Take a chance

by Edden

Summary:

“I long for you with a missing that is almost unbearable.” S.Z.

Jimin is trying to understand who he is and Jungkook, what he wants.

Chapter 1: Jimin

Lying in Jungkook's bed, Jimin watched while the other exchanged between laughter and cursing. He had tried to win the man's attention not too long ago, to no avail. Not that he cared. He likes to see Jungkook play, to watch his face in concentration and capture his melodic laugh.

And to be honest, he would rather hide in Jungkook's apartment if that meant he didn't have to go back to his own run-down one. Just thinking about the walls marked by infiltration and the questionable wiring of the place, is enough encouragement for him to stay exactly where he was—content to lie in bed wrapped in the scent of the other—with the repeated beats on the keyboard serving as a strange lullaby.

Jimin was not ashamed to admit that one of his favorite hobbies was staring at Jungkook. The man looked like a moving work of art, and sometimes Jimin couldn't believe they were together. That the man had agreed to go out with him.

Jimin doesn't know how long he had been lying in silence enjoying Jungkook’s presence, but eventually he had fallen asleep, exhausted from the endless chores of the week. His job at the grocery store, the part-time jobs and college draining any remaining energy that he had left.

As soon as he closed his tired eyes, the doorbell started to rang relentlessly. Jungkook removed his headset and frowned at his cell phone vibrating on the table. With a look at the screen, he stood up quickly.

"Shit" Jungkook swore under his breath as he walked to the door.

"What's it?" Jimin asked, still a little groggy from his nap.

"Nothing" Jungkook said without looking away from his phone, leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him. 

A few seconds passed before he heard the front door opening and what appeared to be several people started talking at the same time. Jimin, still a little dizzy from sleep, was left feeling extremely confused. He was sure that Jungkook wasn’t expecting anyone, or at least the other had said that it would only be the two of them in the apartment, since Jungkook's roommate had traveled to visit the family over the weekend.

Jimin waited for a few more minutes, but when Jungkook hadn't shown up in the room, he decided to investigate what was going on. Trying to open the door discretely, he saw three people he had never seen before sitting in the room and talking animatedly, not caring about a visibly upset Jungkook.

"Oh?" One person made eye contact with Jimin, who was now frozen by the bedroom door "Jungkook, you didn't say you was with someone" The man said amused, watching as Jimin got flustered by the second. 

Jimin could hardly believe that when he had finally met Jungkook's friends, he was wearing old bleach-stained pajamas and his face was probably swollen and marked from the sheets.

“Is not what you're thinking” Jungkook decided to intervene with a fake laugh “Everyone, this is Jimin”.

Jimin, still blushing with shame, gave a little wave, not having the courage to look at anyone in the eye. Anxiety weighing deep in his stomach. If it weren’t for their sudden appearance and his nervousness, he would wonder what Jungkook meant by that.

Jimin would be the first to admit that he hardly got along with strangers. His shyness always seemed to sabotage him, making him feel out-of-place most of the time.

Before he could think too much about it, one of the men cleared his throat, Jimin noted he was tall and incredibly handsome, especially with his dimpled smile “Hi. I’m Namjoon, this is Seokjin" he pointed to the man sitting next to him, who was also smiling amicably. 

"And that's Yoongi" Jimin turned toward the man sitting in the only armchair in the room and offered a smile, trying his absolute best to not appear rude. But Yoongi only nodded briefly—the man didn't seem at all impressed with Jimin, judging by the look on his face.

Jimin's heart threatened to leap out of his chest. The libra in him reminding Jimin of his constant need to please everyone and the unpleasant feeling that maybe he wasn't trying hard enough.

He wanted to make a good impression on Jungkook's friends, and the last thing he wanted was for them to think negatively about him—hated to even think about it. “Nice to meet you” he said, looking at the others, despite his introverted self.

In the three months since they started dating, Jimin had yet to meet any of Jungkook's friends other than his roommate, and sometimes Jimin had the strange feeling that Jungkook simply didn't want him to meet them. His paranoia and insecurities working at full speed creating the most absurd scenarios.

But now that he’d been introduced, he didn't quite know what to do with himself. In the end, he sits next to Jungkook on the sofa, seeking familiarity from the other's warmth despite the little space left. 

Fortunately for him, the initial awkwardness didn’t last long. Turned out that Seokjin and Namjoon was simply one of the most charismatic people Jimin had ever met and Yoongi, despite first impressions, was a very sweet person himself. 

By the end of the night, Jimin felt comfortable, as if he had known them for much longer than those few hours between card games and cans of beer. The embarrassing stories and complaints from the college, almost making him forget Jungkook's lack of touch and Yoongi's sharp eyes, who seemed to know a little too much.

 

---

 

That night after everyone went home, he lays down next to Jungkook and let his fingers study the details of the tattoos on the other's chest. When the silence became too loud for him, he decided to ask what was stuck in his mind all night.

"Why didn't you tell them about us?" he asks, almost in a whisper.

Jimin waits for an answer, and what seems like an eternity later, the other man finally answers. With a deep sigh, Jungkook holds the hand dancing over his chest, interlacing their fingers.

"I don't know” Jungkook kisses his temple gently, as if to silence the thoughts in Jimin's mind and he wishes it was that simple "it's too early I guess"

Jimin want to ask what that even means. He thought that when Jungkook had agreed that the two would officially be together things wouldn’t be so complicated. But he should know better, given that complications seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

Coming from a conservative home, he never thought he could be himself in this lifetime. Shame sometimes suffocated and paralyzed him, but even now after everything that happened—the shouting, the cursing and the hateful looks—he would do it all over again. Even if it meant having to live in a shabby one-room apartment in a questionable corner of the city.

Having reprimanded himself for years means he didn’t have the experience that many people had already learned and grown up with. Sometimes he felt like a teenager in the body of an adult, all the embarrassment and the disorientation freezing him in taking action.

Putting things in perspective, that would be his first actual relationship, and he was afraid that he was pressing Jungkook with his insecurities. That he was projecting his feelings on the other. 

Jimin knew that, while Jungkook had relationships before, for him the man was his first in many ways. The fear of not being enough or maybe that he was suffocating the other would sometimes surface at three in the morning and keep him awake more routinely than he would like to admit.

So, for now, he just nodded and let himself be distracted by Jungkook's fingers running through his hair—anchored in his reverie by the other’s heartbeat.

 

---

 

Jimin was pretty sure if Taehyung knew about his new hobby, he certainly would be lectured on his low self-esteem—again. Not that Jimin would consider his best friend's scolding. As much as Jimin absolutely loved the other, it was difficult to take seriously a self-esteem lecture by a person who had never been called ugly once in his lifetime.

So, there he was again, on his lunch break, on Jungkook's Instagram. Honestly, he didn't know why he kept coming back.

Jimin knew Jungkook was a photography student, and that means that sometimes his objects of study were people. But that didn’t prevent him from obsessively observing every detail on some photos.

He had noticed that while the subjects of the photos were mostly variable, there was still an element of repetition. In fact, one person was often present: an incredibly beautiful woman. 

And maybe it was his insecurity wanting to convince him of something, but for him there was something strangely personal in those pictures that made him uneasy. A lot of the photos didn't even show her fully and Jungkook often superimposed objects or filters that made it difficult to see, but Jimin had obsessed over it enough to notice the small details and had already figured out that the hashtag #SY was often associated with the girl.

More than one occasion, Jimin thought about asking Jungkook about her. But how would he explain his fixation on the man’s Instagram? And honestly, it's not like Jungkook was doing something wrong. It was just pictures. Perhaps it was a long-standing project—maybe they were friends, and it was easier to photograph together. And the thing was, Jimin would never know, because he would never accumulate enough courage to ask.

And if he was to be completely honest, he still had a hard time accepting the two were together. In his head, the whole situation seemed surreal.  His mind just couldn't process the fact that the two of them had matched on that cursed dating app. 

When Taehyung had suggested (read: forced) to download a dating app, Jimin had been totally opposed to the idea - clearly intimidated by the whole concept. He had heard terrifying stories about the whole scene and had decided not to mix with it.

In the end, he had agreed to create a profile and, to his complete dismay, it seemed that all of his fears had come true because over the next few weeks, all he had experienced was one-sided conversations and constant humiliations from people remembering how dull and inexperienced he truly was.

He was about to uninstall the app from his phone, convincing himself that he would never undergo that kind of masochism again, when he saw Jungkook's profile. As in a big cliché, his extremely futile heart had skipped a beat. He almost hadn't swiped to the right, very intimidated and unmotivated by all the conversations he had previously had. He had learned the silent rule of dating apps the hard way: people like Jimin didn't match people like Jungkook.

But to his surprise, the two had matched. 

The mechanics of how and why were lost in the storm of emotions that Jimin had felt. After a (frankly embarrassing long) motivational monologue and an entire bottle of cheap wine (serving as his emotional support), he had decided to message with the other.

Frankly speaking, he had no hope that Jungkook would answer him and that the pairing of the two had been an incredible mistake, an error in the matrix. Jimin had to admit that at that point, the app had stripped him of any sense of self-respect and he didn't think his self-esteem would recover from the ups and downs ever again.

But instead, Jungkook had replied, and for the first time since Jimin had downloaded that shitty app, he had a decent conversation. 

And yes, Jimin had to recognize that his reaction to seeing Jungkook in person hadn’t been one of his best moments—he will be the first to admit the fact. So, imagine his surprise when, despite their awkward first date and against all odds, Jungkook had contacted him again.

And again. 

And again. 

Until, at some point, it became a routine.

Jimin didn't know why the other one kept calling him, but being the center of attention of a person like Jungkook was gratifying. He knew it was wrong for him to always make himself available when the other called him, but he couldn't help it, being wanted for the first time in his life was like a drug for him. Vicious and unhealthy.

In the following months, their relationship had become more complicated than they initially thought. 

Jimin wanted more, and Jungkook was hard to read—close and yet distant. Disappearing from time to time, leaving Jimin's messages on read and his mind a mess.

The new routine was repeated until Jimin - driven by despair or courage - had finally asked if what was going on between the two had any future at all. 

He wasn’t content with that abstract whirlwind that was their relationship. Feeling comfortable on the nights they spent together just to feel disconnected waking up the next morning with an empty bed.

So, he risked asking Jungkook if he wanted more too, and he said yes. He said yes, but became more distant than before. He said yes, and Jimin sometimes wonder if that was a mistake.

 

---

 

He was excited—had been planning the date for weeks. A new bar with live karaoke had opened near his college and he wanted to take Jungkook to the place since he discovered the other's secret passion for singing.

He managed to get his hands in a discount coupon for a dinner, and after much begging, his coworker had agreed to exchange shifts at work. It was nothing grand, but he was satisfied.

Since they agreed to take their relationship to something more serious, the two had never been on an official date. Their meetings were usually confined between the four walls of Jungkook's bedroom.

Sometimes he can't help but think that he doesn't know the other at all. It wasn't like Jungkook's personality to share things about himself. And most of the time, Jimin was too tired to unravel Jungkook's emotional mysteries. 

Also, he felt that maybe he was pushing too hard and that eventually, when Jungkook felt more comfortable, he would share his thoughts and feelings in his own time. So Jimin had decided that it would be better to approach the other in a different way. 

He looks at his cell phone—had been waiting outside for the other man to arrive at the bar and smiles as he watches Jungkook approach the place. His expression soon melts when he realizes that Jungkook isn’t alone. 

"Hi. Sorry, I’m late" Jungkook said, his expression showing no guilt even though he had just ruined their date.

Jimin would like to confirm that yes, he was late and also: why had he thought it would be a good idea to bring his friends to something he made very clear would be a date.

Jimin blinks twice, trying to hide his dismay and disappointment. Although dissatisfied with the situation, he had no intention to be rude to any of them. Seokjin, Namjoon and Yoongi were great people and, after all, it wasn’t their fault that Jungkook had invited them. Looking on the bright side, maybe that would be the perfect opportunity for them to introduce themselves as a couple. And he highly doubts that the night would be uncomfortable in their company.

“Jimin! Glad you came, I thought I’d have to stay another stuck with Namjoon” Seokjin exclaim, putting his arm over Jimin's shoulder. Jimin smiles and returns the half hug, as he hears Jungkook asking for a table for five in the background.

"I really can't understand why so much discontent against my presence. I'm a delight to be around” Namjoon declares while following the waitress to their table, not at all offended. The man ends up choosing the seat next to Seokjin, leaving Jimin stuck between Yoongi and Jungkook.

“And you still ask me why” Seokjin picked up the menu on the table and analyzed it “And don't even get me started with Yoongi, that man looks like a corpse most of the time”

"I'm right here, but it's true" Yoongi agrees, unfazed by the description.

Jimin tries to be positive, although internally, he’s still mourning the loss of his discount coupon as more food and drinks arrive at their table. 

At one point, Jimin tried to invite Jungkook to sing with him. His optimistic side convincing him they still could enjoy the night even if they weren’t alone.

“Hey, what you think about us singing something?” He whispers in the other's ear, excited by the possibility. He might be shy, but the idea of singing with the man made him happy. Ever since Jungkook's roommate said he liked to sing, the information was fixed on Jimin's head.

Jungkook looked at him in disbelief "In front of this bunch of people? I pass" he shook his head, the idea ridiculous for him, and Jimin felt embarrassed for even ask - tried not to feel too bad about the rejection. 

As the night passed, the conversations seemed to get louder and the atmosphere livelier, but while everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, Jungkook was distracted. Like his mind was elsewhere.

Jimin has been trying to draw his attention for the past ten minutes—was excited to tell the other about how one of his teachers had recommended him for an internship. That he might move from his apartment to a better place if he got it—but he felt like he was talking to a wall.

The third time he repeats himself, he decides to interfere "Jungkook? Why are you so distracted?"

"Huh?" The other asks, signaling that he’s still listening when it’s obvious that he’s not. Jimin follows Jungkook's gaze and finds himself looking at a strangely familiar girl.

He blinks twice before finally realizing where he has seen the girl from. The girl in Jungkook’s photos. SY. Recognition finally clicks when he watches her pretty smile and the butterfly tattoo on the side of her neck.

Seeming to know that she’s being watched, the girl turns her head towards the group and sketches yet another of her smiles. Jimin continues to watch the scene unfold without being able to do anything. The girl says something to her friends and makes her way towards their table.

"Sihyeon!" Seokjin exclaims pleased, his face flushed from the amount of alcohol consumed.

“Hi! I didn’t notice you guys were here” She lets out a melodic laugh and turns to Jungkook. They exchange a look that Jimin can’t describe - and honestly, he doesn’t even want to try. In an incredibly soft voice, she addresses Jungkook “Do you mind if I sit here?” 

Yoongi and Namjoon stares at Jungkook with a strange expression and Jimin can't help at doing the same. Everyone seems to hold their breath, waiting for something, a sudden tension in the air.

Jungkook shrugs, but there’s no trace of indifference in his face “Not at all” Jungkook smiles and Jimin feels an uncomfortable feeling starting to creep in.

"I'm being rude" The girl says, looking in his direction "I’m Sihyeon and you are?" 

"Jimin" he replies shyly, suddenly very aware of his own appearance. He thought he had dressed well, but with Sihyeon's presence, he now felt underdressed.

The girl was even more beautiful up close. Everything about her had a certain charisma and he couldn’t help but felt a little intimidated. 

“Nice to meet you” she disarms him with a bright smile and then proceeds to engage everyone in a story. Easily drawing their attention.

He can't help but notice that for the first time that night, Jungkook had truly laughed—his whole face lighting up. A sparkle in his eyes that Jimin had never seen before. 

The change in Jungkook's mood left Jimin uneasy, the same feeling from before weighing on his stomach. His heart seemed to have shrunk permanently inside his body, having trouble beating normally. Unprepared for a bad ending no one had warned him about.

Something in Jungkook's eyes made him feel destabilized. Jimin kind felt everyone knew something that he didn't—that he was missing a crucial piece. 

Without thinking much about it, he slid his own hand towards Jungkook—searching for comfort.  But at the first touch of his fingers, Jungkook pulled his hand away, pretending to scratch his neck. 

Jimin, now uncomfortable, put his rejected hand under his left knee and looked around in embarrassment, hoping that no one had noticed the careless exchange. As always, luck wasn’t on his side and he noticed Yoongi staring at him, a frown on his face. 

Humiliation pricked his body like a million needles.

For a moment he almost got up to leave. Honestly, he should have left. He was so excited by the comfortable environment—by the possibility that maybe tonight Jungkook would finally tell everybody about their relationship, that he had failed to read the atmosphere. His social anxiety starting to act up.

Remembering everything he’d said so far, he cringed at himself, embarrassed of the way he'd tried so hard to be funny. 

Shame. Shame was the only thing he can feel as he hides back to his shell.

He watched impassively, while the girl continued to blend herself naturally with the group.  Making Yoongi laugh with incredible ease just for the next minute, articulate intelligently with Namjoon. And Jungkook, god, it's like he's someone else. A stranger that Jimin thought he knew. 

He felt like a complete idiot.

Jimin finishes his beer and pinches his hand as punishment, making himself promise not to say anything stupid for the rest of the night. Maybe he could still redeem himself if he stayed quiet. Or maybe he should just leave—his insecurity reminded him.

“But okay guys, enough talking. Who’ll sing with me? Seokjin? Namjoon?"

"Don't you have to get in line first? I'm pretty sure there's a giant poster on the stage saying just that" Yoongi points out, skeptical.

"Don't worry about it" the girl says conspiratorially.

"You know what? I'm afraid to even ask after last time" Everyone seems to remember something before they burst out laughing. Jimin forces himself to take part despite not getting what was so funny. 

"I’ll go" Jungkook suggests, making Sihyeon smile, fully content. 

Jimin stares at the man, his heart pounding violently in his chest, bruising him from inside. He wants to touch the other, but after the previous reaction he feels too distressed to try.

She pulls Jungkook by his hand to the stage and whispers something to the employee near it. The man sighs before nodding towards the stairs. Sihyeon smiles at the grumpy man and just as soon, an upbeat song begins.

“Just look at him. He really does everything she asks” Seokjin points and Jimin freezes, hating where the conversation was going. He doesn't want to know. 

"Do you think he’ll ever get over her?" Namjoon jokes, confirming Jimin’s fears.

“Highly doubt that” the other scoffs, obvious to Jimin's helplessness.

He feels physically ill. A headache forming as his heart cracks. Yoongi makes eye contact with him briefly, but Jimin looks away first. The man seemed to know what was going on, and Jimin felt too vulnerable under his stare.

He fixes his gaze on the stage, studying both of them. Jungkook laughs while Sihyeon accompanies him out of tune. The girl sings the wrong lyrics and doesn't seem to care at all, clearly having fun. Jimin wants to hate her, but he simply can't. It’s not her fault that his feelings are one-sided. 

He understands now.

All the unanswered messages, the disappearances. Jungkook with his sparkling eyes and that smile that Jimin had never seen before. 

A wave of melancholy and sadness runs through his body. His depressive mood almost laughable against the lively background of the bar.

When the two return to the table, he forces another smile. Jungkook doesn't look at him, but Jimin doesn't need the other to make eye contact to feel the guilt emanating from his body.

 

---

 

On the way back to Jungkook’s place, they are holding hands and the streets are practically empty. In the silence between them, Jimin is hit with the realization that this’s the first time they went out in public hand in hand and there isn’t a single soul around to witness it. He would laugh if it weren't a little sad.

Remembering all the time he spent hiding in fear - of everything he lost. Jimin decides he doesn't want to live in the shadows anymore. He’s tired of it.

The wind is cold and sharp against his cheek, but he feels extremely light.

"Let's stop" He mumbles.

"What?" Jungkook says absently, his eyes still following the way back home.  His stance is indifferent and for the first time, Jimin don't bother trying to please the other—don’t try to grab his attention. He understands now that it’s out of his reach, always has been. 

He runs his thumb through Jungkook's knuckles and with one last squeeze he releases the tattooed hand “This thing between us” he finishes as gently as possible.

This seems to capture Jungkook's attention as he stops walking. The crease between his eyebrows deepens when he looks at Jimin, as if he's seeing him for the first time. Maybe that was true.

"You know Jungkook" Jimin continues, looking at the sparkles in those black eyes that he loved "I may be inexperienced in relationships, but I know when I'm not wanted" he ends with a kind smile, a wave of relief passing through his body.

"What?" Jungkook asks again, this time less sharply, but his black eyes - always so honest - tell Jimin that he understands exactly what's going on.

Jimin empties his lungs. The street lights hit Jungkook in all the right angles and the feeling of longing begins to set in before he even has a chance to say goodbye.

"I won’t trap you in a relationship that you don't want to be in, and honestly, I deserve more too" he says, ignoring the way his voice shakes as he tries to explain "It's not fair to anyone"

"Jimin-" Jungkook takes a step towards him, but Jimin shakes his head. He needed to say everything he was swallowing until now,

“I'm sorry that I didn't notice it before. God - I wish I did” He smiles to hide the familiar sting in his eyes. The last thing Jimin wants to do now is cry.

“So yeah. I think that's it” Jimin finishes, trying to memorize every part of Jungkook before he has to say goodbye for the last time.

Jungkook stays in complete silence, seeming unable to find any words even though his eyes were saying everything that needed to be said.

Jimin, too, wants to say a lot of things. He wants to say that he will miss his embrace, his soft voice, his strong hands, and all the things he learned love in Jungkook. But instead, he approaches the boy for the last time and offers a small kiss on his cheek, letting Jungkook's scent envelop him - memorizing what he could.

He smiles gently at the boy frozen on the sidewalk and with an invigorated lightness he turns, crosses the green light and walks the other way to return home. 

The journey back is long and tiring, but for the first time in months he lays down on his bed and it doesn't feel like there's a crushing weight on his chest. 

Chapter 2: Jungkook

---

Jungkook

He had seen the disappointment in Jimin's eyes the moment he brought his friends to what should've been their date. But Jungkook had panicked. He wasn't ready to make things public, to be vulnerable. With Sihyeon possibly showing up — she always did — he needed backup.

He thought maybe Jimin would be okay with it. That maybe it wouldn’t matter as much as it clearly did.

But then Sihyeon walked in, and everything else faded. She wasn’t his anymore. That story had ended a long time ago. But every time she smiled, every time she pulled him back into her orbit. Always complicating. Jungkook forgot where he stood.

He hadn’t realized he was looking at her until he saw the hurt in Jimin’s eyes.

Then the stage. The song. The laughter. It felt natural with Sihyeon, yes — but empty, too. He laughed, but his chest was hollow. When he returned to the table and saw how small Jimin looked, how silent, he knew he had messed up.

And when Jimin reached for his hand — and he pulled away — it wasn’t rejection. It was fear. Panic. Reflex.

But that didn’t matter now. Because to Jimin, it was everything.

---

Jungkook sat at the edge of his bed, wrapped in the absence Jimin had left behind.
The silence was too loud.

The sheets still carried the scent of lavender and something softer—something only Jimin.
His phone felt like a weight in his hand.

He typed a message.
Erased it.
Typed again.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough. Nothing would be.

He moved to the window and watched the clouds drift by like strangers.
Regret settled in his bones, slow and suffocating, like winter.

Jungkook had always feared naming things.
He never knew how to say stay.
But Jimin had.
Every single day, he offered himself—quietly, steadily, with open palms.

And Jungkook hadn’t understood what it meant to be truly seen—until Jimin stopped looking at him.

He missed the sound of his laughter cracking at the end, the way he overexplained stupid jokes, the rhythm of his breath in sleep.
Most of all, he missed the way Jimin looked at him.
Like he was worth something.

---

 

They didn’t speak.
And that seems final.

Jungkook would scroll past photos of cloudy skies, chipped mugs, wilted flowers.
Small things. Intimate things. Jimin-things.
He wondered if he had started that internship. If he still lived in that awful apartment with the flickering hallway light.
He wondered if someone else made him laugh now.

He thought about showing up one day.
Telling him everything he should’ve said when it still mattered.
That it wasn’t about Sihyeon.
That it was about shame. About how small he felt beside someone who loved so deeply and asked for nothing.

But he didn’t.

Because maybe the kindest thing left was to let Jimin find peace—even if that peace didn’t include him.

Still, some nights, in sleep, he dreamed of another version of their story.
The one where he didn’t flinch.
Where he held Jimin’s hand under the table.
Where they laughed off-key and loud.
Where Jimin wasn’t just someone he loved—
But someone he chose. Out loud.

---

Years Later

Jungkook dropped the last box from the moving truck onto the worn wooden floor of what would soon be his tattoo studio. The sun was high, pouring through dusty windows, and the air smelled of old paper and stale wood — but to him, it smelled like freedom.

He leaned against the nearest wall and looked around. The space was chaotic, stained by time and negligence, but all he could feel was a strange, trembling peace. It had taken everything he had — financially, emotionally — to get here. And for the first time in years, he felt something close to pride.

He had done it.

His own tattoo shop. Finally.

The building was old, its charm buried under years of disrepair. It would need paint, flooring, and new lights in the lower level. But Jungkook didn’t care. The third floor had been turned into a loft — larger than any apartment he had ever lived in. When he first saw it, he knew it would be his.

“Funny how you said it’d only be a few boxes,” Seokjin’s voice echoed up the stairs. “We’ve been at this for two hours, Jungkook.”

Namjoon trudged behind him, panting. “And these stairs? They’re not made for humans.”

Jungkook smiled, ignoring them, lifting the final box into the loft.

“That’s the last one. I swear,” he said, flashing a smile that might’ve convinced anyone but Seokjin.

“I saw a café next door,” Seokjin muttered, eyeing him. “It’s probably overpriced, but we earned a reward. Especially since I’m not paying.”

Namjoon wiped sweat from his forehead. “I agree with that”

They stepped out into the sun and into the café next door.

It was breathtaking.

Warm jazz played softly. Light streamed through stained-glass windows in hues of yellow and blue. Every chair and table was mismatched but harmoniously arranged — vibrant reds, ocean greens, rich mustards. Plants dangled from the ceiling like living chandeliers. Painted fruit trees curled across the walls, blurring realism and fantasy.

It felt like walking into a painting — one that had texture and scent.

And oh, the scent. Citrus. Fresh and biting — tangerine and Sicilian lemon. A perfume of joy and memory.

“Wow,” Namjoon and Seokjin said in unison.

Jungkook was about to agree, to sit, to exhale — when he heard it.

That laugh.

That unmistakable, sparkling laugh. Like wind chimes on a spring morning.

Time folded.

Under an orange tree in the back garden, someone laughed. Jungkook turned, heart thudding, breath trapped in his throat.

There he was.

Jimin.

His curls a little longer. His cheeks flushed in the heat. His smile — the same.

Unchanged. Angelic. Alive.

Jungkook’s world cracked.

The air thickened, the smell of lemons turned to fire in his lungs. Around him, people still chatted, waiters still moved with practiced grace, jazz still played. But inside Jungkook, everything stilled. Everything screamed.

Of all the places, of all the cafés, of all the quiet corners of this sprawling city — why here?

Jimin laughed again, responding to someone’s joke. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, and the sunlight dappled his skin through the orange tree's leaves, casting warm golden shapes across his face. He looked like a dream. A memory pulled into flesh and breath.

Jungkook could almost feel the ghost of Jimin’s fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest, the way his laughter used to fill empty spaces in Jungkook’s life. He could hear echoes of past conversations, of midnight whispers and uncertain promises. And now, here he was — not as a figment of longing, but real. Tangible. Laughing without him.

His legs moved before his mind could stop them. He reached out, not toward Jimin, but behind him — grabbing Seokjin and Namjoon by their sleeves, yanking them toward the exit.

“Whoa—what’s going on?” Seokjin yelped, nearly tripping over a chair.

Namjoon turned, confused, then caught sight of Jungkook’s face — pale, stricken, eyes wide like a startled animal. “Jungkook? Are you okay?”

Jungkook couldn’t speak. His mouth was dry, tongue heavy.

He swallowed, but it didn’t help. The words were all there — he’s here, I saw him, I don’t know what to do — but none of them came out.

Because in a café that smelled like lemons and memory, under the shade of a blooming orange tree, Jungkook had seen the boy whose heart he had broken.

And for the second time in his life — he had run.

 

Notes:

Hi????? Soo...I know it’s short, but I have a plan (don’t worry, I will finish the story — and it won’t take another 5 years) !!

Chapter 3: Jungkook

Summary:

Before & after

---

BEFORE

He remembered her with a vivid, brutal clarity, like a painting that refused to fade no matter how often you looked away. The smoke of cheap cigarettes always clinging to her clothes, the sharp bite of mint gum she chewed obsessively, the laughter that cracked like glass in rooms too small for her personality. She was always too big for those spaces. For him, sometimes.

They hadn’t started as the mess they became. In the beginning, there had been this reckless hopefulness—long, meandering text messages sent until the sun came up, half-serious plans to run away, to open a bookstore in another city, to see the world before they turned old and bitter. They kissed in stairwells like teenagers who still believed in the magic of it, fingers entwined on bus rides while sharing playlists and dreams they hadn’t realized were lies yet.

But even then, she had warned him. She’d lean back, eyes sharp and glittering in the half-dark, and say, “I don’t know how to belong to anyone.” She didn’t apologize for it. She wasn’t shy or tearful. She said it like a dare. Like an escape clause she refused to bury.

He heard it, but he wanted her anyway.

And she wanted things too—just not the things he could hold. She wanted experience, movement, chaos, stories worth telling over drinks years later. She wanted freedom, even when it burned down everything in its path. She had this way of lighting up when she talked about leaving—leaving jobs, leaving cities, leaving people—and he hated how much it thrilled him too.

When they fought, it was ugly in that intimate way only lovers manage. They didn’t throw plates or scream in public. They fought in tight, cruel words delivered in low voices meant for no one else’s ears. She’d tell him he was suffocating her, that he was trying to nail her wings to the floor. He’d spit back that she was selfish, that she couldn’t care about anyone but herself. She’d laugh at that, cold and bright, and tell him not to act like he didn’t love the chase.

And maybe he did.

Because she was alive in a way he wasn’t. She had a grin that made you want to jump off bridges. She could convince you at 3 a.m. to get in the car and drive with no destination. She’d drag him out of bed to dance in the living room, drunk on cheap wine, music too loud, neighbors banging on walls. She kissed like she didn’t care about tomorrow.

He loved her for that.

But he also hated that nothing about her stayed.

They broke up in starts and stops, in the middle of conversations, during meals that went cold. She’d say “I can’t do this” as easily as she said “I want you.” And every time he left, he knew she’d call him back. And he’d go.

Because she didn’t beg. She didn’t say she needed him. But she’d show up at his door, rain-soaked, hair sticking to her face, eyes on fire with something he mistook for love. She’d say “Let’s just be us tonight.”

And he would.

Friends asked why he was always broke. He blamed work, rent, the cost of school. He didn’t tell them about the rides at midnight, the drinks at places she said they had to try, the camera lenses she “borrowed” because she was going to start a photo series she’d never finish.

They slept together, and it wasn’t tender. It was competitive, unashamed, a challenge neither of them would admit to losing. She left scratches on his back that felt like trophies. They’d smoke after, passing the cigarette between them, legs tangled, the room stinking of sweat and old promises.

But eventually even the sex went away. Not because they got over each other, but because they needed something worse. They needed the emotional hit.

She’d still call him. Not crying, but urgent, voice tight with panic about something she couldn’t name. She’d say she was stuck, or lost, or just so goddamn angry at everything she wanted to smash windows. And he’d come over, sit with her on the floor, share a six-pack and listen to her rant about how everything was bullshit, about how she didn’t want to get old, didn’t want to be tied down, didn’t want to feel obligated to anyone.

He’d say nothing, because he wanted to tell her he’d be anything she needed. Even her audience.

And he hated how much he meant it.

After Jimin, he drew a line. No more sex. He told himself that was enough. But he still went. Still answered. Still sat on the floor while she chain-smoked, shot ideas for photos she’d never take, scrolled through old texts from other men and scoffed at them. He told himself it wasn’t cheating if there was no kissing, if there was no bed. But he knew better.

He gave her the parts of himself Jimin had asked for.

And when Jimin asked why he was so distracted, he lied. When Jimin touched his face so gently it hurt, Jungkook wanted to confess everything. That he was hers even when he wasn’t. That he’d trained himself to wait for her call like a dog for the whistle.

He let Jimin go instead.

---

He remembered that being with Jimin was like discovering quiet for the first time. Not silence—silence could be sharp, accusing—but real quiet, the kind that wrapped around you like a blanket on cold mornings. Jimin had that in him, an unhurried patience that made Jungkook’s pulse slow whether he liked it or not. Jimin didn’t take up space with demands or declarations; he filled it the way sunlight did, warm and steady, making everything visible without judgment.

It terrified Jungkook.

Because to be seen like that was to be asked to stay. To be known. To choose—and to be chosen in return.

And he didn’t know if he could.

He was too used to chasing things that ran from him. Too used to being the emergency contact for someone who never offered him anything clean. With Jimin, there was no high drama to hide behind. No frantic calls at midnight, no ultimatums. Just the steady, devastating truth of being wanted without being needed to save anyone.

He couldn’t even bring himself to tell his friends about Jimin properly. He remembered Jimin’s face falling when he brushed off the question, laughing it away, saying it was too soon. He remembered bringing friends along to what was supposed to be a date because the idea of being alone with the truth of what they were scared him.

He remembered the night at the bar when Sihyeon walked in and everything in him went tight.

Because she was a ghost he hadn’t laid to rest. Even when they stopped sleeping together, even when he told himself he was done. She was still the call at three a.m. he felt obligated to answer. She was proof he was needed, even if it was poison.

And Jimin saw it all.

He saw the way Jungkook went quiet when her name lit up his screen. Saw the tension in his shoulders, the way he deflected questions. He saw the fear, even if Jungkook tried to hide it.

But Jimin didn’t accuse. Didn’t demand.

And that was worse.

Because it left Jungkook alone with what he couldn’t say.

That he was too much of a coward to choose.

That he couldn’t say I’m yours and mean it, if it meant cutting off the part of himself that craved being needed by someone who would never truly stay.

Because being with Jimin meant admitting he wanted something real. Something that asked for care, for showing up, for being known.

And he didn’t know how to do that.

He didn’t know how to stay.

He remembered the last night with a clarity that gutted him. The wind cutting through empty streets. Jimin’s hand in his, their first time really allowing themselves to hold on in public—even if no one was watching.

And he remembered not noticing.

Not seeing the way Jimin’s thumb brushed over his knuckles.

Not seeing the quiet decision settling in his eyes.

Until Jimin said Let’s stop.

Until Jungkook had to look at him and really see.

See the acceptance there. The resignation. The kindness that hurt more than any accusation.

Jimin hadn’t cried. He hadn’t pleaded.

He’d just let go.

Said I know when I’m not wanted.

He’d wanted to deny it. God, he’d wanted to. He’d wanted to say. You are wanted. You’re everything. But the words had frozen in his throat because he knew they weren’t true—not the way Jimin deserved.

He wanted Jimin.

But he didn’t want to change.

He watched Jimin cross the street and didn’t move.

Didn’t call his name.

Didn’t run.

Because wanting Jimin meant changing.

And he wasn’t ready.

Not then.

Not ever.

And afterward—after Jimin was gone—he and Sihyeon crashed one last time. A final, desperate blaze. They slept together like they hated each other, too drunk to pretend it was anything else. It was messy. Predictable. It felt like admitting defeat.

That was the time she got pregnant.

They didn’t have long to plan anything before it ended. He remembered her in his bathroom, shaking, hair in her face, arms wrapped around her knees. She didn’t sob. She shook like someone holding back a scream. He sat on the cold tile with her, head against the door, feeling something break between them for good.

After that, they burned what was left.

She left. Moved to some small coastal city he couldn’t even point to on a map. Married someone steadier. Had a child with them. She runs a gallery now, all bright light and clean lines and minimalist bullshit she used to mock. He’s seen the photos online—her hair longer, the same defiant glint in her eye, but softened around the edges.

They don’t talk. Don’t try.

And sometimes, late at night in his empty loft, he still thinks about her. About what they were. About what they never could have been.

Because it wasn’t love. Not really.

It was hunger.

It was wanting to be seen, even if it hurt.

It was needing someone who didn’t need you back.

That was the truth he carried with him. The truth he still tried to outrun in the tattooed lines of other people’s skin.

But some things you can’t ink over.

Some things stay.

---

AFTER

The sun outside was too much—vulgar in its warmth, glaring as if it had seen everything. Jungkook stumbled into it like someone waking from a dream that had turned into a nightmare, Seokjin and Namjoon yanked behind him with startled footsteps. His hands shook. His throat was sandpaper and salt.

He let go of them the moment they cleared the café threshold, stepping back like he'd been burned. The sound of traffic rose like a wave around them. Everything was happening. Nothing was real.

Seokjin’s voice cut through the noise like broken glass. “What the actual fuck was that?”

Jungkook said nothing. Could say nothing. The world was distorted—the light, the air, the shape of time itself. It felt like he was still inside, still staring at the ghost of the boy he’d loved. Still hearing the windchime sound of that laugh. Still breathing in that citrus-perfumed air like it was poison and salvation.

Namjoon’s voice was steadier, but laced with alarm. “Kook. Talk to us. You look like you saw someone die.”

He had.

Or maybe it was something else. The death of possibility. Of whatever was left of the version of himself who thought he could outrun the past. He swallowed, barely. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” Seokjin’s incredulous laugh snapped, sharp and off-tempo. “You pulled us out of there like the building was on fire. You expect us not to ask—”

“Please,” Jungkook breathed, softer this time. The word fell from his lips like an apology, like a confession.

They were looking at him now—really looking. The kind of stare that goes past skin, past language. Namjoon took a half-step forward, and his voice dropped into something almost reverent. “Who was it?”

The silence he offered was a cruel thing. The kind that hung between broken things left unsaid too long. The kind that made your own heartbeat feel like a betrayal.

“You knew him,” Namjoon said quietly.

Jungkook didn’t nod. Didn’t move.

He didn’t have to.

Seokjin’s mouth was opening to speak again, some combination of exasperation and concern, but Namjoon stopped him with a glance. That was worse. That quiet mercy. That patience.

They walked back to the shop in silence, footsteps echoing louder than they should in the small, cracked spaces between them.

The studio was dim, filtered sunlight stretching long and golden across the dust-specked floor, pooling in soft halos over unpacked boxes and coiled extension cords and half-assembled tables. Jungkook stepped into it like a man stepping back into his body after floating somewhere far too high. He sat heavily on a box, as if he’d forgotten how standing worked. Elbows on knees. Face in hands. Everything inside him collapsing without sound.

Seokjin’s pacing sounded like an accusation. “You want to explain now?”

His voice came out like gravel. “No.”

“Jesus Christ,” Seokjin hissed. “You’re unbelievable—”

Namjoon interrupted, not with words, but with stillness. That terrible stillness that always made Jungkook feel like a child again.

“I saw someone I shouldn’t have,” he said, and the words felt like blood in his mouth. “Someone I hurt.”

Seokjin stopped moving. Namjoon didn’t even blink.

“An ex?”

The silence was answer enough.

“Him?”

It would have been easier to pretend he didn't know who they were talking about. Easier to pretend it was just old dust in his lungs, not fire. But the truth was slow and undeniable. It crawled up his spine like regret made flesh. He said nothing, and that said everything.

They didn’t push again. For a while, the only sound was the far-off hum of traffic and the creak of the building settling around them like bones remembering their weight. They pretended to help him unpack. They moved a chair. Adjusted the blinds. Measured a wall. But the silence stretched and deepened and became a fourth presence in the room, watching all three of them with an old, knowing grin.

When they left, it was without goodbyes. Just looks. Just the quiet ache of people who wanted to help and knew they couldn’t.

The moment the door closed, the room swallowed him whole.

He moved without purpose, touched objects like they were relics of someone else’s life. His fingers hovered over tools. His breath fogged the glass jars. Everything he owned felt like it belonged to a stranger.

He sat in the middle of it, spine curved, chest hollow, and remembered.

The warmth of Jimin’s body in winter. The soft catch of breath when Jungkook laughed against his neck. The night Jimin said we should go somewhere with more light and Jungkook said I’d go anywhere if it’s with you .

That kind of love didn’t get replaced.

It got buried.

He had buried it. He had called it necessary. He had called it mercy. But now he was staring down the bones of it, white and gleaming, under the floorboards of his own choices.

He leaned back until he was flat on the ground, eyes open, watching the ceiling flake and tremble. The wood beneath him was warm from the day’s heat, but it felt cold. The kind of cold that lives in marrow.

His heart beat out a stuttering rhythm against the silence. It sounded like Jimin’s name.

He didn’t cry. Not really. But his throat ached the way it does when you’re holding something in too long. Like you’re trying to keep a ghost inside.

He whispered something into the dust. It wasn’t a name. It wasn’t even a sentence.

It was just longing, given breath.

And maybe that’s all it ever was.

He stayed on the floor until the light faded. Until the world quieted. Until the ache settled deep enough to forget its shape.

Until he could pretend, again, that he hadn’t seen him.

Until tomorrow, when he’d fail to pretend again.

Notes:

Oh my God, it didn’t even take five years this time