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The Ten Days of Ex-Mas (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Holiday / Second Chance!AU / Hockey!AU

Author’s Note: Part of the Jingle All the Way collaboration with @leahsfavefics, @kithtaehyung, @yoonia, @cybrsan, and @sugaurora! Unfortunately, due to the new Tumblr text post limitation, this has to be published as two parts. Please, please interact with both! Thank you!!

Pairing: Jimin / Reader (F)

Synopsis: Three months following the worst break-up of your life, you finally feel ready to start moving on. The world, it seems, has other ideas when you pick up the phone and find your ex-boyfriend calling.

Jimin Park, star right winger of the NHL and (until recently), the love of your life, has a very large problem. Despite the courage he regularly shows on the ice, in his personal life, Jimin is kind of a coward. When you broke up this fall, he could barely admit it. Not to his neighbors. Not to his friends. Not even to his family, who are expecting him home for Christmas. In a desperate plea for more time, Jimin begs you to pretend you’re still dating – and to his surprise, you agree. Faced with a second chance, Jimin is determined not to squander it. If only fixing a relationship were as easy as falling in love.

Word Count: 44,416 (25K in part 1)

Rating: 18+

NSFW Warnings: oral (F), multiple orgasms (F), fingering, sex in a semi-public area (brief), breast play, spanking, masturbation (M, F), dirty talk, mention of toys

A/N: all collab fics incorporate the phrase, "the holidays aren't so bad with you around."

You should have known better than to trust Namjoon with your dating life.

Yoongi never would have put you in this situation. The more level-headed of your two best friends, Yoongi approaches matters of the heart with the same rationality he does everything else. Namjoon, on the other hand, is a great guy – who is notoriously bad at reading other people.

The number of times you’ve been forced to step in and save him from phone scams is astounding. It’s not his fault, really – Namjoon trusts too easily, which doesn’t serve him well in this world. He’s always willing to give others the benefits of the doubt, often getting himself into trouble.

And now you, by extension, having accepted the blind date he proposed.

Mike Davis moved into Namjoon’s building two months ago, and Namjoon has been adamant since the start that you two would hit it off.

“He goes to all the same conventions you do,” he assured you last week on the phone.

“Which conventions?” you asked, squinting hard at the wall. “I know you’re not big into nerd culture, Namjoon, so as an FYI – not all cons are considered equal.”

Namjoon rattled off a few you’d attended, impressing you enough to agree despite the initial disinterest. This agreement may have been spurred by tonight being the three-month anniversary of the worst break-up of your life.

Almost as soon as you sat down though, you realized your mistake. While you may have reached a point where you don’t cry every time your ex’s name is mentioned, the prospect of dating someone else is an entirely different matter. Getting dressed up tonight felt strange, as did traveling to the restaurant and waiting for Mike at the bar.

The fact that Mike called this a ‘restaurant’ should have been your first warning sign, as Hat Trick is most definitely a sports bar – specifically, a hockey bar. Had you known (really, you should have known), you wouldn’t have gone, but you were nervous and trying to make a good impression. Upon arriving, you arranged yourself awkwardly on a sticky bar stool and waited seven minutes for Mike to walk in.

Nearly an hour later, you find yourself regretting coming at all. Mike excused himself two minutes ago for the bathroom and as soon as he left, you sagged with relief.

He’s a nice guy, you suppose. Good looking, with light brown curls and dark eyes. You can see why Namjoon thought he might be good for you – Mike is the exact opposite of your ex in many ways. Constantly frazzled, he arrived at the bar late, only to immediately duck out because he forgot to pay the parking meter. Jimin was the type who unpacked his suitcase immediately after reaching the hotel and brought several chargers in case one of them died.

Once the meter was paid, Mike sat down and launched into his entire life story. You suppose you should have been happy, since lack of communication ended your last relationship but instead, found yourself overwhelmed.

Mike finally paused for breath once your drinks arrived, allowing you a moment to answer his questions. The moment you mentioned running a popular cosplay TikTok channel, Mike instantly shifted from arrogant to insecure.

“I can��t believe you came,” he exhaled with a shake of his head. “When Namjoon showed me your picture, I said no way you’d go out with me. You’re way too beautiful.”

Shifting your weight, you managed to laugh. “Don’t try and get me to leave, now, Mike.”

His eyes widened, not catching your sarcasm and it took several moments to get back on track. Everything since then has been downhill, so when he excused himself for the bathroom, all you felt was relief.

Digging through your purse, you pull out your phone and swipe to the group chat.

Y/N: Namjoon, WHAT possessed you to set me up with this man [7:46 PM]

Yoongi’s reply comes immediately.

Yoongi: told you it was too soon [7:46 PM]

Namjoon’s ellipses join in.

Namjoon: what! Why? What happened?? Mike didn’t try something on you, did he? [7:47 PM]

Y/N: no, no – nothing like that [7:47 PM]

Y/N: he just keeps saying how *amazing* I am and how he doesn’t know why I’m on this date at all [7:47 PM]

Yoongi: dude [7:48 PM]

Y/N: EXACTLY [7:48 PM]

Before Namjoon can respond, the bartender changes the channel and an all-too-familiar name blares over the speakers. Slowly, you look up, and all thoughts of Mike fade in the face of NHL coverage.

Nope, no – absolutely not.

Leaning over the counter, you tap the bartender. “Hi.” Brightly, you smile. “First off, could I

have another glass of white wine? And then, maybe… could you change the channel?”

Glancing around, the guy shakes his head. “Yes, to the wine, but no, the channel,” he says with a shrug. “Half the people in here came to watch the game. Pre-show coverage is part of that.”

With an apologetic nod, he grabs a rag and disappears. Sinking back in your seat, you stare at

your hands, clasped tightly on the counter. Your seat at the bar puts you in the unfortunate position of hearing each word crystal-clear.

“Well, Josh – what chance do you think the Blackhawks have tonight?”

The silver-haired announcer bobs his head. “Steve, I’d say their chances are pretty darn good.

You’ve seen this team’s early games. Their first line is strong, especially now that Park’s back.”

“Oh, absolutely – Jimin Park has been crucial to the last couple of games. He was sorely missed last season.”

“Ha! You can say that again.”

Trying to hide a wince, you clasp your hands tighter as a fresh glass of wine is set down. “Thanks,” you mutter, downing half in one gulp.

Immediately, your plans for later tonight shift to accommodate a bottle of wine. Movement catches your eye and, lacking self-preservation, you look up in time for a montage of

star right winger, Jimin Park, tearing his way down the ice. Shamefully, you recognize

every shot because, although you broke up in September, you continued to watch every game.

“One of the most talked about moments last year in hockey was the late check on Park by Blues

player, Brent Howard,” continues the announcer, Josh. “Park’s helmet came loose

when he hit the boards, and he went down hard on the ice resulting in a

sprained knee and herniated a disc in his neck. A complicated surgery took him

out for the remainder of the season. He only started to skate with the team again during off season conditioning.”

Hearing Jimin’s trauma recounted with such callousness, you find yourself gripping your wine glass tighter than ever.

“I don’t think anyone expected Park to play again,” agrees the other announcer, Steve. “It’s a damned miracle he’s back on the ice – but to return and be this good? Park has always been one of the best right wingers in the league, but I’d say he’s the best offensive player on the ice right now.”

“A bold claim!” laughs Josh. “But I might just agree. Even Jungkook Jeon on the Kraken hasn’t been matching Park in assists.”

“Exactly! I mean, look at the numbers. Last year, the Blackhawks barely made the playoffs and now, they’re leading the Central Division.”

“Truly amazing, given the nature of his injury last November. I don’t know how familiar you are with herniated discs, Steve, but –”

Mike slides back onto his stool. Grateful for the distraction, you turn fully to face him. Having

already lived through the injury once, you have no need to reminisce. Replacing your phone in your purse, you smile gamely at Mike.

“So,” you say, attempting to save the conversation. “Namjoon mentioned you go to conventions? What fandoms are you a part of?”

“Oh.” Mike loosely shrugs. “I doubt you’ve heard of any of them.”

At his dismissive tone, you stiffen. Your experience with the male side of fandom is always a toss-up. “Well, there are a lot of them. Any more mainstream?”

He considers. “Marvel?”

Stunned, you blink a few times. Marvel must be one of the biggest fandoms on the planet, let alone in the country. Even if you weren’t deep in the convention circuit, you’d have heard of Marvel.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I think I’ve heard of that.”

“Cool, cool.” Mike nods. “Namjoon said you do cosplay – and showed me your TikTok! You know, you’d make a great Wonder Woman.”

You can practically feel your jaw tighten. “That’s DC, not Marvel. But thanks.”

Silently, you add for nothing. While you love Wonder Woman and have, in fact, cosplayed her many times, men usually only request her for one reason and it’s the skimpy outfit. Whenever you cosplay as circa 2010 Wonder Woman in pants, they’re decidedly less interested. By now, you’ve learned only to pick your characters based on personal interest.

“Have you ever cosplayed?” you query.

Unbidden, your gaze slides to the TV. Commercial break. Stifling the twinge of disappointment, you refocus on Mike.

“Nah.” His nose wrinkles, and your stomach sinks further. “I don’t do that stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Hearing your tone, his eyes widen. “I mean, it’s cool for you. I saw your TikToks and you look amazing. I’d just look dumb,” Mike says, attempting a laugh.

Sugary sweet, you smile. “I don’t know. My ex used to cosplay with me, and no one ever laughed at him.”

Admittedly, this is something of a low blow since your ex-boyfriend is Jimin Park, but either Namjoon didn’t tell him who your ex is, or Mike doesn’t care. Which – if that’s the case, maybe Mike deserves more credit than you gave him.

“Ah.” He nods, taking a sip of his beer. “Have you ever thought about cosplaying as Wonder Woman, though?”

Your smile vanishes. Then again, maybe you’ve given him exactly the right amount of credit.

“I have,” you allow. “But more recently, I’ve been cosplaying Dimension 20 characters. It’s kind of niche, but my last character was Sundry Sidney from A Starstruck Odyssey. You know – giant machine gun arm, roller skates and a mechanical eye. Oh, and a ‘fuck erotica Ann’ button, of course.”

Mike’s smile freezes. “Why… would you dress like that?”

“Because it’s fun.” Finishing your glass of wine, you toss a few bills on the counter. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Mike, but I think we’d be better off as friends. Don’t you agree?”

Even with the answer right there in the question, still he looks flummoxed.

“I…”

“Or acquaintances,” you add, standing to pull on your pea coat. “Or nothing at all. Whatever you prefer.”

Slinging your purse on your shoulder, you wave at the bartender and start to leave. You only make it several steps before Mike mutters something beneath his breath – loud enough that you hear.

“Stupid,” he mutters. “This is why you don’t date women like her, Mike.”

You come to a stop. Really, you should keep going. Common sense – and Namjoon’s HOA – depend on you being the bigger person and walking out. But your therapist has said you need to work on communicating, even when the message is something the other person won’t like.

Turning around, you tap Mike on the shoulder.

He glances upward, surprised – and then reddens, realizing you heard.

“Yep, I heard,” you say shortly, retracting your hand. “Was the muttering supposed to be secret?”

Mike opens, then closes his mouth, like a fish.

“What did you mean, ‘women like me?’” you inquire, folding your arms. “Ones with self-respect? Or hobbies? Women who know more about a subject than you do?”

Behind the counter, the bartender snort-laughs, rising in your esteem despite the whole TV channel thing.

Mike stares at you, stunned. He seems to grow a pair in that moment though, straightening to face you. “Women with sticks up their asses,” he blurts.

Stifling an eye roll, you lean closer. “Listen, Mike,” you say, placing one hand on the counter. “If you think you can hurt my feelings – think again. Someone broke my heart three months ago, so nothing you say now will remotely compare. Do you really want to know why women like me won’t date you?”

The furrow between his brows deepens, and you take this as a sign to continue. Leaning even closer, you lower your voice.

“It’s because you’re insecure,” you say softly. “Giving someone a compliment and putting yourself down in the same sentence isn’t nice, it’s awkward. Not to mention, you’re sexist,” you add, watching him stiffen. “Telling me – a two-time Comic Con trivia champion – that I wouldn’t know Marvel is wild. Oh, and you’re a snob. Tabletop games are awesome, and cosplay is fun. Have a good night – I paid for your drink.”

With that, you turn around and march out the door to a smattering of applause from your new favorite bartender.

The moment you step outside, you’re hit by a cold gust of wind. Objectively, you should have called an Uber before your dramatic exit. Pulling free your phone, you find several missed texts from the group chat.

Ignoring them, you order an Uber and stand under the heat lamp. Scrolling to your recent calls, you punch in Namjoon’s number.

“You’re so dead,” you declare once he answers.

Namjoon sputters loudly. “What – why? Is this because of the self-deprecating comments? Because I have to say, your sister does that all the time.”

“Yeah, and it’s annoying,” you say as your Uber arrives. “Why do you think I chose not to visit for Christmas?”

“Uh, because she’s obsessed with Jesus.”

“Well, that, too,” you sigh, sinking into the seat. “But the self-deprecating comments weren’t the only thing wrong. The entire date was uncomfortable. I don’t know how you thought we’d be good together.”

“Mike seemed fine!”

“Okay, first off – fine? You set me up with fine?” you repeat, imitating his tone. “And second, when I said I cosplayed, his first question was whether I’d ever cosplayed as Wonder Woman.”

“… maybe he’s a fan?”

“He thought she was Marvel.”

Namjoon exhales. “Damn. I’m sorry, Y/N. I really thought he’d be good for you.”

Something in your chest softens. “I know,” you say, glancing out the window. “Which is why I’m not really mad at you. One can’t be mad at the truly pathetic.”

“Hey!”

“Namjoon, he said I had a stick up my ass.”

“He said what?! Hang on, let me patch Yoongi in.”

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you laugh, attempting to stave off any actual crimes. “Really. I learned two very important things tonight.”

“Oh?” He sounds skeptical. “What things are those?”

“Well, number one – I’m not ready to date.”

Reluctant, Namjoon sighs. “Yoongi was right.”

“Yoongi was right,” you agree.

Staring out the window, you soak in your reality. Even if Mike had been a nice guy, you still would have been counting down the minutes until leaving. Your ex-boyfriend blaring on the TV certainly helps, but even on a different channel, you would have been distracted. Still would have been comparing everything Mike did to him.

You’ve been seeing the same therapist since college, Dr. Lisa Germain. Mostly on and off, but especially during periods of turmoil in your life. Right now, you typically talk once a month although this greatly increased the month following your break-up. Dr. Lisa probably would have cautioned you about moving on so fast – or possibly she would have questioned why three months is too fast.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Namjoon says, dragging your thoughts back to the present. “That sucks. What was lesson number two?”

“Number two,” you say, as the Uber pulls to a stop outside your building. “Is I’m never letting you set me up on a blind date again.”

Namjoon protests, but you put the phone on mute. Exiting the Uber, you enter the liquor store below your new apartment. New being relative since you’ve lived here for three months. When you and Jimin ended, you decided he’d keep the apartment and you’d be the one to move out. Partly, the decision was made due to self-preservation.

The moment you left you knew you couldn’t move on surrounded by memories. This may have been for naught though, since you can’t seem to move on without the memories, either.

“Hang on, Joon,” you say, pushing open the door. “I need to grab something from the store.”

Slipping the phone in your pocket, you grab your favorite wine and head for check-out. The owner’s daughter, Sarah, looks up from the register.

“Y/N, hi!” she gushes, setting down her magazine. “How’s your night going?”

You give her a giant thumbs-down. “Awful. Just came back from a date.”

“Woof.” Ringing you up, Sarah shakes her head. “At least you’re trying, I guess? You couldn’t pay me to go on a date with a man.”

Your lips twitch, accepting the bag she hands you. “In this hypothetical scenario, are you also straight?”

“God, no.”

Laughing, you turn and head for the door. “Noted. Anyways, I’m off to drink myself into oblivion and hopefully wake up after the holidays.”

“Fingers crossed!” she yells as you exit the shop.

Shivering, you jog the remaining steps to your side door. Per usual, climbing the narrow steps steals your breath, and it takes you a moment to pull out your key.

“Did you hear all that?” you say, taking Namjoon off mute as you enter.

He makes a disgruntled sound. “I hate when you do that.”

“You love me,” you counter, putting the phone on speaker. Shrugging free of your coat, you kick off your shoes.

Inside your kitchen, you open the fridge to survey your Britta, a carton of eggs and half a block of cheese. Shutting the door, you glance at your equally dismal counters.

“Should I actually decorate my apartment?”

“Yes,” says Namjoon, and you decide to ignore him. “Are you inside?”

“Yep!” you yell, standing on tiptoe to grab a wine glass.

“Okay, then I’m going to hang up and get back to the game.”

Heart dropping towards your stomach, you turn. “Great,” you say. “I’ll just be here, trying to forget that Christmas is in ten days, and I have zero plans apart from sitting alone in my barely furnished apartment, watching bad movies, and trying not to cry the entire time.”

“I will repeat – your sister invited you over.”

“Yes, and I’ll repeat.” Making a face, you uncork the bottle. “I’d rather not sit through two very long, confusing ceremonies about the birth of a Lord I don’t believe in. Besides – even if I wanted to go, flight prices are crazy. I need to save up to buy a kitchen table.”

“What about your parents?”

Pouring yourself a large glass of wine, you shake your head. “Nope. They decided to go on another cruise this year. I swear, if having fun in retirement is a contest, they’re winning.”

Namjoon laughs. “Well, you can always come home with me. My mom would probably ask whether we’re dating again, though.”

Grin widening, you carry your wine into the living room. Plopping onto the second-hand sofa you bought from Yoongi, you flick through the channels until finding The Holiday.

“Tell her what I always say – that I’m too good for you,” you sniff. “And also, you’re in love with your neighbor.”

“Y/N!” You can practically see Namjoon’s panicked look at his door. “Not so loud! I had you on speaker.”

Rolling your eyes, you tug your blanket up. “Oh, please. She so obviously likes you – she’s just waiting for you to make the first move.”

“BYE, Y/N!” In the background, you hear Namjoon turn on his TV. “TALK TO YOU LATER!”

“Bye!”

“Don’t drink too much!”

“Byeee!”

Hanging up, you settle back on your pillows as Jude Law comes on screen. Seeing how easily Cameron Diaz’s character makes him laugh, you feel a lonely twang. Personally, you enjoy the latter phase of romance as much as the start. Comfortable silence, knowing glances, and thoughtful requests that come from knowing someone so well.

“Enjoy it now,” you mutter at the screen, drinking deeply. “It won’t last.”

Slumping lower, you draw your knees in. A deep sense of sadness washes over you, coaxing you closer to the fetal position. Running a finger over your blanket, you stare at the screen.

One of the things people don’t say about break-ups is how long they take. For a week, the pain nauseates, a knife to your stomach each time you draw breath. It’s there when you wake in the middle of the night, rolling over to reach for someone not there. Everything makes you think of them. Or worse, you forget them, only to remember a second later and be hit with a fresh wave of pain.

After the first week, the pain doesn’t fade. You just learn to live with it, allowing it to become an ever-present companion. Last week, when Namjoon set up the blind date, you thought you could do this, only for the pain to hit, as debilitating as ever. After three months, it feels different – no longer tinged with disbelief, but full of raw realization that this is your future. Strange men and strange bars while Jimin moves on.

Instead of improving, your life feels like survival. And always, it’s shadowed by an undercurrent of pain, waiting for the moment to drag you under. Like tonight, with your horrible date, a bottle of wine and The Holiday.

Unable to stem your regret, you pour yourself a second glass and add another blanket. If tonight is about feelings, you might as well feed them fully. Prepare for the eventuality of being alone.

After all, it isn’t like Jimin has reached out to you, either.

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

Groggily, you roll over and open one eye. The TV is still on, the volume down low, light flickering across your wooden floor. The Holiday ended long ago, and now the channel plays reruns of a sitcom you hate.

The buzzing stops, and then starts, and you realize it’s your phone. Still groggy, you attempt to roll over – tangling partway and nearly falling to the floor. Yelping out loud, you grab the coffee table, inadvertently bringing yourself into contact with your phone.

Grasping it, you press answer. “Hullo?” you rasp.

“Y/N?”

Both your eyes open.

Heart hammering, you slowly sit up with one hand on the blanket. Feeling at once hot and cold, you shake your head slowly to clear away sleep. There’s no way the person you think is calling actually is.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

Fingers trembling, you tap your screen once to see Jimin’s name light up. For some reason, you never had the strength to delete it from your numbers.

It is him. Jimin is calling, and this isn’t a dream. Or if it is, it’s a particularly good one and honestly, you aren’t sure you want to wake up.

Returning the phone to your ear, you grab the remote to turn down the volume. Clearing your throat, you feel the beginnings of a headache pounding at your temples. Most likely courtesy of your empty wine bottle before you.

“Jimin?”

Softly, he exhales. “Hey. Yeah… it’s me.”

A thick silence falls, and you glance out the window. Orange-yellow streetlight illuminates freshly fallen snow. The last time you spoke to Jimin was… well, it’s been a while. After you broke up, you had to talk a few times to arrange the movers, but once the last box had cleared, it was radio silence.

I’m probably dreaming, you determine.

“Uh, no.” Jimin clears his throat, and you realize with horror you said that out loud. “It’s really me.”

“…ah.”

Weakly, he chuckles. “Hopefully it isn’t that bad to hear from me?” When you choose not to respond, Jimin exhales. “I mean, it’s not terrible for me to hear you.”

Exhaling softly, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Jimin… what do you want?”

Of course, it’s not terrible hearing from him. It’s the exact opposite, which is why this is bad. You worked hard to reach a point where you can sleep without him (sleeping well is another matter). Hearing Jimin’s voice, you’re terrified of slipping right back to needing him. If you ever even stopped, that is.

“Who says I want something?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Casting your gaze down, you pick at your blanket. “You’re the one calling me in the middle of the night, so… just tell me what you want, Jimin, so I can go back to bed.”

Something in his voice shifts. “Why, do you have someone waiting?”

Your hand stills. “Jimin, that is so not your business. We’re not together anymore – remember?”

“Oh, I remember.”

“Great,” you huff. “Then, say this is a butt dial, so I can hang up and pretend this never happened.”

Jimin is quiet for so long, you’re forced to pull back and double-check he hasn’t hung up. He hasn’t, so you can only presume he has something important to say. Brow furrowing, you return the phone to your ear.

Some of your initial irritation vanishes, replaced by worry. “Jimin,” you say, pushing yourself upright. “Is everything alright?”

“I…”

Almost without thinking, you find yourself on your feet. Of course, you should have assumed something bad happened. There’s no other reason for Jimin to call. Attempting to disentangle from your many blankets, you only make it worse and bang your shin on the table.

“Fuck!” you blurt, clutching your knee. “Fucking shit, that hurt!”

Jimin chuckles lowly, and you freeze. It’s been so long since hearing his laugh, you hadn’t realized the hole the sound fills in your chest.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you mutter, straightening when you remember your reason for haste. Shoving the blanket aside, you head for the door. “Are you okay? I’m still kind of tipsy, but I can call a cab and come over. Is it your neck?” you demand, grabbing your keys. “Did something happen to you during the game tonight?”

Mentally, you curse yourself for not watching. When you got home, you made a point of not turning on that channel. Every other game this season you’ve watched except this one, and of course, this is the one where Jimin gets hurt, and –

“Whoa, whoa,” he blurts. “Y/N, wait! I’m okay. I’m not injured.”

Immediately, you sag in relief – only to freeze, realizing how desperate you sounded. You broke up in September. Jimin let you leave and hasn’t contacted you since. This is your first conversation since then and here you are, pretending to have some sort of claim on his personal well-being.

Dropping your keys, you sink onto the couch. “Right. Okay, right.”

“Sorry… for making you think that I was.”

Rubbing your forehead, you glance out the window. “Just… say why you’re calling so I can go back to sleep.”

“Right.” Jimin pauses. “So, here’s the thing. Remember how my contract expired at the end of last season? And the team only agreed to a new one-year contract because of my injury?”

“Yes, Jimin. We broke up three months ago, not three years.”

“Anyways,” he says, breezing past your snark, “discussions are ongoing to extend my contract.”

“Okay…”

“You probably haven’t been watching” – when he says this, you shift uncomfortably – “but the season is going well. The team… well, they want to extend my contract three years.”

Frowning slightly, you pick at the blanket. “Cool. Congratulations.”

Truthfully, all you can think about is why he decided to call and tell you this. Surely, there must be someone else in Jimin’s life to share things with by now. This thought pierces a shattered piece of your heart, but you push past it.

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “Well, the thing is… I’m heading home for Christmas next weekend. Before I sign an extension, I need to tell my parents.”

Despite yourself, you wince. “Ah.”

Ah is an understatement. When Jimin was injured last year, it ushered in a stressful period. He’d been hurt before on the team, but never like this. Always, the team’s doctors patched him up and shoved him back on the ice with minimal consequences. Like the sports commentators said, when Jimin was injured last year, his career faced uncertainty.

A herniated neck disc is bad under normal circumstances, but for someone whose livelihood is their body, it’s downright terrifying. After seeing a bevy of doctors, Jimin realized he needed surgery. Fairly invasive surgery, with at least a six-month window for recovery. Jimin was told he’d definitely be out for the season, and that possibly he’d skated for the last time.

Last year held a lot of uncertainty, moments when Jimin wavered between fear and positivity. Through everything, you tried to provide support, but this wasn’t the case with everyone in his life. His parents were supportive about the surgery but wanted Jimin to quit hockey. They’d always been wary of the profession, although they ultimately supported what Jimin wanted. Last year changed their perspective.

You witnessed his mom flat-out beg him to quit several times. Jimin had played in the NHL for six years already and was a Stanley Cup champion. They didn’t understand what else Jimin wanted, but in your opinion, Jimin didn’t need anything. He was a hockey player, plain and simple. Asking him to stop was unfathomable.

His parents backed off once Jimin’s contract was extended for only a year. Jimin promised he’d reconsider whether to continue this fall.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“Exactly.” His tone is heavy. “Shit.”

You hesitate, drawing your blankets up to your chin. “I’m sorry, Jimin, but… I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“Right. So, here’s the thing. You see, I haven’t actually… I mean, it never really came up, so…”

Understanding slowly dawns. “Jimin,” you say. “What didn’t come up?”

His line muffles until he reappears, inhaling deeply. “Right, so. I… haven’t told my family that we broke up.”

Loud ringing fills your ears.

“You… what?”

“I was just so – busy, in the fall. We broke up right when the season started, and I was juggling practice and therapy, and then we ended and I just… I don’t know! I didn’t tell them. I kept putting it off, saying it’d be better to tell them in person, but now… I don’t know, Y/N,” he exhales. “I don’t have a good answer for you, I’m sorry.”

Gripping your phone, you stare at the ceiling. On the one hand, you don’t blame Jimin for putting off this conversation. Every phone call you had to explain the break-up was awful. Your sister cried and insisted on flying out, but her house was being renovated and you insisted she stay. Namjoon and Yoongi were somehow worse. Jimin hadn’t done anything, so they couldn’t bash him as a person, but they did insist he’d come to regret it. You weren’t so sure.

The fact that Jimin managed to avoid this makes you irrationally angry. Just like when you were dating, Jimin sidestepped the hard conversations.

“Okay, that sucks,” you say stiffly. “But I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Y/N.” Jimin exhales. “I’m going home next week without you. I’m going to have to say we broke up, whether I want to or not. I also am crushing their dreams and saying I plan to extend my contract. My family loves you,” he adds, voice breaking. “My dad tosses around future names for our kids. My mom keeps saying she booked the lodge for our wedding, and I really don’t know whether she’s kidding or not. How –”

“Jimin,” you rush, cutting him off. “Stop.”

He ceases talking immediately, and you focus on breathing. Every word has your heart in a vice grip, squeezing out any progress made before this call. This time last year, you thought his family would one day be yours. You wanted everything Jimin is saying, and it hurts, remembering he walked away from all that.

“I… I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I know I have no right to ask this, but… Y/N, will you come?”

Your lips part. Jimin can’t possibly mean what you think he’s saying. And even if he does mean that, there’s no way you can accept. You’d never recover.

“I haveto tell them about the contract,” he says, sounding tired. “The team gave me a deadline of January, but I know they want an answer soon. Which means… Y/N, I can’t tell them we broke up. Not yet – not now,” he adds. “I promise to explain in the new year.”

“Jimin… I don’t think I can.”

You hesitate though, and you know Jimin hears. Honestly, from the moment the words left his lips, you can’t stop picturing it. The two of you broke up so fast, you never had the opportunity to grieve everything you left behind. Jimin’s family was a big part of that.

“I promise it won’t be weird,” Jimin says, and you huff. “Okay, well – I promise to make this as not weird as possible. I just… I’m sorry, Y/N. This was a stupid idea.”

Chewing your lower lip, you stare out your window. You shouldn’t entertain this but find that you are. The obvious answer is no. For your own sanity, and the progress you’ve made – but then again, what progress? Three months of therapy and distance, and still, you break into tears at the sight of an ice skate.

Trying to date again was a bust. You can’t possibly hurt less than you do now, and moreover, you genuinely care about Jimin’s family. The Parks always welcomed you in a way your own family never has.

Obviously, you love your parents. They’ve always been good to you but are frequently absent and your sister is kind, but vastly different from you and nearly a decade older. Christmas with your family is nice, comfortable but never chaotic. Never loud, never bustling and never as warm as Christmas with the Parks.

When you broke up, you lost not only Jimin, but the future you’d built together. It’s hard letting go of that overnight, and you wonder if a final trip would help you say goodbye. For months, you’ve responded to texts from Jimin’s mom and sister, Jisoo, with some confusion, and now you know why. They had no idea you and their son broke up.

“Please, Y/N,” Jimin says. “I know I don’t deserve you saying yes, but… I had to ask.”

This, more than anything, convinces you to accept. Towards the end of your relationship, you were practically begging to know what he wanted. Jimin always refused. He said he didn’t want to burden you with his problems, and instead, they grew in the space between you.

Hearing him ask for help stirs something deep down you thought were long buried.

“Fine,” you blurt. Jimin’s end of the call goes silent, forcing you to examine the phone again. “Hello?” you ask, returning it to your ear. “Jimin?”

“Yeah.” His voice trembles. “Sorry – I’m here. I just think I hallucinated because I thought you said yes.”

Although you roll your eyes, your lips twitch. “You heard right, Park. I’ll do it.”

“… are you sure?”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of this?”

“No, no!” Jimin blurts. “I’m sorry. I just – okay, cool.” He clears his throat once, then twice. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” you mutter.

“I’m flying home next Thursday and staying until the day after Christmas. Does that work for you, or do you already have plans…?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t planning on going home this year.”

Jimin pauses, and you can practically hear all his questions. Thankfully, he chooses to ask none. “Okay,” he continues. “So, do you want to fly together? I’ll get our tickets.”

Momentarily, you panic because you were just telling Namjoon you don’t have money for a last-minute trip to visit your sister. On the other hand, you really don’t want to owe Jimin anything.

“That’s not necessary,” you say quickly. “I can get my own flight.”

“Y/N.” His tone books no argument. “You’re the one doing me the favor. The least I can do is buy your plane ticket – please.”

“Well… okay,” you say, knowing you don’t have a choice. Dropping a huge amount of money on a last-minute flight isn’t in the budget.

“I can pick you up, and we can head to the airport together next Thursday?”

Frowning, you pick at a thread of your blanket. When you were dating, Jimin was your chauffeur. Not many people have cars in the city, but he does in case the team practices further out. You also hate to drive, something he seems to recall.

“That’s probably not a good idea,” you admit. “I can have Yoongi drive me, or something.”

“Y/N…”

“No, it’s fine,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel. “Or I can take the train. Either way. You probably have practice that day anyways, right?”

“Yes, but –”

“Then it’s settled,” you declare. “We meet at the airport. Okay?”

Sensing this to be a hard line, Jimin exhales. “Alright. I’ll email you the plane ticket tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great.” He pauses. “And seriously, thank you. I promise I’ll make this as easy as possible. If you don’t want to see my family, that’s fine – we can say you have a big project, or something. That’s what I was planning to say, but my mom kept asking when you were coming and Jisoo was excited, and…”

“You just couldn’t tell them,” you finish. Honestly, you understand. It hurt nearly as much as breaking up, explaining over and over to people. “I don’t mind. I want to see your family.”

“Okay, well.” Jimin clears his throat. “I should probably get back to bed.”

“Probably. Talk to you later, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

There’s another long pause while you wait for him to hang up or say something else. Neither happens, and your heart thumps louder.

“Well, goodnight,” you prompt.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The depth in his voice prompts a shiver as you hang up. Staring at your TV, your stomach slowly sinks as the conversation washes over you.

Jimin called.

He called you for the first time since the breakup, spoke to you (mostly) without bitterness and asked you to come home for the holidays. Which you agreed to.

Groaning, you grab a throw pillow to bury your face in the cushion. With dread, you realize this means you'll be forced to discuss the reasons why you broke up. Maybe when you wake up, this will all be a dream. A stupid, wishful dream that Jimin called and needed you.

Or rather – he needed something from you, you remind yourself as you head to bed. Needing something from you is different than needing you. And yet, you find yourself wishing they were one and the same. One short conversation and you find yourself right back where you were in September.

If you learned anything tonight, it’s that you’re not ready to date again.

And that when Jimin calls, you continue to answer.

Jimin has never been good at saying the things that matter.

Other things, he’s good at. Jimin’s classmates voted him most likely to host a talk show in high school, and his team routinely shoves him into front of the press after games. Jimin easily converses with strangers or friends, mostly due to his talent of turning the conversation on others.

Regardless of whether they’ve been friends for weeks or years, Jimin is good at making people feel connected. Once the conversation ends though, the person might look back and realize they only talked about themselves. They’ll realize Jimin laughed, asked probing questions and avoided sharing anything personal.

This is something his therapist pointed out the week after you broke up with him. Actually – Dr. Nygard would take issue with that phrasing. You didn’t break up with Jimin. You brought up a difficult conversation and asked for a break, both of which Jimin didn’t want to hear.

Exhaling deeply, he tears his thoughts from the past. Shaking his head, Jimin stuffs his hands in his pockets to stare out the window. Perforated glass separates him from the curb, dulling the cacophony of outside honking. Holiday travel is in full swing, with Christmas Eve only four days away.

Shifting his weight backwards, Jimin idly hopes you bought a warmer coat. For two winters, he’s nudged you to purchase and for two winters, he’s been overruled. You promised to let him buy you a parka this Christmas, only for… well.

Jaw tight, Jimin glances over his shoulder. He should have insisted on driving you to the airport. He should have said a lot of things Saturday night that he didn’t; Jimin has replayed the conversation often since you two hung up. Opening with jealousy probably wasn’t the best. Pinning the entire idea on his family and not saying once how much he missed you, how badly he messed up – that was the biggest mistake of all.

Despite his assurances, Jimin knows this will likely end badly. Not for you, but for him.

Jimin isn’t an actor, and he can only pretend for so long not to be in love with you. Even with a best-case scenario, his family won’t suspect you’re broken up, but you won’t end up together. When you return after Christmas, Jimin will go to his apartment alone.

A familiar blue SUV stops at the curb, momentarily hidden behind a throng of people. The moment they clear, Jimin spots a cat meme bumper sticker plastered across the window. Definitely Yoongi. The passenger door cracks open, only to pause. Through tinted glass, Jimin makes out the shape of your head, but–

His entire body stiffens. Did you cut your hair?

A moment later, the door opens, and you step outside. Yoongi exits as well, heading for the trunk to pop it open. Reaching inside, he grasps your large suitcase to set on the curb. Patting him once, you immediately pull Yoongi in for a hug and Jimin’s thoughts sour.

Jimin knows Yoongi. Jimin likes Yoongi – he also likes Namjoon, your two closest friends. They’ve even hung out without you, but right now, Jimin feels nothing but jealousy. Yoongi looks put together in a navy pea coat, glancing at the airport with noticeable suspicion. His hair is longer, curled behind his ears and multiple women on the curb are staring.

On instinct, Jimin glances at his old parka. Warmer, yes, but not as enticing.

When you pull back from the hug, Jimin realizes his fists are clenched. Shaking his head, Yoongi glances at the airport and says something you seem to disagree with, based on your expression. Brows pinched, you respond and Yoongi exhales. He hugs you once more, then shuts the trunk and heads for the driver’s side.

Jimin doesn’t realize he’s staring until you start walking towards him. Whirling around, he takes a couple steps backwards to steady himself. He needs the perfect opening line. Something to break the ice, letting you know this isn’t weird – something that isn’t, hey, Y/N, I love you!

A hand taps his shoulder, and Jimin turns.

“Hi,” you blurt, stuffing your hands in your pockets.

You’re still wearing the same wool trench coat. This is the first thing Jimin notices, and then his brain stutters. Words flash through his mind – gorgeous, beautiful – until they refract with each other to form a single concept. You look the same and yet, different – Jimin can’t quite put a finger on it. Your hair is shorter, but that’s not causing the dissonance.

Something in his chest tightens. “Hey,” Jimin blurts, the blandest opening ever uttered. So much for all his planning. “Um, how was the traffic?”

You attempt a weak smile. “Hellish. What else?”

Jimin chuckles, the sound slipping past before he can stop it. Something unsteady flashes in your gaze, gone before he can dissect it.

“So, uh.” Jimin looks at the baggage counter. “Do you want to check your suitcase, or…?”

“Oh. Yeah,” you say, reaching for your bag.

Before you can grasp it, Jimin swoops in to grab the handle. Wheeling it easily, he pulls this in the direction of the ticket counter. He already checked himself in, but you’ll need to show your ID to the attendant for your ticket.

Quickening your stride, you glance sideways. “I could have done that.”

“I know.” Jimin flips the handle around. “But coach said to lift weights while I’m gone. I figure this counts.”

You snort, disguising it as a cough. “I won’t hear your judgment on this. What did you bring – a couple black t-shirts? One sweater? Meanwhile, Ihave an entire skin regimen, hair care ritual and different shoes for each outfit.”

“And how many outfits did you bring? You know we’re only there for four days.”

“Yes, but I need nicer clothes for the evening, and the Christmas Eve party – that’s happening, right?” you add, glancing sideways. “I assumed but wasn’t sure.”

“It is.” Jimin nods. “You could have texted, you know.”

Your face screams disagreement. “I guess.”

Wheeling your suitcase into an empty line, Jimin pretends he didn’t hear. You realize which line you’re in a second too late, stopping in your tracks halfway.

“Jimin,” you hiss, grabbing his sleeve. “This is for first class. The real line is over there.”

“I know,” he says and continues. “I bought us first class.”

Your jaw drops, hesitating another moment before rushing to catch up. The attendant at the counter greets you, taking your passport with a sincere smile. Jimin shifts his weight, subtly glancing over his shoulder. Several people in the main line have noticed their presence – one guy has even whipped out his phone.

Leaning an elbow on the counter, Jimin conceals you from view. “Charlotte,” he says lowly. “I know you’re going as fast as you can, but could you wrap things up in the next minute or so? We’re getting some attention.”

“Of course!” she chirps, wrapping a hand around your suitcase to place on the belt. Handing over your ticket, she beams. “First class TSA pre-check is through those doors. Have a wonderful holiday!”

Thanking her warmly, Jimin places a hand on your lower back and guides you away. Left with only your backpack and purse, you move a lot faster towards TSA.

Still, you huff as you stare at your ticket. “First class – really, Jimin?” you say, removing your purse. “And last minute? That must have cost a fortune!”

Entering the line, Jimin places his coat on the belt. “It was necessary,” he says. “We were only in that line for a minute, and someone was already filming.”

Startled, you glance around, but the person is out of view. Jimin faces forward, fishing his keys and wallet from pockets to place in a tray.

In the past, Jimin didn’t mind being recognized. Usually, this was accompanied by something fun, like ‘congratulations on the game’ or a request for an autograph. Occasionally people crossed a line but for the most part, recognition was good. After last year, recognition turned to cell phones shoved in his face. Angry words insisting he personally tanked the last year for the Blackhawks. Invasive questions about therapy, his return and whether he’d ever play hockey again.

Jimin started disliking the attention soon after. Placing his tray on the belt, he hears a loud gasp behind him.

“No way!” someone blurts. “Is that – oh my god, are you Jimin Park?”

Fumbling slightly, Jimin starts to feel clammy – until your hand appears, steadying his elbow.

“No photographs,” you say brightly. “Mr. Park’s exclusive photography rights are owned by the Blackhawks, and as their legal representative, I will sue for payment. Phones down. Thank you.”

With an iron grip, you steer Jimin towards the x-ray machine, where he shudders a breath.

“Thanks,” Jimin mutters, shaking his head.

“No problem.” Realizing you’re touching, you swiftly withdraw. “I didn’t realize… well, I know things were intense. I didn’t know they’d gotten worse.”

“A little,” Jimin says, and then pauses. “I had to move.”

“What?” You glance at him, startled. “To where?”

“I –”

Leaving the line at security, Jimin realizes the couple behind you are following. Jerking his chin to the left, he silently points them out and sees your face darken. Subtly, you move closer and lower your voice.

“What now?” you ask.

“Oh my god!” Someone else gasps. “Is that Jimin Park?!”

“Run,” Jimin blurts, grabbing your hand.

Your fingers curl around his, something there’s no time to linger on while plunging into the crowd. Still holding hands, you weave between people and suitcases. Most don’t even attempt to stop you, too busy worrying about their departure time. That’s one thing Jimin likes about airports. Everyone is usually in a rush, not just celebrities.

It doesn’t take long to lose their pursuers, arriving at the lounge in record time. Smoothly, the doors open to admit your entrance. Handing over his ticket, Jimin is forced to withdraw his hand, something he does with great reticence. Worse, you take a pointed step away as you enter the elevator.

Doors open on the second floor, revealing the lounge reserved for first class. Most of the chairs are empty or populated by aging businesspeople, spurring an exhale of relief from Jimin.

Spotting the well-stocked bar, you drop your backpack and head in this direction.

“I need a drink,” you mutter as you pass.

Sensing you need alone time, Jimin elects not to follow. Instead, he sinks into the chair beside yours and folds his parka in two. Stupidly, he decided to check most of his things in his suitcase. The only entertainment he has for the long flight is his phone.

Returning to the seat beside him, you take a large sip from a glass of red wine.

Jimin watches you curiously. “What were you arguing about with Yoongi?”

The words slip past before he can stop them, although inward, he cringes. Jimin is supposed to convince you he’s different, show you things have changed, and instead, his first observation is jealousy.

Your gaze cuts sideways. “He thinks I’m being stupid,” you say. “And I have to admit, he’s not wrong.”

“Stupid for… coming with me for the holidays?”

Rueful, you nod. “Well… I’m embellishing somewhat. Yoongi just said this is a bad idea. I added the stupid part.”

“Ah,” Jimin says, falling silent.

Honestly, both of you are probably right. Since leaving the car, nothing has gone to plan. Jimin was supposed to wow you with how together he is. Show you he’s trying to communicate his feelings. Apologize for everything that went wrong in September. Instead, he’s done nothing but fumble and appear slightly out of control.

Being around you though, drags him right back to that night. Crisp air, as he came home from practice after two weeks apart. Jimin’s entire body ached, having left physical therapy after hours of practice. When he walked in and saw you seated at the kitchen table, Jimin just knew.

He knew whatever you said, things wouldn’t stay the same.

Shaking his head, Jimin ends that thought in its tracks. There’s no point ruminating on the past. All he can do now is move forward.

You showed up. That’s a start.

Leaning forward, Jimin’s knee brushes yours. Immediately, you stiffen and Jimin’s gaze lifts. “I am sorry for making you do this,” he says. “But I can’t lie, I'm glad you agreed, even if Yoongi is right and this is a bad idea.”

“I know.” Your gaze darts towards him. “That’s partly why I agreed.”

Jimin tilts his head, curious, and you sigh.

“Never mind,” you mutter, lifting your glass.

Sensing he won’t get an answer, Jimin spreads his legs and looks out the window. Technically, the Blackhawks are playing tonight, but his coach insisted he sit this game out. Last weekend, Jimin was slammed roughly into the boards. Nothing bad happened, just a bruised tailbone, but apparently, his coach saw the entire season flash before his eyes. Jimin has been allowed to practice but not play until after Christmas. Better than having him out during the playoffs, argued his coach.

Picking up his phone, Jimin scrolls through his texts, then sets it back down. He doesn’t know why he bothered – only a handful of people have his real number, and the only person whose message he wants is seated beside him.

Turning to face you, Jimin clears his throat. “We should talk about this weekend,” he says, arranging himself in the seat.

“Alright.” Leaning forward, you set down your glass. “What about?”

“I don’t know.” Jimin blinks. “Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?”

You shrug, and the faintest of irritation colors his thoughts. God, it hurts just to see you. To have you so close and not be able to touch you. Not to be able to say how he feels. Worse, these feelings are tinged with bitterness, recalling the hurtful words you said as you left. Jimin does his best to separate the past from the present, but he’s only human.

“We won’t get there until late tonight,” he says stiffly. “We have a connection from Seattle, and then I’ll get the rental car.”

Nodding, you take a light sip of your wine. “Sounds good.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll probably rest at the house. Hoseok texted something about the twins wanting to make gingerbread houses, but he was trying to get out of it.”

Your lips tighten. “Okay.”

“Saturday, my mom mentioned going to the Christmas market. It’ll be in full swing, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure it will.”

He leans closer. “Sunday is the Christmas Eve party.”

“Okay.”

“Then Monday, it’s Christmas.”

“Yep.”

“Tuesday, we’re all doing the polar plunge in the lake.”

“Sure th–” You whip your head sideways. “Wait, what?”

Jimin smirks and sits back. “Just checking.”

“Checking what?” Scowling, you finish your wine. “If I was listening? Turns out, I was.”

“You gave one-word answers.”

“And?” Briskly, you set down the glass. “Jimin. This is basically the first time we’ve spoken since we broke up. How do you want me to act? It’s hard enough seeing you without… without all this pretending.”

Jimin’s heart sinks. “Pretending?”

“To date.” Your gaze darts to his, then away. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing.” He hesitates. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…” Jimin hesitates before reluctantly choosing the coward’s way out. “My family will never believe this if we aren’t at least cordial.”

You frown at the empty wine glass, then slowly exhale, and turn sideways to face him.

“Fine.” You fold your arms over your chest. “Let’s declare a truce.”

“A truce?”

You jerk your chin in a nod. “Yes. We pretend the last three months didn’t happen. Maybe we went through a rough patch, but nothing more. I never moved out. You never asked to break up.”

Heat flares up his spine. “I think you meant, you never asked for a break.”

“A truce,” you grind out, each word sounding painful. “Okay?”

“Fine.”

As much as he missed you, Jimin knows there are things to discuss. How you two ended, for one. The reason neither of you called, for another. Each small hurt compounded, becoming insurmountable until he couldn’t separate you from the rest. There’s so much to discuss – but Jimin can’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that you’re here.

He missed your intensity, that look in your eye when you know you’re right. Take now, for example. A tiny, prideful part of Jimin hoped that once you arrived, this all would be solved. He should’ve known better. Dr. Nygard would have cautioned him to know better. Time doesn’t solve anything; it just dulls the pain.

Before Jimin can say anything more, a monotone voice announces your gate is boarding. Panicked, you bolt upright and reach for your backpack. Fighting a smile, Jimin stands as well, grabbing your purse from the ground where you left it.

Following you to the elevators, he wordlessly hands it over when the doors open.

“Oh!” you blurt, accepting this from his hand. “I could’ve sworn – shit. Thanks, Jimin,” you murmur, facing away.

Jimin nods and stands beside you, ignoring the pang of familiarity this brings. He can’t count the number of times you left your phone or your wallet behind while you were dating. Despite your brilliancy, mundane things like purse or coat placements seldom seem to occur to you. Almost like you exist on a separate plane, one which only occasionally overlaps with this one.

The airport beyond is in full holiday swing. Jimin navigates as quickly as possible, reaching your gate as first class is boarding. Flashing your tickets, he falls into step alongside you as you head down the long walkway.

Jimin takes the window seat, while you take the aisle. Many vacations have taught Jimin that this is the ideal combination. You hate being cold, and without fail, will use the bathroom one hour into the flight.

Although you don’t say much as you taxi, you also don’t bicker – which Jimin supposes is positive. Once the plane is in flight, you take out an eye mask and make a vampiric attempt at sleeping upright. Lips twitching, Jimin orders a glass of whiskey and opens the novel app on his phone.

He’s midway through a chapter when your head, soft and heavy, falls on his shoulder. Surprised, Jimin looks down and immediately stills.

Even asleep, you’re beautiful.

Jimin nearly laughs, imagining your expression were he to ever say that. You’d call him a liar, saying you’re well-aware you drool when you sleep. Despite this, your expression is peaceful. The crease between your brows has lessened and dimly, Jimin wonders if he was the cause.

Idly, he reaches out to smooth a piece of hair from your neck. Fingers freezing, Jimin jerks his hand back and wonders what the hell he’s doing.

He used to be able to simply ask why you’re stressed, and you’d tell him. Jimin supposes he stopped being that person long before you broke up, though. The year after his accident, he had a hard time expressing the full depth of his pain. It wasn’t until later he realized the ripple effect this had on his life. People won’t confide in someone who doesn’t confide in them. As Dr. Nygard often says, trust works both ways.

Leaving your head on his shoulder, Jimin returns to his phone and tries to read. It’s a five-hour flight from Chicago to Seattle, and he spends this entirety reading less than fifty pages.

Partly, Jimin is distracted by your proximity and your fancy shampoo. Partly, he’s obsessing over what to say to his parents when he lands. With you here, there’s nothing to think about except the upcoming conversation.

Growing up, his parents never wanted him to play hockey. Jimin was put in the sport begrudgingly when his best friend, Jungkook, begged his parents for lessons. As the years passed and it became clear Jimin was talented, his parents were resigned but worried. Jimin can’t really blame them.

Hockey is dangerous. Jimin knows this firsthand, even if it wasn’t made obvious by the amount of gear players wear. It was hard enough, recovering from an injury without having to convince his main supporters the profession was worthwhile. For a long time, Jimin’s life felt like an endless cycle of doctors, surgeons, therapists and arguing.

Some experts doubted he’d ever play again, sending him into a spiral. Traumatic incidents often spark anxiety or depression, Dr. Nygard explained. For a while, Jimin didn’t know how to talk – to you or to anyone – about what happened that day. He was a hockey player, for God’s sake. He should have been used to getting injured, but last November was different.

Never had Jimin fallen and not been sure he’d get up. Shakily, Jimin exhales and glances down at your face.

The week you left, Jimin hit his rock bottom. It may not have looked that way to everyone, but to Jimin, it was the first time he saw he wasn’t in control. After the requisite therapy by his team, Jimin stopped going. He found a new therapist after you left, searching for a new doctor who really cared.

Now, Jimin knows there are no easy fixes. Self-change is a purposeful effort that takes sustained work. At least now, he feels equipped for the process. Before you left, he felt unworthy of change and so, he pushed you away.

When you gently snore, Jimin glances down. Hiding his smile, he reaches across you to adjust your blanket. Slowly, he withdraws and his smile fades. Before you arrived, Jimin had a plan. Said plan involved him getting on his knees and begging you for forgiveness, but everything changed when he saw your face.

You don’t trust him.

And really, why would you? The truth is, Jimin shut you out for months before you finally sat down and asked for a break. And his immediate response was you might as well break up.

Releasing a breath, Jimin sits back in his seat. For the rest of the flight, he tries not to think about what comes next. The work he must put in to earn your forgiveness. Instead, he simply enjoys the weight of your head on his shoulder.

When the wheels hit the ground, you’ve dozed for nearly four hours. Groggily, you lift your head as the plane lights come on.

“I – oh!” you blurt, jerking upward. “I’m so sorry,” you gasp, staring at a spot on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Par for the course.” Jimin attempts a joke, and you manage to smile.

People crowd the aisles, and Jimin pulls you past them to exit first. Your connecting flight is on the opposite side of the terminal, forcing you to jog to make it in time. Seattle is the closest major airport to home, but if time is tight, a smaller flight is usually worthwhile. The drive to Garland, Washington can be upwards of five hours with traffic.

The second flight you take is small. Small enough to board directly from the tarmac. Jimin watches your suitcases brought onto the plane and exhales, knowing this is an eighty-twenty chance of success.

Approaching the stairs, he takes your backpack in one hand.

“I can take that, Jimin,” you say lowly.

“I know.” He ducks his head as he boards. “But from here on out, I’m your boyfriend – right? It’d be weird to let you carry your bags.”

Shaking your head, you follow him up the steps. “Your family isn’t even here, Jimin.”

Walking down the aisle, Jimin locates his seat and sinks down with your backpack. Carefully, he stows this beneath the seat before him.

“No,” he says as you sit beside him. “But everyone here is headed to Garland. Can’t hurt to start now, can it?”

“I guess not.” Setting your purse down, you turn sideways. “What am I walking into, anyways?”

“What do you mean?”

Aimless, you wave. “You mentioned a rough patch between us. Do they think that we’re fighting? Why… I mean, how have you been explaining my absence? Haven’t they noticed I haven’t been at your games?”

Jimin glances down, feeling queasy. “Well, that’s easy,” he mutters. “They haven’t been watching, so no, they haven’t noticed your absence. I’ve been avoiding my family, telling them that I’m busy. They probably suspect we’re having problems,” Jimin admits. “But I said you were coming, and they all seemed excited.”

When you say nothing, Jimin glances over and finds your brow furrowed.

“They haven’t been watching your games?” you ask.

“Can you blame them? My mom… she said she didn’t want to watch me get hurt again.”

Your lips press together, and Jimin can sense your disapproval. The night of his accident, you were there, in the crowd. If anyone understands the horror of watching, it would be you. And yet, you accompanied him in the ambulance, sat with him in every waiting room, brought him changes of clothes and new books to read.

“Hm,” you murmur, facing forward.

Jimin’s lips twitch. “Come on,” he says, poking you lightly. “What do you really want to say?”

You inhale deeply, and Jimin’s gaze drops to the front of your sweater. Dragging his eyes upward, he focuses on your mouth. No, no – your eyes.

Which flick to him. “They should be watching. That’s all.”

“Oh, right,” Jimin chuckles, settling back in his seat. “You mean, like you’re watching?”

Before you can say anything, the in-flight safety demonstration starts, and you shake your head and sit back. Jimin stares at your profile, wondering for a moment before he lets it go. Lord knows he checks your Instagram account multiple times a day.

The second flight is shorter, barely reaching cruising altitude before the seatbelt sign is back on for landing. Garland Regional Airport is only big enough for a handful of gates, a single baggage carousel, and a rental car agency. The hour is late enough for no line, and Jimin selects the only SUV remaining on the lot.

You insist on pulling your gigantic suitcase yourself, nearly tripping several times in reaching the car. Gritting his teeth, Jimin forcibly stops himself from trying to help. Even when you were dating, you insisted on reaping the consequences, saying you were the one who made your decisions.

With the suitcases loaded, Jimin enters the driver’s side and plugs in his phone. Service through the mountains is iffy, so it’s a good idea to download the map here. Opposite him, you crank the seat heater higher, wrapping your thin coat tight around your frame.

Gritting his teeth, Jimin loses his battle with self-control. “Here,” he declares, unwrapping his scarf. “Take this.”

You go still when he drapes this over your neck. The tips of Jimin’s fingers brush skin, and he thinks he sees you shiver. Likely, from the cold. Pulling away before his thoughts can run amok, Jimin places both hands firmly on the wheel. Yanking down the visor, he checks behind him, then does absolutely nothing.

Silence ticks by in the car, his heartbeat outrunning the holiday music.

“Hey.” When you touch his arm, Jimin nearly jumps. Glancing sideways, he finds your expression to be gentle. “It’s going to be fine. Okay?” you say. “I promise, we’ll get through this.”

Jimin narrows on your use of the word we, which gives him the strength to nod and face forward. Avoiding his parents won’t solve anything. Just like avoiding talking to you didn’t do him any favors.

Putting the car in reverse, Jimin pulls from the airport and merges onto the road. Garland being the tiny town that it is, the airport road soon transitions to a dirt one which winds its way through the foothills.

The ghost of your handprint lingers on his arm, and Jimin can’t help but hope when this weekend is over, your words will apply to more than his parents.

Bumps in the road rattle your teeth, making you latch onto the door with a death grip. You can see Jimin’s lips twitch, but barely have it in you to scowl. He’s used to these roads, having grown up on them. You, on the other hand, rarely drive if you can help it.

Fingers gripping the handle, you stare out the window at a sea of snow. Despite the car’s bouncing, the fields beyond it are serene. Garland, Washington is just on the other side of the Cascade Mountain range, near the Canadian border. This part of America always amazes you, especially being from the Midwest. In Chicago, everything is flat except for the skyscrapers, and maybe the staircases leading to upper Wacker.

In the West, you can drive past acres of land, only to be surprised by the sharp jut of mountains on the horizon. So tall they seem close from miles away, with rolling foothills at the base where Garland is nestled. The first time you came, you called the hill where his family lives a mountain and Jimin laughed so hard, he nearly walked into a door.

Remembering this, your lips can’t help but twitch. Glancing sideways, your amusement fades as your gaze lands on Jimin. Unfair of him, showing up this weekend looking like that. When you realized it was Jimin in the window of the airport, you almost tripped and fell over your gigantic suitcase.

His dark hair is longer than usual, curling a little behind reddened ears. Even with his gigantic parka, you can tell his fitness routine has amped up. As a hockey player, Jimin is contractually obligated to stay in shape, but this is something else. He even had the gall to put on reading glasses before the flight, something which necessitated your sleep mask – and promptly fall asleep, only to drool on his shoulder.

Cringing again, you force your gaze forward. If Jimin was feeling sentimental, there’s no doubt he’s regretting this vacation now. In fact, there have been several times today you wondered if Jimin was contemplating sending you home. Not that you’d blame him. This idea is terrible at best, but now you’ve committed. If Jimin wants you to go, he’ll have to ask you himself.

Something he’s proven he has no problem doing.

Stiffening, you drag your thoughts from the past. You only need to make it one weekend. One weekend, and then you can – well. Thinking too much of the future is dangerous. Yoongi and Namjoon were right in their caution, warning you not to come. Not for the reasons one might think. They like Jimin, and have always thought him a good guy, but they were the ones who saw you after. They were the ones who picked up the pieces when he left, and you know they’re afraid you’ll shatter again.

Hell, you’re afraid you might shatter and yet, here you are. Speeding down a dark road in the country at night. A metaphor oddly related to the state of your heart.

Hitting a bump, the car jostles again and Jimin reaches for you on reflex. Gaze darting towards you, he swiftly withdraws, brushing his scarf in the process.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, sinking lower. As circumspect as possible, you take a deep breath. Jimin’s scarf smells just like him – black pepper and cedar, with the faintest hint of pine.

Rounding the bend, the trees clear and his house comes into view. For the first time since the airport, a frisson of excitement enters your stomach. You never really understood the appeal of the holidays until the Parks. Although they’re not religious, they truly adore the cultural Christmas spirit. Each time you visit, you’re surrounded by the feeling of home, love, and family.

When you and Jimin ended, you thought you’d never feel like that again. This weekend – and what comes next – might be worth it, if only to feel that once more.

Pulling to a stop in the drive, Jimin unplugs his phone and turns off the car. He hesitates a long moment before turning sideways.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there anything I should know before we go in there?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know.” Jimin lowers his voice, a dark piece of hair falling over his forward. “Any projects you’ve been working on – cool cosplay for your socials?”

His words make you swallow, struck by the reminder that he isn’t yours. For a moment, you nearly forgot.

“Um.” Searching, your gaze is drawn by the lights of the house. “Nothing much. I have a few demanding clients, but that’s pretty normal. Fantasy High season three is coming out, so I’ve been brushing off Dimension 20 cosplay. What about you? How’s training?”

Jimin frowns. “Good. Bruised my tailbone last Sunday, so I’m sitting out games for the next two weeks. I bought a new apartment.”

“You what?” Startled, you fully face him. Inside the house, you think you see shadows cross the front window, but that fades in importance. “You – when? Where are you living now?”

Jimin slides his phone in his parka. “It’s not a big deal,” he mutters. “I just… didn’t need that much space.”

He pauses, the words lingering but he doesn’t say more. Shutting your jaw, you face forward. After four years of dating, you’re familiar by now with Jimin’s many silences. This one means he has more to say but can’t fathom how.

The center of your chest feels hollow, stale in a way you can’t explain. When the two of you ended, you were the one to move out, but regretted it instantly. When you lived together, you hated the way his door squeaked, the radiator that hissed, but the moment you left, it all had a rosy glow. Your one-bedroom apartment on the north side is nothing to brag about; you’ve barely decorated that place for a reason.

“West Loop,” Jimin answers.

Your eyes widen. “Well… that’s fancy.”

Accusation laces the words, and you don’t try to hide it. Jimin used to make fun of his teammates who lived in fancier parts of Chicago.

“It’s closer to practice,” he argues. “And it’s not like –”

The porch light turns on, and the front door flings open.

“Jimin!” calls his mom, rushing outside. “Y/N! Is that you?”

Head jerking up, you recognize your audience at the same time as Jimin. Slamming down walls, you do your best to paste a smile on your face. The entire reason you came here was to convince Jimin’s family you’re still together. You can hardly do that while bickering about where he lives.

“Y/N,” he says lowly.

“Save it,” you blurt, pushing open the door. Immediately, you sink your foot into a snowbank. “Ah!” you blurt, hopping around – only to stumble, face-first, into Jimin. Catching you easily, he shuts the door with one hand.

“This way,” he says. Sliding his hand into yours, Jimin pulls you towards the house. Noticing your glance at the car, he adds, “My dad and I will get the suitcases after. Let’s just say hi to my mom.”

Your foot is damp and tingling, stifling any urge you had to stay. Limping up the front steps to the porch, you reciprocate when arms are thrown around your waist. Jimin’s mom is one of the sweetest – and shortest – people you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Pulling back, she holds you at arms-length. “Y/N, you are just too beautiful,” she sighs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d never believe you were on a seven-hour flight.”

Jimin chuckles, stepping past you to hold open the door. “All seven hours weren’t at once, mom,” he teases.

“Are you denying my beauty?” you quip as you pass.

His throat visibly bobs as he swallows, something you choose to ignore for the sake of your sanity. Inside, his mom leads you into the foyer.

Hands on hips, she turns. “And you!” she huffs, stepping forward to squeeze her son. “Not telling us until the last minute that Y/N was coming. I don’t know who raised you, young man.”

Jimin rolls his eyes playfully. “No one in this house, that’s for sure.”

“That was my fault,” you say as you shut the door. Removing your shoes, you set them by the coat rack. “I have a few big projects I’m working on, so I wasn’t sure I could take the time off.”

Breaking free of the hug, Jimin’s mom faces you. “Well, we’re incredibly glad to have you here, but tell us if you need a break this weekend. Even if you need to lock yourself in your room!”

“Thanks, Mrs. Park,” you say sheepishly.

As you unwind the scarf from your neck, the door opens again, letting in a cold gust. Hoseok and Jimin’s dad enter, stamping their feet on the rubber mat. They must have gone out the garage to get your bags, since you recognize your giant suitcase pulled by Hoseok, Jisoo’s husband.

Your stomach bottoms out. “Oops – sorry!” you blurt, rushing towards him. “I was planning to get that. I know that it’s heavy.”

“What, this?” Hoseok jokes, pulling it over the threshold. “Nah, this is light. You should see when Jisoo packs the twins’ suitcases.”

“Careful,” Jimin laughs, hanging up his coat. “Jisoo once heard me tell on her from across the house. She never lets me forget it.”

Dropping Jimin’s bag by the staircase, his dad crosses the room to hug you with one arm. “It’s so good to have you here, Y/N,” he says.

“Likewise,” you say, smiling faintly.

Setting down your suitcase, Hoseok bounds across the hall and scoops you in his arms. Hugging you tight, he imbues the scent of sugar and cinnamon. “Hey, Y/N!” he says, much too loud. “It’s fucking freezing out there.”

“Language!” scolds a familiar voice. “Y/N!” Jisoo cries, rushing forward and shoving her husband aside. Her arms wrap around you. “Thank god you’re here! There’s so much testosterone in this house, it’s unconscionable.”

“It’s literally just me and your dad,” Hoseok points out.

Trapped in Jisoo’s arms, you watch him and Jimin’s dad lug your suitcase upstairs.

“Yeah, like I said – too much,” Jisoo grumbles and releases. She looks you up and down. “Ugh, I agree with my mom. Why do you look hot at the airport, Y/N?”

You can’t help but laugh, warmth spreading through your chest the longer you stand there. Jimin leans on the banister, watching all this with a half-smile. If this were the airport, or the plane, you could have followed your instinct to look away. All that saved you from crumbling on the flight was your ability to avoid eye contact.

Here, though – you’re supposed to be in love with Jimin. Which you are. Except you shouldn’t be. Except right now, it’s okay to be and so, you look back. Locking eyes with him, you smile and Jimin’s face transforms.

He smiles so large, his eyes near-disappear, carving the hollow inside your chest even deeper. Before you can comment, tiny footsteps thunder down the long hall. Jisoo and Hoseok’s daughters, Hana and Ari, speed around the corner, catching themselves before they trip.

“Uncle Jimin!” they squeal, rushing forward.

Jimin bends to scoop them both around the waist. “Oh my gosh,” he groans, tossing them over his shoulders. “You two got even bigger. Soon, you’ll be taller than I am!”

“No, we won’t,” Ari giggles, kicking in mid-air.

Hoseok pops his head down from the landing. “Careful, Jimin,” he warns. “If they throw up down your back, that’s on you.”

Stopping abruptly, Jimin returns them both to the ground. “Did you say hi to Y/N?”

Both whirl to face you. “Y/N!” cry Hana and Ari, running forward.

Laughing, you bend and squish them both. Unlike Jimin, you don’t try to lift them, but just hold them close.

The first time you came for Christmas, Jisoo was pregnant at the time. You’ve watched the twins grow from infants to the three-year-old terrors they are, and honestly, it terrifies you how quickly they age. Followed by sadness, realizing they likely won’t remember you after this trip.

Pulling back, you manage to smile. “Jimin is right,” you say. “You two are going to play basketball for sure.”

Hana giggles loudly. “No, I wanna skate! Like Uncle Jimin!”

Behind her, Jisoo’s smile disappears. Straightening, she glances in the direction of her dad, and you watch Jimin’s father turn pointedly away. He walks down the hall, and Jimin’s mom shakes her head slowly.

Ari continues, blissfully oblivious to the tension in the room. “I’m gonna be on TV, like Y/N!”

Stifling a smile, you push yourself upward. No matter how many times you explain what you do, the twins refuse to believe you aren’t actually the characters you cosplay. At this point, you’ve mostly given up on correcting them.

“What about your mom and dad?” Hoseok jokes, scooping Ari onto his hip. “Don’t you want to be like us?”

“No!” Ari yells, and Hana latches onto Hoseok’s leg.

Hoseok sighs. “Should’ve expected that.”

Hana, already a daddy’s girl, turns her face towards him. “I’ll be a… a…”

“Physical therapist,” Jisoo stage-whispers.

“Yeah!”

Chuckling, Jisoo walks over and picks Hana up. “Okay, enough of that. You were allowed to stay up for Uncle Jimin and Y/N, but now it’s time for bed. Goodnight, everyone!” she calls, heading down the hall. “We’ll see you tomorrow!”

You smile, stifling a yawn as Jisoo and the twins leave. The hour is late, a fact Jimin’s mom seems to realize at the same time.

“Silly me,” she laughs, half-turning. “Have you eaten yet? I have leftovers, or I could whip something up?”

“We ate on the flight,” you respond. “But thank you so much.”

Jimin nods, appearing by your side and slipping a hand to your elbow. “Yeah, thanks, mom. But it’s been a long day of travel. I think we’re just going to head to sleep.”

“Of course, of course.” His mom waves you off. “Darling, will you help them with the bags?” she asks as Jimin’s dad re-enters.

“Oh, that’s not necessary –”

“There’s no use, Y/N,” Jimin says, grabbing your purse as his dad steps in.

Jimin’s dad is a kind, soft-spoken man – much like Jimin, he prefers to let others talk rather than state his own feelings. The fact that he specifically said he didn’t want Jimin to play, you know, impacted Jimin far more than he’d like.

Following them upstairs, you find yourself ensconced in memories. Much like Ebenezer Scrooge, Christmases of long ago rise the further you walk. Mid-way down the hall, your stomach drops when you realize something important.

Entering the door at the end, Jimin’s dad leaves it open. “The room’s been made up,” he calls over his shoulder. “Plenty of towels under the sink but let us know if you need more. Let’s see… there’s toothpaste, shampoo, and conditioner if you forgot any.”

You come to a sudden stop, forcing Jimin to walk directly into you. He stumbles, steadying himself with one hand on your back.

“Y/N.” Jimin lowers his voice. “Are you alright?”

“I…” The words stick in your throat. “Yeah. It’s just… nothing.”

In the center of the room is a single, Queen-sized bed. Somehow, in all your imaginings, you never actually pictured the sleeping arrangements. Every other visit, sharing Jimin’s childhood bedroom-turned-guest room was fine. Now though, you find yourself wondering how this will work.

Setting down Jimin’s suitcase, his dad straightens and dusts off his hands. “Well,” he says, turning around. “I’ll leave you two to settle in. Call if you need anything, alright? So happy you’re here, Y/N,” he adds before stepping outside.

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

After a moment of silence, Jimin crosses the room. He bends to unzip his suitcase and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with memories. Jimin has always been the type who unpacked as soon as you arrived, whereas you’d live out of your suitcase if you could. Sometimes, you had pity and unpacked with him, while other times, you mercilessly waited and watched him squirm.

The second option seems rife with turmoil, so instead, you drag your giant suitcase aside and unzip. Pulling clothes from a rumpled mess, you grab hangers from the closet to put them away. When you turn around, you catch Jimin watching, crouched beside his suitcase.

His gaze tracks your movements. “You don’t have to unpack, you know.”

“I know.” Grabbing another hanger, you lift a shirt. “I want to.”

“Okay.”

“Besides,” you add, your panic shifting to irritability. “It’s not like I expect you to help anymore. We’re not together.”

“I know.” Jimin is quiet for a moment. “I’d help if you wanted me to.”

Pressing your lips together, you stop yourself from saying something embarrassing. “Maybe we need ground rules,” you blurt as you turn.

Slowly, Jimin rises. “What type of ground rules?”

“You know.” Desperate, you cast your gaze elsewhere. “Like, obviously we’re not going to… sleep together this weekend.”

“In that bed?”

“In any way,” you hiss.

Lifting a brow, Jimin moves closer. It takes everything in you not to meet him halfway. Instead, you tilt your chin upward as he stops before you.

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do,” he agrees.

This only serves to worsen your mood. Of course, Jimin would turn this back on you. “I need to know how to act this weekend,” you demand.

“Act… like yourself.”

“And when we’re alone?” you ask. When he doesn’t respond, you continue, “I think we should only pretend to be a couple around your family.”

The furrow between his brows deepens. “Fine.”

“And agreed to your first rule – no sleeping together.”

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Fine,” Jimin repeats. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Your gaze darts to the worn loveseat shoved under the window. For a moment, you hesitate, since it barely looks large enough to fit Jimin lying down. The thought of him sleeping beside you in the same bed though, is dangerous enough that you nod.

“Okay,” you say.

“Anything else?”

His words are layered with challenge and, hearing this, your gaze narrows. Some of Jimin’s amiability has vanished, leaving behind a version of Jimin you used to enjoy. Not that you ever made him mad on purpose, but Jimin is rarely as honest as when he’s angry. Usually, he’s so concerned with people liking him, it can take immense anger to say what he thinks.

When he’s mad though, the façade slips. Like now – each mild annoyance and irritation is clear on his face. Jimin’s lips twist, his jaw set in a way that sends a thrill down your spine. Oddly enough, you revel in being able to get beneath his skin. It means you affect him, no matter how small.

“Physical contact is fine,” you say, lifting your chin. “Kissing is not.”

“Oh?” Jimin murmurs, tilting his head. “You think my family won’t be suspicious if we don’t kiss the entire time you’re here?”

“Fine,” you amend. “Kissing should be kept to a minimum, though. And no tongue.”

“Suit yourself. Anything else? Last chance to add, before the weekend starts.”

Jimin has moved close enough that you stand nose-to-nose and for a moment, you’re consumed by the urge to close the distance. To dig your fingers into his hair, crush your mouths together and allow him to consume you.

The thought of what comes next is enough to deter you. Deflating, you take a step around him.

“No,” you say softly. “That’s it. I’m getting ready for bed.”

Grabbing your toiletry kit, you head for the bathroom. Jimin doesn’t try to stop you, but you see he remains where he stands as you shut the door. Setting down your bag, you turn on the faucet and grip the counter. Tears burn your eyes, but you blink them away.

You may have made the wrong decision in coming here. Yoongi and Namjoon were right – how can you possibly sit here, pretending nothing happened and return Tuesday to your tiny apartment? Being around Jimin is one hundred times worse than being alone. All you can think about is when you were together, if you were together –

Groaning aloud, you turn. Opening the linen closet, you select a hand towel and go through your night routine as fast as possible. Five more days, you remind yourself while brushing your teeth. You only have to make it for five days.

Turning off the sink, you exit the bathroom and realize you might have been wrong. Five days is an eternity.

Jimin sits on the edge of his sofa, legs spread while scrolling aimlessly through his phone. He isn’t wearing a shirt and for a moment, all you can see is hard muscle. A clearly defined v disappears beneath flannel pants, making your mouth water.

In a moment of true inconvenience, he looks up while you stand there, mouth agape.

Immediately, his eyes widen when he sees you.

Glancing down, you recall the reason why, and your face starts to heat. Jimin bought you this pajama set two years ago for Christmas – purposefully scandalous, made with silk shorts so short they’re practically underwear. On a whim, you packed only revenge sleepwear – something you simultaneously regret and revel in now, seeing the look on his face.

“Goodnight,” you squeak, practically flinging yourself across the room and into bed. Reaching out, you turn off the light and burrow under the covers as quickly as possible.

Each sound in the room seems louder than normal. Jimin’s feet hit the floorboards, then he flicks the bathroom light on, shutting the door with a squeak of the hinges.

More sounds follow. The shower turns on, the curtain is pulled back, and Jimin steps inside as droplets of water hit his naked chest –

“Oh my god,” you moan, turning to muffle your face. “Y/N, get a grip.”

No one answers, unsurprisingly, and you stifle the sounds of the shower with your pillow. Although you expected to lie awake for hours, the exhaustion of the day slips over you easily. By the time Jimin returns, you’re mostly asleep.

You think you hear him say your name, imagine warmth on your forehead and then, nothing. Sleep claims you until daylight.

The next morning, Jimin is awoken by dull pain from his tailbone. Rolling over, he catches himself a split-second before he falls from his bed – which is to say, the old couch in his bedroom. Flopping onto his back, Jimin stares at the ceiling. An unassuming crack splinters above him, spiderwebbing towards the door in dramatic fashion.

No one seems to be up yet, so Jimin attempts to fall back asleep. He’s nearly succeeded when a knock sounds at the door. Jimin doesn’t stir, simply staying put.

“Jimin? Y/N? Are you up?”

Hearing the voice, Jimin’s eyes fly open. Shit. His mom is at the door, and if Jimin knows his family at all, he knows a forced entry is imminent.

Bolting upright, Jimin stumbles off the couch, one foot tangling in the blanket he slept in. Scooping this in one hand, he fairly sprints towards the bed and yanks back the covers. Before he can think twice, he slips beneath the sheets and throws an arm over your waist.

Jimin cringles, expecting you to wake up and berate him for breaking the first rule you gave. Indeed, he’s prepared to defend himself when you do the unthinkable – murmuring gently, you arch and shift backwards.

Jimin goes still. With his arm around your waist, he can feel your soft curves, pressed firmly against him and – fuck. Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, fully embarrassed by his body’s response.

“Jimin?”

The door cracks open, and Jimin exhales.

“We’re up, mom,” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep. The door halts, and Jimin feels you stiffen beneath him. “Just sleeping in.”

“Oh! Right, yes – I’m sorry, dears. I just wanted to know if you need breakfast!”

“We’ll be down soon,” Jimin calls, tightening his grip when you attempt to wriggle free. Seeming to grasp the hint, you go still.

“Alright!”

The door fully closes, and Jimin exhales.

Half-turning to face him, your eyes narrow. “Jimin, wh–”

“Shh,” he murmurs, keeping you still with that same arm.

You stop moving, gaze lingering and Jimin hopes you don’t notice the front of his sweatpants. While you were dating, one of his favorite ways to wake up was with you in his arms. Entangled, half-asleep and drowsily aware of your need for one another.

Once his mom’s footsteps are gone, Jimin releases his grip. “Sorry,” he mutters, scooting away. “I heard the door open and panicked. Didn’t want them thinking we slept apart.”

“Oh. Right.”

You sound oddly disappointed, although he’s probably imagining that. Jimin valiantly attempts to keep his gaze on your face and not lower, where your excuse-for-pajamas exposes most of your chest. When he bought them for you two years ago, he never dreamt they’d be used in this fashion. Honestly, hat’s off to you if this was a planned torture.

A devious glint enters your eye, and Jimin can almost imagine the look is for him. At least, he thinks he’s imagining things until you move closer. Time seems to slow when your hand lands on his chest.

Jimin inhales, the sound embarrassingly rough. “So–”

“Do–”

You each pause, waiting for the other to finish and Jimin’s neck flushes. “You go,” he murmurs.

“I was just thinking…” Fleeting, you smile. “Do you remember the first time we visited?”

Jimin stifles the urge to cover his face. “Remember?” he groans, rolling onto his back and tugging you with. “Am I ever going to live that down?”

Grin widening, you rest your head on the pillow beside him. “Nope,” you tease. “You were so nervous your family would hear us doing something, you put a pillow barrier in the bed between us. A pillow barrier!” you repeat, dissolving into laughter.

Jimin’s lips twitch. “That did not work.”

“No, it didn’t,” you agree, your gaze bright. “If I remember correctly, I woke up on the last day with your mouth between my legs.”

“If I remember correctly, I had a standing invitation to do so.”

“True. Definitely still my favorite wake-up method.” You abruptly go still, remembering where you are and who you’re with. “I mean,” you rush. “Not that we do that anymore. Or that I like – well, I still like that, but I…”

Although Jimin stays silent, his heart squeezes tighter. The thought of you waking up like that with someone else sends heat through his veins, burning away common sense.

“Yeah.” Removing his hand, Jimin rolls sideways. “Anyways, sorry about that. I know we said we wouldn’t act like a couple when we’re alone.”

Facing away, Jimin can practically hear your walls being raised. Walls he encouraged – more for self-preservation than anything else.

“No problem,” you say tightly.

Your feet hit the floor and Jimin’s watches from the corner of one eye as you enter the bathroom. Only then does he exhale, wincing a little at the situation below. Leaning back, he stares at the ceiling and resigns himself to yet another cold shower. The memory of your pussy, gleaming and wet while he sucked on your –

“Fuck,” Jimin mutters, standing abruptly to limp across the room.

Gathering his clothes, he exits the room for the bathroom down the hall. You aren’t his anymore, he reminds himself while stepping under the spray. Tipping back his head, Jimin allows thoughts of you to consume him; imagining what would’ve happened if you were still his.

You aren’t his, though. The thought is enough to kill his hard-on, and he lets go of himself to grab the shampoo. Your words from earlier come back, and Jimin can’t help but wonder at your true meaning. Is theresomeone else waking you up that way? When he called you last weekend, Jimin thought you were with someone and you told him no, but actually – well. What you said was that was none of Jimin’s business.

Feeling slightly sick, Jimin goes through the motions of washing his hair. Stepping from the shower, he wraps a towel around his waist and clears off the glass.

Dr. Nygard would tell him to stop, to slow down and observe the situation. Jimin can’t automatically believe the worst option when he has ambiguous information. What have you said? You agreed to come here, for one. Jimin doesn’t think he’s deluding himself by imagining most exes wouldn’t do that. He also doesn’t believe you would come if you were seeing someone serious.

And that’s all that matters, really. Jimin doesn’t care if you’ve dated during your time apart – all he cares about is that you hear him when he says he wants you back.

Which he will. He just needs to figure out how.

Warm laughter drifts from the kitchen as you head downstairs. After the complete and utter disaster that was this morning, you spent longer than usual getting ready for the day. Mostly, you spent time in the shower, the water cranked to a temperature barely legal to stand in.

Definitely still my favorite wake-up method. Cringing again, you stop in the hall. If Jimin didn’t hear the desperation in your voice, you’d be surprised. You might as well have thrown your leg over his waist or told him you still think about him when you come. From the way Jimin yeeted himself out of the bed, it’s clear he doesn’t feel the same way.

For all you know, he’s been ‘moving on’ for months now. Stomach sinking, you recall the age-old adage about break-ups. Women feel the most at first, slowly getting better until, three months later, they’re ready to start dating again. Men are the opposite, throwing themselves into every open bed until, three months in, they realize how good they had it back then.

Feeling somewhat foolish, you wonder if Jimin has been sleeping around. He’s a world-famous NHL player – it’s not like he would be at a loss for options. Women and men hotter, funnier, and smarter than you are probably lining themselves up for the chance.

No, you reiterate, shaking your head. Even if he has been seeing other people, Jimin asked you to come with him to Garland. You’re the one he invited, which he wouldn’t have done if there was someone else in the picture.

Hovering outside the kitchen, you listen in. Hoseok laughs at something Jimin’s dad said, and Jisoo is asking her mom for more fruit. Jimin says he’s got it, making your chest tighten. This was the family you were supposed to be a part of; the future you envisioned for nearly four years.

Still, you manage to keep your smile in place as you enter. “Good morning!” you chirp, heading straight for the coffee.

Jisoo glances up from the table. “Y/N!” she says, shoving back her chair. “I was half-asleep last night and didn’t properly hug you. Come here!”

Passing Hana and Ari, who are giggling at something Jimin just said, Jisoo wraps you warmly in her arms. Laughing, you squeeze her back and feel some of your tension fade. Jisoo is one of your favorite people on the planet, and a role model you look up to.

Three years older than Jimin, she completed her residency while planning her wedding and became pregnant with twins her first year at UW Medicine. A year ago, she and Hoseok decided to uproot their lives and move to Garland for a promotion – Jisoo became an attending physician, which was rare for someone with only three years of specialty.

Before this year, you used to talk all the time. With the move and Jimin’s injury, you haven’t spoken as much, which explains why she didn’t realize something was wrong. Or maybe she did, but simply doesn’t know how bad things are.

At long last, Jisoo separates to look you up and down. “You’re way too skinny,” she huffs, tugging you forward. “Come on, have breakfast. The girls want to make Christmas cookies later this morning.”

“Who am I to crush their dreams?”

Before you can get very far, a steaming mug of coffee is pressed into your hands. Surprised, you glance up and find Jimin beside you. He catches your gaze and smiles, damp hair in his eyes.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep.

You stare at him, wide-eyed, until he turns around to cross the room. Jisoo laughs at your face, shaking her head.

“You two are the worst,” she groans. “The way you look at each other is positively nauseating, like you just started dating.”

Jimin’s shoulders stiffen as he opens the fridge.

“Not that it’s a bad thing,” Hoseok says from behind. Bending, he scoops Hana’s toy from the floor. “You two are sweet, that’s all.”

“Unlike Y/N’s coffee.” Jisoo shudders.

Gamely, you take a large sip of your coffee – black, like your soul. Just how you like it. Just how Jimin knows you like it.

“Delicious,” you say, meeting his gaze over the rim of your mug.

Jimin doesn’t look away, slowly sipping his tea.

“Breakfast!” Jimin’s mom sings songs, turning from the stove. Spooning eggs onto a plate, she pushes this towards you. “I hope you don’t mind I made them scrambled, Y/N. You liked that last time you visited, right?”

“Thanks,” you say, your smile genuine while taking a seat.

The meal is uneventful, passing with small talk and regular interruptions from the twins. By the time the table is cleared, you’re completely full. You forgot this part of the holidays – food and laughter, coupled with good company.

Finishing his tea, Jimin sits beside you and subtly extends his leg. His left thigh brushes yours, making you stiffen. An accident – or so you think, until he stretches both arms overhead, exposing a flat strip of abs. Clutching your mug, you shoot him a dirty look.

Jimin drops a wink.

Once the dishes are clean, the morning continues. At the twins’ insistence, this morning’s activity is holiday cookie making. Hoseok and Jisoo picked out three types and somehow, you’ve been stuck with the most difficult.

Jimin’s dad, a retired elementary school teacher, leaves for the local theater around ten. Apparently, he’s still involved with the kids’ Christmas pageant. Jimin’s mom follows, needing to pick up some things from the store.

You end up next to Jisoo, delicately sifting flour for your cookies. Jimin is with Hoseok near the stove, conversing lowly while filling small bowls with candy. Part of you strains to overhear them, but they’re too far away. Probably for the best – for months, you’ve been consumed by the past. Your therapist would encourage living in the moment.

“How’s the new hospital?” you ask Jisoo, whisking your ingredients.

Her smile brightens. “Really great. Honestly, I was scared to move from Seattle. I knew it’d be easier to have my parents nearby, but… I don’t know.” She exhales. “I was being a snob, I guess. Thought I could only make it big in the city.”

Rueful, you smile. “I get that. But I’m glad things are going well.”

“Really well,” Jisoo says. Her glance darts to Hoseok, and she lowers her voice. “Between you and me, Hoseok and I are trying again.”

“No way,” you whisper-gush. “Seriously? Jisoo, that’s so exciting!”

“I know, right? We – oh, no! Honey, not like that.”

Turning, you stifle laughter when you see Hana pouring flour into the cookie cutter. Standing, Jisoo rushes to correct the error and clean up the mess.

Sitting back in your chair, you focus on the ingredients and attempt to squash your discomfort. You’ve always wanted kids – your wanted kids with Jimin – but now, just the thought brings back awful memories.

Missed phone calls, doctor’s appointments, and a stick with two lines.

Jimin sinks into the empty seat beside you. “Did she tell you?” he murmurs, leaning in. “That they’re trying for a third kid?”

Seemingly on accident, his right thigh presses to yours. “Yeah,” you say, trying to ignore the sparks this contact brings. “That’s awesome.”

“You were right, you know.”

Lifting your brows, you turn fully. “About what, specifically?”

Jimin chuckles, shaking his head. “Hoseok noticed you weren’t at my games,” he admits. “I said you’ve been traveling a lot for work, which he seemed to buy.”

“Hm.” Glancing sideways, you see Hoseok is watching. “Maybe we should do something… you know, to keep them off track.”

“Oh?” Somehow, his voice gets deeper. “Like what?”

Strands of dark hair have fallen over his gaze and, tentative, you reach up to brush them away. Jimin goes still, his gaze fixed on yours. When your fingers skim his jawline, Jimin audibly swallows. Pulling back, you attempt to stay calm – until he reaches up to capture your wrist.

Still looking at you, Jimin tilts your palm and presses a kiss to the center. The feel of his lips, velvet and soft, weakens behind your knees.

“Enough,” Hoseok groans, collapsing into the seat alongside you. “These cookies won’t make themselves.”

Jimin smiles and withdraws, much to your disappointment. Returning to your cookies, you try not to replay his touch in your mind. Of course, you fail. Each time Jimin moves, your thighs press together, and you’re cursed with many memories of his bare skin on yours.

At least there isn’t much need for conversation. The twins, adorable as ever, demand attention from the table as they tell their stories.

Once the cookies are in the oven, Jimin busies himself making another pot of coffee. He refills your mug, sitting closer than before, blithely oblivious to your turmoil. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was torturing you on purpose, but Jimin isn’t like that. He just loves being close to people.

While you’re busy frosting, Jimin’s mom returns from the store. “Those cookies smell amazing,” she sighs, unwinding her scarf. “Honey, help me put these away!” she calls to Jimin’s dad, entering close behind her.

Opening the fridge, he starts to unload while Ari and Hana make a mess with the sprinkles. Jimin stretches again in his seat, casually licking frosting while you try not to stare. Only bad things can come from obsessing about Jimin’s tongue.

Bringing a fresh bag of candy, Jimin’s mom sits beside Ari to help her decorate. Pouring himself a fresh mug of coffee, his dad turns around and leans against the counter. His stance is so similar to Jimin’s, you can’t help but smile.

“What is it?” Jimin asks, leaning closer.

You stifle a shiver at his breath near your ear. “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… nice being here, that’s all.”

Something unreadable darts across his expression. Before either of you can respond, Ari lets out a squeal and shoves her cookie forward.

“Look, Uncle Jimin!” she cries, showing him the final product. “Hockey puck.”

Leaning forward, Jimin blinks at a round cookie with black frosting. Hoseok shakes his head, hiding a smile and pulls the cookie back.

“Kind of looks like a button,” he mutters, and Jisoo elbows him swiftly.

You and Hoseok laugh, but you’re the only ones. Everyone else goes silent, glancing awkwardly at Jimin’s dad, who stands near the coffee pot. His lips are a thin line, his displeasure clear while setting his mug aside.

Removing his glasses, Jimin’s dad slowly polishes them on the end of his shirt. “Not sure you want to be encouraging hockey so young, Jisoo,” he says.

Jisoo visibly stiffens and Jimin sinks lower.

“She’s just supporting her uncle,” Jisoo declares. “She thinks the game is exciting – which it is.”

“Exciting, yes.” Jimin’s dad turns around. “Dangerous, is another word.”

Stomach flipping, you glance at Jimin. Part of you wonders if he’ll use this to broach the contract, but a single look sideways banishes this thought completely. Jimin’s knuckles are white from gripping his tea, his gaze darting swiftly from table to floor.

A surge of protectiveness goes through you. Although his parents mean well, in their desire to keep Jimin safe, all they’ve done is alienate him. Jimin, who does his best to please everyone and make others happy.

“Accidents can happen in a lot of sports,” you blurt, and Jimin looks upward, startled. “Or just walking down the street. Jimin is a great player, and a smart one. I, for one, am proud of everything he’s accomplished.”

Jisoo mouths, thank you, to you from across the table. Finished with your declaration, you feel an odd twinge of guilt, wondering if you overstepped. Jimin’s mom’s expression is unreadable, and his dad’s back remains to the rest of the room.

Hoseok clears his throat, always the mood-maker. “Yes, we’re all proud of Jimin for his two Stanley Cup wins– oh, wait a minute, hang on.” He presses one hand to his heart. “That was Jungkook who has two wins. Jimin only has one.”

Jisoo boos, pelting Hoseok with chocolate chips and Hana joins in. Jimin and Jungkook’s so-called ‘rivalry’ is infamous, both in the NHL and in their hometown, having grown up only streets apart. They were on the same team for one of said cup wins, but then Jungkook got traded and won another – a constant source of ribbing between them. You imagine you’ll see Jungkook at some point this weekend; he usually returns to Garland during the holidays.

While everyone laughs, you feel Jimin lean closer. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

You turn to face him head-on. “I meant it.”

His gaze only intensifies. “I know.”

A fission mends in your chest, once cracked by separation and distance. Towards the end of your relationship, you stopped being a team. Somehow, you ceased understanding what Jimin thought, and he stopped trying to tell you. It aches, imagining a separate reality where instead of breaking up, you became closer.

Jimin seems more self-aware now, more in touch with his feelings and you can’t help but wonder if it’s because you’re not together. Maybe losing you was the key to finding himself. And if that’s so – how can you ever ask him to come back?

The troubling thought lingers for the rest of the morning, and you’re no closer to an answer as lunch rolls around.

The entire rest of the day is a complicated dance of keeping your distance while simultaneously acting no different than usual. By the time the sun sets, your bones are exhausted from your world-class portrayal of Happy Girlfriend.

The rules are hindering more than they’re helping, you must admit. It’s exhausting to code switch every time you leave a room. Seeing Jimin purposefully give you distance, only to engage when his sister appears has the unfortunate consequence of making you feel used. As though you’re only worthy of attention with other people around.

Still, you’re the one who asked for this, so you’ll live with the outcome. After dinner, Jimin’s dad decides to build a bonfire and take advantage of the ‘warm spell.’ You and Jisoo exchange a glance, since your weather app states it will get below freezing. At least there’s no snow, which is likely what he means.

Jimin’s mom prepares you all for the cold, handing out blankets and making hot toddies. Jisoo bundles Hana and Ari in full snowsuits, despite Hana’s protestation that you’re wearing a sweater. Sweater is what Hana calls everything except her heaviest parka. Admittedly, you wish you’d bought a warmer jacket (Jimin has been insisting for years) when you step outside and are hit with a frigid blast of air.

Squinting into the wind, you almost don’t notice Jimin sneak up behind you. “Here,” he says, draping two blankets around you. “Ari was worried you’d catch up to the cold. I think that means, catch a cold.”

Smiling, you pull the fleece tighter. “She’s adorable,” you murmur. This time, the twinge of regret is easier to bear than before.

Settling into a chair, you accept the hot toddy Jimin hands you. Pulling his seat as close to yours as possible, Jimin drapes the same blanket over your legs. Across the fire, Hoseok and Jisoo settle on a bench – no alcohol for Jisoo, but Hoseok has a hot toddy. Jimin’s mom and dad take the seats between you, busying themselves with entertaining their granddaughters.

The fire crackles merrily before you, bronze and orange sparks drifting upward to the stars. Smiling, Jimin’s dad pokes the log and offers you marshmallows. You defer roasting to the twins, who happily take up the burden. Seeing Jimin’s dad smile eases some of your tension, glad he isn’t mad at you for what you said. You didn’t think he would be, having known him for years, but you never know. The injury changed a lot in their family.

Leaning your head to Jimin’s shoulder, you inhale his scent mixed with the bonfire. Curling your legs under, you take a sip of your drink and slowly exhale. Glancing at Jimin, you realize he’s wearing the sweater you got him your very first Christmas.

“Hey,” you blurt, reaching for the hem. “You’re wearing this.”

Jimin looks down when you push his coat aside. “Uh, yeah. I know, it’s kind of tight. I must’ve gained weight since then – it fit perfectly when you gave it to me.”

“It fits perfectly now,” you mutter.

His body stills beneath as you touch him. The fit might be snugger than your first Christmas, but you can’t help but think of it as an improvement. Jimin’s biceps strain against wool sleeves, and the pattern highlights the tapered v of his chest. Your fingers dance over the fabric, marveling until you realize you’re basically feeling him up.

Startled, you glance up and find Jimin’s eyes so dark, they’re practically onyx. Light reflects from the campfire, a hungry edge to his gaze that sends your mind reeling. Jimin’s hand moves under the blanket to grip yours, pointedly guiding your palm to rest on his thigh.

“Enough of that,” he says, his voice husky. “Or my family is going to see a lot more than they bargained for tonight.”

You squirm slightly beside him. Feeling his thigh beneath your palm has the opposite effect of what Jimin intended. You can’t help but think of this morning, waking up and the shower that followed. Now, more than ever, you’re starting to regret the rules. It’s hard to tell if Jimin is being genuine, or simply knows his family is watching.

Deciding to test this, you move closer. “Can you blame me?” you murmur. “You’ve always been good-looking, but this is something else.”

Jimin blinks, his surprise morphing quickly to something else. “Is that so?” he says lowly, his hand still over yours. “Because I seem to recall the first time we met you said you didn’t understand why I was a big deal.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, you deserved that. You were cocky.”

“You liked it.”

A smile twists your lips. “I did,” you admit.

The first time you met was in convention room A of some Hilton near the airport. You honestly don’t remember which one – all Hiltons look the same after a while. Jimin annoyed you at first since he drew attention away from the featured artists. Every time he entered a room, hushed whispers would follow, and focus from the panel would drift.

This eventually reached the point where you decided to say something. Personally, you claim no recollection of what you said, but Jimin insists you told him to either put on a mask or stay on the rink, but either way, his face better be gone tomorrow. This tickled him so much, that the next day at the con, Jimin wore an Iron Man mask and asked you out on a date.

His gaze heats, as though remembering the same night. You certainly didn’t intend to sleep with Jimin on the first date, but that’s what happened. After that, you were inseparable.

A marshmallow bag is thrust in your face.

“Marshmallows?” Hoseok asks, his cheeks red from the cold. “There’s only three left, so claim them before Hana and Ari roast them all. Or set them on fire.”

Jimin’s jaw drops. “You roasted the entire bag?”

“Yes and, well… some of them fell…”

Sighing, Jisoo shakes her head. “We’ll buy more tomorrow.”

Accepting the bag, Jimin pushes aside the blanket to stand. Without him, cold air rushes in to fill the empty space and you shiver. Before you can protest, Jimin turns and brushes a kiss to your forehead. No tongue, as agreed upon. Your test has completely failed.

“Be right back,” he promises, and jogs towards the fire.

Adding marshmallows to a stick, he begins to roast them in classic Jimin fashion. Finding the perfect spot over the fire so that the marshmallows turn a photogenic gold brown. Sipping your drink, you watch Jimin talk to his family, too far away to hear. Wind whistles through pine trees behind you, a wolf howling somewhere far in the distance.

Jimin throws his head back and laughs, his dark locks bright against amber flames. Every so often, he glances in your direction, as though ensuring you’re there. Something about this feels dangerous, as though neither of you are fully pretending. Whatever the truth is, you’re too tipsy to care. If you’re damned to burn by proximity, you might as well enjoy the warmth.

When Jimin returns, you accept the s’more he gives you. Jimin rejoins under the blanket, mock shivering until you lay your head again on his shoulder.

“That’s better,” he sighs, snuggling closer. “I know my dad loves these fires, but this is kind of excessive.”

“I heard that,” calls his dad from across the pit.

“You were supposed to!” Jimin yells back, prompting more laughter.

His fingers interlace with yours, and he tugs your hand to his lap. Single-handed, you finish eating the s’more and pick up your hot toddy. This feels comfortable, just like when you dated – except you’re not dating, you’re just pretending to date, but you’re still very much in love with Jimin, except you broke up for valid reasons, which –

“So,” Jisoo says, across the fire with Hoseok. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

Their mom glances at their dad. “Up in the air,” she says lightly. “I think the girls wanted to go ice skating, and we still need to holiday shop.”

“That all sounds good,” Jimin’s dad says without comment.

Your brows lift, although you keep your thoughts to yourself. It would seem the conversation this morning may have broken the ice where skating is concerned. No snide comment follows, or awkward glances.

Swallowing the last of his s’more, Jimin brushes off crumbs. “Heading into town sounds good. I need to get some last-minute gifts – I mean, uh, things. For no one.”

“Better not be my gift!” Jisoo pouts.

“Er, no – definitely not.”

Hana giggles, but Ari says nothing, fast asleep in Hoseok’s arms. Your chest twinges, looking at her sleeping body and you forcibly return your gaze to the fire. Beneath the blanket, your body has stiffened and Jimin seems to notice.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, turning into your hair.

Silently, you nod and attempt to look happy. “I’m good.”

“Then, it’s settled,” says their mom, oblivious to your conversation. “We’ll do ice skating in the morning, and shopping in the afternoon.”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

“Sunday is the Christmas Eve party,” adds Jisoo. “It’s happening at the resort this year! Aka – it’ll be fancy.”

Jimin’s mom smiles. “Make sure your gifts are wrapped before then!”

“I already wrapped mine,” says Jimin, his hand tight on yours. “Except for the ones I definitely didn’t forget.”

Hana laughs louder, her mouth full of chocolate. You exchange a pained glance with Jisoo, knowing she’s going to crash soon – and hard.

“All of your gifts?” Jisoo teases, leaning forward. “How’d you fit them in that tiny suitcase, Jimin? Unless they’re little gifts. Like… a small, Tiffany blue box?”

Hoseok hoots, and you feel Jimin’s thigh tighten beneath your hand. You’re sure you’re no better, your smile frozen in place at the implication.

“Jisoo…” Jimin warns.

“What?” She glances at Hoseok. “Come on, Jimin. We all know you’re going to propose. How else will you have all those babies you mentioned?”

“I mean, we could have a child without being married,” says Jimin drily. “But that’s beside the point.”

Jisoo rolls her eyes and sits back. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Each word slams your gut, made worse by the fact that Jisoo doesn’t know. That’s the problem. If she were saying these things to be mean, you’d know how to respond. As it is though, the only thing you can do is nod until it’s acceptable to retreat.

“We’re fine with more grandchildren,” adds Jimin’s mom. “With or without matrimony.”

“Okay, mom,” Jimin says through gritted teeth. “Can we please change the subject?”

“Yes, of course.” His dad waves a hand. “I think what everyone is trying to say though, Jimin, is that Y/N is already family. Additions are welcome in any way you see fit.”

Beneath the blanket, you grip the chair harder. The world around you dims as your vision blurs. As much as you’d like to pretend this is fine, all you can think about is what happened. You and Jimin aren’t happy, you aren’t together, and you definitely aren’t having children.

What actually happened was silence, much worse than any fighting. Conversations that should have happened, didn’t, pushed to the wayside because of your fear.

Abruptly, you stand and the blanket falls. Your head pounds as conversation around the fire ceases and heads turn to face you.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurt, stumbling over the words. “I’m not feeling well. Too much hot toddy, I think,” you add with a feeble laugh. “I’m going to head in for the night.”

Surprised expressions stare back, but you don’t choose to linger. Turning around, you rush towards the house with your heart in your throat. Snow crunches beneath boots, light from the bonfire flickering over the path.

Time seems both fast and slow as you shrug off your coat and step from your boots. Rushing upstairs, you barely make it into your bedroom before a sob rips from your throat. After so long suppressing them, your emotions expand in a heady wave. Memories of the night you broke up – the reason why you broke up – rise to the surface, demanding to be heard.

Sinking onto the sofa, you bury your face in your palms as guilt swallows you whole. Guilt Jimin doesn’t even know the half of, and if he did, he might never have asked you here in the first place.

Feet pounding the staircase, Jimin rushes upstairs. He isn’t sure what happened but knows you well enough to know you shouldn’t be alone. As much as you like to pretend not to need anyone, there are times when you do. Times when the emotions are too much, too heavy and you can’t bear them alone.

Outside, Jimin doesn’t recall exactly what he said, only that he made an excuse to leave and disappeared. You’re what’s most important right now. Despite what he said to you on the phone, his family would understand if he confessed two pieces of bad news at once. Sure, the hockey subject is tense right now and of course, they love you, but they also love Jimin. He knows they’ll eventually come around, no matter what he decides with his contract.

You, on the other hand… Jimin doesn’t know how to fix.

Reaching his old bedroom door, he knocks once. “Y/N?” Jimin calls, leaning closer to listen. “Can I come in?”

Jimin hears you move around, a soft thump of footsteps while you ready yourself for bed. And then – an unmistakable hitch in your breathing.

Losing himself completely, Jimin barges inside.

Your head jerks up, eyes wide when you see him. Crouching next to your suitcase, you hold in one hand the sweater you wore at the fire. Jimin barely notices, zeroing in on your eyes, which are red-rimmed and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, dropping the sweater. “I’ll tell your family whatever you want tomorrow. I just...” Your eyelashes flutter when you straighten. “I just couldn’t sit there, listening t-to them talk about us and–”

Crossing the room, Jimin crushes you to him. You bury your face in his chest, your entire body hiccupping as your arms wrap around him. He feels your muscles melt, leaning against him in a way that cracks his heart. For the first time in months, things feel right.

“It’s alright,” Jimin murmurs, inhaling deeply. “It’s fine, I don’t care.”

He doesn’t. Nothing matters beyond you in his arms, this feeling that–

“Did you know…” Your voice hitches. “I thought I was pregnant?”

Jimin’s arms lock, his blood turning sluggish as time seems to slow. Sound goes in and out, his brain repeatedly trying to process this information. None of it works.

“You… what?” Jimin rasps.

“I… never mind.” Your voice tightens. “It’s not worth it.”

Disentangling from his hold, you head for your suitcase and Jimin comes to his senses. “Not worth it?” he blurts, turning to face you. “How do you figure?”

“Because,” you say, crouching down. Frantic, you yank out another set of pajamas – Jimin nearly swears, seeing their skimpy hem. Did you bring any clothes for sleeping that won’t give him a boner? “We’re broken up, Jimin. There’s no point in rehashing the past.”

Grasping your toiletry kit, you stand – and Jimin reaches out. Definitely not his proudest moment, but he grabs the kit from your hands to hold just out of reach.

Your jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” Jimin says, gaze locked on you.

“Give that back,” you huff, attempting to grab it. “I swear, Jimin!”

“Tell me what you meant.”

“There’s no point.”

“There is a point if I did something to hurt you and never knew.”

Sidestepping Jimin, you snatch the kit from his hand. “Just forget it,” you huff, attempting to walk past him.

He steps between you and the door. “I don’t want to.”

Stumbling to a stop, you narrowly avoid his chest. “Jimin, stop,” you groan, and his hands slide to your elbows.

“When?” he demands. “When did you think you were pregnant?”

Your jaw sets, staring past him and for a terrible moment, Jimin is scared you won’t say. Scared you’ll decide you two are done and he doesn’t deserve the truth. Hell, you’re probably right. If you didn’t want to tell him back then, you probably had your reasons.

“September,” you whisper, barely audible.

Jimin finds it hard to breathe. He can’t recollect how to draw breath into his lungs, much less to expel it. “When in September,” he manages to ask.

Your gazes finally meet, and Jimin nearly regrets asking the question. “When you were at training camp,” you murmur.

September is both training camp for the NHL and the month you broke up. Jimin doesn’t view this to be a coincidence. Although he started skating with the team over the summer, training camp was a whole new level of hell for him. The rest of the team had an entire season of games and experience under their belt. Jimin felt like an outsider, at the bottom of his game both professionally and physically.

People love to think of recovery as a straight line, but it’s not. Dr. Nygard once called recovery polynomial, and that’s stuck with Jimin ever since. Full of dips and swift rises, plummets, and inclines. Training week was a plummet for Jimin. Coach was on some new kick, insisting the entire team stay for weeks at a hotel near the airport for ‘team building.’ All it meant was Jimin had no escape from his thoughts after leaving the ice. He had no you to steady him, no therapist he was seeing, and Jimin found himself drowning.

“What happened?” Jimin rasps, still holding on. “What do you mean, you thought you were pregnant?”

“I… realized my period was late and decided to take a pregnancy test. It was positive.”

Jimin’s stomach drops. “It was… positive? And you didn’t tell me?”

Your gaze narrows. “I tried, Jimin. I called you that night to talk but you were so in your head – the way you always were – that you barely heard.”

Jimin opens his mouth, and then closes it because he knows you’re right. Jimin wishes things had been different back then, wishes he could have pulled himself out of his depression long enough to talk, but he didn’t – or he couldn’t, Dr. Nygard would want him to say.

Last year’s injury shook his foundation in a way Jimin hadn’t anticipated. He had always been good at being a boyfriend, but not at relationships. Jimin was good at holding hands, saying comforting things and listening while you talked.

He wasn’t so good at confessing his shortcomings, or even acknowledging them to himself.

For most of your relationship, your problems were equal – or, if Jimin is being honest, yours were bigger than his. Then, suddenly, he was a burden. Jimin couldn’t stand, couldn’t shower, couldn’t even get dressed without you by his side. Losing his agency made him question everything he was, and he had no idea how to communicate that to you.

Jimin remembers the phone call you mentioned. He felt guilty about letting the team down that day, rushing you off the phone as penance. And then, he felt guilty about that, leading to a spiral which consumed half the night. Jimin hasn’t spiraled like that in a while, but right now, the panic feels tangible, hovering beneath his fingertips.

“And then what?” he manages to ask. “What happened?”

You stare at the wall, unfocused. “I went to the doctor that Friday. She confirmed I wasn’t pregnant, said the test had been a false positive, and I felt… confused.”

“Confused?”

“Relieved,” you clarify, gaze flicking to his. “I was relieved not to be pregnant. I want kids. Youwant kids. Even if it was unplanned, I thought getting pregnant was something I wanted, so when it happened, and I didn’t want it…” Your voice cracks as you speak. “I knew something was wrong.”

Jimin’s grip on you tightens, wishing he could go back and fix it. Wishing he’d heard what you tried to tell him, but he was so focused on his own pain, he hadn’t seen yours.

“We hadn’t talked in so long,” you whisper. “You… were so absent back then. You wouldn’t talk about anything, and I was terrified a kid would make that worse.”

A tear slips from your eye, and Jimin wipes it away. You lean into his touch, and his heart aches, that after everything, you would seek him for comfort. He only wishes he’d offered it then.

“I know I was absent. My… my therapist and I are working on communication. That’s why you said you wanted a break,” Jimin says, his voice hollow.

“Yeah.” Your eyelashes flutter. “It was.”

Exhaling deeply, Jimin lowers his hand. “Right.”

The night runs again through his mind, remembering how strange you sounded on the phone. And then Jimin recalls your face when he came home to the kitchen table. Again and again, the memory loops in his mind, a formative moment he can’t get past. You refused to even talk to him then, refused to tell him what the break was about. Just said you needed space, and that was that.

Ugly emotions bubble up, and Jimin tries to suppress them.

“I’m sorry,” you rush. “I should have tried harder to tell you, I know.”

“Yeah,” he exhales, turning away to run a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you should have, Y/N. Maybe if you’d told me, I would’ve –”

“You would’ve what,” you interrupt, steel entering your voice for the first time. Jimin glances sideways and finds you standing too close. “I tried for months to get you to talk to me. Why would this have been any different?”

“Because!” Jimin blurts, trying not to shout. “You thought you were pregnant.”

Eyes blazing, you take a step closer. “And? Thinking I was pregnant wasn’t why I asked for a break. I asked for a break because the pregnancy scare made me realize I couldn’t rely on you.”

Jimin reels, as though slapped.

Seeing this, some of your anger dissipates. “I was scared, Jimin. Scared that if the season didn’t go well, our relationship would change. And scared that if the season did go well, the next time it didn’t, our relationship would change. And I’d be left alone – again. Only with a child.”

All he can do is stare, wishing you’d said this when you were together. Then again, Jimin wouldn’t have been ready to hear it. Dr. Nygard says he internalizes problems, insisting on solving them by himself instead of asking for help. Ignoring a problem isn’t the same thing as solving it, though.

Unfortunately, Jimin didn’t feel the need to seek out a new therapist until after you left. Focusing on you and your pain, he takes a step closer.

“I didn’t know,” Jimin admits, somewhat broken. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well.” He sees right through your attempt to be brave. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. I asked for a break, and you wanted to break up. The reason why doesn’t really matter – does it? It doesn’t change the result.”

“It matters,” Jimin says lowly. “It matters to me.”

Something unreadable flickers in your gaze. “Maybe you’re right,” you admit on an exhale. “Maybe it does matter. But… it doesn’t fix things. Does it?”

Jimin hesitates a moment too long, and he watches the moment light fades in your eyes. His throat clogs with his panic, trying to come up with an answer, but everything feels inadequate.

Nodding to yourself, you step around him. “That’s what I thought,” you say and shut yourself in the bathroom.

Jimin listens to the water turn on, the shower curtain shutting and still, he stands there. His skin feels too tight, stretched across his bones, and the one thing he knows is he can’t stay. Jimin might be better at talking about his feelings now, but there’s only so much he can unpack in one night. Besides, you didn’t seem to want to have him around.

Turning on his heel, Jimin grabs his wallet and heads out the door. Frantically texting the first person in his phone, he pauses at the landing to wait for a response.

When it comes, Jimin grabs his jacket and stuffs his feet into shoes. What he needs is a plan, someone to talk through his feelings with and there’s only one person here who fits that bill.

“You rang?” Hoseok asks, sticking his head in from outside.

“Yep,” Jimin says, opening the front door. “Let’s go out. I could use a drink.”

Part 9

Jimin’s POV

“Okay, so, explain this to me again.” Removing his hat, Hoseok smooths down his hair. “You and Y/N aren’t together… but you’re pretending to be together, because…?”

“Because.” Squinting, Jimin realizes he may have overdone it with that last shot of whiskey. For once, he’s thankful Hoseok convinced him to take an Uber. “I’m planning on extending my contract. I can’t tell my parents that and we broke up.”

“You could.” Hoseok nods. “I mean, you could, but it’d go poorly. I get that.”

Mid-sip of whiskey, Jimin nearly spits it back out. “You can’t make me laugh,” he complains, wiping his mouth with one hand. “I nearly died.”

Hoseok laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. Before Hoseok was Jisoo’s husband, he was Jimin’s good friend. Hoseok is two years older than Jimin but would always make time for the younger kids in their school. If anyone knows Jimin well enough to give advice, it would be Hoseok.

Unfortunately, prime advice-giving time was probably several shots back.

Glancing at the clock, Jimin’s eyes widen. It’s nearly 1:00 AM. “We should probably head back,” he says, although he doesn’t budge.

Hoseok nods. “Probably.”

Exhaling, Jimin traces the rim of his glass with a finger. He debates whether to say his next though out loud before deciding, fuck it.

“That’s not the only reason I asked Y/N to come,” he admits.

“No.” Hoseok pretends to be surprised. “I’m shocked.”

Jimin pretend-shoves him off the stool, missing wildly. Hoseok cracks up, teetering backwards and nearly falling for real. Draining the rest of his glass, Jimin slams this to the counter.

“I still love her,” he admits, staring at the counter. “Never stopped. This past year has been… hard.” Jimin pauses, and Hoseok waits for him to continue. “I didn’t handle things well after I got hurt. I found a new therapist after we broke up, and they’ve put things in perspective. I tend to shut down, and in doing so, I push people away.”

“You don’t say,” Hoseok muses.

“Anyways.” Jimin shakes his head. “That’s what I did to Y/N. I kept saying things were fine, but they weren’t. I didn’t want to talk to her, didn’t want her to think any less of me.”

“Why would Y/N think less of you?”

Jimin pauses since that’s exactly how Dr. Nygard responded. “I… my therapist thinks I can accept flaws in others, but not in myself. He says too much of my self-worth is tied to accomplishments, in what I am to other people. When I lost something I viewed as essential, I felt… lost. Like I had nothing else to offer.”

Hoseok’s face twists. “Jimin, that’s not true.”

“I know.” He frowns at the empty glass. “Or at least, I’m learning that’s not true, but it’s how I felt at the time. I couldn’t let Y/N in because I didn’t want her to see how lost I truly was. I didn’t want her to think… I wasn’t the guy she fell in love with.”

And yet, Jimin wonders if this was the reason you left. You said you felt as though you couldn’t talk to him anymore, like he couldn’t hear you. You never said you didn’t like who he was, or that you were scared he couldn’t play hockey anymore. You said you were scared he wouldn’t let you in again.

Seeing the horrible irony in this, Jimin lowers his head.

“Jimin.” Hoseok exhales. “Y/N didn’t fall in love with you because you’re some big hockey star. In fact,” he adds, perking up slightly. “If I remember correctly, she hated that fact about you.”

Jimin chuckles. “You’re right about that.”

“So, you concocted this entire plan, dragged Y/N here for the holidays… for what? What’s the big move?”

“You think I have a plan?” Bleakly, he laughs. “No. I don’t know. I just…” Jimin hesitates. “The past three months have been miserable. At first, I didn’t call because I thought she was better off. I thought if Y/N was so unhappy, she deserved someone better, but… it wasn’t until recently I realized I didn’t give her a choice in the matter.”

Hoseok takes a sip of his drink. “So, what you’re saying is, you want to give her that choice.”

“I want to apologize,” Jimin says. “I want to show her I’m trying, that I’m still hers if she wants me, but… I also don’t want to force any decisions on her. I just want Y/N to be happy, you know? I want her to know I want her, since I haven’t done a good job at telling her in the past.”

Although his head is spinning, Jimin feels as though a weight has been lifted. For so long, he’s kept this bottled inside.

Hoseok sniffs loudly and Jimin glances at him, startled. “Are you… crying?”

“No!” Hoseok wipes his nose. “I’m just a sucker for love, alright? Tell me what you need from me this weekend, and I’ll help.”

“Thanks, man.” Jimin reaches over, patting him on the back. “I just… want Y/N to know I’m trying. She said she couldn’t rely on me before. I want her to know that she can.”

Hoseok’s lips purse. “Okay, sure. Make you look trustworthy. Dependable. That’s a tall order, but I’m down for the challenge.”

“Can’t be any harder than convincing Jisoo to marry you.”

“What was that?” Hoseok leans closer. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me and your sister trying for our third kid.”

“Gross,” Jimin groans. “I absolutely didn’t need to know that. Let’s go home,” he declares, sliding off the stool. Leaving money on the counter, he waves at the bartender. “I’ll call another Uber, okay?”

“Great.” Hoseok joins him at the exit, looping his scarf over his neck. “But seriously, Jimin, just tell me what you need. Now that I know what’s happening, I can be your man on the inside! Finagle those magical, romantic moments for you and Y/N.”

“Just talking about it was helpful,” Jimin admits. “So, thanks for that.”

“Anytime. Just make sure you talk to her, too – okay?”

“That’s the plan,” Jimin exhales, breath frosting as he opens the door.

Starting tomorrow, he plans on showing exactly what this relationship can be. And this time, if you decide to leave, it will be with the knowledge that Jimin wants you to stay.

The next morning you wake to the smell of pancakes. Rolling to your stomach, you leisurely stretch – only to remember partway where you are and what happened. The events of last night slam into you hard enough for you to cringe as you open an eye.

Jimin is asleep on the sofa, his face smushed by cushions with one arm hanging off. You remember stirring when he came in, although it must have been late. Bitterness stains your thoughts, and you roll onto your back to block him from view. Last night, you confessed everything. The reason you asked for a break, how you felt last year – only for Jimin to disappear, rather than have the hard conversation. Again.

When you emerged from the shower to an empty room, you tiptoed downstairs with your robe wrapped around you. Jisoo and her mom were talking in hushed tones outside, and you caught enough to understand Jimin had gone out with Hoseok. Smothering the sting of rejection, you rushed back upstairs and attempted to sleep.

In the new light of day, you can examine the moment with greater clarity. Oddly, mixed in with your anger is a shred of relief. For months, you’ve wondered what Jimin would have done if he knew the truth. Having this question resolved makes you feel lighter. He said other things, too, last night that piqued your interest.

Jimin mentioned a therapist. You weren’t aware he’d gone back, having disliked the one his team provided. He has seemed different lately, not just because of the situation you’re in. Before, Jimin would never have asked you to come home with you at all. He would have never admitted to needing your help, let alone asked directly.

All this is positive and yet, Jimin still ran away. Just as expected.

Pushing the comforter aside, you rise as quietly as possible to grab your things from your suitcase. Rather than wake Jimin, you head for the bathroom down the hall. The door creaks when you open it, and you pause on the threshold.

Jimin stirs in his sleep, muttering something before he rolls over. You freeze, praying he doesn’t wake, and he eventually settles. Even so, he must be uncomfortable. The couch is barely large enough for him to lie down, a blanket half-covering him to trail on the floor. One sockless foot dangles over the cushions, and creases are embedded in his cheek from the pillow.

Before you can change your mind, you slip from the room. Jimin must have been out late with Hoseok – the least you can do is not wake him. Even the thought this causes jealousy to rear its ugly head. Why would they possibly go out last night? Hoseok is married and as far as the family is concerned, you and Jimin are dating. Jimin couldn’t possibly have been so upset he’d put that at risk – would he?

You banish this thought as you get ready. Jimin isn’t the type of guy to put you in a bad situation. Although naturally flirty, he’d never do anything to cross a line. Even if you’re not technically together anymore.

Once dressed, you head downstairs and find Jimin’s mom already in the kitchen.

“Oh,” you exhale, stopping short in the door. “I didn’t realize anyone else was up.”

Glancing at you, his mom’s smile widens. “Thought I’d get a head start! Please, Y/N, sit down. I’ll get you some breakfast.”

The clock on the wall says only seven, but you nod. “That sounds great. I woke up early and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“I understand that.” She chuckles, turning to add batter to the pan. “There’s fruit on the counter if you want any. Pancakes should be ready soon.”

“I’ll take the pancakes,” you readily agree. “And put the coffee on.”

“Bless you,” she sighs.

Crossing the kitchen, the coffee maker sputters to life at the press of a button. Leaning your hip to the counter, you glance around and try not to get lost in the memories. Jimin’s parents have lived here since before he was born, and his childhood is everywhere, from photos on the fridge to height marks on the wall.

One of the reasons you used to enjoy visiting was because it pulled back the curtain. You saw the layers within, a list of the reasons Jimin was who he was. He had a supportive father, warm mother, and a strong older sister who kept him on track. His life was surrounded by love and when you came, it was easy to envision yourself in the future.

A future which no longer exists. Except – something about this thought snags in your mind. Jimin kept insisting that the reason you broke up matters. The only reason it would matter though, is if you had a future.

“Y/N…” Interrupting your thoughts, Jimin’s mom turns. “I hope I’m not overstepping by saying something.”

You straighten when she moves closer, turning the stove dial down.

“Of course, not,” you say, although on the inside, you’re panicking. “Go ahead.”

Stopping before you, she smiles warmly. “Oh, good. I just wanted to apologize if anything we said last night caused you discomfort.”

Inwardly, you shrivel. “Oh – no, no,” you hasten. “I’m so sorry for running off the way I did.”

Jimin’s mom shakes her head. “Don’t you apologize. We were the ones being insensitive, going on and on about marriage and kids. There’s absolutely no rush, Y/N. You and Jimin will figure it out eventually – if that’s even what you want.”

“Thank you,” you murmur as the coffee pot dings.

Grateful for something to do with your hands, you busy yourself as his mom returns to the stove. The two of you work in companionable silence, and you grab two mugs to fill up with coffee.

“Milk?” you ask, remembering how she takes hers.

“Yes, thank you, dear.”

Bringing this to the stove, you take a seat at the table and Jimin’s mom takes a deep sip. “Much better,” she sighs. “I hope this goes without saying, but if you ever have something you want to talk about, you can talk to me. I love my son,” she assures. “But you know I consider you more than his girlfriend. I care about you, too, Y/N.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you murmur, taking a large sip of coffee in lieu of a response.

Glancing sideways, his mom sees this and sets down her spatula. “Y/N,” she says, pulling you in for a hug. Smoothing her hand up and down your back, she squeezes you tightly. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Jimin, but know that we love you – okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, blinking the tears away.

Jimin’s mom pulls back with a final squeeze. Returning to the pancakes, she expertly flips several to reveal golden-brown. “Now, you better start eating these before someone else wakes up and claims them.”

Smiling to yourself, you settle back at the table.

“Someone like me?” Jisoo asks, breezing into the kitchen. She squeezes your shoulder as she passes, lifting her brows in wordless commiseration. “Glad you’re feeling better, Y/N. Wouldn’t want you to miss the iconic ice skating!”

“Can the twins even ice skate?” you wonder.

Jisoo takes a seat across the table from you. “Not really, no.” She laughs. “But it’s adorable watching Hoseok lose years from his lifespan with worry.”

You all laugh, digging into your pancakes as conversation continues. Some of your nerves disappear, knowing you didn’t mess things up for Jimin with your abrupt exit. And as hard as the conversation was last night, you’re glad you had it. Jimin deserves to know everything that happened this fall, even if it doesn’t change anything moving forward.

With everything out in the open though, there’s nothing stopping you from wondering. From asking yourself if you’d want to get back together if Jimin asked. It’s something you haven’t allowed yourself to even contemplate, fearing you’d never see Jimin again. Now though, you find yourself thinking and the answer comes to you as though it never left.

Yes.

Miraculously, the meteorologist on Channel 9 predicts clear skies all morning, which makes it perfect weather for ice skating. Jimin volunteers to drive, mostly so there’s an escape plan if you need one. You’ve seemed fine this morning though, your anger from last night mostly dissipated.

Unlike you, Jimin woke with a hangover and firm resolution. Now that you’ve talked about why you broke up, he can work on fixing things. Jimin hoped to talk to you at breakfast, but when he opened his eyes, you were already gone. He can’t really blame you. Last night, it seemed like a good idea to talk to someone else but in hindsight, it probably seemed like he left you. Again.

Padding downstairs in his PJs – with a t-shirt, having learned yesterday when Jisoo threw a balled-up sweatshirt at his head – Jimin was greeted by the sight of you eating breakfast. Jisoo threw him a dirty look when he entered, which Jimin supposed he deserved, although not for the reasons she thought.

Hoseok fared worse than Jimin, having emerged from their bedroom only five minutes before leaving. Jimin apologized to him profusely, which Hoseok waved aside with grim determination. Indeed, he seems to have taken last night to heart, loudly proclaiming that you should drive in Jimin’s car.

Something which only left you puzzled, seeing as you were already seated on the passenger side. Hoseok promptly ushered the rest of the family into his minivan and drove away. Alone in the SUV, Jimin drives into town and drums his fingers nervously on top of the wheel.

Holiday music plays over the speakers, and you hum under your breath while looking out the window. Jimin’s heart beats strangely louder when he opens his mouth.

“Y/N…”

You glance at him. “Mm?”

“I just…” He pauses. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

Now, Jimin seems to have your full attention, and you turn sideways to face him. “What are you apologizing for?” you ask, folding your hands in your lap.

Jimin grips the wheel. “A lot of things,” he admits. “I was thinking about what you said, and I’m sorry I let us get to the point where you didn’t feel you could talk to me. I’m sorry I stopped confiding in you. I’m sorry I made you feel alone.” A muscle jumps in his jaw. “My therapist, Dr. Nygard, says I tend to internalize when things go wrong. I shut down, which pushes people away, and I’m sorry I did that to you.”

The car goes utterly quiet, except for the hum of the engine and Josh Groban’s voice.

“… you found a new therapist?”

Jimin blinks at the road, realizing he never told you. The entire last year, you encouraged him to talk to someone, but he refused. The first therapist Jimin saw left a bad taste in his mouth, always condescending to what he was feeling.

“I did, yeah.” Jimin slowly nods. “I’m trying to reach out for help when I need it.”

Something in your voice softens the next time you speak. “Well,” you exhale. “That’s good to hear. I hope this therapist is… helping? Do you like them?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, it’s always going to be a process – right? The next time things are too much, I’ll have to work to make sure I’m alright. But it helps, having someone to talk to.”

“That’s great, Jimin,” you murmur, a wistfulness to your words.

He bobs his head once, as the song on the radio switches to Whitney Houston. You’ve nearly reached the edge of town by the time you next speak.

“You forgot something in that list of apologies,” you say softly.

Startled, Jimin turns at the stoplight. “What do you mean?”

Determined, you set your jaw and turn sideways. “You disappeared on me last night. We got in a fight, I confessed something personal, and then you just… left.”

Jimin stares, feeling like he’s been socked in the stomach. Last night, he didn’t think about it that way, thinking you’d want time alone, but you’re right. He left you – again. Jimin inhales, the sound shaky as the light before him turns green.

“Are you saying… you wanted me to stay?”

Before you can respond, the ice rink comes into view and Jimin’s attention is required to find parallel parking. Two days before Christmas, the town square is packed. Garland is renowned for their Christmas market, tourists coming from far and wide to browse all the stalls.

Once he parks – several blocks away – you begin the long trek towards the skating rink. Jimin continues to glance at you as you walk, knowing he needs to fix this, and fast.

“Y/N,” he ventures.

Your lips tighten. “Yes?”

Jimin hesitates, then decides, to hell with his dignity. “I’m sorry I left last night. I didn’t think you’d want me to stay, but that’s not an excuse. I didn’t ask if you wanted me to go. I should have stayed. I should have stayed, Y/N,” he adds, grabbing your elbow to make an about-face.

Your lips part, staring up at him from mere inches away. Jimin’s gaze intensifies, hoping you hear the double meaning. Before he can clarify further, a squeal cuts through the crowd.

2K notes · View notes

lovelytaes-blog · 5 months

Text

this was an ouch. but soooo well written. angst hit HARD.

everybody loves somebody | pjm (m)

➥ PAIRING: jimin x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: In a world where there’s a chance for you to contract a deadly disease the specific moment you come to the realization that the person closest to your heart will always be out of your reach, you find yourself coughing up blood stained flower petals after your best friend – and fuck buddy – Park Jimin, tells you he’s been seeing someone.

➥ GENRE: angst ⋆ smut ⋆ unrequited love

➥ CATEGORY: one-shot

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, fwb, hanahaki disease, heavy angst (and im talking HEAVY), unrequited love, mentions of death, mentions of blood, mentions of injury, arguing, vomiting, gagging, mentions of cheating, oral sex (f. rec), unprotected sex (stay safe!), creampie, excessive drinking, some suicidal thoughts, passing out, hurt no comfort, surgery, medical procedures, physical pain, sad ending, minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 11.7k

a/n: ahhh!!! im excited, ive had this idea for about a year and i’m happy it’s finally here ! im pretty sure this is the angstiest thing ive ever written so read at ur own risk lmao 😭😭 ;; i’ve tweaked the hanahaki disease a bit, in this universe you contract it the moment you realize the person you have feelings for (whether you’re aware of those feelings or not) is unattainable in a romantic sense. do keep that in mind <33 & the flowers arent random, theyre the birth flower of the person ur in love with. enjoy 🫶🏽

a/n 2: i might rewrite this. after rereading this i realize i dont like it a lot cjdncknf

⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

The pharmacist places 2 boxes on the counter in front of you, absentmindedly explaining what each of the products inside are used for but you aren’t paying much attention to what she’s saying. The thought of your aching foot is all you can really think about right now, hoping you won’t accidentally put too much weight on it.

You sprained your ankle at work earlier today and it hurts like a bitch. You softly sigh as you lean onto your crutch, wishing for the elderly lady to finish talking so you can pay and head home.

With your phone now vibrating in your coat’s pocket, you finally have something interesting to pay attention to. Your free hand dives into the pocket on your hip and you pull out your phone, your eyes squinting when the phone screen lights up with a new notified text message.

[5:49PM]

from: My idiot

I’m right around the corner, see you in a bit

You smile at your phone as you read the new text from your best friend, the urge to just snatch the boxes off the counter and pay the lady is growing by the second. Luckily, the lady notices you seem in a hurry and puts the boxes into a plastic bag as she waits for your payment.

You give her an apologetic smile as you slide your phone back into your pocket and take out your wallet, struggling to get your card out but you eventually do and quickly press it against the payment terminal. The payment goes through without you needing to give in your code and you slide your card back into your wallet.

You thank the lady quietly before taking the bag and slowly walking out of the building, looking around to see if your friend’s car is in view.

You spot his car slowing down in front of you, watching as the car comes to a halt. He gets out and jogs to your side, his black hair bouncing. He keeps telling you to ‘take it easy’ as he takes the bag from you and helps you into the passenger’s seat. You glance at his outfit, knowing he has just clocked out from work.

He’s wearing a buttoned shirt that he hadn’t buttoned up all the way so you could see the silver necklace clinging around his neck. Black jeans hugged his amazing thighs, in which his shirt was tucked into paired with black ankle boots. He jogs around the front of the car and hops behind the steering wheel, kissing your forehead as he always does when he greets you and whenever you part ways.

You smile and thank him quietly, buckling your seatbelt as he buckles his own and starts driving the familiar way to your home. The smell of food enters your nostrils and you look over your shoulder to notice a plastic bag probably full of takeout food he picked up on the way to you placed in the backseat.

You feel like the luckiest person to have someone as thoughtful and considerate as him in your life, you hadn’t even asked him for it. You never had to ask him for anything. He bought some just in case you hadn’t eaten.

You could’ve very well already eaten but then he’d say something along the lines of ‘eat it tomorrow then’ or ‘have some more’. He’s such a worrywart but your heart bursts every time he does something for you because you love how much attention he pays to you.

The song playing on the radio is some sappy love song that you don’t pay attention to but it reminds you of the text you just got from him for some reason.

“I told you not to text and drive,” you sigh, slapping his knee as you lean back into your seat, referring to when he texted you that he was around the corner. He sends a glance your way before he starts the car and starts driving, a shit-eating grin forming on his lips.

“I’m serious, Jimin,” you whine annoyingly, snatching the phone that was between his thighs and placing it in the cupholder next to the gear shift. He chuckles quietly and rubs your knee in return, mumbling a quick worthless promise about how he won’t do it again.

The rest of the ride to your home is quiet but comfortable, the both of you just humming along to the music on his radio. Soon you reach your block and the motion of Jimin parking his car makes you unbuckle your seatbelt. When the car completely stops, you open the door but he immediately jumps out and almost runs to your side to help you out.

“I sprained my ankle, I didn’t give birth.” The joke makes him shake his head in disagreement, dismissing your playfulness about the situation as he hands you the crutch and takes the bag of pharmaceutical products as he helps you out of the car. After making sure you’re stable, he swings open the door to his backseat and reaches for the bag of food. He gives you a couple ‘be careful’s and ‘watch out’s as he helps you onto the steps of the entrance to your apartment.

He uses the emergency key to your residence he got from you because he doesn’t want to make you look for yours. You roll your eyes as you walk into your lobby, hearing him press the button on his car keys and locking his car from a distance as he enters the lobby after you. He closes the door and helps you into the elevator, pressing the seventh floor button and leans against the elevator wall, his eyes now staring into yours.

“How long do you get to stay home before you have to go back to work?” he asks you, his free hand gripping the metal handrails against the wall on his right side.

“Three weeks,” you sigh in content, happy you finally get a break from work for the first time in the year you’ve worked there, your first job fresh out of university. He drops his head in jealousy, shaking his head. He runs his hand through his black hair and lifts his head again, making eye contact with you again.

“I don’t mean to call you lucky for being in pain…but you’re lucky,” he jokes, making you chuckle at his words and watch the little screen in the elevator that tells you which floor you’re on, realizing you’ve arrived at the seventh. He steps out first and holds his hand against the sliding doors of the elevator, making sure it doesn’t shut on you as you limp out.

You finally arrive at your front door and insert your key into the keyhole before he can, muttering a quiet statement about being able to handle yourself. He pretends he doesn’t hear you and just pushes the door open when you unlock it, letting you in first before entering and kicking his shoes off.

Without even needing to be asked, he places the bags on the small table by your entrance and drops to one knee to help you out of your shoes, making sure to be careful with your injured foot. He places your shoes neatly by the door and helps you take off your coat, hanging it up on your coat rack.

He grabs the bags and walks into the living room, placing them on the dining table. He finds his way into the kitchen and comes back out with utensils, plates and cups. You limp to the dining table and sit in your usual seat and watch as he sets the table quickly, a small smile sitting on your lips. It’s almost…nostalgic.

You and Jimin go way back, your first meeting was on the first day of sophomore year in high school. He had just moved from the big city to your small, beloved hometown. Back then you weren’t exactly the best of friends but after sharing classes everyday throughout high school, seeing the only familiar face in university is the true reason why you two grew so close. Always hanging out, looking out for each other, caring for each other. He was one of your best friends, and still is to this day.

It inevitably reminds you of the first time you had sex with him. And the time after that. And the time after that. And after that time. And after that.

However, nothing romantic ever happened between you two. Neither of you were interested in that, not with each other. At least, that’s what you thought.

You don’t like to call him your ‘fuck buddy’ or ‘friends with benefits’, generally because you just didn’t like those terms, not to describe him of all people. You feel like it undermines the bond you two share.

He’s just…your best friend. That takes care of you and helps you when you need it. That you take care of and help when he needs it. That you sometimes have mind blowing sex with – that was it. You just know in your heart, you could always and forever count on him and vice versa.

You have a lovely dinner with him, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. After feeling like you had been sitting there for 30 minutes, your eyes trail to the clock and you realize 2 hours have already passed. You slowly rise to your feet and start piling the dirty dishes on top of each other – but not for long as Jimin reaches forward and slaps your hand away.

“Ow!” you shriek, “what the hell?” You look down at the man who just smacked your hand, gently rubbing your knuckles with your other hand. He has a stern look on his face, his eyes widening – telling you to sit the hell back down while he takes over, gathering the dishes and used napkins.

“You do know I’ll have to do this by myself when you’re not around, right?” Annoyance is present in your voice, your eyes watching him sternly as he simply shrugs.

“What makes you think I’m not going to be here everyday for the next three weeks?” he hums as he walks into your kitchen without listening to what you have to say about that. You hear him turning on the tap water and loading your dishwasher.

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head as you wipe down whatever mess you two had made with one of the left over napkins. You throw the dirty napkin with the mess on the table into the bag he brought the food in, waiting for him to return.

It doesn’t take long for him to walk back into the room, he takes the bag off the table and throws it in the bin before returning to your side and helping you out of your seat. You could do all of these things by yourself and even though you pretend you’re annoyed – deep down you enjoy his proximity and concern.

He assists you to your bedroom, letting you sit down on your bed. Your eyes follow him as he’s in search mode, looking for comfortable pyjamas you can wear. He knows the way around your room like the back of his hand – explanations not needed.

(Read: he’s been in your bedroom almost everyday since you started living here 3 years ago.)

After he places the neatly folded clothes on top of your dresser, he walks up to you and hands you your makeup removal wipes as he tugs on your shirt.

“Jimin! I can do this myself,” you groan for the nth time today but he doesn’t listen as usual. However this time he taps your lips once slightly to shut you up as he raises your shirt over your head. His eyebrows raise and his bottom lip sticks out when he notices you’re wearing his favorite bra, an apologetic look on his face as he gently places your shirt on your bed.

“I wish I could destroy you,” he mumbles quietly with a pout on his lips.

“You know we can still fuck, right? I’m just not doing anything that involves me putting my weight on my foot.” Your fingers rub circles into your eye with the makeup wipe in an attempt to remove your eyeliner and mascara – but the growing grin on his lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Oh? Like what?” he purrs.

“Well,” you say, trying to think of sexual positions you can’t do with an injured foot. “Basically only missionary.”

He begins to unbutton his shirt but his phone vibrates, so he continues with one hand as he takes his phone out of his pocket and looks down at his phone. You can’t tell what it is but his face shifts, something you can only assume is because of whoever just texted him. He reads whatever it is he was notified of and quickly types a response, throwing his locked phone somewhere on your bed.

By that time, you’ve finished wiping off your makeup and you place the used wipe on your nightstand. Jimin is standing in between your legs, just staring down at you as he unbuttons his shirt. He rubs your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, inserting the tip of his thumb into your mouth.

You slowly close your mouth around his thumb, the tip of your tongue circling the tip of his finger without breaking eye contact. You move to unbuckle his belt but he stops you by grabbing your wrists, his fingers wrapped around them tightly.

He shakes his head, making you relax your fingers. “No. Tonight, I’m spoiling you.”

He drops your hands and you let him gently push you back onto your back. He helps you lay down, making sure your head is comfortably on your pillows. He carefully helps you out of your pants, throwing it somewhere on the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He lays on his hip horizontally on the bed, placing his hands on the back of your knees and gently holds your legs back, being wary of your injured foot.

He starts by placing gentle kisses through the thin fabric of your panties before helping you out of your panties as well. He throws them off the bed, holding your legs back again. When you don’t feel anything for a few moments, you look down at Jimin in between your thighs. He’s just staring at your sex, insecurity seeping into your stomach.

“Is something wrong?” you ask him, trying to suppress the concern in your voice.

“No, just admiring what a pretty pussy you have and how I should do this more often.” He licks a stripe up your slit and begins circling your clitoris with his tongue. You hiss slightly, running a hand through his hair and gently tug at it.

He looks up at you — you can’t even see the smirk on his face but you can definitely feel it against your skin.

He pulls away to spit on your pussy, using his fingers to spread his saliva all around, making your hips jolt. He starts sucking on your clit with so much fervor that you can already feel your stomach clenching.

“If you keep doing that, I will–” You don’t even finish your sentence because Jimin has plunged 2 of his fingers into you, massaging your inner walls whilst sucking on your pulsating clit.

He rotates his fingers so he can curl them, a smirk on his lips as he uses his other hand to press you down and stop you from bucking your hips up into his face. He continues the torturous assault on your g-spot, enough to send you over the edge.

Your entire body clenches as the sensation of pure pleasure and bliss spreads through every single one of your nerve endings. Pathetic moans spill from your lips and white spots take over your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut.

You cry out his name with a thrust of your hips, grinding into his face as you orgasm. Your hands tightly grip his hair as he keeps sucking on your clit, your legs uncontrollably jolting under him. You’re on the verge of sobbing as Jimin keeps going, his torture never ending and your legs fall limp as your orgasm comes to an end.

“Already? You must’ve been really horny,” he chuckles as he wipes his chin with the back of his hand. You glare at him with a scowl on your face and he just throws a wink your way.

He gets onto his knees against your mattress and unbuckles his belt. He tugs his pants and boxers down his legs, his erection slapping against his stomach in the process as he hurriedly kicks the remaining clothing off the bed. He crawls back over to you, wrapping his hand around the back of your knee and slowly spreads your thighs again.

He positions himself at your sex, glancing up at you as if asking for permission. After you finally catch your breath, your gaze shifts to his and you realize he’s waiting for your confirmation. He impatiently slaps his dick against your pussy, urging you to give him permission. You bite your lip and nod at him, your hands gripping onto the sheets on either side of your hips.

You don’t think any longer about it as he slides into you, placing his hands on the back of your knees again and gently pushing them back, still wary of your injury. He begins to thrust slowly, gently and delicately rolling his hips against yours. You don’t think you have ever had sex with him this sensual, except for maybe the night you let him take your virginity.

A pathetic moan spills from your lips, your eyes dropping down to where you’re connected and watching how he slides in and out of you so gently yet so passionately. It feels weird. In a good way.

Whenever you two fucked – which was at least 3-4 times a week – it was usually pretty kinky and on the rough side.

This just felt like…love making. But you quickly shut that thought out because you know Jimin is just trying to be thoughtful of your injury.

He motions for you to hold the back of your knees and you do. You idly watch as he places his hands on your mattress, on each side of your waist. Your eyes watch as he lowers his head and gently sucks on your right breast, his tongue circling your nipple. Your head sinks into the pillows, pressing your cranium deeper into the pillows as lewd moans escape your pretty lips.

Jimin grins against your skin when he hears you moan for him, his thrusts slightly picking up the pace as he raises himself back up to face you. He moves up, placing his hands on your pillows, on each side of your head. His chain dangles in front of your face, a sight that always drives you crazy.

Soft moans spill from his lips too, his eyes boring into yours as he bottoms out. Your mouth falls open at how full you feel and Jimin’s consistency never falters as he continues to thrust into you, the pace not fast but not slow either. Just perfect.

“I’m…going to cum soon,” he warns, spreading his legs further apart to support your thighs so neither of you have to hold them back. This allows you to reach for the back of his head and you pull him close to press your foreheads together, giving you both the ability to watch him slide in and out of you.

“Cum inside,” you quietly moan, eyes still on where you’re connected. The command takes Jimin by surprise, his hips stuttering for a moment. What made you break your own rules?

The rules both of you agreed on is that you would have raw sex with only each other and protected with other people, but no cumming inside. Yes, you are on birth control but it was too much of a hassle to clean up.

“Are you– are you sure?” he asks you, lifting his forehead slightly off yours to be able to read you better, his thrusts returning to the perfect pace.

“What? Are you scared? I said put a fucking baby in me before I change my mind,” you grunt as you let go of his hair, pressing your head back into your pillow and you never break eye contact with him. He knows it’s just a figure of speech but the choice of words drives him fucking crazy.

Your pretty eyes, your dilated pupils, your furrowed eyebrows, your slightly parted lips and the soft moans leaving your lips make him act before thinking.

Before you realize what he’s about to do, Jimin leans down and presses his lips softly against yours. For him to do that is so rare, so very rare, specifically in an intimate situation like this. You have kissed each other before but it was usually rough and sweaty and heavy and horny and used to get ready or in the mood to have sex.

However in this moment you don’t only not mind, you enjoy it. Maybe a bit too much. Maybe somewhere even hoping for it to happen.

Your heart pounds in your chest, you want to pull him even closer. The taste of him drives you crazy and you want more. More of him.

But now his thrusts were getting a bit rougher, his lips still on top of yours, his tongue licking into your mouth. If he notices your hand reaching down and rubbing your clit furiously in an attempt to orgasm together, he doesn’t comment in it but he does speed up the pace of his hips.

He moans into your mouth as his hips stutter and warm ropes of his cum shoot into you, his thrusts getting sloppy. But he keeps going nonetheless, his moans turning into groans and grunts as you clench around him.

Exhaustedly, he keeps thrusting to help you reach your climax as well, luckily it doesn’t take long after for you to cum, his lips never leaving yours. Your second climax hits you like a ton of bricks, gushy sounds and slapping noises get quieter as the both of you come to a full stop.

You get why people say to not let someone kiss you whilst they’re in missionary, especially when they’re cumming inside of you. Because it really did make you think that maybe one baby isn’t so bad.

He kisses you long after both of you orgasm, after he’d stopped fucking into you. Your hands are on his face as you kiss back with equal fervor. His soft lips on yours feel like you’re literally being kissed by clouds, his naked body still on top of you makes you feel like you’re being caressed by angels.

As if a pile of bricks drops on him, he pulls away abruptly without looking at you. He immediately drops his head into the crook of your neck and stays inside of you, feeling some of his load leak out of you but neither of you really care. At this moment you feel strange. That climax was just – strange. The best you ever had – but strange.

Probably the best either of you ever had.

You’re reminded of what you told him in the heat of the moment and the kiss. The kiss.

You know Jimin well.

You know damn well he’s staying like this, hiding his face in the crook of your neck because he knows how awkward this is now, avoiding your gaze, avoiding your questions, avoiding everything.

But are you in any position to question him? You were into the moment just as much as he was. Hell, you might’ve liked it even more than he did.

It doesn’t last too long before he pushes himself back up and pulls out slowly, reaching for the used makeup wipe on your nighstand to wipe some of the leaked cum from your mattress and quietly hops off of you.

“I uh–” he starts, “I’m going to take a shower,” he mumbles, placing a box of wet wipes on your nightstand before he hops off your bed and quietly enters the bathroom. You hear the water running and for a moment, you don’t really do anything. You stare at the ceiling.

What the hell was that?

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You haven’t seen Jimin since that weird night. You have never felt this strange about the sex you two had. Whatever the hell happened, it couldn’t be the end of whatever you had, right?

Spoiler alert – it was, in a way.

Because here Jimin stands, a week after no speaking – the longest you’ve gone without talking – in your living room, fidgeting with his sweatshirt.

“I– uh…want to talk about why I left so suddenly.” He looks at the floor, avoiding your gaze. You’re seated on the couch and usually he’d sit by you, rub your feet, play with your hair, anything. This time he stands there in front of you, nervously avoiding your gaze.

“It’s okay, Jimin, really,” you chuckle, trying to brush it off because it genuinely isn’t a big deal. The thing that bothered you about it wasn’t the act itself, it was the no texts – no calls combo for a week after. You aren’t just one of his hoes. You’re his friend. His best friend.

He shakes his head, “No,” he pauses, “No, it’s not – I’ve been seeing someone.”

Oh.

Mind racing. Mouth empty.

Who?

When?

Why?

No, not why. Both of you have always supported each other in your romantic relationships and respected it. That meant obviously no sex and less hanging out.

Instantly, you’re reminded of that night. The way he looked at his phone when he got that text…seemed off. It makes sense now. Leaving so suddenly. No texting. No calling. No randomly showing up in your home, using the key you gave him.

You wonder what it was that made you feel weird about that night, before knowing he was seeing someone.

Was it the fact that you allowed him to ejaculate inside of you for the first time? Maybe it was the intimate way Jimin had kissed you. Like mentioned before, obviously the two of you had kissed before but usually it was after a night out and the both of you were drunk and horny and it was rough and sexual and needy and hot and heavy and loud and it always led to sex. You had never just gently kissed each other, not in that way.

The pieces finally start falling into place. He left in a hurry that night because he felt guilty. To that person, to you, to himself. It wasn’t fair to anyone.

“Is that why you just shut me out for an entire week after…” you pause, realizing that night will now forever be an awkward topic for the both of you to talk about, “…that night?” you finish, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry. I know our communication has been impeccable since the start and we always sort stuff out but…it was different this time. It is different this time,” he slowly takes a seat across from you, folding his leg and placing his right foot on top of his left knee.

“Y/N, I really like them and it’s serious,” he says, a serious expression on his face as he finally makes eye contact with you for the first time. For whatever reason there’s a sharp sting in your chest, the words taking you by surprise. He anxiously waits for your response but nothing comes out. You’re just…staring at him.

“Please, say something,” he pleads, he can’t stand the silence. Not from you. Even if Jimin is falling in love with someone else, he can’t imagine ever living the rest of his life without you. Maybe that isn’t fair to his partner but you are too important to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you blurt out. You didn’t mean to make it sound like you are hurt, but you fail at hiding it. You actually are.

He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes, letting all of it out in a deep sigh. He knew the question was coming and he knows you deserve the truth.

“I was planning to, I promise – but things kept getting in the way. Then you sprained your ankle and when I helped you undress and saw what you were wearing and…I just–” he stutters, a slight tremor present in his voice. “I felt like telling you in the moment would’ve ruined it.”

“In other words, you saw me wearing something I wore for you and felt bad about what? Rejecting me? Is that what that was? Pity sex?” you question, your cheeks starting to heat up and your eyes staring at him in disbelief. His eyes widen at your assumption, shaking his head quickly as he drops to his knees in front of you, holding your hand in his.

“No, no! Not at all, you know that!” he claims desperately, his eyes still wide in hope you’d believe him but you just feel…humiliated.

“How long have you been seeing them?” You cut him off, staring at your hands in his hold. You can sense the hesitation, his eyebrows twitching at the question. You know him, he’s trying to look for a way to be careful with his words after what just happened.

“…About two months.”

The feeling of nausea makes you rise to your feet immediately after those words leave his mouth, his eyes following your face as you get up.

“Get the fuck out.” You point towards your front door, keeping eye contact with him. He immediately gets up, his eyes wide with confusion and concern. At this point it isn’t even the revelation that makes you want him to leave, it’s the unbearable feeling of your chest being on fire.

“Wait–”

“You kept fucking me while you were taken?” you snap at him, pushing him back towards your front door by roughly pushing against his chest. You can tell he wants to stop you, grab you by the wrists, defend himself, but he also knows you’re right, it’s unacceptable. You’re reminded of all the times he had fucked you into his mattress, into your mattress, these past two months.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was selfish and took advantage of the situation,” he whimpers as he owns up to it, his back now against your front door. “But it hadn’t been that serious in the beginning and I just now realiz–”

“Why the fuck did you kiss me like that?” you hiss at him and a quick, sharp cough follows your words.

“I–I was caught up in the moment and I thought it was going to be our last time toget–”

“Wait a second–” you pause, the look of realization taking over your face. “Did you imagine or pretend that I was them?” you ask, accusatory. You watch as he starts quickly shaking his head in panic, his eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed.

“What the fuck? No. I would never do that, Y/N, what the fuck do you take me for?” he snaps right back, his cheeks reddening and his irises slightly shaking as his gaze jumps from your left eye to your right consistently. You can tell that by his reaction, he’s being sincere. Your assumption is way out of line, especially with how well and how long you’ve known him.

Another cough irritates your throat and you start to feel insanely nauseous. As soon as you’ve made it to the front door, you quickly open it with one hand as your other hand shields your mouth. You notice the concern in his eyes but before he can ask anything, you let go of the door handle and hold out your hand to him.

“Give me back my keys. There’s no need for you to have them if you’re dating someone,” you say, your voice coming out muffled because of your mouth being covered by your hand, another few coughs escaping your throat. You hold your other hand out to him.

He takes a breath to start protesting but notices the seriousness in your eyes, the look of defeat immediately plastered on his face. He shoves his hand into his pocket and places the cold, metal key in your palm.

He slowly backs out of your apartment, his hand running through his hair, a habit he’s had ever since you’ve known him. He keeps eye contact with you which allows you to notice the tears pooling in his eyes but you don’t care at the moment. Right now, you feel nauseous, shocked, disgusted, pained. You want to throw up your guts.

You slam the door shut in his face but there is no more time for you to make it into the bathroom. You feel something coming up your esophagus, already coming up the back of your throat. You immediately fall to your knees, coughing some more into your hand.

Cough.

Gag.

Cough.

Gag.

Until you notice something sitting on your tongue.

You slowly lower your hand from your mouth, taking a look at your palm to notice it covered in saliva and blood. Your eyes shoot open at the sight, a frown on your eyebrows. You have never coughed up blood before. But the shock doesn’t stay for long because you remember something else is still inside of your mouth.

You slowly open your mouth, pushing your index finger and thumb inside until they meet whatever it is sitting on top of your tongue. You squeeze it in between the pads of your fingers and slowly pull it out, your eyes following your fingers as they do.

It’s small and white, as thin as a leaf. Then it dawns on you.

A flower petal, but not just any flower petal.

A petal of the Bridal Wreath Spirea flower.

Jimin’s birth flower.

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Days have passed and you haven’t seen or heard from Jimin, your condition has been getting worse. Days have turned into weeks. Weeks have turned into months. Violent coughs would erupt from your throat, always leaving your hands covered in sticky saliva and blood with a scent of nectar that was left by the flowers growing in your lungs.

You have already visited multiple doctors and they all say the same thing: get the disease surgically removed. You have your doubts obviously, since they have also made you aware about the new procedure.

Apparently with the original surgery, only your romantic feelings for that person would be removed in the process but this procedure has been discontinued for 10 years already, since some victims would develop romantic feelings again for the same person or another person which makes a second surgery extremely dangerous.

That is why the new procedure completely removes your ability to ever love again.

To live but to never love.

It’s why you’ve been scared shitless to agree to the surgery. Never loving anyone again? Is that really a life anyone would ever want?

You haven’t told anyone yet. Of course you haven’t, you’re terrified. The thought of something growing in your lungs that will eventually suffocate and kill you is a scary thought for anyone. Perhaps the scariest of all is the one fact that you had been ignoring all this time.

Being in love with your best friend, Park Jimin.

You still can’t believe this is where your life was headed. Dying? Over that piece of shit?

You shake your head, shutting out your own thoughts. Jimin isn’t a piece of shit. The opposite actually, you have never met anyone like Jimin. You had never even thought of someone being on this earth like Jimin.

He’s caring, genuinely. Compassionate. Considerate. Kind. Sensitive. He truly is one of a kind. And if that’s the norm, perhaps you are praising the bare minimum.

Like the time he raced for 3 hours to come pick you up from the airport after you’d been harassed on your trip. Or whenever he drove past your place and saw your lights off, he’d pick up food and drive to your workplace. Or whenever you weren’t at your best, he could tell and insisted on taking care of you. He noticed every single detail about you. Observed you every chance he got. It’s almost like he had a sixth sense.

He has been texting you since that fight but you haven’t replied, haven’t called him back and have avoided him like the plague.

You honestly don’t know if you’re ever going to tell him about it. Just because you know Jimin, and you know his heart. He’d never forgive himself for being the ‘cause’ of your pain, your suffering, your death. He would much rather take the burden on himself, he would much rather die.

The fact that it took Jimin falling in love with someone else for you to realize you had felt this way pisses you off. You could have avoided this. You could have made your move on Jimin, you could have started distancing yourself from him a long time ago. Anything to avoid this.

But guilt bubbles in your stomach. You know him, you know he's concerned, sick to his stomach. You owe him. He deserves to know you’re okay – even though you’re quite literally not.

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You find yourself at his doorstep, nervously fidgeting. You shift your weight from one foot to another as you gently knock at his door. It’s 11:19PM. You’re lucky he’s a light sleeper. You are out of your mind for even showing up right now, but the longer you stay away from him, envisioning him loving another person, the worse the coughing and vomiting becomes. And it’s been months since you’ve seen him.

The sound of the keys rattling against the other side of the door snaps you back into reality, your eyes blinking quickly as your gaze is now focused on the door handle turning.

As the door opens, you see the silhouette of the man who’s going to be the death of you – literally. One of his eyes is closed, the other is half closed and his lips puffy. His hair is messy and one of his hands is under his shirt, scratching his chest. His eyes shoot open at the sight of you, the door swinging open in the process.

“Y/N,” he breathes, sounding relieved to see you standing in front of him. You see him moving to take a step towards you, to hug you, to hold you. Until he noticeably stops himself, hesitant to walk any closer. You nervously rub the back of your arm and look to the side, wanting the ground to just swallow you whole.

“You uh– you want to come in?” he asks you, opening the door wider to make enough room for you to walk through but a frown sits on his brows as you shake your head at his offer.

“No, I…I don’t want…” Your gaze drops to the floor by his feet, noticing the unfamiliar pair of shoes by the doormat and another key bunch on top of the accent table by the door. “…To intrude,” you say, quietly. He notices your realization and swallows, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m just here to tell you something,” you sigh, a lump forming in your throat. You can’t tell whether it is from the anxiety or if it is another petal, but you swallow hard in an attempt to get rid of it.

“Tell me.” He steps out and closes the door behind him, making you instinctively take a step back. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to take a better look at you. After he does, that’s when he clearly sees how bad you look. You have lost weight, dark circles sit around your eyes, your skin is crude.

“Wow! What the fuck happened to you?” he gasps as he steps forwards, his hands reaching out to your cheeks and cupping them despite you stepping back. He firmly holds your face and stares at it intently, his eyes roaming all over your features.

Your heart jumps at his proximity, at his touch. The moment his skin touches yours, the burning in your chest disappears. His concerned eyes are searching yours as you blink up at him, his soft thumbs rubbing your cheeks. You swallow back the cry threatening to spill from your mouth.

You had wished he wouldn’t notice your state but it’s Jimin. He knows when you haven’t slept well, he knows when the barista gets your order wrong, he knows when you’re about to cry when watching a movie. Let alone the fact that you’re dying.

Right.

You’re dying.

You reach up to his wrists, gently tugging his hands off your face and dropping them by his sides.

“I’m going to tell you something and I want you to stay calm, okay?”

You honestly don’t know why you’re telling him at this point. Do you want him to feel bad for you? To be concerned? To give you attention like he used to?

You want to tell him because you don’t want him to wake up one day to hear you have passed away, right? You don’t want him to blame himself for not being able to take care of you. Yeah. You’re sure it’s that.

Maybe those things can coexist.

“Y/N, you’re scaring the shit out of me. Are you dying or something?” he humorlessly jokes, trying to make light of the situation in hopes this conversation stops being eerie and somewhat disturbing.

You look at him with guilt in your eyes, your lips parting because your mind is telling you to answer him and confirm his suspicions but your body isn’t listening. Your heart isn’t.

You notice the instant fear in his eyes, his breath getting hitched in the back of his throat. He slightly shakes his head, his hand reaching out to you but your body stops him before you can even think about it, a firm hand pressed up against his chest to stop him in his tracks.

“No, you damn idiot,” you lie.

You lied.

Why did you lie?

“I just– I came to tell you that I also met someone and I uh…want us to mend our broken friendship. I should also apologize for ignoring your attempts to fix our problems.” Your mouth blurts these words out before you can stop yourself.

He raises his eyebrows and a smile stretches across his face before he pulls you into a big hug, your face buried in his chest. You inhale his scent, your eyes prickling with tears. Being held by him stops the pain, it really does. The sensation of having flowers bloom in your lungs suddenly subsides when he touches you, when you smell him, when you’re with him.

He sways with you from side to side, kissing the top of your head and stroking your back soothingly, but your arms stay limp by your side. He takes a deep breath before he whispers, “If you ever need anything, just let me know. You know I’d die for you, Y/N.”

And it hurts. It hurts a lot.

“But wait–” he pauses, pushing you back by your shoulders slightly, “why would I have to be calm about that? It makes me super happy to know that I won’t have to worry about you anymore because I trust you and your gut, and I’m sure you chose the right person to take care of you like you deserve.”

Cough.

“Are you okay? Do you need some water?” he asks you, concern in his tone as he gently pats your back.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You shake your head. “It’s late. I’m going home, you should go back to sleep. I’ll talk to you later, alright?” You quickly brush him off and wave at him as you walk down the hall, into the elevator and disappearing before he can say anything else.

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You don’t know how long it’s been since that night in front of Jimin’s front door. Days? Weeks? Months? You had filled your work in on why you aren’t in any shape to come to work and thankfully they were happy to grant you time off.

The only thing you know, is you are on the verge of life and death. You don’t know what to do. Your condition is worsening and there’s nothing you can do about it. You could die at any given moment at this point and the thought of it is terrifying.

After contemplating the biggest dilemma of your life yet, you have officially decided to agree to the surgery.

You don’t want to think too much about it and risk backing out but you’ve pretty much made up your mind.

However, that’s not the dilemma.

It’s telling Jimin the truth or not that is the dilemma. Your biggest dilemma.

Should you tell him that you’ve got the disease? Should you tell him you’ve decided on getting it surgically removed? Should you tell him that it’s because of your feelings for him? He’d undoubtedly ask you that. He’d also encourage you to get the surgery.

You don’t want to worry him.

Would you worry him, though? You haven’t spoken to him in quite some time.

Of course he’d be worried. Jimin didn’t spend al those years proving to you that you’re his soulmate for you to wonder if he’d care about the fact that you’re actually dying.

But the surgery gives you the opportunity to never tell him. How would he ever know? He wouldn’t unless you explicitly tell him. There’s no need to worry him if you decide to get the surgery, he’d never have to know.

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You mindlessly scroll through your Instagram feed, eyes scanning the images and captions. You comment on a few of your friend’s posts, you check out your favorite celebrities’ new stories. Right when you think you’ve had enough, your curiosity gets the better of you and you find yourself looking up Jimin’s instagram handle.

Your heart skips a beat as a collage of him and his new partner fills your screen. You tap on the newest one, a picture of their laughter frozen in a moment captured at the edge of a small cliff. Both of them wore athletic attire, their bodies clinging to each other. It’s a scene of happiness, a stark contrast to the void that now consumes your own heart.

There’s a purple circle around his profile picture, letting you know he’s posted stories today. You know you shouldn’t watch it but your thumb taps on the icon before you can stop yourself. The sound of Jimin’s laughter rings in your ears as the video plays. It shows him and his new partner, immersed in joy and adventure at what appears to be an aquarium. Your heart clenches at the sight. You love aquariums. Jimin had always taken you to them whenever your dates turned out to be disappointing, whenever you had a shit day, whenever you wanted to go.

The burning in your chest intensifies, a constant reminder of the void that now occupies your own life. With a heavy sigh, you rise from your seat on the couch, a desperate longing for escape leading you to your cupboard. You rummage through it, searching for any trace of alcohol that could dull the ache in your heart.

As you take massive swigs of the alcohol, your drinking grows excessive. You prefer the burning in your throat from the alcohol compared to the burning in your chest from Jimin’s growing birth flower.

The drinking is a futile attempt to forget the image of Jimin and his new partner that had etched itself into your mind, burned into your brains and branded into the back of your eyelids. Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision, yet the image of them together persists, haunting you even when you close your eyes.

Loud sobs escape you, echoing through the empty room as the alcohol begins to take its toll. The stinging in your lungs gets intense, your mind still clouded with Jimin’s happy face and then it begins. The violent coughing fit overtakes you.

You double over as gags and coughs tear through your already burning throat, until you can’t contain it any longer. The view before you blurs through your tears as you vomit all over your kitchen floor, the acidic mixture mingling with blood and flower petals, symbols of the shattered fragments of your heart.

You sob uncontrollably on your knees as you’re hunched over, blood and saliva still decorating the corners of your mouth. You press your hand into your chest where your heart is located and cry, the torturous burning in your chest never subsiding.

It intensifies whenever you think of Jimin and you wish, oh how you wish you could just completely forget about him. What if you’d never approached him that day back in uni? Starting conversation about how he seemed familiar and him telling you that you went to highschool together? Getting fucked into his mattress a month later?

You continue to sob as the memories that are burned into your brain keep playing on a continuous loop, straight up mocking you.

Breathing is getting painful. Your hands are shaking. Your forehead is covered in sweat. You’re surrounded by blood, vomit and pretty white flower petals.

Everything fucking hurts.

That’s all you remember before completely blacking out, sprawled in your own vomit on your kitchen floor tiles.

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Your phone buzzes next to your passed out body.

[11:34PM]

My idiot

Missed call (1)

[11:36PM]

My idiot

I miss you. Up for dinner tomorrow?

You stir, body aching as you slowly regain consciousness. Memories of the previous night flood back and you wince at the realization of what had transpired. Sobbing, drinking, vomiting – a pathetic attempt to escape your pain. Your nose scrunches up at the stench of vomit mixed with alcohol and nectar from the petals.

With a heavy sigh, you remain still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts swirl within you. The weight of your choices weigh heavily on your conscience, adding to the physical soreness that’s spread throughout your body.

You finally push yourself up from the floor, your movements sluggish and labored. Every muscle protests against the exertion, a reminder of the toll your emotional turmoil had taken on your physical well-being.

Reaching for your phone to check the time, which is 3:03AM, a pang of anxiety shoots through you as you notice the notifications waiting for your attention. Jimin’s contact name plastered on your phone has your stomach twisting with a mixture of emotions.

You contemplate for a while before you unlock your phone and start typing out a message. You try to type out several responses, each one quickly deleted the moment you’ve typed them out.

– yeah sure

– i would love to :)

– sorry i can’t

– i miss you too

– i need you

– you fucking ruined me

– fuck you

– please come back to me

– i love you

You groan loudly and decide to just ignore him like you have the past several months. It never gets any easier. You lock your phone, setting it aside for the time being.

You lazily shuffle your way towards the bathroom, determined to find solace in the refreshing embrace of a shower. The warm water trickles down your body, offering relief from the ache that radiates through your bones.

Clad in fresh clothes, you make your way to the kitchen, your steps a touch unsteady. The sight of the aftermath from the previous night’s chaos greets you and you sigh heavily. Cleaning up the remnants of your despair has become a depressing task, the bloody flower petals mockingly laid out before you.

With each wipe of a cloth and each item placed back in its proper place, a small sense of guilt burns in your chest. You’re not sure why. Or to who. Jimin? His relationship? Yourself?

You blink your tears away as you continue cleaning up your kitchen, ignoring the burning in your chest and the lump threatening to bubble up the back of your throat.

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“I’m in love with you. It’s always been you.”

“What? Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“Because I was scared.”

“So, you think it’s a good idea to tell me on the day of my wedding?”

You groan as you watch the two actors dramatically yell at each other in the sappy romcom playing on your TV. You roll over on your couch, fingers lazily reaching for the remote on the other end.

Oh, right. It’s been about a month since you’ve had the surgery.

You drown yourself in romantic movies and TV shows before you have to return to work in a few days, so you can feel normal again but you feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You don’t even enjoy the way your feet touch the cold tiles on a hot day, how the first sip of coffee tastes, eating your favorite meal.

You feel nothing.

If there’s anything you feel, it’s like a zombie. You don’t even feel human anymore and you realized directly after the surgery that you regret ever agreeing to it.

If you could turn back time, you would have just suffocated to death. Let your best friend’s beautiful birth flower bloom inside your lungs and slowly kill you, squeeze out every bit of oxygen you have left.

Because living like this isn’t the way. It isn’t living at all.

You sigh as you raise the remote, muting the TV with a single button and rise to your feet. You rub your eyes as you head into the kitchen to heat up yesterday’s leftovers. Your eyes idly watch the white container of Chinese food spin on the microwave plate and your ears are filled with the humming sound of the microwave.

You’re snapped back into reality when you hear heavy pounding on your front door. A frown makes it’s way onto your brow as you glance at the clock in your kitchen, 10:33PM. You aren’t expecting anyone.

You walk up to your door, wary of whoever is behind it. “Who’s there?” you call out, hand on the door handle.

“Open the fucking door, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Are you dreaming?

You’d recognize your best friend’s voice anywhere. Sweat collects on your palms, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The pounding continues and you realize you are in fact, not dreaming.

He sounds pissed. You haven’t spoken to him in a while, why could he be mad? Maybe specifically because you haven’t been talking to him.

You inhale deeply as you unlock your front door and try to peek your head around it but Jimin has other plans. He pushes the door further open and forces his way into your home, his arms roughly wrapping around you instantly.

You stumble back from the impact, your arms still limp by your side. His scent fills your nostrils, vanilla and a hint of wood and musk.

You’re surprised by the sudden intimacy but you don’t feel anything else. The man you loved, almost died for, is hugging you and you feel nothing like you did before. No pounding heart, no racing thoughts, no butterflies. Nothing.

You still appreciate his company as his best friend, of course. His proximity quickly makes you realize you’d still die for him, no matter what.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The moment he says these words, your heartbeat stutters for a second. His heartbreaking tone of voice knocks the air out of your lungs. You gulp, tears threatening to spill from your eyes but you stay silent, not daring to speak up but you know you have to. “Tell you what?”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head as he pulls back, his hands tightly gripping your upper arms as he stares at you. His eyes are red and puffy, his nose glistening and it’s clear he’s been crying.

“How did you find out?” you quietly ask him.

Jimin’s eyes bore into yours as he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he reveals the truth. “I bumped into your manager at a bar,” he confesses, voice tinged with guilt. “He told me about the illness and surgery, and I came straight down here.” He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers trembling slightly. “Are you okay? Have you healed?”

You nod in response, but the sight of Jimin standing before you is a stark reminder of the pain you had endured. The sight of him makes the scar on your chest burn uncomfortably. You shift uneasily, attempting to conceal the discomfort that coursed through your bones.

Jimin’s eyes searched yours, seeking answers to the questions that burn within him. “Who was it?” he presses, his tone laced with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Your voice goes quiet, barely above a whisper, as you respond, “Who was what?”

His brows furrowed, frustration mingling with his concern. He steps closer, his hand gently cupping your face as he pleads with you to be honest. “The other person,” he clarifies, his gaze unwavering. “I just want to know who is stupid enough to not see you and cherish you like you deserve. And maybe have a little chat with them.”

Your silence speaks volumes, lips pressed together as you struggle to find the right words, the right way to tell him. You idly blink at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears, heart on the verge of breaking all over again. A pathetic cry threatens to spill from your throat, your inner conflict making it hard to even form a coherent sentence.

You muster the courage to meet his gaze as you gently tug his hands down from your face, needing the space to breathe, to collect your thoughts. “Jimin,” you whisper, pleading with him to just let it go whilst simultaneously answering his question.

Jimin’s voice cracks with vulnerability as he calls out to you, a plea laced within the syllables of your name. “Y/N.”

The longing in his eyes is matched by the frustration etched on his features. His eyes tell you that he can’t understand why you won’t confide in him, share your burden with him. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Why do you think?” You stare at him with a blank expression but you’re betrayed by the quiver in your lips once you literally see the gears in his head start to work.

The room falls into an eerie silence as the weight of realization settles heavily upon him. Your gaze drops down to look at the tremor in his hands as he slowly shakes his head, as if trying to deny the truth that had just been revealed to him.

He looks absolutely broken, causing your own emotions threatening to consume you as tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t help but drop your gaze to the floor. You reach up and rub your own arms absentmindedly, trying to find comfort in the familiar gesture.

The distress in Jimin’s voice stings, it does. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head in disbelief as his words escape in a pained whisper. “No. Tell me that’s not true.”

The only confirmation you’re giving him are your sniffles and lack of eye contact.

His eyes widen, the initial shock wearing off and the actual realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. He takes a step backward, his back hitting the wall opposite of you as he struggles to comprehend the magnitude of what he had just learned. “Fuck, I…” he pauses, “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice filled with anguish. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Confusion settles on your face once the apology leaves his lips. You knew this was going to happen if he ever found out.

You reach out and gently grasp his hand, “Why are you apologizing?” you ask, already knowing the answer to your own question.

Jimin’s face crumples as tears well up in his eyes, his voice shaking, “Fuck!” he yells, “I’m so stupid. I should have been there for you,” he chokes out, “You were… suffering on your own? All alone? Because of me?”

When he asks you this, you’re inevitably reminded of all the times you cried from the pain so hard that you passed out, all alone. The thought of Jimin suffering hurts enough as is, you understand why he’s so freaked out.

Your heart is being squeezed by his words, your own tears falling freely now. You take a step closer, holding his hand up to your heart. “Hey,” you whisper, “we are not going to do that, okay? None of this is your fault. It’s no one’s fault. I chose to avoid you, remember? Not the other way around.”

Jimin lets out a shuddering breath, his gaze locked with yours. He reaches up, using the back of his other hand to wipe away his tears, a soft sniffle from him makes you squeeze his hand. And then, in a moment of overwhelming vulnerability, he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, desperate to hold onto the connection that had faded between you two over the past few months.

As Jimin holds you tightly, his sobs ring in your ears as his body trembles in your arms. You swear you can hear your own heart breaking at the hurt in Jimin’s cry, his body clinging to yours. A quiet sob comes up the back of your throat as you squeeze him, tears staining your cheeks.

“You endured all that pain alone,” he cries, his breathing inconsistent from the violent sobs leaving his body. You internally shame yourself for ever doubting Jimin’s love for you. He loves you. Just not in the way that would have saved you.

His words extract an ugly cry from you, the memories of you suffering playing on a loop in your head. “I was in so much pain,” you whimper, finally allowing yourself to be heard.

Soon, your cries subside, leaving behind a heavy silence.

As you pull away from him, you gently lead Jimin to the nearby couch, guiding him to sit beside you. Your hands remain tightly intertwined, your thumb gently caressing the skin of his knuckles.

With a deep sigh, he breaks the silence. “Was the surgery painful?” he asks, his puffy eyes searching yours.

You can’t help but offer a faint smile at his question, his worrywart tendencies making an appearance again. You’ve missed it. “Healing was a bitch,” you admit, “But other than that, physically, I feel okay.”

Jimin’s shoulders sag in relief. “That's good to hear,” he says, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. And then, his voice grows softer, “What about mentally, Y/N? How are you holding up?”

You blink at your hand in his, eyes reflecting a whirlwind of emotions. You take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. “Honestly?”

He nods slowly, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but a genuine desire to understand on his face.

You rub your forehead with your other hand, a gesture of weariness and internal struggle. You finally meet his gaze. “I regret getting the surgery,” you confess, words cutting through the air like a double-edged sword. “I would rather be dead than live like this.”

Shock and anger mingles on Jimin’s face, his brows furrowing as he processes your words. “Y/N!” he exclaims, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. You understand him, though. He had just sobbed for a good 5 minutes at the thought of you dying, and here you sit, telling him you would’ve preferred that outcome.

You shake your head, eyes reflecting the weight of your pain. “You don’t know what it’s like, Jimin,” you mumble, voice heavy with the burden you forced yourself to carry alone.

His expression shifts from confusion and anger to concern and understanding as he processes your words. He tightens his grip on your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the skin of your knuckles. “I understand I might never fully comprehend what you went and are going through, but I promise everything will be okay,” he reassures you, gentle yet resolute.

You shake your head, “How can everything be okay if I’ll never love again?” Your voice pathetically quivers with vulnerability and despair.

Jimin’s thumb continues its gentle motion, his touch a grounding force in your fragile moment. “Don’t be pessimistic,” he implores softly, his eyes searching yours with unwavering determination. “You will find someone. I know you will. You’re the most loveable person I know.”

There’s a stinging in your chest again when you realize that there is something else you need to confess, something he still doesn’t know. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. “Jimin,” you begin, voice quiet yet steady. “The new procedure.”

Confusion climbs its way onto his face, his brows furrowing. “What? What do you mean, new procedure?”

You exhale the breath you’d been holding, your fingers reaching for your phone. With swift motions, you pull up the relevant information and present it to him, eyes locked on his face, waiting for him to read and understand.

Jimin’s gaze drops to the screen, his face softly illuminated by the light of your phone. His eyes rapidly scan the words with growing intensity. As he absorbs the information, a frown climbs onto his features and he looks up at you, his expression still confused. “So... the old procedure only removes the romantic feelings you have for that specific person,” he murmurs, recalling everything he just read. “But the new procedure removes your ability to love altogether?”

You can only bring yourself to nod in confirmation. Jimin’s voice wavers with a disbelief as he questions the existence of such a procedure. “Why is that even a thing?” he mumbles in disapproval.

Your eyes meet his as you say, “Apparently, there were cases where people who had undergone the original surgery would fall into a one-sided love again, whether with the same person or someone else.” Your voice laced with a hint of bitterness. You could have avoided this. “And that makes a second surgery extremely dangerous, so they don’t perform it anymore.”

Realization slowly settles upon Jimin’s features as the weight of the situation becomes clear to him. He clears his throat, his voice faltering slightly as he attempts to articulate his thoughts. “Wait, so…” he begins, his voice trailing off momentarily. “You’ll never fall in love again?”

You simply nod again. The truth of your reality is painful to acknowledge and your heart bears the weight of that knowledge. “That’s...fucked,” he mutters. He clears his throat once more, his mind still reeling from the revelation.

A heavy silence settles between you two as you grapple with the implications of your decision. Nothing feels the same anymore and the weight of your circumstances hangs in the air, destroying any hope of normalcy.

You roughly bring your hands down to your thighs as you get up. “Have you eaten?” you ask gently, attempting to divert his attention from the painful truth you had just dumped on him. “I have some leftover Chinese.”

Jimin’s gaze shifts toward you after a few seconds of no response, his mind still caught up in his thoughts. “Huh? Oh... yeah, sure, I’d like some,” he replies absentmindedly, his voice distant. His gaze shifts back to the muted TV. He reaches for the water bottle on the table, taking a sip to clear his throat once more.

You return to the kitchen, closing the door behind you to give Jimin some time to process in silence as you reheat the leftovers in the microwave. There’s a distant sound coming from another room but the humming of the microwave makes it hard to make out. You place two plates and two forks on the counter, reaching for 2 glasses while you wait for your food to heat up.

However, your attention is abruptly diverted when the microwave stops and you realize the distant noise is incessant coughing.

Concern bubbles in your chest, quickly hurrying out of the kitchen with the hot container of food in your hands, only to be met with the sight and sound of Jimin coughing. “Are you okay? Do you need some water?” you ask, reaching for the water bottle in front of him that he could easily take himself.

Jimin tries to dismiss your concern, shaking his head as he musters a weak smile. “No, I’m fine, something must’ve caught in my throat,” he reassures you, only to be interrupted by another fit of coughs. His hand flies up to his mouth, shielding it as his body convulses with the force of the coughing and gagging.

Your stomach drops, a sense of foreboding creeping into your chest. “Jimin?” you call out, taking another step toward him.

Abruptly, Jimin’s coughing stops. He stays with his hand pressed against his mouth for a few seconds before he slowly lowers his hand, staring at his palm with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Jimin?” you repeat, your voice carrying an underlying wave of panic this time.

His shocked eyes slowly trail up to yours, his hand lowering further to reveal his hand to you. You gulp as you let your eyes trail to his open palm.

Your eyes widen, your breath hitches in your throat and the container of hot Chinese food in your hands crashes to the floor, making the contents splatter all over your carpet.

Amidst the saliva and blood coating his palm, there sits a singular delicate flower petal in the center of his palm, mockingly staring at you.

A petal directly plucked from your birth flower.

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⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

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