We write fanfic here.

You [01:55]: Going back to the hotel fyi

Sophie [01:57]: Alone????

You [01:57]: …not alone 😇

Lila [01:57]: Oh SHIT !!

You [01:57]: Is this the dumbest thing i’ve ever done? Be honest

Lila [01:57]: Definitely not

Sophie [01:57]: Girl go get you some

Sophie [01:58]: Time to live 

Lila [01:58]: Have FUN. You deserve it!

Lila [01:58]: 🍆💦🔥🥵

You [01:59]: Ew

Sophie [01:59]: Lila’s emoji privileges revoked 

You [01:59]: Seconded

Lila [02:00]: 🍆🍆🍆🍆

Lila [02:00]: Like to see y’all try

Lila [02:00]: Fr tho, climb him like a tree!!!!

Sophie [02:01]: And call us if you need us

You [02:01]: Best girls ❤️

*****

JK [01:57]: Heading out. Don’t wait up.

JM [01:57]: With someone??

JM [01:57]: You were with that woman most of the night

JK [01:58]: … :)

JM [01:58]: Fuck

Hobi [01:58]: No way

Hobi [01:59]: Maybe a little dangerous?

JK [01:59]: She doesn’t know who I am

JM [02:00]: Rude

JM [02:00]: But prob for the best

Hobi [02:00]: Still… 

Hobi [02:00]: Sure about this?

JK [02:01]: Yea

JK [02:01]: One time thing

JK [02:01]: Don’t worry

JM [02:03]: You better wrap it punk!!!

*****

The hotel you’d booked hadn’t felt that close when you’d ridden to the club earlier, but now it felt like you were there in a matter of seconds. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t focus on anything else except exploring more of the ways Jeongguk could move his mouth in sync with yours. 

The poor driver. If they minded, they said nothing. Or maybe they did and you weren’t listening. How could you give attention to any of your other senses, when touch was the one taking total control?

What felt like a flash and then you were in the elevator, his hands clutching your waist steady as you desperately fisted his hoodie in your greedy hands. 

“What room,” he gasped, leading the two of you closer to the buttons so he could push the right one. 

Oh, right. You weren’t even in the room yet. Maybe you should slow down. But then again… who the fuck would decide that when the man before them looked like this?

“Nine-oh-four,” you managed to gasp between nips across his jaw. The salt of his skin was addicting. You could barely focus on anything else. 

“Card?” Jeongguk was suddenly breathing into your ear.  

“Huh?” 

“Key card, baby,” he murmured, tugging your clutch’s strap down your shoulder. “For the door.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You pulled back from him far enough to rummage inside. He made himself busy, worrying a spot near your clavicle. Enough so that distantly you thought you were sure it would bruise come morning. A second more of rooting around and then the card was there, plastered against one side of the purse.

A quiet beep of the door’s security system, bypassed at last, and you were in the room. The foyer sconce gave dim but invitingly warm light. Door locked once more, and then it was a blur of clothes falling toward the floor. 

“Fuckkk,” you heard Jeongguk whine, taking in your backside as he unzipped your dress with a practiced swiftness. 

You twisted back around, the remaining alcohol in your system making you brave. “Please,” you laughed. “I should be the one saying that, not you,” you argued, lifting the elastic waistband of his hoodie off of his slender hips and up, up, up, until his face was disappearing and he was helping you shuck it off. 

“I’m serious,” he huffed as he gripped the dip of your waist and dragged you closer. “Didn’t think I’d win the lottery tonight.”

“Me either,” you sighed into his mouth, your tongue meeting his once more. “Lucky us.”

“Lucky us,” Jeongguk agreed, lifting you all at once by the back of your thighs and walking you both to the bed. A gentle dip and you were horizontal, ass at the edge. His face between your legs. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Can I?” 

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed. “Are you for real right now?”

He said nothing, just tongued his lip piercing and nodded. His eyes were round and innocent, but the situation was anything but.

“You already got me off. You don’t have to.”

“Who said it’s just for you?” 

“Fuck.” Your head smacked against the mattress. “Then yes. Yes, times a thousand.”

“Thank fuck,” he murmured. In the span of an exhale, your thong was down to your ankles and tossed across the room. 

A delicate kiss against your thigh, a pause, and then his tongue was licking deep. Inside you, up your center and finally circling around your clit. Your back was arching off the bed of its own accord, your whine carrying obscenely throughout the suite. 

His puffs of impish laughter against you only spurred you on. “Yeah, you like that?” he hummed in between kitten licks. 

“Love that,” you moaned, hands seeking purchase in his hair like a survivor desperate for a life vest. Your hips were bucking against his tongue like it was their only job. “What the fuck.”

“Wiggling so much,” he teased, giving your clit a slow suck as he sheathed two fingers inside you. His other hand clamped around your hip bone to keep you still. “Is it really that good, baby?”

“It really is,” you panted, nodding at a rate that in any other situation would have had you mortified. “So, so good, Jeongguk, shit.”

“Good. I want it to be good for you.” You could feel his lips smiling against you. A grin that only widened at the absolutely obscene whine racing out of your open mouth as he curled his fingers inside, hitting a spot that you’d never been sure you actually had. 

But, oh, you did. You really did. It was a crime you hadn’t known sooner than now, but holy fuck were you grateful. Which you apparently expressed when his fingers scissored inside you at the same time he was flattening his tongue against your clit. 

“Thanking me already?” you could barely attach meaning to his words in the rush of an impending climax. It was growing, growing, growing. Curling your toes against his shoulder blades. Electrifying every nerve, pulsing in time to the blood pounding in your ears. “You needed this so bad, huh.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you wailed pathetically. His dirty mouth had you wetter than you had ever been in your life. You could tell by the smacking sounds emanating from him as he ate his fill. It was downright nasty. But you couldn’t find an ounce of shame. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep going,” you mewled. You barely recognized this fucked out voice of yours. 

“So cum, baby.” His voice, though muffled against you, was huskier now, pitched lower than before. Thank God all of this was affecting him, too. “Cum on my mouth. Show me again how good you can cum for me.”

His permission was all it took. The damn inside you collapsed in a sudden clench and release of tension, your hips rutting into his face as he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue, his fingers pumping in and out of you with delicious force. 

There was no time wasted on a come down. The second he felt you relax, he was up off his knees and ridding himself of his remaining clothes. You opened bleary eyes just in time to see his cock bobbing free from his shorts, the length of him making your mouth water. 

“Let me taste you,” you managed, moving to get on your knees before him. Your legs were weak from the orgasm, but you’d be damned if you didn’t get your mouth on him just once. 

“You don’t have to,” he smiled, suddenly boyish as he was fisting himself in one hand. How he could flash from domineering to bashful so quickly was baffling, but somehow it worked. It made you want him even more. You said as much, tacking on a breathy “please” as you sidled closer. 

“You want to suck me off that bad?” He scrunched his nose, teasing. 

“I want you halfway down my throat.” The words shocked a distant part of you, but it was quickly forgotten when you saw the effect they had on him. How his eyes, already large enough to hold galaxies, widened. The flex of his forearm as he gripped himself tighter. The sudden slack in his jaw, tongue prodding at the lip ring.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pumping himself harder. You watched with unconcealed lust. “How are you so perfect.”

His words goaded you on now. “Let me taste you, baby,” you pleaded. “Show you how perfect I can be.” 

“Yeah,” he rasped, releasing himself. “Show me. Fuck me with that pretty mouth of yours.”

“Happily,” you sighed, the final syllable greeting his head as your mouth sheathed him in one go. He was thick. Thick in a way that had your pussy clenching from the anticipation of what it would be like to have him filling you there. Your throat stretched in protest as you dived to take him all in, and the tears it brought to your eyes were a welcome warmth on your cheeks. 

“Fuck. That’s it, so good,” Jeongguk managed through gritted teeth as you found a pace that was comfortable without needing your hands. “Taking me so well. Look so pretty with my dick in your mouth.”

His words. His taste. Your thighs were slick—you could tell when you squeezed them to ease the ache that was already building once again. You liked him being in control, but you found yourself wanting to shut him up, if only to keep yourself in check. 

You released him with an obscene pop before moving to suck on his balls, taking them in your mouth one by one. Stuffing them both in your mouth, tonguing them each in turn. You felt like a slut, loved feeling like a slut. Were a hair’s breadth from deranged as you opened your eyes and took in his pained expression. His guttural moan, which ended more like a whine, was all the encouragement you needed to run your tongue up the seam of him in the limited space of your crowded mouth. 

“Fuckkkk,” he sighed. “You keep going like that and you’re gonna make me cum.” 

You hummed happily before freeing him at least. “Is that what you want?” you murmured, painting a wet kiss against his inner thigh. 

“I’d rather fuck you raw,” he breathed, clutching you by the chin and drawing you up to plant a sloppy kiss across your lips. 

You couldn’t help the whine that escaped your lips. “I want that too,” you sighed. 

“Yeah? You sure?” His eyes were boring into yours, meaning heavy behind them.

The last rational neuron in your brain had the wherewithal to pause. You drew back enough to manage some reasonable distance between the two of you. “I’m clean, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

He tongued his lip piercing, considering. “Yeah?”

You huffed a laugh. “Yeah. It’s a long story, one that would really kill the mood,” you admitted, looking away, eyes landing on the curtained window. Thank God you’d thought to close the blinds before leaving earlier tonight. “But I just got tested. Because of my ex. So, I’m for sure clean.” 

“I’m sorry.” His hand moved to cup your cheek, but you still didn’t turn to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean–”

“S’okay,” you interrupted, looking back at him, a soft smile around the corners of your mouth as you touched a finger against the plush of his lower lip. “Even so, Lila left me a condom if you’d prefer to wrap it. If you’re clean too, then I don’t care either way.”

He took you in, eyes darting across your face. Considering. “I’m clean, too. Got tested last month, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he managed, shivering as your hand gripped the base of him, beginning a slow, torturous rhythm. 

“Did I mention I’m on the pill, too,” you murmured, drawing closer to his face as your hand kept him in its grip. 

“You hadn’t actually,” he swallowed, eyes fully trained on your mouth. 

“My bad,” you smirked. “Should’ve said that earlier. But, yeah. Clean and consequence free.”

“Lucky fucking me,” Jeongguk managed, closing what little distance existed between you and latching your mouths once more. In the span of a breath, you found yourself flat on your back, Jeongguk leaning over you. He was slotted between your legs like the space had been meant for him. “You sure,” he panted, meeting your eyes seriously.

“So sure,” you nodded. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

You reached for him desperately, guiding his length to your open center. The feeling of his head dragging against you was ecstasy in its purest form. “Good. Because I need you inside me right fucking now.” 

“Say less,” he managed, sheathing himself inside you in one fell swoop. 

You saw white. Frequency overload. Heaven and hell all combined, smashing together until it was nothing but static noise, intense pressure, absolute euphoria.

“Easy, easy,” you heard him coo in your ear, the words hurtling you back down to earth, back into your skin. You could feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, the burn a welcome sensation as he filled you past the point of coherence. “You’re doing so good. So, so good.” 

You whined, unable to form any sounds that could be deemed coherent. Above the feeling of absolute fullness, you registered the desperate way your fingers were clutching his hair. The rigidity of your legs as your ankles locked just above his bum, like you were trying to meld your bodies together. Damn anyone or anything that tried to take him from you. 

Not that he had any plans of going anywhere. “I know. I know, baby. Stretch for me,” he urged. And you did, holy fuck, you did. Your body was acquiescing to him before your brain could even register the words. “That’s it, such a good girl for me.” 

“Wanna be so good for you,” you finally managed to sigh. You wiggled your hips, causing him to sink a bit deeper. He was pushing up on your cervix now, you were sure of it. And yet, if it were possible, you knew you would have had him burying himself even further. 

He was still as a statue apart from his ragged breathing, the errant kisses planted across your temple. He was giving you time to adjust. But it was driving you mad, all the fullness without any momentum. You need him to move, needed him to fuck himself into you until there was no question the space was only meant for him. 

“Move, please,” you pleaded. “I need it.”

“Yeah? You need it?” He parroted. Bucked just enough to give you a taste. “How bad?” But even that little bit had you melting into a breathy mess. 

A hand gripped your chin. “Look at me. Tell me. How bad?” Your eyes opened, and you took in the expression on his face. 

Hungry. Greedy. Powerful. Those doe eyes you’d admired before were nowhere to be seen now, replaced by a gaze so demanding it made you shiver.

“So bad. So, so bad,” you whined, clutching at his shoulders desperately. You had never submitted this easily; it defied logic why you were so pliant now. “I’m aching.”

“Aching, huh.”

“I’m gonna die if you don’t move.” 

At your words, he pulled back. Almost out of you completely. And paused. The absence of him was visceral. So much so that your face was collapsing into a grimace—

—Just as he thrust back in. And then you were full, blissfully full, once again. Your cry of ecstasy only goaded him into a pace that had you clinging to what little shred of awareness you had left. It was otherworldly. Magical. Life-changing. Your brain short circuiting to a rhythm dictated only by the man fucking into you with a ferocity that could rival gods of old. 

“Fuck,” you heard him groan against the dip of your neck. “You’re still so tight. And wet. What the fuck.” 

“J-just for you,” you stuttered, clutching him closer against you. That seemed to energize him further, remapping his movements so that he was grinding deeper, slower, against you. Into you. 

“Just for me, huh?” he panted, hitting a spot inside you that you’d only read about in those silly BookTok novels.

“Yessss,” you whined, but your voice was keening higher and higher. “Yes, yes, yes.” 

“So sweet,” he praised, lifting his head to plant languid kisses against your neck. “You just met me and you're slutting it out this good?”

Was this real life? Your disconnected brain managed to wonder. How was he this good at dirty talk? You could have never imagined words like this making you this feral. “Can’t help it,” you managed to respond. “Wanted you all night.”

“You did so good getting what you wanted,” he praised. “Perfect. So perfect. Doing so good for me.” You clamped him between your legs even tighter at that, locking your ankles together more firmly so that he couldn’t wriggle loose even if he tried. 

The movement had him chuckling into the crook of your neck. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he murmured, leaning up to bite the shell of your ear. “Don’t worry.” You reveled in the way he rocked more forcefully into you, how you could feel him bottoming out right against your cervix. How his pelvis was pushing against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you edging toward release once again. 

And he fucking knew it. 

How he could be so perceptive during all of this was a mystery to you, but you thanked the stars for his ability to notice your impending release once again. “Again?” he teased, rocking into you with purpose. “Already?”

You whined your assent, nodding rather pathetically. “Can’t help it,” you managed, hiding your face against his collarbone and worrying a spot there for him to remember you by. “You feel so good.”

“Aww, poor thing. Let me help you then,” Jeongguk smiled. Deep enough that the dimple in his cheek popped. If you weren’t in the middle of the most obscene sex of your life, you might have pinched his cheeks from the cuteness aggression he triggered. But the feeling was quickly lost as he flipped you over easily in his grip.

You were face down, ass up, his hands greedily gripping you at the dip of your waist. “Hold still,” he cautioned before driving back into you in one go once more. The fullness of him had you mewling. Egged on by the way his hand was now reaching around to clutch your pussy, his middle finger circling your clit in a patient, methodical sort of way that had your toes clenching. 

“Come for me again,” he whispered against your spine, kissing his way up your tattoo. “I know you can do it. Come on my cock. Let me feel it. Wanna feel you grip me even tighter.” 

Again, his words were like a siren’s call. You were at the brink once more, circling the drain, peering down below. Any and every metaphor was racing through your mind until finally, finally, you were breaking. Crashing. Spiraling. He was the push and the rocks beneath to break your fall. So good it was nearly painful. 

“That’s it,” Jeongguk praised. “So good, so good for me. Pretty girl.” But your pulsing must have pushed him to the edge too, if his next words were anything to go by. “Fuck, I’m close,” he managed through gritted teeth. The sound of his voice, so affected, had you leaking even more. His teeth were grazing across your shoulder blade now. Like he was fighting the urge to clamp your skin between his teeth. “Where can I?” 

“Wherever you want,” you whined, your voice still high and breathy despite the comedown. “I’m safe, I swear.”

“Fuuuuck.” He panted, rutting into you with an enthusiasm that only came with an impending orgasm.

“Cum inside, baby,” you rasped, doing your best to goad him. You didn’t know how you found it in yourself to speak the words aloud, given the intensity of your release. “You know you want to.”

“I really do,” he whined, the boyishness of him making a brief comeback as he fucked into you with abandon, teetering on the very edge. “So bad. So, so bad.”

“Do it,” you crooned, craning your neck to meet his eyes behind you. “Be a good boy.” 

How had the power dynamic switched so fast? You had no idea, but you were riding the high. Judging by the slack-jawed look on his face, Jeongguk was too. “Be good for me,” you praised. His doe eyes widened, entranced. He nodded. Bit his lip.

“Fill me up, I wanna be leaking.”

The words were like a key unlocking the safe. Once freed past your lips, given to his ears alone, Jeongguk faltered in his frantic pace. A single, desperate whine. A final thrust. And then he was spilling himself inside you. You could feel it in the way he was crowding against you with renewed energy, as if his hindbrain couldn’t bear the thought of a single ounce of cum escaping from inside you. The animal part of your brain answered in kind. You backed up against him, unwilling to cede even a single millimeter of space to the open air. 

“Fuck,” he panted, curled over you, lips resting against the top notch of your spine. “Don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard.”

“Ditto,” you hummed. You were too high in the clouds to say something more meaningful. Your mind was filled with stardust. Orbiting somewhere far above the bed like a damn comet. You wobbled with the weight of his torso leaning atop you, knees threatening to buckle. Seconds later, they made good on it. 

Outside the heat of the moment, it was probably comical, the way the two of you collapsed in a heap atop the bed. Though you hated the emptiness that came from him pulling out, the way Jeongguk gathered you in his arms before lolling onto his back was a special surprise. 

You knew it was the oxytocin rush, the hormonal cocktail pulsing through your bloodstream that said this was more than what it was. But lying there with him, on him, listening to his heartbeat? There was still a sliver of your brain, probably the part still orbiting the solar system, that swore this was something truly special.

*****

“What?” you hummed, at Jeongguk’s sudden puff of laughter. His chest rose and fell, jostling you from the half-sleep you’d been enjoying on his chest. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes since you last fucked, but the orgasm comedown and his trailing fingers had left you in a sleepy, syrupy blissed out state. Like a cat curled in the sunshine, you were content to soak it all in. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, fingers carding through your hair. “Just thinking.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s really cliche.” 

“Tell me anyway,” you insisted. 

“Just… thinking how wild it is that hours ago I was dreading leaving the house.” He drew lazy circles across your shoulder as the words poured from him slowly, weighed down in the post-sex haze. Still dulcet, but with just a hint of gravel. “And now I’m kind of dreading going back later.”

You hummed understandingly. 

“Just weird,” he continued. “Like I’m still that same guy, but I’m also different now.”

It was your turn to laugh now. “You’re really philosophical after you cum, huh?”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “Not usually. But I’ve been thinking pretty heavy today, though. Reminding myself a lot of my friend.” 

“Jimmy?”

“No,” Jeongguk scoffed. “And his name’s not Jimmy. I don’t–”

“I knew there was some joke I was missing,” you blurted, popping your head up fast. Too fast. The hotel walls were slow to orient to your new position. “Oh fuck. Spins.”

“Careful,” he said, cupping your cheek. “You good?”

“Yeah, just a little drunk still,” you huffed. “Or maybe this is just me after I really cum.” 

“After you really cum?” he teased. “As opposed to not really cumming?”

You prayed the dim light of the room could hide your blush. “I mean, well…It’s, uh, been a while. Generally speaking. But like that?” You hesitated.

“Like that…?”

“Um. Maybe the first time ever.”

“Fuck,” Jeongguk grinned. His knuckles skimmed the curve of your ribs, grazed the swell of your breast. Your breath snagged in your throat at the touch. “You’re really trying to gas me up, huh.”

“It’s not on purpose, I swear,” you tried to assure, albeit distractedly. Your eyes lowered to watch his trailing fingers, the way they traced the whirls of thorny vines and lush petals of your tattoo. “That feels nice.”

“Does it?”

You hummed your assent. It turned into a breathy sort of whimper as he began to play with your nipple. 

“That feel nice, too?” He was being facetious. The mischievous grin plastered on his face as he toyed with you was as endearing as it was exasperating. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to call him out on it. It felt better to lean in and give him the praise he deserved. 

“Really nice,” you murmured, turning to give him better access. You caught the way his eyes locked on the florals inked along your other side. His free hand lifted to trace that piece, too. 

“Every angle I get you in, I feel like I find my new favorite tattoo.” His voice was soft, but it was maybe the only soft thing left about him–if the rising sheets that were slung low around his hips were anything to go by. The awareness of his growing erection, so soon after your last go, did funny things to your tummy. Had you clenching on nothing, slickness beginning to coat your thighs. Thighs that hadn’t had time to dry from the previous round. 

“I have a lot of tattoos,” you whispered. “Lots of angles you can see me in.”

“That so?”

“Mhm.” 

“Hm. Good thing I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” Both of his hands were fully busy playing with your tits. It turned you on more than you cared to admit, watching him watch himself touch you exactly how he wanted. 

“Really good thing.” Emboldened, you swung a leg across his waist so that you were straddling him. You pushed the sheets down, bore down as he angled his cock easily between your folds. “Might just keep you forever,” you breathed as you sank onto him. There was little resistance—in a blink, he was all the way in. The nudge of his head against your cervix once more was a more than welcome feeling. 

“Might just let you,” Jeongguk groaned, pupils blown wide as you began to ride him with the fire of a woman possessed.

*****

The alarm clock on the bedside table read 7:07 in vibrant red. It was the second thing you registered as your eyes fluttered open, the first being the sensation of Jeongguk’s body weight shifting the mattress. You peered over your shoulder, watching his naked form rise carefully from the sheets. 

You’d only known him for a few hours, but in that time you thought you’d become very well acquainted with his body. You’d lost count on the number of orgasms, his and yours both. This man had the stamina of a god, and your core still felt the delicious consequences of his presence. Jeongguk had wrecked you, for better or worse. 

Right now, it certainly felt like it was for the better. 

But the morning had arrived. Cinderella’s carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. And you were waking to the reality that your bed was becoming host to one less body. 

“Heading out?” you murmured. You heaved a sleepy sigh as you flipped to face his side.

He gave you a soft smile, pulling on his boxers. “Afraid so. Gotta get back for work.” 

“‘Nothing gold can stay’,” you mused. 

“What’s that?”

“I think it’s a line from a poem.” You hugged the covers closer to you. “Not sure why it popped into my head.” Paused. Yawned. “It was my lame attempt to find something to say.”

He laughed as he reached for his jeans. “You don’t have to make conversation. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Get some more sleep, yeah?”

“Right. Yeah, sorry.” Your eyes slipped shut of their own accord. “It’s probably easier to leave if the other half of the one night stand stays asleep.”

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he chuckled. “Believe me, I would stay if I could.” 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do that,” you smiled. “I’m glad I’m awake to say goodbye, though. Would’ve felt weird not to, even if it is easier, y’know?”

Your eyes opened again as the mattress dipped near you. Jeongguk’s knee, you realized. He was leaning over you, one hand moving to brace beside your head.

“I had a really, really great time,” he said, his expression serious as he met your gaze. His free hand smoothed a lock of hair back from your pillow-creased cheek. 

“Me too,” you grinned, catching his hand. You planted a kiss against his palm. “I have to say, you gave me some really fantastic memories. Thank you.”

He said nothing at that. Kept studying you in with those enormous starry eyes of his. 

“What?” You scrunched your nose. “Too much? It’s my first time, go easy on me.” You’d said something quite similar to that just hours ago. Now his eyes creased fondly, making you fairly certain that he realized this, too.

He shook his head. “Not too much.” His name on your lips sounded so sweet it almost hurt. “I’m glad I met you.” 

“Likewise,” you laughed. “Okay, go. Before I try to keep you forever.”

His shoulders wiggled upwards, buoyant from his cute little puffs of laughter. “And before I let you.”

You shook your head ruefully. Still convinced he was such a problem. But the very best kind. “Bye Jeongguk. Get home safe.”

Jeongguk nodded. Made to rise from the bed but paused. A moment of hesitation and then he leaned down to plant a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. 

It was the type of kiss that, in another world, you could imagine he would give you every morning before leaving for work. The type that said he would see you later. The type that came with promises too weighty for this reality, far too serious for a one night thing. But you hummed happily nonetheless, returning it easily before you were parting again far too soon and he was finally walking out into the suite’s living area. 

It was a kiss sweet enough to keep thinking on long after his footsteps were no longer audible, and visions of that other world carried you back into an easy sleep. 

******

You’re an idiot, the voice in his head asserted. Actually, certifiably stupid, Jeon Jeongguk. He picked up the pen anyway. 

Honestly, despite the fact he was doing the very thing that was stupid, he couldn’t argue against his voice of reason (that, to no one’s surprise, sounded a lot like Namjoon’s). It was probably stupid. So, so stupid. But every step that brought him closer to the door, closer to the reality of leaving you for good, had felt wrong on a thousand different levels. He needed some sort of contingency plan if he was going to be able to leave this room with any semblance of peace. Just a possibility of another future. That would do. Even something that meager was better than the finality of shutting your room’s door and not having a chance in hell of finding you again.

This wasn’t his first one night fling. Not even close. But, as he realized mid-thrust on round four with you a little while ago, it was his absolute worst. Worst in the sense that it now felt like a gut punch, the idea that he wouldn’t have at least one more night with you. That was certainly new to him. As he’d grown older, he found he actually preferred situations like one night stands, because it meant he didn’t risk getting too attached. And, as anyone in the band and their staff would freely admit, Jeon Jeongguk was notoriously bad at being unattached. 

He had sobbed on the floor of their dingy dorm at the possibility of Hobi leaving the group before their career had really even taken off. Sure, he had been a kid then. But over a decade later, things still hadn’t changed that much. Why, just last week, he’d cried during a particularly heated group discussion about the comeback album, when Namjoon had voiced doubts of whether it was even worth it, resuming the group’s climb to fame after all these years. Rejection of that possibility had shown on everyone’s faces, even Namjoon’s after he spoke the words, but it had been Jeongguk bursting into tears that shocked them all back to their senses. Recentered them. And sure enough, moments later they were reaffirming their commitment to the group, to each other. He had never meant to weaponize it, but little Jungkookie crying seemed to forever be the group’s kryptonite. 

Perhaps it should have bothered him a little more, that he felt too much, cried a bit too easily, wore his heart on his tattoo sleeve. But, in truth, it really didn’t. He’d learned to appreciate that part of himself, learned to focus it almost entirely into his performances, and protect it from situations that could cause more harm than good.

Which was why he enjoyed semi-frequent trysts with others (those others having been approved by the company, of course), but never the same person twice. No matter how great they seemed, he couldn’t afford to get distracted. Get tangled up in the feelings of someone else. The minute he did, it could all be over. He knew his heart. It could lock on to something, or someone, and never release. There couldn’t be room for anyone else, especially now. Not when the band was about to make its comeback. Not when they needed him singleminded, hypertrained on the goal. 

And yet.

And yet, fate had seen fit to place someone like you directly in his path. Someone who, in a matter of hours, had breathed life into his lungs in a similar way that his bandmates, his music, his performances, did for him. Surely that had to mean something, right? Sure, he was still reeling from the fucked-out bliss you’d catapulted him into, but this couldn’t be just his dick talking. Right? Surely you had felt it, too?

He needed more time. Craved it, honestly. In more respects than just time with you. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the Jung Kook of BTS mantle once more. Sure, he wanted it more than anything. But he was also terrified of it at the same time. It was such a heavy thing. Was he still strong enough to carry it? Was he so strong that he could carry it even further? The possibility was as intimidating as it was thrilling. 

Maybe, if he just had more time, he could come up with a better answer. A more solid answer. Come out of this post-discharge summer with more confidence than he was currently feeling. Were you a part of that solution? Had the universe sent you to him? 

Only one way to find out, he supposed. 

His decision solidified when his eyes snagged on the pen and pad of paper lying on the entryway table. It was innocuous enough, but also teased a sense of meaningfulness. The pen was scrawling a hasty note before he gave himself a chance to second guess it. He stared down at his work, satisfied. 

An impulsive thought darted through his mind, and what the hell, he thought. Might as well follow it. He added an extra note at the bottom of the paper. Admired his work with a satisfied smile. Then, with a nod, he was finally slipping out your hotel door. 

******

The alarm clock read 12:15—rather judgmentally you thought—the next time you opened your eyes, roused by thumping on your suite door.

“Hellooooo? Anyone alive in there?” A muffled voice carried through the room. Lila’s, most definitely. 

“Coming,” you croaked, forcing your body into an upright position on the edge of the bed. But the pounding continued. Guess she hadn’t heard you.

“Give us a sign of life, or we’ll start to think you’re dead in there!” 

Nope. Definitely hadn’t heard you. Bleary-eyed, you began making your way to the door. Your ears pricked at the sound of Sophie’s voice. 

“Lila!” she chastised.

“What? Hey–don’t smack!”

“Don’t joke about things like that.” It was the tone of voice that heralded an impending lecture. You, Lila and Ari knew it far too well. “It’s not like her not to answer. I’m going to try calling again–”

“No need,” you assured with a yawn as you swung the door back to reveal yourself in all your hungover glory. 

“She’s alive!” Lila cheered. 

“Just barely.”

“Oh, thank God,” Sophie sighed, a hand to her chest. She and Lila shuffled past you into the suite’s foyer. “I was getting really worried. You never miss a call. Well, I guess that’s not true. But you always call me back asap.” 

“I don’t when I barely slept and am horrendously hungover,” you grumbled, taking to the couch in a dramatic face plant.

“Oo la la, somebody got some action last night,” Lila purred. You flapped a hand at her. 

“Let’s not make a big deal of i–Hey! Get off!” You rasped as Lila plopped her ass unceremoniously onto your back. 

She giggled as you squirmed to buck her off. “I definitely want to make a big deal of it. Make some room, or this’ll be my seat for the whole story!”

“How can I when you’re parked on top of me?”

“Hm, fair.” She moved to sit on the floor, criss-cross style. “Soph? Care to join? Our girl’s about to give us all the steamy details.”

“I said no such thing–”

“Right, she actually said slutty details, sorry.”

“I did not!” 

But Sophie wasn’t indulging either of you. Her eyes were focused instead on the hallway side table. “Did you see this already?” 

“See what?” you and Lila said at the same time.

“This note. And the watch?” Sophie held it in her hands, examining the face. 

“Shut up.” Lila bounded toward the table with a swiftness you found enviable. Your body was in no shape to go anywhere quickly. “Shut UP!” She was practically vibrating on the spot. “Get your ass over here and look at this!”

“This is really nice,” Sophie mused, still inspecting the watch. Her ability to tune you both out when she wanted was a skill that could only come from motherhood. “Hublot? That’s, like, a major luxury brand.” 

“I’m barely functioning,” you whined. “Can’t you bring it here instead?” 

Lila sighed. “The things I do for you, I swear.”

“You’re the best,” you cooed, worming your way into a sitting position. “Now what’s all the fuss.”

“This is the fuss.” She handed you the notepad. “You must’ve rocked his world, queen.”

You stared at the clean script, hardly comprehending the words before you.

Turns out I suck at one night stands. Call me sometime? XX

And, beneath that, his number. Followed by a postscript.

P.S. Think I might’ve left my watch? Be a shame to lose it forever. :) 

“I–” you began, but your voice caught in your throat. Mouth still agape, mind short-circuiting. 

Sure, you’d drifted off to sleep this morning with dreamy what if scenarios clouding your head. But, you hadn’t imagined them having even a fraction of a chance outside the confines of your imagination. The knowledge that Jeongguk had left your bed, left your suite, not with any sense of finality but with a hope that you’d contact him. Had even given you a reason to, leaving his watch like that. As if you might need another reason other than simply wanting to see him again. 

But everything boiled down to the truth presented before you in a neat scrawl. He liked you so much that he wanted to see you again.

It was silly, how that simple thought could have your stomach doing somersaults, your lips lifting into a dumbstruck little grin. Only hours ago he was literally inside you, and now you were quietly losing it over a simple message on a hotel-branded notepad. But it was the implication of it that meant so much more. You couldn’t stop your mind from conjuring the image of him writing it as you were still curled in the sheets, drifting back to sleep with visions of a reality in which he’d come back to you later that day. But, in a way, he kind of was. 

“Holy shit, your face.” You knew Lila was talking to you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to meet her gaze. “You’re down baaaad. Soph, look at our girl cheesing.”

“Okay but look at the watch, too. He’s gotta be loaded, right?” Sophie insisted, moving to join the two of you on the couch. She paused as her phone began blaring the chorus to “Golden” from KPop Demon Hunters. “Shit, Ari is calling. Here, hold this, would you?” 

Sophie dropped the watch into your lap. Your gaze moved slowly from the note to the accessory. It had the weight of something expensive. The intricate face gleamed back at you, detail heavy and sophisticated. The kind of watch Parker would have probably drooled over seeing, now casually resting atop your thigh. 

“Hi, sweetie,” Sophie’s voice faded into the bathroom. “We’re good, Lila and I were just checking in on your other crazy auntie.”

“Talk to me,” Lila nudged your ribs. “Otherwise I’m gonna think you’ve gone catatonic.” 

“Sorry,” you murmured reflexively. “Just kinda stunned. I didn’t think… when he left this morning, I kinda thought…” 

“It was just a one night stand?”

“I mean, yeah,” you laughed. “Like, obviously I was super into him. But he seemed like the type who did this often–”

“Ew, the fuck?”

“No, no, not like that,” you amended. “Just that, he was super charming and, well, almost everyone I meet is going to have a higher body count than me. I just, I don’t know. I just assumed he was gonna walk out the door this morning and that would be it.”

“Well, it still can be,” Lila tried. “If that’s what you want?”

You laughed again. A desperate, awestruck kind of thing. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I could want anything else. I’m just a little stunned.” 

“Breathe, babe.” She slung an arm around your shoulders, squeezed your arm reassuringly. “I know you, and your mind is probably running a mile a minute. But don’t make it overly complicated. It’s actually pretty simple.”

You gave Lila a dubious stare. Of the three of you, she had a tendency to oversimplify things. Sometimes it came in handy, other times not so much. You were hoping this was a case of the former. “You really think so?”

“I know so! It boils down to two really simple questions. First, did you like him?”

You felt the blush tint your cheeks faster than your brain could form the reply. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Then second: did you like him enough to want to see him again?”

You thought back to the last twelve hours. Failed to hide the stupid smile tugging your mouth back up. “See previous response.” 

“Looks like you know what to do next then,” Lila proclaimed. 

You knocked your forehead against hers with a fondness that only came from years of friendship. “Thanks for being you.”

“I accept tips in cash or Venmo.”

“Punk,” you huffed. Lila’s allergy to sappiness had been a running joke since college.

“Bitch! Stop getting mushy on me and text him!”

“Okay, Jesus, I’m going to,” you laughed, pushing off of her and punching in his number on a new message chat. 

You [12:25]: Found something I think belongs to you… missing a watch by chance? :)

“Cute,” Lila approved as you read it aloud. “Very cute. Now hit send!”

“You’re so pushy, oh my God.” But you did as she said. In a blink, the message marked itself as delivered. 

“It’s the professor in me, can’t help it,” Lila laughed.

“Okay okay,” Sophie’s voice gained in volume as she made her way back out to the living space. “Hang on, I’ll let her tell you about it.” She pressed the speakerphone button. “Okay, you’re on speaker.” 

“Aunties!” Ari’s chipper voice projected. 

“Babygirl!” you and Lila replied in near unison.

“Mom said you met a guy?”

“Me?” Lila teased. “Still single as a pringle, sweets.”

“You know I wasn’t talking about you.” You didn’t need to see Ari’s face to know her trademark deadpan expression was on full display. 

“Ice cold.” Lila smiled approvingly at the phone. “We’ve raised you so well.”

“Auntie,” Ari chastised. You knew it was you she was referring to. “Spill.”

You did, albeit the PG-16 version. Of course, Ari had had the sex talk—you and Lila had helped Sophie in delivering it—but that didn’t mean she needed to know any of the seedy details. The rooftop, bathroom, and hotel scenes would be kept far from the light of this child’s day. In fact, you omitted the taking-him-back-to-the-hotel sequence entirely from the story, painting the evening instead as a very chaste occasion—much to the snickering of your best friends. 

“Wow,” Ari replied rather dreamily when you finished the abbreviated version of the night. “What was his name? Because he was definitely probably someone. I looked up the place Mom said you were going to, and there’s a lot of chatter about celebrities going there—like even international ones. There’s been BTS sightings this summer apparently!"

“Who?” the three of you chirped in near unison.

“Oh my God,” Ari sighed. “Seriously? Y’all are hopeless. B. T. S. You know, the biggest band in the world? Dynamite, Butter, Boy With Luv?”

“Oh, right,” Sophie nodded. “Right. You used to be obsessed with them.”

Ari tsked. “I mean, yeah, in middle school.”

“Which one was your favorite? I can’t remember now,” Lila said. “What did she call him? Her bias, I think?”

“Okay, number one: yes, it’s called a bias, and mine was Jimin. Number two: My music interests have evolved, though.”

“Okay, number one,” Lila mimicked, “that wasn’t that long ago. And number two: liking Fleetwood Mac now doesn’t make you unique, girlfriend. Hate to break it to ya, but we were all there at one point in time.”

You giggled as Ari blew a raspberry into the phone. “Moving on,” she loftily declared. “Auntie, what was his name?”

You opened your mouth to answer but paused as your phone vibrated in your lap. Peering down at the screen, you recognized the number immediately. You had only just texted it a few minutes ago. 

UNKNOWN [12:31]: was hoping I’d hear from you :) 

“His ears must’ve been burning,” you murmured, a foolish little grin pushing your cheeks up. It was a silly Southern phrase you remembered your grandmother saying so often when you were growing up. That if someone’s ears were burning, it meant they were being discussed. You wondered if Jeongguk’s were feeling warm right now, or if it was just the universe having some fun, that he would reply as you recounted meeting him. 

“What? Whose ears are burning?” Sophie interjected. 

“Hellooooo?” Ari’s voice trilled over the speakerphone. 

“Did he text back?” Lila said in a stage whisper. 

“Sorry, sorry!” You laughed, a little more breathlessly than would be normal. You forced your phone back to sleep. “My mind’s kinda all over the place this morning. What did you ask again, sweets?”

“His name!” Ari implored almost as soon as the words left your mouth. 

“Right,” you nodded. “Jeongguk.”

There was a long pause. Radio silence from the other end of the phone. 

“Babygirl, you still there?” Sophie called.

“Sorry,” Ari’s voice sounded strained. “Can you repeat that?”

“I said, his name’s Jeongguk,” you repeated.

The three of you jumped at the ear-splitting scream that emanated from the speakerphone. 

“Ari?” Sophie shouted.

A break, then an audible inhale of air came from the other line. 

“Hello? Earth to Ari?” Sophie tried again. 

“Auntie.”

“Yeah?”

“You mean, Jung Kook of BT fucking S?”

“Excuse me, language!” her mother scolded. 

“Uhh,” you began. It truly had been several years since Ari had been obsessed with the kpop boy band. Their names and faces had all blurred together into one unidentifiable mass of teen girl fanaticism. 

“Google him right now and tell me if that’s who you mean,” Ari demanded.

So you did. Unlocking your phone, navigating away from the message you had just received, you opened the search engine and began typing. “How do you spe–” you tried, but she answered before the question was fully out.

“J-U-N-G-space-K-O-O-K.”

Search suggestions populated as soon as you’d finished the first half of the name. You hit enter. And your stomach hit the floor of your pelvis as the image results were rendered on the screen. Jeongguk, the man you’d just had the night of a lifetime with, was Jung Kook. Of BTS.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed out. 

“Language!” Ari chided in her best impression of Sophie. 

Your phone buzzed before you could speak again. The banner dropping at the top of the screen showed a new message from him. 

UNKNOWN [12:33]: when can I see you again?

“Holy fucking shit,” you spluttered. 

“You have got to stop cursing in front of my daughter,” Sophie cautioned. 

“Baby, I think we got way bigger problems at the moment,” Lila laughed. 

She was right. Way, way bigger problems.

###

“What do you think?” you ask him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

He turns his head left and right to look at his hair, nibbling on his bottom lip, as if gathering his thoughts before he gives you an answer.

“Damn, okay. When you said ‘braids,’ this isn’t what I thought you meant. I love it, noona,” he says, giving you that signature, eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah?” you ask, exhaling a breath of relief at his approval.

Jimin nods excitedly. “Yeah.”

You release him from your work station then, cleaning up your hair tools now that your job is done.

During each outfit change of the concert, you check on Jimin’s hair, securing and restyling braids as they come loose, ensuring his hair stays as neat as possible.

He sits perfectly still, always the cooperative client, as you redo a single braid that’s now falling into his face.

“Pretty hyped tonight, huh?” you ask with a soft laugh.

He starts to nod, his head tipping forward, causing him to let out a quiet hiss as he accidentally tugs at the braid in your hand, a sharp sting coursing through his scalp.

“Sorry–”

“Shit–”

You both speak at the same time, your hand instinctively releasing the braid.

“You okay?” you ask him then.

Jimin can’t help but chuckle then.

“All good, noona. Can you fix my hair now?”

You just smile, going back to redoing the braid you were working on.

There’s a minute of silence between you two, the chaos of backstage fading as everyone starts to take their places to go back on stage for the last part of the concert.

“I am hyped tonight,” Jimin says then, answering your question that was so rudely interrupted by you pulling his hair, “I’m really feeling myself tonight.”

You smile at him in the mirror as you finish fixing his hair.

“Good. See you after,” you say with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, stepping back to let him go.

Jimin stands from your chair, glancing around before he leans in, his breath ghosting your ear.

“I’d rather be feeling you, though,” he murmurs, and he turns to go back on stage without so much as another glance your way.

-

The absolute whirlwind that is backstage post-concert is nothing you aren’t used to. Even as a hair stylist, you, and everyone else, are expected to help with the cleanup to make sure the dressing and styling rooms are left impeccably clean. That is BTS’ reputation, after all: the perfect guests at every stadium or venue they perform at, leaving nothing dirty or disorganized when they leave for the night. It’s something the whole staff has always prided themselves on, ensuring the group maintains their perfect image, ever the respectable idols.

As you pack your things and head toward the staff buses with everyone else, Jimin falls into step beside you at the back of the group.

“Come celebrate with me,” he murmurs quietly.

You glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Celebrate what?” you ask him.

He shrugs.

“Told you. I’m really feeling myself tonight. Come have a drink with me.”

Your voice lowers, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation.

“Jimin.. you sure that’s a good idea?”

He shrugs again, his hands in his jeans pocket.

“No one has to find out, noona. C’mon, it’s just me. I’ll have some champagne delivered to my room and we can hang there. No pressure.”

You can’t help but sigh slightly then.

“Yeah– okay. But if anyone finds out…”

Jimin holds out his pinky finger then, automatically moving to intertwine his finger with yours.

“They won’t. It’s perfectly safe.”

He falls out of step with you then, disappearing down the long hallway to your right, catching up with the other members while you continue walking toward the staff buses.

-

Back at the hotel, you change out of your staff clothes, then rummage through the casual clothes you brought with you for this leg of the tour. You aren’t sure if Jimin’s actually going to follow through with inviting you to hang out, and you really don’t know how casual to dress if he does.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Jimin: room 3903.

That’s it? you think, expecting more in his message than just telling you where to go.

Jimin: i’m in sweats. don’t worry about how to dress, noona.

Typical, you think, always knows.

You pull on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, an oversized hoodie over it, and slip on your sneakers. Grabbing your phone and room key, you slip out of your room and move quickly down the hall.

The members and staff have this entire floor booked, the tour having so many people working to keep it flowing flawlessly that you always take up a whole floor in every city you go to. You really hope no one leaves their room while you’re out here, because you don’t have a clue what your excuse would be at this point.

Your eyes track each room as you pass, wandering down the hall until you reach Jimin’s room. Your knuckles tap softly on the door, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait.

“Get inside before someone sees you,” Jimin says with a chuckle as the door opens, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugs you into his room.

Inside his room, you can’t help but glance around and let out a small laugh as you take in his massive suite compared to your standard room.

“Damn. Really feeling that tax bracket difference,” you say then.

Jimin rolls his eyes, looking sassy as ever.

“Perks of working our asses off for fifteen years. They gotta keep us happy,” he says sarcastically.

He makes his way over to the kitchen area, popping open a bottle of champagne that probably costs more than your monthly salary, and pours two glasses.

“None of the others wanted to drink with you tonight?” you ask curiously as he hands you a glass.

He shrugs. He seems to be doing that a lot tonight.

“I didn’t ask.”

He sips his champagne, hand waving in front of you to encourage you to do the same.

You take a sip too, the sweet, bubbly taste exploding on your tongue.

That’s when you notice something interesting.

“You didn’t take the braids out,” you point out.

His eyes sparkle with his smile as he walks back toward the sitting area.

“They look good. Made me feel good,” he says, plopping down on the couch.

You follow him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“The fans seemed to love them, too,” you say with a soft chuckle.

Jimin looks at you then, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Did you?” he asks.

“Hm?”

He sips his champagne again, throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Did you love the braids, noona?” he clarifies.

It’s your turn to shrug then.

“They look good on you. I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t think they would,” you say.

Jimin shifts on the couch, closing some of the distance between you two. He brings his left leg up on the cushion, sitting more casually.

“You made me feel really confident tonight,” he continues, his Busan satoori coming out a bit with his casual demeanor.

You can’t help but laugh softly.

“That’s what I’m here for. Making sure you feel confident enough to go on stage and be happy with how you look.”

You sip your champagne again before setting the glass down on the coffee table.

Jimin’s gaze follows your movement, his hand moving to set his own glass down.

He swallows, jaw working as he considers his next words.

“You’ve been doing my hair since debut,” he says then, “and you always make sure I’m happy with it before you let me go on stage.”

Your brow furrows in confusion.

“Well, yeah— of course I do. I might be the stylist, but it’s you that has to be okay with how you look.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Not all stylists feel that way. Some think it’s their vision, and the idol just has to live with it.”

Jimin shifts a little closer to you on the couch, leaving only a foot of space between you now.

“You actually care,” he continues, “you want to make me feel good.”

You rest your elbow on the back of the couch, turning to face him a bit more.

“I do,” you say simply.

That mischievous glint in Jimin’s eyes shines a little brighter now.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he rasps, his Busan satoori bleeding into every word now.

“Hm?” you ask, confused.

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk then.

“You asked me to trust you earlier,” he says, “can you do the same for me now?”

Your body tenses slightly as Jimin closes the remaining distance between you two on the couch, his thigh pressing against yours now.

His arm snakes around your shoulders then, hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, making your head turn instinctively toward him.

“Jimin—,” you start then, meeting his gaze.

“Trust me, noona,” he breathes, his face inching toward yours.

He nudges at your jaw then, his breath ghosting your neck as his nose trails slowly along your jawline.

“Can I?” he murmurs, the slight vibration of his voice hitting your neck, “can I make you feel good this time?”

You shiver slightly, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle.

“Jimin— is that a good idea?” you whisper.

He chuckles softly against your neck then, his lips brushing against your skin.

“You’re always so collected, noona. So put together, worried about everything,” he murmurs.

You laugh a bit nervously, unsure what to say.

“Can’t you stop worrying about if something’s a good idea, and just think about how good it would feel to let go?” he continues.

His lips press a barely-there kiss to the spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“Just trust me,” he repeats.

You pull back, looking at him. You definitely thought he was fucking with you, but the look of pure want in his eyes tells you how wrong you were.

“Okay—,” you say quietly then, “yeah. I trust you.”

You barely get the last word out before Jimin surges forward, claiming your mouth in a desperate, sensual kiss. His hand grips the side of your neck more firmly, holding you in place.

You kiss him back, lips following his lead as he deepens it. It’s all teeth, tongue, and heat, him licking into your mouth like he’s been dying to do it for longer than he’s let on.

Your hand moves to his stomach, fisting into his t-shirt as you keep him close. You feel his free hand wrap around your hip, his fingers gripping right at your waist.

“Taste like the champagne,” he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip, eliciting a soft catch of your breath.

His hand at your waist tugs you forward, putting you on his lap. He gently positions your thighs so you’re straddling him, his hand sliding to the small of your back then, pressing firmly to slide you closer so your chest presses to his.

“Don’t stop now,” he breathes, looking up at you, “I know you want this as badly as I do.”

Your free arm drapes onto the couch cushion behind him, fingers threading into the back of his hair as you claim his lips this time.

Jimin’s hips buck up against you slightly, a soft hiss following the movement as he kisses you.

The kiss gets more intense, your earlier hesitation fading into confidence. Your tongue meets his, sloppy and inhibited. You pull his lower lip between yours, sucking lightly.

“Ah— shit, noona. Please,” he breathes.

That makes you pause. “Please?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just a bit to look at him.

He tugs at the hem of your hoodie then, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. “Yeah, please. Wanna see.”

You strip your hoodie and t-shirt off in one motion, tossing it on the floor haphazardly.

Jimin’s eyes darken slightly, taking in your black bra, the tops of your breasts spilling over the edge of the cups. His hand immediately slides up your back to the clasp, stilling there.

“Okay if I take this off?” he asks, eyes searching yours.

“How else are you gonna see?” you ask, a small smirk of your own crossing your lips now.

Jimin flicks his fingers quickly, deftly undoing the clasp and moving both hands to the straps at your shoulders, pulling them down to fully reveal your breasts to him.

A low groan leaves Jimin’s lips then, his hands sliding to your front and stopping at your ribs. His thumbs brush the underside of your breasts, eyes meeting yours again.

“Can I?” he asks, ever the king of consent.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, his thumbs occasionally brushing or circling over the nipple. He shifts forward, his lips pressing to the hollow of your shoulder above your collarbone.

Jimin trails hot, wet kisses along the path of the bone, his tongue darting out to lick at your skin.

“Thirteen years,” he breathes against your collarbone, “thirteen years of being too fucking professional with you to ever want this.”

He sucks the skin lightly, leaving a tiny red mark that’ll fade by morning.

“But not tonight. Tonight— tonight you gave me the confidence to ask for what I want,” he finishes.

Your breath hitches, hips rolling against him as his lips reach the sensitive skin of your throat.

You tug at his t-shirt then, wanting him to be as bare as you.

“Lemme see you now,” you say quietly.

Jimin chuckles, his eyes glinting with that signature sparkle as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere on the floor.

“God— Jimin, what the fuck?” you ask, a soft scoff leaving your lips.

He gives you that cheeky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shrugs.

“Been in the gym a lot with Yoongi-hyung and Jungkookie,” he says casually, as if there’s nothing impressive about his newly formed, nearly-washboard abs.

“I see this,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He takes one of your hands, dragging it down his chest and abdomen.

“Touch me too, noona,” he whispers then, “want you to want me, too.”

Your hips roll against him again, his words sending a jolt through you.

Jimin groans more audibly then, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

“Fuck,” he exhales, “don’t stop.”

You lean down and capture his lips again, one hand resting at his lower stomach, your thumb brushing along the sensitive skin there while your other hand holds the back of his neck.

He kisses you back, more sensual than before, his tongue dragging against yours as he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.

He squeezes your thigh gently, slowly working his way higher up your leg as he kisses you more. At the top of your thigh, his thumb brushes the inner part, and he breaks the kiss, keeping his mouth close against yours as he speaks.

“Can I touch you more?” he murmurs.

You nod against his lips, sliding your ass further up his lap, causing his thumb to press against your clothed core.

Jimin takes the hint, his thumb pressing firmly and rubbing circles over your clit through your leggings, making you gasp.

His soft, short laugh comes out against your lips.

“Pretty noise, noona. Can you make more for me?” he teases gently, his thumb circling a bit faster.

He moves quickly then, shifting his position, flipping you onto your back on the couch and kneeling between your thighs.

“Need these off,” he says, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings, waiting, as always, for your consent.

Instead of saying anything, you lift your hips. His hands pull at your leggings, dragging them and your panties down your thighs. He gently pulls one foot and then the other out of the material, tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his hands resting on the outsides of your thighs as he leans down to press his lips against the inside of your knee, “gonna make you come for me.”

His lips follow a path up your inner thigh then, his mouth wet and hot against your skin, hands parting your thighs as he settles on his belly between them.

His kisses get sloppier, more urgent, more tongue, the higher up he goes, and your breaths come shallower, quicker, as your body responds to the anticipation.

“Jimin— what are you doing?” you whine softly.

He chuckles against your skin, nibbling it gently.

“Teasing. Or showing you what to expect when I get my tongue on your pussy,” he says, “you decide.”

A jolt of desire courses through you at his words. He notices, because, always so attentive with everyone, of course he does.

“You’re thinking about it, huh? About how good it’ll feel to have my tongue between your legs?” he teases.

You whine softly again.

“Fuck— yeah, I’m thinking about it,” you admit.

He chuckles again, his tongue dragging down your inner thigh until he stops, his face hovering just above your core.

“Stop thinking then.”

His eyes meet yours from between your legs, and his tongue drags a long, slow path from your entrance up to your clit, stopping there and tracing firm, target circles around the sensitive bud.

You can’t stop the moan falling from your lips, your hips squirming as his tongue continues its torturous circles.

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” Jimin chuckles against your pussy, making you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

When he sees your hand covering your mouth, he licks faster, his tongue circling your clit, the pattern only broken when he dips lower, tasting your arousal before returning to that sensitive spot.

You moan into your hand again, pressing harder to make sure the sound doesn’t travel.

He buries his tongue deeper, alternating between fast and slow strokes, experimenting to learn what makes you moan and tremble the most.

You squirm more, his hand coming up to rest over your lower stomach to keep you still. His free hand trails up your thigh, two fingers pressing against your entrance before they slide inside you.

You gasp, the added stimulation only fueling your pleasure.

Jimin huffs a soft laugh against your pussy again, crooking his fingers upwards in search of your sweet spot.

His tongue works tirelessly, never slowing as his fingers work until they press against your g-spot.

You whimper into your palm, thighs shaking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. You uncover your mouth briefly to whimper quietly.

“Jimin— fuck, there. So close.”

He speeds up his licks, tongue lapping at your clit in tandem with his fingers thrusting directly into your g-spot.

You feel your climax build rapidly, clamping your hand down over your mouth again just as the coil in your lower stomach snaps.

You moan out into your palm, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through you. Jimin doesn’t stop, simply slowing his movements to push you through your orgasm.

He only lets up when you wince quietly from oversensitivity, pulling his mouth off your pussy and slipping his fingers out of you gently. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices before wiping his mouth on his upper arm.

“Good?” he chuckles quietly, meeting your eyes.

Your breathing is still too unsteady to speak, so you just lift your hand to give him a thumbs up and a weak smile. He sits up then, never looking away from you.

His eyes sparkle as he smiles back at you, holding his hand out to help you sit up too.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out like this,” he comments, making you glare at him. But there’s no heat in your gaze, your eyes dropping to the obvious erection tenting his sweatpants.

Your breathing finally settles enough to talk without pausing between words.

“Off,” you say simply, your hand pulling at the fabric of his pants.

Jimin looks at you one more time for confirmation before sliding his sweatpants and boxers off, settling back on the couch in the same spot you started.

Without hesitation, you climb back into his lap, straddling him. Your wetness brushes his cock as you settle, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.

“You’re sure?” he breathes, “because I really wanna fuck you.. but don’t feel like you owe me for what I just did.”

You roll your hips on his lap, grinding your still-dripping pussy against him in response.

“I’m sure,” you whisper, “wanna ride you.”

He groans, the sound low in his throat as you position yourself with his cock pressed to your tight hole.

“Then— fuck, then please, do it,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly.

You sink down onto his cock then, walls stretching around him to accommodate his size. He’s thick, making the movement slower than you would’ve liked, but after a moment, you settle on his thighs, his cock buried completely inside you.

“Shit—,” he hisses through his teeth, hips instinctively bucking up, his cock hitting deeper with the movement.

You gasp, the pressure against your g-spot intense as his cock hits it just right from this angle.

Jimin’s hands settle on your hips, thumbs gently stroking your skin as he looks up at you.

“Move for me, baby,” he breathes, his hands pressing upwards to lift you.

Your arms wrap around his neck, lips meeting his in a heated kiss as you lift yourself, grinding down on his cock, forcing a low moan from his throat.

He kisses you back, the kiss slow and lazy as his hands work to help guide your rhythm. Your breasts press against his chest, hips rolling as you repeatedly bounce on him.

The room fills with the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, his low moans and your quiet whimpers.

“That’s it,” he breathes, “fuck— pull my hair, noona.”

Your rhythm breaks slightly as you process his request.

“Please—,” he continues, “not hard. Just— tug it. Like you did when you were doing my hair earlier. When I moved and you accidentally pulled it. Felt good.”

You kiss him again, regaining your bearings, and ride him more deliberately then. Your hand slides into the back of his hair, fingers threading into it at his scalp, and tug lightly.

The sound that escapes his lips can only be described as a desperate whimper, quiet and needy.

“Shit— yes. Please, more,” he breathes.

You break the kiss, tugging his hair a little more firmly to tip his head back, your lips pressing to his throat. He groans at the sensation of your mouth on his skin and the pulling of his hair, his hips bucking up to meet your every move.

His fingers press into your hips, leaving indentations on your skin, soft grunts and deep, low moans punctuating every thrust up into your pussy.

“Noona— gonna come. Where—,” he starts, his question cut off when you suck lightly at the base of his throat, your fingers tightening in his hair.

The sting of the harder tug pulls another needy whimper from him, his hips thrusting up hard.

“In me,” you breathe against his throat.

He groans deeply, his hips thrusting up once, twice, three more times before they still, stuttering against you as he spills inside you.

“Fuck,” he moans, “you— fuck.”

You slow your hips, rolling them slowly to draw out every drop of his release, continuing until his hands pull you down to stop you from moving anymore.

The room is quiet now save for panting breaths from both of you. Jimin’s arms wrap around your waist then, his eyes opening to meet yours. His thumbs brush the skin of your lower back, not saying anything at first.

After a few slightly awkward moments, he finally speaks.

“Well— that was.. that was fucking incredible,” he chuckles nervously.

You chuckle too then, nodding. “It was.”

He lets out a slow breath, the awkwardness fading as you both realize things are still okay between you two.

“I really don’t wanna kick you out,” he says quietly then, “but— we’re already pushing it with you even being here.”

You shake your head slightly then, a small smile crossing your face.

“I know. I’ll go,” you say, understanding.

Jimin leans forward then, pressing a few quick, tender kisses to your lips, his lips curving upward in a smile of his own.

“Not mad at me?” he asks.

You shake your head again.

“No. Not mad. I’ll be— so fucking fired if anyone ever finds out about this,” you respond.

His smile fades slightly, but it’s not in sadness, just gentle understanding.

“You won’t be. I’d take the blame, have them cover it up. I told you, it’s perfectly safe. You’re perfectly safe with me,” he says quietly.

You nod, pressing a kiss of your own to his lips before you finally pull yourself off his lap.

The two of you dress quickly, and Jimin stands, facing you. His hand reaches up to smooth over your hair, making sure it doesn’t look too messy before you go in case you’re seen.

You take one last look at each before you finally step away.

At the door, you turn back and give him a small smirk.

“Next time you’re feeling yourself again…” you trail off.

Jimin’s eyebrow raises, curious.

“Come feel me instead.”

Jimin can’t help but laugh at your words, giving you that characteristic eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah,” he says, “I will, noona.”

With that, you slip out of his room, making your way back down the hallway toward your own room.

Just as you’re about to open your own door, you hear a clearing of someone’s throat from behind you.

You freeze, heart rate picking up as you turn slowly to face the owner of the sound.

Looking up, you’re met with the man who made the sound, instantly knowing he definitely either saw you leaving Jimin’s room, or worse, heard you from inside.

“Namjoon,” you say quietly, “it’s not—.”

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” he cuts you off, “be more careful next time, unless you want the whole floor to hear you,” he says simply.

You let out an anxious breath, nodding slowly.

“I won’t say anything. But I can’t say the same for the rest of the staff,” he continues.

You fidget with your room key, still anxious under Namjoon’s gaze.

“Go to bed before someone else finds you out here,” he finishes, giving you a small, dimpled smile before he disappears into his own room.

You turn back quickly, unlocking your door and rushing inside. You press your back against the door, exhaling shakily.

Fuck.

Namjoon knows you just slept with Jimin. You trust him to keep his word and not tell anyone, but if he heard you.. who else did?

Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Jimin: told you, noona. you’re safe with me.

You breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s tinged with residual anxiety, knowing Namjoon probably talked to Jimin too, based on his text.

Jimin: just gotta be more quiet next time.

Jimin: hope there is a next time.

You smile softly to yourself, reading his messages as they come through.

You: there will be.

You put your phone away, getting ready for bed. The anxiety fades eventually. You curl into your sheets, staring at the dark ceiling above you as you get lost in your own thoughts.

You just slept with Jimin. An idol who, all things considered, could be labeled as completely untouchable. Shouldn’t be accessible, especially not to you. The one who’s been with him since the group’s debut, traveling the world, at every performance and event, simply styling his hair. Making sure he looked good, felt good. And it shouldn’t have happened at all, but it did. 

You keep replaying the night in your head. How he touched you, the way he asked over and over for your consent. The way it seemed like you’d done this a thousand times before, when neither of you have ever even attempted to cross that line. None of it makes sense. Shouldn’t it have been a little awkward? Shouldn’t there have been more fumbling, more learning each other? Shouldn’t there have been a little more hesitation?

You shake your head, hoping to clear your mind. What’s done is done, and you can’t take it back now that it’s happened. You start to drift off to sleep, your brain slowly shutting off for the night.

But there’s one specific thought that you can’t seem to shake from your mind.

The thought makes your brain buzz, your mind replaying his request, every sound that fell from his lips as he responded to you.

Jimin has a hair-pulling kink.

And you were the one to find that out.

So now, you wonder..

“What do you think?” you ask him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

He turns his head left and right to look at his hair, nibbling on his bottom lip, as if gathering his thoughts before he gives you an answer.

“Damn, okay. When you said ‘braids,’ this isn’t what I thought you meant. I love it, noona,” he says, giving you that signature, eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah?” you ask, exhaling a breath of relief at his approval.

Jimin nods excitedly. “Yeah.”

You release him from your work station then, cleaning up your hair tools now that your job is done.

During each outfit change of the concert, you check on Jimin’s hair, securing and restyling braids as they come loose, ensuring his hair stays as neat as possible.

He sits perfectly still, always the cooperative client, as you redo a single braid that’s now falling into his face.

“Pretty hyped tonight, huh?” you ask with a soft laugh.

He starts to nod, his head tipping forward, causing him to let out a quiet hiss as he accidentally tugs at the braid in your hand, a sharp sting coursing through his scalp.

“Sorry–”

“Shit–”

You both speak at the same time, your hand instinctively releasing the braid.

“You okay?” you ask him then.

Jimin can’t help but chuckle then.

“All good, noona. Can you fix my hair now?”

You just smile, going back to redoing the braid you were working on.

There’s a minute of silence between you two, the chaos of backstage fading as everyone starts to take their places to go back on stage for the last part of the concert.

“I am hyped tonight,” Jimin says then, answering your question that was so rudely interrupted by you pulling his hair, “I’m really feeling myself tonight.”

You smile at him in the mirror as you finish fixing his hair.

“Good. See you after,” you say with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, stepping back to let him go.

Jimin stands from your chair, glancing around before he leans in, his breath ghosting your ear.

“I’d rather be feeling you, though,” he murmurs, and he turns to go back on stage without so much as another glance your way.

-

The absolute whirlwind that is backstage post-concert is nothing you aren’t used to. Even as a hair stylist, you, and everyone else, are expected to help with the cleanup to make sure the dressing and styling rooms are left impeccably clean. That is BTS’ reputation, after all: the perfect guests at every stadium or venue they perform at, leaving nothing dirty or disorganized when they leave for the night. It’s something the whole staff has always prided themselves on, ensuring the group maintains their perfect image, ever the respectable idols.

As you pack your things and head toward the staff buses with everyone else, Jimin falls into step beside you at the back of the group.

“Come celebrate with me,” he murmurs quietly.

You glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Celebrate what?” you ask him.

He shrugs.

“Told you. I’m really feeling myself tonight. Come have a drink with me.”

Your voice lowers, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation.

“Jimin.. you sure that’s a good idea?”

He shrugs again, his hands in his jeans pocket.

“No one has to find out, noona. C’mon, it’s just me. I’ll have some champagne delivered to my room and we can hang there. No pressure.”

You can’t help but sigh slightly then.

“Yeah– okay. But if anyone finds out…”

Jimin holds out his pinky finger then, automatically moving to intertwine his finger with yours.

“They won’t. It’s perfectly safe.”

He falls out of step with you then, disappearing down the long hallway to your right, catching up with the other members while you continue walking toward the staff buses.

-

Back at the hotel, you change out of your staff clothes, then rummage through the casual clothes you brought with you for this leg of the tour. You aren’t sure if Jimin’s actually going to follow through with inviting you to hang out, and you really don’t know how casual to dress if he does.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Jimin: room 3903.

That’s it? you think, expecting more in his message than just telling you where to go.

Jimin: i’m in sweats. don’t worry about how to dress, noona.

Typical, you think, always knows.

You pull on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, an oversized hoodie over it, and slip on your sneakers. Grabbing your phone and room key, you slip out of your room and move quickly down the hall.

The members and staff have this entire floor booked, the tour having so many people working to keep it flowing flawlessly that you always take up a whole floor in every city you go to. You really hope no one leaves their room while you’re out here, because you don’t have a clue what your excuse would be at this point.

Your eyes track each room as you pass, wandering down the hall until you reach Jimin’s room. Your knuckles tap softly on the door, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait.

“Get inside before someone sees you,” Jimin says with a chuckle as the door opens, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugs you into his room.

Inside his room, you can’t help but glance around and let out a small laugh as you take in his massive suite compared to your standard room.

“Damn. Really feeling that tax bracket difference,” you say then.

Jimin rolls his eyes, looking sassy as ever.

“Perks of working our asses off for fifteen years. They gotta keep us happy,” he says sarcastically.

He makes his way over to the kitchen area, popping open a bottle of champagne that probably costs more than your monthly salary, and pours two glasses.

“None of the others wanted to drink with you tonight?” you ask curiously as he hands you a glass.

He shrugs. He seems to be doing that a lot tonight.

“I didn’t ask.”

He sips his champagne, hand waving in front of you to encourage you to do the same.

You take a sip too, the sweet, bubbly taste exploding on your tongue.

That’s when you notice something interesting.

“You didn’t take the braids out,” you point out.

His eyes sparkle with his smile as he walks back toward the sitting area.

“They look good. Made me feel good,” he says, plopping down on the couch.

You follow him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“The fans seemed to love them, too,” you say with a soft chuckle.

Jimin looks at you then, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Did you?” he asks.

“Hm?”

He sips his champagne again, throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Did you love the braids, noona?” he clarifies.

It’s your turn to shrug then.

“They look good on you. I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t think they would,” you say.

Jimin shifts on the couch, closing some of the distance between you two. He brings his left leg up on the cushion, sitting more casually.

“You made me feel really confident tonight,” he continues, his Busan satoori coming out a bit with his casual demeanor.

You can’t help but laugh softly.

“That’s what I’m here for. Making sure you feel confident enough to go on stage and be happy with how you look.”

You sip your champagne again before setting the glass down on the coffee table.

Jimin’s gaze follows your movement, his hand moving to set his own glass down.

He swallows, jaw working as he considers his next words.

“You’ve been doing my hair since debut,” he says then, “and you always make sure I’m happy with it before you let me go on stage.”

Your brow furrows in confusion.

“Well, yeah— of course I do. I might be the stylist, but it’s you that has to be okay with how you look.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Not all stylists feel that way. Some think it’s their vision, and the idol just has to live with it.”

Jimin shifts a little closer to you on the couch, leaving only a foot of space between you now.

“You actually care,” he continues, “you want to make me feel good.”

You rest your elbow on the back of the couch, turning to face him a bit more.

“I do,” you say simply.

That mischievous glint in Jimin’s eyes shines a little brighter now.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he rasps, his Busan satoori bleeding into every word now.

“Hm?” you ask, confused.

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk then.

“You asked me to trust you earlier,” he says, “can you do the same for me now?”

Your body tenses slightly as Jimin closes the remaining distance between you two on the couch, his thigh pressing against yours now.

His arm snakes around your shoulders then, hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, making your head turn instinctively toward him.

“Jimin—,” you start then, meeting his gaze.

“Trust me, noona,” he breathes, his face inching toward yours.

He nudges at your jaw then, his breath ghosting your neck as his nose trails slowly along your jawline.

“Can I?” he murmurs, the slight vibration of his voice hitting your neck, “can I make you feel good this time?”

You shiver slightly, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle.

“Jimin— is that a good idea?” you whisper.

He chuckles softly against your neck then, his lips brushing against your skin.

“You’re always so collected, noona. So put together, worried about everything,” he murmurs.

You laugh a bit nervously, unsure what to say.

“Can’t you stop worrying about if something’s a good idea, and just think about how good it would feel to let go?” he continues.

His lips press a barely-there kiss to the spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“Just trust me,” he repeats.

You pull back, looking at him. You definitely thought he was fucking with you, but the look of pure want in his eyes tells you how wrong you were.

“Okay—,” you say quietly then, “yeah. I trust you.”

You barely get the last word out before Jimin surges forward, claiming your mouth in a desperate, sensual kiss. His hand grips the side of your neck more firmly, holding you in place.

You kiss him back, lips following his lead as he deepens it. It’s all teeth, tongue, and heat, him licking into your mouth like he’s been dying to do it for longer than he’s let on.

Your hand moves to his stomach, fisting into his t-shirt as you keep him close. You feel his free hand wrap around your hip, his fingers gripping right at your waist.

“Taste like the champagne,” he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip, eliciting a soft catch of your breath.

His hand at your waist tugs you forward, putting you on his lap. He gently positions your thighs so you’re straddling him, his hand sliding to the small of your back then, pressing firmly to slide you closer so your chest presses to his.

“Don’t stop now,” he breathes, looking up at you, “I know you want this as badly as I do.”

Your free arm drapes onto the couch cushion behind him, fingers threading into the back of his hair as you claim his lips this time.

Jimin’s hips buck up against you slightly, a soft hiss following the movement as he kisses you.

The kiss gets more intense, your earlier hesitation fading into confidence. Your tongue meets his, sloppy and inhibited. You pull his lower lip between yours, sucking lightly.

“Ah— shit, noona. Please,” he breathes.

That makes you pause. “Please?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just a bit to look at him.

He tugs at the hem of your hoodie then, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. “Yeah, please. Wanna see.”

You strip your hoodie and t-shirt off in one motion, tossing it on the floor haphazardly.

Jimin’s eyes darken slightly, taking in your black bra, the tops of your breasts spilling over the edge of the cups. His hand immediately slides up your back to the clasp, stilling there.

“Okay if I take this off?” he asks, eyes searching yours.

“How else are you gonna see?” you ask, a small smirk of your own crossing your lips now.

Jimin flicks his fingers quickly, deftly undoing the clasp and moving both hands to the straps at your shoulders, pulling them down to fully reveal your breasts to him.

A low groan leaves Jimin’s lips then, his hands sliding to your front and stopping at your ribs. His thumbs brush the underside of your breasts, eyes meeting yours again.

“Can I?” he asks, ever the king of consent.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, his thumbs occasionally brushing or circling over the nipple. He shifts forward, his lips pressing to the hollow of your shoulder above your collarbone.

Jimin trails hot, wet kisses along the path of the bone, his tongue darting out to lick at your skin.

“Thirteen years,” he breathes against your collarbone, “thirteen years of being too fucking professional with you to ever want this.”

He sucks the skin lightly, leaving a tiny red mark that’ll fade by morning.

“But not tonight. Tonight— tonight you gave me the confidence to ask for what I want,” he finishes.

Your breath hitches, hips rolling against him as his lips reach the sensitive skin of your throat.

You tug at his t-shirt then, wanting him to be as bare as you.

“Lemme see you now,” you say quietly.

Jimin chuckles, his eyes glinting with that signature sparkle as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere on the floor.

“God— Jimin, what the fuck?” you ask, a soft scoff leaving your lips.

He gives you that cheeky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shrugs.

“Been in the gym a lot with Yoongi-hyung and Jungkookie,” he says casually, as if there’s nothing impressive about his newly formed, nearly-washboard abs.

“I see this,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He takes one of your hands, dragging it down his chest and abdomen.

“Touch me too, noona,” he whispers then, “want you to want me, too.”

Your hips roll against him again, his words sending a jolt through you.

Jimin groans more audibly then, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

“Fuck,” he exhales, “don’t stop.”

You lean down and capture his lips again, one hand resting at his lower stomach, your thumb brushing along the sensitive skin there while your other hand holds the back of his neck.

He kisses you back, more sensual than before, his tongue dragging against yours as he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.

He squeezes your thigh gently, slowly working his way higher up your leg as he kisses you more. At the top of your thigh, his thumb brushes the inner part, and he breaks the kiss, keeping his mouth close against yours as he speaks.

“Can I touch you more?” he murmurs.

You nod against his lips, sliding your ass further up his lap, causing his thumb to press against your clothed core.

Jimin takes the hint, his thumb pressing firmly and rubbing circles over your clit through your leggings, making you gasp.

His soft, short laugh comes out against your lips.

“Pretty noise, noona. Can you make more for me?” he teases gently, his thumb circling a bit faster.

He moves quickly then, shifting his position, flipping you onto your back on the couch and kneeling between your thighs.

“Need these off,” he says, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings, waiting, as always, for your consent.

Instead of saying anything, you lift your hips. His hands pull at your leggings, dragging them and your panties down your thighs. He gently pulls one foot and then the other out of the material, tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his hands resting on the outsides of your thighs as he leans down to press his lips against the inside of your knee, “gonna make you come for me.”

His lips follow a path up your inner thigh then, his mouth wet and hot against your skin, hands parting your thighs as he settles on his belly between them.

His kisses get sloppier, more urgent, more tongue, the higher up he goes, and your breaths come shallower, quicker, as your body responds to the anticipation.

“Jimin— what are you doing?” you whine softly.

He chuckles against your skin, nibbling it gently.

“Teasing. Or showing you what to expect when I get my tongue on your pussy,” he says, “you decide.”

A jolt of desire courses through you at his words. He notices, because, always so attentive with everyone, of course he does.

“You’re thinking about it, huh? About how good it’ll feel to have my tongue between your legs?” he teases.

You whine softly again.

“Fuck— yeah, I’m thinking about it,” you admit.

He chuckles again, his tongue dragging down your inner thigh until he stops, his face hovering just above your core.

“Stop thinking then.”

His eyes meet yours from between your legs, and his tongue drags a long, slow path from your entrance up to your clit, stopping there and tracing firm, target circles around the sensitive bud.

You can’t stop the moan falling from your lips, your hips squirming as his tongue continues its torturous circles.

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” Jimin chuckles against your pussy, making you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

When he sees your hand covering your mouth, he licks faster, his tongue circling your clit, the pattern only broken when he dips lower, tasting your arousal before returning to that sensitive spot.

You moan into your hand again, pressing harder to make sure the sound doesn’t travel.

He buries his tongue deeper, alternating between fast and slow strokes, experimenting to learn what makes you moan and tremble the most.

You squirm more, his hand coming up to rest over your lower stomach to keep you still. His free hand trails up your thigh, two fingers pressing against your entrance before they slide inside you.

You gasp, the added stimulation only fueling your pleasure.

Jimin huffs a soft laugh against your pussy again, crooking his fingers upwards in search of your sweet spot.

His tongue works tirelessly, never slowing as his fingers work until they press against your g-spot.

You whimper into your palm, thighs shaking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. You uncover your mouth briefly to whimper quietly.

“Jimin— fuck, there. So close.”

He speeds up his licks, tongue lapping at your clit in tandem with his fingers thrusting directly into your g-spot.

You feel your climax build rapidly, clamping your hand down over your mouth again just as the coil in your lower stomach snaps.

You moan out into your palm, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through you. Jimin doesn’t stop, simply slowing his movements to push you through your orgasm.

He only lets up when you wince quietly from oversensitivity, pulling his mouth off your pussy and slipping his fingers out of you gently. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices before wiping his mouth on his upper arm.

“Good?” he chuckles quietly, meeting your eyes.

Your breathing is still too unsteady to speak, so you just lift your hand to give him a thumbs up and a weak smile. He sits up then, never looking away from you.

His eyes sparkle as he smiles back at you, holding his hand out to help you sit up too.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out like this,” he comments, making you glare at him. But there’s no heat in your gaze, your eyes dropping to the obvious erection tenting his sweatpants.

Your breathing finally settles enough to talk without pausing between words.

“Off,” you say simply, your hand pulling at the fabric of his pants.

Jimin looks at you one more time for confirmation before sliding his sweatpants and boxers off, settling back on the couch in the same spot you started.

Without hesitation, you climb back into his lap, straddling him. Your wetness brushes his cock as you settle, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.

“You’re sure?” he breathes, “because I really wanna fuck you.. but don’t feel like you owe me for what I just did.”

You roll your hips on his lap, grinding your still-dripping pussy against him in response.

“I’m sure,” you whisper, “wanna ride you.”

He groans, the sound low in his throat as you position yourself with his cock pressed to your tight hole.

“Then— fuck, then please, do it,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly.

You sink down onto his cock then, walls stretching around him to accommodate his size. He’s thick, making the movement slower than you would’ve liked, but after a moment, you settle on his thighs, his cock buried completely inside you.

“Shit—,” he hisses through his teeth, hips instinctively bucking up, his cock hitting deeper with the movement.

You gasp, the pressure against your g-spot intense as his cock hits it just right from this angle.

Jimin’s hands settle on your hips, thumbs gently stroking your skin as he looks up at you.

“Move for me, baby,” he breathes, his hands pressing upwards to lift you.

Your arms wrap around his neck, lips meeting his in a heated kiss as you lift yourself, grinding down on his cock, forcing a low moan from his throat.

He kisses you back, the kiss slow and lazy as his hands work to help guide your rhythm. Your breasts press against his chest, hips rolling as you repeatedly bounce on him.

The room fills with the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, his low moans and your quiet whimpers.

“That’s it,” he breathes, “fuck— pull my hair, noona.”

Your rhythm breaks slightly as you process his request.

“Please—,” he continues, “not hard. Just— tug it. Like you did when you were doing my hair earlier. When I moved and you accidentally pulled it. Felt good.”

You kiss him again, regaining your bearings, and ride him more deliberately then. Your hand slides into the back of his hair, fingers threading into it at his scalp, and tug lightly.

The sound that escapes his lips can only be described as a desperate whimper, quiet and needy.

“Shit— yes. Please, more,” he breathes.

You break the kiss, tugging his hair a little more firmly to tip his head back, your lips pressing to his throat. He groans at the sensation of your mouth on his skin and the pulling of his hair, his hips bucking up to meet your every move.

His fingers press into your hips, leaving indentations on your skin, soft grunts and deep, low moans punctuating every thrust up into your pussy.

“Noona— gonna come. Where—,” he starts, his question cut off when you suck lightly at the base of his throat, your fingers tightening in his hair.

The sting of the harder tug pulls another needy whimper from him, his hips thrusting up hard.

“In me,” you breathe against his throat.

He groans deeply, his hips thrusting up once, twice, three more times before they still, stuttering against you as he spills inside you.

“Fuck,” he moans, “you— fuck.”

You slow your hips, rolling them slowly to draw out every drop of his release, continuing until his hands pull you down to stop you from moving anymore.

The room is quiet now save for panting breaths from both of you. Jimin’s arms wrap around your waist then, his eyes opening to meet yours. His thumbs brush the skin of your lower back, not saying anything at first.

After a few slightly awkward moments, he finally speaks.

“Well— that was.. that was fucking incredible,” he chuckles nervously.

You chuckle too then, nodding. “It was.”

He lets out a slow breath, the awkwardness fading as you both realize things are still okay between you two.

“I really don’t wanna kick you out,” he says quietly then, “but— we’re already pushing it with you even being here.”

You shake your head slightly then, a small smile crossing your face.

“I know. I’ll go,” you say, understanding.

Jimin leans forward then, pressing a few quick, tender kisses to your lips, his lips curving upward in a smile of his own.

“Not mad at me?” he asks.

You shake your head again.

“No. Not mad. I’ll be— so fucking fired if anyone ever finds out about this,” you respond.

His smile fades slightly, but it’s not in sadness, just gentle understanding.

“You won’t be. I’d take the blame, have them cover it up. I told you, it’s perfectly safe. You’re perfectly safe with me,” he says quietly.

You nod, pressing a kiss of your own to his lips before you finally pull yourself off his lap.

The two of you dress quickly, and Jimin stands, facing you. His hand reaches up to smooth over your hair, making sure it doesn’t look too messy before you go in case you’re seen.

You take one last look at each before you finally step away.

At the door, you turn back and give him a small smirk.

“Next time you’re feeling yourself again…” you trail off.

Jimin’s eyebrow raises, curious.

“Come feel me instead.”

Jimin can’t help but laugh at your words, giving you that characteristic eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah,” he says, “I will, noona.”

With that, you slip out of his room, making your way back down the hallway toward your own room.

Just as you’re about to open your own door, you hear a clearing of someone’s throat from behind you.

You freeze, heart rate picking up as you turn slowly to face the owner of the sound.

Looking up, you’re met with the man who made the sound, instantly knowing he definitely either saw you leaving Jimin’s room, or worse, heard you from inside.

“Namjoon,” you say quietly, “it’s not—.”

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” he cuts you off, “be more careful next time, unless you want the whole floor to hear you,” he says simply.

You let out an anxious breath, nodding slowly.

“I won’t say anything. But I can’t say the same for the rest of the staff,” he continues.

You fidget with your room key, still anxious under Namjoon’s gaze.

“Go to bed before someone else finds you out here,” he finishes, giving you a small, dimpled smile before he disappears into his own room.

You turn back quickly, unlocking your door and rushing inside. You press your back against the door, exhaling shakily.

Fuck.

Namjoon knows you just slept with Jimin. You trust him to keep his word and not tell anyone, but if he heard you.. who else did?

Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Jimin: told you, noona. you’re safe with me.

You breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s tinged with residual anxiety, knowing Namjoon probably talked to Jimin too, based on his text.

Jimin: just gotta be more quiet next time.

Jimin: hope there is a next time.

You smile softly to yourself, reading his messages as they come through.

You: there will be.

You put your phone away, getting ready for bed. The anxiety fades eventually. You curl into your sheets, staring at the dark ceiling above you as you get lost in your own thoughts.

You just slept with Jimin. An idol who, all things considered, could be labeled as completely untouchable. Shouldn’t be accessible, especially not to you. The one who’s been with him since the group’s debut, traveling the world, at every performance and event, simply styling his hair. Making sure he looked good, felt good. And it shouldn’t have happened at all, but it did. 

You keep replaying the night in your head. How he touched you, the way he asked over and over for your consent. The way it seemed like you’d done this a thousand times before, when neither of you have ever even attempted to cross that line. None of it makes sense. Shouldn’t it have been a little awkward? Shouldn’t there have been more fumbling, more learning each other? Shouldn’t there have been a little more hesitation?

You shake your head, hoping to clear your mind. What’s done is done, and you can’t take it back now that it’s happened. You start to drift off to sleep, your brain slowly shutting off for the night.

But there’s one specific thought that you can’t seem to shake from your mind.

The thought makes your brain buzz, your mind replaying his request, every sound that fell from his lips as he responded to you.

Jimin has a hair-pulling kink.

And you were the one to find that out.

So now, you wonder..

It starts off with him just going to his trailer because he forgot his lucky bracelet (the one you gave him on his birthday the first year you celebrated together). The door almost hits him on the ass by the time you jump him, and he barely has time to be surprised before you grab his face and pull him down.

“How’d you sneak in here?” he chuckles between breathless kisses, hands going to your waist like clockwork.

“I’m your wife. Duh,” you snap, fingers ensnaring the heavy chains around his neck.

“I start filming in five minutes.”

“I’ll be quick.” He never argues with you. He lets you push him down on the couch, straddle him, kiss and lick at the base of his neck, knowing you don’t need the reminder not to make marks unless you want a hit put on you by his stylist, and you’re always careful not to touch his face for that same reason. It takes him a second to realize you’re wearing a skirt. He opens his mouth to scold you for coming to see him in clothes like that since it’s so cold out but then you reach under to dip into your bare, sopping pussy. Ah. Easy access. You came with a plan.

In all the years you’ve been together, it’s never taken much for you to get him hard. You walk into a room and bam - he has to adjust himself. And when you touch him - there goes his thoughts for a few minutes. It’s always been like this, and he knows it’ll never change. So when you figure out how to get into his boxers without pushing down too much leather, he’s already stiff and leaking at the tip.

You smear down his precum and he bites his lip when you grab his cock with the fingers you had between your legs, glistening with your slick, making him nice and wet for you.

“Damn, baby. Were you playing with yourself while you waited for me?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, whimpering as you finally let him penetrate your walls. You’re so wet and warm and tight when you sink down on him that he has to hold in a breath to keep himself together. But then he reminds himself that this is a quickie. He knows you could stay here and ride him until his balls are empty, but, unfortunately, he doesn’t have that kind of time. His phone - that he shouldn’t even have on him in the first place (he does though, just for you) - has been vibrating in his pocket for the past few minutes, but the more he’s distracted, the longer it’ll take him to make you both come, so he ignores it.

Your hands grip his shoulders as you wiggle your hips to adjust to his girth that he finds so fucking cute every single time, but he can hardly feel your touch through the thick leather of his jacket. He curses, because his fingerless gloves are preventing him from fully touching the skin on your hip, so he grips you hard enough to bruise. Usually, he’d let you bounce and ride him until you came on him and got too tired to carry on, but to speed things up, he bucks up into you, watching your parted lips spill out moans as he grinds against your spot, grunting as it makes you squeeze him and suck him deeper in. He kisses you, swallowing your sweet sounds, and his balls tighten when your fingers dig into the side of his head, tightly fisting his hair. Telltale sign that you’re close. You must've really worked yourself up while you were waiting for him.

“Come for me,” he whispers against your lips, fingers dropping and finding your clit to press and rub you over the edge. You loudly cry out his name, pulling at his hair so his head tips to the side as he continues fucking up into you and kissing the underside of your jaw. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”

“Come inside," you warble, cheek lolling against his temple, fingers still entangled in his hair, cunt clenching him through your aftershocks.

“Mm.” Eyebrows pinched, his fingers return to flex on your hip, cock twitching at the mere thought of getting to fill you up. “Remember to take your pill.”

You whine, indignant. He sighs, shakes his head. You make that sound when he doesn’t give you what you want.

“I’ll give you a baby when we come back from tour, ‘kay?”

You whine again, louder and borderline disobedient, slamming down on him like it tells him something. Sucking in a hiss because damn that felt good, he slaps your ass and massages out the sting, a silent warning to stop being a brat. This is one thing he’s not going to let you win an argument about.

“Hey, that was the deal, right? I’m not leaving you at home alone and pregnant while I fly around the world for eight months.”

“Yeah, but by the time you’d get back, you’d have a baby. You wouldn’t have to deal with all my pregnancy bullshit,” you try to reason, hips still rolling, eyes glassy and pout pathetic. He frowns. You’ve both had this conversation multiple times before, but that’s the first time you’ve made this point. He doesn’t fucking like it.

Yoongi tugs down on your waist to get you to stop, pelvises pressed together, cock deep inside you. But you know better than to move.

“Look at me.” You refuse, and the leather of his fingerless gloves rubs your cheeks as he grabs them. “I want to deal with all your pregnancy bullshit. I married you, remember? I signed up to put up with all your bullshit for the rest of my life and I don’t plan on missing out on any of it.”

His eyes dart between both of yours, making sure what he said is sticking with you, and when you lean in to sloppily kiss him, he knows the message got through.

“Now, c’mon. You said you were gonna be quick.”

You sit up straighter, and you’re clearly weakened from your orgasm but you put in effort that he’ll worship you for later to bring him to his own peak. Slick sounds of your pussy and slams of your hips fill the trailer, and within seconds of you squeezing him, sucking on his earlobe, and toying with his chains, he’s muttering an incoherent string of curses and spilling deep inside you. His balls just keep pulsing and holyyy shit, he really could get you pregnant right now. (He would love nothing more, but later he’ll text you another reminder to take your pill).

“I love you so fucking much,” he pants into your neck, wishing he had the time to leave his mark. “Even though you’re gonna get me in so much fucking trouble.”

“Love you, too. Don’t forget you married trouble,” You grin, waggling his ring on your finger in his facr, and his hips jerk as you lift off of him. He tips his chin up when you start to lean in for another kiss but your mouth drops and your eyes go wide.

“Oh, fuck, your hair-“ You reach out to try and fix it, but just as you do, a loud pounding on the trailer door startles the both of you.

“Shit, gotta go,” Yoongi mutters, quickly stuffing himself back in this godforsaken leather as his manager starts yelling for him to come out. You try your best to smooth down his hair, but when you keep muttering curses under your breath, he knows it’s not working.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you later.” He kisses you, lingers a second longer than he has time for, and leaves you sitting on the couch, skirt halfway up your waist, fingers playing with his cum dripping out. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. He needs to shoot this music video first.

Yoongi’s manager chews him all the way out onto the set, and his stylist gives him the evilest eye when she catches sight of his hair. He just scurries towards his band because his manager already said there’s no time to fix it.

“Where were you?” Namjoon exclaims as Yoongi walks towards the center of the platform. He shrugs, like he’s not still perspiring and his dick isn’t still hard. Luckily, his leather pants are bulky enough to hide it. “I had to grab something.”

“Look at his hair! That means his honey came to visit,” Hobi says, waggling his brows. Yoongi shoots him daggers.

“Shut up.”

The maknaes burst into raucous laughter and Taehyung and Jimin mime grabbing at each other, making overexaggerated kissing noises and mimicking the way you cry out Yoongi’s name. Yoongi turns his back on them to go to his spot, just missing Jeongguk thrusting in the air like he’s mid-Baepsae.

“You brought this on yourself,” Namjoon mutters, stepping up next to him, fixing his gloves. Yoongi pretends not to hear. “It’s been, what, four years? And y’all still act like newlyweds.”

“We’re making up for the time we missed while I was in the military.”

Namjoon’s face pulls back, disgusted. “Okay, well, can you not do that on our schedule?” “Sorry, leader-nim,” Yoongi fake apologizes, pressing his hands together, smirk lopsided and shit-eating. “Maybe if you let her come on tour, she wouldn’t find any downtime I have now to, yknow, make up.”

Namjoon sighs, long and distressed. Yoongi only feels a little bad. You’re his wife. He needs you by his side, and not just to have little quickies whenever there’s minutes to spare. He was enough of a wreck being away from you during his service. He doesn’t want that to happen because of work.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

Yoongi smiles, lighting up inside and out. “Thanks, bro. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Namjoon waves him off, just in time for the director to call for action.

He doesn’t know how crazy his hair looks until they play the footage back to check for mistakes and potential position adjustments. His band members tease him, but it makes him smile that it’s there because you need to grab onto his hair when he makes you come. No one outside of this set will ever know his cowlick is thanks to his wife, and that makes him like it even more.

He still left his damn bracelet.

.

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thank you for reading!!! ahhhh i cant believe this happened lmao pls let me know what you think with comments and reblogs!! 💜

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“You came.” You said, almost a question upon seeing the man standing in your doorway.

“Uh huh.” Was all he said before he was on you. Lips crashed onto yours, hands cupping your face.

It’s probably not the best idea to ask your brothers best friend to come over because you’re horny, but you did it anyway. So far, you had no complaints.

Your hands tangled in his hair once you processed what was happening. “Tae,” you murmured against his lips. He hummed in response, gave one more sloppy kiss before pulling away.

“What am I doing?” He whispered, more to himself than to you.

“Hopefully me.” You half joke. He lets out a shaky laugh at that, resting his forehead against yours.

“We can’t do this.” Despite his words, he didn’t make any effort to pull away.

“Then why’d you come over?” Your words rang in his head. Why did he come over? He dropped everything over a text, just to come kiss you? He was gonna finish what he started.

He closes his eyes for a second, praying for your brother’s mercy, before slamming his lips back onto yours. The kiss was hungrier than before—determined.

He kicked the door shut behind him, walking you down the hall towards your bedroom, stumbling and knocking into walls in the process.

He didn’t hesitate to climb atop you after laying you down, his thigh slotting between your legs as he kissed you.

You felt on fire. The recklessness of it all had heat pooling in your belly, though the main cause was the fine man on top of you kissing down your neck.

“Tae,” your breath hitches at the slight friction his leg is giving you, but it’s not enough. As if he read your mind, his hand traveled from your side to beneath your bottoms, making contact with your clit. You moaned shamelessly as he rubbed circles through your panties, his fingers occasionally dipping towards your hole.

“You’re so wet already.” He groaned, his other hand pushing up your shirt to give him access to your breasts. “God, these tits are perfect.” He dipped his head down to give a tentative lick to the peak before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, making you gasp.

His other hand had snuck its way into your panties and was teasing your hole.

“Taehyung, please.” You arch your chest into his mouth as he switches to give your other breast attention while simultaneously slipping a finger inside.

He almost immediately adds another, slowly thrusting and curling inside. “So wet for me, huh?” He lifts off your breasts to watch your reaction, knowing you were close so soon. “Gonna come from just my fingers? You wanted me that bad?”

You nod mindlessly, brows furrowed and back arched as you moan. His fingers speed up, helping you get closer to your release.

“Can’t believe you texted me like that. You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” He asked.

“You still showed up.” You managed to shoot back despite your state. Taehyung chuckled. You still had that smart mouth you always did—though now he was prepared to fuck it out of you.

Quick seconds later of incoherent babbles and repeats of his name, you came around his fingers. Before you could protest, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, humming at the taste.

Glancing down and seeing the bulge in his jeans sent a new wave of arousal throughout your body. Though you had just came, you were already craving more, and he could tell.

You both undressed, not before Taehyung fished a condom out of his back pocket. Seeing him fully bare before you was a sight you always wanted to see. Abs, biceps, not to mention his rock hard dick that was tormenting you.

“Like something you see?” He teased, noticing your staring as he rolled on the condom. You rolled your eyes, though inside you were a little nervous. You weren’t sure it was gonna fit. But Taehyung, the man he is, could read you like a book. “I’ll go slow, ‘kay?” He assured, climbing back on top of you and aligning himself with your entrance.

The first inch stung, but once he was fully bottomed out and started to move, any pain you had felt quickly dispersed into pleasure.

“Faster,” you breathed out, needing more. He listened, thrusts speeding up while still hitting just as deep. “Oh my—fuck, Taehyung!” You cried, head falling back and arching into him as he repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside you.

“You feel so good,” he grunted, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “So tight, so perfect.” You reveled in the beautiful moans that escaped his mouth, the soft feel of his hair between your fingers, and the way his cock twitched inside of you.

“Fuck, I’m close.” He groaned, picking his head up to look at you. “Look at me, baby.” Your heart does a little flutter at the name, and you force your eyes open.

“Tae, I’m gonna—“

“Come for me.” And you do. Shortly after, his thrusts become uneven before stilling with one last thrust as he dumps his load into the condom.

You’re left there sticky, hot, and breathing heavily into each other’s mouths as you process what just happened.

You don’t remember what happened in the few minutes afterward, but you’ll never forget how he looked when he laid beside you all fucked out. It was unspoken, but you knew that wouldn’t be the last time.

“You kissed her? You actually kissed her,” you muttered, letting the tears prick the corners of your eyes despite yourself. You weren’t usually like that, not so loud, not so messy... but in that moment you were sixteen and bleeding from a wound you hadn’t expected to open. He had admitted it. He had looked at you while saying it, probably thinking it would hurt less if he was honest.

But honesty didn’t hurt less. It ripped your stomach out in twists and made you want to scream at the top of your lungs and hit his stupid face.

Your backpack bounced against your back as you marched, angry and trembling, a storm of emotion that shifted violently between fury and heartbreak. The street was silent except for your shoes against the asphalt and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. You cursed Suki again, a string of words that would make a grandmother give you a stare, and for a moment you imagined yourself turning back, barging into the house, and throwing his guitar out the window just for spite.

Then you remembered the kiss. The look in his eyes. The guilty, the absence. As if his honesty meant his guilty was free. Because his honesty was surely for his peace of mind, not the respect he had for you.

Your knees buckled slightly as you walked on the road, your breaths sharp and uneven, your heart thumping like a drum you couldn’t control. You hugged yourself tightly, pressing your backpack straps against your shoulders as though that could keep you from collapsing.

And then... you screamed. To an empty park. Because why the fuck no?.

Some girl— who you didn’t notice was behind you— turned around a little scared, giving you a side eyed when you started crying like someone has died. Loud and messy.

And, almost like the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment, your phone vibrated in your pocket. You yanked it out with shaking hands and saw Jimin’s name flashing on the screen.

“Sup?” you whispered, unsure if you should answer or throw it across the street.

“Hey,” his voice said immediately, calm and easy, as though he already knew the storm you were walking through. “You want to hang out tomorrow with the guys? My mom is doing a Barbeque and I don’t feel like being alone..."

You broke inmmediately, because you coulnd’t pretend to be okay in front of him... and because you desesperately needed to tell someone what has just happened.

You laughed bitterly, a sound that quickly curdled into a sob. “Hang out?” you said. “You think I can hang out after—” You pressed the phone tighter against your ear, letting the tears flow freely now. “Suki kissed another girl, dude. He just told me he kissed Hyna! motherfucking Hyna. And he… she… I—” You stopped, choking, because the last words refused to come.

You had been in love with him, hadn’t you? Maybe that was the worst part.

Jimin’s voice softened, but he didn’t panic. He had that calm, steady thing about him that you had relied on since you were kids. He knew how to talked to people, he knew how to talk to you.

“Wait for me,” he said simply. “You still have your location on?. I’ll pick you up, don’t move.”

You blinked through your tears, unsure if you should be relieved or annoyed. “It’s midnight, Jimin. Your mom is gonna kill you and I don’t want to explain her what—”

“I said I’m coming,” he interrupted, and there was that tone in his voice. The one that didn’t take no for an answer, the one that had made you trust him through every scraped knee, every failed math test, and every ridiculous teenage disaster.

You exhaled shakily and leaned against the nearest lamppost and waited, feeling small in the shadow of the golden light.

Fifteen minutes later, a familiar car pulled up. Jimin’s brother’s car. The headlights cutting through the darkness. Jimin leaned across the front seat to unlock the passenger door for you, grinning like he was having a good time in your messy life. You pushed him, a little annoyed, before slumping into the seat with a dramatic sigh, throwing your backpack onto the floor.

“Wow, you look like a single girl,” he said, his voice teasing.

“I will rip your face off,” you snapped, though your voice wavered, betraying you.

“But will that really help your little broken heart?”

“Drive before I commit a crime.”

Jimin snorted and started the engine, the low rumble filling the silence between you two.

You let your head fall against the window, watching the street blur past as he drove. You didn’t speak, couldn’t, and Jimin didn’t push you or tease you more either. You could hear him humming softly under his breath, a tune you didn’t recognize, and somehow it felt comforting.

Finally, you whispered, “He kissed Hyna. He— he told me it didn’t meant nothing but I...” you choked again, because admitting how much you had cared made you feel naked.

“I know,” Jimin said simply, without judgment, without trying to fix it. Just knowing. That had always been his superpower, he could make you feel less alone just by listening.

You two drove in silence for a while, the kind of silence that carried understanding instead of emptiness. Eventually, he pulled off the road onto the narrow path that led to the lake, the one you two discovered last summer when you had spent hours skipping rocks and daring each other to swim at dusk. The car stopped, and the faint ripple of water against the shore reached your ears.

You went out first, shivering in the chill of the night, and walked toward the water’s edge. The moonlight reflected off the lake like liquid silver, and for a second, the world seemed to stopped around you. Jimin followed, tossing his keys into the grass and stretching his arms.

“You know,” he said, leaning against the hood of the car, “I think I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life. Not the part where your boyfriend cheats on you, that part sucks, but the part where I get to see you storm out like a fireball and cry like a normal human being instead of just angrily screaming or acting nonchalant.”

You turned sharply, shooting him a glare that could have cut glass. “You are a piece of shit,” you said, though a small laugh escaped despite yourself. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Only when it matters,” he said, shrugging. “And apparently, tonight, that’s watching you explode over a boy who doesn’t deserve you. Classic Suki move, though, isn’t it?”

“Classic Suki?” Your laugh turned into a sob and back into a laugh, and you threw your hands up. “He was literally perfect! Literally perfect!... Why every man has to cheat? And with the girl I was suppossed not to worry about...? What the fuck?! ” You sank to the grass, hiding your face in your knees.

Jimin crouched beside you, careful not to crowd you, his presence steady and grounding. “Y/n,” he said, softly this time, “he’s an idiot. He doesn’t get to have a say in your happiness.”

“I know,” you admitted, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand. “But it still hurts. I… you know him, Jimin!”

“I know him,” he said gently. “He’s not bad, he’s just an idiot for doing that. A mean guy if you will." He shruggred. "Maybe you two can talked it out? Figure it out..."

"Please," you scoffed. "So I end up married with five kids and then when I catch him cheating again, already pregnant with the sixth child, I wonder how I didn’t see it coming?"

"You’re delusional and very self-aware," Jimin looked at you amused. "You need to start therapy for real. Maybe you were the problem and he needed a way out."

"If you keep saying shit like that you’re gonna unleash something so sinister in me it would be studied for generations to come."

Jimin threw his head back laughing while you kept staring at him with an annoyed gaze.

You two stayed there for a while, letting the night wrap around you two like a blanket. Your sobs quieted, leaving only hiccups and the occasional sniffle. Then, without warning, Jimin nudged your shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m stuck listening to this tragic love story instead of sleeping. You’re making it very dramatic, dude."

You looked up at him, blinking through the tears, and smirked despite yourslef. “Your mom pays me to be your friend, you need to give me something in return too. I guess this is it."

“My emotional support, huh?” He leaned back on his hand, pretending to stroke an invisible beard. “I hope she pays you good because you’re draining me."

"I hate you."

"You should plot revenge accordingly," he suddenly said.

You laughed, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the lake. “Like what exactly? Kidnap his cat or kill his dad?"

"Jesus Christ, I meant like kissing another guy or something. You really need a therapist."

"Whatever," you sighed. "I don’t feel like kissing someone, probably for the next ten years."

"You really are dramatic."

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes. "Does your brother even knows you stole his car?"

"Well— he’s sleeping so I don’t think he’ll notice..."

As if the world had hear him, his phone rang.

Jihyun.

Jimin’s face went pale. And when he answered the phone you could hear his brother already scolding him and cursing him with that thick Busan accent.

You laughed, hard, laying in the grass while looking at him. There was a fondness in it, a warmth that always came from knowing someone so long and loving them in every way.

And for the first time since you had walked out of Suki’s house, you felt a little lighter. Not healed, not fixed, but enough that the edge of your anger and heartbreak didn’t cut quite so deep.

"This is your fault," Jimin pointed out you, still trying to calm down his brother.

You laughed again and he hit your arm with a strenght it barely hurt. For a moment, just a small moment, the weight of betrayal lifted enough to let you breathe. And somewhere deep inside you thanked, whoever was there building your destiny, for putting Jimin in your life

—————

Saturday afternoons at the mall always felt like noise wrapped in light. The kind of chaos that made you want to sleep for the next three days to recovered. The chatter of teenagers spilling out of stores, the pop music blaring from invisible speakers, the smell of too much perfume and fried food floating through the air. It was supposed to be fun. It used to be fun.

That day, it felt like someone had dimmed the brightness just for you.

You didn’t know why you agreed to the hangout. You were supposed to just go grabbed some food with your girl best friend and now you were shopping dresses and hanging out with the rest of your friends too... which usually you enjoyed, no that you would let them know that, but that day it felt different. You felt different.

You trailed behind your friends— three girls and three boys, including Jimin— as they weaved through the crowd. Bags swung from their wrists, laughter bubbled between them, and someone kept squealing every time they passed a display with glitter. You kept yourself behind, smiled when they looked at you, the kind of small, tight smile that fooled people who didn’t know you as well as someone in there did.

“Okay, okay,” Somi said, grabbing your arm. “We’re going into Bloom. I swear if I don’t find my dress there I’ll kill everyone and then myself.”

She was one of your best friends.

You let yourself be dragged into the store, the blast of air-conditioning making you shiver. The racks were filled with sequins, chiffon, and pastel-colored dreams. Girls twirled in front of mirrors, their faces lit up in ways you hadn’t been able to match the last couple weeks.

You hovered near the entrance, pretending to scroll through your phone.

“Are you seriously gonna stand there the whole time?” Yona asked, holding a deep red gown against herself. “Come on, Y/n, help me pick.”

“I’m supervising,” you said lightly. “It’s my new thing. Very mature of me.”

“Supervising?” Somi echoed, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been weird all day. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired and not in the mood today."

"You haven’t been in the mood for the last couple of weeks." Taehyung said.

He was a new friend Jimin had introduced to the group at the start of the year. He was sitting in a couch, playing with his phone in hand and yawning. You two weren’t the closest but you liked him enough to keep hanging out with him.

"Maybe she’s just tired from shopping. I was promise free food and a movie... We’ve been watching you try on clothes for the last three hours." Namjoon said, one of your closest friends since middle school.

"Guys, shut up" Somi called. "Nobody cares about you guys opinions."

The last commnet unleashed a discussion in the group. In another time, you would have joined to have more fun and defend your girls. This time... you just weren’t in the mood.

"You guys drain me."

It wasn’t a lie what you said before. You were tired... tired of pretending you didn’t care, of walking past store windows filled with matching corsages and ties, of hearing the word prom like it wasn’t a reminder.

Suki was supposed to go with you. Suki was supposed to be the one picking out a tie to match your dress, sending you stupid memes about corsages and limos… Suki had kissed someone else. And the universe had apparently decided to rub salt on the wound by keeping you surrounded by happy couples. And the exciment of your friends.

When no one was looking, you slipped out of the store.

The noise faded as you walked down the main hallway. Your sneakers squeaked against the shiny tiles, echoing faintly. You passed a group of kids sharing fries, a couple taking selfies in front of a fountain, and an old man sitting on a bench reading a newspaper. Everything felt soft and far away, like the world had moved two steps ahead of you and forgotten to tell you to follow.

You stopped by the ice cream stand and ordered a cone. Strawberry. Your comfort flavor. The vendor smiled politely; you paid and stepped aside, watching pink melt down your fingers faster than you could eat it.

You didn’t hear Jimin until he was standing beside you, holding a soda can and a plastic bag filled with something that definitely wasn’t a prom suit.

“You ditched,” he said simply, bumping your shoulder.

“You followed,” you replied without looking at him.

“Because you ditched.”

You licked the edge of the melting ice cream, refusing to smile. “You sound like my mom.”

He grinned, tilting his head. “If your mom was this cool, you’d listen to her.”

“Debatable in both statements. You’re not cool."

You two stood there for a while, watching people move around. Jimin sipped from his soda, his eyes scanning your face with that quiet attentiveness you pretended not to notice.

“So,” he started, “you hate shopping now?”

“Apparently.”

“That’s new.”

“I evolve,” you said flatly.

He smirked. “Into what? A bitcher bitch?”

"Is that even a word?" you took another bite of ice cream.

“Come on,” he nudged. “You haven’t tried a single dress. Somi said you didn’t even look.”

“Somi talks too much.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You love shopping. Last month you dragged me into six stores because one pair of shoes didn’t ‘feel right.’”

“That was before,” you said quietly.

“Before what?”

"Before my mom went broke."

It was a true cold fact. Your family, which only consisted in you and your mom, wasn’t that wealthy. You actually had been hearing about money problems since you were ten so it wasn’t that hard to know your reality. Your mom could barely make of a living for both.

A reality only Jimin knew and a reality he could only joked about because he was just that close to you.

"Your mom has always been broke," he rolled his eyes. "And you’ve been working part-time in that coffee shop since last year to pay for your own things. I know you have savings."

You shrugged. “Well, I decided it’s dumb now.”

Jimin chuckled. “You’ve been talking about prom since the year started. I’ve heard more about sequins from you than from the teacher in charge of the event.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, well, I outgrew it.”

“Since last week?”

“Exactly.”

He stared at you for a long second, and then said, “You’re lying.”

“I’m mysterious now, it’s my new personality for college next year.”

“You’re sulking.”

“Wow, thanks.”

He leaned against the wall beside you, the kind of lazy stance that somehow made it impossible to ignore him. “You don’t fool me, dude. You’re not the outgrowing type. You’re the make-a-list, try-on-everything, color-coordinate-your-lip-gloss type.”

“Wow, you make me sound so fun.”

“You are not. But I guess you’re less boring when you’re not acting like a tragic indie film protagonist.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Maybe I am in my tragic indie film era.”

“Cool,” he said. “Can I have a cameo and be the pixie boy?”

Your tried but failed not to laugh, shaking your head. “You’re annoying.”

“Professionally.”

“Seriously, though,” you said after a beat, softer this time. “I just… don’t feel like it.”

He nodded slowly. “Because of Suki.”

You froze. The name hung in the air like a bruise you hadn’t touched yet. You hadn’t talked about it since the last time, the first and last time in that lake. When your friends asked you just told them you both just decided to break it off since feelings were changing. And you never talked about it again. You didn’t want to.

Jimin didn’t look at you; he was focused on a spot across the mall, giving you space to answer.

“You think I wouldn’t go to prom because I don’t wanna see him? Please, do you even know me?” you scoffed.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Good.”

“But you did.”

“Shut up."

He grinned. “You’re stupid."

You groaned, turning away. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’d be bored without me.”

“That’s debatable too.”

You two walked toward the railing overlooking the first floor. Below you both, the mall buzzed with life. Couples holding hands, little kids tugging on their parents, the hum of a thousand overlapping conversations. You leaned on the cool metal, letting the noise blur into background static.

"Are you really not going because of him? Don’t be a loser and miss something you want to do because you’re sad over a stupid bitch-ass boy."

You said nothing for a second. He let you think for a moment, words hanging, knowing you’d fill the silence yourself if you needed to.

Finally, you exhaled, shaking your head. “It’s just stupid. The whole prom thing. Everyone makes it this huge deal, like it’s the end of the world if you don’t go. But it’s just a dance. A dumb, glittery dance with bad music and sweaty people pretending to have the best night of their live just so they can go fuck later.”

“You rehearsed that speech?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He smiled, eyes softening. “You’re still going. It’s our last prom.”

You turned to glare at him. “I don’t care. I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I. Am. Not.”

“Yes. You. Are.” He mimicked your childish tone with infuriating precision, earning himself a shove on the shoulder.

“I’m serious."

“So am I.”

You folded your arms. “Don’t make me more angry. You won’t convienced me no matter what."

“I don’t have to. You’ll talk yourself into it by next week.”

“Bet?”

He grinned. “You already own me like 50 bucks from all the bets you’ve lost.”

“Well, let’s bet 50 more so when I win I won’t owned you anything.”

"Sweet. I’ll have a hundred now."

You rolled your eyes. He always knew how to get under your skin. Like he was so sure about your next step. Like he knew exactly how you were going to react or act on every situation or decision. Sometimes it made him infuriating.

After a long pause, you asked, “Do you even have a date?”

“Do you?”

You shot him a look. “I just told you I’m not going.”

“So technically, we’re both dateless losers.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Fine,” he said, pretending to look wounded. “I’ll go with Yona. She’s way more fun anyway.”

“Go ahead.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

You stared at each other, like it was some kind of competition.

“Kill yourself,” you said finally.

"You go first,” he shot back.

You chuckled, shaking your head, and for a moment the heaviness lifted again. That was Jimin’s magic, he could pull you out of a storm just by being infuriatingly calm and funny.

When your friends eventually found you both near the fountain, Yona called out, “There you are! We thought you got kidnapped!”

“By who?” you said. “The ice cream man?”

Jimin leaned in and whispered, “Wouldn’t be the worst.” You elbowed him, rolling your eyes.

Somi waved a sparkly dress bag in the air. “We found the dress! We found your dress too. We have to go back the store, you’re trying it on it now.”

You groaned. “No, I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Yona interrupted. “You’ll thank us later.”

You glanced at Jimin, who grinned like he’d just won the bet. “This doesn’t mean shit,” you warned.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

He shrugged, all mock innocence. “You can’t prove that.”

You sighed dramatically but followed your friends anyway. As you all walked back toward the store, Jimin lingered behind for a moment, watching you. You felt his gaze and turned to looked at him. It was a second, but it felt a second too long. But then you showed him your middle finger and he looked away to not show you his smile.

You knew he could tell the way you tried so hard to look unaffected, the way your laughter cracked slightly at the edges but still found its way out. Jimin was being there for you. In your first heartbreak. Jimin felt like someone who would always being there, for you.

At least you hoped so.

He caught up quickly after some seconds, bumping your shoulder again. “If you pick something with glitter, I’m leaving. Glitter looks ugly as fuck on you."

“Then I’ll pick the sparkliest one I can find.”

“I’m leaving.’

“Good”

And just like that, the air between you both lightened again, Two friends orbiting the edge of something you both didn’t yet understand, pretending it was all just another ordinary day at the mall.

—————

You were sprawled across the worn couch in the living room, the flickering light of the television painting shadows across your face. Your mom was at work, her uniformed absence leaving the apartment silent except for the muffled drama of a reality show you only half-watched. You hadn’t really cared about the show in the first place, but you didn’t want to do homework so it was a way to procastinate.

Your limbs felt heavy, like the weight of the day had settled into your bones, dragging you down into the cushions. At least you didn’t have to work so there was a win.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, jolting you out of the haze. You grabbed it, squinting at the screen through tired eyes.

P Jimin: get your ass outside im waiting.

You groaned, stretching lazily and letting you hair fall over your eyes. You didn’t even bother changing out of the school hoodie you’d been wearing all day.

You: why are u outside? go home

You: no one wants you here loser

P Jimin: kys

You chuckled under your breath and slowly pushed yourself up. You weren’t in the mood for a long walk, but there was no arguing with Jimin. He had this… gravitational pull, a force field that made ignoring him basically impossible.

By the time you slid into your sneakers and opened the front door, the evening air wrapped around you like a soft, cool blanket. The sky was a muted shade of purple, the last remnants of sun streaking the horizon. You spotted Jimin leaning against his bike at the end of the driveway, arms crossed, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“You look like shit,” he said immediately, nodding toward your hoodie and messy hair.

“Thanks, that’s very kind,” you said, trudging down the steps.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Come on, let’s walk.”

You rolled your eyes, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement.

Together, you two walked toward the nearest park, the streets emptying as most of the neighborhood retreated into their homes. There was a quiet in the air that felt like it belonged only to the two of you, a soft bubble that made the city’s usual chaos feel distant.

“So,” Jimin started as you both passed by the small corner bakery, the smell of bread faintly drifting out, “did you see the fuck-ass homework we have to do at the end of semester?"

"That project about how we see ourselves in ten years?" He nodded and you giggled. "Girl, the teacher is fucked up. I don’t even know what I’m gonna do tomorrow."

"Right?," Jimin rolled his eyes, annoyed. "I don’t even know what I’m gonna study."

You gave him a side eyes look. "Thought you were going to Fine Arts?"

He sighed. "I don’t know. Are you still applying into film studies?"

"I already did. If they give me the scholarship then yes. If they don’t then I’ll probably go to the communitary college and get a double degree in something that actually gives me money."

Jimin chuckled. "I’ll guess Fine Arts can’t be that bad."

"I hate thinking about the future."

"Same. Let’s just pretend this is our last day on earth"

You sighed. "I wish it was our last day. We still have that stupid prom and graduation."

"So you’ve been thinking about prom, huh." He smiled mischeviously.

You scoffed, dragging your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “Don’t even start with the prom drama. I’m not even thinking about it.”

Jimin snorted. “Uh-huh. Yeah, sure. Not thinking about it. You’ve been plotting this dance for weeks like it’s the end of the world.”

“I told you. I’ve outgrown it,” you said, walking faster to keep up. “I don’t want to go anymore. Deadass."

“Don’t go saying ´deadass´ like it means nothing," He looked at you, insulted. "Three months ago you were sending me pictures of dress ideas at like, 2 a.m. You can’t just… ‘outgrow’ prom. That’s not how it works.”

“I’m saying I’m over it,” you insisted, shrugging. “Prom is dumb. Couples dancing, glitter everywhere, boys sweating in ties. No thanks.”

Jimin’s grin widened. “So now it’s dumb. Convenient.”

You scowled. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“You love me,” he said simply.

You made a face, glaring at him. “I tolerate you. And only because you’re too annoying to ignore.”

“Harsh,” he mocked. “So… you’re really going to skip it? Just because one little asshole—” He muttered something else under his breath that would have gotten him grounded instantly“—ruined your trust in men?”

Your steps faltered slightly. “It’s not just him,” you admitted quietly. You hadn’t meant to let that slip, but the words escaped anyway. “It’s… everything. I was supposed to go with Suki, we had everything planned. Now I can’t even imagine being there. It’d just be…” you trailed off, gaze dropping to the sidewalk.

Jimin stayed silent for a moment, letting you speak, letting you thoughts settle around you both like the evening air. Then he said, “Okay. So fuck him. Have fun anyway. You’ve been waiting for this, why let him ruin it?"

"Becuase."

"Because what?"

You groaned, embarrased. "Because I had all this perfect romantic plan and how it would be perfect and cringy in love with him and now— Hell, I don’t even have a damn date."

There was a second of silence. Jimin looked at you without a expression on his face and you sighed tiredly because yes, you did want to go to prom but not alone, not feeling like that.

Jimin groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Fine. Since you’re practically begging on your knees and dying for it…” He paused, looking smug. “I’ll be your date."

You blinked at him. Disgusted. Not really disgusted, but you made a face like you were.

"Ew."

He opened his mouth, offended. "Ew? Ew your face. I’m literally the best date you could ever have."

“Ugh. That’s… I don’t even… that’s your idea of romance? Feeling sorry for me?”

“Yes, it’s literally a punishment for me,” he said with a nod before lughing. “But you’re getting exactly what you asked for. The perfect, horrible, unforgettable day. And you’re welcome.”

You shook your head, still making a disgusted face. “Nah, I’m good."

He waved you off. “I’m reading between the lines. You can’t hide your big romantic brain from me.”

“Again, ew.”

Jimin sighed, happily. "You’ll see. I’ll make it the best night."

"Ew."

He pushed you hard and you laughed. He grinned triumphantly. “You love the idea. Admit it.”

“Ew.”

“Admit it!.”

You shoved him lightly, but it was playful. “I barely tolerate it. That’s it.”

“Barely,” he teased. “Barely is more than enough.”

The park was empty, the swings swaying lazily in the evening breeze. A few kids in the distance kicked a soccer ball, their shouts muffled by the trees. The sun had dipped lower, leaving the sky painted in darker streaks of orange and violet. You and Jimin walked side by side, the crunch of gravel under your shoes the only soundtrack until Jimin spoke again.

“You really think skipping prom is going to make Suki care?” he asked casually.

You snorted. “It won’t. And I don’t care about him anymore. I just… don’t want to see him. And I don’t want to remember how I thought it would be a perfect night with him just to find out he didn’t care shit because he was making out with another girl…”

“That’s why I’ll go with you. Force you to have fun.”

“Force me?” You nodded. “That’s actually worse.”

“Exactly. That’s why it’s perfect.”

You groaned, dramatic as ever. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“I already said. Unforgettable. You’re welcome.”

“Punishment,” you said flatly, though the corner of your mouth twitched upward.

“Potato, potato,” Jimin said, grabbing your shoulder in his arms “Do we even care about semantics at this point?”

You thought about how he always seemed to know you better than anyone, how his teasing had a way of settling your chest when you thought it would stay tight all day.

You both passed a patch of flowers near the playground, their petals glowing faintly in the streetlight. You thought about how ridiculous it all was. About high school, about how stupid it was, how perfectly yours. There was comfort in it, too. In the way Jimin walked beside you, teasing but steady, joking but somehow always listening.

“You’re pathetic,” you said finally, letting a laugh escape.

“Yeah, you love me anyway,” he said, grinning.

“Meh."

“Yeah, that’s basically the same thing,” he nodded before squeezing you harder.

You groaned, pushing him away with a stupid smile. For the first time that day, the tension of your earlier sadness felt like it was loosening, spilling out into laughter and quiet jokes and the way the evening smelled like wet grass and late summer.

You huffed, your expression half-annoyed, half-amused. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”

“You’ll thank me,” he said confidently. “Eventually.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest was lighter than it had been all day. You didn’t have to think about Suki right now, didn’t have to dwell on the mess of heartbreak or the disappointment. You had Jimin. And for some reason, even when he was being an absolute pain in the ass, that felt like more than enough.

“Fine,” you said finally, as if conceding to some ridiculous cosmic law. “I accept the punishment.”

“Good,” he said, beaming. “Now the fun part starts.”

And just like that, you realized that maybe the most ridiculous, messy, stupid parts of being sixteen were also the parts that made you feel alive. And somehow, someway, you trusted Jimin enough to make it through prom… and life. Unscathed, hopefully.

—————

The day of prom arrived two weeks later with the kind of chaotic excitement that made your stomach twist in both anticipation and dread. Your small bedroom smelled faintly of hairspray and perfume, the bouquet of flowers your mom had left on your dresser from that morning before adding a splash of color to the otherwise neutral space. She had giving you as a little gift for your special night.

You had barely slept, your mind drifting between outfit choices, hairstyles, and the inevitable question: how bad could Jimin possibly be at being “romantic”?

When the doorbell finally rang, you flinched, partly from nerves and partly from the volume of your own heartbeat. You opened the door to see Jimin standing there in his brother’s car, leaning casually against the hood like he owned the driveway. He was dressed neatly, black button-up slightly rumpled in the best way, hair intentionally messy, eyes sparkling with a grin that promised trouble.

“You look… presentable,” he said, his voice laced with mischief.

"Wow, you’re really making it an unforgettable night."

Jimin laughed before walking to you, standing close. He looked at you with a small smile, almost weird. "You look beautiful."

"Ew, don’t make it weird."

"I can never win with you."

"Whatever, let’s just go and finish with this."

Jimin raised an eyebrow before showing you his hands. In one he held a small bouquet of flowers and on the other one a small box. “Corsage.”

You stared at him. “What?”

“It’s the thing girls wear on prom night. You know… the tiny bouquet of doom I’m giving you.”

"I know that, you fuck-ass. Why are you giving me flowers?"

"Because I told you I’m your date and I was going to make it the best night."

You didn’t give him a comeback. Not because you didn’t have one but because you didn’t want to. You looked at him for a couple of seconds before grabbing the flowers with a small smile. You also took the corsage reluctantly, eyeing the delicate petals. “It matches my dress."

"Of course it does. I’m your date."

"I never told you what I was wearing."

"I know you enough."

Your heart skipped a beat.

You frowned. "Ew."

"I made a vow days ago. Promise of epic night. Also, you know I look damn good doing it.”

“Hi, Jimin.” Your mom appeared in the doorway just then, laughing as she saw the scene. “Oh, wow. You look great. Wait!— Hold still, both of you!” she said, snapping her phone out for a picture. “Jimin, don’t look like a doofus. Y/n, stand next to him and smile!”

“Doofus?” Jimin muttered dramatically. “Aunty, you’re getting old.”

"Don’t disrespect me or I’ll make you kneel." She warned him.

"It was a joke, aunty. You look like Y/n’s sister, you know that."

Your mom hit the back of his head before pointing at him. "Hug her for the picture." You rolled your eyes, but let Jimin grabbed your waist to take a photo “Perfect,” she said, handing you the phone to see. You couldn’t help but laugh. Jimin was trying to give a thumbs-up with a hand, grinning like he’d just pulled off some heroic feat. "Ugh, you both look so cute. Your mom is going to love this phot!"

“I look majestic.”

Your mom rolled her eyes. "Take care of her. Nothing of funny business."

"Jesus— we’re leaving!.” You pushed the flowers to her chest, embarrassed.

You both told your mom goodbye before climbing into the car. The vehicle smelled faintly of leather and pine air freshener, with the faint echo of his brother’s mixtape still lingering in the speakers. Jimin turned the key and the engine hummed to life. He immediately turned up a song, one of those obnoxious pop hits you couldn’t help but sing along to, screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs.

“You sound like a dying cat,” he teased, bobbing his head to the music.

“I sound amazing,” you shot back, singing louder to annoy him even more.

He laughed, singing along poorly, hitting every wrong note with such conviction that you nearly fell out of your seat laughing. “You’re lucky you don’t have to hear me sing in the shower,” he said.

“So lucky,” you said, gasping for breath.

For the whole drive, you both sang, shouted, and argued over whether the radio was playing the correct version of each song. Every so often, you could feel Jimin gazing at you, catching you laughing at something dumb he did, and grinning like a kid who had just won a game. There was a ridiculous ease to it, the kind of effortless comfort you didn’t often feel outside of moments like that.

When you both arrived at the prom, the lot was crowded with students in elaborate dresses and suits, cars decorated with bows and ribbons. The air smelled faintly of perfume, cologne, and exhaust fumes, the music thumping through the open doors making your chest buzz with adrenaline. You took a deep breath, adjusting your corsage, and noticing Jimin standing there, chest puffed out like a peacock, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered.

“Thank you,” he said proudly. “I try my best. Come on, let’s make this night legendary.”

You two walked inside, hand in hand in that awkward, casual way that only close friends— or a “date by punishment” pair— could manage. Your friends immediately spotted you two, waving excitedly and laughing at the sight of you looking slightly mortified at Jimin’s antics.

“Look at you two!” Somi exclaimed, tugging you toward her. “Jimin, you clean up nicely! And Y/n… wow, you look amazing.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, glancing at Jimin, who smiled at you. “I guess he looks acceptable."

“Acceptable?” he asked, mock horror all over his face. “I look amazing."

“Meh."

He pretended to choke you and all your friends laughed.

For the first hour or so, you all danced and mingled with friends, laughed at some of the cringier songs, and even indulged in a little karaoke off in the corner when the DJ played a familiar pop hit. Jimin tried to impress everyone with his “moves,” which mostly involved flailing arms and a lot of enthusiastic stomping, and you laughed so hard you almost forgot why you had been dreading the night.

But then you remembered.

When your eyes found Suki in a corner. He looked good. A suit you had helped him chose when you had been together and you’d been so annoyingly persistent that it was going to be the perfect match for the dress you didn’t even have. His hair was clean up nice, falling in a soft way around his face. But he wasn’t looking at you or his friends.

He was talking with Hyna. Motherfucking Hyna.

Your smile dropped and your eyes moved to the other side of the gym. Your heart beating faster, your palms sweating with something you couldn’t figure out if it was anger or sadness.

But you didn’t have time to figure out before someone was stretching his hand to you. You looked up to see Jimin in front of you.

"What?"

"Let’s slow dance," he said. Like it was something normal you guys used to do all the time.

Candy shop by 50 cents started playing.

You grimaced. "To this song? Really?"

"Come on, it’s all about the vibes" Jimin insisted.

You sighed, giving Suki a last fast gaze before grabbing Jimin’s hands.

Rolling your eyes, you let him pull you close anyway. His right hand felt down to your lower back and the other grabbed your hand. You both started moving awkwardly to the beat, laughing at how absurd the whole thing looked, but somehow it felt perfect.

“I swear,” you said, trying not to laugh, “if anyone film this shit I’m gonna sue you."

“You don’t have money to pay a good lawyer” Jimin shot back and you pushed his shoulder. He laughed. “Relax. This is fun. Look at me!. I’m a great dancer and you love it.”

"Sure, dude." You knew he was a good dancer.

You laughed, feeling some of the tension from earlier melt away. The gym faded around you two, the lights, the noise, the gossip about who was dating whom… all of it became background.

Jimin’s hands shifted, holding you a little closer than you expected, resting lightly at your waist. You noticed, your heartbeat skipping a tiny bit. He moved with a surprising gentleness, letting you adjust to the closeness. Your arms around his shoulders felt a little tighter.

"Can I tell you something?" Jimin suddenly asked, his voice dropping slightly.

"Go on."

“I’m scared about college.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on you. “Everyone’s planning ahead, applying, deciding, and I… I just feel like I’m not ready. What if I fuck it up?”

You hesitated before replying, it was always easy to be honest with him. “I’m scared too,” you admitted. “I don’t even know what I want half the time. And I keep thinking everyone else has it figured out.”

Jimin chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “I applied to the same school as you,” he said suddenly. Your looked at him surprised. “Fine arts program. Most of my friends are going there. I don’t know if I’m ready, but… maybe it’ll be easier if you’re there too.”

You felt your chest lift in an odd, warm way. The smile that spread across your face was soft, unguarded. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal, but his eyes betrayed a hint of vulnerability. “Thought it might be good. You know, not be totally lost in the world.”

You looked up at him, this time with more intention. The way the gym lights glinted in his hair, the faint sheen of sweat, the earnestness in his expression, it made your heart beat faster. You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“Guess I’ll have to tolerate you more time now."

“I guess you do" he said, suddenly brushing a stray strand of you hair behind your ear. You felt the brush linger a second longer than necessary, warm against your skin.

And you felt the change.

For a moment, the world fell away. You could feel the heat of his body pressed slightly closer, his hands now steady on your waist. Your chest fluttered unexpectedly. It was a strange, thrilling, confusing feeling, one you hadn’t experienced before. Your gaze drifted to his lips for a fleeting second, the thought hovering in your mind like a spark that didn’t dare catch.

You wanted to, maybe, kiss him…

No, you did, you wanted to kiss him. You really wanted to kiss him.

But the thought was dangerous, reckless, wrong. He wasn’t giving you an invitation, you thought. He was being your best friend. He was holding you up when your heart was still bruised from your first heartbreak.

"Y/n," Jimin whispered, close to your face. You looked up to his eyes. You were afraid you had been caught. He looked soft, dangerous. He smirked slowly. "You lost the bet. You own me 100 bucks now."

You blinked unguarded and he laughed, stepping back slightly.

You exhaled, steadying yourself, and focusing on the beat of the song instead, letting the ridiculous 50 Cent track wash over you both.

"Kill yourself."

—————

The morning sun spilled across the parking lot, making the cap-and-gown folds on the students glint like soft gold. The air smelled faintly of freshly cut grass and the faint hint of someone’s expensive cologne. You tugged at the hem of your gown nervously, glancing at the crowd of classmates milling around, most trying to look casual while secretly hyperventilating.

You spotted Jimin across the lot, already fiddling with his graduation cap like it was a Rubik’s cube. His hair was slightly mussed, but the way he smiled when he saw you made your stomach twist in a way you hadn’t felt in ages. Not like that kind of stomach-twist— no, this was just the kind you got when someone you knew could understand your nerves of the day because he was going through the same shit.

Graduation-shit.

“Hey, graduate,” he called, weaving through a cluster of people toward you.

“Hey yourself,” you said, pulling your gown straight and pretending you weren’t nervous.

“You’re not nervous?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Absolutely about to shit in my pants,” you admitted, letting a sigh. “But don’t say anything about it.”

Jimin snorted. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m about to shit my pants too.”

“Great, that makes me more relaxed.”

You two started walking toward the gym where the ceremony was about to start, the chatter of classmates blending with the distant rev of cars in the parking lot. You moved together effortlessly, side by side.

“I can’t believe we made it,” Jimin said after a beat, tossing his cap in the air briefly and catching it again.

“I know,” you said, looking at the pavement, at the grass, at the sky. It felt surreal. “It feels like yesterday I was complaining about the end of vacations.”

Jimin laughed softly. “Yeah. And now we’re never stepping a foot in here again.” He sighed, happily. “Are you glad you’re not seeing Suki’s face again?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I can’t believe he’s dating that bitch.” You grimaced, then smiled faintly. “Whatever, I knew all men were shit.”

He looked at you, eyebrows arching. “Thanks, queen.”

“You do too, don’t even joke.”

Jimin laughed, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

You let yourself smile, feeling lighter. It was nice to talk like that, openly, without any tension. He was your best friend, always had been, always would be.

“Seriously though,” Jimin said after a moment, his tone shifting to that slightly quieter, more reflective version you recognized, “I can’t believe college’s next. It’s going to be so… different. Fun, though. I can’t wait.”

“I know,” you said. “I’m excited. And nervous. I feel like… everything’s about to start happening at once. Internships, classes, parties, new people… It’s scary.”

“Scary’s good,” he said, nudging you shoulder lightly. “Means it’s worth it.”

You looked at him, the light catching the edges of his hair, a couple of freckles across his nose, and felt a pang of affection. Nothing complicated, just the pure, undeniable comfort of a person who had been there through everything.

And you thought how stupid it was you wanted to kiss him weeks ago.

It had been just a vulnerable moment. Not a worthy risk. Jimin was your best friend. Someone you wouldn’t want to lose ever.

“I bet I’m gonna be so popular,” he said, grinning suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow. “Please, bet you will barely gonna make friends.”

“Yeah?” he said, bouncing on the heels of his feet like a kid. “Wanna bet? I’ll be the most popular guy in college. People are gonna be like ‘Why does he hangout with her? She’s such a mean loser.’ And i’ll be like: ‘Yeah, but she’s a high school girl I knew, can’t leaver her alone.’— And people would think I’m so nice that…”

“What is wrong with you?” You laughed. “You have a mental illness or something. You’re delusional as hell.”

“No, you’re insane for thinking I won’t,” he said, mock-seriously. “I’ve got strategy. Charm, wit, the works.”

“You’re delusional,” you repeated, shaking your head. “Now stop talking, you’re annoying as fuck.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Mean boring-ass loser.”

You two reached the gym doors, the sound of chattering students and faculty blending with the soft hum of excitement. You adjusted your cap and gown one last time. Butterflies eating your stomach.

You looked at Jimin for a second and you felt a little more confident when he smiled at you, excited.

You sighed. It felt good, having him. You knew why he was your best friend. He always find a way to make you better, calmer, confident. His presence was enough. And his company was even better… but you would never admitted to him. Because he was a loser, but you loved him… As your best friend.

“You know,” you said quietly as you two waited in line to go inside, “even if we end up super busy, this is… nice. Just us, right now. Makes it feel like nothing’s really changing.”

Jimin’s gaze softened. “Yeah. Nothing’s changing. Promise. We’ll be best friends until the end of times… Until I can barely move and I marry a super hot chick who wants my money and until you can barely move and dying alone because your husband left you with five cats.”

“God, I hope you die alone.”

Jimin laughed, and he nudged your shoulder one last time. You smiled too.

Before you stepped into your positions, you two hugged. A quick, tight hug that somehow said more than words could. The kind of hug that carried years of friendship, trust, and unspoken understanding. You felt yourself leaning into it, letting yourself feel safe and grounded for just a moment.

“So, deal?” he said as you two pulled apart, now holding your hand briefly. “‘Till we’re old and ugly?.”

“Deal,” you said, smiling.

You two made a pinky promise.

“We’re gonna kill it on the stage,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“We literally just had to walked over there and take the paper.”

“Don’t ruin my moment!.”

You two laughed, letting the sound mingle with the buzz of your classmates, the excitement of the day stretching ahead. And as you both walked into the stage to start the ceremony, you pushed the old, strange thought from prom to the back of your mind. It had been sentimental, nostalgic, just a fleeting thing. He was your best friend. Always. And that was enough.

The world outside that gym could wait for now.

Now it was just you and him.

three years later.

The phone buzzed.

Hard. An alarm you regretted adding in your phone…But at least it made you remember you almost forgot your phone in there.

You quickly turned it off. You bit your lower lip hard, looking back at the bed when the wood floor made an annoying noise. You put on the stolen hoodie to put it over your naked body and your skirt, grabbing your heels in your hand while walking to the door. You eased the door closed behind you, wincing at the faint creak of the hinges. You were fairly certain the guy you had been with was still asleep, judging by the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

That was exactly how you wanted it.

Quick, quiet, no awkward goodbye, no lingering small talk about last night, no judgments about the choices that felt reckless and impulsive and very much your own.

Slipping into the hallway of the dorm building, You tried to make yourself as small as possible, which was funny because you were pretty sure you looked like a giraffe sneaking through a hallway filled with carpeted steps and the occasional yawning student. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, and the soft hum of the campus beyond the window filtered in like a muted reminder that life moved whether or not you wanted to deal with it.

College life had been surprisingly good the last three years. You had come in carrying the weight of your high school dramas and heartbreaks like armor, only to find that at that school— that strange mix of endless hallways, late-night coffee shops, and obnoxiously enthusiastic professors— you could breathe a little easier. Film studies were brutal, yes, but rewarding in a way that made every late night spent working in a project feel meaningful.

You had a scholarship, which came with the usual dose of stress, but it also gave you independence you hadn’t fully realized you craved until that moment. The dorms were tiny and sometimes irritating, but you liked having a space that was completely yours. No curfews, no fights, no lectures about kissing boys who weren’t worth it.

Jimin was there too, as much of a constant in your life as he had been since you were kids, though now the stakes felt different. Fine arts kept him busy, but he always had time for the group. Somi and Taehyung were studying there too, which made weekends and brunches feel less like a necessary social ritual and more like a comforting tradition.

Your phone buzzed, snapping you back to the present and almost making you slipped from the stairs.

Tae: we’re already here, don’t make me eat without you again

You groaned quietly. trying to fix your sleep-disheveled hair. Grabbing some water bottle from a little machine before you left the dorms, trying not to think about the tangled sheets, the body still asleep, or the lingering smell of last night.

You: omw

You: buy me a coffee pls

Taehyung and you became closer over the last three years. He applied to the same program as you so you shared most classes. It helped you a lot having someone you knew being in the same spot as a freshman so the trauma made you both bond a lot.

The campus was buzzing with mid-morning energy. Students wandered between buildings, a few huddled over laptops outside, some cradling Styrofoam cups of coffee like lifelines. You weaved through the crowd, dodging a group of film majors debating the merits of Kubrick versus Scorsese, until you spotted Somi and Tae waving at you from a table outside the small, run-down café that doubled as your brunch spot. Jimin was already there too, sprawled across the bench like he owned the place, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the cloudy morning.

“You’re late,” Taehyung said immediately, mock stern, as you slid into the booth. “Again. Are you trying to rage bait me? You know I hate when people are late."

"Girl, if you don’t shut up before I drink my coffee..."

Taehyung laughed, knowing how you worked. He pushed a cup of double espresso for you.

“So, does your lateness involves sneaking out of some guy’s dorm room, I assume?” Somi asked.

You shruggred, maybe still drunk, maybe too tired, definetely too tired. “Maybe.”

Jimin laughed, leaning back on the bench. “Maybe? You definitely did. I smelled it from here. Eau de College Sex Mistake.”

"That’s fucking disgusting," you gave him a look.

“Nice attack on titan hoodie,” Taehyung pointed out too.

Jimin laughed and you waving him off, but you couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at your lips. You felt the warmth of familiarity settle around you, that strange comfort of friends who knew your ridiculous moments and still didn’t judge, or at least judged you with enough humor to make it okay.

You all ordered cheap sandwiches and over-priced coffee. Conversation quickly spiraled into recounting the events of last night’s party. You leaned back, a little embarrassed, as you told them how you ended up hooking up with a random guy you shared a class with.

"Isn’t that the guy you hated because he graded better than you in that horror short project?" Taehyung asked.

"Yep," you grimaced. "I told him about it last night and we started fighting and then... we had hate sex.”

“You’re insane,” Somi said, half laughing, half shocked. “And also impressive. How do you even— How did it happen?”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your coffee. “I don’t know, he’s annoying as fuck but so hot. I just… went for it. Zero regrets, mostly.”

“Zero?” Jimin asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t even feel a little… shame?”

“Girl,” you said, mock-serious, “Do I look like I have shame? I only care about my mom’s opinions and she’ll never know this— And, to be honest, she can’t judge. She was probably a slut too, I don’t even know who my dad is. Beyond that, the world can fuck off.”

They all laughed. Taehyung snorted coffee out his nose, earning a glare from Jimin. You laughed harder at Somi’s wide-eyed expression, pretending to be scandalized.

“And you?” Taehyung asked, nodding at Jimin. “Did you hook up with anyone last night, or are you still pretending to be this innocent saint everyone thinks you are?”

He grinned, leaning forward like he was about to tell some sordid secret. “I may have… kissed someone. Or maybe two. Or maybe none. I’ll never tell.”

“You’re such a whore,” you said, but your tone was warm, amused. You reached across the table and lightly jabbed his shoulder. “And you know it.”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not” he said, grinning. “But it’s okay. We all have our sins. Yours just happened to involve everyone finding out your one-night stands."

You snorted. “Hardly. I would have kept it a secret from you, but the universe decided you all needed to witness my bad decisions.”

“Yeah,” Somi said, shaking her head. “College is… something else for you guys, huh?”

You sighed, leaning back in your place. “It’s like high school, but with less supervision and more regrettable choices.”

“And more brunches like this,” Taehyung added. “Which, honestly, makes it worth it.”

You smiled. This was exactly why you liked it here. The late nights, the impulsive decisions, the mornings you’d rather hide than face… but the friends, the laughter, the camaraderie made it all feel like part of some ridiculous, messy story you’d remember for the rest of your life.

As your friends dug into their cheep breakfast, you caught Jimin glancing at you, his expression softening for a second. Something unspoken passed between you two, a reminder of the bond you two had carried from school into this new world of college dorms, scholarships, and confusing, exhilarating independence.

Your life had changed in countless ways over the past three years, but sitting there, eating cheap brunch, laughing at each other’s ridiculous stories, and knowing you all had each other’s backs… it felt like you hadn’t really left high school at all. Some things— the friendship, the jokes, the safety of knowing someone would always be there— stayed the same, even as everything else evolved.

And you knew why he looked at you like that. Because in every new facet you both were facing, you still had each other. Even at your worse and most embarassing phases.

You stirred your coffee absentmindedly, watching a few students pass by in the quad, thinking about the night before, about the guy you’d left sleeping, about how weirdly freeing it had felt. College was teaching you a lot: about yourself, about independence, about how mistakes could be funny instead of catastrophic. And somehow, amidst all the chaos, you knew this… Jimin, Taehyung, Somi, the late-night parties, the rushed brunches— that was exactly the kind of messy, beautiful life you wanted to have.

Your phone buzzed again. A text from Jimin. You looked up to him but he didn’t look at you.

P Jimin: wanna smoke later?

You smiled, already typing a reply.

You: sure

You: but im not buying it this time im broke

P Jimin: when are u not broke?

You snorted before looking around the table at your friends, at the bright sunlight spilling across the campus, at the small ridiculous, wonderful moments that made life feel like something worth holding onto.

—————

The dorm smelled like a mixture of instant noodles, half-worn socks, cheap weed and the faint hum of your vaporizer, which was valiantly trying to keep the haze from suffocating the room. Smoke curled lazily above you two, drifting toward the cracked window where a faint sliver of streetlight cut through the darkness. You were sprawled on your bed, legs dangling over the edge, your hair sticking to your hoodie in that annoying dorm-room way. Jimin was perched on a chair next to you, knees bent, leaning back with a lopsided grin that seemed to have survived college without losing an ounce of high school nonsense.

“You know,” you said, waving a half-empty soda can in the air for emphasis, “I’m pretty sure Bomi has a crush on you."

Jimin snorted, exhaling smoke in a way that somehow made him look like a cartoon dragon. “What makes you think that?"

"Are you kidding? I have like a radar for that shit. I can sense when someone has a crush." You nodded, eyes red, mouth dry.

“Isn’t she dating that guy who works part time at the library?" He asked.

"Hell, nah. They broke up like months ago." You pointed out. "I think he cheated on her or something."

"Damn, that sucks."

"She was definetely flirting with you last night." You pointed out.

"Well, we almost hook up but I got too drunk."

"I knew it!” You hummed. “God and I thought my radar wasn’t working anymore."

"You don’t have a radar. You couldn’t even tell when Namjoon was crushing on you." Jimin rolled his eyes.

"I was sure he was gay!"

Jimin laughed out loud and you giggled, loud and ridiculous, You clutching the bedspread like it might protect you from the ridiculousness. The kind of laughter that made your cheeks ache and your stomach twist like it hadn’t in months. For a few minutes, the rest of the world— deadlines, papers, money, the city outside— didn’t exist.

Then Jimin tilted his head, looking at your sideways, eyebrows raised. “So. You’re not going to tell me what really happened with your class hookup last night?"

You groaned dramatically, flopping onto your side. “He’s okay but I hate having the night-after-sex convo."

"You’re becoming very avoidant."

"Shut up."

Jimin grinned. "College you is way more fun than high school you. You would have cried if someone left you like that and felt guilty for weeks if you ghosted someone like you keep doing it."

You rolled your eyes, holding your soda like a chalice. “Yeah, well, I’ve upgraded. Now I cry over missed deadlines, not boy drama.”

“Missed deadlines?” Jimin made a face. “You? That’s practically a national emergency.”

“Exactly,” you said, mock-serious. “National emergency. I should be on the news. My mom would kill me."

For a while, you two just sat there, talking nonsense about classes, group projects, and campus gossip. Words tumbled out like dice rolling across a table: Somi accidentally submitting an essay with Hamlet quotes still in it, Taehyung losing a dorm key in a sandwich, a professor who had an unreasonably strict “no late papers” policy and everyone hated.

And then the conversation started to wobble, slower now, drifting like smoke toward the window. Your voice softened. “Do you think we will get jobs after this?”

“What do you mean?"

"Like— I’m afraid I won’t get a good job or something related and then... I won’t have money." You admitted. "I still need to help my mom out."

Jimin was quiet for a beat, his grin fading into something more reflective. “Y/n, you’re literally perfect in all you do. How could someone not want you to work for them? You’ll apply at different things and people are gonna be fighting to see who has you."

You blinked at him, taken aback. There was no teasing in his voice, no jokes, just that soft, calm sincerity you had come to trust like an anchor. “That’s… nice of you to say,” you said quietly, kicking at the carpet with one foot.

“Not nice. The truth,” he said, shrugging, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re doing fine. Even when it feels like shit.”

You nodded slowly, letting the words settle. The smoke swirled around you two in slow, lazy circles, and the hum of the vaporizer filled the space between thoughts.

"Damn, you’ve been nice lately." You smiled slightly. "Why are you growing so fast now?"

Jimin chuckled, rolling his eyes and leaving the— almost finished— joint in the ashtray. He walked to the bed to sit next to you. You scooped over the wall to give him space. “I guess I’m a man now."

"Girl, you wish."

"Want me to prove it to you?" He teased, you pushed him slightly.

"Ew."

Jimin giggled slightly. "We’re older now."

"Uhm, that sucks."

You lapsed into silence for a few minutes, listening to the faint sounds of the campus outside, to the hum of fluorescent dorm lights, to the occasional muffled laugh from another room. Your chest felt oddly light, like you hadn’t realized how tense you’d been.

You lay sideways, stretching slightly before putting your head in the pillow, looking at him. Jimin took a couple of seconds before laying next to you in the same position. A little closer than most times. His eyes caught yours in the dim light.

“You okay?”

“I am,” you said, almost whispering. “I think I just… forgot how good it feels to do nothing."

“I get it,” he said, smiling faintly. “Always.”

"You always do," you smiled slightly. "You’re mine."

You were high. You meant to say family. He’s your family. You’re my family... But you didn’t correct it. Jimin stayed quiet for a couple of seconds. You saw something sparkle in his eyes and couldn’t tell if it was confusion or softness, or something else— maybe he knew what you meant. But he still gave the silence some time to settle in before he whispered:

"Yours?"

You nodded slightly, closing your eyes slowly. "My family."

His hand reached your cheek, and you felt his thumb softly brushing your hair to your ear.

"I guess you’re mine too then.”

And in the messy, smoke-filled dorm room, you realized something simple but profound: you didn’t have to have life figured out, didn’t have to be perfect, didn’t have to carry it all alone. You had Jimin. You had the chaos. You had the laughter and the quiet moments. And that— you thought, leaning back against your pillows and hearing his breathing — was more than enough.

—————

The classroom smelled faintly of old coffee, marker dust, and that weird chalky residue from the whiteboards that never fully came clean. You slumped into the last row, dragging your bag behind you. Taehyung was already there, sprawled across two chairs like a conquistador claiming his territory, laptop open, earbuds in but clearly not listening to anything. A girl you always forget the name, tall with sharp glasses and a hair bun was scribbling furiously on a notebook, head down as if she was on a deadline she didn’t have.

You dropped your bag with a thud and slumped into your chair. “Why do these projects always feel like someone’s trying to ruin our lives?” you muttered, half to yourself, half to anyone who would listen.

Taehyung raised one eyebrow. “Someone is trying to ruin our lives. It’s called Final Semester Project: The Death of Fun. It’s mandatory.”

The girl looked up, slightly startled. “Technically, it’s called the Capstone Project. And yes, it’s meant to be a learning experience.” She said “learning experience” like it wasn’t a trap designed to make twenty-year-olds question every life choice they’d ever made.

You groaned. “Learning experience. Yeah, sure. If by learning you mean crying alone at 2 a.m. while editing a twenty-minute short film and questioning whether you even like filmmaking anymore, then yes, perfect learning experience.”

Your friend laughed, tossing a pen up and catching it with the grace of someone who had clearly given up caring about small things like pens. “You mean, exactly what I’ve been doing for three nights straight. Only without the crying part. I prefer existential dread instead.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s basically the same thing.”

The girl gave you both a pointed look. “I think you two should pick a topic already. The deadline is in two weeks. We don’t have time to… philosophize about your suffering.”

“Philosophize? Please. That’s exactly what we do best,” you said, leaning back in your chair and draping an arm over the backrest. “I swear, if our project ends up being a metaphor for how college is slowly killing our souls, I want full credit for originality.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Sounds like a masterpiece to me. But fine, I’ll brainstorm if you promise not to sabotage me by overthinking every shot.”

You snorted. “I cannot be blamed for the quality of your ideas. They’re naturally… shit.”

The girl frowned slightly, flipping through her notes. “You do know the project requires a narrative, right? Not just… random chaos.”

“Random chaos is a narrative,” you said, eyes wide with mock seriousness. “It’s called postmodern existential crisis storytelling. Very avant-garde. Very trendy.”

Taehyung grinned, leaning forward. “Exactly. We’re ahead of the curve. Everyone else is stuck doing traditional stuff. We’re making history.”

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose. “You two are something… ridiculous, to be exact.”

“We prefer visionary.”

You all laughed, the tension in the air easing just a little. You felt a small thrill, part of your favorite things about those projects was that exact moment, where everyone agreed to meet halfway between chaos and sanity. Somehow, even with Taehyung’s dramatics and your own panic spiral potential, it usually worked out.

“So,” you said, straightening your notes, “what’s the concept again? I think we settled on… social alienation, right? Or was it nostalgia? Wait, no, dystopia?”

Taehyung made a face. “All of them. It’s a mash-up. We’re… genre-bending. It’s gonna be revolutionary.”

“Or confusing,” the girl added, voice a little tight with skepticism. “I hope it’s more coherent than it sounds.”

He shrugged. “Coherent is subjective. Chaos is universal.”

"Your stupidty is universal,"

The three of you argued again, the sound echoing slightly in the empty classroom. You tapped your notebook, finally starting to jot down ideas. Taehyung leaned over, pointing at a paragraph you had scrawled. “What if we actually do a montage of your dorm room life and mine? Half exhausted students, half complete idiots. Throw in some slow-motion existential panic. We can make it like a sitcom if you’re feeling creative”

You snorted loudly, almost spilling your pen across the table. “Sure. The universal student experience. Drama, comedy, horror. All the genres in one. We’ll call it Final Semester: A Tragicomedy.”

The girl rolled her eyes but smiled, despite herself. “You two better actually plan it out before the final week. Otherwise, you’re going to have to explain why the film is incoherent and… messy. Which it already is.”

“Messy has been my aesthetic the last three projects,” you said proudly, waving your hand. “And i’ve gotten pretty good grades.”

Taehyung nodded solemnly. “Messy short-films are now the true hallmark of fine filmmaking.”

The girl shook her head. “You two are draining, but at least you’re entertaining.”

You grinned, eyes half-closed in mock meditation. “That’s what I do. Entertain and confuse.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, flopping back into his chair. “Yeah, you should’ve gone to acting.”

“I’ll do both,” you said, nodding seriously. “Someday, when they make the documentary of my impressive persona starring me, I’ll tell them about you guys."

The girl’s eyes widened mockingly. “You’re delusional.”

Your shrugged. “Maybe. But the best artists are, right?”

The two chuckled, the tension from the looming deadlines and stressful semester melting away just a little. You felt lighter, energized by the laughter and the ridiculous brainstorming. Maybe the project wouldn’t kill you alll. Maybe it would even be fun.

At least until you had to start editing.

The week had felt like a storm you couldn’t escape. Exams piled on top of exams, each one a little monster demanding more sleep, more focus, more of your brain than you felt you had to give. You had spent most of your days holed up in the library, surrounded by stacks of books, half-empty energy drinks, and students who seemed to thrive on stress like it was some sort of life elixir. You, on the other hand, were barely surviving, flipping through notes and highlighting passages you were already sure you’d forget.

Your dorm room had become a shrine to your anxiety: sticky notes plastered to the walls with reminders, a bed perpetually unmade, and your laptop open at all hours with tabs for study guides, lecture slides, and one or two “distraction” tabs you tried to tell yourself were educational.

Meals were mostly skipped or grabbed in a hurry from the vending machine. Showering? Optional. Sleep? Hah. The stress wrapped itself around you like a tight, heavy blanket, and for the first time in a while, you realized you missed the simplicity of hanging out with just your friends, the way chaos and laughter made you forget everything else, even if just for a few hours.

Hell, even it had been days since you’d seen Jimin properly. A text here, a short hallway nod there, but not a long conversations, no stupid banter, no lazy afternoons where time didn’t exist.

And the absence, even for a few days, had been surprisingly loud.

So when Jimin suggested grabbing coffee at midnight, you didn’t hesitate. You threw on your hoodie, grabbed your bag, and practically ran to the little café near campus that stayed open late enough for students like you two. The campus was quieter than usual at that hour, streets mostly empty except for the occasional late-night bus, the flicker of streetlamps, and the soft hum of distant traffic.

You found him sitting at a corner table, a coffee in hand, leaning back like he owned the world. “Look who finally decided to join civilization,” he said, grinning.

“Shut up,” you said, sliding into the seat across from him. “I hate these weeks. Exams, projects, all that fun stuff.”

“I can tell,” Jimin said, eyes flicking toward the dark circles under your eyes. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “It’s been hellish. I swear, if one more professor asks me to do a tesis analyzing the cinematography in a short film in three different ways, I might cry in public.”

Jimin laughed. “You’d cry beautifully. Cinematic even.”

You snorted, almost spilling your coffee. “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

For a few minutes, you two sipped in silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward, just necessary. You let yourself breathe, let yourself forget about the looming exams for a moment.

“So,” Jimin said finally, leaning forward, hands wrapped around his cup, “how’s it really going?.”

You sighed, staring down at your coffee. “I’m surviving. Barely. Classes with exams are brutal, and I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in, like… ever. But it’s okay. I mean, it’s almost summer break. Soon, I can go home, sleep in my own bed, see my mom, maybe even eat something edible. I miss homemade food.”

Jimin nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Can’t wait. I need a break too. Parents, bed, my own shower… actually, scratch that, I’m mostly excited about sleeping.”

You laughed softly. “Same. And we finally gonna have time to make summer plans. We should plan something. Camping, maybe? Tae and Somi would love to that again.” you said sarcastically, knowing they actually would hate it.

“They’d probably complain the entire time,” Jimin said, smirking. “But yes, camping sounds perfect. No cell service, no deadlines, just fire, bad marshmallows, and your spectacular navigation skills.”

“Spectacular?” You said, eyebrow raised. “You mean abysmal. And last year, you almost burned the tent down.”

“Details, details,” he said, waving a hand. “Adventure.”

You let yourself smile at the memory, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I missed this,” you said quietly, almost to yourself, more than you realized. “Just… talking. Hanging out. Not thinking about anything else.”

Jimin glanced at you, his expression soft. “Yeah? I missed it too. Even a few days without properly seeing you feels… weird. Empty.”

You felt your chest tighten for a moment, words catching in your throat. You forced a chuckle instead. “I’m glad you missed me. I know you couldn’t live without me.”

He grinned, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “Please, you would died without my friendship.”

Probably.

For a while, you two just sat there, watching the empty street outside, letting the silence stretch comfortably between you two.

Then Jimin tilted his head, voice casual but somehow slightly tense. “By the way… I’m seeing someone.”

You blinked, processing it. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Not a big deal, just… someone I’ve been seeing recently and— I guess we still want to make it work even if we won’t see each other that much this summer break.”

“Wow,” you said, leaning back in your chair, taking a slow breath. “Why you didn’t tell me before? I thought I knew everything about you!.”

“It’s pretty new,” he admitted, a little awkward. “It’s Bomi.”

“I knew it!” You pointed at him. “My crush radar never fails, baby.”

“Whatever,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking away for a second. “I like her. She’s… nice. You’d probably like her too.”

You nodded slowly, hiding the twinge of disappointment that you didn’t even get to acknowledge properly, because it wasn’t about you.

“I’ve met her before, she’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah.”

You sat in silence for a beat, letting the words settle, the weight of it filling the space in a quiet, adult way neither of you had to comment on.

Then you grinned suddenly. “So… back to the camping trip. Tae complains, Somi overpacks, I get lost, you burn the tent down.” You changed the subject so fast, you didn’t know why. But it worked. “It’s a plan. Summer’s going to be perfect.”

Jimin laughed, warmth spreading through his chest in that way only you could trigger. “Exactly. And then, when it all inevitably goes wrong, we’ll just fight to the point we almost break the friendship and a year later we can laugh about it and do it again.”

“Exactly, it’s almost tradition by now.”

Jimin laughed and you felt the tightness in your chest ease, replaced by something lighter. Relief, comfort, maybe even a little joy you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

You didn’t say it out loud again, but the thought lingered: you had missed him. Just being around him, even for a coffee in the middle of a stress-filled week, made the chaos of exams feel a little less heavy, the week a little more bearable.

You two lingered at the café, sipping the last of coffee, talking about classes, professors, the ridiculous student life, and the promise of the summer ahead. Outside, the city was quiet, soft, and still, and for a brief moment, the world felt simple and good again, messy deadlines and complicated emotions temporarily shelved in favor of friendship, laughter, and plans for adventure.

You didn’t address that weird feeling that was growing inside you.

—————

The air smelled like pine, smoke, and sunscreen that hadn’t quite rubbed in. You squinted against the late morning sun, trying to figure out which end of the tent you were supposed to be setting up first.

The exams had ended in the best possible way. After making sure you all had good grades so you could go home, you and your friends decided to make plans for the summer. You spent the first week with your mom, catching up and resting from all the stress that college had been lately. Very happy to be able to eat something decent.

The following week, you were already making plans with your friends, after visiting Jimin's mom, who invited you over for dinner one weekend so you could tell her all the college gossip you had been saving up. You had always gotten along well with her, especially because you both shared your best friend's secrets to each other just to annoy him.

Your friends had decided to go camping, as you all had done for the past years since the start of college; it had become almost a tradition. After complaints and complaints from Somi and Taehyung, the two of them finally agreed on the plan, so by the third week of summer break, the four of you were in the woods pretending to know what were you doing.

Taehyung was sprawled on the ground, holding two poles upside-down like they were ancient relics, muttering curses under his breath that no one could fully understand. Somi, ever the perfectionist, had a checklist taped to the inside flap of her backpack and was crossing things off with precision that you found both admirable and terrifying.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, looking at the paper of instruction. "The door faces the lake, right? Why the fuck is Taehyung doing shit?"

“Yes,” Somi said sharply. “Door faces lake. We don’t want to wake up in the middle of a swamp because someone ignored directions.”

“I did not ignore directions!” Taehyung shouted, pointing at you like you were personally responsible for all tent-related disasters in human history. “I am merely interpreting them creatively!”

You snorted. “Who the hell put you in charge of the tents? Last year we had to sleep on the grass because of you. You’re useless."

Jimin, who had been quietly untangling a rope for the past five minutes, shook his head, laughing. “If by that you mean making everything take ten times longer than it should, then yes, he’s a master.”

“Master!” Tae nodded, dramatically bowing. “You dare question my mastery?”

You flopped onto the grass, arms out like a surrendering warrior. “Oh my God, can you just follow the intrusctions for once?"

"What’s the fun in that?" He asked.

"I don’t want fun, I want to sleep confortable." You argued.

"Boring..." He sang.

"I swear— Taehyung follow the damn instructions before I choke you!” Somi argued.

You rolled your eyes. "Please, he would love that."

"What would you know?"

"Read the fucking instructions!"

"Make me."

After an ungodly amount of time of screaming and you running behind Taehyung to beat him— which you succesfully did— and a few mild arguments over which way the tent poles was supposed to go, you all finally had a functional structure. Not perfect, but standing. Everyone settle for "it’s enough to survive." And after getting your things in place for the next three days you eventually migrated toward the lake, carrying an assortment of coolers, backpacks, and at least three things no one knew how to use.

You grabbed a water bottle and slung it over your shoulder. “So, who’s in charge of snacks?”

“Not me,” Jimin said immediately. “I have survival skills, not food distribution skills. That’s Tae’s territory."

“I’m not in charge of snacks,” he said. “I am the snack consultant. If we eat poorly it’s your fault, Y/n.”

“Excuse me? Why is everything my fault with you?” you said, mock affronted. “I literally did nothing wrong. Nothing."

“Exactly!” Taehyung said triumphantly. “You didn’t do shit since we arrived so by default, everything is your fault.

You rolled your eyes and Jimin snorted. “Don’t you love each other so much, guys? What a strong friendship we have."

"If Taehyung keeps talking I’ll drown him in the lake."

"Get a grip challenge, you go first."

Jimin and Somi started laughing when you threw your things to the ground to chase Taehyung, trying to punch him again.

The four of you spent the rest of the day in that chaotic rhythm. Swimming in the lake, trying (and failing) to skip stones, teasing each other relentlessly over who could hold their breath the longest, and almost burning a marshmallow each time you all attempted to cook over the campfire. You had singed your fingers more than once and nearly set your sleeve on fire trying to rescue a fallen marshmallow. Taehyung had tripped spectacularly while trying to light the fire, landing face-first in the dirt. Somi had managed to organize a perfect line of marshmallows that no one used because you and Jimin were too busy competing over who could roast each the fastest.

Jimin leaned back against a log, watching you gesticulate wildly as you defended your marshmallow honor. “You know,” he said, voice low but loud enough for you to hear, “this is more fun than uni parties."

You paused mid-hand-wave, smirking. “You’re getting old as hell, Jimin."

"I can never say shit to you."

"Old ass-bitch."

"Kill yourself."

For a while, you two wandered down the lakeshore, skipping stones, letting the sun warm your shoulders, and talking about everything and nothing. The conversation drifted smoothly, naturally, like it always did between you. Classes, professors, weird campus gossip, plans for the next semester, even random hypotheticals about what would happen if you all quit college and became professional mermaids instead of fine arts students.

“You’d make a terrible mermaid,” you said, skipping a stone that barely touched the water’s surface.

“Why?” Jimin asked, frowning in offense.

“You’d panic every time someone try to haunt you,” you said.

“I’d survive!” he argued, pointing to the lake. “I’m practically built for water.”

“Right,” you said, shaking you head, laughing. “Built like the water you mean."

"Are you calling me wide?!"

Taehyung joined in from a few feet away. “I would dominate as a mermaid. Clearly, regal, ajestic. And beautiful, of course.”

"I would kill men like a real mermaid does," you nodded.

Somi rolled her eyes but smiled. “I think we’re all agreeing that none of us should be mermaids.”

The sun dipped lower, casting golden streaks across the lake, making everything look warmer, softer, like the world had paused for a second to catch the moment. Your friends built another small fire for the night, gathering around it with blankets and mugs of instant cocoa, teasing each other about everything that had happened during the day.

Jimin nudged you, handing you a marshmallow he had successfully roasted. “Here. Your reward for being quiet.”

“Finally,” you said, biting into it carefully. “Was I a good girl, daddy?”

"I hate you," he rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh at your disgustingly sweet tone.

You sat there for hours, joking, teasing, talking, occasionally falling silent to watch the flames dance, letting the warmth of the fire and the lake breeze settle over. You felt lighter than you had in months. The stress of finals, deadlines, and the last semester melting away, replaced by laughter, friends, and the comforting rhythm of chaos that only felt right with those people.

Eventually, as the fire dwindled to glowing embers and the stars began to pepper the sky, you realized something simple: no matter how messy, ridiculous, or chaotic life got, those moments— the laughter, the arguments, the long walks by the lake, the shared marshmallows— were what you’d remember. They weren’t perfect, they weren’t neat. But they were yours, and they were real, and that was meaningful.

Jimin caught you staring at the stars for a moment and nudged your shoulder. "You like that?"

“Yeah,” you said softly, before looking at him. “It’s peaceful, huh."

He grinned. “Yeah, that’s better."

You smiled, resting your head on your knees, watching the fire’s last sparks fade into the night. Chaos, marshmallows, friends, and Jimin. That was all you needed right there.

—————

The sun was already soft when you and your friends packed up the last of your things. Jimin kicked the back tire of his brother’s car, muttering something about how it smelled like smoke and river water now. You laughed, brushing sand off your shorts, your hair tied in a messy bun that had stopped holding its shape hours ago. Everyone looked tired, burned, sticky from the lake, ready for home.

You sat on the co-pilot seat, ready to sleep all the way home... except you didn’t. You were really tired but there was something in the air, like something was changing slowly even if you didn’t know exactly what. But ending a good time with friends always left you a little sour.

Jimin left Somi first. When you arrived back to the city after driving for hours in his brother’s car, you left the person who lived the farthest. Taehyung followed, half-asleep, mumbling something about taking the world’s longest shower. He hugged you both before splitting ways, laughter fading into the lazy hum of cicadas.

When the last of your friends disappeared inside his house, Jimin made his way home. You two lived close, like ten minutes distance in car so it wasn’t a hard math to do of who he should drop first and last. He knew the way to your house perfectly.

You were playing with your bag when he stopped at a red light, turning slightly to you with that mischievous grin and crooked teeth that always seemed to undo you a little more than usual lately.

“What?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Remember that lake we used to go all the time in high school?”

"Uhm, the one close to Suki’s house, right?"

He nodded toward the road ahead. “It’s like ten minutes from here. Haven’t been there in, what, years?”

Your chest tightened a little at the mention. The lake. That place had been everything once. The after-school escape, the secret meet-up spot, the background for every teenage confession and heartbreak. The thought of seeing it again made you feel old and sixteen all at once.

“Why not,” you said, pretending to sound indifferent. “Your brother’s car still has gas?”

“Barely. But who cares?"”

“Mention of the lake makes you act like a stupid teen again, huh." You said, rolling your eyes.

"Fine, I’ll stop to fill it up."

And he did.

The road to the lake was the same cracked asphalt lined with dry grass and power lines. Windows rolled down, air rushing in, your arm out the window. It felt like every summer before college, except quieter. Jimin hummed along to some old song playing through the car’s ancient speakers, offbeat but trying. It made you smile.

It was like a deja-vu. Being with Jimin driving to the lake in his brother’s car, it felt familiar. Even nostalgic.

He parked near the slope where the dirt dipped toward the water. The lake shimmered faintly, catching the last gold of the sun. The same dock was still there, warped and creaking, edges eaten by time. Everything else looked smaller, like the world had grown but the lake had stayed the same.

Jimin cut the engine, the silence instantly wrapping around you two.

“Damn,” he said softly. “Is it smaller than I remember or did I grew up a lot the last three years?"

“Nah, you’re still short as hell,” you said, backing off a little when he tried to hit your arm. “Although, it really feels smaller.”

"Right?"

Maybe it did. Or maybe you two were just seeing thing different now.

You opened your door and Jimin followed you. You two sat side by side on the hood of the car, legs stretched out, watching a family of ducks ripple through the water. The air smelled like mud and pine and something familiar from your high school years.

“Feels weird,” Jimin said after a while. “Like we blinked and suddenly we’re almost adults.”

You laughed quietly. “Almost?”

“Okay, fine. Barely functioning adults.”

You leaned back, hands bracing against the hood. “I still feel like a kid most of the time.”

“Good,” he said. “It’d be weird if you didn’t. Remember when we thought being in college meant we’d have our shit together?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I still don’t.”

He snorted. “Same. At least you pretend better.”

You two stayed like that for a while, talking about nothing— professors you didn’t like, people who’d changed, people who hadn’t, friends from high school you heard some gossips about, both of your families. You laughed until your throat hurt, until your cheeks were warm from smiling.

Then, as if remembering something, Jimin walked to the trunk and reached for something in his bag before coming back to you.

“Look what I saved.”

You peered inside and gasped dramatically. “You didn’t.”

“Leftover marshmallows,” he said proudly. “And gummy worms. It’s gourmet dining, baby.”

You took one, laughing. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m a saver visionary,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

You both ate the candy while watching the sky darkened ,streaks of purple melting into blue. Somewhere nearby, someone was blasting music from a pickup truck— a football game commentary cut through between static bursts. Jimin tuned in, tapping the dashboard rhythmically.

“God, I don’t want to go back.” He said, half to himself.

“What?”

“Just... I want to stay here forever. Sitting around, doing nothing. Talking crap, no deadlines, no projects, no future jobs. Feels like we actually exist again.”

You smiled faintly. “You make doing nothing sound poetic.”

“Maybe it is.” He said, mock serious.

You rolled your eyes. “You just hate having responsabilities."

“Who doesn’t?"

You both laughed again, it was soft and familiar. The kind of laugh that only comes from years of knowing exactly how the other breathes.

When the laughter faded, silence filled the spaces it left, the good kind, the kind that hummed gently between you two. Jimin leaned back on his hands, eyes on the water.

“I just want to stay like this with you forever,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer right away. The breeze brushed your hair into your face, and you tucked it behind your ear, pretending to look at the water when really, you were looking at him, the way the fading moon light caught the side of his face, the easy way he smiled without noticing. The easy way he talked about you, to you. Someone settle in his life, in yours.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “me too."

He looked at you then, and for a second it felt like something shifted, like the air was thicker, slower. His gaze lingered, steady but unreadable.

And that’s when it hit you.

The familiar warmth in your chest wasn’t just comfort. It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was something alive, something consuming.

You could feel it in the way your pulse quickened, in how aware you suddenly were of his closeness— his knee brushing yours, his hand resting inches away on the metal. The same hands that used to throw pebbles at your window, hold your backpack, draw stupid doodles in class, hit your shoulder. And now all you could think about was how easy it would be for him to put that hand in your cheek and made you lean closer to…

To kiss him.

You wanted to kiss Jimin.

Your breath caught. You looked away fast.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Just— thinking.”

He didn’t push. Just nodded, looking back at the water.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The radio hummed quietly— a commentator shouting about a last-minute point. Somewhere behind you two, the cicadas started again.

You picked at the hem of your hoodie, trying to steady yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel like that. Not now. Not when he had someone. Not when his grifriend was away, not when they were waiting to be reunited again after summer break. Not when he’d been there through every heartbreak, every stupid decision, every time you’d fallen apart. He was your safe place. Your person. Your best friend…

… And yet—

Your eyes flicked toward him again, catching the curve of his mouth as he smiled at something on the radio. Your chest tightened, the urge sharp and unwelcome. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the reflection of the stars beginning to tremble over the lake’s surface.

Jimin sighed beside you, leaning back, arms crossed behind his head. “I forgot how good it feels to just breathe,” he murmured.

“Yeah, me too.”

There was another pause. Then his voice changed, low and quiet, almost tender. “You ever think about how fast everything goes? Like— how did we end up here already? Everything changes so fast."

Everything, in fact, changes so fast.

You wanted to say yes. That you thought about it all the time. That you missed who you two were but loved what you were becoming. That it scared you how easily he could still make you laugh, how his voice still sounded like home now. Like yours.

But you didn’t say it. Just like you didn’t kiss him— because it wasn’t convenient. You wouldn’t be the one to ruin the friendship. You couldn’t. If there was one thing you couldn’t do ever was losing Jimin, in all meas… so you didn’t do anything.

Instead, you leaned next to him and said, “Yeah. I think about it all the time.”

The moment lingered there, suspended in the quiet. Neither of you moved. Neither dared to. You lay there, quiet, the wind tangling your hair as you stared out the stars. The night felt heavy, not sad, not exactly melancholy, but like something unspoken had been left behind on that shore.

Something that could never be said out loud.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

i swear part two is better!! if you read until the end i love u. let me know what you think about this first part. par two coming soon!!!! just have to edit the end hehe

~*~

You’ve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.

Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.

Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where there’s a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.

Late nights coming home, Namjoon’s head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongi’s on his other side.

It’s always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out they’re something more, you don’t mind it. But when it’s late and you’ve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s temple, you can’t help it.

There’s a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.

But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.

You just wish you knew him, too.

Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crush— if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?

Well, you know a few things.

He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, he’s already on the train when you board at 51st.

He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.

You’re pretty sure he’s an athlete of some sort, because he’s usually carrying a gym bag—and because during this summer’s heat wave, the one and only time you’ve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.

He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and you’ve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you can’t say for sure if he’s undergrad or graduate.

You deeply hope you’re not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but there’s no way to be certain.

Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but it’s currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.

On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boy’s beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and you’d miss it entirely.

Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize he’s seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.

And then the train stops moving.

There’s an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. You’re able to make out “attention passengers” and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.

You sigh, knowing very well that the MTA’s definition of ‘soon’ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring you’ve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.

“What did they say?” A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.

You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. He’s got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.

Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. “Uh— I didn’t get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that we’ll be moving again soon.”

A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. “Typical.”

“I don’t think they know what ‘soon’ means,” you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.

“Definitely not.”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.

With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongi’s half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.

Subway Boy’s voice catches you off guard a second time. “Are you drawing?”

You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.

“Wow.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”

You can’t help it— your gaze flits up to meet his again. It’s nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. “I guess so,” you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. “I’ve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.”

“Know the feeling,” he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.

“What did you pay them for?”

“Currently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and… teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen automatically. You’ve wondered— and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommates— what Subway Boy’s line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.

Of course he’s a dancer. It makes perfect sense.

It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed ‘oh’ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.

But the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “I feel like I see you on this train a lot.”

Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. “Really?”

There’s an extra pause before he speaks again. “Man, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise I’ve only noticed you a normal amount.” Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, no, I’m— it’s not—” you stammer, trying to recover. “I, uh— me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I… I don’t know why I just pretended like I didn’t.”

Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you can’t help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. He’s beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.

“That makes me feel better,” he admits. “At least we’re both creepy.”

As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

“That’s definitely a new record,” you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. “Maybe the MTA actually looked up what ‘soon’ means.”

His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.

“Guess it’s a miracle,” he says softly, not making eye contact.

“Must be,” you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.

“Sorry,” you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.

The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. It’s a surprise— he’s never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesn’t take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.

“Astor Place today, huh?” You hope the observation still falls into the category of ‘noticing a normal amount’.

“Yeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?”

You nod. “Pretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so that’s fun.”

“You in grad school too?”

“Yup, MFA in studio art.” You can’t help but tease, just a little. “Only one master’s degree for me, I’m such a slacker.”

His eyes squint again as he smiles. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not, like, eighteen.”

“I thought that too!” You keep talking before you can stop yourself. “I mean, when I was… noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.”

“Ahh...” Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. “You were thirsting?”

You can’t help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. “We are now officially both creepy.”

He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. “Hopefully I’m living up to the hype.”

You’re grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. “This is me.”

“It’s actually me, too,” he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. “But I have a little bit, so I’m gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not that— sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. “Do you have a name?”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. “Yeah. Park Jimin. Probably could’ve led with that.”

You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.

“Well, good luck in class,” Jimin says with a nod. “And hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. “Well, I mean. I guess I know I will. On the— train— yeah, I’m gonna go before I say any more stupid things.”

“Bye Jimin,” you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you can’t help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.

And just like that, Subway Boy has a name— one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. It’s sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.

A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. “Know what the new unit is?” You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. “Life drawing. Ready for some naked people?”

You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. “Bro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.”

“Like you weren’t thinking it too,” he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.

You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. It’s the same routine as each unit you’ve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.

You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.

It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but there’s no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.

Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jimin’s strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then he’s not wearing anything at all.

You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.

Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you can’t understand him. “Now who’s the virgin?”

You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you can’t bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. You’re not sure which would be worse.

Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. You’re a professional, you tell yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time drawing someone nude.

It’s just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.

But it’s fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. It’s just a body.

You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that you’d be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, you’ve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professor’s instruction.

He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, it’s enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. It’s an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.

The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.

By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.

Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. “He’s cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.”

“Shut up, Tae!” You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. “You’re too damn horny today. Like you didn’t just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.” The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnight— probably started by Taehyung himself.

The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. “And I’d do it again, too.”

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

The professor claps to get everyone’s attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.

He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.

You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighs— not to mention his perky ass. You can’t help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.

You’re beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you aren’t aware of Taehyung’s eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. “Why aren’t you drawing his dick?”

He’s not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. “I’m getting there,” you huff. “Worry about your own sketch, Tae.”

“Girl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesn’t even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?”

You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Don’t think. Just look and draw. It’s not a big deal.

With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and… well, you don’t know what you were expecting. It’s just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you can’t quite will the heat back out of your face, can’t manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach drop— it’s cute.

You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketch’s dick.

You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what they’re doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.

“Where’s the fire?” Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.

You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. It’s only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.

~*~

The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongi’s cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.

You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. “Two more?” Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. “I know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time off—“

“Some of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yes—“

“But is there any way I could… maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? It’s an emergency. I need advice.”

Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.

“Lucky for you,” he begins, his tone relenting, “Namjoonie just called. They’ve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.”

“Aw, Yoongiiiii.” You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight.”

He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. “Then get the wine, darling?”

You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.

“You wouldn’t last an hour in the restaurant industry.”

“Either help me, or shut up,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. “Let’s hear it.”

You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.

“Alright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks I’ve seen?”

You groan. “Spare me the details, please.”

“But this is what you wanted, right?” You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You’ve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?”

“Because!” you huff, frustrated. “It’s— it’s out of order. It’s not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I don’t know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I don’t want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didn’t like him anymore, but then it’s like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple angles—“

“You are absolutely overthinking this,” Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. “Just get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.”

You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. “At least you’re a good cook.”

“I’m a great cook,” Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. “Now help me with these dishes.”

~*~

Yoongi’s advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.

When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself it’s just from rushing and nothing else.

Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.

He’s scrolling through something on his phone and hasn’t yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.

Panic floods your veins. There’s no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongi’s words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.

The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you don’t exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.

Fuck it. You don’t have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.

You’ve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it can’t be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

Thankfully the street you’re on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. It’s been years since you’ve ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, like— well, riding a bike.

When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.

Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast you’re almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.

Holy shit.

You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under control— you’re pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but you’re vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.

“Fucking asshole!”

It takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.

“Yoongi?!”

“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. “Since when do you deliver food?”

He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. “I just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.”

“What about the coffee shop?”

He shakes his head. “They only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.”

“What about the bar?”

“That’s just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.”

“What about the—”

“Christ, woman!” Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. “The food’s gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire résumé with you! Are you alright? Why aren’t you taking the subway?”

“Because!” you snap back. “There is a man on that train whose dick I’ve seen and I… I don’t know how to handle it! Okay?!” Though you don’t intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.

“Well you need to be fucking careful,” Yoongi chides. “Biking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if I’m not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, you’re not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because you’re trying to avoid a penis.”

“Fine,” you spit back through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class.” You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.

The rush of wind in your ears isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. “It’s only weird if you make it weird!”

When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that you’re already late. It’s only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.

Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyung’s voice beside you.

“You’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”

He’s got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. “Shutting up now,” Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.

Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyung’s inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.

The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.

But despite your better judgment, you can’t help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.

You’re distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.

Jimin’s plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.

With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after he’s out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.

~*~

That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like you’ve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.

It’s nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing ‘to read’ books. He glances up from the one that’s open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.

“No class?” Namjoon’s voice is rough-edged, like he’s only just woken up himself.

“Skipped,” you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.

“Is this about the penis?”

The cushion muffles your groan. “Not you too.”

You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. “Seems like you want to talk about it.”

You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. “Maybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?”

He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. “I can try to be gentler.”

You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. “Sounds like you’ve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how I’m supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.”

“Didn’t William Blake say ‘Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed’?” Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.” You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. “Did Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?”

“Well, does he seem weirded out by it?” Namjoon counters, patient as ever.

“I don’t know.” You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. “He smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.”

Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. “Okay, and what did you do?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I… threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.” When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.

“Maybe you could try smiling back next time?” he gently suggests.

You sigh, because you know he’s right. “You make it sound so easy. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to talk to him?”

He laughs a little. “I’d quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s hear it, nerd.”

Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. “‘It’s cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.’”

There’s a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. “Did you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?”

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

You feign annoyance, but you can’t quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. “Whatever. I need to do laundry.”

“Oh—” Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. “Lucky’s closed, by the way.”

Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat you’ve been exclusive with for the last few years. “What?”

He nods solemnly. “Me and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. They’re putting in an Equinox.”

Your face twists in disgust. “A stupid bougie gym?! You’ve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?”

“We found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.” Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send you the address. It’s not bad, just a little more expensive.”

“This is such bullshit,” you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.

In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it off— it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.

You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.

“Bye, nerd!” you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.

By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, you’re sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Lucky’s by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.

You miss the way the nice old man who owned Lucky’s would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.

The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that it’s relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.

You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh that’s nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.

Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.

This isn’t fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.

But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, you’re already certain it can’t be anyone else. You’ve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. There’s no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.

The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You can’t keep running away forever— particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.

A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.

But you really don’t need to be thinking about Park Jimin’s penis in this laundromat right now.

Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.

With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.

It occurs to you now that you couldn’t have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jimin’s just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoon’s advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.

You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.

“You didn’t tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!”

Eyes wide, you turn to see Jimin’s friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and he’s swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.

“Jung Hoseok,” he gives you a nod. “Friends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.” The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.

You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. “Please ignore Hoseok’s tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, he’s as gay as they come.”

Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. “I have two gay roommates, so.”

Hoseok hums, clearly interested. “Gay together or gay separately?”

“Gay together.”

He narrows his eyes. “Open to a third?”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected question. “Uh, I’d have to ask.”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but Jimin interjects. “Hoseok— can we get a minute?”

Hoseok’s lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. “Say no more. I’ll just, uh…” He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. “…do a little light reading.” He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. “Oh look, the queen died!”

You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jimin’s face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. “I just want to say one thing,” he murmurs, voice low, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. “Jimin,” you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison, and there’s a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the other’s apology. It’s quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.

You break the silence first. “Wait, why are you sorry?”

Jimin’s eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. “I figured you were upset with me because I didn’t warn you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. “Oh my god— when I said graduate studio art, you… you knew.”

He nods, somewhat remorseful. “I was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”

“No, no,” you interrupt. “I get it. I’m not mad, obviously I didn’t even put it together until right now.” You pause for a second and can’t help but smile a little. “And, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? ‘Great talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?’”

Jimin’s head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Right.”

You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what you’ve just said. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to— clearly I don’t know how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.” You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. “I’ve just never been in this situation before, and I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk given… the…” Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word ‘dick’ again. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.”

Jimin’s eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. “I mean, maybe it would be. But I don’t want to.”

“Great,” you manage a laugh, still breathless. “Because I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didn’t take the subway.”

He laughs, too. “Not gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.” You’re not expecting it when he extends a hand out. “Friends?”

You realize belatedly that he’s offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.

“Friends,” you echo with a smile, squeezing back.

There’s a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. “You are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!” he gasps from his spot on the floor. “Who shakes hands?!”

The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.

“Because some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,” he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jimin’s head.

You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jimin’s work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.

“Bye, new friend!” Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.

“So… guess I’ll see you on the train?” he asks, like he’s still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.

“Guess so.”

“Cool.” He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.

The floating feeling in your stomach doesn’t quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.

~*~

The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.

You can’t help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. There’s something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.

To your surprise, he doesn’t try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbud’s removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.

An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. It’s like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.

As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then you’re suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.

When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.

After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.

Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but he’s staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.

For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jimin’s knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.

You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyung’s voice over your shoulder.

“That was fast.”

You whip around to shoot him a look. “What was fast?”

He makes a face, like it’s obvious. “You’re already banging the model and it’s been, what, two weeks?”

Taehyung’s just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyone’s attention at the center of the room.

When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you can’t ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.

Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jimin’s naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when you’re dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.

“Hi,” he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.

“Hi.”

“Sorry, is, uh— is it okay that I talk to you, when I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.

You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you say, hating how breathless you sound.

“When are you done with classes today?”

It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. “Uh, six.”

Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. “Would you… want to get dinner after? With me?”

Your stomach flutters as you nod. “Yeah, yes. I’d like that.”

~*~

When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and you’re not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: “Do you like sushi?” You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. “Then let’s walk this way.”

You end up tucked into two seats at a place you’ve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.

“So,” you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. “Can I ask the obvious question?”

He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What made you decide to nude model?” The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. “Or have you done it before?”

“I haven’t,” Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. “Do you want the real answer?”

You nod, and his adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. There’s a look on his face like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. “I’ve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.”

Your eyes widen slightly— you weren’t expecting such a serious response.

“Dance doesn’t typically have the best culture for that to begin with,” he continues, “and I’d spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just… pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.”

The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.

“I’m through the worst of it now, so please don’t feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends who’ve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I don’t know, a good challenge?” His brow creases, contemplative. “I really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.” He pauses, then nods, like he’s said his piece.

It takes you a second to respond. “That’s… beautiful, Jimin.”

He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Sorry if that was too heavy.”

“I can take it,” you say softly, and it’s enough to make him glance back up in surprise. “Thank you for telling me.”

A faint color floods his face. “Thanks for listening.”

You eat in a silence that’s oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. “What got you into art?”

You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. “Is it bad if I say it’s the only thing I feel like I’m good at?”

Jimin laughs a little. “I don’t know that I believe you.”

“I mean,” you lean back in your seat. “Maybe not the only thing, but I’ve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. I’m not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Art’s always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When I’m feeling so much that it’s overwhelming, or so numb that it’s like I can’t feel anything, the act of creating something just… brings me back to center again.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s an outlet, I guess.”

“Well, if it helps, you’re very good at it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. “But it’s not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I don’t really have any interest in being the best. It’s art, so it’s all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.”

Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “I could stand to be more like you.”

“Your turn,” you shoot back. “Why dance?”

At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. “I can tell you exactly why, but it’s embarrassing.”

You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s not like I—” you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with ‘haven’t seen your dick’, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.

Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then you’re laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. “I’ll tell you.”

He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. “When I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.” There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you can’t bear to cut him off. “I just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.”

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a flicker of panic in Jimin’s face, like he’s worried he overshared. “I have to be honest,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Titanic.”

His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”

Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. “I know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.”

Jimin’s eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. “I mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.” He pauses, then admits with a giggle, “I have it on DVD.”

You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. “They canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so I’m down.”

He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. “Then let’s get out of here.”

It’s a short train ride back to Jimin’s place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same person— tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and he’s in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.

“Hi kids!” he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.

Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. “Daddy’s going out. You two have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. “By which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.”

As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. “Do you like prosecco?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

“Uh, I think so,” you say unsurely. “I don’t think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.”

“White and sparkling?”

“Sounds good,” you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.

Jimin’s face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. “Sorry— I like to drink. You don’t have to finish it all.” You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. It’s crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down. 

“Hoseok calls me a lush,” he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. “I did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.”

The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. “What’s up?”

Jimin’s lips press together for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever he’s about to say. “I’m not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I just— I don’t want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.

“We dated freshman year of undergrad, for… maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.”

You nod slowly, trying to keep up. “And you’ve lived together since then?”

“No, no,” Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. “At the end of last semester, I, uh… I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.” The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. “And she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.”

He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Ideally the number of exes I’d be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.”

A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.

“Don’t be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.”

“Well,” you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. “Then I’m sorry that it took so long.”

At this, he smiles back. “Me fuckin’ too.”

After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couch— surprisingly graceful— to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.

“Ready?”

“This better have a happy ending,” you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.

He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.

Cute, you can’t help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.

When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.

The movie goes on, and you’re draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin’s eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you don’t understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.

“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”

Your eyes go just as wide as Jimin’s, and you let out a laugh of disbelief that’s nearly a scream. “Oh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!”

“I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t even think about that part until right now!” He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.

“I literally cannot believe this.” You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.

It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. “But hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”

He’s so magnetic, so beautiful, you can’t help but lean in, too. “You like me?”

There’s a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and you’re not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. “I do.”

Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. “So what, you’re Rose and I’m Jack?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “Uh-huh”. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.

Jimin’s lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.

He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like he’s taking his time, like he’s not in any rush.

Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.

You’re surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. “Is it, um—” he clears his throat, then tries again. “I don’t… want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?”

Your eyes search his, and you’re a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m good with that. With whatever you want.”

“Okay.” You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. “I want to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”

“Yes, please,” you murmur against his lips.

Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.

He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.

It’s been such a long time since you’ve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And you’ve never been kissed like this in your life— so soft, so attentive. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.

You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that he’s really real.

“God,” Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. “I really like you.”

You smile as you blink up at him. “I like you too, Jimin.” 

Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. “Do you want more wine? ‘Cause we’re only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.”

“I could go for more,” you answer with a shrug, still smiling.

In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. “How do you fucking do that?!”

“I’m a trained professional!” he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen. You giggle a little. “I would break every bone in my body.”

He’s humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. “Is Titanic your favorite movie?”

Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.

“Let’s hear it.”

His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t!” you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. “Promise.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, “It’s The Notebook.”

You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. “I— wow. Really?”

He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, there’s just something about it. It’s comforting, to me.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.

“You know what?” Jimin’s voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. “I am.” He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “For a long time I didn’t want to be. Or thought that I couldn’t be. I used to always try to be so. I don’t know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be… soft.”

His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until you’re side by side. “I like you soft,” you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

“That’s okay.” You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. “Same time next week?”

~*~

Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.

He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. We’re even now.”

On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.

“Better?”

“Mm-hmm”, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. “You’re warm.”

These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.

Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you can’t help but smile down at your sketchbook.

At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.

When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongi’s cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.

But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.

“Subway Boy, huh?”

“I will drown you,” you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.

It’s easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.

~*~

You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that he’s still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but he’s entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.

His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesn’t even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.

“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jimin’s mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell he’s still raging at himself in his mind.

“Hi, sorry,” he sighs. “I just— can’t get this. It’s like my body isn’t doing what I tell it to.”

“You need food.” You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. “And perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.”

This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I do like her.” He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. “But I like you more.”

You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. “Stop lying.”

“‘M not,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Rachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.” You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

A spark ignites in your chest that doesn’t go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once you’re most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jimin’s lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.

You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jimin’s hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and you’re so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.

It’s Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.

“Don’t stop on my account!” Yoongi’s voice is dripping with derision. “By all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!”

“We’re fully clothed, asshole!” you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.

When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.

“Do you…” you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. “We could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?”

He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.

You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. “We really don’t have to… do anything, if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”

Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. There’s a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. It’s only now that you realize how quiet he’s gotten.

“What is it?” you ask, suddenly a little nervous.

He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. “Does it make you feel bad? That we’re not—”

“No,” you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.

“I know we’ve been hanging out for a while,” he continues, voice low. “And I do want to, you know. Hook up.”

“Jimin,” you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything we’ve been doing, too. It’s not like we’re not… intimate.”

His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.”

You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.

“I don’t think that at all,” you murmur against his skin. “Promise.”

There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. “Okay. Sorry, I know it’s stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when I’m the one being difficult?”