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The door opened inward, the knob clanking against the wall, Jungkook stood there. He hadn’t knocked. He knew if Jimin thought he was at the door he wouldn’t be welcomed in.
His eyes scanned the room, landing on the target. Jimin. Curled into Taehyung’s side, a shared comforter swallowed them both. They were hunched over a laptop, a single pair of headphones tethering them together in a world that so clearly excluded him. A soft, familiar giggle fell from Jimin’s lips, and it was the sweetest sound a sound Jungkook had been missing.
Jealousy, hot and acrid, coiled in his gut. He rolled his tongue over the inside of his cheek, the pressure a feeble anchor against the storm inside him.
“Jimin-hyung.” His voice was rougher than he intended, shredded with the effort of holding back. “I need to talk to you.”
The effect was immediate. Jimin’s smile died, crumbling from his face. He didn’t even grant Jungkook the courtesy of a glance. “Sorry, Jungkook-ah,” he murmured, his voice feather light and dismissive. “We’re watching a movie.”
A saner man would have retreated. The rejection was a physical blow. But Jungkook was past sanity. He was tired of the hollow ache Jimin’s absence had carved in his chest. This ended now.
“Hyung, it’s important,” he bit out, his gaze shifting to Taehyung, who was pointedly fixated on the screen. “Can’t you both watch this later?”
Jimin pulled the comforter tighter, a silent, pathetic shield. He turned his head, his eyes meeting Taehyung’s in a silent, frantic conversation. When his gaze returned to the screen, he gave a tiny, defiant shake of his head. “No. I want to finish it now.”
Stubborn. Little. Shit. Jungkook’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Fine. If persuasion wouldn’t work, he’d escalate.
“Tae-hyung,” he barked, the title a sharp command. “Go away. We need to talk.”
That got a reaction. Jimin’s hand flew to Taehyung’s arm, clutching like a lifeline. “Jungkook-ah, go away! I don’t want to talk!”
Taehyung, the reluctant mediator, sighed and gently pried at Jimin’s fingers. “Jimin-ah, just go. I’ll pause it.”
But Jimin held fast, his stubbornness a well known, infuriating force. Of course. He was going to make this as difficult as possible.
Jungkook blew a sharp breath through his nose. The last thread of his patience snapped. “Fuck it,” he muttered, the words a low growl.
He crossed the room in three long strides. He didn’t ask. He moved. The laptop was shoved aside, the comforter ripped away. His fingers closed like a manacle around Jimin’s slender wrist, and he tugged hard.
“Let’s go, Jiminie-hyung.”
Jimin gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he fought against the iron grip. “Let go! I said I don’t want to talk!”
Jungkook didn’t listen. He just pulled harder, yanking Jimin off the mattress with a force that sent the smaller man colliding with his chest. A soft oof of air, then a scowl.
“Yah! You brat! I’m your hyung!” Jimin snapped, rubbing his forehead.
“Are you?” Jungkook shot back, a deep frown etching his features. “You aren’t acting like it.” He tried to drag him toward the door, but Jimin went limp, a dead weight dragging his feet.
“Tae! Help me!” Jimin cried, still struggling uselessly against Jungkook’s hold.
“Are you going to talk to me?” Jungkook demanded, his voice dangerously low.
Jimin shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line.
A predatory glint flashed in Jungkook’s eyes. “Fine, Jimin-ah. My way, then.”
In one fluid, shocking motion, he bent, closed his hands around Jimin’s hips, and hoisted him clean off the ground, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
Jimin let out a sharp cry of alarm, his hands fisting in the back of Jungkook’s shirt for balance. “Jeon Jungkook! Put me down! Right now!”
Ignoring the protests, Jungkook marched toward the door, his arm a firm bar across the back of Jimin’s thighs. He glanced back, noting with grim satisfaction that Taehyung had wisely fled the battlefield. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he kicked the door shut with a deafening slam. He turned on his heel and strode back to the bed, unceremoniously dumping Jimin onto the soft mattress.
Jimin bounced, scrambling up onto his elbows, his face flushed with fury. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Why couldn’t you just wait?!”
“Remember yesterday, hyung?” Jungkook began, his voice deceptively calm as he started to pace the length of the room like a caged tiger. “And last week? How about the entire past month? Hmm? I’ve tried waiting. I’ve tried being patient. I’ve tried giving you space. You don’t listen. You just… disappear.”
He saw it then—the subtle shift of weight, the slow, creeping slide toward the edge of the bed. Jimin was going to run. Of course he was.
As Jimin made a desperate dash for the door, Jungkook was already moving. He was a predator, and Jimin was his prey. He caught him around the waist, spinning him and crushing him back against his chest, robbing him of breath and escape.
“You aren’t running away this time, Jimin-ah,” he breathed, the words a hot, dangerous promise against Jimin’s ear.
“Let go! I’ll talk! Just get off of me!” Jimin yelled, writhing in a futile attempt to break free.
Jungkook only tightened his hold, making the struggle pointless. “I’ll think about it once you start talking.”
“What is there to talk about?!” Jimin cried, stomping his foot in a childlike gesture of frustration.
“You’re avoiding me!” The roar tore from Jungkook’s throat, raw and painful. “You never have time for me! When I ask, you magically have plans! Did I do something? Do you hate me now? Just tell me!”
“I’m not avoiding you! I’ve just been busy! You’re being ridiculous!” Jimin lied, the struggle renewing with a frantic energy.
The denial was the final spark. Jungkook’s control shattered. He hauled Jimin up, carried him the few steps back, and dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed. Jimin landed on all fours, and in one smooth, powerful motion, Jungkook flipped him onto his back, dragged him to the edge, and shoved himself between his splayed legs, caging him in.
“Jeon Jungkook, stop it!”
Jungkook ignored him. He drove his fist into the mattress, right beside Jimin’s head, the bed frame groaning in protest. He leaned in, so close their noses almost touched, his voice a low, gritted threat. “Stop. Lying. To. Me. I know when I’m being avoided.”
Jimin’s eyes were wide, swimming with a mixture of fear and something else—something desperate. He shoved weakly at Jungkook’s chest. “I wasn’t… I… uhh… I wasn’t…”
When the pushing failed, his hands crept up to rest on Jungkook’s shoulders, a contradictory gesture of rejection and connection. Jungkook had had enough. He snatched Jimin’s wrists and pinned them above his head, rendering him completely helpless.
“Stop,” Jungkook pleaded, the fight suddenly draining from his voice, replaced by a devastating ache. “Why are you being so difficult? You never bother me anymore. I miss you, hyung. It feels like you hate me.”
The fight seemed to leave Jimin all at once. “Aish… I don’t hate you, Jungkook,” he whispered, his pout trembling. “How could I ever hate you? I just… I don’t want to talk about it.”
“JIMIN!” Jungkook shouted, the name a raw, open wound. He pressed his body down, eliminating the last shred of distance, making his presence an inescapable reality. “Just tell me!”
He stared down, his dark eyes boring into Jimin’s, willing the truth from him. Seconds stretched into a minute, the silence thick and suffocating. The hope in Jungkook’s chest curdled into despair. With a sound of utter defeat, he let go of Jimin’s wrists and pushed himself away, turning his back.
“Fine. Screw this,” he rasped, the words hollow. “Come find me when you’re ready.”
He took a step toward the door.
“Wait… Jungkook, just wait.”
He heard the rustle of the sheets, a broken sigh. He turned. Jimin was still on the bed, his face turned away, a portrait of misery.
Slowly, Jungkook walked back. He didn’t sit. He knelt beside the bed, bringing himself to Jimin’s eye level. His touch was impossibly gentle now, a stark contrast to the violence of moments before. He cupped Jimin’s jaw, his thumb stroking his cheek as he raised his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
“Just tell me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I don’t care what it is. I won’t judge. I could never judge you.”
The dam broke.
Jimin’s eyes welled up, a single tear escaping to trace a path down his temple and into his hair. “I love you.”
The confession was a mere breath, but it shattered the universe.
Jungkook’s heart stuttered, then kicked into a frantic, wild rhythm. A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “I love you too, hyung. Always have. Always will.”
“No,” Jimin choked out, turning his face away again, fresh tears falling. “You don’t understand.”
He continued to lay there, his voice small and broken. “I wasn’t trying to avoid you. I was trying to avoid… this. You’re my bandmate. My dongsaeng. I can’t… I just can’t be like this.”
“Can’t be like what, hyung?” Jungkook urged, his hand still a steady, warm weight on Jimin’s face.
“I can’t like you, Jungkook! I shouldn’t get jealous when you’re with your 97-liner friends! I shouldn’t get upset when all you do is play Overwatch! I shouldn’t be staring at you during practice, shouldn’t want every single bit of your attention, shouldn’t feel like my world is ending when you smile at someone else!” The words tumbled out in a frantic, tear-soaked rush. “But I do. And it’s… it’s killing me.”
For a single, suspended second, Jungkook was perfectly still. Then, a sound ripped from his throat—a half-sob, half-laugh of pure, unadulterated relief.
“Park Jimin,” he breathed, his voice trembling with awe and exasperation. “You idiot.”
And then he was moving, surging forward, capturing Jimin’s lips with his own in a kiss that was not gentle, but desperate, claiming, and years in the making. It was a confession, an answer, and a promise, all sealed in the frantic meeting of lips and the salt of shared tears.