Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jihyun looks down at him with a gentle smile curving her lips. Delicate features bloom like blossoms in spring, her eyes creasing at the corners.

"Don't you worry, Jimin."

She sits down next to him, the old bed creaking under the added weight.

He doesn't look at her, doesn't lift his head. His eyes are staring down at the lock of his hands, fingers fidgeting nervously.

"Mom won't let anything bad happen to either of us."

Jihyun sounds like she believes it, so earnest in her trust of their mother.

Jimin's head lifts, eyes blinking at her.

"Do you believe that?"

She grins at the uncertainty in his voice, ruffling Jimin's hair and muttering a soft reprimand under her breath. "Of course I do."

Her hand pulls away, and Jimin is looking at her with unblinking eyes, seeking all of his sister's optimism in what's to come.

"She's our mother, and she cares for us."

Jimin hums, he nods.

His body sways and tilts to the side, hitting Jihyun's.

She readily welcomes him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders while her free hand takes his own.

For a while, she plays with Jimin's fingers while patting his head and tugging at the baby hair growing on his nape.

"You'll see," she murmurs in the crown of his head, leaning into it into a makeshift hug. "Everything will turn out just fine."

"You promise?"

Jimin hates promises, he's never quite put much faith in them. But this is Jihyun, and there's no other he trusts as much as her. So, even when her answer takes a moment to come and her fingers stop playing with Jimin's hair, he believes her all the same.

"I promise."

She pulls away, taking both of his hands in her and prompting him to look up. Jihyun is still smiling softly, that kind smile that's always ready on her lips.

"And you'll see." Her hands hold tight onto Jimin's, tugging them gently to put more emphasis in her words. "We'll never have to be apart."

i. and you made a punisher out of me, an executioner to atone your sins.

you stopped me in my track and put me right in my place

Jimin's mind is drowning, sinking into muddy waters. His thoughts are but scattering specks of dust in the wind, weightless. And weightless he feels as hands lead him by the waist. Large and hot as they are, they fit snugly around the curves of his body, holding all of him like he's wildlife and they are cage.

Blinking at the ceiling while a breathless laugh travels to his mouth, he lets himself sink even further. And it might be a pit of fire instead of pitch black darkness, for everything burns, from the blood in his veins to the ache in his chest. The fire turns all into ashes, all of him set ablaze under the touch ravaging him.

Soft lips trace a wet path down the arched line of his neck, claiming every last bit of him.

Jimin's hands claw into the man's shoulder's, fingers sinking into firm muscles. Feeding onto the man's lust for his body, Jimin thinks could let that happen. Let himself be kept and owned, if only for tonight. Tonight when his heart is particularly heavy and his eyes burn at the corners.

Pulling away from Jimin's neck, the man takes his lips instead. His tongue licks its way into Jimin's mouth, at the line of his teeth and at his palate. It is hardly enjoyable at first, not with the way the intrusion makes him choke—out of breath, a spark of panic at the back of his mind.

Jimin's lungs begin to clench and constrict before too long, unaccustomed with the ravenous hunger leading the man's kiss. His hands push at the other's chest, finding an impenetrable wall in him instead. Yet it does put a certain distance between them, increased once the man finally breaks their kiss, his lips pressing at the corner of Jimin's mouth and moving down to the sharp line of his jaw instead.

Filling his lungs with thick air, Jimin swallows a choked sound, wetting his swollen lips and biting onto them. His silence hardly goes unnoticed, earning him the grazing of sharp teeth onto his jaw, a warning.

The man doesn't pull away still, though. He moves again to Jimin's neck, stopping just underneath his jaw. "Let me hear you," he demands, his voice hoarse.

And Jimin must've lost count of all the drinks he's downed for he doesn't fight the moan traveling to his mouth. It tastes foreign and bitter on his tongue, echoing restlessly in his head, hauntingly so.

"Beautiful," the man comments so, sincere in a way that is too cruel for Jimin to accept. It sparks a new sort of heat within him, one that has his hands grabbing the man's nape and pulling him in for another kiss. It is short-lived, rougher than their earlier ones.

The man seems to laugh into it, his hands grabbing Jimin's waist and leading way to the bed. Every step they take is stumbling and uncertain, blind as neither parts from the other. The man's lips never quite leave Jimin, if not his lips then his neck or his collarbones, hands working in tandem to undo the buttons of his shirt. They manage to reveal most of Jimin's chest before they stop, calves hitting the bed's edge. He falls onto it with no hesitation, dragging Jimin along until he's straddling the man's lap, hands grabbing his waist to steady him.

Like this, he's a few inches taller than the man, looking down at him with a faint scowl.

"Like the view?"

Jimin's eyes roll, his jaw clenching. He is far more concerned with the bulge pressing up at his bottom, an unmistakable hardness . Tentatively, if only to retaliate, he rolls his hips. If fires back as much as it pays back, for his breath hitches but the man's grip tightens on him, turning almost bruising. In a daze, Jimin thinks back to the moments leading them here, to the making out in the bar's bathroom stall to the fuzzy stumbling into a motel room. A grin breaks on his lips, almost reaching his cloudy eyes. "I might," he answers, arms wrapping around the man's neck as he leans down, their faces only inches apart.

He puts some more pressure down the man's crotch, his hips rolling yet again, rutting hesitantly until he finds a pace to his pleasing. The man doesn't stop him, mouthing at the line of Jimin's jaw, hands guiding his movements ever so slightly.

Staring at the ceiling, feeling a faintly familiar hunger grow in him, Jimin takes in a bracing breath. His mind still feels hazy, and he's desperately latching onto it, pwanting to cast away every last thought until he is made nothing but a shell by the man under him. Preying onto this hope and the silent promise hanging between them, Jimin pulls away and stands. The man watches him, his eyes narrowing as he studies him.

He doesn't move though, legs spread and hands clenching around nothing now that Jimin is gone. Jimin, on the other hand, forces himself to hold the man's numbing gaze as his hands move. He lets the other cast a spell on him, one that makes his mind blank and his heart race. His hands undo the buttons of his tight jeans, pushing them down together with his underwear. Even then, Jimin doesn't look away. The man's gaze trails down though, transfixed by the skin revealing down below, and the hardening cock coming into view.

Jimin makes a quick job of it, standing mostly naked until he's kicked away his shoes and pants, wearing nothing but a mostly open shirt. His heart feels heavy, self-consciousness slowly clearing his mind, the weight of what he's doing threatening to crash on him. Jimin moves faster than that, rushing back to the man's lap, straddling it and taking his lips into an eager and desperate kiss.

His arms cradle the man's head, holding onto him for dear life. "You promised me," he breathes onto the man's lips when the break apart, his words a rough rasp. They bring a grin to the man's face, his hands once again finding purchase on Jimin's waist. "You promised to make me forget," he presses, rolling his hips onto the man's crotch pointedly.

The man's scoffs, one hand sliding to Jimin's nape. Long fingers card through his hair, fisting into them, pulling enough for his head to tilt. "I will keep my promise," he assures, lips a hair breadth from the thin skin on Jimin's neck. "But do one thing for me, won't you?"

Through hooded lids, Jimin stares down at him, a fierceness in his gaze that hardly goes unnoticed. The hand in his hair twitches, tugging until his neck is uncomfortably bent.

"Remember to call my name when you come on my cock."

One of Jimin's hands touches to the man's chest at the words. It slides down along defined lines, not stopping until his fingers are touching to the hem of the man's pants, the heel of his hand pressing onto his crotch. "Remind me again, then." He begins to undo the first button, playing with the zip. "How should I call you?"

The man's grip on his hair vanishes, reaching for his hand instead, taking it was brusquely. Just as fast and roughly, the man shifts both on the bed. It is mind-numbing how fast Jimin's back hits the mattress, his body bouncing like it weights nothing. The man manhandles him just the same way, like he's weightless, a doll in his hands. Jimin's insides twist and churns, but he blinks and all he can see are dark eyes staring down at him. The man hovers only inches above him, each arm bent at the side of Jimin's head, his breath fanning hotly onto his face.

"Have you already forgotten?"

Jimin sucks on his bottom lip, hiding a sly smile.

The man's tongue clicks, a shadow crossing through his dark eyes. "Maybe it's for the best," he mutters, so low under his breath Jimin almost misses it.

He doesn't press the man to tell him, agreeing that—in the end—it is for the best. So he grins up at the other, arms hooking around his neck to bring him down. "Stop talking, won't you?"

The man scowls, but he takes Jimin's lips again. It is a slow and indulgent kiss, one that keeps both busy as the man's hand tug down his pants, just barely enough to reveal his hardening cock. Jimin's glancing down to it the moment they part, and—if he weren't short of breath before—he can't find enough air in his lungs. The man's girth is larger than he assumed before, almost scaringly so. He swallows dry, but then the flickering fear is cast away by something wicked and oddly comforting. That'll do, he thinks in a daze, biting onto his lips until they bleed and a thumb is forcefully pulling them free. The man pinches his chin, tilts it up just enough for their eyes to meet.

"We're gonna get you ready for it."

Jimin's legs wind around his waist. Muscle memory from when he was much younger comes alive as he shifts them around. It is a blurry moment, and he grinning victoriously down at the man. "Much better." He licks around the words, diving down for another kiss as his hands fumble for the man's cock.

The feeling of it is oddly foreign, the girth far larger than his own. For a moment, through the haze numbing him mind and vanquishing his memory, Jimin weighs and studies the cock in his hand. His thumb runs along the throbbing vein, feeling the powerful heartbeat drumming against one digit. Under him, the man's legs twitch, trying to lift and change their position again.

Jimin pulls away, licking his lips, clicking his tongue. "I like this much better," he explains, like it would be enough to appease the man. Somehow, it seems to be. The large body sags into the mattress, hands running up Jimin's bare thighs. The touch sends shivers down his spine, thousands ants crawling underneath his skin. Jimin's eyelids flutter, his head throwing back. He feels himself growing harder even just by so little, by the man's touch and the enticing feeling of holding him. Tentatively, he strokes him once, loose and hesitant in the way he reaches the large tip. He looks down at it, entranced like he's never seen anything of the sorts before. In a way, Jimin hasn't.

"Come here," he man calls hoarsely, one hand cupping the back of his head to bring Jimin closer again, down until their faces are only inches apart. The hand cupping his head slides forward, pinching his chin and pulling his jaw low. "Open up," he instructs, a gentle spell Jimin mindlessly falls prey of.

As his lips part and mouth opens wide open, two fingers slip in his mouth. They are large, rough as the digits rub against his palate. They explore the warm cavity of Jimin's mouth, indulging the tongue curling around it. "Be nice," he hums, a nice lilt to his voice that has Jimin pliantly indulge him. "Wet them for me."

And he does, holding the man's gaze, Jimin licks and sucks on the fingers in his mouth, letting saliva pool in his mouth until it trickles down his chin. As Jimin's so focused on doing as he's been told—finding a new sort of pleasure in it that brings a frown to his feeling—an new touch has his body tensing up, his eyes widening.

The man looks back at him, an intensity in his gaze that captures Jimin whole. And still he cannot ignore the hand kneading his bottom, fingers sinking into the supple flesh and grazing at the sensitive crease between his cheeks. Jimin's thighs twitch, tightening around the man, quivering when the touch reaches to his hole. Instinctively, he clenches, swallowing and almost choking on his own saliva. That is when the man's fingers slip from his mouth, an obscene squelch lifting in the room that has Jimin looking away.

The fingers teasing at his hole, rubbing and prodding against him stop and leave. The change is so sudden Jimin has to look at the man again, a confused frown on his face. "Don't look so upset." The faintly bemused note lacing his voice only deepens Jimin's frown, bringing a grin to the man's lips instead. "Lift your hips some, will you." Despite his lingering upset, it is all too easy to do as he's been told, strings pulling Jimin like he is but a doll.

So, lifting himself by only a few inches, he grants easier access to his most sensitive parts. His cock stands half hard but neglected, the moist tip brushing with the hem of his shirt, and it is the only sort of relief he's granted. The man spares it no attention, not when one wet finger is prodding at the puckered hole, pressing just enough to it for the tight ring of muscle to let it in. Jimin sucks in a sharp breath at the strange sensation, only mildly uncomfortable as the stretch has something in his twist and tighten. Exhaling shakily, he lifts his head, meeting the man's gaze waiting for him. It takes Jimin a moment to realize the man's searching his eyes, studying him as his finger reaches deeper into him.

The look into those eyes makes Jimin feel bare, exposed like an open wound. His jaw clenches, hands grabbing the man's shoulders for purchase. "I can take more," he informs, a new sharpness in his voice, demanding.

The man wets his lips, stares at him some more, but grants what Jimin asked for. His finger pulls out and, as it readies to breach past the tight rim, it is two digits prodding at it. This time, the stretch is harder to ignore, and Jimin unconsciously holds his breath. Still he doesn't ask the man to stop, stubborn to take more, needing the man to give him more. So, when he reads concern flickering in those eyes, he shakes his head no, one hand gripping his hair tightly. He forces his head to tilt, leaning down for a kiss, letting his mind drift away as the man's tongue licks in his mouth and his fingers thrust to the last knuckle. Despite Jimin's demands and his clear intentions to keep going, the man's fingers stop, letting his body adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion.

Jimin breaks from the kiss then, scowling, his hips rolling and bucking forward. One of his hands reach down below again, grabbing the man's cock at the base and stroking it.

"Jimin."

His name, uttered by an unfamiliar voice, has his head snapping up, his wide eyes unblinking.

"Stop." The command is clear, firm, but it is incredibly easy to defy. Jimin's hand rides down the length, squeezing it in retaliation.

"Jimin."

It is a warning, the hand on his waist tightening enough to bruise, the other one clutching around Jimin's wrist and forcing him to a stop.

"Then give me more," he hisses through gritting teeth. "You promised." If he were a bit more in himself, Jimin would've realized how desperate he sounds. It is a rather small mercy that everything feels distant and hazy apart from the man under him and the compelling need growing restless in him.

The other clicks his tongue, a wrinkle appearing between his brows as they draw closer. Yet his fingers move again, prodding at the walls and scissoring in him. "Like this?" he asks, even when the answer must read all over Jimin's contracting face. The man clicks his tongue, searching for something within the other, his prodding having a certain intent to it even Jimin notices. Yet he ignores it, gritting his teeth as the uncomfortable stretch tethers on painful whenever the feeling in his move a certain way.

"There," the man mutters, as Jimin's body suddenly tenses up, curling forward, crumpling on himself, all of his threads cut at once. "Do you feel that?" he muses, fingers rubbing onto that one painfully sensible spot. Chills run down his spine, through his whole body until he is impossibly tense and quivering.

Swallowing, feeling his throat clicking, Jimin steadies himself. At about the same time, the man resumes his prodding and stroking and scissoring. "No more," Jimin demands though, his voice wavering. "I want it now."

The man's jaw juts to the side, a protest in his eyes and the sharpness of his features. Jimin's head shakes no before he can utter any sound, lifting himself until the fingers slip out, leaving him empty and his hold clenching around nothing. Sucking on his bottom lip, ignoring the hands that try to stop him, Jimin grabs the man's cock and angles it just below himself.

He lowers himself impatiently, soon feeling the moist tip touching to his hole. It is nothing like the man's fingers, times larger, but smooth and hot under him. Clenching his jaw, gritting his teeth, he lowers himself.

"Jimin, wait." The warning is broken off by a groan, a rumbling sound that echoes in Jimin's head until it is all he can hear. The man has both his hands on his waist, but is unable to stop the way he—inch by inch—takes more of his cock inside.

Jimin's head—hanging low—shakes no, stubbornly ignoring the other until he can no more hear him. That is when his head lifts, wet eyes stare down into dark ones, his breath hitching at what he sees. The man's lips are agape, his cheeks flushed, eyes darker than even before as they stare back at him.

Sniffling, ignoring the pain, Jimin lowers himself even more. The stretch is far beyond being simply uncomfortable, the pain a searing burn coursing through his nerves. Several alarms go off in his mind, telling him to stop. Yet Jimin doesn't, the more it hurts the more eager he is to take it all, to force himself around the large girth, carving his insides if he must.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," the man warns, still holding his waist in one last attempt to make him slow down. Jimin's head shakes no, determined not to stop until he's taken all of it. Because the man's cock is big, large, and it hurts.

Jimin latches onto the hope that it might be enough.

So, biting hard down on his lip, he shakes his head no and looks down. About half of it is already past the rim, and yet Jimin already feels like he can't breathe, like taking more might kill him.

Hesitantly, one hand moves down, touching the very part where their bodies join, feeling the taut skin and the warm cock it wraps around. Something inside him jolts, his throat clicking as he swallows. His hand moves away, curling around the man's nape. As they are, both sit on the bed, their bodies so close each breath has their chests touching. Jimin's forehead touches to the man's, their lips brushing but never quite meeting in a kiss. As their breaths mix with each breath, Jimin lowers himself at once until the man bottoms out and his cheeks are touching to the other's crotch.

And while it tears a grunt from the man, a hoarse sound that distantly echoes in Jimin's ears, Jimin can't bring himself to breathe.

He thought it was painful before, the threatening tautness of his hole, the burning stretch. It is all much worse now, so much so his eyes prickle at the corners and panic begins to swell in his chest. The glide was too rough, the girth too wide, and everything is wrong. His body far too tense, and unprepared to any of it. Now, there is nothing but that mind-numbing searing pain. He begins to understand, and thinks this might be it. Atonement—or whatever some religious look for in their churches. It is a forgiveness granted through agony. And it scorches its way through Jimin's body, numbing enough that—for a while, for a flickering night in his existence—he can forget.

The hands on the man's shoulders push at him until he's laying on his back, looking up confusedly at Jimin. It is far from enough to stop him, to hold him back from—slowly for his legs are quivering and weak—lifting himself. The glide is still rough, too dry to be entirely pleasant. Jimin's teeth grit, he doesn't stop, not even when his body jolts and tenses up. He lifts himself a few inches, hesitating briefly before taking more of the large girth inside. For a while, a few long moments, he only proceeds by these sort of slow and shallow thrusts. A deep frown sets on his face, his eyes squeezing. Yet he doesn't stop, forces himself to do more, deepen the thrusts past the pain.

His hands press down onto the man's chest for leverage, body leaning forward as his hips roll and lift. Slowly, ever so painfully slowly, Jimin builds a pace.

"You can slow down now," the man suggests, lifting his upper body some.

Jimin swallows, blinks away until his sight clears. His head shakes no, one hand pressing to the man's mouth. He meets his gaze then, firm and unyielding. "No," he counters, shifting his sore legs ever so slightly. The movement has his hips rolling, the man's cock in him pressing harder against his stomach, tearing a gasp from Jimin's lips. "You promised," he reminds, a wet whine as his thighs twitch and he lifts himself all the way to the tip.

Only when the large head catches on his rim does Jimin stop, taking in a bracing breath before sitting down on it with nearly no hesitation.

Every small thing that comes afterward—from man's guttural moan, to his fluttering eyelids and rolling eyes, to the bucking of his hips,' the bruising grip on the slim waist and the burning discomfort—mix into one intoxicating vortex that sucks Jimin in hungrily. And he wants more, and more.

Lowering himself, one hand still pressing to the man's mouth, he works to build a steady pace of his hips, riding the man for all he's worth. "Like this," he coaxes, a breath over the back of his hand. "Can you give it to me good?"

The man's thick brows draw close, a glare in his eyes. Jimin sucks on his bottom lip, moving his hand away and letting their mouths meet. It is a wet indulging kiss, one that grows hungrier as the man begins to meet Jimin's thrusts and a new, foreign sort of pleasure begins to build in the pits of his guts.

Of all things, Jimin wasn't expecting it to be enjoyable, for the man's words to take on such a turn. Still he cannot stop himself and the rutting of his lower body, the unconscious attempts to take more and deeper, for the man's cock to press harder against that certain spot that has his toes curling. As they part for their kiss, a thread of saliva linking their mouths, Jimin blinks away until his sight is clear enough that he sees those black eyes again. He sits back, taking the man deeper in himself, moaning when pain and pleasure intertwine tightly with one another, climbing to height in a tandem, chasing one another hungrily.

His head throws back, his body shuddering when the man's hips move with more decisions, thrusting up into him relentlessly. It is just what Jimin's been seeking this entire time, a building roughness, a relentless chase that would take his breath away and make nothing of his mind.

So even if the discomfort never entirely fades away, Jimin embraces it along all else the man's body grants him. Somehow, he is allowed to take all he needs for the man indulges him. To indulge in the pain as it grows enough to overpower the hollowness in his chest. His head throws back, eyes staring at the ceiling unblinkingly. Jimin's legs have gone sore, too weak to still lift his weight at a steady pace. So he stops, gasping for air, letting himself feel. He tunes out everything else, the shreds of his thoughts and the hollowness in his chest. It is there, all there, but fading away as he's filled to the brim with the man embracing him tonight. His throat is tight as his head is thrown back, breathing uncomfortable. So he looks down instead, having to blink a few time to see the man. Those dark eyes are waiting for him, staring at him with a spellbound intensity, trapping the both of them in a link neither breaks.

That is, until the man sits up, one hand winding around the small of Jimin's back and while his other hand reaches up. It cups the side of his face, a scowl on his face that brings a confused frown on Jimin's.

The man is wordless though, holding his gaze as his thumb strokes gently across the arch of Jimin's cheekbones. His tongue clicks, and it must be annoyance that sharply flickers in his eyes, a flash of light like a blade's glare. Jimin's lips part, but no sound leaves him, mind blank and numb.

The man doesn't point it out, but his thumb comes away wet, moist with salt.

Jimin's throat clicks, his eyes blink again several times, a tightness making it hard to breathe.

Still wordlessly, the man shifts them. He lets Jimin lay back onto the mattress, their lower bodies still joined, the shifting drawing a grimace on both of their faces, a low grunt resounding from the man. His hands slide down to Jimin's legs, holding the underside of his thighs and lifting them ever so slightly. It is enough hint for the other to understand, raising his hips as well, bringing them both closer where their bodies join. For a moment, neither speaks nor moves, holding each other's gazes until Jimin is the first to look away.

He turns his face to the side, but almost expects the man not to allow him such defiance. Yet the other surprises him, drawing back from where they're joint, the slow drag of his cock excruciating.

Jimin's teeth grind, a muscle at the corner of his jaw twitching, his eyes squeezing shut. The man pulls back to the tip, holding still. Jimin is about to turn, to look at him, when he feels warm lips at the corner of his jaw, sharp teeth grazing over the thin skin. "Like you wanted, isn't it?"

For a moment, Jimin doesn't understands. He doesn't understand, not until the man is thrusting in him sharply, bottoming out.

The sudden intrusion is such that Jimin's lungs constrict, it feels much like a punch to his guts, and he's breathless, gasping for air even as the man pulls out to the tip again. In the short moment of pause, he leads one of Jimin's legs around his lower body, hooking it there safely. Then his hand moves away, traveling to Jimin's chest, holding most of it oh so effortlessly. "You wanted this, didn't you?" he asks, but mustn't expect an answer for he is pushing into Jimin as harshly as before, almost cruelly so.

Jimin's head pushes back into the pillow, his neck baring for the man's mouth to take. The hand on his chest doesn't lie idle, pinching Jimin's nipple between his thumb and index finger, twisting and pulling, rough enough to send cutting pain through his nerves.

The ceiling—as Jimin's eyes snap open with another deep thrust—is white and blank and yet blurry, everything confused, his mind reeling and spiraling but empty at once. Like he's stuck in a hurricane, alone in it. Nothing but the feelings and sensations forced upon his body with every harsh thrust and ever mean touch. Every pinch and bite and suck on his skin, every time the man's teeth graze on his skin and his cock throbs inside Jimin, it is what the entire world is made of. Nothing else but that.

It is easy, in such a world, to lose track of time and self. It is harder to ignore the kisses brushing away the wetness down his cheeks, but Jimin makes do as he drowns in his body's sensations. The pleasure—tight and coiling—is steadily building, like there is no end to it, no limit.

Then, at some point, he feels the man's hand closing lightly around his cock, wrapping effortlessly around its girth. Jimin's eyes squeeze shut at the feeling, foreign and familiar at once. He's only distantly aware of the wetness of himself, of the beads of precum trickling down his cock and onto the man's hand. He is far more aware of the man's pace, fast and relentless yet stuttering before long.

Jimin's teeth grind, his head pushing harder into the bed, his body arching. "That's it," the man coaxes into the skin of his neck. "You're doing so good."

Jimin bites on his bottom lip, but the man doesn't let him withhold his sounds for long, his own mouth pressing to Jimin's, teeth nibbling on his lips in a silent warning. So, when he pulls away, it is a moan that lifts in the air. Something obscene and new about it fills Jimin with shame, but it is far too late for it and his body is tensing up, the man's strokes in a tandem with his ruthless thrusts.

Jimin doesn't quite realize he's coming. He registers the tightness in his belly snapping, the wave after wave of that peculiar feeling he must acknowledge as pleasure, yet it is all far from him. Like it is not his body, and it is not his right to feel this way. Yet the man is kissing down the line of his neck, muttering meaningless praises onto his skin as his pace quickens and stutters. It comes to an abrupt halt then, everything stopping and stilling, both holding their breath as the man's come pours into Jimin. It is warm and uncomfortable, but he's just coming down the fuzzy high of his own orgasm and everything feels weirdly distant and hazy.

The man doesn't stop thrusting in him, his movements slower and shallow as he rides his own orgasm, one hand holding Jimin's waist and keeping him close.

There's nowhere he could go though, not as his body is boneless and his breath coming short. His mind still so weirdly hazy and foggy.

When the man pulls back from his neck, cock still deeply sheathed into Jimin, he lowers to press his lips right on the other's cheekbone. One kiss on each before moving away.

"Don't tell me you're tired already," he muses, a faint and mean tease in his voice.

Jimin swallows, he can't find it in himself to answer. Not that the man seems to care much, to be expecting an answer from him. His hands take a hold of Jimin's waits as he pulls out of him. The motion causes a squelch to lift obscenely in the air, shameful and sinful just like the wetness trickling down Jimin's thighs.

He swallows, staring at the man.

He is not allowed to for long though, for the other swiftly turns him around, lifting Jimin's hips until he is kneeling on the bed, his face pressed onto the pillow.

Unconsciously anticipating what's to come, despite himself. Jimin buries his face into the damp pillow, breathing in deeply.

Large hands roam from the swell of his hips to the curve of his bottom, pulling apart the cheeks to reveal the humiliating sight of his swollen hole. Cum lazily trickles down his thighs, yet the man seems unbothered but it, his thumbs pulling at the rib, pushing past it.

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath, but doesn't fight it, he doesn't try to avoid the touch. He lays there, pliant as he waits for what's to come.

It takes surprisingly little for the man to position himself.

Jimin's head turns, catching a glimpse of him kneeling, stroking his already half hard cock. Something thick and slick wets the man's cock as he holds it, Jimin's stomach dropping when he realizes what it it. He swallows, a lump lodged in his throat. Still he can't tear his eyes away, twisting around to see more of the man stroking himself to full hardness, cock coated by his own come.

Sucking on his bottom lip, Jimin shifts some more, just enough to seem more of him. It is then that their eyes meet again, locked even as the man's cock touches to his hole, even as he slowly enters Jimin again.

Far from accustomed to the stretch, he gapes, all air pushing from his lungs. Yet Jimin forces his body to relax, his lower part to accept the intrusion. The man enters him slowly and steadily, inch by inch like an agonizing torture till his navel touches to Jimin's bottom. A faint sense of nausea swirls in him, one he didn't catch on before, the uneasiness in him growing restless when his sensitive walls clench instinctively around the intrusion. It sends shivers down his spine, body trembling and tensing up, his cock twitching with slowly growing interest.

There's no sort of warning for the moment the man pulls back, the draw sudden enough to set off something within Jimin. Just as sudden is the thrusting back in him. Although the glide is much wetter than before, it is barely enough to ease away all the discomfort and pain still lingering and flaring up with every deep thrust. Soon, Jimin is pressing his forehead into the pillow, back arching as the man guides his body to meet every thrust just nicely.

Jimin couldn't bear to look at him now, but—as his world becomes obscurity—it is harder to stay latched to the moment. His mind—although hazy and drowsy—still finds ways to bring back the worst of everything, words echoing in his ears endlessly, screams and cries so loud they deafen him. For a moment, Jimin is drowning in it all, his shoulder shaking, hands fisting into the sheets as the pillow becomes wetter under his face.

The hands on his waist shifts then, holing him firmly and pulling him back. Like this, both men are kneeling. One large hand closes loosely around his neck, guiding Jimin's head to lean back.

He blinks his eyes, gasping for air as the man still shallowly thrusts in him. "Where were you just now?" he whispers to the shell of his ear, his every word a hot breath fanning onto Jimin's skin. "I made you a promise, didn't I?"

Mindlessly, Jimin nods.

"Good."

The man's hips roll against him, pressing just right against his most sensitive parts. Jimin feels himself growing hard, and—this time—he fully acknowledges the pleasure as it courses through his veins, desperately welcoming it. The man mouths at the line of his jaw, at the sensitive spot just under his ear. "Hold onto headboard," he instructs softly, urging Jimin forward until his hands are gripping the wooden frame, most of his weight leaning onto it. "Like that," he praises, mouthing at Jimin's nape, biting down onto it, sucking onto the shivering skin, licking over the tormented spot. "Keep your focus on me, no one else."

Jimin nods, sucking on his bottom lip.

It is the last words they exchange before the man builds his pace again, faster than before, ruthless. He is chasing his own pleasure and yet doesn't disregard Jimin's. His hands roam over the other's body, playing with his aching nipples and down to his hardening cock. No part of Jimin is ignored, that scorching touch claiming all of him until he is but heat and building pleasure.

Rendered mindless by it and by the man's skillful movements and attentive cares. So it is not long that, as a large hand closes around the tip of his hard cock, Jimin his moaning and crying for release. That is denied to him, for the man insists they come together. It is a torture though, to be lead so close to the highest height but not allowed to reach him. Desperation soon takes over his body, his hips rolling back into the man's seeking more, meeting his thrusts eagerly. Just as eagerly, he claims the man's mouth into hungry kisses, appeasing his mind just barely enough. And yet it takes an excruciatingly long time for the man's pace to stutter, for the thumb pressing down onto the slit of Jimin's cock to lift and slow strokes to resume. It takes hardly any effort to build back the tension in him, and the man is infuriatingly skilled in making their bodies work in a tandem, matching their building pleasure like it is one.

And—like it is one—they come just like the man wanted, together. This time, Jimin feels the climax crashing down on him, far more powerful than before tethering on painful by how intense and anticipated it was. It has him shaking, his grip weakening, the man's hands bringing him back again, holding him up.

Jimin's back presses flush to a firm chest, feeling him buried deep inside himself, shuddering as come pours in him, as the man's cock throbs against his sensitive walls. His head lolls back, heavy and weightless at once. While one arm braces him against the man's body, one hand holds Jimin's jaw, angling his face so that they can meet into a slow and indulgent kiss, the coming down from impossible heights sweetened by it.

This time, as they part, the man doesn't pull out just yet. He has both laying down on their sides, one arm hooking around Jimin's waist. His cock is still deeply buried in him, the presence uncomfortable and yet—to be connected on such a level—it is oddly grounding.

Exhausted—lulled by the man's sweet nonsense and by his kisses tracing down his nape and shoulder—Jimin lets his eyes close, body melting into the warm embrace.

-

Jimin wakes up with a startle, jolting up to sit, his head spinning a pained moan traveling to his lips. His mouth tastes foul, every limb and fiber in his body screaming in agony, sore and out of his control. His body like a puppet with cut threads, limp and weighty.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, ignoring the pounding headache at his temples, he wills his body to leave the bed. An empty, cold bed.

As he sits, bare feet touching the cold floor and sending a shiver down his spine, Jimin lets his eyes close as he lets out a relieved sigh. There is not one part of him who would be able to deal with having someone sleeping in the bed next to him. As it is, Jimin already struggles to accept whatever must've happened last night, each breath short and ragged.

Shaking his head, swallowing down dryly, he stands on sore and wobbly legs. Taking the first step sends a pang of dull pain through his back, from the lowest part of it up to the base of his skull. His breath hitches, teeth grinding as he forces himself to stand straight and walk to the bathroom. There, in front of a spotted mirror, Jimin sucks in a sharp breath at his own reflection.

Aside from his red-rimmed eyes and swollen face, there is a blooming garden of bruises crawling along his neck, down his shoulder. On certain spots, Jimin catches bite marks, reddened and stubbornly refusing to fade. Further down, past his tight abdomens and spent cock, Jimin's thighs are marred with more bruises, indents left by large hands. In a daze, he covers such imprints with his own hands, marveling at the stark difference. In much the same way, he touches to his hips and waist, nibbling on his bottom lip and frowning lightly. His body is a glaring reminder of what happened last night, all Jimin has got by as his memories are hazy and confused. It is not that he doesn't remember—it would be rather difficult to forget—but everything appears now distant and fuzzy, like recollection from a faraway past.

Sighing, his gaze drifting away, Jimin walks to the shower. He only comes out of it when his skin is raw and oversensitive, the cheap soap all he can smell on himself. Although the man did clean him once he was done, Jimin's nails still raked and scratched over his skin relentlessly. Angry red lines glare at him through his reflections, running down his neck and arms. Jimin only spares them a furtive glance, looking away soon.

He hurries back into the room, fetching his clothes neatly folded on a chair. He dresses himself with a frown, knowing well it wasn't his own doing. Gritting his teeth, ignoring the pang of pain, Jimin dresses himself quickly. His short hair is still damp by the time he's doing, a few drops of cool water trickling down his neck and temples. He rubs them away with the back of his hand, shrugging on his jacket and walking hurriedly out of the room.

It is with some sort of embarrassed relief that he finds out the door's been already paid for. A young woman, maybe just about his age, smiles awkwardly at him as she checks her monitor. "Your… friend already paid the bill," she informs, hesitating some on her first few words, her eye darting to Jimin's neck.

Hanging at his sides, Jimin's hands ball up in loose fists. Yet he nods, once and curtly, before thanking her and leaving.

Walking down the remotely familiar street, Jimin considers his options. In the end, he finds himself walking. It helps with clearing his head, even when the lingering discomfort threatens to be a constant reminder of his last mistake. Still, rather stubbornly, he makes way toward a more familiar neighborhood. It is still far from the residential area in which his apartment is located, still a long way from there, yet Jimin doesn't seem bothered by it.

He enters a mostly empty cafe and buys himself coffee, sipping on it quietly as he keeps walking. It hasn't been more than a hour of it that his phone starts buzzing, vibrating in the pocket of his jeans.

"Jimin?" Taehyung's voice, mildly worried as it utters his name, is a soothing balm over ignored wounds. It feels a lot like a haven as Jimin steps into a park and sits on an empty bench. "You there?"

Absently, Jimin sips and nods even when the other can't see him. It is a quiet weekday morning, only about a week before the semester will begin, and everything is quiet this early in the day. "I'm here," he confirms when Taehyung doesn't speak. "What is it?"

"The guys want to meet up for drinks, are you in?"

A gentle wind blows past him, ruffling his hair. His stomach churns at the thought of drinking, even the bitter coffee demands a certain level of determination from him.

"Sure," he agrees thought, voice slipping into that easy and casual tone he's most accustomed to. "Same place as always?"

"Yeah," Taehyung drawls. From his end, Jimin hears the ruffling of sheets as the man shifts. "Namjoon hyung said he missed the place while he was away."

Jimin snorts, head shaking some. "He missed the cheap booze, nothing sentimental about it."

From the other end, Taehyung snorts out a gruff chuckle. "I'm not ready to go through that yet."

Although he's joking, Jimin knows there's a thick layer of truth in his words. "Then don't." Leaning back on the bench, he takes another large sip of bitter coffee while praying the effort it's taking him will be worth it. "You don't have to go now."

Taehyung groans, some rustling sounds come from the other end. "Then everyone will have a decent job and their life sorted out while I'll be just…" he drawls, rolling around on his bed by the sound of it.

Jimin's eyes roll, but he doesn't comment on it.

Taehyung doesn't seem to expect him to, veering eagerly into different waters. "You should tell Chaeyeon to come. It's been a while since we all met up."

Jimin hums, playing absently with the half empty cup in his hand. Iced coffee ripples inside it, something about it catching his gaze. "She's still in Australia with her family," he informs absently, focused on the dark liquid sloshing in his cup.

"That's a shame, man," Taehyung groans, sounding far more dejected than one would expect. Jimin snorts, head tilting back to glance up at the clear sky. "I dunno how you hold up without her all this time."

Throwing his head back, neck craning until it is uncomfortable to breathe, Jimin mulls the words in his head. "It's just like that," he utters, his voice mildly distorted. "We don't need to be together all the time."

"Yeah, whatever, man," Taehyung trails, sounding only half convinced.

Jimin ignores him, sitting straight and drinking more of his coffee.

"Anyway, want to come home over before we go?"

An elderly couple is passing just before Jimin as he hears Taehyung's offer, holding bags and discussing in hushed tones. They bring a small smile to his lips, seemingly proving his point of a quiet and comfortable relationship being possible.

"I'll be there shortly," he informs, downing what's left in his coffee and standing. On his way out of the park, he tosses the empty cup in a trashcan, ignoring Taehyung's confused and surprised comments.

"I didn't mean now," he sputters, earning himself a grin from Jimin, one he can't see. "Fine," Taehyung grumbles upon accepting his own fate when he's only met with silence. "Bring me some food, at least."

Jimin hums, stepping back onto the sidewalk. It is slightly more crowded, and the thought of walking all the way to his place isn't as tempting as it was before. Heading to a bus stop, Jimin types away distractedly on his phone. Chaeyeon is rather dedicated on sending him photos of her vacation, eager to keep him updated on her days.

Jimin makes sure to answer her on time, the least he can do. Still, as he swipes through the photos journaling her night, he can't rid himself of the bitter taste cloying his mouth. Swallowing against the dryness of his throat, Jimin sits at the stop and quietly waits.

It doesn't take long for his phone to buzz, a text reading on the screen. Chaeyeon is asking him about his night, and Jimin's fingers hesitate briefly before typing a quick answer.

How are you feeling? She asks then, and it much easier to lie this time.

I'm fine. He reassures, dismissing her concern while hoping she won't ask more.

Your mother called me.

Jimin's brows draw in a scowl, his eyes lifting. His jaw juts to the side as that flickering hope vanishes all too soon.

She asked me to convince you to go.

Jimin snorts, but his fingers still tap on the screen swiftly.

Thank you for not listening to her.

Rather than answering through texts, Chaeyeon calls him. His lips part with a sigh, teeth biting on his bottom lip. A voice at the back of his mind seems hesitant, advises against it. Still Jimin takes the call, bringing the phone to his ear before too long.

"You didn't have to call," he muses, glancing down the road absently.

"I think I did," she presses. Her voice is peculiarly firm, unlike most times. "Eomonim seemed greatly afflicted by your decision not to go."

Jimin's eyes roll, his head lifting as he stares at the sky. It is clear and bland, much like his mind as he listens to her.

"You seem to care about the way she felt," he muses, a certain sharpness latching to his voice despite his best attempts. Chaeyeon bears no faults in this game, and yet here she stands, facing him. "Why didn't you do as she asked?"

"I tried," she confesses. "But I couldn't reach you all day yesterday, or did you forget turning off your phone?"

Exhaling softly, one hand carding through short hair, Jimin wets his lips. "I must have," he confesses, struggling to recall ever doing so but not to believe he might have—at some point—done as she claims.

"I though you were on my side," he muses, a faint tease on his voice she must not miss.

"I am, and so is eomonim."

Jimin's tongue clicks, his eyes glancing again down the street.

"She knew I wasn't going to be there."

"She is your mother, Jimin. She will always hope you'll be there."

"Chaeyeon," he sighs, heavy and gravely. He really doesn't wanna do this, no point in talking about it. Far less to do so with her. "You shouldn't get involved with her schemes."

"It is not schemes, Jimin," she stresses, frustration lacing with her delicate voice. "She worries about you."

"I need to go," he tells her brusquely, watching as his bus approaches. "I'll be drinking with the guys, so I might not call tonight."

Whatever answer she gives, Jimin doesn't quite listen. He hums, waiting for her to go quiet before ending the call with a soft farewell.

The bus stops just about then, and it is easy to let go of any thought as he climbs on it.

-

The ride to Taehyung's neighborhood is a quiet one, just like it is the short walk to the closest restaurant and to the familiar building. Jimin doesn't bother ringing the doorbell, typing the code while jostling the boxes and bags with one arm.

"Honey, I'm home," he calls loudly, kicking off his shoes and padding away to the kitchen. "Honey," he yells, a singsong that obnoxiously hangs in the air.

Jutting his jaw to the side, mild annoyance creeping in him, Jimin lets his lips break in a mischievous grin. He leaves the kitchen with soft, soundless steps, shrugging off his jacket and grimacing at his clothes. He rids himself of the sweaty shirt as well, considering briefly before kicking off his jeans at last. His clothes litter on the floor as he walks, crumbles left on his path to the bedroom.

Quietly opening the door to it, a wicked light gleaming in his eyes, Jimin makes way to the bed despite the darkness. Taehyung's frame rests in the middle of the bed, hugging one pillow and facing away from Jimin.

"Honey," he sing-songs, loudly enough to startle Taehyung awake as he jumps on the man, falling heavily and carelessly on him.

Taehyung wakes with a yelp, a choked scream and a groan, flailing around if not for the heavy burden pinning him to the mattress. Still, he eventually manages to kick Jimin off of himself, muttering curses as the other laughs with gusto.

"I swear to god, Jimin," he hisses, sitting up and glaring at the other.

On the other hand, Jimin lies sprawled on the bed, a wide grin on his lips and a mean light in his eyes. He still softly laughs, not at all discouraged by the other's shoving and weak punches.

"What the hell is up with you?"

The darkness shrouding over them allows Jimin much freedom, his body nothing but a blurred shadow among many others.

"You should've answered when I called you."

"Fuck you, Jimin," Taehyung grumbles, standing and stumbling his way through the room. "I mean it."

Jimin grins, standing as well and walking to the wardrobe. He blindly picks a new change for himself, not bothering to ask for permission nor to address Taehyung's inquiring gaze.

Absently, Jimin thinks he should've stopped home first, but it is a thought he soon discards.

"Are you gonna tell me about it?"

"No."

Jimin doesn't turn, fetching a hoodie, some shorts and new underwear.

"And you won't ask."

From behind, Taehyung sighs heavily. "That's not what I really care about."

Jimin's head hangs low as he takes a step from the wardrobe.

"Jimin."

Stopping, hesitating for a moment, he turns to face him.

"You'd tell me if anything goes awry, wouldn't you?"

With a smile that's much like a grimace, Jimin turns his back to Taehyung once again.

Wearing a clean change of clothes feels much like shedding old skin. Finally ridding himself the night's last traces as he walks into the kitchen. Taehyung's eyes find him quickly, lifting from his phone and setting on Jimin.

Surprise flashes across his gaze, lingering even after Jimin has taken his seat.

His tongue clicks.

"We'll have to cover those."

Unconsciously, Jimin's hand touches to his neck, fingers grazing the skin. "A turtleneck will do."

Taehyung's lips twist, his gaze still lingering until Jimin meets it boldly.

"I'm not gonna ask," he blurts then, hands raising in a declaration of defeat. "But are you fine?"

Jimin looks down to the marble surface around which they sit. His fingers tap on it, shoulders rising with a curt sigh. "It doesn't matter," he claims honestly, possibly the most honest he's been since waking.

Taehyung grimaces, but reaches out for the bags and boxes on the counter. "Whatever," he grumbles. "I'm too hungry for this shit."

Jimin's smile is wry, his hands working to set their meal.

-

"God, I hate turtlenecks," Jimin grumbles while hooking a finger in the tight neck.

"Should've thought twice before letting a dog maul you."

"Gross, Taehyung. Gross."

Taehyung snickers, a grin lingering on his face.

Huffing, testing his resistance, Jimin tries his best to keep his fingers away and behave. The suffocating feeling keeps nagging at him though, teeth nibbling at his lips and hands hitching to reach up. "Can't make-up cover it?"

"Jimin," Taehyung deadpans, turning away from the toilette mirror to look at him in the eyes. "Be for real, now."

Jimin huffs again, throwing himself back on Taehyung's bed. His body bounces on the mattress, eyes gazing at the cream ceiling.

"No more mauling dogs," he mutters to himself, like taking notes and then putting it away in some forgotten folder of his mind.

"Maybe a scarf?"

Taehyung's grimace says it all, and Jimin closes his eyes in resignation, sighing gravely.

"Take this." Taehyung's voice still hangs in the air that a heavy wool jumper lands square on Jimin's face. He sputters, tossing it off while sitting up. He glares at the other, fisting one hand around the soft wool.

"What's it?"

"Wear it, it's looser but higher around the neck."

With a lingering scowl, Jimin changes himself into the new item, finding it much more comfortable. Breathing with much more ease, he sits cross-legged as Taehyung grooms himself at the toilette.

"Is Yoongi hyung gonna be there?"

Through the mirror, Taehyung grins at him, and it is all the answer Jimin needs. Snorting, he checks his phone and types a quick text.

Chaeyeon's been trying to reach him since their last call, and she has mostly gone ignored. Feeling a pang of sympathy and pity, he promises her they'll talk again in the morning.

-

The semester kicks off sooner than any of them is ready for, March turning the corner swiftly and throwing every student back into a life made of duties and building stress.

Among it all, Jimin sits at the cafeteria table while absently playing with his food. Next to him, Chaeyeon eagerly chats with Jihyo. The both of them haven't shut up about their new professor for the whole first day, still giddy about him a week in.

Jimin arches a brow as he distractedly listens to them, one arm loosely wrapped around Chaeyeon's back as she's turned to her course-mate. "I'm telling you," Jihyo presses, something much like a tease lacing her words. "There is no way he's not married."

Chaeyeon's tongue clicks, her head shaking. She puts a red coated piece of burdock in Jimin's plate, while still looking at Jihyo. "He doesn't even wear a ring, and he's totally too young for that."

Jihyo chuckles, but her doubt is rather obvious.

Jimin brings the burdock to his lips, chewing slowly while glancing at Taehyung. The latter's eyes roll, his shoulders shrug. Both have lost track of the girls' conversation halfway through, only absently commenting or humming along.

"But he's such a catch," Chaeyeon whines, meeting Jimin's inquiring gaze with a sheepish smile. One elegantly manicured hand falls on his thigh, patting it gently in reassurance.

"You know," Jihyo trails while taking a sip of her drink, some mildly flavored water she's grown obsessed with lately. "I would sit there and listen to him for hours if I were his wife."

"I never knew math could be so hot," Chaeyeon adds, her body slumping forward until her forehead presses to her bent arm. Long hair fan enchantingly over her back, strands of golden catching the light.

"That must be a joke," Taehyung snorts. "Math is nonsense no matter who lectures about it, don't you think so, Jimin?"

Turning to him, eyes lingering on the two girls, "Yeah," Jimin trails, agreeing blankly as he glances down at his mostly full tray. "Nonsense." The last word is a low and feeble utterance, meant for no one to hear. If—sitting so close to him—Chaeyeon does hear, she must find nothing strange about it, straightening her back and chatting through lunch break with ease.

Her words linger in Jimin's brain through the last classes of his day.

For a while afterwards he even manages to forget about it, until he's searching through the math department schedule before he can stop himself. It is but a whim he indulges out of boredom, fingers scrolling down the long list until his thumb hovers over a name that rings faintly familiar.

It is but a whim, and yet Jimin sits in a classroom slowly filling with freshmen.

His lips quirk in a self-derisive smirk as he thinks about it, head jerking to the side with a quick tilt. He shouldn't be here, but leaving now would be a waste and rather pointless. Slowly, the classroom begins to fill until only a few seats are left empty in the last rows.

Jimin looks past his shoulder, thinking that maybe he should've sat further back rather than in the closer half to the low stage and large blackboard. Most of the wall in front of him is covered by black surfaces, clouded by white dust. Tucked on the far left side, close to the windows, a desk sits inconspicuously.

Rather lazily as he waits for the hour to clock in, Jimin entertains himself with watching those who step through the door, following some to their seats just to train his gaze on to the next. It doesn't take much for his watch to mark the full hour, the awaited professor nowhere to be in sight.

Tilting his head until it rests on his closed fist, Jimin stares at the door rather pointedly. A faint scowl pushes his eyebrows lower and closer on his forehead. No one seems to mind the growing lateness, chattering in small groups or revising quietly during stolen moments.

Jimin checks the time on his phone distractedly and yet impatiently, then the clock hanging on the wall.

It is after a remarkable quarter of hour that a tall man walks through the door, long after the last students have taken their seats.

"Good morning, students," he greets, crossing the small stage with long and confident strides.

Even from a distance, he looks enviably tall, his build large just enough to stand out. Differently from what one would expect, the man walking to the desk looks nothing like a mathematics professor should. If anything, Jimin could easily picture him starring as the first lead in a love drama. Effortlessly charming, and all that.

Rolling his eyes at his own thoughts and considerations, ignoring the faintest pang cutting through his chest, Jimin follows the man's every move.

"I apologize for keeping everyone waiting."

He puts down a leather briefcase, taking step from the desk afterward.

Jimin's jaw juts to the side as he watches him, fingers playing with the pencil in his hand. A murmur of dismissing words lifts in the room, a choir of reassurances that bring a small smile to the man's lips. Although it is faint and hidden as the man's head lowers, Jimin catches a glimpse of deep dimples carving in his cheeks. He blinks, finding himself enchanted by the sight.

As he nods lightly in quiet acceptance, the man's long finger work with a certain elegance as he shrugs off his jacket and undoes the buttons on his cuffs. He proceeds to unbuckle his watch and set it on the desk, fold each sleeve neatly to his elbows—just until inked lines peek past the fabric—and undo the first button of his striped shirt until it is loose around his neck.

Jimin's lips purse with mild annoyance, eyes checking the clock even when the whole ordeal only takes a handful of seconds. There's something undeniably mesmerizing about it, the elegant and methodical way with which his hands move until he's done.

"Fine, then," he muses, voice firm and loud just enough for his entire audience to go quiet. "Shall we begin?"

Rustling of books and stationery lifts in the classroom as the man plays absently with a broken piece of chalk, throwing it in the air and catching it with ease, his eyes never losing a certain clever and sharp light.

"Before I begin today's lecture," he voices while taking another step from the desk and to the stage's center. "If you have any inquiries or doubts about today's assignments please remember to ask me at the end of the class." He pauses, gaze raking over the rows upon rows of students. "If we don't manage to go over it today, you can always email me with any doubts or visit me during my receiving hours."

Said so, he dismisses the topic with a curt and assessing nod.

Jimin expects him to teach like any other math professor he's met in his high school years, nothing but a one-sided tirade until the hour will clock by and to an end.

Still, that is not quite what happens.

Despite his words, the man clicks his tongue, eyeing the desk sitting on the side rather dejectedly.

"Has anyone heard back from the department collaborator?"

He doesn't seem to expect an answer even as he poses his question, not even as he proceeds to comment something low under his breath. Rubbing at his nape, the man walks back to the heavy-looking desk rather resolutely.

Watching him, Jimin can't help but frown with growing confusion.

No one else seems bothered by the way—once standing at the desk—the man takes hold of one short side and pulls. The desk gives in with a pitiful screech, a cry as it is dragged across the stage, not stopping until it's brought to the center of it. It is only then that the man lets go, brushing and clapping his hands clean with a rather satisfied look on his face.

"We could nail it to the floor," someone jokes, a fun quirk in his voice that earns himself several small chuckles.

The man picks on it, a grin breaking on his face.

"They'd fire me for vandalizing campus property," he counters dejectedly, sounding impossibly serious. For a moment, Jimin believes the man might've considered doing so.

Now, sitting on top of the desk and swinging his legs a few times, he looks rather carefree and unbothered by the prospect—amused even.

"We wouldn't let them," someone else claims, sounding worryingly sincere and earnest.

"I'll hold you to that," the man comments lightly and still greatly amused. "Hoping you'll still stand by that after today's lecture."

Someone groans, loud enough for the man to grin widely with mischief. "So, who can tell me something—anything—about the trigonometric form of complex numbers?"

Silence reigns supreme, dawning over the crowded classroom from the moment those words are spoken—utter, chilling and uncomfortable.

Jimin looks down to his notebook, scribbling away just to look busy and inconspicuous. His hand moving on its own as thoughts flood his mind.

"Tough crowd," the man mutters, loud enough there's no doubt they're all meant to hear. Someone nervously chuckles, and the man's eyes are quick to train on the student. "Let's try again, then." He pauses, studying his audience attentively. "Which one of you thinks they've got the most absurd idea on what it might be, help me break the ice."

Still no one dares speaking, and yet the man hardly looks bothered by it.

"It's about triangles, is it not?" Hesitantly, from the back, someone speaks.

The man doesn't try to pinpoint who that is, clicking his fingers with a certain excitement. "What else? Any higher bidder?" He twists, giving them his back as he rummages into his briefcase. "Let's see," he murmurs, pausing before turning to face them again. "Whoever speaks first wins a strawberry lollipop." The comedic emphasis he puts on those last words bring an uncontrolled smile to Jimin's lips—despite himself.

"Angles," someone from the front blurts, shrinking in on herself right afterward. Her cheeks paint red, but the man smiles brightly and shakes the candy treat in the air before setting it on the desk. Waiting for her at the end of his class.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "That still sounds boring, doesn't it?"

Several heads nod although some hesitatingly so, and he grins while jumping off the desk.

"Let's spice it up."

That is when he—finally—walks to the blackboard.

Jimin's gaze follows him attentively, curiously.

The man throws the chalk in the air once again, catching it effortlessly before tracing an impressively straight line and then two more. "This here," he points out, tapping on the dusty surface. "Is going to be our closest friend for the following two lessons."

He starts walking down a path from there, full of numbers and definitions, and yet clear enough for them all to somehow follow along. Like he's taking each one by hand, and they're walking through a tale being told by a skilled narrator.

At some point, the man moves back to the desk, talking about theories and anecdotes until he needs to trace something again on the blackboard. Most time, though, he makes sure to face his students and interact with them, genuinely seeking a certain degree of participation even when most nervously refrain from it.

"That's it for today," he states at some point, clapping his hands and wiping them clean from the white dust coating them. "If there's any question, you can feel free to ask now or later through emails, or during our next class. I will be happy to answer." Throwing away the wet tissue he's been using to clean off the chalk dust, the man looks up at the lingering students still sitting in the classroom. Some are slowly gathering their belongings, putting them away quietly. Some chat in whispers, and some else still take notes of what he last said. "I'll remind everyone my receiving hours, but you can find them on my page just like anything you might need for this course, as well as exercises and links to different explanations."

He takes a small pause to take off the glasses he at some point put on, absently rubbing them clean with a small cloth fished from the pocket of his slacks.

"I will upload exercises about today's subject for you to check, please check it out before next class."

Blinking, Jimin realizes it is time for him to go as well. Nibbling on his bottom lip, he lowers his head and puts away his few belongings. The classroom around him is slowly but steadily emptying, and he feels unbearably exposed as only few linger and crowd around the professor, nearly no one else sitting at the rows of desks.

Jostling his bag on one shoulder, he quickly makes way to the corridor between the desks.

Once he's reached the very first row, his head lifts—for whatever reason he cannot possibly grasp or understand. Compelled to do so by some invisible force far beyond his control.

His steps falter, body freezing on the spot.

Dark and piercing eyes stare back at him from above a student's head, thick and defined brows slightly riding up the man's forehead. The corners of his mouth twitch, whatever emotion crossing his gaze promptly vanquished before Jimin can even try to depict it. Still, it has a lump forming in his throat and his heartbeat accelerating.

For some unfathomable reason, Jimin ducks his head and rushes out of the classroom, running away for all it's worth.

ii. i was looking for you, through the ruins of past mistakes

i've never seen a mouth that i would kill to kiss

Sitting at the worn out and stained counter, Jeongguk absently plays with the half-empty glass he holds in one hand. Amber liquid sloshes inside of it, catching his gaze even as his mind wanders off. It lazily chases after scattering thought, exhausting him as the weight of his past days settles on top of his shoulders. Glancing to the side, Jeongguk can't help the way his gaze lingers.

Sitting at a distance, a familiar young man entertains a casual conversation with the man tending to his drinks. One hand loosely holds the neck of a dark bottle, playing with it as his lips twitch in a quick smile. It never lingers on his face, never quite reaches his eyes. From time to time, he brings the beer to his lips, tilting back the bottle, his eyelids falling and throat bobbing with every paced sip.

As he catches himself staring and the line of that elegant neck, a scowl dawns on Jeongguk's face and he looks away. Bringing the glass to his lips, throwing his head back, he revels in the burning heat as it spread through his chest. His other hand flicks in the air, calling for the bartender. His glass is filled again before too long, and emptied with a quick jerk of his head.

Even before the heat has disappeared from his tongue, Jeongguk stands. Absently, he fishes into the pocket of his windbreaker, rummaging until his fingers close around the paper packet.

Outside the rundown building, the march wind and distant noises are all that greet him. The secondary street, with its flickering lights and high buildings, is mostly empty. Absently checking his watch, Jeongguk snorts at himself for even finding it curious. No other lost soul but his own would venture this far from the center on a late weeknight.

After taking a few steps from the entrance, he stops to lean on the cold and humid wall. His hands move with swift muscle memory then, one brings the smoke to his lips while the other lights up a flame.

The first drag burns down his throat fiercely, breaching through his lungs and as a peculiar feeling lingers in its wake.

Hitting his head to the wall and blinking at the dull sky, Jeongguk holds his breath for some time. Only when his brain seems to inflate against the walls of his skull, and his lungs begin to ache, he breathes out.

The smoke is a dissipating cloud before his face, lazily twirl in the air until it is all gone.

For a while—until the first cigarette has been burned to the filter and he's brought another to his lips—Jeongguk maintains a pace of slow drags and even slower exhales, in the hope it might clear his head. For images of the man sitting at counter plague his mind still, leaving him no chance to ever forget or move past him. Past that night. It would be easier—he regrettably reasons—if only it hadn't been that good. If—of all things—Jeongguk hadn't been chasing after the man's ghost for the past weeks. Until he made an obsession out of it, a haunting presence at the back of his mind.

Now though, once he finally found him, it is to late and all is wrong.

As he breathes in another puff of thick smoke, Jeongguk strenuously tries to reason with himself, to see all the ways in which it would be an awful idea. Logically, reasonably, it should not be difficult to come to terms with it. Jeongguk has always found pride in his fair and strong morals, so it should be easy.

It should.

It is not.

A voice coming from dark crevices of his mind keeps nagging at him, growing louder even since he caught glimpse of him again. It whispers a siren song to his ears, an alluring chant that is painfully hard to ignore.

While taking another lazily drag of smoke, Jeongguk accepts he might have never truly known himself before. All his values and morals and boundaries put to test with disarming ease, no effort at all. All it had taken were eyes staring at him with unspoken pleas, bottomless pain brimming within them. A face beautiful like no other, and gaping lips begging for his own to meet.

Looking back to it—the heat in his chest cooled by the gentle but chill wind—Jeongguk admits it was never a battle for him to win. Everything about the man had him spellbound with one careless glance. And he was done for far before even exchanging the first words.

Looking back to it, it is embarrassingly clear how Jeongguk never knew himself until that very moment. It is unmistakably clear now as—despite all reasons—his resolve crumbles and his morals scatter with one more simple glance.

It is almost comedic how—before seeing him again—Jeongguk had been ready to give up and never come to this rundown place. Just one more night, he'd been telling himself, ready to ignore the stubborn call bringing him back here time after time.

And then he saw him, not at this forgotten hole in the city's suburbs, but standing there, among the crowd of his students. He had looked much like a mirage, a trick of his mind. He had looked as beautiful as Jeongguk remembered, his eyes gates to some bottomless well. But as—of all possible emotions—confusion flashed across those eyes, it was all too clear the young man had no recollection of that night.

It is for the best, Jeongguk tells himself even now. It is for the best, but knowing so hardly makes the gnawing feeling in his chest any better. And the nagging voice grows louder, screaming at him to go and take, to make the man remember so that he will never look at him with that detached confusion. It is petty and it is angry and it is unreasonable. It is wrong and reckless for countless reasons Jeongguk couldn't begin to count.

Letting the filter of his second smoke fall, stepping on it as he pulls from the wall, Jeongguk braves the rising wind back into the bar. Inside, it is as quiet as it was when he left. Only a few customers scattered at the different tables, soft background music playing.

Sitting at the counter again, lifting his glass to the bartender, he waits for it to be filled. The man only casts him one wary glance, filling his glass again and stepping away. He's entertaining a lazy conversation with the young man, one that looks comfortably enough for Jeongguk to think they might know each other.

That would explain much, but only mildly catches his attention for he's again staring at the man. His gaze zeroes in on him, on the slightly crooked line of his nose and the sharpness of his jaw. It then trails down along the line of his neck, aching to feel again its taste on his lips. The man is clad by black, a simple shirt, a windbreaker and tight pants. Glancing down, Jeongguk catches sight of Chelsea boots, snorting at himself while thinking how easy it would be to take them off.

As he casually holds a conversation with the bartender, the man finishes another drink, moving from light beers to amber sloshing in his glass. He downs one, and then another while Jeongguk's fingers play with the rim of his own empty glass. As he watches the motion of delicate fingers over the glass rim, he stands and closes the distance between them.

"One of what he's drinking," asks while sitting down, not glancing at the man but at the bartender instead. The latter nods, filling a new glass for Jeongguk without missing a beat. Both seem to know he will regret it in the morning, but it isn't the bartender's duty to babysit his clients and Jeongguk believes he needs this one more than the previous drinks he's sipped on.

Pacing himself, Jeongguk only takes a small sip at first, wetting his lips and tongue and savoring the mildly nutty flavor. He has no idea of what fills his glass now, but is rather surprised at the fierce burn that flows down his throat as he drinks more. Still it isn't unpleasant, a warm and earthy taste lingering on the tip of his tongue.

"Not bad, uh?"

Jeongguk's head slowly turns, acting composed even when his mind is hazy and chest hollowing out, everything within quiet.

"At all," he agrees, a small smile tugging lopsidedly at his lips.

The man nods, humming to himself. He's turned some on his seat, head resting on his fist as he blinks blearily at Jeongguk.

Squinting his eyes, he seems to be lost in his thoughts. A pretty flush has crept up to his cheeks, his gaze languid as it openly stares at Jeongguk's face.

"You look just like him," he murmurs, his voice a low and confused drawl. His brows draw close with a frown, tongue clicking as his head lifts and he leans closer ever so slightly.

Jeongguk swallows, but holds the man's bleary gaze. No trace of the bottomless pain in them, but rather a numbing dullness that ignites a fire in him.

Silencing every warning voice in his brain—ever so easy when his mind his hazy and confused, soft like clay molded by his darkest desires—Jeongguk wets his lips and inches ever so close. "Like who?" he indulges, taking another sip from his drink before setting down the glass.

"My teach," the young man slurs, head hanging low. Differently from last time he saw him, his hair isn't styled neatly but hangs over his forehead, softening his features enticingly.

Jeongguk's tongue pushes at his cheek, fighting the creeping grin when realization dawns on him. Something deep low in his guts twists and comes alive, tight and hungry.

The man snorts, his head shaking dismissively before lifting again.

"But he's not really my teach, you know?"

Although the words—spoken like a secret to be kept between the two of them—confuse Jeongguk, they are far from discouraging. Rather, a foolish spark of hope burns in his chest, feeding the desire and wanton he's been nurturing for weeks now.

"He's not?" he echoes absently, wetting his lips and tilting his head. One brow arches, inquiring and pointed as he stares at the other.

"Nope." The single word pops out of his mouth, full lips smacking noisily but oh so beautifully. "But damn, he's good.'

Jeongguk can barely hold back the hearty laugh traveling to his mouth. Delighted and charmed by the words. His lips purse, twitching at the corners.

"Wish he was my teach."

The words are muttered low under his breath as he turns to the counter, head hanging low again. Jeongguk wasn't meant to hear, but still they echo in his ears and feed a twisted creature crawling in his chest.

Throwing his head back with a swift jerk, the man drinks all that's of his drink, eyeing Jeongguk's once he's done.

Wetting his lips, he slides the drink close to him, chin nodding to it. "How much do I resemble him?"

As he takes the half-empty glass, the man casts a quick glance his way. Or—Jeongguk supposes—it was meant to be quick. It lingers though, forcing the man to turn his way again, eyes raking over his face.

"You're just like him," he considers, wetting his lips, the glass rim a hair breadth from his mouth. "But your hair is different," he grumbles after a moment, taking sip.

Jeongguk's eyes hungrily watch him, his lips touching to the glass and his throat bobbing. "How so?" he absently muses, even just to keep himself grounded to the moment.

"His hair look nicer," the other asses firmly, eyes only briefly lifting before he drinks more.

Unconsciously, Jeongguk rakes a hand through his hair. It is—admittedly and amusingly—rather different from the neat combing he wears during his lectures. Straight out of a shower he couldn't bother with that much effort, letting ebony locks hang however before leaving home. As it is, the tips on his nape have curled some, soft and unruly at the touch. Quite in the same way, his bangs cover most of his forehead, ticklish and bothersome. It might be time to cut it.

Snorting to himself, shaking his head clear, he scoots closer.

"Then," he drawls, low under his breath. "What if you make me yours instead?" The words blurt past his lips before Jeongguk can even fully form the thought of them, bold and reckless.

The young man—his not-so-quite student—frowns, fingers running over the rim of a nearly empty glass. "Mine?"

Feeling himself brim with barely contained excitement, Jeongguk hums. He eyes those lips, bitten by tormenting teeth and wet and swollen.

And—again—he's not quite thinking, mind blank and buzzing. One hand sneaks around the man's nape, forcing his head to turn, their faces a hair breadth apart. Surprise is written all over the man's face, his eyes wide and lips agape.

"Yours," he breathes on those very same lips, taking them with his own before either can think twice of it.

The kiss is wet, languid, tasting like the drink they've both been sharing. It burns just as intensely, but countless times more addicting. The man's jaw goes lax, mouth opening to grant Jeongguk free access, for him to do how best he pleases. His other hand falls to the man's thigh, kneading the supple and firm flesh as he cups his jaw.

Jeongguk's head tilts, tongue licking and teasing, teeth biting on those full lips as he slightly pulls away. It is just barely enough to catch his breath, hand creeping up to the heating place between the man's legs, feeling him tense up and twitch, melting when Jeongguk initiates another kiss.

It lasts only a fraction of the previous one, hands pushing at Jeongguk's chest but clutching the windbreaker's edges.

Forehead touching and breathes mixing, Jeongguk wets his lips and casts a quick glance to the bartender looking their way. A soft chuckle travels to his mouth, hand sliding to the man's nape are brushing absent caresses onto it. "Will you have me?" he asks, pulling away just enough for their gazes to meet.

The man wets his lips, sucking on the bottom as he seems to think it over. Then, eyes falling but a grin on his face, he nods. Looking both sheepish and eager, the man's head tilts back, inches closer, chasing after another kiss.

So their lips meet, but it is hardly more than a brush, a light peck before the man is pulling away again.

"I'm Jimin," he says, taking Jeongguk's hand and standing. He tugs lightly at him, his head tilting to the side as he waits. "And you?" he prompts, when no answer comes and an odd silence falls.

Standing, setting a bill on the counter with his free hand, Jeongguk lets himself take the first few steps away. His hand shifts, holding the man's—Jimin's—wrist. The name echoes nicely in his head, and he has to bodily fight the urge to voice it on his own.

He doesn't answer, if not for the sly smirk that draws on his lips.

-

Jeongguk leads both to the closest motel with one thought driving him. The hand holding Jimin's wrist never lets go, not even when the tired lady eyes them with mild judgment lingering in her gaze.

Although Jimin tries to wriggle free from it, it is but weak attempt that fall in vain. He doesn't let go, like the man would vanish if he dare to, like sand sifting through his fingers if only he were to loosen the hold some. With a huff, Jimin indulges the grip on him, letting it be as he follows Jeongguk to their room and inside of it. Everything is a fast and rushed, and neither really have the mind to care for small details of be bothered by them.

It is all a breathless chase, coming to a halt once the door closes with a thump and Jimin's back is being pressed to it. Large hand hold his head, fingers weaving in his hair and nails raking on the scalp and Jeongguk brings them close and their lips into a new kiss.

Jimin is pliant under his touch, his mouth opening, jaw lax as he grants free access to the man. Jeongguk is hungry to take every bit of what he can, tongue teasing at the other's lips, swallowing ever smallest sound like it's honey pouring down his throat. And there is no place he doesn't make his own, claiming all of Jimin's sweet mouth until they're forced to part. Parting, neither seems willing to get too far. Not with the way Jimin's clutching at the open edges of his windbreaker and not with the way Jeongguk lays light kisses at the corner of his mouth and then down along the line of his jaw.

With thoughtless ease, Jimin cranes his neck and grants free access to his body. His hands run down, sneaking under the tight shirt the man wears and touching to heated skin. His fingers rake over firm and defined muscles, the shirt riding up with his hands until he stops at the man's chest.

It fills each of his palms, firm and tense under his touch.

Against his shivering skin, a sharp puff of air has Jimin's breath hitch, his fingers digging into the flesh. "You like it?" he hears, a whispers to the shell of his ear sending chills down his spine.

One large hand closes round his wrist, but doesn't pull him away.

"Tell me, do you like it?"

Feeling his mouth dry and throat hoarse, Jimin can only nod. He looks at the man through hooded eyelids, his swollen lips agape as the other pulls way. His touch is the next to leave Jimin, their heat gone before the younger can even blink or complain. And—although it doesn't last long—he can only mourn the loss even as he watches the man shrug off his windbreaker and his shirt. Both fall discarded on the floor, tossed away brusquely. Jimin's eyes dart to them, a fraction of time but all it takes for the man's hands to be all over his body, his nape and his waist, puling him off the wall and into himself.

Their chest press to one another, bare skin against the thin layer of Jimin's own clothes. Still the heat seeps through it and into him, his hands eager to touch and explore, his mouth watering.

Swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth, kneading the firm flesh to his heart's content, Jimin feels his mind slip in a haze. A fuzzy and confused state in which everything is light and airborne. Leaning down, single-minded, he doesn't stop until his lips press to the expanse of honeyed skin. It is an open minded kiss, moist and lingering, pressing to sternum right above a fast beating heart.

His eyes lift, looking at the man through fluttering eyelashes. All he sees is a light frown and parted lips, something storming behind dark irises that encourages him to dare and take more. And so he does, with close to no restrain.

Jimin lets his lips trace a path to the side, one hand focusing on the man's left peck as he tentatively moves closer to the hardening nipple. He takes it in him mouth while he still looks up at the man, drinking in every smallest shift on his face, the most imperceptible twitch as his tongue curls around the nub and as he sucks on it.

Every sound, every sharp exhale from the man is but an encouragement for Jimin to do more and try more. His hand doesn't lay at rest either, fingers pinching the hard nub and twisting it teasingly. He is aware of the uncomfortable pain it provokes, but finds himself addicted to the reaction it earns him. The man tightens his jaw, his brows drawing closer and his lips twisting as his teeth gritting. Despite the grimace, he looks like every forbidden dream Jimin's ever had. And—despite the uncomfortable twidges of pain—it must also build pleasure in the man, for his next exhale sounds much like a moan, Jimin's cheeks hollowing and his other hand riding down to the heated place between his legs. He finds a noticeable bulge there, filling his wandering palm just perfectly.

Jimin's own groin begins to feel uncomfortable, his navel tight as desire arises impetuously in him.

Unwilling to wait any longer—even when mourning the peculiar pleasure of exploring and worshiping another's body—Jimin wills himself to pull away. The moment he does neck craning uncomfortably until he's blinking at the other, large hands take hold of his head and lead him in another kiss.

Moaning into with abandon—all of himself melting against the man's, his hand still kneading and exploring the man's body—Jimin becomes aware of those large hands reaching down to the underside of his thighs. He scoops him up like he weights nothing, with no warning and no visible effort. Their lips are still joint, still slotting in place hungrily. Jimin's yelp is promptly swallowed, his hands flailing until they find purchase on the man's strong shoulders.

Then, as he feels his back pulling from the wall and the man carrying him away, Jimin lets himself revel in the feeling of being weightless in the other's arms. Weightless even as he's let go of, body bouncing on the mattress as he gasps and blinks at the man.

The latter doesn't let himself be away for a long time, climbing on the bed, hands tugging at Jimin's clothes and shoes almost frantically. Prompted by such urgency, Jimin kicks off his boots, undoes the buttons of his pants and shrugs off his own windbreaker. It is messy, his hands so restless he's barely able to do much. The man doesn't seem to care, finishing Jimin's frantic attempts with slightly steadier hands, not stopping until he lays naked on the bed, bare and exposed, burning under the raking gaze taking him in.

Even when bare, not one part of Jimin—and not for one second—he feels weak and vulnerable. Oddly enough, the hunger burning in those dark eyes empowers him, makes him ache for more, drunk of the desire he reads in that lustful gaze. His hands reach up, arms locking around the man's neck and bringing him down for another kiss.

Jeongguk lets himself be lead into it with ease, following even as his hands rake down Jimin's sides, hungry and restless.

Unlike that night, when they pull away and their gazes cross, the brown eyes looking up at Jeongguk bear nothing but desire. A desire deep enough to match his own. And it—more than he could've expected—has all of Jeongguk's blood burning through his veins, his navel tightening and cock throbbing with aching wanton.

Although Jeongguk had planned to take his time with the man under him, to savor every last moment until he's drunk and satiated, he soon realize it will have to wait.

Jimin seems to be just as impatient as he is, biting his lips as they still look at one another, his legs winding around Jeongguk's waist so that their crotches press together. His hardening cock is trapped between their bodies, hard and hot against their heated skins.

Jeongguk's hand holds onto Jimin's waist, not quite pulling him away but guiding the shallow movements of his hips. "You're so hungry for it, aren't you?" he muses, teasing his words into the skin of Jimin's neck.

"No marks," the man rasps, hands fisting in Jeongguk's hair and tugging painfully until his scalp burns.

Tongue pushing at his cheek, a frown drawing his brows lower on his forehead, Jeongguk lays a open mouthed kiss on the skin instead. He only gives a gentle suck, the skin flushing into a mark that will soon leave. Jimin's hands in his hair twitches in a silent reprimand, but his agape lips betray no complaint. Instead, a moan moves past them, breathy and light as it echoes in Jeongguk's ears. "That is quite unfair," he argues, each word a hot breath onto shivering skin.

Jimin's hands tug again, pulling him up until their gazes meet. "Is it?" he muses, a coy lilt to his voice that has it sounding sultry and tempting.

Jeongguk's jaw juts to the side, his hands raking up the firm body until they stop again at his waist. "It is." With a swift move, he pulls Jimin up while sitting back on his hunches. The grip on his is tight, unyielding even after he's positioned their bodies the way he pleases.

Jimin lets himself be manhandles, hands slipping awat and locking around the man's neck instead.

"You see," the man continues, pressing Jimin's bottom right on top of his hard member. "I have quite the restless mouth."

Sitting on his lap, Jimin scoffs, eyes flicking upward. His nails scratch at the man's nape, but he doesn't move away. "You see," he parrots in a purr, face inching close until each word fans onto the man's lips. "I don't want anyone seeing."

The man's tongue clicks, his face leaning into the crook of Jimin's neck. He licks a long and indulgent stroke all the way up to his jaw, teeth grazing and nibbling, lips moving further up to the soft lobe of his ear. He sucks it into his mouth, tongue playing with the heated and velvety skin, earning himself a languid moan and the rolling of Jimin's hips. The move is smooth, pressing down just right in ways that make Jeongguk believe he was born just for this. To fit on top of his body and make it know the highest pleasure with so little effort. Pulling away with a soft squelching sound, he cranes his neck to look up at the other.

As they are, Jimin is a few inches taller than him, looking down with hooded lids and liquid eyes. "What about where no one can see?"

The words must be tempting enough, for Jimin's lips part and a light frown dawns on his delicate features. His tongue peeks out, leaving a wet sheen over reddened skin. Jeongguk watches it, feeling his navel growing tighter as he can't help imagining those very same lips around his hardest part. It would feel good, maybe maddeningly so. His hands twitch, and it is a hard battle with himself not to cave in. Maybe another time though, he will have Jimin taking all of his hard length for hours on end.

His cock throbs at the though, a fog clouding his gazed.

"No one," Jimin sets as a condition, and it is all Jeongguk needs to change their positions once again. It is swift and smooth, bringing himself lower on Jimin's lying body until his face is hovering over the man's tight and flat abdomens, inches away from his hard cock. For all the hunger telling Jeongguk to taste him, he neglects the unfairly pretty thing and trains his attentions elsewhere.

His lips press on the thin skin on top of his hipbones, teeth grazing over it and tongue running lavishly onto his chosen spot. He begins to suck onto it as his eyes flick up to Jimin, finding his upper body lifted off the bed and gaze intently set down on him. Somehow, it is that liquid gaze that encourages Jeongguk more. Once he's somewhat satisfied, he lets his teeth sink onto the skin, deep enough for it to almost break.

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath, his body tensing up and twitching, but not pulling away. It is just that, and Jeongguk knows he can dare more. And more he does dare.

Wherever his lips press, down the swell of his hips and to the inner side of his bent legs, Jeongguk leaves countless bites and bruises, ravishing the body generously offered to him, all his for the taking. Never once Jimin complains, his head throwing back even as he hisses at particularly painful bites. His hands fist into the shits, body quivering, but never once he evades Jeongguk attentions. Rather, his hips jerk, his cock moistening at the tip invitingly.

It is only once satisfied with the way Jimin's body bears his marks that Jeongguk moves away with a sly smile. "Isn't it much prettier now?"

Jimin's jaw visibly tenses, eyes refusing to either look down to himself or to meet the man's gaze. He looks to the side instead, chin tilting upward some.

Jeongguk snorts out a short chuckle, going down again to lick a particularly indulgent stroke along the length of Jimin's cock. It has the body under his jolt and jerk at once, a sharp breath being sucked in. The reaction is all it takes for Jeongguk to wrap his lips around the tip and suck onto it.

Compared to himself—although not quite small—Jimin is just the perfect size to fit into someone's mouth, the hot and swollen tip weighing down on Jeongguk's tongue deliciously. He showers it with attentions and cares, tongue curling around the head and pressing along the slit, licking at the underside until Jimin's legs are quivering and closing around his head. Jeongguk's hands hold them in place, lowering and shifting himself until the cock's glide down his throat is most comfortable. Even as it hits the back of his throat, hollowing his cheeks hard and his throat forced to press under Jimin's length, it is all surprisingly enjoyable. Both the feeling of taking him this way, and witnessing as tears well in those brown eyes.

Swallowing around the intrusion, throat clenching and gagging around it, Jeongguk makes sure not to ever look away. Not when Jimin's hips buck up and not when his head throws back as pleasure build. Something in the man tuts with dissatisfaction, everything coming to an end far before he was done with it. Jimin's body quivers, his hips jerking and rolling, pressing so close Jeongguk can barely breathe. Yet he doesn't want it to end, not when he's far from being satisfied, his hunger still ravenous. So—as he feels Jimin's movements growing faster and out of pace, shallow thrusts into his relaxing throat and welcoming heat—Jeongguk's hands grip his waist and he moves away.

The obscene squelch is overwhelmed by Jimin's cry, his eyes wide and brimming with tears as they looks down at Jeongguk.

As for Jeongguk, he licks his lips from the slick wetness, salty and midly bitter as Jimin's precome lingers on his tongue. He grins at him, watching frustrated anger grow in those eyes, and drinking in the sight of it.

"Why," Jimin hisses, lifting himself some more on the mattress, his cock hard and twitching where it lies on his abdomens. His teeth grind, but one hand reaches down to close around the base of his cock.

Jeongguk follows the movement, eyes darkening with something he can't quite name.

Seeing that, Jimin smirks slyly. His hands moves with slow strokes, not quite chasing his high but rather teasing the glaring man. As spit and his own precome wet the whole length, Jimin's hand tightens more around it and his strokes gain a certain purpose.

"Are you just gonna watch?"

Part of Jeongguk even considers the offer, enticed by the prospect. His body moves on its own though, grabbing Jimin's wrist and taking it away. He flips him over swiftly and with thinning patience, something in that sight triggering all of his impatience.

Under him, Jimin gasps, lifting himself on his knees and looking at Jeongguk past his shoulder. "Is this how you'll have me?"

Jeongguk swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth, hands kneading the supple flesh of each cheek. Jimin's body is a perfect juxtaposition of sharpness and sweetness, of firmness and softness. It is—in its every smallest part—the most delicious being Jeongguk could ever dream to find. So he treasures and ravishes every part of him, biting and licking and sucking on each cheek, down the back of his thighs. He considers moving even lower, down his calves and delicate ankles to the very tip of his toes. The thought is almost enough to drive away every last bit of his reason, but the impatience in his if a far wilder beast. It has one hand pulling at Jimin's cheeks, exposing that tight ring of muscles he's been aching for for so long.

Upon seeing it, twitching and pink, Jeongguk sees no reason to hold back. So he dives in, licking a long way from the upper part of the crease all the way down to the perineum, where Jimin's ball sack is heavy and hot. He doesn't as much as thinks about it, lifting those round hips some more and lowering himself just to suck on Jimin's balls. The man shudders bodily under his attentions, every last fiber of him twitching and quivering deliciously.

Jeongguk's ministrations soon move away though, his own cock so hard it hurts and every voice in his head screaming at him. Later, he promises himself. He has all night to map Jimin's body in a way that will finally satiate and satisfy him. For now, though, he sucks with pointed intent on the fluttering hole, wetting it with his spit, tongue pushing and prodding at the softening muscles until it can breach past it.

A curse is uttered into the pillow, muffled and confused but echoing deliciously in Jeongguk's ears. He chuckles, barely pulling away.

Jimin moans, a breathless gasp as his hips roll back, seeking him and what he can give.

Seeing the growing desire and wanton draws a wicked smile on Jeongguk's lips, gone as his tongue once again licks and teases the puckered hole. It twitches under his touch, almost calling for more.

As one hand still holds onto Jimin's supple bottom, the other fishes into the back pocket of his loose denims. He picks one nearly forgotten packet of lube. It is not much, but it'll make do. Wetting his fingers with it, warming the gel some, Jeongguk tears his gaze from the slightly swollen hole.

Twisting himself some, glancing from above his shoulder, Jimin is staring intently at Jeongguk's fingers. At the same time, his hips roll into the air invitingly, calling for him as a sly smile draws on his lips. "Don't make me wait," he call, and yet it sounds a lot like a whine.

Jeongguk snorts, but he's leaning forward without much thought. He chases after Jimin's lips in a kiss that is uncomfortable and yet languid, indulging and hungry at once. Neither part first, drowning into the feeling until Jeongguk's first finger is pushing past Jimin's soft rim and the latter is moaning in his mouth. That is when they part, Jeongguk's forehead pressing to Jimin's temple as his fingers slides all the way to its last knuckle with ease. The suction around it is inviting, warm walls clenching and clutching on the intrusion.

"Aren't you so hungry for it?" he teases, nudging at the man's heated cheek, moving lower down his neck. Jeongguk presses lavish kisses onto Jimin's nape, teeth touching to the shivering skin and aching to sink into it. All the while, his finger doesn't stop moving, prodding at the walls and searching for a certain spot.

Jimin pushes a sharp breath through his teeth, almost a hiss. "Haven't we agreed on it?" he rasps, hips rolling into the touch, back arching exquisitely against Jeongguk. It brings their bodies close, flushed to one another as neither is willing to move even an inch away, not even when it would make the movements of Jeongguk's hand easier and smoother. It doesn't seem to matter, for how hungry either are, being so close to one another seems far more important.

"What?" Jeongguk purrs into the skin, just over a prominent bone at the base of Jimin's neck.

"That I would make you mine."

Jeongguk huffs out a sharp breath, the words taking him by surprise and feeding fuel into the heat burning within him. His hand pulls back, finger sliding nearly all the way out. Only the very tip lingers inside, catching on the rim. When he thrusts inside again, another finger joins it, the glide slightly harder and yet Jimin still eagerly takes him in, holding true to his words.

"That we did," Jeongguk muses, ears ringing with Jimin's moans as his thrusts pick on a deep and steady pace, fingers curling inside him as he still searches for that one spot. "So let me hold onto that."

Under him—pressed flush to his chest—Jimin's body tenses on the very same moment as Jeongguk's fingers press where he's the most sensitive. It tears a choked sound from him, lower body shaking and trembling as he gasps for air.

Jeongguk's touch is relentless, rubbing and pressing onto it until the attentions tether on painful. Still, Jimin takes it all, only crying out and whimpering wetly when the fingers retreat. The emptiness doesn't last long, only up until Jeongguk's forcing three long and large fingers inside, the rim taut around him and yet those warm and wet walls welcoming him hungrily.

Jimin's moans turn louder now, choked sounds that echo beautiful in Jeongguk's ears as he works to carve space for himself, giving special attentions to that certain spot. Jimin's head hangs low between his shoulder, forehead pressing to the pillow as he begins to bite on his lips to keep quiet.

As the room grows quieter, Jeongguk's fingers pull out. He clicks his tongue, ignoring the complaining grunt leaving Jimin. His hand—fingers wet still—reaches up to the man's throat, cupping the underside of his jaw, grabbing it roughly.

"Don't do that," he warns, thumb pushing down on Jimin's bottom lip until his mouth his parting to his touch. "Let me hear you."

They're still pressed together, so close not much movement is possible. Yet Jeongguk's hard cock eagerly slots between Jimin's cheeks with the smallest movement, rubbing rather pointedly over his most sensitive and secretive place but never reaching where it's needed the most.

"You want it, don't you?

Jimin's head turn, eyes glaring at him pointedly.

Jeonguk snorts, letting go of the man's face to hold his length instead. He pulls back some, kneeling behind Jimin. He angles his cock just so that the tip can brush over the swollen hole, pulling at his supple cheek just to tease him more.

"Then let me hear you," he instructs, the moist and hot head of his cock catching on the rim but not quite breaching into it.

Jimin groans, head falling forward again.

Jeongguk's tongue clicks, both hands kneading and pulling at those full cheeks, marked by him so beautifully.

"Jimin," he calls, cock sliding all the way to the root along the moist crease, throbbing and aching.

"Please," he hisses, brimming with frustration and anger, a rasp grating through his throat.

Jeongguk's head throws back, hand angling his cock better. "Like that," he praises, prodding at the hole with a bit more intent but still not enough.

"Please, please, please," Jimin chants, cries and groans at once, and yet music to Jeongguk's ears.

He grins, high on the sound of that voice, hips thrusting forward with one harsh move. He doesn't let either ache and suffer any more, giving Jimin all he's been asking for. The intrusion is rough, sudden even when longed for. It empties his lungs with a soundly gasp, another moan as it hangs in the room.

Jeongguk drinks the sound of it like it's honey pouring down his throat, hands grabbing Jimin's waist as he pulls back to the tip, until it is catching on the rim. He can feel Jimin's body tense and shaking in his grasp, struggling to adjust to the intrusion.

Gritting his teeth, furrowing his brows, Jeongguk slides back inside of him. This time, as his navel hits Jimin's bottom, he doesn't draw back but forces himself to stay and let the other grow accustomed to his girth.

"Relax," he instructs with a soft whisper to his ear, leaning down to press a light kiss on the man's nape. His thumbs rub gentle caresses on the small of his back, soothing as Jimin still holds his breath and struggles to adjust.

A curse slips through gritting teeth, something that has Jeongguk grinning into his skin, hips jerking with a shallow thrust despite his best efforts. "You're big."

Snorting, he bites lightly onto Jimin's nape. "You can take it," he encourages, stating facts.

"But it hurts," Jimin whimpers wetly, face rubbing into the pillow as he sucks in a sharp breath.

"I'm sorry," he admits, sincere to a fault even as he's dying to fuck into Jimin. "But you're doing so good."

Jimin head nods, his shoulders tense against Jeongguk.

"Not like this," he mumbles then, sniffling.

Jeongguk pulls back some, frowning.

"I don't like this position," Jimin says before he can ask, head turning just enough for his to look at the other man.

Jeongguk's jaw clenches, his hold on Jimin's waist twitching but loosening in the end.

"Alright, princess," he agrees, pulling all the way back slowly, mindful of Jimin's every smallest twitch.

Carefully, he turns him on his back, breath catching in his throat when he catches the tears brimming in those brown eyes. Without thinking, Jeongguk leans down to kiss each and every one away even as his hands pull Jimin's legs up gently.

The man's flexibility makes everything much easier, his hips lifting for Jeongguk to position a pillow underneath. "Good?" he asks upon pulling back, eyes searching Jimin's.

Turning his head away, looking away, the younger man nods. Still, Jeongguk hesitates, almost scared to hurt him.

Huffing, eyes rolling, Jimin meets his searching gaze at last. "I won't break," he complains, his voice strained. "I just…" he trails, eyes darting away.

Jeongguk doesn't press for him to say more, taking tortured lips in his own as he slowly enters Jimin again. It is slow, careful. It has both of them shaking and tense with restrain.

Jimin is the one to break their kiss, lips wide open as he gasps for air, staring deep into Jeongguk's eyes even as his hips lift and roll, meeting the slow thrust. Gulping, breathing in lungful of air, Jimin lets himself grow accustomed to the intrusion. Sweet kisses travel down his throat, just barely distracting. Jeongguk's thumbs rub into the tense skin of his lower belly, soothing and patient even when everything in him is struggling to hold back.

"You can-" Jimin rasps, voice breaking. "You can move, now," he repeats, slightly firmer. Jeongguk glances up at him, assessing, only drawing back once Jimin nods at him.

Their lips meet again, a distracting kiss as Jeongguk's first few thrusts are slow and shallow. He keeps that maddening pace until Jimin is the one to demand for more, hands gripping his hair as he asks him to give more, to go faster. "I can take you," he assures firmly, almost a snarl against Jeongguk's lips. An echo to his own words.

"Don't regret it later, princess." His words are followed by a teasing bite onto Jimin's lower lip, the sharp and fast pace of his thrusts.

Drawing back, holding Jimin's gaze, Jeongguk lets himself sink in all the way.

His jaw clenches, a grunt building in his chest as his head falls, forehead pressing onto Jimin's. He exhales sharply, pulling back again and thrusting in fast, trying desperately to appease that gnawing hunger, selfishly so. It is not for long though, his pace slowing down by some, hips rolling against Jimin's, making sure he's pressing just right against the man's prostate.

Jimin's head pushes back onto the pillow with every pointed thrust, hips moving to meet Jeongguk's, seeking and chasing the same kind of relief in what is soon turned into a maddening race.

It is not long before one of Jeongguk's hands moves lower, closing around the base of Jimin's cock. He feels himself coming closer to release, and so his hand is fast to match his thrusts with indulging strokes along the length of Jimin's cock.

It takes almost embarrassingly little for both to reach their orgasm.

Jimin comes first with a moan suffocated by Jeongguk's lips, swallowed by him just like every other part of Jimin is. His hips jerk, bucking up into the warm hold around his cock, come spurting out of him thickly, clinging to their chests.

Jeongguk is soon to come as well, the pace of his thrusts faltering until it stops, cock buried deep inside of Jimin as he comes. His hips move shallowly, riding the high and clutching to it until he's driven into oversensitivity. Even afterwards, leaving the wet and warm clutch of Jimin's walls is something he's reluctant to do. So Jeongguk lingers into the bliss instead, peppering the line of Jimin's neck and shoulder with quick kisses as he feels himself going soft.

With a sigh, he slips out of that blissful heat, mourning it but just up until he glances down to the sight of his own come lazily trickling out of Jimin. Sitting on his hunches, hands keeping the man's bent legs spread, he stares at the sight, entranced.

It takes Jimin a moment to realize, fighting his hold and sitting up. "Stop that," he groans, shoving at Jeongguk's shoulder. His body, swaying and drained, falls forward. It falls into Jeongguk's with careless ease, slumping weightily into the other.

Gasping, the man wraps his arms around him, guiding both to lie on their side. "Tired already?"

Jimin groans, nuzzling into his chest and weakly hitting him. "Yes," he grumbles.

Jeongguk takes in a deep breath, lungs filling with air to their limit and head going numb, his hunger far from satiated. Still, "Alright," he murmurs into the crown of Jimin's head, holding him to his chest while ignoring the slowly hardening cock trapped between their bodies. He holds Jimin as the latter slips into a steady sleep, and keeps holding him a few long moments afterwards. Something about the small and warm body pressed securely against his own, fitting so perfectly in his arms, is oddly grounding. It's almost scary, but Jeongguk's mind couldn't be bothered with such thoughts, not as he slowly pulls out of him.

He looks at the man's sleeping face, his rosy cheeks and full lips. A smile draws on his own, tired and dejected. One hands rubs down the line of Jimin's back, feeling it twitch at the touch but so imperceptibly it's hardly even a stir. His deep sleep stays unbothered, face nuzzling into Jeongguk's chest as he curls more comfortably on himself.

Sighing, Jeongguk disentangles himself from the embrace.

He casts one last glance to the sleeping figure before leaving the bed and heading to the small bathroom. Once inside, he makes a quick job out of washing himself clean of sweat and body fluids, grimacing at the thought of laying on top of dirty sheets. Under the steady stream of warm water, his hand reaches down to the half hard member calling for his attention. His entire body tenses up at the wet touch, teeth trapping his lower lip to keep any sound from escaping him. One time was far from enough, only opening the gates so something far bigger, giving him a tantalizing taste but still leaving his hunger unsatisfied. Still, Jimin's peaceful look as he fell deep into his sleep is what haunts Jeongguk's mind as he strokes himself at a fast pace, almost chafing. He looked impossibly serene and content, too much so to be ever disturbed. So his hand will make do, hopefully compensating enough for Jeongguk to find solace in that same deep sleep that has soon taken over Jimin.

Hitting his forehead to the cold tiles, Jeongguk focuses on the moans still echoing in his head, on the feeling of Jimin's head wrapped so tightly around him. It is still all so very clear that—if his eyes close and he tries hard enough—he could almost believe being still there, holding Jimin under himself. It is such a thought that brings him over the edge, faster than he would like to admit, but conveniently so.

Breathing hard, eyes squeezing shut, his forehead hits the cold tiles a few times. It is barely enough to ground him, to take his mind off of the still stirring desire, but it'll have to do for now.

It is after hastily drying himself that Jeongguk walks back into the bathroom with a wet towel in hand.

Jimin is still sleeping soundly, unbothered by his absence and still just like he last left him. With a light curve lingering on his lips, Jeongguk climbs back on the bed. Carefully—whispering sweet nonsense to his ear whenever Jimin whines and grumbles in his sleep—Jeongguk attempts his best to clean him with the wet towel.

The sleeping man is surprisingly collaborative even when unconscious, pliant under Jeongguk's touch even as it reaches the most sensitive and intimate parts. Although trying his best not to think much of it, to only focus on the task at hand, it is embarrassing how fast Jeongguk feels his own body reacting at the touches.

Still, he makes a quick job of cleaning Jimin, ignoring his spiraling mind and the desire stirring hotly deep in his guts all over again. It is a lost battle as—doing his best to scoop out every last bit of his release inside of Jimin—the sleeping man's ever so pliant and sweet under his touch. It would take close to no effort to have him again, stir Jimin from his sleep and have him squirming and moaning all over again.

By the time he's done, Jeongguk's cock stands half hard hard again. His eyes can't seem to tear to the pink and soft body laying vulnerable and exposed, to the puffy and moist hole and the spent cock. It all paints a far too delicious image for him to resist.

Pushing out a sharp breath, grinding his teeth, Jeongguk hastily leaves the bed again. He stalks all the way back into the bathroom, tossing the wet towel in a corner and stomping again under the shower. It is a quick, icy cold shower that he takes. One that sees Jeongguk walking away with long strides and wet hair only moments later.

Rubbing at his hair the best he can, he glances at his discarded clothes with a grimace. Discarding the thought of wearing them to sleep, he focuses on Jimin instead.

With a soft sigh, Jeongguk tries his best to make him lay on top of the sheets. It gives off a semblance of cleanness, something that puts at ease a nagging voice at the back of his mind as he lays down as well. It is still all very uncomfortable, but the best he can manage as exhaustion catches up with him unfairly fast.

-

Jimin wakes up to the ringing of his own phone, a groan clumping the way through his throat and his body aching like rarely before.

His hand pats blindly on the sheets, head splitting in half with pain. Twisting, squinting at the unfamiliar room, he somehow pinpoints the ringing phone. Jimin can't remember ever setting it on the nightstand but—as the night before slowly comes back to him—he realizes there's plenty missing from it.

Biting down on his lips, gnawing at them, he takes the call without allowing himself to hesitate much longer.

"Jimin?"

Chaeyeon's voice carries a concerned high pitch, a lilt to it that has Jimin grimacing as he sits at the bed's edge. His feet touch to the cold floor, a shudder traveling through his body.

"Yes?"

From the other end, he hears Chaeyeon sigh, but he's too busy looking at his curling toes to address it.

"Where are you?"

For a moment, Jimin considers lying. He has no idea what time it is, and there's so many ways in which this would go horribly wrong. He's very close to dismiss Chaeyeon's concern with a dangerous lie, sucking on his bottom lip while standing and looking around the room for his clothes.

"Is something wrong?" he asks instead, walking around the bed with a bundle of his clothes in one hand.

"I came at your place but you're not here," she trails, and Jimin can hear her pacing around what he supposes being his apartment.

"Are you still there?" he asks, stepping into the bathroom and turning on the light. It must be morning, yet the room was shrouded in dimness, and the new light has Jimin grimacing and squinting. The headache pressing at his temples gets worse within seconds, but Jimin has no choice if not braving it.

"You weren't answering, and I," she trails, stopping to take a sharp breath.

"I'll be right there," Jimin reassures, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Jimin?" she calls, her voice small. "Where are you?"

"I was out drinking with some friends, it got late and I crashed at someone's place." It is vague, a rather pitiful excuse, but Chaeyeon breathes out in relief and Jimin can almost picture her nodding to herself.

"Everything's alright, isn't it?"

"Of course."

"Okay," she breathes. "I'll see you soon, then."

Jimin ends the call without adding more, glancing at the time before stepping into the shower. Despite the ache set deep in his bones and the haze fogging up his brain, Jimin makes it in and out of the shower rather quickly. He shuts off his brain, muscle memory taking over through the scrubbing and rinsing until he's stepping on the soft sponge carpet. Ignoring the fogged up mirror if not for a quick glance, Jimin grabs his clothes and methodically dresses himself. He lets his hair damp, wasting no time for drying it and walking back into the bedroom instead. It is only then—setting foot into the dim room—that Jimin's stomach drops at what he sees.

All blood drains from his face. Snapping his head away in a split second—just as long as the stammering of his heart—he wills himself not to look. Like it could make everything unfavorable and upsetting disappear.

On the bed, lying blissfully unaware, a mad lies naked on top of the sheets. For how fast Jimin turned his head around, his eyes were still able to catch an indulgent look of the man. A broad and muscled back, firm and toned buttocks. The image of him—defines muscles lined by seeping ink—is burned behind Jimin's irises as he stumbles to the door.

He positively runs out of the room, his ears buzzing and legs moving faster than his brain can catch up with.

Of all things, Jimin wasn't expecting the man to still be there. Shaking his head clear, taking long strides and almost flying down the stairs, he somehow makes it onto the streets and into an uber.

-

Despite the countless reasons not to, Jimin finds himself sitting again in professor Jeon's classroom the following week. He ignores all of the warning signs and nagging voices, only one tempting whisper encouraging him to stay.

Just to make sure, just this one last time.

The marks left that night still burn on his skin, hidden where no eyes can see. Jimin scribbles on his notebook while reminding himself this is only a math class, nothing of it has to do with that night.

Around him, the class grows eerily quiet and his head snaps up. After attending the first few classes, he accidentally found his way to one of the very first row. Somehow, after that day, he never moved back.

As he greets them and walks across the small stage, professor Jeon looks just like any other day before. A small smile on his lips, an obscenely obnoxious button down and dark slacks. These latter bear an inconspicuous striped pattern, one Jimin can't help but grimace at. To his dismay, the man looks neat and composed, rather charming in his attire. His hair is slicked back, a carefully styled lock falling to the side so to frame his face.

Snorting, Jimin looks down at the black fitted pants he wears and the white shirt clinging nicely to his torso. He doesn't look so bad himself, for how effortless his appearance seems to be.

Like it matters.

Shaking his head, left hand playing with the cuff of his leather jacket, he notes down something while erasing a certain part with a twist on his lips.

Next time he looks up, it is because the class has fallen yet again into a eerily silence. It is the sort that sends a shiver down Jimin's spine, a dreadful foreboding that has his shoulders slumping and back arching forward some.

The attempt to hide behind the student sitting in front of him—a girt a head shorter than him and far too thin to be of any help—only work up until the fourth time professor Jeon looks for a volunteer.

So far, Jimin has been quite good at making his presence as small as possible. It was bound to happen, eventually. And he can only groan while meeting the man's gaze, figthing a grimace with all his might.

"Yes, young man," the professor confirms, smiling smugly at the pain and regret written all over Jimin's face. "Not writing your name on the tag won't spare you from this, I'm sorry."

Jimin's lips curve in something that's painfully like a grimace rather than a sheepish smile. Something that would much like being a snarl to the man's words.

With an awful timing, just about after Jimin started attending his class, professor Jeon introduced the horrible idea of writing down their names on small tags. At the same time, they were required to say their names before posing or answering to questions. So far, Jimin has been able to keep himself hidden in the crowd, nothing but a nameless and voiceless face.

His luck was meant to run out, eventually.

For a moment, he considers refusing. He could tell him the truth, that he's not supposed to be here.

The man is looking straight at him though, smirk still in place and gaze unbearably intense. The sleeves of his black shirt have been rolled up to his elbows, only high enough to reveal the very edge of his tattoos. Jimin catches himself looking at it, his body moving on its own.

Walking to the blackboard feels an awful lot like a walk of shame, with one too many eyes lured to the back of his head. One pair though manages to burn through his skin, boring through his profile as Jimin takes a piece of chalk.

He tries his best to ignore that man standing only a small distance from him, looking at the long equation he's meant to resolve. It is not an complex one, his brain whirring as a peculiar sort of thrill runs like electricity through his veins. He's got this.

It doesn't take long for Jimin to step back, squinting and checking what he's just wrote at the blackboard.

"Does anyone have any question about this?"

Jimin's head snaps to the side, blinking at the man. The latter isn't looking at him though, gaze skimming over their audience.

Glancing back at the equation he just worked on. And it dawns on him at once, his lips parting and eyes widening some. It is right, correct.

"I'd like to remind everyone that this lesson is dedicated to revising our course's first section," he says, his voice steady but distant for Jimin. "So I ask you to voice any doubt now, before we move onto the next section of our program."

Still, no one speaks up.

"You can go back to your seat…" the man instructs, his voice trailing. He holds Jimin's gaze, waiting.

Biting on his tongue, hand clutching around the chalk he's still holding, "Park Jimin," he fills in, his throat dry.

The man nods, a sly smile flashing on his lips. "You did good, Jimin-ssi."

Jimin's breath catches in his throat, something in the pits of his guts clenching. He nods stiffly, turning and walking away in what he can only hope won't look like running away.

The rest of the class goes by rather smoothly.

Professor Jeon makes a point of asking for doubts or questions, explaining again this or that bit whenever one of his volunteers seems uncertain.

It is when the time is about to run out, only about fifteen minutes left, that Jimin hears his name being called. It is not the first time the professor calls someone twice, but still it leaves him puzzled enough for his head to turn this and that way. Just to make sure.

No one else stands, and he's left to look back at the man confusedly.

Professor Jeon nods his chin to the blackboard, inviting him to it.

Swallowing past the dryness in his throat, Jimin wills himself to walks all the way back to the small stage.

"Are you up for something more challenging?"

Jimin thinks this would be the proper time to tell the man he's a law student, that he knows nothing of numbers and graphics.

The man grins at him knowingly though, and Jimin's pride won't let words move past his lips.

So he holds that challenging gaze while nodding, dark eyes flashing of a dangerous light just before the man turns to write at the blackboard.

Jimin's standing just behind him, watching like a hawk every line and number being traced until the man is standing back and offering him the white chalk.

Despite himself and all his insurmountable pride, Jimin hesitates before reaching out, their fingers brushing as he takes the doomed baton from the man. The latter is still smiling that smug smirk, challenging and teasing at once.

Jimin's jaw clenches, he turns away, ignoring the fast beating of his heart best he can.

Staring back at him, a sheer monstrosity seems to be mocking him. He fights the compelling urge to turn and glare at the man, or maybe forfeit before embarrassing himself. Taking a step forward, he doesn't do any of that but looks at the equation some more.

It is not hard, per sé. The more he looks at it, the more dangerously confident Jimin gets.

The full hour clocks by when he's nearing the end, the classroom growing restless behind him.

"Don't stop," the man instructs him. "Keep going."

Fighting the instinct to turn, Jimin does as he's been told.

"Everyone," Professor Jeon calls firmly. "If you wanna leave do so, but quietly."

His voice stresses on the last word, loud and yet deeper than usually. Jimin feels a shiver running down his spine, and it takes him a moment to focus again. He's so close, and the thrill of resolving a more complex equation makes him high with excitement.

It really only takes him a few more passages to finish, skipping some just to get to the end faster, his mind running and whirring, buzzing excitedly as it works with formulas and calculations.

With a soft breath, Jimin steps back.

It is only then that he turns, not daring to look any longer at the equation.

Behind him—he notices—the classroom has been left almost entirely empty. Only a few students have lingered to the end, scribbling down on their notebooks or notepads.

Jimin only briefly glances at them, his gaze training to the man leaning against the desk. His arms are folded, legs crossed at the ankles.

He's not looking at the blackboard, but staring intently at Jimin. So intensely it leaves him breathless. And although it feels like their gazes are locked for an infinity, it must only be moments until the man's pulling from the desk and stepping closer to the blackboard. He takes off his rimless glasses—wipes them clean with a cloth kept in the back-pocket of his pants—and puts them on again while squinting at Jimin's work.

As the does so, eyes skimming through the lines of simplifications and calculations, an unreadable line curves his lips. It is a smile and a grin and a smile at once, something Jimin is unable to understand the more he looks at him. So, at last—rather dejectedly—he decides to look away and at his work instead.

"Were you in a rush?"

The question surprises Jimin, his lips parting as he turns to face the man.

"Write everything down next time, show me how your brain works, Park Jimin-ssi. I don't like to guess."

Swallowing, nodding stiffly, Jimin mentally curses at himself and at the man standing only a few steps from him.

"May I go now, professor?"

The man looks at him, studying his face intently. For a moment, Jimin expects him to deny such concession. His palms get clammy with sweat, gaze flicking to the rows of desks.

"I'll see you on Thursday, Park Jimin-ssi."

Biting on his tongue, Jimin can only stiffly nod before walking away. Again, he can only pray it doesn't look like he's running away. It's wishful thinking, but all he's got to somehow protect his pride.

-

On Thursday, Jimin curses himself while walking to the mathematics building. He could hardly eat anything in the cafeteria, meeting Chaeyeon's worried glances with a strained smile and a dismissive shake of his head.

Taehyung was harder to deal with, his lingering gazes making Jimin want to shrink in himself. Still Taehyung asked no questions when he ditched the study group with a vague excuse and a pitiful lie.

Eventually, Jimin will have to explain. He just hopes eventually will comes after he was able to understand any of it for himself. As things are, nothing makes sense. Yet Jimin walks into professor Jeon's classroom and to his by now appointed seat in the third row.

They will be introduced to limits today, and Jimin isn't quite looking forward to it. Still, the man's words echo in his ears, and they're all it takes to keep him rooted on his seat, patiently waiting.

The class—despite everything and the quite clear explanation—is nothing short of excruciating for Jimin. Halfway through the first hour, he starts thinking it was a mistake. Regret is quick to creep in him nestling heavily on his chest for the rest of the class.

Professor Jeon doesn't call him as a volunteer, and it is only a small mercy. It hardly makes up for the way their eyes keep meeting, pointedly and intense. Despite his best efforts, Jimin can't avoid such looks for long, falling victim to them more than once like an helpless prey. So dangerous thoughts begin to form in his head the more their eyes meet.

By the time the last minute clocks by, Jimin is positively running out of the class. His head ducked, his strides long, and a promise never to step back in this classroom echoing endlessly in his skull. It is too dangerous, and neither of them can afford such rick.

"Park Jimin-ssi."

Jimin's feet stop, body freezing. His head snaps up, but he doesn't dare looking at the man.

"Could you stay back, please?"

Jimin's shoulders pinch tightly, teeth gritting. He doesn't understands, and yet there's one too many reasons why the man would want to have a word with him. Each one incredibly and unbearably dreadful. He's close to refusing, ignoring the man like he didn't hear him and keep on walking.

His hesitation is far too obvious though, and it's hard to run away when the other students are quick to storm out of the classroom.

Soon, there's only a few more people left besides them.

"I would like to have a word with you," the man adds when—hesitantly—Jimin turns to face him.

Professor Jeon is leaning back against the desk, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles. Today's shirt sports a yellow flower stamp, the first couple buttons undone to brave the late march cold. Overall and to Jimin's dismay, he looks as attractive as any other day. But, for the first long and excruciating moments, he says nothing.

It takes Jimin some time to realize the man is waiting, his dark eyes subtly shifting to the side. Unconsciously, he does the same just to find himself watching at the last students leave. It takes a while, but they're eventually left alone.

The thoughts Jimin's tried so hard to ignore so far all come crashing at him now, flooding his head faster than he can keep up with. He can't see any other reason for the man to act this way, no other but to address the one thing Jimin's been trying so hard to ignore.

Glancing at the hint of tattoos peeking from the folded sleeve, Jimin can't help the way his gaze trails up the man's arm. The image of dark lines is imprinted to his mind, no way to erase any of it. Swallowing, he starts thinking the man might want him to speak first. It is a moot point though, Jimin's brain a shapeless puddle if not for the urging need to get away.

With a sigh, the man pulls from the desk.

Jimin blinks, and has to face that barely a handful of seconds has gone by despite it feeling like much longer.

"I won't take much of your time," the man reassures, moving around the desk and searching for something in his briefcase. "But I need to understand what's going on here."

Jimin swallows dry, his throat clicking.

The man fishes a folder from his briefcase, flipping it over and turning a few pages until he stops on what looks like a list of names. He holds it with one hand while moving to his previous spot leaning against the desk. His free hand fixes his glasses, riding them up his nose as his eyes flick up to Jimin.

"I've seen you attending several of my classes since the semester started, so why don't I see your name in here?"

Of all possible things, Jimin was maybe expecting this the least. He probably shouldn't have, but far more concerning thoughts have started to crowd his brain leaving space for little else.

"Can you tell me why that is?"

The man's head lifts, cocking to the side while he holds Jimin's gaze.

"Are you telling me not to come anymore?" And although he should pray that is the case, Jimin hears himself both defensive and angry as he speaks such words. It surprises him as much as it seems to puzzle the man. It only lasts a moment though, the latter quick to regain his composure.

His head shakes no, falling low some. He takes off his glasses setting them on the desk.

"Not at all, Park Jimin-ssi," he reassures, sounding infuriatingly amused by his guess. "I'm just curious why a law student is attending my classes."

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath. He doesn't ask stupid questions—almost does—but holds the man's gaze instead.

"Do I have to say?"

The man's smirk loses none of his infuriating amusement, his head shaking no. "No," he admits. "You don't, but I'd really like to know."

Jimin works his jaw, letting a heavy silence settle between them as countless thoughts cross in his mind. Still, in the end, he voices none.

"May I go now, professor?"

The whole thing feels rather pointless, and Jimin's quickly succumbing to the need to get away before it's too late.

The man clicks his tongue, setting the folder on his desk, the list of names looking back at Jimin mockingly.

"Have you ever thought about changing major?"

Jimin inhales sharply, holding his breath, features hardening.

"I haven't," he exhales through gritting teeth, eyes narrowing.

The man hums pensively, taking something form the pocket of his black dress pants.

"In case you even change idea," he says, offering a white card to him. "You can feel free to reach out to me," he continues, making a point to lock gazes with Jimin. "I would be more than happy to offer you some counseling about it."

"Why?" Jimin can't help but ask, not realizing he spoke out loud until it is too late.

"Because I've seen you," the man states with no hesitation. "You're good, and you like it."

Jimin's teeth grinding, he glares at the white card being held mid-air.

"You were having fun last time, I could see it in your eyes."

Jimin snorts, looking away, his eyes rolling.

"Whatever you saw, professor," he says, that last word sounding a lot like mocking. "You must've been mistaken."

Jimin doesn't dare linger any longer. He bows, but doesn't take the card as he leaves. And he tells himself the man's words don't matter, no weight to them. He wills himself to forget all about it the moment his feet step past the door, taking him from a world he doesn't belong to.

iii. and i found you there. standing, waiting for me at the end—like you knew i'd come.

i'm well aware of certain things that will befall a man like me

Jimin takes a step back from the blackboard with a smug curve tugging at the corners of his lips, not quite a smile and yet not quite a smirk. Something in between as he turns to Professor Jeon.

The latter's grinning at him, his head tilting to the side. He pulls from the desk he's been leaning against, only casting a quick glance to the blackboard. His eyes find Jimin soon enough, taking the chalk from him wordlessly.

"That is correct," he says just, their fingers brushing.

The touch is light, nothing but water rippling under a dragonfly's flight. Yet goosebumps rise on Jimin's skin.

He steps back, head hanging down coyly as he walks and until he's sitting again at his place in the third row.

After that, the class goes by rather smoothly until its very early end.

One after the other—as they walk past the desk to leave—each student sets a thin bundle of sheets on top of an ever growing pile. Professor Jeon has made a point of assigning them equations or problems to solve. Although they're not mandatory, the grateful smile with which he accepts each assignment seems to be enough of a motivation for the stack of sheets to always be rather thick at the end of his classes. He never grades them, but—from time to time—he will ask for a volunteer to solve one in class.

Chewing on the back of his pencil, absently playing with a fingernail-sized eraser, Jimin sets his mind on standing and leaving. It is a Thursday, and Taehyung must be waiting for him already. Tossing everything in his messenger bag, throwing it on one shoulder and hurrying out of the classroom. Despite his best attempts, it is impossible to avoid the line of students setting their assignments on the desk.

So Jimin can only shy from the man's inquiring gaze as his hands are empty and he's veering away hurriedly. He doesn't look up at the other, dreading whatever he might find in the man's gaze as he feels it linger on his face as they stand only a pace away, divided by the desk.

Jimin walks away, eager to leave for his next class, his steps a bit hurried even when he could take it slow.

"Jimin."

He stops, frozen despite himself. His shoulders pinch up tensely, feature twisting in a quick grimace. Turning, he finds Jeongguk looking back at him already, only a few students quietly setting their assignments on the desk before walking away hurriedly. Only a couple cast a quick glance his way, but it's ever so fleeting.

"Is there something wrong?" Jimin asks when even the last student has left, stepping close to the man even when his body is tense and his skin itching.

Jeongguk holds his gaze, head tilting slightly to the side. "I should be the one asking."

Jimin's teeth grind, he doesn't even try to fake surprise on his face.

"I've been busy, that's all."

Jeongguk hums, straightening the folded sleeves one by one. His long fingers move methodically, something unfairly attractive about it. Jimin's eyes linger on the silver rings he wears, none on his left annular.

"And here I was," the man muses, something self-mocking in his voice that has Jimin flinching and frowning. "Wondering if you'd ever consider taking my subject as a minor, at least."

"Like I said," Jimin begins, swallowing despite the tightness of his throat and ignoring the fluttering in his chest. "I am busy as it is."

Jeongguk's smile as he takes the stack of papers is wry, he isn't looking at Jimin anymore. Slowly, he sets every neatly in his briefcase, only stepping away from the desk once he's done. He then glances up, buckling his watch and buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. It is a chill day outside, and Jimin absently glances at the coat laying on the chair's back.

"Still," Jeongguk muses, leaning back on the desk's shorter side and facing Jimin. "I hope you would consider it."

Jimin looks away, only fleetingly, his lips pursing.

"Whatever I saw that day, it's still there whenever you step back from that blackboard."

Jimin's teeth grind, and he has to work hard for the voice in his head to be silenced. For how tempting, the offer is way far from his reach. Something he gave up on time ago.

"Is that all, professor?"

The last word bears a certain weight, a certain warning. It is something that brings a sharpness to Jeongguk's features, although it is not mean, it does make Jimin wary and even more tense.

"Of course," he concedes though, an unreadable smile on his lips. "I wouldn't want to keep you from your duties any longer."

Jimin nods, bows, and flees.

Stepping out of the classroom allows Jimin to takes a free breath, one that feels light and like taking off a burden. He shakes his head to clear it

Clutching to the strap of his bag, shoulders rolling back until he's standing straight, Jimin makes way to the law department building.

Taehyung greets him with a wry smile, one that seems to hold back many words. Jimin ignores it, taking seat and waiting for the lecture to start.

Everything good? He writes at the corner of his worn-out manual.

Jimin glances at the professor beginning his own lecture, scribbling something half-convincing just under Taehyung's neath calligraphy.

Drinks with the others tonight?

Jimin arches a brow at him, his pencil hovering over the yellowed page. Still he writes after little thinking. Fridays aren't particularly taxing days, and he can afford sleeping in this one time rather than catching up with his studies.

Taehyung grins, sneakily sending a text to their group chat. Jimin's phone flashes with the new notification, he ignores it.

The lecture leaves him drained and positively sleepy. He starts yearning for his bed with aching longing, but Taehyung seems quite adamant against it.

"You're coming with me," he instructs while curling an hand around Jimin's hand and dragging him away.

Taehyung's apartment is only a walking distance from their campus, conveniently so. "Why," Jimin grumbles though, weakly fighting the determined tug taking him further away from his own place.

"Hoseok is crashing at mine these days, so you're coming with me."

Jimin's feet plant on the concrete, a frown on his face. "He's back?"

"You didn't know?"

Jimin shakes his head no, sucking on his bottom lip and raking his mind.

"He texted the group chat on Monday."

Jimin can only let out a small sound as the word sink in, realizing he must've missed it. "That's why we're going out tonight?"

Taehyung grins brightly at him, nodding eagerly.

"He'll be back on tour with some rising new artist next week," he says while dragging Jimin to his place. "Yoongi couldn't make it tomorrow, Seokjin has work on Mondays so Sundays are a no, and Jihyo works on weekends, so…" he trails, missing Jimin's absent nodding. "I can't believe everyone's so busy these days," Taehyung grumbles under his breath, tongue clicking and head shaking.

Jimin doesn't comment on it, his eyes darting to the back of the man's head.

Taehyung's apartment—or rather, the man in it—greet them both loudly and brightly. He swats away the place's owner to wrap his slender arms tightly around Jimin. Tight, like his life depends on it.

"I've missed you," he whines, and Jimin finds his own arm winding around Hoseok's body on their own. His head lowering, body melting in the familiar embrace. "I've missed you too," he confesses, throat tight as he pulls away to look at the man.

Hoseok looks thinner than last time he saw him, his hair cut shorter but smile as gentle and bright as ever. It is the one thing that never changes about him, grounding Jimin and loosening the knot in his throat.

"I need you to tell me everything," he demands while pulling back from the embrace, a grin on his lips and a gleam in his eyes. Kicking off his shoes and following the pair, Jimin makes way to the kitchen, his stomach grumbling.

He hadn't noticed being starving until he sees the food waiting for them on the island. The sight tears a moan from him, tears in his eyes when he looks again at Hoseok. The latter laughs, taking him by one hand and making Jimin sit.

"Let's eat first."

Jimin nods, taking chopsticks in one hand and scooping rice in his bowl until it is heaping.

"Have they been starving you when I was away?"

Jimin blinks up at Hoseok, lower lip jutting out in a pitiful pout. "No one cares for me like you do, hyung," he whines, earning himself a grumble from Taehyung. One he pointedly ignores.

"Eat up, then. I've ordered plenty to fill an army."

"Don't underestimate him, hyung," Taehyung scoffs. "His stomach is bottomless."

Shoving rice in his mouth, Jimin glares at the other. The scowl soon melts off his face though, upset warmed by the sight of Hoseok filling his plate with side dishes and then a bowl with earthy soup.

"Where did you order this from?" Taehyung asks while filling his own plate, chewing on his gyeran mari.

"You know the place," Hoseok muses, slicing yachaejeon clumsily with his chopsticks.

"Just take it all," Jimin comments absently, blindly picking from his own plate.

"The one by the convenience store?" Taehyung inquires, earning himself a hum from the man as he gives up and takes the whole thing to his plate.

"It is good." Jimin tries the clear soup, savoring its earthy broth, its rich combination of flavors pure bliss on his tongue. "It's really good," he moans, eyes closing as the bowl touches to his lips and he drinks straight from it.

"You're so crass."

Taehyung's comment only earns him a grin from Jimin. He brushes away the broth trickling down his chin with the back of his hand, unbothered when the flavorful taste lingers on his taste buds. He can taste the meat and every spice, just as much as the care put into the long and slow simmering.

"Let him be," Hoseok benignly scolds. "Bet he's bee living off of instant noodles this whole time."

"Not my fault he can't even be bothered to order in," Taehyung grumbles, but the glance he casts Jimin's way shows signs of understanding, and he doesn't add more.

"So," Jimin chimes in before silence can settle, bringing adding some kimchi to his rice and stirring it carefully. He ignores Taehyung's judgemental look and glances at Hoseok instead. "How's the tour been?"

"Crazy."

All things considering, even hearing it all for the second time, Jimin must admit Hoseok's last work experience does sound rather crazy.

Sitting at the long table arranged for them, Jimin watches with a smile on his lips as everyone listening to it for the first time reacts. Chaeyeon and Seokjin are maybe the most involved in it, asking questions and laughing loudly. Jimin's arm is absently wrapped around her back, out of sheer habit rather than comfort.

Chaeyeon's body is a warm line pressed to his side, familiar and grounding throughout the night. On his other side, Yoongi seems too focused on the grilling meat to be listening to Hoseok. Yet he comments from time to time, lifting his gaze occasionally. No one doubts he is, indeed, listening.

At some point, everyone gets too busy with eating to be as loud as they were at first, and the attention diverts from Hoseok's finished recounting to smaller chats among themselves. It is the first real chance they've got to meet again after maybe too long and—looking at the table and their serene expressions—Jimin feels his chest tightening. Occasions like this are becoming more and more rare, and yet they stubbornly hold on. He can only hope they won't let go just yet, not before a long time—ideally.

"Have you called your mother?"

Chaeyeon's voice is soft, a whisper only meant for Jimin to hear. He places a slice of meat in her plate, not too greasy and perfectly tender.

She takes it with a smile, but her gaze seems to be still waiting.

"I haven't had the chance to," he tells her, looking away to bring some more meat to his own plate.

Yoongi makes a point of adding a few more slices, the look in his eyes needing little words.

Jimin grimaces, but something about it is thankful.

"Jimin," she stresses, concern so clear in her voice he can't blame her for it. "She's been very worried about you lately."

Jimin hums, taking a perfectly cut piece of meat to his lips. It fits just nicely in his mouth, tender and crispy and slightly smokey. "Let's talk about it later."

His words leave no room for arguing, but her body tenses and she scoots slightly away from him.

His arm falls from her waist, her body twisting so that she can entertain a small conversation with Jihyo sitting across from her on the left.

"You okay?"

Jimin nods at Yoongi without turning to him, watching as the man fills both their glasses. "You should've let me fill your drink," he complains, earning himself as dismissive snort.

"Next round, then."

Smiling weakly at the concession, Jimin tilts his glass in a small toast, looking at Yoongi before downing it. Soju is bitter and warm down his throat, unpleasant and yet familiar enough not to be a bother. Watching the empty bottles and everyone sitting at the table, Jimin thinks many things must be this way. Not quite pleasant and enjoyable, but too ingrained in their lives to be given up on.

Holding true to Yoongi's instructions, he pours him their next drink and the couple more that follow. Taehyung glances at them with a grin, and it is Seokjin that calls for more bottles to be brought at their table. All the food is gone, and yet they stay drinking and talking way past midnight. If they could, Jimin believes they'd stay forever.

-

"Didn't you quit?"

Namjoon's eyes flick up, his head still lowered, the smoke held between his lips kept close to a quivering flame. He cups it with one hand, grinning around the cigarette, biting down on it as it lights at one end.

Pocketing the lighter, taking an indulging drag, he looks up at the dark sky.

Jimin walks to him, stopping next to the man in silence. It isn't uncomfortable, a familiar one that sets with ease over the two.

"I did," Namjoon tells him as he breathes out a dissipating cloud of smoke, smiling a dimpled smile that makes his features softer, adding a certain charm to him. It is only partially true, Namjoon's always had a certain something about him that demanded attention, calling for everyone's gaze in a room. Two years have hardly changed that about him, if not for the way Namjoon seems to have grown into his skin. Looking at him, Jimin isn't sure whether that's a good thing. Only time will tell.

"Aren't you gonna quit again?" he asks, nodding to the smoke held between his fingers.

Namjoon looks down at it as well, a bitter smirk tugging at one corner of his lips. "Not any time soon, it seems."

Jimin snorts, watches quietly as he brings the smoke back to his lips for another long drag.

"Does Namwon know?"

Namjoon's hand freezes mid-air, his eyes darting to him. "She's been too busy with her team to notice."

Jimin chuckles, head shaking and one hair ruffling his hair. "Don't make her worry, take care of yourself."

Namjoon smirks, and Jimin can't not think back to his sunken cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes when they first meet nearly two months back. His cheeks have filled and rounded some by now, but restless nights still show on his face.

"What is it? When did you become my mom?"

"Since yours kicked you out," Jimin retorts, nudging him playifully.

"Asshole."

Jimin grins, the words washing over him like lukewarm water.

"I mean it, hyung," he presses, his voice softer in the night. "Take care of yourself now that you're back."

Namjoon grins, a curve that hardly reaches his eyes. "Don't worry, I already got Seokjin hyung on my case."

Although he's half-joking, the words do bring some sense of comfort to Jimin, just enough for him to drop the topic.

"What about you though?" Namjoon muses while stomping on the filter of his smoke. One hand dives in his bomber, and Jimin wonders if he'll see him light another cigarette. "Is everything okay with you?"

The words take him by surprise, head snapping up an a frown drawing his brows down. "Why do you ask?"

"It was her death's anniversary just last month, wasn't it?"

Jimin's lips twist, that's almost two months ago, now. "Did Taehyung tell you?"

Namjoon snorts, fishing out his heavy smoke's packet. "We met just the day after, do you think we forgot?"

Jimin shrugs, he didn't really think.

"Whatever," Namjoon mutters under his breath. "You do know we're here for you, don't you?"

Jimin rolls his eyes, snatches the lit cigarette from the man's hand and looks at him with a mildly teasing light in his eyes. "Who's the nagging mother now?"

Namjoon snorts, takes back his smoke and brings it to his lips leisurely. "Still you," he says after a gray cloud lifts in the air. "Although Seokjin is running for the spot."

Jimin's jaw juts to the side, his eyes lifting to the dark and clouded sky. "Let him, he's a far better candidate than me."

Namjoon doesn't comment on it, not before another long drag and slow exhale. "But he's not as rich as you."

Jimin grins, mischievous and complicit.

Some paces away from where they stand, the restaurant's door opens and the bell rings cheerfully. "You guys come back inside."

Only Seokjin's head peeks from the entrance, his nose and cheeks and ears blooming a bright red. "We're settling the bill."

"Isn't Hoseok paying?" Jimin asks cheerfully, grinning at the man.

Seokjin's brows furrow, some thoughts crossing his mind before the door closes again with a soundly thud.

"I believe he's just realized that's a possibility," Namjoon muses from behind, voice lacing with amusement.

"Do you wanna go in?" Jimin offers, glancing between the door and the man.

Namjoon lifts the hand holding his half burnt cigarette and waves it in the air. "I think I'll finish this first."

Jimin nods, casting another glance to the entrance.

"Won't you go?"

He shrugs, finding himself rather enjoying the late night chill. "I think I'll keep an old friend company."

Namjoon huffs out a laugh, fishing something from his pocket. "Here," he says while handing Jimin a lollipop. "So it feels less awkward."

Jimin takes the candy, eyeing it curiously, not sure what about it is supposed to make the whole thing less awkward. Still, the green apple flavor is sour and sweet on his tongue, and he's not quite willing to give up on it for the sake of questioning.

Some few paces back, the bell chimes cheerfully again. "Guy, great news!"

Seokjin's voice is just as cheerful as it carries in the cold night. Both men turn to him, waiting.

Jimin's head tilts, the candy coming out of his mouth with a loud 'pop'.

"Hoseok is covering the bill!"

Jimin grins, crossing the distance to the entrance. "Of course he is."

Turning around as Seokjin goes back inside, he waits for Namjoon to catch up with him. With a sigh, the man steps on his cigarette and reaches him. "Do you think they'll go for round two?"

Jimin shrugs, chewing on the camdy, his head shaking bemusedly as they walk past the entrance. "We still got classes tomorrow."

Despite his words, first thing he sees upon walking to their table is Chaeyeon and Taehyung trying to coax everyone else out of their responsibilities.

"Oppa!"

He cry is so high pitches Jimin grimaces, silently thanking the heavens the restaurant is mostly empty. She rushes to him, nimble arms wrapping around Jimin's waist as her neck cranes back so that their eyes meet. "Let's go for round two," she pleads, her voice the right amount of whiny and pitiful.

Jimin snorts, one hand patting her silky golden locks. "We can't."

She pouts, but his hands are already unwinding her arms from around his waist, turning her around and holding her close. "I think it's time we leave."

An upset murmur lifts from the table, Taehyung the loudest of them all. Hoseok sits in eerie quiet, gazing in the void. Yoongi sips on a pint of beer, seemingly unbothered by the clamor.

"But oppa," Chaeyeon chimes in from next to him, looking up through her long eyelashes. "I don't have classes tomorrow, and I wanna keep on drinking."

Sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose, Jimin finds Seokjin looking at him expectantly. "We can take care of her, you go."

Chaeyeon yelps happily at his words, sneaking from under Jimin's arm and hugging Seokjin's side coyly instead.

"C'mon." Namjoon is walking up to him again, chin nodding to the exit. "I'll give you a lift home."

That is how, with few more words Jimin finds his way back home. Somehow—he's not sure how—he gets in and out of his shower before passing out on his bed, deep asleep until the alarm startles him awake. The new begins starts with a pounding headache and nausea twisting his guts and stomach.

-

Against all odds, and what any respectable counselor would advise, Friday night sees Jimin sitting at the bar counter and nurturing a long since familiar drink in his half empty glass.

Taemin looks at him warily, but still complies whenever Jimin shakes his empty glass for a refill. "I won't bring flower to your deathbed," he muses at some point, eyes rolling at Jimin's smug smile.

"Bring me some of this and we'll be good."

Taemin huffs out a sharp and short-lived sort of laugh, but doesn't argue with it.

It is when Jimin's about to fill another glass that someone sits next to him at the counter. The nice little perk of this place is it being fairly unknown, just an hole steeped away in the city's periphery. Yet—somehow—it found itself harboring a pair of regulars. Besides them, few others frequent the place, just few enough for it to always be quiet and mostly empty. So, it would be rather hard not to notice the man sitting next to him and asking for a drink. The same one he's been sipping on.

The voice is familiar, and yet Jimin is reluctant to turn and acknowledge his presence. The last words they've exchanged are still fresh in his mind, that hopeful flutter still eager to take flight in his chest. Playing absently with his glass, Jimin thinks he's not drunk enough for this. Then again, he's not sure this is what he came looking for tonight. It never was to begin with, if he were to be honest with himself.

His mind is in a haze though, a gloomy fog so thick he can barely shake free from it. And thoughts, voices and faraway memories haunt him through it. Maybe it was a lie, maybe Jimin came here looking that same sort of distraction tonight, remembering how light it made his chest feel.

Still, sipping on his drink and ignoring the eyes casting on his from time to time, Jimin lets some time go by without speaking a word. Then, when his glass is empty and the man offers him more through Taemin, Jimin's shoulders pinch tight. One hand lifts in the air, stopping the bartender from complying with the man's request.

"I have a girlfriend," he informs, unprompted, before either can greet the other. His hand then lowers, signaling Taemin to pour and fill his glass. The liquid ripples and sloshes as he brings it to his lips, taking an indulgently long sip until his throat burns and eyes prickle at the corner. It is not something meant to down like water, but Jimin can't remember caring about such finesses ever before. "That time," he adds, still feeling the nutty taste cloying his mouth thickly. "It was a mistake."

He's still not looking at the man, as if one look might be too dangerous and he's not strong enough. Maybe he isn't. Jimin isn't sure he wants to risk it.

"Which one?"

Jimin visibly tenses at the words, the fingers absently playing with the glass's rim freezing. It is only a moment, the blink of his eyes and stuttering of his heart. His digit runs over the rim once again like it never stopped. His head tuns, crooked to the side as he glances at the other.

"So that was you back then too?"

Jeongguk doesn't answer, stares at his profile when Jimin sits straight and takes another sip from his drink. A moment of quiet goes by after the glass is set on the worn-ot counter, eerie and heavy.

Jimin bodily fights the urge to look back at the man, to meet those eyes and be lost in them. He should've guessed so much, and maybe some deep part of him had, but ignored it.

"Do you love her?" It is a whisper, but firm and grave. He means it, waiting for the answer like everything depends on it.

It should.

Jimin snorts, head shaking and glancing at the man at last. He holds his gaze, and it's hard not to get lost in it, not to forget all the reasons why it is wrong and dangerous to give in to the siren song whispering to his ears.

"What?" he scoffs, gruff and sharp, biting. "Are you gonna ask me to leave her for you, teach?"

Something in Jeongguk's features hardens, he holds Jimin's gaze. Bold and unyielding.

"Yes."

Jimin's lips twist.

"Didn't think there were still adults this naive around." Still sharp, still the snarl of a cornered beast. Jimin can't take it back, he's not sure he wants to.

Jeongguk doesn't comment, buys both another drink with a flick of his hand, setting several bills on the counter.

"I'm not getting drunk tonight," Jimin warns, yet he takes the glass and plays absently with it.

"Good." The man's voice steady, low and charming in way it shouldn't be. "Neither am I."

Jimin's jaw clenches, hand bringing the drink to his lips sharply.

"Then what do you want, teach?" Again, it is sharp, maybe even sharper than before. The glass sets on the counter loudly, some of its content sloshing and wetting Jimin's fingers.

"Just sharing a drink." When he speaks those words it sounds so easy. Like there's no danger to them.

Jimin's lips twist, he stands. The stool screeches as it grates on the floor, his body moving like he's a doll, disconnected and tense.

It is with little surprise that he hears the man stepping after him, his paces long and confident across the floor.

Jimin ignores him, exiting the bar and only stopping when the night's cold air hits his face. He sucks in a sharp breath then, eyes watering and cheeks flushing a shade brighter. His mind begins to clear, and he considers walking all the way back to his apartment. He's not sure he would know the way, not get lost. Yet the prospect isn't quite harrowing, but rather tempting when everything screams at him to get away. Where to seems to be of little importance. So Jimin heads down the street, in what he can only hope is the right way back home.

Behind him, steady steps fall without fail. He doesn't catch up with him, not at first against Jimin's expectations. For a while, the man keeps a certain distance away, only following after his steps. Somehow, it is at the same time uncomfortable and reassuring, and Jimin has no idea what to make of it.

He's not sure after how long his own feet stop, falling heavy like led on the sidewalk. He waits, one breath and then another.

"How long will you follow me still?" His voice carries as cold as the night air, melding into it like they're one, hitting the man as sharply, cutting Jimin's tongue on its way out. Simple words, too much hiding within them.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Yes.

"Whatever," he grumbles instead, head turning to cast a shallow look on the man. He stands tall and broad, his shoulder lined by a warm-looking coat and leater boots at his feet. Something about him—dressed so dark in the night and standing so tall—is weirdly grounding rather than unsettling. Jimin's head shakes, his shoulders falling some as they lose bits of their tension. "But don't act like a creep, if you must."

The man chuckles, but he listens well to him, crossing with ease the distance between them until they're standing side to side. Jimin pointedly ignores the difference of their heights, not new but still striking as they stand so close and his mind is clear, for once.

"Where to, my chaperon?"

Jimin arches a brow at him, glancing at the man like he's the most surreal existence in this world. The man meets his gaze, firm and serious, not even a bemused smile on his lips, if not for the light in his eyes betraying him.

Sighing, huffing, Jimin shakes his head some.

"And if I told you I was headed home?"

"I would follow."

Jimin's throat clicks, Adam's apple bobbing. He dares entertain the thought, and what would follow. He doesn't need imagination to guess, he knows all too well what would happen then.

Next to him, the man snorts. He takes one of Jimin's reddened hands in his one, shoving it in the pocket of his coat instead.

Jimin's head snaps around, but he can only glare at the man's sharp profile as the other begins to walk down the road, unbothered.

"There's a nice park around here," he informs eventually, his pace slow and leisurely.

Jimin hates to admit it, but it's nice. The lazy walking, the heat of an hand holding his own, the cold night all around and no one else but them, his mind empty but for thoughts of the man. Hazy, a vortex taking him to unexplored places.

"How do you know about it?" Jimin inquires, only half expecting an answer from the man. The other shrugs, a sly smile curving his lips.

Jimin's eyes roll, but he doesn't push it.

Countless questions fill his head as they walk in silence, but he doesn't dare voicing any. Each feels more dangerous than the other, opening gates to dreadful places and vulnerable truths. Jimin veers from either, yet the silence looms over him. It is not quite uncomfortable, but he keeps feeling like something should be said or done.

"Tell me something, teach," he muses absently, head turning and lifting some to glance at the man. "How long have you been teaching?"

The other doesn't answer, doesn't even meet Jimin's gaze. They keep on walking, keeping quiet long enough that Jimin starts thinking he will get no answer. Growing uncomfortable with being so balatantly ignored, he tries to tug his hand free. The hold on him tightens though, large and trong fingers curling around him in a firm vise.

"For a while," the man shares vaguely, looking ahead.

Jimin huffs, eyes rolling. "Have you always wanted to do this?"

Somehow, it is these casual words spoken to fill in the silence that tear a real reaction from the man. The latter stops, forcing both to an abrupt halt. He turns, looking down at him inently. "Why do you ask?" he inquires.

Jimin averts his gaze, shrugging dismissively. "Just curious," he mutters, daring a quick glance at the man. The other is wearing a wry smile, one he can't quite read but that leaves Jimin rather puzzled.

"Yes," the other confesses at some point, resuming his leisurely walking. "I've always wanted to teach math."

Jimin sucks on his bottom lip, nibbling on the flesh as he frowns. "Never had doubts or changed your mind about it?"

A long pause, the hand holding his squeezing and then relaxing, thumb running absent arches onto the dry skin. It sends shivers down Jimin's spine, his chest and stomach hosting a flock of fluttering wings he struggles to ignore.

"Maybe I did," the man considers, sounding lost in his thoughts. "But I can't recall a time when those doubts mattered."

Jimin snorts, something in those words sitting weirdly with him.

"What?" the man pries, his tone lighter, almost bemused. "You don't believe me?"

Jimin shrugs, a knot in his throat loosening. "Maybe I don't," he teases, grinning at the man just for the sake of it.

The man scoffs, but he's smiling and Jimin thinks he looks breathtaking—despite all reasons why he shouldn't. And he has to look away.

For a while, they keep walking.

Jimin is helpless to the silence falling over them, heavy and suffocating. In the distance, he catches a glimpse of a park's entrance. The fence is lit up by streetlamps, and an eerie glow casts on the trees standing tall behind it.

"Tell me about you," Jimin impatiently demands then, if only to fill in the unbearable silence. He leans forward, twisting and bending to glance at the man's face. It is a miracle he doesn't stumble on his own feet, a small mercy cast upon his reckless nature.

The man arches a brow, but doesn't conceal the tug curling his lips upward. "Why?"

Jimin shrugs, tries to step ahead of him but is stopped by the firm grip on his hand. He doesn't fight it, falling back into a matching and slow pace with the man instead.

"You're the one who insisted on tagging along, it's the least you can do." Only belatedly it occurs to Jimin that the man's insistence might've been out of worry for a drunk student on the streets at night, rather than for Jimin. He quickly shrugs off the thought, ignoring with commendable ease.

The man snorts, and it is a gruff yet charming laugh, somehow.

He doesn't argue with Jimin's nonsensical reasoning, guiding the both of them through the park's entrance.

Against his expectations, the place that welcomes them isn't gloomy. A few short lamplight light the way, their glow soft and steady, casting a moonlight-like hue on their faces as they walk. The sky is mostly covered by the tall trees, but it doesn't feel suffocating. There's no one else around, not anyone he can see, and yet Jimin feels at ease as his hand is firmly held into a larger one.

"I like comics," the man shares after a while, and Jimin had almost forgotten his own question. His head snaps around, eyes blinking at the man's profile as their pace slows down by some. "Any kind, from any place," he adds, not looking back at Jimin but straight ahead, a soft smile on his lips. "I've been collecting them since I was a teen."

Unconsciously, Jimin tries to make the math, his eyes widening some when he thinks about how many years that must be.

The man notices his surprise, somehow. "I'm not that old."

Jimin snorts, a grin lingering on his lips. "As long as it makes you feel better."

"That's mean," he accuses, but there's no heat in his voice and he only casts a quick sided-glance his way.

"I've never said I'm good." The words are a bit too serious, too grave for the lighthearted tone of their conversation, but there's no taking it back once they are out in the cold night.

"No, you didn't."

Jimin's tongue clicks, he quickens his pace like he knows where they're headed. Nowhere, that's where. The park is quiet all around and they're but aimless specks of dust blown by the wind. Even so, regardless of it, the other follows along, indulging him like it's the most natural thing he could do.

"What else?" It is sharp, with a certain urgency latching to it. Jimin thinks he might need to hear more, so that there's nothing but the man's low and steady voice filling his head—no space for any thought at all.

The man seems to think about it some, then, "I like to cook," he muses, half absorbed in his thoughts. "Learned as a student out of necessity."

"Is that so?" Jimin inquires, a teasing lilt to his words, head tilting to the side as he glances at the man's profile.

Unexpectedly, the other turns to meet his gaze, if only ever so fleetingly. He hums while looking ahead again, taking charge of their route. "And I'm quite good, if I so say myself."

Jimin bites on his tongue to stay silent, not to embarrass himself with the words itching to come alive past his lips.

"What else?" he asks instead, casting away any other thought while doing so.

"I have a younger brother," the man indulges, not asking questions, not arguing with Jimin's nagging, but keeping the steady flow of his voice going with every request for more. "We once fought so bad it gave me a scar, right here." He taps on his cheek while saying those last words, their stroll coming to a short stop.

Unconsciously, Jimin leans in to see, squinting. The motion brings their faces close, so close they're only inches away. And it feels too late already when he comes to his senses and pulls back awkwardly.

"What else?" he rasps, desperately trying to ignore the embarrassment painting his cheeks a bright shade of pink. And he's thankful to the shadows all around, for they hide his rosy cheeks and the fleeting regret lingering in his eyes.

"I used to own a dog." Jimin glances at him, tries to picture what sort of dog would best suit a man like him, but can't think of any. "He's been staying with my brother since I've moved to the city."

Some sadness can be heard in his voice, telling more than his words do, and Jimin knows the other never wanted to give up on that company.

"What else?" This time, he asks to shake away the sadness from the man's smile, for it suffocates him at the sight, chest heavy and uncomfortable.

When an answer comes, Jimin asks again and again. Hungry and greedy for more, for as much as he can pry from the man's lips. His voice is ever so steady and low, grounding to some extent, even when it betrays all of the man's emotions. Jimin thinks he might not be trying to hide them to begin with, and is surprised by the novelty of it.

As he asks again and again, Jimin is well aware it might be inappropriate to keep going and keep demanding. It is crossing one too many lines, erasing whatever last standing border they had left untouched. But he is hungry and greedy, and the other never hesitates much before indulging his demands. So, "What else?" he asks again, the words almost meaningless to his ears by how often he's voiced them by now.

"I almost got married, once."

Jimin stops, stunned.

He doesn't speak, a lump in his throat, eyes wide and unblinking when they find the man's, his lips gaping. Countless questions storming his head, none spoken.

The other scrapes the back of his nape, rubs at his chin with his free hand.

"What happened?" Jimin croaks, managing to speak at last for he fears he might never know if he's not brave enough to ask now.

The man shrugs, dismissive. He looks away.

And they stand motionless on a badly lit path in a desert park, late at night.

"It wasn't right," he considers after some while, and his voice carries steadily, like it is easy to say it. Jimin doesn't think he understands that sort of feeling, that level of acceptance of a love going awry. "We both knew long before, but were too stubborn to stop in time." A pause, then, "Do you know what I mean?"

"No," Jimin claims, avoiding the gaze looking for his own. His answer hesitant, and it's clear to both it was a lie. Neither bothers exposing the truth.

"What else?" he rasps shortly after, looking away while trying to walk from the man but held back by the hand holding his own. He's forced to turn, his arm tense, his eyes wide and questioning. And—unbeknownst to him—Jimin holds his breath as their eyes meet at last. Something he sees there takes over him, and he's lost.

"I want you to call me by name." It is not an answer to his question, it is far from anything he would've ever expected. It feels unfair and cruel, like he's cheating in a game of Jimin's creation.

His throat dries as he hears those words, meaningless and weightless as they jumble around in his head. "Why," Jimin breathes, voice disembodied. It hardly sounds like his own, barely loud enough to be heard. He should've denied that request right away, yet somehow—for whatever reason—Jimin couldn't bring himself to.

Wetting his lips, the man closes the distance between them, not stopping until they're standing face to face, barely inches apart.

One large hand reaches up to cup Jimin's face.

Its touch is cold, soft and rough at once. It sends shivers down his spine yet he doesn't pull away, looking up at the man like he's spellbound by their proximity.

"Do it."

Nothing but words breathed on his face, fanning warmly and gently on his flushed cheeks and parted lips. It is a siren's song, a lure for him to jump into bottomless depths.

Jimin swallows, he tries to recall why he shouldn't cross this one more line when they're so close already. There must be a reasonable motivation, but he can't seem to recall what it was.

The man's thumb brushes slow caresses across the arch of his cheek, soft and rough at once. It is a touch he recognizes, one that he's oddly familiar with. One that brings back a desire buried deep within him.

"Say my name, Jimin."

Swallowing, wetting his lips but still feeling his mouth dry, Jimin complies. And he is but a sailor chasing after vain pleasure. A promise written in the wind blowing past them, scattering with his soft exhale.

The man hums, his eyelids fluttering as he savors the sound of it. "Again," he demands, firm yet painfully gentle, holding all of Jimin in the palm of his hand and yet begging for something so insignificantly easy to grant.

Jimin has forgotten all reasons why he held back before, whatever distance he strenuously wanted to protect.

"Jeongguk," he utters softly, the name weird on his tongue, awkward in its novelty.

The man looks pleased though, satiated and content upon hearing his own name spoken in the crips night.

A sincere smile draws on his lips as he pulls away.

"My mother was the one to chase after my father," he confesses, voice lower than before like it's a secret that he's sharing. For no one to hear but Jimin. "They were both students, and she was a couple years older than him."

Jimin blinks, they're walking again down the path, like nothing ever happened. A blink of his eyes, the name still lingering on his lips. They're walking again, and yet he struggles to settle back in his body, his mind hazy for a moment still.

"She always sounds so proud when she recounts it," he continues, a fond smile lingering on his lips as he talks. "I never understood why."

Jimin doesn't dare ask if he does now, struggling to match his pace.

"Ask me," he prompts, a demand. Strained and yet firm.

The man—Jeongguk, Jeongguk—glances at him with that sly smile on his lips, like he knows something Jimin doesn't and he won't tell. Still, he indulges him and complies.

"Tell me something about you, Jimin."

His name, like honey on those lips.

Jimin looks away, frowning, biting on his tongue until he can feel iron cloying his mouth.

"I have a younger brother, but he loves to look after me."

"What else?"

"I love cats, but their hair will make me sneeze and my skin itch days after coming near one." Some level of regret lingers in his voice, and he can't help but wonder what Jeongguk must be thinking of him now.

"What else?" His tone is steady, firm, but his hand squeezes Jimin's as he poses that same question over and over again.

"I wanted to take your offer, that first time you proposed." The confession is spoken in a breath, so low it's almost inaudible. There's no doubt in Jimin that it is heard though, and all he can do is wait, holding his breath.

Jeongguk could ask why he didn't, he could press and make him say more. He could coax him, do so much damage with so little effort now that Jimin showed him a weak spot, an open wound to be pried open and prodded at.

"What else?" he asks though, and Jimin feels something in his chest melt, a warm and cosy something nuzzling on top of his heart. His tension crumbles to bits, washing away, and he's smiling without even noticing.

"I used to love comics as a kid," he reveals, a small grin on his lips as he sees a light gleam in Jeongguk's eyes, curiosity and interest having their gazes meet fleetingly. "I was made to stop," he shrugs, like he doesn't resent that, like it's no big deal.

And maybe it was a test, because his chest grows lighter when Jeogguk asks, "What else?"

"I was never good at drawing, but my grandmother framed each and every masterpiece of mine." Jimin chuckles softly, a pang of dull pain hitting him as nostalgia threatens to overcome him.

"What else?"

He shakes his head, looks around and then at Jeongguk as they still leisurely walk down the maze of paths through the park.

"I loath mangoes, but everyone keeps telling me I just didn't taste the right one," he huffs, not bothering to hide his frustration.

Jeongguk chuckles, and Jimin believes the man would tell him the same. His eyes roll and he stomps ahead a bit faster, but their hands are still locked, nowhere to go but next to the man.

"What else?"

Slow, indulging.

"I like the snow here," he confesses, words blurting out of his mouth with surprising ease. "But I miss the beach back home like I never thought I would."

The crashing waves, the salt sticking to his skin, the sand getting everywhere and anywhere. Jimin finds himself missing it all the longer he stays away. But every one of those memories is too thickly interlaced with what he desperately ran from upon leaving, and he's too much of a coward to go back and test his fears.

Something tells Jimin he'd still see her face in every grain of sand, and hear her laugh in every crashing wave, and smell her scent in the air early in the morning and late at night.

So he doesn't go back, and doesn't let himself think about home too often or for too long.

"What else?"

Jimin blinks, head shaking some. He breathes in, mind blank for a moment. Then his eyes catch a convenience store, standing across the street just outside the park's exit. He absently thinks about how much they've walked, but can't really bring himself to care about his sore feet or the approaching dawn.

"I'm hungry," he claims, his voice light and laced with something silvery. He doesn't wait for the man's reaction to his words, using the firm lock of their hands to drag Jeongguk along best he can.

The man follows without complaining, ever so indulging. It is only once they're crossing the street that Jimin turns to see him grinning. It is only then that Jeongguk quickens his pace with a playful wink, grinning victorious when he's the first to step inside the small store, tugging Jimin along.

They buy ice cream, a can of soda each and an obscene amount of snacks.

Jeongguk insists to pay, and Jimin shoves him away from the cash and swipes his card faster than the man can stop him.

Jeongguk glares at him, but Jimin's grinning wide and brightly, taking his hand again and tugging him along until they're outside. The night is still as cold, but Jimin basks in it as he stops to look up at the other.

"Oh, don't sulk," he teases, biting on his lips to hide the grin best he can. "It was the least I could do to pay back my brave chaperon."

Jeongguk snorts, tongue pushing to his cheek. Wind blows past them, his long coat swaying, hair ruffling.

Jimin looks at him in a daze, unable to look away. It takes him some effort to fall back into himself, head shaking and eyes casting to the bag instead. He fishes out something from it, offering it to the man. "Here, for you," he coaxes, smiling widely and innocently at the other. "Low sugars, and adult flavor for the old man."

Jeongguk arches a brow at him, but takes the lemon icicle without commenting on it, a dubious twist on his lips as he unwraps it.

Jimin snickers, but unwraps a strawberry one for himself, popping it in his mouth with a content hum.

"I'm really not that old," Jeongguk grumbles, words half suffocated by the icicle in his mouth.

Jimin smiles wide, and he doesn't think much of it while shoving his free hand in the pocket of Jeongguk's coat. It his warm and cozy, and he might've grown a tad bit spoiled overnight. Too used to the warmth to give up on it just yet.

"You are, teach," he teases, a youthful grin on his lips. "It's part of your charm." Careless words leave his mouth as he sucks on his sweet treat, walking down the road with Jeongguk like they've been doing for a while now. Somehow, he still hasn't grown tired of it.

"Charm?" the man echoes, slowing down, forcing Jimin to look at him curiously. "Do you mayhaps find me attractive, Park Jimin-ssi?"

Jimin's pace stutters, for how slow it was, feet stumbling on thin air. His lips gape, the icicle melting in his hand. It takes him a moment to look away, but it feels much like an eternity, a rather embarrassing one.

"I have eyes too, you know," he grumbles, nibbling on the icicle, what little is left of it at this point. He's sucked and licked on most of it already, his lips sticky with strawberry syrup and his tongue numbed by the cold.

Next to him, Jeongguk chuckles. It is low and short-lived, doing something to the restless flock in Jimin's stomach.

"Maybe I wanted to hear it from you."

Jimin's eyes roll, he chews on the wood stick to keep his mouth busy. It is discarded by the time they walk past the closest trashcan, and it is only then that he notices Jeongguk's absently chewing on his own wooden stick too.

The line of his jaw, the muscles moving underneath his skin, the thick arch of his brows, everything in what he sees takes Jimin's breath away. He's staring before he can catch himself doing so, calling for Jeongguk's curious and knowing gaze recklessly. It is ever so fleeting, they're still leisurely walking after all.

Jimin is the first to look away.

He takes his hand out of Jeongguk's pocket with some struggle, shoving all the many little packages in the pockets of his own bomber until they feel much like the cheeks of a squirrel. Jeongguk watches him quietly, snatching away a packet of gummies and popping a few in his mouth.

Jimin says nothing, moving his whole bounty to the left side while his right hand finds home in the man's warm pocket.

"If you wanted to accept my offer and do more," Jeongguk casually speaks. After a while, they've reached closer to the busier side of the city, more lights casting colorful glows on them. "Why didn't you?"

Jimin's first instinct is to dismissively shrug, and he does. But words itch on his tongue, pressing at the seam of his teeth to be left out. "I can't let it take time from my studies."

Jeongguk hums, like he understands.

Jimin is close to wishing he did, dangerously close to telling him everything. For some reason, the thought is temping enough for his lips to part and close a few times.

"What if it doesn't have to?"

Jimin frowns, looking up at Jeongguk. The man's eyes are waiting for him, and they've stopped walking. "I can barely keep up with your assignments, any more…" he trails, nibbling on his bottom lip. He doesn't mention how it's Thursday assignment he has no time to submit, for the weekend is his only free time in the entire week, somewhat.

Jeongguk's tongue clicks, Jimin wonders if he's noticed on his own. Thinking of it makes him feel weird, so he stops. His free hand steals the packet of gummies from the man, picking a few absently.

"What if we met outside of classes, when you have time for it?"

Jimin's jaw works, pensive as he chews on the candies. "Why would you do that?"

Jeongguk shrugs, taking the last gummy from the packet. He takes his time to chew on it, leisurely like their stroll through the night. Jimin bumps into him, a frown growing deeper on his face.

The man chuckles an unreadable smile lingering on his lips even as he speaks. "Because I want to."

"That's not an answer," Jimin mutters, struggling to one-handedly open another small bag of candies. It will most probably give him an ache in a few hours, but he doesn't bother with it now. "I want the real reason."

Jeongguk grins, takes a handful of gummies and throws one in his mouth. His head throws back, the line of his neck arching attractively under the bright insignia light.

"I told you that time," he reminds casually, only glancing at Jimin as they walk down the now busier streets. They're still far from the campus ground and where both probably live, no one paying much attention to them. "It looked like you were having fun."

Jimin has to look away again, head shaking as he glances at the people walking past them. Most are drunk, bodies swaying and steps uncertain, most wear wide grins on their faces.

"I can do Saturdays."

Jeongguk's hand around his twitches, his pace slowing down until both are stopping. "So you're agreeing?"

Ignoring the excitement layered thickly in his voice, Jimin rolls his eyes and looks at him. "On Saturdays, and I can't guardantee I'll submit your assignments."

Jeongguk's grin widens, his eyes creasing at the corners. His hair isn't slicked back or neatly styled as usual, and there's something undeniably youthful about him. Sincere and attractive and beautiful.

Jimin struggles to look away.

"So we start tomorrow?"

Jimin was just trying to walk away from where they stopped, but his feet stumble and his head snaps to the man, eyes wide. "Tomorrow?"

"It's Saturday, isn't it?"

Technically, it is already Saturday. Jimin doesn't find reason in pointing it out, hesitantly nodding while nibbling on his bottom lip and glancing away.

"Is the afternoon good?"

Jeongguk hums, the hold on his hand tightening, forcing Jimin to fall back in a matching pace with him.

"Teach?" Jimin's voice is hesitant when he calls for him, posing a question in the quiet and comfortable silence that settled over them.

Jeongguk hums again, sounding a bit absent and yet making a point to let Jimin know he's listening.

Taking a deep breath, his right hand uncomfortably clammy with sweat, he makes up his mind to speak. "No one can know."

It is mandatory, no room for arguing. It is the only thing Jimin can't afford. Somehow, not even for a moment it crosses his mind to specify what he means by that.

Jeongguk snorts, and Jimin feels flames of irritation sparking in him. Burning hot enough for his nervousness to become ashes and for him to glare at the man.

"What?" Jeongguk asks, a smirk on his lips that is teasing and mocking but not quite mean. "That we slept together?"

Jimin's brain freezes, hands reacting on their own. He sneaks free from the man's hold, throwing a retaliating candy his way, regretfully. It would've been better off in his mouth than on the ground, he considers.

Jeongguk laughs though, and he looks young and he looks beautiful while basking in the streetlight glow.

Jimin forgets all about his irritation and his fears, looking at him like he has been doing many times through the night. Awestruck, and inadmissibly enamored.

"Not that," he hisses, throwing another candy at him for good measure.

Jeongguk is still grinning, and Jimin feels hot in his cheeks.

iv. and i'm coming undone under your touch. tell me, is this the love tragedies are all about?

i can't say that i can change the world,

but if you let me, 

i can change our world for us

"Who's that?"

Jimin's head snaps up, his hand moving just about as fast. He turns his phone down, facing the table to hide away the incoming calls. The smile he addresses Jeongguk looks a lot like a grimace. To his relief, the man's tactful to ignore it as he sets two smoking cups on the table. "Tea for you," he muses quietly, low under his breath while pulling back his chair. "And milk for me."

Jimin's still looking at him, the grimace softening without him even noticing. The distinctive scents of milk and tea lift in the air, overpowering paper and ink in a matter of seconds. A few silent beats and Jimin's mind is growing drowsy despite himself.

"So," Jeongguk tuts, chin nodding to the hand still resting on top of his phone.

Jimin's fingers twitch, hand pulling away like it's been burned by the prolonged contact. "No one," he dismisses, and Jeongguk's hum is all it takes for the lie to fall through. Or—more possibly—for the man to see right through it.

Jimin's head shakes some, both hands blindly reaching for the cup he's been just brought. His eyes glance down to the book and the half resolved equation, a light frown falling on his face and drawing his brows close. He brings the cup to his lips, taking a careless sip that burns his tongue. He winches, setting the tea down and fighting the prickling feeling at the corners of his eyes.

Sitting next to him, Jeongguk clicks his tongue. Something that is amused and teasing at once.

When he glares at him, Jimin finds the man's eyes creased at the corners, his smile hidden behind the rim of his own cup. "Don't look so smug, teach," he grumbles, holding the man's gaze a while longer. Looking at him still sends Jimin's mind in a strange state, awestruck and jittery at once.

"Smug?" Jeongguk echoes, a weird lilt to his voice, overly dramatic in his offense. "I would never."

Jimin snorts, but he's looking down again at his unsolved equation.

"Stuck?"

"No." It is quick, fast. Too fast. Jimin winces, and refuses to look up.

Jeongguk snorts, his half empty cup sitting on the table a moment later. "You've been at it for a while, though."

Jimin glares at him. Fast, sharp.

Jeongguk smiles, hand mimicking a zip to his mouth and eyes gleaming with a certain mischief.

Jimin grumbles something under his breath, a curse or something of the likings. Jeongguk ignores it, reaching for a stack of papers and colored pens.

Jimin can't help but look at him curiously, nibbling on his bottom lip as he observes the man working through the stack of sheets. Something about it is mesmerizing, something Jimin wouldn't dare put a name on. It's the way he frowns lightly, tongue pushing at his cheek and a pout taking over his lips from time to time. It's the small sighs and the smiles, the way it all reads so clearly on his face as he goes through half of the test sheets. Jimin blinks, and he sets down the pencil he's been playing with absently.

"I'm calling it a day."

Jeongguk looks up, blinking once at him and once at the half resolved equation. "You're not done with that." He doesn't sound upset, but rather—to Jimin's dismay—perplexed.

He shrugs, but it's stiff. "Maybe I need some rest."

Jeongguk holds his gaze, like he's trying to read past Jimin, right through him. "Here," he offers, handing him one small bundle of papers while looking down at his own. "Try with something else."

"Teach," Jimin groans, a whine even as his body moves on its own. Almost horrified, Jimin watches his hands taking the offered bundle and flick it open. His eyes skim through it on their won, called by a new problem. A light goes on in his head, a thrilled rush running through his veins. He looks away, blinking at Jeongguk.

"What are these?"

The man doesn't lift his head, shoulders pinching in a dismissive shrug. "Second year's assignment."

Jimin hums, glancing down again at what's just under his nose. He knows this.

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

He looks down again, hands itching. He remembers reading of this somewhere, some time years ago. Way back in time when he was stuck in a cramped room with a dozen others of his age. He looks at it some longer, and it's a blank copy.

"Would you like to give it a try?"

Jeongguk is glancing up at him, a certain intensity in his gaze as it holds Jimin's.

"I told you," Jimin trails, sliding away the test papers. "I'm tired."

The words linger between them for a moment, tensely.

Jimin doesn't let it bother him—he tries his best not to. His hands move fast, gathering his belongings while he casts a quick glance to the blank test sheet. Once he's done, that's all that is left. He's standing without saying much, ignoring Jeongguk's puzzled gaze on him.

"You're leaving."

Jimin's jaw clenches, working side to side as he only allows himself a furtive glance the man's way.

Jeongguk's still sitting, looking up at him with a puzzled something all over his face.

Jimin nods curtly, shouldering his messenger bag and taking a step away from the table. "I told you," he reminds tensely. "I'm tired."

He doesn't look any longer at Jeongguk, walking to the apartment's entrance before he can change his mind. It would be easy, dangerously easy to be swayed and stay longer. It is the same every time, that compelling need and luring voice wanting him to stay longer.

With a dreadfully perfect timing, Jimin's phone buzzes in his hand. He glances at the screen, Chaeyeon's name staring back at him knowingly, bearing a certain degree of accusation.

Jimin ignores it, sliding into his boots with some efforts and missing the steps following him. Somehow.

When he does notice the presence behind him, the eyes boring right through him, he doesn't try ignoring it. There's no point in doing it.

Turning, ever so slowly, he finds Jeongguk's waiting gaze.

The man leans leisurely against the wall, his head tilted onto it. Their eyes lock, and Jimin can't move, he can't tear his gaze away even if he wanted to. Which—to his utterly dismay—he doesn't.

"Why don't you stay for dinner?"

The request is sudden, entirely unexpected.

It is not—admittedly—the first time Jeongguk has asked, or the first time it has—for a natural course of events—happened. But it takes Jimin by surprise nonetheless, his eyes wide and lips parting with a soft exhale. "What?"

Jeongguk wets his lips, and a lazy, sly smile trades on his lips. "Stay," he offers, like it's easy, like it means nothing much.

Jimin swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth, throat clicking.

"Have dinner with me."

And it sounds so much like an awful idea it should be easy to refuse. Jimin's phone lights up again in his hand.

His jaw clenches, brows drawing close. He exhales a long breathe, a sigh that leaves him empty.

"I shouldn't."

Jeongguk hums, he pulls from the wall and takes a long stride forward. "We can have chicken," he proposes, the curve on his lips softening knowingly.

Jimin sucks on his bottom lips, eyes closing and body sagging in on itself with a groan. "This is an awful idea."

Jeongguk snorts, one hand taking Jimin's wrist and tugging lightly at him.

"C'mon, we have some movies to catch up on."

Jimin stumbles as he kicks off his boots while being pulled by Jeongguk.

And it's a nice enough excuse. Chicken, movies. They can do this, he tells himself.

-

"That's not how it went down," Jeongguk muses, stuffing his mouth with seaweed chips and chewing loudly on it.

Jimin doesn't bother acknowledging his comment, head shaking some as his eyes keep trained to the screen.

"It was much a bigger deal in the comics," Jeongguk continues, a vein of annoyance underlining his every words.

Jimin snorts, blindly fishing into the back Jeongguk's holding.

"I mean, are we supposed to believe they'd just hug it out and that's it?"

Jimin chuckles softly, casting a quick glance the man's way.

"What?"

"Nothing," he dismisses, but still doesn't tear his eyes from the other. "You're awfully invested in this."

Jeongguk's eyes roll, his jaw jutting to the side. "You would be too, if you read the comics."

Jimin snorts, head shaking. "I like the way it is better," he muses, taking more dried seaweed to his mouth and finally looking at the screen. Part of him shies away at his own words, conscious of how much they reveal. Still, whether Jeongguk notices or not, the man doesn't comment on it.

He sighs, training his attention to the movie as well. "You know," he muses moments later. "It really makes no sense for Bucky to be involved."

Jimin's lips curve upward, his eyes training again to the man in what's now a familiar back and forth. "Is that so?" He's only half teasing, sure Jeongguk must've mentioned it already.

"He wasn't even there," the man grumbles, jaw jutting to the side with annoyance.

"I like that he is though."

The scoff it earns him has Jimin grinning widely, eyes gleaming as he snacks on stolen seaweed.

"Didn't you say you were good?"

Jimin shrugs, a sly and sheepish smile on his lips as he glances at Jeongguk. "Maybe I lied."

Jeongguk's tongue pushes at his cheek, their gazes locked for a moment. In the background, Jimin hears an explosion from the screen, someone shouting.

He couldn't care less to check.

That might be why Jeongguk is the one to look away, balling up the empty bag in one hand and tossing it on the coffee table.

"Ice cream?" he offers without missing a beat, like it's oh so easy for him when Jimin's mouth is dry and his head in a frenzy.

Despite it, he still manages to nod, tearing his gaze away from Jeongguk as he offers a curt nod and stands. For all his efforts, Jimin still catches a glimpse of him as he walks away, broad shoulders and slim waist, long legs and ruffled hair. He looks nothing like the man Jimin sees outside these walls, nothing like the neat and put-together professor he met weeks back.

Within the walls of his house, Jeongguk looks comfortable and young and achingly real. He wears loose shirts and hoodies, sweats or cargos most of the time. His hair hangs low on his forehead, the tips curling at his nape and around his ears. He looks, for all that he is, painfully within reach.

Jimin shakes his head softly, looking away from the retreating back and to the screen. Someone has fallen, he couldn't name him to save his life. But the scene looks dramatic enough and he's entertained with it during the short time Jeongguk is away.

Some time later, an icy cold tub is being offered to him from above.

Looking up, startled, Jimin finds Jeongguk standing behind the couch, his eyes trained to the screen and one spoon dangling from his lips.

Despite his first instinct to invite the man back on the couch, Jimin finds himself staring and staring at the other. His neck cranes uncomfortably, body twisting ever so slightly. His hands move blindly, taking the tub from Jeongguk while he's still looking at the man.

It takes some time for Jeongguk to notice, to glance down while one hand takes away the spoon from his mouth. The smile he meets Jimin with is sheepish, almost awkward.

"What?"

Jimin shrugs, head shaking. He feels rather thankful to the shadows for they conceal the flush rising to his cheeks. "Sit," he demands, gruff and curt as he busies himself with opening the ice cream tub.

Jeongguk hums, and he pulls an ungodly move in the way he jumps over the backrest and falls heavily on the cushions.

Jimin yelps, he glares at him, hands cradling the ice cream tub close to his chest for dear life. "What's wrong with you?" he hisses, something petulant about his voice that makes it sound a lot like whining. It brings a grimace to Jimin's face, a twist of annoyance that meets Jeongguk playful grin.

"Why?" he teases, fishing a spoon from the pocket of his hoodie, handing it to Jimin blindly. He's staring at the screen again, scooping into his own tub absently while all of his attention tunes to the on going movie.

"How can an old man be so agile," he grumbles, not quite meant for Jeongguk to hear but earning himself a bemused chuckle.

"I keep telling you." Jeongguk talks around the spoon in his mouth, words distorted and confused.

Jimin frowns at himself for finding even that somewhat charming.

"I'm not that old."

Jimin hums along, indulging as a smirk draws on his lips teasingly.

For a while, neither speaks. Quiet falls over them as the last bit of the movie goes by. Jimin's halfway through his tub when he reacher for the remote, moving onto the next movie as the credits start to roll by. He pointedly ignores Jeongguk groan to wait, or at least skip to the post-credits. He would never admit it, but the frustration seeping through the man's voice gives Jimin great joy, and he's smirking while starting the next movie on their endless list.

Jeongguk's distress is appeased soon enough, the spoon dangling from his lips as he shifts on the couch. "Oh, I like this one."

Jimin's eyes roll, he settles better on the couch, legs going numb and prickling. They've been at it for an ungodly long time now, and his mind is easily slipping out of focus the longer they stay sitting here. Still, he's reluctant to put an end to it, to make his shameful and pitiful retreat back home. Eventually, he'll have to. Just, not yet.

"You like all of them."

Jeongguk grins around his spoon, sliding it out of his mouth in a way that's both playful and effortlessly charming—to Jimin's utter dismay and chagrin.

He doesn't deny the claim on his taste, attention training back to the movie while Jimin is left to stare at his profile some more. It's a dangerous habit that he's built, one he finds himself indulging one too many times. Still, regardless, Jimin has grown a certain taste for indulging lately.

"You're not paying attention."

Blinking, frowning, Jimin glances at the screen. "I am."

Jeongguk snorts, bringing a heaping spoon to his lips again. It takes Jimin some time to follow his example, to feed himself chocolate flavored ice cream while only half paying attention to the movie. For all his efforts, Jimin finds it hard to keep his focus on it, his mind constantly going to the narrow distance between them, and how easy it would be to scoot closer, lean in.

By the time they're halfway through the movie, Jimin's tub is empty and his mind drowsy. He shifts on the couch, a voice from the back of his head reminding him this is a bad decision. He should get up, leave Jeongguk's apartment. There's a large number of things he should do, and even larger number of things he shouldn't have agreed with. Still—regardless of it all—Jimin lies down and curls in on himself. He tells himself it's only gonna be for a few minutes, just enough to rest his eyes a bit before leaving for good. It is a lie he doesn't put much effort into, barely enough to lull him to sleep as someone in the background screams.

-

Jeongguk looks down at Jimin while struggling to leave. At the back of his mind, a quiet but persistent voice keeps reminding him he should be going.

Glancing at the clock, Jeongguk agrees with it but still his body won't move.

On the bed, Jimin stirs and turns in his sleep. His faces burrows into the blankets, fists curling around the edge of it tightly. A slight frown lingers on his features, hiding away from Jeongguk's sight within the blink of the man's eyes.

The bundle of blankets and pillows settles with a low hum, lifting softly with every breath Jimin takes.

Raking a hand through his hair, Jeongguk takes a step back from the bed's edge. He's turning around when Jimin's voice reaches his ears and his body freezes.

"Jeongguk?"

He turns, staring down at the young man.

Jimin's hair is ruffled, and he blinks blearily at him through the dimness.

Jeongguk could've sworn he was deep asleep up until moments ago, jaw locking tightly as he takes a tentative step back to the bed.

"Where are you going?"

Jimin's voice is hoarse, a slur that travels light in the air.

A faint smile tugs at Jeongguk's lips, the ghost of what it could be. "Go back to sleep, Jimin."

The man shifts, lifting with some effort on the bed. "And you?"

"Not sleepy yet." It's not a lie, but it's not quite the answer Jimin wanted from him.

"Don't sleep on the couch," he grumbles, hoarse and still barely more than a mumble.

Jeongguk snorts, hands curling to fight the urge to reach out and ruffle Jimin's soft hair. "Alright," he agrees with ease, that same ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips.

Jimin hums, content. He settles back under the covers, burrowing underneath them and hiding away from sight.

Allowing himself one last quick glance, Jeongguk turns away and leaves the quiet bedroom behind.

In the living room, he starts a new movie, opens a can of beer, and lets the day slowly sink in him, making his body heavy and mind airborne. And he tries his best not to think about the man sleeping in his bed.

-

Jimin wakes up in Jeongguk's bed with a headache pounding at his temples. He wakes up with a groan and the distant realization that he shouldn't be here. Here, in someone's bed. Here, in Jeongguk's bed.

Nibbling on his bottom lip, he kicks off the blankets and lets his bare feet touch to the cold floor. It sends a shiver down his spine, somehow grounding, just enough to clear his mind from the lingering haze of sleep.

With some hesitation, Jimin stands and pads his way through the apartment. Most of the lights are turned of, nearly all but the ones in the kitchen. Still, he hears the falling water from the bathroom, the shower loud enough to break the eerie quiet.

Sucking on his bottom lip until it is sore and swollen, Jimin only lets himself glance at the bathroom door as he walks past it, ignoring the way his insides stir with curiosity and enticement. His mind starts picturing all the ways he could go about this, none remotely acceptable. Most would require him to be still drunk, which he is—to his own great luck—not.

With a groan and a soft curse, Jimin walks to the small kitchen. He finds coffee waiting for him, and—sitting on the island—two large bags. It is hard to tell what's in them from one look, nothing but the shape of boxes piled on one other hinting at their content.

Oddly enough, Jimin hadn't known to be hungry until this very moment, his mouth watering at the thought of filling his stomach, eyes trained to the paper bags and brimming with curiosity.

Fighting the urge to peek inside the bags, he fills a cup with still steaming coffee instead. It is sweet, but not nearly as much as Jeongguk prefers it. Hiding a grimace behind the cup, taking an indulgently long sip, Jimin ignores how he's come to know the man's preferences.

It has happened spontaneously enough, he never meant to notice the ungodly amount of sugar Jeongguk likes in his coffee. It happened, just like a number of other small things seem to have fallen in place over the past few weeks.

From a distance, he hears the bathroom door clicking open. His body tenses up on its own, hyper-aware of his surroundings now that Jeongguk's out. He lowers the cup, eyes trained to the kitchen's entrance. It gives on to the small living room, hiding him away from the bathroom up until Jeongguk takes the first few steps from it.

Then, as he steps into Jimin's sight, he seems to become instinctively aware of the eyes trained on him. Wide and unblinking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hi."

Jimin's smile is tense, almost uncanny.

"I didn't think you'd be up already."

"I…" he trails, mouth dry as he fights to keep his eyes anywhere above Jeongguk's collarbones. Sharp and calling, inviting his gaze to trail down the lines of the man's body. Jimin blinks, he wets his lips. "I just did."

Jeongguk hum, a faint smile of acknowledgement on his lips. He rubs a towel in his hair, not moving from where he stands. "I brought us breakfast on my way back," he informs, pointlessly enough, but just to fill in the awkward silence.

Jimin can barely find himself thankful for it, far too distracted by the half naked man standing a few paces from him. So distant and yet not nearly far enough. He swallows, throat tight. "I saw."

"Good."

Jeongguk's voice is dry, hoarse almost. It sounds wrong in all sort of ways, but Jimin barely even notices. He's lost the waging battle against himself, following the droplets of water falling from the curling tips of Jeongguk's hair to his shoulder. They run down honeyed skin, tracing a path Jimin himself remembers once covering with his lips and fingers.

"I should go get dressed."

It is tense, still a bit awkward. There's a certain hesitation in between the words, betraying much of how uncomfortable he must be feeling.

Jimin nods, he swallows thickly.

Against his best efforts, his eyes have traced all the way down to Jeongguk's slim waist. He looks at the sharp line of his hipbones and something in him dies. For this is wrong in all ways he could possibly think about, but Jeongguk's standing right there, within reach. And it kills Jimin a little to look away. He doesn't dare meet the man's gaze, nodding and bringing the cup to his lips. He hides the flush on his lips behind it, and the many unspeakable desires behind his irises as his lids lower and he takes a sip of coffee.

Jeongguk mutters something under his breath, something Jimin can't quite catch. By the time he's looking up again, all he sees is the man's tattooed back retreating.

Licking his lips, turning around, Jimin hits his forehead to the cupboard. Hard enough for it to hurt, for his skin to redden and for a muted thump to echo in his ears.

It is short moments later than he hears Jeongguk walking back, his steps falling with a certain urgency that has Jimin's stomach fluttering and in knots. Still, with a bracing breath, he turns to face the man. He tries his best to hide away any of his torment from his face, feeling rather victorious when Jeongguk kindly makes no mention of it.

"How was the run?" he asks as the man steps into the kitchen.

"Nice," Jeongguk offers quickly, pulling away a stool and sitting at the island across from him. "Quiet."

Jimin hums, turning to pour coffee into a new cup, adding a heaping teaspoon of sugar into it. He stirs it absently, setting it just before Jeongguk with an absent smile on his lips.

Jeongguk is grinning though, and it puzzles him.

"What?"

The man shrugs, bringing the cup to his lips with an unreadable light in his eyes. But he's still grinning and Jimin has to fight the annoyance building in his system.

"What?"

Jeongguk shrugs, setting down the cup. "This is nice."

Jimin doesn't dare ask anymore, no longer sure he want to know what the man means by that. So, just to busy himself, he pulls a stool and sits as well. His hands keep busy with tugging the bags closer, pry open one to finally reveal its content.

"God," he breathes, taking out one box after the other until both bags are empty and the island is layered with more food than either could dream to finish at once. "Where did you find all this?"

Jeongguk shrugs, but he's smiling. Pleased and smug as his eyes gleam from just above the rim of his cup.

"I thought you'd be hungry."

Jimin's eyes flick up to him from the box full of kimchi under his nose, hands working the plastic lid open and setting it aside. "Starving," he corrects, surprising even himself.

Glancing at the still hot rice in one bowl and the kimchi jeon in another container, he rethinks his earlier claims. He might be able to eat all of this alone, given some time.

Jeongguk snorts, one hand supporting his chin as he slouches over ever so slightly.

Jimin glances at him again, but finds himself staring when the man's gaze is waiting for him already. Jeongguk looks rather unbothered, looking back at him with a certain ease to it. Like there's no hurrying, nothing else he'd rather be doing.

In the end, it is Jimin who looks away first, standing and turning to hide the blush rising to his cheeks under the persistent look. He fetches chopsticks, the brick of milk and a clean glass, some napkins and—he stops thinking for a moment, sure he must be forgetting something—two sets of plates and bowls. Jimin moves with ease and confidence through the small kitchen, and he knows—he feels it burning at the back of his head—that Jeongguk's eyes follow him the whole time.

Still, like none of it bothers him and like it means nothing, he turns to the man with arms full and a slight frown on his face.

Jeongguk reacts fast, standing and reaching across the counter when he approaches. "Here," he instructs, one hand swipes over the island to make space, the other freeing Jimin of his heaping bounty.

He keeps the brick of milk close to himself, sitting down and still keeping his eyes trained on Jimin.

"You've made yourself at home," he comments, not quite teasing but rather bemused.

Jimin fixes him with a pointed glare, hands freezing mid-air. "Don't," he warns, very close to regretting ever agreeing to spending any time at Jeongguk's place.

"You know I didn't mean anything by that."

"Didn't you?" Not for all the gold in the world would Jimin ever believe that, one brow arching at the man who meets him with an unreadable curve on his lips.

"And here I thought food would've made you more agreeable."

Jimin snorts, filling his bowl with rice and bringing some side dishes to his plate. "You just had to go and ruin it," he muses lightly, annoyance but a flickering flame going out with disarming ease.

Jeongguk fills the spare glass with milk, still smiling that odd smile that Jimin can't quite pinpoint. "So," he ponders, almost to himself. "Will more food do the trick?"

"Trick? What trick?"

To Jimin's horror, Jeongguk grins at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Food will get cold, Jimin-ssi. Eat." Jeongguk points at his plate and at the banquet displayed all over the counter with his chopsticks, bringing and egg roll slice to his mouth. Of all times, this is when he decides to ignore Jimin's gaze, like he doesn't even notice.

"I'm serious, what-"

"Eat, we can talk later."

"Jeongguk."

Jimin's teeth grind, chopsticks clinking in his plate. Still, the sharp call of his name has Jeongguk looking back at him. Something flicks in his eyes, fast, gone before Jimin can try understanding what it means. With a sigh, the man runs a hand through his still damp hair.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

It's an excuse, and far from the answer Jimin wants. So he holds the man's gaze still, unyielding as something within him twists and knots up. For whatever reason. Anxiety claws up his throat, winding around it like a vicious snake.

"So?"

"Are free this Tuesday?"

They speak at almost the same time, Jeongguk's voice earnest, taking Jimin's breath away.

He takes in a sharp inhale, something in his brain stopping abruptly and rewiring with some effort. "This Tuesday?"

Jeongguk hums, taking another slice of kimchi jeon to his mouth, biting onto it like there's not one thought crossing his mind.

"Why?"

He looks up, the smile that meets Jimin almost a grin. "There's a convention I was invited to." It does nothing to explain his question, and Jimin is still frowning. "So I thought I'd ask you to come along."

Jimin's sure whatever look crosses his face must be comedic at the very best, still—to his credit—Jeongguk's own face holds serious and unreadable after posing his proposal.

"Why?"

Jeongguk shrugs, putting something in Jimin's plate and then in his own. "I thought you would like it, was I wrong?"

Jimin wets his lips, swallowing thickly even when his mouth and throat are dry. "I have classes," he begins to excuse, faster than he can even think about it. Words tumble past his lips, all on their own, out of sheer reflex.

"Skip them."

Jeongguk speaks with ease, chopsticks flicking in the air and drawing an elegant arch.

"I can't just," he blurts, eyes widening, hands snapping up with frustration.

"You can."

Jimin looks away, eyes darting to the side. His body sags in on itself, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. "It's not so easy, teach."

Jeongguk snorts, tongue clicking and calling for Jimin's attention on himself once again. "It is," he presses, and he sounds so sure of it Jimin can almost believe him. "All you have to do is come with me."

Nibbling on his bottom lip, guts twisting and mind in a frenzy, Jimin looks down at him half-full plate.

"If I say yes," he begins, bravely looking up at the man. And Jeongguk's grinning, victorious. "If," Jimin presses. "It won't mean anything."

Jeongguk's grin widens, if possible.

Jimin already regrets agreeing, but somehow can't bring himself to take back his words. Not when a certain excitement is fluttering in his chest, and not when Jeongguk's eyes are filled with so much light—a matching excitement that wasn't there moments before.

"Cross my heart, hope to die," he swears, chopsticks drawing sharply in the air.

Jimin snorts, head shaking as he tries to hide away the smile drawing on his lips. It is faint, barely there, but he can feel Jeongguk's eyes lingering on him uncomfortably.

"You should eat, teach," he tuts. "Food with get cold."

Jeongguk huffs out a sharp laugh, but makes a show of complying.

-

On Monday, after his last class and after somehow ditching Taehyung with a weak lie tasting bitter on his tongue, Jimin makes his way to the math department building.

He clutches the strap of his messenger bag nervously, crossing the campus with long strides until he's stomping over slick floors and into a large classroom. It is different from the one he's used to, slightly smaller, something cozier about it.

Looking around, sucking on his bottom lip, Jimin settles for a seemingly inconspicuous seat in the fourth row.

For a while, it is quiet but for the students slowly taking place. Fighting off the sense of unease creeping within him, that voice telling him this is no place for him to be, Jimin glances around the classroom. Although all he sees are stranger faces, he still finds himself wary and tense.

No one pays him mind, not until someone takes the seat right next to his own.

"Hi," she chirps, her wide smile revealing twin dimples and bright eyes. "Are you new here?"

Jimin blinks, his lips parting with surprise as he's momentarily stunned by her words.

"I've never seen you around here," she explains, head tilting the the side and smile never faltering on her lips. It is as bright as it's warm, sincere as it holds steady on her face.

"I," he hesitates, wetting his lips and glancing around. Jeongguk is still nowhere to be seen. "Yeah, I am."

"Cool!" she yelps, her hands clapping and whole face lighting up instantly. Excitement brings a glow to her face, one Jimin rarely sees on a third year student. "You'll love it here, just you wait."

Jimin's smile—as opposed to her knowing grin—is tense, awkward. And tense and awkward is the silence that falls between them afterward, so much so he considers moving seat, the thought increasingly tempting as he glances around.

"Are you sure you're in the right place, though?" she whispers, like it's a secret she's wary of mentioning.

"Why?" he rasps, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

She hesitates, for once, then shrugs. "You look… tense."

Jimin's chuckle is nervous, a cackle that only confirms her words.

"You know," he shares, under his breath like it's a secret between the two of them, a note of teasing in his voice. "I'm asking myself the same thing."

Her tongue clicks, her eyes squinting and still gleaming. "That's it," she claims in an high pitch, hands clapping once and sharply. Jimin's eyes follow the arch drawn by her perfectly manicured nails, about an inch long. "You're definitely in the right place then."

This time, when Jimin chuckles, it much is less of a cackle. Almost genuine even if not quite there yet.

The silence that falls over then is now less tense, comfortable almost as each settle better in their seats before the class begins. It is after a few moments that Jimin feels her moving next to him, energetically waving for someone to notice her.

Training his gaze to the direction she's smiling at, Jimin finds a girl walking their way. She's dressed neatly, dress pants and a waistcoat, a white shirt underneath and a black leather bag clutched in one hand. She's a stark contrast to the casually dressed girl sitting next to Jimin, but she's moving close to them with a telling confidence.

"Thank you for keeping me a seat, unnie."

"That's no problem," the girl beams, eyes trained on the new comer as she sits down and takes out a thick book from her bag. "Oh, and," she exclaims while pulling back in her seat and glancing Jimin's way. "This is," she stops, frowning then gasping softly.

Leaning in to whisper into Jimin's ear, crowding his personal space without much of a thought, she quietly inquires. "What's your name?"

Jimin snorts, pulling away some and leaning forward to look at the other young woman staring at them curiously. "I'm Jimin," he introduces himself, an easy smile on his lips as he greets the woman and supplies for his name.

"Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi, I'm Byulyi." As they speak, Jimin can feel the only nameless person between the three of them looking from one to the other. He doesn't even need to look at her, her eyes boring through him excitedly. "And this is, Yongsun, in case she forgot telling you."

When he does look at her, Yongsun is grinning sheepishly. "I would have," she tries to justify, but Jimin doesn't really care. So he shrugs, glancing to the door just in time to catch Jeongguk walking through here.

Next to him, Yongsun lets out a soft groan, one that has Jimin's eyes darting to him. It's ever so fleeting though, for all his attention is soon trained back to the man walking into the classroom.

Jeongguk puts down his leather briefcase, turning to look at them all, eyes searching. It might be just a trick of his mind, but Jimin could swear their eyes lock for a fleeting moment. One that feels much like a whole enternity to him as his holds his breath. But it's just a moment, and then he's looking away, apologizing for his delay in what's now a faintly familiar manner to Jimin.

He watches, cheek resting on his knuckles, as Jeongguk takes off his coat, undoes the cuffs of his shirt and rolls it up just until the curve of his elbows. Next up his his watch, fingers skillfully unbuckling it as he asks questions to the classroom. Jimin can hardly hear them, background noise as he avidly drinks in the sight of Jeongguk standing several feet away, basking under the attention of his students.

Somehow, despite how tense he felt at first, Jimin realizes the class goes by with a certain easy smoothness. Much like the first time he ever attended Jeongguk class weeks back. He's got everyone spellbound, their attention trained to him with only a few words. And—before he even realizes it—Jeongguk's dismissing his class.

"So," Yongsun begins, leaning forward and tilting her head to catch Jimin's attention. He blinks, looking at her for the first time since Jeongguk begun his class. "How did you find him?"

Him, not it.

Jimin pulls on his lower lip with his teeth, fighting the urge to glance Jeongguk's way. "It was nice," he lies, a smile and well-reharsed smile on his lips.

Yongsun's smile is knowing, but she doesn't inquire more. Behind her, Byulyi is standing already, looking down at them both.

"Well," Yongsun, says while gathering her belongings and standing as well. "We'll see you next time?"

She sounds hopeful, for reasons Jimin can't quite understand. Hopeful enough he feels bad about lying or even telling her the truth, either potentially upsetting. "Maybe," he settles for in the end, looking away to collect his own things.

"Alright," she agrees. "See you, then."

Jimin's head snaps up, but Yongsun is already walking away, followed at a short distance by Byulyi who turns with an apologetic smile Jimin's way.

He watches them go, and watches as every other student slowly steps out of the classroom until it is empty but for him and Jeongguk. It is only then that he stands, one hand playing absently with the strap of his messenger bag.

Jeongguk is, to his discomfort, watching him as Jimin walks to the desk.

"So," he muses when they're close, looking up while one hand works to buckle the watch around his wrist. He the works on the sleeves of his cuffs, a sly smile on his lips. "How was it?"

Jimin shrugs, looking away. Not at Jeongguk's face and not at his neatly working hands. "Enlightening."

Jeongguk snorts out a laugh, sounding amused enough that Jimin's looking at him despite himself. "I was expecting more than that."

Jimin shrugs, looking around. "What can I say, teach," he trails, taking an absent step back. His eyes have—at some point—fallen to the collar of Jeongguk's shirt. "I was distracted."

Which is, fundamentally, the truth. Jimin's hands reach out, fixing the collar of his shirt absently, patting on his chest once he's done. His touch lingers, head tilting up for their eyes to meet. His mouth goes dry, a soft gasp moving past his lips.

They're close, so very close Jimin steps away startled, head turning away to evade the man's lingering gaze.

"Let's go," he says while still looking away, clearing his throat and moving a step back from the man.

He catches Jeongguk nodding, moving around the desk to fetch his coat and briefcase.

Somehow, even if they only lingered a short time within the classroom, the campus is nearly desert as they step outside the building.

They walk with a certain distance between their bodies, one that has Jimin's hands itching and something deep within himself wanting to lean closer. Of all things they've practiced in the time of knowing each other, distance isn't quite part of it. Maybe it should have, Jimin struggles to believe he could hold true to it though. It is about the small things, lingering touches, the small concessions to keep at bay the urge for his hands to always reach out. Small things, compromises he makes with himself and which Jeongguk always seems to indulge.

Now—as they walk through the desert campus and twilight leaves place for the darkest hours, both are painful mindful of leaving a certain distance.

Once reached Jeongguk's car, the man opens the door for him, a smile on his lips that has Jimin looking away bashfully. He climbs in the car, watches Jeongguk walking around it and do just the same. And then it's quiet, painfully so. Not for long, the car coming to life with a rumble but not moving yet.

"I need your address," Jeongguk informs upon noticing Jimin's pointed staring, turning to look back.

Wetting his lips, ignoring the way there's a finality to it, like crossing a line he should not be stepping over, Jimin lets words slip past him. They do so almost on their own, earning just a hum from Jeongguk.

"It's not far from here," he muses to himself, and they're finally leaving the parking lot.

Jimin turns to the window, thinking all of this is a huge mistake but unable to stop it from unfolding. Anxiety twists his guts the whole ride, wringing him from within until Jeongguk's car is stopping before a familiar building complex.

"Fancy."

Jimin snorts, eyes rolling. His hand lingers on the door handle. He nibbles on his bottom lip. Still—for how loudly a voice tells him not to—he turns to look at the man with a shy smile on his lips, and nervousness written all over his face. He must be painting a pitiful enough picture, for Jeongguk frowns, lips parting.

"Do you wanna come up?" Jimin blurts out before the man can ask, before he can think any longer about it.

His words are enough for Jeongguk's face to break in a grin, wide and sly. "You're tempting me, Jimin-ssi."

Jimin's jaw locks, he opens the door brusquely and stomps his way to the building entrance. Still, for how loudly his steps fall, Jeongguk's hearty laugh rings in his ears and he can't miss the fast cadence of his strides as the man follows him.

Although childish, Jimin finds himself ignoring the man until they're both stepping inside the cold apartment. It is not quite out of annoyance or upset, but—and he would never admit it—a certain form of embarrassment still lingers in him. One that burns just like anger would, and that has him taking long and fast strides across the apartment.

He leaves Jeongguk behind without much thought, entering his bedroom with a soft sigh. On top of his bed, waiting for him, a rather small luggage seems to be staring back at Jimin—questioning his hesitation.

Carding one hand through his hair, absently ruffling it, he takes the suitcase and walks away.

In the living room, Jeongguk's leisurely walking his surroundings' perimeter. He seems to pause from time to time, and Jimin unconsciously stops to observe the man. He looks unsurprisingly out of place, and he can't help but wonder if that's how he looks like in Jeongguk's eyes. Chewing on his cheek, Jimin shakes his head softly and takes a step forward.

Jeongguk's head snaps his way, attention caught by the sound of him approaching and a sheepish smile on his lips. One that soon turns into a grin, bright and teasing and familiar.

Jimin's eyes avert, feet bringing him to the entrance door hurriedly.

"This is quite the place," Jeongguk considers as he walks past him. Somehow, his words have Jimin stopping on his track and turning to face the man with a puzzled frown.

"My mother," he offers as an explanation, caving in to the compelling urge to offer a justification of some sorts. "She pays for it."

Jeongguk whistles in appreciation, looking around with a light in his eyes that betrays all of his thoughts.

"It's her money, not like I'm rich or something."

Jeongguk snorts, gaze falling on Jimin at last. It is intense, something unspoken hiding behind his dark irises, something unsettling and uncomfortable.

"I'm pretty sure that makes you rich as well," he comments, casual and light as he walks closer to the entrance door as well. "You know, by proxy."

Jimin's eyes roll, but the thought has his stomach turning. He can only pray it doesn't show on his face. Whether it does or not, Jeongguk makes no mention of it as he takes the luggage from Jimin's hand and walks past him.

He does so casually, like he didn't even think much, like there wasn't anything to think about to begin with.

Jimin stares at his back for a moment, throat tight and mind numb.

"Aren't you coming?"

Jimin blinks, almost stumbling over his feet as he hurries to the door, slipping on his boots and following Jeongguk outside. As the door closes with a soft thump, a sense of finality falls over him, and yet it's neither heavy nor suffocating. It feels much like relief as he offers a small smile at the man looking at him with that certain intensity that seems to always linger in his eyes.

"So," Jimin muses, stepping ahead but making an unconscious effort for their pace to match. "When are you gonna tell me where we're going?"

Jeongguk grins, mischievous and sly, looking much younger all of sudden.

Jimin forgets ever asking him anything, staring at the man until the latter turns away to call for the elevator. "You'll see," he says as metal door ping open, a secrecy to his voice that has excitement buzz in Jimin's veins.

And it's easy to forget about everything else, lying to himself until he believes this is nothing to be worried about.

-

Busan.

Jeongguk brought him to Busan.

It is far past dinnertime when they arrive at the hotel, not many words shared between them.

To his credit, Jeongguk tries to start a casual conversation—more than once, at that. Jimin can only partially appreciate the effort when he's torn between a creeping numbness and bitter resentment. So, between faking to sleep and stubbornly staring out of the window, he didn't leave much of an opening for Jeongguk.

The hotel is one specifically booked for the convention—from the entire ninth floor to the tenth floor which will host the convention itself. As he stares at his own pale reflection in the elevator, Jimin can't help but at least appreciate the convenience of it all.

As the door ring open and he steps outside into the empty corridor, he makes up his mind not to leave their assigned room until it'll be time to leave. This way—he tells himself over and over—he can fake never leaving Seoul.

Clutching the keycard in one hand, Jimin hurries his steps down the corridor. He doesn't turn to check on Jeongguk, doesn't wait for the man. His eyes flick from the number tag of each room he walks by, a voice shrieking at the back of his head as he gets closer to theirs.

Theirs.

In his rushing, Jimin didn't give much thought to the only keycard handed to them upon checking in—a keycard he readily took before Jeongguk could.

Now, though, as he stands before the door with a very specific tag hanging on it, Jimin begins to feel a certain discomfort weighing down his chest. Like a lump nestled his throat and pushing down, hands pressing down on his sternum.

His hand trembles as it reaches out, sliding the card to unlock the door with as little hesitation as he can muster. Jeongguk's standing just behind him, quiet and yet his gaze feels heavy on Jimin. And he would want nothing more than disappear, run away from this place until there's as much distance as he can possibly cover. But the thought alone of walking down the streets of Busan sickens him, every corner—ever the unfamiliar ones—welcoming him grimly like they know.

Swallowing thickly, stalking into the room, Jimin makes a sharp deviation to the bathroom, locking the door behind himself and leaning heavily against it. The lights turn on on their won, glaring at him brightly, his eyes squinting and closing, face scrunching up. For all the lies he could come up with, much of his discomfort has nothing to do with the blinding lights or the strong disinfectant scent prickling at his nose.

Forcing his chest to expand and his lungs to fill with air, Jimin hits the door with a soft thump. His head rolls into the hard surface, tilting back until he's glaring at the white ceiling like it is to blame. His hands ball up in tight fist s, fingertips numbing within the few next breathes he takes.

Then, coming somewhat unexpected, a soft knocking drums through the door and into his ears.

"Jimin?"

Jimin's breath halts, catching in his throat as Jeongguk's voice comes clear and worried through the door.

"Is everything alright?"

Jimin snorts, bitter and mean. He glares at the spacious bathroom, smooth stone and white porcelain reflecting the white lights.

"Yes," he lies after a moment, his voice strained and the lie so clear there's no deceiving the man. "I just need a moment."

He wets his lips, head pushing back into the door and squeezing his eyes shut. Quietly—like it's something he doesn't dare being too upfront with even withing the safety of himself—Jimin prays Jeongguk would go. Just go.

Following the heavy beats of his heart, pounding in his ears, he hears a soft sigh and a muffled sound. Then, "Alright," Jeongguk concedes quietly. "I need to leave for some time," he continues, his voice somewhat louder and steadier. "I'll be at the first floor's bar if you want to join me."

Jimin heaves out a sigh, teeth grinding as he works his jaw.

A moment of silence goes by, dragging on for some time. "Alright," he hears again, and then Jeongguk is stepping back, and soon leaving the room.

The door clicks shut softly, and yet Jimin hesitates to leave the relative safety of the bathroom.

-

The following morning sees Jimin awake since the earliest hours, staring blankly at the wall, sometimes glancing at the clearing sky through the window. Although thick curtains shield him from the light, some of it still filters through, throwing the room into a dimness.

Jimin's awake through dawn, and he's awake when Jeongguk wakes up as well. It is still early in the morning, and the man is quite and careful as he leaves the couch and moves through the room. For a while, Jimin entertains himself with following every smallest movement of Jeongguk's. There's not much else he feels like doing—less of all acknowledging the man.

So he lies tensely in his wait, his every breath the quietest he can manage while painfully aware of Jeongguk's presence. The man moves in and out of the bathroom and then through the room again, dressing into a clean change of clothes and fetching his few belongings for the day. For a while, it is all quiet but for the sound of him getting ready, then even that goes quiet and all Jimin can hear is the quickening hammering of his own heart.

Jeongguk seems to hesitate, but it's not for long. Soon enough he's walking around the bed, Jimin's eyes snapping close. The man stands there, his gaze burning and heavy—so much so Jimin fears he might've noticed. Still Jeongguk doesn't talk, he makes as little sound as he possibly can even as he leans down and reaches out.

Despite himself, and despite the pretense of being asleep, Jimin holds his breath as Jeongguk tucks him in, fixing the blankets with delicate care. Then, rather than pulling away and leaving for good, his fingers brush away a ticklish lock from Jimin's face, tucking in behind his ear. He's still unbearably careful, his touch never lingering too long, never too heavy. It is barely brushing against his skin, but an ache nestles in his chest, making it hollow and uncomfortable. So much so that regret leaves a bitter taste on Jimin's tongue, yet he's far too stubborn and lies still as Jeongguk moves through the room some more before leaving at last.

Long after the echo of the closing door has vanished in the cold air, Jimin is still lying on the bed, determined not to leave the room. Despite that, he soon grows weary or being idle, pulling off the thick blankets.

His bare feet touch to the cold floor, his mind suddenly less bleary as a shiver runs down his spine.

Looking around, standing and walking across the room, he finds it just like it was the night before. If not for the small note folded neatly on the table, a pen sitting next to it.

Hesitantly, Jimin takes it. His eyes skim over the neatly written words, lips pursing as he folds the paper again and puts it back where it was. All around the utter silence grows eerie, and Jimin's walking to the bathroom without much thought. For all of his determination to stay cooped into the room, leaving it is surprisingly easy. About as easy—Jimin soon realizes—is walking through the convention dedicated floor.

He's rather aimless, lingering in the exposition hall before picking a room and a lecture to follow. He sits at the far back, glancing around warily and keeping himself away from the most busy and crowded areas. In much the same fashion, the entire morning goes by without him even realizing. Soon enough his body lost most of its wary tension, skimming through the crowd, in and out of rooms and attending several lectures until it became easy to forget where he was. To his surprise, it's just as easy to avoid Jeongguk—which Jimin eagerly commits to.

He's not quite sure why—and Jeongguk has proven time and time again he knows how to be tactful and discreet—but Jimin can't bring himself to stand face to face with the man, fearful that much might betray more than he's willing to reveal. So he puts a certain effort into avoiding Jeongguk through the entire morning, filling his plate at the open buffet and finding himself a quiet enough spot while everyone looks impossibly eager to gather up in groups and talk among themselves.

Jimin watches him from the stairs he found himself on, leaning on the railing and catching bits and pieces of some conversations. Like this, he can almost believe he belongs, like this world made of numbers and theories and certainties is somewhere he can be part of. And he hears someone mentioning Jeongguk's name, his heart skipping a beat but warmth spreading through his chest at the praises he hears. Like they're addressed to himself, like they're of any importance to him.

A small group of what he supposes are professors and researchers are talking casually at the stairs' first steps, and Jeongguk's name slips easily into their conversation, just like the mention of the lecture he will soon hold.

Jimin listens to them despite himself, pulling at his bottom lip until it hurts. He doesn't let himself think of it, head empty as he quietly follows their small group into a certain large room. There, glancing around warily, he takes what seems to be the most inconspicuous seat. All the while, he keeps telling himself that it won't be long. Jimin only means to stay for a short time, maybe just enough to hear the very first interventions and then leave. There's no reason for him to be anxious about it, and yet his fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt, tugging and pulling and twisting until it's all wrinkled.

At first, Jimin doesn't even see Jeongguk. He's almost convinced this might be the wrong room, regret and relief both swelling in him in a nauseating mix. Then, when he's considering leaving while cursing at himself, he hears Jeongguk's name. His head snaps up, and there the man is, walking to the small stage for him to begin his lecture about a topic Jimin can't even remember.

Squirming in his seat, sliding down so that he's hiding behind the scrawny woman sitting before him, Jimin keeps telling himself he won't stay long. But then Jeongguk begins talking, and it looks so easy for him to charm the whole audience, the room filled to the brim without Jimin even noticing.

The lecture goes by fast, almost in a blur, and soon another man is taking Jeongguk's place on the stage. Jimin means to leave then, wary for having stayed too long already. And yet he doesn't, lingering until the very last lecture is held and the room begins to empty. That's when he shoots on his feet, hurrying away and mingling with the thickening flow of people.

It is a few hours later that Jimin is idly walking through the tenth floor, pondering and considering his options while absently reading on a pamphlet he took god knows where. He's far too absorbed in it, nibbling on his bottom lip while walking without even looking where he's going. That's how, frowning down at the pamphlet, he comes crashing with someone.

A yelp slips past his lips, feet stumbling and body swaying dangerously. Two large hands grab him, steadying Jimin as he stares up unblinkingly.

"There you are," Jeongguk breathes, a wry smile on his lips Jimin knows he brought there. The man's hands fall soon, pulling away and hanging helplessly. Jimin glances at them, eyes flicking down and then up again.

Unconsciously, he takes a step back. His nape prickles uncomfortably, and he's painfully aware of all the eyes that might fall on them. So he takes another small step back, just to be sure, arms wrapping around his middle as he glances around furtively.

No one is looking at them, far too taken by their own things and still Jimin can't bring himself to relax, tempted to take yet another step back. He doesn't, but it's not because of a lack of will.

"Jimin," Jeongguk calls, softly and almost—Jimin would dare say—pleading. "Listen, I'm sorry."

Jimin's lips part, but a soundless, breathless exhale is all that comes from him. He frowns, looking down to his hand clenching the pamphlet. He snorts, and it's stronger than him. "What are you apologizing for?"

Lying, Jimin would say he didn't mean for it to sound this sharp, this mean. That would be lying, and the shadow clouding Jeongguk's eyes seems to hint he knows.

"I don't know." His hands twitch, lifting in the air but stopping before he can do anything. "You tell me, Jimin. What am I apologizing for?"

Jimin's jaw clenches, he turns away. The tenth floor feels much larger now that many have left, the exposition hall now almost empty and the corridors about the same.

"Nothing," he hisses, dismissing whatever chance he had to explain himself. He takes another step back, turning away and meaning to leave. He should've done so already, left this floor, the hotel, Busan.

Jeongguk's hand closes around his writs, holding him back before Jimin can take more than a couple steps. "What are you doing?"

Jimin spins on himself, a peculiar heat simmering underneath his skin, boiling there where they're touching. So he glares at Jeongguk's hand, snatching his wrist away, fist clenching. "I'm leaving."

Jeongguk's jaw clenches, facial muscles tensing visibly. "Why?"

Something within Jimin deflates, going cold and limp. He can't bring himself to look at Jeongguk any longer, and he's putting some distance between them again. "No reason."

"Jimin."

His head snaps up at the firm call of his name, unyielding and cold, almost a hiss that betrayes all of Jeongguk's frustration. And Jimin knows—he does—that this is all his fault, and that it looks like him throwing a tantrum, spoiling what was meant to be something nice. He knows, but words are a lump at the base of his throat and his chest feels unbearably tight as he glares up at Jeongguk.

"This was an awful idea," he spits in the end, and it's the last he meant to say. It is—somewhat—the closest to truth, but still far from any of what Jimin meant.

Yet Jeongguk's face breaks, cracking up even if just for a split second. Soon, all Jimin see is hard lines and darkness in those eyes. This time, taking a step back isn't quite for the same reason as before, a certain bell going off in his brain. He could still mend it, fix it and try to apologize. He could, but he's turning around and walking again.

Jimin runs away, and there's no use in lying about it. He runs to their room, but can barely find any sort of comfort to it. So he rushes to where his luggage is, shoving his few belongings into it. It takes painfully little time for him to be done, standing in the empty room and looking around. Even as a voice yells at him to get out, he can't bring his feet to move.

The door clicks open, and Jimin realizes it was an awful idea all along, all of it.

Jeongguk's not even looking at him as he walks inside the room, throwing his jacket somewhere, unbuckling his watch in a way that's so familiar to Jimin. Once he's done, and once he's walked until only a short distance divides them, he lifts his head and meets Jimin's waiting gaze.

"Are you leaving?"

It is a pointless question, and Jimin still can't bring himself to tell him why. It is not hard to imagine what it must look like to Jeongguk's eyes, how awful it must feel. Jimin can only stand frozen, staring at him, but through him.

"I need to," he rasps forcefully, and it doesn't feel much like a lie. Jimin can only hope Jeongguk feels it too.

The man hums, setting the watch on the table and not tearing his gaze from Jimin for one second. Like he would vanish if he did.

"Can't you stay for dinner at least?"

And—to Jimin's utter surprise—the sharp edge is gone from Jeongguk's voice. His head cocks to the side, eyes boring through him like he can see it all.

"Don't you owe me that much?"

The words strike Jimin like a slap across his face, and he's gasping, left breathless by the weight of those words. Jeongguk must know too, he must notice, but doesn't say anything in his wait for an answer.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, looking away. "I don't really like Busan."

Jeongguk snorts, an aborted laugh maybe. He walks up to Jimin, taking his wrist in one hand and holding it firmly. "But you like me, don't you?"

It's almost worse than anything he's said the entire day, for how little it was.

Jimin stares at him with wide eyes, mouth dry and heart hammering in his chest.

Jeongguk's smirking though, pulling at him until Jimin's stumbling—in a daze—after him. He takes both of their coats, leading the other out of their room wordlessly and effortlessly.

And Jimin—he still can't move past the echo of those words filling his head like nothing else exists him. That, and the hot feeling spreading from where Jeongguk's touching him, like poison seeping through his veins and burning anything in its wake.

-

On the ground floor, in the spacious and cold hall, a man Jimin doesn't recognize stops them. He feels much like a saving grace, and yet he can't feel much relief in the man's careless demand for Jeongguk's attention. The latter discreetly lets go of Jimin, and he takes some careful steps back.

Jeongguk's head snaps his way, a silent warning flashing in his eyes that has Jimin freezing on the spot, his own eyes rolling as he huffs in annoyance. Still, something in it must appease Jeongguk enough for he turns back to the man with an easy smile on his face and no trace of sharpness about his features.

Even without meaning to, it is hard for Jimin not to overhear their casual exchange. Neither seems bothered with his presence, if not for the quick and curious glance the man swiftly casts his way.

"We're all going for dinner at the hotel' restaurant, why don't you and your friend join up?"

Again, his eyes cleverly flick Jimin's smile, an easy smile on his face that turns in a friendly grin as he tries to persuade Jeongguk to join them. He must be a few years older, some lines betraying his age despite the friendly and casual talk.

Jeongguk looks comfortable enough with the man, smiling still even as his head shakes no.

"I'm sorry," he says, turning to look at Jimin briefly, almost unconsciously. "But I have some prior engagement."

Jimin, on the other hand, can't bring himself to look at the pair any longer. He feels a certain heat crawling up his neck, uncomfortable and revealing.

"He can join us."

"Maybe another time," Jeongguk counters readily, his tone light and kind but firm. "I'm really sorry."

The man snorts, he barely looks half convinced.

Jimin hates how that makes him feel at fault, self conscious. But Jeongguk's laughing at the man's expression, turning his way with gleaming eyes.

"See you around," he dismisses, patting the man's shoulder before walking away and to Jimin.

"Let's go." He takes Jimin's hand in his own, leading the way like they were never interrupted to begin with. "There's a nice place just around the corners."

Somehow, the lightly spoken words have Jimin feeling a dreadful sense of foreboding. It has him feeling uneasy and fidgety, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip as he glances at Jeongguk.

The man—on the other hand—looks awfully at ease as they step out of the hotel. He turns, glancing at Jimin with a certain gleam lingering in his eyes, promising and teasing at once.

At some point, Jimin was handed his coat to wear and given a thick wool scarf to wrap around his neck. Jeongguk had looked positively pleased with it, his hands fixing the scarf and coat edges just to linger a moment too long before now. Despite feeling resentful at first and quite annoyed, Jimin struggles to still nurture such feelings now. The cold air is merciless as it bites into his skin, cheeks burning and flushing after only moments.

"Come," Jeongguk invites, tugging at his hand and making way down the street.

Jimin's stomach drops, but he's not given much choice if not to follow wherever the man will lead. "Couldn't we call a taxi or, I don't know, an uber?"

Jeongguk snorts, his head shaking some. He fits their locked hands in the pocket of his coat, forcing their bodies close and their steps to match. "It's just around the corner," he stresses, a certain amusement lacing his voice that doesn't sit well within Jimin.

He grumbles something underneath his breath, a vain complain as their steps f a call into a comfortable pace.

Jeongguk chuckles, the sound hoarse and unfairly charming as it echoes in Jimin's ears. "Don't whine," he teases. "Walking isn't so bad."

Jimin's eyes roll, a lie itching on the tip of his tongue. In the end, he doesn't voice it for the warmth of Jeongguk's hand wrapped around his own and the proximity of their bodies seems to be all it takes to put his mind at ease. And it is quite enjoyable to walk through the waning evening and into twilight, the city bustling with life and them nothing but specks of dust moving through.

With Jeongguk so close to him, their shoulders brushing with every step they take, Jimin can almost believe they're somewhere else. Some place where nothing is wrong and everything is easy.

In the end, the small restaurant Jeongguk brings him to is around more than just a corner. It takes them a good fifteen minutes—if Jimin were to be kind on it—to finally step past the door and into a cozy warmth. His entire body shivers at the temperature change, shuddering and quivering under the layers of clothes. It is only after they've walked inside that Jeongguk lets go of his hand, a knowing little smile on his face that looks a bit too smug for Jimin's liking.

Rolling his eyes, walking past the man, he is met with a smiling elderly woman who welcomes them warmly. She shows them to a table, a kind smile on her lips even as she walks away momentarily.

Jimin's eyes follow her, noticing the few other clients and the photos hanging on a wall. Wood and glass make up most of the place, giving a certain warmth to the space, cozy and comfortable even when the air is thick with the scent of food and smokes.

"What do you think?"

Jeongguk sits across from him, chin resting on top of his knuckles and a lazy smile on his lips as he waits for Jimin's eyes to meet his own.

Jimin shrugs, reluctant and a bit resentful.

"Tough crowd," Jeongguk muses, low under his breath as both hands fall clasped on the table, an intensity to his gaze that has Jimin's mind going blank for a split second.

Jeongguk grins at him, all teeth and knowing malice.

"Not so bad," Jimin grumbles, turning his head away to take another lazy look around the small restaurant.

"Just wait until you taste their food."

Jimin's eyes roll, but he doesn't argue with that. And although it looks like Jeongguk brought him at a ramen restaurant of all things, he's hungry enough not to care about how bloated it'll make him feel in the morning.

So, when the middle-aged woman is back to take their orders, Jimin lets Jeongguk handle it with a dismissive shrug. The man grins, and it sets of an alarm bell in Jimin's brain. It is quite pointless now though, and he can only listen while Jeongguk lists more food than they can possibly eat in one sitting.

Jimin's eyes grow progressively wider, while the woman smiles bemusedly at them as she writes down a small notebook. "Quite the appetite for two young men," she muses, sounding rather pleased.

"We're still growing, auntie," Jeongguk claims with a grin, sounding so sincere Jimin can't fight the snort that escapes him.

The woman chuckles, her head shaking some as she walks away.

"Just how many people are you planning on feeding?"

Jeongguk shrugs, looking quite unbothered to Jimin's dismay.

"I've seen you eating," he teases though, looking quite smug and pleased.

Jimin's jaw juts to the side, one brow arching as he exhales sharply. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jeongguk shrugs again, leaning back in his seat leisurely. "Just leave it to me."

Jimin's eyes roll, head shaking in disbelief. "Are you planning on sending me on a food coma?"

"That's not a bad idea," Jeongguk considers, and—to Jimin's horror—he looks like he's actually considering something of the sorts.

"Whatever," he grumbles, fixing a thankful smile when the woman comes back with a bottle of soju and glasses for them. "I don't even wanna know what goes on in that head of yours." Jimin's hands move with muscle memory as he grumbles to himself, pouring a glass each and sliding one toward Jeongguk.

"Cheers," he mutters just before downing his own, not quite bothering to wait for the man to toast as well, or for him to pick his glass. Jimin's all too eager to fill his veins with the hazy warmth of alcohol, that fuzzy intoxication that makes his head airborne.

"Cheers," Jeongguk echoes though, taking only a small sip from his own glass while his eyes never leave Jimin's face.

"So," he begins while setting down the glass and resting his chin on his knuckles again. "How did you find the convention?"

Jimin eyes the bottle again, reaching out without much thought. "It was nice."

"Just nice?"

Jimin shrugs, he fills his own glass again while avoiding Jeongguk's intense stare. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"Everything."

The answer comes with such ease that it leaves Jimin at a loss, gaping and staring at the man dumbly.

"Everything," he parrots, wetting his lips before drinking from the glass filled to the brim. "Alright, then." And he tells Jeongguk everything. He tells him bout the lectures he attended, and the topics that stuck with him the most. He tells him about faces and names he recognized and some he never heard about before, and he tells him all about the things he didn't understand with no shame at all but an hunger in his eyes that burns earnestly.

It is all too easy to slip into something both are comfortable with, in a back and forth that's familiar and predictable.

Jeongguk doesn't really say much, but his grin melts into a smile at some point, something in his gaze softening right under Jimin's gleaming eyes.

Some time goes before their first dishes are served and another bottle of soju is brought to them. Jimin only stops talking to glance down at the fish soup right under his nose, the scent rich and yet not too strong. Just the right equilibrium to entice his hunger and make him momentarily forget about the convention.

Jimin won't ever admit it, but Jeongguk might've been right. It is about a hour later or some more that they're stepping out of the restaurant, not one dish left untouched, their bellies full and Jimin's head the right sort of hazy, light and heady. He smiles much more easily as they walk, hand held into the pocket of Jeongguk's coat like there's no other place for it to be.

They walk aimlessly for a while, and yet—somehow—Jimin hears the waves crashing in the distance.

Somehow, he still has enough presence of mind for his steps to falter, his head snapping Jeongguk's way.

The man doesn't seem to notice though, walking forward with a certain confidence to his steps. Inevitably, it has their hands slipping out of the warm pocket, some distance to grow between them.

"Jeongguk."

The man stops, just at the same moment as Jimin speaks, glancing at their hands and then at his face. "What's wrong?"

Jimin isn't looking at him, but at the dark expanse he sees in the distance. "Shouldn't we head back?"

"The hotel's just by the beach, didn't you notice?"

And Jimin—he can't bring himself to tell him the truth, that he tried his best not to notice anything at all. So he shakes his head no, still not looking at him.

"Alright," he breathes, ignoring the uncomfortably tightness of his throat and shoving away all thoughts trying to claw their way through him. He shakes his head some, like it would make thinking clearly possible, and fits his hand into the warmth of Jeongguk's pocket. "Lead the way, then."

Jeongguk grins, and yet the way takes them right on the shore before Jimin notices. And it's too late to walk away, sand finding its way inside his boots like it always did. They walk a few paces from the shore, the moon high in the sky and the lights from the city casting a peculiar glow on the water and all around them. It makes everything less scary, less of a bottomless abyss and more of something Jimin could maybe face. He doesn't let himself thing, and it's maybe the alcohol in his veins making it all much easier. His hand slips from Jeongguk's and he's taking a few steps ahead. Not many, not to get too far away. Just enough toward the shore for the crashing waves to almost touch the tip of his boots, for the salt to burn strongly in his nose and the wind to carry tiny droplets of water to his flushed face.

Glancing down at his feet, gaze trailing along the endless expanse, Jimin can't help but wonder how she must've felt. If the dread he feels now—harrowing and bone-deep—is the same she felt. Or if maybe she was at peace, at least then.

It's not like it matters now.

Knowing won't change anything, but Jimin can't stop thinking about it. As the roaring waves are all he can hear he easily spirals into bottomless depths. Falling into places where everything is cold, and he's alone in his grief.

Maybe, Jimin thinks in a daze, taking a step forward would answer all of his questions. Or maybe it would silence all the voice rising into a cacophony in his head. But then—just as the thought forms in his mind—strong arms wind around his body and he's being lifted off the damp sand.

Jimin yelps, arms flailing and legs kicking. He screams, heart hammering and pounding in his ears. But then everything is cold and his breath is stuck in his throat.

Water engulfs him as he's let go of, soaking through his clothes and bones. It swallows him whole, so bitingly cold that he is frozen down to every thought, his mind hyper-aware within the next erratic beat of his heart.

"Have you lost your mind?" he splutters, screaming on top of his lungs, uncaring of those who might hear in the distance. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

His voice trembles, body shaking and teeth chattering. But his eyes are burning, glaring at the man waist deep into the chilling water with him.

Waves crash and break past them, their roaring filling Jimin's ears above the hammering of his own heart and the rushing of his curdling blood.

Jeongguk stands unshaken, his face stern, and Jimin is sure he must've lost his mind—at some point without him noticing. But then again it can't be, for the man is looking at him with a sort of intensity that has all words clogging in Jimin's throat. Any scream and shouting, the flaring anger and even the cold biting into his bones seems to fade into nothingness, overpowered and stunned numb by the man's look.

Swallowing, running a shaking hand through his hair, Jimin looks away, glancing at the waves rolling past them and crashing onto the shore.

"I can't stand that look on your face."

"What?" he snaps, his voice high pitched and a scratching scream. No one around to hear the way it breaks but the sea and howling wind.

"That look," Jeongguk tuts, nodding Jimin's way as his gaze clears and focuses on the man. And despite the nonsense situation they are in, Jeongguk's the one looking somewhat annoyed. Jimin's sure he must be seeing it wrong. "The one you have when you think no one's watching," Jeongguk continues, like that explains it all. Again, he seems to be looking right past Jimin, right through him and into some unfathomable distance.

If Jimin didn't know any better, he could almost claim it is anger he sees clouding the man's gaze.

Shaking his head with a baffled gasp, he stomps back to the shore, meaning to leave Jeongguk freezing to death for all he cares, done with him and his nonsense for the night. Or—at least—he tries to, for Jeongguk's hand closes around his wrist, holding him back. The water is not licking at his ankles, and he's shuddering bodily as the cold breeze blows past them.

Despite that, he lets himself be stopped, his head snapping around, eyes blinking away the drops of salt. Jimin glares at the man, feeling utterly lost but fighting with all he can for it not to show.

Whether he notices it or not, Jeongguk doesn't show. He tugs Jimin back to himself effortlessly, forcing him to stumble and fall into his chest with a groan.

Craning his neck, blinking at the man, Jimin tries his best to breathe past the tightness of his throat. Somehow, all the anger he felt up until this moment is slowly but surely waning, fading out of his control.

Jeongguk moves with an ease that is beyond the cold he's thrown both into, far beyond the oddity of the moment. So much so that it takes Jimin by surprise, a shaky gasp slipping past his lips when large hands hold his face, cradling it.

"What are you doing?" It is but a breathless whisper between them, brushing against Jeongguk's lips when he leans down. Their foreheads almost touch, the distance between them paltry and taunting as neither dares cross it.

And yet, Jimin is ever so tempted. For whatever incomprehensible reason, all he can think about is kissing Jeongguk now that he's so close.

The man pulls away as the thought begins to form in Jimin's mind, leaving him gasping and at a loss. Something in his head stumbles, toppling over clumsily. They're still close, Jeongguk's hands still hold him, so distant Jimin feels bitter disappointment overcome him.

"Trying so hard not to kiss you," Jeongguk answers, and Jimin almost forgot about ever asking anything, the words bringing a certain ache to his chest. And he feels desperate, angry and annoyed all at once for he was denied something both desired.

"Why?"

At a later moment, or any other time, Jimin would likely curse himself for this, for not pulling away entirely and doing what's right.

Jeongguk wets his lips, he frowns, looking unfairly pained.

He exhales shakily, leaning down again until their foreheads touch and breaths mix. For a moment, he lingers like this. Like unwilling to move away.

Jimin's own hands latch on him, grabbing the man's arms without him even noticing but clutching around the fabric as everything is cold and Jeongguk is impossibly hot against him. If he were to walk away...

"Because I wouldn't stop at that."

Jimin's breath catches in his throat, even when the words hardly come as a surprise. His mind is blank and heart hammering in his chest. Jeongguk's words jumble around his head like they're all he knows.

"Then don't."

Jeongguk snorts, nose nudging at Jimin, lips brushing the wet skin of his cheeks.

"You'll be the death of me, Jimin-ssi," he chuckles, sounding rather bitter than amused.

And he pulls away, those words still hanging in the air they have just been sharing. All too soon and all too quickly, his hands slide down Jimin's arms, and he's cold, shivering and trembling.

-

Jimin lies on his side, eyes trained to the man sitting on the couch. He's been doing noting but looking at him for the past hour or so, restless and yet unable to do anything about it. Too coward, maybe.

The evening event keep crossing his mind, flashing before his eyes like a continuous stream. Jeongguk's words and his own thoughts echo relentlessly in his ears, feeling unbearably loud when the room is eerily quiet. Not much can be heard but the keyboard's clicking and the turning of pages. From time to time, Jeongguk changes his position, his features twitching and shifting with discomfort.

Jimin's been watching all along, weary but unable to find any rest. If he closes his eyes, all he sees are Jeongguk's own eyes gazing down at him, haunting Jimin.

So he keeps quiet, and watches the man as he works on whatever it is that professors do in their free time. For a while, Jimin can almost convince himself it is good enough, that this sort of arrangement is satisfying enough for him to be content.

For a while. Just until it is clear the shivers of his body won't stop, that the uneasiness in his bones has nothing to do with the way he positions himself. From observant, his gaze turns wary, hesitant.

Jimin wets his lips, lifting some under the covers. They slide down his shoulders, exposing bare skin to the still too cold air. Little does it matter that the heating has been turned on and that the room should be warm enough by now. The chill he feels is bone-deep, restless and persistent.

"Jeongguk," he calls softly, hesitant and reluctant to disturb the man. Still, a selfish streak in him must win over everything else, because Jimin keeps talking once the man's eyes flick to him. "Can you," and he pauses, struck numb by the intensity of Jeongguk's gaze through his glasses, by the surging memories of what they shared on the beach. Hesitating, wetting his lips, he makes himself continue regardless. "It's cold here." And although it is not quite a lie, Jimin's well conscious there's more to it than shivers and chills.

Somehow, he believes Jeongguk must know too.

The man hums, glancing down at his laptop's screen and clicking away on the keyboard.

Jimin feels another wave of cold wash over him, the rejection feeling far worse than he'd ever expected. Throat tight, eyes prickling and humiliation weighing down on his chest, he clenches his jaw. Just as he's about to turn around, face away so that Jeongguk won't see all that doubtlessly shows on his face, Jimin catches the man shifting again.

Despite himself, he's soon watching the man as the faintest hope flickers in his chest. Foolish and pitiful.

Jeongguk pinches the bridge of his nose, glasses lifting up his forehead. He rubs at his right eye, face crumpling up with a tired grimace. Then, closing his laptop and taking it with himself, he moves to the bed.

Everything happens in a wordless silence, from the moment he stands and gathers some books to when he fits in the cold space Jimin couldn't fill for how hard he tried. There was just no way for him to.

"Better?"

Jeongguk isn't looking at him when he asks, settling the book on his free side and opening the laptop on his lap. He taps away on the keyboard, the click-clicking somehow grounding as it lingers in the air.

Jimin hums, not letting himself hesitate too long. Scooting closer bravely, he doesn't stop until their bodies touch, legs brushing and he's boldly nuzzling against Jeongguk's side. His eyes close, a warmth swelling in his chest nicely, his bones weighty as they sink properly in his sore muscles.

The continuous tapping of Jeongguk's fingers on the keyboard is steady and rhythmical, a lullaby that soothes away all of Jimin's tangled thoughts.

"What are you working on" he asks drowsily, only half caring about the answer. He scoots a bit closer, seeking warmth greedily.

Jeongguk answers him with little hesitation, indulging him until the smooth flow of his voice is what guides Jimin into a heavy slumber.

-

They were supposed to leave Busan in the morning.

Jimin wakes up early, and yet he's reluctant to leave the lingering warmth engulfing him. They're supposed to leave soon in the morning, and he's painfully conscious of the clock ticking by.

Still, when they do make it down to the acceptance hall and outside the hotel, Jimin's prey of a nagging voice tutting at him. It is an itch he can't scratch away, that sort that eats wormholes in his brain and makes his mind driven by one single thought.

That is how—and that is why—Jimin takes Jeongguk back to the shore. They walk there, and he's endlessly thankful for the man's lack of pressing inquiry.

"The beach?" Jeongguk asks just, head tilting to the side with a confused frown. He looks around, glances at the watch on his left wrist. "We'll be out of schedule."

He doesn't sound much disappointed, stating fats flatly as his arm lowers.

Jimin nods, chewing on his cheek. "Would that be alright?" Only now, rather carelessly, he considers the possibility Jeongguk might not be willing to indulge him this time again. Still, he lets hope grow and swell boldly in his chest, greedy to have more than he should ask for.

Jeongguk holds his gaze, something flashing in his eyes but gone before Jimin can decipher it. Then, all he can see is determination as the man takes his hand and leads both back to the nearby beach. By the time they've reached it, Jimin's hand is safely tucked in the pocket of Jeongguk's coat. It makes their pace a bit awkward, just short by of uncomfortable with how close they must stand. Neither bothers with it. Although they've disregarded their schedule and whatever plan they might've had back in Seoul, there is a certain urgency to Jimin's step. It is something he can't quite explain, like charcoal under his feet that forces him to a quick and hurried pace.

Soon, they're standing at the beach, stepping onto the unsteady sand. It shifts uncomfortably under the soles of their shoes, but is far from enough to stop Jimin.

He leads the both of them forward, his hand coming out of Jeongguk's pocket in the unreasonable rush. Then, once they're only a few steps from the breaking waves, he stops and exhales heavily.

"I forgot how beautiful it was," he murmurs, the water placid, the sky clear all above them.

It is so early that nearly no one can be spotted, if not for distant shapes he can barely make out. Everything is quiet above the rolling waves and blowing wind, calm and permanent. Unchanging for it is just like he remembered it.

"It's been so long."

Jeongguk says nothing, he stands next to him in his silence. It drags on for so long that Jimin is compelled to turn, head tilting back until he finds dark eyes staring down at him already. It comes—somehow—as such a surprise that his cheeks flush and he looks away sharply.

"Don't you like the sea?" he asks, clearing his throat and carefully glancing at the man.

Jeongguk shrugs, turning to the endless expanse of placid water. "It doesn't really call out to me."

Jimin frowns, he doesn't fake understanding. With a soft exhale, he reaches for Jeongguk's hand and tugs him down as he sits on the sand. It is uncomfortable, damp and infuriating, but still he sits down regardless. Something telling him he wouldn't be able to do this while standing. Like this, legs bent at the knees, Jimin feels less vulnerable and exposed, shielded somehow.

Jeongguk sits without much complaining, following his lead like there's nothing else he could possibly do. Like that's how it is.

"My sister loved the beach here," Jimin confesses, staring away at the horizon, getting lost in it. "Even the sand," he snorts.

"Loved?"

Jimin nods, he shrugs dismissively, like it is dust he can just scroll away, brush off.

"Jihyun is long gone."

Gone. Taken away from him by her own hand.

"I'm sorry," Jeongguk begins.

Jimin wouldn't know what he's apologizing for.

He doesn't want to know.

His head shakes no. "Don't," he demands before the man can possibly add more. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about, and you didn't know. No way you could have."

"Is that why you," Jeongguk trails, his gaze lingering on Jimin's profile.

Jimin shrugs again, sure it must work at some point.

"I haven't come back in such a long time," he admits. "The longer it passed the more this place haunted me." The wavers come closer to where they're sitting, almost licking the tips of his boots. He doesn't move, staring down at their retreat. "And I got scared, so I got angry." He pauses, the words physically hard to pronounce. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Maybe."

They both know it's a soft way to say yes. A performative kindness that leaves a bitter taste in Jimin's mouth. Then though, after a moment, Jeongguk tries to add more. "I should have-"

"What," Jimin snorts, half-smiling. His head tilts, one arm cradling it as he looks sideways at the man. "That was so long ago, and it was about time I faced it."

Jeongguk's jaw clenches at how words, features hardening for a reason Jimin struggles to grasp. "And what now that you did it?" he inquires, rough and sharp. "Does it feel any better?"

Jimin's head lifts, his laugh sounding a lot like a snort, gruff and rough, yet sharp and mean. "No," he confesses through it, like all of this is impossibly funny. But as he feels like laughing his eyes prickle and his chest feels tight. "It feels like shit."

Jeongguk keeps quiet, for a while.

They sit in silence, and it's not tense nor heavy. Jimin finds himself enjoying it, oddly enough. It allow for his thoughts to untangle, for the knot in his throat to loosen some. It allows him fall and settle back in his body, no longer drifting and roaming while running away.

"But it's nice it was with you," he confesses at some point, without much thinking, words spilling out of his mouth without him even process them. "You brought me here without knowing, and expected nothing of me."

"Who does?"

Jimin smirks, bitter and self-mocking.

He doesn't meet Jeongguk's gaze, even when it feels it burn through his skin and calling for him.

"Everyone."

He speaks quietly, like it's a secret.

"The trick is," and he pauses, finally meeting Jeongguk's gaze, finding it dark and deep. "They don't know whether I'll break or succeed."

"And you?" Jeongguk poses, head tilting to the side. "What do you think will happen now?"

Jimin shrugs, smiling with mischief. He stands, brushing and patting the sand away. "I think we'll go back to Seoul," he muses lightheartedly. "And I'll help you with that power-point you were grumbling at tonight."

"Will you?"

Jimin hums standing and holding out a hand to Jeongguk.

"Let's go, teach."

Chapter Text

v. and i never thought i could trust someone, but here you are. oh, what a cruel game you're playing.

but falling on the ground still hurt, after all.

if someone was there to catch him,

it'd be more than wonderful.

Jimin's bag falls loudly on the chair. He pays no mind to it, sitting on an empty seat with a groan.

"Long day?"

He peels on eye open, glancing at Jeongguk sharply.

"You shouldn't leave your apartment's door open," he grumbles rather than answering, sitting up straight and rubbing at his face.

Jeongguk smiles at him, taking off his glasses and putting down the papers he ways reading. "Why not?" he asks, head cocking to the side, one hand playing with a fancy-looking ball-pen. "I knew you were coming."

Jimin grimaces, feeling like any word would be wasted on the man.

The grin stretching Jeongguk's lips wider has his eyes rolling in annoyance. His face doesn't put much effort into hiding it either, every thought so plainly painted all over his features. Still, Jimin has the decency to look away, turn to his back while rummaging through it.

He takes out a different set of books and notebooks than usual, and pointedly avoids Jeongguk's curious look.

"Those are subjects I'm not familiar with."

Jimin's eyes roll, but his lips quirk up despite himself. "I have no time for maths this time," he explains briefly, glancing sullenly at the thick book he's supposed to study on.

"But you still came."

Jimin gives a short, dismissive shrug.

"I needed a quiet place."

His hands skin through the thin pages, reaching the point he last read almost blindly.

"And your apartment?"

He shrugs again, a bit stiffly. "Quiet, not empty."

Jeongguk snorts, but then their gazes meet and his faces is serious, almost pensive. "Alright." His fingers drum on the table, a rhythmical wave that catches Jimin's gaze. "I'll make us something to drink."

Jimin blinks, looking away. He nods, glancing down at his own book while fighting a tired sigh. "Yes," he mutters, so low under his breath it must go unheard.

A few moments later, Jeongguk's back with two steaming hot cups. He sets one closest to Jimin, on whatever free spot he can find on the table. The milky tea is taken with a thankful smile, and it burns Jimin's tongue with the first sip he takes.

"Careful, it's hot."

It earns him a rather resentful glare, one that has Jeongguk's head shaking and a small smile lingering on his lips as he sits down.

"So," he drawls, temple resting on his fist and eyes falling to the thick book under Jimin's nose. "What's that?"

Jimin groans, his head dropping until it hits the book with a muted thump. "The bane of my existence," he grumbles, voice muffled and distorted.

"I see."

Jimin glances at him, face turning and cheeks squishing against the crumpling pages.

"I thought I would be."

"Not funny, teach." He lifts his head, scowling at the other. "Not at all."

Jeongguk smirks though, taking a sip from his cup of coffee but never looking away. "I think it is, though."

For the next hour or so—out of sheer pettiness rather than innate focus and will to study on a Saturday afternoon—Jimin buries his nose into the thin pages of his administrative law book. He almost—almost—forgets about the other, if not for the scratching of graphite on paper and the tapping of long fingers on the keyboard. Almost is good enough though, it drives Jimin through a bit over than a hour of study with no commendable distraction.

"Are you staying for dinner?"

For how innocent and familiar the words are, Jimin jumps in his seat. Blood runs cold in his veins, throat drying when he fumbles for his phone pushed out of reach on the table. At last, he finds a dreadful count of missed calls glaring back at him. A string of curses slips past his lips, one hand gathering his belongings clumsily while the other dials back Chaeyeon's number.

"I take it as a no?"

Jimin stops dead in his track, phone ringing in one hand while he turns to look at Jeongguk. His mouth feels dry, lips chapped, and for some reason he feels guilt twisting in his chest. It forces an apologetic grimace on his face, one that says all he can't bring himself to.

Jeongguk holds his gaze, firm and intense. He says nothing, bearing that ungodly ability to conceal his every thought.

Jimin wets his lips, trying to convince himself there's no reason to feel the way he does.

"Jimin?"

Chaeyeon's voice is like a blade cutting through him, an axe falling to cut through ice.

Something flashes over Jeongguk's features, but there's no hope for Jimin to read it for it's soon gone.

"Jimin, where are you?"

Jimin's throat click. He can't bring himself to answer, stuck in the stronghold of Jeongguk's gaze.

"Aren't you going to answer her?"

Again, Jimin feels cold all over.

Jeongguk's voice is firm, sharp like hardly ever. As he arches a brow, his chin nods subtly to the phone still held mid-air.

"Don't make her wait."

Pressing his lips, clenching his jaw, Jimin brings the phone to his ear.

"I'm here," he tells her, an edge to his voice she doesn't deserve. "I'm sorry, I'm coming right away." As he speaks, as he distractedly hears her reply, Jimin still holds Jeongguk's gaze.

Whatever he hopes to prove by that, it is made vain when the man stands. "You don't need to be showed the way out, I suppose."

Jimin's teeth grind, but he nods as he watches Jeongguk walking away. His free hand clenches in a fist, a mounting rage barely contained thrashing within him.

Still, exhaling through his nose and turning away, Jimin reminds himself this is no time for this. Whatever it is. Jeongguk's tantrum or his own unmotivated feelings.

-

To his credit, Jimin did a great job at not thinking about Jeongguk's odd behavior and the way it affected him. In all honesty, he does a good job at it up until Chaeyeon demands his undivided attention. That leaves him at the mercy of his own thoughts for most of the night, though—from the moment he made up a laughable excuses not to spend the night, to the moment he found himself driving around the city aimlessly.

At regular intervals, Jimin checks his phone and watch, checking if he got any call of text and the time with concerning dedication. It goes on and on until he's too tired to keep driving, but the coldness and quiet of his apartment hardly feel inviting. So, in what is a rather pitiful arrangement, Jimin parks his car by the river and waits. He waits for dawn, and then waits for it to be a socially acceptable hour before starting the car again.

He doesn't let himself think much of it, putting all of himself in the familiar route that takes him to the residential neighborhood not too distant from campus. Just the opposite direction of his own.

Before long—because somehow he kept himself close to this very place through the whole night—Jimin's finger is pressing at the doorbell. He made it up to Jeongguk's floor thanks to a nice old lady who kept the door open for him, one who saw him around enough times not to ask questions but to smile at him. Another time—maybe—Jimin will ponder about the meaning of it.

Now, though, he fights the urge to press the code into Jeongguk's lock and let himself in. Jimin's not quite sure when he learned the code, at what point he was told to head in first rather than waiting for Jeongguk.

It feels like a lifetime ago, and like no time at all. It is hard to tell, when the past weeks and past couple months feel like a blur to him. Yet—at the same time—he struggles to recall a time where he felt this aware.

When a few, long moments go by and the door is still closed, Jimin rings the bell again. He presses hard and long on the button, his other hand clutching around the paper bag he brought along. A peace offering for a wrong he can't entirely commit to.

"I'm here, dammit."

Jeongguk's voice reaches him far before the door opens, a bitten curse and muffled words. But the door does open—only a second later—and they're standing facing one another.

Jimin's hand falls, his eyes widening when he's met with the man's bare chest.

"I," he tries, mouth dry, eyes tracing the lines of Jeongguk's body without him even noticing. He drinks in the sight, from his chest to his abdomens, to the arch of his hipbones. Jimin swallows dry, gaze lingering.

"You?"

His eyes snap up, finding Jeongguk waiting for him patiently. The man's stance shifts, arms crossing over his chest as he leans against the doorframe. "What are you doing here?"

And Jimin—he knew this was an awful idea. Some part of him—at least—must've known. But he's running on barely any sleep and all he could think about was the stiff and unpleasant way they parted. It sat light a burden on his chest, making him laden with unrest and many thoughts.

"I brought breakfast," he offers eventually, his voice strained as he forces a smile. His hand lifts mid-air, showing the bounty of his morning hunt. It was—quite literally—a strenuous hunt that got him anything to eat at such an ungodly hour.

Jeongguk's eyes flick to the white paper bag with the flashy logo printed on, then up to Jimin's grimace. He shifts, one hand carding through his hair as he steps back.

"Alright."

It's all the invite Jimin needs, scurrying inside before anyone can see them. Though—he muses—no other but him and the old lady would be up at this hour on a Sunday morning.

"So, breakfast, uh?" Jeongguk muses while walking past him, heading to the kitchen.

Jimin kicks off his shoes and hurries after him, overwhelmed by the ridiculous idea that anything he could do now might piss Jeongguk off enough to be kicked out.

In the kitchen, he finds Jeongguk facing the stove-top, giving him his back.

Awkwardly, Jimin draws a chair back and sits. The clothes from yesterday are starting to feel uncomfortable, too stiff and tight around his body. Or maybe it's his own skin, Jimin fears he wouldn't be able to tell.

When Jeongguk turns, he doesn't take a seat but leans back around the counter. He says nothing, arms holding back onto the stone edge, arms flexing.

Jimin tries his best and fails not to look at it, not to stare at the way the man's tattoos come alive with the smallest twitch and shift of his body.

"Jimin?"

His head snaps, and heat creeps to his cheeks for being caught staring, again.

"Is everything alright?"

For all his embarrassment, the words ignite something inside of him. He shrugs, looking away.

"I dunno," he forces through. "You tell me."

Jeongguk sighs, and that's enough for Jimin's attention to shift again.

"Did I do something wrong?" And he didn't mean for it to sound sharp, almost a hiss. Yet, that's just the way it is. His eyes narrow, an itch crawling underneath his skin.

Jeongguk sighs, carding a hand through his hair.

Jimin looks at him, and just now notices it is damp, a few droplets falling on his shoulders and collarbones. Water trickles down his skin, but—this time—Jimin catches himself staring before Jeongguk can.

"You know you didn't." He sounds tired when talking, jaw jutting to the side and a light scowl bringing his brows closer.

"Do I?"

"Jimin."

"What," he snaps, standing up so fast it nearly gives him whiplash. "Jimin, what?"

His hands itch, burning almost with the compelling urge to do something. He brings one to his hair, if just to keep himself busy while—for whatever humiliating reason—the corner of his eyes begin to burn.

Letting his arms fall, turning his face to hide from those eyes that always see everything, Jimin takes one deep, bracing breath before meeting Jeongguk's gaze again.

He finds the man standing a step closer, a streak of concern now drawing his features. Jimin is painfully aware he brought that there, hating and resenting himself for feeling guilty and heavy about it.

"What do you want from me?"

His cry surprises himself as much as it does Jeongguk. It sounds strained, on the verge of a breaking point.

Jeongguk's eyes widen, his mouth opening and closing just to utter no sound in the end.

At last, he sighs, jaw clenching. One arm reaches out, taking a hold of Jimin and pulling him in brusquely.

The touch—as much as the rough tug—take him off guard, and he's stumbling into the man's chest with a muffled yelp.

Jeongguk's embrace is warm and firm, welcoming Jimin with such an ease one would think they've done it plenty of times before. Yet Jimin's heart beats fast and loud in his chest, and his mind is numb, airborne as he tries to make sense of it.

"I'm sorry."

Jeongguk speaks just a hair breadth from Jimin's temple, soft breath brushing down his heated cheek. "I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you."

Jimin's head turns, just enough for his forehead to press against the man's firm chest. His fists uncurl, a strong and fast-paced heartbeat drumming underneath his palm. Not his own, but racing underneath bones just the same.

Feeling it fall into step with his own, like they've been sharing the same track this whole time, Jimin exhales, eyes squeezing shut.

"I don't know what to do," he mumbles in the quiet safety of his hideout, fighting pitiful tears as the faintest sort of relief begins to swell in him. Jeongguk's embrace doesn't give signs of loosening, of letting go, and Jimin almost believes they could stay like this for a whole eternity. "Can't you tell me?"

As the words still linger on his lips, Jimin cranes his neck, looking up at the other.

Jeongguk's gaze is dark troubled, it doesn't quite meet Jimin's.

The man sighs, eyes closing as his chest heaves and falls.

"Let's have breakfast," he says then, a small smile on his lips as he pulls away, leaving Jimin cold all over again.

Sniffling and nodding, he turns back to his abandoned seat while shrugging away his own sorrows.

"It is not a full-course meal, but," he trails, prying open the paper bag while attempting a grin at Jeongguk. It looks much like a grimace, but neither mentions it. "They looked inviting enough."

"And it's all you could find at, what?" Jeongguk checks his phone for the time, his voice trailing off. "Six in the morning?"

Jimin shrugs, his grin bit more sincere and a whole lot sheepish. "And it's all I could find at six in the morning," he admits, fishing out the sandwiches he bought, now gone cold.

And because it is not a full-course meal, he made a point of buying himself two—for he is a still growing, healthy, young man.

Jeongguk's look is a whole lot judging, but amused all the same.

On the stove, the water for Jimin's tea boils, catching their attention. He quietly watches the man stand and work with practiced ease, munching on his first sandwich, content even as a lingering weight stays on his chest.

"How long are you staying?" Jeongguk asks without turning, pouring milk into the cup and stirring.

Jimin shrugs, eyes flicking to the ceiling when he realizes the other can't see him. "I dunno," he replies around his last bite. "Why? Already thinking of kicking me out?"

Jeongguk turns with a snort and a steaming cup in one hand, setting it near Jimin before sitting down. "Not quite," he muses, taking a cautious bite of his own sandwich. The appreciative sound he makes has Jimin grinning widely, mentally filing it away as something he wants to hear again. "I have a few things you could help me with?"

"Grading?"

Jeongguk grins, thumb brushing away the moistness collecting at the corner of his mouth. Jimin tries—he does—not to look, but, alas.

"That too."

"Well," he drawls, setting down his almost finished sandwich and taking a careful sip from the milky tea. He somehow manages to still burn the tip of his tongue, but makes an effort not to let it show. "You're in luck, I was just feeling like role playing as a TA."

"Funny," Jeongguk snorts, taking another large bite.

Jimin watches him, and thinks he'll be going back often to that hole-in-the-wall shop.

-

Finals come around faster than anyone was ready for.

They bring a warmer weather, but an electricity in the air that can hardly be put into words.

The campus is in a frenzy, and somehow it offers the best cover for no one to notice the subtle change in Jimin. No one but those who were waiting and looking for it.

Everyone—from Taehyung to Jihyo—cast wary looks his way. They had all known Jihyun. It would've been impossible to hide it from them. So, as finals swamp every student with more they could possibly deal with, Jimin finds himself busy enough to ignore everything. And it's a blessing in and of itself.

He ignores the worried looks and he ignores every one of his mother's call. What—among other things—he doesn't ignore is Jeongguk's apartment.

His visits have long stopped being relegated to the weekends, at some point—like a natural unfolding of events, becoming just the way it was meant to.

The man doesn't ever mention it, and he doesn't mention Jimin curling up in one end of his couch while underlying the thin pages of his law books. Most times, Jeongguk works on his own researches or papers, some other times he watches a movie while keeping the volume impossibly low. He never asks Jimin to leave, and the other is too reluctant to renounce the quiet company—even when it makes him scowl at the pages and read one line over and over again.

Without ever quite addressing it, they've found a comfortable enough routine, the melding of lives without them even really noticing. Or—if either did, neither dared mentioning it.

Still, as a certain day comes around, Jimin isn't to be found in any of the campus classes and not in Jeongguk's apartment.

He's turned off his phone in the morning, left it behind in his car—forgotten. And he stands there, in the cold columbarium long after the sun has set. The whole day is much of a blur, feeling colder than any other and dull, like he was trapped in a glass cage the entire time. Even now, as he stares at the familiar picture smiling back at him, things don't feel quite real.

The old guardian sometimes walks in and walks by to check in on him, maybe trying to make his impatience be noticed.

Jimin barely even acknowledges him the first time, but that's the first. By the second time the old man walks by, Jimin is sitting down, his neck uncomfortably craned. He doesn't turn to the guardian, doesn't even really notice his lingering.

Jihyun's not too far high, and yet he has to tilt his head all the way back to still look at her after his legs give out. Dry tears make Jimin's skin itch, but he doesn't brush them away nor fights the ones falling from time to time.

Jimin is—for quite some time after sundown—lost and castaway. His mind and body and heart scattering into the void until he is nothing but sorrow and grief, helpless like the unshed tears he can no longer hold back.

"Son."

The voice is quiet, hesitant. There's a shaking to it, making it unsteady, too timid once it's let out.

Jimin heaves out a breath upon hearing it, reluctant to look away. He stands though, head downcast and lids lowering. He bows, as far low as his body will bring him, and then turns to the old guardian.

"I'm sorry," he utters, his voice barely any steadier.

As he stands straight, he catches the man looking puzzled, at a loss.

Watching him now, Jimin feels just like he did years ago.

Back then, the uniform had made him look like he didn't belong in a place of sorrow and grief, looking so painfully out of place while the redness at the corners of his eyes seemed to say it all. They had earned him a sympathetic pat on his shoulder, a squeeze and words that made no sense.

Was she a friend?

Jimin hadn't been able to answer, no way to explain why he was only visiting days after her funeral.

Yet, year after year, he is the one who comes to her without a fail when everyone else seems to have forgotten.

The old guardian never asked again after that first time. Something like understanding—for how vague—always seems to linger in his veiled eyes now.

"It is alright," he says, squeezing Jimin's shoulder. "Go back home now, don't make her feel pity for you."

Another squeeze, a light pat, and the old man is pulling away, turning around. He doesn't urge Jimin to leave, lets him linger some more even when it is way past closing hour.

Jimin, though, doesn't turn to Jihyun's smiling but faded picture. He walks away, long strides taking him to his car until the door is closing loudly, like a thunder ringing in his ears.

When he starts the car, some moments later, Jimin isn't sure where to go. Yet he finds himself at his own place—somehow. The entire drive feels much like a dazed dream, not quite real, not quite concrete. And yet it brought him to a place that hardly feels like his own anymore. Its cold and eerie quiet has kept Jimin away day after day, if not on rare occasions. Now, though, that same cold and eerie quiet calls to him.

His fingers press the correct sequence of numbers with muscle memory, in a daze. The house inside—though—is anything but what he was expecting.

The lights have been turned on, and there's a suffocating heat drying his throat. A thought crosses his mind, the haze clearing so fast it has him unsteady on his two feet.

"Jimin? Is that you?"

Her voice alone is enough for the blood in his veins to run cold, a shiver running down his spine. His hands twitch and curl, the compelling urge to leave feeding into the swelling panic in his chest.

Footsteps come closer, the clicking of heels on the floor echoing in his ears louder than his rushing blood.

"Jimin?"

Jimin swallows, throat clicking. He glances back to the door, but she's already standing there, only a few paces from him down the entrance corridor.

"We've been calling you." It is subtly accusing, her tone loaded with more than just words can carry. "Where have you been the whole day?"

Kicking off his shoes, faintly remembering turning off his phone earlier in the morning, Jimin looks away from her briefly.

"Hello, mother," he says when standing straight, stepping deeper into the apartment. "I wasn't expecting your visit today."

He walks past her without much of a glance, hesitating when found at a crossroad. In his home, there isn't a place he would feel comfortable enough to face his mother. So, at a loss, he stands in the living room while waiting for her to reach him.

"It wouldn't have come to this if only you'd answered our calls."

Our. Jimin tries to trace back when she and Chaeyeon became us, our. At some point years back, maybe. Before Jihyun's death and all that happened around it. He can't quite remember. Jimin struggles to remember ever being bothered by it before. It had felt normal, right—the natural course of events unfolding.

"I must've missed them."

"Yes," she presses, rather pointedly, her tone forceful. "You seem to do that a lot, lately."

Another time, maybe, Jimin would've looked for an excuse, some sort of way to justify himself.

"Is that why you're here?"

Her gaze turns sharp, cutting through his with veiled anger. Her lips twist and purse. Ko Hannara has never been quite good at concealing the most fierce emotions thrashing in her. Not her anger, not her jealousy and not her resentment. When Jimin was only a child, the sharpness of her glares was enough to scare him into obedience.

As he holds her gaze now, though, Jimin can't find it in himself to act the same way.

"Yes, Jimin," she hisses, jaw jutting to the side. Her narrow eyes turn into slits, something in her elegant facade cracking. "I came here because I haven't been able to reach my son in the Lord knows how long."

Jimin's jaw clenches, a ring in his ears making her words just background noise.

"But there's more I need to address."

His eyes blink into focus, hands clammy with sweat.

"I've had some time alone in here while I was waiting for you." She walks away, to the round table not much distant.

Jimin's eyes dart to it, blood going cold and stomach dropping when he recognizes what's on it.

"Enough time to find some interesting things."

In a daze, mouth drying, he follows her until he can clearly see what she laid on the glass surface.

"Care to explain?"

Jimin walks up to the table, staring down at the unfilled papers and the brochures he brought back as a souvenir. The logo stares black at him in mockery, laughing at his carelessness.

"Is this what you've been doing?"

His head snaps to her, eyes struggling to focus on her twisted and hardened face.

"Wasting your time and my resources on this?"

She picks the sheets with one manicured hand, throwing it away, letting the paper scatter on the floor.

"Say something at least!" She urges when her words are only met with utter silence, Jimin's eyes not even on her. "Have you lost you mind, Jimin?"

His jaw clenches, gaze snapping up to her at last.

"Why?"

She gapes, eyes twitching.

"Why is it so wrong?"

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, hands twitching and fisting. Her head shakes, at a loss.

"And what then?" she dares, her head tilting to the side and eyes narrowing again. "Cast away all we've worked on?"

Part of Jimin is tempted to lie and appease her, telling her this means nothing. Everything else, though, is crying and itching to yell back at her, see more cracks appear on her perfect face until she'll look human again to his eyes.

"And what if I do?"

The words are much easier to speak than he feared, taking out an unbearable weight of him, breaking shackles he'd long since grown accustomed to.

Her face crumbles, hardening but looking wrong in all the right ways. She sucks a sharp breath through her teeth, her hands twitching lifting mid-air just to fall again.

"Do not joke around."

His lips purse, twisting as he holds her burning gaze. "And if I'm not? What if I mean it?"

Her teeth grind, and he can almost hear it.

"Have you forgotten why we're doing this?"

Sometimes, Jimin stays awake at night wishing he could. Today of all days, it seems harder than ever to stop thinking about Jihyun.

"You must succeed," she presses, a desperation in her voices as she looks like crumbling under his gaze. "It's the only way. You know that, don't you?"

Jimin's gaze averts, tongue pushing up against his palate. He thinks about Jihyun's faded picture, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. And he thinks about the man who pushed her that far, the unbothered look in his eyes after her death. And he thinks about their power-hungry father, the dismissive words answering to Jihyun's pleas.

Jimin's eyes squeeze, but he cannot unsee all that, not when it's all burned into his eyelids for him to never forget. His mother's rancor burning almost as ardently as his own.

So he nods, looking down and looking away. Reminding himself why they're doing this, why it was so important he never lost his mother's support. Still, something in him stays ever so reluctant. Tired of games and scheming, of all her revenge took from him.

She hums, the sound soft and indulging like she can read every one of his thoughts. Those that please her, at least. "Don't let anything distract you." She reaches out, taking his hand in her own. "You know that's all it is, right? Distractions."

Jimin can't bring himself to agree, looking into her eyes for something he won't find.

"Don't let Jihyun's death be in vain, we cannot allow that." She pauses, then, "Your father and that man have to pay for what they did."

Jimin's teeth grind, he snatches his hand away.

And what about me? A voice in his head cries out, suffocated and feeble and yet so loud as it rings in his ears.

"Is this all that matters to you, mom?" he asks, his voice low at first. "Getting back to him?" he presses, a bit louder and yet not quite rising his voice yet. "Is your revenge all you care about? Does her death even bothers you anymore?" By the end of it, Jimin is lashing out at her. All he can see is the lonely space in which his sister rests, empty of anything but that fading picture. Forgotten for all one could guess.

Her face twists, crumpling with every pressing word he speaks.

"Do not claim to know what I feel, Jimin," she all but hisses. "You would never be able to bear my grief."

"Then show me," he cries out, desperate to see it, to prove there is more than her wounded pride to any of this. Jihyun's death more than a tool for her to weaponize. "Show me your daughter's life wasn't just an expendable, bargaining chip in your games."

For her pride was wounded far before her marriage, for Hannara beared her rancor for a longer time than Jimin could've ever predicted. And—by the time he was made aware—he was already caught in his mother's web, strung along in her scheming against her former husband.

"Tell me she isn't just the scapegoat to your resentment."

The lines of her face harden, and she slaps him when those last words are still hanging between them.

For all of his mounting rage, Jimin takes it without even trying to spare himself the pain.

His face turns with the impact, cheek numb and prickling, her rings biting into the skin.

"I will not let you disrespect me this way."

Jimin's shoulders lift and fall, his head falling. He wishes she'd at least tried to deny it. Made it easier for him to draw a clear line between what's real and what's lies, paint a definite picture of the woman standing in front of him. Something different from the blurred and flickering figure he sees now.

"I'm just tired, mom," he confesses, tears burning in his eyes. "I'm tired of your scheming and of your revenge." And of so much more he can't even put it into words. He doesn't quite expect her to understand, not when he's always been the expendable toll she took for granted.

Yet she sucks in a sharp breath at his words, bristling.

"Sometimes I can't even breathe, mom" he exhales, voice strained, a whimper almost.

Looking up, Jimin finds her face disfigured by repressed anger and something he can't quite name.

"I want to stop."

"What?" she rasps, panic and anger clawing up her throat.

"I think I'm done with all of this," he confesses in a breath, looking at her and right through her. "With your money and your anger and your resentment. I want to stop, mom."

That last word, lingering bitterly on his tongue, feels weirdly foreign. Jimin can't quite recall when they first stood like this, face to face barely a step away.

"Don't you dare."

Her voice rises in pitch, strained as it grates at the walls of her throat. Jimin feels her pain as his own, the anger and disappointment and the fear. Still he holds her gaze, unyielding even when feeling himself crumbling. And maybe it's both of them falling apart.

"Have you no care for what they did to her?" her voice rises in pitch even more, a screech piercing through him. "Of what they took from us?"

Jimin looks away, face turning, an unbearable weight pressing down his chest. Words press at the seam of his lips, and it's hard to find a good reason to hold back now, when so much has been said already. "You should've fought for her when Jihyun was still alive, mom." He stops, makes sure to be holding her gaze. "It's too late now for that."

Hannara trembles, bottom lip quivering.

"How dare you," she hisses through her teeth. Her eyes, liquid and yet burning, seem to bear unspeakable depths within, dark and dangerous.

Her hand lifts, but it never lands on his bruising cheek. It drops, falling in defeat.

She breathes in, exhaling through her lips slowly.

"You're just tired," she claims then, her voice steady again. "And it is not appropriate of us to be fighting on this day."

Jimin looks at her, but his gaze is unfocused, cast miles away past his mother.

"Don't ignore my calls next time, you know it makes me worry." She smiles, thin lips stretching in that forced and practiced way.

He nods, numbly.

She hums appreciatively when all fights seems to have drained from him, reaching with one hand. She cups his offended cheek, stroking it lovingly.

Her tongue clicks, the sound so sharp and sudden it almost makes Jimin flinch. Almost.

"Look what you made me do," she tuts, her touch falling. Her hand searches through her purse for a tissue, and she gently pads the blood away, her cold caress lingering.

"I'll let you rest, now." Hannara's voice is soft and steady, but to Jimin it hardly sounds human, disembodied almost. "You must focus on your studies, after all."

And she leaves, quietly like she came.

She leaves Jimin standing in the middle of his suffocating apartment, overcome with the urge to run away but nowhere to go. The only place he would go, the only person he would run to, being the only he'd rather never seeing him like this. Like the blowing wind would be enough to make him fall, one wrong motion and he'd break.

Jeongguk cannot see this, for a number of reason Jimin isn't ready to list yet.

Breathing out shakily, Jimin's fingers touch to his wet cheek. A bead of blood catches on his fingertips, red and shiny under his eyes. He stares at it in a trance, and tries to convince himself this is not something Jeongguk should be burdened with. Not any more of his grief and not whatever it is that's so irremediably wrong in his life. Maybe later, when Jimin will find his breathing steady again and his eyes no longer moist. Maybe he can go to him later, and let everything else disappear in the background.

–

"I never want to do this ever again."

Taehyung lies sprawled on the table, cheek squished onto it as he mumbles in his despair.

Yoongi glances at him, something vaguely judgemental in his look that goes mostly unnoticed.

Sitting next to Taehyung, Jihyo pats his back in understanding while her other hand pours more soju in their glasses. "Drink up, you'll feel better."

Sniffling, Taehyung sits straight and does as he's told. He lets her bring the glass to his mouth, head tilting back.

Jimin looks at the pair, and thinks they might've spoiled Taehyung a tad bit too much. Even so, that doesn't stop him from putting more meat in the other's plate. "Don't just drink," he scolds softly. "Don't let her lead you astray."

The look Jihyo casts his way is sharp but amused, a sly smile on her glossy lips. "I would never," she swears, leaning in until her head rests on Taehyung's shoulder.

Jimin's eyes roll, head shaking, but he doesn't argue with it.

"So tell me, Jimin." Seokjin, sitting at a certain distance, calls for his attention. "How're you feeling about finals?"

Jimin shrugs, he ignores the few knowing looks being cast his way. They all seem to know the answer already, and a practiced smile is sheepishly drawing on his lips. "I think they went good," he muses, taking a small bite of meat to his lips.

They'reb out to celebrate, and all have been eager to gather up again after so long.

"We all know you did great," Chaeyeon chimes in sweetly. She sits just next to him, head resting on her fist and food going ignored in her plate.

Jimin glances at it, a slight frown drawing on his face.

"We can't know that for sure."

From across the table, Taehyung groans. "As it," he grumbles. "You always nail all of your classes with no efforts."

Jimin smiles at him, and he smiles at Chaeyeon when her hand falls on his thigh.

"And what about you, hyung?"

The attention drives away from his with much ease, shifting to Seokjin who is grinning at them. From then, it is easy to keep everyone focused and interested in the long—and detailed—recounting of every sort of gossip Seokjin was able to gather and collect in the few weeks they haven't seen each other.

Jimin tries to keep up with most of it, but finds himself helplessly distracted time and time again.

In his pocket, his phone pings with a new text. He ignores it, but then it happens again and again, his hands itching to check. The foreboding feeling of knowing who it must be from, the possibility alone, seems to drive him insane in the span of a few minutes. Still, he keeps up with the cheating scandal Seokjin is eagerly feeding them, up until the very end. Then a new ping, and Jimin is suddenly deaf to his hyung's voice.

Swallowing thickly, hand pressing to the tight pocket of his pants, he draws his chair back as quietly as he can possibly manage.

"Where are you going?" Chaeyeon asks softly, her hand slipping away and falling to her lap. She looks up, nothing but sincere curiousity in her peach blossom eyes.

"I need some air, I'll be right back." He smiles, as comforting as he can bring himself to.

"Want me to come?"

"No," his head shakes no slowly, the smile lingering on his lips. "I just need a moment."

She looks dubious, but still her head nods and she attempts a smile back. Soon, her attention draws back to Seokjin as Jimin walks away.

His hand presses to the tight pocket of his pants, itching and almost burning with the urge to check. Still he doesn't, not until he's stepping out of the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Then, nothing stops his hands from shoving in the pocket of his pants.

Another ping comes, the screen lighting up with a familiar name on top.

Jimin is still walking down the street, grinning while he unlocks the phone and reads through the texts. Still, he can only go through the first few before an incoming call catches his attention.

Stopping on his track, eyes glancing around out of habit, Jimin lets his thumb swipe across the screen. He ignores the fluttering feeling in his stomach, the giddiness it brings to him. But it's harder to fight off the smile as it lingers on his face.

"Couldn't wait any more, uh?" he teases even before Jeongguk can speak through the phone, leaning back against the cold wall. "Missed me that much?"

"Yes."

Jeongguk's answer is firm, with no trace of hesitation whatsoever. It takes Jimin's breath away, leaving him at a loss for words. All of his teasing gone, head airborne.

He exhales shakily, wetting his lips and trying to fight off the sheepish smile drawing on his lips, partially bashful.

"I has been a while, hasn't it?"

From the other end, he hears some shuffling, and picture Jeongguk shifting wherever he is. "A week," the man reminds him, no particular emotion in his voice but bone-deep exhaustion.

Jimin's feet shift, shuffling on the concrete and kicking the air absently.

"And tell me, teach, how's this week without me been?"

The words are casual, spoken lightheartedly. Jimin doesn't think he even cares about Jeongguk's reply as long as he can hear through the phone. And it makes no sense, but he doesn't dare thinking about it too long.

"Boring," the man replies softly. "And quiet."

Jimin snorts, taking some offence in that. "I'm not that noisy."

"You're not."

Something else goes untold, lingering in the air all the same.

Jimin glances down at his feet, chewing on his cheek and pulling at his lips.

"Why did you call, teach?"

Some other soft sound comes from the other end, and Jimin tries to picture what the other man might be doing. He hears the clicking of a ball-point pen, the pulling back of a chair, and smiles down at the tip of his shoes.

"I told you, I missed your company."

Jimin's still chewing the inside of his cheeks, not stopping even when he starts to taste the tang of blood on his tongue.

"And I was just thinking about putting on a movie, maybe order in some chicken."

Jimin glances to the side, where the restaurant's door is. He bites down hard on his cheek, the index finger of his free hand scratching at his thumb absently. "What movie?"

He's still looking at the glass door, clutching the phone to his ear.

"I think I mentioned it," Jeongguk muses absently, he hears the laptop closing, and some other sound he can't quite pinpoint. "We have a few to catch up on still."

Jimin hums, pulling from the wall and kicking at the stones down the sidewalk.

"And chicken?"

Jeongguk chuckles softly under his breath.

Jimin doesn't even have to try to picture exactly the way he must look. Slightly disheveled after the long hours of studying and work, that lazy smile lingering on his lips and looking a lot like a smirk. The one that carves dimples in his cheeks, that makes him look all the sharper and charming.

"Do you wanna come over, Jimin-ssi?" It is faintly teasing, the soft chuckle still lingering to his voice. Yet—for some whatever reason—he still sounds sincere. Enough for Jimin to truly consider the offer, everything about it achingly tempting.

The door to the restaurant opens, and Namjoon walks through it while searching his pockets. He doesn't even seem to notice Jimin, not at first while his head is slightly lowered and a slight frown is cast on his features.

Then, lifting his head, his dimpled smile greets him, slightly bashful.

"Do you happen to have a lighter?"

Jimin's hand twitches around the phone, something in his gaze going sharp and wary.

Namjoon walks closer, curiousity and confusion drawing on his face as he notices the subtle shift in Jimin.

Everything alright? He mouths, glancing at the phone still pressing to Jimin's ear.

From the other end, Jeongguk is quiet.

Everything is quiet but for the buzzing in Jimin's head.

"Jimin?"

"Yeah," he says, fast and a bit tense.

Namjoon nods, once. His gaze still holding traces of doubt.

"I just," Jimin trails, teeth pulling at his bottom lip. "I think I need to go."

Bringing down the phone, he notices the call has been ended. Unlocking the screen, he finds one more text from Jeongguk. It has the corners of his lips twitching, that fluttering feeling in his chest going rampant.

"And you're sure everything is alright?"

Jimin's gaze snaps up, he grimaces sheepishly. "I swear."

Namjoon sighs, one hand running through his hair. It has grown quite a lot from when the last saw one another, but it's still short, shorter than he used to have it.

Jimin looks at him, hard lines and yet soft all over.

"Something came up, but it's all good."

This time, his smile is more sincere and seems to convince Namjoon a bit. Fishing one hand in the pocket of his jacket, Jimin takes out an old lighter.

"Here."

He hands it over while walking past the man, throwing it in the air for Namjoon to catch it.

"Didn't you stop?"

Jimin hums, he pats the other's shoulder. "I have." But Jeongguk hasn't, and somehow Jimin has come to the habit of carrying one around just in case, or pocketing the man's whenever they go out for a smoke. Somehow, it's just another nonsensical habit he's gotten and never really thought about.

Jeongguk is sometimes forgetful of the simplest things, and so Jimin made himself pay attention, compensate.

-

The following morning sees Jimin leaving the bed as quietly as he possibly can, hand clutching around his phone and bare feet padding through the bedroom. It is still just the earliest hours of the morning, and his body is heavy with sleep. Reluctance to leave weighing down every bone in him.

Still, he crosses the bedroom and leaves the door ajar behind, blindly walking through the corridor and into the living room. This one basks in the dawn's soft glow, the curtains parted before the glass doors giving to the balcony.

The phone in his hand rings again, just as he's sliding one door open and sneaking through the narrow gap. This time, he doesn't refuse the incoming call but lets his thumb swipe left.

"Mom," he trails, his voice hoarse.

The brisk air welcomes him with a shiver running down his spine, feet freezing onto the cold tiles. Nibbling on his bottom lip, Jimin looks down at them while his toes awkwardly wiggle.

"Pleased to see you no longer avoid my calls, son."

Jimin's lips press tight, his gaze skimming over the scenery laid before him like a painting. "I thought that would upset you."

A soft sound comes from her end, something like a scoff she barely conceals.

"Why did you call?" he asks when, despite summer approaching steadily fast, the early morning is chilling and compelling him to head back into a warm bed.

"I was passing by your neighborhood, and you weren't home."

Jimin's stomach drops, a tightness squeezing his guts painfully. He grimaces, glancing down at his feet helplessly.

"I went out with friends yesterday, I didn't make it home."

It is a good lie, one that would stand strong enough before many's inquiries. His mother hums, and Jimin tries to ignore the uneasiness crawling underneath his skin.

"I see," she comments though, voice flat enough not to give away much.

Jimin's index finger scratches at the side of his thumb, teeth biting down his bottom lip.

"And when will you come back?"

"I'm not sure yet." And although this is the sheer truth, it feels worse than committing to any lie.

"You sound like you don't have much to do, doesn't it?"

A shaky breath slips past Jimin's lips, his eyes looking forward and yet not quite seeing much. Nothing of the familiar scenery registers in his mind.

"Why?" he asks, his voice as firm as he possibly can manage. To his chagrin, it isn't much.

"There's someone I would like you to meet today."

"Who?"

He hears some sound coming from the other end, sounds he can't quite distinguish over the buzzing in his ears.

"A friend," she says just, leaving no more space for him to inquiry about. "Join us for lunch, will you?"

Jimin keeps quiet, feeling blood cloying his mouth, his eyes blinking into focus but struggling to do so.

"I'll be sending you the specifics later," she continues, unbothered by his silence. "I expect you to be on your best behaviour."

Those are the last words he hears before she ends the call. Yet, for some reason, Jimin still hears her voice echoing in his ears, hammering at the walls of his skull.

Behind him, the doors slide open some more, barely making any noise at all. Jimin nearly misses it, if not for the steady falling of steps behind him.

"Is everything alright?"

With a shaky breath, Jimin turns to face Jeongguk. He attempts his best imitation of a smile, even when best he can manage is a quivering grimace. Sniffling, shaking his head and lowering his hand at last, he gives a dismissive shrug.

"All good," he lies, holding Jeongguk's gaze for all it's worth.

"Just my mother checking in on me."

Something flashes across Jeongguk's eyes, a shadows Jiming doesn't quite grasp. It is gone soon, within a blink.

"Alright," the man says, conceding this much as he stands next to him on the balcony.

"Are you gonna stay for breakfast?"

Jimin looks at him, at Jeongguk's profile now so familiar. The man leans over the railing, his hands hanging in the water and body bent forward. His head tilts, feeling the weight of his lingering stare. "So?"

A soft sort of smile tugs at the corners of his lips, lazy as his eyes still look droopy with sleep.

Jimin unconsciously mirrors that same sort of smile, nodding absently while pocketing the phone. The shorts hang loose around his hips, sliding down some more with the added weight. Jeongguk's eyes flicks low, and Jimin barely catches it before it's gone.

His hand pulls away, his shirt falling again down to his mid-thighs. It is a few sizes too large, but comfortable enough he often considers bringing it back home. Still, he feels it'd have no use there.

"Aren't you going for a run, this morning?"

"Why?" Jeongguk asks back, a certain tilt to his voice that's both amusement and teasing. Jimin's jaw juts to the side, but he still holds the man's crooked gaze. "Wanna join?"

He snorts, head shaking.

"Oh God, no."

Jeongguk chuckles, his head dropping as he pulls away and stands straight. "Alright, then."

He offers Jimin a hand, glancing back to the living room.

"Let's see what the house offers for breakfast."

Jimin's hand fits just perfectly into Jeongguk's warm and large one as it leads him inside.

"You know," he muses while they walk through the dimly lit living room. "I'm just feeling like ramen."

Jeongguk snorts, his lifting shaking some while his head shakes softly. "You might be in luck." He turns to Jimin with a grin plastered on his face, and it's all too easy to mirror it. A bit crooked, a bit weak, but a grin all the same as the reach the kitchen.

Jeongguk has him sitting wordlessly, just a quirk of his brows and a telling twist to his features.

Jimin looks away, feeling sheepish and bashful at once. "It was one time," he cares to point out, a grumble that haredly goes unheard.

Jeongguk doesn't address it, putting some water to boil and busying himself with the stove and setting the ramen in wait.

Jimin watches him from across the isle, but soon his gaze darts to the flashing screen of his phone. It lies abandoned on the side, just out of reach like distance could make it less of a loathed device. Still, when the screen lights up with a new notification, Jimin's hand reaches out without much thought.

It is a text from Chaeyeon, more adding up by the time he's read the first.

Your mother called me.

Jimin's eyes flick to Jeongguk, finding him scrolling through his own phone while he waits for the water to boil.

She told me about lunch today.

Jimin sucks and bites on his bottom lip, gaze lifting again just to catch Jeongguk looking at him. And like he's the one being caught staring, his eyes lower fast, his cheeks feeling warm.

She seems to care a lot about it.

Jimin snorts. He can't help it.

He feels Jeongguk's eyes on him but, this time, he doesn't look up.

Let's go together, shall we?

Sucking on his bottom lip, he puts the phone away after typing a quick reply. Neither she or his mother left him much room to decide, a certain weight falling down his chest and refusing to move away. It doesn't matter how hard he rubs on his sternum, the uncomfortable feeling stubbornly persist.

"All good?"

Jimin's eyes flick up, a tense, tight-lipped smile on his face. "Of course."

Jeongguk hums, hardly sounding convinced. He slides two large bowls on the isle, on for himself and one for Jimin. They're steaming hot, the broth smelling rich and yet not too rich. It does—though—bring tears to Jimin's eyes, prickling at his nose.

"Eat up, then."

His lips twist, but he takes the chopsticks Jeongguk is offering him.

Absently stirring the ramen in his bowl, Jimin can't help the way his mind keeps going to the arrangement his mother made in his stead. Tight anxiety knots up his throat, all of his appetite now lost despite the enticing scent.

"Jimin."

He looks up, meeting Jeongguk's intense gaze and exhaling a soft breath. He doesn't even blink, head numb as he stares at the other in a daze.

"They'll get soggy if you keep just stirring them around."

Jeongguk's chopsticks flick to his bowl's direction.

Jimin snorts, but his hand moves and the chopsticks are too his mouth without much of a thought.

Jeongguk hums, seemingly pleased, and resumes his eating. Still, his eyes stay on Jimin. They bore right through him, intense and searching.

On the other hand, Jimin makes himself slowly eat, every motion dragged and slightly mechanical, his mind not quite into it. Not even the spiciness of Jeongguk's ramen is enough to drag his mind away from the tangled thoughts plaguing it.

For a while, he goes through the motions in a daze, making quite a good job at eating most of his ramen even when he has no appetite urging him.

"Jimin?"

Differently from earlier—and differently from usual—Jeongguk sound hesitant when calling for his attention. That—more than anything else and the call itself—has Jimin's gaze trailing up and his eyes blinking several times to focus.

"I'm not gonna ask what that call was about," the man begins, his eyes narrowing slightly as he speaks but his voice keeping steady and calm. "But I can see it wasn't as fine as you want me to believe."

For all that the words make him feel bare and vulnerable—as if Jeongguk sees right through him with no effort at all—Jimin shrugs dismissively.

"I won't ask," he repeats quietly, putting down his chopsticks. "And you won't tell me, will you?

Jimin sets down his own chopsticks too. Something in his cries with regret even as his stomach churns at the thought of eating any more. He shakes his head no, not quite looking at Jeongguk. Unable to.

"Will you tell me why?"

Jimin makes himself look at the other, biting his lips in thought. "It really wasn't anything much, just my mother," he trails, voice fading into silence' as he speaks those last few words.

"Did you have a fight?"

"No," Jimin drawls, but he's not looking at him again. "She came at my apartment." He plays with the soggy ramen in his bowl, even if just to distract himself from his own words, as if none of it is about him. "But I obviously wasn't there."

"Oh," Jeongguk says, a soft exhale that hangs tensely between them.

Jimin grimaces, his shoulders pinching together stiffly.

"But that's not all, is it?"

Jimin hesitates, biting his lips.

His head shakes no, his gaze still downcast to the reddish broth and soggy ramen.

"She was inside my apartment, waiting for me." He puts a certain emphasis on that one word, most of the feelings he tried to hide seeping through. "am I a bad person for not liking that?"

This time, as he speaks, Jimin looks up and holds Jeongguk's gaze. It is not easy, and part of him just wants to run away and hide from the incoming judgment. Still, he makes himself hold on, hold onto Jeongguk's firm gaze as he waits.

"No," the man comments after a short moment. "I don't think so."

Jimin nods a few times, his head heavy on his neck as it lowers so they no longer look at one another. His lips purse, jaw working side to side. "But what can I do, right? She's my mom."

Jeongguk hums, the sound dragging long enough for Jimin to bravely glancing at him again. He looks surprisingly distant, lost for a moment in his own thoughts.

"Well," he says then, breaking the settling silence and grinning slyly. "My door is always open for you, you know that."

Jimin snorts, amused like he just heard a funny joke. He looking around, as if looking for someone to laugh along with. There's no one but the two of them though, the apartment a quiet witness. "I definitely do," jokes along, a quirk to his lips as something in his body unwinds and relaxes. "And I might be abusing that already."

"Do it," Jeongguk demands, is gaze and voice firm. "I don't mind."

Jimin blinks. Once, twice, then once again. His head empty for a moment as he stares at the man and a scary foreboding dawns on him. One that suggests Jeongguk might mean it, truly mean it.

"Come here as often as you want," the man continues, unbothered by his empty gaze and puzzled look. "Stay over, sleep over, I don't mind."

He's serious, and he does mean it. Every word he speaks, he means them all like they mean nothing to him, light and easy to utter.

Jimin—on the other hand—swallows thickly. His hands are clammy, his mind in a frenzy as he recklessly considers what it would be like. It's just for a moment, a brief and fleeting moment before he's scolding himself out of dangerous and nonsensical fantasies.

Jeongguk, though, resolutely continues. "If—for whatever reason—you want to stay away from there, just stay here instead."

"Teach."

It is the first word Jimin has spoken in a moment, his voice raspy and choked. His reprimand, his call for reality, sound steady enough to his ears.

Jeongguk pulls back in his seat, hands clasped on the table and bare arms stretched. The tank top he's wearing reveals all that lies underneath, truly doing little for modesty.

He smiles bitterly, shrugging. "I'm just saying." The bitter smile turns sheepish and easygoing at once, like he's trying to shrug it off lightheartedly.

Jimin can't bring himself to do the same, those words jumbling around in his head.

"I need to go," he says just, a sad curve on his lips. He stands, fetches his phone, and yet doesn't walk away yet. "See you on campus?"

Jeongguk holds his gaze, head tilting to the side. Whatever crosses his mind as he looks at Jimin, he's terribly good at hiding it behind a smile and intense eyes and sculpted features. "See you in class, Jimin-ssi."

Jimin's lips twitch at the corners, his head ducking as he nods.

-

There is something specifically draining about social networking to which Jimin can never get used. Still, regardless, for about a week after his finals and after that first lunch, it is all Jimin does. He meets a row of remarkable personalities, one after the other until the well practiced smile on his lips becomes stiff and heavy.

For the whole time—a week or so—he's strung along with his mother and Chaeyeon, attending this or that event just to make himself be seen.

Chaeyeon looks positively giddy about it, her eyes wonder-struck even when this is the very same world she was born in. Her grandfather's hospital was—after all—as much a political move as anything else. All the assets her family owns, all the influence those grant, it all played a role in her life since she was only a child. Yet—for some reason Jimin never quite understood—she never seem weary of it. There's a chance she might be a better actor than he is, but the thought alone becomes far fetched with one attentive look.

Even now, as he drives her home, Chaeyeon is happily commenting about the couple they've just been introduced to. The husband—flaunting his own lineage like it meant anything now—owns a rather influential broadcasting company, strong links to journalists all over the countries. His mother was enchanted by his talking, Jimin couldn't stop thinking about all the reasons why they needed to please the man.

With the smile on his lips now turned into a thin line, Jimin parks the car and turns off the engine.

Silence falls around them sooner than he'd expected, and it's with a moment of delay that he realizes Chaeyeon had stopped talking some time ago.

She's looking at him now, a focused frown on her face as her body turns in her seat. "What's on your mind?"

Jimin turns to looks at her, a lie ready on his lips.

"Don't lie to me," she warns, a rare hint of annoyance slipping through her voice. "You weren't listening to me the whole ride."

"That's not true."

Her frown deepens, darkening.

Jimin sighs, one hand carding through his hair. "I'm just tired," he admits with sheepish smile that draws deep lines on his face. "I'm sorry."

"For days," she points out. "You've been tired for god knows how long, then."

His shoulders pinch tightly, body tensing all over. "Maybe I have."

She huffs, her eyes narrowing.

"And how long do you plan to be distracted for, uh?"

He looks away, into the night spreading all around.

"I'm sorry, Chaeyeon," he repeats, softly and meekly and tired. "I just need a break from all this."

She scoffs, hardly sounding pleased with his admission. "Despite all the work your mother's putting into it?"

Jimin grimaces, and cannot bring himself to hide it from her. He doesn't even try.

"She's doing so much for your future."

The line curving on Jimin's lips is tired, still very close to a grimace. "Right," he breathes, the word fading into nothing."

Chaeyeon sighs, annoyance painting all over her soft features. "Maybe you should stop acting so selfish. It's about time you grow up, Jimin."

He still isn't looking at her, not if only for brief glances. The words wash over him like cold water, leaving a chill behind and an uneasiness he can't quite put into words.

"And see all that she's doing for you."

He smirks, something still bitter and dull, his eyes cast far away. "I told you," he reminds her quietly. "I'm tired."

Chaeyeon huffs, and she leaves the car with the door banging loudly behind.

Jimin heaves out a deep breath, leaning forward until his forehead is pressing to the wheel, hands clutching onto it.

It is just about he breathes in deeply, his eyes prickling and throat tight, that a familiar ring echoes in the car.

His body draws back stiffly, eyes and hands fumbling around until he's staring down at the bright screen old his phone.

"Have you seen the time?"

From the other end, pressed close to his ear, Jeongguk's laugh resound softly all around in the car. "Should I have not called?" His voice sounds light, still carrying hints of his amusement, warming Jimin up with infuriating ease.

"No," he breathes softly, shifting the phone to his left hand while the right lingers around the car keys. He nibbles on his bottom lip, gnawing while pondering. "I'm glad you did."

Jeongguk hums, and along with it comes some soft shuffling.

"And I did see the time, I just didn't really care. I knew you'd be still awake."

Jimin chuckles, putting the phone on speaker and setting it so that it won't fall.

"What if I hadn't been?"

"I would've called again and again," Jeongguk replies firmly, not a moment of hesitation. No need to say he wouldn't have stopped before getting what he wanted.

Jimin smiles despite himself, starting the car while ignoring the fluttery feeling in his stomach.

"That wouldn't have been very nice of you, teach."

Jeongguk snorts, some shuffling comes again. "Maybe I'm not very nice at all."

The words come just as firmly and with confidence as always, making Jimin almost believe it would be this easy to commit to the most umpleasant truths.

"Are you heading to bed, teach?"

"Not yet, no."

Jimin hums, and he turns a steep curve. "Alright."

"Why? Are you gonna come over?"

Jimin looks ahead, takes his time to answer.

"I am feeling quite lonely, indeed," Jeongguk muses before the other can speak, and it's all that needs to be said.

Even as he drives closer to the man's home, Jimin can't bring himself to think it is a wrong decision. Not when there's hardly anywhere else he'd rather be than in Jeongguk easy and comfortable company.

"Put on a movie, teach, I'm almost there."

From the other end Jeongguk laughs, commenting something about his bossy tone. Jimin's eyes roll, but he's smiling regardless.

-

It is not much after that day that the finals' scores come out. Jimin is reluctant as ever to check them, ignoring their existence for as long as he can.

It becomes hard though, if not impossible, when his mother calls him and demands them to meet.

It isn't nice, it hardly ever is. Jimin didn't expect it to be any different, but neither it being worse than ever.

Hannara is flushed with barely repressed anger when they meet, at his apartment of all places. She isn't happy, and only a blind man would think otherwise.

Yet Jimin isn't quite sure why until she starts talking and words hurdle past her lips, a string of sharp accusation that still hurt as ever.

Because Jimin wasn't there when Jihyun killed herself, he had ran away.

"Is that what you're doing now?" she screeches, her voice hoarse. "Sabotaging all I've worked on because you're scared?"

He doesn't reply, standing a few paces from a woman he struggles to recognize. Not his mother but a being made of anger and resentment.

"Are you such a coward that you're gonna ruin everything?" She's heaving, each breath ragged as she barely keeps her emotions in check. "Are you this selfish that her death means nothing to you?"

She steps forward, one hand still clenching her phone, its screen bright and showcasing his failings.

"And I thought you cared, that you wanted to make up for what you did to her."

His jaw clenches, chest so tight and heavy Jimin couldn't bring himself to breathe even if he wanted to. Endless cries shout and swarm in his head, but his lips are sealed, his eyes focused on her. Feeling disembodied and yet all too aware—like an exposed nerve—all he can do is stand while she takes out all of her rage on him. Failing her expectations was all it took for her control to snap, her anger to surface. Low grades and a missed meeting, ignoring her calls a few times yet again.

If he wanted Jimin wouldn't be able to tell her why he did that, why he didn't study as hard as she expected, why he decided that tired was a good enough excuse to hole up in Jeongguk's apartment for a few days.

Now—as he stands and watches at the woman he can barely recognize, disfigured by her anger and disappointment—Jimin wonders if this will be enough for something between them to finally snap.

"For god's sake, speak," she cries out, moving another step forward. "Do you have any idea of how important it was to be there? How hard I worked to arrange a meeting?"

Jimin's jaw clenches, muscles so tense they almost ache.

She scoffs, the sound so sharp it feels much like a slap to him.

He flinches, looking away for the first time since she started shouting all of her resentments.

"It was so humiliating."

This time, her voice is lower, almost barely a whisper in the quiet. "So tell me, Jimin, what was so important that made you forget your duties and your debt toward her?"

His debt, that devouring guilt for running away years back. There's no atoning from it, no way the crushing grief will ever feel less heavy down on his chest. Even so, as he looks at the woman, she sees the sort of empty shell he could one day become. Driven by dark and twisted emotions, the very ones he's been running away from all this time. She's disfigured by the years spent weaving and twisting her web of schemes and games, of forcing him into a path so that he could be another piece on her chessboard.

"I haven't forgotten it." It is the first he speaks in a while, his voice hoarse, throat tight and burning. "And I will carry that weight with me for the rest of my life."

She blinks at him, breathing in sharply.

Despite what either would've expected, Jimin's voice is steady when he speaks.

"You made sure I would."

Her lips part, like she's about to speak.

"And that's fine," he presses, eyes burning at the corners. "I deserved that for leaving her."

She closes her mouth, a tight line on her twisted face as her eyes burn.

"But I'm tired, mom," he chokes up. "I'm tired, and I told you I was. I tried to play along, to do what was right for her." He stops, choking up on words that feel like stones rolling up his throat. "Maybe you're right, I'm just not strong enough to keep on, to bring them down like you wanted me to."

"What are you talking about?" Her voices seems to grate its way through her throat. Jimin holds her gaze and believes each word must be stained with blood. "Are you stepping back? You'd dare?"

"Have you left me any other choice, mother?"

She gapes, her gaze losing focus.

"How could you say that, all I've ever done was for the both of you, so that you could live a life better than she did."

Jimin snorts, feeling bitter all over even when tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and he feels them moist, his sight blurring.

And despite he says nothing just yet, Hannara must read all that slowly takes form in his head, the determination gnawing a path inside of him.

Her lips gape, eyes moistening as well.

The sight brings a certain pain to Jimin, the kind that's ridden with guilt for he was the one to do this to his mother. Soon, though, her features twist and harden, sharp and determinate as ever.

Her lips purse, chin lifting.

"Fine, then," she spits. "Do it again, turn your back to her."

Jimin flinches, but still he doesn't let her words cut too deep. Not any deeper than his already existing wounds run.

He stands before her, taking her vicious words of blame, and trying to tell himself this is different. He isn't running from the pain inflicted on Jihyun, helpless before it. The military had offered him a distraction from it all, her pain not a high enough price for their father to abandon his ambitions. So Jimin left, after another endless fight and after seeing his sister more and more broken as days went on. He left their cursed home and that haunting city.

The last time he saw Jihyun still haunts him from the recesses of his mind, her eyes moist and reddened and her frame slighter than ever. A shell of what she used to be.

Shutting his eyes, biting down hard on his bottom lip, Jimin reminds himself this is different.

Jihyun is dead and no amount of sacrifices will ever bring her back, no revenge and no scheming will ever rid him of his guilt. For how deep his own hatred and resentment run, Jimin dreads becoming the mirror of what his mother has become.

"You're turning your back to your family," she spits venomously. He flinches but holds his ground steadily. "That makes you are no longer my son."

His last breath catches in Jimin's throat, her words icy cold and sharp, sharper than anything she's said so far.

He swallows forcefully, a lump in his throat that just won't go down, his heart cold and aching.

Tilting his chin up, ignoring the stubborn tears that fight to fall from his eyes, Jimin holds her gaze.

Hannara is the first to look away, turning her face as if the sight alone repels her.

"You should leave, now."

Still fighting for every breath around the lump in his throat, Jimin takes one last look at the woman before turning his back to her. He takes one step forward and then the other, not stopping until he's standing outside his former apartment, feeling cold allover.

Sniffling, forcing his lungs to fill to their limit, he keeps on walking.

-

Jimin doesn't stop walking when his legs and feet start to ache. He doesn't stop when the evening bleeds into night and the night turns chill all around him. He doesn't stop not even when rain starts to fall, light at first but hammering down on his the longer he keeps on walking. His head ducks, arms wrapping around his middle, and he doesn't stop walking.

His legs move on their own, taking a familiar route that now feels impossibly foreign. Still his body moves, steadily trading forward despite the shuddering and trembling. At least, as water falls down from his hair to his chin, salt mixes into it and no one would notice. Just like no one would tell apart his trembling from the soft jumps and shaking of his shoulders.

It would be impossible to tell what Jimin's tears are for, he would be unable to tell, not knowing where to start. His sister, his mother's anger and sorrow, himself. Maybe all of it at once, maybe neither. He could not tell.

Yet tears keep burning out of his eyes even when he's reached his destination, standing before the gates of a familiar building and gnawing on his bottom lip.

Craning his neck, lifting his face to the rainy sky, Jimin looks up at the lights on a certain floor. His hands twitch, digging in his flesh. His arms tighten around his middle, feeling himself tremble but unable to stop even if he tried to.

As he ponders the countless ways this could go, weighing all the reasons why it would be a mistake to see Jeongguk in such a pitiful state, he cannot bring himself to tear his eyes from the lights shining behind those windows. Jimin doesn't deny that's the one place he wants to be more than any other, and yet the intensity of such a need begins to scare him now that he has nothing else. Relying on it is dreadful, like clutching on a worn out rope not to fall. Desperation is such that one still won't let go, fighting even for just one more moment. Desperation is such that, despite all the reasons not to show this side of himself to the man, Jimin is walking to the entrance. His finger trembles as it presses on the doorbell button, his bottom lip quivering as he waits.

"It's me," he says when, even despite the pouring rain, Jeongguk's voice come clear through the intercom.

In a daze, Jimin reaches the fourth floor. He stands before the door, staring at it while hesitant to press on the doorbell. Part of him is still considering leaving, sparing himself and Jeongguk all that his presence will entail. At the same time, there is no other place he'd rather be. It is selfish, but selfish is the one thing Jimin has become lately. Once more, slipping this one more time, is all he needs. Then he will… Jimin isn't sure what he'll do after leaving Jeongguk's apartment in the morning. He doesn't dare think too long about it.

At the same time, he's not allowed to.

The door opens without him having to press on the dreaded button nor nocking.

Jeongguk stands a good few inches taller than him, large and steady in a way that's always felt oddly comforting. His gaze—though—his clouded and troubled.

"Jimin?"

Feeling himself being called, for some unexplainable reason, Jimin flinches and looks away from the man. His arms tighten some more around his middle, a soft shield that could hardly protect him before. "What," the man's voice fades, choked up.

Jimin dares looking up at him, shoulders pinching stiffly. "I…" he tries, unable to find any more words to explain himself. "Can I?" he asks after a moment, hesitant and yet desperate.

Jeongguk blinks, he flinches and takes a quick step back, moving to the side. "Come," he blurts. "Get in."

Jimin does, waiting for the weight on his chest to lighten but in vein. It still feels as tight, greedily clutching and twisting in on itself. Hugging himself, head low. he kicks off his shoes with some struggle but hesitates before moving any further.

He's drenched head to toes, dripping water on the floor and reluctant to make any more of a mess than he already has.

"Go take a shower," Jeongguk instructs after closing the door, hovering over him but not addressing the awkward elephant crowding the room. He doesn't ask, he doesn't comment on Jimin's state or why he came here unannounced in the middle of the night. "Go," he prompts when the other is still so painfully hesitant. "I'll get a clean change ready."

Reluctantly and yet relieved beyond measure, Jimin nods.

He shivers when moving a step forward, his body struggling to adapt to the warmth slowly warping around him. In a daze, he walks to the bathroom while feeling Jeongguk's gaze following him.

They don't talk about it. Not when Jimin's out of the scorching hot shower and not after Jeongguk lured him into eating a bowl of steaming ramen. They don't talk about it not even in the morning, when Jeongguk casually mentions his summer classes and wanting Jimin to come along.

And Jimin—he does. There's nowhere else for him to go, really.

At some point that day, he's forced to face the countless missed calls and texts. He still ignores most of it, but steps aside to call back at least Taehyung.

"Jimin?"

He sounds strained, worried.

Jimin has grown even more familiar and intimate with guilt lately, but still he wonders when will it stop.

"I'm here."

From the other end, he hears a strangled sound, some loud shuffling and something hitting the floor with a thundering thud. "Are you alright?"

Jimin sntorts, eyes lifting to where he sees Jeongguk talking to some of his students. His class has just ended, and they're meant to leave soon, hopefully.

"I'm sorry I didn't call back."

Taehyung heaves out a sharp and heavy sigh. "Are you alright?" he presses, like it's all that bothers him.

Looking away, noticing Byuly and her friend standig not too far from him, Jimin nods. "Yeah," he trails.

"Jimin."

It is Jimin's turn to sigh, gaze dropping to the tips of his shoes. At some point, he found it in himself to make a trip back to his former apartment and bring back as much as he could without abusing and taking advantage Jeongguk's generosity. So, in the end, he came back with a few changes and most of his studying material. It was rather depressing there was that little to his name, disheartening and yet not quite.

"I heard from Chaeyeon things aren't fine."

Jimin's lips twist, her name like a shard sinking in his flesh. They should talk, but Jimin can't bring himself to even think about it, about where to begin.

"I'm fine," he tells the other, stressing that word as he catches Biyuly looking at him with a small smile. He mirrors it, one hand waving at her. "tSome things have happened, but I'm fine."

"She said you're not at your apartment anymore."

Jimin sighs, free hand carding through his hair.

"I'm not."

"Then where?"

"I," he stops, hesitating. His eyes flick to Jeongguk. "I can't say, Taehyung."

Silence is all he can hear from a moment, then some sound he can't quite identify.

"Maybe you should tell her."

The words are spoken gravely, with a weight to her Jimin can't possibly ignore.

"I'm her friend as much as I'm yours, and," he trails, Jimin looks away while chewing on his cheeks.

"I will, I just," his voice trails off again, words evading him. "It's complicated."

Taehyung hums, hardly sounding convinced.

"I just hope it's worth it."

Jimin's looking at Jeongguk again, their eyes locking for a fleeting moment. The man grins, his eyes creasing.

Jimin feels his breath catching, heart beating fast.

"Taehyung."

"What?" It's a grumble, one that almost has Jimin chuckling.

"Thank you, for everything."

"Whatever," the other mumbles. "Just don't do anything you'll regret."

"I'll try."

As those last few words still linger between them, Jimin ends the call and heads to the man standing at a certain distance. Jeongguk's slowly collecting his belongings, in that same and familiar order as ever.

Jimin stops, watching him until the man notices and lifts his gaze.

"Ready to go?"

No one else is in the hall, and Jimin grins, nodding.

"What's on the menu, today?"

Jeongguk grins, he shrugs. "Whatever my liege desires."

Rolling his eyes, Jimin takes a few steps ahead, not turning until he's reached the door. "What if I say I'm feeling like meat?"

"Then meat it'll be, Jimin-ssi."

Spinning on his heels, feeling light on his feet, Jimin walks down the mostly empty corridor. "And if I say cold noodles?"

A few paces behind, Jeongguk's answer comes just like it did before. Indulging, and with no hesitation.

Jimin grins, relishing the feeling of it being so easy. Even the most peaceful day though is easy disrupted, and it so happens that Jimin's phone rings as they set foot outside the building.

He takes it with his heart heavy, a haunting sense of foreboding making his palms clammy with sweat.

Still, despite it will only make things worse in the long run, Jimin refuses the call and looks up at Jeongguk who stands beside him. He sports a sheepish smile, one that pleads the man not to ask. He doesn't.

"So, noodles?"

Jimin nods, and follows Jeongguk as they walk to the man's car.

The phone in the pocket of his pants vibrates, and his hand i reaching out before he can even think of it. There's a text displayed on the locked screen, Taehyung being the sender.

"Is everything alright?"

Jimin's head lifts, a frown still lingering on his lips. He sucks on his bottom lip, holding Jeongguk's gaze. Without noticing, he stopped while reading Taehyung's text, forcing both to a halt when Jeongguk's hand refused to let go.

It is just when, glancing down at their joint hands, Jimin tugs that Jeongguk lets go. He does so with his lips pressing tight, upset childishly clear all over his face.

"Don't be unreasonable, teach."

Jeongguk's tongue pushes at his cheek but he doesn't fight on it. "So?" he inquires instead, one brow arching and chin nodding to the phone clutched in Jimin's hand. "What's that?"

Jimin shrugs, glancing down at his phone out of sheer reflect. "Taehyung, he wants to meet up for drinks."

"Will you go?"

Jimin holds Jeongguk gaze, unconsciously looking for whatever hint at the man's feelings.

"I think I will."

Jeongguk hums, his lips twitching upwards.

"Still up for noodles?" he asks, head tilting to the side.

"Sure."

-

Later that day, Jeongguk opens the door to a face he barely recognizes. The young man's eyes widen, his lips parting.

A soft sound slips from him, a gasp that betrays his feelings.

Although Jeongguk doesn't miss it, his focus has quickly shifted to the other figure before him. The silky mop of Jimin's hair is what he sees at first, his body slumping forward and head lolling to the side.

"Are you…"

Jeongguk's eyes flick back to the other, tongue running across the seam of his lips.

"I'll take care of it from here."

His hands reach forward without waiting for the other's answer, familiar and confident with handling Jimin's body.

The latter mumbles something, his eyes blearily blinking at him when he's forced to move.

He leans heavily into Jeongguk, head resting on the man's shoulder while an arm curls firmly around his middle.

"He told me about you," the man comments, standing tensely in the corridor, his eyes darting from Jimin to Jeongguk's face continuously.

"Did he?"

Jeongguk's hold on Jimin shifts some, tightening unconsciously.

"I'm not sure what your plans are with him." Again, he looks at the man leaning heavily into Jeongguk's side, comfortable despite everything. "But I hope you're not just playing around."

Jeongguk's jaw clenches, tongue pushing hard against his palate. "Am I getting threats from you, Taehyug-ssi?" The name is novel on his lips, the other's eyes twitching wide with surprise.

"Do you need to?"

Jeongguk snorts, tongue licking over his lips.

"He's not made of glass, you know?"

The smile on Taehyung's lips is bitter, faint as his eyes cloud over.

"No," he agrees, his tone grave. "But he still hurts, and he's putting so much at stake for this."

Jeongguk lets the words settle in him, weighing them and what they mean. And although he's not the only reason why Jimin's stepping back from everything, he'd be a fool to think he plays no role in it.

"Thank you for bringing him home, Taehyung-ssi." He takes a step back, free hand holding the door.

The other's lips twitch into something that's hardly a smile. "He says there's nothing between you two. I doubt he believes that."

Jeongguk looks down at Jimin, holding him close.

"Have a good night."

Looking up at the words, Jeongguk sees the other already stepping back turning around.

With a sigh, he closes the door softly. "What am I to do with you, Jimin-ah?"

He walks both through the apartment with some struggle, stumbling over his feet when Jimin's weight puts him off balance, their bodies swaying dangerously. Still, at last, Jeongguk has him lying down, both miraculously unscathed.

For a moment, he stands next to the bed, watching the other as he curls in on himself and falls into a deeper slumber. His clothes crumple, sheets twisting under his body.

Jeongguk snorts, but doesn't reach out to mend any of it, something petty and twisted in the way he hopes that'll be enough for Jimin to wake up. Still, even after long moments of standing that way, nothing happens. With a sigh, hand carding through his hair, Jeongguk leaves the room.

The coffee table in the small living room is crowded with sheets and books and folders, his laptop looking rather sad where he left it on the couch. The smile on his lips is just as sad, bitter as he finds himself resigned to the long night ahead.

It is some time later, a cup of iced coffee sitting on the table and some snacks next to him, that Jeongguk hears soft padding through the apartment.

Jimin's steps are light, a slow cadence that brings him close until he stops.

Jeongguk's fingers stop typing at the keyboard, hovering over it in his wait. He waits a moment, then turns to look at the other.

Jimin stands a few paces away, wearing a large tee and shorts making him look smaller than he truly is.

Jeongguk's lips twitch at the corners, body twisting so that he can look at him better. "Wanna join me?"

A light flickers in Jimin's eyes and he's soon nodding, crossing the distance between them with quick strides.

"Feeling better?"

Jimin hums, feet perching on the couch's edge.

Jeongguk looks at him, just a flick of his eyes from the screen.

Jimin hugs his knees, chin propped on top of them as he stares forward. A slight frown dawns on his face, a pensive one as he seems lost in his thoughts.

"Jimin?"

Looking at him but not moving, Jimin hums a prompting sound, inviting Jeongguk to say more. With a sigh the man shuts his laptop and sets it on the coffe table. "Anything you wanna share?"

Jimin shrugs, and it's an awkward movement that fails at being casual or dismissive.

"Did something happen when I came back?"

For a moment, tempting beyond measure, Jeongguk considers lying. He shifts on the couch, staring at Jimin's profile until the other's turning to face him. His head tilts, cheek squishing where it rests on top of his folded arms.

"Your friend was with you."

Jimin says nothing, looking at his through a crooked gaze, at times distant.

"He looked worried about you."

Jimin snorts at those words, turning away. "He really shouldn't bother with that."

Jeongguk sighs, one hand cards through his hair, tugging at the tips.

"Jimin." It is but a whisper, low in the quiet all around, resounding loudly when everything else is silent. Jimin turns to look at him again, his body shifting some on the couch. "Will you ever tell me what's going on?"

Jeongguk can see the way tension winds up his body, his muscles rigid and hands twitching. Jimin's features harden ever so slightly, betraying every one of his thoughts.

"Do I have to?"

Jeongguk huffs out a laugh, a sharp yet hoarse sound. His head shakes, a bitter grin on his lips. "You don't," he admits, for how loaded those words are. "But I want to know."

He makes sure to be holding Jimin's gaze before speaking, making sure there's no mistaking his intentions.

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath, eyes darting around the room to avoid looking at Jeongguk.

"Jimin."

It is softer now, a coaxing whisper that hangs between them.

"I really don't wanna," he mumbles, chin pressing again down his arms, teeth playing his lips.

Jeongguk sighs again, heavy and tired as he scoots closer on the couch.

Jimin looks at him, bottom lip quivering. "You'll think differently of me if I do."

Jeongguk snorts, he comes even closer. Their bodies touching and exchanging warmth in the brisk June night. "I won't," he reassures, a firm determination lacing hiw words. Firm enough it seems to sway the other into talking. "I promise."

"Okay," he mutters, shifting again on the couch until he's sitting cross-legged, hands playing with the hem of his shirt. His head hangs low, teeth pulling at his lips.

For a while, he keeps silent. Looking for words and collecting every last ounce of bravery under Jeongguk's waiting gaze. A familiar look draws on his face, sad and distant, making him an unreachable being far beyond his reach.

"For a long time after her death I kept thinking it was my fault, that I could've avoided it somehow." He doesn't look up while talking, stubbornly staring down at his fidgeting fingers. "Jihyun's marriage was a disaster, but our father pushed for it regardless." He stops, taking in a heavy breath just to exhale shakily after a moment. "Her husband, he was an abusive man but his position was far too tempting for our father to care."

Jimin pauses again, his brows drawing close into a deep frown. "Everyone knew, no one cared enough to speak up about it." His shoulders pinch in a stiff shrug, like he's trying making light of it all. "Jihyun did, but they never listened to her, so she endured." Jimin's breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut. "She endured it for years," he presses, looking up for the first time since he started talking. He meets Jeongguk's gaze with tears welling in his own, a bottomless pain that claws at him from within.

Jeongguk's jaw is clenched tight as he listens, his body rigid lest he does anything regrettable. He forces himself to sit still, to listen. For it's all he can do.

"And then something in her broke," he stops, choking on his words. "It just broke, and she was no longer herself."

Jimin stops again, for a long while now. He scowls down at his hands, teeth sinking deep into his bottom lip.

Jeongguk watches him. He waits and waits until he catches the first clear drop streaming down Jimin's cheek.

He moves without a thought, body acting on its own, breaking free of all the constraint he was exerting.

Pinching Jimin's chin between his fingers, he forces the other to look at him.

Jimin's body flinches but doesn't fight the touch, eyes averting but compelled to look up eventually.

Jeongguk hold on his shifts, thumb brushing away the falling tears tirelessly. "We can stop here." He ignores how hypocritical it sounds, Jimin's tears a price he's not yet ready to pay in order to know more about him. Not when they bring back memories of their first night together, not when Jeongguk's tried so hard to exorcise them. Yet they fall so easily now, like all he did has been made nothing. And there's no one to blame but himself. "Let's stop here."

Although he tries his best to sound coaxing and soft, to scare away those tears, Jimin's head shakes no, his eyes squeezing shut.

"I won't be able to say it another time, and you deserve to know what is going on. I owe it to you."

"You owe me nothing."

Jimin snorts the sound bitter and wet. He pulls away from Jeongguk's touch, looking down again, sniffling while hugging himself. His legs bend underneath him, and he looks small, so painfully small as he pulls away and retreats into himself.

"The last time I saw her, Jihyun wouldn't even look at me, she was seeing right through me." He wets his lips, nibbling on them. "I've never seen anyone so lost into themselves it made them empty. And I was angry, so impossibly angry at her and at everyone else for giving up."

Jeongguk's hands twitch with the urge to reach out, to somehow comfort him.

"So I ran away from it, from her pain and our parents. I enlisted that very same day and kept away until someone called for me." He looks up, his eyes miles away through Jeongguk. Jimin blinks, and his gaze focuses again. "She had killed herself, but no one told me."

Jeongguk frowns, not sure he understand.

"That call," Jimin continues hoarsely. "It was from Taehyung, asking why I wasn't there at her funeral, why they didn't let me come."

Jimin bottom lip quivers, and he's crying again, no way to stop him. "I didn't know, Jeongguk." His voice breaks, a sob pushing past his lips. "They didn't tell me."

"Why?"

The words slips from his lips before Jeongguk can stop himself, low as it grates its way up his throat.

Jimin shrugs, a quivering curve on his lips. "Because I decided to leave them when she needed her family, so why should I have been there to mourn her?"

"Jimin that's not—"

"No," he interrupts, head shaking. "My mother made it clear I should've been there for her, she used that pain and guilt for years."

"Why?" Jeongguk asks again, frowning, struggling to understand.

"My mother, she's a resentful woman, and she hates my father, always has." A pause, a shaky breath. "Jihyun's death was the catalyst. And she wants me to bring his empire down, to curb his political ambitions."

"That's why law?"

Jimin shrugs, stiffly and not looking at Jeongguk. "She comes from a rather influential family of judges. Law is her religion but she never made it to be one."

"And you will?"

Again, a stiff shrug. This time though, Jimin holds Jeongguk's gaze. "I thought I had to, for Jihyun."

"What about now?"

Jimin's head shakes, hanging low.

"I don't know anymore."

He sniffles, shoulders shaking weakly.

Jeongguk doesn't hold back, he doesn't fight the itch in his hands. He reaches out, cupping Jimin's face and forcing it to lift so that they're looking at one another again. "Look at me," he demands when the other refuses to. "Look at me, Jimin."

A moment, the beat of their hearts sounding like one.

"There's nothing you could've done to save her."

Jimin's breath hitches soundly in his throat, lips parting and eyes welling up with new tears. The tension in his shoulders melts away, and something in his body visibly sags.

"And you are not the tool to your mother's revenge."

Nodding in Jeongguk's hands, Jimin lets himself slowly breathe out. "But I hate them so much," he confesses. "I can't let them live on without feeling the same pain we do."

"Are you going back to your mother, then?"

Jimin blinks, puzzled.

Jeongguk smiles though, a slow and sad curve drawing on his face. "Thought so," he muses, faintly amused when the other frowns.

"Jeongguk," Jimin calls after a quiet moment, pulling away from his touch to collect himself when breaking apart seems so easy and dangerously tempting. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

"Why are you asking?"

Jimin shrugs, he shifts on the couch until their bodies are pressed close and his head rests on the man's face.

"I let my mother down, I cheated on my girlfriend, I abandoned my sister," Jimin lists, feeling he could go on endlessly. Those last words choke him up though, and he has to stop.

The words work like a trigger being pulled, something snapping in Jeongguk. He moves without any warning, pulling from Jimin abruptly.

The sudden motion has the other almost falling, sitting with a frown on his face as he looks at the other.

Jeongguk says nothing though, barely even gives Jimin the time to think. He cups his face, pulling him in firmly until their lips touch into a brief and chaste kiss.

Jimin is the first to break away, his eyes wide.

Jeongguk snorts, his hands falling. "Bad?" he mocks, his voice harsh, so different from the way it was just moments before.

Jimin swallows thickly, fighting the urge to lick his lips, to feel the man on him when every part of him is aching and crying for it. He wants to scream, yell and shout at the world. Frustrated tears well up in his eyes, Jeongguk's hands on him before Jimin even notices the salt falling down his cheeks.

"How could you be anything but perfect?"

Jimin sniffles, thinking that makes no sense, not after all he just told the man.

"Look at you," Jeongguk tuts though, pinching his chin and pressing another chaste kiss on his lips. "Shedding tears for a stolen kiss."

He still sounds faintly mocking, yet endeared beyond measure.

Jimin's cheeks warm up, and frustration is soon joined by a dull and quiescent anger, one that simmers in his veins quietly.

"You know I can't," he whines, crying out all of his emotions through a few words. Jimin doesn't let himself think and dwell on the way—right now—he isn't quite sure of why—exactly—he can't.

"Do you love her?" Jeongguk asks, no hesitation and no shame in the way he speaks those words.

Jimin snorts bitterly, despite himself and despising himself. All anger and frustration melt away, cooling and washing over him until nothing is left behind.

His fingers touch to Jeongguk's cheek, and he leans in until their foreheads touch, lips only inches away. So close, this close, their breathes mix wetly and hotly.

"Are you asking me to leave her for you?" his voice carries a bone-deep sadness as he echoes words from that night months ago, yet they come so easily to his lips. Like they are all he's been wanting to say for so long now, ever since meeting him maybe.

Jeongguk pulls away from his touch, but still holds his gaze as if he couldn't do without.

"Yes."

Jimin bites on his lips, hiding a smile that has no right to be on his lips, not now of all time. He does though, and it is a grin he loses to before meeting Jeongguk in a kiss.

A proper one, the sort that stays and lingers moments after parting. The sort he's been agonizing for for so long now.

And it feels right, it feel as right and natural as breathing does. Like this is all he was meant to be doing this entire time. To ease away the sorrow and fears, to make him whole again. Embracing every last bit of what Jeongguk's willing to offer. May it be a kiss in the deep night or all of himself.

vi. and i found myself at home in your embrace, but everyone claims it's a crumbling dream

i don't wanna lose any more love

Although Jimin convinces himself it is the summer heat making his nights restless, it becomes harder and harder to ignore the truth.

Since that night, since admitting to himself all that he kept ignoring and avoiding, it has become impossible to find any sort of rest or peace. His chest feels constantly tight, a lump permanently lodged at the base of his throat.

Without even noticing, Jimin retreats into himself day after day, hiding behind walls that offer false safety.

Just like other nights before, Jimin finds himself on the small and cramped balcony. At some point, Jeongguk brought a large enough armchair there. He never commented on Jimin leaving the bed in the middle of the night, never going beyond asking a few words. Still, he must have noticed.

The armchair stands as silent proof, an act done but never addressed to anything specifically. One night the balcony was bare and slightly more spacious, and the next Jimin found himself perched on it while staring at the familiar scenery.

Tonight, though, Jimin stares at the black screen of his phone while sucking on his bottom lip. There is something he should do, something he can't bring himself to do despite it all.

These past days—weeks, really—helped him realize and accept many things. Among it all, coming to terms with his feelings was maybe the easiest thing to do. At some point through time, his love for Chaeyeon waned, fading away until it was dull and null. Something held together by habit, by the safety that comes with known things.

Some nights, a cowardly part of him tells Jimin he's doing it for her sake—to protect her tender heart. Most nights though, Jimin wonders if it will feel like freedom for Chaeyeon as well rather than breaking her heart. The thought is solid and lingering, making a place at the back of his mind and taking root in him.

Jimin's known Chaeyeon his whole life, though, and there's no right way to do this, to face the pain that will be brought upon them both.

With a sigh, he hugs his bent legs, chin propping down on his knees. His eyes prickle at the corners, and there's no way to tell what's to blame—whether the brisk air or something else.

Unlocking his phone without letting himself think too long about it, he dials Chaeyeon's number by heart. It is the middle of the night, but—despite the mounting guilt—Jimin can't risk pushing this back any more.

Chaeyeon answers after a few rings, her voice hoarse with sleep as it shapes around Jimin's name.

"Hey," he murmurs, wetting his lips, brain empty.

Jimin was hoping for words to come to him—at some point. He's left with his mouth dry and brain a blank slate.

"Is everything alright?"

He nods, shifting in his seat awkwardly.

"Yeah," he drawls, nibbling on his bottom lip. "I was just thinking," he trails, words fading into the night.

"Thinking about?" There's a space for Jimin to fill, a pause that hangs tensely between them despite the miles dividing them.

"How have you been?"

It's so lame that even Jimin grimaces at his own words, her snort feeling much like a slap, a well-deserved one.

"Really?"

Jimin shrugs even when she can't see.

"Is that why you called at three in the morning?"

"Maybe I just missed you."

And it's not a lie, and it's not what Chaeyeon deserves.

"Let's meet, then," she offers with a tired sigh. A shuffling sound comes from her end, Jimin pictures her sitting up on her large bed. "Let's talk, like we used to."

Jimin hums, but he can't recall when that was, how long it's been since then. He wouldn't dare ask her.

"Will you tell me to go back?"

He doesn't mean to fight, that was never his intention, yet words travel fast to his mouth, past his lips, before he can do anything about it.

Chaeyeon sighs again, she sounds tired, and Jimin regrets calling this late. "Let's not do this tonight."

He hums, smiling bitterly to himself.

"How have you been, Jimin?"

He shrugs again, eyes flicking up to the clear sky.

"And where have you been?"

Those last words weigh down on him, forcing all the guilt up his throat like bile. "At a friend's," he admits, ignoring how that can hardly be the truth. "I'll find a way, don't worry."

She scoffs, soft sounds coming from her end as she shifts. "You always do, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you know?" she inquires, the bitterness in her voice feeling novel and wrong. "You always push everyone away, claiming you can do it all on your own."

"That's not true."

"Jimin," she presses, her tone grave and tired, so tired. "I've known you since we were kids. I know you."

Jimin's eyes flick to the sky, and he wonders how to possibly tell her of everything he's done, all he didn't tell her, and where it brought him. Here, sitting outside in someone else's home. And she has no idea.

"And something has been off for a while now, hasn't it?"

He sighs, defeated but still so cowardly reluctant to tell her the truth. "Let's not do it like this."

She hums, and more soft sounds come from her end, sheets shuffling and the bed creaking.

"Then how? We haven't seen each other in days."

The thought of meeting her, of looking Chaeyeon in the eyes while confessing all of his sins, has bile rising to his throat, sweat making his hands clammy.

"I'm in Busan, right now," she sighs. The city name has Jimin's stomach dropping, his eyes closing as he exhales shakily. "I won't be back for another week."

"That's okay," he breathes. "We can meet then."

Coincidentally, that's when Jimin's eyes dart to the side. He's not quite sure why, but his gaze shifts on its own.

His breath catches, the hand holding his phone twitching.

Jeongguk stands leaning against the opened door, arms crossed and an unreadable look on his face. It reads as tense, and yet Jimin is unable to put a name to whatever clouds those dark eyes.

Swallowing past the dryness in his mouth, the lump at the base of his throat, Jimin holds his gaze.

"Maybe I should let you sleep, now."

If Chaeyeon notices how hoarse his voice has become all of a sudden, she doesn't mention it.

Jeongguk, though, is far less merciful. He arches a thick brow at his words, stepping outside and walking to Jimin. He crouches before him, head tilting to the side as he waits.

Unconsciously, Jimin wets his lips, hearing Chaeyeon's words but not quite listening when his heart is a compelling drum in his chest.

Jeongguk holds his chin while Chaeyeon is still talking, pulling him forward ever so slightly.

Jimin's breath hitches, his hand clenching around the phone.

"Goodnight, Jimin."

He swallows thickly, lost in the man's gaze as their faces come even closer. The call cuts off, and Jeongguk's lips are on his own. The phone falls from his hand, dropping on the tiles as the man's hands move to his waist. They lift Jimin with no effort, bringing him down onto his lap.

All the while, he licks into Jimin's mouth, caressing his cheek and jaw, holding him still.

Jimin lets him, his own hands carding through the man's hair with a will of their own, hungry for as much as he can get hold of. He pulls Jeongguk closer, the kiss almost turning into a rough clashing. It soon loses any rhythm or finesse, wet and rough as their hands fumble and struggle to find rest.

Jeongguk's tongue licks at his palate, claiming with prepotency every last bit of Jimin. At last, even as he pulls apart, his teeth pull at the other's lip. It tears a soft whimper from Jimin, a sound that echoes in the quiet, mixing with their heavy breaths and bringing a certain warmth to Jimin's cheeks.

"Is that why you left the bed?" Jeongguk asks, voice low and husky. His mouth runs down the line of Jimin's jaw, nosing at it while his lips brush over the sensitive skin. His hands, ever so restless, are both holding Jimin's hips, sneaking under the loose shirt he wears, thumbs running arches onto the sharp arch of his bones.

All of it—every heated touch and every hot breath fanning on his skin—sends shivers down his spine. The brisk and pleasant night suddenly hot and unbearable.

"Jeongguk," he moans, a rasp and broken breath, a sound Jimin struggles to claim as his own.

"We should head inside."

The man hums into his neck, mouth latching to Jimin's Adam's apple and sucking several marks onto the skin.

Jimin holds tight onto the man's shoulders, but he's too weak to desire and won't push the other away.

"What happens then?"

As they are now, when Jeongguk pulls back to look at him, he has to crane his neck all the way.

Jimin swallows thickly, hands sliding up to intertwine around the man's nape.

"Whatever you want."

"Do you mean it?"

Jeongguk still softly caresses his hips, the thin and sensitive skin stretching over his bones. His lips are swollen, wet, and of the prettiest pink, calling to Jimin. He looks down at them, falling into a pondering trance.

Under his gaze, they stretch into a smile, a knowing and smug one.

"Yes," Jimin breathes, leaning down so that the word is touching those inviting lips. And even if they weren't, it doesn't matter for Jimin takes them into a kiss, slower and more indulgent than before. He is, after all, sealing a pact with it.

Somehow—defying any law of physics—Jeongguk lifts Jimin as he stands. He doesn't let go, the hands on Jimin's hips shift and tighten their hold.

With a gasp breaking their kiss, Jimin holds onto the man for purchase, legs locking around his middle tightly. "Are you taking me to bed, teach?" His words are, for lack of better wording, an elated and breathy laugh. "Are you?"

Jeongguk's eyes hold the entire night sky as he looks at Jimin. He jostles his weight with ease, arms wrapping under Jimin's bottom and lifting his body up even more.

"Whatever I want, or have you already forgotten?"

Jimin snorts, cradling the man's face and lowering to press a fast kiss on those inviting lips. "Anything," he promises, his stomach feeling fluttery and everything warm and giddy at once.

Jeongguk moves with quick strides through the apartment, his mouth never leaving Jimin's neck or jaw or lips. It barely leaves him room to breathe, gasping for oxygen but reluctant to part as much as Jeongguk shows to be.

Not even when—climbing on the bed—gravity seems to claim Jimin from the man's clutch, they separate. Jimin's arms and legs stay locked around Jeongguk, straining and pulling him down with himself.

"Making me fall for you, aren't you?"

Jimin snorts, the ugliest sort of sound spilling from his lips. "That's so corny."

Jeongguk hums, one hand sneaking under the loose leg of his shorts and raking all the way up. "Is it?"

Jimin's lower belly fills with tight heat, lips parting with a soft gasp when anticipation makes his brain muddy and blank. And what blame can he have when the eyes staring down at him are gleaming with countless stars even now.

"I thought you'd be charmed."

Again, Jimin snorts, a strangled sound bursting from his lips. His head turns to the side, all of him bare and vulnerable under the man. His arms fall, coming loose, hands grasping the crumpled sheets.

"Never said I wouldn't be," he teases, playing along in a game of nonsense.

Jeongguk hums, his every breath fanning the exposed skin of Jimin's neck, rolling down his exposed shoulder. Goosebumps break on his arms, shivers run down his spine when Jeongguk's touch explores every curve and line of his body.

One hand runs along the side of him, to the swell of his hips, all the way up to his ribcage. The shirt rides up along the touch, exposing Jimin's flat stomach and the left part of his chest.

Jeongguk's hand is large, large enough to hold all of him with no effort at all. As if that's the way it was meant to be, Jimin's body for no one else but him.

So when Jeongguk lowers himself and his mouth begins a slow worshiping of blood and flesh, Jimin is defenseless and pliant. For this is what he promised to concede, and this is all he's been wanting for a long time now.

Jeongguk kisses a path from the lower part of his sternum to his exposed chest, lips closing around the sensitive nub of Jimin's nipple wetly. The touch is somewhat novel, but something undeniably erotic about it has Jimin's back arching, his hips searching for something.

Jeongguk sucks on him, tongue curling around the hardening nipple while his other hand begins to play with the hem of Jimin's shorts.

Fisting his hands in the man's hair, he forces him to lift his head. The wet sound causes a new flush to creep on Jimin's cheeks, so obscene he struggles to deal with it.

"No teasing," he demands, voice steady despite the long fingers hooking in the band of his underwear and playing with it.

Jeongguk's smirk is nothing short of devilish, making an unreasonable fear coil in Jimin's guts.

"I mean it, teach," he presses, swallowing thickly. Saliva keeps pooling in his mouth, his body itching and tickling down to every fiber. "Not now."

Jeongguk grins, but he brings their faces closer, nosing at his jaw. His mouth brushes at the corner of Jimin's lips, a feather-like touch that has him quivering down to his bones with yearning for more.

Jimin's hands are still weaved into the man's hair, forcing his face to pull apart ever so slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet. "Please?" His touch slides down, thumb brushing under the man's fluttering eyelids. "Not now."

Jeongguk nods at his touch, muscles twitching and then relaxing right underneath Jimin's palms. Dark eyes blink open, and their gazes lock. "But later," he says as a condition, firm and unyielding. "I'm not bargaining and not compromising."

Jimin's teeth bite down onto his bottom lip, hiding away a smile.

"I told you," he reminds, hips lifting off the bed when Jeongguk begins to tug at his shorts and underwear at once. "Anything you want, but…"

"Alright, we'll play by your rules."

Jimin's head pushes back into the bed, his eyes rolling but body working in tandem with Jeongguk. The man's hands keep his bent legs spread wide to accommodate him. "So no foreplay, uh?"

The words, spoken absentmindedly, while he caresses Jimin's thigh, earn him a rather pointed glare. He chuckles, eyes raking down the other's body, tongue running along his lips. "What I wouldn't do to have a taste," he muses, just as absentmindedly.

"Later," Jimin compromises with a groan, feeling anticipation and excitement growing hot in him, coiling tightly in his belly. Under Jeongguk, he turns and twists, pulling open a drawer and fumbling around awkwardly until his fingers curl around something at last. A small victorious sound slips from his lips, his eyes gleaming but determined when they meet Jeongguk again.

The man's kneeling on the bed, sitting back on his hunches and watching him carefully. "So you knew it was there."

Jimin snorts, eyes rolling.

"You've never been subtle nor discreet about it."

There's no regret in the way Jeongguk looks down at him, lips twitching at the corners when he catches the bottle Jimin throws at him. He chuckles softly, head lowering. "Never tried to be."

Jimin's jaw juts to the side, annoyance mixing with something else in him, fond and endeared and easily swayed by the man's grin.

"Then," he urges, one brow arching and hips lifting pointedly. "Get on with it, won't you?"

"If you're so impatient, why did you wait so long?"

Jimin huffs out a sharp laugh, forcing his mind not to go where Jeongguk's words lead. Maybe because of that, or maybe for petty retaliation, he snatches the lube out of his hands while lifting himself up on the bed. He brings their faces together in the blink of an eye, so close their breaths mix, so close it's with just one swift move that he shifts their position.

"I told you," he warns, straddling the man's lap while pushing him down. There's something faintly familiar about this, about looking down on Jeongguk while they lay in bed. Yet everything is so fundamentally different. Jimin almost struggles to believe they're the same as back then.

Smiling, lowering himself until their faces are inches apart, Jimin thinks maybe they no longer are the same. He—for one—isn't.

"No teasing."

Jeongguk scoffs, smug and indulgent and looking all too pleased. "Are you taking the lead?"

Jimin wets his lips, holding his own smile while weighing those words. "Should I?" he muses, licking along the line of Jeongguk's neck and pulling back. He sits on the man's crotch, feeling a bulge pressing against his bare bottom.

His belly feels tight, queasy, and quivering with wantonness.

A sly smile draws on his lips, hips rolling with a pointed indulgence as he feels Jeongguk growing harder under him. "Or do you want to?"

The man still smirks, holding his gaze, hands finding home on the swell of Jimin's hips. They hold him firmly, fingers pressing into the skin, pushing him down onto himself. His lips part, a soft and breathy moan slipping from them.

His hips jerk up, thighs tense and twitching with the straining effort to keep still.

"Don't I deserve it?"

Jimin laughs, something breathy and sharp at once.

"Take good care of me, won't you, teach?"

A muscle at the corner of Jeongguk's jaw jumps, and he's tense under Jimin, a cord pulled taut and ready to snap. "You shouldn't call me that in bed."

Jimin's tongue runs across the line of his teeth, body leaning forward, his hips lifting off of Jeongguk. The man's hands slide down, kneading the supple flesh, letting it spill from between his fingers when he gives a warning squeeze.

Jimin is chuckling against his mouth, though, feeling elated and high like never before. Unbound and free like he didn't believe was possible.

"Why not?" he ponders, words touching the man's parted lips. "How else would I call you?"

"By name."

Jeongguk's answer comes promptly, firm and unwavering. His hands move, fingertips grazing and teasing at the crease of Jimin's ass. The venturing touch is distracting, almost enough that he loses track of their conversation. Humming, his lower body moving on its own to encourage more, Jimin lets his head turn. He glances down where their bodies almost join—so eager to become one.

"By name, uh?"

He wets his lips, mouth dry and throat hoarse.

"I might."

Jeongguk's fingers tease at his dry hole, rubbing onto the tight ring of muscle and pushing at it tentatively.

Jimin's lips part with a soft moan, body pressing onto Jeongguk on its own. He mouths at the man's jaw, hard cock brushing softly between them, the friction and pressure barely enough to satisfy a growing desire for more. "Jeongguk," he calls, a plea that's hardly more than a whisper, a wet moan. "Don't just-" his voice breaks, the lube bottle opening with a sharp click.

Holding his breath, Jimin waits anxiously for the wet and cold feeling that's to come.

"So," Jeongguk prompts though, both his hands leaving Jimin's body. "Let's hear it."

Jimin's head pulls back, a scowl on his face as he glares at the man. All he sees, though, is a smug smirk and infuriatingly relaxed features.

Gritting his teeth, pinching Jeongguk's side, Jimin ruts his hips onto the man's with petty intent. "Why should I?"

Jeongguk snorts, tongue running across the edge of his teeth. "That's fine." He holds Jimin's gaze while talking, hooded eyelids and a lazy smile. "Means I'll have to make you."

Jimin's breath catches in his throat, words taking a moment to register in his brain. And—when they do—he's given no chance to retort. Wet and cold fingertips touch the tight ring of muscles, prodding at it and testing its limits.

Jimin's body jerks, hips bucking forward and head falling forward. His hands clutch onto the sheets at each side of Jeongguk's head, forehead touching the man's bare shoulder. It is—among all the other infuriating things—rather convenient that Jeongguk has a liking to sleep half naked. Like this, when a first finger pushes past the soft and twitching rim, Jimin can distract himself with mouthing and sucking on the exposed skin.

"Careful there," Jeongguk warns, but his words only bring Jimin's brows closer in a frown.

His lower body, with a mind of its own, begins to move in tandem with the intrusion's slow thrusting.

Jeongguk enters him to his last knuckle, all the way to the deepest parts of Jimin. Yet little of it brings him relief, far from what he desires. And he makes a point of letting the other know, one hand fisting in Jeongguk's hair and teeth sinking in his shoulders.

The man chuckles, hoarse and breathless and beautiful even through Jimin's growing irritation. "Then stop teasing."

"Stop, uh?" Just as he echoes Jimin's words, a second finger touches the softening rim, playing and prodding at the twitching hole until Jimin is sinking his teeth in him again, lower body rolling and moving so to seek and encourage more of the touch.

Jeongguk's other hand finds its way to Jimin's hair, closing around silky locks and tugging until they're far enough for their eyes to meet again. Even so, the distance between them is small and vain, their breaths mixing, bodies pressed close and tangled despite the summer heat.

"Call my name, won't you?"

Jimin wets his lips, eyes flicking to the man's mouth out of sheer instinct. "I don't know, teach," he trails pensively, rutting his hips back into the touch.

Jeongguk's jaw locks tight, eyes darkening. His fingers push past the rim, breaching through it with a soft squelch, and it's all that can be heard above Jimin's breathy gasp. His head lowers, mouth tracing along the line of Jeongguk's sharp jaw. "Like this, teach." His body keeps on moving, meeting the slow thrusting motion eagerly, aching for more and more and never satisfied.

"I think I quite like the way it rolls off the tongue." His own voice is a rasp, body growing more and more sensitive with each thrust from Jeongguk's fingers, breath hitching and stopping whenever those fingers curl as if to search for something in him. Licking at the side of Jeongguk's mouth, teasing, for it's all he can do to withhold some sort of control. "Don't you, teach?"

Jeongguk snorts, his tongue clicks. His hands leave Jimin at once, grabbing his waist and shifting their position without any sort of warning.

The sudden change, his back and head hitting the mattress with a soft thump, takes Jimin's breath away for a moment. His eyes are wide open, unblinking as he watches the man position himself between his legs. "That's how you wanna play it?"

Despite the hammering of his heart and the lack of air in his lungs, Jimin grins at the man, arms locking around his neck to bring him down.

"Just give it to me, teach," he purrs a hair's breadth from Jeongguk's lips. "Haven't we waited long enough?"

A shadow flashes across the man's eyes, so dark it would be impossible to miss it even in the dimness all around them. Still it is soon gone, a flickering ghost gone within a blink of those dark eyes. Gone even before Jeongguk is closing the distance between their lips.

The kiss works as a distraction, for—just as it happens—the fingers that slipped out of Jimin thrust into him at once. Jeongguk's other hand keeps Jimin's legs spread, fitting himself in between them, pulling one up until he's bent, hips lifting off the bed.

Jimin barely even noticed being so effortlessly manhandled, lost in their kiss. The thought he might never be satisfied—never have enough of it—crosses Jimin's mind, but it soon scatters as his body tenses up and his breath catches with a gasp. It breaks their kiss, his head pushing back into the mattress and body arching off the bed.

Jeongguk's fingers in him are no longer thrusting nor scissoring, not working to open him up but pressing and rubbing at a certain spot. It is so sensitive that—to Jimin's dismay—he loses all control over his body. Raw electricity travels up his body, winding it up with tight tension.

Pleasure and pain mix until they're one indiscernible feeling coursing through Jimin's quivering body.

"That's cheating," he hisses through gritting teeth, eyes widening when he feels Jeongguk moving lower down his body.

"Is it?"

Jimin's lips part, a foreboding feeling making his chest and lower belly tight at once, tight with desire and anticipation and wantonness.

"Wait," he gasps, throat clicking when the man's face is only inches above his hard cock.

Jeongguk's hand wraps around the underside of his thigh, head tilting until his cheek is pressing and brushing softly onto sensitive skin.

His lips graze over it, leaving the ghost of a kiss that has Jimin trembling and gasping despite himself.

His hands fly down to Jeongguk's hair, grabbing onto it but lacking the resolution to pull him away.

"C'mon, Jimin-ah." He licks around those words, like they're honey trickling down his tongue. "Don't I deserve this much?"

Shutting his eyes tight, head pressing into the mattress, Jimin looks away. "You're such a cheat," he murmurs, but it's his defeat being spoken into reluctant words.

Jeongguk snorts, and the irony of those words isn't wasted on either of them.

Jeongguk's hand shifts, caressing the soft and smooth expanse of Jimin's legs. "That's fine," he reassures, a purr spoken into shivering skin. "I wouldn't mind it, if that's you."

Jimin's chest clenches, and he heaves out a shaky breath. "Let's not," he begins, but his voice breaks, any other word forgotten when Jeongguk's other hand plays with the hem of Jimin's white shirt.

He needn't look to know the picture he displays must be rather erotic. His skin is flushed all over, and a wet spot on the white fabric betrays all of his desire. His cock—hard and throbbing—seems to be waiting for nothing else but Jeongguk's attention. Such comes fast, readily, like heeding a call.

Long fingers sneak under the sheer fabric, letting it ride up Jimin's body and uncover his hardness. A flushed red tip and pink all over, making one's mouth water and eyes reluctant to avert.

"Hello, there."

Jimin's cheeks burn fiercely, his hands tugging hard at Jeongguk's hair as his head snaps to glare at the man. "Don't-" he chokes, the sight greeting him pushing all air from his lungs.

Jeongguk lies between his legs, face only inches from his twitching cock, breath fanning hotly onto the sensitive tip. A pearl of precum beads it, trickling shyly down the length.

"Don't talk to it."

Jeongguk's eyes flick up, looking at him through long eyelashes. He wets his lips, a curve lingering on them that promises danger. "Why not?"

Jimin's lips gape, mouth drying.

"It's cute," Jeongguk comments in a whisper, each word making the heat in Jimin's guts stir and grow hotter. "And you made me wait long enough for it."

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, looking away, Jimin wills his body to relax—however possible.

"Fine, then, teach," he hisses through his teeth. "Have it your way."

Jeongguk's grin is soon hidden from him, mouth pressing onto the pulsing vein running along the underside of Jimin's cock. The touch is light, soft, it sends shivers down his spine, back arching and hands fisting into Jeongguk's hair.

Still, it doesn't pull him away, seemingly powerless and helpless.

"No teasing, right?"

Jimin has barely the time to make sense of those words when Jeongguk's taking his cock in one hand, angling it just right. And—with the same breath—he takes all of Jimin in his mouth. All the while, his eyes stay fixed, their gazes locked.

Although there's nothing more than Jimin would rather do than look away, he can't bring himself to—spellbound by the sight.

Jeongguk's tongue curls around his head, his cheeks hollowing as he pulls back and teases the most sensitive part of Jimin. Almost unnoticed, his other hand moves back to the twitching and wet hold, teasing its softness and breaching it with ease.

Overwhelmed by the pleasure of being stimulated in such ways, Jimin is forced to break the lock of their gazes. His head throws back into the mattress, back arching and eyelids fluttering as that same, sensitive spot is relentlessly teased and rubbed on.

Jeongguk's mouth is just as relentless, sucking on him, hollowing and welcoming Jimin's length all the way to its base.

Squelching and obscene sounds mix with Jimin's moans, echoing in the room and drilling into his head, nowhere to run, no way to avoid the lewdness of it all.

"C'mon, don't," he chokes, a particularly hard suck cutting his breath short, his body tensing up when he feels himself getting close to the climax. Not like this, Jimin dreads the thought of coming this way. Not this time.

Grimacing, tugging at Jeongguk's hair, thighs closing around him, Jimin forces the man to pull away. He comes off with one last squelch, louder than any other before and yet fading into nothingness when the man's neck cranes and their eyes meet again.

Slowly—ever so slowly—Jeongguk runs his tongue across the seam of his lips, savoring the taste lingering on them.

Jimin swallows thickly, the fingers in him slowly pulling out.

"Let's get down to business then, shall we?"

Jimin hesitates, wary of the man and yet nodding his head slowly.

Jeongguk grins and yet doesn't move from where he is. His head lowers again, mouth tracing a wet path from the base of Jimin's cock all the way to its tip. At the same time, two fingers are soon joined by a third, stretching Jimin to an uncomfortable limit and yet still far from satisfying the hunger in him.

"I thought you," Jimin hisses, upper body lifting but being pushed down by Jeongguk's free hand. It spreads across his chest, large and imposing, doubtlessly feeling each and every ragged breath as it moves through Jimin.

Jeongguk hums in acknowledgement, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through Jimin. His back arches off the bed, wandering fingers playing with his hardening nipple while Jeongguk's other hand picks in a steady motion, building a pace in tandem with his mouth.

Jimin tries to pull him away, push him off the closer he feels himself to coming. His eyes fill with moistness, his moans turning into whimpers.

"C'mon," he stutters. "Not like-"

He stops, voice breaking, but hands struggling against Jeongguk. He's weak, though, fumbling when pleasure makes his body act out of its own accord.

"Jeongguk."

It's a cry, loud and piercing through Jimin.

Jeongguk stops, lifting his head and looking at him. Their gazes lock, holding still for a breathless moment. Then his eyelids lower, a prolonged hum resounding through him.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Jimin glowers, but his hands are moving faster than his thoughts. He holds the man's face and pulls him up, unyielding until their lips meet in a rushed and rough kiss, retaliative and angry and desperate.

"Fuck you," he breathes into the kiss, hoarse and wet.

Jeongguk smiles against his mouth, hands caressing Jimin's sides, reaching down to his thighs.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

Their lips are a hair's breadth apart, their breaths mixing and chests pressing close. So close, Jimin can feel every strong beat of Jeongguk's heart like it's his own.

The man still hasn't lost his smile, pressing it at the corner of Jimin's mouth as the wet tip of his cock touches his most sensitive part.

Jimin's hold is swollen and soft, twitching with hunger. It opens eagerly for the intrusion, welcoming it, sucking Jeongguk in hotly.

"No, I'm not," the man admits with a gasp, easing himself inside Jimin slowly, his body impossibly tense.

Jimin can't find it in himself to argue with that, hands clawing at the man's back while his legs spread and wind around him, holding him close lest he would disappear. Like a dream he's been chasing for so long, one he couldn't wait for any more. It would've been the right thing to do, wait until after his talk with Chaeyeon. It would've been right, the lest he could do, yet Jimin couldn't possibly make himself wait any longer. No more when it's only been hurting the both of them.

"Just," he gasps, moaning when Jeongguk fits all of himself inside. He cannot breathe, the intrusion is more than he could possibly accommodate and yet all he's been craving for. "No more."

His voice is pitiful and wet to his own ears, but it earns him a soft kiss from Jeongguk, a coaxing and comforting touch pressing onto his temple. The man noses and nudges at the side of his face, his hand resting on Jimin's hips. He rubs soothing arches into the skin, coaxing and sweet and indulging.

"You're doing so good."

Jimin hums, he sniffles. He feels queasy and weak, and curses at himself for always being too drunk before, too drunk to fight his own greed. Jeongguk is—with no doubt—more than he could possibly handle.

"So perfect and so good for me."

Sniffling again, Jimin hugs him close, face hiding in the crook of Jeongguk's neck. "Move," he mumbles, voice muffled and distorted against his skin.

Taking mercy on him, Jeongguk doesn't let him wait any longer. He pulls out slowly, inch by inch until the very tip. The lock of Jimin's body around him makes it hard, but still he doesn't fight it or make Jimin loosen his grip.

Instead, pressing his mouth to the other's temple, he nuzzles into the softness of Jimin's hair. "Look at me, won't you."

Albeit reluctantly, Jimin does as he's told. He pulls away, lifting his head just enough for their eyes to meet.

Jeongguk's other hand brushes away his sweaty bangs, his body ever so tense by the restraint of keeping still. "How do you want it, Jimin-ah?"

The words have his cheeks burning, face turning away not to look at the man.

"Good," he mutters, earning himself a snort from the man.

"Good," Jeongguk parrots, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss on his cheek while thrusting in Jimin once again.

This time, it is fast and sharp, hips hitting his bottom with a slap, the sound echoing in the room.

Jimin's lips part with a breathless gasp, his eyes widening and hands grabbing onto the sheets. His back arches off the back, legs spreading wider on their own, desperate to make more room for the man. His thighs quiver as Jeongguk pulls back to the tip, tensing up when the man thrusts in him again.

Jeongguk's mouth latches onto Jimin's exposed neck, sucking and biting onto the skin as his hips roll and rut into him.

Jimin swallows thickly, gasping for air when he is so filled to the brim, body molding around the intrusion, quivering and shivering with every new wave of pleasure Jeongguk forces upon him. Each well aimed thrust and each rolling of his hips, each pressure he applies at his walls and on that sweet, sweet spot, leaves Jimin speechless. He's lost in the building pleasure, throat throwing back as Jeongguk picks up a quicker pace, deep and thorough. His every moan echoes in Jimin's ears, mixing with the man's soft groans and moans and grunts, with the squelching sounds from their joined bodies and his own small, wet cries.

No word he utters makes sense, and yet Jimin can't stop himself. Every sound is honey spilling hotly from his lips, growing louder and louder until Jeongguk is swallowing them instead.

He licks into Jimin's mouth, their kiss wet and indulgent and slow. Each moan is stolen straight from him, every breath becoming Jeongguk's. And it's somehow maddening, driving him to the brink of madness as the pleasure keeps on building.

Trapped between their bodies, his already stimulated and dripping cock keeps rubbing against Jeongguk with every thrust, their bodies so close to one another despite everything.

As he breaks from their kiss, keeping their mouths a hair's breadth apart, Jeongguk slows down his movements. They turn lazy, teasing.

Jimin's hands have—at some point in their kiss—weaved into the man's hair. His nails rake over Jeongguk's scalp, scratching in retaliation.

"Didn't know I'd gotten myself a kitten."

Despite his words, Jeongguk's voice is raspy, breathy and broken.

"Don't stop," Jimin hisses just, ignoring anything that's not the agonized chase for relief. "Don't," he begins, choking on his words when Jeongguk sharply thrusts in his again, picking up a fast pace that makes his brain and limbs muddy.

"Jimin," he moans, lips tracing along the line of his jaw, moist with saliva and hot. "Say it again, Jimin."

Jimin barely even hears the words, lost as he is in his own mind, in the tightness twisting and coiling in his lower belly. Pleasure grows and grows in him, leaving him breathless with every thrust and every wave coursing through his body.

"Say it."

"What," he gasps, choking on his own voice.

Jeongguk bites down on his jaw, one hand curling around the base of Jimin's cock. The touch is so sudden—so unexpected—that his body jerks, a moan louder than any else grating through his throat, shaking through him.

"You know what."

Their lips brush as he speaks, and yet—when Jimin's eyes blink open—all he can see is Jeongguk's intense gaze boring through him.

Swallowing thickly, struggling to focus past the feelings wracking through him and the motion of Jeongguk's body against his own.

"Jeongguk," he breathes hoarsely, the name distorted and yet clear—unmistakable.

Jeongguk's hand strokes up his length, tight and moist and rough, just perfectly around his sensitive cock. His thrusts stutter, hips jerking against Jimin.

"Again," he mouths into the skin of his neck, licking onto it lavishly.

"Jeongguk," Jimin moans, eyes closing and tears trickling from the corners of them. "Please, I'm so—" he chokes, stopping.

"I know."

Jeongguk's kissing messily at the corner of his mouth, hands grabbing Jimin's waist and pulling it back to meet each of his thrusts.

"Lift your legs, will you?"

Jimin blinks his eyes open, sniffling. His body shakes, trembling, but he does as he's told. His body folds in half, fitting Jeongguk just perfectly, bringing them even closer.

The man fits himself around Jimin, hooking long and strong legs over his shoulders and reaching even deeper into him.

"Good?" he asks when the other moans, his mouth hanging open by the growing pleasure.

One hand goes again to Jimin's cock, working in tandem with each fast and deep thrust, squeezing it just tight enough for pain to mix with pleasure in the most maddening way.

"Yes," Jimin moans with his last breaths. "Yes, Jeongguk."

The name—honey trickling his lips—is the very last coherent thing Jimin commits to before losing himself entirely to the climbing a crashing pleasure.

He wouldn't be able to tell how or when—exactly—he tips over the edge. All he knows is an almost painful pleasure, addicting and tight as it washes over him, wave after wave. Jeongguk thrusts in him relentlessly, and it's all Jimin knows as he slowly comes down from his high, shuddering and shivering and trembling with oversensitivity.

And it's not long before pain begins to overpower his pleasure, but still Jimin won't fight it, he won't tell the man to stop. He chants Jeongguk's name like it's a prayer, clinging to him until the pain subsides and the man is coming in him. Jeongguk's thrusts stutter and slow down, hips rolling against Jimin's as he milks his own orgasm.

Their breaths are heavy and loud, Jeongguk's head resting in the crook of his neck.

Feeling his body sinking into the mattress, weightless and heavy at once, Jimin stares up at the ceiling until his breath turns steady. All the while and afterward, he cradles Jeongguk's head, holding him dearly.

The man's still inside him, fitting perfectly between Jimin's legs and slowly caressing his body. His every breath fans onto Jimin's skin, a feathery touch he could very easily get addicted to.

-

Hours later, when the morning shyly greets them and the sun begins to climb high in the sky, Jimin and Jeongguk lay on the bed.

Their bodies—tangled so tightly one could not tell them apart—are covered by a cold sheen of sweat and bodily fluids. It feels sticky and uncomfortable on their skin, and yet neither makes a move to leave the bed.

Jimin lies in Jeongguk's arms, mostly resting on the man's body, their chests touching. His head is safely tucked close to the man, only a few inches from his heartbeat, lips brushing against Jeongguk's neck.

His hands rest on the man, one in his hair and another holding onto his waist.

Jeongguk hugs his waist, his other hand clasped over Jimin's, holding onto him firmly.

Their breaths are slow, steady, and yet neither can seem to rest. For how tired and drained Jimin is, his mind is hyper-aware, and his eyes refuse to stay closed for too long.

"Wanna tell me what you talked about?"

Jeongguk is the first to break the silence, scooting up on the bed until he's partially resting against the headboard. He drags Jimin with him, causing both to shift before settling in a comfortable way.

Jimin slides down again, hiding his face from the man. Their hands stay locked, though, resting on Jeongguk's chest.

"No," he mumbles, nuzzling into the man's sweaty and warm skin.

"Jimin."

"I wanna shower," he blurts, speaking before the other can get the chance to say any more.

"Later, though."

"I don't wanna," he sighs, sucking on his bottom lip while still refusing to lift his gaze and meet Jeongguk's. "Do I have to?"

"Yes." The answer comes firm, unyielding, and leaving no room for arguing.

Jimin grimaces, hating himself for being so cowardly on the matter. He sighs, playing absently with the man's fingers.

"Why?"

This time, it is Jeongguk's turn to shift. He lets him keep on playing with his fingers, his other hand running slowly up and down Jimin's waist. "Because from now on," he begins. "Everything that happens between you and her is also about me."

Jimin sighs again, a sound grave and heavy that feels much like reluctant acceptance.

"It's really nothing," he mumbles, wetting his lips, looking at their hands. "She'll come back next week, and we'll talk."

"Talk?"

Jimin hums, pulling away and sitting up. He climbs on top of Jeongguk, hands holding the man's face as he leans down. Their foreheads touch, and he knows the sad smile sported by his lips doesn't go unnoticed. "Talk," he repeats, staring into dark eyes from up close.

Jeongguk exhales through his nostrils, hands grabbing Jimin's waist. He shifts them around effortlessly, positioning himself on top and staring down at the other with burning intensity, a devouring desire.

"Does it mean you're mine, now?"

Jimin grins, his hands reaching up to brush away the bangs from Jeongguk's forehead and hold his face tenderly. "I suppose."

He's still smiling when Jeongguk has their lips touching, feeling giddy and light all over at the thought.

-

"So," Jimin muses while nurturing a cold can of soda in both hands. He lets the icy cold of it seep through his palms, a small relief from the humid and persisting heat. And although evenings are chillier and bearable, he still greedily aches for more of it. "Why did you take me here?"

Despite going along with Jeongguk's whim and following the man outside, Jimin can't fully commit to the impromptu little date they're having. He would much rather be anywhere else, their shared apartment, for instance.

Lazily strolling next to him, matching their paces effortlessly, Jeongguk shrugs dismissively. "It's such a nice evening," he comments, voice trailing like there's more to it he won't speak into existence.

Jimin sighs, taking a sip from the can and looking ahead.

They've entered the park from a relatively quiet entrance, yet—the more they walk—lights and sounds reach the pair. It has Jimin's steps hesitating, his brows knitting.

Jeongguk slows down when he does, but doesn't mention it, simply waiting for Jimin to speak first. He looks at him, gaze quietly boring to the other's side.

"Are you sure about it?"

Jimin's teeth nibble down on his bottom lip, worrying it as he glances back to the lights in the distance.

"Do you want to head back?"

Jimin keeps on staring ahead, playing with the can in his hands absently.

"No," he confesses in a moment, wondering if maybe he should regret being so honest. Truth is, for the past days, he's been holed up in their shared apartment, worrying about what to tell Chaeyeon when time will come. Worrying and regretting and thinking about many things.

Of all, the one thing he never thought of or doubted or regretted was Jeongguk. So, glancing at the man with a weak smile, he nods to those lights calling to them.

The man grins, fishing a lollipop from the pocket of his jacket and popping it in his mouth. All the while the grin lingers on his lips, shining in his eyes.

Jimin watches him helplessly, feeling all those concerns and fears and anxieties scattering away. "Do you have one for me too?"

Jeongguk's cheeks hollow, his eyes darkening as they fixate on Jimin. "What do I get for it?"

Jimin wets his lips, stepping in front of the man with a sly smile of his own. This close, he's forced to crane his neck, looking up to hold Jeongguk's gaze.

"What should I give you?" he ponders, pensive even when his mind is clear of any thought.

Jeongguk holds his gaze, the candy still held hostage in his mouth, lips slick and sticky with sugar.

"I think I'll just take it."

Jimin steals the candy with a grin, wrapping his lips around it and spinning on his heels swiftly.

Jeongguk emits a soft sound, a surprised gasp that echoes in Jimin's ears only up until he's yelping and giggling louder than any other sound for Jeongguk's arm hooks around his middle. It is strong and firm, tugging him back into the man's chest, lifting his feet from the ground, and spinning both of them round and round.

Jimin's legs kick in the air, but he's giggling, feeling elated even as the candy drops from his lips. He barely even notices, feet touching the ground again and hands making him turn.

"Such a mischievous little thing, aren't you?"

Jimin's smile is all teeth and twinkling eyes, hands clasping around Jeongguk's nape and unconsciously pulling the man down.

"We shouldn't do this," he whispers, eyelids fluttering and gaze flicking to the man's lips.

"No one's around." It is nothing but words touching Jimin's lips, but they sound like the sweetest, most enticing sort of temptation ever.

Jimin hums, rising to his tiptoes for their lips to meet at last.

No one is around to see them, to see Jeongguk's arms winding around his back and pulling him close. And no one sees it as they deepen the kiss, ever so indulgent .

Still, when they part, Jimin can't help the wary way with which he looks around, checking as his heart still beats fast in his chest. It is Jeongguk who forces him to give up on his every last worry, nudging his side playfully while walking past Jimin.

"C'mon," he prompts, moving a few steps ahead of him. "Or else we'll be late."

Jimin frowns at the man's back, blinking a few times while still fighting off the uneasy feeling crawling underneath his skin. Looking around one last time, he closes the distance between them, matching his own pace to Jeongguk's.

"Late for what?"

As they walk, their shoulders brush and bump into one another, knuckles touching. Jimin's fingers twitch whenever it happens, fighting the habit of seeking heat in the pocket of Jeongguk's coat or jacket. For a while, he manages to keep himself in check, glancing at the man's side when no answer comes. Eventually though, when the lights become brighter and the sounds clearer, he's reaching into the pocket of Jeongguk's hoodie, stealing away a candy if even just to keep himself busy.

It is a sour apple gummy, one that sticks to his teeth and forces him to chew over and over before swallowing it. The taste—sour and sweet at once—is pleasant as it lingers in his mouth, and Jimin absently wonders what it'd be like to kiss Jeongguk now, if it'd taste of sour apple.

Casting away such ridiculous thoughts, he bumps against Jeongguk, just enough for the man to glance down at him.

"Late for what?"

Jeongguk grins, a knowing and smug and teasing, reveling in the sight of frustration drawing over Jimin's face.

"You'll see."

Jimin's eyes roll to the clear sky, but a smile tugs at his lips despite himself. With a sigh, he keeps walking next to Jeongguk without asking for more. Something about the man's odd expression telling Jimin he won't say, no matter what.

So they walk, comfortably in silence, until the lights begin to cast over them and a new scenery opens up before their eyes. Fairy lights and lamp lights make everything impossibly bright and warm, blankets scattered all over the grass, spotting the green meadow with countless colors. And people, so many people all around, wherever Jimin's eyes fall.

It is a midsummer night after all, the air is chill and brisk, just the right way.

Without him even noticing, Jimin's hand closes around Jeongguk, holding it firmly, squeezing it once. "Are you sure this is right?" he asks, his voice but a whisper when he feels the man's eyes on him, his own never staying on the crowd spreading all across the park before them.

"Why not?" Jeongguk poses back, sounding light and carefree, like he can't see any wrong in it.

His hand shifts around Jimin's, interlacing their fingers and tucking their locked hands into the loose pocket of his hoodie. It feels familiar, almost enough to ease away all of Jimin's concerns even when it forces his arm to bend at an awkward angle and their pace is a bit clumsy. Neither cares, walking down the narrow path until they find a somewhat empty spot on the damp grass.

Looking down and then around, Jimin feels himself growing irremediably helpless.

"I suppose you didn't bring a blanket," he muses, head cocking as he glances at Jeongguk.

The man meets him with a sheepish smile, a dismissive shrug.

"Alright."

Jimin is ready to sit down on the damp grass, braving the dirt and insects and all that will come their way if that means he's the one indulging Jeongguk for once.

"We can just sit here then."

Jeongguk's tongue clicks at his words, pulling both of their hands from the warm pocket.

Jimin watches him take off his hoodie with a swift move, lying it down on the grass instead.

With a soft gasp, he shakes his head, looking down at Jeongguk as he crouches at his feet. "That's way too small to fit both of us."

Jeongguk grins, he glances up at him. "Let's test it."

He grabs Jimin's hand and pulls him down with no warning, ignoring his surprised yelp and somehow manhandling him in a matter of few seconds.

Jimin's cheeks burn as he feels curious eyes lingering on them, a string of curses chanting in his mind as he feels Jeongguk's hands still on him.

Taking advantage of his lowered guard, the man somehow fits Jimin between his legs, back pressed to his chest and arms wrapped around Jimin's body. "See?" Jeongguk breathes smugly, each word a puff of warm air down the crown of his head. "We fit just right."

Jimin's eyes roll, jaw working side to side, but irritation promptly fades away the longer he stays pressed to Jeongguk. Like this, his entire body is wrapped by the man's, cradled and held by him.

With a sigh, he wills his body to relax, leaning back into the man's chest. Close as they are, Jimin can feel each and every beat of Jeongguk's heart. Fast and steady and powerful. His cheeks still burn, and he wouldn't be able to tell the cause anymore.

"This is gonna bite us in the ass," he grumbles, trying his best to ignore the curious glances cast their way.

A girl nudges her friend not too far from them, nodding their way like she's being subtle.

Jimin doesn't need to see Jeongguk to know the man's grinning, taking his hand and playing with it in retaliation.

"That's fine," Jeongguk says, speaking in the crown of his head before pressing a kiss into his hair. "No one can harm us."

Jimin's next exhale is shaky, his head airborne for the next few moments.

"Hope you're right, teach."

Still pressed to the top of his head, Jeongguk's lips spread into a smile only for Jimin to know about. And he feels himself sagging a bit more against the man, sinking and settling better into his own body.

For a while, they stay like this.

Music plays in the background, and their chatting is lighthearted and casual. They talk about Jeongguk's summer classes and what to eat for breakfast, munching over whatever could be bought at the nearby stall once hunger strikes again. All the while, they argue about anything and everything, like the best icicle flavor or whether egg or peas are better on your jjajangmyeon.

Jimin grumbles, eyes rolling, but he agrees they will never agree on certain things. Somehow, it doesn't bother him, and the night grows older without him even noticing. Then, when the clock strikes midnight, he's made aware of just how long they've been sitting here. Hours flying by without him keeping track of it.

The lights go off, and soft gasps lift all around them.

Unconsciously, Jimin turns to look at Jeongguk. The angle is awkward and uncomfortable, everything dark, and yet their gazes manage to lock—somehow.

"Is this?" Jimin lets his words trail off, fading among the lingering gasps and ushered words.

Jeongguk's arms around him tighten some, his body shifting ever so slightly. He hums, chin nodding to the river ahead.

As if given the sign just then, a hissing sound travels up to the sky, exploding in countless lights above their heads.

Jimin's gaze snaps away, eyes wide open as he desperately tries not to miss even a second of the wonder unfolding above them.

One of the others, fireworks lights up the sky in a dance of light that is nothing short of magical.

Through it—though his eyes never avert from the sky—Jimin has the odd feeling a piercing gaze must be fixated on him. Still, he lets it be, feeling warm and happy and content in Jeongguk's embrace.

As the last golden lights spread and flicker in the sky, he thinks back to the man's words, a wonder-struck and elated smile on his lips as the fireworks shine bright in his eyes.

No one can harm us.

And he believes it.

-

Chaeyeon looks down at her empty glass and can't seem to remember when she downed it. A bitter smile tugs at her lips, a bit derisive and a whole lot sad as it stubbornly lingers.

"Here," Jihyo chirps, clear liquid pouring into the once empty glass. "Let's get wasted tonight!"

Chaeyeon looks up at her, and the smile turns a bit fond. "You already are, unnie."

Jihyo ignores her, standing and walking around the table on surprisingly steady legs. "That's not true, Yeon-ah." Bending over, wrapping her arms around Biyuly and Wheein, she grins at Chaeyeon. "We still have a long way to go, don't we, unnie?"

Wheein chuckles, eyes rolling and head shaking.

"Of course, of course," she muses, indulging while also peeling off Jihyo's arm from her shoulder. "Go sit down, though, c'mon."

With a huff, Jihyo does as she's told, plopping down heavily on the first empty spot she finds at their table.

Chaeyeon looks at her, and can't bring herself to feel that same sense of lightheartedness. Classes are over, summer break ahead of them with nothing but promises, and the future smiling down on her. Still, a weight seems to bring her heart down, a burden she doesn't dare name.

"Drink up, Chaeyeon." Byulyi's smile is faint, but gentle as she nods down to the full glass waiting for her.

"Yes," Yongsun chirps from next to her. "We're here to celebrate, so let's all drink up."

Forcing a smile, Chaeyeon mirrors them as each downs their filled glasses.

For a while, the night goes by like this. For just as long, Chaeyeon wonders whether it was the right choice to come here. No one but the girls sitting at the table knows she's back already from Busan—not even Jimin.

Cowardly, she hoped that lying would delay whatever will happen between them—like that would make any of it better, somehow.

Still, Chaeyeon keeps casting furtive glances at the dark screen of her phone, wishing for something not even she can quite name—wouldn't dare say.

"Oh my god."

The soft, breathless gasp comes from across the table. Everyone's eyes dart to Byulyi, breaths bated as they all wait.

"I can't believe it."

"What," Jihyo chirps, standing up and moving fast to where the other sits. She hovers over her, bending over and squinting at the phone. Her eyes narrow, widening a moment later while her lips part with a soft gasp. "Is that," she rasps, voice fading.

"What is it?" Chaeyeon asks, leaning over across the table, curiosity growing within her alongside a harrowing anxiety.

Byulyi looks up at her while Yongsun snatches her phone away, shoving it inches from her face. "That can't be," she mutters, eyes wide. "Oh my god, you owe me lunch," Yongsun continues victoriously, letting the phone fall and bending over the table to meet Wheein's gaze. "I was right about him."

Wheein's eyes roll, she says something Chaeyeon doesn't really catch.

Her hand reaches out the moment the phone is out of Yongsun's hands. Moving on its own.

"I need to tell Hyejin unnie," she hears from someone, but it is a distant sound, background noise.

On the screen, despite the blurriness of the picture and the relative darkness, two men are framed.

Chaeyeon's mouth runs dry, her breath halting and blood running cold in her veins.

"I knew something was up with those two," Yongsun sing-songs, grinning at Byulyi.

Chaeyeon's eyes snap up, and she watches the two with horror. "What," she tries, voice grating at the walls of her throat.

"Wait, Chaeyeon," Jihyo attempts, suddenly sobering up. "The photo is blurry, we can't be sure it's him."

"Unnie, what did you mean by that?"

Her voice is a hiss, sharp and cutting even when the woman bears no fault.

Yongsun looks lost, lips parting and eyes blinking several times.

"Didn't we tell you?" she asks, glancing at Byulyi, who looks just as confused but somehow making a better job at hiding it. Her gaze is firm, set on Chaeyeon and studying her. "That someone randomly started attending our classes mid-semester."

"What's his name?"

"Chaeyeon," Jihyo attempts, sucking in a sharp breath when she earns herself a cold glare.

"His name?"

"I think it was…" Yongsun stops, brows knitting.

"Jimin," Byulyi fills in for her, voice firm and gaze clearing. "That's him, isn't it?"

For a moment, they hold gazes. Just a moment, then Chaeyeon springs to her feet, eyes burning but a cold rage flooding her veins. She has to get away, leave this place, go somewhere—anywhere. Some place where it will hurt less, maybe.

Wherever that might be.

Halfway through the restaurant, her sight turns blurry, head spins. Still she keeps striding forward, refusing to let hurt and anger slow her down.

Left behind, Jihyo tries to follow her.

"Don't," Byulyi stops her firmly. "If she wanted our company or comfort, she would've stayed.

"But I-"

Byulyi's head shakes no, effectively interrupting Jihyo.

"Just give her a moment."

With a sigh, Jihyo sits down heavily, looking blankly ahead.

"I still don't understand," Yongsun whispers after a moment, visibly hesitant. "What just happened?"

"The man with professor Jeon," Byulyi begins, struggling to wrap her head around it still. "That's her boyfriend, Jimin."

"Jimin?" Yongsun asks. "Law major, childhood friend Jimin?"

Byulyi nods gravely, looking down at the photo still displayed on her screen.

"I don't care what you think," Wheein says after staying silent the whole time. "But we shouldn't leave her alone."

With a sigh, Byulyi thinks she might be right, after all. So she nods, ready to leave, but her gaze still won't leave the screen.

She knows Jimin. Shallowly as it might be, she thought she had him figured out.

The man in the picture, his back resting against their math professor's chest, somehow looks just like the one he met and nothing like him. All at once and some more. Mostly and undeniably, he looks happy. Content and at ease.

Byulyi can't fathom what it felt like for Chaeyeon to see him like this. After all she shared with him, after everything they've been going through.

With a sigh, Byulyi makes herself look away and stand.

Wheein was right, they can't leave Chaeyeon alone to deal with this.

-

Somehow, Jimin is the first to wake up.

He wakes up with a soft groan, a grunt, as his body feels stiff and sore, heavier than usual.

Sitting up, glancing at the sleeping man next to him, he sighs.

Jeongguk sleeps deeply, and it's something he came to learn over time. He wakes up early, and it is usually rare for Jimin to catch the man resting. Still, somehow, it sometimes happens. Times like this early morning.

A soft smile tugs at his lips, one hand brushing away long locks from his forehead. It's due for a haircut, but—at the same time—it doesn't feel so bad to have his hair growing longer than usual. Jeongguk has taken on the habit of playing with it when they lie in bed, and Jimin isn't sure he wants to give up on that yet.

With another soft sigh slipping past his lips, he leaves the bed and pads through the apartment. His feet move on their own, bare as he basks in the break from suffocating heat.

In the kitchen, he works to make coffee while his mind is still wrapped in a thick haze, sleep clinging to him stubbornly.

Yawning, he leans back against the counter, trying to settle on what to have for breakfast. Although they didn't get to eat much, Jimin isn't feeling as hungry as he usually would, and lazily skims through the different options in his mind as he waits.

The coffee machine pings cheerfully once it's done, calling for Jimin's attention. He looks at it, and absently ponders trying to wake Jeongguk up. The coffee will doubtlessly go cold by the time he does it on his own, and Jimin isn't really feeling like being alone in the small kitchen. Or anywhere, for what it's worth.

With a sigh, pulling from the counter, he makes his way out of the kitchen. Although he hasn't made up his mind yet, Jimin's feet move on their own, taking him to the living room but coming to an abrupt stop when the doorbell rings insistently.

Jimin's heart jumps, and so do his shoulders. His head snaps to the entrance, looking at it confusedly.

They hardly ever get visits, none Jimin can recall, actually.

He checks the time from the clock hanging on the wall, frowning at the early hour. Still, almost unconsciously, he moves to the door in a daze.

The doorbell rings again, startling him and making him stop a few paces from the door.

Glancing down at himself, he considers changing into proper clothes, something that would hide the state of him. The obnoxious ringing comes again, like a screech as it pierces through the dead-silent apartment. Before he can fight himself or think twice of it—acting out of sheer instincts—Jimin's hand is on the handle, pushing it down and opening the door by a sliver.

Before him, wide eyes and pale, she stands and looks at him with moist eyes burning like never before.

"So it's true," she gasps, the sound soft and breathless.

Jimin's stomach drops, a hollow and harrowing space left in its stead. His throat feels tight, like a hand is closing tightly around it.

She has not moved though, petrified where she stands. And Jimin's forced to believe what makes it hard to breathe is a lump of his sins and guilt. Or maybe his heart, trying to escape from his chest.

"Chaeyeon."

Her shoulders jump slightly, nose twitching and lips pursing. Blinking her eyes once—then twice more, fast—seems to work as a bracing spell. Her head holds a bit higher, and her features harden.

"So this is where you've been," she says, her voice sharp as her eyes rake down Jimin's body.

Unconsciously, he takes a step back while glancing down at the state of himself.

He's wearing a shirt several sizes too big, hanging on one shoulder and reaching halfway to his thighs. Underneath, he pulled on some of Jeongguk's shorts, but they still struggled to conceal much. His skin is littered with marks, some peeking through his shorts while most crawl up his collarbone and neck.

Swallowing dry, lifting his gaze again, Jimin takes another step inside.

"Come in," he croaks, grimacing at the sound of his own voice. "Let's not do this here."

She scoffs, her jaw jutting to the side.

"I am not setting foot in there."

Jimin flinches, looking back at the familiar living room and every corner of Jeongguk's apartment. Some part of him feels relief at her words, wary and reluctant to have her stepping inside. Still, he needs to change, and Chaeyeon can't possibly stay outside like this.

"Please, Chaeyeon."

His voice is feeble, the plea making it look ever so pitiful.

Her lips twitch at the corners, eyes still moist despite the fury they withhold.

With a reluctant sigh, Jimin lowers his head and takes another step away from the door. "Alright," he agrees, acknowledging she deserves this much at least. "I'll be right back."

Turning away, Jimin finds himself unsteady on his legs, head spinning and body swaying with every step he takes. Still, somehow, he makes it to the bedroom unscathed, if not for the deep-rooted ache and shame burdening down his heart.

On the bed, Jeongguk still sleeps quietly—unbothered. Despite the lump in his throat and the crawling anxiety underneath his skin, the sight still manages a small twitch of Jimin's lips. With a sigh, he looks away, fetching the first clean change he can find and dressing himself up fast.

Walking back into the living room, Jimin finds Chaeyeon still there, standing tense and unmovable at the entrance.

"Where is he?"

Jimin's steps stutter, faltering. His eyes flick to the side, lips parting but at a loss of words. Still, somehow, he manages to find words to say regardless. "This has nothing to do with him."

Chaeyeon scoffs, she takes a long stride inside the apartment. Behind her, the door stays wide open.

"Do not feed me that, Jimin," she hisses, eyes narrowing as she stalks closer. Chaeyeon only stops when they're about a pace away, close enough that he can see her eyes welling with more tears. "This has all to do with him."

His head shakes no, though, refusing to cover the truth with a more bearable truth.

"It hasn't, and you know it."

Her lips gape, chin tilting as he looks away from him.

"Then tell me," she pleads, her voice rising in pitch, but scratching its way through her throat. "What gave you the right to do this to me?"

"Chaeyeon," he tries, but her gaze hardens, her lips pressing into a thin line.

She's holding back tears, fighting so hard to keep herself from breaking down. Jimin fights the urge to look away, to avert his gaze from the pain he caused. He has no right to, though, and watches as a crack runs deep into her.

"Don't you dare," she hisses viciously, vitriol dripping from her every word. "You don't get to call my name, not even to look at me after what you did."

Jimin's lips press shut, each word a punch to his guts. His hands ball up in fists, the pain of nails digging in his palms barely enough to ground him. His mind threatens to go adrift, to evade this moment and the pain and anger crashing on him.

Heaving a shaky breath, Chaeyeon begins to pace back and forth before him. One hand runs nervously through her hair, shaking when it lowers and she stops.

"Was it fun?"

Her voice is firm, coming like a slap to Jimin's cheek.

His lungs constrict, heaving out all air at once.

"Was it fun to go behind my back for god knows how long?" Her voice rises, and she's closer to shouting at him with every spoken word. "Tell me, Jimin," she presses, taking a step closer, her hands shaking and every breath coming short and labored. "Was it fun to watch me love you while you—" her voice breaks, a tear falling down her cheek.

Chaeyeon brushes it away angrily, sniffling and putting some space between them. Her head shakes, like she's furiously casting away unbearable thoughts.

Then—facing him again with her chin held up, tears trapped in her eyelashes when their eyes meet—she lets out a shaky breath, bottom lip quivering.

"I suppose it was, wasn't it?"

Her head tilts to the side, a bitter and mean smile on her face.

Jimin takes it all, never once letting himself look away from her, for he caused this, and so he must be the one to bear the aftermath. His lips part, even when words seem to be running from him in a taunting game. Her head shakes no, though, eyes wide and moist still.

"I have been so blind," she sighs, self mockery cutting through Jimin like a blade stabbing his guts. He tries to rebuke her words, but Chaeyeon speaks faster than he can, leaving him helpless in the wake of her rage. "You were barely ever here." His head shakes in disbelief, a choked and sharp laugh pushing past her. "You were never home, your mind elsewhere." A pause, her voice cut off brusquely. "I should've known," she laments, sucking on her bottom lip and sniffling, the smile on her lips looking uncanny.

"You couldn't have."

Her gaze blinks into focus, snapping to him with sheer rage burning behind her irises.

Jimin doesn't let his stop him, head shaking softly as he holds her gaze. "I myself didn't know until some time ago."

She scoffs, but—even when her lips part to speak—she's not fast enough to stop Jimin from adding more.

"And I shouldn't have done this to you," he presses, taking a step closer to her out of sheer habit, the distance feeling unfamiliar after a lifetime of sharing breaths with her. Every moment and every sorrow never to be dealt with alone. "You deserved way better than all the lies I've told you."

Chaeyeon sniffles again, her shoulder pinching tight but her gaze softening some.

This time, Jimin looks away. Shame burns fiercely in him, far more now that some of her fury has turned to a quiescent simmering.

"Then why?" she croaks wetly, sniffling again and brushing away another tear from her flushed cheeks.

"I was a coward," he confesses, the word leaving a bitter taste behind, one that makes it hard to swallow past the lump in his throat. "And I didn't want to hurt you."

Chaeyeon makes a strangled sound, something like an aborted snort she can't quite manage. "Do I look unhurt to you?"

Jimin's eyes struggle to hold her gaze, to blink into focus as her voice hitches and breaks.

"Look at me," she demands, her voice rising even more, carrying every bit of her pain. "Look at me and tell me you didn't mean to hurt me."

Jimin does as he's told, but can't manage through it, not quite. Not when, past Chaeyeon's shoulder, he meets dark eyes searching for his own.

Jeongguk's still walking out the corridor, stopping at the very entrance of the living room.

Chaeyeon notices Jimin's distraction, her head whipping around and body going painfully tense when she's met with the sight of Jeongguk.

"I heard voices," the man offers, like he's been asked some sort of explanation.

Chaeyeon's hands ball up in tight fists, and—for a moment—Jimin's eyes can't look away from her white knuckles.

"Should I leave you two?"

"No."a

Jeongguk's mouth twitches at the corners, his brows drawing discreetly close. It is a barely perceptible change, but one Jimin notices all the same.

"Alright then," he agrees, indulging Chaeyeon for it is all he can do.

He steps forward, carrying a sort of ease and confidence Jimin can't help but envy when—more than anything in the world—he would want nothing but disappear, spare everyone from the consequences of his mistakes.

"Should I make us coffee?" he offers casually, nodding to the kitchen.

Jimin's throat tightens, something surreal about the scene unfolding before his eyes. "Jeongguk," he hisses, though, somehow finding it in himself to utter the man's name.

At the same time, Chaeyeon sucks in a sharp breath, taking a step to the man towering more than a head .

"Is this a joke to you?" She bristles, her shoulders visibly tense and body rigid as she faces the man. "Is this funny? Are we entertaining you, professor?"

And although Jeongguk's face stays unreadable, Jimin bodily flinches at her words, venom spilling and eroding his very own flesh.

"Chaeyeon."

Jimin didn't mean for it to sound admonishing, for his voice to sound that affected by her words. Still, as her body spins around, Jimin can only grimace at himself for the hurt he once again caused—ever so careless and selfish.

"I assure you this is not a game for me."

Both look back at Jeongguk, standing firm and broad and grounded in his own apartment. Like neither the anger nor the grief can touch him. Yet his eyes flick to Jimin, and it is impossibly easy to read the emotions hiding behind those dark irises, concern clearer than any other.

"I have never been more serious about anything in my life, Chaeyeon."

She flinches, bodily recoiling.

Jimin swallows thickly, averting his gaze as the words hang in the air above their heads, looming and dooming and impossibly sincere. He cannot bear the sound of them still echoing in his head moments later.

"You have no right."

"Chaeyeon."

Again, Jimin hears himself admonish her, bearing her fierce gaze, for it is him who her anger should be addressed to. "Leave him out of this."

"Why should I?" she seethes, her voice rising again. "Will you tell me he didn't know?" She's mocking them, derisive and bitter, like she almost expects him to do just that.

"He has no obligations towards it," Jimin clarifies, his voice surprisingly steady, eyes never moving back to Jeongguk. "It is me who hurt you, and you know that."

Releasing a shaky breath, her head hanging low, Chaeyeon lets those words weigh down on her.

"So what now, will you give up on everything for him?" It is barely a whisper out of her, softer than anything she's said since stepping into the quiet apartment.

Jimin feels his own brows knit in a frown, every rushing thought coming to an abrupt stop, his breath catching. "Is this what worries you?"

She sniffles, eyes averting, turning to look at the man now standing on her side, at a small distance.

Jeongguk's brow draws close on his forehead as he thinks her words over silently. His shoulders roll and push back, arms folding across his chest. Then, glaze clearing and meeting hers, his chin tilts up sharply. It is but a small nod, a prompt for her to speak again. Yet Chaeyeon's breath catches soundly, and she's looking back at Jimin wide-eyed.

"He has no idea what he's doing to you," she cries, and Jimin can't help but catch himself wondering if—of all things—Chaeyeon's love and concern for him still win over her own grief and anger. "And you," she tries, to add, voice breaks. She sniffles, lips pressing into a thin line and then twitching at the corners. "you… what happened to you?"

For all the harrowing pain her words carry, Jimin can only look at Chaeyeon helplessly, not knowing where to begin.

"How could you do this to me," she continues, moving a step closer to him in the wake of her growing emotions. "To her?"

Jimin bodily flinches, all blood draining from his face and curdling in his veins. His eyes hold her gaze, but—for a moment—seeing right through Chaeyeon.

"And how could you betray our trust and love like it means nothing?"

And—like a bucket of cold water crashing down on him—Jimin realizes Chaeyeon never meant Jihyun. It is not her he turned his back to and betrayed. In certain ways, it is a relief that his sister was never a part of it—not like it was for his mother. Not of Chaeyeon's considerations and thoughts, no longer weaponized against him.

So—despite the words that should hurt him—Jimin can't help the small sigh of relief that slips past his lips, taking away some of the weight pressing down on his chest.

"I never meant to, Chaeyeon."

Her jaw shuts close, muscles twitching at its corner and eyes narrowing.

"I never meant for any of this to happen, but I-" his voice breaks, not sure what to say, how to possibly put everything into words she could accept.

"But what?"

Her gaze snaps again at Jeongguk, his face hardened and unreadable. Whatever she expected to find, there's none of it.

Jimin looks at Jeongguk too, and tries to think about what sort of thought could ever be crossing the man's mind. Whatever it is, the countless unfathomable possibilities scare him from thinking too long about it. He thinks back to what Jeongguk told him that night not so long ago, and wonders if the man will still stand by it now—by claiming him perfect even after seeing how pathetic he can be.

"You couldn't help it?" she mocks, taking another step to him until they're much closer than they've been the whole time. "Was it worth it?" Another step, and Jimin is fighting the instinct to move away, to retreat before her growing anger. "Was fucking him that good you lost your shame and conscience?"

"Watch it."

Two pairs of surprised eyes turn, falling on Jeongguk, who's just spoken.

Jimin's breath catches, while he's sure Chaeyeon must be glaring at the man with all the hatred and resentment she harbors.

Jeongguk stands still the same way as before, immovable and grounded and steady on his two feet. Watching over them and not interfering, not really.

Jimin feels his eyes become moist, burning at the corners, but he has no right to be crying when all of this was his doing.

"I bet it was," Chaeyeon comments venomously upon looking away, jaw jutting to the side like she can't believe her own words. "Is that it?" she presses. "Does everything you worked for really mean nothing for you?"

Despite himself, Jimin's eyes flick to the man, desperate for even a crumb of Jeongguk's composure and strength.

"Was all of it so cheap you bargained it for what, exactly?"

Words try to push at the seam of Jimin's lips, as many as he desperately begged for before. Every fiber of him is waging a war so that he can defend the frail but beautiful thing he and Jeongguk came to nurture. That newborn creature he himself struggled long to accept and commit to.

Although Chaeyeon's resentment and hatred, her mocking, and her anger, have reason to be; although he has no right to make her stop or to argue with her, Jimin finds it harder and harder to keep his lips shut. Maybe, another time, he will be able to talk to Chaeyeon as he means. A time when she won't be grieving and hurting and burning with rage. Now, all Jimin can do is take it all without a fight.

"Was twisted and sick novelty all it took to make you look away?" Her voice has gone softer, trembling out of her. "Does it make you feel good to throw everything away, stabbing me in the back? Was it worth it?"

She stops, sucking in a deep and sharp breath, new tears welling in her brown eyes.

Jimin's hands twitch, fighting the urge to dry away every last drop of salt he brought to her cheeks. And there's more he would want than to hold her in his arms, comfort away all the hurt. He has no right to any of that, all lost the moment he let Jeongguk take place in his heart.

Blinking away her tears, making sure to hold his gaze, she swallows soundly around a sob.

"I thought we were gonna make it through life together," she murmurs, her voice as feeble and frail as she looks all of a sudden, like the breeze could take her away. "I was promised so, but you never meant any of that."

"I did," he argues, ignoring the voices in his head and the weight of Jeongguk's gaze on him. "I meant all of it," he presses before Chaeyeon can deny it. Without thinking, he moves a step to her. "And I hurt you more than I could ever atone for."

Her breath catches, gaze falling as her shoulders tremble.

"I thought you loved me."

This time, Jimin can't help the quick glance he casts Jeongguk's way, stronger than him even when the words he utters are addressed to Chaeyeon.

"I did."

She sniffles, lifting her gaze and head some.

"And what about him, do you love him?" she spits. "Does he?"

Again, Jimin's eyes helplessly find home past her shoulders, momentarily lost in the possibility of those words being true.

"Do you think your mother will let that happen?"

Snapping his gaze back to her, features hardening at the mention of his mother, Jimin shamelessly holds the subtle challenge in her gaze. Resentful and daring, latching onto the vain satisfaction that revenge brings.

"Are you going to tell her?"

For a moment, everything is quiet, the silence heavy and suffocating.

"Why not?" Chaeyeon says then, taking a step back and hiding away all her emotions behind a harsh glare. "She deserves to know why his son turned his back on her, again."

Jimin bristles and flinches at once, sucking in a sharp breath but unable to counter her words. Rather, they jumble around his head, hitting the walls of his skull until he's mad and numb at once.

Again.

"You should leave now."

He hears Jeongguk speaking, but can't quite bring himself to see the man past the blur clouding his sight.

"Why? Do you think I am being unfair?"

"No." A pause, short and yet heavy. Jimin's eyes blink several times, but Jeongguk still looks so far away from him. Worlds apart. "I think you're only hurting the both of you."

Chaeyeon snorts, she scoffs.

Jimin could swear something about it sounds wet and wrong, strained and forced.

"You know nothing," she spits, and yet Jimin sees her walking away.

The door closes with a loud thud behind Chaeyeon, strong arms wrapping around him the moment she's gone.

They hold Jimin tight in an unyielding embrace, pressing him into a steady heartbeat drumming right against his ear. His eyes close shut, fighting still the tears he has no right to shed.

Brushing against his temple, Jeongguk's lips move around soft-spoken words.

"It's an awful timing," he whispers with the faintest note of amusement, body swaying gently to a tune Jimin can't hear. There's nothing but the quickening heartbeat of Jeongguk's heart right underneath his cheek. "But I do, you know?"

Jimin frowns, he sniffles.

Reluctantly, he pulls away and cranes his neck to look at Jeongguk. Part of him would want nothing more than to shy away from the man, hide, and never be found. Yet his body moves on its own, seeking the grounding calm of Jeongguk's gaze.

"Do what?" he rasps, still fighting the urge to look away.

Jeongguk's lips tug in a small smile, gone from Jimin's sight the moment it presses on his forehead. The kiss is lingering and indulgent, it has Jimin's eyelids falling and a soft sigh slipping past his own lips.

"Maybe I'll tell you another time."

And—any other time—Jimin would've argued with it and insisted on being told right away. That would be any other time, though. Now he's tired, too tired to be doing anything but being held by Jeongguk's arms and losing himself in the cadence of his strong heartbeat.

Shifting, nuzzling into the man's chest, he hums a lazy agreement.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he says after a while, after struggling to gather his courage and all his strength into speaking such words.

"I'm not." Jeongguk's arms hold him a bit tighter, their bodies still swaying to a silent tune, slow and somehow hypnotizing. Jimin thinks he could easily drift off to sleep if it were to last some more. "I'm glad I could be there."

"Why?" he mumbles, trying hard to clear his mind, holding onto Jeongguk like it's all he can do to remain conscious and grounded. "Was it that fun to watch?"

"No," the man tuts, his breath fanning down onto the crown of Jimin's hair. "But at least you weren't alone."

Jimin snorts, he hums. "You're being awfully cheesy."

Jeongguk chuckles, soft and genuinely amused.

Jimin wishes it could last forever.

"Maybe I am."

-

Jimin calls his mother before she can have the chance to. It is only later that day, after having spent long enough staring—glaring—at his phone and ruminating over the matter. There's no way out of it, none he's willing to accept.

Although Chaeyeon's words could've been just an empty threat, it won't be long before word will reach his mother either way.

It is odd enough that no one reached out to Jeongguk yet, that everyone seemed to brush the matter away as of little importance. A few—contained—rumors must be making rounds, but too vague and uncertain to be a real threat to the man. Yet Jimin can't risk it, and have Jeongguk's career be ruined by a careless mistake.

Although they are in different departments and their lives are worlds apart, there's no length his mother wouldn't go to achieve what she wants. The generous sum she regularly donates makes her words and opinions weigh more than Jimin can afford to ignore.

So, what he does ignore are Jeongguk's attempts at comforting him. Making nothing of Chaeyeon's threat and the gnawing fear that's been eating at Jimin from within. There's just too much he could lose, and none of it that he's willing to give up on.

If anyone were to ask—which they wouldn't, no one noticed in time—and if Jimin were to be honest—which he wouldn't be, not about this—he'd know exactly why Jeongguk of all people. Any people.

Because Jeongguk doesn't know the Jimin from before. He didn't know Jimin on that first night nor the second nor the third, when they walked and walked like there was no end to the world. He didn't cast worried glances his way on certain days, and wouldn't ask Jimin how he's doing while expecting a certain answer.

Fine, better, moving on, building a life.

Jeongguk only knew Jimin liked math, that—for some unforsaken reason—he studied law. And it was enough to want him in his life, to pursue Jimin like there was nothing else he could be doing instead. Ever indulging and accepting, patient and welcoming in ways Jimin didn't know he needed. And it was easy to fall into the man's open arms, to make a home for himself there.

Since the very first moment, it was easy to be in Jeongguk's company, with someone honest in ways Jimin forgot how to be.

Jeongguk had no expectations of him, none outside the weekly assignments Jimin wasn't even required to submit. Nothing besides his company.

And—since the very first moment—Jeongguk was alive, easily so. It was contagious in ways Jimin didn't think possible. So now—when he's in far too deep and addicted to the feeling of Jeongguk's existence weaving his life—Jimin doesn't think he could ever let anything take this from him.

Not his mother and not anyone else. No matter the price and no matter what he'll have to compromise and put at stake. Jeongguk is worth all of it, and more.

Sucking and biting on his bottom lip, pulling at it, Jimin reaches out for the phone.

It is a small mercy that the man has left home—albeit reluctantly—to care for certain matters. Jimin has no doubt he would try to talk him out of it, scowl, and argue in ways he rarely does. There's something undeniably charming in the way Jeongguk can be firm and unyielding, standing firm on his two feet. Still, Jimin feels himself growing just as unyielding and determined about what to do.

His fingers tap fast on the screen, dialing his mother's number and waiting for her to pick up the call.

It is late in the afternoon, and there's a good chance she might not answer. Still Jimin calls her, and calls her again when the first time doesn't go through. And again once more.

At some point through his third attempt, he stood up and started to pace back and forth in the living room, growing restless and irritated. By the fourth time Jimin is listening to the call ring in vain, he's ready to storm in her apartment just like she did with him.

"Jimin."

Her voice is firm and flat through the phone when she finally answers, a lingering emotion to it he can't quite name. Whether it's quiescent anger or annoyance or else he cannot be bothered with it. Not now of all times, all of his filial decency gone.

Stopping his pacing, Jimin's chin tilts up, and he heaves out—through a sharp breath—just one word. "Mother."

From the other end, she hums. "What do I owe the honor?"

His lips pursing and hand clenching around the phone, he wills his voice to keep steady and gaze to stare straight ahead, never to cloud and drift away in time.

"Let's meet up, I have to talk to you."

Hannara scoffs, something sharp and irreverent. "Is that so, son?"

A pause follows, and all Jimin can hear is the drumming of her manicured nails on a hard surface.

"Why should I agree?"

Jimin's jaw clenches, her free hand balling up in a tight fist. "I have a deal to propose," he shares, although reluctant and through gritting teeth. "One you will want to accept."

"And what made you change your mind about reaching out to me?" There's a peculiar tilt to her voice, lazy and knowing. It feels much like clawed hands tugging at strings inside him.

"I trust you already know, mother."

A soft chuckle comes from her head, one void of any true emotion. "Is it that professor of yours?" she inquires pointlessly. "I assured Chaeyeon it would be a matter of a moment, a phase soon gone."

Jimin's teeth are grinding, soon to become dust if he doesn't stop himself.

"Was I wrong? Aren't you tired of him already and coming back to your senses?"

"Let's meet mother."

His voice is flat, firm, and void of any true emotion. It sounds uncanny and foreign to his own ears, bringing a laugh up to his mother's mouth.

"Fine," she concedes. "I'll be looking forward to meeting you again."

Hannara ends the call without saying much more, leaving Jimin alone with the echo of her words.

When Jeongguk comes back home not much later, Jimin doesn't tell him what he plans to do. He picks at his food, but smiles reassuringly whenever he feels the man's gaze lingering on him. And—when Jeongguk asks him if everything is alright—Jimin dismisses the man's concerns with a shrug and a ready distraction to sway the man's attention.

That night, Jimin can barely catch a wink of sleep. He tosses and turns, ultimately laying on his side to watch Jeongguk's sleeping face, looking so peaceful and beautiful. The more he looks at him, the easier it is to come to terms with what he's about to do.

In the morning, his phone pings with a new text. With it, a time and a location read on the screen of his phone.

Jimin sinks back into the bed, empty on one side and cold. Seems like—at some point despite everything—he still managed to fall asleep and miss Jeongguk leaving for his morning run.

In some ways, it is a mercy that Jeongguk is away this time too.

Leaving the bed and getting ready, Jimin tries his best not to let his mind drift away onto worst-case scenarios. There's one bargaining chip in his hands, and just one thing he wants in exchange for it.

With a soft and bracing sigh, he writes a small note to leave on the kitchen island, promising to come back for lunch and to tell him more once he's done. Staring at the words neatly inked on the paper, Jimin wills himself to be strong and leave.

Making his mother wait is hardly a smart choice, and Jimin isn't feeling like challenging her will just yet. Not before he even gets to see her face-to-face. So, with one last glance at the empty apartment, he heads down to the Uber waiting for him.

It takes Jimin to the hotel his mother picked, one of those she fancies for business meetings and such. Something about it is faintly familiar, and it isn't hard to imagine himself having come here once before by her request.

Mastering a well-practiced smile on his face, holding it in place like the best sort of shield, Jimin lets the waiter lead him through the first floor restaurant.

His mother waits for him at a table by the window, sitting with her back to the glass and looking down at her phone. It takes her a deliberate moment to notice the approaching pair, gaze lifting lazily and lips a severe line on her face.

"Leave us," she instructs the waiter the moment they're close enough, only a few steps away. A sense of impatience seeps through her voice, betraying a shred of annoyance Hannara can't seem to hide.

The waiter startles at the brusque demand, stopping in her tracks and bowing.

Jimin addresses her with an apologetic smile, a quick twitch of his lips and nothing more. It is gone the moment he's turning to face the sitting woman, chin tilting up like it could shield him from all that's bound to come.

Foolishly enough, he finds himself hoping it will be fast and painless, a swift and smooth transaction like the ones she so loves.

The moment he sits—though—Jimin realizes just how foolish and vain his words are.

On the table, sitting just on the sight and right in line of his gaze, a yellow envelope seems to be waiting for him to notice.

"Let's not drag this out more than needed , shall we?"

Jimin's eyes snap up, hardening when it's an adversary he finds in the woman rather than the support he always believed she was.

"It looks like you brought something for me."

He nods at the envelope, not missing the quick twitch of her lips, the way they faintly curve upward.

"Couldn't meet my son empty-handed after so long, could I?"

Jimin scoffs, something that's much like a sharp breath let out too fast.

"How rude of me to come empty handed, then."

She waves her hand in the air dismissively, like it's a matter of no concern to her, nothing to be wasting time on.

"Rather," she begins, head tilting to the side with a sly smile drawing on her thin lips. "Shall we order?"

"I'd rather not, mother," he declines. "I don't plan on staying long."

Hannara hums pensively, taking a menu in her hands and letting her gaze slowly run down the several entries.

"Mother."

Her eyes flick up, the many lowering some.

"You've grown impatient, son. That's not a teaching of mine."

Jimin's jaw just to the side, eyes flicking away from hers.

"What's in there?"

For a moment, she looks at him without speaking. Then, slowly lowering the menu, Hannara lets the envelope slide across the table.

"Take a look yourself, won't you?"

Wary of her intention, Jimin does as he's told.

His hands move slowly despite the compelling and gnawing need to uncover whatever it might hide. He tries hard—but there's a chance he fails—to hide the trembling of his fingers as—slowly—he takes out the photos stacked inside the paper envelope. There's more than he expected at first, dating far back in time. Since that night in the park, and yet Jimin has had reasons to believe his mother has known of his visits to the bar from the very start.

How foolish and pathetic of him to expect any different.

"You know," she muses, one hand elegantly lifting to call for the waiter. "I believed it was just a phase, a whim."

Jimin doesn't look at her, staring down at the numerous photos of him and Jeongguk. Almost every moment he can possibly recall is depicted and caught, painting a string of memories he never meant for her to see.

In the background, he hears Hannara order for the both of them and then dismiss the waiter.

"But it lasted long enough, didn't it?"

His gaze snaps up, eyes wide.

"So you knew back then too."

She hums, nodding. "I didn't really want to come to this, you see."

"So why are you now?"

"You see," she begins slowly, like painting a picture ever so carefully. "I wasn't sure you cared enough for it to be a strong enough motivation."

Her head tilts to the side, and Jimin can't help doing anything but stare at her with growing horror and uneasiness.

"I was still certain you would come around on your own." A pause, a small smile. "No need to be the villain in your story, right?"

"But then I broke up with Chaeyeon," he realizes, words slipping past his lips the moment he speaks.

She hums, nodding.

"You cannot imagine my surprise when I got your call right after hers."

Jimin glances back down at the photo in his hands, him and Jeongguk in the park late at night. It must be the very same one Chaeyeon saw.

"I'm not going back with her," he states firmly, leaving no room for arguing or compromising. His words are final, no other way around it.

For the first time since she looked up at him, Hannara's face and composure crack. Her brows draw close, lips pursing.

"That is not a wise decision," she warns, eyes narrowing some.

"But it's my decision, and it's final."

Her jaw clenches, but the anger only flashes across her features. Soon after, the waiter is back with their orders. He's quiet and quick, leaving soon without lingering one unnecessary moment.

Jimin looks down at the citrus tea and lemon cake she got for him, the sweet scent tempting and yet making his stomach turn at once. As for herself, Hannara ordered a rose tea and tart, something mildly scented and delicate.

"You know me quite well, mother," he praises.

Neither makes a move to touch their orders.

"You should know I'm no pushover."

She snorts, head shaking some. "But of course," she indulges just for the sake of it, like he's a child to be lied to.

"All these years," he continues, ignoring her comment. "It was different, and you know."

Her gaze intensifies, hardening, lips pressing tight for a moment. "So what changed now?"

Jimin looks down again at the photo in his hands. His own head is thrown back, eyes twin crescents as he laughs. Jeongguk's just next to him, beaming at the sight Jimin himself offers.

Swallowing, ignoring the pang of pain seeing each other this way causes him, and ignoring how strongly he wishes Jeongguk were here, Jimin makes himself look up again. He holds Hannara's eyes, determined not to look away again.

"There's something I want, now," he declares, firm and easy, the only truth he's ever gonna offer. "And I'm willing to come back to your side if you promise no harm will come his way."

"I could threaten you," she reminds. "I am in power of setting whatever conditions I want now that you so foolishly revealed your weakness."

Jimin nods, wetting his lips and feeling them curve in a bitter smile. "Will you, though?"

And, holding her gaze still, Jimin wonders if she's truly willing to go that far just to gain one more paw, to pull all the strings and drain him of all his worth. Leaving nothing behind afterward.

"You can do that," he agrees bitterly. "You can take everything from me, down to the very last thing I hold dear." He stops, a breath brushing past his lips as he lets go of it. "And I will hate you for that." It's a promise and it's a threat, it's the one certain thing Jimin knows she cannot deny. "Just like she did."

Hannara flinches at those last words, sucking in a last breath. Her mask crumbles entirely, showing vulnerable and wounded sides of her. It is just for a moment, though, and she's quick to rebuild all of her defenses.

"Is that all you want?" she asks, tense and wary, glancing down at the photos scattered on the table.

"He has nothing to do with any of this."

"But Chaeyeon," she begins, voice trailing.

"I will find a way to make up for that loss, you know I can."

Quite unfitting the overall appearance she so cares to uphold, Hannara's jaw clenches and works side to side.

"And he won't be a distraction."

Jimin's lips quirk in a small smile, he glances down at the photo and thinks he'll bring it back home, after all. In it, Jeongguk's looking at him so dearly, and Jimin regrets never noticing before. Never seeing the way he's looked at, so full of light and love.

"I have a condition."

The smile drops from Jimin's lips, his eyes clouding over.

Hannara seems pleased, though, cutting a small portion of her tart and slowly taking it to her mouth. Then, once she's done, she looks at Jimin again. "You move out of his place, and take back the apartment."

Jimin's jaw clenches.

Living with Jeongguk was never to be an everlasting solution, an accommodation meant to stay that way. He always meant to leave, at some point. Still, he cannot hide the annoyance as it morphs his features and lingers in his eyes.

"Does it bother you so much?"

She scoffs, hiding the twist on her lips with a candid tissue. "Do not be mistaken," she warns while lowering her hands to her lap. "I do not approve of the deviant relationship you're entertaining with that man."

On his lap, Jimin's hands clench in tight fists.

"I only let it be because it can be functional to motivate you."

Despite himself and despite her words, Jimin smirks bitterly at his mother. His weak spot, that open wound she can prod and pry open at her convenience.

"I promise you, mother." He holds his head high, chin tilting up some and a smile still lingering on his lips. "You will have your revenge, at your own terms." He pauses, making sure to still hold her gaze. "Without Jeongguk becoming another of your paws."

Hannara's lips are again a severe line, but she doesn't hold him back when Jimin stands and walks away, each step lighter than the previous.

Regardless of Hannara's one condition, it is still Jeongguk's apartment Jimin heads to. In his heart—in some private part of his heart—Jimin is well aware he will still spend little time in the cold and empty place she wants him in.

-

At home, Jeongguk meets him with a scowl. One that lingers long after Jimin's told him everything.

"I don't like it," the man informs, sitting on the couch and holding Jimin close. The latter is safely settled between his legs and against his chest, and it's been some time already since they've talked. He hums, twisting around so that he's somehow looking up at the man.

"You don't have to like it," Jimin reminds, running a light caress over Jeongguk's jaw. "You only have to trust me."

Under his touch, a muscle jumps at the corner of Jeongguk's jaw.

Jimin pulls away, turning to hide a bemused and endeared smile. Feeling content and grounded, he pushes back some into the man's chest. A hum vibrates through him, his hands playing with Jeongguk's as both rest on his stomach.

In the background, a movie they've already watched plays all the way to its end. The leftovers of their dinner sit dejected on the coffee table, the faint scent of food lingering in the living room.

"Can't you do that?" Jimin inquires when, behind him, the man has long since gone silent.

Still, lowering so that his chin is digging on top of Jimin's head, Jeongguk grumbles something. A reluctant agreement of sorts. His hands hold smaller ones, pressing them gently onto his stomach."

Jimin hums—still smiling to himself—and lets his eyes close, mind drifting off when everything is warm and cozy and Jeongguk's arms are safely holding him.

And maybe—he thinks while remembering what Chaeyeon asked and what Jeongguk told him once she left—he might just get what the man meant. No need for him to say it out loud just yet.

vii. and when all is said and done, will you be proud of me? will you be waiting for me at the finish line?

though the dust of you is gone

and the word of what is done

fate reclaims the throne 

of revolution bones

Jimin looks at the old photo of his sister through the glass, and wonder if this is the way he was meant to feel. If this—of all things—is the way things were always meant to be. With him standing here years later, a white envelope in one hand.

"Hi, noona."

For a moment—quite like always before—Jimin lets the words fade away in the surrounding silence, waiting for a reply that never comes.

His other hand—tucked safely in the pocket of Jeongguk's denim jacket—squeezes around the man's before slipping out.

Jimin moves a step forward, coming closer to the wall and to his sister. "I have something for you."

Opening the small glass door, he fits the white envelope next to her photo. Inside, there's the letter of acceptance he just got, admitting him to a legal firm of his mother's approval. But, within the folded paper, there's a photo of when they were young, one from before her marriage. She's smiling in that picture too, but there's a certain light in her eyes, one Jimin had almost forgotten after all these years. The sort of light that was only for him to see. So it stays hidden, like a secret between the two of them. Like it could make any difference now.

Taking a step back, Jimin can't seem to tear his eyes from her.

"You good?"

Next to him, Jeongguk is a steady and grounding presence. Jimin nods, leaning into the man and sneaking his hand yet again into the warm pocket of Jeongguk's jacket.

"I will be."

For a moment, both stay in silence. This is going to change from here on, and neither is quite sure of how. So, for now, they take it day by day as it comes.

"So," Jeongguk muses after some time, leaning some against Jimin as well. "Will you introduce us?

For how ridiculous the words sound, and despite the small chuckle they manage to tear from Jimin, he nods and pulls away some. Just enough to look at the other and meet his eyes, finding nothing but earnest expectations.

With a sigh, shaking his head, he looks back at Jihyun's picture.

"Fine."

Taking his hand away, moving a step back to the wall, and turning to look at Jeongguk, Jimin lets a small smile curve his lips upward.

"Noona, this is Jeongguk." His voice is but an uncertain whisper, awkward around each word.

Though, for some reason, Jeongguk seems to share none of his hesitant embarrassment. As the words move past Jimin's lips, he bows before Jihyun in greeting. Although respectful in every possible way, there's something flamboyant about it that has Jimin's nerves easing and the smile on his lips growing some.

"It is a pleasure to meet you."

Jimin's eyes roll, his head shakes some, but he doesn't comment on any of it.

"Right," he drawls, rubbing at his nape while glancing at Jihyun's photo. "He is someone very important to me, noona." As he speaks, Jimin makes quite the effort not to look at the man, and still he feels the grin as it forms on Jeongguk's face.

"So, yeah…" he trails, feet shuffling and eyes falling to the tips of his shoes. There's not much to say, and any of that are secrets he would rather never have to speak out loud.

Jeongguk wraps an arm around his back, pulling him in against his chest and holding him firmly in place.

Jimin chokes on a yelp, head snapping to glare at the man.

What he finds, though, is Jeongguk's sharp profile as he looks at Jihyun's photo. The man looks serious like he didn't just moments before, so earnest it scares Jimin and has his heart stammering in its beating.

His lips part, words forming on the tip of his tongue.

"You don't have to worry any more," Jeongguk says before Jimin can utter a sound, effortlessly making his brain and mind blank with so few words. "I will take care of him."

Swallowing past the lump suddenly forming in his throat, Jimin can only gape and stare at the man's profile. Eventually, though, that seems to call for Jeongguk's gaze and they're looking at one another.

Jimin's mouth dries up, something undecipherable hiding within Jeongguk's eyes. So intense he's overwhelmed by it.

"Right," he comments awkwardly, a rasp he can barely manage while pulling away. "We should go now."

Still he doesn't move, looking down at his shoes and letting Jeongguk still hold him close.

Next to him, the man hums but doesn't move right away. He pulls something from his other pocket, and steps closer to the niche to fit it inside the still unlocked door.

Jimin watches him, and feels the lump in his throat grow larger.

"Jeongguk, we should-"

Jeongguk hums, interrupting whatever Jimin meant to say. He moves the both of them until they're standing face-to-face. "I know," he assures, words touching to Jimin's forehead just before he presses a kiss onto it. His hands cup the other's jaw, tilting his head so that their eyes meet.

Jimin blinks several times, but his sight is blurry and his chest tight.

"I'm sure Taehyung and the others can wait some more."

Although Jimin doesn't pull away, he snorts, his head shaking softly.

-

It is not much later that both step into a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant. The air inside is thick with smoke and the scent of meat, carrying merry sounds of chatter and boisterous laughter.

Jimin stops at the entrance, eyes skimming over the several tables until he finds familiar faces and eyes looking at him already.

At his waist, Jeongguk's hand twitches and squeezes him in a silent invite to move the first step. With a faint—barely perceptible—nod, Jimin moves toward the table on one side of the restaurant.

On a crisp night of late summer, many seem to have found their way to this place, most already halfway through their meals and well over the verge of sobriety.

Still sitting at the long table, Hoseok waves energetically at them, a wide grin so blinding Jimin has to look away.

Sitting next to him, Yoongi's looking at them both, but every emotion appears softer on his face.

"Took you two long enough, didn't it?"

"I apologize-"

"We're here, aren't we?" Jimin interrupts, eyes rolling even as he climbs across the bench and sits. Doing so, he mostly drags Jeongguk with himself, one hand clutching to the man's sleeve as he holds Taehyung's gaze.

On the other hand—sitting across the table on the side—Taehyung huffs, but any arguing is blocked by Seokjin loudly calling for a waiter.

"Let's not start already," Namjoon softly suggests, smiling up at Jimin while pouring each newcomer a glass of clear liquid.

Jimin grins, a familiar weight falling on his thighs. "It was him," he beams, casting a quick glance—full of mirth—Taehyung's way.

"Have you ordered already?"

Jeongguk's voice is steady, comfortable, and Jimin finds himself unconsciously leaning into the man's side. Whether anyone sitting at the table notices, there's no mention of it.

"We were just waiting for our eldest to come," Seokjin grins, ignoring the blatant lie in what he said. Although he's close to everyone sitting at the table, the age gap must stand out to most of those who glance their way.

Jeongguk grins though, nodding as amusement glimmers in his eyes. "Feel free to call me hyung then."

From where he sits, Taehyung snickers at the funny face Seokjin makes, looking much like a fish.

Jimin too smiles but is mindful enough to hide it behind his glass of soju.

"Your stomach's still empty."

He hums at Jeongguk's soft reminder, still indulging himself all the way until the glass is empty when it touches on the table.

"That's what you're here for, aren't you?" he teases while everyone's looking at the waiter approaching. "To take care of me, isn't that it?"

Jeongguk snorts, one hand closing around Jimin's wrist and leading it down to their touching legs. "That's what I'm doing."

It's Jimin's turn to snort, a smirk lingering at one corner of his mouth. He says nothing more, listing his own order and then Jeongguk's.

He is quick to forget about everything else afterwards, lost in Hoseok's chattering and retelling of his last job. Jeongguk follows it half-mindedly, switching attention once Seokjin loudly complains about work. Of all things—and to no one's surprise—that seems to catch Jeongguk's and Yoongi's attention. Inevitably, soon enough the table becomes host to more than just one conversation at a time, chaotic and loud and warm far before the first couple rounds of soju have been drunk.

And then food comes, and the night flows by in a wink of tired eyes—between lighthearted conversations and heartfelt laughs.

Later, once everyone has left, Jimin finds himself glancing at Jeongguk's profile. The man is watching the last car go by, a soft smile on his lips. Somehow, what was meant to only be a quick glance turns into a lingering stare. Despite being well aware of it, Jimin is reluctant to look away, for his heart is warm and chest fluttering like it used to do those first times. Thinking of it and smiling to himself, Jimin realizes it never stopped happening—not even after months.

"You're staring."

"I'm not," he lies, grinning to himself when the man doesn't even turn to check.

Jeongguk snorts, looking at Jimin and cocking his head to the side. "You're not?"

Still grinning, Jimin shakes his head nod so fast it spins, and he's swaying.

Jeongguk's hands are on him fast, steadying his body and bringing their bodies close.

Jimin's neck cranes, eyes blearily blinking at the man.

"We should head home."

Again, Jimin's head shakes no.

He stands on his tiptoes, hands shoveD in the pockets of his jacket as his lips brush over Jeongguk's. "Not yet," he says while pulling away. "I don't wanna."

Jeongguk hums pensively, taking a step away and taking one of Jimin's hands in his own. He begins to walk, slowly and leisurely leading both down the street into the night and bustling city.

"You know," he muses after a while, their shoulders bumping with every step they take. Jimin's hand has found its way into the pocket of Jeongguk's jacket, still held by his. "This is the perfect night for a walk, cannot be wasted."

Jimin pressed his lips tight, fighting back a silly-looking smile. He nods a few times—carefully and slowly—and keeps up with Jeongguk's leisurely pace to wherever the man will lead.

"And icicles."

Jeongguk nods a few times.

Jimin blinks, catching himself staring at the man even as they keep on walking, unable to tear his gaze away. Unwilling to, now as ever.

"And icicles," Jeongguk agrees easily, indulgent and soft.

This time, Jimin finds no reason to hide his smile.

He leans some into the man, unbothered by how every step they take is now even more awkward and unsteady. Jeongguk doesn't complain, letting go of Jimin's hand and wrapping one arm around the small of his back. It is warm and steady and familiar, finding home around him like it was always meant to. Grounding and comforting, the sort of thing Jimin never thought he was allowed to have.

"And candies," he adds as an afterthought.

The hand at his waist squeezes onto it gently.

Jeongguk hums.

"And candies," he indulges with ease, their shoulders bumping as they walk. "And anything my liege will wish for."