Archive of Our Own

“Well.” Taehyung sets down a box labelled ‘winter stuff #2’ on the floor. “That’s the last of it.”

Jimin reaches out for a hug, taking in his soon-to-be properly furnished living room. The walls are half-painted lavender and there's bubble wrap sheets scattered every other step, but he thinks it'll be homely enough—give it a week or two, at most.

He thanks Taehyung for helping out, leading him to the door. "You have a class soon, don't you?"

“I do—a prac class on how to recognise curse-bound colds—but I wouldn’t leave you on your own, on moving day,” Taehyung assures, wiggling his toes into his shoes. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, waving it in Jimin’s eyes. “Hoseok is here with your, uh,” he squints at the text, “Your glassware—he says to come downstairs.”

Jimin puts on his slippers and follows him into the lift, finally giggling when he takes note of his friend’s puppy-dog eyes. “I won’t make him carry it up—hitch a ride off him, gosh.”

Taehyung beams brightly, and they make their way through the parking lot to where a grape-toned car awaits. The windows roll down and a sunny smile greets them.

“Jimin!” Hoseok pops the door open and gestures to a box on the passenger seat. Taehyung gladly takes its place once the box is in Jimin’s arms.

“The east side of my uni building, please hyung,” Taehyung begs cutely, and Jimin can see Hoseok’s resolve physically shatter. “They’re conjuring pseudo-familiars for practice diagnoses today! I can’t be late!”

Hoseok agrees immediately, his eyes darting back to Jimin. “Hey, we checked out this place beforehand, and this is a pretty… energy-laden area, or so I hear. So it’ll be safe to pop out a spell every now and then, if you need to practice. But do be careful about—”

“—about magic in broad daylight. I know.”

He sends them off with promises of a housewarming party, and ponders on Hoseok's words. Jimin tries to sort out his thoughts as he heads back up.

Times have progressed, and naturally, magic isn't as frowned upon by non-magical folk, but it is still not a comfortable topic. He hears there is less of a stigma in Seoul, though.

Jimin smiles to himself. Truly, magic isn't even half as scary as people perceive. It's not all cauldrons and brooms like one would think, and spells certainly aren't as sinister or complex as television makes them out to be. In fact, he'd spent the morning murmuring a small healing chant for one of his browned succulents.

Of course, it depends entirely on a Mage's skill and area of expertise. People like Taehyung, who is training to be the magical equivalent of a veterinarian, would have different experiences to a Mage who works in, say, magic infused culinary practices.

This in turn, differs to Jimin, whose natural knack lies in sensing emotions. He used to think it was too intrusive to consider as a gift, but over time, it has taught him to make thoughtful decisions.

And he's excited to see if his new job in Seoul will let him put his gifts to good use.

He is still lost in his thoughts, thinking of new days and possible new friends, when the lift opens with a ‘ding!’. He is prepared to shimmy through the many empty boxes blocking his doorway.

"E-excuse—"

"Holy shit—"

What he isn’t prepared for is the two people waiting to enter the lift right as he is leaving, and being momentarily squished between them and his boxes. This in turn, causes him to lose his footing, hitting his head against the wall before landing on one of the empty boxes, the one in his hands slipping past his hold and tumbling away.

“Shit,” he murmurs, clutching his head and sitting up, watching the box roll off the stairs and onto the next floor. There is a shattering sound—ah, his new glassware. The lift cheerily dings again, doors closing, a short-lived awkward silence lingering over them all. One neighbour scrambles to help him up, and the other goes to retrieve the box, profuse apologies echoing through the air.

(Is it just his imagination that creates this feeling of trepidation, creeping upon him like a bunch of vines?)

“It’s okay,” Jimin assures, gratefully taking the stranger’s hand—elegant, oddly familiar—and helping himself up. “It’s just moving day madness—no harm done.”

His neighbour is silent, but Jimin pushes down his senses that tingle to decipher an emotion. No—he isn't going to snoop into his neighbour's mind on the first day they meet.

“If you... say so. I guess.”

He has to double take. The timbre of the voice, the distinct pattern in his pauses—no, it can’t be. It shouldn’t be.

A flood of memories resurface without permission and Jimin braces himself for the worst, finally braving a look at his neighbour’s face.

His hair dark and tousled, eyes bright and a little alarmed, he’s exactly how Jimin remembers and also starkly not the same. The excitement he'd been feeling prior fizzles out, something uneasy slowly pooling inside him.

(His heartbeat stutters at the charming way his lips part in surprise—oh perhaps, realization?)

“Jeongguk?”

A lighter voice that isn’t his confirms his thoughts as the other neighbour returns with Jimin’s box in her hands. She holds it out to him and Jimin short-circuits for a bit before taking the box back, mumbling out a thanks.

What is going on? Does Jeongguk recognise him too? What the fuck?

He knew the affordable apartment in a magically-content area was too good of a deal to be true. The universe is never that generous.

“Ah, I should get going,” the girl pipes up, before addressing Jimin. “Again, I’m really sorry.”

“I’ll—I’ll drop you off.” Jeongguk slams down on the lift’s button before Jimin can reply and suddenly he feels it in the air—alarm, panic. So Jeongguk does recognise him.

The girl laughs as the doors open and they enter. He can’t help but overhear her say something about staying the night and how, if Jeongguk is this sweet the morning after, she might have to come over more often.

There are certain word choices in that exchange that makes him feel like he’s just invaded a private moment, but there is another feeling in the pit of his stomach—it blooms, thorny and green inside him, more so whenever he recalls Jeongguk’s face.

His toothy smile and pretty hands—

Jimin sighs, heading inside. The little inkling of envy in his gut tries to tell him something he doesn’t want to hear.

He gingerly opens the box, frowning at how only one of four glasses remained intact, the rest a shattered mess.

He isn’t about to let some feelings from high school get to him now.

Taking a deep breath, he picks out the single unbroken glass, and discards everything else—glass, box, and the anxious little bubbles forming in the corners of his mind—into the trash.

It is autumn, and golds and auburns scatter around the schoolyard. The noises blend into one another—jovial chatter, enthusiastic screams from people goofing off, the occasional car driving by beyond their school gates.

They sit on a bench, close enough for knees to touch, pinkies shyly linked. High schoolers, awkward and stupidly in love.

“I like you a lot—a whole lot. More than all the stars in the sky,” one would say, voice fragile—Jimin’s voice.

They’re still sitting, a little closer, a little more comfortable, the school around them morphing into the beiges and blues of a beach. A breeze swirls around them, smelling of caramel and sea-salt.

“I like you, too, hyung—I do—but—”

The breeze hurries into a sharp, whispery wind, the world spinning. They are in a childhood bedroom, there’s a graduation cap in Jimin’s hands, waiting to be placed on his head.

His gaze pans up to the speaker—fluffy bowl-cut hair adorns a blurred face.

“—but I just didn’t know how to tell you—”

Hesitant hugs under a snow-dusted tree, soft stares in a chocolate scented cafe of pastel greens, warm hotteok shared on a cool rooftop—the scenes flip continuously like an uncontrolled kaleidoscope, their voices fading in and out.

“Were you just going to not tell me at all?” Jimin always intejects, at some point in these scrambled scenes. It is always the only dialogue that isn’t half-buried in white noise, always loud and clear. “Do I—this, us—mean that little to you?”

Sneaky hand-holding in the library, a chaste first kiss in a video-game store, the whispering of an incantation to heal pain. Spinning, twirling, changing.

“—we could work something out—”

Spring morning walks to school, gleefully chasing dragonflies in summer evenings, star-gazing on quiet nights.

“—long distance never works, and you know it, hyung! You’ll find someone better than me, prettier, who loves—”

A letter from a renowned Mage society, an invitation for an apprenticeship in Seoul, Jeongguk’s then-small hands clutching it away from Jimin’s eyes.

“—will you not fight for us at all—”

“—breaking up with you, I can’t do this—”

Their voices meld together, as do the surrounding worlds. God, they were so young, so dumb, so blinded by the shimmering violet mist of puppy-love.

“Jeonggu—”

“—gguk.”

Jimin wakes up, the name on his tongue a startled whisper. It’s been a while since he’s had that dream. He glances at his phone.

5:37 AM.

He rubs his eyes, not wanting to go back into slumber. Because that dream was no dream at all, but a messy collage of memories he’d tried to suppress deep down. It has been a few days since he moved in, and his unexpected reunion with Jeongguk. He expected the dream to resurface sooner or later, but he is a little disappointed it didn’t even take a whole week.

It always ends the same. Jimin’s voice fading as he calls out, waking up with a feeling of something missing.

(Just how they had broke things off, before Jeongguk mysteriously disappeared from his life for good. Or so he thought.)

Jimin sighs, slowly navigating to his wardrobe and pawing through his clothes. Maybe a morning run would do him some good. He can get some of his groceries on the way back, if the corner store is open.

Even as he jogs through the neighbourhood, taking in the unfamiliar buildings, trying to commit them to memory, his mind wanders back to Jeongguk. They’d broken up, yes, but it was muddled, unresolved—and then he’d never seen Jeongguk around again, couldn’t get in contact with him for two years after that. Yet here he was, the slightest thought of the younger man opening up a treasure chest of repressed feelings.

He shakes his head—not today.

Sweaty but ultimately refreshed, a bag of groceries in one hand, he returns to the apartment complex. He has a few new furniture pieces to assemble today—Hoseok would come over around noon to help—and he will have properly moved in. Then he can finally focus on his new job, and work on avoiding this phantom of his past.

As if by some ironic, malicious cosmic force, he exits the lift and comes face to face with said neighbour. Half of him leans out the door, eyes adorably sleepy, hair disheveled.

(Jimin can feel a tired contentment from his general direction. It makes him look so, so unbearably cuddly.)

It’s only when someone says, ‘Thank you for breakfast!’ that Jimin notices the extra company. A girl is crouched down next to Jeongguk, tying her shoelaces. Jimin becomes hyper aware of the fact that she is, indeed, not the same girl from the previous day.

He tries to ignore the fact that Jeongguk is in what seems to be a pyjama shirt. Or the way the girl glows with a soft satisfaction, the kind you feel after a good night's sleep.

It doesn't prove anything.

"Morning." Jeongguk calls in his direction, as Jimin hurriedly presses in the code for apartment, nodding in reply.

He hears a grateful goodbye, the quiet but unmistakable smack on lips against cheek, and Jeongguk softly telling the girl not to come over so often.

"You make me feel safe," comes the reply. Jimin enters and promptly shuts the door behind him, overwhelmed by the tenderness that sky-rockets around them.

(A billow of craving that rises from within, breaking through the Pandora's Box in the depths of his heart.)

He blinks at the floor, trying to make sense of the situation.

Well. Well. Maybe Jeongguk is more of a casual lover.

(And maybe Jimin isn’t over him, not by a long shot.)

Throughout the rest of the week, Jimin settles in nicely. His house is properly furnished, the lavender paint-job of the living room always soothing at the end of the day. He has the pleasure of working at Smeraldo, a little fragrance boutique co-owned by Hoseok and a man named Seokjin—he’s got that classic Disney prince charm, doused in good-natured humour and an aura of trustworthiness.

They had been thrilled to put Jimin’s natural gift of heightened perception into scents that were enchanted to positively enhance the user’s mood.

“Very subtly, of course,” Hoseok explains, on the day he walks Jimin through the ‘lucky charm eau de toilettes’ section, “Too much magic is too much meddling.”

He wonders if leaving work with a smile on his face was a by-product of exposure to these magic-infused inventions, or just his co-workers’ infectious optimism.

Of course, the routine calmness of his new life isn’t the destiny the universe wants for him. It is the after work experiences that Jimin wishes he could block out.

Usually it is muffled, but the sounds—and the feelings, gosh, so many feelings—still pass through the thin wall from the next apartment into his. Sometimes they’re loud, sounding pained almost, but usually it’s breathy and hurried. But the voices never belong to the same person.

Tonight, someone abruptly yells for Jeongguk.

Jimin sighs, pushing his earbuds as deep as they can go, turning up the volume of his music. He doesn’t need to hear any of what goes on between Jeongguk and his numerous companions.

(Though, admittedly, he’s woken up past midnight to the emission of something dark, something lonely and scared, from behind the wall. That’s when a warmer feeling will hesitantly join, Jeongguk’s gentle voice trying to pacify them, no doubt hugging them.)

((It’s those nights that spark the most curiosity in him, and re-ignite in him a little flame of fondness for Jeongguk.))

He’s working on a new citrusy perfume pairing the next morning over breakfast, when he hears the routine click of apartment 7B’s door.

“Thanks for last night,” comes a voice too deep to be Jeongguk’s, and Jimin tries hard to fight the blush that creeps on his face. Everything he’s heard, everything he’s involuntarily felt—it all feels like a major invasion of privacy, even if he lives next door.

He groans quietly, wishing there was an ‘off’ button on his powers.

He distracts himself for the rest of the day by experimenting with different scents for a new spring mini-collection of candles at the boutique.

“Fresh optimism, budding and tender.” Jimin repeats Seokjin’s instructions to himself, already noting down subtle flowery scents and which complementary spells to incorporate.

He ends up with four different fragrances by the evening, each of them more reminiscent of being young and in love than the last.

The tingly, minty excitement of a first kiss. The floral sweetness of finally holding someone’s hand. The unexpected warmth of bergamot and vanilla, surprisingly homey. A delicate, intricate layering of sandalwood and lilies, tuberose, jasmine—complex and tender, the first realisation of your affections.

(The taste, the smell, his memories of Jeon Jeongguk. The sorrow-tinged land of nostalgia that he wanders after night falls.)

From: tae tae

open up!! we come bearing gifts!!

(Sent: 05:46 PM)

Jimin blinks in surprise at the text, stepping away from the makeshift candle-making workstation at his kitchen table. He opens the door to find Taehyung, Hoseok, Seokjin and another friend named Yoongi, all smiling at him. A small fluffy shape darts out from behind Taehyung, and into his house.

"Yeontan!" Jimin laughs, picking up Taehying's puppy and opening the door wider, "What are you all doing here—it's a weekend, you should be resting—"

"Housewarming!" Taehyung exclaims, holding a wrapped gift to his chest and entering, the others following suit. Seokjin has got a bottle of wine in one hand, winking when Jimin notices.

They all dote on him a little bit, Yoongi and Taehyung marveling at the candles left on the table, and Jimin tries to stop Yeontan from chewing on the cushions on his couch. Seokjin searches through his kitchen cabinets, whining about how Jimin only has one glass, when it happens.

Someone knocks on the door.

There's a spark of hope, excitement, so specifically from Taehyung that Jimin has to eye him for a few seconds, before deciding to trust his friend. Whoever knocked is emanating increasingly more anxious vibes, so Jimin pulls open the door.

Jeongguk stands, a box tucked under one arm, and the other lifted to knock again. His fuzzy beige sweater sleeve clings to his palms, a habit that had caught a younger Jimin's heart in a hold (and apparently still does, according to his quickening pulse).

"Hello," he says unsurely, not making eye contact. This does nothing to hide the faint yearning he exudes, that Jimin tries to ignore.

His hair is neater today, shiny and brown, adding to the whole soft boyfriend aesthetic that he pulls off so well. He has a rough idea of who invited Jeongguk, and why.

“Come in,” Jimin replies promptly, before he starts crying or something. The other hands him the box, before heading off to squeeze in next to Taehyung on the couch. Jimin looks down at the gift.

A yellow sticky-note reads, ‘im sorry i broke the glasses the other day :(‘ in the handwriting that used to present him with confessions of adoration, now stashed away somewhere in a distant crook of his mind. Jimin tries not to stare too much at how smaller letters spell out ‘welcome to the building!’ at the bottom. Instead, he works on pouring scarlet wine into enough glasses for everyone.

“To Jimin!” Hoseok toasts, and they raise their glasses cheerily, despite the obvious tension between Jimin and the newcomer. Seokjin turns out to be a blessing when it comes to icebreakers, and soon there is less discomfort and a lot of poking fun at Jimin’s cookie-shaped couch cushions. Yeontan has found comfort on Jeongguk’s leg, where he relishes the head-scratches and belly-rubs, nearly asleep.

Jimin bites the inside of his cheek, his resolve barely hanging by a thread.

It doesn’t help that whenever their eyes meet, he can feel something bashful and happy blossom from within Jeongguk too.

He doesn’t think much of it when Taehyung asks his opinion of his neighbour, long after everyone leaves.

“He seems nice,” Jimin muses, hoping that his friend doesn’t question him further. Maybe it is the alcohol, or maybe he is sleepy, but when he feels mischief flare up from within Taehyung, he brushes it off as his own imagination.

A month of living in Seoul, and Jimin can definitely count on three things.

One, the 24/7 convenience store down the road always, always saves their last bottle of choco-milk for him. Which he routinely picks up after work, every evening.

Two, Seokjin is not only his boss, but his mentor and dear friend.

Three—there are more nights that Jeongguk spends with another person than alone, in apartment 7B.

It is none of his business but when you’re as prone to grasping onto another’s emotions as Jimin is, it is hard to avoid. Jimin’s not judging him though, he would never.

It’s just—

Between how often his neighbour brings him his mail, and helps him carry his groceries if they cross paths, and straightens out both their shoes in the hallway before leaving for classes in the morning… between all of that, and the hopeful smile he gives Jimin, bunny teeth and all—he might be falling a little.

Free-falling, no parachute to slow him down, into his feelings.

"What?" Jimin hisses into his phone, pouting at his surroundings ever so slightly. He has already paid for a few tickets to the amusement park’s rides, and settled onto a bench with a warm pretzel.

"I'm sorry, Jimin!" Hoseok's voice is crackly over the line, and perhaps a tad too thrilled. "My date and I can't make it today—down with a fever… I should go see if he needs anything. But considering that this was meant to be a double date—"

"—you want me to stay behind for my date," Jimin finishes for him, defeated. "Alright—fine. But what do they look like? This is basically a blind date for me, remember?"

There is a pause on the other end, and Jimin thinks his friend hung up, until he slowly says, "Black t-shirt, long sleeves. Wavy hair—brown."

Which could technically be anybody.

"Thanks," he mumbles as the call ends. Rather than looking for the description he received, Jimin rests his head in his hands, letting his eyes shut. Energy of all kinds pulsate around him, merging into each other, but he has gone on enough blind-dates to know the emotion he is searching for.

That excitement, subdued by an unsureness, sometimes anxious even. Someone on the lookout for something.

But this is an amusement park, with too many feelings all over the place, too many noises from every direction. He opens his eyes with a sigh, mildly tired by that.

"Taehyung's friend?" a familiar voice intrudes his thoughts, and Jimin's eyes widen in shock.

No.

No way.

No, his friends did not.

He meets the gaze of an equally surprised Jeongguk, standing a few feet away from him.

Black long-sleeved t-shirt? Present, baggy and ready to form some sweater paws.

Wavy hair? Mocha brown and wind-swept.

Ridiculously cute, with eyes like the Milky Way? Conveniently left out of the description.

Although there’s apprehension on both ends, Jeongguk strides closer, and slides into the spot next to him.

“I think,” Jeongguk begins, and the nervousness fizzes off him, nearly dizzying Jimin, “I think your friends are trying to set us up.”

Jimin snorts, feigning nonchalance. They’re so close, and Jeongguk smells like summer. “You think?”

The other hums, wringing his hands together. His right hand is tattooed, Jimin observes. He has the strangest urge to kiss the heart on Jeongguk’s knuckle.

“I mean—Taehyung told me he needed an extra for a double date—”

“Taehyung!” Jimin interjects, putting on his best impression of a scandalised celebrity, “So he and Hoseok just ditched us. And to think—I already bought tickets.”

Jeongguk reaches into his pockets, producing an even longer string of tickets. They are both briefly baffled, before bursting into laughter.

“I guess we better put them to use, huh?” he asks absentmindedly, getting to his feet. He hesitates, and Jimin feels a sudden wave of courage radiate off him. Jeongguk stares at him hard, before sticking out a hand. “Shall we?”

Jimin’s eyelashes flutter, stunned. Memories emerge without his permission, heartbeat quickening, and he ponders on it for a good minute. They don’t say anything, but sometimes silence is just as verbal as words.

Can we… try again?

Just as Jeongguk is about to retract his offer, there’s a buzz of adrenaline that twitches in Jimin’s fingers, that pushes him to take the other’s hand.

“I’d love to.”

And so they take a leap of faith, the two of them. Running through a maze of rigged game-stands and tooth-rotting sweet snacks, one nervous heart beating with another.

Until the fiery hue of the sunset, they let go of the past, and decide to hold onto each other.

Just for a while, Jimin thinks, as they step into a passenger car of the Ferris wheel. Just for now, I want to enjoy this.

Jeongguk’s arm goes around him as they take a seat and Jimin has to hold himself back from falling into his old habits—no nuzzling into necks, no kissing cheeks. He rests his head on Jeongguk’s shoulder instead, observing the way the younger’s earrings glisten in the light.

(Three! He has three dangling from one ear and it makes him look absolutely princely.)

“I missed you.”

It is an accidental slip-up, and he can feel Jeongguk tense up before replying with an incredibly soft ‘me, too…’. Their entire ride turns rather bittersweet after that, both of them reminiscing about happier times as they watch the stars beginning to twinkle.

“I can kind of understand though—why you were scared of long distance,” Jimin says, on their way home, cradling the pink pig plushie they had won earlier. Turns out Jeongguk can drive now, and Jimin tries not to let this fact make its way onto the list of things that make the younger more attractive than he needs to be. “I mean, back then I hated you for it, but now that I’m older, I can understand the fear a bit.”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, and Jimin assumes he is just focusing on the road, until a feeling of pent-up guilt seeps into his senses. Has he been trying to hide it from Jimin all this time?

“I was terrified,” he admits, probably realising that whatever he is feeling will reach Jimin too, “But I could have talked it out more. Before, uh, before leaving. It probably made you feel like shit.”

Jimin stays silent, and hopes that is enough of an answer. They do not bother with the small talk for the rest of the ride, or the wait in the lift up to their floor. As they are about to enter into their respective apartments, they both turn to face each other. It’s comical almost, how in sync they are.

“Look—I’m—I know it’s dumb of me to ask,” Jeongguk blurts out rapidly, his eyes piercing resolutely into Jimin’s soul, “But—and it’s totally up to you—but can we try again?”

It is in this moment that Jimin feels those exact emotions he once felt, under the basketball hoop in high school. His mind flashes back to a younger Jeongguk, smitten and unsure, and his eyes re-focus on the man standing in front of him.

A little less timid, and, dare he say, a lot more smitten.

But there are those ugly tear-stained memories, the foggy dream that has haunted him for the past few years, and the many faceless companions that Jeongguk trades like socks. They tear into him like an angry fish-hook, reeling him back from what his heart grasps at.

“I missed you, Jeongguk, and I’m glad we did this today but,” he carefully pauses, watching the other deflate with every word, “But I’m not sure about this.”

With that, he cryptically enters his apartment, not looking back. He thinks he’s done the right thing, but there’s a murky sadness from both of them, separated by a mere element of architecture.

To: Jeonggukkie

Not yet, anyway.

(Sent: 02:20 AM)

He types out another text, biting his lip at its implications, before hitting send.

To: Jeonggukkie

But I’m not completely opposed to the idea.

(Sent: 02:22 AM)

Taehyung sits on the floor, incredulously staring back at Jimin. He puts down his plate of half eaten pizza on the coffee table... Yeontan bounds over, yapping at them for a piece.

“What do you mean ‘nothing happened’? What do you mean you guys didn't consider a second date?"

Jimin lets him ramble, aware of the increasingly more frustrated syllables that escape his mouth. He beckons to Yeontan, and offers a morsel of chicken in his palm, which the puppy happily nibbles on.

"—may not be gifted with knowing how others feel like you can, but I can tell when my best friend has it bad for someone!" Taehyung takes a breath, and points at him. "And you, buddy, light up like a Christmas tree whenever we hang out with him. He is literally the idealest of Jimin's ideal types."

He has to laugh at this, because, "I know. I had it bad before, and I still do, after years."

There is a suffocating stillness in the room. Even Yeontan stays put. Jimin reaches over for another slice of pizza, dramatically quirking an eyebrow.

"He's the ex."

"Your high school ex?” Taehyung chuckles in disbelief. “Mr. run-away-without-a-word? You’re kidding."

When Jimin does not show any signs of joking, Taehyung grows hushed, his face paling.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, and Jimin can almost hear the gears in his head clicking. Yeontan perks up in alarm, trotting over to his owner to lick at his palm. Taehyung is growing distressed, they both can tell. “Fuck, you’re not kidding.”

Jimin tentatively smiles to confirm, and watches his friend bury his head in a cushion, unintelligible sounds muffled. Yeontan whines like it hurts him too, rolling over and sinking into the floor, his tiny ears flattening against his head. He's blaming himself, and Jimin cannot stand that—especially when Taehyung had no way of knowing even half of what he's gone through with Jeongguk.

“Hey, for what it’s worth.” Jimin slides down to his friend’s level, a little teary and strangely content about the revelation. “I think you got us to talk properly—which is more than what I have done all month. So what I am trying to say is—”

Taehyung looks up, his nose reddened. Shit, they’re both going to cry now.

“—thank you,” Jimin finishes, voice cracking slightly. Taehyung's eyebrows knit together, a stubborn pout on his lips—he's willing his tears away—as he holds his arms open. They lock in a hug, laughing and kind of crying as they tumble down onto the floor, Yeontan circling around them frantically.

"Jiminie," Taehyung wails like a child, hugging his much shorter friend close, "Jiminie—I'm so sorry, I didn't know—"

"—you couldn't have—" Jimin sobs, nose runny, his worn-out soul finally reaching the repose it yearns for.

"—and to have to live next door to him? My poor baby."

They lie like this for quite a while, blubbering frustrations and cuddling it out, trying their hardest to channel their energy into a calming incantation. Yeontan's little steps eventually slow down and they're all just drained—emotionally and physically. By the time they've collected themselves, it's nearing midnight and Yeontan has fallen asleep after happily munching on both their food portions. The clock on the wall tick-tocks peacefully, and Jimin finds himself braving through his next words.

"I do like him, though," he whispers, avoiding eye-contact and picking up the way Taehyung's excitement flares up again, "I'd just appreciate if—you know, next time—you discuss my love-life with me before meddling with it in the future."

He wills himself to glance at Taehyung, cheeks heating up and hands twitching. His friend beams, probably building up a million different date ideas in that galaxy brain of his.

Jimin thinks of holding his neighbour's hand again, and nearly combusts from the affection that encircles his heart.

(He also remembers Jeongguk’s plentiful collection of night-time companions and feels his confidence falter, a tiny bit.)

Perhaps he’s not ready to just dive back into love, especially not with Jeongguk, but Jimin can’t deny he has a soft spot for the younger. They had been friends before high school sweethearts, and he still holds those memories close to his heart.

Judging by how they naturally worm their way into each other’s lives, Jeongguk feels similarly.

It starts out a little awkward, with Jimin still being wary of the other, and Jeongguk being cautious not to bring up his heart’s wishes. Small actions, baby steps. Things like—

Oh, Jimin has made so much japchae to finish on his own, and would Jeonggukkie like to come over for lunch?

Or, Jeongguk bought so much choco-milk to fit in his fridge, would Jimin care for a bottle or two for his apartment?

Or hey, there were some extra perfume samples that were too softly-scented for the boss’s liking, but Jimin didn’t want to throw them away, and Jeonggukkie is sensitive to smells, and what do you mean black vanilla and pear is one of your favourites, Jimin had no idea at all—

Today’s agenda is wow—look at this little potted succulent that Jimin got, that won’t fit on his crowded plant rack. Would Jeongguk possibly like to keep it instead?

“I spelled it to work like a tiny, mood-lifting lucky charm.” Jimin supposes he seems coy, watching the other through his lashes, holding up the plant. “Taehyung says he knows you through classes—and well. Students need as much luck as they can get.”

Jeongguk peers at him through droopy eyes, his pyjama shirt sliding off his shoulder. He rubs his face and moves to a side. “You know—you could always just say you want to come in.”

Jimin gawks, about to retort, but Jeongguk tilts his head with a, ‘come on’ and there’s an odd sense of déjà vu. He follows the other, puppy-like and excited as he settles on the sofa and really takes in his surroundings.

“This is me, I guess,” Jeongguk says, vaguely gesturing around. Jimin observes, his eyes landing on the Marvel heroes mini-figurines arranged in a row on the TV-rack. The more he looks, the more he finds little oddities like that which contrast with the otherwise minimal decor. There’s a large collection of manga volumes—some of them from when they were younger, when he used to rest his head on Jeongguk’s stomach and read out the dialogue to him—and an oddly large terrarium. He never took Jeongguk to be a plant-y Mage, but perhaps the enchanted succulent works in his favour after all. He finally notices the glow-in-the-dark stars above his head.

“So these ones made it past puberty too?” Jimin points up, his grin Chesire-like.

Jeongguk goes an endearing shade of pink, tugging at the hair on his nape. He mumbles something suspiciously like ‘pretty…’ and Jimin feels his whole heart shatter. Jeongguk is so, so unbelievably cute—this is devastating.

“Have you had breakfast, hyung?” he suddenly pipes up, and Jimin shakes his head, watches Jeongguk’s eyes grow hopeful. “Would you like to? Here, I mean.”

The smile he gets in return for agreeing is one that lights up his entire day. Then they’re cooking together—it’s domestic and sheepish and all kinds of wonderful—when Jeongguk suddenly lets out a cry.

“I have class today I have class today I have class—”

It is a prickly sort of panic that he exudes, that causes Jimin to take his hands in consolation.

“When is it?”

“An hour,” Jeongguk replies curtly, trying to wriggle out of his grip, “An hour—I need at least twenty minutes for commuting, but the professor prefers we show up ten minutes prior—god I’m still in pyjamas—”

Jimin stops him right there, and shooing him in the direction of his room to get ready, with assurance of an easy-to-handle breakfast that he can eat on the go. Hoseok should be picking up Taehyung for the same class in a while, and Jimin will have to call in for a favour and send this big, bumbling baby off with them.

After packing him a small meal, Jimin decides that a coffee would also be much appreciated. He turns to put down the steaming mug, and narrowly avoids tripping out of shock.

There, next to his foot, lies a single, pale green snake, its large red eyes gazing at him, unblinking.

The mug drops, and doesn't shatter, but makes an awful lot of noise as it hits the floor. The hot coffee hitting his toes is what makes him yelp out profanities.

“Jimin-hyung?!”

In a tornado of worry, Jeongguk staggers out of his room, still evidently hopping into his jeans, and very much shirtless. He lets out startled noise at the coffee pooling on the ground, tendrils of steam still rising from it. The next ten seconds are a blur. He hurriedly lifts Jimin off his feet, setting him down on the marble kitchen counter next to the sink—he tells Jimin to turn on the sink tap and leave his foot under running water—before tearing a whole lot of kitchen tissue off the roll and throwing it down on the ground to stop the liquid from spreading.

“Hyung, what—what happened?” he asks, already on cleaning the floor. He catches sight of the little green reptile, edging away from the spill, and his mouth forms an ‘o’ in understanding. “Miri, baby—you scared Jimin.”

It takes him a few seconds to put two and two together—the large terrarium, the tiny snake that tenderly curls around Jeongguk’s hand when he reaches over. A Familiar, probably curious about a new presence in the house. Jimin feels terrible—the poor snake probably just wanted to say hello.

“Did she startle you?” Jeongguk returns, after putting Miri back in the glass tank, where she twists around a branch lazily. “She doesn’t usually get curious about guests, unless she thinks I like them a lot.”

Jimin goes wide-eyed and flustered.

(Does Jeongguk really like him that much?)

Jeongguk laughs, turning the tap off and helping him down from the counter. They stumble a little, his hand coming up to rest against Jeongguk’s torso—oh. The absence of any more coffee-related dangers leaves Jimin with full brain power to admire Jeongguk’s very bare—and very beautifully toned—upper half.

They both cough and pull apart, Jeongguk rushing to throw on a sweater and Jimin busying himself with literally anything other than his thoughts.

(But! He is tattooed, florals going all the way up his right arm and it brews something absolutely feral inside Jimin. The little green zone of his mind brings up the many lovers that have probably also marveled at the sight of Jeongguk’s inked skin as they—)

“Shut up, Jimin,” he mutters to himself, growing impossibly warm. He pats his cheeks, willing his thoughts away. Miri eyes him from her tree branch, impish and teasing. “You shush,” he tells her, too.

When Hoseok arrives, neither of them can explain why they are so incredibly quiet or red in the face, no matter how much he pesters them.

For a couple of days they walk on eggshells again, despite being in each other’s presence more often. It’s not just the awkward situation from before, but rather, Jeongguk keeps entering his mind at the most unhelpful of times.

Usually, it brightens his day, remembering the bunny-toothed smile of his ex-lover-turned-neighbour, because god, he’s fallen deep. It is fun to imagine that perhaps he has an opportunity, when he leans against the younger while they play video games in apartment 7B, or when Jeongguk comes over after classes, hugging him from behind and begging for leftovers because, ‘please, i forgot to do my groceries, my fridge only has Red Bulls’.

“Do you want to go to the arcade this weekend?”

They are in Jimin’s room, packaging custom orders for Smeraldo clients. Jimin squints at the note he is writing for the box Jeongguk just wrapped.

Cedarwood and lavender bath oil (relaxant charm added thrice) for Ye-eun.

“Do not… use… excessively…” he adds to the note, before glancing up at Jeongguk, “The arcade?”

“As friends!” the other defends speedily, but he can’t hide his sinking disappointment from the likes of Jimin, who simply raises his brows. “Okay, fine—I meant it like a date but. But... friends is... good too?”

He is glad that his own raging heartbeat stays a secret from Jeongguk as he mulls it over. He remembers the blond man that had left Jeongguk’s apartment this morning, as Jimin was returning from a morning run. Remembers all the other faces that have entered with Jeongguk after the sun had set, and left after dawn had bore its head.

Remembers the vulnerability that had permeated the wall from Jeongguk’s side of the building, only to leave the morning after.

If Jimin were to say yes, would he be another one of them?

No doubt, Jeongguk treats all his flings with thoughtfulness and care, but would Jimin be able to handle the aftermath? Especially having grown so attached at this point.

He frowns at the gift-box in his hands.

“No thank you, Gukkie. I’m not fond of the arcade.”

The next time he goes to work, he is frazzled. If anyone notices, they do not mention it.

In a span of the first hour, he has mixed up two online orders, broken a tube of tester spray—and it's a recently replaced one, too—and given back the wrong amount of change back to a customer.

"Head in the game, Jimin," he tells himself, when he feels worry from Seokjin’s general direction. He picks up his slack from there, putting on his best Smeraldo smile that refuses to reach his eyes, hoping it’s enough of a front to keep customers comfortable. It’s when they close half an hour early for lunch break that he sourly finds out he hasn’t fooled his co-workers at all.

Seokjin sits him down in the better chair of their break room, while Hoseok goes on a coffee run.

“Jimin,” he starts, in a tone that dares him to lie and say he’s fine, “Do you want to talk to me?”

It’s much more appreciated than Seokjin flat-out asking him if he’s okay, or if anything happened, and Jimin finds himself wanting to confide. Jimin has no idea what Seokjin’s gift is, but he’s willing to bet it has something to do with how he can channel warmth and respect into anything he says.

“Jimin-ah,” he tries again, leaning forward in his seat. He reaches for one of those chocolates they keep in a bowl on tiny coffee table, calmly unwraps it and places it in Jimin’s palm. “I know I’m your boss, but this is not within the boutique’s working hours, technically.”

His stare on the chocolate is a little dazed, before he hands it back to Seokjin. And then curls into himself, letting out some sort of angry noise.

“I’m just—conflicted, you know? Wish I could just magic everything and fix it.”

Seokjin doesn’t pry after that, just holds his hand, letting warmth seep through.

“Do you know why we add magic to our products, Jimin? Happiness spells and good luck charms, relaxant potions and contentment serums?”

Seokjin speaks softly, like one would to a small, hurt kitten, but not in a condescending way. He feels like the embodiment of patience, like he is waiting for Jimin to realise something on his own, grow on his own.

“To make people’s days a little more bearable?” he guesses, wiping away a stray tear that leaks out.

Seokjin hums, handing him a tissue, and then poses him with the next question. “Then why do we only put in dilute amounts of magic? Why not give them a whole eclipse’s worth of energy to fix their day, heck—their year?”

Jimin can see the point he’s trying to make, although it unnerves him slightly.

At the end of the day, magic only boosts an effort you’re trying to make. No amount of magic can fix a problem that you avoid confronting.

He picks up his phone and dials a number ever-so-familiar.

“I do like you.”

(An accelerating heartbeat, a sprinkle of nerves. Butterflies find home in his stomach.)

Jeongguk looks up cautiously at him, drink halfway to his lips. “I sure hope so. We’re friends now, I’d like to think.”

Jimin groans, pouring soju into his glass, and popping open a can of the beer Jeongguk had brought. He adds it into his glass, ignoring how Jeongguk scrunches up his nose.

“You know what I mean,” Jimin retorts, sipping at his mixture. It burns his throat, like his heart burns for Jeongguk. “I like you a little more than what you’re implying.”

No more words are exchanged, and Jeongguk abandons his can of beer. Jimin guesses he wants to be fairly sober when they discuss this, and downs half of his glass, before letting it sit on the table too.

“However,” he hastily adds, pulling his feet up onto the couch. It dampens the excitement building up around Jeongguk. “However, I don’t think I can handle getting into anything with you.”

There’s a thin, almost unnoticeable ribbon of hurt that swirls around Jeongguk. He’s probably trying to hide it. He nods for Jimin to continue.

“I like you a lot—I might even love you, maybe?” Jimin muses out loud, before realising how hard he is making this for Jeongguk. He hugs a cookie-shaped cushion to his chest. “I’m just a little greedier than what you might be into.”

The other tilts his head, wavy locks flopping over his glimmering eyes.

“The… moonlight companions?” Jimin tries again, hoping to incite a reaction from him without having to spell it out. There is nothing but pure confusion in the room, as of now. “The casual hook-ups.”

Jeongguk blinks at him, as if he still doesn’t quite follow the narrative.

“Every night,” Jimin says, retreating further into his couch with each word, “Someone new comes over? There’s a whole lot of—uh, sounds and tender ol’ feelings, and they leave first thing the next day. Ring a bell?”

There’s approximately three dead silent seconds that pass between them, before Jeongguk’s face goes redder than Jimin has ever seen, and an overwhelming shyness blankets the entire room. Jimin hastens to explain that there’s no ill judgement about this, they are adults after all, while Jeongguk starts mumbling something else entirely, mostly to himself.

He looks straight at Jimin, cheeks now putting beetroots to shame, before he deadpans, “Sex. You think I’m having sex, every night.”

Jimin’s mind is dangerously close to the gutter, but there are more pressing issues. “I mean, as long as you’re being safe about it—”

“God—Jimin, spare me,” Jeongguk says, his voice a borderline sob. The embarrassment continues to thicken in the air. He makes a few vague gestures, as if trying to translate whatever’s going on up in his brain, to his hands, and eventually just places them in front of him.

“I get rid of nightmares for people who can’t escape them.”

Out of any reply he could get, this is not one he would have guessed to prepare for, even with the help of a million orbuculums.

“You what?”

Now there’s more than one source of timidity in the room, Jeongguk’s fading, and Jimin’s steadily growing. He searches for a shred of ingenuity, any signs that Jeongguk just panicked and blurted out a random excuse, but there is none—he is zeroing in on the other’s feelings with as much magic as he can muster.

“I—moon magic,” Jeongguk weakly explains, trying to fill the air with something other than plain discomfort, “It’s what I studied during my apprenticeship. I need post-midnight moonlight for the spells… hence why all my appointments are at night.”

Jimin lets out the most humiliated groan he has ever heard, curling up into a ball.

“A-and the noises,” his neighbour continues, “Well the process is not… painless. It’s quite literally destroying a part of you, albeit a horrifying, spiritual part of you. It takes a lot out of a person, so I let them rest at my place before they leave.”

Jimin doesn’t respond, just wishing the universe would open up and swallow him.

“Sometimes I make them breakfast, if they’re late risers.”

Jeongguk pokes him once, twice, before he concludes that the elder probably needs some time to himself. He awkwardly shakes Jimin’s visible hand in farewell, with a promise to better discuss their original issue once Jimin has had enough time to wallow in his shame.

He’s so caught up in his embarrassment that he nearly misses the small ‘I might love you, too, a lot’ that is whispered at the door.

Does it do much to calm his shaking heart? No.

(But it does subdue the shame with a whole other kind of warmth.)

From: Jeongukkie

so,, are we a thing now? was today a date??

(Sent: 11:15 PM)

From: Jimin

Yes!! I thought I made it clear when I said: would you like to go on a date with me today?

(Sent: 11:17 PM)

Jimin smiles to himself, curling into his duvet. Jeongguk had been exceedingly cute today, fluffy hair and shy smiles.

From: Jeongukkie

well,, it only took u three whole days to talk to me without lookin like u were in pain :P

“Shut up—I was still riding my embarrassment train!”

The laughter from the other side of the wall makes his heart glow proudly.

“I like you a lot—a whole lot. More than all the stars in the sky,” his voice confesses, a little more hopeful than usual.

They’re at the beach again, the one that smells of caramel and salt. Their uniform pants are a little damp at the bottom from chasing each other through the sea that laps at the shore.

“I like you, too, hyung—I do—but—”

His face grows clearer, the bunny-toothed smile of high school Jeongguk finally recognisable.

“—but I just didn’t know how to tell you—”

His bowl-cut morphs slowly into messy waves, swaying in the sea breeze, shoulders broadening and jawline chiseling up. From his left ear, three silver pieces of jewellery dangle.

Jimin watches in frozen horror, as Jeongguk, his Jeongguk gives him the same pained eyes from the past.

“—breaking up with you, I can’t do this—”

He awakens with a silent scream grasping at his throat, fingers trembling and lips dry.

Jeongguk—!

Calming down, Jimin realises his head is resting on someone’s thigh, and that he’s still there, still within reach, not fading away into an azure seashore. They’re in Jeongguk’s living room, pitch black except for the television light bouncing off the walls. The soft sound effects confirm that Jeongguk is still awake and playing the video game they’d started after dinner.

“Hyung,” he quietly says, surprising Jimin. He didn’t think Jeongguk would notice him waking up. “Hyung, are you alright?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that question. Is it weird for him to tell Jeongguk that, yes, he loves him to the ends of the galaxy, but no, his self-confidence won’t allow him to think that things are any different for them now than back in high school.

He knows things have changed—both he and Jeongguk, their bond, their understanding of each other as individuals, and their perception of the past.

So why does his past come back to taunt him like this?

“Were you…” Jeongguk pauses, brows furrowing, “... having a nightmare?”

At the lack of reply, yet again, he feels a hand card through his hair. Jimin closes his eyes, exhausted and frustrated.

“Does this happen often?”

He hesitantly nods, eliciting a sad almost puppy-like whine from the younger.

“Do you want me to…” Jeongguk trails off, his voice retreating, but implications hanging hopefully in the air. Jimin considers the offer, appearing calm—but inside, his heart writhes, warring against the nightmare that tries to shroud it.

A leap of faith, a hint of trust in fate. A smidge of magic.

“Yes. Yes.”

Jeongguk’s fingers halt in his hair, and Jimin sits up so he can surely stare the other in the eye when he repeats his answer.

Jeongguk offers him a hand, tugs him along gently into his room—a deep purple sanctum of glowing crystals over their heads, promises of secrecy and an air of mysterious tranquility—and onto the soft covers of his bed.

“Lie down, please. I’ll be back in a bit.”

He does as told, still a bit jittery from the mental throwback. Jeongguk returns, Miri on his arm.

“Are you sure?” he asks, once more, and Jimin reassures him. He walks Jimin through the basics of the procedure—Jimin is going be lulled into a trance, Miri will act as a mediator between his mind and Jeongguk, and once they get ahold of the dream, Jeongguk will try to extinguish it.

In a sombre voice, he instructs Jimin that, if, at any given point, it feels like too much, blow the whistle.

He’s not even sure what that means, but he thinks his subconscious is about to find out.

“Ready?”

Miri slithers around his left wrist, like a protective amulet, her presence warm despite the chill of her scales. Jimin gives them a thumbs up with his other hand. Jeongguk draws open the velvety curtains on one wall of his room, and moonlight floods in—radiant, lilac and bursting with magic.

Jimin’s eyelids flutter shut, a heavy slumber veiling over him.

Jimin feels himself plummeting through an abyss of nothing, a golden whistle hanging from his neck by a long chain. He tries not to panic, confusion and fear catching up swiftly.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Jeongguk materialise, a little fuzzy around the edges, a little translucent as a whole. He reaches out, clawing in the younger’s direction, tries to call out with a voice that doesn’t emerge.

Try to relax.

Jeongguk’s voice, reverberating through this dark expanse of nothingness.

I’m right here, hyung. Right here.

And he is—he’s next to Jimin now, a smile on his face, a ghostly hand on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin’s heart rate slows down, and so does the speed at which they’re falling. The surrounding brightens up as he calms down, a familiar sandy stretch of land around them. Jeongguk’s form in front of him looks more solid.

Everything gets brighter, clearer and more lucid—the caramel, the wind through his hair. Voices echo from an unknown direction, distant and reminiscent.

“...like you, too, hyung...but...”

He feels a heaviness in his chest, a tear pricking at his eyes, and Jeongguk takes his hands into his own. He wears a pained expression, like so many other times he’s appeared on this beach, in Jimin’s sleepy mind. He looks like he wants to say something, but his lips stay unmoving.

The wind gets louder, stronger and Jimin feels something burning in his throat, trying to claw its way out, and squeezes his eyes shut. Waves crash around him, frosty walls of fury that are alive and ready to knock him over.

Just hold on, a bit more.

Jeongguk’s voice brings back his grip on reality, his eyes snapping open. Jeongguk is still there, his Jeonggukkie, their fingers interlocked, his large eyes full of concern. He pulls Jimin close and Jimin almost smiles.

This is his Jeongguk, the one who lives next door and brings him choco-milk, who holds his hand at the top of the Ferris wheel, who carries him to his bed when he falls asleep mid-movie.

This is his Jeongguk, and he’s not leaving any time soon.

The world around his begins to crumble, and Jimin feels a searing pain in his torso, snaking up his neck, ribboning around his skull, and higher.

Higher—out of him.

He jolts upright, breathing heavily, just in time to see Miri slither off him and onto Jeongguk’s arm. He lets her down on to the floor and she slithers out of the room through the gap under the door, and Jimin is thankful for the privacy.

Jeongguk’s other hand is still clutching his own, clammy, trembling one. There’s an odd sensation of intimacy over them, not dissipating any time soon.

Jimin blinks, eyes glazing over. He feels as though he could float.

He also feels nauseous and collapses into Jeongguk’s arms—ready and inviting, warm and gentle. The younger climbs onto the bed, next to him, resting his back against the wall. Jimin crawls into his lap, unashamed and very exhausted, nosing at the crook of his neck.

(It's funny how familiar yet completely new this feels.)

Jeongguk lets him be, lets him breathe, lets him simply exist.

"I'm sorry," he says, after what feels like hours. "I'm really sorry. I had no idea it was—was killing you inside. God—I wish I asked you earlier, Jimin, why didn’t you tell me?"

Two arms encircle him, and Jimin finally catches on to the scent of milk and honey, of warm love and home.

"And it's gonna take a while, you know—for it to go away."

Oh, he knows. One night's spell won't take away years of pent-up hurt. Jimin is fully aware.

"But you—we'll get there." Jeongguk's voice cracks, and something warm drips down from his chin onto Jimin's face—tears, Jeongguk's tears. "We'll get there. And I'm going to hold your hand every step of the way, through obstacles and arguments."

Jeongguk sniffs, and Jimin pulls back, reaches up to wipe away his sorrow with a sleeve.

"And the good days," Jeongguk blabbers on, and Jimin combs and hand through his hair—it's so long and messy, and beautiful. His darling has grown into such a beautiful young man, inside and out. "I'll hold your hand through the good days too!"

Jimin presses his lips to Jeongguk's cheek, not really able to find words right now. He feels a shift in emotion from the other, a different kind of happiness to when they were younger.

This time it feels like it's entangled with his own.

"Gukkie." He manages a whisper, like he wants to hide this moment away from the universe and keep it to himself.

"Yeah?" Jeongguk replies so earnestly, eyes shiny and on him—only on him.

Jimin takes a deep breath.

He meets Jeongguk's lips with his own, tenderly, lovingly. With a kind of tingle that even magic cannot mimic.

With winter comes a greater demand for things like candles, bath bombs and salts—things to keep you warm and cosy. It’s also one of the busiest times of the year, with the holiday season just around the corner.

Jimin being Smeraldo’s designated candle expert means he has to work double time. Jimin being himself means he will stop at nothing until every single one of his creations is perfect, every aromatic pairing balanced out, every spell or charm checked three times minimum.

“He’s worked through his lunch break,” Hoseok marvels, poking Seokjin in the shoulder, “This whole week. Hyung, we should stop him.”

“Not to worry,” the elder replies, raising his eyebrows at the whiff of a new product they’d experimented with, “Plan B should be arriving in three… two... one…”

On cue, the wind chimes jangle softly, alerting them of a new presence, and Jimin rushes to greet the person. Seokjin nods with narrowed eyes, motioning at him to watch the scene unfold.

“Good evening, sir! Welcome to Smeraldo—anything you're looking for in particular?"

Jimin's words whizz out like a hummingbird’s wing-beat, and he doesn't look any higher than the customer's blue denim jacket.

"I was wondering…"

Jimin nods, head whipping around the store to remind him what product is in which section. Best to be prepared—wait, why is this customer's aura of adoration so familiar?

"If Jimin-ssi would be free for a coffee during his lunch break today?"

"Ah—you see," Jimin says, caught off guard. He pulls at his sleeves, ready to reject the poor fellow. "I already have—"

"—a boyfriend?"

Jimin's head perks up at the interruption, finally glancing up in search of a face.

Jeongguk beams at him, the top of his hair pulled back into an endearing little ponytail, painting him with all the charisma of a fairytale prince. Jimin launches himself into full hug mode, clinging onto him like a baby koala.

"Now go," orders Seokjin, not looking up from the scented lip balms. "And don't come back until tomorrow."

Jimin starts protesting against that, but Jeongguk is already leading him out of the store. Once they're in a cafe’ nearby, sipping coffee in a bubble of their own, Jimin turns to him.

"What was that for? They'll die in there without my help."

Jeongguk gives him a fond look.

"Just wanted to make sure my baby took some time for himself today."

Jimin doesn't know why, but his cheeks burn at this.

Giving Jeongguk his door's combination was the best thing because sometimes he'd just waltz in at the oddest hour, and leave him a container of takeaway food and a sticky note saying that he loves him. Jimin even once found a necklace with a healing crystal on it, a day after he'd gone to bed, his last text to Jeongguk oozing with stress.

But at times like this, he wonders if he made a mistake.

"It's so early," Jimin whines, as Jeongguk bundles him up in a fluffy coat and woolly scarves, "I'm so tired."

His boyfriend brings out the puppy eyes and Jimin begrudgingly lets him lead the way. After quite a lengthy ride in Jeongguk's car to a local park, he's confused as to why they're sitting on a bench, not really doing anything.

He turns to question the younger about their plans, but finds Jeongguk spritzing himself with a tiny bottle of… Serendipity the label reads. It's one Jimin recognises, one they sell at Smeraldo.

"Sweetheart, what are we doing here and why—" Jimin coughs as he breathes in too much of the orange blossom scent. He grabs Jeongguk's wrist to make his stop. "Why are you literally showering in this liquification of good luck charms?"

Jeongguk opens his mouth to reply, but something white delicately lands on his nose, distracting them both. Jimin's eyes flit around, and sure enough, tiny icy flakes dance their way to the ground.

"I know it's a silly myth, but…" And here Jeongguk falters, biting his lip. "They say, if you confess to someone on the day of the first snow, your love will…"

"Last for a long time," Jimin finishes for him, his insides going mushy. The butterflies have migrated back into his stomach.

"Well—I love you," Jeongguk announces, positively adorable as his face sinks behind his scarf, "And I hope I'll get to love you—properly—for a long time."

His voice is growing quieter with each syllable, so much that Jimin almost doesn't hear his last few words.

"Maybe, if fate allows it, for all of eternity."

Jimin doesn't know if magic generally gets stronger during the holiday season, or if he's finally just successfully healing, but he finds himself feeling lighter nowadays.

It's the Jeongguk, a little voice in his head notes and Jimin agrees. Jeongguk has been, literally and metaphorically, holding his hand through the month, and it's helped him more than he can express.

He glances over at said man sitting next to him. His hair is up in two tiny pig-tails, Jimin's fluffy blue blanket pulled up to his chin. Jeongguk is focused on the laptop screen, engrossed in some historical drama, and Jimin is focused on him.

Only when a familiar shyness envelops them, does Jimin realise that he was caught staring.

"Do I have something on my face," the younger mumbles, tugging at his pig-tails self consciously.

Jimin merely laughs, reaching for the other's hand and cradling it close to his cheek.

For all of eternity, huh?

It’s on an odd hour of the night when Jimin shoots him a text about not being able to sleep.

As expected, it takes less than a minute for the video game sounds to cease from next door, and for Jeongguk to come running into Jimin’s apartment, fully expecting to find him with his knees pulled up to his chest, murmuring a soothing spell or something.

Instead, he’s met with Jimin sitting on his bed, in an emerald night robe—skin, there is so much skin and his eyes dart over every inch—something clutched in his hands. Jimin pats the space next to him, on the bed, and Jeongguk warily sits.

“Hyung?”

Jimin doesn’t reply, and Jeongguk finally catches sight of the object in his hands. A bottle of massage oil—rose scented, charmed for ultimate relaxation.

“Did you… want me to massage your back?” he offers, and Jimin really doesn’t know where to continue from this point, because that text had been really impulsive.

But lately he’s just been feeling this fiery yearning, in the bottom of his gut.

“No,” Jimin says, turning the bottle over in his hands, not meeting his eyes, “I want to massage you? To um, calm me down.”

Jeongguk obviously sees the lack of logic here, and pries the bottle out of his hands, setting it aside.

“Is it nightmares?” he asks, and Jimin hurriedly shakes his head. He doesn’t look at Jeongguk either, who begins to grow perturbed.

His arms go around the elder, ready to pull him onto his lap and give him a serious heart-to-heart. “Hyung—”

“No don’t—” Jimin cries, flailing out of his grip and tumbling on him instead and—

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” Jeongguk dazedly breathes, when he feels Jimin’s crotch accidentally press on his thigh. He’s not wearing anything under that robe, and he’s also—

“Listen.” Jimin is sure he looks positively mortified. “I was just trying to sleep and I remembered your tattoos and how you have that little constellation one on your hip and I just—I don’t know—I just—”

He hides his face in Jeongguk’s shoulder, and feel something—something sudden, electric almost—pulse through the younger. He raises his head to find Jeongguk goofily smiling at him, cheeks reddened slightly.

“You’re adorable—how are you real,” he says, sitting Jimin up properly on his lap, not minding his protests. He takes Jimin’s hands, guiding them to his abdomen. “I keep telling you. If you want something, you should just ask me.”

Fingers curl around the hem of a t-shirt, mouths greet each other with all the softness and sweetness of cotton candy, and a silky robe slides down, down, down onto the floor.

Jimin can’t differentiate between their individual feelings this time—everything is vibrant and exhilarating, and melded into one.

(This might be the only time Jimin’s assumptions about Jeongguk’s midnight companion is true.)

"Jeonggukkie!"

Someone barges into the Jeongguk's apartment, late at night. Presumably Jimin after Seokjin had courteously dropped him home from a modest employees-only holiday party.

(Considering that only three of them work in the boutique, there was probably a lot of booze and not enough people.)

He hears Miri hiss, upset at the silence being interrupted.

"Jeon Jeongguk," the voice whines a little, stumbling into the bedroom, and plopping down onto him. Also effectively waking him up. "Jeongguk-ah. Puppy prince. Fellow neighbour."

So it is Jimin.

"H-hyung?" Jeongguk's voice is groggy, his eyes still adjusting, but he sits up anyway, scooting over to make space for Jimin. "It's very late."

"Or very early," Jimin chides, disregarding the empty spot and snuggling right into his favourite place. Jeongguk's lap.

"How much did you drink?" the other finally questions. Jimin bursts into a fit of giggles, giving him the answer.

"A tiny bit," he says, holding up his hand, index finger and thumb touching, "Because Dwiminie has something important to say."

Jeongguk hugs him close upon hearing Jimin address himself in third person—drunk Jimin needs a lot of affection. Also because he becomes the most adorable little ball of sunshine—the natural goodness of his heart goes bass-boosted, oozing out from every part of him.

"So," Jimin begins, and Jeongguk coos at the pout in his voice, "When Dwiminie moved here, he was very scared of dreams. Because there was always one that came a lot and made Dwiminie sad."

Jeongguk purses his lips, holding back the urge to apologise. Jimin has made it clear that, while he was definitely hurt from before, the best way Jeongguk can help is by simply staying by his side, and letting him heal at his own pace.

"And now, Dwiminie thinks," his boyfriend continues, looking like the cutest cinnamon roll in the universe, "He's not afraid of dreams anymore."

Jimin twists around in his lap, hitting Jeongguk’s face with his shoulder in the process, but he is too endeared to complain. The elder cups his face in his hands, leaning close. He smells like alcohol, oh for sure, but he looks so pretty—rosy cheeked and twinkly eyed.

“You know why?” he asks, like it is the key to the universe's problems. (And maybe it is, right now, for Jimin’s universe.)

“Why, angel?”

“Because Dwiminnie found a new dream.” He nudges Jeongguk’s nose with his own, a near inaudible laugh escaping him. “He found a new dream in his Jeonggukkie.”

And he’ll happily live through this dream for a thousand life times, and then a million more.