Chapter Text
Jimin gripped the balcony railing with icy hands, knuckles turning white under the tension. He bites his lip as he hears another wave of arguing start, harsh comments slipping through the sliver of space between the French doors, traveling all the way to Jimin.
He has half a mind to realise that yes, I should probably be out there too, but he can’t make himself move away from the balcony, staring aimlessly at the field of grass that stretched onto a golden beach and washed into rolling waves. The trace of salt in the air actually makes him feel sick.
“What do you mean he’s fucking left?” Yoongi’s infuriated voice still rings in Jimin’s ears.
Of course he’s left.
Jimin rubbed his eyes and pushed back his hair from his eyes, weight of his body on his forearms, hunched over the rails. It’s actually embarrassing how the only thing he can think about is if he can get a refund for hiring the caterers and the venue and also about the honeymoon and all the money that went into that. It’s so embarrassing because this was supposed to have been his wedding, he was supposed to be married right now, and all he really cares about is how he’s going to sort everything out at the reception and explain to them all there is no happily wed couple arriving anytime soon.
He barely even flinches when he thinks about his ex-fiancé who’s on a flight somewhere to chase his best friend and probably the love of his life, because more or less he had said ‘nope, it’s not you Jimin, sorry babe.’
A few minutes ago Jimin had been sitting in his dressing room, pushing down nerves and practicing his rather bleak, uninspired vows when Namjoon had burst in, face red with anger and concern in his eyes, saying “that bastard has gone! Jaebum has fucking ditched!”
And Seokjin had clenched his jaw and crossed his arms and was livid in a matter of seconds, “I knew he wouldn’t go through with this! I always said there was something not right about him!”
And then they’d all looked at Jimin who just shrugged off his jacket, cold truth sinking in and he felt awful to admit he actually felt sort of relieved. “Guess I better let everyone know the wedding is off.”
All of Jimin’s friends and family immediately turned on Jaebum’s and the whole place had become a screaming match and no one noticed when Jimin just quietly slipped out of the room, feeling humiliated and insignificant. And even that isn’t because of Jaebum leaving him on the day of their wedding when he could have saved them both so much fucking trouble if he had just told Jimin the day before, or the week before, or whenever he realised he wasn’t in love with Jimin and couldn’t spend the rest of his life with him.
No, the reason why Jimin was hiding away wasn’t because he was going to have an emotional breakdown or he felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and stepped on, or because he missed Jaebum and wanted him to come back.
The reason was something so silly and stupid and it shouldn’t even bother him, it really, really shouldn’t but it did, it still did, and maybe the reason it troubled him was the reason he didn’t care that Jaebum had left.
That reason was Jeon Jungkook.
Jeon fucking Jungkook with his devilish good looks and his charming, cunning eyes and a body that Adonis had probably blessed.
Why was he here? He wasn’t invited!
He had been the school’s famous bad boy, smelling of cologne and cigarettes, tie sloppily hanging around his neck, top buttons undone, slacks showing off his amazing form. His hair was unkempt and messy and he always looked like he had just returned from a really good lay, and no matter how many times the teachers told him off he repeatedly showed up to school with a new combination of earrings.
He was one of the few scholarship kids in the prestigious, rich school Jimin had been sent to. No one knew that though from the way he acted – they all thought his parents must be pretty fucking loaded if he managed to slip through suspensions.
However, Jimin knew better. Jeon Jungkook did not come from money, not at all. He was an athletic champion, good at any sport the school signed him into, the star player, the MVP. He was invaluable. He won against other schools in track and field, got school teams through intense competitions and sometimes carried them all the way to state finals, got them funding and attention and made their school even more renowned. That’s why his record stayed somewhat clean as long as his grades were satisfactory, and it wasn’t like Jungkook was particularly rude or violent, he just liked to push the rules and test the teachers’ patience.
Even so, Jeon Jungkook was a mess of bitterness and dark humour and blunt, hurtful words that he never apologized for. He was a foolish wreck with no direction, despising the other students for their spoilt lifestyle, ignorant of the very much privileged boy secretly in love with him.
Jeon Jungkook broke Jimin’s heart, and probably never felt sorry.
When he stepped outside in front of the audience, Jimin had thought his eyes were playing tricks on him because there was no way his high school lover from Busan was standing in this room, staring at him as Jimin softly explained to their guests that the wedding had been cancelled. He didn’t react to Jimin’s words and stood silently as everyone else gasped with shock, flung questions at Jimin then turned on each other.
Jimin bites his lip and closes his eyes as a cool wind brushes past. It feels like a second rejection, it stings almost as much as it had the first time. Oh, look, someone else doesn’t want you either. The first flitter of pain crushes against his chest and he finally wishes Jaebum hadn’t run off, but only so Jungkook could see him happy and in love and being loved and that he was fine, Jimin had turned out completely okay without him. But knowing Jungkook, he’d have seen through the pretence in a second.
“You’re so easy to read, sweetheart,” Jungkook had once said as he sucked a bruise into Jimin’s neck. He always had liked leaving marks where people could see them so they could speculate on who was defiling the school’s obedient, courteous, perfect honour student who would never be caught hanging out with rebels like Jungkook.
Jimin presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, frustration building within him.
He hasn’t seen Jungkook in just almost a year when he had glimpsed him at a cafe. Jimin had been sitting in the corner with Jaebum when the younger walked in with another guy who was Calvin Klein model attractive with tanned skin and an impossibly symmetrical face, one of those effortlessly gorgeous types, the kind who don’t even understand just how good looking they are. They grabbed their drinks and left, Jimin’s eyes watching them as they bumped shoulders and laughed, an unwelcome feeling pooling in his stomach. Jaebum had been texting a friend and barely noticed the longing look on Jimin’s face.
Before that, Jimin had met up with Jungkook just once. It was ironically his last year of university and he ran into Jungkook at a party – Jimin was drunk out of his mind and Jungkook offered to walk him back to his apartment. Jimin doesn’t remember half the things he said, but he knows he kissed Jungkook first, straddled him onto his bed, begged Jungkook to let him have him just one more time. With alcohol in his blood, Jimin gave in to the temptation that was Jeon Jungkook, and the feelings that maybe never go away for a first love. They didn’t have sex – Jungkook refused to – but they did other things until Jimin finally fell asleep and Jungkook was gone by morning.
Jimin sighs into the air.
Why is he here?
“I’m fine, hyung, please,” Jimin begs, irritation seeping into his tone and Seokjin frowns.
“How can you be fine? Your fiancé has just run out on you!” Seokjin snaps angrily and Jimin knows this is him saying ‘go out there and calm everyone down’ but Jimin just wants them to leave so he can wallow in his own disappointment.
Jimin grits his teeth and stares into the dark blue of the water. This was such a breathtaking location to get married at, and he almost feels like he had betrayed the perfect sunset and the pure blue of the waves and the birds that sang in the background. “I told him to.”
“What?” Seokjin bellows and he looks around like he wants someone else to scream at. “You told him to go chase after someone else?”
It’s not the exact truth. Jimin had looked at Jaebum last night and said firmly that if he had any doubts he shouldn’t be marrying him, and at the time Jaebum had kissed him and said that was silly. Did he really think I couldn’t see the guilt all over his face? Of course he left. It’s been a mistake from the start.
“Yes, can we drop it? I just want to be alone. Can you tell everyone to leave?” Jimin sighs as he tugs at his sleeves. “Just tell my parents I’ll call them tomorrow. Please, hyung?”
Seokjin relents and his hands fall to his sides. “Okay. But, if you need to talk –”
“I know.”
“Jimin,” Seokjin mumbles as he turns away to go back inside and sort out the chaos. “It’s okay to be upset.”
Jimin glances down at his polished shoes. “I know.”
Who can blame him if he fell into hysterical crying? But he’s not about to, and there are no tears lingering in his eyes.
Seokjin leaves and Jimin lets himself slump over again, watching a few cars drive away back to the fancy hotel they were staying in. I paid for their accommodation too, such a waste. Jimin feels bad for all their guests who took precious time off to attend his wedding, his failed wedding. He feels pathetic.
The door opens again and Jimin’s patience is already rather thin and the arguing that is still going on (seriously, what were they so fucking upset about? Jimin was the bloody abandoned groom) so he snarls quite viciously, “For God’s sake, I am not going back out there so don’t bother asking me to!”
There’s a pause, and Jimin feels a flicker of regret for his harsh tone, but then that’s suddenly the last thing on his mind when he hears the response, and who it is that’s responding.
“Wasn’t going to, sweetheart.”
Fuck.
Jimin whirls around on his heels and takes a few steps backwards, hitting the metal bars. He feels something tight and exciting simmer under his skin as he takes in the person standing in front of him, hand in his pocket with an amused smirk playing on his lips.
“What are you doing here?” Jimin hisses and wills his voice to stay steady and strong. He can’t let him know he still affects him like he did all those years ago, can’t let him see that a part of him still pines in naivety. He tells himself he needs to get over it – this marriage, this was supposed to be him getting over it.
“Ah, well, everyone’s fighting out there, and you know me. I hate conflict.” Jungkook replies casually as he leans against the wall. Jimin wants to scoff and roll his eyes, give Jungkook the deadliest withering look he can muster, but he just wants a proper answer to the damn question. Wants the small spark of hope to be smothered and dead.
“I mean, what are you doing here? At my wedding?” Jimin snaps.
“I’m a plus one,” Jungkook defends and then sort of motions around, “and it’s not really a wedding anymore.”
Fucking Jeon Jungkook.
Jimin hates the smirk on his face, he wants to punch it right off. He huffs and turns his attention back to the landscape that he can’t properly appreciate. There’s a truth to Jungkook’s comment, but of course he has to point it out. Jimin takes a deep breath, tells himself not to lose his temper because he’s not worth it. “Go away.”
“Why?”
“Get lost, Jeon, we’re not doing this again,” Jimin says firmly.
He knows what Jungkook wants – it’s what Jungkook always wants. A good, convenient fuck. And Jimin had to give himself so easily. It’s a wonder their paths crossed all those years ago when Jimin had been in his final year of high school and the biggest concern on his mind was preparing for university entrance exams. He had stayed back late at school one day to talk to a teacher and had been half asleep as he walked back home. He bumped into Jungkook’s friends – filthy rich and complete assholes, and utterly oblivious that Jungkook was not like them (rich, that is). They crowded around Jimin and jeered, Jungkook standing on the side looking bored. Though they may look it, they didn’t really pick fights so Jimin wasn’t afraid he’d get hurt, but he was undoubtedly intimidated. He was small and shy, and although his body was lithe, he wasn’t really that strong, and they all towered over him with cigarettes in their mouths and rippling with muscle.
“Aren’t you Park Jimin? The dancer?”
“Pretty one, aren’t you?”
“Aw, look, he’s so scared.”
Just as one of them went to touch Jimin’s cheek, Jungkook coldly said he was tired and walked away, and like sheep they all immediately followed.
Jimin had thought that was it, his one and only experience with the school’s bad boy and he was perfectly content with that, but then Jungkook sought him out and one day showed up at the dance studio he paid to use after school. Jimin had almost sprinted away because he did not want to associate with Jungkook, didn’t want to get on his bad side, but Jungkook saw him and it was too late.
“You owe me,” he had said cockily, eyes smouldering and Jimin had heard the rumours of even the most stubborn students falling prey to Jungkook’s seductive charm. He probably had confessions every day. Jimin used to roll his eyes and wonder what on earth made them attracted to Jungkook but now he sort of understood.
“I don’t owe you anything,” Jimin mumbled and tried to walk past but Jungkook simply matched his stride, arrogant and smug.
“Hm, I disagree,” Jungkook simply stated.
“How much do you want?” Jimin snapped, trying to guide the topic somewhere else, figuring it would just be easier to pay him off. That’s what most kids usually wanted, cash to spend on drugs and cigarettes and alcohol, away from their parents’ suspecting eyes because credit cards were all monitored.
“Not money,” Jungkook had chuckled and then stepped closer and leaned forward, and Jimin had enough time to shove him back but he didn’t, and as soon as Jungkook’s lips touched his he knew he was beyond common sense. It was Jimin’s first time, he was red and fumbling and embarrassed and surprisingly Jungkook had been kind and gentle, even asked if he should stop, save it for a better time, for with a better person.
Maybe that was an unknown trigger for the downward spiral Jimin was about to fall into. Maybe Jimin saw the slight self-deprecation in Jungkook’s eyes and wanted to make it go away. Maybe it was the fact that he had heard from others that Jungkook was a sex God and wanted to find out if that was true (not that he would know anyway because he was inexperienced). But Jimin said it was okay, and Jungkook had looked at him almost fondly and whispered “I’ll take care of you.”
He just hadn’t anticipated Jungkook to keep coming back, and it wasn’t even under the guise of paying back a favour, Jungkook just showed up and asked Jimin if he wanted to fuck and they did, on the hard floor of the dance studio.
“Not doing what again?” Jungkook asks innocently and Jimin’s had enough. This is supposed to be the best day of his life and instead he’s being ridiculed and mocked by his ex-lover. Not even a boyfriend – Jungkook never even wanted to go that far.
“Stop, Jungkook, please,” Jimin runs a hand through his hair, but at the same time mentally thanks Jungkook for his vagueness because if Jungkook asks Jimin will probably say yes. “Not today.”
Jungkook must hear the tiredness in his tone, the humiliation. He licks his lips and looks down. “You’re right. Sorry.”
He apologized.
Jimin’s mind is reeling. This is too much right now. Jungkook never takes back his words, never says anything he doesn’t mean. And Jimin wishes his heart would stop thrumming in that way it always does whenever the younger is around. Jimin bites on his back teeth and stares at Jungkook who gazes at him back, both trying to egg the other into speaking first. The silence is strangely not awkward, but it’s not comfortable, it’s just familiar.
Jimin can feel the tension between them, the unresolved conflict, the unanswered question still lingering in the space between them.
Jungkook’s hair falls to just above his eyes with a ruffled side part that brings out the sharp angles of his face. He looks mature and grown up, no more smooth lines and curves. If Jungkook had been handsome before, he was absolutely breathtaking now. If Jimin had met him at the club he would have taken the beautiful stranger home for sure. He wishes that’s what Jungkook was, wishes Jungkook hadn’t been the one to hold him so sweetly, break him so quickly. Sometimes, Jimin wonders if he had just been a conquest – he was the model student – perhaps Jungkook took a thrill in ruining him, seeing him fall apart.
It’s then that Jimin notices Jungkook’s suit. It’s expensive, pricey even for Jimin’s taste, and growing up in the way he did, Jimin can tell when a tuxedo has been tailored.
“Are you in university?” Jimin asks quietly and wonders if he’s walking on dangerous ground. Anything about life after high school had been like a taboo topic. Jungkook would always scowl and pull away, displeased.
“Finished,” Jungkook replies with ease and gives a small grin. It’s not there anymore, that cynicism that burned in his eyes whenever he had to talk about the future.
“Already?” Jimin is taken aback.
Jungkook pokes his tongue into his cheek as he nods, and there’s something akin to satisfaction shining in his eyes. It’s not a look Jimin is used to seeing, in fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen it before because Jungkook was also so quick to see the negative, the downside. “I finished school a year early, took extra classes and got enough credit. I’m a lawyer.”
Jimin blinks, stunned by his response. Jungkook graduated school early? Jungkook who barely liked showing up to school in general? A lawyer? Jungkook? It’s not that Jimin doesn’t believe Jungkook could have done it – Jungkook could do anything if he tried – it was that he never expected for him to choose such a path. “That’s really great, Jungkook.”
Jungkook chuckles quietly. “Thanks.” He adjusts his blazer and bites his lip quickly. “You’re a contemporary dancer, aren’t you?”
“Uh, yeah,” Jimin murmurs and for the first time he feels like an underachiever, which is silly because he likes what he does and there’s not even a hint of arrogance in Jungkook’s tone.
“I watched you dance last year,” Jungkook says and Jimin feels blood rush up to his face and his cheeks warm for no apparent reason.
“Oh,” is all that Jimin can manage, and he thinks back to the many performances he’s done and wonders if his eyes had passed over Jungkook in the large audience, wonders if Jungkook watched him intently like he used to in the studio whenever they weren’t wrapped around each other, when Jimin danced for Jungkook.
Jimin’s talked about his dreams to Jungkook before when they were lying in bed together – Jimin had started inviting Jungkook to his house, a little tired of the uncomfortable floor of the studio. It was convenient because Jimin’s parents were always away on business and his younger brother attended boarding school in America so there were no distractions.
Jungkook had been in supressed awe when first walking into Jimin’s house, staring at the antiques, the up to date technology, the newly renovated kitchen, the refurbished bathroom.
Jimin hadn’t known at the time that Jungkook was from a normal, middle-class family (truth be told, he believed the rumours that Jungkook’s family were beyond wealthy) so he had unknowingly asked, “Why are you so shocked? Isn’t your house like this?”
Jungkook gave him a harsh look Jimin only later understood. “No.”
Jungkook told him once him showing up to Jimin’s house after school, usually staying the night too, became almost routine. Jimin had his head on Jungkook’s chest and Jungkook was running his fingers over Jimin’s skin in his post-sex, lethargic haze. They had been taking turns complaining about their parents. Jimin wanted them to be around more and wished they didn’t make his younger brother attend school so far away. Jungkook hesitantly told him his parents were divorced and both had new partners that he didn’t like – said the relationship between him and his parents was all wrong now, too different. Too distant.
Jimin had lightly asked if it was true they paid the school not to give him suspensions, and Jungkook had paused before quietly replying, “I have a scholarship. The school protect me for their own sake.”
Jimin had thought Jungkook was joking, but Jungkook never joked about those sort of things. Sometimes Jimin wanted him to loosen up a bit, crack a genuine smile. But he liked it when they talked, sometimes about simple, trivial matters, sometimes topics a bit more serious.
“I want to be a dancer,” Jimin had murmured into Jungkook’s neck one weekend when the rain was pouring down outside, that clean, fresh scent wafting in through the windows, blanket slung over their hips and a forgotten, cooling mug of cocoa on the bedside table. He had been so happy that day because Jungkook was in a particularly good mood, and when they just cuddled together Jimin could almost pretend they were a real couple. “My parents say if I get into Seoul University they’ll let me. I really, really hope I get it. I have my audition soon.”
Jungkook smiled, a small quirk of the lips.
“What about you? What are you going to do after school?” Jimin asked and Jungkook’s expression shifted.
“I don’t fucking know,” he sighed. “I don’t think about that shit.”
Well, that ‘shit’ is the only thing that will get you anywhere in life, Jimin wanted to retort. He may be a rich kid, but he was raised to work for what he wanted. But he always gave in for Jungkook.
“Well you have two years to think about it,” Jimin replied and ran his hand over Jungkook’s washboard stomach, feeling the muscles jump under his touch, jotting a mental note not to breach this subject again.
It was hard though, because Jimin liked to talk and Jungkook was quiet and listened and he found himself always talking about his dancing, his school work, his upcoming audition. And then afterwards he’d feel guilty because Jungkook had no motivation, no aspirations. Jimin always felt like his dreams were too big next to Jungkook’s; it made him feel foolish. All Jungkook ever talked about was how much he hated his step-parents, how materialistic the kids at school were when Jimin was clumped in so carelessly with them. Everything was always so surface level with Jungkook – he hated talking about his feelings in any form.
But Jimin was in love with Jeon Jungkook, and no matter how many times Jungkook said something unintentionally hurtful, or avoided a question, or scoffed at something he said, Jimin still let him into his house the next day.
“You were good,” Jungkook says softly and he sits down on the balcony floor, back against the glass door.
It was quiet now, Seokjin must have finally got them to calm themselves. Jimin is pretty sure his phone probably has a hundred missed calls and unseen messages but it lays abandoned in his dressing room. Jimin’s probably going to delete them without reading any of them either way.
“Really?” Jimin chews on his lip and sits down too, but on the other side of the balcony and his back against the rails. He doesn’t know why he needs confirmation, he always practices hard and dedicates himself in getting better, but compliments from Jungkook make him delirious with delight. He can still distinctly remember Jungkook saying ‘you’re so beautiful’ as he fucked Jimin until he saw spots, but the comments he spills during sex don’t count. Its lust talking, not Jungkook.
“You were amazing,” Jungkook smiles his boyish smile, a flicker of youth in his eyes.
Jimin can’t help the warmth in his chest. “Thank you.” He glances down at his hands and fidgets, a million questions in his head, and yet none of them making it past his lips and into the chilly night air around them.
He doesn’t know why Jungkook is even out here sitting with him, being surprisingly nice. But then again, Jungkook was never that big of jerk – he was rough around the edges but inside he had a warm heart, and maybe teenage Jimin had a soft spot for bad boys and ripped jeans and piercings. The cigarette he could have done without, though, he didn’t appreciate that thick, rancid, smoky scent, nevertheless the taste. He thinks back to the time Jungkook kissed him roughly and Jimin shoved him back, face scrunched up in disgust. “Geez, could you brush your teeth after you smoke? It’s gross, and a terrible habit. You should stop before it becomes detrimental to your health.”
Jungkook had eyed him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief before trying to lean in again and being met with another push to the chest. “Seriously?” The dumbfounded expression was almost cute.
“Yes,” Jimin retorted stubbornly and Jungkook groaned and glared but when it was clear Jimin wasn’t budging he turned and left. He never smoked again before seeing Jimin, despite the smell clinging onto his clothes.
It now forces Jimin into nostalgia whenever he smells the burn of a cigarette.
“How are you?” Jungkook asks gently and he sounds concerned.
Jimin runs a hand through his hair and tilts his head back to stare up at the darkening sky. “I don’t know.”
“Did you really love him?”
Jimin swallows the sour taste in his mouth, hates how Jungkook seems to ask it so easily. “Yeah. Yeah, I loved him.”
Just like I loved you. And it’s stupid because all we really did was fuck – no dates, no hand holding, no murmuring sweet nothings into each other’s ears. I was so in love I would have done anything to make you happy, but no matter what you were always so angry at the world when I wanted to see all the good things about it. You almost dragged me right under and sometimes I wish you succeeded, because I loved you so much. I loved you even when you cursed at nothing, even when you complained about money, even when you ignored me at school only to see me later that night, even when you avoided conversation and told me I could never understand you, even when you let me walk away. I wanted you to run after me, I even waited a few minutes outside your door in case you did, I just wanted to mean something to you. I would have forgiven you in a heartbeat.
Jimin realises he answered in past tense about Jaebum, and felt nothing when he did. It’s not like it wasn’t true – he had loved Jaebum, but maybe not enough. Jaebum is kind and generous and looks after him. But it’s not right – their dynamic just doesn’t quite fit. Sometimes, Jimin wants him to be a bit more straight-forward, even if he has to be blunt, or argue back when Jimin loses his temper, or be a bit childish and let Jimin look after him instead. They don’t click the way they’re supposed to, and Jimin had known in the back of his mind this marriage was doomed from the start.
“Where has he gone?” Jungkook loosens his tie around his collar.
Jimin shrugs, the movement is weak and nonchalant. “To his real love, I guess.”
Jungkook is staring into the distance. “You don’t deserve this.”
“What do you mean?” Jimin looks at him and he feels hopeful when he knows it’s in vain.
“You’ve always deserved better,” Jungkook whispers and there’s something raw in his voice that makes Jimin’s chest ache and his heart beat faster, something sincere and sweet.
Jimin’s only ever heard Jungkook use that tone once before. Jungkook was sitting on his bed in his boxers, hair damp from his shower and Jimin was in his white t-shirt, slipping away from Jungkook’s hands and giggling, saying he wanted to keep his shirt. Then he heard the front door open and the familiar voices of his parents.
“I thought you said they were away,” Jungkook hissed, voice low.
“They’re not meant to be back yet,” Jimin clutched his hair in panic and told Jungkook to stay on his bed as he rushed downstairs. “Mom? Dad?”
They both looked up at him with bright smiles, a jovial “Surprise!” greeting him, and then slowly faltering as they looked at his attire. There was no way Jimin owned a t-shirt two or three sizes too big.
“Jimin? Is someone else here?” His mom asked curiously and glanced at the shoe rack. Thank God Jungkook had kicked his boots off in Jimin’s room.
It wasn’t like Jimin’s parents didn’t know he was gay. Jimin had come out to them a few years ago and though neither were angry of repulsed, they were both naturally a bit shocked and confused, but they eventually accepted him, saying that as long as he was happy, they would accept anything. Jungkook could assume whatever he wanted about wealthy people, that money corrupted them and made them greedy, but Jimin’s parents were good to the core.
“Son, do you have a boyfriend?” his father added, voice slipping into that protective tone.
“N-no, he’s not a boyfriend, he’s just a – a friend… l-look could you just go into your bedroom and come out in five minutes?” Jimin begged and began pushing them towards the stairs, making sure they didn’t go in the direction of his room. “Please?”
“But I want to meet him,” his mother complained.
“No! No, please, no,” Jimin shook his head. There was no way Jungkook would want to meet his parents. They weren’t even a couple. They were fuck buddies. Fuck buddies did not merit an awkward ‘meet the parents.’
His father frowned. “But Jimin –”
“Please,” Jimin stressed and they both relented.
Then he rushed back to his room. Jungkook was already dressed, jumper zipped up to hide his lack of shirt. “Don’t worry about the t-shirt,” he muttered as Jimin went to take it off. “Give it back to me later.”
Jimin walked him out the door – he always did, it was polite to and his parents always told him he had to see guests out – and Jungkook would usually just step right out without sparing a backwards glance, maybe a ‘bye’ or ‘see you’ if Jimin was lucky. But today he stopped and looked at him with an unfamiliar intensity – scrutinizing, and maybe a bit tender, though Jimin could have imagined that.
“I’ll see you at school?” Jimin asked despite knowing Jungkook barely glanced at him if they passed in the hall at school. Once he had brushed his hand against Jimin’s back, but Jimin was sure that had been accidental.
“Okay,” Jungkook replied in the warmest voice Jimin had ever heard him use, and then cupped the back of Jimin’s head and kissed him, long and thorough. He brought Jimin’s body closer to his, held him in a way that was gentle and intimate, no intention for anything more, anything desperate, just contented. Jimin’s mind was spinning when they parted, face warm and body tingling. It felt like a goodbye kiss – the type that couples do – a promise of ‘I’ll miss you’ and a reluctant parting. Jungkook smiled for a second, he was cute when he smiled, before walking away.
Jimin brought his fingers to his lips and stared at his front door for a good minute.
He thought maybe Jungkook liked him back, liked him a bit more than just a convenient lay, but their relationship didn’t progress, if anything, it declined. Jungkook became detached again, stopped staying after to talk, would wordlessly throw his clothes on and leave. Jimin tried to get him to open up but a stubborn Jungkook was an impossible Jungkook.
Jimin’s grades dropped, his dance practices felt like a chore, and his parents became increasingly worried when he started zoning out and staying locked up his room.
Somehow, Jimin’s mom found out Jungkook’s identity and sat him down one day, the day before he flew to Seoul for his audition. “Jimin, honey, you know I love you. I only ever want the best for you, but this boy you’re seeing, this boy is no good.”
“Mom, you don’t understand,” Jimin snapped back but tears were already in his eyes because he was so frustrated, and he didn’t even understand Jungkook either. He asked what was wrong but Jungkook said it was nothing – it was the first time Jungkook had directly lied to him.
“Darling, whatever you see in him I’m not going to tell you you’re mistaken,” she began softly but her tone was firm. “I know who he is, I heard what he’s like at school, I believe he’s probably a good person underneath. But being with him, whatever the type of relationship you have, it’s not working. You’re unfocused, you’re upset all the time, you come back from the dance studio crying, as your mother I am not going to let you rip yourself apart.”
Jimin covered his face with his hands. She was right, she always had a way of being right.
“You don’t owe anyone anything, your happiness is not dependent on his. You have your whole life ahead of you, you should be excited and out with your friends having fun. You owe that to yourself.” She put a hand on his shoulder and soothed him, the way that mothers always can. “I’m so proud of you Jimin, but you don’t need someone holding you back. Let him go Jimin, if he wants you, he’ll fight for you.”
And the next day Jimin walked into his audition with a broken heart. He thought of Jungkook striding in, lips on his, husky voice in his ear. He thought of Jungkook’s fingertips drawing circles on his hip, his innocent face when he slept, the childish laugh he possessed. He thought of Jungkook kissing him goodbye, letting him wear his t-shirts, adjusting the blanket over Jimin’s bare skin. He thought of Jungkook’s cold voice, even colder glances, and just yesterday, the way he barely flinched when Jimin said their ‘no strings attached’ agreement was over. He thought of how Jungkook remained impassive when Jimin said he loved him, how he stayed silent when he asked if he felt anything back, how he didn’t go after Jimin when he cried and walked away.
The pain was crippling, new and fresh, and when he bowed and introduced himself to the examiners he wondered if they could tell this was someone who was barely keeping himself together.
When the music started it sounded different, sounded louder, like it wanted to swallow Jimin up. And the room was big and the empty space made him feel small. But when Jimin began to dance it was almost like he was the conductor – he made the music follow the movement of his body, the beat of his heart – and despite the large stage he made his presence known, let the pain take up every inch of the room and become a welcome part of him, and he used it to dance with a different sort of emotion.
Jimin danced for himself that day, for the Jimin who was in love with Jungkook, and for the Jimin who had let him go.
“You didn’t deserve me, is that what you’re saying?” Jimin doesn’t break eye contact when Jungkook glances swiftly at him.
He can see the self-deprecation on Jungkook’s face return and he reminds Jimin of the person behind the confidence and the cockiness – just a sad, angry boy who felt the world had mistreated him, but Jungkook was the one with the victim card, and no one was playing against him. Jimin used to hate it when Jungkook looked so vulnerable, would do anything to make it go away, and would throw himself under the bus if he had to, but not this time. Jungkook never asked to be saved, no matter how much Jimin wanted to.
“I never deserved you,” Jungkook chuckles quietly; it’s regretful. “You were too good. I wanted it all to myself. I would have suffocated you.”
Jimin scoffs and wants to roll his eyes. “Don’t say that. Don’t act like you were being a hero and trying to save me, Jungkook, like you did me a mercy. You left me broken.” He hates how his voice still cracks when he talks about how hurt he had felt.
“I know.” Jungkook winces and looks down and Jimin realises he’s holding something in his hand, hidden in his pocket. “I just couldn’t let myself have you.”
Yes, you could have. I loved you.
And sometimes, I think I still do.