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The party was suffocating.
Warm bodies packed into the loft, laughter rising over the bass-heavy music that vibrated against the dark wood floors. The scent of expensive cologne and perfume clung to the air, mixing with the faint bitterness of alcohol. Golden light from the chandelier overhead bathed everything in a hazy glow, softening sharp edges, making the room feel dreamlike. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Seoul sprawled beneath them, the city alive with its pulsing heartbeat—flashing signs, the steady stream of headlights weaving through the streets.
Jimin shifted his grip on the glass in his hand, fingers pressing into the condensation that gathered along its surface. He wasn’t drunk, not even tipsy, but his pulse was uneven, something thick settling in his throat.
Because across the room—standing near the bar, head tilted slightly as he spoke to someone Jimin didn’t recognize—was him.
Jungkook.
It was like a punch to the gut.
The years had only sharpened him, sculpted him into something darker, something more refined. His jet-black hair was longer, the ends curling slightly where they brushed the tops of his brows. A few strands fell over his forehead, shifting each time he moved, as effortlessly careless as ever. His jawline had always been sharp, but now there was a shadow of stubble there, adding an edge to his already dangerous allure.
He wore all black—a fitted button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the fabric clinging in places that reminded Jimin of things he shouldn’t. The flicker of silver from his rings and the delicate chain around his neck caught the light, and Jimin’s stomach twisted.
He still wore jewelry the same way. He still looked like a dream Jimin had spent years trying to forget.
And then—Jungkook looked up.
Jimin went still.
The noise of the party faded, blurred into static. The air in the room felt too thick, the space between them suddenly much too small, despite the bodies moving between them.
Jungkook’s gaze locked onto him, unwavering. His lips parted slightly, chest rising with a slow inhale. A flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—flashed in his dark eyes.
Jimin’s grip on his drink tightened. He should look away. Should turn his back, disappear into the crowd, pretend this moment hadn’t happened.
But he didn’t.
Jungkook took a step forward.
Jimin swallowed, heart hammering.
Another step.
And then—
“Jimin.”
His name left Jungkook’s lips as if it had never left them at all.
Jimin forced his shoulders to relax, masking the way his breath hitched. He turned, the motion smooth, practiced. “Jungkook.”
A flicker of something passed through Jungkook’s expression—something unreadable, something Jimin didn’t want to analyze.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Jungkook said, voice deeper than before.
Jimin exhaled, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah? Me neither.”
Jungkook huffed a short laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Taehyung?”
Jimin nodded. “Dragged me out.”
“Same,” Jungkook admitted, glancing briefly toward the crowd. His gaze returned to Jimin almost instantly, as if he didn’t want to look away for too long. “Do you… want to go somewhere quieter?”
Jimin’s breath caught. He could say no. He should say no.
But instead, he found himself nodding.
“Yeah.”
The balcony was quiet, the city stretching endlessly before them. The wind carried a slight chill, ruffling Jimin’s hair as he leaned against the iron railing. Below, the streets buzzed with life—honking cars, flashing signs, people moving in and out of bars and cafés. The skyline was endless, lights flickering like stars, but Jimin wasn’t looking at any of it.
Jungkook leaned beside him, close but not touching.
“You never liked crowded parties,” Jungkook said, watching the city below.
Jimin exhaled through his nose. “And yet, here we are.”
Jungkook’s lips curled slightly, but there was something distant in his eyes. “Is that what this is? Just two people stuck at the same party?”
Jimin turned, watching him carefully. “I don’t know.”
Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”
Jungkook pushed off the railing slightly, turning to face him fully. “You know exactly why this is hard.”
Jimin crossed his arms. “Hard? Jungkook, you left.”
Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “And you let me.”
Jimin inhaled sharply, chest tightening. “What was I supposed to do? Chase after you?”
Jungkook didn’t hesitate. “Maybe.”
Jimin let out a breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. “That’s fucking unfair.”
Jungkook’s expression flickered. “Is it?”
Jimin turned away, gripping the railing until the cold metal bit into his palms. “Why now?”
“What?”
Jimin looked back at him. “Why now, Jungkook? What do you want from me?”
Jungkook exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know—”
“That’s not good enough,” Jimin cut in, voice shaking. “You don’t get to show up years later and act like this—like we can just pick up where we left off.”
Jungkook’s voice was quiet, but firm. “I’m not saying that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Jungkook swallowed, throat bobbing. “I don’t know how to stop looking for you.”
Jimin froze.
Jungkook inhaled deeply. “I don’t know how to walk into a room and not wonder if you’ll be there. I don’t know how to look at someone else and not see you.” He ran a hand down his face, voice rough. “I don’t know how to stop.”
Jimin’s throat ached. “Jungkook…”
Jungkook let out a shaky breath. “Tell me you don’t feel it anymore, and I’ll leave.”
Jimin’s breath caught.
Jungkook took a step closer, voice softer now. “But you have to mean it.”
Jimin opened his mouth. Closed it.
And that was the answer.
Jungkook’s gaze darkened, jaw tightening. He nodded once, as if confirming something to himself.
“That’s what I thought.”
Jimin hated him for it. Hated him for knowing.
Hated himself for not stopping him when he turned and walked back inside.
The night air wrapped around him, too cold, too heavy. Below, the city kept moving, oblivious to the way his heart clenched in his chest.
It was almost easy to let him go.
Almost.