Archive of Our Own

    I. Before the haze

When a song that Jimin doesn’t know plays for the millionth time at the club in the span of two hours, he decides he’s had enough. His chest is vibrating against his will, shaken by the bass coming from the speakers. No matter how strong the alcohol is in whatever techno anthro that his friends— classmates, really, barely acquaintances— have trapped him into, it’s not worth risking the massive headache the neon lasers and flashing lights will give him tomorrow. He needs to get out of here.

“I’m heading out!” he yells to his friend over the music, but Taehyung is too busy dancing to hear him. He’s swinging his head from side to side, making his beautiful brown curls move to the beat. Jimin brushes away the restlessness in his body for a second to admire his soulmate, the easy-going smile perched from his lips that turns into a smirk when a stranger’s hands begin to roam up his waist. Jimin rolls his eyes, unimpressed. Unlike him, Taehyung was born and built for the rich kid experience, all the Gatsby glimmer and gold. He’ll be fine without Jimin. “I’ll see you at the dorm.”

He doesn’t check if Taehyung heard him. He spins on his heel and makes a beeline for the toilets, an essential detour before the one-hour-long bus ride back home that awaits him. Although this club is packed with people his age, they have nothing in common. Most of them are the sons and daughters of important businessmen, doctors and lawyers across the country. None of them have ever once had to calculate the drinks they could buy on a night out to be left with enough money for next week’s groceries. None have gotten full rides to college either— too dumb to deserve them yet too loaded to even care. Jimin sticks like a sore thumb in the crowd, a maroon splash of paint in a field of grass.

There is a long line of girls in uncomfortable mini-skirts and sparkling make-up in front of the women’s toilet, but thankfully, there isn’t a queue for the men’s room. He pushes the door open with his foot, not wanting to put his hands anywhere near that health hazard. Inside, it seems to be empty except for a few stalls occupied and two guys standing close to each other near the sinks, one of them towering over the other slightly. The floor is wet and sticky all at once. Jimin wrinkles his nose.

Figuring the couple is two seconds away from making out, Jimin’s eyes quickly avert from the scene and he tries to mind his own business, but he was raised by his mother before anything else, so he can’t help but eavesdrop.

“You’re making a scene,” the taller one hisses. His voice is deep, yet Jimin finds it whiny, like a spoiled kid throwing a fit over an expensive shiny toy. “Loosen up a little. We’re literally just having fun, Gguk, baby, c’mon. Don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“I just told you I felt uncomfortable,” the other replies in a much lower voice that has a slight tremble to it, as though he can’t fully get a hold of himself. Jimin frowns as he pulls his zipper up. “It’s not a big deal.”

The asshole guy groans loudly, obviously and painfully annoyed. Jimin walks closer to them, keeping his head low as he opens the tap to wash his hands. “You’re so fucking dramatic, God. Stop making everything about you.”

“Mingyu, you’re high, let’s talk about this later—”

“I’m not high!” he yells, making a couple heads turn around (including Jimin’s). He makes sure to give him a nasty glare, and he manages to get a good look at him. Hair swept off his forehead in the typical chaebol hairstyle, a mix of wannabe CEO and private school prick. His pupils are blown, his strong jaw clenched as he stares down at the other man. He’s slightly more slender, but he has a nice build, shoulders that would take someone’s breath away were they not shrunk, recoiling from the screaming. His eyes are round and dark, also somewhat blown— none of them seem to be really sober, but it’s not so obvious on him—  lips pulled into a thin line. He’s pretty, the kind of pretty that feels almost unattainable but worth dying for. Jimin vaguely thinks he would try to flirt with him if he saw him on the dance floor. 

“I’m not high,” he repeats through gritted teeth, taking a step closer to his boyfriend. “I told you I don’t do cocaine. I don’t even know what it looks like,” he adds, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear as he lets out a forced laugh. He pats the other guy on the shoulder, making him flinch, and he grins, satisfied. Bastard. “Come find me when you’re done being a dick.”

He storms out without another word. Jimin raises his eyebrows and huffs under his breath, fascinated by how stupid these people can be. He takes some pieces of paper from the thin roll placed on the sink to dry his hands and get out of there as fast as possible, but his body tenses when he hears the pretty boy sniff and inhale sharply. 

Jimin glances at him from the reflection in the dirty mirror. He looks younger than him by a few years, maybe twenty or twenty-one, but he could be older. His eyes are what make him look like a kid, ridiculously round and sparkly, now wet with tears. The bridge of his nose is slightly crooked, its tip red. His lips seem to be swollen, almost like he’d bitten or picked his skin. And Jimin wishes he were less nosy, cared less about a dude he doesn’t know, but he could recognize the back and forth swing of his body anywhere. The way he hugs his body to stop it from shaking, wrapping himself in a tight safety net.

“Here, take this,” Jimin says, offering him a piece of toilet paper. 

His head snaps up, eyes wide as plates, and Jimin has half a mind not to laugh at how endearing he looks, like a deer caught in headlights. Reluctantly, he reaches out for the impromptu tissue. “Thank you.”

Jimin shrugs while the guy blows his nose and sniffles some more. Jimin recognizes that too— a body regulation exercise. Before he can’t stop himself, he asks, “Was that your boyfriend?”

The boy freezes, and he glances at the door before looking back at Jimin. “Yeah,” he replies quietly. He swallows. “Something like that.”

“Well, he seemed like a cunt,” Jimin blurts out. He doesn’t regret it.  “Why do you let him speak to you like that?”

Shrinking into himself, he replies, “I love him. He’s usually not like this, really. He’s just drunk.”

Jimin huffs out a laugh. “Dude, he’s an asshole. Stop making excuses for him. You deserve someone that doesn’t guilt-trip you for not having fun in a shitty place like this ugly, stinky club. Seriously. If I were you I would get the hell out of here. Fuck that guy.”

That forces a chuckle out of him. “I can’t just go. I’m sure he’s waiting for me. I should— I should look for him.”

“If you need to convince yourself that he’s waiting, he probably already has his tongue down someone else’s throat.” Jimin smiles. It hasn’t been long since he was as young and naive as him, willing to offer his heart to anyone who would give him a minute of their attention. “Been there, done that.”

The guy fidgets with the hem of his shirt, a beautiful black silk cut with a deep V-neck that shows the right amount of skin. Jimin guesses it used to be tucked under his pants, but it’s sticking out everywhere now, victim to many hours stuck in this particular circle of hell. He allows himself to glance at the dip of his waist, the way his jeans hug his thick thighs, and he smiles to himself. 

Maybe in another life Jimin would’ve bought him a drink, pulled him to dance for a couple songs and ended up making out against a wall with his fingers twined into his dark hair. Jimin would’ve even considered going home with him, writing his number on a sticky note the morning after and placing it on the fridge before slipping out quietly. Going on a date, and then two and three and as many as it took to make him his. Falling in love with those lovely eyes. 

But he has a boyfriend, and Jimin is tired. Things are good as they are now, without even knowing his name. Law school keeps him too busy for love, anyway.

“Don’t let him ruin your night, okay? Wash your face and go home. He’s not worth it.”

He gives Jimin a radiant grin, eyes sparkling and nose scrunched. “Thank you. Have a good night.”

Jimin smiles back, mouthing “you, too”, and he turns around to leave.

x

    II. After 

Jeongguk wakes up late on a particularly cold Sunday morning and walks into the kitchen to find Jimin sitting on a stool, wrapped around a blanket and drinking from a steamy cup of coffee. He smiles to himself, slightly dumbfounded by the view despite the seven years he’s found himself in the same scenario. There is something about loving Park Jimin that allows room for fascination in spite of the domesticity of their routine. It never ceases to amaze him.

He walks up to him and hugs him from behind, kissing the crown of his head like he does every day while he murmurs "good morning". Jimin's "morning, angel," comes out softly, almost as if they weren't allowed to speak any louder although they’re in their own home. One of their cats is curled in the couch, another in the chair next to Jimin. Mena followed Jeongguk from the bed all the way here but abandoned him for the sake of food. This is their corner of paradise, where only the two of them get to exist.

They make small talk while Jeongguk makes himself some coffee, and then he sits next to Jimin, their knees touching. Jeongguk listens to Jimin ramble about the trip he’s been planning— rather stubbornly, may he add; he hasn't let Jeongguk help out in the slightest, arguing that it needs to be perfect— for their anniversary, and his chest swells. Pure adoration washes over him, product of their little sacred moment, barefoot in the kitchen, more in love than ever.

“Do you have any idea of how much I love you?” he blurts out, interrupting Jimin mid-speech. 

The elder halts, words hanging from his lips, and then chuckles. “That was sudden.” He takes Jeongguk's hand between his own and squeezes it. “I love you, too, angel.”

Somehow, today it doesn’t feel enough to simply say it. There needs to be a better way to express the pressing feeling in his chest, like a flower blooming inside his chest, threatening to shatter it. It’s bigger than Jeongguk, bigger than the whole world. It’s a lavender haze creeping up on Jeongguk’s limbs, tainting his vision with the prettiest shade of purple. Jimin stands in the center of everything, glowing, the only visible thing amidst the lilac smoke.

“I mean it.” Jeongguk stares into his eyes intently, making sure Jimin understands the weight behind his words. He needs him to know. “I really, really love you."

Jimin gives him a smile that lifts his cheeks, now turned rosy after spending too much time under Jeongguk's attention. He’s so lovely Jeongguk doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Me too.”

And it's then when, despite all the days he's spent alone with Jimin just like this, even before he knew the exact shade of their love, that something snaps in Jeongguk. The strings holding him back, the what if's. From that very first morning in his car when Jimin told him he didn’t regret it, to the night he came back and turned Jeongguk’s world around and up to this moment, it’s always been him.

Their fights and their make-ups, Jimin’s hands around his neck in Tokyo and tangled in his wet hair, spreading shampoo across his scalp. All the words of encouragement that bloomed like wildflowers in a war field. The sound of his voice in Jeongguk’s ear during Namjoon’s and Taehyung’s wedding, a whispered promise of a future just like that. I can’t wait to have the entire world watch me marry you.

He cups Jimin's face, holding him like water in his hands, and he presses his forehead against Jimin's. He doesn't dare close his eyes, not wanting to miss a single detail of his lover, all the intricate lines that have drawn him against the morning light like a flicker of hope.

"I would die for you," Jeongguk whispers, capturing Jimin's lips into a short, sweet kiss. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Jimin laughs, high-pitched like every time he's so embarrassed he's left speechless, and Jeongguk loves him a little bit more. "What's gotten into you, huh?"

“I just love you.” Another kiss, his smile pressed against Jimin’s mouth. “I would marry you right here, right now. Fuck the rest of the world.”

"You're so dramatic. You wouldn't actually do that," Jimin says through a huff, trying to turn his head to the side to hide how flushed his face is, but Jeongguk doesn't let him.

Gently, he forces Jimin to look him in the eye again. "Jimin-ah."

Jimin shakes his head softly, biting down a smile, as if he could read what’s crossing Jeongguk’s mind. Jeongguk feels the warmth his cheeks radiate on the palms of his hands, and his heart constricts in his chest. He's shining gold, fresh lavender brushing Jeongguk's fingertips. He whispers, “Don’t.”

“Marry me,” Jeongguk says quietly. Nobody else needs to know. “I'm tired of waiting.”

Jimin sucks in a breath, steals it from Jeongguk. “Are you serious?”

Jeongguk nods. Jimin closes his eyes, and there isn’t a trace of the man Jeongguk fell in love with all those winters ago, with the strands of white bleached hair against pure black and walls so high surrounding him nobody could see what was inside. Jeongguk wakes up next to him now. Kisses him goodnight and misses him when he’s not around. Jimin sat front row to watch him receive his Master’s diploma, and they drive down to Busan every year for the anniversary of his father’s death. There is nothing more beautiful than being able to stare at him and seeing traces of love across every inch of Jimin’s skin.

Before Jimin speaks again, Jeongguk already knows the answer. “Ask me again.”

Jeongguk breaks into a smile. He clears his throat and lets go of Jimin's face to take his hand instead. Then, he lowers himself to the floor on one knee, and holding onto the love of his life, he repeats the only question he's never been scared to ask. Not after that spring under the cherry blossoms and that summer by the coast.

Not if it's Jimin.

"Park Jimin, will you marry me?"

Eyes full of tears, Jimin nods his head frantically, slipping from the chair to lower to his knees in front of Jeongguk. He wraps his arms around his neck, and Jeongguk holds him there, palms pressed against his back. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he replies. His hands roam through Jeongguk’s body almost desperately, trying to take a proper hold of him, to bring him as close to his heart as humanly possible. They end up grabbing both sides of his face, and Jeongguk doesn’t even mind Jimin’s fingers digging into his skin as he pulls him in for a breathtaking kiss. “A thousand times yes, God—”

“My love,” Jeongguk mumbles against Jimin’s mouth, tangling his hands in Jimin’s hair as he nibbles at the older’s lower lip. They’ve shared a multitude of passionate kisses over the years, the flame lit between them never willing to go out, but this one is different. Somewhat stronger, aching for the other in a way their souls have never yearned before, yet more tender than any. “I can’t fucking wait to call you mine.”

“Let’s just do it next week,” Jimin moves back to look him in the eye, still holding onto him as if his life depended on it. “I can take any day off, fuck, the whole week if you want, but let’s not wait, Jeongguk-ah.”

“You sure?”

Jimin nods, kissing him firmly again. “Yes. We don’t even need a witness, angel, it’ll just take a minute and we’ll be married .”

“What about a ceremony? Honeymoon? Don’t you want your parents there, or Taehyung?” he asks softly, stroking Jimin’s wet cheek with his thumb. “We don’t need to rush it.”

“I don’t want to wait until we can have a proper wedding, God knows when that’ll be knowing our schedules. And maybe it sounds selfish, but I don’t want anyone to know for at least a little,” he bites his lip, glancing to the floor. “They’ll talk, and it’ll spread, and we’ll be stuck socializing and announcing it to everyone concerned and it’s just a lot. I just want you, this, without anyone else watching.”

Now it’s Jeongguk’s turn to tear up. He leans in to capture Jimin’s lips in another kiss, rubbing their noses together after they break apart. “That sounds perfect to me. I’ll take the week off, we can drive down to Busan and be together, or even stay home. Anything my baby wants.”

Jimin breaks into a blinding grin. All the air in Jeongguk’s lungs leaves him, awestruck by the view. His eyelashes stick together, still wet with tears, and the tip of his nose is red. They both must look like a mess, knees aching from being on the floor for so long, but none of it matters. At this moment, it’s just them, their future rising through the window shedding sunlight into their living room.

“I don’t even have a ring for you,” Jeongguk mumbles. “What a mess. You can tell this wasn’t planned.”

Laughing, Jimin gets on his feet and plants a kiss on the crown of Jeongguk’s head. Jeongguk watches him from the floor with a smile as Jimin reaches for the kitchen paper roll on the counter. He takes a piece and rips two thin stripes, twisting one in a circle and tying it up, and repeats the process. Once he’s satisfied with the impromptu rings, he lowers back down and extends his hand, waiting for Jeongguk to place his on top. 

With a chuckle, Jeongguk complies. Jimin makes a show of ceremoniously sliding the paper ring in, although it’s too big for his finger, and presses a kiss against the back of Jeongguk’s hand. 

“I don’t need shiny things when I have you,” he says.

Jeongguk stares down at their linked hands, and thinks time must’ve molded them into fitting seamlessly into each other at some point, like waves turning stones into sand. From now on, and until the sea washes their remains ashore, his soul will belong to Jimin.

What a beautiful, beautiful thing.

x

    III. Before; a year before Jeongguk’s succession.

Whoever convinced Jimin to apply for an internship in Geummun Inc. deserves a special place in hell. But he can’t send his best friend there without following him, so he sucks it up for the fiftieth day in a row, putting on a smile and clocking in. 

He only has one year left of law school, and then he’ll be free (except he’ll probably have to retake the Bar exam for three years in a row, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now.) A silly intern position isn’t going to be the last of him, he knows, but it sure is testing every last bit of patience left in his body.

Unfortunately for him, he still wants this job. Desperately wants it, more than any other kind of boring role he could get in a law firm, which means he needs to do his best and suck it up to his boss in obscene levels. Jimin knows he’s good at what he does, smarter than any of his colleagues with the exception of Namjoon and Taehyung, of course, but there is a small issue with his otherwise infallible plan.

His boss fucking hates him.

“Jiseok, have you finished the reports I asked you to write yet?” he asks the moment Jimin walks into his floor. He’s headed towards him with a pile of papers, probably stupid documents in the tiniest font size known to man that Jimin will have to read over so that the higher-ups, who, unlike Jimin, are actually getting paid for working, don’t have to. 

Jimin takes a deep breath and fakes his best smile. “It’s Jimin, but yes, I have. I only need to compress them into a zip file and send them over to the legal team, I’ll get right to it.”

“You haven’t sent them yet? I told you we had a deadline.”

“I didn’t have time before my shift ended on Friday, so I just figured I’d do it now,” Jimin says, maintaining his smile despite his confusion. What’s the big deal? 

His boss launches into a fifteen-minute rant about how Jimin is nothing but a useless intern and how people like him will be the end of their brand reputation. It’s all loud words spewed like venom and accusations Jimin doesn’t fully understand, so he zones out through most of it. He mutters his apologies, bowing incessantly, and he returns to his desk while the entire department watches him lower his head and hide behind his monitor screen. The public humiliation burns more than any of the insults— Jimin is good at dealing with superiority complexes, not so great at having others know his weaknesses. 

The clock in his screen blinks from five to six in the afternoon until Jimin’s vision turns blurry and someone turns off the light in the opposite corner. Suddenly, it’s almost eight and he needs to go home, because he promised his mom he’d call over dinner and he still needs to study for his mock-up court case, but his boss told him to clear out his inbox for the day and emails from their overseas brands just keep coming and his Japanese is not that good yet and— 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Jimin’s head snaps up at the sound, and he finds himself staring right into the eyes of a guy his age. He’s dressed in a way too expensive suit to simply be an intern, but he’s too young to be working in the legal department. Jimin squints his eyes, picking at his brain in case he’s seen him around the building before because he swears there’s something about his eyes— all round and wide, pretty like a doll’s— that’s familiar, but he can’t quite place it. He’s seen that nose before, that jaw , so sharp for a face that small, and— oh. 

“You’re Jeon Jihwan’s son,” he blurts out. 

The man tilts his head to the side, and some of his hair falls over his eyes. “Yeah. And you are…?”

Jimin straightens his posture, but he lowers his head in a bow. This is the last thing he wants to do right now, but he can’t make a bad impression on his boss’ son if he ever wants to work here again.  “Park Jimin. I’m an intern.”

“Jeon Jeongguk,” he bows back shortly, as if Jimin didn’t already know exactly who he is. He can’t tell if he did it as a reflex or to feign humility. “Then more reasons for you to not be here, right? Your shift should’ve ended a millenia ago. Are you even getting paid for this?”

Jimin pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Tonight is not the time for a rich kid to be a smartass with him. He’s looked at way too many contracts to have to deal with someone acting like he knows better about Jimin’s job.

“I’m not getting paid at all, but I need the credits and my mentor’s letter of recommendation,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I can’t get on his bad side if I want to graduate, so if he says I need to empty my inbox today, I stay until it’s done,” he shrugs. “That’s just the way it is.”

“Who’s your mentor?” Jeongguk asks, taking a seat at the edge of his desk. Jimin wants to be annoyed and snap at him so badly for not even asking for permission— technically, he does own the place, but manners have never hurt anyone— but he can’t bring himself to do it for some reason. Jeongguk looks genuinely interested in his poor excuse of a life, as if Jimin weren’t just an insignificant peon in his father’s company.

“Choi Jinyoung.”

Jeongguk nods and lets out an amused hum. “He’s a dick.”

Jimin snorts, taken aback by the brutal honesty. “A little, yeah.”

Sliding off the desk, Jeongguk laughs softly. It’s sweet, a tad breathy, like he was trying his best to keep it quiet. Jimin is surprisingly charmed. “I wouldn’t worry too much about him, though. I was actually on my way to his desk to get something.”

“May I ask what? I might be able to help you find it. I organize all of his shit, anyway,” he grumbles.

Jeongguk chuckles. “An NDA.”

“Oh,” Jimin replies, a little dumbly. Of course someone like Jeongguk is looking for an NDA on a Friday night. Somewhere deep in his mind, Jimin stirs uncomfortably, a wave of shame washing over him. He must look pathetic, in his twenties and stuck in an empty office while people his age are dancing themselves to exhaustion, closing bars and falling in love. “Third drawer from the top. Make sure to get the one at the top of the pile. I redacted it.”

“Got it. Thanks,” Jeongguk says, already turning around to walk to Jinyoung’s desk, but he hesitates. “You should go home.”

“I can’t—”

“I’ll have my dad talk to him.” The determination in Jeongguk’s voice makes Jimin’s breath catch. “I’m sure making interns stay overtime isn’t quite legal, isn’t it? You should know.”

“It isn’t,” Jimin mumbles. “But this isn’t something worth bringing up with the CEO, seriously.”

What if Jinyoung somehow finds out Jimin had something to do with it and punishes him? He can’t risk his internship like this, he needs the credits and the experience for his resumé. He can’t burn bridges this early in his career. Jeongguk wouldn’t understand.

“Trust me, you’re not the first one to be here at this hour. It’s always his fault, too. Someone needs to bring it up.”

Jimin’s shoulders slump, defeated. He really, really just wants this day to end, one way or another. If this is the easy way out, then so be it. “If you say so.”

“I won’t mention your name, don’t worry. Jiwoo, was it?”

“Jimin,” he replies, letting his head hang low to hide the smile growing on his lips. “Pretty easy to remember.”

“Right,” Jeongguk says, and Jimin hears the grin on his voice. It’s ridiculously attractive. “Well, Jimin-ssi, I guess I’ll have to remember it in case something goes wrong with that NDA you drafted, won’t I?”

“I guess you’ll have to,” he mumbles, raising his gaze to lock eyes with Jeongguk. “But I assure you it won’t be necessary— I know what I’m doing. I’m good at my job, Jeongguk-ssi. ”

Something flickers in Jeongguk’s eyes, making Jimin’s stomach swirl as if he were in a roller coaster hanging from the edge of the peak. “I don’t doubt it.”

Jimin swallows all of the thoughts flooding his brain with images of Jeongguk’s pretty suit wrinkled and discarded on the floor, his back pressed against Jimin’s desk, his own name on that contract. “I have to wrap this email up,” he whispers.

“Of course.” Jimin hates that he recognizes the disappointment behind his voice, yet can’t do anything about it. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Enjoy your night.”

Jimin catches one last sight of Jeongguk’s sparkling eyes before he turns around. “You too, Park Jimin.”

x

    IV. The day.

They eat churros after signing the papers. Jimin stubbornly drags him to one of the fancy, hip cafés in the area that he spotted on the way to the court, and they each get two churros and a cup of steaming hot chocolate, Jimin’s with a melting marshmallow in it. It’s so ridiculously mundane, but it feels just right to simply have Jimin sitting across from the table, foam from his drink caught in the corner of his mouth, like this is just another day.

Jeongguk nudges Jimin’s foot with the tip of his shoe under the table. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who just got married.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, overly dramatic on purpose. “Can’t I enjoy my churro in peace?”

“Of course you can, love,” Jeongguk huffs out a laugh, not surprised to see how Jimin sets his food down despite feigning to be more interested in it. “I’m only being greedy for your attention.”

Humming, Jimin sets an elbow on the table and props his head on top of his hand, leaning forward with a smile. “Nothing new, then.”

Jeongguk also leans into him, holding his gaze as he slouches his back to be eye to eye with Jimin. “I guess not. Can I have some of it now, your Highness?”

In a swift motion, Jimin crosses the little distance between them and captures Jeongguk’s lips into a short kiss. He doesn’t really calculate the strength of it, making their teeth knock together, but Jeongguk melts into it either way. Jimin tastes sweet. 

His eyes remain closed for a second after Jimin breaks the kiss, drinking in the moment. When he opens them, Jimin is looking at him, lower lip caught between his teeth as he smiles fondly. That man is his husband now, has been for an hour and counting. Jeongguk feels like he’s going to burst at any moment from containing all that excitement and love inside of him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that,” he says. He wants to kiss Jimin again and again, but that can wait until they’re back home. They officially have a lifetime to spend together. 

“Good,” Jimin replies, “Otherwise we just went through half an hour of paperwork for nothing.”

“Hm, thank God I had my best lawyer with me.” He reaches for Jimin’s left hand as the older laughs, a bit flustered, and he spins the ring in his finger, watching how the lights of the coffee shop reflect against the thin gold band. Jimin had wanted something simple and subtle, with only the tiniest, barely visible champagne-colored diamond engraved into it. Jeongguk is in awe every time he looks at it. “When are you thinking of telling your parents?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Jimin mumbles like the mere thought of going through the motions of announcing their marriage is a burden, and Jeongguk can’t help but chuckle. If it were up to him, he’d never tell his family. “I need to figure out how to break the news to Taehyung first. Fuck, Jeongguk-ah,” he whines, dropping his head. “Kill me. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’ll have to eventually, my dear,” he says, stroking Jimin’s hand. “Me as well. You think Seokjin hyung will take it easy on me when he finds out we did this in secret?”

Jimin raises his head, cracking one eye open to look at Jeongguk. “You should just buy the plot for our graveyards now.”

Jeongguk throws his head back laughing, holding onto Jimin still, who tightens his grip as if he were scared that Jeongguk would fall off his chair. “It’s a little too early for that, don’t you think? We’ve only been married for,” he makes a show to check his wristwatch, pulling soft laughter out of Jimin. “An hour, thirteen minutes and twenty seconds. Twenty-one, twenty-two—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Jimin cuts in, giggling. His eyes hide behind the crescent moons of his lids and the apples of his cheeks, reddened with a healthy flush. Jeongguk couldn’t be more in love, couldn’t have picked a better person to spend the rest of his days with. “How about this,” Jimin says, settling down. He leans over the table again, curling his finger towards him signaling Jeongguk to come close, pressing the side of his face against Jimin’s. He whispers in Jeongguk’s ear. “We finish our breakfast, we go home and you take me to bed,” he adds with a purr, sending a shiver down Jeongguk’s spine. “And after that and a nice, long bath, we Facetime with my parents. That sound good?”

Jeongguk nods, albeit a little too eagerly, his blood warming at the proposition. Jimin moves away, a satisfied smile perched on his lips. “Alright, baby. Is there anything else you want to do? What about your mom?”

“She can wait. So can my brother,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Jus’ wanna be with you for now. Have you all for myself.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, angel,” Jimin says, moving to push Jeongguk’s hair behind his ear. Jeongguk catches his hand before he retrieves it and presses a kiss to his palm. “I’m yours, I’ve been for a long time. Will be for even longer, starting from today. Don’t that sound lovely?”

“So lovely,” Jeongguk whispers. What a beautiful canvas they have, don’t they? All the right— yet always wrong— shades are sprawled in front of him, soft lines and half-moons and shimmers of golden, golden love. 

It isn’t done yet, but they’ve got a lifetime to finish it. Jeongguk is not in a rush.

    V. the ceremony

Jimin eventually, eventually, bends to the pressure, all the tiny little knacks carved in his brain by his best friends. How could they not hold a proper ceremony? They don’t need to prove their love to anyone, but he can’t deny that having an entire night dedicated to it doesn’t sound as bad as he thought. 

It’s a simple get-together with their friends at the Jeon's family house in the countryside, close enough to the sea to smell the salt in the air. The weather is warm, not yet suffocating, as they stand in the spring right at the edge of summer. Their court date was months ago, before the holiday season and all the end-of-the-year craze, but this also feels right. Anything next to Jeongguk is, if he’s honest. 

Taehyung is the officiant. He chokes on his words when he declares Jimin and Jeongguk husbands, as he watches them stand in front of each other, hand in hand, a sprig of lavender pinned to their chests. 

Jimin can’t remember his vows any more— all of it seems so distant even if it happened merely an hour ago, but he just has the crumpled piece of paper where he wrote it all down somewhere in his pocket and a glass of champagne as a remedy to wash off the embarrassment of reciting them in front of everyone. Jeongguk couldn’t finish his own; he’d broken into a sob, overtaken by emotion. Jimin had held his face in his hands and kissed him with all that he had in him, and Taehyung had rushed to end the ceremony, joyful laughter spilling through his lips as he announced ‘you may kiss the groom!’ .

“Will you dance with me now?”

Turning towards the sound of Jeongguk’s voice, Jimin lets out an excessively long exhale through his nose, though smiling. “You won’t give it up, will you.”

His husband shakes his head, slipping in the seat next to him. He puts down the glass in his hand on the table beside them, spilling some of the gold liquid that Jimin knows for a fact is apple juice because, despite being way over his past habits, Jeongguk has never had a sip of alcohol ever since they met. It makes Jimin’s chest fill with pride every time he thinks about it, but that might just be his only reaction to the sight of his lover at this point. There is so much love constantly threatening to spill past him.

“C’mon, Jimin-ah,” Jeongguk pushes with that hint of a whine that always gets Jimin so good . “Just one slow dance, and I’ll let you be. Please,” he adds.

Sighing, Jimin leans in to peck Jeongguk’s lips. He’s been asking for this the entire night, going from Jinsol’s arms to Seokjin’s and even Taehyung’s only to come to Jimin again, attempt to lure him into the dance floor, and return empty-handed. Jimin doesn’t think he can say no any longer to those puppy eyes, bright as they were when he was twenty-six. “Fine,” he says, “but only one, okay? ‘s too much, having them watch me.”

“We can always have another dance once we’re home,” Jeongguk reassures, brushing his hand down Jimin’s face. He lets it rest on his neck, rubbing it gently. Jimin leans into the warmth of the touch. “No eyes on us.”

“Hm, we’ll see.” Jimin pushes Jeongguk’s hand away softly to stand up, nodding his head towards the center of the tent they’d put up in the backyard. Fairy lights hang around it, trails and trails of bulbs as small as fireflies that bathe everyone in warm hues now that the sun has set. The decoration is simple, yet effective. Jimin adores every detail, probably because it was Jeongguk’s idea. “After you, angel.”

Jeongguk grabs his hand with a smile that spreads from ear to ear, and he pulls Jimin forward. Jimin just lets him— where Jeongguk goes, he’ll follow. In their imaginary dancefloor, they spin and separate from each other only to pull their bodies back in, like the tide and the moon. Jeongguk’s heart in Jimin’s hands, a promise of an eternity of good days— better days, lavender-scented and golden like their love— hanging from their lips as Jimin whispers to him, swinging in his arms.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

x

    +1. After, after.

The front door of the apartment opens and Jeongguk’s head snaps up. Heavy rain has been chattering against the windows of the living room all night, but he’d welcome it as a sweet companion while he had his nose buried in a book, the lower half of his body wrapped around a woolen blanket. An empty cup of peppermint tea rests on the coffee table in front of him.

Footsteps tentatively come closer, and Jeongguk closes the book. He straightens his back, but he doesn’t stand up from the loveseat. He’ll come to him. 

The silhouette of a man emerges from the dark hallway. A suit jacket folded in half hangs from one of his hands, and the sleeves of his shirt have been rolled up. Jeongguk smiles.

“Welcome home, baby.”

Jimin grins at him, full lips stretched as the apples of his cheeks round up and his eyes disappear into two crescent moons. He looks as beautiful as ever, bright like the very first day Jeongguk met him. “Hello, angel.”

He walks over to Jeongguk and bends down to place a chaste kiss on his lips. Jeongguk cranes his neck to meet him halfway and smiles against Jimin’s mouth. It’s been two weeks, maybe three, since the last time they saw each other. Jeongguk had gone on a business trip to Germany for ten days, but when he’d returned, Jimin had already left for Japan. Yoongi has been trying to debut his label’s main girl group in the neighboring country for months now, which meant weeks and weeks of contract negotiations with record labels and venues. 

Jimin wraps his arms around Jeongguk’s neck and lets his body melt into him, slipping between his legs and pressing their chests together with a sated sigh. Jeongguk chuckles under his breath and simply takes the extra weight, embracing his lover. He presses the palms of his hands against Jimin’s back and buries his nose in the crook of his neck, his favorite place in the world.

“I missed you,” he mumbles. Jimin hums, the vibration of his body akin to the purr of one of their cats. “How was it?”

“Terrible.” Jimin’s lips move against his shoulder, his voice merely a whisper. “I got them the contract they wanted, though. The process was just ridiculously draining.”

Jeongguk gently begins running his fingers in circles over Jimin’s back. “Hm, I can only imagine, but congratulations on closing the deal. My best lawyer.”

Snickering, Jimin detaches himself from Jeongguk to change into a more comfortable position. He sits on Jeongguk’s lap, legs draped over the arm of the loveseat. He leans his body against Jeongguk, resting a hand on his chest and pressing his forehead against the side of Jeongguk’s head. Jeongguk curls an arm around his waist and squeezes tight. 

“I love you,” Jimin says. He shuffles, as though trying to come closer even if it’s impossible. Jeongguk understands the urge; some days, especially on those he’s forced to be apart from Jimin, he would like to have the ability to merge into one with him. Carry his warmth everywhere. “I’m sorry I’m late, our flight took an extra hour to land but I obviously couldn’t text you 30,000 feet in the air. Are you tired?”

His eyelids have felt heavy for around thirty minutes now, his copy of Ichiyo Higuchi’s Troubled Waters slipping from the loose grip of his fingers. Softly, Jeongguk shakes his head. “Not at all. Are you? We can always look at it tomorrow—”

Jimin makes a noise of disagreement, tilting his body so that he can hold Jeongguk’s face. They make eye contact, Jimin’s gentle gaze unchanging in the seven years it’s been dedicated exclusively for Jeongguk. He sinks into the touch, the only home Jeongguk will ever know. The melted gold that puts his pieces back together.

“I’m not tired,” he says. Jeongguk can see through his lie, but he stays quiet, smiling at him. “The email has been sitting at the top of my inbox for forty-eight hours now. Let’s just open it now, Jeongguk-ah.”

“Okay.” He turns his head and leaves a kiss on Jimin’s palm. “Are you ready to be a dad?”

Blood rushes to Jimin’s cheeks and he pushes himself off Jeongguk’s lap. “Don’t say it like that, you’ll jinx it!” he exclaims. “What if they rejected our application?”

Laughing, Jeongguk rises to his feet and catches Jimin into a tight back hug, pressing him to his body despite Jimin’s complaints. He runs the tip of his nose across the side of Jimin’s neck and kisses him there, then his jawline and the shell of his ear. Jimin relaxes into his hold, and Jeongguk smiles against his hair. His, Jeongguk thinks. Jimin is his, his husband, his only love. Soon, they’ll be walking into their future. 

“What if I told you I already opened the email?” he whispers.

Jimin lets out a loud gasp, turning around in Jeongguk’s arms. His mouth gapes, eyes wide as plates. Jeongguk bites down a smile. “We were going to do it together.”

Jeongguk cups Jimin’s face and caresses his cheek with the back of his thumb. “I know, darling, I’m sorry. I opened it by accident this morning.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin says in a quiet voice. His pupils shake, threatening to spill all the stars inside them. “What… what did it say? Is it bad? No, wait, don’t tell me. No, not actually, please do, but—”

Jeongguk kisses Jimin on the lips, sweet and slow, capturing all the words spilling from him and muffling the noise they make as they knock into each other. When they part, he presses his forehead against Jimin’s, and lets his eyes flutter close. They both take a deep breath, as if trying to take in the entire weight of the world inside their chests. This is it.

Jimin squeezes his hand, tight like the day he taught Jeongguk how to skate and was scared that he’d slip on the ice. Like the morning of Hyunsik’s last trial before the verdict. Like every time they’ve been at the edge of a cliff or on top of the world. 

Jeongguk can’t wait to start a family with him. “You’re going to be the best dad in the world, Park Jimin.”