Chapter Text
Jungkook makes it through the graduation party without incident.
He is fiercely determined not to let his own mess of emotions damper the celebration of Jimin’s accomplishments. His best friend deserves the spotlight, the praise, the time to let loose after successfully completing his finals and dissertation. Jimin worked his ass off; Jungkook knows this because he was there for every caffeine binge and mental breakdown and even talked his best friend through a couple of existential crises. But through it all, Jimin’s clear goals were what kept him going, and he accomplished what he had set out to do.
Jungkook refuses to ruin any of that. So, he smiles through the party and mingles with their mutual friends. He drinks just enough alcohol to be fun and amiable, to stop overthinking his every word and action. Not enough to lose track of his emotions, though. Jungkook makes it through the night, crashes on one side of Jimin’s huge bed as he’s done a thousand times before, and has a decent morning before the floodgates finally open.
He thought he could keep it together while helping Jimin pack up some of his boxes. He was wrong.
It should be embarrassing that not being able to find the end of a roll of packing tape is what sets Jungkook off, but they both know it’s deeper than that.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jimin murmurs, leaning down to swipe at Jungkook’s tears with the pads of his thumbs from where the younger is seated on the floor.
“I won’t get through another year here without you. I can’t do it,” Jungkook chokes down another sob, but the tears won’t stop flowing down his face.
“Of course, you can,” Jimin responds gently. His tone isn’t dismissive; he understands Jungkook’s feelings, but he won’t validate the helplessness. He’s good like that. “You’re amazing, Jungkookie. You can do anything. Besides, we’ve gotten through this before, right? It’ll be okay.”
What Jungkook wants to say is that he doesn't think it will be okay this time around. That Jimin moving away from the city to step into the professional world and the rest of his life feels a lot bigger than when he graduated from their high school a year ahead of Jungkook. Back then, Jungkook was worried, but they sat down together and mapped out a plan. It was only a year of separation, and Jungkook could apply to the same university that Jimin was headed off to. Everything worked out exactly as they’d hoped, and their lifelong friendship had picked up right where it had left off.
Now, Jungkook is petrified. Because Jimin knows precisely what he wants and how to get it. He’s not afraid to move to a completely new place, somewhere other than their hometown or the city holding their university. He doesn't seem at all hung up on the fact that his best friend is being left in the dust. It hurts. Jungkook doesn’t say so because he’s equally tired of feeling like an anchor dragging Jimin down.
“I’ll miss you so much,” he whispers instead. It’s one hell of an understatement, but Jungkook has learned to live with the fact that sometimes words will fail to encompass his feelings. He likes to believe that Jimin knows just what he’s trying to express, regardless.
Carefully, Jimin wraps his arms around Jungkook. He holds on tight, swaying them back and forth a little as Jungkook cries even harder. They abandon the boxes for another day.
It starts eating away at Jungkook inside, little by little. He loses sleep, staying up and fretting about both everything and nothing. Countless hours are spent staring blankly at the ceiling in his dark bedroom. It becomes impossible to enjoy the time he has left with Jimin when he spends every minute subconsciously counting down to the impending move.
The guilt just might be the worst part. If he was distant and moody and no fun to be around, that would be one thing. But the fact that Jungkook feels terrible about how he’s acting and yet can’t seem to put a stop to it is even more miserable. Everything is cyclical and horrible. More than anything, Jungkook wishes time would slow down. He needs to press pause on life and sort through his feelings, cling onto Jimin while he’s still able, stop ghosting the few other friends he has, and refocus on school because there’s still another year that could make or break his studies.
That’s not an option, though.
So Jungkook sulks and is sorry for doing so. He hangs out with Jimin and feels empty inside all the while. They finally manage to finish boxing up Jimin’s studio apartment, and there are no tears this time because Jungkook’s defenses are too busy turning him into a hollow shell.
When the last box is taped up, the two of them lie on the floor for a while, letting the thick silence coat the walls of the bare flat. It’s a horrible parallel to when Jimin first moved in. So excited to have his own space, he had collected his fresh key and picked up Jungkook from the dorms so that they could sit in the empty apartment, taking it all in. Back then, they ate fried chicken out of their laps and listened to their laughter echoing around the space. This time around, it’s difficult for Jungkook to muster even a shadow of the hope that came with those new beginnings.
His eyes lock on a scuff on the wall left from the time Jimin had thrown a shoe at him during one of their many nights spent teasing and goofing off. Jungkook had dodged the projectile at the last second, and the spot of paint in Jimin’s living room had been baring the scar of the memory ever since. They would have to scrub at it when they come back to do the last cleanings that would earn Jimin his deposit back.
Jungkook lets out a long, shaky exhale.
Afterward, Jimin follows Jungkook back to his place because the guy who bought his mattress would only come to pick it up if he could have it two days earlier than Jimin was planning to part with it. It’s more cramped in Jungkook’s room, but Jimin has never been one for personal space. Even in his now-sold king bed, Jimin had molded himself around Jungkook’s body in a way that left them both feeling so secure—posed like a set of quotations marks or limbs tangled together every which way.
When Jungkook pads into his bedroom after a shower, Jimin is sitting against his headboard, tapping away on his phone. Jungkook dries the dripping ends of his hair that now reaches his jawline. It tickles a bit, and he hasn’t yet decided whether he’ll keep it long, but thinks he likes the look. He drops the damp towel into a hamper on the floor, and Jimin immediately glances up, eyebrows furrowed.
“Aren’t you going to hang that up?”
“What, are you my mom now?” Jungkook shoots back, avoiding his friend's curious gaze.
“It’ll start to smell like mildew.”
It’s exactly the kind of thing that Jungkook would normally be concerned with, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he had given friends the same warning in the past. But tonight, his entire body feels leaden, and he can’t bring himself to care about much of anything.
Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll wash it in the morning.”
He climbs under the sheets on the side of the bed that Jimin isn’t occupying, leaving as much space between them as the mattress will allow.
“Jungkookie…”
“Hmm?”
“Nevermind,” Jimin says with a shake of his head. He plugs his phone in and sets it face down on Jungkook’s nightstand. “Are you going to sleep?”
“Probably.”
“Goodnight, then. I love you. Thanks for letting me stay over.”
“Night, hyung.”
Jimin clicks the lamp off with a small sigh. The distant sounds of scattered conversation and foot traffic filter in through the cracked window of Jungkook’s bedroom, a college town lullaby.
Jungkook lies facing away from Jimin until he hears his breathing even out, slow and deep in slumber. When he rolls over onto his back, he leaves his eyes open, knowing there’s no need to keep up the charade of sleep.
“I’m scared,” he whispers to the same fucking ceiling that has witnessed his tossing and turning throughout the week. Saying it out loud doesn’t make Jungkook feel any better like he thought it might have. There is no relief to this admission of fear. There is nothing but the dark room where he will remain and his best friend next to him, so physically close in this moment but who already feels so far away.
Eventually, sleep envelopes Jungkook. It doesn’t last long, though; he wakes just a few hours later to sunlight slanting across his face. Jimin isn’t in bed. In fact, Jungkook realizes that he is not in the apartment at all. It’s only eight a.m., and Jungkook is distinctly aware that he messed up the night before. Frustration flares up within his chest.
He types out a brisk ‘ where are you’ text to Jimin but deletes it before he can hit send. They’re both grown. If Jimin wanted Jungkook to know where he went, he would have woken him first or left a note.
It’s not fair to either of them that Jungkook is already shutting Jimin out like this. He can recognize it as a sort of self-sabotage; this way that he’s forcing some kind of separation before the move even happens as if that will make it any easier. It won’t, of course. It’s only making him feel like shit and upsetting his best friend in the process. When Jimin leaves, it will hurt. But there’s no use in damaging their relationship as some sick preparation for that fact.
Jungkook does what he knows best. He passes the day by throwing himself into doing the laundry—partially as a distraction, but also so his excuse to Jimin the night before won’t be a complete lie. The fresh scent of the fabric softener soothes his nerves. Jungkook dedicates his full focus to the precision of his folds and getting his drying rack to hold as many garments as possible while still being efficient.
Jimin will come back, or call him, or text. He has never been the kind of person to use the silent treatment when he’s upset. Pointed verbal jabs are much more Jimin’s style, and besides, he’s still supposed to be staying with Jungkook until he leaves the city. There’s no way he would just pick up and go somewhere else without saying something.
It takes until lunchtime for Jimin to let himself back in using his spare apartment key, looking a little sheepish and a little jaded, armed with a bag of takeout. The relief comes off of Jungkook in waves, despite all of the reassurances he had been telling himself.
“Welcome back,” Jungkook says with a small smile.
“Thanks. Are you hungry?”
They set up in front of Jungkook’s second-hand tv and put on an Avengers film in the background. Neither of them is paying much attention to it as they snack on the tteokbokki Jimin bought.
“I had a call with my new boss,” Jimin explains, once most of the food is gone, and they’ve slowed down significantly. “They’re allowing me to complete some of the onboarding remotely so I can jump right in when I arrive.”
Jungkook doesn’t like hearing about Jimin’s new job. The things that are taking Jimin away from him and all of the elements that add up to Jungkook being written out of the equation. But he knows he needs to do better. If he wants to keep his best friend in some capacity, he needs to put in the effort to get to know these things. Jimin is clearly choosing this as an offering to let Jungkook in, and despite his immediate urge to slam the door like a petulant child, Jungkook knows he should accept it.
“That seems good,” Jungkook finally responds after mulling it over long enough to create some awkwardness. “The sooner you can get into doing the actual design work, the better. Right?”
Jimin scrutinizes him for a moment. No doubt he has become used to Jungkook shutting down whenever work or the move is mentioned.
Jungkook wants to try. He adjusts his body language, dropping his shoulders to open up his chest and turning slightly so that he’s facing toward Jimin instead of just sitting next to him. He is going to try .
Jimin nods. “That’s true. It just feels a bit strange introducing myself to the team over video and all that. I don’t know how to make a good first impression. Everyone seems nice, though.”
“They had better be,” Jungkook grouses, earning a grin out of Jimin.
The rice cakes churn in Jungkook’s gut, but he puts in the effort. He asks follow-up questions and, listens attentively, commiserates with Jimin’s uncertainties. Despite his stomach turning sour, he really does feel all the better for it.
In the evening, Jungkook takes Jimin to the arcade as an unofficial apology. They get buzzed and eat greasy food, and Jungkook pulls a little money out of his already meager savings account to fund their gaming. He uses his strange talent of being good at nearly anything on the first try to win them copious prize tickets via skee ball and the basketball toss. He lets Jimin beat him in the arcade dance game because even though when it comes to choreography Jimin is one of the most graceful and competent people he has ever met, he also manages to be illogically clumsy in day-to-day life. As if to prove Jungkook’s point he nearly topples off the arrowed stage of the game while celebrating his triumph.
By the time they call it a night, the air in Jungkook’s apartment is much more relaxed. They move around each other with practiced ease, getting ready for bed and giggling about the night they’ve shared. It’s almost possible to pretend that everything is normal—right back to the way things were before Jimin graduated and got his job offer.
“I love when we do shit like this,” Jimin states, nuzzling his face into one of the pillows on Jungkook’s bed. “It’s always so much fun.”
He’s clearly still a little tipsy from all of the beers they drank at the arcade, flushed and content.
The words bounce around in Jungkook’s head. If he lets himself, he can almost fantasize about winning Jimin back. Being so awesome, such a good friend, and so much fun to be around that Jimin changes his mind altogether and decides to stay. It’s a dangerous and foolish hope.
He glances at his best friend and the fragile truth dawns on him. That trying to hold on to Jimin and everything they have now is much more akin to grabbing a fistful of sand—the tighter he makes his grip, the more it will slip right through his fingers.