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Jimin is tired.
He’s had a shitty week, seven days full of exams that weight half his grade and showcases that can decide whether he's going to pass this year of college or not. The purple bags under his eyes refuse to leave no matter how many times Jimin pokes at them and all his muscles ache from the extra hours of practice he had to put in to perfect his last choreo. He's working mostly on auto-pilot by this point, shuffling only half-awake through the aisles of the supermarket in search of the only thing that’s kept him alive and kicking through this hellish week.
Jimin shivers as he passes under the air conditioner, the gust of icy wind making his teeth chatter. The sweater he’s wearing isn’t enough to keep him warm on a normal day and now, when it’s dripping water droplets to the floor because Jimin was too stubborn to listen to Seokjin when he said it was going to rain and rushed out of their shared apartment without an umbrella, well, it does a better job of weighing him down and turning him sluggish than of keeping the cold at bay.
“The store will be closing in twenty minutes, all customers please be aware of this.”
Jimin sneezes just as the last chimes of the supermarket’s pre-recorded message fade away and he has to make a conscious effort to stop himself from stomping his foot on the ground in frustration. Honestly, he just wants to find the aisle where the coffee is and go home, maybe grovel at Seokjin’s feet for a massage or a bit of dinner, and then collapse on his bed. He’s beyond exhausted, running only on three hours of sleep, maybe less. Jimin really doesn’t know. This week has just about blurred together in his mind and all Jimin can remember of it is the overwhelming stress and the horrible flashes of his ugly crying.
Someone over by the frozen goods seccion drops their metal basket to the ground, making it rattle against the tiles. The screeching sound it lets out rings through his head and Jimin flinches away from it. Today he had to sit through a four-hour long music theory exam and his mind is still swimming with half-notes and dominant sevenths, diminished chords and adagios, a mess that has his skull throbbing with the beginnings of a migraine.
Rubbing his temples against the pain, Jimin forces himself to keep on going. He can’t say he regrets choosing to major in dance. Performing is his passion and Jimin honestly can’t see himself doing anything else, hasn’t been able to since his mother first signed up him for ballet class at the age of five and he discovered the sheer joy that dancing brought him.
So no, Jimin certainly doesn’t regret his choice in major. What he does regret though, is listening to Hoseok’s awful advice and leaving his more theory-heavy courses for the end of the end year like the other dancer had done before him.
Really, Jimin should have know better. He was there to witness Hoseok’s epic freak out, after all. The older dancer had flipped when he had realized just how many exams he had to sit through in one week and Jimin doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way Hoseok had gone spiralling down into a full-blown panic attack that ended with a broken table and a him running into his crush, clad only in his heart-patterned boxers.
The whole mess had ended up way better than any of them would have expected though. Jimin still isn’t quite clear on how Hoseok had managed to woo Yoongi into a date in his underwear but the both of them are still going steady, so either Yoongi is way more into exhibitionism than any of them known or Jimin is missing some vital part of the whole dating thing.
With his track record of an embarrassing grand total of 4 boyfriends, the majority of whom had dumped Jimin after a month at most, claiming that had been just experimenting (and really, Jimin had grown to hate the word bi-curious with all of his might), he’s admittedly betting on it being the latter.
Jimin burrows further into his sweater, trying to ignore the way it sticks uncomfortably to his body. He shuffles forward and turns down the aisle that promises to hold sweet, sweet coffee, wincing a bit when he feels a bite of pain in his calves.
Ruffling his head to try and get rid of the rainwater that’s still soaking his orange hair, Jimin scans the shelves for the instant coffee that’s been his fuel for the past week. Seokjin had texted him to tell him that they had run out of coffee just when he was leaving the dance studio after slaving away for a good three hours over a piece of choreo he still can’t seem to get right and Jimin had reluctantly agreed to stop by the store to pick some up.
He needs it more than Seokjin does, Jimin knows that. He can’t help but feel jealous of the way the older seems to have everything under control even in the middle of finals week, which Jimin knows for a fact is just as stressful for the seniors, if not more so. He had seen Namjoon walking through campus with his pants on backwards and a post-it note stuck to his head only yesterday, after all. The philosophy major had barely had enough energy to wave a tired hello at Jimin before he was dragging himself away to the library, muttering curses under his breath and almost bumping into a light pole on his way.
Still, Jimin is tired and wet and just one wrong move away from falling apart in the middle of a deserted supermarket aisle, clock a few minutes shy of midnight and, as far as he is concerned, it’s all Seokjin’s fault.
Finally catching sight of the instant coffee, Jimin stumbles towards it, leaving a trail of water behind him. He reaches a hand out, frowning when his fingers don’t even brush the edge of the shelf the coffee is sitting on. Struggling through the pain it cause him, he forces himself to his tiptoes, stretching his arm out as far as it can go towards the coffee. Still, it’s not enough. The can sits just out of reach of Jimin’s hand, his fingers hovering just under it but never quite touching it. Jimin can’t help but glare at the can. The red of its label seems to glint at him, mocking.
“Is this for real,” he mutters, feeling his already fraying patience rushing fast towards its end.
He tries again, jumping and pushing himself higher, but his hand keeps coming up short. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? He’s too goddamn short. God, how does Jimin hate that word.
Cursing under his breath Jimin jumps again, ignoring that pain in his legs, but the coffee stays out of reach still. Frustrated beyond belief and feeling the prickle of tears threatening at the corners of his eyes Jimin is just about to start screaming when he feels someone come to stand behind him.
Before he can turn around to yell at the person for encroaching on his much needed personal space a pair of strong arms wind their way around his waist, caging Jimin in agaisnt the wall and he freezes, caught completely off guard by the warm puff of breath he can feel tickling at the back of his neck.
“Here you go.”
Jimin shivers, the stranger’s warm voice just a few inches away from his ear. The arms around him tighten for a moment and Jimin sees out of the corner of his eye how the stranger’s muscle flex before he grabs the can of instant coffee from the shelf and lowers it down enough for Jimin to grab himself.
As soon as his fingers close around the can Jimin whirls around, sending water flying everywhere and splattering the stranger’s shirt. “What do you think you’re doing?” Jimin hisses, glaring at the other (much more taller) boy.
“You’re welcome,” the stranger chuckles and shoots him a smile that borders on a smirk, looking down at him. And honestly, his smile is gorgeous, bright and white and slightly bunny-toothed. Any other day Jimin would have been all but melting under it, but as it is, Jimin is far too tired to think straight and his useless brain gets stuck on the looking down on him part.
“I didn’t need you help,” he growls out, turning his nose up when all the stranger does is smile even wider.
“Sure you didn’t,” he says, tone teasing, making Jimin bristle. “I’m sure you would have found a ladder somewhere around.”
“Excuse you, you asshole.” Jimin glares, eyes narrowing at the way the stranger crosses his (very nice, very muscular) arms and leans against the wall, expression cocky as he stares at a fuming Jimin. “Just because I’m short doesn’t mean I’m useless.”
“I didn’t say that,” the stranger says, palms help up in a placating gesture that just makes Jimin want to kick him in the shin and bring him down to his level. “I was just trying to help. Honest.”
“Yes, well, thanks, but no thanks,” says Jimin and turns on his heel, can of coffee held tightly on his hand. He hears the stranger laugh again and it takes far more effort than it should have for Jimin not to turn around and give him one last look.
He hurries over to the checkout counter, embarrassment catching up to him and making his face heat up. He hands the can over to the bored-looking cashier and drums his fingers against the counter as the girl reads him his total. He’s just about to fish his wallet out of his pocket when a hand appears out of nowhere, money in hand, and passes it over to the cashier.
“Let me get that for you,” says the stranger from before and Jimin chokes on air.
“Oh my god,” he hisses, taking a step back to put some distance between him and the stranger, who is, again, much too close to him. “Are you following me?”
“It’s not like it’s hard,” the stranger answers, looking him and up down, making goosebumps break all over his skin. Jimin blames the air conditioner. “I just need to follow the trail of rainwater you leave behind.”
Jimin flushes and reaches for the bag the cashier is holding out to him. Before he can grab it though, the stranger is there again, slinging it across his arm and winking at Jimin when he turns to glare at him.
“Give that back,” Jimin growls out.
“I will, don’t worry,” he says and Jimin makes a grab for the bag but the stranger swings it out of his reach before his fingers can close around it. “As soon as you tell me your name that is.” He chuckles.
“Not a chance in hell, jerk.” Jimin huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to appear intimidating. He fails though, if the way the stranger's eyes start to crinkle at the corners is any indication.
“Well then,” the stranger says, smirking at him as he starts walking towards the exit, swinging the plastic bag back and forth mockingly. “I guess you’ll have to leave without your coffee.”
“I’ll just buy another one,” he says but (because his name is Park Jimin and he just can’t catch a fucking break) the cashier choose that exact moment to turn the sign sitting on the counter from open to close.
“Are you kidding me?” Jimin screeches at the girl, who just shrugs at him. By the exit, the stranger laughs, a full-body sound that travels all the way towards Jimin and stays there.
“C’mon, it’s just a name,” the guy prods.
Honestly, Jimin is beyond done with handsome, cocky, bunny-toothed strangers who insist on being unhelpfully helpful and turn Jimin into a stuttering, blushing mess. Still, it’s only Thursday and Jimin has three more hellish days to get through alive and he can’t do that without coffee, so he sighs and relents.
“Jimin,” he mumbles as he comes to stand beside the stranger. “My name’s Park Jimin.”
“Nice to meet you, Park Jimin.” The boy smiles, brown eyes bright and smile just as blinding. “I’m Jeon Jungkook.”
“Oh.” Realization hits Jimin at full speed. “Oh.”
“What?” the stranger -Jungkook- asks, brows furrowed, for the first time losing the carefree attitude.
“You’re the freshmen everyone at the dance department has been talking about, aren't you?” Jimin asks. “The one who’s supposed to be some sort of prodigy.”
“Ah, well, I think prodigy is stretching it a bit too far, really.” Jungkook answers and Jimin swears he hears a stroke of shyness in his tone. It eases the tension in Jimin’s shoulder somewhat, knowing that the other boy can become flustered too. “Besides, I’m nothing like you. I saw your showcase this week. Incredible really. You’re an amazing dancer.”
Jimin flushes at the praise. “You saw that?” he asks, shuffling on his feet. He’s the most proud of that piece. He choreographed it all by himself, even wrote the lyrics for the track Yoongi and Hoseok had given him. Hearing it being acknowledged by someone who almost every professor is heralding as some sort of dancing genius makes Jimin insanely happy, some of the tiredness that had been hounding him fading away at the tone of admiration in Jungkook’s voice.
“Course,” Jungkook answer, holding the door of the supermarket open for Jimin. As soon as he steps out of the store a cold gust of wind hits him straight on and Jimin becomes acutely aware of the fact that his clothes are all soaked through.
“Here, take my jacket.” Jungkook says, startling him. He shrugs his jacket off and lays it over Jimin, who huddles into it despite himself, burrowing into its warmth, taking a breath of it’s comforting scent.
They walk for a few blocks in comfortable silence, their shoulder brushing together now and then, making Jimin blush. It’s a few minutes before they come upon an intersection and Jungkook stops.
“I hope to see you around, Park Jimin,” he says smiling soft and warm under the light of the electric pole. Jungkook turns around and starts walking away, throwing a last wave Jimin’s way and it’s only when his silhouette is almost out of sight that Jimin realize he’s still wearing the other boy’s jacket.
“Jungkook, wait!” he shouts after the boy and watches as Jungkook turns towards him. “Your jacket.”
“Keep it,” Jungkook shouts back and somehow, Jimin just knows that he’s smirking, can picture to curve of it almost perfectly. “You can give it it back when we go out for our second date.”
“Second date, who said anything about a first date?”
“But we already had it, don’t you see?” he says. “I even bought you coffee.”
Jimin looks down at the bag he’s carrying, holding the lonely can of instant coffee. When he looks back up Jungkook is long gone, the street empty save for the bright beam of light of the electric pole.
“See you around, Jeon Jungkook,” he whispers into the night before he turns on his heel and starts walking, no longer caring if he’s smiling stupidly or not the whole way home.