Chapter Text
Inspired by: Selfish - Justin Timberlake
Tags: Friends to Lovers, Romance, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Light Angst, Jealousy, Secret Crush, Pining, Sexual Harassment (not between Jikook!), Dancer Jeon Jeongguk, Dancer Park Jimin, Happy Ending
Guest appearances: Kim Seokjin
Words: 7.309
Published: May 30, 2025
Inevitable
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
The soft glow of the overhead lights bathed the dance studio in a gentle radiance, while natural light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, reflecting off the polished wooden floor. The faint scent of sweat and determination lingered in the air as music played softly in the background, its tempo matching the beating hearts of the passionate dancers.
Among them stood Park Jimin, every movement of his body precise yet effortless, as though he were born to dance. His lithe frame moved with an elegance that seemed almost unreal, each step fluid, each motion a perfect balance of strength and grace. His flexibility was mesmerizing, his body bending with ease, limbs extending in flawless arcs as if gravity itself bent to his will. Whether executing a sharp turn or sinking into a deep stretch, he made every motion seem weightless, his control so absolute that even the most complex sequences appeared effortless. With every flick of his wrist, every graceful arch of his back, Jimin was painting emotion into the air, a masterpiece in motion.
Jimin’s presence was magnetic—his smile, his laugh, the way his honey-blond hair caught the light. Even in a room full of talent, he stood out. People gravitated toward him naturally, and today was no exception. The other dancers huddled around him during breaks, their faces lit with awe as he shared an anecdote about a mishap during practice in his captivating, sonorous voice. His engaging laughter rang out, warm and inviting.
Jeon Jeongguk watched attentively from the far side of the room, his back pressed against the floor-to-ceiling mirror, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t the type to join the crowd. He liked to watch—observe, take in the details no one else seemed to notice. Like the way Jimin’s full lips curved upward just a little more when he was genuinely amused, or how his eyes sparkled when he was caught off guard.
Jeongguk’s chest tightened. He’s too perfect, he thought. Too far out of reach.
“Jeongguk-ah!” Jimin’s warm voice broke through his reverie, soft and familiar. Jeongguk blinked and shyly brushed some of his dark strands from his forehead, realizing that Jimin was smiling at him from across the room, his eyes curving into beautiful crescent moons as he lifted a hand in a casual wave.
“Uh, hey,” Jeongguk managed, raising a hand in return. His voice cracked slightly, which made Jimin’s smile widen.
“Why are you all the way over there?” Jimin asked loudly, tilting his head. “Come join us!”
Jeongguk shook his head quickly, attempting to seem nonchalant. “Nah. I’m good here.”
Jimin pouted, the playful expression tugging at Jeongguk’s heart. “Fine,” Jimin teased, rolling his eyes with a grin. “Suit yourself, broody.”
Jeongguk felt his cheeks heat up at the attention. Broody? That’s not fair, he thought, though the nickname didn’t bother him as much as it should.
From the corner of his eye, Jeongguk noticed Lee Daesung, their new choreographer, walking into the room. Tall and confident, he carried an air of authority that immediately turned heads. Jimin was one of the first to greet him with a bow, his natural politeness on full display.
The choreographer smiled warmly at Jimin, resting a hand on his shoulder as they spoke. They exchanged a laugh, and Jeongguk’s stomach twisted. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away.
“Jeongguk-ah, focus,” one of the other dancers said, nudging him lightly as they moved into formation for the next rehearsal.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jeongguk muttered, shifting into position. But his eyes kept flickering back to Jimin, who was still talking to the choreographer, his gorgeous face alight with his trademark enthusiasm.
Jeongguk’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. Why does he have to be so perfect? Why does everyone have to want him?
As the music started, Jeongguk pushed his confusion down as best as he could, letting the rhythm guide his movements. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, one thought lingered in his mind:
I’m just one in a crowd of ordinary people, different from him.
Rehearsal carried on with the usual rigor. The rhythmic thud of the bass echoed through the studio, vibrating through Jeongguk’s chest as the troupe moved in perfect synchronization, each dancer finding their rhythm under the choreographer's watchful eye. The choreography was sharp and demanding, with each move requiring precision and vigor. Jeongguk threw himself into the routine, his muscles taut with tension. It was easier to let the music drown out his thoughts, even if only for a little while. Every turn, leap, and stretch was meticulously choreographed, but despite the collective focus in the room Jeongguk’s gaze kept drifting to Jimin. Again and again. Like an inevitable reflex.
Jimin danced like the music was an extension of his soul. Every movement was fluid, every expression electric and graceful. Jeongguk found himself mesmerized yet again, jealously caught in the pull of Jimin’s energy. But then his eyes shifted to the choreographer, standing at the front of the room, his gaze fixed on Jimin as well.
“Good, Jimin,” Lee Daesung called out, clapping his hands. “Your control is exceptional. Your lines are impeccable. Everyone, watch Jimin’s transitions. He flows effortlessly between steps.”
“Thank you, Seonsaengnim,” Jimin replied, his voice light but tinged with modesty.
Jeongguk gritted his teeth as he watched the exchange from the corner of his eye. He knew Jimin deserved the praise—he always did—but hearing it from someone else made something sharp twist in Jeongguk’s chest.
A murmur of agreement rippled through the dancers, but Jeongguk’s stomach churned.
“Of course, they all admire him,” Jeongguk muttered under his breath, his tone sharper than intended. He snapped his head away, focusing on his own reflection in the mirror, though his moves now felt mechanical and stiff.
The music cut abruptly. “Jeongguk,” the choreographer’s voice rang out, “your timing’s a little off on the last count. Let’s take it from the top.”
Jeongguk swallowed hard, nodding embarrassed. He avoided Jimin’s curious glance as the music restarted.
“Alright, everyone, let’s take five,” Daesung announced, clapping his hands. The group dissolved into small clusters, stretching, talking or refreshing with water.
Jeongguk grabbed his own bottle, retreating to the edge of the room again. He leaned against the wall, gulping down the cool liquid in silence. With his eyes closed, he tried to shake off the unease clawing at him, but the sound of Jimin’s wonderful laughter pulled him back.
His eyes snapped open. Across the room, Jimin was leaning against the barre, his face glowing as Daesung showed him something on his tablet. Their shoulders were almost touching.
“Jeongguk?”
He turned sharply to find Kim Seokjin, one of the senior dancers, staring at him with a curious expression. “You okay, kid?”
“Fine,” Jeongguk replied curtly, his tone sharper than intended.
Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You’re staring holes into the barre. Or…” He glanced toward Jimin and smirked knowingly. “Into someone standing near it.”
Jeongguk stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Seokjin chuckled. “Sure, you don’t.” He patted Jeongguk’s shoulder. “Listen, kid, whatever’s eating you, you better sort it out. Distracted dancers trip, and tripping in this troupe? Not an option.” With that, he sauntered off, leaving Jeongguk alone with his simmering thoughts.
Why do I even care? Jeongguk questioned himself while he still continued to suppress the hint of an answer and hide it under layers of fake professionalism.
“Jeongguk-ah!” Jimin’s voice rang out again, pulling him from his thoughts.
Jeongguk looked up just in time to see Jimin jogging toward him, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his cheeks flushed from exertion. Jeongguk’s heart gave a traitorous thump.
“You okay?” Jimin asked, tilting his head. “You’ve been really quiet today.”
“I’m always quiet,” Jeongguk replied, trying to sound indifferent.
Jimin chuckled, the sound soft and familiar. “True, but this feels different. Are you tired? Or…” He hesitated, his smile fading slightly. “Did something happen?”
Jeongguk hesitated. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words lodged in his throat. Instead, he shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Jimin frowned, still unconvinced. He stepped closer and eased into a crouch in front of Jeongguk, closing the distance between them. Jeongguk’s breath hitched as the subtle trace of Jimin’s scent reached him—sweet and woody, like cedar and sandalwood. It reminded him of the body lotion he kept at home, the one he only used on days he needed comfort. Jimin’s eyes searched his face, dark and gentle, filled with warmth and quiet concern.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” Jimin said softly. “If something’s bothering you…”
Jeongguk’s chest tightened. The sincerity in Jimin’s voice made it nearly impossible to keep his feelings—whatever they were—buried. But what was he supposed to say? That he was… jealous? Jealous of never being what Jimin was—so effortlessly warm, magnetic, adored? That every time Jimin smiled at someone else, it felt like losing a piece of something he’d never truly had to begin with?
“I know,” Jeongguk murmured, finally breaking eye contact.
Jimin studied him for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. But I’m here if you change your mind.”
Before Jeongguk could reply, one of the other dancers called Jimin’s name. Jimin glanced over his shoulder, waving back at him.
“I should go,” he said, giving Jeongguk a small smile.
He’s absolutely breathtaking… was all Jeongguk could think as his gaze lingered on the elegant sway of Jimin’s retreating figure.
Later, as rehearsal wrapped up, Daesung gathered everyone for final notes. “Great work today, everyone. Let’s keep this momentum going. Jimin, can I steal you for a moment after this?”
Jeongguk’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at the words, his yearning mind on high alert.
“Of course,” Jimin replied, flashing his signature smile.
Jeongguk didn’t wait to hear what they’d discuss, even though curiosity threatened to consume him inside. The moment the group was dismissed, he grabbed his bag and headed for the door. He had trouble breathing properly.
“Jeongguk-ah, wait!”
The sound of Jimin’s voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned, plastering on a neutral expression.
“You’re leaving so quickly?” Jimin asked, his head tilted slightly in that way that made Jeongguk’s heart ache. “I thought maybe we could grab dinner or something?”
“Not tonight,” Jeongguk said, his voice clipped. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
Jimin blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Oh… okay. Maybe another time, then?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Jeongguk turned and walked out before Jimin could say anything else.
The cool night air greeted him as he stepped onto the street. Jeongguk’s chest felt heavy, his mind a whirlwind of frustration and longing. He hated feeling like this—jealous, insecure, powerless.
Why do I care so much? he asked himself again. But the answer was clear. He cared because Jimin was everything he wasn’t: open, radiant, loved by everyone.
And Jeongguk? He was just a shadow.
As he walked home, he couldn’t shake the image of Jimin laughing with the choreographer, their shared moment replaying in his mind like a broken record.
What if someone like that could give him what he deserves? Someone who wasn’t stuck in their own head, jealous of the entire world?
Jeongguk sighed, kicking a loose pebble down the sidewalk. I need to get over this. I need to get over him.
But even as he told himself that, his heart stubbornly refused to listen.
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
The next evening, Jeongguk found himself lingering outside the studio long after practice had ended. The muffled thrum of music spilled out onto the quiet street as he leaned against the brick wall, debating whether to head inside again or finally go home.
He shouldn’t have stayed. He knew it was masochistic, standing there waiting for something—someone.
The decision was made for him when he caught sight of Jimin and Daesung walking out of the studio together.
The scene unfolded in slow motion: Jimin’s soft laughter, Daesung leaning in to say something that made him smile, the easy way they walked side by side. For a moment, Jeongguk felt like an outsider peering into a world he didn’t belong to.
His heart clenched.
Jimin looked happy. And wasn’t that what mattered? If Jimin could be happy with someone else, someone who seemed to match his light in every way… wasn’t it better for Jeongguk to step aside?
Jeongguk turned and walked away before they could notice him, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe.
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
The upcoming day at rehearsal, Jeongguk avoided Jimin entirely. He barely spoke during warm-ups and threw himself into every routine with an intensity that bordered on reckless. His movements were sharp, precise, but lacked the fluidity he was known for.
“Jeongguk, ease up,” Daesung said during a particularly grueling sequence. “You’re going to injure yourself if you keep dancing like that.”
“I’m fine,” Jeongguk snapped, immediately regretting his tone when the room went quiet.
Jimin’s eyes lingered on him, concern written all over his face.
After practice, Jeongguk tried to make a quick exit, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading straight for the door. But Jimin was quicker.
“Jeongguk-ah!”
The sound of his name, soft yet firm, froze him in place. Jeongguk sighed, adjusting the strap of his bag before turning around reluctantly.
Jimin stood there, a slight furrow in his brow. “Come take a walk with me? The air’s nice, and I think we both need a little break. My treat—let’s grab something to eat.”
Jeongguk hesitated, but something in Jimin’s expression—concern, but also familiarity—disarmed him. He gave a short nod. “Okay.”
The evening was cool, with a gentle breeze threading through the leaves of the trees lining the park path. They walked in companionable silence at first, the only sound their sneakers crunching lightly on the gravel and the distant hum of city traffic. A nearby street vendor caught Jimin’s eye, and he grinned. “Corndogs?”
Jeongguk gave a small smile. “Can’t say no to that.”
Minutes later, they strolled side by side, munching on golden-fried corndogs, the warmth of the food filling the space between them along with the scent of oil and ketchup. It felt easy—normal. Like it used to be.
“I’ve missed this,” Jimin said, licking a bit of mustard off his thumb. “Just hanging out like this. You’ve felt far away lately.”
Jeongguk stayed quiet, eyes on the path ahead. He bit into his corndog, chewing slowly.
Jimin glanced at him. “You’ve been acting off for days. I didn’t want to push, but… did I do something wrong?”
Jeongguk swallowed hard. “No,” he said too quickly, too sharp. “You didn’t do anything.”
“Then what is it?” Jimin asked, his voice softer now. “Jeongguk-ah, please. Talk to me.”
Jeongguk stopped walking. The corndog in his hand suddenly felt heavy and forgotten. He looked at the ground, jaw tight, chest rising and falling a little too fast.
He wanted to tell him. He wanted to spill everything—how Jimin’s laughter was the brightest sound he’d ever heard, how his smile made the worst days bearable, how just the thought of losing him to someone else felt like a knife to the heart.
But the words got stuck.
“It’s… It’s nothing,” Jeongguk muttered, tossing the rest of his corndog into the nearest trash can with a frustrated flick of his wrist. “You don’t need to worry about it.”
“Stop it,” Jimin said, sharper than before, as he threw his own half-eaten corndog into the bin with unexpected force. The sudden motion made Jeongguk flinch slightly, caught off guard by the rare flash of intensity in Jimin’s voice. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.” He reached out, his hand brushing Jeongguk’s wrist. “You’re not nothing to me, Jeongguk-ah. So don’t act like I wouldn’t care.”
Jeongguk’s resolve cracked. He looked at Jimin, his emotions bubbling to the surface.
“I just…” He shook his head, frustration pooling in his eyes. “I don’t know how to say it without sounding pathetic.”
Jimin stepped in front of him, blocking his path gently. “Try me.”
Jeongguk looked up, his voice low but trembling. “You want to know what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “It’s that I’m tired of feeling invisible. Like no matter how hard I work, how much I give, I’ll never stand where you do. Never shine like you. And every time you smile at someone else, I feel like I’m losing something I never really had to begin with.”
The silence between them stretched, not heavy, but full—raw with truth.
Then, quietly, Jimin reached out, brushing his fingers against Jeongguk’s wrist. His touch was steady.
“You’re not invisible to me,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “You never have been.”
But Jeongguk couldn’t let the words settle. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing against it from the inside, demanding to be let out. The dam had cracked, there was no stopping it now.
“Jimin, I’m just—” he broke off, dragging a hand through his tousled hair. “I’m so tired of feeling like I’m always in the background. Like no matter how hard I try, I’m never enough.” His voice dropped, rough around the edges. “Not for the troupe, not for you—”
He stopped abruptly, realizing what he’d just said. His eyes widened, panic setting in.
Jimin’s rosy lips parted in shock, but he didn’t let go of Jeongguk’s wrist. “Jeongguk-ah…”
“I didn’t mean—” Jeongguk began, but Jimin cut him off.
“Is that what you’ve been thinking? That you’re not enough… for me?” Jimin’s voice trembled slightly, his eyes shining with emotion. “Jeongguk-ah, how could you think that?”
Jeongguk swallowed hard, his defenses crumbling right there on the quiet park path. “Because look at you, Jimin-hyung,” he said, voice low and thick with emotion. “You’re everything good in the world. Everyone gravitates to you. Everyone wants to be near you, to be like you. And me? I’m just…”
“Just what?” Jimin interrupted gently, stepping closer, his tone more urgent now. “Jeongguk-ah, you have no idea how wrong you are. Do you even realize what you mean to me?”
Jeongguk froze, stunned by the shift in Jimin’s voice—so open, so sincere it made something ache deep in his chest.
“What are you talking about?” he whispered.
Jimin let out a slow breath, as if he’d been holding it in for too long. He glanced at the ground, then back up at Jeongguk, eyes shining under the park’s faint lights.
“You’re the person I look for the moment I walk into the room,” he said quietly. “No matter who’s there, no matter what we’re doing, it’s always you. You’re the one I want to sit next to. The one I want to laugh with during breaks, sneak snacks with after practice, walk home with even if we’re going in different directions.”
He took another step forward, voice growing steadier, fuller. “You’ve always been the one. And maybe I’ve been too much of a coward to say it before, but I can’t keep pretending anymore.” He reached out, fingers brushing Jeongguk’s sleeve. “You’re not just someone to me, Jeongguk. You’re… you’re very special.”
Jeongguk’s breath caught. The words felt too big to hold, too impossible to believe.
“You don’t mean that,” he said hoarsely, shaking his head.
But Jimin only smiled, soft and fierce all at once. “I do. I’ve never meant anything more.” He stepped closer still, close enough for Jeongguk to see the tremble in his smile, the absolute certainty in his gaze. “And if it takes you a hundred times to believe it, I’ll say it a hundred times. I’ll keep showing you, again and again, until it finally sinks into that thick, broody skull of yours.”
Before Jeongguk could respond, Jimin closed the distance between them, his hands cradling Jeongguk’s face with a tenderness that made his breath hitch.
“Let me prove it,” Jimin whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against Jeongguk’s lips.
And then he kissed him.
Soft at first—gentle, almost hesitant, as if afraid Jeongguk might disappear. But when Jeongguk didn’t pull away, when he melted into Jimin’s touch instead, the kiss deepened. Slow and lingering, it was a promise in itself, one that spoke of every unspoken feeling between them. The world around them faded, leaving nothing but the warmth of Jimin’s lips and the way their hearts pounded in sync.
When they finally parted, Jeongguk blinked, dazed, his chest rising and falling as he stared into Jimin’s chocolate brown eyes. “You… mean it?”
Jimin’s smile was radiant, full of certainty. “Every word.”
A shaky laugh escaped Jeongguk, the weight of his doubts dissolving in an instant. “I… I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
Jimin’s fingers traced soothing circles against Jeongguk’s jaw. “You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured. “Just stay.”
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
The days that followed were softer—brighter, like someone had opened a window in Jeongguk’s heart and let the light pour in. There was still the usual rhythm of aching muscles, blaring speakers, and the relentless count of eight, but something had changed. The heaviness that once clung to him during rehearsals had loosened its grip. He didn’t feel like an afterthought anymore. He didn’t feel like a shadow.
Jimin made sure of it.
It was never loud or showy, just the quiet, consistent way Jimin anchored him. How he’d wait by the door after practice, pretending not to be looking until Jeongguk appeared. How his hand would find Jeongguk’s in the cool evening air, brushing against it until Jeongguk gave in and laced their fingers together. The way he’d casually lean against Jeongguk during breaks, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They walked home together more often now, stopping for late-night tteokbokki or warm canned coffee from a vending machine. Sometimes they talked about dance, sometimes about nothing at all. But more often, they just walked in silence. Comfortable, easy.
As the days slipped into weeks, Jeongguk found himself settling into the quiet joy of whatever it was that had blossomed between him and Jimin. It wasn’t labeled—neither of them had said the words out loud—but it was there in the way they moved around each other, in the way they always made space for one another, even in a crowded room, in the way they softly kissed and embraced each other’s company.
But just as comfort started to feel real, something else began to unsettle him.
It started subtly.
Their choreographer, Daesung, began calling on Jimin more frequently. At first, it was understandable—Jimin was undeniably one of their best dancers. But as time went on, Jeongguk noticed how often Jimin was pulled aside after practice. Individual training sessions became routine. Conversations between them stretched longer, their heads bowed close together over notebooks or phones, occasionally sharing a laugh that lingered too long in Jeongguk’s mind.
He tried to ignore it.
Tried to remind himself that Jimin was his. That Jimin chose him.
But the unease settled in his chest like a stone. He never said anything, not when Jimin showed up late to their walk home with flushed cheeks and tired eyes, not when Daesung clapped him on the back in passing, like nothing was amiss. Jeongguk swallowed the jealousy, pushed it down hard, telling himself it was irrational. He didn’t want to be that guy—the clingy, possessive type. He didn’t want to show Jimin the ugly storm churning inside him.
So he smiled through it. Laughed with him. Held his hand.
But every now and then, when Jimin’s phone lit up with Daesung’s name late at night, Jeongguk’s fingers curled into fists beneath the long sleeves of his sweater.
He tried to trust. He wanted to trust.
Until the night everything cracked.
He’d planned something simple. Something sweet. A date night for just the two of them. He didn’t tell Jimin; he wanted it to be a surprise. He figured he’d swing by the studio after Jimin’s private training, then whisk him away for dinner and maybe a walk along the river. Something to pull them back into the little world they’d carved out together.
The studio lights were still on when he arrived.
From outside the practice room’s large window, Jeongguk could see them—Jimin and Daesung—standing close. Closer than necessary.
He stopped, breath catching as he watched.
Daesung said something that made Jimin laugh softly. The choreographer’s hands found Jimin’s shoulders, then slid down to his waist. Jeongguk’s jaw clenched. His heart began to thud in his ears.
Then it happened.
Daesung pulled Jimin into a tight embrace, and one of his hands—too casual, too bold—slid lower, cupping Jimin’s ass before giving it a squeeze.
Jeongguk froze.
His breath stopped. The heat that surged through him wasn’t just anger, it was betrayal, disbelief, devastation. He waited for Jimin to push him away, to swat Daesung’s hand, to recoil, something.
But Jimin didn’t.
He didn’t return the touch, but he didn’t resist it either.
And that was all it took.
Jeongguk staggered back from the window like he’d been punched. He didn’t wait for the hug to end, didn’t give Jimin a chance to explain. The corndogs he’d picked up for their date hung limp in the plastic bag at his side as he turned and walked away, the night air biting at his face, heart pounding painfully in his chest.
He couldn’t feel his fingers. Or maybe it was just his heart that had gone numb.
He didn’t cry.
Not yet.
But the thing they’d built—the thing that had been soft and warm and safe—it felt like it had slipped through his hands without warning.
And this time, Jeongguk wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for trusting it in the first place.
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
The dance studio was quiet the next evening, save for the faint echo of a ballad playing from Jimin’s phone. He stayed late to practice, determined to perfect a solo that had given him trouble earlier. His movements were fluid, but his expression was tight, his usual lightness absent.
He hadn’t seen much of Jeongguk all day, and it gnawed at him. They were usually inseparable during breaks, but Jeongguk had kept his distance, avoiding eye contact and brushing off Jimin’s attempts to talk.
As Jimin landed the final spin, the sound of the studio door creaking open startled him.
Turning, he saw Jeongguk step inside, his posture tense, his face unreadable.
“Jeongguk-ah?” Jimin said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “What are you doing here? I thought you left hours ago.”
Jeongguk hesitated, his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. “I wanted to talk to you.”
Jimin’s heart sank. The edge in Jeongguk’s voice wasn’t something he was used to. He set his phone down and approached cautiously. “What’s wrong?”
Jeongguk looked at him, his jaw clenched. “Are you and Daesung…?” He trailed off, unable to finish the question.
Jimin blinked, confused. “Me and—wait, what? No! Why would you think that?”
Jeongguk let out a bitter laugh, pacing the room. “Because you’re always with him! Laughing, smiling, like you’ve known each other forever. And he’s always so close to you, touching your shoulder, leaning in, grabbing your ass—”
“Jeongguk,” Jimin interrupted, stepping into his path. “Stop. Listen to yourself.”
Jeongguk stopped, his doe-like eyes meeting Jimin’s. They were filled with pain, frustration, and something deeper, something raw.
Jimin took a steady breath and stepped closer, his voice low and strained. “You saw that hug yesterday, didn’t you?”
Jeongguk’s silence was answer enough.
Jimin sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. “That wasn’t what it looked like. He caught me off guard. I didn’t… I didn’t know how to react. I was so shocked I froze.”
Jeongguk’s brows furrowed. “You didn’t push him away.”
“I know,” Jimin said quietly, shame creeping into his voice. “And I hate that. I hate that I let it happen. But I panicked, Jeongguk. He’s my choreographer—our choreographer. And in that moment, all I could think about was how any wrong move could make me look like the problem. Like I was difficult, dramatic, overreacting. I’ve worked too hard to build my place here, you know that. I didn’t want to lose it because of his fucking hands.”
His voice cracked, just slightly, and he looked down.
Jeongguk’s expression shifted. The tension in his shoulders softened as understanding seeped in. He stepped forward and gently cupped Jimin’s face.
“Jimin-hyung… I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I had no idea. I just saw that moment, and I let it get to me. I should’ve asked. I should’ve trusted you.”
Jimin looked up, his eyes glassy. “I don’t blame you for being hurt. But I need you to know—I didn’t invite it. And I didn’t want it.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Jeongguk’s voice was firm now. “And you shouldn’t have to keep quiet about it, either. You don’t need to protect his reputation at the cost of your safety and peace of mind.”
“I know,” Jimin whispered. “But I didn’t want to make it worse. If word gets out, it’s my word against his. And I don’t want to be reduced to a scandal.”
“Then let’s be smart about it,” Jeongguk said, stepping closer. “We don’t have to blow it up, but we can talk to someone. Maybe the director or someone higher up who’ll handle it quietly but seriously. You don’t deserve to feel trapped or uncomfortable in a space that’s supposed to be about art and growth.”
Jimin studied his face for a moment, the storm in his chest easing. “You’d help me with that?”
“Of course I would,” Jeongguk said gently. “You don’t have to go through this alone. And I’m sorry for not giving you the chance to explain before jumping to conclusions.”
Jimin managed a small, crooked smile. “Thank you.”
They stood there in silence for a few heartbeats, the air between them shifting from tension to something tender.
“I thought…” Jeongguk’s voice broke, and he shook his head. “I thought I’d lose you to him. And it hurt more than I knew how to handle. It made me feel small, like I wasn’t enough.”
Jimin’s expression softened, and he stepped into Jeongguk’s space, his hand finding his. “You’re not losing me, Jeongguk-ah. You’ll never lose me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jimin’s thumb brushed over Jeongguk’s knuckles. “You’re not just someone I care about—you’re the person I feel safest with.”
The tension in Jeongguk’s shoulders eased as he took a deep breath.
“I’m truly sorry,” he murmured. “For being jealous. For… everything.”
“Don’t be,” Jimin said, pulling him into a hug. “Just promise me something.”
“Everything!”
Jimin pulled back enough to look into his sparkling eyes, his smile warm and teasing despite the weight they had just shed. “Next time you’re upset, come to me first. Don’t let it build up, okay?”
Jeongguk nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Okay.”
Jimin grinned, his arms still wrapped around Jeongguk. “Good. Now, let’s get out of here. I’m starving, and you owe me dinner for making me cry during practice.”
Jeongguk laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Deal.”
Later that night, after their impromptu dinner, Jeongguk and Jimin found themselves back at Jeongguk’s apartment. It wasn’t the first time Jimin had been there, but tonight felt different. The air between them was charged with something new, unspoken but understood. There was an undeniable pull between them, a magnetic force neither could ignore.
Jeongguk fumbled with his keys as they stood in the doorway of his apartment, the dim light from the hallway casting a soft glow across his features. Jimin waited patiently beside him until he opened the door. Jeongguk felt his heart race as he motioned for Jimin to step inside.
“Sorry about the mess,” Jeongguk mumbled as he kicked off his shoes and slid them into the corner of the hallway.
Jimin laughed softly, lifting an eyebrow and toeing off his shoes. “Guk, I’ve seen your place before. You don’t have to apologize every time. Oooooooor just clean up already, you little messy.” He shrugged his leather jacket off, revealing a simple black t-shirt underneath, his body language relaxed but with an undercurrent of something else.
Jeongguk closed the door behind them, locking it with a click. The silence between them was palpable, but there was something comforting in it. They didn’t need words now. What had been left unsaid earlier hung between them like an unspoken promise.
Jeongguk smiled sheepishly, his nervous energy evident. He watched as Jimin wandered into the small living room, taking in the familiar space.
“You really should hang something on these walls,” Jimin said, his fingers brushing lightly over the empty, white-painted surface.
Jeongguk let out a small laugh, but it was a little strained. He scratched the back of his neck. “I was waiting for the right inspiration,” he admitted, his voice almost shy as he looked at Jimin, who now stood by the window, gazing out at the city lights in the distance.
Jimin turned toward him, his gaze softening when he caught Jeongguk’s big eyes. They stood there for a moment, silent, as the air seemed to grow thicker around them. Jeongguk’s heartbeat quickened, and he felt suddenly exposed, his breath shallow.
“Maybe you’ve found it,” Jimin said quietly, breaking the spell between them.
Jeongguk blinked, his throat going dry as he processed the words. He wasn’t sure what he had found yet, but standing here, with Jimin’s eyes locked on his, he knew this moment was one he didn’t want to let go of. He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. “Maybe I have.”
The space between them seemed to shrink without either of them moving. Jimin tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to Jeongguk’s lips.
“Jimin,” his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… kiss you?”
Jimin’s heart swelled at the tenderness in the question, at the care Jeongguk was showing him. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he closed the distance between them, his hands finding Jeongguk’s. “You don’t have to ask,” he murmured.
The softness in Jimin’s voice sent a thrill down Jeongguk’s spine. He reached up, cupping Jimin’s cheek gently, and in that moment, everything else faded away. The world outside seemed distant, irrelevant.
Jeongguk leaned in slowly, giving Jimin every chance to pull away. But Jimin didn’t. When their lips met, it was as always gentle at first, a soft, tentative press. But as Jimin’s hands slid up Jeongguk’s arms, pulling him closer, the kiss deepened.
It was unhurried, exploratory. Jeongguk’s hand slid to Jimin’s waist, pulling him closer, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of Jimin’s shirt. Jimin responded with a quiet sigh, his hand curling into Jeongguk’s shirt, fingers gripping the material as if he could hold on to this feeling forever.
The kiss deepened, and Jeongguk’s pulse raced as he felt Jimin’s soft lips and tongue move against his, warm and inviting. Their breaths mingled in the quiet of the room, every touch of their lips igniting something in both of them, a fire that had been smoldering for far too long.
Jimin pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against Jeongguk’s. His voice was shaky as he whispered, “It always feels so good to kiss you, Guk. But I… I really feel like needing more of you tonight.”
Jeongguk’s heart pounded in his chest, and his hands roamed up to Jimin’s shoulders, then down to his back, pulling him closer still. “I feel the same, Min,” Jeongguk admitted, his voice rough with desire. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Jimin’s lips curled into a smile as he kissed Jeongguk again, slower this time, savoring every moment. They both pulled back reluctantly, their breaths mingling as they locked eyes.
“Jiminie,” Jeongguk said softly, his voice filled with awe. “You’re everything to me. I’m not good with words, but I need you to know that. You’re everything.”
Jimin’s eyes softened, and he placed a hand on Jeongguk’s cheek, brushing his thumb over his smooth skin. “You’re my everything, too. Don’t you ever doubt that.” He moved closer again, this time with more urgency, his lips pressing against Jeongguk’s as he tugged Jeongguk toward the cozy couch.
They sat down together, Jimin straddling Jeongguk’s lap as they kissed hungrily, their hands exploring each other’s bodies. Jeongguk’s fingers slid beneath the hem of Jimin’s shirt, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat radiating from him. Jimin’s breath hitched as Jeongguk’s hands roamed higher, cupping his face gently, his thumbs brushing along Jimin’s cheekbones.
The kiss became more desperate, both of them feeling the pull of something undeniable. It was a dance of need, a quiet urgency that neither of them had anticipated but both welcomed.
Jimin pulled back, breathless, eyes darkened with need. “Guk, I want this. I want you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But only if you’re ready. Only if you want it, too.”
Jeongguk’s heart thundered in his chest, and he nodded fervently, his hands tightening on Jimin’s hips. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”
With those words, they made their way into the bedroom and both gave in completely. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about any expectations. It was about them finally coming together in the most intimate way, finally giving each other all the love and passion that had been building between them for so long.
Their love was a quiet storm, a tender and intimate dance where they learned each other’s rhythms, each other’s desires. The night unfolded in a haze of soft kisses, heated touches, and whispered confessions, and in the end, as they lay tangled in the sheets, hearts racing and bodies close, Jimin nestled against Jeongguk’s chest.
They talked about everything and nothing—childhood memories, silly moments from practice, their hopes for the future. At some point, the conversation lulled, and Jimin looked up at Jeongguk, his expression soft but serious.
“Can I tell you something?” Jimin asked quietly.
Jeongguk nodded, his fingers gently running through Jimin’s hair and massaging his scalp. “Anything.”
Jimin hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I was scared, too. For a long time.”
Jeongguk frowned slightly. “Of what?”
“Of losing you,” Jimin admitted. “Of ruining what we had… our friendship… by wanting more. But now…” He smiled, his hand resting over Jeongguk’s heart. “Now I know it was worth the risk.”
Jeongguk tightened his hold on Jimin, his voice steady but full of emotion. “It was always worth it. You’re worth everything.”
And as they lay there, their limbs entwined and the world outside the window quiet, Jeongguk whispered, “You’re the only one for me, Min. Always have been, always will be. You’re my home.”
Jimin’s smile was soft and content as he snuggled closer, pressing a kiss to Jeongguk’s chest. “And you’re mine, Guk. Always.”
In that moment, surrounded by the quiet of the night and the warmth of each other’s bodies, they both knew—this love was the kind that would last a lifetime.
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
The next morning, the sun peeked through the blinds, casting a soft golden light across the room. Jimin was already awake, propped up on his elbow, watching Jeongguk sleep. His heart swelled with affection as he traced the outline of Jeongguk’s face with his eyes. This was everything he’d ever wanted—someone who loved him just as much as he loved them. Someone who saw him, truly saw him, and still wanted him by their side.
Jeongguk stirred and opened his eyes, blinking up at Jimin. His lips curled into a sleepy smile. “Good morning, Sunshine,” he mumbled, voice hoarse.
Jimin smiled back, his heart fluttering. “Good morning, Guk.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on Jeongguk’s lips. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better than I’ve ever slept,” Jeongguk whispered, pulling Jimin closer so they were face-to-face. “With you, I feel like I can breathe again.”
Jimin’s smile softened, and his fingers traced the outline of Jeongguk’s jaw. “I feel the same way.”
Jeongguk’s eyes softened as he gazed at Jimin. “I want us to build something, Jimin. Not just tonight, not just this moment. A future. Together.”
Jimin’s heart skipped a beat. “I want that too,” he said softly. “All of it.”
The day passed in quiet comfort. They spent time making breakfast together, laughing over spilled flour and burned jeon. It was simple, domestic, but it was perfect. They spoke about their hopes and dreams—their aspirations in their dancing careers, their desire to improve and grow both as a person and in their relationship. Every word exchanged felt like a promise of what was yet to come.
The vulnerability they had shared the night before had blossomed into something even more beautiful—an understanding, an unspoken commitment to one another. Through the laughter, the tenderness, and the shared moments of intimacy and silence, Jeongguk and Jimin knew that they were in this together, no matter what.
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
The days that followed felt like a dream. A gentle rhythm of togetherness that Jeongguk had never known before. They settled into each other's worlds seamlessly, their bond growing deeper with each passing moment.
Jimin’s laughter had become the soundtrack to Jeongguk’s mornings, and Jeongguk’s quiet words of encouragement had become Jimin’s source of strength. They shared every part of themselves, the light and the dark, the joyful and the tender. Every moment with Jimin felt like a gift—a reassurance that love, true love, wasn’t about perfection, but about the connection that held two hearts together.
As the weeks turned into months, Jeongguk and Jimin’s love continued to grow. They supported each other in their careers, stood by each other in moments of doubt, and celebrated every small victory together. Every day, they built something new—trust, laughter, and memories that would last a lifetime.
The dance troupe noticed, of course.
“Look at those two,” Seokjin said one afternoon, lounging against the mirror with a water bottle in hand. He watched as Jimin held out half of his sandwich to Jeongguk, who took a bite without even thinking. “It’s like a cheesy romance drama, but with better choreography.”
“Jealous, hyung?” a dancer beside him quipped, raising an eyebrow and nudging Seokjin with an elbow.
Seokjin scoffed dramatically. “Please. I prefer my drama on screen, not in real life—less risk of heartbreak and shin splints.”
Jeongguk caught the comment and flushed, cheeks tinged pink as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. But Jimin just grinned, utterly unfazed. He leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing Jeongguk’s, and whispered with a conspiratorial glint in his eye, “They’re just bitter because we’re cuter.”
Jeongguk rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any real heat.
“But you love it,” Jimin sing-songed, nudging him again.
Jeongguk didn’t answer—not with words. He just nudged him back, a subtle bump of his shoulder that said more than anything he could’ve voiced. And Jimin's grin widened, triumphant.
Later, as the sun dipped low and cast golden shadows through the high windows, Jeongguk found himself watching Jimin dance from across the room. Not with envy this time, but with quiet awe. The way Jimin moved was still mesmerizing, still otherworldly. But now, instead of feeling distant or unreachable, he felt like something Jeongguk was allowed to admire. To hold.
To love.
And as Jimin glanced back at him mid-spin, catching his eye and smiling like he knew exactly what Jeongguk was thinking, Jeongguk realized something with startling clarity:
He was happy. Really, truly happy.
And he wasn’t afraid of it.
The End.
⌘ ⌘ ⌘