Chapter Text
Jimin hates playing truth or dare. Always has.
To be more specific, he hates the ‘truth’ part of truth or dare. Dares are fine. He’ll do whatever - get people gasping, “I can’t believe you did that!” – anything, so long as he can avoid ‘truth’.
That’s because Jimin lives a lie. Yes, I’m fine. I’m happy with my life right now. People want to believe it, so they never stop to question. After all, he’s one of the most popular boys at school, blessed with good genes and rich parents. He gets every girl he wants, he has solid seeming friendships, and classmates clamouring to talk to him. Even the boys from the school’s poetry club, the opposite of the popular jock culture Jimin stands for, show interest in him. That’s what it means to be admired. Jimin has everything that leads to happiness, everything… except you.
And so every day Jimin lies. Every morning he wakes up, rubs the sleep from his eyes, and repeats, “I’m okay, I’m happy, I’m not in love.” But he’s not okay, he’s not happy, and he’s hopelessly in love.
Yet, he keeps up this pretence, all because you made your feelings clear long ago:
“Jimin, what would you do if you fell in love with me?” Your question caught Jimin off guard as the two of you walked home from school five years ago.
“What? What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
You shrugged. “I’m just asking…”
“I would never fall in love with you,” Jimin responded quickly. At the time it wasn’t a lie, not completely. He was still too young to understand what the butterflies in his stomach meant.
“Good,” you were satisfied, showing him your braces when you smiled.
“Why?”
“Just.” When you only gave him a one word answer he poked your side, and you twisted away. “No, it tickles!”
“Tell me why.”
“Because. If you fall in love with me we won’t be friends anymore. Friends can’t love love each other.”
“They can’t?”
“No. But they can love each other.”
At first Jimin didn’t understand the difference between love and love love, but over the years you did your best to explain it to him. As you put it - love is what you feel for friends, for family – it’s warm and solid and unquestionable. It’s a comfort, like hot chocolate, like a hug from your parents, like your favourite song on the radio. Love love, on the other hand, is what you feel for one person only – it’s hot and passionate and consuming. It’s uncomfortable, like an itch you can’t reach, like a sneeze that won’t come out, like a wound left beneath a plaster. At least that’s what it is for Jimin. Maybe love love feels better when it’s reciprocated.
But Jimin doesn’t know. You never show him anything but love, the friendly kind. And when you check, “Jimin, do you love me?” his response is always, “Of course.” But you never ask “Do you love love me?” because you don’t want to hear the answer. This friendship is too precious to complicate with out-of-place feelings.
So Jimin keeps up this lie, let’s it swallow him up. It unhinges it’s jaws like a snake, and he slips down its throat, into the stomach where, slowly, he dissolves.
But he’ll find ways to survive. If he can’t have you, he’ll take other girls, a new face every week, whispering the words he desperately wants to tell you, and imagining you while his lips softly kiss a stranger’s. In return for his life of lies – you stay by his side, fingers barely grazing his, wobbling on the border of friendship. But as soon as his façade falls apart, spilling tears and truth, he knows you’ll flit away to find a new best friend.
Thinking about it makes him dizzy – standing on the tall tower he’s built up, waiting for it to crash down to earth. He needs a distraction.
His phone vibrating is enough:
Y/N: jimin! what’s taking so long??
Jimin: What are you talking about?
Y/N: are you coming to this party or not?? im right outside ur house! get over here!!!!
Jimin: Right. Coming. Give me a sec.
This is how every Friday evening starts – with you waiting outside Jimin’s house, idling in your car while he throws himself together. Tight fitting jeans, white t-shirt, and a blue leather jacket, whatever it takes to impress. He wants to look good for you, even though he knows you won’t notice his efforts. He casts a judging eye over his reflection one last time, pushes his bleached blonde hair off his forehead and decides “that’s enough”. Going to the window, he sees your BMW parked at the bottom of the drive, as promised, borrowed from your dad – with or without permission.
He swings himself out the window and jumps down to the well clipped lawn, glad of the soft landing. Darting down the driveway, he scurries around to the passenger side of the car and jumps in. “Go, go, go!”
You hit the gas and jolt away from the house, giggling as Jimin glances behind him. No lights blink on in the windows. He got away undetected. Still, you keep your foot pressed down on the accelerator, upping the speed until you’re a few miles away – just in case. Your gleaming eyes, and your knuckles pressed white and tight on the steering wheel give away how much you enjoy this – the thrill of a chase. Breaking the rules is what you breathe for, in the same way Jimin breathes for his lies (and for you). Whether it’s drinking booze at the next house party, snuggling up to the strangers you mother warned you about, or breaking your strict diet for the sake of a chocolate chip frappe from Starbucks, you get high by doing what you shouldn’t.
There’s only one rule you won’t break, one rule Jimin wishes you would break – the rule of platonic friendship. You won’t overstep the line with Jimin, won’t let your heart pound along to his rhythm, giddy with the thrill of it. He concocts ‘what-ifs’ in his head to fill the gap – imagining that your shimmering eyes are shining for him, and not for the road flashing by, for the rush of endorphins as you speed from his house, laughter catching in the night air that rushes past the window. You’re stealing Jimin away for yourself.
“Where to this evening?” he asks, as he reaches across to click on the indicator you forgot to use as you swerve left, letting you answer:
“There’s a house party at Taehyung’s. Don’t you remember?”
Jimin doesn’t. His friends’ conversations normally blur together, until he forgets who’s dating who, who’s fallen out, who’s hosting what party. It’s another lie to say he actually cares.
Taehyung’s parties are always fun though. His house is even bigger that Jimin’s, with fountains in the garden, and statues by the door. Jimin’s even heard rumours of a room in the back where Taehyung’s father keeps tanks full of rare fish and reptiles, each specimen worth a small fortune.
“This should be good then,” Jimin says.
“Yep! Tonight, I might even get together with Taehyung,” you tell him, lips quirking into a grin.
Jimin has been trying to ignore the glances you sneak at Taehyung in Physics class, but you won’t let it fall from his mind. Your glowing cheeks are a painful reminder of what Jimin can’t have. Hopefully this crush won’t last. Normally, you take whatever boy throws himself your way, so long as it makes you feel good – so long as your parents would disapprove. But you falling in love - love love - would break Jimin.
“Well, wingman, will you help me out?” A smile is flashed Jimin’s way as you pause at a set of traffic lights.
Jimin turns his attention to the city’s glow, blazing on the other side of his steamed-up window. “Sure.”
“You’re the best.” You shift into gear and speed away as the lights flash green, “What can I do in return? Any girls you want to get to know a little better this evening?”
Jimin shakes his head. “I’ll just go what the flow, see who’s interested.”
Obviously not you.
You pull up at Taehyung’s drive, gravel crunching under the tyres. There are fairy lights draped haphazardly over the statues in the garden, and red cups discarded by the door. Inside is a blur of colour and sound, all feelings melting together until Jimin can’t discern taste from touch from smell. This is where you thrive – knowing you’re breaking away from your parents hold, rebelling where they can’t see you. For Jimin, he’s happy to stand back and watch the joy rippling through you.
Taehyung greets you at the door, already slightly drunk. His first act of welcome is to sling his arm around you, and pull you deeper into the throng of people. When did you two get so close? Jimin follows behind, pushed about by the crowd. He can’t help but gape at the winding staircases, the polished marble floor, and the abstract art on the walls he passes, all the epitome of luxury. What more do you need to be happy?
Glancing ahead, Jimin catches you smiling winningly at Taehyung, past the heads and arms of party-goers, and he already knows his answer.
Taehyung turns back to him. “Jimin, almost lost you in the crowd! There’s a game of truth of dare going on in the back room. Once you get drinks, you should come down and play.”
Jimin swallows at the sour lump developing in his throat. Truth or dare with a drink in hand is never a good idea.
“Come on, it’ll be fun!” You nudge him, before turning your sights elsewhere, “Where’s the kitchen again, Tae?”
♡♡♡
By the time you reach the back room, red cups in hand, the game is already well underway.
“Since you’ve just joined, you should start the next round,” one of the girls, whose name Jimin can’t remember, pipes up.
The rest of the group hums in agreement, and you humour them, “Alright, alright. But Jimin has to go first!”
Jimin opens his mouth to object, but his words are stuffed back down his throat with another girl asking, “Okay. Truth or dare?”
“Uh… dare.” Of course. Jimin’s natural response. His aversion to truth is natural, like avoidance of poison, heights, or wild animals. A survival instinct.
“Oh come on, Jimin, you always go for dare,” you complain, “Why not pick truth for once?”
“Dare’s more interesting!” Jimin defends, trying to look calm despite the sweat beading along his neck and pooling below his armpits. Through the alcohol buzz, everything seems hazier, scarier. He feels ill.
“Jimin must have something he’s trying to hide,” Taehyung decides.
Jimin’s mouth sticks closed, dry, like it’s filled with cotton wool. He can’t protest.
The girl ploughs ahead with her question, “Okay, truth then!”
No. Jimin chokes on the word.
“Jimin, we’re all curious to know… do you have a crush on anyone?” A couple of the other girls titter behind their hands, eyeing Jimin eagerly. The alcohol’s buzzing picks up in Jimin’s veins, a violent vibration throbbing up to his temples and down to his toes. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk so much in one go.
“What a waste of a question,” you groan beside him, “Everyone one knows that Jimin doesn’t like anyone. He’s boring like that. Next.”
You and Jimin are close enough for people to accept your words as his own.
A sighs escapes Jimin as the focus shifts away from him.
“Alright, Y/N’s turn,” Taehyung says.
“I pick dare.”
Jimin’s ready to complain that you should do truth as well, since you forced him to, but before he can open his mouth, one of the girls is saying, “Alright then, I dare you to kiss the hottest boy in the room.”
Jimin’s heart flops down to his stomach. He already knows that you won’t chose him, and yet a shard of hope is pricking his guts. Love is unreasonable like that. With one movement, you snap that hope apart, standing up and leaving his side cold.
“Sorry, Jimin, we all agree that you’re the hottest guy here,” you say, “But it’s a rule that I can’t kiss my best friend. It goes against my principles.” You side eye him from the centre of the room, and he sees a smile dart across your lips, expecting him to play along. It’s a role he knows too well.
“Good for the other guys, I guess,” he smirks, “But I wouldn’t kiss you if you paid me a million won.”
You laugh at this. “You’re already rich, you don’t need it.” Jimin’s lies make you happy. “Then, I guess I’ll have to kiss Taehyung, since he’s second hottest.”
The group whoops and cat calls, the sounds bleeding together in a chorus that grates on Jimin’s ears.
Taehyung stands up to meet you in the centre of the room, face set firm, like it’s his destiny to kiss you this night. Your hands entwine with his, pulling him forward, until his body is pressed flush to you. This is a performance, Jimin can see that. It’s a chance for you to show off. You’ll let things get a little hot and sticky; Taehyung will let you have your way.
“I’m only second?” he whines, lips quivering a centimetre from yours, to which you whisper – loud enough for Jimin to hear – “Only because I need to feed Park Pretty Boy’s ego. It comes as a part of being his friend. Hope you understand.”
“I really don’t,” Taehyung murmurs, before you pull him the last inch closer and the two of you melt together.
Jimin looks down, focussing on the remnants of rum at the bottom of his cup. Not before he sees you smiling against Taehyung’s lips. His eyes squeeze shut – blackness fighting for control. It’s warm and comforting, and Jimin prefers it to the truth he sees when he blinks back to the cacophonous colours of real life, and sees you sitting down next to Taehyung, your hand laced in his.
The game continues as if Jimin’s whole world hasn’t fallen apart. No one else notices that his heart is burning with an acidic jealousy. He needs to leave. The world swirls around him as he stands up, announcing, “I’m just getting some more to drink.”
Outside in the hall it’s louder than ever. Jimin manages to push through the crowd, flinching at the sweaty bodies that press against him – girls in short skirts and boys drooling over them. At last he reaches the kitchen again, where he grabs a half-empty rum bottle and pours the last golden drops onto his tongue. The alcohol burns on the way down, but at least it gets rid of the aching in his chest.
It’s moments like these that he curses meeting you. Why did he have to skive off school that fateful day in first year? Why did he have to go around to the back of the bicycle shed to find you crouched behind the fence, a grin plastered across your face? Why did he have to ask you what you were doing, listen to your in-depth explanation of why you were running away from doing PE? Why did he have to fall for the triumphant face you pulled, charmed by your pride at breaking the rules? Why did he have to make a habit of skipping class with you, hanging out behind the bicycle shed, sharing packets of skittles and secrets? Why did he have to fall in love with you when you were still wearing braces and plasters that hid the grazes on your knees? Why did he have keep falling for you, with each new year that passed?
Thinking about this is making him too sad, because he knows that as you matured you left him behind – now he has to pretend to care for parties, has to watch while you kiss his friends, and all the while say “I’m fine. Great. Never better.”
His stomach clenches. He needs to get back to you soon. He can’t stand watching you flirt with Taehyung, but he also can’t stand the thought of you being together without him watching over, making sure Taehyung doesn’t take advantage of you. It was a mistake to leave.
He fights against the flow of party-goes, struggling to forge his way back to the room as cloying panic clogs up his throat. He pushes against the bodies, earning a few dirty glares. At last, he arrives back at the room, only to find it lacking you and Taehyung. The air grows heavy. This is bad.
He pulls out his phone and tries his best to text you, concentrating on the keys that swim before his eyes:
Jimin: whjere r uu?
Jimin: helllooooo?????
Jimin: im worried
He waits, sliding down against a wall, until he’s on the floor, his head resting on his knees.
At last his phone vibrates.
Y/N: with tae. dont worry im fine.
Y/N: he’s taken me up to his room
Y/N: this might get interesting ~
Y/N: enjoy the rest of the party. btw that girl we were playing truth or dare with seems into you ;)
What girl? Who are you even talking about? Jimin doesn’t care. He’s not interested in anyone if it’s not you. Normally, he’d reach for the nearest hand that was offered, finding comfort in the physical. But tonight it’s not enough.
His head sinks a little lower. He doesn’t want to think what’s happening in Taehyung’s room. He feels ill at the thought. Or maybe he actually is sick. He did have a little too much alcohol.
Standing up, he decides to look for the bathroom. His stomach is complaining from all the alcohol he’s poured into it. He usually doesn’t drink this much, and his body’s not used to it. Staggering down the corridor, he holds onto the wall to steady himself, his fingers running over the frames of pictures, smearing against the blurred, abstract shapes.
Finally, he reaches the stairs, and wobbles up. On the second floor, he follows the maze of halls, wondering which door is the bathroom. From the other side of a wall a murmur catches his attention. That’s your voice. Of course, this must be Taehyung’s bedroom.
There’s a giggling, rusting, and more breathy words.
The illness in Jimin’s stomach cuts off, replaced with a colder feeling, like someone pouring ice down his throat. You’re so near - on the other side of a door. Doing whatever with Taehyung, getting exactly what you wanted.
Jimin could burst through that door and stop all of this in a second. It would be so easy. His fingers itch. He’s one foot away. One step. One push. And he’d be there. He’d stop it all. The coldness would leave him. Stop.
But he can’t.
A broken breath shudders from him, and on his phone he types out:
Jimin: k take yoiur time. i’ll wait for you
He’ll wait all night. He’ll wait a lifetime, let you rip his heart out, while he stands smiling.
He heads back down the stairs, searching for the back room again. He knows he needs to sober up before you find him again. It was foolish to get this drunk. With alcohol the truth loosens up, comes freer. He almost broke – almost barged in and told you how he felt. Dangerous.
He passes door after door, looking for something familiar. But Taehyung’s house is too big. Trying to find the back room again seems too daunting. In his drunken state, everything is looming larger, scarier. It’s a lie that drinking makes you feel better. In a panic, Jimin heads down a corridor he thinks he recognises, past abstract paintings and expensive looking vases – all of the colours binding together in nightmarish shapes. He needs to find that room again. But as he walks, the corridor seems to be getting more deserted. He’s moving away from the party. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.
At last he arrives at a back hallway, where the final door on the corridor marks a dead end. Jimin should turn back. But the last door is half open, spilling blue light. Jimin gets the feeling he shouldn’t be here, still his curiosity peaks, even through the drunken haze. Jimin peeks in. There are a couple of tanks on the other side, filled with exotic looking fish that glint and flicker in the blue glow of their watery prison. This must be the rumoured pet room. So it exists? There are worse places Jimin could wait for you. He slips in, leaving the door open behind him. His unsteady feet lead him past fish, lizards and small grass snakes.
Eventually he comes to a tank, the contents of which make him freeze. A large python lies coiled inside. Jimin shivers, watching the fat snake that eyes him back.
“Hey,” he breathes, breaking the dull silence in the room, “You’re pretty big, aren’t you?” The snake looks back, lifeless.
Snakes always make Jimin feel uncomfortable, his skin prickling, imagining the scales slipping around his body, coiling, strangling. They reminded him of everything that’s wrong with him – the way they twist, the way they tighten, like his deceit.
Jimin crouches closer to the tank, looking in at the creature that scares him so much. If only facing his fear of the truth was as easy as coming face to face with this python. “You and me are similar, aren’t we?” he says, watching his breath fog against the glass, “We’re both coldblooded and misunderstood.”
Then his head falls, hair tumbling across his forehead. “What am I doing talking to a snake? I really did drink too much…”
He adjusts his position, sitting on his knees, and rests his head against the glass of the python’s enclosure. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, eyeing his new companion, wondering if it’ll ever move, and wondering what you’re doing with Taehyung right now.
An eternity ticks by, until:
“There you are. I thought you left already.”
Jimin jumps up as you appear by his side, your face looking strange in the blue lights from the fish tanks.
“How could I? You’re my ride home,” he says.
“Right, sorry. I got a little distracted.” A smile plays across your lips at ‘distratced’.
Jimin doesn’t want to think about what you mean. “Will you be okay to drive?”
You wave a hand, “Fine. I’m totally sober.”
You look sober too, your slightly unkempt hair aside - but that might have been Taehyung’s doing. Jimin pushes the though down. The last thing he needs to imagine is Taehyung running his hands through your hair, feeling you up, fingers sliding over all the places Jimin can only dream of touching, kissing, pressing, pulling, taking, loving.
It’s more than Jimin can bear.
As you turn from him, he suddenly grabs your hand and pulls you back.
“Hey! What are you-“
Jimin’s lips smash against yours before you can say anything else. The kiss is short – aggressive and searing hot.
You stumble apart, your face reddening, and Jimin’s breath hitching.
“What – what was that?” Anger pours from your words.
Jimin takes a step back. That was bad. He’s drunk. Too drunk. His façade has shattered apart, so fragile that one kiss broke it. You know now. His time is up.
“I-” Jimin has a choice right now. He can give you the truth, explain why he kissed you – or he can give you the lie you want, maybe need, to hear, “I was just…”
“Just what?”
“...checking that you didn’t love love me.” A wry laugh crawls up from Jimin’s lungs. “Looks like we’re safe. No chance of that happening.”
You scoff. “You get weird when you’re drunk…”
As you leave the room, Jimin feels the eyes of the python on his back, unblinking. His lies squeeze his heart a little tighter.
♡♡♡
It’s Sunday evening. Jimin could be outside, having a good time, but instead he finds himself lying on his bed and staring at the empty screen of his phone. No messages from you. Not since Friday. Not since the kiss.
Is this how your friendship ends? With one slip up from him? One night of drinking too much and letting his feelings pour from his lips directly onto yours.
He takes a deep breath – he needs to take the first step, needs to establish contact:
Jimin: Y/N
Jimin: hi…
Jimin: um…
Jimin: …sorry
Jimin: are we ok?
He covers his eyes with a hand, and waits. The clock on his wall ticks on. This will drive him crazy. He should just switch off his phone and give himself some peace. But then he feels the tell-tale vibration…
Fingers trembling, he fumbles through his passcode and reads your messages.
Y/N: Sure.
Y/N: We’re O.K.
Y/N: :)
The texts tell him you’re not okay though. You only type correct punctuation when you’re mad. It’s your way of being passive aggressive, overly polite, like you barely know him.
But then again… you do barely know him. All he feeds you are lies – you’ve never met the real Jimin, the Jimin that loves you more than his own life.
Maybe this will all pass. He’ll see you at school on Monday and everything will go back to normal. It’s the only thought he can cling to right now.
Jimin: ok :) see you at school?
He sets down his phone. Waiting for you to text back is impossible. He can’t keep up a conversation like this, when he feels so much riding on it, with every full-stop you send full of disappointment. He broke the rules, he broke your friendship. And in return you broke his heart. Maybe you were both made to break things.
♡♡♡
When Jimin sees you at school on Monday you act normal. He could almost pretend that the party never happened, but there’s one thing reminding him of everything he wants to forget:
Taehyung hanging around your neck.
“You’re going out with him?” Jimin’s shocked you didn’t tell him sooner – you might have been in the middle of an argument, but this is a pretty big development. As your best friend – he’s still your best friend, right? - he should be the first to know when you get serious with a boy. But while he’s been worrying about the word ‘love’, you’ve been slipping further and further from him.
“I told you we got together at the party.”
“I didn’t realise you meant together together.”
You smile, but it’s not full of the usual warmth Jimin knows. “Maybe I didn’t make it clear. But I like him. Like… I could love love him.” You shake your head, and your lips soften into a more genuine smile, like you can’t believe it.
Jimin can’t believe it either. What happened to the you he knew? Where did you go? He can still remember talking to you about the many men you’d have short flings with, and now you’re clutching desperately onto just one, smiling at love.
It always used to go this way:
“Hey, Y/N, what happened to that guy from the club?”
“Who? Oh, that guy. Yeah, he keeps texting me but I can’t be bothered responding…”
Anger would bubble through Jimin on these occasions. He had to sit and watch you kiss other men, those lucky few who had tasted your lips, picked you clean of all innocence, and you couldn’t even settle on one of them.
“Can’t you have a little self-respect?” Jimin burst out one night. You were both in your bedroom after a particularly wild evening, lying on top of the covers of your bed.
“What do you mean?” you asked, sitting up and leaving Jimin to stare at your hand balling to grip the blanket.
“I mean…” Jimin’s fingers pressed to his eyelids, cutting off his vision of you. “Why do you always do this? Offer yourself like a local delicacy for everyone to taste. You’re better than this, I mean look at you - you’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re... everything. Don’t let every sleazebag get their grubby fingerprints imprinted all over you. Can’t you just… save yourself?”
Your anger flared up in response to his. “Oh that’s rich coming from you, Park Jimin. I see you with a different girl every week and you’re telling me to keep myself pure? How about you sort yourself out before offering me life advice?”
Jimin didn’t know how to respond. All he could do was bite down on his hurt, and watch the white of the duvet crinkle as you crushed it with your fist. And then a drop fell to your hand.
Looking up he saw tears silently slipping down your pale cheeks.
“Ah… no… I-” A wave of panic flashed through Jimin. This was what happened when he let his emotions bubble close to the surface, let honesty spill from his tongue.
“I don’t want to be this way,” you said at last, your voice sounding odd and distorted through the tears, “I wish I could fall in love, and have it mean something. I wish I could be with one person, make it last. But nothing ever works out for me. I just get so desperately lonely. I need someone’s touch to fill the gap and I get so hungry for it that I let anyone hold me. For those few seconds it feels good, like I’m actually capable of being loved.”
“Don’t say that,” Jimin kept his voice soft, reaching for your hand. You loosened your fingers from the folds of the duvet and let him trace circles onto your palm, “You’re so loved already. Your family love you, your friends love you, I love you. That’s why I get angry – because you sell yourself short, because you’re worth so much more. And I know it might not mean the same thing to you, but I’m willing to hold you whenever you need someone.”
Below his hand, you felt fragile, like if he pressed too hard you’d crack.
“Whenever you need a friend.”
You lay down again, tear stained eyes full in his own, like glimpses of stars viewed on a cloudy night. Your arms wrapped around him and Jimin pressed his lips against your forehead, right where the baby hairs tickled your hairline. You stiffened at the gesture, but didn’t complain, instead whispering, “Thanks. I need a friend right now.”
And that’s how Jimin has stayed – a friend you can call on whenever. But he wonders if he’s becoming redundant now Taehyung’s in your life. Your first boyfriend. Jimin never had to fight the other men in your life - he always knew he was on top, best friends before lovers. But he can’t compete with the concrete word ‘boyfriend’.
Is this his fault? Are you doing this to drive him off, give him a signal? Is this because of the kiss?
Sitting behind you in physics, Jimin watches as Taehyung passes notes across the class to you. You blush when you read them, and look back to Taehyung, smiling sweetly – the genuine smile Jimin’s been missing out on. No. This is real. You really like him, and it’s selfish for Jimin to think that this for his benefit. You were never really his top priority. You let him know that from the very start. He wasn’t just lying to you – he was lying to himself that you might actually fall for him the way he had fallen for you.
These blushes, these secret glances – they’re all directed at Taehyung. And they’re all true.
Jimin decides he’ll spend his lunchtime away from you and Taehyung. He won’t keep any food down watching you flirting.
♡♡♡
“Don’t you usually hang out with Y/N?” Namjoon asks Jimin over his sandwich.
The classroom is empty, apart from the two members of the poetry club, plus honorary guest, Park Jimin. Namjoon and Yoongi, Jimin’s English Lit classmates are a far cry from his normal crowd. But even here he can’t escape from the name he’s been trying to avoid. Maybe he should have sat by himself.
“Not all the time,” Jimin takes a bite from his apple, in his element – lying through his teeth.
“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks, “You two are pretty close. Something happen?”
“No.” Another lie. “Are you always this hostile to people joining your poetry club?”
Yoongi’s dark eyes appraise Jimin, before he drawls, “Not if they’re actually interested in poetry.”
“I do like poetry…” Jimin trails off as he tries to remember the name of the poet they’re studying in English.
Namjoon and Yoongi’s raised eyebrows let him know they don’t buy it.
“Write a poem, and you can stay,” Yoongi says at last.
Jimin leans forward in his chair. “You can’t expect someone to come up with a poem on the spot.”
Namjoon laughs. “Yoongi’s just teasing. You’re free to stay and avoid Y/N.”
Jimin glances at Yoongi, just to check, and the boy shrugs lazily before turning back to Namjoon to discuss the poem he’s working on, mumbling things about free verse, and onomatopoeia, and other words Jimin doesn’t understand. He sits back and chews on his apple, and wonders why poetry is so hard.
Caught in a lie
Take me out of this hell
I can’t free myself from this pain.
These word melt together in his head. Does that count as a poem?
At that moment the door opens, and he almost chokes when you step in.
“Oh, Jimin! I was looking for you.” Were you? “Why aren’t you eating lunch with us?”
Why?
Jimin tries to swallow the lump of apple lodged in his throat. So you noticed his absence? “I just wanted a change of pace,” he says, “Did you miss me?”
He’s not sure he wants the answer, but feels a warm rush of pleasure when you mumble, “Of course…”
There’s an awkward silence, Namjoon and Yoongi both watching the two of you with mild curiosity.
Eventually you fold under their gaze, dragging Jimin from his chair, “Excuse us. We need some privacy.”
Out in the corridor it’s quiet – other students having better things to do than stand about during lunch break.
“Jimin, what’s going on?”
He should be asking you the same thing. When did you get a boyfriend? When did you suddenly fall in love love? What’s up with the passive aggressive texts?
“Weren’t you avoiding me as well? Weren’t you mad about the party?”
Is he deluding himself, thinking that this is hurting you as well? Is this massive wound in his heart just a small bruise for you – something you didn’t even notice? He thought you were angry, at least. Did he imagine that? Is he telling himself what he wants to believe – making himself more important in your eyes?
“You mean the kiss?” You frown, “Yeah, that was pretty weird. But we’re over it now, right?”
Jimin nods. “Yeah. It’s just…”
“What?”
“Nothing…”
You sigh, and pull at a stray strand of hair. “Okay – truth is? I’m still angry. But I don’t want to be… I’m so happy with Taehyung. I don’t want to spoil any of it. And I don’t want us to be fighting. I want everything to be fine again.”
It won’t be fine. Jimin doesn’t want it to be. He wants to fight. He wants to get angry. He has a right to be. His heart is being squeezed dry by you.
“Well... enjoy lunch with Taehyung.”
Your face falls. “You’re not coming to eat with us?”
Jimin forces a smile. “New couples need time alone.”
“Yeah… but I also need time with you.”
Jimin’s heart falters at this. He wants you to say it again, say you need him.
“I need time with my best friend,” you repeat.
Something inside Jimin snaps. That’s enough. He can’t hurt himself on your sharp edges anymore. “Whatever, I’m over this. Goodbye, Y/N.”
It’s the most honest thing he’s said to you in a while. He turns back to Namjoon and Yoongi, slamming the classroom door in your face.
He doesn’t wait for your tears to fall.
♡♡♡
For a while, Jimin really is over you. He’s over you unknowingly breaking his heart every day. He’s over you keeping him up every night, stuck in an empty fantasy. He’s over you making him fall in love over and over again, sinking deeper, hurting harder, giving more. And he’s over the flings with girls that will never replace you. He’s over the parties every night, rebelling against his parents just to please you. He’s over the lie he’s sustained for five years to keep you smiling, while you remain cruelly oblivious.
But quickly his resolve begins to fade. He begins to wonder how you are, what you’re up to, how life is with your new boyfriend.
It shouldn’t have been this easy to slice you out of his life. You should have put up more of a fight. But now Jimin finds himself spending school breaks with Namjoon and Yoongi, slowly losing all sense of the friendship he once had with you, and slowly losing his mind.
Namjoon and Yoongi are easier company than you, that’s for sure. They’re so much more mellow; all they ask is that Jimin shows his face at the poetry club, and nods along when they ramble about the joys of writing in free verse. Soon, going to the classroom where their poetry club meets feels routine for Jimin – on autopilot, his legs lead him there every lunchtime. Sitting on one of the desks, surrounded by the comforting smell of old books and chalk, Jimin feels that honesty flows freer here – preferably in iambic pentameter.
Still, he finds it hard to force the truth past his teeth – old habits are hard to bludgeon to death. At least he is able to admit that not everything in his life is peaches and roses: “Y/N and I had a fight. We’re not talking anymore.”
Namjoon and Yoongi’s consolatory words feel alien to him. Seeing their worry fills Jimin with guilt, and reminds him why he never opened up in the first place. His honesty is a burden to others. But he’s too tired to fake a smile. The truth, in the form of a frown, is all he can give at this point.
At least they don’t press him further. After some murmured advice, they go back to their poetry, and leave Jimin to his thoughts. He appreciates their lack of curiosity. He doesn’t want to go into details, doesn’t even know if he can. All he knows is that your friendship cracked in two. He wants to forget about it.
But that’s rather difficult when you’re always there in the background - in the corridor, in class, by the fence outside school, everywhere, reminding Jimin of the raw wound that throbs in his chest. Every time his eye catches yours in the corridor, you both quickly look away, pretending you don’t know each other. Like strangers.
Jimin tells himself he’s not aching inside. Another lie.
“You’re looking pretty down,” Namjoon says, as Jimin enters the clubroom yet again.
“Hmm…? Yeah…” Jimin doesn’t bother saying any more, taking his seat and picking up one of the books Namjoon left lying around: Lawrence Dunbar. Jimin can’t even pretend to understand it.
“Yoongi and I are actually going out this Friday,” Namjoon says, peering at Jimin over the top of his poetry notebook.
“Mmmhmm?” Jimin flicks through a few pages, random words popping out:
We wear the mask that lies and grins…
“And we were wondering if you wanted to tag along.”
Jimin’s cheeks puff out, considering. To him, ‘going out’ means drinking, hitting the nearest club, and then dragging you home at three in the morning. He has a feeling Namjoon has something a lot tamer in mind. “Where were you planning on going?”
“To the diner down town. We’ll eat something unhealthy, talk about our problems, just hang out...”
“What Namjoon’s trying to say,” Yoongi chimes in, “is that we want you to go out and have fun. You’ve been moping around this room every chance you get, and something tells us you’ve been going home to mope around your room as well.”
“I don’t know…” The idea of going out without you is foreign to Jimin. It was always the two of you, facing the world together. It’s as if someone has ripped away his other half and is expecting him to carry on with blood spilling everywhere.
“Come on, you can’t keep living like this,” Yoongi presses, “Seeing the world outside your own head will do you some good.”
Jimin’s nails dig into the paper cover of the poetry book he’s holding. “Okay, but I’m only agreeing so that you stop bothering me about it.”
The smiles of triumph that pass over his friend’s faces almost make Jimin smile back.
♡♡♡
The diner they drag him to is like nothing Jimin’s visited before. With his wealthy family, only the poshest restaurants were acceptable; with you, only the cheapest fast-food was an option. This diner is something in between. Not trashy, but not classy either. The floor is decorated with sticky pink and white tiles, the walls are covered in retro neon signs, and there are novelty coasters on all the tables. There’s even a juke box in the corner, wheezing out old songs.
Namjoon and Yoongi choose a seat by the window, giving prime view to the street outside, where night is slowly slipping in as lights flicker on.
“This is nice,” Jimin comments.
“Aren’t you glad you came out?” Yoongi smiles, as a waitress brings their drinks to the table.
Jimin hums in agreement, and takes a sip his soda, his full mouth giving him an excuse not to speak. As Namjoon and Yoongi go on to joke about their eccentric maths teacher, he focuses on the street outside. Occasionally, his friends try to tempt him into their conversation, but Jimin only manages a few mumbled responses before he slips back to his own thoughts.
The city passing by, with the shoppers, the party-goers, the couples out on dates - it all makes him feel strange. He grasps for the words to describe what it is, but he can’t explain it – all he knows is that he’s missing out on something. The world’s rotating, moving, existing out there, and he’s closed off from it, feeling like he hasn’t experienced enough in his life. Maybe it’s because he was following too closely behind you, living through you, rather than for himself. Still, he feels that somewhere out there, you’re getting ready, going out, having fun without him and despite all his thoughts before now, he wants to be with you, following behind. Even if it robs him of his own life.
He should stop thinking about you, shut off this part of his brain. But… but… but…
… isn’t one of your local haunts close to here? He thought this street looked familiar. If you turn right out of the diner, follow the curb for a few feet, and go down a back alley, you’ll find steps leading down to a club in the basement of an old record shop. You always liked the music they played there. He wonders if you’ll be there this evening.
Instinctively his hand falls to his phone in his pocket, the only connection he has left with you. Your number saved in his contacts is tantalisingly close, just below his impatient fingers.
He pulls the phone out, and taps on his conversation with you, left on mute.
Strangely, miraculously, there are some new messages from you, only delivered an hour ago:
Y/N: jimin, im going out clubbing this evening – do you know the one in the basement of the record shop?
Y/N: come along if you want
Y/N: i hate fighting like this
Y/N: and i hate being away from you…
Y/N: so please come?
How can you send messages like this and expect him to be okay? This is the sort of thing you should text to an ex-boyfriend, not an ex-best friend. With behaviour like this, you were asking for a kiss, getting Jimin confused, conflicted, crammed full of emotions with no outlet, except through his lips against your own.
But despite your cruel oblivion, he hates being away from you too. No matter how strong his desire for a clean break is, his heart is weak, wobbling precariously in his rib cage - barely mended, yet ready to shatter again. He can’t bear it.
“Guys, I’ve got to go,” Jimin says, slapping a few notes down on the table to pay for his portion, “It’s getting pretty late.”
Namjoon and Yoongi let him go without much of a fight, only calling out, “Be careful on the way home,” as Jimin exits the diner. They’re none the wiser to the storm that’s brewing in his head.
Rather than turning towards his house, Jimin heads in the opposite direction, aiming for the alley, where the nightclub lies tucked off the main street. Aiming for where you might be - his magnetic north.
As soon as he arrives, he knows it’s a bad idea. The queue outside is long, and in the plummeting temperature of a sunless evening Jimin would rather be inside, undercovers. Yet, he can’t seem to drag his feet in the opposite direction.
His heart bloating with self-loathing, he steps into line, and waits to be let inside.
This is bad. He can taste it on the tip of his tongue, like the tingling you get from eating too much chocolate in one go. But, he’s searching for you in the crowd, and searching for the empty calories you’ll feed him – making him feel good when you give him attention for a few seconds before returning to Taehyung to give him all your love. Jimin’s craving a sugar rush… and a heart attack.
The music inside is too loud, and the alcohol is too expensive. The heady atmosphere, the swimming lights, and the smell of sweat is all your element, not Jimin’s. He’s not sure how to tackle them without you. Automatically, he turns to the bar, sitting down and ordering himself some liquid confidence.
To his right, a girl is sitting, sipping on a margarita. Over the sugar-coated rim of her glass, she flashes Jimin a smile, before her eyes flicker away again. Jimin knows this game. Giving her a once over, he sees she’s a year or two older than him, her more mature body suiting the short black dress that hugs her curves. Any other night Jimin would return her smile, buy her another margarita, and with a few silver-tongued words he’d have her for himself. But he promised he wouldn’t do that anymore. Filling the hole you left with booze and women never helps. Booze evaporates, and women just drift away in the morning with sighs, smiles, or sometimes tears. Tears are the worst.
He suddenly feels disgusted by the drink in his hand. Turning his attention away from the bar, he scans the crowd, searching faces for the features he’s memorised so well – well enough to reconstruct in his dreams. He’s ready to give up, when finally, he spots you, under the purple and blue spotlights spitting from the ceiling. Your face is squeezed into a wide smile as Taehyung spins you around, hands pressed to your waist.
So he’s found you. Now what? Jimin hasn’t thought this far ahead. Should he go over and talk to you, try to make amends? Should he find another dance partner and live it up, showing off how he’s surviving without you? Or should he just leave?
As he’s considering his options, you twirl away from Taehyung, giggling, and your eyes find his in the crowd. Your smile falters. For a second Jimin almost convinces himself that you’re hurting too. Then the crowd surges, and you’re out of sight. Probably for the best.
He stands up, downs his drink, and turns to the girl at the other end of the bar. Coyly, she smiles his way, and the rest of Jimin’s night is locked in place. With a jerk of his head, he indicates for the girl to join him, and she pulls him to the dancefloor. Under the neon lights, Jimin lets the music sweep him up, finding freedom as his body moves to the pounding track. The girl by his side presses against him. He can feel every curve of her body, as good as the little black dress promised.
Song after song blurs past. Jimin’s breath grows unsteady and his hair begins to stick to his damp forehead. He shouts something to the girl at his side about getting more drinks, and she nods, probably not understanding. Glad of a break, he detaches himself from her hold and goes back to the bar.
At the same moment – the worst… or best timing - you emerge from the crowd, going to the bar yourself. Noticing Jimin, you wave. When he doesn’t reciprocate, you pull out your phone and text something.
Jimin’s hand goes to his pocket, where his phone lies lifeless, your name still marked on mute. Knowing he shouldn’t, he glances at his phone:
Y/N: hey
Y/N: you came :)
Jimin pushes his phone back into his pocket. He’s over you. He meant it. At least… he meant to mean it. But as the evening wove its way along, he forgot all that, let himself get swept up in his own pining.
Now would be a good time to leave.
You stop him before he can get away. Your lips move, but Jimin can’t hear you above the roar of the club.
When he shakes his head in reply, you grab his hand. With surprising force, you pull him into the bathroom by the bar and lock the door behind you. The sounds of the club drains into a muffled haze on the other side.
“What is wrong with you?” Jimin rubs at his wrist where your fingers dug into his skin seconds before.
You run a desperate hand through your hair. “Sorry… it’s just… you – you keep ignoring me, keep running away and... I didn’t know what else to do…”
A cold settles over Jimin. “Yeah, well I’ve been running away for a reason.”
Your lips wobble slightly, but you pull back a smile. “Right…”
Above you, the bathroom lights flicker, the movement sensors shutting down when neither of you move. A thick blackness settles over you as the lights snap off.
“Why is that?” you finally ask, “What did I do?”
The truth struggles in Jimin’s mouth, wanting to get out – if he could just say: “Because I love you, and you hurt me.” But he can’t get it out. This old habit won’t die.
“Whatever,” you say after a painfully long silence, “I guess it’s selfish to want you back.”
Jimin’s face feels hot, pain and pleasure rising up at the words ‘want you’. He’s grateful for the darkness that hides his feelings. “Yeah… selfish.”
“But, Jimin,” you say, your voice seeming softer and more intimate coming from a faint shape in the darkness, “These past few days without you have hurt me so much… I’ll do whatever it takes to get our friendship back.”
What if that’s not what Jimin wants? He wants to scream, shout out, stop it all, but his mouth is dry and his throat is empty. If he can’t have you the way he wants you, he’d rather let go altogether. Being this close, physically, without being emotionally close is torturous. Jimin’s hands fumble through the darkness for the lock on the door.
“Whatever it takes,” you repeat. Jimin hears your feet scuffing the tiled floor as you take a step closer. So close he can feel your breath, sweet smelling, on his cheek.
And then your lips reach his.
A thousand feelings cascade through Jimin. He’s unable to identify any of them except the primal desire, and the primal fear. Your mouth moves against his, desperate, searching – like you’re trying to pry his lips open and spill the truth. Jimin’s body compiles before he can push you away, melting at your touch. He opens up and lets you in to do your worst, all while his brain screams “Stop!”
Ripping you away from him is like tearing off his own skin.
You stumble back a few feet and the lights flicker on again.
It’s Jimin’s turn to get angry. Is this what you felt when he kissed you at the party? Used. Dirty. Empty. He’s just another outlet for your cheap thrill obsession – another way for you to break the rules, break your new boyfriend’s heart, break everything apart. Jimin wants to break something too, smash the wall, slam the door, shatter the bathroom mirror where he sees himself reflected, not recognising his own pale face.
“Jimin…” your voice is small, as you take another step back, leaning against the opposite wall. Beside the white tiles you look ghostly, “I just-”
“What – you just what?” Jimin’s fists ball by his side as he tries to push the feeling of your lips from his mind – so soft… so warm…
A wry laugh escapes you. “I don’t know… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore… I’m going crazy. I just… I miss you, okay?”
“So it’s fine to kiss me while your boyfriend waits outside? What happened to being in love with him, huh?” Jimin shakes his head. You blur in and out of focus as tears rise, “What? He’s not good enough now? Is breaking his heart not enough?”
You bite back a sob, crossing your arms across your chest. “I don’t know anymore, Jimin. I don’t feel like anything’s enough, right now. I’m just – I’m lost without you. I don’t remember what it’s like to keep going without you by my side.”
Whatever anger Jimin has left fizzles out, leaving a heaviness in its wake. “Maybe that’s why we should take a break from each other – remember what it’s like to go on without the other.”
The tears you were holding back begin to spill, clumping your mascara. “Maybe…”
On any other night Jimin would have been by your side in an instant, his arms snaking around to pull you away from whatever’s hurting you. But now – it’s him causing this pain. And he can’t touch you. Not after promising to let go - to keep living without relying on you. You’re his oxygen tank, but he needs to learn to breathe alone.
“Maybe,” he repeats, and the word hangs in the air as he unlocks the door and leaves you shivering in the bathroom.
♡♡♡
Y/N: Jimin
Y/N: sorry… about last night
Y/N: i have a few things i need to sort out in my own mind
Y/N: you were right… we need some time apart
Y/N: im going to do some thinking
Y/N: and i hope you can forgive me when i make it out the other side of this…
♡♡♡
Jimin flicks through one of the books left lying in the poetry clubroom, waiting for Namjoon and Yoongi to arrive after class. He’s searching for a particular poem. At last he lands on the page he wants.
‘We Wear The Mask’ by Lawrence Dunbar. His eyes glide over the words, drinking them up:
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, -
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
The door opens, knocking Jimin from his trance.
“Enjoying Dunbar?” Namjoon asks.
Jimin blushes, embarrassed to be caught in the act. “Yeah… I don’t really understand it, but I like this poem.”
“If that’s the case, you should try to write a response to it.”
Jimin cocks his head at this. “Write a response?”
“Yeah, after all – you’re a member of the poetry club now. You need to write a poem. That was our condition for you staying, wasn’t it?”
Jimin’s eyes fall back to the words in front of him, overwhelmed. “I didn’t think you were serious…”
“I’m not. Not really,” Namjoon says, “Still, if this poetry moves you, you should try to explain why…”
“Well…”Jimin pauses to consider.
Patiently, Namjoon waits for him to sort his thoughts.
“The poem’s about deceit, right?” Jimin begins, “About how we all wear masks, and hide behind smiles, and pretend that our lives are better than they really are. But in the end, we get swept up in our own lies, let them squeeze – like… like snakes – and drain us of anything that we might be… until we’re… we’re nothing but the masks we hold up.” Jimin’s face heats up. He suddenly feels exposed, like he’s turned himself inside out and let Namjoon examine his vital organs. It’s about more than just poetry at this point.
But rather than the laughing, Namjoon says, “You should write some of those thoughts down. There’s a poem hiding in there somewhere.”
“…They were just my honest thoughts,” Jimin says, brushing at the pages between his fingers and avoiding Namjoon’s gaze.
“Well, by being honest, you’re already breaking away from your own mask.” Jimin looks up to see Namjoon’s dimples popping up as he smiles.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
♡♡♡
The next couple of days, Jimin finds himself writing in his spare time, small pieces of poetry (if they can even be called that) scribbled in a spare notebook. Getting his honest thoughts down on paper makes his chest feel a little lighter, allows him to admit the feelings he never realised existed. As his pen scratches at the paper, he scratches away at his own surface.
Sitting alone in the poetry clubroom, perched on a desk with his notebook in his lap, he’s startled out of his reverie by the buzzing of his phone. He glances at the screen, ready to dismiss the notification from Facebook until he sees your face. His finger freezes, ready to swipe away:
‘Y/N just got out of a relationship with Kim Taehyung.’
Jimin’s insides squirm around, body parts jumping to strange places – heart in his throat, stomach in his shoes, brain out the window.
What does this mean?
His thoughts stampede back to your last meeting, the texts you sent afterwards – “I have a few things I need to sort out in my own mind.” Is this what you meant? Dumping Taehyung? He expects the usual rush of joy that comes when you give him a small sliver of hope. Instead, all he feels is a small, sad glow that you let go of the love you were so desperately clinging to – pretending to be happy, because you didn’t want to be lonely.
He’s disappointed that it didn’t work out for you. Despite all his muddled thoughts, he realises he still wants you to be happy.
But a part of him is also proud that you let go. If Taehyung was just another way of alleviating your own pain, then he’s glad that you’re not relying on him anymore. Maybe this time apart is doing you both good. Separate from his blinding love, Jimin’s learning new things about himself, and maybe it’s the same for you.
He gets the feeling, that even if (when) the two of you return to your old friendship, it won’t really be you and Jimin, but two entirely different people that meet. He’s terrified by the thought. But he’s also excited.
The next time he sees you in class, he gives your shoulder a light pat as he passes your seat. You look up at him, eyes still puffy and red from your fresh break-up, and offer a small smile.
It’s not a lot, but it gives Jimin hope. He won’t lose you forever.
♡♡♡
It’s the weekend. The sun beats down overhead as Jimin treks through the city zoo. He had the choice of going to an expensive restaurant with his family or going into town by himself. He’s sick of steak every family dinner, so he’s opted for some time alone. Tramping over a tarmac sea with an empty notebook in his backpack feels oddly thrilling.
He reaches a signpost, marking out the sections of the park: straight on for the lions, left for the penguin exhibit, right for the reptile room. Jimin turns right, towards the building that instilled so much fear as a child – today he’s going to face his fear of snakes.
The air inside the reptile room is thick and warm. Jimin walks past tanks full of lizards, and tortoises, and small corn snakes, searching until he reaches the exhibit he was looking for: the python.
The snake sits at the back of the tank, unmoving, like a log. Jimin stares at the large shape that had scared him for so long, watching bulging eyes staring back from a brown and cream striped face.
The sign beside the enclosure reads: “This is Christie, our Burmese Python.”
“Christie… that’s not a scary name,” Jimin chuckles. The python shifts a little, patterns sliding together like an optical illusion. Jimin realises he isn’t afraid anymore. Just fascinated. He watches the python for a few more minutes, until something catches his eye from the other side of the tank, where zoo visitors are meandering on the far side of the reptile room.
He takes a step back when he sees your face gazing at him through two layers of glass.
He waves.
On the other side, you smile and wave back.
Out in the sunlight again, Jimin finds a bench where, after a moment, you join him with two ice lollies from the cart outside the reptile room.
“This is for you,” you say, holding out one of the lollies, “Consider it a peace offering and we’ll call a truce for the day.”
Jimin smiles, and accepts the watermelon flavoured ice pop. His favourite.
The two of you sit in silence for a while, licking up the half-melted ice, mouths too busy to talk.
At last Jimin breaks through, saying, “So… how have you been?”
It’s so simple, it feels silly to ask.
Still, you respond, “I’ve been… fine. Yeah, fine. I mean, a lot’s been going on, but I feel okay about it, you know?”
Jimin licks at a stray drop of watermelon-flavoured juice that’s dripping onto his hand. “Yeah, I get that.”
“Of course you get it. We get each other.” You bump your shoulder against Jimin’s gently. Your smile fades away quickly though, “Sorry, is it too soon to go back to joking the way we used to?”
“No, this is fine. This is… nice,” Jimin says, “Hanging out with you is nice. Not at a club or anything, I mean.”
You hum in response. “Yeah, we only ever spent our free time partying, we never gave ourselves much of a chance to talk.”
“Can a friendship even be stable, living like that?”
“I don’t believe so…” you pause from eating your ice lolly, drifting into thought as the melted juice begins to run down the stick, “I’ve been thinking about that a lot actually. About how I’ve been treating you…” You falter. “Sorry, I know we called a truce. Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this yet… maybe now’s not the time.”
“It’s okay,” Jimin murmurs.
You press your lips together, giving him the sense that you’re choosing your next words with care. “I’ve realised how unfair I’ve been. To you. To Taehyung. I’ve just been doing what makes me happy, running away from my own thoughts through partying and breaking the rules – anything to make me feel special, like I’m an extra bit of stardust breaking away from orbit. But I ended up hurting those I left in my wake. I wasn’t looking behind me to see the damage.” Tears slip into your eyes as melted ice-cream slides down your knuckles.
“I think there’s always going to be damage as we grow up and change,” Jimin says after a short silence, “What’s important is that you recognise the damage and try to fix it.”
You finally notice the ice-cream dripping onto your hand and try to clean it up, licking it off your fingers. Behind your hand, you offer Jimin a messy smile. “When did you become so wise, Park Jimin?”
“I’ve just been hanging out with Namjoon too much.”
You laugh, “Alright. I’m done being philosophical for one day. Let’s go look at meerkats.”
As you drag Jimin off the bench, he feels the air around the two of you clearing. Being honest with you feels nice.
There’s only one last lie floating between you, one last thing he needs to fix. But not today. Not on a truce.
♡♡♡
“I’ve finished it!” Jimin lays a sheet of paper down on the desk in front of Namjoon and Yoongi.
“This is your poem?” Namjoon asks.
Jimin nods. “I’d rather you read it when I’m not around. It’s embarrassing.”
“Of course,” Namjoon smiles, “Poems are most embarrassing when they’re honest, right?”
Jimin exits the room, and breathes a sigh. Finally finished, he’s managed to get his thoughts into some semblance of order, and although he knows it’s nothing like the poems Namjoon and Yoongi write, Jimin’s proud of it:
Tell me like you’re whispering into my ears
Don’t be like prey
Be smooth like a snake
I want to escape but
It keeps happening even though I run away
I’m caught in a lie.
There’s one more thing he needs to do.
He takes out his phone, pulling up your number. He’s ready to tell you the whole truth.
Jimin: I’ve finished thinking.
Jimin: meet me outside.
Stepping out into the breeze that pulls at his hair and jumper, Jimin finds a bench underneath one of the trees by the football pitch, where he can watch the sun spill dappled patterns onto the grass.
Making the most of these final moments before you arrive, he goes over all he needs to say in his head: “Y/N, I’ve wasted so much of my time lying to you. I thought it would do us both good, but in the end it damaged our relationship. I’m so sorry, and I hope you can forgive me when I tell you the truth – that I love you…” That I love you…
He hears footsteps behind him, and jumps up to see you stop at the other side of the bench, the wooden frame separating the two of you. His heart beat throbs in his throat.
“Hi,” you lean over the bench, smiling.
“Hi.” Jimin’s nose scrunches naturally as he smiles back.
You step around the bench and take a seat, patting the space by your side for him to sit down. “So I believe you wanted to tell me something?”
Jimin obliges, sitting down beside you. A deep breath isn’t enough to compose his thoughts, the well-rehearsed speech shatters and flies away from him, leaving him grasping at empty air. He decides whatever comes out now is probably better than an over-practiced speech anyway: “Actually… Y/N… I’ve been feeling pretty guilty. I spend most of my time lying to you… to everyone... But I want to change that. I want to be honest with you – with myself. I want you to know me for who I am... Maybe you’ll think differently of me once I show you what I’m really like. Maybe you’ll need to completely relearn Park Jimin. But I want you to know me for me.”
“Well, Park Jimin, it’s lovely to meet the real you,” you say, picking up his hand and shaking it, “Tell me a little about yourself.”
Jimin laughs behind his free hand, playing along, “Alright, well… firstly, I have a weird phobia of snakes. And I drink a lot of rum at parties, to make me look grown-up, even though I hate the taste. Oh, and I can’t hold my liquor. At all. I’ve also never really liked clubs, I think they’re too hot and sweaty, and I always feel I’m one step away from running into a drug-dealer. On top of that, although I act like I don’t care, I’m actually really worried about my future, about what college I’ll go to. I don’t even know what I want to do yet. And…” Deep breath, “And I love you. I love love you.”
The tight feeling in Jimin’s chest melts away.
Your hand slips from his, and your eyes fall to the ground. “I see, so I thought right…”
Jimin swallows, and continues on, “I wanted to tell you so that there’s no lies between us, but I don’t expect you to accept my feelings. I don’t even need you to respond to them. I just want you to know they’re there.”
Your hands clasped in your lap grip a little tighter, your knuckles turning white.
“Sorry, Y/N, I’m sure this is awkward for you…”
You shake your head, hair slipping around your shoulders in waves. “No, it’s not awkward. I’m glad you told me. And I agree, there shouldn’t be any lies between us…”
“Right.” Jimin presses his lips together, debating his next words. “And despite all this… I want us to stay friends.”
You finally look, eyes locking with his. Behind your irises, a flux of emotions play for power, tumbling through confusion, pain, happiness. You settle on a small smile, lips easing up. “I want that too, Jimin. But… I can’t help feeling guilty. I’ve strung you along for so long, hurt you so many times. Shouldn’t you just leave me at this point? Find someone who’s actually worth your love?”
Your words squeeze Jimin’s heart. Disappointment wells up at his own weakness. He was hoping that once he got rid of the lies, all his problems would fade, that he wouldn’t get fazed by things like this. But of course, there are problems even for the honest. His emotions won’t sort themselves out overnight. He takes another breath, resigns himself to this fact, and moves on to say, “To be honest, I’m not even sure what I feel for you is love anymore.”
Your eyes bore into him, searching - a deep gaze he used to fear would break through his lies.
“Of course, I care for you deeply,” he says, “But these feelings have been inside me so long, they’re not pure anymore. I adapted them again and again to fit you as we grew up. But in the end, I think I was in love with a dream I’d made up. I needed time away to realise that.”
Looking back, Jimin had forgotten what you told him all those years ago when you first tried to explain the difference between love and love love:
“Don’t you get it Jimin? Love love is the pure kind of love, like what my parents have. It’s gentle, all encompassing, wide ranging. It’s the kind of love where my dad can come home after a long day at work, argue with my mum, and still find space in his heart to love her despite how tough it is. That’s love love.” This was the only explanation you could offer five years ago, not understanding love yourself.
Jimin had watched as you spoke, eyes sparkling in the slits of afternoon sunshine that snuck behind your bicycle shed hideaway.
“Love love sounds amazing,” he said.
“Doesn’t it? I can’t wait till I find it.”
“Me neither.”
Jimin realises now that his feelings were nothing like that. They weren’t gentle, all encompassing, wide ranging. There were just painful. They had blinded him, hiding you behind a veil of fantasies you could never fulfil.
Getting too caught up on what’s love and what’s love love confuses him, but he has a whole lifetime to sort out his mind, to detangle himself from the fairy-tales he’s been fed since childhood, and the bad experiences he’s had with all the girls he never actually cared for. With a breath, he releases his fears into the air, and decides it’s okay to not know. So long as he has you by his side to figure it out.
“For now,” he says, “Let’s stay friends.”
The wind rustles in the trees, and you rest your head on Jimin’s shoulder. The pressure there feels comfy, familiar.
“Friends,” you whisper, “I’d love love that.”
♡ END ♡