Archive of Our Own ^beta

The bell above the bike shop door gives its usual overenthusiastic jingle as Jungkook shoulders his way inside. 

Sutton’s busted bike is wedged under one arm, her gooey little hand in his. Sweat clings to his back, thanks to the half-sprint he’d broken into after she insisted on showing him her “cool trick like Daddy,” which ended in a very predictable collision with a garbage bin.

She’s his whole world. But wow. He’s this close to wrapping her ride in bubble wrap.

“Sutton, baby, what did we say about curb stunts?” he pants, setting the bike down gently, like maybe being extra careful now will undo the fresh scrape on the handlebars.

She shrugs, completely unrepentant, tugging off her helmet and shaking out her messy dark brown hair. “You said no stunts unless you’re watching.”

“And was I watching?”

“You were kinda watching.” She beams up at him, one deep dimple cutting into her cheek, his exact copy. She’s got his stubbornness and none of her mom’s common sense. 

Before he can respond, Jimin appears from the back room. “Back so soon?”

Jungkook is in a wide-legged crouch—hands braced on his thighs, knees bent, hair in his face—the universal position of a parent about to negotiate with a toddler terrorist, and trying to extend the courtesy of looking Jimin in the eye. 

And when he does, the sight is more than he planned for.

Along with a pair of disarmingly pretty dark eyes, soft-looking black hair, and lips that really have no business being that shapely, Jimin is also unfairly composed. He’s wiping his slim wrists on a rag, his oversized gray tee tucked into his tool belt. His smile spreads as he walks over, and Jungkook nearly loses his balance.

God, he hates how his stomach flips at that smile. 

But he schools it down, bucks up, and resumes his position as the customer-man who has his shit together. “Yeah, uh. Sutton’s starting her pro stunt career early.”

Jimin chuckles, already crouching to inspect the bike, gentle as ever. “Lemme guess…attempted curb jump?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to answer, but promptly forgets how to form words.

Because Jimin’s jeans are doing…a lot. They stretch perfectly over his impeccable backside, hugging tight in all the right places, and Jungkook’s thoughts scatter like loose bolts. 

He forces his eyes elsewhere, but the damage is done. He’s seen God. And God is wearing Levi’s.

“She was aiming for a flip,” he says hoarsely, watching Jimin’s delicate fingers glide over the scuffed front wheel.

“I almost did it,” Sutton announces, puffing her chest out. “But the bin was in the way.”

Jimin glances up at her, lifting one brow. “Did the bin move in front of you?”

She considers that for a beat. “It was kinda just there.”

Jungkook groans. “Career’s off to a strong start.”

“Well, good thing she’s got a pit crew,” Jimin says. He nudges the wheel gently, testing its spin. “No cracks in the rim. Just needs a quick true and bar realignment. Brake’s a little off-center too.” He stands, brushing off his hands—and mercifully putting that situation out of view. “I’ll have her road-ready in fifteen.”

Sutton makes a beeline for the front counter, where the vinyl stickers live in a well-worn basket beside the register. She clambers up onto a stool, already elbow-deep in the box without so much as a “may I?” She’s at that age where everything demands a sticker: her helmet, her bike seat, the frame, her backpack, even Jungkook’s water bottle.

She brandishes a sparkly skull sticker with a grin, her brown eyes shining. “This goes on the back so cars know I’m scary.”

Jimin raises an approving brow. “Bold choice. Nothing says speed demon like glitter and crossbones.” 

With the swagger of someone about to trick out a tricycle, she tucks the sticker into her Bluey hoodie pocket like it’s classified gear.

Jungkook huffs a laugh, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and then handing a crumpled five-dollar bill to Jimin. “Please tell me you offer frequent flyer discounts for dads of aspiring stuntwomen.”

Jimin takes the bill with a smirk, then sets the mangled bike beside the workbench tucked in the shop’s back corner. “No discounts, sorry. But you do qualify for our ‘Most Colorful Fan Art’ loyalty card. You’re one masterpiece away from a free tune-up.” He shoots Jungkook an amused look. “I’ll mark it down.”

The shop is bright at this hour, sunlight streaming through the wide front windows where a handful of floor model bikes bask beneath hanging streamers and pastel baskets. Along the left wall, rows of gleaming bike frames and spare wheels hang in meticulous order. The right wall is more utilitarian, lined with tools, boxed parts, and a pegboard that frames the workbench. There’s just enough space down the center to roll a bike through, but the place feels lived-in, welcoming.

Jungkook snorts as he trails behind him past the register. “You actually keep those?”

“Mm-hm.” Jimin nods toward a cluttered corkboard on the wall behind the counter. “I’ve got a whole gallery back there. Last week I was a butterfly prince.”

Sure enough, pinned crookedly behind the register is one of Sutton’s drawings from their last visit: Jimin, looking vaguely regal with purple-and-red wings and a dramatic swoosh of hair, is surrounded by pink marker hearts with the scrawled label “Mistur Jeemin.”

Next to him is a lumpy figure with spaghetti limbs, an enormous head, and what appears to be three eyes. Beneath it, in all caps: “DADY.”

Jungkook stares. “Is that supposed to be me? I look like I fell down the stairs.”

Jimin glances over his shoulder and laughs. “I thought it was charming.”

And there it is. The zing of heat under Jungkook’s skin, so fast and so easy it’s terrifying.

Sutton pipes up: “Because Mr. Jimin has rizz and you don’t.”

“What.” Jungkook chokes. “What are they teaching these kids in preschool—rizz? Slay? Mid?”

She just swings her legs and grins at him.

Jimin’s still laughing when he looks up at Jungkook. “You look distinguished, tbh.”

Jungkook can’t believe Jimin tee-bee-aytch’d him.

He rubs the back of his neck, feeling the warmth creep up behind his ears. “Distinguished, huh? Is that what we’re calling it when someone draws me like a cursed potato?”

Jimin’s grin turns sly but soft. “She made sure to give you big muscles this time.”

Jungkook squints at the spaghetti arms. “Those are muscles?”

“Maybe abstract muscles.”

Sutton giggles, propping her chin on her hands like she’s watching her favorite cartoon. “Daddy’s funny.”

Jimin gives her a wink, lifting the bike. “Let me take this to the back, see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, meaning it a little more than he should. 

Jimin disappears with the bike, and when Jungkook glances at Sutton, she’s smirking at him. The way only a four-year-old can smirk without teeth.

“What?”

“You like Mr. Jimin,” she sing-songs, swinging her legs.

Jungkook exhales through his nose. It’s not like she’s wrong. Jimin is attractive, obviously. He’s got a face that still looks like he’s got student loans and a campus ID. Probably thinks thirty is ancient.

And Jungkook’s been out here aging in dog years since Sutton came along. Not that he’d trade it, not for anything, but there hasn’t exactly been time for flirting. Or dating. Or even considering it, really.

So no. He doesn’t like “Mr. Jimin.” Jimin’s just a very helpful bike shop guy who happens to be hot. And smiley. And unusually good with kids.

“I like that Mr. Jimin fixes your bike every time you try to reenact Fast & Furious,” Jungkook mutters, ruffling her hair.

“You’re red,” she whispers, delighted.

“Am not.”

“You are.”

Before he can come up with a comeback, she hops off the stool and starts wandering toward the nearest floor model, a shiny pink cruiser with a sparkly seat and a horn shaped like a cat’s face.

“This one’s for birthday,” she announces, then points to a bell shaped like a daisy. “And this one’s for when I save a kitten.”

Jungkook trails after her, eyeing the price tag. Her birthday’s in January. It’s May. She has eight months to forget. “That’s not how rewards work.”

Sutton ignores him, climbing onto the stationary display bike like she’s choosing her future ride. “You can ride it too. I’ll share.”

“Oh, how generous. My knees are gonna love that.”

She hops off and heads to the accessory rack, grabbing a handlebar streamer set and holding it up for inspection. “This one’s for when I feel purple.”

He sighs but follows her anyway, letting her babble about her sticker ranking system (sparkles beat dinosaurs, but not cats), which helmet color matches her “energy,” and how Mr. Jimin is probably a prince in disguise.

Just as she’s trying to convince Jungkook they should get a bike trailer so their imaginary dog can ride in style, Jimin reappears, rolling the bike beside him.

“She’s all set. Just be gentle on those curbs, okay Sutton?”

“Okay!” she says, which everyone knows means “I absolutely will not.”

Jungkook pulls out his wallet, but Jimin shakes his head. “No charge this time. Honestly, I think I’m getting faster at fixing it. Call it practice.”

Jungkook hesitates, then pockets the wallet anyway. “Okay, but at least let me bring you dinner or something next time. I owe you, big time.”

Jimin tilts his head, and for a second, the air between them tightens. His gaze catches Jungkook’s, sparking with something expectant, as though he senses Jungkook’s cooped-up feral energy and has an idea where this is headed. 

His eyes momentarily drop to the floor, like it’s too direct, before coming back up.

“You don’t owe me,” Jimin says, his voice lower now, “but…I wouldn’t say no.”

Sutton makes a noise like a delighted gremlin. “Do you wanna come to my house for dinner so you can marry my dad?”

Jungkook rubs his face. “Okay, that’s enough storybook plots for one day. You’ve been watching too many cartoons. Come on.”

As they head for the door, Sutton already clambering onto her freshly-fixed bike, Jungkook throws one more glance over his shoulder.

Jimin’s still there, leaning against the counter, watching them go, the smile lingering on his face like he’s not ready to say goodbye just yet.

And neither, Jungkook realizes, is he.

♡

Spokes & Sons has been part of Bloorcourt Village longer than most of the street signs. Tucked between a laundromat and a bakery that always smells like warm sugar, the shop is a time capsule with character, its faded wooden sign creaking in the wind, “est. 1978” painted in crisp white beneath its name like a badge of honor.

Inside, the air always carries the scent of chain oil, polished rubber, and old cedar beams. On warm afternoons, the breeze slipping through the cracked windows brings with it a whiff of buttered croissants and pão de queijo from next door. The faded “CASH ONLY” sign in the window hasn’t been true in years (Jimin has tap now), but it stays up for the aesthetic, its curling corners lending the shop an old-school charm that people like to take photos of for Instagram.

Rows of bikes line the spotless front windows: sleek new road models, vintage frames restored to glory, and a handful of pint-sized rides with flower streamers and bright baskets that never fail to catch a kid’s eye. A yellow one with a sparkly pink horn has already been unofficially claimed by one customer’s daughter, her fingers smudging the glass almost daily.

Jimin runs the place these days. Quietly competent, always in motion, and wiping grease off his hands with the same old rag tucked into his back pocket. His mom covers the register now and then. But really, Spokes & Sons is his. Locals know that. Trust it. Trust him.

Out front on Bloor Street, cyclists zip past tattoo parlors, couples spill out of cafés, and someone in a vintage leather jacket argues softly with their friend about which record store is better. The busker with the accordion has set up shop again, a blur of song notes and stickers from admirers, one of them very likely from a certain girl who always tips with glitter stars.

Jimin has the front door propped open with a sandbag today. The weather is too nice not to. Warm spring air filters in, along with a sound that’s become unmistakable over the past couple of months: a little bell on a handlebar, followed by an energetic voice yelling, “Mr. Jimin! Look at my new trick!”

Sutton Jeon comes to a screeching halt just shy of the doorway, nearly crashing into the welcome mat like she always does. She kicks out her light-up sneaker, flashing like her own personal disco ball.

Behind her, Jungkook jogs up the sidewalk, breathless, water bottle thwacking against his thigh, and trying very hard not to look winded in front of the cute guy who fixes his kid’s bike.

She marches into the shop ahead of Jungkook, helmet askew and hair sticking out at wild angles from a half-undone braid, proudly clutching a crumpled piece of paper.

“Mr. Jimin! I made you a new picture!” she announces, waving it like a victory flag. Her outfit is, as usual, an unholy alliance of rainbows, dinosaurs, unicorns, and way too much Bluey merch. Jungkook isn’t even sure where she got the dinosaur shirt. He definitely didn’t buy it.

Jimin grins and leans over the counter to take it, smoothing it out. This one has a big pink heart around two figures.

“Okay! This is my new favorite one,” she declares, proud as anything of her stick-figure lineup: wild colors, arms that are definitely too long, and what might be a cat in the corner or maybe a bike. Jimin again looks suspiciously like a prince, and Jungkook looks like he’s been hit by a bus. Twice. “This is Mr. Jimin, because he’s pretty. And that’s you, Daddy.”

“Wow,” Jimin says, fighting a smile. “We look like a power couple.”

“Yup,” Sutton says triumphantly.

Jungkook leans over, squinting at his latest artistic portrayal. “Sutton, do I have three arms in this one?”

“No, Daddy. That’s your backpack.”

Jungkook sighs. “Right.”

Jimin chuckles and points at his figure, somehow the most detailed, with what appears to be a crown on his head.

“Wait. Am I wearing a tiara?”

Sutton beams. “Yup! You’re pretty like a princess.”

Jungkook chokes. “Sutton, you mean prince. Like a prince. Right?”

“Nooo. Like a princess. He’s pretty like a girl!”

Jungkook covers his face with one hand. “I’m so sorry,” he mutters through his fingers. “This is why I can’t bring her anywhere.”

But Jimin just laughs. “Are you kidding? I’m flattered.” He takes the paper and pins it to the growing gallery of Sutton’s artwork behind the register, right alongside her other masterpieces.

Jungkook doesn’t move. He just watches.

Watches Jimin’s fingers—a little stubby but deft, smudged faintly with bike grease—as they straighten the drawing with care like it belongs there. Like he treasures it.

The crayon crown catches the light from the front window, the stick-figure Jimin beaming down at them like some benevolent ruler.

Sutton claps, satisfied. “Next time I’ll draw you as a mermaid.”

Jimin grins. “What’ll your dad be?”

Sutton doesn’t hesitate. “Shrek!”

Jungkook groans. “Sutton, why.”

Jimin’s laughing, really laughing, and it’s music. This infectious, melodic sound that fills the shop, fills Jungkook’s chest with joy.

And Jungkook’s helpless against it. 

Helpless against the way Jimin’s mouth still tilts with that leftover smile, the one his laugh left behind. The seamless way Jimin exists in Sutton’s world, like he was always meant to be there.

Ask him.

The thought is loud. Louder than the shop’s bell, louder than Sutton humming to herself as she digs through the sticker basket.

Just ask him.

Dinner. Just something simple. Something that lets this feeling stretch a little longer.

Jungkook opens his mouth.

And Sutton picks that exact moment to spin around, brandishing a sparkly holographic raccoon riding a skateboard.

“Daddy, can I get this for my bike? Pleeease?”

Jungkook blinks, the moment lost. He ruffles her hair, swallowing back the words.

“Yeah, baby. Let’s get it.”

Jimin catches his eye then, drawing in a slow inhale, like he knows exactly what almost happened. And like he’s not in a hurry.

Next time. I’ll ask next time.

Before Jungkook can gather his nerve again, some guy walks in. Hipster-looking, wheeling in a sleek matte black commuter bike with leather grips.

“Hey, Noah,” Jimin calls. “I’ll be right with you.”

He shoots Jungkook an apologetic glance and moves toward the other customer to check out the bike.

Which is exactly when Sutton, voice clear as a bell and about ten times louder than necessary, points dramatically at Jimin’s retreating back and shouts:

“THAT’S DADDY’S BOYFRIEND.”

The guy with the matte bike—Noah—freezes mid-step. Jungkook feels his soul leave his body.

“Sutton, why?” he hisses, crouching beside her like proximity to the floor will somehow make them both disappear.

Noah gives him a look that’s part curiosity, part amusement, while Jimin, across the room, is absolutely shaking with silent laughter, trying to focus on the bike’s derailleur and failing miserably.

“Sutton,” Jungkook groans under his breath. “He’s not yet—not—just—Jesus.”

Sutton just shrugs, pleased as punch. “I’m helping.”

♡

Jungkook can’t believe he’s walking home with Jimin.

They closed up shop on one of those slow evenings where no one’s in a rush to go their separate ways. The air was nice. Jimin mentioned he lived nearby. And when Sutton asked if he wanted to walk with them, he said yes.

Now Sutton’s up ahead, her light-up sneakers flashing as she pedals down the sidewalk. She’s singing a song she’s making up on the spot, something about squirrels and dogs and wanting fries. She tips a busker with a sticker, and Jimin grins. “There goes her life savings.”

They fall into a comfortable rhythm after that, Sutton’s cheerful noise in the distance, the low hubbub of city life all around them. The smell of dinner wafts from open restaurant doors, and Jungkook keeps having to remind himself to breathe so he doesn’t pass out from how nice this all feels.

He glances at Jimin, one hand stuffed in his jacket pocket, the other hanging loosely at his side, close enough to feel the man’s warmth.

“You mind if I ask?” he says, his voice low and casual, like he’s not holding his breath. “How old are you?”

Don’t say twenty-two. Please don’t say twenty-two.

Jimin looks over, surprised but not in a bad way. “Twenty-six,” he says, then adds with a small smile, “I turn twenty-seven in October. You?”

The coil of panic loosens its grip.

Jungkook hesitates, then offers it like a confession. “Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight this September.”

There’s a beat of quiet. Just long enough for him to brace for something. He’s not even sure what. Judgment, maybe. Distance.

But Jimin just nods, unfazed.

“Cool,” he says, his smile not going anywhere. “You don’t look it.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh, some of the tension cracking open into relief. “Thanks, I think?”

Jimin tilts his head, his grin turning playful. “Definitely a compliment.”

They walk a bit more, the air comfortable again. Then Jungkook nudges the conversation, wanting—needing—to know more.

“So what’s your story, Jimin? You’ve been at that shop since forever?”

Jimin shakes his head, looking ahead at Sutton like he’s gathering the words.

“My family’s had it since before I was born. I helped out a lot as a teenager. Full-time since I was twenty-one, after my dad passed.”

Jungkook glances at him, his heart tugging. “Sorry.”

Jimin shrugs, not in a dismissive way, just honestly. “It was hard. But the shop kept us going. Kept me busy. I like it. I like being part of the neighborhood, you know?”

Jungkook does know. God, he knows. 

“And you? Always lived out here?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook grins, his shoulders relaxing. “Nah. Moved west when Sutton was born. This side of the city just felt more like home. Even if my landlord’s an asshole.” 

Jimin snorts. “Yeah? How bad?”

“He’s the kind of guy who likes to ‘repair’ things with duct tape and show up unannounced to ‘check the boiler.’”

“Ah. A classic.”

Jungkook chuckles, then glances down the street like he’s seeing the place with fresh eyes. “Still. I like it here. It’s a little rough around the edges, but it’s got soul. Coffee shops and mechanics on the same block. Neighbors who’ll lend you jumper cables and judge your parking at the same time.” A beat. “Besides. Could be worse. I could live in Scarborough.”

(Not a dig at Scarborough. Just classic west-end Toronto boy whining.)

But it’s true. Here, the neighbors know Sutton’s name. Someone always shovels his part of the sidewalk in snow season. There’s an implicit kind of belonging here. He’s not leaving.

They share a laugh, and the silence that follows is warm, full of things unsaid but understood. The walk stretches on like this—until Sutton barrels ahead like a rocket.

“Sutton, slow down,” Jungkook calls, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Stay where I can see you, okay?”

She glances back with a grin and eases up on the pedals, not by much.

Jimin watches her go, then looks at Jungkook. 

“She’s amazing,” he says warmly.

Jungkook’s heart does that quiet aching thing. “Yeah. She is.” A pause. Then: “She’s got my stubborn streak and it’s terrifying.”

“Stubborn suits her,” Jimin says. “Seems to suit her dad too.” 

Jungkook doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that. He tugs absently at the keys in his pocket for the distraction.

Sutton’s far enough ahead to give them space, close enough not to worry. The sun’s setting slowly, casting everything in honey-gold.

Then Jimin asks gently, “Can I ask about her mom?”

The question doesn’t sting, not exactly, but it lands. Jungkook blinks, pressing the edge of a key into his thumb.

God, why am I nervous? He’s just asking. But what if this is the part where he realizes I’m too much?

He keeps his eyes on Sutton, watching the way her streamers flutter as she coasts along on her bike. Then he lets out a small breath, like he’s been bracing for the conversation without even realizing it.

“Her name’s Hannah. We’re not together anymore. We weren’t really serious, just…young, figuring things out. We had fun, thought we knew what we wanted. And then…life happened. Sutton happened.”

He says it lightly, but the words carry weight. Sutton happened, and everything changed.

Jimin doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He just listens, his gaze open and unflinching.

Jungkook keeps talking, his voice steady now, if a little distant, like part of him’s still catching up to everything he’s saying. “I was scared. Of course I was. And Hannah…she tried. She really did. But it wasn’t what she wanted. Not in the long run.”

Jungkook pauses when he feels Jimin’s eyes on him, but they’re gentle, warm. Knowing.

“It was never ugly,” Jungkook says, softer now. “No one was trying to build a family. But when Sutton came along…I don’t know. Everything just shifted. I couldn’t imagine not being there for her.”

Jimin nods slowly. “You stepped up.”

Jungkook huffs a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I mean…what else was I gonna do? She’s mine.”

There’s a beat. Then Jimin says, “I think that’s incredible.”

Jungkook was in his early thirties then, working, finding his footing, and caught in a low-pressure, no-expectations kind of relationship with Hannah Bae. She was spontaneous, free-spirited, a few years younger, and not exactly the settling-down type. But they got along well, laughing easily, taking trips on a whim, but both knew it wasn’t forever.

Then came the unplanned pregnancy.

They talked—a lot. But eventually, it became clear that Sutton was happier and more grounded when she was with Jungkook. Hannah moved out of the city, and they agreed: Sutton would live with him full-time. No courtroom drama, no resentment. Just two people being honest about their limits and trying to do right by their kid.

Now, Hannah sends birthday cards. FaceTimes on occasion. And Jungkook never held it against her. He just focused on building a home where Sutton could feel safe and endlessly loved.

He rearranged everything—his schedule, his ambitions, his entire world—because she deserved nothing less. He stayed up late watching braiding tutorials, learned how to disinfect scrapes and field impossible questions with calm. Some days he still feels like he’s winging it. But he’d walk through fire for that kid.

And yeah, sometimes he wonders if he’s closed off other parts of life in the process. But when Sutton smiles at him like he hung the moon, suddenly nothing else feels more important.

“Most days,” Jungkook says with a half-laugh, “I’m just hoping I don’t mess it up too bad.”

Jimin glances at him. “You’re a good dad, Jungkook.”

The words catch Jungkook off guard. Not because he hasn’t heard them before—he has, in passing, from friends and family—but never like this. Not with such sincerity. Not in a way that goes straight to his heart.

Jungkook looks at him, then back toward Sutton.

“Hannah’s a great person,” he says. “We tried for Sutton’s sake at first, but it wasn’t right. I’m glad we figured it out before it got messy.”

“That couldn’t have been easy,” Jimin says.

Jungkook exhales. “Honestly? The minute I held her, I stopped caring about easy. I just wanted to get it right.”

Jimin slows beside him, brushing his fingers lightly over the back of Jungkook’s hand. “I think you already are.”

Before Jungkook can even figure out what to say back, Sutton circles back toward them, breathless and beaming.

“Did you see that?! I went super fast!”

Jungkook grins, the heaviness in his chest easing just a little. “Yeah, baby. I saw.”

Sutton pedals ahead again, weaving through an obstacle course she’s drawn in her mind.

They walk in companionable quiet for a moment, Jimin watching her, then tilting his head toward Jungkook, curiosity in his eyes.

“Who picked her name? Sutton.”

Jungkook chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hannah did. We shot down each other’s choices for weeks. Every name I liked, she hated. Every name she liked, I couldn’t stand.”

Jimin grins. “Stubborn streak, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Jungkook shakes his head, laughing softly at the memory. “She somehow roped me into watching Bridgerton during lockdown. I think we were on the couch for like eight hours straight. At one point she suggested Eloise, dead serious.” 

Jimin laughs. “And you almost went for it?”

“I mean, I considered it. But then she tossed out Sutton and…I don’t know. It just clicked. Still had the British thing she was obsessed with at the time, but it felt like her. Like who she’d be.”

They both glance ahead at the little girl pedaling along, singing under her breath, bike streamers flying like battle flags.

“It suits her,” Jimin says, and when Jungkook glances over, he finds Jimin smiling.

Jungkook nods, his heart full. “Yeah. It does.”

God. Just—look at him.

Jimin sparkles. There’s no other word for it. Jungkook can’t pinpoint what sets him apart from everyone else—only that Jimin is. That he’s beautiful. 

At least, Jungkook thinks he’s beautiful. He tells himself attraction is objective, like there’s science behind the way his heart speeds up. But on some level, you just know. Some part of you sees and decides, quietly, irrevocably: him.

And Jimin’s walking beside him now like it’s nothing. Like this, whatever this is, is normal. Like they’re not toeing the edge of something Jungkook hasn’t let himself want in years.

The way he laughed about Jungkook’s baby-naming antics—really laughed—with no edge of mockery, no polite smile. Just genuine amusement, like he was glad to be let in. Like Jungkook could offer up this tiny piece of his life and it mattered. 

When was the last time someone made him feel like that? Like he didn’t have to explain himself. Like he could just exist, say things out loud without wondering if they were worth hearing.

And now Jimin’s watching Sutton with that same soft smile curving at the corners of his mouth. Not just watching, but seeing her. Seeing them. Their stickers and skinned knees and bike shop detours. And seeming to like what he sees.

Shit.

This is bad. This is so, so bad.

Because suddenly Jungkook wants things he’s buried for years: a dinner table with more than two chairs, hands to hold on hard days, someone who looks at him the way Jimin’s looking at him now.

I’m nearly forty. What am I doing? What could he possibly want with me?

Stop. Stop looking at him like that. He’s gonna know. He’s gonna see how badly you want this. How badly you want him.

Jimin catches Jungkook’s gaze and holds it. 

Then, like he knows Jungkook’s mind is racing, he says, 

“You don’t have to act like it’s no big deal. It is a big deal. What you’ve done for her. What you do every day.”

Why does that feel like the most intimate thing anyone’s ever told me?

Jungkook swallows hard. “You don’t even really know me.”

Jimin’s smile is small but sure. “I know enough. And I want to know more.”

That undoes Jungkook. Completely. In a way he wasn’t ready for. 

It makes his heart stutter, makes the world soften around the edges.

And before Sutton zooms back in again and the moment’s interrupted, he knows.

He’s already gone for this man.

And there’s no stopping it.

♡

Jungkook is at the stove, plating beef stroganoff shells, while Sutton sits at the kitchen table behind him, perched on a pillow to reach her drawing pad. When he glances over his shoulder, her tongue is poking out in concentration. The squint, the tongue, the laser focus—Jungkook 2.0, and he’s both proud and mildly horrified by the resemblance. 

She’s got his round face and cheeks still plush with baby fat, and almost cartoon fawnish eyes, bright and expressive like his, but with a lighter warmth to them, like they’re always catching sunlight. Her skin’s the same golden tone, deepened by every bike ride and park day. And her pout is pure Jungkook.

She’s halfway through coloring in a green mermaid tail, the lower half of a very, very glamorous Jimin. 

“Sutton…you know Mr. Jimin probably isn’t looking for—” He hesitates, then says it anyway, like pulling a splinter. “He’s young. He’s probably not trying to settle down with an old guy like me. With a kid.”

She doesn’t look up, just frowns thoughtfully and reaches for a crayon in the pile next to her. “You’re not old. You’re, like…almost old.”

He sighs. “Thanks, baby.”

She hums as she plucks out a blue crayon, adding a generous wave of plus signs around Jimin’s head, her version of sparkles. “It’s okay, Daddy. Mr. Jimin likes you. You don’t have to be young.”

He leans forward, elbows propped on the counter. The pot he just carried off the stove was heavy, but the weight of his daughter’s certainty is something else entirely. “Sutts, sometimes grown-ups like each other, but it’s just not the right fit. Jimin probably wants to have fun, you know? Go out. Travel. Stay up past ten.” He glances down at himself: bare feet, flour on his shirt, and sweatpants with a mystery stain he’s chosen not to acknowledge. “I’m just trying to keep us fed and make sure you don’t break your face on the curb.”

Sutton lets out the heaviest four-year-old sigh in existence. “You’re wrong. You’re meant to be. I feel it.”

Jungkook deadpans, “You feel it.”

She beams at him, lifting her drawing for display. “Yup.”

He stares at the mermaid version of Jimin, complete with a tiara and clamshell bra.

“Where do you get this confidence?” he mutters.

“Mr. Jimin gives it to me,” she says sweetly, tapping one of the sparkles.

Jungkook groans, caught somewhere between a swoon and a stress ulcer. Because what do you even say when your kid’s delusions mirror thoughts you’re too scared to say out loud and your heart’s dumb enough to believe them?

♡

It happens on one of those tranquil evenings.

Sutton’s bike needed a quick tune-up after she had tried to bunny-hop a crack in the sidewalk and bent the wheel slightly. Jungkook brought takeout to thank Jimin for staying late—two containers of japchae and some egg tarts from the bakery next door.

They stand out front of the shop, talking about everything and nothing, Sutton chalking hearts and swirls onto the sidewalk, utterly absorbed. The street is quiet, golden light slipping into dusk.

Jungkook leans back against the shop’s brick wall, watching Sutton and wondering, not for the first time, how being around Jimin came to feel so effortless. So safe. He sighs, a contented sound that feels foreign in his own chest. Foreign, but welcome. Something long overdue.

“She keeps drawing you,” he says. “I think you’re her favorite person now.”

Beside him, Jimin chuckles. “Lucky me, huh?”

Jungkook glances at him. “Yeah…lucky you.”

There’s a beat. Then, almost too quietly, Jimin says, “You’re good with her.”

Jungkook huffs a breath of laughter. “She makes it easy. Most of the time.”

“I think you make it easy for her.”

The words settle between them, and something in Jungkook caves a little. Maybe it’s the softness in Jimin’s voice. Maybe it’s the way the sky’s turning that rose-colored kind of dusk. Or maybe it’s just how much he wants someone to see this.

“I’d do anything for her,” Jungkook says, his voice cracking on the edges of a laugh. “But damn…it’d be nice to have someone to do it with.”

It slips out before he can catch it, the words rough because his heart’s pounding for all the wrong reasons.

And Jimin’s already looking at him.

He’s angled slightly toward Jungkook, one leg bent against the wall, his fingers resting on his sand-colored cargo pants, paired with a plain white tee and an open short-sleeved shirt. The last bit of the sun pools in his dark, watchful eyes, the slightly downward slant of his monolids giving him that perpetually thoughtful look. His lashes are short but thick, catching the light when he blinks. His brows, straight and almost downy in texture, draw just slightly when he listens, and his nose, small and neat, tips the balance of his features toward something almost delicate. 

Jimin smiles, just barely. “Maybe you already do.”

The world goes silent around them.

And that’s what scares Jungkook most.

“I’m too old for you,” he blurts.

It comes out fast and unfiltered, a confession and a defense in one. A last-ditch effort to slow himself down before he does something reckless, like let himself want this more than he already does.

But Jimin doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even seem surprised.

Instead, he tips his head and says it, gently but direct. “You gonna let me decide that?”

Jungkook’s voice comes out feebly. “You don’t want to hang out with someone your own age? No offense, but don’t you have better offers?”

“No offense,” Jimin says, grinning, “but I think you’re the better offer.” His tone is light, but there’s something grounded beneath it. “I don’t care how old you are. I care that it’s you.”

Jungkook’s chest tightens. It should be reassuring, but it just makes everything feel more dangerous.

“You’re too young for this kind of trouble.”

“I’m twenty-six, Jungkook. I can vote, drink, and fall for whoever I want.”

The words hit harder than Jungkook expects. He stares at Jimin, wondering how someone can sound so sure and make him feel so unsteady.

“You should want someone who can keep up with you.”

Jimin doesn’t waver. “Maybe I want someone who makes me feel steady instead.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh before he can stop it, the tension breaking just a little.

“Eleven years?” Jimin shrugs, his gaze still locked on him. “That’s nothing. Not when it feels like this.”

Jungkook’s heart stutters. Whatever resolve he had is now done for.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Jimin’s already leaning in. Slowly, like he’s giving Jungkook time to pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t. He can’t.

There’s a pause. Just city sounds and the space between them shrinking.

And then Jimin kisses him.

Their mouths meet, tentatively at first, then quickly deepening. It’s the kind of kiss that makes your heart skip and then race to catch up. Jimin tastes faintly of sesame oil and sweet bean paste, his hand warm where it grazes Jungkook’s jaw, and for a moment, Jungkook’s mind goes completely blank except for this.

When they part, their breaths mingling in the balmy night air, a child’s voice rings out victoriously:

“I KNEW IT!”

Jungkook groans, already pulling back. “Sutton, please.”

Jimin laughs, low and delighted, and nudges his shoulder. “Guess we’re caught.”

“Guess so,” Jungkook mutters, but he’s smiling too, and can’t help it.

♡

The bell above the door jingles as Jungkook pushes it open, Sutton skipping ahead of him with her helmet still on, already calling out, “Mr. Jimin!”

But it’s not Jimin who appears from the back. It’s a kind-faced woman with the same gleam of merriment in her crinkling eyes.

“Oh, hi there,” she says warmly, wiping her hands on a shop rag. “You must be Jungkook. Sutton’s dad, right?”

Jungkook blinks, caught off guard. She knows his name. It shouldn’t surprise him—he’s been coming here for months. But something about the familiar way she says it tugs at something embarrassingly hopeful in him. Has Jimin said anything beyond the logistics of tuning a bike or chasing down a runaway training wheel? The thought leaves him both flattered and weirdly exposed. Like he’s been seen from a distance he didn’t know he was standing in.

“Uh, yeah—hi. Sorry, we were hoping to catch Jimin.”

The woman smiles. “He’s off today. I’m his mom. I fill in sometimes.”

Sutton pouts. “Aww, no Mr. Jimin?”

“Nope, sweetie. He gets one day off a week, and I made him take it.” She chuckles, folding the rag absentmindedly on the counter, her gaze drifting toward the front windows. “I think he mentioned having a date today, actually. Finally getting out and having some fun.”

Jungkook freezes for just a second. His stomach does this strange little twist he wasn’t ready for.

He deserves someone who can stay out late. Take last-minute trips. Not someone with snack pouches in his bag. Not someone like me.

“Oh,” he says, trying for casual and failing a bit. “That’s nice. Good for him.”

Sutton’s too busy poking at a basket of reflectors to notice the shift in his voice.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, um. We’ll just come back another time. Don’t want to trouble you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all! What do you need?”

But Jungkook’s already steering Sutton toward the door, his heart heavy in a way he can’t quite explain.

It’s good. It’s fine. I wasn’t hoping for anything anyway.

He pushes the door open, the bell jingling cheerfully above him like it doesn’t know better.

♡

Jungkook props Sutton’s bike up on their tiny balcony, setting his phone on the floor, YouTube tutorial paused at the part where the mechanic insists sanguinely, “This is an easy fix anyone can do at home.”

The balcony’s a muddle of Sutton’s sidewalk chalk, her bike, and a sad basil plant Jungkook keeps forgetting to water. Their landlord leaves passive-aggressive notes about “balcony clutter” that Jungkook grumbles about but never moves. There’s barely room for him and the bike out here, but he makes it work. Same way they’ve made this second-floor unit work, carved out of a converted house, in a scruffy but spirited patchwork of old duplexes and low-rise walkups in the neighborhood. 

Sutton’s got a bedroom just big enough for a bed and a few toy bins. His room doubles as laundry HQ. The kitchen is narrow with ancient appliances, and the coffee table has a wobbly leg he keeps meaning to fix. But the couch is soft, the walls are decorated with Sutton’s finger paintings and crafts, and it’s home.

Jungkook huffs, glancing at the bent wheel, the mangled bike chain, and the busted reflector. “Easy fix, my ass.”

He’s been at it for almost an hour, tools scattered around and a receipt from Canadian Tire fluttering in the breeze, proof of his panic-bought bike parts and a multi-tool he didn’t need. He tries not to think about how much better Jimin would’ve handled this.

He tells himself it’s not about Jimin. Not about Jimin’s mom mentioning a date. Not about how stupid he felt walking out of that shop, stomach in knots, convinced he’d read everything wrong.

But when Sutton’s small voice pipes up behind him, he knows he’s not fooling anyone.

“Daddy? What’re you doing?”

Jungkook turns. She’s standing in the doorway, wide-eyed, wearing her unicorn onesie and Bluey & Bingo slippers.

“Fixing your bike, baby. See? Daddy can fix it.”

She looks at her bike. Looks at him. Frowns.

“No you can’t,” she says, her voice wobbling.

“Sutton—”

“I want Mr. Jimin to do it!” Her lip trembles. “Take it to Mr. Jimin!”

Jungkook’s heart cracks right down the middle.

“I can do it, sweetheart. I promise. I’m trying.”

“Noooooo!” The tears start. They’re big, silent at first, then hiccupy. “You can’t fix it! You can’t! Only Mr. Jimin can!”

He scrubs a hand down his face. He looks at the tangle of tools, then at her crumpled little face. His throat tightens.

Jungkook didn’t mean to make her cry. God, he was just trying to prove something. Maybe to her, but mostly to himself. That he could handle it. That he was enough. But standing here now, with his daughter sobbing because she just wants someone else—

He realizes he’s not just failing her. He’s punishing both of them for a bruised ego he didn’t even know he had.

“Okay. Fine.” He sighs, his shoulders dropping. “We’ll take it to Mr. Jimin.”

Sutton sniffles, hopeful. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He tries to smile, to make it okay. “It’ll have to wait till tomorrow though, alright? Can you do that for me?”

She nods, her eyes brightening like storm clouds parting. “Okay!”

And just like that, she’s back to sunshine, spinning on her heel, already racing for her crayons.

“I’m gonna draw a new picture now!”

Jungkook watches her go, his chest aching in that way it does when you love someone so much it hurts a little.

He looks at the bike, the tools, the mess, and shakes his head with a rueful laugh.

“Didn’t mean to make you the favorite,” he mumbles to no one in particular. “Guess that’s on me.”

♡

It’s the next evening, and somehow, despite everything, they’re back in the shop.

And there’s Jimin, behind the counter, like nothing’s changed. 

When he looks up and sees Jungkook, his whole face lights up the way it always does.

“Hey, stranger,” Jimin says, grinning.

Jungkook tries to keep it casual, but his smile’s tight around the edges. Not quite there. “Hey.”

Jimin pauses. He studies him a second, his eyes narrowing just slightly, like he can tell something’s off.

As Sutton wanders toward the floor bikes, Jungkook shuffles blindly, stopping at the counter without thinking. 

Jimin leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Everything okay?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Yeah. Fine. Just needed a quick look at the bike.”

Jimin cocks his head. “You sure?”

Jungkook hesitates, then blurts it, trying to sound joking and not at all like he’s been stewing on it. “You have a good date the other day?”

Jimin blinks, then laughs. A real, surprised laugh. “Date? Oh my God, no. That wasn’t a date.”

Jungkook frowns. “Your mom said—”

“She’s the worst,” Jimin says, still smiling. “She hears brunch with someone and decides it’s a date. It wasn’t.”

Jungkook goes quiet, his jaw tense. It’s stupid. Petty. But he can’t help the sting of defensiveness, not just at the idea of Jimin dating anyone else, but at how quickly he assumed the worst. He’s not entitled to anything, and yet the relief that starts to creep in is embarrassing in its intensity.

Jimin hesitates, then says gently, “It was brunch with a friend. She runs this biking program for kids. I wanted to ask about it for Sutton. I thought maybe she’d like it. I didn’t want to bring it up until I had the details.”

Jungkook stares at him, something loosening in his chest like a knot untying from the inside. “You…were looking into something for Sutton?”

Jimin nods, a little shy now, like he’s unsure if he overstepped. “Yeah. I mean, I know how much she loves her bike. I thought maybe it’d be fun.”

Jungkook’s heart just drops. It falls and lands somewhere warm and full and overwhelming. 

He pictures Sutton’s laugh when she rides, the way she calls Jimin ‘cool,’ and suddenly it all feels too big to hold.

“Jimin…”

Jimin shrugs, as though it isn’t a big deal. “Told you it wasn’t a date.”

And for a moment, all Jungkook can do is stand there, watching him, realizing just how far gone he is. There’s no use pretending anymore. Not to himself, and sure as hell not to Jimin.

He’s thinking how beautiful Jimin still looks, even with faded hickory-striped overalls over a mustard brown tee, the soft cotton clinging just enough to his compact and graceful frame; his hair loose and floppy from the humidity; and a slightly worried frown creasing his smooth forehead as his eyes scan Jungkook’s face.

“Don’t do that,” Jimin says, gently but firmly. “Don’t put distance where there doesn’t need to be any. If something’s on your mind, tell me. I can take it.”

Jungkook’s mouth opens, then closes again. He braces his hands on the counter like that’ll steady him.

“I—” He swallows. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just…I keep trying to be enough. For Sutton. For you. And this—” He gestures vaguely. “It feels like more than I thought I was ready for. But I don’t want you to think I don’t care. Because I do. A lot.”

Jimin watches him with something like fondness.

“You know…just because I’m younger doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

Jungkook startles. “I didn’t say that.”

Jimin smiles. “You don’t have to. I see the way you look at me sometimes. Like you’re waiting for me to change my mind.” A pause. Then: “You don’t even know, do you? I’m the lucky one. I just wish you’d believe I’m not going anywhere.”

And just like that, Jungkook’s done for. He didn’t think it was possible to fall harder, but then Jimin went and said that, and now Jungkook’s chest is tight with something too big to name. Maybe awe. Maybe relief. Definitely “Oh fuck.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh, half-flustered, half-mortified. “And here I was, being jealous of brunch.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, but it’s playful. “You can take me to brunch if it makes you feel better.”

Jungkook grins, some part of him unclenching. “Yeah? Maybe I will.”

His gaze lifts, drifting past Jimin to the wall behind him, where the drawings live. Depictions of Jimin in various mythical forms. And Jungkook, a constant presence beside him. 

Jungkook speaks, almost to himself. “She’s gonna grow up thinking I ruined some great love story because I couldn’t get over myself.”

Jimin follows his gaze, glancing back at the wall, then turns to face him again, lips tugging upward. “You still have time to be the hero.”

♡

It’s late. Sutton’s fast asleep after a long day at the park, her bike leaned against the wall and helmet abandoned somewhere in the hall.

Jungkook stands in his small kitchen, staring out the window above the sink, thumb hovering over his phone screen. His heart’s beating so hard he can feel it in his throat.

Just do it.

He’s been thinking about it since that last visit to the shop—the look Jimin gave him while they locked up together, like he was waiting for something at the end of all this. And then they were outside, the sky streaked with the tail end of sunset, Jimin brushing hair out of his eyes, laughing at something Sutton had said earlier. Jungkook just stood there, watching him. Hesitating. Wanting.

Just do it.

He opens the chat, the one where their messages are mostly bike updates and Sutton anecdotes and the occasional meme Jimin sent when he was feeling brave.

His thumbs hover. Then type.

Jungkook:

Hey. I was thinking maybe next time we could do dinner. Just us. If you want

He stares at it, rewrites it in his head a dozen ways. Then he sends it before he can stop himself.

The reply comes faster than he expects.

Jimin:

Thought you’d never ask 💛

Jungkook lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The reply glows back at him, real and golden. He leans against the counter, grinning like an idiot in the dark.

♡

Dinner was easy. So much easier than Jungkook expected.

For once, he didn’t spend the whole time talking about Sutton. Not that Jimin minded hearing about her, he never did, but tonight felt different. Like the conversation had room to stretch its legs and stay awhile.

They sat tucked into a corner table at a bijou Roman-style spot in Little Italy, all vintage rugs, flickering candles, and shelves lined with Italian cookbooks and dusty wine bottles. The air smelled like sage butter and garlic confit, and their server, nonplussed by Jimin’s enthusiastic pasta questions, poured them both a crisp white to start. 

They talked about everything: growing up, their dumb teenage hobbies, the old music they used to blast in their rooms. Jimin told stories about helping out at the shop as a kid, how his dad taught him how to patch a tire before he was tall enough to see over the counter. How he once fell asleep on a stack of winter tires and gave his mom a full-on heart attack.

Jungkook laughed so hard he nearly choked on his bucatini.

And maybe it was the wine, or the cacio e pepe, or just the way the candlelight softened Jimin’s defined jawline, but Jungkook found himself relaxing and opening up in ways he normally wouldn’t. They swapped favorite movies, bad first jobs, the weirdest thing they’d ever eaten.

It wasn’t about Sutton, or bikes, or responsibilities. It was just them. Two people, sharing space, sharing themselves.

And as the night wound down, Jungkook knew—he felt it, bone-deep—that this was more than just dinner.

So when he offered to walk Jimin home, it wasn’t out of politeness. It was because he wasn’t ready to let the night end.

The walk to Jimin’s place is quiet. That charged quiet, where every brush of their arms, every glance shared under the streetlights, feels like it means more than it should.

Jungkook’s heart’s pounding, but he keeps his hands stuffed in his pockets, keeps his steps slow, and keeps telling himself:

Be a gentleman. Walk him home. Say goodnight. Go.

Jimin’s building comes into view, warm light spilling from his windows onto the sidewalk. He lives alone in a cozy apartment above a shop on Ossington. It’s an older place with charm in the walls and a tiny balcony strung with fairy lights. 

They stop at the door. Jimin turns to face him, a coquettish grin playing at his lips.

“Do you wanna come in?” he asks casually, and the circuitry in Jungkook’s pelvis twangs.

Sutton’s sleeping over at her daycare buddy’s place. The parents offered; Sutton was ecstatic. It was supposed to be Jungkook’s night to catch up on laundry and reclaim some of his floorspace, but instead he texted Jimin. Sutton packed her unicorn sleeping bag, blew him a kiss, and yelled, “Have fun with Mr. Jimin!” just before the other parents closed the door, nearly killing Jungkook on the porch.

He means to say goodnight at the door. Really, he does.

But then Jimin looks at him like that, like he wants him, and suddenly goodnight feels absurd.

Jungkook opens his mouth to say “No, I should go, I’m trying to be good, trying to be respectful—”

But what comes out is: “Yeah. Fuck it.”

Jimin laughs and pushes the door open. They climb the narrow staircase, then Jimin opens another door.

Jungkook steps inside, his heart hammering.

The door clicks shut behind them with a soft finality, like it’s sealing off the rest of the world.

Inside, the apartment is quiet and homey: hardwood floors, mismatched furniture, plants thriving despite Jimin’s long hours. A couple of bike tools are piled in the kitchen corner, because apparently Jimin never really clocks out.

It smells like him, too. Coffee and something sweet, like the last cookie in the jar.

Jimin turns to face him again. For a moment, they just look at each other.

No movement. No words.

Just this moment suspended in amber. 

And when Jimin finally leans in, Jungkook meets him halfway. 

The kiss starts slowly at first. Reverently, almost. But it deepens quickly. 

The weeks, months of looks held too long and touches pulled too short catch up to them in a rush. It’s like they’re savoring the fact that they can, finally.

Jimin’s fingers find Jungkook’s jaw, the back of his neck, drawing him closer. Each brush of Jimin’s lips, each soft exhale ghosting against Jungkook’s skin, makes Jungkook’s resolve crack further.

And now Jimin’s fisting a hand in Jungkook’s shirt, pulling him in, pulling him home. And Jungkook, God. He’s done pretending he’s not desperate for this. For him.

They stumble deeper into the apartment.

Jungkook loses himself in it, in the way Jimin’s hands roam, in the way their bodies mold together perfectly as Jungkook’s hands find Jimin’s waist and Jimin’s fingers card through Jungkook’s hair. They move as one, laughing softly when they nearly trip over a forgotten pair of slippers by the bedroom door.

Then Jungkook backs Jimin toward the bed. Jimin falls back onto the mattress, his fingers curling into the front of Jungkook’s shirt and dragging him closer like he’s done waiting.

Jungkook hovers above him, arms braced around his head, eyes drinking him in like he can’t believe this is real.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes.

Jimin looks up at him, his cheeks flushed, lips parted, and eyes full of something new and old all at once. Jungkook swears his heart could burst. 

Jimin’s fingers thread into Jungkook’s hair and clench, tugging him back down for another kiss, deeper this time. Less careful now.

Jungkook’s hands are on Jimin’s hips, fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, feeling warm skin and the erratic thrum of his pulse. Jimin lets out this tiny, desperate sound that sparks through Jungkook like a live wire.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook manages, his voice rough with want but weighted with care. His forehead rests against Jimin’s, thumb skimming over his cheek, trying to ground himself, trying to be good. Because he knows that there’s more he wants to give Jimin than he can even name right now. Because if Jimin says yes, he’ll give him everything. He’ll make love like he wants to be remembered in the next life.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate. 

“I’ve been sure,” he whispers.

That’s all Jungkook needs.

The kiss that follows steals the air from his lungs—messy and urgent and laced with the kind of sweetness that’s only ever been for Jimin.

Clothes come off in pieces, between kisses that grow hungrier and needier, between touches that make Jungkook feel like he’s coming apart at the seams. Their hands roam like they can’t decide where to touch first, where to stay. Everything is fair game.

Jungkook’s mouth finds the slope of Jimin’s shoulder, then the hollow of his throat, lingering like he’s memorizing him by taste. Jimin arches into it, his breath hitching, fingers splayed over Jungkook’s back like he’s trying to pull him closer still. 

Jimin’s in his arms, finally, properly, and Jungkook’s heart is beating so fast he swears Jimin can feel it through his chest.

I could get used to this. 

I want to.

♡

Now they’re lying in Jimin’s bed, lamplight casting a warm halo over the sheets. Jungkook lies curled behind him, one arm slung securely around his waist. Jimin traces the lines of ink on Jungkook’s forearm, fingers featherlight and unhurried. The air is thick with the aftermath of what just passed between them, and the promise of what might follow. 

Jimin breaks the quiet first.

“I don’t remember the last time I felt this at home with someone,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words settle in Jungkook’s chest like a key turning in a lock. Me too, he thinks, too full to say it out loud. He presses his face into Jimin’s hair instead, breathing in the green scent of pine tar shampoo. Everything about this feels easy. Natural. Like he was meant to be here.

But he’s been stewing on it—on the way they touched, on the look in Jimin’s eyes, on all the ways this is starting to mean more.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he murmurs. It slips out, almost like a secret.

Jimin turns to face him, their noses nearly brushing. His gaze is calm, waiting.

“I’m turning thirty-eight in a couple months,” Jungkook says, hesitating just long enough for the weight of it to show. “I’ve got a kid. I’m not easy, Jimin. I don’t want to play games. And I don’t want to drag you into something that’s more than you signed up for.”

God, I sound like I’m reading off a grocery list. Like if I keep it practical, it won’t feel so raw. But it does. It always does.

Jimin takes a beat, quiet in a way that feels thoughtful, not reluctant.

“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” he says. “I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you.”

Jungkook stares at him, his heart pounding like it hasn’t caught up to his luck. “But you’re so young. You should be out doing fun, spontaneous twenty-six-year-old things. Not—” he gestures vaguely, “—watching Bluey with us for the fifth time this week and pretending it’s for Sutton.”

They both laugh quietly, and then Jungkook adds, more thoughtful and closer to the heart now: “Or listening to me worry about preschool fees and packed lunches instead of making memories you’ll actually want to tell people about.” A beat. “Or getting to know me and realizing I come with a whole other person who always comes first.”

Jimin smiles. It’s small but lopsided. “Jungkook. What if this is what I want? What if fun is being here with you, being let in, and realizing you trust me with the parts of your life that matter most? What if I want that more than anything?”

Jungkook’s throat tightens.

“I don’t want to be a phase for you.”

“You’re not.” Jimin reaches up, brushing the hair gently out of Jungkook’s eyes. “I don’t do phases. And I don’t kiss people the way I kissed you if I don’t mean it.” 

Jungkook hesitates, his voice catching. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure about you since the first time Sutton called me your boyfriend.”

That elicits a real laugh from Jungkook, and Jimin grins in return, like he knows exactly how much that sound means.

“You really think I’d be here if I didn’t want this?” Jimin says. “If I didn’t want to be part of this, part of you? The steady joy of your and Sutton’s world? I want all of it. You don’t have to carry everything yourself.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. He can’t. He’s trying to hold back the wave of emotion rising in his chest. But it crests anyway.

He lets out a slow, shaky breath.

“So what are we, then?” he asks.

Jimin’s hand finds the nape of Jungkook’s neck, thumb stroking gently.

“Whatever we want to be,” he says. “But I know what I want. I want this. I want you.”

And this time, it’s Jungkook who closes the distance, who kisses Jimin like the weight’s finally been lifted. Like he can breathe again.

♡

It’s one of those perfect summer mornings where the whole city seems to be in a good mood. The Saturday sun is high and bright in a spotless blue sky, the breeze bracing as it threads through Trinity Bellwoods Park, where the kids’ bike program is in full swing near the tennis courts.

Cones line the path like a tiny obstacle course. Volunteers cheer. Kids zip by on wobbling bikes. A few wipe out and immediately laugh it off. Parents lounge in folding chairs, dogs tug on leashes, and somewhere in the distance, someone’s already spreading out picnic blankets. It all feels wonderfully local, like the neighborhood’s been waiting for this.

Jungkook stands just off the path, iced coffee in one hand, grinning like a fool as Sutton beams beneath her helmet and waves her streamed handlebars like she’s leading the parade.

“She’s gonna make friends in two seconds,” Jimin says beside him, so close their arms brush. He showed up with two coffees and no prompting, and Jungkook can’t decide what’s sweeter: that, or the look on Jimin’s face when Sutton waved.

“I think she’s already trying to recruit that kid into her biker gang,” Jungkook mutters, nodding toward Sutton showing off her stickers to another little girl.

Jimin laughs. “She’s unstoppable.”

They fall quiet for a bit, watching as the instructor rounds the kids up and demonstrates how to weave through the cones. Sutton throws a determined glance over her shoulder.

“LOOK AT ME, DADDY!” she yells every few seconds as she zooms through the course, slicing the air like she means business.

“You did good,” Jimin says.

Jungkook glances at him. “We did.”

Jimin smiles, a little shyly, but it’s satisfied. His fingers brush Jungkook’s, and this time, Jungkook twines them together without overthinking it.

Sutton brakes hard in front of a cluster of chatting parents and volunteers, plants her feet, and with the unshakable confidence of a press secretary, points squarely at Jimin and Jungkook, announcing:

“THAT’S MY DADDY’S BOYFRIEND.”

Every head turns.

Jungkook feels his soul leave his body.

“Sutton,” he grouses, his voice strangled by sheer secondhand embarrassment.

But she’s not done. “Daddy’s boyfriend came to see me ride!”

Some people blink, others glance over with amused curiosity. One mom laughs and bends down to give Sutton a high-five like she’s just delivered the highlight of her day.

Jimin laughs too, squeezes Jungkook’s hand, and leans closer.

“It’s fine,” he says, unfazed by the attention. “Let her brag.”

Sutton beams at them, proud as anything, and takes off again, like her public announcement duties are done, leaving a trail of stunned adults behind her.

Jungkook watches her go, half mortified, half melting. “She’s never gonna let me live this down.”

“And neither am I,” Jimin says.

Then he kisses him, right there for anyone to see.

And this time, Jungkook doesn’t care who’s looking. He just laughs against Jimin’s lips, because this? 

This feels like exactly where he’s meant to be.

♡

They’re at the shop again, Sutton perched on the counter stool, crayon clutched in one hand, tongue sticking out in concentration as she adds the finishing touches to her latest masterpiece.

Jungkook leans against the display case, watching her (read: bracing himself).

When she’s done, she lifts the sheet of paper with a flourish.

“This is us!”

It’s still a bit chaotic, but this time? Jungkook sort of recognizes himself. Less three-armed troll, more actual person.

In the drawing, the three of them are holding hands: Sutton in the middle, grinning from ear to ear, Jimin wearing his signature princess crown (obviously), and Jungkook with his hair sticking up like he just rolled out of bed (accurate).

Jimin grins, leaning on the other side of her. “I love it. We look like a team.”

“We are a team,” Sutton says with total conviction. “I mani-fessed this. That’s what Miss Odita says.”

Jungkook blinks. “You what now?”

“She said pictures help make things come true. So I made a lot.” She points proudly at the overflowing corkboard behind the register. “And now we’re real! See? It worked.”

Jungkook’s brain briefly short-circuits.

Should I be looking into a different daycare?

But then Jimin laughs, that soft, melodic, can’t-get-enough-of-it laugh, and pulls Sutton into a gentle side hug.

“You’re magic, Sutts,” he says, and probably means it.

And Jungkook watches them, something warm blooming in his chest. 

Maybe she is.

♡

Epilogue: Two Years Later

The late summer sun is hazy and golden, painting the neighborhood in that back-to-school glow that smells faintly of sharpened pencils and new sneakers. Light filters through the maples lining the street like confetti, catching on the streamers of Sutton’s bike, the newest model Jimin picked out for her sixth birthday. It glitters with stickers as she pedals slowly along the sidewalk, making sure both “her grown-ups” can keep up. 

“Come on, Daddy, Jimin! You’re so slooow,” she calls over her shoulder, her backpack bouncing against her tiny frame.

“We’re literally walking, not competing in the Tour de France,” Jungkook says. She’s faster now, and he’s still pretending he doesn’t get winded chasing her. The years have softened him in minute ways: lines at the corners of his eyes that come from laughing more than worrying. His hand brushes Jimin’s as they walk side by side.

“Let her have her moment,” Jimin says, amused. He’s carrying Sutton’s lunchbox in one hand (she insisted he hold it so it wouldn’t “mess up the vibe” of her backpack). “First day of Grade 1. Gotta look cool.”

Jungkook shakes his head, smiling anyway. “We’re gonna have a little dictator on our hands.”

“Hmm, couldn’t possibly be all that humble parenting,” Jimin teases, bumping his shoulder lightly into Jungkook’s.

Sutton screeches to a stop in front of the crosswalk, slamming her foot down. “Mr. Accordion Man’s not here today,” she announces, glancing around like it’s a tragedy.

“Maybe he’s on vacation,” Jimin says, leaning forward to adjust the strap of her backpack. “Ready for the button?”

She nods solemnly and hits the crosswalk button like it’s her sworn duty.

They cross when the light changes, Sutton taking off like she’s got somewhere important to be. And she does. Because by the time the school comes into view, bright and loud with kids buzzing like bees, Jungkook feels it. How fast time is moving.

Grade 1. How did that happen already?  

She’s six now, confident and chatty, her training wheels long gone. Two years ago, she was covering her bike in skull stickers like they were armor. Now she’s barreling ahead like the world can’t touch her. It feels like yesterday he was lugging her bike into Spokes & Sons, desperate to keep up with her chaos. Now, Jimin’s hand is steady in his, and everything feels possible.

They’ve been steady, too—Jimin and Jungkook. A year ago, they moved into a slightly bigger place with a balcony big enough for Jimin’s workbench and Sutton’s ever-expanding plant collection. There are fewer visits to Spokes & Sons these days, but it doesn’t matter. Jimin is here. Always here.

At the school gates, Sutton parks her bike and turns to them with utmost seriousness. “Don’t forget, Daddy. Jimin’s picking me up today.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook says. “What about me?”

She shrugs. “You can come too. But Jimin promised snacks.”

Jungkook scoffs, mock-offended. “So I’m chopped liver now?”

“Mm-hm.” She smirks.

“I see how it is. Jimin gets the fanfare, and I get demoted to snackless sidekick.”

Sutton giggles, totally unbothered.

He crouches to her level, chuckling. “Okay, cool kid. But remember, if anyone’s mean to you, you—”

“Ignore them ‘cause they’re not important,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes with a confidence that would have scared him half to death at her age.

“And?” Jimin adds, crouching beside her with that grin that lights up his whole face.

“And I listen to my teacher.” She points at Jimin’s face. “And no crying if I’m gone all day.”

“Who’s crying?” Jungkook asks. “Not me.”

Sutton gives him a skeptical look, then turns back to Jimin, taking the lunchbox from his hand. “I like my lunch the way you do it. Daddy doesn’t know how.”

Jungkook groans. “Wow. Thanks.”

They watch her march past the school gates, turning one last time to wave at them like she’s the queen of the playground. “Bye, Daddy! Bye, Jimin!” she shouts, before vanishing into the sea of backpacks and colorful jackets. 

Jungkook exhales slowly, his chest tight with both love and awe. Without thinking, he reaches for Jimin’s hand, and finds it already there, fingers curling around his.

“You okay?” Jimin asks softly, his eyes still on the school gates.

Jungkook huffs out a laugh, a lump rising in his throat. “Yeah. Just proud, I guess.”

Jimin glances at him, his brow lifted. “You’re gonna cry, aren’t you?”

Jungkook snorts. “Can I not just feel things quietly?”

“You’re kind of a sap.”

“And you love it.”

Jimin tilts his head toward him, smiling like the answer’s obvious. “Yeah. I do.”

The End