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Jungkook lifted his drink up to his lips and chugged down the rest, twisting his face from the burn and let out a sharp exhale. He had no idea what he just drank. But didn’t care. His body swayed slightly from the music blaring through the house. He could feel the vibrations of the bass through the floor and into his shoes.. It was 1:05 a.m. on a Saturday night, And just like the Saturday before, he found himself at a house party. Never really knowing whose house it was, but he didn’t care as long as there was alcohol.

He was about to reach out for another drink, preparing to drive his hand in the cooler next to his feet. before he could, someone sharply grabbed his wrist. Already knowing who it was, he sighed. Turning to face them. “Joon I can handle another one” he said while rolling his eyes. His roommate, Namjoon, shook his head and let go of his wrist.

“You have to study tomorrow, remember?” Namjoon said, raising his voice over the loud music echoing off the walls. Namjoon is Jungkooks closest friend. He met him just as a shy freshman moving into their dorm. He helped Jungkook settle into college life and helped keep his head on straight and out of trouble. especially when alcohol was involved. Namjoon always suspected Jungkook had a drinking problem. Not in a binge way, just never knew when to stop before it was too late. “We need to find Yoongi, he’s been off with the guy he’s in love with”

“Ugh, I’m not ready to go” Jungkook whined. Namjoon rolled his eyes and grabbed his forearm, dragging him away. Not really having a clue where Yoongi could be, they walked around mindlessly. Continuing to bump into others. shoes getting stuck to the floor from dried up drinks. The smell of sex and sweat stuck in every room they drug themselves into.

“Oh! Found him,” Namjoon said with relief. Yoongi is Namjoon’s younger brother, someone he had always been protective of. And ever since Namjoon found out Yoongi had been seeing some guy he’d never even heard of, he’d been keeping a much closer eye on him than usual. Jungkook liked Yoongi well enough—they had bonded over rap and music early on and had gotten pretty close. “Yoongi!” Namjoon shouted over the music, trying to get his brother’s attention.

Jungkook finally spotted him. Right in the middle of a dance pile, practically grinding on someone. “Jesus Christ,” Namjoon muttered under his breath. Jungkook glanced over just in time to see Namjoon biting down on the inside of his cheek, jaw tight. His eyes were locked on Yoongi like he was debating whether or not to physically drag him out of the house. Jungkook looked back toward the crowd. Yoongi was laughing at something someone said before giving two people a quick parting gesture, most likely saying he’d be right back as he stepped away.

Jungkook’s attention caught on a flash of blonde hair in the crowd. A boy stood in the middle of the dance floor, one of the people Yoongi just laughed with. blonde hair falling into his eyes as he moved with the music. When he turned slightly, the colored lights revealed dark roots beneath the strands and a soft flush spreading across his cheeks. The denim top he wore hung open just enough to make Jungkook look twice. When Yoongi walked away, the boy kept dancing like the world around him didn’t matter. Jungkook couldn’t help but stare.

“What do you want?” Yoongi spat, suddenly in front of them and knocking Jungkook’s attention away from the nameless boy. Sweat caused Yoongi’s jet black hair to cling to his forehead, and his arms were crossed tightly over his chest. He clearly wasn’t thrilled about his brother hovering over his life.
Namjoon didn’t even answer right away. His eyes drifted past Yoongi’s shoulder toward the dance floor, his expression tightening.

“So,” Namjoon said slowly, voice edged with irritation, “is that the Hoseok guy you won’t let me meet?” He said, eyes returning to Yoongi. Namjoon gave him a quick once-over, clearly checking how drunk he was. Yoongi rolled his eyes immediately. And just like that, the two of them started bickering again.

Jungkook looked back over to the mystery boy. Completely captivated by the sight. The way his hair bounced, how he rolled his hips to the music, and how he smiled when making eye contact with who Jungkook could now assume was ‘Hoseok’. Jungkook didn’t usually stare at people like this. But he couldn’t seem to look away. Jungkook is bisexual, but with both genders had a specific type. Though, the drunk mystery boy was seeming to check a lot of boxes. A small smirk appeared on Jungkook’s face as he turned to Yoongi, was was deep in an argument with his brother.

“Who’s that?” Jungkook questioned while pointing to the crowed, Interrupting their conversation. Yoongi furrowed his eyebrows while he looked back, scanning to see who Jungkook was talking about. With realization he hummed and looked back at the other with a slight confused face.

“Park Jimin, why?” Yoongi asked. Jungkook didn’t answer, he smiled and kept his gaze locked on the boy, who now started downing a random drink that was handed to him. Yoongi winded his eyes, quickly realizing what Jungkook could be implying with the question. “Don’t even think about it. He’s off limits”

Jungkook looked back to his friend and raised his eyebrow at Him. Yoongi sighed and pointed just past Jungkook. He turned meeting where Yoongi was pointing. Upon realization he clenched his jaw. Min Soojun, someone he has openly disliked since freshman year, stood leaned against the wall, drink in hand, staring at the same boy Jungkook was with an arrogant smirk on his face. Soojun is a known fuck-boy, and Jungkook found him to be extremely disrespectful to everyone around him. That being the reason for his dislike.

“He’s been trying to get with Jimin for weeks now” Yoongi said with an annoyed tone. Jungkook turned back and made eye contact with the other. A small smile creeping on his face

“Trying? So unsuccessful right?” Jungkook said with a cocky tone. Yoongi paused for a second, that being Jungkook’s confirmation. Before the other could speak again, Jungkook walked away. Heading right towards the blonde hair boy.

He heard Yoongi call out for him to stop, but he ignored it. Jimin wasn’t far, only about 12 feet away. Jungkook didn’t immediately approach him. He stood behind him, trying to go unnoticed while watching him and waiting for the perfect moment to approach. Jimin was in his own world. Drink in one hand while still dancing to the playlist of songs. He paused for a brief moment to down his whole cup, then crumple the plastic with his hand, tossing it to the side. Jungkook’s eyes drifted from the sway of Jimin’s hips to the loose denim shirt hanging from his shoulders. He found himself biting his lip, scanning him up and down.

Jimin began to loose a bit of his balance, swaying before catching himself. The drinks catching up to him. Jungkook chuckled to himself while pretending to dance as well. Trying to not get caught while creeping. Though, fate being on Jungkooks side, Jimin fully lost his balance from being shoved by someone in front of him. Jungkook quickly stepped forward and caught the boy in his arms. Jimin, in a drunken state, didn’t even care about being shoved. Instead he laughed uncontrollably while a stranger lifted him back to his feet. Jimin turned around and met the others gaze.

For a brief second he just stared, blinking slowly as if trying to focus through the alcohol. Blonde strands fell into his eyes as he tilted his head up. Then his lips curved into a bright smile, eyes turning into crescents. “Well aren’t I lucky” he said with a giggle.

Jungkook felt his chest tighten for a second. Up close, Jimin was even prettier than he expected. “Guess you are,” Jungkook murmured with a small grin.
He wanted to say more, to hear Jimin’s angelic voice again. Though before he could say anything someone pushed him to the side. Jungkook stumbled, barely catching his balance. When he looked up, his stomach twisted with irritation. Soojun, stood next to him now, hand on Jimins shoulder. Jungkook clenched his jaw.

“Baby are you okay?” Soojun said, ignoring Jungkooks existence. Jimin scoffed and lifted his arm to push Soojun away. Though, the force made Jimin stumble back more than anything.

“Im fine, and I’m not your ‘baby’ ” Jimin said while catching his balance. Jungkook couldn’t help but smirk at the statement. Before Soojun could say anything else, Someone came over and lightly grabbed Jimin by the shoulders, helping secure his balance.

Soojun rolled his eyes at this person, “Oh look,” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “Taehyung coming to save the day.” Taehyung shot a glare at Soojun.

“Fuck off creep” Taehyung spat. The way Taehyung spoke gave off the impression he wasn’t completely sober himself. not waiting for a response, His attention turned back to Jimin, steadying him by the shoulders. Jungkook could practically see the moment Taehyung decided Jimin had way too much to drink. Without another word, Taehyung started guiding him away. Jimin nearly tripped over his own feet and Taehyung tightened his grip on his arm. But before disappearing into the crowd, Jimin turned back toward Jungkook and lifted his hand in a lazy wave.

“Thanks for the help cutie”

Jungkook smirked, eyes lingering as Jimin stumbled out, gripping onto his friend for support. When he was out of view Jungkook turned back. Meeting Soojun’s glare. Words didn’t have to say anything, Soojun was telling Jungkook to back off with his eyes. Jungkook didn’t listen though. He gave Soojun a cocky smile and turned on his heels. Stepping away from the dance pile and returning to to Joon. Who was in the same place, seemingly waiting on Jungkooks return. Jungkook raised one eyebrow at Joon, noticing how his jaw was clenched, and his eyes kept drifting off to the distance.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asked, but when he turned his head and caught a glimpse of what Joon was staring at. It made more sense. Hoseok had one arm wrapped around Yoongi’s waist, the other holding a drink. Seeming to guide Yoongi, who was now wearing a jacket that wasn’t his, through the crowded house. Jungkook chuckled while Namjoon let out a frustrated breath, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Lets just get the hell home” Namjoon spat while turning on his heels. Jungkook instinctively followed. Not really wanting to anger him anymore as he assumed Namjoon had already tried — and failed — to drag Yoongi home. As Jungkook walked though the halls, his eyes darted around. Trying to catch a glimpse of the blonde hair boy.

————————

The next morning, Jungkook was slumped back on the couch, his feet propped lazily on the coffee table. His fingers tapped steadily against the laptop keys resting on his thighs as he stared at the screen with narrowed focus. Every few minutes he paused to grab the water bottle beside him, taking a slow sip before returning to typing.

Thanks to Namjoon cutting him off the night before, the headache behind his eyes was mild—annoying, but manageable.
The shared apartment was unusually quiet. The only sounds filling the space were the rhythmic clicking of Jungkook’s keys and the low hum of the air conditioner pushing cool air through the room. Namjoon had left early that morning for the library. He never trusted himself to study in their apartment, always claiming there were too many distractions. Luckily, the campus library was only a short walk away.

And Yoongi?

Jungkook had no idea where he was—but he had a pretty good guess it was somewhere with Hoseok. Eventually the steady clicking of keys slowed… then stopped completely. Jungkook stared at the blinking cursor on the screen. The paragraph he had been writing suddenly made no sense to him.
With a frustrated sigh, he snapped the laptop shut and tossed it onto the couch cushion beside him.

He loved his major, Criminal Investigations had been his dream since freshman year, but sometimes the constant workload and expectations made his brain feel like it had completely stalled out. Grabbing his phone instead, he unlocked it and began scrolling aimlessly.

A few seconds later, the faint rattle of keys sounded at the front door. Jungkook looked up. The door creaked open slowly, and Yoongi’s head peeked inside first. His eyes scanned the apartment cautiously, as if expecting Namjoon to suddenly appear. When his gaze landed on Jungkook, his shoulders relaxed.

“He’s at the library,” Jungkook said plainly. Yoongi let out a quiet breath of relief before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
He looked rough. He was wearing a long blue hoodie that hung past his hands and gray sweatpants that dragged slightly under his feet—definitely not the clothes he had left in the night before.

Yoongi shuffled across the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch beside Jungkook. The cushions dipped under his weight.
Now that he was closer, Jungkook noticed the faint purple marks scattered along Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi kept tugging the collar of the oversized hoodie upward, clearly trying to hide them. Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “You and that guy had fun last night?”

Yoongi frowned and turned his head toward him. “What—” Jungkook gestured vaguely toward his neck. Yoongi’s eyes widened instantly. His hand shot up, grabbing the collar and pulling it higher. “Fuck off,” he muttered, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks as he turned his head away and focused very hard on the opposite wall.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath and shifted on the couch, turning his whole body to face him. “So,” he said after a moment, a small smirk forming. “When are you going to introduce me to the blonde boy?”

Yoongi’s blush disappeared immediately. His expression flattened into something far more unimpressed. “You mean Jimin?” Jungkook nodded quickly, biting his lip as if trying to hide how interested he actually was. “Never,” Yoongi said flatly, still staring somewhere off in the distance.

Jungkook’s eyebrows pulled together. He sat up straighter, the leather couch creaking softly beneath him. Yoongi could practically feel the frustration radiating off him. After a moment, Yoongi sighed and finally turned to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

“Don’t want your heart broken.”

Jungkook blinked. His confusion only deepened. “And why exactly would that happen?” he asked, shaking his head slightly.

Yoongi leaned back against the couch and rubbed the back of his neck. “Like I told you yesterday, Soojun’s been at it for weeks—”

“And he’s been failing,” Jungkook cut in quickly. “So what’s so important about that?” Yoongi shot him a sharp glare for interrupting. Jungkook immediately lifted both hands in surrender. “Sorry. Go on.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at him for another second before continuing. “Soojun gets anyone he wants,” he said slowly. “So why do you think he’s been chasing Jimin with no success?”

Jungkook looked down for a moment, thinking. Then he looked back up. “Because he’s an asshole?” Yoongi snorted quietly despite himself.

“Well… maybe that too.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But Jimin’s best friend—Taehyung—guards him like crazy.”
Jungkook repeated the name silently in his head, remembering the tall guy from the night before. The one who had pulled Jimin away.
He nodded slowly, though the confused look on his face didn’t disappear.

“Do you know why?”

Yoongi leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling as if trying to piece together half-remembered conversations.
“Not sure, but I think he’s just Jimin’s version of a Namjoon,” Yoongi said with a tired sigh. “Though I don’t think it annoys Jimin nearly as much as Namjoon annoys me.”

Jungkook huffed out a quiet laugh. But the determination in his expression didn’t fade. Images of Jimin dancing the night before kept replaying in his mind—the sway of his hips, the way he had smiled, the lazy wave he gave before disappearing into the crowd. Jungkook leaned back into the couch again, crossing his arms.

“Challenge accepted.” Jungkook said with a cocky tone. Yoongi rolled his eyes immediately. Then Jungkook leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. “But you have to help me, Hyung.” Yoongi’s body language immediately screamed no. He slumped deeper into the couch, already preparing to reject the idea. But when he glanced over and saw Jungkook staring at him with shamelessly pleading eyes, he sighed and rubbed a hand down his face.

“Fine.” Jungkook’s entire face lit up. “But only once,” Yoongi added quickly, pointing a warning finger at him. “I don’t want to be part of whatever mess this turns into.”

Jungkook grinned. Yoongi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he thought for a moment. “They’ll probably be at the same house party next weekend,” he said finally.

Jungkook’s eyes immediately brightened. “Seriously?”

Yoongi nodded. “Yeah. Hoseok mentioned it.” He glanced over at Jungkook again, clearly reconsidering his life choices. “If Taehyung’s there—which he will be—I can probably distract him for a few minutes.”

Jungkook sat up straighter. “And Soojun?”

Yoongi smirked slightly. “Soojun’s easy. He’ll be too busy trying to impress everyone.”

Jungkook leaned back again, clearly pleased with this development.

—————————

The bass from the music hit Jungkook in the chest before he even stepped fully through the front door. The house was already packed—voices shouting over each other, bodies moving in every direction, the air thick with heat and alcohol. Colored lights flickered across the walls and ceiling, throwing brief flashes of red and blue across the crowded living room. Jungkook followed Namjoon inside, slipping the door shut behind them as someone brushed past with a plastic cup sloshing over the rim.

“Same house?” Jungkook shouted over the music.

Namjoon shrugged, scanning the room. “Honestly I have no idea.” They moved further inside, squeezing past a group gathered around the kitchen island.
Namjoon’s eyes were already sweeping the room with purpose. “We should find Yoongi before it gets too crowded” Jungkook nodded absently, though his attention was drifting across the dance floor. Then Namjoon groaned.

“Oh come on.”

Jungkook followed his line of sight. Right in the center of the dance pile were Yoongi and Hoseok—pressed close together, moving easily with the rhythm of the music. Hoseok’s hands rested comfortably on Yoongi’s hips while Yoongi had one arm looped around his neck. Namjoon dragged a hand down his face.

“Jesus Christ.” He said with a heavy sigh

Jungkook snorted. “Looks like they’re having fun.”

As if sensing the stare, Yoongi glanced toward the doorway. The second he spotted them, his eyes widened slightly. He leaned toward Hoseok and said something into his ear. Hoseok nodded immediately before pulling away and weaving through the crowd toward the kitchen. Yoongi, meanwhile, stepped away from the dance floor and scanned the room until he spotted someone.

Taehyung.

He grabbed the taller boy by the arm, saying something quickly while pointing toward the doorway where Namjoon stood. Taehyung followed the gesture.
His eyes landed on Namjoon. Namjoon blinked. Taehyung smirked slightly.

“Uh oh,” Jungkook muttered under his breath.

Yoongi practically shoved Taehyung toward them, Forcing an introduction. Namjoon looked confused but allowed himself to be pulled into conversation as Taehyung began speaking animatedly, leaning casually against the wall beside him. Yoongi shot one quick glance across the room. Directly at Jungkook. Then he raised one eyebrow.

Jungkook grinned. Opportunity taken. He slipped into the crowd, weaving between dancing bodies until flashes of blonde hair caught his attention near the center of the room.

Jimin.

He wasn’t as drunk as last time, but the loose sway of his movements made it clear he’d already had a few drinks. His hair fell messily across his
forehead as he danced with the music, one hand loosely holding a cup. Jungkook slowed as he approached. For a moment he just watched. Then he stepped closer. “Careful,” he said lightly near Jimin’s ear. “You almost fell on me last time.”

Jimin turned. For a brief moment his expression was blank as he tried to focus. Then his eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” His lips curved into a smile. “You’re the guy who caught me.”

Jungkook shrugged, “Guess I have good timing.”

Jimin tilted his head, studying him for another second before snapping his fingers. “Cutie.”

Jungkook laughed. “I was hoping you remembered.”

Jimin took a sip from his drink, eyes still lingering on Jungkook with clear curiosity. Then his gaze shifted past him. He pointed lazily across the room.
“Is that your friend?”

Jungkook followed his finger. Across the room, Namjoon was standing with Taehyung, the two of them talking closely while Taehyung gestured with animated hands. Jungkook smirked. “Yeah.”

Jimin hummed. “Your friend’s flirting with my friend.”

Jungkook glanced back at him. “Looks like it.” Jimin seemed amused by that. Then Jungkook noticed movement near the wall. Soojun. Leaning casually with a drink in hand, watching the two of them with narrowed eyes. Jungkook leaned slightly closer to Jimin.
“Want to take a walk?”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “A walk?”

Jungkook nodded toward the hallway. “Somewhere less crowded.”

Jimin glanced once more across the room. Checking Taehyung, Then he shrugged. “Sure.” They slipped away from the dance floor and into a quieter hallway toward the back of the house. The music was still loud, but slightly muffled here. Jimin leaned against the wall, arms loosely crossed. “So,” he started. “What do you do besides catching drunk strangers?”

Jungkook smiled. “Criminal investigations major.”

Jimin’s eyebrows lifted. “Wow.” Then he tapped his own chest. “Fashion.”

“That tracks.” Jungkook said with a side smile, looking Jimin up and down.

Jimin laughed softly. They talked for another minute—small things, classes, how chaotic the party was. But it didn’t last long. Footsteps approached quickly down the hallway. Taehyung appeared. His eyes immediately locked on Jimin. “There you are.”

Jimin sighed. “Tae—”

Taehyung grabbed his wrist gently but firmly. “You disappeared.”

His eyes shifted toward Jungkook. The glare was unmistakable. Jungkook just smirked. As Taehyung pulled Jimin back toward the party, Jungkook lifted a hand in a small wave. Jimin glanced back over his shoulder. Then returned the wave with a crooked smile. Jungkook chuckled under his breath before heading back toward the main room. Namjoon was still standing with Taehyung’s empty spot beside him.

“Well?” Namjoon asked.

Jungkook shrugged. “How do you like Taehyung?” He questioned back.

Namjoon blinked. Then gave a small thoughtful hum. “He’s… cute.”

Jungkook grinned. “Good to know.”

He spotted Yoongi near the kitchen. Hoseok stood beside him, one arm wrapped loosely around Yoongi’s waist while Yoongi sipped from the drink Hoseok must’ve grabbed earlier. Jungkook parted from Namjoon and started walking towards them. Yoongi noticed Jungkook approaching immediately.
“Well?” he asked.

Jungkook leaned against the counter. “It was going great until Taehyung showed up.”

Yoongi snorted. “Told you.”

Jungkook shrugged. “But you should know—Taehyung and Namjoon seem to be hitting it off.”

Yoongi paused. Then slowly turned to look toward the living room. “…Oh no.” Hoseok laughed beside him.

Yoongi sighed before gesturing between them. “Jungkook, this is Hoseok.”

Hoseok smiled warmly and extended a hand. “Nice to finally meet you.” Jungkook shook it. He and Hoseok hit it off pretty well, and decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to stick around them for a bit.

—————————

Jungkook leaned back against the counter, the plastic cup in his hand resting loosely against his thigh while his eyes wandered across the packed living room. The lights were dim except for the rotating colored bulbs someone had set up near the speakers. Every few seconds the room washed red, then blue, then purple, faces appearing and disappearing in the shifting glow. Next to him, Yoongi lifted the drink Hoseok had brought him and took a slow sip. He stood close enough that his shoulder brushed Yoongi’s, one arm still draped casually around Yoongi’s waist. Every so often he leaned down to say something in Yoongi’s ear, the two of them half-hidden in the shadow of the kitchen doorway.

Jungkook barely registered it. His focus had drifted back to the dance floor. Jimin stood near the edge of it, leaning slightly against the wall like he’d needed a break from the crowd. The blonde hair that had looked neat earlier was messier now, strands falling over his forehead and sticking slightly to his temples from the heat in the room. Even from across the space Jungkook could tell he’d been drinking more tonight. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink, the color standing out under the party lights, and there was a slight looseness in the way he shifted his weight against the wall. Not falling-over drunk—but definitely past tipsy.

Jungkook found himself watching the way Jimin lazily swirled the drink in his cup while Taehyung talked beside him. Jimin laughed at something.
The music swallowed the sound, but the way his eyes squeezed shut briefly gave it away.

Then someone stepped in too close, Jungkook recognized him immediately. Soojun. Jimin noticed too. His smile faded quickly, his shoulders tightening slightly as Soojun leaned toward him. Taehyung turned at the same moment. Even from across the room Jungkook could see the shift in Taehyung’s posture—the way his back straightened, how he moved half a step closer to Jimin.

Soojun’s mouth was moving quickly now. Sharp. Aggressive. Jimin shook his head at something he said, the movement a little slower than it should’ve been. Too much alcohol in his system to give a proper response.

Then Soojun raised his voice. Yelling at Taehyung while shoving a finger to his chest. Jungkook couldn’t hear the words over the music, but the sudden volume cut through enough that people nearby started turning their heads. Taehyung stepped fully between them. Jungkook pushed himself off the counter. At the same time, another tall figure appeared behind Soojun. Namjoon. He grabbed Soojun’s arm—not rough, but firm enough to pull him back a step. Jungkook could see Namjoon leaning down slightly, speaking close to Soojun’s ear the way someone does when they’re trying to keep a situation from blowing up.

Yoongi noticed it too. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, already stepping away from the counter. Jungkook followed him without hesitation.
They moved through the crowd quickly, squeezing between people who barely noticed them passing. Behind them, Hoseok fell into step as well—staying just behind Yoongi, one hand briefly brushing Yoongi’s lower back like he was making sure he didn’t lose him in the crowd.

By the time they reached the edge of the small circle forming around the argument, voices were raised enough to break through the music in fragments.
Soojun’s voice carried the clearest. “He’s not gonna stay single forever!”

Jungkook’s gaze flicked instantly to Jimin. He wasn’t arguing. He stood with his arms folded loosely across his stomach, shoulders pulled inward slightly as he leaned against the wall. His flushed cheeks made the tension in his expression more noticeable, his brows pulled together as he stared down at the floor.

Taehyung looked furious. Namjoon still stood between the two men, one hand raised slightly in a calming gesture.

“Alright,” Namjoon said, voice firm even if most of it disappeared under the music. “That’s enough.” Soojun jerked his arm free. And then his eyes lifted.
They locked with Jungkook’s. The glare was immediate. Jungkook didn’t look away. Didn’t move. The two of them stared at each other across the few feet separating them, the tension between them sharp enough that Jungkook felt Yoongi shift slightly beside him.

Soojun’s jaw tightened. Then his gaze slid past Jungkook. Back to Jimin. His expression twisted into a smug smile. “See you around, baby.” Jimin didn’t react. Didn’t even lift his head. Soojun scoffed under his breath before shoving past the nearest person and disappearing deeper into the house.

The tension he left behind lingered for a few seconds. Taehyung exhaled slowly before turning toward Namjoon. “Thanks,” he said, brushing his hair back with one hand.

Namjoon shrugged like it had been nothing. “No problem.” Taehyung gave him a small smile that lingered just a second longer than necessary.
Yoongi noticed. Jungkook didn’t even need to look to know it.

“Of course,” Yoongi muttered beside him.

Namjoon’s attention shifted then, his gaze dropping to the arm still resting around Yoongi’s waist. His eyebrows lifted. He looked between them once.
Then again. “…So,” Namjoon said dryly, “do I need to start calling you hyung now too or is this more of a temporary situation?”

Yoongi turned slowly toward him. “What?” He snapped, offended by the question.

Namjoon nodded toward Hoseok. “You seem pretty attached.”

Yoongi stared at him for a long second. “You’re unbelievable.”

While the three of them talked, or argued, Jungkook had already drifted half a step away. His attention had moved back across the circle
Jimin had finally lifted his head. Their eyes met almost immediately. The flush on Jimin’s cheeks looked even darker now up close under the lights. His eyes were a little glassy, unfocused for a split second before sharpening as he realized Jungkook was looking at him.
Jungkook raised his cup slightly.

Jimin blinked once. Then smiled. It was small, But definitely there. He lifted his drink in return. To the side, Taehyung noticed the exchange. Jungkook saw the exact moment it happened. Taehyung’s gaze followed Jimin’s, landing on Jungkook. His expression tightened.

Jimin barely had time to lower his drink before Taehyung reached out and grabbed his wrist. Jimin looked up, surprised. Jungkook couldn’t hear what Taehyung said, but the tone was clear. Jimin frowned slightly, glancing back toward the party like he might protest. Taehyung said something else.
Jimin sighed.

He reluctantly pushed himself off the wall. Taehyung kept hold of his wrist as he guided him toward the door. Halfway there, Jimin looked back.
His eyes found Jungkook again in the crowd. He lifted his hand in a lazy little wave. Jungkook grinned. Then Jimin disappeared out the front door behind Taehyung. Yoongi appeared beside Jungkook again. He followed Jungkook’s line of sight toward the now empty doorway.

“Taehyung definitely hates you.”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. He just kept staring at the door for another second. Then he smirked slightly. “Probably.”

——————————

Jungkook had absolutely no reason to be in the Arts building. He knew that the moment he pushed through the glass doors and stepped inside.
The entire place felt different from the rest of campus. The hallway smelled faintly of fabric softener and something chemical—dye or paint maybe. The usual dull white walls most academic buildings had were replaced with large corkboards covered in sketches, magazine cutouts, and pinned swatches of fabric in every color imaginable. Mannequins stood in clusters behind glass windows like silent guards, half-dressed in unfinished garments. Some had measuring tape draped around their necks like scarves.

A girl walked past Jungkook carrying an armful of bright purple fabric that dragged slightly along the floor behind her. Two others sat cross-legged near the wall arguing over what looked like a sketchbook. Jungkook felt completely out of place. Most of the students around him were dressed like they had walked out of a fashion shoot—layered clothes, unique textures, things Jungkook couldn’t even begin to name. Compared to them, his black hoodie and jeans felt painfully plain.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and kept walking. He slowed when he reached the open study hall. Inside, the atmosphere shifted. The hallway noise faded into something softer—the scratch of pencils against paper, the occasional quiet murmur between students leaning over shared designs. The room itself was wide and open, long wooden tables spaced across the floor beneath tall windows. Sunlight pooled across several of them, catching the dust in the air.

It didn’t take long to find Jimin. He sat near the windows, half turned toward the light spilling across the table. His blonde hair looked different in the daylight than it had at the party. softer somehow, the darker roots blending naturally through the lighter strands that fell loosely over his forehead. He wore brown wide leg pants, with a white long sleeve button up. His attention was completely fixed on the sketchbook in front of him.

Jungkook stopped a few steps away. Jimin held a pencil loosely between his fingers, occasionally spinning it while he studied the page before leaning forward to add another quick line. Several sheets of paper were scattered around him—some filled with rough designs, others barely started.
Small squares of fabric were pinned to the corners of one page. Jungkook watched him work for a moment longer than he probably should have.
At the party Jimin had seemed like pure motion—laughing, dancing, spinning through crowds of people like he belonged to the noise and the music.
Here he looked quieter.

Focused.

Real.

Jungkook stepped forward and stopped beside the table. Jimin didn’t notice at first. The pencil continued moving across the page for another few seconds before something in his peripheral vision must have shifted.

He glanced up. Recognition flashed instantly across his face. His eyebrows lifted slightly as he leaned back in his chair, the movement slow and curious rather than startled. “You’re not a fashion major,” he said with a cautious tone.

Jungkook pulled the empty chair across from him out with a quiet scrape against the floor. “Nope.” Jimin watched him sit down, one elbow coming to rest against the edge of the table while he studied Jungkook like he was trying to figure out what exactly had brought him there. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“So,” he said after a moment, tapping the eraser of his pencil against the page, “what are you doing in the arts study hall?”

Jungkook leaned back in the chair, resting one ankle casually over the opposite knee. He glanced briefly around the room again before answering.

“Thought I’d try a different place to study.” His gaze returned to Jimin. “Is that a problem?”

Jimin’s smile grew just a little. “No,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Just unexpected.” His attention drifted back down to the sketchbook, but Jungkook could tell he was still aware of him sitting there.

Jungkook leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table as his eyes moved over the page in front of Jimin. The design looked like a jacket—structured shoulders, several layered seams running along the sides, something sleek but still loose.

“You draw all these?” Jungkook asked after a moment.

Jimin followed his gaze. “Most of them.” He flipped back a page absentmindedly, revealing another set of designs beneath it. This one showed a longer coat, the pencil lines darker and more detailed. Small notes were written along the margins.

Jungkook studied the page quietly. “They’re good.”

Jimin glanced up again, clearly surprised by the comment. “You don’t even know what you’re looking at.” Jungkook shrugged slightly.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tell when something looks cool.”

For a moment Jimin just looked at him. then he let out a quiet laugh and shook his head.

“You’re weird.” He said, giving the other a small glance. Jungkook lifted his brow, asking for an explanation. Jimin brushed a bit of eraser dust off the page with the side of his hand. The movement left a faint smudge of graphite along the edge of his palm. “Most guys who talk to me at those parties,” Jimin said after a moment, his voice casual, “aren’t really paying attention to anything I’m saying anyway.” His pencil rolled slowly between his fingers while he spoke. “They flirt for a while… have fun… and then forget I exist the next day.”

Jungkook didn’t respond immediately. He was watching the way Jimin kept adjusting the sleeve of his sweater every few minutes when it slid back down his wrist. Then Jungkook finally spoke.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem for me.” He said with a smirk. Jimin glanced up. Jungkook met his eyes easily. “You’re pretty memorable.”

For a second Jimin just stared at him. Then a quiet laugh slipped out. “Wow,” he muttered under his breath. “Real smooth”

Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “What? You laughed.”

“That doesn’t mean it worked”

Jimin looked back down at his sketchbook again, though the small smile tugging at his mouth didn’t disappear. The conversation drifted after that.
Jungkook asked questions about the designs scattered across the table. Jimin answered while continuing to draw, occasionally flipping to another page to show something older—different silhouettes, coats with dramatic collars, shirts with strange layered sleeves. The more they talked, the more relaxed Jimin seemed to become.

Until suddenly he went still. The pencil hovering above the page stopped moving. Jungkook noticed immediately. Jimin’s attention had shifted past him, eyes fixed on something out in the hallway beyond the glass wall. Whatever he saw made the easy expression on his face disappear. Jungkook turned slightly in his chair to follow his line of sight. Down the hallway, a tall familiar figure was walking slowly past the windows.
Taehyung.

“Shit” Jimin muttered under his breath.

He immediately started gathering the papers scattered across the table, movements suddenly quick and rushed. Jungkook leaned back slightly in his chair, watching him. “Why is he so protective of you?”

Jimin shoved the sketchbook into his bag before answering. “He thinks he’s helping.”

“Helping with what?” Jungkook frowned slightly while asking. Jimin didn’t meet his eyes this time.

“Just… helping.” The answer was clearly meant to end the conversation. He could tell by the way his voice trailed off it was a conversation he didn’t want to have. So, Jungkook didn’t persist. Jimin slung the bag over his shoulder and looked back at him while walking away. “You should probably go too, your outfit is a sore thumb.”

Jungkook smiled and stood slowly. As he turned away from the table, his eyes briefly caught on the open planner sitting on the table, clearly forgotten. In the middle of the page was a block of handwriting.

Study hall — 2:00 PM, Mon-Fri

Jungkook’s mouth curved slightly. Picking up the planner, and tossing it in his bag. Now he has another reason to see Jimin, and knows when too.

—————————

The apartment was quiet when Jungkook got back. Not silent, but calm in a way that felt strange after the fashion building. The low hum of the refrigerator filled the kitchen and sunlight spilled through the living room window, stretching across the floor in long golden lines. Jungkook nudged the door shut behind him with his foot and tossed his bag onto the small chair near the wall.

The planner inside it shifted slightly when it landed. His hand lingered on the strap for a second before he let go.

Namjoon was stretched out across the couch, long legs hanging over the armrest while his phone rested loosely against his chest. He looked unusually relaxed, the kind of loose posture he only ever had when he wasn’t drowning in assignments. His shoes were kicked off near the coffee table and an empty takeout container sat open beside him, the plastic lid bent backwards.

Yoongi sat on the floor nearby, cross-legged with his laptop balanced on his thighs. The faint glow of a music program reflected in his glasses while his fingers tapped lazily across the keyboard, adjusting something in a track that hummed quietly through the speakers.
Jungkook walked further into the room, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders.

“You look tired.” Yoongi said, while now scanning Jungkook’s body movements. Specially how out of breath he looked.

“Yeah,” he muttered with a quiet exhale, tossing the jacket toward the hallway near his bedroom door before dropping heavily into the armchair beside Yoongi. The cushions sank beneath his weight. Yoongi kept his eyes on the other, brows knitting together as he watched Jungkook lean his head back and drag a slow breath through his lungs.

His eyes moved over Jungkook’s face for a moment, clearly trying to piece something together. “Where are you coming from that has you out of breath?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. He stretched one leg out in front of him, the heel of his sneaker bumping lightly against the coffee table as he rolled his shoulders once, loosening the tension that had settled there during the walk back across campus. Then he tilted his head toward Yoongi, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Long walk from the Arts building.”

Yoongi blinked. For a second the words didn’t seem to register. Then his expression flattened. “Wow,” he muttered slowly, leaning back on his hands. “So we’ve moved onto stalking now.”

Jungkook scoffed under his breath, clearly amused by the accusation. “I wasn’t stalking him.” The smirk didn’t leave his face. “He didn’t seem to mind.”

Yoongi stared at him like he’d just confirmed every suspicion he’d already had. Namjoon, still half-sprawled across the couch, lifted his head slightly at that, attention drifting away from his phone as he listened. Yoongi rubbed his face with one hand, already looking exhausted by the situation.

“How long did that last before Taehyung interrupted you?”

Jungkook leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not long.” He shrugged. “Don’t think he actually saw me though.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows lifted. Jungkook let out a quiet breath through his nose, remembering the sudden shift in Jimin’s posture at the study hall. “He walked past the hallway windows.” A beat passed. “And Jimin practically ran out of there.”

At the mention of Taehyung’s name, Namjoon shifted on the couch. It wasn’t dramatic—just a small movement—but noticeable enough that Jungkook caught it out of the corner of his eye. Namjoon’s fingers stilled briefly against the edge of his phone before he looked away toward the window, jaw tightening slightly like he was trying very hard not to react to the name. Yoongi noticed too. His gaze flicked between them before he sighed quietly.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Figured.”

Jungkook leaned back into the chair again, stretching his arms loosely across the armrests. For a moment he just stared at the ceiling. Then he glanced back at Yoongi. “Tell me about him.”

“You already know the important part,” Yoongi said dryly. “Taehyung guards him like a dragon with treasure.”

“I’m serious.” Jungkook said with an annoyed tone, The smirk had faded now. He leaned forward again, forearms resting on his knees while he looked directly at Yoongi. “I want to know more about him.”

Yoongi held his gaze for a long moment. Eventually he sighed. “To be honest, I don’t know that much.” Jungkook looked skeptical. Yoongi shrugged lightly. “I’ve only really known him a few months. Since I started hanging out with Hoseok more.”

Namjoon hummed faintly at that from the couch but didn’t interrupt. Jungkook wasn’t satisfied. “You’ve still been around him though.”

“Sometimes.” Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck, clearly reluctant to dig through his memories just to satisfy Jungkook’s curiosity. “When Hoseok drags me out with them.”

“Well you’ve gotta know something.” Jungkook leaned a little further forward. Yoongi let out a quiet breath through his nose, clearly annoyed that the interrogation wasn’t ending anytime soon. His fingers tapped idly against the edge of his laptop as he thought. Then he muttered, almost like it was an afterthought.

“He likes flavored drinks.”

Jungkook’s brows lifted slightly. “What?”

Yoongi glanced up. “Flavored lattes,” he clarified. He leaned back a little, stretching his legs out while he continued speaking. “There’s that café next to the dining hall—the little one with the stupid chalkboard menu outside.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. He knew the place.

“I’ve seen him there a bunch of times,” Yoongi continued. “Whenever Hoseok meets him between classes or whatever.” He paused briefly, then added with a small shrug, “And every single time he’s got some kind of flavored latte in his hand.”

“Like what kind.” Jungkook asked while tilting his head slightly.

Yoongi squinted at the ceiling like he was trying to remember. “I don’t know… vanilla most of the time. Caramel maybe.”His gaze drifted back to Jungkook. “The point is he never orders plain coffee.”

Namjoon chuckled quietly from the couch. “That’s a very specific thing to notice.”

Yoongi shrugged again. “It’s hard not to when it’s neon-colored sugar in a cup.” Jungkook leaned back slowly into the chair again, letting the information settle. Then memorized it.

———————

The arts building study room was quieter than it had been the day before. Most of the noise from the hallway stayed outside the glass doors, leaving the room filled mostly with softer sounds—the scratch of pencils across paper, the steady tapping of laptop keys, the occasional rustle of fabric when someone shifted in their seat. The tall windows along the far wall let in wide sheets of afternoon sunlight that stretched across the long wooden tables.
Jungkook had taken the same table Jimin had used the day before.

It wasn’t hard to remember which one it was. He sat facing the door with his laptop open in front of him, finishing up a few assignments from the class he’d come from earlier. His fingers moved steadily across the keyboard while a document filled with half-written notes and case analysis questions sat on the screen. Next to the laptop sat a plastic cup with a clear lid. Medium iced vanilla latte. Condensation gathered slowly along the sides of the cup, droplets forming and sliding down to leave a faint damp ring on the table. The ice shifted quietly inside whenever Jungkook’s elbow brushed the surface.

He glanced at it. Then at the clock on the wall near the door. 1:53. Jungkook leaned back slightly in his chair, stretching his shoulders before leaning forward again to finish typing the sentence he’d been working on. The cursor blinked patiently at the end of the line while he reread it, deleting a word and replacing it before finally moving on.

Jungkook tapped a few more keys, saving the document automatically before flipping over to another assignment tab. A couple students filtered into the room while he worked—someone pulling out a chair two tables over, another spreading large sheets of pattern paper near the windows.
The door opened again. Jungkook didn’t look up immediately. He finished typing the last word of a paragraph before lifting his gaze.

Jimin had just stepped inside. He paused a few steps past the door, his eyes scanning the room lazily at first before they landed across the tables.
Recognition flashed across his face almost instantly. His eyebrows lifted. For a moment he just stared. Like he hadn’t expected Jungkook to actually be there again. Jungkook leaned back in his chair, resting one arm casually across the backrest as if he’d been sitting there the entire time without a second thought. Jimin walked toward the table slowly, adjusting the strap of his bag where it had slid down his shoulder.

“What are you doing here again?” His tone wasn’t annoyed. If anything, there was quiet amusement in it. Jungkook gestured lazily toward the laptop.

“Studying.” Then he lifted one brow slightly. “Are you following me?”

Jimin blinked. The expression on his face shifted quickly into disbelief. “No.”

He pulled the chair across from Jungkook out and sat down, the legs scraping softly across the floor before settling. Jungkook watched him set his bag down and start pulling out his sketchbook and loose papers. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Jungkook reached down beside his chair.

“Oh,” he said casually. “I think this belongs to you.” He slid the planner across the table.

Jimin froze halfway through pulling a pencil from his bag. His eyes dropped to the planner. Then lifted slowly back to Jungkook. “Did you take my planner?”

Jungkook leaned back like the question didn’t bother him at all. “Of course not.” He shrugged slightly. “Thought I’d be a good citizen and return it.”
Jimin stared at him another second before exhaling through his nose, clearly deciding that arguing about it would get him nowhere.

“Right,” he muttered with suspicion lingering in his voice. He flipped the planner open briefly before setting it aside. Then Jungkook nudged the plastic cup across the table.

“Oh—and I got this for you.” He said. Jimin paused again. His eyes moved from the drink… to Jungkook. “A vanilla iced latte,” Jungkook added casually. “Heard you might like it.”

For a moment Jimin didn’t touch it. The faintest hint of color crept across his cheeks.

“How did you know that?” He questioned, suspicion shown clearly in his tone.

Jungkook shrugged again, trying to look far less pleased with himself than he actually felt. “I have my sources.” Jimin let out a small breath that sounded suspiciously like a quiet laugh.

“Your sources?”

“Very reliable.”

Jimin shook his head, but the smile tugging at his mouth didn’t disappear as he picked up the drink and took a small sip. “Okay,” he muttered. “That might be a good source”

Jungkook didn’t say anything. But the corner of his mouth lifted slightly before he looked back down at his laptop. Jimin settled into the chair more comfortably, spreading his sketches across the table again. For a while the two of them worked quietly. Jungkook typed through another section of his assignment while Jimin sketched small adjustments into a jacket design, darkening seams and adding notes along the margins.
Eventually Jungkook glanced up at one of the pages.

“So how do you even start something like that?”

“What do you mean?” Jimin asked, not looking up from the paper.

“The jacket.” Jungkook gestured vaguely toward the sketch. “You just… wake up and decide that’s what it’s gonna look like?”
Jimin let out a quiet laugh, spinning the pencil between his fingers before resting the tip back against the paper.

“No.” He tapped lightly along the shoulder seam of the drawing. “You start with structure.” Jungkook leaned forward slightly.

“Structure?” He questioned.

“Yeah.” Jimin flipped the page to another sketch beneath it. “Fabric matters too. Some materials fall differently, so the shape has to work with that.”

Jungkook studied the page for a moment. “That sounds complicated.”

“It is.” Jimin added another line to the drawing. “But it’s fun.”

Jungkook watched him work for a second longer before glancing back down at his own laptop. “You ever design something and realize halfway through it looks terrible?”

Jimin snorted. “All the time.” He tapped the eraser against the edge of the sketchbook. “Half these pages are just failed ideas.” Jungkook glanced over again.

“They don’t look failed.”

Jimin shrugged. “You’re not a fashion major.”

“True.”

Another quiet stretch of work followed. The study room filled slowly with more students, chairs shifting and backpacks dropping beside tables.
Jimin eventually reached for the latte again, taking another sip while scanning through one of his sketches. By the time Jungkook checked the clock again, nearly an hour had passed. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

“Shit.” He said quietly, biting the inside of his cheek.

Jimin looked up. “What?”

“I’ve got a class.” Jungkook closed his laptop and slid it into his bag before standing up. Jimin gathered a few papers into a neat stack, watching him move around the table. Then he smiled slightly.

“You can save me a seat again tomorrow.”

Jungkook paused halfway through slinging his bag over his shoulder. Shocked at the invitation. “Yeah?”

Jimin nodded once, already looking back down at his sketchbook. “Two o’clock.”

Jungkook grinned. “Got it.” He pushed the door open a moment later and stepped back into the hallway.

———————————

After that, it became routine. For the next two weeks Jungkook showed up in the study room almost every afternoon between classes, usually a few minutes before two. Sometimes he worked on assignments. Sometimes he just waited.

Every day he stopped at the café first.
Every day he walked in carrying a medium vanilla iced latte.
Every day he set it down in front of Jimin like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jimin never asked him to. But he always drank it. And every afternoon, right around two, the seat across from Jungkook filled.
At first they barely studied. They talked. Jungkook listened more than he spoke, fascinated by the way Jimin became animated when he got excited about something. His hands moved when he described a project. His voice softened when he talked about fabrics and shapes and the way clothing moved on the body.

Jungkook found himself memorizing it all. The way Jimin’s eyes curved into crescents when he laughed. The way his hair fell across his forehead when he leaned over his sketchbook. The crease between his brows when he concentrated. Jungkook learned that Jimin lived in a dorm with Taehyung.
That Hoseok lived across the hall, and had been happier since meeting Yoongi. And with every afternoon they spent together, Jungkook found himself wanting a little more time.

A little more conversation.
A little more of Jimin’s laugh.

So, he took it a bit further. He had practically memorized Jimins schedule. And decided to use that to his advantage, showing up outside of his classes when they ended.

Jungkook spotted Jimin before Jimin spotted him. He was leaning against the low stone wall outside the humanities building, half watching the stream of students leaving class and half pretending he wasn’t waiting for anyone. The doors swung open while Students spilled out in clusters.
Then a flash of blond caught his eye. Jimin stepped outside with a notebook tucked against his chest, talking to someone beside him. He laughed at something they said, bright and easy. Jungkook felt the familiar pull of it immediately.

Jimin looked up. It took him half a second to notice Jungkook leaning there. Another second for the smile to spread across his face, he said a parting gesture to who he was talking to and approached Jungkook.

“Well, This is getting suspicious.” He said with a grin.

“What is?” Jungkook asked. he leaned off the wall following beside Jimin as they headed towards his dorm. This being Jimin’s last class of the day, and Jungkook knew that.

“You showing up outside my classes, this the the 2nd time?”

“Third time,” Jungkook corrected.

“Oh my god.” Jimin stopped walking. “You’re keeping count?”

Before Jimin could react, Jungkook reached forward and smoothly slid the notebook out from under his arm. Jimin blinked down at his suddenly empty hands. Jungkook tucked the notebook under his arm. “I’ll carry it.”

Jimin smiled and shook his head “You don’t have to do that”

“You’re not complaining though.”

Jimin didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away when their shoulders brushed as they walked.

They reached the dorm building a few minutes later. The late afternoon sun was dipping lower now, casting long shadows across the walkway leading up to the brick entrance. Students moved in and out through the glass doors, laughing, juggling backpacks, or checking their phones as they passed. Jungkook slowed slightly when they reached the entrance.

“Guess this is where I leave you,” he said, shifting the notebook back into Jimin’s hands. Jimin took it automatically, but instead of heading toward the door like usual, he lingered. For a second he just stood there, glancing up at the building and then back at Jungkook like he was thinking something over.

“You’re going back to study?” Jimin asked.

“Probably,” Jungkook said with a small shrug. “Midterms are coming up”

Jimin looked toward the dorm entrance again. Then, almost casually, he stepped forward and pulled the door open.

“Well,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Jungkook, “you’re already here.”

Jungkook blinked. For half a second he just stood there. “…You mean—”

“You can come study,” Jimin said, already stepping inside. “If you want.”

The door swung halfway closed behind him before Jungkook snapped out of it and caught it. A surprised laugh almost escaped him. Jimin had just invited him into his dorm. Into his room. Jungkook tried very hard to keep his face neutral as he followed him inside, but the sudden rush of excitement buzzing under his ribs made it difficult.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, okay.”

The hallway inside the dorm was quieter then outside. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead and the carpet softened the sound of their footsteps as they walked. A faint smell of laundry detergent and microwave ramen lingered in the air. Jimin walked a few steps ahead, flipping his keys loosely around his finger as he led the way down the hall.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” he said over his shoulder. “My side’s… not great right now.”

“That’s promising,” Jungkook muttered.

Jimin laughed softly. They stopped in front of a door near the middle of the hall. Jimin unlocked it and pushed it open. The room inside was split almost perfectly down the middle. Jungkook paused just inside the doorway, taking it in.

Taehyung’s side sat to the right — darker colors, black bedding pulled tight across the mattress, a neat stack of textbooks beside the bed. A black hoodie hung off the back of the desk chair. Everything looked controlled. Organized.

Jimin’s side was the opposite. Sketchbooks were stacked in uneven piles beside the desk. Pencils and charcoal sticks were scattered across the surface next to a half-finished drawing. A corkboard hung above it covered in pinned sketches, fabric swatches, and torn magazine pages of runway looks. A soft gray blanket had been tossed across Jimin’s bed like he’d gotten up in a hurry that morning.

The whole space felt… lived in. Warm.

Jungkook stepped a little farther inside. “So this is where all the studying actually happens,” he said.

“Most of it.” Jimin dropped his bag beside the desk and kicked off his shoes before flopping down onto the floor near the bed, flipping open his notebook.

Jungkook drifted toward the corkboard almost automatically. He studied the sketches pinned there. Different jacket cuts. Pant silhouettes.Detailed seam work drawn in pencil. “You did these?” he asked.

Jimin glanced over his shoulder. “Most of them.”

“They’re really good.” Jungkook leaned a little closer, studying the clean lines of one design.

“Thanks.” Jimin ducked his head slightly, pushing a piece of hair behind his ear. After a moment Jungkook slid down the wall opposite him and sat cross-legged on the floor. For a little while the room was quiet. Pages turned. A pencil scratched faintly across paper. Jimin looked up once and caught Jungkook watching him.

“You’re staring,” Jimin said with a faint laugh.

“Maybe.” Jungkook admitted, not even trying to deny it. Jimin shook his head, but the smile tugging at his mouth stayed. Jungkook glanced toward the other half of the room, Taehyung’s. “So… he’s always been like that with you?”

Jimin followed his gaze toward Taehyung’s side. “Yeah,” he admitted. “We’ve always had each other’s backs.” His expression softened slightly. “Even when he drives me crazy.”

“I get that.” Jungkook added while nodding slowly.

The moment lingered quietly, Then the door burst open. Both of them looked up. Taehyung stepped inside, dropping his bag onto the chair near his desk. He froze the second he noticed Jungkook sitting on the floor across from Jimin. The shift in his posture was immediate. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“…What is he doing here?” He demanded. The room suddenly felt smaller. Jungkook closed his notebook slowly, setting it aside like he’d already expected this moment might happen.

“Well,” he said calmly, pushing himself to his feet, “that’s probably my cue to go.” Jimin looked up at him. Taehyung’s gaze flicked sharply between them. Jungkook slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jimin.”

Jimin smiled softly. “See you tomorrow.”

Jungkook stepped past Taehyung on his way out. Their shoulders brushed slightly. Taehyung didn’t move. He just watched him leave.

————————————

The door clicked shut behind him. For a second the room was completely silent. Then Taehyung slowly turned toward Jimin.

“…What the hell was that?”

Jimin looked up from the floor, confused. “What?”

“That.” Taehyung gestured wildly toward the door Jungkook had just walked through.

“He came to study.” He said plainly, looking down to his assignment. though Taehyung stared at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing imaginable.

“Jimin.” He said with an annoyed tone. Throwing his book bag down to the side and stepping closer to the other.

“What?” Jimin asked, setting down his pencil, movement dramatized.

“That’s Jeon Jungkook.”

“…Okay?”

“He’s literally the biggest fuckboy on campus.” Taehyung said while crossing his arms.

Jimin rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. “That’s dramatic.”

Taehyung let out a sharp laugh. “Dramatic? The guy probably has a different hookup every weekend!” He exclaimed.

“Well he’s been talking to me every weekend so….I don’t think so” Jimin said, voice trailing off.

“Oh my god.” Taehyung ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You cannot be serious.”

Jimin raised his eyebrow, questioning the other. “He’s nice.” Jimin claimed defensively

“Nice?” Taehyung barked out a laugh. “That’s the word we’re going with?”

“Yes.” Jimin shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “He brings me coffee every day.”

Taehyung paused. His eyebrows knitting together. “…He what?”

“A vanilla latte,” Jimin muttered. Collecting his papers and standing up, setting them on his study table.

Taehyung stared at him for another long moment. Then he groaned and dropped backward onto his bed, dragging a pillow over his face. “This is a disaster.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Jimin rolled his eyes, while sitting on his bed. The mattress dipping down under him.

Taehyung’s muffled voice came through the pillow. “I’m being realistic.”

Jimin grabbed a pencil from his desk and tossed it at him. Taehyung didn’t move. “Just wait,” he said, tossing his pillow to the side. “Guys like him always have an angle.”

Jimin didn’t answer. But when he glanced toward the door Jungkook had just walked through… he felt a small, warm smile tug at the corner of his mouth anyway.

———————————————

As more time passed, Jungkook continued the routine. A few times a week Jungkook got to ‘study’ with Jimin, walk him to class, and occasionally be invited inside his dorm. Jungkook always brought Jimin his coffee, and carried his books. Eventually shoulders touching while walking turned into holding hands. Something Jungkook initiated while nervous but Jimin didn’t reject it. At the moment The two sat in a comfortable silence in the Arts Study room. Jimin occasionally reaching for the coffee Jungkook brought. While Jungkook stole quick glances at the other. Sometimes catching himself staring, being obsessed with Jimin’s features.

“So,” Jungkook started casually, as if he hadn’t been thinking about it all morning. “I heard you’re going to be at Minho’s party this weekend?”

Jimin hummed while nodding. Eyes flicking up from his sketchbook with that faint, side-leaning smile Jungkook had come to memorize. “Will I be seeing you there?” He asked.

Jungkook hesitated, letting the question hang in the air for just a moment. He leaned back in his chair, crossing an arm behind his head, and dropped his pencil onto the table deliberately, making Jimin’s attention lock fully on him.

“I was hoping that instead of seeing you, you would go with me.” Jungkook asked. Trying his best to still play on his confident persona.

Jimin froze slightly, eyes widening, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “Are… you asking me on a date?”

Jungkook let a small smirk play across his lips. “Only if you want it to be.”

Jimin bit his lip thoughtfully, looking down for a second before meeting Jungkook’s gaze again. “Taehyung would kill me if he saw me with you.”

Jungkook frowned and rolled his eyes, leaning back as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. “He’d kill any guy he saw you with.”
Jimin laughed softly, the sound Jungkook fell involve with.

Over the past few weeks, Jungkook had only brought up Taehyung once more. Every time Jimin seemed about to answer, his expression would tighten slightly, and he’d pivot the conversation elsewhere. Jungkook didn’t like seeing the tension in Jimin’s face, so he learned to tread carefully.

“But maybe,” Jungkook said, a teasing note in his voice, “he’d be a little distracted with Namjoon around?”

Jimin paused, pencil hovering over the page, and Jungkook watched the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. His cheeks were still tinged pink, but the corners of his lips curved upward slightly, just enough to show amusement. He shook his head lightly.

“Maybe,” Jimin murmured, and there was a quiet pause as he tapped his pencil against the table before returning to his sketch.

Jungkook leaned back, folding his hands loosely on the table, content to watch Jimin work. Occasionally he’d nudge the conversation gently forward—asking about a class project, commenting on a design, or quietly teasing him about some little habit he’d noticed. Jimin’s responses were a mix of laughter, explanations, and the occasional quiet mutter, all punctuated by the soft scratching of pencils and rustling of paper.

The afternoon sunlight shifted gradually across the floor, sliding past the table and across Jimin’s sketchbook. The iced vanilla latte slowly melted, condensation beading along the sides. Jungkook noticed the little details—the way Jimin’s hair caught the light when he leaned over his work, how his sleeves would slide down just enough to reveal the pale curve of his wrist.

Time passed, and before either of them noticed, nearly two hours had gone by. Jungkook tapped his bag lightly. “I’ve got to head to class,” he said reluctantly.

Jimin looked up from his sketchbook, eyes soft, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe before the party….you can come pick me up?”

Jungkook’s grin spread easily, heart thudding at the invitation. “Yeah. 10 p.m.?”

Jimin nodded, already half-turned back to his work. “10 p.m.”

Jungkook slipped his bag over his shoulder and left, feeling a little lighter than when he’d arrived.

——————

Jimin’s dorm room was a disaster. Clothes covered almost every surface. Half his closet had been dragged out and dumped across the bed—denim jackets, loose sweaters, two different pairs of black pants tangled together near the pillows. A couple shirts had even fallen onto the floor, forming a small pile near the desk chair.

Jimin stood in front of the full-length mirror beside his dresser, studying his reflection with narrowed eyes. He wore a pair of wide leg black jeans and nothing else yet, blond hair still slightly damp from the shower. A thin silver chain hung loosely between his fingers as he held it against his collarbone, tilting his head to judge the look.

“Maybe this one,” he murmured.

Across the room, Taehyung groaned dramatically. Jimin didn’t even need to turn around to know what expression was on his face. Taehyung was sprawled across his own bed, arms hanging off the side, staring up at the ceiling like he was witnessing some kind of personal tragedy.

“No,” Taehyung said flatly.

Jimin sighed and dropped the necklace back onto the dresser with a soft clink. “You didn’t even look.” He said while rolling his eyes, and turning to face the other.

“I don’t have to.” Taehyung rolled onto his side, propping his head up on one elbow so he could glare across the room. “You’re getting dressed up for him.”

“I’m getting dressed for the party.” Jimin claimed, defensively.

Taehyung pushed himself upright now, clearly not buying it. His dark hair was still messy from the nap he’d taken earlier, sticking out slightly at the back as he rubbed a hand over his face. “You invited him to pick you up,” he said, like that fact alone proved everything. Jimin paused for half a second before turning back to the mirror, fingers moving through his hair to push the strands into place.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” The silence behind him lasted just long enough to feel heavy. Then Taehyung said his name. Not loudly. Just firmly.

“Jimin.” He said carefully, a warning behind his tone. “You’ve known him for a month or two.”

Jimin let out a quiet sigh through his nose and dropped his hands to the edge of the dresser. “And?”

Taehyung stood up from the bed now, the mattress creaking softly as he crossed the room. He stopped a few feet away, arms folding tightly across his chest. “And you’re already letting him walk you into a party like he’s your boyfriend.”

Jimin scoffed, though the sound lacked any real irritation. “That’s dramatic.”

Taehyung didn’t laugh. Instead he just stared at him with the same stubborn expression he always wore when he thought he was right about something. “You don’t know him.”

Jimin finally turned fully toward him, leaning back slightly against the dresser. “I know enough.”

“You know what he’s told you.”

“And that’s different from literally every other person I’ve ever met how?” Jimin said while scrunching his nose and raising one eyebrow. Taehyung opened his mouth, ready to argue again—but the words stalled for a moment. His jaw tightened instead, something heavier settling behind his eyes. Jimin recognized the shift immediately. His expression softened a little. “You think he’s like Soojun.”

The air in the room seemed to still. Taehyung’s posture stiffened instantly. “That’s not fair.”

Jimin looked down at the floor briefly, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the dresser. “You think everyone is.”

Taehyung ran a frustrated hand through his hair, pacing a few steps away before turning back again. “Because I let my guard down and he drugged you at a party, I don’t need to see that happen twice”

The words landed harder than Jimin expected. For a split second, the memory came back too clearly—the bitter taste in the drink, the way the music had started sounding distant and warped, the room tilting strangely as Soojun guided him toward the hallway with a hand on his back. ‘Just lie down for a bit. You’ll feel better’. The bedroom door. Taehyung appearing in the doorway. The look on his face when he realized what was happening.

Jimin exhaled slowly and dragged a hand down his face. “I’m not doing this again, Tae.”

“I’m not letting that happen again.” Taehyung’s voice lowered, but the tension in it didn’t fade. “I don’t trust people who chase you that hard.”

“He’s not chasing me.” Jimin leaned back against the dresser now, arms crossing loosely over his chest. Taehyung just looked at him. The silence stretched long enough that Jimin eventually huffed a quiet breath. “…Okay maybe a little.” Taehyung threw his hands up immediately.

“Exactly!” He exclaimed.

“But he’s not Soojun.” Jimin snapped back

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

Jimin hesitated.

Because Jungkook had spent two weeks sitting across from him in a quiet study room without trying anything.
Because he remembered the latte.
Because he listened.
Because he looked at Jimin like he actually saw him instead of just wanting something.

Jimin shrugged instead, pushing himself away from the dresser to grab a shirt off the bed. “I just do.”

Taehyung watched him carefully while Jimin pulled the shirt over his head, the fabric catching briefly in his hair before settling.
“You like him,” Taehyung said finally.

Jimin immediately looked offended. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Jimin grabbed his dark green tee-shirt from the chair and slipped into it, using the movement as an excuse to avoid eye contact.
“Can you just behave tonight?” he muttered.

Taehyung leaned back against the wall, arms crossing again. “That depends On whether or not he’s a creep.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “He’s not.”

Taehyung sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. After a long pause, his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“…Fine.” He said though gritted teeth.

“Fine?” Jimin repeated, squinting at him suspiciously.

“I’ll be nice.” Taehyung said with an annoyed tone.

“Define nice.”

Taehyung shrugged. “I won’t threaten him.”

Jimin stared at him for another moment before sighing and adjusting the bracelets on his wrists “…I’ll take it.”

Right then, a knock echoed faintly from down the dorm hallway. Jimin’s eyes flicked immediately to the clock on his desk. 9:59. Taehyung noticed the shift in his posture instantly.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” He questioned, already annoyed with the possible presence.

“…Maybe.” Jimin said while adding finishing touches to his outfit.

“Unbelievable.” Taehyung rolled his eyes toward the ceiling before stepping towards the door.

—————————

Jungkook stood outside the dorm room door longer than he meant to. The hallway was mostly quiet now. Most people had already left for the night, drifting toward parties scattered around campus. The muffled thump of music carried faintly through the building walls somewhere in the distance.
In his hand was a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in thin plastic. They were obviously last-minute—yellow daisies, a couple pink carnations, some greenery stuffed around the edges—but Jungkook had still spent an embarrassingly long time standing in front of the little spinning rack at the gas station trying to pick the least sad-looking one.

Now he turned the stems slowly between his fingers. One of the thorns dug into the pad of his thumb. He shifted his grip slightly, but another thorn pressed into his palm instead, sharp enough to sting.

He lifted his hand and knocked twice on the door. For a second there was movement inside. A muffled voice. Footsteps. Then the door swung open. Taehyung stood in the doorway. He leaned one shoulder against the frame immediately, arms folding across his chest as his eyes moved slowly over Jungkook—taking him in, measuring him, like he was evaluating something.
His gaze dropped to the bouquet. Then back up again.

“Well,” he said. “Didn’t expect you to actually show up.”

Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Taehyung’s mouth twitched faintly. “…No reason.”

Neither of them moved. The hallway air felt oddly still for a moment. Before Taehyung could say anything else, a second voice came from inside the room.

“Tae?” Jimin appeared behind him, leaning slightly to see past Taehyung’s shoulder. The moment he spotted Jungkook standing there, his expression shifted.

Relief.

Then immediate embarrassment when he noticed Taehyung still blocking the doorway like a bouncer.

“Taehyung,” Jimin said, half exasperated already. “Stop interrogating him.” Taehyung didn’t move. Jimin sighed. “Tae. Move.” After another second, Taehyung finally stepped aside with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Jimin slipped past him and stepped into the doorway instead. Jungkook’s brain stalled for half a second. He’d seen Jimin every day, usually hunched over textbooks in the study room, hair messy, sleeves pushed up while he worked. Seeing him dressed up was… different. His blond hair was styled neatly, soft strands framing his face. The black jeans fit a bit loose, just barley showing the hem of his boxers. paired with a dark green shirt that was cropped, showing his stomach if he lifted his arms. Making the pale color of his hair stand out even more under the hallway lights.

Jungkook suddenly remembered the flowers still in his hand. He lifted them a little awkwardly. “These are for you.” He said nervously.

Jimin blinked. “Oh.” The word slipped out before he could stop it. A faint blush crept across his cheeks as he reached out and accepted the bouquet, the plastic wrap crinkling softly between his fingers. “They’re really pretty.” Jungkook shrugged slightly, trying to hide the relief he felt.

“Gas station’s finest selection.” He said with a light smile, eyes tracking Jimins reactions.

Jimin laughed quietly. He turned back into the room and set the flowers carefully on the small counter near the sink, adjusting them so they wouldn’t tip over.

“I’ll put them in water when we get back.”

“Are we done now?” Taehyung said dryly. “Or do you two need a moment?” He leaned against the wall nearby, watching the entire interaction with narrowed eyes. Jimin ignored him completely. He grabbed his phone and keys off the counter and headed back toward the door.

A minute later the three of them stepped out of the dorm building into the cool night air. Campus was buzzing. Clusters of students moved along the sidewalks, laughter drifting through the streets while distant music pulsed somewhere a few blocks away. Colored lights flickered faintly above the rooftops ahead, marking exactly where the party was. They started walking. For a minute the conversation stayed light.

“So,” Jimin said, glancing sideways at Jungkook, “gas station flowers?”

“They were the best ones they had.” Jungkook replied, pretending to look offended

“I like them,” Jimin said quickly, giving a bright smile while looking up at the other.

Taehyung scoffed behind them. “You would.”

Jimin rolled his eyes but kept walking. After a few more steps, Jungkook slowed slightly beside him and lifted his arm casually.
“Well,” he said, glancing down at Jimin, “since this is technically a date…” Jimin looked up at him. Jungkook offered his arm.

“Oh my god.” Taehyung made a dramatic gagging noise Behind them

Jimin shot him a look over his shoulder. “Behave.”

Jimin turned back toward Jungkook, pretending Taehyung didn’t exist. After a second, he reached out and wrapped his hand around Jungkook’s upper forearm, fingers resting comfortably against the sleeve of his jacket. The contact was light but steady. Jungkook tried very hard to act normal about it. But the small touch made his heart race in excitement. Behind them, Taehyung muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable.

Jungkook glanced over his shoulder.

“You always this friendly?” He said with a teasing tone.

Taehyung gave him a flat look. “You should see me when I’m not.”

Jimin squeezed Jungkook’s arm slightly. “Don’t mind him,” he said quietly.

Taehyung scoffed again but didn’t argue. Ahead of them the music grew louder as they reached the next street. A house near the corner glowed with colored lights, silhouettes of people crowding the porch and front yard.

The music was already loud enough to rattle the windows when Jungkook pushed the front door open. Warm air rushed out to meet them immediately, thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and something overly sweet that had clearly been spilled hours ago and left to dry on the hardwood floors.

“After you,” Jungkook said, holding the door open. Jimin stepped inside first, Taehyung right behind him. The inside of the house was chaos.
Plastic cups littered the hallway floor, some crushed flat where people had stepped on them. The wood beneath their shoes stuck faintly in spots where sugary drinks had dried into a tacky film. Someone had dragged a massive speaker into the living room and the bass thumped hard enough that it
vibrated faintly through the walls.

Just inside the doorway, two people were already pressed against the wall making out like the rest of the party didn’t exist.
Taehyung glanced at them and snorted. “Charming.”

Jungkook laughed under his breath and gestured them further inside. The living room was packed. Bodies moved shoulder to shoulder beneath strings of colored lights that flashed red and blue across the crowd. Music pulsed through the room in heavy waves, bass vibrating up through the floor. They had barely stepped into the space when someone spotted them.

“Jungkook!”

Namjoon pushed through the crowd toward them, red cup in hand. His grin widened immediately when he saw who Jungkook had brought with him.
His eyes landed on Taehyung first.

“Well,” Namjoon said, clearly pleased. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again.” Taehyung tilted his head slightly, lips curving into a faint smile.

“Oh?” he said. His voice carried just enough playful challenge. “Were you hoping to?” Namjoon laughed, clearly not even trying to hide it.

“Maybe.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.” Namjoon ignored him and nodded toward the side of the room.

“Come on,” he said to Taehyung. “Before my roommate starts complaining.”

Taehyung glanced toward Jimin, who gave him a small reassuring nod.

“I’ll be fine.”

Taehyung hesitated only briefly before shrugging. “Alright.”

Namjoon immediately draped an arm loosely across his shoulders and guided him toward the wall near the kitchen.
Jungkook watched them go. surprised, but pleased that now he gets some time alone with Jimin. “That took five seconds.”

Jimin laughed softly. “They’ve been waiting for a rematch.” Jungkook nodded in response, he looked to the floor next to them noticing the bright green cooler. Hanging open with an array of drinks crammed inside.

“Drink?”

Jimin shrugged. “Sure.”

Jungkook grabbed two beers from the ice and handed one over before leading them toward the dance floor. The crowd swallowed them almost immediately. People pressed in close on all sides, moving with the music as colored lights flickered across the room. Not far from the center, Jimin’s expression brightened. “Hoseok!”

Jungkook followed his gaze. Hoseok and Yoongi were already dancing together near the middle of the room. Yoongi had both arms draped loosely around Hoseok shoulders while he moved to the music, clearly having the time of his life. Hoseok’s hands rested comfortably at the others waist as he moved with him, his expression calmer but unmistakably affectionate. Hoseok spotted Jimin and lit up.

“Jimin!” He grabbed Jimin’s arm and pulled him into a quick hug before stepping back to look him over. “You actually came.”
Jimin laughed.

“You sound surprised?” He questioned.

“A little.” Hoseok admitted.

Yoongi lifted his drink toward Jungkook in greeting. Jungkook bumped his fist lightly against Yoongi’s shoulder.
The conversation lasted only a minute before the music pulled them apart again. Hoseok dragged Yoongi back into the crowd with him, still dancing enthusiastically.

Jungkook and Jimin stayed near the center of the floor. The bass dropped into a deeper rhythm and the crowd tightened around them.
People bumped shoulders constantly as they danced. Jimin took a sip from his beer while watching the movement around them. Someone passing by shoved another drink into Jungkook’s hand before disappearing into the crowd again. Jungkook looked down at the cup. Then handed it to Jimin.

“Apparently we’re adopting strays tonight.”

Jimin laughed and accepted it. They moved with the music, gradually drifting closer as the crowd pressed in around them. At first they danced side by side. Then someone bumped hard into Jimin’s shoulder. He stumbled half a step. Jungkook caught him immediately, his hand sliding to Jimin’s waist without thinking.

“You good?” he asked. Jimin laughed breathlessly.

“Yeah.” He didn’t step away though. Instead he stayed close, one hand resting lightly against Jungkook’s shoulder to steady himself as the music continued to pulse through the room. Jungkook’s hand remained at his waist. The contact felt natural now. Easy.

They moved together with the rhythm of the music, Jimin swaying slightly as the bass vibrated through the floor. Every once in a while someone bumped into them again and Jimin would lose his balance for a second, laughing as Jungkook steadied him.

“You’re judging me,” Jimin accused at one point.

“I’m not judging you.” Jungkook replied with a small laugh. In response Jimin raised his eyebrow. Jungkook smiled in return “Maybe a little.” He admitted.

Jimin rolled his eyes playfully but didn’t move away from the other. If anything, he leaned a little closer. His hand stayed hooked lightly against Jungkook’s shoulder now, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt whenever the crowd shifted. Eventually Jimin finished his drink and tipped the empty cup upside down.

“Tragic.”

Jungkook leaned closer so he could hear him. “You want another?” Jimin nodded toward the cooler. “Alright.”

Jungkook slipped out of the crowd toward the kitchen. The hallway immediately felt strangely quiet compared to the living room. He grabbed two more drinks from the cooler and twisted the caps off. When he turned around— Soojun was leaning against the doorway. Jungkook stopped. Of course.

Soojun straightened slowly. “You’re really doing this again?” He questioned, anger radiating off his tone and body language. Jungkook took a slow drink before answering.

“Doing what.” He said with an annoyed but knowing tone. Soojun stepped further into the room, fists clenching at his sides.

“ Don’t Act like you don’t know exactly what I mean.” He spat. Jungkook leaned back against the counter, completely relaxed. The tension between them didnt bother him at all, if anything it slightly assumed him.

“You mean dancing with someone who clearly wants to be there?” He asked with a sly tone.

“Stay away from him.” Soojun spat, his jaw tightened.

Jungkook studied him for a moment. Then let out a quiet laugh. “He’s not yours.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting involved in.” Soojun said while he stepped closer.

“You’re right.” Jungkook pushed away from the counter. He headed toward the hallway, letting their shoulders collide before turning back to face the other “But I’m not taking orders from you.” Before Soojun could respond, Jungkook already turned on his heels, heading back to the living room. This conversation wasn’t worth losing time with Jimin.

By the time he returned to the living room, Jimin was still on the dance floor, exactly where he left him. Jungkook smiled at the sight. Jimin spotted him immediately.

“There you are.” He said with a beaming smile.

Jungkook handed him the beer. The crowd shifted again and Jungkook stepped closer, his hand sliding naturally back to Jimin’s waist as the music carried them into the next song. Jimin smiled softly and rested his hand against Jungkook’s shoulder again. Across the room, Namjoon said something that made Taehyung shove him lightly before both of them started laughing. Jimin followed Jungkook’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“Well.” Jungkook smirked. “They seem comfortable.”

“Taehyung works fast.” Jimin replied with a small laugh.

Jungkook looked down at him, admiring the other before speaking “So do you.”

Jimin blinked once. Then smiled again as the music pulled them back into the rhythm of the crowd.

Eventually the crowded heat of the party pressed in on Jimin until he could barely think. He wiped at his damp forehead, swaying slightly, and Jungkook immediately noticed. Sliding his arm from around Jimin’s waist, up to his lower back. He guided him toward the back porch.

The door opened to cooler night air, the hum of the party fading behind them. There were still a few people outside, but it wasn’t nearly as suffocating. Jungkook helped Jimin to a bench by the railing, letting him catch his breath.

“You okay?” Jungkook asked softly, brushing damp hair from Jimin’s forehead.

Jimin leaned back slightly, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, just hot” he murmured, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not too sober yourself, you know.” Jungkook smirked in response, resting a hand lightly on Jimin’s knee.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, “but I’m handling it better than you.”

Jimin laughed softly and leaned a little into Jungkook’s side. They stayed like that for a few moments, listening to the night, until a loud crash came from inside. Someone shouted, voices raised, and the unmistakable chaos of a fight broke out.

Jungkook immediately tensed. “Shit,” he muttered, glancing toward the door. Almost at the same time, Taehyung and Namjoon appeared on the porch, their expressions tight.

“We need to go, now!” Taehyung urged, eyes flicking nervously toward the house. “Cops are gonna be here any second!” Jungkook helped Jimin to his feet, steadying him as he stumbled slightly.

Jimin’s fingers wrapped around Jungkook’s forearm as they moved together through the backyard toward the street, careful to avoid lingering partygoers. Once they reached the street, the night air felt expansive, clearing some of the haze from the party. Namjoon stayed close to Taehyung, both scanning the surroundings as if the fight had made them even more alert.

“Yoongi and Hoseok—have you seen them?” Namjoon asked, voice low but urgent.

“They’re probably close,” Jungkook said, letting his hand brush against Jimin’s as he guided him forward. Jimin leaned a little into him, still flushed, and Jungkook couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he looked—even slightly tipsy.

After a short walk down the quiet street, they spotted Yoongi and Hoseok leaning against a lamppost, Hoseok’s arm draped possessively across Yoongi’s shoulders. Both of them laughed softly, clearly still caught in their own world, but they perked up when the others approached.

“Finally,” Namjoon muttered, stepping forward, Taehyung at his side.

With the group reunited, the tension from the party slowly melted. Hoseok stretched and yawned, a playful grin on his face. “I’m hungry,” he said bluntly, tugging at Yoongi’s hand. “We should all go get something to eat.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agreed, letting Hoseok pull him along.

Jungkook glanced down at Jimin, whose hand still lingered on his arm. “Does that sound good to you?” he asked softly.

Jimin nodded, a small smile on his flushed face. “Yeah… might sober me up a little,” he admitted, letting himself be guided as they walked together toward the nearest late-night spot, the warmth of Jungkook’s presence grounding him amidst the remnants of the chaotic night.

——————————

The group slipped into the diner together, the warmth and smell of fried food wrapping around them. The round booth by the window was just big enough for all six of them, and Jungkook guided Jimin to a spot beside him, letting him sink into the cushioned seat. The curve of the booth meant that Hoseok and Yoongi ended up next to them in the middle, shoulder to shoulder, and Taehyung and Namjoon slid in on the remaining side, creating a natural circle where everyone could see each other.

Jimin, flushed from the party and a little tipsy, leaned against Jungkook’s side, tilting his head onto Jungkook’s shoulder with a small, sleepy smile. Jungkook’s hand came to rest lightly on Jimin’s thigh, a quiet, protective presence that made Jimin’s chest flutter.

Taehyung folded his arms and leaned back slightly. His gaze was sharp, tracking Jungkook’s every movement with a pointed glint. Namjoon, seated beside him, draped an arm casually over Taehyung’s shoulders, offering a gentle distraction, softening the edge of his glare just a little. A waitress appeared at the booth’s edge, pad in hand.

“Evening, everyone. Can I get you started with drinks?”

Jimin lifted a hand weakly. “Soda… please.” He let his words trail, a little dizzy.

“I’ll have water,” Jungkook added, smiling politely at the waitress. Hoseok nudged Yoongi gently, who leaned into him naturally.

“Same for us, thanks,” Yoongi said, voice soft, eyes flicking toward Jungkook with a friendly nod. Hoseok’s arm remained draped comfortably over Yoongi’s shoulders, the small dominance of their dynamic easy to see, Yoongi’s quiet laughter punctuating the easy intimacy between them.
The waitress returned moments later with their drinks, and Jungkook watched as Jimin carefully balanced his soda, almost tipping it in his unsteady hands.

Jungkook caught the glass before it spilled. “Whoa. Careful.”

Jimin blinked at him slowly, then leaned his head back onto Jungkook’s shoulder like it belonged there. “You’re very helpful,” he mumbled.

Jungkook chuckled softly. “You’re very drunk.”

“Just a little,” Jimin insisted, already half melting against him.

Across the curve of the booth, Taehyung’s gaze slid toward Jungkook’s hand resting on Jimin’s thigh. “Comfortable?” he asked lightly.

The question was casual, but the meaning behind it wasn’t subtle. Jungkook didn’t move his hand. Instead, he glanced up at Taehyung, calm and completely unfazed. Namjoon, still draped lazily against Taehyung’s side, gave a small sigh.

“Tae,” he murmured in quiet warning.

Though Taehyung didn’t look away from Jungkook. Jimin, blissfully unaware of the tension building across the booth, shifted closer to Jungkook and took another sip of his soda. Jungkooks attention turned back to Jimin, blocking out Taehyung’s glare.

“You’re a little clumsy,” Jungkook teased softly, watching Jimin almost tip his soda again.

“Ive been told” Jimin slurred, smirking up at him.

The booth felt like its own little world, a calm escape from the chaos of the party, the music and sticky floors replaced by warmth, shared food, and small, protective touches. Even with Taehyung’s occasional glances and subtle glares, Jungkook’s attention never left Jimin. Jimin’s hand tightened slightly around Jungkook’s as he leaned against him, a silent acknowledgment of trust and the small, growing affection between them.

————————

After leaving the diner, the group walked down the street at a slow, easy pace, the night air crisp against their skin. Yoongi and Hoseok walked a step ahead, their voices blending into the quiet hum of the city. Yoongi had borrowed Hoseok’s jacket, the sleeves slightly long on him, shielding him from the cool night. Jungkook and Jimin lingered in the middle, hands intertwined. Jungkook’s thumb drew small, absent-minded circles over the back of Jimin’s hand, savoring the warmth and the subtle shiver that ran through him at the contact.

Behind them, Taehyung and Namjoon brought up the rear. Jungkook could feel the weight of Taehyung’s gaze burning against him, sharp and unreadable. It made his stomach twist—he still couldn’t figure out how Taehyung could go from playful flirting with Namjoon to giving him that intense, piercing look.

The dorm building came into view, its familiar outline welcoming. Hoseok stretched his arms overhead, yawn stretching his jaw, before dropping them dramatically to his sides. “I’m sleeping for twelve hours,” he announced, exaggerating his exhaustion. Yoongi chuckled softly, sliding a hand up to rest on Hoseok’s upper forearm.

“I’m crashing with Hoseok tonight, so don’t wait up,” he said, glancing back at their roommates. Jungkook nodded quietly, eyes fixed on Jimin, ignoring Namjoon’s likely annoyed expression behind them. Hoseok and Yoongi disappeared inside the dorm in a whirl of jackets and laughter.

“I’ll start heading to our place. Catch up when you’re done,” Namjoon said, giving Jungkook a knowing look that didn’t go unnoticed. His gaze shifted to Taehyung, a teasing smirk curling his lips. “See you around, beautiful.”

Taehyung’s cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink, a small wave offered in response, but almost immediately he rolled his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, brushing the embarrassment away.

“I’m going inside. Hurry up.” He said flatly.

“Will do!” Jimin called, his voice light, yet carrying a trace of eagerness.

Once the dorm door clicked shut behind, the world seemed to shrink, leaving just the two of them. Jungkook lingered a beat, staring at Jimin, taking him in. He wasn’t ready to look away. Jimin’s gaze dropped to his feet, lips caught between a bite and a nervous smile. The faint glow of streetlight brushed across his features, and Jungkook felt his chest tighten. He reached out with his other hand, gently taking Jimin’s free hand, lifting it so their fingers intertwined once more. Slowly, he coaxed Jimin’s head up until their eyes met.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” Jungkook said, voice low, earnest.

“Really?” Jimin asked, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Even with Tae being….himself?”

Jungkook laughed softly, shaking his head. “I can handle him,” he replied, eyes locked on Jimin’s. The hint of mischief in his tone made Jimin’s lips curl into a soft smile.

Jungkook’s heart thumped erratically, anxiety threading through his chest. He bit his lip, searching for the right words. Jimin noticed, raising a questioning eyebrow. Jungkook let out a soft sigh, his resolve firming.

“I want to keep seeing you… not just at parties, not just pretending to study,” he admitted.

Jimin blinked, surprise widening his eyes, then slowly a radiant smile spread across his face. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook pressed, voice a whisper against the night.

Jimin nodded, cheeks coloring as the blush returned. Jungkook mirrored his smile, heart soaring. He gently squeezed Jimin’s hands, his gaze steady and intense. Then, with deliberate slowness, Jungkook let go of one hand and lifted it to Jimin’s cheek. His thumb brushed softly over the smooth skin, memorizing the warmth, the slight tremor under his touch. Jimin leaned into it instinctively, trust radiating from him, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second.

Jungkook moved closer, enough that their breaths mingled, warmth pooling between them. His other hand cradled Jimin’s waist, fingers threading into the waistband of his jeans. He searched Jimin’s eyes one last time, silently asking permission. The faintest nod from Jimin was all he needed.
Slowly, hesitantly, their lips met. The kiss started soft, tentative—a brush of curiosity and wonder—but deepened quickly, as if both had been holding back all night. Jungkook’s lips molded to Jimin’s, gentle yet claiming, while Jimin responded in kind, tilting his head to deepen the connection. Their bodies pressed closer, the warmth of their torsos aligning, hands clinging to one another as if afraid to let go.

Jimin’s hands traveled up, letting his arms wrap around the others neck. Jungkook’s lips moved with deliberate slowness, savoring the taste, the softness, the electricity between them. The night around them faded—streetlights, distant cars, even the looming presence of the dorm—nothing existed except the two of them and the fire igniting in their chests. When they finally pulled apart, breathing heavy, foreheads resting together, Jimin let out a soft, giggling breath. Jungkook couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

He loves Jimin’s laugh

His gaze flicked briefly toward the dorm building. Through the darkened doorway, Taehyung lingered, observing, expression unreadable. Jungkook exhaled softly and returned his focus to Jimin.

“You better get inside,” he murmured. Jimin nodded, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. Jungkook released his hold, watching as Jimin lingered a beat, giving him one last lingering glance before heading back toward the door.

——————————

The weeks that followed folded into a gentle rhythm, soft and steady, the kind of rhythm that made everything else in the world fade into the background. Jungkook would meet Jimin outside his dorm most mornings, waking up early to do so. either carrying his textbooks if Jimin had a particularly heavy load or simply walking at his side, pace matched perfectly, letting their hands intertwine together, something that felt accidental and deliberate all at once. The warmth of those small contacts lingered, leaving a quiet echo in both of them long after they parted.

They found little excuses to text each other throughout the day, short bursts of conversation that made even the most mundane moments feel lighter. A photo of a tricky homework problem, a quick “good luck” before an exam, or just a random comment about something funny one of them saw in class. Jimin would roll his eyes at Jungkook’s teasing emojis but couldn’t help laughing quietly, thumbs hovering over his phone for just a little longer than necessary.

Lunch breaks became sacred. They claimed little corners of the cafeteria or library, spaces that somehow belonged to just the two of them. Sometimes it was quiet, just the two of them sitting across from each other with food and books, but more often it was a gentle hum of conversation—questions about assignments, sarcastic commentary on professors, debates over which late-night ramen spot was better. Smiles softened, laughter became natural and easy, edges of tension slipping away.

One evening, Jimin ended up at Jungkook’s dorm instead of the usual route home. They had ordered a small bowl of bibimbap and were sharing it in front of the TV, a random drama neither of them were particularly invested in, but the flickering screen provided a comfortable backdrop to the quiet intimacy of the room. Jimin tried to balance a bite with chopsticks, misjudging the sauce slightly and splattering a small drop onto Jungkook’s sweatshirt.

“Hey!” Jungkook said, mock indignation in his voice, grabbing a napkin and lightly poking Jimin’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to be eating, not redecorating me.”

Jimin laughed, trying to push Jungkook away gently with both hands. “I didn’t do it on purpose! You’re overreacting!”

“Overreacting?” Jungkook repeated, smiling, leaning closer to dab at the sauce. “This is serious. Bibimbap casualties are nothing to joke about.”

“Your shirt has survived worse,” Jimin said, grinning, though the warmth in his chest made him falter just a little. “Besides, you brought it on yourself with that smug face.”

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head, and then reached over to poke Jimin in the side. “Smug, huh? That’s your word for it? I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Jimin swatted him away again, laughter spilling out despite himself. “Stop it, seriously!”

They settled back into a companionable quiet, eating, teasing, stealing glances. The TV continued its background noise, but it didn’t matter. Texts buzzed occasionally—little exchanges from class or friends—but for the moment, it was just them, the soft scrape of chopsticks, and the ease of being together. That night they fell asleep tangled on the couch together. Tangled in each others arms. Bringing a sense of warmth and happiness.

Even after they left for class the next day, the rhythm carried on: hands brushing turned into intertwining fingers. Every shared laugh, every gentle poke or accidental touch, wove them closer together, quietly threading a connection that was growing faster than either of them had expected, yet slow enough that neither felt rushed.

On one particular day Jimin had canceled their plans of another movie night at Jungkooks house, due to catching whatever illness that was spreading around campus. And without second guessing it, jungkook headed to Jimins dorm holding warm soup in hopes to cheer Jimin up, who sounded rough on the phone.

Jungkook’s knock on Jimin’s dorm door was light but persistent, like he was trying not to startle anyone. Jimin opened it slowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, hair sticking up in awkward tufts.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice just above a whisper as he furrowed his eyebrows at the other “You have class soon right?

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, stepping inside with a small paper bag in hand. “But I figured you needed something to eat” He gave a half-smile, a little awkward, holding out the takeout like it was a peace offering.

Jimin’s gaze flicked toward Taehyung, who was lounging on the bed with his laptop, expression frozen somewhere between suspicion and judgment. He twisted his face at Jungkook, eyes narrowing. But as soon as he saw Jungkook walking Jimin back to his bed, and pulling the covers back over his legs, Taehyung’s face softened imperceptibly.

“Here,” Jungkook said, tilting the bag toward Jimin. “I got your favorite. Chicken soup, noodles, whatever your stomach will let you eat without complaining.”

Jimin blinked, a warmth rising in his chest. “thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Jungkook said, shrugging, trying to hide the little flutter in his chest as he watched Jimin sit up in the bed, carefully lifting the takeout containers.

Taehyung gave a faint huff, muttering something about spoiled brats, but he didn’t intervene. He leaned back, eyes softening, and let Jungkook quietly do his thing, aware of the little gestures—the way Jungkook fussed over Jimin’s hair when he leaned in to pass him chopsticks, the careful way he poured the soup into a bowl without spilling. By the end of the evening, Jimin had eaten more now than he had since getting sick. and the dorm room hummed with a comfortable quiet. Jungkook lingered until Jimin’s headache had faded enough that he could smile properly, not just the tired, half-ghostly version of himself.

——————————

It was Wednesday, Jimin sat in class, staring intently at the paper he was writing on. That morning Jimin dug Jungkook’s jacket out of his closet. Jungkook had lent it to him one night, Though Jimin had no plans of returning it. It was black, of course, and fit loosely on Jimin. The fabric smelled faintly of Jungkook, a mixture of clean detergent and something uniquely him, like his presence could be bottled. He shrugged it on over his shirt, tugging at the sleeves, feeling oddly grounded and safe. Near the right breast, the initials “J.K.” were stitched in small, subtle letters.

He was lost in though, barely noticing the footsteps until a familiar voice slid into the quiet classroom.

“Hey, Jimin,” Soojun said, leaning casually against the edge of the desk near him, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other twirling a pen. “You’re early today.”

Jimin’s stomach clenched slightly. Soojun rarely showed up to class, and when he did he was always late. Which Jimin didn’t mind. This class together was only once a week, so even if Soojun did show up it was bearable. Seeing him less was always a blessing. He was about to ignore him entirely, bury himself in his notes, but Soojun wasn’t the kind to give up that easily.

“You look… different today,” Soojun added, smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “Something new?”

Jimin kept his eyes on the page, slow deliberate scribbles in his notebook. “Just studying,” he said flatly, tone polite but distant.

“Mm, studying, huh? You always look so serious. I could help you loosen up.” He leaned closer, voice dipping into flirtation. “Maybe after class?”

Jimin hesitated, then finally looked up, pulling the jacket tighter around himself. Soojun’s gaze fell immediately on the right breast, the small initials. His smirk faltered, twisting into a glare.

“Wait—what the fuck?” he hissed, stepping back slightly. “Why the hell are you wearing his jacket?”

Jimin’s lips pressed into a thin line, eyes meeting Soojun’s evenly. “Leave me the hell alone,” he said, voice low, calm, but iron under the surface.

Soojun’s jaw clenched. “You’re ignoring me, huh? Just like that?”

Jimin didn’t answer, just returned to his notes, resolutely ignoring the angry huff and demanding questions. The classroom air felt heavier for a moment, but finally, Soojun stormed away, and Jimin exhaled slowly, clutching the sleeve of the jacket like a lifeline.

————————————

The next week blurred into midterms. Jungkook and Jimin barely spoke, swallowed by hours of studying, exams, and flashcards. Texts were brief: “Good luck” or “Did you survive?” No time for much else, and both of them felt the absence of the other more acutely for it.

By Friday, Jimin finally finished his last exam, head pounding, shoulders aching, but a small sense of relief prickling at the edges. He wanted nothing more than to collapse and decompress, maybe binge some shows with Taehyung, maybe nap, maybe just… be. Jungkook called later that evening.

“Hey, you wanna go out tonight? Blow off some steam? There’s a House party that isn’t far from your dorm” His voice was light, teasing, but there was an undertone of hope in it.

Jimin hesitated. “I… I think I’m gonna stay in. I feel drained”

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asked. There was a pause, then: “I mean, I can hang with you if you want. Don’t want you to be stuck alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jimin said firmly, though he missed the twinge of Jungkook’s presence. “You go have fun. You deserve it.”

Jungkook’s laugh was soft, warm. “Don’t do anything crazy while I’m out,” he said, playful but worried.

“I’m staying home,” Jimin replied, voice teasing, but underneath it all, he knew the quiet night would be hollow without Jungkook nearby.

———————

The party was louder than Jungkook expected, the bass hammering through the floorboards and up into his chest. He followed Namjoon inside, weaving past clusters of people dancing or shouting over the music, the smell of perfume, sweat, and drinks filling his nose. Namjoon slipped a drink into his hand with a knowing smirk.

“Yo, relax a little,” Namjoon said. “You’ve earned it.”

Jungkook chugged it before Namjoon could even finish speaking, the alcohol burning down his throat and loosening the tension coiling in his shoulders. He laughed too loudly at a joke someone nearby told, taking another drink almost immediately. The room blurred around him, lights spinning, voices mixing with the music.

After a while, Jungkook parted from Namjoon, telling him he’d catch up later. He made his way toward the kitchen, seeking a little quiet—or at least a place to steady himself. He leaned against the counter, resting his forehead on his arm as the alcohol started to hit harder. His chest felt lighter, his thoughts a little fuzzier, but the tension from the week still nagged at the edges of his mind.

That’s when Soojun appeared, threading his way through the crowd with that smug half-smile Jungkook hated.

“Thought I told you to stay away from Jimin,” Soojun said, voice deliberately loud, the music barely muffling it. Jungkook straightened slowly, slapping his hand against the counter.

“You can go fuck yourself,” he said, tone flat, eyes narrowing. Soojun’s grin widened, leaning closer as if testing him.

“I would love to, if you would just take my warning”

Jungkook shook his head, pushing off the counter. “I’m not dealing with this right now,” he muttered, turning his back on Soojun. But Soojun kept circling, trying to bait him with that smug look.

“Ive heard you two have been hanging out more? Yet you haven’t asked him to be your boyfriend? Are you-“

“I said, I’m not dealing with this,” Jungkook shouted, cutting Soojun off, and stormed out of the kitchen. weaving back toward the living room and the bar. He grabbed another drink, letting himself sink into the crowd again, the alcohol washing over his nerves and easing the lingering edge of tension.

Later, after a few more rounds, a girl pressed up behind him, murmuring something in his ear. He froze, and before he could even process it, she was kissing the side of his neck, fingers sliding along his shoulder up to his hair. Jungkook’s stomach twisted—half annoyance, half embarrassment. He froze for a second, trying to gather what was happening through the haze of alcohol clouding his mind. When it settled on him, He shoved her off sharply. Stumbling away, though the girl didn’t pursue him and walked away.

“What the hell….” he muttered, taking a long swig from his drink to steady himself. He didn’t want to think about anything anymore.
The music pulsed around him, bodies pressed close, laughter ringing sharp in his ears, and finally he spotted Namjoon leaning against a doorway, watching him.

“Yeah, I think that’s my cue,” Jungkook slurred, more to himself than Namjoon.

Namjoon smirked faintly and looped an arm around him, steadying him as they wove through the crowd.

“Let’s get you out of here before you do something stupid,” he said, half-teasing, half-serious.

Jungkook let himself be guided out of the party, the sounds and lights fading behind him, leaving only the dull thrum of the bass in his chest and the haze of too many drinks.

———————

Morning came slowly, light filtering through the blinds in soft, pale lines that stretched across the floor and up the wall. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the occasional rustle of blankets. Jimin stirred under the covers, shifting onto his back with a quiet groan. His body still felt heavy from the week—exhaustion clinging to him even after sleep. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, and turned his head.

Taehyung was already awake. He sat at the edge of his bed, one leg tucked under the other, phone in hand, lazily scrolling. His expression was neutral, calm in that way he always was in the mornings.

“Morning,” Jimin mumbled, voice rough with sleep as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

Taehyung glanced over, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You look like shit.”

Jimin huffed softly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Feel like it too.” There was a comfortable pause. Jimin sat up slowly, letting the blanket fall into his lap, stretching his arms above his head with a quiet groan. “Midterms are over,” he muttered, like he was reminding himself.

“Barely survived,” Taehyung replied, eyes still on his phone. Jimin let out a small laugh, then reached for the water bottle on his nightstand, taking a slow sip. The quiet stretched again—not awkward, just easy. “…Did Jungkook end up going out last night?” Taehyung asked after a moment, tone casual, like it didn’t matter much.

Jimin nodded slightly, setting the bottle down. “Yeah. He called before he left.” A faint smile touched his lips, softer now. “He asked if I was sure I didn’t want him to stay.”

Taehyung hummed, finally glancing up at him. “And?”

“I told him to go,” Jimin said, shrugging lightly. “He needed it. He was stressed.” Taehyung watched him for a second, something thoughtful flickering in his expression.

“You’re getting attached.” He stated. Jimin didn’t respond right away. His fingers fidgeted absently with the edge of the blanket, eyes dropping to his lap. Then he let out a quiet breath, shoulders loosening just slightly.

“…Yeah,” he admitted, voice soft but honest. “I am.” There was no hesitation in it this time. No deflection. Taehyung’s expression softened just a little, like he expected the answer but didn’t push further. Jimin gave a small, almost shy smile, glancing away. “I like him,” he added, quieter.

For a moment, everything felt… simple. Safe. Then Taehyung’s thumb stopped mid-scroll. His entire posture shifted—subtle at first, but enough. His shoulders stiffened, his head tilting slightly as his eyes locked onto the screen. Jimin noticed immediately.

“…Tae?” he said, brows pulling together. “What?”

Taehyung didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, lips parting just slightly as his eyes flicked over whatever he was looking at. “What the fuck…” he muttered under his breath.

“What? What is it?” Jimin’s stomach dropped. He pushed himself off the bed, crossing the small space between them quickly.

Taehyung turned the phone just enough for Jimin to see. And everything inside him just— stopped. The image was sharp. Too clear. Jungkook, in the middle of a crowded room—lights dim, people blurred around him. A girl pressed against him, her lips trailing along his neck, her hand tangled in his hair like she belonged there. Jungkook didn’t look like he was pulling away. His head was tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded, his body relaxed in a way that made it look… natural. Comfortable. Like it wasn’t something he was fighting.

Jimin’s breath hitched sharply, a quiet, broken sound escaping before he could stop it. His chest tightened so fast it hurt, like all the air had been ripped from his lungs in one motion. His fingers curled weakly at his sides, his vision blurring at the edges as his mind tried—and failed—to make sense of what he was seeing.

No.

No, that didn’t—That didn’t match. That wasn’t the same Jungkook who walked him to class, who sat with him in quiet, who smiled at him like—
His stomach twisted violently.

“…no,” Jimin whispered, barely audible.

The phone slipped from his focus as he staggered back a step, shaking his head like he could physically dislodge the image from his mind. But it stayed. Burned there. Every memory twisted around it. Every small moment suddenly fragile. His legs gave out as he sank back onto his bed, hands gripping the sheets like he needed something to hold onto. The first sob broke out of him before he could stop it—raw, sharp, tearing through his chest.

“Jimin—” Taehyung was there instantly.

Jimin folded forward, his whole body shaking, hands coming up to cover his face as the tears spilled over, hot and uncontrollable. His breathing turned uneven, each inhale catching painfully in his throat.

“I—” His voice cracked, completely breaking apart. “I thought—” He couldn’t even finish it.

Taehyung sat beside him, one arm wrapping tightly around his shoulders, pulling him in. Jimin didn’t resist—he leaned into him immediately, clutching onto Taehyung’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I fucking knew it,” Taehyung snapped, anger lacing every word, though his grip on Jimin was steady, protective. “That fucking playboy—”
Jimin shook his head against him, a broken sob slipping out.

“Don’t—” he choked, though it wasn’t clear if he meant don’t say it or don’t make it real.

His chest ached, each breath painful, like something inside him had cracked wide open. He felt stupid. Embarrassed. Hurt in a way that made his whole body feel too heavy and too empty at the same time. Taehyung’s hand came up to the back of his head, pressing him closer.

“Hey… hey,” he murmured, voice softer now despite the anger still simmering underneath. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

But Jimin didn’t feel okay. He just cried harder, shoulders trembling, everything inside him unraveling as the image replayed over and over again in his head. And no matter how tightly he shut his eyes— he couldn’t unsee it.

———————

Jungkook woke up to silence.

Not the comfortable kind—the heavy, disorienting kind that pressed against his ears. His head throbbed, a dull, relentless ache pulsing behind his eyes. He groaned softly, turning his face into the pillow before finally forcing himself to sit up. The room spun slightly.

“Fuck…” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. He blinked at the clock.

12:47 PM.

His brows pulled together. “What the—” His voice came out rough, dry. He had slept the entire morning away. His memory of the night before was… scattered. Blurry flashes. Music. Drinks. Too many drinks. He reached for his phone on instinct.

Dead.

“Seriously?” he sighed, dragging himself out of bed. He plugged it in, watching the blank screen for a second like it might magically turn on faster if he stared at it hard enough. Nothing. “Great.”

He pushed himself up anyway, body sluggish, head still pounding, and shuffled out into the living room. Yoongi and Hoseok were there. Yoongi sat on the couch, leaned back, one arm thrown over the backrest, his phone in his hand. Hoseok sat beside him, elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor like he was thinking too hard about something.

“Morning,” Jungkook said hoarsely, lifting a hand in a lazy wave as he stepped into the room. Neither of them answered. Jungkook frowned slightly, lowering his hand. “...Okay.”

Yoongi let out a quiet scoff, not even looking up at first. “Look who finally decided to wake up.”

Jungkook blinked. “What’s your problem?” He said, furrowing his eyebrows at the other.

That got Yoongi’s attention. He turned his head slowly, eyes sharp, unimpressed. “What’s my problem?” he repeated, voice low and edged. “That’s funny.” Jungkook straightened a little despite the headache, irritation flickering.

“Yeah. It is. Because I just woke up and you’re already acting like—”

“Have you not looked at your fucking phone?” Yoongi cut in.

Jungkook frowned. “No. It’s dead.” Hoseok finally looked up, his expression tight. Disappointed.

“Of course it is,” Yoongi muttered, pushing himself forward. He unlocked his phone with a sharp tap and held it out toward Jungkook. “Here. Let me help you out.”

Jungkook stepped closer, confusion settling in his chest as he took the phone. And then he saw it. His stomach dropped. It was him. There was no question about it—same clothes, same setting, same night. The party. The lighting. Everything. And the girl. Pressed against him, her lips against his neck, her hand in his hair. The angle made it look— His chest tightened. The post was already blowing up. Thousands of views. Comments flooding in. Shares. Screenshots. Jungkook’s grip on the phone tightened.

“What the fuck…?” he breathed.

“That’s you,” Yoongi said flatly.

“I know that’s me,” Jungkook snapped, eyes still glued to the screen. His heart was starting to pound now, harder than the hangover. “But that’s not—this isn’t—”

“You’re a piece of shit for that,” Hoseok cut in, voice quieter but heavier. It hit harder than Yoongi’s anger.

Jungkook looked up sharply. “What?”

Hoseok shook his head, jaw tight. “Jimin, Jungkook. Seriously?”

Jungkook’s chest twisted. “No—no, that’s not what it looks like. That’s so out of context.” He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a step back. “I didn’t— I didn’t do anything like that.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Yeah? Because it looks pretty fucking clear to me.”

Jungkook shook his head, frustration spiking. “Where’s Namjoon?” Yoongi jerked his chin toward the hallway.

“Room. He’s been in there all day. Haven’t seen him.”

Jungkook didn’t wait. He turned and strode down the hall, knocking once before pushing Namjoon’s door open.

“Hyung.” He said with a fast a desperate tone. Namjoon groaned from the bed, rolling onto his back, squinting up at him.

“You’re alive,” he muttered. Jungkook stepped closer, shoving Yoongi’s phone toward him.

“Look at this.”

Namjoon blinked a few times, then took the phone, eyes scanning the screen. “…Oh,” he said, sitting up a little.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Jungkook snapped. “That’s not what it looks like. Right? You were there.”

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “I mean… I remember you being pretty gone.” He glanced back at the photo, frowning slightly. “But yeah. No. That’s not right.”

Jungkook leaned forward. “I remember—” he paused, trying to piece it together. “She came up to me. I pushed her off. I know I did.”

Namjoon nodded slowly. “You did. I saw that. You weren’t into it. At all.”

Relief flickered for half a second—then vanished just as quickly. Jimin flashed his mind again. Jungkook straightened abruptly. “Shit.” He spat out, hand running agressivly through his hair. “Jimin probably saw this,” Jungkook said, already backing toward the door.

He didn’t wait for a response from the other. He was already moving, grabbing his jacket, shoving his feet into his shoes, heart racing now for a completely different reason. He tossed Yoongi’s phone back to him, and abruptly left.

The walk—no, the run—to Jimin’s dorm felt too long. His thoughts spiraled the entire way.

He saw it.
He definitely saw it.
Fuck.

By the time he reached the door, his chest was tight, breath uneven. He knocked once. Then harder.

“Jimin!” he called, voice sharp with urgency.

The door swung open. Taehyung. And the look on his face was pure fury.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve showing up here,” Taehyung said immediately. Jungkook stepped forward instinctively.

“I need to talk to—”

“No,” Taehyung snapped, already starting to shove the door shut. “You can get the fuck out of here. You’re not welcome.” Jungkook reacted fast, planting his hand against the door to stop it from closing.

“Wait—just let me explain—”

Taehyung’s patience snapped. He shoved Jungkook back hard, forcing him to stumble a step away from the doorway before stepping out himself and slamming the door shut behind him. The click of the lock was loud. Final. Taehyung stepped closer, eyes blazing.

“Explain what? Huh? That you’re exactly what I said you were?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but I swear to you, that’s not what happened.”

“Oh, I know what I saw,” Taehyung shot back. “Everyone saw it.”

“It’s out of context,” Jungkook snapped, frustration boiling over. “She came onto me. I pushed her off.”

“Yeah? Because it looked like you were having a great fucking time,” Taehyung spat.

“I wasn’t!” Jungkook fired back. “I was drunk, yeah, but I didn’t— I wouldn’t do that to him.”

Taehyung let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Right. Of course you wouldn’t.” He said while looking Jungkook up and down. The action Made Jungkook feel small.

Jungkook’s hands clenched at his sides. “I’m serious.”

“Save it,” Taehyung snapped. “You’re just like Soojun. Same bullshit, different face.”

“I am nothing like him,” Jungkook snapped back, voice dropping, sharp and dangerous. “Don’t even fucking compare me to him.” He ended, feeling the anger burn in his chest from the comparison.

“Why not?” Taehyung stepped closer, unflinching. “You play with him the same way.”

“I didn’t play with him,” Jungkook shot back. “Maybe if you weren’t so goddamn overprotective, you’d actually let him—”

“I’m protective for a reason!” Taehyung exploded. The words hit harder than expected. Jungkook faltered for half a second. Taehyung’s chest heaved, anger spilling over now, raw and unfiltered. “Because every time I’m not, shit like this happens! Or worse!”

Jungkook frowned, thrown. “Worse?”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “Yeah. Worse. Like him getting drugged at a party while I wasn’t there to stop it.”

“…What?” Jungkook blinked , the word barely more than a breath. Taehyung shook his head, already stepping back. Seeming to regret the statement leaving his mouth. Jungkook’s mind reeled. “Wait—what are you talking about? When did that—”

But Taehyung was done. He turned, yanking the door open just enough to slip inside. “Stay the fuck away from him,” he said coldly.

The door slammed shut in Jungkook’s face with a force that seemed to rattle straight through his chest. The sharp click of the lock followed a second later, final and unyielding, and for a moment he just stood there, staring at the wood like if he waited long enough it might open again. It didn’t. The hallway was quiet, almost eerily so, and the silence pressed in around him as Taehyung’s words replayed, louder now that there was nothing else to drown them out.

Drugged.

Jungkook’s brows pulled together, confusion flashing first, but it didn’t stay that way for long. The word settled, heavy and wrong, and something in his stomach twisted hard. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step back before stopping again, jaw tightening as his thoughts started connecting in ways he couldn’t ignore.

Soojun.

The way he’d cornered him in the kitchen the night before, that smug look on his face, the way he kept repeating the same thing—stay away from Jimin. The way he acted like this wasn’t over. And then the photo. The angle of it. The timing. The fact that it had already spread everywhere before Jungkook had even woken up. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t some lucky shot.

“…He did this,” Jungkook muttered, the realization settling in with a cold clarity that made his chest tighten. And then Taehyung’s voice echoed again, sharper this time, cutting through everything else.

“Like him getting drugged at a party…”

His stomach dropped so fast it made him feel sick. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms as the image formed whether he wanted it to or not—Jimin, unaware, vulnerable, someone slipping something into his drink, Soojun lurking somewhere in the background like—
Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, anger hitting all at once, hot and immediate, flooding through him so fast it almost made him dizzy.

“That fucking—” he started, voice low, but the rest of the sentence died in his throat as his jaw clenched. No. He wasn’t standing here thinking about it. Not when Soojun was walking around like nothing happened. Jungkook turned on his heel abruptly and headed for the exit, his steps quick and heavy, his pulse pounding in his ears. He didn’t even fully register the walk across campus, just flashes of buildings and people moving around him as his thoughts tunneled in one direction.

Soccer practice. Same time. Every day.

And the field was right there—too close to Jimin’s dorm, too easy. By the time he reached the athletic building, his breathing was uneven, his entire body buzzing with adrenaline. The field itself was empty, just as he expected, the quiet stretching across it like a calm before something worse. But the locker rooms— Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He shoved the door open hard, the impact echoing as it slammed into the wall.

Conversation cut off instantly. Every head in the room turned. The air shifted, tension snapping tight as recognition spread. Soojun stood near the benches, halfway into his jersey, surrounded by a few teammates. For a split second, surprise flickered across his face at the sight of Jungkook standing there, chest heaving, eyes burning—but it disappeared just as quickly, replaced with that same infuriating, smug calm.

“What the fuck is your issue?” Jungkook snapped, his voice loud enough to carry across the entire room.
A couple of guys exchanged looks. One of them, off to the side, subtly lifted his phone, angling it just enough to start recording.
Soojun straightened slowly, like he had all the time in the world.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said calmly, raising one eyebrow.

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, stepping forward. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you fucking did that.”

“Did what?” Soojun shot back, though there was a slight edge to his tone now. Jungkook closed the distance between them, stopping just inches away.

“That photo. You think I wouldn’t figure it out? You set that shit up.” Jungkook yelled. Raising one hand up and poking Soojun’s chest, pushing him back slightly. There was a beat. Then Soojun smirked.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from him,” he said, his voice low but clear enough that the room went even quieter. “And look what happens when you don’t listen.”

Jungkook’s chest rose and fell sharply. “You did it,” he pressed, his voice dropping, dangerous now. Soojun shrugged, careless, like it didn’t matter.

“Yeah. I did it. Maybe now you’ll learn your fucking lesson.” A few of the guys around them shifted uncomfortably, but no one stepped in. No one stopped it. Soojun leaned forward slightly, eyes dark and possessive in a way that made something in Jungkook’s chest twist with pure disgust. “He’s mine.”

“Yours?” Jungkook repeated, his voice going dangerously quiet. “Even after you tried to drug him?” The shift was immediate.

Soojun’s expression faltered—just for a second, but it was enough. His eyes flickered, something sharp and caught off guard breaking through the confidence. Though, he quickly regained himself and shot back another response.

“Yeah, and maybe I would gotten some if Taehyung would mind his own business”

And just like that, everything locked into place. Jungkook didn’t think. His hand shot out, gripping Soojun’s collar and yanking him forward hard enough that the fabric stretched tight in his fist, and then his other hand came up. His fist connected with Soojun’s face with a sickening crack.
The impact jolted all the way up Jungkook’s arm, sharp and immediate, but he barely felt it. Soojun’s head snapped to the side as his body stumbled back, crashing into the bench behind him. Blood poured from his nose almost instantly, bright and messy as it dripped down over his lip.
Jungkook was already moving again, adrenaline spiking, vision tunneling as he lunged forward to swing again—

“Yo, what the fuck—!” Someone shouted. Hands grabbed him from behind, two—three guys pulling him back, locking around his arms and shoulders before he could land another hit.

“Let go of me!” Jungkook shouted, struggling hard against them, his chest heaving, eyes locked on Soojun like he could still get to him if he tried hard enough. Soojun wiped at his nose, staring back at him in shock and fury, blood smearing across his hand. Jungkook jerked against the hold, his voice raw, shaking with anger. “If I ever see you near Jimin again, I will fucking kill you.”

The room went dead silent. No one laughed. No one spoke. Even the guy recording didn’t lower his phone. The tension hung thick in the air as the guys holding Jungkook dragged him toward the door, practically shoving him out into the hallway before things escalated any further. The door slammed behind him again, but this time it didn’t stop anything—it just left all that anger sitting under his skin with nowhere to go.

By the time Jungkook made it back to his apartment, his knuckles were throbbing, a dull, pulsing ache that matched the pounding in his head. His chest still felt tight, adrenaline slowly bleeding out and leaving something heavier behind. He pushed the door open, stepping inside.
Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon were all there still, scattered around the living room. Their attention snapped to him immediately.

Yoongi’s eyes dropped to Jungkook’s hand. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jungkook didn’t stop moving. “I don’t wanna fucking talk about it,” he muttered, voice tight, already heading down the hall.

“Kook—” Namjoon started, pushing himself up slightly. But Jungkook was already in his room, the door shutting hard behind him. His phone sat on the nightstand, fully charged. He grabbed it immediately, unlocking it with shaky fingers, going straight to Jimin’s contact. He hit call. It rang once. Twice.

Voicemail.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hissed, immediately calling again.

Voicemail.

His chest tightened, panic starting to creep in, sharp and suffocating as he switched to messages, thumbs moving quickly.

Jimin please pick up
It’s not what you think
I swear to you
Please just talk to me

He stared at the screen. Pleading for any type of response. But nothing came, The silence on the other end felt louder than anything.
Jungkook swallowed hard, his throat tight as he switched apps almost on instinct. Instagram loaded, and the photo was right there, front and center, worse now that he was seeing it with clear eyes. The angle. The way his head was tilted. The way her hand was in his hair. It looked real, and It looked like he wasn’t fighting it.

“Fuck!” Jungkook shouted, throwing his phone across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack before dropping to the floor, but he barely registered it, already pacing, dragging his hands through his hair. “No, no, no…” he muttered under his breath, like saying it enough times might undo it. All he could think about was Jimin seeing that.

Jimin believing it.

Jungkook stopped abruptly, his chest tightening painfully. Everything they had built—the walks, the late nights, the quiet moments, the way Jimin laughed when he pushed him away, the way he leaned into him without thinking. It all felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Jungkook said, voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t—”

But it didn’t matter. Because from Jimin’s side, It looked like he did. The realization hit hard, knocking the breath out of him. Jungkook’s shoulders dropped slightly, the anger draining out of him, leaving something far worse behind. Fear.

“I’m gonna lose him,” he whispered. And the thought didn’t feel dramatic. It felt real. Immediate. Inevitable.
His chest ached, a deep, hollow pain that spread outward, making it hard to breathe. Because the truth was He had fought for this.

For Jimin.

For every inch of closeness, every moment they shared. And now it was all about to fall apart over something he didn’t even do.
Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tightening as the realization settled in fully, heavier than anything else that day.

“…I love him.”

The words came out quiet. But they landed hard. And the thought of losing Jimin felt like it might actually break him.

——————

After everything that happened that weekend, Monday came. Jimin knew it would, but that didn’t make it feel any less abrupt—the way the world just kept moving forward like nothing had happened, like the last two days hadn’t completely wrung him out. He hadn’t slept. Not really. Maybe an hour here, thirty minutes there, drifting in and out of shallow, restless exhaustion that never actually touched the heaviness sitting in his chest.

Most of the weekend had blurred together into something dull and aching. At first, it had been sharp—crying until his head hurt, until his throat burned, curled in on himself with his phone face down on the nightstand because he couldn’t stand to look at it. Couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Jungkook’s name lighting up the screen. Couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else reaching out either, the pity, the are you okay? messages, the ones that would treat him like something fragile or broken.

He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be that.

So he stayed off his phone almost entirely. Ignored everything. Let it all sit there unanswered while he tried—failed—to quiet his thoughts.
But somewhere between the second night bleeding into the early hours of morning, something in him had shifted.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t clean. It was tired. Tired of crying. Tired of replaying it. Tired of feeling like he’d been made into a fool.
Jimin had stared up at the ceiling, eyes dry for once, body heavy but mind still running, and forced himself to sit with it differently.

He did that.

The image flashed again in his head—Jungkook, that girl, the way it looked like he wasn’t pulling away. Jimin’s jaw had tightened.

And I’m supposed to what? Sit here and fall apart over him?

The thought had been bitter. Sharp. Embarrassing, almost. He exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes, grounding himself.

“No,” he whispered into the quiet room, voice rough but steady. “I’m not doing that.”

Because the truth was—it hurt. It still hurt. But underneath that hurt was something else. Something firmer.

I’m not worth that.

The realization settled in, not soft, not comforting, but solid. Like something he could actually hold onto.
Jungkook didn’t get to do that and still have access to him. Didn’t get to lie—because he had to have lied—and then blow up his phone like nothing happened. Jimin swallowed, pushing himself up, forcing his thoughts into something sharper, something he could stand on.

“Fuck him,” he said quietly. And this time, it stuck a little more.

That was how he ended up in class Monday morning, even though every part of him had wanted to stay in bed, to avoid it all for just one more day. His body still felt heavy, his eyes burned with leftover exhaustion, but he forced himself through it anyway. Because hiding would make it worse. Because he wasn’t going to let this derail him.

Jimin sat at his desk, pen moving steadily across the page, copying notes more out of habit than actual focus. The lecture droned on in the background, words blending together, but he kept his posture straight, his expression neutral. Composed. From the outside, he looked fine. Inside, it was quieter than the weekend—but not calm. Just… controlled.

Every now and then, his mind tried to drift back—to the photo, to Jungkook, to everything—but he shut it down just as quickly, tightening his grip on the pen, refocusing on the page.

Not doing this. Not here.

When the professor finally dismissed the class, the scrape of chairs and shuffle of movement snapped him back fully. Jimin packed his things without rushing, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he stood. One more class. Then he could go home. He stepped out into the hallway, adjusting the strap on his bag, already mapping out the quickest way to his next lecture, And then he saw him.

Jungkook. Standing just off to the side, like he’d been waiting. Because he probably had been. Jimin’s stomach dropped before he could stop it, the reaction immediate and unwanted, but just as quickly, something colder rushed in to replace it.Jungkook’s face lit up the second he saw him.Relief. Clear as day. Like he’d finally found what he’d been looking for. And for some reason, that pissed Jimin off more than anything else.

Fuck him.

Jimin’s expression hardened instantly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at him—and then just as quickly, he looked away.Like he didn’t exist.He kept walking.Didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate. Behind him, he heard it.

“Jimin—”

Jimin ignored it.

“Jimin, wait—please—” Footsteps quickened, closing the distance, and then Jungkook was beside him, slightly out of breath, voice edged with something desperate. “Please, just listen to me for a second—” Jimin kept his gaze forward, jaw tight, walking like he hadn’t heard a word. “Jimin,” Jungkook tried again, softer this time, “please just talk to me—”

Jimin’s grip tightened on the strap of his bag as he kept moving, heart beating faster now, not from hurt this time—but from irritation. From anger.
From the audacity.

“Jimin—” A hand caught his shoulder. Not rough. Not forceful. Just enough to stop him. “Please,” Jungkook said, his voice closer now, strained. “At least look at me—”

That was it. Jimin turned sharply, his hand coming up immediately to shove Jungkook back. It wasn’t playful, wasn’t light—it had force behind it, enough to make Jungkook stumble a step.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Jimin snapped, his voice cutting, louder than he intended but he didn’t care. A couple people nearby slowed, glancing over. Jungkook blinked at him, clearly thrown, but Jimin didn’t give him a second to recover. “You’re a piece of shit,” Jimin continued, words spilling out sharp and fast, all the restraint from the weekend cracking just enough. “I don’t know why I listened to anything you ever told me.”

“Jimin, it’s not—” Jungkook started, stepping forward.

“I don’t care,” Jimin cut him off immediately, shaking his head, eyes hard. “I don’t want to hear it.” And that was the truth. Or at least, the version of it he was choosing. Because if he stopped—if he listened—he knew it would get messy again. And he had just barely gotten himself to a place where he could stand.

He wasn’t letting Jungkook take that from him too. Jimin turned before Jungkook could say anything else, pushing past him without another glance.
He could feel the stares. The tension left behind. The weight of Jungkook standing there. He ignored all of it.

By the time he reached his next lecture hall, his chest was tight, his pulse still a little too fast, but his expression had settled again, controlled, composed as he stepped inside and took his seat. Pen out. Notebook open. Like nothing had happened.

Like Jungkook didn’t exist.

And even though something in his chest still ached. Jimin forced himself to believe he was doing the right thing.

——————

Jungkook doesn’t remember the walk back. Not clearly. It exists in fragments—his shoes hitting pavement too hard, people brushing past him, the dull echo of Jimin’s voice in his head layered over everything else. Leave me the fuck alone. It loops, distorts, sharpens again. By the time he reaches his apartment door, his chest feels tight enough that breathing takes effort, like something is sitting heavy right behind his ribs.

His hand lingers on the doorknob for a second longer than it should. He stares at it without really seeing it, jaw clenched, eyes burning in a way that has nothing to do with the cold air outside. He swallows, hard, then pushes the door open. Warmth hits him first. Then quiet. Then—

“Kook?” Yoongi’s voice cuts through gently, not sharp like earlier, not edged. Just… careful.

Jungkook steps inside and shuts the door behind him, slower this time, like even that takes thought. His shoulders sag the second the latch clicks into place, tension slipping just enough to show the exhaustion underneath. Namjoon is already halfway up from the couch, brows drawn together, while Yoongi sits forward, elbows on his knees, watching him closely. They both look at him like they already know something’s wrong. Which—of course they do.

Namjoon speaks first, voice low, cautious. “We saw the video.”

Jungkook doesn’t react. Not really. His eyes flick toward them for half a second, then away again, like the words barely register. He moves further into the room, slow, uneven steps, shrugging his jacket off without thinking and letting it fall wherever it lands. His hands feel useless, empty, like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“The fight,” Yoongi adds, quieter now, like he’s testing how much Jungkook can handle. “It’s already all over the school page.”
Still nothing. No surprise. No anger. Just… absence. Namjoon and Yoongi exchange a quick look.

“Hey,” Namjoon tries again, softer this time, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”

That’s what does it. Jungkook lets out a breath that sounds more like something breaking than anything else, his shoulders hitching slightly as his hands come up, dragging down his face before tangling in his hair. He doesn’t answer right away. Doesn’t even try. He just stands there for a second like he’s holding himself together by force alone—and then that force gives out. A short, strained laugh slips out, completely humorless, his head shaking faintly like he can’t believe the question.

“No,” he says, voice rough, thin. “No, I’m not okay.”

He turns away from them as he says it, pacing a step before stopping again, His breathing is uneven now, shallow, his thoughts running faster than he can keep up with. “He won’t even look at me,” Jungkook continues, the words coming out quicker, messier, like once they start he can’t stop them. “He—he walked right past me like I wasn’t even there, like—like I didn’t matter at all.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tightening as he tries to get it back under control. It doesn’t hold.

“I tried to talk to him,” he says, quieter now, more broken, his hands dropping uselessly to his sides before coming up again, covering his face as he bends forward slightly. “I tried to explain but he wouldn’t even listen, he just—” His breath stutters, catching hard in his chest. Tears trying to escape with every thought. “He hates me.”

The words land heavy in the room. Namjoon steps in without hesitation, one hand coming up to Jungkook’s shoulder, firm and steady. “Hey. No,” he says, grounding, not dismissive but certain. “Don’t jump there.”

Jungkook shakes his head against his hands, shoulders trembling slightly now. “You didn’t see his face,” he mutters, voice muffled, swallowing hard before continuing “I’m gonna lose him.”

Yoongi exhales slowly, pushing himself up from the couch and stepping closer, his expression softer than Jungkook’s probably ever seen it. “You’re not losing him,” he says, calm but firm, like he’s placing something solid in front of Jungkook to hold onto. “Not over this.”

Jungkook lets out a weak, disbelieving sound, lowering his hands just enough to look at them, eyes red, glassy. “You didn’t see what he saw,” he says again, quieter now, like that’s the only thing that matters. “That picture—”

“I know exactly what that picture looks like,” Namjoon cuts in gently. “And I also know what actually happened.” There’s a beat. Jungkook’s breathing is still uneven, but he’s listening now, even if it’s just barely.

“And listen to me,” Yoongi adds, tilting his head slightly, catching Jungkook’s gaze. “That fight video? The one everyone’s watching?” He gestures vaguely toward the couch, toward his phone. “Jimin’s not on that page. He doesn’t follow any of that shit. There’s a good chance he hasn’t seen it.”

Jungkook blinks, something flickering across his face—hesitation, doubt, the smallest, most fragile hint of hope.

“He doesn’t know you went after Soojun,” Namjoon continues, his tone steady, reassuring without being pushy. “He doesn’t know you stood up for him. All he has right now is that picture.”

Silence stretches for a second. Jungkook drags in a shaky breath, his hands dropping fully now, fingers curling loosely at his sides as he stares at the floor. The weight is still there, pressing down on him, but it’s shifted slightly—less suffocating, more… directional.

“…So what do I do?” he asks finally, voice quiet, almost unsure.

“You don’t stop.” Yoongi doesn’t hesitate in saying. Jungkook’s gaze lifts slowly. “You keep trying,” he continues, simple, direct. “You don’t let him shut you out that easy. Not when you know the truth.”

“Give him something real to look at instead of that picture.” Namjoon added. Jungkook swallows, the words settling somewhere deep, heavy but grounding. His chest still aches, his thoughts still tangled, but there’s something else there now too—something that keeps him from completely falling apart.

Resolve.
It’s shaky. It’s fragile.
But it’s there.

———————

By the time the rain starts days later, it’s steady.

Not a storm, not violent—but constant, soaking through everything it touches, turning the pavement dark and reflective, the air cool and heavy. Jungkook barely notices when it begins. He’s already outside, already walking, the bouquet clenched a little too tightly in his hand, plastic crinkling faintly under his grip.

He hadn’t thought about an umbrella. Or maybe he had, and just didn’t care enough to go back for one. By the time he reaches Jimin’s dorm, his hair is damp, strands clinging to his forehead, his jacket darkened at the shoulders where the rain has soaked through. The flowers look out of place in his hand—bright, fragile, wrapped in thin plastic that does nothing to protect them from the weather. A few petals are already weighed down with droplets, edges softening.

He stands there for a moment, just looking at the door. His heart is pounding again. Not like before—this is sharper, more focused, every beat loud in his ears. His fingers tighten slightly around the stems before he forces himself to loosen them, adjusting his grip like that might steady him. It doesn’t.
He lifts his hand and knocks.

Once. Twice. The sound feels too loud in the quiet hallway. For a second, nothing happens. Then there’s movement on the other side—faint, muffled—and the door opens. Jimin stands there, one hand still on the handle, the other holding his umbrella loosely at his side. He looks like he’s on his way out—bag slung over his shoulder, expression neutral at first. Then his eyes land on Jungkook. And stop.

It’s subtle, the shift. His gaze drops almost immediately to the flowers, lingering there just long enough that something unreadable flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, or hesitation. His lips part slightly like he might say something, like the moment might go a different way.
But it doesn’t last. It closes just as quickly as it opened, his expression hardening, something colder settling in its place as his grip on the umbrella tightens. Jungkook sees it happen in real time.

“Jimin—” he starts, his voice softer than he expects, almost careful, like he’s afraid of pushing too hard too fast. Jimin doesn’t let him finish.

“Why don’t you give those to her?” he says, the words flat, sharp without being loud, his gaze flicking briefly back to the bouquet before returning to Jungkook’s face. There’s no heat in it—just something cutting, controlled.

It hits harder than if he’d yelled. Jungkook’s breath catches for a second, his fingers tightening around the flowers before he exhales shakily, stepping forward just slightly.

“That’s not—”

But Jimin is already moving. He steps past him, shoulder brushing Jungkook’s just enough to feel it, not enough to acknowledge it. The umbrella snaps open as he moves down the hallway and towards the exit, shielding himself from the rain without a second thought, his focus already forward, away.
Away from him.

Jungkook stands there for half a second, frozen. Then he moves. The flowers are in his hand one second—then they’re not. He sets them down quickly by the door, almost carelessly, like they don’t matter anymore, and turns, stepping out into the rain without hesitation.

“Jimin, wait—” The rain hits him fully, cold and immediate, soaking through his clothes within seconds, but he doesn’t slow down. He catches up quickly, falling into step just behind Jimin, close enough that he doesn’t have to raise his voice, far enough that the space between them feels deliberate. “Please,” Jungkook says, his voice strained, breath uneven as the water drips from his hair, down the side of his face. “I can’t—I can’t let you walk away like this.”

Jimin doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look at him. The only sign that he hears him is the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his grip on the umbrella shifts just a little.

“You already did,” he replies, quiet, but the words cut clean. Jungkook falters for half a step, then catches up again, his hand lifting instinctively before stopping short of touching him, dropping back to his side.

“That’s not what happened,” he says, more urgent now, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of it. “I didn’t—Jimin, I pushed her off me. I didn’t want that. I swear to you.” he rain fills the silence that follows, steady against pavement, against fabric, against skin.

Jimin stops.

Abrupt enough that Jungkook almost walks into him. He turns slowly, the umbrella shifting with the movement, casting a soft shadow over his face as his eyes lock onto Jungkook’s. Up close, there’s no mistaking it now—the hurt is still there, buried under the anger, sharp and unresolved.

“You hurt me,” Jimin says. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… true.

Jungkook stills completely, the words hitting him harder than anything else has. His chest tightens, his breath catching as he stares at him, rain dripping steadily from his hair, down his jaw, soaking into his shirt.

“I know,” he says, barely above a whisper, the admission immediate, unguarded. “I know it looks like I did but I didn’t—”

“It looked like you were fine with it. Like it wasn’t even something you were fighting.” Jimin cuts in, his voice tightening just slightly, the first real crack in his composure. Jungkook shakes his head quickly, stepping forward without thinking, closing some of the distance between them.

“I wasn’t—I was drunk, yeah, but I wasn’t into it. I pushed her off, I—Namjoon saw it, he was there, he can tell you—”

Jimin’s expression shifts again, something sharper this time, something defensive. “You’re not the first guy to say that,” he says, quieter now, but heavier. His gaze drops for a fraction of a second before lifting again, steady, closed off. “You’re not the first guy to lie to me like that either.”

Jungkook’s mouth opens slightly, but nothing comes out. For a second, he just stands there, the rain pouring over him, his thoughts scrambling for something—anything—that will make this better, fix this, undo it.

“I’m fine,” Jimin adds, almost as an afterthought, though there’s nothing convincing about it. His grip on the umbrella tightens again, knuckles paling slightly. “I don’t need this.”

He steps back.
Just one step.
But it’s enough.

Jungkook doesn’t follow this time. He can’t. Jimin turns, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and walks away without another word, disappearing toward the building, the umbrella shielding him completely from the rain that continues to fall steadily around them.
Jungkook stays where he is. The space Jimin left behind feels too big, too empty. The rain soaks through everything now—his clothes, his hair, his skin—but he barely registers it. His arms hang loosely at his sides, fingers twitching once like they don’t know what to do without something to hold onto.

His chest aches. Not sharp like before. Not frantic. Just… heavy.

He exhales slowly, the sound lost under the rain, his gaze dropping to the ground for a second before lifting again toward the building Jimin disappeared into.

————

Jimin walks into the classroom already feeling off, like something hasn’t settled properly inside his chest since that morning. The air feels heavier than usual, the low hum of conversation just a little too loud, a little too close. He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder as he moves down the aisle, eyes scanning automatically for his usual seat, for something familiar to anchor himself to.

His friend, Minjae, is already there. Slouched slightly in his chair, one earbud in, lazily scrolling through his phone. He glances up when Jimin approaches, his expression shifting immediately as he takes in the damp edges of Jimin’s hair, the tension in his shoulders.

“You look like hell,” Minjae says, pulling the earbud out, his tone half-joking but edged with curiosity. Jimin exhales quietly through his nose as he drops into the seat beside him, setting his bag down a little harder than intended.

“Didn’t sleep,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he pulls out his notebook. His movements are mechanical, automatic, like if he just goes through them normally, everything else might follow.

Minjae watches him for a second longer than usual, Not believing the response, but he doesn’t push. Not yet. He just hums softly and leans back, tapping his phone against his thigh. Jimin barely gets his pen uncapped before he feels it—that shift in the room. It’s subtle at first, just a slight dip in conversation, a flicker of attention pulling toward the door.

He doesn’t want to look. But he does anyway. Soojun walks in like nothing’s wrong. Like the world hasn’t shifted under Jimin’s feet in the last few days. But it’s not quite the same—there’s something off in the way people look at him, the way their eyes linger a second too long.
And then Jimin sees it. The bruising. Faint, but there. Darkened along the bridge of his nose, a slight swelling that wasn’t there before.
Jimin’s brows pull together slightly, his pen stalling against the page. His gaze lingers a second longer before he looks away, something uneasy settling in his stomach.

“…What happened to him?” he asks quietly, not really meaning to say it out loud. Minjae glances over, following his line of sight, and then lets out a short breath that almost sounds like disbelief.

“Wait—seriously?” he says, turning back to Jimin with his eyebrows raised. “You haven’t seen it?”

Jimin frowns, looking at him properly now. “Seen what?”

Minjae studies him for a second, like he’s trying to decide if he’s joking. When it becomes clear he’s not, he shakes his head, already unlocking his phone.
“You’re kidding,” he mutters under his breath. “It’s literally everywhere right now.” His thumb moves quickly across the screen before he turns it toward Jimin. “Here. Just—watch this.”

Jimin hesitates for half a second, something in his chest tightening again, that same instinct telling him he might not want to see whatever this is. But curiosity—or maybe dread—wins out. He takes the phone.

The video starts.

At first, it’s just noise. Movement. The inside of a locker room, voices overlapping, slightly distorted through the recording. Jimin’s grip on the phone is loose, his focus still trying to catch up— And then he hears it. Jungkook’s voice. Clear. Sharp. Angry.

Jimin’s fingers tighten instinctively around the edges of the phone. His eyes flick across the screen, locking in now. Jungkook is there—standing too close to Soojun, tension coiled in every line of his body. And Soojun— Jimin’s stomach drops. The words hit harder this time, hearing them instead of just seeing the aftermath.

“You set that shit up.”

There’s a flicker of something across Soojun’s face—hesitation, barely there, but it’s there. And then—

“Yeah. I did it.”

Jimin’s breath catches. The room around him disappears. Everything narrows down to the screen in his hands, to the voices spilling out of it, to the way Soojun says it like it doesn’t matter. Like Jimin doesn’t matter. And then—

“Even after you tried to drug him?”

Jimin’s entire body goes still. The words don’t just land—they sink, heavy and immediate, dragging everything else down with them.
Jungkook said that. Out loud. In front of everyone. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t soften it. Said it. Jimin swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, his pulse picking up in a way that feels uneven, off-balance.

The video keeps going—the hit, the shouting, the chaos—but Jimin barely processes it now. His mind is already looping back, replaying those specific moments, over and over, like if he watches them enough, they’ll make sense. He taps the screen without thinking. The video restarts.

This time he listens closer. Watches closer. Watches Soojun’s reaction, the way he folds under pressure just enough to reveal something real before covering it back up with that same arrogance. Watches Jungkook—really watches him. The tension in his shoulders, the way he moves, the way he doesn’t back down.

His chest feels tight.
The video ends again.
Jimin doesn’t move right away.

“…Holy shit, right?” Minjae says, leaning in slightly, his voice low but laced with disbelief as he reaches over and gently takes the phone back. “How have you not seen that yet? It’s literally about you.” He shakes his head, glancing at Jimin again, his expression shifting into something more concerned. “No one’s said anything to you? Like—at all?”

Jimin blinks, like he’s coming back into the room too fast. “I—no,” he says, his voice quieter than he means it to be. His fingers curl slightly against his desk, grounding himself. “I don’t… follow that stuff.”

Minjae lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but still. People talk. I figured—” He cuts himself off, studying Jimin more closely now. “Hey… you okay?”

Jimin nods automatically. Too quickly.

“I need to go,” he says instead, the words coming out a little sharper than intended as he suddenly pushes his chair back. The legs scrape loudly against the floor, drawing a few glances, but he doesn’t care. His hands move fast, shoving his notebook into his bag, fingers fumbling slightly in his haste.

“Wait, Jimin—class just started—”

“I know,” Jimin cuts in, breath uneven as he swings the bag over his shoulder. “I just— I need air.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns toward the aisle— And stops. Soojun is right there. A few rows down, halfway turned in his seat, like he’s been watching longer than he should have. For a split second, everything stills. Then Jimin moves. It’s quick. Unplanned. His steps are sharp, purposeful, cutting through the space between them before his brain can catch up enough to stop it. Conversations falter as people notice, attention shifting, tension building without anyone quite knowing why.

Soojun’s brows knit together as Jimin approaches, confusion flashing across his face. “What—” The slap lands before he can finish. The sound cracks through the room, loud and sudden, echoing in the stunned silence that follows. Soojun’s head jerks to the side, his chair shifting slightly under the force of it. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snaps immediately, one hand coming up to his face, shock bleeding quickly into anger. Jimin doesn’t hesitate with a response.

“You don’t get to ruin what I have just because you don’t have it,” he says, his voice low but cutting, each word deliberate, controlled in a way that feels more dangerous than shouting. His eyes don’t waver. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

There’s no room for argument in it. No room for anything. Jimin steps back before Soojun can respond, before anything else can happen, turning sharply and walking straight out of the room. The rain hits him the second he steps outside. Cold and immediate, soaking through the thin layers of his clothes, clinging to his skin, but he barely reacts. His pace is fast, almost reckless, his thoughts moving even faster, colliding and overlapping in ways that make it hard to breathe properly.

Jungkook’s voice.
Soojun’s voice.
That video.
I pushed her off.

Jimin’s jaw tightens. By the time he reaches his dorm, he’s breathing harder than he should be, hair damp, water dripping from his sleeves. He had his umbrella, but his mind was racing to even remember that. He slows just slightly as he gets closer to his room door, And sees them. The flowers. They’re still there. Not how they were before. The petals are heavier now, weighed down by rain, one side slightly crushed where the wrapping has caved in. They look… softer. Sadder.

Jimin stares at them for a long moment. Then he steps forward. He crouches slowly, his fingers hovering before finally closing around the stems. They’re cold in his hand, damp, fragile in a way they weren’t before. He lifts them carefully, like they might fall apart if he’s not gentle. His chest tightens.
He straightens and goes inside.

Jimin pushes the dorm door open with his shoulder. The scent of rain follows him in, clinging to his clothes, his hair, the flowers still gripped tightly in his hand. Water drips faintly from his sleeves onto the floor as the door clicks shut behind him. The room is dim, lit only by the desk lamp casting a low, warm glow across Taehyung’s side. Taehyung is sitting on his bed, one leg bouncing absently, his phone loose in his hand. He looks up immediately—and stills. His gaze moves quickly over Jimin—the soaked clothes, the tension in his shoulders, the flowers—and something in his expression sharpens, suspicion settling in almost instantly.

“What is that?” Taehyung asks, already pushing himself to his feet, his voice edged and guarded. Jimin doesn’t answer right away. His chest rises unevenly, breath still not fully steady from the cold or everything sitting heavy inside him. His fingers tighten slightly around the stems, crinkling the damp paper.

“He didn’t do it.” Jimin said in almost a whisper, looking down at his feet. Almost ashamed by the statement.

Taehyung’s brows pull together. “What?”

“The photo,” Jimin says, lifting his gaze, something steadier sitting underneath the exhaustion. “It was set up. Soojun admitted it.”
For a second, Taehyung just stares at him. Then he lets out a quiet, disbelieving scoff, shaking his head as he takes a step closer.

“And you believe that?” he asks, incredulity bleeding into his tone. “Just like that? After everything you saw?”

Jimin exhales through his nose, pushing a hand back through his damp hair. “It’s not just that. There’s a video—Jungkook confronted him. He admitted everything.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightens, his arms crossing like he’s bracing himself. “Or he’s trying to cover his ass,” he shoots back. “You think he wouldn’t lie after getting caught?”

“It didn’t look like that,” Jimin insists, his voice tightening. He takes a step further into the room, like he needs Taehyung to understand. “He didn’t hesitate. He said it outright—about the photo, about—” His voice falters slightly before he pushes through, quieter but heavier, “—about what Soojun tried to do to me.”

That makes Taehyung pause. It’s brief, but it’s there. Jimin sees it—and something clicks.

“…I don’t even know how he knows that,” Jimin says slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly. Taehyung looks away. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to make Jimin’s stomach drop. “…Tae,” he says, sharper now. “What did you do?”

Taehyung drags a hand through his hair, tension pulling across his shoulders. “I told him,” he admits, already defensive. “We were arguing and it just came out—”

“Well now the whole school knows!” Jimin snaps, his voice rising, cracking through the room. Jimin stared at him, disbelief flooding in fast as He takes a step forward, the flowers shifting in his grip. “That was mine to share!”

“And you weren’t doing anything about it!” Taehyung fires back immediately, his own voice rising to meet it. “You were just going to let it go like you always do—”

“That doesn’t give you the right to tell people for me!” Jimin shouts, the words tearing out of him. His chest rises sharply, breath uneven now. “You don’t get to take that from me!”

“I was trying to protect you!” Taehyung protested, throwing his arms up defensively.

“I didn’t ask you to!”

Taehyung’s expression flickers—hurt breaking through before it hardens again. “Yeah,” he says, quieter but sharper, the edge still there. “You never do. You just expect me to be there after everything falls apart.”

Jimin’s face tightens, something in his chest pulling too tight. “That’s not what this is—”

“And now you’re defending him?” Taehyung cuts in, pacing a step away before turning back, frustration spilling over. “After what he did to you?”

“I’m not defending him!” Jimin shoots back, following him a step without thinking, his frustration boiling over. “I’m telling you what actually happened and you won’t even listen!”

“I saw what happened!” Taehyung snaps. “I saw you get humiliated—that should’ve been enough!”

“It wasn’t the truth!” Jimin’s voice breaks around the words, emotion pushing through faster than he can control. His grip tightens around the flowers, the stems bending slightly under the pressure. “Don’t you get that?”

Taehyung lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Oh, so now you trust him?” he says, the sarcasm biting.

“It’s not about trust!” Jimin insists, his voice strained, hands trembling now. “It’s about what actually happened—about the fact that you decided who he was before I even got the chance to figure it out myself!”

“Because I know how this ends,” Taehyung shoots back, stepping closer again, his voice dropping but turning harsher. “You get hurt, and then you forgive them, and then it happens all over again.”

Jimin flinches, the words landing deeper than anything else. “…That’s not fair,” he says, quieter now, but his voice is tight, stretched thin.

“It is fair,” Taehyung presses. “Because I’m the one who has to watch it happen every time. I’m the one who has to pick you up after.”

Jimin’s vision blurs, anger and hurt tangling together until it’s hard to separate them. His voice drops when he speaks again, but it cuts deeper.

“I just want you to trust me.” He said. Taehyung doesn’t answer. The silence says enough. Jimin lets out a breath that feels like it scrapes on the way out, something in his expression shifting—like a realization settling in, heavy and unwanted. “ And You don’t,” he says quietly.

Taehyung’s jaw tightens, but he still doesn’t respond.

Jimin nods once, small and final. “Okay.”

He turns before Taehyung can say anything else, crossing the room in quick, uneven steps. His fingers are still clenched around the flowers as he grabs the door handle, yanking it open harder than necessary.

“Jimin—” Taehyung starts, something less certain breaking into his voice—

But Jimin is already gone. The door slams behind him, the sound echoing down the hallway. The air in the hall feels colder, sharper against his skin. Jimin barely makes it a few steps before his breathing falters completely, his chest tightening like it won’t expand properly. His grip loosens without him realizing it, the flowers slipping from his hand and hitting the floor softly, petals bending under the impact. He doesn’t stop to pick them up.
His vision blurs as he turns toward the door across the hall, the distance barely anything but feeling longer than it should. His hand lifts, knocking once, then again—harder this time, the sound uneven. The door opens quickly. Hoseok is already there, concern settling in his expression the second he sees him.

“Jimin—?”

Jimin steps inside, shoulders hunched slightly like he’s holding himself together by force. The door clicks shut behind him, and whatever fragile control he had left gives out all at once. His hands come up to his face as a sob breaks through, sharp and uncontrollable, his body folding in on itself as his shoulders shake.

“I messed up,” he chokes out, the words catching between breaths. “I messed everything up—”

“Hey—hey,” Hoseok says quickly, moving closer, one hand steady on Jimin’s shoulder as he guides him further into the room. “Slow down, breathe. What happened?”

Jimin shakes his head, trying to get the words out, but they come tangled and broken. “I thought he lied—I didn’t listen, I didn’t let him explain, I just—” His voice cracks again, his breath hitching hard. “I believed it. And I said things, and now it’s all wrong and Tae—Tae won’t even listen and I don’t know what to do—”

Hoseok’s expression softens, something heavier settling behind it—understanding, not surprise. “…You saw the video,” he says gently.

Jimin nods, swallowing hard. “Soojun set it up,” he whispers. “Jungkook didn’t do any of it.”

Hoseok exhales slowly, his hand still steady against Jimin’s shoulder. “I know,” he says. Jimin’s head lifts slightly, confusion breaking through the overwhelm.

“…You knew?”

Hoseok nods once. “I was there when Jungkook first saw the photo,” he explains quietly. “Namjoon and Yoongi talked to him—figured out it was taken out of context. That’s when everything started unraveling.”

Jimin’s chest tightens, guilt pressing in harder.

“I didn’t even give him a chance,” he murmurs, his voice hollow. “I just assumed—”

Hoseok’s grip shifts slightly, grounding. “Then go fix it.”

Jimin lets out a shaky breath, his hands dropping from his face, eyes still glassy. “What if he doesn’t want to hear it?”

Hoseok tilts his head slightly, a small, knowing look softening his expression. “Jimin… that boy chased you in the rain.”
Jimin’s chest aches at that, the image hitting all over again. “He’s been trying,” Hoseok adds gently.

Jimin’s gaze drops, his voice quieter now, fragile. “…I’m scared.”

Hoseok’s expression softens even more, something reassuring settling in his tone.

“Good,” he says. “That means it matters.”

———————

By the time Jimin reaches Jungkook’s apartment, he’s barely holding himself together. The walk there blurs into something indistinct and disjointed, his thoughts moving too fast to keep up with, tripping over each other in a way that leaves his chest tight and his breathing uneven. The video keeps replaying in his head—Jungkook’s voice, sharp and angry, Soojun’s careless admission, the way everything shifted in an instant. And then Taehyung. The fight. The way the door slammed. The way it all stacked on top of each other until it felt like something inside him might collapse under the weight of it.
By the time he stops in front of the door, his hand hovers there, fingers slightly curled, like he’s not entirely sure he has the right to knock.

For a second, he almost turns around. What if Jungkook doesn’t want to see him? What if he already decided it wasn’t worth it?
The thought hits hard enough to make his stomach twist, but just as quickly, another memory cuts through it—Jungkook’s voice, strained and desperate.

Please, just listen to me—

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tightening as he exhales shakily. “…fuck,” he breathes. And then he knocks.

Too fast. Too hard. The sound echoes down the hallway, louder than he expects, and the silence that follows stretches just long enough for doubt to creep back in, sharp and relentless. His mind immediately starts turning on itself again—maybe he’s not home, maybe he saw it was him and chose not to answer, maybe— The lock clicks. Jimin stills without meaning to, his breath catching as the door opens.

Jungkook stands there, and for a moment, Jimin can’t quite process what he’s seeing. This isn’t the version of him he’s used to—the one who leans casually against doorframes with a half-smirk, who teases just enough to make Jimin roll his eyes while secretly enjoying it, who carries himself like nothing ever really gets to him. This version is quieter. Worn down in a way that’s immediately obvious. His hair is a mess, soft strands falling into his eyes like he hasn’t bothered to fix it. He’s dressed in loose sweats and an oversized t-shirt, the fabric wrinkled like he’s been sitting in it for hours. His eyes are red—tired, a little puffy—and there’s something heavy in the way he stands, like the energy has been drained out of him completely.

Jimin’s chest sinks at the sight of him. He’s never seen Jungkook like this. Jungkook blinks, clearly caught off guard, his eyes widening slightly as he freezes where he stands.

“…Jimin?” he says, voice rough, like he hasn’t been using it much. That’s all it takes for something in Jimin to crack.

“I saw the video,” he says, but the words don’t come out the way he intended. They’re uneven, breathless, fragile in a way he can’t quite control.

Jungkook’s expression shifts immediately, something tight and anxious flickering across his face, but it fades just as quickly as his focus sharpens. He’s really looking at Jimin now—taking in the red around his eyes, the way his breathing isn’t steady, the slight tremor in his hands.
Concern cuts through everything else.

“Have you been crying?” Jungkook asks, his voice softening as he steps forward without thinking, like the instinct to close the distance is automatic.
Jimin lets out a weak, uneven breath, something that almost resembles a laugh but falls flat.

“You should see yourself,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking over Jungkook again—the exhaustion, the way his shoulders seem to carry something heavier than usual.

Jungkook huffs faintly, dragging a hand through his hair, but there’s no real energy behind it. He steps closer anyway, his hand lifting slightly like he’s about to reach for Jimin—his arm, his face, something to steady him.

“Hey—”

“No,” Jimin cuts in quickly, stepping back just enough to stop him. Jungkook freezes, his hand hovering for half a second before slowly dropping.Jimin shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut briefly as he tries to steady his breathing. “I didn’t come here for that,” he says, voice unsteady but insistent. “I came here to talk.”

The words land, and something in Jungkook shifts. He swallows, nodding slowly, even though it clearly costs him something to pull himself back.
“…Okay,” he says quietly, stepping aside and pulling the door open wider. “Come in.”

Jimin steps inside, the warmth of the apartment wrapping around him, but it doesn’t quite settle the unease sitting in his chest. The space feels lived in, but neglected in the moment—like Jungkook hasn’t really been present in it the past few days. A hoodie is draped over the back of the couch, a glass sits half-full on the table, untouched. Nothing looks tended to. The door clicks shut behind him, and for a second, neither of them speaks.
The silence stretches, thick with everything sitting between them.

Jimin turns slowly, forcing himself to face Jungkook fully this time, refusing to look away like he did before. “…Can you tell me what happened?” he asks, quieter now, but still fragile around the edges. “That night. From your side.”

Jungkook stills. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—relief, maybe, or disbelief—but it’s tangled with hesitation. His fingers brush against his palm, fidgeting slightly, and when he speaks, his voice is careful. “…You’ll listen?”

Jimin chest tightens, guilt pressing in immediately. “…Yeah,” he says, softer now. “I will.”

Jungkook studies him for a moment longer, like he’s trying to decide if he can trust that, and then he nods. “Okay,” he murmurs.

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand down the back of his neck, pacing a small step before stopping again. His movements are restless, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, how to stand, where to put all the weight of this moment.

“I went with Namjoon,” he starts, voice rough. “I didn’t even really want to, but… you were staying in, and I didn’t want to just sit there thinking about
exams and everything.” He shakes his head slightly, like the details don’t matter as much as what comes next. “I drank more than I should’ve,” he admits quietly. “I was already stressed, and then Soojun showed up and started talking shit, and I just… didn’t want to deal with him, so I kept drinking.” His eyes flick up briefly, checking Jimin’s reaction before continuing.

“At some point I lost track of everything. The music, the crowd—I was just… there.” His brows pull together slightly, like he’s replaying it. “And then that girl came up behind me. I didn’t even see her at first. She was talking, and I barely heard her, and then she just—” He exhales sharply, jaw tightening. “She kissed my neck.”

His hand lifts instinctively, brushing the side of his neck before dropping again. “I pushed her off,” he says quickly, more firmly now. “Right away. I told her to get off me. I didn’t want that—I wasn’t just standing there letting it happen, I swear.” His voice steadies on that, not defensive, just… honest.
“I left right after,” he adds, quieter again. “Namjoon found me and got me out.”

The room falls quiet. Jungkook’s hands shift again, fingers fidgeting like he’s trying to hold onto something. His composure slips just a little more.

“I know what it looked like,” he says softly. “I get why you thought—” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard. “I should’ve come to you. I should’ve explained instead of letting you see it like that.” His eyes lift fully to Jimin’s now, raw and unguarded. “I never would’ve done that to you,” he says, quieter, more vulnerable. “Not when it was you.”

His voice cracks slightly, and he presses his lips together. “I’m sorry,” he adds, rough and real. “For all of it. I just… I don’t want to lose this.”

Jimin’s chest aches. He doesn’t think—he just moves. His hand comes up, gripping the front of Jungkook’s shirt, pulling him forward as their lips crash together. It’s soft at first, almost hesitant, like he’s still not entirely sure Jungkook won’t pull away. Jungkook freezes for a fraction of a second, breath catching, his body going completely still—and then something in him breaks open. He exhales into the kiss, a quiet, shaky breath that feels like relief finally leaving his lungs.

His hands lift slowly, one settling at Jimin’s waist, the other at his side, fingers pressing gently like he’s grounding himself in the fact that this is real. He leans into it, melting into the contact like he’s been holding himself back for too long. When they finally pull apart, they don’t move far.
Jungkook’s hands stay where they are, like he’s afraid if he lets go, this will disappear. His eyes search Jimin’s face, something uncertain flickering there.

“…Are we okay?” he asks, voice low and careful.

Jimin hesitates.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly, honest even though it hurts to say. He swallows, tightening his grip slightly in Jungkook’s shirt. “I want us to be.”

Jungkook nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

Jimin exhales shakily, steadying himself enough to keep going. “Tae and I… we got into a fight.” Jungkook’s expression shifts immediately, concern settling in, but he doesn’t interrupt. Jimin lets out a hollow breath. He pulls back slightly now, running a hand through his damp hair, frustration and exhaustion bleeding through.

“He told you about what happened to me,” Jimin says, quieter now.

Jungkook stiffens slightly. “…Yeah.”

“That wasn’t his to tell,” Jimin continues, his voice tightening. “That was mine. And he just—said it in the middle of an argument like it didn’t matter, like it was just… information.” His breath catches. “Like it wasn’t something I had to live with.” Jungkook’s jaw tightens, but he stays quiet.
“And when I told him that, he just—turned it into this whole thing about how I always make bad choices, how he has to clean up after me, like I can’t think for myself.” Jimin lets out a weak, humorless laugh. “Like I’m just… waiting to mess everything up again.”

His voice cracks slightly. “And I just…” He shakes his head, looking down. “I thought I lost you. And then I go back and it’s like—I don’t even have him either.” The words hang there. Heavy. “I just felt like…” He swallows hard. “…like I had nobody left.”

Silence settles around them. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate this time. He steps forward and pulls Jimin into him, arms wrapping around him fully, firm and grounding. Jimin stiffens for half a second—like he might stop him again—but he doesn’t. This time, he lets himself lean into it. Jungkook’s hand presses between his shoulder blades, the other coming up to the back of his neck, holding him there.

“I’m here,” Jungkook murmurs, voice low but steady. “You didn’t lose me.”

Jimin’s breath stutters against his shoulder.

“…I thought I did,” he admits quietly. Jungkook shakes his head slightly, pressing his cheek against Jimin’s hair. “…Can I stay here tonight?” Jimins asked, The question comes out quieter than everything else Jimin has said, like it costs him something to ask it. There’s hesitation in it, something fragile—like he’s bracing himself for the possibility that the answer might not be what he needs. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate for even a second.

“Of course you can.” He said, The words are immediate, soft but certain, and something in his chest shifts the second he says them. Relief hits him in a way he isn’t fully prepared for—sharp and sudden, like he hadn’t realized just how tightly he’d been holding himself together these past few days until now. Because Jimin is here. Not walking away. Not shutting him out. Up close, and within reach.

Jungkook exhales slowly, some of that weight finally easing out of his shoulders as his hand lifts almost instinctively, hovering for just a second before it settles gently around Jimin’s wrist. The contact is light at first, cautious, like he’s still adjusting to the fact that he’s allowed to touch him again.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

There’s something different in the way he says it—not hesitant, not unsure. Just… careful. Intentional.
He guides Jimin further into the apartment, his hand sliding from his wrist to his palm briefly, fingers brushing together before he lets go. It’s small, but it lingers. Jungkook moves ahead of him into the bedroom, flicking on a softer light. The space looks like it hasn’t been properly touched all day—the blankets slightly twisted, one pillow pushed halfway off the bed. He pauses for half a second, glancing at it, and then immediately starts fixing it.
It’s subtle, but deliberate.

He smooths the sheets out with both hands, straightening them more than necessary, adjusting the pillows, pulling the blanket back evenly like he needs everything to be right. Like he needs Jimin to feel taken care of in a way he didn’t get to before.

“I’ve got clothes you can change into,” he says, already moving toward the dresser.

He opens a drawer and hesitates for a moment, his fingers hovering over different options before he settles on a soft oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweats. Comfortable. Familiar. Safe. When he turns back and hands them over, their fingers brush again, and this time Jungkook doesn’t pull away as quickly. His gaze lingers for just a second longer than necessary, taking Jimin in—really taking him in.

“You can use the bathroom,” he says quietly, nodding toward it.

Jimin disappears inside, and the second the door closes, Jungkook lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
He drags a hand over his face, pacing once across the room before stopping again, his chest still tight—but not in the same way as before. This feels different. Lighter, but overwhelming in its own way.

Jimin came back. He chose to come here.

That thought alone settles somewhere deep in Jungkook’s chest, heavy and warm at the same time. When the bathroom door opens again, Jungkook looks up immediately. Jimin steps out wearing his clothes, the fabric hanging loose on him, sleeves falling past his wrists slightly. His hair is still a little damp around the edges of his face, his expression softer now—tired, but calmer. Jungkook’s chest tightens again, but this time it’s not painful. It’s something else entirely. Something quieter.

“Those fit okay?” he asks, even though it’s obvious they do.

Jimin tugs lightly at the sleeve. “A little big.”

Jungkook huffs a soft breath, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s kind of the point.”

There’s a small pause, not awkward—just… gentle. Then Jungkook nods toward the bed. “Come on.” He climbs in first, shifting onto his back, adjusting the pillow behind his head before pulling the blanket up slightly. He leaves space without making it obvious, his arm resting loosely at his side.
Jimin follows a second later, easing into the space beside him.

For a brief moment, there’s that quiet awareness again—the closeness, the shared space—but it doesn’t stay tense. It softens almost immediately.
Jimin shifts, turning slightly before settling in closer, his head coming to rest against Jungkook’s chest.
Jungkook stills.

Not because he’s uncomfortable—but because the feeling hits him all at once. The weight of Jimin against him. The warmth. The quiet trust in the way he settles there so naturally, like it’s the most obvious place to be. Jungkook’s arm lifts slowly, almost carefully, before wrapping around Jimin’s shoulders, pulling him in just a little closer. His hand comes to rest along his upper arm, thumb brushing absent, slow movements without even thinking about it.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs.

Jimin hums softly against him, the sound low and relaxed. “Yeah.”

Jungkook reaches over with his free hand, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on. The screen flickers to life, filling the room with soft light and low noise, something to occupy the silence. But Jungkook doesn’t really see any of it. His focus drifts almost immediately. To the steady rise and fall of Jimin’s breathing against his chest. To the way his fingers curl lightly into the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt. To how close he is. It’s grounding in a way nothing else has been all day.

His hand shifts slightly, fingers threading gently into Jimin’s hair near the crown of his head, not pushing, just resting there, occasionally brushing through it in slow, absent motions. Jimin shifts just a little closer in response, like he’s settling more comfortably into him, his leg brushing against Jungkook’s.
The contact sends a quiet warmth through Jungkook’s chest.

“You’re not even watching,” Jimin murmurs after a minute, his voice soft, slightly muffled.

Jungkook huffs a quiet breath, his fingers stilling for a second before resuming their slow movement. “Neither are you.”

Jimin lets out the faintest laugh, barely more than a breath. The sound lingers. It’s small, but it means everything. Jungkook’s arm tightens just slightly around him—not enough to be noticeable, just enough to keep him close. The room settles into something calm. Safe. The TV continues in the background, but neither of them cares about it anymore. Jimin tilts his head just enough to look up at him, his chin brushing lightly against Jungkook’s chest. Their eyes meet, close like this, and something shifts again—quieter, deeper.

Not rushed.
Not desperate.
Just… there.

Jungkook’s hand slides from Jimin’s arm to his hair, fingers brushing lightly along the soft strands, slower this time. More intentional. Jimin leans into it without thinking. The space between them closes naturally after that. Jimin shifts up slightly, just enough to reach him, and Jungkook meets him halfway without hesitation. The kiss starts soft—barely there at first, like they’re both easing into it, letting it happen instead of forcing it. Jungkook’s free hand settles at the side of Jimin’s face, steady, grounding, while his other arm dropped down from his shoulders to his lower back, keeping him close against his chest.

Jimin’s hand comes up to rest lightly over Jungkook’s heart, feeling the steady rhythm there, like he needs to remind himself it’s real.
The kiss deepens slowly, not rushed, just building—warmth spreading between them, quiet and certain. Jimin shifts more fully over him, not breaking the contact, his weight settling a little more against Jungkook’s torso, straddling him. Jungkook adjusts instinctively beneath him, his hand sliding from his back to his hips, holding him there. Everything about it feels slower this time. Intentional.

When they pause, it’s brief, their foreheads brushing, breaths mixing in the small space between them. They’re both just breathing for a second, eyes still locked, taking each other in like they’re recalibrating after everything that’s happened between them—like they’re trying to remind themselves this closeness is real, that it didn’t disappear in the last few days. Jungkook’s thumb brushes faintly against Jimin’s side without him even thinking about it, slow and absent, like he’s still anchored there even as the moment begins to soften.

And then his phone vibrates.

The sound cuts through everything immediately, sharp and out of place in the quiet of the room. Jungkook exhales through his nose, clearly annoyed at the timing, his gaze breaking away from Jimin as his hand shifts slightly at his waist but doesn’t fully let go.

“Seriously,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than anything.

Jimin lets out a quiet breath too, easing back just slightly so Jungkook can reach over, though he’s still sitting on him, still close enough that their bodies are barely separated. Jungkook grabs the phone from the nightstand, glancing at the screen—and immediately frowns.

It’s an unknown number.

He tilts the screen slightly toward Jimin without thinking. “Do you know who this is?”

Jimin leans in just enough to see it, and the second his eyes land on the name, his expression shifts instantly, like something clicks into place.
“Oh,” he says quickly, straightening slightly. “That’s Tae?”

That changes the air completely. Jungkook looks between the phone and Jimin, confusion sharpening. “Why does Taehyung have my number?”

Jimin shakes his head slightly, already sitting up a bit more properly now, the intimacy of the moment temporarily pushed aside by confusion. “He shouldn’t,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why he’d even call you.”

The phone continues to vibrate in Jungkook’s hand, more insistent as time went on, cutting through whatever answer might have followed.
After a brief hesitation, Jungkook answers, bringing it up to his ear while still keeping Jimin close with his other hand resting lightly at his waist.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause, then Taehyung’s voice comes through—tight, rushed, and immediately tense in a way that signals something is wrong before he even says anything else. “Jungkook? It’s me.”

Jungkook’s brows knit slightly. “Yeah, I figured that out,” he replies, not unkindly, just confused. His eyes flick briefly to Jimin again, who is now watching him closely, sensing the shift in tone. “How do you have my number?” Jungkook asks, slower this time.

There’s a short exhale on the other end, like Taehyung is brushing past the question entirely.

“Namjoon gave it to me,” he says quickly, almost dismissively, like it doesn’t matter. That immediately tightens something in Jungkook’s expression.

“Okay…so why are you calling me?” he asks, voice lower now, more guarded. There’s a beat of silence before Taehyung speaks again, and this time the urgency is clearer, edged with something close to panic.

“Is Jimin okay?”

Jungkook stills slightly, his gaze shifting back to Jimin again, who has gone quieter now, brows drawing together as he tries to understand what’s being said. He adjusts his grip on the phone, voice careful. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

Taehyung lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been stuck in his chest for too long.

“Me and Jimin got into a fight,” he says quickly, words coming faster now like he’s been holding them in. “He stormed out and he hasn’t been answering his phone. I’ve been calling him for hours and he’s just gone. I don’t know where he is and I just—please tell me he’s with you.”

The room shifts slightly with that. Jimin’s expression changes immediately, something more serious settling in as he instinctively reaches toward the waistband of his pants, realization clearly hitting him at the same time. His phone is still sitting silent in his old clothes. Jungkook glances down at him briefly, then back to the call.

“Yeah,” he says simply, steady. “He’s here with me.”

There’s an immediate pause on the line—like Taehyung has to process that before he can respond.

Then, quietly, almost in relief, “Okay. Good.” The tension doesn’t vanish, but it loosens slightly, like something inside him unclenches.
A brief silence follows before Taehyung speaks again, slower this time, the panic giving way to something more measured. “…I think I owe you an apology.” That catches Jungkook off guard. His posture shifts slightly, leaning back more fully now as he processes it, eyes flicking briefly toward Jimin again before settling forward.

“You don’t have to—” he starts.

“No,” Taehyung cuts in gently but firmly. “Let me say it.”

Jungkook goes quiet. There’s a pause before Taehyung continues, voice lower now, more honest.

“I judged you too hard. From the start. And I pushed that onto Jimin, whether I meant to or not. And I think… you and Jimin wouldn’t be in as rough of a place as you are right now if it wasn’t for me.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifts to Jimin again, taking him in properly this time—the way he’s listening, the way his expression has softened slightly at the edges even while processing everything. When Jungkook finally speaks, his voice is calmer.

“You don’t have to apologize. I understand why you did it.”

Taehyung exhales faintly. “No,” he says again, quieter now but firm in a different way. “You don’t need to understand it. I’m just… sorry.” That time, Jungkook doesn’t argue.

“…Okay,” he says simply.

There’s a brief pause, then Taehyung adds, more quietly now, “Just… tell him to call me when he can.”

“I will,” Jungkook replies. Another beat of silence, softer this time.

“Thanks,” Taehyung says after a moment. “For answering.”

Jungkook hums faintly. “Yeah.”

The call ends, but neither of them moves right away. Jungkook is still sitting back against the bed, phone resting loosely in his hand before he sets it down on the nightstand, his gaze unfocused for a moment like he’s replaying pieces of the conversation in his head. The room feels quieter now in a way that isn’t empty, just softened at the edges. The tension that had been coiled between them earlier hasn’t returned, but it hasn’t fully disappeared either—it’s simply shifted into something more subdued, something that sits under their skin instead of pressing against it.

Jimin is still straddling him for a second longer than necessary, as if he forgot mid-thought that he was supposed to move. Then reality settles back in gently, and he shifts his weight, sliding off Jungkook’s lap with a slow, reluctant ease. His feet find the floor, but he doesn’t fully straighten right away, standing there for a moment with his hand still hovering near the bed as if he needs something to hold onto before fully separating himself from the moment they were just in.

Jungkook watches him quietly, not stopping him, just following the movement with his eyes in a way that feels more attentive than anything else.
Jimin exhales under his breath and turns away, walking toward the small pile of his clothes where his phone had been left earlier. The fabric is slightly rumpled, half-tossed aside in the rush of everything that had happened before, and when he reaches for it, he immediately sees the screen lighting up with repeated missed notifications.

He hesitates for half a second before unlocking it. The name on the screen is already there again, waiting.

Taehyung.

Jimin stares at it for a moment longer than he probably should, thumb hovering, because even though he expected this call, actually returning to it feels heavier than he thought it would. Not because he doesn’t want to talk to him—but because he knows exactly what kind of conversation this is going to be. Behind him, Jungkook doesn’t speak, but the quiet awareness of him still there makes the room feel less isolating.
Jimin finally presses call back. It barely rings once.

“Jimin.” Taehyung’s voice is immediate—tight with relief, but still edged with something that sounds like he’s been holding tension for far too long.
Jimin shifts slightly where he’s standing near his clothes, phone pressed to his ear.

“…Yeah,” he answers quietly.

For a second, neither of them speaks past that. Then Taehyung exhales, like he’s been waiting for that confirmation just to steady himself.

“Where did you go after the fight?” he asks, slower now, not accusatory, just trying to piece together the missing time. “You haven’t been answering anything. I’ve been worrying sick.” Jimin glances down, thumb brushing lightly over the edge of his phone as he exhales.

“I went to Hoseok’s,” he says after a beat, voice steady but low. “And then I’ve just been at Jungkook’s.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line—long enough that it feels like Taehyung is recalibrating everything he thought he knew about the situation.
Then, quietly, “So you’re safe.” It’s not really a question. It’s a confirmation he needs to hear out loud. Jimin stills slightly at that wording, eyes flicking down.

“…You think me being with Jungkook means I’m safe?” he asks, careful but direct.

Taehyung goes quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, the certainty he had before is gone—replaced with something more honest, more self-aware. “…Before? No,” he admits. “I didn’t.” A small breath follows, like he’s choosing not to hide behind that anymore.
“I was wrong,” he continues, voice lower now. “I reacted too quickly. I saw things between you and him and I just… decided what it meant instead of actually understanding it.”

Jimin doesn’t interrupt. He just listens. Taehyung exhales again, slower this time. “After you left, I watched that video myself,” he says. “And I think I realized pretty fast that what I thought was happening… wasn’t what was actually happening.” There’s a small pause. “I was overbearing,” he admits more plainly now. “And I think I made it worse for you. For both of you.”

That settles heavily, but not in a bad way—more like something finally being acknowledged instead of avoided.

Jimin’s grip on the phone loosens slightly. “…So what are you saying?” he asks quietly.

“I’m saying I’m not worried about you being with him right now,” Taehyung says after a beat. “Not like that. If anything… I think I was the one making it more complicated than it needed to be.” Another pause follows, softer now. “And if you’re with him,” he adds, “then I trust that you chose that for a reason.”

Jimin looks down at the floor for a moment, absorbing it.

“…Okay,” he says quietly. There’s a breath on the other end—less tense now, more grounded.

“I just needed to know you were okay,” Taehyung says, voice finally easing. “That’s all I wanted.”

“I am,” Jimin replies, softer now. “I’m okay.”

A small silence follows—this one not uncomfortable, just complete. Then Taehyung exhales lightly.

“…Don’t disappear like that again,” he says, but it’s no longer sharp. Just tired concern.

“I won’t,” Jimin answers.

And that feels like the end of it. The call disconnects.

Jimin lowers his phone slowly, staring at the screen for a second longer than necessary as everything settles in his chest—not heavy anymore, just processed. He exhales softly, then turns and walks back toward the bed. Jungkook is still there, sitting where he was, watching him now with a quiet kind of attention—concern there, but not pressure. He doesn’t ask immediately. He just lets Jimin come back on his own terms.
Jimin meets his gaze briefly as he approaches, then sits down again near him, the space between them smaller than before.
And Jungkook still doesn’t speak—but the silence this time feels steady, not uncertain.

————————

Morning comes slowly. Not all at once, not sharply—but in soft increments that filter through the edges of the room, pale light slipping past the curtains and stretching across the bed in quiet lines. The TV is still on, volume low enough that it’s little more than background noise now, some early broadcast playing to an audience that isn’t really there.

Jungkook wakes first. Not fully—just enough to register the warmth pressed against him, the steady weight that hasn’t shifted since sometime in the night. For a second, he doesn’t move at all. He just lies there, eyes half-lidded, letting himself adjust to it without breaking it. Jimin is still asleep.
Curled into him in the same way he had been hours ago, one arm tucked loosely between them, his head resting just beneath Jungkook’s chin. His breathing is slow, even, the kind that only comes when someone has finally, completely settled after days of tension. A few strands of his hair are brushed across his forehead, slightly out of place, and Jungkook has to resist the immediate urge to fix them.

He doesn’t want to wake him. So instead, he shifts carefully—barely more than a subtle adjustment—just enough to ease the stiffness from his shoulder without disturbing the way Jimin is resting against him. His arm is still wrapped around him, fingers curved lightly over his upper arm, exactly where they had fallen asleep. He keeps it there. For a while, he just watches him. Not in a way that feels heavy or overwhelming—just quiet, grounded, like he’s taking in something he didn’t realize he’d get to have again so soon. There’s a softness in Jimin’s expression now that hadn’t been there the night before, something unguarded, the tension smoothed out in sleep. It does something to Jungkook’s chest—tight, but not painful. Just… full.

He exhales slowly, careful. His fingers move before he really thinks about it, brushing lightly along Jimin’s arm in an absent, slow pattern—nothing that would wake him, just something to keep the contact there, to reassure himself that it’s real. Jimin shifts slightly in response, a small movement, instinctive more than conscious, settling closer instead of pulling away. That alone is enough to ground him. Jungkook lets his head tip back into the pillow, eyes closing briefly—not to sleep again, just to sit in it. The quiet. The closeness. The fact that nothing feels like it’s about to fall apart.
For once, it doesn’t feel temporary.

Jimin wakes a little later. It’s slower for him, heavier—like his body isn’t quite ready to come back yet, still clinging to the kind of rest he hadn’t gotten in days. The first thing he notices isn’t the light, or the sound, or even the fact that he’s not in his own bed. It’s the warmth. The steady rise and fall beneath his cheek. The arm still wrapped around him. The faint, familiar rhythm of a heartbeat just under his ear. He doesn’t open his eyes right away. Instead, he stays like that for a second longer, letting it settle in properly—where he is, who he’s with, what last night actually meant. There’s a flicker of something in his chest, something that might’ve turned into anxiety a few days ago.

But it doesn’t. It just… settles. His fingers curl slightly into the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, testing it, grounding himself in it, and when nothing shifts—when Jungkook doesn’t pull away, doesn’t tense, doesn’t disappear—it’s enough. Jimin exhales softly, eyes opening. Jungkook is already awake.
Their gazes meet almost immediately, like neither of them is surprised by it, and for a second neither of them speaks. There’s no awkwardness in it. No hesitation. Just a quiet awareness of each other that feels… easy.

“You’re staring,” Jimin murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep, barely louder than the hum of the TV.

Jungkook huffs softly, not even bothering to deny it. “You’ve been drooling on me.”

Jimin blinks once, then shifts just enough to check, his hand coming up instinctively to his mouth before he narrows his eyes slightly. “…You’re lying.”

“Am not.” There’s the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of Jungkook’s mouth now, subtle, but there.

Jimin lets out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh, the sound small but real, and instead of pulling away, he settles back into the space like he belongs there. Like he’s not questioning it anymore.

“…What time is it?” he asks after a second, blinking a little more awake now.

Jungkook reaches blindly toward the nightstand, grabbing his phone without moving his other arm from around him. He squints slightly at the screen. “Later than it should be.”

Jimin groans softly, dragging a hand over his face before pushing himself up just enough to look properly. “I have class.”

“You always have class,” Jungkook mutters.

“That’s because I go to them,” Jimin shoots back lightly, though there’s no real bite to it.

He sits up fully this time, stretching slightly, the oversized shirt riding up just enough at the hem before he adjusts it without thinking. The air feels cooler without Jungkook’s arm around him, and he notices it immediately—even if he doesn’t say anything about it. Jungkook notices too.
He doesn’t comment on it either. He just pushes himself up a second later, running a hand through his hair, still a little messy from sleep.

“Come on,” he says, voice quieter now. “I’ll walk you.”

Jimin pauses mid-movement, glancing at him. “…You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Jungkook replies easily, already standing, already reaching for a hoodie. “I want to.”

There’s something in the way he says it—not heavy, not loaded, just… certain. Jimin doesn’t argue after that.

The campus is already alive by the time they get there. Students move in clusters across the walkways, conversations overlapping into a constant low hum, the morning air still cool enough to bite lightly at the skin. It feels normal. Too normal, almost, compared to everything that had happened just days before. But it doesn’t take long for the shift to happen. At first, it’s subtle. A glance that lingers a second too long. A whisper that cuts off when they pass. The faint, unmistakable recognition in someone’s expression before they quickly look away like they hadn’t been staring at all.

Jimin notices. Of course he does. His shoulders tense just slightly, the movement small enough that most people wouldn’t catch it—but Jungkook does. He always does. For a second, Jimin considers pulling his hand back. Not consciously, not fully formed—just instinct. A reflex left over from everything that had come before. But before he can act on it, Jungkook’s fingers tighten around his. Not hard. Not forceful. Just enough. Enough to anchor him there. Enough to make it clear—without saying anything—that he’s not letting go.

Jimin’s breath catches faintly, his gaze flicking sideways to him. Jungkook isn’t looking at him, not directly. His focus is forward, expression calm, unreadable in a way that isn’t closed off—just steady. Like none of it matters. And somehow, that does more than anything else could. Jimin’s grip shifts in response, fingers threading more securely through his instead of pulling away.

They’re halfway across the quad when Jimin glances over again, something clicking into place.

“…Wait,” he says, brows pulling together slightly. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw shifts once, subtle, like he’s deciding how to say it—or if he even wants to. Then he exhales lightly, rolling one shoulder. “I’m not going today.”

Jimin slows slightly, not stopping, but enough that the change is noticeable. “Why not?”
There’s a beat of silence.

And then, casually—too casually for something like this—Jungkook says, “Got suspended.” Jimin stops walking completely this time.

“…You what?”

Jungkook turns to face him properly now, one hand still holding onto his, the other tucked loosely into his pocket. He doesn’t look particularly bothered. If anything, there’s a faint edge of something else there—something quieter. Resolute.

“The Fight with Soojun” he says simply.

The words land heavier than the tone they’re delivered in. Jimin stares at him, processing. “You—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Jungkook—”

“He deserved it,” Jungkook adds, not defensive, just matter-of-fact.

“That’s not the point,” Jimin replies, though there’s no real heat behind it—just disbelief, concern threading through it. “You got suspended.”

“For a few days,” Jungkook shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

Jimin looks at him for a second longer, like he’s trying to figure out how to respond to that—whether to be frustrated, or worried, or something else entirely. “…You didn’t have to do that,” he says finally, quieter now. Jungkook’s gaze shifts to him then, more direct this time.

“I know.” There’s no hesitation in it. No regret. Just certainty.

Something in Jimin’s chest tightens at that—not in a bad way. Just… a lot. Before he can say anything else— Someone steps into their path.

The shift is immediate. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… there. Soojun stands a few feet in front of them, like he hadn’t expected to run into them but isn’t backing away from it either. His posture is different than before—less relaxed, less sure of itself. There’s tension in the set of his shoulders, in the way his gaze flicks briefly between them before settling. He notices their hands. Of course he does. And for the first time since Jimin has known him— Soojun hesitates.

It’s small. Almost unnoticeable. But it’s there. Jungkook doesn’t move. Doesn’t step forward, doesn’t pull Jimin behind him, doesn’t say anything at all. He just stands where he is, shoulders squared, grip on Jimin’s hand steady and unyielding. His gaze meets Soojun’s evenly. Not angry, Not explosive, Just firm and unmoved. It says everything it needs to without a single word. Jimin feels it—right down to the way Jungkook’s thumb shifts slightly against the back of his hand.

Soojun’s jaw tightens. For a second, it looks like he might say something—like he’s searching for the same kind of reaction he would’ve gotten before. Something sharp. Something reactive. He doesn’t get it. The silence stretches just long enough to make it clear. This isn’t something he can control anymore. Jimin doesn’t look away this time. Doesn’t shrink, doesn’t second-guess himself. He holds Soojun’s gaze for a second longer than necessary, not challenging—just steady in a way he hasn’t been before.

He turns. Not abruptly. Not dismissively. His hand tightens slightly in Jungkook’s, a quiet signal, and Jungkook follows without hesitation, falling back into step beside him like nothing had happened at all. Like it didn’t matter. Behind them, Soojun doesn’t follow. Jimin exhales slowly after a few steps, the air leaving him like something he didn’t realize he’d been holding in. His shoulders loosen slightly, the tension from earlier finally easing.

“…You didn’t say anything,” he murmurs after a moment.

Jungkook glances at him briefly. “Didn’t need to.”

Jimin’s lips press together faintly at that, something softer settling behind it. He looks down at their hands for a second—the way their fingers are still intertwined, still steady, like it had never been in question. “…Thank you,” he says quietly.

Jungkook’s grip shifts slightly in response, his thumb brushing once across Jimin’s skin. “For what?”

Jimin hesitates, like he’s deciding how to put it into words.

“…For not letting him make it into something again,” he says finally. “For just… leaving it there.”

Jungkook hums softly, eyes forward again. “He doesn’t get to be part of it anymore.”

The simplicity of it lands deeper than anything else could. They reach the building a minute later, slowing near the steps.
Jimin turns slightly toward him, reluctant in a way that’s subtle but there, like he doesn’t quite want to break the moment yet. He huffs a faint breath, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. Then, after a second, he shifts closer—just enough to press a quick, soft kiss to Jungkook’s cheek.

It’s brief, But intentional. When he pulls back, there’s something different in his expression now. Not uncertain. Not fragile. Just… sure. “I’ll text you when I’m done,” he says.

Jungkook nods. “I’ll be here.”

Jimin studies him for half a second longer, like he’s committing that to memory, and then finally lets go of his hand. But only to step away.
Not to pull back. He heads toward the building without looking over his shoulder this time. He doesn’t need to.
And Jungkook stays exactly where he said he would—watching until Jimin disappears inside, something steady settling deep in his chest as he does.
For the first time, it doesn’t feel like he’s waiting for things to fall apart.
Just… waiting.

—————————

Two months had passed since everything had finally started to settle into something softer.

Not fixed, not perfectly resolved, but no longer fragile in the way it once was. Things between Jimin and Jungkook had shifted quietly over time, the kind of change that didn’t announce itself but showed up in the smallest ways instead—how easily Jungkook now lingered in Jimin’s space without hesitation, how Jimin stopped overthinking the silence between them, how comfort had slowly replaced uncertainty without either of them needing to define when it happened.

That afternoon, Jimin’s dorm was loud in the way only shared panic and last-minute preparation could make it.
Clothes were scattered everywhere again, though this time it felt less chaotic and more like habit—like Taehyung always somehow turned getting ready into a full emotional event. He was standing in front of the mirror with two different shirts draped over his arms, alternating between them like the decision was somehow life-altering, while muttering under his breath in a way that suggested he had tried to stay calm and failed approximately ten minutes ago.

Jimin was sitting on the edge of the bed watching him with an amused kind of patience, leaning back slightly on his hands as he occasionally reached out to toss rejected clothing back onto the growing pile without even looking.

“You’re overthinking it,” Jimin said softly, like he’d said it more than once already.

Taehyung let out a frustrated sound. “I’m not overthinking it. I just need it to feel right.”

“That’s what overthinking is,” Jimin replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Taehyung turned to him briefly, pointing vaguely with one of the shirts. “This is my first actual date with Namjoon. Like, proper date. That’s not something you just casually ‘feel right’ about.”

Jimin’s expression softened at that, the teasing fading into something warmer. He shifted slightly closer on the bed, watching Taehyung properly now instead of joking. “It’s still just Namjoon,” he said gently. “You already know him. You’re not trying to impress a stranger.”

Taehyung hesitated at that, the words landing more than he expected them to. For a second he just stood there, staring at his reflection, then slowly lowered the shirts onto the bed and sat down heavily beside the mess like his nerves had finally caught up to him all at once. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “I just… want it to go well.”

Jimin nodded like that made perfect sense, because to him it did. He reached over, nudging one of the shirts slightly aside, not really choosing for him but grounding the moment a little. “It will,” he said simply. “Just stop trying to turn yourself into someone else for it.”

That earned him a faint, tired smile from Taehyung, the tension easing just slightly from his shoulders. Before Taehyung could respond, there was a knock at the door. Both of them paused at the same time, the energy in the room shifting instantly. Jimin stood first, moving across the scattered clothes without thinking much about it anymore, opening the door like it was any other day, like there wasn’t anything unusual waiting on the other side.
Except there was.

Namjoon stood there first, slightly stiff, hands loosely clasped in front of him like he was still deciding how to occupy them. Behind him was Jungkook.
And Jimin’s expression softened immediately. Not surprised. Not startled. Just quietly aware of him in a way that had become natural now. Jungkook met his eyes as soon as the door opened, and something subtle passed between them—an easy familiarity that hadn’t always been there but had slowly built itself over time without either of them naming it.

Namjoon cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the moment before it could linger too long. “Uh—hi. We’re here.”

From behind Jimin, Taehyung had already frozen mid-step at the sight of them, then immediately straightened like his brain had switched into a different mode entirely.

“Oh—yeah,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Namjoon glanced at him, still a little nervous himself but clearly trying to stay composed. “You sure? We can—take a second if you need.”

“I’m ready,” Taehyung repeated, a little faster this time.

Jimin stepped aside slightly to give them space, his eyes soft as he looked at Taehyung. “Have fun,” he said quietly.

Taehyung paused at that, meeting his gaze for a second longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between them—not advice, not reassurance, just understanding. “Yeah,” Taehyung said, softer now. “Thanks.”

The moment Namjoon and Taehyung finally step away down the hallway, the room feels like it exhales.
The silence they leave behind isn’t heavy anymore—it just lingers for a second before Jimin shifts, his eyes immediately flicking to Jungkook like something clicks into place. There’s a spark of sudden energy in him, subtle but unmistakable, and before Jungkook can even react, Jimin is already moving.

He crosses the space between them in a few quick steps and practically jumps into him. Jungkook catches him immediately without hesitation, hands coming up from behind his back to steady him as Jimin wraps his arms around his shoulders, feet barely staying on the ground for a second before Jungkook adjusts and lifts him slightly more securely. It’s instinctive on both sides now, like neither of them has to think about where their hands go or how to hold on.

Jimin laughs softly against him, muffled but bright, and Jungkook lets out a quiet breath that sounds almost like amusement as he steadies him properly before setting him back down. Only then does Jimin pull back just enough to actually look at him. His expression shifts immediately. He notices Jungkook’s hands now—no longer hidden behind his back—and then the small bouquet he’s holding. Jimin blinks once, then breaks into a soft smile, head tilting slightly as if he already knows the answer but wants to hear it anyway.

“Are those for me?” he asks.

“Of course they are.” Jungkook said without hesitation.

That earns him a small, delighted sound from Jimin, something warm and unguarded, and he reaches for the flowers carefully like they’re something fragile in the best way. His fingers brush the stems briefly before he looks up at Jungkook again, and the expression on his face softens into something quieter. Jungkook leans in first this time, and Jimin meets him halfway without thinking. The kiss is brief—light, unshowy—but it lands with a kind of certainty that doesn’t need anything else around it. When they part, Jimin’s smile is still there, a little softer at the edges now.

“Come inside,” he says quickly, already stepping backward and tugging lightly at Jungkook’s sleeve like he doesn’t want the moment to pause.
Jungkook follows without argument.

Jimin shuts the door behind him, and the room becomes theirs again. He walks straight to the small desk in the corner where a familiar vase sits—one Jungkook had brought over weeks ago without much explanation, and which had somehow stayed there since. Jimin fills it carefully, adjusting the flowers just slightly until they sit right, then steps back like it’s settled into place exactly where it should be.
When he turns around, Jungkook is already sitting on the bed.

Jimin joins him easily, folding into the space beside him without hesitation, and within moments they both shift into that familiar closeness—Jimin leaning in first, Jungkook adjusting automatically, an arm slipping around him like it belongs there. They settle into the mattress properly, shoulders touching, Jimin half-curled into him as the room quiets completely around them.

Jimin talks first, casually, like there’s no urgency in it at all—something about Taehyung nearly having a breakdown over shirts, Namjoon standing there trying to act calm while clearly just as nervous, the whole exaggerated chaos of the afternoon still lingering in his tone.
Jungkook listens more than he speaks, answering in short murmurs here and there, occasionally letting out a quiet laugh when Jimin exaggerates something just enough to make it funnier. At some point Jimin’s voice softens into something slower, more relaxed, until the words stop mattering as much as the sound of them does.

Eventually even that fades. Jimin shifts slightly, resting more fully against Jungkook now, and Jungkook tightens his arm around him just a little—not pulling him closer, just holding him there. The conversation dies naturally, not because it ends, but because it doesn’t need to continue.
And in that quiet, neither of them moves to fill it.