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sketchguk · 3 years ago

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running through the night; pjm

➳ pairing: ballet instructor!jimin x art teacher!reader

➳ genre: fake dating AU, f2l, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 15.3k

➳ synopsis: you were never meant to stumble into bed with your best friend, kim taehyung, nor were you supposed to fall in love with him. perhaps promises were made to be broken because he, too, swore that he’d be gentle with your heart. now, with the other half of the bed cold and empty, you enlist an old flame by the name of park jimin to keep you cozy throughout the festive season. after all, nothing burns brighter than jealousy.

➳ warnings: explicit language, pining, strained parent relationships, alcohol consumption, fingering, breast play, choking, mirror sex, praise kink, penetration, heavy petting

➳ a/n: this is my contribution to the christmas in july collab - a hoeliday well spent hosted by @kookdiaries (thank you soo much for the banner, val), @xiaokoo, and @kithtaehyung !! this fic is based on the hallmark film the mistletoe promise (2016). my apologies, i know i’m late :( thank you for your patience !! enjoyy !

All your life, you have found that there is beauty in chaos. It has its way of following you around, constantly looming over your shoulder ー dark and overcast, but bittersweet. Inevitably so, it’s the crushing weight of all the terrible decisions you love to make.

At age five, chaos comes in the form of dirt-stained dresses, scraped knees, and scuffed tennis shoes. Although rough play always earns you a slap on the wrist from your mother, your father never fails to offer you a high-five behind her back, his heart swelling with pride after seeing you defend your rightful spot on the kiddy swings.

At age sixteen, you find yourself sneaking out your bedroom window on sleepless nights, running into chaos, or rather away from it ー you can never be so sure. When the world is quiet and everyone is sound asleep, save for your disgruntled parents, your muddy sneakers carry you past the darkened library and the locked laundromat on the corner of thirty-fourth and fifth. Out of habit, you cross the street and turn into the park, trudging through vacant baseball fields and grassy meadows, the path lit by stardust, fireflies, and eventually sunrise. If you happen to be caught after curfew, at least you’re content knowing you’ve found your peace of mind.

At age nineteen, you drown yourself in chaos the moment you swap university majors, trading lab coats and microscopes for smocks and oil pastels. That’s when you find out that chaos has an uncanny resemblance to the crinkle of disappointment etched between your mother’s eyebrows. But somehow, her unforgiving frown will never amount to the numbing smile immortalized in your graduation photos.

At age twenty-five, only then do you come to realize that chaos can also present itself in the most beautiful form of all. It’s shaped like tenderness and intimacy, something akin to love, or at least what you presume to be love.

You were never meant to fall for your best friend, but then again, you have never been one to follow the status quo.

Needless to say, your oblivious mother always has an opinion, unable to refrain from commenting on your decisions, or lack thereof. If it isn’t about (1) your disheveled appearance, (2) your wild demeanor, or (3) your choice of career, then it’s about your inability to attract a desirable partner. So of course, Kim Taehyung, the boy next door, certainly fits the profile, landing a spot on the list at number four.

“Your dad and I always thought that you two would end up together. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Taehyungie doesn't have a girlfriend yet, does he? He’s always been a good boy.”

“Remember when you had the biggest crush on him? Did you ever find the heart to confess?”

You’re surprised that you have yet to find a crater on the inside of your cheek considering how often your tongue prods on the flesh with every reminder and backhanded remark your mother sends your way. That’s precisely why you choose to conceal the details of your life from her, shoving your secrets into a memory box at the back of your closet.

What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?

Unbeknownst to anyone, it would probably come as a shock that Taehyungie, your childhood best friend, likes to spend his free time buried between your legs, tongue wedged down your desperate lips as you beg for an ounce of gratification.

Long gone are the innocent days spent riding bicycles around the cul-de-sac, sipping pink lemonade and licking Oreo ice cream in the McDonald’s parking lot. In exchange, you’ve found pleasure in one another’s familiar touch, limbs tangled between linen sheets.

This illicit romance was never meant to be anything more than casual. You’ve heard it a dozen times before, and in equal proportion, Taehyung has said it just as much. When this arrangement comes down to the nitty gritty, it’s nothing but his dirty, little secret.

“No strings attached. We’re just friends, right?” He’d shrug.

But friends don’t do the things that you do. They don’t play footsie when they think nobody's looking, nor do they shove their hands down one another’s pants when poor Jeongguk is minding his own business on the opposite end of the couch. They aren’t supposed to wake up in one another’s arms, and they definitely aren’t supposed to catch feelings.

After hours, in the dead of the night, Taehyung tends to overstay his welcome, tracing the small of your back with the swirl of his fingerprints. When your voice goes quiet and your heavy lidded eyes succumb to exhaustion, Taehyung likes to brush his lips against the crown of your head as if it means something ー something more than just friends. And with your ear pressed against the bare expanse of his chest, you fall asleep to the lull of his heartbeat.

Yet the most devastating thing of all is not his warm embrace, something you longed to receive throughout your entire childhood. Rather, it’s his hushed whispers and sweet nothings. Because at the end of the day, there’s no one to blame other than you who finds comfort in his soothing voice.

If anyone else were to hear Taehyung’s impassioned pillow talk, they would come to know why you’ve fallen for him, unrequited to the point of no return. It’s the way that he talks about his upbringing in the countryside, picking strawberries for his grandmother and making crowns of daisies for his mom. It’s how his intonation rises and falls as he tells you about his unfulfilled dream of becoming a world renowned violinist, but instead having to settle for business law. In the same way, it’s how he reminisces in the past ー from the moment you met at age five, tussling on the grass after having fought for the swingset, to the night he showed up at your doorstep with his college admission letter in hand, ready to unveil the fate of your future endeavors.

It isn’t a coincidence that Taehyung has been there for you in the same magnitude every step of the way. Throughout childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood, he’s seen it all. He knows all the secrets that you wouldn’t dare whisper to another soul. He remembers all the details that you’ve shared about your life. Your hopes, dreams, and all the fears in between.

Being with Taehyung is easy. It’s homey. Comfortable. Simply, he’s there.

Kim Taehyung is a sweet, beautiful, chaos ー he’s everything you ever wanted, yet he’s totally and utterly unattainable.

Your relationship with Taehyung ended way before it even started, and now you’re forced to get over someone who was never yours to begin with.

Tae 🧸🍯 [6:13 pm]: going on a date tonight, wish me luck ;)

Tae 🧸🍯 [6:13 pm]: don’t wait up on me

You think about downing another shot of cheap booze, but if you’re too far gone, you might just text him back. Instead, you tuck your phone into the back pocket of your jeans and do what you do best. You push your feelings aside and bury it six feet under, never to be seen by the light of day. It isn’t easy, and it isn’t effective, but it’s all that you’ve got.

“Tae’s not coming tonight,” you relay the message.

Jeongguk hums in acknowledgement, and he stuffs an absurd amount of popcorn into his mouth as if someone is going to take the bowl away from him. Namjoon waves you off, keeping his eyes trained on the movie you have no interest in. Yoongi doesn’t even bat an eyelash, unbothered by the news.

Saturdays are, in fact, not for the boys.

For you, understanding the plot of the film is a lost cause. Your thoughts wander elsewhere as your attention drifts to the loose threads of your blanket. You begin to fiddle with the fleece, careful not to unravel the stitches.

In spite of Seokjin’s loud commentary on top of the overbearing sound of the speakers, they only serve as background noise to the intrusive thoughts that trickle into your conscience. You’re preoccupied by the old memories that reel through your head like the end credits of a movie ー “I don’t see myself settling down any time soon. I guess commitment isn’t for me,” Taehyung would murmur, absentmindedly carding his fingers through your hair. “No feelings, no problems, right?” And of course you would nod to his every word, masking the hurt behind your eyes with a sympathetic smile.

Kim Taehyung is nothing but a mystery to you. You’ll never understand why he romanticizes the what-ifs in life. When he does it, it’s dreamy and optimistic. Truly, you mean that in the most derogatory way because in another life, maybe he could have been the famous musician he always dreamed of. Maybe he could live in a penthouse apartment with the pomeranian he so desperately wants to adopt. Meanwhile, when it comes to you, getting lost in thought about a life with your first love is pathetic. It’s painful and downright disappointing because he doesn’t love you back in the way that you want him to.

Your gaze focuses on the empty spot beside you, one that’s typically reserved for a curly head of hair and a set of shoulders built to lean on. Instead tonight, you prop your elbow on the arm of the sofa, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. In a room full of friends, you still manage to find company in misery.

Unable to focus on the film, there are endless questions that echo in your mind in lieu of the dialogue that enters through one ear and out the other. Does he think about you as deeply as you think about him? Does it feel wrong when your side of the bed is occupied by someone else? Do her lips trace over the spots where your touch still lingers? Do they ghost over his skin knowing it’s been held by you? Kissed by you? Loved by you? These questions have no clear cut answer, yet you don’t think you would ever want to know.

You must have been daydreaming for longer than you expected because the sound of the front door clicks shut, pulling you out of your reverie. Just in time, the screen fades to black, and the acknowledgments roll in. Two movies later, all the eggnog and mulled wine are depleted, and the coffee table is filled with half-empty solo cups.

Taehyung slips into the apartment, toeing off his shoes before unravelling himself from the endless layers of clothing. He strolls into the living room, but the extra pep in his step doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What’re you so happy about?” Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, almost accusatory.

Taehyung’s lips press together as though he’s suppressing a smile, and his cheeks rise like dough, fresh from the oven. But when he plops down on the couch, squeezing himself in the space between you and Jeongguk, there’s a cold presence that causes you to shiver, no doubt from Taehyung’s frigid skin, exposed to the winter chill outside. In an attempt to make himself comfortable, he spreads his legs, bumping his knees against yours. His arms stretch across the back of the sofa, fingers grazing over your shoulder before pulling you and the younger boy into his sides.

“Went on a date tonight,” Taehyung shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an arrogant smirk that tugs on his lips.

Everyone scooches closer, leaning forward the slightest bit, now intrigued by his words.

“And…?” Namjoon cocks an eyebrow, expecting more to the story.

“It was our third date,” Taehyung specifies.

Although it doesn’t seem like anything grand, Yoongi’s jaw drops, scandalized by the news. Seokjin raises his plastic cup in the air, cheering for his accomplishment, one that’s never been seen or done before. Jeongguk’s gaze flickers to yours, eyes widening to catch your reaction, but you don’t let your features falter.

There are matters in this world that you’ve come to accept as universally true ー Gravity gives weight to objects just like how the moon is responsible for the ocean’s tides, ribosomes are like tiny factories in the same way that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, and Taehyung never goes on a second or third date, let alone a first ー But all scientific theories can be proven or rejected. They can be improved or modified. Turns out, Taehyung can commit to someone. It just wasn’t you.

Through all the yelling and cheering, someone manages to ask “who’s the lucky lady?”

“Her name’s Aera,” Taehyung responds.

Going on a third date may not be a sign of a serious relationship, per se, but after hearing Taehyung name-drop her, you’ll have to reconsider. Until now, nobody has ever come close to knowing the names of his old flings. You know all too well that Taehyung is not the type to kiss and tell. However, he’s found enough potential in this relationship to bring up her name in conversation. It’s a big step in the right direction, even for him.

Tension radiates from your body in near tangible waves, and you wonder if the boys can pick up on it. But they don’t seem to notice, given how invested they are in Taehyung’s breaking news.

“I’m thinking about bringing her to the white elephant party,” Taehyung announces with the nod of his head.

The sound of his words finally captures your attention. “White elephant is just between us though.”

“Says who? It’s not a rule or anything, it’s just tradition,” Taehyung reaffirms. The point seems to go right over his head.

“Is that what you want to do?” You exasperate with a scoff. “Break tradition?”

Seokjin meddles as usual, “The more the merrier, right? You can bring your boyfriend too if that makes you feel any better.”

“Boyfriend?” Taehyung questions before you even have the chance to ask.

“Every time she gets a notification, she tries to hide the smile on her face. It’s kind of weird if you ask me,” Seokjin kids. “She could be sexting her boy toy for all I know.”

On instinct, you almost correct his assumption. Just because you’re smiling at your phone doesn’t mean you have a boyfriend. Maybe there’s a cute puppy on TikTok, or maybe you’re scrolling through Pinterest, looking at photos of Cha Eunwoo. Now that’s something Seokjin should consider.

“There’s no way,” Taehyung remarks with mirth in his tone. “We all know that she only gets dicked down by her toys.”

Your emotions prove stronger than your rationality, and you let them win once again. “And what good is your dick if you can’t even make a girl come?”

A series of prolonged “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” erupt throughout the room while Jeongguk continues to shove golden kernels into his mouth, amused by your bickering.

There’s a fire that ignites in your darkened eyes because nothing burns brighter than jealousy. In a voice that is not your own, you say, “You know what, Seokjin? I’ll take you up on that offer. Leave an extra spot open at the party.”

You have come to accept that you love to make terrible decisions.

Conjuring a fake boyfriend is almost as disastrous as getting a degree that hardly keeps a roof over your head. But what else could you have done? All the boys were patting Taehyung on the shoulder, congratulating him for finally committing to someone. Meanwhile, you had to sit back and watch it all go down while you could physically feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach.

After ditching the boys early, you told yourself that you’d be damned if you were to spend the rest of the night at home, wallowing in self-pity. So instead, you choose to do that same exact thing you swore you wouldn’t do, but now with a change of scenery.

Settling into the far end of the tavern, your hand squeezes around an empty shot glass, a plate of untouched curly fries placed in front of you. You massage your temples, preparing for an impending headache.

You nearly curse yourself for all the brainless things you’ve said and done around Taehyung in the pursuit of self-sabotage. Stumbling into bed with him was your first mistake. Falling in love with him was your second. Attempting to make him jealous was your third. One and two are interchangeable.

You’re not stupid. Far from it, actually. But love makes you do stupid things.

That’s exactly how you found yourself at the bar, getting lost in thought as you space out to watch the scene unfold before you.

There’s a chime that resounds when the entrance is pushed open, signalling a new patron who probably wants to let loose or get over a shitty breakup. The TV mounted above the counter replays an old FIFA match, but the white noise is swallowed by the hustle and bustle of those around you. Glasses clink together as the university students who occupy the corner booth attempt to drink away the pain of finals week.

You shake your head, trying to pull yourself out of your daydream. A gulp slides down your throat as your eyes wander across the counter. You press your lips together into a tight line, staring at your forgotten sketchbook, sprawled across the tabletop. It lays flat, spine bent, totally bare across the pages. Without a plan in mind, you pick up your pen and glide the felt tip across the recycled paper.

The tavern is dark, and the only light source you have is the sickly sweet cinnamon scented candle at the edge of the counter. The flame flickers back and forth, barely illuminating your visage. Your working conditions are far from ideal, but that doesn’t seem to curb your efforts.

Art has always been your safe haven. It allows your emotions to come to life as the creativity pours across the pages, one stroke at a time. All the anger, the disappointment, and the heartache flow through the negative space in the form of dark ink and harsh lines.

A sigh falls from your lips as you scan the page once over, unsatisfied with the results. To be fair, it’s not the drawing, but the subject itself. To nobody’s surprise, the focal point of your sketch is a pair of heart-shaped lips. Subconsciously, you’ve topped it off with a distinctive beauty mark on the tip of the nose.

“Shit,” you mumble.

Getting over Taehyung may be harder than you imagined because what could you possibly do when he’s your muse?

Your hands run through the tresses of your hair when a voice interrupts your train of thought.

“I don’t mean to criticize your art, but I think my face is a bit smaller than that, sweetheart.” A giggle fills the air, and your ears perk up at the sound of the familiar trill. When your eyes meet his, a smile stretches across your lips.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit conceited, Park?” Hesitantly, you attach his name to the end of your sentence as if it’s an afterthought. But a thought nevertheless. You haven’t said it in ages, but it still rolls off the tip of your tongue like it used to.

“Hey, you were the one staring at me.” He jokes light-heartedly, quirking his brow.

“No, I wasn’t,” you roll your eyes, not wanting to inflate his ego. “I spaced out, and I happened to be looking in your direction, okay?” You can’t even finish your sentence without laughing.

He waves it off with a playful smirk. “Don’t do that to strangers. You might get weird looks.”

“Nothing I’m not used to,” you shrug.

Park Jimin is anything but a stranger, although you wouldn’t particularly say that you’re the closest of friends. The two of you grew up in the same neighborhood, although you’ve only regarded one another as classmates. When you were in high school, your paths eventually crossed. The two of you ran in the same social circle, sharing mutual friends including Jeongguk, Namjoon, and even Taehyung. However, by the time college had started, you and Jimin were already drifting apart. While you had packed your life into two suitcases and a U-Haul full of cardboard boxes, moving hundreds of miles away to chase the uncertainties of a dream you no longer wanted, Jimin was left behind to build a life all by himself in a city he’s long since outgrown.

As the story goes, misery loves company.

You glide across the curve of the bar and scooch over a few stools, accidentally brushing your arm against Jimin’s in the process. He flashes you a smile, and your heart warms at the sight of it.

“Turn,” you request, although it comes across as a demand.

Jimin has never been one to say no to you, so he does as he’s told, angling his head in your direction. He props his elbow on the laminate counter, resting his chin in the cusp of his hands.

You flip to the next blank page of your sketchbook, bending the spine before roughly outlining the shape of his face, followed by his soft features. While Jimin lets you have your fun, drawing to your heart’s content, he hums to the faint melody that echoes from the overhead speakers. His eyes are trained on yours, allowing you to use him as reference for your sketch.

When you look up at him for a brief second, comparing your work to the real deal, he takes the opportunity to stick his tongue out, teasing. You roll your eyes, pretending to be immune to his charms, but everyone knows that it’s an impossible task.

The curve of his cheeks inflate, and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes find temporary residency.

You wish that you had used a pencil instead so that you could capture his expression at this very moment. It’s sweet. Cheery and sincere, even under the lowlight.

Your attention returns to your work, adding more details to the pupil so that it twinkles as bright as it does in real life.

To be honest, he doesn’t look much different than he did a few years ago. More mature, possibly. He’s lost a bit of baby fat around his cheeks, but amongst a crowd of millions, you’d be confident that you could recognize him upon first glance.

Jimin reaches over you to grab a curly fry. He doesn’t ask for permission, but it’s granted anyway. He dips it into your concoction of sauces before popping the delectable into his mouth.

“Hot sauce and honey?” He raises his brows, licking the salt off his fingers.

“Hmm?” You hum without giving it much thought, preoccupied.

It hits you a moment too late. “Oh, yeah. You ruined fries for me. I don’t eat them any other way now.” You bury your nose into your book to hide the smirk on your face.

“Ruined? You should thank me,” he says, exasperated. “Do you want to be miserable for the rest of your life? Dipping your fries in ketchup?” His nose scrunches, feigning repulsion.

The back of your hand suppresses a giggle.

Beyond the hot sauce and honey, you wouldn’t ever dare to admit that you’ve spared Jimin a second thought throughout the years you’ve spent apart. But truth be told, you have. How could you not?

On rainy days, you still listen to the mixtape he gave you back in twelfth grade. A late night run to the convenience store is never complete without shrimp chips because that’s always been his go-to (and now yours). His favorite novel still sits on your bookshelf because it’s always a delight, flipping through the dog-eared pages, searching for all his favorite quotes and the parts that have made him scream, laugh, and cry 一 everything highlighted, underlined, and annotated.

Bits and pieces of Jimin still remain with you, even if he no longer stays.

“Do you expect me to give you a cookie or something?”

He shakes his head. No.

“Praise?” You suggest.

He tilts his head to the side as if he’s thinking about it. He’s never been one to refuse a compliment or two.

“Here, how about this?” You ask, sliding your book across the counter. In your completed sketch, you’ve managed to capture his plush lips and round cheeks in contrast to his sharp jawline. His eyes widen, and he’s left speechless by your handiwork.

“How does it look? Is the face small enough now?” You query.

He taps his finger against his lower lip, contemplative. “I think my forehead is a little big, but I’ll let it pass,” he teases, holding the book up to his face so that they are side-by side.

“It looks pretty accurate to me?” You jest.

Jimin shakes his head and unfolds the book from beneath itself, laying the spine flat against the counter. The pages spread open, putting tonight’s artwork on display. Two sets of eyes gaze upward.

“Are you two together yet?” Jimin’s question catches you off guard.

Your eyes meet his, and you nearly ask him what he means by that. He pointedly tilts his head toward the adjacent drawing, and then you understand.

The original sketch of Taehyung stares back at you, and a frown makes its way across your lips. You pull the book closer to you before ripping out the page from the coiled spine, crumpling it, and tossing it to the side without any regard.

“I take that as a no?” He says, sarcastic.

You don’t ever recall telling Jimin about the age-old crush you’ve had on your best friend, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Besides, stolen glances and unsaid words are enough for him to understand that Taehyung means more to you than just a friend.

“He’s the reason why I’m drinking tonight,” you sigh, twirling the empty shot glass between your fingers.

Jimin doesn’t question it. Instead, he offers you exactly what you need. An excuse. A reason. A distraction 一 “Do you want to get out of here?” He queries, signaling towards the exit. “I wanna show you something.”

Your frown is replaced with the slight curl of your lips as soon as you accept his offer.

Jimin helps you to put on your coat before grabbing your hand and leading you out into the chilly air. He bends down until his lips are hot against the shell of your ear, whispering words that send a shiver down your spine.

“I can help you forget about him.”

Chaos has a way of bringing people together when you least expect it.

In the late hours of the night, Jimin takes your hand across town, back to his ballet studio, now closed for business. Technically, he also uses the studio as his living quarters to save some expenses. He’s built a sliding door in the back to separate off his bedroom and kitchen, an area that’s totally off limits to his staff and students.

Throughout the empty space, soft music reverberates off the wall-to-wall mirrors. While Jimin settles in the corner of the room, criss-crossed, watching you have your fun, you prance around the hardwood floors, spinning on the balls of your feet until your head is in a daze. You twirl in circles, pretending to dance around a makeshift ballroom with an invisible partner wrapped around your arms. It’s almost as if you’re reclaiming your lost youth by looking for an excuse to act like a child.

“Can you teach me how to dance?” You plead, locking eyes with Jimin.

His features grow soft upon hearing your voice, so who is he to deny? He shows you a few simple stretches so that you’re warmed up. It’s nothing complicated, only some toe touches and lunges to improve your flexibility.

“We can do some basics? I’ll show you how to do a plié,” he suggests. “This is the first position.”

You nod your head, enthusiastic about the idea (in theory), but your eyes widen, and your jaw drops after seeing Jimin contort his body in a way you never thought was conceivable. His thighs press together as his heels sit back to back, pointing in opposite directions, laying 180°.

“You’re kidding.” Your eyebrows furrow, concerned about the possibility of a leg cramp and pure embarrassment. “These are the basics?”

“C’mon, just try it,” he insists. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

You grumble as you attempt to get into position, but it’s nearly impossible. To no avail, you shuffle your feet one inch at a time, getting closer and closer, but never perfect. As you nearly reach your goal, you begin to lose balance, accidentally shifting all your weight onto your heels. On instinct, you reach forward to hold steady, and you latch onto Jimin’s shoulder.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer into his chest.

Your breath shudders, and your body tenses as your eyes squeeze shut, head resting against the crook of his neck.

“Sorry,” you mutter, nearly pulling away.

“Careful,” Jimin warns, gentle and unmoving. “I’ve got you.” His hands squeeze at your hips, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of your close proximity.

Your eyes bore into his before shifting your gaze to his plush lips, right where his teeth sink into the pink flesh.

You lean forward so that your mouth hovers over his. Your hot breaths mingle together before you realize what you’re about to do. But at that moment, it doesn’t matter because Jimin is here, and he wants you. That’s everything that Taehyung is not.

You slot your lips between his, testing the waters with a quick peck. Then another. And another. His tongue traces over yours, dancing in tune with the melody of the music.

Jimin pulls away, but only momentarily. “Do you really want to do this?” He asks, gasping.

“You said you’d help me forget,” your breath fans across his cheeks. Desire pulses through your veins, and in response, you press your lips against his, deeper and more passionate than before. He tastes like whiskey, vanilla, and nostalgia all at once.

Your fingers slip under the hem of his sweater, tracing patterns into his hips. You tug on the knitted material, and he finally takes the hint. The two of you fumble as you peel off one another’s clothes, tossing them haphazardly across the room, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

He leans down to grab the back of your thighs, lifting you off the ground. Your legs wrap around his waist, and he carries you past the sliding doors and into his makeshift bedroom, placing you gently on top of the nightstand before fumbling for a condom.

Between tender touches, you and Jimin share sweet giggles and soft gazes. His breath ghosts over your skin, nipping and kissing wherever his lips can reach. He latches onto your neck, sucking until he marks your skin with his name.

He gently traces the outline of your bra, causing goosebumps to rise against your skin. His hands roam across your body, brushing past the mound of your breast before giving them a firm squeeze. Your breath hitches, and your lips part open. Jimin swirls his tongue around yours, rolling them over each other.

He reaches for your legs once again, picking you up and guiding you toward the edge of the room. Suddenly, your back is pressed against the mirror. The reflective surface is unforgiving against your sensitive skin.

His fingers wander across the waistband of your panties, eliciting a low hum from your lips.

“Don’t tease,” you whine.

“You don’t like my teasing, sweetheart? Then why are you moaning?” He queries with a smirk spread across his features.

“Relax for me. I’ll take care of you.” His lips latch onto the side of your neck where your heart beats beneath the surface. He urges you to turn around and face the mirror before his hand finds its way against your panty-clad core. He teases your entrance through the material, skimming between your folds and rubbing soft circles against your clit. Arousal pools into the pit of your stomach, and a trail of fire prickles against your skin.

His other hand is preoccupied with your breasts, tugging on the material of your bra until it bunches at your waist. He rolls your pert nipple between the rough pads of his fingers. You loll your head back against his shoulder as if you’re putty in his hands. His hard-on weighs heavy against your ass as he grinds against your backside.

There’s a soft tap against your lips, and you open upon command without realizing how much of your saliva has accumulated in your mouth. Drool seeps from the corner of your lips as you swirl your tongue against his digits.

He glides his hand down your body once again, exploring every inch before dipping into your underwear.

“I haven’t touched you properly, but you’re soaked,” he mutters against the shell of your ear.

You can’t help but groan in response, reaching to grab his wrists to help anchor you.

He collects your arousal, swirling his finger against your entrance before stretching you out, plunging into your heat.

Your arousal begins to seep down your thighs as you contract against his finger. He adds another one, filling you up until you’re begging for more. You grow more and more desperate as he pumps into you, slowly and teasingly. You grow restless from his punishing pace, and a soft sigh escapes from your parted lips.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says. “Use your words for me.” His lips press against your cheek, and you’re taken aback by how soft he is.

“I- I,” you lose your train of thought as he begins to rub figure eights onto your clit.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asks, almost as if he demands a response. “Want to watch yourself get ruined, sweetheart? Want to see how full you can get off my cock? You’ve never been this shy before.” A smirk spreads across his lips, fully knowing the power he holds in the palm of his hands. “Is something wrong? I want you to use your words.”

You mewl, nodding your head with vigor. You grind your ass against his clothed crotch, begging for more friction, begging to be fucked stupid and full of cum. “Holy shit, give it to me,” you beg in desperation. “Please, I want you to fuck me,” you beg with tears in your eyes.

He slides his boxers past his erect cock, pumping it in his hand before sliding your panties to the side. He glides the condom on and rubs the engorged tip of his dick against your slick folds. He presses into your entrance one inch at a time, and you moan in response. Your walls are stretched out by his sheer girth snug between your pussy.

“Look at how well your pretty, little cunt takes me, sweetheart.” His voice is thick with desire as his breath fans against the shell of your ear. He takes your chin into his hand, guiding your head so that you’re looking straight into the mirror. He squeezes at your cheeks so that you have no choice but to look at the way he ruins you.

You clench around him at the sound of his lewd words. Through the mirror, you can see his eyes darken with lust. Your gaze trails down to the ripple of his muscles. His body is perfectly toned, and you can’t seem to take your eyes off his thick thighs.

But your heavy lidded eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed by the drag and pull of his length against your walls. Jimin’s hand wraps around the column of your neck, causing you to look in the mirror once again. His grasp is firm, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “Don’t you want to see how pretty you look? How perfect you are with my cock inside of you?”

He thrusts into you at a calculated pace, rutting into your throbbing cunt, totally engulfed in your sopping wet heat. It’s hard to keep your attention trained on the mirror as he splits you open, railing you from behind. Your mouth hangs loose as he rubs tight circles against your bud.

“Be a good girl, and come for me, okay, sweetheart?” He hums against your cheek.

The sensation is overwhelming as you’re surrounded by his scent and his touch. He latches his lips onto your jaw, marking your skin. Jimin doesn’t leave a single inch untouched.

He rolls his hips against yours faster and harder, adding more to your torment. You can feel the coil in the pit of your stomach grow tighter. Your breathing grows more shallow, and Jimin observes you through the mirror. He watches your facial features twist as you get lost in pleasure.

He can sense you nearing your high as your tight cunt pulses against him, squeezing around his cock, swallowing him deeper and deeper. The room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the harsh slap of his balls against the back of your thighs.

“I’m gonna come,” you warn him with tears streaming down the sides of your cheeks.

His pace grows relentless as he snaps his hips against yours, nestling deeper between your walls, fucked raw and dirty.

The coil unravels from the pit of your stomach as waves of pleasure course through your veins. A string of stuttered curses fall from your lips, totally consumed by your pleasure, “fuck, fuck fuck.” Your vision nearly fades to black as you convulse around his length, jerking in his grasp. But Jimin wraps his arm around your torso, fucking you through your orgasm as you milk him for all his worth.

His thrusts slow down, and his hips stutter as he reaches his high, spurting ropes of cum into the condom. You can feel his cock throb between the walls of your cunt, pulsing to the rhythm of the music in the background.

Famous last words: “This is a one time thing.”

You would have thought that after tonight, you’d part ways and pretend as if nothing had ever happened. Yet you didn’t think you would grow this attached after spending one night with Jimin.

Once you clean up in the shower room, you find that there’s a fresh set of clothes on the counter and a festive red mug filled with earl gray tea, calling your name on the nightstand. Jimin is waiting for you on his half of the bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. When you return, he sets it aside and lifts up the sheets, inviting you into his embrace for the night.

You curl up into his side, tucking your head beneath his chin. Your body is stiff until he wraps his arm tighter around your waist. Melting into his touch is a feeling so familiar that you welcome it for reasons you know you shouldn’t. Tonight, the bed is warm, and that’s all you could ever ask for.

Jimin is the first one to break the silence. “It’s nice to see you still make art, by the way,” he says against the crown of your head, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Actually… After freshmen year, I changed my major to illustration.”

Jimin’s eyes soften into half-moon shapes, proud to hear about the milestones you’ve reached in the years you’ve spent apart.

“Now, I spend my days teaching third graders how to make hand turkeys and snowflakes,” you chuckle, although it’s a little flat.

Jimin tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “It doesn’t seem as if you like it,” he reads right through you.

“Mmm, it’s not ideal, but it’s stable,” you shrug with a fond smile on your lips. “I thought that everything would fall into place because I followed my dreams, right? But it gets so messy when you mix your passion with your career. And now, I’m stuck in this weird limbo of not knowing what to do with myself,” you sigh. “But don’t get me wrong, the kids are sweet, and it’s nice to feel needed.”

The weight of your words don’t catch up to you, but Jimin nods his head in understanding, letting you continue your train of thought.

“It doesn’t really compare to pre-med, ya know? I could have been doing ground-breaking research or finding the secret recipe to incurable diseases.” A weak laugh erupts from your lungs. “But I hated it. Every week, I was this close to burning down the whole lab.” Your index finger hovers over your thumb with the tiniest sliver of space in between, demonstrating how close you would have been to losing your sense of judgment. Your eyes roll as you reminisce on the ghost of your past. “My advice? Stay away from science. It’s dangerous.”

Jimin notices that you talk a lot. Maybe more than the average person, but he likes that. Your personality fills the space, and you two converse as if no time has passed between the two of you.

The ends of Jimin’s lips curl into a smile, endeared by the pout on your face, “Ah, note taken.”

“You must really like running the studio though,” you suggest. “That’s what you’ve always wanted to do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sort of,” his shoulders raise. The dejection is palpable, and you can sense his hesitation.

In the dim room, you look up at his soft features, illuminated by the faint moonlight casted through the windowpanes. “But…?”

A smile stretches across his lips, and his eyelids lower into slits.

“But... I wanna be on a big stage, and I wanna perform, ya know? I wanna dance at sold out theaters with marquees that plaster my name across the world,” he fantasizes. “I feel like there’s so much more out there for me if I branched out and made a name for myself. I don’t want to teach kindergartners how to do plies and pirouettes for the rest of my life.” A sigh escapes from his parted lips. “Maybe after a few years, I could return to teaching, but right now, I feel like I’m stuck.”

You understand his need to escape from this city, because you, too, feel trapped beneath the weight of all your terrible decisions. In the end, the road leads back to where it all began. The two of you are side-by-side, living the same routine, day and night, without having found your place in this world.

Yet Jimin’s confession still leaves you confused. You’ve never quite taken his perspective into account, although you’d be lying if you said his face didn’t cross your mind a handful of times over the last few years. Because in this little corner of the universe, in a town so small that you can’t even find it on a map, everyone and their mothers know Park Jimin. You’re stuck in your own head, and sometimes you forget that there are people out there who aren’t fortunate enough to know him like you do. So maybe, just maybe, you’re one of the lucky ones.

“I’m gone for a few years, and now that I’m back, you’re telling me you’ve lost all your courage? Is this the same Jimin I know?” You poke your finger against his cheek, double checking, and he sneers at your antics. “Literally anyone can see how talented you are. They’d be stupid to think otherwise. If you busked in the streets of Seoul, they’d scout you on the spot.”

A smile etches itself across his features, comforted by the words of an old friend. A part of him knows that you’re right, and you are.

“I better get an autograph backstage at Carnegie Hall, okay?” You raise a fist, extending your pinky for him to lace. “Promise?”

He doesn’t even have to spare you another glance before he interlocks his pinky with yours, sealing a promise that he’s sure to keep.

“Don’t forget me when you’re famous, Park.” The sound of his name is like music to your ears, even if the world of dance doesn’t know it yet. To you, he’ll always be admired and respected as though he’s in the limelight because that’s the Park Jimin you’ve come to know. He’s suave, charming, and gracious as ever with eyes that pull like the tide. It’d be a shame for the world not to know his name.

Of course you would never forget because Jimin leaves a whole new impression on you with every encounter. Just like old times, there’s never a beat of silence when he’s at your side. It feels as though you’re in your own world as the hours tick by faster than you realize.

Throughout this sleepless night, he tells you about his tattoos and the meanings behind them 一 his favorite being the black ink on his ribs, ‘nevermind’ spelled out in capital letters. You’ve also come to learn about the scar above his right eye, although you’ve never quite noticed it after all these years. “I ran straight into the toilet when I was little, and I bumped my head,” he explains, “Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” Although he can’t seem to hold back his own giggle.

He shares nearly-forgotten memories of his early childhood back in Busan, reminiscing about his walks along the seaside after kendo practice. He misses the stories his mother would tell him at the kitchen table as she laid out all of her ingredients for kimbap, made with love. He can’t forget about his grandmother’s old home, a pretty pink house on the top of a hill 一 the same one where he would play hide and seek with his younger brother.

Of course you can’t spend the night without bringing up anecdotes from high school.

“Do you remember when we kissed in 10th grade?” You remind him, chuckling at the memory.

Jimin’s eyes fill with fondness, lowering into crescent moons. “We were playing spin the bottle, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you giggle in apology. “It probably wasn’t that good.”

He tilts his head, uncertain. “I think 15 year-old me was on top of the world after that.”

You hide your face against Jimin’s chest in embarrassment, muffling your voice. “Yeahbutyouweremyfirstkiss.” The words escape your mouth at lightning speed, but he catches every syllable.

His cheeks are dusted with crimson hues, blushing at the confession. “Really?” His hand is feather light against your shoulder. “I guess that makes the two of us. You were mine too.” His heart nearly thumps out of his ribcage.

“Can I ask you something?” You pull away from his chest with wide eyes.

“You just did.” His lips tug into a teasing smile.

You roll your eyes and refrain from punching his arm. “Did you ever see us being together?” There’s a brief moment of silence before you clarify again. “You know… romantically?”

Jimin shakes his head no. If you had asked whether he ever wanted the two of you to be together, that would elicit a totally different response.

“No, you were always hung up on Taehyung, right?” He says, half disappointed, half hopeful in anticipation of your response.

Your eyebrows knit into a frown, and your lips quiver into a scowl. “Yeah, some things don’t really change.”

His features soften, listening to your every word which makes his pouty lips even more defined, even through the dark.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to dump all of my problems on you,” you apologize. Truly, it doesn’t seem fair that Jimin has been nothing but attentive to you. But in his mind, he’s the true friend he’s always been.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He rubs soothing circles into the small of your back, just like how Taehyung used to. “Is something wrong?”

Clicking your tongue, you stall for time, hesitating. “Well... You know how I’m an absolute idiot, right?”

“Right,” Jimin nods with sarcasm. His tongue peeks out from the corner of his lips.

“Basically, I told all of my friends that I have a boyfriend even though I’m painfully in love with Taehyung.”

“Sounds rough.”

You shake your head, heaving a sigh. “That’s not the worst part.”

“Oh, God, what did you do now?” He asks, expecting.

“Taehyung’s bringing his new girlfriend to our party on Christmas Eve... and I told everyone that they can expect my boyfriend to be there too.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, and your shoulders slump. “Do you see my dilemma now?”

“Hmm,” he hums. The room is silent, save for the hum of the radiator.

“What if I told you I have a solution?” And by that, he means a temporary fix.

“I’m listening,” you murmur. The lack of sleep is finally hitting you at the break of dawn.

An ear to ear smile stretches across his face, and you know for sure that he’s up to no good. “May I, Park Jimin,” he dramatically presses his hand flat against his chest as if he’s making a pledge, “Have the honor of being your fake boyfriend on the eve of Christmas?”

You shrug, deciding to entertain him, “It’s your honor now, is it? So what’s in it for me?”

“Uhmm…” His gaze shifts to the corner of the room, eyeing something completely trivial. When he figures it out, he snaps his fingers together. “I’m glad that you asked.” A smile graces his lips as he shows off his pearly whites.

“Oh no,” you groan, fully expecting the worst. You roll onto your stomach, stuffing your face into the pillow.

Jimin’s voice rings through the air, sounding his request. “You’ll have the pleasure of seeing my kindergarten class put on a showcase for the Nutcracker.”

You lift your head up, and stray hairs obstruct your vision, falling loose into your eyes. Looking over at Jimin, you quirk a brow, soundlessly asking him why?

“I need to bring a date,” He begins, scratching at his eyebrow. “My staff keeps trying to set me up on these blind dates, but they don’t end up anywhere, and I’m kind of sick of it.”

“Mmm, nobody worthwhile so far?” You inquire.

“I guess I’m waiting for the right person to come around,” he shrugs. “They put me on so many dating apps, but it’s not for me.”

Your face breaks out into a smile. “Really? Tinder? Bumble? Hinge? I want to see your profile!” Although you only want to see it to poke fun at him.

“No, no, no, it’s pretty bad,” he confesses with wide eyes.

“Oh, please. I doubt someone like you would have trouble finding a partner.”

“Not one that’s worthwhile.” His soft gaze lowers to meet yours, but you don’t seem to notice.

You huff out a sigh, and your heavy lidded eyes threaten to close, succumbing to exhaustion. Going to the showcase is a small price to pay for the wake of chaos you’ve brought upon yourself. At least you have a solution to your boyfriend problem, right?

Your hand extends over to Jimin, and he gladly takes it in his own, shaking it in agreement.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Park.”

You [4:27 pm]: you busy?

Jimin [4:32 pm]: no, just ended a class, why?

You [4:32 pm]: can you help me? idk what to get for white elephant

You [4:32 pm]: meet me at the mall?

Jimin [4:33 pm]: okay, i’ll be there in 15 min

He gets there in ten.

It’s easy to spot Jimin’s disapproving look from a mile away. “You do realize that Christmas is this Saturday, right? Don’t you have an Amazon account?”

“I’m not handing over my hard-earned money to capitalism,” you bark.

He puts his hands up in defense. “Sorry I brought it up.”

The two of you stroll past the rows of stores with items that are far too expensive for your budget. You turn down every suggestion thrown your way.

“How about a scarf?” Jimin offers.

You shake your head. “I already know someone is going to buy that, and that someone is probably Namjoon.”

He snickers knowing that it’s true. “Okay, then what about a candle?”

Your lips pucker, clearly not thrilled about the idea. “Taehyung is the only person who would want a candle, but if it isn’t expensive, then forget about it.”

“A mug?”

You stare at him, deadpan. “It’s gonna look like I didn’t put a single thought into this gift.”

“Hey, they’re your friends! You should know what to get them.”

You massage at your temples, pacifying the meltdown that you’re about to have in the middle of the mall. And if the creepy old man dressed in the tattered Santa suit approaches you to ease the tears, you can’t promise that you won’t get kicked out of the shopping center for accounts of hysteria.

Shopping has never been your forte, let alone holiday shopping. Jimin deserves a prize for his patience because he’s handling your indecision fairly well.

“Aren’t you an artist?” Jimin proposes.

You nearly deny the fact out of habit, so instead, you just shrug.

“You could always make something.” He holds his breath thinking that you’ll shoot him down once again.

You card your fingers through your hair, contemplative. “Nothing I make is going to be worth a penny.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at you with knitted brows, a stern expression painted on his face. “It’s the thought that counts.”

The longer that you sit on the idea, the more people begin to swarm you in the middle of a crowded mall. “Yeah, I guess I can make something. To be honest, I just want to get out of here,” you remark.

“Yeah, I try to avoid the mall like the plague,” he adds. “It’s stressful.”

“Oh, you’re telling me?” You press your pointer finger against your chest for further emphasis. “Not just that, but I’m afraid Jeongguk is going to pop out of nowhere, and I’d have to explain that you’re my boyfriend when we haven’t even figured out the story yet,” your tongue clicks. “He works at the arcade over there.” You jut your chin towards the bright neon sign a few stores down.

“Would I be that terrible of a boyfriend that you’d be embarrassed?” He asks with pleading eyes, although you know he’s only begging for praise.

“No, but Guk knows the both of us. He’s gonna see right through our lies with those big eyes of his.” You slump your shoulders when a cold breeze blows through your hair, a shiver wracking through your whole body.

“Hold my hand,” Jimin requests, catching you off guard.

“Why? There’s nobody around,” you crane your neck, looking left and right in search of a familiar face.

He interlocks his fingers with yours. “It’s cold though, I don’t want your hand to freeze.”

“Cold? Then maybe you should zip up,” you reprimand him, halting to fix the buttons of his shirt.

Why does he have so many of them undone to begin with? His jacket is absolutely useless if he doesn’t bother bundling up. He’s going to catch a cold if he leaves his chest exposed any longer.

You mutter under your breath, shaking your head, “Why are you dressed so sexy? You’re gonna get sick.”

“You like it? It’s for you,” he replies with soft eyes, but the smirk on his lips is teasing.

You look up at him, only to scoff at his cheesy response, poking your tongue against the inside of your cheek. After straightening his collar, your finger slips beneath the silver chain around his neck, pulling out the pendant so that it is no longer concealed beneath the white cotton of his shirt.

He’s finally warm and toasty after zipping up his outerwear in one swift motion. “Don’t catch a cold,” you huff a sigh, turning around to trudge forward.

Jimin smiles to himself and lowers the zipper once again to undo the top two buttons, fully knowing that you’ll fix it for him with a cute pout on your lips.

He half-walks, half-runs to catch up to you. Without any defiance, he takes your hand in his before stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket.

You don’t know how Jimin managed to convince you to make your own gift for white elephant, but he did.

After your failed visit to the mall, you and Jimin head back to your tiny apartment halfway across town. He figured that you would create a painting or some kind of sketch, but he never imagined that you would do something as extravagant as pottery.

“So… we’re still going to make a mug, right?” He suggests, half kidding.

“If you really want to make one, you can,” you offer as you set up all of the supplies including a pottery wheel, buckets of water, bamboo brushes, needles, and cutter wire. “I think I want to make dishware though, maybe a bowl.”

Jimin situates himself across from you as you immerse yourself in your work. You roll up your sleeves before chopping up the clay and using a variety of tools to get you started. He watches the terracotta block mold to the delicate curl of your hands. You press against the sides so that it’s rounded, and you push at the center until there’s a crater. Pulling at the rim, you skilfully tug on the clay until it reaches the height that you desire.

The ringer of your phone sets off, but you choose to ignore it, preoccupied by the task at hand. It doesn’t take very long for you to finish molding your bowl since you’ve made an abundance of ceramics in your lifetime.

And right before Jimin’s very eyes, it transforms into a perfectly imperfect vessel.

You set the product aside so that you can heat it up and glaze it for later. Until then, you can draft a design that would later be painted on the surface of the clay.

“Do you want to try?” It doesn’t hurt to ask. Afterall, Jimin had attempted to show you how to dance. Now it’s your turn for vengeance and a hearty laugh.

He looks at you with wide, puppy eyes as he nods his head.

You hop off of your stool, allowing Jimin to take your place. Meanwhile, you prep the proper amount of clay that’s needed for the mug he can’t stop talking about.

“Are we going to have that cheesy movie moment from Ghost where we make pottery and hold hands?” He bounces from his seat as you prop another stool behind him.

Teasingly, you wrap your arm around his torso before blowing hot air against the shell of his ear.

He wiggles in your grasp, pressing his hand against the side of his head.

“Come here, you big baby,” you tug on his arm so that his hands cup around the clay.

The blush on Jimin’s cheeks go unnoticed, affected by either your choice of words or your close proximity, he may never know.

Your hand gently rests over his as you guide him through the molding process. The mug is far from perfect, but Jimin likes it that way. He doesn’t bother smoothing out the sides or centering the handle. He thinks the battered shape gives it personality. “It’s a little wonky, just like you,” he claims.

From an outside perspective, anyone could see the two of you and find this moment to be sweet and romantic. Some may say that the moment bursts like a bubble the second you’re interrupted.

Well, cue the interruption as you hear an awfully loud giggle from the hallway. Soon enough, the sound of keys turns the locks of your apartment door.

“I don’t mean to scare you, but I think there’s a robber out there.” Jimin’s body tenses beneath your grasp.

The infamous giggle sounds once again, and you don’t seem to be bothered. “It’s not an intruder,” you shake your head. “Just a really annoying friend.”

Hardly a second goes by before Kim Seokjin is walking through your door, calling out your name. “YAH! You know you’re missing movie night, right?” His mouth moves faster than his body. Because when Seokjin sticks his head into your living room, he realizes that you have company.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, although you know he’s anything but sorry. “Didn’t know you were busy with your boyfriend.” Seokjin winks a little too overdramatically.

Jimin rises from his seat, wiping the excess clay from his hands and onto his apron. He approaches Seokjin by the foyer and extends his arm in greeting. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Jimin.”

Seokjin looks at the residue left on Jimin’s hand and decides to grab his wrist, shaking it in up and down motions. “Seokjin.” His lips tug into a crooked smile, almost as if he’s plotting something. Of course, it’s expected. “Would you and Jimin like to come to movie night together?”

You nearly shove Seokjin out the door, wanting him to leave as quickly as possible. “Can’t make it tonight. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Cookies? Any for me?” Seokjin requests, though he doesn’t really care for sweets. He just wants to stay longer so that he can get a better look at your quote unquote boyfriend.

“I’ll bring them over another time, I swear. Now get out,” you usher him out the door, muttering through gritted teeth. “I'll see you at the party, okay?”

“Bye!” Seokjin yells, even with the door closed shut behind him. “Don’t forget the condom!”

“So…” You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment. “That was Seokjin. I have to apologize for his entire existence.”

“For what it’s worth, I think he has pretty good advice,” Jimin laughs.

“We should probably figure out the details of our fake relationship, right?” You suggest as you measure out your dry ingredients for cookies. “When did we meet?”

“I don’t think we have to go that far back? We met when we were kids,” Jimin says, mixing the concoction of ingredients together with a pink spatula in hand. “Can’t we tell everyone that we bumped into one another at a bar a few weeks ago, hit it off, fucked, and then started dating?”

“That doesn’t sound very romantic,” you sneer.

“It isn’t, but that’s basically what happened.”

“Minus the dating part,” you add.

“Yeah…” Jimin mutters under his breath. “Minus the dating part.”

“Do you think we could pass as a couple?” You question. “Oh, pass me the vanilla extract.”

Jimin grabs the amber bottle before making his way around the kitchen island. “I think they’ll believe it if we show off a little pda, right?” He slots himself behind you, pressing his chest against your back, gently resting his hands on the small of your waist. “Is it okay if I touch you here?”

Your body heats up when his hot breath tickles against your cheek. “Uh, y-yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” you stutter, nodding your head.

“This is just for practice, right, sweetheart?” he coos, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Gotta make it believable.” He latches his plush lips against the column of your neck, peppering soft kisses up and down your jaw.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you melt into his touch. “Mmm,” you let out a moan, dropping the wooden spoon onto the kitchen counter.

You rest your hands over his before plucking them off your waist. Park Jimin is insatiable, but you’re certain that you’re craving something else tonight.

“As much as I want to do this right now, save it for the public, Park. I want my cookies.”

While your studio fills itself with the sweet aroma of fresh baked cookies, you and Jimin plop yourself onto your mattress, wedged into the corner of your studio apartment. His phone rests in your hands as you critique his dating profile, as promised.

“This is terrible,” you click your tongue.

“What’s wrong with it?” He lurches for the device, but you roll over onto your side, keeping it away from his reach.

“Your bio says ‘send dog pics’. Really, now?” You glare at him with a blank expression. “I’d hate to break it to you, but loving dogs is not a personality trait.”

“Oh,” he slumps. “I thought it was a hit with the ladies, no?”

“Only because you’re cute.” You don’t bother looking up at his reaction as you continue to scroll through his phone, scrutinizing his profile. His round cheeks grow heated. A soft hue of pink dusts over his skin.

“Are you going to help me change my bio then?” He asks.

Your nose scrunches in distaste. “No, you’re supposed to be my boyfriend, aren’t you? I don’t think I’m ready to share yet.”

Jimin’s cheeks numb with the smile that stretches across his lips.

“No offense, but this photo makes you look like a fuckboy.” You flash the screen to him as you giggle to yourself.

“Hoseok said it’s a nice picture.” He grumbles to himself, feigning a pout, but it doesn’t last long. He only knows that you’re teasing.

When you aren't looking, Jimin steals your phone for a brief moment. If you’re able to use his, why can’t he use yours? He opens the camera app, taking far too many selfies, more than an average person should. He looks cute in some photos, but in others, he purposely recreates the “fuckboy” look you described earlier. He decides to set it as his contact photo, so you’ll have no choice but to laugh whenever his name pops up in your notifications. When he opens the phone app, he scoffs, slightly offended that his name is set as “Jimin.” Nothing more and nothing less. He decides to change it to one that’s more suitable, although cringey 一 Babe 😘

Without noticing, he takes a selfie of the two of you. It’s a candid, but he decides to set it as your lock screen so that you’ll have a happy surprise.

Meanwhile, you continue to throw an occasional comment about his profile, but he’s long since stopped listening. He hasn’t opened the app in months anyways.

To keep himself occupied, his gaze wanders around your bedroom, although he can’t seem to help it. There are an abundance of trinkets that catch his attention, but only because he’s curious.

Above the desk, there’s an oversized poster of the Starry Night, thumb tacked to the wall. A mason jar of sour candy lies on your nightstand, no doubt for the occasional midnight cravings. Your favorite kpop album lies on the top of your bookshelf, although there’s no sight of a CD player anywhere.

A pile of canvasses sit in the corner, leaning against the wall. He hops off the bed, flicking through the pile to admire your talent. There’s a soft tug on his lips as he recognizes a few antique pieces you’ve made back in high school art class. A gentle “oh” falls from his lips whenever he connects the dots, spotting a painting that he has already seen on your Instagram.

He hovers over your shelf where he notices there’s a photograph of you at your college graduation. There’s a beaming smile on your face with crinkles that form at the corner of your eyes. Truly, it’s infectious because the same smile is plastered on Jimin’s lips, happy to see you at your highest points, even if he had not been there.

Although it may seem nosy, Jimin moves on to the next trinket that catches his eyes. He tilts his head to the side, staring at the faded orange spine on the third shelf from the bottom. “Is that mine?” He plucks the paperback into his hands, examining the front cover.

You look up from his phone, and your face stiffens in response. “Uh, you lent that to me.”

“Yeah, keyword: lent.” He can’t suppress the smile on his face as he thumbs through the pages of a novel he thought he had lost many years ago.

“Do you want it back?” You ask, hoping that the answer is no.

He shakes his head, putting it back into its rightful place on the bookshelf. “No, you can keep it.”

You card your fingers through your hair, stressed about the night that is to come. You’ve spent the last few days with Jimin, perfecting the details of your relationship so that you can get through your first mission 一 making it believable for his staff members so they can stop setting Jimin on unsuccessful blind dates.

He swears that you don’t have to do much besides show up and pretend that you like him. Apparently, as far as the hip-hop teacher, Hoseok, is concerned, you don’t even exist. Your only job for tonight is to prove to him otherwise.

Tonight, you scour through your entire closet in search of an outfit. You must have tried on at least four different ones at this point, texting Jimin a selfie in the mirror after every outfit change. You don’t know why you’re trying so hard to make a good first impression when you’re never going to see them again.

Jimin’s reaction to your texts never feels sincere because he keeps complimenting you, attaching multiple heart emojis after every message. But what can you expect from a man?

You’re startled by the ringing of your doorbell which signifies Jimin’s arrival. “I’ll be right there!” You shout, quickly applying the finishing touches to your makeup.

After chucking your essentials into your purse, you slip on your heeled boots and grab a warm jacket before quickly opening the front door.

“I’m so sorry, I swear I’m ready now,” you sputter.

Jimin stands in your entryway, dressed to the nines with his slicked-back hair and his flowy, white shirt. His eyes widen, and his mouth hangs agape at how stunning you are in an outfit he has yet to see.

“Why didn’t you send me a picture of this one? I could have prepared myself,” he says in disbelief.

A smile graces your lips before you shut the door behind you and grab his hand. “Come on, we’re gonna be late!”

Jimin doesn’t let go of your hand, even throughout the entire car ride. With fingers interlaced, he two of you walk into the local elementary school where you work.

Unexpectedly, you bump into your co-workers on the way in. A few of the older ladies from the main office exclaim:

“I didn’t know that you had a boyfriend! When can we expect a wedding?”

“Oh my God, look at these sweet lovebirds!”

“What does it feel like to be young and in love?”

To which Jimin would wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his side. He almost stops to have a conversation with them, but you have to cut it short fully knowing that they could talk for hours. “I’m so sorry, but we’re actually on our way to the showcase in the auditorium.” You nod your head with a polite smile before tugging on Jimin’s arm.

They ladies wish you and Jimin a good night before heading out to gossip to the rest of the town. That, you are sure of.

Jimin leads the way into the busy auditorium. He escorts you to the front row where there are seats reserved especially for him and the rest of the staff. From afar, you notice that there’s a man waving wildly in your direction. There’s a smile on his face, glowing brighter than the sun itself.

“That’s Hoseok over there,” Jimin whispers against your ear. “Are you ready?”

You nod your head, squeezing his hand tighter before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

He’s taken aback by your public display of affection, and he blushes on contact. His lips press together as he tries to hide the glee on his face.

You walk down the aisle together to approach your seats. Before you can make it there, Hoseok is already running up to the two of you.

“Is this the girlfriend I’ve heard so much about?” Hoseok half-yells, extending his hand out to shake yours.

You gladly accept with a gleam on your face. “Oh, so Jimin talks about me a lot, does he?” You query.

Of course Hoseok has never been one to tell a lie. “Well, to be honest, when he said that he found a girlfriend, I almost thought that you weren’t real!” He exclaims. “But in the last week, he started bringing you up more and more. I thought ‘okay, I have to meet her now.’” He nods, enthusiastic.

Has he really mentioned you to his coworkers? Was this part of the plan to get them to stop arranging all of these blind dates?

“Ah, I guess Jimin must have been a little embarrassed to talk about me. We’ve known each other for ages, but I’ve never given him the chance until recently.” You pat your hand against his bicep, almost in consolation.

“Oh yeah. I’m glad that you found your way back to one another. It takes a lot of courage to confess to your high school crush, ya know?” Hoseok says, not knowing that he has just opened Pandora’s Box. “You two look very happy together.”

Your eyes widen at the news, and Hoseok continues to talk incessantly like a chatterbox. But you’re hardly listening to what he has to say. You throw in the occasional “yeah” and “yup” so it seems as if you’re paying attention. Instead, you glance over at Jimin with endless questions reeling through your head.

Before you can ask about Jimin’s little secret, the light of the auditorium dims and fades to black. The MC heads onto stage with a spotlight shining on his figure, and he asks that everyone take their seat.

You refrain from asking Jimin any questions throughout the showcase because that would have been terribly rude, but the curiosity is killing you.

All along, Jimin has known that you’ve been in love with Taehyung. But at the same time, he’s had feelings for you? Granted, you were young and stupid back in high school. How deeply did he feel about you? Did his feelings change over the last few years? What did your one night stand mean to him?

Your head is clouded with questions, and you swear that Jimin can sense the tension radiating from your body. His thumb rubs soothing circles into the top of your hand, and your attention gets drawn away from the overwhelming questions.

Instead, you choose to focus on the performance in front of you. The kids are prancing around stage in their pretty white tutus and leotards. Of course, being as young as they are, their performance isn’t anywhere near perfect. That doesn’t mean all the adults in the room won’t make them feel as if they are the biggest stars on stage. Even as they stumble across the floors and dance off-beat to the music, they will continue to receive the praise that they deserve.

At the end of the performance, all of the dancers line up on stage so that they can bow to the audience. The crowd erupts into a standing ovation, and the beaming smile on their little faces don’t go unnoticed.

When the stage clears, the auditorium empties out so that the parents can collect their children at the exit. Meanwhile, Jimin heads backstage to say a big congratulations to all of his lovely students. He wants to offer everyone a high-five and a pat on the back, but the children seem to have other plans.

Once they notice your presence, they begin to swarm around you, jumping up and down. Their yells echo across the barren room.

“Hi, are you Mr. Jimin’s wife?” A young girl tugs on the hem of your dress, with pleading eyes, begging for an answer.

Weirdly enough, all of the other kids lower their voices as they wait for your response. They stare at you with intense eyes, and you begin to grow shy under their gaze.

“N- no, no, we’re not married,” you clarify.

“Not yet!” Jimin adds, and the kids erupt into an uproar.

You shoot him an icy glare, silently warning him of the Hell that you’re about to unleash in private, but the smile on your face would say otherwise.

Jimin shows up at your door the next day with matching ugly sweaters in hand.

“You’re kidding,” you deadpan.

“Nope,” he says with a pop of the p. “Don’t couples wear matching clothes?”

“Only if they’re cringey,” you reply.

Stepping aside, you invite Jimin into your humble abode in preparation for today. You have a few hours left to spare until the white elephant party begins at the boys’ shared apartment. Using your time wisely, although some may argue in defense of that, you decide to finish up the paint job on your pottery bowl, cutting it close to the deadline. Meanwhile, you’ve invited Jimin inside so that he can add the finishing touches to the mug that he’s made.

Today, the energy in the room feels a little off. You think that you can attribute it to the news that Hoseok broke to you the night prior. Yet at the same time, you don’t know why you’re overthinking about something so trivial. It happened ages ago, and for all you know, it might not be anything too deep.

“Are we ever going to address what happened last night?” You decide to break the silence.

Jimin cocks his head to the side, unsure as to what you’re referring to.

You glide your paint brush against your bowl with the utmost precision. “Were you ever going to tell me that you liked me?”

“Oh, I didn’t think it was that important,” he says with a shrug, too focused on the project in front of him.

You gaze at him from across the table, expecting more to the story.

His eyes meet yours. “Really, it’s not that deep, I swear. We hung out a lot, and we talked everyday. You were always there for me, and I think I was stepping on this fine line between loving you as a friend and loving you as a partner,” he shrugs. “We can’t choose the people we love. And in the back of my mind, I already knew that you liked Taehyung, so I had to let you go,” he confesses. “That’s pretty much all there is to it. But before you say anything, I’ll have you know that I got over it before you left for college.”

You nod your head in understanding. You feel a little better about the situation now that you’ve had a bit of time to process it. “Was I that forgettable?” You jest.

He shakes his head. “No, but I figured it’d be better for the both of us. You were moving hundreds of miles away. Taehyung would be there beside you, and I’d be back here.”

One last question still sits in the back of your mind. “Did Taehyung ever find out?”

He shakes his head. “No, what do you think? Taehyung doesn’t even realize that you’ve been in love with him for years.”

“Hey, I’m really good at hiding my emotions, okay?” You scoff, although that shouldn’t be something that you’re proud of.

“No, I just think it takes the right person to read you,” Jimin says, passing you his shoddy mug.

You grab it by the handle before rotating it to see the design he’s made. In red paint, he’s drawn a big heart with both his initials and yours. It’s cheesy, and maybe a little cringey, but that’s how your relationship has always been.

“Nice sweaters,” Yoongi says upon opening the door, although it sounds as if he hates them. He shuffles aside, but before you can step through the entryway, everyone else is already gathering around the foyer.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

“IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND?”

“WOAH IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?”

Voices blend together as everyone simultaneously shouts.

“Can we at least take our shoes off first?” You ask, completely bombarded by questions, but Jimin doesn’t seem to mind, loving the attention that he’s getting.

Jeongguk and Seokjin fight one another as they push through the crowd so that they can greet you, but of course, they turn to Jimin first.

Jeongguk's eyes widen, although you didn’t think it was possible. “Hyung?”

“Did you miss me?” Jimin extends his hand out for Jeongguk to take, pulling him into a half-hug. “I haven’t heard from you in so long,” he says.

“The phone works both ways, ya know?” Jeongguk suggests, although he’s not upset in the slightest.

Jeongguk doesn’t seem to be surprised that the two of you are together. Actually, he seems to overlook that fact, too excited about meeting Jimin once again. Perhaps he can’t see through your lies because he’s too busy being happy in the presence of his best friends.

“Wow, this is actually happening?” Seokjin says more to himself than to anyone else in particular. “Thanks for taking our girl. I always thought she was a lost cause.” Because in Seokjin’s mind, he’s always seen you as an old maid in training, but he’s only ever understood your character as far as you’ve allowed him to.

In another world, you’d probably be embarrassed by his comment, but it’s not out of the norm for him, so you let it slide.

“I think I should be thanking her for taking me,” Jimin corrects, turning to you with soft eyes, something along the lines of yearning.

In your peripheral vision, you can almost see Yoongi gag at the cheesy comment, and you nearly tell him to mind his own business.

Namjoon invites everyone to step inside, and the boys begin to filter out of the foyer. But Taehyung and his new girlfriend remain standing in the back of the crowd, and they hang around to greet the two of you.

You can sense their enthusiasm as they approach you. The smile on Taehyung’s face is one that you’ve never seen before, and it weirds you out a little.

“Long time no see, huh?” Taehyung extends his arms toward Jimin, reaching for a hug. “It’s a small world, don’t you think? The two of you, together.”

“Yeah, it took me by surprise too, but it happened all too quickly,” Jimin says, taking his hand in yours.

It surprises you how good he is at lying. If he hadn’t been a performer, perhaps he could have a career in acting.

“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Aera. Be kind to her, okay?” Taehyung says.

You would have thought that this moment would be incredibly awkward, but the feeling soon fades as the conversation builds.

Upon first impression, Aera’s a sweet girl. Her face is almost angelic, and you’re almost certain that she’s Taehyung’s type.

She talks a lot, but she’s probably excited. Maybe she’s even a little nervous ー you can relate, but for reasons only Jimin knows.

“Ah, Taehyung told me so much about you,” she reaches for your hand, and you’re caught off guard by her words.

You freeze for a split second before you remember to keep your cool. Exactly how much does she know? Did she hear about your childhood together? The way that you grew up as next door neighbors, spending days and nights throughout grade school, adolescence, and young adulthood? Has Taehyung told her about the arrangement that you’ve made and all the complicated feelings in the midst of it all?

As the party rages on, you all gather around for the festivities. The living room becomes overcrowded as you settle onto the couch to watch movies, no doubt is it Home Alone 1 and 2. Seokjin ends up in the kitchen, preparing a hearty meal for everyone. Yoongi follows along so that he can help and sneak a few sips of alcohol before it’s time to eat dinner. Namjoon is only there for moral support. To make him feel useful, Yoongi passes him a tiny potato and a peeler.

Jimin doesn’t leave your side for the entire night, latching onto you as if he’s a lost puppy. His arms sling around your waist, but not necessarily in a disgusting, over-the-top way, more like an innocent, “I’m right here,” kind of way.

Nobody seems to have any qualms about it, not even you. However, every once in a while, you notice Seokjin eyeing you from the kitchen, flashing you his smile that causes his bready cheeks to rise.

When opening presents, a bottle of pinot noir gets passed around after multiple people attempt to steal it, but Yoongi manages to snag his own gift for himself.

Aera receives a stuffed animal in the shape of a pink, muscular bunny. Nobody seems to want it but her.

Jeongguk picks up your ceramic bowl, but Namjoon is quick to steal it. By the end, it ends up in Jeongguk’s possession once again because nobody needs household essentials like he does. He can finally cross the one (1) bowl off of his shopping list. The next thing he should prioritize is a pillow so that he can get rid of the rolled up towel he’s been sleeping on these last few months.

Instead of the bowl, Namjoon gets Seokjin’s gag gift, but he can’t seem to find use for a rubber chicken. “It’s for emotional support,” Seokjin suggests.

Seokjin gets a bottle of purple hair dye from Aera, and you can all imagine the disaster that will come about from that. Although Jeongguk thinks about stealing it, he lets Seokjin deal with the chaos that is sure to ensue.

Not surprisingly, Jimin gets Taehyung’s gift consisting of a paint by numbers kit. “We can work on this together,” he makes a promise to you, whispering it into the cusp of your ear. It doesn’t quite matter if anyone else can hear this sweet exchange of affection because his words are not meant for anyone but you.

Yet again, it’s not surprising that you end up with Jimin’s gift. He offers you a second-hand copy of his new favorite book, something to add to your collection of trinkets. You thumb through the pages to find all of his annotations. Sections are highlighted and underlined, and with every few pages, there are little notes that are jotted down in the margins. In the center of the book, there’s a pink post-it note wedged between the pages. It’s almost as if this present was particularly for you, because in Jimin’s chicken-scratch, you manage to decipher his message.

I’d never forget you. Not even if I become famous, and not even in a million years.

At the bottom, his autograph is written in thick, black ink.

A smile graces your lips as there’s utter chaos exploding in the background. You tune out the sound of Namjoon and Jeongguk fighting over their gifts, muffled by the sound of Seokjin’s squeaky laugh.

Nobody dares to steal your present, especially not after sending Namjoon a cold, death stare.

While the night winds down, everyone settles into their respective spots, naturally gravitating into smaller groups of twos. Namjoon and Yoongi chat in one of the rooms while Seokjin and Jeongguk make a mess in another.

Of course, Aera and Taehyung are glued to one another, but you don’t pay much mind to them. They’re honestly quite cute together. It’s nice to see happiness on Taehyung, even if he couldn’t find it with you.

But somewhere in a distant land, on the far end of the couch, you and Jimin find yourselves in your own world. Absentmindedly, you lean into his personal space although there’s enough real estate for you to sprawl across the cushions.

You can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol that’s finally hitting you, or maybe you’re a little tired after a long night of socializing, but your cheeks have been aching from all the smiles and the giggles that you’ve shared.

Just when you thought you could catch a break, Aera shuffles behind you, interrupting your moment of peace. “Mistletoeeeee!” She yells out, dangling a green sprig above your heads.

Your face grows heated, almost embarrassed that you’re being told to kiss Jimin, in public no less. He looks at you with hesitation in his eyes, silently asking what you want to do.

But almost on instinct, you lean in to brush your lips against his cheek. You pull back, searching his eyes for any discomfort. When you find that there’s none, you invade his personal space once again, pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss.

At the end of the night, when the world is quiet and everyone is sound asleep, you and Jimin stroll past the darkened library and the locked laundromat on the corner of thirty-fourth and fifth. Your feet carry you towards your little studio apartment, although you don’t particularly want to crawl into bed if that means it’s cold and empty tonight.

The walk back to your place is rather quiet.

The two of you shuffle across the sidewalk, side-by-side. Every few steps, your shoulders bump into one another, but neither of you mind.

“Did you have fun tonight?” There’s a puff of smoke that blows from Jimin’s mouth when he speaks into the frigid air.

“You could say that,” you hum. Throughout the night, there were moments in which you totally forgot that you and Jimin are nothing but pretend. It almost felt real, and you almost preferred it that way.

“Would you say that you’re still hung up on Taehyung?” Jimin asks, looking at your visage from his peripherals. He pretends as if he doesn’t really care for your response, although it kills him on the inside.

Your eyes soften, and you shake your head. “No, I’m happy for him. I realized that he’s moved on, and slowly, so have I,” you announce, almost proud. “We all deserve to be with someone who can love us in the way that we want them to.”

“Have you found that person yet?” He asks.

You hook your arm beneath his, looping them together. “Yeah, I might have,” you nod, and he gazes at you fondly, eyes lowering into crescent shapes that the moon can’t even rival.

As you continue to lethargically make your way back to your apartment, slowly but surely, snowflakes begin to fall from the sky. They litter across the street, sticking to the cement until there’s a soft blanket of snow.

A wide grin settles across your lips as you look up at the dark void above you. You turn, looking over at Jimin with a glint in your eyes. It’s the first snow of the season.

And before you know it, you unloop your arm from his, and your feet kick off the ground. You dance across the barren road, running through the night as you pay no mind to any of the oncoming traffic, although there seems to be none during this late hour.

You twirl in circles, leaping from one foot to another, dancing around as the snow falls around you like a picturesque scene from a movie.

With a wide grin on his face, Jimin stands behind to watch you enjoy yourself. But when you grow tired, standing still in the middle of the road, he approaches you with a suggestion. “We should make a wish.”

“I don’t believe in wishes,” you shake your head. “If I want something to happen, I’m going to make it happen.”

He looks into the depths of your eyes, searching for an answer. “What is it that you want?”

Your hand reaches up to grab the collar of his coat, pulling him into a fervent kiss. His mouth is cold against yours, but his loving embrace is quick to warm you up.

You mumble against his lips, not daring to pull away. “I want you, Park.”

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