Chapter Text
Jimin had always known, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, that Taehyung was different to him. A quiet voice had whispered it persistently for years, but Jimin never paid it any mind. He dismissed it the way one brushes off a passing breeze—only acknowledging its presence, never letting it change his course.
That voice was inconvenient. Inconvenient because Taehyung was his best friend—his soulmate—in every way that didn’t involve romance. The boy who’d stood by him since their days in diapers, through mud pies and scraped knees, sleepovers and schoolyard fights.
Taehyung had followed him even into college, nonchalantly claiming he had nothing better to do. And when Jimin teased him about it over the years, Taehyung only shrugged and said, “I meant what I said back then—if not for me, you’d be lost in the world.” Jimin would, of course, roll his eyes and smack him on the back, scolding him for being arrogant—but deep down, in the private space between breaths and memories, Jimin agreed. Taehyung had saved him in more ways than he could count.
Between the two of them, Taehyung had always been the vibrant one—loud and silly. His laugh was unrestrained, his jokes utterly ridiculous. He could light up a room with a wink and a poorly timed pun. Jimin remembered that version of Taehyung so vividly—the lanky toddler with the alien brain who once tried to mail himself to the moon.
But somewhere between high school graduation and the first year of university, that Taehyung began to fade—his laughter growing quieter, his posture straighter, and his words fewer. Jimin missed the chaos, but he couldn’t help being drawn to the calm.
The boy who once climbed trees to escape math homework had grown into a man with a face that could silence a room. A face that—unfortunately for Jimin—grew increasingly beautiful with each passing year. Puberty had hit Taehyung like divine intervention—and it hit Jimin like a freight train.
He remembered the first time he really looked at him. Not just saw him, but noticed him—his sharper jawline, the way his eyes seemed to know too much, the way he carried silence like a second skin. It was jarring. And very intriguing. Jimin didn’t know what to do with that realization, so he stuffed it down, laughed a little louder, and moved on—like he should have.
But unfortunately for him, others had noticed too. Girls—and a few boys—gravitated toward Taehyung like moths to a flame. And Taehyung? He met every advance with the same polite indifference: a passive expression, hands in his pockets, and a stare that fell just short of bored. It was like he was waiting for someone who never arrived. Like he already belonged to something—or someone—no one could quite touch.
And it only baffled Jimin more, because they had known each other for over twenty years, and he knew Taehyung didn’t have a special someone.
Sohee, a girl from their literature elective, was no exception. She was pretty, bold, and completely smitten. She’d confessed her feelings to Taehyung once already, and he’d listened in silence, letting her words dissolve into the air between them before simply walking away.
Today, she’d asked again—cornering him in the cafeteria with soft eyes and a hopeful smile. Jimin watched from a distance, uninterested at first. He was too busy laughing with Jungkook, swatting at his dongsaeng’s shoulder after he cracked a dumb joke about their professor’s haircut.
Jimin’s giggle filled the space like sunlight, unaware that across the cafeteria, Taehyung was looking at him as if he were the only thing in the world worth seeing.
Sohee saw it before Jimin did—the way Taehyung’s face changed from blank and unreadable to something soft, maybe dreamy even. There was a flicker of light in his eyes, a fondness that bloomed as he stared right past her shoulder.
Sohee turned to see what—or who—had caught his attention.
It was Jimin, still giggling with a hand over his mouth, his hair falling into his eyes. He hadn’t even seen Taehyung yet, but it didn’t matter—Taehyung was looking at him like he was the answer to every question. She thought maybe he was.
Just then, she saw Jimin’s eyes flick up and find Taehyung’s across the vast space separating them. Something unspoken passed between them, briefly blazing, and Sohee felt it—like a shift in gravity.
Taehyung stood up, the metal chair screeching against the floor, pulling attention. Sohee turned back to him, her face hopeful, confusion overtaking her features when Taehyung didn’t look at her again.
“I don’t want to date anyone,” he said flatly, and walked away, his hands still deep in his pockets—just where they had been ever since he sat down with her.
She sat frozen, her heart sinking with the weight of another heartbreak.
Taehyung wasn't there to see the frown on her lips—already moving toward where he seemed to belong.
“Taehyungie!” Jimin beamed, voice bright like always—like it had been since they were five. He reached for Taehyung without hesitation, arms wrapping around him in an affectionate hug.
And the boy who never let anyone touch him—who’d warded off affection since he turned seventeen—leaned in without thinking, his arm wrapping around Jimin’s shoulder, tugging him closer, like even the smallest distance was unbearable.
Sohee watched it all—the way Taehyung’s face softened the second Jimin touched him. The way his fingers lingered on Jimin’s back.
And the way he melted into the other male, like it was were he belonged.
(ᗒᗩᗕ)
The library was quiet, the afternoon light filtering through the tall windows, casting a golden glow across the wooden floor.
Jimin sat tucked into his usual seat—third table from the back, next to the far shelf near the windows—the one where Taehyung always found him without needing to look.
He wasn’t reading, just absently flipping through a textbook. His eyes skimmed the same line again and again, the words blurring into static.
His mind was elsewhere—back in the corridor outside the lecture hall, where Sohee had approached him, her voice laced with quiet desperation, eyes searching his face for hope.
“Please, Jimin. I really like him. Just talk to him for me. You’re his best friend. You’re the only one he listens to.”
He had nodded, confident—maybe too confident. Of course Taehyung would listen. Taehyung always listened to him. He rarely said no. It was an unspoken truth between them, folded into years of closeness, of shared childhoods and teenage secrets. Taehyung had followed him through life like gravity—unwavering and loyal. Jimin had never questioned it. He just accepted it. But now… now he wondered if he was trying to take it for granted.
The front doors creaked softly, and Jimin’s eyes flicked up on instinct. Taehyung had just entered, dressed in his usual half-untucked shirt and slacks—somehow stylish despite the dishevelment. His eyes scanned the room once—and landed straight on Jimin, like magnets snapping into place.
Jimin told himself it was muscle memory. Taehyung always knew where to find him. Still, his heart skipped a beat.
Taehyung made his way over without a word and dropped into the seat beside him, the chair scraping lightly against the floor.
Jimin pretended to stay engrossed in his textbook, on words he hadn’t absorbed in the last twenty minutes. He didn’t look up. Not even when he felt Taehyung’s hand reach for his.
Warm fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, tugging his hand away from the book. Taehyung pressed Jimin’s palm to his cheek and leaned into it with a soft groan, resting his head on the table. His nose nuzzled against Jimin’s skin, the edge of his lashes brushing the heel of Jimin’s hand as he closed his eyes and let out a long, exhausted sigh that sent a strange shiver up Jimin’s spine.
“God, I’m so tired,” Taehyung mumbled, his voice a soft rumble.
Jimin sat frozen, heart hammering in his chest. He dared to glance sideways. Taehyung looked peaceful like that—eyes closed, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. The golden afternoon light softened the sharp angles of his face—his straight nose, high cheekbones, the faint shadow of stubble on his chin, and the relaxed curve of his mouth.
Jimin’s eyes traced the familiar moles scattered across his face, stopping on the one on his lower lip. God, Jimin thought, his throat suddenly dry. He really is beautiful. The realization brought heat to his cheeks, embarrassment flaring. He was staring like a creep. Why am I staring? he panicked. This is Taehyung. Just Taehyung. But something was different. Maybe it has been for a while now.
Taehyung’s fingers gently curled around his wrist, and Jimin suddenly felt exposed—because if Taehyung could feel how fast his traitorous heart was thudding…
“Hey,” Taehyung asked, cracking one eye open lazily as he gazed at Jimin with concern. “You okay?”
“I—I’m fine.” Jimin shook his head quickly, flustered, sending his black bangs shifting across his forehead.
Taehyung’s gaze lingered for a second, unreadable, then, seemingly satisfied, he sighed softly and closed his eyes again, rubbing his cheek against Jimin’s palm like a cat demanding affection.
“My hand’s gonna fall off if you sleep like this,” Jimin complained lightly, his voice higher than usual, trying to sound casual despite his pulse thundering somewhere up his throat. “Seriously, it’ll go numb.”
“You should’ve just asked me to sleep on your shoulder then.” Taehyung teased, making a show of yawning and stretching his long limbs before he was shifting.
“I didn’t ask—” Jimin’s eyes widened.
Taehyung moved, resting his head against Jimin’s shoulder, even slouching lower in his chair to match Jimin’s height, exhaling like he’d settled into bed.
There was silence for a while, during which Jimin tried to will his heart back to its normal rhythm.
“Are you back on your diet again?” Taehyung grumbled suddenly, voice slurred with sleep, leaning his full weight into Jimin.
“What?”
“Your shoulder bone is stabbing my skull. Sharp as hell,” he muttered, half his face now buried in the fabric of Jimin’s shirt.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m serious,” Taehyung whined, clinging to his arm. “And your cheeks. Where did your cheeks go, Min-ah? I miss those chubby cheeks.”
When he tried to wriggle even closer, Jimin—half horrified, half melting—nudged him away. “You’re so rude.”
Taehyung only chuckled, sleepy and unbothered, arms now sneaking around Jimin’s waist to anchor himself. “Don’t want to move. I’m tired. Classes are killing me.”
Jimin’s heart betrayed him again, racing too loudly. But he couldn’t ignore the gnawing in his gut—not just from the closeness, but from the fact that Sohee and her friend were watching.
A few tables away, they were trying—and failing—not to stare. He’d already caught Sohee’s smile falter earlier, seen the way her gaze lingered when Taehyung leaned into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He needed to talk to him. Now.
So, with a sharp breath, Jimin shoved at Taehyung’s arms with more force than before. “I’m going to get a book,” he said, standing abruptly.
“Meanie.” Predictably, Taehyung groaned like he was being abandoned, then got up to follow him.
“Why are you so clingy?” Jimin asked over his shoulder, weaving between shelves.
“You’re the one who woke me up,” Taehyung retorted with a yawn. “Now I’m invested.”
Jimin wandered deeper into the stacks, pretending to browse while his thoughts churned. Taehyung watched him with an amused look, but it didn’t last. His eyes narrowed the longer Jimin paced aimlessly.
“You’re in the wrong section,” he finally pointed out, arms crossed, eyelids barely open.
Realizing his best friend had caught on too quickly, Jimin panicked and reached for a book—some random title from the philosophy section—stretching on his toes to grab it.
Taehyung let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Okay,” he said, stepping closer and leaning against the shelf with that same lazy grace, “Spill. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.” Jimin froze, hand still stretched. He didn’t know why he was suddenly nervous—he’d always been honest with Taehyung.
“Jimin.” Taehyung gave him a look.
Jimin bit the inside of his cheek. Swallowing thickly, he slowly lowered his arm and turned, gaze avoiding Taehyung’s. “It’s about… Sohee.” Something in Taehyung’s face shifted. Just for a fraction of a second—so fast you might miss it, there was a flicker of something like hurt, raw and barely there, before it disappeared behind a wall of indifference. “She… she came to me,” Jimin said hesitantly, continuing carefully. “And she asked me to talk to you.”
Taehyung didn’t say anything. He just stared at him, with his face totally blank. “I told her you’d listen to me. That you’d maybe give her a chance.” Jimin added, offering a sheepish smile, hoping to lighten the moment.
Just then, Sohee appeared at the edge of the aisle, hovering with a book clutched to her chest. She looked nervous—hopeful, like someone bracing for impact.
Taehyung glanced at her briefly. Then his gaze returned to Jimin—and didn’t budge.
Jimin panicking , widened his eyes meaningfully, mouthing silently: please, and motioned toward her with his chin. Come on, just this once. His face twisted into exaggerated pleading, lips in a pout, subtly gesturing toward Sohee.
Taehyung’s expression didn’t change. His eyes trailed slowly across Jimin’s face. His gaze dropped to Jimin’s cheeks, softened—but he said nothing. Then, without looking back at Sohee, Taehyung said quietly, “Wait for me after school, okay? Let’s go out. I’ll buy you dinner.”
And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the aisle, leaving Jimin behind with a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t name.
Sohee stood a few steps behind, unsure and silent.
Jimin didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know what he wanted to say. All he knew was that the voice in his head—the one he used to ignore—was now screaming. Taehyung is different.
And that Jimin had been wrong about what Taehyung would say yes to, after all.
(｡ŏ﹏ŏ)
No matter how many times Jimin told himself this time he would do it, he somehow always ended the day flopping onto his bed, groaning into his pillow in frustration. Taehyung was impossible.
Every time Jimin so much as hinted at Sohee’s name, Taehyung would expertly derail the conversation with the most well-timed distractions.
Sometimes it was by pointing out a new cafe he wanted to try. Sometimes it was with absurdly deep questions like, “Do you think fish ever get bored of swimming?” And more often than not, it was simply by mentioning something Jimin was actually dying to talk about—a song he’d discovered, a random memory from high school, or a conspiracy theory he knew would send Jimin into a spiral.
Jimin always took the bait. And every night, he buried his face into his pillow, groaning aloud, hating himself for letting Taehyung get away with it.
One evening, Jimin found himself sitting cross-legged at Taehyung’s dining table, a bowl of rice in front of him and the familiar smell of grilled meat filling the air.
Taehyung’s house had always felt like a second home—the soft hum of jazz in the background always making the space feel oddly intimate.
They were halfway through dinner, dipping lettuce wraps into sesame oil and bickering about which movie to watch after, when Jimin saw his window. He waited until Taehyung reached for another strip of pork belly to flip on the grill.
“So… about Sohee—” Taehyung didn’t even flinch at the mention of the forbidden name.
“Oh, did I tell you? Namjoon-hyung said he might get us tickets to the art museum exhibit next week. The Van Gogh one. You wanted to go, right?” There it was again.
Jimin narrowed his eyes at his best friend, who was not so subtly trying to make him take the bait. When Taehyung realized he hadn’t latched onto the topic like usual, he glanced at Jimin, chewing casually.
“What?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” he asked, all innocence on his face. He could have fooled anyone—just not Jimin. Not today.
“Don’t act like you don’t know.” Jimin leaned forward, almost whining, eyes set in a way that said he meant business. “You’re changing the subject. Every time I try to talk about Sohee, you pull something random out of your galaxy brain and distract me.”
“Is it my fault your attention span is the size of a pea?” Taehyung smirked faintly, eyes glimmering the way they always did when he was in the mood to get on Jimin’s nerves.
Jimin picked up his chopsticks and pointed them at him, threateningly. “I’m being serious. She really likes you.”
Taehyung didn’t respond. His hand calmly reached out, picked up a small piece of meat from the grill, and placed it on Jimin’s rice without even looking at him.
“I’m serious, Tae.”
“I heard you,” Taehyung said, still focused on his plate.
Jimin sighed and pressed on, more determined this time. “I’m just saying… you’re too quick to shut people down. It’s kind of rude. At least give her a chance. And if it doesn’t work, fine—at least you’ll both know you tried.”
Taehyung didn’t look up while he chewed slowly, then reached for another piece of meat and again dropped it onto Jimin’s plate, like it was second nature.
“Tae,” Jimin said, more softly now, “you always do this. You pretend you’re not listening, but you hear everything. Say something.”
When Taehyung finally turned to him, his eyes were calm. Then he tilted his head slightly to the side, watching Jimin—who was busy chewing. He reached over and cupped Jimin’s chin, thumb brushing lightly across his cheek as he gently pressed Jimin’s lips into a pout. “You’re talking with your mouth full. You’re gonna choke if you keep that up.”
Jimin flushed, pulling back with a soft grumble. “Sorry.”
They fell into silence for a while, the only sounds being the sizzle of the grill and the clink of their chopsticks. Jimin chewed slowly, sneaking glances at Taehyung, who had gone back to eating without a word—like the entire conversation had been swallowed whole and tucked away.
But Jimin couldn’t shake the feeling that Taehyung had heard every word and that he was carefully, deliberately choosing not to answer.
💐💐
After Taehyung's streak of random rejections—Sohee being only the latest in a long line—Jimin found himself pacing the length of his room more than once, chewing on thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.
He couldn’t shake it. It was weird, the way Taehyung seemed to treat romantic interest like it was an inconvenience rather than a possibility. So Jimin, being Jimin, decided it was time to consult the one person in college who always had a dramatic opinion and surprisingly sharp wisdom about life: Kim Seokjin.
Thankfully, fate—or their project professor—had already done half the work by putting them in the same advanced seminar group.
Seokjin, who was pursuing his master’s in business, had been teamed up with a couple of undergrads to balance experience with enthusiasm.
The moment the professor asked them to choose partners, Taehyung had already moved closer to Jimin like a magnetic pull, his eyes half-lidded with expectation.
But Jimin pushed at Taehyung’s chest with a teasing laugh. “You’re too distracting, Taehyungie. I’ll get nothing done,” he’d said with a grin before throwing an arm around Seokjin’s shoulders. “Come on, Jin hyung, let’s make this a winning duo.”
The way Taehyung blinked at him—betrayed—made Jimin giggle. He threw him an innocent smile over his shoulder as he dragged Jin away to a bench on the opposite side of the room.
Taehyung eventually settled beside Namjoon, but Jimin swore he could feel his eyes boring into the back of his head the entire class.
They were midway through their project—laptops open, notes scattered—when Seokjin finally commented on Jimin’s distracted mood. “You’ve been typing the same sentence for five minutes,” Jin said, raising an eyebrow at him. “I know I’m stunning, but try to focus.”
Jimin groaned, slumping forward on the desk, cheek against his arm. “I can’t help it. Something’s been bugging me.”
“Is this about how you broke Taehyung’s heart by ditching him for me?” Seokjin chuckled, pushing up the glasses that were sitting low on his nose bridge.
“We’re not always joined at the hip,” Jimin grumbled, lifting his head to give his hyung a disgruntled pout.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Seokjin muttered, smirking as he scrolled through his notes—reviewing everything like the good student he was, unlike Jimin, who was being entirely unproductive. It was all Taehyung’s fault.
“Okay, but seriously—can I tell you something?” Jimin glanced to both sides to see if anyone was listening, then leaned in, lowering his voice.
“Always,” Jin replied, not looking up.
Jimin fiddled with the zipper of his pencil case. “It’s about Taehyung. I don’t get it—he’s like... refusing to date. Sohee confessed to him, and he just stared at her with that deadpan face and walked off. Like, completely uninterested. And it’s not just her. It’s everyone.” Seokjin hummed, nodding along, eyes still scanning the screen. He didn’t interrupt, just let Jimin talk. “He’s not shy—you know that. And it’s not like he’s waiting for the right person either. I keep trying to bring it up, trying to get him to explain, but he just dodges it. Every. Single. Time. And he always distracts me with something I actually want to talk about, which is so unfair, by the way. I end up forgetting completely and only remember when I’m about to sleep. It’s driving me crazy.”
Seokjin didn’t respond, still silently listening, his pen scratching against the paper.
“Are you even listening?” Jimin frowned, tugging at Jin’s sleeve until the older boy let out a long, knowing sigh and finally lifted his head to face him.
“Have you ever considered,” Jin asked slowly, “that he might already be in love with someone?”
Jimin answered this very quickly. “I did think about it. But if he was, I’d know. We tell each other everything. He’d tell me.”
“Would he?” Jin asked, giving him a look.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course!” Jimin huffed, incredulous at the thought of Taehyung keeping secrets from him. “If he liked someone, I’d be the first to know.”
When Seokjin finally looked up from the worksheet, his expression was a little smug, the corners of his lips lifting. “Okay then. Next question—have you ever considered that maybe the person Taehyung’s in love with… is you?”
"What." Jimin practically choked. It wasn’t even a real word—it was a small, startled exhale, loud enough that a few people turned around, including Taehyung. Jimin offered an awkward, too-wide smile to the nearby students who stared at him.
Across the room, Taehyung was already looking at him, their eyes meeting for a heartbeat. Jimin instinctively plastered on a sheepish smile before hurriedly looking away, cheeks beginning to burn.
When Jimin turned back to Seokjin, he was met with the most self-satisfied grin on his face. “We are not like that,” Jimin hissed. “Taehyung doesn’t see me like that. We’re best friends. Soulmates, sure. But not like… that.”
Jin set his notebook aside, casually leaned back, and folded his arms. “Jimin. He doesn’t let anyone touch him except you. He barely smiles at anyone—unless it’s you. His eyes trail after you like you’re the sun and he’s the poor bastard who’s never seen anything as bright in his life. He puts food on your plate before serving himself. He always sits so close he’s practically in your skin. And have you seen the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching? It’s intense. Like he wants to eat you or something.”
Jimin opened his mouth, then closed it. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Nope.” Jin clicked his tongue. “Look behind you. Right now.”
Jimin turned on instinct, heart throbbing—and sure enough, Taehyung was gazing at him, unblinkingly, like he had all the time in the world to just look.
When their eyes met, Taehyung didn’t even pretend to look away. He just smiled—the kind of smile Jimin had always associated with warmth and home—and kept looking.
Jimin’s breath caught in his throat, cheeks crimson as he spun back around and stared at his project paper like it might absorb him.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” Seokjin grinned, going back to leafing through his textbook. Jimin didn’t answer. “Think about it. That’s all I’m saying,” Jin added with a chuckle as he returned to typing.
The rest of the class passed with Jimin barely writing a word, his brain replaying every interaction, every lingering touch, every smile Taehyung had ever given him—now laced with a different kind of tension. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. About Jin’s words. About Taehyung’s look. Soulmates, yes. But had he been too blind to see something more?
When class ended, Taehyung walked over, the usual pout on his face. “You ditched me,” he accused softly, though his eyes were full of mischief. “I thought we had something special, Jiminie.”
Jimin snorted to cover the way his heart stuttered. “You’ll live,” he replied, sticking his tongue out teasingly.
Taehyung’s lips twitched into a fond smile as his hand reached out—looping their pinkies together like he always did, his thumb brushing gently across Jimin’s small finger. That small contact alone made Jimin’s heart feel heavy. Taehyung leaned in, brushing his nose against Jimin’s temple with a grin, and whispered, “Your baby carrot can’t live without me though.”
“Yah—shut up.” Jimin turned, grabbed Taehyung by the ear and tugged in retaliation, half hoping to make him stop smiling like that. But Taehyung didn’t even flinch. He just kept looking at Jimin with that same soft gaze, his thumb still stroking Jimin’s pinky gently—his favorite thing to touch in the world. And that did it.
Jimin yelped softly, “Why are you like this—!” shoving Taehyung by the chest with both hands.
Taehyung laughed, stepping back with his hands up in surrender, his smile still wide as he trailed behind Jimin, who stomped out of the classroom—flustered, confused, and desperately trying to ignore the wild flutter in his chest. What if Jin was right?
Seokjin’s words had lodged themselves somewhere in the folds of Jimin’s brain like a splinter—so irritating and impossible to ignore. “Think about it.”
He had. He was. In fact, Jimin had started documenting it. It began with a bullet list in the back of his notebook—something innocent, something he knew he would laugh at later and show Jin, saying, “See? I told you. He is not like that with only me.”
Except, the more Jimin observed Taehyung, the less he laughed. And the list wasn’t working the way he intended.
During class breaks, Jimin’s eyes kept wandering to Taehyung. Across the room, Taehyung was leaned back in his chair, half-listening to Sihun—a mutual from their high school days who had recently joined the course. Sihun clapped a hand against Taehyung’s back, playfully jostling him mid-sentence. Taehyung didn’t even smile—just stood there, unreadable as always, his gaze distant.
Then, as if it was the most natural thing, his eyes flicked toward Jimin, who had definitely been staring. He startled and snapped his gaze down to the book in front of him, heart skipping. The text swam before his eyes as he pretended to read, mouthing the same line four times over without registering a word. Just act natural. Breathe in and out. And don’t blush.
He was failing at all three.
When Taehyung sauntered over, Jimin tensed, flipping a page he hadn’t finished.
The chair next to him screeched softly as it was dragged closer, and then—Taehyung was right there, thigh pressed flush to his. Jimin barely had time to inhale before an arm looped around his shoulders, a forehead nudging against his temple—a familiar warmth and a disaster all in one.
“Whatcha doing, mochi?” Taehyung asked, amused, as he playfully rubbed their heads together like a puppy at play.
“Trying to read,” Jimin replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could.
“You don’t look like you were trying to read.” It wasn’t just a statement—Jimin could tell. It felt more like an observation, and he knew he couldn’t lie his way out of it. Getting caught staring at his best friend was something he didn’t have an explanation for.
So, in his defense, Jimin replied with the only thing he’d been saying to Taehyung for a while: “Get off,” Jimin grumbled, elbowing him gently.
But Taehyung didn’t budge. He just rubbed his head against Jimin’s again and leaned heavier against him. Jimin’s heart was now pounding like a drumline, and he hated that Taehyung could reduce him to such chaos so easily.
Eventually, Taehyung eased back, his arm sliding off with an exaggerated sigh.
Jimin stared straight ahead, willing his pulse to calm, and scribbled another line into his mental notebook:
Observation #1: Taehyung lets me touch him. Even initiates contact. With others—passive. Reserved.
Theory: He’s just affectionate. But only with me?
And that wasn’t helping disprove Jin’s theory at all.
If anything, it was fueling the fire.
Jimin’s dance practice had ended ten minutes earlier, but instead of heading straight home like he should’ve, he was exactly where he found himself every other day these days—perched on the bench just outside the boys basketball locker room, thumbing through the notepad he now called The Investigation File.
It only had one solid entry so far. Which was—so not helpful, because it was too accurate. And also, incriminating.
Jimin sighed and tapped the pen against his lips, staring down at the blank space beneath the lone bullet point, willing himself to find something—anything—that could nullify it. Something that would prove Taehyung wasn't different only with him. Maybe he could ask Jungkook again? Or wait, didn’t Hoseok say—
“Jiminie!” Jimin jolted, and the notepad went flying into his open backpack—just in time for him to look up and find him—Taehyung, fresh out of practice, bounding toward him like a golden retriever that had just been let off leash. His dark hair was messy, sticking to his forehead with sweat, his jersey crumpled and clinging to the faint outline of muscles underneath. His gym bag swung against his hip, the bounce in his step practically infectious.
Jimin’s heart sank—before it soared. “Oh no,” Jimin muttered, already bracing. It was too late.
Taehyung reached him and immediately spun him around like he weighed nothing. Without hesitation, his arms wrapped tightly around Jimin from behind, and he dropped his whole weight against Jimin’s smaller frame. “Tired,” Taehyung mumbled into Jimin’s shoulder with a groan, exhaling like he’d been waiting all day for this one moment of peace.
Jimin stiffened at the proximity, the heat seeping into his body even with layers of clothes separating them. “Taehyung—oh my god, you’re—sweaty!” He wriggled helplessly in his arms. “You reek of gym socks. Get off me!”
Taehyung only whined and tightened his hold, his rich voice half-muffled. “Don’t be mean to me, I played really well today.”
“That’s not a valid reason to marinate me in your sweat!” At that, Taehyung reluctantly let go, peeling himself off like he didn’t want to.
He turned to Jimin with a pout—lips pushed out, hair even messier from the impromptu hug. “Fine, meanie,” he huffed, slinging his towel over his shoulder. “Wait here—I’ll be quick. Don’t leave, okay?”
Before Jimin could respond, Taehyung had already disappeared into the showers, his voice echoing, “Two minutes max, pinky promise!”
Jimin exhaled and collapsed back onto the bench, one hand gripping the strap of his bag while the other hovered awkwardly near his chest—right over where his heart was still booming inside his ribcage. He leaned forward and muttered, “That doesn’t count as anything, right?" Right?
The truth was, Jimin didn’t know anymore. Because how was he supposed to analyze this kind of closeness when he didn’t even understand what it meant? It wasn’t like Taehyung did this with other people. He’d seen Taehyung hug Jungkook or drape himself over Yoongi, sure—but not like this. Never this intimately. Not like Taehyung always found home in him.
Before Jimin could spiral deeper into that thought, he heard footsteps returning. He stood up just as Taehyung emerged, fresh from his shower, towel around his neck, curls damp and skin dewy.
He didn’t even pause—just walked right up behind Jimin and resumed his earlier position, chin on Jimin’s shoulder, arms loosely curling around him again. “Let’s go home,” Taehyung hummed, gently nudging him forward with his body like Jimin was a trolley.
“You made me wait for so long!” Jimin spluttered because he didn’t know what he should say or if he should give a good comeback. It really didn’t take that long. Taehyung knew that. Jimin knew that Taehyung knew he knew that.
“Exactly why I’m rewarding you with a hug,” Taehyung replied, subduing Jimin's weak attempt to escape by squishing him close. “You’re welcome.”
“Get off before I actually shove you.”
“You say that, but you haven't pushed me once.” Jimin’s cheeks burned. Because after all, it was true.
So, he let himself be guided by Taehyung’s body pressed to his back, his chest warm against Jimin’s spine, like nothing could shake the boy’s composure. Like this was their normal. Which it shouldn’t be. Should it?
Jimin let out a resigned sigh as they walked out into the evening light, Taehyung’s body practically glued to him.
Another observation. Another loss.
•^•
At first, it was just a simple experiment. A private journal. A way for Jimin to make sense of things—of Taehyung. He hadn’t intended to fill it with pages. He hadn’t expected to wear out two pens or find himself writing long after lights-out, curled under his blanket with his phone flashlight aiding him.
Somewhere between that sweaty backhug and the way Taehyung started saying, “Let’s go home,” like it was always their home, Jimin’s notepad had turned into something else entirely. It stopped being a game. And the pages became filled with something else. Just observations. Of him. Of Taehyung. And all the ways he made Jimin feel like he was the center of a universe he didn’t even know he belonged to.
Entry #27 : Today, he ditched his team. Said he had to walk me home.
Jimin had been waiting by the gym door, the wind chilly on his cheeks, scrolling absently through his phone while pretending not to care.
The match had just ended. Cheers were still echoing through the gym when Jimin leaned against the outside wall. Inside, the team was laughing, slapping Taehyung on the back, telling him to come out for drinks and games to celebrate. It was a big win—some inter-college match that had apparently gotten intense. Jimin didn’t know the details. But he heard the conversation clear as day when Taehyung’s voice rang out, unapologetic: “Ahh—can’t today, Hyungs. I promised Jimin I’d walk him home.”
Seconds later, a weight dropped across his shoulders—an arm—and then the rest of Taehyung followed, like he had always belonged to Jimin’s side. “You ready, princess?” he asked with a grin, the sweat still glistening on his temple, his jersey plastered to his front.
“Yeah.” Jimin swallowed, his voice coming out thinner than he wanted.
That night, he didn’t write much. Just that sentence. He ditched them for me.
And the next morning, he traced over the words with a darker pen, like it hadn’t been enough the first time.
Entry #31: He wanted me to know first.
That day, Jimin had been in the dance practice room, drenched in sweat, breathless from coaching the new first-years.
He was crouched on the floor, stretching his calves, half-lost in a Spotify playlist and more than half-exhausted from guiding the newbies. He hadn’t been able to watch Taehyung’s match, and for that, guilt had prickled his chest all day. The game should’ve been over by now. He figured he’d text Taehyung later. Maybe ask about the score—and maybe pretend he didn’t already know how much he’d wanted to be there.
But before any of that could happen, the door creaked open behind him. And then strong arms looped around his waist. Jimin yelped—just once—before he was lifted off the floor, feet swinging mid-air, then spun, one full turn.
He could feel Taehyung’s laughter against his shoulder, his wild post-game energy practically bursting through the seams.
“We won!” Taehyung shouted, placing him down. Jimin was dizzy and stunned, blinking up into that beaming face, those flushed cheeks, that radiant joy.
“Why—why didn’t you stay with your team?” he asked, a little breathless, trying and failing to stop his mind from spiraling.
“I wanted you to know first,” Taehyung shrugged, still holding his shoulders like he needed the anchor.
Jimin didn’t write anything that night. He just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what exactly he had become to Taehyung.
After that, the entries stopped being numbered. Because Jimin had stopped pretending he could keep count. Every day added another moment, another detail, another proof that this—whatever this was—was no longer just friendly affection. It was different, as Jin had said. As he had concluded. And it was always just him.
It was— The way Taehyung always managed to find his lap when he was tired, saying “I need to recharge” before curling around him, long fingers lazily splayed over Jimin’s waist. The way he grabbed Jimin’s backpack without being asked, slinging it over his shoulder like a reflex, even when Jimin insisted he could do it himself. The way his hand would rest on Jimin’s thigh—not flirtatious—just there. Taehyung used to jokingly call Jimin a pervert for thigh touches once. That quiet reversal made him dizzy.
It was in the the way his fingers would slip into Jimin’s, quietly in public, like he needed the touch even if it wasn’t safe to name it. The way he tugged Jimin closer when they were already shoulder to shoulder, as if the world might pull Jimin away at any second and Taehyung wasn’t willing to risk it.
And the way he looked at him. Jimin caught him more than once—during lunch, in between classes, mid-conversation. Taehyung would just look and not say a word. Just eyes like embers, watching every move Jimin made like it mattered.
And the worst part? No one else got this version of Taehyung. Not his teammates, not his friends, or their classmates. No one else received this soft, greedy, lingering kind of affection. The version of Taehyung who hovered near, who found excuses to touch him, who never seemed to want to let go.
Jimin didn’t know what to do with all of these. Some days, he wanted to throw his notepad away. Burn it. Pretend this wasn’t growing into something more.
Other days, he wanted to read every page back to Taehyung and say, “Explain this. Please.”
He was losing his grip on friendship when the evidence was mounting into something else—something that left his throat dry and his chest too full, and a single question pulsing behind his eyes: What are we?
Jimin didn’t know when he’d started writing less in the notepad and staring at Taehyung more. Now, every time Taehyung touched him, every time he looked at him like that, Jimin could feel it. He wasn’t writing about Taehyung anymore.
He was writing about falling for him.
*****