Chapter Text
Part I : Prologue
August ‘97
Sitting in the corner of the playground with his encyclopaedia of floral species perched on his knees, Park Jimin, aged five and three quarters, had an epiphany. Well, two, when he looked up and caught the new kid swinging clumsily, with no fruit to bear for all his fancy footwork.
His epiphanies went a little like so:
- Books were amazing. The crisp sound of pages turning, the cloying smell of ink print, the glorious words that differed in length and size and coined seamlessly to create meaning. Sometimes he felt so overwhelmed by this feeling so great, excitement and nervousness licking at his bones, maybe even love. He smiled to himself as he ran his hand over the sturdy cover of his book.
- Jeon Jungkook was a real dumb dumb
“That’s not how you swing,” Jimin pointed out crossly.
“What do you mean? I know how to swing! I came into the world swinging, that’s what Mama tells everybody.”
Jimin frowned in doubt. Mamas and Papas knew lots of things and Jimin wouldn’t normally dispute them, not unless he had evidence in black and white. But this was the first time he’d heard of swinging births and he was decidedly unconvinced.
“No you didn’t. Babies come into the world crying, it says so in my book at home. That’s how they know your lungs are working.”
“Huh? What’s that?”
“It’s how you breathe, you dummy. How old are you?”
“Five,” Jungkook said, scuffing his shoes against the soil and lifting his hand, fingers splayed out.
“You can’t be five. I’m five.”
“So what?”
“What do you mean so what? Everything you know is wrong! This is very bad. You’re going through a crisis.”
Jungkook clutched the steel chains of the swing rigidly. His eyes rounded in alarm and his lower lip jutted out in a deep pout. “What’s a crisis?”
“Oh, no.” Jimin’s heart skipped and skirted as he stared at Jungkook. “Don’t cry!”
“I’m not crying,” Jungkook retorted, voice trembling precariously.
“I don’t know, you look like you’re about to. Here, I’ll push you. Promise not to cry?”
“I’m not crying,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath as he shuffled on the swing and looked up at Jimin expectantly.
Jimin placed his book on a nearby bench and assumed his position behind Jungkook. “Ready?”
“Yeah!”
Jimin gave a shove and Jungkook swung in a dismal wobble.
“See, you have to keep your legs straight, that’s how you fly higher. It’s physics but Papa said I’m not old enough to understand just yet. When I am, he’ll explain it to me and I’ll tell you, okay? So now you have to admit that you’ve been swinging wrong your whole life.”
“I don’t know...” Jungkook answered hesitantly. “Mama said not to trust strangers. How do I know you’re not lying?”
“She says that because she doesn’t want you to get into someone else’s car, you numpty. I’m your classmate. I’m not going to kidnap you.”
Jungkook jumped off the swing and twirled around to face Jimin. “My name’s Jeon Jungkook. What’s yours?”
“Park Jimin. Weren’t you listening when the teacher introduced us?”
Jungkook scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, then stuck his hand out. “Let’s be friends. If we’re friends, I can trust you and everything.”
“That’s the weirdest reason to befriend someone but okay.” Jimin shook Jungkook’s hand firmly.
Jungkook sat back down and raised his legs. “I know I said I would trust you. But I think you should push me first, so that I can make sure.”
Jimin readily accepted this stipulation. In fact, he was rather pleased at Jungkook for thinking of one. It was always good to err on the side of caution. Plus, Jimin knew he was right and going about it this way would only make proving his point all the more rewarding.
He pushed Jungkook, several times in fact, until he gained enough momentum to swing steadily and with outstanding height by himself.
Jimin beamed and circled to the front. “See! You’re so high now. Like a plane in the sky.”
“A plane?! I’ve never been on a plane before. Zoom zoom zoom!”
Jimin dropped to the ground and folded his legs Indian-style. “You’re so silly.”
“And you’re so smart,” Jungkook quipped back. He blushed as soon as the words left his mouth.
Jimin nodded sagely. “Papa says I’m an intellectual.”
“That sounds weird,” Jungkook said, slowly descending. “Makes you sound like an alien. Have you seen Men in Black? My friends in my old kindergarten weren’t allowed to. But I did. I watched it. Have you?”
“No,” Jimin said. “I prefer reading books. It gives me the opportunity to use my imagination.”
Jungkook hopped off the swing and threw himself next to Jimin, falling flat on the ground. “You talk funny.”
“I just have a wide range of vocabulary. Papa and I do the Sunday crosswords together and next week, he said I could try doing it on my own. I’m very excited.”
“That’s cool!” Jungkook cheered, and his genuine happiness on Jimin’s behalf had Jimin giggling into the palm of his hands.
“Wow, your hands are so small!”
“Yes,” Jimin sighed mournfully. “Papa says it’s cute, but Papa also says we can’t all be perfect, because it’s mistakes that make us human. And that’s what differentiates us as individuals.”
Jungkook manoeuvred Jimin’s hands to his own, holding them palm to palm. “Very small,” he mumbled absently.
Jimin laid on the ground next to Jungkook and closed his eyes. There was something very familiar about the way Jungkook was tracing patterns onto his skin. Something that ignited the embers of kinship deep in his heart. He was so gentle too. Everything about Jungkook looked gentle. His large eyes, his sloped nose, even his unruly hair.
“Jimin! Jimin! Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“I forgot I haven’t admitted yet—I’ve been swinging wrong my whole life. I’m sorry.”
Jimin peeked through one eye. He tried not to be smug because Papa said both losers and winners had to be gracious, but it was a great feeling regardless. “That’s alright, Jungkook. Now it falls upon your gangly shoulders to educate any wrongdoers you come across.”
“I agree, whatever that means,” Jungkook announced passionately.
“That’s good. I don’t think you will but it’s not important, since we’re friends now. Friends stick together, right?”
Jungkook made a sound of disgust, whining petulantly. “But I don’t like being sticky. Sticky means dirty and dirty means bath time.”
“I mean we’re going to be friends forever, aren’t we? I don’t really have friends because I talk too much and I can be arrogant. Papa reminds me regularly to mind my manners. I try, though sometimes it doesn’t work too well. But since we’re friends now, we’ll understand each other, right? Friendship is special like that, or so I’ve heard.”
“Oh no, Jimin, I think you’re very kind. You even showed me the right way to swing. We’ll be friends, I promise.”
Jimin settled down contentedly.
“Jimin! Jimin! Don’t sleep yet. You must tell me now—what’s a crisis and why do I have it? Is it like warts? I got a wart on my foot once and it really hurt. The doctor had to cut it out, but I didn’t cry, even though I wanted to. Mama got me a lot of candy afterwards. If it’s like a wart, I need to know what candy I should ask Mama to get me. I need to prepare.”
“They don’t cut out warts, Jungkook, they freeze them. Anyway, it’s nothing like that. A crisis isn’t a disease, it’s like a...”
“Like a what? You don’t know?”
“I sure do!” Jimin protested with vigour, snapping his head sideways to stare Jungkook down.
“You can’t be mad at me already, we only just became friends!”
“I’m not mad!” Jimin muttered through his teeth. He was a little mad. Maybe slightly more than just a little. He knew things. It was a colossal tragedy to be accused of not knowing what he knew. “A crisis is when you’ve made a blunder. You know what that is, right? Like a mistake, but a big one. And suddenly you’re stuck. But it’s okay, because you know how to fix it, deep inside. You just have to think. Thinking always works. You can think with your brain, sometimes with your heart. Thinking with both works best.”
“What am I supposed to think about?” Jungkook asked with a furrow to his brows.
“You don’t have to think anymore. We’re friends now. Crisis averted.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“The best!” Jimin replied with a smile so wide his cheeks bunched up like mountain peaks.
July ‘04
Jimin hobbled across his bedroom floor stride by furious stride. He had every intention of ignoring the incessant pecking on his window. It had started about five minutes ago and he had been on the brink of sleep. Now that he was wide awake, he was ever so ready to commit murder.
When he threw open the window, he screamed, “Go away!”
“Why weren’t you at school?” Jungkook screamed back.
“I’m on a sabbatical!”
“Sabba—what?”
“My throat hurts and I can’t keep yelling at you. Goodbye, Jungkook!”
“No wait, wait! I’m coming up!”
Jimin watched in abject horror as Jungkook proceeded to climb the tree next to his window. It was an old tree, with a trunk the size of a space shuttle. He’d had his fair share of attempts at scaling it, but he’d never made it past the first branch. It was with a twinge of embarrassment that he realised it wasn’t an issue with the tree, but with him and his lack of athletic abilities.
Jungkook, of course, had no such qualms. Jimin quickly shut the window and drew his curtains. A few seconds later, Jungkook was hammering on the external shutters. The sound was so loud, it ricocheted in his brain. He flung open the curtains and glared fiercely. “Stop it! You can’t come in!”
Jungkook startled backwards before he deftly caught himself. “Why not?” He asked, voice muffled and strained with hurt.
“Because...” Jimin looked down at his trousers, taking in the creased material and the soaking wet splotch between his thighs. His room was suffused with the scent of orange blossoms—thick, heavy and musky, and his stomach was roiling with ineffable rage.
When he glanced up, Jungkook had unleashed the full potential of his puppy-dog eyes and Jimin found himself relenting with an exasperated sigh. He flicked open the latch and stuck his head out. “Because I’m in heat.”
“You’re in heat? Does that mean you’re an omega?”
“Yes, Jungkook, that is so often the case when one is left debilitated from heightened temperature and arousal. Which is why you can’t come in. I need to be alone so that I can concentrate on my search for inner peace.”
“Oh no. Jisoo was telling such awful stories about her heat the other day. I tried not to pay attention but I heard enough. She’s so loud sometimes, I don’t like it. She said she couldn’t even sleep. Maybe you need to see the doctor just in case. Are you in a ton of pain?”
Jimin smiled fondly and shook his head. Well, he was in pain—though not as mind-numbing as Jisoo had described for her enraptured audience. Still, it was enough that his toes curled with every cramp knotting the muscles of his stomach. But he’d learned that it was always best to play things down where Jungkook was concerned. Unless he wanted a panicky, bumbling Jungkook in his hands. Which he admittedly did not—not at present, at least.
“Do you want me to stay with you? Rub your tummy? Shall I get you some ice cream? You like vanilla, right?”
“Jungkook, Jungkook, no.” He reached out to stop Jungkook from stumbling over the ledge, and just in time too. Jungkook was about ready to launch himself off into the stratosphere. Amidst all the commotion, Jimin had stretched too far, forcing his window to swing wide open, and then he was suddenly falling headfirst into Jungkook’s lap.
“Oh wow! You smell—”
He scrambled back into the confines of his room and wrapped the curtain around his body. “No. Don’t smell me. You’re infringing on my privacy. It’s like trying to sniff someone’s armpit—it’s very indecent. And don’t come in. You may contact me again in three to five business days. If there’s an emergency, leave a message with Papa. Goodbye, Jungkook.”
“Jimin wait! Don’t go yet.”
Jimin huffed and turned around. Slick had begun to trail down his thighs and it was as ticklish as it was uncomfortable. He just wanted to lay back in bed. “What is it?”
“I—I’m going to miss you. School’s no fun without you.”
Jimin hesitated for a moment, before unwinding himself and stepping closer to the sill. He pulled a surprised Jungkook in for a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you too. But it’ll pass by in a flash, you’ll see. Don’t worry, okay? I’m just transitioning into adulthood. It’s all part of the natural flow of life. Soon, you’ll be experiencing the same thing too.”
“If you say so,” Jungkook said, and squeezed Jimin till his breath caught in his throat.
“Alright, you should go now. Mind the splinters. I can’t believe you just climbed the tree like that. You’re crazy, Jeon Jungkook. What if you fell?”
“Then I’d be in a sabbata-something just like you and we could sabbat together.”
Jimin burst into laughter as Jungkook shot him a lopsided grin, flush high on his cheeks.
“Promise you’ll call if you need me?”
Jimin couldn’t think of any reason why he’d want to call Jungkook. His father had gotten him everything he needed. And with his heat underway, Jimin had planned on meditating through the entire length of it. Still, he nodded gently and watched as Jungkook scampered to his bike and cycled around the block.
March ‘05
“How’s it going?”
Jimin looked up from his Biology text book to see Kim Taehyung sliding his tray of food onto the table.
“I assume nowhere now that you’re here.”
Taehyung quirked a brow. “You trying to be smart with me, Park Jimin?” He paused and made a face. “Okay no, don’t answer that. I practically walked right into it.”
Jimin snorted and turned his attention back to his book. They were going to dissect frogs today and Jimin wanted to be sure he had the procedure memorized down pat. He was in fact already familiar with the syllabus, both upside down and inside out. But being over-prepared had become something of a habit.
Which turned out to be a good thing, because Taehyung was practically boring holes through Jimin’s skull and it seemed like he wasn’t going to let up.
“Ever heard the phrase take a picture, it’ll last longer?” Jimin asked. He folded his book shut and placed his hands over it decisively.
“Ever heard the phrase I ain’t got no camera?”
“Ever heard the phrase stop beating around the bush?”
“How is it that we’ve known each other for years and years and you still hold a grudge against eight year old me who literally couldn’t see past my own nose?”
Jimin raised his eyebrow in captious regard. Then slid his gaze to Taehyung’s glasses resting in the tangled mess of his hair. “It was a letter from my dead mother. You stepped on it and tore it in half.”
“Blind!” Taehyung pointed to himself indignantly. “And I gave you the last of my Pocahontas sellotape. I felt so bad about it, I hid from you for weeks, scared out of my mind. Why are you so scary? You’re so tiny. It shouldn’t be like this.”
Jimin rolled his eyes. In truth, he’d forgiven Taehyung within a year of the incident. Forgiven, but not forgotten. Which wasn’t saying much. It was just hilarious watching him squirm every time Jimin so much as glanced his way during their shared classes. “What did you want?”
“Yes! Well! About that—so you know Inna? Inna from PE?” At Jimin’s insistent denial, Taehyung stood up and searched the cafeteria. “There—five o’clock. Pin straight hair, fixing her eyeliner with a pink compact. Oh hold on, are those beige nails? Damn, someone should tell that poor girl beige is so not her colour.”
Jimin nearly toppled over his chair as he craned his neck. “I see her. What about her?”
“Oh right. She told Mina not to tell anyone, but I’m very trustworthy and so obviously Mina told me. And I’m telling you because I have your back, you know? Ripping your letter really opened my eyes—literally, since that was the reason Dad finally got me glasses. It turned my whole life around so I really owe it all to you. Anyway, what was I saying?”
“Can’t be sure, I wasn’t listening.”
“That’s right,” Taehyung barrelled on, undeterred. “Inna’s going to ask Jungkook on a date.”
Jimin snapped his head up in surprise. “A date? Why would Jungkook go on a date?”
Taehyung peered at him, flinty-eyed. “Is that a trick question? I choose E, all of the above.”
“What are you talking about?”
“No, what are you talking about? Jungkook’s a hot alpha now. He’s fresh meat, hot on the market, ripe for the picking and all that jazz. And let me tell you, there are tons of betas and omegas who have their hearts set on him. Not me though, I’ve got very high standards. Jungkook may be tall, but he’s really not that tall. Back to you though—so what’s the plan?”
“A lot of people want to be with Jungkook? Really?”
“I mean, sure.” Taehyung’s expression slowly dimmed. “Wait—don’t you like him?”
Jimin reared so far back he might as well been smacked across the face with a chair. “Of course I like Jungkook, he’s my best friend! And he’ll always be my best friend!”
Taehyung studied him for a few seconds, the silence stretching ominously between them. Then he slumped into his chair all jelly-like and said, “Well, shit.”