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The clock on Jimin’s wall read 10:43 p.m.
He was curled up on his bed in pajamas, flipping through his phone gallery, when his screen lit up with a new message.
[Jungkook 🖤]
> Hey, sorry to bother you this late.
Can you send a pic of the rings we picked today?
My mom wants to show it to my aunt.
Jimin smiled, thumb hovering over the camera roll.
“Of course,” he mumbled to himself and scrolled quickly to the photo he’d taken at the ring store earlier-the one of the rings in the open velvet box. But as he tapped, he didn’t realize he’d misclicked.
Sent.
Seconds passed.
And then his eyes widened.
It wasn’t the ring photo.
It was the picture he’d secretly taken of Jungkook.
That morning.
When he was asleep on the sofa.
Mouth slightly open. Hair messy. Face calm like a painting.
Jimin sat bolt upright.
“No no no no no-!!”
His screen lit up again.
[Jungkook 🖤]
> …Is that me?
Jimin’s fingers hovered, panicking.
Typing…
Backspacing…
Typing again…
Finally:
[Jimin 🌸]
> WAIT I DIDN’T MEAN TO SEND THAT 😭
I was trying to send the ring photo! I swear!!
There was a long pause.
And then-
[Jungkook 🖤]
> So you were taking pictures of me while I was asleep?
Secretly?
Jimin covered his face with both hands. “Kill me. Just end me.”
Another message popped up.
[Jungkook 🖤]
> …Do I always sleep with my mouth open? 😶
Jimin groaned and typed furiously.
[Jimin 🌸]
> No! I mean yes! I mean-not always! Just a little! That day! It was cute okay?!
I wasn’t being creepy I just-ugh.
Please forget it.
The reply came back quickly.
[Jungkook 🖤]
> So… you think I’m cute when I sleep?
Jimin froze.
His cheeks burned. Fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to disappear into his blanket.
But he swallowed his pride.
[Jimin 🌸]
> …Yeah. Maybe a little.
Don’t let it go to your head.
Three dots appeared.
Then stopped.
Then reappeared.
And finally-
[Jungkook 🖤]
> It’s okay.
I think you’re cute when you panic.
Jimin’s heart skipped a beat.
He stared at the message, wide-eyed, biting his lip.
Another message popped up.
[Jungkook 🖤]
> Also… thanks.
For thinking of me.
Even in the morning.
Jimin smiled, fingers slowing.
[Jimin 🌸]
> Thanks for being sweet.
Even when you’re teasing me.
[Jungkook 🖤]
> Goodnight, Jimin.
Try not to take more pictures of me while I’m unconscious.
[Jimin 🌸]
> No promises 😌
Goodnight, Jungkook.
Jimin dropped his phone to his chest, staring at the ceiling.
Maybe this arranged marriage thing…
Wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
One time, The hotel ballroom was glowing with soft chandeliers, champagne flutes clinking, and suits gliding over polished marble. Jungkook had just finished another round of polite conversation with investors when he quietly excused himself, loosening his tie and walking down the corridor toward the washroom.
He pushed the door open… and stopped.
There, in one corner of the staff hallway just beside the restroom, a familiar figure in a hotel uniform was crouched down-gently wiping the floor with a mop and wearing a pair of long gloves that kept slipping off his slim elbow.
“…Jimin?”
The mop paused.
Jimin looked up, startled, wide eyes freezing the moment like a photograph. His cheeks flushed instantly.
“J-Jungkook…”
Jungkook stepped closer. “What are you doing here?”
“I-uh… I work here.” Jimin stood up quickly, brushing his damp hands on his apron. “Just a part-time shift. It’s only weekends and evening events.”
“But why?” Jungkook’s brows drew together. “You’re still studying, and you don’t need to-“
“I don’t want to bother my parents,” Jimin interrupted softly, voice gentle but firm. “They already work so hard for me. I just want to do what I can before… before the wedding changes everything.”
There was a pause. Jimin looked down, fingers curling around the mop handle.
“If this makes you uncomfortable… if you think it’s shameful or not good enough, you don’t have to go ahead with the marriage. I’ll understand. I really will.”
Jungkook blinked, stunned.
Then slowly, a small smile tugged at his lips.
He took a quiet step forward. “Jimin…”
Jungkook reached out, and without a word, gently touched the loose glove slipping from Jimin’s elbow. He carefully tugged it up and fixed the strap, fingers brushing against his arm lightly.
Jimin flinched slightly. “D-Don’t touch that… It’s dirty. I’ll get your hands messy.”
“I don’t care,” Jungkook said, his voice low and calm. “It doesn’t bother me.”
Their eyes met.
“I’m not the kind of person who gets scared off by work,” Jungkook continued. “If anything… it makes me respect you more. You’re thoughtful. And responsible. I don’t care if you’re holding a mop or wearing a crown-you’re still you. And that’s someone I’m proud to marry.”
Jimin looked down, heart hammering against his ribs.
Jungkook’s hands were still gently holding his glove, careful and slow, as if he were fixing something far more delicate than just fabric.
“Thank you…” Jimin whispered.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Jungkook replied, stepping back only slightly. “You deserve to be treated like someone valuable. Not just because you’re going to be my husband, but because you already are-just by being you.”
Jimin’s throat tightened.
And for a moment, under the soft buzz of the corridor light, he forgot he was wearing an apron, holding a mop, or covered in sweat.
Because Jungkook was looking at him like he was precious.
Like he belonged.
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