↳You come to realize that your highschool sweetheart and you just aren’t meant to be when his attractive best friend walks back into town and sweeps you off your feet.
pairing: model!jimin x teacher!reader
genre: smau, crack/humor, fluff, drama
updates:tbd
series: unfortunate beginnings
status:ongoing
a/n: round 2 my dudes✌I’m really excited for this au since it’s the beginning of a little project I’m working on! there’s gonna be a lot of drama/borderline slight angst(?) anyway let me know if you wanna be on the tag list and I hope y’all have fun reading and enjoy!!
Summary:Dawn comes and sheds new light. There’s nothing left but fool’s gold.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T - for language; references to alcohol and drugs; the reader isn’t having a very good time; it gets v angsty and v mean; curse money, curse everything; violence (yes, vmin dofight with their fists); blood/gore; crying with glitter on (yes, this is a deliberate input for the tags); Jimin really should have driven off earlier; notes on the fragility of friendship and of relationships in general; um, the ending? idk; angst- non-idol!AU.
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-
The soft pad of your feet on the marble is right behind him, “Min wait, it could still work, can’t it? You said you’ve planned enough, how about sourcing the money elsewhere?”
He shakes his head, bitter at how his dreams are dashed, “not enough to get me what I what.”
The kitchen is as you left it, he yanks a drawer open and pulls out the wine he hid from last night, “have a drink.”
Your eyes grow wide at the label, “is that my father’s 1921 Pétrus? Even Idon’t touch that.”
Ignoring you, the wine pools at the bottom of the glass in a deep waterfall, he pours just enough for the both of you. Grabbing the bottle, you inspect the label, squinting at the details. Jimin takes the first sip in a while, it goes down smooth, souring his mouth. You don’t touch yours yet.
“You could have asked father about this, you know. If you wanted it that badly, it’s not as if -”
Another sip makes it past his lips, the taste is bitter as he swallows, “don’t.”
You stop talking, taking your glass and tipping your head back, humming at the taste. Jimin breathes out, licking his lips.
“You know I won’t take something that people would notice to be missing,” he said.
“You don’t have to make excuses, it’s okay,” you said, infuriatingly so.
“Why say that?”
“I get it, Min, I -”
You don’t, not at all. He surges forward, taking the bottle from you, “no, you don’t get it.”
Annoyingly, you dodge his grip and walk backwards, “no but I doget it, Min. I get wanting do something that works like a pick me up, to make you feel more like yourself. I’m the poster child for it, don’t you know?” You almost chortle, but he sees you stop by your wallet, the leather face up with all your cards, then the slim slit that held a packet of snow. The whole image of you comes back to him now and it’s his turn to pry.
“How come you’re so unhappy?”
Immediately, your face changes, he guesses it’s shock.
“What?”
He takes a seat, pushes his own glass away from him, counting the dots on the pitted surface of the table.
“Why are you so sad?”
Maybe he just doesn’t get it - maybe he’ll never really get it, but the least he could do is hear from your point of view.
“You have such a way with words, don’t you?” You said, voice wavering a tad.
“I’m interested.”
That doesn’t seem to placate you because he watches as you wrap his jacket around your front tightly, posture so rigid that if touched you, you’d recoil.“No you’re not. You’re trying to find reasons to find me pathetic and thenyou can finally rid yourself of any responsibility -”
His skin prickles with goosebumps, “responsibility for what?”
You stare at him, features pinched, as if you were about to cry; he attempts to ask again but you explode. Your voice is loud and the kitchen still had high ceilings. The words echoed, bouncing off the marble:
“Responsibility for fucking me for my money!”
“Stop it - ”
“Isn’t that what you wanted to hear, Min? You fucked me for my money, tell me I’m wrong, go on, tell me.”
He doesn’t like hearing this, let alone seeing you like this: manic and on the edge of something he couldn’t quite understand.
“Don’t. I never -”
“Stop lying, I hate it when people lie to me like I don’t deserve the truth,” you said, your voice too loud for this conversation. You rise up, growing as big as your anger, he waves for you to sit down, to calm yourself. “Why aren’t you admitting it?”
“Stop acting like that!” He pleaded, hand outstretched as he glanced at all the doors. It was dawn and the helpers would be on their way soon.
“Acting like what?”
“Like there’s something wrong with you,” he said, a sharp admission like a whip. It works and you retreat, quietening for a moment. He finds the silence and fills it with his thoughts.
“I know you act like that because you need something to justify your selfish behaviour. If there’s something wrong with you, there’s meaning to you how you act, because if there isn’t a reason why,then that scares you. If it’s pointless, you can’t stand it.”
You give him shaky laugh, tears collecting in your eyes and falling down, wetting your cheeks. The glitter drowns in salt, you look at him with contempt through your bloodshot eyes. You looked ravaged for the wrong reasons, someone with an inexplicable fury all directed at him.
“Did you ever stop and think that maybe I slept with you because,” you breathed, sniffing noisily, “because I wantedto?”
He doesn’t say anything, his fingertips cold all of the sudden.
“Are you scared of me, Min? Are you scared of all of this? Scared to be with someone that rattles?” You asked, gesturing wildly. Cringing, he exhaled a strong gust of air. He gets up.
“I’m not scared of you, I actually feel sorry for you.”
When you look at him, he regrets it a little.
“You’re lying.”
Your tears fall freely now, he takes in the rest of you, the wrinkles in your clothes, the glint of your jewellery, his jacket on your body. How did it get to this?
“Get up.”
He doesn’t do what he’s told. It’s humiliating enough to cower reflexively at the sound of your voice. Yet you let out a shaky breath, “I said get up. I’m speaking to you, get up.” He says your name, which sounds and feelsforeign to say.
“Calm down -”
“I am your employer, and when I say get up, you do as you’re told.”
It’s ugly, it’s not you. Jimin does get up and moves back, body hot for all the wrong reasons, he points a finger in your direction. “You don’t employ me, your father does. And I could leak everything I know about you to the press - especially about the drugs. The news would lovethat. And with a family like yours and your name, you’ll make everyheadline,Agassi.”
You laugh as your body animates like its built on a loose spring, moving along the length of the counter like a slinky, “you wouldn’t dare.” Your thumb is near your mouth again, teeth pulling the skin raw.
Jimin raised his eyebrows, gesturing wildly now, “oh, you don’t know what I can do, what I’m capable of. I’ve seen how you actually look at me in the years that I’ve worked here. Like I don’t understand anything, like I’m some animal that you can play with because somehow, you know what I want. Did you ever think that I can pull rank too?”
You’re too quiet so he takes that opportunity.
“You act so high mighty when I’ve never everseen anyone act like the way you did tonight, I’ve seen dogs act with more dignity than you -”
It’s a step too far because you clutch at the counter for support, he stops himself because he doesn’t recognise the sound of his own voice.
“Why didn’t you finish? Carry on,” you mumbled, pushing something on the floor with your foot. Jimin doesn’t think he’s abated the storm since his chest feels tighter then before he spoke.
“What else do you think of me, huh? What else does Mr. Park Jimin think of me?”
When you pry it riles him up. He doesn’t know what you want, not really. It’s crazy how different it was hours ago, he wonders if your father had texted him at all where he would be now. Probably at some tent bar with Namjoon, tossing his head back and wincing at a paper shot of soju, leg bouncing to ward off the cold.
“Stop talking.”
You come near him to provoke, bergamot floats back, the mirth is sickly sweet now.
“C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. Don’t be cruelto someone with less dignity than a dog.”
He winces at his own words thrown back at him, “stop that.”
You jab your finger at his chest, it hurts him more than he expected, he grabs your wrists preventing you from moving but you look at him with those eyes. They’re bloodshot without the dazzle. Don’t make me say it, he thinks.
“Say it, say the truth,” you whispered, crushed.
“I think that it was too easy. That it wasn’t much of a chase to give me the kind of pleasure that I wanted.”
You gasp, wrenching yourself from his hands. He walks away to the other side of the kitchen, dragging his nails across the back of his neck. The spark of pain doesn’t help. Nothing seems to help.
“Fuck you. I could have had anyone. You couldn’t have done anything if I didn’t want you.”
Jimin begins to tidy the overflowing counter, shuttling glasses into the sink. He doesn’t see you but he hears you pacing, “just admit that you hate me.”
He doesn’t respond, his hands on an abandoned plate. The cake he was eating is still there, the icing is messy though. Illegible. When he turns, you’re all the way across the room, smaller than you seem, your shoulders shaking as you sobbed quietly. If you had asked him again if he loved you, he’d say that he’s done so a thousand times. With you in his arms again, he attempts what his mother did when he was young, when she soothed him.
“Shh… I don’t hate you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead, gentle hands on your back in a stroking motion. He cradles your face, lashes heaving with salty tears that drop on his palm. Then, while looking at you, while seeingyou, he realises that you’re the same as him. That’s more painful than anything he’s had to stomach while working here. He realises that the parts that you hide, the parts you don’t want anyone else to know is just as acrid, just as rancid.
“What are we going to do?” You asked after a while.
Trying again, he leans back and affectionately caresses the back of your head, “you’re tired, c’mon I’ll get you up to your room.”
“Min, let’s go to Busan, you said it takes only four hours, really, let’s go,” you said, renewed with a vigour that he can’t gather for himself.
You probably don’t even realise what you’re doing to him.
“We need money, money for gas, money for a place to stay, my parents can’t have us so we need a hotel for a couple of weeks while I sort out the deed to the plot of land, we need -”
Again, you recoil, creating distance, “it’s all about the money with you. Money this, money that.”
Jimin reaches for your wrist, the metal of your bracelets poke through the sleeve of his jacket, “why do you think that money is this corrupt thing? Like it’s dirty? You can do something with what you have, why don’t you get that?”
You weren’t having it, yanking your hand back. Apparently, his grip was too strong as you soothed your wrist with your other hand, “money, then more money, then death,” you mumbled. Jimin tilted his head, confused.
“I don’t want to die. That’s fucking scary.”
He could barely stand going to the doctors and face his own mortality in charts and graphs. The dentist is a private enemy, the plastic coated chair actually being a throne of torture.
“But it’s probably like before the part when you’re born. This blank slate of… nothing.”
“That’s probably not true, it’s probably worse, kind of like -”
Jimin gets distracted by you covering your mouth with your hands, “are you religious? Do you think death is like hell or something?”
His cheeks grow warm, “I never said that! You know what, it’s probably early in the morning, I’m going to the basement parking.”
“Don’t do that!” You said loudly, grabbing him in a way that caused him to stumble. He grunts and prises your hand away, “don’t brush me off Min. I’m not some whore you fucked on the street.”
And he starts to speak because if he didn’t he was afraid of what he’ll do.
“Do you know why your father isn’t here? He hates coming home and knowing that you’re on something, he hates seeing you act loopy or speak all slurred, sniffing up coke like its a meal. It reminds him of herand it kills him. You know it -”
Drawing back, you hug yourself, the tears falling on their own, “no, you’re right. I know that he hates seeing me like this.”
The pain in his temples comes back, what time was it? It feels like he’s been awake for longer than is safe to be driving out. The silence that comes between you is so stifling that he moves away, opening and closing his hand to will some normalcy.
“Love is a fucking joke, you know.”
Jimin wouldn’t know. In the years he’s been around you, he knew of your misery, he could see it on you like a cloud. But he doesn’t understand it, or doesn’t choose to. He didn’t have the luxury to be sad, there was no time, there isn’t even a fucking restaurant to show for himself. Love and torment is luxury to him like time is.
“You got engaged to that Jeon kid,” he said, rather unhelpfully.
You look at him, amused.
“What happened?”
Cruelly and to prove his point, you said, “got bored.”
Unconvinced, he closes the distance, you’re back on the chairs now, “that’s not what happened.”
“Yes, that is what happened. I was the one who broke it off.”
He remembers you crying. He only remembers that.
“I saw you, you were begging him to take you back.”
That stops you from talking, gulping whatever lie you wanted to paint for him. He sees you tug at the sleeves of his jacket, a gesture that made sweater paws.
“You’re so cruel.”
This, he takes in his stride, “I’m sorry.”
Then, his phone buzzes. The lock screen lights up, a message he’s been praying for all night long. Him and Taehyung’s previous messages jitter in his vision.
-
Staying away for the night was good because it prepared Taehyung for the clutter that awaited him en masse. Sure, there was a team of helpers after each event but he would have to retire to his room later on. And if that’s the case, he’d want a clear path, free from sticky patches of alcohol or miscellaneous stains of mysterious liquid.
The apartment has a main entrance which he uses if no one was home. It doesn’t take much to annoy him, a messy house being one of them. He side-steps away from a dying fern right into a puddle of what looked like neon piss.
But it’s not the scattered confetti nor the desiccated cake smeared on the shag rug in the living area that spikes his temperature.
It’s the lone shoe that belonged to Jimin, laying with its sole facing the ceiling. The laces were hastily removed. He knows because Jimin ties them into a stubborn knot. When he checked his phone, there were no new messages from either of you. Jimin hadn’t replied to his morning ones too. Taking a deep breath, he keeps on walking.
-
[7:20PM]: Yo. Tteokbokki?
Taehyung [7:33PM]: Setting up. Have it later.
————Today, 6:46AM ————
Taehyung [6:46AM]: All of the guests leave?
Taehyung [6:48AM]: I’m on my way up.
Jimin pales, his hands start tingling. It’s morning, the day has ended and nothing has changed. There was no restaurant, no dream to build. A car awaits him at the basement but he reeks of booze and sex and sweat. He can’t drive anyone in this state. There’s not enough time to shower either. Next to him you’re frantic, dawning on the same thing.
You’ve both run out of time.
“Is he coming back? Do you have to go?” You asked, shivering.
He sees your bare feet, the thin metal link of the anklet on your left ankle. You’re unsteady because you’ve overlapped your right over your left. You’re not sure whether to inch closer or further away so its end looking like you’re swaying.
“No, it’s Taehyung, he’ll be up soon but I have to go too. Your father might call me anytime.”
You nod, but your eyes are downcast.
“It’s okay. We’ll -”
He stops himself on the account of not knowing what to say, mouth full of cotton. And you’re so hopeful that it gets him all nervous again. He can’t even remember what exactly he promised. You wait, hands clasped, your tears drying over glitter. Finally, he admits that he’s tired. The sound of the door slamming open startles you both, Taehyung emerges into the kitchen in no time. There’s a plastic bag in his hand and a new mop in the other. Jimin’s stomach twists at the sight of the green bomber, the patches droop, its loose threads standing up stiffly.
Taehyung’s eyes flit to you and Jimin, putting the cobbled state of your clothes, the remnants of wine on the table and the fucked-out expression on your faces together. It doesn’t look redeemable to anyone walking in; Jimin’s grateful that it wasn’t your father. Deeply calm, Taehyung walks down the steps, the cool air he brings with him smells distinctively of the city. Of packed subway cars and smoke from the early morning vendors three blocks away from your building.
“Tae -” you said but are cut off.
“You should go up to you room and clean up. Your father won’t like to come home and see you like this.”
Jimin maniacally starts to clear more debris from the party, he tries to get the mop from Taehyung’s hand but it escapes him.
“Meet me in the rooftop in a minute, yeah?” Taehyung asked, placing the mop against the bucket by the trash.
You were out of earshot, ascending the steps to your room. Jimin nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and going to the opposite direction.
-
The rooftop garden wasn’t as well maintained as Jimin remembered. Usually the shrubs were manicured but he was met with overgrown catastrophes. The various concrete features spluttered water in a pathetic stream, wetting the stone in a dark grey. Your father had the biggest penthouse space in Gangnam, befitting of a business tycoon that started from the ground up. The spot where he saw you was hardly anything special, adding nothing to the space.
Dawn comes in orange streaks, easy on his bloodshot eyes. Smog waits to descend upon the city as the horizon is broken by the buildings that jut up from the ground. Below are the images of the street flicking their lights on during the day, driver’s like him stretching their legs, and vendors parking a little further so as to not tarnish the pristine sidewalks.
It strange for Taehyung to suggest meeting up here without any food or a pack of smokes. He should have had both portions of tteokbokki instead of leaving it at the mini fridge by the driver’s quarters. His stomach is caving in, intestines wrung tight from the night’s events. By now, you’re probably showering or in bed. Either way, what started off as a dream ended up as a lofty fantasy. You’re not exactly the kind of girl he expected and you might even say the same thing about him.
Perhaps this time, he’d accept his mother’s well-intentioned ‘I told you so.’ But it’s his father’s quiet disappointment that might kill him. Jimin never heard him say anything in support but he also never heard anything untoward either. It’s in the eyes though. And his father’s eyes said more than what he needed to hear.
He looks down. He doesn’t even have his damn shoes on.
The door flings open, banging against the exposed steel beam meant to complete the rugged aesthetic of the garden. Taehyung is strutting towards him, something brewing in his eyes, something that makes the colour in them dark and flat. The orange of the waking sun does little to conceal the fact that he’s a little pale, a telling sneer forming on his lips.
“You okay, Tae?”
If Jimin wasn’t mistaken, Taehyung looked like he was going to hit him.
He backs up towards the row of shrubs that have seen better days, slowly, step by step.
“Hey, the fuck’s going on? Listen - ”
“You just fucking had to, huh?” His friend snarled.
The pause is unbearable, Taehyung halted less than a meter away visibly shaking, balled up fists in anticipation. Jimin tries to piece things together, had to what? He backs up even more, the heel of his sock-covered feet dragging on the concrete. That wasn’t the right time to hold back, he should have pleaded his case because Taehyung is on him in a second, darting forward with a speed Jimin hasn’t seen since the time they’d brawl for release because being jobless was worse that having no girlfriend back then.
It’s scarier since Taehyung knows where to hit, he knows right where it hurts.Jimin chokes on air as a tanned fist lands on his ribs, a warning that enables him to dodge the next couple of jabs. But he doubles over, winded from the force of the first one. A knee-kick jerks up, hitting him clean on the sternum making him fold, his hands scrabbling to grab onto Taehyung’s shirt.
If he had gotten a wink of sleep instead of half-fighting with you for the night, he might have been able to catapult away or something but Taehyung manages to curl his arm around his neck. The headlock combined with the fact that the bastard was taller than him lifted him on his toes, scratching at Taehyung’s arms with his jagged, bitten nails. Lacking any real choice, he turns his head so that there isn’t much pressure on his airway, still he chokes. Quickly, his hands find purchase on the space between his neck and Taehyung’s bulging arm, once that was accomplished, he bends all the way forward, throwing Taehyung onto the floor.
He grunts at the fact that his shoulder seized at throwing excess weight around. Taehyung always did weigh like a sack of fucking rice.
Jimin was used to not communicating well with others, Taehyung being no exception. But this situation, this ambush,kind of warranted somewords. As he tried to speak, Taehyung grabs him, his long arm shooting forward, his large hand grabbing him by the front of his shirt. And they’re on the floor, barely getting any word in edgeways, Jimin trying his own hand at punching back, participating in this dumb display of violence. The concrete scrapes at the side of his face as Taehyung huffs, fist on Jimin’s cheek. HIs vision sparks, it hurts so fucking bad that he growls, making a cross with his arms to protect his skull from actually shattering. Taehyung hands close over his arms to pin him in place.
“Tae, what the fuck,” Jimin grunts, taking advantage of the fact that the younger one had longer hair. In a moment of strength, he fists the dark locks, bending Taehyung’s neck, the roots lifting from the scalp in a painful undulation. It doesn’t last long though as Taehyung shrugs him off easily, flinging his arms out.
Jimin doesn’t see it coming because he feelsit first.
The coppery taste explodes in his mouth, there’s the sound of a crack too, and his vision spots. He collides with the floor again, but he connects his fist to Taehyung’s jaw with an impact he’s surprised that comes from him.
It’s so idiotic.
Their punches are uncoordinated, blood running down his nose, Taehyung’s lip is split, red spots on his white shirt. His mother’s going to give him hell for that. They don’t even know what they’re doing, grunting at the blows, fists finding everything to land on, bruises waiting to bloom in the afternoon. Jimin hauls Taehyung up, screaming bloodied spit right into his face, his eyes are swollen, his teeth ache as if its nerves are exposed.
“Fucking talk to me! What the fuck are we doing?”
His throat is raw, sweat pools at his hairline. The taste in his mouth makes him spit at the ground, it aches so much more now that they’ve stopped. Taehyung seems content in catching his breath, his face still handsome after a scrape like this.
“D’you fuck her?”
What?
Jimin’s dumbstruck face probably didn’t cut it, and Taehyung prepares to launch another strike.
“Hey! Okay! Okay, fuck! We fucked.”
If Taehyung had told Jimin anything at all, this would have been avoided. He tilts his head at the pretty colours in the sky, it’s brighter. He winces at the raw skin peeling on his knuckles. Taehyung drags himself back, face pink from the exertion, chest expanding and contracting. He looks at Jimin like he’s… betrayed.
“You told her about your restaurant? About your plans?”
Jimin’s head throbs, he pushes his palm over his mouth. More blood, muscles spasming from the adrenaline.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Taehyung turns his head, his hair sticking together at the tips.
“You just never know when to quit, do you even like her like that?”
For the first time in his entire life, Jimin had nothing to say. It wasn’t that he was holding back a reply, he was playing the reel of moments that he missed where it was palpable Taehyung’s feelings for you were real. You were all close in your own way, the kitchen was the hearth of the apartment. Being there didn’t make him feel like an employee.
Being there made him think you were all friends.
“You like her like that?” Jimin asked, cricking his neck.
You didn’t even know Taehyung’s name until he had to clean up your vomit. That was a year in.
Taehyung sighs, this melancholic release that tells Jimin they were thinking off the same thing.
“Whatever man, fuck this, I have the entire house to clean up,” Taehyung said. The moment lengthens to the point of being uncomfortable, the sun is fully lighting the city now. Jimin’s body is wooden from being beat up senseless.
“Feel better at least?” He asked, careful in clearing his throat as his larynx feels funny. It was more of an olive branch in the shape of an uncontested victory on Taehyung’s part. You’re none the wiser, there’s no restaurant, and his best friend can go on pining. For a chilling few seconds, Jimin actually thinks that Taehyung would go for another round. He stays ready to spring up and run this time. The Mercedes isn’t gonna like his punctured state and neither is your father.
And Taehyung gets up, his hand being the other olive branch that Jimin was so glad to see. They both groan as they find their feet, his toes preventing him from stumbling. Jimin isn’t sure what to say. Of course they fought, it was relentless when they were young and poorer. Their parents often questioned why they were fighting rather than talking but they never did that. It’s always the ‘reading between the lines’ bullshit that ended up being a hit and miss exercise. Emphasis on the latter.
“You sure you’re okay?”
His best friend stares at him, a mottled purple bruise forming under his eye. Dried blood crusts at the place where his lip split, Jimin thinks about how he probably looks as mangled. Even if all the emotions have left him over the things that occurred during the past day, he still wanted to check.
“‘M fine ‘Chim.”
It’s not the answer he wanted but it’s enough to give him the reassurance that he can check his phone. Nothing. Taehyung lopes back to the door, the image is so familiar to Jimin that he questions whether what he went through the past twenty-four hours was real.
Jimin thinks that there may not be a restaurant but there’s the country’s infallible gaming culture awaiting them at the end of the day.
“Hey, tteokbokki at the PC-bang later?”
Taehyung turns his head slightly, Jimin sees that tug of his smile.
“Yeah.”
-
In the following weeks, change doesn’t come. Jimin drives your father around, averts his eyes when the building he leads the car into isn’t your apartment building, then avoids going inside unless it’s a last resort. He doesn’t see you much since you’re off going everywhere and anywhere, as wild as ever. Luckily, your father is busy and he doesn’t have to be the one picking you up or dropping you off at the airport. You don’t interact with him beyond the customary ‘hello.’ He’s still deciding whether that bothers him or not.
There’s a day in a particular month where all staff are given the day off. Jimin saw various helpers bring stuff up to the apartment, things like food, wine, the kind he had with you that night. There was a variety of fruits too, rice cakes, other items that he wasn’t familiar with. That day, Taehyung invites him for some barbecue, the crate of beer is shuttled from the back of the fridge at your place. It’s going to waste anyway, Taehyung said.
The studio apartment is low-lying and the balcony is exposed, its furniture battered by the elements. Jimin would rather spend time indoors, his feet up, watching a rerun of some eighties drama but he bears it. Taehyung hadn’t invited him over like this for the past weeks, he was already prepared to spend his free time at the PC-bang after he paid for his lottery ticket.
They don’t speak for a while. Smoke and steam dwindle in the air, his jacket will smell of that stuff soon enough. Taehyung hands him the tongs and he gets to flipping the thin slices of pork belly, the oil splattering outwards.
“Bought extra chilli peppers for your ssam,” he blurts out, eyes on the grill after gulping down some beer. Jimin nods in thanks.
“She’s not even home for this,” Taehyung says, sprawling on the lawn chair, his leather jacket puffing up then creasing. “Happens every year and she’s in Aruba or some shit.”
Jimin’s jaw clenched at the fact that the topic floats over to you. Taehyung pines like he’s an Olympian at it. He bets that if Taehyung was someone in your eyes, he could change you, make you do things you just don’t want to do.
“Maybe she doesn’t like being around reminding herself, you know?” He flips the next strips, more oil spews out, speckling his sleeve.
“You know she was the one who found her a week into college? I heard that she screamed in her sleep for the next six months. Then she got into what she’s doing now.”
Jimin grimaces at the way Taehyung avoids the word drugs.
You said something to him that he remembered as he was cleaning up his wounds after his fight with Taehyung. Must have slipped his mind but when he remembered, it stuck like a nuisance. It was in response to him warning you about the drugs, how you were off the rails and it doesn’t look good.
No you’re right, Min. People might not think that I chose to do it.
He was stupid to believe that things could work, that he could have what he wanted. Taehyung shakes his head, immersed in his own thoughts. Jimin knows that they will never talk about what happened that night, Taehyung looks too hurt. He often does when he meets Jimin for a drink, his eyes losing that spark.
Satisfied, Jimin lays out the seared pork on a lettuce leaf, garnishes it to Taehyung’s liking and offers it wrapped tightly, “here.”
It gets devoured in that cavernous mouth of his, Jimin makes his own, drowns it in spice and chews with his cheeks bursting at the seams.
“Might look for another job,” he said, “go elsewhere, abroad maybe.”
He looks at Taehyung, who eyes him with a tender curiosity. These drawn out silences between them was wrong, it wasn’t reflective of the years spent in this big city. Taehyung nudges the bottom of his bottle against the edge of the table.
“Where?”
“Dunno, Japan maybe?”
There’s a nod, the purse of lips from Taehyung who considers his future. Jimin needed to get away, forget about restaurants and ending the day by the sea.
“Sounds courageous,” Taehyung smiled. Jimin feels a pang of guilt at seeing his friend the way he’s done so for the past couple of years. It’s bitter, the way this phantom acknowledgement weighs on him, like Taehyung’s known all this time.
“When you’re all settled with your chain of restaurants across Asia, don’t forget me, yeah?”
Jimin smiles, eyes shining from the sting of the cold. He remembers entering the border of Seoul with only the clothes on his back and Taehyung’s wide grin. He’s not sure if the rift he caused was repairable but this might be a start.
Summary:You and Jimin are both through the looking glass now and is what you both desire too much?
Warnings/Tags: RATED M - for language; references to alcohol and drugs; references to loneliness in reader pov; Jimin’s a chauffeur (yup); the reader wasn’t having a very good time butnowit’s different; less of the references to shitty techno-pop music more references to the sappy stuff (maybe); light-hearted banter this time; the dreams relate to something real now; it’s really about wanting here; curse money, curse it all; okay, now for the more serious tags: smut (fem-reader; penetrative sex; unprotected sex; the use of ‘Ahjussi’ in the bedroom (only v briefly to tease, i’m sorry); he also has a piercing (guess where?); biting; praise kink; everything is messy, so so messy) - non-idol!AU.
=====
-
Birthdays were a travesty.
They became so the moment you realised that your father and mother cared more aboutwho came than how you felt. The house gets buried in a spool of streamers, the floor swallowed by odd-shaped confetti, the music gets loud.To compensate, you become garrulous, smiling so wide that your cheeks ached.
“Who are you again?”
Your voice comes out slurred, the vowels twisting in your mouth.
The person is familiar under the violet strobe lights, their features aren’t new to you, their touch either. Just as fast as you thought of the question, you think of another. They let your hand go, leaving you floating. The lights get irritating if you stand still for too long, techno-bubble-pop starts hiss through the fridge-sized speakers that are stuck in each corner of the room. Your brain swells from the pressure so you move, you jump and dance. It’s not very impressive, your birthdays.
Quite passé given the circumstances.
Another person shoves their way into the pulsing shoal of people, someone plants a wet kiss on your cheek. You also get sticky during these events, coated in other people’s attention.
“Babe, great party!”
“Mm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering close.
Being surrounded by people got old in the business of living. That’s why you kept moving, can’t be stuck in one place too long otherwise you become aware that they’re not actually here for you, they’re here for the idea of you. Everyone knows you could never compare. Or maybe that was just you.
Didn’t matter. It’s all a game anyway.
Someone says your name but you search for a drink. You didn’t want the hard stuff yet, it’s too early.
As you drank from a shot glass you think that the thing about being alone is that you miss it. You miss the company of others, the touch of a person specifically. But what’s blinding, what the real high for you is the touch of someone who cares.A guy catches your eye, they’re looking at you weird, they must be a friend of a friend. Or a friend of a friend of a friend. Who fucking knows anymore.
Days before your party, you went down to visit another friend. They were working in the financial district, their office at the highest floor of the tallest skyscraper. It took you more than ten minutes just to get to right floor and on the way, you saw this employee. Imposing, broad chested and burly. Reminded you of Jungkook when he was in one of those moods. It was like you were able to superimpose that image, overlay it until it was good enough to feast on.
Look at me.
That’s what you thought when you passed him, cutting it close. Not only did you want the touch of another but you wanted to commit that to memory, despite your fears. You never did come into contact, content with the distance. You wore fear like a security blanket nowadays, made to ward off the consequences of wanting something so much. The odd look from the guy across the room wavers, you realise that he’s not really here.
A shout startles you off-kilter: “Turn that up louder!” Accompanied by a roar of applause and the general clamour that came with parties like this. The music booms, the chandelier atop with its crystal drops quiver to the frequency.
You see Jimin in a matter of seconds, it makes you sling an arm over another person because it’s as if your lungs contracted, shrivelling suddenly. He looked dapper in the setting, all made up in a suit. Handsome in any light, so tempting.
The length of time he’s been working for your family escaped you but it was long enough for the small details of him to come together. Jimin was quiet yet cheerful, you heard his laugh and considered it contagious ever since. Dark hair swept to the side in an ideal arc, rounded eyes, don’t think it passed you how it lingers like it did now.
Once he was through the doorway, carted off by Taehyung, you revert back to a puppet with its strings cut. Inwardly, you wanted Jimin to come back because every time you saw him he was already looking at you. It was enough to sate this tremendous yearning you had, a different kind of addiction.
Maybe he sees you in the way you wanted - the way you needed.
In the red-blue shaft of light you stood under, you buzz from all that you took to keep you sane. Someone gropes your waist and you lean in, taste the bitter gin on their tongue. In exchange you dip your lips to their neck, tasting salt.
Yeah, birthday’s were a travesty.
-
Dancing leaves no room for talking, you liked it that way as it avoids you having to speak about trivial things. No one really wanted to know why you sulk so much or why you’re back here to rot. It helps you forget about the things you couldn’t control.
Thankfully Taehyung took those wretched flowers out of sight. They weren’t worth much if they reeked of your father’s guilt.
Finding success in dragging Jimin up the stairs to the main room, you note that he looked even better in the kitchen lighting. You could see his bright complexion and despite his tired eyes, he was agreeable. Soft hands in yours, you laughed as he stumbled poorly up the final step.
“Careful,” you warned, tugging him close, closer. He dips his head, giving you a strained smile.
It’s faint but it’s there, the scent of sweet shampoo and a hint of soap. Clean, sharp, things you’d expect from someone like him.
The chandelier trembles from the bass, you’re around people again, but this time, Jimin’s hands are on your waist. It’s a little fuzzy so you circle your arms around his neck, his touch is bewitching. You attempt to speak, which isn’t like you at all, frankly. And, as if your mind knows, you end up laughing instead.
What must you look like to him?
Desperate?
Sad?
The realisation makes you pull away, mind throbbing from the protests of Stop that, you’re being weird.You don’t wait long enough to see how he looks at you, blanking out. You laughed too before you separated, failing in being cool. You’re in some partygoers arms now, getting lifted.
“Three cheers for the birthday girl!”
Held above, squeezed at the ribs, you’re overwhelmed by a sea of faces, Jimin is nowhere to be seen.
-
The rest of the evening waxes and wanes, details escape you in your stupor. Taehyung has left, you and Jimin talked and talked and talked.The breaking of one of your cardinal rules wasn’t detrimental but it made you antsy.
He said something that dulled all worry, though.
Something that sounded like love.
Whatever you took or drank wasn’t nearly enough to help with the nerves, this jittery feeling that comes with being seen. You needed another high, one that took you to the edge. That prospect died that moment Jimin kicked your supply under the dishwasher. A part of you was grateful since in some way, he sensed that you didn’t want to be consumed in a numb state.
You didn’t remember that day he spoke of, that day on the rooftop where you were surrounded by papers. Likely from your time trying to make it as a writer. The ideas in your mind were left too long that they festered. The ink that coated your fingers were superficial, the prose coming empty. Insipid.
You keep watching him as he told that story, but your eyes wandered to the dangerous valley that his unbuttoned collar showed. His neck is slender, there’s a mole there too. Very enticing.
The want returns, as if that’s what you needed to survive, telling of the yearning is howling inside you now. Eager, you cling to him as he kicks the door to the spare room shut. Your back hits the bed, mouth wet and fingers searching for clasps, buttons, zips. The removal of clothes is mechanical if not awkward, but what comes after was worth it.
Skin, touch, and proximity.
Perhaps it’s the culmination of stares, touches, and longing. Perhaps you had already been together like this in some way and this was the natural way of things. As if being with Jimin like this switches the sensitivity of your body up a notch, reminding you of nights where you’re sore from being with someone during sweltering summers, sweating not just from being caught under the sun but from a body on yours, between your legs, the sea breeze from Biarritz on your tastebuds. To be transparent about it, you missed holding someone’s cock, a temporary delight that shoves the bitter things trapping you for the past weeks -months.
“Am I reading this -” you begin to ask, a smirk curving your lips. Jimin shakes his head prematurely.
“I want to… I want to touch you,” he said, hovering above as you panted beneath him, clothing already askew. It was just meant to be sunrise on the roof but this is so much better. His eyes are so dark, it’s like they’re soaked in black tar.
“Alright, whatever you need,” you replied, then you caught yourself, “whatever you want, Ahjussi.”
It’s so dumb, he’s not even thatmuch older than you, but old is gold. And you had a feeling that this term of endearment will stick come morning. In response, Jimin gathers your wrists, pinning them above your head, your body arches up, your breathing laboured. The room is spacious but the air is syrupy. It might be just be you though, you had a tendency to get worked up, then your head gets hot from all the racing thoughts.
You see it though, the way Jimin registers your words. Whatever you want. His eyes rove over your body communicating his wants, his needs.You want him to hold you, to feel cocooned, want that sticky slap of skin, sweat on the sheets. To have him quick and rocking inside you, first comes the pain then the pleasure.
“Can I…” He hesitates, hand skimming your side, “touch you?”
It’s too soft, why must he ask twice?
“You can,” you encouraged, twisting your arm back to drag the short zip of your top down. It falls away and his eyes, they go wide. Somewhat conscious of the imbalance, you unbutton his shirt. Under all of that drab, that pristine white cotton hides the ripple of tan muscles. Jimin doesn’t touch you yet, you don’t want to goad but it’s torturous.
“This really okay?”
“Yes - yes,” you whispered.
Glad not to have done the hard stuff, you didn’t have to worry about your libido tanking. The trade off was that the itch didn’t need scratching, it needed eradicating. So much waiting, it leaves ample time for thoughts to creep in. Like how this wasreally okay, that Jimin isn’t really employed by your household, he doesn’t drive your father around. These things don’t matter so much, not really
You’re in the spare room at the lower levels of your apartment, it’s your birthday. And he’s a handsome stranger at the eleventh hour.
He’s touching you so gently, careful hands on your neck, somehow cooling your scorched skin. His tongue flicks out, licking at the pulse of your throat, languid, sending shivers down, down.
“Fuck,” you moaned, his hand coming into contact with your clothed pussy under your skirt. It’s all too reverent at the moment, you can’t help but arch up, nipples brushing against his firm chest. He groans at your neck, open mouth followed by the graze of teeth. There’s too many clothes, not the right kind of friction. Impatient, you shove at his shirt, yank at his belt. He lets you, sounding amused.
Jimin was nice to look at, even in the low light. With the shirt off, your eyes adjust. He’s managed to get half-hard but that’s not the real kicker: there’s an unmistakable glint, are those nipple rings?
“What? Are you laughing?”
You squeeze at his bicep, fascinated at how the blood is displaced, a pale mark in the shape of your thumb on his skin. Lifting your touch, the trace of you fades.
“Nothing. it’s just like you to get something like this done,” you replied, thinking about the sensitivity of them. Your breath comes out in a shudder, so loud in your arousal that it screamed the filth of your thoughts.
“What’s the supposed to mean?” He asked, voice going down a timbre.
“What were you, a wayward?”
You couldn’t seem to reconcile that with the clean cut image of the Jimin you knew. Around your father, he didn’t set foot out of line. His hands settle on your naked skin, your heart beats erratically, hairs standing to attention. He answers as he slips your skirt off you.
“Lost a bet.”
Knuckles brush over your underwear, the slightest pressure, you’re already wet, clit pressing uncomfortably on the mesh. You need something soft, blunter. His fingers tease, a slow motion that temporarily soothes.
“And your nipples were the first thing at stake?” You asked, breath hitching because everything is so warm, the initial wave of arousal makes you lift your hands. It’s only a light touch over his nipples but he gives out a gasping breath, lips wet. It’s unfair that you’re not doing anything, so you rub them, and he weakens, forehead clammy against yours.
“Friends were assholes, got me so drunk that I agreed to -” he starts, briefly cut off because you crash your mouth against his, a messy connection of tongues and the snap of teeth, saliva on lips. The next words are lost, you’re hungry, fingers searching against, delving into his dark hair. So good, so nice.
“Up, c’mon.”
He was talking about moving further up the bed. You oblige, the rush hitting you altogether, head thudding against the tufted headboard. Jimin gets fully undressed then kneels between your legs. Clipped, short nails on your thighs, your nipples harden into pebbled peaks. He lifts your underwear up and off, cool air makes your bare pussy tender, the sensation jolting you.
The mattress is stiff, hardly used. It presses unhelpfully against your back, your thighs spreading, the coil in the pit of your stomach is contained, the need is so sudden, it’s heavy and overwhelmed.
“Hold me,” you whispered, pulling him down, saying it again in a kiss. Darkness heightens touch, your tongue licks into his mouth, teeth nipping at his upper lip, plush and soft.
Jimin’s weight is pleasant, depressing your breath, pushing out your thoughts. There’s no space, just touch. And so, so nice. Like falling and floating, one with air.
“Please, more,” you gasped, grinding your core against his crotch, hand curling on his hair, cock hard as he rolls his hips in a deliberate circle. It burns, this proximity. He groans in your mouth, the slick glide of his length along your slit emits little, wet noises, sparring with the rush of the sheets.
“Harder, Min,” you plead, sighing at the feel of his hands shackling your wrists down.
It shouldn’t be this easy, the surge for something good shouldn’t give way to you losing it this quickly. You hold your breath, canting your hips up, the head of his cock nudges your clit and you hiss. Jimin grunts, leaving you unrestrained. It’s a little premature, making you cling onto the feeling, hands massaging his shoulders, lacing fingers over his neck, sweaty at the nape.
You’re trembling, legs hitching up and thighs spreading wide. The pleasure broils under the arousal, he knows it too. He kisses you with fervour, more weight to it this time, hands busy kneading, squeezing, pinning.
“Jimin,” you gasped, coaxing, shameless in the way you open up to him, his fingers not staying long enough to sink in your heat. His lips find the shell of your ear, his accent faltering a tad, What is it that you need?
“Just hold me,” you said, voice unlike your own.
And he does, all silky smooth skin, heat and taut muscle. You accept it all, tingling everywhere, not sure how your breathing is all ragged from touching and grinding, but it’s there. He presses your legs towards you, taking a moment for you to loosen up till your knees crush your tits, it’s bawdy to be bent like this. Sex is like that.
“Shit,” he marvels. You knew what it must have looked like otherwise Jimin wouldn’t be in pieces right now. To help, you secure your hands at the back of your thighs, holding position. Exposed and trusting. Jimin circles a hand on your ankle, his other holding his cock. The stretch makes you gasp, his hips slowly inching forward.
“F-fuck,” you uttered, pussy clenching at the tip of his cock.
For a long, unbearable moment, nothing happens. Jimin looks pained,his chest heaves while you whimper, relaxing, eyes shutting as white dots spark in your vision.
“It’s okay, you can go like that,” you said, chewing on your lip. It’s a polite way of saying hurry up. Jimin dips his head, eyes turning darker but they shine. He must have heard the desperation in your voice.
“Shh, it’s okay. You can bite me if you want.”
Your legs part as he lowers, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, moaning as the new pressure, the slow ease of his cock spearing inside your pussy. The thrash of your hips is aimless, the grinding is jittered, seeking more of him. Your teeth sinks on the corner where his neck meets his shoulder, it’s salty as your tongue flicks across heated skin. His moans fan your hair, hips beginning to move.
“Fuck,” he groaned, bottoming out, your fingers claw at the sheets, Jimin fucks into you in slow strokes. It’s satisfying, so cathartic like this, exactly how it should be. You’re whimpering, words lost in the clumsy translation of your bodies, the drag of his cock sending you spiralling.
“Keep going - like that,” you gasped, it’s so thick, this feeling, bolstered by the warmth seeping everywhere. And he drives his hips forward, stilling just to grind and you shake. Your pussy clings around his cock as he pulls out and rams back in. You can’t even move, nails clawing at his back, spurring that grunt that dies on the space by your head. Your back arches, loving the harsh, physical contact, thrusts on the liminal edge of pain.
“Ah..ahn,” you moaned, shuddering, teeth locking onto his skin, using all your strength to grind hard and fast, losing it a little each time. Jimin lifts his head, lips sealing over yours, tongue forceful in the way it parts your mouth, everything is sticky, drying sweat makes things chafe but not where it mattered. The kiss is sloppy and wet, Jimin slams into you, the solid smackof hips meeting yours, the stretch of his cock, it’s delicious and you struggled to stay in place, jostled up the bed.
“Shit…ah,fuck,” he huffs, stopping to readjust you both.
“Ah, Min, I can’t,” you babbled, lax as you you bask in the feeling, this thing that’s evaded you for so long.
“You can,” he said, answering your muddled thoughts. He reaches down, thumbing your clit in lazily circles. “You’re really wet, so fucking good, taking me like this, hm?” He brings it up, resting it on your bottom lip, you lick at it, tasting yourself, suckling on the blunt pad until you drag your tongue down his palm, a slick stripe of saliva that makes him laugh. He goes back with the same hand, forking his fingers to expose your clit, simultaneously thrusting. It all goes to your head, bodies sliding in submission, his cock is thick and follows each pull and push of his hips.
“Ah, fuck, fuck,” you choked out.
Jimin hauls you to sit up, and you cry out at the change in angle. He cups your ass, controlling the rhythm, “you’re so good, doing so good,” he said, stroking the small of your back as he assumes this easy grind up. You must have given it away in your face because the next thing he does is jar you, fingers kneading the nape of your neck, “you like that? Me telling you that you’re good?”
And his eyes are dark, his hips jutting up, his cock hitting you deeper, you collapse onto him, trying to wade through the fog of pleasure. He says your name, “want me to praise you?”
You nod, holding onto him, clenching unforgivably around his length, “tell me, tell me I’m good.”
Jimin lowers you back on the bed, kissing everything, your cheeks, your eyelids. “What else? Want me to tell you that you’re beautiful? That you’re good, so good?” He follows this with a forceful thrust, fucking into you steadily again. You moaned, head hitting the sheets, crying out at your clit getting the friction it needed, he keeps close, “want to hear that I’m struggling to hold myself out because you’re this tight?”
You almost cum, if not for him slowing down. He’s relentless with what he says, slipping even dirtier confessions in your ear, talking as if you’re his to own, to use.He knows what to do, as if attuned to every micro reaction you give, always finishing with tender words, never letting you comprehend, until -
“That’s a good girl.”
And then you let go, heat blasting through you in an acute wave, lightning striking from within, sizzling and searing through you, toes curling as Jimin swallows your moans. He holds you down as your stomach tenses, thighs rippling as he continues, chasing his own peak. You let him, yelping into his mouth, trying and failing to contain the pleasure that rips you into overstimulation.
“Ah, fuck, fuck,” he grunts, spilling inside you, fucking you in slower pumps, your eyes squeezed shut, fireworks everywhere, muting all senses, mind emptying into a nothingness. Your orgasm fizzles then ebbs, Jimin rocking into you, hair plastered to his forehead, careful not to jolt you as he pulls away. You blink at the mess between you, the heated, sticky pool of your arousal smearing your thighs, his cock coated in it.
“Fuck,” you breathed, not quite believing it.
For a while, it’s just you trying to catch your breaths. You don’t want it to come back, but it does. You’re hollowed out, you feel hot and in need of something clean. Jimin walks away and comes back swiftly, towel in hand from the adjoining bathroom. He moves with familiarity that it prompts you to question:
“Been here before?” You asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. He grins, spreading your legs to smooth over the raw skin; the towel is rough but does the job.
“Sometimes I crash here if I stay late with Tae.”
That explains it.
The apartment is enormous and it’s just you and your father.
Aftershocks come in the form of static spreads where he last touched, “feel okay?” He asked. You nod, watching him massage your skin, tapping fingers, and handling you as if you were fragile. On a normal day, you’d protest, but it’s lovely. You stare at each other, a little bewildered as to how far to take this. He brushes against your tender core, knuckles on your core for a moment, sending you into a palpable shudder. “Sorry.”
“’S fine.”
More silence. More opportunity to think. You’re not even drunk anymore. Jimin is calm, shifting the sheets until you’re both under them. The weight isn’t as nice but his arm around you isn’t artificial. Sleep should come next but the air isn’t conducive to that, reality bites. You watch each other, accepting this vulnerability. When you think you want to say something or when he looks like he’s considering the same reality, you both keep it to yourselves.
-
Laying side by side on the huge mattress, enveloped under the sheets, Jimin finally speaks. His voice is croaky.
“You look sad.”
It was meant to upset, this concern, but it felt so good to have him say that out loud. Better than being stuck together, sweaty and panting into each other’s mouths. You could get that plenty, but this? It hits all the spots that physical touch can’t remedy.
And that’s bliss.
You could only smile, not giving it away because that would be weird. Who likes being told that they’re sad? You couldn’t tell him that what he said was fine, either. Nothing’s fine about what he said and the fact that you chose to accept it.
The room is sparsely decorated, one painting from an auction hangs by the door. A seascape reminding you of your mother. You search for other things to look at and your eyes wander back to Jimin. The first thing you think about is how he’s neat and clean cut. There’s a method to how he carries himself. His nails are cut short, his hair is trimmed, his skin is bright. In fact, it’s too bright and healthy for someone who barely has a fixed schedule, driving all over the city. For more physical matters, his jaw is cut sharp, unlike the rest of his features, worn soft, down to his puckered lips. He seems to notice this unabashed examination and mumbles, “what?”
“How’d you look like that?” You asked.
“Like what?”
“You’re all… sparkly, pouty, then you get pretty, like really pretty. You’re put together, know what you want, just get on with things. I admire that.”
Blame it on the drunkenness, blame it on feeling like you’re suspending in this haze.
“There’s hardly any light - ” he laughs, a tad nervous.
“No, you’re… strangely sensual, like a creature moulded from a dream. You’re so interesting, magical.”
You scold yourself inwardly, You’re being weird again, stop it. But Jimin hikes the sheets up to cover your shoulders.
“Alright alright, you really are a writer.”
That makes you smile.
“Was.”
You weren’t sure what you were doing now, it’s all a blur. All of your shit hasn’t really gotten together. The point when that happened, when progress just halted, you can’t remember either. You push his hair away, counting the moles on his forehead.
“Really, you look insane, Min.”
He laughs, “flattery again.” It ends in a subtle lisp, his accent lilting in this sing-song manner.
“It’s truth telling. Sounds weird coming from me,” you replied.
He’s quick to come to your rescue when you don’t ask.
“No it doesn’t. I’m just not used to it.”
You meet the inky pools of his eyes, they relax, his blinks are slow.
“To what?” You asked, finding his hand under the sheets. He squeezes his palm against yours.
“Seeing myself how you see me.”
-
The house is empty and Jimin lends you his jacket that he’s retrieved from the kitchen. Everything you both wore was loose, the fabric of your skirt is wrinkled, you’re laying, outstretched on the couch like a cat, comfortable in its surroundings. The main space is trashed, confetti everywhere, it looks robbed.
“What are we gonna do?” You asked, catching him by the back of his thigh. He’s been searching for his other shoe for ages but couldn’t seem to locate it. Walking around in socks on a sticky floor made him grimace, the black wool is soiled. His shirt is on the chair across, his belt tossed under the bed, his tie is somewhere. The metal strap of his watch breaks up the skin from his forearm and wrist.
“What do you mean?” He asked back, looking down at you and smoothing your hair. It’s subtle but he feels you press into his touch.
“If this was one of those movies or novels, we would run away as the next scene,” you said, tugging him down onto the couch. With no luck about his shoe, he lets you slot yourself onto him, your calves flanking his waist. You fit together like a puzzle, like that he could kiss the inside of your knee. The supple skin tastes like you and him, he pauses, his lips lightly pressing.
“Where would we go?”
“Just far, like really far,” you murmured, that glaze in your eyes are back.
Jimin hauls himself up, bare skin scraping on the rough linen of the couch. Your statement spurs a forgotten dream of his, one of many left at the wayside. One that he picks up occasionally when he’s idle, forefinger tapping on the steering wheel as he watches your father exit the elevator, heading to the back seat.
“Busan.”
You reach forward, he kisses you before you ask.
“What will we get up to?”
It’s silly how he’s opening up like this. Jimin harboured wishes: a house by the sea, a humble restaurant with you at the front, bringing in the customers. Some would claim it to be too romantic, tame. His mother chastised him for constructing such lofty ideals, to search for money in something rooted in the sand is recipe for disaster she said. She was warning him about the customers being as fickle as the seasons. Jimin smiled politely, burning on the inside to prove her wrong. Although, its been years since any development regarding that. He’s been on the road for longer than he’d like.
“We could buy a plot of land, then we could build a restaurant.”
So far, you were paying him your undivided attention. While you hold his gaze, you play with his fingers, your thumb on the clasp of his watch. You’re harder to read when there’s a simmering excitement in your demeanour. The silence is too long, prompting him to fill it, to sellhis dream to you.
“It could be good. We won’t see the same face twice, we’re always busy, we’ll sleep well fed, we’d never be bored by the sea -”
You give him a look that he could guess as skeptical. You flick your thumb upwards causing his watch strap to unfasten. It falls down his arm, then you slide it back, closing the mechanism.
“You know this from experience?”
Jimin waits until your lips break into a smile. Relief comes that you’re not actually amused athim, at least that’s what he tells himself.
“I’ve worked at a couple of places before getting here but owning my own hours, feeding people good food - I’ll always come back to that.”
You stand up, hopping on one foot, twirling and totally disinhibited.
“And what would I do there?”
Without hesitating, Jimin says, “you’d be the face of the restaurant.”
You hand him his shirt back, he shoves his arms through, “you have a lot of faith in me.”
Jimin shakes his head, buttoning to the lowest level of decency. That meant three buttons unattended to, making the upper parts of his shirt gape.
“You’d be the one people would come and see, you’d know which drinks paired with which meals, know what kind of music fit the mood. You’d be the most memorable thing there,” he said, enjoying the way you grew shy.
“Each morning, without fail, we’d head down to the local market and buy the freshest produce, I’d let you choose the fish we need because I know you’d choose something good. We’ll end the day with a glass of wine by the beach, stroll along the coast as the sun sets. Me and you, barefoot. It’ll be bliss.”
It’s so vivid to him, he can feel the weight of the bags from the market on his fingers, the sour drop of wine on his tongue. He wriggles his toes as if sand had settled in the web, he’s grinning now because it’s all real. Across the room, you’re biting the skin of your thumb as you lean on the enormous speaker.
“And you’ve planned this with me in mind too?”
It’s a happy accident that his dream has room for you, he could grasp it so clearly which was why it came out in an effortless paragraph.
“We could drive all night, we’d be there in four hours. In fact, we could be by the sea by midday.”
Your expression falters suddenly, you’re teeth bites on the skin more firmly. Jimin braces himself because your eyes sparkle with a distinct edge to them.
“Do you love me, Min?”
Does he?
He plays it by ear, “I could. I want to.”
It doesn’t go well. You remove your hand near your mouth and twist your body away slightly, “what’s that supposed to mean? I thought you wanted me, that you were sick of feeling broken from not being with me.”
Jimin clenches his jaw, springing up to sit straighter, the creases at the elbow of his shirt make it harder to gesture, “it means that I can’t do that in this house. I can’t love you in the way I want to here.”
“Why? You need to explain that to me.”
It’s not the whinging that gets him, it’s the fact that his dream disappeared in the gulf you created. The lack of foresight, of yourforesight is a reminder.
“Your father.”
What he really wanted to say was what he knew: you were both different. It’s not the kind of different that can easily be surmounted by compromise, it’s fated and runs across generations. He surrenders to the reality he’s ensnared in.
“It wouldn’t work anyway,” he said, hanging his head. Apparently, that concerned you so you come back to straddle him. The glitter on your skin has scattered, some shimmer on the tip of your nose.
“It could,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his, making his eyes close.
For a moment, he let’s himself be fooled that it’s all possible.
“We could build something together, make it real,” he replied, gaining some confidence in between hungry kisses. You giggled as his hands frame your face, the slip of your tongue is playful.
“You’re so serious about this,” you said, “you want to be like someone who employs others, earn your own keep. You’ll be like me then.”
Jimin knows it’s all in jest, that your words were meant to match your actions but that stings a little. His reply comes out before he could stop himself.
“It’s not possible for me to be like you.”
Another kiss, innocent.
“Why not?”
Pulling away, there’s a smile that edges your lips that he wanted to fade.
“Because I would have earned everything myself.”
A beat passes, you give out the softest of exhales, your brows pinching together.
“If that wasn’t so glaringly true I’d actually be offended.”
Jimin’s not sure if he’s crossed the line. Then again, what happened tonight crosses all of the thresholds. You laugh it off, getting up and wandering around again. The cerulean colour on your toenails appear like jelly.
“But seriously, how much have you planned about this restaurant by the sea?”
“I’ve planned enough,” he replied, moving towards you, cradling you in his arms. He feels you melt, going all limber.
“Well could you love me then?”
He doesn’t hesitate, “yes.”
You fall back on the couch together, giddy with dreams. He kisses your forehead, the tip of your nose, the apples of you cheeks. Then came the column of your neck, sweet skin that was his moments ago. He feels drunk on you, hands smoothing at your sides through the jacket that he lent you, sighing at your quiet moans.
“Have you got any?”
Bewildered, he asks, “any what?”
Nervousness is clear on your face, you toy with the collar of his shirt, “money?”
Quick on his feet, he lunges for an answer, “I have some saved. But I have other capital that’s worth more.”
“What other capital?”
Sensing another moot point, he keeps his distance, “you know, I have the skills I’ve picked up, I have the experience - ”
If you weren’t so close, he’d think that he saw you roll your eyes at him.
“Min, you can’t build a restaurant on experience,you can’t balance books on skill alone, where’s the money going to come from?”
Desperate for his dream not to sink so soon, he tucks your hair behind your ear, untangles what he could of your necklaces, “which is whyI need a partner who can provide the funds.”
“And where is this partner that you need at such short notice?”
Jimin bites his lip before speaking, “I mean, you must have something hidden away somewhere, maybe - ”
Abruptly, you untangle yourself from him, “hidden what? Have what? Do you mean cash at hand? People I know who will bend at my every whim?”
He’s silent and takes to buttoning the rest of his shirt up.
“Do you think it’s my choice to move back here? Do you think I’m back sleeping in my childhood bedroom voluntarily?” You complete this with a rough push of your fingers through your hair. “Min, I feel so… defective.If I had what you needed, do you think I’d still be living here?”
Staunch in his belief, he gets up and tries to wrangle you back in his arms, “you’re not really telling me that you have nothing at all, you must have something.”
You turn to him, scoffing, “what you’re looking for, and let’s call it what it is - my inheritance - is in a trust. I can’t just access it whenever I want.”
“But it’s yours, they can’t keep it from you -”
“Everything that I’ve inherited from -” you faltered for a moment, Jimin watches you blink back something he can’t read, “everything I’ve inherited from heris locked up in a trust. That’s the whole point of it, it’s to stop me from acting all reckless, like this,” you said, pointing generally to the room. “The process takes ago too, months even.”
Jimin deflates, “well, nothing happens then. We can’t do anything.” He makes for the door that leads to the kitchen, riled up for a reason he’d like to keep to himself.
Summary:The party carries on but you and Jimin settle in the kitchen. Talking seems better than dancing anyway.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T for language; references to alcohol; Jimin’s a chauffeur (yesss); the reader still isn’t having a very good time at all; more references to shitty techno-pop music; blood (nothing major because it’s tended to through finger sucking, yes, you got that right); nothing like mean-spirted banter to get things going; and dreams!it gets a little introspective; also there’s pining (surprise!); risqué ending if you ask me (seriously); angst - non-idol!AU.
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To be alone with you is rare, Jimin thinks. Since he’s technically under your father’s orders, he doesn’t get moments like these often. It’s mostly a mere brush in the hallway, or the occasional drop off or pick up at the airport. Sometimes, he might have a conversation with you about the weather, your next appointment, even the state of the gardens on the rooftop. You liked to compliment him yet it’s never amounted to more than surface-level chatter. He was fine with that, fine with being the only one doing the perceiving.
“Nice shirt,” you said, laying on the table, gaze to the spotlights above.
“You’re doing it again,” Jimin replied, finding a smile on his face.
“Doing what?”
“Flattering me.”
For a few seconds, nothing happens. Time crawls; he isn’t sure if he’s done anything wrong or gone too far.
“Flatter you?”
“It’s either you’re exaggerating or you want something from me. Either way, it’s flattery,” he explains, unlike what he would usually do, which was to shut up and go about his day.
“How old are you again? You’re so formal when you speak.”
You turn your head in time for Jimin to see you don a lazy smile. You get this tone in your voice, you get timid and he guesses that it’s to appear sanguine. Daftly, he ropes himself into believing it, comfortable that at least here,while the speakers are ran through upstairs and the nobodies wreck the space, he can get to know you.
“Twenty-seven.”
“Ah, I see, you’re close to thirty already,” you grinned, gathering your body up, spine reverting upright. Both straps fall, Jimin sees the way your skin glows under the artificial lighting. His insides buzz, alone in this tension.
“Not that old, and I’m not formal,” he muttered, assuming Taehyung’s role in making the kitchen his. There weren’t many things to do, he curses Taehyung for being so diligent. Why did he even like the idea of being alone with you?
“Beg to differ, Ahjussi.I can imagine you driving around father’s minions as they whisper in the back seat. I bet you know Russian! How about a couple of phrases in Chinese? Don’t tell me you’re not fluent by now,” you said, he sees the drink in your hand, the slice of lime floats pathetically near the top. Jimin doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know how.It’s affronting to be met with your perception of him. Nonchalant, you take a long gulp of the clear liquid, the lime hitting your lips.
“How long have you been working here, Min?”
Again, there’s that damn banmalthat sends Jimin’s pulse quickening.
“You know this,” he replied, coming off a little hurt. The rim of the glass is pressed against your chin, your eyes seem genuinely lost as they blink at the floor. He sees your lashes, wet with dew.
“I do?”
Jimin remembers his first day, fumbling with the knot in his tie being too tight. You were with a few friends, young and laughing too loudly that the sound echoed in the high ceilings. He passed by but you didn’t take notice of him at all. The first car was a Mercedes, quietly luxurious and set low near the ground. Your father was gracious and forgave his early mistakes with a slight wave, It’s alright, the traffic is worse on the other side of the bridge anyway. Jimin recalls the shine of your father’s signet ring choking the pinky finger, a family crest engraved in gold. His own father wore shoes till the soles gave up to the sidewalk. Jimin was able to buy him a decent watch when he got his fifth pay check. After taxes, it’s actually the sixth.
“You were on a break from college -”
“Oh no! I leftcollege during that time, couldn’t stand it. Wait… that was three years ago.”
The recognition is stark on your face, Jimin nods.
“We’ve known each other for ages,” you said, swaying a little as you walked an unsure path in the kitchen. You weren’t wearing any shoes and your toenails were painted a cerulean blue. Jimin relaxes against the counter while you finished your drink. He sees the way your throat expands and contracts. It’s not meant to be erotic but it stirs something similar in him all the same.
More silence occurs so he treads towards you, the backs of his thighs cut by the blunt curve of the table as he rests. When you turn, it’s like you were on the verge of laughter but it leaves you, your features ironing out.
“Do you have someone?”
Jimin stares and stares. In the back of his mind is a sunlit garden, the flutter of the breeze and the feeling of peace at the fact that there was nowhere to go. You flick the straps of your top back up, he notes the details of you. The delicate layer of necklaces, the way your fingers are adorned by rings apart from where they should be. The diamond studs by your ears and the divot between your collarbones where the scent of your perfume would be the strongest.
“Almost,” he said.
Your eyebrows shoot up, the subtle tug of your mouth downwards he takes a victory. Taehyung’s laugh is loud, it breaks his trance, causing him to shove his hands into his pockets. There wasn’t much room since the trousers he wore were fitted.
“Was she good to you to at least?” You asked, holding him hostage with your gaze.
Jimin doesn’t know what to say.
“Was she?” You reiterate, hand clenching over the empty glass. The lime slides and knocks against its walls as your smile returns, though he deems it to be more robotic; the kind you give to guests. “good?”
The tension is shared but he waits. Then your features come alive, your hand shoots out to invite him.
“Sit down, Min. C’mere.”
Jimin wished he had consumed something to help alleviate this burning temperature inside. He stands still, sees you take up space on the tufted chair, one of the straps dropping again.
“You’re allowing me to sit?”
“Oh c’mon on, don’t be difficult,” you exclaimed, patting the backrest of the empty seat. Before he could settle however, you flick your hand.
“Actually, wait, get me another refill,” you said, tone clear and authoritative. The obedient part of Jimin’s brain lights up, his ass doesn’t even touch the seat before he’s springing into action.
“What do you want?”
Craning your head, you end up waving vigorously, “anything you can get your hands on.”
Jimin grabs the hefty bottle of champagne, swiftly pouring the golden fizz into a spare flute.
“Have one with me, please!” You exclaimed, stretching out, the skirt falling open to reveal your legs. Jimin ignores you and controls the portion to a level that he’s seen Taehyung serve. You snatch another flute and knocks the one he’s pouring into to the side.
“Can’t - driving later.”
You rolled your eyes, caressing the rim of the thin glass till it sang.
“It’sonedrink, Min. Go on, I bet father won’t even call you, he’s got a deal going on.”
At that, Jimin feels a certain calm go over him. Your eyes sparkle conspiratorially, raising the flute from the stem.
“Let’s toast!”
He laughs a little, weightless in his next action.
“To what?” He asked, lips tingling for that buzz, the prickle of the fruity bubbles bursting in his throat. You inhale deeply, raising the glass higher still.
“Who else? To me.”
Sprawling in his seat, Jimin cocks his head and arches his brow. You seem to take it the wrong way.
“Is that selfish?” You asked, unsure again, scratching a spot on your forehead that didn’t need attending to. “I mean, it is my birthday. Someoneshould at least toast me even if I have to be the one doing it.”
The air doesn’t crackle this time, instead it becomes listless, as if you were in the stratosphere. You press your lips together, humming as the flute in your hand is held in a weak grip. It comes in flashes, your sadness. Jimin spares you the indignity of begging so he too raised his glass.
“To you.”
Another smile, a grateful one, one that he decides to frame in his mind.
“Thanks.”
After a moment of reluctance, you drink together. Interestingly, the liquid doesn’t scald as he had hoped. What does is the way your stare holds him, irises blown out, skin dewy as your breath mists the inside of the glass. You think everything is easy, I want to know how that feels, his mind blares.
Conversations are louder now, which makes him spring up from his position, the bottom of the flute crashing on the surface of the table. He wipes his mouth with a rough drag of his hand, focusing on the matter at present. Unbothered, you finished your drink.
“Those people up there? They’re not who they claim to be, you know,” he said.
It’s a curse that he has, he can’t help himself. If his family had enough money orif he was smart enough to knock all out all the competitors for a scholarship, he would have been a prosecutor. An interlocutor telling people what’s right or wrong. But, like all dreams that come to pass, he keeps it and calls it part of his character.
The flute in your hand lowers to a muted clink.
“What are you talking about?”
Stopping himself from laughing at the ridiculousness of your inquiry, he gestures vaguely to the entryway.
“Did you not see how they look at you? Don’t you hear what they say when they think you aren’t listening?”
You tuck your hair behind your ear but he sees it, he sees the way your fingertips tremble.
“What were they saying?” You asked, your tone light, like you were merely asking for directions.
It’s easy to accept that the world is flawed but breaking that news to others is often the harder task, his father said once.
“C’mon, tell me,” you urged, blinking rapidly. The dew on your eyelashes might as well have been tears. Jimin bites his lip, scratching the back of his neck.
“I don’t want to…”
You cross your legs, tucking yourself inwards, “what? Think you’d hurt me?”
A beat passes, Jimin finds it difficult to counter that fact.
“If you didn’t want that to happen then why bring it up in the first place?”
There’s a certain boldness that Jimin could access here that would otherwise be unavailable to him in other circumstances. He walks towards you.
“Just tell me, Min! Why be such a tease about this,” you said, frustration edging your tone. You slip the strap of your top up brusquely.
“You have to pay more attention when you’re around people or when you’re in a room,” he said, palm up, forearm articulating outwards. You press your knees together, brows pinching in a way that forces a part in your lips too.
“I don’t -” he stops himself for the moment, “youdon’t want people to take advantage of you.”
The movement in your face is incremental as you drink his caution in, it’s like a reluctant administration of medicine. But what happens next makes his hands go all clammy. You lean away from him, fingers loosely webbed on the table.
“What if I don’t mind people… taking advantage of me?”
Jimin casts a look at the gyrating shadows cast on the exposed hallway behind you. Technicolour warnings flash in his mind: where the fuck is Taehyung? Why isn’t his phone lighting up with orders to go to the business district and pick your father up, stat?
“We shouldn’t be alone like this,” he said, fumbling for something to centre himself. The party has gone on for way too long, he wants the shitty techno-pop to make a mess of his eardrums, he wants the smooth texture of a steering wheel in his hands.
“Why?” You asked, leg come out suddenly, the cerulean tips of your toenails touch the back of his hand. You flick your foot at him and he doesn’t resist.
“We shouldn’t be alone,” he emphasises, making a grab for your arm. Your wallet flies out and you give a shrill shriek. The small plastic sleeve of snow slides out and he kicks at it until it slips where it’s unreachable. He’s strong enough to hold you while you thrash in his arms, cursing him loudly.
“Don’t dothat,” he said through gritted teeth, biceps bulging through his shirt as he restrains you.
“Why? Are you worried? Worried that you’d lose your precious gig of driving my father - fuck,just let me go,” you gasped, but your act wanes and you wilt while whinging about things that didn’t matter. Confident that you weren’t going to try anything funny, he does let you go and you stand up, hugging your arms close to yourself. His phone flashes but it’s just another notification from Naver.
“Waiting to be summoned?” You asked, petulant.
Liberal with his silences, Jimin scrolls and scrolls.
“Can’t he order a taxi-service? It’s soboring for you to be at his beck-and-call all the time, he’s so fucking lazy,” you said, vulgar in the image you portray. Jimin smiles, eyes on the surface of his palm. Lines are cut deep on pale-pink skin, some patches are rough and dry though. When he rubs his fingertips together, they sound like fine grains rushing against each other.
“Why are you smiling?” You asked, grinning yourself.
“You really wanna know?”
“Yes,” you said, perching on the table, bare feet on the sticky leather seat.
“Because you’re gullible - naive.”
You don’t even let that simmer, pressing your hand on your forehead, disturbing your smooth skin into corrugated folds.
“Don’t you think I know that already? But I don’t think you’ve used the right words…”
“What’s the right one then?” Jimin asked, looking up at you as you rub your fingers over your collarbone, your free hand whipping your skirt for more access underneath. Jimin follows each tic, each change in movement till it takes root in him. He becomes hyperaware of his pulse, the sweat trickling from the nape of his neck down the inside of his collar. He’s warm in a drunk kind of way, cheeks likely hot to the touch.
“Weird,” you said, wistful. “I feel really weird,” you said, waving your hand in a tight circle rather dramatically. “That’s what I actually am: weird.”
One summer, Jimin remembers seeing you come home in a strop, throwing your belongings against the wall. An hour later, you were laughing over the phone, kicking your feet up in delight, the phone close to your ear as you ate chips. Back then, Taehyung wasn’t there to fill him in but he saw your sport’s equipment going all mouldy at the entrance on his way to the parking lot. That and a dented trophy, its plaque streaked with mud. As he drove out into the roads choking with sleepers behind the wheel, he put two and two together. Your father completed a deal that day.
“What do you mean?” He pries, you turn your attention to a spot in the kitchen, golden accessories glinting as you settled.
“I have this dream. I have it often - like I’m swallowed by something warm. And it’s dark and I can’t move much, but the thing is, it feels really nice? Like it starts off as something comforting… but then I hearsomething, I hear this tiny scratching that escalates…”
Jimin watches you scratch the skin of your thigh, your eyes closed to recall that alcove in your dream. Your lashes spill dew genuine in your terror, your body giving away a rumble of fear that you couldn’t contain.
“And it gets to the point where it’s unbearable, like nails on a chalk board or people banging cutlery on plates, and it gets so bad that I try to scream but the noise overpowers me. It alwaysdoes.”
Enraptured, Jimin clasps his hands together out of concern. Your eyes are still closed, your tone is pained now.
“Then, as if by some miracle, this light arrives, it’s so bright that I try and cover my eyes with my arms, but they’re so so heavy, like I have weights around my wrist, so I haven’t got any choice. And when I scream for help, nothing comes back, and there’s nothing warm on me anymore, all I can feel is this hot flash of heat, this clash of sound and - ”
There was a pause in which the music from the upper floors inject the silence. Jimin knuckles strain due to how hard he was clenching his fists.
“And when I woke up once, I found a feather in my mouth,” you said, laughing. “Must have come from those boa scarves I had hanging off my headboard. Told Tae to throw it away but I guess he forgot.”
You open your eyes, Jimin finally sees that they appear bloodshot and tired. He didn’t realise that he was holding his breath until you muster a wry smile, the cracked fissures in your lips shine wetly from your saliva.
“Have you ever had dreams like that?”
Immediately, he shakes his head, “not like that but I mostly dream that I’m moving.”
Supposing that you were grateful for the break, you lean close and observe him with your shimmering complexion, “how do you mean?”
Sleeping isn’t insurmountable for Jimin; he could do it anywhere. Once, during the days when he used to halve his time between the southern regions, he slept fetal position in a ferry station till the morning because he was late for the last boat. It’s not often that he dreams but when he does, it’s in motion. Running or walking. Like he knows he’s going somewhere but he wakes before knowing wherehe should end up. A fucking nightmare if you asked him to label it. Rubbing his hands together, he swelters under your gaze. The dry sting he feels after every blink signals that he’s more tired than he thinks.
“It’s always like this: I’m either running or walking,going in one direction but it never ends. Like this treadmill, the path disappears under my feet but it’s infinite. I reach out my hands, I try and grab something real - in fact,” he said, getting lost in the narration, gesticulating as if he was building a diorama for you. “Every single time I thinkI have it, like I can taste, smell, and feelit, there’s…nothing.”
Even awake, he couldn’t hold on to it.
“But what is it? What are you trying to get at?” You asked, eyes wide in your search for him. You run your finger along your lip, pushing the pliant skin till your bottom teeth and gum peeked through.
Jimin shrugs, lightly punching his knuckles together, “dunno.”
Jolted, you set your glass down, shaking your limbs, fingers waggling to spur some life in them, “we shouldn’t be talking about this, we’re not even asleep!” Hopping off the table, you clear the space between the table and the small entryway meant to lead up to the roof. “C’mon and watch the sun come up with me.”
There’s a small glass meant for port wine nearby and Jimin tries to stop you from leaping towards it. In his haste, his hand knocks a flute outwards flat on the table till it shatters. Blood drips from his forefinger, vermillion at first, then a deep wine-dark that trickle on the shard. Turns out that you missed the small glass and patter back to him, your gentle hands guiding his arm up, his finger draining a red vein down into the wrist of his shirt.
“You’re bleeding,” you murmured, the heady scent of bergamot descends on him in a mist.
Jimin’s head goes all fuzzy, he’s never been this close to you that he could see finer details on your face, the way your make up kind of looks like second skin, your necklaces are tangled, one pendant is actually a pair of wings. He lets you guide him so that he’s sitting down again, his finger throbs as more blood leaks; he doesn’t dare look.
Then, you lift his hand and it hovers near your lips, his eyes widen as you slip it in your mouth. It feels strange,the slow suck of your lips, your tongue shaping itself so that it forms a ditch in which his finger rests upon. He feels every bump of your tastebuds whereas you’re probably tasting copper. The blood drains and drains and you hold his gaze, the hollows of your cheeks are prominent. You’re not gripping his hand particularly hard yet he shivers as you push his finger out, the digit coated in your spit, your breath fans his palm and he feels something stir between his thighs, he hears a snag of breath that’s actually his.
Your name comes out in a tortured whisper, he watches you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth, the barest pressure on it seems so enticing to admire.
“Stop fucking with me,” he said, his voice hoarse. You narrow your eyes, fickle in your plans.
“I’m not fucking with you.”
A heavy feeling constricts Jimin’s chest, like his heart is too big for his ribcage. He says your name again, stern,“I mean it.”
You were waiting, doe-eyed and jacked-up, it didn’t matter to him the he may have looked like your next high. He almost does it in a lunge, a split second decision to plant his lips on yours in an open-mouthed admission.
The door slams open because Taehyung bounds in, Jimin prises himself away from you, frantically searching for that goddamn dust pan and brush. The handle juts out near the trash can and he makes a grab for it while you nervously pace around.
“Tae!”
“Everything good?” Taehyung asked, elongated eyes flitting between you and Jimin.
“Yeah,” you replied, another flute in your hand. “I’m sorry that the party’s not over yet,” you add belatedly.
“It’s okay, as long as you’re having a good time,” Taehyung said.
“Mhm, I had fun - am having fun.”
Jimin swipes the crumbs onto the odd angle of the dust pan, tapping it into the designated trash.
“Well, if I’m not needed here, I’m heading home for tonight, that okay?”
It’s not apparent to Jimin straightaway that his hands hand had stopped brushing unnecessary debris into the trash. In his peripheries, he sees Taehyung unhook his jacket, a green bomber that Jimin got him during a trip together in Ulsan. The patches were basically ripped off owing to its cheap manufacturing but Taehyung loves it. Jimin constantly said, It looks vintage, right out of some over-priced thrift store. You’ll fit right in if you ever decide to walk along Garosu-gil.
“Yeah, sure! Thanks so much for staying and helping out Tae,” you said, your voice farther away. Taehyung leaves, waving at Jimin at the same time, “drive safe, kay?”
Jimin nods. The music makes its way back into the kitchen again, he clenches his jaw at the sound of another mashup ruining his sacred memories of eighties synth-pop. The lights dim because you pressed something on your phone, you hum inordinately, twirling in a way that balloons your skirt once more.
“I’m gonna tell the rest hanging around to leave,” he announced.
“You’re gonna tell my friends to leave? Why?”
Getting up and running his hands under the faucet, Jimin finds that the chill helps ground him a little, his wound gradually closing up. Music comes through the speakers in the kitchen, the honey vocals of some current ballad singer acts a salve for his nerves. The lyrics are familiar, aided by the timber in the singer’s voice.
“I can’t leave you with them around, you should head to bed.”
Flicking off the faucet, the trail of blood stained water drains into the metal holes. Warmth follows you wherever you go and he feels it near, even through his shirt.
“You’re not here to look after me.”
Water dulls the shine of stainless steel.
“Then don’t act like you need looking after.”
Bloodshot eyes and a wry smile, they’re the same even in the muted light. Jimin doesn’t like this but he’d rather be the one seeing it that those nobodies. He thinks largely about absence, the immensity of it all.
“Do you want him to come home and see you like this? I don’t think you should keep -”
Lambasted, you pull away with a scowl, “don’t you think that his ‘deal’ has turned into something a little more informal? I know my father, he’s a closer. He should have been here hours ago. Maybe he’s holed up in that studio apartment in Hannam right now.”
You watch him with a kind of strength befitting someone unlike what he expects of you. The apartment was newly refurbished, he went there a couple of days ago because he was instructed to drive someone other than you or your father. She was lovely, demure, and young. Still, he doesn’t entertain your suspicion, he decides that it’s not in his place to do so. But you pry and when you do, it’s an ache poorly disguised as venom.
“What? You think I’m clueless about that place?”
This was a time when Jimin would pray for a notification from Naver, he’ll take anything. A dating scandal centring on some poor idol and a model, a secret affair between co-stars, the discovery of a slush-fund from an esteemed politician. But it’s a miracle distraction that isn’t so easily granted, so he fishes his phone out to scroll and scroll.
“He’s not a bad person,” he murmurs, balking from the weight of your stare.
“Sorry?”
“I said that he’s not a bad person,” he said, pocketing his phone. There was nothing interesting apart from an upcoming holiday involving Peppero’s. You cross your arms, making the glittery top contract from the tightness.
“Doesn’t that depend on what you define as ‘bad’? Sounds like your definition is a little… wide.”
Sure, Jimin has seen things and then some in the years that he’s worked for your father. Everyone is looking for a type of love that fits them. Until that happens, you’re reaching for people that feel like home but really aren’t worth a dime. He gets it because it happens. Instead, he says:
“He works a lot. He works hard all the time.”
You snort, ramping up the music as an obnoxious display, “at least he’s getting some. If he’s gonna bail on me on my birthday, he might as well be having his cake and eat it. The poor girl must be suffering though: two-hundred thread count isn’t really Egyptian cotton, is it? I saw the receipt from Lotte World. He’s so fucking stingy.”
Steps interrupt the flow of the ballad, Jimin cocks his head to hear swearing and merriment.
“There must be another party happening,” you said, lowering the volume to a hush.
“What? Right now?”
“Yeah. The others were talking about another one near Itaewon, a friend of a friend is hosting it.”
Jimin hadn’t heard a single name uttered to address those nobodies. Guess he was right.
“Some friends they are,” he said bitterly.
“Look - I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about them that way. You’re not supposed to be here anyway, you don’t work for me tonight. You should be waiting in a car, waiting for my father to ask you to drive him back here so he could see how much of a good time I’m having.”
He says nothing because that’s implicit in the words you said. Then, as if you weren’t used to it, as if you weren’tborn looking down on people as you speak, you retreat, trying to bury your sentences in makeshift quicksand.
“Min, I’m sorry - I didn’t - I didn’t mean what I said just now.”
The thing is, there was a lot that you said just now. Having had enough for the night, he turns on his heel, a headache simmering beneath the skin of his temples. To acknowledge your apology was to bring light to the truth.
“Min - wait.”
It’s not about you being superior that he considers it. More of the fact that there’s a part of you lodged in his rib, there from the moment he saw you, bathed in the glow of the afternoon sun that day. He stops.
“Have you ever had your heart broken?”
Jimin thinks he has.
He thinks that he’s been walking around with his heart cleaved in two all this time.
“Ever had someone leave you like doing that was nothing to them? Ever lose someone you loved so desperately that it knocks the wind out of your lungs?”
You sound wounded. He thinks back to the parking lot, to images of smeared mascara and a runny nose. The unifying and shameful gaze of the downtrodden in the face of rejection. You’re getting too personal and he doesn’t know where to place himself. He wishes Taehyung was here to diffuse the situation. He hears you scoff.
“Didn’t think so.”
“Why would you ask me that?”
Allowing himself to look, he is met with the sight of you wringing your hands together.
“‘Cause you come off as a happy person.”
Another perception of himself that he fails to register. Jimin feels restless not happy. If there was an hourglass meant to represent his time on earth, the grains are falling at a faster speed than normal. He wonders what kind of person you see in him, what his touch means to you altogether.
“Yeah… well, you know, as happy as one can get nowadays,” you said in the face of his silence.
The buzz of his phone breaks his thoughts, if any. He brings it up to his face, Naver shoots out a frosted rectangle that states gas prices are to hike up starting next month.
“I don’t see how that’s got anything to do with anything.”
Just as he pockets his phone, you draw closer, there’s more mirth in your scent than anything. Your hand finds his arm, fingers tightening over fabric, over muscle, over his pulse.
“Tell me it’ll be okay. Tell me that I’ll feel better.”
As if in a trance, he parrots your plea, “you’ll be okay. You’ll feel better.”
Perhaps he needed to hear it too.
Then there’s that distance again, as wide as a gulf. You worry the waistband of your skirt, twisting it inwards. Frantic, you speed to the counter, pour another drink into a spare glass, there are no limes this time. Jimin presses his palms of the hard table, no matter how much force he puts, it barely shudders.
“It’ll pass.”
And when you look at him there’s a sense of finality in your fear, he couldn’t quite place it. An emotion that looked like a nobody; a faceless being in the ether. He thinks he’s known it before, that fleeting kiss of loneliness, as striking and black ice on a clear, November day.
“How do you know that? You can’t possibly know that, you can’t -”
You’re cradling the glass close as if it’s something precious. Jimin takes a step forward, waits for a beat before letting it out.
“I know what you felt, I’ve experienced it before.”
You don’t drink anything, setting the glass down in a loud clink.
“What have you felt?”
Jimin doesn’t hesitate this time, meeting you in the eye.
“Love.”
You wipe your nose roughly, the dew in your lashes touches the skin under your eyes as you blink.
“You?”
He crosses his arms, “is that something that surprises you?”
You shake your head, “it’s not that. It’s just… you don’t seem like the type of person who gives anything away.”
He retreats.
“It’s not like you know me.”
Sensing something wrong afoot, you approach him in slow steps, “that’s why I said ‘seem’.” You sit back down on a chair, luxuriating on the tough leather, the strap slinking down again. The curve on your shoulder where your bones connect under skin reflect fragments of glitter brushed over it. “Who was she?”
Jimin turns and observes his shadow along the wall, he sees the sunlit garden, remembers being cocooned in the pocket of a second where he could stop doing anything and there were no consequences awaiting him. In his rumination, nothing had changed in his surroundings, the kitchen is still the same, your disposition is buttery and he feels like mush. Being sapped from energy makes him like that: docile. He looks at you knowing that his face is impassive, if not irritated. It’s a fine line to balance.
“Well fine, if you don’t want to -”
“You.”
As if scalded, you rise from your seat and step back. The glass makes its way into the cradle of your hand, the liquid is clear but potent. He knows because his temple throbs on reflex. Restless, you float back to the seat, the gulf between you constricts, holding tension.
“When?”
Jimin digs his hands in his pockets, the left grasping the cool metal of his phone, the right clenching into a fist. You’ve done it now, he thinks.
“Min, when did you feel like that?”
There’s only time now, in this kitchen. Time he doesn’t want to waste.
“I had been working for your father for a couple of weeks and I’d never been invited up before, but he said it’ll be a while till he had to leave again. That wasn’t normal, I usually hang around the driver’s quarters but I found myself at the foot of the spiral steps that led to the roof.”
Sunlit garden.
Fractals of light bouncing off you, the light breeze animating the leaves. It was so bright that he had to shield his eyes.
You in the middle, divine like it was your birthright.
“And I knew your father could see me staring and I expected him to tell me to go back downstairs but he waved me away right as he answered the phone. I walked up and… it was so bright that afternoon, the garden was paradise. I’d never seen anything like it in my life.”
You wear a fond smile in front of him and he joins in, held together by a shared memory. He doesn’t tell you that before the calm that settled over him there was the feeling of strangeness, like he walked in on something private. It was the fact that you were so still, like a mannequin, back turned away from him, staring at a point in the horizon that only you could see. Your face was titled upwards, kissed softly by the rays of sun.
“The garden is pretty in the summer,” you said. Jimin bites his lip to gather himself.
“I saw you before anything else actually. The sunlight touching your face, you were…”
“What? I was what?” You asked, blinking slowly, the glass far away from your lips. It’s followed by that half smile that Jimin mirrors.
“I’d never seen anyone appear so… right. Like nothing was out of place, like nothing could touch you in that moment.”
He sees a slight shiver course through you as you inhaled through your mouth. More rapidly this time, you blink and your eyelashes come away wet, there’s a tremor in your chin that he picks up even though you tried to conceal it in a watery smile.
“When did you say this was again, Min?”
“I told you - a couple of weeks after I was employed.”
Your hand clasps your chin, brows scrunching in an effort to see what he saw, “I can’t remember what I was doing up there, maybe I was -”
Jimin recalls paper scattered in a semi-circle decorated by the fluorescent green squares of Post-it notes.
“There was a lot of paper with you.”
“Ah, I was writing…” you said, filling up the puzzle pieces he’d been missing all this time. “At least I was tryingto write. Why didn’t you come to me and say hi? You could have introduced yourself.”
Jimin shakes his head, fidgeting again, “I felt like I was intruding. Besides, I didn’t want to disturb whatever you were doing.”
You were writing amidst the stillness of the moment.
“Intruding? I wouldn’t have thought so, especially not during that time.”
He wanted to say something but stops himself. He stays in the silence again since he knows that there was a rapid changeover in staff of which he was a part of during that time. Your father said something about needing a fresh start; he understands that there’s more to it, heard snippets of conversations while he drove along the length of the Han. He stops there though, too afraid to ask or know.
Laughter crashes through the space, there was no longer any techno-pop music. Footsteps grow close, your name becomes interlaced in the eruption of noise, they must be coming from the pool, Jimin guessed. They call for you in synchronised squawks.
“Shit, hide!”
Jimin recoils,“why? I’ll just tell them to leave. Wait here.”
“No, I don’t want them to find me, just come and hide with me.”
Whenever he looks at you, he doesn’t feel fastened to reality. And when you touch him, it gets infinitesimally more intense. You grab at him, your grip firm on his bicep. Bergamot and mirth is what he wears tonight along with his wrinkled suit.
“Please -”
It happens when you pull and he pushes.
The kiss is warm, wet, and everything he’s ever allowed himself to dream of.
He tastes the tang of limes and the sweet, glacé cherries from the cocktails you’ve drunk. Then he comes to know something else. Something that ignites heat in his body, maybe it was the small sounds that you made, the tiny gasps and whimpers as he presses himself, crushing the space, your back meeting the wall in a muffled thump.
Whatever it was, it’s full of ardour spurred by his own greed.
His hands come down, feeling the different textures: skin, fabric, then skin.
You moaned in his mouth and sounded so right,his heart leaps, scrabbling fingertips finding your heat. The narrow entryway is dark and you bump along it like a pinball without force. The way his name sounds, full and long in a breathy gasp: Jimin.
Maybe it’s because he may have blurred fascination with love that it feels good.
The faceless nobody that encroaches on you both disappears into its ether for the moment.
You reach a spare room, the decoration matching the modern interior of the rest of the house. It’s quiet and private, an island off the vast continent that is your home.
There’s a moment before it all sets off. The kind that people coined as the point beforethe point of no return. Jimin looks down at you, panting, straps pooling down your arms, heavy golden skirt splayed on the sheets. So much skin is still covered, waiting for him to explore, to taste.The distance was the final gulf that begged to be surmounted. He asks but it’s gentle, he didn’t want to crowd you.
You speak so softly that it almost gets lost in the roar of his heartbeat.
Summary:There’s a party that roars in Gangnam. It’s your birthday and Jimin looks on, wondering why things are the way they are.
Warnings/Tags: RATED T for language; references to alcohol; a badbreakup; vmin being best friends; Taehyung is v soft here; Jimin’s a chauffeur (yes, I know lmao); the reader isn’t having a very good time at all; starts off a little bleak, then carries on in the same tune; it’s all about those simmering feelings imho; references to shitty techno-pop music; there’s cake though!; angst; non-idol!AU.
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The penthouse in Gangnam pulses with strobe lights on its uppermost floor. Jimin thinks that the bright shock of colours in the several row of windows would make an unusually artificial break in the inky sky. He watches the party from a secluded corner, mostly in the shadows. The glass in his hand was already sweating, the surface of the drink vibrating along with the jarring techno-pop flooding from the speakers.
In the centre, you’re dancing with a bunch of nobodies, writhing under the host of colours that flashed on the planes of your face. You had his stupid smile on to compliment that hazy look in your eye while you draped yourself onto the next available person. Together, you whirl in this dance that he likens to chaos. The skirt you wore was long and gold, the slit at the side allowing for generous access to the bare skin of your leg. Your top was really just a strip of glittery fabric across your chest, secured by equally flimsy straps.
Jimin frowns.
Another person - likely a stranger from the long list of nobodies on your contact list - decides to make you drink something. You come away with an even stupider smile, lurid in the way the corners of your mouth flick up.
“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you don’t at least move ‘Chim,” Taehyung said, near enough to register.
Setting his drink on a space, Jimin cards his hand through his hair. The suit he wore despite being cotton was rough on his skin, his collar a little too tight.
“I have to leave in a while anyway,” he replied, low enough to make it seem like he was talking to himself. Taehyung sighs, moving along with the crowd, picking up more drinks than what he was setting down. Jimin looks on till he disappears, entering another door.
The music changes, a mash-up of a track from the nineties and something abhorrent. But you were enjoying it, jumping on your feet, arms to the sky, head lolling in a slow roll. The smile stays plastered on your face, and while he was too far away to know for sure, your pupils are blown wide, afflicted by a self-administered elixir meant to last the beyond this night. A glance at his watch showed that he had time to spare before heading down the basement. There was no use in drinking if his job involved him being behind the wheel.
Taehyung appears again, this time hooking his arm through his and he lets himself get dragged along backwards, his attention on you never wavering. The last thing he sees before the wall divides the scene was your arm slinging over someones neck, the sliver of your tongue on their skin. You’ve always sought pleasure but tonight he thinks there’s a harder edge to it. Heat coils in the pit of his stomach, he gets a hold of himself and shrugs off Taehyung, who only rolls his eyes.
“There’s some cake downstairs.”
On the way out, your eyes meet but he isn’t so sure if you recognised him through the haze.
-
As always, Jimin sees Taehyung being busy. The party rages throughout the floors, shaking the foundations of the apartment. Jimin observes him slide numerous cakes out from their flimsy boxes. Aligned neatly, he reads the usual birthday greetings in careful cursive, the icing is consistent, lacking any bubbles. Most of the ones laid out were framed with decorative additions, some having a red border or edible wreathes. Jimin thinks it all looks florid against the obsidian surface of the kitchen counter.
“She’s acting so wild tonight,” he said, grabbing a few abandoned glasses and lowering them into the sink.
Taehyung yanks the door of the dishwasher, grimacing at the moist steam that breathes onto his face. Jimin hands him a couple of plates waiting nearby. Taehyung takes them wordlessly, stacking them on the meshed tray, the sleeves of his white shirt are wrinkled as they nestle on the crook of his elbow. Jimin checks his watch and takes out his phone.
“Still nothing yet?” Taehyung asked, resurfacing with his cheeks a little rosy from the effort.
Jimin shakes his head, dragging a smaller cake towards him. In mint green lettering, it read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING, HAVE A GOOD ONE.’ He dips his finger right in the middle, scooping a sizeable dollop and licking it right after. Taehyung shakes his head but makes no move to stop him.
“He should really have been here, it’s been hours,” Taehyung said.
“He’s busy, it’s not like he can leave at the drop of the hat,” Jimin muttered, his temples ringing suddenly.
The kitchen was all black marble and grey accents but he sought the plush interior of a car, the muted lights embedded on the dashboard. Taehyung scrapes his nail at the border of the cake, taking the mint green frosting with it. He sucks on his finger, his brows creasing subtly.
“He could have at least been here for the toast thenleft, she would have appreciated that -”
Jimin takes another dip with his finger, sullying the letters until it read ‘PPY BIRTHD DAR.’ The frosting melts on his tongue, the mint is barely noticeable. It was like eating mild fluoride meant for kids.
“The deals take a while. Besides, he’s working with unfamiliar clients - that doubles the time needed to complete everything,” Jimin replied, running his tongue over his teeth.
“Really? That’s the best you can come up with for him?” Taehyung challenged, his tone dry. Jimin remains unfairly level-headed and practical, he gives a dismissive shrug and wanders around the space, fingers trailing over the chrome handles of the drawers.
“She doesn’t need her father to breathe down her shoulder all the time and she seems like she’s having a good time anyway.”
Not too far off, there was a clear sound of door slamming and unapologetic laughter. Jimin’s frown returns as he hears a few ‘hoots’ and clapping. He assumes that the door stays propped open as more of that fucking techno-pop drivel intrudes the kitchen.
“I don’t think that’s the case,” Taehyung argues. Jimin’s jaw clenches, he’s in half a mind to stride over to the upper floors and seal the clamour shut.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think she’s having a good time at all,” Taehyung supplied, busy again with unloading a separate dishwasher. The steam doesn’t bother him this time, his hands are efficient and deploys several plates and glasses in quick succession. Jimin disagrees.
“She was dancing all over the place, with that - that man, the one who’s always around her.”
Taehyung’s brows shoot up so much that they disappear under his bangs.
“You mean the DJ? They’re friends, he offered to do this gig for free.”
Ignoring the rational explanation, Jimin crosses his arms tightly over his chest, “the music isn’t worth a single won anyway.”
At that, Taehyung laughed.
“She was dragging him around and he was pushing her off at some point,” Jimin started again, blinking at the memory of you being passed around because you couldn’t stand by yourself for a couple of minutes while disinhibited. He lets his gaze travel down to his shoes, pristine with barely any creases. “It’s embarrassing to watch,” he finished. When he looks up, Taehyung scoffed, slamming the dishwasher shut. But Jimin wasn’t done, tailing his friend to drive his point home.
“You know earlier, when she saw me, she tried to get me to dance with her, then…” he paused, gathering the fragments of the moment in his mind. Your unnaturally strong grip on his wrist as you dragged him into the belly of the crowd, eyes bright and smile wide. Your touch was clammy over his, nails cutting an impression for the few seconds he couldn’t control himself. “I’ve never seen her get thisbad.”
It was Taehyung’s turn to ignore him, getting up to swipe more kitchenware into the sink.
“How many guests are left?”
Jimin shrugs but he had taken a mental note of the people hanging around, “dunno, like fifteen or twenty?”
The sound of your voice pierces the silence in the conversation. It was a loud cheer, a vague plea to keep the music on. And so, the bass thumps the speakers and trickles into the sanctuary of the kitchen. Jimin sighed deeply.
“She’s always been… vibrant, you know? But this year… it’s been tough for her,” Taehyung said, relentless in the way he was wiping down the countertop.
Jimin thinks that Taehyung should have gone to college, been somebody.Not someone who lives with his tail between his legs, picking up after you and bending over backwards to tend to your every whim. Jimin knew he was stuck, caught between the world and an even harder place. He doesn’t like thinking it but it’s there: Taehyung’s too soft for reality.
“Tough?” He inquired, curious as to what could possibly lead you this much astray.
“Yeah - the whole thing hit her harder than what she’s showing us - them,” Taehyung replied.
Jimin puffed out a big breath, turning so that he could have another morsel of cake. He messes with the surface so much that what’s left after his conquest was ‘AVE A GOOD O.’ His fingers come away from his mouth shiny and dries tackily.
“I thought that Jeon kid proposed to her last month.”
Taehyung shrugs, tilting his head so that his hair didn’t get in the way, “no idea.”
A crash resounds in the space, more laughter, the music pounds, pounds, and pounds.Neither make a move to check, that was beyond the scope of what they’re asked for within these walls.
“She doesn’t seem sad, not to me,” Jimin countered, flashes of your stupid smile wrecks through his mind. You almost seemed insultingly happy these days.
“I think that she’s ashamed, ‘Chim.”
Jimin sighed forcefully, laughing to himself.
“That’s a bullshit if I ever heard any.”
Taehyung shoves a couple of cakes so that they’re crowded together, the base cardboards in scalloped trim touch at the sides.
“Of course you don’t believe it.”
Jimin’s mouth twists a little, unsure if Taehyung is privy to what he knows. Thinking about his wording, he throws caution to the wind anyway. Gossiping about employers was nothing new and gossiping about theiremployers has always resulted in more intrigue than answers. It’s like being trapped in a permeant illusion: he thinks that he knows you but you’re just an apparition in the end.
“I saw it. I saw what happened between them,” he said. Taehyung’s eyes widen slightly then narrowed.
“Why play around it then? And why not believe that she’s ashamed after what you saw?”
“How do you know that it went badly?” Jimin asked, “‘sides, I don’t think I was meant to see any of it.”
Taehyung sighed, parting his lips so that Jimin saw him rest the tip of his tongue on the smooth interior of his mouth.
“I pick up after her, I clean where she works, sleeps, and hangs out. She cries when she thinks that no one else is looking. C’mon, tell me ‘Chim.”
It was an ordinary evening, Jimin was meant to pick up your father but got shuttled off to drive you instead. Everything was fine up until you reached the basement parking lot. He had parked the car at a safe enough distance. What he saw was a kind of bloated anger that serrated through you. It was memorable only because it ended unexpectedly. He couldn’t forget the sight of you on your knees, a snivelling heap, fingers clutching at the sleeve of the heir to the Jeon Group. He had to look away, counting the threads on the leather interior until it reached thirty before you were impatiently yanking at the door handle to the passenger seat. Mascara streaked down your cheeks, you sniffed more times than you spoke.
The fucking bastard didn’t even spare a single glance, shooting off in his expensive white Lamborghini before you could even buckle your seatbelt.
“That Jeon kid broke it off. Was an asshole about it too, to the point where she was begging for him to take her back.”
Jimin edited the scene into a couple of sparse words as Taehyung couldn’t wait for him to begin, arranging a couple of the bouquets delivered earlier in a presentable row. Though Jimin preferred if people were doing something while he was speaking, takes the pressure of getting his words right.
“Fuck - really?” Taehyung asked, stopping his fidgety fingers from doing anymore, “I feel sorry her. Where was it?”
Jimin thinks that it doesn’t matter. The emotions were the same. He remembers you being unable to look at him in the eye on the drive back, you were so flustered that you sat in the front rather than the back. He wished that the tremor in your hands were from his imagination but everything was so clear that night, shame dripping over you like a heavy oil spill, coating your wings stiff.
“Seoul Tower. In the parking lot.”
“And you still think that she’s not ashamed?” Taehyung asked, leaning on the counter and resting his pruned fingers on the cool marble. Jimin noticed that the most of the dishes by the sink were now drying.
“I only said that because if she wasashamed, she wouldn’t have gotten on her knees and begged. That’s the whole point of it: shame doesn’t let you do things like that.”
Silence settles like a heavy force over them. Jimin wished he hadn’t said it but it’s out there now. He makes his way to the discrete wine rack, tugging the door open and taking out a bottle of Pétrus. The year is printed at 1921. Taehyung tried to lunge forward but Jimin is agile and spins away, smiling for what he thinks is the first time tonight.
“No! ‘Chim, stop -”
Fortunately, the kitchen is large enough for them to start this sparring. Jimin cradles the bottle close, fingers blindly searching for an opener and Taehyung creeps forward, not a real threat.
“Her father would notice, give.”
The tanned hand that beckons him shows long, well-kept nails. Jimin snatches the opener and begins to slice the sealed foil open, “he won’t, c’mon Tae. Just a sip.”
“He’llnotice,” Taehyung echoes, eyes zeroing on how the coiled spring pierces the spongy cork. “Do you know how much that bottle costs? Of course he’ll notice, you ass.”
Jimin works to ease it up and high until it emit a muted pop.A deep maroon waterfall trickles straight into a wine glass, the delicate stem slotting so easily in his hand. He tastes it in a brief sip, sour at first then it morphs into a richer aftertaste. Hm, so this is what money tastes like nowadays.
“If I do end up driving tonight, I’m allowed one drink. And if I’m having a drink, I want it to be good, carpe diem you know?”
Vehemently unconvinced, and it shows in the way Taehyung handles the dishwasher with a little more deliberation, he walks away muttering, “you’re fucking crazy. That’s not coming out of mypay.”
As Jimin was about to pipe in, he hears you louder and nearer.
“I’ll be back, oh no, don’t worry, yeah… Just stay there!”
Meek, he hides the bottle and glass in a deep drawer and stands up, smoothing down his front. Taehyung ducks away, pretending to arrange the stacked plates, wiping down the counter in frantic motions using a frayed towel.
Then, you enter the kitchen, bounding down the steps, the hem of your skirt fluttering behind. Jimin sees the crown of flowers on your head immediately, but you take it off, passing him by. Cool air laced with bergamot mixed with mirth greets him. The canary coloured petals are wilted but are vibrant all the same. You stop by a box of ornate flowers springing from a box. Jimin had to bring that up earlier, it was heavier than it looked.
“Let me guess,” you said, “straight from the office?”
Finally, you notice him. Your eyes met and yours shine like glass, the smile he saw earlier is there but more contrived, like you walked into their space without permission. Taehyung makes a sound meant to signify a ‘yes.’ Whirling till your skirt expands like a golden umbrella, you pluck a rose from the collection. Jimin doesn’t miss the way your animated movement reveals your legs altogether. He shamelessly drinks that sight in, aching for smooth skin beneath his touch. He sees you sniff the centre, eyes concealed as your head tilts up.
“Smells like…”
You slide up on the counter, sitting with your legs crossing over the other. The skirt falls away, bare leg entering his view as the glittery strap of your top slides down past your shoulder. You appeared ravaged, then. He hates that others could see you like this.
“It smells like my father’s guilt,” you said, abruptly thrusting it to Taehyung’s direction.
“Have them Tae!” You said, grinning once more, swinging your legs. Jimin clears his throat, pacing up the length of the kitchen, praying that by the time he reached the end, you’d gone.
“It’s really okay,” Taehyung said, that voice of submission was back. Jimin doesn’t think that Taehyung could tell you to keep your hands off anything or to not open that bottle of wine now in a random drawer, aerating.
“Have them, please!” You replied, not missing a beat. Jimin hears Taehyung’s nervous chuckle, he glances back and you’re shuffling the box, possibly ruining the arrangement. “Don’t you have a sister? Or these could be for your mother! I’m sure she’ll love these, please Tae.”
The music encroaches into the kitchen. It’s even worse than before and Jimin wants to strangle the DJ for perpetuating such garish entertainment. Prior to any reaction, he hears you plant your feet on the floor. He turns and is met with your stern expression, hands resting on your hips as Taehyung carts off the box of flowers, out of sight.
“Come with me upstairs,” you said, gesturing with your hands to the said direction. Jimin shakes his head. Fuck techno-pop, fuck these nobodies, and fuck this stupid party.
“Should stay here. Might get called anytime soon,” he replied.
“C’mon Min,” you said, urgency in your tone. Whiny even. Jimin never really consented to that nickname but he’s been around long enough that it stuck.
“How come?” You challenged, arching your brow.
Because I fucking hate the music, I hate the way you’re like this right now, and I hate -
“I want you up there with me, please don’t make me beg. It sounds vain but I want to look…” you trailed off, rubbing your arm with your hand. Under the spotlight, you were awfully forlorn. “I need to look…”
Jimin knits his brows together, his suit alarmingly fitted all of the sudden.
“Look like what?”
Taehyung will be back soon since the walk from his room to the kitchen is a couple of meters, but he’s taking longer than what Jimin is used to. The air crackles as he sees you retreat till you meet the counter with nowhere to go. Your fingers inch towards the abandoned flower crown, your pretty nails carving crescents onto the velvet petal.
“To look like I’m wanted.”
Jimin inhales deeply, unable to conceal his discomfort. He tugs at his tie and threads the top button of his shirt through, breathing shakily. Taehyung comes in and you stand up, your shoulders squaring. That stupid smile returns accompanied by outstretched arms. Jimin finds himself drawn to you, his private guise for protection making his wooden limbs move.
“Don’t look so serious Min. I just want to dance more, it’s my birthday,” you said, slurring at the end. Your touch finds him as you lead him upwards. Jimin doesn’t look back but Taehyung’s stare burned nonetheless.
-
Upstairs, the music rattles Jimin’s frame. You weave through the throngs of people - of nobodies - and find an adequate space, right under the brilliant strobe of red, purple, and blue. He lets himself hold your waist, his own hands at the hem of your skirt, barely touching where it counted. Your arms settle on his neck, comfortable.
He supposed that he was out of place wearing a suit amongst party-goers decked out in the latest styles or fashionable garments. Yet, if people thought him odd, they didn’t show it. He even lets himself move to the beat, no matter how irksome it was.
Besides, he liked your warmth near his. The smell of bergamot and mirth is balmy and woodsy: it suited you.
Always have, he thinks.
There was a moment when he felt like time was suspended, when the strobe light, a luminous violet that made all the other bodies melt into a whorl, fell over you both. No one else was in the room and the music wasn’t as shit as he decided. The highlight on your cheeks made it look like there was glitter embedded in your skin and that smile, it wasn’t stupid anymore, it was radiant.
Warm.
You say something to him but it’s lost in the thump of bass, he laughs anyway, his body loosening up a little more. Again, you start speaking so he leans in, too close for justification. He hears you laugh, it’s a wonderful sound, light and airy, like you had never experienced anything that could possibly weigh you down. Then, you raise your arms up, closing your eyes, a strand of your hair caught at your brow due to the tacky surface of your skin. You move to the rhythm with this glow about you. He blinks, awestruck.
A cord snaps.
The music thumps, corroding everything in its wake and you are engulfed with people, the laughter turns menacing then mean.
The spell breaks and he strides towards a doorway, perturbed.
-
As if he was spat out, Jimin stumbles back into the kitchen alone to find Taehyung unloading the dishwasher again.
“She’s gone crazy,” he announced, skin damp from being trapped between people. He doesn’t know how you stand it, being touched unwarrantedly like that. Taehyung shakes his head, laughing through his nose.
“She’s having fun -”
Jimin grabs the forgotten wine and pours more than he was probably allowed.
“You know that people out there are laughingat her?”
“What?” Taehyung asked, standing and shoving his sleeves up further. Jimin blinks back the memories of you dancing theatrically, garnerning smiles and guffaws that were lost due to the blare of EDM. Jimin caught them though, so he stalked off in a huff.
“Most of those people in there aren’t even her friends. And those who stayed don’t even know her middle name.”
Taehyung leans on the corner of the table, the tilt of his head is pensive, “do youknow her middle name?”
“Of course I do. It’s -”
“You’ve got the balls to abandon me in the middle of the dance floor like that,” you said, entering the kitchen with a champagne flute in hand, “and why are you still dressed like that? What are you, a lawyer? Take off your jacket,” you commanded. Jimin forgets about the wine glass in his hand and promptly brings it down. The dark liquid sloshes before it settles.
“Why?”
In the background, Taehyung slinks away, pretending to clean something.
“It’s my birthday, you’re the spoiling the theme,” you replied, gesturing to your glittery gold outfit. Jimin clenches his jaw, cursing the party inwardly.
“Take it off Min,” you said, hauling yourself up to sit on the counter. His ear pricks up at your use of banmaland stares at you, like blinking would be enough to reverse this implicit imbalance. He tries that thing that Taehyung does, running his tongue first on top of his molars till it encounters the smooth interior of his mouth. Doesn’t work. The air crackles again, along with the goosebumps on his skin. Taehyung catches his eye and he could tell that it meant ‘Just do it for fuck sake.’
Times like these, Jimin gets reminded of things he’d rather leave buried far beneath the surface.
In seconds, he turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen. He hears you ask where he was going but he doesn’t catch Taehyung’s reply.
Past Taehyung’s living quarters was a narrow hallway to the elevator that goes straight to the parking lot. Jimin stops in front of the steel doors, fingers itching to punch the downward arrow. The lack of notifications from his phone was becoming an issue. He slips off his jacket, hanging it on a spare wooden peg and heads back in.
On the kitchen island, he finds you and Taehyung conversing in hushed voices. Your hand curves over his shoulders, your body leaning over his back, the wisps off your hair brushing against his. Taehyung has that goofy expression on his face, the apples of his cheeks flushed pink. Jimin lets his eyes linger.
“See! You look way better without your jacket,” you beamed, leaving Taehyung’s side and sitting on the table this time. The skirt gapes and shows more skin, Jimin’s gotten better at directing his eyes elsewhere. There’s more movement, Taehyung gets up and waves his phone, the screen is lit up and buzzing.
“Gotta answer this,” he announced, and you turn, chin resting on your shoulder mouthing Come back soon.
Taehyung gives you a tight-lipped smile, sauntering into another doorway, his voice soothing as he greets the caller on the other side of the line.
Summary: Months have passed. Jimin tries to take charge of his life, it’s not easy and he doesn’t feel like himself but you’re there. In a way, you always have been. You were strangers for a time, then friends, then mere strangers again, but is going forward and being more what you both want?
Warnings/Tags: Rated G-angst; but there are good parents out there (specifically in this chapter lmao); there are tears too, ooof; Jimin is going throughit rn, but it’ll be okay; if the word ‘maybe’ was a fic (oops); - non-idol!AU (University —> Young adults).
-
Jimin never knew what to do with himself during family dinners. He never knew when to interject or stay silent, which made him an easy target.
“What are your plans, Jimin-sshi?”
Ji-Eun’s father says this as he drinks himself into a violent shade of red. Jimin fidgets, trying to scramble for a diplomatic yet adequate answer. The question was too vague, too open-ended. Did he mean his current plans or plans into the future? Because Jimin didn’t know if he had either. Next to him, Ji-Eun remains silent, a thing that became pressingly irritating in the given circumstances.
“Not sure, Abeoji. I’m happy where I am,” Jimin replies, eating to give himself a break. He doesn’t miss Ji-Eun’s soft sigh as she rises from her seat. Her mother gives Jimin as a small smile.
“I’m sure Jimin’s plans are well and good,” she adds, patting him on the shoulder.
To this, Jimin can’t seem to understand why he felt a dreaded sense of suffocation. The weight of his inadequacies far too oppressive for his liking. He wishes to be apart or elsewhere, perhaps to detach himself from who he was as a person. He tries to pivot, to prepare himself for an onslaught.
Ji-Eun returns with a glass of water for him, “here, drink this.”
Jimin obliges, melting any possibility of being drunk. He guesses that he won’t be escorted to the bus stop tonight.
“How is the job though?” Ji-Eun mother says after a while. Jimin’s nerves don’t settle.
“It’s fine, Eomma.”
The feeling of calling other people’s parents is foreign to him, especially since he doesn’t feel in any way at home under their scrutiny. But he smiles and nods.
That’s all he ever did nowadays.
-
The gate to Jimin’s home is left open.
He walks across the tiny path, his hair ruffled by the breeze. When he finally enters his childhood home, he is startled by his mother’s presence in the kitchen. Illuminated by a single light, she works to wash a couple of vegetables in the sink, shaking them before laying them down. Jimin makes his presence known quickly to avoid being scolded at the late hour. He scrapes the chair back and fills a small glass with water for himself.
“Did my son have a good day?”
Jimin gulps down the drink, unable to feel nothing but shame in holding that title. It wells up and pokes through his eyes, as if he was a sieve for his emotions. In the past months, while getting more serious with Ji-Eun, it’s been a never ending barrage of humiliation; he has never felt good enough, even in his home town. But because it’s his mother, a person who has seen him in every hue, he surrenders and becomes small. She approaches him, placing a tender hand on his shoulders as he dips his head, the tears coming suddenly.
“You can tell Eomma what’s bothering you. It’s okay.”
Jimin inhales a shuddering breath, his chest tight.
Should he even risk baring himself when his problems are so hollow?
It’s been three months of stagnation, of being a convenience store manager, of being in a relationship that he neither feels happy or fulfilled in.
“Eomma,”he whispers, curling his hands into fists since they couldn’t stop shaking, “I’m just having a hard time.”
And it’s this silence that’s most comforting, the gentle embrace of his mother, the scent of her clothes and her warmth. Jimin can’t even look at her in the eye.
“I’m very proud of you,” she murmurs into his hair.
Then, she did what she would do when he was younger, a slight push of her fingers in his hair, a gentle scratch on his scalp. It’s a small comfort that sent a tremendous sense of nostalgia through him. Jimin was back to being a child, he was years younger, and someone else more capable is bearing the burden for now. He snivelled, braving the torrent of emotions. He couldn’t say much as he was crying too hard, the pain of being acknowledged right in the moment being too much.
“Eomma,” he says, his breath coming out like a tremor, “I need to leave.”
She takes his face in her hands, the surface of her palms are soft and warm. She’s always looked at him kindly, in way that he doesn’t understand. Jimin looked like his father but he was raised by his mother, a kind and gentle soul who was selfless to a fault.
“I’ll support you. Eommawill support you.”
And for the first time in a long while, Jimin finds a certain serenity overcome him.
-
You wedge your phone between your ear and your shoulder, shoving past the door as you heft another box.
“You better get here soon, Tae. They think it’s myplace that I’m moving into.”
The line is static for a bit before clearing, “yeah. I’m just stuck at work for another twenty minutes. My roommate’ll be there in a two minutes.”
You rolled your eyes, setting the box in a vacant room. The apartment, under Seoul standards, is decent. It’s not uncommon for people to shoulder the rent by adopting a roommate or two. The times are harder now more than ever, so you understood Taehyung’s compromise.
“Fine,” you huffed, sitting down on the mattress, looking down on the miniature setting of downtown Mapo. Students tour the streets as afternoon wanes into evening; Taehyung shouldn’t have been running this late but it couldn’t be helped.
“Ah, thanks Ahjussi, just there. Okay…”
The voice renders you to a state of alert. It’s familiar in its tone: how it sounds like a song most times, gentle in the delivery of vowels, conjuring up images of a handsome thief. A once a good friend turned temporary foe after a misdirected kiss. Months have elapsed, the time riddled in silence and half-hearted interactions online.
Jimin appears suddenly through the door, as surprised as you were.
“Oh,” he mutters, opening the door widely and letting himself in.
“Jimin.”
His smile is strained and all you could think of was how naive you were. Of course Taehyung and Jimin kept in touch, of course Taehyung trusted Jimin to be his roommate. You examine Jimin subtly; it’s been months and he’s drifted, as he does, further than you liked. You make room, dragging yourself along the bed. The excitement is different, tentative. As if Jimin materialising in front of you suddenly makes him realagain.
“When Taehyung told me that his ‘friend’ will be here, I never expected it to be you.”
That stings a little.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he cautions, seeing your face. He gestures with his hands in front of him slightly, “I just meant that, I guess I didn’t expect you and Taehyung to keep in touch.”
The air is suffused with a kind of easy acknowledgment between you, the bygones solidifying at the sight of each other being well and healthy. He came without Ji-Eun after all and a kiss was just a kiss. You worried about Jimin, despite it all.
“He moved back here from Daegu a while back and we hung out a lot since ‘cause I ran into him in a café,” you explained.
Taehyung, boisterous in his embrace, never quite let you go from that day forward. But you can’t help but admit that it was nice to have someone from university who knew you then, before life took over. Taehyung kept his easy-going outlook in life, weathering the dreaded consequences of growing up with a can-do attitude.
Jimin nods, tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. You wait for him to speak, to lend part of himself out in the open. He gives you a strained smile instead, hesitating to meet you in the eye.
“I’m glad though, cause I don’t think we’d see each other.”
You shake your head, “we’re not very good at being strangers, are we?”
His smile grows and your mirror it too.
“No. But I’m kind of glad that’s the case.”
And you think that deep down, past the uncomfortable territory of mishaps that you shared, you really were.
-
Taehyung begins to rise from where he was sat, much to you and Jimin’s protest.
“Where are you going?” You asked, failing to grasp at the hem of his pants.
Jimin hides his face in his hands to laugh, chasing that joke you hauled out from years back. Strange how nostalgia can shape a conversation, varnishing your earlier years in technicolour. It was all so simple; the one thing plaguing your minds were reserving a booth at a student pub or when the next exam was.
“I’m tired guys, and I have work tomorrow,” Taehyung announced, not bothering to wait for a reply. The door slams behind him, leaving you and Jimin alone. You didn’t take it as anything mean, Taehyung had an especially long day and sleep is a currency that was hard to come by these days.
“Must be stressful for him,” Jimin said, his voice a little hoarse.
You nod. Taehyung was spinning plates with all of what he was trying to achieve. There was work, then moving back to the city, then more work. He would often complain that there aren’t enough hours in the day to do anything. Though you all knew that what he really meant was rest.
Seoul wears down even the most resilient eventually.
“Are you still working in that office?”
You swallow the shot of soju and suppress a cough, “yeah. I wanted to leave but they promoted me.”
Jimin chuckled, adjusting his posture, “show off.”
“I’m not showing off! I really wanted to leave,” you exclaimed, thinking about the long hours chained to your desk, as well as the same, banal routine eroding your sense of self. You didn’t understand why living would take such a toll despite being rewarded in spades. You had a place to yourself, enough food, a somewhat independent state of living. Your parents were prouder than most. It’s picture perfect, a future you strive for now a reality. In fact, all that’s left is the company of a small pet, barred solely by the standards of your apartment.
Jimin purses his lips, considering the murky surface of his shot glass. These were the times that you think he was the hardest to read, as if he was caving in himself, retreating away from you.
“Wish I had the option to leave,” he sighed. You remembered that he was in between jobs again, back to tempting and such.
“We can trade places if you like, I’m sure my boss would love to have you.”
Jimin grinned, shoving your shoulder weakly, “I hate office jobs, you know that.”
“Doesn’t mean that you won’t be suited for it.”
Jimin sighs deeply again, craning his head back against the curve of the couch. His hair was back to its dark locks, and it was longer this time. They fanned out in graceful strands onto the fabric, his profile is sharp and his jaw angular.
“I don’t know. Sometimes, I just want time to stop, you know?”
You nod because you do get it. You don’t understand why it all goes so fast, how much older you both were now. Life seemed doable back in university, a steep challenge. You suppose that it still is now, but with the added notion of pressure, of the need to be somewhere already even if you didn’t know where that place or state of being was. An idea comes to mind suddenly, so you face him just as he turns his head. Jimin’s cheeks were flushed pink, his lips equally rosy. Here, he was less hard to read and was back to the handsome thief in your eyes.
“How about we go have that day out, you know, watching performances.”
It’s a suggestion borne out of a hazy memory, of conversations in diners, the kind of wishful thinking that was harmless but held the weight of a promise. Jimin blinks, registering your words.
“You remembered that?”
And you smiled, wistful.
“Of course I did.”
-
Jimin hasn’t been thishappy in a while.
The National Theatre of Korea was magnificent on an ordinary Saturday evening, it’s halls brimming with regulars or newcomers. Dressed closer to the nines that your usual style, you both made it out of the theatre, grinning from ear to ear.
Hoseok waved at you and him. To Jimin’s knowledge, he had been working there for the past two years as the resident set designer. The backdrop for the evening’s performance was his vision coming to life, Jimin had never been prouder. You looped your arm through his, tugging him eagerly. He laughed at your enthusiasm, allowing himself to be guided.
“Did you guys enjoy it?”
Jimin leaps to answer, “of course, Hyung.”
You smiled, “it was wonderful. Thanks for getting us tickets last minute.”
Jimin glances at you then, noticing every detail. Absorbing your features, your happiness, as if that was the very force keeping him upright. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling but it was something other than guilt this time, and for that he was grateful.
Hoseok blushes at the warm greeting, “I haven’t seen you guys for ages, so I’m happy to do this.”
“Do you still have access to the stage, Hyung?” Jimin asked, trying his luck. Hoseok arches his brow but is congenial. You giggled next to him, a conspirator in his scheme. Eventually though, Hoseok leads the way, all three of you going against the current of the crowd.
-
Things looked different on stage.
You and Jimin were sat right where the actors were minutes ago. Shredded confetti littered the corners, the floor is scratched up, the furious swipes of various footwear marking it beyond repair. Jimin liked seeing that because it meant that it was used, that people came to see these performances. You whistled at the overhead lights, the complicated rigging that, from afar, the audience wouldn’t see. Jimin found himself observing you again as the silence conveyed the enormity of the place. Here, the dreams of the performers echoed in the hearts of the audience and he felt a sort of kinship to that.
He hadn’t properly thought about it since leaving but it felt so good to be around others, to be invisible, and to have no responsibilities or any kind of pressure around him. Leaving Busan for Seoul again, that re-centred him. Leaving Ji-Eun, no matter how painful it was to instigate, was a mindful change for the better. He didn’t like seeing anyone unhappy and that was Ji-Eun in the latter part of their relationship. That’s why seeing his mother and father wave him off from the train station was less intimidating and more cathartic.
Now, he was reaping the benefits of trying. He liked your company, he felt at ease.
“I would have been happy as part of the theatre ensemble, anyensemble. I’ve always loved the stage…”
Jimin lets the seemingly endless space of the theatre hold the things unsaid. They lurk in certain spaces, in the curtains, the levelled tiers where seats are found. You wait, comfortable in his musings, his half-baked dreams.
“How are you?”
You ask this while Jimin fidgets then fixates on a faraway point near the back of the theatre. The question isn’t difficult, he’s heard it before, too often these days.
“Well, work’s been the same and -”
You cut him off immediately, “no, I meant - what’s been happening with you? I don’t care about work or what you’re doing.”
Jimin looks at you again as you finish your point.
“Howare you, Jimin?”
He should be relieved really, which makes it silly that all he wants to do is cry. In front of him, you’re oblivious, as your concern is genuine. To add, your eyes are attentive. He finds himself welcoming this spate of emotions that encourages honesty. The space between, where your hands are splayed, the tips of them just touching. He wonders how you knew what to say, to have that ability to reach into his mind.
He holds your attention, his eyes seeking yours, unafraid for once. The first graze of your fingers together makes both of you smile.
“Better.”
It’s not meant to sound like a confession but it feels like it because it’s you. Here, in a venue that holds thousands that it might have been the world’s stage, it’s the most sincere he’s been. He holds onto your smile as the lights flicker above, he cleared his throat to expel any dredge of emotion making him choke up.
“I loved the pansori,” you mused, shifting your legs as if you were making snow angels. Jimin leans on his hands.
“Does it have to be about love, though?” He thought aloud.
You scoffed, “it wasn’t allabout love. There were themes of social class, too.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, “would it kill them to support productions that have less conflict?”
You laughed, “careful, Hoseok might hear you.”
“Good!” He bellowed, his voice reverberating on every surface. You stifled your laugh between your fingers and a part of him wanted to hear it loudly since he missed it so much.
“Besides,” you said, gathering your breath, “that’s what it’s about.”
Jimin cocks his head to the side, confused.
“What’s what all about?” He asked.
You met him in the eye and he registers something flash in them. Maybe it’s in the way your brows scrunched for a second, or how swift you were in blinking it away.
“Love,” you concluded, staring up at the ceiling again, “love’s about conflict.”
-
“Remind me to wear more comfortable shoes,” you complained, grasping onto Jimin’s hand so tightly that his knuckles were ashen.
Namsan Seoul Tower is a distinct spindle that glowed in brilliant blue tonight. Jimin had spontaneously booked tickets prior to the performance and told you whilst changing lines at the subway. The night hadn’t ended yet and you were glad, given that he had been so sullen. It was nice that he took initiative.
“Let’s swap then,” he says, slowing down a little to allow you to adjust. Heat creeped up your neck and spilled over to your cheeks.
“No, I’m fine,” you replied, scurrying forward to join the line of people waiting to be shuffled into the elevators. Jimin rubs your lower back, affectionate and serious.
“You sure?”
You nod, avoiding him in the eye. He brushes this off by grasping your waist so that you weren’t pushing all of your weight into the heels you wore. The warmth of him was distracting, to say the least. You remind yourself that Jimin’s always been like this. Soon, you were directed into one of the elevators, leading to the observatory deck.
Seoul from above is a maze of highways and blacked out shapes. The deck was circular in structure and there weren’t too many people around as it was late. Jimin stayed near, at times, strolling with you to point at vague areas of interest. He even took to pointing out where he used to get the bus to work. Then, in a quieter section, past the watchful eyes of the stewards, you leaned onto the fortified glass, the silence between you oddly comforting.
It makes you braver in ways that alcohol could and it seems that Jimin is anticipating it too, this question at the tip of your tongue.
“We never talked about it,” you muttered.
Jimin blinks, tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. The blood spreads and it becomes redder. You didn’t meant to sully the atmosphere, you didn’t even know where you were headed with your words. All that you remembered was a kiss, the uncomfortable train ride back, and the months of walking around in eggshells and barely interacting.
This confrontation was bound to happen anyway.
“I’m sorry for that,” he began, looking down at the floor, at your feet.
Apologies were overdue but that wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Something aches in your chest, a definite sting as your heart struggles to beat regularly. You don’t say anything, admiring the neon dots that decorate the landscape. From this high, you seemed invincible, ready to tackle any problem. It’s only when you looked at Jimin did you realise the error of your ways.
“I don’t want you to misunderstand. You’ve always been someone I could talk to about anything, I never had to hide myself from you, we’re like that.”
Funny how the words stemming from empathy served the opposite effect. You let out a shaky breath.
The kiss meant nothing to him.
“Right. So, I guess I’ll just be the person, who you go to if you’re feeling like you need a pick me up.”
Jimin’s features flicker to something akin to hurt, but you had to push through. It wasn’t ideal to talk about it in public like this, tainting the beautiful view below. Seoul has always been kind to you at any hour and the nights were yours to dream up infinite possibilities. Now, it seemed too saturated because of this inexplicable hurt.
“It’s not like that,” Jimin replied, reaching for you again. This time, you don’t bother shrugging him off.
“Then what is it? What am I to you?”
And the silence that follows was even harder to bear. He lets go of your sleeve, regretful in every action but at a loss for words. You cast your mind back to all of the points in your life where Jimin was in it, each one coloured in joy despite it all. He says your name, soft and careful.
“Please don’t misunderstand. I don’t want us to be apart or not talk again.”
You remembered the numerous texts he sent, the phone calls you ignored. You weren’t blocking him out of your life out of spite, it just hurt too much to be rejected like that. You had kept it together in the past week as he was undergoing this period of change, but you didn’t want to drag it out for longer. It was hard to pretend that things were alright but it was harder to gloss over the previous events as if they were insignificant.
“I’m really tired of this,” you mumbled, rubbing the heel of your palms over your eyes until you saw white dots. You feel him grasp at your wrist, and you exhale forcefully to keep yourself from acting irrationally.
“I don’t want to hurt you, I never -”
You wrench away from him, narrowly avoiding a passerby.
“You don’t want to hurtme?”
It was crass and accusatory. You didn’t bother to rectify it as Jimin shuts down, appearing awash with guilt. He pressed himself against the window pane, no sure where to look. Then, he makes a move to say something but a steward enters your space, cautious as to the nature of your conversation but nevertheless dutiful.
“We’ll be closing in 10 minutes,” she said, her voice low. You nod, turning away. Jimin grasps at your wrist, saying your name in a plea.
“Let’s talk,” he said, sounding desperate, “please.”
“What is there to talk about?” You snap, ducking into the elevator. Other people filtered in, crowding you into a corner. Jimin shields you despite having enough room, but it’s really because something hot streams down your cheek, blurring your vision.
It’s embarrassing to be crying in an elevator.
It’s embarrassing that the one person you didn’t want as witness is the one protecting you from other, prying eyes.
And it’s even more embarrassing that you can’t run away.
Jimin tries to salvage the situation. The ground floor couldn’t come any faster, the people around you are animated in their conversations, oblivious to your tears. Jimin cradles your head, pushing your face onto his chest. He still smells like he does years ago, it’s a sweet scent you worked hard to forget. It’s ridiculous that the thud of his heart through his clothes made you weak, how his embrace, steady and unwavering, made you want to scream about the unfairness of it all.
Instead, the tears came, staining his chest. Your shoulders shook from holding back, but Jimin cradles your head, this gentle manner startling you into a stupor.
The ring of the elevator disrupts everything, the hurried footsteps around you signalling the time for exit. Jimin doesn’t press you though, holding onto you tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair.
You shake your head, unspeakably tired, pushing him off. You wipe your face roughly, sniffing as the biting air cools your skin. Jimin firmly holds your elbow as you try and rush out. You turn back to him, suddenly furious.
“Was it not clear to you that that kiss meant something to me?”
He stops in his tracks, dumbfounded in a way that conveyed just how clueless he was. That makes your heart ache in its hollow thud. The night air skims your skin, the tips of your finger grows cold. Jimin halts his attempts to draw you closer to him and stands his ground.
“What do you mean?”
You gathered yourself, “it may be a mistake to you but it wasn’t for me.”
Jimin swallows down your words, his face slightly pale under the artificial streetlights. The rustle of leaves from the overhead canopies are intrusive, competing with your shallow breaths. He steps closer.
“You mean that -”
“When you kissed me, I thought that you -” you said, struggling to get the words out, “I thought that you wanted me.”
Jimin pushes his hand along his hair, unravelling it from its style, the dark locks fall and is gently jostled by the wind. He doesn’t say anything, which makes you laugh.
“Yeah. I know,” you said, too far into the other side of things to back out. The humiliation wasn’t ideal but it was out there. Jimin shakes his head suddenly.
“How could you like someone like me?”
What?
His response was unexpected, and you both find yourselves on a bench. You hissed at the cold wood that penetrated your clothes.
“I have a hard time forming a reply,” you said, trying your best to calm down.
Jimin places his jacket over your shoulders suddenly. The warmth abates the chatter in your teeth, he seems to withstand the cold for the moment. He lets out a shaky breath, clasping his hands together.
“I didn’t think you could like me because I’m so…”
You wait, somewhat nervous.
Jimin takes to looking at you in the eye, “because I’m this nobody.”
“What?”
It wasn’t clear to you. Sure, Jimin had trouble adjusting but that wasn’t something you considered as a bad thing. Everyone had their own pace, their own way in life. For a moment, he’s too pained to carry on.
“I mean that I’m stuck. I don’t have anything for myself, I don’t even have my own place, I hate my job. I don’t have any sense of responsibility.”
For the first time it felt like Jimin was the most transparent he’s ever been. You knew that what he was saying was something he preferred to keep to himself. You draw his jacket tightly around yourself, shivering.
“I don’t care about any of that,” you muttered.
It was true. That had no bearing on the kind of person Jimin was to you.
“You will, eventually.”
Jimin says this in a softer tone, a certain kind of sadness that echoes in your chest. He really felt like those things he described and there was nothing you could say to better it.
“I know you, I know that you just need time and -”
“I’vehad time, I’ve had enough of it and I still haven’t done anything,” he said, interrupting you. “And I just can’t see why someone like you would go for someone like me.”
“Jimin, you’re more capable that anyone I know,” you began, “it’s not easy to uproot yourself and move back home, or start over again, here.”
Jimin’s mouth twists into a grimace. You feel like you’ve said the wrong words and given the wrong meaning.
“I just feel like I’ll weigh you down. That you’ll be embarrassed of me.”
You place your hand over his, feeling the raised veins, “you could never be those things to me.”
To this, he inhales a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“It’s been years since I felt like I had any control over my life. I just don’t want to drag you into this mess.
“That’s not true, Jimin.”
He shakes his head, “I feel like I’m not the kind of person anyone can be proud of.”
You realise then that you and Jimin were operating on a different understanding. You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or not. It comes from a recessed well of feelings he probably had since graduation. An uncertainty that stayed hooked on his back, feeding off his energy. The harrowing part was that he was carrying this privately, in silence.
“Not to me.”
That was the truth of it. But it snags at your chest, this moment of honesty between you. It’s almost too abrupt, for the first time, you were wary of just how transparent you were being. Jimin squeezes his hand over yours. His gaze is sorrowful, laced in a sort of helplessness that you wished you never saw in anyone, let alone him.
Seoul shines from afar. This was how you ended your day, the performances that made you happy a mere vignette in your mind and the observatory deck is far off. Jimin is dejected while your tears made your cheeks tacky.
It leads you one resounding thought: that it’s harder to be like this with Jimin than strangers these days.
has anyone ever thought about creating a btsau! where 3J have a tiktok together and they are very famous on the dancetok side and the other members appear as other famous tiktokers or tiktok users. Then when the profile becomes all of dance line!!!! Ouuu and if you throw in a black y/n that meets them and is also famous on dancetok
your summer holiday takes an interesting turn when Park Jimin, your step brother’s best friend, barges into your room asking for directions around your parents’ new home, dripping in the same charm and allure you remember from all those years ago, still willing to teach you a few things.
pairing— stepbro’s best friend!jimin x nerdy!reader
genre/rating—R | smut, fluff, slight angst, fwb2l
warnings/tags— summer holiday, rich kids au, college au, strong language, small age gap, sorta weird family dynamics, inexperienced!reader, flirty jimin, he has a filthy mouth, blond jimin, sexual discovery, corruption kink, insecurities, virgin!reader but she’s a secret freak lol, bickering, her fave color is pink, vaping, teasinggg, mouth fetish?, slight coercion, explicit smut ++
note:AHH finally !! i’ve been planning this since march but yk how it is anyway this jimin is literally my fave & i hope you guys enjoy him and the fun ride !! it’s gonna be a lot a lot
sum ᝰ park jimin looked at you like you held all the answers to the universe, playing it off as an endearing act of his, you don’t think much of it. until his sweet smiles and loving personality makes your stomach flutter and your heart skip a beat. but you’re his boss — the person who helped him escape his past and horrid boss, there was no way you could ever admit your feelings for him, even if he does say it first.
pairing ᝰ assistant!jimin x ceo!yn (slightly plus size but not much detail)
genre ᝰ fluff, angst, romance, smut, s2f2l.
word count ᝰ13.1k
warnings ᝰ curse words, strong mentions of physical abuse, yn is kinda mean, anxiety, depression, mentions of a stutter, mentions of a lost loved one, therapy, smut, blowjob, yn is so dumb, mentions of weight. i do say a size but it’s just for the story, imagine it as you’d like.
an ᝰ can we please ignore how bad i am at making banners AND choosing fic titles. but i was listening to say it first by sam smith and it just stuck but yay, i loved this idea and it’s not the most heart wrenching or deepest fic, but i thought it was sweet! thank you for reading! reblog, comment and do all that jazz if you liked it! wishing you all the best! :) <3
The first time you had ever met Park Jimin, he was trudging behind Baekhyun, a business partner of yours. His hair was slightly frazzled, to which Baekhyun sent him a harsh glare for. It was no secret the partner of yours was harsh, it’s how he got to be so successful, it still didn’t seem right to instill fear in your workers. But alas, you ignored it as Jimin pat his hair down, placing a few Manila folders across from you, his boss, and the other two individuals in the room.
The meeting went smoothly. Baekhyun presented his own numbers for your business’ integration for a section in your magazine and website. The other two were board members in charge of seeing it through, the ones to pick up messes and nitpick before the company blew up. Jimin rushed about the room at Baekhyun’s every command. It didn’t go unnoticed by any of you just how terrified Jimin was, eyes narrowing as his hands shook when handing the man a paper, which he yanked from his hold every time.
The meeting concluded and you bid the two goodbye, not having much time to look into the assistant and his boss.
The next meeting didn’t go as smoothly. Baekhyun’s proposals weren’t lining up, neither the numbers, story, or projector. It was a complete mess and the boss blamed his meek assistant who wore big round glasses. He cursed at the guy in the hallway, holding onto Jimin rather harshly.
Now, you weren’t a meek person. You couldn’t be meek when running a multi-million company, it simply wouldn’t work. It’s why you questioned every word that came from Baekhyun’s mouth, it’s why his angry look didn’t deter you from your clear path to success, it’s why you walked out of the conference room, ushering Baekhyun to continue with the meeting or you were officially through with him.
You ended the meeting, taking notice of how tense and tired your workers were. It frustrated Baekhyun who wanted to get the deal over with. “Don’t rush me.” Is all you had said as you walked out of the room, carrying your own folders.
The next meeting, Jimin wasn’t there. You had asked Baekhyun and he dismissed you by saying he had a cold. It didn’t sit right with you. The meeting went a lot smoother, and despite the protest from your board members, you continued going slow with the collaboration. Something just hadn’t sat right with you, even more with the past meeting and how badly he was messing up. You needed nothing but perfection and you didn’t seem to be getting it.
sum ᝰ park jimin looked at you like you held all the answers to the universe, playing it off as an endearing act of his, you don’t think much of it. until his sweet smiles and loving personality makes your stomach flutter and your heart skip a beat. but you’re his boss — the person who helped him escape his past and horrid boss, there was no way you could ever admit your feelings for him, even if he does say it first.
pairing ᝰ assistant!jimin x ceo!yn (slightly plus size but not much detail)
genre ᝰ fluff, angst, romance, smut, s2f2l.
word count ᝰ13.1k
warnings ᝰ curse words, strong mentions of physical abuse, yn is kinda mean, anxiety, depression, mentions of a stutter, mentions of a lost loved one, therapy, smut, blowjob, yn is so dumb, mentions of weight. i do say a size but it’s just for the story, imagine it as you’d like.
an ᝰ can we please ignore how bad i am at making banners AND choosing fic titles. but i was listening to say it first by sam smith and it just stuck but yay, i loved this idea and it’s not the most heart wrenching or deepest fic, but i thought it was sweet! thank you for reading! reblog, comment and do all that jazz if you liked it! wishing you all the best! :) <3
The first time you had ever met Park Jimin, he was trudging behind Baekhyun, a business partner of yours. His hair was slightly frazzled, to which Baekhyun sent him a harsh glare for. It was no secret the partner of yours was harsh, it’s how he got to be so successful, it still didn’t seem right to instill fear in your workers. But alas, you ignored it as Jimin pat his hair down, placing a few Manila folders across from you, his boss, and the other two individuals in the room.
The meeting went smoothly. Baekhyun presented his own numbers for your business’ integration for a section in your magazine and website. The other two were board members in charge of seeing it through, the ones to pick up messes and nitpick before the company blew up. Jimin rushed about the room at Baekhyun’s every command. It didn’t go unnoticed by any of you just how terrified Jimin was, eyes narrowing as his hands shook when handing the man a paper, which he yanked from his hold every time.
The meeting concluded and you bid the two goodbye, not having much time to look into the assistant and his boss.
The next meeting didn’t go as smoothly. Baekhyun’s proposals weren’t lining up, neither the numbers, story, or projector. It was a complete mess and the boss blamed his meek assistant who wore big round glasses. He cursed at the guy in the hallway, holding onto Jimin rather harshly.
Now, you weren’t a meek person. You couldn’t be meek when running a multi-million company, it simply wouldn’t work. It’s why you questioned every word that came from Baekhyun’s mouth, it’s why his angry look didn’t deter you from your clear path to success, it’s why you walked out of the conference room, ushering Baekhyun to continue with the meeting or you were officially through with him.
You ended the meeting, taking notice of how tense and tired your workers were. It frustrated Baekhyun who wanted to get the deal over with. “Don’t rush me.” Is all you had said as you walked out of the room, carrying your own folders.
The next meeting, Jimin wasn’t there. You had asked Baekhyun and he dismissed you by saying he had a cold. It didn’t sit right with you. The meeting went a lot smoother, and despite the protest from your board members, you continued going slow with the collaboration. Something just hadn’t sat right with you, even more with the past meeting and how badly he was messing up. You needed nothing but perfection and you didn’t seem to be getting it.
There were only two more meetings to go and the next, Jimin was back. It was only a week later and the black eye told you he wasn’t gone because of a cold. Whatever fucked up crap Baekhyun dealt with, he released his frustrations against his shy assistant.
You had asked him if he was alright, he responded with a shy smile, unable to look you in the eyes, assuring you he was fine. You couldn’t sit still for the rest of the meeting, watching as Jimin winced every time a single muscle in his face moved. Beckoning the intern watching from the end of the room, you send her off to fetch a bag of ice for the man.
“He really doesn’t need it.” Baekhyun tries as the intern hands the assistant the ice pack.
“Did I ask you?” You shut him down, the man now quiet as you send him one of your harsh looks.
The meeting went fine. The numbers he had messed up before were perfect. Too perfect for someone who was sweating while presenting. But you decide to ignore it for now, shaking his hand as it concludes, telling him of the plans to close the deal at the meeting that’s to come.
You spent the rest of your day in your office, only walking out when you needed to call someone to speak to. It was quite a hassle not having someone to do menial tasks for you but you made it work. Every assistant you had ever had was incompetent and only added much more stress onto your already stressful days.
Your last assistant, who you were very close to, was the last you felt you needed. He was young, but he was smart, graduating from Harvard in journalism and he wanted to rise through the ranks. You took him under your wing, you were harsh but you felt it was needed to get him to succeed and he appreciated it. You were the first person he went to when he found out his girlfriend was pregnant, and you congratulated him, to which he cried. It was a bit awkward but you gave him a small hug, telling him he’d be a good father.
His girlfriend, who you had met over dinner a few times, had asked you to be the godmother to their baby. You were taken aback of course, but she had confided in you that the only motherly figure Jungkook had was you and he spoke highly of you more than anyone he had ever met. You accepted, meeting Yoongi, the godfather, at the baptism recitals. Jungkook was over the moon to have two people he adored to help with his baby girl if anything were to happen. He had taken a three week break when his son was born, only to come back to find his desk empty.
He was terrified he had been fired but you got your intern to show him to his new desk, away from your office and into the space where the other hard hitting journalists sat. The goofy and emotional guy he was, he sprinted up to you, engulfing you in a big hug. A loud yelp came from your mouth as he picked you up off the floor, spinning you. You had reprimanded him after, warning him about boundaries but sent him a comforting pat to his shoulder as you walked off, wishing him the best.
That was almost two years ago. Assistants came and went, some left crying, others left cursing. But you didn’t care, who better to rely on than yourself?
It was when you were leaving your building that the security handed you a package that had been left for you. You thanked him as you walked over to your black, sleek car, ripping the top to grab the papers from inside. Your eyes skimmed across the numbers, the paragraphs detailing the deal you were set to close in a few days. The information led you to rushing back into your office, calling up your legal team and spending a long night conversing and going through the stacks of papers collected.
You burned that bridge with Baekhyun when he showed up to the meeting, cocky and fully ready to sign the deal, Jimin by his side. Your legal team spoke for you as you watched Baekhyun’s face contort from confusion, to anger, then to distress. He begged and pleaded with you to take a chance on him, his company was dying and he had no idea how to save himself.
“I’m not a bank.” You shrugged him off, only enraging him further. He topples over the table, ready to grab you, getting pulled by the security you had called up. You hadn’t even flinched as he was dragged out of the room, cursing and calling you every derogatory term he could scrounge up.
Jimin sat to the side, eyes wide at the scene. You watched him carefully, not catching a single second of doubt though. Just shocked that his previous boss would stoop so low as to hurt you, the most powerful person in the city.
You don’t get up from your seat as your legal team leaves, along with the intern you had been dragging to meetings with you. Instead, you turn in your seat, cocking your head to the side as you watch Jimin wiggle under your stare. “Was it the ice pack?” You ask, making him flinch slightly.
“I-I’m sorry?” He mumbles.
“Raise your voice when speaking to me.” He does as told, looking up at you and straightening his posture. “Did the ice pack fool you into believing I needed help?”
He shakes his head frantically, eyes wide. “N-no! I just… I don’t think I could live with myself if he brought you down with him.”
“So it was all for you? To clear your conscience?” You question. He stays silent, a shaky breath coming from his plump lips as he looks down at the floor in shame. “You can be honest.”
“… Yes.” He answers after a few seconds of silence.
You nod with a soft sigh, rising from your seat. He takes that as his cue to leave as well, rushing to the door. “Do you want to work for me?” Your sudden offer makes him stop in his steps, hand stilling on the handle of the room. “I like that you did it for you. You finally stood up for yourself.”
“I-I can’t work for you.” He shakes his head, refusing to look over at you.
“Why not?” You scoff. “I’ve seen how hard you work. You’re smart, diligent, and resourceful. What else could I want?”
“I think I’m done being an assistant.” He shrugs.
You nod, grabbing a business card from your wallet. Walking over to the guy, your hand touches his as you reach for the handle, opening the door. Pushing your card out to him, you continue to make your way out of the room. “Call me when you decide to work for me.”
He showed up a week later clad in an oversized vest, button up underneath it. He stuttered as he explained how he’d been dwelling over the offer and decided it was best for him.
That was two years ago, and you and Jimin were in the swing of things. He knew your schedule like the back of his hand, he knew your likes and dislikes, your allergies, your diets, your mother, and all that involved your life intertwining with his job. He was a bit slow at first, not used to doing actual tasks like organizing and actively learning to keep up with the business. His entire four years with Baekhyun were spent doing nothing but coffee runs and cleaning up after him. But he seemed to enjoy it.
Sometimes you had to reel back your harsh tone and looks, noticing how often he flinched over you. It wasn’t only you either, it would be anyone who held any authority over him and that made your heartache. You were intense when it came to work but not once had you ever threatened or hurt anyone who works or has worked under you. Baekhyun had done a real number on him and you made sure to go about it carefully.
It wasn’t until the first year into working with you that you admitted you went to therapy. He was shocked at your revelation, not seeing a therapist or any appointments in your shared google calendar. You told him you hadn’t wanted anyone to know, despite how normal your feelings were, you were still a woman running a business amongst men. No one could know you were even slightly “unstable” as a past partner had told you back when. You told him how it helped you come to terms with your fathers death and all the bad choices you made after. You hadn’t gone into much detail but you made sure to tell him that it was possibly the best move you could make and pointed out the free mental healthcare your company provided. Three months later he had admitted he took your advice and began seeing someone — there was a sparkle in his eye as he told you how much better he had been feeling.
Now, you were sauntering into your building, phone in hand with Jungkook trailing after you.
“I’m not lying!” He holds onto the strap of his bag, chasing after your lengthy strides.
“I’m not saying you’re lying. I’m just saying it doesn’t seem possible.” You reiterate.
“Are you saying my daughter isn’t smart?” He scoffs.
“No, I’m saying she’s three and there’s no way she solved world hunger with her babbles.”
“She can, though!”
“I’m sure she can, and when she does, I’ll gladly invest in it, but she barely knows how to say my name.”
Jungkook pouts from beside you, “you don’t believe in my little Hyuna.”
You scoff in turn, “tell that to her college fund.”
“You’re still with that? I’m not letting you pay for her college.”
“Why not? I have more than enough and I adore her. Plus, she’s gonna be a woman in STEM and I want to support her.”
“What if she wants to go into the arts?”
“Then she’ll go into STEAM.” You shrug.
“You’re by far the dumbest CEO I know.”
“Thanks.” You wave him off as you walk into your office, Jimin quickly getting up from his desk and following after you.
“Good morning, ____. Here’s your coffee.”
You wave your hand, clicking your computer on. “No coffee today.”
“Another diet?”
You turn up at him with a small smile, “yeah. My sister’s wedding is coming up and I’m a bridesmaid, I need to fit into that dress.”
“I think you look perfect.” He smiles brightly, eyes turning into crescents.
“As much as I love receiving compliments from you, I need those stats from the beauty department, bring them.”
“Sure thing.” His smile is still prominent as he rushes from the room, a small chuckle coming from your mouth at his sunny disposition.
He seemed to be doing much better when it came to his confidence and meek personality. He spoke louder now, rarely getting stuck on a word with nerves. He stood tall and proud, even slightly changed his work clothes to give off a stronger aura. But his sweet smile and shiny eyes contrasted him from the others clad in suits. It was nice though, everyone in the office confided in him and he had a ton of friends, even taking a liking to Jungkook immediately. You hadn’t known what his life was like before he started at your company, but it seemed better and you felt a sense of pride as you watched him go about his good days.
A few hours passed of work, both you and Jimin working alongside one another to better grasp it and hurry in time for lunch.
“Want me to bring your lunch in here?” Jimin asks from his spot across from you, stacks of folders surrounding him.
You don’t need to look away from your computer as you answer, “I’m not hungry. You go and have lunch.”
“It’s fine.” He shakes his head, “I had a big breakfast.”
You glance at him from the side of your computer as his stomach growls. Jimin looks mortified, cheeks tinting red at his obvious lie and loud body noises. “Jungkook’s going to be lonely without having anyone to eat with. Go, Jimin.”
“I-I don’t want to leave you.”
“You won’t be gone for long,” you can’t help but laugh at his cute words. “It’s just an hour, tops. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay… but I’ll bring you something.”
“Just some rice please.”
“Okay!” Your agreement to eating something sets him off, waving at you as he leaves your office.
You feel you can finally breathe when he’s gone. In no way did he make you uncomfortable, but lately, his bright smile and words of encouragement made your stomach flutter. It was a bit scary at first, how odd you felt around him all of a sudden, but you seemed to get used to it, choosing to ignore it.
The loud sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your nervous trance. You pick up the call quickly, putting it on speaker. “I told you not to call me during work hours.
“You’re so lame.” Your sister’s voice is heard from the other line.
“Is mom with you?”
“Uhm… no?”
You sigh, stapling a few sheets of paper together. “Hello, mother.”
“Don’t sound so formal.” Your mother’s familiar voice is heard. “We just called to check up on you.”
“No, you just called to see if I have a date.”
“Well, do you?” The older woman urges.
“It was the same this morning, it’s the same now.”
“Honey, you should put yourself out there some more! You’re stunning and any man would be lucky to have you.”
“Mom, she doesn’t need a date.” You hear your sister but your mom shushes her up.
“She’s right, I don’t need a date.”
“When did you become so rude? Listen to your mom!” She scolds, earning her an eye roll. You’re quite lucky she can’t see you, she would have definitely smacked you for the disrespect. “I can set you up on a blind date!”
“No way,” you shake your head fervently, scared at the idea. “Mom, those are the worst!”
“You dated Hoseok for a while, so they can’t be too bad.”
“Mom.” You deadpan, “we never dated.”
“Yes you did.”
“He’s gay mom.”
The line goes silent.
“Okay, my gaydar may be a little off but he was sweet, right? I can get you another sweet guy!”
“No.”
“Yes.” She ignores you. “A friend of mine, she’s got this CEO of a son too! His name is Namjoon, he likes art, long walks on the beach and he’s a hard worker. That’s right up your alley.”
“You don’t know what’s right up my alley.” You protest.
“He’s got these really cute dimples. He has a sweet smile. He’s kind too! He spends his time at an animal shelter and he has so many cute pictures posted with them!”
You can hear your sister cackle in the back, “mom, are you sure you don’t want to date him?”
“I might!” You can’t help but laugh at her admittance. “He should be snatched up!”
“You’re ridiculous.” You continue laughing along with your sister. Your mother was chastising your sister for teasing her, but it was all in good manners, you and your sister having a nice and lively time.
The conversation flowed back onto Namjoon and he seemed pleasant. His company wasn’t huge, but it was slowly getting there. He owned a record company, signing artists and getting them the recognition they deserved. After agreeing to stalk his socials, you were on your phone, family still talking and you skimmed through his photos. He was cute, dimples prominent in every picture. Some were of his dogs, which he had countless of them, others were at the shelter your mother referred to, and the others were of him with his trainees. He captioned all the pictures with sweet words, enticing enough to make you awe and smile.
“Do you want me to set it up?” Your mother asks one last time before having to go.
“Uhm…” you pause and think for a second. It had been a long while since you had a proper relationship. Taehyung had been your last, in the beginning of college but you broke up amicably by the end of it. Neither of you spoke but you followed one another on social media — he had a perfect partner and a kid on the way. It made you feel jealous. Not for him, you were long over him, but you wanted what he has. What Jungkook has. What your sister has with Jin. You wanted it. But then Jimin walked in. The same soft smile plastered on his face, carrying a few trays of food, coaxing it to you as he lifted it up. “I’ll get back to you.”
“Honey, someone’s going to steal him from you!”
“I’m hanging up.” You hum out, hanging up on the woman.
“Who’s stealing who from who?” Jimin asks, taking a seat on his previous chair across from you.
“Nothing.” You shrug, hoping he lets it go. And he does. “I didn’t get much done,” you admit, a sheepish look on your face. “My sister called.”
“That’s fine,” there goes the fluttering as he smiles. “That’s why I’m here.”
—
“Jungkook, enough!” You huff out with annoyance as he tugs your dress up from the sides. “It doesn’t fit!”
“Yes it does! You just need to suck it in a little more!”
“I can’t just suck it in!”
A knock on the door brings the two of you out of your fit. You were breathless, struggling with the dress that Jungkook tried to shove you into. “Are you two okay in there?” Jimin’s soft voice is heard.
“I need another hand!” Jungkook calls out but you quickly smack his hand away from the lock of the dressing room.
“Don’t you dare!” You seethe, face red with embarrassment. “We’re fine, Jimin. Can you call June for me?”
“Uhm… okay.” He sounds different, voice showing his timid self.
You turn back to Jungkook with a glare. “You can’t just offer him to head in here!”
“And why not?”
“He’s my assistant and my boobs are falling out?!”
“No they’re not,” he scoffs. “I would have left a long time ago out of respect for June if they were.”
“I was summoned.” June’s graceful voice is heard as she knocks on the door.
“My angel,” Jungkook happily sighs, opening the door and dragging her into the room. Your face flushed more, nervous that someone has to see you struggle with a dress. “____ needs help. She won’t suck it in.” He pokes your stomach.
“You shithead,” you threaten. “Don’t touch your boss like that!”
“Boss, shmoss. We’re way past that line,” he looks over at his girlfriend with a dopey smile. “Can you help us, baby?”
June brightens up at the thought of being able to dress you. “Of course! You’re going to be the prettiest girl at that wedding!” She giggles as she rushes to you, taking a glance at the size of the dress. “What size are you?” She questions.
“Eleven.”
“Jungkook, you idiot!” June glares at her boyfriend. “You’re suffocating the poor girl in a size nine!”
“It was an accident!”
“So I didn’t magically gain weight in just two days?” You sigh in relief, shoulders sagging down.
“How could you mess that up? You know what, never mind! Go to your daughter, I left her with Jimin.” She scolds the guy, ushering him out as he squeaks out a few apologies. “He’s an idiot.” She huffs out.
You can’t help but laugh at her words, “sorta.”
“It probably felt scary,” she sends you a sad look. “I know weight is tricky to handle… sorry he made you freak.”
“It’s fine.” You shake your head, sending her a kind smile as she reaches outside to grab your correct sizing. “I just didn’t exactly want to ruin my sister’s wedding. This dress doesn’t go higher than twelve.”
She lets out a puff of air. “Stupid brands. I don’t know why they can’t accommodate to bigger bodies. And I’m sure your sister would have understood.”
“She definitely would have,” you agree. “But the wedding is already putting her a little behind, getting new dresses would cost.”
“And I’m assuming she declined your offer to pay?”
You chuckle at her correct deduction. “Yeah. Something about not needing the ‘handout’ or whatever. I’m just always happy to help.”
“Yeah… uhm… I heard about the college fund thing.” She brings it up, a nervous smile on her face.
“Don’t stress it.” You try to calm her down. It was no lie she was intimidated by you, although it was a little weird at first, but Jungkook awkwardly admitted that you two were just polar opposites. She was the type of person who yearned to be a housewife, a mother, the type of woman who spoke softly and kindly. You weren’t any of those, and she often felt inferior compared to how far in life you had gotten to. “It was a half joke. I know you guys are saving up, I’m just offering to pay anything that isn’t met once she’s eighteen.”
“Of course, I just… I wouldn’t know how to accept that.”
“Well… it’s not really for you.” You admit, trying to be kind when speaking with her. “I love that little girl and it would ease all our minds if she got the education she deserves.”
“It would…” she nods, a small smile on her face. “We’ll pay you back.”
“You can pay me back when she’s got a stable career.” There’s a reassuring tone to your voice that she received loud and clear. “I promise I’m in no rush to get a few bills back. Knowing how hardworking you and Jungkook are, you’ll make the mark by then, so again, don’t stress it, okay?”
“You’re too kind.”
“Says no one ever.” You joke.
“Really!” She nods, helping you slip into your dress. “Everyone at your office always speaks highly of you!”
You feel weird as she compliments you, but you take in her words. “I’m just decent. It’s basic human decency.”
“Not just any person with basic human decency would help Nayeon pay for her daughter’s private school. Or give Soojin those paid days off to care for her mother. Most of your money goes to your employees than it does you — no business man or woman does that.”
You feel shy as she lists off your recent endeavors. You liked to keep them hidden, never speaking of them yourself but the people you helped loved to shower you with thanks, despite telling them it wasn’t necessary. You were just lucky to have the platform and wealth you have and you knew you wanted to use it well when you first started. It’s why your magazine, website, channel, and your shows were highly acclaimed. You and your workers told the truth and nothing but, mixed with fun tips, for all individuals alike. Honesty and kindness was very much needed and you are more than happy to give it away.
“By the way…” she trails off as she helps you zip the dress up. “Are you and Jimin dating?”
You still at her question. “Huh?”
“It just… he looks like a dorky little boyfriend following after you.”
You laugh nervously at her words, that annoying fluttering your stomach back as you speak of the guy. “He’s just a dork in general. And he’s my assistant, he has to follow me everywhere.”
She hums before patting the dress down for you, the both of you looking into the body length mirror. “You know that look Jungkook gets when I walk into a room?” You nod for response. It was grossly cute. The both of them would shoot up excitedly, eyes sparkling with unadulterated love. “That’s how he was acting when we met up.”
You deny her words by shaking your head, eyes wide. “No… he’s just a happy person.”
“Whatever you say.” She shrugs as she fixes up your hair. “Ready to show off your gorgeous self?”
“You flatter me too much.” You giggle, walking out of the dressing room with the woman. You feel nervous as you’re walking down the hallway and into the room you had rented out with your sister. Sadly, she couldn’t make it, having a few more cake tests with her fiancé, but you quickly rushed the lovely couple and your assistant who had been working all morning.
“Everyone, everyone, please, keep it in your pants.” June jokes as you fully walk into the room, shoes clacking against the marbled floor.
“How do I look?” You ask the two men, as the little girl squeals at the sight of you.
“Pretty auntie!” The little girl jumps up and down beside her father, clapping with excitement.
You send her a bright and loving smile. “Thank you, lovely.” You blow her a soft kiss, turning to look at her father. “Do I look like seaweed?” You ask, referring to the dark green color of the dress. He had teased about it before and promised to edit a picture of the dress next to a piece of seaweed.
“Slightly pretty seaweed.” He admits, making the two of you laugh. It’s then that you turn to Jimin, wanting to hear his opinion, but the awestruck look on his face makes your face feel hot.
“Is it nice?” You hadn’t ever felt so unsure of yourself, looking down at the pretty dress. It was a dark green mermaid dress with a slit at its side, showcasing your smooth leg. The upper half was built as a corset but it didn’t tighten like one usually did. Your shoulders are out on display with the off the shoulder top. It was pretty, despite the risky color, sure the hues would look just fine at the venue.
“You-you… uhm…” he coughs, turning away from you with a quick motion. “You l-look beautiful.” This time, it’s not just your stomach that flutters, heart skipping a beat at his kind compliment.
—
It would be a huge risk to ever get into a relationship with anyone you worked with. Your position stood higher than anyone else’s and it was a clear abuse of power. What if you asked someone out and they only agree because they’re afraid to lose their job? It wasn’t safe for your company.
But the more time that passed, the more you felt your mind ridden with thoughts of Jimin. Of his sweet smile, the way your hands would meet when you accidentally go for the same paper, the way his eyes shine bright when he spots something he likes, or the way he bites his plump lip when in deep concentration. You were completely enraptured with the thought of him and it wasn’t okay.
“I’ll go on the date.” You tell your mother as she sits in your office, clad in her typical two piece she often wore.
“Eeek!” She squeals, jumping up from her seat. “You’ve made me the happiest mother!” She takes your figure and wraps her tiny arms around you.
“Okay, okay, simmer down.” You groan, pulling from her hold. “It’s only one date. We probably won’t even click.”
“Don’t be so negative! You two are meant to be, I just know it!”
“Yeah, yeah,” you shrug her off. “Give him my number.”
“Already did.”
You turn to her with a look of bewilderment. “Mother, you can’t give out my number without my consent.”
“But he’s your soulmate.”
“And you’re insane.”
“I’ll ignore that because I’m too happy.” The knock on your door makes your mother turn, smiling as Jimin walks in. “Jiminie!” She greets him kindly as he bows respectfully to her.
“It’s lovely to see you again, ma’am.” His beautiful smile is on display, making you turn away before you get too wrapped up in him. “Just here to drop off some reports.” He displays the Manila folders, placing them onto your desk.
“Thank you.” You send him a stiff smile, turning immediately, missing the way his face falls.
“Jimin, I’m going to need you to make reservations at the best restaurant in the city.”
“Definitely, ma’am, could I ask who I should put it under?”
“The future wife and son-in-law!” She squeals like a schoolgirl.
“Mom,” you scold the older woman, sending Jimin an apologetic smile. “Stop being obnoxious.”
“Oh, would it be for your sister and her fiancé?” He questions, turning to you for confirmation.
“No, just my name.” You confirm.
“I finally got her to agree to a blind date and I’m getting a little ahead of myself,” your mother giggles. “Sorry!”
It’s eerily quiet for a second, Jimin’s mind catching up with the words thrown at him. Hesitantly, you look up at him, a shocked look on his face. “Don’t look too shocked, some people do find me pleasant.” It’s a joke (partly) but Jimin doesn’t seem to catch on.
“N-no! I-I… I know people find you pleasant! Not that I don’t. I do. I find you pleasant. More than pleasant actually. I didn’t mean to insinuate that you aren’t pleasant. Because you are. Like I’ve stated. Many… many… times.” He clears his throat as your mother watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow. “I-I’ll, uhm… I’ll make the reservations now.”
“Jimin.” You call out to the guy before he makes his way out of your office. He turns around rather quickly, making your mother jump in her spot, the room full of awkward tension. “I haven’t told you for when.”
He nods, refusing to look up at you. And just like that, timid Jimin is back.
—
“Do you want to look at me?” You question as you stand across from a kneeling Jimin whose hands shook as he picked up the spilled sheets.
“I-I’m busy.”
“I’m your boss, I’ll make sure you un-busy yourself.”
“That… that shouldn’t be happening.”
That was just the first occurrence. When you asked him to bring you lunch, he placed it quickly on your desk and left the room. Next, he assured you he could do his work from his desk outside. He wouldn’t come knocking at your door like he usually did, with a cup of water or snacks. He didn’t come skipping into your office to tell you of the latest gossip in the office, despite you not liking it, but it was nice to be kept in the loop.
It had gone on for a few more days until the day of your date. You had gone into work dressed a bit more prettier than you have before, sure you wouldn’t be able to go back home and change. Your pants were long and a black velvet touch. They flowed nicely down your legs but were tight around your waist, accentuating your curves. Your top was just a buttoned up Chanel tweed jacket, a black and white pattern drawn on it. You matched it with black Saint Laurent Opyum heels, and the prettiest jewelry dangling from your wrists, neck, and ears. You received countless compliments from your hard workers while heading into your office.
Sitting at your desk, you hopped right into your work, dismissing Jimin, sure he wasn’t up for talking like he had the past few days. It didn’t sit right with you to leave things so tense with him, but you also didn’t want to push him into telling you what the problem was. It would only push him further from you and it could be quite scary and triggering considering his past. You let him be. Despite how badly you wanted him to walk back into your cold office with his warm smile.
Clicking the intercom on your phone, you call the man up right after lunch. He doesn’t rush into your room like he usually does. “When I tell you to come quickly, I mean it.” You scold him. Despite what he was holding against you, he couldn’t fall behind in his work.
“I-I’m sorry.”
“I’m not asking for an apology. Just don’t do it from here on out.”
He nods, writing down all you needed him to do for the remaining hours of work. You felt a twinge of guilt at his shaky hands, but you couldn’t baby him at this time — despite how either of you were feeling, you needed to keep going or you’d end up risking a fallout with your channel. But you speak before he could leave, “I don’t mean to be mean. You’re due for a promotion and having you slack off only means you won’t receive it and I don’t want that for you.”
He nods, eyes still on the floor as he leaves the room. You let out a saddened sigh, rubbing at your temples in exasperation. The small ding from your phone makes you feel a bit of relief. ‘Can’t wait to see you! :)’ reads a text from Namjoon. Despite how kind he’s being, you ignore his message, putting your phone on silent, ignoring the world.
“Woah,” Jungkook pretends to grimace, covering his eyes with his hand at the sight of you.
“What?” You question frantically. “Do I look bad?”
“Your beauty just blinded me!” That earns a scoff from you, trying to hide your shy smile. He removes his hand with a laugh, poking at the dangling hoop from your ear. “Why are you so dolled up?”
“I’ve got that date, remember?”
“Oh yeah, with that Joon guy.” He nods, taking his cup of coffee in the cupboard of the office lunch room. “You excited?”
You shrug, glancing around the room. The space was small, a simple couch in the corner, a table in the middle and your typical kitchen appliances. It wasn’t used often, only for some in-between snacks and coffee, the cafeteria in your building being used more often.
“Aw, come on, it’s your first in like two years. Liven up.” He hums as he takes a sip of his warm coffee.
“I’m just a little nervous.” You admit. “It’s been too long. What if it goes deadly quiet. I’m bad at keeping conversation going.”
He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads. “Aren’t you the person who single handedly took down Park Jinyoung?”
“I didn’t take him down.” You scoff, tapping your acrylic nails against the white table.
“I’m pretty sure you destroying his company and dragging him for filth in your ‘Women’s Architect’ section of every platform of yours, is considered destroying him.”
“The women he hurt destroyed him. I simply wrote.”
“Wrote a dissertation and built up an entire case of all his crimes. You stood across a courtroom of people and didn’t stutter once. I’m sure you can figure out how to talk to a guy.” He shakes his head, trying to dismiss your bad feelings.
“Okay… but even then, I know how to destroy men, not speak sweetly to them.”
He lets out a chuckle at your admittance. “Men are weak. Just talk to him like you speak to a child, slow and careful. I’m sure he’ll like that.”
“I’m not treating my date like a child, that’s condescending.”
“Most men are.” He shrugs.
“You bear a lot of hatred towards your kind.”
“What can I say? Men are trash.” You laugh at his ridiculous smile.
It goes quiet for a second as Jungkook happily sips on his coffee. Your mind is running before deciding to ask what’s on your mind, “do you know what’s wrong with Jimin?” Jungkook turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “He won’t speak much to me and he seems terrified again.”
“He’s not so much terrified as he is upset.”
You feel your heart drop at his words. “Did I do something to upset him?”
“Not purposefully.”
“Do you want to tell me what I did?”
“No can do,” he clicks his tongue repeatedly. “I’d be breaking bro code.”
“Just now you hated all men, now you’re protecting one?” It’s a joke, but you’re sure he can see how badly you wanted to know how Jimin was.
“He’s my best friend,” he laughs at the worried look on your face. “I can’t do him like that.”
You scoff, “I was your friend first.”
“I’ll give you a clue since you’re too stupid to notice —
“That’s not nice.”
“This all started when you made him make you reservations for a date.”
“Does he not like his job?”
Jungkook sighs, putting his cup down in the sink. “You’re a lost cause.”
—
By the time night time rolls around, all of your employees are gone, as well Jimin. You hadn’t even been able to bid him a goodbye, sprinting out of the office once the clock hit five. It irked you a bit, but you figured he had a bad day — you had scolded him a few times too many. It was better he shake the day off instead of staying and perhaps messing up more with his muddled mind. And it happened at times, so you wouldn’t hold it against him.
But you couldn’t stop thinking of Jungkook’s so-called hint. The day he had walked into your office, not much had happened. Your mother behaved when you told her to, so it couldn’t be her mouthy self that made him upset. You hadn’t done anything either, other than make him rush to your drying cleaners and pick up your dress for a gala you need next week. But that was as far as you had gotten — it was an uneventful day.
You sigh, shaking your thoughts away, not wanting to be tense when you meet up with Namjoon, which was just a half an hour away. Putting your long jacket over your figure, you make way to grab your bag, only to jump when the door to your office is pushed open. You let out a small yell but calm down when you catch sight of Jimin, in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt too big for his small figure. His hair is messy, chest rising up and down as if he had sprinted up to the highest floor.
“Jimin? What’s wrong? Did you leave something behind?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I’m just heading out, do you think you can lock up if you’ll be here long?”
“Don’t go.” The look of confusion doesn’t go missed by him. “Don’t go on the date.”
“What?” You watched him carefully, “why not?”
“B-because…” he stutters, refusing to look at you. You put your bag down onto your desk, worried. “I-I, I… uhm…”
“Jimin,” you call out soflty. “Are you okay? If this is about today, I’m sorry for being harsh. You know I only do it to help—”
“I love you!” The room goes quiet at his sudden loud words. You take a step back at his loud voice, face falling. You can feel your heart beating hard against your chest, worried for him. “I-I don’t want to be sappy… but I can’t help it. I… I think I’ve loved you from the first day I met you. You were kind and you spoke so confidently — it was weird. I-in a good way!”
“Jimin…”
“I liked that you didn’t take any crap from Baekhyun, I like that you didn’t let him deter you from your business, I like that you took pity upon his lowly assistant and fetched some ice for me. You were the first person to show me kindness in so long. Even to this day — everything you do, you do for your workers, your company, you do it for me. Even when you’re yelling at me, I-I can’t help but love you more because you’re doing it to help me rise in your company. You’re that good.”
“Jimin, please…”
“I like that you like to mess around with your mother and sister, despite pretending you hate it when they’re around. I like that you bring Hyuna into your office when Jungkook has to care for her for the day. I like that you give everyone opportunities that they deserve. God, you’re such an amazing person and how everyone in the office hasn’t fallen madly in love with you is shocking but I did. I fell madly in love with you and I don’t… I can’t handle the idea of you going on a date with some random guy.”
“Jimin.” You breathe out shakily, mind muddled with his long and strong confession. Your stomach, the butterflies that you often felt for him dropped, sitting in your stomach, leaving an unsettling feeling. But your heart was completely different. It beat hard, a slight wave of excitement and happiness being covered by the bad emotions. “I’m your boss.”
“I-I don’t care. I’ll quit if I have to.” He rushes towards you, taking a hold of your hands.
“You shouldn’t have to quit your job for anyone.” You shake your head, refusing to let your feelings get the better of you. “I thought we talked about this? You can’t let others get in the way of your future.”
“I want you as my future.” He sounds as if he’s pleading with you. He lets out a small laugh as he begins once more, “I remember I used to be made fun of for telling my teacher’s that all I wanted in life is to be a good husband. No boy ever said that, they all wanted to be an astronaut or another cool job. But me… I always wanted someone I could be good to, someone I could love and care for until the end of time. I want that with you.”
“You don’t.”
“You can’t tell me what I’m feeling,” his beautiful eyes, the ones that hide when he smiles so bright were wide open, tears brimming them. “And I know you feel the same.”
You shake your head, pulling away from him. “I don’t.” He calls out for you, but you’ve grabbed your purse. “I expect to see you here tomorrow at 9 AM sharp.”
“Wait, no—”
“I can’t accept your feelings, Jimin.” It takes everything within you to turn him down. To take in his sweet words and not hold him, certain that those little things you felt around him meant the same. “I’m your boss. Nothing more, nothing less. Nine, tomorrow.”
“I-I…” he rushes after you, the sound of your heels clicking is the only thing heard as you make your way out of your office. You feel your hands shaking but you bring them up, hoping it goes undetected. “___, stop.”
“I’m running late.”
You make way into the elevator, pressing the button for the garage. You pray and hope the beloved guy doesn’t rush into the enclosed space with you… and he doesn’t. Rather, he stands ahead of the elevator, looking into the space and at you with such a pained look. You have to turn your head away, your own eyes brimming with tears at the sight of his hurt face.
“I… I quit…”
You nod your head, despite how frantic you feel at his resignation. “Okay. Send HR the official letter.” Is all you say before the doors close, giving you the space you had been begging for. Your back lays against the smooth wall, heart aching as a small sob racks your body.
—
“Do you know what fractions are?” You’re not yelling, but your tone is serious as you stare down at your office of employees. “Half of you are Ivy League graduates and you don’t know simple fractions?” The office is silent as you stare down at them.
You slam the folder down onto the nearest desk, making the intern jump up. “Who’s the dumbass who handed this in?”
Quiet once more. “That’s fine.” You scoff. “I hire my workers for their honesty, if you need help, you have a ton of resources and people around you. Don’t just sit on your desk like a moron, waiting on me to coddle you!” Now you were yelling. The smartest people you knew were staring back at you with wide and scared eyes, and it only irked you further.
“Jeon Jungkook.” Your glare is turned to the man who shot up from his seat. “Get your ass in my office. Now.” He shares a pitiful look with his coworkers who all push him into the lion’s den. But you ignore it all as you saunter back into your office.
It was a mess. There were papers strewn about the place and you felt as if you were going crazy. Nothing was organized, nothing was highlighted the way you liked it, and you had barely eaten without the constant nagging of the guy whose glasses you detested.
“Y-yes, ma’am?”
“Why the hell are you calling me ma’am?” You scoff, sitting at your desk. “Pick this up for me.”
He lets out a chuckle, “yeeaaah, no.” He shakes his head which only earns him a glare as he plops down onto the chair across your desk.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“I don’t really care.” He shrugs, kicking his feet up on your desk. “You should call him.”
“I’m not begging for him back.”
“I’m not saying to beg. But apologize.”
“Apologize for not liking him back? I have nothing to apologize for.”
“Could have let the man down better.” There goes that heinous shrugging.
“I don’t need to coddle a man when I reject them.”
“Why are you acting as if you don’t like him back?” There’s confusion evident on his face.
“I’m his superior.”
“You’re my superior and you let me run about this place.”
“I’m not dating you.”
“But you are the godmother to my daughter.”
“I’m still not dating you.”
“And you’re the boss. You make the rules.”
“Exactly. I need to set an example.”
He scoffs, “what example?”
“Of not abusing my power!”
“How is it abusing your power? He confessed to you. You never held anything against him… like ever. I just don’t understand how you’re looking at all this.”
You sigh dramatically, dropping your body further into your chair. “How is he?”
“Sad.”
“He shouldn’t be.”
“You can’t tell him how he should feel.”
“I’m not even all that. Tell him to move on. He’s young and pretty — he’ll get better.”
“Hmm.” The guy hums out, nodding as he looks about the room. “I know you’re like deathly afraid you’re going to become Baekhyun—”
“Who said that?”
“But this isn’t a Baekhyun situation.” He ignores your scoff. “Baekhyun treated him like he was scum. Beat him when he didn’t match the pace he wanted him to. You haven’t given any indication that you would hurt another person in such a malicious way.”
“But he abused his power.” You repeat, hoping your point comes across. Because he was right. Baekhyun was the type of man you detested, the type of man that you worked for before you managed to make it big by crawling to the top. You knew what it felt like to only say yes because your career was on the line and Jimin did too. How could you ever look your peers in the face after pulling such a cruel act? “I’d be abusing my power. I’d be another Baekhyun and that guy can not… he can’t go back to being a wimpy kid who fell to his knees for everyone.”
“First of all, harsh.” You roll your eyes.
“You know I mean to harm, but you saw how often others would throw their work at him because he couldn’t say no.”
“Yeah… but he’s so much better. I don’t remember the last time he ever agreed to something he didn’t want. Working here, under you specifically, has changed him for the better. I’m not gonna say some sappy shit like ‘you changed him’ because you and I both know that’s not true — you’re sort of a bitch.”
“I can literally fire you for that.”
“He changed for himself and he did it because you helped him out of a situation that beat him down. That’s all you did. The rest? He did it himself. He worked to get to a comfortable place in his life because his circumstances changed and that… that’s beautiful. He saw the beauty and hope in that because he’s cheesy as hell, and you can’t blame him for falling for the amazing woman who yelled at him a little too much.”
You sit in silence, taking his words in. And he was damn right. Jimin was a strong person, he had been through more than half of your friends and family had ever gone through in life. Yet, he stood tall, always kind and always bright. It was almost unbelievable to you how strong an individual could be in such a situation — you weren’t even sure if you were strong enough for it. But he is. Park Jimin is the epitome of complete hard work and passion that you struggled with and he was the only person who could ever make you stumble.
“How was the date with Namjoon?”
“We’re both hung up on other people.” You sigh, grabbing a pen and placing it between your fingers, moving it anxiously.
“So you admit it.” The smile on his face makes you roll. “Do what you will with what I said, but I think you two could work nicely together.”
“Jungkook?”
“Yes, Wonder Woman?”
“Call me a bitch again and I’ll fire you with absolutely no severance.”
“You love me too much for that.”
“You’re fired.”
—
Despite your date with Namjoon going in a completely different direction, you still kept in contact. He sent you countless threads of messages cooing at how the head of his legal team was utterly adorable. In return, you kept him updated on your own situation. He listened to your rant a few nights ago, where he not once interrupted you. He was a great friend, and you were glad you went to that tasty restaurant that night.
Now, he was sitting besides you as you and all the other bridesmaids spoke to your sister.
Your sister immediately took a liking to him, and you felt like a third wheel as they clicked. Your sister teased you with the fact that he really was perfect and mom would snatch him up. You shrugged it off though, letting the makeup artist fix you up. Your silence didn’t go undetected by her, giving Namjoon a look which he oddly understood within the two hours of knowing her. He ushered the other bridesmaids out of the room, promising to give out the number of his most promised artist, leaving you and your favorite person in the messy room.
“Want to tell me what’s wrong.”
“Not really.”
“It wasn’t actually a question,”
You scoff, “you’re a horrible sister.”
“Cry about it.”
You sigh, turning in your seat to face her. She sat in her comfortable chair looking beautiful. Her face was painted with the most expensive makeup she could get her hands on, for the picture of course. She wore a simple white slip which would be worn under her white dress for the most romantic day of her life. She was the epitome of absolute beauty and grace. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t envy her growing up, but as you grew older, you realized she was just as human as you, strengthening your bond.
“You never told me how you and Jin met.” You watch as her eyes brighten at the mention of her beloved fiancé. You almost scoff at the loving look.
“God… it feels like you so long ago.” She hums, reminiscing on their love story. “I hated him.”
Your eyes widen at her admittance. “What?”
She nods, popping her mouth. “He was the worst. So cocky, entitled, his ego was through the roof.”
“Ew.” A grimace falls on your face, slightly shuddering. “How the hell did you fall for him? How the hell is he not any of those things? He’s the nicest person I know.”
“It took a lot of work.” She laughs at the shock on your face. “You know how I was in Alpha Phi?” You nod. “He was in Delta Chi. We didn’t interact much at first, not until the president of our sorority started dating the president of his frat. We were all pushed to one another from there, all our fundraisers and community service began to mesh up simply because Hera and Daniel wanted to spend time together.”
“This is like out of a romcom.” You moved around your seat, finding comfort in your sister’s story and love filled words and trance.
“One of my sorority sisters was hung up on him. The douche he was, he slept with her and completely ghosted her.”
You gasp, “what an ass!”
“Right? I tell him that to this day!” The two of you share a giggle. “But she pushed me to ask him if he had a girlfriend, because despite how loved he was on campus, no one actually knew a thing about him. And so I asked. The little shit thought I was interested in him!”
You scoff. “Little shit.” You reiterate her words.
“God, he was so annoying. He hung around me like a lost puppy. He was cocky, swore I’d fall for him, swore he’d make me see how much I was supposedly missing.”
“Men and their egos.” You roll your eyes.
“I can’t lie… he was stunning… so I sorta liked the chase but I knew I wouldn’t give him any time of day. But he still stuck around, even when my sorority sisters would glare him down, the ball of weirdness stayed by my side. I don’t know how it happened… but after a few arguments in the beginning, we just sorta became friends.” She shrugs, fidgeting with the bottom of her slip. “He gave up on chasing me and I was more than happy. We fell into a nice friendship. Remember Uriel?”
“Ugh, that douche you dated your junior year?”
“Yeah… Jin didn’t like him. At all. They couldn’t even be in the same room. And… well, you know how that went down.” And you did. The sorry excuse of a man cheated on her and in turn blamed her for being friends with other men (for being friends with Jin really.). It was around the same time you began to realize your sister was just like you. Lost and reeling from the pain of losing the one man who was supposed to stick by your side forever. “I wallowed in pity with him. He helped me out of my slump and I won’t exactly go into details, but we argued. Big time. Worse than ever before and split. No texts. No glances. We acted like we didn’t know one another.”
Your eyes widen as you remember what happened next. You were a senior in high school, sitting around the kitchen island when Seokjin showed up to your home, drenched and carrying some messed up flowers. Your sister scolded him that night, “there’s a hurricane warning!” she yelled as she dragged him in. Now, you were too entranced in your own messed up love life with Taehyung (who you had barely begun the talking phase with) that you hadn’t realized what was really happening.
She had dragged him into the house where you ran up to your room, giddy to speak to Tae. Your mother though, she watched as her eldest continuously scolded the man who looked at her like she hung the stars. She excitedly told you of how your sisters promised she’d hate him until the end of time if he ever pulled such a dangerous stunt until he asked to kiss her, despite her anger. She had said no and he respected it. The two sat in silence after that until your sister had enough and kissed him first.
You and your mother squealed together that next morning and teased the two of them when she made breakfast for you all. Despite not having the biggest age gap, Seokjin treated you like a sister. But the one you would tease and punch the number amount of times on their birthday. You spent countless nights at the apartment later on, broken after you were fired by the boss who took you for granted. You spent countless nights in their living room when you were so broke you couldn’t afford to buy yourself basic necessities such as toothpaste.
And throughout it all, you saw how much they loved one another. It wasn’t the type of relationships you saw throughout college — toxic. Always fighting, jealousy, forbidding things from one another. It was the healthiest relationship you had seen, besides your parents of course. But you had such perfect examples of love your entire life, you felt embarrassed for being such a wimp.
“Why do you ask?” Her interest is piqued as she watches you shut your eyes right with a loud groan.
“I think I’m in love.”
“With Jimin.” It’s not a question, rather, a statement.
You perk up, looking at her carefully. “How do you know?”
“Mom called me the day you agreed to the blind date. We had our suspicions in the past but she confirmed it with the way he reacted.”
“And you guys didn’t tell me anything?” You hiss out, smacking her arm.
“What were we supposed to do?” She laughs at your distress. “You’re the most emotionally constipated person we know. We sorta figured you would go to him on your own terms.”
“What if I had wafted towards Namjoon?”
“You would have never fallen for that dork.” She scoffs.
You smile gently, thinking of your bigger dork. The guy whose main wardrobe piece was those hideous vests he loved. The guy who’s glasses fogged up when he was nervous around you. The guy who made sure you took care of yourself throughout the day, refilling your bottle with water or bringing you light meals because you were on another crazy diet. The guy who managed to fight against every scary thought of his to confess, only for his nightmares to come true. You rejected him without a second thought. Tossed him to the side as if he meant nothing to you.
A loud knock on the door makes you both jump. “It’s just me!” Jin’s familiar voice is heard. “Can I come in? There’s some annoying guy in my room trying to get me to join his company!”
You and your sister snicker at the thought of Namjoon chasing after the beautiful man. “Okay, but close your eyes.” Your sister rushes to open the door for him.
“Are you in your dress already? I’m going to cry if you say you are.” He questions as he stumbles into the room, hand placed over his eyes.
“I’m not, love.” Your sister laughs at her fiancé. “But my makeup is too pretty to spoil.”
He lets out a loving sigh, holding onto her hand with his free one. “You look so pretty.”
“You can’t even see me.” She laughs.
“I don’t need to! I can feel it around me. Like this pretty aura.”
“You guys are so gross.” You groan in your seat, yearning to be as sickly sweet as the two.
“Hey, bug.” Seokjin greets you, “ready to party?”
“I’m ready to gouge my eyes out. Seriously, you guys are gross.”
“Don’t be mean to my beautiful fiance on her wedding day!”
“Jinnie, guess what?” Your sister squeals excitedly. “___’s in love!”
“With Jimin?”
“Yes!”
“Why does everyone know this?”
“Whatever your mom tells your sister, she tells me. It’s, like, rule number one to dating. Always tell your significant other.”
“Whatever.” You scoff, a smile on your face as you watch the two giggle to one another.
—
“Jeon Jungkook, I’m going to kill you!”
“There’s a child in the car! I can’t drive faster!”
Hyuna giggles in her seat as her mom coos at her. The two were dragged out of the after party to the beautiful ceremony your sister had. Their vows made everyone in the church cry, you ended up awkwardly comforting one of the aunts whose perfume made you want to sneeze. You felt a bit bad rushing out from your sister’s party after the toasts, but she urged you to go after Jimin.
Now, you were in Jungkook’s hideous dad car, a van painted a hideous shade of green. There were toys sprawled about the vehicle, and a few splatters of food from the toddlers previous lunches. From when? You were too scared to ask. You never wanted children.
“No, idiot, you passed his house!”
“Oh.” He shrugs, turning back around. “Sorry… it’s weird not having a screen for the GPS.”
“Hey, what happened to your old car? It was prettier than this contraption.” You look around the inside of the car. The seats were all a suede material, an ugly tinge of grey.
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