Chapter Text
Jimin joins the waiting crowd with a pounding heart.
He moves through it without thinking, people parting naturally to let the chief’s son pass. It’s been almost three years since he last saw his father, and he dreads this reunion almost as much as he anticipates it.
Because one of the returning warriors isn’t just any warrior, and three years apart did nothing to quell the burning hate and bitter resentment that consume Jimin every time he thinks of him, let alone sees him.
Jungkook.
Jimin watches as the riders approach, guiding their horses toward the center of the village where the crowd waits, cheering, reaching for their extended hands, welcoming them home like gods returned from battle.
Jungkook rides near the front, next to Jimin’s father, straight-backed and confident.
Ugly thoughts come to Jimin’s mind, but they’re all cut short when he’s close enough to see Jungkook.
He’s changed so much in three years that Jimin startles slightly. Gone is the lean, wide-eyed boy with messy blond hair that looks like straw. Jungkook is taller, broader, inked in warrior runes, and bronzed by the sun. His hair is now long enough to be braided, and although his eyes are still big and curious, they’re focused and filled with a disarming assurance.
And something inside Jimin twists.
He hates that he’s staring, but he can’t stop.
Jungkook swings off his horse with far too much grace for someone built like that, and Jimin’s mouth instantly goes dry.
The crowd swells around Jimin, pushing him forward until he steps up reluctantly, heart pounding the moment Jungkook’s gaze locks onto his. Dark. Unreadable. He does a slow once-over, eyes raking down Jimin’s body in a way that feels scalding, unashamed and… almost appreciative.
Because Jimin has changed too. He’s still not as tall or built as Jungkook, but the baby fat he once hated is long gone. His features are sharper now, more delicate, his body lean and agile, and his dark hair grown long and braided, as tradition dictates.
Jimin rips his gaze away, pretending not to have felt that stare like a spark against bare skin, and turns to his father instead.
“Greetings, son,” his father says, voice booming like nothing’s changed.
Jimin forces a smile, even as Jungkook’s silhouette lingers at the edge of his vision, tall, silent, shadowed. Jimin leans in for the brief hug, catching the familiar scents of leather, horse, and sweat clinging to his father’s tunic.
And against his will, he wonders if Jungkook smells the same.
He pushes that thought away, hard.
His father pats his shoulder, his large hand resting heavily on his shoulder.
“I’m proud to say we have cause for celebration tonight,” he says, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “The clans and tribes at the eastern border have been conquered. They've pledged allegiance to us.”
He pauses, clearly savoring the moment. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth before the crowd erupts in cheers.
Jimin inhales sharply.
He is proud of his clan, of his father, of the warriors who bled to bring them victory. But under that pride simmers something else. Something colder.
Anger, mostly, because every conquest means more blood spilled, more lives taken, and that goes against Jimin’s beliefs. He’s never been a huge fan of violence, whether verbal or physical– except maybe when it comes to Jungkook, then verbal violence seems to naturally come to him– and is fundamentally convinced diplomacy can take you a long way.
He’s grateful he wasn’t part of that war. He wasn’t trained enough when they left, so he was spared—or rather, his father deemed him not ready and decided to leave him behind—but he won't be next time. And he fears that next time is coming faster than he’s ready for.
“We’ll hold a banquet tonight in the great hall,” his father announces, voice booming. “Let’s eat, drink, and dance like the gods are watching!”
Another roar of celebration rises from the crowd.
Then, Chief Park turns to Jimin with a grin. “I’m in desperate need of a bath, son. I’ll see you at dinner. You can tell me everything I’ve missed then.”
Jimin nods, smiling just enough to pass. But he catches it, the quick, assessing glance his father gives him, eyes flicking over his frame, noting what’s missing. The bulk. The warrior’s build.
And Jimin feels that ache in his chest that always shows up around his father.
He loves the man. Respects him. Fears him, too. He craves his father’s recognition and pride. Jimin wishes he were more like him. He wishes he were more like—
Like Jungkook.
Jungkook, who showed up one day years ago, covered in blood and hiding in one of the barns, a runaway with more fight in him than most grown men. His father never spoke about the reason why Jungkook ran away from his clan, why he hid on their land, in their village, but rumor has it he murdered his father. Jimin hopes it's a lie. He can't imagine why his father would take in, let alone raise, a father-slayer.
But Jungkook has been Jimin’s father’s prodigal son ever since, stealing his place as the chief’s only child, as the clan’s only heir.
Jungkook was trained, shaped into everything the chief ever wanted, because Jimin couldn't live up to his father’s expectations. Too short. Too frail. Too kind. Too weak.
Body and mind, as his father used to say. Just like his mother. He never met her because she died during childbirth, but he’s always been told he was her spit image.
Meanwhile, Jungkook is fearless, strong, a natural fighter, and a damn good rider.
And Jimin… Jimin can barely keep his ass on a horse for two minutes straight.
Jungkook is everything his father wanted in a son.
And Jimin hates him for it.
He especially hates the way that damn usurper hasn’t stopped staring at him since he rode in.
Jimin waits until his father walks off, then turns to him, voice sharp and low.
“What the fuck are you staring at?”
The guilt hits right after the words land. Too sensitive. Too reactive. He thought three years might’ve changed that. Apparently not.
Jungkook smirks. “Nice to see you too, little prince.”
Ah, right. That nickname. Seems like it made it through those three years. Just like Jimin’s completely irrational, undying rage.
He rolls his eyes, hard, and makes sure Jungkook sees it before stomping off like he’s still a kid. There’s someone else he’s been dying to see, and he needs to find him—
“Jimin-ah!”
His face breaks into a wide grin as he spins around. Taehyung is sprinting toward him, eyes bright.
“Taehyung-ah!”
Taehyung barrels into him, strong arms wrapping tight around his waist, lifting him clean off the ground in a bone-crushing hug. Jimin laughs, the sound bubbling out of him with relief. Years apart, and it feels like no time has passed. When Taehyung sets him down, he holds Jimin at arm’s length, giving him a once-over.
“Fuck, Jimin-ah, if you’re not the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, voice teasing but laced with a genuine admiration that makes Jimin blush.
“Stop it—”
“No, I mean it,” Taehyung insists. “This is gonna sound weird, but you’re… you’re beautiful.”
Jimin feels warmth spreading across his cheeks and swats Taehyung’s arm.
“Have you seen yourself? You’re huge.”
Taehyung lets out a bark of laughter.
Jimin insists, “Seriously, you’re like a bear.”
“Well, if I’m a bear, then I don’t know what Jungkook is. Have you seen him?”
At that, Jimin shrugs, feigning indifference, but Taehyung bumps his shoulder with a knowing grin.
“So I’m huge… but am I handsome?”
Jimin rolls his eyes but smiles despite himself. “You know you are.”
“Ah, Jimin-ah, you’re gonna make me blush.”
“You’re such a child.”
That sends Taehyung into loud, unabashed laughter, and Jimin catches movement behind him, Jungkook, lingering in the background. His horse is gone, probably taken away by a stable boy, and he’s half-listening to another warrior. But it’s obvious he’s keeping an ear on their conversation.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Jimin says when Taehyung finally calms down, earning a warm smile from him.
“I missed you too, Jimin.”
Before Jimin can say more, Jungkook walks over, slow and sure, until he’s standing beside Taehyung. He claps a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, casual but friendly, and Jimin catches the way he leaves it there a beat too long.
“We’re heading to the bathhouse,” Jungkook says. “You coming?”
“Sure, Kookie, I’ll join you in a bit,” Taehyung answers with a smile.
Jungkook gives Jimin one last glance before turning and walking off. The moment he's out of earshot, Jimin turns on his friend.
“ Kookie?” he repeats with a sneer. “Since when are you two so close?”
“Since we spent almost three years at war together.”
Fair. Three years fighting against a common enemy can bring you close. Jimin swallows whatever snide remark was about to come out and sighs.
“He’s not so bad, you know. If you stopped hating him for five minutes, you’d see he’s actually pretty cool.”
“Easy to say when it’s not your dad he stole.”
“He didn’t steal your dad.”
“Whatever. It’s fine. We hate each other, and that works for me.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Taehyung mutters with a dramatic sigh, then hooks his arm through Jimin’s and starts walking him toward the bathhouse.
“Come on, let’s not spoil our reunion. Join us for a bath?”
“No, thank you.”
“Oh, come on. It used to be our thing.”
“That was before you all turned into giant bears,” Jimin teases. “I’ll look ridiculous next to you.”
“Nah, you’re far too pretty for that.”
“Stop flattering me.”
“Never,” Taehyung smirks. “Come on,” he coaxes, but when Jimin drags his feet, he turns around to face him.
“I can carry you there, you know. Don’t test me.”
He’s trying to sound serious, but the twitch at the corner of his lips betrays him. Jimin eyes him with suspicion.
“You’re a menace.”
“So that’s a yes?”
Jimin sighs through another eye roll. “Sure.”
Taehyung lets out a happy squeal—way too high-pitched for someone his size—and Jimin can’t help but laugh. But as they make their way toward the bathhouse, the giddiness slowly fades, replaced by a knot in his stomach.
He hates how self-conscious he feels. His frame is too lean, too delicate, he’s ashamed of how small he looks for a man his age. Not bulky enough. Not chief’s son enough. Not like…
Not like Jungkook.
And just like that, an unwelcome image slips into his mind, Jungkook, naked and wet, steam clinging to his tattooed skin. The thought hits Jimin like a punch to the gut, sharp and hot, and now he’s not just anxious.
He’s curious.
Painfully curious.
And worried that his imagination isn’t doing the traitor any justice.
⚔️
Jimin was right.
The moment he steps into the steamy bathhouse, the raucous laughter and loud chatter begin to die down. One by one, the men turn to look at him.
Unfortunately, he has nothing to hide behind. Naked like a newborn, his only option is to use Taehyung’s large frame as a shield. But of course, Taehyung—traitor that he is—rushes off, shouting excitedly as he cannonballs into the scalding water with the other warriors.
Jimin stands frozen, painfully aware of the stares. Some are in the pool, others are sitting on the wooden benches close to the heated, sizzling stones, steam billowing into the damp air. He clenches his jaw, eyes scanning the room for the least humiliating path forward and misses the way Jungkook’s dark gaze follows him intently.
“Come on, Jimin-ah!” Taehyung calls out encouragingly. He’s seated next to Jungkook and a small crowd of warriors, men Jimin remembers all too well. Each one of them is part of Jungkook’s inner circle, and some of his harshest critics. They’ve never tried to hide their disdain. To them, he’s weak, insignificant, unworthy of being the chief’s son. They’ve long believed Jungkook would make a better heir, and Jimin doubts three years of war have softened their views.
Jimin takes a tentative step forward, eyes on Taehyung, hands clenched on his crotch in a desperate, and very obvious, attempt to hide his soft dick.
That’s another part of him that is smaller than he’d wished.
A few snorts echo in the room, most men are turning away, resuming their conversation, but some are still observing Jimin like a deer circled by wolves.
“Get in already. Water’s not that hot,” Jungkook’s voice rings out, echoing off the stone walls like a command.
“No one's fucking talking to you,” Jimin snaps.
Heat rises to Jimin’s face, not from the steam, but from the shame burning through him. He hates that he reacts. Hates that, despite everything, his feet move and he slips into the water quickly, like he's obeying him.
At least he can hide now.
He was right about another thing. Jungkook looks gorgeous naked and wet, long blond hair tied up into a messy bun. His shoulders are impossibly wide and strong, muscles rippling under golden skin inked in black runes that Jimin wishes he could trace with his fingers… or tongue. He notices a few scars and wishes he could put his mouth on these too.
Fuck no.
Taehyung appears by his side a second later, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. He grabs him with a grin and pulls him into a playful headlock, laughing loudly as he ignores his pleas.
“Tae-ah, stop!” Jimin gasps, kicking at the water as he struggles. “Let go!”
But Taehyung doesn’t just look strong, he is strong, and Jimin can barely push him off. Taehyung drags him away to the center of the pool, ignoring Jimin’s desperate kicking underwater or his painful grip on his forearms, and laughs.
“Seriously, stop!” he chokes, embarrassed, painfully aware that every eye in the room is on him again.
Then Jungkook speaks again, calm but firm.
“Taehyung. Let him go.”
Taehyung lets go instantly, and Jimin reflexively coughs, blinking water from his eyes as he turns to look at Jungkook across the pool.
It’s not the playful roughhousing that gets under his skin, it’s that. That tone. That authority. That quiet command that everyone listens to without question.
He should be the one commanding the men in this room. Not Jungkook.
But right now, Taehyung is an easy and quite obvious target and it’s easier to redirect his anger at him.
“Fuck Tae, I told you to stop.”
“Jimin-ah—” he starts, hand reaching out for his friend, but Jimin pulls away. “I’m sorry”, Taehyung says, dropping his hand.
The air is steamy, but not enough to drown the feeling of every gaze still prickling against Jimin’s skin. Most of the men go back to their loud conversations, their bare torsos glistening, voices bouncing off the stone walls.
But not all.
One of the warriors, Namgyu, tall, broad, and known for siding with Jungkook, tilts his head as he eyes Jimin.
“Didn’t think the chief’s boy would join us. Look at you, still soft,” he says with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Was starting to think you bathed with the women.”
A few of the others laugh. It’s not Namgyu’s meaner words, but it still hits like a slap.
Jimin’s mouth goes dry. Taehyung glances over with an uncomfortable chuckle.
“Shut up, Namgyu,” Jungkook defends Jimin to everyone’s surprise. “That’s your future chief you’re talking about, show a little respect.” Jungkook moves to come closer to him but Jimin’s already climbing out of the water.
Or trying to.
He doesn’t make it two steps before his foot slips against the wet stone, and the world tilts. He barely has time to brace himself before a strong hand catches his arm and pulls him back, fast, firm, steady.
Jimin crashes into Jungkook’s chest with a wet thud, hands splayed against solid muscle, and for a second, they’re pressed together, skin on skin, breath mingling in the steamy air. Jimin looks up, because apparently that’s what he has to do now to look into Jungkook’s eyes, and falters at how close Jungkook is.
The press of his palms on his hips is searing through his skin and Jimin struggles to get his balance back, straightening against Jungkook who doesn’t let go of him.
“You alright?” Jungkook asks quietly, his voice low, only for him, too gentle for Jimin’s liking, and it sends a shiver down his spine. Unbidden, his gaze falls to Jungkook’s lips before he forces himself to look into his eyes again.
It’s when he feels Jungkook’s cock brushing against his lower stomach that Jimin shoves him off.
“Get your hands off me,” he snaps, teeth gritted, face flushed, though not entirely from the shame of his fall.
Jungkook lets him go instantly, eyes unreadable, jaw ticking as he steps back into the water.
Jimin doesn’t look at anyone as he makes it out of the pool, his body burning hotter than the steam.
“Jimin-ah!” Taehyung calls after him but Jimin ignores him, keeps walking with the little dignity he has left.
⚔️
The bad news is, Jimin can’t escape the celebration in the great hall, though every fiber of his body urges him to stay in the safety of his bedroom, especially after what happened at the bathhouse.
The good news is, by the time he arrives, most of the clan is already well into their cups, too drunk to pay him much attention.
He slips into the seat beside his father at the head of the long table, doing his best to ignore Jungkook, who sits on the other side. His skin still prickles at the memory of falling, naked, straight into an equally naked Jungkook earlier. He grabs his cup, fills it with wine, and downs it in one go. The alcohol burns its way down his throat and lands like a rock in his empty stomach but he still pours himself another one.
“Son,” his father says, finally turning away from Jungkook to acknowledge him. “I didn’t see you there,” he says and the words burn worse than the alcohol Jimin has been drinking.
“I must say, you’ve changed quite a bit.”
Jimin hides behind his cup, already bracing for the sting that always hides behind his father’s comments, for he knows that it's not a compliment, but a rather poor attempt to emphasize how he's not what his father expected.
“Has he not?” the chief asks Jungkook. Jungkook glances at him briefly and nods once.
“You look…” His father starts, falters, then settles with, “Healthy.”
Jimin wants the floor to crack open and swallow him whole.
“Have you practiced sparring?”
Short answer? No, he hasn’t. But, Jimin anticipated that question, knew his father would ask if he practiced while he was away, if he improved his fighting skills and somehow got closer to being the son he wants him to be, so he’d prepared his speech.
Jimin clears his throat but then words escape him.
What? No. He panics, brain scrambling for something, anything, to say.
He meant to be ready for this. He’d rehearsed what to say, how he’s been attending the Thing, mediating disputes, gaining favor among the villagers, learning diplomacy and strategy.
He practiced his speech enough times that he knows he can say it despite being tipsy or flustered by his father’s expectant gaze and yet, all that comes out is a pitiful, “No.”
His father’s frown deepens. “Handling weapons?”
Jimin shakes his head.
“Horseback riding, then?”
“Actually, no, I—”
“Jimin.” The name is a warning now, his father’s voice booming loud enough to make several heads turn.
“You are the heir to this clan. The son of a warrior, descended from a long line of Vikings, and yet you’ve done nothing to earn your name or position. While Jungkook has led men into battle and brought glory to our people, you have stayed behind with books and villagers like a housewife. Are you proud of that?”
Jimin’s knuckles whiten around his cup. He doesn’t dare look up. He doesn’t dare look at Jungkook sitting close enough to them that there’s no way he hasn’t heard Jimin’s father berating him like a child.
“If you can’t carry the weight of your future, you’ll be crushed under it. I will not have a weakling lead this clan when I am gone.”
The words strike like cold steel. Jimin remains silent and still despite every inch of his body urging him to bolt out of the room. But he has no choice. Leaving the table would be seen as a direct insult, and shame would follow him like a shadow. He has to stay and take it.
“I’m sorry…”
His father turns back to his cup, speaking more calmly now, “Jungkook will train you.”
The blow is harder than anything else that’s been said.
Hell no.
Everything but that.
There’d be nothing more excruciatingly painful and enraging than being forced to spend more time with fucking Jungkook. His father’s golden warrior, his try-out at a better son, Jimin’s replacement.
“Father, I—”
“That’s non-negotiable.” His father cuts him. “You need to learn, and you need to learn from the best, and that’s Jungkook.” Jimin’s father turns to Jungkook, a heavy and affectionate hand falls on his shoulder and Jimin watches as his father squeezes Jungkook’s with more warmth than he ever did touching him.
“Jungkook, I’m counting on you to teach Jimin what he needs to know.”
“As you command, Chief.”
Jimin feels the sting behind his eyes but doesn’t move. He sits frozen, heart pounding wildly and fists balled in anger.
His father stands, satisfied, and smiles as he makes his way around the room, laughing and clasping shoulders, performing the part of beloved chief.
Once he’s out of earshot, Jungkook turns toward Jimin but Jimin immediately stops him.
“Don’t,” he spits, eyes still locked on his untouched plate. “Don’t say anything. Just shut up.”
Jungkook empties his cup before he gets up and disappears into the crowd, joining a group of warriors. Jimin's eyes follow him warily, praying he won't say a word to those brutes he calls friends about what just happened.
A moment later, while Jimin sulks in silence, Taehyung joins him.
“Hey, Jimin-ah. What are you doing here, looking all lonely? You should be celebrating!”
Jimin doesn't answer. He just gives Taehyung a look—tired, wounded, while worrying his lower lip between his teeth to keep his chin from trembling. Taehyung sits down beside him, reading it perfectly.
“Oh…” he says softly. “Your father said something, didn’t he?”
Jimin shrugs, but his eyes are glassy. Taehyung takes his hands gently, concern knitting his brows.
“Do you wanna go out for a minute? Some fresh air could do you good.”
Jimin nods and follows him out. They settle beside a stack of hay bales waiting to be hauled into the barn. The quiet outside is a relief, the night air cool against Jimin’s flushed skin.
“Talk to me. What happened?” Taehyung urges.
Jimin inhales sharply. “He thinks I’m not good enough. And he’s right. I’m not. I suck at everything. Worse, I hate everything I’m supposed to be good at.”
“Being the heir doesn’t mean you have to love fighting, Jimin.”
“Jungkook does,” Jimin snaps. The name leaves his mouth like venom, even though the bitterness turns inward. He hates how often he brings him up, how everything always boils down to him. “And he's fucking good at it, I'm sure.”
“Stop comparing yourself to Jungkook,” Taehyung says gently, brushing a strand of hair from Jimin’s face.
“How can I not? He’s fucking perfect. He’s good at everything, everyone loves him, even you. He’s strong, smart, confident, fearless, and he’s fucking handsome too.”
Taehyung chuckles. “Handsome, huh?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“He is handsome. And yeah, he’s a great warrior. But he’s not you.” Jimin looks up, surprised. “You’re kind, empathetic. Smart in ways that matter. People trust you. You should be proud of that.”
“Not the warriors,” Jimin argues. Not my father is what he truly means to say.
“Ah, warriors are dumb brutes, forget about us,” Taehyung brushes it off with a smile.
Jimin swallows, his throat tight. A few tears escape despite himself, and Taehyung wipes them away with gentle thumbs.
“Thank you, Taehyung-ah.”
“Anytime.” Taehyung smiles. “Should we go back inside?”
“You go ahead. I need a minute alone.”
“Alright. I’ll be inside if you need me.”
Jimin nods, watches Taehyung leave and then lets the tears come out, silently and freely. It feels good to let go, to stop pretending he's fine.
He hates that after years, he still feels like a child around his father, reduced to silence. It doesn't matter how hard he tried to mature, grow up, process his childhood, or his jealousy for Jungkook, he still feels helpless.
And it hurts. Hurts to realize that after everything, he still feels like a child around his father. Powerless. Small. Useless. The years, the growth, the self-work, it all melts away the second his father frowns.
Nothing has changed.
And he doesn't know what enrages him more, realizing he still can't stand up against his father and prove to him he’s worthy of his respect and affection, or that he's still affected by the smallest glance or the most insignificant word coming from him.
And what hurts even more is that a single look from Jungkook can do the same.
He thought he was past this. Past him.
“Jimin?”
Speaking of the fucking devil.
The voice cuts through the silence and Jimin’s heart stumbles. He’d recognized that voice anywhere.
He hurriedly wipes his face, sniffling.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snaps as Jungkook approaches. Unbidden, the image of Jungkook’s wet, naked body flashes through his mind, making heat bloom in his gut, and he clenches his fists.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook’s voice is quiet, soft, almost gentle, and if Jimin didn’t know better, he’d think Jungkook was actually worried about him.
He hates the look on Jungkook’s face right now.
“Why do you fucking care? My father humiliating me in front of everyone wasn’t enough? You've come to gloat now?”
“Jimin—”
“Just leave me the fuck alone! I don't wanna see you or talk to you.”
Jungkook sighs heavily, eyes looking big and lost and Jimin is thrown back years ago, before the war, when Jungkook was still a kid, not a man or a warrior, but an innocent kid with a dark past and a lot of anger.
“Aren't you getting tired of the goddamn ‘I hate you’ act? I can't believe we're still here after all these years.”
The mention of what led them to this kind of relationship today is like a dagger plunged through Jimin’s chest. The pain comes back to him, fresh, renewed, and unbearable.
“Why do you care if I hate you or not? Isn’t it enough that my father loves you more? That everybody loves you more? What else do you want?”
His voice cracks. Pain, resentment, shame, betrayal, they all mix into something ugly.
“I don't care about the others. I only care about how you feel.”
Whatever venom was ready to be spat is wiped off clean of Jimin’s tongue. He didn't expect that, doesn't even know how to interpret Jungkook’s words.
He's so stunned and confused that he doesn't notice Jungkook stepping closer, until he's standing so close their chests are almost touching, and Jimin has to tilt his head back to look into his eyes.
“Go ahead, take it all out on me. Hate me,” Jungkook dares him, but his voice is softer than Jimin expected. “If hating me keeps you from hating yourself, then I'll be that for you.”
“Don’t fucking play the hero now. I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity.” Jungkook takes one more step forward, and there’s not an inch between them anymore. Out of the blue, his hand wraps around Jimin’s throat, gently pushing him back until he's trapped between the wall and Jungkook’s large body, and Jimin’s breath catches in surprise.
“I feel a lot of things for you, little prince. But none of it is pity.” He squeezes lightly, thumb brushing along his jaw, and Jimin scowls at him.
“Let go of me, you fucking traitor.”
The words come out almost quietly, strained, rage seething inside Jimin as he tries to maintain Jungkook’s stare, even though their proximity right now is suffocating, intimidating, and almost… almost too intimate.
“Come on, little prince. You can do better than that.” Jungkook eggs him on, voice low.
“Leech.”
Jungkook nods, encouraging, “Go on.”
“Bastard. Impostor. Usurper. Pretender,” Jimin pauses then, “Dick.”
Jimin wonders if he just hallucinated the twitch of Jungkook’s lip corner, or if he actually smirked.
“Fucking pain in my ass,” he adds for good measure.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Jimin’s breath stutters when he feels Jungkook’s hand squeezing a little harder around his throat.
“I think you’d actually love me to be a pain in your ass.”
The way he says it makes something coil inside Jimin’s stomach, a sensation he hasn’t felt in years, overwhelming and mind-numbing. Jungkook leans over, close, too close to Jimin’s face, so close he can feel his warmth and breath ghost over his skin and something inside Jimin snaps. Years of frustration and pent-up anger collapse like a house of cards.
He grabs Jungkook’s collar and crashes his lips onto his.
Hard.
It’s angry, messy, and desperate. He doesn’t even know why he does it, rage, confusion, the sting of feeling helpless and not wanting to be alone in it, or maybe the several glasses of mulberry wine he had on an empty stomach.
Or maybe just nostalgia, the need to remember how it feels to kiss Jungkook.
And it feels exactly the same.
Jungkook instantly kisses him back, always ready for him, starved and needy and urgent, as though he’d been waiting for it, as though it's the most natural thing in the world.
And it used to be. The most natural thing in the world.
Jungkook kisses back so fiercely that Jimin staggers.
With a swipe of his tongue, Jungkook breaches the seam of Jimin’s lips, and Jimin cannot swallow back the moan that escapes him. Jungkook moans in return, a growling sound that echoes in his chest, appreciative and arousing.
Jungkook tastes the same, feels the same, and every single detail about him vividly comes back to Jimin. His hands find Jimin’s waist, gripping him painfully, and suddenly Jimin is shoved against the wall of the great hall. His breath catches as Jungkook’s body presses into him, mouths crashing, bodies colliding, and Jimin quivers under the force of it all. Everything feels like it’s on fire, arousal shoots through him, leaving him dizzy and starving for more.
He gets swallowed in Jungkook’s urgency, in the way his tongue explores his mouth. The way their mouths slot together feels too familiar, too natural, simply meant to be.
“Jimin—”
The sound of his name moaned in Jungkook’s raspy voice slams into him and just as suddenly as the kiss started, panic, or maybe just realization, hits and Jimin breaks the kiss.
They’re both panting. Wide-eyed. And Jimin shudders with the urge to kiss him again. Instead, he shoves Jungkook back and steps aside, desperate for the distance that will allow him to breathe again.
Jungkook stares at him, eyes dark, and there’s nothing innocent or lost in them anymore. He looks at Jimin like a predator would its prey and Jimin takes another step back.
“This never happened,” Jimin warns, a little out of breath.
And with that, Jimin bolts, disappearing into the night, heart racing, lips still tingling from a kiss he wishes he could take back…
Or maybe not.
⚔️
6 years ago
When Jungkook was found in one of the village’s barns at the age of fourteen, everyone called him a stray.
They didn’t mean it kindly. The boy was wild-eyed, barefoot, with a bloodied tunic and a silence so sharp it cut through every question thrown at him. He hadn’t said where he came from. He hadn’t said anything at all. Just stood in a corner, hiding behind stacks of hay, hands curled like claws around an equally bloodied knife, daring anyone to try and drag him out.
Jimin had stood on the threshold, at a reasonable distance behind the adults, heart racing with something between curiosity, excitement, and fear. He was the chief’s only son, used to being obeyed, respected, and feared.
But this boy didn’t even look at him.
“Put the knife down, son,” Jimin’s father had demanded and Jungkook’s grip had only tightened around the weapon.
“You want it?” Jungkook had defied him, “Then come fucking get it.”
Jimin bristled with shock, but his father didn’t budge, not taking the bait, and simply stared at Jungkook.
“I’m going to ask one more time. Put the knife down.”
Jungkook’s gaze drifted to the warriors flanking the chief and finally took in the axes and swords in their grips. He was outnumbered and clearly not strong enough to fight off actual warriors. Reluctantly, he dropped the knife and it clattered loudly onto the ground.
“You’re in a fair bit of trouble,” Jimin’s father went on. “Where do you come from?”
Jungkook ignored the question. His piercing dark eyes suddenly locked on Jimin’s, as if he’d just noticed his presence. A shudder coursed down Jimin’s spine at the eye contact.
“Found him hiding this morning when I went to feed the horses,” the hostler provided, and the chief made an acknowledging sound.
“You sure roughed him up pretty good.”
“He was like that when I found him,” the hostler defended. “Wasn’t gonna touch him with that knife of his. Nasty little thing threatened me with it.”
Chief Park stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel and hay. Jimin held his breath, inching forward despite himself. Jungkook didn’t budge, and Jimin felt a flicker of admiration for him. He always recoiled in front of his father’s ire.
“Let me see your hands.”
Jungkook hesitated, then slowly lifted them, palms facing the chief.
“Those look like farmer’s hands,” he noted, then pointed at Jungkook’s shoulder, where a nasty wound was covered in dried clumps of blood. “And that looks infected.”
“Sure feels like it,” Jungkook snapped.
“You’ve got a foul mouth on you, son,” Chief Park said, then added, “There was a man found dead in the village near the mountains. Stabbed to death. Wife and kids dead too. You know anything about that, son?”
Jimin frowned, not understanding what that had to do with anything, his young mind not catching the unsaid accusation. But Jungkook understood. And he didn’t deny it.
“Looks like that asshole got what he deserved,” he said simply.
Jimin swallowed a gasp while his father smiled.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Jungkook.”
“Jungkook,” Jimin’s father repeated. “You hungry?”
And with that, Jungkook was brought into their home, sat at the table and fed. He was taken to the infirmary, patched up by a healer, then sent back to the stables. There was a small room there, once a toolshed, now a tack room, where someone had laid out a makeshift bed.
That night, Jimin snuck out of the longhouse, crept back to the stables with a chunk of bread, a handful of berries, and a flask of water. He didn't know why, he was curious about Jungkook, drawn to him. He needed to see him again. He knocked softly and gingerly pushed the door open, sneaking a head inside only to find Jungkook curled in the far corner of the room, a rake in hand.
“Hey,” Jimin whispered, quietly stepping inside as Jungkook lowered the weapon and he closed the door behind him.
“I brought you this,” he said, carefully placing the bread, berries, and flask on the cot. “Thought you might be hungry.”
Jungkook hadn’t taken the food at first. He’d just stared, eyes dark as the winter night and twice as cold. But then he’d snatched the bread like an animal, devoured it, his eyes not leaving Jimin as if he feared the boy would attack him. But Jimin remained quiet, standing at the foot of the cot, watching him with curiosity and a soft smile.
“I’m Jimin,” he offered. Jungkook looked him over from head to toe before taking another greedy bite.
“Are you comfortable here?” He asks, eyes roaming the room, guilt flooding him at the thought of letting Jungkook sleep here. “Can I get you anything? A blanket maybe?”
Jungkook remained silent, finishing the bread and devouring the berries. Jimin inhaled deeply and turned to leave.
“I’ll see you around, Jungkook,” he said before leaving.
That was the beginning.
⚔️
Today
Jimin wakes before dawn, the sky still dark and the house quiet.
He could barely sleep.
His shared kiss with Jungkook has been haunting him all night, bringing back memories he wishes he could forget. Not to mention his father’s words from last night still echoing in his foggy brain and he feels determination take over him.
Today, he’ll take things into his own hands. No more self-pity party, if his father wants a warrior, then that's what he'll get.
He'll start with horse riding, how hard can it be? He loves animals, he's patient and gentle and horse riding shouldn’t be that hard. Right?
The morning air is already warm as he makes his way through the sleeping village. He heads straight to the barn, grabs the first horse he sees, and gathers what he needs—saddle, bridle, reins. His hands are clumsy with the unfamiliar equipment, but determination keeps him moving.
He leads the horse to the training field, the ground still damp with dew. The animal shifts beneath his touch, sensing his inexperience. Jimin tries to mount, but fails—once, twice, three times. His breath grows harsher with every attempt, a mix of frustration and embarrassment building in his chest.
On the fourth try, he finally manages to settle upright in the saddle, a flicker of pride rising in him. He grips the reins too tightly, legs squeezing the horse’s belly with rigid tension. Then, trying to mimic what he’s seen countless times, he gives a hesitant kick.
The horse bolts forward.
Jimin barely has time to register the jolt before he’s thrown to the ground, landing hard with a sharp cry. Pain blossoms across his back and elbows, and he lies there, stunned, the wind knocked out of him.
“Damn, that horse cracked your crown good.”
Jimin groans from the ground, face twisted in pain and sheer irritation at Jungkook’s comment.
“Repeat that in English, would you? I don’t speak dipshit.”
He pushes himself up and dusts off his trousers with a sharp slap of his hands, jaw clenched tight. He limps toward the horse again with all the dignity he can muster and climbs back into the saddle, only to promptly slide off the other side when the horse flinches and land on his back with a grunt.
Jungkook doesn’t even bother to hide his laugh. “You don’t speak fucking horse either, do you?”
“And you think you're so smart, don't you?”
Jungkook swings up onto the horse with fluid ease, no hesitation, no struggle. The animal responds like it’s an extension of him. He makes a smooth lap around the training field before returning to Jimin, who’s now red-faced and glaring up at him like he’s plotting a murder.
“How do you do that?” Jimin asks before he can stop himself. The words tumble out, part frustration, part awe.
Jungkook hops down and lands lightly in front of him. “Turn around,” he says casually. “I can show you.”
Jimin hesitates, suspicion flickering across his face. But he complies, sighing heavily and turning his back to him.
He jolts slightly when Jungkook places his hands on his hips, firm but not forceful. His breath catches in his throat. He hates the way it makes his skin feel hot. Hates that he's got half a mind to turn around and kiss Jungkook again.
“How does that feel?” Jungkook murmurs near his ear, voice low.
Jimin doesn’t look back. “Like you’re three seconds away from being punched in the face,” he warns.
“Yeah, well,” Jungkook says, his fingers still resting deliberately on Jimin’s waist, “that’s what the horse is thinking when you get on it.”
Jimin’s laugh is more of a scoff.
“Come on. Tell me how that feels.” Jungkook insists.
Jimin hesitates. “It doesn’t feel bad.”
Jungkook tightens his grip slightly, pulling Jimin just a little closer, enough that Jimin has to brace his feet again. His body tenses instinctively, unsure if he’s more annoyed or… something else.
“How about that?”
“Feels like you’re scared,” Jimin mutters, biting the inside of his cheek.
Jungkook’s fingers grip tighter, sudden and sharp, and Jimin stumbles, but Jungkook catches him before he falls.
“And how about that?”
Jimin exhales slowly. “Feels like you wanna hurt me.”
Jungkook releases him, the warmth of his hands disappearing just as abruptly as they came. He takes a step back, arms crossing over his chest.
“Yeah,” he says, voice flat now. But there’s something simmering underneath, something Jimin can’t quite place. “Think about that next time you ride a horse. They can feel a fly land on their back, so imagine what they’re feeling from you. Every emotion. Every thought. If you're thinking it, they’re feeling it.”
Jungkook jerks his chin toward the horse. “Get on him again. And tell him everything’s gonna be okay.”
Jimin lingers where he stands, uncertainty clouding his face. He glances from the horse to Jungkook.
“Come on,” Jungkook says, a bit gentler now. “I’ll help you.”
This time, with Jungkook’s guidance, Jimin gets into the saddle more steadily. His grip on the reins is tight, but Jungkook reaches up and gently pushes them down to the horse’s neck.
“Leave those.”
Jimin frowns. “You’re telling me not to use the reins?”
“You’re asking him to trust you,” Jungkook says, looking up at him.
A pause. Jimin meets his gaze, and for once, he doesn’t have a smart retort ready.
“Aren’t you gonna trust him?”
It sounds like Jungkook is asking Jimin to trust him, not just trust the horse. Jimin stares into those big brown eyes for a second too long, long enough to see everything but hatred. The silence stretches between them.
Finally, Jungkook nods once and takes a step back, snapping Jimin out of it.
“Okay, ride him out.”
Jimin does. And this time, he stays upright, finding a rhythm, not smooth, but not terrible either.
By the time he turns back toward the center of the field, Jungkook is gone. No smug comment, no goodbye, no dramatic exit. Just… gone.
Jimin swallows hard. His chest tightens unexpectedly, something unfamiliar stirring in his gut. For once, the hatred he’s clung to like an armor doesn’t burn so hot.
For once, he’s not sure what he feels at all.
The pounding of hooves pulls him from his thoughts. Jungkook reappears, leading another horse from the barn and into the training field.
“You should ride this one,” he says, stopping close to Jimin’s horse. “It’s an old mare. Docile and patient. Perfect for practice.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” Jimin nods at the horse he’s perched on, still gripping its mane tightly since Jungkook told him not to use the reins.
“He’s too young. Needs more breaking in. Trust me, this one’s better.”
“You’re saying I’m not good enough to ride a proper horse?” Jimin fights back, a little annoyed but only earns a little snort from Jungkook.
“I’m only saying your father will have my head if you break your neck training on a wild horse.” He gestures at Jimin, “Get off, don’t be stubborn.”
“But you rode this one and it was fine.”
“Yeah, that’s because I know horses. You don’t.” Jungkook tacks on and Jimin scowls a little. “Come on.”
With a heavy sigh, Jimin reluctantly slides off the horse a little awkwardly and gasps when he feels hands on his waist, not expecting Jungkook to reach out to help him.
“I got you.”
“I don’t need your help. I can get off a horse by myself,” he snaps, more out of habit than heat. Oddly, the usual burn of irritation doesn’t follow.
“Sure, little prince.”
Jimin glares at him but turns toward the mare. She’s a pretty cream color with a dark mane and soft eyes that blink at him slowly.
“Come on, get on her. I’ll ride this one,” Jungkook offers, already swinging effortlessly onto the younger horse’s back.
“What are you doing?” Jimin asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Teaching you how to ride.”
“You don’t have to. I’m sure you have better things to do like…” He pauses, unsure what warriors do when they're not… well, at war. “I don’t know. Sharpen your sword or play with it.”
Jungkook snorts. “Play with my sword? Is that what you think I do all day?”
“Whatever.”
“Your father asked me to train you, so I’m training you. Now get on.”
The mention of his father makes Jimin’s jaw clench. That familiar spark of fury ignites in his chest.
“Of course. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him,” he mutters. “The Gods forbid you didn't do everything my father asks of you.”
“Not everything I do is for your father.” Jungkook’s voice sharpens.
“Yeah, you tell yourself that, pet.”
At that, Jungkook glares at him and Jimin bites his tongue, burning with the urge to apologize. He hates how quickly he gets rattled. How childish he sounds. He hates how Jungkook never seems fazed, just takes it all without a single complaint.
He gets on the mare without another word. It’s not graceful, but the mare doesn’t seem to mind. She waits patiently while Jimin adjusts in the saddle, legs slightly too tense, spine too straight.
Jungkook trots over beside him and reaches for the reins.
“Let them rest on her neck. Loose hands.”
“How do I steer her if I don’t use the reins?”
“With your body.”
Jimin shoots him a look, unimpressed.
Before he can argue, Jungkook swings off his horse and climbs up behind him on the mare in one fluid motion. Jimin stiffens immediately, his entire body locking up at the sudden proximity, and he holds his breath.
He feels every inch of Jungkook’s chest against his back. Feels the heat of his breath ghosting the back of his neck. Feels his large hands settle on his hips.
“You’re too stiff,” Jungkook murmurs near his ear. “Relax.”
“Easy for you to say,” Jimin mumbles, pulse hammering.
Jungkook taps his thigh lightly. “Tighten your legs a bit. Not too much, you’ll spook her if you grip too hard. She’ll think you’re scared.”
“That’s because I am scared.”
Jungkook snorts as his hand slides up, resting lightly on Jimin’s stomach. Fingers spread there, grounding him and air catches at the back of Jimin’s throat.
“Engage your core. It helps your balance.” His lips are so close now, Jimin can feel the whisper of them against his cheek as he speaks. “And don’t forget to breathe.”
Jimin lets out a shaky breath. He shifts slightly, adjusting his posture under Jungkook’s guidance.
“Good. Now, keep your hands low, just let them rest here—” Jungkook reaches around and places Jimin’s hands gently over the mare’s mane, their fingers brushing for a moment too long.
Then he shifts their weight subtly, tilting Jimin to the side with an arm around his waist.
The mare turns with them.
Jimin gasps, surprised. “She moved.”
“A rider is just an extension of his horse,” Jungkook says quietly, his voice warm against Jimin’s skin. “If you move, she moves.”
Jimin swallows thickly, not trusting himself to speak. Every part of him feels alert, wired with tension, heat, and confusion. Every breath feels too loud.
He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t dare.
But he’s dying to.
Jungkook smells of leather and the milky soap bars they use at the bathhouse. It’s a soft and comforting scent and Jimin fights not to close his eyes.
Images of their heated kiss shared in secret the night before flash through his mind and he does everything he can to bury them in a corner of his brain.
They continue to ride around the field, Jungkook guiding only when necessary, offering gentle corrections, how to grip with his knees, how to breathe deeper, how to follow the rhythm of the horse's movement with his hips instead of tensing against it, how to rise and fall in time with the horse trotting.
Eventually, Jungkook pulls the mare to a stop and slides down.
Jimin misses his warmth immediately.
“You’re ready,” Jungkook says, moving to his own horse. “Let’s take them out. Past the gates.”
Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Out? Like, into the wild?”
Jungkook gives him a crooked smile. “Unless you’re too scared, little prince.”
“Of what? The big bad woods?”
Jungkook laughs, a sound so innocent and rare it takes Jimin by surprise. Jungkook nudges his horse toward the path leading out of the training field.
“I hate you,” Jimin mutters under his breath but nudges the mare to follow.
They ride side by side as the village fades behind them, the narrow dirt path winding between tall grass and scattered trees. The early morning sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled gold across the fields. Birds chirp lazily overhead. It’s beautiful. Peaceful.
Until a raven flies past Jimin’s head, so close he feels the tip of its wing graze his hair and he flails, arms jerking in the air as a cry leaves his lips.
The moment the mare picks up on Jimin’s fear, her ears flatten. She snorts and shifts under him, slamming her hooves on the damp earth, and Jimin struggles to keep his balance.
“Wait—what’s she doing—”
Jungkook catches up to him. “Relax, remember what I told you—”
But it’s too late. The mare bolts, hooves pounding wildly, dirt flying up behind them.
“Shit! Jungkook!”
“Loosen the reins! Don’t pull!” Jungkook shouts, already kicking his own horse into a sprint.
Jimin tries, but panic claws its way into his chest. The mare veers toward the trees, faster, faster, her body trembling with each thunderous step.
“Slow down! Please—” Jimin’s voice cracks as branches whip past his face, the wind ripping tears from his eyes.
“Jungkook!”
The mare jumps over a fallen log and Jimin’s body lifts from the saddle, then slams into the ground.
The world goes silent.
Then, leaves rustle, hooves beat the ground again, and suddenly Jungkook is there, dismounting in one fluid motion and dropping to his knees beside him.
“Jimin!”
Jimin winces, clutching his wrist and gasping as he sits up. His breath is shallow, pain blooming up in his arm.
“You absolute idiot,” Jungkook growls, voice tight as he scans him. “Why didn’t you listen?”
“I—I tried—” Jimin’s voice shakes, equal parts pain and humiliation.
“I told you the horse can feel everything.” Jungkook’s hands move over him, shoulders, arms, ribs, then quickly down his legs, looking for injuries. His fingers press lightly along Jimin’s wrist and Jimin flinches.
“It’s sprained. You’re lucky you didn’t break it, or your neck.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re not,” Jungkook snaps. “I should never have taken you out of the training field,” he says as he tears a strip from his own tunic and starts to wrap Jimin’s wrist with careful hands.
Jimin watches him, stunned by the sudden tenderness in his touch, by the flicker of fury in his eyes, not anger at him, but at himself, he realizes.
Jungkook ties the knot firmly to secure it. “If you want to die so badly,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper, “don’t do it where I can see it.”
“Afraid what my father might do to you if I got hurt under your watch?”
“No,” Jungkook replies, lifting his gaze from Jimin’s wrist still cradled in his touch.
“I just could never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
Jimin swallows hard. Their eyes meet. The silence is heavier than before, thick with unspoken things.
Jungkook's hand lingers on his wrist and neither of them moves.
Jimin’s gaze flickers to Jungkook’s lips. Then he springs to his feet, wincing as pain shoots through his wrist.
“Let’s go back,” he says, watching Jungkook rise slowly too.
He tries, he desperately tries, to retreat into the comfort of his hatred for Jungkook. But no matter how hard he clings to it, he falters. Hating him was far easier when they kept their distance and Jungkook was not so actively acting nice, or so effortlessly looking handsome.
He falters when Jungkook helps him up onto the horse and flinches when he settles behind him. He swallows hard when Jungkook casually wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close.
“Relax,” Jungkook says, his breath brushing Jimin’s hair.
Jimin pretends the horse’s movements are what push him to settle more heavily against Jungkook’s chest.
⚔️
When they reach the village, Taehyung spots them from across the square and runs up, grabbing the reins to stop the horse.
“Hey, what are you—” He cuts himself off as soon as he notices the makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around Jimin’s wrist. His eyes widen. “What happened?”
Jimin sulks in the saddle, clearly reluctant to admit the truth. “Fell off a horse,” he grumbles.
Taehyung shoots him a surprised look, then glances at Jungkook for confirmation.
“It’s sprained,” Jungkook says calmly. “He needs to go to the infirmary.”
Taehyung nods, concern flashing across his face.
“Can you take him?” Jungkook asks. “I need to find the other horse and bring it back.”
He helps Jimin slide down from the saddle, carefully guiding him into Taehyung’s waiting hands.
“Sure,” Taehyung agrees, steadying Jimin as his feet hit the ground. Jimin sways slightly, the dismount throwing off his balance. He catches himself, refusing to meet Jungkook’s gaze.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, barely audible.
Without a word, Jungkook veers the horse around and bolts off, galloping back toward the forest. Jimin can't help but glance over his shoulder, eyes following Jungkook’s silhouette as it disappears into the trees. When he turns back, Taehyung is watching him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, his head cocked to the side and his hands resting on his hips.
“You’ve been horse riding?” he asks slowly, his tone heavy with disbelief.
“Yes,” Jimin replies, curt and defensive.
“With Jungkook.”
“Yes,” he repeats, sharper now, already annoyed.
He starts walking toward the infirmary, and Taehyung follows closely, clearly not done.
“But you like neither of those activities, spending time with Jungkook or riding horses.”
“I’m aware of that, thanks,” Jimin snaps, pushing open the door and walking inside.
They’re immediately met by Hoseok, one of the healers, who looks up in surprise.
“Jimin-ah, what happened?”
“He fell off a horse,” Taehyung answers before Jimin can, completely ignoring the glare aimed at him. He’s more focused on Hoseok’s expression, which twists in confusion.
“A horse?” Hoseok echoes, as if he’s not sure he heard right.
Jimin groans. “Yes, a horse. I fell off a horse. Shocking, I know, but can we just get to it, please?”
Hoseok and Taehyung share a glance, equal parts amusement and disbelief, before Hoseok gestures toward an empty bed.
“Come on. Sit,” he instructs, and Jimin obeys with a sigh. Hoseok carefully unwraps the bandage. Jimin winces but doesn’t pull away as the healer examines the wrist.
“Yeah, it’s sprained, but it’s light,” Hoseok says finally. He walks over to a nearby table, rummaging for a roll of gauze. “You should be fine in a few days. I’ll wrap it up and give you some herbs to help with the pain.”
“Thank you,” Jimin mutters.
While Hoseok works, Jimin glances over at Taehyung, who’s standing by the window now, peering outside with a strangely focused expression. Just as Jimin’s about to ask what he’s looking at, Hoseok finishes up.
“You’re all set,” he says, patting Jimin on the shoulder. “You can stay here to rest if you need to.” He nods once at Taehyung before heading out, leaving them alone.
They wait for him to be out of earshot, and Taehyung turns to Jimin almost immediately.
“Where did you go last night?”
“What?” Jimin blinks.
“You were supposed to come back after we talked.”
“Oh,” Jimin says, feigning nonchalance. “I was tired. Went to bed.”
Taehyung hums, clearly unconvinced. He drags a stool closer and plops down beside the bed, crossing his arms.
“So,” he starts, voice light but teasing, “horse-riding with Jungkook, huh?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Did you go out to watch the sunrise? How romantic.” Taehyung comments, wiggling his brows.
“I said, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Jimin repeats through gritted teeth.
“Did you patch things up? Made peace?” Taehyung goes on, unwilling to let it go.
“No. I told you, my father asked him to train me,” Jimin says, frustration bubbling up.
“Sure,” Taehyung replies with a drawl, standing up again. Jimin’s cheeks flush with frustration, and something else, something closer to shame.
“You know I hate him. Why would I want to spend more time with him?”
Taehyung’s expression softens just a little. “You two used to be close,” he says, almost distractedly, as his gaze drifts back toward the window.
Jimin’s shoulders sag, the wind knocked out of his defenses. He watches his friend in silence, curiosity returning when Taehyung peers outside again.
“Anyway, I’ve got practice,” Taehyung says after a moment, stepping toward the door. “Try not to fall off any more horses while I’m gone.”
“Ha ha,” Jimin mocks flatly.
The door swings shut behind him.
As soon as he’s alone, Jimin springs to his feet and hurries to the window, and freezes.
Standing just outside, not five paces from the infirmary door, is Jungkook. Waiting.
Jimin barely has time to process it before Taehyung walks up to him. The two exchange a few words, Jimin can’t hear them, but Jungkook nods, and then turns his head to the window and Jimin quickly gets out of sight, flattening against the wall as he holds his breath.
When he peeks through the window again, Taehyung and Jungkook are heading toward the training field together.
Jimin stays at the window long after they’re gone, pulse racing, his bandaged wrist forgotten.
⚔️
6 years ago
They didn’t speak much, not at first.
But they kept circling each other, well, at least Jimin did. He seemed to be gravitating around Jungkook like the earth around the sun, observant, intrigued, perhaps also a little fascinated by the wild boy.
Jimin began visiting the stables more often, where Jungkook had been assigned to help the hostler. Jungkook worked hard, harder than anyone his age in the village and Jimin was admirative of his resilience and dedication.
He tried to start conversations on multiple occasions, not letting Jungkook’s silence undermine his efforts, but gave up eventually and settled on simply watching Jungkook work.
Jungkook was curious about Jimin too. Annoyed at times by his naivety and clinginess. He was short and scrawny and so sweet, too sweet, for a future chief and a warrior, and that infuriated him for some reason.
Jungkook still didn’t talk to him, refused to at first, but he would look at Jimin and give him curt nods here and there.
Every acknowledgement coming from him made Jimin feel special.
One time, when Jungkook was brushing a horse and Jimin was sitting on top of a ledge, yapping his ears off with a very detailed retelling of his dream, Jungkook finally snapped.
“Why are you always here?”
Jimin perked up, taken aback by Jungkook finally speaking to him, his large, dark eyes fixed on him at last.
“Here where?”
“Here, here,” Jungkook gestured at the stables.
“Because I wanna be with you,” Jimin answered, like it was the most natural thing in the world to say, almost surprised Jungkook hadn’t understood that already.
“But why?” Jungkook insisted, his tone a little harsh now, frustration seeping through.
“Because I like you. I want us to be friends.”
“Don’t you have other friends you can bother? Why does it always have to be me?”
At that, Jimin looked down at the ground, and the sadness on his face made Jungkook feel guilty. He wasn’t worried that Jimin would tell on him to his father and have him punished, Jimin would never do such a thing. But he hated that he’d made him feel sad, and that surprised him, because he was convinced he didn’t care one bit about him.
“I don’t have other friends,” Jimin fessed up in a whisper. But Jungkook heard it, and the guilt dug in deeper. Jimin looked back up, his ever-present smile now gone, replaced by such a gloomy expression that it gripped Jungkook’s heart.
“You don’t wanna be my friend?” Jimin asked in a soft, painful voice.
Jungkook sighed. He picked up the brush again and turned back to the horse. The silence stretched, loud and uncertain, for a moment, and Jimin was just about to leave when Jungkook asked,
“What happened next?”
Jimin froze and stared at him, but Jungkook had his back to him, still brushing the horse.
“What?”
“In your dream. What happened next?”
He couldn’t see Jimin’s beaming smile, but he could guess it, as Jimin sat back on the ledge and eagerly resumed telling him about his dream.
After that, Jungkook began waiting for Jimin every morning at the stables. He would listen to him, offering the occasional hum to show he was paying attention. On a few occasions, he even asked questions, and the smile on Jimin’s face when he did was reason enough to keep doing it.
And just like that, Jimin’s resilience won out, breaking through Jungkook’s guarded and distant personality, and they became friends.
⚔️
Jungkook started picking fights with local boys who teased them, calling him the “orphan boy” and Jimin the “little scholar.”
One day, a warrior saw Jungkook beat the crap out of them and reported it to the chief, who decided Jungkook should join the warriors for training instead of remaining a stable boy.
It turned out he wasn’t just a good fighter, he was fearless, relentless, and an exceptional horse-rider.
Jimin started attending practice more regularly. He’d always avoided the training field, hating the violence and the bravado. The warriors’ rough manners and loud curses made him uncomfortable, but Jungkook’s presence drew him in.
He still sucked, could barely last a match and ended up beaten most days.
Sometimes, Jungkook would volunteer to fight in his stead, and Jimin started wondering if he was doing it to protect him.
He didn’t say anything, just let Jungkook take his place.
That one day, it had started as a sparring match for fun, just something to end the training session, to pass the long summer afternoon when the chores were done and the sun still lingered in the sky.
Everyone called it “training,” but it was just an excuse for the other boys to puff up with pride, all of them eager to show off, to impress, to dominate. Jimin had joined reluctantly, knowing full well how these things usually ended when he was around, but his father had insisted he join, pleased that Jimin had finally shown an interest in hand-combat.
“Mingle, set the example. You're their future chief, you need to train as well.” He'd said.
But Jimin hated fighting. He hated training with the other boys because he knew they looked down on him. He preferred the comfort of his home with his tutor, reading and learning about the clan's history, the battles and wars, lost and won, the lore and traditions. That was what he was passionate about.
“Come on, little scholar,” one of them jeered, a wiry boy named Daehan. “Don’t tell me you’re scared to get your hands dirty.”
Jimin had looked at their instructor, who was busy with a pair of younger students, showing them how to hold their swords properly. He would usually keep an eye on Jimin, defend him when the others would pick on him, would pair him up with younger or weaker students.
Reluctantly, Jimin picked up a wooden practice sword while glancing at Jungkook, who was watching him, his sword lowered, match paused to see what was happening.
“‘m not scared,” he muttered as he approached Daehan.
The boy didn’t go easy on him.
None of them ever did. They teased him for his delicate features, for the way he moved, clumsily and hesitantly, instead of strong and precise and brash. They mocked the way he sometimes flinched when hit, the way he always wore clean clothes, and braided his raven hair neatly.
Daehan initiated the start with a push. Then a trip. Then a blow to the ribs that wasn’t part of the agreed-upon rules. None of it was.
Daehan banged his sword against Jimin’s with all his strength, forcing him to recoil. Then he used it to slam him against his ribs, shoulders, then on his legs. Jimin stumbled but managed to keep his balance. He glanced in Jungkook’s direction again and shook his head slightly when Jungkook moved closer.
Jungkook stopped, a crease of confusion between his eyebrows.
Jimin lifted his sword again but Daehan grabbed it and yanked it out of his grip, throwing it on the floor before lunging at him. He kicked and punched, one, two, three times, harder and harder until Jimin was on the ground, arm over his head, breath knocked out of him, wooden sword flung somewhere in the grass.
“Get off him!” Jungkook’s voice suddenly cracked across the field. He ran to them and Daehan barely turned before Jungkook was on him.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t yell. He just hit.
Daehan took a punch to the jaw and dropped like a stone. Another boy tried to wrestle him off, but Jungkook twisted, elbow to the gut, and slammed him back. Fists flew. Someone screamed. One of the boys ran. Two didn’t get the chance.
By the time their instructor noticed the raucous and made his way to the small group, Jungkook stood over a bloodied Daehan, panting, shirt torn, blood smeared across his mouth and knuckles.
Jimin, still on the ground, stared up at him with wide eyes.
“What the hell happened here?” The instructor bellowed.
No one answered.
They stood in a row later, faces swollen and bruised, lips split, silence thick between them. Jungkook’s lip was split clean through, and his right eye was turning purple. Jimin had dried blood in his hair and a welt on his cheekbone.
The instructor paced before them like a wolf inspecting its prey.
“Is this what you think warriors do? Gang up on one of your own? Start brawls like tavern rats?”
No one spoke.
“I don’t care why it started. All of you—stable duty for a week. No training. And if I hear so much as a whisper of this again, I’ll make you scrub the latrines with your bare hands. Understood?”
They muttered their agreement and were dismissed.
That night, Jimin waited until the halls were quiet before slipping out and making his way to the stables. He found Jungkook in his room, sitting on the edge of the cot where he usually slept, shirt off, hunched over with a cloth and a bowl of water, trying to wipe dried blood from his knuckles.
“Let me do it,” Jimin said quietly.
Jungkook looked up, startled, then relaxed when he saw him.
“Thought you’d be sleeping.”
“Couldn’t.” Jimin stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him. He crossed the room, knelt in front of him, and gently took the cloth from his hand.
He cleaned the wounds in silence. Jungkook watched him through lowered lashes, wincing now and then but never pulling away.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Jimin murmured.
“Do what?”
“Protect me.”
“I wanted to.”
Jimin ignored the way his heart stumbled in his chest. “They’ll make your life hell now.”
“They were already halfway there.”
Jimin paused, the cloth still in hand. “I hate that you got hurt because of me.”
“I don’t,” Jungkook said softly. “I’d do it again.”
Something twisted in Jimin’s chest, sharp and warm all at once. He leaned forward, fingers resting lightly on Jungkook’s bare knees.
“Why do you do this?” he whispered. “Why do you always protect me?”
Jungkook looked at him then, eyes dark and steady. “Because we’re friends.”
Jimin felt his heart hammer against his ribs. His gaze fell to Jungkook’s mouth. He wondered what they would feel like against his lips, if they’d be soft and sweet or rough and all-consuming. The overwhelming urge to lean over and kiss Jungkook knocked the breath out of him.
The feeling terrified him, because Jungkook was a boy and Jimin wasn’t supposed to feel this way about a boy.
He sprang to his feet and cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
And with that, he left.