Work Text:
“Did you see this?”
Jungkook is balancing his tablet in one hand, the other holding the chopsticks which dip into his cup of ramen, strings of curly noodles sploshing around in the broth as he mixes.
Jimin is barely paying attention, humming mindlessly in reply as his husband continues talking about some story he’s read in the newspaper, vaguely able to make out it has something to do with the city’s plans of reducing passenger traffic. His own ramen sits untouched in front of him, the blond aimlessly stirring his cutlery in the bowl.
“I mean I’d give up driving if the city had a working public transport system.”
The claim makes Jimin’s ears perk up.
“Are you kidding?” he asks with a scoff, mixing his noodles a little aggressively before plopping a heap into his mouth, chewing as he speaks. “You don’t go anywhere without your car. Remember that time I had to drive my mom’s car to work because you refused to take the bus for a few weeks?”
This was back when Jimin was still in nursing school, dependent on odd jobs to finance his expenses while he finished up his degree and could apply for something more permanent. At the time, he’d managed to land a three week subbing gig at an elderly care facility; the center was located in the outskirts of the city, which made commuting by anything but a car nearly impossible.
Jungkook, on the other hand, was about a year into working as a software developer for a fairly large tech company. It was a pretty stressful time; he was essentially at the end of his year-long tenure, waiting to hear whether the company would extend his contract or let him go, which meant logging long hours at the office, trying to prove his worth.
“Yeah, well that was years ago,” the man mumbles, not looking at Jimin as he continues scrolling on the tablet.
It might have been years ago, but Jimin remembers the argument well. They were only a few years into their marriage at that point — they had tied the knot quite young, but after being together for almost a decade, it felt like the natural thing to do.
For those first ten years, Jimin had no doubt in his mind that Jungkook was the one for him. Not only had they grown into adults together, they'd also grown into themselves. Jungkook had been there through the awkward stages of puberty, and through the insecurities and doubts of youth. Together, they’d grown into individuals with morals and responsibilities, and through it all, Jungkook had been the rock that Jimin could lean on, no matter what.
But even mountains wither in the toughest of storms, and the playful banter which was integral to their relationship at the start, steadily morphed into bickering arguments which would leave a heavy imprint on Jimin’s mind.
“So if you had the choice now, you’d opt to take the bus?”
“I guess,” Jungkook mutters, finally looking up from his device. He could probably hear the edge to Jimin’s voice — could already expect the shift in conversation.
“And you agree it was a pretty shitty thing to do?”
Yes, Jimin remembers the argument well. He remembers how hurt he’d felt that Jungkook wouldn’t even entertain the thought of making his own commute to work a bit more inconvenient so that Jimin wouldn’t have to think of how he was going to arrange his own travels for a few weeks. Sure, the man had been under a lot of pressure at the time, but so had Jimin.
Lately, he’d just been feeling like he is always the one making compromises in their relationship.
“Why are you bringing this up now, Jimin?”
“I just find it funny how you’re suddenly all for environmentally friendly modes of transportation but god forbid I ask to borrow your car for two weeks to make my work commute a little easier!”
The bitter tone to his voice definitely makes it clear he doesn’t find it funny, and in return, Jungkook looks almost baffled, not sure why Jimin is adamant on hashing out an argument from way back when right now.
“You told me you were okay with taking the bus!”
He had, but that was only after he realized Jungkook wasn’t going to budge in his decision. The man is stubborn, infuriatingly so, and sometimes it is just easier to take the loss than to try to change his mind.
“Maybe I would have just liked you to offer instead of having to beg you to do one nice thing for me.”
Jimin knows he’s taken it too far. If he’d just kept the conversation casual as his husband had intended, their unfinished ramen wouldn't be turning cold right now. But for reasons unbeknownst to even himself, Jimin has decided to end the night on a bad note.
“I do nice things for you,” Jungkook says flatly, sounding like he’s just about had it with the topic at hand. It’s been a recurring theme during dinner lately. They both come home, tired from work, eating reheated dinner from the weekend or takeout. Jungkook is usually the one to make something resembling an effort to make small talk, but at times they just sit and eat in silence, Jimin wondering when they ended up living as roommates.
Like they’re together just for the convenience of it.
“When’s the last time you kissed me, huh?” He blurts out the question, a little surprised at how abruptly it slips past his lips. Jungkook opens his mouth to speak, but Jimin beats him to it, knowing exactly what the man is about to say. “And sex doesn’t count.”
Okay, so maybe they’re more like roommates who fuck. Despite their wavering relationship, nothing has changed in the bedroom. The problem is, it’s about the only place Jimin feels the passion between them any longer. These days Jimin almost dreads the moment they turn their backs to one another after the fleeting moment of intimacy is over, some nights ending with him silently sobbing into his pillow.
“Jimin-”
Jimin gets up before Jungkook has time to finish his sentence, heading out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
“Jimin, where are you going?”
“Need to clear my head.”
He grabs the keys of the very car which has started this objectively stupid argument, flinging his arms through his jacket before walking out the front door and leaving a quiet Jungkook behind it.
He doesn’t listen to the radio on the drive — his head is too loud with thoughts, and he has to focus on making it to his destination in one piece before he literally crashes out. Luckily, he could probably get to Seokjin’s place with his eyes closed. Twenty minutes later, he’s knocking on the man’s door, body shivering slightly now that the adrenaline from his sudden decision to come here has started to wear off.
“Hey! Are you okay?”
Seokjin looks genuinely worried as he opens the door, and Jimin realizes belatedly he probably should have warned the man he was coming.
“Can I stay here tonight?”
The man opens the door wider.
“Of course,” Seokjin is quick to reply, ushering Jimin to come inside as he yells for his partner.
“Namjoon! Can you text Jungkook and let him know Jimin’s here?”
Namjoon’s head pops out from the bathroom adjacent to the front entrance, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. Seeing it Jimin immediately feels guilty. It’s a weekday, and the couple had probably been getting ready for bed. Now that he thinks of it, he remembers seeing Seokjin’s name scribbled on the call sheet for the early shift at work. Still, Namjoon nods, throwing Jimin a comforting smile before he disappears behind the door again.
Seokjin, on the other hand, helps Jimin take off his jacket, grabbing him by the hand after to lead into the living room. It isn’t the first time they’ve sat on this sofa hashing out whatever is on Jimin's mind. This, however, is the first time Jimin’s come here unannounced and late at night, so the concerned expression on his friend’s face is understandable.
“What happened?”
Saying it out loud makes it all seem so trivial, but Jimin knows Seokjin won’t judge.
“It was just a stupid fight. Another stupid fight. It wasn’t even anything worth fighting over.”
“Then why are you crying?”
Seokjin brings his hand up to wipe away the tears which have started rolling down Jimin’s cheeks, the man’s breath hitching as he lets the feeling of hopelessness wash over him.
“Sometimes I just get this feeling like… like Jungkook doesn’t love me anymore.”
It’s the first time he’s admitted it to himself out loud, and the confession makes a heap of sobs wreck through Jimin’s body. Seokjin immediately engulfs him in a tight hug.
“Oh, Jimin. I don’t think that’s true,” the man murmurs into his shoulder, bringing out a tissue from somewhere. Jimin accepts it, blowing his nose into the paper as he slowly starts coming down from the emotional outburst.
“He used to be so romantic, Jin. He’d buy me flowers on a random Tuesday and write these page long love letters. Now whenever he gets me a gift for like a birthday or Christmas, he just asks me to text him what I want.”
Jimin sniffles, feeling stupid for crying over something so insignificant. Seokjin, as expected, doesn’t laugh it off, instead caressing Jimin’s back with a comforting hand.
“You’ve been together for 15 years. A relationship that long is bound to change.”
Of course. This is what Jimin tells himself all the time. But combined with all the other small things which have been tearing at their marriage lately, the feeling of being disregarded is becoming harder to ignore.
He swallows, the lump in his throat only growing bigger..
“Shouldn’t I still be allowed to feel special? Every once in a while?”
Seokjin doesn’t say anything for a while, eventually letting out a sigh which is 90 percent pity as his brows knit together.
“Have you talked to him about this?”
“I try, but you know how he is. He just… closes up.”
Jimin knows some of it has to do with his upbringing. Jungkook’s family didn’t really talk about feelings. Growing up, Jimin was just about the only person Jungkook ever shared anything with. His inability to talk about his emotions has been a recurring issue, something Jungkook’s struggled with since the very start of their relationship.
He got better at sharing, until he didn’t, and these days it’s almost like Jungkook’s worse than he’s ever been.
“I really think you need to sit down and have an honest conversation with him about how you’re feeling.”
“Yeah,” Jimin says quietly, sniffling a little as he stares at his hands.
“Sleep on it, okay?” Seokjin suggests, squeezing Jimin’s arm once as he gets up from the couch. “I’ll go and get some bedding for you.”
The man leaves, and Jimin just sits on the sofa for a while, feeling completely blank. He then fishes his phone out of his, squinting his swollen eyes as the screen lights up.
The home screen is empty. No text from Jungkook. No missed calls. Nothing but the background picture of the two of them from a trip to Japan some years prior.
A happier time.
Jimin turns the device off, waiting for Seokjin to return with the bedding so that he can drift off to sleep, even if he knows he has a restless night ahead of him.
—
Surprisingly, the next day Jimin wakes up feeling somewhat rested. The emotional outburst of last night had played its part in draining him of all his energy, and he can still feel the effects of it linger when he arrives at work at 8 am the next morning.
Jimin tries his best to get through his work shift without thinking about what will await him when he returns home, but by the time he’s sitting in traffic on the way back to their apartment, he’s thought of a dozen different ways to address why he’d walked out so rashly last night.
He decides to take it as it comes.
Jimin still hasn’t heard anything from Jungkook, and can’t say for sure how his husband will have reacted to it all. Is he angry? Upset? indifferent, even?
The house is silent when he walks in, but Jimin knows it isn’t vacant; Jungkook usually works from home on Fridays, so after he’s taken off his shoes and put down his bag, Jimin tiptoes upstairs, keeping very quiet for some reason.
Once upstairs and outside the door to Jungkook’s office, he knocks on it softly, carefully pushing it open.
Jungkook turns around, removing his blue light glasses which have fallen down the bridge of his nose.
“Hey,” Jimin says awkwardly, not sure how else to greet his husband.
“You’re home.”
Jungkook sounds equally as uncomfortable.
“Yeah.” His throat feels scratchy, so Jimin clears it, though the lump still remains. “Do you still have a lot to do?”
“I’m just finishing up.”
The room falls into a painful silence, Jimin gathering courage to ask the question he’s been thinking about since last night.
“Can we talk?”
Jimin used to be so good at reading Jungkook. He had to be, because at times it was the only way he had any sort of idea of what was going on inside the man’s head.
Now he has no clue.
His husband’s face is blank and void of any emotion. Jungkoon just nods, throwing the glasses he’d been holding on the table.
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” Jimin is quick to reply, throat still feeling dry. He already feels like crying, but forces the urge away. “I’ll wait downstairs.”
He turns around without another word, basically flying down the stairs. Sitting at the dining table after the way their conversation ended yesterday feels like a bad omen, so he walks over to the living room instead, plopping down on the sofa.
A few minutes later, he can hear Jungkook walk down the stairs as well. He doesn’t join Jimin on the coach, instead taking a seat on the recliner to Jimin’s right. They’re quiet for a while, not sure where to begin.
Surprisingly, Jungkook is the one to initiate the discussion.
“Where’d you go last night?”
“Seokjin’s.”
“I figured.”
He knew you were safe, which is why he didn’t call you. This is what Jimin tells himself, though the thought of Jungkook not being even a little concerned for his wellbeing still gnaws at his insides. These days, Jimin tries his best to ignore these types of feelings. Being a perfectionist and a people pleaser has sadly manifested in several unhealthy ways in the past, though with time and therapy, he’s found ways of battling his insecurities.
As he feels himself slipping into that dark mindset again, Jimin knows he can’t continue the way he has, because it obviously isn’t working.
“You didn’t call me,” he says, and though he doesn’t mention how this fact makes him feel, he hopes his husband can read between the lines.
Sure enough, Jungkook does look a little regretful.
“You seemed pretty upset with me,” he says, Jimin not missing the bitter undertone to his voice. “I figured I’d give you some space.”
This is the problem with the way they fight. They don’t know how to talk to one another without letting go of resentment, and frankly, Jimin’s getting sick of it.
“Something needs to change Jungkook,” he says, voice coming out more forbidding than he’d like. Jimin sighs, the onset of a headache making his vision swim. “I can’t be the only one thinking things haven’t been alright between us for quite some time.”
Jungkook’s jaw stays locked, a telltale sign the thought has crossed his mind as well. His lips barely move as he speaks.
“So what are you suggesting?"
What is Jimin suggesting? That’s the one thing he hasn’t thought of coming into this conversation. If he really had the keys to fixing their relationship, they probably wouldn’t be in this situation right now.
All he knows is that sleeping at Seokjin’s last night was the first time in a long time he’s felt any sort of clarity, and maybe that’s what fuels his reply.
“Maybe we need some time apart.”
The words force up like bile, feeling acid on Jimin’s tongue. His husband's reaction isn’t any better. Jungkook looks like he’s been punched in the gut, completely blindsided by Jimin’s suggestion. He can understand it well — they’ve been struggling, sure, but this? It feels extreme.
Jimin is also desperate.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
The silence is suffocating, and Jimin feels like he’s gasping for air. The question has been fired off into the darkening sky like a flare, and he looks into his husband's eyes, waiting for Jungkook to notice that he’s drowning. Because Jungkook has always been Jimin’s lifeboat. He’s been the steady rock to the stormy years of his youth, the very ocean which Jimin immerses himself in.
To Jimin, Jungkook is everything. And without him, he’s just another drop of water in a vast and relentless sea. So, he waits for Jungkook to hear his cries of help, and pull him out of the deep end.
“I think you’ve said everything there is to say.”
The reply crashes into him, its frigid waves making Jimin’s whole body tense up. He’s sinking. Drowning. Somehow, he manages to speak without sounding absolutely distraught.
“Okay,” he says, the words coming out clipped, the tremor of hid voice barely noticeable. “I can go and stay with Seokjin-”
“I’ll go.”
Jungkook barely has time to speak the words out loud before he's getting up, and walking out of the living room. Jimin gets up too, the panic finally starting to set in. Everything happens so quickly — Jungkook rushes up the stairs, leaving Jimin frozen in place in the hallway, the room around him spinning as he tries to remember how to exhale. His husband returns what feels like only seconds later, a small duffel bag over his shoulder.
Don’t go. The words are stuck in his throat, painfully echoing inside his head. But Jimin’s mouth stays clamped shut, feet stuck to the carpeted floor underneath him.
The front door is already open, a brisk gust of air making him wake up from the spell this sudden turn of events has put him in.
Jungkook has his back turned to Jimin, his jacket already on. He stops for a while, hand on the door handle. He’s coming to his senses, Jimin thinks, a last desperate attempt at not having to accept what is already inevitable.
The door barely makes a sound as his husband exits through it and closes it shut. The room, however, screams with his absence.
Jimin’s eyes fall on the dresser by the entrance, on it the anchor which seals his fate.
Jungkook hasn’t even taken his key.
—
The next few days are a blur.
Luckily, Jimin has the weekend off, because he barely sleeps a blink throughout it, his talk with Jungkook playing on loop in his mind whenever he closes his eyes.
He calls in sick on Monday, prompting a worried text from Seokjin which he sends a half-ass reply to, full-on knowing if he doesn’t his co-worker will be knocking on his door by the end of his workday.
Right now, Jimin just wants to be left alone.
He wants to wallow in self-pity under a heap of blankets, sink into his mattress until he becomes one with it. The tears come and go like a tidal wave, and what’s worse is that they’re set off by the smallest details — the way the mattress next to his side of the bed is permanently indented with his husband’s figure, or the dirty coffee mug Jungkook has left in the sink. The man’s presence is everywhere, and that’s why on Wednesday when it’s time for his weekly schedule therapist appointment, Jimin is almost relieved he has an excuse to get out of the house, even if it means confronting the very thing that has driven him out of it.
Because one thing he knows for sure — Min Yoongi will make him confront his demons.
“How has your week been?” the man asks about five minutes into their meeting, his jet-black hair tucked behind his ears as he casually leans back in his chair.
Jimin would laugh, if he wasn’t totally drained from sleep-deprivation.
“I’ve been sick,” he says, and it isn’t a complete lie — Jimin has felt sick to his stomach, barely able to digest anything but a single packet of ramen in the past 48 hours.
“And you’re feeling better now?”
“Yeah, it was just a little cold. I’m good.”
He can tell by the lift of Yoongi’s brow that he’s not as convincing this time.
The therapist also doesn’t sugarcoat his call-out.
“You don’t look it.”
“I’m fine.”
Jimin’s last attempt at deflection falls on deaf ears, the man opposite him shifting in his chair.
“What’s happened?”
Jimin’s eyes fall into his lap, his hands nervously picking at the beds of his nails.
“Me and Jungkook,” he says, already feeling like getting choked up, not able to swallow the lump which has formed in his throat. “I guess we’re taking a break.”
It’s the first time he’s said it out loud since it actually happened, and the confession is what eventually breaks the dam, the sobs uncontrollable as they spill past his lips.
“Sorry,” he says after the worst of it has passed, accepting the tissue Yoongi has in his hand.
“You never have to apologize for your feelings, Jimin. You know that.”
His therapist gives Jimin some time to compose himself, before calmly reclining back in his chair.
“Talk me through it.”
“I don’t know,” Jimin replies, his memory of the weekend both hazy and painfully raw in his mind. “It just happened. I don’t even know why I suggested it. We had a stupid argument about nothing and I left and when I came back I just… I just… ”
“You came to a breaking point.”
As always, Yoongi puts it so simply.
“It’s all I’ve been doing lately. Breaking.”
“You’re not broken, Jimin.” His therapist looks at him resolutely, voice unwavering. “Maybe a little bent, but not broken.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
I don’t know what to do without Jungkook is what he means to say, but it’s too pathetic to admit out loud. He was the one to suggest the break in the first place. This is what he wanted, right?
“What are some things you enjoy doing?”
The casual shift in conversation awakens Jimin from his sullen state, a crease forming between his brows.
“What do you mean?”
Yoongi relaxes his shoulders, scribbling something down in his notebook.
“I’m giving you some homework. Every day this coming week, I want you to do something you like to do. It could be as simple as going for a walk. Cooking a meal. Watching a film. Anything that sparks joy.”
It must be clear from Jimin’s reaction that he's having a hard time coming up with anything that might actually accomplish that.
“This is a rough season, Jimin,” his therapist says, still serious in tone though his face is softer. “And it’ll only get worse if you deny yourself the ability to feel genuine happiness.”
Again, Yoongi puts it so simply. Jimin often feels his therapist has more faith in him than he does in himself.
”It might feel impossible right now, but you will. You always have.”
The annoying thing about Yoongi is that he tends to be right.
—
When Jimin goes home, the first thing he does is clean the apartment. It isn’t necessarily something that sparks joy, but he hasn’t done much to take care of himself in the past few days, let alone his house, so it must be done. Surprisingly, cleaning keeps both his hands and mind busy, and Jimin manages to get through his list of household chores without thinking about the silent agreement he and Jungkook have about them — his husband cooks while Jimin does the dishes; Jimin vacuums while Jungkook takes care of laundry.
Tonight, Jimin does it all, and by the end of it, he’s exhausted, falling in bed with a thud, trying not to think of how big it feels with just him in it — he’s made it through the rest of the day without crying, and he’s not about to start now, too tired to think of anything but finally getting some much-needed shuteye before his shift tomorrow.
But when he lifts up his phone, the screen lights up with the picture of him and Jungkook, a reminder that despite his best effort today, he can’t escape reality.
This is the longest he’s ever gone without talking to his husband.
Jimin opens his messages, Jungkook’s contact just underneath Seokjin’s. His finger hovers over it, like a dare no one has put him up to.
I just want to make sure he’s safe, he thinks, even if he knows Jungkook is probably fine. Jimin still presses the icon with his husband’s name on it, eyes immediately looking to see when he’s last been online.
An hour ago.
The conversation underneath is eerily ordinary; Jimin telling his husband he’ll be a little late from work, Jungkook saying he’ll run by the store to get them dinner, both of them clueless of what would happen just a few hours later.
The memory makes something twist in his chest, Jimin about to put away his phone when suddenly the text underneath his husband’s name changes from last seen to online.
Jimin’s heart jumps up in his throat, and he immediately scoots up and brings the phone closer to make sure he’s seeing correctly. Jungkook’s here. Or there, wherever he is. He’s basically one text away, which is a silly thing to say, because he always has been.
The taunting feeling of challenge is back, Jimin’s heartbeat elevated as he questions whether he should. He’s your husband, for god’s sake, the rational side of him screams, but there’s another side, the cynical and catastrophising and frankly ugly part of him which has its claws tightly curled around his neck.
At the end, Jungkook makes the decision for him. The text switches back again, the time on his screen reading quarter to eleven.
Jimin goes to bed disappointed but not surprised, deciding he’ll give Yoongi’s homework another try tomorrow.
—
On Thursday, Jimin wakes up early to get to work, where he arrives to find a tired looking Seokjin who’s just finished his night shift, the man still enthusiastically nodding when he accepts Jimin’s invitation to come over for some takeout later.
The shift itself goes by in a breeze, and after having rushed off to the spinning class he’s been putting off for the past month, and making a detour on his way home to pick up the food he’s ordered. Jimin arrives at home just in time to hop in the shower before Seokjin arrives.
They’ve barely eaten half-a-slice of his pizza when Jimin breaks the news to his friend.
“Oh, Jimin. I’m so sorry,” the man says, sounding genuinely upset as he drops the pizza in his hand, Jimin trying to swallow the bite of his own.
“It’s okay,” he says with a shaky voice, not sure whether he’s trying to convince Seokjin or himself. All Jimin knows is he’s sick of crying, so he does his best to muster up a smile he knows looks just pathetic as it feels.
“Have you talked to him at all?”
Jimin shakes his head. “Not since Friday.”
The frown on Seokjin’s face deepens.
“Do you know where he is?”
Jimin can’t even will himself to say it out loud, knowing the carefully crafted facade he’s barely able to keep up will come crumbling down if he does.
Instead, he shrugs, face falling down to hide the shame on it.
“No matter what, I’m here for you, you know that right?” Seokjin’s hand finds his knee, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I’m glad you asked me to come.”
Jimin clears his voice, still adamant on not getting emotional.
“My therapist has me doing this thing where I do one thing that makes me happy every day,” he says, wanting to shift the conversation away from Jungkook and coming up with nothing better to respond with.
“And nothing in the world makes you happier than seeing this handsome face?” Seokjin teases, Jimin relieved that the mood has turned somewhat more lighthearted. Chuckling out loud for the first time in almost a week, Jimin can feel it’s something he’s needed, and it isn’t strange that it’s Seokjin who brings it out of him.
Jimin’s learned a lot about being happy from him.
“You know what would make me happy?” Seokjin says, stuffing his face with a huge slice, the next words coming out all mumbled with how full his mouth is. “If you came out for drinks with us tomorrow.”
Jimin’s arm stops briefly just before the pizza in his hand reaches his mouth, but then he shoves it in quickly, avoiding having to reply to Seokjin’s invite.
“C’mon, it’s been ages since you came to our afterwork!”
It has been months since Jimin last joined his co-workers for their weekly hangout after work. At first, he simply wanted to prioritize spending time with his husband, especially since both were working long hours and barely saw one another during the week. But as he and Jungkook had less and less to talk about, Jimin not wanting to see his friends outside of work was less about it being a scheduling conflict, and more fueled by actual fear of them realizing just how troubled Jimin’s relationship with his husband had become. And since he’d never been a convincing liar, Jimin closed himself off from not only the one person he’d taken an oath to love and cherish forever, but also the other people in his life who mattered to him.
Now, the truth is out there, and despite how he might feel on the inside, the world around him hasn’t come crashing down. It continues turning, and life around him continues, the same to everyone but him. Somewhere under the tender memories of the past few months, Jimin hears his therapist’s voice, telling him he deserves to experience happiness, even in the midst of all the sadness and confusion.
“I’ll think about it,” he says, seeing a spark of hope light up in Seokjin’s eyes, and even if Jimin wouldn’t go as far as to say he feels healed, knowing he’s alleviated his friend’s worry even a little bit is enough to give him some peace of mind.
They close out the evening with a movie which Jimin falls asleep to about half-way in, waking up to Seokjin gently pulling a blanket over him as the credits roll in the background. Groggy from his unintended nap, Jimin says goodbye to the man, stumbling up the stairs as he gets himself ready for bed.
But just like last night, once in bed, the thought of sleep is a distant memory, his chat with Jungkook a stark light in the otherwise dark room.
Jimin takes a deep breath, his fingers tapping the screen in a rush, the message like a bandaid he’s put off ripping for far too long.
[Me]
I’m going out with some people after work tomorrow.
He knows Jungkook likes to work from home on Fridays, and though the man can obviously get everything done from his office as well, it doesn’t seem fair that Jimin alone gets access to their joint home.
It’s still his home, right?
He also hasn’t stopped caring about Jungkook, and he doubts he ever will.
[Me]
Just letting you know the house is empty if you need anything.
He waits for a while to make sure that the messages go through, admittedly a little curious to see whether his husband will make an unexpected appearance like last time. After five minutes though, as the screen on his phone still reads sent, Jimin puts away the phone, turning his back to it as he closes his eyes.
Jimin falls asleep listening to the rain patter against his window, the sky soon breaking into a downpour which washes the house with the world’s sorrows. What he knows now, however, is that it will greet him with a new day tomorrow — with or without Jungkook.
—
As Jimin stands outside the entrance of the bar just down the street from his workplace, he’s still unsure whether he really wants to be there.
You deserve to feel happy.
You deserve to feel happy.
You deserve to feel happy.
The statement has become somewhat of a mantra to him in the last few days, and while Jimin can’t say that he actually feels much happier, at least he’s pushing himself to do things out of his comfort zone — which in itself gives him less time to think about the things that actually make him feel like shit.
The place is small and cozy and not very crowded at five in the afternoon, which is why it isn’t hard to spot the group he’s joining. They wave their hands enthusiastically as he walks in, making a way too big of a ruckus about his appearance, and though it’s a bit embarrassing to be the center of attention, Jimin can’t deny it also takes away some of the pressure he felt coming tonight.
Luckily, for the remainder of the evening, Jimin is allowed to stay an observer, lips curled around his straw as he listens to his co-workers hash out the latest workplace gossip. By his third drink, he feels the pleasant buzz of alcohol hum in his ears, the atmosphere around him hazy and relaxed.
“I’m gonna go get another one,” he yells over the chatter, lifting up his empty cup in tandem with getting up, giggling a little to himself as he stumbles towards the bar.
Once there, he plops down on one of the stools opposite the bartender, handing him the empty glass.
“Another one of these, please,” he says, wincing a little at how obviously tipsy he sounds. The bartender doesn’t seem to mind — he grabs the glass with a polite smile, walking down the bar to prepare the drink and returning with it not even a minute later.
“This one’s on the house.”
“Oh?” Jimin replies, positively surprised as he takes the first sip, the refreshing notes of grapefruit and lime bursting in his mouth. “You have like a special or something?”
“No,” the bartender replies, still smiling as he shakes his head, as if that’s supposed to explain why he’s given Jimin the drink for free. “Enjoying your night out?”
Jimin decides he must just be too drunk to read the situation properly, shifting his focus back on the drink in his hand.
“Yeah, it’s been fun.”
“Are you a new hire?”
This time, it’s Jimin’s turn to shake his head.
“No, why?”
“Well, it’s just that I’ve been serving this group for months every Friday and I haven’t seen you before,” the man says, throwing the towel he’d been using to wipe down the bar over his shoulder. He looks Jimin right in the eyes, a cheeky grin on his face. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”
Oh god.
The free drink.
The smiles.
The seductive glare.
It’s been so long, Jimin has completely forgotten what it is like to be flirted with. He immediately feels his cheeks flare up, a slight panic starting to simmer under his skin.
What does he do? It’s not like he’s done anything inherently wrong, but this is not something he accounted for coming here today. The bartender on the other hand seems completely oblivious to his inner ramblings, hand coming up from behind the bar to offer a handshake.
“I’m Hoseok-”
“I’m married,” he says, interrupting the man as his left hand shoots up, Jimin waving it in the air awkwardly.
“Oh,” the bartender says, looking genuinely surprised. “I’m sorry. You weren’t wearing a ring so I thought…”
Jimin’s eyes fall down to his ring finger, stomach dropping when he realizes the man is right.
He isn’t wearing his ring.
It isn’t intentional — he must have forgotten to put it on after his shower this morning. Still, it’s the first time since Jungkook first slipped it on him at their wedding ceremony five years ago that he’s left the house without it.
The urge to cry is immediate, the feelings of guilt and longing relentless and all-consuming.
“Yeah, no, I-” Jimin tries to keep his voice steady, not keen on breaking into a drunken mess of sobs in front of a complete stranger. “I forgot it at home. Actually, I think I have to go get it.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, now. I-” Jimin starts backing away, leaving the drink unfinished on the bar top. “I can’t be here.”
He runs out of the bar without saying goodbye, knowing only that he has to get out of there as soon as possible.
—
Jimin decides to hop off of his bus one stop too early on his way home, the brisk evening air the best remedy he knows to sobering up quickly — both from his inebriation and the emotional comedown.
By the time he’s reached his home street, his fingers have gone numb from the cold, cheeks apple red like they tend to get when temperatures drop. Most importantly, the walk has done its job, Jimin feeling more clearheaded than 30 minutes before.
The feeling is short-lived, however, because as he rounds the corner to his house, he finds a very familiar-looking figure sitting by the front steps.
“Jungkook?”
Jimin stops in his tracks, not sure whether he’s more drunk than he thinks, because the other thing he wasn’t expecting from tonight was seeing his husband sit and wait for him outside their home.
This sudden reunion is making a multitude of emotions rush to Jimin’s head. He feels relief at knowing Jungkook is safe, but also hurt, the memory of their last encounter returning to him in painful flashes.
Mostly he’s confused, not sure where they’re supposed to go from here.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Jungkook says after a while, both of them having stared at each other in silence for a little too long.
“The battery died.”
It’s an unusual thing to say, because Jimin never goes anywhere without his phone charged. Then again, he’s done a lot of unusual things lately, the ring finger on his left hand feeling bare in the jacket pocket where he’s hiding it.
“Why are you sitting here?”
Jimin’s still standing in place, but Jungkook has now stood up, hovering awkwardly by the door.
“I left my key inside.”
“Yeah, a week ago,” Jimin is quick to reply, the bitter bite to his voice stinging in his ears. He doesn’t want to argue. He really doesn't. Jimin clears his voice, more mellow when he continues. “You could have come and gotten it. I wouldn’t have stopped you.”
I was waiting for you to come. That’s what he really means, something he hasn’t even admitted to himself. Jimin must look like he has more to say, because Jungkook just looks at him, waiting for the rest. When there’s nothing, he breaks eye contact, glancing at the door instead.
“Can I come in?”
“You still live here, don’t you?”
The thing is, Jimin’s genuinely asking, which is ridiculous, considering Jungkook’s his husband. What’s even more absurd is how long it takes Jungkook to answer, like he really has to think about the answer.
“Yeah,” the man finally settles with, which is when Jimin’s legs finally break from their spell, walking towards the front door like he’s been given a mission to complete.
He doesn’t look at his husband as he twists the key in the lock, nor when he hears the door shut behind them.
“I gotta shower.”
It really isn’t as urgent as he makes it seem — Jimin’s already showered twice today — but he needs some time to process what is happening. He vaguely hears Jungkook give him an okay before he darts up the stairs, feeling all lightheaded again as he locks the bathroom door behind him.
The shower he takes is scalding hot, the whole bathroom fogged up when he’s ready 10 minutes later, and though Jimin feels like he’s peeled a whole layer of skin off from scrubbing, he hasn’t really had time to think of what he actually wants to say to Jungkook.
All he knows is that he can’t keep the man waiting for too long, so he quickly dries himself off, throws on some fresh clothes, and gives himself a final glance in the mirror. His eyes, however, don’t fall on the strands of hair that drip with water, or on the way his face still flushes red. Instead, they turn to the little porcelain plate sitting on the sink, his wedding ring placed neatly in the center of it.
He thinks about it for a while, teeth snagging off a strip of skin as he bites his lower lip. Ultimately, Jimin picks up the piece of jewellery, slipping it on his ring finger as he walks out of the bathroom to join his husband downstairs.
Jungkook doesn’t see him coming at first.
The man is sitting on the sofa, fingers nervously playing in his lap as he stares down at them in deep concentration. He looks tired. Jimin knows the look well, has seen the fatigue which paints Jungkook’s face when he’s sleep-deprived or over-worked one too many times.
The fact that he’s the cause of the stress now makes his stomach churn.
“Where did you go?”
The sudden question makes Jungkook look up, and it isn’t until his doe eyes meet Jimin’s that Jimin sees what he’s been fiddling with is actually his wedding band, the skin all red and irritated around the ring.
“You remember Taehyung from my gym?” Jungkook says after clearing his voice, about to stand up when Jimin gestures for him to sit down.
“I didn’t know you were that close.”
Jimin keeps his distance, the idea of just casually sitting down next to Jungkook after their unforeseen break definitely tempting. Ultimately, it’s the awkwardness between them, both foreign and very palpable, which keeps Jimin rooted in his place
“We’re not, but I didn’t know where else to go.”
Namjoon would have been the obvious answer, but since all of Jimin’s friends are also Jungkook’s friends, it would have been hard for the man to find a place where he had no chance of running into his husband.
That’s what happens when you build your life together. The fact that Jimin even has to ask, after a week of being clueless of his husband’s whereabouts, only adds to the sinking feeling which has been steadily building in the past week.
It’s silent now, the discomfort between them unfamiliar, neither sure how to begin unraveling the mess they have become. Jimin supposes it’s best to just rip off the bandaid, and be honest with both Jungkook and himself.
“I thought you left for good, you know.”
“What?”
The upset is devastating on Jungkook’s face, only accentuating the gaunt look in his dark-rimmed eyes.
“I thought you left your key because you weren’t planning on coming home again. I thought you were done with me.”
They’re not even 5-minutes into the conversation and Jimin can already feel his resolve slipping, barely able to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes.
“Jimin. We’ve been together half our lives,” Jungkook says, his voice strained with hurt. “We’re married. You really think I’d do that to you?”
The fact that he did is what eventually makes Jimin break. His breath hitches as he speaks.
“You just left. Without any fight. Without saying anything.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted-”
“Why would I want that?”
They both stop, their breaths heavy with the promise of the conversation escalating into an argument neither wants to have. What’s different this time compared to any other is that the stakes feel higher; the discussion can end in one of two ways, sealing the fate of the rest of their lives.
“Sometimes you say one thing but you mean the opposite. It’s not always easy knowing what you want.” Jungkook lowers his gaze, eyes finding the ring on his finger which glimmers in the soft light of the room. “I know how it sounds. We’ve been together for half of our lives. I should know you by now, right?”
When Jungkook looks up, it’s like he’s searching for the answer in Jimin’s eyes.
“But we’re not teenagers anymore. We’re not the same people we were fifteen years ago.” The sigh Jungkook lets out is fueled by frustration. “Sometimes when I look at you now, I think you’re the greatest mystery life has ever thrown my way.”
Jimin gulps. He’s not sure whether that’s supposed to be a good thing. The uncertainty on his face must be apparent, because Jungkook is quick to continue.
“Sometimes, you tell me one thing but mean the opposite. Like when you tell me you’re fine, when really you’re not. And I try my best to understand what it is you want, trust me I really do.” Jungkook looks down again, a shameful expression washing over his face. “Lately it seems I can never get it right.”
There’s desperation in the way he says it, and the fact that Jungkook looks apologetic is an added twist of the knife, especially since there’s truth to what he’s saying.
Jimin isn’t always honest with what he tells his husband. His intentions have never been malicious, but with time and the deteriorating state of their relationship, Jimin knows he’s been bad at communicating. Even thinking back to the last conversation they had, he remembers all of the things he wanted to say but didn’t.
Couldn’t.
And maybe Jimin’s made a lot of baseless assumptions about what his husband is thinking too. Maybe, he hasn’t stopped to consider that Jungkook’s silence was never indifference, but the same debilitating fear of losing the one thing that mattered the most. Maybe in the process of their shared emotional constipation, their relationship became collateral damage.
Maybe this was the wake-up call they needed to find the will to fight for it.
“What I’m saying is I need you to tell me what you really want, okay?” The soft curve of his eyes is gone, but Jungkook doesn’t look angry or disappointed. He just looks determined. Reassured. Something about it makes a spark of desire light up in Jimin’s chest. “So tell me what you really want.”
Jimin feels naked under his husband’s gaze, like he’a being properly perceived for the first time in forever. And for someone who’s been denied affection for so long, who’s craved attention for so long, Jimin can’t help but to fully give in to Jungkook’s demand, the walls he’s falsely told himself to keep upright evaporating in the blink of an eye.
“I want you to show that you still care about me. That you still care about us.”
The confession sucks all of the breath out of his lungs, body heaving with the weight which falls off his shoulders. This time, he doesn't have to face the distress alone. This time, Jungkook is there, and he’s faster than the tears which start rolling down Jimin’s cheeks.
His hands are everywhere; rough and calloused, warm and comforting, just the way Jimin remembers them, and they pull him into a hug which leaves no space between them.
Just the way Jimin wants them to.
“This is the most important thing to me, Jimin. You. Us,” he murmurs into Jimin’s hair, the words gentle and full of the sort of brittle hope you feel when waking up from a nightmare to find you’ve been in the comfort of your own bed all along. “If I have to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, I will.”
This promise is anything but fragile. It’s full of reassurance, Jungkook’s arms firm around Jimin as he lets out a sigh of relief.
They’re not in a hurry to let go, neither wanting to waste any more of the precious time together they’ve lost not only in the past week, but the years prior to it. It isn’t until Jimin’s heartbeat has quieted down from the rush of adrenaline that he reluctantly pulls away, still clinging onto Jungkook’s shirt as he speaks.
“I want you to work less.”
“I already spoke with my boss. Starting next month, I’m working part-time.”
Jimin looks up, the surprise evident in both his tone and on his face.
“How did she take that?”
Jungkook shrugs.
“I just told her I was going through a marriage crisis and if I didn’t set my priorities straight you were going to divorce me.”
“I-”
“I’m kidding,” Jungkook says fondly, finger smoothing out the crease of worry on Jimin’s forehead. “She was actually really supportive. It’s not like I’m some newbie anymore. I’m allowed to take some time off. She even suggested we go on a holiday, you know. I think that sounded quite nice.”
“Sapporo,” Jimin says immediately, thinking back to their honeymoon trip. “I want to go back to Sapporo.”
Jungkook chuckles at the hasty response, hand falling down to brush away a strand of hair which has fallen in front of Jimin’s eyes.
“Okay. Sapporo it is,” he says, nodding. “But that means you have to take some time off of work too.”
“I can do that.”
The silence which follows isn’t awkward. It’s comforting and easy, a quiet which can only be found in the eyes of the people you truly trust. The smile on Jimin’s face falters, the feeling of finding something you’ve been missing suddenly overwhelmingly present.
“I want you to come home.”
It doesn’t take long for his husband’s expression to mirror his own, the corners of Jungkook’s mouth falling down.
“This past week has been the worst.”
It’s almost hard to believe Jungkook used to be the more emotional one of them. It’s been years since Jimin’s seen him cry. But now the tears pool in his husband’s eyes, lower lips wobbling as he tries not to break down.
“Yeah, they have,” Jimin says solemnly, voice not wavering as he brings up his hands to hold Jungkook’s face. “Let’s never do that again.”
“Never.”
Jungkook sniffles, the tears gone as quickly as they came, the sorrowful frown replaced by a relieved smile. He still has that crooked grin Jimin remembers from when they were just kids, and though there are some signs of age on his husband's face, like the crow's feet forming in the corners of his eyes, Jungkook still looks like the very same man Jimin fell in love with over a decade ago.
Today, his heart beats just as fast as it did that first time their lips met one random Tuesday afternoon after cram school. Jimin exhales softly, ready to make one final bid.
“I want you to kiss me.”
His hands are still on Jungkook’s face, but his eyes are already on his lips, breath picking up again.
“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”
The reply is but a whisper, like an exhale of longing and closure.
As Jungkook closes in, his lips feeling like home against his own, Jimin feels it in his heart that they’ll be alright.
—
—
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