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As you take a look at the clock again, you frown. Jimin should have been here already. It should not take more than an hour for him to reach home. Is he stuck in traffic? Given the fact that it’s Friday and everyone is out partying the night, he might have gotten stuck in an unexpected traffic jam. 

Wait - he must have called you several times. You put your phone on charge in the bedroom and forgot it there. 

Running towards the bedroom, you retrieve your phone only to find not even a single text. Now this is certainly something to be worried about. Was the flight delayed? 

You open the booking app to check the flight’s whereabouts - but it has landed in time. Where the hell is Jimin? 

He is fine, right? 

You can call his manager, but the man has a family and he was away from his wife and two year old kid for two weeks as well. So no… you don’t want to bother him unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

Opening the call logs, you dial your boyfriend. If he doesn’t pick up, you will go and contact his manager, but not before that. 

The call connects through kakotalk - it starts ringing, it rings, rings, rings and then disconnects. Your fears start swelling even more and more. 

As the call cuts, you stare at the screen blankly. No no no - you can not let yourself go down the rabbit hole even before knowing what’s up. 

Taking a deep breath, you call him for a second time. 

The call connects, it starts ringing and it is received after two rings. 

“Jimin! Are you okay? Where are you?” you almost scream into the speaker. 

But there’s no reply. All you hear is a small sigh. 

“I am fine, baby.” Jimin’s voice filters through the speaker, “no need to panic.” 

“Oh god! I- I was so scared! Where are you?” you ask the question again, a cold wave of relief spreading through your heart. 

“I am sorry. I… I-uh- I couldn’t catch the flight tonight. I was late to the airport. Manager hyung flew back home last night. And you know how tardy I can be when I am on my own. So… I will catch the earliest flight home, I promise.” he sounds apologetic. 

But it only makes you smile. “It’s okay, Jimin. Just be safe okay? Are you still at the airport?”  

“Ah- yes. Yes. I am in the bathroom. I should go look for the flights.” he replies. 

“Yeah. stay safe and text me when your flight takes off.” 

“Okay, Y/N. See you soon, baby.” 

“See you, Jiminie.” 

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Jimin is not indifferent by any means - but he is too busy, often too bright for you. He brings so much that you don’t know what to keep and what to let go. 

His world is the center of chaos, all while you like to reside in the calm, in the tranquility, in the adverse current of the flow. 

Many would say you two are a bad match - a popular super model and a criminal lawyer. But you know better. You know the joy you feel when you come back home to his scent rafting around your apartment. 

You know the love you feel when he ditches his club nights to be with you after a long, demanding day. 

You know the emotions that swell up in your eyes when he leaves sweet hand-written notes right on the filled sanitary container because you forgot to buy yourself your needs again.

And hence, those bleak days, those moments of wishing for more and gaining a little less, can never stand tall before the amount of love you receive from your boyfriend. Despite all the differences, you two thrive in your own tide. 

Nevertheless, tides too can turn into whirlpools and whirlpools often end in destruction. Hence, you try your best to stay afloat, even when your heart starts hurting a little too much. 

Just like right now. 

It’s been more than two weeks since you have seen your boyfriend. He is out participating in Paris fashion week and you are here watching paparazzi posting just a new picture of him every single day. 

He texts you often or at least once a day because he is just too busy to even eat proper meals. But it’s okay. You are used to this rush of his life. You are used to this absence. You know it’s a matter of a few hours before he is here, before he is hustling through the door of your shared space and picking you up and kissing you on the mouth - making up for all the time that was lost. 

You take a look at your watch to find out that it’s already four in the afternoon. You can not wait to go back home and start preparing the dinner. 

Jimin is landing very soon. Although he forgot to text you - you got notification from the airlines that the airplane has started its journey and will land in Incheon by eight at night. 

Letting your eyes wander out of the vast floor to ceiling window of the office - you try to picture your boyfriend’s angelic face on the clouds. 

Cliche, right? But everything is fair when your partner is as charming as Park Jimin. 

Jimin has started gaining global recognition long ago. However, he hasn’t changed even a bit. He still loves kimchi jjigae the best and looks for a bowl of steaming rice to fill his stomach whenever he comes home after a work schedule overseas. 

Today is not going to be any different for sure. So you start preparing the said comfort food of your boyfriend as soon as you arrive home from work. 

Maybe it’s because you are suddenly too focused on cooking or maybe you just couldn’t comprehend how time flies by too fast these days - it’s already ten in the night when you finish preparing all the banchan and start plating the food. 

As you take a look at the clock again, you frown. Jimin should have been here already. It should not take more than an hour for him to reach home. Is he stuck in traffic? Given the fact that it’s Friday and everyone is out partying the night, he might have gotten stuck in an unexpected traffic jam. 

Wait - he must have called you several times. You put your phone on charge in the bedroom and forgot it there. 

Running towards the bedroom, you retrieve your phone only to find not even a single text. Now this is certainly something to be worried about. Was the flight delayed? 

You open the booking app to check the flight’s whereabouts - but it has landed in time. Where the hell is Jimin? 

He is fine, right? 

You can call his manager, but the man has a family and he was away from his wife and two year old kid for two weeks as well. So no… you don’t want to bother him unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

Opening the call logs, you dial your boyfriend. If he doesn’t pick up, you will go and contact his manager, but not before that. 

The call connects through kakotalk - it starts ringing, it rings, rings, rings and then disconnects. Your fears start swelling even more and more. 

As the call cuts, you stare at the screen blankly. No no no - you can not let yourself go down the rabbit hole even before knowing what’s up. 

Taking a deep breath, you call him for a second time. 

The call connects, it starts ringing and it is received after two rings. 

“Jimin! Are you okay? Where are you?” you almost scream into the speaker. 

But there’s no reply. All you hear is a small sigh. 

“I am fine, baby.” Jimin’s voice filters through the speaker, “no need to panic.” 

“Oh god! I- I was so scared! Where are you?” you ask the question again, a cold wave of relief spreading through your heart. 

“I am sorry. I… I-uh- I couldn’t catch the flight tonight. I was late to the airport. Manager hyung flew back home last night. And you know how tardy I can be when I am on my own. So… I will catch the earliest flight home, I promise.” he sounds apologetic. 

But it only makes you smile. “It’s okay, Jimin. Just be safe okay? Are you still at the airport?”  

“Ah- yes. Yes. I am in the bathroom. I should go look for the flights.” he replies. 

“Yeah. stay safe and text me when your flight takes off.” 

“Okay, Y/N. See you soon, baby.” 

“See you, Jiminie.” 

It’s a game of trying - winning or losing again and again. 

You try your best to convince yourself that there’s nothing to feel lonely about, that Jimin will be here in twenty four hours. But as you pack the food up and place it inside the fridge, you can’t help feeling a bit gutted. 

You know it’s temporary, you know it will go away.  

But still… feeling shit right now is very real and you can not just suppress this. Your spirits stay low as you wash the dishes and take a shower. Your mind stays occupied even when you do your nightly routine before bed. Jimin’s words play in your head as you force yourself to close your eyes to close and go back to sleep. 

You know what happened was just an accident and can happen to anyone. But there's one silly question that keeps rounding in your head - was Jimin not excited enough to see you? If he really wanted to come back home, wouldn't he stay alert about the flight and its timing? Especially the way they send alerts through mails and text messages? And why didn’t he tell you that he missed the flight earlier? He could have just texted you?

Shaking your head, you scold yourself. There's absolutely no reason to think so negatively. There's no way Jimin would- 

The train of your thoughts comes to a screeching halt as your phone starts vibrating on the nightstand. The very first thought that comes to your mind is Jimin, it has to be him who is calling. 

Grabbing the phone as soon as possible you find a completely different and unexpected name on the screen. Why is Ryohyun calling you so late? 

Swiping up on the answer, you voice a little greeting, not being sure enough if the call was intentional or just a mistake. 

“Hey?” your friend greets you, voice kind of concerned, “is everything okay?” 

“Ryohyun”, frowning a little you continue, “I should be the one asking you this. Is everything okay? Why are you calling so late?” 

“I am fine. I called you because I just saw Jimin at Hangkuk hospital. He seemed quite exhausted. I tried calling him but he didn’t hear me. And now he isn’t picking up my calls. I got so worried thinking something must have happened to you or one of your family members.” your friend explains. 

You hear it all. You listen to every word he says with utmost attention but still nothing makes sense. What is Jimin doing in the hospital? He should be in Paris right now? It has to be a mistake. Ryuhyun probably saw someone else. 

“I am fine, hyun-ah. And so is everyone else. You must have seen someone else. Jimin is not here in Korea. He should have landed today but he missed the flight.” you try to convince your friend and maybe yourself too. 

“Y/N, seriously?” you friend chuckles, “you really think I will mistake someone else for Jimin? Especially when his face is all over Oliveyoung?” there is a bit of pause before he continues, “it was Jimin, Y/N. I am sure. Okay, I gotta go now. Good night. Take care.” 

The call cuts, setting your doubts to sore higher than the sky. 

Ryuhyun is right. He can hardly make mistakes when it comes to recognizing Jimin. They have been friends for more than a decade now and also, he was the reason you met your boyfriend. So no… you can’t take it lightly. 

Something must have happened to him and he is lying to you! You can not just sit and wait for him to come back. You need to dial the one person who has to know everything. His manager. 

Despite feeling bad for calling so late, you ring him up. He picks your call up on the third ring. 

“Y/N-ssi? Uh- hello?” his voice tells of his confusion. But you don’t have time to explain anything. 

“Sorry for calling so late, Mr. Kim. I just wanted to ask about Jimin’s whereabouts? I heard he is at Hangkuk hospital? Is he okay? Has something happened to him?” tears start gathering in your eyes as you manage to utter those words somehow. 

“Oh? He hasn’t… he hasn’t informed you yet?” his manager’s voice turns a notch lower, as if he is scared to tell you something. 

“No. I don’t know anything. Please tell me if he is okay? Please?” a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“He is fine, Y/N-ssi. He is fine. It’s actually… the thing is that." The hesitation is as clear as daylight but you still don’t understand the source or reason for it, “Nabi-ssi was hospitalized earlier and Jimin is her emergency contact. So he had to be there for her at that moment. I am sure he will return home as soon as his need there is over.” 

The name makes its way through your ear and strikes your heart with the force of a thunder. Han Nabi - Jimin’s super model ex-girlfriend, the very person you are extremely insecure about, has been the reason behind Jimin’s lie. 

He gave you an entire false scenario behind his absence? He didn’t even think twice what would happen to you when you get to know the truth? He didn’t even consider your emotions, your sanity, your love - the relationship that can be endangered with just one such lie, and ran straight to her. What hurts the most is that he did it all while knowing how you feel about his ex-girlfriend and her constant attempt to keep being in his life despite breaking up two years ago.

You feel lost in the desert all of a sudden. The day started with so many expectations, so many plans for tonight and now it’s just something else - something as bad as a nightmare. You don’t know where to head, how to navigate and you would rather stay stagnant here in this feeling, this betrayal than doing something else - something like going after Jimin and demanding the truth. 

If he really loves you, he should come and tell you everything. 

If he really loves you, he would right whatever wrongs he made earlier. 

For this one time, you won’t chase, you won’t compromise your stance. You will wait for him to do so. And if he doesn’t, you guess, that will speak volume about what you actually mean to your boyfriend. 

Jimin is accustomed to being lied to. 

Being in the modelling industry means he has been lied to more times than he would care to admit. And we are not talking about small white lies here - here lies mean big life altering false statements that are capable of ruining someone’s entire day, or week or month for that matter. 

Although, Jimin is used to being lied to - he has never been the one to lie so nonchalantly. This was the very first time he did something so severe and his conscience is eating him out alive. 

On the top of everything - he lied to you! To you! Someone as pure and kind as you! But his only agenda behind crafting this lie was to stop you from spiraling down the rabbit hole, because he knows what kind of thoughts run around your head whenever Nabi is mentioned in a room. 

He is aware of your insecurity and despite trying to ease your fears, he has never once succeeded. Standing there, if he told you that he was saved as Nabi’s emergency contact and had to run to the hospital straight from the airport, which he chose to do instead of going back home to you, then… there are chances he might lose you. 

But he had no other option. The EMT called him thrice from Nabi’s number. Her manager being out of town only made things worse. He had to run here, not by his choice but for his duty as a fellow human being. 

“Are you Han Nabi’s guardian?” a nurse appears in the line of his sight, trying to grab his attention. 

Jimin stands up and bows a little, “ah- yes.” 

“The patient is now stable. She was having acute stress cramps. We have given her the medicines to ease her pain. You can take her home once she is done with her IV drop.” she bows and leaves once she is done with her explanation. 

Jimin doesn’t waste a second more. He runs towards the bed with a whole dialogue playing in his head. 

“Jimin-ah.” she whines as soon as Jimin appears from behind the curtains. “I am so sorry-” 

“Yes, you should be sorry, Nabi.” he states firmly without giving her any time to form another sentence. “It has been two years since we broke up. Why do you still have me as your emergency contact? You should have added your family or manager or whoever you wanted! Why me?” 

“Because I wanted you, it’s simple.” She dares to look sad. 

“No it’s not simple, Nabi. I have a girlfriend and you keep on trying to create problems between us. As if commenting on my posts and publicly flirting with me isn’t enough for you anymore, huh?” Jimin has had enough of her games, not anymore. Today tasted his limits. He is now standing at a point where telling you the truth will endanger the relationship and he is already shit scared about that. 

“You know why I do this. You know I love you.” Nabi states, giving him puppy eyes and all. 

“No you don’t. And you know that too.” Jimin places the pouch of medicine that he bought earlier down and takes his leave. 

He knows his narrative won’t match with his actions if he suddenly arrives home now. It’s already way past midnight and according to his own lie, he should only reach home the next evening. 

But he can’t keep lying to you anymore. He will go back now and tell you everything. You are always the one to invest much more emotional effort in this relationship, and if he can’t at least be truthful now, he will never be able to forgive himself. 

It’s almost thirty past one in the morning when you hear the door lock chiming. No one else knows the code other than you and your boyfriend, so it has to be him. 

It takes you by surprise. Jimin should not come home so early if he doesn’t want you to question his lie. 

If he actually missed his flight and had to catch another one - he would not be reaching home before 8 the next day. So, what is he trying to play here? 

The door cracks open, prompting you to turn on your heels and watch your boyfriend tiptoe inside the apartment. You watch as Jimin tries to drag his carrier without making any noise, as he bends down and undoes the shoe laces. You watch him as he sighs, grabs the carrier and tries to lift the entire thing into the living area. 

“Jimin…” you call him and only then he realizes you are sitting on the couch motionlessly. 

“Y/N?” he asks, putting the carrier down and reaching for the light control. 

As he flicks the switches up, his eyes meet yours. 

Jimin expected you to be asleep. He thought he would wake up earlier than you, make two cups of coffee, extra cream for you just the way you like and unleash whatever he had done. He would apologize, ask for forgiveness, do whatever you ask him to. That was his plan. 

So, you catching him red-handed as he sneaks in, tilts his calculations sideways. “Y/N, you- you are awake?” he fumbles with his words. 

Fuck! He is nervous. His fingers are trembling already and his gut is warning him of an impending doom. 

“Why? Would it be easier to lie your way around if I was asleep?” your voice comes out cold. Jimin gulps. 

“That- actually I- I mean-” Jimin was sure as hell, even a few minutes ago, that he would be able to tell you the truth without having to feel numb and nauseous with the fear of losing you. But as you are standing before him, face straight and stoic, voice colder than he has ever heard you, he doesn’t know where to find his will to keep going. 

“Let me tell you what you mean, Jimin.” you take a step forward. The tornado that’s raging inside you, takes the charge of your actions. And despite thinking you would let Jimin come clean, you can not stop your mouth from running anymore. 

Suddenly, the feeling of being wronged and betrayed is too much to bear. You want him to know that you are aware of his conscious choices and you no longer wish to stay understanding about them. 

“You mean that your super model ex-girlfriend is way more important than me. So you had to run to her while I waited for you with plates of home-cooked food that I prepared for you.” the tears that you have been fighting for the better part of the evening and night, finally start raining down your eyes. 

Jimin stiffens. You know? You knew about his whereabouts? How? No! That’s not his concern now. 

“Y/N, please listen to me.” he tries to calm you down by taking a few hurried steps towards you. There are tears in your eyes and Jimin doesn’t like to see you crying, especially now, because the reason is him. 

“Yes, Jimin. Go ahead. I want to know why…” you fail to finish the sentence. No matter how big of a bravado you pull, you are scared of his answer.  

Nabi is way above your competition. She is beautiful, confident, famous - a perfect companion to Jimin. They were the IT couple for the entirety of the time they dated. You watched it all - with your own eyes, while pining for Jimin endlessly. 

Although you two started dating a little more than a year ago, you and Jimin have been friends for a long time before. And you have been in love with him for half of the shared time. Never being able to gather enough courage to confess to him - you only watched him dating people one after another. None of that seemed to be too serious, but then Nabi came along. 

They dated for two years - longest in Jimin’s history and you watched whatever hope you had left off dying every single day little by little. Not to go into the details but in your eyes, Nabi was the only partner Jimin appeared to be very whipped for. 

However, things didn’t turn around as you, or Jimin for that matter, expected. They broke up shortly after their two year anniversary. 

Almost a year later, ten months to be precise, you confessed to him without expecting anything in return. What you wanted was to get the burden off your chest to finally move on and start going to the various blind dates your friends were setting you up on. 

By some twisted miracle, Jimin did not only accept your confession but he himself confessed to have a thing for you as well. He never thought you would be interested in his flashy life, and hence, stayed reluctant. 

Now back to the present, you think that you might have been a subject to his interest but was never capable of taking away the place Nabi held, or holds still till now. 

“She was rushed to hospital and I was saved as her emergency contact-” 

“I know all that, Jimin. I have heard all that.” you cut him off. Whatever explanation he was preparing in his mind, dims right away, “I want to know why did you lie to me? What was the reason behind hiding it all from me? If you told me the truth I wouldn’t have stopped you! I wouldn’t have pressured you to come back to me, especially when it's something as serious as a medical emergency. Did you lie to me so that I… I don’t come between you two? So that I stay in the dark while you keep putting her as the top most priority in your life? Is that so?” your mouth runs without a halt. Whatever you kept suppressed up until now comes rushing out of your whole being. Your body jerks as you let your emotions take over. 

“Y/N!” Jimin’s heart squeezes painfully inside his chest, “don’t… just don’t say stuff like that!” It's a painful realization. You really think he prioritizes Nabi over you? “I know I lied to you. I lied to you because I didn’t…” his voice trembles, “I don’t want to lose you. And I was afraid that if I told you the truth at that moment, you would… you would walk out of my life. I was afraid that I would come back home to find you… find you gone.” 

His words settle on the base of your heart like the center of a quake. You feel your resolve shaking. But no.. you can’t back down so easily. If you are staying with him, you will have to make sure Jimin never chooses her over you ever again. 

“And you think I can’t do that now? I still can walk out, Jimin. I would rather walk out than be a third-wheel between you and your ex." Wiping the tears with the back of your hand, you continue, “I know I am not as pretty or stylish or confident as her. I know well that I am not as suitable as she was for you. And that’s okay. You don’t have to be with me if you don’t want to. If you want to go back to her then go ahead, I am not gonna stop you. But be honest with me. Be honest and tell me to fuck off on my face. I promise, Jimin, you will never see me again!” 

Jimin’s face falls. His heart lurches inside his chest, before something akin to anger starts bubbling. 

He takes another step towards you and towers over your smaller form, “you want me to be honest? You want me to be honest? Okay then-” grabbing you by your bicep, he pulls you close to him. You crash against his chest with a yelp. 

“I fucking love you so much that I afraid you will leave me if you got to know I had to rush to the hospital! I fucking love you so much that I lied to you, which was a stupid move, because I could have just told you the truth. I love you so much that I yelled at Nabi and blocked her as soon as I was out of the hospital. I love you so much that I….” a tear tickles down his eye, “that I- I will go away if you don’t want to accept me anymore.” There's a lump in his throat and he hates it. He hates that he has to get these words out. He hates he has been making you feel he doesn’t value you enough for all these times when he could have shown how much you actually mean to him. 

For a stretch of a moment both of you stand still, voiceless, staring at each other as if your eyes would do the talking from now on. 

The thing is that you are aware of Jimin’s sincerity. If Park Jimin is one thing then he is sincere about the relationships he holds close to his heart. Yes, he is one of those people who are bad at giving. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love. He loves, that too, very deeply, and that is why you are here, still with him, despite all the differences that create chaos between you two. 

“You love me?” The question is stupid and repetitive, but you can’t stop yourself from asking.

“Yes. Yes, I love you. I am in love with you from every single bone of my body.” Jimin replies, wiping his tears. He hates to be a crybaby, but the fear of losing you gripped his heart too much not to let his emotions spill over his eyes. 

“Then please… please don’t do something like this ever again, or I will… you will never find me again.” 

Leaving your biceps, he warps his hands around yours and squeezes gently, “I promise, I won’t. I promise. Please forgive me. Please?” 

You nod, “okay. Okay, but just this once.” 

“You won’t have to forgive me twice.” Jimin pulls you closer again. This time he wraps you in his embrace, relishing the warmth of your body, your scent, the comfort of your presence like a hungry beast. 

You melt in his embrace. Jimin is here. He really is here. Maybe he has chosen to do the wrong thing once but he is here, he is regretting and asking for forgiveness. The effort is visible and you would never stay blind to that. 

You are so lost in the hug that you don’t notice when Jimin has started swiping your hair off of your neck and started pressing kisses on the exposed skin. You jump a little when his cold fingers come in contact with your skin, right under your pj shirt.  

“Jimin-” the whine gets cut off as he shuts you with his lips. The kiss starts soft but turns hungry soon enough. Jimin can not take it anymore. 

He had been craving you so bad for all these times and just when he was about to get you under him, the mishap happened. But now that everything is over, he can have you. He can have you all to himself. 

He bites on your lower lip, earning a moan. 

“You should eat something, you haven’t-” 

“No worries, I am gonna eat for sure.” Jimin adds suggestively as he lifts you up and turns towards the bedroom. 

The night has been so eventful for you. At first you thought of spending it by watching a movie with your lovely boyfriend. Then you thought you would be staying up crying. Then when Jimin came back, you expected yourself to be all angry and pissed and maybe nurse a heartbreak. But look at you now, you are right where you wanted to be, writhing under Jimin as he makes love to you. 

Life is unpredictable for sure. It is full of twists and turns. But as long as a day ends well, everything is fine. 

For Jimin, as long as he can come back home to you… everything is fine. 

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The silence in Seoul had never actually been silent.

It was always rushed kind of quiet—the quick elevator rides, the muted hum of passing cars seven floors down your small apartment, or the muffled sounds of your neighbor closing their front door at an ungodly hour. It was a silence filled with noise, reminding you that even while you slept, the city was still running.

This, however, was entirely different.

This quiet had crickets in it.

You sat on the warm, weather-worn wooden step of the maru outside your grandmother’s traditional hanok, your bare feet resting against the cool slate floor of the courtyard. The morning air was thick with the scent of dew-soaked earth, sweet pine, and wet grass. Somewhere just beyond the low stone walls of the yard.

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

The sun was taking its time, slowly bleeding shades of soft apricot and lavender over the mist-shrouded hills of Busan. You had almost forgotten that mornings could look like this. In the concrete jungle of the capital, a sunrise was just a blurred pastel streak caught out of the corner of your eye through a glass window, usually after an all-nighter spent staring at spreadsheets. It was never something you stopped for. It was never something you waited to watch.

Here, you had woken up before it—not to an aggressive phone alarm, not for a 7:00 AM meeting, and not to clear an overflowing inbox.

You had simply woken up.

And the sheer novelty of that simple fact felt almost unnatural.

Reaching down, you dipped your fingers into the small ceramic bowl beside you and picked up a dark purple grape. Your grandmother had washed them earlier, leaving them on the porch step for you, the skins still glistening with cool water droplets. You popped it into your mouth.

Sweet.

Closing your eyes, you let out a quiet breath.

It was almost absurd, really. It was just a grape. You had eaten hundreds of them at your sleek office desk in Seoul, absently popping them into your mouth while typing emails with one hand and reviewing documents with the other. You couldn't recall the taste of a single one.

But now, the flavor exploded on your tongue. You could hear the satisfying snap of the skin between your teeth. You could savor it, swallow, and then sit in the golden morning light doing absolutely nothing.

Maybe that was what years of relentless exhaustion had done to you. It hadn't made you hate your life—that would have been a much easier problem to fix. It had done something far more subtle. It had stripped away the color, turning every day into a series of hurdles to clear.

Mornings were something to survive.

Breakfast was a task to rush through.

Work was an endless queue to clear.

People were exhausting to manage.

How fast should I reply to this text? How carefully do I need to phrase this email so I don’t sound passive-aggressive? Did I disappoint them? Will my manager think I’m slacking off if I log off at six?

You had spent years sprinting in a race where no one had bothered to mark the finish line. And the most terrifying part was that everyone around you was sprinting, too, pretending it was entirely normal. So, you learned to run faster. You learned to plaster a bright, polite smile across your face while doing it. You learned to say, "I'm totally fine," so convincingly that some days, you almost fooled yourself.

A gentle morning breeze swept through the courtyard, rustling the leaves of the old persimmon tree.

"Are you planning on finishing off that entire bowl before the sun even hits the roof?"

You glanced over your shoulder. Your grandmother was standing in the doorframe, her faded floral apron tied neatly around her waist, arms folded as she surveyed you with an affectionate, knowing look.

"Good morning to you, too, Halmeoni," you murmured, offering a soft grin.

"It’s almost time for breakfast."

"I am eating breakfast."

"You're eating fruit."

"Fruit is a valid breakfast."

"Not under my roof, it isn't."

A lighthearted laugh escaped your chest. Shaking her head with a fondness she couldn't quite hide, your grandmother turned back into the house.

"Up. Come help me."

°

The kitchen was instantly smelling of toasted sesame oil, rich soybean paste broth, and warm rice. Golden sunlight poured through the traditional paper windows, bathing the worn wood floors in a deep honey glow. Neatly organized bowls of fresh vegetables lined the wooden counter.

Tying your hair back into a loose bun, you stepped up beside her. "What's on the menu?"

"Whatever you actually know how to make without burning down the house."

You blinked at her. "That doesn't inspire much confidence in me."

"Then stand there and learn." She pushed a large bowl of crisp green spinach toward you. "Wash this."

Turning on the tap, you let the icy water run over your hands. It felt startlingly real against your skin. You watched out of the corner of your eye as your grandmother moved around the small space with the graceful, unhurried rhythm of someone who had prepared this exact meal thousands of times. She sliced radish with practiced precision, seasoned the fresh fish, checked the bubbling pot, and adjusted the heat, all without a single rushed movement.

"Halmeoni?"

"Hmm?"

"How do you do all of this without feeling like you're in a rush?"

She paused, glancing at you over her shoulder. "What kind of question is that?"

"I mean... you just do things. Calmly."

A tiny smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Things don't have legs, Y/N-ah. They don't run away."

You let out a soft sigh. "That's not always true."

"Work runs away?" she asked.

"No."

"People?"

"Sometimes."

"Deadlines?"

"Definitely."

She set her heavy wooden knife down on the cutting board with a soft thud and turned to face you fully.

"Then let them run."

You froze, looking at her.

She held your gaze for a long moment before simply turning back to her vegetables.

"You can't catch everything in this world, child. You'll break your own legs trying."

The silence settled over the kitchen again, soft and broken only by the comforting sounds of cooking.

You looked down at the spinach submerged in the clear water, the coldness seeping into your fingertips.

"I think..." Your voice dropped, small and vulnerable. "I think I spent a really long time trying to catch everything."

"I know." Her voice was soft, devoid of judgment.

You swallowed past the sudden tightness in your throat. "I thought if I just worked a little harder, stayed up a little later, took on one more project... I’d finally feel like I made it. Like I was finally good enough."

"And do you feel that way?"

You shook your head slowly, a heavy weight lifting off your chest just by admitting it aloud. "No. I just feel hollow."

Your grandmother didn't offer a pitying look or a lecture. Instead, she gently took the bowl from your hands, setting it aside.

"Then perhaps," she said softly, wiping her hands on her apron, "you've just been climbing the wrong hill all this time."

A quiet tearful laugh slipped past your lips. "That's pretty philosophical for seven in the morning."

"I've earned every grey hair on my head," she replied with a sharp wink. "I'm allowed to be wise." She tapped the rim of the bowl. "Now wash those properly."

"Yes, ma'am."

For the next twenty minutes, no words were needed. You rinsed the greens until the water ran perfectly clear. She stirred the savory broth. The electric rice cooker let out its chime in the corner.

Outside, the morning breeze whistled through the pine trees, carrying the faint, distant melody of ocean waves crashing along the Busan coastline.

Suddenly, a golden-brown piece of fresh fried tofu appeared right in front of your face.

"Eat."

You blinked, looking from the tofu to your grandmother. "I thought you said fruit wasn't real breakfast and we had to wait."

"It isn't."

"Then why are you feeding me?"

She insisted.

"Halmeoni, I'm fine—"

"You need to enjoy little treats while you are working. Even if the work is as simple as cooking for yourself."

Unable to fight the warmth blooming in your chest, you took the piece of tofu and bit into it. It was hot, perfectly crispy on the outside, rich and savory on the inside.

Your grandmother turned back to the stove, a small smile gracing her face. "You know... when you were seven years old, you used to stand in that exact same spot and steal food right off the cutting board before I could even set the table."

You looked down at the wooden floor beneath your feet, "I did?"

"You did," she murmured, her tone softening. "You haven't changed as much as you think you have."

You swallowed the bite, feeling the knots in your shoulders finally begin to uncoil.

Not all at once. The exhaustion of years couldn't be washed away in a single morning.

But enough.

Enough to take a clear breath.

Enough to realize that coming back here was the first right decision you had made in a very long time.

°

The old bicycle was still there.

You found it tucked away behind the house, half-hidden beneath the heavy, leafy shade of the ancient persimmon tree. It was leaning heavily against the moss-covered wooden fence as though it had been patiently waiting, for years, just for you to finally remember it.

The metal frame was a faded, washed-out robin’s-egg blue, its once-vibrant paint chipped away in delicate patterns to reveal tiny patches of rust near the pedals. The rubber grip on the left handlebar had rotted away completely, and the wicker basket in the front hung slightly crooked. When you reached out and hesitantly pressed the bell, it chimed loudly.

"You're still alive," you murmured under your breath.

You ran your palm down the sun-warmed metal of the handlebars. Remarkably, so were you.

Wheeling it out from the shadows into the bright morning light, you checked the tires with the toe of your shoe. They were a bit soft, giving slightly under the pressure, but not enough to stop you. You hadn't ridden a bike in years—not since high school, certainly never in the chaotic, traffic-choked streets of Seoul—but something about seeing it resting there made your chest ache with the sudden urge to try.

Maybe it was the crisp morning air.

Maybe it was the heavy silence of the countryside.

Or maybe, deep down, you simply wanted to know what it felt like to go somewhere without needing a reason, a GPS route, or a scheduled appointment.

You swung your leg over the frame and pushed off.

The first few meters were embarrassingly clumsy. The front wheel wobbled wildly, and you had to put a foot down to keep from tumbling sideways into the dirt path.

Then, muscle memory took over. Your body remembered what your mind had long forgotten.

Your hands loosened their white-knuckled grip on the handles. Your feet found a smooth, effortless rhythm against the pedals, and suddenly, the gravel road began to slip away beneath your tires.

An incredulous laugh escaped your lips.

The narrow road outside your grandmother's hanok curved gently through the village, flanked by low stone walls and open fields washed in the soft golden sunlight of early morning. Dewdrops glinted like scattered glass on the grass, and green leaves trembled in the canopy overhead. Somewhere nearby, the wooden shutters of a small corner grocery creaked open. A sleepy farm dog barked once from a yard and then lazily gave up.

You kept pedaling, picking up speed.

The farther you rode, the more the tangled thoughts in your head began to unspool. The sea breeze came rushing to meet you, cool as it swept over your skin. It tangled your hair, whipping loose strands across your eyes, but you didn't even care to push them away.

You didn't need to look presentable here. There was no one watching. No performance to put on.

No meetings.

No deadlines.

No blue-light screen glowing in your palm with urgent notifications.

Just you. The bicycle. And the open road beneath the summer sky.

When the narrow path finally broke through the tree line and the ocean burst into view, you instinctively slowed down.

Blue.

An endless, blinding expanse of deep sapphire that made your breath hitch in your throat. The water stretched all the way to the sharp line of the horizon, glittering as if millions of diamonds were floating on the surface under the morning sun. Far out on the water, tiny white fishing boats bobbed lazily in the tide.

You smiled, a full, involuntary smile that reached all the way to your eyes. You couldn't even remember the last time you had smiled simply because you were happy to exist in a moment.

Pedaling slowly along the coastal road, the sea stayed right beside you like an old friend. Every few seconds, a stronger gust of wind would sweep in off the waves, lifting your hair off your shoulders and cooling your warm skin. You closed your eyes for half a second, inhaling the sharp, clean scent of salt and ozone.

You felt lighter.

Not fixed. Not suddenly, magically cured of the exhaustion that had hollowed you out in Seoul.

Just... lighter. And maybe, for a quiet Tuesday morning in Busan, that was more than enough.

You were just beginning to understand what your grandmother had meant earlier in the kitchen. Some things didn't need to be solved. Some things just needed to be felt.

You were still lost in that thought when the bicycle gave a harsh jerk. The pedals suddenly spun uselessly beneath your feet, locking up with a sharp clatter.

"What the...?"

You braked hard, dragging your sneakers across the gravel to bring the bike to a stop.

You looked down. The black, greasy chain had completely slipped off the gears, dangling uselessly against the back wheel.

You stared at it in disbelief, letting out a heavy, exasperated groan. "Are you serious right now?"

Crouching down in the dirt beside the bike, you pinched the cold metal chain between your fingers, trying to loop it back onto the teeth of the sprocket. It snapped back out of place instantly.

You tried again, pressing harder, but it slipped once more, leaving thick, black bicycle grease smeared across your palm and fingers.

"Come on," you muttered, your frustration rising.

You were just about to throw your hands up and push the heavy bike all the way back up the hill when a soft, hesitant voice cut through the sound of the crashing waves behind you.

"Y/n?"

Your hands froze over the iron chain.

The sound of the wind seemed to drop out completely, leaving the world suspended in a strange stillness.

Slowly, almost afraid that your mind was playing tricks on you, you lifted your head and stood up.

Standing just a few meters away on the coastal path, holding his own bicycle by the handlebars, was a young man.

Messy wavy dark hair fluttered gently in the sea breeze, casting soft shadows across his sharp jawline. He was wearing a simple jacket. But it was the way he stood—that familiar, gentle posture—that made your heart leap into your throat before your brain could even process who he was.

He was staring at you. Really staring.

For a long, agonizing second, neither of you said a word. The long years, the distance, the endless miles between Seoul and Busan seemed to evaporate in the small space between your eyes meeting.

The boy who used to race you down this exact coastal road until your lungs burned.

The boy who used to slyly steal the sweetest peaches out of your lunchbox when you weren't looking.

The boy who always knew when you were crying, even when you hid your face and swore up and down that you were fine.

The boy you had once naively believed would always be a constant in your life, right up until the day you packed your bags for the city.

Jimin.

His expression shifted first. The stunned disbelief in his dark eyes melted, giving way to an overwhelming softness. It was a look so raw, so full of unspoken history, that it felt as though he had imagined this exact coincidence a thousand times over and couldn't quite trust that you were actually standing in front of him.

"Y/n-ah...?" he whispered again, his voice lower this time, almost fragile.

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Jimin."

Saying his name felt like pulling a warm, forgotten memory out of the dark.

Then, his lips curved. It started small and uncertain at the corners, before blooming into the exact same warm, crescent-eyed smile you had kept tucked away in your heart for years. The smile from summers that had once felt like they would last forever.

And suddenly, as the summer wind swept past you both, the ocean didn't seem quite as vast as it had a moment ago.

Jimin took a step forward, the surprise in his eyes giving way to that familiar, crooked smile. He set his own bicycle against the wooden guardrail before walking over to where you stood, your fingers still coated in black chain grease.

"Some things really never change, do they?" he said, his voice carrying the rich, warm cadence of the south. He gestured toward your greasy hands with a quiet chuckle. "You still can't handle a chain to save your life."

"Hey," you protested, though there was zero bite to it. "This bike is older than both of us combined."

"Fair point."

He crouched down beside the rear wheel without a second thought, completely unbothered by the dirt on the road. Watching him from above felt surreal. The boy who used to scrape his knees climbing trees with you was now a young man with broad shoulders, gentle hands, and a calm, grounded presence that seemed to instantly settle the air around you.

With practiced ease, Jimin guided the greasy metal chain back onto the teeth of the gear, giving the pedal a quick backward spin until it clicked back into place with a satisfying snap.

"There," he said, wiping his thumb against his jeans as he stood up. "Fixed. Though if you take it up the steep hill near the lighthouse, it's going to drop again."

"Thank you, Jimin-ah," you murmured softly.

He looked at you then, his eyes searching your face with an quiet intensity that made your breath catch. Up close, the tender light in his eyes was almost overwhelming.

"You look tired, Y/n-ah," he said gently, skipping the superficial pleasantries. It wasn't a critique; it was an observation filled with pure concern. "Real tired."

You looked down at your shoes, the quiet honesty of his words hitting a nerve you’d been trying to numb for months. "Seoul was... a lot."

"I figured." Jimin reached out, his hand hovering for a second before he lightly nudged your shoulder with his own. "Come on. Let's walk for a bit. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Instead of riding, the two of you walked side-by-side along the coastal path, pushing your bicycles along the gravel. The crashing of the waves against the rocks below provided a soothing backdrop to the silence between you—a silence that, unlike in the city, felt comfortable and entirely unhurried.

"I missed the ocean," you admitted quietly, watching the sunlight dance across the water. "In Seoul, everything moves so fast. If you stop to breathe for even a second, it feels like you're falling behind. I was running all the time, Jimin. And I didn't even know what I was running toward."

Jimin listened intently, his head tilted slightly toward you as you spoke.

"You know," he said softly, his voice carrying over the sound of the wind, "when you left for the city, I wondered how long you'd be able to keep up with a place like that. Not because you aren't strong—you're the strongest person I know. But because your heart wasn't built for a place that forgets how to slow down."

You stopped walking, looking over at him in surprise.

Jimin turned to face you, offering a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay to rest, Y/N. Coming back here isn't a failure. It just means you needed to remember who you were before the world told you who to be."

The words settled deep in your chest, loosening a knot of guilt you hadn't even realized you were carrying. A laugh escaped you, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "When did you get so wise?"

"I had a lot of time to think while tending to plants," he teased gently, his crescent-eyed smile blooming again. He gestured up the winding road ahead. "Speaking of which... come home with me. My parents would lock me out if they found out I bumped into you and didn't bring you over."

°

The sight of Jimin’s family property brought a wave of nostalgia that made your throat tight.

It hadn't changed at all. Nestled at the foot of the hill overlooking the sea sat the double-story building, on the ground floor, the cozy, bustling family restaurant, and right beside it, spilling out into a sunlit courtyard, was the vibrant flower greenhouse run by his mother.

As children, this place had been your second home. Whenever your grandmother was busy working late, you had practically lived here—sleeping over on the living room floor with Jimin, building blanket forts, and stealing sweet rice cakes from the kitchen counter.

"Eomma! Look who I found!" Jimin called out as you both walked up the paved path.

A woman with soft features and an apron dusted with dirt stepped out from the glass doors of the greenhouse, wiping her hands on a towel. The moment her eyes landed on you, her face lit up with absolute warmth.

"Oh, my goodness... Y/N-ah?!"

Before you could even speak, she hurried over, wrapping you in a motherly embrace that smelled faintly of soil, fresh lavender, and warm sunshine. You melted into the hug instantly, your arms wrapping around her waist.

"Look at you... you're so pale!" she pulled back, gently cupping your face with hands that were warm and calloused. "Your grandmother told me you were coming back for the summer, but I didn't expect to see you so soon. Come inside! You're staying for dinner. I won't take no for an answer."

"Eomma, let her breathe," Jimin laughed, though his eyes were crinkled with fondness as he watched the interaction.

"Quiet, Jimin. Go tell your father to put extra pork in the stew," she ordered playfully before guiding you inside the cozy interior of the restaurant.

From the kitchen, Jimin's father poked his head out, his face breaking into a wide, familiar grin the moment he saw you. "Y/N! Welcome home, kiddo! Just in time—lunch is almost ready!"

Sitting at the wooden table in the back corner—the exact same table where you and Jimin used to do your elementary school homework—you felt a sense of safety wrap around you like a heavy blanket.

Within twenty minutes, the table was piled high with steaming dishes, grilled fish, savory pancakes, fresh kimchi, and a rich, bubbling pot of stew.

You reached out to spoon some of the stew into your bowl, but before your spoon could touch the pot, Jimin’s hand gently caught your wrist.

"Wait," he said softly.

He took your bowl from you, dipped the ladle into the pot, and carefully served you a generous portion of meat, tofu, and broth—making sure not a single piece of mushroom landed in your bowl.

You stared at the dish in surprise. "Jimin..."

"You still pick around mushrooms like they're toxic, don't you?" he asked, a knowing glint in his dark eyes as he placed the bowl back in front of you.

"I... yeah. I do."

"I made sure jimin's father didn't put any cucumber in the side dishes either," his mother added, placing a plate of freshly fried chicken in front of you with a sweet smile. "I know how much you hate the texture."

You sat there, staring at the spread of food prepared so thoughtfully around a childhood dislike you hadn't even thought about in years. In Seoul, you had spent years ordering lunch for entire teams, remembering everyone else's coffee preferences, dietary restrictions, and schedules—while no one ever thought to ask about yours.

Here, in this noisy, sunlit restaurant by the sea, people remembered.

They remembered that you hated mushrooms.

They remembered that you liked your tofu extra crispy.

They remembered you.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, splashing softly against the wooden table.

"Hey..." Jimin lowered his chopsticks immediately, his tone shifting into pure tenderness. He leaned in closer, his thumb instinctively reaching out to brush the tear away from your cheek with a gentle, feather-light touch. "What's wrong? Did I get it wrong?"

"No," you shook your head, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand and letting out a watery, laughter-laced breath. "No, you got it completely right. It's just... I forgot what it felt like."

"What what felt like?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours with unreserved affection.

"To be looked after," you whispered, looking around the table at his parents, who were watching you with gentle smiles, and finally back at Jimin. "To feel like I actually belong somewhere."

Jimin’s hand lingered near yours on the table, his fingers gently brushing against your knuckles.

"You've always belonged here, Y/N-ah," he said softly, his voice steady and deeply sincere. "No matter how far you go, this is always home. And we're always here.”

°

The night air was cool, smelling of sea salt and damp leaves, filled with the soft chorus of crickets and the distant rhythm of crashing waves. You sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Jimin on the edge of the wooden porch, two green bottles of Soju resting between you, their smooth glass glinting in the faint amber light of the lantern overhead.

"I still can't believe you," you said, taking a small sip straight from the bottle and letting out a soft laugh. "You were absolute terrified of anything with more than four legs. Remember that giant beetle in the garden?"

Jimin groaned, hiding his face in his hands as his shoulders shook with quiet laughter. "Y/N, that thing was the size of my fist. It had horns!"

"It was a harmless stag beetle!" you giggled, nudging his knee with yours. "You screamed like a little girl and hid behind me while I picked it up with a leaf to move it. I was your little bodyguard."

"Okay, fine," he admitted, looking up through his bangs with a grin that made your heart do a strange, familiar flutter. "You were brave. But let’s not pretend you were fearless."

"Hey! I was!"

"Oh really?" Jimin tilted his head, his voice dropping into a softer, more reflective tone. "What about the time you ran away from home in middle school? After your grandmother scolded you for that math exam?"

You froze for a second, a rush of memory flooding back before a soft, incredulous chuckle escaped you. "Oh God. I completely forgot about that."

"I didn't," Jimin murmured softly, looking down at his hands. "You were gone for hours. The sun had set, and it started pouring."

"I remember!" You nodded, the warm buzz of the Soju making your smile turn fond and nostalgic. "You came searching for me in the rain, didn't you? Found me hiding under the old bus stop shelter. You were all drenched, from head to toe, holding that silly yellow umbrella over me instead of yourself."

You picked up your bottle, realizing it was completely empty, and set it down with a soft clink against the porch floor. You looked over at him, the mellow night air and the comfort of his presence loosening the heavy knot that had lived in your chest for years.

"Now that I think about it," you whispered, your voice carrying a rare, raw sincerity, "you were always saving me, Jimin-ah. You were my superhero back then. Whenever things went wrong, you were always right there to protect me."

Jimin’s soft smile slowly faded.

For a fraction of a second, something heavy and achingly tender flickered across his face—a look so profound it made the air between you feel suddenly still. But before you could make sense of it, he quickly covered it with a light, breathless laugh and stood up from the porch step.

"You're drunk," he teased gently, though his voice sounded slightly tighter than before. He turned toward you and offered his hand. "Come on. It's getting late, and your grandmother will kill me if I bring you home stumbling."

"I am not drunk," you protested, though your head was pleasantly light.

You reached out and placed your hand in his. His palm was warm, solid, and larger than you remembered.

Jimin gave a gentle tug to help you up, but your foot caught slightly on the edge of the wooden step. You lost your balance, slipping forward with a soft gasp.

Instantly, Jimin’s other hand shot out, wrapping securely around your waist to catch you.

The momentum pulled you straight against his chest.

Everything went dead silent.

The distance between you vanished. You could feel the warmth of his body, the firm hold of his hand on your waist, and the sudden, rapid thrum of his heartbeat against his ribs.

Jimin tensed instantly.

He didn't step back. He didn't let go. He just stood there, completely rigid, holding you close enough that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek.

Slowly, you tilted your head up.

His eyes were wide, dark, and searching, completely stripped of their playful glint. Up close, under the faint golden glow of the lantern, you could see the tiny flecks of gold in his dark irises, the slight parting of his lips, and the intense gaze fixed entirely on you. It wasn't the way a childhood friend looked at you. It was the look of a man who had been holding his breath for years.

Your mind went completely blank. You got entirely lost in his eyes, your hand lingering against the cotton of his shirt over his chest, feeling the rhythm beneath your palm.

He wasn't just my superhero, a quiet, terrifying realization whispered in the back of your mind.

Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.

Jimin’s hand slid reluctantly from your waist, his fingers twitching slightly before falling back to his side.

"I..." You cleared your throat, nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. "I should... probably head back. Halmeoni's probably waiting."

Jimin swallowed, his throat moving as he forced his composure back into place.

"Yeah," he said softly, his voice lower than usual as he looked at you with an affection he could no longer fully hide. "Let's get you home.”

°

The wooden door of the old storeroom creaked open, releasing a haze of dust that danced in the dim light streaming through the door.

It smelled of dried lavender, aged paper, and time long gone.

You knelt on the wooden floorboards, gently shifting aside cardboard boxes of old school supplies until your hand brushed against a heavy, velvet-bound photo album. Dusting off the cover, you opened it on your lap.

The first page was a photograph of your parents.

They were young, smiling brightly against a backdrop of blooming cherry blossoms, looking back at the camera with so much life in their eyes. A lump instantly formed in your throat, a sharp, familiar ache tightening in your chest.

You traced the outline of your mother’s face with a thumb.

A memory rushed into your head.

~

It was the first anniversary of the accident.

You had snapped. The pity in the adults' eyes, the quiet whispers, the suffocating stillness of your grandmother’s house—it had all pushed you over the edge. You had run until your chest burned, collapsing onto the muddy grass of the open village field, letting the rain wash over you while you screamed into the open sky, missing your parents so deeply it felt like dying.

A few steps away, a twelve-year-old Jimin stood rooted to the spot.

He didn't try to pull you up. He didn't tell you it was going to be okay, because even at twelve, he knew that would be a lie. Instead, he just stood there in the mud, refusing to take a single step toward the dry shelter of the trees.

The rain stuck his dark hair to his forehead, soaking through his shirt. He was shivering violently, his teeth chattering from the cold wind sweeping off the ocean, but he refused to leave your side.

Looking at your small, shaking shoulders hunched over in the grass, tears flooded Jimin’s eyes, mixing hot against the freezing rain on his cheeks. He wasn't crying because he was cold, or because he was scared of the storm.

He was crying because your heart was broken, and his wasn't big enough yet to fix it.

So he just stood in the downpour, crying silently with you, anchored right there so that whenever you finally looked up, you would know you weren't carrying the storm entirely alone.

~

You remembered running away from the house during the heavy storm right after the funeral. You had collapsed in the middle of the open village ground, the downpour drenching your clothes, your tears mixing helplessly with the rain as you screamed into the thunder.

And then, the rain had stopped hitting your face.

You remembered looking up through blurred vision to find a twelve-year-old Jimin standing over you, holding a large blue umbrella. He was shivering violently, his own clothes soaked to the bone because he had held the umbrella entirely over you. He hadn't said a word. He had just sat down in the mud beside you, pulled you into his arms, and held you while you sobbed until you had no tears left.

He had stayed with you in that open field for hours under the torrential rain.

He was always there. Somehow, through every storm of your life, Jimin had been the anchor holding you to the earth.

A single tear slipped down your cheek, landing softly on the plastic sleeve of the album. You wiped your face with your sleeve, taking a deep, shaky breath, letting the past settle back into its quiet corner.

Reaching deeper into the box, your fingers caught on the edge of a worn, pastel-pink notebook with a frayed ribbon marker.

Your old middle school diary.

A tearful laugh escaped your lips as you flipped it open. The pages were a disastrously embarrassing archive of dramatic teenage angst: angry complaints about pop quizzes, furious rants about your grandmother making you eat carrots, and over-the-top declarations that your life was ruined because of a bad haircut.

You turned another page, and your breath hitched.

It was a full spread featuring two faded watercolor handprints—one smaller, neatly painted in yellow, and one slightly larger, smudged around the edges in blue.

Beneath the handprints, written in childish handwriting with a blue ballpoint pen.

We promise to stay best friends forever. And if we are not married by 28, we will marry each other so we don't end up lonely with cats.

- Signed, Y/N & Jimin

You stared at the page, a smile spreading across your face.

Twenty-eight.

You turned twenty-eight last year.

The memory of last night flashed in your mind—the heavy silence on the porch, the beat of his heart against your hand when he held you.

Your heart did a chaotic flip.

Impulsively, before you could talk yourself out of it, you whipped out your phone. You adjusted the lightning, clicked a clear photo of the worn diary page, and opened your chat with Jimin.

You attached the image and typed out a quick, playful message.

[Photo Attached]

Y/N: "So, when are you marrying me then?"

You hit send.

The gray checkmark immediately turned into Read.

For three long seconds, nothing happened. Then, the little text bubble appeared.

Jimin is typing...

It disappeared.

A/n : this two shot was requested by an anon but I recently finished watching 'Welcome to Samdal-ri' and it inspired me to write this healing story. Love that waits even after departure. i also wrote an essay about healing and love on substack. If you are interested to read, here's the link : Eassay

“yeah, i did,” you sheepishly admitted, “but i was kind of hoping we take it slow, you know? like… let us review the basics first before we go to the boss level—like how about taking a nude picture with a polaroid first and not your dick inside my mouth while we’re taking pictures in this photo booth that releases the film strip outside, babe.” you stressed.

jimin laughed, fishing some coins inside his pocket while you did the same. “if you don’t want to do it, it’s okay. i still want to take a photo with you right here though. the bartender kept reminding over the mic that they’re going to get rid of this photo booth next month.”

“what? for real?”

“yep. but they’re just going to replace it with a new one.”

“but this is the photo booth where we had our first kiss.”

“i know, that’s why i wanted a picture of your lips on my cock through this photo booth too.”

you hit him lightly with the back of your palm and he laughed again, louder that time around.

it was just two years ago when the both of you indeed had your first kiss in this photo booth as you claimed. it all happened in one swift go, with you and jimin dating for over two months then, and as he urged you to go take a photo with him there as a keepsake, he pulled the cheeky move of quickly saying that ‘don’t get mad at me for this’ seconds away from the last picture being taken before grabbing your chin and kissing you, your expression surprised initially but just as the camera clicked and took the shot, the final product showed you smiling with a hand on his shoulder as his was on your jaw.

jimin fixed his hair through the reflection of the screen. “so, do you want to do it or are you really hoping we do level 1 first with the polaroid?” he copied your words with a smirk. “if you’re not comfy with the idea really, we don’t have to.”

you frowned, conflicted. “but this might be the only chance i might do it. i drank a little too much, you know.”

“you did.”

“i have enough liquid courage to suck your dick in front of the lens.”

“babe,” he chuckled, groaning, “the more you’re talking like that, the more i’m getting harder at this moment.”

you sent him a dirty look. “you’re such a pervert.”

“but it’s so sexy,” he whined in defense, sneaking a kiss on your cheek, mouth brushing against your ear as he whispered his next words, “just the thought of your mouth around it, with the camera getting that photo, and then just the thought of anyone seeing it outside… fuck.” he faced forward again and threw his head back with a sigh. “i’m gonna cum the second i feel your tongue on my cock, i swear.”

you snickered. “you’re kinda drunk too, aren’t you?”

“i drank a lot, but that doesn’t mean anything since i have a higher tolerance than you, so it’s more like i’m just a bit tipsy.”

you rolled your eyes. “show off.”

“weakling.”

you both laughed and with a deep breath, you proceeded on counting the coins in your palm, asking for some more from jimin when it wasn’t enough, and finally began inserting them inside the intended slot without much of another thought, your declared liquid courage doing its job and giving you the nerves to just go ahead and do it. after all, doing something quite obscene and yet thrilling was one of the things you wanted to do before you died as you told jimin, and him, being a naturally curious and fantasy-filled boyfriend, was more than willing to give you a few ideas, with this obviously piquing your interest the most.

his eyes shot up as the robotic female voice started talking. “wait, are we going to do it?” he sounded giddy, his lips now turned up in a grin.

you gave him a smirk, your insides flipping in anxiety and in anticipation. “should i do it on the last shot?”

“how about you do it in all the shots?”

“all the shots?” you repeated.

jimin was unzipping his pants, standing up and hastily pulling his cock out which when you suddenly took sight of, was truly erect like he has been complaining about. you blinked, surprised, and you knew you were getting aroused, especially at the manner that jimin gave it a few strokes, spreading the existing precum all over the base. you instinctively kneeled down in front of him, mentally preparing yourself for what you were going to do.

the female voice spoke after a short pause and stated that the first picture was going to be taken in ten seconds. “10… 9—”

“put on a show for me, baby,” he said and you looked up, your hand helplessly going to his shaft. god, you didn’t think you could pull it off; your confidence was deteriorating—but jimin continued talking, and your pussy clenched because of his encouragement, further turning you on. “you’ll see how fucking hot you always look when you’re on your knees like this for me then,” he said.

your face burned.

“—6… 5… 4—”

“maybe someone else might even see how hot you look too,” he abruptly added with a smirk, fingers grazing through your hair as he guided your mouth towards him.

“get ready!”

the first photo was taken with your face up, staring at jimin, and your hand holding his cock; the second showed you with the tip partially inside your mouth, poking the inside of your cheek as you dared to gaze at the lenses as it did, your lids shaped in what your boyfriend would describe as ‘bedroom eyes’; the third displayed you gripping his shaft up, your mouth facing the camera still as you sucked his balls; and for the last one, you were once again tilting your face high, your tongue out with the tip of his dick laying on the surface, your mouth clearly grinning and your hand resting against his thigh, nails slightly digging on his flesh.

needless to say, a few seconds after the ending picture was captured, jimin came in your mouth, biting his lower lip harshly when he did to prevent himself from shouting out in pleasure. you pumped him as fast as you could, milking him dry and swallowing every bit of his load, your eyes full of tears—some even falling down on the sides of your cheeks before you leaned back and gasped, quickly getting your handkerchief to discard the mess you made all over your chin.

“now it’s time to pick up your photo.”

jimin pulled his boxers up and pants, zipping it close and then peeked outside the photo booth, his arm reaching past the curtains as well to get the film strip swiftly. he didn’t want some sicko getting it first since other than the fact that you would absolute hate that, jimin was itching and so excited to see the final result.

“fucking hell,” he cursed, analyzing the four pictures thoroughly, glancing at you with a grin, “you sure this is the first time you’ve done this?” he sat down beside you again and presented the strip to you.

you snorted, your heart racing and your heat undeniably wet from what just commenced, that having a glimpse of the explicit photos that were taken of you sucking jimin’s dick right now—it definitely didn’t help your still aroused state from decreasing. instead, it heightened it due to the erotic nature of the film and this sense of pride you were feeling for not giving a fuck when it came to doing something as risqué as that, jimin kissing your temple as he brought an arm around your shoulder.

“i’m keeping this,” you said, snatching it from his fingertips and jimin was quick to frown, “since i did all the work.”

“but i was the one being worked on! obviously, this would have a far greater purpose if it was handed to me.”

“so?” you chuckled, pecking his lips lovingly when he faced you. “maybe you can just eat me out and i’ll take a polaroid shot of you doing that—then, i can consider trading.”

jimin huffed in amusement, his hand dragging your face towards him so he could kiss you passionately. both of your highs were still present, caged in your systems as nothing was understood to be finished just yet until the two of you were 100% satisfied. you kissed him back with the same fervor, moaning in want of him, your arms going around his neck to pull him closer, to press his body against yours as near as it could.

“actually… why don’t we just do that in the bathroom and i can film you with my phone as a substitute for now,” you murmured all of the sudden.

he raised his eyebrows, hauling his head back. “yeah? you’re into that now too, huh?”

“you’d be so hot.”

he laughed. “who’s the pervert between us again?”

you giggled, untangling yourself from him and standing up, grasping his hand and leading him to the single restroom of the crowded restobar, abandoning your friends at your table for the rest of the night who already guessed that you and jimin were somewhere fooling around, as what you really did almost every time when things were being too much fun.

note. i made this drabble bc of the jimin weverse film strip and tHAT FILM STRIP OF JIMIN TOO IN THE PAST WHERE HE WAS TAKING HIS CLOTHES OFF- SJAKSJH pls,, i feel the need to cleanse myself after this for thinking of something as dirty as this lmao

thank you for reading & feedback is always appreciated ! ♡(ˆ‿ˆԅ)

He had been teasing you all day. It drove you nuts. Yes he was needy but, for you, it was embarrassing.

Sitting at a restaurant for lunch with his friends would’ve gone fine if he wasn’t constantly teasing your thighs. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He wants you to get mad at him. He loves when you’re angry.

~~~

“Jimin, what was that about?!” You asked quite annoyed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, jagiya.” He replied with a smile while locking the front door. “What did I do?”

You know what he wanted. So you sighed and went to the bedroom to change.

Perfect. He thought.

Jimin followed behind you and as you pulled off your shirt, he hugged you from behind.

“What are you doing?!” You said, obviously startled.

“What are you talking about baby?” He laughed while pulling on your bra strap and letting it snap back on your skin. “I’m just hugging my girlfriend.”

You winced as he pulled the strap and let it retract again. He’s really testing your patience.

Once he grabbed you over the crochet of your pants, you realized the game he wants to play; it’s one of his favorite scenes.

“What are you doing, baby? Did I say you could do that?” You said while gripping onto his wrist as he unzipped your jeans.

“I’m just touching my girlfriend.” He smirked while slipping his hand in you pants, only for you to squeeze his wrist.

“Don’t be a pervert…”

But he ignored that, opting to use his other hand before you pushed him off.

“Pervert!”

“And?!” He taunted while getting close to your face.

You delivered a hash slap to his cheek. Pausing for a moment to gage his reaction. Sure he likes this stuff you felt like that was a pretty hard hit.

But he reacted just as expected. Smiling deviously at the accelerating action. He loved it.

“Again… do it again, bitch…” he said while panting.

“What a little pain slut…” you said with a chuckle while grabbing him by the chin and pushing him back to sit on the bed.

“And?”

“You want more?” You scoffed while pulling him by the hair. “You’ve been nothing but a dirty pervert today.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Well perverts get punished, of course.” You shook you head and slapped him again before pushing him on his back.

You let your legs free from the jeans and got on top of him, sitting right at his waist. You leaned in and started kissing him. Jimin kissed right back and moaned as you lightly tugged his hair so that you could dominate with your tongue.

He gripped on tight to your ass, his nails practically digging in from over the fabric of your underwear, hoping to get a reaction.

“Let go of me Jimin.” You grunted as you slowly grinded your hips into his clothed cock.

“Make me~”

With one hand you pulled his hair back and the other you positioned it around his throat, lightly squeezing.”

“Come again?”

“Make me.” He gasped with a devilish smile.

You let go of him, moving down to lower his boxers. Without warning, you took hold of his cock and he practically cried out.

“Aw what is it, baby?” You teased. “Can’t handle a little touch?”

“Agh… fuck…” he moaned softly while throwing his head back, his hands clawed at the sheets and and he moved his waist, only for you to lightly tap his cock when it hardened.

A high pitched moan echoed in the room as you did that and Jimin had his eyes closed while biting his lip.

“Fuck… doitagain-… hurt me-…” he panted while babbling slurred sentences. “Hurme… fuh-fuckin bitch-…”

“Oh like this?” You gripped on tight to his hard cock and started jerking him off, at a fairly fast pace.

He whined at the feeling , eyes rolled back as he let out unfiltered noises.

You knew he was close to coming and immediately let go. He cried out in annoyance while you quickly lowered your panties. He was about to complain before you suddenly sank onto his throbbing cock, making him cum almost instantly.

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck y/n—!” He gasped before you pulled him up and pulled his hair so that you can suck hickeys on his neck.

It was all so overwhelming for him as he was still inside you and you keep pulling his hair for access to his neck.

Every time you’d move, even a little, he’d let out a whimper and tried holding onto you.

“Are you done, baby?” You whispered against his neck. “Are you done being a perv…?”

When he didn’t answer right away, you nipped at his neck, practically stunning him.

“Yes!”

“Hm?”

“yes!” he pleaded.

Your boyfriend held on tight to your hips and started grinded you against him. You let out breathy moans as your eyes rolled back. Jimin couldn’t help laughing while watching you lose yourself. Your mind was foggy and all you could focus on was getting that high. Although your boyfriend was already moving you, he loved as it seemed your hips had a mind of their own.

You threw your head back when coming and slumped forward as your energy was gone.

Then some rapid movements in the water make you halt your steps. You turn your head to look at the ocean, seeing nothing at first, but bright blue scales catch your eyes.

Your heartbeat accelerates, your brain already thinking you're in some sort of danger. Are you?

Unexpectedly, a head comes out of the water, looking very much like a young man. You lose your balance and fall on your butt out of surprise, eyes widening as the person swims to you with a grace you've never seen in a human before.

It's like the water parts for him, letting him go everywhere he wants. He seems so majestic, his pink hair wet, some strands dangling in front of his eyes and sticking to the side of his face.

As he comes closer to the beach, you notice he has a beautiful pair of full lips and high cheekbones, being the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on. His perfect structured face isn't the only thing you notice; you also see his blue fish tail, his scales shining brightly.

Half human, half fish.

A siren.

"Hi." A sweet smile appears on his lips, eyes scanning your form from head to toe until coming back to your face.

"Hi..." You stutter, still not quite believing there's really a siren in front of you, talking to you as if this is a completely normal encounter.

His smile transforms into a grin, finding funny how scared you seem to be, yet still curious enough to stay here. He lays down, leaning onto his elbows, showing his really defined chest, the muscles of his biceps bulging slightly.

You gulp, watching his tail flap against the water, reminding you of how humans would sometimes kick their feet in the air while lying on their stomach.

"I'm Jimin, what's your name?" He asks and you're baffled at how soft his voice sounds, so sultry and flirty, but still manly, his tone deeper than yours. You tell him your name, still bashfully stuttering, face on fire. "What a pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Thank you," you reply, sounding almost like a whisper at how low you speak, but he still hears you, somehow. Perhaps his hearing is really sharper than humans.

"What are you doing here alone, pretty thing?" He questions, his teasing grin still plastered on his face. "You seem a bit ... fearful," he chuckles, his eyes looking at you playfully for some reason.

You shake your head, getting back up on your feet. You're not wearing any sandals, liking how the sand feels when you walk on it. "Just... Just taking a walk," you answer him, "I'm a bit surprised, that's all," you laugh nervously, wiping the grains of sand off your white sundress.

"Never seen a siren before, I suppose?"

"Not really," you faintly smile, agreeing with him.

"Not really?"

"Well, I've seen movies about mermaids... Heard legends, stories," you explain to him, stepping close to the edge of the water without realizing it — to his great pleasure.

"Mermaids are boring," he smirks, "Sirens are way better, don't you think?" He flirts and it does something to you. It's nice talking to him, you think.

You don't really know the difference, to be honest, but you agree, nonetheless. "I guess so."

"You're a good guesser," he flirts again and he does it so well, it's nice, really pleasing. "Why don't you come closer, hm? Wanna take a closer look at your beautiful face," he proposes, but suddenly something feels off. You don't know what exactly.

"R-Really?" You question, frowning your brows, a bit hesitant. Jimin isn't dangerous, nobody as pretty as him would ever hurt you, right?

"Yes," he breathes out, "Wanna know what colour are your eyes."

You nibble on your bottom lip, stepping closer to him, feeling the wet sand under your naked feet. The cold water touches your toes, standing inches away from Jimin.

But then, without suspecting anything, he grips one of your ankles and pulls harshly on it, making you fall backward. You let out a scream, hearing your heart beating loudly in your chest, ready to come out.

You try to crawl away, but he pulls you back with his tight hold on your leg, bringing you up to him. "W-What... What are you- Stop!" You yell, feeling betrayed, feeling trapped.

He manages to position you right in front of him, your thighs on either side of his head. "Do you know how much I crave the sweet taste of a pussy?" He tells you while holding your legs apart, your white dress now wet and transparent, the bump of your cunt covered by your baby blue panties.

You attempt to fight again, but he's way stronger than you. You start to cry, too vulnerable to not show your emotions.

"It's hard these days to get my hands on a little female human like you." His eyes are strained down on your covered core, his hands coming to get you rid of your flimsy pair of panties, throwing it away on the sand. "Not a lot of girls go on a walk on this part of the island. I must be lucky," he softly laughs, his hot breath fanning across your now naked pussy.

He looks at you, licking his lips like he's about to devour his meal. And that's pretty much what he's going to do. Eat you out till you can't think straight anymore.

"Sirens don't have that cute little thing," he says while passing his fingers through your folds, feeling a bit of your wetness. "They're not docile and innocent like you... They're not soft and warm," he purrs, grinning maliciously.

He traces the plush of your inner thighs and goes up to your tummy, feeling how hot your skin feels. It isn't as smooth as his own, but that's how he likes it. He loves the patch of hair on your cunt, it makes you even more adorable.

"Bet your little pussy tastes as sweet as you sound, pretty thing," he compliments, the hands laying on your hips making you shiver.

It's all he says before he dives in, burying his head between your thighs. His pink muscle toys with your clit, his index and middle finger playing with your slicks, spreading your arousal over your pussy.

The pads of his fingers dip into your hole, loving how wet you are already. He flickers your little bud with his tongue, eliciting high moans out of you, making you squirm under him, fingers sinking into the brown sand.

He flattens his tongue over your clit — keeping it kind of soft, not too sturdy — then moves it from side to side to create good friction. Your moans resemble screams, parting your legs wider unconsciously, bucking your hips upwards onto his face.

He groans lowly against your pussy, the sound coming from his throat, sending tingly vibrations through your body. The material of your dress is sticking to your skin, your nipples hard and perky, breasts falling on each side of your torso due to your lying down position.

The next thing he does makes your eyes roll back into your skull. He wraps his plump lips around your bud of nerves, sucking it avidly. It all feels ten times more intense when he circles your dripping entrance with the pad of his finger, teasing your pussy, feeling your hole quivering pathetically.

He senses your urge to be filled up entirely, be stuffed full of cock, but he unfortunately can't ease this desire of yours. Not at the moment, at least, he tells himself.

That might be the only reason he wishes he was human, sometimes. He's always wanted to be able to be inside of a woman, make her orgasm this way, feel her clench around him. Maybe if he trades his tail for legs, but he doubts life on earth will satisfy him as much as life underwater does.

You soon cum on his tongue, thighs shaking beside his head, pink muscle lapping at your sensitive clit to drive you off your high. You softly moan his name, probably in the sweetest tone he's ever heard a girl say it before.

After that, he doesn't waste anytime to lift your dress over your chest, immediately taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You cry at the new sensation — a bit too much for you and your tolerance, but it's not like you have the strength to push him off.

You feel his scales touching your thighs, his abdomen laying over yours. You let him play with you, this being clearly more pleasuring to him than to you. It does feel good, but Jimin is the most satisfied one with the situation, obviously.

He lets go of your tits to hover over you, looking into your eyes, as if searching for something — an answer, a decision. He wants you, wants more, but it isn't possible.

"We'll see each other again, pretty thing," he promises, his breath hitting your skin, giving a warm kiss to your cheek.

he passes a hand through his bleached hair, an elongated 'ah' of pleasure escaping his mouth followed by a hiss. his eyes are staring at the artificial pussy, bucking up his hips with his heels sunk into the cushions of the couch, watching his cock thrusting up into his fleshlight.

it makes some wet, squelching noises as he fucks his toy, moaning out at how good it feels, at how his dick slides in so smoothly — so perfectly. jimin likes it a lot, maybe more than his hand squeezing his cock, his foreskin following the movements of his palm when he jerks himself off.

he really likes it, it's so wet and tight, but he has to admit he misses the warmth of a real cunt. nothing can beat that, of course, however his fleshlight is a good alternative when he feels like playing with himself a little bit like right now.

he keeps fucking his fleshlight, staring at the way his engorged cock disappears then reappears as he moves the toy up and down, more wet noises echoing in the room.

he has to stop for a short moment, adding more lube, starting again as soon as his head enters the artificial pussy. he moans, hissing and breathing loudly, chest glistening in sweat. he feels it building up in his stomach, his high quickly approaching.

"ah-" he chokes out, "fuck." he groans, slipping out and watching his cock spurting out thick and long ropes of cum, landing on his tummy.

his hand holding his fleshlight falls to his side, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. he darts his tongue out to lick his dried plump lips, coming down from his orgasm.

The humming – which you've learned Jungkook resorts to whenever he's feeling stressed – is cut off by a groan. 

"No, it's fine." 

You hear Jungkook clicking his mouse before the screen next to yours goes dark.

"I know that this workshop would improve my skill set but I'm not sure how to convince Mr. Shin of the same thing. For a company that's always pushing improvement and development, they sure hate to invest in it." 

"Tell me about it," You let out a quiet snort. "You know I had to beg Mr. Shin for months just let me attend a three-hour seminar the higher-ups had recommended for all the marketing employees." 

You see a mop of brown hair fall to the desk in your periphery, Jungkook letting out another upset sound. You give him a half-hearted pat on the back, quickly turning back to your proposal. 

"I'm hungry," Jungkook whines.

"And I'm not done yet," You reply as you drag your pen across another important section. 

"But it's officially lunchtime–" Jungkook goes silent for a beat as he picks up his phone, staring at the clock until it hits noon on the dot, "- right now! It won't make a difference if you hand in that proposal now or in an hour, you know Mr. Shin never looks at anything until after he's had his lunch."

"I can feel my body growing weaker with every passing second, Y/n, my vision is getting blurry, I can't feel my toes–" 

You roll your eyes as Jungkook dramatically slips off his chair, sinking to the floor between your desks. You place your pen down with a sigh, turning your head to find him already staring at you with wide, pleading eyes. 

"Are you really that hungry?" 

"Starving," Jungkook nods solemnly.

You spare your almost-finished proposal another glance. You know that Jungkook is right but the perfectionist in you hates to leave anything longer than you have to. Still, what difference will an hour make?

"Fine," You concede as you put your pen down, "Let's go get lunch." 

Jungkook lets out a victorious sound as he springs to his feet. He barely lets you grab your wallet before he pulls you out of your seat, throwing an arm around your shoulder to steer to toward the elevator before you can change your mind.

"So, what's the special today?" You ask as you both cram yourself into the open elevator, Jungkook's beefy frame providing some extra leeway from the other workers. You truly have no clue how his business casual attire has made it this long without ripping at the seams, you swear he's only getting more muscular with every passing week. 

"Pork belly," He gives you a sheepish smile.

"That explains the dramatics," You shake your head, smiling back at him.

You both hurry out of the elevator when it reaches the floor of the cafeteria, not wanting to get stuck in line behind everyone else. You pout as what must be a leopard hybrid slips past you, their natural gait so quick you only really catch sight of the tip of their black tail as they round the corner into the cafeteria. You and Jungkook are just regular old humans, so there is no competition there. 

As soon as you both have your food, with Jungkook's plate stacked so high you're worried it might topple over as you make your way through the cafeteria, you scan the crowd for a familiar set of antlers. You give Hoseok a bright smile as you spot him at an empty table, the deer hybrid is always quicker than the two of you to get out of his duties and grab a table. 

"There are my overachievers!" Hoseok greets you as you both take a seat. "Lunch started exactly seven minutes ago, why are you so late?" 

Jungkook lets out a sigh as he gets comfortable next to Hoseok, his chopsticks already loaded with meat as he says, "Y/n is working on another proposal." 

"Ah," Hoseok nods his head as if that explains everything, his reddish-brown hair bobbing along with the motion.

You childishly stick out your tongue, ignoring their laughter as you take a bite of your food. You don't mind their little jabs because you know they're right. You are an overachiever, but that's simply because you like what you do and you take pride in your work. It makes you happy when the ideas you've worked hard on get approved and implemented. 

"I do admire your work ethic, Y/n," Hoseok points out as he stuffs a lettuce wrap full of vegetables into his mouth. "I just don't relate. I'm only here for that sweet, sweet paycheck I get at the end of the month." 

Jungkook gives Hoseok a high-five. 

"Let me guess, you're only here to fund your figurine collection?" You raise an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.

"You know me so well," Jungkook shoots you a finger heart, one you quickly redirect in Hoseok's direction with a swipe of your hand.

Jungkook lets out an affronted gasp as Hoseok snatches it up, clutching his hand to his chest as he mutters, "That's so mean. I'm never going to give you another finger heart ever again."

"That's fine by me, keep them for your waifus," You bicker back. 

Jungkook ducks as Hoseok laughs, the deer hybrid's antlers getting dangerously close to his face as Hoseok leans to the side. There's a reason you tend to sit across from Hoseok and not next to him - your reflexes aren't as good as Jungkook's. 

Hoseok's giggles taper off into an amused expression as he looks towards the cafeteria entrance, "Hm, there's certainly one person in this company that can relate to your ambitious nature."

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes immediately locking on to the person he was referring to. The other employees in the cafeteria part like the red sea as Park Jimin makes his way through the room, their expressions awed as they take in the hybrid's dashing looks. Today, Jimin's deep dark blue hair is swept to the side, revealing his unblemished skin and pretty features. His large wings are folded behind his back, the blue feathers showing off their purple tint whenever the sun hits them just right. All that to say, you think the most striking part about Jimin might be his violet-colored eyes. There's something about the color that just makes his gaze feel so intense – captivating, almost. 

"Come to think of it, the two of you would be perfect for each other!" 

Your attention snaps back to Hoseok so fast you hear something in your neck pop. You scowl at him, kicking his shin under the table as you hiss, "Do you secretly hate me or something? Don't ever suggest something like that again."

Hoseok throws his hands up in the air, confused.

"I'm sorry? I just figured you might enjoy being workaholics together, gods know Park is just as bad as you are."

"Hyung," Jungkook shakes his head, "Trust me, you do not want to see the two of them together in the same room. Just based on the tone of the emails they exchanged last year during a project, it's obvious they're not compatible. At all. I thought Y/n was going to break her keyboard in two with how hard she was hitting the keys every time she had to reply to him." 

The reminder makes you huff, your chopstick stabbing into a piece of pork belly with vengeance. You had tried to be courteous at first, to collaborate with him in a friendly manner fit for work, but it hadn't taken many exchanges before you realized that Park Jimin didn't deserve that. His emails oozed with cockiness and he always presented his ideas as if they were something you had already agreed on, instead of something to be considered. What you detested the most about that project was that Jimin's proposal was eventually picked over yours. The gloating smile he flashed you during the final meeting still makes your blood boil even now. 

"Oh, my bad," Hoseok grimaces, dropping the subject as he takes note of the displeasure on your face.

You sigh, turning to pick up a napkin as your gaze subconsciously seeks out Jimin in the room. He's made his way over to a table with what must be co-workers from his and Hoseok's department, his eyes forming crescent moons as he grins at something that's said.

You don't manage to look away before Jimin glances up and locks eyes with you. His expression turns smug as he catches you staring, his hand reaching out to cover the female employee's fingers that are curled around his arm. He says something that makes her swoon, her loud giggles carrying across the room. 

Your stomach sours as you watch them blatantly flirt, annoyed with how Jimin seems to have no decorum in general when it comes to work. Even the company couples know to keep it professional during office hours. 

You roll your eyes, turning back to watch Jungkook shovel the last of his meal into his mouth. 

With your appetite officially gone, you dap the napkin to your lips, scowling as you say, "I'd rather quit my job than ever work with him again." 

Shortly after lunch is over, you finally put the last touches on your proposal, ready to go hand it in. You look over the pages one final time, making sure they're all in order and neatly lined up before you slip them into a clear folder. Just as you place your hands on your desk, ready to push yourself up from your chair, the door to Mr. Shin's office unexpectedly opens. 

He claps his hands twice to get the attention of the department, the office falling silent as they all turn their eyes and ears to him. 

"Everyone, I require your attention for a moment."

You relax back down into your chair as Mr. Shin walks further into the office, making sure he's visible to all the employees who are scattered around. He glances at his watch, smiling to himself before he explains, "As of last month, it was decided that the company will be testing out a new work system where employees from certain departments will be moved around to promote better in-house collaboration. This will hopefully bring some new and fresh ideas to our projects and we hope to see your creativity and motivation flourish as a result." 

"We will be welcoming the top worker from the development department, one I am sure will bring a valuable new perspective to our team. Mr. Park, if you will–" 

A terrible feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as Park Jimin strides into the room, a perfectly pleasant smile painted on his deceitful face as he takes his place next to Mr. Shin. Jimin takes his time looking around the room, sharing smiles and soft greetings with the workers closest to him. His violet eyes seem to zero in on you when he finds your desk on the other side of the office, the wings behind his back ruffling slightly. You can only assume it means that he's as annoyed as you are to be sharing the same department.

You can feel your lips twisting into a scowl as you glance back at Mr. Shin, the older man smiling so brightly at Jimin you would almost think he hung the sun in the sky every morning.

"Wonderful! As you know, we have a new big project coming up and I previously asked you all to submit your proposals for how we should best promote this new venture. Although I'm sure you've all been working hard on your ideas so far, I can tell you now that you may scratch that task off your list."

You suck in a small breath, your fingers tightening around the folder in your grip. There's no way Mr. Shin has done something so unfair, it must be about something different–

"Mr. Park had a fantastic proposal, one I believe will take this project to new heights, so I would like to announce that his ideas have been chosen and that we are all in good hands with this new addition to our team." 

Your gaze involuntarily flickers back to Jimin as applause breaks out in the office. The bird hybrid doesn't seem to have looked away from you at all and that self-assured, cocky smile blooms on his lips as he no doubt sees the defeat on your face. 

You don't think you've ever despised a person more than you do Park Jimin. 

Jimin's taunting eyes are momentarily blocked from view as Mr. Shin goes to shake his hand, the rest of the office using it as their opportunity to go greet (or flirt with) their new team member. You look away, finding Jungkook staring at you with a slightly horrified expression.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry, I really didn't think that hour would make a difference," He pleads.

"It's not your fault, this must've already been decided a few days ago," You answer, trying your best to keep the annoyance out of your voice. Jungkook didn't do anything wrong after all.

With a sigh, you throw away your proposal, already knowing you're going to have to pick up a bottle of wine on the way home to keep yourself in check. Crying all night over a wasted proposal is out of the question, especially since you know Jimin would probably gloat about it if he ever found out.

"But if you do feel bad, I wouldn't mind something from your stash," You pout.

Jungkook scrambles to open his secret candy drawer, the one he always keeps locked whenever he steps away from his desk. For a man who works out so religiously, he sure has a terrible sweet tooth. 

You give him a soft thank you as he hands you one of your favorite bars of chocolate.

You sink in your chair, biting into the bar in hopes that the sweet taste will overpower some of the bitterness coating your tongue as you hear Jimin's airy laughter fill the room, the hybrid already more at home than you've ever felt in this department.

Tapping your foot, you internally groan over how slow the office printer is spitting out your papers. 

Your day already got off on the wrong foot. Turns out that drinking a whole bottle of wine by yourself was a bad idea on a weekday and it was with a splitting headache that you had to get dressed in a rush and sprint to get to your commute on time. With no time left for coffee before having to clock in, you've been left to nurse your pounding head down to a dull ache with just some water and aspirin graciously provided to you by Jungkook.

Safe to say, you're not having a good time today.  

So, it comes as no surprise that the printer suddenly decides to jam, the machine whirling loudly as it tries to unclog the stuck paper.

"Fuck, you have to be kidding me," You curse under your breath as you give the machine a frustrated kick. Could your day get any worse?

"Careful, Y/n, or I might have to report you to HR for destruction of property."

The sound of Park Jimin's voice right behind you makes you jump, your surprise causing you to whirl around so fast your own feet can't keep up. Jimin grabs your arm as you stumble back, his hold just enough to keep you from crashing right into the printer.

"Shit, I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?" 

It's the genuine worry in Jimin's voice that makes you glance at his face, his delicate features twisted with concern as he looks you over. You find yourself a little dumbstruck seeing Jimin up close for the first time, the words not leaving your mouth as you take all of him in. His violet eyes feel endless as you look into them, the darker hues around his iris creating an absolutely mesmerizing color. As Jimin shifts his weight, you notice for the first time that there are a few scattered feathers slicked back with the rest of his hair. The texture is just slightly noticeable nestled between his blue locks, the color just as deep as his wings. 

It's the sound of hushed murmurs that remind you of where you are, your arm still securely held in Jimin's warm grip. It's impossible to glance over Jimin's shoulder with how high the curve of his wings are, but a quick look around them confirms that you're being watched by two female employees. The pair of them have been following Jimin around all day, disrupting your workflow with their high-pitched giggles whenever he spared them an ounce of attention.

It's obvious that they're not happy that Jimin is talking to you and not them. So yes, it turns out that your day could, in fact, get worse. You have no intention of attracting their ire and certainly not because of Park Jimin. 

"I'm fine," You reply, shaking off his hand, "I'll go call IT for help." 

Jimin's feathers rustle uneasily as you move to walk back to your desk, his gaze traveling between you and the printer before his face suddenly lights up. 

"There's no need for that, Y/n, I'll fix it for you."

The cocky smile he sends you way makes a shiver travel down your spine, the spot on your arm still warm from where he held it. To Jimin's credit, he does seem to know what he's doing. It only takes a minute of him opening a panel before the printer stops complaining and whirls back to life, the rest of your papers slowly being pumped out onto the tray at the other end. 

Jimin dusts his hand off, smiling proudly as he says, "There you go." 

You collect your papers as the last one gets spit out, very aware that Jimin hasn't made a move to go back to his desk yet. You turn to face him, sighing internally as you see the expectant look on his face.

"... Thank you," You tersely say. 

Jimin's chest seems to puff out a little at that. His expression turns smug as he leans in a little closer, the tone of his voice flirtatious as he asks, "If you're feeling thankful, maybe you can buy me lunch? I would be more than happy to accept." 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, you should've known that his ulterior motive would be to humiliate you more. You'd bring him to lunch and then what? He would probably talk your ear off about how much better he is and how his proposal was picked over yours – that he's more qualified for your job than you are.

You give him an unimpressed look back, gesturing to the two whispering employees as you say, "I'll pass. It seems your fan club is waiting for you and more than willing to buy you all the food your heart desires." 

Walking off before Jimin can reply, you ignore the dirty looks the women send you as you pass them by, your sights set on your desk. 

It turns out that today might be a perfect day for checking out that café Jungkook found on the other side of town, after all. 

With each passing day, you're becoming more and more confident that the universe is out to get you. 

It's only been a week since Jimin was transferred to your department but somehow, it has felt like a year. The hybrid is always within your line of sight and the gaggle of people following him around are really starting to disrupt your work and get on your nerves. Not even Jungkook's gentle singing is enough to drown out the constant hushed gossip and giggles echoing across the floor anymore.

You sink into your chair with a sigh, vexed by how you couldn't even escape Jimin's presence in the bathroom. The other women washing their hands and touching up their makeup couldn't stop gushing about how handsome and sweet and utterly kind he was – you almost felt a little bad that they had been so fooled by his faux persona.

Cunning and infuriating would be much more fitting adjectives to describe him with. 

"I think you got an email earlier," Jungkook mumbles, his eyes set on his computer screen. His brows are furrowed with concentration as he types out his workshop request. It seems that with Mr. Shin's increasingly happy mood now that Jimin's around, Jungkook has decided he might as well try to get it approved.

"Thanks."

You click on the blinking icon at the corner of your screen, and a tiny flash of hope surges through you as you notice the sender. Maybe Mr. Shin changed his mind about Jimin's proposal, or maybe he has something else for you to work on, something that will take you far, far away from the office–

Disbelief quickly crushes that sliver of hope as you read through Mr. Shin's email. He wants you to help Jimin. Apparently, some of the preliminary ideas you submitted to your supervisor ahead of your proposal would be a great asset to the new project, and Mr. Shin believes that sharing them with Jimin will strengthen the department's teamwork. 

Grinding your teeth, you find the old files and send them to print, holding yourself back from writing an unsavory reply that would most definitely get you fired. You can't believe you're being asked to help the enemy, the same man who snubbed you of the chance to even hand in your proposal in the first place. 

"I don't want to interact with him," You groan, rubbing your forehead. 

"Who?" Jungkook asks.

"Who do you think?" You deadpan, giving his chair a light kick.

"Well–" Jungkook lifts his glance away from his screen, craning his neck to peer over the divider. "He's not at this desk right now so if you hurry, you won't have to talk to him at all." 

You didn't notice it before, but the office has been suspiciously quiet for the past ten minutes, completely void of the hushed giggles that seem to accompany Jimin. Following Jungkook's lead, you slowly get out of your seat, glancing around the floor to make sure the hybrid is nowhere in sight.

Finding everything clear, you hurry over to the printer, thankful that it has decided to cooperate for once. Grabbing your papers, you beeline for Jimin's desk, hoping to drop them off and get out of there as quickly as possible. Just as you're about to slam the papers down and be done with it, the state of Jimin's desk freezes you in your tracks.

Everything is blue. All the supplies that could possibly be personalized – his pens, sticky notes, keyboard, mouse, even a small potted plant – are all in varying shades of blue. You can only deduce that it's a hybrid thing, something that has to do with his specific species. Or, well, maybe he just really likes blue. Either way, it's certainly not what you were expecting. 

It's the ding of the elevator announcing its arrival that snaps you back into motion, the sound of flirty laughter carrying into the office as its doors begin to open. You hastily leave the files on the side of his desk, careful not to disturb the placement of his things before scurrying back to your side of the department floor. You take your seat just as Jimin waltzes back into the office, the usual group of women and men following him around. 

"You'd think he was a god or something," You roll your eyes.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, way too nonchalant as he says, "I mean, he is handsome enough to be one." 

You turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow as you say, "Jeon Jungkook, did you just compliment the enemy?"

Jungkook gives you a sheepish smile in return, flicking the ends of his hair as he replies, "Beauty recognizes beauty, Y/n, it can't be helped." 

"You're right," You smile, all sweet, "I guess it also can't be helped that I now only have one friend in this company. But since Hoseok doesn't enjoy meat, I guess I'll just how to throw out all of the delicious cuts I got for our monthly dinner tomorrow – what a shame."

"Wait, Y/n!–" Jungkook scrambles in his chair, dragging himself closer to your desk. "I was just joking, you know that right? Please don't throw away the meat." 

You stare him down for a second, narrowing your eyes before turning back to your screen. "We'll see."

Despite your less-than-great eyesight, even you know that Jungkook is right. It pains you to admit it, but Jimin is beautiful. Even so, Jungkook should know not to praise that handsome, winged demon right in front of you.

So, you ignore Jungkook's puppy eyes in favor of your work, giving him a taste of the betrayal you just felt. You can never feign being upset with him for long but ten minutes?

That you can do.

Though, you suppose you should have known that Jungkook wouldn't let you get away with threatening his precious meat. 

"Jungkook–"

You roll your eyes as Jungkook's pout deepens, his head turning away from you dramatically.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'll never joke around about pork belly ever again."

"Do you promise?" He huffs. 

Jungkook only turns to look at you once you promise that yes, you'll never do something like that ever again. His sunny demeanor is back the moment the words leave your lips, proving once again that you were right when you introduced him to Hoseok as a master manipulator. It's impossible to not feel like a monster when those doe eyes are staring at you with all the sadness in the world. 

You slowly begin to pack up your things as Jungkook chatters away about a new anime he's found, doing your usual steps as you log off and power down your computer. Just as you're about to clock out for the day, you hear your name being called from the other side of the floor. Getting out of your seat, you see Mr. Shin waving you over to his office, signaling that he wants to talk to you. 

"You should go ahead," You tell Jungkook as you leave your packed bag and coat at your desk. "I don't know how long this is going to take but I'll text you once I'm done."

"I'm holding you to that!" Jungkook wags his finger. 

You wave Jungkook goodbye for the day as you cross the floor, taking a deep breath to calm your sudden nerves. As you reach Mr. Shin's office, you softly clear your throat, pulling on your clothes to make sure you look presentable before knocking on his door. 

"Come in." 

You open the door as you hear Mr. Shin's muffled voice telling you to enter, the pleasant smile on your face faltering just the slightest as you notice that Park Jimin is already present.

"Sir, you called for me?"

Mr. Shin waves you closer to his desk, gesturing for you to take the seat next to Jimin. You keep your eyes forward, not daring to look at the hybrid lest you accidentally pull a face.

"Ah yes, it's about the new project. We reviewed the suggestions you proposed and decided that they would complement Park's ideas very well. With the spirit of department teamwork in mind, Mr. Park proposed that you would both work together on this project, sharing the responsibility."

"Oh, that's.." You trail off, not quite sure what to say. This was not what you envisioned when you entered the room.

You turn your head to look at Jimin, the bird hybrid sporting an unreadable expression. You can't tell if he's upset with the news or not – you can't imagine Park would be thrilled to be forced to spend time with you – but wait, did your supervisor say that–

"You asked for me?"

"Of course," Jimin nods, "It wouldn't be right to use your ideas without you on the team."

There's no trace of the usual cockiness you've come to associate with Jimin, nor any of that flirty demeanor. To your surprise, Jimin appears to be fully serious for once. 

"Right," You reply, at a loss for words. This was a twist you had not seen coming. 

"So, what do you say Miss Y/n? Would you like to collaborate with Mr. Park on this project?"

Frankly, working with Jimin is the last thing you want to do. But the fact that your ideas will be implemented in the project no matter if you're there to take credit for it or not, is what convinces you to jump head first into what's surely going to become your own personal hell for the next few months. 

You spare Jimin another glance, plastering on your best smile as you inform Mr. Shin that,

"I would love to, thank you for giving me this opportunity." 

The bird hybrid's chest puffs out minutely at your agreement, that sly smile returning to his lips.

You have no doubt that he has an ulterior motive for including you in his project. But no matter what Jimin decides to throw at you – you sure as hell won't be going down without a fight. 

a/n: welcome to this silly little fic! i've been wanting to write something more lighthearted for a while so this felt like the perfect story to do just that 💖 will the mc and jimin survive being stuck together for a project?? only time will tell (actually, you'll know in a few weeks lol)!

for the majority of the night, he does a great job at pretending that he’s not affected by how breathtaking you look and how even your subtle touches drive his brain to haywire. whenever you’re talking to him, he has to remind himself not to fixate on your mouth too much or appear like a lovesick fool either because if you noticed one of those things—you’d tease him to death, and that might make everything harder for him who’s already on the brink of giving in.

and fyi, he does give in to his inner desires at one point, pulling you along with him inside a guest room while a cousin of his is belting a song in karaoke, attracting all the attention of his relatives that gives him the opportunity to have you while everybody’s distracted.

“you’re crazy,” you tell him as he hungrily kisses you, a hand cupping your sex that makes you understand what his intentions are in leading you to the enclosed space. he only halts to stare at you, like he’s asking if you want him to continue, and when you’re the one who’s dragging his face down so he can carry on, he grins against your mouth, rubbing his fingers along your clothed entrance, groaning at how wet you are and how much he fucking wants to make you cum.

“can i eat you out?” he asks after he hears the first song being sang by his cousin ending, your back still pressed on the door with your dress being hiked higher by his clumsy hands. “been dreaming of tasting you since earlier, baby. you’re driving me nuts,” he adds.

you nod and he immediately falls on his knees, ducking his head under your dress and licking you through your panties. it’s erotic, it’s hot, it’s turning you on—and you’re doing the best you can to not make any alarming noises while he’s eating you out like a starved man, hauling your panties down to your knees in order to directly kiss your pussy.

you don’t last long. it doesn’t even take three minutes before you’re finishing above him, grabbing a fistful of his hair and shoving his face closer to your core, feeling the muscle of his tongue slide in and out as your thighs shake and your vision blurs in absolute pleasure. a third song in the karaoke plays, slightly bringing you back to your senses, and when he’s sure you’re done riding out the last waves of your orgasm, he stands up and kisses you on the mouth, letting you get a taste of yourself that heightens your need of him.

“your turn?” you ask, a hand already squeezing the tent evident on his pants but to your surprise, he shakes his head. he explains that his family will notice the two of you disappearing from the party; he starts insisting then that you can just continue where you left on once he drives you back home, teasingly stating that he won’t forget to remind you that you still owe him a small favor in return.

before he instructs you to leave the room first to avoid suspicion, he crouches down and helps you wear your undergarment again, smoothening your dress as well. he gives you a smile, a long kiss, and opens the door like a true gentleman, as if he isn’t the reason your legs are wobbly while you walk back to the living room area.

The aged, poorly maintained, yet honestly warm apartment seemed to exist outside of time; it also felt far too small for everyone gathered there.

The dim lights, stained by the warm orange glow of the lamps attached to the peeling, badly painted walls, turned the place into an old movie — one that would be praised, positively, for its cinematography — like an old recording forgotten on some VHS tape. At the same time, it could be considered a memory; the kind of flashbacks that usually happen in movies. It was exactly that.

Beer and soju bottles were scattered across the floor and the old wooden coffee table, exposing just how much alcohol inhabited the apartment, accompanied by crushed cans around the broken television. — There was no real need for the TV; it had no functionality anymore and served only as a peculiar decoration. — On the radio beside the bookshelf filled with comic books, an unfamiliar song played softly, too low for you to understand the lyrics; no one really cared, anyway.

The smell of cheap alcohol mixed with cigarettes and a distinctly woody cologne that someone — and you would bet your last coins on Namjoon — had clearly overdone this time, wrapped around the room.

Somehow, it comforted you, and you knew you would never be able to replace it with anything else; an inexplicable combination, yet impossible to forget. — You were more used to it than you probably should have been, and that was not hard to admit.

"Seriously..." — You muttered, amused. You lifted the beer bottle, nearly empty by now, to your lips, savoring the cheap drink as you sank deeper into the worn black leather couch; the tears in the leather lightly scratched against your thigh. Sometimes you thought about getting up, but you always abandoned the idea. — You could take off your jacket and place it beneath you to avoid the contact, but even that felt like too much effort.

"Wait, wait…”— Hearing your name called loudly and clearly, you turned toward the voice. Taehyung had appeared behind the couch, startling you, looking as though he was about to show you something in his hand. Before you had any chance to respond or scold him, he placed something on your head. — "This is perfect for you.”

A cowboy hat, which you touched immediately to confirm what it was, now rested on your head, drawing attention from everyone around you. The fit was surprisingly perfect; it neither squeezed nor irritated you, though judging by the smell, it had to be old. — You wondered who it had belonged to, and silently prayed that the previous owner was not dead. — When you tried to take it off, Taehyung stopped you, leaning in until he was face-to-face with you.

“Taehyung, this is ridiculous!” — You laughed, setting the bottle on the floor so your drink wouldn’t spill while you reached for the hat. Your friend’s hands adjusted the accessory, his fingers brushing lightly against your face. He took a few small steps backward, nearly tripping over the table, to examine you, like a film director admiring his masterpiece.

“Don’t say that.” — He placed a hand dramatically over his chest, pretending to be wounded by your comment. Pulling the sunglasses down from the top of his head, he formed a rectangle with his fingers, imitating a camera. — “You look like an actress from an old movie,” — He said. — “Like one of those western films!”

“He’s right…” — You hadn’t even noticed Jungkook standing near the table. He was holding a camera, and it looked like he had just turned it on. He had always liked documenting things, taking photographs of moments no one else thought to keep. — “Looks like you got the lead role in the Johnny Guitar remake,” He teased. Rolling your eyes at the reference, you left the hat on your head, accepting your new fate.

You were pretty sure you heard Chisa whistle at you flirtatiously, fanning herself dramatically as if she were trying to cool down from the heat.

It wasn’t that bad. Jungkook had taken a picture of you, becoming the first person to capture a photograph that night, and promised he would develop it as soon as possible. — In the end, he agreed that it suited you.

Still drinking, you watched Yoongi return from the balcony. He carried with him the scent of nicotine, grass, and damp earth; his green hair, a soft mint shade only slightly faded, fell into his eyes as he walked toward you. The oldest sat down beside you, closer than he usually did, without asking for permission or announcing himself. Your shoulder brushed against Yoongi’s, and neither of you moved away.

“So,” — Yoongi said, taking the bottle from your hand, your drink, and taking a sip. The smell of cigarette smoke still clung strongly to him, but it was tolerable. — “…does this mean you’ve become a Hollywood star?” — In response, you lifted the bottle after taking it back, using it as a toast. The green-haired man tugged the brim of your hat forward, briefly covering your eyes. — “Now all that’s missing is a horse knocking on the door.”

“Don’t start, Yoongi.”

For a brief moment — an indeterminate amount of time, though you were certain it had not lasted very long — both of you chose silence and comfort instead, preferring to listen to the chaos unfolding throughout the rest of the apartment.

Your friends were making the most of the night, acting as if there were no tomorrow; Hoseok and Chisa were laughing loudly about something Taehyung had said, while Jungkook photographed every moment, whether the picture would come out blurry or not. But as if the apartment itself remembered that someone was missing, your gaze slowly wandered across the room.

Jimin wasn’t there.

Not being completely sober, your eyes swept across the room, searching for him in every corner, but you couldn’t find your best friend. As far as you could remember, before you had been gifted the hat, he had been with Taehyung. Since then, you hadn’t seen him anywhere in the living room.

During your search, Yoongi noticed. — “I was coming back, and i ran into him in the hallway,” he informed you. “He went out to get some air.”

Right.

Without saying a word, you nodded in acknowledgment, but almost immediately, you felt something stir in your chest. It was strange, almost unfamiliar, and you had no desire to examine it too closely; it was probably just the alcohol talking. — Besides, your bottle was empty. You took the last sip that remained and decided that your alcohol quota for the night was officially over. — Lifting your eyes again, you noticed Jin leaning against the wall near the kitchen, talking to Namjoon. The oldest’s gaze met yours.

It was instantaneous.

Jin raised one eyebrow, as if in reprimand or perhaps just surprise and silently mouthed something in your direction. — It looked like "he’ll be back", though you weren’t particularly good at reading lips. — As you quickly looked away after being caught staring, Jin smiled to himself and returned to his conversation with Namjoon. Deep down, he knew there was something growing between you and the orange-haired boy.

Speak of the devil.

The balcony door opened quietly for the fourth time that night, revealing Jimin’s presence. He carried with him the scent of wet grass, though the familiar trace of his cologne still lingered strongly around him; irresistibly so. His hair was messy, the wind outside apparently much stronger than expected, and a few orange strands seemed even more vivid under the apartment’s warm lighting. — For a few seconds, he remained completely still, his fingers resting on the doorknob.

Jimin’s eyes found you immediately. You were the first thing he looked for when he stepped back into the apartment, as if he had been searching for you, too.

Still sitting on the couch, you wore the cowboy hat slightly tilted to the side, with the empty bottle resting against your knee. — After a moment, you set it down on the floor beside the end of the couch. — Your expression was a little unfocused, almost sleepy, though you were clearly fighting against it; a look Jimin knew better than anyone.

You laughed at something Yoongi was muttering under his breath, and the conversation seemed to continue for a while; the orange-haired boy found himself curious about what they were talking about. Trying to make sense of your words through lip-reading, Jimin managed to catch fragments that sounded like “things change” and “they always do.”

“Come on, man.” — Namjoon stepped in front of him, holding two cups that were probably filled with something much stronger than beer. The interruption pulled Jimin out of his thoughts and away from staring at you for too long. He accepted the drink from his friend.

“What?” — He asked after taking a sip, immediately noticing the overwhelming taste of alcohol. Jimin preferred beer; he had never been particularly close to other kinds of drinks.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow at the younger man’s innocent tone and subtly pointed in your direction. Jimin quickly shook his head.

“That,” — Namjoon said, sitting down beside him. Lowering his glasses slightly, he followed Jimin’s gaze until it landed on you again. — “You look at her as if, if she moved even an inch, you’d have to memorize the entire way back to her all over again.” — Jimin swallowed hard and took another sip of the drink.

“You’re exaggerating.” Jimin laughed nervously, choosing not to believe the oldest’s words. Namjoon, however, only sighed, looking like someone who had seen this story unfold before; in other forms, in other lives.

“I don’t think i am.”

The nervousness was obvious. Maybe mixing feelings with alcohol was not the healthiest idea; Jimin could not come up with a single argument against Namjoon.

Maybe because there wasn’t one; the pink-haired man was right. In fact, he usually was.

Jimin looked away, rubbing the back of his neck before noticing a pair of white sunglasses beside him. He picked them up and put them on, looking suspiciously similar to Namjoon. — Then the words slipped out before he could stop them, “she’s my best friend.”

There was a seriousness in his voice that made it clear he was not joking or trying to dodge the conversation.

“I know, Jimin.” — Namjoon understood the importance of those words, but he was looking for something beyond the label; something more honest, more vulnerable. Across the room, Hoseok was playing with your hat, pretending to fire an imaginary gun with his fingers, and you laughed as you mimicked him. — “But you don’t look at your best friend as if you’re trying to decide whether you’re allowed to fall in love with her without ruining everything.”

Jimin didn’t answer; not a single word.

For a moment, he felt as though he might drop the cup onto the floor and wouldn’t even care about the mess.

“Just don’t let this become a regret, Jimin,” — Namjoon said quietly, his voice softer this time. — “Because you’re already halfway there.”

Jimin’s ears turned a faint shade of red, and this time it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He felt embarrassed, a little shaken, but he refused to dwell on the feeling.

Straightening his posture, he composed himself and instinctively lifted his eyes toward you. — Park hadn’t expected to meet your gaze waiting for him.

And, to his surprise, instead of looking away as you always did whenever you caught him staring, your gaze stayed on him. Jimin watched your lips curl into a gentle, delicate smile; you looked genuinely happy to see him again. — Without any hurry, you winked at him; a small, intentional gesture that felt almost too intimate for a room filled with people.

Jimin felt ridiculous. — The air caught in his throat; his stomach twisted, and he could no longer tell whether it was the alcohol or something far more dangerous. Honestly, it felt as though he had been caught doing something forbidden, something terrible.

Park Jimin, at that moment, felt absurdly like a teenager again.

Before he could think of any response, his thoughts were interrupted — once again — this time by a white pillow colliding directly with his face. The impact left him completely stunned and disoriented. A string of muffled complaints escaped him as he tried to identify the culprit.

Jungkook was laughing brightly, almost hysterically, while running toward the other side of the room. Another pillow was already clutched in his hands, prepared for a second attack.

A few feathers from the pillow he had thrown at Jimin drifted onto the floor. The pillows were old, at least, but thankfully free of mold or dust; still, they were a pretty obvious spoiler of what was about to happen in the next few seconds. — And just like that, a full-scale pillow war erupted throughout the apartment.

Hoseok threw a cushion at Taehyung, who lost his sunglasses and fired back without even checking his aim. Chisa let out a dramatic scream when a cloud of feathers exploded against her face. Jin snatched Jungkook’s camera and immediately started filming the chaos.

Little by little, soft white feathers began to take over the apartment, floating through the air like snow until the entire floor was covered.

“You’re dead, Jungkook!” — Jimin grabbed a pillow from the armchair. He pulled his arm back and hurled it toward the younger boy with all his strength but at the exact moment he threw it, Jungkook ducked.

The old pillow sailed straight toward...

You.

It hit you squarely, knocking the cowboy hat sideways as feathers burst around you, several strands getting caught in your hair. — Jimin froze, his eyes widening in horror at what he had done. He opened his mouth to apologize immediately, your name already leaving his lips in a panicked, embarrassed tone.

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” — He blurted out, squinting through the blizzard of feathers. — “I swear!” — His desperate apology was cut off by the sound of your laughter.

“Park Jimin!”

Pushing yourself off the couch, you grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it back at the redhead. The impact was not particularly strong, but it hit him directly in the chest, sending another round of laughter through the room. At that point, the war spiraled completely out of control.

Jimin tried to defend himself while you chased him around the room. Wanting to fully commit to the game, you even considered retrieving your hat.

Feathers clung to Chisa and Taehyung’s hair, and to the sleeves of Namjoon and Jin’s jackets. Yoongi remained on the couch for a while, watching the entertaining disaster unfold before finally giving in and smacking Hoseok across the back with a pillow. — It was absolute chaos.

As you ran through the apartment trying to escape Jungkook — who had somehow stolen your hat and was now wearing it proudly; you were irrationally jealous of the old accessory despite rejecting it at first — someone collided with you in the middle of the confusion.

The feathers covering the floor made everything dangerously slippery. Losing your balance at the exact same moment, both of you went tumbling down into a pile of feathers. The scattered feathers softened the fall, almost like a white mattress surrounding your bodies.

Jimin hit the floor first. He twisted quickly to keep your head from striking the ground, carefully supporting the back of your neck with one hand.

The old apartment remained noisy around you; it felt as though the word end was forbidden there, and it would not be allowed to enter that place anytime soon. Yet, in that small space surrounded by white feathers, everything suddenly seemed far away; impossibly far away.

Jimin’s face was only a few centimeters from yours, close enough for you to notice every detail with unfair clarity. It was beautiful in a way that almost hurt; almost angelic. A few orange strands had fallen across his eyes, and he neither blinked nor looked away. For once, he was not running from you.

A tiny feather had gotten caught in his hair. Smiling softly, you reached up and removed it, your fingers brushing lightly through the orange strands.

“I think you knocked me down on purpose.” — A breathless, short laugh escaped him. Almost immediately, he looked like he was about to sneeze; there were simply too many feathers everywhere.

“If i told you it was strategy, would you believe me?”

“Never.”

Jimin lifted his hand and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, the touch light and impossibly comforting. You had always loved Jimin’s affection.

Shit. — The world around you was still pure chaos, filled with laughter, shouting, and feathers flying through the air but inside that moment, none of it seemed to exist. — There was only you and Jimin.

and then, because he was “clumsy”, as he claimed, he "accidentally" tumbled through the same window three more times that month until you finally just started leaving the latch unlocked every friday.

the rain was drumming steadily against the glass of that exact same window, blurring the neon glow of the streetlights outside. inside, your bedroom was warm, smelling faintly of vanilla incense and the fabric softener that seemed permanently baked into spiderman's suit.

he was currently sprawled out across the foot of your bed, head dangling over the edge, the red mask was rolled up neatly just above the bridge of his nose, baring a sharp jawline, a pair of slightly parted lips and a dusting of dark stubble.

"so then—hey, are you even listening to me?"

"the guy threw a trash can at your head, you did a backflip off a fire hydrant, and managed to web glue him to a lamppost. riveting stuff, truly oscar worthy choreography," you murmur, not looking up as your black ink pen flies across the paper.

jimin narrows his eyes under the mask, a low, dramatic scoff rumbling in his chest.

"first of all, it was a bin, a big one." he corrects, propping himself up on his elbows. "second of all, hand it over. let me see."

you glare at him over the spiral binding with a defensive squint. "absolute not. artists don't show unpolished drafts to their ungrateful muses."

"unfuckinggrateful?" he gasps. "i give you free, high octane action stories on a silver platter every single week to doodle."

"shut up or i'm drawing you with disproportionately tiny feet."

"you wouldn't dare."

"try me."

jimin laughs before he flicks his wrist and before you even have a chance to blink or tighten your grip, a thin, lightning fast strand of white webbing shoots out from the bed, wrapping itself neatly around the top corner of your sketchbook and violently snatching it right out of your hands.

"hey!" you yelp, lunging forward with a gasp, but it's already too late.

the notebook zips across the room through the air, landing squarely in jimin's outstretched, gloved hand. he catches it smoothly, a smug, triumphant grin spreading across his exposed mouth as he flips open the cover to inspect your work.

you slump back against the leather of your swivel chair, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as you shoot him a murderous glare.

"abuse of power." you grumble, watching him flip through the pages with an aggravating pace.

a low, appreciative whistle slips past his lips. "damn. look at the shading on the bicep. honestly, you're making me look like a greek god. though, to be fair, i am."

"hand it back."

"shh, i'm critiquing," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the edge of a page where you'd drawn him mid swing.

"you know," he drawls softly, lifting his gaze from the sketchbook to meet your eyes across the dim room, "if you wanted a closer look at the subject, all you had to do was ask."

"i can see you just fine from here," you counter, raising an eyebrow.

"mhm. doubtful."

his wrist flicks a second time, the chair is sent spinning backward, and you let out a startled shriek as you're catapulted across the room.

you land squarely right on top of him, tumbling onto the mattress in a mess of limbs and soft groans and his annoyingly triumphant, breathless laugh.

"what," you gasp, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, "is wrong with you?"

"everything is entirely right with me, actually," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, smug purr right beneath you. "best view in queens."

the sketchbook slips from his fingers, hitting the rug with a soft thump and his hands instantly find your waist, long fingers splaying out over your ribs.

you let out a breathy huff of sheer annoyance, rolling your eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "you're insufferable."

you hook two fingers under the rolled up fabric of his mask, yank it upward and let it snap back against his face.

jimin lets out a sharp groan, his head pitching back against the mattress. "hey! violence against superheroes is a federal offense—hmpf—!"

you swallow the protest with a kiss, and his hands, warm and sure against your waist flex before sliding up to cup the back of your head, a melting sigh fans right across your mouth.

he parts your lips with a slow stroke of his tongue that makes a soft, pathetic noise escape your throat. his fingers tangle thick in your hair and you arch into it on instinct, your fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his suit over his chest.

"are you gonna draw this later?" he murmurs, his voice a thick, wet rasp right against your mouth as he gives your lips one last, lazy suck.

you tilt your chin back just an inch, letting out a soft tsk that turns into a sharp hiss when his teeth graze the underside of your jaw.

"bold of you to assume i haven't already," you murmur back, your fingers curling into the solid muscle of his shoulders.

jimin huffs a quiet laugh against your neck, his hands mapping the path down your spine to cradle your ass in a firm squeeze. "then why haven't i seen it?"

"same reason why i haven't seen your face."

"that's completely different," he counters, his voice dipping into a lighthearted whine as his nose brushes against yours. "my secret identity is a matter of national security, your secret is just hoarding embarrassing sketches of me in a locked drawer."

"they aren't embarrassing." you snap back, though a flicker of heat hits your cheeks.

you don't even know his name. after months of late nights he was still just spidey to you. godawful, cringe inducing moaning of spidey echoing off your bedroom walls while he wrecked your nervous system. you'd complained about it out loud to him once.

he had weaponized it since.

"what?" he drawls, flashing a cocky smile. "shouldn't you be grateful that the world's best superhero is giving you orgasms?"

"with his hands and mouth," you fire back, narrowing your eyes down at him in defiance as you grind your hips down, testing the rigid line of him beneath the red and blue weave. "what about his dick?"

jimin lets out a heavy sigh, his head dropping back against the mattress. "you know i can't."

"why the hell not?" you push, tilting your chin up. "you can keep the mask on for all i care. i don't need your face to see what you're packing."

a low, throaty laugh rumbles in his chest. "sweetheart, you’d have seen literally all of me but my eyes."

"so do we know each other?" you stop dead, your hands flattening against his chest as your brain stalls out. "that's completely impossible. i'd recognize those lips anywhere." you press your thumb firmly right over his bottom lip, dragging it across the seam firmly.

he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head sharply to dislodge your thumb from his mouth. "keep touching me like that and you're not getting any answers."

"no, wait." you mutter, the gears in your head start turning at a million miles an hour. "do we know each other? like, in real life? like, in lecture?"

"i'm not revealing shit."

"fuck," you breathe out, staring down at him. "we know each other."

"mmm," he pretends to hum in thought while he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down the curve of your ass, dragging your underwear right along with them.

"stop." you huff, giving his chest a sharp smack. "you're redirecting the conversation."

"we can continue having it while i eat you out, if you're coordinated enough to talk, that is."

"i hate you," you scoff, though the smile in your voice ruins the threat.

"no, you don't," he murmurs.

he pulls you in by the nape of your neck for a brief kiss and rolls you over onto your back. your bottoms catch on your ankles for a second before he tugs them completely off.

the cool air of the bedroom hits your skin for a split second before his mouth is there, parting you with a slow, heavy drag of his tongue that makes your back immediately arch off the sheets with a sharp, pathetic gasp.

the routine had become as reliable as the rotation of the earth; every single friday night, right around midnight.

except, this friday, midnight came and went.

by two in the morning, you forced yourself to sleep. he had never missed a friday. not once.

and he didn’t, because the window shattered about two hours later.

you sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering against your ribs, scrambling for the lamp. before you could even flick the switch, a heavy, groaning thud echoed from the floorboards near the sill.

"spidey?" your voice cracked, small and sharp in the dark.

you threw the covers off and scrambled out of bed, dropping to your knees beside him.

"jesus christ—" you gasped, your hands hovering uselessly over him, not sure where to focus on first.

the famous suit was shredded open across his left shoulder and ribs, dark crimson soaking rapidly through the torn spandex. and the mask, it was torn completely away from the left side of his face.

whoever he had been fighting had torn it right off him, and he’d had to bolt before they could see his face, dragging his bleeding body through the city just to reach the one place he knew was safe.

he was breathing hard, a wet, rattling sound, his eyes squeezed shut in agony as he leaned his head back against the edge of your mattress.

"hey—look at me," you stammered, your hands trembling as you reached out, panicking over the massive, ugly gash bleeding down his side. "are you out of your mind? you’re bleeding out—should i call someone? can i take the rest of it off—?"

"no." he groaned, a gloved hand weakly batted at your wrist, though he didn't have the strength to push you away. "no hospitals."

"you need stitches." you grabbed a discarded tshirt from your laundry basket, pressing it desperately against the torn flesh of his ribs. he hissed sharply through his teeth, his hand flying up to grip your forearm.

"fuck," he breathed out, his head lolling to the side.

you stared down at him, completely unsure what the proper reaction was to finding out that your classmate of three years, whom you’d barely exchanged three words with, was the spiderman you’d been secretly hooking up with this whole time.

"this face reveal is so anticlimactic."

jimin cracked one eye open, wincing heavily as he fought for breath against the crushing weight of his injuries. "what...?" he wheezed out, panting through gritted teeth.

"never mind," you huffed, shaking your head to clear the shock. you looped a strong arm around his good shoulder, hauling upward with a grunt. "come on. get up."

"i'm dying, y/n," he groaned, his tall frame dragging heavily against you as you half carried, half dragged him toward the adjoining bathroom. "at least let me write my last will..."

"help me out." you snapped back, guiding him past the bedroom door and straight into the bathroom, leaning him heavily against the sink counter.

he looked like an absolute, unmitigated mess. the suit was shredded, caked in dried asphalt, soot, and sticky, dark blood, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat as he basically yanked the mask, or what was left of it, off.

"strip," you ordered, grabbing the hem of the ruined suit.

jimin managed a weak, pained cough that sounded like a chuckle. "buy me dinner first."

"jimin, i swear to god, if you don't take this off right now, i'm getting the kitchen scissors and cutting it off you," you threatened, though your fingers were already carefully peeling the ruined fabric away from his torn shoulder.

he grumbled, helping you peel the spandex down his arms and past his waist until he was standing there in just his ruined undershorts, swaying slightly on his feet. you shoved him gently into the glass enclosed shower stall, turning the knob to warm water. steam immediately billowed up, washing away the copper stench of blood as the crimson water swirled down the drain, taking the soot and grime with it.

you stood by the sink, grabbing a towel while he leaned his forehead against the tiled wall of the shower, eyes closed, letting the warm water wash the nightmare of the night off his skin.

twenty minutes later, after digging through your clean laundry to pull out a pair of oversized sweatpants, you had him sitting on the edge of your mattress. the first aid kit was open wide between your knees.

you dabbed a soaked cotton ball against the jagged gash along his ribs. jimin’s fists twisted into the sheets, his muscles drawn taut as he fought to keep his breathing steady.

"easy," you murmured, softening your tone despite yourself as you blew a gentle stream of air over the stinging wound. "you're lucky you didn't puncture a lung, you absolute idiot."

jimin looked down at you through his damp hair, all exhausted. he looked like the college student he pretended to be during the day.

"thought i wasn't gonna make it back to this window tonight," he whispered hoarsely.

you let out a quiet breath, finishing up the last strip of medical tape across his ribs and giving it a light pat. "well, you did. somehow."

you went to pull away, gathering up the cotton balls and the antiseptic bottle to put the kit back on your desk, but gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist.

you looked down. jimin was staring up at you with those heavy lidded eyes, giving you a subtle tug, nodding his head towards his lap.

you raised an eyebrow at him. "you can barely breathe."

he let out a pathetic grumble, tipping his head back and letting his hand slide down to lightly hook his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, giving another stubborn little tug. he didn't have the energy to argue, so he just stared up at you with maximum puppy eyes.

you let out a soft laugh at the sheer audacity of him. still, you did as told. you straddled his hips carefully, making sure not to put any weight near his bandaged ribs.

jimin let out a long sigh the second you settled against him. his shoulders instantly slumped, burying his face right into the crook of your neck. his warm cheek pressed flat against your skin, and his arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

you sat there for a second, staring blankly at the wall while his breath fanned against your collarbone.

"this is so weird," you muttered, your hands resting awkwardly on his bare shoulders.

jimin turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against your skin as he mumbled, "what is?"

"you," you gestured vaguely into the empty air with one hand. "because you're out of costume. and because you're...you know. jimin from college. who asked to borrow my sharpener last week and looked like he was gonna cry."

"i didn't look like i was gonna cry," he mumbled defensively, his arms tightening just a fraction around your waist.

you smiled, running your fingers absently through his damp, soft hair that you would wish to be able to tug on when he had you pinned to this exact mattress. "and now you're telling me you spend your nights getting thrown through brick walls by supervillains."

"wild hobby," he whispered, sounding thoroughly exhausted. "good thing i have a very nice friend who patches me up."

"a very nice friend," you echo flatly. "who you sneak into bed with four times a month."

"technically that was spiderman doing those things. jimin from college is a total angel who would never."

you let out a dry, disbelieving scoff, though a fond smile tugs at your lips. "truly. an angel."

jimin sighs through his nose, and shifts upward just enough to turn his face, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin right beneath your jaw.

"mhm," he hums, his lips moving lazily against your neck as he drops another slow, warm kiss right over your pulse point. "a certified angel. who is currently exhausted, but willing to make exceptions."

"a true superhero," you chuckle as his tongue traces a slow, wet path up your jawline, right to the corner of your mouth and you tilt your chin down, meeting him halfway.