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It’s been awhile.
Jimin thinks as he pockets his wallet, ID been studied and eyed, black boots landing heavy on the glittered floor. He blinks in the sudden strobe lights, the shining in his eyes making the dark room harder to navigate.
He pushes his hair back, a master by now at avoiding tangling the assortment of rings that weigh his fingers down. He lets the flaps of his dark jean jacket swing loose, his white T-shirt started to cling to his skin with the heat pulsing from every corner of the room.
He bites his lips as he pushes by the singles leaning up against the walls of the entry, immune now to the eyes that trail after him. He steps into the crowd where bodies push and pull and rub against each other, a rush of nerves warming his bones in a way that isn’t comforting, and he quickly makes a beeline towards the bar on the far side of the room. His uses the wall on his right as his clutch, never letting his gaze linger in fear that someone will take it as an invitation. There’s sweat building along his hairline by the time he reaches the edge of the bar, collapsing against it slightly and tapping his forehead with his sleeve softly to avoid ruining the layer of make up that covered his face.
It’s then that the noise of the room catches up with him, and he realizes only then how anxious he is to be there. It’s like the noise suddenly surrounds him all at once, the white noise of too many conversations creating a buzz that sounds clearer than anything he’s heard all night. He takes in the rush of voices and the blaring music and lets it ground him, hands gripping the counter until he’s able to breathe properly for the first time in hours.
He feels silly all of sudden, the beat of the song he doesn’t recognize pounds in rhythm with his heart, and he unknowingly starts to tap his fingers to it. Jimin takes a looks at the crowded room behind him, finding couples and singles and trios all gathered together or apart without a care in the world. Beautiful women in tight dresses dancing with blissed our smiles on their faces and beautiful men roll their bodies in time with the music and it’s all beautiful. Jimin knows this, he’s lived this scene countless of times before, alone and with partners. He makes contact with a pretty face who beckons him with her eyes, and the smirk that shapes his lips is easy, his body willing to go over and pull her close. He doesn’t, winking to let her know he’s interested, but to not waste her time. She moves in a way that Jimin assumes means your loss, and Jimin chuckles, because he’s given that exact response too many times in the past.
The exchange feels familiar, and he lets the anxiety drop from his bones. He’s still sweating, but that’s more to do with the temperature of the room than his nerves. As he leans his elbows back against the bar, his eyes scanning the crowd people watching, his mind drifts.
Jimin is drenched, the sleeveless white graphic tee sticking to his chest, hair wet as if he’d just step out of the shower, leather pants sticking uncomfortably to his thighs. He didn’t care, body swaying and stepping to the loud music, hands lingering on his arms and sides and it only made him feel more elated. His eyes stayed close, feeling at home in the middle of the dance floor.
His hands pulled at his own hair and clothes, running his palms over his chest and tossing his hair back as he twirled and rolled to the music in his ears. He could feel the eyes on him grow, the attention showing by bodies stepping closer and hands getting bolder. They never gave in the to urge to grab without the okay to pull him in, and he was glad. He had only one body in particular he wanted to close in on him.
It was then that confident hands decided Jimin was theirs to grab, and he felt a body press along his back, bands rubbing down his sides. They weren’t the hands he wanted, he knew that much, but he couldn’t help the spike of want that filled him, and the satisfaction of being wanted.
It was only a few seconds, Jimin’s window to respond to the rough hands circling around his middle before he was being tugged forward. The familiar scent filled his nose, and he hid the smile on his face by rushing towards him and wrapping his arms around his neck immediately. The body behind him no longer existing, and he shivered at the purred sorry he’s taken.
The body that now holds him was thin, thin arms and a thin neck, but his palms sprayed across his damped back, one reaching under his top to grip his hip. He felt like liquid in his arms, weightless and slipping through his fingers, but the weight of him kept him upright.
“Jiminie, you’re too pretty for your own good.” A voice sweet and airy sounded in his ear, it wasn’t a whisper, but it was soft and made Jimin shake.
“Hmm.” Jimin pressed his face to the other’s neck, puffing wet breaths onto the space where his neck meets his shoulder. He feels the other man’s grip tighten, and it was only then that he realizes he’s still dancing. “And you’re a liar, Jeonghannie.”
Jeonghan hums, thinking of the remark made to the other pair of hands that held Jimin moments prior, the words he said to him ringing in their ears. “Maybe we should do something about that then.”
They were still moving together, Jimin moving back to grip the back of Jeonghan’s neck to stare intensely into his eyes. Jeonghan looked stunning, with his wide eyes and sharp face edges, his hair was chin length, pushed back with the red of it catching in the moving lights. His cheeks were flushed, as were Jimin’s both from the alcohol and the heat and the dance.
Jeonghan wasn’t tall, but Jimin was tiny so he still had a good inch on him, so at this distance Jimin lifted his head slightly and he can see the shine in Jeonghan’s eyes at that. Jimin feels so much for the man in front of him, every moment of him was heat and fire and games of who will make the first move.
Jeonghan lost that night because when they finally lean in to kiss, he’s the one who pulls away to whisper breathlessly into his ear to be his.
What they don’t realize until later is that Jimin loses that night too, because he says yes.
Jimin jolts our of his daydream at the sudden change of lighting, the song drifting through the speakers electric and poppy, rather than the rough house music that had played in his head.
The song is lighter than the one he remembers, upbeat and fun rather than low and sexy. He knows immediately that he likes it, the female voice scratchy and touch but light and he knows he’s gonna have this in his head for awhile.
Jimin turns to the bar to finally buy a drink, swinging it back at once. Waving down another, this one he’ll nurse for awhile, he bops his head to the song, letting his hips wiggle to it.
That night with Jeonghan had been the last time he’d been here. They went out together, plenty of times to bars and clubs to dance, but to come back here always seemed young for them, two boys in a mature adult relationship returning to the place where they eyed each other for weeks. Their friends use to joke they’d run into the other boys and girls they tried (and succeeded) to hook up with, so they silently agreed to avoid it.
Coming here now, alone wasn’t something he thought he’d do. He wasn’t a fool to think he’d and Jeonghan would be each other‘s forever, although he knew they both wished it to be true. They both loved each other enough to see if it could last forever, and Jimin really wanted to try.
Jimin took a large gulp of his drink, the memory of Jeonghan in tears telling him he’d slept with his coworker bright and vivid in his mind.
Jimin doesn’t pretend the bitter taste in his mouth is the result of the drink.
You should have expected it, his friends don’t say because they’re his friends and they love him. But he agrees. Being in love with Jeonghan was all electric and excitement and hot. He always got what he wanted but so did Jimin and they both pretended to be angels and they weren’t. They were too alike, only they both know Jimin never would’ve cheated, and Jeonghan wanted so bad not to be the reason for their end.
It’s that reason Jimin left him with a Goodbye Jeonghan instead of a I hope you find someone who you’ll stop fucking up for. And Jeonghan let his tears falls and says I love you, Jimin. I’m sorry. And doesn’t add for not letting that be you.
Because that’s all they were to each other, they were in love and intertwined but it ended just like everyone knew it would. So Jimin was sad, he let himself mourn the relationship and the companionship Jeonghan brought. He went home for a week and cried in his mom’s arms only once and then overworked himself until Seokjin dragged him to his place and fed him for another week. He went home and stripped it of pictures and articles of clothing. It’s by then that the ache was starting to settle so he doesn’t throw the items out, but tapes them up in a box.
It’s two months before he finally arrives at Jeonghan’s door unannounced with the stuff in his arms. Jeonghan is surprised to see him, his pretty face tight with stress and Jimin would feel concerned if he didn’t expect it.
Jeonghan hurt him, but he knows he’s not a bad person no matter how hard Jungkook tried to badmouth him. He looks sad once he takes the box from his arms and tells him sincerely that he misses him. It’s not a plea for him to stay, Jeonghan isn’t cruel. Jimin repeats the sentiment back to him, which isn’t a confirmation that he’ll come back. It’s enough for them and they go their separate ways.
Now, a week after that Jimin stands in this crowded room with a song his likes and a drink he doesn’t and feels for the first time in the last couple of months, that he’s ready.
He isn’t sure what he’s ready for until he turns back to place his empty cup on the counter and feel a tap on his shoulder.
“Want to dance?”