Chapter Text
looking at jimin is like getting stabbed.
it feels like getting pierced through the middle, like jimin is pressing the point of a knife into the soft skin of his belly and gently, so gently, digging it inside him.
jungkook is in love with him.
he has no idea when it started, whether it was middle school or high school or even when they were apart, in college, when he stayed back in busan and jimin left him and went to study dance in seoul. just knows that it is damn well there now.
there is a difference, in the jimin jungkook knew before he left for seoul. that jimin was soft, shrinking into himself, ruffling jungkook's hair and calling himself hyung because he needed someone to control, someone to look up to him.
this jimin is everywhere, spread wide and confident and open, eyes steady and intelligent and focused. this jimin doesn’t need to control, he just does, and people look up to him anyway.
seeing jimin for the first time, after four years apart, after four years of growing done apart, shook him more than he expected. he’d seen jimin on social media, spent a couple nights scrolling through his instagram feed and seeing the slow build of confidence, watched it push his shoulders back and puff his chest out and tip his chin up.
but seeing him in person was totally different. of course it was.
jungkook’s changed, too, he knows that much. both of them, really, were shrinking into themselves in high school. jimin wanted someone to look up him, and jungkook happily did the looking. he needed someone to follow, needed someone to belong to.
he doesn’t need that now. he’s got (had, now that he’s moving to seoul) a solid job at a local dance studio, friends he cares about and care in return, a good relationship with his parents.
he’s found himself, a little bit, started dressing in clothes that fit him around the shoulders and loose around the waist, big stomper boots and rings on his fingers, got his arms and back and thighs inked. he saw that in jimin, too, saw him graduate from graphic tees to flowy silk button-downs tucked neatly into slacks.
they’re different, so of course it’s different when they see each other for the first time in four years. that much jungkook expects. what he doesn’t expect is how hard it hits.
“pass me the bottle opener,” namjoon tells him. jungkook does.
he’s sitting on the kitchen island, one ankle hooked over the other. sunlight streams in from the window opposite, hits him square in the face. he’s glad it’ll be gone soon, eyes the clock— 6:29 pm— so he doesn’t have to squint anymore. sunsets are pretty, but they get in his eyes.
namjoon is setting up for the get-together tonight. the reunion, as seokjin calls it, of their little group. jungkook watches him set the bottle opener down next to the wine, and wishes they’d uncork it now so he could drain the bottle dry and not have to think about the person showing up with the rest.
he swallows hard and rolls his shoulders back. it feels a lot like going into battle.
yoongi is already in the living room, queuing up his very delicately made playlist for tonight. he’s pretty sure taehyung is on the phone talking to jimin. he’s trying not to listen too hard.
“so,” namjoon starts, and jungkook clenches his jaw. that tone, the slight side-glance he’d shot jungkook just now. he wants to talk about something important, and that something is probably jimin. it’s a poorly-kept secret, among them, that jungkook had a bit more than a crush on him in high school. “looking forward to tonight?”
“in a way,” jungkook answers honestly. namjoon shoots him another side-glance, skeptical. “some parts of it,” he corrects. “a little nervous. for obvious reasons.”
“you really haven’t seen him at all?” namjoon asks, furrowing his brow. “we’ve had dinner with him before, you know, when you’ve come up to visit in seoul.”
that’s the thing, too— everyone moved to seoul. jungkook felt left behind, in busan, like the kid clinging to a stuffed animal the first day of kindergarten. he knows he’s not a kid anymore, but he can’t help feeling like one anyway. he has yet to decide if he likes seoul, if he likes it as a city and not just because he’s finally caught up to the rest of his friends.
“i really haven’t,” jungkook confirms. “kinda tried to keep it that way.”
“hm,” namjoon hums. “why’s that?”
jungkook narrows his eyes. “you know why.”
“i’d like to hear it again,” namjoon replies evenly, occupied with pouring chips into a giant lopsided bowl, product of seokjin’s recently picked up pottery obsession. “if you don’t mind.”
“i would rather not talk about my first love right now,” jungkook deadpans, “especially not when he might walk in at any moment.”
“fair,” namjoon chuckles. “although this thing starts at 7, i doubt he’d be—”
a knock. namjoon glances back at the doorway to the kitchen. voices, in the entryway. jungkook hates it, a little bit, how quickly he recognizes the lilt of jimin’s voice, even after four years.
“early,” namjoon finishes lamely.
jungkook curls his hands around the edges of the counter, and prays that jimin doesn’t walk into the kitchen.
he’s not nervous. he is, a little, but he’s not that nervous. it’s just a weird feeling, seeing a person he used to know everything about and knowing so little. feeling the distance between them in person and up close, rather than from afar.
he hears the smooth conversation move from the entryway to the living room, and catches a glimpse of jimin through the doorway to the kitchen. shoulder, red velvet shirt, black hair, jaw cutting a line across his neck. hints of a laugh in his voice as he leans into taehyung, and then he’s gone.
a glimpse. jungkook is already thrown.
the last time he saw jimin, he was crying. genuinely sobbing, pressed into his shoulder and clinging to him, telling him i’m sorry i have to go, call me every day, gguk-ah, promise, i don’t want to leave you, and jungkook had been clinging right back.
whiplash.
he knows a few things, about New Jimin.
knows he got a job at BigHit dance studios fresh out of college, and he’s still there. knows he stayed close with taehyung. that he lives alone. (knows he’s single.) knows he doesn’t drink. knows he’s thinking of getting his masters in dance, too.
that’s about it. the rest, the rest is all old knowledge, things he assumes must be true but that he doesn’t know are.
like— jimin loves hot chocolate, jimin is terrible at waking up early, jimin hates being late, jimin laughs easy at dad jokes. jimin holds his hand like this, jimin kisses his cheek like this, jimin hugs him like this.
he doesn’t know.
jungkook curls his hands tighter around the edges of the counter, and tries to dig his fingernails into the marble.
“do you want to help me bring the chips out,” namjoon asks him. jungkook shoots him a look. namjoon looks back, unimpressed. “are you going to hide in here all night, then?”
jungkook wrinkles his nose. “no.”
“okay,” namjoon replies, and hands him the bowl, “then help me bring the chips out.”
“you suck,” jungkook informs him. “talk to me about something so i don’t look like a total loser.”
“i’m not fabricating a conversation with you,” namjoon chuckles, leading him out of the kitchen.
jungkook’s throat squeezes, all of a sudden. he feels like throwing up, that icky feeling at the back of his mouth. he’s not going to, but he feels like he will. it’s a terrible feeling.
“you should,” jungkook insists. “you owe me. remember, i helped you mix that last track on mono? i never got paid for that.”
“you got paid in exposure,” namjoon smiles, shooting him a sleazy wink. jungkook kicks him, and nearly drops the bowl of chips.
“i wasn’t credited, ” he hisses, “don’t lie to my face. also, seokjin-hyung needs a different hobby. this is physically impossible to hold.”
“hi, everyone,” namjoon greets, stepping into the living room.
jungkook very pointedly doesn’t look at the red velvet in his peripheral, and instead shoots a desperate look to yoongi. he can’t tell if jimin is looking at him. hell, he doesn’t even know if jimin is thinking about him the same way, if they’re both throwing up in their mouths or if jungkook is the only one.
unrequited love, he thinks bitterly, how lovely.
“me and jungkookie brought snacks.”
“yup,” he adds lamely, setting the bowl of chips down on the coffee table and immediately making his way toward yoongi, because god knows he needs the calm voice and the hand on his shoulder he knows will be there.
“hi,” yoongi chuckles, draping a solid arm around his shoulders.
jungkook resists the urge to knock his head back against the couch. small side effect of sitting next to yoongi: he is now facing jimin. amazing. he stares at the chips, and then the magazines on the table. he’s trying to figure out if jimin will be able to hear, if he’s allowed to speak the way he wants to.
“hi,” he sighs. play it safe. “i am so tired.”
“mm,” yoongi hums in agreement. “me too. how was the ride up from busan?”
“fine,” jungkook says. “you know, i saw this woman that i swear, she looked just like your mom.”
yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up. “really.”
“yeah,” jungkook nods. takes a deep, steadying breath. okay. “yeah, really.”
yoongi lingers, looks at him a little. jungkook tries to scream the i will probably be okay but please do not leave me here alone at him through his eyes. yoongi seems to get it, because he pats his shoulder and leans further into the couch.
“how was your week,” he asks. “is seokjin seriously going to be late? to his own reunion?”
“good, and yes,” jungkook chuckles. “it was a lot of packing, mostly. and— my landlord said i’d scratched the wall when the scratch was already there. it’s a good thing i took pictures.”
“didn’t i teach you that,” yoongi asks, and jungkook nods.
“yup,” he says, “thank you, hyung, saved me like, maybe a hundred bucks.”
“for a scratch? ”
“highway robbery,” jungkook hums, and leans forward to grab a handful of chips.
a hand brushes his, barely there. the smell of cologne, drifting over the coffee table. he pulls back quick, quick, heart hammering.
“highway robbery,” he repeats weakly, and shoves a chip in his mouth.
yoongi pats his shoulder.
“I HAVE ARRIVED,” shouts seokjin from the entryway, and jungkook laughs. he wants to go say hi, but they’re all going to say hi and that means jimin is going to say hi. yoongi isn’t saying hi, he’s telling jungkook about the new project he’s working on and that means jungkook has an excuse to stay on the couch and look at the seat where jimin used to be.
his phone is face down on the coffee table, car keys next to it. he drives a toyota. his phone case is plain black.
new information, all of it, and jungkook is collecting it with a hunger he wishes he wasn’t.
“jungkookie,” chides seokjin as he steps into the living room, “how dare you. are you not going to say hi to me? your absolute favorite hyung of all time?”
jungkook laughs, and stands to extract himself from yoongi’s arms purely because he knows jimin is still in the entryway, talking with taehyung and hoseok about who knows what. dance, probably.
“you’re not my favorite,” jungkook tells seokjin, as he wraps him up in a hug, “and i saw you yesterday, i don’t know why you’re acting as if i haven’t seen you in years.”
“it feels like years,” seokjin declares, hugging him tighter with a melodramatic sigh. “how my heart aches for yours, jungkook-ah, i am nothing without you.”
“o-kay,” jungkook chuckles, stepping back and out of seokjin’s arms. “i am plenty without you. did the job interview go well?”
“no,” seokjin snorts. “they don’t want someone with a psychology degree working for them, ‘course it didn’t go well.”
“oh,” jungkook frowns, “sorry. do you have any others you’re looking at?”
“mm,” seokjin hums noncommittally. “we’ll see. i have a fucking masters, and they’re not hiring me. maybe i should just become a barista, like every other post-grad student.”
“i think other post-grad students have real jobs, hyung,” jungkook smiles, and pats his elbow condescendingly. seokjin makes a face.
“low blow,” seokjin informs him. “ah, joonie, i see you used my amazing bowls for the snacks. everybody enjoying themselves?”
a low chorus of yes rises from the group, and jungkook makes his way back over to yoongi. so far so good, honestly. he has managed to avoid even looking at jimin, and while it’s probably a bad idea to continue that way, if they’re going to keep having dinners like this, it’s about all he can manage right now.
there is so much nervous energy buzzing in his chest, just being in the same apartment as him, knowing he’s here. the possibility of looking, of conversation.
it’s probably the kind of thing where he just has to do it, has to bite the bullet and look at him and make awkward small talk and then they can say we tried and he won’t ever have to think of it again.
but he can do that another night, because tonight he’s in survival mode.
taehyung, jimin, and hoseok return from the entryway, and jungkook was right, they’re talking about dance. he tries not to listen to hard, turns to yoongi and prods him to continue talking about his project. yoongi seems plenty content to be his emotional support for the night, and jungkook is very grateful for it.
he listens to yoongi, listens more to the low rumble of his voice, steady, than his words. decides he’s going to have to look at jimin at some point.
okay. okay. 3, 2, 1.
nope.
3, 2, 1, now .
haha. he’s not doing well.
he swallows hard, looks at the car keys and phone on the coffee table. just bite the bullet, jungkook.
he glances up. jimin is caught up in conversation with taehyung.
the jimin jungkook knew, the one he last saw in person, was round around the edges, face soft and gentle. this one, this one is angular.
what he knows already: the jaw that cuts in a line across his neck, the black hair that falls into his eyes.
what he doesn’t: the nose that sweeps down from his brow, the lips still plump and now, covered in lip gloss. the hands pressed daintily into his knees, the eyes that still crease at the edges when he starts to smile, the way he does when he wants to show he’s listening.
this jimin, this jimin is pretty.
he’s grown into his looks, the baby fat has fallen away, and everything about him has just become pretty. there is no other word for it.
jungkook watches him reach for his phone, and his nails are painted navy blue. and then he looks— just a glance, but he looks at jungkook. like he’s been checking, when he can, like this isn’t the first glance.
looking at jimin is like getting stabbed. it feels like getting pierced through the middle, like jimin is pressing the point of a knife into the soft skin of his belly and gently, so gently, digging it inside him.
piercing, straight through the heart, because jimin’s eyes are pitch black and steady on his as he pulls back and places the phone in his lap.
he’s evaluating, jungkook sees it, watches his eyes flick over and down his outfit, to his hands twisted in his lap, to yoongi’s arm over his shoulders. to the ink on his wrist, poking out from his sleeve. back to his.
pitch black. steady. piercing.
jungkook can’t remember if he’s breathing anymore, or not.
then jimin starts to turn back to taehyung, and shoots him a smile. barely anything, polite. it screams small talk, screams nice to meet you, screams how was your weekend. it does not scream, i am freaking out because you’re here.
jungkook swallows hard and looks at his feet and tries to feel nothing at all.
unrequited love, he thinks bitterly, how lovely.
“so,” starts seokjin, and jungkook immediately groans.
seokjin laughs, occupies himself with putting away the plastic containers, tossing the leftovers from tonight in the garbage and piling them on the counter.
they’d gotten takeout, and jungkook had learned that jimin still eats with one arm hooked over his leg pulled to his chest. it’s more comfy that way, jimin had told him, when jungkook had asked him in their third year of high-school. it is, apparently, still comfy.
“i don’t wanna talk about it,” jungkook sighs, standing from his purchase on the counter to help seokjin.
namjoon is somewhere in the living room, gathering all 1 million chopsticks and soy sauce packets. the rest have left, and jungkook made sure to give yoongi a particularly long hug as a thank you.
“i think we should, though,” seokjin insists. “it’s kind of a big deal, seeing him after this long.”
“you think i don’t know that,” jungkook grumbles. he’s still reeling, a little. it feels like the knife is still lodged in his belly. “i don’t think— i don’t think he’s thinking of it the same i am. so. it’s useless.”
“and it would be useful if he was,” seokjin asks, arching an eyebrow. “useful how?”
jungkook blinks. “i didn’t—” useful. “i just meant like, it doesn’t seem like we’re going to be— how we were, again. obviously not,” he snorts, shaking his head. “so i’m— i’m fine. it’s probably better that way. i need to like, move on at some point.”
seokjin is quiet, for a bit. busies his hands with folding the hand towels by the sink, running his hands under the faucet, carrying the plastic containers to the corner of the kitchen where the rest of the recycle is.
jungkook feels like he’s being cornered, somehow. seokjin has a knack for that.
“you haven’t moved on yet?” seokjin asks quietly. leans against the kitchen island and looks at jungkook in something that is entirely too knowing. oops.
“i— misspoke,” jungkook tries, but seokjin immediately chuckles and waves a dismissive hand at him.
“right, of course you did,” he teases, leaning further over the counter. “you still love him?”
jungkook clenches his jaw. he has no idea, is the problem. which is worse. all he knows is he still thinks about jimin more than he should, and clearly jimin is not doing the same.
“no idea,” he replies. “i would hope not.”
seokjin gives him a long look. slight frown, eyes darting over his face. worried, certainly. concerned.
“it’s okay if you do,” he says finally, voice still quiet. jungkook wrinkles his nose immediately.
“i don’t think it’s okay,” he protests. “isn’t it, like— it’s been four years. how do you even,” he takes a breath, stares at his hands spread flat against the marble of the counter, “keep loving someone for that long. without seeing them.”
“i don’t know,” seokjin murmurs, “you tell me.”
jungkook groans. knocks his elbows into the counter, and puts his head in his hands. “i don’t love him.”
seokjin chuckles, something soft and full of pity. jungkook hates it. “okay, you don’t,” he allows. “but you still care about him a lot.”
“i— of course i do,” jungkook frowns. “i would be offended if he didn’t feel that way about me, too. i mean, we— it’s not like we weren’t, basically, attached at the hip for almost 5 years.”
“i know,” seokjin says. “but if he isn’t thinking about you the same way you are him, you have to be prepared for that, no?”
“prepared for what,” jungkook frowns.
“that he doesn’t care about you in the same way, anymore.”
jungkook blinks. squeezes his eyes shut. right. right. four years apart. of course.
“right,” he whispers. “right.”
“i’m not saying he does,” seokjin adds, “it’s entirely possible he’s worried about you, all that. it’s also entirely possible he’s thinking the exact same thing you are. i’m just saying it’s also possible he’s not thinking anything in particular, about you. except, oh, i haven’t seen him in a long time. ”
jungkook takes a breath, slow, steady. frowns. “do you— you weren’t around, in high school, hyung. i don’t think— i really don’t think he would think only that, after seeing me. i have—” he snorts, rueful, “a little faith in him, still.”
“maybe i’m wrong,” seokjin admits. “i don’t know that much about how you guys were before. i just know the drama now. were you, like— super close?”
“yeah,” jungkook murmurs. another breath, slow, steady. “really close. i have a really hard time thinking he wouldn’t think anything in particular, about me. at least, i hope not.”
the idea that jimin doesn’t love him back, sure. he’s used to it. it’s a given. the idea that jimin doesn’t care for him anymore, is— not something he even wants to think about.
“so i’m wrong,” seokjin replies easily. “if you guys were super close as kids, i’m sure he cares about you a lot, still. sorry, jungkook-ah, i just don’t know how close you two were, before.”
jungkook sighs. “it was— it was like, crying in the rain because he needed to move to seoul, close. i think he— if he hasn’t thrown them away, i guess— he has half my closet, still. and i know— he’s changed, but i still know things about him. not to be creepy, but i know he still likes hot chocolate cause i see it on his instagram. stuff like that.”
“i see,” seokjin says quietly.
“and like— i know, he’s— wait, holy shit,” jungkook gasps, head snapping up. “he works at the bighit studios.”
“yes,” seokjin says slowly, brow furrowed in confusion.
“i— got a job there, that’s where my job is, hyung, that is where my job is —”
“okay,” seokjin chuckles, circling the island in quick steps to wrap an arm around his shoulders, jostle him slightly, “relax. you’re not going to die because you work in the same studio. there’s like, a million different classes, million different rooms.”
“oh my god,” jungkook groans, and puts his head in his hands again. “i’m going to die.”
“maybe it’ll be good, you know,” seokjin says softly. “seeing him more. even if you don’t talk, it might help. it’s never good to avoid the problem, jungkook.”
“yes i know, dad,” jungkook sighs. “god. this sucks.”
“this sucks,” seokjin agrees. “but it’s happening. i really don’t think it’ll hurt if you’re on friendly terms with him again.
friendly terms. jungkook snorts.
“right,” he says, and straightens. seokjin’s arm falls from his shoulders. “um. i should head home. do you mind texting me in like, roughly thirty minutes, and reminding me not to stalk all of his social media?”
seokjin laughs, and leaves his side to continue his tidying. “sure, jungkookie, i’ll do that.”
“thank you,” jungkook sighs. “and thanks for covering dinner.”
“‘course,” seokjin smiles, leaning his back against the counter. “get home safe.”
“bye, hyung,” jungkook smiles back, waves. seokjin waves back.
jungkook sighs again, and shuffles to the entryway. spends an annoyingly long 5 minutes lacing up his boots, and then takes the stairs down.
he’s going to take the long way home, maybe stop by a convenience store and grab some banana milk. blast metal, clear his head. he should be fine.
he steps out of the building, and it all goes to shit.
jimin is still there.
jungkook doesn’t even notice at first, stops himself at the top of the stairs down from the front entrance to check his phone, text his mom back. when he glances up, his eyes catch on jimin a few feet away, leaning against the wall and frowning down at his phone.
jungkook’s eyes drop without even meaning to, follows the line of jimin’s body. he’s leaner, now, waist and hips and legs outlined in the same angle of his jaw, clear and straight. shoulders, arms. he’s lit up red in the light of the stores down the street.
jungkook has no idea why he’s still here.
eyes the toyota facing him, assumes it must be his. for a very brief, very insane moment, he wonders if jimin is waiting for him. but that seems ridiculous, so instead he swallows hard and takes a step down the front stairs.
creeeaakkk.
amazing. jungkook winces, glances at jimin. who now knows he’s here. jungkook watches his eyes meet his, flick down, up, meet his again. pitch black. jungkook feels like he’s under a spotlight, in some bad dream. what is he even supposed to say, now. why are you still here?
“my car won’t turn on,” jimin says. his voice echoes in the street.
now that jungkook is paying attention, he looks tired. it’s late. his shoulders look heavy, his blinks are slow with sleep. jimin turns back to his phone, and sighs. keeps scrolling.
cool. those are officially the first words jimin has said to him in four years.
jungkook is fine. he is fine. he carefully makes his way down the rest of the steps, and lingers there. eyes the car, again.
“i don’t know shit about cars,” he admits.
jimin chuckles, something soft and amused. that’s the same. that’s the same, at least, jimin sounds the same when he laughs.
“you could uber,” jungkook offers, trying his best not to fiddle with his fingers and give away just how much energy is pulsing in his chest, buzzing in his arms and legs and stomach.
“i know,” jimin sighs, and his frown deepens. “i’ve been waiting for one for 30 minutes. i have a feeling he’s not coming.”
jungkook is going to die. this is amazing. he swallows hard, clenches his jaw. it’s late, it’s 11, there are no ubers. jimin’s car won’t turn on. his car works perfectly fine.
half of him debates going back upstairs to get seokjin, to grab him and plead and ask him can you take him home and not me, but that is ridiculous and not at all something a real person does if they’re not in love with their ex-best friend.
so. jungkook swallows hard, clenches his jaw.
“i can take you home,” he says, and stares at his feet. glances up, because it’s weird if he doesn’t, and jimin is looking at him. pitch black. the knife, digging into the soft skin of his belly. he nods to his left. “my car’s right there.”
thank god he just got it cleaned.
jimin blinks, and stares at him. and then straightens from where he’d been leaning on the wall, slides his phone into his pocket.
“thanks,” he says. smiles, something gentle. just the upturn of his lips, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. genuine, still. that much, jungkook knows.
he unlocks the car, circles around it and climbs into the driver’s seat. jimin pulls the door open, sits.
cologne, drifting over. the car feels so quiet.
jimin shifts, crosses one ankle over the other. sets his hands carefully in his lap, one over the other. and then seems to change his mind, set his left over his right instead.
jimin moves differently now, moves with an easy measured confidence, like he knows what he’s going to do before he does it. he knows more, he’s not a kid. they're adults, that’s what it is.
jungkook eyes the water bottle he left on the floor, watches it bump into jimin’s polished loafers.
god, fuck.
he turns the key, and the car rumbles to life. he wasn’t blasting music on the way here (thank god), and instead chase atlantic floats through the cabin, low volume. he chews on his bottom lip.
jungkook is on edge, breath indefinitely caught in his throat as he sets the car in drive, glances back, and then pulls out of the parking spot.
“where do you live,” jungkook asks once they’re moving, shooting him a glance. play it cool. you’ll be fine.
jimin brings up his phone, leans an elbow on the console and shows him the address. jungkook scans it. his phone is at 14%, he’s got two instagram notifications, and someone called taemin just texted him goodnight. new information. jungkook nods, and takes a left.
the ride to jimin’s isn’t very long. jungkook feels the air between them get staler with every minute, the silence digs itself into the steering wheel and seeps into his hands, joints. he flicks the turn signal on.
click-click-click-click.
jimin shifts in his seat, uncrosses his legs. traps his hands under his thighs, instead. (that’s the same. he’s nervous. jungkook is both glad he knows this and a little scared he still remembers. he wonders what jimin has to be nervous about, right now. hopes it’s him.)
they should be talking, right, it’s normal to make conversation with someone you haven’t seen in years. that you used to be close to. it’s especially normal if you weren’t in love with them in high-school. and maybe now.
he takes a breath. it catches in his throat. he coughs, a little. takes another.
“how’s, um. the dance studios? i’m starting there next week.”
his voice sounds so loud, so empty in the silence. he wants to turn the radio off, the music seems out of place, but he is gripping the wheel so hard he’s not sure he could move his hands if he tried.
he hears jimin turn his head and look at him, the rustle of clothes. he keeps his eyes very firmly on the road ahead. brings them to a stop, at the red light. it’s so quiet.
“it’s good,” jimin says, and turns back. “who are you working with?”
“sungdeuk,” he says. hears jimin turn again, faster this time.
“i’m under sungdeuk, too.”
oh, god. “cool,” jungkook says evenly. whywhywhywhywhy. “he’s nice?”
“yeah, he’s great,” jimin hums. “just don’t piss him off.”
“i’ll keep it in mind,” jungkook says, takes a left. they’re almost there. he feels the heat on his cheeks, wills it away. there is so much weight, so much unsaid. jungkook feels it choke him as he speaks.
“it’s been a while,” jimin starts, and jungkook almost laughs. he squeezes the steering wheel, and nods. “how’ve you been?”
jungkook really does laugh, now, a huff barely choked back, shakes his head. “sorry. good, i’ve been good. it’s— seoul is weird.”
“it’s bigger,” jimin says. “dunno if it’s weird.”
“weird to me,” jungkook admits. “i have to learn my way around.”
“yeah,” jimin sighs.
“how— how’ve you been,” jungkook asks, a little uncertain. this is so weird. being so far away. he used to throw himself at jimin, crush him in hugs and yell at him when dinner was ready. and now here they are, making slightly awkward small talk.
“fine,” jimin says. it sounds honest. at least he didn’t say good and lie . jungkook hears him turn, again, the gentle rustle of clothes as he looks. “i think i like busan better.”
jungkook swallows hard. the gaze, heavy against the side of his head. the weight of the words.
“yeah, me too,” he murmurs. “you know— the ice cream place shut down.”
“did it?” jimin asks, surprise evident in his voice. jungkook imagines his eyebrows raised, eyes wide. doesn’t look to see if he’s right. “that’s too bad. their mango ice cream was really good.”
“yeah,” jungkook nods. “there’s another one downtown, but it’s not really the same.”
“it’s never quite the same,” jimin says, soft. jungkook has no idea if he’s still looking, if he’s still turned. “if you want, i can show you around the studios. took me a while to find the best places to eat, but there’s a ramen bar that’s amazing. if you want.”
if you want. he barely has to think about it.
“sure,” jungkook says quietly. maybe it’ll be good. he missed jimin terribly, for the first two years. thought it went away, but here he is missing him anyway, even if he’s barely a foot away. “yeah, i’d like that.”
he pulls up to the curb in front of jimin’s apartment, lets the engine idle. glances over and looks at him. he can’t really help himself.
jimin is already looking back. it’s soft, the look, something that echoes the i miss you in jungkook’s chest right now. a knife, a sharp tip against his skin. it hurts. they are so close and so far away.
“goodnight,” jungkook says.
jimin’s eyes flash, in the dim streetlights. it’s dark, half his face is dipped in shadow. the sharp line of his jaw softened. he’s still pretty. jungkook swallows hard.
“goodnight,” jimin echoes, softer.
the passenger’s side door clicks open, and he swings it out. jungkook hears him take a breath, hears the words catch in his throat. jungkook waits. there is so much weight in his gaze it presses down heavy on his chest, crushes his lungs and ribs.
jimin steps out, closes the door. jungkook exhales slow.
jimin leans down, looks at jungkook again through the window. his eyes are different, now. jungkook used to be able to read everything, on his face. he could read the i’m tired and the i miss you and the i’m sad in his eyes, mouth, brow, jaw. he can’t read anything, here.
jimin mouths thank you at him, through the window.
jungkook nods, a little. of course.
jimin waves, and offers that polite smile again. it taunts him, that small curl of his lips, the one that says it was nice seeing you, that says how’s the weather, that says i am not thinking too hard about this.
jungkook waves back, and watches jimin disappear into his apartment building before he pulls away from the curb.
“god, fuck.”
yoongi laughs.
they’re at brunch, and jungkook is currently trying to drown memories of last night in his coffee. yoongi kicks him under the table, and jungkook shoots him a very tired look.
“hey, you have to get used to him at some point,” yoongi points out, offended. “if you’re working in the same studio you’re going to need to talk to him.”
“don’t remind me,” jungkook groans, knocking back the rest of his coffee. “it was so— so weird, hyung, like. it’s so weird. ”
“i know,” yoongi says, taking a bite of his food. he likes his eggs runny, the weirdo. jungkook pokes at his own scrambled eggs. “did you talk about anything? i mean, clearly you did, if he told you he’s also under sungdeuk.”
“yeah,” jungkook sighs. “i just— to be polite, you know, i asked how the studios were. and he offered to show me the good places to eat, around there. so technically, i guess, i’m unofficially having lunch with him. that’s— just, absolutely wonderful. oh my god.”
“i wasn’t there,” yoongi says, reaching for his coffee, “so i can’t tell you if he was feeling the same. he wants to reconnect, right? it’s a start.”
“it doesn’t feel like one,” jungkook whines. “it was so easy, in busan, i didn’t have to think about him at all—”
“that’s a lie,” yoongi interrupts easily. “you texted me at least twice a week, talking about that’s the last place i got ice cream with him or do you think he still likes mango juice. ”
jungkook makes a face. he doesn’t feel like being called out, right now. “fine. but my point, ” he insists, leaning forward, “is that i want to move on, and i don’t want— i gave him so much of myself, in high-school. it’s scary. i don’t— i don’t understand how he works, anymore.”
“hm,” yoongi hums, brow furrowed in consideration. he takes another bite, chews it slowly. jungkook knows he’s thinking carefully. “i think… i think you’re still holding onto the jimin you knew in high school.”
“no shit,” jungkook deadpans.
yoongi snorts. “so why’re you talking to me, then? if you already know.”
“because, i—” jungkook cuts himself off with a groan. “i don’t know. i don’t know anything, right now.”
“yeah, sounds about right,” yoongi sighs. “just live it for now, jungkook. it doesn’t have to be anything. just live through it, and if something happens then it happens. you knew this was going to happen at some point.”
“yeah,” jungkook murmurs.
he has no idea what he wants, out of this, if he wants to be friends with jimin again. in a way, they kind of have a fresh start. maybe the studio will be good, they can dance and lean on that, if there’s nothing to talk about.
maybe it’ll be good.
he has no idea if it’s good, yet.
it’s his first day, and he’s trying not to pay attention to The Jimin Situation because he needs to focus on doing well. he’s watching, mostly.
sungdeuk leads the lesson, jimin making rounds around the room and quietly correcting people. jungkook watches him, the way he gently reminds the kid in the back to keep his knees low. the way he holds the hand of the girl beside him, makes sure she keeps her balance as she learns the new move.
the care, the attention to detail. that’s the same, too.
jungkook is going to help, next lesson, now that he’s watched and learned the rhythm. he prays to fuck it goes well.
it does not.
sungdeuk spends a few minutes leading him through the choreography they’re going to go over, and jungkook follows as best he can. but it’s fast, he’s not paying close enough attention, and he trips over his laces, nearly takes heavy hardwood floor to the face.
“have to keep up, jungkook-ssi,” sungdeuk tells him.
nothing mean about it, just a statement. have to.
jungkook lies on his back with the wind knocked out of him, face pulled in a wince. the studio is quiet. students haven’t started showing up yet. he takes a deep breath, waits for his head to stop spinning. it wasn’t a bad fall, he didn’t hurt anything, but he slipped and didn’t have time to brace himself.
squeak of sneakers, against the hardwood. getting closer. jungkook sighs, starts to stand, because sungdeuk definitely isn’t coming over here to ask if he’s okay. when he looks up, jimin is standing above him. he freezes.
an outstretched hand, steady eyes.
of course.
jungkook takes it gratefully, and jimin helps him to his feet. jimin lets go quickly, but hangs around, watches him scuff his shoes against the floor, frown, massage the sore spot on his neck.
he has no idea what jimin is waiting for, but when he lifts his gaze back to the mirror and starts moving through the choreography again, blocking out movements and carefully paying attention to his feet, jimin turns and walks away.
when lunch rolls around, jungkook half expects jimin to have forgotten. he’s googling restaurants near me on his phone when he realizes someone is standing in front of him, and looks up.
“ramen bar,” jimin says. careful. “if you want. i’m going there anyway.”
jungkook reads the uncertainty in his voice, in the i’m going there anyway. jungkook wonders if maybe they are thinking the same thing, after all. if jimin feels the same nervous energy in his chest, fingers, legs. if he feels the same weight between them, the distance that feels so foreign.
“yeah sure,” he replies, grabs his jacket from the floor and shrugs it on.
he follows jimin out of the studios, down the snaking hallways and toward the main entrance. jimin walks different now, somehow, too. like this is his building, like this is his floor and his ceiling. jungkook wonders privately if he models, or something. if he secretly has a high-level corporate job. it’s that kind of walk.
the ramen bar jimin takes him to is a short walk, but it’s freezing out.
the wind knocks the temperature down by a solid five, ten degrees, and jungkook hugs his jacket close. glances over at jimin. he’s in a t-shirt, flannel thrown over it. he looks fucking abysmally cold.
jungkook wonders if it’s weird, to offer his jacket. he’s in the middle of debating it when jimin takes a sharp turn, and grabs for the door of the ramen bar. jungkook hurries inside too, because it seriously is cold, and watches jimin rub his hands together, bring them to his face and blow.
“it’s freezing,” jungkook says, and jimin nods immediately.
“we’re inside now,” is all he says, and then nods them toward a corner with free seats.
lunch passes mostly in silence. a few this is good ’s and a few it’s cold out ’s, but mostly silence. jungkook honestly prefers it this way, because he has no idea what to say. plus, he’s hungry. so he gladly eats and doesn’t make conversation.
they were good at this, too, when they were younger. keeping each other company, regardless of words between them. spending the afternoon on jimin’s bed, watching him do homework. watching TV with him. reading with him in the library.
doing nothing in particular, but doing it together.
it’s a little bit the same, here, even with the distance between them.
when they step out of the ramen shop, jungkook silently holds out his jacket. jimin doesn’t notice, at first, just wraps the flannel tighter around himself, squints ahead toward the sidewalk. jungkook leans over, and nudges his arm.
“it’s cold,” jungkook says, as if that’s not obvious. offers the jacket again.
jimin looks at him, at the jacket. him again. the knife, twisting in his stomach. he would give jimin so much. has given him so much. would do it all over again. jungkook holds the jacket out for so long his arm starts to hurt.
“it’s cold,” he insists.
sometime during lunch, he decided he didn’t give a fuck if it was weird. jimin is cold, and jungkook doesn’t want him to be.
and that’s enough.
jimin’s eyes drop to the jacket again, and he slowly reaches out a hand and takes it. drapes it over his shoulders, and then hugs it close. jungkook watches the hard swallow he takes, how he stares blankly at the sidewalk, caught up in something, before his head snaps up again and he sets off down the way they came.
he thinks maybe they are thinking the same thing, after all.
they are at dinner again. jimin is in his hoodie. a lot of things are going on.
first of all: jungkook is leaning on yoongi again for emotional support, mostly by tracing the lines of his fingers and telling him he’s too bony. jimin was early again, today, and jungkook doesn’t look at him for a long time.
their hands brush over the chips again, jungkook catches a whiff of jimin’s cologne again. again again again. so much of it feels familiar. it’s odd. he’s making new memories, now. part of him hopes they become friends again, and this weird few weeks is just a bad memory. part of him would rather keep a distance. reminds him, you gave him everything and he moved away.
he clenches his jaw, and tells yoongi his knuckles are too sharp.
“my knuckles are fine, jungkook,” yoongi chuckles, waggling his fingers. “do my hands not make you happy?”
“they make me terribly miserable, hyung,” jungkook tells him honestly. he sighs, and digs his cheek into yoongi’s shoulder. he likes the smell of yoongi’s detergent, it smells like laundry and not like anything else. reminds him of his own detergent, back home. “can you play me something, next time i come annoy you at your studio?”
“i always play you something, idiot,” yoongi snorts. “and no, i’m swamped for the next week.”
“i’ll bring you food,” jungkook sing-songs, and listens to yoongi’s resolve waver. “c’mon. you know i’m your favorite.”
“you’re not,” yoongi grumbles, even though jungkook definitely is. “if you bring me japchae. and coffee. no bullshit lattes.”
“thank youuuu,” jungkook smiles, and then pats his hands. yoongi huffs, but lets jungkook curl up to him and stay there. jungkook is glad that yoongi has apparently deemed himself Jimin Crisis Expert in Command, because he’s not sure what he’d do if he hadn’t.
when jungkook does look at jimin, it’s by mistake.
hoseok calls his name, he looks up, and then is smacked in the face with the image of jimin in a hoodie, a little small for him, faded avengers logo on the front. jungkook got it at comic-con in 10th grade, wore it every day for a week, and gave it away so easy when jimin said he was cold. he wonders if jimin even knows it’s jungkook's, anymore. and if he does— did he wear it on purpose?
jungkook swallows hard, and turns his gaze to hoseok, who is telling him about something that’s probably interesting, sure, but jungkook isn’t hearing any of it. he sees jimin turn and look at him, blurry in his peripheral. stares very hard at hoseok.
yoongi slides his fingers through jungkook’s, squeezes. jungkook has never been so grateful for someone in his life.
dinner passes in a blur.
it’s takeout again, jimin eats with one arm hooked over a leg pulled to his chest ( it’s more comfy that way, gguk-ah ), and jungkook tries his best to have an appetite.
when it’s over and people start filing out, jungkook helps seokjin and yoongi clean up in the kitchen. (namjoon has a headache and went to lie down.)
“are we ever going to do something besides takeout,” jungkook asks, and seokjin swats his shoulder.
“it’s good takeout,” he insists, pouring the leftovers from each plate into a plastic container, shoving the lid down. “it’s hard to cook for seven people, you know. cut me some slack.”
“i offered to help,” jungkook whines, “don’t look at me like that.”
“we both offered to help,” yoongi points out, arching an eyebrow at seokjin. “you don’t have to do everything in the kitchen, you know.”
“yes, but you guys can’t hold a knife if your lives depended on it,” seokjin huffs, and turns to grab the garbage from under the sink, tie it up. “i’m taking the garbage out. yoongi, do you mind helping me with the recycling?”
“sure, hyung,” yoongi chuckles, and then follows seokjin out of the kitchen.
which leaves jungkook to sigh and collect himself, and then jump on the counter and pour himself a very large glass of wine. he swings his legs, and takes a deep breath.
right. he’ll be okay.
this time, for sure, he can take the long way home and blast metal, clear his head. no ex-best friends to take home, no big fat annoying feelings to wrestle with.
and, because the universe fucking has it out for him—
jimin steps into the kitchen, mouth already parted in a question, and then promptly freezes when he sees jungkook sitting on the kitchen island in the middle, mid-gulp and holding a half full bottle of wine. jimin snorts, a little. eyes the wine, and then jungkook.
“i was going to ask if there’s any wine left,” he says, hints of a laugh. jungkook holds the bottle at arms length, reads the label. “but apparently you’re drinking all of it.”
“yeah, well.” jungkook sets the bottle on the counter. “there’s still half, if you want.”
if you want. jimin blinks, considers the bottle, and seems to make up his mind. steps properly into the kitchen, hands awkwardly patting his pockets, jaw clenched. jungkook hooks an ankle over the other so he won’t swing his legs, and points to the cabinets to his left.
“wine glasses are in there,” he says.
jimin takes a breath, and nods. pads over, reaches up to grab one. he has to stretch, and that’s different, too. jungkook is taller than him, now. he watches jimin uncork the bottle, pour himself a glass.
“that’s my hoodie,” jungkook says. jimin spills a drop.
he swipes his thumb over the spilled wine, wipes it from the counter, and then looks down at himself. seems to realize that yes, it is jungkook’s. because unless jimin has magically become a marvel fan in their time apart, there is no reason for him to be wearing an avengers hoodie.
“it is,” jimin says softly. lifts his head, and continues pouring himself wine. jungkook takes a hard gulp from his own glass, holds it in his hands and ends up swinging his feet anyway. it’s the weight again, of so much unsaid. “i still have a lot of your stuff, in boxes somewhere.”
in boxes somewhere. jungkook’s throat squeezes. that almost-throwing-up feeling. he takes another gulp from his glass.
“if— do you,” jimin starts, and then swirls the wine in his glass. takes a moment. “if you want it back, i can give it to you.”
jungkook blinks, frowns down at his feet. i can give it to you. he wasn’t expecting that.
“i know i, um. probably took advantage of you, in high-school,” jimin continues, and wow okay, they’re doing this now.
jungkook looks at him. jimin is staring very hard down into his wine.
“so. if there’s anything you want me to give you back, i’d be happy to. i can’t really— we were young, so it’s. i don’t think it’s anyone’s fault, in particular. but,” he takes a breath, slow. “yeah.”
he’s right, is the thing. jungkook was ready to give jimin anything. everything. he would’ve given jimin all he wanted, given him more. he was ready to split himself open, tear himself to pieces and give jimin each one.
he still would. it’s terrifying.
“i let you do it,” jungkook murmurs. sets his glass of wine down, and blinks the tears from his eyes, the ones that snuck up without notice. “i wanted you to do it. but thank you.”
jimin stills. jungkook glances over, takes in the frozen and tense set of his shoulders, the way his elbows are locked in place and how his palms are flat, tendons in his hands pulled taught against the marble.
“we’re different now,” jungkook adds. “i wouldn’t do it again, and neither would you. ‘s all that matters.”
jimin swallows hard, and then lifts his wine glass with shaking hands and takes a very long drink.
“i don’t want my stuff back,” jungkook continues. twists his hands in his lap, presses his heels into the wood of the cabinets. “it’s yours now. it’s probably too small, anyway.”
“yeah,” jimin sighs. he taps his fingers against the counter.
the silence presses between them, but there’s less weight now. they still have a lot to talk about. jungkook traces the lines in the tile with his eyes, and pretends that is more interesting than the person next to him, the person that probably still owns so many parts of him.
“you have tattoos,” jimin says, breaking the silence.
“i do,” jungkook chuckles softly, rolls up a sleeve and holds an arm out.
he glances up, watches the top of jimin’s head as he leans over, takes a look. jungkook stays very still, when jimin reaches out and then runs his finger along the line down his forearm. the pad of his finger tracing gentle against skin.
it’s the first time they’ve touched in years.
it feels horribly cautious, feels horribly far away. the last time they touched he was pressed close everywhere, could feel jimin’s breaths against him like they were his own. it feels eons away.
he clenches his jaw so hard it hurts, until jimin pulls away and picks up his wine again.
“they’re cool,” he says, and jungkook wants nothing more than for yoongi and seokjin to walk back in. it doesn’t take that long to take out the trash, does it? “how many do you have?”
“lost count,” jungkook tells him honestly. he pats at his stomach, chest, back, in demonstration. “i have a lot.”
jimin chokes on his wine, coughs a little. “cool,” he echoes, voice croaky from liquid down the wrong pipe. “they’re expensive, right?”
“mhm,” jimin nods. “i worked part-time at a shop in busan, so i got an employee discount. great people.”
“oh,” jimin hums. when jungkook looks again, his neck is flushed red. probably from choking on the wine, right? “so you tattooed people?”
“worked reception,” jungkook smiles. “i’m glad you think i have a hand steady enough to tattoo people.”
“i dunno,” jimin mumbles, but he’s smiling too.
silence settles comfortable between them. okay, things will be okay. he’s glad they talked about it, a little. jimin’s smile is the same. his eyes still disappear into it. it still makes jungkook want to look away, still makes his heart squeeze in such a terrible way.
where the fuck are yoongi and seokjin, actually? jungkook jumps off the counter, and pads over to stick his head out of the kitchen. they’re in the living room, the bastards. he shoots them a glare, and gets two very guilty smiles back.
when he walks back into the kitchen, jimin is putting the bottle away and rinsing his glass in the sink. jungkook leans against the counter, drains the rest of his wine.
watches jimin, the way he flicks the faucet off and dries his hands, how he rolls his shoulders back and then braces himself against the sink, dips his head and takes a long moment to collect himself.
jungkook thinks they might definitely be thinking the same thing.
“do you mind walking me home,” jungkook asks, and watches jimin’s head snap up, the tense in his shoulders return. he’s glad they talked about it but there’s so much more, there, and now that the gates are open he wants it done and over with.
if they’re going to talk about it they’re going to talk about it.
“um,” jimin says, turning to him. jungkook watches jimin’s chest rise and fall in uncertain breaths, his fingers curl into the underside of the counter. jungkook tilts his head to the side, looks at him carefully.
“unless you don’t want to talk about it now,” he adds.
jimin seems to realize what he means, and chews on his bottom lip. takes a deep breath, sighs.
“i— can i text you,” he says, jaw clenched and swallowing hard. “i. um. want to organize my thoughts. we can— grab lunch, or something?”
“sure,” jungkook says. “my number’s the same.”
so. jimin is going to text him, at some point.
he goes through his phone and realizes, embarrassingly, that jimin is still saved as jiminie hyung <333 . he changes that immediately, and throws his phone across the room so he doesn’t sit there all day staring at it, waiting for a text.
thread > jimin
jimin 4:22 pm
> hey
> when do you wanna get lunch?
jk
> the weekend is always better
> sunday?
jimin
> yeah sure
> 1?
jk
> works for me
amazing, he thinks weakly.
he doesn’t know what to wear so he defaults to his habitual all-black. big t-shirt, hanging off his shoulders, equally big hoodie thrown over it. bomber jacket, stompers.
part of him wants to show off the tattoos, really drive home the i’m different now, but it’s still fucking cold and so he dresses for warmth rather than weird emotional hang-ups.
they’re getting ice cream, which seems like a bad idea in december but he gets the feeling they’re thinking the same— it’s the last place they talked, the last place they laughed and clung to each other and spoke like people, before jimin was clutching him tight at the train station and whispering i don’t want to leave.
he takes a deep breath, steadies himself.
right. he can get through this. he knows his own side, knows what he wants to say. he wants them to talk through it, wants the weight between them gone so he can worry about their relationship without it.
he wants to know what they’d be, without the distance between them, without the words left unsaid.
he hopes it’s good.
jimin meets him at a street corner. he’s dressed for the cold, now, turtleneck hugging his chest and arms and shoulders, overcoat and boots tucked under the hem. he’s looking down at his phone, one earphone hooked over his ear, the other one in. jungkook wonders what he’s listening to.
he makes his way over, steps out of the stream of the crowd and taps his shoulder.
“hi,” he says.
jimin’s head jerks up, eyes wide before he realizes it’s jungkook and he offers a tight smile, hand coming up absently to grab his earphones, tangle them together and slip them into his pocket.
“hi,” he echoes. swallows hard, and then glances behind them. “should we eat inside?”
“it’s fucking freezing,” jungkook tells him, and gets a short laugh in response.
“inside, then,” jimin says, mirth still tugging at his voice, smile lingering. jungkook leads them toward the ice cream shop, very much barren considering the season, and the employee looks at them a bit funny as they order.
“what were you listening to,” jungkook tries, once they’re waiting for their ice cream and the silence is a little too loud.
“bring me the horizon,” jimin says softly, head ducked to look at his shoes, palms pressed flat into his thighs.
jungkook knows why he’s doing it, too, knows that it’s because jungkook is the one that introduced him to the band. had grabbed his hand and shoved the headphones in his face and kept holding him like that while he listened with a smile. they’d even talked about going to concerts together.
jungkook bites his lip. he still listens to bring me the horizon, too.
he looks up again, mouth parting to say something lame like cool, they’re good or something equally embarrassing, but then the employee hands them their ice creams with a pointed look that shouts it’s fucking freezing.
jungkook takes his, follows behind jimin and perches himself on a barstool by the front, elbow digging into the table. it’s good ice cream, and it’s warm enough in here that he can eat it without shivering.
they kind of forget to talk, for a while. jungkook likes it, it’s nice that they can still have this. they talked a ton, in high-school, but it was just as easy to sit in silence.
“so,” jimin starts, “my thoughts.”
“right,” jungkook says, eyeing him warily. jimin stares long and hard at his ice cream, jaw clenched.
“right,” jimin repeats. takes a weirdly long moment, narrows his eyes down at the table and stares, still.
“...right,” jungkook tries again, when the silence extends even further. it’s a little bit funny. he shouldn’t want to laugh but he honestly does.
“this is so weird,” jimin admits suddenly, looking at him. “this is so weird.”
jungkook laughs, a little caught off-guard. the distance, still, but at least someone is saying it. the words they were trying to avoid, the very obvious this is awkward that it’s polite to leave unacknowledged. he nods, because it is weird.
“yeah,” he agrees.
jimin waves a hand vaguely, dips his head to continue eating his ice cream. some of the tension is broken, now, jungkook feels a bit less throw-up-y and more just. regular nervous.
“can i just— we can talk about it slower, doesn’t have to be all at once,” jimin says, frowning. “it feels so weird, saying it all at once. i had a speech and everything.”
jungkook chuckles, stares down at his fingers. “yeah, um. sure. i— how about this,” he says, and reaches into his pocket. rifles through, finds the notebook and pencil he keeps tucked away, for when he wants to doodle or keep his hands busy or brainstorm tattoo designs.
“i write one,” he says, flicking the notepad open, past his many (many) spiderman sketches. “you write one.”
“sure,” jimin agrees easily, extending a hand for the notepad. jungkook slides it over, and jimin takes the pencil with gentle fingers, hovers it over the paper. writes, steady.
he holds his pencil the same, still. new and old. he slides it back and jungkook reads.
this is an obvious one, but i had self-esteem issues in high school.
jungkook almost snorts, because it really is obvious. he scribbles his own sentence down, and passes it to jimin.
me too. twinsies.
jimin laughs, caught off-guard, shoulders shaking as he hands it back.
“twinsies?” jimin laughs, voice going high. jungkook shrugs, shoots him a smile.
jimin sounds the same, still, when he laughs. smiles the same. he’s happy the same way, even after four years.
it’s nice, like this, it really is. he thinks writing it down was a good idea. it’s a lot, it’s a lot to say all at once. jimin was right. it would be too much, too heavy for a sunday afternoon eating ice cream.
he slips the notepad back into his pocket, and they spend the next few minutes in a comfortable silence, until their ice creams are gone and jungkook is busy licking the leftovers from his fingers, glancing around for a napkin.
“over there,” jimin points. jungkook flushes a little, because he certainly wasn’t paying attention to whether jimin needed a napkin but clearly jimin was paying attention to him.
he stands, grabs a napkin and wipes his hands, tosses it and then sits at the barstool again. tucks his legs against the foothold and looks out the window. watches businessmen, mothers, college students stream past.
“what made you decide to come to seoul,” jimin asks. when jungkook glances over, he’s doing the same. people-watching, eyes following the man in a bright red coat down the street.
“everybody’s here,” jungkook tells him honestly.
“hm,” jimin hums. nothing really judgemental about it. it’s not a false statement, anyway.
“and,” he adds, “there’s more room to grow. career-wise, anyway.”
“yeah,” jimin agrees quietly, sighing. “you don’t like the city?”
jungkook frowns. “what makes you think that?”
“it’s weird, ” jimin says, shooting his own words back at him. jungkook chuckles, a little. “it’s big. i like it, anyway.”
“i’m sure,” jungkook murmurs, looking down at his hands. he kind of wants them inked, too. maybe on his knuckles? that’s a little cliche, surely. “busan is cozier.”
“that’s true,” jimin agrees. “busan is home, still.”
jungkook clenches his jaw. “yeah,” he says. he doesn’t have to ask why jimin came to seoul, he already knows. he licks his lips, takes a breath. “do you wanna walk around?”
“sure,” jimin agrees easily, and slides from his seat, walks toward the door. jungkook follows blindly, and he thinks they might realize it at the same time.
how jimin led, how jungkook followed. easy, easy. too familiar.
jimin glances at him and then his mouth parts, brow furrowed in something apologetic.
“um,” he starts. blinks hard. “what— the paper,” he says, and jungkook reaches into his pocket, hands it over. jimin scribbles something out, hands it back.
self esteem issues^ and when you followed me around kind of big-eyed it snowballed. if that makes sense? i hope i didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do. i wanted someone looking up to me
jungkook reads it over, reads it again. it makes sense, it clicks just right and fills the empty pieces in his story. jimin passes him the pencil. they probably look fucking insane, standing at the entrance and scribbling in a tiny notepad.
i wanted someone to look up to. it snowballed too, and i wanted to do everything, don’t worry
jimin reads it, hands it back quietly and watches jungkook put it back into his pocket. jungkook takes a deep, steadying breath. rolls his shoulders back.
“old habits die hard,” he points out, and then very pointedly leads jimin through the exit. jimin laughs, something vaguely strained, but still a laugh.
they make their way through the crowd, and jungkook feels a bit weird leading jimin like this but he takes them toward the han river. knows there’s a good spot, a rock that overlooks an especially pretty part of the river, and if they’re going to write notes and make small talk, they might as well do it somewhere nice looking.
“han river?” jimin asks, when they start getting close. jungkook nods. “thought you didn’t know seoul.”
jungkook chuckles, a little. “i came up here to visit, sometimes. yoongi ‘n joon and everyone would take me around.”
“oh,” jimin realizes. they’re shoulder to shoulder, now, and jungkook is pretty sure jimin is somehow still cold. it’s the wind, really, it makes a regular day biting. “you and yoongi are close.”
“yeah,” jungkook nods. his Jimin Crisis Expert in Command. “that reminds me, i’m supposed to—” he checks the time, and his eyebrows shoot up. “um. okay. i was supposed to bother him at his studio like, thirty minutes ago.”
jimin laughs, checks the time on his own phone. “sorry, did i keep you? if you want you can go now.”
“no, it’s— hm,” jungkook chews on his bottom lip, texts him. “not a problem, he’s busy anyway. i just have to remind him to eat, now. he’s really stupid sometimes.”
“ah,” jimin hums, and sways in place. something slightly awkward, in the way he clasps his hands in front of him, fiddles with his fingers.
thread > yoongi
jk 2:12 pm
> hey im still w jimin sorry!!
> EAT LUNCH. or die
> i’ll come by around dinner?
yoongi
> yeah ofc
> im eatingggg im eating jeez
> how are things going?
jk
> good i think
> going to sit by the han river and Talk
> byebye
yoongi
> i hope it goes well
> bye jungkook
“okay,” jungkook sighs, slipping his phone back into his pocket. he looks up, glances at jimin and sees the same thing he saw the other day, the blank stare down at the pavement. bottom lip trapped between teeth, the slight frown.
he’s learning, slowly. he doesn’t know what this means, yet. he’ll have to pay attention.
“okay,” he repeats, when jimin doesn’t reply, and watches his head snap up, eyes sharpen again. he nods to the sidewalk ahead of them. “yeah?”
they end up spending the rest of the afternoon at the han river. jungkook honestly doesn’t expect it, but he thinks the notepad was a good idea because they can talk now, without the weight of everything between them.
it’s nice, it really is, even if jungkook finds it exceedingly weird, the way they are around each other.
it’s so careful, they sit apart and hold doors for each other and bow politely as if they weren’t crashing into each other as kids, as if jungkook doesn’t know exactly what it feels like to fall asleep in jimin’s arms. as if jimin doesn’t know exactly what jungkook’s hands feel like in his, how their legs fit together, what jungkook’s chin feels like nudged into his shoulder.
it feels stupid and far away, but there really isn’t anything else they can do.
meanwhile, jungkook collects new information.
there’s the obvious, there’s what jimin tells him: he has studio ghibli posters in his apartment, he was out of a job for a few months out of college. he has friends in the fashion industry (the coat, the shoes), he is terrible at karaoke (jungkook is pretty sure that’s a lie), he tries to eat healthy but still defaults to shitty ramen when he doesn’t know what to make. he likes to cook, he goes to art galleries when he can, he spends a little too much money on plants.
there’s the less obvious, too.
what jungkook notices, what he spots because despite himself he is still clinging to him, he is still searching for a way to give pieces to him.
jimin still has the mole on his neck, he is bad at charging his phone, his nails are black today. there are hints of blonde, at the ends of his hair, and jungkook remembers when jimin wanted nothing more than to dye his hair, junior year of high-school.
he still leans into jungkook, when he laughs.
jimin has a small tattoo, just on the inside of his wrist. it peeks out from the sleeve of his coat, and jungkook tries to be subtle when he looks at it but jimin catches him and rolls up his sleeve.
jungkook looks.
the sun is setting, now, it’s just started its descent over the horizon and it lights up jimin’s skin golden yellow. there are birds somewhere next to them, crickets hidden in a bush. soft murmur of conversation, as people walk past them on the sidewalk. the faint rush of water. beep-beep of cars.
jungkook can hear none of it.
it’s a date, in small letters. 06.13.
jungkook stares at it. stares at it a little more.
“notepad,” jimin says softly. jungkook fumbles, hands it over.
wanted to remember where i came from and why i am who i am now. you’re a big part of that, still. and i miss you
jungkook blinks. reads it again.
( in the early weeks of summer, jungkook is nervous about his first year of high school.
he spends afternoons at the abandoned playground behind his house, swinging his legs and staring at the woodchips, saying goodbye to middle school.
it’s june, it’s lazy, it’s hot.
june, 2013.
jimin finds him there, tells him high-school is nothing to worry about. jungkook calls him hyung and follows him out of the playground, and it snowballs.)
jungkook stares at the paper for a long time. i miss you. jimin waits patiently, keeps his sleeve rolled up and watches jungkook with those knife-eyes, careful. careful. jungkook feels like he’s getting pierced through the heart.
god. they are so stupidly attached to each other, even apart.
06.13. the date, written in his own messy teenage handwriting, inked into the back of his bicep.
jungkook takes a shaky breath.
it’s cold, it’s cold but he pulls off his bomber jacket, his sweater. jimin watches, eyes a little wide, and then jungkook turns and shows him. hears the sharp inhale, the rustle of clothes as jimin leans forward.
the finger, brushing gently over skin. the date.
“well, fuck,” jimin mumbles, and jungkook laughs.
he’s shivering, a little, wind just gusted through and jimin nudges at his coat in a silent i’ve looked enough, put it back on. jungkook bundles himself up quick and then looks at him.
blade, sinking heavy and painful into his chest. jimin looks, looks. eyes heavy on jungkook’s. the setting sun shines in his eyes.
jimin takes a slow, slow breath. ducks his head, comes up with something close a smile.
“i think— it kind of makes sense, that we’d get matching tattoos without realizing it,” he says, and jungkook chuckles. bows his head into the notepad, and writes.
i wanted to remember too. and i miss you too
“i missed you a lot, for the first two years,” jungkook admits quietly, as jimin spends much longer reading the note than necessary.
jimin sniffs, nods. swallows hard. jungkook passes him the pencil before he even holds out a hand, and watches him write something. short, short, and then he hands it back eyes shining with tears. jungkook frowns, looks.
i’m sorry.
he closes his eyes. doesn’t breathe, for a moment. just holds it. i’m sorry.
the words slam him straight in the chest. i’m sorry. he’s not shaking but it feels like he’s shaking anyway, ribcage and heart and fingers trembling. it’s so much.
he’s not even sure the words hit him in full, the apology he didn’t need but has anyway. i’m sorry. i’m sorry for leaving, it says. i’m sorry for leaving you behind. he clenches his jaw, throat burning. swallows hard. slow, slow breaths. slow. blinks his eyes open, scans the words again.
he would recognize this handwriting anywhere, still.
he gave jimin everything and got left in the dust. he doesn’t know where these words fit, yet. what it means. i’m sorry.
jimin reaches out, touches his knee. jungkook jerks his head up, looks. sees jimin’s frown deepen. he doesn’t have to say it, jungkook sees the i’m sorry echoed in his eyes anyway. he digs his thumb into the paper of the notepad, and takes a deep breath.
“do you,” he asks quietly, voice trembling at the end, “do you want to have dinner, too?”
“yeah,” jimin says immediately.
he still sounds the same when he cries, it’s the same thickness in his voice, the same guarded and measured way he refuses to let his voice shake, at the end.
"yeah," jimin repeats quietly, "i'd like that."
thread > yoongi
jk 5:52 pm
> hey im sorry im having dinner with him too
> are you ok?
yoongi
> im ok, are YOU okay??
> is it still going well?
> and dont worry i thought this might happen
> take as much time as you need with him
jk
> yeah
> i’ll tell you about it later but i think
> yeah its still going well
yoongi
> okay
> i’ll probably still be at the studios when youre done, so just drop by and tell me everything, okay?
jk
> okay :)
> play me so far away?
yoongi
> ofc
> i’ll see you soon
jk
> ok thank you
“it’s kind of insane,” jungkook starts, slipping his phone back into his pocket. he sees jimin’s eyes follow the motion before he looks up again. “that we have the same tattoo. i was gonna get it on my wrist too.”
“why didn’t you,” jimin asks, standing to climb off the rock they’ve been sitting on.
jungkook gets an idea that could possibly go really badly, as he watches jimin climb carefully down, black nails chipping where he holds onto the rock.
“wait, watch this,” jungkook tells him, stepping back onto the rock, eyeing the grass below. jimin looks up, curious. he gestures vaguely. “step back a bit.”
“okay,” jimin frowns, stepping back. “are you going to do a backflip, or something—”
jungkook takes a running start and does a backflip, lands solid in the grass and then stumbles back to sit flat on his ass, laughing. jimin laughs too, eyes darting between him and the rock, stepping closer to extend a hand.
“what the fuck,” he chuckles, as he helps jungkook to his feet. jimin’s hand feels the same in his, still. “that’s new.”
“i can do a frontflip too,” jungkook tells him, brushing the grass from his jeans. “what do you wanna eat?”
jimin looks at him, eyes darting over his face. taking it in, studying. eyes pitch-black, even with the shine of the sunset in them. jungkook swallows dryly.
it was like this before, too— jimin would look at him and jungkook would feel it through the heart, punching him in the chest. this, though, this is sharper. needlepoint.
“notepad,” jimin murmurs, and jungkook hands it over.
jimin finally drags his eyes from jungkook’s, takes the pencil and then snorts.
“still into spiderman?”
jungkook goes pink, a little, feels the flush creeping up his neck. the sketches he’d forgotten to flip past, before handing it over. “he’s cool,” he protests weakly.
“still into shitty k-dramas, don’t worry,” jimin mumbles, preoccupied with scribbling something out. jungkook knows jimin is trying to make him feel better, but it works anyway.
you’re different now
jungkook blinks, reads it again. he’s not sure why this needed to be written and not said, but he thinks he might get it anyway. he holds out a palm for the pencil, gets it placed gently in his hands. there’s this, too. jimin is careful around him, doesn’t touch too hard or doesn’t touch at all.
you’re different too. in a good way :)
jimin reads it, smiles, hands it back. shoves his hands in his pockets and then sways in place. “dinner? what’re you in the mood for?”
jungkook pouts, thinks. he’s honestly in the mood for indian, or something, but he knows jimin doesn’t like it. doing ramen again seems a bit lame, but he craves it, a little.
jimin reaches out, taps his arm. holds out a palm again. jungkook stares at it blankly before he mumbles an oh of realization and passes the notepad over.
you still do that when you think
jungkook blinks, and then realizes he’s still pouting. glances at jimin, who’s now caught up in the sunset, eyes following the flock of geese across the sky. (he is pretty. he used to be cute, he’s still beautiful in the same ways, but he’s pretty, now. different in a good way, yeah?) jungkook tucks the notepad away.
apparently they are both collecting new information, comparing it with the old. everything feels very fragile, very familiar and so foreign at the same time.
“ramen?” jungkook suggests.
“sure,” jimin allows, and nods toward the sidewalk.
dinner is nice.
dinner is nice. they catch up without weight, just casual conversation and jungkook finds things flow a bit better now, now that they’ve both acknowledged it. jimin is careful, jungkook is careful. jimin lets him lead, and jungkook is careful not to follow. but mostly— it’s nice.
he missed it, he knows that, missed jimin terribly for two years, and now he’s here again. he’s different, but he’s here. that’s really all that matters.
when they wait for their respective ubers outside the ramen bar, hands in their pockets with a comfortable silence between them, jungkook pulls out the notepad and jimin watches him write.
i’m glad i moved to seoul. i missed you
jimin takes it wordlessly, and then hands it back.
i’m glad you moved too. you don’t miss me anymore?
jungkook snorts.
you’re here, aren’t you?
jimin grins. he looks exactly the same as he did four years ago, like that.
jungkook grins back.