Work Text:
“Park Jimin coughs impeccably into his closed fist—cough, cough, cough—eyes scrunching up cutely, nose crinkled in the slightest hint of discomfort. One could even say his sickly face was even better than his regular—“
“If you don’t stop I swear to—“
“Jimin’s finger points threateningly towards his beautiful, gorgeous, kind, admittedly hot and loving boyfriend… but Jimin was never good at making threats. His anger may be real but it was never anything to take seriously. How could anyone be afraid of a growling one week old puppy?”
“I hate you so much. Shut the fuck up!”
“Jimin yells out his hate, unbeknownst to the protagonist that it was actually love—the undying, everlasting kind—”
“That’s it. I’m leaving you.”
“—One day he would come to embrace it. Until that day, Park Jimin, imaginatively single male, picks up his sweater from the couch, balls it up in his arms, and storms out the door of his and Hoseok’s shared apartment. The door slams on the close of this chapter—“
//
Jimin threw his stupid sweater on the chair opposite him in the café he ran to in his haste to get away from Jung Hoseok, New York Times Best Selling Author (forty weeks in a row!). He didn’t even know why he picked this place to hide at; it was just the first place his legs took him as he powered through his steaming anger.
His boyfriend always did this; always narrated his life, his every move, his every supposed thought. Hoseok claimed that he did it to practice his writing skills, specifically his detailing and characterization. Hoseok had a knack for observing habits of Jimin that the younger didn’t even know existed, pointing them out in prose heavy in metaphors and adjectives. Worse, he had an uncanny ability to voice the feelings Jimin thought he was hiding well from the older. Jimin was annoyed with it from the very first time Hoseok did it—drawing attention to the way Jimin’s fingers quaked as he held his brand new copy of Summer’s Weep open for the author’s signature and making the next-in-line giggle at Jimin’s nerves. This wasn’t the first time he grew tired of the writer’s antics.
This was the first time Jimin had stormed out, though.
Jimin’s phone rang but he didn’t even flinch, just letting the ringtone fade out to voicemail. The last thing he wanted right now was to hear more of Hoseok’s “author’s” voice. The same voice Jimin heard countless times at Hoseok’s book signings where he read passages out his newly released novels. The tone was engaging, riveting really, and it connected each listener to his soothing voice, spinning magic and weaving images into the air that catapulted you into the setting of another adventure, a strenuous peril, or even a new budding romance. Jimin didn’t want to be trapped in Hoseok’s mythical worlds. Jimin wanted reality.
His phone buzzed, this time three short staccatos. A text. Jimin ignored it for all of five minutes before sighing and fishing his phone out his pocket and swiping the message open on the screen.
I’m sorry. Ur my muse.
Of course he was. He always was. That was the problem.
What kind of privacy could there be in a relationship if everything they did had the possibility of ending up in a novel? Jimin sometimes felt that their nights alone when they cuddled would end up the next best seller. He was afraid every secret that dripped off his lips would land on the page, smudged ink hurriedly written by Hoseok’s pen; every hug and kiss just a scene being reenacted from his boyfriend’s small black brainstorming book.
Jimin could no longer tell the line between genuine and—and research.
Three more buzzes.
I love U, Jiminnie.
Did he? Did he really? Or did Hoseok just love the idea of living one of his romance novels? Which character was Hoseok playing now? Jin, the valiant knight who rescues the prince, Namjoon, from an angered wildebeest surrounded by deep brush? Taehyung, the thief who stealthily stole kisses under cover of the dark of night but left daisies on pillows haloed by the hopeful morning sun? Possibly Jungkook the Great who not once lost a battle… until he lost against the charms of love? Maybe Hoseok decided Yoongi was more appropriate. Any story with Yoongi as a character had misunderstandings and arguments but ended in passion igniting under the sheets.
Jimin sighed and put his phone away again, this time on top of his sweater as far from his hands as he could get it. He heard it buzz some more but he ignored it as he stood to approach the counter.
//
It had been hours. Jimin long since finished his cookies and tea and the subsequent muffin, hot chocolate, and scone that followed. The sun was dipping low and Jimin was starting to shiver without the heated shine on him. He reached over for his sweater forgetting all about his phone until it tumbled from the material and hit the floor with a loud thud! With ample hesitation he lifted the phone from the floor and swiped the screen on.
There were twelve missed calls and twenty new texts. Groaning, Jimin started to dismiss them all before he noticed that the texts were longer than the short messages Hoseok had sent before. Curious, Jimin opened the chat box and scrolled to the top.
***
Jung Hoseok, self-proclaimed author-genius wasn’t as smart as he thought. He thought he knew everything—knew how to start a story, fill plot holes, drag a character through the dirt before presenting them everything they could ever want… all while inviting readers along for the ride. He thought he knew everything about adventure, domesticity and… love. But one day he realized he was wrong.
One day he met a man. A very handsome man. He never thought he told this man that often enough, he really should have used every breath he took to praise the man’s looks to the heavens and hells. But that digresses from the story. Jung Hoseok met a man… and he fell in what he believed was love (from what he knew from the descriptions of his own characters). There were all the stereotypical butterflies present, the small smiles and rosy cheeks, the hand holding, kissing, and finally taking that next step and living together in blissful harmony.
He used his growing adoration for this handsome, beautiful, downright spectacular man to fuel his inner muse. He started daydreaming of ways dates would play out between them, ending in soft giggles and windswept hair brushed back by Hoseok’s gentle fingers. Hoseok breathed words into the different ways he could say, “I think you’re the one. Do you see me as the one?” Always hoping the man would pick up on his underlying meanings.
Throughout all of this, though, the author grew successful. Yes, his characters became more whole, more lifelike and he wrote more books. He became a literary genius (according to the NY Times). Yes, his relationship with this man aided his writing but no, not in the way it would seem. See, this man gave words to the author’s thoughts, feelings, and capabilities but... said author never used that in his writings. His muse helped him become more understanding of the situations he placed his characters in but he only used the words the man breathed life into (his thoughts, feelings, and capabilities) to write their own story.
Their story went a little something like this: Hoseok waking up to the handsome man, noticing the cutest yawn slipping past his lips as he rubbed his eyes to full awareness. Hoseok watching the man twitch his hips as his favorite song blares from the radio; smile lighting up the universe, burning away any darkness in Hoseok’s heart. Hoseok noticing the shy and embarrassed blushes before the man even had the chance to hide behind his sweater paws, too long to be useful. Hoseok’s eyes tracked every shift, every movement, every opportunity to see the man happy.
The author found out his ability to make the man pout, and laugh, and cry, and hide and attack him in the foyer with great news, and indulge his secret fears between pillowed muffled whimpers. Hoseok was able to unlock various emotions from this lovely man, but the most important thing Hoseok realized is not what he could bring out in the man, but what the man has brought out in him. He wrote all of this in their story.
Hoseok can’t help but to voice every little thing he sees in the man; following him around and narrating his actions, no matter how annoying it becomes. Everyone in the world would be blessed to see such beauty and perfection in every minuscule detail. Its disheartening that the man, being himself, misses out on what Hoseok is gifted with each day. He wished the man could see himself the way Hoseok does. So Hoseok tried so very hard to describe it to the man with the best of his abilities but it seems his efforts were the wrong way to go about it.
Instead of growing closer to the man, instead of successfully wording “I love you” in as many ways as he could think of, of relaying his message of “I think you’re the one. Do you see me as the one?”… he instead drove him away. The author realized after all this time he was still wrong. Like the Him from before the man, he still struggled to understand not what love is, but how to love…
The man had left without finishing the story.
***
The texts stopped abruptly. Jimin stared at his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, not knowing how, or even if he could, respond. But it turns out Hoseok chose for him. With one final buzz his screen lit up—
There is no ending for Jung Hoseok, whether it be happy or miserable. Not without Park Jimin.
//
Jimin stood at the door of their apartment, sweater balled under his arms, looking exactly as he did when he left. Except… except he felt different, lighter. He felt so light he swore he flew the few blocks from the café to where he is now. He sucked in a breath and pushed through the door.
Looking around, Hoseok wasn’t where Jimin left him, laid out on the couch. Jimin looked in the kitchen and bathroom with still no sign of him. As he was about to check the bedroom a large blur ran down the hallway.
“Jimin?!”
“Hos—“
“I’m so sorry. Are you all right? You weren’t answering my calls. Did you eat? I’m so, so sorry. Did you get any of my texts? Did—“
“The author extraordinaire still had trouble with words, no matter what the New York Times said. He became flustered and hurried through words, stumbled really.”
“I—“
“His eyes were wide, face flushed as shock overtook the panic so recently vacated from the depths of his beautiful eyes. Very beautiful eyes. Did the man tell him that enough? Did he tell the author how his eyes shined themselves, galaxies ablaze and reflecting with the light from the man’s smile? Beautiful eyes deserving of compliments at each breath the man took. But he digresses.”
Hoseok was smiling softly now, just a twitch of the lips, but he no longer was trying to interrupt Jimin. Jimin walked slowly forward, backing Hoseok down the hall and into the living room where the author took a hesitant seat on the couch.
“The man, you see, did know how to love, but did he really now what love was? Was it the butterflies in his stomach, or the quaking fingers wrapped around new books?” Jimin sat perched on the edge of the couch, placing his sweater on the floor, angling his legs so they barely tapped into Hoseok’s. “Or was love admiring? Was love noticing the quirks and habits of another, filing away each as just as important, just as precious, as the more obvious ones? Was love saying ‘I love you’ in a million different ways on a million different days hoping that one stood out as distinct?” Jimin stood up, pulling Hoseok up with him by the hands.
“Jimin—“
“The man thought about it. The author did too. And, maybe, there was more to this than they both knew. For Jung Hoseok there is no ending without Park Jimin but for Park Jimin… there was never even a beginning without Jung Hoseok.”
“Jimin, what do you mean?”
“It means,” Jimin squeezed his boyfriend’s hands, staring him in the eyes, “that this is the part of the story where we teach each other what love is and how to love and,” he takes a deep breath, “how to write a never-ending story.”
Hoseok slowly pulled Jimin closer, wrapping his arms around his waist, and whispered, “Jimin? I love you.”
“I think you’re the one. Do you see me as the one?” Jimin whispered back into the crook of the author’s neck, arms coming to rest around his shoulders.
“Always.” A pause. “And then Jimin tried not to cry because he knew it would set off Hoseok,” Jimin let out a breathy giggle, ”but it was okay because Jung Hoseok, self-proclaimed author-genius, was about to kiss this handsome man, a very handsome man, and they would write their happily ever after… together.”