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It takes two railroad lines, a bus out of Taegu, and an expensive taxi before Jungkook arrives at the township limit of Songju: the tiniest blip on a map that one would need specific (local) instructions in order to reach. He clutches a travel-weary letter in one hand and blocks out the sun with his other, squinting out over a green sea of patchy farmland. A winding dirt path riddled with lumps and divots merges with the cut-off of the paved road he’d driven in on. He glances back at the taxi and the unimpressed taxi driver hanging out the window.
“You sure you can’t take me any further?”
“Sorry, kid.”
The taxi peels off the moment Jungkook shuts the trunk. He quickly backpedals as exhaust fumes assault his face, frantically waving his hand to part the smokey cloud settling in the motionless, humid air. Two railroad lines, a packed bus, a useless taxi, and a hot walk into town. Jungkook wipes off the sweat on his forehead, peering around one more time, before reopening the letter he’s carried with him all the way from Seoul.
Purpose lies within the smudged ink, and having waited eight years for this moment, he welcomes any more rotten luck—so long as he makes it to Songju, enters Park & Son Confectionery, and finally meets the love of his life. The familiar scrawl eases out his frustrations and smooths the wrinkles between his eyebrows. It reminds him that every obstacle is worth it. Tucking the letter into the back pocket of his pants, he slings the strap of his leather duffle across his chest and begins the hike into town.
He rehearses the lines he’s developed over the years as he wades through the mid-day heat. The lines shaped up particularly well during his stint in the military when he had nothing better to do after a day of drills and managing the uneasiness of being so close to the DMZ. In fact, it was during those two grueling years that he fully realized he was in love with Park Jimin and planned on marrying her once he got out. His cabin mates teased incessantly about his letters with Jimin, but being the soldier who had a pretty little thing waiting for him meant the teasing never got far. He learned quickly that in the social hierarchy of men, there is no higher position than that of a man who's mastered a woman—at least, that’s what all of the plain-faced senior officers thought. Jungkook never agreed.
His cabin mates even helped him fine-tune the details of his confession and gave a good word on jewelers he could seek out in Seoul once he was discharged. Some were more romantic and filled his head with sentimental words he could use to woo Jimin, others insisted on a frank approach that bordered on callous—those guys were the ones who conveniently disappeared during mail day.
But practiced sugared words aside, he knows that once he finally looks into Jimin’s eyes for the first time, he won’t have any problems finding exactly what he wants to say. He’s never seen a photo of Jimin, and so his imagination was allowed to run free ever since he was sixteen, when he received Jimin’s reply to his first letter. The pen pal program was only supposed to last for the school year but he’d become enamored by Jimin’s wit and the little treats she’d send tucked at the bottom of the envelope. It was easy to fantasize about the girl—now undeniably a woman from what Jungkook smelled on the most recent of letters—a delectable perfume of vanilla and orange—as a fiery brunette who helped out in her family-owned confectionery. Late nights in the military had him dreaming of her bustling around in a tiny apron, sweet-talking customers in that familiar way she did with him through her neat and feminine penship.
A sputtering grumble grows in volume behind him, and he turns in time to see a one-eyed buffalo finish its wide turn onto the dirt lane, barreling down on him at an unworried pace of twenty kilometers per hour—maybe twenty-five if he’s generous. He steps off to the side as the spitting machine nears, squealing and groaning like it’s protesting its very existence. The man behind the long steering bars dons a straw hat covering half of his face, overall pant legs pulled up to his calves and revealing a startling large tattoo. Jungkook had drawn up templates of his own ever since he trained alongside American soldiers for a couple of months, surrounded by their bold and colorful ink, but ultimately forwent it when he imagined how it would send his mother into a heart attack. He still humors the idea every once and while, holding onto those old drawings.
Seeing a tattoo this far into the countryside, where traditional values are more prevalent than those in the city, sends his eyebrows soaring before he can remember his manners.
“Headed into town?” The man asks, slowing the janky vehicle. Jungkook eyes it in momentary wonder, having never seen one up close before, and finds a second man—younger and around his age—lounging in the wagon.
“Taxi dropped me off about a mile back.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, feeling every bit like a naive city boy. Nowhere in Jimin’s letter did she mention he’d need to hike the rest of the way, but he should’ve predicted the infrastructure this far rural isn’t optimal. The younger man in the wagon sits up, handsome face smeared with dirt, and leans on the driver's backseat.
“You from Seoul?” The younger man asks.
“Uh, yeah—”
“Sweet. Let him catch a ride with us, Pa. Never met a person from Seoul before.” The younger man scrutinizes Jungkook before adding, “Funny posh accent, and looks like a popsicle with those pants. You seem fun.” The younger man winks to lessen the jest; Jungkook flips him off in quick fashion, used to ribbing with fouler-mouthed soldiers. Although, he can admit, the bell bottoms were probably excessive.
Taehyung prattles off the entire ride, curious about big city living, and despite his dig at Jungkook’s bell bottoms, he wonders aloud if he could find similar pants in the next town over. Taehyung’s pa remains quiet, content in listening to the crackling tunes filtering from the little transistor radio cable tied to the base of the steering handles.
“So, what brings you to Songju?”
Jungkook sets aside his camera and pulls Jimin’s letter out, waving it between two fingers. His chest swells with pride—an inevitable symptom whenever he talks about the precious woman.
“A lover?” Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot up. “In Songju? You hear that, Pa?” Taehyung slaps the older man’s shoulder, who grunts in return, focusing on turning the machine down another bumpy dirt lane.
“Wow, someone from our little town caught big fish from the city. Doesn’t even sound like real life. What’s her name?”
Jungkook hesitates. “No, it’s, uh, it’s certainly the other way around. She’s far more of a catch than I am. And it’s why I intend to lock her down.” He pats the wedding ring box he keeps in his other pocket before adjusting his camera settings to properly catch the motion of the scenery. “And her name’s Jimin.”
“Jimin,” Taehyung drawls. “We got a few of those around here. Surname?”
“Uh, Park.” He snaps a picture of the patchy fields dragging by, planning on documenting the momentous trip into an album so that somewhere down the line when he’s old and settled, he can show his children how he met their mother.
There’s silence for an unusually long moment, Taehyung’s eyebrows scrunching in confusion. Jungkook lowers the camera, and thinks over what he said—if he made another dumb city boy blunder. But then Taehyung’s eyes flick to the letter in his lap, back at Jungkook, and with each passing second, his face becomes more ambiguous.
“Did he say Park Jimin?” Taehyung’s pa asks over the rumble of the motor, tilting his head back to look over his shoulder. Taehyung quickly waves his hand.
“Hey, Pa, why don’t we stay longer in town today? I got my pay early from the farm. Let me treat ya to that fancy tea you like.” Jungkook looks between Taehyung and his pa, the two bickering back and forth and forgetting him entirely. Shrugging, he continues snapping pictures of the landscape.
He hops off the back of the wagon once they pass a faded sign that doesn’t seem official by looks of the nonstandard text and uneven spacing. Songju, Yeongsan-dong. Population: 2,456. “Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”
“See ya!” Taehyung called, waving as the tractor sputters away. Jungkook returns the wave, staring after the strange duo for a moment, before reading over the sign again—Buddha, perhaps? He recalls Jimin mentioning once in her letters about a temple nearby that scams naive travelers with a toll.
Hitching his duffle further up his shoulder, he strolls down what appears to be the main street. Large trees frame one side, while low-roofed buildings dot all the way down, stacking on top of each other as the uneven terrain sends the road branching off in two directions, one downwards and the other up a slope. The winding labyrinth guides him alongside rudimentary stone walls blocking off a drop that grows steeper as he ascends the hill; a green mountain range in the distance juxtaposes with the flat lands as far as the eye can see behind him.
For the nth time that day, Jungkook opens the letter and follows the directions Jimin listed out. Follow the main road up the hill. If your legs aren’t sore yet then you haven’t gone far enough. Turn left down the alley when you see the blue roof. DON’T GO PAST THE VEGETABLE PATCH. BEWARE THE DOGS. As if on cue, a chorus of barking from behind a wooden gate sends him careening to the other side of the narrow path. I’m laughing right now cause you probably got scared by them anyway right? They’re cute dogs once they warm up to you. If you’re still reading this and haven’t reached the confectionery, then you went too far. Go back fifteen steps (I counted myself this morning)
13…14…15
Jungkook stares at the little storefront for a long moment, eyes glazing over with how many times he double and triple checks that the sign actually reads: Son & Park Confectionery. Tenderly, and with more caution than necessary, he folds Jimin’s letter and tucks it back into his pocket. Although only a piece of paper, it feels as if it carries the weight of the entire world, and in Jungkook’s case, perhaps it does. He had clung onto it for the weeks leading up to traveling down to Songju, and then all throughout the chaos of finding his way to where he stands now, before the wooden double-door entrance that led to a future he’s only been allowed to dream about till now. Jungkook breathes deeply, catching notes of chocolate and sugar candies, possibly even traces of that delicious orange Jimin infused in her letters.
Releasing the breath in one big whoosh , he enters the shop.
Inside, the perfume of sweets bombard him, overwhelmingly so, and he pinches his nose to avoid sneezing. A wide aisle split the store into two halves: one side hosted a shelf-wall stock full of jars and packaged goods and large dispensers filled with various candies for bulk orders, while the other half had a long counter that ran the length of the shop, with a small display case for fresher goods. He slowly peruses the aisle, marginally relaxed once he realizes he’s alone. He ends up grabbing a small jar filled with red candies and sets it next to the old-fashioned register. There’s a bell next to the register, and he rings it, instantly regretting as it echoes piercingly in the empty store.
“I’ll be right there!” A girl’s voice calls out from behind a gauzy yellow curtain hung over a door-size opening into some backroom. Jungkook wipes his sweaty palms down his pants, then quickly fixes his hair in the small mirror behind the counter. The tractor didn’t move that fast, but it still ruffled the annoying pieces of hair he painstakingly gels back every morning.
He straightens awkwardly when a girl emerges from behind the curtain.
She’s pretty—just as Jungkook predicted—with long black hair pulled back into a singular braid and a soft face. Quite a bit more youthful than he imagined as well. His tongue feels heavy as she steps up to the counter, adjusting the neck strap of her apron before looking up at him expectantly.
“How can I help you?”
Jungkook blinks.
“Jimin? It’s me. Jungkook.” He nearly stammers, dammit, and his confidence wanes moreso with every second Jimin looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Did he get the address wrong? But how many confectioneries can there be in such a small town?
“I’m not Jimin,” Jimin—or whoever this girl is—says at last. She stares at Jungkook skeptically. “That’s my brother.”
“That can’t be right…” Jungkook frowns as she spins away before he can finish, disappearing back behind the curtain. Barely audible voices filter through, time stretching uncomfortably, and Jungkook pulls out Jimin’s letter again, desperately trying to find where he went wrong in the directions.
“Jungkook?” A male voice suddenly exclaims from the back.
The girl steps back out a second later with a man at her arm, equally as attractive and wearing an oversized striped shirt reminiscent of Parisian models in the foreign magazines Jungkook lifted from his American soldier friends. The man smiles brightly and sweeps away his long black bangs in a rather dainty fashion.
“I didn’t think you were coming till the end of the week,” the man says, stepping out from around the counter. He’s several inches shorter than Jungkook, and much leaner, but he’s still able to fill the shop with a vibrant energy that momentarily makes Jungkook forget everything wrong. The man lifts his arm in an aborted attempt at a hug before shuffling back, squeezing his hands into fists. His sunny smile remains.
“I think,” Jungkook starts slowly. “There’s been a mistake. I’m looking for Park Jimin. She works here, too, right?”
More silence settles heavily in the shop; the girl’s soft gasp breaks it.
“Oh, no. Jimin, what did you do? He thinks you’re a woman.” Her voice cracks near the end, and she quickly ducks her head, hand pressing against her mouth to withhold from laughing aloud. All of Jungkook’s blood rushes to his face.
The man—Jimin—no, there must be a mistake…
Jungkook holds up the letter, mortified to find his hand trembling.
“Is this yours?”
The man looks at it, then back at Jungkook, and purses his lip to hide a smile.
“Oh, gosh. What in the world made you think I was a woman?”
Never in his life has he experienced such intense embarrassment. Jimin takes the situation in good humor like he normally does in their letters when Jungkook writes something dumb or silly. If Jungkook had any doubts whether this Jimin is, in fact, his Jimin , it became abundantly clear the more he listened to Jimin speak—the same little jokes and mannerisms, choice of words, and the way he views things with more of a rosy tint than what’s probably realistic.
Despite the reality growing clearer by the hour, he just can’t reconcile over how he mistook Jimin for a woman. He thinks further back to when they first began corresponding and realizes with a sinking dread that he never actually inquired about Jimin’s gender. He had assumed based on namesake alone, which was incredibly stupid in hindsight since he knew a boy in basic training with the same name.
Much like his sister, Jimin has delicate features. But unlike his sister, that same softness is contrasted by an angular jawline that undeniably proves his masculinity. As well as the more obvious lack of curves. Jungkook glances at Jimin’s chest—definitely flat—then immediately hates himself for checking again. Regardless of his foolishness, Jimin has been his best friend since he was sixteen and deserves more than the stiff posture and shaking eyes he’s currently giving.
“I can’t believe all this time you thought I was a girl.” Jimin huffs as he unwraps a sucker and offers the second one to Jungkook. “I had no clue. I just thought… well, never mind, it’s just a silly mistake. You’re still Jungkook, and I’m still Jimin, right? Doesn’t change anything.” Jimin shrugs and pops the sucker into his mouth, the hard candy clacking against his teeth as he rolls it over his tongue.
Jungkook swallows hard and gingerly unwraps his own. No amount of preparation gave him the balls to admit that it changed everything . He’d come to Songju with a plan, and it has completely unraveled by the learning of a simple truth. Suddenly, Taehyung’s reaction from before makes a lot more sense.
“Yeah…” Jungkook stares hard at the white sucker before putting it in his mouth. The sweetness almost tastes tart from the crisis sweeping through him. I fell in love with ... He can already imagine the jeers from his cabin mates if they ever learned he’d been pining for a man. Albeit a pretty one.
“So, how’d you get in? Did you walk all the way?” Jimin smiles teasingly, properly easing over the tension between them—tension Jungkook is at fault for with his awkwardness.
“Took a taxi from Hapcheon but didn’t get far. Ended up hitching a ride on a tractor the rest of the way. Uh, you were right about the dogs. Scared the shit out of me.” He tries matching Jimin’s smile, but it shakes unconvincingly.
“They scare everyone at first. I nearly got bit when they were still pups but thankfully they got distracted by my lunch bag instead. The rest is history.” Jimin scrutinizes him, probably wondering why Jungkook can’t look him in the eyes. Jungkook can’t explain it himself. “Tell me more about your travels. Sounds like it was an adventure.”
Eventually, as the day eats into the evening, Jungkook manages to gradually loosen from his tight coil of humiliation. Jimin makes it easier by strictly steering the conversation away from the fact that as recently as that morning, Jungkook had full heartedly believed he was a woman. He falls back on military anecdotes when he can’t think of anything else to say and needs a reason to ramble so that he stops paying too much attention to Jimin’s lips. He’s never struggled to find words in their letters to each other, sometimes pushing the allowed weight for a standard envelope with how many pages of writing he stuffs into them. To Jimin’s credit, he doesn’t seem to mind, allowing Jungkook to share what grounds him after his flustered silence from the first few hours of stepping into the confectionery.
When conversation lulls between him frantically searching for his next anecdote, Jimin cuts in with practiced ease, once more wrangling the frayed ropes of their disastrous first meeting.
“You like tea, right? There’s a popular teahouse in town, so why don’t we go there. Their ginger tea is pretty famous… and helps an upset stomach.”
The sun is setting by the time they head out, washing the old walls and traditional roofs in gold and shadow. Gold looks good on Jimin, especially when a faint halo forms on the crown of his head. The dogs behind the wooden gate bark again, but with Jimin at his side, he barely flinches, too distracted by the shape of Jimin's lips as he talks about the pretty tiered rows of a large tea plantation twenty miles out. They’re a bit pouty, and he can’t decide which is fuller, the top or bottom. He’s leaning toward the top lip when his foot snags on a pothole. Firm hands catch him by his waist and bicep before he falls over.
“You okay?” Jimin asks.
“Uh, yeah…” Jungkook’s waist and bicep are on fire, and he quickly finds his footing and steps away. He doesn’t linger on why a man’s touch has him feeling equally as flustered as if it were a woman’s.
The teahouse Jimin talked about rests at the top of a shallower hill than the confectionery, overlooking the grassy mountain range to the north. Low tables scatter throughout the homey establishment and spill onto a wide deck facing the mountains, occupied by older patrons, some playing Go, others murmuring quietly to themselves.
“Come on. Let’s sit outside,” Jimin says, touchy as ever as he grabs hold of Jungkook's wrist and gently tugs him towards the traditional sliding doors propped open and leading to the deck. He holds his breath, staring at Jimin's hand as if it’d tell him the answers to all of his problems, and like before the same fire erupts along his skin. As careful as possible, Jungkook extracts his wrist, and when Jimin peers back in confusion, he makes sure his smile is extra reassuring, not wanting to give the wrong idea.
It's not that he minds Jimin touching him—he's used to being manhandled all the time in the military due to the nature of their training and rough-housing—but he isn't yet sure what the fiery sensation meant, and until he does, he'd rather keep his distance. He still thought Jimin was a woman several hours before... he just needs time to sort his mind out. That’s all.
They sit at the back of the deck and a kind-faced older woman in an apron meets them there. He allows Jimin to order for them, and the moment they're alone again, the awkwardness from before settles deep in Jungkook's stomach, curling hot and uncomfortable.
He’s still your friend, regardless of gender. Get over yourself.
"I think I told you already, but my parents are visiting my great-grandfather's burial ground, so you won't have to worry about any nosy family members. Well, my sister is still here, but she usually stays with her friend over the summer break. She only comes around for her shifts at the shop." Jimin rests his chin on his palm, pushing the baby fat in his cheek upwards. "How long do you plan on staying again?"
"The semester doesn't start for another week, so I'm not in a rush." At least that's how he felt before he learned the truth. Jungkook’s cheeks heat at the reminder that he's staying at Jimin's house. When he thought Jimin was a woman, the living arrangement seemed perfect for a blossoming love story: meeting each other in the night and sneaking chaste kisses in empty rooms. Admittedly, he’s watched too many romance movies in his time, and they swept him up into a passionate fantasy he indulged whenever he thought of Jimin.
"Great, gives us more time to get up to trouble." Jimin grins... prettily. Jungkook shakes his head, looking down at the table and the set-in Go board in the middle, the pieces neatly tucked away in a holder off to the side of the table. "Speaking of semesters, I'm planning on enrolling in the small college in the next town over. I saved up enough money to buy a scooter so I can drive down on the weekends and attend classes. It still needs a lot of maintenance but it’s a start."
For the first time since meeting Jimin, Jungkook suddenly feels normal, conversation familiar. “I didn't know you were interested in college, since you're taking over the shop when your parents retire."
Jimin shrugs, a sparkle in his eyes—or maybe that's just the reflection of the setting sun? "I guess all your moaning about terrible professors and too much schoolwork inspired me. It'll help me in the long run if I take a few business courses now. Somewhere down the line, I want to open another location. Maybe in Seoul."
"Wait, really? That would be—"
"Here you go, boys," the older woman interrupts, setting down a tray with a traditional teapot and small wooden cups. She pours them their first cup and waiting for their sips of approval before bustling off to the next table. Jungkook's gaze follows her shortly until they land on two familiar faces.
Taehyung and his pa sit all the way across the deck.
Jungkook quietly curses and prays they don't recognize him. It's doesn’t bode well, though, that he already stands out from most of the patrons with his orange bell bottoms and dress shirt.
"You sure you can handle the stress? You already do so much work around the shop," Jungkook says, nervously taking another sip of the tea. The fresh and bitter taste does wonder for the knots in his stomach, just as Jimin promised.
“I thrive under pressure, so I’ll be fine. Besides, I'll only be a part-time student. I’m not that arrogant to take on too many credits.” Jimin winks and purses his lips around the rim of his cup. Jungkook nearly chokes at the sight. How can a man have such generous lips?
Needing something to do with his hands—and somewhere to look that doesn’t include Jimin’s face—he reaches for the little baggy holding the black and white stones to the Go board, shaking them out and choosing black.
“I'm pretty good,” he warns. “Played all the time with my senior officers.”
Jimin sets aside his tea with a smirk.
“Bring it on.”
Out of five games, he loses three. It would’ve been four, too, but he suspects Jimin was going easy on him for the last round.
“How are you so good?” He complains. “It’s not even a fair match up at this point.”
Jimin giggles, and Jungkook’s heart flips—in a perfunctory matter, of course. Nothing more.
“Looks like the golden boy has his Achilles heel.”
“Not that nickname,” Jungkook groans.
“Oh, yes, that nickname. Nothing will convince me that you don’t have the Midas touch with everything that interests you.”
“That’s not true. Really. I had to drop piano lessons because they were so boring.” Jimin gives him a look, and Jungkook scrambles to add, “And because it hurt my hands! That, too.”
Jimin holds up his fingers and counts down with them as he speaks, “You played the trumpet once for fun and the band teacher at your school didn’t stop hounding you to join the regional competition. You were captain of your school table tennis team. Could probably go onto the Olympic level if you put your head into it. You draw better than a lot of artists we get in town. Hell, if you’d chosen a career in the military, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you morphed into some super soldier. Should I go on?”
Jungkook waves an opposing hand.
“I get your point. Still. I’m one hell of a Go player, so where did you learn?”
“I live in a town with a population of predominantly elderly citizens,” Jimin explains deadpan.
“Ok, yeah, fair enough.”
They begin another round, and Jungkook settles his elbows on the table, focusing hard on the gameplay. He needs to redeem his honor, or he will have failed his comrades.
“If I were to open another location in Seoul, I’ll probably move there to manage it myself.”
Jungkook moves his piece, paying half attention as he replies, “What about the shop here?”
“Jiyeon will manage it. She doesn’t have any aspirations for leaving town. I think she’s trying to tie herself down to some guy she dated on and off through school, once he’s back from university.”
Jimin’s words finally sink in once he’s made his move, freeing up space in his mind, and he straightens in his seat.
“You’re going to move to Seoul?”
“Mmh, eventually, that’d be the plan.”
“Promise?” Jungkook blurts out before he can think of the ramifications. Jimin appears momentarily surprised, probably because it’s the first outward expression of enthusiasm from Jungkook that evening.
“Of course. I never lie,” Jimin says at last, a bit slowly as if to allow his words to fully take root.
“Oh, city boy, you’re here!” Taehyung’s familiar drawl wipes off Jungkook’s smile, and a heavy hand clasps him from behind. Jimin’s gaze shifts past Jungkook’s shoulder. “I was hoping I’d run into you again before Pa and I left.”
Taehyung plops beside him, face clean of the grub from when he was lounging in the wagon. There’s an impish gleam in his eyes that Jungkook doesn’t appreciate, and he debates whether he should accidentally spill the rest of his tea on Taehyung’s lap to ward him away. The last thing he needs is for Taehyung to reveal what Jungkook’s true intentions had been prior to meeting Jimin.
“You guys know each other?” Jimin asks, tightly holding onto his white checker stone, hand frozen in mid-air.
“He’s the one I caught a ride with,” Jungkook explains hastily at the same time Taehyung says, “You never told me you had a friend from Seoul.”
Jimin looks between both of them for a prolonged moment before shaking his head in amusement and turning his attention back to the board. “Didn’t think I needed to.”
“But why not?”
“Because Jungkookie is mine.”
“Oh? ”
“Besides, a cool city guy like Jungkook was nice enough to spare time talking to me, let alone two country bumpkins.”
“Two—well, I—speak for yourself! I got too much swagger for this town.”
“Did the radish tell you that?” Jimin sticks his tongue out, which Taehyung matches with equal childishness.
“Ugh, you’re so mean.” Taehyung pulls a face and then in the next breath whirls on Jungkook. “Anyways, how was your reunion? Everything you imagined it’d be?” He nudges Jungkook’s shoulder with his own, eyebrows hiking up suggestively. Jungkook bites his tongue and slips the tip of his finger into his tea cup, testing the temperature.
“He showed me your letter,” Taehyung says to Jimin. “I practically swooned myself—ah!” Jungkook scooches away as the lukewarm tea splashes all over Taehyung’s lap and torso.
“Oh, no. Sorry about that,” he apologizes, thoroughly lacking in sincerity.
“Aw, man, this was a new shirt,” Taehyung whines. Thankfully, he doesn’t dawdle and quickly bids farewell while holding his soaked shirt far away from his skin.
Jungkook breathes easier once he’s gone.
“He’s harmless, y’know. You didn’t need to do that,” Jimin says, finally placing his white stone down in a decisive move that foretold Jungkook’s impending loss.
Jungkook places his black stone in the only reasonable spot left.
“Do what exactly?”
Jimin bites down on his smile and goes on to win the game.
He’s still in love with Park Jimin.
The realization hits him as they stroll through the shadowy streets. He waits for disgust or unease, but his love remains unspoiled, still as strong and stable as when he first arrived. His conviction suffers, however. The wedding ring stays safely buried at the bottom of his duffle bag—he made sure to hide it the second he got away from Jimin.
He expects to feel shame or uncertainty since he’s lived all of his life believing he was straight. But not even that realization—that he must be into men as well—sways him. He loves Park Jimin. No tits and all. He slaps his cheek reprimandingly. Jimin turns from half a step ahead.
“I brought my camera,” Jungkook says to distract him. “I was hoping you could show me around to all of the best sights.”
“Sure, I can close the shop early tomorrow. Maybe we can head out to the mountains. There’s a national trail that a lot of tourists like to hike. It’s got a big overhang where you can see as far out as Taegu.”
“Sounds perfect.”
The occasional barking dog and a nearby house party judging by the chorus of soft laughter penetrate the cloak of night. It’s a far cry from Seoul, where the noise pollution plagues every waking hour. Jungkook had become immune to it growing up, but stepping outside of the bubble, and soaking in the rural calm, it’s regrettable that he hadn’t even known what he was missing out on all these years.
“So this is what you meant.”
Jimin looks at him in question.
“About feeling close to the stars and moon. ‘I can only hear my breath sometimes, and if I stare up at the sky for long enough, it feels like I’ll float away’,” Jungkook recites the line from one of Jimin’s old letters. He had read it back many times over the years, enjoying the imagery Jimin illustrated with his words. How even though they’re miles apart, they’re still gazing up at the same sky, counting the same stars.
“It’s even better when you go out to the fields and lay there for hours. I lose track of everything when I’m out there. Sometimes for the better,” Jimin adds quietly.
Jungkook’s mouth flattens into a line.
“How is your mother?” He slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulders, adamantly ignoring the disapproving voice in his head. He may be in love, and it’s not requited, but that doesn’t mean they’ve stopped being friends. Friends comfort each other. So then why does it still feel like he’s using the opportunity to play into his selfish desires?
“The doctor says another year, at most. By now, it’s mostly just us preparing ourselves for the inevitable.” Jimin leans into Jungkook, head resting on the crux of his shoulder. His vanilla shampoo is all Jungkook can breathe for a moment. “Mom seems fine. She’s always been more accepting of it all than the rest of us.”
Jimin stops, inadvertently pulling Jungkook with him. In the dark, Jungkook can’t make out much, but there’s no missing the reflective shine in Jimin’s eyes.
“You’ll be there, when it happens, right?”
If he’s being selfish, so be it. He folds Jimin into his chest, wrapping both arms around his smaller frame and squeezing tight, just like his father taught him.
“You can count on it,” he whispers into his ear. A tremble slips down Jimin’s body before he wraps his own arms around Jungkook’s waist.
Jungkook doesn't count how long they stay embraced, slightly rocking back and forth. But he does count the tear tracks on Jimin's cheeks when they part and vows there, under the weight of the moonlight, regardless of his feelings, he'll do anything it takes to protect Jimin from every nightmare life has to throw at them.
Impracticality be dammed.
Contrary to what Jimin said, his sister, Jiyeon, is sprawled across the living room floor with a book when they return. Jimin nudges her head with his socked foot as he passes her; Jungkook stumbles to the side to avoid her late arm whacking the space Jimin left behind.
“Why’re you still here?” Jimin asks as Jungkook rushes past Jiyeon, wary of anymore flying elbows.
“Miyeon’s boyfriend took a few vacation days to come up and see her,” Jiyeon grumbles. “Why’s everyone got someone visiting them this week except me? It’s unfair.”
“You’re too young for a boyfriend.”
“I'm seventeen.”
Jimin slowly looks at Jungkook, as if his point still stands and he’s unsure why it’s being questioned. Jungkook turns his head to hide his snicker.
“Ugh,” Jiyeon groans, dragging it out in typical teenager fashion. “Just leave me alone. I’m already jealous enough.”
“Come on.” Jimin latches onto Jungkook’s arm and drags him away.
“Is she going to be alright?”
“She’ll be fine. Probably will sneak the last of my ice pops but it’ll at least keep her off our backs if she gets bored.” Jimin winks, and Jungkook struggles to decipher the meaning of it the entire way to Jimin’s bedroom.
Get your mind out of the mud! He’s just your friend.
But as they spend the rest of the night sharing Jimin’s collection of manga—Jungkook holding one side of the book while Jimin holds the other and explains every plot point before they get to it in the story—he obsesses over every touch between them. Every word and gesture. It’s hard not to when he’s spent years believing that one day he’d marry Jimin. Went so far as to buy a ring, dammit. Scrapping the notion of marriage is one thing, but to suppress and mold his love into a more platonic form is a task he can’t succeed with less than twenty-four hours to the mark.
He’s not due back in Seoul for another week, and a part of him wonders if he should fib and return earlier. Coping in private sounds a hell of a lot better than risking Jimin finding out why his breath hitches every time they touch. His fingers itch for the letter he took with him, to draw comfort from stroking the worn edges and rereading the script he’s read a hundred times over. Even if he knows the promises he made to himself while reading it can never come true, there’s still warmth in the familiarity.
Jungkook waits till Jimin is sound asleep, his nose cutely whistling with every breath (which Jungkook remedies by gingerly pinching his nostrils together for several long seconds). He tiptoes to where he’d thrown his duffle earlier and sits cross-legged, rifling through the bag with annoyance at the sheer amount of underwear he packed. He sighs once he finally touches the rough paper. It crinkles in his hands as he carefully unfolds it.
Sparing one last look at where Jimin sleeps curled on his bunk bed, Jungkook reads the letter once more.
The hike up to the trail on Dongyusan descends into disaster when the sole of Jimin’s left shoe tears clean away, resulting in Jungkook carrying Jimin on his back the rest of the way up to the overhang, and then back down. He doesn’t even get any good pictures, at least that’s what Jimin claims since he was the one who was responsible for taking a majority of them while hanging off Jungkook’s back.
“I’ll take you somewhere else,” Jimin had promise.
The next day, he sticks to his word by leading Jungkook through a series of narrow and tight alleys on the side of town where houses are practically built on top of each other. They emerge into a break between the homes with stacked fruit crates used as a makeshift barrier from the steep drop to the next level of houses below. The pocket of space opens a view to look out over the town, all the way to the bottom. With a small whoa , Jungkook holds his camera up and snaps in quick succession.
“What are you going to do with all of the pictures?” Jimin asks from next to him.
“I was thinking about putting together an album.” Jungkook swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “This is an important moment in my life. Meeting you. And other things.”
“Aw, Jungkookie, you’ll make me cry.” Jimin pulls his face into a dramatic mock sob.
Jungkook can’t help but laugh. “Fuck off,” he mumbles.
So long as Jimin remains in the dark about his feelings, he can take as much ribbing as possible.
The clouds shift, allowing a spray of bright sunshine to bear down on them. Jungkook pulls his camera away from his face, adjusting the settings to accommodate the increase in brightness and exposure. Out of the corner of his eyes, he finds Jimin crouched on his haunches, head tilted upward with his eyes closed, soaking in the sun. From the angle, Jungkook can pick out the small slope of his nose, and the pouty shape of his lips, round cheeks pink from the heat and exercise of getting up the inclination of the alleys.
He loses his breath at the sight and immortalizes it with a click of his camera in the next second. This is why he brought his camera in the first place, right? To showcase Jimin and their relationship for years down the line. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but he can’t help the flush that rises up within him.
Jimin peeks an eye open at the tell-tale click.
“Sorry. It was a nice picture.”
“I don’t mind.” Jimin bites his lip, face turning smug. “I can be your model if you want. You know I’m a catch around here, right? Number one bachelor in the entire town—top of every mom’s list of potential suitors.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “What an honor, then,” he says dryly.
Jimin sticks his tongue out. "Have it your way. But you're missing out."
I never said no.
Instead of voicing this, Jungkook takes another picture of Jimin and ignores the small smile Jimin has for the rest of the day.
They visit many more locations over the next week: trekking through a worn footpath around the rice fields until Jungkook slipped into a pile of mud and then the storm clouds broke and washed them all the way back to Jimin’s house; getting lost in an unkempt loop in the patch of dense forestry at the base of a subsidiary ridge of Dongyusan before eventually stumbling upon a hidden waterfall; and relaxing in a chic courtyard that didn’t belong in a countryside town like Songju, where street artists had made their mark with colorful murals on the walls, unknowingly binding the cultural ideals of Songju into its very mortar and stone.
Jungkook takes plenty of pictures of Jimin there, instructing where Jimin should pose around the vibrant artwork all while wondering when he’ll be able to guide Jimin around the trendy neighborhoods in Seoul, where artisans and free souls like Jungkook frequented. Jimin would suit those neighborhoods very well, more so even than Jungkook, no doubt attracting attention from everywhere he went. A rise of jealousy plagued him for the rest of that day.
“Let’s get out of town,” Jimin suggests the morning of Jungkook’s second to last night.
Time had flown too quickly, leaving behind the dregs of regret for Jungkook to contend with. He had walked on eggshells in the beginning, trying to forcibly cover his feelings for Jimin, and inadvertently wasting precious time, more so concerned with the meaningless details rather than appreciating what he had in front of him. There were still moments that niggled in that not even his logical side could smother, like reflexively tucking Jimin’s long bangs behind his ears or staring too long at Jimin’s profile when he wasn’t paying attention. Knowing what it’s like to exist in the same space as Jimin, and knowing what he’ll soon be leaving behind, has his chest tight and stuffy for the remaining days.
“Where to?” Jungkook sucks the ice pop juice off his knuckles as they rest in the little backyard behind the confectionery—or well, he indulges in an overdue rest. Jimin hovers diligently over a griddle making fresh dalgona candy. The cooked sugar fills the air with a burnt sweetness, thick in the summer heat.
“A village about thirty miles away. It has a temple that lots of tourists go see. It should be great for your pictures.” Jimin curses as he stirs too hard with his chopsticks and some of the melted-down sugar flings up, burning his fingers.
“How are we getting there?”
Jimin smirks and quirks his eyebrows up conspiratorially.
“My scooter of course.”
“Doesn’t it still need work done?” Jungkook asks wearily.
“What’s an adventure without a little danger?”
Jungkook levels a flat look and holds up three fingers, counting consecutively, “Safety first, safety second, then coolness. And we won’t exactly be cool stranded on the side of the highway.”
“That’s the adventure part.” Jimin winks.
Jungkook first chuckles at the absurdity, then at himself for not having the heart to disagree. He finds himself succumbing to Jimin’s whims more often than not these days. In a way, keeping their relationship to letters had at least allowed Jungkook some semblance of mind that wasn’t altered by Jimin’s contagious and very convincing smile.
Jungkook sighs. Jimin cheers with his chopsticks.
At least it’ll make for a good story if nothing else.
Riding on the back of Jimin's scooter is an experience and a half. Jungkook expects the small thing to clunk out several miles into the trip, but it perseveres and carries them past the green fields and onto a small highway. He’s unsure where to place his hands until the bumpy road and questionable integrity of the scooter force his hand. He clings onto Jimin's waist with flaming cheeks, reminding himself that friends do this, too. And he can always excuse his pounding heart on the adrenaline if Jimin asks.
It takes them less time to reach the village than Jungkook had predicted, and as they drive past the welcome sign, it’s as if they’re passing through a veil of time, transported back to the Joseon era. Many tourists, mostly local, spill onto the streets, reminding him of several neighborhoods in Seoul where traditional met modernity.
Jimin parks the scooter in front of a picturesque vista that works as a guide to funnel street traffic onto the temple grounds.
"All the flowers should be in bloom. They'll be great for your pictures," Jimin remarks as they climb off the scooter. Jungkook already misses the warmth of Jimin's body against his chest, but masks his disappointment by hiding behind his camera, like he’s done his entire time in Songju, and snapping a shot of the towering oak tree shading them from the afternoon sun.
The temple grounds and its large attached garden buzz with a sizeable crowd that blots out the pathways. Jungkook would have been more annoyed by the press of bodies all around him if it weren’t for Jimin walking resolute at his side. Jimin speeds half a step ahead to avoid colliding with a couple, and Jungkook seizes the chance to snap a candid shot from behind.
“Jungkook, this way.” That’s all the heads up he receives before Jimin veers off the path and rustles through a patch of flower bed. He has no choice but to follow or get swept away by the flow of the crowd.
“Won't we get in trouble?”
“It'll be fine.” Jimin throws a look over his shoulder, a familiar playfulness on his face. “Or you chicken shit?”
Jungkook kicks out a leg, hoping to smack Jimin's butt, but it's easily evaded, Jimin's giggles more audible the further they distance themselves from the crowd. He clicks his camera again, just managing to capture the turn of Jimin's smile. It’s beautiful, more so than his imaginations could ever conjure.
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he trails after Jimin, putting a decent gap between them so that he can include the rest of the scenery in his pictures. Jimin must be suspicious over how many he’s the focal point of at this rate. Modeling is one thing. It's entirely another when he can build several shrines from the shere amount of photos he's taken.
“Jungkook, come look!” Jimin stops in front of a tiny tucked-in pond, waving him over. He drops to a crouch and gently parts the water with his fingertips as Jungkook approaches. “You should take a picture of the koi fish. They're really pretty this time of year.” Jimin looks up from his crouch, and Jungkook can't help it—he clicks his camera, the innate trigger within him demanding he captures every shot of Jimin that he possibly can.
“Not of me,” Jimin murmurs, unusually shy. He ducks his head and gently wiggles his fingers in the water, coaxing the koi to the surface. Jungkook hangs his own head back and breathes deeply, trying to ground himself. He needs to pull it together before Jimin figures out his actions aren’t that innocent.
Focus on the task at hand. Koi fish. No pretty boys.
And yet despite the repeated mantra, more moments materialize where Jungkook has to make a concerted effort to reign in his desires and take acceptable pictures—appropriate ones—ones that don't spawn from the intense love he feels whenever he looks upon Park Jimin. He's not succeeding at it, but Jimin hasn't called him out yet for tilting his camera away from what he's supposed to be taking a picture of and instead aiming it at him. Suffice to say, the afternoon is a disaster class. Jungkook sulks over his inability to control himself when he crashes into Jimin.
“What…” He trails off as he spots what Jimin’s staring at in the distance. Several monks stroll around a pathway winding around a grouping of ginkgo trees. Heading straight towards them.
“Shit.”
“Come on,” Jimin whispers, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling him behind a wide five-tiered statue resembling one of the main temples on the grounds. It's just wide enough for Jimin to lean against with Jungkook pressed tight to his front. The close proximity steals his breath, senses honing into the warmth of Jimin's body and the smell of orange and vanilla constant on his skin.
The distant clatter of the monks nears them.
Jimin looks up and smiles something secretive, putting a finger to his lips as if Jungkook would be the one to spoil their hiding spot. And maybe he will, with how fast his heart is beating, rationality lacking as he takes count of how many breaths between their lips before he could finally taste the lip balm he's fantasized over for the last several nights.
"The sun," Jimin murmurs, squinting as the sun shines bright on them. Jungkook cups his hands around Jimin's eyes, effectively shading him from the brunt of the sunlight. Jimin's lip part with a soft inhalation, and Jungkook hates that he notices in the first place. It saps what little discipline he has left.
Were the monks gone? He doesn't know. Doesn't care. Not when he's this close to Jimin, cradling his face, holding his world in the cup of his hands. He fell in love with Jimin years ago, and nothing has deterred him yet. Why should this? The block of gold slanted across Jimin's face passes, and he slides his hands down unwillingly.
Jimin watches him quietly. Jungkook sways forward, lost in the moment, in the need to satisfy what he's yearned for the second he laid eyes on Jimin. That fire he hadn’t known the origin of before rears up once more. Their noses tickle each other, warm breaths filling what should be their lips pressed together. Why not after all? It's what Jungkook dreamed about for years. Why not?
Anticipation suspends in the air, lighting him up from within. And just as quickly, it drops. He squeezes his eyes shut, hands dropping uselessly to his sides as reality overwhelms him. Discourages every bad idea currently swirling in his head. He hastens back, his body acting as an invisible tether that tugs Jimin with him. Jimin stumbles forward in surprise—he's not expecting it. Jungkook hadn't either. He fully intended to kiss Jimin regardless of the consequences. Perhaps it wasn’t reality that stopped him, but his cowardice.
“What's wrong?” Jimin’s voice sounds far away.
Jungkook doesn't realize his eyes are watering before it's too late.
"I'm sorry," he blurts out before rushing off, desperate to get as far from Jimin as possible.
They're both men. It can’t happen no matter how much Jungkook wants it. There was already a possibility of Jimin rejecting him as a woman. As a man, though? It’s inevitable, and his heart breaks further at the conclusion. He should just pack his things, find the next taxi out of town, and never look back before his selfishness costs him the person he loves the most in this world. That would be the wisest decision, even if it'd crush Jimin and have him believing it was his fault. But Jungkook’s never been wise, and he couldn't stomach hurting Jimin in any sense, so he would have to leave a note instead that explains everything. Every last detail because they’ve always promised each other honesty. He would just have to hope someday, when all is said and done, Jimin would send a letter to him again. He probably wouldn't once he realizes the extent of Jungkook's feelings.
Jungkook steps back onto a main pathway and walks like a blind man, letting the eb and flow of the crowd dictate where he goes. He eventually reaches a traditional red-roofed pavilion overlooking a large pond. Another family stands inside of it but Jungkook pays them no mind. They soon move away, leaving him alone to stand watch over the still water. Half-heartedly, he lifts his camera from around his neck and clicks the button with no real purpose other than giving his hands something to do.
He’s not sure how long he stands there exactly, his only measure of time being the gradual dip of the sun. No one else bothers him on the pavilion, leaving him to stew in his own misery.
It’s eventually interrupted by Jimin’s exasperated voice.
“There you are!”
Jimin stops just short of the pavilion, leaning with his hands on his knees. A pink flush stains his cheeks as if he'd been running for awhile.
“What the hell happened? Are you okay?”
Jungkook nods stiffly, checking to make sure his eyes are dry for certain. It's best to just not look at Jimin or else he risks losing control again. Unfortunately, Jimin makes that impossible when he sidles close to him, clouding his senses once more.
God, why can't I keep my head straight around him anymore?
It’s as if all of his self-control had evaporated in the span of their scooter ride.
Jimin punches his shoulder.
“Ow!”
“Stop ignoring me and tell me what's wrong.”
Don't look. Don't look.
All the screaming in his head amounts to nothing. He can’t help himself worth a damn as he glances at Jimin, and once they lock eyes, he gives up. Pursing his lips, he feels for his pocket—right where he keeps the little ring box despite knowing better. He’d started carrying it again for reasons even he couldn’t justify. Jungkook squeezes it hard with his fist, then places it on the banister between them. Jimin's eyebrows furrow, not yet understanding. His heart ricoches, climbing higher and higher as Jimin grabs the box and opens it.
“You've been my best friend since I was sixteen,” Jungkook starts in a low voice, worried it might crack from nerves. “I'm not sure when I fell in love with you. All I know is it felt right. I was planning on asking you to marry me if everything went well.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Imagine my shock when the woman I was going to propose to turned out to be a man, and that despite knowing that, I still love him just as much as before.”
Jungkook leans his elbows onto the banister, hands clasped tight together, unable to check Jimin's reaction. He doesn't mind admitting he's a coward in that regard.
Please, just let me down gently.
Silence lapses for far too long, and then soft lips press against his cheek, so soft he almost mistakes it for the summer breeze. Jungkook turns in surprise. Jimin doesn't look at him, instead matching his stance against the banister, staring resolutely into the distance. His cheeks are still pink.
“It's okay,” he says.
Jungkook doesn't believe him.
“I kind of... thought we were already something,” Jimin continues.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I didn't know you thought I was a woman. So... I already thought…” Jimin ducks his head and gestures with his hand between them. When Jungkook remains motionless, purposefully obtuse, Jimin sighs in frustration. “I wouldn't have kissed your cheek if I didn't feel the same way.”
“But I'm a man.”
“So am I.”
They stare at each other, Jungkook looking for the lie. His insecurity tries reasoning that Jimin's only saying this because he's too soft-hearted and feels bad for Jungkook's pathetic feelings. But Jimin would also never lie to him.
“I know you don't believe me, but what you're feeling now, I already went through years ago. I've already come to terms with the fact that I love you as a man. When you returned my flirting in our letters, I thought it was reciprocated.” Jimin shrugs helplessly.
Jungkook blinks hard. He barks out a laughter of disbelief a second later.
“Oh, fuck, we're idiots.”
"I'm perfectly fine. You were the one who didn't question why a woman would know so much about the military.”
Jungkook puffs out his chest. “I-I just thought you were a very well-informed woman! You never explicitly said you enlisted.”
Finally, Jimin laughs too, eyes crinkling. Jungkook itches to hold up his camera, but before he can, Jimin glances around them surreptitiously before leaning close.
"I do," he whispers into Jungkook’s cheek. He kisses slower this time, letting his lips linger so that when he pulls back, Jungkook can still feel the prickling touch.
“You…” Jungkook’s voice peters out as Jimin taps the little ring box.
“I know it can never be official. But I don't think I care. It's enough for me.” Jimin refuses to meet his eyes for once, eyelashes fluttering and demure.
Jungkook doesn't exert the same amount of care to scan their surroundings before he swoops forward and claims Jimin's mouth with his own, holding onto the side of Jimin's neck to steady the kiss. It tastes as sweet as he imagined, if not more so. He has enough sense to pull back after several— long —moments later, keeping his hand perched on Jimin's neck as if it’s always belonged there, thumb stroking along his sharp jawline.
“You mean it?” Jungkook asks, just to double check, no triple check that his mind isn’t playing games on him. Jimin leans into the upward stroke of his thumb.
“I never lie. Remember?”
Jungkook laughs softly.
“Yeah, I know you don't.”