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“hyung, these are some serious bad decisions,” jungkook tells him as jimin pays for another drink in their favorite izakaya. jungkook is all wrapped up in winter wear, looking like he’s just about to go out for something. jimin looks at him and resists the urge to pinch his red cheeks. he looks pretty annoyed.
“it’s warm in here,” jimin argues. it’s always nice and toasty in their izakaya, but jimin doesn’t mention that. jungkook already knows; they frequent here often after school or work. jimin raises an eyebrow when jungkook rolls his eyes and sighs, almost daring him to say something. jimin’s already settled in for the night. “wanna sit down and share yakisoba?”
jungkook shakes his head, pulls down his scarf with gloved fingers. “no, i’m meeting yoongi-hyung for drinks on the other side of tokyo.”
“oh,” jimin says in a certain type of voice, “with yoongi-hyung in tokyo, huh?” he says this a little suggestively, even though the other two have been dating for a while. truly, jimin’s only trying to forget about what’s truly on his mind, something that jungkook recognizes. the younger doesn’t even chew him out in his biting way when jimin teases him about yoongi. instead, he just sighs again - like he’s the older brother in their friendship - and gives him a soft look.
“i know you miss her, hyung, but you can’t be doing this to yourself,” jungkook tells him, patting his shoulder. “call me later when you’ve had enough, okay? i’ll call you a taxi to pick you up.” he turns to the barkeep who is working the grill and starts in japanese, “nishiori-san, could you please make sure he doesn’t drink too much and gets to his taxi later?”
“sure thing, kiddo,” nishiori, a slightly middle-aged man with pepper-and-salt hair, salutes him. “somethin’ bad happen?”
jimin tunes out his ears and looks at the strips of dried meat hanging on the walls in the far corner. past that he sees a bunch of regulars that come here all the time and have a drink or play some cards. jimin raises a hand to wave to them and they wave back enthusiastically, one old man giving him a slightly toothless grin. that, at least, is better than hearing jungkook tell nishiori-san - who is truly like jimin’s never-before-had older brother - about how his girlfriend of six months dumped him out of nowhere and cut off all possible contact with him.
it’s been around a month or so since it’s happened, and jimin may or may still not be over it.
jungkook calls out in korean, “bye, hyung!” as he leaves, closing the jingling door behind him with a jingle.
jimin leans over the table and says in a slightly whining voice, “nishiori-san…”
nishiori takes pity on him and pats him on the shoulder. “your usual sake brand, kid?”
jimin drinks a bit too much. he has all of his yakisoba and then asks for chicken skewers too, watching nishiori fry them on the grill with practiced ease. by his second bottle of sake, jimin is feeling a little lightheaded. he doesn’t let it stop him from drooping over the side of the bar like an octopus, bemoaning the pain in his chest. it’s not a pain that comes from a recent wound, nor is it like a wound that’s so painful that he can’t think - rather, it’s almost a dulled pain that persists in small increments. it’s not a physical wound, but a completely emotional one.
he really thought akira was the one. sure, he was younger and they were both still in college and things were a little tough in between school and work, but he thought that they worked together. apparently, to her, they didn’t. jimin doesn’t try to chase after her or beg for her back - what’s the point? if she doesn’t want to be with him, why go through the trouble and the hurt of trying? it’s better to drink and forget about it all for a night rather than just self-sabotage himself.
when he starts mumbling things to himself. but what if - what if she wanted him to chase after her? one of the problems in their relationship was that she thought he wasn’t all that present. like he didn’t care. was this some huge test? but then why would she keep it going for a month? no, she probably really just doesn’t like him anymore.
jimin groans. he’s starting to sniffle a little. fuck.
“okay, i think that’s enough for you, kid,” nishiori says, patting him after jimin asks for his fourth bottle. when he first triedsake, he couldn’t handle it at all - now it’s as easing as drinking beer.
jimin groans, leaning his forehead against the wooden table. “nooo, i gotta call kookie. said he’ll be worried if i don’t.”
he says this, sadly, in korean.
nishiori raises an eyebrow, because he can recognize jimin’s nickname for jungkook. “do you want to call jungkook and the cab business? i’ll do that; my treat for a bad night, kid.”
“put it on my tab,” jimin mumbles.
around fifteen minutes later, nishiori’s son - who jimin calls nishi-chibi (even though the guy is taller than him) is helping him into the cab. he pays the fare, too, which is probably going to be on jimin’s tab the next time he goes there, and then after a moment as jimin’s address is given to the driver, they’re speeding down the five minute drive down gotanda, tokyo.
jimin looks down at his phone, the screen’s brightness blinding him for a moment. he peers against the words and looks at the keypad. should he…try calling her? or - text? no, he’s not in any right mind to text. he should call her. but jimin deleted her number a week after she broke up with him? that shouldn’t be a problem, though, he’s pretty sure he’s memorized her number…
he stumbles out of the cab and to the front steps of his apartment complex. without going in, jimin sits at the front steps in his messily buttoned jacket and scarf, pressing the numbers he thinks is correct.
when no one picks up, jimin sniffles and tries again. when someone picks up on the third time, he starts talking, not even aware that he’s talking in korean and that he’s slurring his words back to their original satoori.
“akira,” he starts, leaning against the stair railing for some kind of support, “it’s been so long - i’m sorry, i should have answered back quicker, right? but you’re the one that broke up with me. i still don’t know why, w-why you - “ jimin sniffles, hating that the cold has got his nose flushed. “i - why, i don’t know, is it me - was i the reason why? you just… left like that, how was i supposed to save myself? i’m not good with heartbreak…and it hurts so much…it’s really cold here…”
jimin takes a moment to catch his breath. the other side of the line is silent except for the sound of someone breathing, and jimin’s eyes burn at the thought of his ex-girlfriend listening.
“i’m not the best person in the world,” he starts unevenly, “but i tried to be. i tried - so hard. i gave - everything i got. was i not enough? was it me?” jimin hates how there’s a lone tear that falls despite himself. he’s never really gotten over her sudden, cold ripping away. “i’m sorry, i’m s-sorry, i just wanted - “ jimin hiccups. “i just wanted to not be l-lonely.”
he hangs up before he can say anything more and act like a fool. he said all he could to his ex-girlfriend, even if it’s not in the most understandable way. that was how he got the mess of feelings out of him. jimin stands up on cold feet and drags his boots across the welcome mat to get the snow off of them before he heads inside. he barely remembers the walk into the elevator of the fumbling to get his apartment door open; he only remembers throwing his phone carelessly on the coffee table and settling on the couch, knocking out right after.
/
when he wakes up, it’s to a killer headache. thankfully he doesn’t have more than that; jimin looks at the glass of water put on the coffee table and the two aspirin pills next to it, obviously for him. there’s a bag of bread there too, jungkook’s work probably. jimin downs the water and pills and leans back against the sofa, feeling grimy. what a night.
he has hot flashes of what happened - at the bar, nishi-chibi putting him into the taxi, going home and calling -
his eyes open in a flash. he looks down at his phone in fear. there’s a moment before he scrambles for it, fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. his hands are shaking as he looks at his call list. there’s no familiar number that he used to look forward to answering; nothing. jimin sighs in relief but tenses again when he notices that he was the one to call a strange number. it’s similar to jungkook’s number rather than akira’s - all students doing the study abroad program use numbers similar to this one, while akira’s was a typical tokyo number. jimin winces as he realizes how long the call was: ten minutes. fuck.
then he notices that he has one voicemail. he taps his phone and the number that he was just looking at pops up. then, a deep voice starts talking in korean.
“hey, um, listen.”
jimin is mortified.
“yeah, anyway - i gotta say, it’s the first time anyone has drunk called me for 10 minutes straight, but uh, it’s really okay. when you’re sober enough to hear this - i hope you’re sober enough to hear this - you might feel a bit embarrassed, but it’s okay. i get it, man. it’s tough.
and this may sound a bit weird coming from a stranger, but it’s gonna be okay. i mean - you just sounded really down, you know? like you couldn’t handle yourself. and i just wanted to say that it’s okay. it’s not you, and it’s not anything you did in particular. some things just happen; it means they were meant to happen. well, i can’t really say for sure it’s not your fault, because what if you cheated or something, right? but you didn’t sound like a bad guy, just in pain…sorry, that - probably didn’t help. anyway - don’t beat yourself up over a past relationship. just think of the good memories fondly. someone in the future will love you again.
that’s all i really wanted to say, man. uh…have a good one.”
jimin doesn’t realize he’s crying until a droplet splatters against his phone.
he presses the ‘save’ button on his phone despite himself and holds his phone close to his chest. there the pain is again. jimin blinks through his tears and breathes deeply.
this guy didn’t have to go all the way to do that. he didn’t have to give jimin a voicemail that somehow, truly, made him feel less like shit. jimin chokes up; looks like there’s some part of humanity that still exists in the world. jimin wipes his face and opens the bread package almost violently, stuffing some in his face. after a moment of thoughtful chewing, jimin looks down at the number written on his screen. plays the voicemail again.
“…someone in the future will love you again. that’s all i really wanted to say, man. uh…have a good one.”
jimin plays it again.
“…someone in the future will love you again…”
again.
“…love you again…”
jimin presses the call button.
his hands are lowkey shaking as he hears the ringing tone. he doesn’t know whether he wants the person on the other side to pick up or not, but whatever is going to happen, jimin wants to at least, at least -
“hello?” the voice on the other side says sleepily, much deeper than the night before.
jimin’s throat goes dry. he stares down at his half eaten bread and then takes a deep breath before saying, “um…thanks.”
it’s almost like he can hear the shift in different on the other line. the other voice sounds surprised. “oh, it’s you.”
“yeah, me,” jimin says, a bit awkwardly. he looks around, as if someone is watching him, before clearing his throat. “i - was embarrassing myself last night, and you didn’t have to do that, but you did and it was - really nice. and helpful. thanks.”
“well,” the other voice says, “i really - i just know how it feels, i guess. i hope you feel better. nice listening to a korean voice after so long, to be honest.”
jimin breaks out into a small smile despite himself. “tokyo is great, but sometimes i miss seoul with an ache.”
“i feel you,” the other voice says. then, “would it be weird if i asked for your name?”
jimin licks his bottom lip. “jimin. my name is park jimin.”
“park jimin,” the voice repeats, and jimin hates how a strange shiver runs down his spine. “i’m kim namjoon. feel free to text me anytime. if you want to talk in korean or about your ex or about getting coffee. anything.”
despite the words, it’s not smooth at all; it’s just a little awkward and a little trying, like he’s been thinking about the words but hasn’t been able to get them out properly. like he’s trying to help in his own small way.
“thanks,” jimin says, smiling genuinely for once and feeling warmer than he did the night before, “thanks, namjoon.”
around two months later, jimin finds himself maybe a little bit more completely over his ex and more glued to namjoon’s side (who, he finds, sounds much better in real life).