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eleventoes · 7 years

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of gold and starlight | oneshot

❮ a oneshot from the all you’d never see series ❯

pairing: prosecutor!jimin x ghost!reader | fluff; also an attempt at mystery word count: 9.5k extra: [ x ] ♪: it’s you - henry warning(s): mentions of blood synopsis:

Park Jimin was known for many things—for being the district attorney’s all-time favorite with the highest successful prosecution rate around, for being the sexiest prosecutor on the 15th floor, and also for being that one guy who never grew out of having imaginary friends.

You took credit for that last one, though.

***

“Jimin, do these jeans make my ass look bigger?”

“Jimin, I’m really craving fried chicken.”

“Jimin, I need money.”

It’s funny really, how everyone else in the office still had their noses buried in the ever-growing stack of case files and settlement documents, all while you were currently half-splayed out on his desk, whining as you usually did whenever you got too bored in the afternoons. Not that anyone except Jimin could actually see the mess you were making on his desk, and that’s what made it all the more aggravating; but he has to give it to you, because there weren’t many upsides to being dead, and he’ll let you take what you can get.

“Not now, Y/N, also I’m broke as hell and you know it,” Jimin hisses through gritted teeth, eyes darting wildly around to see if anyone was paying any attention to his seemingly one-sided exchange. The rumors were bad enough as it is; if it weren’t for his work efficiency, he probably would have been fired for his odd behavior eons ago.

“But it was payday yesterday,” You were sitting up now, playing with the splinters near the edge of the mahogany table and giving him your best pout. Sure, you were acting like a brat, you knew as much, but you were half-joking anyway, because boredom does that to most people, of which included ghosts with practically all of eternity on their hands.

“It was, until you went ahead and bought that stupidly overpriced Balenciaga bag. You know, the same one you’d never get to flaunt in public because floating bags are not a thing,” His voice was up a notch now, and heads were starting to turn. Jimin chose to ignore the knowing glances, fully aware that his assisting officers were probably gearing up their chatroom to discuss his dialogue with thin air yet again. They don’t have hostile intentions; just too goddamned nosy for their own good.

Huffing despondently, you only throw him a look before lowering yourself off his desk and back onto the ground (or as close to the ground as you could possibly be; you never hovered more than a foot off the floor), nearly knocking over the stack of medical reports Jimin had sacrificed sleep for just the night prior as you throw your hands in the air dramatically, “I can’t believe you’re mocking me for being a ghost. A ghost. It wasn’t as if I chose to be dead, Jimin.”

You weren’t actually pissed off, Jimin could tell. He’d have thought that ghosts would be a lot more sensitive about, you know, not breathing, but it took him a whole month of tiptoeing on eggshells around you before you decided you couldn’t take any more of his awkward shuffling and told him you didn’t really care. Suffice to say, the playful banter hasn’t ceased since, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

That ridiculous pout was sitting atop your lips again, and it took Jimin all he had to tame the smile tugging on his. No one in the office would believe his sanity if he were to burst out laughing whilst flipping through the case file of that petty pickpocket from a week ago.

Though, you seem more than satisfied with the ghost (haha) of a smile gracing his features; Jimin was way too stressed out most of the time, and rightfully so, given the weight of his occupation, so you take it upon yourself to loosen him up. The living has to live a little, after all.

And speaking of loosening up.

Prosecutors Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi were in dire need of some serious stress relief, and Jimin almost couldn’t stand to watch the familiar glint in your eyes as you pranced gleefully over to where they were slaving away at their desks on the other side of the room, hair flinging wildly in your haste. In the past year, you’ve learnt more than the basics of law enforcement and criminal investigation. In fact, you’ve also learnt that Prosecutor Jung Hoseok was hilariously terrified of all that was supernatural despite being terrifying in court himself, and Prosecutor Min Yoongi was a lot more fun to tease than his stoic façade would let on.

Hoseok was easy, you just needed to rearrange his things a little, and that was it, that’s literally all you had to do in order to drive the poor man up the wall. He was always too immersed in his work to actually witness you swapping the placement of everything else on his desk (it was for the better; you weren’t sure if he might pass out if he saw a couple of pens levitating), and today was no different. From across the office, you hear Jimin stifling a laugh, and you think back to all the times he had chided you for freaking out his co-workers before sticking your tongue out at him like the child you were.

As per usual, Hoseok was due to scream a couple of hours later once he was done with whatever case he was handling, so you move on to Yoongi, because he was slightly trickier.

For some reason, you had a soft spot for that workaholic who seemed to never leave his workplace, opting to get his sleep in the form of hour naps during the day. Really, every single one of those prosecutors were workaholics (Park Jimin included), but everyone else agreed that Yoongi does overdo it a little. According to his assisting officer Seulgi and what you can make out of her conversation with Hani, he hasn’t taken the stick out of his ass since a year ago, though no one brings up the reason why.

But he was a righteous guy and you admired that; so you wanted to look out for him, and what better way to do that than to send his girlfriend a breakup text?

Yoongi deserved far better than a cheater anyway.

we’re over. say hi to your boyfriend for me.

Sent from Min Yoongi, 10:03am

With a decisive smirk, you hit ‘send’.

The message was barely delivered before the clattering of metal against concrete was resonating all around, and the phone was this close to slipping from your fingers as Yoongi, as well as everyone else present, scrambled to their feet, heads tilted politely towards the glass doors. Jimin sends you a wary look before angling his gaze towards the man in question—D.A. Kim Namjoon.

The district attorney was intelligent and respectable; and that was a feat in itself, because you couldn’t say the same for any other dude in his position. Nevertheless, his visits were rare and enough to put you on edge; something must be up for him to personally drop by one of the more efficient units in the building.

“As of today, Prosecutor Kim Seokjin would be joining the unit,” He announces pleasantly as his calculating gaze sweeps the room, and you release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “Yes, that’s literally all I have to say, so all of you can relax now. I’ll leave you all to the introductions.”

He takes the resounding silence as his cue to exit through the same glass doors, and now that he was gone, the attention was all on the poor guy he left to fend for himself.

Kim Seokjin.

At one glance, he would have blended in perfectly with his surroundings. A streamline and tailored suit? Check. That briefcase that every prosecutor insists on lugging around? Check. He even wore the same poker face as all the other dorks in the room. His sudden appearance shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, but it just was.

There was something about those almond eyes that you couldn’t quite place, something about those soft features that you couldn’t put a finger on, and something about him you couldn’t discern.

And you make your sentiments known immediately, all but projecting yourself across the room to materialize beside Jimin, “He’s strange. That Kim Seokjin guy.”

“You’re dropping honorifics with him already? For all you know he’s probably older than you,” The asshole teases (in a light whisper, of course), but his expression turns somber when he saw that you weren’t kidding, “Strange? How so?”

“He just is. I can feel it.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you’re just hungry.”

“Shut up before I make a run for it with your laptop for all your co-workers to see.”

And that was the end of that, but both you and Jimin knew that you were always right; ghostly senses and all.

Kim Seokjin was strange, and you were going to find out why.

“Jeon Jungkook, did you leave the tap running again? I swear one of these days we’d end up bankrupt and on the streets and your mom would never let me live,” Groaning tiredly, Jimin kicks off his loafers while simultaneously reaching for the matching pair of house slippers, setting them on the ground and shoving them onto your feet before he does the same to his own.

“Ah hyung, you’re home already? Is Y/N with you?” Said devil’s spawn calls out from the kitchen, where he was making ramen, probably. Jimin only hums noncommittedly in response, giving Jungkook the affirmation that he needed, while you drape yourself over the couch. You may be a ghost, but your muscles still get sore when the going gets tough, and your (after)life was tough as hell. Honestly, you deserve a medal for all the cases you had resolved, and Jimin would agree, albeit reluctantly because he liked teasing you like that.

A strangled noise dies in Jungkook’s throat, and Jimin would have chuckled at the sheer peculiarity of the situation if he wasn’t so drained, “Ugh seriously, give me a heads up please? I’m not even wearing a shirt.”

You blink rapidly at that.

Your relationship with Jungkook was a weird one, and that was saying the least. Jungkook was that little kid that was phenomenal at everything he did, and was adored by everyone and their dog even back in Busan where he first met Jimin (next door neighbors and all). He had moved into Jimin’s bachelor apartment a few years ago in order to attend college in the city; fast forward back to the present and he was now attending grad school while doubling as Jimin’s live-in maid (Jimin, for the life of him, could not find the time to clean, and cleaning just happened to be one of Jungkook’s fortes—though anything was his forte, really).

All would be well, except for you feeling horrible for all the trauma you had to put him through every time you forgot not everyone was able to see you, and that it would be mildly frightening to have toilet paper dancing on its own and having the bed make itself.

“Hyung, we have to get out of here,” Jungkook had all but tumbled into the apartment one day, doe eyes unblinking and skin void of its usual glow, “I know you won’t believe me, but this place is haunted, I’m sure of it.”

And Park Jimin had been (and still was) a terrible liar, “Uh, I don’t see any ghosts.”

“Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with?” Stupefied, you had looked to the sorry excuse of a liar, catching on to the nervous tick in his neck whenever he was at a loss and the wavering of his pupils that gave away his uncertainty.

“Well, do we just tell him?” Jimin had shot back weakly as Jungkook stared incredulously at the potted plant his housemate was seemingly having a conversation with.

“You’re talking to me while he’s just standing right there, Jimin, I don’t think we have a choice anymore.”

“You’re right.”

Disregarding the fact that Jungshook looked as if he was about to pass out any minute, Jimin only gestures between the frazzled boy and yourself (though Jungkook could only see the potted plant), “Jungkook, meet Y/N, the ghost that’s scaring you shitless. Y/N, you’ve already met Jungkook, so try not to freak him out yeah?”

Jungkook had been stunned for all of three seconds before he was confronting Jimin with just about a million questions, the first being typical of any other stupid college boy, ‘is she pretty?’, to which Jimin had stuttered a quick ‘yes you horndog’. Not that you remembered that because it had revived your nonexistent heartbeat or anything. It was nothing like that.

Then Jungkook had very rudely shoved his entire arm through your chest in his attempt at a handshake; a sensation that irked you to this very day, and that had been how Jungkook came to find out about you and your obsessive designer bag collection (he had always wondered what the hell Jimin was doing with all thirty designer purses in his room).

“Where’s Y/N? On the couch?” The question was directed at Jimin, and he tries to pretend he wasn’t bothered by how well Jungkook knew you despite not actually being able to see you, so he leaves it hanging, opting to head for a speedy shower instead.

“Y/N, I bought some chicken from that store out front on the way back, have some if you’re hungry,” If Jungkook was miffed at being brushed aside, he sure doesn’t show it, and Jimin detests how Jungkook could easily make you the happiest ghost in the world with just a simple offering of chicken.

You clamber up from the couch, eyes ablaze with excitement, “Jimin! Tell Jungkook he’s amazing and that he’s way better than you’ll ever be!”

Ouch.

“Kook, Y/N says she hates both you and the chicken,” Jimin calls out, not without regret though, because before he knew it, his shampoo was flung halfway across the apartment and you had disappeared, with his towel no less.

But even he couldn’t help but grin at the way your eyebrows scrunch up in the most adorable frown he’s ever seen; so he tells himself he’d allow himself a hint of a smile, just this one time.

I’ll get rid of these feelings soon. I promise.

Except he’d repeated the same mantra at least twenty hundred times already, and each time he only felt himself sinking deeper into the abyss that was your dulcet gaze, incandescent with the brightest of twinkles and shining with the faintest hints of starlight.

He was, in short, fucked.

The first time Jimin had met you had been a year ago, right as the sheets of snow had been reduced to nothing and the cold winds had ushered in warmth and color in the form of bright blossoming buds, abundant with vivacity and joy and all that was good in the world. Spring was when Jimin first met you; when you had been far too cold for it to be considered normal, and when Jimin hadn’t known any better (though these hold true even in the present).

You had crashed head first into him on the busy morning streets of Seoul, your eyes hazy and lips bloodied. It took one look at the vulnerability and fear apparent in your trembling fingers and disconcerted gaze for him to realize that he couldn’t leave you alone.

And it took one look at how literally everyone else on the sidewalk was passing through you without a second glance for him to realize that you weren’t quite human.

And then he almost died from the shock of it all.

The two of you found yourselves at an outdoors café, trying to come to terms with the revelations that had occurred in the meagre span of ten minutes.

Although, you had it a little harder than he did, with all that’s considered.

It was a rough start, but everything spiraled from there, and you fit perfectly into every aspect of his life, as if you were a puzzle piece he never knew he needed for everything to fall completely into place. You had followed him home, of course, because you hadn’t had anywhere you could have gone, not when you barely knew who you were. Within the first couple of weeks, the walls had long started to disintegrate; you were laughing more, you were starting to tease him, and you found that spark that made you who you were at present. Jimin, on the other hand, was still unable to fathom the reason behind him being able to see you, and only you, but counted his blessings regardless and had grown unbearably fond of your light laughter and your playful sarcasm (though he couldn’t say the same for the hole you were putting in his wallet).

Since you’ve pretty much established that you were bored as heck, it took less than a month for you to trail behind Jimin at work, less than a day for you to familiarize yourself with the environment, and less than a minute for the both of you to mutually agree that it’d be a lot easier to have a ghost on his side during investigations.

It was simple. Alibis could be fabricated to a tee, and you’d still be able to rip apart the lies and deceit somehow, either with a thorough search in their homes (prosecution would have difficulty getting search warrants without sufficient evidence) or a sit-in on their sessions with their attorneys, because a couple of law firms loved to play dirty for measly bribes.

It wasn’t as if you got paid (not directly anyway, but Jimin would argue that it was the equivalent to all your spendthrift habits), but you enjoyed it. It was nice, to be able to pin down criminals for their sins, no matter how minute, and to be able to let free men go, because no one deserved to rot in a jail cell for something they didn’t do. Some people were unfortunate enough to be at the wrong place at all the wrong times; you understood that well enough in the past year.

“Jimin, I think I found something that could justify a search warrant for that homicide case you were working on,” You chirp merrily; you were a lot more lively (haha) today, what with the skip in your steps as you followed Jimin into the office, still sipping on your coffee (Jimin had memorized your order well enough by now so that he wouldn’t humiliate himself by asking for it in public). He cracks a soft smile at how earnest you were, and his heart was swelling with so much unspoken affection he could almost combust.

“Did you manage to find something?” He asks unabashedly this time, uncaring of the looks sent his way. You were unbelievably happy and radiant; he wasn’t about to take that away from you.

“Yeah, that bastard had a hideout not far from where the victim lived. If you check that place out, it has all the weapons you’d need to sustain an entire platoon of soldiers,” Grin triumphant, you slid over the post-it containing its address and some simplified directions. Yes, you were beyond euphoric. Nabbing nasty criminals aside, you liked working with Jimin, you liked being helpful and helping to take a load off of his constantly languid shoulders, and you liked seeing him light up whenever it sinks in that he’s actually making a difference in this morbid world.

Park Jimin was practically an angel; you’ve stood firm on that conclusion ever since a year ago, and you had every intention of making sure he had all the happiness he deserved.

“Goddamnit, now I have to get you that Gucci bag you were eyeing the other day,” Or so he says, but you knew that was his little indiscreet way of conveying his gratitude.

“Fried chicken would be good too. Since you devoured the one Jungkook got me yesterday.”

Jimin would have retorted with yet another roll of his eyes, but he caught himself in time, just as Prosecutor Kim Seokjin cleared his throat from where he was positioned before Jimin’s desk.

“Were you on the phone?”

"Uh, yes," Tonguing the inside of his cheek as he usually did whenever he was nervous, Jimin fibbed, and you noted that he had yet to master the art of deceit, "I mean, maybe, yeah."

As much as you enjoyed watching Jimin fumble for words, you had better things to do, such as sizing the new guy up. He looked like he was from a reasonably well-off family, either that or he was rolling in the dough he makes, because you could have sworn you saw those shoes on Saint Laurent's homepage just a couple of days ago, and that blazer probably doesn't cost anything less than a grand.

You were getting all up in his face now (not that he'd realize), making sure to study every little detail as if your life depended on it (well, it didn't, not really) because there was just something about him that made your head spin and your heart empty. All these newfound emotions were planting tiny seeds in the fissures of your mind, taking shape in the amorphous forms of both doubt and hope at the same time.

Jimin was a prosecutor; he couldn't have passed the bar exam if he was anywhere close to being an idiot (you loved to proclaim otherwise, but it was all true and you knew it). He had immediately searched you up once he had gotten hold of your name, hoping to at least figure out your identity while you were alive, or maybe help you recover your lost memories, because waking up in the middle of the street and discovering that you had kicked the bucket wasn't really the best way to go. Refusing to give up even when the search gave him absolutely nothing, he had even spent the following weekend pouring over the newspaper archives over at the library, hoping to find your name in the obituaries somewhere.

But once again, nothing. It was almost as if your existence itself had been nothing but a phantom grounded in reality, and all thought of wanting to comprehend your death or to move on through finding consolation in finding your family gradually faded away into the summer breeze, eventually only surfacing every once in a while whenever you lose sight of your renewed purpose as Jimin's unofficial crime-busting partner.

The terse smile straining at the handsome prosecutor’s lips tore your attention away from the past and back to the present, where he was currently handing over a case file, “This is the case the district attorney mentioned the other day. Sorry, you must be busy enough as you are, but I can’t be the in-charge of this since I’d be violating the rules. ”

Then he just left, though your eyes couldn’t help but to be drawn to his disconsolate silhouette; the man seemed to be perpetually drowning in sorrow, and you feel bad for him, because he seems to be capable of so much more than half-hearted smiles and downcast eyes.

Jimin doesn’t pay heed to your limited attention span, instead giving the case file a brief one-over before deciding that this case would pretty much require an all-nighter, and that it’d be best to get the near hundred cold cases stuffed in his drawer over and done with before he tackled something with that degree of complexity. It was another homicide incident, but what had made it stand out was that the suspect could potentially be linked to several cases that had occurred as far as two years prior, and that meant Jimin would really have to go all out with investigation.

Don’t get him wrong, he adored his job most of the time, but he’d been in the sector long enough to be repulsed by the whole idea of spending his entire night buried up to his neck in work, and it was almost a given that he’d spend the next day downing a whole flask of coffee; not his favorite pastime.

But as he watched you switch up Hoseok’s desk arrangement yet again and hit ‘send’ on a lameass picture on Yoongi’s SnapChat, your cackles filling up the stillness of the office (no one else could hear it anyway), he decided that it probably wouldn’t be that bad after all, not with you around.

And he wasn’t wrong; not when his preferred form of entertainment was you dancing horrendously to all the latest idol bops (he’s just going to pretend that he wasn’t the least bit intrigued by your execution of the backpack kid dance) until you’ve exhausted yourself on the makeshift bed in the office, drooling just about everywhere, but somehow leaving Jimin with a myriad of thoughts swirling nonsensically in that sleep-deprived mind of his; another aspect he resented about all-nighters with every fiber of his being.

Because the rational part of him knew that whatever this was, it had to stop. He had to stop wondering if you had gotten your terrible dancing skills from either of your parents (or maybe both?), he had to stop wondering if you two would have been the same age had you still been alive, he had to stop thinking about all the possibilities that would inevitably lead him to a merciless dead end. No matter how alive you felt, how radiant you were, how electrifying your touch was, ultimately, you were dead. The remnants of a soul long gone, the lingering spirit of a beautiful person who had once been alive.

He had to stop, and yet Jimin was irrational approximately 80% of the time, and there was nothing he would love more than to wrap you up in all the blankets he owned just so you wouldn’t feel as cold as you felt, to hug you and kiss you and love you without some passing loser reporting him to the nearest mental institution, to see how anxious you’d get when he introduced you to his parents even though he knew they would be as enchanted as he was.

But then he’d think of all hundred and one things that could go wrong, like you vanishing one fine day and him being unable to resent you for leaving him heartbroken because you’ve finally moved on, you were in a better place, or like you eventually losing all that remained of your soul, dissipating into thin air and he would never know if you were real, or just another passing dream that had lasted a little longer than usual.

So he stalls.

Perhaps if he waited long enough, his fondness for your toothy smile and your crinkly eyes would diminish into the softest flakes of gentle admiration, much like how the never ending blankets of snow eventually crumbled into dust whenever winter bled into spring.

“Dude. Trust me that I’m not insane when I’m saying this, but this apartment is—” Taehyung’s baritone voice drops to an even lower octave (not possible, but okay), lashes fanning his cheeks at the fastest rate man has ever seen from how visibly alarmed he was, “—haunted.”

It was like Jungkook all over again, and Jimin wasn’t sure if you could handle another person walking through you in his attempt to give you a handshake.

Rubbing a weary hand against his equally weary face, he only looks up at the (slightly) taller man blearily, eyes heavy with well-deserved sleep, “You came over at 4 in the morning just to tell me that?”

“I’m pretty sure any other person would be thankful to have someone telling them about the malicious spirits plaguing their house, Jiminie.”

“She’s not malicious, she helps me pack some clothes whenever I stay the night at the office and she grumbles about making me coffee in the morning but she does it anyway. She’s pretty damned sweet okay?” Jimin ran his mouth off without really considering the consequences of outing you twice, this time to his best friend, but it was 4am, and he really wasn’t in the right state of mind.

“Wha—” Both you and Taehyung started at the same time, except he was cut off because Jimin was slowly shoving him back out the front door, and you just didn’t really know how to respond to that surprisingly nice confession.

No words were exchanged after Jimin sleepily drags himself back into bed, and neither you nor Taehyung ever spoke about the incident to him ever again.

Which brings you to how you never know what exactly to do whenever Taehyung came over, because on one hand, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t aware, per say, but on the other hand, Jimin does say pretty outrageous things from time to time, and no one ever buys it.

“So how’s work?”

Taehyung’s question was normal enough, but Jimin had been swamped with cases left and right recently, and with Prosecutor Kim’s transfer case adding to his exponentially growing pile, he was barely able to even sit down in his own kitchen to make small talk over his daily dose of caffeine with the best friend he hasn’t seen for two weeks, so he only responds with something between a scowl and a grimace.

“Terrible. Stressful. Let’s not go there,” You hear him say as you struggle with stuffing toast into your mouth as discreetly as possible (you wouldn’t die a second time if you didn’t feed yourself, but you love food, so there’s that), hunching low in the event that Taehyung swivels around to be greeted with half-eaten toast suspended in air, “how’s the hospital?”

“It’s been busy these couple of weeks, but I’m doing okay, which is surprising,” As much as you knew, Taehyung was a newly transferred nurse in one of Seoul’s biggest hospitals; a job befitting of his gigantic heart, “it’s interesting too, interacting with the patients and all.”

“I bet you flirted with the cute ones,” Jimin promptly returns, and Taehyung throws a cornflake at him in retaliation.

“That reminds me, do you happen to be in charge of that Kim Janghyun case?”

“The guy on the news every single goddamned day? Yeah I am, was even planning on doing some fieldwork for that today, actually. Why do you ask?”

Jimin hasn’t actually read through much of that particular case, since he had barely ploughed through all of those cold cases last night. All he knew was that the guy was a psycho; though he did intend on getting more ground covered today, because the weather was perfect for a day’s worth of grueling investigative work. Not that he’d ever figure out why the case had to be taken off Prosecutor Kim’s hands and conveniently passed into his own.

“Nah, I’ve heard some stuff about him from the other nurses, we’re taking care of some of his victims after all,” With a shrug, Taehyung concludes any more of work-related conversation, swiftly moving on to much more fascinating topics instead, like his neighbor’s new pet dog.

"The weather's really nice today, Jiminie," You were beaming again, for the hundredth time, but he knew exactly what that conniving yet seemingly innocent smile was hiding, but you continue grinning away like an idiot anyway.

And your smile was contagious too.

"Get to the point, Y/N."

He sounded sterner than he actually was; you could tell because his eyes were already shaped into your favorite crescents.

"The weather's perfect—

Eyebrow raised, he waits.

—for shopping."

Ah, he knew it, of course your shopaholic habits were coming into play, and right in the middle of finally getting around to gathering information on that stupid case too.

"See that convenience store over there?" Fingers already poised in midair, pointing over to your far left, Jimin spoke in a monotone (but you catch the affection laced in it anyway), "That's all you're gonna get, princess. Go nuts."

"You're the best, Jimin, I swear. I won't ever tease you about those insoles ever again," Your voice was ringing in his left ear, tone rushed and sweet, and he didn't need to look to know you were already on your way across the street, "I won't take long, you know me."

Yes, he did know you, and you hit the nail right on the head, because—

"I'll take this, this, this, this, this and this," Rattling off about ten items per minute, you were so excited you had forgotten that no one except Jimin could actually hear your ridiculous demands.

"Uh, she’ll, I mean, I'll take this, this, this, this, this and," Jimin actually felt really sorry for both himself and the mortified shop assistant as he tried to keep up with your pace, echoing whatever you've said ten seconds ago, "and this?"

The only plausible conclusion Jimin could come to was that you were impossibly loaded while you had still been alive, and even then it couldn’t explain everything, because he hadn’t realized it was even remotely possible for someone to spend half a thousand in a convenience store. Blatantly turning a blind eye to the glare Jimin was burning into the side of your head, you wait eagerly as he finishes up payment at the cashier counter, bemused smile quirking at your lips at the sight of him having his hands full with all the bags.

And of course, of fucking course, something had to catch your attention just as you were both about to leave the store (after emptying about a quarter of it), and you stop in your ghostly tracks, gasping at the enormous lollipop you didn’t know you missed.

“Jiminie, let’s get that too.”

“I really need to get in touch with that exorcist, I can’t believe you—

Bless Kim Seokjin’s fantastic timing, thankfully distracting Jimin from his (not) elaborate scheme to murder you (a second time), and the ghostbuster himself struggles to fish his phone out of his pocket to answer the pending call what with the three thousand bags hanging off his arms. You feel terrible for him, really, you do, and you would help, but it wasn’t as if anyone wanted to be witness to levitating bags of food in the middle of a convenience store.

—hello? Yes, I’m working on it, is anything wrong?”

You watch curiously as he mumbles into the phone in law jargon you don’t really care for, features twisting into an unreadable expression that you absolutely detest, because Jimin’s not Jimin if his every emotion wasn’t clearly plastered all over his face, clear as day for only you to see.

The call ends as quickly as it came, and your questioning gaze was answered by an indifferent shrug, “We’re going to have to drop by Prosecutor Kim’s house to pick up some leftover documents from the investigation. They sound pretty important, if he’s so upset about them.”

“He was upset?”

Nodding, Jimin leads the way out the convenience store, easily tossing the products of your impulsive spree into the trunk of his Benz before ushering you hurriedly into the passenger seat, leaning over to get the seatbelt even though the gesture, while largely appreciated, was completely redundant, seeing as how your life could hardly be endangered. He came so close you could grasp the fleeting scent of his wood sage and sea salt cologne, along with the slight hint of fresh laundry detergent, and his proximity alone had you looking everywhere but at the man himself. Suddenly, you were hyperaware of all that surrounds you, though your consciousness could only register Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.

Maybe ghosts were just simple-minded in general (though you could only speak for yourself, since you hadn’t seen anyone else in a similar plight, and neither had Jimin), but your eyes (unsurprisingly) landed on his soft blonde strands and without thinking much of it (unlike what a certain Park Jimin would have done), your fingers were already winding their way through, uncaring of the fact that you had just ruined the same hairstyle that had taken him all of three minutes to style in the morning. Expectedly so, he freezes at your touch (that could be attributed to your unnaturally low body temperature) for a millisecond, almost instantaneously drawing his hand up to encase yours.

Mind you, to any other passerby he would have been a weirdo hanging out by himself while in the middle of getting into the passenger seat of a driverless car, but a moment was a moment, and as of now, you and Park Jimin were having a Moment™.

“Your hands are cold,” He says, dark hazel eyes boring into yours and frankly looking a little sad.

“They’ve always been cold, Jiminie.”

That seemed to have been the wakeup call he needed, because he was climbing into the driver’s seat before you knew it, the warmth of his fingers leaving barely any trace behind, moving to fix themselves firmly on the wheel.

“I know.”

And you knew it too. That the late night snuggling, the spontaneous hugs, and everything good, nice and warm that came along with Park Jimin was transient. If he had thought you hadn’t noticed a thing about the unsubtle glances he’d send you, the muted adoration in his irises, the affection so apparent in every smile he’d send you, he had to be insane.

But then again, he had to be, to some extent, for having fallen in love with a ghost.

On the contrary, you would never think that he hadn’t seen the way you had looked back every time you felt his gaze on you and the endearment reflected in your orbs, because he had.

And you knew he was afraid.

But then again, so were you.

So you turn to stare out the window, observing the city whizz by, bustling with life and with all that you may never be around to see again, soaking it all in and biting back the tears that threatened to spill once you looked down at your translucent skin.

For a moment, your hands had been more transparent than anything, flickering as if it was some florescent lightbulb about to go out sometime soon.

If Jimin had seen anything, he’d aptly chosen not to say a word as he pulled into the parking lot of a luxurious looking building, passing over his identification to the security at the entrance, “We’re here. His place is a lot closer than I’d thought.”

“Holy shit, his place is huge.” You start to say, and Jimin, ever the gentleman, pulls you out from where your ass was firmly planted in that leather seat of his, “He lives here alone?”

“Supposedly.”

Kim Seokjin himself appears not long after to lead the two of you up to his less-than-humble million dollar abode, typically silken hair disheveled and uncombed, emerging haphazardly from the elevator with only a slipper on his left foot. The peculiarity of his unkempt appearance aside, you spend the whole ride up the sixteen floors gaping at the interior of the elevator alone, taking in the stained glass lining the panels and the renaissance-styled paintings littering the ceiling. And that was after you had your fill of the marble floors and that humongous water fountain with a statue of Aphrodite as a center-piece in the lobby.

And yeah, his cozy penthouse with the gold-plated chandeliers and designer bedroom slippers were a delight and all, but the real shocker was the large family portrait, complete with a diamond-studded frame, hung up right smack in the middle of the hallway.

Because next to Kim Seokjin’s graceful yet frigid smile, was yours, though the artificial curve of your lips did little to mask the luminous glint in your eyes.

As you stagger back in shock, you catch Jimin’s squeak of a question, “Who’s the girl in that picture?”

Your fingers flicker once more.

“That’s my little sister.”

And everything comes rushing back, the previously fragmented pieces of the puzzle coming together in glimpses of vermillion stains and the stagnant stench of fear.

Jimin had always been a bit of an overachiever. He’d graduated from law school with first class honors, passed the dreaded bar exam with flying colors, and hey, he did win that 100m relay back in high school.

With a multitude of impressive notches on his belt, no one would ever believe he was nearly at his wit’s end all because you were crying.

Apart from when you first met, Jimin hasn’t seen you cry, like ever. Not even when you had tagged along with him on one of his trips down to the autopsy room and had seen one of the most grotesque victims of murder to exist in history, or when Jungkook had accidentally scratched that Prada crossbody bag you caressed before going to bed every night (you had moped for two days, and Jimin may or may not have ate Jungkook’s cereal on purpose).

The cause for concern was that you weren’t outright sobbing either; you were staring dazedly at your hands, stubbornly wiping at your tear-stained face with your sleeve every couple of minutes and burying your face into his pillow repeatedly.

“Am I going to disappear? Just like that?” You spoke after what seemed like a whole decade later, voice hoarse.

“You’d be in a better place, Y/N,” Jimin moves aside the duvet to make space for himself, sitting down warily and hoping he doesn’t sound as empty as he felt.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

No, he doesn’t, but Jimin liked to hold on to the sensible part of him that has him fully convinced nothing good would come out of needlessly clinging onto you and dragging the both of you further down this rabbit hole. For all he knew, he could be delusional and you were but a mere hallucination; a hella realistic one.

“You fucking coward,” The tears were falling fast, angrily spilling over your lashline, and your nose was running, making you look like a goddamn mess, but you didn’t care, “You’re a fucking coward, Park Jimin.”

Instinctively, he reaches for your face in an attempt to pad the tears away, but you smack his hand away, eyes flashing with fury. The pang in Jimin’s chest only digs harder, and his hand hangs limply in the air.

“I am,” He says simply, and you cry out in outrage, fists balled up and pounding lightly, though relentlessly, on his shoulders and chest. He doesn’t offer any resistance, only clasping his fingers gently around your wrists to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself, trying not to look any longer at your grief-stricken face and instead focusing on his bedroom ceiling.

You were pinning him down to his bed by now, and Jimin’s face was a mess of your tears and snot all at once, but it’s not long before you were losing both strength and resolve, fingers turning translucent once again before you collapse exhaustedly back on his bed.

Silence ensues, and it’s ridiculously painful.

“I’m afraid,” Jimin speaks slowly, deciding that he must probably be out of his mind, but to hell with his sanity, “Of resenting you when you leave eventually. Of half-dying of loneliness when you move on to the afterlife. Of not knowing what I’ll do if you just vanish out of the blue.”

He exhales. It’s official, he’s downright insane, but he may as well embrace the heck out of it.

“Hell, I’m probably the most selfish coward you’ll ever meet, but this coward is irrevocably in love with you, Y/N.”

The confession lingers hazily in the stilled and frigid air, oscillating in some sort of orbital around your head as you scramble to sit up, eyes wide and mind frantic.

It wasn’t fair to you, Jimin belatedly realizes, that all he was risking was a potential heartbreak yet here you were, laying out your entire heart and soul out for him in all its vulnerability only to have him brush it aside because he’s a pussy and he’s scared. He’s not the one with his life and very existence at stake here; he could hardly fathom the complexity of your emotions, having the one person who could acknowledge your presence dismissing all semblance of your feelings and invalidating the one thing that still made you feel vaguely human.

It wasn’t fair to him either, to beguile himself into thinking he felt nothing whenever your gaze lingered on him a second too long, or to shrug it off whenever he had the urge to kiss the pout off your face.

Truth to be told, it wasn’t fair to either of you, to have what you have dismissed as if it was some sort of liability; an inconvenience that best went ignored and was unworthy of even acceptance.

So fuck it, no one ever said love came easy anyway.

“I thought I was being selfish,” You were biting down on your bottom lip again as you usually did whenever you were nervous, eyes flicking to Jimin’s desk lamp, Jimin’s worn out skateboard on the other side of the room, and then back to Jimin himself, “For wanting some sort of future with you even though no one else can even see me and my hands are pretty much see-through.”

“But think about it, what are the odds of falling in love with a ghost as irresistible as myself? Let’s make the most out of this, Jimin, we don’t have all day,” You continue, that breathtaking smile on your lips again, and suddenly nothing else mattered, nothing apart from you and the flecks of gold that danced fluidly behind your irises, daring him to go ahead and be reckless for once.

Grinning away like some lovesick idiot (guilty as charged), Jimin couldn’t bring himself to look away from your flushed cheeks and bright eyes, his palm cupping your jaw before you could protest otherwise.

“No, oh God, I know what you’re thinking and I really want to kiss you too but there’s snot literally everywhere—”

But then he kisses you anyway and you shut right up.

The atmosphere in court has never been anything less than borderline suffocating, the air thick with unspoken vengeance and rising tension.

All the seats in the courtroom had been occupied; a rare occurrence in itself given that typically only family members or close friends would bother showing up at a trial, of all things. But then again, the case at hand was far from typical; it was one that had shook the nation, plunging fear into the hearts of the people and shedding doubt onto the judiciary system and its efficiency.

And there was Jimin, face devoid of emotion as he dealt the accused with a hardened gaze, circling the podium carefully with a stack of notes in tow; the very ones he had spent the past week pouring over, painstakingly sieving through the information in order to make sure no mistakes would be his to make, and that the perpetrator in question pays the price for his heinous crimes.

At the very least, the trial was about three-quarters through, and he was sure even the defense attorney was unable to dispel the evidence that was so blatantly organized and curated for all to see. The verdict would be likely to go in the prosecution’s favor, and Jimin simply needed to deliver the final blow.

“On the 27th February, Ms. Yoo Sukyung had been stabbed repeatedly in an alleyway not too far from where she lived, by a man largely resembling the accused, as you can see from the black box footage captured from one of the cars parked nearby,” Jimin notes, voice firm as he flashes the acquired footage on screen, and the judge, a pleasant woman in her late fifties, nods.

“The accused, Mr. Kim Janghyun, had been stalking her for the past few months, evident from the candid photos taken from his rented apartment. He had marked her as a victim not long after he had met her at the café she was employed at, and had decided to make his move that night,” He continued, not sparing another glance at the shriveled up frame of the sick bastard, “Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on there being a witness, Ms. Y/N L/N, who had jumped in immediately in an attempt to render aid to the victim. The ensuing struggle had led them out of the blind spot and into an area where the surveillance cameras had thankfully captured their faces, which you would be able to see here.”

The pixelated camera footage plays, and Jimin tries not to wince each time the silver of the wielded blade comes too close to you for comfort, and had to look away at the 8-minute mark, in which the tip of the blade successfully punctures your gut, and for several times after, drawing spurts of a dark red that seemingly blends into the rest of the night.

You couldn’t stop laughing sardonically when you did see the footage yourself, though; your newly reclaimed memories were what had helped Jimin in his investigation after all, and you had insisted on watching the whole 20-minute video despite his coaxing (and bribes). ‘Run, you stupid bitch’ you would mutter darkly to yourself every once in a while, and Jimin would die a little inside.

“As such, the prosecution would like to indict the accused for 6 accounts of first-degree murder, as well as for 2 accounts of aggravated assault, along with the perversion of justice. Thank you, Your Honor.”

Sitting back smugly in his seat, Jimin shrugs the lose sleeve of his robe back on, content and more confident than ever that justice would be served.

Thinking back, it should have been obvious from the get-go; the way you had been unsettled by Prosecutor Kim’s presence in the office, how there was barely any record of you despite being one of the key players of the attempted murder that night. Heck, even your love for all things costing an arm and a leg had been a big fat clue shoved into his face (as well as his bank account).

The Kim family was powerful; powerful enough to have erased all records of their third-generation heiress, terrified that the attention of the mass media would be detrimental to business and whatnot; the things rich people worried about didn’t often come across as logical, at least not to Jimin. It was, however, good to know that your odd habit of splurging on designer goods hadn’t stemmed out of nowhere; it eased the hole in his wallet ever so slightly.

Even your strange and subtle affection for Prosecutor Min Yoongi had been a clue of sorts. He had been the prosecutor-in-charge back when the sick bastard in question had first been in court for his first victim, only to be unbelievably vexed and swarmed with ill-directed guilt when he had been released due to lack of evidence, hence Prosecutor Min’s eventual marriage to his work life in the later year (till death do them apart indeed).

Park Jimin wasn’t invincible though, he still wailed like a baby when more than half your body had increasingly become more diaphanous ever since you had your memory back, eventually giving way to nothingness, leaving behind nothing but an empty void.

Your farewell kiss had been very much you, only a graze of your lips against his; a ghost of a peck and as ephemeral as anything.

“Don’t cry, you loser. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Jiminie, what took you so long?” Leave it to Kim Taehyung to have a complaint hanging loosely off his tongue the minute he sees the flustered man emerging from the stairwell. For a nurse, he sure doesn’t have the patience of a saint despite it actually being in the job description.

“I got lost, what the fuck is with all these floors and where is Room 310 again?” Jimin swears he hasn’t been this breathless since that same 100m relay that he had won in high school, and you could cross his heart and hope to die (though that won’t be preferred), and he’d still tell you that yes, he still does his morning runs every Sunday, and yes, it may or may not be in the form of a quick run to the convenience store a couple blocks down for some cup ramen.

“It’s because it’s the VIP floor, you smartass,” Taehyung smirks knowingly, tapping playfully against the clipboard he was clinging onto as he leads his best friend down the winded corridors, “Room 310 is all the way at the end of the hallway.”

Jimin doesn’t even stay around to catch Taehyung’s casual invitation for lunch at the hospital cafeteria, instantaneously bursting into his tenth sprint of the day and breezing past all the large wooden doors to get to the most intimidating one of them all—yours.

Just his luck to get a girlfriend who also happened to be the heiress to a billion-dollar corporation; it wasn’t going to be an easy feat getting past the two burly bodyguards looming over the doors of Room 310, eyes condescending as they glance down at a panting guy in day-old sweats and a beaten up hoodie.

“ID?” One of them had been kind enough to prompt Jimin; and he thanked the heavens that he had remembered to stuff his wallet in his pocket before leaving the house in a flurry ten minutes ago, slipping out his flimsy identification card (with the humiliating photo of his bowl cut and all) and all but scurrying through the doors once those scary dudes had gotten the verification they needed.

“Y/N?” Jimin has no idea why he was whispering, but he was, the pin-drop silence in the spacious ward giving him reason for the tinge of unease pooling in his abdomen.

Diffidently, he approached, steps unhurried and uncertain.

You were there, nestled peacefully in a stack of what appeared to be the fluffiest pillows known to man, long locks splayed out all across the Egyptian 980 thread count duvet and lips looking as soft as velvet, looking every bit as unconscious as you had been for the past few months (more, if Jimin was counting the time he spent with you hovering around). The steady quickening of his heartrate was no longer a foreign sensation for him, and the tiniest of smiles quirks at his lips at your light snoring. Admittedly, your complexion was looking miles better, a sweet pink dotting your cheeks, and wait, was that mascara on your lashes?

Jimin didn’t quite have the time to dwell on the Question of the Year because your eyelids were springing open, a shriek threatening to erupt from your lips at the sudden intrusion.

The lack of recognition in your warm eyes were the equivalent to a good stab in his chest, and the unadulterated fear palpable in your features had him taking several steps back, frenetic questions about to gush from his lips.

“Who are you, and why are you in my room?”

And it wasn’t like Jimin wanted to do it, but he just did; his knees had gone weak from the shock and disbelief and there he was, now a flaccid mess on the floor of Seoul National University Hospital’s VIP ward looking like he’d lost a couple of souls.

Your mellifluous laughter was quick to file into the room, trickling like honey into Jimin’s welcoming ears, and not even a beat passes before he was off the floor and hurling himself into a nearly bone-crushing hug, cradling your head and choking back a sob.

“I’m so glad you woke up,” He says into your hair, disregarding your light chuckle of ‘that makes both of us’, hands fixed on your waist with fingers that had been freezing and trembling with trepidation only moments prior, “I swear, you and your lameass pranks will be the end of me.”

“It was a joke, Jiminie,” You poke back, though still a tad too feeble for your liking, “They’re supposed to make you laugh, not do the opposite.”

Your fingers were carding through his familiar strands, reveling in how soft it felt, just as how you had remembered it to be. Except this time, your hands emanated warmth, loads and loads of warmth; the kind that could make flowers bloom even in the dead of winter, the exact kind that would make Park Jimin putty in your hands (as if he wasn’t already).

The two of you don’t speak, letting the comfort of the silence seep in.

“Hey, Jiminie,” You say after a prolonged pause, “I’ve missed you.”

Jimin smiles into your shoulder, sighing blissfully, “I’ve missed you too.”

Beside you, the pellucid floor-length curtains flutter gently in the late afternoon breeze, reflecting the prettiest specks of gold and starlight onto the stark white walls.

a/n: I just couldn’t not give them the happy ending they deserve askfhakjs and I tried my best not to incorporate a court scene (because I have no idea what i’m doing) but lo and behold i can only hope that it’s not horribly inaccurate. here’s to hoping this was a decent shot at mystery! pls hmu with feedback or lemme know what you think anytime<3 also, HAPPY HALLOWEEN HUEHUE

#sfwbangtan #btswriters #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jimin scenario #jimin fanfic #bts jimin

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jae-bummer · 7 years

Text

Out of Bed

Request: Can I request number 19 with Hyungwon please~ :)

19) Surprise vacations with your bias

Member: Monsta X’s Hyungwon x Y/N x (Ft. Wonho)

Type: Fluff

You leaned moodily against the hardtop suitcase housing all of your boyfriend’s most important travel essentials. Halfheartedly attempting to help him close it, you watched as he yanked helplessly on the zipper, not getting any further than had for the past few minutes.

You hated when Hyungwon would leave. You hated it even more when you had to witness the actual act of leaving.

“If you pull any harder, you’re going to break it,” you sighed. “And then you’ll be boarding the plane with a trash bag for a carryon.”

“Ah, hold on,” he grumbled, standing up again and placing his hands on his lower back. He groaned as if he were much older than he actually was as he popped his spine. You winced as you watched the scene you had seen dozens of times before.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, glancing at the horrified expression on your face.

“And by sorry, you mean you really aren’t sorry at all,” you nodded with a smirk.

“It’s so refreshing having someone who is not a member of Monsta X know me so well,” he grinned with a brief nod. He hopped forward a bit, making you think he was going to wrap you in a hug, but breezed past you instead.

You lifted your brows, mildly annoyed by the action, but quickly came to terms with it. As was the joy of being in a relationship with Chae Hyungwon.

After a few moments of silently staring at his luggage, he returned happily to your side, nodding to himself as you continued to focus on the task at hand.

“Uh...Hyungw-”

“Shh,” he hummed. “Just a moment, we’ll get this done.”

“But I don-”

“I said shhh,” he repeated with a short chuckle. You heaved a sigh and crossed your arms, waiting just as he instructed. After a few moments, you heard a heavy shuffle sound down the hallway.

“Alright, I lost my damn game, what was so important-” Wonho grumbled, turning the corner into the bedroom. “Oh! Y/N! I didn’t know you were here.”

“Hoseok!” you smiled. “You must have been on the comp-”

“We need you to shut my suitcase,” Hyungwon interrupted. “You know, with those muscles you’re so proud of.”

“Let’s not lie,” Wonho smirked. “I think everyone here would by lying if they said they weren’t proud of my muscles.”

You rolled you eyes and couldn’t help but laugh. At least he was brimming with self confidence.

“High maintenance,” Wonho clucked, leaning over the suitcase. “Has to go on vacation and needs help from the member he specifically told couldn’t tag along.”

“Vacation?” you asked, tilting your head in confusion. Hyungwon had told you that he had landed a modeling gig in some country you had never actually heard of.

Hyungwon looked up, wide eyed, as Wonho’s hands worked on the zipper of his bag.

“Vacation from Monsta X,” he said quickly. “That’s why I didn’t want Wonho coming.”

“No,” Wonho grumbled, sliding the zipper slowly along. He pressed on the top of the hard suitcase with his free hand and spoke through a tensed jaw. “You said I couldn’t come because I would be a third wheel.”

You crossed your arms and stepped back, leveling an accusatory eye towards Hyungwon. “Is that right? Third wheel, huh?”

“Yeah, and he said-” Wonho began, finally tugging the zipper to it’s end and securing the bag.

“He said, ‘Thanks for being so helpful with my bag, Wonho, please leave my room,’“ Hyungwon hissed, now visibly annoyed.

Wonho looked up from his work, completely oblivious to the exchange occurring around him.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” he grinned with a small nod. “See you, Y/N! Make sure you say bye before you head off to the airport!”

You watched as Wonho’s wide frame left the room, biting your tongue until his figure fully retreated back down the hall.

“I don’t know who you think is dropping you off at the airport,” you said bluntly. “But I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel for whatever you have going on this weekend.”

“If he had another brain, I swear it would be lonely,” Hyungwon groaned, plopping on the bed beside his baggage. He shook his head before placing it in his hands.

“Oh yeah? Because he didn’t realize he had to lie for you?” you hissed. “What a terrible friend. How annoy-”

“He was talking about being a third wheel to us!” Hyungwon groaned. “Ugh, why can’t he work out his brain muscles instead of his biceps.”

“I mean...technically the brain doesn’t have muscles...but I’ll argue with you on a different day about that,” you hummed. “More importantly, you should probably explain. The quicker the better.”

“So I don’t have a modeling job in Kyrgyzstan,” he nodded sheepishly. “Which honestly, I’m unsure how I sold you on that in the first place.”

“You sold me on that becaUSE I TRUST YOU,” you spat. “You know, when two people are in a relationship and they develop a level of trust with one another?! But please, continue!”

“I do, however, have a two day vacation planned in Japan,” Hyungwon sighed. “I had some miles saved up from our tours and thought maybe you’d want to come.”

“That’s incredibly sweet,” you nodded. “But when exactly, did you plan on telling me that we were going on a weekend trip?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Eventually?”

“Eventually?” you gasped. “I was literally about to drive you to the airport.”

“My flight isn’t for a few hours,” he whined. “I would’ve told you in enough time!”

“You say that now! But if Wonho didn’t say something-” you gasped, cutting your own sentence off when another thought struck.. “Wait...do I need to go home and pack?”

You tugged your phone from your back pocket and glanced at the time. “When is your flight actually leaving? Our flight? Oh my gosh, I have so much to do, I can’t believe you-”

“Hey,” Hyungwon said softly, pulling you into his arms. “This is why I didn’t tell you, dork.”

“You’re a punk,” you whined, smacking lightly at his chest. “I love you, but also feel incredibly annoyed and inconvenienced by you.”

“Sounds about right,” he grinned. “I love it when you whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”

You let your fingers slide along the thick curtains of your hotel room. Glancing down at the waking streets of Shinjuku, you leaned against the glass, and sighed happily. After your short exchange with Hyungwon and Wonho, you had rushed to your apartment to pack for the weekend, allowing Hyungwon to take you on the weekend trip of your dreams.

You glanced back toward the bed, eying your boyfriend’s sleeping figure tangled in the white sheets. His hair stuck up in odd angles as he snoozed heavily. You chuckled to yourself, knowing you probably shouldn’t wake him, but opting to snuggle him into consciousness instead.

You left the curtains open behind you, hoping that maybe the appearance of light would cause him to stir, but to no avail. You stepped lightly across the wood floor and plopped into the soft comfort of the plush mattress. Wiggling amongst the blankets, you brought your face as close to Hyungwon’s as you could, waiting patiently for him to begin to wake.

It didn’t take long for your patient waiting to quickly became impatient. That man knew how to sleep through a tornado and your subtle blinking wasn’t going to wake him anytime soon.

“Hyungwonnie,” you cooed, placing your pointer finger on his cheek, swollen with sleep. “Hyungwonnie.”

“No,” he grumbled, not bothering to move.

“You don’t even know what you’re arguing about,” you chuckled, wrapping your arm around him. You set your chin on his chest and continued to stare intently at his lips now that they were eye level. You leaned forward, placing a light kiss on the underside of his chin before retreating again.

“If it involves me getting out of this bed, I know a lot about what I’m arguing about,” he croaked. His eyes remained shut as he spoke, but he wrapped his arm around your shoulders nonetheless.

“You told me we were going to Harajuku today,” you hummed. “You shouldn’t break promises.”

“Promises are meant to be broken,” he whispered. “And beds are meant to be slept in.”

“I’m unsure if that was your bad attempt at getting me to go back to sleep, or an even worse attempt at correlating two things you shouldn’t be correlating,” you muttered. “Either way, I expect you to start getting ready.”

“Why does a vacation mean we have to do things?” he groaned. “I always have to do things. All the time. Why can’t it mean we get to sleep? For hours on end. And then eat a lot of carbs. And then sleep all over again.”

“Because on this vacation you told me you were taking me to Harajuku,” you reaffirmed. “And although you pretend like I aggravate you, you care about me, and want me to be happy.”

“Pfft, where’d you get that idea?” he chuckled, kissing your hairline lightly. “To be honest, I just assumed I make you happy, therefore, staying in bed will also make you happy.”

“Don’t try to talk your way out of this,” you laughed. “You very well know that you make me happy. Well...most of the time. But you would make me incredibly happy if you got up. Now come on. We have less than 48 hours in Japan and we have a lot to do.”

“Unless you are on the to do list, I’m not moving,” he grinned.

You leaned over, slowly pushing yourself up from the mattress. “Fine, stay in bed. I’ll be in Harajuku when you decide to be an active member of society.”

“Ah, Y/N!” Hyungwon groaned. He launched forward, wrapping his long arms around your waist to pull you back into bed. “I was only partially kidding! Don’t leave!”

“I’m making the best of this trip Chae Hyungwon!” you argued, smacking at his hands.

“And so am I!” he gasped.

“Our ideas of “the best” are intrinsically different!” you hummed, continuing on towards your hopeless escape. “Now I need to shower.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” he nodded. “I should shower as well. We should shower. Shower then go to Harajuku.”

“You’re right,” you smiled. “I should shower and then you should shower separately and then we’ll go to Harajuku. My boyfriend is so smart.”

“But I don’t really see the point in showering twice? Seems like an awful waste of water,” Hyungwon cooed. “You know how they are about water preservation in Japan.”

“No I do not, and neither do you,” you argued. “Now if you focused all the energy you are trying to use to get me naked on actually getting ready...”

“Fine!” he groaned. “FIne, fine, fine! But I’ll have you know, I’m doing this because I want to! Not to appease you!”

“It’s okay to lie to yourself, jagi,” you chuckled. “Whatever gets you out of bed.”

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