Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Jungkook met Jimin in high school and they started dating, everyone agreed they were something special. Not everyone approved, of course, but still, there was just something about those two that made you stop and stare. More than codependency, more than love, just more. It was clear that something flowed between them like electricity, like magic. They were a world of two, and they didn’t need, or want, anyone else. Two halves of a whole, each other’s missing piece. Anyone would have agreed that they were meant to be. And that’s why it was so shocking when it all fell apart.

Let’s start at the beginning, though, it’s nicer there.

They met in high school, as we said before, but they very nearly missed each other. Jimin was a senior, about to turn eighteen, and Jungkook was two years younger. It was the middle of Jimin’s final year when they really got to know each other, though they’d had friends in common and had been in each other’s orbit for some time before that.

It was the school’s Coming Out Day assembly that truly set things in motion. When Jungkook saw Jimin on the panel discussion, the representative gay guy, wearing a ratty rainbow flag T-shirt, blond hair flopping over his dark brown eyes, he was smitten. He had to get to know him, to have him.

Jungkook was precocious and overly confident in his own charms, so it wasn’t too long before he cornered Jimin at lunchtime. Jimin was about to leave campus with some of his friends to get bagels in one of their shitty old cars, but Jungkook stopped him. And with what he hoped was a roguish gleam in his eye, practically demanded that Jimin hang out with him instead.

What he actually said was far rawer, and far more teenage.

“Let’s go make out in the bell tower, okay?”

Jimin looked at the boy before him, pretty in his ripped black jeans, Siouxsie and the Banshees T-shirt, and smeared black eyeliner, and readily agreed. He gestured for his friends to go on without him, and they snickered, making a few obscene gestures as they left. To be fair, Jungkook did have a bit of a reputation. 

For his part, Jimin was always up for a little debauchery, and, to be honest, he’d noticed Jungkook before. To say that their group of friends was a little libertine when it came to romance was quite the understatement. Practically everyone had at least kissed everyone else, boy and girl alike, and their tangled dalliances made them feel rebellious and grown-up. It was kind of the same with drinking, smoking weed and snorting whatever ADHD drugs were available, just ways to push boundaries as far as they could. 

Knowing that, it’s easy to see why it was simple for the younger boy to take the older by the hand and lead him up a neglected staircase to the school’s old bell tower. The school was large, with nearly three thousand students, and it was easy to find somewhere to slip away from the prying eyes of teachers and staff. 

At the top of the tower, they found a small, dusty room with a few smudged windows waiting for them. It felt like a place between places, a liminal space, if you will.

Jungkook pushed Jimin into a sitting position against the wall and climbed into his lap without preamble. Jimin wore light-colored jeans and a tight yellow T-shirt from the seventies, it was printed with a diagram of the nervous system. A chain fastened with a padlock hung around his neck, and silver hoop earrings caught the dull light. He vaguely thought that they looked good together as he pulled Jungkook into his arms and let their mouths crash together without any conversation.

They kissed and kissed, hands wandering, mouths wide open to the other. It felt different to both of them, though neither could name it, just not like nothing. Not like it was with the others. Different from the drunken, half-insane games of spin the bottle, different from making out just for the sake of it.

When the bell rang for the next period, Jimin made a quick decision.

“You wanna cut next period? We could go to the arboretum. Smoke some. Maybe, y’know… um, talk?”

He honestly wasn’t sure why he asked, but it seemed right, so he did. Jungkook, who was up for almost anything, agreed and stood, hoisting his black backpack onto his shoulder. Jimin grabbed his olive green canvas messenger bag and they rushed down the stairs. They were careful not to be seen by the in-house cop, Officer Lance, who had a tendency to hang around at the end of lunch, sniffing the air like a dog and eyeing everyone returning from off-campus activities with suspicion.

Jimin and Jungkook tried to blend into the crowd as they exited the school. They ran across the field surrounding the big brick building, and upon reaching the public street, they were free, at least for the afternoon. Once they were out of sight of the school, they turned to each other and laughed. This time, Jimin grabbed Jungkook’s hand and pulled him down the street.

“Why don’t we hang out more?” he asked, somewhat rhetorically. But Jungkook always had something to come back with, and his reply was all him, sassy and confident.

“Because you were in denial about how much you wanted me, obviously.”

He cocked an eyebrow, pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from his backpack, and lit two, handing one to Jimin in a gesture that was perhaps a little too mature for his sixteen years. Jimin smirked, took the offered cigarette, drew in a deep drag, and played along.

“You’re absolutely right. But now that I’ve realized it, you’d better watch out!”

He growled playfully and grabbed Jungkook around the middle, cigarette dangling from his lips. Jungkook rubbed against him like a cat and licked his lips, looking like he was thinking of something delicious.

They walked on, talking about this and that until they reached the iron gates of the town’s arboretum. It was green and lush, run by the university, with plenty of tall trees and secluded spots, perfect for a midday hangout for two truant pot smoking teenagers.

They found a tucked-away spot by a big elm tree in a little meadow and Jimin rolled a joint. Jungkook lay back and looked up into the branches, sunlight dappling across his face. Then, suddenly, he asked a question. If he came across as quirky or weird, Jimin didn’t let it show. He was already enamored with this slender, mysterious boy, and all of his words felt precious to him somehow.

“Jimin, do you believe in fairies? My dad used to take me here to look for them when I was little and I swear we saw them, too. In the flowers…” He trailed off, running his hands through the grass. Jimin hit the joint and held in the smoke before answering. 

“If you’ve seen them, then I do. Why not? The world’s stranger than we can imagine. I think most people can agree on that, at least.”

Jungkook smiled and sat up and they passed the joint back and forth for a few minutes before Jimin put it out and they lay back on the grass together. They looked up at the blue sky, searching for shapes in the clouds. Jimin saw a dragon and a rooster, Jungkook, an old-fashioned ship and rather predictably, a huge penis. He took that as a sign to reach for Jimin’s but Jimin caught his hand and held it instead. For some reason, he felt like they had all the time in the world.

They talked that afternoon into the evening and discovered that they really did have a lot in common. From old-school science fiction to goth and industrial music, there was plenty to discuss. They even got into some personal family stuff.

Jimin’s father was overbearing and intellectual, and his mother was physically absent but emotionally manipulative. Jungkook, on the other hand, had nearly no supervision due to his parents’ divorce and their new, unconventional relationships. His father was dating a wealthy widow with her own children, and his mother had started seeing a twenty-year-old from the adult literacy program she volunteered at. Jungkook came and went as he pleased, and had been doing so for several years.

Jimin’s family was more involved in his day-to-day life, but he just didn’t seem able to live up to their expectations.

They had pushed Jimin to apply for various college programs, but his heart wasn’t in it. At this point, it looked like he’d be moving to Florida after graduation to live near his mom and stepdad and attend Miami Dade Community College. There was no rhyme or reason to the plan, except for his father’s insistence that he move out in a timely manner. 

Jungkook, for his part, was skipping lots of classes, drinking too much, and relying on fate, and the patron saint of wayward goths, for his future plans. College wasn’t even on the radar yet, and he doubted anyone would bring it up in the next two years. He did want to graduate from high school, but he felt like he had time before he really needed to buckle down. For now, it was music, making out, and reading. Books opened whole new worlds for him, and he definitely craved alternate realities.

Back in the arboretum, dusk fell around them, and the shadows in the trees grew deeper. Jimin pulled Jungkook’s body to him on the grass, and they kissed again, heat and hormones raging through them both.

Eventually, they stood and walked back out through the iron gates, hand in hand. Jimin needed to get home, so Jungkook walked him there. Before slipping off into the night, they looked into each other’s eyes, and an unspoken promise formed between them.

After that day, they were inseparable, at least, they were inseparable when circumstances, substances, or other people weren’t actively trying to tear them apart. But that all comes later, so let’s not worry about it for now.

They started to spend all their free time together, passing artfully folded love notes in the hallways at school and talking on the phone for hours most nights about nothing and everything. Jimin pulled his family’s landline into his room with its long coiled cord and shut the door. Jungkook didn’t have to worry about being out in the open with the cordless phone at his mom’s house, she was rarely home anyway.

Their friends, of course, teased them, but mostly out of jealousy. This kind of sweeping romantic codependency was exactly what all their favorite songs and vampire novels were about, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t like they stopped being part of the group altogether, they just curled mainly into each other.

Jungkook’s good friend Alison was particularly put out. She had spent a few wild nights with Jimin over the years and still had a thing for him, but she mostly kept her meanest feelings to herself. When she did get upset, usually late at night, they would placate her with kisses and shots of chartreuse that they had convinced one of Jimin’s older college friends to buy from the specialty liquor store near campus.

Jimin and Jungkook both got jobs at a local sandwich shop because they were always broke. They delighted in the opportunity to spend even more time together, and in the thrill of making out in the walk-in.

Over the next couple of months, more of their friends got hired, and when the manager was arrested for some petty drug-related offense, Jimin was put in charge of nights and weekends. They really thought of themselves as a tight-knit pirate crew, camaraderie first, romance and debauchery second, sub sandwiches a distant third.

They received some complaints directed to corporate about their lackadaisical customer service and erratic operating hours, but what did they care? They were young, and the future seemed to stretch endlessly before them.

Jimin and Jungkook could, and did, just hold each other for hours. They wrote poetry to each other, signing their names in blood, and visited all the local museums. One of these was ostensibly just for children, and they delighted in the shocked looks their black, ripped clothes and open displays of affection elicited from parents with toddlers.

They fed each other ice cream and shared strawberry sodas with two straws. The red lipstick Jungkook sometimes wore often smudged on Jimin’s lips, his neck, and his jutting collarbones.

Jimin turned eighteen, and his senior year began to come to an anticlimactic end. If he had been able to get his shit together just a little bit, he could have stayed in town and waited for Jungkook, but he just wasn’t that kind of person. Not lazy, exactly, but easily influenced, the type who didn’t really make big decisions on his own. He was a decent student with a vague interest in design, but that was about as far as it went. 

His dad told him he had to get out of the house, and if he wasn’t going to put some effort into college, he’d have to figure something else out. His mom, wealthy and indulgent in the ways that didn’t matter, offered to rent him a studio apartment on posh Key Biscayne and pay for his community college tuition.

There was another reason he chose to leave, or rather, allowed himself to be dragged away. Both of his parents had found out about his intense relationship with Jungkook. Though they didn’t agree on much, they agreed on this one thing. Jungkook was bad news all around and a terrible influence on their son. Too young, too rebellious, too wanton, from too troubled a family. They pressed Jimin to walk away, to start thinking about his real life, the one where he abandoned childish obsessions and dalliances, came to his senses, and made something of himself. Took advantage of his privileged background and made his family proud.

“Just look at your sister”, they said, “already a junior at the University of Michigan, well on her way to law school”. 

And to be clear, it wasn’t necessarily that Jimin was gay. His parents, especially his father and step mom, were very liberal and open minded, thank you very much. Their son’s sexuality was, in fact, a proud talking point among their highly educated friend groups. 

No, it was that Jungkook wasn’t the sort of person they saw Jimin with. Lower-class, trashy even, with parents who hadn’t attended college and tough, street-smart ways. They would never, ever, say this outright, though. Instead, they repeated into Jimin’s ears that Jungkook was too young, that it was inappropriate, and that Jimin would be doing Jungkook a true favor by leaving him behind.

Jungkook did not agree with them one little bit. Yes, he was young, but he was also mature for his age, and he was in love. He was much more of a go-getter than Jimin, but only when it was something he really wanted for himself.

So, while he felt Jimin pulling away from him slightly in the last few months of school, Jungkook only came on stronger. Mix tapes, poems, inscribed novels, kissing, and more than kissing, on rooftops. Roaming hands under blankets at friends’ movie nights. More wine, more promises, more late nights and overnights fueled by orange dexedrine capsules. Wandering through the empty town as if they owned it.

He had absolutely no intention of letting Jimin leave him for good. 

Jimin didn’t want to go either, of course, his mind was only on Jungkook, with hardly a care for the future. He was more than in love, and he knew it. All of his friends knew it too, he was a man obsessed.

But he still couldn’t break free of his lethargy. Not when they gave each other stick-and-poke tattoos of each other’s names one humid night. Not when they snuck into a frat party for free beer and ended up looking so out of place that they bolted out the front door when someone tried to talk to them. Not when they held hands under the counter while taking orders at the sandwich shop.

By this time, Jimin was spending a lot of nights at Jungkook’s mom’s place, further feeding his dad’s opinion that Jungkook’s family was hardly better than trash. Instead of taking any responsibility, they simply blamed the situation on the slutiness and low morals of both Jungkook and his mom, who was more often than not staying at her young boyfriend’s place.

When they weren't staying there, they would sometimes crash at a friend’s house, paying their way in weed and the occasional lewd act. Jimin’s parents looked the other way, first, because he was technically an adult, and second, because they knew this wild living had an expiration date. Jimin was set to move to Florida on the first of July, and it was already the end of April.

The night before Jimin graduated, he and Jungkook sat on the banks of the river that ran through town, under a romantic stone bridge, drinking chartreuse straight from the bottle. The thick, herby green liquor burned their throats as they gulped it down without a chaser. Jungkook had a lot to say but struggled to form sentences because of the booze, his inexperience, and the deep well of emotion he felt. He sprawled in Jimin’s lap as he spoke, his voice low and a little slurred.

“You’re everything to me, I can’t live without you, don’t go, I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Tears slipped down his cheeks, smearing his black eyeliner. Jimin smoothed back his bangs but didn’t answer right away. He was conflicted. His parents had gotten into his head, and now he was unsure of something he had been so sure of. He kept petting Jungkook’s hair and bent down to lick up his tears.

“Shhhh,” he murmured. “I’ll write to you and call you every day. I love you so much. I’d die for you.”

Even as he said it, he wasn’t sure how much of it he meant. He felt wishy-washy and weak, a mama’s boy. What was he even good for? Dragging Jungkook down with him? Jungkook was young, bright, and talented, if a bit of a delinquent. And what was he? Did he even know? Jimin shook his head slowly and pulled his jean jacket tighter around his shoulders, even though it wasn’t cold.

They sat like that for a while, quiet and still, until Jungkook fell asleep. Jimin noticed some bright green drool in the corner of his mouth, that his lips were relaxed and pretty, and that his face looked heartbreakingly young. 

They had their first fight in the middle of June, about two weeks before Jimin was set to leave. Jungkook was in his room, pleading with him not to go as usual. Jimin sighed. 

“We’ve been through this, baby. I have to go. We’ll be fine. I’ll write everyday, maybe twice a day and… and I’ll figure out a way to come back. You’ll graduate soon, we’ll run away together… you’ll see...” But as Jimin put a few more fantasy novels and some Cure CDs  in the box he was packing he looked up at Jungkook and trailed off. Jungkook clearly wasn’t buying it, and if he was honest, he wasn’t sure his conviction was there either. His love for Jungkook was certainly real, but could he convince himself to be brave, to actually do something about it? He wasn’t quite sure, and everything felt so confusing. 

To Jimin’s alarm, Jungkook’s face darkened then in a way he hadn’t seen before. He looked closed off and furious. When he spoke, it was with a raised voice, pitched high, throwing words at him like rocks.

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself and your rich, perfect family. You were just using me to get through your last year in this shitty town. You’re lazy and selfish and you don’t love me at all! I need you, and you can just throw me away like I’m nothing. It’s so easy for you.”

Jungkook’s voice grew louder, and Jimin started to panic. His dad was home, riding his ancient exercise bike in the basement, and Jimin definitely didn’t want him to hear this. So, to his chagrin and shame, he responded in probably the least compassionate way possible, not that he meant to, not that he ever meant anything, apparently.

“Jungkook, please be quiet! My dad’s going to hear you!”

Jungkook just looked back at him with wide eyes like those of a wounded animal and let out a single muffled sob before picking up his bag and backing out of the room. After a moment, Jimin came to his senses and bolted after him, but it was too late. Jungkook was quick, and he’d taken his hurt feelings and ran.

Chapter Text

They made up the next day, Jimin showing up at Jungkook’s house with a bottle of wine he’d stolen from his dad. They went to a spot they knew on a pretty much unused railroad bridge and drank it quickly, gulping the Bordeaux straight from the bottle, tasting it again on each other’s tongues.

Jungkook cried again, and Jimin felt awful. He hated that he was leaving soon, hated that tension and sadness had crept into something he wished he’d been better at protecting.

A thought vaguely crossed his mind as he leaned against the graffitied concrete, Jungkook curled up in his lap. He was too young for this. He wasn’t responsible enough. Not for someone’s happiness, for their heart.

But Jungkook was younger, and so fragile sometimes. He needed someone to take care of him, or at the very least care about him. Jimin would keep trying. Even from a thousand miles away. 

♡ 

The day Jimin left, he couldn’t get a hold of Jungkook. They’d been seeing each other every day, and things had seemed pretty much okay, at least from Jimin’s naïve point of view. But his flight was at five p.m., and Jungkook still wasn’t answering his calls. He had to leave for the airport soon.

His older friend Fred was driving him, and though they were already running late, Jimin begged him to stop by Jungkook’s mom’s house. Fred reluctantly agreed, and a few minutes later his 1992 forest-green Subaru pulled into the driveway, stopping beneath the wild pear tree.

“Make it quick,” Fred said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Jimin hurried to the kitchen door and knocked. At first, no one answered. Then, unexpectedly, the door opened and Jungkook’s mom was on the other side of the threshold. Her long, dark hair was wild around her shoulders, her wide eyes startled. She held a large mug in one hand and gripped the doorjamb with the other.

“Hey, Ms. Jeon, I was just, you know, wondering if Jungkook was home?”

Even as he said it, he realized how absurd he sounded, like a character on Lassie or something. Gee, ma’am, can Jungkook come out and play? That’d be swell!

She leveled her gaze at him before answering. “He went out somewhere this morning, around the time I got home. I don’t know where.” Her expression sharpened. “Shouldn’t you know where he is? I thought you two were practically joined at the hip.”

A lick of righteous anger ran through him. Jungkook’s mom had always rubbed him the wrong way. In his opinion, she needed to take better care of her amazing son.

But then a small, cruel voice whispered in his ear. If she took care of him, then why would he need you? It’s better that he’s needy. Better that no one else seems to care.

He shook his head, trying to push the thought away just as Fred honked the horn lightly but insistently, three short taps. Jimin glanced at his black Timex watch and winced. He had to go.

“Well, thanks anyway,” he said to Ms. Jeon, who stood there almost defiantly, and was that a smirk curling one side of her mouth? “Just tell him I came by, okay? Tell him I’ll call when I get there.”

He suddenly wished he’d written a note, but it was too late. He didn’t have paper or a pen handy, his flight was coming up fast, and honestly, he wasn’t sure she’d deliver it anyway.

“I’ll tell him if I see him,” Jungkook’s mother said, tossing a “Bye, now!” over her shoulder as she enthusiastically shut the door in his face.

Goddammit. Jimin felt useless again. Jungkook was clearly avoiding him, his feelings about the move still raw. Optimism about the future had never been Jungkook’s strong suit. 

Jimin would try to call him later and reassure him again and write a letter too, as soon as he could. For now, he headed back to Fred’s shitty car and climbed in. His flight left in an hour and forty minutes, and they really had to get moving.

♡ 

Meanwhile, Jungkook was wandering through town, moving from one hidden place to another, nursing a shoplifted pint of whiskey. He had wanted to hurt Jimin’s feelings by disappearing, by not giving him a chance to say goodbye, even though he was sure Jimin’s disappointment could never compare to the anguish he felt at being left behind.

Jimin was his lover, his best friend, his family. Without him, Jungkook felt he would be utterly and hopelessly alone.

He was angry, too. Jimin had listened to his parents, let them convince him that Jungkook was worthless, not valuable enough to hold on to. Just a stepping stone to use and then leave behind.

So he walked around getting drunk. From the old cemetery by the Liberal Arts building on campus, to the huge used bookstore with shelves so tall and labyrinthine you could get lost in them, and finally to West Park, a tiny patch of trees and grass near his house. Nobody really went there, and his solitude was almost guaranteed.

He lay down against the roots of an old oak tree, finished the dregs of his Jim Beam, and stared up at the sky through the leaves until it went dark. No one was looking for him now.

♡ 

Jimin got to the airport and caught his flight on time. He wasn’t cheerful, and he was worried about Jungkook. The younger boy was prone to wild, dramatic behavior, and Jimin knew how much he was hurting. He wished he were braver. He wished he were free. He wished his mind would help him lay out a clear, correct path instead of handing him this gray, tangled knot.

He couldn’t seem to tease out the ends, couldn’t make sense of anything. By the time he reached Florida, he was coasting on some kind of good-boy autopilot.

His stepdad, Chuck, met him at the airport, and they talked about the weather, which was slightly cooler than usual. Jimin smiled and said the flight was good, that he was excited to see his mom and start his new life down here. Chuck grinned under his mustache, probably feeling like a savior to this skinny gay teenager dressed in black, about to give him a brand-new future in the Sunshine State. A future with a swimming pool, money, polo shirts, and without anything, or anyone, to drag him down.

Jimin felt ashamed and stared out the window at the palm trees whipping past.

♡ 

They arrived at his mother’s house after crossing the long causeway to Key Biscayne, an exclusive suburb of Miami. She was waiting for them in the kitchen, drinking a glass of chardonnay, a little black poodle named Simba frolicking around her feet. She wore pink sandals, pastel shorts, and a matching blouse.

When Jimin saw her, he smiled, but his attention was really on the dog. Simba was nearly ten years old now, and he’d once been Jimin’s. Jimin had picked him out of a litter their neighbor was selling when he was ten. For a year, they’d been inseparable, a boy and his dog, exactly as it should be. Jimin checked training books out from the library and taught Simba to sit, stay, and shake hands.

And then everything fell apart.

The divorce came suddenly, or at least it felt that way to the kids. His mom revealed her long-standing relationship with Chuck, a man she’d met at a real estate conference, and before long she was gone, off to Florida without a backward glance at Jimin or his sister. His dad refused to keep Simba, and since his mom had been the one to push for the dog in the first place, she took him when she left.

Jimin was left with a syrupy promise of plenty of visits. And that was it. He didn’t have a mom or a dog anymore. 

They had visited Florida, of course, but not as often as one might have thought. His mom and Chuck were frequent travelers who loved cruises, and they were often away during the kids’ breaks when they were young. By the time Jimin and his sister were in their mid-teens, they had their own interests and summer camps to attend, and visiting Florida fell quietly by the wayside. They ended up going maybe once a year, for a week or two at best.

It wasn’t surprising, then, that when Jimin saw the little dog, it was like a piece of his heart had been returned to him. He dropped to the kitchen floor, under his mother’s bewildered and slightly disapproving stare, and let Simba lick his face for as long as he wanted.

♡ 

That evening, after dinner, in the all-pink guest room, Jimin wrote a letter to Jungkook. It was four pages long, his small handwriting covering every inch of the paper. He told him how much he missed him already, how he loved him, how he’d die for him. In the margins, he transcribed Cure and Bauhaus lyrics, and on the last page he simply wrote Jungkook’s name over and over again, Jungkook Jeon a hundred times or more, taking up space, taking up black ink, taking up all of his thoughts.

He thought about Jungkook until tears began to spill down his cheeks, and he let them fall onto the letter too. Then he folded it carefully, slid it into an envelope, and addressed it. That night, he slept fitfully with it tucked beneath his pillow.

Around 2:30am he snuck to the kitchen and swiped the first bottle he saw. He drank himself to sleep on the thick, sweet, sticky amaretto and woke up to the bright sunshine streaming through his window with a headache that felt like a punishment for all of his many failings. 

♡ 

Jungkook got the letter a few days later. He read it and cried. He ran his hands over every word and pressed his lips to the paper. He felt a little bit better, a tiny bit less lonely. 

He even walked to the post office and mailed the letters he’d been writing. He’d been putting pen to paper every day, but had waited to send them, needing to know first that he hadn’t been completely forgotten. His letters were much like Jimin’s, filled with elaborate declarations of love, loyalty, and devotion. And because Jungkook loved to draw, he added some sketches of the two of them, some sweet, some with slightly lewd themes that he hoped would be suitably appreciated. 

Now that his hopes were even just a little bit revived, Jungkook’s next goal was figuring out a way to see Jimin, to visit Florida and see what he was up against. He needed to get him back. The sooner, the better.

After sending the letters, he went back to his mom’s house to change clothes and decided to try calling Jimin. As he dialed the number on their portable phone, he knew he’d probably get in trouble for the long-distance bill, but he didn’t care. He just needed to hear his voice.

Jimin had said in his letter that he’d be moving into his own place the following week, so Jungkook dialed the number for his mom’s house, hoping that by some miracle Jimin would pick up. Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.

“Hello,” said a deep masculine voice on the phone. Jungkook decided instantly that he sounded like an asshole, terse and judgmental, all in that one word.

“Hi there, is Jimin available?” Jungkook asked, trying to keep a smirk out of his words, lowering his head onto the cluttered desk in his room as he waited for a reply.

“Let me see, son… hmm. I think he’s helping his mother out by the pool. Could I have him call you back?”

Tears began to gather behind Jungkook’s eyes. He did not like feeling shut out and ignored. 

“Actually, it’s kind of an emergency,” he said evenly, trying to keep his voice calm.

A silence on the other end. Then the man cleared his throat.

“Okay, I’ll go get him. May I ask who’s calling?” His words were agreeable enough, but the tone was dismissive, as if he were certain there was nothing important enough to warrant any extra effort on his part.

“It’s Jungkook,” he said shortly, and didn’t elaborate. He heard the thunk of the receiver being set down, then waited.

After what seemed like ages, he heard the receiver being picked up again and then a slight breath as the person on the other end prepared to speak. 

“Is everything…” was all Jimin could get out before he was interrupted by Jungkook. 

“Hi! I just needed to talk to you and he wasn't going to let me and I miss you so much and I got your letter and sent you some too. Tell me you love me, please… please, Jimin.”

♡ 

Jimin paused, phone in hand, and looked up. His mother had come in from outside, supposedly to get a glass of water, but her eyes said otherwise. She was watching him, observing in that cold, assessing way that made him want to hide, to run, to disappear.

It was then that he made another mistake, misprioritized yet again, failed the person he loved. 

“Um… Jungkook… could I call you back? I’m busy right now, but if I call later we can talk longer. I have a calling card, so you won’t have the long distance…”

He trailed off when he realized the line had gone quiet. Jungkook had already hung up.

♡ 

Jimin wasn’t sure how many times his heart could be broken, but he figured it must be a lot. As it stood, at sixteen, it had already happened more times than he could count. He vaguely wondered if all the pieces came back each time, or if he lost something permanently each time it shattered. He hoped not. Because if that was the case, he knew he’d end up with no heart at all before too long. 

He just couldn’t understand. Maybe he was too young to really put himself in Jimin’s shoes, to see where he was coming from or give him the benefit of the doubt. Jungkook didn’t have the same kind of loyalty to his family as Jimin did, and besides, he loved him so much there wasn’t anyone on earth he’d be embarrassed to confess his feelings in front of.

He felt like he was losing Jimin. He couldn’t help it. A thought for how Jimin might have felt in Florida holding the quiet phone in his hand after Jungkook had hung up on him did cross his mind but he tried not to dwell on it. Sometimes it felt like the only way he knew how to react to pain was to cause it. 

He went out that night to a party at a punk house and got drunk on Bacardi 151. He blacked out and managed to find his way to a dirty mattress in his friend Tai’s room. 

When he woke up, he was alone. He couldn’t find his shirt, but there was a dirty black one crumpled on the floor beside the mattress. It smelled like sweat, but it looked like it would fit, so he pulled it over his head anyway.

His bag was luckily within reach and he dug through it until he found a cigarette. He lit it with pale, shaking hands, and took a long drag. The smoke sliced through the fog in his brain, sharp and punishing. Shame rose up in him like bile.

He’d write to Jimin again today and he’d apologize, try to fix things. But he wasn’t going to call. Not while Jimin was still staying with his mom. That much he was certain of.

♡ 

Jimin’s mom really was a busybody of the worst sort. She had watched his entire conversation with Jungkook on the phone, seen his face fall, and inferred the rest. The result was a lecture Jimin most definitely did not want about leaving the past in the past, letting the troubled Jeon boy heal and making sure to focus on himself and his family. 

Jimin felt like someone had punched him in the stomach for the rest of the day. He could have cried at any moment, he knew he’d fucked up, but he didn’t know how to mend things. He questioned himself incessantly. Why couldn’t he just be more honest? Less eager to please? More shameless? More like Jungkook.

He finished helping with the gardening near the pool, and then they went out to dinner at an upscale Cuban restaurant. His mom tried to get him to eat pulled pork and plantains, but he only managed a strong, sweet café Cubano.

When they returned to the house, Jimin decided to go for a walk on the beach. To his dismay, his mom insisted on joining him. He had wanted to clear his head, smoke some cigarettes, and think about Jungkook, but now all three were impossible.

As he walked on the sand, the ocean was beautiful, but listening to his mother plan out a future he didn’t want in minute detail dulled the shine of the setting sun on the water. A black mood settled over him. He wished he were here with Jungkook. They’d sit side by side, staring at the waves, holding hands, their love as vast as the sea itself. He’d kiss Jungkook beneath the moon and the flimsy bits of clouds, and everything would be right again. Order restored to his soul.

In a rare quiet moment, Jimin took a deep breath and looked out to the sea. He made a silent promise to Jungkook, and to himself. He would get back to him as soon as he could, and he would never, ever make him doubt his love again. 

Sadly, promises are often hard to keep, but oh, how he meant it on that hot Florida night, the sound of the ocean and his mother’s vapid rambling threatening to fill every part of him, leaving nothing else.

♡ 

Chapter Text

About two weeks later, Jimin moved into a studio apartment on the other side of the Key from his mother’s big house on the oceanfront. It was brand new and completely sterile, furnished in shades of peach and beige. He hated it on principle, but he was grateful for the privacy. Still, it made the move feel more permanent, like he was getting caught in his family’s web, letting the Florida dreamland pull him further away from the things that were really important.

He’d received a few letters from Jungkook, filled with romantic lyrics and smutty drawings, and had sent some back. But the way they crossed in the mail made their exchange feel disjointed, like they were finding each other’s messages washed up on a distant shore, trying to piece together a conversation from fragments.

Jimin wasn’t doing great overall. He’d always had a complicated relationship with food and his stomach, and stress made it nearly impossible to keep much down. He was already thin, but he was losing more weight.

That first night in the apartment, he made angel hair pasta with butter and Parmesan for dinner, but managed only a few bites before pushing the plate aside.

On the third day, the phone was finally installed, and his mom took him shopping for curtains and sheets. Spending time in the generic mall stores was unbearable when all he wanted to do was go home and try calling Jungkook. Of course, he had no idea when Jungkook might be home, but he was willing to try a hundred times if that’s what it took. He also had a few of their friends’ numbers and planned to try them too. The long-distance bill would be high, but he didn’t care. His mom was paying for it for now, and he’d deal with her complaints when the time came.

Eventually, he returned to the little studio. After fussing with the new black drapes and gray sheets, both of which his mom had clearly disapproved of, she finally left, and he was alone with his new corded beige plastic telephone. Within minutes, he had the receiver in hand, dialing Jungkook’s number from memory.

As the phone rang and rang, he ran a hand through his hair and wished. Jungkook didn’t answer.

He tried a few more times, then called the house where Tai lived, but no luck. Jimin pressed his head into his hands, unsure what to do next. Then, in a burst of restless energy, he grabbed his Discman and left the apartment. He’d walk along the beach to the liquor store and pray they didn’t card him.

♡ 

Jungkook was spiraling without Jimin, though, at the moment, he felt more or less fine about it. He was walking through town with a few friends, Tai among them, passing around a fifth of Jim Beam hidden in someone’s purse. An older guy he didn’t know, a friend of a friend from a neighboring town, had joined them. He was paying Jungkook a lot of attention, asking what kind of music he liked, what he was into, bragging about his band, all the while finding excuses to touch him. A hand grabbing his for emphasis, fingers brushing his hair back, their hands lingering when the guy lit Jungkook’s Lucky Strike for him.

Jungkook wasn’t enjoying or even allowing the attention for its own sake, but for something worse. He liked the sick, hollow pleasure of knowing it would hurt Jimin if he knew, or at least, he desperately hoped it would.

After the disastrous phone call and the confused letters, Jungkook felt completely abandoned. It hurt, really, really bad. He was doing his best to press the feelings down, but there was only so much whiskey he could drink.

The group ended up at a tucked-away park on the edge of downtown, a spot they sometimes frequented. They sat together in the middle of what had once been a soccer field, now overgrown with weeds and pocked with dry patches of grass. There were five of them in total, all dressed in black, hair shaggy, eyes glassy with alcohol.

Jungkook, Tai, a girl from school who went by Raven, her girlfriend Althea, and the older guy, Donovan.

They sat in a rough circle, passing the bottle between them. Donovan sat so close that their knees touched. Jungkook felt dizzy and awful, his stomach heavy. After a while, the others drifted into a conversation about The Smiths, or maybe tattoos, or both, and soon it was just Jungkook staring at Donovan.

“How old are you, anyway?” Jungkook asked, voice slurred just enough to sound more curious than cautious. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted an answer.

“Twenty-four,” Donovan said easily, running a hand up Jungkook’s thigh. “That’s okay, right? You’re not quite jailbait? And, you’re just so pretty, like a doll…”

His hand slid higher as he leaned in for a kiss.

For a split second, Jungkook didn’t move, almost letting it happen. The world tilted and blurred, the alcohol and his anxiety making everything feel far away and unreal. Then, without warning, a sudden wave of nausea hit him, sharp and undeniable, and a single word flashed through his head, bright and blaring. WRONG 

He jerked away, shoving Donovan’s hand off and stumbling to his feet. The others looked up, startled, as he turned and vomited in the grass. When he wiped his mouth and glanced back, their faces were a mix of concern and faint disgust.

He grabbed his backpack, heart pounding, and bolted. He needed to get out, and fast. He hadn’t minded the idea of hurting Jimin, just a little, so he’d be jealous and want to love him even more. But somewhere deep in his messed up foggy mind, he knew he wasn’t trying to actually destroy everything they had. 

He ran until his lungs burned, then slowed to a walk, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. Each drag steadied him a little, though he still buzzed with adrenaline. His mouth was dry and tasted sour.  He wasn’t exactly eager to go home, but after ditching his friends and humiliating himself in front of that creep, there wasn’t much else to do.

By the time he got there, night had settled in and the house was dark. His mom wasn’t home. He let himself in, the sound of his heavy boots thudding against the floor feeling much too loud in the quiet apartment. As soon as he tugged them off, the phone began to ring.

He froze, considering just yanking the cord from the wall, but instead he picked up the receiver and lifted it to his ear.

“Hello…?”

♡ 

When he finally heard Jungkook’s voice on the other end of the line, Jimin let out an audible sigh of relief. He’d tried to call so many times without success that now, hearing him breathe, he barely knew what to say.

“Kook, baby… I miss you. I love you. Are you okay?” he asked softly.

The choked sob that answered him told him everything he needed to know.

With gentle coaxing, Jimin got Jungkook to start talking. Between broken breaths and tears, Jungkook told him about the day, the whiskey, the park, Donovan’s hands. Every word made Jimin’s stomach twist tighter. No one was watching out for Jungkook, no one was protecting him, and it filled Jimin with a furious helplessness. How could they let him fall apart like this? Let some pervert touch him?

The rage he felt then ran so deep and hot he felt like his skin would catch fire. He’d heard stories of spontaneous combustion and now he thought he might have found the cause of it. 

“Jungkook… I need you to stay safe for me. I need you to hold it together. Please. I need you so much. I have to see you. I’m going to get you a ticket, okay? Can you come here? Soon…please?”

He knew he sounded desperate, maybe even unhinged, but he didn’t care. He could make it happen. He still had some money saved up and he got a quarterly allowance from the trust fund his grandparents had set up when he was a baby. His mom and stepdad wouldn’t approve, of course, but what could they really do? He was an adult now. He wasn’t sure what kind of permission Jungkook would need but he felt sure Ms. Jeon wouldn’t care enough to stop him from coming. 

Jungkook’s voice came through soft and wary. “Jimin, I’d love that, it’d save me, but can we really do it? Won’t your mom be mad?”

“I’ll tell her I’m leaving if you can’t come. I’ll tell her I’ll never speak to her again if I have to. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. She still feels guilty about moving here and leaving us. I have some leeway.”

He was talking fast now, almost breathless with hope. If he could just see Jungkook in person, everything would make sense again. Everything would be fixed.

Jungkook, still crying a little, agreed to come if Jimin could manage to plan it. He was desperate, too, and the trip felt like the one thing they both could maybe still hold on to.

“Okay,” Jimin said softly. “I’ll call you so soon. I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll write you tonight and tomorrow and the next day. Listen to the mixtape I made you, the one with all the Cure songs.”

“I will,” Jungkook whispered. “Dream about me tonight, okay? I need to know you’re thinking about me. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.”

When they hung up, Jimin felt light again, almost euphoric with hope. But underneath it, a heaviness lingered, a sinking in his stomach when he thought of the logistics, the scrutiny, the judgment he’d face trying to make it happen.

♡ 

Remarkably, they faced little resistance planning the trip. Jungkook couldn’t help feeling suspicious about how easily Jimin’s mom agreed, like maybe she was trying to use the catch more flies with honey approach, keeping Jimin happy and compliant until his first semester at Dade County Community College started in the fall. Still, cynicism aside, he was beyond excited to see him.

Even his own mother had been strangely cooperative, acting more parental than usual, coordinating with Jimin’s mom, helping book the flight, even covering part of the ticket. Weird.

He was scheduled to leave for Florida in two weeks and stay for ten days. Plenty of time, he thought, to remind Jimin where he really belonged.

He spent the time before the trip mostly alone, still shaken and confused about what had happened with Donovan. The thought of getting drunk and letting something like that happen again made his stomach turn. He wasn’t proud of it, but he knew himself well enough to admit he didn’t have much willpower. Avoiding dangerous situations altogether seemed smarter than hoping he’d make the right decision in the moment.

Besides, he was making a very half-assed attempt not to drink so much anyway.

He spent most of his days thinking instead , wandering through the arboretum and the old cemetery that bordered it. He read Poppy Z. Brite vampire novels and Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories. He wrote long letters to Jimin and drew pictures of the two of them on the beach. In one, they were being menaced by a tentacled sea monster; in another, they were making out. His figure drawing was improving, and he hoped to get into an art elective next year. It would be a small saving grace, since he definitely wasn’t looking forward to his junior year without Jimin by his side.

He listened to lots of tapes on his Walkman,  Placebo, Bauhaus, Marilyn Manson when he felt angry. The days passed slowly, but they passed all the same.

He did see some kids a few times but just to buy and resell some pills. He needed pocket money for the trip. 

Soon, it was the day before his flight. Jungkook was more than ready to see Jimin, but dread lingered beneath the excitement. What if things weren’t the same? What if Jimin seemed more grown up now and treated him like a kid?

And then there was the mother and the stepdad. Part of the arrangement was that Jungkook and Jimin had to sleep at their house instead of Jimin’s apartment, since his mom thought it was “inappropriate” for them to be alone all night, Jungkook was still only sixteen, after all. He couldn’t help wondering why she was so sure the time of day made any difference in how appropriate they’d be. Still, he was more than willing to make the awkward concession since it meant seeing Jimin. 

♡ 

Jimin was manic with excitement the night before Jungkook was due to arrive. He cleaned his little apartment from top to bottom, then stocked up on wine and whiskey at the liquor store that never hassled him. Later, he walked a long stretch of beach, smoking one cigarette after another.

He just wanted things to be the same between them. And he just knew they would be, once he had Jungkook back in his arms. It had only been a little over a month. Things were fine.

He refused to let himself think any farther into the future than the next ten days. When he’d been cleaning, he’d shoved the college catalog that had arrived in the mail deep into a desk drawer, face down.

He slept fitfully, jittery with nerves and the coffee he’d brewed too late in the evening. The next day, his mom arrived at his place around noon, looked around approvingly at the tidied apartment and together they headed to the airport to pick up Jungkook.

At Jimin’s insistence, they parked the car instead of just pulling up to the curb and went inside to meet Jungkook at baggage claim. Jimin carried a bouquet of red roses he’d picked up at the grocery store that morning. He’d chosen them for their bold, romantic blood red color, though he thought the sprigs of baby’s breath tucked between the blooms kind of ruined the effect. He picked it out as they waited, throwing the sprigs in an airport trash can. His mom looked uncomfortable and excused herself to the ladies room. 

He checked his watch again, then looked up just as a rush of passengers came towards him. His eyes swept over Hawaiian shirts, floral sundresses, and the blur of summer travelers until… there. A flash of black caught his attention, a wide-eyed, pretty boy in a worn band tee, frayed hoodie, and heavy boots. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his nose just a little too big for his face. A military surplus backpack hung from one arm, covered in patches, pins, and embroidery.

Jimin’s breath caught. Jungkook looked to him like a glass of ice water in the middle of a vast, dry desert, cool, refreshing and exactly what he needed.

He hurried toward him, and for a heartbeat they simply looked at each other, assessing, making sure they still recognized what they hoped to see in the other’s eyes. Then they fell into an embrace, intense enough to make the month apart feel like years. Jimin held Jungkook as if he’d come back from the dead, and Jungkook clung to him just as tightly.

After a moment, Jungkook drew back slightly, tilting his face up for a kiss. Jimin met his lips, though he did glance around first to make sure his mother wasn’t back from the bathroom yet.

When they finally pulled apart, Jimin took Jungkook’s bag and handed him the roses. Jungkook buried his face in them, then looked up with a shy, uncertain smile that made Jimin’s chest ache. Jimin laced their fingers together and led him toward the exit. His mom had returned and was waiting there and her smile tightened just a bit as they approached. 

She greeted Jungkook, not coldly, exactly, but with a syrupy kind of pity in her voice that set Jimin’s teeth on edge. As they walked to the car, she chattered nonstop about the week’s plans and how much Jungkook would love Florida, assuming he’d never been before. She wasn’t wrong, except for the three days he’d spent at Space Camp in sixth grade on a scholarship, but still. 

Despite her obvious disapproval, Jimin and Jungkook slid into the back seat together and held hands the entire drive back.

♡ 

Jungkook’s head was spinning by the time they pulled up to the big house on the ocean. Everything was enormous and pastel, framed by palm trees that looked too perfect to be real. He had no idea how he was expected to behave here, and even if he did, he wasn’t much good at pretending. So he just had to be himself, shy, awkward, and constantly glancing at Jimin for cues.

The moment they stepped through the pink front door, he was granted a reprieve by Simba bounding toward them. Both boys crouched down to greet the dog, scratching his belly while he wagged his tail furiously, delighted by the attention. Jungkook loved animals and had been looking forward to meeting him, so for a moment at least the knot in his chest loosened a bit.

But soon, they had to stand up and rejoin the world of human adults. Jimin’s mom led them down a long hallway to show Jungkook his room. It was pleasant but bright with baby blue everything and a big window with a view of the swimming pool. Jimin would be staying at the house too, during the visit, though his room seemed unnecessarily far away from his. All told the house had five bedrooms and three bathrooms, which was more space than Jungkook could wrap his head around needing for one small family. 

It was usually just Jimin’s mom and stepdad, Chuck, who lived there, except for the occasional visit from Chuck’s nine-year-old grandson, Charlie. According to Jimin, the boy’s mother, Chuck’s daughter, Elena, was often too busy with her massive cocaine addiction to take care of him. Jungkook had often thought it odd that the most judgmental people frequently had the worst problems right at home in their own families.

♡ 

They ate a late lunch in the sunny, open-plan kitchen before making their excuses as quickly as they could and slipping out of the house. It had been stifling to be so close and yet unable to really touch, to speak freely, to be themselves. Now that they finally could manage some time to themselves, privacy felt like the most urgent thing in the world. 

It was possible to walk down the beach to the part of the Key where Jimin lived, so that’s what they did. At first, they trudged through the sand in their clunky black boots, laughing at how ridiculous they looked, until they finally gave in and took them off. Jungkook, who hadn’t spent much time near the ocean, rolled up his black jeans and darted in and out of the surf, laughing and squealing like a little kid.

Jimin held his boots, watching him, and felt something ease deep inside his chest. He’d worried that he had hurt Jungkook somehow, that loving him so fiercely had only trapped him in sadness and confusion. But seeing him now, radiant and gorgeous, dark hair blown wild by the wind, Jimin felt something like wide open optimism, huge and shiny and impossible to contain. Maybe they really could do anything, as long as they did it together.

When they reached his apartment, Jimin unlocked the door and stepped inside, turning back to let Jungkook in and intending to show him around the small space. He should have known better, though, Jungkook had already slammed the door behind them and was reaching for him with both arms, closing the distance between them in an instant.

The kiss was breathless and desperate, the kind that left no room for thought. Jimin felt Jungkook’s body melt against him, all the tension flowing out of him at once. He held him tighter, dizzy with relief. After everything the last few months had thrown at them he was finally home, exactly where he was meant to be. 

♡ 

Jungkook could have kissed Jimin’s beautiful, full lips forever, but after a while he pulled back, catching his breath and taking a moment to look around. The apartment was still fairly plain, but he noticed the little touches that made it unmistakably Jimin’s. There were stacks of worn sci-fi and fantasy paperbacks on the little dining table by authors like Robert Heinlein and Ursula K. Le Guin. Two big speakers and a stereo flanked the front door, a rack of goth and industrial CDs completing the picture. On the dresser by a mirror, a small dish was overflowing with silver earrings and chains.

He sprawled out on the gray bedspread and briefly imagined he was Jimin and that he lived here in his own little place by the sea. 

Jimin pulled him out of his reverie with the pop of a cork and a grin.

“Wanna drink? I think we need to celebrate.”

Jungkook sat up, quick to agree. “Yeah, we do. What’d you get? I hope it’s sweet.”

Jimin giggled and poured two mismatched mugs of the sweet white wine he knew Jungkook liked. He carried them over, set them on the nightstand, and with another laugh, wrestled Jungkook back onto the bed, playfully pinning his wrists.

“Of course it’s sweet, you goof. It’d take me longer than a month to forget everything about you.”

Jungkook reached for one of the mugs and took a deep swallow. He didn’t know what tomorrow, or even tonight, would bring, but for now he was perfectly content to stay tangled up in bed with Jimin, giggling, whispering, kissing, and drinking wine that was almost as sweet as Kool-Aid.

♡ 

Chapter Text

They got in a bit of trouble that night, showing up two hours late for dinner, slightly tipsy, clothes rumpled, hair pillow-messy and obvious. Jimin’s mom seemed to be trying to grin and bear it, not to make an overt scene, though her real feelings were painfully clear. Jimin did his best to act normal, even cheerful, recounting their walk on the beach and how much Jungkook was enjoying himself.

He worried that Jungkook’s quiet, almost sullen shyness might stir things up, might push the visit off the rails, but he understood how hard social situations like this were for him. Jungkook wasn’t used to hiding anything, he wore his emotions plainly. All that wine hadn’t helped, either, leaving them both with low-grade headaches and blurry minds.

They were sitting at the table, half-heartedly picking at reheated lasagna, when Jimin’s mom made her announcement. Apparently, she’d planned a little road trip to Key West, just her and the boys for a few days.

Jimin was appalled. She made it sound like she simply wanted Jungkook to experience a “real Florida vacation,” but he knew it was a thinly veiled ploy to keep them under her watch for as much of the visit as possible. They’d be leaving the day after next and be gone for three days…three days trapped in a car and hotel room with his mother, three days of no drinking, three days of nothing but stolen touches and hurried whispers.

He wanted to snap, to tell her exactly how he felt, but he didn’t of course, not sure if he was too smart or just not brave enough. Instead, he looked down at the table, afraid to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

♡ 

Jungkook wasn’t surprised by the news of the trip. And though he knew Jimin would assume he was furious, he really wasn’t. He’d always wanted to see Key West, maybe they’d even visit Ernest Hemingway’s house and meet the strange, six-toed cats that lived there. He’d also heard there were a lot of gay people in Key West, something that felt oddly vindicating, though he couldn’t have explained why. He decided he’d talk to Jimin tomorrow and tell him they should just make the best of a fucked-up situation. Try to have fun. 

After some boring TV, sports, the local news, it was time for bed. It wasn’t even that late, but there was nothing else to do in the big, quiet house. Jungkook and Jimin brushed their teeth side by side, kissed briefly in Jungkook’s room, and then separated for the night. They’d slept together so many nights back home that it felt wrong, almost cruel, to be so close now and yet not in each other’s arms.

He couldn’t sleep, of course. His headache and the weight of the bizarre, heavy day kept him awake. Finally, he made up his mind, opened his window, pushed up the screen, and climbed out noiselessly.

He sat by the pool, smoking and listening to the cries of some unseen water bird, thinking about Jimin and Florida and what any of this was supposed to mean. The air was lush and hot, the kind that pressed against your skin. He lit another cigarette and stared out into the tropical dark.

He wondered if anyone would catch him, but decided he didn’t really care, they already thought he was some kind of delinquent, so what would it change? Still, part of him fantasized that Jimin might come out to join him. But he knew that wouldn’t happen. Something about this house, about Jimin’s mother and the strange spell of her world, had a hold on him, one Jungkook could see clearly, but couldn’t begin to understand.

The next morning they woke up early and managed to slip out of the house without much friction. Neither of them had slept well, but they were happy just to be together, walking past palm trees and pink mansions that seemed to shimmer in the morning light.

Jimin took Jungkook to a little diner for breakfast. It was called The Friendly Toast, which made them laugh. They drank black coffee and fed each other pancakes dripping with syrup while the photo-perfect families around them looked on warily. 

Afterward, Jungkook leaned back and asked Jimin to show him something interesting. He liked open-ended invitations like that, tell me something, take me somewhere. When given the chance, people went in all sorts of unexpected directions, and Jungkook always found that fascinating.

Jimin smiled and told him he already had something in mind, something Jungkook would love. They followed a winding walking trail until they reached what looked like an ordinary park; manicured grass, trimmed palms, and a few leafy trees swaying in the soft breeze. Jungkook looked around, puzzled, and Jimin just grinned, took his hand, and tugged him down a gravel path.

“Look there!” Jimin said excitedly, pointing ahead.

At first, Jungkook didn’t see anything, just the bright sprawl of green grass, but then his eyes widened. A huge iguana was just casually strolling across the lawn, its brilliant scales gleaming in the sunlight. It must have been three feet long, its vivid green body almost blending into the grass except for the lazy flick of its long tail.

“Whoa,” Jungkook breathed, his voice full of unchecked  awe. “That’s insane!”

Then he spotted another one, maybe even bigger, basking in the bright sunshine. He stepped closer, slowly and cautiously, not wanting to startle them, but the big lizards didn’t even seem to notice his approach. Jungkook was delighted. The scene felt almost surreal, like something from a dream.

Jimin watched him, clearly pleased with himself. “Just wait until you see the peacocks,” he said with a grin.

♡ 

As promised, they continued walking through the park, where several peacocks strutted about with their jewel-toned tails unfurled. A few peahens also wandered nearby, and they found themselves wondering what would be better, to be flashy and beautiful like the males, or to be desired and wooed like the plainer females. In the end, they decided they’d prefer a perfect combination of both, if it were up to them.

They sat together on a white cast-iron bench by a small pond, holding hands and talking about animals for a while, kicking at the gravel with their boots and sweating through their black T-shirts. Jimin marveled at how easy it was to be with Jungkook, how completely his heart was seized by love whenever they were together. This boy was so precious to him. He reminded himself to remember that, above all else.

Afterward, they walked back to his apartment and spent the rest of the day playing CDs and drinking whiskey. Jimin still had some Ritalin left from an old prescription, so they snorted that alongside the booze and never got too drunk. Instead, they grew giddy and talkative, proclaiming their undying love to each other again and again in the fading Florida afternoon. Jungkook got a wild notion then, to just kiss and nuzzle and lick Jimin’s neck for what felt like forever, refusing to be distracted from his task for fifteen minutes or more. It drove Jimin absolutely insane, and though he loved every second, there was a tenderness in it that made him afraid, afraid that he might lose Jungkook someday, and worse, that he might lose him through some weakness or carelessness of his own.

♡ 

The next morning came quickly, and they woke early in the big house to prepare for the trip down to Key West. They packed their backpacks and drank black coffee in the kitchen before heading out to the car.

Jimin’s mom would be driving most, if not all, of the way, since she didn’t quite trust Jimin’s inexperience and said he could be “a little too easily distracted.” And of course, Jungkook didn’t even have a learner’s permit. At her insistence, Jimin rode in the back seat while Jungkook sat up front, awkwardly leaning toward the door but politely taking the large paper map when she brightly designated him navigator.

She put on her big round sunglasses, buckled up, and they were off. They drove over the Rickenbacker Causeway off Key Biscayne and then merged onto U.S. Route 1, heading south toward the Keys, right at the speed limit, of course, with a quiet classical tape playing steadily through the car’s speakers.

♡ 

They drove for a while, no one talking much. Eventually, Jimin’s mom seemed to feel a need to fill the silence and launched into a barrage of questions, all aimed squarely at Jungkook. How’s your mother? Are you looking forward to junior year? What about college?

Jimin cringed in the back seat, nervously wringing his hands. He could tell how uncomfortable the interrogation was making Jungkook. He answered the questions as best he could but his voice was small and careful and his eyes fixed straight ahead. To someone less sympathetic, his attitude likely  seemed pretty rude. Jimin sighed. He couldn’t stand it. The thought of his mother even silently criticizing Jungkook made his stomach twist, so he started cutting in, answering for him, changing the subject abruptly, doing anything he could to divert the conversation. 

He read billboards aloud about alligator farms and water parks, commented on the clouds, even tried to sound upbeat when she brought up his next school year.

That would be in Miami. Away from Jungkook, presumably.

He chatted on happily about design programs he could enroll in or maybe English literature, until he caught Jungkook gaping at him through the rearview mirror, wide-eyed. Jimin realized he was overdoing it, performing his distraction so well it bordered on seeming real. He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window and shut his mouth.

They kept driving.

♡ 

Jungkook unfolded the unwieldy map and studied it carefully. They were planning to stop in a place called Islamorada, and judging by the signs along Route 1, they were getting close. Despite the barrage of questions and the stiff, awkward atmosphere inside the car, he couldn’t help but feel excited.

He rarely got to go anywhere, his mom had never really been able to afford or prioritize family vacations, and southern Florida already felt like his kind of place. He loved the neon signs, the kitschy roadside attractions, the obvious remnants of generations of people searching for pleasure in this land of ancient swamps and blue water. Alligators and iguanas, mermaids and seashells, daiquiris and bright motels, decay and rebirth, all of it layered together in one strange, dizzying amalgamation on the edge of the endless sea. 

They arrived in Islamorada early that afternoon and found the hotel Jimin’s mom had booked. It had a kind of quaint vintage charm with a salt-weathered wooden front porch, peeling pastel paint and a sign that read The Blue Pelican Motel.

Jungkook was horrified, but not really surprised, to discover that they’d all be sharing one room, with two double beds and a cot. Jimin’s mom could have afforded ten rooms and not even noticed, but apparently, the idea of Jimin and Jungkook sleeping together under her watch was completely out of the question. Jungkook shook his head in frustration but doubled his resolve to enjoy himself regardless.

After they checked in, Jimin’s mother announced that she wanted to rest for a while and urged them to go explore a little. They tried not to look too eager as they left the motel, but Jungkook literally breathed easier once they turned the corner.

They stopped walking at the same time and just looked at each other; big, relieved smiles spreading across their faces as they burst out laughing. The tension of the day seemed to snap all at once, replaced by giddy freedom.

Jungkook grabbed Jimin’s hand and tugged him forward.

“C’mon, let’s go find something cool. We’re finally free!”

He nearly shouted that last part, and when a few tourists turned to look at them, he just laughed harder, pulling Jimin down the street as they broke into a run.

They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the little town, drifting in and out of beachside shops and trying on oversized sunglasses, poking at hermit crabs in their little cages and sharing a single melting vanilla ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles. They made out on the beach, then waded in the surf, jeans getting heavy and wet with sand and sea water. And of course they indulged in some people-watching, observing the families and tourists around them with conspiratorial amusement.

They weren’t mean-spirited by nature, but they had that particular teenage urge to judge, to set themselves apart from what they saw as ordinary. They mocked the khaki-clad vacationers, the preppy couples with matching sunhats, the families with obedient children trudging along with their souvenirs. They railed against the prudish, the average, the gluttonous consumerism of America itself, against commercial music, chain restaurants, and anything that felt too safe, too normal. 

Jungkook saw himself as a free thinker, a libertine, someone unbound by the rules of society. And here in Islamorada, surrounded by everything he swore he’d never become, he felt vindicated.

So they sat together on a boardwalk bench, two pretty boys dressed in black amid a sea of pastels, legs tangled, smirking, licking ice cream off each other’s faces while the sun dipped low over the Gulf.

♡ 

Jimin was so happy wandering the little beach town with Jungkook. It was just another in a long list of moments he wished he could live in forever. But, of course, the afternoon had to come to a close. When dinner time came, they headed back to the motel, where they met his mom. She treated them to conch fritters and key lime pie at a pretty beachfront restaurant at the end of a wooden pier.

After dinner they spent a few more quiet moments alone, sneaking cigarettes in the hotel courtyard, before finally giving in to Jimin’s mom’s insistence that everyone get to bed early so they could start fresh in the morning.

Jimin gladly took the cot and let Jungkook have one of the double beds. Once his mom seemed to be asleep, he got up to use the bathroom, and on the way back pushed the cot a little closer to the bed. It sat lower, and once he was under the covers Jungkook reached his hand down to him. Jimin kissed each of his fingers in turn.

♡ 

The next morning dawned bright and hot, the sun already baking the asphalt of the motel parking lot as they piled back into the car to continue toward Key West. Thankfully, Jimin managed to sit up front this time, giving Jungkook a break in the back seat.

Jungkook leaned his head against the window, watching the scenery change as they drove, strange, lush plants he couldn’t name, big expanses of water on either side of the road and bridges everywhere. It all felt very far from home.

He couldn’t help letting his mind drift to what would happen at the end of the trip. He’d vaguely assumed he could convince Jimin to come back with him right away, but now that he was here he realized that that idea made no sense whatsoever.  Jimin was getting settled in here, he had an apartment, his dog, and a plan to attend college in the fall.

What was there for him to go back to? Jungkook, himself, sure, but beyond that? No job, nowhere to live, and he’d lose his family’s approval, which seemed to be something he valued a lot. Maybe if they made a better plan? It’s not like Jimin couldn’t find a job and a place back home. But… was that even what he wanted anymore? 

Jungkook felt carsick and nauseous all of a sudden and closed his eyes, pushing the thoughts away. 

Their final approach to Key West took place in the middle of a sudden downpour. Sheets of rain blurred the windshield, and the wipers couldn’t keep up. It added a new layer of stress, especially since Jimin’s mom was panicking about driving over the long bridges that connected the Keys.

Neither of them really knew how to calm her down. Jungkook thought Jimin was doing all the right things, his voice steady, telling her to breathe, coaxing her forward, gently suggesting they could pull off to the side if she needed to. But her fear was unshakable until the rain stopped. Jungkook already knew that she was high strung and controlling but he felt that this pointed to some kind of deeper anxiety. 

Jungkook loved Key West the moment the car crossed the Cow Key Channel Bridge and he saw the iconic sign: Welcome to Key West, Southernmost City in the Continental U.S.A. He couldn’t stop gaping out the window as they drove deeper onto the island. Pretty houses in mint green, butter yellow, and coral pink lined the narrow streets, their yards overflowing with palms and bougainvillea. Groups of stray chickens pecked aimlessly in the grass, and when he opened his window a bit, the air smelled faintly of flowers. The light was soft and gold after the rain, and Caribbean music drifted from the wide-open doors of colorful bars. People were beginning to reemerge into the streets, tilting their faces toward the clearing sky.

It reminded him of what he imagined New Orleans would be like, and that city, in his secret heart, was where he truly longed to go. The vivid fecundity of tropical places called to him, fertile enough to be slightly terrifying, life exploding everywhere.

♡ 

Jimin was still slightly on edge after the rain, but he couldn’t deny the beauty and character of the Key. Of course, he longed to be here with just Jungkook, free to be themselves, but he still drank in the view out the window as he helped his mom find their hotel.

They stayed at a small place a few blocks off Duval Street called The Sea Glass Inn, which had the same kind of charming retro atmosphere as their hotel the night before. Once again, they all checked into one room, and Jimin and Jungkook were allowed a little freedom to explore.

They wandered through the warm, salt-scented streets until they found themselves on Duval. The street was a lively party, bass-heavy music spilling out of bars, laughter echoing all around, bright Hawaiian shirts everywhere. It wasn’t exactly their scene, but the energy was electric. When they passed Petronia Street, they realized they’d stumbled into a very gay area. Men strolled hand in hand, some shirtless and very muscular, some kissing in corners, most just drinking and enjoying being themselves in the island sunshine.  

Jimin looked to Jungkook and smiled.

“Y’know, I’ll bet we could get someone to buy us some drinks. Or maybe they wouldn’t card us, it seems cool here. What do you think?”

Jungkook looked skeptical, but Jimin could tell he was intrigued. He knew Jungkook thought he could pull it off, Jimin was handsome and looked older than he was, and his clothes weren’t quite as ripped and frayed as Jungkook’s.

“I mean, they might serve you, but they’ll see I’m a kid right away…” Jungkook trailed off, then grinned. “But fuck it, right? We deserve a drink after that drive. Let’s try it.”

His eyes lit up, big and sparkly and mischievous, the way they did when he was ready to find some fun, or more likely, some trouble. Jimin started to suspect the plan was a bad idea even though it had been his idea in the first place, but now that Jungkook was on board, there was no turning back.

They scoped out a few promising spots, settling on a few smaller, divier-looking bars. After fixing their hair and adjusting their clothes in an attempt to look less like teenage hustlers and more like twenty-something art students on vacation or something, they took deep breaths and steeled themselves for rejection.

They were turned away from the first two places, Jungkook’s wide doe eyes more of a liability than an asset for once. Jimin realized with a pang that Jungkook could probably pass for thirteen more easily than twenty-one. They exchanged a weary sigh but pressed on to the last bar they’d picked.

The bouncer was an older man with a greasy black mustache and dim, wandering eyes. Jungkook gave the man an appraising glance and then, to Jimin’s horror, sauntered right up to him and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, batting his long lashes.

“Is this place any good?” Jungkook asked, voice soft and lilting.

The bouncer flushed, his eyes flicking lower. “You’ll have to see for yourself,” he muttered, waving them in. As they walked past, Jimin caught the man staring at Jungkook’s ass. Gross, he thought, but decided to let it go.

Inside, the bar was dim and smoky, the ceiling plastered with dollar bills and foreign banknotes, old photos of Key West crowding the walls alongside Hemingway quotes and neon beer signs. It felt nostalgic and secretive, like they’d entered a time warp.

They ordered tall bright red hurricanes, and the cute, young bartender didn’t give them any trouble. By the time their first round was gone, they’d forgotten all about the lecherous bouncer and were beginning to enjoy themselves. The second round, whiskey sodas, was acquired easily, and they drank without much regard for the hour or their plans for the rest of the evening. Day-drinking was second nature to them and they’d just worry about it later. 

After a while, Jungkook wandered off to find the bathroom, leaving Jimin at the bar with their half-empty glasses. He was idly spinning his straw when a group of three young men approached, all dressed in black, long-haired, and sharp-featured. They had the air of people who’d been somewhere, musicians, maybe. The one closest to Jimin had ice-blue eyes, soft blonde hair, and a System of a Down T-shirt.

While waiting for his drink, the guy turned all the way towards Jimin and said, “Well, well. What do we have here?”

“Um…hi,” Jimin stammered. “I’m Jimin.” He craned his neck to look for Jungkook but didn’t see him anywhere.

“You’re cute,” the guy said, leaning in. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this? Not too ordinary for you?” His breath smelled like whiskey and clove cigarette smoke. Jimin felt a flicker of apprehension, but also the guilty thrill of being noticed. The guy looked cool, worldly, older.

“Let me buy you a drink?” the stranger asked, placing a hand boldly on Jimin’s thigh.

Jimin knew he should say no. He should get up, find Jungkook, but that’s not what he did.

He smiled and said, “Sure. Whiskey. And what’s your name?” 

The guy’s mouth curved into a grin. “Jet,” he said. “My band’s in town for a show, part of a goth-industrial festival.”

Jimin nodded, feeling the blush creep up his neck. He was impressed. For all he and Jungkook had done, he didn’t often meet people like this, people who carried the shine of the wider world, who were already out there doing the things he dreamed of, touring, traveling, being creative. Jet had that sophisticated look about him.

And for a moment, Jimin let himself be pulled into his gravity. 

♡ 

Jungkook had taken so long because he’d paused to examine a cigarette machine in the hallway by the bathroom. It contained all sorts of exotic offerings, some he’d seen and smoked before, like Nat Sherman Fantasias, the long, elegant cigarettes with gold filters that came in a rainbow of colors, bright red, yellow, green, and pink. Others were new to him, like a black package with a skull in a top hat that read Black Death on the front of the box. He decided that those were right up his alley. He dug in his pockets until he found some cash, fed it into the machine, and pulled the spring handle. The pack thudded down to the shelf at the bottom. When he picked it up and saw they were British, he smiled. That made them even cooler. He couldn’t wait to show Jimin.

He headed back into the main room and made his way to the bar, but stopped short, a little disoriented, when he saw Jimin wasn’t alone where he’d left him. He couldn’t have been gone more than ten minutes or so, yet now three older guys crowded around Jimin, empty shot glasses in front of all of them. One blonde guy in particular was way too close, his arm slung over the short backrest of Jimin’s stool, leaning in to say something close against his ear.

Jungkook froze. Betrayal or jealousy weren’t even the first things he felt. What hit him instead was how right Jimin looked there, with the others, with adults. He looked independent, at ease in his own life, like someone who could fuck whoever he wanted, no parents or curfews to answer to. Like a grown-up. 

Jungkook knew that he was mature for sixteen, had lived more wildly and had more experience than most people twice his age, but suddenly he felt like someone’s little brother, unwelcome but tolerated.

He turned away from the bar and found a door that led out to the courtyard. He opened the cigarettes and bummed a light from a grandpa-aged man with a long white beard. Then he sat in a shadowy corner next to a brick wall covered in flowering vines, smoking silently and staring at his feet, not exactly sure what to do next.

♡

Jimin realized it was growing darker outside when he finally glanced up to see what could be keeping Jungkook. Jet was still talking to him, something about music or bass lines or whatever, but Jimin’s attention had already started to drift. He didn’t want to be rude, and he couldn’t deny he’d been a little entranced by the man’s attention, but he knew he needed to find Jungkook soon. They’d have to get back to the hotel at some point, or his mom would probably call the police to report them missing or something. 

He stood and started to thank Jet for the shots, saying he had to go, but Jet frowned.

“I thought you were gonna hang out,” he said. “Come to our show later.” He slid an arm around Jimin’s waist and tugged him closer. “And after that, I was hoping we could spend some time alone, just the two of us.”

Jimin felt a pull of heat in his stomach at the words, his body already starting to betray his heart. For a split second, he imagined a world where he would just stay, let the evening go wherever it wanted. End up with pretty Jet underneath him, blond hair spread out on an unfamiliar pillow, begging for more… 

He pushed the thought aside roughly and managed to untangle himself, and with an awkward little wave, walked away from the bar, an odd, discordant disappointment rising in his chest, sharp-edged with guilt.

He found Jungkook in the courtyard a few minutes later, smoking a cigarette. As he approached, he could tell something was wrong, though he couldn’t tell exactly what. When he got close enough to see Jungkook’s face, and he didn’t look up to meet his eyes, he figured he likely knew what the problem was. Fuck.

He attempted a normal tone of voice.

“Hey, um… I was looking for you. Why didn’t you come back to the bar? It’s getting late.”

Jungkook didn’t look up or answer at first, and Jimin started to worry he wouldn’t get through to him at all. He couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed at Jungkook’s silence, he knew exactly what kind of thoughts had been running through his own head only a few moments before. He knew that he’d been half-hard at the bar, enjoying Jet’s breath on his neck. It wouldn’t be fair of him to act like Jungkook was overreacting.

He did respond though, after a moment. 

“It seemed like you were having a good time with those guys, so I just… came out here. To give you some space.”

Oh no. It was worse than he’d thought. Jungkook didn’t sound angry, just coldly resigned and so sad it made Jimin’s heart ache. 

Chapter Text

That night, the same old cycle repeated itself once more. Jimin begged Jungkook to forgive him, and Jungkook stayed silent for a long time before finally giving in to his pleas. Once again, alcohol had made everything foggy and uncertain. Guilt made Jimin’s heart heavy. He wanted another drink, a whole fifth of whiskey, if he was honest. Anything that would make him feel like a better person, even for a while. Anything that would help him feel free.

They endured a dinner of room-service hamburgers under his mother’s silent judgment, then passed out in their separate beds, the oblivion of sleep feeling more like a wet grave than any kind of escape.

The next morning they were up early, and the three of them went sightseeing. Though you wouldn’t have known it from the outside, Jimin could tell Jungkook enjoyed seeing Ernest Hemingway’s house, especially when they spotted a few of the famous polydactyl cats. Jimin loved the story about the sea captain who gave Hemingway the very first one, a white female named Snow White.

Still, a slight disconnect lingered between them all day, and when Jimin saw a flyer for the festival that Jet had performed at the night before, he cringed. Jungkook looked so young and innocent in the bright sunlight of the Key. His oversized cut-off black denim shorts and shredded t-shirt gave him the impression of some kind of modern-day little match girl, or a member of Fagin’s gang from Oliver Twist.

Jimin tried to enjoy the trip, but what he really wanted was time alone with Jungkook. His mom was even more overbearing than usual, constantly chattering and suggesting that Jimin buy souvenirs for Jungkook to take home with him. Jimin ended up getting him one that he’d seemed to have his eye on for some reason, a toy black plastic telescope decorated with a Jolly Roger. He bought it while Jungkook stepped away to get an orange soda from the vending machine, and when Jimin presented it to him, Jungkook’s face lit up. He smiled wide and bright, holding the telescope carefully up to one eye. 

Jimin’s heart swelled. For once, he was grateful for his mother’s suggestion.

They headed back to Key Biscayne the next day, this time driving straight through. In many ways, the little trip had been a success, but mostly it had served its true purpose, keeping the boys away from each other and under an adult’s watchful eye.

Jimin assumed Jungkook had stopped thinking about what had happened in the Duval Street bar and he was glad. But when they got back home, he asked to see what Jungkook had been drawing for the last hour in the back seat.

He was horrified and embarrassed when Jungkook tore the page out of his small sketchbook and handed it to him. It was a perfect likeness of Jet, down to his handsome smirk and angular cheekbones.

Jimin reminded himself that when Jungkook was hurt, the pain didn’t flow out of him easily. It curled and coiled inside him somewhere, growing stronger and heavier by the day.

He took the drawing but didn’t know what Jungkook expected him to do with it. So he just nodded, folded it carefully, and slipped it into the front pocket of his backpack.

♡ 

The day after they got back to Key Biscayne, they decided to take the bus into Miami. Jungkook was excited to go on an adventure without being under the watchful eyes of adults, and Jimin wanted to show him the college he’d be attending in the fall.

Jungkook wasn’t mad at Jimin, not by any means, but the trip to the Keys had left him even less sure of his place. He was feeling needy and clingy, the way he always got when he was afraid. Luckily, Jimin didn’t seem to mind when he practically sat in his lap on the bus, ran his hands under his T-shirt, and whispered soft, breathy sweet and not-so-sweet nothings into his ear, even though people were definitely starting to stare.

In typical fashion, Jungkook decided to stir up a bit of trouble when a group of teenagers boarded the bus, all dressed in black, wearing dog collars and spiked bracelets, their eyes shadowed kohl black.

He let his gaze drift from Jimin to the goth kids, taking them in one by one. They were all pretty, dripping with the kind of dark sensuality he was drawn to like honey.

He noticed Jimin looking too, probably just following his own line of sight, but Jungkook let himself indulge in the small, satisfying flicker of jealousy that rose in his chest. He was always chasing big feelings, even the uncomfortable ones.

Feeling reckless and worked up, he leaned close, lips brushing Jimin’s ear.

“You like them, huh? If I wasn’t here, would you go talk to them? Maybe when I go back home, you can. We could open things up.” His voice dropped lower. “I think it would turn me on if you told me about the things you’d do with them… would you like that? Or would you like me to tell you? Huh?”

He went on to describe a lustily imagined scene between himself and a boy with black curly hair and red plaid pants who was sitting a few rows in front of them.  

Jimin stiffened in more ways than one. It was clear he was struggling between not knowing what Jungkook was trying to get out of him and just being kind of awed and aroused by his filthy mouth. 

Jungkook snuggled in closer, pleased by the reaction, by the way he could make Jimin flustered and unsure. The bus lurched to a stop then, and they stepped out into the heavy Miami heat, blinking in the sunlight as if nothing had happened at all.

Walking around Miami was pretty fun, hardly anyone spoke English, and they drank way too much sweet Cuban coffee. At the college cafeteria they ate toast and plantains, giggling at their poor Spanish.

As they strolled together, a little lost, down a residential street lined with colorful houses, Jimin turned to Jungkook and spoke in a serious tone.

“I’m going to come back home. I’m not going to leave you alone. Just tell me that’s what you want. I don’t want you to think about other people. I don’t want to lose you.” He looked miserable. 

Jungkook looked at him. He was just a touch taller, so he had to duck his head a bit to meet his eyes.

“Really? Are you sure? Of course I want you to come back. It just seems kind of hard, though, with, you know… everything?” He sounded nervous, but his eyes were bright and hopeful.

“I am sure,” Jimin said, “but I don’t know how or when exactly. I think I need to at least try school here first. Keep them happy… or something.”

Jungkook secretly felt that position was a bit wishy washy. But again, he didn’t depend on his family like Jimin did and hadn't come to rely on their money and support. Jungkook’s mom didn’t have any resources or attention to give and his dad might as well live on another planet with his new fancy wife, he hadn’t even seen him in months. Jungkook wanted to reassure him, to tell him it would all work out, but he didn’t exactly believe that either. He didn’t really see how it could with Jimin’s placating attitude. 

He turned to Jimin and smiled softly. “I know we’ll figure it out. I’m not worried.” He was very worried. “Now, let’s try to figure out where we are and then find that record shop you were telling me about.”

Jimin nodded and pulled a tourist map of Miami from his jeans pocket, but it didn’t seem to extend all the way to the neighborhood they’d wandered into. They kept walking, smoking Lucky Strikes along the way, until they made it back onto the map and found what they were looking for.

♡ 

The indie music shop was called Seasick Records, and it was exactly Jimin’s kind of place. They sold both used and new vinyl and CDs, all stacked and shelved in a wild jumble that only the employees could truly navigate. The shop had listening stations with headphones near the front so you could preview an album before committing to it. The walls were covered in decades’ worth of promo posters, framed ticket stubs, and a notable collection of black velvet Elvis paintings.

They spent over an hour sifting through the stacks, listening to the most promising finds and just enjoying the atmosphere. Jimin ended up buying a used copy of Bucketheadland, The Cure’s Paris, and the new System of a Down album.

They exited the cool, dusty shop and stepped into the glaring sunlight once more. Jimin put on a pair of oversized black sunglasses and looked around the street. Jungkook shaded his face with his hand and did the same.

“Look!” Jimin said. “A tattoo shop. It looks cool. Let’s look in the window.”

They crossed the street and found themselves staring into the big, eclectic window of Citrus Industry Tattoo. The display was a mishmash of oddities, taxidermy, flash sheets, bits of sideshow art, and a statue of a giant orange somehow mounted to the ceiling. Just beyond the glass, a client reclined in a chair while a grizzled old biker type in a leather vest and handlebar mustache worked intently on his arm.

They stood there staring for a few moments before Jungkook’s eager, teasing voice broke the silence.

“You should get one!” He raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice. “I dare you.”

Jimin was a little shocked to realize that if he wanted to, he could. He was eighteen now, nothing was stopping him from walking into that shop and asking for a tattoo. He had always wanted them. What’s more, he knew it would impress Jungkook and he liked that.  

“But what would I even get?” he asked thoughtfully. Jungkook looked surprised that he was actually considering it.

“I know!” Jimin dug into the shopping bag and pulled out the Paris album. He pointed to the interlaced curves that spelled out Cure on the cover. “How about this? But maybe… bigger? And red?” He was into the idea now. 

Jungkook grinned. 

“It’s perfect. Let’s go.”

He grabbed Jimin’s arm and pulled him through the glass door of the shop.

♡ 

Jungkook was surprised by how straightforward the whole process was. He’d always thought of tattoos as almost magical in their ability to change someone’s whole personality, completely shift how they are perceived by the world. Like a kind of transformation spell or something. 

But Jimin just went up to the counter, told the bored-looking girl what he wanted, showed her his ID, and filled out a form. Now he was sitting next to Jungkook again on a rust-colored loveseat, waiting to be called to the back. Crazy, Jungkook thought.

Jimin seemed nervous but excited, so Jungkook held his hand, and they talked about where the tattoo should go.

“How about your neck?” Jungkook joked. “Or your butt?” He giggled like a twelve-year-old.

Jimin told him to get a grip, then said he was thinking of his upper arm so he could cover it with a T-shirt if he needed to.

Soon enough, it was Jimin’s turn. They both went to the back, Jungkook trailing behind for moral support and also because he was curious.

The tattoo artist was older than them, of course, but nothing like the biker guy they’d seen in the window. He was youngish, with a tall green mohawk, silver hoop earrings, and full sleeves of all black tattoos, depicting slithering snakes and horror-movie monsters.

Jungkook was in love.

Not romantically, he didn’t want to be with the guy or kiss him or anything like that. He wanted to be him. The artist was so cool, able to present himself exactly how he wanted to the world without giving a fuck, just what Jungkook craved so much. He decided right then that if tattoos could help him achieve that, he was going to get a lot, as soon as he possibly could. His mind raced with possibility as he watched Jimin lean back in the chair. 

What did it take to become whoever it was you wanted to be?

♡ 

The tattoo hurt, but Jimin found that he kind of liked it. His mind cleared of everything except the pain, and it was nice to leave his racing thoughts behind for a while.

It was over much too quickly. The cool tattoo artist wrapped his arm in what looked like plastic wrap, gave him a few aftercare instructions, and Jimin thanked him, left a tip, and followed Jungkook out of the studio.

He had thought he’d feel different with a tattoo, and he did, in a way. More committed somehow, though to what exactly, he wasn’t quite sure. He already wanted more. They both admired the inky letters under the clear bandage once more, then headed back to Key Biscayne.

♡ 

It was mid-afternoon on the last full day of the trip, and Jungkook was sitting at Jimin’s mom’s glass dining room table, feeling like a child as he ate the grilled cheese and tomato soup she’d fixed for him. He sighed, turned the page of his book, Poppy Z. Brite’s Lost Souls, and hoped Jimin would be back soon. 

Apparently, the dentist appointment he’d just left for was so important it couldn’t be rescheduled. His mom had given him a ride, leaving Jungkook alone in the house with Simba.

Jimin’s stepdad seemed to be at work almost all the time, which Jungkook found weird but also fine by him. He had no interest in crossing paths with Chuck, especially without Jimin around. He took his dishes to the sink and wondered what to do next.

He wasn’t sure, so he wandered through the big house aimlessly. Not really snooping, just taking it in. The master bedroom with its huge white-framed bed and fake fern décor. Its en suite bathroom with a whirlpool tub and potpourri that, for some reason, had seashells mixed in. The faucets were all gold. He turned on the sink and let the water run over his hands until it was too hot to stand.

On his way out of the bedroom, he opened a nightstand drawer, vaguely hoping to find something incriminating or at least interesting, but he was disappointed. Just reading glasses, tissues, and a bottle of lavender lotion. It did smell nice, though, and he rubbed some into his hands before leaving the room.

He kept looking into rooms and closets until he reached the bedroom Jimin was using. He went in and sat on the unmade bed, his eyes landing on his open backpack on the floor, spilling out t-shirts and a red bandana. On top of the dresser sat the bottle of Lubriderm the tattoo artist had recommended and beside it a framed photo of Jimin and his sister, both much younger, from before their mother had remarried and moved away. They were dressed in bright Easter clothes, pink and baby blue.

Jungkook wondered, a little cruelly, why Jimin’s mom had spent so much time on their appearance if she’d only planned to leave them behind a few years later. He picked up the photo and pressed a kiss to little Jimin’s forehead. He deserved to have the people he loved stay by his side, then and now.

Jungkook lay back on the bed, nuzzling his face into the sheets, trying to catch Jimin’s scent in the soft fabric.

He thought about Jimin then, Jimin in the past, when they’d been inseparable, and Jimin now, in the uncertain present. His heart ached with the love he felt for him, a love he didn’t have the words to fully express, a love that spilled out everywhere because his skinny body wasn’t nearly big enough to hold it all.

Thinking about Jimin like that made him think about other things, too. He ran his hand down his stomach, undid his fly and reached beneath the waistband of his ripped jeans. 

♡ 

Jimin’s mom had planned for them all to go out for dinner on their last night of the trip, which was how he found himself in the backseat of the car pressed close to Jungkook, heading to some fancy fusion restaurant he’d never been to before. He definitely did not want to go. What he wanted was to steal Jungkook away and spend as much of their last night together as possible, who knew when they’d see each other again? But once again, it seemed like they had no choice but to agree.

They arrived at the restaurant and, even with a reservation, had to wait a few minutes in a small lounge area. Jimin pulled Jungkook off to the side, but before long he heard his mother’s loud voice calling him back over to where she and Chuck stood, drinking chardonnay by the bar.

He turned and started toward them, noticing another couple standing nearby. The woman was blonde and rich-looking, about his mother’s age. The man had a thick mustache, a white suit and a heavy gold chain. His mom beckoned him to come more quickly with an eager wave then introduced her friends, Missy and Ernest Delaray. They apparently belonged to the same country club as her and Chuck and she added that they played tennis together often.  

Jimin gave a weak wave in greeting, and opened his mouth to speak but his mom had already launched into her usual performance, answering their many questions with half-truths and outright lies.

College next year? Yes, the University of Miami.

Studying? Business.

A girlfriend? He’s got his eye on someone special.

Missy giggled and praised him, and Ernest smiled. Jimin’s eyes widened in horror, and he was deeply relieved Jungkook had stayed back from the conversation. He was embarrassed and though he knew his mom cared about appearances and keeping up with her friends, this felt over the top, kind of insane, almost. 

After asking a few perfunctory questions about the Delarays’ kids, they were finally called to their respective tables. Still dazed, Jimin gave a polite wave as the couple walked away. He turned to confront his mom, but she had already shifted her attention to Chuck. When he briefly caught her eye, she gave him a sharp, warning look.

It hurt his feelings more than he cared to admit that in order to be proud of him she had to fake literally everything. 

♡ 

Jungkook felt a shadow creeping over him as they finished dessert at the restaurant. He had shared a strawberry pavlova with Jimin and it was delicious, but suddenly his stomach twisted. An unbidden thought crashed over him. All sorts of things flashed through his mind. Jimin looking up at him sweetly with a dab of whipped cream on his cheek. The cute noise of satisfaction he made when he tasted something delicious. His eagerness to share everything with Jungkook. All of these things, simple, perfect things, were about to be ripped away from him again. The realization made the strawberries turn to ash in his mouth.

He vowed to try and stay strong for the rest of the night, but the misery he’d felt back home without Jimin was just under the surface now, no more Florida vacation days to hold it down.

When they got back to the house, Jimin’s mom argued that they should stay home and get a good night’s rest since they had to leave for the airport at nine the next morning. As she talked, though, Jungkook could already see the air of defeat on her face. He supposed she was thinking something along the lines of you have to pick your battles.

They made a small effort to pack before heading over to Jimin’s apartment, but even that had an ulterior motive. Jungkook had the idea that if Jimin said he was bringing some of his clothes home, he’d have an excuse to take his backpack. And if he brought his backpack, then they could much more easily steal a fancy bottle of Woodford Reserve from Chuck’s liquor cabinet and abscond with it unnoticed. Jimin was completely on board, and the plan went off without a hitch.

Soon the boys were walking along the sand, passing the bottle back and forth and taking long pulls of the good whiskey. Jungkook loved the way the distinctive flask-shaped bottle felt in his hand. He looked out at the ocean and thought of grand adventures in faraway places.

After a while, they decided to stop for a while  on the dark beach. Jimin stroked Jungkook’s hair as he rested his head in his lap, gently untangling snarls as he went. Jungkook felt good, just like a cat. He was at the sweet spot of drunkenness where everything felt better, not worse, and he was doing his best to enjoy it. 

“Mmm, Jimin, that feels so good,” he purred.

Jimin smiled and leaned over to kiss him.

♡ 

Jimin had been naive to think Jungkook could stay as happy and relaxed as he’d been at the beach. By the time they made it back to his apartment, the bottle was almost half gone, and Jungkook’s emotions were starting to run high.

Jimin wasn’t feeling great about everything either, but his unease was quieter, a low-grade dread, a steady, insistent knowledge that nothing could be done. Jungkook, meanwhile, was fiery with rage one moment and limp with sorrow the next. He swung between blaming Jimin, Jimin’s family, his own weaknesses that made him unlovable, and even fate itself for tearing them apart.

Jimin had no idea what to do with him.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He sat down on the side of the bed and pulled Jungkook roughly down into his arms. He squeezed him tight and kissed him so fiercely he couldn’t speak. When their lips finally parted, he whispered directly into his ear, punctuating each word with bites and licks, like an animal claiming something.

“You’re mine. Mine. Mine. Believe me.”

When Jungkook sobbed that Jimin wouldn’t even miss him, that he’d already moved on and left him all alone, Jimin only repeated himself, more harshly this time.

“Mine. Don’t ever forget. I love you. I’d die for you.”

In time, they drank a lot more of the whiskey, cried until their eyes burned, and managed to put on Disintegration by The Cure, humming along blearily to the music.

They pledged their undying love and loyalty over and over. Jimin meant every single word. How could there ever be anyone else?

He looked at Jungkook lying on the bed, softly singing along to Lovesong, tears still streaking his cheeks, eyeliner smeared everywhere. His body looked so delicate and beautiful in his thin black t-shirt; his face was handsome and sweet, his slightly too big nose absolutely adorable, but his mind was what drew Jimin to him the most. He was the smartest person he’d ever met. 

No, there could never be anyone who could compare. He would figure this out.

♡ 

Jungkook woke up hungover, miserable, and embarrassed. He took in the room around him and realized that, for all their intentions, they hadn’t made it back to Jimin’s mom’s house. He was sprawled on Jimin’s bed, the room spinning faintly around him. He glanced at the bedside clock and winced, 8:15.

He looked toward the sound of a door opening and saw Jimin emerge from the bathroom, drying his dripping face with a towel. He looked at Jungkook more fondly than he felt like he deserved and his voice was soft and soothing.

“It’s okay, Kook. I already talked to my mom. She called a bunch of times and woke me up. Not exactly pleased, but what’s she gonna do, right? We do need to get moving, though. How do you feel?”

He sat on the bed and stroked Jungkook’s hair again. Jungkook called on every ounce of strength he had not to start crying.

“I’m okay, I just… I’m gonna miss you. I’ll be okay. Do I have time for a shower? I feel so gross.”

“If you hurry.”

And he did, only standing under the hot water for a fraction of the time he would have liked. Jimin’s soap smelled nice, like sandalwood or something. He even quickly washed his hair.

When he got out, he dried off and dressed in his own jeans and Jimin’s yellow nervous system t-shirt, the one he’d worn the first day they’d really talked. Jimin smiled to see him in the bright color, and they stood side by side at the mirror, making faces at each other.

They made it to the airport on time, though Jungkook secretly wished he’d miss the flight and have to stay longer. Even with all of Jimin’s assurances, he felt unsettled, anxiety creeping through his body like poison.

Jimin insisted on walking him inside the terminal while his mom waited in the car. In front of the bookshop just outside security, they kissed each other breathless. And then it was time to go.

Jungkook hefted his backpack onto the conveyor belt and took one last long look back at Jimin, who stood there looking sad and helpless. He waved and tried to smile.

Chapter Text

The rest of the summer went by in fits and starts, some days rushing past like a swift current, others dragging as though they’d been dipped in molasses. Jungkook’s mood was no more stable. With no real schedule and no one to answer to, he did as he pleased. Sometimes that meant finding people to hang out with, other times he’d brood alone, tucked away by the train tracks or wandering through the university’s art museum. He could relate to all of the images of Jesus on the cross, bleeding and suffering without cause, trying to believe in a greater good.

When he needed money, he sold a little weed or moved some pills around, mostly ritalin or dexedrine, vicodin when he could get it. But he usually kept those for himself. He sometimes worried that he might develop a narcotics problem, become a junkie. His dad had been one, after all, morphine had been his favorite, and Jungkook loved the way those substantial white pills made him feel. Happy, unbothered, optimistic but not manic. Basically perfect.

He’d once smoked what a friend claimed was opium, but he was skeptical, it had really just hit like pot. He vowed to himself that he’d never shoot up or otherwise try heroin, even though it was around quite often. An older guy named Dave, with whom Jungkook had once drunk quarts of sickly sweet Boone’s Farm wine, had died of an overdose a few months back. Jungkook could hardly believe it. He knew he was too young to truly comprehend the enormity of death, and even at the memorial show his friends had held in someone’s basement, it still hadn’t seemed real.

Though he was reckless, Jungkook wasn’t ready to learn what it really meant to die. So he stayed away from the worst drugs as best he could. Luckily, though that’s certainly not the right word, he wasn’t yet aware of the true dangers of alcohol, so he kept drinking with abandon.

He missed Jimin every second of every single day and night, with every bone, every cell and every drop of blood in his body. The only time he wasn’t actively longing for him was when he was good and fucked up, and that was why he got there so often, why he justified all the foggy mornings, sore throats, and stomachaches that came with smoking too many cigarettes and drinking far too much.

He was losing weight rapidly, too, but to him that was nothing but a good thing. He loved the way his thin black T-shirts stretched across his ribs, how his stomach was concave, how his collarbones jutted. He wasn’t the only one who noticed, either, Jungkook had plenty of admirers that summer, both boys and girls.

He wrote to Jimin every day, of course, filling his letters with professions of love, song lyrics, and scattered thoughts. His most recent letter was a single sheet of pink paper that read simply: sometimes I feel like almost everything is heartbreaking. He signed it with an xo, and smeared it red with blood from a nosebleed he’d gotten from snorting dex. 

He switched from Lucky Strikes to Camel Filters because they seemed more grown up and because that’s what all the older punks who hung around downtown smoked. He liked having their brand when they’d bum a cigarette from him. He craved their small smiles of appreciation, like he’d answered a test question right or something. Like they approved of him, even though he was young.

Jimin wrote to him as well, and Jungkook read the letters under the black comforter in his room, the light dim and the air stuffy. Jimin didn’t seem to be doing too well, he didn’t really know anyone and said how lonely he was in every letter. Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t just come home, then. Wasn’t he an adult? Didn’t he have some money? But Jimin was staying the course, agreeing to at least try the community college in the fall.

Jungkook took to writing in his journal a lot, too, recording everything, books he’d read, movies he liked, dreams he’d had. Once, he filled three pages describing a nightmare about a shipwreck. Jimin had been there, too, and they could feel the wooden boards of the ship breaking apart beneath them, could feel the violent salt water pulling them into the sea. It had been so vivid that the relief he felt upon waking washed over him like a wave.

He hadn’t been sleeping much because of all the speed, and it seemed that whenever he did finally pass out, the nightmares came. So he wrote them down and tried to do better, sleep more, smoke less, more wine, fewer drugs. His logic wasn’t perfect, he knew that, but at least he was trying.

He rarely managed to talk to Jimin on the phone, he wasn’t home much, but when he did, the sound of Jimin’s voice was like a balm on his wounded heart. And though he always told himself he wouldn’t let it happen, every conversation eventually turned into him begging Jimin to come back and save him.

He was keeping worse company now, too, transient hippies, drug-addled punks, kids even paler than him with crisscrossing scars up their arms. Most of them were older, and they all seemed to want something from him. He spent a lot of his time sitting in a rundown campus park with them, begging for change, trying to score drugs, or drinking whiskey from the plastic fifths they bought at the low-rent party store on the corner.

When he would clear his head a little, he’d go to the arcade and try to find some of his school friends, Nick and Stella, Sabrina or Jason. They were alternative kids with plenty of their own vices, but compared to his older friends, they seemed like sweet, innocent babies. They drank red wine and peach schnapps, shoplifted eyeliner and Lip Smackers, and loved anything sweet.

A favorite activity was going to Liberty Street Video, where their friend Ben worked, and taking advantage of the seven-for-seven-dollars rental special. They’d grab a couple of normal flicks, like Edward Scissorhands or Godzilla, and then fill out the rest from the adult section in the back, behind a red velvet curtain. They weren’t eighteen, but Ben didn’t give a fuck, so they’d leave with absurd, inappropriate titles, like Let my Puppets Come or Deep Throat. 

They’d go to whoever’s house was empty of adults and pile together on a couch or a bed to watch. They’d press play on the vhs player and laugh and made fun of the movies at first, but eventually someone would end up affected by the lusty images on the screen, and then they’d all be kissing and stroking each other, chasing sensation in a way that felt both oddly innocent yet insanely decadent. Rubbing against each other like cats, licking each other like puppies. 

Jungkook wasn’t exempt, but he tried not to get too into it, just enough body heat to stave off the cold loneliness.

What did Jimin expect? He wasn’t here. He’d left him all alone.

Soon, school began to creep up on him, and Jungkook decided he would try to focus this year. If he was ever going to be any kind of independent, he’d have to at least graduate from high school. Jimin was talking more and more about coming back as time went on, and Jungkook figured that if he focused on school, it might make the time go by faster.

He made those promises to himself, but it wasn’t fall yet, and there was still time to chase oblivion that summer.

Junior year would come and grab him soon enough, no need to chase it.

♡ 

After Jungkook left, Jimin’s summer became day after day of bleak repetition. He didn’t know anyone in Florida, so he filled his days mostly by himself. His mom wanted him to spend more time with the family, but seeing them only stressed him out and made him feel guilty in a way he couldn’t define, so he avoided it. She didn’t give up her plans for him though, stopping by often and encouraging him to get out more, expand his horizons, try and fit in. 

One terrible day, she even signed him up for some kind of networking event for young gay professionals. She picked him up with little warning, forced him into a button-up shirt, and dropped him off in front of a posh event space. He’d already been drinking a little, and his slight buzz only added to the feeling that he was walking through a bad dream.

At the registration table, he was handed a nametag and ushered into a banquet room. Inside, there was a table of food, a bar, and a crowd of blonde, preppy guys in suits. It looked more like a young Republicans meeting than anything else, and he’d headed straight for the bar.

He looked around and wondered if everyone here was actually gay. He couldn’t begin to imagine any pair of these sharply dressed, painfully boring young men kissing, or doing anything else, but he supposed anything was possible. He exchanged stilted small talk with a few of them as they came up to order cocktails and he ended up drinking far too much.

His mom picked him up a few hours later, slurring his words, shirt untucked, and with the cute bartender’s number crumpled on a napkin in his pocket. He could hardly picture the guy’s face later, but he remembered his deep voice, bright blue eyes, and that he’d been funny. Jimin wished they were friends, that he could call him up just to hang out, listen to music, or watch a movie.

He’d always craved companionship and conversation almost more than sex, and now he had neither.

He took to visiting the Friendly Toast diner every day, drinking endless cups of black coffee in the smoking section and writing long letters to Jungkook. His stomach would cramp from the acidic coffee, but he couldn’t think of what else to do. He told Jungkook every detail he could think of, every new song he downloaded from Limewire, every plot point in the fantasy novels he read, the shade of the thick blue eyeliner the waitress wore every day.

After he was done, he’d leave the restaurant and mail his letter at the little post office near the beach. He always kissed the envelope before dropping it into the box, hoping the spirit of his kiss somehow made it back to Jungkook. He missed him in a way that made his muscles ache. He couldn’t explain what the separation was doing to him exactly, but he felt weak a lot of the time, fatigued, sleepy, and listless.

It was all he could do to walk down the beach each day, look at the ocean, and make his way to the grocery store. He wasn’t eating much, but he’d buy pasta and tortillas, black beans, apples, and jalapeños, and try to put something together that felt palatable. He’d eat lunch and try to stretch the hours before he knew he’d end up at the liquor store. He busied himself downloading music, organizing CDs, or rereading Jungkook’s letters, but eventually he’d find himself with a bottle, drinking until he fell asleep.

When his mom saw the full ashtrays and empty liquor bottles, she turned a blind eye. He would have liked a hand up, he thought, but not from her, probably, and it seemed she found it easier to just look away, to pretend it would all sort itself out come fall.

Every time he talked to Jungkook on the phone, he begged him to come back home. He said they could make it work, fix anything if they were together. Jimin believed him and often wondered why he didn’t just leave. It wasn’t healthy for him here, and he knew it. But something like an obsessive sheen had settled over the idea of at least trying to go to college, proving to himself that he’d hate it, throwing it in his family’s faces that it was a bad idea. And he couldn’t do that if he left before the semester even started.

He liked to look at his tattoo and think about when Jungkook had visited. If he looked hard enough, he felt he could still find sweet, vibrant traces of him, on the beach where the waves met the sand, in the park with the huge iguanas he’d marveled at, and indulgently, in his bed late at night when he let his mind run wild with drunken fantasy.

He’d gone over the college catalog, and his mom had helped him sign up for some classes, drafting, English lit, design, and algebra to start. It all sounded incredibly useless and boring to him, but in his heart, he knew it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be there long enough to even take the midterms, in all likelihood. He’d already given up before he’d even started.

It didn’t make him feel good, exactly, but satisfied somehow, like he was just biding his time until he wouldn’t have to be so lonely anymore.

♡ 

Jungkook started his junior year the day after Labor Day. He hadn’t been looking forward to it, but he did have a sort of newfound resolve. He knew he was smart, and he was sick of adults acting like they knew he wasn’t just because of the way he dressed or that he missed classes or assignments sometimes. He felt like he had something to prove.

He’d also grown a bit disillusioned with the burnout lifestyle he’d fallen into over the summer and wanted to distinguish himself from the dirtbag types and stoners he’d spent way too much time with. He’d be seventeen in less than a month, and his approaching adulthood made the wide world seem a little closer to him. He wanted to be ready to meet it when it came, to get out into it and do something, go somewhere. He didn’t want to be a loser.

And he wanted options, to get a job, make plans with Jimin when he came back, to have a future. So he shouldered his well-loved, patch-covered backpack, signed up for as many art classes as possible, and spent extra time on his clothes and eyeliner every morning. If he was going to work hard and be boring for a while, he figured, he could at least look good while he did it.

Jimin seemed happy enough when Jungkook enthused about his new attitude on the phone, but a little annoyed too, like maybe if he wasn’t happy and moving forward, he didn’t want Jungkook to be either. Jungkook put it out of his mind. They’d be back together soon enough. It would all make sense then. 

The first few weeks of school went well. Jungkook liked his classes and found it easy not to drink too much during the week, though he still relied on various kinds of prescription speed. When his heart raced too fast, he’d just take deep breaths and try not to panic, because that only made it worse.

He bought advance tickets for a Placebo concert that wasn’t until mid-November and fantasized that Jimin would be back by then to go with him. He really thought it was only a matter of time before Jimin returned, or at least he hoped so. Things weren’t improving in Florida, and Jungkook was getting worried. He knew how bad isolation was for Jimin, and what lengths he’d go to in order to numb that feeling. Jungkook also knew that when Jimin was upset, he drank whiskey like medicine, shot after burning shot, and night after night, Jungkook knew that couldn’t be good.

♡ 

Jimin started classes at Dade Community College in a bad mood. He was hungover, of course, and the bus had been late, forcing him to practically run to find the right room on time. The commute was long as it was, and if the buses weren’t reliable, he didn’t feel like it was even tenable. He found a seat and tried to catch his breath. 

And, it’s not that he didn’t try. He got the syllabus for that class and all the rest and went to the bookstore to get the required textbooks. In the following days and weeks, he bought drafting pencils and took notes, listened to lectures. None of it felt right though, not real, not something he could sustain or succeed at.

He still didn’t know anyone, and though he exchanged a few friendly smiles with some interesting-looking fellow students, it didn’t seem worth it to engage further. He was in a transitional state, neither here nor there, so unsure of what he should be focusing on that he didn’t really focus on anything at all.

He even began to feel a little resentful toward Jungkook, though he hated himself for it. Jungkook thought it was so easy for him, constantly telling him to just leave if he hated it so much. But he didn’t understand, he couldn’t. His parents had spent so much money and put in so much effort to bring him here, get the apartment, pay for school. He didn’t know how to untangle himself, to say that it wasn’t working out. Jungkook knew what he was supposed to do everyday, didn’t have to agonize and fret constantly. 

Of course, Jimin didn’t really care about anyone’s opinion but Jungkook’s, but it felt so demeaning to ask his parents for help yet again, help getting home, help dropping out of college, help giving up. They already thought he was worthless, he wasn’t eager to prove it.

And of course, they’d pretty much decided it was all Jungkook’s fault, as if he were some kind of gay teenage Lothario who had seduced Jimin away from the correct path his parents had laid out for him. He didn’t want to hear them even say Jungkook’s name, let alone all the awful things they’d say if he went back.

Just thinking about them thinking about him and Jungkook together made him feel dirty and cheap. He hated it. And he knew his lack of ambition and drinking and uncertainty had almost nothing to do with his boyfriend, he’d always been troubled.

He’d never fit into his family the way his sister had, and he’d felt their disapproval since he was little. That feeling of not being good enough had a dual effect, part of him would do anything to make them proud and the other part didn’t give a fuck, because if they already saw him as defective, he may as well not even try.

He felt caged in on all sides. He was drinking whiskey every night and not sleeping well. He was still making it to class, but he could hardly pay attention to anything. He hadn’t turned in any homework or started on the big midterm project for his design class. His mood was failing, and now he wasn’t just restless and homesick, he was actively depressed.

Jungkook was busy with school and wrote a little less frequently. He sounded far away on the phone, like he was on another planet. Jimin was sure he was being forgotten.

It all came crashing down one Friday night when he was supposed to go to his mom’s house for dinner, as had been the routine of the last few weeks. When he didn’t show up at six as planned, or seven or eight, she went over to his apartment and used the spare key to let herself in. She’d found Jimin passed out in vomit-soaked sheets, practically unresponsive.

From what she told him, he knew she’d propped him up so he wouldn’t choke and sat vigil at his bedside until the next afternoon, when he finally stirred. She assured him she would have called an ambulance if he’d gotten worse, but he wasn’t so sure. He thought it was likely she would have been too embarrassed to admit that she had an underage son with alcohol poisoning.

Regardless, he did wake up, and she handed him a glass of tepid water from the kitchen sink. The first thing he said to her, in a raspy, wrecked voice, was, 

“I need to go home.”

And miraculously, that was all it took. The next day, his mother started making arrangements for him to go back to his hometown. He wasn’t sure if she was worried about him and thought it would help to go back, or if she’d finally realized that he was far more trouble than she cared to handle, but either way, he was grateful. His dad even said he could crash in his old room for up to two weeks while he found a place to stay.

He started packing up his things, and he felt better than he had in ages.

The next day, he finally got a hold of Jungkook on the phone. He told him the overview of what had happened but made it sound a little less scary, and then gave him the news that he’d be home by Halloween. 

When he hung up, he stared for a while at a half-packed box of CDs, wondering what the purpose of the last few months had even been.

♡ 

Chapter Text

If he was honest, something about Jimin coming home felt oddly anticlimactic to Jungkook, though he didn’t know exactly why. Maybe he was just ready for them to move forward, start a real life together, and the idea of being back in the same town, following the same routines, walking the same sidewalks again and again, felt sort of dull.

For all that, Jungkook was excited, on tenterhooks, really, from the moment he talked to Jimin on the phone. It was beyond easy to push down any misgivings when he imagined the coming reality of Jimin holding him fast in his arms again. No reason to ever let him go again. 

He hardly thought about the details, at least at first. Where Jimin would live, for example, or how him being in town would affect Jungkook’s newfound focus in school. Those things didn’t seem important, not in the short term or even the long term. His soulmate, his lover, his life was coming back to him, and Jungkook knew that with this much love, they could accomplish anything at all.

♡ 

Jimin got back in late October. It was a chilly day with drizzly rain that felt almost icy, and his plane landed in the morning while Jungkook was still at school. He took an airport shuttle into town and then a taxi to his father’s house. His stepmother, a history professor, was home, unfortunately, working on an academic paper of some kind, and she gave him a judgmental once-over as she let him into the big house he’d grown up in.

He took his stuff to his old room, which had been cleared out and now held nothing but a twin bed, a treadmill, and a few boxes of books. He just sat for a while on the bed, unsure of what to do next. He wanted a cigarette and he wanted a drink. He really wanted to see Jungkook.

He knew what was expected of him and that he wouldn’t be given much leeway or time to get oriented. A job. A place to stay that wasn’t under his father’s roof. Some kind of plan for the future. He felt very tired all of a sudden.

He lay back on the hard mattress and slept for a few hours in his clothes. By the time he woke, it was almost three o’clock. He’d planned to pick Jungkook up at 3:30, so he quickly grabbed his leather motorcycle jacket from the closet, one of the few of his things that had been kept when he’d left for Florida. Its weight was reassuring and he somehow felt more like his old self when he shrugged it on. 

He headed out into the gray streets and lit a cigarette, walking the mile or so to the high school.

When he arrived, he was a bit overwhelmed. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten how big and bustling the school was, how many people came and went from the front doors and the parking lot, but he’d gotten used to a much quieter landscape overall. He had to take a moment to get his bearings before he felt comfortable enough to walk up to the front doors and look for Jungkook.

He felt vaguely creepy being the older guy picking up his high school boyfriend, but he reminded himself that Jungkook was seventeen now and that there wasn’t even two years between them. He squared his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair, looking over the press of teenagers suddenly emerging from the big brick building.

He felt nervous and a bit on edge, but it was a good kind of anxiety, like the way you feel before you get a test back that you know you did well on, or the ache of a little child’s Christmas Eve. 

And then, there in the middle of a group of kids, all in black like him, dripping in lace and chains and makeup, was Jungkook. Jimin stood watching, waiting to be seen and just taking it all in. Jungkook looked a bit taller, thin and pretty,and he was talking animatedly to a short girl in a ruffled dress. After a minute he stopped walking, glanced around and finally caught Jimin’s eyes. The world stopped, just for a second, but Jimin knew it paused, absolutely stopped spinning on its axis, just for them.

Jungkook pushed away from his friends and hurried through the crowd. Jimin stood waiting and then suddenly, magically, perfectly, they were face to face, body to body, soul to soul. Jungkook jumped into his arms and Jimin grabbed him and held him close. Jungkook kissed him on the mouth in front of everybody, and Jimin kissed him back.

For once they simply ignored the pejorative, homophobic shouts of a group of preppy guys dressed in pastel Abercrombie & Fitch polo shirts. Nothing was important but the way their lips met, the solid, skinny warmth of their bodies, and the way Jimin’s unzipped jacket engulfed Jungkook’s narrow frame.

They pulled back from each other after a short eternity and laughed together.

“Hi,” said Jungkook softly.

“Hi,” said Jimin, matching his tone.

The sky was gray and cold, but fire burned hot between them, and as they walked off hand in hand, it was with every intention of conquering the world with their love.

♡ 

The next couple of weeks were pretty amazing as they built new routines and a kind of life together. They belatedly celebrated Jungkook’s birthday with pink cupcakes and a single candle. They loitered in the indie comic book store in the afternoons and walked in chilly parks, smoking weed and talking for hours. They’d stay up all night in the retro diner near Jungkook’s house, snorting speed in the bathroom, Jimin writing love notes in Jungkook’s journal while Jungkook suffered through geometry problems and American lit essays.

They’d walk back to Jungkook’s empty house in the cold almost-dawn and fall into bed together for the few hours before Jungkook’s first class, too wired and high to sleep or even manage anything more intense than simply cuddling, so they just clung to each other, sharing the same breath. 

They went to a few college parties and got drunk on foamy, cheap keg beer but otherwise didn’t touch liquor at first. Jungkook was painfully aware of what Jimin had been going through in Florida and he didn’t want that demon alcohol following him back here. He promised himself that he’d be the responsible one if he had to be.

Meanwhile, Jimin needed a place to stay, and fast. Luckily, one of their friends told them about a room about to open up in a kind of shitty punk house downtown. It wasn’t anything special, but it was cheap, the location was perfect, and they already knew, and mostly liked, the people living there.

Jimin moved in almost exactly two weeks after he got back, narrowly avoiding getting kicked out by his dad yet again. Jungkook helped him organize his books and CDs, set up his speakers, and even haul an armchair they’d found on the curb up the narrow flight of stairs to his room. The place came furnished with a cheap desk, a questionable queen-sized bed, and a few hard-backed chairs. They hung up some posters for ambiance, Kraftwerk and Christian Death. The kitchen and bathroom were shared, but everyone seemed to pitch in with the chores, and they stayed clean enough. It was actually pretty nice.

Jungkook also started encouraging Jimin to get a job; he thought that too much free time might be bad for him, too much space to think himself into trouble. They walked around downtown picking up applications and talking to managers, and after a week or so Jimin was working at a fancy deli selling bagels and baguettes in a little alcove the other employees called the Bread Box. The deli was known to treat its workers well, and there was even lots of room for advancement.

Jimin’s parents seemed to approve, but whenever he spoke to them they just wouldn’t let up about him needing to enroll in some kind of college in the spring. That worried Jungkook, who knew Jimin needed to feel like he was doing well as he was, without a hypothetical future full of pressure and expectations to weigh him down. He urged Jimin to focus on the day-to-day instead and not worry about outside validation. 

School was still going pretty well and Jungkook was trying hard to keep up the momentum. They both got new boots from a brand called New Rock, black leather with silver embellishments and spikes, slight platform soles that made them look even taller. 

One day, Jungkook heard from his friend Kitty that you only had to be sixteen to get piercings in Canada, so he and Jimin convinced her to give them a ride one Sunday when Jungkook was off work. They went with her and two other kids , weird twins named Daniel and Dylan who were the same age as Jungkook and hung around with their group sometimes. They had blonde hair and tan skin offset by bright blue eyes, and while Jungkook wasn’t sure they were truly identical, he was sure they were both really, really hot.

He sat in the middle of the backseat with them on the drive while Kitty drove and Jimin rode shotgun. Jungkook tried hard not to stare too much or fall laughing into either of their laps, especially when he noticed Jimin looking at him nervously in the rearview mirror. Eventually they reached the bridge to the Canadian side, showed the border officers their IDs and birth certificates, and drove over into a whole different country. It wasn’t any of their first times in Canada, of course, but it was still exciting to be young and free. Kitty and the twins had told their parents they were going to the movies at the mall, and no one knew exactly where they were. It was intoxicating. They turned up the radio and craned their necks to take in everything they could through the car windows.

♡ 

Jimin helped Kitty look over the directions they’d printed before leaving. Their destination was a tattoo shop called Miami Moon, just a few miles from the bridge. He was a good navigator, and soon they were pulling into the small gray parking lot. The sky was an unbroken azure above them, the wind sharp and cold as they stepped out of the car. Stretching felt incredible after the long drive, and Jimin lifted his arms over his head, groaning with pleasure.

Jungkook came up behind him and tickled his sides, and they both giggled hysterically as Jimin grabbed his wrists and held him still. The simple exchange sent a warm, buoyant rush through Jimin, stronger than he wanted to admit. He hated how possessive he’d felt in the car, watching Jungkook clearly appreciating Daniel and Dylan in the back seat, enjoying their attention. The heat in Jimin’s blood had surprised him, his defenses had risen high and he’d felt petty and embarrassed somehow, like someone was laughing at him but he wasn’t sure who it was. 

He’d gotten used to imagining Jungkook alone, writing him love letters, waiting for him. But as he’d found out quite clearly since he’d been back, while Jimin had been isolated in Florida, Jungkook’s social life had remained pretty full and active. And, as it always had, their friends’ world thrummed with sexual tension and shameless flirting and was tinged with a kind of effortless, casual lust that seemed woven into every interaction. Jimin told himself he’d have to get used to it again, be cool for fuck’s sake. 

But, he had to admit that the moment Jungkook turned his attention straight back to him, it had felt fantastic, like a hit of a powerful drug. Euphoric, even. 

The pink neon crescent moon and palm tree shaped sign glowed like a beacon as they gathered purses, backpacks, and paperwork before heading inside with only a vague idea of what they were going to ask for.

The shop was small and friendly with a lobby full of flash and a smiling counter girl who greeted them cheerfully. She had long red hair and a classic Canadian accent that made Jimin chuckle under his breath. He wasn’t planning to get anything done, so he hung back and flipped through a thick binder of designs while the others explained what they wanted.

Jungkook went first, practically bouncing, he’d wanted a labret piercing forever. The girl nodded encouragingly and turned to Kitty, who, ever cautious because of her conservative family, asked for a simple cartilage piercing in her left ear. The twins were last. Leaning hard into the glam-rock, baby-doll style they’d been obsessed with lately, they both asked for belly-button piercings. Jimin rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t fall out and skitter across the floor.

The others started filling out paperwork while the employee photocopied their birth certificates and went into the back to alert the piercer.

As Jimin flipped another page in the binder, something caught his eye. It was a medium-sized tattoo, a folded banner over a borderless red square, the words CAN YOU LIVE FOREVER IN HAPPINESS ON EARTH? written in thick, black capital letters. Jimin froze. The design felt retro and clean, like a perfect 1950s screen print, and he couldn’t look away.

Still holding the binder open, he drifted toward the counter. Jungkook shot him a curious look, and Jimin muttered that he just wanted to ask about a tattoo, nothing crazy.

Once everything was photocopied, filled out, filed, and paid for, there were a few quiet minutes while the piercer set up for Jungkook, who would be first. Jimin seized the moment.

He asked the red-haired girl if the artist who drew the piece he liked was in today, and he knew it was unlikely, but was he free? She brightened immediately. Roland was the artist, she said, and he actually didn’t have anything booked until later. Was Jimin interested?

“Yeah, I mean, yes. I am,” Jimin replied quickly, trying to sound like a confident adult. 

“Great! Just fill this out. And what were you thinking for placement?”

He hesitated. He hadn’t gotten that far, he’d just fallen in love with the image. After a moment he gestured to his right forearm. She nodded and jotted it down.

“Okay, ID please. I’ll go chat with Roland. Have a seat and I’ll call you soon.”

Jimin sat beside Jungkook, who’d been staring at him with keen interest.

“Whoa, Jimin! I guess tattoos really are addictive. It’s gonna be so badass!” He paused and then continued in a slightly smaller voice. “Do you think my labret will hurt? I’m scared. Will you hold my hand?”

“Of course, baby,” Jimin said softly, still in shock at his own impulsiveness, but buzzing with excitement at the same time.

Jungkook got called back a moment later, and Jimin followed him into the small studio behind the counter. The piercer was an older woman with a bleached-blonde bob and so many tattoos she reminded Jimin of the illustrated ladies from old sideshow posters. She was kind and gentle, carefully explaining every step of the process. Jimin found himself wishing his own mother were more like her, patient and nurturing, and while he was at it, he wished Jungkook’s mother was, too.

She had Jungkook sit on the edge of a padded table and marked a spot centered beneath his lower lip, right next to the cute mole Jimin had always loved kissing. Then she pulled his lip down with a pair of metal clamps and asked if he was ready. Jungkook nodded.

Jimin held his hand tightly, and on the count of three she pushed a thick needle smoothly through his skin, following it immediately with a stainless-steel stud. It was over in seconds, but Jungkook squeezed the blood out of Jimin’s hand, and his face went a little ashen. The piercer looked concerned, but Jungkook took a couple of deep breaths and looked much better, especially when she handed him a mirror. Jimin saw the satisfied smile spread over his face and felt a warm spark of pride.

Just as they thanked her one last time, a big man with a dark, bushy beard ducked in and told Jimin it was his turn. A flush of nerves ran through him, and Jungkook squeezed his hand again before they were led into a different, equally tiny studio.

Less than an hour later it was done, and Jimin loved it. Roland turned out to be very cool, and he explained that the design had been inspired by vintage religious tracts, which Jimin thought was both super interesting and a bit mysterious.

When they all piled back into the car, everyone was hyped up on adrenaline and not ready for the outing to end. They decided to look for somewhere to eat in the downtown area they’d passed on the way in. Jimin slid into the backseat with the twins, who continuously fussed with their seatbelts, trying not to irritate their new piercings.

♡ 

They spotted a welcoming-looking Polish place on the main street and parked a few blocks away. The area was busy and Christmas decorations had already gone up on the lampposts and in some of the shop windows. They passed a Loonie Shop and browsed the various things you could buy for one Canadian dollar, a neat gold coin featuring a loon. Jungkook loved how everything was in both French and English, it all felt so much more sophisticated than things back in the United States.

When they reached the restaurant, they got a table for five in the smoking section lit Kitty’s fancy Nat Sherman mint cigarettes while they looked over the menu. They ended up ordering pierogis, borscht, and latkes to share, along with a kind of sausage none of them could pronounce and simply pointed out to the waitress. The food was delicious, and they had fun chatting and looking out the big picture window by their table. Jungkook managed to eat, but his lip was sore, and he took it slow.

It looked like people were gathering for something outside, and they decided to check it out once they finished. Jimin had the most Canadian currency left, so he paid the bill, and the rest of them tossed him a few American dollars to cover their shares.

Jungkook was the first to jump up from the table and head outside, the others trailing behind. He felt free and happy. He loved his new piercing, thought Jimin’s tattoo was amazing, and felt a warm fondness toward Kitty and the twins. He was so ready for more freedom than his stifling home town provided, and this little adventure proved it. Just the sight of something unfamiliar, new streets and new faces, opened him up somehow and made his heart and soul feel expansive.

Outside, families with children and groups of people were lined up along the street. Some wore Christmas hats and festive sweaters and some shook jingle bells. Jungkook, feeling bold, asked a group of young women what was happening.

“It’s the Santa Claus Parade!” one of them said enthusiastically.

He thanked her, nodding.

They decided to stay and watch, partially ironically because it was kitschy and old-fashioned, but also because they were only a few years out of childhood themselves, and the idea of Christmas and Santa Claus and a parade still brought a spark of joy and wonder to their hearts, whether they admitted it or not. Jungkook felt excited and kept stepping off the curb to peer down the street. The twins acted like the whole scene wasn’t nearly up to their newly glamorous standards, but they didn’t seem to want to leave. Kitty and Jimin were just happy to be hanging out with their friends on a fine, chilly November evening.

The parade had big horses with ribbons braided into their manes, three high school marching bands, a giant Canadian flag, clowns on rollerblades, Twelve Days of Christmas–themed floats, and actual Mounties, like Dudley Do-Right, the character from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, a television program Jungkook had loved to watch with his dad when he was little.

The drive home was uneventful, and Kitty dropped them off at Jimin’s new place. Jungkook waved goodbye to her and to the pretty brothers, then turned to Jimin, exhausted and, for once, drowsy and ready for sleep.

♡