Chapter Text
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They’re wearing matching bruises when they see each other for the first time. Jungkook has a proper black eye, while Jimin is sporting light purple contusions around his left eye. The sky is a little hazy; the weather forecast predicted a rainstorm, and Jungkook thinks it’s positively eye-pleasing to watch a young blonde-haired boy with purple bruises sit across from him on the bus against the gray backdrop of the world.
It’s a weird enough thought. Jungkook knows that, but he is a little weird, and Jimin is…well, he is beautiful, and for some reason, there’s a warmth in his bearings that makes watching him very comforting. But Jungkook just wants to watch, he does not want to be perceived, so when Jimin catches his eye, he’s quick to avert his gaze and put on his hood and mask.
It’s a chance meeting. Jungkook will probably never see him again, so he keeps his head down and only watches the young boy’s shoes. He has restless leg syndrome, and he keeps crossing and uncrossing his legs. He also seems to like the colors yellow and pink. He’s wearing a pink sweater, and there’s at least three yellow keychains dangling from his crossbody bag, but he’s also wearing black nail polish; it's chipped, so Jungkook doesn’t really know how definite his deduction is.
He tries to think of something else. Anything. He focuses on the slightly damp and dirty bus floor, the pungent smell of wet socks, and the grating sound of the driver’s voice on the phone. It’s all too much. Makes his skin crawl. So, he gives in and lifts his head to glance at the boy. He’s already looking, and he smiles softly. Too soft. Too pretty. Jungkook blinks and ducks his head lower, heart in his throat.
Jimin gets off after two stops, and Jungkook leaves it at that.
He’s back the next day, though. And he seems chipper and brighter, as if a switch had flipped overnight. He’s wearing a black sweater this time with a yellow smiley; it’s too big on him. The purple bruises are no longer there, and Jungkook gapes because what sorcery is that?
Jungkook’s black eye is still as fresh as the day he got it. But Jimin is glowing, his shoulders are no longer sagging, his cheeks are rosier, and his nail polish is no longer chipped. He plops into the same seat with a sigh, and when he smiles at Jungkook, Jungkook immediately looks away. He can’t smile back; it’s too awkward. But he wants to look at him.
It’s a strange battle of wits.
This goes on for the next two days. Jimin hops on the bus, and he’s the sun, and though Jungkook doesn’t like bright lights, he’s enticed to bask in his warmth. He wants to return his smiles, but he keeps his mask and hood on and only steals glances.
He observes him, though. Jimin hums sometimes. His voice is sweet, and it matches his beauty. He has a small mirror that he uses to fix his hair, and Jungkook finds that his lips are shiny because he wears lip gloss. There’s something else Jungkook notices periodically when the dying light of the sun falls on Jimin’s skin: the contours of scrapes and bruises that he tries to hide with makeup.
“You should get that looked at,” Jimin says out of nowhere on the fifth day. Jungkook looks up and blinks, unconsciously backing into his seat.
“W-What?”
Jimin leans closer and settles at the edge of his seat. “Your bruises,” He points out at his own eye with his small fingers, “If you keep them covered, they’re not going to heal. Let them get air.”
Jungkook can’t help but blink and look down. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. But Jimin remains at the edge of his seat as if waiting for a response, and Jungkook is very bad at this. Conversation is not his forte.
Jimin accepts defeat and backs away. He turns his knees away from Jungkook, and Jungkook frowns. He hates it. He doesn’t know how to respond to words that aren’t barked at him, but he steels his nerves and takes off his beanie and hood, and then slowly his mask.
Jungkook fixes his short hair, smooths it down consciously, and automatically looks up for approval. His stomach turns when Jimin offers him a soft, pleased smile. There’s a strange, ticklish feeling in his chest also, which reminds him of rollercoasters.
✟ ✟ ✟
They meet again next week.
Jungkook’s black eye and the few scattered bruises across his cheek are almost healed. He forgoes his hood and mask just so Jimin would look at him and smile again. When Jimin climbs onto the bus, his eyes go to Jungkook first, and he breaks into a wide, sunny beam as if he’s relieved to see him.
The silence between them is companionable. There are stolen glances and shy smiles, but they’re a little more relaxed now, enough that Jungkook is able to look into his eyes for more than 2 seconds. They're so pretty and they twinkle when he blinks. Still, he has this habit of dodging eye contact so fast it might seem dismissive and rude, but Jimin still offers him pretty smiles and charming head tilts.
Near his stop, he pulls out a juice bottle from his bag and scribbles something on it with a black marker. Jungkook watches him curiously; his concentrating pout is very distracting, but so pleasant to look at. He stands as the bus slowly comes to a halt and offers Jungkook the juice bottle. Jungkook takes it.
Looks good. It says, and there’s two tiny hearts floating above the words.
Jungkook’s heart skips a beat, but he looks up. Jimin is already at the door of the bus, but he waves at Jungkook with a toothy smile and points at his eye for emphasis. Looks good. Jungkook repeats in his head. He means his eye. It looks good now.
Needless to say, Jungkook spends the rest of his ride covering his ears because they feel too warm.
✟ ✟ ✟
They don’t talk. But their eyes do. Jungkook’s days start to feel incomplete without Jimin. It’s the strangest thing. They don’t even know each other’s names, and yet, something akin to camaraderie exists between them. Jungkook still doesn’t smile at him, but he thinks Jimin understands that he doesn’t mean anything by it, that he’s just awkwardly incapable of emotions, but he tries. He nods, blinks in answer when Jimin smiles, and tilts his head back at him the same way he does.
Jimin chuckles, but it doesn’t feel like he’s mocking him or pulling his leg. It just feels….genuine and fond, and a little amused, but Jungkook doesn’t mind it. He likes it when Jimin laughs, his eyes turn into half-moons, and his cheeks grow ruddier. It’s very beautiful.
Jungkook draws him from memory. It’s just a sketch, but he makes sure to accentuate his features: the swoop of his perfect hair, his thick lips, and his small nose. Jimin dozed off this one time, which gave Jungkook a perfect opportunity to shamelessly gawk at him and commit his face to memory. He draws that very moment. Scrawls a very messy Looks Good at the bottom and presents it to Jimin the next day, just when he’s about to get off.
The smile that Jungkook receives in return is so precious that Jungkook wants to take a photo and keep it in his wallet like those lovelorn soldiers in the movies. But soldiers always die or get separated from their lovers for the plot, and though they’re just movies and Jimin is just a stranger whom he happened upon on the bus, the thought unsettles him.
When they meet again next week, Jimin is wearing flashy earrings and a dazzling smile, and well, Jungkook is wearing bruises again. His bottom lip is swollen, and a purple/blue bruise mars his jaw with slight swelling around the cheek. He instinctively turns away from the door as Jimin gets on, but he’s spotted easily.
This time, Jimin doesn’t go to sit at his usual spot; instead, he takes one right beside Jungkook, concern etched on his rosy and gorgeous face. Jungkook turns the other way quickly, blinking nervously at the floor, because this…is new.
“What happened?” Jimin’s voice is soft, curious, and very sweet.
Jungkook sits straight, spine ramrod, and hands neatly placed on his knees. He chances a glance to his side and finds Jimin watching. “S’ Nothing.”
“Your face is all messed up,” Jimin says, tilting his head as if urging Jungkook to look, and look Jungkook does. Up close, Jimin is even more ethereal; he has very light freckles, and he smells like clean laundry and vanilla.
“I’m….letting it get air,” He says, causing Jimin to break into a faint smile.
“You need an ointment,” Jimin looks down at his lips and then up at his eyes, it makes Jungkook’s skin prickle.
“Y-You a doctor?”
Jimin giggles. “As good as,” He declares, raising his shoulders for effect, “I’m an art student, but I know a thing or two about injuries. I can help you.”
“No need,” Jungkook gives a half-bow, not wanting to seem like an asshole, but secretly hoping that Jimin would just…give up on him. Being noticed by a beautiful boy whose skin glitters under the slightest light from the sun was not something he knew how to handle. Jungkook is used to living life outside the watchful gaze of the world.
But Jimin frowns, persistently. “Doesn't it hurt?”
“Used to it.”
“Are you a bad guy?”
Jungkook snorts. “Boxer.” He finally tells him, and his eyes widen, a wondrous smile spreads across his face.
“No wonder you’re so big,” He gapes, looking him up and down, “And you’re always hurt.”
“You’re always…hurt too,” Jungkook points a shaky hand to his face, where Jimin still has a light contusion from that first day, perhaps. “W-Why? Someone…bothering?”
Jimin blinks and tilts his head in surprise, probably not expecting Jungkook to say something like this. But then he smiles, presses a hand to his cheek, and looks at him with a teasing sparkle in his brown eyes. “Why are you asking?” He flirts, and Jungkook swallows and looks away to steal eyes. “Will you fight for me?”
“Yes,” Jungkook says.
“Why?” Jimin giggles. “You barely know me.”
“You’re…good.” He manages, knowing he sounds pathetic, but Jimin doesn’t seem to mind his stutter or the fact that he speaks in chopped words, so Jungkook thinks he deserves to know the truth. “Kind. Very…bright. Hurts my eyes sometimes.”
Jimin laughs. No. He throws his head back and laughs unbridled, and sure, Jungkook sprinkled in that little detail because he was feeling brave and comfortable enough to test the waters, but he wasn’t sure that the boy would laugh and that it would become his favorite sound on the spot.
“So, you can joke too?” Jimin covers his mouth, his eyes turn into moons, and Jungkook only watches, charmed and enamored like a snake. He almost leans over distractedly because he seems like the type of person who laughs with his whole body, but when Jungkook flinches, he comes to himself and scoots a little back to maintain the distance. He’s beautiful, and he has manners, the boxer notes. The same cannot be said about many kids his age. “What is your name?” He asks, and he’s extremely pink from the exertion of having laughed himself breathless.
“J-Jungkook,” The boxer says.
“I’m Jimin.” The boy extends a hand, and Jungkook blinks, surprised, because even though he’s a boxer, he’s not used to the physicalities of a gentle nature. He steels his nerves yet again and shakes Jimin’s hand. It feels soft and insanely small, but he gives Jungkook’s hand a firm shake, not in the I-want-to-assert-dominance kind of way but more cheerful and bouncy.
The next day, the big boxer sketches the small, blonde-haired boy mid-laugh—eyes crinkled, joy in motion. Beneath the drawing, in careful strokes, he writes his name:
Jimin.
✟ ✟ ✟
Jimin thinks the big, awkward, dark-haired, and doe-eyed boxer is the most handsome man he has ever seen. Of course, it’s a stretch. Brad Pitt exists. But there's a strange, comforting gentleness about him - like a storm that’s learned how to be soft. For all his giantness, though, he’s so adorable with his endearing antics that Jimin sometimes wants to squeeze his cheeks.
They meet almost every day except on the weekends. Jungkook always saves him a seat during rush hour on Fridays because he’s a gentleman like that. Physical touch is a big no-no, but acts of services seem to be his love language. Again, love language is a massive stretch, but Jimin is sort of delusional. He doesn’t bring logic into the equation of his fantasies because where’s the fun in that?
The Boxer is not a talker, but it’s never an issue because Jimin is. Still, he learns a few things about Jungkook, most of them by sheer observation. He’s not a talker, but when he speaks, it's in half and incomplete sentences. It’s a speech issue. Jimin recognized it pretty much the first time they talked. It’s not really a bother. He sometimes sounds like a man from the wrong side of the tracks or like a gangster who thinks speaking in full sentences is beneath him. He looks it too sometimes, tall and towering, and so broad-shouldered in his choice of dark and immaculate clothing. And it definitely shows that he fights.
Jimin also learns that he’s from Busan and is sort of a nomad. There’s no place he calls home, not because he likes to travel but because belonging is a concept foreign to him. Jungkook doesn’t particularly elaborate on it, and Jimin knows better than to ask. But the boxer does tell him that he’s in Seoul because the fight is good here. Jimin reckons that’s where he goes daily: to train. Apparently, underground boxing rings exist, and they’re only half-illegal.
Jimin should not be intrigued by that, but he so is! That’s positively smoking hot in his opinion. He tells as much to Jungkook, who blinks and turns away from Jimin like a big, shy baby. He puts on his hood often whenever Jimin praises him, but by now, he knows the boxer does that to hide his blood-red ears. It’s such an endearing habit that Jimin wants to coo at him.
So, yes, Jimin has the hots for a total badass for once in his life, but he doesn’t like it when Jungkook gets hurt. It comes with the job; that's understandable. The bruised knuckles and callused hands are standard for all active boxers. Jimin did his research. But what floors him is how Jungkook can keep going despite everything. He never takes rest days, never misses a training day, even when he has bruised cheekbones, busted lips, abrasions, and a hundred other things.
“Why would you do this?” Jimin asks him seriously one day.
Jungkook has a nasty lip cut, but he grins toothily. “What? Win?”
“Okay, show off,” Jimin rolls his eyes fondly, “But I’m asking…why such a dangerous hobby?”
“Pays good money,” Jungkook shrugs. “Only thing I’m good at.”
Jimin feels a pang in his chest. Jungkook is so special, he’s so good, so gentle and soft and respectful despite his ragged looks. Of course, there’s much Jimin doesn’t know, but he wishes for the boxer to see himself through his eyes.
“But you’re so good at drawing, your sketches are phenomenal. You could do something with that.” Jimin reasons with a great frown- it’s more a pout than it is a frown, and Jungkook can’t help but stare at him. “What…why are you looking at me like that?”
Now, usually, that’s Jungkook’s cue to snap his head away and avert his gaze sharply because steady eye contact is not his thing, but this time, he keeps his gaze steady. Jimin pinks because Jungkook is so domineering when he’s not shy.
“Why do you care?”
Jimin blinks. He’s caught off guard by the brazen question, his dark eyes, and that little smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Because your face is very handsome,” He confesses, unconsciously batting his eyes. Jungkook’s smirk fades, and his eyes grow wide and doe-like again. Jimin giggles, feeling accomplished. “I see you don’t take compliments well. You’re all red.”
Jungkook swallows and looks away for a second before his eyes are back on Jimin’s face. “Your face is…pret-tty too. Still…bruises. Why?”
“Why?” Jimin flirts again. “Will you fight for me?”
Jungkook nods solemnly. “Told you I would.”
Jimin chuckles and settles back into his seat. He’s silent, but he’s smiling big and just basking in the moment. It's nice to feel this way, Jimin thinks, glancing at Jungkook beside him, who is still staring at him expectantly for a response.
“You’d have to fight a lot of people.” Jimin jokes, but it’s not really a joke if it’s true, right?
Jungkook nods again with resolve. “I’m ready.” He says, and he’s very adorable about it.
“You’re so cute,” Jimin puckers his lips, giving in to his desire to coo at the dorky boxer.
“I’m not…joking,” Jungkook sounds serious. He has that angry crease on his forehead, and something warm blooms in Jimin’s chest. “Give me names.” He says like he’s some gangster, and Jimin’s life is some 14-year-old girl’s Wattpad story.
“Maybe you should ask me out first,” Jimin hums teasingly. He’s not thinking. His brain often turns itself off around Jungkook. “Trauma dumping is strictly second-date material, though I can be coaxed to spill my guts on the first date. That’s how I keep scaring all the guys away.” He giggles easily, like he hasn’t just exposed himself in front of a man who is practically a stranger.
“You-you like…guys?” Jungkook gapes at him, and Jimin’s heart squeezes, dropping straight into his stomach when it well and truly registers just what he has let slip.
How could he be so fucking careless when he isn’t a stranger to homophobic violence? And this guy is a fucking boxer! If he clocks Jimin, he may never wake up again! One punch, and his pretty face is gone forever. The thought makes him close in on himself, and Jungkook doesn’t make it easy. His eyes are wide from surprise, as if he’s waiting for Jimin to say yes, so he can maybe….kill him?
Oh, no. What if he follows Jimin to his stop and beats him to death in the desolate alley by his house?
Jimin’s panic multiplies by the second. Suddenly, he’s replaying all their interactions in his head. Jungkook doesn’t seem the type, but he also doesn’t look…queer. Jimin realizes he has been leading himself to heartbreak all this time. Every emotion comes crashing down on him like rubble in that moment. He didn’t want to know anything anymore, especially not what Jungkook thought about him, if he was disgusted now that he knew Jimin liked men, and certainly not the truth about all those tender looks and promises to fight for him.
Maybe Jimin had misinterpreted everything.
He doesn’t want to remain under the curious and shocked scrutiny of the boxer, so he bolts at the next stop and starts power-walking away from the bus, hoping the cutting embarrassment and fear he feels in his bones will dissipate and that Jungkook won’t follow him to possibly hurt him for being gay.
It’s a thing that happens way too often. Jimin knows better than to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. He keeps walking and walking, not knowing which stop he’s gotten off at, where he is, and how he will get home.
Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he needs to stop thinking about the worst-case scenarios all the damn time, but then he feels someone touch his arm from behind. And he immediately goes into defense mode, jerking away with as much force as he can muster.
It’s Jungkook. Of course, it’s Jungkook.
Jimin is about to get beaten to death. He will become one of those headlines on the bottom of the newspaper or a missing persons poster that withers away and is forgotten by time. But in his daze of heavy panic, Jimin fails to notice Jungkook’s exertion. He’s struggling to speak. His face is all pinched and expressive in that helpless and desperate way.
“Wait, please,” He breathes, raising his hands. Jimin stops, but he takes a step back, heart still in his throat. The boxer is very towering, but he ducks down, makes himself small. “I…It’s not like that. Not good with…words. Sorry.” Jungkook says, and he looks apologetic, or he tries to. His jaw ticks, and he blinks frustratedly, like he’s angry at himself for not being articulate.
“It’s okay.” Jimin mumbles because Jungkook doesn’t look like he’s going to beat him to death. In fact, he looks more scared than Jimin for some reason, but Jimin still keeps his head down and guard up.
Jungkook takes a step forward, and Jimin looks up at him through his lashes. It’s dark, and the road is eerily empty. If the boxer wanted to do something, he could’ve done it and gotten away with it. Jimin feels glad that he’s there for a second. He feels oddly safe in his presence, which is as problematic as it gets.
“Will you come….watch me…f-fight?” Jungkook says with great reluctance, and Jimin’s head all but snaps up. He doesn’t want to look too eager or too happy or too much of anything - God knows his heart was pounding only moments ago - but now it’s floating like a butterfly.
“That depends,” Jimin shrugs, tucking his hair behind one ear nervously because he doesn’t know what this means, but whatever it is, it’s making him giddy. “Would you win?”
Jungkook breaks into a small smile, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “For you, yes,” He nods like an eager soldier, his eyes big and bunny-like, “Promise.”
Jimin beams, but he feels so shy that he looks away. It’s all so painfully awkward, but Jungkook is looking at Jimin with that look of tender surprise, as if he couldn’t believe that Jimin was real and not a fragment of his imagination.
“You like…guys too?” He asks because it’s important to get such things out of the way.
“Just you,” Jungkook says, still staring, and Jimin feels a fluttering rush in his heart. For all his struggles to form coherent sentences, Jungkook sweeps Jimin off his feet like it's nothing.
“So, I’m your gay awakening?” Jimin teases with a laugh, and Jungkook tilts his head like a charmed serpent.
“You’re my….awakening,” Jungkook says too softly, like he’s not a towering beast of a man who beats people up for a living but the shyest, most sweetest man Jimin has ever met.
They catch the last bus together.
Jimin writes his number on Jungkook’s palm and makes two floating hearts next to it, and Jungkook ignites like a fucking volcano, vowing to get the sun-like boy’s name tattooed one day.