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Next morning, The soft golden light of morning filtered through the half-closed curtains, painting gentle patterns on the floor. The room was quiet, still, the only sound being the soft hum of birdsong outside the window.
Jimin stirred first.
He blinked slowly, disoriented for a moment by the unfamiliar feeling of someone else’s presence lingering in the room. Then it all came back-dinner, the choking incident, the sofa debate… and Jungkook carrying him to bed.
He sat up, his hair a soft mess, hoodie bunched up around his waist. The blanket had half-slid off during the night. Rubbing his eyes, he looked across the room.
And paused.
There, on the too-small sofa, lay Jeon Jungkook. One arm still draped over his stomach, the other slightly hanging off the edge. His legs were curled awkwardly to fit, one bare foot poking out from under the blanket Mrs. Park had folded for him.
And his mouth… was slightly open.
Just the tiniest bit.
His features, normally so composed and sharp, had softened completely in sleep. His lashes looked longer somehow. His hair had fallen across his forehead in loose, boyish strands.
Jimin blinked again.
And then smiled.
He looked around-quietly, guiltily-before reaching for his phone on the nightstand.
Click.
The shutter sound was muted, but Jimin still flushed red, pulling the phone close to his chest.
“I just… he looks so different like this,” he whispered to himself, cheeks warm.
He stared at the picture for another second-at how peaceful Jungkook looked when he wasn’t acting all proper and controlled. The image made something soft stir in Jimin’s chest. Something he didn’t quite want to name.
Not yet.
—
By the time Jungkook woke up, the room was empty.
The bed was neatly made.
The door left slightly ajar.
A small note sat on the desk, written in neat, rounded handwriting:
> Had to leave early for my morning class. Thanks for being so kind last night. Sleep properly once you’re home, okay? – Jimin
Jungkook stared at it for a moment. Then picked it up and folded it carefully.
—
Downstairs, the house was still sleepy as Jungkook bowed politely to Mr. Park, who’d just stepped out with his morning coffee.
“Thank you for having me,” Jungkook said.
“Thank you for taking care of our Jimin,” Mr. Park replied with a smile. “You’re welcome here anytime, son.”
As Jungkook walked out, the sun hit his face, the breeze tugging lightly at his sleeves.
And though he didn’t say it out loud, he thought to himself-
Jimin… was even softer than he remembered.
The next weekend arrived faster than Jimin expected.
He was still trying to mentally recover from waking up one morning and realizing he had a fiancé-when his mom walked into his room mid-breakfast, waving her phone.
“Get dressed, sweetheart. You and Jungkook have an appointment at the tailor and the jeweler today.”
Jimin blinked, a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth. “I-what?”
“For your engagement!” she beamed. “You need to pick your suits and your rings, don’t you?”
“I-do we have to do that together?”
“Of course,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re not marrying his reflection. Now hurry, Jungkook’s on his way to pick you up.”
—
Jungkook arrived right on time, dressed in a sleek black shirt with sleeves rolled up, and a silver watch on his wrist. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a magazine ad.
Jimin opened the door in his soft cream sweater and jeans, fumbling with his phone.
Jungkook gave a short, polite nod. “Good morning.”
Jimin bowed slightly. “G-Good morning.”
“You ready?”
“Y-Yeah. I guess.”
After choosing their suits and rings, they stepped out into the sunlight once again-arms slightly brushing, the velvet ring box still nestled between them in the bag Jungkook was carrying.
It was quiet for a moment before Jimin looked up, squinting slightly.
“Do you… want ice cream?”
Jungkook blinked. “Ice cream?”
“There’s a shop nearby. Their vanilla-honey cone is really good.” Jimin smiled, tugging lightly at his sleeve. “Unless you’re too mature for ice cream?”
Jungkook’s lips quirked. “I’m not eighty.”
Jimin laughed, and something in Jungkook’s chest fluttered.
—
They sat on a bench just outside the small street-side parlor, cones in hand, the sunlight washing the pavement in gold.
Jimin licked his strawberry swirl like it was the best thing he’d tasted in weeks.
Jungkook took a more careful bite of his dark chocolate scoop-until a sudden drip slid down the side of the cone and landed squarely on his shirt.
“Ah-” Jungkook looked down, frowning at the dark spot spreading near his buttons.
Jimin turned quickly. “Wait, hold still.”
He pulled out a soft handkerchief from his bag-cream-colored with tiny blue dots-and stepped closer, standing right in front of him.
Jungkook stiffened. “It’s fine, I can-“
“Shhh,” Jimin whispered, concentrating.
He dabbed gently at the stain with the cloth, careful and delicate, as if touching something fragile. His fingers brushed against Jungkook’s chest with each movement, and Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat.
Every soft press felt warmer than it should. Every tiny touch made Jungkook’s heartbeat grow louder in his ears.
Jimin was so close-close enough that Jungkook could smell the faint scent of his shampoo, sweet like peaches and morning wind.
And then it happened.
Jimin looked up.
And Jungkook was already looking at him.
Their eyes locked-startled at first, then still. Like time had paused for a second, holding its breath.
Jimin’s hand was still against his shirt, frozen halfway. His lashes curled like feathers. His lips parted slightly as if he were about to say something-but nothing came out.
Jungkook didn’t know what it was about this moment.
Maybe it was the sunlight.
Maybe it was the soft pressure of Jimin’s hand.
Maybe it was how innocent everything was-yet so disarming.
He looked away first, clearing his throat. “Thank you.”
Jimin blinked, dropping his hand, his ears tinged pink. “Y-Yeah. Sorry. Got a little carried away.”
Jungkook stood up, brushing off the invisible tension like dust. “We should… get going.”
“Right.” Jimin tossed the rest of his cone into the nearby bin, suddenly very interested in his shoes.
They walked a little further apart this time-but not from discomfort.
More like… to give space for whatever just happened to settle.
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