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Jimin’s snort of disgust stops Jeongguk short of wiping off the excess barbecue sauce dripping down his chin with the back of his hand.
“Ever seen one of these, you animal,” Jimin says, throwing a handful of napkins at Jeongguk.
Jeongguk pats his cheeks clean and makes a show of licking his fangs until they gleam. “Growing wolves have to eat.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. “Put those away, before you hurt yourself.”
“I know a good place for them,” Jeongguk says, eyeing the exposed column of Jimin’s neck. He can still see the shadow of a bruise on Jimin’s collarbone where he got a little too excited, a little too nippy, and his gums ache to press against the spot again, to sink his fangs in deep and let the taste of pears wash over his tongue.
Jimin snaps his fingers in his face. “Mind out of the gutter, Gukie; we’re in public.”
Jeongguk’s smile is part goofy, part salacious. “You wanna take this back to the house then?”
“No,” Jimin says, much to Jeongguk’s disappointment. “I was promised an ice-skating date, and I will go ice-skating, with or without you.”
“Fine,” Jeongguk grumbles. He turns and waves to catch their waitress’ attention. “But I expect compensation in the form of kisses.”
Jimin laughs. “I’ll let you hold my hand as we skate,” he says, and the look in his eyes is one of fond exasperation.
Jeongguk holds out his hand and they shake on it. “Deal.”
The waitress comes over then with their bill. They reach for it at the same time, but Jeongguk’s reflexes are faster, and his fingers, longer. He snags the flimsy paper by the corner and pulls it away with a little whoop, shooting a disgruntled Jimin his most shit-eating grin.
The waitress—a beta, Jeongguk notes with interest; he still hasn’t gotten used to being able to tell—giggles. “Cute dongsaeng, paying for his hyung’s meal.”
Jeongguk mouths a “See!” at Jimin then turns his smile on the waitress. “Thank you, noona.”
The waitress touches Jeongguk’s shoulder. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.” Her eyes travel the length of Jeongguk’s body in a quick up-and-down before she leaves to run his card.
Jimin makes a weird sound in his throat, and Jeongguk turns to look at him. His expression has lost its playfulness; he’s no longer smiling, his mouth twisted like he’d eaten something sour, and there’s a furrow sitting deep between his brows.
“Hyung, what’s wrong?” Jeongguk leans forward to catch Jimin’s gaze, frowning when Jimin evades him. “Are you upset that—”
“She touched you,” Jimin says, his voice so low, Jeongguk almost misses it completely
Jeongguk waves Jimin’s words away. “It’s not a big deal.”
He doesn’t expect the low growl that rumbles from Jimin, nor for his eyes to flash a muted silver. The air around them feels ten times hotter and smells like a pear orchard after the sudden influx of hormones, and at any other time, Jeongguk would be floating on cloud nine—Jimin always smells so good—but right now, he only feels concern.
The waitress returns to give back Jeongguk’s card. If she notices anything funny, she doesn’t show it, only wishes them a good day, excuses herself with a smile and a bow, and turns to her other customers.
Jimin stands up. “Let’s go,” he says.
He doesn’t wait for Jeongguk before walking towards the door.
Jeongguk hurries to catch up. When they get outside, Jimin seems to relax some, his shoulders dropping from their hunched position. He stills seems off, though, pear-and-freesia scent sour with something undefinable, and he still won’t look Jeongguk in the eye.
Jeongguk stops Jimin with a hand on his arm and crowds into his space. He lowers his voice, so no one around them can hear, and asks in a gentle tone: “Hyung, are you o—”
“I’m fine,” Jimin sighs, almost snappish. He finally looks up at Jeongguk, the lingering traces of silver in his eyes catching the last of the sunlight. “Just forget it, yeah?”
Jimin’s smile is meant to soothe, but it only puts Jeongguk more on edge. Jimin doesn’t seem upset with him, which is both good and bad. Jeongguk doesn’t have to do any relationship damage control, but that means there’s something else upsetting Jimin, something Jimin is reticent to share with Jeongguk, and that makes him feel…bad. Useless, almost, when his instincts are screaming at him to protect Jimin, but from what?
“Jimin…”
Jimin laughs, and this, at least, seems genuine. “Don’t give me those puppy eyes,” he says, poking Jeongguk on the bridge of his nose so he goes cross-eyed. “I’m really fine. Let’s enjoy the rest of our date.”
Jeongguk tries and Jimin tries, too, too hard. He smiles and laughs at all the appropriate moments; races Jeongguk for a prize that goes unnamed; lets Jeongguk catch him by the waist and spin him in a wide arc; picks up ice shavings and throws them at Jeongguk; collapses against him in a cloud of condensation and tucks his cold nose into the curve of Jeongguk’s neck for a split second before he’s off again, gliding across the ice like he’s flying, smiling and laughing and looking so, so pretty.
It’s a wonderful date. Jeongguk couldn’t have asked for more, needed this night to be just him and Jimin enjoying each other’s company, and that’s exactly what he got.
So, why does he feel like crying? Why does he feel so wrong, when everything seems to be going right?
They decide to walk home, their apartment complex not far from the rink. It’s a nice night, the seasons on the cusp of change as winter melts into the damp of spring. They hold hands on the way, fingers knotted together in the space between them. It’s just one more perfect thing—too perfect, Jeongguk thinks, like something staged in a storefront window.
As they walk, the breeze picks up, cooling the sweat on their bodies. Jimin’s scent sits heavy on the breeze, and Jeongguk realizes Jimin still smells off, his scent like pears that were left to sit out for too long, rotten and cloying, instead of crisp and clean.
Annoyance wells up inside Jeongguk. He’s not even sure why. Logic states he should just leave things alone—they’d had a good time, hadn’t they? There’s no reason to make mountains from anthills. It’s clearly nothing pressing, or else Jimin would have said something already, him never being one to mince words.
It’s not affecting their relationship, so Jeongguk should just leave it alone.
As soon as they’re in the house and out of their outerwear, Jeongguk turns on Jimin. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, now?”
Jimin blinks at him owlishly. “What?”
“You’re obviously upset about something,” Jeongguk says. “What’s wrong?”
Annoyance flashes in Jimin’s eyes. “You’ve been asking me all night and I keep telling you: nothing.”
“You smell funny,” Jeongguk says, and it almost comes out as a growl, his own ire swelling like the high tide.
“I smell funny?”
Jeongguk nods. “Not like yourself. Kind of…bitter? Like you drank too much lemon juice or something.”
Jimin huffs. “Well, you don’t smell so good yourself. You’ve been pouting all night when we should’ve been enjoying our date!”
“I did enjoy our date,” Jeongguk says, offended Jimin would think otherwise. “Still, I could tell you were upset and you won’t tell me why when I just want to help, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong but—”
“Okay, okay, stop,” Jimin says. “If it means that much to you, I’ll spill.”
Jeongguk waits for what feels like an eternity, but Jimin remains silent, his teeth dug into his bottom lip as he stares at Jeongguk like he’s trying to decide how to break bad news to him.
“Well?” Jeongguk prompts once he can’t stand the silence any longer.
Jimin sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I had an odd epiphany tonight. I realized you’re…an attractive person.”
Jeongguk honestly doesn’t know what to say. “You just…? Should I feel hurt or—”
“To other people, Jeongguk,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes. “Other people find you attractive.”
“And that…bothers you…” Understanding slowly permeates Jeongguk’s conscious, and all Jimin’s odd behavior suddenly makes sense. His emotions do a complete one-eighty from concerned to amused. “Park Jimin, are you jealous?” Jimin’s silence and the blush in his cheeks tell Jeongguk everything he needs to know. “Oh my God, you are! But weren’t you the one scolding me just weeks ago about how jealousy is a useless emotion?”
“Yes.”
“And how it has no place in our relationship because we trust each other?”
“I didn’t say I don’t trust you.”
“You just don’t trust other people around me?”
“I didn’t say that, either!”
“Then why are you upset?”
“I don’t know!”
Jeongguk laughs. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do here, then.”
Jimin chokes down a low growl. “Now you understand why I didn’t say anything.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glowers at the floor.
Jeongguk coos and gathers Jimin into his arms. Jimin puts up a short struggle before he sinks into the hug, pressing his nose into Jeongguk’s chest and inhaling deeply. The lines around his eyes even out and a sense of calm washes over him, his scent losing the bitterness its clung to all night.
“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk says once Jimin’s ruffled feathers have smoothed out again. “I wasn’t trying to make fun of the situation.”
“I know, I just…feel so stupid.”
Jeongguk hums. “You are never stupid. Not gonna lie, though, I’m kind of relieved.”
“Why?”
Jeongguk brings a hand up to the back of his neck: a nervous habit he’s never been able to get rid of. “You’re probably not going to like this, but I’m happy because…for once, it’s not me.”
Jimin pulls back to look at him, his expression bouncing between annoyance and amusement. “You’re happy because I’m being ridiculous?” He laughs. “You’re right: I don’t like it.”
“Then we can be ridiculous together,” Jeongguk says. He drops a kiss on Jimin’s forehead and holds him tighter.
“I’d rather we just never speak of this again.”
“Mmkay,” Jeongguk agrees. He really should've ended it there, but he's never been good at stopping while he was ahead. “You going into heat soon? You usually only get like this right before—oomph!”
“And you were doing so well, too,” Jimin says as he walks away from a sulking Jeongguk.