Chapter Text
Jungkook didn’t exist before Jimin.
His earliest memory was of a small boy with pouty lips moving into the house next door.
There might have been things in his life that had happened before meeting Jimin, but it was nothing Jungkook could recall. Humans had evolved from fish, but no one remembered the blur of the primordial soup, how they swapped it for the dryness of some rocky prehistoric shore, or how their lungs learned to breathe air.
Although there had been nothing before that day, the memory of Jimin stepping out of his family’s car was unusually vivid, as if to make up for the blank space that preceded him. Jungkook could even recall what Jimin was wearing when he first saw him - navy shorts and a white polo shirt, his thick hair neatly combed to the side. Their mothers said they were the same age, but even then Jimin was smaller, more delicate.
Pretty.
As he and his mother had watched the neighbors move in, Jungkook promised to share all his toys, because that’s what good neighbours do, his mom had said.
At the playground just around the corner from where they lived, the other boys called Jimin ‘the new kid’.
“His name is Jimin,” Jungkook corrected with a stern glare until everyone started calling him by his given name.
On Jimin’s first day at the kindergarten, the teacher gave Jungkook a sticker with a green turtle. “Go look for an empty locker for Jimin and put the sticker on the door,” she’d said. She then turned to Jimin and smiled. “Jungkookie will show you where you can put your shoes and jacket when you get here in the morning.”
Jungkook took Jimin by the hand and made a small round of the hallway, considering the options with utmost dedication.
“This is my locker,” Jungkook said, pointing at the door with the fawn sticker on it. He frowned at the snail on the door to the left and the cat on the right, considering bribing one of the girls who occupied these lockers to swap places with Jimin. Giving Hyesu a part of his marble collection seemed like a good trade-off.
“There’s one without a sticker!” Jimin cried out, pulling Jungkook towards a locker five doors away.
“I don’t know… It’s far away from mine,” Jungkook said. The empty locker was next to Hyungmin’s, and Hyungmin was funny and nice.
“Who cares where we put away our shoes?” Jimin laughed. “We’ll play together as soon as we change.”
“Promise?”
“Promise!” Jimin said, and, with that, Jungkook had reluctantly put the turtle on the unmarked locker door.
He needn’t have worried, because it turned out that Jimin was good for his promises. He became popular, always volunteering to help smaller kids get dressed and giving smart answers when teachers asked questions about the bugs they observed under their magnifying glasses.
Everyone wanted to be his friend, but Jimin always put Jungkook first.
Jungkook was the only one Jimin shared snacks with, and if others asked him to play, he’d make sure Jungkook was included.
Their parents enrolled them into boy scouts the summer Jungkook turned seven. It was their favourite thing – learning how to set up a tent and recognise animal footprints, sing scout songs and roast bacon and stripes of bread dough skewed on sticks next to open fire.
At school, they shared a desk at the window. Jimin was the top student in their class and Jungkook was nowhere near.
“You’re just as smart as me, Jungkookah. You just need to focus. And don’t be shy to raise your hand when you know the answer,” Jimin used to say.
But that was the whole problem: Jungkook was shy.
When they went to the playground, he often climbed up a tree if there were too many kids there, and he was the happiest when Jimin would follow and perch on the branch next to him.
His memories were fragmented and his impressions simple, formed by a brain of an eight or a nine year old. Blurry images shifted in his mind, one becoming another without logical order or clear borders, like smudged colours on a painter’s palette: brown swirling with yellow, blue with green.
In summer, there were caterpillars and wasps and Jimin’s skin had a greenish glow from the sunshine reflected off the leaves.
Sunshine coming through the leaves, dancing with the wind over his friend’s smile.
“You’ll fall if you’re not careful, you know…”
His voice, like no other.
High voices were shrill and low voices were soft, but Jimin’s voice was high and soft.
“If you break your neck, what would I do without you?”
“You’d find somebody else. Everyone wants to be your friend.”
“They’re boring. No one can take your place,” Jimin said. “So don’t fall, you hear?”
As his luck would have it, Jungkook did fall.
They were eleven. The branch just cracked and as he plummeted he thought about how disappointed Jimin would be.
He told you not to fall.
And now you’re dead.
Idiot.
His last thought before he hit the ground.
He lay there uncrying, bone poking out of his skin, white with patches of blood. Jungkook had known it was there, in his body, but actually seeing it was interesting, until he felt the sight of it was making him sick.
Jimin surveyed the situation frowning, without so much as a hint of ‘I told you so’.
“Hop on,” he said, crouching next to Jungkook. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”
“Just go get help. I promise I won’t go anywhere,” Jungkook said with a feeble attempt at humour, but the pain was so intense he thought he might pass out.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Don’t be silly. It will hurt ten times more if my leg’s dangling while you walk.”
Jimin nodded in agreement. Then he was gone, the sound of his sneakers thumping against the asphalt growing fainter.
Jungkook stared at the clouds overhead, as a sheer film of sweat covered his face, but he was strangely at peace.
Jimin could have been mad, but he wasn’t.
I’m not leaving you.
A piggyback ride would have been fun. Clouds drifting. Jimin’s thick mop of hair right under his nose. Peaches.
The pain was more distant now. At some point Jungkook realised that he was drifting in and out of consciousness.
Maybe a small kid who’d been playing in the sand a bit further off saw him and screamed when he came closer and saw his leg. Maybe Jungkook imagined it. What he didn’t imagine was the sound of the ambulance and Jimin’s footsteps as he came running back.
Jungkook attempted a smile. He hadn’t worried for a second. After all, he was in good hands.
It was almost worth it, the days he had to spend at hospital after surgery, and his leg in a cast, because when he did come back home, Jimin visited each afternoon to give him homework, and they’d play computer games and eat gimbap Jungkook’s mother made.
A month later, they started middle school and switched from cubs to scouts, finally old enough for some serious rock climbing and water sports in a real river. At the campsite, they chopped wood for the fire and slept in a light blue tent fit for one grownup person, but perfect for two 12 year-olds.
Jungkook relied on Jimin to identify all the constellations in the night sky.
“There’s Andromeda… and Pisces below it,” he pointed with his cute, short finger and Jungkook smiled, endeared. To him, the stars were just random white dots in vast blackness, he couldn’t group them.
“Wouldn’t you like to travel up to the stars, Jungkookah?” Jimin asked what he always asked and Jungkook answered what he always answered – “Only if you’re coming along.”
Their trip ended with a K-pop dancing tournament, which Jimin effortlessly won. The Scout Leader said Jimin had rhythm and that he should take dancing lessons, and his parents agreed.
When the school year started, instead of gaming their afternoons away, Jimin spent most of his time at the local dance studio, learning modern and hip-hop. His teacher gushed over his smooth turns and the way he glided over the floor, claiming he was a true prodigy.
Often Jungkook would wait for him outside the studio so they could go ride their bikes. The girls who danced with Jimin giggled when they saw him waiting, shielding their smiles.
“They keep asking for your phone number, you know,” the corner of Jimin’s mouth curled up as he fastened his bag above the back wheel.
“What…?” Jungkook blushed violently, trying to pretend the girls weren’t there, just out of earshot.
“You heard me. Should I give it to them?” Jimin’s grin was positively wicked now. He obviously relished seeing Jungkook out of his comfort zone, but he never teased him for long. After all, they were best friends.
Jungkook shot up to his full height in the summer break between grades seven and eight, leaving Jimin a few centimetres behind. It wasn’t just that he was taller – his parents made him take up boxing for self defence, afraid their boy was so shy he’d get bullied. The sport did little to alleviate his shyness, but it broadened his shoulders and firmed up his biceps, making him even more irresistible to Jimin’s girlfriends. By the time they were done with middle school he could no longer avoid them, but their movie dates turned awkward rather than hopeful.
“So how was it with Jinae on Saturday?” Jimin asked after one particularly promising date. Jinae was good-looking and smart, the best dancer in Jimin’s formation. They were sixteen at the time, walking down the long street that led to school.
“I don’t know. I guess she’s nice. I just don’t know how to talk to girls…”
Jimin chuckled, his dainty hand covering his mouth. The leaves from the linden trees overhead cast dancing shadows onto his forehead. “No one’s born with the skill. It takes practice.”
“Not for you, it doesn’t. No one has as many female friends as you. I’m amazed you don’t have a girlfriend.”
Due to his hobby, Jimin had been one of the rare students in their all-boys middle school to hang out with girls. Jungkook could hear their giggles through open windows in the summer when they came to watch sad romance movies on Jimin’s computer.
Now they were in a co-ed high school, it was the same. New girls flocked to Jimin wherever he went, taking pouting selfies with him in the corridors and the cafeteria.
“They’re just friends,” Jimin would say with a smug grin. It seemed as if any of his ‘friends’ could turn to something more at a drop of the hat.
Because Jimin was beautiful and confident. Small-boned and on the short side, but still taller than most girls, he’d developed an elegant gait and a sinewy body from rigorous dance practice. His nails were always perfectly clean and he smelled like peach shampoo.
Girls touched him the way they never touched Jungkook, messing his hair to see what he would look like with a side parting and wrapping him in lung-emptying hugs when they had exciting news to share.
“Anyway,” Jungkook braced himself. “Did she say I was boring?”
“Well…” Jimin cleared his throat. “She said you were cute but shy,” he shot Jungkook a sideways glance. “Maybe she meant boring, but was too polite to say it.”
“Do you think I’m boring?”
Jimin laughed out loud, throwing his head back. “Why would I be friends with someone who bored me?”
“What’s not boring about me, Jiminah?” Jungkook felt like he was pushing his luck. Jimin would come up with something stupid, just to avoid offending him.
“First of all, you’re really smart, much smarter than others give you credit for. I guess it’s because you’re so quiet. Second, you always make me laugh, even when you tease me. You never brag about all the cool stuff you can do – like run the fastest – you just do it. You’re never unkind to your siblings, though they’re annoying as hell.”
“I bet they’d disagree,” Jungkook murmured, smiling because Jimin’s words were genuinely soothing.
“Well, let them. Someone else would make their lives miserable. Not you. On top of it all, you can draw and sing better than anyone else I know. As for girls… they don’t know you like I do. If you want them to see you’re not boring, you’ve got to let them in.”
“I don’t know…” Jungkook said, picking up a pebble and throwing it, just to give himself something to do. “I kind of… don’t want to let them in. If it’s just you and me – I’m fine with that.” He glanced at Jimin, brow furrowed. “I only took her out so you wouldn’t think I’m a coward.”
Jimin burst out laughing again, glee making his eyes disappear in one of those hundred-percent grins. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! Why would I think that?” He shook his head in disbelief. “All those things I said before? About you being smart? I take it all back. I bet you’re not even that fast, race you to the corner!”
And with that he was gone, giving himself a head start. Jungkook just chuckled and ran after him, overtaking him easily halfway through.
When they turned seventeen, the girls Jimin hung out with were still “just friends,” and Jungkook kept dating Jimin’s friends. Sometimes, after a movie, he’d lean in for a clumsy kiss — but it was never about wanting the girl. It was about proving to Jimin there was nothing wrong with him.
However, Jungkook was never the one people tried to squeeze into the pigeonhole marked wrong. He took boxing seriously, carved himself a concrete six-pack, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist — though you’d hardly know it, as his body was hidden under oversized black hoodies that made him look faintly menacing despite his doe-eyed cuteness. Jimin, meanwhile, had let his girlfriends talk him into getting his ears pierced. The silver hoops glinted prettily above the sharp angle of his jaw. They suited him so well that Jungkook secretly wished he could pierce his own ears — but didn’t. His dad would never allow it. For Jimin, it was different: still a star student, he had credit to spend, and the disarming charm to make his parents look the other way when he indulged his whims.
One day after classes, as Jungkook was shoving his books back into his locker, he saw Yeon Beomseok – a dumb bully a head taller than Jimin – chuckling with his cronies. They were watching Jimin go down the hall with three exquisitely beautiful girls who would never give their clique the time of day.
Beomseok pushed himself off of the wall, swaggering towards Jimin.
“Hey, Park,” he called, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It hurts my heart to see all that pussy wasted on you. Do you even know what it’s for, hm, ballerina?”
Unfortunately for him, he was so wrapped up in his little performance, relishing the laughter he was rewarded by his friends and the expression of dismay on Jimin’s face, he didn’t notice Jungkook’s panther-like jump from where he was standing.
A heartbeat later, Jungkook’s fist connected with Beomseok’s jaw. A girl screamed as his head slammed against the wall with a horrible thud and his nose cracked, spraying blood over the wall and the floor.
Jungkook hovered over him in a boxer’s stance, chest heaving with rage, as he waited for Beomseok to rise. Instead of a counter-attack, the bully’s whimpers turned to tears as he pressed trembling fingers to what had once been a straight nose.
“Jesus, Jeon…” One of Beomseok’s sidekicks murmured. “It was just a joke.”
“Anyone else feeling humorous today?” Jungkook asked, deadly glance shifting over the boys’ terrified faces. “Let’s settle this shit once and for all.”
“My father will have your ass kicked out of the school!” Beomseok wailed from the floor, pushing away a friend who had reached to help him up.
“Excellent,” Jungkook chuckled, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “In that case, I’ll wait for you and your asshole posse outside the school if I catch wind of this again. Keep you guessing — where and when. Add an element of suspense.”
When no one spoke, he turned and left.
Since it was their senior year, Jungkook only got suspended for two weeks. Grounded, he still had one comfort: Jimin skipped dance practice to sit at his window and keep him company. Their houses were so close that if Jungkook leaned out, they didn’t even have to raise their voices.
“Why did you do it?” Jimin said in a low voice, in awe of Jungkook’s punishment and the disappointment written on his parents’ faces.
“Because I won’t have anyone insulting you, that’s why. They wanted me to start boxing so I could fight bullies. Makes no difference if they attack me or you.”
“I know how to defend myself, you know…”
“You do? Would have given him a concussion, would you?” Jungkook smirked.
Jimin’s mouth twitched. “Well, you didn’t have to put him in the hospital. I don’t think you know your own strength.”
“Don’t worry, his dad will pay to have his nose fixed.”
They talked on, until it got dark and chilly and they couldn’t make out each other’s faces anymore.
“Don’t do that again, you hear?” Jimin said before he closed the window and went down to dinner. “School’s horrible without you.”
“It is?” A smug smile spilled over Jungkook’s face. “Don’t you have your girlfriends to keep you company?”
“It’s–” Jimin had paused, his expression unreadable in the dark. “It’s not the same.”
That was the end of it. Beomseok and his friends went for easier targets, calling Jungkook crazy, but never to his face.
As expected, Jimin aced his final exams and Jungkook did okay. Jungkook had his military service postponed as he needed a few months to finish helping his father build an extension to their house. In order to enlist at the same time, Jimin decided to volunteer at the dance studio teaching the younger kids – it secured his own postponement, but he also promised to help with the Jeons’ construction works.
One morning during breakfast, Jungkook’s phone buzzed with a message received. It was from Jimin, asking him to come over, which was a little weird, since Jimin usually came to their place first thing in the morning, ready to mix mortar and lay bricks in perfect alignment, better than a professional builder would.
A second message.
We need to talk.
Jungkook stuffed the last bite into his mouth and stepped out, still chewing, only to find Jimin at the front door of his own house, steps away, accepting a flower delivery with a slight frown on his face. It was a bunch of half-open white lilies, almost too opulent to be real; they seemed strikingly out of place in their working-class neighbourhood, yet they echoed the fragile elegance of Jimin’s features.
“Morning,” Jungkook greeted the delivery guy. Then, to Jimin, “Flowers? Who are they from?”
“No idea,” Jimin said, finishing his signature on an electric pad. He handed the stylus back to the man. “They’re for Hyunmi, of course.”
Hyunmi, Jimin’s sister, worked at a bank and got gifts all the time from clients and men she went out on dates with. She wasn’t one for grand gestures; if something seemed too much, she sent it back.
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Jimin said, turning away from the door. “I need to put these into a vase.” He walked in front of Jungkook barefoot in his elegant dancer’s gait, back perfectly straight.
Jimin was wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, possibly something he’d slept in. He looked a little peeved, rummaging through a drawer for gardening scissors.
“She couldn’t care less,” he said, snapping off the ends of the thick stalks in quick, practiced moves. “I bet she won’t even look at the card before she bins it. As a matter of fact,” he scrunched the paper into a ball and chucked it into the trash, “if she were here, she’d probably even throw the flowers away. Less trouble than… all this.”
He turned his back to Jungkook, opening a kitchen cupboard. “Case in point,” he said, eyeing a pretty crystal vase on the top shelf. He stretched himself on tiptoe, faintly grunting, but there was no way he could reach it. “Can you try?”
Jungkook was taller, but from his vantage point a few steps away, he saw that he wasn’t tall enough. He was just about to point that out when he caught a glimpse of Jimin’s waist peeking under the t-shirt hem as he extended his arm all the way up in a futile attempt to reach the vase.
Just a triangle of skin, bordered by the sweatpants waistline in the bottom, the t-shirt hanging above and the side, suggesting a curve more than actually curving.
Get the ladder. Climb on a chair. Just jump.
Viable solutions flashed and were dismissed just as quickly.
Before he fully understood what he was doing, Jungkook took a step forward. His nose brushed against a lock of hair at the back of Jimin’s head. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs completely. Peach shampoo, as always. Talk about brand loyalty.
In the next moment, his hands were on Jimin’s waist and then he picked him up, just like that – all of him, in one sweep. Lighter than Jungkook had expected. It had been a while since they’d given each other piggyback rides.
It couldn’t have lasted more than three seconds. Jimin took the vase with both hands and it was time to let go. Instead of putting him down, Jungkook let Jimin’s lithe, toned body simply slide through his hands, maybe a little too slowly. His fingers stretched out across the other boy’s ribcage, feeling each bone beneath the warmness of his bare skin, the fabric of the t-shirt crumpled, hooked on his thumbs.
Smooth, so smooth.
Silken
Soft
sweet
(would it taste sweet?)
Dazed, Jungkook stepped back, unsure if he should apologise. He had stopped short of copping a feel of Jimin’s chest when his friend’s chubby feet touched the ground.
It wasn’t what he’d meant to do. It was just curiosity, to see if he was strong enough to pick Jimin up, Jungkook tried to convince himself. But if it was an ordinary, everyday thing, why did it feel so unreal, almost like it hadn’t happened?
Jimin turned, cheeks flushed, eyes flicking everywhere but at him. Silence thickened the air. He dragged his fingers through his hair and turned the tap on.
Filling the vase with water, he gently arranged the lilies in it, carefully spreading them around. “They’re so beautiful,” Jimin said in a low, somewhat raspy voice. “What I wouldn’t give to…” He stopped for a heartbeat as if deciding whether to finish the sentence. “...to be given flowers.”
Rage – no, fury – welled in Jungkook’s chest at the sound of his friend’s small, defeated voice. No one deserved to be given flowers more than Jimin. He was good, loyal and true, always there for others, self-deprecating and generous, the best friend anyone could wish for. He wished for flowers, because flowers meant something to those who didn’t receive them, while the ones who did saw them as an empty pseudo-romantic gesture, a worn-out cliché. Having white lilies delivered after a date was a grand afterthought, a public, costly display of “I’m still thinking about you”.
For girls only.
Jungkook almost said it out loud – how unfair it all was – but checked himself, practically just as defeated. His words wouldn’t have made a difference.
He cleared his throat, keeping his head down. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Let’s sit,” Jimin said, pointing at a kitchen table chair. “I received a letter this morning. An invitation to an audition. The Modern Dance programme at the Pusan National University. I didn’t– didn’t even apply. My dance teacher sent them a video, filled out a form in my name. I actually think she forged my signature,” he chuckled uncomfortably. “I guess she wanted to show me I was that good. But now she’s made her point…” He inhaled, folding his hands on his lap. “I think it would be stupid if I didn’t go. But it’s unlikely-”
“You should go,” Jungkook interrupted him.
Jimin raised his head, meeting the other’s eyes for the first time since they’d walked into the kitchen.
“But what about our plan to enlist together?”
“Forget that. This is huge.”
“They won’t accept me–”
“You don’t know that,” Jungkook cut in again. “You can’t know that unless you try.”
“We still have a lot of work to do on the house. I’d have to leave right after your birthday, find myself a place to live, a part-time job…”
“Work on the house?,” Jungkook scoffed. “Are you even listening to yourself? Who cares about the house? I’ll manage just fine on my own. My siblings will help, they’re old enough. I know it sounds cheesy, but you have to follow your dream, even if you fail.”
“Maybe… Maybe you can apply for university too? I know the deadlines for this semester have expired, but many schools take on students in the summer semester too. You’ll get an exception from the military service, and then we’ll go together when we graduate…” Jimin was saying the words, but he didn’t look or sound convinced.
“I don’t know, Jiminah. There aren’t that many things I’m any good at. No one from my family’s ever gone to university. I never gave it serious thought. I thought I might go into construction work once I’m finished…”
Now it was Jimin’s turn to interrupt Jungkook. “Construction work?” His voice was tinged with disappointment. “Don’t sell yourself short, Jungkookah. There are plenty of things you’re good at…”
“Such as?” Jungkook scoffed.
“Sports! You’re really good at boxing, you could be a PE teacher! You’re great with kids, too.”
Jungkook shook his head, smiling. The idea had never occurred to him. “I don’t know, Jiminah. It still takes a lot of studying, exams and what have you… The suspension’s on my record, they’re likely to take someone who doesn’t go around breaking people’s noses…”
They talked on for a while longer, Jimin trying to talk him into giving university a shot and Jungkook thinking of excuses, not trusting himself.
He realised that even if they did study in the same city at the same time, Jimin would find other friends. He would be hanging out with dance students and Jungkook would find athlete friends who weren’t talented enough to go pro, but also not smart enough to study something that had more to do with brains than brawn. They’d try to stay in touch first – quick meals at the mensa, coffees between lectures – but soon reality would bite: they were too different to remain friends forever.
“Let’s talk about that later, hm? Let’s see how your audition goes – one step at a time,” Jungkook said, standing up. “Come on.” He glanced at the door, raking his fingers through his hair. “That concrete won’t mix itself.”
A week later, Jimin went to Busan for the entrance exam. Not only did he get in but with his grade average, he was likely to get a full scholarship. It was arranged for him to leave on 2nd September, right after Jungkook’s 19th birthday party, to try to settle in before lectures started.
They spent late July and early August busying themselves with construction work, digging a cellar and learning how to build heating pipes into walls. Without agreeing upon it, they both chose to ignore the fact of their upcoming separation.
Sometimes, when Jungkook went to bed, waiting to fall asleep, the thoughts of Jimin leaving would come to him. Anxiety made his skin crawl and his palms covered with cold sweat. It was so much more than friends going their separate ways – Jungkook didn’t know himself without Jimin by his side.
Because Jungkook didn’t exist before Jimin.
Terrified, he’d jump out of the bed, get out of the room. Sitting on a cheap garden chair in the middle of the construction site, Jungkook stared at the stars, still unable to see the constellations.
The stars were big and he was small, smaller than a grain of sand on a beach.
His hurt didn’t matter.
In the grand scheme of things, Jungkook thought, nothing really mattered.