels so stupid for reacting this strongly to an email—an email that could be anything. Hell, it could be something as simple as: You dropped your credit card in the bathroom. I left it on your desk on my way out.

He’s pretty sure his credit card is safe and sound in his wallet, but whatever. 

Jungkook unlocks his phone again, and glancing out of his peripheral just barely enough to locate the right spot to tap, he taps to open the email. And after he takes a second to muster all his courage, he looks down at the screen.

When he sees the length of the email, he sucks in a breath. 

Hi Jungkook,

I hope it’s okay that I’m doing this. I’ll be honest—this is completely unrelated to work, so this is probably definitely some sort of HR violation, maybe? I mean, I don’t think it’s against the rules to email about non-work things, but it is probably against the rules to do it when the person you’re emailing doesn’t want to hear from you.

I’m sorry if this is crossing a line. It’s probably a little selfish of me. But I wanted to talk to you, and it doesn’t seem like you want to talk to me, so I figured doing it this way might be fine. Because if you want to ignore it, that’s okay. You don’t have to respond. If you don’t, I won’t email you again. And if you want to report me to HR, you can. 

Anyway, there’s this cafe I always used to go to, back home, down the street from my work. It opened right after I moved back, and there are two sheep who just live in the cafe, like, freely roaming around, and you can pet them or even hug them, and they have these waffles that they decorate with ice cream and little chocolate ears so they look like sheep. 

When I moved back, I was kind of a wreck, which I’m not saying to make you feel bad. I know you already know that. I was dealing with everything that had happened, and trying to take care of my dad, and most days, I was just overwhelmingly sad. But in the morning before work, I would go to this cafe, order my coffee, and pet the sheep. Not every day—I didn’t want to develop a reputation as like, the weird sheep man, or something. But I would go at least once a week, and they were always so cute.

Every time I saw those sheep, I thought about how much you would love them. I kept thinking about the time we drove out to the mountains over winter break and ended up stumbling across that random sheep farm. How you held that little lamb in your arms and looked the happiest I had ever seen you. Every day, I wanted to tell you about the sheep cafe so bad. But I couldn’t. I thought eventually I would want to stop telling you, but I never did. 

So that’s why I’m writing this email. I can finally tell you about the sheep cafe, so I am telling you about the sheep cafe.

I think you would love it.

Anyway, sorry if this is awkward, or if it makes you uncomfortable. You don’t have to reply.

Jimin

Jungkook blinks, staring down at the screen silently. 

A drop of moisture lands on the glass. He wipes it away, confused, then reaches up and realizes that his cheeks are wet. 

He runs a hand over his face, quietly wiping the tears away.

Setting his phone down next to him, he remains perched on the end of the bed, taking in a deep, shaky breath. 

He can remember that trip so vividly—the drive they took through the mountains together. They were both going back to Busan for winter break, so they’d taken a detour on the way. Jungkook was so excited when he saw the sheep that he nearly keeled over, and they happened to run into one of the sheep farmers when they got out of the car to look, and he offered the lamb to Jungkook to hold. 

Jimin took a picture of him holding it, laughing brightly, delighted by how ridiculously thrilled Jungkook was. It was an awful photo—his eyes were squinting shut against the bright sun, and the wind was blowing his hair all over the place, but Jimin used it as his lock screen photo for months. 

Jungkook wonders if he still has the photo now, or if he deleted it a long time ago.

He falls back down onto the bed, landing on his back. Staring up at the ceiling blankly, he ponders what to do.

For some reason, he feels like responding to the email is a bad idea. Like it’s stepping over a threshold that can’t be uncrossed. Like by responding, he’s reopening a book that was never meant to be read again.

But he reminds himself of what he and Yoongi talked about that night at the bar: closure. This is his chance to get closure. And how is he supposed to get closure if he doesn’t actually talk to Jimin?

Maybe by telling Jungkook about the cafe, Jimin was looking for closure, too.

Jungkook decides that he should respond to the email before he goes to sleep, because if he waits until the morning, Jimin might just assume he’s not going to receive anything back. And although Jungkook doesn’t quite understand why, thinking about Jimin feeling that pang of rejection makes him feel very sad. 

He considers carefully what he wants to say, rolling onto his side and resting his head on his arm. He’s stopped crying, at least, but his bedroom might as well be in a different universe—when he closes his eyes, he’s teleported to the past, flipping through a mental scrapbook of memories that he’s kept off limits for years now. They play in his mind like a supercut, endlessly, but he can’t bring himself to land on any yet. 

Maybe he’s not ready to talk about the past yet.

Hi Jimin,

I’ll be honest...I was really surprised to hear from you. But it’s okay. I won’t report you to HR or anything. Not for this, anyway.

(That was a joke. Um, I don’t know if we’re, like, at the point where it’s okay to joke around? So I feel like I need to explain it was a joke because otherwise you might find it… threatening? Anyway...)

I hadn’t thought about our trip to the mountains in a long time, but I can still remember it so clearly. Getting to hold that lamb was the highlight of my year, if not, like, my entire life. He was so impossibly cute. SO cute, and so small!! But I guess you were there, so you already know. 

I think I would love the cafe with the sheep. You’ll have to let me know what it’s called. The next time I’m back home, I’ll go.

I feel awkward saying this but I guess I’ll just say it anyway. I’m sorry if I made you think I don’t want to talk to you. That’s not really it. I think it’s more that I don’t know… how to talk to you. It’s hard for me. But maybe like this, writing like this, it could be easier.

Four years is a long time. I think I’m probably really different from the person you remember. Not in a bad way, though. When you knew me, I still had a lot of growing up to do. And I still do, but I’ve learned a lot since then. I know we haven’t talked much so far, but I can sense that you’re different, too.

I know how hard things were for you back then. I hope you’ve been able to find some peace. That’s all I ever wanted for you. I always have, and I still do, even after everything that happened between us.

At some point, if you’re willing to talk about it, I would love to hear more about how your dad and brother are doing. I think about them a lot.

I guess, even like this, this is still kind of weird for me. I don’t know what to talk about. I feel like there’s a lot about your life I just don’t know. Maybe I don’t know you at all anymore. It’s a strange thing to process, you know? I used to know everything, and now I know nothing.

I almost deleted that last part, but I feel like in the spirit of being honest, maybe I should leave it. 

If I’m awkward when I see you in the office, that’s the reason why. It’s not because I don’t want to see you. It’s because there’s this big chasm between the Jimin I knew and the Jimin who now works in the same office building as me, and I don’t know how big or deep that chasm is. And I’m scared to just blindly jump across it. 

Maybe I could update you on a few things. I’m not sure if you even care—and if you don’t, honestly, it’s fine. This is just me trying. 

I’ve been thinking about getting a dog. My roommate, Yoongi, is okay with it, and I’ve gone to the shelter twice now to meet the dogs they have. I haven’t gotten one yet because I haven’t met one that I felt an instant connection with. I feel like when I meet the one, I’ll know. You know what I mean? I mean—well, I guess you do. I’ve always been that way. So I’m waiting until I get that feeling. 

I’m going to go back in a couple of weeks to check again. I think getting a dog will help me a lot, in a lot of ways.

I really like to cook now. I know I wasn’t very good at it in school, but once I moved out on my own, I learned how to make a lot of things. I still have a lot to improve, but the food I make doesn’t taste, you know, like, poisonous anymore. So that’s good.

I’m not sure what else to say, so I’m just going to send this before it gets too awkward. And if this is more than what you wanted—I’m sorry.

Thank you for emailing me.

Jungkook

Jungkook expects that he might feel some degree of anxiety as he presses the send button, but all he feels is a strange sense of relief, like he just let out a breath he had been holding for years.

Maybe he can build a bridge across the chasm. Maybe they can build it together.

Not to come back together, though. He has to remind himself of that. Objectively, that would be an absolutely terrible idea. Despite the intrinsic pull he feels, he knows he has to trust his mind over his heart. He’s awful at that, usually, but in this scenario, he can’t afford to be. 

At work the next day, he finds himself compulsively checking his inbox about a thousand different times before lunchtime has even arrived. Each little ding from his laptop makes his heart rate accelerate far more than he’s willing to admit. 

But each time he checks it, it’s something else—a project update from Seokjin, an announcement about a new HR policy, a mass email to the art department, a newsletter from an online art supply store he doesn’t even remember subscribing to.

By the time the end of the day rolls around and Jungkook is packing his things to go home, Jimin still hasn’t replied. And Jungkook wonders if he might have said something wrong, or if he said too much, or if maybe Jimin was just wanting to get those things off his chest—without any real desire to continue conversing with Jungkook beyond that. 

After all, he had told Jungkook it was okay if he didn’t respond.

So, on the subway ride home, Jungkook decides it’s okay if Jimin doesn’t reply, too. Because even if he doesn’t, writing to him made Jungkook feel a lot better.

When he arrives back at his apartment, Yoongi is still at work, and Jungkook goes through the motions: he strips off his dress shirt and pants, changing into a pair of loose gym shorts and a t-shirt. He washes his face and pulls his hair into a ponytail. He lifts weights using the set of barbells he keeps under his bed, something he tries to do every day he’s not able to make it to the gym. 

He’s tempted to order delivery, but he ends up making kimchi jjigae for dinner, finding himself craving something warm and comforting—like a hug, except nobody is there to give him one. 

So the stew will have to be enough.

After dinner, he takes a shower, and then he settles down on the couch, turning on his PS4 and loading up Overwatch. There’s still another hour or so before he expects Yoongi to get back. 

After he’s played a few rounds, he’s just about to queue up for another one when his cell phone lights up on the coffee table, letting out that ding that happens whenever he gets a notification from his work email app.

He reaches for his cell phone so quickly that he nearly topples headfirst off the couch.

He swipes up on the notification, and there it is:

RE: (no subject)
from: Park Jimin    9:22pm

“This is fine,” Jungkook says out loud. 

It does not sound very convincing. 

His thumb hovers over the email, and he ponders whether he should open it right away, or if he should take a moment to give himself a little pep talk.

He ends up feeling stupid for making such a big deal out of it, so he taps to open it after a few seconds, shaking his head and internally scolding himself for being this way. 

Hi Jungkook,

I honestly wasn’t sure if you would write back to me or not, but I’m really happy that you did.

Sorry it took me so long to reply. I figured I probably shouldn’t send non-work-related emails on the clock. I’m still technically a new hire, after all. IT probably already has me on a watchlist after how many times I mentioned sheep in my last email.

Thanks for asking about my dad and brother. They are both doing a lot better. I wouldn’t have left Busan otherwise. My dad is working again, and has been for a couple of years now—he works at a bakery just up the street from their house. And my brother is in university now, but he stayed in Busan, so that he can still be close to my dad. 

It feels really good to be back in Seoul. I feel like I was so busy with school that I never got to explore the city much while I was here. I spent so much time on campus and never really branched out much beyond that. I used to regret it a little bit—back when I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to leave Busan. 

So I’m glad to be back, and to have another chance. Those nights when we would sit by the river and look at the city beyond, it always felt so massive to me. Just sprawling, endless, like I could never see it all. I think that overwhelmed me a little. But now, it feels like a challenge. An opportunity to dig into something I wasn’t sure if I would ever have the chance to.

I have a lot of free time, since I don’t really have too many friends here. I lost touch with a lot of people after graduation, and so far, since moving back, I’ve felt too awkward to reach out. My closest friend here is Taehyung—I’m sure you remember him from school. We had fallen out of touch, too, but we’ve been catching up, and I’m really grateful for it. I think I would feel really alone otherwise.

Thank you for telling me about what’s going on with you. I understand how you feel—what you said about the chasm. I would have never been able to verbalize it like that, but yeah, I get it.

It’s honestly kind of hard for me to picture you cooking without burning down the kitchen, but I guess I’ll take your word for it. Do you remember that time you almost blew up the entire chem lab because you poured the wrong acid into our solution? I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. That’s how I picture you cooking, too, just constantly on the verge of starting a fire. I hope you have a fire extinguisher at your apartment. Maybe buy an extra, just in case.

I’ve been reading a lot lately. I kind of felt compelled to start reading more, now that I work in this industry—it just seems like the right thing to do. Your covers are really beautiful and they always make me want to read the books. I had to read Tender Hearts, since I was promoting it— but even if I wasn’t, your cover probably would have convinced me to read it anyway, even if that genre isn’t usually my cup of tea. 

Hmm, what else? I’m sort of addicted to thrillers and mysteries now. They’re distracting in a way that is really good for me. 

It’s hard for me to think of things to tell you about myself. I think I’m still figuring out who I am. So much of my life, since I became an adult, has been spent taking care of other people. It’s time for me to focus on me, to take care of me—but I don’t know what that looks like yet. Part of it was moving back to Seoul. I don’t know what the rest of it will be. 

If you end up getting a dog, please send me a picture. 

Jimin

That’s how it begins—their new routine. It’s comforting, healing, strange. Every evening, Jimin sends Jungkook an email. And every evening, Jungkook replies. Sometimes it’s right away, only fifteen minutes later. Sometimes he needs longer to think about what to say, and he doesn’t send it off til midnight. But it’s always before bed—always that same day. He never leaves Jimin waiting for too long.

And every day, little by little, a bridge is built across the chasm.

To what end? Jungkook doesn’t know. Thinking about it too much makes him nervous. 

He forces himself to focus on the present, which is never something he’s been very good at. But if he does that—if he only thinks about how he feels right now, and not about how he felt four years ago, and not about the future consequences of his current feelings—he finds himself with something to look forward to every evening. 

Because Jimin’s emails don’t make him feel sad, or angry, or resentful, or anything else he expected they would make him feel. They make him feel happy. They make him laugh. They make him feel less alone. 

They make him feel things he thought he had forgotten how to feel a long time ago.

Their topics of conversation very intentionally skirt around their shared past, for the most part. It seems like neither Jungkook or Jimin are ready to unpack any of that yet. Instead, they catch each other up on the past four years, or they chat about what’s going on at work, or the spots Jimin has been checking out in Seoul, or Jungkook’s recommendations for where he should explore next. 

It’s easy. When they were together, talking to Jimin was as easy as breathing. Eventually, inevitably, Jungkook forgot how to breathe. But with a little practice, he’s breathing again. And it’s easy again.

They do this for three weeks. Three weeks of nightly emails, and during that time, Jungkook doesn’t see Jimin in the office even once. He starts to wonder if the whole exchange has been a figment of his imagination, like the next time he sees Jimin again, the magic spell will be broken and they’ll be back to where they were before. 

On the Friday of the third week, Jungkook has started to wrap up for the weekend, sending out a couple of pressing emails and working on a few revisions for the final version of a cover design, which he sends off to Seokjin and his manager for approval. Tying up as many loose threads as possible before the weekend always leaves him feeling way less anxious. He might actually be able to relax a little bit tomorrow.

Just as the clock strikes 5PM and he’s about to close his laptop, he senses movement behind him. He swivels in his desk chair, expecting Seokjin or Byeol.

But it’s Jimin.

“Oh,” Jungkook says, unable to withhold the tiny noise of surprise that escapes from his throat. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jimin says. 

He’s wearing navy slacks and a white button-down. His hair is a little longer than it was when Jungkook saw him last. He’s styled it with a deep side part and one side slicked back, the hold starting to fall a little bit after a long day at the office. He leans against the wall of Jungkook’s cubicle, scuffing his toe against the carpet nervously. There’s a question in his eyes, but Jungkook isn’t sure what it is.

A million feelings punch Jungkook in the gut all at once, and he swallows hard, trying not to show any of them on his face.

“What’s up?” Jungkook asks, but his voice sounds a little croaky. 

“I was hoping I would catch you before you left for the day,” Jimin says, sounding far less nervous than Jungkook feels. “How are you?”

“Oh. Well,” Jungkook says, pausing to think. “I’m good. I was able to get a lot done before the weekend.”

Jimin smiles, and Jungkook glances away on instinct.

“How are you?” Jungkook tacks on as an afterthought.

“Good,” Jimin says. “I’m very ready for the weekend. This has been a stressful week. An author Q&A I’ve been planning had to be rescheduled last minute, and everything had already been booked, all the tickets were already sold… it was a mess.”

“Oh, yikes,” Jungkook says. “That’s not good.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says.

Silence stretches between them for a long moment.

“I was wondering if you would want to have lunch with me,” Jimin says. “One day next week, maybe.”

Jungkook blinks at him. 

This is probably a bad idea. The rational side of his brain is yelling that at him—in a very, very loud voice. 

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “That would be nice.”

The volume increases further. Jungkook tunes it out, rubbing at his temple.

Jimin looks intensely relieved. “Oh. Okay, great. I wasn’t sure if you would—well. I just thought it would be nice to catch up in person. Emailing you has been… um, I’m glad we’ve been doing that. But if you feel like this is too much or something—”

“No, no,” Jungkook says. “It’s not too much.”

This is definitely too much. This is dangerous, and you are an idiot, Jungkook’s brain yells at him. Do not fall in love with him again. You’re already walking down the path. You need to turn around.

“Okay. Good,” Jimin says. “I was hoping that… that we could be friends. I mean, maybe we already are? I’m not sure. But I feel like we could be. I want us to be.”

The alarm bells ring even louder. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “We can be friends. I would like that.”

His brain says: You don’t know how to be his friend. You only know how to love him and how to miss him. Do you think you can somehow learn how to be his friend after all this time? You know where this is leading, and you’re doing it anyway.

“Great,” Jimin says. He smiles wide, bright and happy, and this time, Jungkook doesn’t look away. He lets himself feel it: that pulse of warmth in his chest he always used to feel every time Jimin smiled at him. 

“Maybe we can go on Tuesday. I usually break for lunch around noon. Does that work?”

Jimin slips his cell phone out of his pocket and pulls something up on the screen—Jungkook assumes it’s his calendar. “Yup. My only meeting that day is at three, so that should be fine.”

“Okay. Cool,” Jungkook says. “It’s a date. I mean—no. That’s just, um, like, a saying. That just slipped out and I did not think about it at all. It is not a date. It is definitely not a date.” His cheeks flush bright red.

Jimin laughs, and Jungkook realizes with a jolt: it’s probably the first time he’s heard Jimin laugh in four years. 

It sounds like all his favorite memories. It sounds like coming home. That reminds Jungkook, again, that he needs to somehow retrain his brain to learn that Jimin isn’t his home anymore. He thought that work was already done, but apparently not.

“It’s not a date,” Jimin assures him, sliding his phone back in his pocket. “I think you’ll probably agree with me when I say that ship sailed a long time ago.”

“It absolutely did,” Jungkook says, nodding a little too fervently. The words sting, though, in a way that surprises him. 

“I think we’re better as friends,” Jimin says, but it doesn’t come out sounding confident at all. If Jungkook didn’t know better, he would think Jimin was speaking it out loud in order to try and convince himself that it’s true.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Definitely.”

The conversation has veered in a direction that has clearly made both of them uncomfortable. Jungkook clears his throat, rising out of his chair and grabbing his jacket. “Can I walk you out?”

“Oh, no, I still have a few things to wrap up,” Jimin says, eyes widening, probably at the sudden proximity between them now that Jungkook has stood up. He’s still against the cubicle wall, though, so there’s nowhere for him to go.

It’s the closest they’ve been, physically, since this all began. And it shouldn’t mean anything to Jungkook at all—since they’re friends, and friends have bodies, and it shouldn’t matter—but he’s close enough to see the pale sliver of skin revealed by the top two buttons Jimin has loosened on his shirt, close enough to see the shift of his rapidly dilating pupils.

The other side of Jungkook’s brain, the side that’s intent on betraying him, sings to him: Closer. Get closer.

Jungkook takes a couple steps backward, putting some distance between them. 

“That’s fine,” Jungkook says. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, then?”

Jimin nods. He smooths his hands down the front of his shirt, and his shoulders relax. “Yeah. See you then.”

                   then                   

“Why do you look so grumpy?” Namjoon asks, frowning. He’s practically shouting to be heard over the crowd of students tightly packed inside this tiny apartment, all yelling and laughing and dancing. 

Jungkook glances up from his almost-empty cup, fairly certain that he closely resembles a kicked puppy.

“I’m just being dumb,” Jungkook grumbles.

Namjoon softens a little. “I doubt it. What’s going on?”

Jungkook stares across the living room, through the densely packed crowd, over to the couch along the opposite wall. Namjoon follows his gaze, then lets out a tiny noise of understanding. “Ah.”

Jimin is perched on the arm of the couch, looking so beautiful that it makes Jungkook’s heart hurt a little bit. He’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt and giggling loudly, his cup sloshing and spilling a few drops of beer as his body shakes with laughter.

And standing in front of him is a tall, muscled guy Jungkook recognizes as one of Jimin’s business school classmates, Chanwoo. They’re engrossed in conversation, and Chanwoo is looking at Jimin like he wants to eat him alive. 

But Jimin doesn’t seem to notice. He never does.

Chanwoo says something else that Jimin apparently finds hilarious, because he doubles over in laughter, reaching out to grab Chanwoo’s shoulder, steadying himself. Jungkook winces.

“I’m sure they’re just friends,” Namjoon says, his tone hovering somewhere halfway between understanding and pity. 

Jungkook bristles at that. “I mean, obviously.”

Namjoon nods. “Right. Sorry. I’m just saying—it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means something to me,” Jungkook mutters.

“I think it’s just his personality,” Namjoon says. “He’s really flirty. I would even think he’s flirting with me, sometimes, if I didn’t know that’s just how he is.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Jungkook says. “You know how he is, but not everyone does. Chanwoo doesn’t. Chanwoo might not even know that I exist. He probably just assumes Jimin is into him, based on how he’s acting. How is that fair to me?”

Namjoon pointedly does not answer that question. “Have you tried talking to him about it?”

Jungkook nods. “We’ve been fighting a lot lately,” he says quietly.

“Well, why don’t you just go over there, then?” Namjoon suggests. “Stake your claim.”

“I’m not really like that,” Jungkook says. He leans his weight further back against the wall, sighing. “And I don’t want to have to be like that.”

Jungkook hates that he’s even reacting like this at all. He hates that a jealous streak was ever planted inside him. It feels like it was done against his will, like there’s this ugly, creeping thing growing in his mind that he has no control over. He doesn’t want anything to do with this paranoia.

But that feeling of slowly opening up, of making himself vulnerable, then finding that condom wrapper in Jihoon’s trash can—it’s still fresh. He hasn’t learned how to not worry about it. About what it would feel like to experience that pain again.

And because he loves Jimin so much, it makes the anxiety that much worse. Most of the time, it’s alright, but on nights like tonight, it eats him up inside.

Jungkook doesn’t bother Jimin while he’s talking to Chanwoo, deciding not to follow Namjoon’s advice. He spends the rest of the party sulking while Jimin flits around from friend to friend, chatting happily.

When Jimin’s finally ready to go home a few hours later, Namjoon decides to stay behind, so Jimin and Jungkook walk back to Jungkook’s dorm together. 

The night air is crisp, and Jungkook hugs himself and rubs his arms to generate some friction and warmth as they walk. He had planned on getting drunk tonight, but he ended up feeling too upset, and the few drinks he nursed throughout the course of the evening definitely weren’t enough to warm his blood and numb him to the cold.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jimin says. His cheeks are a little rosy, probably a mix of the alcohol and the chilly air. He bumps against Jungkook’s shoulder. “Did you have fun?”

Jungkook sighs, taking a few seconds to decide whether or not he wants to open this can of worms. Again.

“Not really,” Jungkook says.

Jimin looks surprised by that. “Why not? Is everything okay?”

“Well, I had to sit there and watch you flirt with Chanwoo all night.”

Jungkook winces at the way the words come out—with a lot more bite than he had intended.

Jimin visibly stiffens. He crosses his arms and stops walking abruptly, halting in the middle of the sidewalk. “I wasn’t flirting with him.”

Jungkook stops, too, turning to face him. “I think anyone who saw you two would probably say differently.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Jimin says, anger flashing in his eyes. “Obviously.”

“How is it obvious?” Jungkook asks, already exasperated. “Why can’t you just admit you flirt with everybody? It’s obvious to everyone but you.”

“Because I don’t,” Jimin grits out. “You are my boyfriend. I only flirt with you. I don’t flirt with other people, because that would be wrong.”

“But you do!” Jungkook says, raising his voice. “Namjoon has noticed it, too. It’s not just me.”

“Is there any particular reason you’re discussing this with your roommate instead of talking to me about it?”

“I’ve tried to talk to you about it already. Do you not remember?”

“Of course I remember!” Jimin says, hands now on his hips. “But obviously there’s still more to talk about, if you’re still insisting on getting upset every single time I speak to another guy.”

“Maybe if you didn’t flirt with every single guy you meet, I wouldn’t be upset.”

“Do you really, legitimately think that?” Jimin asks, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you not understand how offensive that is? To imply that I’d do that? That I would—that I would disrespect you in that way?”

A group of drunken girls approaches them from further down the sidewalk, probably coming from the same party, but as they get closer, they seem to sense the stand-off that’s occurring. They cross the street in a rush, tripping over themselves, continuing their trek down the sidewalk on the other side.

“I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you, directly, that it’s what you do,” Jungkook says.

“Well, you’re wrong, because I’m the only one who can definitively tell you what I’m doing, because I’m the one doing it! Flirting is something done on purpose, so if I was doing it, that means I would be doing it intentionally. And I’m not.”

Frustration is mounting inside Jungkook, a pressure building more intensely than he knows how to manage, like a dam that’s threatening to burst.

“I don’t understand what’s so hard to grasp about this. You can still be flirting, even if you’re not doing it purposely. Other guys can interpret what you’re doing as flirting, even if you’re not doing it purposely—”

Jimin whirls on him, cutting him off.

“I’m so fucking tired of this. Why can’t you just trust me?” Jimin asks, his voice breaking. “Why can’t you just believe what I’m telling you?”

“I do trust you! I just—”

“Obviously, you don’t,” Jimin says. “Because if you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

There’s something else in Jimin’s eyes, now, besides anger. Something like panic.

“It doesn’t seem like you ever try to consider my side,” Jungkook says, sounding a little defeated. “How I feel. Where I’m coming from. You just get so defensive.”

“I should be saying that to you!” Jimin says. He looks like he’s definitely about to cry now, his eyes shining and wet under the orange glow of the streetlamps. “How do you think this makes me feel? I hate feeling like you don’t trust me, and I hate feeling like you’re just going to get fed up one day and just—”

Jimin’s voice cracks, and he covers his face with one hand, squeezing his eyes shut.

Goddammit. 

“Hey,” Jungkook says, softening. He steps forward, placing his hands on Jimin’s arms. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“No! It’s not!” Jimin says, his other hand reaching up to join the one already covering his face. His voice is shaking. “I don’t think you understand how fucking terrified I get w-whenever we fight like this. I feel like it’s happening m-more and more and I don’t know what to do and I just feel like you don’t listen to me and—”

“Jimin,” Jungkook says, reaching up and gently pulling both hands away from his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Then stop,” Jimin says, reluctantly letting Jungkook wipe the tears off his cheeks. “Stop picking fights with me. I feel like we’re just—I don’t know what to do. I don’t fucking know what to do. This isn’t okay, and it’s not healthy, and I don’t know how to fix it, but if I… if I… we just have to figure it out, okay?” Jimin says, his voice cracking again. “Because t-there is no alternative. I’m not even willing to consider the alternative.”

“I know,” Jungkook says quietly.

Jungkook takes another step forward and wraps Jimin in his arms, squeezing tightly, and Jimin surrenders himself to the hug, pressing his cheek against Jungkook’s chest.

Jungkook knows Jimin is right. It feels like they’re spiraling out of control.

If you only listened to Jimin’s side, you would think it’s because Jungkook is starting all the fights, but that’s not true. While he certainly is responsible for his fair share, Jimin is, too. Jungkook feels like he’s walking on eggshells around him half the time.

And Jungkook feels guilty about it—guilty for even pointing that out—because of everything Jimin has been through. He lost his mom less than two years ago, and although he doesn’t talk about it much, Jungkook can sense that it’s still very much an open wound. Which is understandable—losing a parent so young is traumatizing. Jungkook can’t even imagine it.

He just doesn’t know how to help. On the nights when he sleeps in Jimin’s room, bodies pressed up close against each other in the tiny single bed, he’ll often wake up in the middle of the night to find Jimin shaking and crying, fast asleep, trapped in a nightmare he’s not waking up from. Jungkook rouses him as gently as he can, tries to calm him down to the best of his ability, but it’s gotten to the point where he can tell Jimin is really tired all the time and clearly not sleeping well at all.

He’s tried to ask Jimin whether he’s considered seeking professional help—like, seeing a therapist or grief counselor or something—but Jimin always shuts him down right away.

It seems like, if anything, Jimin has latched onto Jungkook for comfort instead. And as much as Jungkook loves him, he knows that will never be enough. It’s a lot of pressure—and as the tension between them has heightened, the pressure is only mounting. 

Because it seems like there’s only one thing that would break Jimin more than he’s already been broken, and that’s losing Jungkook. 

It’s overwhelming for Jungkook to think about. He doesn’t know how to fix all this. He doesn’t know how to navigate through these issues they’re facing—all the constant arguing and miscommunication and hurt feelings. He’s only nineteen, and in a lot of ways, he still feels like a kid. He doesn’t know how to move past the stupidity and jealousy he so often feels. He doesn’t know how to help Jimin heal from such a staggering loss. He doesn’t know how to save them from this path they’re barreling down.

It all feels completely out of his control, like a top that’s about to spin right off the table.

Sometimes, he finds himself wishing the universe had brought them together a just little later on. After they’d both had a chance to heal. They crashed headfirst into love before they were ready, and everything else has suffered as a result.

Admitting it to himself makes him feel like his chest is splitting open, but in the middle of the sidewalk, with Jimin clinging to his arms, Jungkook realizes things are not looking good. 

                   now                   

 “...and when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, he fell into this giant decorative fountain that was in the middle of the room. Like, fully submerged. I honestly don’t even know how he still works here.”

Jimin is laughing so hard that he appears to be in danger of falling out of his chair. So much, actually, that Jungkook is tempted to reach out an arm to catch him, just in case. 

Another old habit that he hadn’t realized was still lying in hibernation somewhere deep inside his brain. Until now.

“Honestly, I’m not even surprised,” Jimin says, wiping at his eyes as he uprights himself. “Seokjin is nuts. I think that’s probably why he’s never been fired, though. Him being so crazy means that he’s also really creative and cunning. The marketing team knows they would be toast without him.”

Jungkook has just finished telling Jimin one of his favorite Seokjin stories. At a launch party about six months ago, Seokjin got way too drunk, involving himself in increasingly ridiculous situations until his evening ended half-naked in the men’s bathroom, trying to dry his wet clothes under the hand dryer.

“You’re right about that,” Jungkook nods. “Most of my work ends up going to him for approval, and as much as I hate how picky he is, he’s never wrong. He has really good instincts.”

It’s Tuesday, and Jimin and Jungkook are out for lunch, the plans they had made the previous week. Jungkook was so nervous when he woke up this morning that he almost called out sick, but he eventually talked himself out of it. He would regret it if he cancelled. That much was clear to him, even if the rest was confusing as hell.

Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn’t put a little extra effort into his appearance this morning. He chose the black dress pants that fit slimmer than any other pair he owns, hugging his thighs and ass perhaps a bit more than is necessary in a professional setting. His button-down shirt was chosen with a similar goal in mind—it’s not so tight that it’s ill-fitted, but it’s a slim, tapered fit, tailored enough to show off the strong muscles of his arms, his chest, his back. 

He’s not sure if Jimin has already noticed how much more muscular he is now in comparison to when he knew him before. But if he hasn’t, he certainly will now. 

To be clear, Jungkook hates himself for even wanting Jimin to notice. He’s fully aware that it shouldn’t matter at all. They’re friends, apparently. And friends shouldn’t care whether said friends think their body is attractive or not.

Friends shouldn’t care about a lot of the things Jungkook finds himself caring about right now.

But it’s fine. He’s doing his best. 

They’re at a cafe directly across the street from the office, which had been Jungkook’s idea. Venturing any further than that felt too scary, and this was scary enough as it is. He wouldn’t usually come to this place—it’s expensive, and the portion sizes are really small, and he knows he’ll probably have to scarf down a snack at his desk as soon as they get back if he’s going to survive until dinner.

The atmosphere is nice, at least. The interior is all white and bright and breezy, and Jungkook is grateful to not feel suffocated.

“Do you still talk to Namjoon at all?” Jimin asks, scooping up some rice with his chopsticks.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, nodding. “He still lives in Seoul, actually. We’re not super close or anything, but we hang out and catch up from time to time.”

“He always intimidated me,” Jimin admits. “He was so insanely smart.”

“So are you,” Jungkook says, without thinking about it.

Jimin glances up at him, surprised. He takes a moment to finish chewing before he answers. “No, I don’t think so. Not like him.”

“You’re smart in a different way,” Jungkook says.

“That’s what I always used to tell you,” Jimin says, using his chopsticks to jab in Jungkook’s direction. “Remember? You always used to complain about how you thought you were stupid. Even though you’re ridiculously smart. Not in the same way as Namjoon, either—but in your own creative, unique, like, totally mind-boggling way.”

“Yeah. I remember,” Jungkook says quietly. 

Jimin clears his throat. 

“I saw your mom, once,” Jimin says. “Back home.”

“You did?” Jungkook asks, eyebrows raising. “When?” She hadn’t ever mentioned it to him.

“Maybe a year ago? It was at the grocery store. I was running an errand on the other side of the city, closer to where your parents live. Or, I mean—where I assume they still live, I guess.”

Jungkook nods. “They do. Did you guys talk?”

“No,” Jimin says, shaking his head. “She saw me, and I saw her, and we kind of just smiled at each other, and that was it. I always really liked your mom, but I wasn’t sure… um. I wasn’t sure if she would want to talk to me, you know?”

Jungkook swallows hard.

During the year they were together, they’d met each other’s parents during winter break, while they were both back home in Busan. Jimin, of course, won over Jungkook’s mom with his charms in approximately five seconds flat, and it was no time at all before she was gushing over how handsome and polite he was.

But Jungkook’s mom also saw what happened after that. She saw Jungkook, and all his brokenness, when he came back home for summer vacation the next year. She heard him crying himself to sleep at night during those first few weeks back home. She would come into his bedroom and rub his back after she thought he had fallen asleep. 

He was never actually asleep—but he would pretend. He was desperate for the comfort and too ashamed to ask for it.

So it’s understandable why Jimin wasn’t sure whether Jungkook’s mom would be friendly with him or not. She had witnessed the aftermath of their demise firsthand, and all the damage that it had done.

“I know what you mean,” Jungkook says after a moment. “But I don’t think she harbors any ill will toward you.”

“That’s good to know,” Jimin says. He sounds careful now—cautious in a way he didn’t before.

“She never told me that she saw you.”

“Do you talk to her often?”

“Not as often as I would like,” Jungkook admits. “I’m bad about keeping in touch with my parents. You know I always have been. But I try to go back home and visit whenever I can.”

“Yeah. I already went back to visit my dad once already, not too long after I moved,” Jimin says. “That was one of the things I told myself I would do—to make myself feel better about leaving. To convince myself that it was okay.”

Jungkook hums. “How do you feel about it now? Do you still feel like it was the right thing to do?”

Jimin nods. “Yes. I had to leave. And it’s obvious to me now, for a bunch of reasons, that it was what I was supposed to do. I feel like—yeah. I did the right thing.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“I know I’ve never really gone into the details about what happened after… um, you know. But I was financially supporting my dad and brother for about three years,” Jimin says, staring down at his coffee cup. “I lived with them for the first two. Until my dad went back to work. And I still helped him pay the bills for a while after that, while he was still getting back on his feet. Once he had been able to support himself for a full year… I felt like it was okay to stop giving so much. To do something for myself, finally.”

“Wow,” Jungkook says softly.

He hadn’t known. He knew, of course, the reason Jimin had moved back home. But he didn’t realize how long it had taken for Jimin’s dad to get back on his feet. Or how much Jimin ultimately gave and gave. How much of his own life he had likely put on hold during that time. Jungkook can’t imagine what that must have been like.

“I hated working at that PR firm back home,” Jimin says, laughing. “God, I hated it so much. My boss was a complete asshole, and I wasn’t passionate about the work at all. But I needed something in Busan, and I was willing to settle for anything that was relevant to my degree, especially with a salary that was decent enough to help support my family, so… yeah.”

“You gave up a lot,” Jungkook says.

Like us. You gave up us. But maybe you didn’t have as much of a choice as I thought you did.

“I did. I gave up everything,” Jimin says.

They’re both silent for a moment, the heaviness of the words not lost on either of them.

This is not a good path to go down. Jungkook considers how to pivot the conversation to another topic. He lands on something tangentially related and somewhat self-serving.

“Are you living on your own again, now, then?” Jungkook asks. 

It’s an innocent question. Completely innocent, friendly, and definitely not because he wants to know if Jimin is living with anyone important. He’s pretty sure he isn’t, but it never hurts to confirm.

“Yup,” Jimin says, nodding. “Finding a place on my own was kind of awful. Rent is crazy here, and it would have been really nice to have someone to split with. But, like I told you before, I don’t really have too many friends here… and I wasn’t keen on living with a stranger. So I’m just renting a studio for now.”

“Yeah. That’s why I live with Yoongi. Our apartment is actually pretty nice, since it’s a lot more affordable when you’re splitting rent.”

“How did you meet him?” Jimin asks. 

“He’s a friend of Namjoon’s, actually,” Jungkook says. “I had never met him, but Namjoon knew I was looking for a place, and Yoongi was moving to Seoul around the same time, so it worked out really well. He’s a few years older than me.”

“Oh, cool. So you guys aren’t…” Jimin trails off. 

Jungkook blinks. “We aren’t what?”

“Um,” Jimin says, his voice suddenly a little hoarse. “Like, together?”

Jungkook bursts out laughing.

He’s not sure which is more terrifying: the thought of him and Yoongi being romantically involved, or the fact that Jimin, for some reason, wants to know whether or not they are.

“No. God, no. Yoongi and I are not romantically compatible,” Jungkook explains. “He’s an amazing roommate, and a really great friend. But that… no. That would never happen.”

“Oh,” Jimin says, and he looks relatively relieved, although Jungkook questions whether or not he’s just imagining it. “Sorry if that was prying. I don’t want to—well, anyway.”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Jungkook says. He’s not even sure why he says it. It doesn’t matter at all.

“Ah. Yeah, me neither,” Jimin says.

Silence stretches between them again. Jungkook takes a long sip of his tea, buying time.

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak, plotting yet another topic change—but he’s interrupted by Jimin staring over his shoulder, towards the door, with a surprised look on his face.

“Jimin!” a deep voice calls from somewhere behind Jungkook. The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but Jungkook can’t place it. Jungkook swivels around in his chair to look. And it’s—

“Taehyung,” Jimin says, a wide smile spreading across his face. He stands up, and Taehyung gives him a hug, squeezing so tightly that Jimin winces a little. “What are you doing here?”

“Work errand. I had to—” Taehyung cuts himself off when he turns and recognizes Jungkook. He stares in shock for a moment, mouth slightly ajar. “Wait—Jungkook? You’re kidding. Is that you?”

“Hi,” Jungkook says, adjusting his shirt cuffs nervously. He’s always found Taehyung incredibly intimidating. Although he and Jimin were close friends in school, Jungkook didn’t know him very well. 

“Wow. You look really different. I barely recognized you,” Taehyung says. 

“I go to the gym a lot now,” Jungkook says, then immediately cringes at how awkward of a thing that was for him to say.

“I see.” Taehyung looks back and forth between Jimin and Jungkook a couple of times before he speaks again. “You guys… uh. Are you guys, like—”

“No,” Jimin says quickly, wiping his hands on a napkin anxiously. “We’re not.”

Jungkook shifts in his seat, growing more uncomfortable by the second.

“Oh,” Taehyung says, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I just thought maybe—since I know you used to—uh, well. I guess this is awkward.”

“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” Jungkook says, forcing a smile. “We’re coworkers.”

“Really,” Taehyung says. “Huh.”

“I guess it never really came up,” Jimin says to Taehyung, smiling apologetically. “But yeah. Jungkook works in the art department at Moonhak.”

It does seem a little weird to Jungkook that Jimin hasn’t mentioned him to Taehyung at all—especially if he’s basically his only friend in the city—but Jungkook’s going to start going gray prematurely if he spends too much time trying to figure out why Jimin is doing all the things he’s doing.

They spend a couple more minutes chatting, and then Taehyung excuses himself, saying he’s got to get back to the office. 

Jungkook is actually grateful for the intrusion, because it naturally presses the reset button on their conversation. It had gotten too serious—they were wandering into unsafe territory, and Jungkook wasn’t sure how to back out of it. 

Basically, Jimin was frowning a lot, which Jungkook did not like.

What Jungkook wants more than anything is to see Jimin smile and to hear Jimin laugh. It’s like crack to him—it always has been. And that’s okay, he thinks. It’s normal to want to see your friends smile. To want to make your friends laugh.

When Taehyung leaves, Jimin is the one to pick a new topic, and Jungkook is relieved that Jimin seems to naturally sense Jungkook’s desire to shift the conversation in a more lighthearted direction.

“I heard you’re working on the cover for Dream Boat,” Jimin says, clearly fighting back a smile. 

Jungkook groans, and Jimin can’t hold it in anymore—he bursts into laughter, covering his mouth with his hand.

“I complained to Seokjin about all the romcoms they’ve been assigning to me, and this is what I get in return. Not just another romcom… but another fucking boat-themed romcom? I truly, legitimately thought he was playing a prank on me. You know how he is. But nope. It was not a joke.”

“The sheer irony of them assigning these covers to you... when you absolutely hate boats... is so funny to me. I’m sorry. But it’s kind of hilarious. You have to admit it.”

“It’s just so bizarre. Why are boats becoming such a popular setting all of a sudden?” Jungkook asks, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Boats are not romantic. They are vessels of fear and terror.”

Jimin giggles. “They’re kind of romantic. You have to think about all the popular tropes in these kinds of books. Forced proximity… all the potential for things to go wrong… I can see the appeal. Plus, think about how popular Titanic was. There’s obviously something there that people like.”

“Ah, yes, drowning at sea. The pinnacle of romance. I, too, crave further tales of watery death and mass panic. It really gets me in the mood.”

“Stop,” Jimin says, laughing again. He reaches out to slap Jungkook’s arm gently. 

It’s the first time Jimin has touched him in four years. Jungkook should not be cataloguing it as any sort of important moment—in fact, he shouldn’t have noticed it at all. But he does notice it, and everything about it, like it marks some sort of shift: the feel of Jimin’s small hand on his forearm, the pretty silver rings adorning two of Jimin’s fingers, the way Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he laughs and pulls his hand away.

The moment passes in an instant, and Jungkook has to remind himself that it wasn’t a moment at all.

“The authors could be in our midst,” Jimin whispers dramatically. “You can’t say these things in public. I am paid to promote these tales of watery destruction, or whatever you called them, you weirdo.”

Jungkook can’t help it—he feels the corner of his mouth lift in a smile. 

“I doubt the authors are here,” Jungkook whispers back. “This is a shitty, overpriced cafe and I don’t think anyone outside of our office building actually comes here by way of their own free will.”

“Coming here was your idea,” Jimin says, still whispering.

“It was a matter of convenience.”

“I was surprised when you suggested it, because it’s so—” Jimin lowers his voice further, “—shitty and overpriced.”

“We can go somewhere else next time,” Jungkook whispers way too loudly.

“Next time?” Jimin whispers back, smiling a little.

“I mean—” Jungkook falters, his heart skipping a beat and then restarting in double-time. “If you wanted to.”

“Yeah,” Jimin whispers. “I want to.”

                   then                   

Jungkook’s sketchbook is sitting open on the desk in front of him, the same way it has been for the past two hours, because he isn’t paying attention to it at all. Pencils are scattered all over the place, but he hasn’t even picked one up.

He’s been too distracted by his cell phone, which is currently serving as the vehicle for today’s argument with Jimin. They’ve been texting and bickering all afternoon, and Jungkook knows he should just leave it—should just stop responding and focus on his work. The semester is ending in two weeks, and he still has three different final projects to finish.

But he can’t. He’s petty and grumpy and he doesn’t want Jimin to get the last word in. So he always responds, which means Jimin always responds, which means they’ve been arguing for hours, because nothing has been resolved. Which is unsurprising, since it’s basically impossible to communicate effectively via text.

Actually, lately it seems like it’s impossible for them to communicate effectively at all.

Eventually, Jimin got fed up and told Jungkook he was coming over so they could hash things out in person. Jungkook isn’t exactly looking forward to it, but he figures it’s probably a good idea, considering how long their texting battle has been ongoing. Plus, Namjoon is at the library, studying for finals, so they’ll have privacy here. Maybe if they’re able to settle things, Jungkook can finally get some work done.

He honestly doesn’t even remember what started the fight. And maybe nothing did—they’re pretty much in a constant fight lately, after all. It’s more likely for them to be fighting than it is for them not to be fighting. It is simply their way of being.

Jungkook hates it, but he hates the idea of breaking up even more. Going through this hell—for Jimin, it’s worth it, he thinks.

It’s probably just temporary, until they both grow up a little bit, he thinks. 

Jimin is the person he’s meant to be with for the rest of his life, so they’ll find a way to work through it, he thinks.

These are the things he tells himself. These are the things that he is willing to accept.

These are the things he thinks about when he’s lying in bed, cold, his back turned to Jimin, falling asleep without a goodnight. 

Jimin’s constantly on edge, oversensitive about everything, and he gets upset anytime Jungkook makes the tiniest misstep. Jungkook is intensely frustrated by how frequently he seems to mess up, leaving his ability to empathize and apologize continuously drained all the way down to nothing.

Since Jimin is graduating soon, Jungkook is hopeful that things actually might get better. Without the stress of school and the cost of tuition, Jungkook thinks maybe Jimin might be able to start going to therapy. They haven’t really talked about it—it’s kind of a sore subject—but Jungkook still hopes.

At this point, that’s all he can do.

Jungkook wants to try and be better, too, but they’re trapped in such a frustrating cycle of conflict that he feels like he’s never even given the chance to try.

Despite everything they’re going through, Jungkook can still see tiny glimpses of the Jimin he fell in love with, buried under all the hurt. The rare moments where he’s happy enough to laugh, or content enough to curl up in Jungkook’s arms, or in good enough spirits to make a weird joke that makes Jungkook snort and scrunch his nose—those are the moments that keep Jungkook hanging on. Those are the moments that remind him of why he fell in love with Jimin in the first place. 

For months, he’s been fighting to bring that Jimin back to the surface, but it seems like that’s not something he can do on his own. Not without Jimin’s help.

Jungkook is staring at the blank page in his sketchbook again, mindlessly dragging his pencil across the surface of the paper, when there’s a knock on his door. 

“Come in,” Jungkook calls out.

As soon as Jimin enters, Jungkook can sense that something is different. He isn’t sure what, exactly. But there’s a look in Jimin’s eyes that Jungkook doesn’t recognize—something resigned. Something even sadder than the grief and fear that always seems to linger there.

Jungkook quickly realizes that something is very wrong.

Jimin looks awful. His dark hair is disheveled and he’s got deep bags under his eyes. His t-shirt is wrinkled. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. 

Maybe he hasn’t. Jungkook wouldn’t know.

“Hi,” Jungkook says cautiously.

Jimin doesn’t respond. He takes in a deep, shaky breath, and his eyes instantly well with tears.

Okay. This is not off to a great start.

But no matter how mad he is at Jimin, seeing him upset like this always makes Jungkook’s heart feel like it’s being torn in two.

“Let’s just talk,” Jungkook says, still sitting in the small wooden chair in front of his desk. “I’m sure if we just talk—”

“Yes, we definitely need to talk,” Jimin says, walking over to Jungkook’s bed. He doesn’t sit, though—he lingers near the edge, pacing. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says. “Look, I’m sorry for what I—”

“No. Just listen to me,” Jimin says. His breathing is shallow. “I need to talk to you.”

Something nervous twists in Jungkook’s gut. It weighs heavy in his stomach—a feeling of unease. 

“Oh. Okay,” Jungkook says. 

He waits, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat.

Jimin crosses his arms. He’s not looking at Jungkook when he speaks. “I’m moving back to Busan.”

Jungkook stares at him for a few seconds, completely caught off guard.

“What?”

“I have to move back,” Jimin says. “To help my dad.”

“But…” Jungkook feels like he’s just been punched in the stomach. “I thought you were staying here. I thought you were looking for jobs here.”

“I was,” Jimin says. His voice sounds strange, detached. “But I can’t anymore. It was stupid of me to think I could.”

“It’s not stupid,” Jungkook says. “I just don’t understand—”

“My dad lost his job,” Jimin says. “A couple of weeks ago. He’s too depressed to work, and he stopped showing up for his shifts. So he got fired. And he needs help, so I need to move back. Okay?”

Jungkook blinks at him. He suddenly realizes that his hands are shaking. “Jimin, you should have told me—”

“How?” Jimin asks, turning to face him. “How could I have told you? We can barely talk about anything at all lately. I knew you wouldn’t take it well. And I didn’t have the energy to… to deal with this. This is the best I was able to do. I am doing my best.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Well, it’s fine, right? We’ll be okay. Busan is only a four hour drive. And there’s the train, too. I can come visit you. Or you could come on the weekend. Plus, I’ll be there over the summer.”

Jimin looks him in the eye, then, and that’s the moment Jungkook realizes.

That’s the moment Jungkook starts to freefall, his entire world dropping out from under his feet all at once.

“No, Jungkook,” Jimin says quietly. His voice quivers. “I don’t think we should.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, his voice tiny. It sounds pathetic to his own ears. “What do you mean you don’t think we should—”

“I think we should break up,” Jimin says, his voice a little firmer than before.

What?

“Jimin, I—what? No.” Panic instantly swarms Jungkook, intense dread that feels like it might swallow him whole. “No. No, we can figure this out. I know you’re overwhelmed, but—but we can—”

“I’ve never wanted to figure out anything more in my fucking life, but we can’t figure this out, Jungkook,” Jimin says. He’s crying now, but clearly trying not to—he’s making that pained, pinched face that happens when you’re trying to choke back a sob. “How could we? We’re not even working here, together, in the same place. How could we work so far apart? We couldn’t. We can’t.”

“But I don’t… understand? We said, we agreed—we said no matter what happened, we would stay together, because you’re—because you’re—”

Hot tears are spilling down Jungkook’s cheeks before he even has the chance to realize he’s crying.

“We can’t,” Jimin says, wiping at his own crumpling face. “I know we said that. But it’s not working, Jungkook. You… you have to see that it’s not working, right? It’s impossible for me to believe that you don’t—that you don’t see that.”

“I know things have been hard,” Jungkook says weakly. “But what if we just give it a little time...”

Jimin just shakes his head sadly.

No. No.

This has to be a sick, twisted dream that Jungkook will wake up from any minute now—panting, sobbing, in a cold sweat. 

“I can’t…” Jungkook trails off, still trying to process what’s happening. “You can’t—”

“You’re miserable because of me,” Jimin chokes out bitterly, cutting him off. “I’m making you miserable. And you’ve suffered through it long enough. You deserve better than this. Than—than me. It’s going to be even worse once I leave, and I can’t deal with that g-guilt, because I need to focus on helping my family and—and getting better—”

“But Jimin—”

“This isn’t up for discussion, okay? I already made up my mind. And I’m sorry. I’m so much more sorry than I could ever tell you. Because...” Jimin pauses, his voice thick. “Because I know we never thought this would happen, that we swore… that we swore it wouldn’t. But something has to change, because this is awful—it’s fucking awful, and it’s not working, and I think we need to just be done.”

The words ring out with a finality that Jungkook doesn’t know how to handle. 

Jimin is breathing hard, tears tracking down his cheeks, clutching his own arms so tightly that  Jungkook worries he might leave bruises.

And Jungkook has no idea what to do. 

He hasn’t even had a chance to process what’s happening yet. It feels like a car wreck in slow motion—like he just got hit at 100MPH and now he’s sailing through the sky, terrified of where he’ll land.

There’s a brief moment of heavy, crushing silence.

“But I… but I love you,” Jungkook says, feeling so embarrassingly small. So weak—so powerless. Like everything is crumbling and he’s not even being given the chance to fix it. “I still love you so much. I can’t—don’t you understand that? Doesn’t that—doesn’t that—”

“Love clearly isn’t enough for us, Jungkook,” Jimin whispers hoarsely. He says it surprisingly calmly, like he’s just sharing some bad news—like he’s not tearing apart the future they’d fought so desperately to preserve. Lighting it all up in flames, forcing Jungkook to watch it burn. “If love was all we needed to be okay, then we wouldn’t be in this situation. But we are. And you need to respect my decision. I told you already—I am so, so sorry. Please understand that I am so fucking sorry.”

“Do you…” Jungkook takes in a shallow, wheezing breath, feeling panic rise in his throat again. He can’t let Jimin leave. He has to keep him here, keep him talking. If he leaves—it’s over. If he can keep him here, he can talk him out of it. “Do you not love—are you not in love with me anymore?”

“Why are you making this so hard,” Jimin asks weakly, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “Do you think asking me that question is going to make this any easier?”

“Maybe for me!” Jungkook spits out, suddenly overwhelmed by an unexpected flash of anger. “Maybe for me, yes, it would—if hearing the answer will give me some closure, if it will help me understand why this is happening—”

Something snaps in Jimin, then. He whirls on Jungkook, fire in his eyes. He rarely shouts—but now he’s shouting.

“Of course I still love you,” Jimin screams hoarsely. “Is that what you want to hear? I’ll probably love you until the day I fucking die. That isn’t what this is about. I meant every word I ever said to you. About h-how much I loved you. About spending the rest of my—the rest of my life with you. Every word of that was true. So I need you to—I need you to understand how difficult this is for me, choosing this, choosing what’s best for me—what’s best for you—and giving all the rest up. This is not fucking easy for me, okay?”

“I just don’t understand,” Jungkook says. He’s not bothering to choke back the tears now—it would be impossible anyway. “It feels like I don’t… like I don’t have a say. Like you’re not even giving me a chance to—”

“We had our chance already,” Jimin says, his voice cracking again. “We both did. And we both blew it, over and over. There are no more chances. We can’t do this anymore. And I’m going to leave now. There’s no easy way to do this, and I just—I need to leave. There’s nothing else to talk about.”

Jungkook takes in a choking, wet, stuttering breath, staring at Jimin with wide, shining eyes. 

Begging without words. Pleading. Sinking into a pit he knows he’ll never be able to climb out of.

“Jimin. Please wait,” Jungkook whimpers.

“I want nothing but the best for you. I hope you’ll eventually understand that,” Jimin says quietly. He wipes his face, and he walks back over to the door, turning around to look at Jungkook before he goes. 

“Goodbye, Jungkook.”

He walks out the door. It softly clicks shut behind him.

And then he’s gone.

                   now                   

On their way back to the office after lunch on Tuesday, Jimin asks Jungkook if they can get lunch again on the following Tuesday.

So they do. And then they get lunch again on the Tuesday after that.

They also get lunch again on the Tuesday after that, at which point it becomes an unspoken agreement: on Tuesdays, they eat lunch together. It is simply what they do now.

And it feels normal. It's weird and sweet and good. It’s comforting in a way that Jungkook hasn’t felt comfort in a long time. He looks forward to it a lot. Mondays have never been his most favorite thing in the world, but they're a little more bearable when Tuesday is just around the corner.

The lunches sort of replace the nightly emails, although they still occasionally email each other from time to time. The emails aren't as long or heartfelt as the first ones, though. They're mostly dumb jokes, little stories about stuff that's happened at work, or random pictures from Jungkook's phone.

They have not exchanged numbers. Jungkook is very grateful that Jimin hasn't asked. That feels like crossing a line that is better left drawn in the sand.

Every week at lunch, Jungkook peels back a few more layers, getting to know the Jimin of present day. Gradually, the gaps are filled in: how Jimin spent his time over the past four years, how he’s changed and grown, and all the ways he's different now. All the ways he's the same, too.

And even though it’s hard, he lets Jimin peel back his own layers, too. He isn’t sure if Jimin likes this new version of him better or worse. But he figures they wouldn’t keep going to lunch together if Jimin didn’t.

It makes Jungkook really happy. He starts thinking about Jimin a lot. He lays in bed thinking about the things they’ve talked about. Thinking about the way Jimin looks at him from across the table. Thinking about his thin white dress shirts—thinking about the way the tattoo scrawled across his ribs peeks through the fabric when Jimin doesn’t wear a t-shirt underneath. 

He wonders what it would be like to spend more time with him than just lunches on Tuesday.

He should not be doing that.

But two months go by, and he'd do it forever, probably, if he could.

“Do you think I should dye my hair back to black?” Jimin asks Jungkook at lunch on the eighth week. The thought of it freaks Jungkook out so much that he almost jumps up and runs out the door of the restaurant.

“No,” Jungkook says after a moment, trying to sound calm. “I like the blonde.”

“Huh. Okay,” Jimin says. “I won’t, then.”

Jungkook isn’t sure why he even asked. Why Jimin cares what he thinks at all. He figures it’s probably best not to read into it too much, though.

They’re at a bibimbap place today. They never went back to that cursed cafe across the street from the office—since Jimin had been wanting to explore more of Seoul, they decided their lunch dates were the perfect opportunity to do that. Each week, Jungkook picks somewhere nearby that he already knows is good, and then they go there to eat.

These are all restaurants he's been to before—alone, or with friends, or with Yoongi, or on casual dates. He never imagined he would visit these places with Jimin. He never imagined he would see Jimin again at all, ever, actually. Thinking about that makes Jungkook feel a wide array of unpleasant emotions, however, so he tries not to think about it.

The weather is beautiful today. Spring is quickly fading into summer, and there isn’t a single cloud in the sky—it feels like the warm sun is gently kissing all of Seoul. The thought of going back to the office, of being cooped up in his cubicle for the rest of the afternoon with no windows in sight, makes Jungkook kind of want to die. He would much rather be laying on a blanket in a park somewhere, soaking up some desperately needed vitamin D.

“It’s so nice out,” Jimin says, staring out the window wistfully. The sun is reflecting off his hair, making it look like thread spun out of gold. “I wish we didn’t have to go back to work.”

“I was just thinking that,” Jungkook says, scooping up the last of the rice and veggies in his bowl and taking a big bite. He chews thoughtfully for a moment, following Jimin’s gaze out the window, and then he’s struck with an idea.

“What if we just… didn’t?”

Jimin blinks at him. “Are you saying we should quit our jobs? Who’s going to fund my extravagant lifestyle, then?”

“No,” Jungkook says, laughing. “I’m not saying we should quit our jobs. I’m saying we should call out for the rest of the day.”

Jungkook has never done anything like this. But there’s something about the way this afternoon feels—like it’s sparkling with possibility. He’s starting to realize that being with Jimin always makes him feel like that.

“Oh, I shouldn’t do that,” Jimin says, frowning.

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m sick or anything—”

“When’s the last time you took a day off?” Jungkook asks him, raising an eyebrow pointedly. 

Jimin thinks for a moment. “Umm…”

Five seconds pass, and he has still not remembered.

“See? Sounds like it’s been a while.”

“Well, yeah. I’m still new. I’m trying to make a good impression. My sweet and lovable personality can only carry me so far.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose, but he doesn’t take the bait. “You’ve been at Moonhak for months now, though. Do you have any meetings this afternoon?”

“No,” Jimin says reluctantly.

“Me neither,” Jungkook says. “And I already wrapped up the most important thing I was working on earlier this morning.”

“I guess my plate is a little more empty than usual today…” Jimin pauses for another moment, crossing his arms in thought. He laughs at himself a little in disbelief, like he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “Okay. Yeah, we should do it.”

Jungkook breaks into a wide grin. “Yes! I’m just going to email Seokjin real quick.”

“What are you going to tell him?” Jimin asks. “Let me copy you.” He leans over the tabletop, trying to peer at Jungkook’s phone screen.

“Just that I’m taking the rest of the day for personal reasons. No need to make up any excuses. He would see right through my bullshit, anyway.”

“He would,” Jimin says, smiling. He pulls out his phone, too, and they both spend a minute firing off quick emails to their respective supervisors.

Jungkook waves the waitress over so they can pay their bill. “So… what should we do?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, as long as it’s outside,” Jimin says. “Do you have any ideas?”

Jungkook does have an idea. But it’s a little risky, and he’s not sure if suggesting it will be crossing whatever unspoken line they seem to have drawn between themselves. The weather is perfect, though, and it’s been so long since he was able to go. 

He glances across the table at Jimin— at his hair reflecting the sunlight, at the childlike excitement painted all over his face. He isn’t sure why, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed by the gut feeling that suggesting this is the right thing to do.

“Do you remember that spot where I always used to go sit by the river? I took you there once,” Jungkook says carefully. “Underneath the overpass?”

Jimin nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

Jungkook wonders just how much he remembers. If he’s blocked it out, or if he ever thinks about it still. It’s not like it was their spot or anything—Jungkook used to go there all the time, but he only brought Jimin with him once. The night they spent together there, though, they said a lot of things that felt wildly important at the time. Promises that ended up burning to ash, along with the rest of what they had.

Jungkook thinks it would be good to make a new memory there. Maybe that’s why he felt compelled to suggest it.

“Well, I haven’t been there in forever. And if we want to spend the afternoon outside… that might be a good place to go. We could pick up some soju, maybe? And the overpass should give us some shade.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Jimin says. If he holds any sentimental attachment to their destination, he doesn’t let on. He still looks cheerful and thoroughly unperturbed. “It’s really pretty there.”

“Mmhmm,” Jungkook says. “Okay, well, cool. Let’s go.”

On the way there, they stop by a convenience store and pick up a cheap picnic blanket, some water, a couple bottles of soju, and a package of plastic cups. One subway ride later, Jungkook is letting them through the chain-link gate that leads down underneath the overpass and to the banks of the river below. The gate has been replaced, the links now a bright and shiny silver, but thankfully it still seems to be kept unlocked, at least during the day.

They settle on a spot, unfold the blanket on top of the grass, and then they sit down on it together.

It’s just as pretty as Jungkook remembers. The sun is twinkling and reflecting off the river, and the Seoul skyline looms behind it—not glowing the same way it does at night, but overwhelming in a different way. It’s mind-boggling to think about how many people are in their line of sight, how many humans are inside all those buildings. It feels like they’re at the center of the world, but here by the river, they have their own space. They don’t have to deal with the burden of all that chaos.

“Do you still draw? Like, besides the drawings you do for covers at work?” Jimin asks, pouring some soju into one of the plastic cups. He looks out of place here on the grass, in his fancy work pants and his button-down shirt, but in the shade, their business clothes actually aren’t as hot as Jungkook thought they would be. Jungkook is actually comfortable, despite his long sleeves.

“Mmm. I mainly just sketch,” Jungkook says. “I carry a sketchbook with me most of the time, so I can draw whenever the mood strikes, or if I see something interesting. It helps to relax me. Gives me something to focus on if I need to get my mind off things.”

Jimin hands the cup to Jungkook, then pours one for himself. “What do you draw the most these days?”

Jungkook tosses back the cup and drinks the soju before answering. “People. That’s never been a strong point for me, so I’m trying to practice more,” Jungkook says. “I’ll usually draw people I know, or random people I see on the street.”

“You can draw me,” Jimin says, bringing his hand up to his cheek and striking a pose. The way his cheek gets all squishy underneath his palm is painfully endearing.

“I don’t have my sketchbook with me,” Jungkook says, laughing. “I’ll have to draw you another time.”

“Fine. But I’m holding you to that. No one has ever drawn me before.”

“I will,” Jungkook says. “I promise.”

They’re quiet for a moment as Jimin pours more soju.

“Drinking when I’m supposed to be at work,” Jimin says, laughing and shaking his head. “Trespassing on private property. You’re turning me into a rebel. You were always the rebellious one.”

“I wouldn’t say this is private property, necessarily,” Jungkook says. “Maybe it’s not public property, but…” 

“And what does that make it, then, hmm?”

“Property of ambiguous status.”

“Okay,” Jimin says. He’s still smiling. “My point still stands.”

“Also, I’m not rebellious,” Jungkook says. “I’m more rebellious than you, maybe, but I’m not rebellious in general.”

“Maybe that’s not the right word. I just mean that you’ve always done whatever you want to do without worrying what anybody else thinks about it. I admire that about you a lot.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Jungkook says. “I don’t really view myself that way. I just… well... it’s important for me to feel like I’m being authentic, I guess?”

Jimin nods. “Yeah, I know. That’s what I mean. I wish I could be more like that. I get sucked into what people think, how people feel about me… it would be freeing to be more like you, I think.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jungkook says, gazing out at the river. “Sometimes I wish I could be somebody else.”

“Mmm. You shouldn’t,” Jimin says softly. “I think you’re perfect how you are.”

A weird feeling blossoms in the pit of Jungkook’s stomach. 

“I’m not,” Jungkook says, trying to laugh it off. “But thanks.”

Jimin stretches out, lying down on the blanket and staring up at the cloudless sky. “I miss the ocean right now.”

“Me too,” Jungkook admits. “The river is nice, but it’s not the same.”

“There aren’t many things I miss about home. But I think about the ocean all the time.”

“Do you miss the sheep?” Jungkook asks, smiling as he envisions Jimin gently patting a white, fluffy sheep on its head. 

Jimin laughs quietly. “Yeah, I do miss the sheep a lot.” He rolls over onto his side and looks up at Jungkook. “Do you miss home at all?”

“Besides a few small things, not really. I think Seoul is my home now.”

Jimin hums. Then his eyebrows crease in confusion, and he reaches over and grabs Jungkook’s hand. Jungkook nearly has a heart attack. 

“You have so many callouses,” Jimin murmurs, turning over Jungkook’s hand in his palm. “Why?”

He drops Jungkook’s hand back onto the blanket, which is helpful, because otherwise Jungkook isn’t entirely certain he would be able to formulate a coherent response. 

Jungkook should also be thinking critically about why Jimin grabbing his hand made his heart speed up, but he’s not ready to have that conversation with himself yet. 

“Oh. I play guitar,” Jungkook explains. “I mean, not well. It’s just a hobby.”

Jimin goes starry-eyed. “You do? Oh, I can totally picture you playing guitar. Acoustic?”

Jungkook nods, taking another sip out of his cup. He’s starting to feel a little tipsy, the buzz from the soju making everything feel pleasantly warmer. “Yeah, I bought a guitar maybe… two years ago? Around the time I graduated. I figured I would have more time on my hands and I wanted to try something new. I really like it, but I’m not very good.”

“I think you’re probably good,” Jimin says. “You always say you’re not good at things when you’re actually really good at them.”

“I do not.”

“I want to hear you play,” Jimin says, pouting. “I wish you brought your guitar.”

“In case you forgot, these plans were kind of spontaneous,” Jungkook says, teasing. 

“I know. Next time we’ll have to plan better.”

Next time. 

The promise and potential behind those harmless words hangs in the air between them, and even though he knows it shouldn’t, that it’s dangerous to feel it—it makes Jungkook happy all the same. It’s a warm, glimmering kind of happy, a kind of happy he hasn’t felt in a while. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon by the river, eventually taking off their shoes and socks so they can wiggle their toes in the grass. Jimin tells Jungkook stories about the neurotic clients he worked with at his old PR firm. He tells Jungkook about the kitten his little brother found on his way home from school a few years ago, a tiny black fluffball with bright green eyes. She’s fully grown now, and keeping Jimin’s dad company at home. Jimin’s dad pretended to hate her at first, but now she sleeps next to his pillow every night. 

When their stomachs start to grumble, they agree to pack up and head home. They walk to the subway station together. Jimin gets on his train, and Jungkook gets on his, going in the opposite direction. 

Jungkook sleeps really well that night. 

And that was the eighth week. The doomed week. The last week that Jungkook was able to fully commit to this delusional, ignorant state of bliss. Because after eight cozy lunches filled with laughter and soft glances and thoughtful conversation—after the sunny, dreamy afternoon spent by the river—Jungkook finally comes to a horrifying realization. 

He is falling in love with Jimin again.

He should have realized it before now. He’s spent weeks pretending that it wasn’t happening. But when it finally hits him, it’s during a simple, painfully ordinary moment, when they’re eating fried chicken together at lunch on the following Tuesday. 

They don't order any beer, since it’s the middle of the workday, but they're sharing two different flavors of chicken, crammed together at a tiny two-person table in the back corner of this hot, stuffy restaurant, dim fluorescent lights hanging overhead. Jimin has rolled up his sleeves, and his hair is falling into his eyes, and he glances up and catches Jungkook's eye right in the middle of biting into a huge chicken wing, and then he breaks into a huge grin.

And Jungkook's heart feels like it's swelling so big that it might burst. He smiles back, so wide that his cheeks hurt, and he can feel his nose scrunching. He can't help it. It's like a Pavlovian response.

But then he realizes what this feeling is, and his stomach swoops down, down, down. 

His smile fades.

He isn't supposed to feel like this. He is absolutely not supposed to feel like this.

This is how he felt when he was nineteen and stupid with stars in his eyes. This is how he felt the first time he brought Jimin to the Han River. This is how he felt the first time Jimin climbed into his lap and whispered: Touch me.

This is what loving Jimin feels like. 

Jungkook clears his throat, glancing away. Getting Jimin out of his line of sight just long enough to collect his thoughts. And then that little voice inside of him instantly starts begging: No. Please. I was almost home.

Jungkook spends the rest of their lunch in a state of inner turmoil, but if Jimin notices anything is amiss, he doesn’t let on. They chat about work like everything is normal. Jungkook tells Jimin about his latest unsuccessful trip to the animal shelter. Then they pay their bill and walk the three blocks back to the office in the warm spring sunshine. 

It should be nice, in theory—walking down the street side by side, the gentle breeze rustling their hair, arms brushing as they squeeze past other pedestrians on the sidewalk. It’s nostalgic, almost. But in this case, that is not a good thing. 

And Jungkook is terrified.

Six hours later, Jungkook is sitting on the couch in his apartment, legs sprawled out in front of him, hair in a messy bun, cell phone in his hand.

Staring. And thinking.

He knows what he has to do, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

He hasn’t even changed out of his uncomfortable work clothes, which is usually the first thing he does when he gets home. He just went straight to the couch, pulled out his phone, and began this staring match.

His work email app is up on the screen, and he’s pressed the button to write a new email. Jimin’s email address is in the “to” field. But that’s as far as he’s gotten. The rest is blank.

He’s trying not to beat himself up, mentally, for being so stupid. But it’s hard—because he feels really stupid. And right now, there’s no one around to tell him he’s not. He needs to hear Yoongi’s voice of reason desperately, but he won’t be home from work until later.

Truthfully, this is all Jungkook’s fault.

He could pretend that he didn’t see this coming. He could pretend that he didn’t ignore all the loud, blaring signs that were screaming at him like a truck horn the entire way down. He could pat himself on the back and say that he tried his best, but oops—he still fell into the trap anyways!

Deep down, though, he knows that he didn’t try at all. He opened his heart again, like an idiot, and let Jimin walk right in like he owned the place. 

And maybe Jimin always has. Maybe that’s something that has never changed.

As dumb as Jungkook feels, there is one thing he can still give himself credit for, and that’s doing the right thing right now. He deserves a lot of credit for it, actually, because he doesn’t want to do it at all, but he’s going to do it anyway.

He has to put an end to this.

He taps his phone screen to unlock it for the thousandth time, and then he types the email.

Jimin,

Thanks for having lunch with me today. And the other days, too. I’ve really enjoyed it, but unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to do it anymore. I just got assigned three new projects, and I’m super swamped. I think I’ll have to eat lunch at my desk for a while. 

If anything changes, though, I’ll let you know.

Jungkook

As soon as he sends it, he’s overwhelmed with the urge to cry. 

But he doesn’t have the chance. Not even two minutes pass before Jungkook’s phone vibrates in his hand, lighting up with an email notification.

He’s tempted to not even check it. But he sighs, long and deep, then taps the notification.

Hi Jungkook,

That’s okay. I understand. 

Stop by my office anytime you want. I’ll miss seeing you.

Jimin

Jungkook blinks at the screen.

He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

He’s also not expecting the tears that immediately well in his eyes and spill over, trailing hot and wet down his cheeks. 

Why does it feel like his world is ending again?

“This isn’t fair,” Jungkook says out loud, choking it out around the lump in his throat. He sinks down into the couch, burying his face in one of the corduroy pillows, curling into himself. “This is so fucking unfair.”

His heart aches, and it’s too much, so he decides to just let himself cry. It’s cruel and ironic, because this is exactly what he was hoping to prevent. Grief pushes down on his chest so heavily that he feels like he can’t breathe—grief he thought he would never feel again.

He’s trying to be wise. He’s trying to protect his poor, fragile heart, a heart that was once broken so viciously, mended back together so carefully over time—piece by piece, painstakingly, impossibly. It’s so much more delicate now than it once was. 

It’s so delicate, so tender, that Jungkook knows one thing for sure: he would not survive losing Jimin again. Surviving it once was impossible enough. 

And the only way to guarantee he doesn’t lose Jimin again is to never have him again. 

Because they don’t work. 

That’s why he sent the email. 

And that’s why he’s sobbing into his couch cushions, feeling like he’s just given up the most important thing he’s ever had before he’s even had the chance to have it.

                   then                   

Jungkook knows his bedroom ceiling by heart. He’s memorized it all: every smudge, speck of dirt, crevice and crack. He’s been staring at it nonstop for the past two days.

He can’t get out of bed, but he can’t sleep, either. So he stares at the ceiling—blinking, unseeing. 

Getting up means figuring out how to carry on, and he doesn’t know how to do that yet. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been lying there when he hears the door creak open and the sound of Namjoon stepping into the room. It’s pretty dark, but the blinds are closed—so it could possibly still be daytime. Or it could be evening. He honestly doesn’t know.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon says quietly. “Are you awake?”

Jungkook lets out a groan in acknowledgement.

“Can I turn on the light?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says. He pulls his gray blanket over his head, then hears the flick of the lightswitch.

“What time is it?” Jungkook asks from under the covers.

“I think it’s around six.”

“AM?” Jungkook asks, still disoriented.

“No,” Namjoon says, sighing. “PM. Can you come out from under there, please? I want to talk to you.”

Jungkook grunts, squinting against the light as he pulls the blanket off his face. He gradually shifts his weight, shimmying himself up until he’s sitting, leaning back against the headboard. His muscles ache with the movement. He can’t even remember the last time he got up. 

“You look like shit,” Namjoon says.

Jungkook glances down at himself. He’s been wearing the same sweatshirt for two days. It’s been just as long since he showered. He can’t even be mad at Namjoon for pointing it out.

“I know,” Jungkook says.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Jungkook says, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Okay. It was probably misleading for me to ask you that, because I don’t actually care whether you want to talk about it or not. I think you should talk about it anyway. You can’t just keep laying in here all day. You missed all your classes today, didn’t you?”

Jungkook nods. He feels terribly embarrassed, suddenly, and a knot of emotion wells in his throat. 

He doesn’t know how to talk about this. He hasn’t talked to anyone about it since it happened. He’s laid here for two days in silence, wishing that he could cease existing entirely.

Talking about it, saying it out loud—actually acknowledging that he and Jimin broke up—that feels like it would be finalizing it, somehow. Making it official in a way he isn’t ready to do yet. 

If he hasn’t admitted it to anyone else, then he doesn’t have to admit it to himself, either. Until now, apparently.

“Did something happen with Jimin?” Namjoon asks, his voice soft.

Just hearing Jimin’s name spoken aloud is enough to make Jungkook feel like he’s going to be sick.

He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. 

He can say it. They’re just words. It will be fine.

“Yes,” Jungkook says. “We broke up.”

As soon as he says it, he immediately starts sobbing. 

So much for keeping his emotions in check. He pulls up his knees and buries his face in them, hiding from Namjoon. He doesn’t want Namjoon to see him like this. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.

“Hey,” Namjoon says. His voice is calm, but Jungkook can tell he’s obviously a bit alarmed at the outburst. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Jungkook chokes out. “It’s not okay.”

“What happened?” Namjoon asks carefully. Jungkook feels the mattress creak and shift near his feet as Namjoon sits down on the bed.

“He’s moving back to Busan,” Jungkook says, his voice hoarse and croaky, his throat burning as he tries to choke back the tears that are now flowing well beyond his control. “And he said we—that we c-couldn’t make it work. That we fight too much.”

“I mean, it did seem like you fought a lot,” Namjoon says. “Didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah. We—we did. But I thought we could fix it. I thought it would get better. Jimin has been going through a h-hard time and I thought he would get better and everything would b-be okay.”

“Was he trying to get better?” Namjoon asks softly.

“I mean... no,” Jungkook says. “No, not really. But m-maybe after graduation, I thought it would be different.”

Namjoon is quiet for a moment.

“I’m really sorry, Jungkook. I know you loved him a lot.”

Jungkook shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Namjoon’s words force him to think about loving Jimin, and then he’s sobbing again.

“It was—it was more than just—” 

He can’t finish the thought. It feels like his heart is being clawed out of his chest by some violent, angry beast, trying to steal everything from him—but there’s already nothing left. 

“It’s okay,” Namjoon says. He reaches out hesitantly and pats Jungkook’s calf, the closest thing to him. “Don’t force yourself.”

“It was more than just love,” Jungkook manages to say, pulling away from his knees to look up at Namjoon, his face streaked with tears. “It was m-more than that. He was like—he was like another part of me. When I met him, it was like… something—something changed. Like I wasn’t complete before, and then—and then I was. But now he’s—”

Jungkook dissolves into tears again.

He’s seen other people go through breakups—seen other people act like the world is ending just because their relationship has ended. And he never understood it. It always seemed dramatic to him. Unfathomable, even. 

But he gets it now. Because this feeling—there’s no better way to describe it than the end of the world. It’s just dark, swirling grief and sorrow. A bottomless pit of despair. Like he’s being forcibly held down underwater, drowning more every second, choking on water and gasping for air. Wondering how it’s even possible to live beyond this. Wondering what living will even look like beyond this. 

Wondering if he even wants to.

Because all the dreams he had for the future—everything he’d imagined for himself, everything he’d planned for the life he thought he’d live—it was all with Jimin. Everything was supposed to be with Jimin.

And now Jimin is gone.

“I gave him so much of me,” Jungkook cries, getting increasingly worked up, unable to get a decent breath in. “I gave him—I gave him so many pieces of me. There’s—I don’t even know what’s left—I thought he would always—”

Namjoon sighs.

“That’s how life works, Jungkook,” Namjoon says quietly, patting his calf again. “That’s what we’re meant to do. All throughout our lives, we give away pieces of ourselves to everyone we meet. You might only give small pieces to some people. You might give so many pieces to someone else that you feel like you don’t have any pieces left. But here’s the thing—the pieces you gave away were meant to be given away. You can’t get them back. They served their purpose, and they’ll always be with that person now.”

Namjoon is silent for a moment, waiting as Jungkook takes in a shuddering, painful breath.

“You need to realize that no matter how many pieces you gave Jimin, there’s a part of you that can’t be given away. That’s you—who you are. No one can take that from you. And eventually, once you realize you’re still in there—that you always will be—I think you’ll feel ready to give pieces away again. And if it takes you a while, that’s okay.” 

Jungkook can’t process the words now. He’s too upset. But he files it away—what Namjoon said, so that he can think about it later, when his mind is clearer. It sounds smart—he can recognize that much. Everything Namjoon says is usually smart. He knows that. He can cling to that.

“I know it seems impossible now,” Namjoon says. “But you’re gonna feel better eventually. You’ll probably go through all the stages of grief. You lost someone really important to you. But you’ve gotta pick yourself up and keep going. I didn’t help you with your English class all semester just to watch you fail all your final exams. Okay? Just try a little bit. And please let me know if I can help you.”

Jungkook nods, sniffling. He’s managed to catch his breath a little while Namjoon was talking. He feels pathetic and gross and snotty. He doesn’t even feel like a person, actually. 

“Yeah. Okay,” Jungkook mumbles. “I will.”

“You should shower,” Namjoon says, wincing. “You smell really bad.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, wiping his face with the sleeves of his sweater. “I mean, not for telling me I smell. For—for the stuff you said.”

Namjoon gets up, crossing back over to his side of the room. “Anytime. I mean it. Anytime you need to talk, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook says.

And then Jungkook gets out of bed, and he takes a shower.

It’s tiny and insignificant and something most people do every day. But it feels like a big deal to him, because it’s the first thing that he is doing, officially, since Jimin left.

He can't change the fact that Jimin is gone, which is a terrible, impossible reality he still doesn’t know how to face, but somehow—despite that—he is getting up, and he is doing a thing.

After towel-drying his hair and pulling on a clean pair of sweatpants, he’s not sure if he can accurately say that he feels better. But he feels cleaner, and less stinky, which is definitely not a bad thing.

That ends up becoming his goalpost for each day: doing a thing. At least one thing. It might be going to one class, or studying for one final, or something as small as tidying up his side of the dorm room. Most of his days are spent thinking about Jimin, missing Jimin so intensely that it feels like there's a fire burning in his chest he doesn't know how to put out, but in the time it takes for him to do one thing—in those moments where he's able to find the strength and energy to do that thing—he feels a little relief. He's able to think about something else, if only for a little while.

And that is what carries him through those last two weeks of school. His grades suffer, he barely gets anything done, and he cries so much that he's perpetually dehydrated. It's awful, and sometimes he isn't even sure how he’ll make it through to the end of the day. But he survives, and then the semester ends, and then he packs up his stuff for the summer and moves back in with his parents in Busan.

He wonders if maybe he'll run into Jimin again. He thinks about whether he might see him somewhere in Busan, unexpectedly, during the three months he's living at home. He thinks about it all the time, actually. Anytime he leaves the house, it’s at the front of his mind. He looks for Jimin everywhere he goes, like he’s searching for a lost part of himself. 

Jungkook thinks if he could just get another glimpse of him—maybe he would feel better. Maybe he could start to let go. Because the first time they said goodbye, he definitely wasn't ready. He wasn’t ready for that to be the last time.

But he never sees Jimin again after that.

                   now                   

Jungkook does not stop by Jimin’s office.

The next Tuesday, he eats lunch at his desk, and it’s just as depressing as he anticipates it will be. He heats up some instant jajangmyeon in the break room microwave and prays he won’t run into Jimin on the way.

Jungkook can’t see him. Ideally, he shouldn’t even speak to him. That’s the only way he’s going to be able to get over this. To be able to squash these overwhelming feelings that he so irresponsibly allowed to flourish.

The noodles are cold and slimy, and he only manages to eat half.

Later that day, Seokjin sends Jungkook an email, asking him if he wants to attend a big publishing conference that’s being held in Incheon next month. The company always sends a bunch of people every year, and Jungkook has never gone before, but apparently there are some educational workshops he might be interested in, and Seokjin mentions that he can help staff the company booth, if he wants to. Jungkook would rather take an elevator straight down to hell than staff the company booth, but he looks at the conference schedule, and some of the sessions actually sound interesting—so he replies to Seokjin’s email and tells him he’ll go.

He could use a change of scenery, anyway. It’s not like Incheon is far, but it’s been ages since he even left Seoul. Maybe a brief escape is exactly what he needs.

It’s the only remarkable thing on his calendar for the foreseeable future, which is probably sad, but at least it gives him something to look forward to.

The days blur together. Jungkook cranks out cover design after cover design: a thriller set in New York City, a romcom about two strangers on vacation, a memoir by a prominent CEO. The covers are dull and uninspired and he knows it, but Seokjin doesn’t say anything. Time trudges onward, and as the weeks go by, Jungkook still feels overwhelmingly empty and alone.

He still thinks about Jimin all the time.

He does not feel better.

Jungkook can feel Jimin’s absence in his life like a dull, throbbing pain. It’s not sharp enough to interfere with his ability to function, but it’s present enough to constantly remind him that something isn’t right. 

And it seems like Jimin has finally caught on, which makes Jungkook feel even worse.

At first, he would still email Jungkook from time to time—telling him a little story about something that happened that day, or just sending him a quick note to say hello, like he always used to. But Jungkook stopped initiating his own emails, and over time, his responses to Jimin got shorter and shorter. The time it would take him to reply eventually stretched longer and longer.

Jimin seems to have finally taken the hint, because now it’s been two full weeks since they’ve spoken at all.

Jungkook often wonders if it might have been better to be honest with Jimin about the reason for cutting off contact. He gets a prickly feeling in his gut when he thinks about Jimin trying to figure it out—wondering if he did something wrong. Jungkook hates that he might be responsible for making him feel that way.

But maybe it’s not a big deal to him the way it is to Jungkook. Maybe he doesn’t miss Jungkook at all.

Honestly, Jungkook tries not to think about how Jimin feels. He thinks it’s probably better if he doesn’t.

The thing is, Jungkook is still certain this was the right thing to do, even if he hates everything about it. There’s no way he would have been able to get over these feelings otherwise. If he was still hearing Jimin’s laugh—if he was still close enough to touch—he’d have never had a chance. This, at least, gives him a fighting shot.

Even if it doesn’t seem to be helping very much so far. 

He tries to remind himself of all the reasons for it, though, when he’s lying awake in bed at night. It’s become a regular part of his routine at this point—every evening, it’s the same: he works out, he showers, he pulls on a pair of clean pajama pants. No shirt, because summer’s almost here, and it’s too hot. He puts quiet music on the Bluetooth speaker he keeps in his room, he turns off all the lights except for the purple nightlight he keeps on his desk, and then he climbs into bed, pulling the covers up all the way to his chin.

But he does not sleep. 

He thinks about Jimin. Not just about the new Jimin he’s come to know, but about the old Jimin, too. He’s learned enough now to reconcile the two. And what he sees is a flower that’s still managed to grow despite being planted in the worst conditions, despite a long season where it couldn’t manage to bloom at all. The Jimin that Jungkook knew before wasn’t ready to turn his face toward the sun. But today’s Jimin is gazing upwards—he’s growing, blooming, stretching out past the shadows and into the light.

Jungkook wonders, of course, if that would be enough. If maybe the things that doomed them four years ago wouldn’t be an issue anymore, now that Jimin has had time to heal. Would they still fight so much if they tried again now? Were they really that deeply incompatible, or was it just their awful circumstances? 

If given another chance, could they bloom the same way Jimin has?

Jungkook doesn’t allow himself to wonder about that too much. He’s already made his decision, and questioning it only makes it more difficult.

He reminds himself over and over: They didn’t work. They couldn’t work. And they proved it.

When Jungkook leaves for the conference in Incheon, it’s a rainy Monday morning, and he has to show up at the office early to carpool over with the other attendees. It’s only about an hour drive outside the city, so they’re sharing cars to get there, and the few employees who actually have cars have volunteered to drive. They’ll all be staying in a hotel during the duration of the conference, though, to avoid having to make that long trek back and forth each day. 

Jungkook packs a small suitcase with enough semi-professional outfits to last him the three days, plus a backpack stuffed with his laptop and a couple of empty notebooks and sketchbooks—that way he can take notes during the conference sessions, doodle to keep himself busy during any downtime, or make himself look busy when he finds himself inevitably not wanting to interact with other humans.

He bids a very sleepy-looking Yoongi farewell in their shared kitchen, rolls his little suitcase out the door, takes the elevator down to the building lobby, and spends a moment struggling to open his umbrella before he’s on the street and making his way to the subway station he uses to get to work every day.

It’s barely 7AM, and although the sun rose a while ago, the sky is grey and cold. The rain is making everything feel damp and unseasonably chilly. Jungkook is nearly shivering by the time he gets off the train and walks the two blocks from the station to his office building. He rummages through his jacket pocket to find his keycard, then uses it to swipe into the lobby, which is where everyone agreed to meet. Usually it’d be open, but since it’s before 8AM, it’s still locked.

He shakes off his umbrella a little bit before he walks through the door. The lobby is already crowded with about 20 people, some with wet hair from the rain, chatting amongst themselves. 

“Jungkook!” 

Jungkook cranes his neck a bit, trying to find the source of the voice. He doesn’t have to try very hard—after a moment, Seokjin is squeezing through the small crowd, waving excitedly.

“Oh, hi. Are you running this show?” Jungkook asks, shrugging off his damp jacket.

“I sure am,” Seokjin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard he’s holding in his other hand. It appears to have a long list of names on it. He scans down the list and crosses out a name—presumably Jungkook’s.

“We’re still waiting on a few more people, and then we can be on our way,” Seokjin says. “Have you changed your mind about staffing the booth?”

“I will absolutely never change my mind about staffing the booth.”

“Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask!” Seokjin says, smiling far too brightly for 7:30AM.

“Trust me, you don’t want me to staff it anyway. You know how awkward I am. I would scare people away, and I think that is probably not the goal.”

“You’re not awkward,” Seokjin says. “You’re just… well, you know. You’re you!”

Jungkook says nothing, raising one eyebrow slightly.

“Anyway,” Seokjin says, “Just hang out with people you know, and you’ll be less uncomfortable. You know some of the people who are coming, right? It looks like…” Seokjin glances down the list of names. “Byeol is coming. Me, of course. And…” He drags his pen down the list a bit further. “Jimin is coming, too.”

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat, then starts beating double-time.

“Oh,” Jungkook says, keeping his voice level. Trying to, anyway. “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t?” Seokjin asks, surprised. “I thought you guys were close.”

Jungkook clears his throat a little. He’s floundering. “Uh, yeah. We—uh. I mean, I guess it just didn’t come up.”

“Okay,” Seokjin says in a weird voice. “Hey, speak of the devil!” He glances over Jungkook’s shoulder, towards the door.

Jungkook closes his eyes for a moment, sighing.

“Hi, Seokjin,” Jimin’s voice says from behind him. Too close behind him, actually—the sound makes goosebumps rise on Jungkook’s skin.

“How nice of you to finally show up,” Seokjin says, crossing Jimin’s name off the list on his clipboard. “I was actively considering leaving you behind.”

“You would never,” Jimin says, stepping into Jungkook’s line of sight. Jungkook hesitantly meets his eye, offering him a small smile.

He smiles back. A damp piece of hair is falling down into his eyes. He’s not wearing his usual suit and tie—today he’s got on a soft cashmere sweater and brown slacks. Jungkook is overwhelmed with the urge to wrap him in a bear hug. 

They haven’t hugged at all. Not since years ago. Maybe that’s why he feels so compelled.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Jimin says. He doesn’t say it angrily—it’s light and friendly, but Jungkook can clearly see the question behind his eyes.

“I’ve been so swamped,” Jungkook says, scrambling for an excuse. “Lots of deadlines over these past few weeks. I’m just barely starting to climb out from under the pile.” He laughs nervously, and it sounds empty to his own ears.

“What?” Seokjin asks, clearly confused. “As far as I knew, your workload had been lighter than usu—”

“Anyway, I should get going!” Jungkook practically shouts, bowing a little and stepping back from the two of them. “I promised Byeol I would ride with her,” Jungkook lies. “Need to track her down. Bye!”

Seokjin is already distracted by someone else walking in the door. Jimin doesn’t say anything—he just offers a small wave goodbye with an unreadable expression on his face.

When they decide who’s riding with who, Jungkook purposely sticks close to Byeol, on the opposite side of the lobby from where Jimin has settled into a conversation with Hoseok. The thought of being trapped in a vehicle with him in such close quarters—the thought of sitting next to him in the backseat, where they’d surely ask Jimin to cram into the middle, thanks to his portability and flexibility—thinking about how their thighs would be pressed together, close enough to… 

Jungkook blinks himself out of the reverie. No. That is not happening. 

He ends up riding with Byeol and three other people he doesn’t know.

The first day is a blur—a packed schedule with four different workshops and sessions, a keynote speaker, and a happy hour when it’s all done. Jungkook checks out the sponsor area during the lunch break, curious to have a peek at Moonhak’s booth, but he gets within a 50 foot radius and realizes Jimin is there, chatting and laughing with some purple-haired girl from a different company. So he bolts, spending the rest of the break sitting in a corner and sketching.

So much for using this trip as a way to get Jimin off his mind.

It’s a little hard to focus, but he’s still glad he came. Even only after the first day, he’s learned a lot of valuable stuff to bring back to the office and share with the rest of his department. One of the workshops was focused on typography trends in cover design, and he was so inspired that he had filled three whole pages of his notebook with ideas by the time the session was over.

He’s super drained by the time the happy hour rolls around. Some people—namely, extroverts—might find it exciting, or relaxing, even, but not him. Interacting with people is hard work. Making small talk is even harder. So he hovers around the people he knows, clinging to Seokjin and Byeol like a lifeline, nursing a single bottle of beer and staring at everyone around them with wide eyes. When Hoseok joins their circle and starts chatting, Jungkook realizes they are in grave danger of a certain someone else joining too, so he immediately starts plotting his escape.

And the escape is successful. Before Jimin has a chance to find them and join in on the conversation, Jungkook drains the last of his beer bottle, excuses himself, and heads down the escalator to the main floor of the convention center. After that, it’s a brief walk over to the elevators to access the hotel that’s conveniently connected to the other side of the building.

He pushes the button. He waits. The elevator doors open. He steps inside. Then the doors close, and he’s alone. 

The sudden silence is jarring after spending the entire day surrounded by hundreds of people chattering and laughing. But it’s soothing, too, like he can finally hear himself think.

He already checked into his hotel room earlier, so all he has to do is remember the right floor, and then it’s only another moment until he’s unlocking the door to his room, where he is fully planning on staying for the rest of the evening. 

He’s always loved that feeling of coming back to a hotel room after a long day and experiencing the intense relief of knowing you don’t have anywhere else to be. Knowing that it’s okay to kick off your shoes, strip off your day-old clothes, take a hot shower, and crawl into the fluffy white bed. To let your head sink into the softness of the feather pillows and not worry about anything until tomorrow.

So that’s exactly what he does. He yanks off the conference lanyard hanging around his neck, tossing it facedown on the desk in the corner of the room so that he’ll be able to find it easily again tomorrow morning. Then his shoes and socks come off, then his belt, then his tie. He hauls his suitcase up onto the bed, then rummages through it until he finds a pair of navy sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. He grabs those, along with his toiletry bag, then pads barefoot over to the bathroom, where he deposits his things on the countertop.

He turns around, hums to himself for a moment, then starts running a bath.

It’s kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision. His apartment only has a shower stall with no tub, so his opportunities to take a long, hot bath are severely limited. After such a tiring day, it sounds like a nice thing to do, theoretically. He doesn’t even take baths often enough to know whether he really likes them or not.

The tub is deep, so it takes a while to fill. He scrolls through his phone aimlessly, then notices the small bottle of hotel shower gel sitting on the bathroom counter. He brought his own body wash, so on a whim, he grabs the whole bottle and dumps it under the running water, hoping he can create a makeshift bubble bath. And it works—foamy bubbles appear right away, filling the bathroom with the generic scent of the shower gel, steam rising as the tub fills. It smells like something green—woody, maybe.

He strips off the rest of his clothes, then steps into the tub, slowly sinking down until the water rises up to his shoulders.

It feels amazing. He’s a little sore from walking around and sitting in uncomfortably tiny chairs all day long, and the hot water feels incredible on his achy muscles. He leans his head back against the edge of the tub, sighing deeply.

It’s been a long time since he did something like this. Something out of the ordinary, just for the sake of making himself feel good. He thinks he should probably do it more often. 

He’s not sure how long he actually stays in the tub, but it’s long enough for his fingers to prune up and the water to go lukewarm. By the time he gets out, though, he’s significantly more relaxed. He might even say he’s in good spirits. It’s been a while since he could say that.

He pulls on the clean t-shirt and sweatpants he’d brought into the bathroom, towel-dries his hair, then heads back out to the bedroom. As much as he hates to think about it, there are a few urgent work things he really should take care of before he goes to sleep. Work is piling up while he’s not at the office, even after a day, and he’ll rest better if he takes care of the pressing tasks that are lingering at the back of his mind.

He pulls his laptop out of his backpack and sets it up on the desk, searching through his bag until he finds the charger, and then he plugs that in, too. He doesn’t intend to work long enough for his laptop to die, but it’s just in case.

He probably jinxes himself with that move, because as it turns out, he does work long enough for his laptop to have died, and then some more after that. When he checks his email, there’s a super urgent request sitting at the top of his inbox from someone on the marketing team, asking for last-minute revisions on a cover design that was supposed to go to print, like, yesterday. Jungkook swears he remembered to turn on his out-of-office autoresponder for emails, but it doesn’t seem like this particular coworker got the memo.

So he finishes the revisions, and in the blink of an eye, the evening is gone. It’s not like he really had much else to do, anyway, but he’s surprised at how late it’s gotten by the time he sends off the new files for approval. 

He shuts his laptop, yawning wide. He has to get up early for conference festivities tomorrow, so he really should sleep.

He brushes his teeth, combs his hair, and tidies up the room a little bit. Then his t-shirt comes off, and he climbs into bed, instantly appreciating the feel of the soft, clean sheets against his bare skin. He can already sense that these eight hours of sleep are not going to be enough. 

He’s just curled up on his side underneath the covers, TV playing softly in the background, when there’s a knock on his door.

He props himself up on one arm, squinting at the door in surprise. After a few seconds, there’s another knock—and it’s almost so soft that he doesn’t hear it.

He probably shouldn’t answer it. Isn’t this is how people get murdered? But he figures it could be Seokjin, or housekeeping, or something, so he yanks off the covers and hops out of bed. He grabs the t-shirt he’d just taken off and tossed onto the back of the chair by his bed, hastily pulling it back on.

He pads over to the door quietly, hoping he won’t alert the person on the other side to his presence, just in case he decides he doesn’t want to answer it. Once he’s close enough, he leans forward, staring through the peephole.

It’s blurry and distorted, but he would know that head of blonde hair anywhere.

“What,” Jungkook murmurs, dragging a hand over his face. “What. Why?”

He flounders for a few seconds, wondering what to do. He could just pretend to be asleep. That would definitely be easier. But then he realizes that something might actually be horribly wrong if Jimin is showing up at his hotel room in the middle of the night, so he decides to open the door.

Taking a deep breath, he unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door—only enough to poke his head through.

“Hi,” Jungkook says, quickly giving Jimin a once-over, examining him for any obvious signs of distress. “Is everything okay?”

He does not appear distressed at all. His hair looks extra-soft, and it’s a little damp, like it’s still drying from the shower. He’s barefaced, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants. 

It’s been a really long time since Jungkook saw him like this. He’s hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia—one he’d rather not be experiencing at the moment.

“Hi,” Jimin says. “No, everything’s fine.”

Jungkook blinks. “Oh. Okay. Uh…” he pauses for a moment, expecting Jimin to share the reason behind his unexplained presence at Jungkook’s door. 

He does not.

“Why are you at my door?” Jungkook asks slowly, trying not to sound rude.

“Oh. Right. Well, I realized I don’t have your number—otherwise I would have texted you. And I know I could have emailed you, but I figured you probably wouldn’t be checking your email at this hour. So I just… came.”

“How did you even know which room was mine?” Jungkook asks, still confused.

“Oh. Seokjin had the list of everyone’s rooms, so I just asked him,” Jimin says with a shrug.

“Okay. Um… do you need something?”

Jimin smiles a little. “That’s kind of a complicated question. Is it okay if I come in?”

Jungkook stammers. “Well, um—”

This is an awful idea. This is a terrible, awful idea, and Jimin probably doesn’t even have the slightest clue of what an awful thing he’s just suggested, since he has no idea that Jungkook is a stupid idiot who’s fallen in love with him again. 

But surely if he knew, he would agree this is a terrible idea.

It’s not like Jungkook can tell him that, though.

Jimin is just staring up at him, waiting patiently for his response, and in the dim light of the hallway, he looks like everything Jungkook has ever wanted. 

Jungkook does not know how to say no to that.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, opening the door the rest of the way and stepping back so that Jimin can come in. “Sure.” 

“Thanks,” Jimin says, following him inside the room. The door clicks shut behind him.

Jungkook immediately feels like they’re trapped inside a tiny closet or something—not a huge hotel room with a king size bed and a couch. He backs up, putting some space between them.

When he glances back at Jimin, Jimin is staring at him with an expression of complete awe. Jungkook looks down, confused, following the line of Jimin’s sight, until his gaze lands on his own arm.

He realizes, then, that Jimin hasn’t ever seen his tattoos before. He’s only seen him in his office clothes, and he wears long-sleeved dress shirts every day.

“Your tattoos,” Jimin breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Jungkook says. He tries to sound nonchalant, but Jimin’s words light a fire in his chest, sparking a confusing mix of feelings—pride, bashfulness, and other things he’s too scared to name.

“Can I…” Jimin trails off, taking a step closer to him. “Can I see them?”

Jungkook nods, swallowing. “Um, sure.” He lifts up his arm, holding it out in Jimin’s direction.

And the next thing Jimin does, Jungkook does not expect. He reaches out, cradling Jungkook’s forearm in his hands, fingers tracing over the intricate designs that have been inked there.

At the touch, Jungkook inhales a sharp breath, then prays that Jimin didn’t notice.

“Wow,” Jimin murmurs, turning over Jungkook’s arm to look at the other side. His fingertip traces lightly over the tiger lillies on the sensitive skin of his inner arm. Goosebumps erupt all over Jungkook’s skin.

“How long have you had these?” Jimin asks. 

His hands are still on Jungkook’s arm, and it’s very difficult for Jungkook to formulate a coherent answer when Jimin is touching him like this. 

“I got my first one when I was 21,” Jungkook manages to say. “It took me about two years to finish the sleeve.”

Jimin’s eyes roam upwards to Jungkook’s bicep, which is mostly covered by the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Does it go all the way up?”

Jungkook nods. He hesitates for a moment, then pulls his arm out of Jimin’s hold, reaching over with his other hand to scrunch his shirt sleeve up to his shoulder.

“Oh,” Jimin breathes. “Wow.”

Jungkook isn’t sure what to say. He drops his sleeve down after a moment.

“And you drew them all yourself?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah. Some of them ended up having small tweaks made by the artist who actually did the tattoos, but all the drawings were originally mine. And I had the same artist do the whole sleeve, so that the style would be consistent.”

“It’s beautiful, Jungkook,” Jimin says softly. “I really mean it.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says. He’s floundering again. He backs up further, and eventually ends up hitting the edge of his bed, so he perches there precariously—not quite standing, not quite sitting.

“Did you have a good first day?” Jimin asks, taking a seat on the couch across from the bed.

“Yeah, it was good,” Jungkook says. He’s still baffled as to why Jimin is in his room right now, but Jimin is acting like this is a completely normal scenario, so Jungkook tries to internally talk himself into not overthinking it. “Exhausting, though. I dipped out before the happy hour was even done.”

“Mmm,” Jimin says. “I was wondering why I didn’t see you there. I ended up being a little late because I had to help shut down the booth for the day.”

“Ah,” Jungkook says.

Silence stretches between them, heavy and awkward.

Jungkook decides he’ll try to ask again. 

“Why are you here, Jimin?”

Jimin leans back into the couch cushions a little, sighing. He doesn’t answer right away. The TV drones on quietly in the background—some random documentary about marine life Jungkook had put on to help him fall asleep.

“You stopped talking to me,” Jimin says quietly.

“No,” Jungkook immediately says, gripping his thighs nervously. His fingertips dig into the muscle hard enough to actually hurt, and he winces. “I’ve just been really busy with work.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin says. He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. “We both know that’s a lie.”

He doesn’t sound angry. He mostly just sounds sad.

Jungkook swallows audibly. He’s unsure if he should commit to keeping up the charade, since it seems like Jimin has clearly caught on, but he doesn’t have much time to decide. It’s either that or be honest—and the idea of being honest is terrifying. He can’t be honest about this. He shouldn’t be honest about this. 

But there’s something about the way Jimin is looking up at him. Something about the way Jimin is sitting there on that scratchy, uncomfortable hotel sofa, everything about him looking terribly soft in comparison.

It’s one thing to be strong-willed while Jimin is out of sight. It’s another thing entirely when Jimin’s sitting right in front of him, looking at him like he’s the prettiest flower in the garden.

“You’re right,” Jungkook says. The words escape his lips easily, like Jimin’s pulled them directly from his mouth. “It was a lie.”

Jimin hums in acknowledgement. There is no sign of surprise on his face. He tilts his head a little, hair falling into his eyes. “Why?”

Jungkook breathes in, trying to ignore the heavy pounding of his heart. “Why did I lie, or why did I stop talking to you?”

“Both.”

Despite himself, Jungkook laughs, although there’s no humor in the sound. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to talk about it.”

When Jungkook glances over to Jimin again, his expression is different. Something like hurt is painted all over his face, now. Jungkook hates the way it looks. It’s a sight he knows well, but it’s one he hasn’t seen in a long time. 

“Do you think that’s fair to me?” Jimin asks in a small voice.

“It’s not about what’s fair. It’s about what’s best.”

“Well, I know you didn’t ask me, but I don’t think this is what’s best.”

“Maybe not, but I think you would, if you—if you knew.”

Jimin stares at him, unblinking. “So were you just planning to never talk to me again, then?” He asks, an edge in his voice that wasn’t there before. 

“I—I don’t know. I don’t know, Jimin.”

“I thought that we…” Jimin trails off for a moment. “I thought that we were friends. And that wasn’t easy, you know? I thought we—it seemed like we worked really hard. To make that happen. To build something, Jungkook. Didn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Of course it meant something to me,” Jungkook says. “You have no idea what it meant to me.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t know if we can be friends, Jimin,” Jungkook says, suddenly exasperated. “That’s the problem. I thought we could be, but I realized—I don’t think I know how to do that.”

The words hang in the air, and Jungkook’s stomach flips once he realizes the full extent of what he’s just said. Once he realizes that Jimin might actually be able to extract the true meaning of the words.

“Don’t you think you should have told me that, then?” Jimin asks. His voice is quiet and resigned. “Before I—before we made the effort?”

“I couldn’t have told you, because I didn’t know,” Jungkook says. “Not at first.”

“Okay. Then don’t you think you should have told me ever?”

“I don’t think that would have made it any easier.”

Jimin gets up off the couch, and then he starts pacing the floor, just a few feet away from where Jungkook is perched on the side of the bed. Jungkook would say he seems mad—but that’s not quite right. He’s agitated, sure, but there’s something else swirling there.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook mumbles. 

Jimin stops pacing and spins to face Jungkook. “Do you think it would be better if we just hadn’t, then?”

Jungkook blinks at him. “If we hadn’t what?”

“If we hadn’t done this. Would it have been better if we did what you originally suggested that day I saw you in the conference room? If we had just completely ignored each other’s existence this entire time? Do you wish we had done that instead? Be honest. No more lying.”

Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes.

“No, Jimin. I don’t.”

“Look at me,” Jimin says sharply.

Jungkook opens his eyes, startled.

There’s a fire in Jimin’s eyes now. His chest is rising and falling visibly. “What are you afraid of?”

“What?” Jungkook croaks out.

Everything. All of this.

“From where I sit, I can think of two reasons to explain why you don’t feel like we can be friends. One possibility is that you haven’t forgiven me for everything that happened between us. And honestly—that’s fair. I would understand that. But the other,” Jimin says, taking in a deep breath, “is that you only know how to be more than friends. That you only want to be more than friends.”

Jungkook stares at him silently.

“I want to know why you’re afraid to tell me which one it is,” Jimin says.

“Jimin—”

“Tell me.”

Another beat of silence.

“I think you already know which one it is,” Jungkook whispers hoarsely. 

This is a terrible idea. 

Jimin takes one step closer. “I want to hear you say it.”

He’s close enough to touch. Close enough for Jungkook to reach out and pull him into his lap.

The moment hangs in the balance. They stare at each other, unblinking, four years’ worth of love and resentment and anger and desperate longing packed densely into the space between them, so intense that it’s suffocating.

Jimin takes another step.

And then Jungkook is up off the bed, crashing into Jimin, both of them stumbling together until Jimin’s back hits the wall. And a moment later, in a blur of hands and lips and hot breath, they’re kissing.

There is no hope for Jungkook now. He’s committed to this mess he’s made.

Jimin is everywhere all at once, both hands tangled in Jungkook’s hair, his mouth soft and open against him. And the way it makes Jungkook feel—he can’t describe it. Finally laying hands on Jimin’s body feels like he’s being redeemed. Like he’s being made whole again. If it’s wrong, it shouldn’t feel like this. It wouldn’t feel like this.

Judging by the way Jimin’s body is arching underneath Jungkook’s hands, the tiny gasps he’s making against Jungkook’s mouth, it seems like Jimin probably feels the same.

Jungkook might be surprised by that—should be surprised by that, even—but his mind is occupied by other things at the moment.

They never kissed like this when they were younger. They had all the time in the world back then—or at least they thought they did. It was always leisurely, sweet, starry-eyed. Now, they’re going at it like they’re trying to eat each other alive, frantic hands all over the place, open-mouthed and hungry.

And no matter how much of Jimin he manages to get underneath his two very desperate hands, Jungkook feels a pressing sense of urgency. Like this could end before he’s ready. Like Jimin could slip through his fingers again at any moment.

“Jungkook, I—I still want to hear you say it,” Jimin murmurs, breaking their kiss, shuddering as Jungkook’s hands slide up his back.

Jungkook uses his hip to pin Jimin further up against the wall. “Say what?”

“That you… that you want me.”

Jimin stares up at him with dark eyes, pleading. 

“I want you, God, of course I fucking want you. I’ve never stopped wanting you,” Jungkook tells him, lips brushing against his cheek. It’s something that he never would have been able to admit five minutes ago. Now saying the words feels as necessary as breathing, although it also sort of makes him want to cry. 

“Good,” Jimin gasps. He grips both of Jungkook’s arms, throwing his head back as Jungkook makes his way down the column of his throat, leaving behind a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses.

“Don’t you think you’re the one who should be telling me that,” Jungkook breathes against Jimin’s skin. “Considering you’re the one who—”

“Let’s not talk about that right now,” Jimin says, tugging on Jungkook’s hair and pulling his mouth back up to his. 

“But can you just—”

“Yes, I want you,” Jimin says, although it devolves into a groan as Jungkook’s hands slide up underneath his t-shirt. “I want you so bad that I might die. So please don’t—” he gasps as one hand trails up his stomach— “let me die.”

“I won’t let you die,” Jungkook breathes, eyelashes fluttering as he eagerly explores Jimin’s body with his hands. He used to know it so well—every muscle, every curve. His soft skin. His hard stomach. The bend of his spine. He’s mapped every inch with his fingers, with his mouth. But time has passed, leaving fuzzy memories in its wake, and Jungkook is desperate to rediscover all the bits and pieces he’s lost.

Agile hands move up across Jimin’s belly, then over the smooth, hot skin of his back, fingers trailing across his shoulder blades, trapped underneath Jimin’s shirt. Jimin’s back arches under Jungkook’s touch, and a whine escapes his throat when Jungkook’s hands roam back around, skating over his chest. Jungkook loves how he feels—could spend forever touching all of him just like this. Reveling in the heat of his skin, in the way Jimin’s muscles clench involuntarily under his hands. 

“I will die if you keep doing that,” Jimin says, his chest heaving a little, looking up at Jungkook with fully blown pupils. He reaches down, fingertips running along the hem of Jungkook’s t-shirt, grazing Jungkook’s abs with his fingernails. Jungkook shivers.

“Can I take this off?” Jimin asks. Rather politely, considering the situation, Jungkook thinks.

It hits Jungkook then: Oh shit. Are we actually doing this?

But with Jimin’s hands all over him, with Jimin’s mouth pressed up against his pulse point, Jungkook really doesn’t care what a terrible idea this is anymore.

Jungkook murmurs his agreement, and then Jimin pulls the t-shirt up and over his head. Jungkook immediately reaches for the hem of Jimin’s shirt, hoping to pull it off too, but Jimin grabs his wrists and stops him.

Jungkook glances at him, questioning.

“Just let me look at you first,” Jimin breathes, eyes skating down Jungkook’s body. “I want to look at you.”

Jungkook glances down at himself—at his bare torso, at the too-big sweatpants precariously at risk of sliding down his hips, uncomfortably tented at the moment. It’s nothing Jimin hasn’t seen before, except for the tattoos. But Jimin is holding him at arm’s length, looking at him like he’s seeing him for the very first time. Like he’s standing directly in front of a Monet at the Louvre. 

“Okay,” Jungkook says, swallowing. 

Jimin places both hands flat on Jungkook’s chest, then, and he gently pushes him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress.

He keeps pushing until Jungkook is sitting down on the edge of the bed, and even after that, he still keeps pushing, until Jungkook eventually ends up lying flat on his back with Jimin hovering over him.

Then Jimin straddles him, sitting upright, settling his weight down on top of Jungkook’s thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook says. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jimin says quietly, leaning forward and running both hands up Jungkook’s stomach and over his chest. It sends tingles of electricity shooting straight down into the pit of Jungkook’s belly, and he takes a sharp breath in.

All Jungkook can really do is lay there and look up at him. And the sight of him, with his messy hair and his flushed cheeks and his dark eyes—it makes Jungkook’s chest hurt a little bit. He has to remind himself: This is happening. I’m not dreaming this.

“Look at you,” Jimin murmurs, leaning down further and kissing Jungkook’s collarbone. There’s something so gentle about it, so familiar, that it makes Jungkook’s heart clench again. 

Jimin drifts over to his shoulder, kissing his shoulder tattoo, then lazily makes his way back up to Jungkook’s neck, then up further still, teeth grazing his ear. He lingers there, the weight of his body trapping Jungkook in place.

“I always thought you were the most beautiful person I had ever seen,” Jimin breathes into Jungkook’s ear, one hand stroking through his hair. “Even after—after everything. Nobody could ever compare to you.”

Jungkook swallows, closing his eyes. “Do you still think that?”

“Yes,” Jimin says, and Jungkook can feel his nose brushing against the side of his head as he nods. “I still do.”

Jungkook lets out a breath, palms pressing into Jimin’s back. 

“Jimin,” he whispers hoarsely. “I miss you so much.”

Jimin pulls back a little, and Jungkook is surprised to see that his eyes are glassy. He brushes Jungkook’s hair back off his forehead, something he always used to do.

“I miss you, too. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I don’t know either, but... I want you,” Jungkook murmurs, feeling more vulnerable than he’s ever felt in his entire life. “Please.”

Jungkook doesn’t just mean I want you right now. He means I want you right now, and tomorrow, and all the days after that.

But Jimin doesn’t know that. Jungkook isn’t ready for Jimin to know that—isn’t even sure if Jimin should know that.

Jimin just nods, leaning down to kiss him. It’s firm and it feels final, like they’re sealing a deal, committing to the irresponsible decision they’re about to make together. This should not be happening now—they should not be sleeping together before they talk. Before they figure out what this means. But Jungkook’s mind is hazy with want and the crushing weight of his longing. He’s too far gone.

Jimin is, too.

Jungkook tugs at Jimin’s shirt again, and Jimin lets him this time, the fabric slipping over his head easily. Then they’re skin on skin, and the warmth of it is overwhelming, Jimin’s body pressing into his.

Jungkook’s hand smooths across Jimin’s back, over to his ribs, palm caressing his tattoo—an old habit. He angles his head to see it better, fingertips tracing over the letters slowly.

“Pretty,” Jungkook murmurs. “Still so, so pretty.”

The letters have faded slightly with time—an unexpected reminder of how long they’ve been apart. The tattoo was fresh when Jungkook first met him, the letters a stark, crisp black against his skin. 

Jimin seems to be losing patience above him, his leisurely tour of Jungkook’s body long finished. He’s making tiny little noises as Jungkook’s hands roam all over, and when Jungkook reaches down to grab his ass and squeeze gently, he moans.

“You like that, huh?” Jungkook asks, his voice teasing. Jimin nips at his bottom lip playfully, smiling against him. 

This is good. This is fun, Jungkook thinks. Maybe I can make it through this without crying. 

Jimin shifts his hips, then, grinding against Jungkook in a circular motion that is clearly very intentional, and all of a sudden, crying is the last thing on Jungkook’s mind.

“God, why does that feel so—fuck, Jimin—”

“Off,” Jimin murmurs, lifting himself up a little bit so that he can grab both the waistbands of Jungkook’s boxers and sweatpants. He tugs down on them slightly, but he glances up at Jungkook before proceeding further, a silent question in his eyes. 

You know we won’t be able to stop ourselves once we start. Are you sure you want to do this?

“Yes,” Jungkook whispers. 

He pulls them down to Jungkook’s knees. 

“God,” Jimin says. “I missed you.”

Then he wraps both hands around Jungkook’s cock and Jungkook sees stars. 

“Oh, oh—”

Jimin is straddling his thighs again, slowly jerking him off, and there’s a long, hard slope clearly visible at the front of his sweatpants, and the pants are riding dangerously low beneath his hip bones, and if Jungkook glances at him for more than a moment at a time, he is at extreme risk of coming in two seconds flat. 

He needs to distract himself.

“Want to touch you,” Jungkook says, reaching out and grabbing Jimin by the waist, fingertips digging in as he pulls Jimin closer. “Let me touch you.”

He gets Jimin within reach, then tugs down his sweatpants and underwear. His cock springs out. It is just as beautiful as Jungkook remembers. Jungkook’s hand is wrapped around it immediately, and Jimin falls forward with a little “oh”, thrusting involuntarily into Jungkook’s hand. 

Jungkook has always loved the feel of it—of Jimin’s dick in particular. Maybe that’s just because it’s his. The memories are vivid and he’s reliving them now: the heat of it, the velvet softness, the weight of it in his hand. The sounds that Jimin makes when he touches him.

It’s been so fucking long. But Jungkook wants way more out of this than a rushed handjob. It’s not that that wouldn’t feel good—anything with Jimin would always feel good. It’s just that he needs to get closer. Needs more. He’s never needed anything so much.

“Jimin,” Jungkook breathes, staring up at him. Jimin’s hovering a few inches above his face now, supporting his weight with one arm. “I need you. I want to—”

“Yes, fuck me,” Jimin says, eyes fluttering closed and mouth falling open as Jungkook continues to stroke him. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Okay. Okay, let me—”

“Wait,” Jimin says. “Do you have…?”

Oh, shit.

Jungkook freezes, gears spinning on overdrive in his mind, then he remembers something.

“Wait, I actually think I do. Hold on, lemme get up, sorry.” He presses a quick kiss to Jimin’s temple, and Jimin rolls off him.

He hops off the bed, then crosses the room and bends down to rummage through his suitcase, kicking his sweatpants and underwear all the way off as he goes. This is the same suitcase he uses for pretty much every trip he goes on, and although he obviously had no reason to pack condoms for this conference, he’s pretty sure there might still be a couple of condoms and a travel-size bottle of lube zippered away in one of the inside pockets, never removed after a trip he had taken to Geoje Island last year.

“Do you do squats?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder at him, confused. “What?”

“Your butt. It’s so good. Like, it was always good, but now it’s… so good.”

“Are you staring at my butt?”

Jimin laughs. “Of course I’m staring at your butt.”

Jungkook huffs and tries to brush it off, but he can feel his face heating from the compliment. 

He’s overthinking everything way too much. He’s fully aware of that. But still, he figures it’s good that Jimin can joke around with him, that they can maintain this sense of familiarity. Maybe there is hope for them. Hope for what, exactly, he’s not sure.

A great disaster is successfully averted when Jungkook discovers a single condom and a tiny bottle of lube zipped inside the very last pocket he checks. He pulls them out and walks back over to the bed, pressing the switch on the table lamp by the bed to turn it off.

“No,” Jimin whines. “I wanna see you. Please.”

Jungkook blinks. He was doing it for Jimin’s sake—Jimin used to always prefer to keep the lights off. 

“Okay,” Jungkook says, leaning over and switching the lamp back on. Then he climbs back onto the bed, and Jimin reaches out with grabby hands, pulling him on top of him.

“It’s just been so long since I could…” Jimin swallows. “Since I could see you. I want to look at you.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, smiling softly. “You said.”

“Do you not want to look at me—”

“Of course I want to look at you,” Jungkook says quietly, leaning down and kissing Jimin’s nose, his cheeks, his jaw. 

He wishes he could tack on the end: I love you. That would explain it all better than any other words ever could. Holding it in takes some real effort.

At this point, Jungkook’s emotions are overwhelming him. He’s so turned on that it’s perhaps physically dangerous, and he feels like he’s at risk of bursting into tears at any moment, and it’s all complicated by a confusing undercurrent of uncertainty, relief, and doubt. The only thing he really knows for sure right now is that he needs to be inside Jimin—that he wants that more than he’s ever wanted anything.

His hands wander down, then even further down between Jimin’s thighs, and Jimin eases them open, legs spreading apart, yielding to him with no question.

Jungkook scrambles for the bottle of lube, and the rest is a blur—he’s trying to be gentle with Jimin, because he doesn’t know what Jimin’s sex life is like or how long it’s even been since he did this, and he most definitely doesn’t want to ask about it, or even think about it. Jimin seems appreciative but impatient, soft whines increasing in volume every time Jungkook adds an additional finger, scrambling against the sheets and arching his back.

When Jimin actually starts begging Jungkook to fuck him—his chest flushed pink, his eyes dark and desperate—Jungkook figures he is probably ready.

“Okay,” Jungkook reassures him, pulling back and rolling on the condom. “Do you want me like this?”

Jimin shakes his head, sitting up. “Can I… is it okay if I ride you?”

Jungkook’s dick twitches. The answer is obviously yes. Jungkook’s mind, though, immediately goes tumbling back to a memory he’d locked away a long time ago: Jimin, straddling him on his tiny single bed, the first time they ever did this. Riding him, coaxing him, whispering to him: You’re doing so good, baby.

There were lots of other times they did that, between then and now. That first time, though, was always the most important one. 

Jungkook wonders if this time might end up being even more important than that first time was. 

But maybe it won’t be. Maybe it’s dangerous to let hope bloom like this. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says shakily. “You can.”

Jungkook lays down, flipping onto his back, and Jimin is climbing on top of him before his body has even fully made contact with the mattress.

Jimin angles his body forward and reaches for Jungkook, lining himself up. 

Then he sinks down, down, down all the way, and Jungkook lets out a groan, his hips bucking.

“Oh my God,” Jimin breathes, hands pressing against Jungkook’s chest for leverage. “Jungkook—”

“Go slow,” Jungkook chokes out, grabbing Jimin’s thighs and squeezing. 

“I can’t. I don't think I can—” Jimin gasps, rolling his hips, sinking down again. 

Jungkook closes his eyes, figuring maybe if he can’t see Jimin, then he might actually have a chance of lasting longer than five seconds. 

He can still hear Jimin, though—his cracked, high-pitched moans, his frantic breaths. He can also feel Jimin, which is the root of the problem, really. He’s unbelievably tight and hot around him, and it’s been a long time since Jungkook did this with anyone, but it’s been an especially long time since he did this with Jimin, and it is overwhelming in every single way. 

The way he looks, his body covered with a thin sheen of sweat, every muscle flexing and shifting—the way he sounds, never ashamed to let Jungkook know just how good he’s feeling, exactly how Jungkook remembers he always was—the way it feels to be inside of him, the intensity of being the closest they can possibly get—it’s a lot. It’s too much, even. 

And that’s not even factoring in how emotional Jungkook feels right now. 

It seems like Jimin is feeling it too. It was stupid and naive to think they could do this without feeling it. To do this without talking about what it means. Jungkook knew that from the beginning, but he realizes the depth of it now. The depth of this hole they’ve jumped into, with no ladder to climb out.

Jungkook is still overwhelmed by the urge to get closer to Jimin. He’ll probably never be close enough, but he decides to try anyway. So he sits up, wrapping his arms around Jimin’s waist, pulling their bodies closer until their chests are pressed together. Jimin winds his arms around Jungkook’s neck and leans in to kiss him, but it’s frantic and uncoordinated. 

“Need you,” Jimin says, burying his face in Jungkook’s neck. “Need you, need you—”

“I’m right here,” Jungkook assures him. He gets it, though. The crushing need. 

This alone isn’t going to fulfill it. Not all of it. 

“Jungkook,” Jimin breathes, pulling back to look at him. One hand comes up to rest on his cheek, thumb brushing across his temple. His eyes are shining. 

“I know,” Jungkook says softly, arms wrapping around him tighter, pulling him closer still. He swallows down the lump in his throat. “I know.”

Jimin keeps moving, and it feels too good, and Jungkook runs soothing hands up and down his back, doing his best to keep them both upright. It’s familiar, holding Jimin like this, but foreign all the same. 

“God, Jimin—”

Jimin picks up the pace a little bit. Jungkook’s mouth is by his ear, and he urges him on, murmuring quietly to him about how good he is. About how much he needs him, how badly he’s missed him. He’s gasping for breath, kissing the side of his head, suddenly realizing that this is going to end soon. Wishing so badly that it didn’t have to.

It’s all too intense. Jimin isn’t letting up. Jungkook can feel the tension building deep in his belly, threatening to spill over as soon as Jungkook will let it. As soon as he stops trying to resist it. As soon as he admits to himself that this can’t go on forever.

Jimin closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Jungkook’s. He lets out a shuddery breath. “I’m—I’m close, I need—”

“Shhh, I’ve got you.” Jungkook says it tenderly, quietly. He reaches between them, wrapping a hand around Jimin’s cock. He starts stroking Jimin slowly, and then Jimin gets loud, tightening his arms further around Jungkook’s neck and throwing his head back.

Jungkook is already too close, and feeling Jimin writhing against his body like this, seeing his face contorted into an open-mouthed expression of pure ecstasy—it’s downright lewd. It’s way, way too much. 

“Jimin, I can’t—fuck, I’m going to come—”

Jungkook spills into the condom, moaning into Jimin’s shoulder, one hand pressed between his shoulder blades, still keeping him close, thighs shaking underneath him. 

Only a few seconds later, Jimin tightens and clenches around him, letting out a sharp cry, and then he’s coming all over Jungkook’s hand and stomach. 

Jimin collapses against him, panting.

And then the room is only filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and the documentary playing quietly on the TV.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He wants to keep holding onto Jimin for as long as he can. 

After all, he doesn’t know if this will happen again. If he’ll be able to hold him like this again.

He wraps both arms around Jimin’s waist, pulling him in close until they’re hugging, their chests pressed together again. Then he nuzzles his face into Jimin’s shoulder, still trying to catch his breath.

“Jungkook,” Jimin says softly.

“Mmm.”

“I think… I think we probably should have talked before we did that.”

Jungkook knows that already, but his stomach still drops when Jimin says it.

“I know,” Jungkook murmurs against his skin.

“It’s late,” Jimin whispers.

“I know.”

Jimin pulls back, running a hand through Jungkook’s sweaty hair, tucking it behind his ear. The familiar gesture, with all its loving implications, makes Jungkook want to cry. Again.

“I don’t think we have time to hash everything out tonight,” Jimin says. “And I don’t know if we should do it here anyway.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah. Maybe when we get home?”

He knows Jimin is right, but as soon as he says it, he immediately realizes that the next few days are going to be hell, and he instantly regrets the suggestion.

“Yeah. When we get home.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Jimin pulls off him, wincing a little, and Jungkook very hesitantly lets him go. 

After spending a few minutes in the bathroom, Jimin emerges. It looks like he’s cleaned himself up already. He walks over to the bed and hands Jungkook a warm, damp washcloth. Jungkook uses it to wipe himself off while Jimin is peering around the room, trying to determine where his underwear, sweatpants, and shirt were all haphazardly tossed in the heat of the moment.

He eventually finds them, and then he starts the process of getting dressed. When Jungkook is done with the washcloth, he gets up, then walks over to his suitcase to grab a clean pair of underwear. 

They’re not talking. It makes Jungkook nervous that they’re not talking. 

Jungkook pulls his sweatpants back on. He doesn’t bother with his shirt. He sits on the edge of the bed, waiting. Waiting for what, exactly, he isn’t sure.

And they’re still not talking.

The silence feels long, endless, crushing—even though, in reality, it’s only been a couple of minutes.

But then Jimin breaks it. He’s pulling on his shirt, his final piece of clothing, when he finally speaks.

“Jungkook—I…” 

Jungkook glances up at him. He looks incredibly nervous.

“You can say no to this. Please don’t feel pressured. I know we need to… talk. But can I…” he takes a deep breath. “Would it be okay if I stay?”

Jungkook’s heart flutters open, unwinding, all the tightness in his chest dissolving. The dread that he’d been feeling—the anticipation of having to watch Jimin leave, being forced to say goodbye—it’s replaced by something far more pleasant blooming in its place.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Yeah, you can stay.”

“Sometimes I just don’t like being alone in strange pla—”

“Jimin, it’s fine,” Jungkook says softly, cutting him off. “I want you to.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Thank you.”

“Do you want to go to bed now?”

Jimin nods. “We have to be up really early. And I’m… tired.”

“I am too,” Jungkook says.

Jungkook slides over to the opposite side of the bed, climbing under the covers. He pulls back the covers on the other side, then leans over and turns off the light on the bedside table. 

“Can you turn off the TV?” Jungkook asks. 

Jimin nods. He grabs the remote, then turns it off, plunging them into darkness and silence. 

Jungkook isn’t sure how this is going to go. He hasn’t shared a bed with Jimin in years, obviously. They used to share a tiny twin bed anytime they slept over in each other’s dorm rooms, so there was no such thing as having their own side of the bed, no choice about whether or not to snuggle—they slept with limbs tangled, hearts beating together, two heads sharing one pillow. 

This is a huge bed, and Jungkook doesn’t even know if Jimin wants to be close to him. Maybe he’ll keep to his own side of the bed. Maybe he just doesn’t want to be alone. 

The uncertainty of it makes Jungkook’s stomach twist into a knot. In the dark, he can’t see Jimin, but he can feel the mattress shift under Jimin’s weight as he climbs under the covers on the other side. 

Jimin settles into place on the opposite side of the bed, and then it’s quiet. 

“Goodnight,” Jungkook whispers after a moment. 

“Goodnight, Jungkook.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, rolling onto his side and pulling the covers up to his chin. 

After a few minutes, just as he’s started to drift off, there’s a freezing cold foot brushing against his calf. 

He opens his eyes. 

Jimin is on his side, facing him. Jungkook can make him out a little better now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. 

“I’m cold,” Jimin whispers. 

“Your foot feels like an ice cube,” Jungkook says.

“It is an ice cube. You have the air conditioning turned down to Antarctic temperatures in here.”

“Do you want another blanket? I think I saw a spare one in the closet.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment. “No.”

There’s another beat of silence.

“Do you want to come over here?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah,” Jimin says quietly.

“Okay,” Jungkook says. 

He lifts up the covers a little bit to make some room for Jimin to move over to his side of the bed. Jimin takes the hint and proceeds to scoot on over, and Jungkook isn’t sure how close he’s going to come, but he snuggles all the way up, wrapping his arm around Jungkook’s waist, pressing his cheek to Jungkook’s bare chest.

“That’s better,” Jimin whispers.

Jungkook drapes an arm over him, pulling him in closer. “Yeah?”

Jimin nods against him. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Neither of them say anything for a little while. Jungkook’s breathing starts to even out, and he’s half asleep when Jimin speaks again.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Jimin mumbles against his chest, the words slurred like he’s barely awake.

“Mmm?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

“I like it.”

Despite his drowsiness, the corner of Jungkook’s mouth lifts in a tiny smile. “Why?”

“It’s you,” Jimin says.

Jungkook wonders if Jimin will notice the skipped heartbeat that comes right after that.

“I see,” Jungkook whispers, smoothing a hand over Jimin’s hair. “Let’s sleep. I’m so sleepy.”

“Okay,” Jimin whispers back. He snuggles in closer, slotting his leg between Jungkook’s calves. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

They both drift off to sleep not long after that, limbs tangled in that familiar way, and Jungkook can’t shake the feeling that his soul has finally come home.

When Jungkook’s alarm goes off in the morning, Jimin is already gone.

He’s disoriented at first, expecting to feel the weight of a warm body next to him, but the other side of the bed is cold and empty. He wonders for a moment if the whole thing was just a terribly realistic dream—if maybe he was feverish and delirious after that long bath. He hadn’t taken one in a while, after all. Maybe he accidentally made the water too hot.

But when he climbs out of bed, he notices a handwritten note folded on the bedside table. It’s a small cream-colored piece of paper that looks like it’s been torn off the hotel notepad sitting over on the desk.

Rubbing at his blurry eyes, Jungkook picks it up, unfolding it carefully.

Had to go back to my room to shower and get ready. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you up. Sorry to leave without saying bye. I want to make it super clear that me leaving before you woke up doesn’t mean that I regret what we did. 

Thank you for letting me stay. You didn’t have to do that. When we get home, we can talk about everything. 

-JM

So it did really happen, then. The note is physical proof.

Once Jungkook starts walking around his room, gathering his clothes for the day, he realizes there’s a bit more physical proof than just the note. His thighs are sore, and when he looks in the mirror, he spots faint red scratches on his shoulders from Jimin’s fingernails. 

“You are so stupid, Jeon Jungkook,” he mutters out loud, pulling a shirt and dress pants out of his suitcase. “You are a fucking idiot.”

It’s not like he had time to mentally process much of anything before he went to sleep. So now that he’s awake, and the reality of what they did is starting to sink in, Jungkook is quickly devolving into a state of emotional pandemonium.

And he has two more days of this conference to suffer through before he and Jimin can actually hash things out.

Obviously, Jimin doesn’t regret it. He said so in his note. But Jungkook can’t say the same—he isn’t sure if he feels any regret yet. Maybe once he sees how all this will actually play out, he’ll be able to decide whether or not he regrets it. Right now, he doesn’t know enough to be able to decide.

He does know that it was incredibly dumb. That much is painfully clear. 

They shouldn’t have slept together without talking about it first. And the small amount of talking they did beforehand really doesn’t count as talking about it. They were mainly just staring at each other with fuck-me eyes, waiting to see who would make the first move. Jimin now knows the real reason why Jungkook cancelled their lunches, but that’s about it.

What is there for them to talk about, though? That’s the part that gives Jungkook a headache. Because obviously, having sex long term isn’t an option if Jimin is only hoping for some sort of no-strings-attached arrangement. There are always going to be strings attached for them. A tangled, knotty web of strings—strings that were never cut, Jungkook realizes now. They’ve still been tangled together all this time.

The idea of untangling the strings, however, scares Jungkook out of his mind.

Before last night, Jungkook never would have considered getting back together as an option. If he listens to his heart, though… if he’s honest with himself, it’s obvious that is exactly what his heart wants. That’s what his heart has wanted this whole time. 

He’s tried to reason those feelings away, to distance himself emotionally, to convince himself that it’s a bad idea, to listen to the rational side of his brain—but he’s reached the end of that exhausting path now. There is nowhere else to turn. After what he felt with Jimin last night, it’s pointless to keep denying it.

He loves Jimin. He’s actually not sure if he ever stopped loving him. And all that love needs somewhere to go—he can’t just keep pouring it out. There’s too much of it.

It goes against everything he’s been telling himself, but if Jimin asked him to try again… Jungkook thinks he would say yes.

There are things they need to discuss first. There are many factors that contributed to their demise, and if those factors aren’t resolved, then they’re already doomed. Jungkook has done a lot of work on himself, and he knows firsthand that he’s much more mature now than he was back then. 

After he broke up with Jimin, he was such a wreck that he decided to start going to therapy. During that time, he ended up working through many of the root issues that were causing him to feel so jealous and insecure all the time. He knows that Jimin is probably still a shameless flirt—but today, Jungkook is confident that he’s better equipped to deal with it.

He doesn’t know about Jimin, though. Of course, based on what he’s witnessed during the time they’ve spent together, Jimin seems a lot more mentally healthy than he was back then. But Jungkook doesn’t know how much grieving Jimin did, or if he ended up going to therapy at all, or what kind of toll looking after his dad and brother for so many years ended up taking on his own healing process. It’s not something that he and Jimin have discussed very much. 

If Jimin’s overall emotional state hasn’t changed significantly, they’ll end up right back where they were before. And Jungkook doesn’t think he can go through that again.

So they need to talk about it. Jungkook knows that. He also knows it’s possible that the conversation may not conclude in the way he’s hoping. He knows it’s possible that Jimin isn’t doing better. He knows it’s possible that Jimin might not even want to get back together at all. He has no idea what Jimin is feeling, and for the sake of his own heart, he doesn’t want to assume anything. 

And now he has to survive two more days in Incheon before he can get any answers.

Unsurprisingly, the rest of the conference ends up being a bust. Jungkook is barely able to string a coherent thought together anytime he’s forced to speak with strangers, and everything he hears at the sessions and workshops goes in one ear and right out through the other. While the speakers ramble on about ethics in publishing or upcoming trends in nonfiction, Jungkook’s brain is hazy with flashes of memory: the naked expanse of Jimin’s back, the softness of Jimin’s mouth on his shoulder, the sound of Jimin’s quiet whines.

Jimin’s body pressed up against the wall. Jimin’s eyes, dark with want.

Jungkook holds a small funeral, inside his head, for the company dollars that were poured down the drain in order for him to attend this event. The very least he can do is pay his respects.

He barely even sees Jimin at all during the rest of the conference, and he’s unsure if that’s simply because their schedules don’t overlap, or if it’s because Jimin is intentionally avoiding him in order to skirt around any potential awkwardness. Either way, it certainly doesn’t do anything to help assuage Jungkook’s own neuroticism. The longer he goes without seeing Jimin, the more trapped in his own head he feels.

By the time Wednesday evening rolls around and he’s gathered with the other Moonhak employees in the hotel lobby, waiting for everyone to show up so that they can all carpool back to Seoul together, he feels like a rubber band that’s ready to snap.

“…and the butterflies were blue,” Seokjin is saying when Jungkook zones back in. He’s looking at Jungkook very pointedly, like he’s waiting for him to answer a question.

“Hmm?” Jungkook asks. “Blue?” He’s hoping he can manage to successfully play this off and prevent Seokjin from catching on to the fact that he was not listening even a little bit.

Seokjin’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t hear a single thing I said.”

Dammit.

“Sorry,” Jungkook says, wincing. He slips a hair tie off his wrist and pulls the top part of his hair into a ponytail, buying time. “I’m a little distracted.”

“I can tell,” Seokjin says. “I was saying the butterflies are blue on the cover design you emailed me last night. But the author specifically requested for them to be orange. Is this how you are choosing to reveal to me that you’ve been secretly colorblind this whole time?”

Jungkook blinks. “Oh? No. I don’t remember reading that in the brief.”

“It was in a separate email,” Seokjin says, sighing. “It’s fine. Just fix it tomorrow morning when you get back to the office, first thing.”

Great. I’m gonna get myself fired, too, Jungkook thinks to himself. 

He wishes he could be more like Yoongi sometimes. Despite sharing a home with him, Jungkook has yet to figure out how to scientifically absorb all of his positive traits. Yoongi is highly rational and only feels the emotions that he wants to feel. If he doesn’t want to feel it anymore, he stops feeling it. Jungkook’s the opposite—his emotions are in the driver’s seat, and he’s just along for the ride. 

If he could be more like Yoongi, he would be focused on the conference and focused on his work. Not daydreaming about how cute Jimin’s nose is while he outlines watercolor butterflies in the wrong shade of blue.

After a few minutes, he ends up being corralled into a small group and herded into a tiny red sedan before he even has a chance to spot Jimin in the hotel lobby. He doesn’t know anyone in the car, and the ride back to Seoul is relatively quiet, buildings gradually growing taller as the sun begins to sink lower in the sky, casting a pink reflection on all the sparkling glass panes of the city.

By the time they pull into the parking garage connected to the Moonhak office building, Jungkook is so tired that he wishes he could somehow magically teleport himself back to his apartment. He’s still a subway ride away, but at this point, he’s considering taking a cab, just because it feels like it would take significantly less energy.

He’s rolling his little suitcase up the aisle between cars, approaching the elevator that he needs to take up to the ground floor, and then he hears a voice behind him, calling out his name.  

He knows that voice. It’s the same voice that’s been haunting his brain day and night for the past 48 hours.

“Jungkook,” the voice says. “Hey.”

Jungkook turns around.

Jimin is jogging a bit to catch up to him, his hair bouncing as he goes. 

“Hi,” Jungkook says.

“Hi.”

Jimin stops a few feet away from him. He nervously shifts his bag from one shoulder to the other.

“How are you?”

“I’m good,” Jungkook says. He’s not sure if it’s a lie or not. “How was your ride back?”

“Good,” Jimin says. “I rode with Hoseok, so it wasn’t too bad.”

“Ah. I didn’t know anyone in my car. But it was kind of nice to not have to talk. I’m pretty drained after three days of socialization. You know how I get.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll let you get going so you can get home and get some rest,” Jimin says. “I just… um. I wanted to ask you. Do you still want to talk?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, nodding. “I would like to.”

“Okay,” Jimin says. He looks intensely relieved. “Is tomorrow night too soon? I was thinking maybe you could come over to my apartment. I mean, if you’re okay with that.”

Jungkook had wondered about that. Depending on the outcome of the conversation, it might be better to have it in a neutral spot, but… he does wonder what Jimin’s apartment is like. And if this ends up being his only chance to see it—then he might as well.

He recognizes that he’s being way too pessimistic about all this, but he’s still terrified of having his heart broken again. He can’t help it.

“Yeah, I can come over.”

“Okay. Cool. Um… can I have your number? I’ll text you my address.”

Jungkook can’t help but laugh under his breath. The fact that Jimin is asking for his number days after they slept together… yeah, they’re definitely doing all of this in the wrong order. But he guesses all they can really do now is try to sort everything out.

He also never imagined himself giving Jimin his number again. It feels strange to do. Like they’re starting over. He figures that’s probably good, though.

Jungkook nods, and Jimin slips his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and handing it to Jungkook so he can enter his contact info. Jungkook hands it back to him when he’s done, and their fingers brush as Jimin takes the phone. The touch is brief and barely discernible, but it still sends a jolt down Jungkook’s spine.

“Thanks. Does eight work?” Jimin asks, brushing a hand through his hair. He hasn’t stopped fidgeting this entire time.

“That works. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“Okay,” Jimin says. “Cool.”

Neither of them say anything. Jungkook starts to back towards the elevator, and he’s about to say goodbye, then realizes Jimin is probably heading to the elevator as well. 

“You going up?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin nods. 

Jungkook presses the button, and the doors open. They both step into the elevator, and they’re silent as it makes the quick one-floor journey to the ground level.

They exit the elevator into the lobby, and Jimin trails behind Jungkook until they reach the front doors. Jungkook holds it for him. 

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Jimin asks, walking backwards in the opposite direction.

Jungkook nods. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to hug Jimin, his gut telling him that it’s wrong to just let him go like this, but he also recognizes that he hasn’t yet earned the right to hug him without permission. And asking to do it—well, Jungkook isn’t about to make this any more awkward than it already is. 

So he lets him go. 

“Yeah. See you tomorrow,” Jungkook says.

Jimin waves, and then he turns around, disappearing into the crowd of pedestrians on the sidewalk. 

Just over 24 hours later, Jungkook is standing on Jimin’s doorstep.

Jimin’s apartment is about a 20 minute subway ride from where Jungkook lives, and Jungkook spent that entire subway ride jiggling his leg so hard that the woman sitting next to him was shooting him death glares the whole time, silently willing him to stop.

The building that Jimin lives in is a really nice high-rise, so he must have settled for a tiny studio in exchange for being able to live somewhere with decent amenities. Jungkook took the elevator up to the 15 ^th floor, where Jimin lives, then walked down the hall until he found the right apartment.

And now he’s standing on Jimin’s grey doormat, hand hovering in the air, finding himself physically incapable of forming a fist and knocking.

He’s excited. He’s nervous. But more than anything, he’s afraid.

He fiddles with the hem of his black sweatshirt and tucks some hair behind his ear. He’s jittery all the way down to his toes, feeling the possibility of the evening sparking in the air like electricity, but he’s also terrified that he’ll walk out of here just as alone as he’s walking in.

He won’t know until he does that, though. Until he walks in.

So he takes a deep breath, and then he knocks. 

Only a few seconds later, the door swings open, and Jimin is smiling on the other side.

“Hi,” he says, opening the door wider and stepping aside so Jungkook can come in.

He’s changed out of his work clothes—he’s wearing dark jeans and a soft-looking white sweater. His hair looks a little fluffier than normal, like he took a shower and let it dry naturally. The sight of him makes Jungkook’s heart feel like it’s being squeezed by a fist.

Jungkook slips off his shoes and peers around the apartment. It’s a studio, so it’s an open space that includes everything: a kitchen, living room, and Jimin’s bedroom all in one. The bedroom area is furthest away from the door, and it’s on a slightly lower level with a few steps leading down to it, so it’s at least a bit separated from the rest of the space, despite not having its own door.

The apartment is modern and bright, with white walls and a primarily white kitchen. There’s a large grey sofa, a white coffee table and a TV in the center of the living space, and the far wall is made completely of glass, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a breathtaking view of the Seoul skyline. The sky is a wash of purple and orange, just barely dark enough for the buildings to begin to twinkle. Jungkook would appreciate it all a bit more if he wasn’t so absurdly nervous. 

“Your apartment is nice,” Jungkook says, taking a few steps further into the space and walking into the living room. There’s a big painting hanging above the couch, an abstract ocean landscape painted with big, chunky strokes of turquoise and baby blues. “I like this painting a lot.”

“Thanks,” Jimin says, wringing his hands in front of himself nervously. “Did you eat dinner already?”

“Yeah. I hope that’s okay. You didn’t mention it, so—”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Jimin assures him, following him into the living room. “Wanna sit?”

Jungkook sits down on the far end of the sofa. There’s a bookshelf along the wall next to it, packed from top to bottom with loads of books and small trinkets. Jungkook recognizes many of the titles—lots of them are published by Moonhak. Some of them are books that he designed the covers for. Tender Hearts is there, sitting on the top shelf with its cover facing out.

He’s about to turn and look at Jimin, but then something small and orange tucked away in the middle of the bookshelf catches his eye. He blinks twice, not sure if he’s imagining things, but it’s really there: a tiny red panda plushie, only a few inches tall, sitting between a few books and a framed photo of Jimin’s mom.

Jungkook gave that to him. He can’t believe Jimin still has it. Can’t believe that he’d actually have it out here, on display, to look at. To remember.

When they were in school, there was a charity carnival held on campus to raise money for a local homeless shelter—it wasn’t much, just a few games and some food stalls. Jimin had spotted the red panda and started cooing about how cute it was. Jungkook, of course, immediately became obsessed with the prospect of winning it for him, and he spent an absurd amount of money on the bottle ring toss until he was victorious. When Jungkook handed it over, Jimin kissed him like he didn’t care at all who was looking.

He used to keep it on his desk. Jungkook assumed he would have thrown it away by now—or maybe put it in a box and shoved it in the back of a closet.

But it’s here on his bookshelf, right out in the open.

And this is the first whisper of hope that Jungkook allows himself to feel, a brazen thought murmuring quietly inside his head: Maybe Jimin still loves me.

Jimin sits down on the other end of the couch, leaving the middle cushion between them empty.

“Thank you for coming over,” Jimin says. He seems calm on the surface, but there’s an air of nervousness about him—he’s usually carefree and silly, but he’s more somber than usual right now. Jungkook isn’t sure what to make of that.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Of course.”

Jimin clears his throat a little. “I think we should talk. If that’s okay. I mean, if you still want to.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, I do. Look, honestly, when you came to my room, I didn’t know what to—”

“No,” Jimin says, shaking his head. “I don’t mean talk about that. I mean talk about what happened between us before.”

Jungkook blinks at him. “Oh. Okay. You mean, like, when we broke up?”

They haven’t talked about this. At all. Speaking about it now feels uncomfortable, like they’re breaking an unspoken rule. 

“Yes. I mean, we haven’t really talked about it since it happened.”

“No, we haven’t.” Jungkook swallows audibly. “I thought maybe it was better to just leave it in the past.”

“Mmm,” Jimin says. “Maybe before, yeah. But I think we need to talk about it now.”

“Okay. We can talk about it.”

Jungkook didn’t think it was possible to feel any more nervous than he already did, but a new wave of trepidation punches him right in the stomach. He and Jimin were never good at having hard conversations—never good at communicating their emotions effectively. Will it be any different now?

“The first thing I want to say is that I’m sorry,” Jimin says quietly. He’s staring down at his hands, which are curled together tightly on his lap. “I’m sorry for the way I broke up with you. I just kind of dropped it on you like a bomb, and… you deserved better than that.”

Jungkook sighs. “Honestly, I think I probably would have reacted the same way no matter how you did it.”

“Maybe. But it was so unexpected for you, and we never talked again afterwards. At the time, I felt like cutting you off completely was the best thing to do, but… I realized that was a mistake. I have a lot of regrets about everything. I’ve regretted a lot of things for a long time. And for a long time, there was nothing I could do about it.”

“Maybe this isn’t what you want to hear,” Jungkook says hesitantly, “but I don’t think us breaking up was a mistake.”

Jimin’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“I don’t mean it like…” Jungkook trails off. “I don’t mean it like how you’re probably thinking. I just mean that… I think we needed to break up. It wasn’t working. Neither of us were ready for that relationship. It was impossible for me to admit that to myself at the time, but later on, I was able to come to terms with it.”

“I…” Jimin’s voice quivers a little. “I don’t know, Jungkook. When I ended things, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just made the biggest mistake I would ever make in my life.”

“I don’t think you did,” Jungkook says softly, shaking his head.

“But that’s why, when I saw you in the office, on my first day…” Jimin takes a deep breath. “That didn’t feel like an accident to me. That didn’t feel like a coincidence to me. It felt like maybe… like maybe I was being given another chance.”

Jungkook’s stomach flutters anxiously.

“I thought about that a lot. You know how I am—I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason, so… when you first showed up, I was really confused. I kept telling myself maybe it was an opportunity for me to get closure. When we first started talking and hanging out, that was my end goal, actually. It’s not that I didn’t want to be your friend, but… I was trying to approach it like an opportunity for me to finally move on.”

“Had you not moved on?” Jimin asks, his voice so quiet that Jungkook can barely hear him.

Jungkook laughs a little. “Well, I thought I had. But when I saw you again… when we started talking again… I realized maybe I actually never did.”

Jimin uncrosses his legs, gripping his knees anxiously.

“Have you dated other people?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “A few people. I dated someone for almost a year, actually.”

Jimin is silent for a moment. “I couldn’t,” he eventually says.

“No? Were you too busy with family—”

“No. I mean that I couldn’t date anyone else. I compared everyone to you, and no one measured up. I tried, don’t get me wrong—I really tried. But the longer I tried, the more I felt like… I felt like I had given up something I should have never given up. Something I would never have the chance to get back.”

Jimin’s eyes look wet, now. He blinks a few times. 

“Jimin,” Jungkook says softly. 

He wants so badly to pull Jimin into his arms. To whisper to him: I’m here. We can try again.

“I understand that we had a lot of problems,” Jimin says, his voice thick. “And most of them were my fault. I was literally drowning in grief, and I refused to get the help I needed. I was impossible to deal with. I’m not saying I’m 100% to blame—”

“You’re not,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “We both were.”

“When I moved back to Busan, I was a mess. I was crumbling under the pressure of trying to take care of my dad, and I still wasn’t prioritizing myself, and I had just lost my main support system, which was… you. I was barely functioning, so my dad actually forced me to go to therapy. Despite everything he was dealing with—or maybe because of it, I guess… he was able to recognize that I was going down a destructive path.”

Thinking about Jimin during that time sends a searing pain right through the center of Jungkook’s chest. His heart physically aches when he imagines how Jimin must have felt. Because Jungkook knows. He understands. Not in the same way—not with all the grief and all the burden—but he still lived through his own version of that. The loss of his most important thing.

“Did therapy help you?”

Jimin nods. “I was really reluctant at first. I think I was terrified that working through all of my emotions, processing them, would just leave me in even more pain. Part of me felt like it was easier to just keep shoving everything aside. But once I started going, I realized I would never be able to move on with my life if I kept harboring all that sadness. It was eating me up inside.”

Jungkook hums in understanding.

“So I kept going,” Jimin says. “I went for two years. I figured out how to properly grieve my mom, and how to keep myself from going crazy while I was trying to take care of my dad and my brother. I figured out how to take care of me. And I realized that was something I had been relying on you to do—not consciously, but…yeah.”

“I know. I was able to recognize that, even at the time. I know I was only nineteen, but… I could still kind of see what was happening. I just didn’t know what to do to fix it.”

“It wasn’t your job to fix it,” Jimin says, sniffling a little. “Or to fix me. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I ever put you in a position where you felt like that was your responsibility.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says quietly. “I already forgave you a long time ago.”

Jimin blinks in surprise. “You—you did?”

“I did. I went to therapy too, actually. After we broke up. I was really… well, I didn’t handle it well. It was really hard for me. I ended up unexpectedly working through a lot of other stuff, too, but therapy is what helped me figure out what I needed to do in order to move on with my life. And I never would have been able to do that without forgiving you first.” 

“Yay, therapy,” Jimin says weakly, trying to crack a smile, but he really just looks like he’s about to burst into tears at any second.

“We couldn’t have worked back then,” Jungkook says. “Therapy helped me realize that, too. I’m sure you remember how jealous I was all the time. Part of that was just immaturity, but I’ve gotten a lot better about it now. Even if you hadn’t been dealing with all of your own stuff, my issues might have eventually messed things up for us, too. It wasn’t just you, Jimin. You shouldn’t bear the weight of all that guilt.”

“I know,” Jimin says. “I think there was a tremendous amount of pressure on us, too, because…” he crosses his arms, hugging himself. He’s not making eye contact anymore. “We both realized what we had found in each other. The stakes were way too high. It felt like we had to stay together, no matter what, or the world would end. Do you know what I mean? Did you feel that, too?”

Jungkook nods. “It did feel like my world ended, for a little while,” he says quietly, a lump forming in his throat.

Jimin looks terribly distraught for a moment.

“Jungkook, listen. I want to apologize for dragging you into this friendship with me… without considering how you might have felt about it first. I was too scared to bring up the past, and I was just… selfish. The only thing I knew was that I needed to talk to you again. To be around you again. Nothing else mattered to me. Honestly, I should have respected your boundaries when you tried to cut me off, not show up at your door in the middle of the night—”

“No,” Jungkook says, his hands shaking a little. “No, I’m really glad that you showed up at my door in the middle of the night, actually.”

“Oh,” Jimin says. He actually sounds surprised.

Jungkook is finding it increasingly difficult to stay away from him. To keep that center cushion, that neutral zone, between them.

“You don’t think it was a mistake?” Jimin asks. His eyes are shining again. “What we did in Incheon?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “No, I don’t think it was a mistake. It was inevitable, I think.”

Jimin spoke those exact same words to him years ago. He was curled up in Jungkook’s lap, arms looped around his neck, breathless after their very first time. It was inevitable, I think.

“I think so too,” Jimin whispers. He clutches at his own knees again, fingers flexing and unflexing like a cat.

The Seoul skyline stretches out behind them, solid and unmoving.

“Jimin,” Jungkook says again. This time it sounds more like a question—like a plea. 

The other side of the couch feels like it’s a thousand miles away. Jimin is building up to something, opening his mouth like he wants to speak, but he can’t. He blinks a few times, and a tear finally escapes, rolling down his cheek. 

“Jungkook, I’m still so in love with you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Jungkook’s heart shatters and glues itself back together all at once.

“You don’t have to stop,” Jungkook says. “Jimin, you don’t have to stop.”

“I don’t—do you mean—”

“Please come over here.” 

Jungkook opens his arms, and then he waits for Jimin to come home. 

Jimin crawls across the couch and directly into Jungkook’s lap, burying his face in Jungkook’s chest, clutching his sweatshirt with both hands. Jungkook wraps both arms around him, holding onto him tightly, feeling completely and thoroughly overwhelmed.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook murmurs against his hair. “I will always love you no matter what.”

“Can we please try again,” Jimin chokes out, muffled against Jungkook’s chest. “Can we please—can we please try—”

“Yes,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to stroke the back of Jimin’s head. “Yes, baby, we can try again.”

“Okay,” Jimin says, and he’s basically sobbing at this point, tears soaking through Jungkook’s sweatshirt. “Sorry, s-sorry, I don’t know why I’m—”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says, but now he’s crying, too. “Shhh. Try to calm down.” He rubs Jimin’s back, rocking him back and forth a little bit. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t think you would want to,” Jimin says, trying to catch his breath. “I thought I messed up too much.”

“We both messed up. But we can learn from the past,” Jungkook says. “I think we already have. We’ll be okay.”

Jimin pulls back and looks up at him. His nose is pink and his face is tear-streaked. “Okay. Yes. We’ll be okay.”

“How do you always look so pretty when you cry?” Jungkook asks him, gently wiping away Jimin’s tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I just look crazy.”

“You don’t look crazy,” Jimin says. He leans up, kissing Jungkook’s damp cheeks. Then he kisses the tip of his nose. “You look like my Jungkook.”

“I am your Jungkook,” he says.

Jimin’s face crumples again.

“No, no, it’s okay—”

“Sorry,” Jimin wails, burrowing his face into Jungkook’s shoulder. “I don’t even know where t-this is coming from.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says, and he laughs despite himself, sniffling. He pulls Jimin further onto his lap. “This is a lot. It’s okay.”

Jungkook runs his fingers through Jimin’s hair, scratching at his scalp. Breathing in, breathing out, trying to process this new development: he does not have to say goodbye to Jimin again.

He is not walking out of here alone.

Jimin is still crying, but he tugs at Jungkook’s sweater, trying to get his attention.

“Jungkook,” Jimin says hoarsely.

“Hmm?”

“I really want to kiss you. In a minute. I just need a minute.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, nose scrunching. He kisses the side of Jimin’s head. “Take your time.”

Jimin eventually detaches himself from Jungkook’s shoulder, wiping at his eyes, although it takes a bit longer than a minute. He looks up at Jungkook, and Jungkook brushes his hair back away from his face, totally overwhelmed by him—his wide, sparkling eyes, his rosy cheeks, his soft mouth. He is still the most beautiful person Jungkook has ever seen.

Jungkook cups Jimin’s face in his hand, thumb brushing over his cheek. Jimin’s eyelashes flutter.

“Can I kiss you now?” Jungkook murmurs.

Jimin doesn’t answer. He just leans forward, pressing his mouth to Jungkook’s, wrapping a hand around the back of Jungkook’s neck.

And this time, Jungkook doesn’t have to worry about hiding how hopelessly in love he is.

He sighs, relaxing back against the couch cushions, pulling Jimin with him. His instinct is to rush, but he has to remind himself that’s not important anymore. He doesn’t have to ration the feeling this time around. He’ll be able to kiss Jimin tomorrow, too, if he wants. Maybe even all the days after that.

Jimin tastes sweeter now, like comfort, like permanence. Less like sorrow, more like relief.

It doesn’t feel real yet.

“Will you go to lunch with me on Tuesdays again?” Jimin says, lips brushing against Jungkook’s cheek as he pulls away. “I’ve been missing you so much. Especially on Tuesdays.”

“If we’re doing this, then you won’t have to miss me anymore,” Jungkook says, placing soft kisses along the line of his jaw. Jimin tilts his head back, granting Jungkook better access. “Of course I’ll go to lunch with you. Our lunches were always the highlight of my week,” Jungkook murmurs against Jimin’s skin. “We can go to lunch every day, if you want.”

“Okay. Every day sounds good. We have a lot of catching up to do,” Jimin says. He kisses Jungkook again—light and sweet, right on the mouth—and Jungkook smiles against him.

“It seems like I am able to talk again,” Jimin says. “So now that I am able to form a coherent sentence without sobbing, um…” Jimin lets out a shaky breath. “I am so happy and I love you so much and I can’t believe this, honestly—I think I forgot how to be this happy, and my brain is just short-circuiting now, or something.”

“I figured that’s why you were crying,” Jungkook says. His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I mean, because you were happy. Hopefully you’re not sad that we just got back together.”

“I’m not sad now,” Jimin says. “But I was sad when we were talking before. Even after you told me you loved me. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“I know what you mean,” Jungkook says. “I was sad, too.”

“No more being sad,” Jimin says. “I think we’ve both experienced enough sadness by now to last an entire lifetime.”

“I don’t think we can dodge sadness forever,” Jungkook says with a tiny smile, fingers brushing along the side of Jimin’s neck. “But if we have each other, then it will be easier to get through it. Right?”

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees. “You’re right.”

He curls up against Jungkook’s chest, cheek pressed to the spot where Jungkook’s heart is steadily beating.

“I love you too, by the way,” Jungkook says. “Sorry I forgot to say it back just now. I’m out of practice.”

“We should start getting lots of practice, then,” Jimin says. “I’ve loved you all this time, and I never got to tell you once. It was very annoying.”

“Sounds like you’re dealing with quite the backlog.”

“Mmhmm,” Jimin says, hands skating up Jungkook’s belly. Jungkook sucks in a breath. “I love you. Will you stay here with me tonight?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says, rubbing Jimin’s back softly. “I can stay.”

“You forgot to say it back again,” Jimin says, booping Jungkook’s nose with his finger.

“Oops. I love you.”

“That’s better,” Jimin says, tugging him closer and pulling him into another kiss.

They don’t leave the couch for the rest of the night. They eventually end up shifting positions, stretching out and lying down as soon as they start to get sleepy. Jungkook lies on his back, and Jimin curls up on his side next to him. They spend approximately half of their time making out—slowly, lazily, savoring the lack of urgency. Getting to know each other’s mouths again, murmuring sweet nothings as they go.

The other half is spent talking, reminiscing, reflecting. Reestablishing.

Starting over.

If this were a book, Jungkook knows exactly what he would put on the cover. He can picture it vividly. It’s an illustration of the Han, sweeping and broad. There’s a deep purple sky dotted with twinkling stars, all of Seoul looming in the background. On the grass, there are two silhouettes lying on a picnic blanket, limbs tangled, empty bottles of soju scattered beside them. 

It’s a reconciliation of past and present: a memory from their old life, plus a memory from their new one. They wouldn’t be able to have this, what they have now, without what they had before. That first night at the river, Jimin told Jungkook he thought they were fated to be together. And in the same spot, years later, on a sunny afternoon, Jungkook let himself start believing it again.

The book isn’t finished yet. The second chapter is only just beginning. But Jungkook can’t wait to read the rest.

                   six months later                   

“Why is it so cold?” Jungkook asks, burrowing his chin down into the collar of his puffer coat, stuffing his hands further into his pockets. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” Jimin says, laughing. “It’s probably warmer here than it is in Seoul right now.”

Jimin doesn’t look cold at all, but then again, he’s dressed for the weather. He has two sweaters on underneath his red peacoat, plus a pair of thick gloves and a black wool scarf. If anything, the faint pink glow on his cheeks just makes him look even more pretty than usual. 

“But there’s the wind off the water,” Jungkook whines. “My nose is gonna fall off.”

“I’ll catch it,” Jimin says sweetly, grabbing Jungkook from behind and steering him forward on the sidewalk. “If you walk a little faster, we’ll be there before you know it.”

“Why is the one with short legs telling me to walk faster?” Jungkook grumbles under his breath. 

“These short legs will kick you right in the butt if you don’t watch your mouth.”

“It’s kinda hot when you tell me to watch my mouth.”

“Feeling warmer, then?” Jimin asks, tickling his sides from behind. 

Jungkook wheels around on him, and Jimin squeals, skittering further up the sidewalk. 

“My plan is working,” Jimin calls. 

“Wait for me,” Jungkook says, jogging to catch up with him, smiling despite the fact that he can’t really feel his face. 

Jimin was at least telling the truth—it’s not long before they arrive. Jimin grabs Jungkook’s jacket sleeve to bring him to a halt, then opens the door and nudges him to go in first. The bell on the door jingles as they enter. 

The instant rush of hot air feels amazing against Jungkook’s frozen skin. He rubs his hands together, trying to generate some warmth. He’s hit with a wave of warm and delicious aromas— coffee and crepes and waffles—and his stomach starts grumbling immediately.

“Jimin? Is that you?” the older man behind the counter asks as they approach. His face lights up as he recognizes Jimin. “You finally decided to come see me again, huh?”

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” Jimin says, smiling wide. “You weren’t here the last time I popped in, so I couldn’t tell you, but I actually moved to Seoul. I’m just back in town visiting family.”

“No wonder you vanished,” the man says, his expression transforming into one of understanding. “I thought maybe Som had personally offended you, and you decided not to come back.”

“Som could never offend me,” Jimin says, laughing. He turns to Jungkook, his eyes sparkling. “This is my boyfriend, Jungkook. He grew up here in Busan, too.”

“Oh, how nice,” the man says, and it sounds like he genuinely means it. “Have you been to the cafe before?”

“Never,” Jungkook admits. “I’ve lived in Seoul for the past seven years, so I haven’t had a chance.”

“Oh, then I won’t delay you,” the man says. “I’m sure you’re eager to meet the boys. Do you want coffee now, or afterwards?”

“Afterwards is fine. Thank you!” Jimin says, tugging on Jungkook’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Jimin leads him over to a doorway on the left side of the cafe. The area where they entered was a small space with just enough room for the counter and a line to form, thoroughly decorated with lots of large plants, but there were no tables. Jungkook assumes all the seating must be through this door. 

Along with, you know, the sheep. 

When they emerge on the other side of the doorway, Jungkook makes a strangled noise of pure joy. Together on the far side of the room, the two sheep are bigger than he was expecting them to be, and even more fluffy, too. They’re so white and puffy that they look like giant clouds with four legs. 

One of them is sitting on the ground, relaxed, and the other one is standing up, grazing from a bucket of hay in the corner. They’re so accustomed to being around humans that neither one of them react at all when Jimin and Jungkook walk through the door. 

There’s no one else in here. Jungkook figures maybe it’s slow since it’s the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” Jimin says to the sheep, strolling over to them. “Long time no see.”

Jungkook is so absurdly thrilled that he feels like he’s going to topple over. Like he’s one of those fainting goats—the kind that pass out when they get too excited. 

The sheep that was sitting on the ground rises to his feet and lazily trots over to Jimin, butting his head up into Jimin’s hand. “This is Som,” Jimin says, patting the top of his head fondly. “The other one is Nuni.”

Jungkook peers nervously from behind Jimin’s shoulder, his eyes round. “I can just… touch them?”

“Yes,” Jimin says, laughing. “They’re very social.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says. He crouches down to his knees, then hesitantly holds out his hand toward Som to let him sniff it. “I don't know why I’m doing this. This is how you’re supposed to greet a dog. This is a sheep, not a dog.”

“They might be more similar than you think,” Jimin says with a shrug. 

Som teeters forward, and then he pushes his nose up against Jungkook’s hand. It’s cold and wet. It’s so cute that Jungkook immediately feels like he is going to burst into tears. 

“Hi,” Jungkook says, his heart melting. “Can I pet you?”

Som does not answer. He is, after all, a sheep. So Jungkook assumes it’s probably okay, and then he reaches up to pet the soft spot behind Som’s ear. 

“You’re so soft,” Jungkook says, in awe. Som just stares back at him with a sheepy little grin on his face. 

“I’m going to have a meltdown,” Jungkook declares, scratching under Som’s chin. “I am going to have a sheep-induced meltdown. Actually, I might just die.”

“Please don’t die,” Jimin says, walking over to Nuni, who has now finished snacking on the bucket of hay. Jimin pats him on the back, stroking the soft wool with his fingers. “I like having you around.”

“Oh, you do?” Jungkook asks. He glances up and peers at Jimin over the tips of Som’s ears. In his sheep-fueled state of euphoria, he finally feels bold enough to suggest this. “We should move in together, then.”

Jimin stops petting Nuni. He looks up, frozen in place. There’s cautious hope written all over his expression. “What?”

Jimin’s lease on his studio apartment is ending soon, and he had casually mentioned wanting to find a bigger place. Despite frequently talking about how nice it would be to live together—to wake up next to each other every morning—neither one of them had officially proposed it yet. 

Well, until now. 

“I mean it,” Jungkook says softly. Som trots a little bit in place, his hooves clicking against the wooden floors. “I think we should. I mean, as long as you want to,” he adds hastily. “If you’re not ready—“

“Of course I want to,” Jimin says. He sort of looks like he’s going to cry. “I would love to live with you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Jungkook says. “Well, that was easy.”

Jungkook straightens back out to his full height, and Jimin walks over, looping both arms around Jungkook’s waist and leaning against him. 

“Love you,” Jungkook says, kissing the top of his head. “I didn’t mean to make this into, like, a big thing. I am very excited to live with you. I want to go pet the other sheep now, though.”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. He releases Jungkook, smacking him on the butt. “Fine. We can talk about this later. Go pet Nuni. He’s even softer than Som, I think.”

Jungkook does pet him, and Jimin is definitely right—he is softer. Jungkook ends up hypnotized, petting the same spot on his back over and over, starry-eyed and smiling so hard that his face hurts. 

“Let me take a picture of you,” Jimin says, pulling out his phone. “You look so happy right now, it’s disgustingly cute. You can hug him, if you want—I used to do it all the time.”

“I might pass out if I get to hug this sheep.”

“Just take deep breaths,” Jimin says, smiling as he pulls up the camera app. 

The man from the front of the cafe pokes his head through the doorway. “Are you guys doing okay back here? Need anything? Oh, do you want me to take a picture of you together?” 

Jimin’s face lights up. “That would be amazing, actually, if you don’t mind.”

He hands over his phone, and then Jimin kneels down next to Nuni, gesturing for Jungkook to join him. Jungkook ends up leaning over top of them, one arm around Jimin, the other arm around Nuni. 

“Thank you,” Jimin tells the cafe owner, taking back his phone. He bursts into laughter when he looks at the screen. “Jungkook, please look at this.”

Jungkook peers at the screen, then dissolves into a fit of laughter. “Why does the sheep look like it’s our child?”

“It looks like a super weird family photo. Our child is a sheep, and you are inexplicably excited about it.”

Jungkook glances at the photo again. His nose is all scrunched up, and he’s smiling wide, eyes round and sparkling. He does look very excited about their sheep-child. 

“Send that to me immediately,” Jungkook says. “That will be my phone background until I die.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket a moment later. “Thank you,” Jungkook says, now scratching Nuni behind the ears. Jimin walks over to them, then reaches up and runs a hand through Jungkook’s hair.

“Nuni is down here,” Jungkook says. “You’re petting me.”

“I know,” Jimin says, sticking his tongue out a little. “I did it on purpose.”

“Oh, okay. Carry on, then.”

Jimin drags his fingers through Jungkook’s hair one more time. “I wish there was a way for me to go back in time and talk to the old me. You know, the me who used to come here. When I first moved back to Busan.”

“What would you say?”

“I wish I could tell myself that things will get better,” Jimin says quietly. “That eventually, I’ll heal. That I’ll be so happy. Happier than I could ever imagine. And… I wish I could tell myself that I don’t need to grieve you,” Jimin says. “That we’ll find our way back to each other.”

“I think it’s okay,” Jungkook says, leaning down and kissing Jimin on the cheek. “You didn’t know any of those things, but you still survived. We still ended up here anyway. You were strong enough anyway.”

“I guess you’re right,” Jimin says. “Although I did have a little help from the sheep.”

Jungkook leans down, looking Nuni in the eyes. “Thank you for making Jimin feel better when he was sad. I owe you more than your little sheep brain could ever understand. Your next bucket of hay is on me.”

Jimin laughs, linking his arm through Jungkook’s and leaning his head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“I’m kind of excited to go back home now,” Jimin says. “Looking at apartments with you will be fun.”

Jungkook smiles softly. “Yeah, it will be.”

Lately, Jimin has been referring to Seoul as home, rather than Busan.

The first time he did it, Jungkook picked up on it right away, and he pointed it out, curious what had caused Jimin’s view to shift. 

Jimin just smiled tenderly and said: “Well, my home is wherever you are. And you’re in Seoul, so that makes Seoul my home.”

Jungkook couldn’t argue with that.

☾