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Did Jimin ever think she'll be hiding in a bush, spying on a house with windows the size of stallions and more floors than necessary, wearing scanty clothes that barely cover her skin in the chilly night on a Saturday? No. Certainly not. She expected more of a warm, comfy bed and a screen in her lap playing another one of those corny romcom movies. But she reckons this is fine, too.
And it's fine only because she's here with an objective. Said objective requires a stealthy break-in past two buff dudes by the enormous doorway of a mansion and an invitation she declined when she was offered one. Shit, Jimin shifts in her place in the bush. They even hired bouncers. What the fuck?
Expected, to say the least. She should've known Sakura was going to go over the top with this damned party because when the hell does she not? Almost every party hosted by her had at least one thing any normal frat party wouldn't. Jimin recalls seeing not one but three arcade machines on each fucking floor during one of these parties in the past. Mind you, the house has four floors! Although those were Taehyun’s idea, the fact that Sakura still indulged him and rented them amazed Jimin to the fullest.
But enough about rich people and their money, Jimin has a mission. A mission worth sacrificing her Achilles tendons by crouching and squishing herself into this bush. A mission worth suffering from back pain and possible humiliation in about two minutes.
She wants— No, wait, she needs to see this band play.
Sakura being Sakura, she thought it'd be a great idea to invite a band to perform for this end-of-semester party. And it is, seriously. But not telling Jimin beforehand is an astronomically huge mistake because now Jimin has to sneak into her house without a ‘ticket’ and risk getting the cops called on her.
“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa! I know, I get it. I'm not allowed in but please, I’m with them!”
One of the bouncers—for easier referencing, Buff Guy 1—keeps his hold on her arm. He turns to the group of girls that just got in. “Do you guys know her?”
Jimin's face paints with betrayal when they look her up and down before shrugging their shoulders and disappearing into the ocean of bright laser lights. Curse those wannabes and their insanely top-tier outfits. “Hey! Help a sister out!” She wails dramatically and looks back at the bouncers. “They’re my friends, seriously. They just love bullying me– Guys!”
“Can’t let you in. Sorry.” Buff Guy 2 curtly says. Then Jimin's nudged to the side to let the line finally move.
She stands there with wide, crazed eyes for a moment. If she makes a run for it past these two men, how far could she make it? Probably not too far. There must be a ton of people in there crowding the place. She won't be able to run too far unless she literally bulldozes her way into everyone and knocks them over. On second thought, that would slow the two guys down and she'd be able to find a place to hide. But then again, she's here to see the band and not spend her time in some dark corner. But once again, how else is she going to even get in? She should just—
A head of dark purple hair emerges from the crowd inside. Jimin blinks. Where has she seen that hair? Parted down the middle, neat and sprayed, curled thin fringe touching straight eyebrows. Wait.
“Taehyun!”
The boy turns and pokes his head out the door. He looks around until he meets Jimin's eyes. “Oh, hey, noona. Did you call me?”
Jimin thanks the heavens. “Yes. Oh gosh, I've been trying to get in but they won't let me!”
“Uhhh..” He takes a look at the bouncers, then back at Jimin. His eyebrow is quirked now. “Are you not on the list? I swear Kkura told me she'd put you there.”
A beat of silence passes by. Jimin plasters on a nervous smile, pleading with her eyes. Taehyun heaves a sigh when he understands. Taking a step out of the house, Taehyun approaches the bouncers and talks to them in hushed whispers. She doesn't hear them—doesn’t bring herself to really care, and perks up when Taehyun turns around.
“You owe me a Lego set.”
“What?” Jimin yells.
Taehyun says nothing else and drags her inside past the threshold by the arm. He's gone the second he lets her go, slithering away in a direction Jimin can't figure out even though he's taller than 70% of the people in this room. It takes her a minute to adjust to the harsh strobe lights, feeling as though she will lose her marbles in just three blinks from how dizzy she already is. Jimin navigates her way further into the crowd and brightens up when her ears pick up the familiar rhythm a guitar plays.
The band is on this little makeshift stage in the middle of what used to be the living room. The couch—or couches in plural form because Sakura has way too many—is now gone and the TV Jimin notices is usually hanging on the wall has been moved, which is probably for the best. The room seems a lot larger now without all the furniture despite there being a literal stage in the center and a herd of people surrounding it. It's a nice temporary change for one night, Jimin supposes.
“Alright. Before we perform our first set, I would like to remind everyone that the party is on the first and second floors only. If Sakura sees any one of you dipshits on the third and fourth, you're likely not stepping foot inside this place anymore.” A voice far too familiar rings loudly from the speakers in the corners of the first floor. Aeri, her roommate of two years and best friend of three and a half, is scanning the throng of people when Jimin focuses on her. She looks down in time before Aeri can see her face.
Aeri doesn't know she's here and she doesn't have to know. What Aeri probably thinks Jimin's doing right now is rolling around in bed and squealing from another one of those cute moments in the aforementioned romcoms but little does she know, the girl is going to be rolling around in the crowd and squealing for the band—specifically, their drummer—instead. Jimin shuffles to a spot that isn't literally in Aeri's line of sight, moving to the side where she's closer to the pianist of the band.
It’s better this way. She can see everything. And by everything, she means the drummer. The very sole reason she’s here at this party, the cause of her crass decision to crash the party, the person responsible for her fixation on this band in the first place. The drummer named Kim Minjeong, the girl with the cutest face ever but has got the sexiest arm muscles—Jimin’s crazy and gay but she’s right!
She and Minjeong don't know each other personally; the only times they talk being the times where Jimin gets dragged to band practice by Aeri, they have yet to get to know each other better. Not that Jimin's thought of ever advancing towards it herself but you know, it's whatever.
The first time they met, Jimin tripped on a few cables that were very conveniently sprawled on the floor by the drum set while she was tailing behind Aeri headed towards the speakers—for whatever reason—and nearly ate shit right in front of Minjeong. It was bad; like, really bad. And what's worse was that Jimin tripped because she was looking at Minjeong. If that wasn't the most embarrassing thing she'd done in her entire life, she doesn't know what is.
But, you know, in a way, it was okay as well. Because Minjeong had looked at her and smiled and– Ugh, that smile. That smile could change people's lives, could change the world. It could cure cancer, mark her words! Minjeong's smile had brightened the whole room and tripping on wires suddenly felt like it was the best decision Jimin had ever made, even if it was humiliating and unintentional.
Ever since then, each and every glance felt almost sinful to Jimin. As though looking at somebody was blasphemous and unruly, Jimin's body was set ablaze every time their eyes met from then on. But Jimin was and is no saint. If looking at Minjeong was a sin, then she was the biggest sinner to ever exist because she just keeps sinning and sinning. There is not a minute in a day where Jimin doesn't take at least a few seconds out of her life to just blankly stare at Minjeong, minus the days they don't see one another.
Like now, for example.
Or... is it the other way around this time?
Jimin blinks. Her diligently loyal eyes meet relentlessly curious ones. It takes her a short while to come to her senses, to realize exactly whose pair of eyes she's looking into. The whole room falls silent for a split second when her gaze dips down to see thin magenta lips curling up into a smile.
That's it. That damned smile.
Minjeong's eyes narrow at her once she looks back up and the noise in the room fades back in. It's only then does Jimin realize that the band is now playing and Minjeong is literally looking at her mid-performance. She nearly goes fucking nuts because– Who gave Minjeong permission to do that? Who told her she could play and stare at Jimin and look so fine doing it? This girl is insane.
She doesn't lose her mind though. Not yet, at least. Instead, she allows a smile onto her face, her ears heating up in the process.
Minjeong is standing before her when she twists around. Jimin almost springs backwards into the kitchen island holding way too many red solo cups filled to the brim with beer and whatnot. Her own cup nearly slips out of her hand from the surprise.
“Minjeong,” She breathes out, sort of relieved.
A soft “Hi, unnie.” is spoken with the accompaniment of The Smile™ and Jimin damn near loses her shit. Someone tell her why being called ‘unnie’ by Kim Minjeong makes her want to drop down to her knees and scream at the top of her lungs. She feels like the amount adrenaline that pumps into her veins as an effect from that alone is enough to cause heart palpitations.
Clad in a simple black and gray checkered flannel shirt and dark cargo pants, Minjeong looks as adorably attractive as ever. Her shoulder length hair is a light pink, which is a shocking change to say the least. The last time Jimin saw Minjeong—and that was probably a week ago at best, her hair was still jet black. But who is Jimin to be complaining? As a matter of fact, she isn't complaining at all! Pink hair makes Minjeong look all the more beautiful and cute. No way is she hating the look.
Light laughter goes in Jimin's right ear and out Jimin's left ear. The melodious sound is airy and youthful. Minjeong's shoulders raise by a mere inch but Jimin notices it either way. “Do I look weird or something? You're staring at me like I'm an alien.” Minjeong's question causes her to blanch a bit, although she hopes it's unnoticeable in the whole laser lights fiasco.
“No! Not at all. It's just,” Jimin refocuses. She zeroes in on Minjeong's arms that are exposed from the folded up sleeves. Veins. She swallows. Hot. “You look great. Really great. It's just strange seeing you with bright hair.”
As a response to Jimin's comment, Minjeong runs a hand through her pink hair and grins from ear to ear. She looks genuinely and very sincerely joyous from one single comment about her hair. Jimin is barely able to hold herself back from reaching out to either pat Minjeong's head or pinch her cute little cheeks.
“I guess it'll take some time to get used to.”
Minjeong scans Jimin from head to toe. The way her eyes rake over her body has Jimin burning up and thirsty all of a sudden. And when she notices Minjeong's gaze lingering a little longer than necessary, Jimin makes use of the beer in her hand, bringing it up to her lips to sip on.
“You look really pretty tonight, unnie.”
She chokes. Beer drips from one of her nostrils.
She tells Minjeong she's okay when a look of concern shows on her cute face. Jimin is incredibly tempted to say some cheesy shit like “Just tonight?” but there's a voice inside her head preventing her from it. Perhaps it's for the best. She doesn't feel like embarrassing herself in front of Minjeong anymore. Tonight, anyway. So instead she settles with “Thanks, Minjeongie.” that comes out pathetically.
It is awkward. For a minute, they just stand there like a couple of Sims characters and the only things missing are the rotating green diamonds above their heads. Minjeong is still checking her out—God knows how red Jimin is from the attention those eyes are giving her—and she's not even trying to hide it, which as a result makes Jimin feel as though she's literally naked in front of her. But let's not dive any deeper into that.
“So did you sneak in here or…?” Minjeong asks. She's now nursing a cup of beer herself, leaning against the island. “I heard from Aeri unnie that you declined an invite.” She supplies when Jimin flashes her a look of bewilderment.
That little shit. Jimin swears she will decapitate Aeri one day if she doesn't stop setting her up for fucking failure with Minjeong. (Not really. Aeri is her only connection with Minjeong and she still needs her for emotional support sometimes.) “Oh, she's lying. You know how she is.” Jimin says it with a newfound confidence.
Minjeong's head tilts. “Is she?”
“Yep!”
Jimin grows restless under Minjeong's relentless stare, fingers twitching around the cup in her hand. It's always been that way. Minjeong looks at her for more than three seconds and then every muscle in her body tries to wriggle out from under her skin. She'll start getting sweaty and itchy in places she definitely should not be itching. It's annoying but in a good way, really.
Then Minjeong looks away, chuckling, and takes a sip from her cup. “That’s too bad. I could've sworn you snuck in just to watch us play.”
As if Jimin hasn't embarrassed herself enough tonight, she somehow finds herself lying in a pool of puked up liquor right in the center of the dance floor where she's quite literally next to the stage where the band is.
Oh. My. God. Jimin folds her arms to take a look at her sticky hands that are now coated in the yellow-ish watery goop. She immediately screws her eyes shut. Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew.
The stench is horrid and pungent, strong smelling alcohol and whatever it is the fucktard consumed before hurling his guts out onto the floor clings to her entire body even as she sits up. It takes Jimin a moment to realize that the backside of her head is fucking soaked and her clothes are drenched. She wants to cry like a big baby but she can't bring herself to. Not when she's inhaling vomit. She does not want to be sobbing while smelling like beer and stomach acid.
“Unnie, are you okay?”
It's just her luck that she fell on her ass the moment Minjeong looked at her and that the band was just finishing their last set when that dumbass of a guy projectile vomited. Silly, tipsy Jimin was having the time of her life until she walked right into his puddle of yucky!
Minjeong is crouched next to her, where no vomit situates, when Jimin re-opens her eyes. Worry settles in her chocolate eyes and cute little brows. It takes everything—and she means every fucking thing; every beat of her heart, every breath she takes and releases, every drop of hydrochloric acid in her stomach, every organelle in each of her body cells—for Jimin to not just burst out crying to Minjeong right here and right now. The farthest she gets is having her lower lip tremble and Minjeong's pulling her up to her feet, guiding her through the crowd and up the stairs, all while holding her sticky hand.
They end up in some room, probably a guest room, on the third floor. And while Jimin knows they shouldn't be up here lest they get kicked out forever, she can't bring herself to care and protest when Minjeong's so kindly washing her hair in the bathroom. Whatever. She'll find a way to bribe Sakura if they get caught up here.
“Unnie, you need a change of clothes.” Minjeong's voice is soft to the ears. She's sitting on the edge of the bathtub, hands now busy drying Jimin's damp hair with a towel she'd found in one of the cupboards. “You’re going to be cold and stinky.”
“Hey,” Jimin pouts when Minjeong chuckles. “I’m fine with the cold.”
A hand runs through Jimin's hair. Blunt fingernails lightly scratch at her scalp and it prompts a sigh out of Jimin. The wet towel swipes at Jimin's shoulders next. “Yeah?” Minjeong carefully rubs out the smelly substance from the tube top that clings to Jimin's back. “Well, I'm not fine with the knowledge that you're fine with it.”
It's the way she says it with such gentleness that makes Jimin's ears burn. She wonders if her entire body feels warm at this point. “I’m really okay with it, Minjeongie.”
Minjeong hums but says nothing else. She resumes the task at hand. Cold fingers grapple onto Jimin's arm to keep her steady as the towel scrubs into her back. The care and attention given just makes Jimin fall even deeper into the rabbit hole. And just when she thinks it can't get any worse than that, Minjeong holds the towel out for her to take and tells her to wipe down her shorts herself in case she feels uncomfortable. Jimin fucking dissolves.
A hairdryer is pulled out from under the sink somewhere along the way. Jimin asks if Minjeong’s been here before from the fluidity of her movements around the room that shows she's familiar with it, but Minjeong simply smiles at her. She declines blowing her hair dry, saying something along the lines of wanting to let it dry naturally or some other lame excuse, and they step out of the bathroom.
“You should take my shirt, unnie.” Minjeong suddenly says when Jimin's heading for the door.
Jimin doesn't think she's ever whipped her head around so fast. Vertigo hits a little later than it should and Jimin stumbles over nothing mid walk; right, she's got alcohol in her system. “What?” She stammers, feeling as though her tongue has gone numb.
Minjeong is unbuttoning her flannel when Jimin defeats dizziness. She strides over to Minjeong to prevent her from going further. “No, no! I’m seriously okay!”
The flannel falls open, anyway, despite Jimin's desperate attempt at stopping Minjeong. “Your top is wet and you're going to get cold; I insist. Plus, I'm wearing something underneath. It's fine, really.”
“Minjeong...” Jimin pauses, tries to think of things to say but gives up when Minjeong slips her arm into the sleeve. She's obedient as Minjeong dresses her up, obliging to anything Minjeong tells her to do.
It turns out the flannel does nothing for Jimin. Sure, it shelters her from the cold and keeps her warm and all that. But now she's too warm and she can feel everything. And by everything, she means Minjeong.
She has no idea how they got here. Not to the party, no. But to… this. To touching each other, to hugging and stroking, to shortened breaths, to kissing.
Okay. That's a lie. She knows exactly how they got here. And she blames it all on Minjeong.
Minjeong who would always have that smile on her face no matter the situation whenever she looks at Jimin. Minjeong who gifted Jimin tickets to a Shin-chan Theme Park because she mentioned wanting to go at least once in her life. Minjeong who would miraculously always be right beside Jimin to catch her whenever she'd trip or tumble. Minjeong who gives Jimin little packets of gummies whenever she has them on her because it's her favorite snack and she wants to share. Minjeong who never fails to take care of Jimin even in the simplest ways ever. Minjeong who Jimin likes so much, sincerely, with her entire being, and wants to do nothing more than to tell her that. Minjeong who feels so, so warm against Jimin and holds her so, so close like she never wants to separate.
Callused hands are under Minjeong's flannel. Long, slim fingers splay across Jimin's lower back and just below her left ribcage. She can feel Minjeong's body through the material. Thinner, smaller, narrower. Minjeong is just petite overall, with a more taut and muscular build. But what she isn't is patient, it seems.
Jimin’s stumbling backwards when a force in the form of a hand on her hip pushes at her. The back of her knees hit the bed she fails to notice was even there in the first place. A surprised squeal leaves her, mouth detaching from Minjeong's, as she falls onto the mattress. Minjeong presses a hand on her chest, forcing her down.
“Wait, Minjeo– Mmph.. Hm.”
Well, that was pathetic. Really, she should've just kept her mouth shut. But Jimin could care less when she's got the girl of her dreams straddling her and kissing her senseless, taking away her freedom of speech, leaving traces of her hands all over her body.
It's not long before Minjeong starts getting frisky. Like, really frisky. She doesn't leave an inch of skin on Jimin's body untouched. There's a finger teasing the edges of Jimin's flimsy top, a hand stroking her stomach, and a tongue prodding at her lips; all of which Jimin responds to by putting her hands in the only place that she can find—Minjeong’s pink hair.
In a daze, Jimin doesn't realize how resistant she is. Her mouth is almost sealed shut. When Minjeong whines for an entrance, her jaw unlocks and she's so willingly opening her mouth.
Minjeong's warm tongue pushes past her lips, charging into her gaping mouth. The first thing it does is search for Jimin's that's laying dormant against her palate like she's holding back. As soon as Minjeong licks at it, Jimin goes numb in the head. And then she's lapping at Minjeong’s mouth like she's been in drought for half a year, drinking up every bit of her she can get, sucking on that soft pink muscle.
The hands on her midriff slide down her sides before squeezing her. Something tells Jimin that Minjeong is contemplating going further. That she's not sure whether Jimin's okay with it or not. That she's wondering if it's the right place and time.
There's the telltale signs of backtracking. The hesitation in Minjeong's touch, the decrease of enthusiasm in Minjeong's kisses, the lack of force in Minjeong's advances. Jimin pulls her down when Minjeong finally makes up her mind and tries to break it off.
Minjeong starts showing signs of life again. She's touching Jimin the right way, she's pressing herself into Jimin, she's kissing Jimin harder with fervor. That tongue of hers drills into Jimin's mouth once more, mercilessly fighting against Jimin's that's depleting in power, and there's a growing heat between their bodies.
There's another thing though. A stone cold, hard thing on Minjeong's tongue that sits a little further back and it's tapping on Jimin's top and bottom rows of teeth. Impulsively, Jimin licks around and—
Oh. It's…
A moan crawls up Jimin's throat. Minjeong's hands move up and up and up under the flannel. Her delicate fingers brush over Jimin's ribs and head straight for her–
“Holy shit.”
The foreign tongue in Jimin's mouth is gone within seconds as well as the eager hands on her skin. Minjeong straightens up above her, head whipping towards the door. Jimin follows her line of sight and finds a petrified Taehyun in the doorway.
A wry grimace overpowers the warmth in Jimin's cheeks. “Taehyun,” She heaves, panting. “We, uh.. We can explain.”
“Great. Now you owe me two Lego sets.” The younger boy bristles as he glances over his shoulder. “Whatever. You don't have to explain anything. Just get going and never breathe a word of this to Kkura.”