Chapter Text
Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars
for you? That I would take you there?
☾ playlist. ☾
Jimin is a child of the sea. A summer boy, one that not only belongs to the rain, but to the clear skies that paint his hometown blue, and the rays of the sun that tan his skin gently, as though they were kissing each of the freckles on his cheekbones.
At least, he thinks he is. There was a time where he would’ve been certain, but, lately, the grey clouds of New York have made him second-guess his convictions. Perhaps the coats that take up all the space in his closet should be a sign that he’s a man of the winter, that he is one with the white dust that settles over the city each February, but Jimin isn’t ready to admit it.
Changes are bad for his heart; that’s why he dislikes Spring. Fall reminds him of home, of moon cakes and an old friend’s warm hands against the cold wind. His old home is not a synonym for happiness anymore. Not that it ever was, but it used to be closer, somewhat, to that feeling of joy only the youth can experience.
Jimin is still relatively young. Twenty-two isn’t bad, right? Although he’d like to disagree with the statement that “everything will be alright,” he can’t complain. He’s created a shelter in a foreign country, supported by new gentle faces, plants, and the piles of clothing he’s designed over the years.
He should feel lucky because he is . He’s able to study what he loves the most and live with the people he now calls his best friends. Jimin is aware of his privilege, that he has something others will never have— others like him —, something that he should cherish. And honestly, he does, but the wound left in him after parting from his homeland is bigger than anything New York City could ever offer him.
This is why he’s currently walking down Canal Street, making his way to a tattoo parlor. His body is already adorned with ink, black and red alike, but it’s not enough. His ceaseless need to get new tattoos, along with his homesickness, pushed him to get the new design Taehyung, his roommate and soulmate, had sketched for him. Later, the artist at the parlor had arranged the final version.
It’s a simple camellia, nothing too intricate; just the flower that represents his hometown, Busan. They supposedly convey the warm-hearted spirit of its citizens, their youthfulness, and ambitions. Back when she was alive, his grandmother’s house had been surrounded by them, too. Everything that camellia trees stand for leads Jimin back to places in the marine city: his grandmother’s garden, his middle school’s main gate, the front of his favorite ice cream shop. It was just a matter of time before Jimin engraved a map of his memories in his body. This way he’ll never forget.
The tattoo parlor is a clean, modern establishment that is just the right size to feel cozy yet seem sanitary. The floor is made of wood, and there’s a small black couch glued to one of the white walls, which is decorated with contemporary art pieces and what Jimin guesses are the artists’ designs. There are a few plants scattered around the place, and incense is burning at the front desk.
A young man with peach-colored hair and two full tattoo sleeves is sitting there, scribbling something in a notepad while he talks on the phone. Deep dimples display whenever he smiles, and by his deep voice, Jimin recognizes he’s the same artist with whom he talked the day he booked the session.
Once he hangs up the phone, Jimin approaches the counter. The man, Namjoon, if he recalls correctly, smiles at him.
“Welcome to Blooming Tattoo! What can I do for you today?”
Jimin returns the smile. “I made an appointment for noon.”
“Ah!” Namjoon’s face lights up. “Jimin, right?” When Jimin hums, he nods his head and checks something on the computer monitor. “Ah, I see you had a session with me. Unfortunately, something important came up and I have to leave now, but another one of our artists will take care of it. Is that okay, or did you want me specifically? Sorry, I should’ve contacted you in advance, but I literally just found out.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine!” Jimin exclaims, waving his hands in dismissal. “I didn’t have any preferences, to be honest. All of you are incredibly talented.”
Namjoon chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Ah, thank you. I promise you’re in good hands, though. Let me guide you to your assigned room, your artist will be here shortly.”
Together, they walk down the hallway and Namjoon opens the last door to the right. The room is bigger than what Jimin expected, and the tattoo chair looks insanely comfortable. The AC is on, and soft pop music comes out of the speakers. A wave of excitement rushes through Jimin. He inevitably lets second thoughts get into his head the few minutes before he gets a new tattoo, but Namjoon’s gentle words and the impeccable place ease his anxiety.
After Namjoon leaves, Jimin sits on the chair and scrolls through his phone, sending a quick, blurry selfie to Taehyung to show he arrived safe and sound at the parlor. Taehyung tends to be overprotective of Jimin— over any of his friends, really, but Jimin is the closest to his heart— so he’d asked Jimin to keep him updated since he’d never come to this studio before.
“ What if it’s the house of a serial killer? ” he’d asked Jimin. Jimin had just rolled his eyes, but Taehyung had grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie and shaken Jimin gently, with a feign horrified look in his eyes. “ What if they send me your eye in a box? ”
Despite him ignoring his best friend’s dramatics, Jimin can’t deny how fond he feels for him whenever that happens. Unlike Jimin, Taehyung has a hard time expressing how he feels, so these flamboyant displays of worry tell Jimin exactly how loved he is.
He’s in the middle of texting him when the door opens. He doesn’t raise his eyes from the screen but increases the speed of his fingers, rushing to send off the text to give his full attention to the artist.
“Sorry for the delay!” the artist says, sounding breathless. Their voice is deep, and they seem to have a slight accent Jimin can’t recognize yet. “Let me drop my things and wash my hands and I’ll be with you.”
“Sure, don’t worry!” Jimin replies, hitting send. When he raises his head, the artist has turned their back, washing their hands on the small sink attached to the long counter where all their equipment is. “Sorry about that. I was texting my roommate because he couldn’t find our spare keys.”
“No worries,” the artist chuckles softly. Something deep in Jimin’s chest starts aching at the sound. It’s too familiar, heartbreakingly so. They laugh just like… Jimin shakes his head. Now it’s not the time.
Finally, they seem to finish drying their hands. While they fold the towel and place it on top of the counter, Jimin straightens his back and brushes his hair out of his forehead, a habit inherited from his need to look flawless at all times.
When they turn around, all the air in Jimin’s lungs leaves him.
“Jimin hyung?”
Suddenly, everything makes sense. The accent, the chuckle, the place where they are; it’s all so painfully him that Jimin understands why his chest ached the way it did, but at the same time, none of it does. The broad back, the toned arms covered in ink, the long hair, the few inches that weren’t there the last time they saw each other, and much less the language they were speaking or the country they’re in.
“Jeongguk-ah,” he whispers, wondering when that name became a foreign word on his lips. Without noticing, he starts speaking Korean. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” the younger confronts him in their mother tongue as well, taking a step back. “Weren’t you in Seoul?”
“I— I dropped out,” Jimin’s shoulders slump. “I got a scholarship at FIT a-and I just… came here. Is that shocking?" he chuckles, mouth sour. "I don't think it is. You knew it was my dream,” he adds, lowering his voice.
“I ran away,” Jeongguk blurts out. The eyes of his childhood best friend widen when he hears himself, but he bites his lip, glances to the side, and repeats it. “I ran away from home after I finished high school. I— you’ve met Namjoon, right?” Jimin hums. “Well, he…” he trails off, gnawing at his lip again. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
Jimin swallows before asking the next question, mentally bracing himself for Jeongguk’s reaction. “How did your parents take it?”
Jeongguk sucks in a breath. He presses his lips into a thin line. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry, Kkyu,” when Jeongguk flinches at the nickname, Jimin’s stomach twists. “Jeongguk. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It's fine,” Jeongguk mumbles. He pulls at one of the silver bracelets that adorn his wrists and he clears his throat. “Let’s get this over and done with, yeah? Do you have your design?”
Jimin nods, letting his eyes linger on Jeongguk’s face for a second as he hands him the sheet Namjoon gave him before he left. Jeongguk scans the design shortly and hums.
“Where do you want it?”
“Uh, on the side of my wrist,” Jimin rolls up his sleeve and circles the patch of skin. “Right here.”
Jeongguk isn’t looking at his wrist, though. His eyes are trained on his forearm, glued to the tattoo there. Jimin’s blood runs cold.
“You got it,” Jeongguk breathes. “When?”
“Jeongguk-ah—”
“When?” he insists, staring right at Jimin. There’s a storm behind his eyelids, thunder roaring as strongly as the day they last saw each other.
Jimin also remembers the night when everything started. The summer stars shining above them and the moonlight washing their fragile bones as they sat on the swings. He remembers Jeongguk’s tears, how the sound of his sobs pressed Jimin’s heart against his chest and made it impossible to breathe.
He recalls a promise, too, one that shifted over the years because that day they were too young to know it was impossible, but they still had hope.
Answering Jeongguk is easy, despite how charged his question is. It’s a simple task because Jimin grasped onto that spark of hope and never let go.
“I got it two years ago,” he says. “We made a promise to each other, didn’t we? Did you really think I would break it?”
Jeongguk’s stare hardens as he clenches his jaw. “That wasn’t the only thing you promised me. Does it even matter that you kept something we said as kids when you broke the rest of them?”
There’s an unspoken “when you left me” at the tip of Jeongguk’s tongue and Jimin knows it, but Jeongguk also knows Jimin is aware of it. After all, the years they spent together were far longer than their time apart.
“You broke them too,” Jimin replies in a strained voice. “We’re both just as guilty.”
Jeongguk turns his head to the side. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and Jimin can’t help but think about how much he's changed. When Jimin left Busan, Jeongguk had been his height, a scrawny teenager with slumped shoulders, but now he stands tall, proud of the extra inches— although his chunky combat boots surely help the cause— and sure of every step he takes. He blends perfectly with the studio; Jeongguk always had dreamed of it, but it overwhelms Jimin how well he fits in here, like he was meant to be a tattoo artist since he was born.
The sound of Jeongguk pulling a chair next to where Jimin is sitting brings him back to the present. He clears his throat and reaches out hesitantly for Jimin’s arm to place it over the wide armrest where he’ll be working.
Jimin moves, but Jeongguk’s warm hands meet his arm in the middle to bring it down and place it right where he needs it. Jimin’s breath catches in his throat as the gloved fingers dig into his skin, although the touch is barely there. That’s something that hasn’t changed, either. The way Jeongguk touches him.
After tying his hair up, he cleans Jimin’s wrist with rubbing alcohol and uses a razor to get rid of the short arm hair growing at the edge. Once he cleans it again, he presses the stencil Jimin had given him to his wrist and uses a moist towel to help transfer the design to his skin.
Jeongguk is deadly quiet throughout the process. Jimin wasn’t expecting anything else, though. The air is too thick, too charged for the words to get out easily, even if they’re in the shape of insincere small talk. If Jeongguk is anything like Jimin remembers, he also knows it’s a lost cause to try to engage in a conversation when he’s focused.
Jimin gnaws at his lip while the needle slides over his skin. It’s not a big tattoo, but it’s exactly the reduced size and amount of detail that makes it all excruciatingly slow.
Jeongguk sticks the tip of his tongue out, biting it, as he works. Jimin can’t help but shamelessly stare at him and the way a single strand of hair falls over the side of his face, curling at the edge. His dark brows are furrowed and the skin around his forehead creases, but he looks breathtaking.
All of his freckles are there, as well as the scar on his cheek that brought so many tears to Jimin’s eyes years ago. His cheekbones are a little more prominent, his jawline is way more defined, and it seems like his features have finally caught up to the size of his nose. If it weren’t for his starry round eyes and pouty bottom lip, Jimin wouldn’t have recognized him from afar.
Time begins running anew when Jeongguk lifts the needle and stretches his back, sighing. For the first time since Jeongguk started working, Jimin looks at the camellia on his wrist. A wide grin takes over his face.
“It’s beautiful,” he says. The lines are thin, delicate but elegant, just like Jimin had imagined. “I love it, thank you.”
Jeongguk gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Just doing my job. Namjoon hyung was the one that designed it for you, wasn’t he?” Jimin nods. “Then you should thank him.”
“But you’re the one that went through the whole process of tattooing it on me,” Jimin argues. Jeongguk had always had the habit of downplaying every one of his achievements. “This would’ve come out horrible if you weren’t good at your job, so accept my gratitude, yeah?”
Jeongguk looks at him for a beat longer before huffing out a laugh, the left corner of his mouth lifting. He speaks in English this time, as though he were whispering to himself. “You still sound the same.”
“Do I?” Jimin asks in English as well, tilting his head to the side. “I guess some things never change.”
Jeongguk lifts his eyebrows, a spark crossing his eyes. “You got good at English, though. That has definitely changed, although your accent is still terrible.”
Jimin lets out a huff and rolls his tongue through the inside of his mouth. “ Yah , you brat,” he scolds, shifting back to Korean. When it comes to cursing at someone, no language matches the ruthlessness of his own. “Did America brainwash you? I’m your hyung still,” he huffs, “treat me with respect.”
Jeongguk rolls his eyes, fluttering his lashes. “Like I said: you still sound the same.”
Blood rushes to Jimin’s cheeks against his will. “Whatever,” he splutters. “Are you going to make me stand here forever, or will you wrap this up?”
Jeongguk laughs softly, shaking his head to the sides, but he walks towards the counter to retrieve film paper and some tape to wrap Jimin’s tattoo. After he’s done, Jimin has to restrain himself from complaining about the feeling of emptiness his gentle fingertips leave.
Jeongguk talks him through the healing process while they make their way back to the front desk, returning momentarily to his professional façade. Since Jimin has gotten tattoos before, he doesn’t dive into much detail, but he still explains everything like he’d memorized a speech.
“If anything happens, give us a call,” Jeongguk tells him once he’s behind the desk. He’s scribbling something on the back of a business card. “You can also DM us on Instagram, whatever you prefer.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Jimin says with a small smile, but it dies right after. “By the way, uh, I’m sorry.”
Jeongguk lifts his head, raising a brow in a silent question.
“About today, I mean,” Jimin explains as his face turns red. “I swear I didn’t know you worked here.”
Jeongguk drops his gaze down and shrugs. “I didn’t know you lived here, either. It’s fine.”
“Is it?”
Jeongguk stares at him. Jimin feels like he’s being put under a microscope, studied until the last corner of his body is not a secret anymore. If there’s anything about Jeongguk that wasn’t there before and is not a result of aging, it’s the weight of his gaze, the turbulent sea in his pupils.
Jimin was expecting him to say something, but instead, he brings a hand up to his chest, right under his left collarbone, which is covered with his black sweatshirt.
“I have it, too,” he says. “The moon tattoo. It’s here.”
Jimin stops breathing as he’s hit with a vivid memory of fifteen-year-old Jeongguk. He was grinning at Jimin from where he lay, on the floor of his childhood bedroom. “I’ll get it on my chest,” he’d said with determination, “as close as possible to my heart.”
“When did you get it?” Jimin asks, barely a whisper.
Jeongguk doesn’t look at him when he says, “The first birthday I spent without you.”
Jimin uses every ounce of strength in his body to stop himself from crying in front of him. He’s speechless, unable to put order to everything he left unsaid for the past four years.
Jeongguk was only sixteen, then. Now he’s twenty, six months away from turning twenty-one. Jimin has missed four September 1sts, four seasons without his summer boy.
He thinks he understands now why there’s a storm inside of Jeongguk. He’d always belonged to the rain, after all. Perhaps that’s the reason why everything went down so fast— rainbows don’t last for long, and Jimin’s sun has always had the tendency to dry the grass growing after a rainy day.
“I’m sorry,” is what he says in the end. What else could he say? “I never wanted us to end up like this.”
“Was there ever an ‘us’, hyung?” Jeongguk asks, opening every single one of Jimin’s wounds, even those that he would’ve sworn healed ages ago.
“You know there was.” There could be, still. You still carry me with you. Why can’t there be an ‘us’ now? “Don’t lie to yourself, Jeongguk.”
Jeongguk clicks his tongue. He hits the edge of the business card against the desk twice and hands it to Jimin hastily. “Take it,” he says. “Have a good day, hyung.”
Jimin looks at the card in his hands and then glances up at Jeongguk, whose head is turned away. His heart constricts in his chest. “You too, Kkyu.”
He leaves without asking if they’ll see each other again. He doesn’t say see you later, not even goodbye . He hadn’t said it that day, either, when their future had been nowhere to be seen, eclipsed by the broken pieces of their past. Then, Busan’s sky had been colored grey, as though they were covered by ash. Now, the sun shines above New York as a spring breeze blows, fresh and gentle, but Jimin has never felt bluer.
☾
#1: seven; the swings.
It all started fifteen years ago, in the home of the sea.
Busan . Jimin’s parents had made the sudden decision to move to a town on the outskirts, away from all the noise, the hectic lifestyle that had strained their red string of fate to the point where it had almost broken. Jimin would still attend school in the city, but their lives wouldn’t be dictated by its rules, its clock that ran faster than time.
Jimin, as any seven-year-old kid who had barely started elementary school would, had thrown a tantrum; cried until his tears dried out. How could they do that to him? What about his friends, the stars above his bed, the ice-cream shop by the corner? Who would play with him now?
His parents had done everything in their power to assure Jimin could still have everything that he once felt like he owned in Busan, but the town’s ice-cream shop was at a twenty-minute walk from their new house, and his friends were twenty kilometers away on the weekends, the only time Jimin had to play.
Needless to say, the kid that once shone as bright as the sun leisurely faded away, consumed by the shadows that the tree by his bedroom window cast over him. Ah , those first months were so cold despite the summer heat, so void of the giggles that used to fill the halls of their apartment.
Soon, desperate to get the old version of their kid back, the Parks initiated an emergency plan. They visited every house in a 50-meter ratio in hopes of building new bonds with their neighbors, and, if they were lucky, learned which of them lived with children around their son’s age.
It’s funny how parents’ stubbornness and unwillingness to listen to their kids can either unleash the end of the world or become a lesson you’ll never forget. For Jimin, it was a mixture of both.
All he wanted was to go home, to be able to visit his grandparents’ house on Sunday mornings instead of having to lose the entire weekend trapped inside a stupid car . He didn’t want to be standing in front of a stranger’s house, holding a basket of those stupid lemon cookies his mother had made, waiting for somebody to answer the door.
And most importantly, he didn’t want him .
The front door of the house creaked open, heavy with the years its wood carried, revealing a child . A real one, not like Jimin, because Jimin was all grown up. No, this kid looked like he was born yesterday; like Jimin could accidentally step on him because of how small he was.
Jimin frowned. “Are you Jeon Jeongguk?”
The kid widened his eyes, which were already too big for his face— except for his nose. His nose was even bigger. Seriously, who was that kid? Why would Jimin’s mother want them to become friends?
“Mom told me I shouldn’t tell other strangers my name,” he spoke through a pout. “Who are you?”
“I’m Park Jimin,” Jimin said, tightening his grip on the basket. “Your new neighbor.”
The kid’s face immediately lit up, like a spark had traveled through him. “Oh, you’re him!” he twisted his body around to look behind him, into the house. “Mom! Jimin-ssi is here!”
Jimin-ssi? Jimin internally gasped in horror. He was grown up, for sure, but he was not old. Who did this kid think he was?
In a moment, a woman emerged from the darkness, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. She towered over them, but in a rather amicable way. Her smile reminded Jimin of his dad, and Dad was always nice and warm. Her hair was tied up in a low ponytail, just like his mother’s when she used to have long hair. Jimin loosened his grip on the basket.
“Jimin!” she exclaimed, placing a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Your Mom told us you could stay over for tea if you wanted to. Do you want to come in?”
Jimin nodded, moving his arm to the front. “I brought cookies.”
The woman gaped and clasped her hands together. Crouching down a little, she asked, “May I take these delicious cookies into our kitchen?”
Jimin pursed his lips. His eyes traveled from her face to the kid and back to her, but then he nodded.
“Splendid! Why don’t you go play with Jeonggukie while I prepare some tea?”
Jimin glanced at the kid— Jeongguk, he thought. It felt weird to acknowledge him as anything but a child. He was so small . Were people this small even allowed to have names?
Jimin shrugged. “Okay.”
“Great,” she said, giving Jimin another bright smile. “Jeongguk-ah, show Jiminie your room and share your toys with him, yeah?”
Jeongguk looked up to her and blinked. “Even the dinosaurs?”
She hummed. “Especially the dinosaurs.”
The first thing Jimin noticed is that Jeongguk’s room looked nothing like his own. He had a window as big as Jimin’s, but it was opened wide, welcoming the sun rays of August and the sound of the chirping birds. The walls were painted bright blue to imitate the sky because small white clouds were close to the ceiling. On the wall next to Jeongguk’s bed, a lemon tree was painted with various shades of green, brown, and yellow.
The floor was made of wood, just like the rest of the house, but a yellow mat stood by the side of the bed. There lay Jeongguk’s toys; most of them were plastic dinosaurs, but there were cars, too, and scattered sheets of paper and used crayons.
“You should sharpen your crayons,” is the first thing Jimin said when they entered, frowning once again. “Didn’t they teach you that in school? Your drawings will be ugly if you don’t sharpen them often.”
Anyone would’ve felt offended at the harsh words– hell, Jimin would’ve been furious — but Jeongguk widened his eyes, and his mouth morphed into a small ‘o’.
“I’m home-schooled,” he replied. “Papa doesn’t like that I paint, but Mom loves it. She did that,” he pointed at the wall with a grin. “So she lets me draw when Papa isn’t home, but she doesn’t teach me.”
“Why doesn’t she?”
Jeongguk shrugged. “She’s always cleaning when she’s home, and when she’s not, she teaches me how to read and write. Do you learn that at school?”
Jimin blinked, absorbing the information. “Yes. I already know how to read perfectly.”
“How old are you?”
Jimin crossed his arms over his chest and puffed it out with pride. “I’m turning eight in October. You?”
“I’ll be six in a week. Can I call you hyung? Mom says I should always ask first.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jimin said, dropping his arms to his sides. “Nobody has ever called me hyung. I don’t have a little brother and all of my friends are my age.”
“How many friends do you have?” Jeongguk asked like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.
“I don’t know, many,” he replied nonchalantly. “But Taehyungie is my favorite.”
Jeongguk nodded, and without saying another word, he went up to his bed and opened one of the drawers under them. “Do you want to see my dinosaurs?”
Jimin almost wanted to ask why he wasn’t asking any more questions. Wasn’t he curious about who Taehyung was or what Jimin did at school? Why didn’t he want to learn more about Jimin all of a sudden?
His train of thought was interrupted when Jeongguk took out a big yellow Diplodocus and waved it in the air. Jimin’s favorite dinosaur and favorite color. He rushed to Jeongguk’s side excitedly and kneeled next to him, and they started taking out the species they liked the most. When they encountered one they both liked, they played rock-paper-scissors to decide who would take it.
Jimin didn’t know how much time they spent playing, just that the sun was less bright when Jeongguk’s mother finally knocked on the door to let them know the tea was ready. For the rest of the evening, Jimin forgot about the questions he wanted to ask Jeongguk, and the ones he wanted Jeongguk to ask him.
Surely, Jeongguk had to be the weirdest kid he’d ever met. He was smarter than what he initially thought— not as smart as him, of course, but enough so that Jimin wasn’t completely bored throughout their time together – but, still, he was… strange. He seemed shy, but then he was loud, faking dinosaur growls and rolling on the floor with laughter. He talked a lot, but he also listened intently when Jimin got frustrated and ranted because Jeongguk didn’t follow the rules they set up for their games.
Nevertheless, when Jimin returned home with an empty basket in one hand and a Diplodocus in the other, he was smiling. Later, he overheard his father, who had come to pick him up from the Jeon house, telling his mother everything Jimin had shared with him on the way back. He fell asleep to the sound of her sniffling, sobbing quietly against his father’s chest while he hushed her.
Jimin met Jeongguk again for his birthday. He was invited to his house because his parents decided to throw a party for him, although Jimin didn’t think they understood what a birthday party was. That day, all of your friends are supposed to come to play with you, and they all bring gifts and sing you the birthday song while you blow the candles. However, only two kids attended Jeongguk’s party: a friend of his named Yugyeom, and Jeongguk’s little sister, who could barely talk.
Jeongguk seemed to be happier around Yugyeom than he was with Jimin, and that bothered him. When he first walked into the living room, holding a small bag that contained Jeongguk’s present, he found them playing already, which made him frown. First, he wondered who that kid was. He looked even younger than Jeongguk, even if he was a few centimeters taller. But Jimin quickly decided he didn’t care about him. The real question was: why didn’t they wait for him?
Jimin continued to feel left out as the afternoon advanced, understanding that he didn’t seem to fit into their little bubble at all. Yugyeom said things that made Jeongguk laugh, but Jimin didn’t understand them. Jeongguk asked Yugyeom about his parents, his older brother, even his grandfather. He hadn’t asked about Jimin’s family at all last time— not even about his friends. Did Jeongguk hate him?
Jimin’s anger began to fade into sadness when that question struck his mind. He was thankful that the cake came right before he started crying, because it was made of chocolate and strawberries, and Jimin loved strawberries. Taehyungie’s grandparents owned a strawberry farm, so his parents often gave Jimin and his family baskets full of them after long weekends or the end of summer break.
All of the people in the room, including their parents, ate a slice of cake after Jeongguk did a stupid show of making a wish before blowing the candles. It made Jimin huff, but his chest swelled with pride. Jeongguk hadn’t taken out the flame on his first try, but Jimin had done it on his previous birthday, and he was sure he would also do it this year.
The only one that didn’t eat was Jeongguk’s sister, but Jimin learnt soon that it was because she was still too young. Once more, Jimin boasted, encouraged by the thought that he was the oldest non-adult in the room. He wasn’t a child, but Jeongguk and Yugyeom were, and Yeji was a baby .
Just like that, Jimin forgot about his previous sadness. How could he be sad over not getting their attention? He didn’t even like Jeongguk’s dumb toys. He spent the rest of the day playing with Jeongguk’s sister, who was less loud than him and showed far more interest in Jimin than Jeongguk ever had.
Yugyeom left shortly after eating cake, to Jimin’s delight. He and his parents lived in the center of Busan, so they had a long way home, one Jimin knew well. He mumbled his goodbye and, when the door closed, he walked up to his mother and tugged on her sleeve.
“Can we leave now?”
She ignored Jimin for a moment to finish her conversation with Jeongguk’s mom, and then she kneeled next to him, placing her hands on each side of Jimin’s arms to caress them. “Why do you want to leave? You haven’t given Jeonggukie his present yet, baby.”
Jimin bit his lip. “I don’t want to give it to him.”
The movement of her hands halted. She frowned, and Jimin immediately felt like he wanted to cry. She only looked like that when she scolded Jimin for not picking up his toys, or when he didn't want to do his homework. “Why not? Are you mad at Jeongguk?”
Jimin nodded his head, but then he shook it. “Jeongguk doesn’t like me.”
“I like you!” came from behind Jimin’s back. He turned to find Jeongguk with his little hands curled into fists and jutting his lip out. “You’re the one that doesn’t like me!”
Jimin stomped his foot on the floor, huffing. “I like you! But you were playing with Yugyeom all day like I didn’t exist.”
Jeongguk furrowed his eyebrows as his pout accentuated. “Yugyeom is my friend,” he said, “but you’re my friend, too. I just haven’t seen Yugyeomie in a long time so I wanted to play with him.”
Jimin’s mom rubbed Jimin’s back gently. “See, baby? Jeonggukie wants to be your friend! But if Taehyungie were here, you would want to spend all your time with him, right?”
Jimin didn’t hesitate when he agreed. “Of course.”
“Well, it’s the same for Jeongguk and Yugyeom. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, just that he misses his friend. And missing someone means that you have a pure heart.”
Jimin eyed his mother and Jeongguk warily for a second, not sure if he believed their words or not. They sounded convincing, but in the back of his mind, Jimin couldn’t help but think this was ridiculous. If Jeongguk invited him to his birthday, he should’ve played with him, period.
“Don’t you remember the time Taehyungie got sad because you were playing with Taeminnie?” his mother asked, squeezing his shoulder.
“But that was different,” Jimin argued in a small voice. “Taeminnie came from far away to see me.”
“Busan is very far from here, too, Jimin-ah,” she replied softly. “Remember how long it takes us to get to Grandma’s house.”
Jimin pursed his lips, but then he looked at Jeongguk. He was standing in front of him with a blue and yellow birthday hat that had a pompom, and the side of his cheek was stained with chocolate. His round eyes were opened, shaking slightly as if he were going to cry. An ugly sensation tugged at Jimin’s stomach, making his lip quiver.
“I’m sorry for saying I wanted to leave your party,” he said, feeling his face wet. “You’re my friend, too.”
Jimin’s mother extended her arm, stretching her fingers to reach Jeongguk. “Come here, Jeonggukie, take my hand.”
Jeongguk curled his entire hand around her index. Then, she grabbed Jimin’s hand and pulled them together, interlacing their fingers.
“I’m sorry for not playing with you,” Jeongguk told Jimin, sniffling. “Y-you are my Jiminie hyung. I d-don’t want to lose you.”
Around them, the adults cooed. Jimin started crying harder, tightening his grip on Jeongguk.
“Why don’t you give each other a hug?” Jimin’s mother asked, setting each of her hands on the space between their shoulder blades. “And then you can give Jeonggukie his gift.”
Jimin took a small step forward and wrapped his free arm around Jeongguk’s neck, still holding onto his hand and refusing to let go. Jeongguk’s arm curved around his waist and Jimin heard him sniffing when he rested his head against Jimin’s chest.
From that moment, neither of them let go of each other until Jimin’s parents said it was time to return home. Jimin gave Jeongguk his gift, a dinosaur plushie, and got another hug. That was the first of the many times Jimin realized how much he liked being hugged by Jeongguk.
Before walking out the door, Jimin turned around and ran to wrap Jeongguk into a hug one last time.
“I’m sorry I made you cry on your birthday,” he whispered, his cheeks burning at the thought of the adults hearing him.
Jeongguk walked out of the hug, but Jimin didn’t feel rejected. Immediately, he laced their fingers together and tugged Jimin’s arm down. “It’s okay, Jiminie hyung. You gave me a nice present, so I can’t be mad at you.”
Jimin wiped his nose with his sleeve, breaking into a grin. “I think you’re just supposed to call me Jimin hyung, not Jiminie.”
“But Mom calls you Jiminie,” he said, frowning. “I like it. Do you not like it?”
Jimin shrugged. “Nobody has ever called me hyung before, so I don’t know how this works, but I like it. I’m your Jiminie hyung,” he mumbled. “Yes, it sounds good.”
“But it’s not fair that I have a nickname for you and you don’t,” Jeongguk said. “You should give me one, too. Not Jeonggukie, because that’s what Mom calls me.”
“Hm,” Jimin tilted his head, putting all the gears in his brain to work. “What about Kkyu?”
“Kkyu?”
Jimin nodded. “Your name has two k’s and a ‘u’, but it sounds cuter like that.”
“Jimin-ah, sweetie!” Jimin whipped his head back at the sound of his father’s voice. “We need to go!”
Quickly, he turned around and hugged Jeongguk again. “I’ll see you soon, Kkyu. Happy birthday!”
The last thing Jimin saw was Jeongguk’s bunny teeth and the wave of his hand. “Bye-bye, Jiminie hyung.”
Jimin most certainly didn’t know it back then, but later, he’d realized that was the first of the many times he’d called Jeongguk his friend and, probably, one of the few he truly meant it.
The years would show him that calling Jeongguk a friend was nothing but short-handed, insufficient, and, honestly, offensive to the reality of their bond. But then, the word friend was more than enough for them.
That doesn’t mean it didn’t get an upgrade, though. The two of them continued seeing each other almost once a week, and soon enough, the initial reticence Jimin experienced around the younger vanished. Jeongguk’s uniqueness brought more smiles to his face than frowns.
It was simple, back then. Jeongguk made Jimin laugh, held his hand, and gave all of his dinosaur toys names because he wanted them to feel special. When he came over to Jimin’s house, they spread all of Jimin’s pencils and crayons on his bedroom’s floor and painted until the sun set. Within months, Jimin’s door was covered with Jeongguk’s drawings until there was no space left.
But the pureness of childhood is a myth, after all. When Machado wrote “ those blue days and that sun of infancy ”, he was describing nothing but a mere product of your memory, inserted to fill the void the age has created. They substituted the darkest moments with the sound of chime bells and the spring breeze blowing; with the feeling of grass brushing against your calves as you swing and the taste of honey sweets sold on the street.
Jeongguk’s home-school days ended the following year. He was already six, and his parents could no longer take care of their kids because they worked too much — Jimin had tried to ask why, but his father always avoided the question—, so he was forced into the real world, back to the city. At first, Jimin had been joyous to know he’d ride the bus every day with his friend, but all the happiness dissipated when he found himself wiping his tears away each morning.
It had been ages since Jeongguk had shown how shy he truly was around Jimin, but school forced him — and Jeongguk himself — to remember. Despite the times Jimin asked about his new friends, Jeongguk never answered. He left the town crying and returned with tears streaming down his face. The only time he ever really smiled was during their lunch break when he’d meet Jimin (and, in consequence, Taehyung) briefly.
However, Jimin and Taehyung could only do so much within twenty minutes. Jimin’s heart ached at the sight of his friend, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He considered himself a grown-up— not an adult; never an adult, but not a child — but how could he? His parents knew exactly how to stop his crying, or how to replace a broken lightbulb. Jimin couldn’t reach the ceiling and neither could he save Jeongguk from sadness. Hell, even Jeongguk, a real kid, did a better job at cheering him up. Jeongguk always made Jimin smile. Jimin just wanted to return the favor.
It took Jimin almost a month to figure out what to do. Turns out, the answer had been sitting in front of him since March started, in the shape of a scrawny kid in his after-school math lessons.
He’d been drawing circles in the edge of his worksheet for five minutes, waiting for the teacher to give him a new one, when he’d landed his eyes on him . The kid was trying to balance a colored pencil on top of another one, failing miserably.
“You need to move it to the right,” Jimin said, watching him struggle with disinterest.
The kid looked up at him with curious eyes and tried it. They were smaller than Jeongguk’s eyes, and they didn’t shine as much. Jimin was bored so far.
After a few tries, his classmate succeeded. “I got it!” he exclaimed, wincing when he noticed the teacher had looked their way. He hurried to shove his pencils back inside his case, but he grinned at Jimin. “Thank you.”
Jimin shrugged. “You’re welcome.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Park Jimin,” he said. “Third year.”
Jimin didn’t ask about him, but the kid replied, nonetheless. “I’m Kim Mingyu, first year. Nice to meet you,” he added with a small bow.
Jimin nodded and returned his attention to his sheet, but then it clicked. “Wait, first year? Do you know Jeon Jeongguk?”
“Yes, we’re in the same room. He doesn’t talk much, though.”
“That’s because he’s shy,” Jimin said defensively. “He has a hard time making friends.”
“Oh,” Mingyu replied, dumbfounded. “Why did you ask about him?”
“He’s my friend.”
“You just said he doesn’t make friends,” Mingyu said, frowning.
Jimin sighed. “I meant at school. We’re neighbors, and he’s my best friend . But I'm older than him, so we can't be together. I think he's scared.”
Mingyu let his head fall to the side. "Why?"
Jimin bit the inside of his cheeks. "I think it's because he didn't go to kindergarten, so he doesn't know how schools are."
Mingyu hummed. "My best friend was scared because of that, too, but now that he's my friend he's not worried anymore. Maybe Jeongguk also needs a friend."
Jimin huffed, exasperated. Children , he thought. "I know that, but how can he make friends if he's shy and nobody approaches him?"
"I can be his friend," Mingyu said casually, unaware that all the pieces had clicked together inside of Jimin's brain.
He whipped his head up. "Could you do that for me?"
Mingyu shrugged. "He seems nice. He's quiet, but my friend was also quiet, so I don't think that'll be a problem."
Before Jimin could thank him, their teacher walked to their desk and handed them new worksheets. It wasn't until a week later when Jeongguk came up to him during their break to introduce him to his new friends, Mingyu and Jaehyun, that he could do it.
"Thank you so much," he said when he was sure Jeongguk wasn't listening. "He looks happy."
Mingyu shrugged and walked away, muttering something Jimin didn't catch, although it didn't matter. What mattered was that Jeongguk didn't cry on the bus anymore, and he was smiling again. That, for Jimin, was enough.
It continued to be enough as they grew older, as they replaced dinosaurs for fantasy books and games of pretend. Some days, they were astronauts. Others, when they were in the backyard of Jimin's house, they were mythical creatures: sirens, faeries, dragons. On rare occasions, Jimin pretended to be a samurai from the movies that his parents watched on Friday nights, and Jeongguk did hilarious impressions of Hwarang knights and despicable crown princes.
When summer came around, Jimin’s parents set up two swings under the oak in their yard so that they could play. Jeongguk’s house just had a small garden where his mother planted cabbage to make kimchi, whereas Jimin’s home even had enough space for a small plastic pool. Unlike Jeongguk’s mother, Jimin’s didn’t have a green thumb, but that didn’t stop wildflowers from growing under their feet as they swung. Years later, Jimin would wonder if their laughter was what made them surface. Perhaps it was Jeongguk’s smile, brighter than the July sun.
For some time, Jimin was able to forget the dark cloud hanging above their heads, threatening to burst at any moment and take away the innocence of their youth. He was convinced that, after Jeongguk’s rocky start at school, nothing else could go wrong. It wasn’t like there was a world beyond their bedrooms apart from the small portion they saw of Busan.
For some time, their lives seemed to be… simple. Their days adjusted to the seasons, and their vocabularies expanded as they climbed up the ladder of elementary school. For Jimin’s twelfth birthday, Jeongguk wrote him a long letter in careful, neat handwriting, begging him to not forget him when he started middle school. At the bottom of the page, he’d drawn a lemon tree. From one of its branches hung a swing big enough for the two kids sitting together. Next to them and their raised legs, Jeongguk had written Jiminie and Jeonggukie . Jimin swore to him that he would never forget about him, and he swore to himself that he would protect Jeongguk from anything .
Oh, but he was a foolish boy. You see, when you’re smaller than the world — not when you feel smaller, but when your body doesn’t fit to fight the cruelty it puts in your way — you always try to make up for it with fierceness. Jimin spent years denying he was a child, but when he was fourteen, he learned that he’d never been littler.
After two winters away from each other, Jeongguk finally entered middle school. Jimin would leave next year, but he didn’t need him anymore. His presence would always soothe the younger, and he tried his best to spend the most time possible with his hyung, but he wasn’t the kid Jimin used to know. He had new friends now — Mingyu, Jaehyun, Minghao; even Yugyeom, now that they were classmates — and he got along with the rest of his class.
It was exhausting to be constantly running to catch a glimpse of the other, as though Jimin were at the peak of a mountain and, by the time Jeongguk arrived, he was pushed to the bottom. But they’d be okay. Jimin knew they would, or so he liked to believe.
His convictions were put through a test the day he heard a knock on the door of his house. It was a Friday at 10 p.m, and Jimin hadn’t seen Jeongguk all day. He’d stayed in Busan overnight to have a sleepover with Yugyeom and Mingyu, so they hadn’t driven on the bus together. Jimin’s class got detention during their lunch break, and then he had four hours of after-school classes, while Jeongguk only had two. Running .
The door cracked open to reveal a sobbing Jeongguk. Before Jimin could even gasp in surprise, Jeongguk’s arms were wrapping around him and pulling him flush against him. Jeongguk’s fingers dug into Jimin’s back as he muffled his cries on the crook of his neck.
“Jeongguk-ah, what—?”
Jeongguk shook his head. Jimin’s heart sank to his feet, but he started melting the ice around his limbs and placed a hand on Jeongguk’s head and another in his back. He smoothed the fabric of his shirt while petting the younger’s hair, standing hopelessly in the entrance.
Jimin’s parents had been watching a film in the living room, but Jimin heard the footsteps that accompanied his mother’s presence, the head peeking through the door to watch the scene with wide eyes.
“Jeongguk-ah, darling, what’s wrong?” she asked, approaching them in a hurry. She shared a worried look with Jimin. “Are you hurt?”
Jeongguk denied it again. Sniffling, he finally let go of his grip on Jimin to dry his face, but he rested his forehead on Jimin’s shoulder, unable to look up. “I’m not hurt,” he stammered. “But my father- h-he—”
Another sob escaped his lips, making Jimin’s stomach clench. His mother took a step toward Jeongguk and held him gently by the shoulders to straighten up his posture. Running a hand down his face, she asked, “Your father what?”
Jeongguk rubbed his eyes furiously. “We fought. H-he said— he said terrible things, eomonim , awful things. I couldn’t stand it so I- I ran here.”
Jimin’s mother captured her lip between her teeth. Her eyebrows knitted together as she caressed Jeongguk’s face once more. “Does he know you’re here?”
“N-no, I don’t think so.”
“Then stay with Jiminie until you feel okay, yeah?” she said, ruffling his hair. “I’m sure your father didn’t mean it. Sometimes adults can act like children when they’re mad.”
Jeongguk stared at her through the tears on his eyelashes. Judging by the way he nodded and immediately glanced down, Jimin could tell he was swallowing his words, burying them so she wouldn’t worry. He was familiar with the gesture; it was the same Jimin performed whenever she asked if everything was fine. Nobody around him seemed capable of making his mother upset, but it wouldn’t be until years later that Jimin would understand the reason why.
“C’mon, Kkyu,” he said, grabbing the sleeve of Jeongguk’s shirt. “Let’s go to the swings.”
The swings had leisurely become their place . The conversations they had under the oak leaves, and the earth that birthed the most beautiful flowers of their childhood, sometimes cold and wet and sometimes warm, home to ants, below their feet… that was a home, one they’d built together around each other without even realizing it.
The swing chains groaned when they sat, heavy with time. Jeongguk hadn’t stopped crying, but now he did it quietly, heartbreakingly so. As if he were trying to keep his pain to himself.
Jimin rocked back and forth gently, letting the tips of his toes draw a faint line on the soil. “Gguk-ah, what’s wrong?”
Jeongguk’s knuckles turned white around the chain. He wasn’t moving. “Hyung, you would never hate me, right?”
“What—?”
Jeongguk turned to look at him. His eyes were dark as a storm in July. “Promise me you’ll never hate me.”
Jimin could feel his heart shrinking inside his ribcage. “I promise I could never hate you,” he said softly. Nobody else needed to know. “You could never do anything that would make me hate you, anyway.”
“You say that now,” mumbled Jeongguk, “but what if you do?”
“Try me.”
Jeongguk locked eyes with Jimin before ducking his head, oozing shame. “Remember I slept over at Yugyeomie’s last night?”
Jimin hummed. “I missed you.”
Jeongguk coughed. “Well, ah, I—” He swallowed. “Me too, hyung. But the thing is that well, we were bored, and we started playing truth or dare.”
Jimin snickered. “That never ends up well.”
Jeongguk shot him a look that cut out the stream of his laughter. “What?” Jimin asked. “What’s wrong?”
Jeongguk sighed. “Mingyu… h-he dared Yugyeom to kiss me.”
Jimin’s head perked up with interest. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk breathed. “I-it was just a stupid dare, b-but he did it. He pecked my lips and we just… we just laughed it off? It didn’t feel weird to me then. But I-I was telling my parents what we did last night and that part slipped off a-and Dad…”
“Did he get mad at you, Kkyu?” Jimin whispered.
Jeongguk nodded, breaking into a gut-wrenching sob. “He was furious , hyung. He said that it was disgusting and unnatural, and h-he told me I could- that I could never—”
Jimin jumped off the swing. He stood next to Jeongguk and crouched down, supporting his weight by placing his hands on Jeongguk’s knees. “Don’t cry, Jeongguk-ah.”
“He said that I’m not allowed to see Yugyeom anymore,” Jeongguk wailed. “That boys don’t kiss each other and that I must never do it again o-or he’ll kick me out, and,” he gasped for air. “And I just don’t understand why . It was just a joke. Boys and girls kiss all the time on TV. Why can’t we do it?”
Jimin set his head down sideways, pressing his cheek against Jeongguk’s thigh. He squeezed his knee, praying silently that Jeongguk’s pain could go away.
“I don’t know,” Jimin muttered. “Maybe the rules are different between boys. I think some people believe love can only happen between boys and girls because they can have a family, but I don’t understand that. You and I are a family, too, right? You don’t need to share your blood with someone to become a family.”
Jeongguk sniffed. “What do you mean?”
“Aren’t families made of the people you spend most of your time with? The people you see every day, who you love and cherish and would do anything to see them smile. We’re not brothers but I see you more than I see my parents. How could you not be my family? I don’t understand why people say only boys and girls can fall in love. Mom told me there are a lot of boys and girls who get married but don’t have children, so does that mean they’re not a family? Even if they love each other? It sounds dumb.”
A small smile cracked Jeongguk’s features like a butterfly breaking through its cocoon. “You’re right, it is stupid.”
“Of course I’m right,” said Jimin just to turn Jeongguk’s smile into a grin.
“So if I… If I told you I didn’t mind being kissed by a boy, and t-that I wouldn’t mind doing it again, you wouldn’t think I’m disgusting?”
Jimin shook his head firmly, pressing his lips together. Jeongguk’s shoulders slumped as he sighed.
“People kiss other people when they love each other, right? I kiss my mom and my grandparents on the cheek all the time,” said Jimin, standing to his feet. “The way I see it is that you love Yugyeom. He’s a good friend, and you were also playing a game, so that kiss was okay. I think I’d be more worried if you’d kissed someone you didn’t love, even if it was a girl.”
Jeongguk wiped a stray tear away from his cheek with the back of his thumb. “Thank you, Jiminie hyung.”
Jimin grinned. “No problem, Kkyu. Don’t be sad anymore, yeah? You look ugly when you cry.”
Certainly, saying that was easier than admitting how much the sight of a crying Jeongguk felt like a stab to the gut. It did the job, too. It brought a gorgeous grin to Jeongguk’s face, one bright enough to convince Jimin that it would be enough.
(mood; get you the moon — kina, snøw)
Time proved him wrong. The older they grew, the more their fluttering hearts ached to experience what adults and the movies called love . The thrill of brushing your shoulders as you walk closely with that person; the warmth of two pinkies hooked together in secrecy; the magic of smiles that are directed only to you.
Oh, but love is never as easy as it seems, not for people like us, like Jeongguk. The day Jimin returned home with two love letters between his fifteen-year-old hands, he showed them to his mother with rosy cheeks, stumbling over his words as he described the appearance of the girls who’d written them. When Jeongguk received his first confession, he ran to his bedroom as fast as he could to hide it under his bed, away from prying eyes.
Jimin’s first kiss happened in the seat of a bus stop on a Friday at 4 pm. Jeongguk received his first proper kiss against the door of a bathroom stall at school, during a lunch break. One kiss made a smile blossom, a pink rose from the spring. Jeongguk’s flower bloomed in the skin of his cheek, of an angry red and a poisonous purple.
That day, they found each other at the swings again. The more Jeongguk cried, the more Jimin grew convinced that the grass under them had gotten taller because of his tears.
He wanted the entire garden to dry out.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against the crown of Jeongguk’s head, a hand rubbing at his shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re safe here.”
“Everyone knows, hyung,” Jeongguk sobbed. “All of them know who I really am.”
“Who you ‘really are’?” asked Jimin, leaning away and turning Jeongguk around to look him in the eye. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means that I like boys, and that’s not okay,” he replied as he patted his face, drying it with the sleeves of his uniform. “Did you hear how loud they laughed? I have a freaking bruise over it, hyung. It’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, the way they acted, Kkyu, not you!” Jimin exclaimed, bewildered. “How could you say something so terrible about yourself?”
“Hyung, I—”
“No, listen to me,” Jimin said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re my best friend, the person I love the most in the world. You’re not disgusting. Do you know who’s disgusting? Jung Minjae! His hair is greasy and I bet he showers once a month,” he huffed. The corner of his lip curled upwards when he heard Jeongguk snicker. “He acts like a man from the Stone Age. I don’t think whatever he has to say matters.”
“The people around us were laughing,” Jeongguk pointed out softly.
“The people around you were his stupid caveman friends. They can’t even understand basic math, of course they can’t understand that there are various types of love!”
Jeongguk dropped his head. His dark hair spilled around his eyes, and Jimin didn’t think twice when he leaned over and brushed it away with two fingers. He moved his hand down to Jeongguk’s chin, sliding through the side of his face, and forced him to look up.
He’s pretty , Jimin thought vaguely. He was thirteen then, still young, but he was growing up well. His eyes were as big as the first time Jimin had looked into them, but his cheeks were a tad more defined, his jawline slightly more chiseled. He’d grow up to become a beautiful man; Jimin had no doubt.
“I don’t know how to make you understand that there’s nothing wrong with being who you are, Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin admitted in a low voice. “I love you so much, and it hurts me that you say all those horrible things about yourself. I wish I could protect you from everything.”
Jeongguk broke into a small smile, chuckling. He brushed his cheek against Jimin’s palm. “You can’t protect me from everything, Jiminie hyung. The world is bigger than you.”
Jimin frowned. “Are you making fun of my height?”
“No!” Jeongguk exclaimed. “I’m just saying our society thinks the way Minjae and his crew do. You can’t fight against that.”
Jimin huffed. “Fine. Then I’ll take you to the moon.”
Jeongguk barked out a laugh, escaping from Jimin’s grasp as he threw his head back. “What?”
“I promise one day I’ll go to the moon with you, Jeongguk. We’ll move far, far away from this ugly world. Then you won’t have to cry.”
Jeongguk flashed him a lopsided smile. “Or hide in the closet.”
With a grin, Jimin grabbed Jeongguk’s hand and laced their fingers together. “No more closets. Just the moon, you and me. I think we’ll be happy.”
“As long as I’m with you,” Jeongguk replied. “I think so too, hyung.”
☾
The moon in New York City isn’t as bright as it was in Busan, Jimin thinks. Maybe it’s a side-effect of light pollution, or maybe Jimin has started losing his faith in the moon. She seems too far away now, unattainable. She used to look like the ink on his forearm, but now he can’t even recognize it. The lines are too blurred.
He hangs his head low, letting his sigh be muffled by the noise of the city. His elbows dig into the brick windowsill rather painfully, and it’s too cold and too late to have half of his body out, considering he’s shirtless. He hasn’t checked his phone, but he knows it’s around 2 am. He has a 9 am class tomorrow.
And yet, he can’t stop thinking about Jeongguk.
God, Jeongguk. Jimin had done a great job at forgetting his life before he'd set foot in America, but it’s all crashing down on him now, drowning him. His hand is reaching out, trying to break the water, but his teenage years have taken a hold of his ankle and they’re pulling down like an anchor. Jimin’s lungs are giving out.
He glances back at his desk, where he’d placed the business card almost like it was a haunted relic. He still hasn’t dared to take a look at what Jeongguk had scribbled on the back, and he hates that it’s giving him false hopes. He probably just wrote their Instagram handle, so why is he fantasizing now?
Jeongguk didn’t look happy to see him. Jimin wasn’t happy, either, but there had been a certain color to Jeongguk’s soul then that had made Jimin take a step back. He was hurt , resentful. Jimin can’t blame him— or can he?
Jimin should be the one scathing. Jeongguk wasn’t the only one that winded up with a shredded heart, so why is he acting like he is? Why is he acting like he didn’t let Jimin down as well?
“Fuck this,” he mutters, pushing himself away from the window. He stomps until he stands in front of his desk and glares at the card before picking it up with a huff. “And fuck Jeon Jeongguk.”
He flips the card around and squints his eyes at the sight of a bunch of numbers poorly written over the parlor’s logo. The first one is round, but a small line sticks out on the right side, a middle point between a nine and a zero. The next one is clearly a one (maybe a seven?), but the next one is another mystery number. Four? Seven?
“Zero, one, four,” Jimin mumbles under his breath. “What? Zero, one, four. Nine, seven, four. Nine, one— holy shit.”
His eyes open wide. His body lights up, bolted by a rush of adrenaline that makes his fingers tremble slightly. Nine, one, seven. The area code for New York.
At the bottom of the card, Jimin finds something else. He’d been too focused on deciphering the numbers to pay attention, but he sees the familiar letters now, the ones he doesn’t have to double-check to confirm he understood the right meaning.
Call me.