Chapter Text
[moodboard by andy]
✩࿐
If anyone had told Park Jimin six months ago that he would spend Christmas in the back of a police car, he would have had to proudly display, and believe, the subpar fortune he had plucked from a vending machine promising that the winter months will bring you great adventure in your travels if you remain vigilant and observant.
Instead, six months before Christmas as summer crept in, he found himself rolling the little plastic orange ball in his palm, the thin slip of paper curling at the edges as he stared at it, unamused. He heard a soft pop to his left, and then the infectious laughter of his best friend and roommate and co-worker.
“I’m supposed to set aside more time for myself so I can reconnect with my inner child,” Jung Hoseok said as he held his fortune out to Jimin, grinning with his face mask pulled down to his chin. “Are you going to come into money? Or is it doom and gloom?”
“Uh, no.” Jimin held up his fortune. “Apparently I’m going to have a traveling adventure this winter if I pay close attention to my surroundings.”
“Okay, Santa,” Hoseok teased, shoving the plastic ball and the fortune into his bag and slinging it back over his shoulder. “You owe me 1,000 won.”
“Well, when I cosplay as Santa and rob a few houses, I’ll give you the loot,” Jimin replied, and then he tilted his head down the road. “I don’t know why you always make me waste my time on this shit.”
“Because it’s hilarious, and I like to see the look on Namjoon’s face when we tell him that we wasted money on these things,” Hoseok replied, ruffling his mop of brown hair with the same grin. “How many patients do you have today?”
“I’m fully booked,” Jimin sighed as they began to walk towards the practice side-by-side. It was a small practice that Jimin and Hoseok, both chiropractors, owned together called TLC Chiropractic. Jimin thought he was clever naming it after the thoracic, lumbar, and cervical spines, but only he found it amusing. His dream had always been to have his own practice, and TLC was still in its formative years, but seeing as they were housed in the same building as a pilates and yoga studio, Jimin and Hoseok had quite a clientele already.
“I think I have one space open around two o’clock,” Hoseok said as they walked through Gangnam towards their practice. He had pulled the plastic ball out of his bag just to play with it while they walked. “I have those cheerleaders from the baseball team who come in every Monday.”
“I have half the yoga studio,” Jimin sighed, and Hoseok snickered, fishing around in his bag for the keys to the practice. It was almost nine o’clock, which was when they opened on Mondays, and they closed at three. On Tuesdays they opened at seven in the morning instead for the early risers. On Wednesdays, they opened after lunch and closed at eight o’clock for the after-work rush. Jimin’s flexibility was not just thanks to yoga and pilates—it was the business model he and Hoseok swore by every day.
“Okay, are you ready?”
“Hit me,” Jimin said, standing in front of the wall of shelves holding patient files. So many practices were digital only, but there was something about having a file that Jimin loved. He enjoyed being able to mark down exactly what the affliction was on a model of the patient, jot down a few quick notes while the adjustment was settling on the patient, pull out a file and flip through it.
“Bang Sihyeon. Choi Eunji. Oh Seonghyuk. Park Hanjae. Choi Taesuk.”
Hoseok held their schedule book in his hands and rattled off all of Jimin’s patients for the day from the first one to the last one, and Jimin plucked all of their files out and stacked them in order. He and Hoseok each had separate spaces to work in, and they each put two clients on the table at a time, working back and forth between the two.
“Oh, Choi Eunji is bringing her baby today,” Jimin said, delighted. “She texted me and said that Yerin has been gassy and crying the past two days.”
“So basically, you’re going to make the baby fart,” Hoseok joked, handing Jimin the schedule book.
“Among other things, yeah,” Jimin replied with a grin, and then he cleared his throat. “Park Sooah. Kim Seunghee.”
“Jimin-ah.” Hoseok interrupted with only two files in his hands, an impish smile on his face. “Maybe your client’s baby is a sign that I’m connecting with my inner child.”
“Hyung, you speak and I lose brain cells,” Jimin said airily, and Hoseok let out a bark of laughter, spinning back around. “Song Ara.”
[“paradise” by great good fine ok, before you exit]
It was a day like any other. As Jimin welcomed his patients into the practice and carefully adjusted them one by one, he considered that the whole “normal day” idea was what all those true crime podcasters said about the day a victim was murdered. It started off as just a normal Monday! Jimin had heard it a thousand times, which always made him sit on the subway wondering if his normal Monday would end with him being chased by a killer clown or something outrageous.
But no. He could toy with the idea of it could happen to anyone! Except Jimin had a routine. At age twenty-eight, his life was relatively scheduled thanks to his job, even though he did enjoy a few nights out here and there and a nice vacation every once in a while. In fact, he had gone to a nightclub with Hoseok last Saturday night so they could blow off some steam.
“Good. Deep breath in. Relax your jaw. Let your head fall into my hand. Good—” Jimin did the quick adjustment for Haerin’s neck, and then he watched as she exhaled, watched as the adjustment settled into her body as he stepped back. He saw Haerin giggle as she rolled her head back to a neutral position, and then she peeked at him with one eye.
“I could feel that in the back of my throat,” she joked in a whisper.
“Yeah, well, the next adjustment is to realign your entire ribcage, you weirdo,” Jimin teased, and Haerin stifled a laugh. She was only twenty but she was an avid ballerina and always had the strangest afflictions. Jimin glanced over at his other patient, who was still holding a position while seated that Jimin had requested. Quickly, Jimin beckoned to Haerin. “Relax, relax… Haerin-ssi.”
“Sorry, sorry,” she said with a grin, and then she closed her eyes and wiggled, relaxing into Jimin’s hands as he palpated carefully to find the spot he wanted, standing at her head.
You have magic hands. That was what some of his patients told him. Jimin liked to believe it, liked the temporary ego boost. His self-esteem was fragile sometimes, given his occupation and the half-hearted support he had from his family.
His parents were typical parents. Very normal. His father was a businessman and his mother was a retired school teacher. Jimin was their only son, and they had raised him to be a king, but Jimin knew he was a disappointment to them. Or rather, he always fell just short of the mark. He had the title of “doctor,” but he was a chiropractor, not a surgeon. He had his own practice, but he shared the building with other businesses. He had had relationships in the past, but he was gay.
So hearing that he was helping his patients? Worth its weight in gold.
By the time they were closing up at three o’clock and Jimin was cleaning his adjusting room, Hoseok appeared in his doorway.
“Did you hear Donghyun fall off the table?” Hoseok asked with a grin, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I went to do an adjustment in his hip and he just fucking rolled right off.”
“Uh, I heard a thud,” Jimin laughed, still wiping down the tables with disinfectant spray and a cloth. “He’s not a small guy, either, so—”
“Well, yeah, it’s always fun trying to hold him in that position to set his hip back into place, but today he just let loose and fell,” Hoseok said with an amused chuckle. “Luckily he’s our age and he laughed it off, or we’d be getting sued.”
“Good thing neither of us got a fortune about gaining a ton of money,” Jimin said seriously. “Otherwise, I’d have to believe that those fortunes are a scam.”
“You loser,” Hoseok laughed, grabbing his files to reshelve them. “I’ll reshelve the files. Go before you miss your train.”
“You’re a legend,” Jimin sighed, snatching up his bag. “See you at home. Enjoy pilates.”
“Make dinner for us or order something,” Hoseok responded, and Jimin stuck one thumb up in the air as he departed, fumbling for his AirPods in his bag as he exited the building.
He stuck to his routine—almost every day, he took the 3:32 train on the 2 line from Gangnam Station to Jamsil Station, and then he changed to the 8 line to end up at Seokchon Station, which was near his apartment in Songpa-gu. It was a twenty-minute journey. And there were no killer clowns chasing him.
The station was busy, of course, because when was Gangnam ever truly quiet on a weekday close to rush hour? Jimin entered the station, peeved that he had forgotten to bring his book to read and resolved to doom-scrolling on his phone until he reached Jamsil Station.
“Oh! Sorry,” Jimin apologized to a gaggle of teenagers who rushed past him, and two of the girls bowed in return and then ran off to find another glass door to stand in front of to board the subway. Jimin chose a different door where only a few middle-aged men were waiting with face masks and headphones.
When the subway pulled up and the doors opened, people flooded out neatly before the next influx of people funneled in. Jimin felt his eyes actually widen when he saw an empty seat between two older women. Stunned, he glanced to see if anyone else needed the seat first, but then the doors closed, so he bowed and whispered his apologies as he gently sat down between the two women, settling in and pulling out his phone.
JIMIN [3:32PM]
Hyung, I actually SAT DOWN on the 2 line just now
HOBI [3:32PM]
Jimin-ah ㅋㅋㅋㅋ your fortune ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
JIMIN [3:33PM]
It’s summer, you fool. I have to wait for my WINTER travel adventure
HOBI [3:33PM]
It’s winter in Australia, you know ;)
Jimin didn’t respond. He was pretty sure Hoseok could feel the Herculean eye roll from afar. Jimin blew out a breath and sat back as best as he could, and then he glanced up from his phone out of habit to see who else was on the train.
Middle-aged businessman, two teenage girls, elderly woman with a rolling shopping trolley, hot guy with tattoos, old man with a book…
Hot guy with tattoos.
This guy was worth a second glance. He was alone, and no one was bothering him—obvious, since he had his AirPods in and typically most passengers kept to themselves politely during subway journeys. He had long black hair tied back messily at the nape of his neck, several rogue strands tucked behind both ears, and he was wearing baggy ripped up jeans and a black t-shirt that was far too big on him, probably a stylistic choice. Two sleeves of tattoos, about six piercings in each ear, and a drawing pad propped on his knees… Jimin swiftly looked back down at his phone just in case he was caught.
He’s an artist.
Most people didn’t do much on the subway other than scroll through their phones or chat with their friends. This guy was biting on his bottom lip absentmindedly as he sketched. He was wearing short sleeves, so Jimin honed in specifically on the tiger tattoo that was wrapped around his right forearm, and then up towards his face again—
It was then that Jimin realized he was looking directly into this guy’s eyes.
“Sorry,” Jimin mouthed with a small bow of his head, breaking eye contact and then lifting his phone higher, mortified. He had been gawking at this poor stranger, and the guy had caught Jimin’s eye and stared. And Jimin hadn’t even realized they were staring at each other until the subway shuddered to a stop and pulled into Seolleung Station.
Twelve more minutes of awkward subway silence!
It was like being trapped in an elevator with a stranger riding ten floors up. The crippling silence in an enclosed space, the urge to blurt out random facts about the spine, feeling compelled to unnecessarily shift around all of his belongings to waste time and fill the silence. Instead, a few more people hopped onto the subway, filling the space with bodies instead as the subway took off again, headed for Samseong Station.
Except when they pulled into Samseong, Jimin made the mistake of looking up again because the lady beside him disembarked. And when he looked, there was Tiger Tattoo, eyes trained on Jimin, a tiny smile on his lips. Even worse, he winked before he bent his head and began to draw again as the subway pulled out of the station.
It wasn’t that Jimin hadn’t been winked at in a public setting before. It was that the time was quarter to four on a Monday and he felt like a haggard lump of exhaustion from work, and this was simply not the time or place he had ever expected a gorgeous tattooed man to wink at him. His game was at a negative five right now, because if he was really switched on and ready (a rare occurrence), he would have beckoned to the guy to strike up a conversation. But this was the 2 line, not a nightclub.
Unfortunately.
The subway eventually arrived at Jamsil Station, and to Jimin’s surprise, Tiger (a good nickname, he figured) stood up to exit as well, gathering his belongings and shoving his pencil behind his ear. He slung his bag over one shoulder, and then he stood back and beckoned to Jimin, seeing that Jimin had gotten up to disembark as well.
“Thank you,” Jimin said with a bow, wondering if he was imagining the scenario or if he was just a mixture of horny and emotional, because why did the bare minimum respect make him feel some type of way? Regardless, Tiger didn’t say anything back. Jimin had half a mind to slow down and attempt a conversation, but then the subway pulled out of the station, and Tiger breezed past Jimin, twirling the pencil between his fingers now as he headed for the station exit.
So Jimin hopped onto the 8 line for the three-minute ride to Seokchon Station, and then he walked five minutes to his apartment, laughing to himself every few hundred feet while tempted to text Hoseok about his own stupidity. I just had an awkward cheesy rom-com moment with a hot tattooed guy on the subway, he thought to himself as he climbed the stairs to the second floor and approached his door to punch in the code. Also may have considered mentally removing his shirt, but didn’t get that far.
This was absolutely not his winter travel adventure.
“Oh. Hey. Good, you’re home. Check out these macarons.”
“Let me guess.” Jimin kicked his shoes off at the door the moment he entered, not even remotely surprised to see Kim Namjoon standing in the kitchen. He knew how to get into Jimin and Hoseok’s apartment and had permission to be there whenever he wanted, and right now, there was a cup of tea on the countertop next to a fancy box that Jimin assumed contained macarons.
“Don’t judge me.” Namjoon held up his hand in warning, and then he turned and crooked it at Jimin. “Come here and tell me if you think these are good quality.”
“Are you trying to pass them off as homemade? Because there’s no way in hell,” Jimin said, and Namjoon pressed his tongue into his cheek, narrowing his eyes at Jimin. Maybe he was a year older, but Jimin was well-practiced in teasing Kim Namjoon.
“I just need to know if he’ll like them, you asshole,” Namjoon replied, nudging the box towards Jimin. “They’re the fancy kind.”
“So you’re gonna show up like ‘knock, knock! Sleep with me, please!’’” Jimin sang out, and Namjoon pressed both palms to the countertop, bowing his head momentarily.
“I’m about to take one of these macarons and shove it up your ass, Park Jimin,” he threatened emptily.
“That’s fine. At least you know what my ass can take,” Jimin teased, and Namjoon inhaled and dragged the breath at the back of his throat, rolling his eyes as Jimin finally conceded and peeked into the box.
Namjoon was his ex-boyfriend. A beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, goofy ex-boyfriend. Jimin adored Kim Namjoon… but as a friend. They met at university when Jimin was twenty and began dating shortly after, but despite being together for two years, the relationship had never progressed. Both of them had dragged their feet for months, offering to move in together but never following through; the passion dwindled. Their love for each other never did, but that was when they had come to a mutual decision to transition to best friends.
And it was the healthiest decision Jimin had ever made for himself. Namjoon, too. Jimin had spent his mid-twenties dating around and experimenting. Namjoon had dated a few girls, one other guy, and now he lived across the hall from Jimin and Hoseok and was pining over the new guy who just moved in next to Jimin and Hoseok.
“I wouldn’t be doing this if I hadn’t seen him hauling a fucking Pride flag into his apartment on move-in day,” Namjoon lamented. “I would have just introduced myself like a normal human being and left it at that. But no-o-o-o, he had to be queer and built like God’s gift to humanity.”
“You’re an atheist and the only thing you know about him is his name, but I digress,” Jimin said, reaching for Namjoon’s tea and taking a sip.
“False on the second account,” Namjoon declared, straightening up and rapidly rubbing his soft black hair before he adjusted his glasses. He was the cute nerd type. “Kim Seokjin owns the cat café near Jamsil Station and the mall. Rata-Cat-Cat? You’ve heard of it, right?”
“I’m sorry, what the fuck did he name his café?” Jimin asked, raising both eyebrows.
“Don’t make me repeat it or you’ll be shitting out macarons,” Namjoon warned.
“Rata-Cat-Cat?” Jimin said before he burst out laughing. “Christ, if I wasn’t allergic to cats, I’d be there every goddamn day. That’s genius. I’ve actually heard of it now that you mention it, but I’ve never been there because—well, cats.”
“Okay, well, his name is Kim Seokjin and he’s a café owner who clearly loves animals and serves great coffee and pastries,” Namjoon continued. “So if I show up with shitty macarons, I’ll embarrass myself.”
“Well, short of actually trying one, I think you’ll just have to wing it,” Jimin replied. “Are you doing this right now?”
“Yeah. He’s home,” Namjoon replied. “I think. I hope.”
“The dietician delivering sweets to his hot neighbor. I’ve seen it all,” Jimin teased, and then he clapped Namjoon on the shoulder. “Good luck, hyung. I’ll be here to snap your neck if you’re too embarrassed to go on.”
“He won’t reject me,” Namjoon said with confidence.
“Yeah, share some of that attitude with me,” Jimin said as he headed towards the bathroom. “I saw a hot guy on the subway today and just stared at him like a weirdo.”
“Ooh, and you’ll never see him again,” Namjoon sighed, tutting at Jimin. “Bad luck. Should I offer Kim Seokjin some free services? Maybe he wants a dietician’s opinion on things. Maybe he wants free chiropractic adjustments.”
“If you offer free chiropractic adjustments because you’re blinded by love and stupidity, hyung, I’ll take the money from your bank account,” Jimin threatened with a smile, and then he saluted and vanished into the bathroom.
He didn’t stay there for long.
“Hyung?” he called out when he heard the apartment front door close and beep. Grinning, Jimin ditched his laptop and ran out into the kitchen, noticing that the macarons and Namjoon’s shoes were both gone. So, like a good friend, he raced to the front door and pressed his ear up against it, because Namjoon having the balls to actually knock on Kim Seokjin’s door was something he had to witness, even if he could only hear it happening. Besides, if Namjoon was rejected, Jimin would need to provide comfort and reassurance.
“Oh! Sorry to bother you, I—I’m one of your neighbors,” Jimin heard Namjoon say, so he pressed his ear harder to the door and squinted as if that was going to help him hear better.
“Yes, hello? Oh, I’ve seen you in the hallway before,” a cheerful voice said. “I think I introduced myself, but I can’t remember. You’re one of my neighbors? No one’s ever introduced themselves to me in any apartment building I’ve ever lived in.”
“Well, um, I can be the first,” Namjoon said awkwardly, and Jimin pressed his fingertips to his brow, willing Namjoon to loosen up. Not that he and Jimin had done a good job of flirting with one another years ago, anyway. They were both a lost cause. “I’m Kim Namjoon. I live in… that apartment there. Um, and across the hall? My two closest friends. They’re both chiropractors. So if you need someone to—nope, never mind. I’m—I have these for you.”
“If I need someone to break my back, I should ask them? Or you?” Kim Seokjin replied in a teasing tone, and Jimin dropped to the floor laughing in silence. He clutched the door handle on his way down, but he kept his ear pressed to the door in desperation, because this was pure comedy.
“I—I really—I regret even speaking, so here are the macarons I got,” Namjoon said with a pained laugh, but Seokjin’s own genuine laugh covered that.
“Ya-a-a-ah, these are great. I love this bakery. Thank you, Namjoon-ssi. I’m Kim Seokjin. Nice to meet you. What is it that you do for work? Chiropractic?” Seokjin asked.
“No, no. I’m a dietician.”
“Oh, fancy. How often do people joke about eating only salads in front of you?”
“On a daily basis—oh. Yeah, okay. That’s definitely not a salad,” Namjoon said, and this time, his laugh was more relaxed.
“It’s delicious,” Seokjin said, his voice muffled as Jimin snorted with laughter. He’d clearly eaten one of the macarons. “Well, if you ever use Jamsil Station, I own a café there. You’re more than welcome to stop by. First coffee’s on me. If I’m not there, just tell them your name and force them to text me if they don’t believe you.”
“Which, uh…. Which café?” Namjoon asked. Oh, sure, play dumb for the pretty guy, Jimin thought, rolling his eyes as if he wouldn’t be caught doing the same damn thing.
“Do you like cats?” Seokjin inquired with laughter in his tone. Namjoon must have nodded, because Seokjin added, “Then you won’t have any trouble finding my café. I have to—yeah. Ah, I’m sorry. Stop by the café, though. I’m just working from home today. Gotta go.”
“Yeah, cool. Um, it was nice to meet you,” Namjoon said.
“Likewise. See you around.”
Jimin immediately scrambled off the floor as he heard Seokjin shut the door, and his intention was to make it back to his bedroom and pretend he hadn’t heard a thing, but he made the mistake of ramming his hip directly into the table. He let out a loud yelp and collapsed to the floor, rolling onto his back and clutching his hip, and that was when Namjoon entered the apartment.
“Were you eavesdropping?” Namjoon accused immediately.
“Leave me here to die,” Jimin groaned.
“That’s what you get for listening to my conversations,” Namjoon said as he returned to his tea. “He took the macarons.”
“Pretty sure he made a sex joke,” Jimin said, still staring at the ceiling.
“When?”
“He basically told you to break his back, hyung. Let’s not be naïve,” Jimin said, rubbing his hip and then sitting up with his elbows draped over his knees. “Also, ‘which café’? Give me a break.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you—” Namjoon set his cup of tea down forcefully, and some of it sloshed over the rim of the cup. “Ah. Sorry,” he apologized to the countertop, fumbling for a paper towel to wipe up his mess. “Did you want me to call him by his name like a creep and say that I’m already planning a visit to his cat café?”
“It would’ve been funny,” Jimin replied, standing up.
“Well, you’ll have to come with me to Rata-Cat-Cat, because I’m not going alone,” Namjoon insisted. “I know you’re mildly allergic, but you can withstand cats in small bursts, right?”
“I’ll be sneezing and stuffed up for the rest of the day, but sure, hyung. Anything to further your dick-wetting agenda,” Jimin said supportively, joining Namjoon in the kitchen and patting him on the shoulder.
“You’re familiar with my dick-wetting agenda,” Namjoon said, and Jimin snickered. A few years ago, they would have never made such jokes. Now they were comfortable, almost too comfortable, with one another. There were even times when they asked each other things like, “did you like when I fucked you that way, or were you lying?” Just so they could make comparisons to their other partners.
“Stroke game was solid, I’ll give you that,” Jimin teased. “Don’t wait too long to go to the café. But don’t go tomorrow. There’s a little window of opportunity.”
“Yeah, yeah. There are rules. I get it,” Namjoon griped. “God, dating is such a scam.” He picked up his teacup. “Can someone just knock on my door and say they’re my new partner so I don’t have to do all this work?”
“That’s what I did with you,” Jimin joked, and Namjoon snickered as he sipped his tea. It was relatively true—he and Jimin had met at the university library, sparks had flown, they had made out in the periodical section a week later, and then Namjoon had fucked the living daylights out of Jimin two days after that. And Jimin had slept over, waking up the next morning and telling Namjoon point-blank that they should absolutely exclusively date one another if they were going to have sex like that. Namjoon had agreed. The rest was history.
“Yeah, except now we’re adult adults,” Namjoon said, knowing Jimin would understand.
“Oh, sorry, does being twenty-eight make me an old man?” Jimin asked. “I’ll have you know that my spinal health is superior compared to the average twenty-eight-year-old. We just won’t talk about my knees and hips.”
“That’s the running,” Namjoon replied, and then he let out a sigh. “Alright, I guess I should go home. I have a full day at work tomorrow, and I haven’t finished off one of my plans for a client.”
“Have fun. I’m getting basil cream tteokbokki and fried chicken from our favorite spot for dinner tonight because I’m lazy,” Jimin said. “Are you joining us?”
“No,” Namjoon said reluctantly. “I’ve been on a gut cleanse lately. I have two more days to reset my stomach and clear it out.”
“Is your bedtime half past eight, too?” Jimin teased. “See you later, hyung. Good job with Kim Seokjin. I’m rooting for you.”
“That makes one of us.” Namjoon rinsed out his teacup, and then he set a hand on Jimin’s shoulder and kissed the side of Jimin’s head. “Love you. Thanks for the cheerleading.”
Jimin turned and patted Namjoon’s ass with a grin. “I’ve always got your back, hyung.”
Which was the honest truth. Jimin and Hoseok had gotten their apartment together a few years ago, and when a unit had opened up across the hall, they had talked Namjoon’s ear off until Namjoon agreed to move from where he lived near SNU. They had each other’s backs, the three of them, making up a solid trio friendship that Jimin cherished dearly. He had a smattering of friends and acquaintances, but there was nothing like the comfort that came with being around Hoseok and Namjoon.
Hoseok came home to a hot meal that night after pilates, and he and Jimin devoured the food before they collapsed onto the couch to watch The Glory for the second time. With Hoseok’s head in his lap, Jimin told him the story about Namjoon and the macarons, and Hoseok almost fell off the couch laughing. They then agreed that tomorrow, Jimin would make the coffee for the two of them before they got on the train to TLC for their early start.
And, naturally, they were both full of regret when their alarms went off.
“Early start my ass,” Hoseok grumbled as he shuffled into the kitchen with intense bedhead and half-open eyes. He stopped beside Jimin, who was standing in the kitchen staring at the coffee maker like it held all the answers to the universe, his eyelids heavy.
“I regret ever agreeing with you to do early riser hours,” Jimin complained as the first cup of coffee began to drip into the cup. He already had Hoseok’s to-go cup full of ice so they could take it on the run.
“Says the guy who wakes up at this hour to go running most mornings,” Hoseok argued, still squinting at Jimin.
“You look like you just got electrocuted,” Jimin croaked with a laugh. “Also, when I get up to go running, that’s different. I have a reason to be awake. Getting up at this ungodly hour to go to work is not a good enough reason to set an alarm for five-thirty.”
“I guess I should start meditating and journaling and setting aside sunrise to reconnect with my inner child,” Hoseok said as Jimin poured his coffee into the cup of ice. He tiredly patted Jimin’s ass, and then he swept up the cup. “You make a mean iced americano, Park Jimin.”
“I put all my effort into it, hyung,” Jimin said, brewing another with a lopsided smile. “Also, we need to carve out some time to go to this cat café with Namjoon.”
“Oh, suddenly I’m involved, too?” Hoseok asked, walking backwards towards his bedroom. “I do love cats, so I’ll tag along. Can I take videos of Namjoon flirting with Kim Seokjin?”
“What, so you can review them like a coach?” Jimin joked, and Hoseok snickered as he ducked into his room to get ready for the day.
Jimin always dressed comfortably for long days at work, and today was no different. It was still unbearably hot as summer ebbed away, so he shimmied into a pair of comfortable jeans and a white t-shirt that he roughly tucked in before he threw on a black windbreaker jacket, since the weather was rainy today. After a few sips of his own iced americano to wake himself up, he gathered his belongings and banged on Hoseok’s door to summon him.
“Are you ready before me? That’s a first,” Hoseok said, and he wasn’t wrong; Jimin was notoriously late for everything.
“I made your coffee and I’m on time,” Jimin replied, and with matching grins, they were out the door.
Jimin only regretted early starts when he was dragging his feet around the house. Once at the practice, though, he was happy. The patients who came early before work were always so full of gratitude and energy, and almost all of them praised Jimin’s handiwork and said it prepared them for their day in the office.
“Did you look into getting a standing desk like I said?” Jimin asked one of his first clients—a man his father’s age, and a stark businessman. Jimin was one of the few people who could get him to crack a smile.
“I thought about it,” Jiwoong replied with a chuckle, his voice muffled by the table. Jimin scooted to Jiwoong’s feet and carefully lifted them at the same time, bending Jiwoong’s legs at the knee, checking alignment and checking to see if his first two adjustments had taken effect. Pleased, he crawled his fingers along Jiwoong’s spine as he moved.
“Thought about it, or actually did it? Deep breath in… exhale and relax—” Jimin applied the correct amount of pressure with both hands at the right spot just below Jiwoong’s shoulder blades, the adjustment happening immediately.
“My wife isn’t convinced,” Jiwoong replied. Jimin patted Jiwoong’s back.
“Sit up for me, legs over the edge,” he instructed. As Jiwoong sat up, Jimin raised one eyebrow. “Isn’t she the one saying that you look like a black tiger shrimp when you’re working from home?”
“From my memory, son, it was you who said I looked like a shrimp when I showed you pictures of my setup,” Jiwoong said with an amused smile like a father to a son as Jimin clicked his tongue.
“Well, if you relax your hand, you won’t look like an angry crab—thank yo-o-o-ou, thank you,” Jimin sang as he adjusted Jiwoong’s wrists and carefully pulled on his right thumb to adjust it accordingly. “Seriously, Jiwoong-ssi, look into it. Promise me. Relax, look that way. What’d you have for dinner last night? Don’t say black tiger shrimp.”
“No, no, my wife made— ah,” Jiwoong breathed with a light chuckle when Jimin snapped his left wrist back into alignment. “You and your distractions.”
“You’d be stiff as a board if I didn’t distract you,” Jimin replied. “You’re all finished for the day. I want to see proof that you looked into it. And a good mat for beneath your feet when you’re standing. Don’t be cheap.”
“Yes, Dr. Park,” Jiwoong said, pleased as he slid off the table. “I always feel ten years younger leaving here. And then I come back the next week after aging another ten years.”
“The eternal paradox. If it was up to me, I’d have you here two or three times a week to get you on track. But I digress. Yunjin will take care of you up front.”
And that was Jimin’s daily life. His job. He maintained a good bedside manner, kept himself updated on his patients’ lives and all the gossip, adjusted them and saved them from some horrific pain, and then left for home. Today was Tuesday, no different from any other day. He’d go for a run in the evening when it wasn’t so hot, and tomorrow was yoga day.
Still no killer clowns.
“Are you coming with me?” Jimin asked Hoseok as they locked up for the afternoon.
“Mm, I’ve been liking the four o’clock pilates class. Less people,” Hoseok said with a grin. “So I’ll see you at home. Can you take out the spicy boneless chicken feet packet from the freezer and put some rice on? I’ll cook when I get home.”
“Yeah, sure. Your mom is bringing more kimchi when she drops by this weekend, right?” Jimin asked eagerly. Sure, he and Hoseok could make kimchi, but mom’s kimchi was always superior.
“If she doesn’t, she’s not allowed over the threshold, because she promised me,” Hoseok said with a laugh. “See you later.”
So again, Jimin slung his bag across his chest and grabbed his umbrella from one of the closets, because he had seen rain splattering against the windows of the practice. He parted ways from Hoseok and headed straight for the station, shielding himself from the steady drizzle of rain and the grey skies overhead.
I’m being vigilant and observant, he thought as he pushed through the turnstiles at the station, trying not to laugh at himself while he skirted around a WET FLOOR sign. He and Hoseok always laughed about their cheap fortunes for a week at a time whenever they dared to waste money on one. This time was no different.
Adjusting his AirPods, Jimin watched as the 3:32 subway pulled in, and then the glass doors slid open as passengers disembarked. Once his path was clear, Jimin slipped past two school boys and found a good spot to stand, because all of the seats were taken today. So he decisively wrapped one arm around the pole and secured it in the crook of his elbow, and then he glanced up from his phone as the subway began to move.
The awkward throat clearing and weird bob of his head in a makeshift bow was all Jimin could do when he spotted Tiger sitting in one of the seats across and to the left. This time, Tiger was wearing a gigantic white short-sleeved t-shirt, baggy black pants, and a Yankees baseball cap. AirPods in. Drawing pad propped on his knees. And he was staring right at Jimin.
Remain calm. It’s just a coincidence.
But Tiger flicked his eyebrows up with a little grin, and then he returned to drawing, his art hidden from Jimin’s view, the tip of his tongue bitten between his teeth. Jimin scrambled to do something distracting on his phone, but all he noticed was that Tiger kept glancing up at him and then looking back down at his drawing pad as the subway sailed along to the next station. And that was the moment when Jimin decided to notice his double lip ring.
He had a fucking double lip ring.
Why hadn’t Jimin noticed yesterday? Better, yet, why was this guy on the same subway as Jimin at the same time in the same car for a second day in a row?
And why did he keep looking at Jimin?
JIMIN [3:38PM]
Hyungs, I’m having a minor crisis
NAMJOON [3:38PM]
Well make it fast, I have a client in 20 minutes
JIMIN [3:38PM]
Remember the hot guy on the subway I told you about yesterday?
JIMIN [3:38PM]
He’s here again today and he keeps looking at me and he’s drawing something
JIMIN [3:38PM]
He has tattoos and long hair and a double lip ring and he’s an artist I’m down bad
HOBI [3:39PM]
yah what if he’s one of those TikTok guys who draws people while he rides trains
NAMJOON [3:39PM]
ㅋㅋㅋ ask him what he’s drawing!
JIMIN [3:39PM]
He better not be one of those TikTok guys because I look like a drowned rat right now
HOBI [3:40PM]
Plot twist: he’s drawing you as a rat ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
NAMJOON [3:40PM]
Maybe Rata-Cat-Cat will hire you, Jimin
HOBI [3:41PM]
Strip naked and ask him to draw you like one of his French girls
JIMIN [3:41PM]
Neither one of you prays for my happiness at night and it shows
The subway carried on to Jamsil Station. Tiger kept sketching. Jimin kept tapping his heel rapidly and repeatedly until they came to a stop at Jamsil, because he was torn between lunging forward to ask Tiger what he was drawing and bolting through the doors the second he had a sliver of space to do so. He chose the latter, but in slow motion, because he didn’t want to look like a fool. Tiger got off at Jamsil, too, which Jimin half-expected.
And then he dropped his umbrella.
It was an amateur mistake—he tried to shift his bag and change hands with the umbrella at the same time, and he failed graciously. The umbrella hit the tile floor and rolled, and Jimin’s only thought was how grateful he was that there were glass doors to keep it from rolling right onto the tracks and humiliating him.
“Oh—thank you. Thanks,” Jimin said breathlessly when a tattooed arm reached out to scoop up the umbrella. And then Tiger was standing in front of him, handing over the umbrella with a little smile on his face. Jimin accepted the umbrella with a small bow. “Thank you.”
Tiger’s lips curled into a different kind of grin, one dimple indenting his cheek, and then he scrunched his nose and took a few steps backwards, his eyes trained on Jimin for a moment before he flicked one thumb up at Jimin with one eye closed. Then he pivoted on one heel and walked away.
So Jimin followed.
He felt like an idiot, but this was the second time in two days that this guy had basically scanned Jimin head to toe like Jimin was a book to be read. Either he knew something about Jimin that Jimin didn’t know, or he wanted to strike up a conversation but was too shy.
Or maybe he was the killer clown Jimin feared.
Either way, there were trains to Seokchon Station every eight to ten minutes or so. It wasn’t like Jimin needed to be on the 3:54 train. What he needed to do was just spend maybe five minutes being a weirdo because he was intrigued by this stranger who had just lunged for his umbrella out of nowhere to hand it over without a word.
So Jimin followed far enough behind Tiger that it wasn’t suspicious, bypassing dozens of other passengers and weaving through the hustle and bustle—the people, the shops, the merry-go-round. He watched as Tiger took a right turn, and he followed. Past a clothing shop, past several other shops, and then to—
“Shut the fuck up,” Jimin whispered to himself, coming to a comical halt as he fumbled for his phone and immediately snapped a photo of the outside of none other than Rata-Cat-Cat, the café owned by one Kim Seokjin. He watched as Tiger glanced up at the sign, and then he lifted a hand and waved at someone before he unlocked the cute wooden half-gate and let himself into the café.
JIMIN [3:58PM]
[photo attached]
JIMIN [3:58PM]
SOS hot subway guy just walked into this café
HOBI [3:58PM]
ㅎㅎ no fucking way
NAMJOON [3:59PM]
What in the multiverse of madness
HOBI [3:59PM]
Alexa play “Sherlock Clue + Note” by SHINee because why are we investigating
JIMIN [4:00PM]
We’re investigating you asshole because I dropped my umbrella and he picked it up
NAMJOON [4:00PM]
Is no one going to acknowledge that that’s Seokjin’s café
NAMJOON [4:00PM]
Fuck of course my client is here on time
Jimin snorted with laughter as he slowly began to back away from the café while tucking his phone away, feeling foolish. He had followed Tiger, and what had he learned? Not much. Maybe Tiger liked cats, which made sense, seeing as he had a tiger tattooed on his arm. And he was polite—yesterday, he’d let Jimin off the subway first. Today, he went out of his way to pick up Jimin’s umbrella.
But tomorrow, Jimin wouldn’t be on the 3:32 train, since he was working late. No big deal. He laughed to himself as he headed for the platform to take the 8 line to Seokchon, because what kind of fantasy world was he living in? Since when did he follow cute guys to cafés out of curiosity? The last time he had followed a cute guy had been into a nightclub bathroom to make out and jerk each other off, and that was five months ago.
So Wednesday came, and after a long day at work, Jimin hopped on the busy subway and didn’t see Tiger anywhere—as expected. If Tiger had been there, Jimin would have immediately called the police and reported a stalker.
But then Thursday came.
“Maybe just ride in a different carriage.”
“Maybe just bend over so I can shove your head up your ass,” Hoseok said as they entered Gangnam Station together. “You can’t be serious.”
“Hyung, my life is deathly boring,” Jimin said, which wasn’t entirely true, but he was feeling dramatic. “Two days in a row might have just been coincidence. Yesterday I wasn’t on the 3:32 train. If he’s there today in the same carriage at the same time, then my point will be proven.”
“What’s your point, exactly?” Hoseok asked as he brought the straw to his lips to suck down more of his green juice. Jimin had chugged his before entering the station.
“My point is that if he’s here for a third day and we spot each other, then maybe he wants to talk to me,” Jimin replied. “I’m just banking on him being interested in men at this point. Hopefully he’s not trying to gather enough information to murder me in my own bed.”
“When you say ‘murder you in your own bed,’ are we talking about being actually murdered, or are we talking about being railed?” Hoseok asked, and Jimin snorted with laughter.
“Both.”
They approached the platform together. Jimin pleaded with Hoseok to just pretend that they didn’t know one another, and Hoseok rolled his eyes so hard that Jimin swore they’d pop out of his head. But when the subway pulled up and the doors opened, Hoseok walked on first and turned to the right, immediately pretending that he didn’t know Jimin. And Jimin stepped on and spotted one empty seat by the door.
And there was Tiger.
He was sitting across from where Jimin was yet again, just a little further down to the left this time. Today he was wearing jeans with a few rips in the knees, a black short-sleeved t-shirt, and a black bucket hat. AirPods still in. Tattoos fully exposed. Drawing pad propped on his knees.
But beneath his feet and tucked under the seat was a skateboard.
So he’s beautiful, tattooed, artsy, and now he skateboards. Just admit out loud that you have a type, Jimin. Admit it. The first step is acceptance.
Jimin fought the urge to give Hoseok a look, because there was no doubt in his mind that Hoseok had spotted Tiger. And Tiger, it seemed, had spotted Jimin. When they were stopped at the next station, he looked up from his drawing pad casually, and then his eyes locked onto Jimin. Immediately, he cocked his head all the way to one side, lips puckering in a little smile. Mortified, Jimin busied himself with his phone, especially when he saw Tiger’s pencil begin to move on the paper again.
JIMIN [3:57PM]
You see him, right?
HOBI [3:57PM]
Oh I see him alright. Go say hi to him!
JIMIN [3:57PM]
Absolutely not
HOBI [3:58PM]
MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
HOBI [3:58PM]
I’m mooing at you because you’re a COW-ard
JIMIN [3:58PM]
Your English puns are awful
The subway continued. Tiger kept sketching, the skateboard beneath his feet as he wiggled it back and forth distractedly. He didn’t even look up when two young guys started screaming and cursing at each other suddenly as they approached Jamsil Station. And all Jimin wanted to do desperately was take one giant step across the subway, hang from the handles above their heads, and take a peek at what Tiger was drawing.
But they disembarked at Jamsil Station, and Tiger exited before Jimin did, his skateboard tucked underneath his arm. Jimin knew that the moment Tiger exited the station, he’d set that board on the ground and either head to his destination or head to the first skate plaza he could find.
“Okay, so I acknowledge that he’s a real person,” Hoseok said as he fell into step beside Jimin.
“What, did you think he was a figment of my imagination?” Jimin asked crankily as he and Hoseok followed a few people behind Tiger.
“Go talk to him.”
“I’m not— hyung,” Jimin hissed, tripping over his own feet and nearly falling face first like an idiot when Hoseok gave him a hearty shove in Tiger’s direction, far too close for comfort. Jimin immediately turned and smacked Hoseok’s arm, and Hoseok recoiled with a laugh. “I’ll kill you, don’t just shove me.”
“Well, you said he picked up your umbrella, so now he can pick up you,” Hoseok teased. “Go live your rom-com dreams, Jimin. Come on. He’s setting it up perfectly for you. He kept looking at you the whole ride. I was watching.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Jimin said, his heart skipping. “We don’t flirt or hit on random men on the subway just because they’re painfully hot. We’re fucking professionals with ‘doctor’ as our title.”
“What, so we can’t think with our dicks ever?” Hoseok asked, raising his eyebrows. Jimin almost laughed. “Fuck it. You’re gonna have to introduce yourself eventually if he keeps staring at you like that. That’s three days in a row. Live a little, Jimin. The last guy you took a chance with from the yoga studio was a douchebag. Maybe this guy will be a step up.”
Hoseok wasn’t wrong. Jimin had met another guy in a similar way about a year ago at the yoga studio. New guy. Tattoos. Strong but cute. Jimin’s type. He’d shown interest, so naturally, Jimin had decided to go for it. They went to a nightclub for an evening out, and the guy had the audacity to dance with a few other people instead of just dancing with Jimin. But what was life without a little heartbreak?
It could happen to anyone!
“I’ll… think about it,” Jimin agreed as their next subway approached to take them home. “But it’s awkward. I don’t have a long ride from Gangnam to Jamsil. And what if there’s no seat? I can’t just stand there and stare down at him like a creep.”
“You can talk to him about the café,” Hoseok suggested. “Ask him if he knows Kim Seokjin personally. Namjoon will shit himself.”
But as it turned out, Namjoon was already shitting himself when Jimin and Hoseok arrived home. They walked into their apartment, and there was Namjoon, lying on the couch with a pillow over his face. It was more telling that neither Jimin nor Hoseok commented on his presence or his current position.
“Uh, how was your work day, hyung?” Jimin asked, amused.
“Namjoon-ah.” Hoseok smacked the top of the pillow, and Namjoon let out a muffled grunt. “I saw Jimin’s hot subway guy. He’s real.”
Namjoon said nothing. Instead, he held up the hand that was dangling off the couch, and Jimin lunged and snatched a piece of paper out of Namjoon’s hand that had a folded piece of tape on the top. Probably taped to his door.
Namjoon-ssi! Thank you for the macarons! I ate them all. They were delicious. Come to my café. I just celebrated my half-birthday (31.5, but I age like a vampire), so you missed the festivities, but that’s fine. There are still balloons. -Kim Seokjin (your neighbor)
“Yah, does this note mean that he wants you to actually break his back, or is he admitting to being a vampire?” Jimin asked, handing the note back to Namjoon. Namjoon promptly removed the pillow from his face.
“I’m almost thirty fucking years old and I’m kicking my feet over a stupid note taped to my door from my hot neighbor,” Namjoon said flatly.
“I’m pining over a hot guy on the subway who I haven’t even met,” Jimin replied immediately. “So we probably both just need to get laid.”
“I can’t believe he ate all the macarons,” Namjoon said, hugging the pillow to his stomach. “And now I know his age. And now he wants me to come celebrate his half-birthday at his cat café.” He paused, and then he snorted with laughter and threw the pillow over his face again. With his voice muffled, he loudly said, “I’m almost thirty fucking years old with multiple university degrees and I have a crush on a cat café owner.”
“Can you at least acknowledge that Jimin’s subway crush is a real person?” Hoseok asked as he reached into the kitchen cabinets for a glass to pour some water.
“Why are you out here acting like I was lying?” Jimin accused him, and then he yanked the pillow off of Namjoon’s face and pointed at Hoseok, making sure Namjoon was looking. “He made us buy fortunes on Monday.”
“Oh, boo-o-o-o-o-o,” Hoseok sang out as Namjoon sat up and Jimin laughed. “That’s a low blow. My inner child is curling in on itself in fear.”
“Yeah, well, it’s fucking summertime,” Jimin snapped.
“You two waste money on those cheap-ass things at an obscene rate,” Namjoon replied, sighing as he stood up. “I just came here to show you both this note so we could discuss it like normal adults, but apparently we’re all teenagers. Jimin-ah, congratulations on your real human.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jimin muttered, and then he sighed. “Are either of you coming for a run with me? I’m doing five kilometers.”
“Yeah, I’ll come,” Namjoon agreed.
“I’ll watch you from the window and absorb the exercise through osmosis,” Hoseok said as he bit into an apple, leaning on the kitchen countertop.
“That’s the spirit,” Jimin replied.
Hoseok took another bite of his apple. “What, you think I want to go running and listen to you two cry over hot men? Pass.”
“We listened to you complain about the threesome you had last month, so you have no room to talk,” Namjoon said, holding up one hand. Then he change his voice to imitate Hoseok, “‘Yah, the girl was a great kisser, and she liked how I fucked her, but her boyfriend just got in the way.’”
“Yeah, well, he did,” Hoseok replied, hopping up to sit on the countertop. “His stroke game was weak as hell compared to me. Pretty sure she’ll dump him soon enough when she realizes she can get better dick than that.”
“God, I can’t stand us,” Namjoon complained, and then he left to go get changed for a run with Jimin.
✩࿐
Today was the day.
Jimin decided Friday was The Day™ the moment he woke up. He didn’t travel to work on the weekend, so he had to make his move now, or he would regret it if Tiger forgot about him by Monday.
He had to work through a chunk of his lunch break because he had a new client—new clients always got the twelve o’clock slot. This time, though, the new client was someone familiar by six degrees of separation.
“So you can come every Friday, right?”
“Right. That would be great.”
“Okay, so that’s… Nakamura Kazuha, weekly, Fridays at quarter to three. Last table,” Yunjin said with a grin, leaning on the front desk. “He’s great, right?”
“He called me ‘interesting,’ so hopefully that’s a good thing,” Kazuha said, glancing over at Jimin.
“It’s a good thing. You’re not the first ballerina I’ve worked with,” Jimin replied with a smile, his arms crossed. “Let me know how your adjustment settles and just text me if something terrible happens.”
“Nothing terrible will happen,” Yunjin promised Kazuha hastily, but Kazuha seemed amused as she handed over her credit card to pay for the initial consultation and set up automatic payments. “Are you coming out with us on Sunday?”
“Mhm. I was actually talking to…”
Jimin slipped back into his adjusting room, letting the two girls talk. Huh Yunjin was twenty-one, and she was his chiropractic assistant who worked the front desk on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. She was studying the very same profession, and she had somehow tracked Jimin down as a potential mentor. Jimin still didn’t feel like he was established enough to be a mentor, but he supposed four solid years in the field after finishing chiropractic school, plus having his own successful practice, was good enough.
“Jimin-ssi?”
“Yeah, come here.” Jimin patted the table with a small smile. It was quarter to three now, and Hoseok had a patient, but Jimin did not. And whenever that happened, Yunjin loved to jump in and get on the table for an adjustment.
“I’ve had headaches for three days now,” Yunjin said the moment she was on the table face down. “Definitely my C1.”
“Mm.” Jimin ran one hand along her back, and then he carefully palpated the area around her cervical vertebrae, closing his eyes for a moment. He could do this in his sleep. Adjusting for headaches was child’s play. “C1, yeah, but you’ve been clenching your jaw for three days, too.”
“Very likely,” Yunjin agreed. “School stress.”
“Mhm. Flip over for me,” Jimin said, so Yunjin rolled. Jimin moved her hair out of the way, stood by the crown of her head, and then carefully slipped her head into his hands. “Relax your jaw, loose jaw. Relax into my hands, let go—nice. Good one.”
“Jesus,” Yunjin sighed, sinking into the table.
“No, I’m Jimin,” Jimin replied, now standing by her right arm as he grabbed her wrist and started snapping things back into place. “You’re a mess today.”
“Just today?”
Jimin chuckled and continued the adjustment, checking the wall clock. He minded his time carefully, making sure he finished with Yunjin before three o’clock and left plenty of time to tuck away his files and clean up for the day.
Today is the day.
He’d even worn his nicer pants today just to make a good impression. Not like it mattered—Tiger always wore casual clothes and carried a skateboard and had tattoos and a lip ring and—
Fuck it all. Jimin was flirting out of his league.
But he had to pretend that he wasn’t, just for today. Just to see if he could get anything out of this weird subway eye-flirting thing he had going on with a complete stranger. Just for the rush on a Friday afternoon.
It wasn’t raining today, so that was already a point for Jimin in this game. He pushed through the turnstiles at Gangnam Station, his mouth feeling slightly dry, and then he robotically made his way to the platform he needed, trying to remind himself that this could just be another regular train ride and that he was probably hyping himself up for nothing. He was probably chasing something impossible, or making some grandiose fantasy out of nothing.
[“blue flame (2023 version)” by le sserafim]
But he stuck to it. He made sure he was situated in front of the doors for the same carriage as always. The 3:32 subway rolled in, and the doors opened. Jimin hitched his bag further up onto his shoulder and stepped on, and he immediately grabbed one of the seats close to the door, relief flooding his entire body. His knees weren’t strong enough today to stand for twenty minutes—
He’s here.
Like clockwork, there was Tiger, sitting almost directly across from Jimin today. No skateboard. Just a bag on his lap and his drawing pad, per usual. His hair was tied back messily, half of it hanging in his eyes as he drew. AirPods in as always. Ripped jeans, white t-shirt. Simple. Jimin was shamelessly admiring the view. Tiger’s tongue flicked out to touch the lip ring as his pencil paused, and then he looked up before Jimin could avert his gaze.
He’s not breaking eye contact, he’s—fuck. Oh, motherfucker—
Tiger looked down again, pencil to the paper. Jimin immediately leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, contemplating rolling onto the subway floor and curling up in a ball beneath the seat. Maybe someone would sit on him or kick him. It would be less embarrassing than being caught staring. Mortified, Jimin pulled out his phone and sat back, fingers flying over the keyboard:
JIMIN [3:38PM]
I just fucking held eye contact with cute subway guy I hope I die
HOBI [3:38PM]
ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ did you stare into his soul?
NAMJOON [3:38PM]
Don’t die, I can’t afford a funeral right now
JIMIN [3:39PM]
I’m gonna talk to him
NAMJOON [3:39PM]
ㅋㅋ do you hear this guy? He really wants to die huh
HOBI [3:39PM]
Do it!!!!! The only thing you have to lose is your pride
JIMIN [3:39PM]
Incredibly convincing, hyungs, thank you so much for your concern and love
JIMIN [3:40PM]
I’m just gonna do it. He gets off at Jamsil too, so I’ll stop him before I get on the 8 line
NAMJOON [3:40PM]
We believe in you, Jimin!
HOBI [3:40PM]
ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ either that or we’ll prepare a coffin… oak or mahogany?
JIMIN [3:41PM]
Fuck you ♥️
Jimin blew out a breath to release the nerves as he tucked his phone into his bag, and then he promptly wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, pinching the fabric between his thumb and index finger. Now he just had to figure out what to say. A good conversation starter for the ninety seconds he had to speak before he had to make his way to his next train.
Hey, Tiger.
Oh, for Christ’s sake. He was doomed.
The train slowly cruised into Jamsil Station, and Jimin regretted his misplaced bravado. He was, without a doubt, the most awkward human being he knew. His game was painfully weak, and Namjoon could surely attest to it. He wasn’t the flirtatious, forward kind of guy with swagger. He was the kind to crack (ha-ha) a good chiropractic joke and then run away in horror when the other person gave him a skeptical look of confusion. Sure, he’d had boyfriends. And sure, he’d had his fair share of trysts in bathrooms at nightclubs and a one-night stand here or there. But he was about to do this out in the open, in public, in the daytime, with nothing more than a fucking green juice in his system.
The train came to a stop. Tiger ducked beneath his bag strap to sling it across his chest, and then he stood up with his drawing pad tucked under his arm as he gently stuck the pencil into his hair for safe keeping. Endeared but in danger of throwing up from nerves, Jimin gathered his belongings as the doors opened, and he joined the mass exodus onto the platform, trying to stick as close to Tiger as possible.
Just tap his shoulder before he disappears. Get his attention. Do something, you coward, before you chicken out—
Jimin reached forward, feeling like he was pushing his arm through a pool of molasses, but then he tapped Tiger’s shoulder, instantly regretting it. However, when Tiger turned around and gave him a round-eyed look of confusion, Jimin felt a hint of the bravado return, especially when Tiger’s expression softened to something like curiosity as he came to a stop.
“Hi,” Jimin said weakly, and then he cleared his throat. “Um, I just—I’ve seen you on the 2 Line almost every day this week, and I just wanted to—you know. Say hi. Ask what you’re drawing. Or—Um…”
Jumping in front of a speeding train sounded nice. Jimin glanced to his left nervously, but then he saw Tiger narrow his eyes, staring mostly at Jimin’s mouth. Jimin almost subconsciously put his hand over his mouth, wondering if he had fucked up and had something in his teeth or on his face. But then, without a word, Tiger pulled the drawing pad out from underneath his arm and flipped a page, and then he slipped the pencil out of his hair and began to write something furiously, biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth.
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Jimin trailed off, though, when Tiger roughly ripped the page straight out of the drawing pad, clamped the pencil between his teeth, and folded the paper twice. Then he handed it to Jimin with a hint of a smile, tucking the pencil back into his hair and then pivoting and walking away.
“Well, fuck,” Jimin cursed to himself, gripping the note for dear life and hurrying off to his next train home, unwilling to miss it because he was trying to pull Cupid’s pencil out of his ass. He wove diligently through the misshapen throngs of people and found his next train, stepping up to the yellow tactiles just as the train pulled in. He stared at the art on the green pillars in a daze until the train blocked his line of sight, and then he stepped on and found the first available seat.
“Why did he…?” Jimin whispered to himself, but then he unfolded the thicker piece of paper once, twice. He smoothed it out onto his thighs, and then he held it up and read, his heart kicking his ribcage:
I’m Deaf and I’m not great at lip reading, so I don’t exactly know what you said, but you’re cute. I’m Jeongguk. See you on Monday ;)
✩࿐