Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jimin has always found something magical in the season’s first snow.

Something about the way it appears overnight, as if out of nowhere, that sparks a childish excitement, even though it happens every year.

Or perhaps it’s the way the tiny flakes fall from the cold skies to form a glistening layer over the city; a filter that makes even the grey, rundown buildings look pure and pretty.

Maybe it’s the suggestion it brings; that when the weather warms up and the snow melts away, it means that the promise of spring is around the corner.

And that change is in the air.

Jimin is ready for that.

It’s a heavy flutter today; heavier than he remembered, and while it had only started this morning, already the city is coated in a thick sheet of white. It hasn’t snowed like this in a long time and Jimin is glad that the weekend he’s finally made it back up to Seoul, he gets to see it.

He’s watching the scene from Jeongguk’s living room window, which looks over a busy crossroad in central Seoul. There’s a mug of warm tea in one hand, the other holding the phone to his ear, and as he wonders what the chances are of sneaking Jeongguk’s hoodie back to Busan with him later that evening, he is distracted from the conversation in his ear.

“Are you even listening to me, Jimin-ah?” Hoseok whines at him through the phone, snapping him out of his reverie. “I’m trying to tell you how much I hate you.”

Jimin smiles to himself and turns away from the window for now. “I am,” he assures his best friend. “And you don’t hate me.”

“I do,” Hoseok scolds, but there’s a pout in his voice that Jimin can visualise even through the phone. “I’ve been begging you for weeks to come back up to Seoul and see us, and we’re out of the country for two days when you decide it’s a good time to take up my offer. I hate you.”

There’s a hum of reggaeton and cheerful voices coming through the line, and Jimin shuts his eyes, drawing himself away from the drizzly scene outside the window; thinks of the place he could have been right now.

“Well maybe if you’d told me that Yoongi has access to his company’s private jet, I might just have come with you.”

“Well maybe,” Hoseok counters. “If you’d come two days earlier, like I said, then you could have. Then right now you would be grinding your ass on some sexy guy at a Caribbean beach party instead of slipping through gravelly slush to give your ex-boyfriend back his college hoodie.”

The blush that stained Jimin’s cheeks is quickly extinguished. “I’m not giving him his hoodie back,” he says. “Tae worked his ass off to get into that school. If I wasn’t proudly showing it off to everyone, it would make me a pretty shitty-” He stops abruptly as the reality catches up with his words and he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to backtrack. Ex-boyfriend he reminds himself.

“Anyway,” he moves on. “I’m not going to be seeing him. Jeongguk’s going over in a bit to collect my stuff, I’m gonna meet up with Joon and Jin for some dinner, and then I’ll be back on the train to Busan by the evening.” It’s robotic, simple, but that was the way he had planned it. “Besides, ticket prices are crazy at this time of year. I was lucky to find a good deal on the late train out.”

“You know we could have lent you the money to come up sooner...”

Jimin sighs. “And you know what I would have said. Anyway, I finally found a steady job down there, even if it is boring as hell, so I can’t just up and leave for two weeks.”

There’s silence on the other side of the line and Jimin knows that Hoseok is contemplating whether he should go into the matter more. He holds his tongue though and Jimin is thankful; thankful that Hoseok doesn’t push something he doesn’t want to talk about. Like Taehyung had just kept pushing him.

“So when’s JK going over to get your stuff?” Hoseok asks instead and Jimin is glad for the change of subject.

“Oh he should be up soon.” Jimin glances behind him towards Jeongguk’s door. “We weren’t up too late last night. Had some drinks and watched some badly dubbed animes,” he adds with a smile. “It was nice.”

“Sounds awful. I can’t believe you picked that over our family holiday.”

But Jimin just grins. It’s been nice to see his friend again after such a long time.

“I saw on the news that it’s been snowing back in Seoul.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty,” Jimin agrees, focusing back on the wintery scene outside. “I like snow. Feels… almost healing. Like when it melts, it will be a new start, you know. I’m ready for that.”

“Like you’re ready for what, Jimin-ah?” There’s a tinge of something in Hoseok’s voice that he can’t quite place. Something like exhaustion. Or is it disbelief?

“Ready to finally move on,” Jimin concludes, and it comes out with a sigh of relief.

“Hob-ah, come dance with me!”

He can hear Yoongi in the background of the phonecall; a drunk Yoongi singing along in broken English, and Jimin can’t help but laugh. They had deserved this time out.

Hoseok was the choreographer for one of the country’s most popular idol groups and had just come back from a continental tour. Yoongi, his boyfriend, a successful producer had just finished a chart-reaching album and so it was the perfect time for the couple to embark on a well-deserved break. Jimin couldn’t blame them for wanting to escape the harsh Korean winter in exchange for spending the next month in the tropical remote isles to retreat, or as Hoseok planned, to make love on every island of the Caribbean. It sounded disgustingly romantic and Jimin was unbelievably jealous.

“It’s Jimin, babe,” Hoseok’s voice is softer now; transforming into that gentle tone reserved for Yoongi only. And Jimin could see them now, far away on the tropical isles; Yoongi cuddling him from behind, face burrowed into Hoseok’s neck to find that ticklish spot that makes his boyfriend weak in his touch.

God, Jimin had spent far too long living out of their spare bedroom.

“Jimin-ah, go and make up with Tae already!” Yoongi’s comment is followed by a yelp of pain, which meant that Hoseok had probably pinched him.

“Okay, I’ll let you guys go,” Jimin decides aloud, because even a drunk Yoongi was too damn wise for what Jimin needed to hear right now. “I better get on with this.”

“Good luck today,” Hoseok tells him, and the tease in his voice from earlier has settled now to a more serious tone.

“For what?” Jimin asks.

“Well… for whatever happens.”

And Jimin can't help but roll his eyes. Because nothing is going to happen. “Alright, I better go wake up Kook.”

“Yeah… good luck with that too.”

They say their farewells and Jimin turns back to the window and sips the remainder of his tea. Outside, the snow continues to fall, but just beyond the clouds the sun is peeking through with a promise that the day would get better.

Today, at last, after two months, Jimin was finally going to get some closure.

He was here to collect the last few things from his home in Seoul. Their home. The one they had looked so hard for three years ago; had saved up every penny to put down a deposit, and had been so proud to finally be able to call their own. But it was Taehyung’s home now, because that life they had built together had all fallen apart.

But Jimin wasn’t here to dwell on that matter. Wasn’t here to question his decision or to tempt fate, because the resolution had already been decided. After five years together on top of two years of friendship, the relationship was over. Which meant that all that was left now was for Jimin to collect the last of his things from their little house on top of the hill, and attempt to move on.

As Jimin finishes off the last of his tea, he glances back towards Jeongguk’s bedroom door. It’s suspiciously quiet on that side of the apartment, and as he’s reminded of Hoseok’s final parting comment, he thinks he knows why.

It only takes him a few seconds to find the confirmation as he opens the streaming app that his friend posts his videos on. In the thumbnail for his latest upload, Jimin recognises the same t-shirt that Jeongguk had been wearing last night, and as he reads the title of the video, he sighs.

“Drunk Gameplay: Reviewing Animal Crossing New Horizons after getting plastered with my best mate.”

The live-stream had ended two hours ago. Kook wouldn’t be waking up any time soon.

…

An hour later, Jimin stands in front of the mirror in Jeongguk’s apartment criticising his outfit, cursing his decision to only have brought one pair of trousers with him; the tightest leather jeans he owned. The ones Taehyung had always gone crazy over; had never failed to remind Jimin with his words and his hands, just how good his ass looked in them.

It shouldn’t have mattered for what was supposed to have been an overnight trip up here to see his friends. It shouldn’t have mattered because Jimin had no plans to go and see his ex-boyfriend anyway. But now he’s cursing that careless decision because a hungover Jeongguk was in no state to be getting up any time soon, and Jimin wasn’t ready to leave the city empty handed. In the haste that he had packed up his life two months ago, he had left behind his favourite pyjamas, along with whatever other bits and pieces that he hadn’t deemed important enough to return for until now.

It hadn’t been the plan this weekend to come and see Taehyung. It really hadn’t. But at the same time it would be a lie to say that Jimin hadn’t thought about the possibility of it happening. To ponder on the train ride from Busan about what Taehyung might look like these days; what it might feel like to gaze into those soft brown eyes again after all this time, and what he might say if Jimin were to give him the chance.

And maybe that was why Jimin hadn’t given Jeongguk another nudge to wake up this morning; had instead, gotten him a glass of water and some aspirin and spent half an hour in the bathroom, styling his hair.

It would only take five minutes anyway. He could handle seeing Taehyung one last time.

And so that's what Jimin tells himself as he wraps himself up warm and makes his way through the snowfall to the metro station near Jeongguk’s place.

Because it had been two whole months since they had last seen each other. Two months to replay everything that had happened and to question his decision. Two months of going through the stages of confusion and regret on those quiet nights in his childhood bedroom, only to come back to the conclusion that leaving had been the right thing to do. Too much had happened in the months building up to the breakup. They had pushed each other too far away. They were different people than they had once been and their fumbled attempts to patch-up the cracks that had grown between them had only proven the fact that after seven years, their relationship had now run its course.

Which meant that surely, he was ready for this; surely he could see Taehyung one last time.

It’s only when the train slows to a stop at his old station half an hour later and the familiar platform comes into view, that Jimin begins to wonder what the hell he was thinking.

When Jimin steps out onto the busy platform, the stale air in the tunnel smells just the same as it always had. The businessmen around him push past without an apology, just like they always did, and the high school girls from the school nearby chatter away as they pick out keyrings from the kiosk stall as if nothing has changed. For Jimin, two months have dragged by, and his entire life has been turned upside down, but for the rest of the world, life goes on, and he isn’t quite sure if that’s a comfort or mockery.

And maybe he isn’t ready to see Taehyung after all. Maybe he never would be. Maybe the best option would be to just turn around; to get on the other train going back into the city and to drag Jeongguk out of bed and send him on his way.

But he needs some closure. He longs to be able to breathe normally again and continue his life without the constant question of ‘what if’ at the back of his mind. Like the others in the station around him, he wants his life to go on too. And so before he has a chance to question it further, he swipes his card at the ticket gates and joins the crowd to take the escalator up to the foyer.

When he reaches the station plaza, he passes the bakery he would get his coffee from in the mornings, and the scent of freshly-baked goods takes him back. Out of habit he considers stopping in to pick up something; a croissant for himself, and some of Taehyung’s favourite pastries; the ones with strawberry jam inside that Taehyung always ate so quickly that he’d end up curled up on the couch, whining in regret and pleading for tummy rubs, and Jimin’s scolding would fall silent on his tongue at the sight of his pouty lips, because it had been clear for years, that he could never deny him anything.

But that was his old life. The one that he had run away from. And stopping in the bakery now would only be stalling him from what he needed to get done. And so Jimin keeps walking; lets his feet lead him up the stairs to the station exit that he had travelled every day for the last three years, and out onto the street towards his old home.

It’s a nice neighbourhood in a hilly part of Seoul with streets lined with cafes and restaurants and a park with an intricate fountain in the middle. It’s a little further out of the city than they had originally wanted, but it had a cosy atmosphere, which they had picked the area for three years ago. Its location offered an easy commute to Taehyung’s university where he was studying fine art, and to the business school that Jimin had been attending for a year and a half before dropping out to take up the first decent offer at a dance school in the city.

When they had moved in late summer three years ago, Jimin and Taehyung had spent every afternoon on the boulevard of their new neighbourhood, sitting at one of the tables on the street with hot chocolates and reminiscing of the summer they had spent in Paris together after high-school graduation. If they couldn’t afford drinks they would spend the rest of the evening cuddled up on the soft grass of the park, making out with lazy passion and dreaming of a wonderful future together. When the stars came up above and it was too cold for them to stay out, they would return hand in hand up the staircase to their very own home and continue to make promises to each other in their very own bed.

But those memories were long gone. Now, the tables had been pulled inside the cafes and the shutters drawn down over the ice cream shops. Looking at the park now; empty of people, with bare trees and an iced-over fountain, it’s hard to imagine just how hard they had once believed that that love and passion would last forever.

The residential area is set out on a staircase, winding up the hill that the neighbourhood is built on. The snow is still falling and as Jimin starts the ascent, he is careful to hold onto the hand railing so that he doesn’t slip over, like he had countless times before.

He can’t help but think back to those evenings where he would do late shifts at the studio. How Taehyung would come down and meet him at the bottom, refusing to let him to walk up alone. It was a safe ascent in a neighbourhood of young families and elderly couples; not to mention that Jimin held a black belt in multiple martial arts, but still Taehyung had always insisted on meeting him, with that boxy smile and a big bear hug, telling Jimin how much he had missed him while he had been at work. Jimin had always adored his sweetness. Had adored everything. But eventually Taehyung had stopped waiting for him.

Their house is at the very top of the hill, hence the affordable price, and so it takes Jimin a while to get there. But still, when he reaches the entrance gate to the small bungalow at number 95, it feels incredibly sudden. And maybe he still needed a little more time to collect himself before he goes ahead with this, but it’s freezing outside and his gloves are soaked through from the handrail, so he pushes the gate open. There’s some resistance from the snow accumulated on the path, but with a little more force, the old gate rattles as it swings open on its rusty hinges.

As Jimin walks up the path towards the house, a hand goes to his coat pocket to search for a keyring, but then stops abruptly. Of course. His pocket is empty now.

When he reaches the house, his finger hovers over the doorbell and stops as he looks at the nameplate beside it. It’s still the same china disk that Taehyung had painted so beautifully a long time ago. Kim & Park it reads with blue and teal patterns, with a little heart in the & symbol, and Jimin’s breath catches in his throat. Why hadn’t he taken it down yet?

He drops his hand again, beginning to hesitate, but the footsteps inside leave him no time to, and before Jimin can prepare himself any more, the front door swings open and suddenly, (or is it finally?) after two months, he is standing face to face with Kim Taehyung.

He’s wearing a crumpled t-shirt stained with paint splatters and he rubs a hand through his dark locks. His eyes are tired; like he had just woken up; like he had probably spent the night in his studio, painting until the early hours, like he so often did. There’s a smudge of green on his cheek and a few days of stubble around his upper lip and chin. He looks exhausted, unslept, yet still, even after all this time, undeniably the most beautiful man Jimin had ever set eyes on.

This had been a terrible idea.

“Chim…” Taehyung’s hand drops from his hair as he recognises Jimin and his eyes become wide. His voice is as deep and smooth as ever; always extra velvety in the mornings. Jimin could never forget that; the sound of his name on his lips; the petname that only Taehyung called him. The one he hadn’t heard in months because he had declined his calls and eventually deleted his phone number. And the sound of it now confirms all of his fears. Even after two months, Jimin wasn’t ready for this at all.

He notices how Taehyung’s glance slips down to take in Jimin’s form in full, and he remembers what he was wearing; those tight leather jeans, the handsome winter coat he had bought to cheer himself up, the grey-blue hair that he had dyed a few weeks ago and styled this morning to perfection. But for what? It all seemed silly now.

“You didn’t sleep with wet paint on your shirt again, did you?” Jimin finds himself asking instead of a greeting. And it’s a silly question, but it was better than the hesitating silence that hung between them, because now that he’s here, everything that Jimin had considered for two months in saying is suddenly gone.

“Um…” Taehyung seems flustered as he breaks the eye contact to look down at his t-shirt and smooths out a few wrinkles with the palm of his hand. “I had a late one last night. Working on my final project. But I slept on the old sofa in the studio, so don’t worry.”

And Jimin shouldn’t be worrying, because if Taehyung wanted to sleep on paint-stained sheets, that wasn’t his concern anymore. Wasn’t Jimin’s problem to spend his days scrubbing paint out of sheets and clothes, off surfaces and walls and the buttons of the TV remote.

“I thought Kook was coming over...”

And Jimin can’t work out the tone in his voice; can’t tell if he’s asking him to leave, or if he wants him to stay. Maybe he should have texted him beforehand. Maybe he should have at least given him a warning before turning back up in his life after two months of radio silence. But what does it matter now anyway?

“Erm, yeah he was...” It’s getting more awkward with each second, and suddenly the five minutes Jimin had estimated seemed like an impossible eternity. “I can go again if this is too weird.” He takes a step backward.

"No!” Taehyung says quickly and he’s stepping forward to make up the distance. It sounds desperate, hopeful, and God, that wasn’t what Jimin had wanted to give him. “Don’t go...”

A lump forms in Jimin’s throat at the words; the plea he had longed to hear two months ago, that could have changed things. But it’s too late now.

“I just didn’t expect you to come-” The sentence ends abruptly, but Jimin can hear the unsaid word. He hadn’t expected to come home either. “Do you want to come inside?” It seems that Taehyung has just noticed the coating of snowflakes on Jimin’s jacket and in his hair. “It’s snowing.”

And the comment, so completely oblivious, was so Taehyung. The sort of thing that would make Jimin’s heart melt every time and shoot him a lovesick grin, with a sarcastic “is it, baby?” to tease his revelation.

Instead, Jimin just nods and follows him into the entrance hall of the little house; this time as a guest in the place he had lived for three years.

The scent is the first thing that he notice as he steps inside. Something sweet and familiar- like coming home after an extended holiday, and the taste in his lungs is bittersweet. When the door is closed, Jimin isn’t sure what to do. If he should kick off his shoes, take off his coat, or if he should continue standing dumbly in the doorway. He hadn’t really planned this far ahead. If he had given himself the chance to think about it, he would have seen sense in the situation and not have come at all. Would have poked and tickled Jeongguk until he was awake and pulling on his shoes and jacket and fulfilling the original plan. But Jimin had a habit of making rash decisions. Ones that left him hurt and confused later like this surely would.

“Do you want something to drink?” Taehyung is the first to speak again and offers him a pair of guest slippers.

Jimin stares past them at the shoe shelf. It looks so empty without Jimin’s collection of leather boots and ballet slippers. Now it’s just a scatter of Taehyung’s Converse with the heels pressed in, and Jimin tears his eyes away.

“No, I’m not staying long,” he decides. Because he knows that’s not a good idea. He knows that if he spends too long looking at those pouty lips, he will end up forgetting all of the reasons that they had called it off in the first place. Because they had been good reasons. But that didn’t make this any easier.

There is a sadness in Taehyung’s eyes but he just nods and turns away to move further into the apartment. Jimin kicks off his boots and slides his feet into the slippers. He leaves his coat on though.

When he follows him through into the living room, he‘s greeted by a small chaos. Clothes are scattered around the room where they’ve been shrugged off, and papers and sketchbooks litter the floor. On the coffee table, a collection of cups and plates have gathered, along with takeout boxes from at least a few days.

“Sorry, it’s…” Taehyung starts to apologise as he begins to collect the scattered napkins into the empty polystyrene boxes. “I didn’t know…”

“It’s fine,” Jimin assures him, with a shake of his hands to stop. “You don’t need to clean up for me.” Because honestly, he hadn’t expected anything less. Hadn’t assumed that Taehyung was doing any better than he was since he had moved out. Maybe if he had been, then things would have felt a lot worse. Or maybe this would have been easier.

“So how have you been?” Taehyung’s voice cracks as he says it, and once upon a time Jimin would have teased him for it, but right now the air is too tense; too heavy. Even now, after the pain that Jimin had caused him, Taehyung is as sweet and caring as ever. And for that, Jimin feels even worse for what he is about to say.

“I’m just here to pick up my stuff, Tae.” The petname comes out naturally, but it would be worse to backtrack and correct himself, so he doesn’t. Instead, he watches as the smile on Taehyung’s face fades away. Sees the glimmer in his eyes dull as the hope that must have still been there, dies. But it wouldn’t be fair to give him the wrong message.

“Your suitcase is in our-” He stops abruptly and his movements still. “In my bedroom,” he corrects himself of the same Freudian slip that Jimin was falling to even after two months, because adjusting from five years of ours and we’s was an effortful process. He busies himself by clearing up the table. “It should have everything in there, so you can just...”

Jimin looks past him to the door to the bedroom. The paint is still chipped from where Jimin had torn down the collage of photographs it had once held, tossing it into a large box of things to go out on the curb for the rubbish collection. In the heat of the moment, Jimin hadn’t cared about the mess he was leaving behind for Taehyung. Nothing had mattered because nothing had made sense anymore. The life he had known for five years had been crumbling to a pile of rubble until the cloud of dust had clogged his lungs, and he had needed to get out in order to breathe.

“Can you go and get it?” Jimin asks. Being back in their house was already too much. He couldn’t be expected to take a step into their bedroom as well.

“Um… yeah, sure.” Taehyung seems to understand the hesitation and nods quickly. Maybe he’s grateful for the distraction. When he straightens up and disappears into the bedroom he’s considerate enough to pull the door shut behind him.

Now on his own again, Jimin takes a moment to let out a deep breath and hits his palm against his forehead. This had been such a stupid idea. He had been determined to prove he was ready, but being back here is too much. But still, he can’t stop himself from glancing around the house that he had spent three years in, and his gaze lands on the adjoined kitchen with its wide island benchtop, just to the left of the living room area. That had been the spot of many cooking sessions together, which would, more often than not, turn into silly roleplays of classic dramas, and heated makeout sessions, only to be pulled back into reality by the smell of burning food or the occasional fire alarm.

But the memories of those happy times are too much to dwell on, so Jimin switches his gaze back to the living room; tries to think of the fights that had occurred there, which had justified their breakup. But all he sees is the cosy purple sofa in front of the television, which they had picked out with so much love when they had finally saved up enough for it to replace the worn out two-seater, which now lived in Taehyung’s painting studio. They had been too stingy to pay for the shipping and so they had enlisted the help of their friends and carried it up the whole staircase, block by block to its new home in front of the television, before shooing them away again to give the new addition to their house a proper homecoming.

It had taken them years of putting money aside, of planning colour schemes, and finding a compromise to their different tastes, because every decision was meant to last forever. It hadn’t been easy, but together they had made it their home, and they had been so damn proud of it. So damn happy that this was theirs forever.

Before there’s a chance to take in any more, Taehyung reappears, dragging a small yellow suitcase behind him. It’s a hardshell case, plastered with stickers that they had collected on their trip to Paris together four-and-a-half years ago. It’s still got the dodgy wheel from being thrown onto the conveyor belt at Charles De Gaulle, and the big scratch along the bottom corner where it had become trapped against the rough stone wall, as they had made out against the exterior of Gare du Nord.

As Jimin takes it from him, he wonders just how much longer it would take until every single thing in his life would stop reminding him of Taehyung. When he would be able to look at something as simple as a suitcase, without being flooded by the memories associated with it.

“That should be everything.” Taehyung pushes his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, where they ball into fists; his nervous habit. “There’s just a few things that we both shared, that we still need to decide who gets to-”

“You can keep them all,” Jimin interrupts. And he doesn’t mean to sound so cold, because he isn’t even angry any more. But he doesn’t want to draw this out any longer than he must.

Taehyung just nods in acceptance, but he is staring down at his feet, moving between his heels and the balls of his feet; another nervous habit. Because this isn’t easy for him either.

“So how long are you back in Seoul?”

And it’s the hopefulness in his voice that breaks Jimin out of it. Because this is exactly what Jimin didn’t want; a moment to hesitate or a chance to stutter, because that was exactly why he hadn’t planned to come in the first place.

“I’m going back today,” he says, and before there is a chance for a follow-up question, he drags his suitcase with him back into the entrance hall. He slides his feet back into his ankle boots, and out of habit, looks up to catch his reflection in the mirror by the door, and once again curses those damn leather jeans.

Taehyung’s standing just behind him, and he looks as soft as ever in his sleepwear and messy perm. He can see in the reflection how his hands are shaking; how the beginnings of silent words form on his lips. He looks so small, and Jimin has to swallow hard and avert his eyes.

“I’ll be on my way then,” Jimin says finally but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t know why but he’s stuck to the spot. And he wonders if Taehyung could still read his body language as well. Wonders if he could sense the hesitation as Jimin plays with the handle of the suitcase. A hesitation that Jimin himself can’t quite understand. Because it had been his decision to leave.

Taehyung doesn’t move either. Simply nods again and keeps his eyes on the suitcase. It’s only when Jimin reaches for the doorhandle, that he breaks the silence with a desperate question. “Don’t you want to-“

“No,” Jimin cuts him off. Because he knows what he’s going to ask. And Jimin knows, even more now, that he still isn’t ready to talk.

“But Chim…”

And this time Jimin stops, his hand on the doorhandle, as he waits for him to say something else.

And he gives him a few seconds. Gives him a good chance to continue his thoughts before he expects a reply.

But nothing comes.

Taehyung doesn’t put up a fight. Just like he hadn’t back then. Which is why breaking up had been the right thing to do.

And so Jimin takes a deep breath as he gathers the courage to say it, because he knows now, this really is the end. “Bye, Tae,” he says as he pulls the door open and steps out onto the snowy doorstep, pulling his suitcase through the frame. “Look after yourself, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer though; doesn’t even look back. Just carries his suitcase across the path and descends the staircase for what he knows now is the last time.

…

Back at Jeongguk’s apartment their goodbyes are brief. It still hasn’t stopped snowing and Jimin is aware that the longer he waits to get on a train, the more trouble there will be on the tracks.

Jeongguk, now sobered up and aware of the trouble he had caused, keeps apologising, but Jimin assures him that it’s okay. It had always been impossible to stay mad at his younger friend; one look at his big doe eyes and the bunny teeth chewing on his lip and Jimin was forgiving him.

It really wasn’t a big deal.

Because as Jimin had made his way back to Jeongguk’s apartment with his yellow suitcase in tow, it had become clear that maybe today had been for the best. Two months ago he had left in such a haste that there had never been a proper, final goodbye, and maybe that was why he had been struggling to move on. But now there had been closure. There had been one last lingering look; one last goodbye to his old life in the quaint house at the top of the hill, and he was able to close that book. He had written the final scene of a seven year-long love story that had once seemed so promising, but had ended with two broken hearts, and now he could put it back on the bookshelf of past stories that had finished, and move onto the next volume; whatever it might hold.

Now, Jimin is sitting in a cosy booth in a restaurant just inside Seoul station. Namjoon and Seokjin are in the booth across from him, arguing about whether they have time to order another plate of rice cakes. They’re on their way to Ilsan to spend the weekend at Namjoon’s parents’ house to organise wedding plans. Their train has been delayed half an hour but a message had come through the speakers that they were working on clearing the snow off the track and it would be up and running soon.

It’s nice to see his friends again. It had been a difficult decision to move back to Busan, fearing the distance might change their friendship. But as he watches them fondly as they bicker over ricecakes, he’s assured that nothing has. Namjoon has won the argument; a smug grin on his face as Seokjin hails over the waiter to place the order for his fiancé.

Unlike Hoseok and Yoongi, his Gyeonggi-do friends are more careful about their conversation topics. They don’t ask Jimin about Taehyung, which he is grateful for. They ask about his new job in Busan, about when he’s coming up again next, and tell him about how they’re renovating the bathroom. It’s Jimin who mentions Taehyung first. He hadn’t been planning on telling them about seeing him but it slips out when he mentions the amount of snow that had been on the staircase; how he’d almost slipped over like he had so many times before.

Jimin notices in their expressions the moment the information clicks and quickly averts his eyes to his food, but not fast enough to see the couple exchange a nervous glance.

The waiter comes back with a serving of ricecakes, boxed up to take away with them. A good compromise. They knew how to put their differences aside and find a solution, and that was why their relationship was strong.

“You went to see Tae?” It’s Namjoon who speaks first, breaking an awkward silence, when the waiter disappears again.

Jimin shrugs it off and helps himself to a ricecake from the box, alleviating himself from having to answer by stuffing it into his mouth. As he sets his chopsticks back down on the table, he receives a slap on the back of his hand.

“Hey!” Jin is glaring at him and pulling the cardboard box away from him. “Those are for Joonie.”

“Hyung!” Jimin gawks at him, his cheeks full of rice. “You hit me!”

“Order your own ricecakes,” Jin snaps. “It’s gonna take a lot longer to clear the track to Busan, if at all,” he reasons and Jimin’s answer is to give him puppy eyes, ignoring the comment.

“But Jimin, I’m being serious,” Namjoon interjects, putting his arm in front of his boyfriend to create a barrier between them fighting again. “You went to see him? You guys finally talked?” He sounds so relieved.

“No, I just went to get my stuff,” Jimin corrects him, with a gesture to the yellow suitcase. “I was there for like two minutes. Anyway, there’s nothing to talk about. We’re done.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh and Jimin keeps his eyes on his plate. “How can you be done if you haven’t even talked about it?”

Jimin slumps back in his seat and crosses his arms. He feels like he’s having an argument with his parents who are wise and trying to make him see sense. A conversation he doesn’t want to have.

“We had our reasons. Tae knows them,” he says.

Another sigh. “There’s a difference between reasons and excuses...”

“Jimin.” It’s Jin this time. And he feels ganged up on. “This isn’t just some fling we’re talking about. It’s Tae. Your best friend of seven years. Who you just walked out on without even giving a chance to explain. I get that you needed some space and that’s fine but it’s been two months. You must have thought about what to say to him.”

Jimin picks at the napkin in front of him, smoothing out an imaginary crease. “Well we’re different people from who we were seven years ago,” he deflects. “We want different things.”

“That’s not what he said…”

Jimin shoves the napkin away. “Can we not do this?” he pleads.

He knows that Taehyung has told them his side of the story. While Jimin had sought comfort from Hoseok and Yoongi in the aftermath, the Kims had been there for their youngest nameshare. But Jimin would prefer that they didn’t acknowledge it. The last thing he had wanted was for this breakup to come between their friend group.

“Look, it’s none of our business, Jimin,” Namjoon says, softer now, and reaches across the table to rest a comforting hand on Jimin’s arm. “I know there’s more to it than that. I’m just… surprised you went to see him. Or rather… surprised that he let you leave again.”

This time Jimin feels an uneasy stir in his stomach at the words, because truthfully, he’s a little surprised too.

Before the conversation can continue, an announcement sounds out over the speakers to inform passengers that the northbound track had been cleared and would be ready for boarding soon.

“Oh thank god!” Jin claps his hands in relief, and Jimin breathes a silent breath of relief. “I really thought they were going to give up on us this time.” He’s reaching into his pocket for his wallet to pay for the meal when his hand stills for a moment, emerging again with a set of keys. “Do you want to take the keys to our place just in case?”

Jimin looks down at the keyring in Jin’s hand; at the cartoon whale with a cute, squiggly smile that Taehyung had gifted him a long time ago. “In case what?” he asks dumbly.

“In case your train gets cancelled. Then you can stay at our place for the night so you don’t have to listen to Kookie yelling into his headset all night. He’s doing that big stream tonight.”

“No, it’s gonna be fine.” Jimin waves it off. They had cleared the track to Ilsan quickly enough, so the track to Busan would probably be ready soon too. “I can’t spend another day in this cold. Don’t know how I held out seven years here.”

And of course he does know. Knows that he could have been living in Antarctica or the Saharan desert, as long as it had been with Taehyung.

“It’s supposed to get worse overnight,” Namjoon informs them. “They’re expecting snowstorms.”

“All the more reason to get back to Busan tonight,” Jimin says, unable to hide a smug smile to rub in the fact that in a few hours he would be sitting in the backyard with his parents, only a thin blanket and a mug of steaming tea to keep him warm. “Seriously, it’ll be fine. You guys should get going.”

“And if it’s not?” Jin’s still holding out the keyring as they get to their feet. “Where are you gonna go?”

Jimin hands over their coats from the hook behind him. “Then I’ll have to get some earplugs,” he says.

Namjoon sighs, and Jin just shakes his head and stuffs the keyring back into his pocket. “There’s really no convincing you,” Namjoon concludes.

Jimin accompanies his friends to the platform and sees them off with tight hugs, wishing them a safe journey and promising that he’ll come back up to see them again soon. Then he finds himself a seat in the waiting room with a view of the departure board, and waits for the status for the southbound trains to change from delayed to boarding.

…

The hours tick by and it’s starting to get cold inside the large hall. More passengers give up and vacate the seats, but Jimin continues to wait. He keeps himself busy by texting Jeongguk; sharing ideas for his big upcoming livestream, until it’s time for Jeongguk to log on and set up.

When Jimin looks back up to the departure board and finds his train, his smile vanishes.

KTX to Busan: Cancelled.

Shit.

Jimin blinks at the screen, and goes through the list of other trains heading south. All cancelled. A scrolling message at the bottom of the screen expresses Korail’s apologies for the interruptions, and that all remaining trains tonight had been cancelled due to the bad weather warnings.

He gets to his feet and drags his suitcase across the hall to a ticket booth to get some more information from the staff. The woman relays the same message to him, and advises that he should try coming back tomorrow morning where they would have had time to clear the tracks overnight. Jimin knows it isn’t the woman’s fault so he thanks her with a polite bow and waits until he has turned away to make a pained face.

Shit.

It’s starting to get chilly as the station empties out and Jimin hugs himself to keep warm as he pulls up Jeongguk’s contact and rings. He leans against an empty counter and holds the phone to his ear, piecing together an apology that he’s going to have to crash another night. After seven rings it goes to mailbox and Jimin tries calling again but still has no luck. He decides to type out a text message instead, explaining the situation, and then finding a seat near the wall to wait for his reply. The livestream had already started but surely he would check his phone soon. Jimin puts a hand on the radiator behind him and realises it has been turned off for the night. He sighs and pulls his legs up to his chest. It’s difficult in those damn leather jeans, but it keeps him warm. Hopefully Jeongguk answers his phone soon. His battery was getting low.

Jimin closes his eyes and drops his head back against the wall as he waits. And of course, without a distraction to keep his mind busy, he finds himself thinking about Taehyung.

Taehyung standing there in their lovely house with his crumpled, paint-stained t-shirt and his dark curls. He hadn’t cut them in a while and were getting long now. They had reminded Jimin of the sixteen year old he had met all those years ago. Whose fringe had hung in his eyes and caused him trouble with teachers every day. Who, with Jimin’s help one evening, had dyed it bright purple, just to spite them even more. The same night that they had fallen asleep on Taehyung’s bed in their dorm room in fits of giggles, and Jimin had first began to realise he had fallen in love with his best friend.

And before he can catch himself, Jimin is smiling at the memory.

“Don’t,” he warns himself and opens his eyes, turning off the replay of memories like he had been doing for the last two months. Because thinking back to them was dangerous territory.

It wasn’t meant to be. If it had been; if they had meant to be together forever, then it wouldn’t have ended this way. Something would have stopped them from falling apart; would have pushed them back together when the distance had begun to grow. But it hadn’t. And here Jimin was with his yellow suitcase with the last memories of seven years of his life with Taehyung and nothing to stop him leaving.

Nothing but a snow-covered southbound track.

After a while Jimin’s phone buzzes in his hand, jolting him from what must have been a short sleep. He raises the phone to his face, blinking a few times for his vision to settle against the brightness until he could make out the message on the screen.

(Unknown number):
Did you get home safely?

He raises an eyebrow in confusion, wondering if his phone is playing up again and had deleted one of his friend‘s numbers. Intrigued, he unlocks his phone and is directed to an existing text conversation with the unsaved number. It only takes one glance at the old message thread for Jimin to understand whose number the message was from. A number that had once been his speed dial. He locks the phone straight away.

And still, Jimin denies that this was the sign he had been waiting for; the twist of fate that would push them back together and force the confrontation that Jimin had been avoiding for so long. The same confrontation that had caused him to end it. The same confrontation that was preventing him from moving on as he keeps trying to convince himself that this is how it was supposed to end.

Determined to prove that belief, and with his battery now blinking red, Jimin opens his contact list and tries Jeongguk one last time.

…

When Jimin reaches the bottom of the hilly staircase for the second time that day, Taehyung is waiting there for him. He’s leaning against the same pillar as always, and he’s bundled up in a thick winter coat and a woollen beanie. His cheeks and nose are pink and he’s covered with enough snowflakes for Jimin to know he has been waiting there a while. The snow is piled even higher than it had been earlier that day and Jimin only hopes that he hasn’t come down the stairs in his slippers.

“Hey!” Taehyung greets him, pushing himself off from the wall, and Jimin sees in his expression something like a hint of relief.

“Hey…” Jimin greets him, with less enthusiasm, and stops a few feet in front of him. “I’m sorry…” Jimin tries to explain himself. “I know you’re the last person I should be asking. The fucking trains…”

“It’s fine.” Taehyung just shrugs it off and steps past Jimin and picks up his suitcase. “Technically it’s still your place too.”

Jimin remembers how their name plate still hangs on the door. He wonders if Taehyung would wait until the lease was up before he took it down.

“You don’t need to carry it.” He reaches out for the suitcase and his fingers brush with Taehyung’s on the handle. Their hands are both gloved and the touch is brief, but still, Jimin feels his body stiffen up. It’s been a long time after all.

“It’s fine,” Taehyung repeats. “You just be careful not to slip in those heels.” He begins to climb the staircase, leaving Jimin looking down at his scuffed boots. He had done a lot of walking today and the soles of his feet were punishing him for all of the stupid decisions he has made that day.

“It’s heavy,” Jimin warns, as he begins to ascend the staircase, allowing a few steps between them.

“I know it is,” Taehyung answers him without turning around. “I packed it.”

The rest of the climb to the top is in silence and soon enough they are standing outside their little bungalow. Taehyung’s bungalow. And while Taehyung searches for his keys, the door to the house nextdoor opens and their neighbour appears on her doorstep.

“Jiminssi, is that you, my dear?” she asks, stepping closer to the small hedge that separates their plots. The woman is tiny, even smaller than Jimin’s own grandmother and probably even older, and before Jimin has a chance to answer, her face breaks into a smile. “I thought I heard your voice earlier, but Mr Chang said I must have been imagining it.”

Jimin steps over towards her and smiles as she reaches out to hold his hands in hers. “Mrs. Chang. It’s nice to see you again,” he tells her and bows deeply. “Have you been well?”

“Yes, we’re plodding along,” she assures him and reaches out to stroke his hair. She had always been very fond of him and Taehyung. Had always met them in the garden for a chat and brought them freshly baked bread. He had missed her. “Why were you gone so long?” she asks.

Jimin’s smile falters on his lips and he glances back over his shoulder to their own front door to see that Taehyung had already gone inside with his suitcase.

“We um… we broke up, Mrs Chang.” He had told her before when he had left two months ago. He was sure about that because he could remember the look of heartbreak in her eyes as she had encouraged him to rethink things. But at her age, she had probably forgotten. “I’m only staying tonight because my train was cancelled. I’ll be leaving again tomorrow.”

As she glances behind Jimin towards their front door, there is something in her expression that Jimin can’t quite read. “Well that’s not a surprise,” she says with a tut. “I haven’t seen this much snow in Seoul since I was your age. They’re saying the weather’s going to take a turn for the worse overnight. I’ve already cleared out the kimchi cellar. Let me get you some.”

“Oh...” Jimin tries to stop her with a wave of his hands. “No, we’ll be fine.”

But the woman has already disappeared into her house before Jimin has a chance to properly decline her offer.

“Now this should keep you going for a few days,” she announces as she emerges from the house again with a large jar of kimchi, pressing it into Jimin’s arms. “We have enough to last us the whole winter, so don’t mind asking us for more when you run out.”

Jimin laughs at what had to be a joke. Because she had to be exaggerating. The snow would be gone by the morning, Jimin was sure. “Thank you, Mrs Chang,” he says, knowing better than to refuse a gift from an elder, and gives her another bow. “And say hello to Mr Chang for me.”

“I’ll say goodnight now, my dear,” she says with a fond smile. “Hopefully your man has turned the electric blanket on for you both.”

’He’s not my man anymore’ Jimin wants to answer, but before he can, she is already waving farewell and disappearing back into her house. She probably wouldn’t listen anyway.

So with the heavy jar cradled in his arm, Jimin goes up the path to their- no, Taehyung’s house and for the second time too many that day, he is passing the pretty Kim & Park nameplate on the door and stepping into the familiar-smelling entrance hall of his ex-home. He closes the door behind him and kicks off his shoes and this time he takes off his winter jacket too.

In the living room, the mess from earlier had been cleaned up and Taehyung has already set up the sofa with some blankets. It’s comfortably warm inside and Taehyung already has the kettle boiling as Jimin joins him in the adjoined kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” Taehyung asks as he eyes the kimchi jar.

“No, I had dinner with Jin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung at the station. This is from Mrs Chang.” Jimin crosses over to the other side of the kitchen to store the jar in the fridge. Inside, it’s uncharacteristically full and Jimin has to rearrange some things to make some space.

“I went shopping earlier,” Taehyung explains without even hearing the question. “Just in case.”

But Jimin ignores this, because he doesn’t dare ask him ‘in case of what?’. “She thought we were getting back together.” He says it with a laugh to try and ease the mood but it sounds somewhat forced. Maybe it’s still too soon to make jokes.

“Oh?” Taehyung questions, as he puts the tea leaves in the pot. It’s winter apple tea, their joint favourite, and he already has two mugs sitting on the benchtop.

“Well she’s old,” Jimin continues. “Her generation still don’t believe that you can fall out of love with someone.” It’s another attempt to ease the situation, but once again the words sound wrong on his tongue. After all, it’s been a long time since they spoke.

“Or that when something’s broken, you try and fix it, instead of just giving up.”

Jimin doesn’t reply to this. Instead he looks at the mug in his hands, and like everything he lays eyes on, it brings memories flooding back. He still remembers how they had bought it from the kitchenware section in Daiso on the day they had moved in; in a rush before the store closed, had grabbed the first available set, with cute prints of polkadots and stripes.

He remembers where the small chip on its rim comes from too. Remembers it like yesterday, how it had been in this very kitchen, about a year ago, when Taehyung had been doing the dishes one night, and Jimin had been so impatient for him to finish up and come to bed. He remembers how he had come to stand behind him, had wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed the sensitive skin on his neck. How Taehyung, determined to finish the dishes, or maybe to continue to rile Jimin up had been rinsing the red mug when Jimin had decided he was going to win. Had dropped to his knees behind him, had pulled Taehyung’s shorts down his ass and kissed a wet path down his crease with his tongue, slow and wet, just the way that Taehyung liked it, down... and down… until the mug had fallen from Taehyung’s hands, cracking on the edge of the basin and the soapy water had been left to go cold and the dishes abandoned until the next afternoon.

When Jimin realises now that he’s running his finger along the chip, he quickly puts the mug back on the benchtop and folds his arms across his chest. Taehyung’s looking at the mug too and Jimin wonders if he was thinking of the same thing. The light blush in his cheeks meant that he probably was.

“This was a stupid idea,” Jimin says finally and reaches into this pocket for his phone. “Maybe I should try Jeongguk again.” But when Jimin turns it on the home-screen is still blank of notifications and the battery sign blinks red.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says and he takes down another mug from the shelf. He’s talking about what he had said, but the action confirms what the blush in his cheeks had suggested. This mug is plain white with the logo from Jimin’s old business school on it. It’s attached to another painful memory but this one is hurts in a different way. “Sorry for-“

“I’m tired,” Jimin interjects, but he’s unsure exactly what he means by it. Tired after the long day? Tired of replaying their arguments? Tired of being filled with these strange feelings that he still hadn’t been able to rid of? The ones that stayed, even when he had made the decision to go.

“Well I’ve got work to do in my studio,” Taehyung agrees. “So I’ll leave you to sleep. But I’ll still be up for a while, just in case…” He hands over the mug of tea and his gaze lingers for a moment. “Just in case you need me.”

But he had needed him months ago.

“Okay.” Jimin breaks the eye contact first and nods in thanks. “Don’t stay up too long.” It was the same thing he would have told him months ago, and Taehyung would have nodded in the same way, but they would both know that he was going to fall asleep on the couch in his studio.

But thankfully it’s the end of their interaction for today. They say their goodnights and the door to Taehyung’s studio closes behind him, soon followed by quiet notes of jazz from his old radio, and as Jimin clutches the burning mug in his hands, he lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding ever since leaving the train station.

It’s late now and he really is tired, so after washing up, Jimin makes his way over to the sofa that Taehyung had set up for him. He slips out of his jeans and pulls on Jeongguk’s oversized jumper and flicks off the lights before slipping under the covers. He retrieves the extension cable that he knows is hiding under the sofa, the one that only works if you twist the wire in a certain way, and plugs in his phone.

He tunes in to Jeongguk’s livestream for a little bit, and the sight of his doe-eyed friend looking so happy while he plays a liveshooting game and chats with his viewers relieves Jimin of any of the anger he may have felt towards the situation. He considers sending a comment, a reminder to check his phone, just in case he will see it, but there are so many comments that it would probably get lost in them.

But anyway, it hardly matters anymore. He’s here now, which meant that the hardest part was already over, and the sooner he goes to sleep, the sooner he can wake up and leave.

And so Jimin settles down under the blankets to make himself comfortable. He shuts his eyes and slows his breaths, determined to send himself off to sleep, but when he inhales, it’s the scent of Taehyung all over the blankets that fills his lungs. He rolls over, raising an arm to breathe through the sleeve of his hoodie to smell Jeongguk’s sugary scent instead.

Thankfully it was just for a few hours and Jimin would be gone soon. The snow would melt and they would have to say goodbye again, but finally there would be some distance between them. Jimin would go back to Busan, would move on with his life without Taehyung and the closure he had been waiting for two months for would finally make itself known.

Outside their little house, the snow continues to fall and the temperature drops, but Jimin doesn’t notice. As sleep overcomes him, and his consciousness diminishes, he finds himself rolling back to a comfortable position. Finds himself pulling the blankets back up to his nose and inhaling the scent that had comforted him for the last seven years, which accompanies him into his dreams. A familiar but distant dream that smells like strawberry shampoo and wet paint and is accompanied by the soft keys of old jazz.

…

It’s a week after Jimin’s 24th birthday when things start to fall apart.

It isn’t the first argument they’ve had in their five year relationship, not even the first significant one, but it’s the first time that it ends without an apology. It’s the first time they go to bed without makeup kisses and apologetic cuddles and someone admitting they were in the wrong. The first time they don’t talk it out and agree to work on things together. And while the argument itself is minor; the unresolution is the beginning of the end.

It’s gone 3am when Jimin staggers up the path to their house that night, fumbling in his pockets to find where he’s stashed his set of keys. He’s been out at his favourite club and the taste of more than one too many cocktails sits on his tongue. It’s the second time this week and it’s only Thursday, but he’s found an escape in the way his mind is gently buzzing, and the uncomfortable thoughts he has been escaping are kept at bay.

He’s found the right pocket for his key, but before he can search among them, the front door opens by itself and Jimin stumbles forward into a pair of strong arms. “Taetae,” he smiles, oblivious to the look of relief in his tired eyes and presses his face into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. He’s warm and sturdy and Jimin wants to fall asleep right there in his arms. Wants him to carry him to bed and fall asleep to the feel of lips pressing trails along his neck.

Taehyung doesn’t greet him back though, just wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, taking his weight into his arms and helps him over the doorstep and into the house. Jimin is unsteady on his feet and so Taehyung helps him to sit down on the ottoman box by the coatrail, before closing the door behind them. And god, it feels good to take the weight off his feet.

“Where have you been, Chim?” Taehyung asks, crouching down in front of him to rest a hand on his knee. It’s concern, rather than disappointment in his voice but right now Jimin is too drunk to tell the difference.

“Dancing,” Jimin says simply and lets Taehyung guide his arms out of his leather jacket and hang it up on the coathook. He leans back against the wall, letting his head rest against the wallpaper. “I told you I was going.”

“You also told me you’d text me when you were on your way home.”

Taehyung’s unlacing his boots for him and Jimin can’t help but sigh at the feeling as he slips one of his feet to freedom. “I fell asleep on the train,” Jimin giggles and wiggles his toes in his sock.

“I would have come and met you if I had known you were this drunk, Chim.”

“No,” Jimin says with a shake of his head. “You have school tomorrow. You should be asleep.”

“I can’t sleep when I’m worried about where you are, Chimmy.” He keeps his voice gentle; tries to let him know that he isn’t nagging him; that he’s just worried, but Jimin mistakes this for neediness and can’t help but smile.

“Did you miss me?” He leans forward and threads his fingers into Taehyung’s hair. It’s freshly-washed and Jimin is mesmerised by how soft it feels under his fingers.

“I always miss you, Chim,” he says and gets to his feet. “But didn’t you miss me?”

He did miss him. He’d missed him for weeks now. And that was the problem.

“Well I’m here now.” He gets to his feet, leaning forward to pull Taehyung in for a kiss, but he stumbles, and Taehyung’s hands quickly find his waist to steady him.

“You smell like smoke,” he says, unable to keep himself from making a face, and tilts his chin out of Jimin’s reach.

“Wasn’t me,” Jimin denies with a grin, and tries not to let the rejection bother him. Because Taehyung knows where he’s been; knows his favourite club happens to be the only club that allowed its patrons to smoke on the dancefloor, leaving everyone reeking of sweat and stale ashtrays. If he had been drunk too, he might have found it a little sexy. But not like this; not tired and sober and having been worried out of his wits for the last few hours. But of course Jimin isn’t in a state to think about that.

“Let’s just get you cleaned up, okay?”

They end up in the bathroom and Taehyung sets Jimin down on the edge of the bath, where he drops the plug in and starts to run the water. He kneels before Jimin and starts to undo the buttons of his sheer dress shirt. The material is thin and inappropriate for the late-October weather but that’s not a concern for now.

“I can do it,” Jimin says in confidence and pushes Taehyung’s hands away to struggle with the buttons himself. His fingers don’t seem to be working well, but Taehyung just lets him and instead, unbuckles his belt and fly.

“Up,” he says gently, patting at Jimin’s thigh.

Jimin has given up with the buttons but does as Taehyung says and lifts himself up to help Taehyung wiggle him out of his tight jeans. “Are you going to fuck me, Taetae?” he asks with a grin, resting his hands on Taehyung’s shoulders for balance.

Taehyung concentrates on pulling his jeans down his legs and discards them on the floor. “Not tonight,” Taehyung says and pulls off his socks before taking over with the buttons on his shirt and slipping the fabric down his shoulders.

“Don’t you want to?” Jimin asks with a pout and lets the shirt pool at his wrists. “It’s been weeks.”

Taehyung hesitates at this. He’s right. It has been. Their conflicting schedules; Jimin’s early mornings at the dance school and evenings at the club; Taehyung’s all-nighters in the studio and late night cramming sessions at the library as he prepared for his final exams had left them with little time to each other the past weeks. But it’s the fact that even in his drunken state now, when he can’t remember how to undo his buttons, he remembers that.

“It’s late, Chim,” he says instead. “I’m tired.” Taehyung reaches past him to test the water temperature with one hand, the other still holding Jimin steady at the hip. It’s warm enough and full enough and so he turns the taps off. “Let’s just get you cleaned up, okay?” So Jimin gives in, and lets Taehyung help him into the water.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Jimin asks, sinking into the bubbles. He’s giving Taehyung puppy eyes; something Taehyung usually can’t resist, but with a shake of his head, he does tonight. In fact, it’s been a few times recently. But he does look tired and he has to be up again for university in a few hours, so Jimin lets it slide. Instead, he shuts his eyes and takes whatever touch Taehyung will give him. Tries to enjoy the closeness as he lathers the soap in his hands and washes over Jimin’s shoulders, under his arms, over his chest. All the places that smelled like sweat and smoke and bad decisions.

“I’m gonna do your hair too,” he says and Jimin is pliant in his hands now. Lets him guide his head back under the water, careful not to get any in his eyes.

When he comes back up, Jimin folds his arms over the edge of the bath and rests head on top of them for Taehyung to lather the shampoo into his blond hair. The movement makes him a little nauseous, but the cool water helps to clear his head. “Drank way too much,” he admits sheepishly; more to himself than anything.

“How come?”

Jimin’s eyes are closed and he hums at the feeling of Taehyung’s fingers massing his scalp. It’s so soothing and feels so nice and it’s making his mind even fuzzier and god, it’s been a long time since he’s felt this close.

“Because I hate my fucking job,” he says and laughs, fakely. “My boss was being an asshole again.”

Taehyung’s fingers stop and Jimin doesn’t see, but his eyes are wide, dark. “Did he do something to you?” he asks quietly. “Did something happen?”

“No, he didn’t do anything,” Jimin sighs. “He just won’t let me teach my classes the way I want.”

Taehyung relaxes again and takes the showerhead from its socket. “Close your eyes,” Taehyung warns, threading a gentle hand into Jimin’s locks.

He marvels at the feeling of having his hair rinsed; Taehyung’s fingers massaging his scalp and soothing him enough to let his thoughts run free. The thoughts that he usually keeps mum.

“I fucking hate it there,” Jimin adds as he has his hair washed. “Hate going in there every day to that shitty job.” He’s always been talkative, but when he drinks, the words come out unfiltered.

Now Taehyung is massaging conditioner into the strands; hands gentle and soft and Jimin is beginning to feel sleepy.

“Maybe it’s time you looked for something different. You shouldn’t stay there if you’re unhappy.”

They’ve started this conversation before, more or less, but Jimin usually shuts it down fairly quickly. And he should do the same now; only this time, with the alcohol in his system, he isn’t as good at lying.

“No, no. I’ve got to work…to pay bills… so that you can follow your dreams. And you can be happy, and- argh!” Jimin squawks in pain as the conditioner runs into his eyes as Taehyung loses focus. “Tae, watch out.” He grabs for the showerhead, but Taehyung’s grip has gone slack so it’s easy for him to take over.

“I’m sorry,” he says but his voice sounds far away. Like it’s not the water he’s apologising for. “I want you to be happy too.”

Jimin doesn’t answer this, so Taehyung gets up to fetch the fluffy towel he had placed ready on the radiator. When he comes back, he helps Jimin out of the bath and wraps him in the warmed towel.

“Hey, we can talk about it tomorrow,” Taehyung says gently, sitting him back down on the edge of the bath, while the water drains.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jimin sighs. He’s more sober now and he’s tired. “It’s fine. It’s just a few more months until you graduate. It won’t be forever. Let’s just drop it, okay?”

And that’s the end of it.

So they’re silent while Jimin brushes his teeth and Taehyung dries his hair with the hairdryer, making sure to get every last bit. They’re silent when he helps him pull on some warm pyjamas, some fluffy socks, and helps him settle into their bed. They’re silent as Taehyung spoons up behind him, keeping Jimin on his side in case the alcohol comes back up, and strokes his hair until his breathing settles.

And so Jimin doesn’t hear Taehyung telling him he loves him, just before he drifts away to dreamland, for what he doesn’t realise will be the last time he’ll hear it.

The next morning they don’t talk about it either. Jimin calls in sick with a hangover, and when Taehyung comes back from university and reminds him of the discussion, he begs him again to let it go. And so he does. Lets Jimin suffer alone like he had been doing for months now. Lets him continue pretending that everything is fine, both at work, and between them.

But neither are fine, and while the unsaid words are left to fester, it’s the end of normality between them.

...

When Jimin awakes the next morning on the sofa, it’s to the sweet smell of something cooking filling his senses. Before he even opens his eyes he recognises the scent of fresh pancakes coming from the adjoined kitchen. The ones Taehyung cooks with an extra dollop of cream in the mixture, which he serves up with strawberries sliced into heart shapes and a sprinkle of brown sugar. That he sides with hot chocolate for himself and freshly brewed coffee for Jimin, which, even though he doesn’t drink himself, he makes perfectly. It had been their signature meal; one that Jimin still thought about often, and even now, the scent fills him with warm memories of lazy Sunday mornings and strawberry-flavoured kisses.

But that isn’t the situation anymore, Jimin remembers as he comes back to consciousness with a cramp in his shoulder and a chill around his bare toes. The situation now is that he’s sleeping on the sofa in his old living room, and that he’s going to see Taehyung for the last time.

Before he can overthink it; before he has a chance to understand the weight of what he is about to do he pushes the blankets off his body and sits up, setting his feet on the fluffy rug and stretches his arms out. It was time to finish this once and for all.

When he peeks over the back of the sofa, he sees Taehyung isn’t in the kitchen and so he gets to his feet and shuffles into the guest slippers. Jeongguk’s hoodie falls down to his mid-thigh, so Jimin doesn’t bother to get dressed further before he follows the scent of food over to the kitchen area.

The benchtop is just as he had pictured it; just as it always had been. Even the coffee pot sits there waiting for him. The only difference now is that there is only one plate and no sign of-

“Morning.”

The voice startles Jimin, and Taehyung pauses as he comes out of his painting studio that adjoins the kitchen.

“Morning…”

Taehyung rubs at the back of his neck; a nervous habit, but he doesn’t move from the doorway. “Did you, erm… did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” Jimin answers with a nod. He hadn’t really. There’s a crick in his neck and the room is freezing, but he’s only asking as a formality, really.

“Cool...”

As they both stand there in silence looking at each other with the big island between them; it’s hard to ignore the sudden awkwardness between them. Last night Jimin had been too exhausted, too raw with the new emotions that he hadn’t had much time to question it. But now there’s no avoiding the stagnant air between them, and it feels awful. The avoidances had been painful, the fighting had been agonising, but this forced politeness was just awkward. They had never been awkward before.

“You didn’t have to make breakfast,” Jimin says to break the silence and gestures to the table. “I’ll be on my way soon.”

“I know, I know.” There’s a blush in Taehyung’s cheeks and he looks away as he crosses the room and goes to the fridge. He takes out the milk and sets it on the table next to the coffeepot. “It’s just… well you always forget to eat breakfast, and you get grumpy when you’re hungry so…” He unscrews the lid and reaches for the mug. “And I was up anyway. Just in case you wanted to…”

“I can do it,” Jimin cuts him off and slides the mug back towards himself. His heart is hammering in his chest, because this is all too much; being back here, in the cosiness of their lovely house. Taehyung with his faded t-shirt and his curly bedhead. Thrown back into a life that wasn’t his anymore. A life that for whatever reason, because right now Jimin couldn’t remember, he had run away from. A life he was trying to forget.

“I’m sorry.” Taehyung sets the milk back down on the bench and takes a step back. His voice is pained and somehow, despite everything, it still makes Jimin’s heart ache. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll let you… erm, I’m going to go to bed.”

“Haven’t you slept yet?” Jimin asks, unable to hide the concern in his voice as he takes in the same crumpled t-shirt from yesterday.

“Not yet,” Taehyung admits and he’s a little ashamed. “I was…” he gestures towards his studio with a thumb. “Deadline is next week.”

“Oh… right.” Jimin just nods.

There’s a silence between them until Taehyung notices that Jimin isn’t going to say any more and starts towards the bedroom. “Right, well…”

And something like panic washes through Jimin as he watches him go. And he isn’t sure why, since he keeps pushing him away, but he finds himself wanting him to stop.

“Tae?” he asks. It sounds desperate but there’s some kind of adrenaline rushing through him and so he doesn’t have a chance to think about it.

Taehyung stops straight away. Takes a moment before he turns around to look back at Jimin. There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes. One that Jimin realises he shouldn’t be sending him, because now as he looks at him, waiting, Jimin doesn’t even know what he wants to say. Realises that even after two months, he isn’t ready for this. And so he swallows the words.

“Erm… thanks,” he says instead. “Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“Of course,” Taehyung says and he stands there for a few seconds. Maybe he can tell that Jimin had wanted to say something else. Maybe he was giving him a chance to gather his courage. But Jimin’s lost the nerve now.

"Good luck with your project,” Jimin finishes.

And so Taehyung just nods again and exits the room; closes the bedroom door behind him, and leaves Jimin to think about the unwelcome sense of loss that settles in him.

So Jimin sips on the coffee eats his pancakes alone. It will be the same recipe as always but somehow they taste different today; bland and lukewarm. They taste different when it isn’t Taehyung teasingly spoonfeeding him, kissing him between bites and making exaggerated expressions of disgust at the taste of bitter coffee on Jimin’s tongue, before pulling him back in for more anyway. Making Jimin laugh so hard that he can’t even kiss back properly, but still, Taehyung doesn’t stop.

The memories are so warm and right now, all by himself, the pancakes taste stone cold.

Jimin finds his eyes flitting to the door of their bedroom. He can hear Taehyung moving about, can hear the squeak of the wardrobe door and the rattle of the old railing as he draws the baby blue curtains that don’t quite filter out the morning light. With every creak of the floorboards he finds himself hoping that Taehyung will come back out. Maybe he’s forgotten his phone; maybe he needs a glass of water; maybe he’ll come out and tell Jimin that he still loves him and begs him not to leave again. Which was stupid anyway because Jimin had been the one to called it off.

But of course he doesn’t come back. He hadn’t fought then. He wasn’t fighting now. Which was why it had been the right thing to call things off.

And soon he hears the creak of the mattress springs as Taehyung gets into bed and Jimin gives up on his breakfast, dropping his fork with a clatter on the plate.

…

When Jimin’s finished eating, he does the dishes, puts everything back where it belongs and tidies up his blankets into a neat pile that he stacks in the linen cupboard. He doesn’t want to be a burden and he’s never liked leaving their pretty house dirty. Not after the time and care they had taken to fill it.

There’s no reason to hang around and so he packs up his stuff and gets dressed again. Slides into those stupid leather jeans again and pulls on the socks that he’s been wearing for two days now. There’s probably something else he could wear in the yellow suitcase but he doesn’t want to open it right now. He knows that it will probably end up in the back of his wardrobe in his old bedroom in Busan with the rest of the unpacked boxes that he hasn’t felt ready to open yet.

When he’s ready to go, there’s no reason to hang around; no reason for another goodbye, and so Jimin drags his suitcase out into the entrance hall and pulls on his jacket and boots. On a second thought he takes Taehyung’s plaid scarf from the hook and wraps it around his neck. It’s a stupid move, even more so since he knows it’s Taehyung’s favourite, but he is feeling bitter. Even when he has no right to. But the warmth around his neck is some kind of collateral for the pain he’s suddenly feeling as he leaves the house again.

Outside is awfully bright and it takes Jimin a second to adjust to it before he realises just why. The wind chill hits him instantly and he wraps the scarf tighter around his neck as he looks out at the front garden. It’s been snowing overnight, a lot, and the entire plot is caked with a thick layer of white. It’s still snowing now and when he steps down onto where the path is, his foot sinks into it, up past his ankle.

“For fuck’s sake,” he says to himself as he feels the snow seep into his socks. Once again he curses his outfit choice; this time the leather ankle boots that had been pretty as hell but were no match for the snow. It’s going to be a long day. But he can’t do anything about it now, and so Jimin carries his suitcase over the doorstep and pulls the door closed behind him.

His feet find the pathing stones easily, their layout still burned into his memory even when he can’t see them beneath the snow, and he makes his way carefully out of the front garden to the gate. It’s a struggle to open it with one hand and when he finally manages to stagger through to the staircase alleyway, he swears again. The snow out here is even thicker and he can’t even see down the staircase because there’s just so much of it. It’s going to be a nightmare to make his way down, especially with his suitcase in one hand. It’s a good five minute descent on a good day and the likelihood of him slipping and breaking an ankle is high, but there’s no other choice, and so Jimin braces himself on the handrail and hopes for the best.

“Jiminssi!”

Jimin stops at the sound of his name, and turns back to the house. The snow flurries catch in his eyelashes and he wants to wipe them away but he doesn’t have a free hand.

“Jiminssi, what on earth are you doing?”

Mrs. Chang is waving to him from her doorstep, still dressed in her housecoat and is pulling on her snow boots that Jimin envies right now.

“Good morning,” he answers with a forced smile to hide his struggle. “I’m on my way now.” He gives her a wave, hoping to make it quick. But before he can stop her, she’s descending the steps of her house and making it towards the gate. “Mrs. Chang-“ he attempts to stop her, because she’s too old to be out in this weather, but she’s already at the gate now. Jimin is surprised at her speed.

“Don’t be silly,” she tuts as she stands in her own gate. “Haven’t you heard the news?”

“What news?” Jimin frowns. He had been in too much of a haste to look at his phone yet. Hadn’t even had time to read through Jeongguk’s apologetic essays about missing his calls. Had felt too silly to reply to the question to why he hadn’t just come over and knocked.

“There’s a snowstorm on the way! We should all be staying inside our homes.”

It made sense. But that was even more reason to get down the stairs quickly. Down the bottom the snow wouldn’t be so bad and even if the trains out of the city weren’t running, he could at least get the metro or a taxi to Jeongguk’s place and out of the messed up situation he had landed in.

“Well this isn’t my home anymore, Mrs. Chang.” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out as roughly as they do, but he’s fed up of having to repeat himself over and over again. “Me and Taehyung broke up.”

“Go back inside and wait a few more hours,” she says, ignoring his comment. “When the sun comes out later the snow will melt and you can be on your way again.”

Jimin wants to roll his eyes. He likes her, he really does, but she doesn’t understand their situation. Doesn’t understand that their fights and silences and resulting weeks of sleeping in different beds were just too much to move past.

“I’m going to stay with a friend in the city,” Jimin tells her instead. “It’s not far.” He attempts to take another step down, but in his haste he slips on the stair. He catches himself in time before he loses his footing completely but not quick enough to prevent his cheekbone from colliding with the metal railing.

“Jiminssi…”

He mutters an obscenity under his breath and recollects himself, rubbing at his cheek.

“What good is a broken ankle to a ballet dancer?”

And she’s right- he hates to admit it. But it’s the last thing he needs after this mess of a weekend.

“Mrs. Seong down the bottom is going to give me a call when the snow’s been cleared. I’ll come by and let you know.” She’s standing at her gate now, holding out an arm towards him and ushering him back towards their side of the staircase. “If you would prefer, you can come inside to ours and we can talk about this breakup you keep going on about.”

Jimin can’t help the look of disgust that crosses his face and finds it in himself to politely decline. At least in their own house, Taehyung was asleep and probably would be until the afternoon when the snowstorm would have passed.

So for the third time in two days, Jimin finds himself treading back up the path to his old house, taking the key out from under the flowerpot and glancing at the Kim & Park nameplate as he unlocks the door. Mrs. Chang is still watching him from her step, so he forces a smile as he opens the door and lets himself back inside.

“You absolute idiot,” he mutters to himself as he closes the door behind him and drops his suitcase on the floor of the entrance hall. And so once again, he slips out of his boots, peels his wet socks off and hangs his outerwear up on the coatrail.

He can hear the shower running in the bathroom, which means Taehyung is not asleep after all, and so Jimin collapses onto the sofa and turns on the television. When he flicks to the news channel, he’s greeted with images of a snow-covered Seoul as the broadcaster explains that the worst snowstorm in decades is hitting the capital. Scenes of long queues outside supermarkets are narrated by the report of city-dwellers stocking up on supplies as they prepare for a lockdown, before the story cuts to a press conference where the mayor is urging residents to stay indoors this afternoon as the worst of the weather hits.

After a few minutes it’s too much and Jimin turns it on mute and drops his face into his hands, unable to believe his luck. Unable to imagine what he’s going to tell Taehyung when he comes out of the bathroom that once again, he’s going to have to postpone his departure. To make it sound like it wasn’t deliberate. Like it wasn’t fate stepping in the way and trying to play. And he can’t help thinking that if he had woken up earlier; if he hadn’t stared so long into his plate of pancakes, if he’d stuck to his thought-out plan rather than listened to a fleeting instinct, then he wouldn’t even be here right now.

And Jimin is too distracted by his dilemmas, too consumed by the distress that he completely forgets Taehyung’s shower protocol. He forgets that Taehyung thought he had left. And so when he hears the bathroom door open behind him, Jimin doesn’t think twice about turning around to greet him. To greet his ex-boyfriend who has stopped frozen-still in the bathroom doorway, one hand on the door handle, toothbrush hanging from his mouth, skin still glistening wet from the shower and completely naked.

And Jimin forgets the decency to look away.

“Chim-” Taehyung is the first to speak, and the toothbrush falls from his mouth, bouncing off his bare chest before clattering to the floor. And if Jimin was looking at his face, he would see him gaping at him.

It takes Taehyung a few seconds to catch on; to realise why Jimin is staring back, and when the shock breaks, he attempts to cover himself with his hands, before stumbling backwards. As he disappears back into the bathroom, closing the door, Jimin is still frozen in his place, his mouth hanging open in shock. Because of course he had looked. Of course he had because how could he not have? Because the display he had just been given was something he couldn’t even pretend to deny missing. And it had all been at eye-level.

When Taehyung reappears a few seconds later, this time with the basketball shorts from this morning slung low on his hips and a toothpaste stain on his chest, Jimin is still looking. Still can’t help his eyes flitting down his body to the v-lines on his hips and the outline of his manhood under the shorts, because how could he not? Not after five years of being allowed to; five years, or even seven if he was being honest, of knowing Taehyung was the most attractive human he had ever set eyes on. With a few seconds glance at him in his natural glory to assure him that nothing would ever change that.

“There’s a snowstorm,” Jimin says dumbly, gesturing over his shoulder somewhere in the direction of the door. “The stairs are snowed in.”

When he forces himself to look up to his face, Taehyung’s cheeks are stained red and he’s avoiding Jimin’s eye, looking past him at the muted television where images of the weather warnings are still scrolling across the screen.

“Erm, right,” he says awkwardly and wipes at the toothpaste on his chest, still not meeting Jimin’s eyes.

“I tried to go but Mrs. Chang wouldn’t let me,” Jimin tries to redeem himself from what Taehyung might otherwise be thinking, but it sounds so silly. “I’m just gonna wait until the snow melts a bit. Then I’ll go over to Kookie’s. It shouldn’t be long…”

“Yeah, okay,” Taehyung nods and he’s playing nervously with the drawstring on his shorts, doing a terrible job at trying to distract the attention.

“I’m sorry for…erm…” Jimin doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, and the gesture he makes, up and down his body, doesn’t make it any less awkward.

“It’s fine,” Taehyung says, but he can’t meet his eyes. “I mean… it’s not like you haven’t already…” He can’t finish his sentence either, but of course he doesn’t need to because… well, what hadn’t Jimin done to it? After five years together, there was nothing they hadn’t tried.

“I really have to sleep,” he adds, gesturing back towards the bedroom. “Just, erm, just make yourself at home.” He cringes at the words as soon as they leave his lips, and Jimin almost wants to laugh at it, but it doesn’t seem appropriate so he just nods in thanks.

“Sleep well,” he says and Taehyung thanks him with an awkward bow of his head before disappearing back into the bedroom and leaving Jimin to slap himself in the face.

“Jesus Christ,” Jimin mutters under his breath as he turns back to the television and pulls out his phone to send Jeongguk an array of text messages hoping that last night had been the best night of his life to justify the situation Jimin had ended up in. Because blaming someone else was better than acknowledging that it was really only his fault.

Then Jimin tries, with failed determination for the next few hours as he waits for the snow to stop, not to think of his ex-boyfriend’s beautiful, thick, heaven-sculpted-

“Don’t,” he reminds himself, aloud this time to try and make it stick. Because once again Jimin is forgetting to focus on the negatives. The things that had left him feeling unwanted and empty in more ways than one. The things that had built up and had made it the right thing to leave.

And god it's all a mess and had been a huge mistake coming back here. But at least they weren’t fighting.

…

“Jimin, this has to be the shittiest, most flawed attempt at a break up I’ve ever heard of,” Yoongi is teasing him as he facetimes with him and Hoseok later that evening from the doorstep of the house. “I mean, come on, you really picked a good weekend for it.”

“It’s not like I planned this, you idiot,” Jimin shoots back with his deadliest glare through the camera. Because how the hell was he supposed to have known what he was getting into coming up here? That the one weekend he chooses to come up to Seoul; the one weekend when his friends are out of town and the other one is busy, just coincides to be the one weekend where the worst snowstorm in decades takes over the capital.

“And it’s not my fault he can’t grasp the idea of using a towel after the shower like a decent human being.”

It’s evening now and the snow still shows no signs of letting up, so Jimin has come to the acceptance that he isn’t going to make it out today. He isn’t sure if he will be able to tomorrow either, with the way the snow is still coming down, and he’s beginning to wonder if maybe dying in a snowstorm would be better than dying of embarrassment having to spend another night in the same house as his ex.

He’s not really considering it right now. Is only sitting on the front door step with a blanket wrapped around his knees to have some privacy for the conversation with his friends. Taehyung is still in the bedroom, but the walls in the house are thin and so the door from the entrance hall to the living room and the howl of the wind outside is an attempt to keep the conversation private as he updates his friends on the situation. The absolute mess of a situation, which he wouldn’t have gotten into in the first place if he had just followed the original plan.

It’s blazing sunshine in the Caribbean and Hoseok and Yoongi are snuggled up in a hammock with the gentle sounds of the sea in the background and they look so damned relaxed in contrast to Jimin.

“Hey, look at it like this,” Hoseok offers, trying to see the bright side. “At least you two will finally have time to talk about everything.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jimin reminds them, and the words come out automatically. “We’re over.”

He swears he sees Yoongi roll his eyes through the camera before he leans back to rest his head on Hoseok’s shoulder, but Jimin would prefer that to the insistent questioning.

“So what, you’re just gonna spend the next few days avoiding each other?” Hoseok asks.

Jimin shrugs in defiance to his question. Maybe that sounded better than the awkwardness of walking on eggshells around each other.

“I give it twenty four hours until the silence is too much and you guys make up,” Yoongi says.

“I give it three,” Hoseok disagrees, a taunting grin appearing on his lips. “Three hours and you solve it all with a steamy round of make-up sex.”

Jimin scowls at them and turns down the volume a few notches. He’s using his headphones, but still, he doesn’t want to risk the conversation being overheard. Especially when it was all nonsense.

“You guys are really shitty friends.” He doesn’t really mean it and they know that, but he needs someone to project his frustration onto and their relaxed situation is only making it worse.

“Friends that just want the best for you and are fed up of seeing you both slouch around all miserable for months when you’re clearly still in love with him.”

“I’m not miserable,” Jimin denies quickly, even though he knows it’s futile. Especially when he’d spent the first few agonising weeks after the breakup unable to face the world outside the walls of their spare bedroom. But it’s easier to deny than the second statement.

“Anyway, we’re over,” Jimin repeats, firmer this time, since they don’t seem to be listening to the point of the conversation. One that they’ve had many times already; one that is just going to go round in circles if Jimin doesn’t change the subject. “Besides, the bigger problem here is what am I gonna tell my boss? I’m supposed to be back at work tomorrow. He’s not gonna be happy.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s heard the capital city has declared a state of emergency,” Hoseok reasons. “It’s not like you could have foreseen this.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jimin sighs, dropping his head into his hands. Two days ago he couldn’t have even imagined the situation he had somehow gotten himself into. “But I’ve only been there a few weeks. It’s not really a good look.”

“It’s only a short-term job anyway though,” Hoseok reminds Jimin of his own words. “Only until you find something you actually like, where you can do what you want. Right?”

“Erm, right,” Jimin agrees and he feels that uneasy tightness in his chest rising again as he recognises what is coming. He hopes that the shoddy connection can filter out the lie in his face.

“So at the least you can spend the next few days thinking about what it is that you want to do.”

“It’s not gonna be a few days,” Jimin sighs. Because he’s still sure that everyone’s overreacting. That his neighbour and the mayor and the weather scientists are all thinking too much into this.

“You keep saying you’ve been too busy to think about it, but now’s a perfect time,” Hoseok continues. “Especially if you have no interest in any pretty, curly-haired, Geochang-accented distractions.”

“Hyung…” Jimin starts, because like Tae, Hoseok is incessant with his questioning. But at least Hoseok understands what he’s talking about.

“So you said you don’t want to perform,” he pushes on.

Jimin sighs. “It’s too much pressure. Too much perfection,” he answers robotically.

“And you don’t want to choreograph.”

“Contemporary is too personal. It has to come from the dancer himself.”

“And you like teaching.”

“Yeah, I do.” There’s a smile on his lips as he thinks about his own dance teacher when he was growing up, who had encouraged him to explore his own passions in the art and find his own personal style.

“You just don’t like following the outdated rulebook that your boss wants you to teach by.”

“Right,” Jimin agrees, but of course Hoseok knew all of this already. Had known since they’d first met each other back in high school when they had joined the same dance team and Jimin had told him about his biggest dream. He knew what Jimin really wanted to do.

“God, how the hell am I going to survive the next few days?” he asks himself aloud. The wind outside is getting stronger now and Jimin knows it’s probably time he faced what waited for him back inside the house.

“Oh my God, I have it!” Hoseok suddenly shouts and disappears out of frame as he knocks his phone over in excitement.

“Baby,” Yoongi is scolding him, but as the camera settles again, he’s running a hand through his boyfriend’s hair. “You’re so loud.”

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok pouts back at him, and Jimin is reminded of why he had turned down their generous invitation to join them on their holiday.

“It’s okay, baby,” Yoongi is telling him and nuzzles back down into his neck. “It’s just who you are.”

They’ve been together for almost as long as Jimin had known them, and although they were only a few years older, their relationship was too damn stable sometimes. Too rational. Even though they were each as different as the sun and moon, they somehow found a middle-ground between their disparities. Bickered all the time but always talked it out afterwards before it got to be an issue. They were adult enough to separate the problems in their relationship from problems within themselves and fight against them together rather than against each other.

“Jimin-ah, you know the website Dancing Tomato, right?”

It sounds vaguely familiar, but he shakes his head for Hoseok to go on.

“It’s like an online portal for virtual dance classes. We use it with our dancers when we’re on tour or whatever and can’t get access to a studio.”

Jimin thinks about it for a moment and frowns. “But you can’t teach dance online. It’s too precise.”

“No, you’re right,” he agrees. “But it’s just a short-term thing. More like an emergency set up when there’s no other way. My dancers have been messaging me all day to ask if I’ll start it up because of the snow. I’m kind of enjoying my time here to be honest, but why don’t you take over the class for a few days?”

It’s not gonna be a few days, Jimin will be gone tomorrow, he’s sure of it. But he can’t bother arguing anymore.

“I don’t have my laptop with me,” he informs them. He doesn’t even have an extra pair of socks or some other trousers.

“But you could borrow Tae’s,” Yoongi offers his attention. “You know that he’d still give you the world if you just asked him.” And he’s silenced by the glare that Jimin shoots him back through the camera, smirking and dropping his head back onto Hoseok’s shoulder.

“Look,” Hoseok interjects with a wave to break up the tension between them. “I’ll send out a message to them and see if anyone would be up for it.”

“They don’t even know me.”

“No, but they know me. And I know you,” he says with a wide grin. “And I know that you’re one of the most talented and attentive teachers out there. Don’t let your ungrateful ex-boss make you feel otherwise.”

“Well I guess you can ask,” Jimin agrees finally. He doesn’t expect much, but it’s easier than just starting another argument. Easier than having to approach the conversation again that he had been skirting around for years. The same conversation that had caused his relationship to fall apart.
Because he seemed to be the only person that understood that maybe teaching at a mediocre dance school was all he would ever amount to.

“Hey.” Yoongi lifts his head again to add his two cents. “At least it will give you something to do for the next few days instead of thinking about your ex-boyfriend’s dick.”

“Shut up.” Jimin scowls, and the annoyance is enough to let go of the feeling of self-pity that had settled in and, god, he regrets telling them what had happened earlier. “I didn’t say I was.”

“You didn’t say it, no, but you were.” Yoongi adds with a smirk. “And you still will be if you don’t find something else to sink your teeth into for the next few days.”

Jimin chokes on his rebuttal, and as he watches Yoongi collapse in laughter, he thinks it’s probably lucky for Yoongi that he isn’t in Puerto Rico with them right now. “I’m hanging up now. Thanks for nothing.”

“Good luck, babe!” Hoseok blows him some kisses. “I’ll let you know what they say.”

"Oh and by the way,” Yoongi jumps in, just as Jimin’s finger hovers over the hangup button. “Make sure to check your supplies and backups just in case there’s a powercut. Better safe than sorry, hey.”

Jimin just rolls his eyes in answer, because he’s fed up of everyone exaggerating what is just a simple snow day.

…

When Jimin finally hangs up the phone after letting lets his boss know he won’t be able to make it, Taehyung is awake. He’s in the kitchen, humming to himself, and Jimin hesitates before he enters the room. Wonders if maybe he should go back and wait until he had finished whatever he was doing.

“How’s it looking out there?” Taehyung senses his presence and looks up from where he’s rinsing off some dishes.

It’s such a familiar sight to see him there in front of the sink with those pink rubber gloves, curls bobbing as he scrubs at the pots; the ingredients for a meal laid out on the bench top, as if waiting for Jimin to join him, and Jimin has to collect himself for a moment to remind himself why he’s here.

“Not good,” Jimin says and shifts on his feet where he stands in the living room. “Apparently the worst is still to come.”

He can see the change in Taehyung’s demeanour; sees something pass his mind, but Taehyung just nods as he pulls off the gloves. Maybe he’d already figured that part out; had already gone through the possibility in his mind and had already adjusted to the idea.

“So you might be here for a few more days?”

“I don’t think it will take that long,” Jimin says, waving it off. “I won’t be bothering you for too much longer.”

“You’re not bothering me, Chim.” He looks up but Jimin is carefully avoiding his gaze. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the hopeful look on his face that he can hear from his tone alone.

“I left you some clothes out there,” Taehyung says, with a gesture towards the couch. “And the spare duvet. The heating’s on full but you know how it gets draughty in that room.”

“Oh.” Jimin looks down at the pile of clothes in question. He recognises a pair of sweatpants that he’d once bought for Taehyung, and what had been Jimin’s favourite yellow hoodie to steal. “Thanks.”

It’s a nice gesture. But he always had been attentive. Had always noticed everything quietly.

Jimin’s still wearing those damn leather jeans, and although Jeongguk’s hoodie does a good job at hiding the curves that they accentuate, they are admittedly getting uncomfortable to keep wearing. And he knows he’s not ready to go through his yellow suitcase yet. Knows that his silky pale pink pyjamas with the deep neck and satin booty shorts aren’t gonna do him any favours to wear here.

"How do you feel about kimchi fried rice?” Taehyung asks as Jimin joins him at the counter and looks over the ingredients.

He’s peeled way too many carrots and the egg he’s cracked is full of pieces of shell, but Jimin decides not to comment on it. He doesn’t want to send the wrong message for him to think this is going to turn into one of their cooking sessions. Instead, he shakes his head and pretends that the idea of fresh vegetables and a home-cooked meal doesn’t sound appealing after three days of takeouts.

“I’m not hungry.”

Even without looking he can sense Taehyung’s shoulders droop, but it only lasts a second.

“That’s okay,” he says instead. “Maybe we can watch some TV. I need a break from my studio.” The sentence is raised at the end, like it’s more of a question, and his voice sounds so hopeful.

It’s not a good idea. Jimin knows this. But he can’t seem to find the right words to tell him that, so he hopes the way he’s avoiding his eyes gives him the answer.

“I saw they uploaded the old seasons of One Piece on Netflix,” Taehyung continues. “We kept saying we wanted to go back and watch them from the start, and-”

"Tae…" He needs to tell him to stop. Needs to tell him that this isn’t how things are gonna be from now. And he’s gathering the courage to say so; almost has the words on his lips when Taehyung interjects.

“Your cheek.” Taehyung shakes the water from his hands and although it’s only for a split second, Jimin notices the movement Taehyung makes to reach towards him, before he stops himself. “What happened?”

It takes Jimin a second to catch on when he remembers the dull pain on his cheekbone where he had hit his face on the railing earlier. He hadn’t even looked in the mirror since, and so there must be a bruise. “I slipped,” Jimin says with a vague gesture towards the front door and tries to shrug it off. “But it’s fine.”

But of course Taehyung doesn’t shrug it off. He crosses the gap between them to the freezer and remerges with a packet of frozen peas, which he wraps in a tea towel. When he comes back to Jimin his eyes are focused in on the bruise, which is why he probably doesn’t realise how close they are standing to each other. There’s barely a foot between them now and Jimin realises it’s the closest they’ve been in months. Even before the breakup their distance had been growing.

When Jimin looks up he notices that his face is now clean-shaven. The stubble from earlier is gone and there’s a cut above his lip that once upon a time Jimin would have maybe teased him for. Maybe would have squished his cheeks and reminded him to be more careful next time.

“Really, it’s fine,” Jimin says again, but he can’t meet his eye, and it’s with a shaky hand that he pushes away the makeshift icepack that is being held out to him.

But Taehyung still isn’t listening. “Let me..." He’s reaching up to touch Jimin’s face, hand outstretched to cup his cheek in the gentlest way, and Jimin’s body freezes up.

“Tae, stop!” He finally snaps out of it and turns his cheek away so that Taehyung’s hand meets thin air. “I said it’s fine,” he adds, and there’s a snap to his tone as he takes a step back so that he’s out of Taehyung’s reach.

“Stop what?” he asks dumbly and his hand still hangs in the air.

“All of it!” Jimin throws his hands in the air, because his faux innocence is annoying him. The niceness and attentiveness. What he’s doing isn’t fair, because it’s a false comfort and the ache in his cheek is the least of his problems right now. “This isn’t… we shouldn’t…” He doesn’t know how to tell him without starting a fight, but he needs to get the message across. He needs Taehyung to know loud and clear that they are over. “I didn’t come here to get back together with you, okay? Or to talk things out.”

“But you are here.” Taehyung lowers the peas and his movements are so gentle, so unaffected, that it angers Jimin even more. “So we should talk.”

“There’s nothing to say, Tae!” Jimin chokes out, and this time his voice is raised. “Why don’t you get it? Why doesn’t anyone get it?! That it’s over. It was over months ago. And talking about why it happened isn’t gonna fix anything!”

And still Taehyung doesn’t even flinch. “But you said-“

“I’m sorry that I’m here, okay?" Jimin cuts him off. "I’m sorry for showing up all of a sudden and getting stuck here. I didn’t plan this. Really. But it’s over, Tae, and there’s nothing else to say to each other. So can you please just stop?”

There’s silence after that, and Jimin regrets his tone because he also didn’t come here to start a fight, but it’s too late to take it back now.

When he finally braves meeting Taehyung’s eyes, they’re empty, untelling and Jimin can’t read the emotion behind them as he clutches the bag of peas against the benchtop.

“So what, you just want to ignore each other for the next few days?” he challenges.

“Yes,” Jimin answers, a little too quickly. “We should just… keep out of each other’s way. Pretend we’re not here.”

Taehyung thinks over the words for a moment and Jimin feels the intrepidation as he waits for an answer. And he notices right then as the emotion his face changes; how the hope disappears, and is replaced by cold acceptance. The same indifferent look he had given Jimin the last time they had seen each other, that had haunted him ever since.

“Well we got pretty good at that.”

And Jimin wasn’t quite prepared for how much that agreement would hurt.

Jimin swallows hard and takes a good moment to compose himself for a last attempt at settling this. “It’s just a few days,” he says. “Soon I’ll be gone and we can move on and forget anything ever happened.” But the words are poorly chosen and he can see it in the way Taehyung makes a face.

“You want me to forget the happiest years of my life?” he asks. “That’s how you want to move on?”

Jimin doesn’t have an answer to this. Because, yes, that was how Jimin been getting by the last few months, but hearing it aloud is painful. “It’s for the best,” he says, still unsure if it’s a lie.

“Okay, fine.” Taehyung says finally and rips his hand away from the packet of peas he’d been clutching. The packet is open and the peas start rolling out, dropping into the sink with a clang, but Taehyung doesn’t even notice. “Let’s be strangers.”

“Fine,” Jimin agrees and it sounds childish but it doesn’t matter anymore. “Tae, the peas.” He reaches over the counter to grab for the packet, but Taehyung puts his hand in the way.

“They’re just peas, Jimin.” He gives the packet a shove so that it falls into the sink completely. “I fucking hate peas!”

It’s unlike him; unlike his gentle Taehyung who jumped at loud noises and hated the dark. And that’s how Jimin knows that the argument is deep.

“Anyway, I’m not here,” he uses Jimin’s words against him. “Can you please pretend I’m not here?”

And it’s so childish, so ridiculously petty that Jimin can’t even argue any more. “Fine,” he agrees with a scoff. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung says pointedly.

"You're fucking welcome."

Jimin turns away, crosses the room to the bathroom and isn’t surprised this time when Taehyung lets him go.

…

Despite his attempt to keep cool-headed, Jimin can’t help slamming the bathroom door behind him and throwing his towel down onto the floor. He wants to shout or cry, or let out some sound of frustration, but Taehyung is still only meters away and so he resorts to covering his face in his hands; attempts to swallow down the lump in his throat, which was threatening to surface with tears.

Because this is exactly what Jimin had feared. This was exactly why he had avoided this confrontation between them before they got to this point. Exactly why he had ended things without talking them through. Because while the arguments and distance had left bruises on his heart, he knew that if they finally confronted it, if they finally spoke aloud the reasons they had fallen apart and let the words and truths fly out and attack each other, the wounds left behind would never heal.

If things were inevitable to end anyway, then what was the point in fighting with each other? What was the point in ruining everything with a messy breakup? But maybe that had been naïve of him to think that there was such thing as a tidy breakup. It had been naïve of him to think they could escape seven years unscathed.

And Taehyung has no right to be angry, Jimin realises, as he drops the plug in the bottom of the bathtub and slams on the water. No reason to act like the breakup wasn’t mutual. Like they hadn’t both been at fault in the matter. That Taehyung hadn’t pushed him away and locked him out of his life, and it wasn’t fair that he was putting up a fight now. Not when he should have fought for them months ago. Fought to show Jimin that he saw a future with him. Fought when Jimin had decided to leave. Anything to prove to Jimin that he wanted him to stay.

His old toiletries are still there, in the wire basket next to the bathtub that they had found together at a garage sale. He had been in such a haste to get out when he had left that he had ended up leaving so much behind. It hadn’t really mattered, but why hadn’t Taehyung gotten rid of them yet? Gotten rid of the silver shampoo for his dyed hair, or the charcoal face scrub that he said left the bathtub dirty? Why hadn’t he even taken the Kim & Park name plaque off the front door, like he had been waiting all this time for Jimin to come home?

He squirts some of the raspberry bubble bath into the water; the one Taehyung hates because it leaves a rash on his skin, which he should have gotten rid of too. But Jimin doesn’t want to think about that either.

Finally Jimin is able to rid himself of the leather jeans and the sweaty hoodie and climbs into the tub.

He turns on the old shower radio for some background noise and sinks into the bubbles. It’s set to some jazzy station and so he turns the tuning to the next one, instead greeted with some crackly eighties pop synth, which will have to do. All he needs is to drown out the sounds of Taehyung moving around in the room next door and to settle down his heartbeat.

The scent of the bubbles is calming, and it’s just what Jimin needs right now. It’s been so long since he last had a bath and he’d almost forgotten how good the warm water did wonders on his tired muscles. As he soaks in the water, he tries to convince himself that it is going to be okay. That the next few days are going to be uncomfortable, and the silences are going to be awkward, but at least it would help him move on.

Maybe now at least, Taehyung would finally get it. That talking wasn’t going to fix anything. That arguing was only going to make things worse. That fighting now was a lost cause. And maybe if they ended things like this, then Taehyung would let him go too.

And it would only be a few days. As soon as the snow stopped, he would be able to leave again. Would be able to finally leave all the memories of his life in their little house behind him and would be able to start moving on.

His head had told him that there had been more than enough reasons to end it. Hopefully soon his heart would agree.

He spends a good hour in the bathtub. Refills the hot water a few times, and only makes a decision to get out when he hears the scrape of the chair in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and then finally the door of Taehyung’s studio close.

…

It’s 2am when Taehyung emerges from his studio again and Jimin is sitting at the kitchen counter with a notebook open. He only pauses for a second to register Jimin’s presence, before continuing past him to use the bathroom.

It’s late for Jimin to still be up, which is probably what paused Taehyung, but Hoseok had sent through the link to the dance website and Jimin had ended up getting a little carried away planning the lesson for the morning. A handful of Hoseok’s dancers had signed up for it and Hoseok had sent him through some rough ideas for the lesson structure, but they’re more like pointers, since he’s told Jimin that he can plan the lesson however he wants. It’s a little tricky; he hasn’t had the creative freedom to plan his own lessons in a long time and he doesn’t know if it’s going to be any good, but it’s only a one-off anyway. Only to appease Hoseok’s persuasion and to distract himself for the next few days. But honestly, planning the lesson has actually been fun.

Regretfully, he’s wearing the clothes that Taehyung had left out for him. He’s cuffed the sweats at the bottoms since they were too long and his bare feet peek out from the bottom, dangling from the chair. The hoodie swamps him too in the same way it always had; had always been like a big warm hug of soft plush fabric wrapping him up in the scent of the one he loved the most. But now, sitting here in the kitchen, with no other choice, he feels the distain. But at least it was better than wearing those stupid leather jeans.

When Taehyung comes back into the kitchen, he doesn’t even spare Jimin a glance. Just goes straight past him to the cupboards to make himself some food, and so Jimin doesn’t say anything either. Instead, he tries to focus on the notebook in front of him, determined to overrule the situation, but it’s not that easy. Taehyung isn’t delicate as he makes himself some toast, banging the cupboards and drawers in a deliberate manner, and Jimin wants to roll his eyes.

He lifts his head, to give him a look of annoyance, but Taehyung has his back to him; is making a point of using the small space next to the sink to make his food, instead of having to face Jimin by using the bench.

And maybe he’s a little thinner than a few months ago, Jimin thinks, as he watches him spread jam on his toast. His arms look tiny under his baggy t-shirt and are covered in paint; dark greens and ashy greys splashed along the tanned skin, which means he wasn’t painting as delicately as he usually did. When Jimin follows him with the corner of his eye as he goes to the fridge, he sees the dimples presenting on his cheekbones; the way they did when he had been crying.

“Stop looking at me,” Taehyung says, without a glance back and slams the fridge door shut. “I’m not here, remember?”

And Jimin tears his eyes away and fights the urge to scoff as he looks back to the notepaper in front of him, because he’s being petty now. “I was just thinking you look tired.”

“Well I am tired. I have been for months.”

“Then you should-“

“You said you didn’t want to talk, Jimin.” Taehyung interrupts and when he turns around his eyes are cold. The use of his full name sounds even colder, since he hadn’t addressed him with it in years. Had used cute versions of his name and petnames ever since they had become friends. “So what do you want?”

And he knew this behaviour. Knew the way Taehyung could shut people out when he was hurt. But Jimin had never been on the receiving end before. Not in reality.

And there’s something surreal about the moment as they look across the benchtop at each other. They’ve acted out the epic scene of a lover’s quarrel countless times before, in this very kitchen, as they make dinner together. But it had always been with ridiculed jest; always hilarious exaggerations of an intense feud because that kind of fighting had once seemed impossible to them.

But this time it’s their own scene. This time they’re not repeating lines or improvising overdramatic reactions. This time it’s real. And this time Jimin wishes he had a remote to change the channel.

An apology sits on the edge of his tongue. A necessary apology because he knows this isn’t going to work and that if he doesn’t try and fix it now, the next few days are going to be unbearable. But his stubbornness had always been his down side. Had been the reason he hadn’t been able to try and work things out months ago, before it had all escalated to what it had. And so the words don’t come out.

“I just wanted to ask if I can use your laptop,” he says instead. It’s obviously a shameless thing to ask, but there’s nothing to lose anyway. If he says no then there’s no point in stressing over the lesson plan in front of him.

Taehyung blinks at him and clearly he was expecting something else. “Okay,” he answers simply, and there’s no emotion there. “It’s under the coffee table.” He picks up his plate, leaves the bread and jam and knife on the sink, in the way that had caused many disagreements before. It hadn’t really bothered Jimin, hadn’t been a factor for their breakup, but it was clear that his actions were deliberate right now.

“Is the password still…?” Jimin is about to ask for clarification, but the look Taehyung is giving him; the way he can see him soften a little and the anger fade away, confirms the answer.

“Yes, it’s still the same,” he says anyway, and his voice is quiet now. “Our anniversary.”

Jimin swallows. “You should probably change it.” And as soon as the words leave his lips, he knows he shouldn’t have said it; should have just left it at that, because he can see the fire return to Taehyung’s eyes.

“When, right now?” he asks, his tone raised, and jaw set.

“After I leave,” Jimin says, trying to keep it simple, trying not to set him off again.

“After you leave again.”

Jimin sighs as Taehyung disappears into his studio, slamming the door behind him, leaving him alone again to stare at the page in front of him, but unable to read the words.

He can hear the sounds of faint crashing through the wall as Taehyung moves around his studio, and Jimin can almost see him now; can follow the sounds of the noises and see it all so clearly as Taehyung rummages through his equipment on the table, which had always been a mess. Fumbles to find the right brushes or colours, but the table is always stacked with so much stuff that he probably can’t find them. He probably can’t focus enough to even look properly, as the tears catch in his long eyelashes.

His studio is usually his place of solace and despite the chaos, he treats his equipment so carefully. When they had set up the room a long time ago it had been with such care, finding the right colour to paint the walls to provide him creativity. Adjusting the furniture with a big desk along the back wall with all of his supplies. The sofa on one side of the room for him to relax on. The easel situated in the middle of the room with a view out the window, which overlooked the city lights. It’s usually his place of calm.

But it isn’t Jimin’s problem anymore. Is no longer his place to answer his cries for help and go in and find a way to soothe him. Not his job to wrap his arms around his waist from behind, to rest his chin on his shoulder and to provide words of comfort. To tell him to take a break if it gets too hard. To reassure him that whatever struggles there are now, he’ll help him overcome. To remind him that it didn’t matter to Jimin if he wasn’t progressing on to the top portrait galleries, or if he was making a lot of money. That as long as he was loving what he did, and if he was true to himself, it would pay off in the end.

And Jimin had truly believed that.

So when had he become such a hypocrite in taking his own advice?

Jimin shoves his notes away across the table and drops his head onto his arms.

Why had this all had to happen? He had spent two months moving on; two months of misery and ruminating and finally starting to pick himself up again. Two months giving them time to heal, to be able to talk again, to somehow skip over the whole awkward part, to let go of the past, but now here they were again standing amidst the rubble that they couldn’t clear.

And it’s starting to feel like all those weeks in healing had been for nothing because the feelings are all new and raw again. He wants nothing more than to run away again; to hide from it all to stop himself from hurting. But this time he can’t even do that.

The scent of Taehyung’s hoodie fills his lungs and soon enough Jimin’s shoulders are shaking as he starts to quietly sob. And the sounds of Taehyung crashing around his frustration in the next room make it even worse. Because they’re both hurting for the same thing, but they can’t comfort each other anymore. Taehyung had been his one constant solace for the last seven years, but that was gone now too. And sitting there, surrounded by the scent of Taehyung’s hoodie, Jimin feels lonelier than he ever had in the empty house before.

Tomorrow, he decides. As soon as the snow stopped he would make his way out. Even if he had to leave his suitcase, take a pair of Taehyung’s trainers and chance twisting an ankle to get down the stairs, he would risk it. Because if he stayed here any longer; if they ended up in another fight, Jimin wasn’t sure he would ever be able to recover.

It sounds like a foolproof plan. And the loud whistle of the wind outside and gentle breeze beneath the door is enough to try and freeze out the memories that keep replaying in his head as he drags himself off to the sofa to get some rest.

And so Jimin is sound asleep by the time his cellphone beeps at 4am; the same time as the device in the next room over. The same beep that is issued to all cellphones across the greater Seoul region, deciding their fate.

Residents are required to stay inside their houses for the next two days while they wait for the weather to pass. At least another day on top of that for the snow to be cleared, and possibly more for the mountainous regions, which of course includes their little house on the hilly outskirts.

And so even if Jimin wanted to risk freezing to death to make his escape, even the government is working against him.

And when he does wake up and discover the alert message while he’s got a mouthful of coffee, he will realise that it would be a less painful death than bleeding slowly of a shattered heart as they both open fire and there’s no longer anywhere to run for cover. Except towards each other.

One thing is certain though, whether they make it out alive or not – neither of them are going anywhere for the rest of the week.