Side Blog

His image radiates intensity; dark eye make up, piercing gaze, striking white hair. Even in a poster, he's intimidating.

He's the gatekeeper. The epitome of success. The ultimate standard in the entertainment business.

The thought of him makes my heart flip. He's one of my favorites.

I've followed his career, his interviews, his game show apperances — finding happiness and belonging even from behind a screen. His gummy smile and poetic lyrics were my lifeline.

I walk into K.M - into his world.

Not his immediate orbit, but in the legal department. Protecting him alongside all the other idols.

Inside, marble pillars lift the vaulted ceilings ten floors above. Sunlight filters through glass walls, landing on people like divine favor. The world's most talented arists pass like normal humans at work.

This is their temple.

Footsteps and hurried voices, pass me by. The scent of refined perfume and hair products washes over me. I hope my cheap detergent masks the smell of the subway.

Suddenly, I'm herded into a cluster of new hires. They know each other, heckling, snapping not so discreet photots with the idols in the background.

A young man in a tailored suit looks down his nose at me. "Do you know her?"

A girl with eyes the size of softballs shakes her head. "No, I vaguely remember seeing her come out of the subway station."

"No use getting to know her, then."

"Ben, that's so mean." She reprimands, swatting his arm.

"It's not mean. It's smart. Listen, Hana. My uncle's been working here for the last twenty years and he gave me this piece of advice." Ben leans towards Hana as if whispering confidential information.

"K.M Entertainment is for the beautiful, talented, and rich. If you are one of those things - you're mocked. Two - you're tolerated. If you're all three? You're respected. And Ms.Bricks-For-Boots over there, is a six at best. Rich? She uses public transit. Even if she is talented, she's only one out of the three. And so, we must. . . ?"

"Mock her?" Hana answers, unsurely.

"Precisely. We're going to have to kiss a lot of asses. That's non-negotiable, sadly. So, don't go wasting time on people that can't do anything for you."

I swallow the blow and look at my Doc Martens. My pants are unhemmed, and fit me a little long. The extra platform kept them from mopping the floors.

A lanky man, Yuta, pulls my attention away from my clothes.

"New hires. Come get your lanyard when you hear your name called." He calls us one by one.

Ben. Luca. Chen. Kai. Hana. Mia.

I approach the man who'd identified himself as the head of H.R.

Once branded as official K.M employees, Yuta steers us towards the elevators.

"Lawyers from entertainment, corporate, intellectual property, litigation, and labor will recruit one of you. Only five positions are avaiable and there are six of you. One of you will be let go — or maybe you'll get lucky and be offered a job as a secretary."

Ben leans toward Hana. "I put money on Frankenstein being the new receptionist."

Hana's earring catches the light of the elevator as she turns to look back at me. "Secretary's are usually pretty. You said it yourself. She's a six at best."

I pretend not to hear. But I always do.

"Hopefully, Vivienne Shin chooses me." Hana wishes outloud.

I stiffen.

Even Kai, the pretty boy with piercings all over his left ear, freezes. "Vivienne Shin never takes in-house paralegals. She only hires from outside the country. Besides, you don't want to be her paralegal. She cleans house ever year. Everyone is incompetent to her."

"Do you blame her?" Hana says, only mildly annoyed. "She practically runs K.M."

"Not practically." Yuta says. He was so quiet I'd almost forgotten he was in the elevator with us. "She runs the show. Nothing happens in this building without Vivienne Shin's authorization. And, she is hiring in-house. I guaranteed her the best candidates to choose from."

Yuta levels us all with a gaze that's half scrutinzing, half-hopeful. "You'll all be competing with each other."

The elevator doors open on the 17th floor.

The air is colder here, laced with the smell of fresh ink and coffee. The four department heads wait for us outside; I.P, litigation, labor, and corporate.

My heart stutters.

Where's the head of entertainment?

The paralegals bow.

"Uncle!" Ben yells at a man in a terrible toupee.

The other candidates greet familiar faces.

It feels like I'm a plus one at a party I wasn't invited to. A flicker of imposter syndrome starts to fester in my chest.

Yuta keeps the elevator doors open for me.

He smiles at me, but his eyes remain hard and almost pitiful. As if he can sense my confidence crumbling. "Welcome to K.M Entertainment, Mia."

His tone isn't congratulatory. It carries a warning, a sad reveal like I've been led to the mountaintop, not as another worshiper, but as the sacrifice.

I see it in his eyes, in the way they flicker with doubt. Like Ben and Hana, and maybe my other coworkers, he doesn't think I'll make it here.

The cold assessment stuns me for a moment - and then it refines into focus.

Wheat is still wheat. Even if others think its grass.

Ben's Uncle introduced himself as Mr. Lee. Head of Intellectual Property,

If we go by Ben's Laws of K.M. He was talented and rich. Which meant he was tolerated.

But after mere seconds with him , it was clear that the man was intolerable.

"Speak only when spoken to. You know nothing. You say nothing. Otherwise, the hot dog stand in the courtyard is hiring."

Mr. Lee hands Hana a stack of papers and instructs her to pass them out.

"The issue we're facing is the delay or failed release of an album. The idol, Sunni, has a contract with her old label that is blocking us from being able to move forward. Apparently, the timing of the released album would allow the old company royalties for K.M's work."

Ben crumbles up my papers before giving it to me, smirking. "Here you go, Frankenstein."

I feel the pulse of my blood hammering in my ears but I won't make a spectacle of myself. "Thank you."

"We need to find a way out of this contract." Mr.Lee walks across the other paralegals and stands in front of me, staring at me with those beady little eyes "In this company we refuse to give handouts."

Behiind him, his nephew smirks at me.

I hold Mr.Lee's eyes, perhaps for a longer time than respectful. My skin was thick, but these little digs were starting to irritate me.

Mr. Lee eyes me up and down and then spins on his tiny loafers. "Now, everyone follow me. I'll give you a tour of the legal floor."

"Except you, Frankenstein, was it?" He laughs, over his shoulder.

Ben nods, and his uncle simply clasps him on the shoulder as if to say you little rascal. "Go get me a latte and a brownie from the cafeteria."

A sense of dread is beginning to replace the whimsical wonder I started out with. I expected some turbulence but this was turning into something more. . .

I'm hoping that it will be a quick little detour. But the line at the cafe stretches dozens of people.

I take my place at the end.

There's a sign that says free for idols and executives. There's a price attached for anyone who isn't that.

Do I even have money on me? My last check from the hotel won't be deposited until tomorrow and I just covered rent for my family's apartment.

I take my wallet out and peek at the last bit of cash I have on me. It's . . .enough.

If I have to wait then, I might as well read the papers Mr.Lee gave us.

By the time I make it to the front of the line. I've read the contract twice.

"Hi. How are you?" I say, automatically.

The barista tells me she's well and asks me what she can get for me. "A latte and a brownie, please."

The pastry's behind the glass range from scones to a particular ube bun I wish I could buy right now. But I only have enough for Mr. Lee's order.

She types my order in, "Anything else?"

"No, thank you." I say, remorsefully and hand her cash.

She bags the brownie for me. "I'll have your drink right out."

I thank her and return to reading the contract.

A commotion to my left, pulls me out of my reading.

"No, no. You go first. Go." Someone says.

A figure dressed in jeans and a long black sleeve, steps up to the register next to the one I'm at. The confidence in his steps, the graceful movements of his shoulders, and the refined side profile. . .

The earth seems to stop mid orbit.

One second, I'm in the cafeteria. The next, I'm at a concert - and my favorite idol has just taken the stage.

G-Dragon in the flesh.

A silver knife earring dangles from his ears, as he bows his head at the barista. "A brownie, please."

"Yes, yes. Of course!" The barista, a pretty young girl, wheezes. I wonder how many times they've seen him. I don't think I could ever not freak out at the sight of him.

The barista reaches for a brownie inside of the display, and stills when her tongs find nothing. She damn near shoves her entire upperhalf into the display.

"Let me look in the back."

"Oh, don't worry about - " GD starts saying, but the barista doesn't let him finish his sentence. She's darted out of sight.

My barista walks back with Mr.Lee's latte and is intercepted by the barista handling G-Dragon's order.

"Do we have any more brownies?" She half-whispers, half-screams.

"No. I just sold the last one." The other replies, calmly. Her eyes widening when she sees who its for.

The barista's face drops to the floor. She mopes back to the register. "I'm so sorry. We don't have anymore brownies."

G-Dragon smiles, waving her off. "I'll just have a cortado, then."

My barista places the latte in front of me. "Here's your drink. Thank you for watiing."

I steal one last look at the person next to me. I couldn't be more shocked if someone had flashed me.

Here's the person I've fantasized and idolized for most of my life. A part of me wants to say hi, to tell him that I can't begin to express how grateful I am for all that he has done.

But there's a sadness radiating off of him, as he looks out into the distance. There are circles under his eyes, his lips drag down ever so slightly.

He's tired. I imagine how many interactions he has on a daily basis. It must be so exhausting.

"He can have mine," I whisper to the barista, setting the paper bag down.

She opens her mouth, her frown already letting me know that she's going to insist I take the brownie I paid for.

I utter a quick thank you and head back to the elevators.

G-Dragon had meant so much to me. Being able to do something for him, however small, felt like the victory I needed. And if I had to feel Mr.Lee's wrath as a consequence, I'd handle it with with a satisfied smile.

JIYONG

I remember that day too clearly.

It was the first day back at K.M after my world tour.

Chains or more specifically — contracts, dragged me back.

But I wasn't the only one who had returned.

"She's back." I said.

Seunghyun looked up from his book - a collection of Yoshimoto Nara's artwork. He'd been particularly obsessed with the artist at the time.

He would've waved me off and returned back to his book if I had said anything else. But he heard the rasp in my throat, the undeniable hatred laced in my voice - the fear. He crossed the studio, and handed me a glass of water.

I smiled in thanks, but it came out as a twitch.

Seunghyun started breathing deeply beside me, a silent reminder for me to breath.

"You know why she's here." I chuckled humourlessly. "She's here to remind me that I'm under her thumb. That I'm a puppet on her string and I go only as far as her leash allows."

Seunghyun put a hand on my shoulder to keep me from spiraling. He played the role of a doting mother at the time. He knew I was hardly keeping it together.

Vivienne Shin had held a contract over my head, and wielded it like an axe whenever I strayed from the persona she authorized.

"She's hell-bent on ruining my life. I wonder what new torment she has planned for me." After years of her manipulations and foul plays that I couldn't defend against, there was a minimal comfort in just expecting it.

"Don't pay bills before they're due, Jiyong." Seunghyun said.

I couldn't sympathize with his statement. He'd been saying it for weeks.

The sad reality was that things were always due, As much as I tried to stay ahead, I was always ten steps behind. There was always something waiting for my attention. There was always something new for me to overcome. There was no rest for me.

The phone rang.

I buried my head in my hands. I felt chains begin to tug at me.

Seunghyun answered the phone for me. He didn't have to say anything. I already knew who called. Who was summoning me.

"She wants to see you."

"She's going to have to wait." I barked back, I needed a minute to compose myself. "I'll be back."

The cafeteria was brimming with people. I kept my head down, shoving my beanie down to hide my white hair. I wanted to blend in but my stylists were instructed to always have me in the most eye-catching colors.

As I walk to the back of the line, someone recognizes me.

"No. No. You go first." A newer idol, Jooyoung, insisted. I appreciated the fact that he hadn't screamed my name. I didn't argue with him out of fear of being recognized and hounded.

I worked here but it was just like the outside world. Just in closer quarters. Less places to hide.

"One brownie, please."

It appeared to be one of those days where nothing was going to go my way. I hated being so pessimistic but with Vivienne Shin around, everything felt like an omen of something terrible about to happen.

Chocolate had always been comforting to me. As a trainee, when I didn't have enough money to eat sometimes I'd shove a cheap chocolate came from the convenience store into a microwave and call it my dinner.

But I couldn't even count on that little semblance of comfort that day.

The barista didn't have anymore brownies. "I'll just have a cortado, then."

I thanked her for the drink.

As I turned to leave, "Wait! That girl just left you her brownie."

Huh?

I followed the barista's finger. It pointed at a girl dressed in all black, quickly making her way towards the elevators.

I noted the big platform boots.

A kind gesture from a stranger.

I needed it then, more than ever.

_______________________________________________________

The elevator doors opened the seventeenth floor — legal.

Every other floor at K.M had a hint of freedom- an illusion, perhaps. But on the legal floor everything was ironclad, sterile, and devoid of human emotion. If souls were expressed on the other floors, this was the floor where souls came to be packaged and sold for consumption.

I fixed my cuffs, and ran my fingers through my hair. The distress of being here, of seeing her, made my skin crawl. I cracked my neck, playing calm and detached. I couldn't let anyone see that I was coming undone.

I had to play the part of the poised idol. Act as if whatever was decided was my choice too. Even though I knew it wasn't true.

Vivienne Shin wasn't in her office.

Arthur Lee's pompous voice carried down the hall, peaking my attention.

"This was something a three year old could have done. A latte and a goddamn brownie. Was that so hard to get?"

"No, sir. I'm very sorry. The cafeteria was all out." A woman's voice said, monotonously.

"Did I not say not to speak to me unless spoken to?" Lee's voice pitches.

"But you're speaking to me, sir." The girl reminds.

"Hold your tongue, girl!" I craned my head to make out who he was talking to.

All I could see was Lee's round body stuffed into a suit two sizes too small for him.

"I read your file. Glowing recommendations from your professors and it didn't escape me that all of them were men. A favorite for them, indeed."

The comment was disgusting. It rattled me to the core, made me move towards the interaction. No one deserved to be spoken to like that least of all over a stupid brownie.

Before, I could get to Lee he disappeared inside the conference room and the girl, along with him. Still, I could not make out who she was. But I did manage to see the same boots that had been walking out of the cafeteria.

Vivienne was nowhere in sight, so I decided to peek inside of the ongoing meeting and see what the legal leeches were up to.

"We're in a position to either abandon the project or give royalties to a company." Lee said. "And I for one don't plan on just giving away free money."

"Tell me, Lee." Vivienne Shin's voice makes me freeze in place. "Have you read the contract?"

"Of course," Lee stammered.

"And abandoning the project is your professional opinion?"

"I-"

"Is there anyone in this room with the rare gift of reading? Being able to read is still a requirement for a job in legal, correct?"

Vivienne Shin has the power of belittling anyone she comes across. It wasn't surprising to see how she made children out of the company's most important executives.

"Idiots," She muttered. To me, her voice had. several different tones. Like a demon, that had the souls they stole trapped within them.

From the position in the doorway, I could only see half of the room. I had a clear view of Lee and some other executives, and Sunni. She was a new idol I had discovered.

"If we keep getting hurdles like this. I think we should just stop all works with Sunni until her contract is done and we don't have any legal issues like this. We're wasting time and money. All to what? Give it to this second rate company?"

The look on that poor girl's face crushed me. The hopelessness that her life, her dreams were being discussed and she had no say. No power over any of it.

"I vote that we put Sunni's projects on hold until we can figure this out."

Vivienne sighed. "Is this everyone's choice?"

Tears pooled in Sunni's eyes. The girl that always smiled, that always looked at the positive, couldn't seem to find anything to hold on to. The execs all signed a paper agreeing to halt all her projects. Her debut stalled.

Lee patted himself down for a pen.

A pen was kicked towards Lee's chair. It had a bright post-it folded in between the clip.

A black boot lunged forward, it belonged to a girl with dark curls pinned to the top of her head. She picked up the pen and handed it to Lee.

Lee glared at her, as if she had just spit on his shoes.

But upon seeing the note, he lifted his black folder and discreetly opened it.

"Lee, we're waiting on you." Vivienne hissed, impatiently.

"Wait! Clause 3.4. A loophole. Instead of giving them a constant percentage. We just pay them out — all at once. It's free money, like I said." He sends a discreet look of contempt towards the wall, where apparently people were standing. I could not see them. "But at least we won't be constantly paying them. We'll be able to meet the deadline and the returns on the album will be more than enough to cover the money given to that second rate label."

Sunni's eyes lit up again, as if the life had been knocked back into her.

"Hm. At least someone in this room shows promise." This was the highest praise coming from Vivienne, but I saw that the praise wasn't meant for Lee. It was meant for the girl in black boots.

Her second act of kindness.

MIA

Vivienne Shin, my idol -my role model - is ignoring me. I let the childish expression that bloomed when I saw her drop once I realize that in this environment I’m not going to get the same person I had when I was a kid. 

She doesn’t look up from her desk. A span of papers arc around her, all requiring her signature. Without missing a beat, she grabs a paper and holds it up.

We all flinch, wanting to reach for the paper but also not knowing who she was handing it to. 

“Anyone?” 

Ben shoots his hand out, taking the paper before anyone can take a step forward. I bristle at his long limbs. He looks like a praying mantis. 

Vivienne signs another paper, and lifts it up. Another paralegal grabs it. 

“One of you will be my paralegal.” She says, signing and passing papers. “But I won’t be stuck with someone that can't do their job. You all have copies of a contract that I need signed. The signature I need is the most difficult one to get. If you can get me his signature, you are automatically part of my team. "

I’m the last to reach for the paper. 

Vivienne holds the end, and finally her eyes flicker up. Her acknowledgement isn’t the grand misty eyed embrace I was expecting and hoping for, but there’s a sparkle in her eye, a little twinkle of joy and recognition that warms me like no hug ever could.

Vivienne Shin is rooting for me. 

She dismisses us with a wave, returning to her paperwork. The paralegals walk out into the hallway and we skim through the pages we were given. 

Which idol are we supposed to hound? 

My eyes find the name before anyone else. 

Kwon Jiyong. Stage name: G-Dragon. 

______________________

The mental gymnastics happening in my head outside of Jiyong’s studio is olympic. I jump from plan to plan.

This feels like a hazing.

I hold the contract to my chest like it’s a shield. But it's more like a target.

There’s no other way around it. If I want to be an entertainment paralegal, I’m going to have to get past the dragon at its gates. 

I knock on the door. 

Silence. 

After a lack of response on the other side, I lift my hand to knock again. Someone shoves me aside with brute strength. 

I tumble but catch myself on the wall.

I'm not surprised to see that it was Ben who had shoved me.

He looks at me from above his button nose.

Then knocks an absurd tune on the door. 

Ben's tight blazer might be cutting off his circulation because only someone with a lack of oxygen to the brain, would even think of opening a studio door without a clear invitation. 

Maybe, being shoved to the side was an act of kindness. At least, I won't be caught in the crossfire.  If anything, I'm not far enough. 

The door opens. Ben walks in with a painful, "Hellloo!" 

Music stops, like a vinyl abruptly stopped mid spin. 

Jiyong's voice was low, menacing, an inhumane growl. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" 

My heart stutters in my chest. The weight of his words and the intense glare that my stupid, idiotic, brainless coworker is feeling burns me even from outside the studio.

"Did you hear me? Who do you think you are coming in without permission?" 

There was a silence, a sickening lack of noise that made me cringe. I'd prefer the sound of nails on a chalkboard. 

"I-I'm sorry. I just need your signature-"

"And I - need you to disappear." Jiyong hisses. "Now." 

"But Vivienne needs you to sign this." Ben stammers, voice small and uncertain. 

Jiyong doesn't let up. If Ben thinks that acting weak and small will work on G-Dragon, he's got another thing coming. 

"You think, I work around what you or any other legal parasite wants? Not only are you new but you're also stupid. What's your name?" 

"Benjamin Lee." 

"I better not see you around here again. Because if I do, I'll make sure it's the last time." 

I can hear Ben swallow hard, even from the hallway. 

I swallow too -- with the relief of dodging a bullet that was meant for me. 

"Do you understand me?" Jiyong says, slowly as if speaking to a child. 

"Y-yes." 

"Then why are you still here?" He says in a deathly whisper that sends goosebumps up my arms.

Ben runs out of the studio, swinging the door closed behind him, breathing raggedly as he leans against it.

After a couple of deep breaths, and a look of sheer terror on his face he realizes that I'm still here. 

His face changes, but I've already seen everything he did not want me to. A look of contempt and hatred soils his face, and I have a strange feeling that he might be capable of hitting me with the folder in his hands. He has that violent vibe to him.

I straighten, refusing to cower to him. 

He thinks twice about whatever he wanted to do, and instead walks by me but not without muttering a low but audible. "Bitch."

I'm happy he didn't get the signature. But I still don't have it either.

And now, I'm not sure about how I'm supposed to get it. 

Legal parasites. 

That's what he called Ben, that's what he called Vivienne, that's what he sees me as. 

I can't invade him like Ben did. But I can't let Vivienne down. The only way he'll sign is if he sees past the fact that I'm a paralegal. 

Hm. 

The stakes are high. But I might have an idea. 

__________________________________________________

Vivienne listens to the attempts we’ve made to get G-Dragon’s signature. Every approach has ended in the star giving a particularly cruel tongue lashing or ignoring them entirely. Some of my coworkers used the opportunity to stalk and praise him, while I did none of the above. Not because I was ‘better’ but because the thought of looking into GD’s eyes made me shake like a leaf. 

The discussion pivots to me. 

“Common sense seems to have skipped a couple of individuals.” Vivienne’s eyes pierce through my colleagues, as she says this. “We now know not to harass an idol for a signature. Mia, what was your approach.” 

“Mr. Kwon is constantly around people. He doesn’t seem to be particularly fond of new ones. I figured that the best way to approach him for a signature was to not approach him at all. I left the contract with his assistant Torren.” 

Vivienne’s eyes tighten, her arms are crossed nails tapping them as she listens. 

All of the eyes that look at me from the dark table are nothing short of belittling. I’m almost suffocated by their disinterest, but I force myself to continue. 

“I drafted a page with potential follow up questions and concerns to avoid any back and forth.”

“Was there any response?”

Despite, my efforts -  “No.”

Snickers and mumblings ripple through the polished table. 

Vivienne presses her lips together, disappointed. “How unfortunate.” 

The other paralegals got verbally shredded by Kwon Jiyong. But if they knew what Vivienne Shin’s approval meant to me, they would be happy to know that she just gutted me with that look. 

“Show us the draft you presented Jiyong with. Although, it was a failed attempt you were heading in the right direction. Do you have any copies?” 

I tell her I have one on my desk. She motions me to retrieve it, finger pointed towards the door. 

I return with the printed copies in my hand. I walk over to where Vivienne sits, at the head of the table and present her the papers. My hands tremble. 

This is my first day back in her orbit. Having her see me fail is not how I pictured our reunion. 

I return back to my seat. I hold my hands on my lap, keeping them under the table to keep anyone from seeing how they shake. 

I quietly disassociate. Running alternative scenarios on how I could have possibly gotten that signature. 

The papers I had drafted to clarify the contract is passed around. It finally passes to me. My first failure. 

“What could Mia have done differently?” Vivienne asks. 

Does she mean to dig into me? 

Ben is the first to speak, eager to tear me apart. “For one, she could’ve actually spoken to the client directly instead of hiding behind his assistant.” 

I force my gaze on my hands. Ben’s the type to continue irritating me if I acknowledge him. 

But I’m immediately proved wrong when he continues, “It’s a cowardly move. I wouldn’t sign a contract that someone didn’t present to me in person. G-Dragon didn’t respect or respond to it.” 

My response was expected, but I let the hum of the A.C fill the silence for me. 

Then the door opens. 

He steps in, and the void that I was slipping into spits me back out. 

The pull of his presence could lift me from my seat if I wasn’t frozen in shock. 

The whole room looks like a still picture. Only G-Dragon still has control over his body. His hooded eyes lazily scans the room, sharpening when they catch sight of Vivienne. 

Vivienne returns the look with equal viciousness. 

He has the graciousness to allow us, commoners, a second to regain our senses. He must know the effect he has on people. 

“Who wrote this?” He asks, and I feel my heart stutter when he lifts my folder.  

Every paralegal cowers at the sound of his voice. Perhaps, they remember the sharpness.

But this time it’s not them he’s addressing. 

My palms sweat. If my hands were shaking before, now they’re borderline flapping underneath the table. 

I find the voice I lost moments ago and lift my gaze towards him, fearing the sight of his eyes as if they held the dangers of a solar eclipse. 

“I did.” 

He looks at me, and I wish he hadn’t. There’s something in his eyes that unnerves me. A mystic feeling of sensing something in my fate pivoting. 

His head tilts as he assesses me — not cold but very detached. 

“Pen.” He commands. 

Everyone fumbles for one. His requests are that compelling. 

At my side, Ben lifts his arm to look for a pen inside of his blazer. I catch his eyes rolling to me, and I already see the next moments play out. The man is that transparent. 

But even though I know what he’ll do I don’t have the speed to stop it from happening. 

His elbow accidentally knocks over the coffee mug resting between us. The coffee spills on the the table and papers. 

I turn my head to the culprit. Ben’s hissing through his teeth, eyes wide and shocked as he grabs the empty mug but there’s a glint of satisfaction that he can’t out perform.

Without missing a beat, a slender hand reaches across the table. It slides the soaked papers and spilled coffee from my space and into Ben’s. 

Jiyong stands upright again and accepts the handkerchief a paralegal has already offered. His face is still, only mild annoyance curling his mouth. 

His eyes flash towards me — steady, fiery. 

“You. Come with me.” 

Without, waiting for me to react he throws the handkerchief on the table, like someone does after having a fill of their meal.

The shock of being spoken to buzzes through my veins. At my side, Ben is shaking with anger. At the other end of the table, Vivienne smiles subtly. 

“Well, go on then.” She orders. 

I stand up, knees threatening to give out on me. I take in one last look at the looks of contempt and jealousy in the eyes of my peers. 

I don’t want to stay here. But I also don’t want to face him. 

——

The smell of roses and jasmine hits me the moment I’m inside Jiyong’s studio. He gestures towards the leather couch, and as I sit the floral notes fade into something darker — woody, moss-like, with a faint hint of smoke. 

It’s contradictory. 

It’s intoxicating. 

It’s Kwon Jiyong. 

He glances at the spot beside me, debating whether to share the couch, decides against it and takes the chair by the control panels instead.

My body relaxes, just by a fraction. If he would have sat next to me, I think I would’ve turned into stone. 

I’m not usually this awkward. I can be social, even charming when this situation calls for it. But this? This level of social inadequacy bruises my ego. 

Jiyong watches me with a knowing look, like he’s been blessed with the laser vision that can see right into my inner turmoil. 

“You look nervous,” He says, his tone soft but mildly teasing. 

I grit my teeth, clasping my hands to keep them from shaking. “I’m not.” 

He hides a smirk, eyebrows lifting in a silent if-you-say-so. 

“I’m sorry we’ve all been bothering you about this contract. It must be annoying to have a bunch of people chasing you down.” 

Jiyong leans his arm on the chair, rests his fingers on his cheek. “I’m used to it.” 

I stiffen at the statement. My mind goes to girls chasing him. He’s talented, handsome, rich — I almost blush at the insinuation. Then I remember he’s a celebrity and he was probably referring to fans and paparazzi. 

“Well, then I guess I’m part of the usual crowd then.” 

He puckers his lips and shakes his head. “I didn’t say that.” 

The intensity of his gaze unsettles me. I shift in my seat, but I know that my discomfort isn’t because of the couch. 

“Why am I not part of the usual crowd?” I ask. Does he also see me as an outlier?

He smiles, perhaps surprised that I’m speaking up, his chest rises with a deep breath before responding. “You didn’t approach me directly. You kept your distance. . . as you are now.” 

My brows come together, as I take in his words. 

He’s analyzing me.

I feel a subtle flare of my confidence come back, blooming into a smile. “I didn’t want to invade your space.” 

“It’s not an invasion if its wanted.” 

“Still,” I pause. “I prefer a clear invitation.” 

“I know,” He smiles — brilliantly, effortlessly. “That’s why I went out of my way to come get you.” 

His gaze flickers to my shoes.

Brick-for-boots. Frankenstein.

I fix my pants so that the long hem covers them.

I've been sticking out like a sore thumb all day. Everyone is in designer clothes I've seen on magazines and billboards. I feel like a walking troll in comparison.

But then he surprises me by saying, "I like your boots."

Does he mean that? I search his face for any signs that he may be lying but he looks so genuine. I try to say something but nothing comes out.

"The charms you added on the laces are cool." He adds.

I blush. "That was my little sister's idea. Do I still get credit for it?"

"Mmm." He taps a slender finger on his chin, as if he's thinking about something very important. "Yes. Since you're the one wearing it. I have a pair but they're hard to break in."

"I got lucky. I thrifted these so they were already broken in." I say, absentmindedly. But then an ugly wave of shame wafts over me.

I've never been ashamed of thrifting, or taking public transit. But these things are simply not normal things to do in the world of the 'elite'. I keep feeling the great divide between me and everyone else.

Jiyong, however, scoffs in disbelief. "But those look new. Where do you thrift?"

I look at him like he's grown a third eye.

"I promise I'll keep it very hush hush." he says quickly, reading my silence as intent to gate-keep.

He really is precious. If anyone had the fashion high ground to come down on anyone over what they were wearing, it was the G-Dragon. His praise and acceptance meant more to me than I expected.

His cheekbones glisten underneath the lights. His hair is perfectly messy, and I have the strangest urge to touch it. I've seen him so many times before, but he's even better looking up close.

This is his place of work. There has to be a place where he isn't treated like eye candy.

That warm feeling in my chest and face fades, replaced by the familiar chill. I lean back into the couch, retreating into myself. 

I steer the conversation back to what’s concrete and important. “Did you have any concerns about the contract?” 

His eyelids flutter, as if surprised at how fast my demeanor changed. He frowns briefly, then raises his eyebrows, dismissing the moment. 

“Let’s start with the parts about creative control.” 

I nod, listening to him intently as he goes over the parts he doesn’t agree with and wants revised. Every time our gazes lift from the paperwork, I feel the ghost of the warmth I had felt before we started talking about the contract, but I push it aside. I can’t get used to that. I can’t let myself think there’s anything special in it.

 He’s G-Dragon. He’s skilled in making people feel more important than they are. 

We finish talking over the clauses. It’s about time for me to leave. 

Jiyong stands up when I do. 

“One more thing,” he says, as I’m stepping through the door he’s holding open. 

I stop, looking up at him from behind my bangs. 

“You explained the entire contract so transparently. The good, the bad, the . . . ugly.” His eyes harden at the last word. “No one has ever taken the time to explain each section like that. Most of the time the legal department is—“

“Parasitic.” I finish. 

He narrows his eyes, realizing that I may have overheard him talking or rather yelling at Ben. 

“Yes.” He agrees, slowly. “Did you write the explanation just for me? So that you could win your spot with Vivienne Shin? Or would you do this for anyone?” 

As soon as he asks his question, his eyes do that sharpening analytical thing they do. He’s trying to see the answer before he hears it. 

I didn’t miss the way his tone sounded almost . . . hopeful? 

My throat tightens. “How many ugly contracts have you signed?” 

His eyes flicker with pain, but he dismisses the emotion with a blink. “Too many.” 

I let out a shaky breath, letting my gaze drop. There was too many emotions in his eyes. My mind flashes with too many scenarios in which he might’ve been a victim due to a contract. 

I look back up, letting my guard down for a moment. I let him see the sadness and fury that his circumstances cause me. 

“I would do it for anyone. I want to be transparent. I won’t be a cog. Or a parasite.” 

His jaw clenches, and he nods. “Bring me the revisions and I’ll sign.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to make any other revisions before you sign?” I want to make sure that whatever he’s binding himself to aligns with his needs. 

Jiyong smiles softly, “Yes, I’m sure.” 

“I’ll rewrite this, and bring it back to you once Vivienne okays it.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

JIYONG

You came into my studio with the revised contract in hand — steady, confident, but with a sweet shyness that softened your professionalism. 

You said it was ready for me to sign, and handed me the papers.

“Read it over,” you insisted, wanting me to to know that this wasn’t a trap. 

I waved you off, accepting your papers, and signed them immediately without a second thought. Complete trust. 

I waited for the wave of dread to nauseate me. But I only felt a lightness. A sense of peace after an era of misery. 

It felt hopeful. If KM had someone like you under their employ than maybe things could change. 

You left with a polite nod, said that someone was waiting for you and didn’t want to keep them waiting. 

I saw you transform into many versions of yourself throughout the years. But this Mia, this you, with your bright eyes unsure mannerisms and resilient nature to overcome any doubt outside and within you is the one that I always acquaint you with. 

The door clicks shut, you left behind the scent of cognac and spicy apples in the air. I moved towards the door to linger on that smell that made me feel nostalgic for something I didn’t know I missed. 

Torren arrived moments after your departure, fresh droplets of rain peppered all over his coat.

"The emergency brownie you needed, sir."

I took a slight detour to the 17th floor.

It didn't take long for me to find the cubicle with your name on it. There was only a framed picture adorning the corner of it. A family picture. Your parents, your three sibilings, and you standing in the corner as if you were dragged into the picture last minute.

I left one of the best brownie's in all of Seoul on your desk. A small token of my appreciation. For the brownie, for Sunni, for me.

You were the light on a very dark day.

Vivienne had an effect in the air - it compressed, became toxic. But you also had an effect in the air — you were like the first breaths after a cleansing rain.

The feeling of peace and freedom followed me all the way to the underground garage. At the time I liked to rotate cars depending on the weather. It had been raining that morning so I took the grey Porsche. 

I felt the air shift, and I knew Vivienne Shin was near. 

She stood by her black Ferrari, arms open, smiling that deceiving smile I’d fallen prey to years ago. 

And you— you walked right into. 

She took your face in her hands, and cooed proudly. “I knew you could do it.”

You and . . . Vivienne Shin? 

I felt my head begin to splinter.

You two lived and belonged to different worlds. I thought today had been the first time you two had met. But this intimate embrace, the way she spoke to you, the way you smiled up at her like a child. It all pointed towards history, familiarity. 

In that instance, that lightness that I’d felt darkened into something terrible. It was not a new feeling. It was a feeling that had been boiling poisoning and growing in me for decades. 

The warmth curdled into suspicion. 

The trust, however brief I had in you, rotted into contempt. 

I thought you were genuine, transparent, and like you said non-parasitic. Yet here you stood, embraced by the soul-sucking queen herself. 

You would become her new paralegal. 

And I saw all the cards revealing themselves to me. 

Your interference in my day was all plotted by Vivienne Shin. She knew that I would never trust her or anyone allied to her. So, she made you come to me, a wolf in sheep's clothing, to entrap me again.

You were here protégée.

A Vivienne Shin in the making.

But I refused to believe that my gut feeling had lied to me. You were good. You could change things in this corrupt world.

I decided I would not let you be rotted by Vivienne Shin any further. O I would not let her blind you to the real problems of the industry.

I refused to believe that what I saw in you, was simply a mirage. Even though your connection to Vivienne was the nail in that coffin. 

I let my mind spiral. I let myself place internal monologues that you might’ve had in our interactions. 

Sign. Trust me. Be a fool. 

Vivienne could coddle you. 

But KM would not do the same. 

I would not coddle you. 

I would make sure that you saw what terrible cruel place this was. I would not let the glamour, the status, and fool’s gold make another soulless product out of you. 

I veiled my intent as righteous. 

It was only fair that you experienced what we’ve had to go through. 

This wasn’t punishment. 

It was the transparency you spoke of. 

But in honesty, it had been retaliation.

I could not stomach the thought of being played out by Vivienne Shin.  

Now years later, I can still picture that parking garage.

The cold light, the empty spaces, and the sound of your heavy boots hitting the concrete.

I can still taste the blinding bitterness - the second I mistook my greatest ally as my enemy. 

If I’d looked closer, the picture might’ve been different. 

If I hadn’t have experienced so much betrayal and deceit, than I would have been able to see a clearer picture.  

But I didn’t. 

My past traumas, my world view, all condemned you.

And after that day, I began to break you. 

That was the day I fed you that hatred, that one day you’d sip indifferently like wine.  

The day I’d lose you, before ever having you. 

----------------------

A/N:

Hiii, everyone!

For all of those who don't me - I'm Kim!

I love writing angsty stories with morally grey characters. I love twisting the knife so consider yourself warned. I wrote this fan fiction 10 years ago. But back then, it was a bit more chaotic and all over the place. I look back at the first version and love the unpredictability and the rawness of it, but I knew it could be so much more. So this is my second attempt at writing Addiction. This is more for me, for my own entertainment. I find that my best writing comes from just coming from a place of play and discovery. However - I'd love your input, your thoughts, your comments. Feel free to reach out.

Hopefully, you'll enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

(I'm thinking of also posting this on Wattpad and updating on there. Let me know if you prefer this as a Tumblr exclusive fanfic, though)

XOXO,

Kim

Geralt was used to being called 'wolf' or 'white wolf'. It was a nickname he'd had for most of his life and was constantly used by Vesemir and the other witchers. He never thought much about it, just like his own name, he had it so internalized that he automatically responded when someone called him by those nicknames.

That changed, however, when you came into his life. There was something in the way you pronounced those words that awakened a primal feeling in him. It was in the way you looked at him, eyes defiant and playful, waiting to spark a reaction from him. It was in the way your lips moved, always ending in a mischievous smile, and in the sound of your voice, sweet and seductive, inducing him to madness, pushing him to his limit. 

Everything about you awakened in him an urge to possess you, to mark you as his so that everyone who saw you would know you belonged to him. He had to make an effort to stop his needy hands to caress your skin, and contain the desperation of his lips to kiss your neck and mark it with his teeth. He didn't care if there were people around him, they all ceased to exist when you called him wolf. 

It didn't help his situation that you always played dumb, pretending not to understand the power you had over him. But Geralt knew it was all an act. He knew that you were well aware of the effect that the utterance of that nickname had on him. And you used it as a weapon, a way to get a response from him when you wanted to play. And today you were in a very playful mood.

"What is it? Is the wolf scared of losing?" you teased him, trying to persuade him to take the bet. It was a simple race through the woods, just get from point A to point B as fast as possible to win. Only you had no intention of winning. All you were looking for was the thrill of the chase.

Geralt gave you an unamused look, taking a deep breath to calm the revolt that your use of that nickname had awakened in him. But then, he sensed your perfume in the air, mixed with the intoxicating scent of your arousal. His look completely transformed, frown relaxing into a firm, intimidating expression. The game was on.

"Oh you don't want to play that game, bunny." He warned you, giving you one last chance to change your mind. Once the race started, he wasn't sure he would be able to stop. He could already feel his insides vibrating with anticipation, the chained wolf fighting to break free. He had been locked up for too long, his needs ignored and repressed, so when he let go there would be no turning back. He was hungry and you were offering yourself to him without hesitation. How could he refuse?

You approached him, taking the sword he was sharpening out of his hand and bending down so you could look him in the eye. Your movements were slow, sensual, captivating your lover's gaze. Geralt's eyes got lost in your cleavage for a moment, admiring the exposed skin of your neck and the valley of your breasts as he suddenly began to salivate with need. His pupils widened, staring at you with yellow eyes turned almost completely black with desire. He could barely contain himself and that only increased your arousal.

"I'm not afraid of you." you said, and Geralt held back the urge to tell you that you should be. "Are you, wolf?"

He stood up and suddenly his imposing figure towered over yours, forcing you to tilt your head up so you could look at him. He was so much bigger than you, so much more agile, that it was ridiculous to even imagine you could beat him in a race. But, again, that's not what the game was about.

Geralt leaned in towards you, his lips brushing your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. "When you lose and you're on the ground begging for mercy, I just want you to remember that you asked for this." he whispered, defiantly, sending a shiver down your spine.

He looked at you and you knew it was time to run. He gave you a head start, knowing he could catch you without even trying —not only because he was faster than you, but also because you had no real intention of winning that bet. He watched you run through the trees, admiring the way your hair moved in the wind. Only when you disappeared over the horizon did he start to move. He walked at a slow pace at first, sharpening his hearing to follow the sound of your footsteps. But when he caught the scent of your arousal, he couldn't help but pick up his pace. It was like a drug to him, an intoxicating scent that messed with the hormones of the big, bad wolf he had set free.

Geralt let the scent of your floral perfume mixed with the sweet nectar hidden between your legs guide him towards you, an invisible force drawing him closer and closer to his prey. When he reached you, he found you hiding behind a tree, taking advantage of the moment to catch your breath. He heard you gasp as soon as you sensed his presence, holding your breath to avoid making your position known. Geralt smiled to himself, finding your small efforts to remain hidden adorable.

"You can't hide from me, bunny." He spoke, approaching you slowly. "I can hear the sound of your quickened breathing from miles away... smell the scent of your arousal... you want this, so why don't you come out and get this over with."

Geralt was offering you a truce, a chance for things not to escalate any further than they already had. Any sane person in your place would have taken it, it was the reasonable thing to do after taunting the wolf like that. But you were not just anyone. You wanted to face the consequences of your actions. You wanted to face the white wolf that Geralt tried so hard to keep in line. You wanted him to do whatever he wanted with you, that was the point of the game in the first place.

You came out of hiding with your hands up in a feigned sign of surrender. Geralt walked a few steps towards you, eyeing you with suspicion. You held his gaze, trying to hide your true intentions. But in the end the smile on your lips betrayed you, letting him know that you didn't plan to give up easily before you had a chance to run.

You barely made it a couple of steps before you felt the warmth of his body against yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you to keep you from escaping. You squirmed in his grip, trying to free your arms from his strong hold, but it was pointless. Geralt was much bigger and stronger than you, so you weren't going anywhere if he didn't want you to. He pressed you against him, pinning your back to his chest as his hands intertwined over your stomach, effectively imprisoning you against his body. You felt his nose against your neck, sniffing your scent with animalistic desperation. It made you tremble, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your heart pounded with anticipation. You pressed the curve of your ass against the bulge growing in his pants in response and you felt Geralt’s chest vibrate with a repressed moan.

"I got you." he growled against your skin before sinking his teeth into the sensitive area of your neck. "You're mine, bunny. Mine."

"I'm yours," you moaned, relaxing into his arms, tilting your head more so he could have better access to your neck. You wanted him to mark you. You wanted him to claim you as his own. "Please, take me." you begged. It was an airy whisper, but Geralt heard it with perfect clarity. And your consent was all he needed.

In a matter of seconds, your back was pressed against the grass as Geralt hovered over you. His hands were all over your body, lifting your skirt and unbuttoning the ties of your top to expose your breasts. His lips kissed every inch of exposed skin, but there was nothing romantic or sensual about it. It was rough, desperate, Geralt sucked your skin with the intention of leaving marks, sinking his teeth into your flesh as he growled that you belonged to him. It was too much and yet not enough. The pleasure coursing through your body was almost unbearable, but you needed more, you needed to feel all of him.

"You knew exactly what you were doing... calling me that name, making me chase you around." Geralt inserted a finger inside you without warning, earning a moan from you. You were so aroused, so desperate for his touch, that he had no trouble at all pushing deep into your core, moving his digit with ease and reaching up to brush against that sensitive part inside you that turned you into a moaning mess. "This is what you wanted, didn't you bunny? You wanted your big, bad wolf to chase you around and pin you down right in the middle of the woods, huh?"

"Y-yes, f-fuck." you managed to blurt out between moans and quickened breaths. Geralt inserted a second finger inside you and the air got stuck in your throat as the pleasure overwhelmed you. He increased the pace of his movements, showing you no mercy as his fingers moved in and out of you in desperate, almost aggressive movements. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening, ready to snap at any moment.

"You awakened the wolf on purpose. This is exactly what you wanted, didn't you?" he growled in your ear, playfully biting your ear lobe. You could only reply with an incoherent moan, closing your eyes to focus on the pleasure coursing through your body. But that wasn't enough for him, Geralt wanted to hear you say it. "Answer me!" he demanded and you were forced to open your eyes just by the authority in his voice.

"Yes! I-I wanted this, I-I wanted the wolf to fuck me. Please..." Geralt smiled showing his teeth and you couldn't help but think how much he resembled a real wolf when he looked at you like that. His lips were slightly swollen and covered with saliva after working on marking your skin, his pupils blown wide with arousal. He was looking at you like a wolf looked at its prey, desperate to jump at you and devour his meal.

"Beg for it." He said through gritted teeth. He removed his fingers from inside you, leaving you empty and unsatisfied. It took your pleasure-clouded mind a few seconds to process his words, too focused on the high you'd lost to let out anything more than whimpers of frustration. But that was exactly what Geralt wanted. He wanted to see you completely desperate, surrendered under his body, begging for his touch.

"Please, wolf, I need you... I need to feel you inside me, please." You begged him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He took his fingers covered with your sweet nectar into his mouth, sucking them clean as he moaned around them. It was the hottest image you had ever seen. He was so focused on the taste of your arousal touching his tongue that for a moment you feared he might not be able to hear your pleas for attention.

“I’m yours to take… please, wolf. I need you.”

The pathetic desperation in your voice was enough for Geralt. He wasted no time, freeing his cock from its confinement and thrusting it into you in one swift movement that left you breathless. He was big and even though your arousal was seeping down your thighs, it always took you a moment to get used to the way he stretched you. He showed you some mercy, giving you a few seconds to adjust while he enjoyed the way your walls closed around his cock. Nothing compared to the warm feeling of your walls wrapped around his cock, pulling him inside you, inviting him to stay. It was the closest he had ever been to heaven, if there was such a thing.

Geralt let out a grunt as you began to move your hips against him, urging him to move. He placed his hands on either side of your head, effectively imprisoning you under his large, imposing figure. Then he gave you a sloppy, wet kiss, biting your lower lip before moving closer to your ear. "Just remember you asked for this." He whispered, sealing your fate.

The rhythm he set was fast and rough, his hips moving against yours desperately. The sheer force of his thrusts was such that you had to cling to his body to keep from sliding upward each time he entered you. It hurt a little, but in the most delicious way. He hit that special place inside you with every thrust of his hips, turning you into an incoherent moaning mess that could do nothing but dig your nails into his back in a desperate attempt to keep you grounded. Pure pleasure coursed through your veins as you felt Geralt pressing deep inside you, filling you and claiming you as his. Your sweat covered skin was on fire, only finding relief when the witcher's cold medallion that dangled over your face made contact with your body.

"Scream! I want to hear you, bunny. I want to know how good I'm making you feel." Geralt demanded and your body instantly obeyed, as if he was the true owner of your mind. "That's it, don't hold back. No one is going to find us here, you can scream all you want. It's just me and you."

The forest filled with your moans and Geralt's animalistic grunts. He couldn't contain himself, seeing you underneath him with your tangled hair full of dry leaves and your watery eyes full of pleasure was too much for him. He couldn't stop the fast rhythm of his hips even if he wanted to. The wolf inside him wanted to ruin you completely, to mark you as his and make sure you were never satisfied with any other man but him. You belonged to him, now and forever. 

"You wanted this, you craved it... my little bunny, desperate to get fucked like a bitch in heat." He growled against the skin of your neck, sinking his teeth into the sensitive area below your ear.

"Yes! F-fuck, please... I'm so close." You begged him, feeling the familiar tingle spreading in your stomach as your toes curled. His fingers traveled to the little bundle of nerves pulsing between your legs, stroking it with rapid circular motions that increased your level of desperation. You were so close to your relief it was almost painful, but you wanted to wait, to hold back your pleasure so you could explode alongside Geralt.

"You want me to fill you up, mark you as mine, huh? Breed you with my pups so everyone knows you're mine?" It was an empty promise and you both knew it. Geralt was sterile and no matter how much he wanted to, he could not father a child. But that didn't make his words any less arousing. The idea of being his and having his child growing in your belly to prove it was so enticing that you couldn't help but entwine your legs around his waist as a way to make sure he didn't slip out from inside you.

"Yes, please! I'm yours, I always will be and I want everyone to know!"

"That's right, you are. And I'm yours." Geralt grunted, leaning his forehead against yours to look you in the eye as he quickened his movements, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased the sweet relief. "Can you feel how deep inside you I am?" He took your hand and pressed it against your lower belly, where you could feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. "I'm going to shoot my seed so deep into you, you'll carry it inside you until your belly starts to swell up with my pups inside it. Is that what you want?"

"Yes! Please, give it to me, wolf! I need to feel you, please." You begged with your last breath, almost bursting into tears from the intensity of the pleasure you felt.

Two more thrusts were all it took for Geralt to push you over the edge. You came with a cry of his name, nails digging into the sweaty skin of his back as your warm walls tightened around his cock, forcing him to stay inside you. That was enough to trigger his own relief, his cock twitching inside you as he shot his load deep inside your cunt, painting your walls with pearly white ropes of cum. And yet, he continued to thrust inside you, making your body shake from the overstimulation. He wanted to make sure his seed stayed inside you. He wanted to be able to smell the mix of his relief and yours on you for the rest of the day.

When he finally pulled away you groaned, feeling empty. Geralt let out an airy chuckle as he dropped down next to you, struggling to catch his breath. He pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you and resting your head on his chest. Even after all that, he still needed to hold you close, to feel the warmth of your body against his. 

You stayed like that until your breathing returned to normal, reveling in each other's closeness. You were so relaxed in his arms that you might well have fallen asleep if not for Geralt breaking the peaceful silence by clearing his throat.

"We should head back." he murmured, his fingers tracing imaginary lines on the exposed skin of your arm.

"I would if I could move." You joked as you began to feel the pain in your tired muscles. You didn't regret anything, though.

"I'm sorry."

You lifted your head from his chest to look at him, giving him a smile to ease the guilt he might be feeling for hurting you. "Don't be, you did exactly what I wanted you to do." You reached up to kiss him and he gladly reciprocated, cupping your cheek with his free hand so he could deepen the kiss.

However, he pulled away faster than you expected. You whined again, but he ignored you, getting up from the floor and shaking the dirt off his clothes. "It's getting late, we need to go." He said and you huffed. You weren't ready to move yet.

"Geraaalt" you complained, pouting. He looked down at you, ready to scold you, but was distracted by the sight of his artwork in all its glory. Your sweat-covered skin glowed under the afternoon light, highlighting your beauty. Your body was covered in his teeth marks and a trail of reddened hickeys trailed from your neck to your breasts and disappeared under the fabric of your dress. You carried his scent on your body, his seed inside you and his teeth marks on your skin. That alone was enough to awaken the wolf inside him once again, though he held back.

"You look beautiful." He said, kneeling beside you to help you knot the ties in the front of your dress, hiding your breasts and the marks he had made behind the fabric.

The softness in Geralt's eyes was such that you felt the need to hide your face, feeling embarrassed and somehow more exposed than when you were having sex. However, he didn't give you time to react as he quickly pulled you into his arms and made his way back to the hut. You relaxed in his arms, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and snuggling against his shoulder. 

"I love you." you said in an almost inaudible whisper. It was as if you were speaking more to yourself than for Geralt to hear you. As if the words had escaped your lips as you were lost in thought.

I adjusted my pack, feeling the weight of my sword on my back and the cool air on my skin. I wasn’t used to feeling like I didn’t belong in my own skin, but with Geralt, everything felt… different. It wasn’t just his presence—it was the way he carried the burden of the world on his shoulders, the way he kept so much inside, always distant, always closed off.

I shouldn’t have cared. After all, I was just a traveling companion. A useful set of hands in the fight. But I couldn’t help but wonder: *Was there more to him than the monster hunter he appeared to be?*

A rustling sound from the trees interrupted my thoughts. My hand instinctively went to the hilt of my sword, my muscles tensing in preparation for the fight. Geralt was already ahead of me, his sword drawn, his body poised like a coiled spring. I could feel the change in the air as the wraith drew closer, its cold presence settling over the forest like a thick fog.

"Stay close," Geralt said, his voice calm, as always. His golden eyes flicked toward me briefly before returning to the shadows around us. He was always thinking ahead, calculating, preparing for every possible outcome. It was one of the reasons he was so good at what he did.

I nodded, though my heart raced. The wraith was near, its oppressive aura creeping through the trees. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. But it wasn’t the wraith that made my pulse quicken. It was the way Geralt’s voice held that command, that calm authority, and how I instinctively listened. How, in his presence, I always felt as though I could trust him—no matter how dangerous the situation.

The wraith materialized in front of us like a phantom, its spectral form flickering in and out of existence. Its eyes burned with an unnatural light, and its long, rotting fingers reached out, claws scraping the air as it hovered before us.

Geralt didn’t hesitate. With a swift motion, he lunged forward, slashing with his silver sword. The wraith howled in fury, evading his strike with ease. It was fast, too fast for me to follow with my eyes, but I kept close to Geralt, moving in sync with him as we worked to corner the creature.

It was a battle of endurance and strategy. Every strike from Geralt was calculated, but the wraith was relentless. It danced around us, always one step ahead, always just out of reach. It seemed to toy with us, as though enjoying the chase.

"Stay behind me," Geralt growled as the wraith made another attempt to strike. I obeyed, trusting him, but I couldn’t help feeling the sting of his words. He always gave orders, always told me to stay out of harm’s way. As though I couldn’t handle myself in the heat of battle.

It stung, but I knew better than to argue.

The battle raged on for what felt like hours, the wraith’s chilling laughter echoing through the trees, filling the air with an eerie sense of dread. I could see the exhaustion in Geralt’s movements, the way his steps grew heavier, the way he was fighting just a little slower than before. The wraith was wearing him down, and it was only a matter of time before it would overwhelm us both.

I wasn’t about to let that happen.

With a surge of energy, I rushed forward, aiming for the wraith’s side while Geralt distracted it with another strike. My sword met its ghostly form, cutting through the air with a sharp hiss, but I didn’t expect it to have any effect. The wraith was no ordinary monster. But, just as I predicted, the moment I made contact, a crackling energy surged through my body, the coldness of the wraith flooding my veins.

Geralt’s eyes widened in alarm. "No!"

I staggered back, fighting to keep my grip on my sword as the chill seeped deeper into my body. The wraith was feeding off my energy, using my own strength against me.

Geralt moved faster than I could blink. In one swift motion, he pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me with surprising gentleness despite the urgency of the situation. "Don’t fight it," he murmured, his voice a low command. "Trust me."

I didn’t have time to think, to process the feeling of his warmth against me, or the way his hands seemed to anchor me to the present. His strength was a shield, pushing back the wraith’s icy grip as he pulled me closer. In that moment, all I could feel was him. His heart beating against my chest, the weight of his body against mine, and the sheer determination in his touch as he held me tightly.

With a final, desperate cry, Geralt swung his sword one last time, driving it through the wraith’s heart. The creature let out a blood-curdling scream before disintegrating into the air, its form dissolving into nothingness.

The forest fell silent once again.

I felt a surge of warmth flood through me, the cold leaving my body as the wraith’s hold vanished. My breath came in ragged gasps as I struggled to steady myself. But even as my body relaxed, my mind was still spinning. The battle was over. We had won. But something had changed between us. The air between us was different now. Charged with something I couldn’t quite place.

Geralt slowly let me go, his hands lingering for a moment too long, his golden eyes meeting mine. There was something in his gaze, something I hadn’t seen before. A flicker of something soft—something more than just the Witcher. It was raw. Honest. And for a brief, fleeting moment, I could have sworn I saw vulnerability in him.

“You’re... alright?” Geralt asked, his voice rough, though there was a gentleness to it now.

I nodded, though I could feel my heart still racing. "I’m fine. Thanks to you."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked at me for a long moment, his brow furrowing ever so slightly, like he was trying to decide if he should say more. Finally, he sighed, a breath of resignation escaping his lips.

“I told you to stay behind me,” he muttered, his tone a little lighter now, though there was a hint of frustration in his words. But then, as if realizing something, he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from my face. "I didn’t want you getting hurt."

There was a pause. And then, before I could stop myself, I reached up, resting my hand against his. "I didn’t want you to fight alone," I whispered.

Geralt’s eyes softened, just the smallest hint of emotion flickering across his face. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he took a step closer, and for the first time since I’d met him, there was no distance between us. No walls. Just two people, standing in the quiet aftermath of a battle, caught in a moment that felt like something more.

His hand found mine, his fingers interlacing with mine in a rare gesture of connection. The weight of his touch was enough to make my heart skip a beat.

"Don’t leave," Geralt said, his voice low, almost a whisper. There was something in the way he said it that made my chest tighten. He wasn’t asking. It was a plea, something he didn’t often let slip.

I didn’t hesitate. "I’m not going anywhere," I murmured, my voice trembling slightly as I stepped closer to him.

And there, in the quiet forest, with the moonlight shining down on us, Geralt of Rivia pulled me into his arms, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender. A kiss that spoke of battles fought, of pain and loss, but also of something else—something unspoken, something that neither of us could name.

Jinyoung only smirks from his proprietary position on your couch. He’s plenty relaxed, his fitted grey pants stretched taut over his thighs comfortably spread apart, taking up more space than necessary. The crisp white shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows. No watch, phone, shoes, socks, or keys, and his typically perfect hair is tousled and relaxed. 

He doesn’t plan on leaving any time soon.

“How was your day at work, sweetheart? Kids all settled in at your mom's?”

His playful response thins your patience, just slightly. “They’re teenage boys with dirtbikes and twenty acres of land. You know they don’t need to settle in anymore. They practically live outside all weekend except when mom calls them in to eat. They’re fine,” you ignore his first question and continue moving past him, straight toward the kitchen.

Jinyoung laughs and you can hear him getting up to follow you. You’re bent over, looking in the refrigerator drawers to pull something out for dinner when his hands slide over your hips, pulling you back up and away from your task. You kick the fridge shut with your foot and he kisses your temple. “I already ordered delivery,” he hums against your shoulder now, hands trailing up and around your waist, keeping you anchored to his body, “How about a glass of wine?”

You want to say no but it’s been a long day, it’s the weekend, and you’ll want one if you have to endure this for the rest of the night. 

“Make it red,” you sigh in defeat, rolling your eyes when he kisses your neck.

As he pulls away, you catch yourself watching his every move. It’s been three months of this.

You were together for fifteen years, married twelve, brought two beautiful boys into the world, and divorced just over a year ago. It was a mutual choice, one you hated to make, but it was what felt necessary at the time. Jinyoung was still the same incredibly attentive father keeping the boys every weekend, showing up for every school award and sporting event, and you even agreed to still have holidays together as a family. You co-parented like champs.

And then he invited you over one night for dinner, just to catch up, about three months ago. It wasn’t even the first time you had done it. There were several occasions since your separation when you shared a meal with and without the kids. This one just happened to be…different.

Dinner was fine, pleasant even, and then he fucked you against every single surface in his condo like he was making up for time lost over the last year in one evening. Worse than that, you spent the night and did it all over again the next day.

Presently, Jinyoung hands you a glass and pours another for himself. You swirl the contents idly until he corks the bottle and lifts his glass to yours. “To our good fortune and health, our wildly handsome sons who are probably not going to shower for the next three days,” your pursed lips break into a small smile, amusement glittering in your eyes, “And to us, for everything we’ve accomplished, and for all that’s yet to come.”

His smile is a dazzling reminder of how you fell for him in the first place. You raise your glass and take a hardy sip letting the flavor splash over your palette. “How long until the food gets here?”

Jinyoung glances at the clock overhead and grins. “Twenty minutes.”

Your eyes slip down to his chest and that’s all it takes for Jinyoung to have you pinned against the counter with your panties pushed aside and one of your legs up around his waist. You cling to his shoulders, crying out his name as he fucks you recklessly right there in your own kitchen. 

Because he can.

Because you want him to.

He pumps into you faster and you try to brace yourself on the cool granite, accidentally knocking into one of the wine glasses. Neither of you even stops to look as the glass tips over and shatters, red wine bleeding out until it’s spilling onto the floor. You’re too close and he refuses to look at anything other than your face, lids half closed, lips parted in praise.

“We’re running out of time,” he murmurs, still smirking as he says it because he knows you’ll finish before then. He reaches up, cradling your cheek in one hand which might seem sweet for a moment but then he pushes his thumb against the seam of your lips, parting his own as a silent order to open yours. 

Despite how distracted you are, you understand easily what he’s doing and accept his instructions, opening up for him to push the tip of his thumb inside just long enough for you to wet it before he’s pulling it out and rolling it over your clit, lazily at first. He finds so much joy in dragging things out for as long as he possibly can, grinning the entire time. Then his phone buzzes in his pocket and he knows he’ll have to save the teasing for later. 

He leans closer, kissing your neck as he speeds up both his hands and hips. Your head tips back into the cabinet behind you, panting into the open air above. The sweet sounds pouring from your lips spur him on and it is absolutely not in his plans to finish now, as masochistic as that feels at the moment, so he contains them, slipping his free hand behind your neck so he can kiss you hotly on the mouth, swallowing each sigh. It’s exactly what you needed too. 

The doorbell chimes and you barely hear it, all background noise canceled out as your orgasm leaves you shaking, ears ringing, and chest heaving. He doesn’t move until you still, slumped back against the counter trying to catch your breath. Then, after he fixes his clothes, he slides your panties back in place, pulls your dress down, and kisses you again, much softer this time. 

“Food is here,” he hums, smiling when you trail after his lips. 

“Food can be reheated later,” you counter, catching him in another kiss. 

Jinyoung laughs, the sound is beautiful and something you’ve missed so much. “Let me at least bring it inside and clean up the mess on the floor real quick.”

Oh, right. Broken wine glass. “I’ll clean that up.”

Jinyoung shakes his head. “Let me take care of it, please.”

Let me take care of you…

You hold onto him for a few seconds more and relent, “I’ll be in the bedroom. You remember where that is, don’t you?”

His brows pull together, “My favorite room in the house? Of course, I do.”

Jinyoung leaves you with an easy grin and you watch him go until he’s out of sight before trailing down the hall to your room. Bypassing the light switch, you opt to use the lamp on the bedside table instead and it fills the room with a low–light. You pull off your dress and bra, depositing them in the hamper, and decide to grab one of his shirts from its hidden place in the depths of your closet. 

When he returns, food in hand as you predicted, he grins seeing that you read his mind. 

“If we don’t eat it now, we never will,” you shrug, patting his side of the bed, “Come on.”

He hands over the bags to you and you begin pulling things out trying to not get distracted by him stripping off his clothes until he’s left in only his briefs and crawling into bed next to you. He helps set everything up and you grab the remote, flipping on the TV. 

It’s so painfully reminiscent of your early years together. When you were wholly focused on your relationship with each other, not on your careers, your children, or your future. 

After a while, Jinyoung lets out a small sigh. “When did we stop doing this?”

You smile wistfully. “It’s been a long time,” you poke at your food in the takeout container, “At some point we just…gave up.”

He understands what you truly mean.

Jinyoung stares at the side of your face, your eyes still trained on the contents you’re stirring around in thought. He has always loved you - he still does in this very moment. It was never about falling out of love, but because you both fell into roles. A husband, a wife. A father and a mother. You’d forgotten that beneath all of that, you were two people in love, and at some point, you stopped prioritizing your relationship. 

“I love you,” he says suddenly and you look at him, wide-eyed, “I love you so much and I’m sorry I stopped saying it out loud.”

“Jiny-”

He sets his container down and turns to you, reaching out for your free hand. “I’m sorry that I stopped kissing you hello, and goodbye, and for no reason at all…that I stopped holding your hand in the car and across the table,” you set your food aside and take his other hand, squeezing it tightly, “I’m sorry that I didn’t even realize that I’d just…stopped trying.”

“I am just as much at fault,” you reach up, brushing your thumb under his eye, burning with fresh tears, “We were…young and so in love, and then we grew up and life got busy. We stopped prioritizing our needs in our relationship and we got burnt out.”

He nods, understanding exactly what you mean. 

“I love you, Jinyoung, I have always loved you, and I’m sorry we had to go through all of this just to remember how to show it to one another.”

He cradles your face in his hands and pulls you closer to kiss you tenderly. It’s soft, sad, happy, sweet…it’s full of love. Your hands close around his wrists and he pulls back a touch, smiling at you softly. “I can’t say I am glad we did it, but it gave us this chance to remember who we are and what we want. I love you and I want to spend every day reminding you just how much I love you.”

“Are you asking me to go steady, Jinyoung?”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing and steals another kiss. “I’m asking you to be my wife…again.”

“I don’t think I can go through the stress of another wedding,” you sigh, pressing your foreheads together.

“You don’t want to hear me recite my vows to you all over again?”

He says it as he leans over you, arms coming around your body in a way that says he won’t be letting go any time soon. It's a glorious place to be and the thought of calling him your husband again, just your husband and not your ex, is as thrilling now as it was when he proposed.

“Well, maybe I could be persuaded…a little intimate garden wedding sounds kind of nice…”

He grins and buries his face in your neck, savoring the beautiful sound of the laughter that spills from your lips as he kisses your skin over and over. Then he picks his head up and bites his lip, “How do you think the boys will feel?”

You scoff. “I think the boys know more than they let on.”

He tilts his head in thought. “Now that you mention it, I usually get a reminder text, sometimes from both of them, every day leading up to a stay with your parents. Almost like they wanted to make sure I knew you’d be home alone that particular weekend….my darling sons….handsome and clever, like their father.”

“Mhm,” you purse your lips at the wistful look on his face, “Come to think of it, I remember your eldest looking a little too smug, like his father, when he asked ‘What happened to what’s his face?’ as if he already knew. You told him, didn’t you?”

Jinyoung scowls thinking about the guy you had just barely started seeing before the two of you started fooling around again. “That tall motherfucker,” he grunts, “I can’t believe you were going to replace me with that guy. What? Just because he can cook? So what…anybody can take a cooking class!”

You roll your eyes, quietly laughing at his ongoing rant. 

He finally notices the amusement all over your face and abruptly asks, “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head, still grinning, “Kind of cute to know you still get jealous over me.”

Jinyoung scoffs, stutters, and then closes his mouth for a moment. “Ok, yeah…fair. I was extremely jealous. You could have chosen someone less attractive.”

“That would have made you less jealous?” you quirk your brow. 

“No,” he immediately shakes his head. No hesitation.

Laughter erupts from your chest. You didn’t think so either. “ Listen, I wasn’t replacing you and that guy is a good person, so be nice. Your boys were feral around him but he had the patience of a saint. I’m still surprised he didn’t run away after picking me up for our first date. They must take after you…hellions.”

Jinyoung gives you the most deadpan expression. “My boys are angels.”

“Your boys are howling at the moon and swinging through trees right now.”

He laughs but agrees. “Have they checked in at all? I haven’t heard anything.”

“I have no idea, my phone is still in my purse,” you pinch his arm, grinning, “I walked in to find you spread out on the couch and got distracted. I had to pretend I wasn’t drooling just looking at you.”

“You don’t have to pretend that I am not the sexiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on,” he teases with a pretty smile, “I think it’s obvious if you’re willing to marry me twice.”

“Go get my phone so we can be responsible parents.”

He obliges but only after he kisses you so thoroughly it leaves you breathless in his wake. He winks, climbing out of the bed. “Have I told you that you’re the hottest mom, ever?”

You reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head until you’re exposed to his hungry eyes. “How about you just move your ass so I can remind you exactly how hot I am.”

He has to drag himself away, quickly making his way into the living room, retrieving your phone from your purse at lightning speed, and then he jumps back into bed, passing it into your waiting hands. You unlock your phone and find a message waiting. You burst into laughter and hold it out for Jinyoung to read. 

“Goodnight Mom (and Dad…we know you’re there. You share your phone location with us, remember?) Grandma says she knows too but told us to mind our business. I think she is really happy though because she gave us a high-five and extra dessert. Ok, LOVE YOU GUYS!!!”

Jinyoung laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah…I forgot about the location thing,” he admits, climbing back under the covers next to you, “I guess this means we can stop sneaking around.”

“I think I might miss the privacy in your condo,” you grin, playfully squeezing his chest, “We can’t be nearly as loud here.”

Jinyoung smirked, “Let’s sell both our places and buy a new one with the master bedroom on the opposite side of the house.”

“And a pool so the boys stay busy outside.”

Jinyoung kisses your forehead. “I love the way you think.”

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, rolling on top of your husband, “But I want you to make sure I can’t think straight for the next forty-eight hours.”

Jinyoung grins, flipping over to pin your body beneath his. “Happy wife,” he pauses to steal another searing kiss, “Happy life.”

Thanks for reading!

GOT7 M.List | Main M.List

You should have known better than to trust Namjoon with your dating life.

Yoongi never would have put you in this situation. The more level-headed of your two best friends, Yoongi approaches matters of the heart with the same rationality he does everything else. Namjoon, on the other hand, is a great guy – who is notoriously bad at reading other people.

The number of times you’ve been forced to step in and save him from phone scams is astounding. It’s not his fault, really – Namjoon trusts too easily, which doesn’t serve him well in this world. He’s always willing to give others the benefits of the doubt, often getting himself into trouble. 

And now you, by extension, having accepted the blind date he proposed.

Mike Davis moved into Namjoon’s building two months ago, and Namjoon has been adamant since the start that you two would hit it off.

“He goes to all the same conventions you do,” he assured you last week on the phone.

“Which conventions?” you asked, squinting hard at the wall. “I know you’re not big into nerd culture, Namjoon, so as an FYI – not all cons are considered equal.”

Namjoon rattled off a few you’d attended, impressing you enough to agree despite the initial disinterest. This agreement may have been spurred by tonight being the three-month anniversary of the worst break-up of your life.

Almost as soon as you sat down though, you realized your mistake. While you may have reached a point where you don’t cry every time your ex’s name is mentioned, the prospect of dating someone else is an entirely different matter. Getting dressed up tonight felt strange, as did traveling to the restaurant and waiting for Mike at the bar.

The fact that Mike called this a ‘restaurant’ should have been your first warning sign, as Hat Trick is most definitely a sports bar – specifically, a hockey bar. Had you known (really, you should have known), you wouldn’t have gone, but you were nervous and trying to make a good impression. Upon arriving, you arranged yourself awkwardly on a sticky bar stool and waited seven minutes for Mike to walk in.

Nearly an hour later, you find yourself regretting coming at all. Mike excused himself two minutes ago for the bathroom and as soon as he left, you sagged with relief.

He’s a nice guy, you suppose. Good looking, with light brown curls and dark eyes. You can see why Namjoon thought he might be good for you – Mike is the exact opposite of your ex in many ways. Constantly frazzled, he arrived at the bar late, only to immediately duck out because he forgot to pay the parking meter. Jimin was the type who unpacked his suitcase immediately after reaching the hotel and brought several chargers in case one of them died.

Once the meter was paid, Mike sat down and launched into his entire life story. You suppose you should have been happy, since lack of communication ended your last relationship but instead, found yourself overwhelmed. 

Mike finally paused for breath once your drinks arrived, allowing you a moment to answer his questions. The moment you mentioned running a popular cosplay TikTok channel, Mike instantly shifted from arrogant to insecure. 

“I can’t believe you came,” he exhaled with a shake of his head. “When Namjoon showed me your picture, I said no way you’d go out with me. You’re way too beautiful.”

Shifting your weight, you managed to laugh. “Don’t try and get me to leave, now, Mike.”

His eyes widened, not catching your sarcasm and it took several moments to get back on track. Everything since then has been downhill, so when he excused himself for the bathroom, all you felt was relief.

Digging through your purse, you pull out your phone and swipe to the group chat.

Y/N: Namjoon, WHAT possessed you to set me up with this man [7:46 PM]

Yoongi’s reply comes immediately.

Yoongi: told you it was too soon [7:46 PM]

Namjoon’s ellipses join in.

Namjoon: what! Why? What happened?? Mike didn’t try something on you, did he? [7:47 PM]

Y/N: no, no – nothing like that [7:47 PM]

Y/N: he just keeps saying how *amazing* I am and how he doesn’t know why I’m on this date at all [7:47 PM]

Yoongi: dude [7:48 PM]

Y/N: EXACTLY [7:48 PM]

Before Namjoon can respond, the bartender changes the channel and an all-too-familiar name blares over the speakers. Slowly, you look up, and all thoughts of Mike fade in the face of NHL coverage.

Nope, no – absolutely not.

Leaning over the counter, you tap the bartender. “Hi.” Brightly, you smile. “First off, could I have another glass of white wine? And then, maybe… could you change the channel?”

Glancing around, the guy shakes his head. “Yes, to the wine, but no, the channel,” he says with a shrug. “Half the people in here came to watch the game. Pre-show coverage is part of that.”

With an apologetic nod, he grabs a rag and disappears. Sinking back in your seat, you stare at your hands, clasped tightly on the counter. Your seat at the bar puts you in the unfortunate position of hearing each word crystal-clear.

“Well, Josh – what chance do you think the Blackhawks have tonight?”

The silver-haired announcer bobs his head. “Steve, I’d say their chances are pretty darn good. You’ve seen this team’s early games. Their first line is strong, especially now that Park’s back.”

“Oh, absolutely – Jimin Park has been crucial to the last couple of games. He was sorely missed last season.”

“Ha! You can say that again.”

Trying to hide a wince, you clasp your hands tighter as a fresh glass of wine is set down. “Thanks,” you mutter, downing half in one gulp.

Immediately, your plans for later tonight shift to accommodate a bottle of wine. Movement catches your eye and, lacking self-preservation, you look up in time for a montage of star right winger, Jimin Park, tearing his way down the ice. Shamefully, you recognize every shot because, although you broke up in September, you continued to watch every game.

“One of the most talked about moments last year in hockey was the late check on Park by Blues player, Brent Howard,” continues the announcer, Josh. “Park’s helmet came loose when he hit the boards, and he went down hard on the ice resulting in a sprained knee and herniated a disc in his neck. A complicated surgery took him out for the remainder of the season. He only started to skate with the team again during off season conditioning.”

Hearing Jimin’s trauma recounted with such callousness, you find yourself gripping your wine glass tighter than ever.

“I don’t think anyone expected Park to play again,” agrees the other announcer, Steve. “It’s a damned miracle he’s back on the ice – but to return and be this good? Park has always been one of the best right wingers in the league, but I’d say he’s the best offensive player on the ice right now.”

“A bold claim!” laughs Josh. “But I might just agree. Even Jungkook Jeon on the Kraken hasn’t been matching Park in assists.”

“Exactly! I mean, look at the numbers. Last year, the Blackhawks barely made the playoffs and now, they’re leading the Central Division.”

“Truly amazing, given the nature of his injury last November. I don’t know how familiar you are with herniated discs, Steve, but –”

Mike slides back onto his stool. Grateful for the distraction, you turn fully to face him. Having already lived through the injury once, you have no need to reminisce. Replacing your phone in your purse, you smile gamely at Mike.

“So,” you say, attempting to save the conversation. “Namjoon mentioned you go to conventions? What fandoms are you a part of?”

“Oh.” Mike loosely shrugs. “I doubt you’ve heard of any of them.”

At his dismissive tone, you stiffen. Your experience with the male side of fandom is always a toss-up. “Well, there are a lot of them. Any more mainstream?”

He considers. “Marvel?”

Stunned, you blink a few times. Marvel must be one of the biggest fandoms on the planet, let alone in the country. Even if you weren’t deep in the convention circuit, you’d have heard of Marvel.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I think I’ve heard of that.”

“Cool, cool.” Mike nods. “Namjoon said you do cosplay – and showed me your TikTok! You know, you’d make a great Wonder Woman.”

You can practically feel your jaw tighten. “That’s DC, not Marvel. But thanks.”

Silently, you add for nothing. While you love Wonder Woman and have, in fact, cosplayed her many times, men usually only request her for one reason and it’s the skimpy outfit. Whenever you cosplay as circa 2010 Wonder Woman in pants, they’re decidedly less interested. By now, you’ve learned only to pick your characters based on personal interest.

“Have you ever cosplayed?” you query.

Unbidden, your gaze slides to the TV. Commercial break. Stifling the twinge of disappointment, you refocus on Mike.

“Nah.” His nose wrinkles, and your stomach sinks further. “I don’t do that stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Hearing your tone, his eyes widen. “I mean, it’s cool for you. I saw your TikToks and you look amazing. I’d just look dumb,” Mike says, attempting a laugh.

Sugary sweet, you smile. “I don’t know. My ex used to cosplay with me, and no one ever laughed at him.”

Admittedly, this is something of a low blow since your ex-boyfriend is Jimin Park, but either Namjoon didn’t tell him who your ex is, or Mike doesn’t care. Which – if that’s the case, maybe Mike deserves more credit than you gave him. 

“Ah.” He nods, taking a sip of his beer. “Have you ever thought about cosplaying as Wonder Woman, though?”

Your smile vanishes. Then again, maybe you’ve given him exactly the right amount of credit.

“I have,” you allow. “But more recently, I’ve been cosplaying Dimension 20 characters. It’s kind of niche, but my last character was Sundry Sidney from A Starstruck Odyssey. You know – giant machine gun arm, roller skates and a mechanical eye. Oh, and a ‘fuck erotica Ann’ button, of course.”

Mike’s smile freezes. “Why… would you dress like that?”

“Because it’s fun.” Finishing your glass of wine, you toss a few bills on the counter. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Mike, but I think we’d be better off as friends. Don’t you agree?”

Even with the answer right there in the question, still he looks flummoxed.

“I…” 

“Or acquaintances,” you add, standing to pull on your pea coat. “Or nothing at all. Whatever you prefer.”

Slinging your purse on your shoulder, you wave at the bartender and start to leave. You only make it several steps before Mike mutters something beneath his breath – loud enough that you hear.

“Stupid,” he mutters. “This is why you don’t date women like her, Mike.”

You come to a stop. Really, you should keep going. Common sense – and Namjoon’s HOA – depend on you being the bigger person and walking out. But your therapist has said you need to work on communicating, even when the message is something the other person won’t like.

Turning around, you tap Mike on the shoulder.

He glances upward, surprised – and then reddens, realizing you heard.

“Yep, I heard,” you say shortly, retracting your hand. “Was the muttering supposed to be secret?”

Mike opens, then closes his mouth, like a fish.

“What did you mean, ‘women like me?’” you inquire, folding your arms. “Ones with self-respect? Or hobbies? Women who know more about a subject than you do?”

Behind the counter, the bartender snort-laughs, rising in your esteem despite the whole TV channel thing. 

Mike stares at you, stunned. He seems to grow a pair in that moment though, straightening to face you. “Women with sticks up their asses,” he blurts.

Stifling an eye roll, you lean closer. “Listen, Mike,” you say, placing one hand on the counter. “If you think you can hurt my feelings – think again. Someone broke my heart three months ago, so nothing you say now will remotely compare. Do you really want to know why women like me won’t date you?”

The furrow between his brows deepens, and you take this as a sign to continue. Leaning even closer, you lower your voice.

“It’s because you’re insecure,” you say softly. “Giving someone a compliment and putting yourself down in the same sentence isn’t nice, it’s awkward. Not to mention, you’re sexist,” you add, watching him stiffen. “Telling me – a two-time Comic Con trivia champion – that I wouldn’t know Marvel is wild. Oh, and you’re a snob. Tabletop games are awesome, and cosplay is fun. Have a good night – I paid for your drink.”

With that, you turn around and march out the door to a smattering of applause from your new favorite bartender. 

The moment you step outside, you’re hit by a cold gust of wind. Objectively, you should have called an Uber before your dramatic exit. Pulling free your phone, you find several missed texts from the group chat.

Ignoring them, you order an Uber and stand under the heat lamp. Scrolling to your recent calls, you punch in Namjoon’s number.

“You’re so dead,” you declare once he answers.

Namjoon sputters loudly. “What – why? Is this because of the self-deprecating comments? Because I have to say, your sister does that all the time.”

“Yeah, and it’s annoying,” you say as your Uber arrives. “Why do you think I chose not to visit for Christmas?”

“Uh, because she’s obsessed with Jesus.”

“Well, that, too,” you sigh, sinking into the seat. “But the self-deprecating comments weren’t the only thing wrong. The entire date was uncomfortable. I don’t know how you thought we’d be good together.”

“Mike seemed fine!”

“Okay, first off – fine? You set me up with fine?” you repeat, imitating his tone. “And second, when I said I cosplayed, his first question was whether I’d ever cosplayed as Wonder Woman.”

“… maybe he’s a fan?”

“He thought she was Marvel.”

Namjoon exhales. “Damn. I’m sorry, Y/N. I really thought he’d be good for you.”

Something in your chest softens. “I know,” you say, glancing out the window. “Which is why I’m not really mad at you. One can’t be mad at the truly pathetic.”

“Hey!”

“Namjoon, he said I had a stick up my ass.”

“He said what?! Hang on, let me patch Yoongi in.”

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you laugh, attempting to stave off any actual crimes. “Really. I learned two very important things tonight.”

“Oh?” He sounds skeptical. “What things are those?”

“Well, number one – I’m not ready to date.”

Reluctant, Namjoon sighs. “Yoongi was right.”

“Yoongi was right,” you agree.

Staring out the window, you soak in your reality. Even if Mike had been a nice guy, you still would have been counting down the minutes until leaving. Your ex-boyfriend blaring on the TV certainly helps, but even on a different channel, you would have been distracted. Still would have been comparing everything Mike did to him.

You’ve been seeing the same therapist since college, Dr. Lisa Germain. Mostly on and off, but especially during periods of turmoil in your life. Right now, you typically talk once a month although this greatly increased the month following your break-up. Dr. Lisa probably would have cautioned you about moving on so fast – or possibly she would have questioned why three months is too fast.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Namjoon says, dragging your thoughts back to the present. “That sucks. What was lesson number two?”

“Number two,” you say, as the Uber pulls to a stop outside your building. “Is I’m never letting you set me up on a blind date again.”

Namjoon protests, but you put the phone on mute. Exiting the Uber, you enter the liquor store below your new apartment. New being relative since you’ve lived here for three months. When you and Jimin ended, you decided he’d keep the apartment and you’d be the one to move out. Partly, the decision was made due to self-preservation.

The moment you left you knew you couldn’t move on surrounded by memories. This may have been for naught though, since you can’t seem to move on without the memories, either.

“Hang on, Joon,” you say, pushing open the door. “I need to grab something from the store.”

Slipping the phone in your pocket, you grab your favorite wine and head for check-out. The owner’s daughter, Sarah, looks up from the register.

“Y/N, hi!” she gushes, setting down her magazine. “How’s your night going?”

You give her a giant thumbs-down. “Awful. Just came back from a date.”

“Woof.” Ringing you up, Sarah shakes her head. “At least you’re trying, I guess? You couldn’t pay me to go on a date with a man.”

Your lips twitch, accepting the bag she hands you. “In this hypothetical scenario, are you also straight?”

“God, no.”

Laughing, you turn and head for the door. “Noted. Anyways, I’m off to drink myself into oblivion and hopefully wake up after the holidays.”

“Fingers crossed!” she yells as you exit the shop.

Shivering, you jog the remaining steps to your side door. Per usual, climbing the narrow steps steals your breath, and it takes you a moment to pull out your key.

“Did you hear all that?” you say, taking Namjoon off mute as you enter.

He makes a disgruntled sound. “I hate when you do that.”

“You love me,” you counter, putting the phone on speaker. Shrugging free of your coat, you kick off your shoes.

Inside your kitchen, you open the fridge to survey your Britta, a carton of eggs and half a block of cheese. Shutting the door, you glance at your equally dismal counters.

“Should I actually decorate my apartment?”

“Yes,” says Namjoon, and you decide to ignore him. “Are you inside?”

“Yep!” you yell, standing on tiptoe to grab a wine glass.

“Okay, then I’m going to hang up and get back to the game.”

Heart dropping towards your stomach, you turn. “Great,” you say. “I’ll just be here, trying to forget that Christmas is in ten days, and I have zero plans apart from sitting alone in my barely furnished apartment, watching bad movies, and trying not to cry the entire time.”

“I will repeat – your sister invited you over.”

“Yes, and I’ll repeat.” Making a face, you uncork the bottle. “I’d rather not sit through two very long, confusing ceremonies about the birth of a Lord I don’t believe in. Besides – even if I wanted to go, flight prices are crazy. I need to save up to buy a kitchen table.”

“What about your parents?”

Pouring yourself a large glass of wine, you shake your head. “Nope. They decided to go on another cruise this year. I swear, if having fun in retirement is a contest, they’re winning.”

Namjoon laughs. “Well, you can always come home with me. My mom would probably ask whether we’re dating again, though.”

Grin widening, you carry your wine into the living room. Plopping onto the second-hand sofa you bought from Yoongi, you flick through the channels until finding The Holiday.

“Tell her what I always say – that I’m too good for you,” you sniff. “And also, you’re in love with your neighbor.”

“Y/N!” You can practically see Namjoon’s panicked look at his door. “Not so loud! I had you on speaker.”

Rolling your eyes, you tug your blanket up. “Oh, please. She so obviously likes you – she’s just waiting for you to make the first move.”

“BYE, Y/N!” In the background, you hear Namjoon turn on his TV. “TALK TO YOU LATER!”

“Bye!”

“Don’t drink too much!”

“Byeee!”

Hanging up, you settle back on your pillows as Jude Law comes on screen. Seeing how easily Cameron Diaz’s character makes him laugh, you feel a lonely twang. Personally, you enjoy the latter phase of romance as much as the start. Comfortable silence, knowing glances, and thoughtful requests that come from knowing someone so well.

“Enjoy it now,” you mutter at the screen, drinking deeply. “It won’t last.”

Slumping lower, you draw your knees in. A deep sense of sadness washes over you, coaxing you closer to the fetal position. Running a finger over your blanket, you stare at the screen.

One of the things people don’t say about break-ups is how long they take. For a week, the pain nauseates, a knife to your stomach each time you draw breath. It’s there when you wake in the middle of the night, rolling over to reach for someone not there. Everything makes you think of them. Or worse, you forget them, only to remember a second later and be hit with a fresh wave of pain.

After the first week, the pain doesn’t fade. You just learn to live with it, allowing it to become an ever-present companion. Last week, when Namjoon set up the blind date, you thought you could do this, only for the pain to hit, as debilitating as ever. After three months, it feels different – no longer tinged with disbelief, but full of raw realization that this is your future. Strange men and strange bars while Jimin moves on.

Instead of improving, your life feels like survival. And always, it’s shadowed by an undercurrent of pain, waiting for the moment to drag you under. Like tonight, with your horrible date, a bottle of wine and The Holiday.

Unable to stem your regret, you pour yourself a second glass and add another blanket. If tonight is about feelings, you might as well feed them fully. Prepare for the eventuality of being alone.

After all, it isn’t like Jimin has reached out to you, either.

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

Groggily, you roll over and open one eye. The TV is still on, the volume down low, light flickering across your wooden floor. The Holiday ended long ago, and now the channel plays reruns of a sitcom you hate.

The buzzing stops, and then starts, and you realize it’s your phone. Still groggy, you attempt to roll over – tangling partway and nearly falling to the floor. Yelping out loud, you grab the coffee table, inadvertently bringing yourself into contact with your phone.

Grasping it, you press answer. “Hullo?” you rasp.

“Y/N?”

Both your eyes open.

Heart hammering, you slowly sit up with one hand on the blanket. Feeling at once hot and cold, you shake your head slowly to clear away sleep. There’s no way the person you think is calling actually is.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

Fingers trembling, you tap your screen once to see Jimin’s name light up. For some reason, you never had the strength to delete it from your numbers.

It is him. Jimin is calling, and this isn’t a dream. Or if it is, it’s a particularly good one and honestly, you aren’t sure you want to wake up.

Returning the phone to your ear, you grab the remote to turn down the volume. Clearing your throat, you feel the beginnings of a headache pounding at your temples. Most likely courtesy of your empty wine bottle before you.

“Jimin?”

Softly, he exhales. “Hey. Yeah… it’s me.”

A thick silence falls, and you glance out the window. Orange-yellow streetlight illuminates freshly fallen snow. The last time you spoke to Jimin was… well, it’s been a while. After you broke up, you had to talk a few times to arrange the movers, but once the last box had cleared, it was radio silence.

I’m probably dreaming, you determine.

“Uh, no.” Jimin clears his throat, and you realize with horror you said that out loud. “It’s really me.”

“…ah.”

Weakly, he chuckles. “Hopefully it isn’t that bad to hear from me?” When you choose not to respond, Jimin exhales. “I mean, it’s not terrible for me to hear you.”

Exhaling softly, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Jimin… what do you want?”

Of course, it’s not terrible hearing from him. It’s the exact opposite, which is why this is bad. You worked hard to reach a point where you can sleep without him (sleeping well is another matter). Hearing Jimin’s voice, you’re terrified of slipping right back to needing him. If you ever even stopped, that is.

“Who says I want something?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Casting your gaze down, you pick at your blanket. “You’re the one calling me in the middle of the night, so… just tell me what you want, Jimin, so I can go back to bed.”

Something in his voice shifts. “Why, do you have someone waiting?”

Your hand stills. “Jimin, that is so not your business. We’re not together anymore – remember?”

“Oh, I remember.”

“Great,” you huff. “Then, say this is a butt dial, so I can hang up and pretend this never happened.”

Jimin is quiet for so long, you’re forced to pull back and double-check he hasn’t hung up. He hasn’t, so you can only presume he has something important to say. Brow furrowing, you return the phone to your ear.

Some of your initial irritation vanishes, replaced by worry. “Jimin,” you say, pushing yourself upright. “Is everything alright?”

“I…”

Almost without thinking, you find yourself on your feet. Of course, you should have assumed something bad happened. There’s no other reason for Jimin to call. Attempting to disentangle from your many blankets, you only make it worse and bang your shin on the table.

“Fuck!” you blurt, clutching your knee. “Fucking shit, that hurt!”

Jimin chuckles lowly, and you freeze. It’s been so long since hearing his laugh, you hadn’t realized the hole the sound fills in your chest.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you mutter, straightening when you remember your reason for haste. Shoving the blanket aside, you head for the door. “Are you okay? I’m still kind of tipsy, but I can call a cab and come over. Is it your neck?” you demand, grabbing your keys. “Did something happen to you during the game tonight?”

Mentally, you curse yourself for not watching. When you got home, you made a point of not turning on that channel. Every other game this season you’ve watched except this one, and of course, this is the one where Jimin gets hurt, and –

“Whoa, whoa,” he blurts. “Y/N, wait! I’m okay. I’m not injured.”

Immediately, you sag in relief – only to freeze, realizing how desperate you sounded. You broke up in September. Jimin let you leave and hasn’t contacted you since. This is your first conversation since then and here you are, pretending to have some sort of claim on his personal well-being.

Dropping your keys, you sink onto the couch. “Right. Okay, right.”

“Sorry… for making you think that I was.”

Rubbing your forehead, you glance out the window. “Just… say why you’re calling so I can go back to sleep.”

“Right.” Jimin pauses. “So, here’s the thing. Remember how my contract expired at the end of last season? And the team only agreed to a new one-year contract because of my injury?”

“Yes, Jimin. We broke up three months ago, not three years.”

“Anyways,” he says, breezing past your snark, “discussions are ongoing to extend my contract.”

“Okay…”

“You probably haven’t been watching” – when he says this, you shift uncomfortably – “but the season is going well. The team… well, they want to extend my contract three years.”

Frowning slightly, you pick at the blanket. “Cool. Congratulations.”

Truthfully, all you can think about is why he decided to call and tell you this. Surely, there must be someone else in Jimin’s life to share things with by now. This thought pierces a shattered piece of your heart, but you push past it.

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “Well, the thing is… I’m heading home for Christmas next weekend. Before I sign an extension, I need to tell my parents.”

Despite yourself, you wince. “Ah.”

Ah is an understatement. When Jimin was injured last year, it ushered in a stressful period. He’d been hurt before on the team, but never like this. Always, the team’s doctors patched him up and shoved him back on the ice with minimal consequences. Like the sports commentators said, when Jimin was injured last year, his career faced uncertainty.

A herniated neck disc is bad under normal circumstances, but for someone whose livelihood is their body, it’s downright terrifying. After seeing a bevy of doctors, Jimin realized he needed surgery. Fairly invasive surgery, with at least a six-month window for recovery. Jimin was told he’d definitely be out for the season, and that possibly he’d skated for the last time.

Last year held a lot of uncertainty, moments when Jimin wavered between fear and positivity. Through everything, you tried to provide support, but this wasn’t the case with everyone in his life. His parents were supportive about the surgery but wanted Jimin to quit hockey. They’d always been wary of the profession, although they ultimately supported what Jimin wanted. Last year changed their perspective.

You witnessed his mom flat-out beg him to quit several times. Jimin had played in the NHL for six years already and was a Stanley Cup champion. They didn’t understand what else Jimin wanted, but in your opinion, Jimin didn’t need anything. He was a hockey player, plain and simple. Asking him to stop was unfathomable.

His parents backed off once Jimin’s contract was extended for only a year. Jimin promised he’d reconsider whether to continue this fall.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“Exactly.” His tone is heavy. “Shit.”

You hesitate, drawing your blankets up to your chin. “I’m sorry, Jimin, but… I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“Right. So, here’s the thing. You see, I haven’t actually… I mean, it never really came up, so…”

Understanding slowly dawns. “Jimin,” you say. “What didn’t come up?”

His line muffles until he reappears, inhaling deeply. “Right, so. I… haven’t told my family that we broke up.”

Loud ringing fills your ears.

“You… what?”

“I was just so – busy, in the fall. We broke up right when the season started, and I was juggling practice and therapy, and then we ended and I just… I don’t know! I didn’t tell them. I kept putting it off, saying it’d be better to tell them in person, but now… I don’t know, Y/N,” he exhales. “I don’t have a good answer for you, I’m sorry.”

Gripping your phone, you stare at the ceiling. On the one hand, you don’t blame Jimin for putting off this conversation. Every phone call you had to explain the break-up was awful. Your sister cried and insisted on flying out, but her house was being renovated and you insisted she stay. Namjoon and Yoongi were somehow worse. Jimin hadn’t done anything, so they couldn’t bash him as a person, but they did insist he’d come to regret it. You weren’t so sure.

The fact that Jimin managed to avoid this makes you irrationally angry. Just like when you were dating, Jimin sidestepped the hard conversations.

“Okay, that sucks,” you say stiffly. “But I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Y/N.” Jimin exhales. “I’m going home next week without you. I’m going to have to say we broke up, whether I want to or not. I also am crushing their dreams and saying I plan to extend my contract. My family loves you,” he adds, voice breaking. “My dad tosses around future names for our kids. My mom keeps saying she booked the lodge for our wedding, and I really don’t know whether she’s kidding or not. How –”

“Jimin,” you rush, cutting him off. “Stop.”

He ceases talking immediately, and you focus on breathing. Every word has your heart in a vice grip, squeezing out any progress made before this call. This time last year, you thought his family would one day be yours. You wanted everything Jimin is saying, and it hurts, remembering he walked away from all that.

“I… I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I know I have no right to ask this, but… Y/N, will you come?”

Your lips part. Jimin can’t possibly mean what you think he’s saying. And even if he does mean that, there’s no way you can accept. You’d never recover.

“I haveto tell them about the contract,” he says, sounding tired. “The team gave me a deadline of January, but I know they want an answer soon. Which means… Y/N, I can’t tell them we broke up. Not yet – not now,” he adds. “I promise to explain in the new year.”

“Jimin… I don’t think I can.”

You hesitate though, and you know Jimin hears. Honestly, from the moment the words left his lips, you can’t stop picturing it. The two of you broke up so fast, you never had the opportunity to grieve everything you left behind. Jimin’s family was a big part of that.

“I promise it won’t be weird,” Jimin says, and you huff. “Okay, well – I promise to make this as not weird as possible. I just… I’m sorry, Y/N. This was a stupid idea.”

Chewing your lower lip, you stare out your window. You shouldn’t entertain this but find that you are. The obvious answer is no. For your own sanity, and the progress you’ve made – but then again, what progress? Three months of therapy and distance, and still, you break into tears at the sight of an ice skate.

Trying to date again was a bust. You can’t possibly hurt less than you do now, and moreover, you genuinely care about Jimin’s family. The Parks always welcomed you in a way your own family never has.

Obviously, you love your parents. They’ve always been good to you but are frequently absent and your sister is kind, but vastly different from you and nearly a decade older. Christmas with your family is nice, comfortable but never chaotic. Never loud, never bustling and never as warm as Christmas with the Parks.

When you broke up, you lost not only Jimin, but the future you’d built together. It’s hard letting go of that overnight, and you wonder if a final trip would help you say goodbye. For months, you’ve responded to texts from Jimin’s mom and sister, Jisoo, with some confusion, and now you know why. They had no idea you and their son broke up.

“Please, Y/N,” Jimin says. “I know I don’t deserve you saying yes, but… I had to ask.”

This, more than anything, convinces you to accept. Towards the end of your relationship, you were practically begging to know what he wanted. Jimin always refused. He said he didn’t want to burden you with his problems, and instead, they grew in the space between you.

Hearing him ask for help stirs something deep down you thought were long buried.

“Fine,” you blurt. Jimin’s end of the call goes silent, forcing you to examine the phone again. “Hello?” you ask, returning it to your ear. “Jimin?”

“Yeah.” His voice trembles. “Sorry – I’m here. I just think I hallucinated because I thought you said yes.”

Although you roll your eyes, your lips twitch. “You heard right, Park. I’ll do it.”

“… are you sure?”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of this?”

“No, no!” Jimin blurts. “I’m sorry. I just – okay, cool.” He clears his throat once, then twice. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” you mutter.

“I’m flying home next Thursday and staying until the day after Christmas. Does that work for you, or do you already have plans…?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t planning on going home this year.”

Jimin pauses, and you can practically hear all his questions. Thankfully, he chooses to ask none. “Okay,” he continues. “So, do you want to fly together? I’ll get our tickets.”

Momentarily, you panic because you were just telling Namjoon you don’t have money for a last-minute trip to visit your sister. On the other hand, you really don’t want to owe Jimin anything.

“That’s not necessary,” you say quickly. “I can get my own flight.”

“Y/N.” His tone books no argument. “You’re the one doing me the favor. The least I can do is buy your plane ticket – please.”

“Well… okay,” you say, knowing you don’t have a choice. Dropping a huge amount of money on a last-minute flight isn’t in the budget.

“I can pick you up, and we can head to the airport together next Thursday?”

Frowning, you pick at a thread of your blanket. When you were dating, Jimin was your chauffeur. Not many people have cars in the city, but he does in case the team practices further out. You also hate to drive, something he seems to recall.

“That’s probably not a good idea,” you admit. “I can have Yoongi drive me, or something.”

“Y/N…”

“No, it’s fine,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel. “Or I can take the train. Either way. You probably have practice that day anyways, right?”

“Yes, but –”

“Then it’s settled,” you declare. “We meet at the airport. Okay?”

Sensing this to be a hard line, Jimin exhales. “Alright. I’ll email you the plane ticket tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great.” He pauses. “And seriously, thank you. I promise I’ll make this as easy as possible. If you don’t want to see my family, that’s fine – we can say you have a big project, or something. That’s what I was planning to say, but my mom kept asking when you were coming and Jisoo was excited, and…”

“You just couldn’t tell them,” you finish. Honestly, you understand. It hurt nearly as much as breaking up, explaining over and over to people. “I don’t mind. I want to see your family.”

“Okay, well.” Jimin clears his throat. “I should probably get back to bed.”

“Probably. Talk to you later, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

There’s another long pause while you wait for him to hang up or say something else. Neither happens, and your heart thumps louder.

“Well, goodnight,” you prompt.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The depth in his voice prompts a shiver as you hang up. Staring at your TV, your stomach slowly sinks as the conversation washes over you.

Jimin called.

He called you for the first time since the breakup, spoke to you (mostly) without bitterness and asked you to come home for the holidays. Which you agreed to.

Groaning, you grab a throw pillow to bury your face in the cushion. With dread, you realize this means you'll be forced to discuss the reasons why you broke up. Maybe when you wake up, this will all be a dream. A stupid, wishful dream that Jimin called and needed you.

Or rather – he needed something from you, you remind yourself as you head to bed. Needing something from you is different than needing you. And yet, you find yourself wishing they were one and the same. One short conversation and you find yourself right back where you were in September.

If you learned anything tonight, it’s that you’re not ready to date again.

And that when Jimin calls, you continue to answer.

Jimin has never been good at saying the things that matter.

Other things, he’s good at. Jimin’s classmates voted him most likely to host a talk show in high school, and his team routinely shoves him into front of the press after games. Jimin easily converses with strangers or friends, mostly due to his talent of turning the conversation on others.

Regardless of whether they’ve been friends for weeks or years, Jimin is good at making people feel connected. Once the conversation ends though, the person might look back and realize they only talked about themselves. They’ll realize Jimin laughed, asked probing questions and avoided sharing anything personal.

This is something his therapist pointed out the week after you broke up with him. Actually – Dr. Nygard would take issue with that phrasing. You didn’t break up with Jimin. You brought up a difficult conversation and asked for a break, both of which Jimin didn’t want to hear.

Exhaling deeply, he tears his thoughts from the past. Shaking his head, Jimin stuffs his hands in his pockets to stare out the window. Perforated glass separates him from the curb, dulling the cacophony of outside honking. Holiday travel is in full swing, with Christmas Eve only four days away.

Shifting his weight backwards, Jimin idly hopes you bought a warmer coat. For two winters, he’s nudged you to purchase and for two winters, he’s been overruled. You promised to let him buy you a parka this Christmas, only for… well.

Jaw tight, Jimin glances over his shoulder. He should have insisted on driving you to the airport. He should have said a lot of things Saturday night that he didn’t; Jimin has replayed the conversation often since you two hung up. Opening with jealousy probably wasn’t the best. Pinning the entire idea on his family and not saying once how much he missed you, how badly he messed up – that was the biggest mistake of all.

Despite his assurances, Jimin knows this will likely end badly. Not for you, but for him.

Jimin isn’t an actor, and he can only pretend for so long not to be in love with you. Even with a best-case scenario, his family won’t suspect you’re broken up, but you won’t end up together. When you return after Christmas, Jimin will go to his apartment alone.

A familiar blue SUV stops at the curb, momentarily hidden behind a throng of people. The moment they clear, Jimin spots a cat meme bumper sticker plastered across the window. Definitely Yoongi. The passenger door cracks open, only to pause. Through tinted glass, Jimin makes out the shape of your head, but–

His entire body stiffens. Did you cut your hair?

A moment later, the door opens, and you step outside. Yoongi exits as well, heading for the trunk to pop it open. Reaching inside, he grasps your large suitcase to set on the curb. Patting him once, you immediately pull Yoongi in for a hug and Jimin’s thoughts sour.

Jimin knows Yoongi. Jimin likes Yoongi – he also likes Namjoon, your two closest friends. They’ve even hung out without you, but right now, Jimin feels nothing but jealousy. Yoongi looks put together in a navy pea coat, glancing at the airport with noticeable suspicion. His hair is longer, curled behind his ears and multiple women on the curb are staring.

On instinct, Jimin glances at his old parka. Warmer, yes, but not as enticing.

When you pull back from the hug, Jimin realizes his fists are clenched. Shaking his head, Yoongi glances at the airport and says something you seem to disagree with, based on your expression. Brows pinched, you respond and Yoongi exhales. He hugs you once more, then shuts the trunk and heads for the driver’s side.

Jimin doesn’t realize he’s staring until you start walking towards him. Whirling around, he takes a couple steps backwards to steady himself. He needs the perfect opening line. Something to break the ice, letting you know this isn’t weird – something that isn’t, hey, Y/N, I love you!

A hand taps his shoulder, and Jimin turns.

“Hi,” you blurt, stuffing your hands in your pockets.

You’re still wearing the same wool trench coat. This is the first thing Jimin notices, and then his brain stutters. Words flash through his mind – gorgeous, beautiful – until they refract with each other to form a single concept. You look the same and yet, different – Jimin can’t quite put a finger on it. Your hair is shorter, but that’s not causing the dissonance.

Something in his chest tightens. “Hey,” Jimin blurts, the blandest opening ever uttered. So much for all his planning. “Um, how was the traffic?”

You attempt a weak smile. “Hellish. What else?”

Jimin chuckles, the sound slipping past before he can stop it. Something unsteady flashes in your gaze, gone before he can dissect it.

“So, uh.” Jimin looks at the baggage counter. “Do you want to check your suitcase, or…?”

“Oh. Yeah,” you say, reaching for your bag.

Before you can grasp it, Jimin swoops in to grab the handle. Wheeling it easily, he pulls this in the direction of the ticket counter. He already checked himself in, but you’ll need to show your ID to the attendant for your ticket.

Quickening your stride, you glance sideways. “I could have done that.”

“I know.” Jimin flips the handle around. “But coach said to lift weights while I’m gone. I figure this counts.”

You snort, disguising it as a cough. “I won’t hear your judgment on this. What did you bring – a couple black t-shirts? One sweater? Meanwhile, Ihave an entire skin regimen, hair care ritual and different shoes for each outfit.”

“And how many outfits did you bring? You know we’re only there for four days.”

“Yes, but I need nicer clothes for the evening, and the Christmas Eve party – that’s happening, right?” you add, glancing sideways. “I assumed but wasn’t sure.”

“It is.” Jimin nods. “You could have texted, you know.”

Your face screams disagreement. “I guess.”

Wheeling your suitcase into an empty line, Jimin pretends he didn’t hear. You realize which line you’re in a second too late, stopping in your tracks halfway.

“Jimin,” you hiss, grabbing his sleeve. “This is for first class. The real line is over there.”

“I know,” he says and continues. “I bought us first class.”

Your jaw drops, hesitating another moment before rushing to catch up. The attendant at the counter greets you, taking your passport with a sincere smile. Jimin shifts his weight, subtly glancing over his shoulder. Several people in the main line have noticed their presence – one guy has even whipped out his phone.

Leaning an elbow on the counter, Jimin conceals you from view. “Charlotte,” he says lowly. “I know you’re going as fast as you can, but could you wrap things up in the next minute or so? We’re getting some attention.”

“Of course!” she chirps, wrapping a hand around your suitcase to place on the belt. Handing over your ticket, she beams. “First class TSA pre-check is through those doors. Have a wonderful holiday!”

Thanking her warmly, Jimin places a hand on your lower back and guides you away. Left with only your backpack and purse, you move a lot faster towards TSA.

Still, you huff as you stare at your ticket. “First class – really, Jimin?” you say, removing your purse. “And last minute? That must have cost a fortune!”

Entering the line, Jimin places his coat on the belt. “It was necessary,” he says. “We were only in that line for a minute, and someone was already filming.”

Startled, you glance around, but the person is out of view. Jimin faces forward, fishing his keys and wallet from pockets to place in a tray.

In the past, Jimin didn’t mind being recognized. Usually, this was accompanied by something fun, like ‘congratulations on the game’ or a request for an autograph. Occasionally people crossed a line but for the most part, recognition was good. After last year, recognition turned to cell phones shoved in his face. Angry words insisting he personally tanked the last year for the Blackhawks. Invasive questions about therapy, his return and whether he’d ever play hockey again.

Jimin started disliking the attention soon after. Placing his tray on the belt, he hears a loud gasp behind him.

“No way!” someone blurts. “Is that – oh my god, are you Jimin Park?”

Fumbling slightly, Jimin starts to feel clammy – until your hand appears, steadying his elbow.

“No photographs,” you say brightly. “Mr. Park’s exclusive photography rights are owned by the Blackhawks, and as their legal representative, I will sue for payment. Phones down. Thank you.”

With an iron grip, you steer Jimin towards the x-ray machine, where he shudders a breath.

“Thanks,” Jimin mutters, shaking his head.

“No problem.” Realizing you’re touching, you swiftly withdraw. “I didn’t realize… well, I know things were intense. I didn’t know they’d gotten worse.”

“A little,” Jimin says, and then pauses. “I had to move.”

“What?” You glance at him, startled. “To where?”

“I –”

Leaving the line at security, Jimin realizes the couple behind you are following. Jerking his chin to the left, he silently points them out and sees your face darken. Subtly, you move closer and lower your voice.

“What now?” you ask.

“Oh my god!” Someone else gasps. “Is that Jimin Park?!”

“Run,” Jimin blurts, grabbing your hand.

Your fingers curl around his, something there’s no time to linger on while plunging into the crowd. Still holding hands, you weave between people and suitcases. Most don’t even attempt to stop you, too busy worrying about their departure time. That’s one thing Jimin likes about airports. Everyone is usually in a rush, not just celebrities.

It doesn’t take long to lose their pursuers, arriving at the lounge in record time. Smoothly, the doors open to admit your entrance. Handing over his ticket, Jimin is forced to withdraw his hand, something he does with great reticence. Worse, you take a pointed step away as you enter the elevator.

Doors open on the second floor, revealing the lounge reserved for first class. Most of the chairs are empty or populated by aging businesspeople, spurring an exhale of relief from Jimin.

Spotting the well-stocked bar, you drop your backpack and head in this direction.

“I need a drink,” you mutter as you pass.

Sensing you need alone time, Jimin elects not to follow. Instead, he sinks into the chair beside yours and folds his parka in two. Stupidly, he decided to check most of his things in his suitcase. The only entertainment he has for the long flight is his phone.

Returning to the seat beside him, you take a large sip from a glass of red wine.

Jimin watches you curiously. “What were you arguing about with Yoongi?”

The words slip past before he can stop them, although inward, he cringes. Jimin is supposed to convince you he’s different, show you things have changed, and instead, his first observation is jealousy.

Your gaze cuts sideways. “He thinks I’m being stupid,” you say. “And I have to admit, he’s not wrong.”

“Stupid for… coming with me for the holidays?”

Rueful, you nod. “Well… I’m embellishing somewhat. Yoongi just said this is a bad idea. I added the stupid part.”

“Ah,” Jimin says, falling silent.

Honestly, both of you are probably right. Since leaving the car, nothing has gone to plan. Jimin was supposed to wow you with how together he is. Show you he’s trying to communicate his feelings. Apologize for everything that went wrong in September. Instead, he’s done nothing but fumble and appear slightly out of control.

Being around you though, drags him right back to that night. Crisp air, as he came home from practice after two weeks apart. Jimin’s entire body ached, having left physical therapy after hours of practice. When he walked in and saw you seated at the kitchen table, Jimin just knew.

He knew whatever you said, things wouldn’t stay the same.

Shaking his head, Jimin ends that thought in its tracks. There’s no point ruminating on the past. All he can do now is move forward.

You showed up. That’s a start.

Leaning forward, Jimin’s knee brushes yours. Immediately, you stiffen and Jimin’s gaze lifts. “I am sorry for making you do this,” he says. “But I can’t lie, I'm glad you agreed, even if Yoongi is right and this is a bad idea.”

“I know.” Your gaze darts towards him. “That’s partly why I agreed.”

Jimin tilts his head, curious, and you sigh.

“Never mind,” you mutter, lifting your glass.

Sensing he won’t get an answer, Jimin spreads his legs and looks out the window. Technically, the Blackhawks are playing tonight, but his coach insisted he sit this game out. Last weekend, Jimin was slammed roughly into the boards. Nothing bad happened, just a bruised tailbone, but apparently, his coach saw the entire season flash before his eyes. Jimin has been allowed to practice but not play until after Christmas. Better than having him out during the playoffs, argued his coach.

Picking up his phone, Jimin scrolls through his texts, then sets it back down. He doesn’t know why he bothered – only a handful of people have his real number, and the only person whose message he wants is seated beside him.

Turning to face you, Jimin clears his throat. “We should talk about this weekend,” he says, arranging himself in the seat.

“Alright.” Leaning forward, you set down your glass. “What about?”

“I don’t know.” Jimin blinks. “Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?”

You shrug, and the faintest of irritation colors his thoughts. God, it hurts just to see you. To have you so close and not be able to touch you. Not to be able to say how he feels. Worse, these feelings are tinged with bitterness, recalling the hurtful words you said as you left. Jimin does his best to separate the past from the present, but he’s only human.

“We won’t get there until late tonight,” he says stiffly. “We have a connection from Seattle, and then I’ll get the rental car.”

Nodding, you take a light sip of your wine. “Sounds good.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll probably rest at the house. Hoseok texted something about the twins wanting to make gingerbread houses, but he was trying to get out of it.”

Your lips tighten. “Okay.”

“Saturday, my mom mentioned going to the Christmas market. It’ll be in full swing, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure it will.”

He leans closer. “Sunday is the Christmas Eve party.”

“Okay.”

“Then Monday, it’s Christmas.”

“Yep.”

“Tuesday, we’re all doing the polar plunge in the lake.”

“Sure th–” You whip your head sideways. “Wait, what?”

Jimin smirks and sits back. “Just checking.”

“Checking what?” Scowling, you finish your wine. “If I was listening? Turns out, I was.”

“You gave one-word answers.”

“And?” Briskly, you set down the glass. “Jimin. This is basically the first time we’ve spoken since we broke up. How do you want me to act? It’s hard enough seeing you without… without all this pretending.”

Jimin’s heart sinks. “Pretending?”

“To date.” Your gaze darts to his, then away. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing.” He hesitates. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…” Jimin hesitates before reluctantly choosing the coward’s way out. “My family will never believe this if we aren’t at least cordial.”

You frown at the empty wine glass, then slowly exhale, and turn sideways to face him.

“Fine.” You fold your arms over your chest. “Let’s declare a truce.”

“A truce?”

You jerk your chin in a nod. “Yes. We pretend the last three months didn’t happen. Maybe we went through a rough patch, but nothing more. I never moved out. You never asked to break up.”

Heat flares up his spine. “I think you meant, you never asked for a break.”

“A truce,” you grind out, each word sounding painful. “Okay?”

“Fine.”

As much as he missed you, Jimin knows there are things to discuss. How you two ended, for one. The reason neither of you called, for another. Each small hurt compounded, becoming insurmountable until he couldn’t separate you from the rest. There’s so much to discuss – but Jimin can’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that you’re here.

He missed your intensity, that look in your eye when you know you’re right. Take now, for example. A tiny, prideful part of Jimin hoped that once you arrived, this all would be solved. He should’ve known better. Dr. Nygard would have cautioned him to know better. Time doesn’t solve anything; it just dulls the pain.

Before Jimin can say anything more, a monotone voice announces your gate is boarding. Panicked, you bolt upright and reach for your backpack. Fighting a smile, Jimin stands as well, grabbing your purse from the ground where you left it.

Following you to the elevators, he wordlessly hands it over when the doors open.

“Oh!” you blurt, accepting this from his hand. “I could’ve sworn – shit. Thanks, Jimin,” you murmur, facing away.

Jimin nods and stands beside you, ignoring the pang of familiarity this brings. He can’t count the number of times you left your phone or your wallet behind while you were dating. Despite your brilliancy, mundane things like purse or coat placements seldom seem to occur to you. Almost like you exist on a separate plane, one which only occasionally overlaps with this one.

The airport beyond is in full holiday swing. Jimin navigates as quickly as possible, reaching your gate as first class is boarding. Flashing your tickets, he falls into step alongside you as you head down the long walkway.

Jimin takes the window seat, while you take the aisle. Many vacations have taught Jimin that this is the ideal combination. You hate being cold, and without fail, will use the bathroom one hour into the flight.

Although you don’t say much as you taxi, you also don’t bicker – which Jimin supposes is positive. Once the plane is in flight, you take out an eye mask and make a vampiric attempt at sleeping upright. Lips twitching, Jimin orders a glass of whiskey and opens the novel app on his phone.

He’s midway through a chapter when your head, soft and heavy, falls on his shoulder. Surprised, Jimin looks down and immediately stills.

Even asleep, you’re beautiful.

Jimin nearly laughs, imagining your expression were he to ever say that. You’d call him a liar, saying you’re well-aware you drool when you sleep. Despite this, your expression is peaceful. The crease between your brows has lessened and dimly, Jimin wonders if he was the cause.

Idly, he reaches out to smooth a piece of hair from your neck. Fingers freezing, Jimin jerks his hand back and wonders what the hell he’s doing.

He used to be able to simply ask why you’re stressed, and you’d tell him. Jimin supposes he stopped being that person long before you broke up, though. The year after his accident, he had a hard time expressing the full depth of his pain. It wasn’t until later he realized the ripple effect this had on his life. People won’t confide in someone who doesn’t confide in them. As Dr. Nygard often says, trust works both ways.

Leaving your head on his shoulder, Jimin returns to his phone and tries to read. It’s a five-hour flight from Chicago to Seattle, and he spends this entirety reading less than fifty pages.

Partly, Jimin is distracted by your proximity and your fancy shampoo. Partly, he’s obsessing over what to say to his parents when he lands. With you here, there’s nothing to think about except the upcoming conversation.

Growing up, his parents never wanted him to play hockey. Jimin was put in the sport begrudgingly when his best friend, Jungkook, begged his parents for lessons. As the years passed and it became clear Jimin was talented, his parents were resigned but worried. Jimin can’t really blame them.

Hockey is dangerous. Jimin knows this firsthand, even if it wasn’t made obvious by the amount of gear players wear. It was hard enough, recovering from an injury without having to convince his main supporters the profession was worthwhile. For a long time, Jimin’s life felt like an endless cycle of doctors, surgeons, therapists and arguing.

Some experts doubted he’d ever play again, sending him into a spiral. Traumatic incidents often spark anxiety or depression, Dr. Nygard explained. For a while, Jimin didn’t know how to talk – to you or to anyone – about what happened that day. He was a hockey player, for God’s sake. He should have been used to getting injured, but last November was different.

Never had Jimin fallen and not been sure he’d get up. Shakily, Jimin exhales and glances down at your face.

The week you left, Jimin hit his rock bottom. It may not have looked that way to everyone, but to Jimin, it was the first time he saw he wasn’t in control. After the requisite therapy by his team, Jimin stopped going. He found a new therapist after you left, searching for a new doctor who really cared.

Now, Jimin knows there are no easy fixes. Self-change is a purposeful effort that takes sustained work. At least now, he feels equipped for the process. Before you left, he felt unworthy of change and so, he pushed you away.

When you gently snore, Jimin glances down. Hiding his smile, he reaches across you to adjust your blanket. Slowly, he withdraws and his smile fades. Before you arrived, Jimin had a plan. Said plan involved him getting on his knees and begging you for forgiveness, but everything changed when he saw your face.

You don’t trust him.

And really, why would you? The truth is, Jimin shut you out for months before you finally sat down and asked for a break. And his immediate response was you might as well break up.

Releasing a breath, Jimin sits back in his seat. For the rest of the flight, he tries not to think about what comes next. The work he must put in to earn your forgiveness. Instead, he simply enjoys the weight of your head on his shoulder.

When the wheels hit the ground, you’ve dozed for nearly four hours. Groggily, you lift your head as the plane lights come on.

“I – oh!” you blurt, jerking upward. “I’m so sorry,” you gasp, staring at a spot on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Par for the course.” Jimin attempts a joke, and you manage to smile.

People crowd the aisles, and Jimin pulls you past them to exit first. Your connecting flight is on the opposite side of the terminal, forcing you to jog to make it in time. Seattle is the closest major airport to home, but if time is tight, a smaller flight is usually worthwhile. The drive to Garland, Washington can be upwards of five hours with traffic.

The second flight you take is small. Small enough to board directly from the tarmac. Jimin watches your suitcases brought onto the plane and exhales, knowing this is an eighty-twenty chance of success.

Approaching the stairs, he takes your backpack in one hand.

“I can take that, Jimin,” you say lowly.

“I know.” He ducks his head as he boards. “But from here on out, I’m your boyfriend – right? It’d be weird to let you carry your bags.”

Shaking your head, you follow him up the steps. “Your family isn’t even here, Jimin.”

Walking down the aisle, Jimin locates his seat and sinks down with your backpack. Carefully, he stows this beneath the seat before him.

“No,” he says as you sit beside him. “But everyone here is headed to Garland. Can’t hurt to start now, can it?”

“I guess not.” Setting your purse down, you turn sideways. “What am I walking into, anyways?”

“What do you mean?”

Aimless, you wave. “You mentioned a rough patch between us. Do they think that we’re fighting? Why… I mean, how have you been explaining my absence? Haven’t they noticed I haven’t been at your games?”

Jimin glances down, feeling queasy. “Well, that’s easy,” he mutters. “They haven’t been watching, so no, they haven’t noticed your absence. I’ve been avoiding my family, telling them that I’m busy. They probably suspect we’re having problems,” Jimin admits. “But I said you were coming, and they all seemed excited.”

When you say nothing, Jimin glances over and finds your brow furrowed.

“They haven’t been watching your games?” you ask.

“Can you blame them? My mom… she said she didn’t want to watch me get hurt again.”

Your lips press together, and Jimin can sense your disapproval. The night of his accident, you were there, in the crowd. If anyone understands the horror of watching, it would be you. And yet, you accompanied him in the ambulance, sat with him in every waiting room, brought him changes of clothes and new books to read.

“Hm,” you murmur, facing forward.

Jimin’s lips twitch. “Come on,” he says, poking you lightly. “What do you really want to say?”

You inhale deeply, and Jimin’s gaze drops to the front of your sweater. Dragging his eyes upward, he focuses on your mouth. No, no – your eyes.

Which flick to him. “They should be watching. That’s all.”

“Oh, right,” Jimin chuckles, settling back in his seat. “You mean, like you’re watching?”

Before you can say anything, the in-flight safety demonstration starts, and you shake your head and sit back. Jimin stares at your profile, wondering for a moment before he lets it go. Lord knows he checks your Instagram account multiple times a day.

The second flight is shorter, barely reaching cruising altitude before the seatbelt sign is back on for landing. Garland Regional Airport is only big enough for a handful of gates, a single baggage carousel, and a rental car agency. The hour is late enough for no line, and Jimin selects the only SUV remaining on the lot.

You insist on pulling your gigantic suitcase yourself, nearly tripping several times in reaching the car. Gritting his teeth, Jimin forcibly stops himself from trying to help. Even when you were dating, you insisted on reaping the consequences, saying you were the one who made your decisions.

With the suitcases loaded, Jimin enters the driver’s side and plugs in his phone. Service through the mountains is iffy, so it’s a good idea to download the map here. Opposite him, you crank the seat heater higher, wrapping your thin coat tight around your frame.

Gritting his teeth, Jimin loses his battle with self-control. “Here,” he declares, unwrapping his scarf. “Take this.”

You go still when he drapes this over your neck. The tips of Jimin’s fingers brush skin, and he thinks he sees you shiver. Likely, from the cold. Pulling away before his thoughts can run amok, Jimin places both hands firmly on the wheel. Yanking down the visor, he checks behind him, then does absolutely nothing.

Silence ticks by in the car, his heartbeat outrunning the holiday music.

“Hey.” When you touch his arm, Jimin nearly jumps. Glancing sideways, he finds your expression to be gentle. “It’s going to be fine. Okay?” you say. “I promise, we’ll get through this.”

Jimin narrows on your use of the word we, which gives him the strength to nod and face forward. Avoiding his parents won’t solve anything. Just like avoiding talking to you didn’t do him any favors.

Putting the car in reverse, Jimin pulls from the airport and merges onto the road. Garland being the tiny town that it is, the airport road soon transitions to a dirt one which winds its way through the foothills.

The ghost of your handprint lingers on his arm, and Jimin can’t help but hope when this weekend is over, your words will apply to more than his parents.

Bumps in the road rattle your teeth, making you latch onto the door with a death grip. You can see Jimin’s lips twitch, but barely have it in you to scowl. He’s used to these roads, having grown up on them. You, on the other hand, rarely drive if you can help it.

Fingers gripping the handle, you stare out the window at a sea of snow. Despite the car’s bouncing, the fields beyond it are serene. Garland, Washington is just on the other side of the Cascade Mountain range, near the Canadian border. This part of America always amazes you, especially being from the Midwest. In Chicago, everything is flat except for the skyscrapers, and maybe the staircases leading to upper Wacker.

In the West, you can drive past acres of land, only to be surprised by the sharp jut of mountains on the horizon. So tall they seem close from miles away, with rolling foothills at the base where Garland is nestled. The first time you came, you called the hill where his family lives a mountain and Jimin laughed so hard, he nearly walked into a door.

Remembering this, your lips can’t help but twitch. Glancing sideways, your amusement fades as your gaze lands on Jimin. Unfair of him, showing up this weekend looking like that. When you realized it was Jimin in the window of the airport, you almost tripped and fell over your gigantic suitcase.

His dark hair is longer than usual, curling a little behind reddened ears. Even with his gigantic parka, you can tell his fitness routine has amped up. As a hockey player, Jimin is contractually obligated to stay in shape, but this is something else. He even had the gall to put on reading glasses before the flight, something which necessitated your sleep mask – and promptly fall asleep, only to drool on his shoulder.

Cringing again, you force your gaze forward. If Jimin was feeling sentimental, there’s no doubt he’s regretting this vacation now. In fact, there have been several times today you wondered if Jimin was contemplating sending you home. Not that you’d blame him. This idea is terrible at best, but now you’ve committed. If Jimin wants you to go, he’ll have to ask you himself.

Something he’s proven he has no problem doing.

Stiffening, you drag your thoughts from the past. You only need to make it one weekend. One weekend, and then you can – well. Thinking too much of the future is dangerous. Yoongi and Namjoon were right in their caution, warning you not to come. Not for the reasons one might think. They like Jimin, and have always thought him a good guy, but they were the ones who saw you after. They were the ones who picked up the pieces when he left, and you know they’re afraid you’ll shatter again.

Hell, you’re afraid you might shatter and yet, here you are. Speeding down a dark road in the country at night. A metaphor oddly related to the state of your heart.

Hitting a bump, the car jostles again and Jimin reaches for you on reflex. Gaze darting towards you, he swiftly withdraws, brushing his scarf in the process.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, sinking lower. As circumspect as possible, you take a deep breath. Jimin’s scarf smells just like him – black pepper and cedar, with the faintest hint of pine.

Rounding the bend, the trees clear and his house comes into view. For the first time since the airport, a frisson of excitement enters your stomach. You never really understood the appeal of the holidays until the Parks. Although they’re not religious, they truly adore the cultural Christmas spirit. Each time you visit, you’re surrounded by the feeling of home, love, and family.

When you and Jimin ended, you thought you’d never feel like that again. This weekend – and what comes next – might be worth it, if only to feel that once more.

Pulling to a stop in the drive, Jimin unplugs his phone and turns off the car. He hesitates a long moment before turning sideways.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there anything I should know before we go in there?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know.” Jimin lowers his voice, a dark piece of hair falling over his forward. “Any projects you’ve been working on – cool cosplay for your socials?”

His words make you swallow, struck by the reminder that he isn’t yours. For a moment, you nearly forgot.

“Um.” Searching, your gaze is drawn by the lights of the house. “Nothing much. I have a few demanding clients, but that’s pretty normal. Fantasy High season three is coming out, so I’ve been brushing off Dimension 20 cosplay. What about you? How’s training?”

Jimin frowns. “Good. Bruised my tailbone last Sunday, so I’m sitting out games for the next two weeks. I bought a new apartment.”

“You what?” Startled, you fully face him. Inside the house, you think you see shadows cross the front window, but that fades in importance. “You – when? Where are you living now?”

Jimin slides his phone in his parka. “It’s not a big deal,” he mutters. “I just… didn’t need that much space.”

He pauses, the words lingering but he doesn’t say more. Shutting your jaw, you face forward. After four years of dating, you’re familiar by now with Jimin’s many silences. This one means he has more to say but can’t fathom how.

The center of your chest feels hollow, stale in a way you can’t explain. When the two of you ended, you were the one to move out, but regretted it instantly. When you lived together, you hated the way his door squeaked, the radiator that hissed, but the moment you left, it all had a rosy glow. Your one-bedroom apartment on the north side is nothing to brag about; you’ve barely decorated that place for a reason.

“West Loop,” Jimin answers.

Your eyes widen. “Well… that’s fancy.”

Accusation laces the words, and you don’t try to hide it. Jimin used to make fun of his teammates who lived in fancier parts of Chicago.

“It’s closer to practice,” he argues. “And it’s not like –”

The porch light turns on, and the front door flings open.

“Jimin!” calls his mom, rushing outside. “Y/N! Is that you?”

Head jerking up, you recognize your audience at the same time as Jimin. Slamming down walls, you do your best to paste a smile on your face. The entire reason you came here was to convince Jimin’s family you’re still together. You can hardly do that while bickering about where he lives.

“Y/N,” he says lowly.

“Save it,” you blurt, pushing open the door. Immediately, you sink your foot into a snowbank. “Ah!” you blurt, hopping around – only to stumble, face-first, into Jimin. Catching you easily, he shuts the door with one hand.

“This way,” he says. Sliding his hand into yours, Jimin pulls you towards the house. Noticing your glance at the car, he adds, “My dad and I will get the suitcases after. Let’s just say hi to my mom.”

Your foot is damp and tingling, stifling any urge you had to stay. Limping up the front steps to the porch, you reciprocate when arms are thrown around your waist. Jimin’s mom is one of the sweetest – and shortest – people you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Pulling back, she holds you at arms-length. “Y/N, you are just too beautiful,” she sighs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d never believe you were on a seven-hour flight.”

Jimin chuckles, stepping past you to hold open the door. “All seven hours weren’t at once, mom,” he teases.

“Are you denying my beauty?” you quip as you pass.

His throat visibly bobs as he swallows, something you choose to ignore for the sake of your sanity. Inside, his mom leads you into the foyer.

Hands on hips, she turns. “And you!” she huffs, stepping forward to squeeze her son. “Not telling us until the last minute that Y/N was coming. I don’t know who raised you, young man.”

Jimin rolls his eyes playfully. “No one in this house, that’s for sure.”

“That was my fault,” you say as you shut the door. Removing your shoes, you set them by the coat rack. “I have a few big projects I’m working on, so I wasn’t sure I could take the time off.”

Breaking free of the hug, Jimin’s mom faces you. “Well, we’re incredibly glad to have you here, but tell us if you need a break this weekend. Even if you need to lock yourself in your room!”

“Thanks, Mrs. Park,” you say sheepishly.

As you unwind the scarf from your neck, the door opens again, letting in a cold gust. Hoseok and Jimin’s dad enter, stamping their feet on the rubber mat. They must have gone out the garage to get your bags, since you recognize your giant suitcase pulled by Hoseok, Jisoo’s husband.

Your stomach bottoms out. “Oops – sorry!” you blurt, rushing towards him. “I was planning to get that. I know that it’s heavy.”

“What, this?” Hoseok jokes, pulling it over the threshold. “Nah, this is light. You should see when Jisoo packs the twins’ suitcases.”

“Careful,” Jimin laughs, hanging up his coat. “Jisoo once heard me tell on her from across the house. She never lets me forget it.”

Dropping Jimin’s bag by the staircase, his dad crosses the room to hug you with one arm. “It’s so good to have you here, Y/N,” he says.

“Likewise,” you say, smiling faintly.

Setting down your suitcase, Hoseok bounds across the hall and scoops you in his arms. Hugging you tight, he imbues the scent of sugar and cinnamon. “Hey, Y/N!” he says, much too loud. “It’s fucking freezing out there.”

“Language!” scolds a familiar voice. “Y/N!” Jisoo cries, rushing forward and shoving her husband aside. Her arms wrap around you. “Thank god you’re here! There’s so much testosterone in this house, it’s unconscionable.”

“It’s literally just me and your dad,” Hoseok points out.

Trapped in Jisoo’s arms, you watch him and Jimin’s dad lug your suitcase upstairs.

“Yeah, like I said – too much,” Jisoo grumbles and releases. She looks you up and down. “Ugh, I agree with my mom. Why do you look hot at the airport, Y/N?”

You can’t help but laugh, warmth spreading through your chest the longer you stand there. Jimin leans on the banister, watching all this with a half-smile. If this were the airport, or the plane, you could have followed your instinct to look away. All that saved you from crumbling on the flight was your ability to avoid eye contact.

Here, though – you’re supposed to be in love with Jimin. Which you are. Except you shouldn’t be. Except right now, it’s okay to be and so, you look back. Locking eyes with him, you smile and Jimin’s face transforms.

He smiles so large, his eyes near-disappear, carving the hollow inside your chest even deeper. Before you can comment, tiny footsteps thunder down the long hall. Jisoo and Hoseok’s daughters, Hana and Ari, speed around the corner, catching themselves before they trip.

“Uncle Jimin!” they squeal, rushing forward.

Jimin bends to scoop them both around the waist. “Oh my gosh,” he groans, tossing them over his shoulders. “You two got even bigger. Soon, you’ll be taller than I am!”

“No, we won’t,” Ari giggles, kicking in mid-air.

Hoseok pops his head down from the landing. “Careful, Jimin,” he warns. “If they throw up down your back, that’s on you.”

Stopping abruptly, Jimin returns them both to the ground. “Did you say hi to Y/N?”

Both whirl to face you. “Y/N!” cry Hana and Ari, running forward.

Laughing, you bend and squish them both. Unlike Jimin, you don’t try to lift them, but just hold them close.

The first time you came for Christmas, Jisoo was pregnant at the time. You’ve watched the twins grow from infants to the three-year-old terrors they are, and honestly, it terrifies you how quickly they age. Followed by sadness, realizing they likely won’t remember you after this trip.

Pulling back, you manage to smile. “Jimin is right,” you say. “You two are going to play basketball for sure.”

Hana giggles loudly. “No, I wanna skate! Like Uncle Jimin!”

Behind her, Jisoo’s smile disappears. Straightening, she glances in the direction of her dad, and you watch Jimin’s father turn pointedly away. He walks down the hall, and Jimin’s mom shakes her head slowly.

Ari continues, blissfully oblivious to the tension in the room. “I’m gonna be on TV, like Y/N!”

Stifling a smile, you push yourself upward. No matter how many times you explain what you do, the twins refuse to believe you aren’t actually the characters you cosplay. At this point, you’ve mostly given up on correcting them.

“What about your mom and dad?” Hoseok jokes, scooping Ari onto his hip. “Don’t you want to be like us?”

“No!” Ari yells, and Hana latches onto Hoseok’s leg.

Hoseok sighs. “Should’ve expected that.”

Hana, already a daddy’s girl, turns her face towards him. “I’ll be a… a…”

“Physical therapist,” Jisoo stage-whispers.

“Yeah!”

Chuckling, Jisoo walks over and picks Hana up. “Okay, enough of that. You were allowed to stay up for Uncle Jimin and Y/N, but now it’s time for bed. Goodnight, everyone!” she calls, heading down the hall. “We’ll see you tomorrow!”

You smile, stifling a yawn as Jisoo and the twins leave. The hour is late, a fact Jimin’s mom seems to realize at the same time.

“Silly me,” she laughs, half-turning. “Have you eaten yet? I have leftovers, or I could whip something up?”

“We ate on the flight,” you respond. “But thank you so much.”

Jimin nods, appearing by your side and slipping a hand to your elbow. “Yeah, thanks, mom. But it’s been a long day of travel. I think we’re just going to head to sleep.”

“Of course, of course.” His mom waves you off. “Darling, will you help them with the bags?” she asks as Jimin’s dad re-enters.

“Oh, that’s not necessary –”

“There’s no use, Y/N,” Jimin says, grabbing your purse as his dad steps in.

Jimin’s dad is a kind, soft-spoken man – much like Jimin, he prefers to let others talk rather than state his own feelings. The fact that he specifically said he didn’t want Jimin to play, you know, impacted Jimin far more than he’d like.

Following them upstairs, you find yourself ensconced in memories. Much like Ebenezer Scrooge, Christmases of long ago rise the further you walk. Mid-way down the hall, your stomach drops when you realize something important.

Entering the door at the end, Jimin’s dad leaves it open. “The room’s been made up,” he calls over his shoulder. “Plenty of towels under the sink but let us know if you need more. Let’s see… there’s toothpaste, shampoo, and conditioner if you forgot any.”

You come to a sudden stop, forcing Jimin to walk directly into you. He stumbles, steadying himself with one hand on your back.

“Y/N.” Jimin lowers his voice. “Are you alright?”

“I…” The words stick in your throat. “Yeah. It’s just… nothing.”

In the center of the room is a single, Queen-sized bed. Somehow, in all your imaginings, you never actually pictured the sleeping arrangements. Every other visit, sharing Jimin’s childhood bedroom-turned-guest room was fine. Now though, you find yourself wondering how this will work.

Setting down Jimin’s suitcase, his dad straightens and dusts off his hands. “Well,” he says, turning around. “I’ll leave you two to settle in. Call if you need anything, alright? So happy you’re here, Y/N,” he adds before stepping outside.

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

After a moment of silence, Jimin crosses the room. He bends to unzip his suitcase and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with memories. Jimin has always been the type who unpacked as soon as you arrived, whereas you’d live out of your suitcase if you could. Sometimes, you had pity and unpacked with him, while other times, you mercilessly waited and watched him squirm.

The second option seems rife with turmoil, so instead, you drag your giant suitcase aside and unzip. Pulling clothes from a rumpled mess, you grab hangers from the closet to put them away. When you turn around, you catch Jimin watching, crouched beside his suitcase.

His gaze tracks your movements. “You don’t have to unpack, you know.”

“I know.” Grabbing another hanger, you lift a shirt. “I want to.”

“Okay.”

“Besides,” you add, your panic shifting to irritability. “It’s not like I expect you to help anymore. We’re not together.”

“I know.” Jimin is quiet for a moment. “I’d help if you wanted me to.”

Pressing your lips together, you stop yourself from saying something embarrassing. “Maybe we need ground rules,” you blurt as you turn.

Slowly, Jimin rises. “What type of ground rules?”

“You know.” Desperate, you cast your gaze elsewhere. “Like, obviously we’re not going to… sleep together this weekend.”

“In that bed?”

“In any way,” you hiss.

Lifting a brow, Jimin moves closer. It takes everything in you not to meet him halfway. Instead, you tilt your chin upward as he stops before you.

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do,” he agrees.

This only serves to worsen your mood. Of course, Jimin would turn this back on you. “I need to know how to act this weekend,” you demand.

“Act… like yourself.”

“And when we’re alone?” you ask. When he doesn’t respond, you continue, “I think we should only pretend to be a couple around your family.”

The furrow between his brows deepens. “Fine.”

“And agreed to your first rule – no sleeping together.”

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Fine,” Jimin repeats. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Your gaze darts to the worn loveseat shoved under the window. For a moment, you hesitate, since it barely looks large enough to fit Jimin lying down. The thought of him sleeping beside you in the same bed though, is dangerous enough that you nod.

“Okay,” you say.

“Anything else?”

His words are layered with challenge and, hearing this, your gaze narrows. Some of Jimin’s amiability has vanished, leaving behind a version of Jimin you used to enjoy. Not that you ever made him mad on purpose, but Jimin is rarely as honest as when he’s angry. Usually, he’s so concerned with people liking him, it can take immense anger to say what he thinks.

When he’s mad though, the façade slips. Like now – each mild annoyance and irritation is clear on his face. Jimin’s lips twist, his jaw set in a way that sends a thrill down your spine. Oddly enough, you revel in being able to get beneath his skin. It means you affect him, no matter how small.

“Physical contact is fine,” you say, lifting your chin. “Kissing is not.”

“Oh?” Jimin murmurs, tilting his head. “You think my family won’t be suspicious if we don’t kiss the entire time you’re here?”

“Fine,” you amend. “Kissing should be kept to a minimum, though. And no tongue.”

“Suit yourself. Anything else? Last chance to add, before the weekend starts.”

Jimin has moved close enough that you stand nose-to-nose and for a moment, you’re consumed by the urge to close the distance. To dig your fingers into his hair, crush your mouths together and allow him to consume you.

The thought of what comes next is enough to deter you. Deflating, you take a step around him.

“No,” you say softly. “That’s it. I’m getting ready for bed.”

Grabbing your toiletry kit, you head for the bathroom. Jimin doesn’t try to stop you, but you see he remains where he stands as you shut the door. Setting down your bag, you turn on the faucet and grip the counter. Tears burn your eyes, but you blink them away.

You may have made the wrong decision in coming here. Yoongi and Namjoon were right – how can you possibly sit here, pretending nothing happened and return Tuesday to your tiny apartment? Being around Jimin is one hundred times worse than being alone. All you can think about is when you were together, if you were together –

Groaning aloud, you turn. Opening the linen closet, you select a hand towel and go through your night routine as fast as possible. Five more days, you remind yourself while brushing your teeth. You only have to make it for five days.

Turning off the sink, you exit the bathroom and realize you might have been wrong. Five days is an eternity.

Jimin sits on the edge of his sofa, legs spread while scrolling aimlessly through his phone. He isn’t wearing a shirt and for a moment, all you can see is hard muscle. A clearly defined v disappears beneath flannel pants, making your mouth water.

In a moment of true inconvenience, he looks up while you stand there, mouth agape.

Immediately, his eyes widen when he sees you.

Glancing down, you recall the reason why, and your face starts to heat. Jimin bought you this pajama set two years ago for Christmas – purposefully scandalous, made with silk shorts so short they’re practically underwear. On a whim, you packed only revenge sleepwear – something you simultaneously regret and revel in now, seeing the look on his face.

“Goodnight,” you squeak, practically flinging yourself across the room and into bed. Reaching out, you turn off the light and burrow under the covers as quickly as possible.

Each sound in the room seems louder than normal. Jimin’s feet hit the floorboards, then he flicks the bathroom light on, shutting the door with a squeak of the hinges.

More sounds follow. The shower turns on, the curtain is pulled back, and Jimin steps inside as droplets of water hit his naked chest –

“Oh my god,” you moan, turning to muffle your face. “Y/N, get a grip.”

No one answers, unsurprisingly, and you stifle the sounds of the shower with your pillow. Although you expected to lie awake for hours, the exhaustion of the day slips over you easily. By the time Jimin returns, you’re mostly asleep.

You think you hear him say your name, imagine warmth on your forehead and then, nothing. Sleep claims you until daylight.

The next morning, Jimin is awoken by dull pain from his tailbone. Rolling over, he catches himself a split-second before he falls from his bed – which is to say, the old couch in his bedroom. Flopping onto his back, Jimin stares at the ceiling. An unassuming crack splinters above him, spiderwebbing towards the door in dramatic fashion.

No one seems to be up yet, so Jimin attempts to fall back asleep. He’s nearly succeeded when a knock sounds at the door. Jimin doesn’t stir, simply staying put.

“Jimin? Y/N? Are you up?”

Hearing the voice, Jimin’s eyes fly open. Shit. His mom is at the door, and if Jimin knows his family at all, he knows a forced entry is imminent.

Bolting upright, Jimin stumbles off the couch, one foot tangling in the blanket he slept in. Scooping this in one hand, he fairly sprints towards the bed and yanks back the covers. Before he can think twice, he slips beneath the sheets and throws an arm over your waist.

Jimin cringles, expecting you to wake up and berate him for breaking the first rule you gave. Indeed, he’s prepared to defend himself when you do the unthinkable – murmuring gently, you arch and shift backwards.

Jimin goes still. With his arm around your waist, he can feel your soft curves, pressed firmly against him and – fuck. Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, fully embarrassed by his body’s response.

“Jimin?”

The door cracks open, and Jimin exhales.

“We’re up, mom,” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep. The door halts, and Jimin feels you stiffen beneath him. “Just sleeping in.”

“Oh! Right, yes – I’m sorry, dears. I just wanted to know if you need breakfast!”

“We’ll be down soon,” Jimin calls, tightening his grip when you attempt to wriggle free. Seeming to grasp the hint, you go still.

“Alright!”

The door fully closes, and Jimin exhales.

Half-turning to face him, your eyes narrow. “Jimin, wh–”

“Shh,” he murmurs, keeping you still with that same arm.

You stop moving, gaze lingering and Jimin hopes you don’t notice the front of his sweatpants. While you were dating, one of his favorite ways to wake up was with you in his arms. Entangled, half-asleep and drowsily aware of your need for one another.

Once his mom’s footsteps are gone, Jimin releases his grip. “Sorry,” he mutters, scooting away. “I heard the door open and panicked. Didn’t want them thinking we slept apart.”

“Oh. Right.”

You sound oddly disappointed, although he’s probably imagining that. Jimin valiantly attempts to keep his gaze on your face and not lower, where your excuse-for-pajamas exposes most of your chest. When he bought them for you two years ago, he never dreamt they’d be used in this fashion. Honestly, hat’s off to you if this was a planned torture.

A devious glint enters your eye, and Jimin can almost imagine the look is for him. At least, he thinks he’s imagining things until you move closer. Time seems to slow when your hand lands on his chest.

Jimin inhales, the sound embarrassingly rough. “So–”

“Do–”

You each pause, waiting for the other to finish and Jimin’s neck flushes. “You go,” he murmurs.

“I was just thinking…” Fleeting, you smile. “Do you remember the first time we visited?”

Jimin stifles the urge to cover his face. “Remember?” he groans, rolling onto his back and tugging you with. “Am I ever going to live that down?”

Grin widening, you rest your head on the pillow beside him. “Nope,” you tease. “You were so nervous your family would hear us doing something, you put a pillow barrier in the bed between us. A pillow barrier!” you repeat, dissolving into laughter.

Jimin’s lips twitch. “That did not work.”

“No, it didn’t,” you agree, your gaze bright. “If I remember correctly, I woke up on the last day with your mouth between my legs.”

“If I remember correctly, I had a standing invitation to do so.”

“True. Definitely still my favorite wake-up method.” You abruptly go still, remembering where you are and who you’re with. “I mean,” you rush. “Not that we do that anymore. Or that I like – well, I still like that, but I…”

Although Jimin stays silent, his heart squeezes tighter. The thought of you waking up like that with someone else sends heat through his veins, burning away common sense.

“Yeah.” Removing his hand, Jimin rolls sideways. “Anyways, sorry about that. I know we said we wouldn’t act like a couple when we’re alone.”

Facing away, Jimin can practically hear your walls being raised. Walls he encouraged – more for self-preservation than anything else.

“No problem,” you say tightly.

Your feet hit the floor and Jimin’s watches from the corner of one eye as you enter the bathroom. Only then does he exhale, wincing a little at the situation below. Leaning back, he stares at the ceiling and resigns himself to yet another cold shower. The memory of your pussy, gleaming and wet while he sucked on your –

“Fuck,” Jimin mutters, standing abruptly to limp across the room.

Gathering his clothes, he exits the room for the bathroom down the hall. You aren’t his anymore, he reminds himself while stepping under the spray. Tipping back his head, Jimin allows thoughts of you to consume him; imagining what would’ve happened if you were still his.

You aren’t his, though. The thought is enough to kill his hard-on, and he lets go of himself to grab the shampoo. Your words from earlier come back, and Jimin can’t help but wonder at your true meaning. Is theresomeone else waking you up that way? When he called you last weekend, Jimin thought you were with someone and you told him no, but actually – well. What you said was that was none of Jimin’s business.

Feeling slightly sick, Jimin goes through the motions of washing his hair. Stepping from the shower, he wraps a towel around his waist and clears off the glass.

Dr. Nygard would tell him to stop, to slow down and observe the situation. Jimin can’t automatically believe the worst option when he has ambiguous information. What have you said? You agreed to come here, for one. Jimin doesn’t think he’s deluding himself by imagining most exes wouldn’t do that. He also doesn’t believe you would come if you were seeing someone serious.

And that’s all that matters, really. Jimin doesn’t care if you’ve dated during your time apart – all he cares about is that you hear him when he says he wants you back.

Which he will. He just needs to figure out how.

Warm laughter drifts from the kitchen as you head downstairs. After the complete and utter disaster that was this morning, you spent longer than usual getting ready for the day. Mostly, you spent time in the shower, the water cranked to a temperature barely legal to stand in.

Definitely still my favorite wake-up method. Cringing again, you stop in the hall. If Jimin didn’t hear the desperation in your voice, you’d be surprised. You might as well have thrown your leg over his waist or told him you still think about him when you come. From the way Jimin yeeted himself out of the bed, it’s clear he doesn’t feel the same way.

For all you know, he’s been ‘moving on’ for months now. Stomach sinking, you recall the age-old adage about break-ups. Women feel the most at first, slowly getting better until, three months later, they’re ready to start dating again. Men are the opposite, throwing themselves into every open bed until, three months in, they realize how good they had it back then.

Feeling somewhat foolish, you wonder if Jimin has been sleeping around. He’s a world-famous NHL player – it’s not like he would be at a loss for options. Women and men hotter, funnier, and smarter than you are probably lining themselves up for the chance.

No, you reiterate, shaking your head. Even if he has been seeing other people, Jimin asked you to come with him to Garland. You’re the one he invited, which he wouldn’t have done if there was someone else in the picture.

Hovering outside the kitchen, you listen in. Hoseok laughs at something Jimin’s dad said, and Jisoo is asking her mom for more fruit. Jimin says he’s got it, making your chest tighten. This was the family you were supposed to be a part of; the future you envisioned for nearly four years.

Still, you manage to keep your smile in place as you enter. “Good morning!” you chirp, heading straight for the coffee.

Jisoo glances up from the table. “Y/N!” she says, shoving back her chair. “I was half-asleep last night and didn’t properly hug you. Come here!”

Passing Hana and Ari, who are giggling at something Jimin just said, Jisoo wraps you warmly in her arms. Laughing, you squeeze her back and feel some of your tension fade. Jisoo is one of your favorite people on the planet, and a role model you look up to.

Three years older than Jimin, she completed her residency while planning her wedding and became pregnant with twins her first year at UW Medicine. A year ago, she and Hoseok decided to uproot their lives and move to Garland for a promotion – Jisoo became an attending physician, which was rare for someone with only three years of specialty.

Before this year, you used to talk all the time. With the move and Jimin’s injury, you haven’t spoken as much, which explains why she didn’t realize something was wrong. Or maybe she did, but simply doesn’t know how bad things are.

At long last, Jisoo separates to look you up and down. “You’re way too skinny,” she huffs, tugging you forward. “Come on, have breakfast. The girls want to make Christmas cookies later this morning.”

“Who am I to crush their dreams?”

Before you can get very far, a steaming mug of coffee is pressed into your hands. Surprised, you glance up and find Jimin beside you. He catches your gaze and smiles, damp hair in his eyes.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep.

You stare at him, wide-eyed, until he turns around to cross the room. Jisoo laughs at your face, shaking her head.

“You two are the worst,” she groans. “The way you look at each other is positively nauseating, like you just started dating.”

Jimin’s shoulders stiffen as he opens the fridge.

“Not that it’s a bad thing,” Hoseok says from behind. Bending, he scoops Hana’s toy from the floor. “You two are sweet, that’s all.”

“Unlike Y/N’s coffee.” Jisoo shudders.

Gamely, you take a large sip of your coffee – black, like your soul. Just how you like it. Just how Jimin knows you like it.

“Delicious,” you say, meeting his gaze over the rim of your mug.

Jimin doesn’t look away, slowly sipping his tea.

“Breakfast!” Jimin’s mom sings songs, turning from the stove. Spooning eggs onto a plate, she pushes this towards you. “I hope you don’t mind I made them scrambled, Y/N. You liked that last time you visited, right?”

“Thanks,” you say, your smile genuine while taking a seat.

The meal is uneventful, passing with small talk and regular interruptions from the twins. By the time the table is cleared, you’re completely full. You forgot this part of the holidays – food and laughter, coupled with good company.

Finishing his tea, Jimin sits beside you and subtly extends his leg. His left thigh brushes yours, making you stiffen. An accident – or so you think, until he stretches both arms overhead, exposing a flat strip of abs. Clutching your mug, you shoot him a dirty look.

Jimin drops a wink.

Once the dishes are clean, the morning continues. At the twins’ insistence, this morning’s activity is holiday cookie making. Hoseok and Jisoo picked out three types and somehow, you’ve been stuck with the most difficult.

Jimin’s dad, a retired elementary school teacher, leaves for the local theater around ten. Apparently, he’s still involved with the kids’ Christmas pageant. Jimin’s mom follows, needing to pick up some things from the store.

You end up next to Jisoo, delicately sifting flour for your cookies. Jimin is with Hoseok near the stove, conversing lowly while filling small bowls with candy. Part of you strains to overhear them, but they’re too far away. Probably for the best – for months, you’ve been consumed by the past. Your therapist would encourage living in the moment.

“How’s the new hospital?” you ask Jisoo, whisking your ingredients.

Her smile brightens. “Really great. Honestly, I was scared to move from Seattle. I knew it’d be easier to have my parents nearby, but… I don’t know.” She exhales. “I was being a snob, I guess. Thought I could only make it big in the city.”

Rueful, you smile. “I get that. But I’m glad things are going well.”

“Really well,” Jisoo says. Her glance darts to Hoseok, and she lowers her voice. “Between you and me, Hoseok and I are trying again.”

“No way,” you whisper-gush. “Seriously? Jisoo, that’s so exciting!”

“I know, right? We – oh, no! Honey, not like that.”

Turning, you stifle laughter when you see Hana pouring flour into the cookie cutter. Standing, Jisoo rushes to correct the error and clean up the mess.

Sitting back in your chair, you focus on the ingredients and attempt to squash your discomfort. You’ve always wanted kids – your wanted kids with Jimin – but now, just the thought brings back awful memories.

Missed phone calls, doctor’s appointments, and a stick with two lines.

Jimin sinks into the empty seat beside you. “Did she tell you?” he murmurs, leaning in. “That they’re trying for a third kid?”

Seemingly on accident, his right thigh presses to yours. “Yeah,” you say, trying to ignore the sparks this contact brings. “That’s awesome.”

“You were right, you know.”

Lifting your brows, you turn fully. “About what, specifically?”

Jimin chuckles, shaking his head. “Hoseok noticed you weren’t at my games,” he admits. “I said you’ve been traveling a lot for work, which he seemed to buy.”

“Hm.” Glancing sideways, you see Hoseok is watching. “Maybe we should do something… you know, to keep them off track.”

“Oh?” Somehow, his voice gets deeper. “Like what?”

Strands of dark hair have fallen over his gaze and, tentative, you reach up to brush them away. Jimin goes still, his gaze fixed on yours. When your fingers skim his jawline, Jimin audibly swallows. Pulling back, you attempt to stay calm – until he reaches up to capture your wrist.

Still looking at you, Jimin tilts your palm and presses a kiss to the center. The feel of his lips, velvet and soft, weakens behind your knees.

“Enough,” Hoseok groans, collapsing into the seat alongside you. “These cookies won’t make themselves.”

Jimin smiles and withdraws, much to your disappointment. Returning to your cookies, you try not to replay his touch in your mind. Of course, you fail. Each time Jimin moves, your thighs press together, and you’re cursed with many memories of his bare skin on yours.

At least there isn’t much need for conversation. The twins, adorable as ever, demand attention from the table as they tell their stories.

Once the cookies are in the oven, Jimin busies himself making another pot of coffee. He refills your mug, sitting closer than before, blithely oblivious to your turmoil. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was torturing you on purpose, but Jimin isn’t like that. He just loves being close to people.

While you’re busy frosting, Jimin’s mom returns from the store. “Those cookies smell amazing,” she sighs, unwinding her scarf. “Honey, help me put these away!” she calls to Jimin’s dad, entering close behind her.

Opening the fridge, he starts to unload while Ari and Hana make a mess with the sprinkles. Jimin stretches again in his seat, casually licking frosting while you try not to stare. Only bad things can come from obsessing about Jimin’s tongue.

Bringing a fresh bag of candy, Jimin’s mom sits beside Ari to help her decorate. Pouring himself a fresh mug of coffee, his dad turns around and leans against the counter. His stance is so similar to Jimin’s, you can’t help but smile.

“What is it?” Jimin asks, leaning closer.

You stifle a shiver at his breath near your ear. “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… nice being here, that’s all.”

Something unreadable darts across his expression. Before either of you can respond, Ari lets out a squeal and shoves her cookie forward.

“Look, Uncle Jimin!” she cries, showing him the final product. “Hockey puck.”

Leaning forward, Jimin blinks at a round cookie with black frosting. Hoseok shakes his head, hiding a smile and pulls the cookie back.

“Kind of looks like a button,” he mutters, and Jisoo elbows him swiftly.

You and Hoseok laugh, but you’re the only ones. Everyone else goes silent, glancing awkwardly at Jimin’s dad, who stands near the coffee pot. His lips are a thin line, his displeasure clear while setting his mug aside.

Removing his glasses, Jimin’s dad slowly polishes them on the end of his shirt. “Not sure you want to be encouraging hockey so young, Jisoo,” he says.

Jisoo visibly stiffens and Jimin sinks lower.

“She’s just supporting her uncle,” Jisoo declares. “She thinks the game is exciting – which it is.”

“Exciting, yes.” Jimin’s dad turns around. “Dangerous, is another word.”

Stomach flipping, you glance at Jimin. Part of you wonders if he’ll use this to broach the contract, but a single look sideways banishes this thought completely. Jimin’s knuckles are white from gripping his tea, his gaze darting swiftly from table to floor.

A surge of protectiveness goes through you. Although his parents mean well, in their desire to keep Jimin safe, all they’ve done is alienate him. Jimin, who does his best to please everyone and make others happy.

“Accidents can happen in a lot of sports,” you blurt, and Jimin looks upward, startled. “Or just walking down the street. Jimin is a great player, and a smart one. I, for one, am proud of everything he’s accomplished.”

Jisoo mouths, thank you, to you from across the table. Finished with your declaration, you feel an odd twinge of guilt, wondering if you overstepped. Jimin’s mom’s expression is unreadable, and his dad’s back remains to the rest of the room.

Hoseok clears his throat, always the mood-maker. “Yes, we’re all proud of Jimin for his two Stanley Cup wins– oh, wait a minute, hang on.” He presses one hand to his heart. “That was Jungkook who has two wins. Jimin only has one.”

Jisoo boos, pelting Hoseok with chocolate chips and Hana joins in. Jimin and Jungkook’s so-called ‘rivalry’ is infamous, both in the NHL and in their hometown, having grown up only streets apart. They were on the same team for one of said cup wins, but then Jungkook got traded and won another – a constant source of ribbing between them. You imagine you’ll see Jungkook at some point this weekend; he usually returns to Garland during the holidays.

While everyone laughs, you feel Jimin lean closer. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

You turn to face him head-on. “I meant it.”

His gaze only intensifies. “I know.”

A fission mends in your chest, once cracked by separation and distance. Towards the end of your relationship, you stopped being a team. Somehow, you ceased understanding what Jimin thought, and he stopped trying to tell you. It aches, imagining a separate reality where instead of breaking up, you became closer.

Jimin seems more self-aware now, more in touch with his feelings and you can’t help but wonder if it’s because you’re not together. Maybe losing you was the key to finding himself. And if that’s so – how can you ever ask him to come back?

The troubling thought lingers for the rest of the morning, and you’re no closer to an answer as lunch rolls around.

The entire rest of the day is a complicated dance of keeping your distance while simultaneously acting no different than usual. By the time the sun sets, your bones are exhausted from your world-class portrayal of Happy Girlfriend.

The rules are hindering more than they’re helping, you must admit. It’s exhausting to code switch every time you leave a room. Seeing Jimin purposefully give you distance, only to engage when his sister appears has the unfortunate consequence of making you feel used. As though you’re only worthy of attention with other people around.

Still, you’re the one who asked for this, so you’ll live with the outcome. After dinner, Jimin’s dad decides to build a bonfire and take advantage of the ‘warm spell.’ You and Jisoo exchange a glance, since your weather app states it will get below freezing. At least there’s no snow, which is likely what he means.

Jimin’s mom prepares you all for the cold, handing out blankets and making hot toddies. Jisoo bundles Hana and Ari in full snowsuits, despite Hana’s protestation that you’re wearing a sweater. Sweater is what Hana calls everything except her heaviest parka. Admittedly, you wish you’d bought a warmer jacket (Jimin has been insisting for years) when you step outside and are hit with a frigid blast of air.

Squinting into the wind, you almost don’t notice Jimin sneak up behind you. “Here,” he says, draping two blankets around you. “Ari was worried you’d catch up to the cold. I think that means, catch a cold.”

Smiling, you pull the fleece tighter. “She’s adorable,” you murmur. This time, the twinge of regret is easier to bear than before.

Settling into a chair, you accept the hot toddy Jimin hands you. Pulling his seat as close to yours as possible, Jimin drapes the same blanket over your legs. Across the fire, Hoseok and Jisoo settle on a bench – no alcohol for Jisoo, but Hoseok has a hot toddy. Jimin’s mom and dad take the seats between you, busying themselves with entertaining their granddaughters.

The fire crackles merrily before you, bronze and orange sparks drifting upward to the stars. Smiling, Jimin’s dad pokes the log and offers you marshmallows. You defer roasting to the twins, who happily take up the burden. Seeing Jimin’s dad smile eases some of your tension, glad he isn’t mad at you for what you said. You didn’t think he would be, having known him for years, but you never know. The injury changed a lot in their family.

Leaning your head to Jimin’s shoulder, you inhale his scent mixed with the bonfire. Curling your legs under, you take a sip of your drink and slowly exhale. Glancing at Jimin, you realize he’s wearing the sweater you got him your very first Christmas.

“Hey,” you blurt, reaching for the hem. “You’re wearing this.”

Jimin looks down when you push his coat aside. “Uh, yeah. I know, it’s kind of tight. I must’ve gained weight since then – it fit perfectly when you gave it to me.”

“It fits perfectly now,” you mutter.

His body stills beneath as you touch him. The fit might be snugger than your first Christmas, but you can’t help but think of it as an improvement. Jimin’s biceps strain against wool sleeves, and the pattern highlights the tapered v of his chest. Your fingers dance over the fabric, marveling until you realize you’re basically feeling him up.

Startled, you glance up and find Jimin’s eyes so dark, they’re practically onyx. Light reflects from the campfire, a hungry edge to his gaze that sends your mind reeling. Jimin’s hand moves under the blanket to grip yours, pointedly guiding your palm to rest on his thigh.

“Enough of that,” he says, his voice husky. “Or my family is going to see a lot more than they bargained for tonight.”

You squirm slightly beside him. Feeling his thigh beneath your palm has the opposite effect of what Jimin intended. You can’t help but think of this morning, waking up and the shower that followed. Now, more than ever, you’re starting to regret the rules. It’s hard to tell if Jimin is being genuine, or simply knows his family is watching.

Deciding to test this, you move closer. “Can you blame me?” you murmur. “You’ve always been good-looking, but this is something else.”

Jimin blinks, his surprise morphing quickly to something else. “Is that so?” he says lowly, his hand still over yours. “Because I seem to recall the first time we met you said you didn’t understand why I was a big deal.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, you deserved that. You were cocky.”

“You liked it.”

A smile twists your lips. “I did,” you admit.

The first time you met was in convention room A of some Hilton near the airport. You honestly don’t remember which one – all Hiltons look the same after a while. Jimin annoyed you at first since he drew attention away from the featured artists. Every time he entered a room, hushed whispers would follow, and focus from the panel would drift.

This eventually reached the point where you decided to say something. Personally, you claim no recollection of what you said, but Jimin insists you told him to either put on a mask or stay on the rink, but either way, his face better be gone tomorrow. This tickled him so much, that the next day at the con, Jimin wore an Iron Man mask and asked you out on a date.

His gaze heats, as though remembering the same night. You certainly didn’t intend to sleep with Jimin on the first date, but that’s what happened. After that, you were inseparable.

A marshmallow bag is thrust in your face.

“Marshmallows?” Hoseok asks, his cheeks red from the cold. “There’s only three left, so claim them before Hana and Ari roast them all. Or set them on fire.”

Jimin’s jaw drops. “You roasted the entire bag?”

“Yes and, well… some of them fell…”

Sighing, Jisoo shakes her head. “We’ll buy more tomorrow.”

Accepting the bag, Jimin pushes aside the blanket to stand. Without him, cold air rushes in to fill the empty space and you shiver. Before you can protest, Jimin turns and brushes a kiss to your forehead. No tongue, as agreed upon. Your test has completely failed.

“Be right back,” he promises, and jogs towards the fire.

Adding marshmallows to a stick, he begins to roast them in classic Jimin fashion. Finding the perfect spot over the fire so that the marshmallows turn a photogenic gold brown. Sipping your drink, you watch Jimin talk to his family, too far away to hear. Wind whistles through pine trees behind you, a wolf howling somewhere far in the distance.

Jimin throws his head back and laughs, his dark locks bright against amber flames. Every so often, he glances in your direction, as though ensuring you’re there. Something about this feels dangerous, as though neither of you are fully pretending. Whatever the truth is, you’re too tipsy to care. If you’re damned to burn by proximity, you might as well enjoy the warmth.

When Jimin returns, you accept the s’more he gives you. Jimin rejoins under the blanket, mock shivering until you lay your head again on his shoulder.

“That’s better,” he sighs, snuggling closer. “I know my dad loves these fires, but this is kind of excessive.”

“I heard that,” calls his dad from across the pit.

“You were supposed to!” Jimin yells back, prompting more laughter.

His fingers interlace with yours, and he tugs your hand to his lap. Single-handed, you finish eating the s’more and pick up your hot toddy. This feels comfortable, just like when you dated – except you’re not dating, you’re just pretending to date, but you’re still very much in love with Jimin, except you broke up for valid reasons, which –

“So,” Jisoo says, across the fire with Hoseok. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

Their mom glances at their dad. “Up in the air,” she says lightly. “I think the girls wanted to go ice skating, and we still need to holiday shop.”

“That all sounds good,” Jimin’s dad says without comment.

Your brows lift, although you keep your thoughts to yourself. It would seem the conversation this morning may have broken the ice where skating is concerned. No snide comment follows, or awkward glances.

Swallowing the last of his s’more, Jimin brushes off crumbs. “Heading into town sounds good. I need to get some last-minute gifts – I mean, uh, things. For no one.”

“Better not be my gift!” Jisoo pouts.

“Er, no – definitely not.”

Hana giggles, but Ari says nothing, fast asleep in Hoseok’s arms. Your chest twinges, looking at her sleeping body and you forcibly return your gaze to the fire. Beneath the blanket, your body has stiffened and Jimin seems to notice.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, turning into your hair.

Silently, you nod and attempt to look happy. “I’m good.”

“Then, it’s settled,” says their mom, oblivious to your conversation. “We’ll do ice skating in the morning, and shopping in the afternoon.”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

“Sunday is the Christmas Eve party,” adds Jisoo. “It’s happening at the resort this year! Aka – it’ll be fancy.”

Jimin’s mom smiles. “Make sure your gifts are wrapped before then!”

“I already wrapped mine,” says Jimin, his hand tight on yours. “Except for the ones I definitely didn’t forget.”

Hana laughs louder, her mouth full of chocolate. You exchange a pained glance with Jisoo, knowing she’s going to crash soon – and hard.

“All of your gifts?” Jisoo teases, leaning forward. “How’d you fit them in that tiny suitcase, Jimin? Unless they’re little gifts. Like… a small, Tiffany blue box?”

Hoseok hoots, and you feel Jimin’s thigh tighten beneath your hand. You’re sure you’re no better, your smile frozen in place at the implication.

“Jisoo…” Jimin warns.

“What?” She glances at Hoseok. “Come on, Jimin. We all know you’re going to propose. How else will you have all those babies you mentioned?”

“I mean, we could have a child without being married,” says Jimin drily. “But that’s beside the point.”

Jisoo rolls her eyes and sits back. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Each word slams your gut, made worse by the fact that Jisoo doesn’t know. That’s the problem. If she were saying these things to be mean, you’d know how to respond. As it is though, the only thing you can do is nod until it’s acceptable to retreat.

“We’re fine with more grandchildren,” adds Jimin’s mom. “With or without matrimony.”

“Okay, mom,” Jimin says through gritted teeth. “Can we please change the subject?”

“Yes, of course.” His dad waves a hand. “I think what everyone is trying to say though, Jimin, is that Y/N is already family. Additions are welcome in any way you see fit.”

Beneath the blanket, you grip the chair harder. The world around you dims as your vision blurs. As much as you’d like to pretend this is fine, all you can think about is what happened. You and Jimin aren’t happy, you aren’t together, and you definitely aren’t having children.

What actually happened was silence, much worse than any fighting. Conversations that should have happened, didn’t, pushed to the wayside because of your fear.

Abruptly, you stand and the blanket falls. Your head pounds as conversation around the fire ceases and heads turn to face you.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurt, stumbling over the words. “I’m not feeling well. Too much hot toddy, I think,” you add with a feeble laugh. “I’m going to head in for the night.”

Surprised expressions stare back, but you don’t choose to linger. Turning around, you rush towards the house with your heart in your throat. Snow crunches beneath boots, light from the bonfire flickering over the path.

Time seems both fast and slow as you shrug off your coat and step from your boots. Rushing upstairs, you barely make it into your bedroom before a sob rips from your throat. After so long suppressing them, your emotions expand in a heady wave. Memories of the night you broke up – the reason why you broke up – rise to the surface, demanding to be heard.

Sinking onto the sofa, you bury your face in your palms as guilt swallows you whole. Guilt Jimin doesn’t even know the half of, and if he did, he might never have asked you here in the first place.

Feet pounding the staircase, Jimin rushes upstairs. He isn’t sure what happened but knows you well enough to know you shouldn’t be alone. As much as you like to pretend not to need anyone, there are times when you do. Times when the emotions are too much, too heavy and you can’t bear them alone.

Outside, Jimin doesn’t recall exactly what he said, only that he made an excuse to leave and disappeared. You’re what’s most important right now. Despite what he said to you on the phone, his family would understand if he confessed two pieces of bad news at once. Sure, the hockey subject is tense right now and of course, they love you, but they also love Jimin. He knows they’ll eventually come around, no matter what he decides with his contract.

You, on the other hand… Jimin doesn’t know how to fix.

Reaching his old bedroom door, he knocks once. “Y/N?” Jimin calls, leaning closer to listen. “Can I come in?”

Jimin hears you move around, a soft thump of footsteps while you ready yourself for bed. And then – an unmistakable hitch in your breathing.

Losing himself completely, Jimin barges inside.

Your head jerks up, eyes wide when you see him. Crouching next to your suitcase, you hold in one hand the sweater you wore at the fire. Jimin barely notices, zeroing in on your eyes, which are red-rimmed and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, dropping the sweater. “I’ll tell your family whatever you want tomorrow. I just...” Your eyelashes flutter when you straighten. “I just couldn’t sit there, listening t-to them talk about us and–”

Crossing the room, Jimin crushes you to him. You bury your face in his chest, your entire body hiccupping as your arms wrap around him. He feels your muscles melt, leaning against him in a way that cracks his heart. For the first time in months, things feel right.

“It’s alright,” Jimin murmurs, inhaling deeply. “It’s fine, I don’t care.”

He doesn’t. Nothing matters beyond you in his arms, this feeling that–

“Did you know…” Your voice hitches. “I thought I was pregnant?”

Jimin’s arms lock, his blood turning sluggish as time seems to slow. Sound goes in and out, his brain repeatedly trying to process this information. None of it works.

“You… what?” Jimin rasps.

“I… never mind.” Your voice tightens. “It’s not worth it.”

Disentangling from his hold, you head for your suitcase and Jimin comes to his senses. “Not worth it?” he blurts, turning to face you. “How do you figure?”

“Because,” you say, crouching down. Frantic, you yank out another set of pajamas – Jimin nearly swears, seeing their skimpy hem. Did you bring any clothes for sleeping that won’t give him a boner? “We’re broken up, Jimin. There’s no point in rehashing the past.”

Grasping your toiletry kit, you stand – and Jimin reaches out. Definitely not his proudest moment, but he grabs the kit from your hands to hold just out of reach.

Your jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” Jimin says, gaze locked on you.

“Give that back,” you huff, attempting to grab it. “I swear, Jimin!”

“Tell me what you meant.”

“There’s no point.”

“There is a point if I did something to hurt you and never knew.”

Sidestepping Jimin, you snatch the kit from his hand. “Just forget it,” you huff, attempting to walk past him.

He steps between you and the door. “I don’t want to.”

Stumbling to a stop, you narrowly avoid his chest. “Jimin, stop,” you groan, and his hands slide to your elbows.

“When?” he demands. “When did you think you were pregnant?”

Your jaw sets, staring past him and for a terrible moment, Jimin is scared you won’t say. Scared you’ll decide you two are done and he doesn’t deserve the truth. Hell, you’re probably right. If you didn’t want to tell him back then, you probably had your reasons.

“September,” you whisper, barely audible.

Jimin finds it hard to breathe. He can’t recollect how to draw breath into his lungs, much less to expel it. “When in September,” he manages to ask.

Your gazes finally meet, and Jimin nearly regrets asking the question. “When you were at training camp,” you murmur.

September is both training camp for the NHL and the month you broke up. Jimin doesn’t view this to be a coincidence. Although he started skating with the team over the summer, training camp was a whole new level of hell for him. The rest of the team had an entire season of games and experience under their belt. Jimin felt like an outsider, at the bottom of his game both professionally and physically.

People love to think of recovery as a straight line, but it’s not. Dr. Nygard once called recovery polynomial, and that’s stuck with Jimin ever since. Full of dips and swift rises, plummets, and inclines. Training week was a plummet for Jimin. Coach was on some new kick, insisting the entire team stay for weeks at a hotel near the airport for ‘team building.’ All it meant was Jimin had no escape from his thoughts after leaving the ice. He had no you to steady him, no therapist he was seeing, and Jimin found himself drowning.

“What happened?” Jimin rasps, still holding on. “What do you mean, you thought you were pregnant?”

“I… realized my period was late and decided to take a pregnancy test. It was positive.”

Jimin’s stomach drops. “It was… positive? And you didn’t tell me?”

Your gaze narrows. “I tried, Jimin. I called you that night to talk but you were so in your head – the way you always were – that you barely heard.”

Jimin opens his mouth, and then closes it because he knows you’re right. Jimin wishes things had been different back then, wishes he could have pulled himself out of his depression long enough to talk, but he didn’t – or he couldn’t, Dr. Nygard would want him to say.

Last year’s injury shook his foundation in a way Jimin hadn’t anticipated. He had always been good at being a boyfriend, but not at relationships. Jimin was good at holding hands, saying comforting things and listening while you talked.

He wasn’t so good at confessing his shortcomings, or even acknowledging them to himself.

For most of your relationship, your problems were equal – or, if Jimin is being honest, yours were bigger than his. Then, suddenly, he was a burden. Jimin couldn’t stand, couldn’t shower, couldn’t even get dressed without you by his side. Losing his agency made him question everything he was, and he had no idea how to communicate that to you.

Jimin remembers the phone call you mentioned. He felt guilty about letting the team down that day, rushing you off the phone as penance. And then, he felt guilty about that, leading to a spiral which consumed half the night. Jimin hasn’t spiraled like that in a while, but right now, the panic feels tangible, hovering beneath his fingertips.

“And then what?” he manages to ask. “What happened?”

You stare at the wall, unfocused. “I went to the doctor that Friday. She confirmed I wasn’t pregnant, said the test had been a false positive, and I felt… confused.”

“Confused?”

“Relieved,” you clarify, gaze flicking to his. “I was relieved not to be pregnant. I want kids. Youwant kids. Even if it was unplanned, I thought getting pregnant was something I wanted, so when it happened, and I didn’t want it…” Your voice cracks as you speak. “I knew something was wrong.”

Jimin’s grip on you tightens, wishing he could go back and fix it. Wishing he’d heard what you tried to tell him, but he was so focused on his own pain, he hadn’t seen yours.

“We hadn’t talked in so long,” you whisper. “You… were so absent back then. You wouldn’t talk about anything, and I was terrified a kid would make that worse.”

A tear slips from your eye, and Jimin wipes it away. You lean into his touch, and his heart aches, that after everything, you would seek him for comfort. He only wishes he’d offered it then.

“I know I was absent. My… my therapist and I are working on communication. That’s why you said you wanted a break,” Jimin says, his voice hollow.

“Yeah.” Your eyelashes flutter. “It was.”

Exhaling deeply, Jimin lowers his hand. “Right.”

The night runs again through his mind, remembering how strange you sounded on the phone. And then Jimin recalls your face when he came home to the kitchen table. Again and again, the memory loops in his mind, a formative moment he can’t get past. You refused to even talk to him then, refused to tell him what the break was about. Just said you needed space, and that was that.

Ugly emotions bubble up, and Jimin tries to suppress them.

“I’m sorry,” you rush. “I should have tried harder to tell you, I know.”

“Yeah,” he exhales, turning away to run a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you should have, Y/N. Maybe if you’d told me, I would’ve –”

“You would’ve what,” you interrupt, steel entering your voice for the first time. Jimin glances sideways and finds you standing too close. “I tried for months to get you to talk to me. Why would this have been any different?”

“Because!” Jimin blurts, trying not to shout. “You thought you were pregnant.”

Eyes blazing, you take a step closer. “And? Thinking I was pregnant wasn’t why I asked for a break. I asked for a break because the pregnancy scare made me realize I couldn’t rely on you.”

Jimin reels, as though slapped.

Seeing this, some of your anger dissipates. “I was scared, Jimin. Scared that if the season didn’t go well, our relationship would change. And scared that if the season did go well, the next time it didn’t, our relationship would change. And I’d be left alone – again. Only with a child.”

All he can do is stare, wishing you’d said this when you were together. Then again, Jimin wouldn’t have been ready to hear it. Dr. Nygard says he internalizes problems, insisting on solving them by himself instead of asking for help. Ignoring a problem isn’t the same thing as solving it, though.

Unfortunately, Jimin didn’t feel the need to seek out a new therapist until after you left. Focusing on you and your pain, he takes a step closer.

“I didn’t know,” Jimin admits, somewhat broken. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well.” He sees right through your attempt to be brave. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. I asked for a break, and you wanted to break up. The reason why doesn’t really matter – does it? It doesn’t change the result.”

“It matters,” Jimin says lowly. “It matters to me.”

Something unreadable flickers in your gaze. “Maybe you’re right,” you admit on an exhale. “Maybe it does matter. But… it doesn’t fix things. Does it?”

Jimin hesitates a moment too long, and he watches the moment light fades in your eyes. His throat clogs with his panic, trying to come up with an answer, but everything feels inadequate.

Nodding to yourself, you step around him. “That’s what I thought,” you say and shut yourself in the bathroom.

Jimin listens to the water turn on, the shower curtain shutting and still, he stands there. His skin feels too tight, stretched across his bones, and the one thing he knows is he can’t stay. Jimin might be better at talking about his feelings now, but there’s only so much he can unpack in one night. Besides, you didn’t seem to want to have him around.

Turning on his heel, Jimin grabs his wallet and heads out the door. Frantically texting the first person in his phone, he pauses at the landing to wait for a response.

When it comes, Jimin grabs his jacket and stuffs his feet into shoes. What he needs is a plan, someone to talk through his feelings with and there’s only one person here who fits that bill.

“You rang?” Hoseok asks, sticking his head in from outside.

“Yep,” Jimin says, opening the front door. “Let’s go out. I could use a drink.”

Part 9

Jimin’s POV

“Okay, so, explain this to me again.” Removing his hat, Hoseok smooths down his hair. “You and Y/N aren’t together… but you’re pretending to be together, because…?”

“Because.” Squinting, Jimin realizes he may have overdone it with that last shot of whiskey. For once, he’s thankful Hoseok convinced him to take an Uber. “I’m planning on extending my contract. I can’t tell my parents that and we broke up.”

“You could.” Hoseok nods. “I mean, you could, but it’d go poorly. I get that.”

Mid-sip of whiskey, Jimin nearly spits it back out. “You can’t make me laugh,” he complains, wiping his mouth with one hand. “I nearly died.”

Hoseok laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. Before Hoseok was Jisoo’s husband, he was Jimin’s good friend. Hoseok is two years older than Jimin but would always make time for the younger kids in their school. If anyone knows Jimin well enough to give advice, it would be Hoseok.

Unfortunately, prime advice-giving time was probably several shots back.

Glancing at the clock, Jimin’s eyes widen. It’s nearly 1:00 AM. “We should probably head back,” he says, although he doesn’t budge.

Hoseok nods. “Probably.”

Exhaling, Jimin traces the rim of his glass with a finger. He debates whether to say his next though out loud before deciding, fuck it.

“That’s not the only reason I asked Y/N to come,” he admits.

“No.” Hoseok pretends to be surprised. “I’m shocked.”

Jimin pretend-shoves him off the stool, missing wildly. Hoseok cracks up, teetering backwards and nearly falling for real. Draining the rest of his glass, Jimin slams this to the counter.

“I still love her,” he admits, staring at the counter. “Never stopped. This past year has been… hard.” Jimin pauses, and Hoseok waits for him to continue. “I didn’t handle things well after I got hurt. I found a new therapist after we broke up, and they’ve put things in perspective. I tend to shut down, and in doing so, I push people away.”

“You don’t say,” Hoseok muses.

“Anyways.” Jimin shakes his head. “That’s what I did to Y/N. I kept saying things were fine, but they weren’t. I didn’t want to talk to her, didn’t want her to think any less of me.”

“Why would Y/N think less of you?”

Jimin pauses since that’s exactly how Dr. Nygard responded. “I… my therapist thinks I can accept flaws in others, but not in myself. He says too much of my self-worth is tied to accomplishments, in what I am to other people. When I lost something I viewed as essential, I felt… lost. Like I had nothing else to offer.”

Hoseok’s face twists. “Jimin, that’s not true.”

“I know.” He frowns at the empty glass. “Or at least, I’m learning that’s not true, but it’s how I felt at the time. I couldn’t let Y/N in because I didn’t want her to see how lost I truly was. I didn’t want her to think… I wasn’t the guy she fell in love with.”

And yet, Jimin wonders if this was the reason you left. You said you felt as though you couldn’t talk to him anymore, like he couldn’t hear you. You never said you didn’t like who he was, or that you were scared he couldn’t play hockey anymore. You said you were scared he wouldn’t let you in again.

Seeing the horrible irony in this, Jimin lowers his head.

“Jimin.” Hoseok exhales. “Y/N didn’t fall in love with you because you’re some big hockey star. In fact,” he adds, perking up slightly. “If I remember correctly, she hated that fact about you.”

Jimin chuckles. “You’re right about that.”

“So, you concocted this entire plan, dragged Y/N here for the holidays… for what? What’s the big move?”

“You think I have a plan?” Bleakly, he laughs. “No. I don’t know. I just…” Jimin hesitates. “The past three months have been miserable. At first, I didn’t call because I thought she was better off. I thought if Y/N was so unhappy, she deserved someone better, but… it wasn’t until recently I realized I didn’t give her a choice in the matter.”

Hoseok takes a sip of his drink. “So, what you’re saying is, you want to give her that choice.”

“I want to apologize,” Jimin says. “I want to show her I’m trying, that I’m still hers if she wants me, but… I also don’t want to force any decisions on her. I just want Y/N to be happy, you know? I want her to know I want her, since I haven’t done a good job at telling her in the past.”

Although his head is spinning, Jimin feels as though a weight has been lifted. For so long, he’s kept this bottled inside.

Hoseok sniffs loudly and Jimin glances at him, startled. “Are you… crying?”

“No!” Hoseok wipes his nose. “I’m just a sucker for love, alright? Tell me what you need from me this weekend, and I’ll help.”

“Thanks, man.” Jimin reaches over, patting him on the back. “I just… want Y/N to know I’m trying. She said she couldn’t rely on me before. I want her to know that she can.”

Hoseok’s lips purse. “Okay, sure. Make you look trustworthy. Dependable. That’s a tall order, but I’m down for the challenge.”

“Can’t be any harder than convincing Jisoo to marry you.”

“What was that?” Hoseok leans closer. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me and your sister trying for our third kid.”

“Gross,” Jimin groans. “I absolutely didn’t need to know that. Let’s go home,” he declares, sliding off the stool. Leaving money on the counter, he waves at the bartender. “I’ll call another Uber, okay?”

“Great.” Hoseok joins him at the exit, looping his scarf over his neck. “But seriously, Jimin, just tell me what you need. Now that I know what’s happening, I can be your man on the inside! Finagle those magical, romantic moments for you and Y/N.”

“Just talking about it was helpful,” Jimin admits. “So, thanks for that.”

“Anytime. Just make sure you talk to her, too – okay?”

“That’s the plan,” Jimin exhales, breath frosting as he opens the door.

Starting tomorrow, he plans on showing exactly what this relationship can be. And this time, if you decide to leave, it will be with the knowledge that Jimin wants you to stay.

The next morning you wake to the smell of pancakes. Rolling to your stomach, you leisurely stretch – only to remember partway where you are and what happened. The events of last night slam into you hard enough for you to cringe as you open an eye.

Jimin is asleep on the sofa, his face smushed by cushions with one arm hanging off. You remember stirring when he came in, although it must have been late. Bitterness stains your thoughts, and you roll onto your back to block him from view. Last night, you confessed everything. The reason you asked for a break, how you felt last year – only for Jimin to disappear, rather than have the hard conversation. Again.

When you emerged from the shower to an empty room, you tiptoed downstairs with your robe wrapped around you. Jisoo and her mom were talking in hushed tones outside, and you caught enough to understand Jimin had gone out with Hoseok. Smothering the sting of rejection, you rushed back upstairs and attempted to sleep.

In the new light of day, you can examine the moment with greater clarity. Oddly, mixed in with your anger is a shred of relief. For months, you’ve wondered what Jimin would have done if he knew the truth. Having this question resolved makes you feel lighter. He said other things, too, last night that piqued your interest.

Jimin mentioned a therapist. You weren’t aware he’d gone back, having disliked the one his team provided. He has seemed different lately, not just because of the situation you’re in. Before, Jimin would never have asked you to come home with you at all. He would have never admitted to needing your help, let alone asked directly.

All this is positive and yet, Jimin still ran away. Just as expected.

Pushing the comforter aside, you rise as quietly as possible to grab your things from your suitcase. Rather than wake Jimin, you head for the bathroom down the hall. The door creaks when you open it, and you pause on the threshold.

Jimin stirs in his sleep, muttering something before he rolls over. You freeze, praying he doesn’t wake, and he eventually settles. Even so, he must be uncomfortable. The couch is barely large enough for him to lie down, a blanket half-covering him to trail on the floor. One sockless foot dangles over the cushions, and creases are embedded in his cheek from the pillow.

Before you can change your mind, you slip from the room. Jimin must have been out late with Hoseok – the least you can do is not wake him. Even the thought this causes jealousy to rear its ugly head. Why would they possibly go out last night? Hoseok is married and as far as the family is concerned, you and Jimin are dating. Jimin couldn’t possibly have been so upset he’d put that at risk – would he?

You banish this thought as you get ready. Jimin isn’t the type of guy to put you in a bad situation. Although naturally flirty, he’d never do anything to cross a line. Even if you’re not technically together anymore.

Once dressed, you head downstairs and find Jimin’s mom already in the kitchen.

“Oh,” you exhale, stopping short in the door. “I didn’t realize anyone else was up.”

Glancing at you, his mom’s smile widens. “Thought I’d get a head start! Please, Y/N, sit down. I’ll get you some breakfast.”

The clock on the wall says only seven, but you nod. “That sounds great. I woke up early and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“I understand that.” She chuckles, turning to add batter to the pan. “There’s fruit on the counter if you want any. Pancakes should be ready soon.”

“I’ll take the pancakes,” you readily agree. “And put the coffee on.”

“Bless you,” she sighs.

Crossing the kitchen, the coffee maker sputters to life at the press of a button. Leaning your hip to the counter, you glance around and try not to get lost in the memories. Jimin’s parents have lived here since before he was born, and his childhood is everywhere, from photos on the fridge to height marks on the wall.

One of the reasons you used to enjoy visiting was because it pulled back the curtain. You saw the layers within, a list of the reasons Jimin was who he was. He had a supportive father, warm mother, and a strong older sister who kept him on track. His life was surrounded by love and when you came, it was easy to envision yourself in the future.

A future which no longer exists. Except – something about this thought snags in your mind. Jimin kept insisting that the reason you broke up matters. The only reason it would matter though, is if you had a future.

“Y/N…” Interrupting your thoughts, Jimin’s mom turns. “I hope I’m not overstepping by saying something.”

You straighten when she moves closer, turning the stove dial down.

“Of course, not,” you say, although on the inside, you’re panicking. “Go ahead.”

Stopping before you, she smiles warmly. “Oh, good. I just wanted to apologize if anything we said last night caused you discomfort.”

Inwardly, you shrivel. “Oh – no, no,” you hasten. “I’m so sorry for running off the way I did.”

Jimin’s mom shakes her head. “Don’t you apologize. We were the ones being insensitive, going on and on about marriage and kids. There’s absolutely no rush, Y/N. You and Jimin will figure it out eventually – if that’s even what you want.”

“Thank you,” you murmur as the coffee pot dings.

Grateful for something to do with your hands, you busy yourself as his mom returns to the stove. The two of you work in companionable silence, and you grab two mugs to fill up with coffee.

“Milk?” you ask, remembering how she takes hers.

“Yes, thank you, dear.”

Bringing this to the stove, you take a seat at the table and Jimin’s mom takes a deep sip. “Much better,” she sighs. “I hope this goes without saying, but if you ever have something you want to talk about, you can talk to me. I love my son,” she assures. “But you know I consider you more than his girlfriend. I care about you, too, Y/N.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you murmur, taking a large sip of coffee in lieu of a response.

Glancing sideways, his mom sees this and sets down her spatula. “Y/N,” she says, pulling you in for a hug. Smoothing her hand up and down your back, she squeezes you tightly. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Jimin, but know that we love you – okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, blinking the tears away.

Jimin’s mom pulls back with a final squeeze. Returning to the pancakes, she expertly flips several to reveal golden-brown. “Now, you better start eating these before someone else wakes up and claims them.”

Smiling to yourself, you settle back at the table.

“Someone like me?” Jisoo asks, breezing into the kitchen. She squeezes your shoulder as she passes, lifting her brows in wordless commiseration. “Glad you’re feeling better, Y/N. Wouldn’t want you to miss the iconic ice skating!”

“Can the twins even ice skate?” you wonder.

Jisoo takes a seat across the table from you. “Not really, no.” She laughs. “But it’s adorable watching Hoseok lose years from his lifespan with worry.”

You all laugh, digging into your pancakes as conversation continues. Some of your nerves disappear, knowing you didn’t mess things up for Jimin with your abrupt exit. And as hard as the conversation was last night, you’re glad you had it. Jimin deserves to know everything that happened this fall, even if it doesn’t change anything moving forward.

With everything out in the open though, there’s nothing stopping you from wondering. From asking yourself if you’d want to get back together if Jimin asked. It’s something you haven’t allowed yourself to even contemplate, fearing you’d never see Jimin again. Now though, you find yourself thinking and the answer comes to you as though it never left.

Yes.

Miraculously, the meteorologist on Channel 9 predicts clear skies all morning, which makes it perfect weather for ice skating. Jimin volunteers to drive, mostly so there’s an escape plan if you need one. You’ve seemed fine this morning though, your anger from last night mostly dissipated.

Unlike you, Jimin woke with a hangover and firm resolution. Now that you’ve talked about why you broke up, he can work on fixing things. Jimin hoped to talk to you at breakfast, but when he opened his eyes, you were already gone. He can’t really blame you. Last night, it seemed like a good idea to talk to someone else but in hindsight, it probably seemed like he left you. Again.

Padding downstairs in his PJs – with a t-shirt, having learned yesterday when Jisoo threw a balled-up sweatshirt at his head – Jimin was greeted by the sight of you eating breakfast. Jisoo threw him a dirty look when he entered, which Jimin supposed he deserved, although not for the reasons she thought.

Hoseok fared worse than Jimin, having emerged from their bedroom only five minutes before leaving. Jimin apologized to him profusely, which Hoseok waved aside with grim determination. Indeed, he seems to have taken last night to heart, loudly proclaiming that you should drive in Jimin’s car.

Something which only left you puzzled, seeing as you were already seated on the passenger side. Hoseok promptly ushered the rest of the family into his minivan and drove away. Alone in the SUV, Jimin drives into town and drums his fingers nervously on top of the wheel.

Holiday music plays over the speakers, and you hum under your breath while looking out the window. Jimin’s heart beats strangely louder when he opens his mouth.

“Y/N…”

You glance at him. “Mm?”

“I just…” He pauses. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

Now, Jimin seems to have your full attention, and you turn sideways to face him. “What are you apologizing for?” you ask, folding your hands in your lap.

Jimin grips the wheel. “A lot of things,” he admits. “I was thinking about what you said, and I’m sorry I let us get to the point where you didn’t feel you could talk to me. I’m sorry I stopped confiding in you. I’m sorry I made you feel alone.” A muscle jumps in his jaw. “My therapist, Dr. Nygard, says I tend to internalize when things go wrong. I shut down, which pushes people away, and I’m sorry I did that to you.”

The car goes utterly quiet, except for the hum of the engine and Josh Groban’s voice.

“… you found a new therapist?”

Jimin blinks at the road, realizing he never told you. The entire last year, you encouraged him to talk to someone, but he refused. The first therapist Jimin saw left a bad taste in his mouth, always condescending to what he was feeling.

“I did, yeah.” Jimin slowly nods. “I’m trying to reach out for help when I need it.”

Something in your voice softens the next time you speak. “Well,” you exhale. “That’s good to hear. I hope this therapist is… helping? Do you like them?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, it’s always going to be a process – right? The next time things are too much, I’ll have to work to make sure I’m alright. But it helps, having someone to talk to.”

“That’s great, Jimin,” you murmur, a wistfulness to your words.

He bobs his head once, as the song on the radio switches to Whitney Houston. You’ve nearly reached the edge of town by the time you next speak.

“You forgot something in that list of apologies,” you say softly.

Startled, Jimin turns at the stoplight. “What do you mean?”

Determined, you set your jaw and turn sideways. “You disappeared on me last night. We got in a fight, I confessed something personal, and then you just… left.”

Jimin stares, feeling like he’s been socked in the stomach. Last night, he didn’t think about it that way, thinking you’d want time alone, but you’re right. He left you – again. Jimin inhales, the sound shaky as the light before him turns green.

“Are you saying… you wanted me to stay?”

Before you can respond, the ice rink comes into view and Jimin’s attention is required to find parallel parking. Two days before Christmas, the town square is packed. Garland is renowned for their Christmas market, tourists coming from far and wide to browse all the stalls.

Once he parks – several blocks away – you begin the long trek towards the skating rink. Jimin continues to glance at you as you walk, knowing he needs to fix this, and fast.

“Y/N,” he ventures.

Your lips tighten. “Yes?”

Jimin hesitates, then decides, to hell with his dignity. “I’m sorry I left last night. I didn’t think you’d want me to stay, but that’s not an excuse. I didn’t ask if you wanted me to go. I should have stayed. I should have stayed, Y/N,” he adds, grabbing your elbow to make an about-face.

Your lips part, staring up at him from mere inches away. Jimin’s gaze intensifies, hoping you hear the double meaning. Before he can clarify further, a squeal cuts through the crowd.