Chapter Text
Next day, Jeongukk knew the exact second Jimin stepped into the building.
Not because he saw him. No. He hadn’t gone that far. Hadn’t allowed himself that desperation. But he felt him.
A disturbance in air, quiet rhythm of his presence.
Jeongukk was sitting behind the kitchen island. His fingers resting against a coffee cup, with a file opened in front of him. Numbers, names, things that usually demanded his full attention. Things that should have mattered.
But they didn’t, for a few days now. Or week.
Because he was waiting.
Jeongukk did not wait for anyone. His jaw tightening slightly at the realization, gaze flickering once toward the door before he forced it back down. This was absurd. He had shipments to oversee, men to answer, decisions that could end lives with a single nod, and yet here he was. Listening for the sound of soft footsteps and clumsy annoyance.
Pathetic.
A scoff almost left his mouth, but it died somewhere in his throat. Because there it was. A faint shuffle outside. A muttered complaint. The hesitant push of the door.
Jimin.
Jeongukk didn’t look up immediately. He let the silence stretch, let it settle heavy. Intimidating and suffocating.
But Jimin...
Jimin exhales loudly.
“I am not careless. You should've not done that in front of my friend, that too in a public place.”
Jeongukk looked up, and just like that, the rest of the world faded into something dull and irrelevant.
Jimin falters mid-step, clearly thrown off by the direct eye contact, but he recovers quickly. He always does. There’s something annoyingly resilient about him.
Jeongukk notices everything.
The way his hair falls messily over his forehead.
The faint crease between his brows when he’s irritated.
The careful way he carries his tools, like they matter. Like things mattered.
Like broken things are worth fixing.
Strange.
No one has ever walked into his space and spoken to him like this. Not without fear. Not without knowing exactly who he is.
Jimin doesn’t know.
And maybe that why he doesn’t bow, doesn’t shrink, doesn’t hesitate to talk back.
Jeongukk should have corrected that by now. He should have shut it down the first time Jimin rolled his eyes at him. The first time he let sarcasm drip from his tone. The first time he disobeyed the unspoken rules of his world.
Instead, he lets it happen. Every time.
"What? Are you embarrassed now? Or thinking of some insult.”
Jimin asked, tossing his tote bag on the leather couch, hands resting on his waist.
Jeongukk watched him. He belonged nowhere in this place and yet fills it anyway. Like light forcing its way into cracks that were never meant to hold it.
“I never said you were careless.” Jeongukk said voice low, controlled.
Jimin just stared at him in disbelief and scoffed.
"You said, i wasn't careful... and careless is opposite of it, Mr. Jeon."
Jimin said walking towards his working space, rolling his eyes.
Jeongukk's gaze following him, realising he had arranged this.
The broken vase. The call. The working condition.
All of it.
For this. For him.
His chest feels tight. Not with anger. Not with irritation.
Something deeper, and dangerous.
But what? Jeongukk doesn’t know.
He doesn’t understand why he lets Jimin step into spaces no one else has ever seen. Why he allows mistakes, attitude, defiance. Things that would have cost anyone else dearly.
Why he listens.
Every word Jimin says doesn’t just reach him. It lands. Sinks in. Stays.
No one has ever had that kind of access to him. Not his father. Not the men who built him into what he is. Not any fleeting distraction he’s allowed into his bed over the years.
He never had time for softness. Never needed it.
But now he finds himself watching the way Jimin kneels by the broken piece, carefully picking up fragments like they’re something precious.
Like they deserve to be whole again.
But suddenly Jeongukk's gaze darkens.
Because, Jimin was on the floor, twisted at the waist, leaning back on one hand to stretch towards something that has fallen little behind him.
His jeans pulled taut over the curve of his hips as he bent, the fabric hugging the firm swell of his ass. Round, perky, shifting subtly with the motion. The black t-shirt riding up an inch, exposing a sliver of pale skin at his lower back.
Jeongukk froze. There was definitely something fundamentally wrong with him.
Because Jimin's form hit him like a blade to the gut. Dirty thoughts slamming, raw and invasive in his mind.
Jeongukk's grip tightened around the pen in his hand. Trying to contol, burry the heat rising within him.
Jimin straightened, shard in hand, oblivious. He glanced over his shoulder, catching Jeongukk's rigid posture.
"Everything alright over there, Mr. Jeon? You look like you're plotting world domination or something."
Jeongukk didn't reply. He couldn't. Not right now. Like this.
It was all ridiculous.
Dangerous.
Jeongukk stood up quietly. Almost unconsciously.
Walking up toward the stairs of his bedroom. stopping just short of the entrance. Watching once more.
Jimin working, lips moving slightly as he mutters to himself.
“What is wrong with him seriously…”
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed.
Stuck on Jimin.
Jeongukk lets himself stay there. Wasting time, on something that feels like it might ruin him.