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Jimin has been distant of late. Quiet, more subdued somehow.
Not that Jungkook cares for a loud, nagging, opinionated Jimin—Jimin has never quite been that person anyway. It is a fine balance, however, between an overbearing, irritating harpy and a pathetic little whipping boy for a husband.
Case in point, Jimin doesn’t yelp, doesn’t so much as squirm in discomfort when Jungkook’s fingers tighten in his hair just hard enough to sting but still maintain plausible deniability. He is stroking Jimin’s hair—to all outward appearances—affectionately like any husband would. Except it’s just them in their apartment so the performance is only for Jimin’s benefit, or (if Jungkook is being honest with himself), maybe only for Jungkook’s.
“Hey, I was thinking,” Jungkook says, and Jimin turns his head a little to look up from where his head is laying in Jungkook’s lap. There is just the tiniest hint of wariness in his eyes. He is cautious of Jungkook, yes, maybe even slightly flustered, but never terrified. Never afraid. It’s a fine balance, indeed. “Green Day is in town. We should hit up the concert. I know they’re your favourite band, and you were so disappointed we couldn’t go last time.”
Oh, Jimin is paying attention now, proper. His gaze is several shades more alert than it was a while ago. Jungkook can almost see the cogs turning inside his adorable little head, trying to puzzle out Jungkook’s intent. He won’t, though. What Jimin still doesn't seem to realise is that there is no real rhyme or reason to Jungkook’s actions most of the time, no plotting and scheming, no careful strategy, no grand payoff.
Most of the time, Jungkook is just… fucking bored.
“I mean, I did go,” Jimin says carefully, “to the concert. Last time. You weren't able to attend, but I went.”
You fucking stood me up, is what Jimin really wants to say. Jungkook can see it in his face.
“Oh yeah, I forgot,” Jungkook says, deliberately choosing the exact same words he used as an excuse for not showing up after a whole hour of Jimin blowing up his phone with texts and calls. It was on a Friday evening, the concert, and the timing worked out in a way where it was just more feasible for both of them to arrive separately after getting off work. Except while Jimin headed for the concert venue, probably all smiles and high spirits—if Jungkook has come to know his husband at all—Jungkook took his sweet time driving home. He showered, got himself a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream from the freezer, put on a rerun of some tennis match and watched with his legs up on the coffee table, a private sense of amused satisfaction curling inside him every time his phone buzzed, lying next to his feet.
By the time Jimin got home, Jungkook was already in bed with the lights off.
But the real kicker, the absolute fucking golden cherry on top was that it wasn’t even the first time Jungkook pulled that kind of stunt.
Fool Jimin once, shame on Jimin.
Fool Jimin twice, shame on Jimin still, because he refuses to call Jungkook out. He knows Jungkook is lying; Jungkook knows Jimin knows he’s lying. And yet neither of them breaks the facade that has so many cracks, it’s practically see through.
At this point, Jungkook muses idly, he’s really just trying to see how far he can push this.
“You must’ve been so pissed,” Jungkook says, all saccharine. “I remember thinking no way you don’t absolutely hate my guts after this. That was, like the second time I failed to show up for plans we made.”
His blatant fucking bullshit doesn't incense Jimin, but Jungkook figures it was a long shot anyway. “You were just tired,” is all that Jimin says, voice soft. “It happens.”
“No, but that last time, I really thought I’d accumulated bad juju or something,” Jungkook can’t help but push. “I was so embarrassed. Who makes that same kind of mistake twice?”
Jimin lets out a quiet sigh. “It’s fine.”
Huh. So the anger really is out of his system for good.
And oh boy, does Jimin get angry. Jungkook sees it in the way half a dozen of their fine china plates lay in smithereens on the kitchen floor right after Jungkook has yanked Jimin’s chain one too many times, Jimin in the midst sweeping up the fragments, his expression carefully schooled into one of neutrality. “Accident?” Jungkook always asks. And Jimin nods, carrying on with removing the evidence of his rage fuelled violence.
That’s how Jungkook knows Jimin is beginning to slip, because Jungkook now gets to witness the aftermath of Jimin’s hysterics where previously Jimin worked hard to keep any indication of being affected by Jungkook’s plays under wraps and out of sight, carefully hidden away. One day Jungkook will get to see Jimin’s breakdown in all its blubbering, furious glory. The tears, the hurt, the rage, the humiliation, and the heartbreak. What Jimin doesn't realise—or maybe he realises all too well—is the reason he’s never been able to come out on top is because he inherently feels too much. And Jungkook too little. Suppression of feeling can never be as powerful as absence of it altogether.
There is no power greater than apathy, after all.
Sometimes, he wonders if it would be really as satisfying as he imagines it, seeing Jimin bare, stripped of all defences.
Rarely has Jungkook ever finished a movie. Immediately after the climax unfolds, he finds himself growing restless and uninterested. There is no point in him continuing to watch after the best parts are over. Maybe that’s an indicator for something, maybe it means nothing at all.
“Well, I’ve gotta make it up to you somehow,” Jungkook says. He has his fist in Jimin’s hair, holding his head in place to make sure he’s able to study every single microexpression in Jimin’s face. “Tell you what, I'll get us front row tickets, or, well, as close to it as possible. And then afterward we can hit up that new steakhouse for dinner that you’ve been meaning to try. It’s gonna be a bit pricey, but I figure I owe you that much.”
Jimin’s scrutiny mirrors Jungkook’s own. Several lines of thought seem to be running through his head. He’d have to be absolutely fucking brainless to fall for the same sham thrice. But then to turn Jungkook down would mean having to acknowledge Jungkook’s previous lies. Or alternatively, make up a convincing enough lie of his own to avoid calling out Jungkook. Avoid blowing the game wide open.
Jimin might not have the honesty within himself to admit it yet, but Jungkook recognizes a player when he sees one. There is no victim here. Maybe some inexplicable part of him knew that when he found himself drawn to Jimin—an unremarkable junior accountant at a mid-tier accounting firm. Hiding behind his oversized glasses, mumbling words, unable to hold a conversation or eye contact, yet remarkably competent at his job. Both of them, Jungkook and he, started out in the exact same position. But where Jimin excelled with numbers, Jungkook excelled with people.
Really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Jimin when two years later, Jungkook was popping open a bottle of champagne to celebrate his making senior associate, while Jimin was still little more than a bean counter, tick-and-tying at his small desk in the corner of the office where that one faulty fluorescent light overhead buzzed incessantly.
It spoke something of Jimin’s character too, that when he discovered Jungkook had created fake vendor accounts and was cutting checks to himself, intercepting the bank statements before anyone else could see them, Jimin stayed mum. Jimin who once found a $3.17 variance once and escalated it as far as he could.
People lacked capacity and mistook it for lack of will. Lacked courage and cleverness and called it integrity.
Jimin—timid, fidgety, humdrum, tedious, ordinary Jimin. Jungkook is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to him.
Jimin is still weighing his options, trying to decide on the correct course of action. Decide how he should try outwitting Jungkook this time, if he should bother, if it would be worth it, if he even wants to.
Jungkook, for his part, hasn't even quite decided if he’s lying yet. Maybe he will book those tickets and that fancy reservation after all, maybe he will show up this time. There’s no way for either of them to know. That’s the fun part.
“Yeah, I could do with a night out,” Jimin says, surprising him. No surprise from Jimin is ever an unpleasant surprise for Jungkook. “A concert and a steak dinner afterward doesn't sound too shabby. Not too shabby at all.”
In the swirl of uncertainty and apprehension and self-hate, Jungkook catches it in Jimin’s eyes, the slightest flicker of thrill.
It has him feeling a sudden rush of affection for his husband, making him lean down despite himself and capture Jimin’s lips in a tender kiss—one that Jimin eagerly returns.
Game on, he thinks.