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It’s October twelfth and Jimin feels like he should be more excited.
After all, he’ll be twenty-five years old tomorrow – an impressive feat by some means, surely.
So, he probably should be more excited, but Jimin can’t remember the last time a birthday meant much more than drinking in excess and having his friends front the bill out of obligation. Another birthday arriving means another year passed, likely a year in which Jimin haphazardly treaded water through graduate school and managed to visit a chiropractor somewhat regularly. A year that saw Jimin slaving over grant requests for projects he wasn’t particularly fond of, chowing down on expired cereal because grocery shopping required motivation, and bullshitting his way through interviews that somehow always managed to instill anxiety deep inside his soul regardless of whether he actually yearned for the position in question or not.
Heaven forgive him if he’s feeling two-parts jaded, three-parts exhausted on this unremarkable October twelfth. He’s still patting himself on the back for managing to wake up to his third alarm instead of his seventh or eighth. By those standards, today’s already a win.
“Don’t forget the deadline, Jimin! Professor Kwan needs our answer by next Monday if we’re going to have enough time to get our applications in!”
Jimin’s eyes flutter closed as he holds in every snarky remark imaginable, not even granting his classmate the decency of turning around to respond. “I know, Youngjae, I know.” He exhales through his nose, tasting the sass that’s just begging to jump off his tongue. Tastes a bit like that spicy California roll he scarfed down for lunch. “Just – look, I’ll text you soon, okay?”
With that, he books it out of the lab and doesn’t look back.
He scuttles out of the university’s biology building, making a sharp beeline to the back-alley walkway and beginning his trek north. It’s a solid twenty-minute, uphill walk back to his apartment, and Jimin repeatedly reminds himself that it’s good for his glutes and he shouldn’t complain. Buns of steel, buns of steel…
His mind is a grade-A train wreck. His thoughts bounce between the growing ache in his thighs, Youngjae’s whiny voice, the evidently poor choice he made for lunch (if his growing indigestion is anything to go by), the stupid deadline approaching from his stupid professor with this stupid program, and every other pressing decision he has to make in the near future.
How is he supposed to know if he wants to commit himself to a year-long field study project? How is he supposed to know if this will be as much of a “rewarding experience” as everyone else claims it will be for him? How is he supposed to know if this is even what he wants to do for the next year of his life, much less the next ten years?
Does anyone on this goddamned earth actually know what they want to do with their entire life? Does anyone from his university walk onto campus each morning, fully equipped with the confidence that they are doing the right thing – the thing that is going to fulfill them, possibly for the next several decades?
Does he, himself have any idea what he even wants to have for dinner tonight, much less what he wants to dedicate the remainder of his life to?
His mind races but his feet continue on steady, leading him off university territory and onto the decrepit sidewalks making up the remainder of the way to his apartment complex. His own sweet yellow brick road to snoozeville.
Construction blares to life all around him, men in neon orange caps drilling into the asphalt and holding up traffic. He comes to a small intersection, being faced with the option of continuing straight along the same stretch of sidewalk – up ahead it appears crumbly and uneven, likely the cause of all this ruckus – or veering off to his right and crossing the street, though that would force him to re-cross a few hundred meters up to get back to his apartment.
See – it’s shit like this, this is exactly why Jimin can’t just live one day in peace. He can’t even walk his sorry ass home for the evening without being bogged down by indecision, as if the choice of crossing the street or not was the weight of the earth upon his shoulders.
Well call him Atlas, because Jimin is fucking tired .
With an overly dramatic sigh, Jimin hitches his backpack higher up his shoulders and waddles straight onward. He will not be inconvenienced by some dumb concrete, no sir he will not.
He’s so busy glaring down at said cracked sidewalk that he fails to notice the incoming obstacle in his path, colliding with the solid mass hard enough to jostle him backwards. He maintains his balance, only staggering slightly and gripping his backpack for dear life, before he stabilizes himself and looks up in shock.
A woman – elderly and frail, bundled up in a tattered cloak and a ratty old scarf. Her hair is a dull gray, fried and dry like wheat, falling over her face in clots. Her nose is pointed and hawkish, dotted with warts. Even her eyes betray her age, wrinkles etched in so terribly deep around them, like Jimin’s never seen before. She’s… a bit terrifying, but Jimin is curious as to how his impact didn’t send her teetering in the slightest. In fact, she appears so solid in her stance, unwavering in the breeze, almost as if she was rooted to the cement beneath their feet.
She stares him down with a look that screams of omniscience, of centuries-old wisdom, and of pity. Terrible, undeniable pity. As though Jimin was an orphaned street rat on the precipice of starvation, rather than another unremarkable graduate student eager to get home and nap his worries away.
Before he has a chance to recover from his shock and put an end to his impolite staring, her voice cuts through the wind, fittingly sharp and brittle.
“Park Jimin.”
He feels the solid ground beneath him turn to mush, swears he can feel it pool around his ankles as it liquifies, warm and viscous as it covers his feet. The noisy traffic to his right fades to a hazy murmur, the buzz of university life behind him dying down completely. Fog crawls in from the horizon of his vision, overtaking him before he knows it, before any rational sense of panic can race through his veins.
He sees gray and white and black before he sees nothing at all, before all his senses abandon him.
He knew he should’ve fucking crossed the street.
Jimin hates waking up with a headache.
It doesn’t even make sense – his day has just begun, what is there to be stressed about? Did he dream something so vile it made his brain cramp up? Had he somehow grown dehydrated in the 6 hours he usually manages to squeak in per night?
Fuck headaches and fuck mornings, he doesn’t deserve this.
He feels the cushy weight of his pillow beneath his cheek, realizes he’s curled up on his left side in his signature “freezing to death” ball pose, a thick comforter draped over him and pulled up close to his face. Though his head throbs, he allows himself another few moments to burrow into his bed, sapping up the peace that comes from these fleeting moments of half-conscious nothingness.
He forces his furrowed brow to relax, lets his mind wander back to serene blankness, surrendering himself to the incessant tug of sleep once more. He doesn’t know what time it is and he doesn’t care because he hasn’t woken up to an alarm which means he has zero obligation to face the waking world and that is that.
A sneeze jolts him out of his reverie.
An adorable sneeze – tiny and muffled, akin to a kitten’s – coming from just behind him. On the bed.
On his bed.
He sits up and turns around in a flash, so fast that his headache pulses and his vision smatters with black for just a moment. His eyes lock onto the culprit: a giant lump completely hidden underneath his comforter. It’s definitely larger than any sort of domestic animal, and he can make out the steady rise and fall from where the intruder breathes. His eyes bug out in fear, frantically recalling all the hand-to-hand combat classes he took back when he was nineteen. He’s never fought someone to the death on a mattress before, but there’s a first time for everything and Jimin is no scaredy cat.
(Absolute lie. He is a self-proclaimed scaredy cat, but that’s why he took the damned self-defense classes in the first place.)
He lets out one last shaky exhale before shifting to his knees and ripping the blanket away from the lump.
Correction – from the lumps . Two figures hiding beneath his blanket, infiltrating the safety of his bed. All coherent thoughts vanish, however, as Jimin realizes exactly what he’s looking at. Exactly who he’s looking at.
A piercing wail cuts through the comfortable silence of the morning.
Jeongguk considers himself a good person.
He goes to all his classes, pays his taxes, remembers to phone home on birthday weekends. He takes out their kitchen trash whenever he notices it’s full, even when it’s not his turn. He even let some rando copy his homework the other day, though that’s admittedly because the girl looked to be six seconds away from upchucking all over his desk.
All in all, he could be worse.
Which is why he can think of no good reason why any god should be punishing him in this way, forcing his ass into the waking world at 6:30 am on a goddamned Saturday.
He’d rolled around in his bed like a half-dead worm for the better part of an hour, watching the sun rise through the blinds, feeling the way his mind refused to settle. He reckons he’d managed to sleep for a solid four hours, which is on par with his nightly average for the past few weeks. It’s always the same song and dance – him begging his own brain to cease its restless bullshit, to let him enjoy just one measly night of proper rest, but always to no avail.
Last night he’d dreamt up a lovely scenario involving a flaming textbook, a room full of zombies, and a sentient midterm that screamed at him like one of those howler letters from Harry Potter.
It’s no real wonder his mind refused to return to sleep after that.
He drags his feet all the way to the kitchen, foregoing a shirt in the hellishly early morning. Neither of his roommates will be up for another few hours and he’ll use this time to recharge to the best of his capabilities before he forces himself to dive back into the unforgiving depths of grad school applications.
He takes a satisfying chug of orange juice straight from the bottle and returns it to its home in the fridge, setting a mental reminder to buy Namjoon a new jug the next time he’s out. He’s lucky both of his roommates are angels in disguise, patient with him to no end, constantly allowing him to mooch off their food supplies. He doesn’t know where he’d be without either of them.
Well, shit, now his mind is running rampant thinking about one roommate in particular…
He hadn’t even heard Jimin return home last night, worried that the man was out slaving away in some corner of the university library where all the STEM majors seem to go to die in peace. He doesn’t exactly blame them – he’s sneaked a peek at Jimin’s research papers long enough to glean that his work is dull as all hell, raw memorization combined with vocabulary so complex it makes him want to rip his eyes out of their sockets.
Jimin calls him dramatic, but Jeongguk has always been allergic to the sciences. It’s a simple fact.
(Namjoon and Jimin both love to remind him that it is not, in fact, a fact – that it is actually scientifically impossible. He loves to flip them both off in return.)
Nonetheless, he’s glad to see Jimin’s bundle of keys on their coffee table, comforted knowing that the poor busybee had made it home in one piece at some point in time.
His thoughts idle on Jimin for far too long, trudging up memories of the boy with his thick-rimmed glasses on, puffy eyes straining to read some zoology textbook, a mug of tea cupped in his tiny hands. He thinks back to nights of shared meals and misery, the two of them whining at each other over the injustices of university life. He can vividly recall the way Jimin looked the moment he’d been accepted to graduate school, the way he’d hurled himself into Jeongguk’s arms without a second thought, as though it was the only thing he was physically capable of in that moment. He remembers the feel of Jimin against him, the way it felt to squeeze him tight and rock him back and forth.
He remembers almost kissing Jimin. He remembers wallowing when he didn’t kiss Jimin.
He knows why he didn’t kiss Jimin all those months ago. It’s the same reason he never kisses Jimin, the same reason he never launches himself over that damned line they’ve both been toeing for years now. He knows neither of them are ready – there’s so much constantly weighing down on both their shoulders, their plates full to the brim with bullshit responsibilities, adulthood smacking them in the face at every turn they take.
How can either of them concern themselves with the possibility of a relationship when they’re both just struggling to stay afloat as is? How can they risk the stability of their friendship when neither of them knows what path they’ll be on six months from now? How can Jeongguk expect Jimin to sacrifice time away from his graduate work when he himself is about to take the plunge into the very same world of commitment?
His thoughts always end up here somehow, dragging him back into this realm of ‘what-if’s and ‘could be’s. Maybe they’re both just cowards.
Cowards in big, fat love.
Jeongguk loiters in the kitchen for another few minutes, appreciating the stillness of the morning while he still can. His brain isn’t quite ready to start a brand-new day of reading until his eyes glaze over, and he’s in no rush to look over all the brochures his mother sent him for schools in China. The thought of moving even one city away from Jimin sends a bolt of discomfort through his system, yet the woman expects him to give any semblance of consideration towards grad schools in another country? Highly realistic.
He’s just reaching for an apple on the counter when the shriek slices through their apartment, freezing him to the bone. His hand slaps down on the counter as he jolts, turning and dashing out of the kitchen in a second.
His body is running on auto-pilot, mindlessly pulling him towards the sound of distress, towards a screaming Jimin . Faster, faster, faster .
He throws Jimin’s door open without thought, pushing past the threshold and whipping his head over to Jimin’s king bed tucked into the corner. His mouth falls open and stays there, his words of concern and fear sticking in the middle of his throat. Nothing is processing right in his senses, breath coming too fast and heart racing, his eyes very clearly betraying him.
That can’t be right. That – that simply cannot be right.
Jeongguk registers the heavy thuds of Namjoon trailing in behind him, lingering in Jimin’s doorway in his sleepy confusion. “Jimin? Jeongguk? Whuzzit?”
He lumbers further into the bedroom, standing just behind Jeongguk, eyes landing on the same damn sight that’s befuddled the rest of them into silence.
There kneels Jimin on his mattress, skin flushed and hair knotted to hell, eyes imploring as they stare up at Jeongguk. He looks like he’s demanding answers from the younger boy, begging him to explain how and why this happened.
How and why there are two other, identical Jimins sitting next to him on this bed, stark naked and just as dumbstruck as the first.
One of the Jimins squeaks and cocoons himself in as much comforter as possible, consequently pulling it off the other naked body next to him, exposing that Jimin in entirety to the room. This third, deliciously naked Jimin simply moves to sit up with his back against the headboard, crossing one leg over the other and appearing entirely unbothered at being bare before his roommates (and clones?).
The first Jimin, who Jeongguk has logically concluded was the one responsible for that ear-shattering scream, is dressed in the clothes he wore to school yesterday, apparently having fallen asleep before changing into his usual shorts and muscle tank combo. He scuttles off the mattress at the movement of the other two, tripping over himself in his rush to reach Jeongguk’s side. Once safely tucked behind Jeongguk’s frame, he peers back at Namjoon before quickly looking forward to the offenders on his bed.
The stifling silence is shattered when the Jimin buried under a mountain of comforter nervously pipes up, “Uhm. Gguk? Joon-hyung? Does – does anyone have any idea what’s going on?”
No, Jeongguk thinks. No, he doesn’t think anyone has any idea what’s going on, at all. All he manages is a stupidly slow shake of his head, failing to realize that the Jimin who’d questioned him cannot see him.
The Jimin still lounging in all his bare glory giggles, pretty and airy as always, shaking his own head like he can’t believe his luck. His eyes trail up Jeongguk’s body slowly, face betraying his slight confusion even as he holds eye contact with the younger and grins ever so slightly. This one seems amused, if not a bit resigned.
What a Saturday morning.
Namjoon is simultaneously handling this the best and the worst.
He diplomatically took charge of the situation, demanding that the two naked Jimins dress themselves before they all trekked out to the living room. There, four out of five of them made themselves comfortable on the sectional, while Namjoon opted to pace around in front of the television with his chin pinched between his thumb and index finger, face scrunched up as he muttered to himself for the better part of five minutes.
So Jeongguk finds himself, squished in-between the Jimin who’d cocooned himself on the bed and the Jimin who’d flung himself off the mattress. He’s taken to mentally dubbing the former as Cuddly Jimin, while the latter is currently Grumpy Jimin.
The third Jimin (Shameless Jimin) is lounging back in the corner of the couch with his arms out, stance confident and unbothered, though Jeongguk easily catches the tension in his jaw and the way his eyes occasionally dart over towards the other two Jimins like they’re about to catch fire.
Guess this situation is equally perplexing for all of them.
Namjoon stops in the center of the couch, crossing his arms and sighing. “Okay, from the top.” He squints, then fixes his gaze on Grumpy Jimin. “Starting with you. Who are you?”
This Jimin squares his shoulders, chest puffing out just a bit as he meets Namjoon’s eyes head-on. He’s got this fire in his eyes that Jeongguk associates with Jimin’s brazenness, his courage. Ironic, considering he was the one to wake the neighborhood with his incredibly masculine wail not but ten minutes ago. “In case it wasn’t immediately obvious, I’m Jimin.” He flicks a chunk of midnight black hair away from his eyes, then slumps against the back of the couch like all the fight’s suddenly drained out of him. Jeongguk tries and fails to ignore the fact that they’ve ended up completely flush against one another this way. Maybe it’s just a happy accident.
Namjoon nods, brow still furrowed. “Park Jimin, born October 13th, 1995?”
Grumpy Jimin crosses his own arms at this, looking off to the side. “Yes. Great detective work, Joon.” He murmurs the last part, pouty and snide, and Jeongguk feels like he’d giggle were he not so conscious of the fact that he’s currently sharing a couch with three fucking Jimins .
He swallows, spine tensing up ever so slightly.
Unfazed, Namjoon nods and turns his attention to Cuddly Jimin, who’s situated himself even closer to Jeongguk than Grumpy has. He nervously fiddles with Jeongguk’s left hand, opening and closing the younger man’s fingers into a fist repeatedly.
Jeongguk’s heart aches for him a bit – his lips are pursed out, shoulders hunched in, his posture and expression reeking of anxiety. His stubby fingers tickle where they drag over Jeongguk’s palm, idly and delicately, like this Jimin is barely aware of the fact that he’s claimed Jeongguk’s hand as his own personal stress reliever.
Jeongguk doesn’t mind. He’d likely also need to claim a few hands if he’d woken up in a snuggle threesome with two identical copies of himself.
“Who are you?”
Cuddly Jimin whips his head up to face Namjoon like he’d forgotten the man existed, one paw still wrapped around Jeongguk’s knuckles.
“Jimin. Park Jimin. Same birthday and everything.” He speaks softly, not as if unsure but like he’s not completely woken up yet. Even with the sheer chaos that is their current predicament, this Jimin is still soft around the edges and groggy. Classic Saturday morning Jimin.
Satisfied, Namjoon faces the final Jimin. Before he can even ask, Shameless Jimin beats him to the punch, “Take a wild guess, hyung”. He appears the most level-headed, clearly seeking answers as much as the others but aware of the fact that panicking will get him nowhere. “I woke up when that one” he jerks a thumb vaguely in the direction of Grumpy Jimin “blasted my eardrum out. I don’t even remember falling asleep, or getting home last night, for that matter. Everything about yesterday is… fuzzy, at best.”
At this, both Jeongguk and Namjoon frown. The other two Jimins don’t speak up in opposition to this, which begs the question all over again: what the fuck happened to Jimin?
Shameless Jimin sucks his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment – a brief moment, but enough of a slip to remind Jeongguk that this is Jimin through and through, same as the others, with all his telltale habits – before continuing onward, “You both know how I have just the two bio lectures on Fridays.” He waits for Jeongguk and Namjoon to nod. “I remember leaving campus after the last one, and from there it’s hard to tell. It’s like,” he squints, trying to make sense of his own thoughts. “like I was actively falling asleep on my way home or something, and I don’t know the exact moment I fell asleep, I guess.”
Namjoon sits beside him on the couch as he recounts the previous evening, scrutinizing him like he’s some sort of optical illusion. He may as well be, for how much sense all of this is making. Shameless Jimin stays true to his name and doesn’t flinch under the inspection.
Without looking away from the Jimin before him, Namjoon addresses the room. “All of you share the exact same memories? Or lack thereof?”
Cuddly Jimin, with his head tilted to rest against Jeongguk’s shoulder, lets out a faint ‘mhm’. Grumpy Jimin lets his eyes trace over the doppelganger nearest him, gaze lingering on the pudgy hand still twiddling with Jeongguk’s fingertips, before he huffs out an unenthused, “Yep.” Jeongguk is acutely aware of the way Grumpy Jimin stiffens up and subtly detaches himself from Jeongguk’s side.
“I also have no idea why he and I were, uh, naked this morning.” Cuddly Jimin adds, eyes flitting between Namjoon and the Jimin next to him.
Shameless Jimin nods at this, sighing on an exhale. Maybe 7:00 am is ridiculously early for all of the Jimins.
It’s this thought that sets Jeongguk’s mind racing with the realization that all three of these Jimins are so… quintessentially Jimin . None of them are behaving or speaking out of character, per se – each of them is still quite consistent with the way the original Jimin would likely be acting under these circumstances. It’s just as if they’ve all adopted different, equally plausible ways of carrying themselves with different, equally plausible reactions to everything.
Something about the term ‘original Jimin’ pokes at Jeongguk’s heart in a funny way. If the deduction he’s coming to is true, wouldn’t that mean that each of these clones is, in their own way, just as original as the others? That all three of them seem to have come into existence at the same time, splitting from one “master copy” and retaining all of his memories?
Is each of them one-third of a whole piece, or are they each whole in their own ways, simply built with different, more prominent characteristics and attributes?
Thinking of them as something incomplete, some sort of fraction of a whole Jimin, makes Jeongguk ache. He’s already diminishing them as individuals without having any semblance of a clue as to how this even happened.
In the time that Jeongguk’s been mentally bumbling down morality road, Namjoon has managed to confirm that all three Jimins do, in fact, share the exact same memory. He’s quizzed each of them with trivia that he assures “only the true Jimin would know”, including but not limited to: questions about Jeongguk’s childhood habits, questions about Jeongguk’s favorite desserts, and questions about Jeongguk’s go-to characters for both Super Smash Bros and Tekken.
Safe to say, they are dealing with three seemingly identical clones of a one Park Jimin, save for their… eccentricities.
Namjoon has no logical explanation just yet as to why each of the three Jimins so clearly holds a different, more pronounced part of his original personality. There’s no denying the contrast between the three – it’s plain to see in the way that one Jimin has chosen to silently shuffle off in search of breakfast, another has opted for sticking as close to Jeongguk as humanly possible while flicking the TV onto a cartoon show for distraction, and the third has been spit-balling causations and possibilities with Namjoon all morning.
As for Jeongguk? He’s not sure his brain ever fully awoke, not sure that all of this isn’t some strange, fetishy dream of his come to life, what with the whole three living, breathing Jimins and all.
When an echoing crash blares out of the kitchen, the telltale shatter of porcelain being followed by a sharp “SHIT”, Jeongguk rethinks his observation. Three times the Jimin means three times the early morning crankiness, three times the clumsiness, three times the mess in their shared bathroom, three times the sass whenever anyone dares to question him on his early-2000’s anime knowledge.
Maybe this is less of a wet dream and more of a nightmare for everyone involved.
When the Jimin tucked into his side groans under his breath and turns the volume up on his Spongebob episode, only to have the Jimin sat beside Namjoon roll his eyes and complain about the noise, Jeongguk fears that he’s never going to wake up.
“Okay, I’m covered for today’s shift, so that’s a load off.” Namjoon huffs, resting his elbows on the counter and rubbing his temples with his thumbs.
Jeongguk hums, only half-aware of what his hyung has said, too preoccupied watching the three Jimins converse with one another on the couch.
It had been Namjoon’s idea – as every logical idea around here seems to be – to suggest that the clones clear the air between them, ensure they’re all on the same page and aware of each other’s thoughts and motivations. After all, there’s no reason for there to be any animosity or uncertainty amongst identical clones, as Namjoon says.
But Jeongguk is stuck: half of him buzzing with the same anxiety as Namjoon, wondering what the fuck caused this and how the fuck they could ever hope to fix it, while the other half is… distracted.
Really distracted.
When they’re all sitting so closely, speaking in low tones and focused pointedly on one another, Jeongguk can barely tell them apart. Their mannerisms are too subtle, their expressions too similar, the only notable identifiers being the different sets of t-shirts and shorts that they each don.
One Jimin keeps giggling and falling on the other two, though he often sobers up and gives whoever’s speaking his full attention. Another seems to be steering the conversation, asking the most questions and partaking in the most discussions, yet he also fiddles with his hair so much that Jeongguk momentarily forgets to focus on anything else. The final Jimin is a wildcard, sometimes laughing boisterously, other times appearing somber and withdrawn. He still snuggles up close to the others, still listens to everything they have to say, his eyes still soften when they apparently touch on something nostalgic or momentous.
How is Jeongguk supposed to look away? He’s literally watching the love of his life have a conversation with… the other two loves of his life.
They’re all sitting so close at this point that their bare calves are tangled up together, all three of them having apparently developed Jimin’s penchants for cuddling and talking animatedly, hand gestures big and adorable whenever they speak. They all share Jimin’s same dopey grin, the crinkles around his eyes, the shine to his hair, the crick in his front tooth. They all sit exactly how he would, pull from his same bank of vocabulary, fidget with the same telltale tics of anxiety or stress.
Jeongguk is enamored. He’s undeniably scared, extremely confused, a teeny bit horny, and completely exhausted. The fact that he’s already been awake for over three hours is not lost on him, and he worries that he won’t be of any actual use to anyone during this crisis with the way his brain keeps short-circuiting.
One Jimin whips his head back onto the couch, a beautifully familiar laugh ringing out of the living room, and both Namjoon and Jeongguk melt. This is Jimin – their beloved Jimin – and he’s handling this like such a champ. They owe it to him to help him figure this out.
It’s with this thought in mind that Jeongguk sets to work preparing three identical cups of passionfruit tea, the same kind that Jimin loves to make but rarely has time to, considering how long it takes to steep the specialty leaves. He even puts together a lovely little snack platter of all Jimin’s favorites – sliced strawberries, cubed cheeses, beef jerky, the whole nine yards. He wants to offer some familiarity to them all, to remind them that he is here for all of them because they are all Jimin, as far as he’s concerned.
He patters into the living room, socked feet thumping on the carpet, and he’s unsurprised by the wash of nerves and butterflies that overtake him when all three Jimins suddenly turn their attention to him.
Shameless Jimin, who had been mid-sentence before his arrival, smiles the biggest when he sees the tray of goodies. “Jeongguk-ah, you’re such a doll. Hyung doesn’t deserve you.” He blushes but says nothing, carefully balancing the tray on the ottoman in front of the couch and scooching it closer to the triplets.
Cuddly Jimin detaches himself from the mass of limbs on the couch and waddles over to Jeongguk to squeeze him into a hug, rocking him back and forth for good measure. “Thank you so much! You’re an angel.” Jeongguk hugs back on instinct, feeling hot and tingly all over with the other two pairs of eyes trained onto him while he rubs his hands up and down this Jimin’s back.
Surprisingly, it’s Grumpy Jimin who flusters him the most. While he’s still being squished to death in this bear hug, Grumpy locks eyes with Jeongguk and blows him an over-the-top kiss, smacking his lips with a pronounced “muah~” just to really make it burn. “Couldn’t live without you, Gguk.” He looks coy and amused, but he doesn’t wait around to see Jeongguk’s reaction, diving into the snacks headfirst.
“You’re – you’re all welcome, it’s no big.” Jeongguk spits out once he’s been released and all three Jimins are gleefully munching away.
He sits himself down on the loveseat next to the couch, still a bit wary of getting too close to the Jimins. He’s not sure what that kind of proximity multiplied by three would be like for his heart. The poor thing’s been through enough for one Saturday.
The Jimins resume their conversation like the interruption never happened, so Jeongguk takes that as a green light to loiter.
“I guess we should figure out what to do about lectures. If we take turns going, we’d have to dedicate time to catching the others up on all the material.” Shameless Jimin points out, sipping at his tea idly.
Cuddly Jimin nods, lips puckered out in a beak. “Mmm, I’m not gonna lie… I have, essentially, zero motivation to go to school. This week or ever again, really.” He chuckles to himself, nibbling at a block of cheese, clearly anxious to hear the responses.
Grumpy Jimin picks up on this and rubs a hand along Cuddly’s spine, his other hand holding three lengths of jerky like he’s afraid someone’s going to snatch them all away. “Hey, I get that. When you guys mentioned that program with Professor Kwan I almost shat myself. Nothing sounds less appealing to me on this earth right now. Regular bio lectures don’t bother me, though.”
With another long sip of tea, Shameless hums. “That’s interesting. I felt a bit relieved when I realized that the thought of the program doesn’t drive me up the wall anymore. I thought we’d all feel the same about that and I could finally text Youngjae, put him out of his misery.”
“Yeah, no, I’d really rather die. Thinking about locking myself into a year-long program like that, when I barely even know what the day-to-day workload is going to look like or if it will even look good on my resume… Ugh.” Grumpy tapers off before taking a giant chomp of his jerky. “Who even knows why we decided to sign up for so many stupid labs this year.”
Cuddly burrows back against the couch cushion behind him, his palm upturned and cupped, holding an inordinate amount of strawberry chunks. “Honestly, everything about our graduate work bores me. I don’t even think I’d be able to muster the strength to make it to class on Monday if I had to. I’m just… tired I guess. Tired of biology, tired of zoology, tired of ecology. Tired of anything that ends in ‘-ology’.”
Very interesting, Jeongguk thinks. The three Jimins, though undeniably alike, seem to hold conflicting desires about not only the immediate future, but potentially about the trajectory of their lives overall. They don’t share the same ‘big picture’.
A knock at the front door jolts them all into silence. Four pairs of eyes lock onto the door, yet no one dares to move a muscle.
When the knocking escalates to doorbell ringing, Jeongguk stands up.
“Uhm, Jimin,” he looks back and crunches his nose. “I mean, Jimins? All of you, go to your room and close the door. Don’t open it unless you know it’s me or Namjoon.”
None of them oppose, shuffling as quietly as they can down the hallway, one right after the other. Jeongguk waits a solid few seconds after hearing the bedroom door close before moving forward, cursing this building for the thousandth time for not equipping them with peep holes. He cracks the door open.
“Oh, Mr. Do!”
The kindly old man on their welcome mat waves at Jeongguk, sheepishly explaining that there is to be an emergency water outage for the remainder of the day and that he wanted to alert the tenants before it occurs so they could get their usage in before then.
Jeongguk thanks him and sighs with his forehead against the door once it’s closed.
“Sounds like I should go start my bath now, then.”
Jeongguk jerks away from the door and twists around, startled by Shameless Jimin’s proximity and how silently he managed to sneak up on him. He furrows his brow in what he hopes is a stern, chastising look, “Minie, I told you to wait for me, what if Mr. Do had seen you?”
Jimin shrugs, crossing his arms and cocking a brow at Jeongguk like he’s never been more amused. “In case you’ve forgotten, I live here, Gguk. Wouldn’t exactly be the biggest shock to his system. Besides, I told the other two not to come out until I came back, I’m not stupid.”
He saunters closer to Jeongguk, trapping him in the confines of their foyer. He looks towards their feet, putting on the perfect bashful façade, before he peers up at Jeongguk through his lashes. “I haven’t had a single moment to be alone with you all morning and I’m… I missed you, Jeongguk-ah.” Jeongguk swallows, the rest of the world fading to black as it so often does when he’s got his tunnel vision on Jimin like this. “This whole thing is weird and confusing, but I’ve been so freaking stressed out even before all this.”
At this, the innocent act melts away, and Jeongguk gets a glimpse at the real Jimin shining through. The Jimin he’s always known – the one who tries to put on a brave face but cracks right before a big exam, shuffling into Jeongguk’s room in the dead of night and holding him tight, silently confiding in his best friend in the privacy of the midnight hours. The Jimin who leads all the extracurricular meetings for his biology department, navigating his way through social diplomacy and anxiety alike just to bring some order to the chaos of university clubs. The Jimin who’s too strong for his own good, ambitious but exhausted, biting off more than he can chew and being too proud to spit out any excess.
Jeongguk loves this Jimin, same as he loves every version of Jimin that’s ever existed or ever will exist. He loves him so goddamned much.
Jeongguk takes both of Jimin’s hands in his own, cupping them and squeezing softly. Jimin shuffles closer, lips pursed into a tight line as he seems to mull over his thoughts. “Yesterday sucked. Last week sucked. This whole month sucked. And now this…”
Tired of having to face such a grim look on such a beautiful face, Jeongguk pulls Jimin in by his hands and wraps his arms around the man’s torso, squeezing his ribs tight, trapping Jimin’s arms down against his sides. “Hey, I’m right here, yeah? I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” He feels Jimin wiggling under his arms and loosens his hold just enough to let Jimin hug his waist. “We talked about this last week and nothing’s changed: I’m going to help you figure out all the crap with this program you’ve been offered, just like how you’re going to help me dissect all these stupid grad school applications.” He feels a weak chuckle against his shoulder, where Jimin has his face mushed into the fabric of his sweatshirt. “Whatever comes your way, I will be here to help you, Minie. You are not alone in this.” Jeongguk hums. “Well, you’re literally three times less alone than you were yesterday, so that’s something.”
Jimin laughs outright, rubbing his nose against Jeongguk’s shoulder and squeezing their bodies closer together. “Like it when you call me that.”
“Hm?” Jeongguk tries to pull back enough to see Jimin’s face, but the death grip on his waist won’t allow for it.
Jimin burrows further into Jeongguk’s sweatshirt, “Said, I like it when you call me Minie. Dunno if I’ve ever told you.”
A rush of warmth pools under Jeongguk’s cheeks and his chest feels lighter, scared that he’s full of so much stupid hot air that he’ll float away soon. “Huh. Guess I’ll have to reserve it for days when you’re extra nice to me. A little incentive goes a long way.”
Jimin’s laugh blankets all of Jeongguk’s senses in that moment, stripping the two of them down to their foundations – just two idiots, young and stressed and tired and in love. Swamped with schoolwork and adulthood, trudging through indecision, wary of commitment but terrified by the thought of going it alone.
They’ll figure it out. They always do.
It’s 2 p.m. and Jeongguk is an idiot.
A colossal idiot.
He bolts off the couch, where he’d been tucked up snug in-between two Jimins (as is quickly becoming the norm), and races off to his bedroom. Slamming the door and locking it for good measure, Jeongguk scurries under his bed to retrieve a medium-sized, golden box wrapped in bows and satin. He brushes any residual lint off it and places it on his mattress, checking the corners for dents and scratches.
He’s been awake for over six hours and he just now remembered that it’s Jimin’s birthday. Even if his best friend has made a habit out of undermining his own birthday, Jeongguk is still a huge fan of gift-giving and spoiling in the sake of the holiday. There are few things on this earth more gratifying than watching Park Jimin open up a present that’s been hand-crafted with love, or seeing him chow down on a triple-layer cake with frosting smeared along his cheeks, or seeing him smothered in love and support by their closest friends and family.
Jeongguk thinks that Jimin’s birthday should be a global holiday, and everyone should be given the day off of school and work and all other obligations so they can properly appreciate “the nation’s angel”. Jimin thinks that Jeongguk is a massive dork.
Once Jeongguk has calmed down enough to remember the gravity of his current circumstances, however, he can’t help the frown pulling at his lips. Here he is with another knockout present (a miniature bonsai starter kit that Jimin’s been ogling for years), but three birthday boys are waiting in the living room.
He can’t just pick one of the three to give the gift to – that would be insinuating that he thinks of one higher than the others already, or that one is more deserving of the gift because they are inherently “more Jimin” by some right.
Or, would they even be bothered by it? If Jimin originally cared so little for his own birthday, would that mean that his three copycats feel the same? Or would this be another case where they differ, and two of them secretly adore the gift-giving and the kind gestures while one could care less? Should he just point-blank ask them, or would one of them martyr themselves to take their name out of the ring when they actually all want Jeongguk’s gift? That’d be such a Jimin thing to do.
He’s going to give himself another migraine at this rate.
A painful ten minutes later, Jeongguk trudges back out to the living room in shame, his mind made up.
He stops in front of the television, blocking the view and interrupting the Jimins’ binge of the Pirates of the Caribbean series. None of them try to hide their annoyance, varying degrees of pout staring up at him from the couch. It’s as unnerving as it is precious, and he really wishes he had three sets of miniature bonsai trees right about now to pacify them.
“I have an announcement to make.” Jeongguk puffs up his chest, staring the Jimins down. They look up at him, one with rapt attention, the other two still visibly annoyed at the fact that they’re missing Will and Elizabeth’s conversation on-screen.
“I… am the worst best friend of all time. However!” He holds up a finger as if to silence any protests, though none of the Jimins had made a move to interrupt. “I will make it up to you. To all of you. You’ll get your presents when I have a way of multiplying them by three. Happy birthday, Jimin-hyung.” With this, Jeongguk bows a full ninety degrees. He keeps his face parallel with the floor when he adds a very hushed, “I love you.” He gathers the nerve to stand upright once more and gauge their reactions.
Within seconds, Jeongguk hears his favorite laugh chiming up from the couch, one of the Jimins having tossed themselves down in a giggling fit. Another is stuck looking at Jeongguk like he plucked the moon from the sky, the fondest smile taking over his face. The third Jimin barrels into Jeongguk’s chest, hugging him for all he’s worth and nuzzling his face into Jeongguk’s flushed neck.
“I love you too, you goof.” A pair of stupidly soft lips whisper right up against his skin.
The Jimin who couldn’t contain his giggles – Grumpy, interestingly enough – wipes at a few stray tears before making his way over to Jeongguk. He chooses to hug him from the back, wrapping his arms around both Jeongguk and the first Jimin. He places one faint, warm kiss at the base of Jeongguk’s skull, before rubbing his nose against the short hairs there. “Love you so much, Gguk. Thanks for remembering.”
Jeongguk, petrified and starstruck, lets himself be engulfed from both ends without complaint. He can’t quite lift his arms, but who fucking cares. He could die like this and he would thank the gods for such a glorious end.
Coming in for the killing blow, the third Jimin strolls over from the couch at a leisurely pace, staring Jeongguk down like his trap had finally caught some fresh meat. His smile is still sickeningly fond, but his eyes glitter with mirth.
He presses in on Jeongguk’s left side, rising up on his tiptoes just to add insult to injury, and leaves the sweetest kiss on Jeongguk’s cheek. His lips linger, the contact sizzling, before he pulls back.
Satisfied that Jeongguk is thoroughly dumbstruck, Shameless Jimin leans in to the poor boy’s ear to whisper, “Thank you, Jeongguk-ah. Hyung loves you, too.”
Yeah. What a way to go.
“I’ve come to the conclusion that no documented, scientifically sound successes have been made in the fields of human cloning.” Namjoon announces from his hunched over position at their dinner table, laptop and books scattered across its surface. “So I think it’s safe to say that if anyone finds out about Jimin, he’s going straight into a petri dish.”
Jeongguk puffs out a sigh, stirring the vegetables in the pan idly. “Sounds like we’re going full quarantine mode.”
“I don’t even know how that would work, either. It would raise more suspicion if he doesn’t show up for labs or lectures, if he just drops off the face of the earth entirely.” Namjoon scrubs at his eyes.
The setting sunlight streaming in from the dining room window only adds to their somber mood, and not even the tantalizing scent of roasted peppers and mushrooms can curb their growing unease.
At least the three Jimins seem to be holding up alright, if the chatter from their bedroom is any indication. For the last hour or so they’ve chosen to lock themselves away, brainstorming solutions and working out schedules in the event that they’re truly stuck like this come Monday morning. They all agreed that they cannot afford a lapse in schoolwork right now, and neither Jeongguk nor Namjoon are able to find good enough arguments to counter that.
Jeongguk’s not sure how he’ll feel letting any of them out into the world, out of his sight. He knows he can’t rationally confine them to this apartment forever, but a bigger, more irrational part of him fears that they’ll be snatched up like alien lifeforms the second they step foot out their front door.
He pouts down at the vegetables, wishing they had all the answers for him. They sizzle up at him mockingly.
“Jimin-hyung, dinner’s ready!” Jeongguk calls down the hall.
Less than two minutes later, five plates are filled to the brim and squished alongside one another at the table. With Namjoon’s research out of the way, they are able to seat everyone with elbow room to spare – though with only four proper chairs fitting in the cramped dining room, one Jimin has taken to perching himself on Jeongguk’s lap “for convenience”.
True to his name, Cuddly Jimin sits happily on his throne, adamant that he gets to spoon-feed Jeongguk each of his bites as they share their dinner. Jeongguk, having never mastered the art of denying Jimin anything, complies, dutifully opening his mouth up like a baby bird every so often.
The others roll their eyes good-naturedly but keep to themselves, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere in their home by joking about all the ways in which Jimin can use this circumstance to his advantage.
“And you know, this technically means I can attend three times as many interviews as before.” Grumpy Jimin points out around a mouthful of mushroom. “Even if I bomb every one of them, that shows true dedication right there.”
Namjoon finally cracks a genuine smile at that, chuckling under his breath. Jeongguk is relieved to see it.
“Somehow I don’t think you could get away with that for long. I can just picture two professors gossiping about you, realizing that they met with you at the exact same time on the exact same day for two entirely different positions.” Namjoon says, shaking his head at the mental image.
Grumpy Jimin laughs around his own mouthful, swallowing before he chokes out, “Wait, that’d make it even better! I could make all those doctorate-toting fuckfaces think they’ve gone mad!”
More laughter chimes from their table, and Jeongguk feels himself fully relaxing under the familiar weight of his best friend. This is officially the most at-peace he’s been since he took his first sip of O.J. this morning.
As if destined to shatter the moment, Namjoon addresses the table without looking up from his plate, “Jimin-ah, could you pass the soy sauce?”
No one moves a muscle, each of the Jimins realizing that the condiment is perfectly equidistant from all three of them, like something straight out of a sitcom. Comical and stupid, all at once.
It’s Shameless Jimin who reaches out for it with an audible exhale, scooting the bottle down towards Namjoon and returning to his plate in silence. Just like that, their situation is prominent and stressful yet again.
Two of the Jimins shuffle food around on their plates aimlessly, while the one sitting on Jeongguk twirls his straw around inside his glass of milk tea. No version of Jimin could ever be good at maintaining a poker face, always such an open book when he’s distraught. They’re all clearly worrying about the same thing and it doesn’t take a best friend of twenty-two years to notice it.
This time, it’s Jeongguk who gathers the courage to get their wheels moving. He could barely handle one mopey Jimin, much less three of the damn things, and he’s not going to let them fret themselves to death over a situation that they evidently have no control over.
“This seems like something we should’ve addressed like, a solid ten hours ago, but let’s figure out names.” Jeongguk announces, wiggling on his chair and disrupting Cuddly Jimin’s straw-spinning in the process.
“Names?” Shameless Jimin asks, a perfect brow arched in confusion. Even Cuddly shifts to the side to peer back at Jeongguk, the same question shining in his eyes.
Jeongguk nods. “Names. Yes, yes, you’re all Park Jimin, born October 13th of 1995,” He gestures flippantly with one hand. “but if me and Namjoon-hyung take to calling each of you Jimin we’re all going to go insane long before any professors do.”
Namjoon hums his agreement at that. “He’s damn right. I feel… awkward calling each of you Jimin, honestly. I hate it, but I do. And it doesn’t seem fair to just call one of you Jimin while the other two are, well, something else.”
“I get it, hyung.” Grumpy responds. “I feel weird calling these two imposters Jimin, too.”
Cuddly giggles outright at this, slapping a hand down on the table. “Hey now! We said no jokes about fakers or imposters!”
“Yeah, well, you’re the one laughing at it!” the two Jimins chuckle at each other, no trace of malice found on either of their faces. The third Jimin sits off to the side with a grin on his own face, picking at his peppers without adding to the debate.
Jeongguk hates to interrupt their good time, but he had a point he was making. “As I was saying,” he shoots the two a pointed look, to which they both respond with coy smiles and zipped lips. “we should democratically decide on names for each of you. I want to be able to hold a conversation with everyone and not make it weird or uncomfortable for anyone. I don’t think that’s so much to ask of the birthday boys.”
“You’re right, Gguk. And since you’re such a smart boy, I say you propose some nominations to the table.” Shameless finally pipes up, shit-eating grin stretched so wide his canines are fully visible.
Jeongguk locks eyes with the other from across the table, speechless as always in the face of such teasing. How can every one of these Jimins be just as jaw-droppingly gorgeous and conniving as the last? In what world is this fair?
Grumpy breaks their trance, slamming his cup down on the table and jostling everyone’s plates in the process. “Nuts to that. Call me Chim or call me nothing, that’s always been my go-to handle online anyways. I call dibs.”
Namjoon laughs yet again, clearly fond of this particular Jimin’s blunt attitude. “Chim is oddly fitting for you.”
“Taking that as a compliment and leaving it.” Chim replies, returning to his dinner with renewed vigor.
Cuddly Jimin huffs against his straw, “Dang it, Chim is so cute.”
Jeongguk can’t help but laugh at this, wrapping his arms around this Jimin’s waist and smooshing his cheek up against the elder’s shoulder blade. “You wanted the cutest one? I don’t think you have an un-cute nickname, if I’m being honest.”
“If you’re being whipped, you mean.” Namjoon mutters from around his fork.
Opting to ignore the jab and barreling on, Jeongguk continues, “You wanna know what I think is the cutest thing anyone’s ever called you?”
Jimin wiggles around on Jeongguk’s thighs until he’s sitting perpendicular, able to wrap his arms around Jeongguk’s neck and bonk their foreheads together. “Yes, yes I do. Tell me, O wise Jeonggukie.”
Though he’s no stranger to this level of skinship, nor to the extreme proximity, Jeongguk still finds himself choking down every inhale, painfully aware of how perfect Jimin feels tucked up on his lap like this. That 1000-watt smile, those crinkled eyes, the way he bites so gently at his bottom lip while he holds back his laughter.
Jesus, Joon is right. Whipped with a capital whapush .
Rubbing their foreheads together, Jeongguk whispers it like it’s a federal secret: “Diminie. Little clumsy Diminie, come to play with his Jyeonggukie.”
Laughter pours out of this Jimin – out of Diminie – like a lovely waterfall, washing over Jeongguk and cleansing him of all his woes. Diminie clings even tighter around Jeongguk’s neck in his hysteria, though Jeongguk is sure to keep a steady arm around the boy’s waist, painfully aware of how prone Jimin is to flinging himself into oblivion in a fit of laughter.
Chim groans around a bite of bell pepper, “That damned nickname comes from Jeongguk’s mother, I’ll have you know, and a part of me has always loathed it with a passion.” He swallows, directing the rest of his statement at Namjoon when he realizes that Jeongguk is too busy swooning over Diminie’s unending giggle fit. “Guess that part didn’t make it into sunshine, over there.”
At this, Shameless Jimin stifles a laugh, eyes fond as they focus back on the food in front of him. He, too, remembers long summer days spent in the shared lawn between the Jeon and Park houses. He remembers melted popsicles and rerun cartoons, impromptu tickle fights that led to pillow fights, joint family dinners where the children had to cram around the kiddy table.
He could never forget all the adventures of Diminie and Jyeonggukie.
Namjoon bumps his elbow into Jimin’s side, breaking him out of his trip down memory lane. “That leaves you, unless you wanted to try staking a claim on either Chim or Diminie.”
Jimin hums thoughtfully at this, but his mind’s already made up. In fact, he’s fairly certain his mind’s been made up since whatever deity chose to split them into thirds like this. There’s a newfound sense of confidence, of intuition, in him that he hasn’t felt before today. He feels more… certain. Certain of the things he likes and dislikes.
Jeongguk seems to sober up as he overhears Namjoon’s question, peeking over Diminie’s shoulder to study the remaining Jimin. His smile fades to something gentler, something timeless. He feels pretty confident answering this one on Jimin’s behalf.
“Minie.”
A heart-achingly familiar smile mirrors his own from across the table.
Jeongguk can’t help but wonder if there are any stars visible up in the night sky right now, when all of them seem to have found a home in Minie’s eyes.
Bedtime poses a new set of challenges.
Chim and Diminie have both made it clear they’re not adverse to the idea of one big Jimin-pile on their bed, the two of them clearly retaining Jimin’s cuddle-philia. Minie, however, whined at this proposition, worried that he’d be squished to death in his sleep and that he’d wake up with stiff muscles.
Namjoon had officially clocked out once his dinner hit his belly, announcing that his brain had dealt with enough bullshitery for the day and that he would be back to assist in any unsolved “problems of the commons” during regular business hours. His door had shut at 9:38 p.m. sharp, and Jeongguk sincerely hopes his hyung gets a full twelve hours of rest. Lord knows he deserves it.
Since then, the Jimins have engaged in their first semblance of an argument between the three of them, and all because Minie had so impassively declared that he’d “just sleep with Jeongguk-ah, it’s no big deal”. This promptly led to Chim griping, “You can’t just say it all nonchalant like that – if you’re sleeping in Gguk’s room, we all should”. Diminie, who’d been watching the two volley, piped up in excitement at the prospect. “Wait, yes! Genius! Cuddle fest in Ggukie’s room!” to which Minie whined even louder, explaining that he was trying to avoid having to cram three bodies onto a bed, much less four.
So here Jeongguk stands, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot, picking at the fabric of his pajama pants as three versions of his best friend whine and cluck at each other like a bunch of hens over who gets to snuggle him up for the evening.
He’d aimed for total nonchalance a few minutes ago, coolly adding in that he “wouldn’t mind letting all three of you sleep in my room”, to which he’d received a glare from Minie so icy he felt his hands go clammy.
He hasn’t contributed to the debate since.
“I’m just saying, you’re the one who woke us all up by shrieking like a banshee this morning, I don’t know if I want to risk going through that again.” Minie grumbles, fiddling with his cuticles as he addresses Chim.
Chim purses his lips and crosses his arms. “And I’m just saying, that was a logical reaction to waking up in what appears to be the afterparty of an orgy with two clones of yourself.”
Diminie stifles a laugh into his tiny fist, shuffling closer to Jeongguk so as to distance himself from the fray.
There have been plenty of times in their lives where Jeongguk has seen Jimin roll his sleeves up and argue until he’s pink in the face, adamant in his beliefs and unwilling to stand down when passion overtakes him. Sometimes he’d sit the other person down at a table, get them both refreshments, and turn the argument into more of a diplomatic debate, listening carefully to what the other had to say without rushing to get a rebuttal in. Other times, he’d scream out his objections and storm away, so overcome and blinded by emotion that he is unable to discuss anything rationally until his jets have been properly cooled – he’d always return soon after, clear-headed and remorseful, ready to listen.
Diminie, Jeongguk thinks, seems to have inherited the rarest version: the “allergic to conflict” Jimin, the one who does not feel strongly in either direction and would rather everyone settle their differences quickly. He can see it written plain as day on Diminie’s face, that he’d like everyone to kiss and makeup so they can get to sleep already. Jeongguk has to agree with him on this one.
“This is insane and I’m exhausted.” Chim huffs, slumping down into the loveseat.
“I think we all are.” Minie adds. “Just – okay, let’s establish a schedule like we did for school.” At this, Jeongguk tunes back in. They hadn’t informed Jeongguk or Namjoon of any decisions that they’d managed to make during their meeting, and he had honestly just assumed that meant nothing had actually been settled. “Diminie, can you grab the notebook?”
Diminie hurries off to their bedroom, returning with a composition book and a few colored markers. As he flips it open and leafs through it to find a blank page, Jeongguk catches sight of several color-coded tables and charts along the way. Jimin has always been studious and thorough with any form of note-taking, so it would come as no surprise to him if all three clones seem to carry the same penchant.
Minie thanks him and takes the notebook out of his hands, humming to himself as begins drawing and labelling a new table. “Now that we have proper nicknames, I’ll have to go through and redo everything we already wrote, how fun. Not like that took two hours or anything.” Chim chuckles at this, moving to sit next to Minie to inspect his work.
“S’your own fault. I never knew I could be such a perfectionist until I met you.” Minie bumps his shoulder softly into Chim’s at this, smiling down at the page as he finishes setting everything up.
“I think we’ll have to do nightly rotations for this. Unless anyone wants to volunteer to sleep on the couch, we’ll just set it up as a two-to-one split each night, with one of us joining Jeongguk and the other two sharing my bed.” At this, Minie catches himself, shaking his head and furrowing his brow. “Our bed, our bed. Takes some getting used to.”
Diminie sits cross-legged on the floor before the other two, peering over the page upside down. “That works for me, but, uhm.” Chim and Minie look to him expectantly. “I just – we haven’t really asked Jeongguk if he’s okay sharing his bed every night for the foreseeable future, have we?”
Three pairs of identical eyes turn to Jeongguk, who remains rooted to his spot with his wrinkled pajama bottoms and gargantuanly oversized shirt. Over fifteen hours of exposure to the three Jimins and Jeongguk is still dumbstruck in their presence, terrified and amazed all at once.
It’s like he’s drowning in Jimin, but what else is new.
Without making direct eye contact with any one of them, Jeongguk shakes his head, feeling his hair flop around. “No, no, you know I don’t ever mind. Unless one of you turns out to be a snorer, but I don’t think that’s genetically possible.” A chorus of giggles and chuckles greets his ears and he smiles, a bit bashful. “It’ll be fun.”
Or deliciously bittersweet, he thinks. Having a different Jimin every night, coiled around him like an octopus, smacking his lips in his sleep like the precious little chick that he is.
With the matter settled, Chim and Diminie scamper off to raid the cabinets for spare toothbrushes, groaning that they’ll need to go grocery shopping sooner rather than later since they’ll all be pulling from the same stock of toiletries. Jeongguk hears a thud and an indignant squeal, one of the two whisper-yelling that they were going to wake Namjoon up, and he distantly wonders for the hundredth time what the fuck they’ve gotten themselves into.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Minie murmurs, closer than Jeongguk realized. They’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder, staring down towards the bathroom at the end of the hallway where two indistinguishable voices bicker back and forth. Jeongguk sighs, then tilts over to rest his head on Minie’s shoulder. It’s a bit of a slouch but Jeongguk thinks he’s had enough gravity for one day.
“Tired.” Minie hums in response, the sound rich and deep so close to Jeongguk’s ear, clearly dissatisfied with the short answer. “Still wondering if I ever even woke up at ass o’clock this morning, or if this is all some stupidly vivid dream. I tend to get those when I gorge on ramen right before bed.”
“Trust me, you’re not the only one. Let’s go wash up, yeah? I can hear your mattress calling to me from here.”
Jeongguk laughs, soft and quiet into Minie’s shoulder, and lets himself be led to the washroom.
By the time they’ve completed their respective nightly routines and have met back up again in Jeongguk’s room, the rest of the apartment has gone peaceful and still. The lights all shut off, the only noise a distant buzz from the traffic outside their walls, the temperature settling into a pleasant chill, enough to call for a thick blanket and an extra body to leech warmth off of.
Minie is tucked in so snug, so familiar, like a thousand nights before. He’s only got one leg woven with Jeongguk’s and a hand on Jeongguk’s diaphragm, but it’s enough. Just having him here, close and safe after such a mess of a day, is enough.
Jeongguk squeezes him closer still, nuzzling his nose into thick, dark hair. He feels that sort of courage that only comes from the pseudo-anonymity of nighttime, of pitch black, where the person you’re speaking to can’t see your face. Where you can pretend to be safe, to be braver than you really are.
Where Jeongguk can pretend that Jimin is his, his to hold and his to never let go of.
“I’m sorry, Jimin. I’m so sorry.”
Minie squirms a bit before burying his face deep into Jeongguk’s shoulder, but Jeongguk can feel the way his breathing picks up all the same.
He continues on. “This is so… so fucked up, and weird, and scary. When you were explaining that you couldn’t remember anything from yesterday evening, I just – shit. None of us even know how you got home last night, and I was up pretty damn late.” Minie’s head remains still but Jeongguk can hear him take in a terribly audible inhale, holding it in like it’s the last he’ll ever have. “I’m just so glad you’re alright. All three of you are alive and healthy, even if this shit is insane. Even if we never figure out what happened, or if you guys are stuck like this, I’m just…” Jeongguk chokes a bit, just enough that he can play it off like he fumbled over his words. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Please keep being okay. Please don’t get hurt, or lost, okay? I have three Jimins to look out for now and that’s a lot of pressure for me.”
Minie finally, finally reacts to this, laughing the most endearing, squeaky laugh, smothering the sound up against the flesh of Jeongguk’s neck.
In such a pleasantly hushed tone, Minie responds, “I promise, I’ll do my best. Would hate to worry you.” Even if it’s half-teasing, half-sincere, Jeongguk feels soothed. “It scares me, too. Memory gaps in general are scary, right? Like, after a night on the town with a couple dozen drinks, it’s to be expected. But, on such an ordinary day, with nothing to explain it and no one to witness it…” He trails off, idly rubbing his forehead against Jeongguk’s neck. “And then to wake up like this .” Minie huffs, the puff of breath hot and ticklish where it hits.
Jeongguk shivers and he knows Minie feels it. “Yeah, twenty-five years old and your body just couldn’t handle your shit anymore. Had to up and split, like some fucked up mitosis.” Another laugh, louder and fuller this time, and Minie wiggles even closer to Jeongguk. There’s not a centimeter of space between them, bodies flush and intertwined – like they’re meant to be , Jeongguk’s lovestruck mind provides.
“Thank you for everything, today. And thank you for the bonsais. They’ll look lovely on the patio, whenever we get them out there.”
Jeongguk’s eyes snap open, frowning up at the ceiling. “What! How did you –”
“You left the confirmation page open on your phone weeks ago, Jeongguk-ah. You are truly terrible at being sneaky. You let me borrow your phone less than five minutes later to look through some old photos.”
He knows he’s pouting, and Minie knows he’s pouting. That’s probably why he giggles some more, pressing a kiss so faint and sweet against the juncture of his neck and shoulder that it could pass as an accident.
“We should sleep, you cheeseball.”
“M’not a cheeseball.” Jeongguk shuffles a bit onto his side so he has the leverage to crush Minie against his chest full-force, refusing to let the little devil even consider moving away from him. “I’m the best gift-giver of all time.”
“Damn straight you are.”
Jeongguk huffs, satisfied and childish, closing his eyes once more and smooshing his face into the crown of Minie’s hair. “Gonna surprise the shit out of you next year.”
He falls asleep with the echo of Jimin’s laugh dancing around his head, confident that if he squeezes the boy tight enough through the night, no harm can ever come to him again.
“Diminie, grab me the juice?”
“Use a glass this time, Gguk.” The bottle of orange juice plops down in front Jeongguk’s face. “And I’m Chim, FYI.”
Jeongguk flushes, embarrassed but a bit grumbly as he accepts the beverage. “Sorry, I’m sure I’ll get better at telling three identical replicas of the same person apart sooner or later.” Chim laughs openly at this, puttering back into the kitchen to resume cooking his eggs.
Namjoon had realized as soon as he woke up that their measly kitchen reserves would not be enough to sustain five mouths for more than a handful of days, unless everyone settled for a hot bowl of plain white rice for two out of three meals a day. He and Minie had ventured out to their local supermarket hours ago, and each minute that they’re gone drives a new nail of anxiety into Jeongguk’s chest.
He knows that they can’t keep Jimin locked away forever, he agreed with Namjoon wholeheartedly on that. Doesn’t mean he’s immune to the irrational fear that comes from any of the Jimins stepping foot outside their apartment – for god’s sakes, Chim had walked out to their mailbox this morning and Jeongguk had nearly tackled him to the floor.
Can anyone blame him? The last time Jimin left their home, he came back in three pieces.
Jeongguk’s not sure he could handle anymore multiplication around here. He also has to stop thinking of Jimin as this strange sort of adorable hydra — that is not a good mental image. (If you cut off one of Jimin’s adorable pinkies, would two more take its place? Would they be equally chubby? This is why Jeongguk steers clear of all things science.)
The three Jimins had devised a grocery list and tapped into their own savings account to finance it, ushering in a fresh wave of anxiety through the group as everyone seemed to realize that, sooner or later, a steady source of income would be needed to maintain comfortable living for a human who’s split into three.
Jeongguk is already secretly browsing through paid internships and local job listings on his phone, eager to help his best friend(s) in any way possible. He’ll prove that he can be sneaky and thoughtful.
Namjoon and Minie finally return in the early afternoon, having ravaged every section of the deli, fish market, snack aisles, and made an obligatory run to the beauty department. They stumble through the front door with shopping bags weighing down both their arms, and from there the normalcy of the day kicks in. All five of them develop a rhythm of working in tandem, putting groceries away and preparing the next meal, cleaning up the bathroom to make way for three times as many toiletries.
Diminie appears in the evening fresh from his shower with a lovely lavender choker around his neck, no thicker than the width of a pencil eraser. The accessory is his way of making it easier for everyone else to identify him, a gesture that both Namjoon and Jeongguk make sure to thank him sincerely for. He’s also taken to wearing the most oversized, chunky knit sweaters from Jimin’s closet all weekend, mumbling to himself about how he can’t wait for winter. Typical Jimin, eager for snow and jumping for joy the first time they fire up the heater for the year. Always looking for any excuse to attach himself to someone, koala style.
Chim is also comfort-oriented with his fashion, but usually seems to grab at the nearest shirt and pair of sweats available. Jeongguk recognizes this as “Monday morning Jimin”, the one who can’t be bothered to put effort into his appearance any earlier than 10:00 a.m. He’s also inherited Jimin’s knack for falling asleep any- and everywhere, be it balled up on one-fifth of the couch, lounging in Jeongguk’s desk chair, or sprawled out like a starfish on the floor while Namjoon rattles off about the logistics of acquiring two more phones.
Jeongguk adores him for that, fondly watching the sleepyhead grumble his way through the day.
It’s Minie who dresses to impress, even when they’re all just chowing down on cups of ramen in the living room. Okay – Jeongguk should rethink the phrase ‘dress to impress’, because realistically Minie has done nothing more than blow-dry his hair and put on a pair of black jeans rather than any form of sweatpants or shorts, yet Jeongguk is completely captivated. He’s the Jimin who loves to remind you that his beauty is effortless, yet he’ll put in the effort anyhow, just to really stick it to you. He’s confident but not arrogant, comfortable in his skin and glowing when he gets the attention he deserves.
The three of them together are enough to knock the breath from his lungs. Jeongguk knows it’s barely been 36 hours since this fiasco began, but he’s incredibly confident that he will never grow accustomed to lounging in a room with all of them at the same time. His eyes don’t know where to focus, his ears straining to catch every precious word spoken from all three of their mouths.
It’s torture in the sweetest, weirdest way.
But the longer this goes on and the closer everyone gets to accepting it as the new norm, the more Jeongguk begins to feel… sad. There’s something inherently sad in accepting that his best friend may never be the same again, that no “normal” form of Jimin may ever return to being.
He wonders if the clones feel saddened by this, if any of them feel less than whole. He’s too scared to broach the subject with any of them, especially with the wound so fresh.
Namjoon had been his unfazed, productive self all day, working with the Jimins on their school schedule and helping iron out logistics on how they’ll get through the week. In the long-term, there’s plenty weighing on everyone’s mind – how they’ll break the news to Jimin’s family sits cozy at the top of the list. Namjoon had tried to reason with them, explain that this was not something they could create a rotating schedule for, not when Jimin’s mother was so punctual with her check-up phone calls and when holiday trips were a mandate in the Park household.
They’d resolved to phone home and explain the situation a week from today, should the situation still be a situation by then. There’s some irrational, unspoken hope amongst the group that the Jimins will wake up one morning good as new, all of this a vivid nightmare they can put behind them.
For every morning where that does not become a reality, however, they need to be prepared for what may come.
As for school, a reluctant agreement had been reached wherein the Jimins would take week-long turns. This way, they can dedicate the weekends to filling the others in on the material for the week without having to juggle that tradeoff of info every single night. This means that at any given point, two Jimins should be hidden inside the apartment, with only one venturing out per day.
Jeongguk was pleased by this resolution and is already concocting ways to weasel himself out of class for the upcoming week. He knows Jimin is largely independent, he always has been, but until they’ve fully settled into a comfortable, safe routine, Jeongguk isn’t sure he could focus for longer than five minutes knowing that there are two Jimins twiddling their thumbs, stuck inside their apartment.
Sunday night finds the five roommates lounging around the living room, all of them having had enough productivity for one day, agreeing to binge watch a couple wholesome episodes of Game of Thrones to cap off their inexplicable weekend.
Chim had just emerged from the shower only a few minutes behind Diminie, and his half-assed attempt at drying his hair has Jeongguk frowning at him from across the couch. The last thing this household needs is a cold making its way through the ranks.
Jeongguk moseys over to the bathroom to retrieve a towel before coming to stand behind Chim where the elder is perched at the end of the couch. He flops the towel down on Chim’s head, ignores his squawk, and proceeds to carefully rub at this scalp until he’s satisfied by the results. Chim brushes the towel away from his eyes to focus back on the screen, but when Jeongguk finishes and makes to leave, a hand darts up to snag his wrist, pulling Jeongguk towards the front of the couch. Accepting the wordless invite, Jeongguk folds the towel over the back of the couch and sits right next to Chim. He wraps one long arm around the other and pulls him in flush, Chim tucking in against him without looking away from the screen.
Someone’s getting a head start on their turn cuddling Jeongguk for the night.
Minie and Diminie make their way to bed first, the former griping about having to attend lecture early in the morning while the latter rubs his back in sympathy, clearly pleased that he’s free from attending school for another two weeks according to their schedule. Namjoon follows not far behind them, having to wake early for his internship. Jeongguk and Chim both wish him a fond goodnight, grateful for all of his assistance in this chaos.
Tomorrow their schedules will all pick up again, whether they like it or not. Even when the laws of nature get royally fucked and Jimin himself gets split into three, time does not stop for them. Some semblance of normalcy and routine will have to come back, and they are all painfully aware of this.
Chim ends up dragging Jeongguk to bed before they even finish their episode, mumbling about wanting to wait to watch it with all the others. Jeongguk smiles – this is the Jimin who’s feeling a bit too stubborn to admit that he’s sleepy and touch-starved, but will come and take his cuddles by force nonetheless. Jeongguk would usually tease him for this, get the boy to admit that he wants his dose of snuggles, but not tonight. Tonight, any Jimin could ask anything of Jeongguk and he would find a way to give it to them.
(He’s still open to the cuddle pile that Diminie proposed, but he learned his lesson the first time. He’ll let that beautiful phenomena come naturally, at its own pace.)
They brush their teeth standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and Jeongguk is once again dumbstruck by how handsome his best friend is. Puffy eyes that have been rubbed to hell and back again, skin nice and glowing from moisturizer, posture slouched with a tantalizing hipbone jutting out and strong arms crossed across his chest. Jeongguk can’t look away. Chim is middle-of-the-night, have-to-pee-but-am-still-half-asleep Jimin that ensnares you without trying. He’s a very raw Jimin, a Jimin that captures the room and genuinely doesn’t notice it, even when he’s bone-dead exhausted.
He’s fucking beautiful, just like the others.
By the time they’ve crawled under Jeongguk’s freshly-laundered blankets, the moon is high in the sky. Where Jeongguk might’ve thought that Chim would play coy and keep his distance at first, he’s immediately proven wrong – Chim forcibly rolls Jeongguk over onto his side and clings to his back, thick legs wrapping around his own, a chilled little nose prodding at the back of his neck.
“Hello to you, too.” Jeongguk laughs, feels Chim’s responding chuckle rumble up against his spine.
“Minie told us you made him feel a lot better last night, that you two talked a bit before bed.” Chim wiggles even closer still, gluing himself to Jeongguk. “So start talking, cause I could use some comfort right about now.”
Jeongguk tangles their legs further, scooching around just to be annoying. “Should’ve known you guys can’t keep shit from each other. Bunch of snitches.”
Chim laughs into his hair, sending a frustrating wave of goosebumps down his skin. “Is it really considered snitching if we are literally all the same person?”
“Stop making so much sense, it’s like, fucking three in the morning.”
“It’s 10 p.m., Jeongguk.”
“You are just begging to go spoon the couch cushions, aren’t you?”
They laugh together, loud enough to break the tranquility of the evening, so unlike the hushed ambiance between him and Minie the night prior. Jeongguk appreciates this, reminds him of their first tentative nights sharing a bed as awkward, lanky preteens who were wary of skinship but desperate for affection all the same. They would watch tv all cozied up together, not quite this close but near enough to steal each other’s breath and catch every minute reaction. Some trash anime would play in the background while they giggled and gossiped, while they ranted about petty bullshit, while they confessed their weirdest dreams.
Laying with Chim, laughing with him like this, feels an awful lot like figuring himself out all over again, but being far less afraid knowing that Jimin is by his side.
They bicker back and forth for several more minutes, Jeongguk eventually rolling around to bonk their foreheads together after a particularly hilarious wisecrack. Chim pinches his nipple in retaliation but his smile never falters, and Jeongguk knows he is one damned lucky man.
“Feeling comforted yet?”
Chim hums contemplatively, nuzzling their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “I’d say I’m… 47% more comforted. A solid ‘B’ for effort.”
Jeongguk, emboldened by that same damned nighttime confidence, darts forward enough to leave a little smooch on the tip of Chim’s nose. The boy is dumbstruck, big puppydog eyes staring Jeongguk down like he’d just admitted to being the cause of their cloning.
Jeongguk chuckles, a bit self-conscious, “That’d better bump it up to at least a 50% or I’m officially throwing in the towel.”
Chim squeezes him so tight for the rest of the night that he feels a bit winded, but it is absolutely worth it. When they both inevitably have to get up to piss in the unholy hours of the morning, Jeongguk makes sure to peck him on the nose once again, just to see those doughy cheeks glow.
Jeongguk doesn’t know how they managed to hide this from him in the monotony of putting away groceries yesterday, but he is Not Pleased.
“I know that neither of you have ever handled this stuff before, because you’re the same damn person, so I don’t understand what the plan is here.” He grumbles from his spot on the counter, sitting with his legs dangling off the side, feet kicking back and forth as he watches the two Jimins rifle through the plastic bag on the table.
Chim blows a raspberry in his general direction, holding up the box of bleach and inspecting the side half-heartedly. “We may be ecologists but this shit ain’t rocket science, Gguk. Have some faith.”
Diminie laughs brightly, pulling out two pairs of latex gloves. “I paid pretty close attention when that lady dyed my hair freshman year, I’ll have you know.” He rolls on one glove and snaps the rim against his wrist for dramatic effect. “This will be a piece of cake.”
So Jeongguk finds himself watching the clones apply a thick coating of the concoction onto Diminie’s head, a measly ten minutes later. He can’t keep the grimace off his face the longer he’s exposed to that noxious smell, and their bathroom fan is doing little to circulate any sort of airflow.
Chim curses when he accidentally smears a streak of bleach down Diminie’s forehead, wiping at it with the rag they had the foresight to bring in. Diminie just smiles and waves at him, tells him he’s doing a stellar job and that he’s excited to see the outcome.
Jeongguk thinks he’s such a little trooper, sitting there with chemical goo literal burning away at his entire scalp.
Once his hair is thoroughly caked in the mix, they turn to Chim. He’s opted for only a few streaks to get bleached, the two of them doing their best to wrap the strands in foil and keep them partitioned from the rest of his inky black hair.
Jeongguk had admitted upfront that he was too nervous to help either of them, but they both simply shrugged him off, saying they’d anticipated as much. He pouted a bit at this, but when Diminie reasoned that Jeongguk has always been a nervous nelly about either of them severely altering their hair, he couldn’t argue. He remembers rushing at Jimin’s mother in a blind panic when they were still in elementary school, worried that she was going to cut every inch of his hair clean off when he saw her looming over her son brandishing a pair of kitchen scissors.
Once the timer beeps, Diminie and Chim take turns rinsing the substance out of their hair. Jeongguk curbs his anxiety by making a batch of waffles in the kitchen, fully aware that he should be preparing to leave for lecture, but equally aware that he had decided to stay home for the day at least 39 hours ago.
When the two of them emerge, a puff of steam following them out of the bathroom, Jeongguk forgets what year it is.
Diminie had treated his hair with a toning shampoo to lessen the bluntness of the bleach color, giving it a more mousy, dirty blonde look. It’s still dark, almost closer to brunette, but it feels so quintessentially him that Jeongguk can’t find a single word of complaint against it. Even with much of it still wet from the shower, it looks so damn good on him.
Chim is a whole other story. His few chunks of bleached hair had been followed up by an orange dye so vibrant, it can only be described as “Halloween pumpkin orange”. They’re nestled in-between waves of midnight black hair, peeking out when he shakes his head and scratches his fingers across his scalp. The contrast is vivid and stunning, so unlike any hairstyle Jeongguk has ever seen properly executed on someone before, he’s speechless.
He’d only ever seen Jimin experiment with his hair color once in their whole lives, and it was a measly dark brown that could barely be considered lighter than black. Jimin was proud of it nonetheless, told everyone that he hadn’t been scared of the bleach at all, even when Jeongguk had been there firsthand to watch him shaking like a leaf when the stylist started applying the dye to him.
That was when Jimin was barely 13 years old, when their attraction to one another was still innocent and emotional.
Now, Jeongguk is stuck in an apartment with two versions of the love of his life, older and wiser and… thicker. Two different Jimins with two staunchly different hairstyles, but neither of them any less attractive whatsoever.
In fact, now Jeongguk is justifiably worried that he’s going to have an even tougher time keeping to himself with the clones being so easily identifiable, with these new looks adding a layer of individuality and newness that spells nothing but trouble.
“Minie’s going to be so jealous, I know it.” Diminie proudly proclaims as he tousles his hair, checking his reflection in the window by the sink. “He was on the fence about going blonde or staying black, but he was too worried about the damage.” He smiles at his reflection, the glow of his tanned cheeks complemented beautifully by the new hair color. “His loss.”
Jeongguk shakes his head and laughs at this, “I wondered how you three had decided who’d get what color, if two of you would want the same thing.”
“Those nerds played it too safe, if you ask me.” Chim barks from his spot on the couch, a bag of seaweed crisps in his lap.
Diminie purses his lips but Jeongguk can see the mirthful twinkle in his eyes. “I didn’t know a single part of me existed that ever even considered orange hair dye.”
“Not my fault I got all the good parts!”
The two laugh at each other, bright and loud in the afternoon calm. Jeongguk takes a deep breath – tries not to stress over the thought of Minie out on campus on his own, tries not to fret over the inevitable discussions that are going to have to happen with Jimin’s parents, tries not to think about all of his own schoolwork that’s being pushed to the backburner amidst this madness. On his exhale, he clears his mind.
Just another Monday.
Minie makes it home by 6:30pm, perfectly typical for his Monday schedule, but Jeongguk bombards him at the door nonetheless.
“You didn’t bring your scarf! Namjoon told you it’d be windy!” Is the first coherent sentence that escapes his mouth.
Minie assesses him, clearly amused, and shrugs off his jacket. “You caught me, officer, what’s my fine?”
Jeongguk is thoroughly unimpressed. He takes Minie’s jacket for him and hangs it up in the coat closet, adamantly ignoring the giggles he hears piping up from the living room where the other two Jimins are undoubtedly teasing him. So what if he’s been worrying himself sick for the entire afternoon? He’s an adult. He can give himself a stomach ulcer via stress if he wants to.
“Damnit!” He hears, unable to identify which Jimin spoke. “Your hair looks amazing!”
A pleased laugh rumbles up in response, and Jeongguk realizes without looking that Minie has, in fact, come to regret his hair color decision.
“Come here, let me pet you. Does it feel like straw?”
By the time Jeongguk returns to the living room, he finds Minie curled up half on Diminie’s lap, his school bag abandoned on the floor by the couch. Minie’s got both his hands buried in Diminie’s locks, weaving his fingers through the strands and appraising the texture with his lips puckered out in a beak.
“Just feels a bit coarse, but I’m gonna buy a couple hair masks for the rest of the month. I’m sort of in love with it.” Diminie explains with a rosy smile on his face.
Minie’s answering smile is equally enchanting. “Feels a bit silly complimenting myself like this, but it looks amazing. I’m really glad you like it.”
Jeongguk plops himself down next to Chim, noticing that the clone is giving his undivided attention to the television as always. He also notices the tension in Chim’s lips, the way his eyes have squinted ever so slightly, his brows curving down almost subconsciously.
It’s a clear-cut case of Jimin’s feigned indifference. Another subject that Jeongguk considers himself an expert in.
Diminie and Minie continue prattling on about their days, exchanging stories about classwork and hair dye, tuning out the world around them. Jeongguk scooches closer to Chim, throwing an arm over the back of the couch and letting his fingers brush Chim’s exposed shoulder. He keeps his eyes trained on the television but he’d have to be blind not to catch the grin in his peripheral, Chim’s lips twitching ever so slightly.
Jeongguk takes it a step farther and lifts his hand up from Chim’s shoulder to idly comb his fingers through the elder’s hair, gently scratching at his scalp every so often. He feels Chim roll his head back into Jeongguk’s palm, sees the muscles around his eyes and mouth relax.
He tilts his head closer to Chim’s as nonchalantly as he can. “Can you catch me up? I haven’t been paying attention.”
Chim huffs out a laugh around his exhale, “Gguk-ah, I don’t even know what fucking show this is.”
This pulls a startled laugh from Jeongguk, his fingers squeezing ever so slightly against Chim’s scalp. “Damnit all.” He knocks the sides of their heads together for good measure. “Think they’d notice if we turn it back to Game of Thrones?”
At this, Chim turns his head just enough for their eyes to lock. “Don’t think they’d notice anything that’s not their own reflection right about now.”
Jeongguk frowns just a little, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t exactly blame them.”
“Yeah? Then why’re you wasting your time shooting the shit with me, hm?” Chim grumbles.
Jeongguk takes this as his cue to slam their heads together with more force, trying to maintain a straight face as Chim half-laughs, half-yells at him. “You do realize you’re an exact replica of both of them, right? If one of them is complimented it’s literally a compliment for all of you.”
“And you do realize that neither of them decided to permanently color themselves like a Halloween decoration, right? There is officially a difference between us all, now.”
Ah, there it is.
Jeongguk lets his hand fall back down to Chim’s shoulder, squeezing the boy closer to him. “I’ve told you this six thousand times, Chim Chim: if you ever have a single thing that you’re insecure about, come to me. Straight to me. I am physically incapable of lying to you, I will tell you if something looks dumb.” Chim pouts up at him, an adorably petulant little pout. “And this?” He runs his hand through Chim’s hair one last time, catching an orange chunk in his fingers and holding it out away from his head. “Is the most badass thing I’ve ever seen you do. You seriously look like an anime hero now.”
Chim punches him in the arm and falls into him all at once, laughing so hard he squeaks at the tail end of each breath. “Oh, fuck off!”
“You think I would lie about this!?” Jeongguk looks down at the crown of black and orange, smiles to himself. “I could absolutely see you fighting off a mob of titans looking like this.”
“Jeongguk-ah stop talking, you’re gonna make me pee myself!”
Jeongguk wraps his arm even tighter around his friend, looking up at the television and smiling so big his cheeks ache. “There are worse things, Chim.”
It’s Diminie’s turn in Jeongguk’s bed and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to snuggle up the blonde, have a chance to poke at his brain and see what makes this Jimin tick. (And squeak.)
“Jeonggukie, have you already brushed your teeth?”
Jeongguk turns towards the bathroom door with a mouthful of toothbrush and toothpaste, frozen mid-swipe against his front teeth.
Diminie shoots him a thoroughly unimpressed pout. “I thought I’d catch you in time, you usually wash your face first.”
Jeongguk spits into the sink bowl. “Catch me in time for what? They bought you your own toothbrush, didn’t they?” He pads over to Diminie, still holding his toothbrush in his fist.
Diminie plucks the brush from his hands and rinses it out in the sink in a hurry before throwing it into its holder, talking animatedly as he goes. “Of course they did, and I may love you to the ends of the earth but sharing a toothbrush is just not a step I’m ready to take.” He giggles softly to himself. “Now chop chop, go grab some boots and your keys.” At this, he shuffles back over to Jeongguk and shoos him out of the bathroom. “Hurry, before someone stops us!”
Jeongguk has to laugh a little in confusion and shock. “What! What is happening here? Is this a kidnapping?”
Diminie shoves him out the bathroom door hard enough for him to stumble into the hallway. “Yes, I’m going to kidnap you and ransom you off for all the money in Namjoon’s bank account!”
Jeongguk has enough sense to keep his laugh as hushed as he can. “This is the stupidest plan ever, we both know he’s the poorest out of all of us!”
The smile on Diminie’s face is dazzling even in the dark of their apartment, his muffled laughter like audible twinkling lights. “Quit sassing me and go, scoot! Boots, keys!” He stage-whispers.
Jeongguk complies with no further hassle, tucking the ankles of his joggers into his boots and tying the laces in a rush, cheeky grin never fully melting off his face. By the time he’s got his keys dangling from his index finger, Diminie has chucked on an extra fluffy black hoodie, the one with little black bear ears sewn on to the top of the hood. A personal favorite of both Namjoon’s and Jeongguk’s, as they’ve taken to dubbing him their little cub whenever he wears it.
Diminie hurries over to meet Jeongguk at the front door and pulls on some converse, crouched down in a little squat as he ties them. “Stop looking at me like that, let yourself be kidnapped like a good boy.”
Jeongguk barks out another surprised laugh. “I wasn’t looking at you like anything! You can’t even see me right now!”
Diminie stands and squares up right in front of him, chest puffed out and head tilted up comically. “I know you like the back of my hand, Jeon Jeongguk. Don’t need eyes to tell me what I already know!”
With that, Diminie grabs his hand and drags him out the front door, yanking the keys from his grasp to lock the door himself before pulling him down their hallway towards the parking garage.
“You asked too many questions, slowed us down.” Diminie says from in front of him, cheesy smile evident in his voice.
Jeongguk intertwines their fingers and squeezes his hand hard enough to make Diminie grunt in displeasure. “I’ll try to keep my questions to myself, O holy kidnapper.” Diminie gives him his own painful squeeze in retaliation.
“Darn straight.”
They hop into Jeongguk’s sedan, Diminie taking the passenger seat, and Jeongguk dutifully starts the vehicle to get the heater cranking. When he’s adjusted the vents and the temperature, he turns to await further instruction.
Diminie rubs his hands together in front of one of the vents and addresses Jeongguk without looking, “What’s the hold up, Ggukie?”
Jeongguk snorts, amused and entirely unannoyed by his best friend’s antics. “Oh, you know, just waiting for that mind reading power of mine to kick in so I can figure out where I’m supposed head off to.”
Diminie finally turns to him at this, keeping his smile close-lipped like he’s trying to suppress his laughter. “Salt and Sugar, please, and step on it. I’m starving.”
Ah, another classic midnight rendezvous at their all-time favorite milkshake bar. Jeongguk should’ve guessed it, honestly. It’s only fitting that Diminie be the one to inherit both the largest stomach and the largest sweet tooth.
“As you wish, little Diminie. Can’t let you starve on my watch.” Jeongguk feels warm all over like this, hearing such honey-sweet laughter trapped in his shitty car, the blast of the heater hitting his cheeks, the promise of calorie-ridden, creamy goodness just a short drive away. He literally has zero complaints in this moment – not fretting over the fact that he’s losing precious sleep over this, nor the impending stomachache that is sure to follow from this late-night binge, the dent to his wallet when he inevitably spoils his hyung, the way he looks like an absolute bum next to the angel glowing in the seat beside him.
Everything is 100% worth it when he watches Diminie devour his first spoonful of caramel-chocolatey goodness.
He hums so long and loud around that first mouthful that the cashier looks over at their table with a bit of worry in her eyes. Jeongguk just laughs. “That’s what I like to hear. A satisfied cub if I ever saw one.”
Diminie smiles as he shovels more ice cream into his mouth, cheeks bunching up high with the force of it, hood pulled up and ears on display. Jeongguk is vividly reminded of so many identical evenings to this one, of Jimin losing himself in food binges and laughing with Jeongguk over anything and everything. This Jimin before him feels a lot like euphoria, like youth, like before real life kicked them both in the nuts.
Jeongguk finally starts working on his own dessert, scooping cherry chunks and chocolate candies up on his spoon while Diminie regales him with the story of how Chim managed to break the blender earlier in the day.
“Let me tell you, it is a surreal experience watching yourself have a full-blown freakout over a blueberry smoothie.” Diminie shakes his head fondly, chuckling. “You and Joon-hyung always told me I get scary when I’m angry, but wow – that was impressive.”
The cashier begins scrubbing away at tabletops, every other customer cleared out of the eatery. Jeongguk didn’t even bring his phone with him, he has no idea what time it is.
“I guess that’s not really the weirdest part about being around clones of yourself, but it’s definitely up there.” Diminie keeps mumbling on, taking smaller and smaller bites of ice cream until he’s simply staring down at an empty spoon, eyes fogging over the longer he looks at it.
Jeongguk takes that as his cue. “Why’d you wanna go out tonight, hyung?” He ducks his head in an attempt to meet Diminie’s eyes where they’re still trained south towards the table, but to no avail. “Hm? Ice cream this late on a Monday night? That’s a pretty big red flag.”
Diminie hums faintly, setting down his spoon and slumping back against the booth. “A medium red flag, at best.” Jeongguk smiles, never looking away from him. “Now if I asked you to take me to the grocery store for us to buy our own gallon, we’d have an emergency on our hands.” He finally looks up, meeting Jeongguk’s twinkling eyes, mirroring the soft smile on his chocolate-smeared lips.
He’s okay, and Jeongguk can see that. He’s not exhibiting any telltale signs of True Panic that Jeongguk has become painfully familiar with through the decades. He’s just Jimin: clearly contemplative, enjoying a bit of comfort food and his dearest friend’s company, working things out in his own way at his own pace.
“I know it’s only been a few days but,” he sighs, looking more tired than sad. “it’s already so obvious that I… that the other two have at least some semblance of an idea at what they want to do moving forward.”
Jeongguk folds his elbows on the table and scooches his bowl to the side, giving his full attention where it’s due.
Diminie continues, clearly not looking for a response just yet. “You should hear Minie talking about that field study program, the one our professor recommended. I can’t remember ever feeling that enthusiastic about the damn thing, yet here he is, acting like he wants nothing more than to jump right into it.” He scrapes his spoon at the bottom of his bowl absently, twirling it through a glob of thick caramel. “And then there’s Chim, already itching to sink his teeth back into our bio work, actually looking forward to his turn attending lectures next week.” He chuckles weakly. His eyes look all faraway again. “The last thing I remember before waking up in bed with them is feeling like I had no idea what I was doing with myself, with my life. Like everything was too daunting, like every corner I turned had another fork in the road. Like I’m throwing darts at the wheel of life, or whatever.” He gestures flippantly with one hand.
Jeongguk hums low to let him know he’s listening, to let him know he’s here. Diminie hasn’t looked up from the remnants of his dessert since he started speaking.
“I guess I’m getting a little nervous that the other two have a plan in mind and I’m just stuck with all that same indecision from before, like I’m back at square one – only this time I’ll have to watch two other, more driven, more successful versions of myself cross a finish line that I don’t even want to run towards.”
It’s heavier than Jeongguk expected. He worries that Diminie is a Jimin more capable of masking his pain, of hiding his suffering from the world… from Jeongguk.
That is not good news.
Jeongguk slides his hand across the table slowly, giving Diminie time to anticipate his move and back away should he want to. His heart soars a bit when their fingertips collide, Diminie turning his palm over to welcome the touch. Their hands fit together yin and yang style, Jeongguk’s broader palm resting lightly over Diminie’s, his fingers tickling at the thin skin of Diminie’s wrist.
He stays quiet a bit longer, wanting Diminie to get everything out in one go before he loses steam. Jeongguk’s saying everything he needs to with this gentle touch, as it is.
“So, yeah, I guess I’m a bit scared. It’s stupid, really.” Another hollow chuckle. “I’m more concerned over my own lack of motivation than of the fact that I may be living the rest of my life with two identical copies of myself.” He finally looks up, his face the epitome of exhaustion, but he’s still the most beautiful thing Jeongguk’s ever seen. His freshly colored hair is more pronounced under the harsh fluorescence, Jeongguk still adjusting to the drastic change. He really adores it.
Diminie seems to startle a bit, like he’s just now realized how much word vomit he spewed. “Oh, geez, I’m sorry Jeongguk-ah. I didn’t mean to drop that bomb on you all at once, especially not before you’d even finished your own bowl.” He frowns, adorable and earnest. His hand curls up a bit underneath Jeongguk’s but Jeongguk is not having any of that, pressing down and flattening his hyung’s fingers out once more. He tickles Diminie’s palm in retaliation, melting at the giggle it evokes.
“That’s a hefty to load to carry all by yourself, hyung.” Jeongguk slides his hand down enough for their fingers to interweave upside down, gentle but reassuring. “You all assured us that you shared the same memories but clearly you’ve forgotten rule number one of our friendship: don’t apologize for venting to me.”
Diminie smiles bashfully, tilting his head to the side and squishing his cheek down against his own shoulder. “Yes I know, you are the perfect companion, the ultimate shoulder to cry on.”
“Absolutely correct, so come to papa.” Jeongguk pats at his own shoulder, stupid grin smeared on his face.
“Don’t ever call yourself ‘papa’ again or I’m walking out of this restaurant and handing myself over to science.” Diminie laughs, brighter and richer than his last few, before hopping out of his booth and sliding in next to Jeongguk. Jeongguk wiggles over to accommodate him, pleased with how quickly Diminie acquiesces and burrows his face in the juncture between Jeongguk’s neck and shoulder. “Wha’dya always smell so good for?”
Jeongguk rests his cheek against the top of Diminie’s skull, their hands finding one another beneath the table and locking together like magnets.
“It’s okay to be indecisive, Jimin-hyung.” Diminie hums up against the skin of Jeongguk’s neck, a wave of goosebumps rising from the ticklish breath. “It’d be okay under normal circumstances, much less during this whole attack of the clones we’ve found ourselves in.”
The cashier shoots them one fleeting look as she passes their table, but Jeongguk sees only kindness in her eyes. He’s overwhelmingly grateful – he doesn’t want to shatter this moment.
“Plus,” he continues, feeling Diminie twiddling their thumbs together. “I know there has always been a part of you that wasn’t overjoyed with your choice of major. I don’t think anyone is ever one hundred percent satisfied.”
“I know, Ggukie, but the problem is I suddenly feel zero percent satisfied. I literally can’t stomach the thought of going back to school, acting like everything’s hunky dory. You know?”
Jeongguk turns just enough to nuzzle his nose into soft, thick blonde hair while he thinks things over. “I know, hyung. That’s okay. We will figure something out.” He says it like it’s easy because it really… is. All things considered, there could be worse outcomes. Diminie could up and decide he wants to join a cult, or give street racing a try. Jeongguk can live with a lack of motivation for ecology.
“Remember back before I graduated high school? Everyone told me I was just burning through some angst but I genuinely hated the thought of enrolling in uni. You were the only one who actually listened to me, bothered to understand why I was anxious and what I actually felt like doing with my life.” Jeongguk shakes their interlocked hands for emphasis. “ You were the one who got me on a track that I’m satisfied with. Let me help you do the same.”
Diminie pulls away from his safe space in Jeongguk’s neck to look up into his eyes. There’s a microscopic fleck of caramel on his upper lip, the bags under his eyes looking darker and more prominent up close, but Jeongguk is positively entranced. He knows his hand is going to start sweating any minute, but he also knows that Jimin would never care about something like that.
“Jeonggukie.” Diminie’s voice is terrifyingly solemn, reverent almost. “I just want to be happy. I want to do things I enjoy, work towards my dreams and not just my goals.” Jeongguk can’t look away. He’s never seen such a beautiful pair of cacao eyes in his life, and there’s an entire Milky Way shining inside of them right now. “And I don’t ever want to lose you.”
He swallows, eyes unblinking as they sap up the starlight pouring from Diminie. “Never, Jimin, you never will.” They’ve had this talk without actually having this talk six thousand times. They both know. They understand.
Full, full lips curve up into a lovely little smile. “Then I’ll let you help me find my new track.”
They order another bowl to share, feeding each other spoonfuls of hot fudge and sprinkles, no sense of time to bother them.
His first night with Diminie feels a lot like falling in love for the one millionth time.
It’s Friday morning and Minie is tired.
“I’m tired, Jeongguk-ah.”
“Tell him again, Minie, don’t think he heard you the first sixty-seven times.” Chim grouches from across the table. They’d all been waking up early enough to share breakfast with Minie and Namjoon before saying their daily goodbyes.
The newfound tradition has its ups and downs.
“Give hyung a massage before he has to go to class, Jeongguk-ah.” Minie literally rubs his face up on Jeongguk’s arm like a cat seeking affection, smushing his cheek against the skin of Jeongguk’s bicep as he pouts out his words. It’s honestly the perfect analogy for this Jimin and his particular form of attention-seeking.
Jeongguk shovels the last bite of eggs into his cheeks before turning and picking Minie up in one fell swoop, scooping him up bridal style and whisking him over to the couch with no visible effort. Minie clings to his neck and giggles ecstatically, and no one can tell if he’s that excited to be getting his way or at being manhandled by Jeongguk.
It’s likely a tie between the two.
Jeongguk plops him down on the couch hard enough to have him bounce, the crescendo of Minie’s laughter accompanying the motion. He sets to work rubbing at his hyung’s aching muscles, kneading his calves and feet the longest. Jimin has always complained of foot pain, which is why Jeongguk took to buying him a stupidly expensive foot massager for his birthday three years ago. Jimin thanked him sincerely, tested the machine out that very night, and promptly informed him that it “paled in comparison to the Jeongguk experience”.
Thus, Jeongguk resigned himself to a life of massaging his spoilt angel many moons ago.
Namjoon speaks loud enough for Jeongguk and Minie to be able to hear him from where he still sits, munching away at the table. “Have we agreed on calling Mr. and Mrs. Park tomorrow morning? Is that still the plan?”
An uncomfortable hush falls over the apartment. Diminie pokes at his oat cereal, blonde hair puffed up and crumpled from sleep. Chim sets his empty bowl inside the dishwasher and leans against the machine once he’s kicked it closed. Minie looks up into Jeongguk’s eyes, his expression a blend of contemplation and worry.
“As far as I know, none of us have changed our mind.” Chim breaks the silence, crossing his arms. “This… situation doesn’t seem like it’s going to randomly fix itself anytime soon.”
Diminie mumbles out a quiet agreement. Minie lets his fingers dance up and down Jeongguk’s forearm, the touch almost enough to distract him from the gravity of the conversation.
Almost.
“Hyung and I will be here with you guys for the whole thing – if you all want us to be, of course.” Jeongguk adds, looking away from Minie long enough to flit his eyes between Chim and Diminie. “We can set up a Skype call on my computer if that’s easiest.”
Diminie smiles softly at him. “I would personally love that. Think it would also help my folks out, seeing the two of you, understanding that we’re all working on this together.”
“Absolutely. It’s already gonna be enough of a mindfuck for them. Joon-hyung will probably be the best to explain the whole thing, anyhow.” Chim agrees, turning away from them all to begin brewing a cup of tea on the stove.
Minie nods, finally looking away from Jeongguk’s face to stare upside down at Namjoon. “As long as you’re comfortable with it, hyung, it will be great to have you there.”
The smile Namjoon sends back to Minie is so reassuring and warm that Jeongguk feels like he should look away. “I’m in this for the long haul, guys. Anything I can do to help, to make sure you’re all comfortable and safe, I will do it. Breaking the news to your parents? That’s gonna be a cakewalk compared to all the logistical garbage we’ll have to deal with down the road.”
A chorus of agreements rings out, the clones all fully aware of how tedious and messy it’s going to be for them should they truly be stuck like this for the rest of their individual lives.
Friendships, careers, housing, income, legal documents, healthcare, basic identification – the list is enough to make Jeongguk want to go straight into hibernation. He can’t even imagine how stressful all of this must be for the Jimins. It’s their lives that have been derived from thin air, their futures that are even more daunting than before.
How can telling your mother that she now has three versions of the same son compare to the possibility of having to go into hiding for the rest of your life to avoid scientific experimentation?
Minie doesn’t complain when the rest of Jeongguk’s massage is half-hearted, the poor boy clearly lost inside his own head, yet still dutifully kneading at his hyung’s muscles. He watches Jeongguk attentively, stewing on the fact that his sweet friend has skipped an entire week of school just to help them out. Both he and Namjoon have been so selfless through all of this, so eager to help the three of them acclimate and adjust, pretend that they have even one ounce of normalcy in their new lives.
They’re so incredibly lucky to have Jeongguk and Namjoon around. God only knows how Jimin could have dealt with this on his own.
Saturday morning comes at breakneck speed, and Jeongguk is anxious.
He adores the Parks. They have truly been his second family since birth and have expressed nothing but love and support towards Jeongguk as if he was their own flesh and blood. They are a part of so many of his earliest, fondest memories, and he is confident that he wouldn’t be the man he is today without having had them (and obviously their son) in his life.
That’s why he feels such a strange, uneasy kind of nausea building up as Namjoon fiddles with the Skype settings.
Him, Minie, and Namjoon are all crowded around Jeongguk’s computer desk, the curtains drawn back to allow in as much lighting as possible. There will already be enough confusion in this video call, no need to make the Parks strain their eyes any further.
Diminie and Chim sit off to the side, shoulders knocking against one another as they perch on the edge of Jeongguk’s bed. The plan is to carefully ease their way into the conversation, explain what they can before the big reveal. Namjoon made a great point: there’s no confirming how much logic or reasoning will stick with Jimin’s parents once they’re face-to-face with the clones themselves. Shock might just shut down their systems. That’s why they have to handle this gracefully, and that’s why a perfectly normal-looking, black-haired Minie sits in between his roommates awaiting the dreaded call.
Namjoon double checks once more that everyone is ready, that no emergency bathroom breaks are needed, before initiating the call.
Jeongguk feels Minie grab at his wrist, not bothering to intertwine their hands, simply holding onto him like the reminder of Jeongguk’s presence is enough of an anchor for him.
Jeongguk sincerely hopes that it is.
Jimin’s father picks up on the seventh ring. Jeongguk notices that his and Minie’s hands are out of the camera frame and he’s immensely grateful. Their parents have made enough tongue-in-cheek remarks about the seemingly unending dance going on between Jeongguk and Jimin. That is simply not the point of this call, however.
“Jimin-ah! Boys! It’s been too long, I was so surprised to get your text this morning!”
Minie chuckles at this, a bit of the tension oozing out of him once he’s faced with his father’s jovial spirits. “It’s barely been two weeks, dad. Don’t make me sound so bad in front of hyung and Jeongguk-ah.”
Namjoon takes that as his cue to say hi, giving a little wave and an infamously charming dimpled smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Park! I hope work has been good for you!”
“Namjoon-ah, always such a gentleman. Work has been as good as ever, but heaven knows I could use more time at home.” Mr. Park laughs at himself, shaking his head fondly. His mannerisms reek of Jimin, they always have. “And how has that accelerated master’s program been going for you? Not too stressful, I hope?”
“No no, not too stressful, just keeping me on my toes.” Namjoon responds.
Jimin’s father hums before setting his sights on the youngest. “Jeongguk-ah, my boy! Look at you!” He says as if Jimin doesn’t send him weekly selfies including his best friend, constant updates on both of their academic lives, random videos of the two of them simply existing. Jeongguk smiles genuinely, nonetheless.
“Don’t look at me, look at your amazing son, he’s much more interesting.” They all laugh at this, Minie bumping shoulders with him but refusing to let go of the death grip he’s still got on Jeongguk’s wrist.
They continue making idle small talk, catching up on trivial matters, listening to the way Mr. Park gripes and groans about his latest project at the office. After a comfortable few minutes, Minie speaks up again. “Dad? Is mom around?”
“Oh! Of course, of course, I told her you’d asked to call us today but she was distracted with her latest gardening shipment. Hold on, I’ll go fetch her.” With that, the screen is empty, showing only a blank blue wall in Jimin’s parent’s dining room.
The clock counts down to the inevitable, and Namjoon checks up on the other clones. “You two holding up okay?”
It’s phrased vaguely enough that if someone on the other end of the videocall overheard, they’d assume he was speaking to Jeongguk and Minie.
Diminie and Chim both nod, and Jeongguk spares them a glance just long enough to confirm that they’re holding hands. The sight stabs into his heart. He’s not sure if he’s ever felt such an overwhelming urge to… protect. There have been plenty of instances in his life where he’s wanted nothing more than to wrap Jimin up in a cozy little burrito and tuck him away from the world, but that desire is exacerbated beyond belief now that there’s three of the damn things to look out for.
“Jimin my angel, I’m here, I’m here!” Mrs. Park’s voice reaches them before she moves into frame, likely shouting as she hustles into the dining room. She settles in at the table and leans in close to the screen like that’ll actually get her closer to her darling boy. “Namjoon-ah, Jeongguk-ah, it’s been too long!”
“That’s what I said!” Jimin’s father laughs, sitting down next to Mrs. Park but keeping himself a normal distance from the screen. The sight of the two of them together makes Jeongguk smile reflexively. He feels Minie melt even further as he takes in his mother, her cheeks all flushed like she truly just sprinted in from their garden.
“Your father told me you wanted to call but he never told me what time, you know I would’ve been here right away if I’d known!”
“Mom, mom, relax! It’s okay!” Minie laughs, his eyes crinkled. “We’ve been talking for a whopping six minutes, you haven’t missed anything.”
Jimin’s dad wiggles closer at this. “That reminds me – your text made it sound like you had something important to share with us?” He cocks his head to the side and Jeongguk gulps. “Plus, the last time you had both Namjoon and Jeongguk on a call it was to tell us that you’d gotten into that nasty car crash.”
Jimin’s mother pouts the longer he speaks, another shockingly familiar expression. “You’re okay, yes? All of you? No one’s hurt?”
Minie fidgets in his seat. “We are all okay, mom, no crashes of any sort to report.”
“Then what’s up, son? Big news with school? Did you decide on that fancy program you texted us about?”
The moment of truth has come so much faster than any of them would’ve hoped, but this is a bandage that needs to be ripped off.
Namjoon sits up straight, “Mr. Park, Mrs. Park, both of you have the weekend off, correct?”
They nod, looking half-confused, half-excited. “Are you boys coming up for a quick visit? Should we get the guest rooms ready?”
“Ah, afraid not, Mrs. Park.” Namjoon’s smile is still so disarming, these poor souls have no clue what they’re in for. “We just all had some news to share with you that will probably be a bit shocking.” He finishes with a soft laugh, but Jeongguk knows he’s dreading this as much as the rest of them. Namjoon is brave and kind, the ever-dutiful hyung, biting the bullet so the rest of them don’t have to.
They give him their full attention through the screen. “Like Jimin said, everyone is healthy. No one’s been kicked out of school or anything like that.” He’s doing his best to lessen the blow, get them to think of worst-case scenarios so that the truth doesn’t sting as bad as it could. It’s an admirable effort. “We had something kind of insane happen on Jimin’s birthday last weekend.”
Jimin’s father furrows his brow. “Jimin hinted at this, he told us he was a bit wrapped up and wouldn’t have time to call.”
Jeongguk feels like he should throw Namjoon a bone. “Yeah, we were all honestly busy, it’s kind of taken up this entire past week.” Mrs. Park’s button nose is so familiar, so painfully similar to her son’s, he hates watching it scrunch up in worry.
“And we’re coming to realize that it’s likely going to be a situation that lasts for the foreseeable future. So, we all agreed that we needed to inform you of what’s been going on.” Namjoon continues.
Minie squares his shoulders and squeezes Jeongguk’s wrist one last time. “Mom, Dad, we really have to just come out and tell you this, okay? Just know that I am right here – I am alive and healthy and as well as I can be. This is just… something that’s happened. We don’t know what caused it, we don’t know if it can be fixed, but we are doing our best to roll with it. And you guys have to know about it.”
“Jimin, honey, you can’t blame me for being a bit terrified right now.” His father chuckles under his breath, wringing his hands together on top of the smooth oak table.
“I know, dad, I know. I’m honestly scared too. Jeongguk and Namjoon have been amazing through all of this. Seriously, beyond words, they have kept me afloat.” At this, he turns to shoot each of them a brief, meaningful glance, one side of his mouth quirked up in a soft half-smile.
He looks back at the camera, back at his parents’ anxious faces, and drops the bomb.
“I woke up on my birthday with two other clones of myself in bed with me.”
Jeongguk honestly thought that they’d spend longer dancing around the issue but, damn, if Minie didn’t just dive right into it. Mr. Park seems to be frozen on the screen, like he’s waiting for the punchline of an unfunny joke. Mrs. Park’s face is similarly blank, but her brow is slowly furrowing the longer the silence stretches.
Namjoon rushes to fill it. “Again, no one has any idea how or why it happened, but he’s telling the truth. Jeongguk and I rushed into his bedroom and saw it with our own two eyes. The clones just seem to have shown up out of nowhere, and they haven’t left since.” He gestures vaguely with his hand while he explains.
Another loaded chunk of silence hits them, the Parks finally turning to look at one another as if they’d find the answers they’re looking for in each other’s eyes.
They apparently come up empty-handed as Jimin’s father quickly looks back into the camera. “Jimin, Namjoon, I’m afraid I’m not following. Clones? As in identical clones?”
Minie nods. “Yes, dad. Perfectly identical in basically every way.” He doesn’t elaborate on their obvious differences in personality, figuring it to be a discussion for later on. “Namjoon-hyung and Jeongguk-ah literally couldn’t tell us apart.”
“But you are the… the original Jimin, right son? They are clones of you? I mean, I’m speaking to my actual son right now, right?” Mr. Park asks, possibly the question that Jeongguk dreaded the most, though he knew it was inevitable.
Namjoon shifts a bit uncomfortably, eager to jump in and tackle this one so Minie doesn’t have to. “It’s a bit complicated, Mr. Park. We don’t really think there’s a way to tell which of the three Jimins is the real Jimin, per se.” His emphasis on “real” is heavy, laced with discomfort, and both of the Parks clearly pick up on it. They’re kind, smart people, they can see the effort that all three of them are putting into this conversation. They don’t think this is a joke – in fact, they’ve likely been taking them all seriously from the get-go, because that’s just who they are.
This is an incredibly unsettling thing to hear for them, but they’re taking it as gracefully as possible. Jeongguk is so grateful for them.
Namjoon pushes onward, “We’ve been treating all three of them as individuals, but because they all share the exact same memories as one another, we’re also respecting the likely fact that none of them is inherently more ‘Jimin’ than any of the others, if that makes sense.”
Mr. Park nods but Jeongguk can’t help but notice how stock-still and silent Jimin’s mother has been through all of this. He wants to hear her thoughts, but he’s scared to prod.
As though she can read his thoughts, Mrs. Park finally speaks up, her voice steady but quiet through the computer speakers: “Can we – can we see them? Are they there?”
Jeongguk takes a sharp inhale, his eyes darting over towards his bed almost subconsciously. Chim and Diminie are still holding onto each other’s hands for dear life, but their faces are painted in determination. They’ve been listening in this whole time, listening to their parents, aching to see them and speak with them and comfort them themselves. They’re ready to face them.
Namjoon looks to Minie first, then to the other two, silently making sure everyone is still okay and on-board. Minie smiles at him gently, also looking across the room to check in with the others, before facing his parents once more.
“Yeah. Yeah, they’re here mom. You guys ready to see them?”
His parents share another puzzled look with one another, his father lifting a hand to rub at his mother’s shoulder carefully, before the give him their confirmation. “If you’re serious, and this is real, then yes, son. We want to see them.” His father says as gently as possible, like he’s scared he’s going to spook them all away.
Jeongguk and Namjoon stand up from their seats and make their way behind Minie, leaving room for Chim and Diminie to fill the gaps. The two clones walk over slowly, wary of the exact moment that they enter the frame.
They know the second they’re both visible to the camera because Jimin’s mother gasps so sharply it crackles through the speakers, as though she’d just witnessed a gruesomely vivid murder.
His father makes no sound but his face visibly pales. Jeongguk never knew that could happen so noticeably and so quickly, always assumed it was exaggerated in film and writing. He’s not pleased to be learning it this way, with Jimin’s dear father as a case study.
Chim and Diminie move to flank Minie on either side, finally releasing their hands. They all sit up straight, perfectly level with one another. If it weren’t for the hair dye and the different tops they each wear, there truly would be no discernable differences between the three of them. In the past week, it’s been getting easier for Jeongguk to see them as unique, as varied.
Like this, he’s rocketed back to last Saturday morning, to that first heart-stopping moment where he laid eyes on the three of them. He doesn’t have to imagine what Jimin’s parents are going through because he’s lived it.
He’s still living it.
Diminie – brave, sweet little Diminie – speaks up first. “Hi mom. Hi dad.” He offers them a tiny wave, the smile on his face tentative and anxious, like he’s afraid his own parents won’t recognize him, won’t accept him.
The Parks sit, still understandably shell-shocked, gaping at the screen in disbelief. Even if they’d heard the three of them out, believed them as best as they could, this undeniable evidence is clearly a tough pill to swallow.
Chim decides he ought to speak up as well. “This is really something, huh?” He looks down for a moment, scratching at his forearm absently. “But, hi?”
Jeongguk hates the insecurity riddling each of their faces. He hates everything about this, but he knows it has to happen. The bandage is officially off the skin at this point, nothing left but a gaping wound that must be acknowledged.
“Jimin, my boy…” His mother’s voice breaks and she brings a hand up to cover her mouth in an instant. It hurts, it hurts all of them.
But they talk.
They clear the air, they let Jimin’s parents sort through all their emotions. They let each of the Jimins speak their piece. Jeongguk and Namjoon stay quiet for a long while, offering reassurance in silence.
At some point, Jimin’s father brought in two piping hot mugs of cocoa to calm their nerves and he sips at it before raising yet another question. “What about school? What about that program?”
Minie takes the reins without delay. “As of now, we’ve decided on a round robin sort of schedule, where we all switch off attending lectures and whatnot.” The other two nod along. “In the long term, this obviously isn’t… practical. We know that. We just haven’t quite figured much out beyond the immediate, I guess.”
Jimin’s mother hums contemplatively around the rim of her mug. “I don’t quite see a way for each of you to get your degree and work the same job, honestly. That already sounds so messy.”
Chim crosses his arms, slouching a bit more comfortably. “You’re right, mom. This is something we’re going to have to figure out, sooner rather than later.” He tilts his head back to stare at Jeongguk upside down. “Jeonggukie and Namjoon-hyung are helping us every step of the way, though. That’s a relief.”
Jeongguk finally feels like he can rejoin the conversation. “Absolutely. I think this has proven that nothing can scare me away from Jimin, I’m truly stuck to him like glue.” Jimin’s parents laugh openly, clearly pleased to see this exchange. “Only, now there’s three of him and only one of me. I’m literally outnumbered.” He smiles, teeth on display, and all three Jimins shoot him their own amused look in response.
“I imagine that’s a mighty stressful situation for all of you.” Jimin’s father says. He’s got his brow crunched like he’s solving a tricky math problem. “But your mother’s right: I don’t know how you’re going to juggle the rest of your schooling and internships and whatnot, much less vocational life beyond that.”
It’s obvious that all of the Jimins shrink into themselves a bit as their father speaks. Even headstrong Minie seems to deflate a tad, his eyes trailing off somewhere past the camera. Diminie twiddles his fingers where they poke out from the sleeves of his hoodie, and Chim outright pouts, looking equal parts frustrated and exhausted.
Jeongguk worries that the conversation has taken its toll on them, and wonders if it’d be better that they pick this up sometime in the future.
Namjoon seems three steps ahead of him, “Mr. and Mrs. Park, it’s probably not my place but I think we might want to put a pin in this discussion for today.” He crouches down, his head hovering in-between Minie and Chim’s. “This has probably been quite the load for you two to absorb, and we should give you time to digest it. Like we said in the beginning, it doesn’t seem like anyone is going anywhere, so we will be here. All of us.” He smiles yet again, sincere as all hell. “We can talk more whenever works for you.”
Mrs. Park nods her head frantically, “Yes, yes please do call us whenever any of you needs to. You aren’t alone in this – we are going to help you any way we can, okay?” She seems to stare down each of the clones, hoping to lock eyes with all of them.
They nod in sync, three pairs of identical eyes shining and twinkling. “I love you, Jimin. All three of you. I love you so, so much my son.” She says, her face crumpling like she’s going to burst into tears yet again, but she holds it in.
Jimin’s father wraps his arm around her shoulder and tilts their heads together. “I love you too, my boy. Well,” he laughs, a bit of a typical dad laugh. “I suppose you’re my boys now, but I’m not going to get used to that anytime soon.”
Diminie giggles alongside his father, “Don’t worry, dad, it took Jeonggukie a whole three days to stop calling each of us ‘Jimin’. Everyone gets a free adjustment period.”
Jeongguk laughs in good nature at this, glad that they can end the call on a light-hearted note, even if it’s at his expense. He’s never shied away from making a fool of himself to bring a smile to Jimin’s face, and that’s clearly not going to change with three of them living under one roof.
They close out of the call and breathe a collective sigh of relief. It feels like one giant hurdle crossed, but there’s still an undeniable, palpable anxiety buzzing in the apartment. Like the support of Jimin’s parents has lifted an enormous weight off their shoulders, only for an entirely new boulder to drop down on top of them.
Jeongguk hopes he’s exaggerating the feeling, but one look at Chim has him confident that he’s not alone.
They make dinner and eat separately for once, Namjoon having to hole himself up in his room to catch up on the homework he’s been neglecting. Minie gets permission from the group to join a classmate for dinner, an arrangement Jimin had made two weeks prior and didn’t want to back out of for no good reason. Diminie curls up on the couch with his food, drowning out his woes with some mindless television.
That leaves Chim, idling in the kitchen with his plate, standing at the counter and staring off into space.
He’ll be sleeping with Jeongguk tonight, per the schedule, and Jeongguk figures he may as well get a head start combing through the mess of thoughts that must be racing through the poor boy’s head.
“Hyung, ‘re we finally gonna bust out Darksiders 3 tonight? Hm?” Jeongguk sidles right up next to Chim, hip-checking him lightly. He ducks down to be able to see his hyung’s face fully, waggling his eyebrows as he taunts, “Those Seven Deadly Sins told me you eat boogers for breakfast. You just gonna let them get away with that?”
He’s ridiculously pleased when Chim barks out a laugh, fondly shaking his head immediately after.
Chim drops his chopsticks down next to his plate and stands up a bit straighter, meeting Jeongguk’s cheeky gaze head-on. “Who told them about my special protein diet, huh? You little snitch.”
They snack together for a bit longer, bantering lightly and dodging any topic that may lead back to the phone call with the Parks. By the time Minie returns home and the apartment has gone mostly silent, Chim and Jeongguk have set up a cozy little gaming nest in front of the TV.
Minie observes them for a moment from the hallway, having slipped past without being noticed. He finds that he’s oddly content taking in the sight of the two of them all snuggled up together, bickering over the game’s camera set-up. When Jeongguk jams his elbow into Chim’s thigh and Chim retaliates by headbutting him in the throat, Minie brings a hand up to his mouth to smother his laughter.
It’s strange, watching a variant of himself interacting so closely with the man that is arguably the dearest person to his heart. It would be a bit illogical to feel jealous, knowing full-well that Jeongguk has been smitten with him since they were old enough to use the restroom unsupervised, and knowing that Chim is apparently nothing more than a specified version of “Park Jimin”, same as Minie.
Throughout these last chaotic seven days, Jeongguk has shown in every possible way that his affection for Jimin extends evenly to each of the clones, in no hierarchical order. He loves them all, same as he’s always loved Jimin.
So, Minie lets himself be comforted by the sight before him just a bit longer. He takes in the way Chim lights up like a firework when he kills his first enemy, Jeongguk clapping along like a seal beside him. His ears crane to catch every obnoxiously adorable, boyish laugh that pours out of Jeongguk’s mouth. He takes the best mental picture that he can of this moment and tucks it away for safe-keeping.
When he finally climbs into bed and cuddles up to Diminie, his heart is crooning with love.
“So is this your ingenious, roundabout way of asking me what’s wrong? Buttering me up with violent video games?” Chim deadpans without looking away from the screen where he’s actively engaged in a battle.
Jeongguk smiles, a bit bashful at being called out – he’d figured Chim would be glad for the distraction, would lose himself in the game for at least a solid hour before they dove into any of the heavy shit.
“Figured this would be a good stress-reliever after the day we’ve all had.”
Chim nods absently, fingers mashing away at the controller. “Consider my stress relieved.”
Jeongguk looks at the side of his face, the harsh lighting of the television bouncing off his fair skin. His orange streaks are more prominent tonight, thanks to how unkempt his hair is after a day of raking his hands through it. Jeongguk wants to twirl them around his fingers, possibly for the rest of time.
“I’m okay, Gguk-ah, really. I was thinking about Diminie for most of the day, actually.” Chim adds, unprompted.
That wasn’t what Jeongguk was expecting at all.
“Diminie? Why? Did he mention something after the Skype call?” Jeongguk can’t keep the worry out of his voice and he knows that.
Chim hums, face scrunching up in concentration as he splits his attention between the game and their conversation. “No, I think he was the most relieved to talk to mom and dad, honestly.” Jeongguk nods though Chim doesn’t see it. “I just, I don’t think he wants to go back to school. Like, ever.”
This isn’t exactly news to Jeongguk, not after their midnight milkshake date. “I take it he’s been pretty vocal about that with you guys too, then.”
“Oh yeah. He hasn’t been annoying about it or anything, but obviously Minie and I can read him like an open book. I mean, we’re all the same books in this metaphor.” Jeongguk snorts. On-screen, a gruesome beast dies at Chim’s hands and he hoots in victory. “I think he’s worried that we’ll be bothered by it, that he won’t be holding up his ‘fair share’ or something like that. I don’t want him to force himself into doing the same shit as us just because he thinks he has to. It’s incredibly obvious that each of us has different goals right now, that we don’t actually see eye-to-eye on everything, and that’s okay.”
“100%. It would honestly probably complicate things if all three of you wanted the same things, you’d literally have to split every aspect of your life into thirds.” Jeongguk replies, glad to be getting this out in the air. These discussions are going to have to be happening, sooner rather than later, and they have to be as honest with one another as possible. This seems like a great place to start.
Chim pauses the game once he’s able to save and turns his body fully towards Jeongguk. “Exactly. I think Minie and I have to sit down with him and work out a new schedule or something. Scrap the old one, maybe.” He wipes at the tip of his nose absently while he speaks and Jeongguk feels his heart thunk against his ribcage. “I know it’s only been a week but also… it’s already been a week, and if there’s one thing that Skype call confirmed for all of us, it’s that this seems to be permanent. We have to start planning for big picture stuff – like, now.”
Jeongguk nabs the controller out of Chim’s hands and unpauses the game. He can see Chim puffing out his cheeks in his peripheral but it only makes him smile harder. “Sounds like you’re scheduling another Meeting of the Mins tomorrow.” A fist crashes into his bicep and he laughs in delight. “Better tell me how it goes.”
Chim grabs a fistful of popcorn and eats the entire thing before finally responding. “You know we will. Can’t keep a damn thing from you.” Jeongguk hears the fondness hidden beneath the snark and he feels ten pounds lighter.
They do conduct another meeting the following morning and it evidently goes off without a hitch, if the clones’ notably brighter moods are anything to go by.
Namjoon is fully supportive to their changes in plan, happy to encourage them in whatever they decide, so long as it’s rational and safe. He barely bats an eye when they tell him over breakfast that Chim will be the only one attending lectures for the rest of the semester, and that Minie is going to give the go-ahead to their classmate and professor to sign up for the field study program.
They all celebrate the decision, toasting glasses of orange juice and tea. Diminie is still a tad timid when he explains that he’s going to spend the rest of the semester figuring out his “next big step”, but he’s confident in telling them all that he wants to be done with ecology for the foreseeable future. Everyone applauds him as well, glad that he’s speaking up for himself and taking a stance in his future and his happiness.
Jeongguk holds his hand for the entirety of their breakfast, helping ease him out of his shell until he’s excitedly prattling on about all the options he’s been considering since his birthday. He brings up the possibility of restarting his schooling, this time pursuing a bachelor’s in medicine instead of biology. He entertains the notion of moving back closer to his family, turning to volunteer work until he’s more certain of what he’s searching for. He even humors the idea of following Jeongguk wherever he goes for his graduate schooling, shy but certain when he tells him, “I know I could find fulfillment no matter where I go, so doesn’t it make sense to go where you do, Jeonggukie?”
Jeongguk squeezes his hand hard enough to make him cry out, but it’s a kneejerk reaction to his heart jumping into overtime and he just can’t help it. Here Diminie is, cheeks stuffed with syrupy goodness, ranting on about all the ways he wants to try and find happiness – and somehow Jeongguk is a big enough factor to be considered into his long-term future.
Even if they skirt around the subject, reassuring one another with passing comments and skinship more than anything, it’s always overwhelmingly wonderful to hear Jimin reassert how eager he is to stay in Jeongguk’s life, one way or another.
Diminie smiles at him, glowing brighter than Jeongguk’s seen since that disastrous October 13th morning. On the eighth day, they all (finally) rested, and it was good.
Two and a half weeks after waking up split into three, the clones get a breath of extremely good news.
Namjoon had reached out to a paralegal friend of his – someone he claimed was “as cunning as he is chaotic” – a handful of days after the clones cemented the fact that they all wanted to deviate from one another in terms of academic and career goals. He assured everyone that this friend of his was trustworthy and kind, but they’d agreed that Namjoon should send out very tentative feelers before they divulge anything crucial – like the fact that Namjoon is seeking legal advice on how to fabricate identities for identical clones, for instance.
On an unsuspecting Tuesday morning, Namjoon meets with said paralegal for a cozy brunch. He reports back home several hours later, extremely confident that the man is prepared to help them “no matter how unbelievable their bullshit may be” – the friend’s words, not Namjoon’s.
The paralegal – Seokjin – has an impressive case history despite only practicing law for a handful of years. His father dealt in… undesirable territories, typically involving gang members looking for legal counsel and shelter. Thus, Seokjin learned a thing or two about working around (and often outside) the law, so long as it served a purpose he could proudly stand behind.
By dinner time that same Tuesday, the clones are in agreement: Namjoon is free to tell Seokjin the truth. They’re willing to take the risk.
Namjoon sets up a private coffee date in Seokjin’s apartment the following morning, and he gets Seokjin’s permission to video-record their conversation. A little over an hour after their rendezvous, four eager beavers crowd around Namjoon’s phone watching the playback of Seokjin’s reaction to the news of the clones.
To call this paralegal a comedic genius would be an understatement. The man was born to be on the stage, not behind the curtains of a courtroom if his quick-witted jokes are anything to go off of.
His reaction was surprisingly tame, all things considered. He heard Namjoon out completely, asked a few rational questions, and laughed at the absurdity of it all when Namjoon was through explaining. Like the Parks, Seokjin is entirely too trusting of those dear to him, and it never even crossed his mind that his good friend may be yanking his chain.
So, by the time both of their mugs had been emptied, Seokjin was on-board.
They’d scheduled a meetup for the weekend – Friday evening, once everyone is through with work and school. Jeongguk is understandably wary, hackles already raising at the thought of a complete stranger coming into their home, poking at the Jimins like a trio of lab rats, asking personal questions and gathering sensitive information. Namjoon is an exquisite human being but that doesn’t automatically mean that everyone he associates with is of the same caliber.
Just take Jeongguk, for example. He’s gone to exactly 28% of his lectures since October 13th because he is a weak, weak man – yet Namjoon considers him one of his closest friends.
Friday comes despite Jeongguk’s unanswered prayers, and Seokjin texts Namjoon to inform him that traffic has been light and he’ll be at least fifteen minutes early. The roommates scatter around the apartment, tucking away loose articles of clothing and straightening crooked light fixtures.
This time it’s Chim who takes the reins, idling by their front door with a simple dress shirt and black pants combo on. He’ll be the first to introduce himself to Seokjin, and Jeongguk is five seconds away from snatching the little pumpkin up and locking him away in the attic where no lawyer can ever find him.
He doesn’t, of course, but shit – if the urge doesn’t strike him over and over again the longer he watches Chim fiddle with his shirt cuffs. He’s got his cheeks sucked in slightly, jaw muscles taut, his entire demeanor sharpened up like he’s about to present in front of a jury, not appeal to one extremely eccentric paralegal.
Jeongguk knows this will be a make-or-break moment for all the clones, so it’s no surprise that the three of them have been on edge all day awaiting their guest’s arrival. Hell, Chim has hopes of continuing on in graduate school and potentially pursuing education even beyond that – there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he’ll be able to manage that with two other Park Jimins gallivanting around the country.
Minie has already been accepted into the field study program alongside Youngjae and two other graduate students, their orientations coming just around the corner. It’s going to be hectic enough juggling the legalities and logistics of his identity being enrolled in school at the same time as the program. He needs help ensuring this goes smoothly, or the entire project will fall apart.
As for Diminie, his wings are spreading further every day, waiting to take off at a moment’s notice. He’s got a basket full of possibilities he’s ready to take for a spin but he needs to act the most carefully out of all three of them. Whether he stays in their immediate area or moves across the country, proper actions need to be taken to safeguard the clones from outing themselves or each other.
Seokjin’s assistance is truly pivotal to the clone’s livelihood. More than that, however: if he can secure the proper channels and resources, this can mean actual happiness for each of them, not just survival. They’ll be able to flourish as individuals, not be bogged down in seclusion or constrained to living one-third of the same life as one another.
It will mean a metric fuck ton of anxiety lifted off each of their shoulders, possibly for the rest of their lives.
They need this. Jeongguk wants nothing more than to see his brilliant hyung shine like the supernova that he is. He wants to see him achieve, flourish, struggle, overcome, strive.
The problem is, he wants first-row seats and a backstage pass. If he’s being terribly honest with himself, he knows that his own dream always involves walking alongside Jimin, not just spectating from the mezzanine. Of course he’ll be ecstatic knowing that his oldest, dearest friend is out there, blooming and thriving wherever he may be, but it’s a deeper sort of yearning that begs him to keep Jimin as near as possible, to hold him tight and never let go.
He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a firm knock on the front door.
Chim plucks out a crease from his sleeve before hovering his hand over the lock, glancing back at Namjoon and Jeongguk to triple-check that everyone is ready – as ready as they’ll literally ever be.
Before Chim has a chance to steady his nerves and turn the handle, a cheerful voice calls out from the other side of the door, “Hello in there! It’s me, your totally inconspicuous delivery man!”
Chim scowls at the door, recoiling back from it in disgust. He turns around to glower at Namjoon as if he’s to blame for this.
Namjoon shrugs his shoulders, looking equal parts resigned and ashamed, like this turn of events doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. Chim mouths out a very clear “what the fuck?” to which Namjoon simply shrugs once more.
Another set of knocks. “Hello in there, delivery for a one Park Jimin?”
At this, Chim hurries to rip the door open and pull the paralegal inside.
Jeongguk gawks at the man that’s dragged inside their foyer, who’s chuckling to himself so hard he almost falls into Chim for support. He’s hunched in on himself, slapping his own leg and laughing hard enough to turn his neck pink. After another half-minute of this, he rights himself and stands to his full height, wiping at a tear with one final laugh trailing off into a satisfied “ ah~ ”.
Seokjin looks exactly the same as he did in Namjoon’s video, only taller and broader than Jeongguk had expected. His face is youthful and round, his eyes twinkling in delight as he scans the room.
“So, which one of you took a trip to Cloney Island?” Seokjin asks, sounding more merry than mocking.
The deadpan on Chim’s face is lethal from across the room. Jeongguk is suddenly glad he’s standing a comfortable few meters away from this impending train wreck.
Seokjin turns to face Chim as if only now noticing the man who’d literally yanked him out of the hallway. “Oh! You must be Jimin!” He extends a hand, cheeky smile lighting up his face. It doesn’t falter in the slightest at Chim’s half-hearted handshake. “That was a weak introduction, my apologies. I would tell a better clone pun, but, well…” he smirks, leaning in conspiratorially. Chim leans back, brow furrowing. “I’m afraid you’d just copy it.”
With that, the mood is set for the remainder of their meeting with the infamous Kim Seokjin.
He is introduced to the clones one by one. He appraises them carefully and manages to pull a giggle out of each of them, some more begrudgingly than others.
By the end of the afternoon they are all undeniably smitten with the peculiar paralegal that has joined their team. Late into the evening, Diminie offers to play a few rounds of Mario Kart with him, which quickly spiral into a solid hour of aggressive gaming – when Jeongguk says aggressive, he means full-blown screaming deathmatch. Popcorn is thrown, couch cushions are flipped, and for one heart-stopping moment Jeongguk is sure that Seokjin is going to hurl his Wii remote straight into their shitty tv.
All in all, it’s a wild success.
Friday, November 3rd, a whopping three weeks after The Great Schism, Jeongguk is starting to feel confident that he can handle this, that they can handle this.
It’s a stupidly good feeling.
Seokjin procures two cell phones and sim cards by Sunday morning.
Namjoon considers asking him how he achieved this in such an insane amount of time, but he thinks better of it the second he realizes just how expensive these devices are. None of them have the cash to shell out on illicit Apple products, so he’s just gonna sit here and eat his food, as Jeongguk would say.
The clones thank him profusely, offering to bake him goodies and do his laundry for the rest of eternity. He laughs their offers away, looking stupidly smug when he tells them he wouldn’t have the room in his closet if they managed to multiply all his clothes by three.
Chim socks him in the arm but they continue to thank him, nonetheless.
The original cell phone stays with Minie, seeing as he’ll be most frequently in-contact with classmates during his program. Chim and Diminie spend the rest of the evening customizing their new phones, swapping and transferring data from Minie’s as they see fit. They spend an entire half hour helping each other decide on lockscreens, which Jeongguk finds ridiculously adorable.
(He also can’t wipe the triumphant grin from his face when he notices that all three of them have a different photo of Jimin and Jeongguk as either their home- or lockscreen, if not both. Old habits truly die hard.)
Jeongguk and Namjoon will sleep a thousand times easier knowing that all three of the Jimins are now within reach at any time, and they’re sure Jimin’s parents are going to appreciate this development even more. They’ve taken to checking in on the group almost daily at this point, be it through emoji-jammed texts or unannounced phone calls just before bed.
A care package also arrived at their apartment just a few days prior, chock full of Jimin’s favorite nonperishable snacks, an assortment of toiletries, two identical pairs of Jimin’s most treasured brand of designer sunglasses, and an extra gigantic batch of Christmas treats for the entire apartment to share.
Needless to say, there were many tears shed during that night’s skype call home.
The following week feels like a rush of productivity and optimism, like a true breath of fresh air. Jeongguk attends all of his lectures for the first time in far too long, and Diminie is so proud of him that he greets him at home each night with a different dinner off their “Top Ten Best Meals Ever” list hot and ready on the table.
They eat together with smiles on their faces, eager to greet Chim when he arrives a typical hour later, his plate stored safely inside the microwave to stay warm.
Namjoon is always home the latest, nearing the end of his master’s program and gearing up for his final exams. The Jimins and Jeongguk have taken to spoiling the man rotten, preparing baths for him each night he wants one and to-go meals every hellishly early morning. Him and Seokjin have truly been the most crucial resources in keeping everyone afloat, and no one wants to take that for granted.
Minie’s schedule is sporadic, juggling the start of his program and a steadily climbing social life. He appears more confident leaving the house than any of the others, a sudden spark of sociability igniting in him that Jeongguk has never seen from Jimin before. Namjoon in particular has applauded this development, always having joked that Jimin would cling to Jeongguk for the rest of his life and ignore all other humanity around him.
Jeongguk never quite understood what was so funny about that, seemed perfectly reasonable to him. Nevertheless, he too is glad to see Minie coming home with a delighted flush on his cheeks after a hard day at work and a nice night out with friends.
Besides, every third night when he’s got Minie coiled around him in their sanctuary of darkness, he makes sure to hog up all the affirmation he needs that he always has been and always will be Minie’s number one.
And Diminie’s number one. And Chim’s number one.
Jeongguk falls asleep satisfied every single night these days, tucked in close to one of the three loves of his life.
This new routine of theirs stays uninterrupted all the way up until November 14th, a trivial Wednesday all things considered.
Jeongguk gets home early for once, his last class for the night having been canceled via email. He’s glad for the spare time, already diving in to study-mode for his finals that are looming just around the corner. There’s also a daunting pile of graduate school applications that he’s been steadfastly ignoring for the last month lurking around every corner of his bedroom, calling to him like sirens in the night.
He takes his dinner to his room for once, spending just a brief moment catching up with Diminie in the kitchen – the angel is on his sixth day volunteering at an emergency veterinary clinic across town, one that was desperate enough to care little for his credentials. Jeongguk is always so tickled to hear Diminie’s retelling of his day, watching the boy gesture wildly and mime out the way a certain animal came into their care and how they treated it.
It seems that Diminie is getting closer and closer to finding his newest calling. The thought has Jeongguk smiling faintly as he cleans up his desk, clearing off room for his plate and shuffling around a fresh stack of applications.
He’s interrupted an hour later when he hears a body crash down on his bed behind him. He jolts around in his seat to stare the lump down, seeing tufts of black and orange curl up into the air.
With his face completely submerged in Jeongguk’s mattress, Chim groans, deep and long. It’s adorable, really, all muffled and anguished. Like a baby bear growling into the night.
“Ditto.” Jeongguk grins, resting his chin over the back of his chair.
Chim wiggles around, laying his cheek down on the bed hard enough that his lips pool out ridiculously. His face is the epitome of grumpiness, exaggerated pout and furrowed brows amping the display up beautifully. Jeongguk dies a little inside, but it’s fine.
“Hi Jeonggukie. How’re the applications going?” Chim’s lips look even more ridiculous when he talks, squished out like an adorable pink duck bill.
“They’re fine, hyung, eating away at my sanity but totally fine.” Jeongguk laughs, standing up to make his way over to the bed. He plops down next to Chim and starts rubbing at his shoulders without delay, pleased by the groan this pulls from deep out of Chim’s lungs. “What about you, hm? You’re home early, you don’t usually start moaning like the undead until at least 9 p.m.”
Chim burrows his face back into the sheets, his words muffled, “Couldn’t take another minute of it.”
Jeongguk has both hands working down his hyung’s back now, kneading away at every knot he finds. “Another minute of class? That bad today?”
Chim shakes his head a little against the bed and Jeongguk sucks his lips in to ward off his laugh. “Another minute of pretending to know what the fuck Youngjae is talking about, another minute of laughing at inside jokes that I am not actually a part of, another minute of re-explaining to my professor for the thirtieth freaking time that the orange highlights are just clip-ins and that I choose not to wear them when I’m out doing the stupid field study project that I’m not actually doing .” He opens his mouth wide against the mattress, taking in a giant inhale. Jeongguk has stopped massaging him at this point, staring down at the back of Chim’s skull with a frown pulling at his features. “I’m just fucking… tired.”
Jeongguk scooches closer and pulls Chim’s right shoulder off the mattress, asking silent permission before rolling his hyung over onto his back. Chim stares up at the ceiling with terribly dull eyes. He really does look tired.
In a second, Jeongguk has fitted himself to Chim’s side, nosing into his hair and winding his arm tight around his friend’s ribs. He smells like the outdoors, like the biology building, but still entirely like himself. Like Jimin.
Satisfied once he sees Chim’s eyelids flutter shut, Jeongguk speaks up in as soft of a voice as he can manage, “Seems like there’s more bothering you than just Youngjae and Professor Kwan.” The muscles around Chim’s lips scrunch up, which Jeongguk takes as an agreement. “Is this one of those things that you want to vent about, or should I go turn on the PlayStation and grab hyung’s last grapefruit soju bottle?”
Chim turns his head enough to meet Jeongguk’s eyes. He looks sad, almost resigned, like he’s about to send Jeongguk off on a plane, never to see him again. “Why’ve you always been so good to me?” His voice is wobbly, filling Jeongguk’s chest up and crushing it at the same time.
“Because you’re even better to me.” It’s simple and honest. Jeongguk doesn’t need to elaborate, it’s an easy truth. It also very easily translates to “Because I love you”, and they both know that.
Chim rolls onto his side keeping a mere few inches of distance between their faces, bending one arm to rest his head on. He’s still staring Jeongguk down like he’ll never again have the opportunity to, like Jeongguk is vanishing right before his very eyes.
It’s been a while since Jeongguk got so close with Jimin – any Jimin – without the cover of darkness falling around them. The lights are all on and a bit of the setting sun is still peeking in through the window. Like this, Jeongguk can see every single pore on Chim’s face, can see the way one of his eyebrows has been tousled by smushing his face against the mattress. He can hear every exhale through Chim’s nose, can chart out the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks.
It’s horrifying to know that Chim can just as easily see every square inch of him, as well, that he can make out all the faded acne scars and random moles. His instincts urge him to turn down the lights, to hide himself away from the masterpiece that is his best friend.
He doesn’t do either of those things. He takes a deep breath and lets it out easy, losing himself in the depths of Chim’s eyes, in the galaxies of dark brown that look back at him so unwaveringly.
Jeongguk truly doesn’t have a clue how much time passes before Chim speaks again. “I’m scared, Jeongguk-ah.” Soft, so soft, like he’s afraid of being heard. “I’m really scared.”
He’s rocketed back to his milkshake expedition with Diminie, thinking about how tentative and anxious the boy was as he poured his heart out to Jeongguk with caramel-coated lips. He’s also vividly reminded of that first night with Minie, what feels like eons but was little over a month ago – being cornered by their front door and snuggled half to death once all the lights went out, comforting his friend as best as he knew how.
Obviously all of their voices are identical, but it’s still a bit striking realizing how all three Jimins tend to mimic one another under the crippling weight of anxiety. The brittle quality of that voice is like a hot axe to Jeongguk’s heart, slashing into him with every shaky syllable.
“Of what, Jimin-hyung?”
Chim finally lets his eyes drop, staring at a spot past Jeongguk’s head. “The future.”
Jeongguk ducks his head a bit to get their eyes level again. “Are you not feeling good about staying in school?”
He shakes his head slowly, his free hand trailing up and down Jeongguk’s side with a gentle ebb and flow. “’S not that. Seokjin-hyung is already helping me iron out the details on applying for the doctorate program.” He smiles faintly, barely lifting the corners of his lips up. “Mom ‘n dad told me they had a savings bond they’d set aside just for this, to help me with tuition.”
Jeongguk wiggles his toes against Chim’s ankle, provoking a tiny baby giggle. It’s progress. “That’s amazing, hyung. They’re probably so proud of you.”
He nods, shuffling a hair closer. “They are. I just – what about you, Jeongguk-ah?” His eyes dart up to Jeongguk’s. “What are you… where are you gonna go?”
He honestly hadn’t expected the conversation to turn to him. He blinks absently, face completely blank. “Me?”
Chim nods, looking scared yet again, like he’s waiting to receive a death sentence.
“I’m… shit hyung, I don’t know.” He chuckles but it sounds pained even to his own ears. “I mean, I’ve narrowed down plenty of options, but I’m still pretty stuck.”
“On what?” Chim’s tone is so imploring but still so gentle, like he’s desperate to know but ready to give Jeongguk all the time in the world.
Jeongguk turns his head into the mattress a bit, breathing in the scent of his detergent. “On everything?”
Unexpectedly, Chim chuckles at this. Jeongguk’s eyes rush to watch the way his lips part, how his eyes crunch up from the force of his smile. The last drops of sunlight coat his cheeks and it’s absolutely stunning. He is absolutely stunning.
“Ggukie, we’re just a couple idiots, huh?” He giggles some more, eyes absolutely twinkling. “We both sound like very competent, confident adults.”
Jeongguk smiles unbidden, stretching wider and wider, his teeth on full display. “We popped out our respective wombs competent adults, hyung. Give us some credit.”
Chim knees him half-heartedly, his laugh filling up the room like hot air, chasing the bitter edge of winter away. “Seriously, Gguk, I’m worried for you! Graduation is gonna be here in the blink of an eye, you know?” Jeongguk can’t help but sober up at this and Chim notices the shift in mood right away. He continues on more solemnly, “What are the chances you’re going to stay here?”
Jeongguk hadn’t quite expected that question, anticipating something more general. He’s stumped yet again. “I don’t know hyung, I really don’t. I haven’t really weighed all my options out against one another yet, if that makes sense? I genuinely couldn’t tell you what I’m leaning towards right now.”
“Staying here is an option though?” Jeongguk can’t believe how… how scared Chim sounds asking that. Pieces are starting to fall together and he doesn’t know what to make of it, how to broach it.
“Of course it is, Chim. What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” He bumps their foreheads together once before pulling back, just enough to keep their eyes locked. He doesn’t want Chim to hide from this, to hide anything from him.
Chim closes his eyes as a last resort, his brows furrowing while he breathes in. “I’m gonna sound like such an idiot.”
“Thought you said we were both idiots.”
He gets an adorable snort in response. “Fine. Like an even bigger idiot.”
Jeongguk closes his own eyes as if to offer up a sense of privacy, a safer space for Chim to speak in. “Talk to me, hyung.” He whispers.
Chim’s next inhale is audibly shaky and Jeongguk hates it, he hates it so bad, but he keeps his eyes shut. “I’m scared that you’re gonna leave me.” Nothing but raw honesty colors Chim’s voice, but he doesn’t give Jeongguk a big enough gap to interrupt. “I’m scared that I’m not… that the other two are better for you.” Jeongguk’s brow furrows at this and he can’t help but open his eyes, barely shocked to see Chim staring back at him. “Don’t look at me like that, just – you asked so let me finish.”
He sounds petulant and it’s a bit cute, but Jeongguk does not like where this train is headed at all. Nonetheless, Chim carries on, “I just mean that… okay, I know there are a lot of ways to look at this, and there are plenty of silver linings or whatever but I just, it’s really hard not to feel like I’m competing against two other people for you at this point.” Jeongguk’s openly gawking at this point, equal parts baffled and distraught. “I know, I know, that sounds even stupider out loud than it did in my head but I can’t stop worrying over every damn little thing these days!”
Chim sits up in a rush, crossing his arms and huffing. Jeongguk mirrors him belatedly, sitting close enough for their knees to knock but staying quiet. “We’ve always just accepted it as a fact that we would be there for each other forever, right? Jeongguk and Jimin, ‘til death to us part, even if we never… properly labeled things, I guess.” Jeongguk nods, his brow still crunched up. “But there’s three Jimins, now. There will probably be three of us forever. It’s also sounding more and more likely that we’ll be going our separate ways before long, which is horrifying enough on its own.”
“Yeah.” Jeongguk puts his hand down on one of Chim’s knees, squeezing it a bit, assuring him that he’s listening. He’s not missing a single word of this; his brain just doesn’t know how to digest it.
“Minie and Diminie are both… they’re both fucking amazing, Jeongguk-ah.” Oh no. Jeongguk really does not like where this is going. He’s agonized over the thought of this exact moment, dreading the imaginary conversations he’s run through in his head. Jimin is pretty comfortable in his own skin, all things considered, but when a seed of insecurity plants itself deep enough and spreads its roots in silence, it takes an entire freaking tractor to uproot the damned thing.
Jeongguk doesn’t want to start thinking about how long Chim’s felt like this, dwelled on these dark thoughts.
“Minie is like, this version of myself that I cannot believe exists. Everyday I get more and more convinced that he and I are polar opposites, there’s just no way any of that existed inside of me before all of this.” Chim gestures flippantly, looking anywhere but at Jeongguk. “He’s so happy working in that program, talking to everybody, charming the pants off of anyone in a five-mile radius. Where did that even come from?”
Jeongguk squeezes his knee again and scooches even closer, ready to derail this train but wanting to let Chim get everything off his chest. He barrels on before Jeongguk can get a breath in, anyhow. “And Diminie, eesh. I remember what it was like, getting all anxious that I didn’t want to be in school, period. But he’s also so much more positive than I ever was, he’s so quick to wipe his own tears away and pick himself back up, you know?” He doesn’t actually wait for Jeongguk to respond. “He’s got this glow to him. I see the way Namjoon-hyung absolutely melts for him, and I don’t fucking blame him. You’re like playdough in his hands.”
He can’t help but chuckle weakly at this, unable to deny the claim. Besides, none of that was malicious – Chim’s just spiraled into full-on vent mode, there’s really no stopping it now.
“What I’m saying is that those two are so damn bright, all the time. They’re pieces of myself that I genuinely cannot believe exist, and it’s impossible not to compare myself to them. Afterall, I’m just, just…”
Jeongguk finds his voice after what feels like an hour. “Just what, hyung?”
Chim grabs Jeongguk’s hand off his knee and intertwines their fingers without hesitation. He squeezes the bigger hand, looking down at it with a heart-breaking smile. “I’m just me, Gguk-ah. I’m the weakest version of Park Jimin. I’m… I’m what was left behind when those two took all the light out of me.”
That hurts worse than anything Jeongguk had ever imagined hearing. That’s beyond simple self-deprecation, that’s… that’s just terrible.
Jeongguk tackles Chim back down to the mattress – literally tackles him, out of nowhere, landing on top of him and likely knocking the wind right out of him. They both grunt at the landing and Chim is immediately throttling him, limbs whipping out left and right. “Jeongguk what in the hell! Ow?!”
Indignantly angry, Jeongguk does not bow under the pressure of his hyung’s tiny fists. He shifts up onto his knees and hunches himself over Chim like a turtle, clenching his muscles up tight. Chim is left with barely an inch of wiggle room that he uses to his fullest advantage, almost maniacally half-laughing, half-shouting as he tries in vain to fight Jeongguk off of him.
He struggles for another few moments, huffing and puffing and kicking his legs as much as he can, before he collapses beneath Jeongguk with one final grumble. Jeongguk hears a cranky little murmur of “barbarian, absolute barbarian” that’s enough to soften him up, but he won’t laugh.
Not yet.
Once he’s positive that Chim is still and ready to listen, Jeongguk speaks, their heads tucked in close together. “How could you say that, Jimin-hyung?” He’s startled by the sincerity choking his voice, and he’s sure Chim is too, if his quiet inhale is anything to go by. “How could you dare to think that you’re some sort of… husk? That you’re even one percent less radiant than the other two?” Jeongguk burrows his face in deeper toward the mattress, knowing that he’s about to choke up. “How could you think that you’re some sort of leftover?”
Chim stays deathly quiet and Jeongguk isn’t ready to look at him. “You’re magnificent, hyung. You aren’t competing against anyone and you never have to. You are no better or worse than the others, I swear to you. You’re still Jimin, my Jimin, the Jimin.” He hears another sharp inhale and he knows that Chim is holding back tears, too. They’re both so quick to cry around one another, even if they hide their tears splendidly around the rest of the world.
That’s the thing, though – there’s no reason to hide from one another. There never has been, and Jeongguk will be damned if either of them ever tries to start.
“I love you so much, Jimin-hyung. Please don’t think that way about yourself.” There’s snot and raw emotion clogging his throat up. He probably looks like such a doofus but he couldn’t care less right now. “Please, please don’t.” He beseeches him, squeezing all around his torso like a vice.
Chim lifts his arms up and wraps them around Jeongguk’s back. He tilts his head enough to touch Jeongguk’s, an undeniable wetness spreading across their cheeks at the contact. They’re both such messes. “I love you too, Jeongguk. Always. Always, always, always.”
They breathe together, unsteady and uneven, for a solid minute. When Jeongguk’s calmed himself down enough he lifts himself up onto his hands and knees. Chim, despite his sniffling, looks up at him like he’s the moon itself, lighting up the night sky.
Jeongguk nuzzles their pink noses together gently, a little back-and-forth motion that has Chim laughing, his warm breath puffing out against Jeongguk’s mouth.
“I don’t know why I’m like this, Gguk-ah. It’s like I said: I’m just scared.”
Jeongguk stills his motion, leaning his forehead against Chim’s and closing his eyes. “That’s okay, Jimin, that’s perfectly okay. But you can’t get so down on yourself like that. Please, just come talk to me whenever you start to feel like that or think like that, okay?”
Chim rubs his fingers into the muscles of Jeongguk’s back like a kitten kneading its mother. “What if… what if that’s all the time?”
“Then I’m going to handcuff myself to you and you’re going to rethink every decision that led to that point in time.” He says matter-of-factly. They laugh together at this, eyes still closed, the heavy atmosphere subsiding.
Chim uses the moment of tranquility to his advantage and, with his arms still coiled around Jeongguk, rolls them over like a log. Jeongguk laughs even brighter at the turn of events, happy to twist his limbs up around Chim yet again.
“I hope you know I didn’t unload all this on you to guilt you into following me to the ends of the earth.” Chim says, exhaling heavy. “I’m gonna be happy for you no matter where life takes you, Jeongguk-ah.”
“I know you will, hyung. Doesn’t mean you’re getting rid of me so easily.” Jeongguk means it. There is no version of Jimin in any universe that would be anything less than fully supportive of him, the clones have proven that beyond shadow of a doubt.
They stay like that, all curled up with the lights still on, until time melts away entirely. At some point, Diminie slips in and covers them both up with a blanket, even going so far as to remove Chim’s socks for him because he knows that they all love sleeping barefoot. He makes sure that Chim’s alarm is set for the morning and tiptoes out, leaving them in comfortable darkness.
Jeongguk dreams of the three of them, three perfect Jimins standing on three separate cliffs. He knows they’re all about to fall, somehow, the rocks crumbling beneath each of their feet.
Dream logic tells him that he can only save one – hell, he might not be able to save any of them.
He runs across a field of nothing, darkness on the horizon but a blinding spotlight on each of the Jimins. There’s no time, he’s not fast enough, they’re all screaming.
In the blink of an eye, Jeongguk is standing still. He knows there’s an ocean behind him without having to turn and look. His feet feel unsteady, like gravity is crumbling around him. All the Jimins still stand before him but now they’re on solid ground, reaching out to him without moving forward.
Their faces are all mixtures of agony and fear. They’re probably screaming words, something coherent, but Jeongguk can only hear the ocean. It’s so loud. He used to love the sound of the waves.
It’s too loud.
He can’t tell the clones apart, can’t differentiate amongst their weeping faces. None of them seem capable of moving forward, like their feet are shackled to the earth.
Jeongguk feels the last rock beneath him give way and he’s falling, tilting backward until their faces are all eclipsed by the cliff.
He wakes up before he hits the ocean, sweating like it’s July despite his light pajamas. Chim is on the far side of the mattress, one arm hanging off the side, his face mashed into a pillow. Jeongguk hadn’t disturbed him, thankfully.
He puts a hand up against his heart and feels it galloping away. His breathing is labored but on its way back to normal. He can feel his blood rushing down his arms, pooling in his palms and tingling his fingers.
His nightmare has already escaped him for the most part. The tendrils he has left in his memory don’t quite add up, but he can still feel that chilling anxiety. He can still feel like he’s dying, but that wasn’t the scary part.
What keeps him up for the rest of the night is the feeling that just won’t leave him – the feeling that he’s going to lose Jimin. One, two, maybe all three Jimins.
He’s either going to walk away or watch Jimin leave first, there’s no denying it anymore. He can’t keep them all cooped up in this apartment forever and he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want that for any of them. They’re all going places – some quicker than others – and Jeongguk is too, whether he’s ready to face that reality or not.
Jeongguk has his own decisions to make in the very near future. His fork in the road is coming up quick, quicker than he’s realizing.
All his talks with Diminie have reminded him of the times that he struggled, that he doubted himself and his choices. All the late nights worrying himself sick over “the big picture”. All the stress over what he was going to do with the rest of his life, how he was supposed to know what he wanted to do and what would make him happy.
When he’s being terribly honest with himself, Jeongguk isn’t afraid to admit that he still has no fucking clue what he’s doing or where he’s going. He doesn’t know what’s going to make him happy five years from now. The only constant in his life is Jimin, so it’s far too easy to equate Jimin to his future happiness.
What if he can’t do that? What if him and Jimin simply have to go their separate ways? What if their lives don’t run parallel to one another?
What if Jeongguk has to live his life knowing that there are three goddamned Jimins out there in the world, far, far away from him? He couldn’t handle these thoughts when there was only one of him – how could he possibly be prepared to face a future like that?
Would he be truly happy living his life in the same city as one, still being forced out of contact with the other two? Would he sleep comfortably at night knowing that the others are scattered across the globe, likely never to be seen again?
He’s hyperbolizing and he knows it but there’s no stopping it now – worst-case scenarios flood his head like a typhoon, choking him in that same agonizing dread from his dream.
He sees Minie accepting a new field study gig off in South America, contracted out there for decades and decades. He sees Diminie going to veterinary school on the opposite end of the country, settling down with a new name, forced to cut ties for his own safety. He sees Chim finishing his schooling and climbing the academic ranks, making a new name for himself amongst his peers, left with no time for anyone or anything else.
He sees himself. He sees himself bogged down by indecision, tangible and thick, smothering him like tar. He sees himself failing out of graduate school, wasting his scholarships and his parent’s hard-earned money in a foreign university that he grows to hate. He sees himself wasting away in this apartment while his hyungs take off like rockets, limitless and powerful.
He sees himself alone. It doesn’t matter that he’s hurtling towards the ocean, no way of stopping the inevitability of his impact. What matters is that he’s alone, that Jimin is back up on that cliff.
Jeongguk doesn’t sleep another wink, barely having the sense to feign waking up when Chim’s alarm sounds off hours later.
This new, god-awful blend of anxiety doesn’t leave him for the rest of the week.
He hides it well enough, not wanting to worry any of his roommates when each of their plates is full to the brim as it is.
He’s well-aware that he just spent a grueling night drilling it into Chim’s head that he needs to come to Jeongguk whenever he feels down, but this is… different.
Jeongguk has no idea how he’d even go about vocalizing all the things weighing on his mind these days. He doesn’t know how he’d be able to look any of the Jimins in the eye and explain that he’s horrified of losing them, that he can’t sleep because every night he dreams himself up in some new, terrible form of isolation.
He’ll just have to work through this one on his own.
The weekend comes and goes in a flurry, Diminie being out of the house the most thanks to his clinic’s chaotic hours. On Friday, he started hinting at the possibility of enrolling in a proper veterinarian school, and Jeongguk nearly choked on his oatmeal.
Namjoon and Minie had smothered him in praise and support, which Jeongguk should’ve been doing himself, had he not been so busy wallowing in despair.
He’s being ridiculous, he knows that. But knowing that and acknowledging it doesn’t just make it go away.
Monday comes and Chim offers to help him study for finals. Only an hour into their cram session, he’s already subtly prodding at Jeongguk, asking him about grad school choices and graduation dates.
Jeongguk excuses himself to the bathroom and stays there until his heart stops jackrabbiting. He has three unread texts from his mother in his phone, sitting like a rock in his pocket. He’s running out of time but he just keeps stalling , keeps running away because he’s scared.
When he finally returns to the dining room, he laughs, surprisingly convincing. Tells Chim that he shit out his last three meals, at least.
Chim flicks him on the head and tells him to get back to studying.
It’s Minie who finally picks up on Jeongguk’s mood, almost a full week later.
They’re sitting on the couch together, legs tangled up under a fuzzy throw, while Jeongguk mindlessly grinds in Dragon Age. Minie has been content watching him for the past half-hour or so, making mindless conversation about his program and how the team has been doing, how their research has been going. Jeongguk is glad for such a distraction, feeling like this is the most quiet his stupid brain has been since Chim barged into his room last week.
Minie has his hand up on Jeongguk’s head, carding through his hair so soothingly, never snagging any knots but letting his fingers drag over his scalp in rhythmic little circles.
“Been a rough week, Jeongguk-ah?”
Jeongguk hums low in his throat, pursing his lips out, letting his lack of response do the talking for him. Minie rests his head on the back of the couch and appraises him carefully, his hand never stilling on top of Jeongguk’s head.
“You’re stressed. Talk to hyung.”
A spell on-screen catches him off guard and he uses that as an excuse to keep his attention forward focused, refusing to look over at Minie and fall prey to those damned glowing eyes. “’M fine, hyung, really. End of the semester is just a bit tough, nothing new.”
Minie pouts a bit at this but Jeongguk doesn’t see it. “Are your finals gonna be brutal? Do you need extra help? Namjoon still has that friend at the tutoring center, you could always shoot her a text.”
“No, no, I know. I think I’ll be okay. Just gonna have to buckle down this weekend, no big deal.”
Before he knows it, a hand is reaching over and plucking the controller from his grip. He’s more scared than angry, feeling the confrontation mounting. He doesn’t want to have this conversation now, he can’t , he’s going to say all the wrong things.
Minie is ruthless, however, and he doesn’t let Jeongguk escape. He cups Jeongguk’s cheeks with both his hands and forces eye contact, kneeling on the couch cushion so close to him that Jeongguk can smell the tea he just finished drinking. The glow from the tv highlights his profile so stunningly, it’s unfair. How is Jeongguk supposed to look away?
“It is a statistically-proven fact that nine times out of ten, when Jeon Jeongguk says something is ‘no big deal’ he has actually been panicking about it for the past five years and it is, in fact, a big deal.” Minie’s face is frighteningly earnest, his furrowed brow more intimidating than adorable for once. “So? What’s the big deal, Jeongguk-ah? Tell me.”
Ruthless, absolutely ruthless.
Jeongguk doesn’t like being backed into a corner, especially when he’s panicking over pointless shit and he knows it’s pointless shit – he already feels like a big enough moron, he knows he’s only going to feel worse if he spills his heart out to Minie like this, with a knife at his throat.
He’s just going to dig his own grave deeper because what else can he do?
“Hyung, please, not tonight.” That must startle Minie fiercely because he actually recoils from Jeongguk just a tad, his face softening immediately. He doesn’t let go of Jeongguk’s face, however, keeps his thumbs on the top of his cheeks. “I just, not tonight. I’m thinking things through, and I’m just gonna have to work this one out on my own. Without… without you. Without any of you.”
He’s not sure if it’s hurt or concern that brings the slight sheen to Minie’s eyes but he hates it nonetheless. Those warm, chubby hands move away from his cheeks slowly, like he’s trying not to startle Jeongguk. He folds his hands in his lap and sits back on his heels, looking towards the tv as he schools his expression.
Jeongguk hates it. He hates this so much. He wants to pry his chest open and show his soul to Minie, right then and there, he really does. But the words still don’t make sense in his brain and he’s got so many ‘what if’s and ‘could be’s and stupid, stupid fears clogging his head that he doesn’t know which way is up. He doesn’t know what he wants, he doesn’t know what to do , damnit.
But most of all, he doesn’t want his anxieties and insecurities to tether any of the Jimins to him against their will. He doesn’t want to hold them back from the happiness that they’re all so ardently working towards and fighting for.
He doesn’t want to force any of them to stay with him. Just because he’s scared of being alone, doesn’t mean he’s allowed to take away any of their futures.
Jeongguk is a big boy and he’s going to make these decisions for himself, one way or another. Time waits for no idiot and he will be forced to face down his indecision whether he’s ready or not. Each of the clones is carving out their own paths, thinking ahead and planning lives for themselves. Even with such unthinkable, extraordinary circumstances leading them to where they are, each Jimin has been so damn brave, struggling and chugging along in pursuit of a happiness they can call their own.
Jeongguk has his own mind to make up, now, his own demons to face. He needs to figure things out, quickly. His education, his hopes and dreams, his own shot at happiness – Jeongguk has a lot of work to do. The decisions will never get easier, he knows this.
He’s still scared.
“I’m sorry you’re stressed out, Jeongguk-ah.” Minie’s voice pulls him from his hurricane of thoughts. He’s still looking steadfastly at the television, the pause menu staring back at him. “I’m sorry I can’t help you with this one.”
Jeongguk hates this, he hates worrying Minie like this. This isn’t fair to him, to any of them. They are not to blame for Jeongguk’s stupid, crippling anxiety. His indecision is not meant to hurt anyone but himself.
Minie stands from the couch and straightens out his shirt, smoothing out barely-there wrinkles. “Maybe you need a night to yourself, hm?” God, he does but he doesn’t. Being alone with his thoughts is agonizing, but something has to be done.
Without waiting for a proper answer, Minie swoops down to kiss him on the cheek, quick and soft. He pulls back and walks over to the hall, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll tell the other two that they finally get their cuddle fest tonight.” He smiles, clearly forced, aimed at pacifying Jeongguk. All it does is drive an icy stake straight through his heart. “Take care of yourself, okay? Go drink some water and work out whatever you need to work out. Hyung will be here in the morning.”
With that, he walks down the hall, never looking back.
It’s fitting that his anxiety would prey on this, feast on it like a buffet – the sight of Minie leaving him, walking away from him because Jeongguk pushed him away, is as excruciating in real life as it had been in all of his nightmares.
Jeongguk has to get a fucking grip. Minie is his own person, same as the others. They have lives, futures, careers. They know what they want to do, they’re taking the proper steps.
What is Jeongguk doing? What does he want to do? Where does he see himself living next year, ten years from now? What graduate school does he want to attend – does he actually want to attend any of them? Does he want to start over? Does he want to drop off the map and paint the world red? Does he want to pick a Jimin and follow him like a roach, leech off his happiness and call it a day? Does he want to live in isolation knowing that no matter what, at least two different Jimins will be living completely independent of him? Does he want to fuck it all up and beg the clones to stay with him, to abandon their own dreams in favor of coddling Jeongguk like a child?
…No. No, he doesn’t want that, he knows he doesn’t want that. Jimin forsaking his own happiness in favor of Jeongguk’s has never been something he even considered. He’d steal fire from the gods if it meant fueling Jimin’s dreams.
Jeongguk… Jeongguk just has a lot of thinking to do.
He drags himself to bed at some point, shambling past Jimin’s room in unabashed shame. He sees the light spilling out from under their door, knows they’re all still awake.
They’re probably worrying themselves sick over him because he can’t keep a damn thing hidden from Jimin. He wishes he could march right in there and lay their worries to rest, snuggle up in a cuddly heap with all three of them, laugh about Diminie’s latest puppy story and groan about the numskulls in Chim’s zoology class. He wishes he could be proud, smile at them and tell them how excited he is for graduation. He wishes he could gush about the school he’s chosen, the coursework he’s planning to sign up for. He wishes he could let Minie pet his hair until he fell into a tranquil, dreamless sleep, sandwiched in-between the three people who hold his heart in the palms of their hands.
More than anything, he wishes he knew what to do.
He brushes his teeth and washes up in a blur, paying no heed to the time. It’s probably late and he’s probably not going to get any decent rest.
His bed feels sickeningly empty. The sheets are cold and the room is quiet, too quiet. There’s no other heartbeat for him to strain to hear, no soft breaths beyond his own.
This is what he needs to prepare himself for: a life without Jimin.
He’s grown too accustomed to having that achingly familiar body tucked in next to him each night, sharing the bathroom mirror each morning. They’ll be moving soon, scattering like dust in the wind, and Jeongguk has to accept that.
There’s simply no universe where he will have all three of them beside him, day in and day out. He doesn’t even want to imagine a world where Jimin wakes up normal again, the clones merging back into one. He’s in love with all of them, they’ve cemented themselves inside of his heart and he doesn’t want to lose any of them.
There it is again. He has to come to terms with this. He’s going to lose at least some of them, and he needs to be prepared to lose all of them.
He repeats this to himself over and over as he stares at the ceiling, moonlight trying its hardest to barge in through the gaps in his blinds. Time keeps on ticking and the night bleeds into early morning. He has to sleep, he can’t miss lectures tomorrow. He’s getting his graduation gown tomorrow.
He should be excited.
Without him realizing it, his consciousness begins fading. His thoughts are a blurry mess of woes and worries, a toxic cocktail that he can’t seem to swallow.
He dreams of waking up alone, and it hurts.
Diminie is up earliest, yet again.
He’d slept like a log last night, despite the unease he’d felt when Minie explained why he’d be joining them for the evening and skipping his turn with Jeongguk.
The three of them had sat around their bed, face masks on and idle study music playing for Chim who was still slaving away over some research paper.
They’d fallen asleep one by one, but Diminie had taken the longest to let slumber come to him. He was conflicted – half of him still jumping for joy over the fruitful conversation he’d had with Seokjin earlier that day, spitballing plans for getting him enrolled in a school across town with a new name. The other half of him was stuck on Jeongguk, unable to get the boy out of his head. He hated the thought of Jeongguk sleeping alone, as corny as it sounds. He knows his Jeongguk, and he knows the boy is a giant fan of their newfound sleeping arrangements.
But, like Minie, he also knows that when something this serious has consumed him, Jeongguk needs space. He needs to be alone, if only for a moment, to solve his own problems. If it persists for too long, then Jimin has always been ready to tackle it head-on.
That’s why Diminie is glad to be up early yet again, in spite of his short and fitful sleep. He’s not going to let Jeongguk wallow around for the entire day, not when he had a whole night to get that out of his system.
No, today Diminie is going to spearhead this project. Today he is going to get Jeongguk moving, get him talking, get him happy .
He’s got blueberry pancakes and steamed eggs ready in a jiffy, five mugs of his famous white hot chocolate warming up in the microwave, and their box of Christmas decorations dug up from storage, sitting in the center of the living room like a half-opened present.
He’s going to brighten Jeongguk’s day up, one way or another, and what better way than breakfast in bed and a morning full of Christmas decorating? Jeongguk has always loved stringing up lights with him, bragging about his height and superior arm length – Jimin has always humored him, thanked him theatrically for his crucial assistance.
Today is going to be a good day, Diminie just knows it.
When everything’s ready, he gathers up a heaping helping of pancakes and eggs onto a platter, sprucing it up with some sliced fruit and a whipped cream smiley face for good measure. The tray is heavy and he’s tickled pink with himself – Jeongguk is going to love this.
He makes his way down the hallway, giggling to himself at the echo of Namjoon’s snores. They always tend to get the loudest the closer he is to waking up, like he’s a ticking time bomb. It’s pretty stinking adorable.
He peeks in through the crack of his own bedroom door and is delighted to see the other two clones still sound asleep, facing each other with only their ankles tangled together. If it weren’t for Chim’s orange streaks, they’d be a perfect mirror of one another.
The thought no longer stirs up anxiety or any sense of wrongness inside of Diminie. He’s sincerely happy to see them, each and every day, to wake up beside them and greet the day together.
He feels… stronger, somehow. Maybe it’s having the newfound freedom to explore different options for his future, maybe it’s the support of having two other people who literally know you like the back of their own hands on-call at any minute – maybe it’s just a part of being that much closer his 30’s. Whatever it is, Diminie has been feeling like a million bucks these last few weeks.
All that’s left is to help his beloved Jeonggukie now. He refuses to let his darling boy stew in misery over whatever may be plaguing him.
They’re going to get a head-start on this day together, and it’s going to be one for the books.
He brings one knee up and balances the tray on it, fiddling with Jeongguk’s door knob, quiet as a mouse. He secretly prides himself on the thought that he’s inherited the most poise and balance out of all the clones. A smug little smile works its way onto his face before he knows it.
The door squeaks open and Diminie grabs the tray with both hands again, bumping his hip against the door to open it further. He backs his way into the room slowly, staring down at his hand-crafted breakfast in triumph.
He starts singing, soft at first, surging into a crescendo as he turns to face the bed, “It’s a beautiful day, it’s a beautiful—”
Chim is considered to be the heaviest sleeper out of all the Jimins, and he’s not ashamed of this.
One morning, Minie had to literally pry his eyelids open to bring him back to the land of the living. Another day, he’d taken an unexpected nap in Namjoon’s cozy king bed, sleeping through three alarms and having to be forcibly dragged out of the room by his hyung a whopping six hours later.
This is why it is tremendously impressive that someone has screamed loud enough to wake him in an instant.
He sits up so quick his vision blots with black speckles, realizing a moment too late that Minie is already up and running out of the room. Chim shakes his head once before following him, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
Why did that scream sound so familiar? Can he even call that a scream? It was more like a wail, or a shriek.
But still, he swears he’s heard it before.
He stumbles into the hallway and swivels his head around, catching sight of Minie disappearing into Jeongguk’s room. The dawn has barely broken and it’s still fairly dark in the apartment, but he rushes over to the other clone in an instant.
He pushes his way into the room and comes to a stop behind Minie, bumping into him hard enough that they both stagger a bit. Diminie is there too, just a few steps in front of them, and the first thing Chim locks onto that’s out of the ordinary is a sloshy mess of spilled food all over the floor at Diminie’s feet.
He must’ve dropped it, the splatter reaching all the way over to Jeongguk’s bed. That doesn’t quite explain why he would’ve screamed like a banshee, though.
His eyes track the smatter of eggs on the bottom of Jeongguk’s comforter, trailing up, up, up, until he sees…
Oh.
Oh...
‘Oh’ seems to be as far as his sleep-drunk brain will go right now.
Minie and Diminie aren’t much better, the both of them clearly dumbstruck as well. Not that Chim would be able to actually confirm, what with the way his eyes are locked onto the madness that’s sitting before him and all.
“Hyung, holy shit!”
Jeongguk says from where he’s sitting up on the mattress, shirtless and gorgeous in the early morning light. His bedhead is impressive, even by Chim’s standards, but it’s nothing compared to the bedhead on…
The other Jeongguk. Sitting right beside the first.
This one is scratching at his scalp absently, his eyes still squinted mostly shut, looking at the Jimins like they’re the confusing sight here. This one at least has a shirt on but he’s no less stunning.
Of course there’s a third Jeongguk propped up on one elbow, assessing the situation in silence, his brow furrowed like he’s solving a calculus proof – Chim immediately recognizes this as something Jeongguk does when he’s trying (and failing) to appear fully awake, even if he’s still at least thirty percent in dreamland.
Three freaking Jeongguks, crammed onto one bed.
What a Wednesday morning.