I’m procrastinating writing my novella by posting this. whatever. Maybe i wanted to read some slightly angsty, slightly fluffy, slightly ambiguous jinki fic. Here u go

You feel stupid; like the world’s biggest idiot, the laughing stock of god himself as you walk home in the rain, hoping to whatever force that spit on your existence that you would get frostbite and die.

You don’t know why everything always ended like this. You didn’t know why everyone was always so jealous of him, why they always felt so insecure, so upset, so emotional that they would need to-

You let out a hiccuping, shivering sob and wipe your cheeks with your soaked sleeve. It doesn’t matter; your face is already streaked with rain, rivulets of frigid water pouring from the strands of hair plastered to your face. But it’s pride that makes you rub your eyes raw. Fuck her. Fuck her and fuck everyone in the world who cheated. Why was it your fault? Why did she have to yell, and throw things, and cry- you could never handle it when she cried and she knew it. She cheated and made you feel guilty for it.

Your socks are soaked through and you can’t feel your fingers, your cheeks, your ears, or the way your teeth are chattering, but you manage to unlock the front door anyway. His car is pulled in, but you don’t want to see him.

“I wouldn’t have needed to if you weren’t so close to him”

He’s your best friend.

“How do you think I felt? When I saw you hung all over him?”

It was a hug. Jinki was your best friend. Why would she cheat on you over a hug?

“I was scared. You know what I’ve been through.”

Why did she blame you? Why was her trauma your fault?

You put your palm over your mouth and sob again, squeezing your eyes shut as the warm tears run down your cold-bitten cheeks. The light is on in the living room; Jinki’s home, he’ll give you those worried eyes at the state of your clothes and ask you why you didn’t call him to pick you up.

“If I had known you were in love with him, I never would have tried so hard”

You hated her right now.

It feels like your lungs are bleeding, twinges of pain in your ribs when you breathe in too hard, and you only realize he hears you crying when you hear hurried footsteps across the carpet.

“What happened? Are you okay?” His voice travels down the hallway; you can hear the furrow in his brow, the downwards quirk of his lips.

You snivel, hiccup, “No.”

His breath catches when he sees you, and you’re sure you’re a puffy eyed, red faced mess, but he still rushes forward to press his warm hands to your cold cheeks.

“Why didn’t you call me?” there it is, “I would have picked you up- you could get hypothermia!”

You sniff again and nod. The feeling in your chest gets worse, like your corseted and someone keeps pulling the strings tighter and tighter. You just wish the seams would rip already.

When he realizes you’re not saying more than that, his eyes soften, and you curse him internally.

“You can tell me about it later, okay? Let’s just get you warm.”

And he takes you softly by your trembling hands, pulling you to the restroom to throw some towels over your head, instructing you to take a warm shower, that he would have some hot chocolate ready for you when you get out. And after you finish, standing in there long enough to hope that he got tired and went to bed already, he’s still on the couch, two mugs of steaming hot cocoa with whipped cream on the coffee table and your favorite documentary playing. Your eyes well up again at the sight, and you sniffle quietly over sips of your drink as he dries your hair, hands soft and comforting and familiar.

And then, when he stops fretting that you’ll catch a cold, you lean into his side and throw your legs over his lap, like you always do. There’s a colony of penguins on the tv, honking and collecting small pebbles as the narrator pauses for effect; Jinki coos at them, and you crack a small, sad smile.

“She cheated on me.” You say, softly, voice rough from cold and tears. His hand, the one that had migrated to your shoulders, tightens on your shirt. Looking up through your lashes, you see his jaw clench.

“Was it the bisexual thing again?” He asks. He only ever sounds this annoyed when someone leaves you. It makes you feel warm.

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Mhm.”

You just want to leave it at that, for now. Just until you’re finished with your hot chocolate and the Arctic episode switches to the desert. You want to stay in this bubble and forget that this is exactly what she meant; the comfortable way you were so touchy with Jinki when it took two months for you to initiate skinship with her, the way you shared and apartment with him and didn’t want to move in with her. The way you were close with Jinki that you couldn’t be with her.

You set the mug down, the remains of undissolved cocoa swimming in the bottom of the cup in a chocolatey sludge. The rain patters against the window, and your hands have finally stopped itching after the shock of numbness to warmth.

“You’re in love with him”

You hated her because you loved him. Because she was right. Not right for cheating, not right for saying it was your fault, wrong for letting it bother her instead of talking to you, but right because you were so, so in love with Jinki.

“It wasn’t all because of the bisexual thing.” You whisper, staring at your fingers at they pick at the frayed hem of your pajama shorts. It’s scary, but you’re done pretending.

“Why, then?”

Your skin is buzzing where his hand is over your shoulder, warm and spreading through your skin like static. His steady breathing is against your cheek, and you’re warm, at home.