Chapter Text
Jungkook placed the steaming bowl of tteokbokki on the table, the rich red sauce glistening under the kitchen lights.
The scent filled the apartment, warm and familiar, carrying memories of late-night dinners after practice, shared laughter, and the way Jimin used to steal bites from Jungkook’s plate even when he had his own.
But now, Jimin just stared at it. Jungkook forced a smile, pushing the chopsticks toward him. "Come on, hyung, you love tteokbokki. I even made it extra spicy, just how you like it."
Jimin hesitated before finally picking up a piece, chewing slowly, mechanically. He barely reacted to the spice, the heat, the taste—like it didn’t register at all.
He had always eaten with so much enthusiasm, always humming in satisfaction after the first bite. But now, he only took a few more small bites . not meeting Jungkook’s eyes. Jungkook’s heart twisted painfully. He knew Jimin. Jimin never left a single piece when it came to tteokbokki, but now—now it looked like even eating would make him throw up.
Jungkook swallowed the lump in his throat. He wanted to tell Jimin to eat more---force him to eat just like the old times when jimin would push himself too much to the point he would be blacking out. but he knew pushing wouldn’t help. So he simply nodded, voice soft. "It's Okay,you don't have to eat it "
Jimin shifted awkwardly in his seat, like he felt guilty, and Jungkook hated that. Jimin had already been through too much—he didn’t need to feel bad for this too.
So Jungkook reached out, fingers brushing against Jimin’s wrist in the gentlest touch. "You should sleep, hyung. I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere." Jimin glanced at him then, something vulnerable in his eyes, like he wanted to believe him but was scared to. He felt guilty.
"You don’t have to—"
"I want to," Jungkook interrupted, firm but gentle. "I’ll stay. Sleep, Jiminie."
Jimin exhaled shakily before nodding. He didn’t say anything else, but as he curled up on the couch, Jungkook noticed the way his body shivered just slightly at the reassurance.
Jungkook shifted in his seat as he stared at jimin sleeping. He finally looked a bit at peace.
Jungkook's fingers curled into his palm as for some reason the memories he tried to forget for so many years---kept surfacing, raw and unfiltered.
That night with Jimin had changed everything.
Jimin had laughed it off, acted like it was nothing—Jungkook had tried to forget. He had tried to move on.
He had convinced himself it was just a mistake. Just impulse. Just two young guys sexually fustrated ,too close to each other, too familiar, getting caught up in the moment. And if that were true, then it should’ve been easy to let go.
But it wasn’t and they both knew that.
Because even after all the girls, all those women who threw themselves at Jungkook ---all those fleeting nights, all the meaningless touches—one night stands ,his mind still went back to that night.
To Jimin.
To the way Jimin had felt against him, warm and soft and pressing closer, their bodies slotting together too perfectly. The heat in them rising.
To the way Jimin had moved against him—hips shifting, rolling, testing, making Jungkook ache.
They hadn’t gone all the way. Hadn’t even talked about it.
But Jungkook had felt everything. It scared him how good he felt.
Jimin had been breathless against his lips. His plush lips finding Jungkook's thin one's ---tongue peeking out to suck his tongue. his hands gripping at Jungkook’s waist like he wanted to pull him in, and that alone had been enough to wreck Jungkook entirely.
He had been nineteen, a tiny bit tipsy---high off adrenaline, running on too little sleep and too much want and a little soju, and for the first time in his life, he had felt helpless against his own body. It had been overwhelming. Too much and not enough. He wanted more ---wanted to feel jimin's lips on his skin so desperately. It had been messy. Desperate. Too much and not enough.
Jungkook had wanted to consume him. To push him
down into the mattress, to claim him.
And then Jimin had stopped. Pulled back, lips red and swollen, breath uneven. Staring at Jungkook.
Jungkook had stared at him, his own breathing ragged, his heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted to fall out.
For a long moment, neither of them had spoken. Wide eyes searching each other.
And then, jimin scrambled off him. Quickly---as if nothing had happened, Smiled like it was nothing. Like they hadn’t just shattered every boundary they had ever set.
Like he didn't just set Jungkook on fire.
<
p> "You’re a good kisser, Jungkookie," he had murmured, voice teasing, but his eyes—his eyes had been anything but playful. Jungkook hadn’t known what to say."I guess"
And maybe that was why they had never talked about it again.
Maybe that was why, the next morning, when Jimin had acted like nothing had changed—Jungkook had let him.
Maybe that was why, even years later ,growing so much closer emotionally, even now, after everything—Jungkook still didn’t know what they were.
But one thing had always been clear.
They had never crossed that boundary again.
His train of thoughts stopped when he heard jimin whimper softly in his sleep,he looked so different---he looked so small,his face sunked in,the bruise on his lips still bleeding. Jungkook's fingers twitched ---he wanted to wipe the blood,wipe all of the trauma the guy had left jimin with.
He couldn't believe this---how could this happend to his strongest hyung. Jungkook had decided he won't let jimin suffer through all of this alone.
< p>
Jungkook stood frozen in jimin's room,he had clear up the evidence for jimin's sake.
His room almost looked normal,like nothing cruel took place here---just messed up sheets.
But He knew what had happened here. The faint scent of it all lingering in the air.
Jungkook’s stomach turned violently.
His hands curled into fists. It was a crime scene.
Jungkook swallowed hard and forced himself to move.
The sheets needed to go. He gritted his teeth and yanked the duvet off first, ignoring the tears pooling in his eyes as he noticed the fluids on them ---he closes his eyes throwing it into a pile on the floor. Then the sheets. Then the pillowcases.
His hands shook as he worked. blood,stains — piss.
Jungkook still felt sick touching them.
His breathing turned sharp, his vision blurring with fury. He wanted to burn them.
Wanted to erase everything.
he grabbed clean linens from the closet and forced himself to breathe as he remade the bed, his fingers tight around the fabric. When it was done, he turned toward the living room.
Jimin still asleep--his chest rising and falling slowly. Jungkook’s chest ached. He crouched down beside the couch slowly touching jimin's shoulder, "Hyung"
“The bed is clean,” he said softly. Jimin sat up slowly. Hissing at the pain that shot up his Spain. He felt weak again--
"You can sleep there" Jimin didn’t react.
Jungkook took a slow step forward. “Hyung, you can sleep—”
“No.”his voice firm.
Jungkook froze.
Jimin’s arms tightened around himself. “I— I can’t. I can’t—”
His voice broke.
Jungkook clenched his jaw. Mentally Punching himself for being so stupid “its Okay” Jimin didn’t need to explain.
<
/p>
---
Jimin sat on the edge of the couch,hours had passed the accident ---
body curled inward, fingers clenched so tightly around the blanket that his knuckles turned white. He glanced at Jungkook, Jungkook had been here for hours now—long enough for the shock to settle into something heavier, something colder.
Jungkook on the other hand kept thinking about it.
Jimin was raped.
Jungkook kept his voice gentle. “Hyung, we need to get you checked.”
Jimin shook his head. “no-I—I don’t want to.”
Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. He was getting a bit frustrated now. He crouched in front of Jimin, trying to catch his eyes. “You need to, Jimin. It’s been hours. We don’t know—”he didn't complete his sentence.
Jimin swallowed hard and looked at Jungkook. His eyes filled with subtle tears.
Then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “He used… a condom.”
Jungkook froze.
His entire body went rigid.
Jimin wouldn’t look at him then, gaze fixed on the floor.he seemed embarrassed and Jungkook hated himself for making him feel that way.
Jungkook forced himself to breathe through the violent surge of rage crawling up his throat. Now wasn’t the time.he had to do this--no matter how much it hurt.
Instead, he kept his voice steady. “Okay. That’s… that’s good. But jiminah you still need to be checked.”
Jimin flinched."w-why"
Jungkook’s heart ached. “I’ll call someone. A private doctor. No hospitals, no reports, just someone we trust.”
Jimin hesitated, fingers tightening around the sheets. “please jungkookah-I—I don’t want anyone to know.”
Jungkook softened. “Only me and the doctor will be there hyung,No one else.” "I won't leave you alone jiminshi" Jimin was still trembling. But after a long moment, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Jungkook exhaled. Step by step.
---</p>
The drive to the doctor took an hour.
A private physician Jungkook knew the company had used before—trusted, discreet. Jimin wanted this to be as private as possible. Jungkook made sure of that.
Jimin’s body was still shaking sitting at exam table when the doctor—looking deeply apologetic—cleared his throat. He wanted to say he preferred a women check him instead but words caught in his throat.
His career was more important than anything and they certainly couldn't trust alot of people,so he kept his mouth shut when the doctor greeted him. Jungkook had already told him about the whole situation --making sure everything was private. “We… we can stop at any point if you want, Jimin-ssi,” he offered gently.
Jimin’s fingers tightened around the slightly transparent robe he made him wear . His entire body was tensed --he felt locked up, but he knew stopping wasn’t an option. He had to get through this.
He swallowed hard and shook his head.
The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “All right. We’ll go slow. Jungkook-ssi, would you like to step outside again?” Jimin hadn't even realized Jungkook had to leave ---he didn't wanted Jungkook to see him like this.
But the thought of Jungkook leaving? He couldn’t handle it.
Jungkook’s throat bobbed. “Okay.” Jungkook got up from his chair --making eye contact with jimin once before closing the door behind him.
Jimin forced himself to sit up a little, his breathing still uneven. The doctor gave him a moment, then continued carefully.
“I need to check for bruising or any other injuries,” he said. “You don’t have to remove the robe completely but I’ll need to see your torso and lower back.”
Jimin’s stomach twisted. His hands hovered at the robe . He felt cold, exposed, trapped.
Jimin sucked in a breath and lied down on his back--staring at the bright lights on the ceiling.
Then, slowly, he felt him remove the robe just enough to expose his stomach.
The doctor worked quickly, his hands light and professional. But Jimin still flinched at every touch, his body wound too tight. "There are no injuries on your penis"
the doctor murmured. “Your back, please.”
Jimin’s hands trembled. Jimin let out a slow, shaky breath as he layed on his stomach now—positon too familiar .Jimin tried to stay strong.
Tried to keep his breathing even, his body still, his mind blank.
But the moment the doctor’s gloved hands touched his swollen rim, the dam cracked.
The pressure in his chest, the nausea, the fear—it all surged at once, unbearable and suffocating. He couldn’t do this.
The first tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. Then another. His shoulders started trembling, his breathing turning uneven, shallow. How didn't the doctor notice it?
Jimin tried to respond, tried to tell him that he wasn’t ready, but the words lodged in his throat.
His fingers tightened around the cloth on the table he lied on.
The doctor said something else. A question. Jimin couldn't process it.
Then the hand reached for him again. He flinched. His chest clenched, breath hitching as panic flared up like a matchstick against gasoline. The touch wasn’t harsh—it wasn’t anything like him—it didn't hurt like a metal rod burning inside him,but Jimin’s body didn’t know the difference. His mind blurred into static, his vision tunneling.
He opened his mouth to say no—tell the doctor to pause, but nothing came out.
The doctor kept speaking— not realizing that Jimin was frozen, that the silence wasn’t consent but terror.
Jimin’s breathing turned erratic. His hands shook violently. He tried to push himself up, tried to back away, but his body wouldn’t move the way he wanted. The clinic's walls felt like they were closing in, like the air had thickened into something he couldn’t breathe through.
Then, finally, his voice broke free.
“No—” His own voice was so quiet, strangled. The doctor didn’t hear him.
He tried again. “No!” He was gasping now, his chest heaving.
“Jimin-ssi, you have to relax for this” the doctor said gently, but the words only made the panic worse
Jimin felt like he was drowning. He pushed himself off the table, his vision blotchy with fear. A sound—an awful, choked noise—ripped from his throat, and suddenly, before he could process anything else—
The door slammed open.
Jungkook.
Jungkook, eyes wide with rage and breathless, standing in the doorway.
Jimin didn’t know if he had screamed or if Jungkook had just known
Jimin barely processed the way Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his expression darkening as he saw him curled in on himself on the floor, gripping his robe like his life depended on it.
“What the hell is going on?” Jungkook’s voice was sharp, protective, laced with fury. The doctor looked up, startled. “I—he panicked. I didn’t realize—”
“Stop,” Jungkook bit out. “Just—stop.”
Jimin felt himself shaking, his entire body trembling uncontrollably.he didn't want this situation —His fingers ached from how tightly he was gripping the robe, his breath stuttering between gasps. He couldn't help it. And then Jungkook turned to him. His expression softened, his voice lowering.
“Jimin-ah.” Jimin’s breath hitched. “It’s okay,” Jungkook said, carefully, gently.
Jimin exhaled shakily, his whole body still locked in terror. He hated how pathetic he felt, how Jungkook was seeing him like this. But when Jungkook reached out, offering his hand but not touching him, something inside him cracked.
Jimin didn’t even think—he just reached for Jungkook’s wrist, gripping it like a lifeline. His fingers curled tightly, like he was afraid Jungkook would disappear if he let go. Jungkook helped him stand up.
Jungkook exhaled softly, his thumb brushing over Jimin’s knuckles. He didn’t say anything else—he just stood there, letting Jimin hold on, letting him breathe.
“Do you want to leave?” Jungkook asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Jimin hesitated. He felt sick, exhausted, humiliated. “its okay jungkookie…I-i have to go through this,” Jimin whispered.
Jungkook’s chest tightened. He wanted to do something. Wanted to stop this, make it easier, but what the fuck could he do? He knew this had to happen. He knew Jimin needed to be checked, needed to be safe, but seeing him like this—so fucking afraid—was making Jungkook’s stomach twist painfully.
“Wait,” Jungkook said sharply, standing up. The doctor hesitated, brows raised. Jimin was still frozen, laying again on the table but this time not on his stomach —he couldn't do that,eyes locked on nothing, his entire body rigid like he was bracing for something horrible.
“Give him a second,” Jungkook said, voice tight.
His chest ached. Jimin’s breathing was so shallow it was barely there, his fingers still locked in an iron grip around himself. He looked stuck. Like his mind wasn’t even in the room anymore.
Jungkook hated it. “It’s okay.”
Jimin’s breath hitched. It was so small, but Jungkook caught it. “It’s okay,” he repeated, softer now. “I’m here.” Jimin’s fingers twitched.
Jungkook swallowed hard. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He had never felt this level of helplessness before, this raw, gut-wrenching anger at the world.
“Look at me,” he whispered. Jimin’s head moved the tiniest fraction. Not enough.
Jungkook hesitated, then, carefully, he reached out and just barely touched Jimin’s cheeks —wiping away his tears with his fingertips. Just a brush of contact, light enough that Jimin could pull away.
Jimin didn’t. His eyes finally flickered up—just for a second. Just enough for Jungkook to see the absolute terror in them before they dropped again.
Jungkook clenched his jaw. He turned to the doctor, his voice low, firm. “I’m staying with him.” The doctor frowned. “It might be uncomfortable for both of you—”
“I don’t care.” Jungkook’s tone left no room for argument. “i said I'm not leaving him alone"
the moment the doctor agreed, Jungkook turned his full attention back to Jimin.
He had seen Jimin in pain before—during injuries, during exhausting rehearsals, during nights when he was too drained to hide it. But this? This was different. This was something deep, something suffocating. Jimin wasn’t just hurting—he was scared. And not just in a way that would pass in a few hours.
He had held Jimin’s hand through the entire examination, felt every tremor, every flinch, every barely-contained sob. He had watched as Jimin shut his eyes tight, biting his lip so hard it looked painful, trying to disappear within himself. Every second felt like a fucking eternity, and Jungkook had never been more sure in his life that he would kill the man who did this to him.
Then the doctor spoke.
“There’s internal bleeding.” Jungkook’s heart stopped.
Jimin tensed, breath hitching sharply, but he stayed silent. Too silent.
Jungkook barely noticed that he was squeezing Jimin’s hand too hard. He barely noticed that his own breathing had turned ragged, that his body had gone rigid with a rage so deep it burned inside him.
“What?” His voice was low, dangerous.
The doctor adjusted his gloves, still focused on his examination. His hand was still inside Jimin, and Jungkook could see how Jimin was barely holding himself together, his body locked tight, every muscle trembling.
“It’s minor,” the doctor continued, his tone clinical, detached. “But it explains some of the pain. It should heal with rest, but we’ll need to monitor it.”
Jungkook couldn’t breathe.
His fingers twitched. His free hand curled into a fist against his thigh. His entire body was screaming at him to do something, to fix this, to make this stop. Jimin’s hand in his went limp for a second.
Jungkook’s panic spiked—he turned to him instantly, his grip tightening. “Hyung?”
Jimin’s head was lowered, his bangs covering his eyes. His breathing was shallow, uneven. It looked like he was gonna pass out.
Jungkook leaned closer, ignoring the doctor now, his focus entirely on Jimin. “Hyung,” he said again, softer this time. “I’m here. Just squeeze my hand, yeah?”
The doctor continued speaking, listing things Jimin needed to do for recovery, but Jungkook barely heard him. His ears were ringing. His entire body felt hot with fury. His stomach churned violently.
Internal bleeding.
That bastard had hurt Jimin so badly that he— Jungkook clenched his jaw so hard it ached.
“I’ll finish quickly,” the doctor said, his voice softer now, like he knew this was too much.
Jungkook felt Jimin’s grip tighten again, and he hated that this was happening. Hated that Jimin had to go through this. Hated that all he could do was sit here, holding his hand, while
while Jimin’s body betrayed him, while a stranger inspected him for damage. His chest felt tight, too tight.
“Almost done,” the doctor murmured. “You’re doing well, Jimin-ssi.”
Jimin made a sound. It wasn’t a word. Just a quiet, broken noise from the back of his throat.
Jungkook swore his vision went red.
He couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t rip this whole fucking world apart, couldn’t rewind time and stop this from happening. The helplessness clawed at his ribs like something desperate, something vicious.
But he could be here. He could hold Jimin’s hand. He could keep his voice steady. He could make sure Jimin knew—really knew—that he wasn’t alone.
So he squeezed Jimin’s fingers gently.
“I got you, hyung,” he whispered, voice rough. “Just hold on a little longer.” ---
Jimin felt like he was floating outside his own body.
His breathing was shallow, barely there, and his skin burned with a shame so overwhelming it made him dizzy. The cold sterility of the examination room only made it worse—the harsh white lights, the scent of antiseptic, the weight of Jungkook’s hand around his own, grounding him when he wanted nothing more than to disappear.
He flinched when the doctor shifted position. His muscles clenched instinctively, his body’s automatic response to protect itself. But there was no escaping this. “Jimin-ssi, try to relax,” the doctor said gently. “I know this is difficult, but tensing up will only make it worse.”
Jimin couldn’t relax. His body wasn’t listening. His mind was screaming, pulling him back to memories he didn’t want to relive. His breath hitched, throat closing up. He tried to focus on the present—on the fact that this was a doctor, not him, that Jungkook was here, that he was safe.
But it didn’t feel safe.
It felt like he was being split apart as the fingers inspected him—jabbing at his bruised insides ,His chest rose and fell unevenly, panic clawing up his throat.
Jungkook’s grip tightened. “Hyung,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Breathe. You’re okay. I’m right here.”
Jimin made a small, choked noise.
The doctor was still talking, explaining something about minor tearing, about how it would heal, but Jimin wasn’t really hearing it. All he could focus on was the way his body felt invaded, how his skin felt too tight, too hot, how the nausea in his stomach twisted violently.
He felt disgusting.
“Almost done,” the doctor reassured.
His breathing hitched sharply again, and suddenly, a broken sob tore from his throat before he could stop it.
Jungkook flinched. “Hyung,” he whispered, voice shaking now too.
Jimin couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at anything.
His whole body trembled violently, shame curling inside him like something toxic, something unbearable.
And then, finally—
The doctor pulled away.
Jimin gasped like he had been drowning. His body sagged forward, his entire frame shaking, his face burning with humiliation. His fingers were still clutching at Jungkook, but he couldn’t feel anything beyond the crushing weight of his own shame.
“You did well,” the doctor said softly. “We’re done.”
Jungkook’s arm was suddenly around him, not pulling him in completely, but there. Steady. Solid. Jimin hated that he needed it.
Hated that he wanted it.
Hated that even though it was over, he still felt trapped inside his own skin. --- "