Chapter Text
To be fair, they don’t get off to a good start.
It’s Monday evening, which is notorious for being the time that Jimin is most likely to be pissed off and exhausted; he has to work his longest shift at the bookstore. Not even his manager, Kim Seokjin, can make the time go faster with his funny jokes and delicious bakes from home.
It’s also raining. Really raining. Like, hazardous rain. And all Jimin wants to do is go home to his cosy apartment and his best friend. Taehyung used to make them cups of tea in the evening, adding two sugars on Mondays. They used to curl up together on the sofa and watch reruns of dramas from the eighties.
But now that Taehyung and his boyfriend of one year, Yoongi, have found a house together… Jimin goes home to an empty apartment every night. The lights all out. No loud greeting or ‘how was your day?’ It’s fine. He's dealing with it. It’s been a week. He knows how to use a kettle. He can make himself tea.
He still calls Taehyung on his way through the rain after he leaves the bookstore, shutting the heavy door behind him after checking that everything is switched off. He presses his phone between his ear and his shoulder, shuffles his bag onto his back, curls his fingers underneath the container of biscuits Jin gave him. The phone buzzes in anticipation. Rain turns Jimin’s brown hair to black. A black cat scampers across the pavement, barely dodging a puddle, and Jimin looks down the dimly lit high-street and contemplates jogging home. Buses in this neighbourhood love to run late on rainy days. And Mondays. Jimin fucking hates Mondays.
“Please pick up,” Jimin whispers, beginning the walk to his stop. His socks are getting wet in his trainers and the oversized hoodie he’s wearing is sticking to his body. “Come on, Tae.” Because maybe if he can talk to his friend, this journey home won’t feel too long. And this day won’t feel so awful.
“Jimin-ah!” Taehyung’s deep voice soothes Jimin’s frustration some. It doesn’t matter that the connection is crackly. “How’s my favourite petite brunette?”
“Mad at the world and regretting getting up this morning.”
“That sounds bad.” Tae sympathises but doesn’t worry. Jimin’s friends know him to be dramatic at times. “Are you walking in the rain?”
“Yeah.” Jimin swears the downpour increases in volume right then. His dark hair is falling into his eyes and obstructing his view of the pavement. He sighs and heaves his bag up higher onto his back. “I’m practically swimming.”
“Get home safe.”
“No promises,” Jimin sings.
It makes Taehyung laugh. “You’re so grumpy on Mondays,” he says fondly. “Love that you’re staying on-brand.”
Despite himself, Jimin giggles.
He gets to the bus stop and huddles underneath its roof, prays that his theory about buses and Mondays and rain is incorrect. He hates being incorrect but he’d happily be incorrect about this.
“How’s married life?” Jimin asks, gracing the world with one of his pretty smiles. There’s no one around to see it. “Is Yoongi a better roomie than me?”
“Ugh. No.” Taehyung sighs down the phone. “He doesn’t run me baths or get drunk with me on weekends. But he’s got his benefits.”
“I bet he does,” Jimin says with a smirk. He adores Yoongi. He remembers thinking, the moment Taehyung introduced them to each other eight months ago, this is the one. Which is something he’s never had the pleasure of thinking for himself. But he could tell from the way Taehyung and Yoongi looked at each other. The way they continue to look at each other.
“Also can we please not call it ‘married life’?” Taehyung asks. Jimin can almost pretend that he’s walking at his side. “Fuck the system.”
“Fuck it,” Jimin agrees. “Fuck it up.”
“Have you started looking yet?” Taehyung sounds hopeful. He’s been pestering Jimin about finding a new housemate long before he moved out. “I’m happy to contribute to the rent for a little while longer, by the way-”
“Are you kidding?” Jimin doesn’t even consider it. “You’re not doing that. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Taehyung gives, his voice warm. “You are looking, right?”
He is. He desperately needs another income in order to hold onto his apartment.
Jimin thought briefly about moving out, into somewhere smaller and cheaper. But he doesn’t want to. He likes his apartment. He likes the building, the neighbours, the field of flowers just behind it, his view at night. He likes the way the lobby almost always smells of oranges, and the music that floats down from apartment 34 on Saturdays.
He doesn’t want to leave. And so he put out an ad weeks ago. Interviews are in three days.
Jimin doesn’t want Taehyung to think that he’s too eager to fill his spot, so he plays it calmly. “I’m looking,” he replies, biting his lip. “Don’t worry. I already have one or two people who are interested.” There are five.
“Brilliant!”
“Right?”
“I mean. It’s a great apartment.”
“Oh, please.” Jimin smiles and rolls his eyes. “You’re living the domestic dream with the love of your life. Don’t pretend like you miss it.”
“I miss you,” Taehyung says, putting on a babyish voice.
Jimin replies with the same exaggerated tone, though he means the words very much. “I miss you too, Tae Tae.”
He cranes his neck to watch the blaring lights of traffic.
A motorbike speeds past, engine roaring, splashing a roadside puddle up onto Jimin’s jeans.
“I-” He stands there, mouth hanging open, cold seeping into his skin. It happened so fast that he almost wants to laugh. Almost. “Fuck.”
“What happened?”
“Some fucker just splashed me.” He stares down at his muddied, wet jeans and his anger intensifies. “Fuck.”
“You okay, boo?”
“I’m walking home.” Jimin has had enough. He leaves the bus stop behind and takes determined stride after determined stride in the direction of home.
“You’ll feel better in the morning,” Taehyung says. And he’s right. Jimin will be back to his sunshine-like self tomorrow. But for now, he’s trudging through the rain, scowling, cursing everything. “Ooh. What if your new roommate is cute?” Tae gasps. “And you fall in love with them!”
“This isn’t a movie,” Jimin says.
“Ugh. Is romance dead?”
The rain doesn’t ease up for even a second. Jimin spots the bright lights of the local convenience store just up ahead and considers stepping in for a break. Maybe he’ll grab an umbrella.
He decides against it, elects to just pass by. “I’m more concerned about my new roommate being able to afford the rent,” he says to Taehyung. “And not completely sucking.”
Taehyung gives a thoughtful hum. “That’s important.”
“Being cute is a bonus, though,” Jimin admits, close to smiling.
But somebody barges out of the convenience store at that moment, stepping right into Jimin’s path. Practically knocks right into him.
Jimin loses his footing and falls to the ground. On his ass. In the rain. Seokjin’s biscuits stay secure in their container but it clatters away from him, as does his phone. His backpack falls into a puddle.
Again. It all happens so quickly. Jimin is on his ass in the rain and his hands are stinging from the impact on the pavement and he’s staring up at the person responsible, even as raindrops hit his face.
He’s speechless. Dumbfounded.
It’s a guy. He’s tall and clad in a fitting black leather jacket and ripped jeans. Styled longish dark hair. Rings on his fingers and in his ears. One in his lip. An eyebrow piercing that accentuates the way he’s looking at Jimin, his furrowed brows.
He’s looking down at him, angry, as though Jimin is the one who inconvenienced him! His eyes are narrowed. He tuts as though in disapproval. And then he fucking… he turns and walks away. Unhurried. Leaves Jimin sitting there - on his ass, in the rain - and walks away.
Jimin was speechless. He has plenty to say now.
He gets up, pushes his hair away from his forehead and lets his fury carry him over to the guy, lets it fuel his voice. “Excuse me?” he says to his back, nothing polite about it. Mr Leather Jacket stops walking. His sigh is audible. Jimin keeps going. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re not even gonna apologise to me? Huh? Look at my hand.”
The guy turns around at that. It’s unclear whether he towers over Jimin automatically because of the height difference, or if he’s doing it on purpose. Either way, Jimin doesn’t back down.
He looks at Jimin’s outstretched hand, brown eyes barely giving the scratch a glance before flicking away to the side. His hands go into his pockets. “Is that supposed to be my fault?” He’s mastered the nonchalant tone.
Jimin is seething. “Did you miss the part where you fucking pushed me over?”
“I didn’t push you over,” he says, glaring down at Jimin. “You pushed yourself over. I didn’t even touch you. It’s like you have the balance of a fucking three-year-old.”
“You weren’t looking where you were going.”
The guy laughs, like he’s genuinely finding this funny. His face is kind when he smiles, but his words are anything but. “You even argue like a three-year-old. My advice would be this:” He steps closer to Jimin, towers over him even more than before. “Next time you walk past a literal fucking door… don’t be so surprised when someone walks out of it.” He cocks his head. “Yeah? You got that?”
Jimin’s hands curl into fists. He maintains the heavy eye contact, bites his tongue until he finds exactly what he wants to say next.
But the guy is walking away again, as easy as that.
Jimin runs to catch up, stands in front of him, blocking his path. He should really go and check that his phone isn’t damaged but he’s not thinking about anything like that.
The guy sighs again and looks away from Jimin. Rain glistens on his jacket. “What?” he asks, tone low.
“What kind of person doesn’t apologise in a situation like this?” Jimin says, tone just as low, if not lower. He’s glad for the rain on his face because he cries when he’s angry, and he doesn’t want him to see that he’s affected him. “You think you can just treat people like they’re nothing? Hm? What, you think you’re better than-”
With a big sigh, the guy heads back into the convenience store, leaving Jimin mid-rant.
Jimin is shocked once again. He stands there and watches him through the all-seeing windows, sees his back as he waits by the till.
He comes back out moments later, scowling, dashes a box of plasters at Jimin. “Here.”
Jimin catches it easily in the hand that isn’t bleeding, blinks at it and then blinks up at him, says nothing.
The guy looks expectant. “Well? We done here?”
Jimin throws the plasters back at him. His reflexes aren’t as good as Jimin’s are after years of playing football. “You’re a real bastard,” Jimin tells him.
The guy’s jaw sets. He doesn’t speak, just keeps walking past Jimin.
It’s not until Jimin sees him climb onto a motorbike and fasten on a helmet - one with streaks of yellow running through it - that he puts the dots together. Of course this is the same bastard who splashed him earlier. How poetic.
“Fuck you!” he yells at him as he’s driving away. The engine roars. And then he’s gone.
“I can’t believe…” Jimin tries to gather himself. His blood is still boiling. He’s soaked through, sore, pissed off and exhausted. The whole time he’s picking up his stuff and checking his phone for cracks, he thinks of one-liners he would have and should have said. My advice to you would be: if you want to keep that pretty little face of yours, don’t say another fucking word.
“Tae,” Jimin says, the moment he’s got his phone back to his ear. “Sorry…”
“Jimin?!” Taehyung’s voice is laced with very obvious concern, borderline shrill. “What just happened?! I’ve been yelling your name for, like, five minutes. Are you alright? Did you fall?”
Jimin tells him the whole story, tells him what he’ll do if he ever sees that guy again. He doesn’t finish making his threats until he’s in the elevator on his way up to his apartment.
___
The next time they meet is arguably worse.
It’s two days later. Mid-morning. Not raining, thankfully. Although Jimin stands in line at the coffee shop near work wearing a hooded jacket; September weather is unpredictable.
He checks the time on his phone, fidgeting from foot to foot. His shift started five minutes ago. He knows Seokjin won’t mind him being a little late, but he doesn’t want to take the piss.
Gods, he needs a coffee, though.
The line shunts forward. Jimin goes with it, already has his order ready in his mind, his card ready in his hand. He bites his lip and waits, fantasises about the latte he’ll soon be drinking.
The coffee shop is always busy but it’s especially busy in the morning. Anyone who has somewhere to be comes here to get their quick hit of caffeine before the day gets properly started. The place is packed with uni students, too, since the university is nearby. It’s been two years since Jimin got his degree in literature, but he clearly remembers cramming for exams at these exact same tables.
“Hello!” the barista says, finally. “Can I take your order?”
As Jimin watches his latte get made, he checks the time on his phone once more. He actually has a message from Jin.
[Jin🤍] at least bring me one too xx
Jimin smiles at the screen. His manager - his hyung - owns the local bookstore. It’s been in his family for decades, and as soon as Seokjin got ahold of it, he refurbished it, made it new and inclusive and brilliant. A perfect balance between cosy and modern.
Jimin amends his order and gets Jin a cappuccino. The lady behind him grumbles and he gets it - he’d be grumbling too if it were him still waiting.
It’s another few minutes before both drinks are ready. Jimin is on them as soon as they are. “Thank you!” He picks them up and turns to leave, weaves his way through the queue and past the coffee shop’s tight squeeze of tables.
And then someone stands up abruptly from one of the tables that Jimin is attempting to fly past.
“Shit!” Jimin collides with his back, forehead meets leather jacket. The guy turns around just as Jimin’s grasp on his latte disappears.
Hot milky coffee splashes onto the floor, but not before it splashes onto the guy’s book, and his jeans, and his shoes.
The busy coffee shop falls to a hush. A few people gasp because, evidently, this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to them all week so far.
“Shit,” Jimin says, with feeling. “My latte…” It wasn’t exactly cheap. There’s something incredibly saddening about seeing perfectly good coffee gone to waste.
Jimin is going to apologise. Of course he’s going to apologise. He takes in the guy’s state and especially the ruined book, ‘I’m so, so sorry’ sincere and on his tongue.
But when his panicked brown eyes land on the guy’s face… the apology dies. In its place is, “…You.” Accusatory and slow.
Mr Leather Jacket’s dark hair tumbles over his forehead. He’s wearing a white, loosely-buttoned shirt underneath his jacket and there’s coffee on that too now. He stares at Jimin, almost like he’s in shock, and Jimin can’t help but laugh.
An old man at a far table looks at him like he’s mad.
“Karma, I guess,” Jimin says. He’s never looked so smug. “Thanks for ruining my coffee, dick.”
“Did you do that shit on purpose?” he asks. In the daylight, his eyes are a lighter brown. He looks younger.
Jimin’s grip on Jin’s cappuccino tightens. “Why would I do that on purpose?”
“You just said it was karma.”
“Oh, so you recognise me, then?”
The guy rolls his eyes. “You’re such a fucking child.”
“I-”
“‘Scuse me,” one of the workers says, stepping in between them to begrudgingly clean up the spill with a wet mop. Even with a barrier, the two of them glare at each other, barely blinking.
Most of the people around them go back to what they were doing.
Jimin watches his latte get washed away. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“What?” The guy holds his ruined book up. Jimin recognises the cover. It’s a classic that he read for the first time in his second year at university. “You think I’d do this on purpose?”
Jimin makes a patronising face, steps closer to him, doesn’t care that he’s shorter than him. “Is that supposed to be my fault?” he asks, throwing his words right back at him.
The guy’s eyes roll again. “So immature.”
“You’re disgustingly rude.”
“You just spilt boiling hot coffee all over me and told me it was karma, and I’m the rude one?” His eyes are wide in disbelief. “You’re fucking crazy.”
Jimin fights the urge to ask if he’s burned anywhere. “Maybe you should watch where you’re going.”
“You fell into me… Again.”
“You stood up abruptly!”
“So you decided to burn me to death?”
“Now who’s immature?”
“Still you!”
“Is everything okay over there?” one of the baristas calls to them.
“Everything’s fine, thanks,” they both say in unison, before turning back to glare at each other again.
Jimin’s gaze drops to the book. He can’t help but feel a flash of guilt. “…I’ll buy you a new book,” he says, somehow managing to make the offer sound mean.
The guy quirks a smug brow, and Jimin has never wanted to punch anybody but he has the sudden urge to punch him. “Aww. You admitting that it’s your fault, darling?”
Jimin presses his lips together, breathes slowly through his nose. “I work next door,” he says. “We sell about a million copies of this book. I’ll buy it for you, and then you’ll get out of my face and stop stalking me. Okay, darling?”
They glare at each other for a moment longer, and then Mr Leather Jacket backs down with another long-suffering sigh.
“Yeah,” he says, looking down once more at his coffee-splashed outfit. “Go on, then. Lead the way.”
Jimin shoots him a look just as he’s heading for the coffee shop’s door. “Just shut the fuck up and follow me, alright?”
“You sure you can walk by yourself? Not gonna fall over again and have another oopsie moment?”
“What did I just say?”
He doesn’t reply, which Jimin takes as a win.
But when he turns to glare at him, he finds him smirking, looking way too comfortable in his own skin.
___
The bookstore is quite literally next door.
It appears antique and precious from the outside, with the name ‘Kim Books’ sharp and golden on a wooden sign above the door. The building has two stories and there are flower stands outside the entrance as well as neat, pretty posters and ‘2 for 1!’ offers on the glass windows.
Jimin pushes open the heavy wooden door just enough for himself to slip through, gleeful when he looks back to find that Mr Leather Jacket nearly face-plants into it.
The bookstore always smells of coffee, chocolate and smoke. Apart from books, there’s a cosy corner near the back of the shop, and an unoccupied space they tend to use for poetry slams and book readings. There’s a winding wooden staircase that leads to another floor of more shelves upon shelves of carefully placed books. The book Jimin is looking for is on the ground floor.
“Hyung?” he calls out, placing the unscathed cappuccino by the till. He likes to think of it as his desk. He spends a majority of his shifts on his feet going from the storage cupboard and back, or sitting here serving customers. “I got you something!”
“Only because I asked you to!” Jin’s voice sounds far away. He appears a moment later from behind a wobbly shelf, pushes his circular glasses up and flashes a customer-friendly smile in Jimin’s general direction. “Hello! Welcome to Kim’s Books! Are you looking for anything in particular?”
Oh. Right.
Jimin steals an oat and raisin cookie from the box Jin must have bought in this morning, glances backwards at Mr Leather Jacket. He looks like he’s loitering, hands awkwardly pushed into his pockets.
He stops looking around the shop to bow politely at Seokjin. “Uh… hi. I’m not-”
“He’s not a customer,” Jimin says.
“Oh.” Jin looks between them, brown eyes curious behind his lenses. He frowns a bit when he looks closer at their guest. “I think you have… coffee on your jeans? And on your… shirt?”
Jimin laughs. Mr Leather Jacket does not.
“I’m just here to pick up a book that your employee here-” He gestures to Jimin without looking at him. “-Ruined a few moments ago. It’s disappointing, really. You’d think he’d care about books more.”
“Oh?” Seokjin is easily amused. “Is that so?”
Mr Leather Jacket looks around. “This is a really nice bookstore,” he goes on, and Jimin chews on the delicious cookie, recoils at the obvious charm in his smile, the way his voice dips lower.
Seokjin is also easily impressed. “How kind of you,” he says, his grin a direct contrast to Jimin’s scowl. “And what’s your name?”
“My name is-”
“I’ll just go grab a copy,” Jimin says, excusing himself. He shrugs off his jacket and drops it onto the back of a chair on his way into the depths of the store, ruffles up his hair, eyes scanning the familiar rows.
Returning with the book less than five minutes later, he finds his boss and his nemesis deep in conversation, laughing and talking as though they’ve known each other for years.
Seokjin is fully leaning on the counter with a hand curled under his chin, lost in his eyes or something, nodding along to whatever the fuck he’s talking about.
Jimin is happy to interrupt.
He clears his throat and throws the book down on the till. “Here we go,” he says, loudly.
“Oh. I better go and get back to work. It was wonderful meeting you.” Jin cuddles briefly into Jimin’s side. “Thanks for the coffee, lovely.” He grabs it, steals one of his own cookies, extracts himself from the situation. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
“Thanks, hyung.”
Jin is smiling as he goes up the winding staircase.
Jimin doesn’t spare Mr Leather Jacket a single glance as he goes to get his wallet from his bag. He finds the money in cash and moves to put it through the till.
“You don’t need to do that,” Mr Leather Jacket says. It’s not kind. He sounds pissed off.
Jimin looks up at him and finds that he looks pissed off, too. “…Why? Are you dumb? Did you forget the whole reason I’m here spending any more of my time with you?”
“I don’t want your money,” he says, rolling his eyes, no hint of the charm he’d used on Seokjin. “Stop being dramatic about it and tell me how much it costs, alright?”
Jimin watches him get his phone out to pay by card, eyebrows furrowed. “What happened to this being my fault?”
“It is your fault,” he drawls. “Didn’t I just tell you not to be dramatic? Fuck, everything’s a problem with you, hm?”
“Don’t fucking push me,” Jimin growls. “I swear I’m this close to-”
“How terrifying,” he says in a bored voice. He looks at Jimin, unthreatened, leans on the till and cocks his head. “Tell me how much it costs, yeah? Can you do that for me?”
Jimin takes a steadying breath. If I just get through this, I don’t have to see him again… “Ten thousand won,” he says tightly.
“Perfect.”
He pays for it. Jimin draws it up, slides the book across to him and turns away. He’s just going to go and sit in the cosy corner for five minutes and mourn the latte and his sanity.
But Mr Leather Jacket isn’t quite finished. “Was that so hard?” he asks in a patronising tone.
Jimin looks him up and down in disgust, and he just smirks back at him. “Have a terrible day,” Jimin says sweetly.
“Aww. You too, sweetheart.”
Jimin sticks up his middle finger and walks away.
___
Jimin needs a roommate.
He’s been doing interviews for three hours now and is waiting on the last person who showed interest.
All of his dreams are crashing down to earth; it turns out that Kim Taehyung is the only person in the world who Jimin can imagine living with. All of the candidates thus far have been problematic.
One student in her final year at university casually mentioned that she’d be bringing six cats along with her. “Hope that’s okay!” she’d said. Jimin loves animals but he’s not prepared to share an apartment with six of them.
Another candidate with bright purple hair (which had been the coolest thing about him, in Jimin’s mind) kept staring directly at Jimin’s crotch the whole time he’d been showing him around. At the end of the tour, he asked, “What will we do with the spare bedroom?”, and since there are exactly two bedrooms in this apartment, Jimin asked him to leave.
Unfortunately for the candidates who came after that, Jimin was feeling pissy and easily irritable. That meant instant no’s for the guy who aggressively defended hunting foxes, and for the person who turned up with two suitcases as though it was already moving day.
He’s got one more chance. One more potential roommate.
He’s sat in an armchair shaped like a blush pink clam in the living area, legs folded up underneath himself, writing furiously in a notebook.
Taehyung didn’t take much with him when he moved out because most of the apartment’s decor belongs to Jimin. He’s a plant dad, has given them all names, has watched all seven of them grow bright and healthy, spread out around the apartment. He made Taehyung help him paint all the walls cream white years ago when they first moved in, and he likes for a room to feel purposefully cluttered. Lived-in and cute but also undoubtedly tidy. Pops of colour are a must, as well as random items that appear to make no logical sense. Exhibit A: an armchair shaped like a blush pink clam. There’s also a yellow washing machine and the bathroom sink is zebra-print.
“Fuck my life,” Jimin whispers to nobody. It’s only early evening but the sky is starting to darken and he’s yet to close the blinds. The apartment is quite high up in the building so the traffic ends up sounding far away - another reason why Jimin does not want to downgrade. “Right,” he says, not at all alarmed by the fact that he’s talking to himself. “Hopes up.” That’s what his Dad always says to him whenever he’s being moody or pessimistic, ever since he was a kid. ‘Hopes up, Jimin.’
He scribbles down some more numbers. Maths was never his strong suit but he tries. If he has to - if this next candidate ends up being a convicted murderer or a racist - he could hold onto this apartment for a few months longer, start working a second job and do a bit of overtime at the bookstore, and maybe afford to stay here forever!…
He just sighs, throws the notebook down onto the coffee table.
Someone knocks succinctly on the door.
This is it. Jimin finds himself crossing his fingers like a child. “Come in! Door’s open!”
The front door nudges open. Jimin sits up properly in the clam chair and gets his brightest smile out for the occasion. Please please please.
In walks…
Jimin’s jaw drops. “No fucking way.”
Standing there in his doorway, equally shocked and uncomfortable, is none other than Mr Leather Jacket himself. The asshole from last week.
He’s got his dark hair tied back in a small bun, loose bits all in his face like he shouldn’t have bothered anyway. He’s wearing his signature leather jacket and a scowl that sculpts his features. The buttons on his shirt are so open that Jimin can see the corner of a tattoo on his chest. And he’s probably wearing at least thirty pieces of silver jewellery in total, some in his ears, some on his fingers.
Is he… Jimin stands up, hands automatically curling into fists. “Are you stalking me?”
“What?” He looks offended. “No. I’m not stalking you. Why the fuck would I wanna stalk you?”
“Why are you here?”
“Because I saw an ad about a roommate?” he says, like ‘duh’. “I texted you and you told me to come over at six for a tour.”
Jimin is reeling. He runs his fingers through his hair and leaves them there, staring at the intruder with wide eyes. “You’re Jeon Jungkook?”
Jeon Jungkook rolls his eyes and tuts. Then, he sighs. He couldn’t look more exasperated. “What do you think, hm? Go on. Take a guess.”
“But you’re not a dick in the messages you sent me.” Seriously. Jimin had an inkling that whoever was behind those messages would be pretty easy to get along with, maybe live with. “Explain that, hm?”
Jeon Jungkook just raises an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t know it was you?” He makes Jimin feel like an idiot when he talks like that. “Are you definitely Park Jimin or did you fucking kill him before I got here.”
“Good. If you think I’m capable of murder, you’ll know not to fucking mess with me.”
“You probably just tripped and fell and pushed him off the face of the earth,” Jungkook says, smiling to himself, like he finds himself funny.
Jimin’s mind is still very much reeling, but the part of his brain that hurls insults at this man is always active. “You’re twelve.”
___
A fun fact about Jeon Jungkook: he’s desperate for a place to live.
He has been ever since his first term of his second year at uni started a couple weeks ago, and he realised that he’d moved in with a bunch of idiots. And that his room was falling apart.
When he’d seen the ad for this apartment, he’d thought, great. And when he’d struck up a text conversation with this apartment’s mystery resident, he’d once again thought, great. This is great.
It’s not so great now that he’s staring across the room (a really nice room, actually. Very spacious and cosy. He’s not entirely sure about the giant pink clam chair but, go off, he supposes) at who is easily the most annoying person he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting. Park Jimin.
Park Jimin who radiates petty energy, with the way he’s standing there, one hand on his jutted hip. He’s got this ridiculous, fluffy, floaty deep brown hair that refuses to stay still, not helped by the fact that he’s constantly running his fingers through it. He’s wearing a jumper much too big for him that swallows up his hands and he looks at Jungkook as though he’s already cast him as his arch nemesis. Which is just more proof that he’s unbearably immature.
Ever since the first encounter in the rain, Jungkook made up his mind about Park Jimin. He doesn’t like him.
It wasn’t an immediate hate; Jungkook isn’t the type to immediately hate anybody. But when someone’s very first words to you are literally excuse me what the fuck is wrong with you, you don’t exactly get all warm and fuzzy.
Especially after the night he’d had. His sister, Nari, works (worked) at that convenience store.
She’s got this tendency to be deeply upset by things but pretend it’s all fine. Jungkook knows this, and he’s gotten very good at knowing when she’s doing it. So when he called her that night to see how she was and she told him she’d been fired and it was ‘okay’, he’d known it definitely wasn’t.
“What do you mean you’ve been fired? From the convenience store? Are you serious?” He was in his room, slurping up the last bits of his dinner and half-watching a drama on his phone. He called Nari in the hopes that she’d distract him from the ominous stains on the room’s walls and the banging coming from next door. All he could think was, fuck I need to move out soon.
“I mean I’ve been fired, Kookie,” she’d said slowly, like he’s an idiot. The weak phone connection made her sound like she had a cold, or maybe she did have a cold. “My shitty manager accused me of stealing from the till and here we are - unemployed.”
Jungkook pushed his empty bowl to the side and clenched his spare fist, took a moment before saying anything. He knew all about Nari’s shitty manager. “That’s not fair.”
“Well, most things aren’t.”
“I’m going over there.”
She made a sound like ‘wha?’ and then spoke. “You’re not going over there, Kookie.”
Jungkook was already on his feet, already shrugging his leather jacket on over his shoulders. “If I go and lightly threaten him, he’ll give you your job back and you’ll have enough time and income to find somewhere less corrupt to work.” He managed to say it all very gently, almost distracting Nari from what he was actually saying.
“Wait.” She sighed down the phone. “You’re going to ‘lightly threaten’ him? Jungkook!-”
“No harm done. He doesn’t know we’re related, noona.” Because despite their relationship dynamic, Nari is actually older than Jungkook by three years. There’s a picture in their family home of three-year-old Nari grinning with pride at the camera and holding a tiny brown-eyed baby in her arms. “Do I have your consent?”
She sighed again, which was totally unlike her and further proof that she wasn’t ‘okay’ at all; Nari is usually cracking jokes every five seconds and laughing like a maniac. “You’re probably already standing in some, like, dramatic hero pose with your dumb leather jacket on or something, ready to go save me from certain financial peril.”
Jungkook blinked and dropped his hand from his hip. “Maybe.”
Another sigh. “Fine. You have my consent,” she’d said. And then: “Just don’t get yourself into any trouble, okay? Lightly threaten, yeah? Lightly, Jungkook-ah.”
“Yeah, noona. I promise.”
The shitty manager turned out to be extremely shitty.
Jungkook spent ten minutes arguing back and forth with him, defending his sister.
He’d originally intended to be calm and mildly frightening, had walked into the store and said - whilst flicking through a comic book in a hopefully intimidating way - “You’re going to hire Jeon Nari again. Immediately.” He’s tall and capable and, despite having the personality of a golden retriever, can very easily channel bad-boy-delinquent-will-probably-fuck-you-up energy when he needs to.
The shitty manager gulped and said, “Sh-she’s a terrible employee. And sh-she stole money from the till.”
“She would never do that,” he’d said without thinking, brow furrowed, comic book back on the shelf. “You made a mistake and you’re blaming her for it. You’re lying. You probably stole the money.”
The manager’s eyes widened slightly. “My superiors are away right now.”
“So I’ll wait for them to get back, and then we’ll have a little chat.”
“The CCTV isn’t working right now, so it’s my word against yours.”
“Of course it isn’t working.”
The manager folded his arms across his chest. “Who are you? You her boyfriend or something?”
“That’s fucking disgusting.” Jungkook took a step closer, as did the shitty manager, who had apparently seen through the act enough to know that no matter what he said or did next, Jungkook wouldn’t hurt him. “Give her her job back.”
“Why should I?”
He blanched but quickly recovered. “Because she fucking needs it.”
“She shouldn’t have stolen from the till, then-”
“Oh my god-”
The point is - that argument went on for ten minutes. And then Jungkook left after some choice words about how terrible the layout of the convenience store was. He walked out the door (he will admit, with a bit of angry urgency but still perfectly normally) and then Park Jimin fell on his ass in front of him and decided it was his fault.
Jungkook remembers the expression on his face - total, complete shock. And betrayal. Like? How dramatic is that. They didn’t even know each other, for fuck’s sake.
He spent money on those fucking plasters and had to see the shitty manager’s face again, only for them to go to waste. Extremely annoying.
Then there was the time with the coffee. That’s when Jungkook solidified his opinion of him - not his type. In any imaginable way. He would never be friends with this person. He’s short and perpetually pouty. Looks like a student but apparently isn’t??? He’s also evil, so there’s that. He actually smiled when he threw scalding hot coffee on Jungkook. Who the fuck does that?
And now Jungkook is standing inside his apartment. Of course he is. And he’d probably have walked out around the time Jimin looked up and recognised him but this is genuinely the nicest apartment Jungkook has ever laid eyes on in his life. And this is the last place up for viewing this week.
So when Jimin pouts his ridiculously pink lips and says, “You’re twelve,”… Jungkook bites back an insult of his own. He has to be careful. If Jimin throws him out, he’s screwed.
___
Jimin waits for him to say something.
He doesn’t.
Jimin waits one more moment, and then gets impatient. “Well?”
Jeon Jungkook looks over Jimin’s shoulder. He looks curious, scanning as much of the apartment as he can see. His eyes linger on the giant clam chair and on other choice things, like the naked body candles on the coffee table, Sylvie the Chinese money plant and the sheer baby pink curtains Jimin is yet to draw closed. The expression on Jungkook’s face gives nothing away.
Jimin clears his throat and tries again. “Well?”
When Jungkook’s gaze meets up with his, Jimin makes himself stare back. “Don’t I get the tour?” he asks in a drawl.
Jimin is all frowns and confusion. “You’re not going to move in with me,” he says, pointing out the obvious.
“Don’t be so sure.” Jungkook currently looks so smug, Jimin kind of wants to slap him. “Do I get a tour or not, hm?” He quirks a brow.
Jimin bites his lip in thought, weighing up his options. He could cry just thinking about the Plan B he’s written out in his notebook, and Jeon Jungkook - for all of his awfulness and general annoyance - is quite literally Jimin’s last chance.
This feels like a cruel joke. The universe is laughing at him.
“Okay,” he says before he’s agreed with himself to say it. His voice comes out tight, and he’s wearing fluffy pink socks but he attempts to stand up taller anyway. “I suppose it’s only fair.”
Jungkook looks a bit surprised. “Yeah?”
“I need you to answer some questions first,” Jimin goes on, flicks his brown hair out of his eye. “Also - close the fucking door. You’re letting all the heat out.”
Jungkook closes the door and steps further into Jimin’s apartment. It does feel pretty good, he has to admit, to have Jungkook do as he says. Even if he rolls his brown eyes as he does it and grumbles about Jimin being ‘bossy’.
“What do you want to know?” Jungkook asks, a lock of nearly-black hair caressing his cheek when it falls from his makeshift bun.
“Do you have a steady income?” He’s all-business, arms folded, creating some more distance between the two of them. “Do you work?”
“Yeah. I work.”
“Where?”
Jungkook cocks his head and looks like he wants to say something (probably something provoking and rude) but decides against it. “I babysit part-time,” he says instead. “But my main income is bartending most nights.”
Jimin blinks a few times to clear the mental clip of Jeon Jungkook holding some adorable baby in his tattooed arms and then disappearing into a loud bar that same night and chatting up customers whilst expertly pouring drink after-
“Right.” Jimin takes an involuntary step back, clears his throat. Jungkook raises his eyebrow at him. “Are you a student?”
“Yes.”
“What course?”
“Literature.”
“What year?”
“Second.”
“Hm. So you’re - what? - nineteen?”
“Twenty-three, actually,” Jungkook says easily. “I put uni off for a few years.”
Twenty-three, Jimin muses, gaze flicking across Jungkook’s body. “Why?”
Jungkook frowns at him. “What’s that got to do with us living together?”
“I like to know the kind of person I’m agreeing to live with,” Jimin manages to say, his cheeks practically on fire the entire time.
“Oh, really,” Jungkook drawls.
Jimin sets his jaw. “Really.”
“Well, what do I get to know about you?”
“That I’m two years older than you,” Jimin tells him, breathing out the words. “Which means you need to respect me.”
Jungkook just scoffs. And rolls his eyes. He’s always rolling his dumb eyes.
“This is the living area,” Jimin goes on, unprompted. “The whole apartment has great WiFi, except for, like, right at the back of the bathroom. Neighbours are nice enough.” He kind of forgets that it’s Jungkook he’s talking to and begins the same tour he’d given everyone else, turning to lead the way into the kitchen area. “This is the kitchen.”
“Is that what it is?” Jungkook asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jimin has to bite his tongue. He also has to push past Jungkook to get out of the kitchen, which makes him feel tiny. “Excuse me.”
Jungkook steps out of the way.
“The bathroom is right over there through that door,” Jimin says, pointing. “It’s a shower and a bath combo. Two bedrooms, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Jungkook says.
Jimin turns to him with a hand on his hip. “Do you want to see?” he asks.
Jungkook raises his pierced eyebrow. “What?”
“The bedroom,” Jimin says, and then immediately regrets it. “I mean-” He feels a little bit flustered, which is ridiculous considering the fact that all Jungkook makes him feel is disgust and disappointment in humanity. “Just-… follow me, okay?” He turns around and walks.
“…Into the bedroom?” Jungkook asks from behind him, clearly amused.
“Fuck off.”
___
Five minutes later, Jimin sits down in his clam chair and crosses one knee over the other, picks up his notebook so that he has something to do with his hands.
Jungkook sits down in the middle of the sofa with a slight bounce, looks at Jimin.
They’re quiet for a moment.
Then, Jimin says, “I have one more question.”
“Fucking hell,” Jungkook says under his breath, exasperated.
“Just answer it, yeah? Or is that a problem? Are you too dumb? Have you understood anything I’ve been saying this whole time?”
“You’re literally so fucking annoying. Do you practice that? Or is it all just improvised?”
Jimin ignores him. “Why are you looking for an apartment?”
It’s like Jungkook takes a moment for the question to settle. Then, he pulls at the sleeve of his leather jacket, brow furrowed as he answers. His voice is deeper and more honest. “Because,” he starts. Sighs. “Because… the people I’m living with right now are idiots. One of the girls is a dealer - not the weed kind. One of the guys is transphobic. And the walls are literally crumbling. Plus, I’m paying a lot of money to live in what is basically a shit hole, so…” He looks up and meets Jimin’s gaze as though he somehow knew Jimin would already be looking at him. “…I might as well spend the money somewhere nice, right?”
Jimin refuses to say anything kind to him, but he does nod. “Okay.”
Jungkook loses the honesty from his face. It had made him look a little bit younger, but also a lot older. Now he’s back to the familiar bored smirk. “Satisfied with my answer, sweetheart?”
Jimin throws his notebook onto the table and breathes deeply. In and out.
He can’t stand him, that’s the truth. The idea of living with Jeon Jungkook makes something in Jimin’s heart go cold with fear. This is a terrible idea, is all that he can think.
But… Jungkook will be able to pay the bills. He’s probably not totally evil, and he hates Jimin as much as Jimin hates him so they won’t have to worry about weird obligatory bonding. Like, having dinner together and shit like that.
It will be like living alone and paying half of what he’s currently having to pay - some would call that a win win.
This is a terrible idea.
“The room’s yours if you want it,” he hears himself say.
Actual complete surprise morphs Jeon Jungkook’s face into something totally different. His eyes get big and brown, and his lips part. Another stupid lock of black hair falls onto his face.
Jimin carries on anyway, even though he knows - he really does know - that this is the silliest thing he has ever done in his life. Tae would probably say those exact words to him if he knew. Namjoon will probably be concerned about Jimin’s overall mental state.
“So?” he asks, oozing impatience on purpose. He pushes his hair back and sighs. “Do you? Want it?”
Jungkook’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “What’s the catch?”
“The catch? What, are you a child?”
“What ulterior motives do you have, hm?”
Jimin has to laugh, loud and harsh. “It would be a waste of time and energy having any part of my motives associated with you.”
“Do you…” Jungkook ignores him completely, cocks his head to one side and stares him out. “…Do you secretly like it?”
Jimin starts blushing before he can even ask what. But he goes ahead anyway, in a quiet voice. “What?”
“You like arguing with me,” he says softly, at least a million implications behind his smirk as he leans in closer. “You love it. You get off on it, don’t you?”
Jimin’s mind goes blank and numb. He’s forgotten how to argue, has completely forgotten words and comebacks. He doesn’t know how to tell Jungkook he’s wrong without sounding pathetic, so he doesn’t do that.
Instead, he uncrosses his legs and stands up from the chair, heads in the direction of his bedroom as calmly as he can. “You can go now,” he calls over his shoulder dismissively. “I’ll get you a key. Move your shit in whenever. I don’t care.”
___
They move in together that weekend.
Jungkook turns up on Saturday, early afternoon, clutching two reasonably sized bags like it’s nothing and wearing his now infamous leather jacket.
Jimin opens the door to him and has the same, familiar thought that has been haunting his days and his nights all week long. This is a terrible idea.
He looses a breath. “So…” He can’t even bring himself to say hello to him.
Jungkook seems to have the same issue. There’s no kindness in his eyes when he looks at Jimin, giving him and his baggy hoodie a once-over. “So…” He’d been biting his lip, but he stops now. “I’m here.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Very funny. And so mature, too.”
Jimin flashes him a fake sweet smile and begrudgingly steps back, holds the door open with his bare foot. “Come in, I guess.”
Jungkook enters the apartment and simply does not reply.
In fact, they don’t speak for the rest of the day. Or the next.
It’s the weirdest fucking thing; Jimin largely ignores Jungkook, and Jungkook treats Jimin in the exact same way.
They’re living together. Actual housemates. Virtual strangers. Their schedules seem to allow them to avoid each other. Mostly.
Jungkook goes out both weekend nights - presumably to work - whilst Jimin stays in his room, reading books, watching dramas and playing video games. He checks that the coast is clear all day before going to the bathroom or watering his plants, and only eats once Jungkook has left the house. Perfect.
Once the week starts, Jungkook heads out really early for uni classes whilst Jimin’s shift at the bookstore is the tiniest bit later. It’s scary how good they get at not having to see each other even once per day. The only evidence that Jimin is living with another human being comes from Jungkook’s scent around the apartment and on the sofa cushions. Jimin sinks down into them one time after a long day of work and is immediately assaulted by the smell. Warm and clean. He gets up and goes to his room instead.
Jimin notices that Jungkook spends most of his time out. He’s always going somewhere, whether it’s to one of his jobs, university, or to see someone, not that he ever stops to tell Jimin who. But he has to assume that Jungkook has, like, people in his life, right?
___
Jungkook notices that Jimin literally wakes up, goes to work, comes home and stays in his room. He wonders if he has any hobbies??? Friends???
The idea of Park Jimin with friends is a bit weird, honestly. He’s so generally standoffish that Jungkook struggles to imagine him smiling, let alone befriending actual people.
Jungkook didn’t plan to avoid Jimin like the plague once he moved in but it seems to naturally happen that way. Probably for the best. And Jungkook is a pretty busy guy. He essentially has three jobs (although, babysitting Micah and Ye-Joon doesn’t really feel like work) and people to see. Like Hoseok and Nari.
It’s most likely a very bad idea to move in with a guy when the only thing you have in common is hatred. But when Jungkook comes home to his new apartment and showers or cooks or sleeps in his new, huge, lovely bed… he can’t help but think that he made the right decision.
Things are ‘fine’ for a few days, and then Jungkook comes home from uni wanting a shower only to discover that the bathroom door is locked.
He tries it again anyway. It doesn’t budge.
“Do you mind?” comes Jimin’s slightly muffled voice.
Jungkook almost apologises until he remembers that he would never apologise to Jimin. He sighs instead - loud and obvious - and heads to his bedroom to fuck around on his phone for a bit until the bathroom is free.
Fifteen minutes later, he knocks on the door three times, his hair all ruffled up and in his eyes from lying on his bed.
“What the fuck do you want now?” Jimin barks at him.
“Are you stuck in there or something?”
“I’m having a bath,” Jimin says, somehow manages to sound menacing as he says it. “Is there a problem?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook replies through the door, trying his damnedest not to imagine Jimin in the bath. “I need to piss and I want a shower.”
“You’ll have to wait.”
“Who the fuck has a bath in the middle of the afternoon anyway?” Jungkook grumbles.
“You know what?” There’s the sound of sloshing water and then the plug being pulled. “You’ve ruined my relaxed atmosphere. I’m getting out now.”
“Finally. Fucking hell.”
Jungkook doesn’t get chance to step back away from the door before it’s been opened from the other side.
Jimin is standing there, towel around his waist, hair slicked back away from his bare face. His skin is flushed from the bath and he smells like roses.
One lock of hair curls onto his forehead and he lets it, is glaring up at Jungkook. “You’re in my way.”
Jungkook doesn’t let his eyes drop down. He’d rather die.
He works his jaw and furrows his brow so that he looks extra mean. “Can you maybe consider the fact that you’re not the only person living here next time, yeah?”
“Aww.” Jimin comes close to smiling, but it’s bitter and fake. “Sure, sweetie. Since you asked so nicely.”
Jimin is better with his words, but Jungkook has size advantage.
He blocks Jimin’s path with minimal effort, stares him out until Jimin’s cheeks are turning red and he’s glancing away.
“Seriously,” Jimin says in a low voice. “Move.”
“Not gonna say please, darling?”
Jimin laughs in his face and pushes past him successfully, a lot stronger than he looks. “In your fucking dreams,” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing into his bedroom.
___
It’s the worst shower of Jungkook’s life because the room stinks of pretty roses and Jimin, which leads Jungkook to the realisation that Jimin always smells of pretty roses. It’s generally quite distressing and unpleasant.
___
It gets to the point where they can’t always avoid each other, and they also can’t be in the same room without arguing. They can’t have a simple conversation about buying groceries or locking the door or watering the plants without insulting each other.
Jungkook loves to cook. He spends a lot of time in the kitchen, preparing tasty meals and watching tutorials for new dishes. It’s a really nice kitchen too, which makes cooking just that bit more fun.
Jimin finds a problem with it.
He knocks on Jungkook’s bedroom door very quickly, the first sign that he’s pissed off. Jimin is always pissed off.
Jungkook raises himself into another push-up on the floor, maybe his sixtieth one. He doesn’t feel like going to the gym today so - home workout it is. “Yeah?”
Jimin pushes the door open just as Jungkook lowers himself to the ground. “O-oh.”
Jungkook glances up at him. Jimin is fully dressed and decked out in a coat and scarf, clearly on his way to work. Quite the contrast with Jungkook in his tank top and grey joggers.
Jimin stares intently at the ground.
“What do you want?” Jungkook asks, starting to feel the burn in his biceps. “Came to say goodbye before work? Aww. I’ll miss you too, Jimin-ah-”
“Can you please clean up your shit?” Jimin talks over him, hand resting on the door handle, ready to close it any second now.
Jungkook is genuinely confused. “What shit?”
Jimin rolls his eyes as though he expected no less. “Your shit. In the sink.”
Oh. “Oh.”
“I know you’re a child, Jungkook, but please clean up after yourself.”
“Fuck off.”
He faux gasps. “What a creative comeback.”
Jungkook grins lazily and rolls onto his back, looks Jimin up and down. “You wanna come sit down and watch?… I thought you had work?”
Jimin blushes and leaves without a word, which is always a sure sign of victory.
Jungkook is pretty confident, after five days of living together, that he’s got Jimin figured out. Park Jimin is lonely, boring and unlikable. He doesn’t do anything for fun and probably hasn’t enjoyed himself in years.
But then Jimin comes home one night in a football kit. Blue shorts snug around thick thighs. Striped dark blue top fitting around slim muscles. Brown hair an organised mess.
Jungkook is in the kitchen, completely frozen in place, halfway through a bottle of water, staring.
Jimin doesn’t spare him a glance. “I’m having a shower,” he says, makes it sound like a threat.
It’s a whole ordeal - trying not to stare at Park Jimin’s ass.
___
It was bound to happen at some point.
On their one week anniversary of living together, Jimin comes home late from work to find Jungkook sat on the sofa with his legs folded up underneath him. He’s got his reading glasses on - something Jimin didn’t know existed until just now. He looks soft and tired in a loose white t-shirt and joggers, but he’s reading a book, probably for uni. It’s so late they should both really be in bed, but Jungkook has the TV on, playing some generic gameshow in the background whilst he reads and eats one of his delicious-smelling meals with the other hand.
Jimin is struck by the domesticity of it for a moment. It kind of winds him, honestly. Like a swift punch in the gut.
Jungkook turns his head when Jimin shuts the door behind him, doe eyes big behind his glasses until he sees Jimin. He cuts his eyes away. He’s very good at that - scowling and looking mean. Jimin isn’t sure why he doesn’t worry for his life when Jungkook looks at him like that, like the only reason he hasn’t killed him yet is because he’s busy.
Well. It’s been a long day of working at the bookstore. Seokjin didn’t even bake anything to get him through the day. He’s actually…
Jungkook slurps up some more of his food and Jimin stands there, stomach grumbling.
He’s actually hungry.
He wordlessly walks through to his bedroom where he strips off his coat and shoes and changes into a baggy grey jumper and cosy pyjama bottoms. He catches sight of himself in the mirror before heading back out into the living area and just sighs at his hair. It’s all fluffy and dishevelled.
Jungkook glances up from his book to scowl at him again, and Jimin scowls back with perfect accuracy on his way to the kitchen.
Okay… Ramen time.
He prepares it - nothing fancy. He’s not exactly famous for cooking himself balanced healthy meals, and he just wants to immediately eat and then go to bed and dream about something nice.
He refuses to go and sit down with Jungkook. That would feel much too intimate and wrong. So.
He stands awkwardly in the corner of his own kitchen, half-watching the grainy game show on TV whilst frowning into his ramen. He could sit at the kitchen table but he hasn’t used it since Tae was here. It just feels ridiculously stupid sitting there alone.
Standing it is, then.
Jungkook scowls at him as he turns the page of his book. The glasses make the scowling a little bit less terrifying than Jungkook would probably prefer. Still terrifying, though.
Jimin scowls back.
They don’t say anything to each other.
Lights from the apartment building across the road fill the space, as well as blaring lights from cars driving past. He wants to nag at Jungkook for not closing the curtains but he doesn’t want to speak to him, so once he’s finished his pathetic dinner and washed up the bowl, he marches over to close the curtains himself.
He has to step past the sofa and he’s so focused on getting it over and done with that he trips over a fallen cushion on the floor.
“S-shit,” he gasps, heart stopping as his balance completely fails him.
But Jungkook catches him with one arm and pulls him to safety on the sofa at his side, so precise and easy that Jimin doesn’t even really know what’s happened until it’s happened and he can feel the imprint of Jungkook’s arm around his waist. He’s up-close - too close - and Jimin can see the lightest browns in his eyes.
Jungkook gives a long-suffering sigh and pushes Jimin away, no longer touching him. He looks massively inconvenienced as he returns to his book. “So fucking clumsy,” he mumbles underneath his breath.
Jimin’s heart thumps against his chest and his eyes are wide, panic gradually leaving his body. “Um,” he says, willing his heart to calm down, desperately searching for something awful to say. Something awful to say. “Don’t touch me.” It comes out soft.
Jungkook doesn’t looks surprised, but he does scowl at Jimin. “I won’t,” he promises, but not with any kindness. “Ever. Just watch where the fuck you’re going.”