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The sun has barely risen over the horizon, painting the sky orange and pink. Jimin sits by the window in his living room with his legs crossed and hands resting on his lap. He nervously picks at his thumb and gnaws at his bottom lip, barely taking notice of the early sky. Instead, Jimin stares at the watch on his wrist, his gaze trailing the second hand as another minute passes.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Surely, he will receive a call—or at least a text message—very soon. Maybe Jungkook is merely waiting until the last moment to surprise him. After all, it’s still his birthday in Italy, even though the day ended long ago here in South Korea.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The screen of his phone remains dark as another minute passes in silence, disrupted by the low ticking of his wristwatch. A hollow darkness unfurls inside his body as Jimin shifts in his seat. He pulls his knees to his chest, dropping his forehead on them. Releasing a shaky breath, he hugs his own figure.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Jungkook will call. He promised.
Tick. Tick. Tick—
The shrill ring of his alarm cuts through the hush of the living room, startling Jimin as his fingers clutch the fabric of his pajamas. He freezes before blinking twice, lifting his gaze to the ceiling as his eyes begin stinging. The phone keeps blaring, but Jimin barely hears it.
It is 7am—which means midnight has struck in Italy.
His birthday is over, and Jungkook didn’t call.
With trembling fingers, Jimin reaches for his phone, ignoring the tightness in his throat. When he swipes across the screen, the quiet from before returns around him. But this time, it feels crushing—a cruel reminder of the absence of his boyfriend’s voice, of his effort.
Jimin sighs, holding the phone firmly in his hand. He knows that Jungkook is incredibly busy—and that this should not be a big deal. They’re both adults, and birthdays are not that important anymore once you turn a certain age. However, a rapid fire coils his heart, sprawling to the tips of his fingers till his breathing becomes ragged and uneven.
The truth is, Jimin only wished to hear his boyfriend’s voice for his birthday.
Still, it seems he asked for too much.
Three days later
“Jimin! Don’t forget the meeting for next month’s event.” A co-worker, whose name Jimin can’t remember, pats his shoulder in passing. The small gesture pulls Jimin out of his dismal haze and back into his seat at his office desk. Right here, his computer screen is jammed with too many open tabs and too many unread emails. There is a lot of incomplete work, and no time to waste.
Nonetheless, Jimin’s mind is occupied with the heaviness in his chest.
It is October 16th, three days after his birthday. And Jungkook has still not contacted him. At all .
Subconsciously, Jimin’s eyes travel to his phone screen, fingers clenching against his desk. He’s turned off his notifications for everyone but Jungkook because every time his screen turned on, he prayed it was Jungkook. Every time he was let down.
It’s an unfamiliar sensation for Jimin—being let down by Jungkook.
Jimin drops his head against the back of his chair, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. He’s hurt, angry, disappointed, and miserable. Regardless of how much he attempts to repress these emotions, they seep through his facade, painting the truth in his eyes. Jimin supposes he can’t pretend his partner hasn’t ignored him for days, not even sending him a tiny text message.
And while the pain of Jungkook’s absence incenses him, it also worries him. In the midst of all his anger and despair, Jimin can’t stop wondering if Jungkook is feeling, sleeping or eating well. He knows how significant music is to Jungkook—knows that Jungkook fell in love with it before he fell in love with him.
Jimin fears that the love of his life has buried himself in a studio somewhere in Italy with no one to dig him out.
With one final long exhale, Jimin’s eyes flutter open, staring once more at his computer screen. If only Jungkook would reply to one of Jimin’s hundred text messages, then perhaps his mind wouldn’t feel like such emotional clutter. Not one emotion lingers long enough for Jimin to iron it out. He’s left with a flood of feelings only Jungkook can stop.
But there is nothing Jimin can do, other than hope he reaches out to him soon.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Jimin furrows his brows in confusion, snatching his ringing phone into his trembling hands. One look at his screen, and he thinks he has officially lost his mind after too many sleepless nights and a mind bruised in various emotions. But the vibration from his phone against his palm grounds him to the here and now.
It’s Jungkook’s name on the screen.
Jimin pauses, then stands before reality even has time to settle. Like a statue, Jimin merely stares at the name. A heartbeat later, he is on the move. He swiftly makes his way towards the closest storage room, disregarding the concerned glances from his co-workers as his heart thuds in his throat, and his ears buzz. Too absorbed by the sensation of the phone in his hand, Jimin slams the door behind him—loud and final—before he locks it.
With his back pressed against the door, Jimin lifts his phone, gathering his courage to pick up. He has to. After all, this is what he’s been waiting on for days—to finally hear Jungkook’s voice. So, attempting to calm the storm within him, Jimin answers the call and raises his phone to his flushed ear.
For a second, no one speaks, as if a stranger were on the other line.
“Hey.” Jimin eventually breathes out, his voice breaking at the end of the word.
“Hey.” Jungkook’s greeting is barely audible, but Jimin can hear the exhaustion in it, see the eyebags under his eyes. “I am so, so sorry, Jimin. I didn’t realize how much time had passed—I swear I didn’t mean to disappear on you like this.”
The broken tones in Jungkook’s apology are stabbing into Jimin’s chest like daggers, but at the same time allowing all of his anguish to spill out.
“It’s been four days, Jungkook.” The lump in Jimin’s throat grows with each spoken syllable, restricting his speech.
“I know. God, I know.” An exasperated breath escapes Jungkook’s lips, and Jimin knows the frustration is aimed at himself. “I had too many studio sessions, then also dance practices. There were a dozen photoshoots as well. Then of course the concerts. I have barely slept—and I still should have called you. I’m sorry, Jimin. I am so sorry.”
Jimin’s back slips down the door until he’s seated on the ground, his legs unable to carry him anymore. His free hand caresses his forehead, listening attentively to every word. He hears the remorse in his boyfriend’s voice—the love as well. But too many unresolved feelings simmer under his skin, binding him to his anger.
“I texted you. So many times.” Jimin detects the tremor in his reply. “Not once did you have a minute to reply to me?”
“I barely looked at my phone—”
“Do you even know what day it is?” Jimin snaps—his concern cloaked in fury. His breathing has risen in speed while a layer of sweat covers his palms.
“No, not really.” Jungkook sighs, and Jimin’s heart feels confined in his chest.
“You missed my birthday.”
There is a long halt—a silence so deafening, Jimin has to squeeze his eyes shut to soothe the sting in his eyes.
“What? But it’s not—” Jimin hears shuffling and a small gasp. “Oh God. Jimin, baby.”
The soft ‘ baby ’ only salts Jimin’s wounds. His eyes stay tightly shut, but warm tears still stain his cheeks as he sits on the cold ground.
“I am sorry. I thought it was next week. I—I am so sorry. God—” A pitiful laugh from Jungkook echoes in Jimin’s ears, followed by a voice crack. “I didn’t mean for it to go like this.”
“And yet it still did.” Jimin whispers as his tears blacken his jeans.
“I know there is nothing I can say that could justify this—nor do I want to. I messed up badly. Terribly. I should have called. I should have answered your text messages. I should have prepared something for your birthday.” Jimin tries to concentrate on Jungkook’s words, but the buzzing in his ears has intensified, preventing his mind from processing anything.
“I will try—No, I will make it up to you as soon as possible.” Jungkook rambles, clearly unraveling on the other line.
And Jimin is aware that Jungkook will work hard for his forgiveness. Jungkook loves him—there is no doubt in his mind about his affection. However, he struggles to believe it won’t happen again—this ache.
“You know, we haven’t really spent much time together this year. And I’ve been missing you more than I’ve had you.” The words pour out from Jimin without thought as he traces the tear stains on his pants.
Jungkook’s schedule has been packed to the brim ever since this year started, leaving barely any time for the couple. It only became worse when his world tour started. Initially, Jungkook had hoped Jimin would join him, travel with him all over the world and attend every concert.
But, Jimin has dreams too. He wants to work, open a dance studio, and earn his own money.
With that, the couple had long discussions about their future and agreed they could get through this year—as long as they kept time for the other. Jimin felt confident about their love—today, he feels empty.
“I know this tour means a lot to you—your music. I would never judge you for choosing to follow your dreams.” A jerky sob interrupts his sentence, and he firmly rubs his palm against his eyelid. “And I was always fully aware of how much you love it before I decided to be with you.”
Jungkook remains silent, sniffling alone in his hotel room.
“And—And you love me. You really do.”
Jimin pushes his knees to his chest, hugging his figure as his own words cut through his heart. Swallowing down the despair in his throat, he chokes out the rest.
“I just don’t know if you can do both anymore.”
Jimin breaks out into full sobs—speaking the worries that have been littering his mind out loud feels like he broke a dam. The tears won’t stop, and a headache swells in his temples. Still, his heart aches the most. He’s been holding in all of his disappointments—of lone mornings, vacant bed and empty home—so long that his body has lost all control of his senses.
“And I hate—I hate saying it because I love you. You were— You are the other half of me.” Jimin wipes his cheeks, but a fresh set of tears coats them. “But, I’m so lonely with you. You don’t call. You don’t text. You don’t FaceTime. I—I shouldn’t miss your presence when you’re not with me.”
Jungkook’s stillness has transmuted into quiet sobs and ragged puffs. Nonetheless, he is not intervening, letting Jimin say everything he’s been carrying.
“Despite all of this, I love you. I love you when I wake up—when I go to sleep. Loving you is more natural to my heart than pumping blood.” Jimin places his hand over his chest before clutching his shirt between his fingers. He’s catching his breath, inhaling through his nose and exhaling from his mouth.
He does it a few times, a sob slipping in between breaths. Jungkook’s cries bleed through the phone, each one leaving a blemish on Jimin’s heart.
“I suppose I can’t tell anymore if I love loving you.”
Jimin’s voice is shaky, as though scared of his own confession. However, what terrifies him the most is that the words didn’t feel wrong on his tongue. No, they felt necessary. The air around him grows colder, his body covered in goosebumps.
“Jimin.” Jungkook’s tone becomes high at the end as he clears his throat. “Jimin, are—”
Jungkook takes a deep breath, but cries as he blows out. He doesn’t attempt to hide the noises of anguish—he has never hidden anything from Jimin in the three years they have been together.
“Are you breaking up with me? ”
The rasp in Jungkook’s voice is undeniably woven with fear and grief, and it rips a piece of Jimin’s being from his existence—because Jimin freezes. No words appear on his lips, no answer ready. His mouth stays shut as Jungkook silently weeps, waiting for an answer.
“I don’t know.” Jimin finally says, biting the inside of his cheeks.
“Then I’ll come to you. Tomorrow. I will be there and we will talk.” Jungkook rushes, desperation clinging on as he speaks. The same desperation that once deepened Jimin’s love—the same urgency that brought them together. Today, however, he only feels more hurt, knowing Jungkook could have made the time for him—as he is willing to do so now. He just didn’t think of it.
“No, don’t come.” Jimin sternly orders, wiping his tears one last time before getting back on his feet. He wobbles for a second, leaning on the door. The corners of his eyes sting, and his head is pounding. He has heard enough for today, feeling fatigued.
“I need time to think. And so do you.” Jimin explains.
“Jimin, I can’t—” Jungkook’s voice is hollow, too overwhelmed to settle on any emotion.
“But you will. I need time, please Jungkook.” Jimin pleads, his vision becoming blurry again. “Just… do what you’ve been doing for the past few days. Focus on your shows and on your music. And if you find a minute or two, think about me. Think about—”
Jimin’s throat burns as he lifts his gaze to the ceiling, blinking in hopes to compose himself from another breakdown.
“Think about the last ten months, and if that’s the love you want me to live with.” Jimin whispers the last time, but doesn’t wait for Jungkook’s reply. Not because he doesn’t care about it—but because he can’t bear to hear it.
Hanging up has never felt this brutal to Jimin before.
Two weeks later
A few years back, Jimin read a poem about how slowly time passes when one is going through heartbreak, stating that the days without your lover will become everlasting. He has never identified himself with those verses from the poet, not relating to the mental unraveling of a broken heart. A break up could never impact someone to the point where time moves differently.
Or, so Jimin thought. He has learned by now that he has never been in love before. Not until Jungkook—not until now.
It’s been two weeks since they last spoke, but it could have been years. The days are longer, the nights colder and his tears incessant. Jimin is barely functioning, which hasn’t gone unnoticed by his co-workers.
He’s been sent home today—because of a broken heart.
It’s almost laughable that the one thing he asked for—time—has become the thing he hates the most with Jungkook’s absence. Each tick of the clock stretches like hours—each a reminder of their last conversation. Instead of time, Jimin merely wants Jungkook to come home—even if it’s for the last time.
He doesn’t know what awaits him when their paths cross again—whether Jungkook is angry that Jimin hung up the phone without granting him a moment to speak his side of the story, or too hurt by his words to even try.
All he knows for certain is that he misses Jungkook.
Seated in the middle of his couch, Jimin grabs the closest pillow and plants it on his lap. He strokes it twice, flattening the fabric, then lifts it to his face with a heavy sigh.
“Why didn’t you at least text me? Once? A simple ‘ I’m busy, sorry’ would have made all the difference to me.” Jimin starts ranting at the pillow, imagining his boyfriend’s face on the cloth.
“And you know I am very understanding. I mean, you’re an idol. There will always be times where you’re too busy, and I’m well aware of that. But still, make time for me. For one little text message. You love me… don’t you?”
Jimin’s head rolls onto the back of the couch, the cushion still raised above his head. He should feel stupid for talking to a ball of textile in an empty house. However, he doesn’t. He feels more foolish for tearing up.
“And yeah—” He sniffs. “Maybe I could have talked to you. Could have told you how lonely I was—how I wish you were here with me, instead of in a stadium with your fans.” Jimin falls quiet, clenching the pillow tightly in his hold.
“But how could I ever be so selfish? Knowing what music means to you?” The pillow is pressed against his face, muffling the sound of his voice. The glossiness in his eyes soaks into the cushion’s fabric. Jungkook didn’t hesitate once to support Jimin’s decision in following his dreams, so how could he not do the same for Jungkook?
How could he ever ask Jungkook to give up what he loved first?
Jimin drops the pillow from his face, sitting up straight. A cold shiver trails his spine, realizing that love is never simple—even if it’s connected by a red string. With his fists in a tight grasp, he gets up from the couch. The fear that their relationship has reached its final chapter is suffocating, and Jimin needs fresh air.
This home is filled with little things from Jungkook. It’s his house too after all—the home he hasn’t set foot in in over two months. Jimin shakes those thoughts away, grabbing his shoes before clumsily putting one of them on. Sometime in between, he grabs the front door’s keys.
“I’ll get some fresh air, and then I’ll practice to be calm and collected for the next time I see Jungkook.” Jimin talks to himself again, finally getting the two shoes on his feet.
“Maybe I’ll go for a run…”
Jimin swings the front door open and stops in motion, dropping the keys onto the floor with a loud thud. In front of him stands a very dishevelled Jungkook with a pale face and big, red eyes, as though he hasn’t slept once since their phone call.
“You…” Jimin has to focus on his breathing, which has turned uneven as he flexes his fingers to prevent himself from embracing the man before him. “What are you doing here? You have a show in the US tomorrow!”
“Are you—” Jungkook’s voice cracks—he sounds like someone who hasn’t only lost sleep, but his words too. Avoiding Jimin’s gaze, he licks his lips, coughing to hide his reddening nose.
“Are you really going to break up with me?” Jungkook asks, biting down on his lips as tears swell in his puffy eyes.
“Is that why you’re here?” Jimin counters his question. He hates the sight of Jungkook—so miserable and broken. Almost too instinctively, Jimin wants to reach out to him and fix him. But he stays in place, as if merged into the ground.
“I’m here because I want to talk to you.” Jungkook answers as the first tears roll down his cheeks. With his knuckles clenched tight and white from strain, Jimin ignores the ache in his chest, taking his first steps towards Jungkook with hurting anger.
“Now you want to talk?” He pokes Jungkook’s chest. “I waited, and waited, and waited, and waited for you to say anything to me!” Jimin’s jabs turn more aggressive with each word until his fist is hitting Jungkook’s shoulder, breathing heavily as more words stumble out of him.
“All I wanted was for you to reach out to me! Reply to one!” Another punch to Jungkook’s shoulder. “One of my messages, so I wouldn’t feel alone.”
“Jimin—”
“You made me fall in love with you! How dare you!” Warm tears escape Jimin’s eyes as his fists pound Jungkook's upper body. “How dare you leave me here in this house filled with your clothes, your accessories, your games, your scent! You’re everywhere, but nowhere. I hate it!”
Jimin’s cries are loud, as though he doesn’t want Jungkook to miss any of what he’s saying. But he could have been whispering from the other side of the street, and Jungkook would have heard it. And right now, he is engraving every single word from Jimin in his mind to ensure he never forgets them.
He regrets not having noticed Jimin's pain when it was laid out this openly for him. So, every punch from him, Jungkook takes with guilt-ridden shame.
“It was my birthday, and you didn’t even send me a card! You don’t forget your boyfriend’s birthday even now that we’re older. I don’t care, I could turn ninety-seven and I would want a gift from you. You’re my partner! You—” Jimin chokes, fists trembling as he rambles, punching and sobbing all at once. And Jungkook helplessly watches—his heart crying with Jimin.
Then in the midst of everything, Jimin clasps his arms around Jungkook’s neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
“You should have called me!” He cries into Jungkook’s shoulder, knowing only his boyfriend—the one who hurt him—can offer Jimin the comfort he needs.
“I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I’m sorry, Jimin. I’m so, so sorry.” Jungkook wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, diminishing any distance between them as he chants one apology after the other. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have made you feel alone. And I should have been here for your birthday. And I definitely should have called you at least once a day.”
Jungkook’s lips are pressed against Jimin’s temple, planting a kiss between each sentence as though sealing them as promises for the future.
“I’m sorry. I know I said I would try to stop myself from overworking, but one contract came after the other. Then came the tour, and I had to prepare for that as well.” Jungkook breathes the words out, savouring every second that his boyfriend is in his arms while Jimin’s breathing grows more even.
“And I’m not saying this to justify my actions. I’m saying this as a promise to you that I am not repeating this mistake. I will be overworked at times, but you will never miss my presence in our home ever again, Jimin.” Jungkook cradles Jimin’s face, guiding their gazes to lock—both of their eyes are messed up by tears.
And Jungkook will exert himself for a lifetime to redeem the ones Jimin shed because of him.
“So please, please don’t break up with me.” Jungkook’s resolve fractures, his voice becoming raw and cracking. “I don’t know what I will do without you. For the past two weeks, I have done nothing but cry. I cried myself to sleep. I cried on stage. I cried during interviews. I cried on my way here. I—”
Jungkook catches his bottom lips between his teeth to stop himself from kissing Jimin. He doesn’t know yet whether Jimin even accepts his apology, so he holds himself back. Instead, Jungkook rubs small circles onto his rosy cheeks, anchoring himself in the small touch.
“I don’t want to know the version of me that isn’t going to spend the rest of his life with you.” Jungkook speaks the words with loving resolution, just as a tear slips down his cheek.
A silence sets around the couple—it lingers between serenity and monsoon.
Still, Jungkook says nothing more. He wants Jimin to choose from his heart, not from his words. So, he tries to keep a neutral face—despite the glossy eyes and wet cheeks—but his hands on Jimin’s face tremble. So much that Jimin feels it against his skin.
And he senses Jungkook’s unspoken love—how it’s pushing all of his fears and concerns out of his mind, replacing the holes with seeds of his adoration.
“If you ever do something like this again—”
The sentence is cut short by Jungkook, whose relief is so crushing, he has to embrace Jimin again—tightly and wholeheartedly—otherwise he would have collapsed to his knees.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Jungkook intones as he weeps into Jimin’s shoulder. “I thought—I thought this would be it, and I would have no one else to blame but me. Oh baby. My baby. Thank you for not giving up on my stupid self.”
Fear and longing are interwoven in Jungkook’s answer as his hold on Jimin loosens, and he finally pulls away to look at his boyfriend’s face. Jimin breaks into a soft smile when he sees the mess on Jungkook’s face—his sincerity etched into every feature.
“Don’t ever disappear on me like this again. I get lonely easily.” Jimin wipes away Jungkook’s tears as he whimpers through sobs.
“I won’t. I really won’t.” Jungkook promises, kissing Jimin’s hand between each phrase.
“Call me at least once a week, but text me every day.” With gentle hands, Jimin combs through Jungkook’s messy hair, watching his boyfriend calm under his touch.
“Okay. I promise.” Jungkook nods, eyes closed as Jimin’s touch travels to his chest.
“Can you promise me something too?” Jungkook says, wrapping his hands gently around Jimin’s. The warmth of Jimin’s presence steadies him, helping his thoughts come clearer.
“What is it?” Jimin asks as Jungkook’s heartbeat hums under his hand.
“Talk to me if there is something hurting you—even if that something is me.” Jungkook’s words are a plea as he searches for Jimin’s eyes, resting his forehead against Jimin’s.
“I will.” Jimin answers, pausing for a beat. “With this, I just didn’t want to come between you and your music.”
“You are my music, Jimin.” The lack of hesitation crumbles Jimin’s resistance, and his heart swells in his ribcage.
“You loved music before me.” Jimin counters, not in a malicious manner but to portray his conflict.
“I didn’t know what music was until I heard your laugh.” Jungkook leans in, planting a tender kiss on Jimin’s lips. The small gesture brings comfort to both—a vow of their bond.
“Music became my life because you’re in everything I create, Jimin. Every chorus, every verse—” A second, even gentler, kiss follows. “Every note that I have written in the past three years has been about you. And that’s why I love doing it, because it’s my love for you in art.”
Jimin can’t find the words to describe the rush in his body—can’t find an answer that will convey how much these words solidify his trust in Jungkook’s love. And perhaps there is no word in any of the world’s languages that could carry the weight of the emotion coursing through his veins.
All Jimin can do to show his feelings is move closer to Jungkook until their lips are merely inches apart. Blood rushes to Jimin’s cheeks as he dares to glance up to Jungkook, whose breath hitches in his throat. The desperation to meet Jimin halfway is written on Jungkook’s face, but he waits patiently as his hands cup Jimin’s neck.
A sweet smile spreads across Jimin’s lips as he admires his boyfriend before closing his eyes. Then he kisses Jungkook, hoping he understands.
Fortunately, Jungkook does. He knows that he could write a thousand songs, and not one could compare to the love he feels for Jimin.
Some things are not meant to be spoken—or sung—sometimes they’re just meant to be felt between two people.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
The sound of Jungkook’s phone startles Jimin, pulling away slightly to give his boyfriend the room to answer. But Jungkook shakes his head, cradling Jimin’s cheeks and reconnecting their lips, causing Jimin to giggle between kisses.
“Pick up your phone, Jungkookie.” Jimin says tenderly, leaving one last peck on his boyfriend before stepping back.
“Don’t want to.” Jungkook whines, grabbing Jimin’s hand because he still needs his boyfriend’s touch to calm his raced heartbeat. But he still does as told, reaching for his phone in his back pocket. When Jungkook takes a look at the screen, his brows rise ever so little.
“What’s wrong?” Jimin asks, glancing at the phone.
“My boss is calling.” Jungkook admits, appearing slightly panicked.
“Why?”
“Well—I—Uhm—” Jungkook clears his throat before scratching the back of his head abashedly. “I sneaked out of my hotel and flew to you without telling anybody. Though, I did leave a note for my manager.”
“You—What?” Jimin’s mouth falls agape, staring at his boyfriend who only shrugs his shoulders. The phone stops ringing.
“I had somewhere to be,” is all Jungkook says with a tilt of his head and a wide grin on his face. “And I would do it a hundred times over again—if it means making you smile.”
Even with anxiety still buzzing through his body due to Jungkook’s escape plan, Jimin feels a wave of excitement, knowing that Jungkook crossed an ocean to be with him.
“You’re insane.” Jimin murmurs, shaking his head in affection.
“About you, yeah.” Jungkook’s response flows out of him naturally as his arms wrap around Jimin’s figure once more.
The couple walk into the home together, filling the space with their tied presence just like Jimin had missed so much.
From manager<3 at 1:36pm:
listen i love working for you and being your manager
but
sooner or later you gotta stop giving me heart attacks
like sure go fight for jimin, god knows you would be miserable without him
but don’t leave me a note hidden under a stack of books, it took me three hours to find it
i don’t even know why i’m texting you when you’re busy kissing the ground jimin walks on
just call me when you can
thanks
and tell jimin i said hi