Chapter Text
It’s July and Jimin tries not to cry.
If anyone asks, he is perfectly fine with crying. Showing emotions is completely normal, and crying is a healthy way of relieving stress and reducing tension, or something. In any case, Jimin never feels bad for his tears, and normally he’d cry to his heart's content, but this time it was different. This time he can’t cry, because a few weeks ago he had promised his mother he was going to be her brave son and even though the prickling in the corners of his eyes hadn’t left him ever since he got on the plane, leaving behind his family and the life he used to know, he had kept his promise. He didn’t cry when he almost had a heart attack at the airport because he thought his luggage went missing. He didn’t cry when he got lost on his way to the apartment complex. He didn’t cry when the landlord almost broke into tears himself while telling Jimin he had to rent the room to someone else for a price Jimin couldn't count on matching.
The thing about Jimin was that he had had a very sheltered upbringing. It was more of a stone-walls-and-a-moat type of upbringing, at least according to Jimin himself. Sure, it was nice and easy at first; not having to worry about anything, parents taking care of things before he even realized something needed to be taken care of. But at some point his feelings started to change. The warm comfort of his parents’ attention slowly started to remind him more of a leash getting shorter and shorter. So, obviously, Jimin began to fight against it, trying to show his parents he can do things for himself, that he’s not going to drown when thrown into the deep waters of being independent.
So now, obviously, Jimin was drowning.
He had always wanted to become a dancer. The feeling of expressing himself through his body, of letting music run through his bloodstream and dictate his movements, the blinding lights of the stage, the deafening applause of the public; he craved all of it. Even though he had been dancing ever since he was a little child, it took him almost a year to convince his parents to let him take part in college auditions. It took him another one to convince them to let him move halfway across the country. They agreed only because he showed them it was one of the best universities that he could get into and made sure they could see just how seriously he took it; how hard he had worked during his free time to get extra money, how he had taken care of everything from the tickets to his supplies. That, of course, included finding a place to live and Jimin took it as a good omen that he somehow managed to find a nice, tiny but clean-looking room just near the campus. To be honest, he wasn’t even that surprised it didn’t work out; that was just his rotten luck, so at first he didn’t panic. He took a metaphorical deep breath and started looking for something else, but with each passing day the heavy weight in his stomach only got heavier. The only places he kept finding were either ridiculously expensive or so run-down it’d be probably dangerous for his health and-slash-or life to stay there even for one night. Jimin wasn’t going to give up on his dream, wasn’t going to go back to his parents with his tail tucked between his legs, but the pool of rooms he could rent was getting smaller and smaller with each day. He couldn’t keep living in a cheap hostel forever nor could he ask his parents for more money, so he slowly started making peace with the idea that he was destined to die when the ceiling of one of the run-down rooms he could afford finally decided to give up its struggle and collapse on top of him when he was sleeping. There were probably worse ways to go.
In one last desperate attempt before he signs his own death sentence in a form of a rental agreement he decides to look for rooms once again. Even though he feels more like lying face down on the floor for a few hours, he packs up his laptop and walks out of the hostel, figuring that a change of scenery might do him good. That, plus for some reason he always feels better after a cup of coffee and since he’s going to die soon, he can just as well treat himself to a proper latte.
He keeps walking around the foreign streets, the laptop in his bag bouncing against his leg. At least the weather is nice, he thinks to himself, glancing up. Jimin had always been a summer person. Seeing the clear sky and feeling the golden kisses of the sun on his skin always filled him with a warm, happy feeling. But now that feeling is tainted, because he couldn’t stop thinking about his family, couldn’t stop remembering how much they’d fussed over him and just how badly he wanted to prove himself to them.
He almost bumps into a passerby when a sweet smell of caramel and hot milk hits his nostrils and he halts in the middle of the street. There's a cozy looking cafe to his right, and before Jimin knows it, his feet start moving towards it. After all, this place seems as good as any.
He walks in, taking a second to look around. The cafe is tiny and completely empty, but the music playing softly through the hidden speakers tells him it’s open. Or at least it should be, because he can’t see any sign of anyone actually working here. Still, with each second the sweet smell gets stronger, reminding him of home and his family, and goddamn it, he’s not going to cry in public, so instead he walks up to the counter and taps his fingers on it’s surface.
“Um, hello?”
There’s a loud banging noise somewhere in the backroom and a tall figure stumbles through the door just moments later. Jimin watches as the young, slender man frantically tying a light blue apron stops behind the counter and leans over it, looking at him with disbelief. The wide-eyed look and the tousled hair makes Jimin wonder if he didn’t just interrupt something extremely important or, God please forbid, extremely explicit.
“Dude, are you real?”
“Um, I…” Suddenly Jimin has a really bad feeling about this. Did he miss a “Sorry, we’re closed” sign? He’s pretty sure he didn’t, but this feels very awkward and Jimin loathes awkward, so he takes a few steps back, ready to turn around and run.
“I’m sorry, I thought it’s open…” he manages to choke out, but the man behind the counter frantically waves his hands.
“No, I mean, yeah, it’s open. I was just… I was asking if you’re real and not, like, a figment of my imagination,” he leans even further forwards, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper. “Can you believe you’re my first customer today? I took a nice little nap back there and dude, I was so terrified you were some kind of a burglar and I was gonna get brutally murdered in my sleep and then Jin’s going to kill me for falling asleep at work. I could almost see my own obituary, it was very touching.”
Jimin blinks a few times.
“Technically, Jin would have to revive you to murder you, so I’m pretty sure you didn’t have to worry about that,” he blurts out and the man’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. Jimin can’t help but notice how nice and bright his smile is, box-shaped and oddly comforting.
“Good point. Well, what can I get you?”
Jimin looks up at the menu, chewing on his lip. He tries to read the names of the drinks, but the fact that the barista keeps on talking turns out to be extremely distracting.
“So, personally, I’d recommend caramel, you can never go wrong with caramel. Or, like, you could try some white chocolate with hazelnut? It tastes just like Nutella, it’s crazy good.”
“Um,” Jimin says. “I don’t know, I’m trying to keep a diet…”
“Bullshit, you look like you need some sugar. My grandma used to say that –”
Jimin never got to find out what the barista’s grandmother used to say, because he trails off, blinking slowly.
“Dude, are you… are you crying?”
“No,” Jimin chokes out, furiously rubbing his eyes. He’s not crying, god damn it, the barista did not remind him of his own grandmother and his family keeping their fingers crossed for him, worried sick that he's not going to make it in the big, scary world. Not even a little.
Jesus Christ, he really hates his emotional self sometimes.
“Okay,” the barista says, dragging out the word, the disbelief evident in his voice. “Fine. Your eyes are sweating, then. You know what’s great for that?”
“What?” Jimin sniffles, briefly wondering if, judging by the man’s reaction (or the lack of it), people with sweating eyes were a normal sight in this cafe. He’s one part mad at himself, one part terrified, because who the fuck breaks down like that, not only in public, but to make things worse, in front of a stranger. A really nice, really handsome (because even during tough times Jimin’s sharp eye for pretty faces doesn’t take a much deserved break, damn it) stranger.
“Free drinks,” the barista announces, pointing at the stool on the other side of the bar. Jimin eyes it suspiciously.
“What do you mean free?” he asks. He might have grown up wrapped in cotton wool, but he knows good things in life rarely come for free.The man in front of him sighs, glancing at his watch.
“I mean my shift ends in an hour and you’re the first customer today. I’m this–” he brings his thumb and his index finger so close together they’re almost touching. “—close to dying from boredom, so my proposition for you is: a charming, casual conversation in exchange for free coffee. Sounds good?”
Jimin chews on his lip, his eyes flickering between the stool and the door. He really should get going, all he wanted was to gather his strengths over a cup of coffee and maybe find the courage to beg the college’s housing department for a place in a cupboard under some stairs.
But, truth be told, he dreads it, so with a resigned nod he pulls out the chair and sits down, his feet dangling above the floor.
“Great,” the barista grins at him, walking up to one of the coffee machines. After a few moments he moves back in front of Jimin, placing two shots of espresso on the bar.
“Now tell ol’ uncle Taehyungie what’s bothering you, buddy,” he says, clinking the glasses together before taking one of them and throwing the coffee back as if it was a shot of vodka. He exhales loudly, grimacing as he swallows, and then opens his eyes, watching Jimin’s reaction.
Jimin blinks slowly. This day definitely isn’t going the way he planned.
“Um… It’s a long story.”
“Do I look like I need to be anywhere?” the barista, or Taehyungie, winks at him, starting to steam the milk. Jimin watches his hands for a while, trying to find the right words to explain everything. His first instinct was to lie, to make up a story to satisfy the barista’s curiosity, but… He hadn’t told anyone about his situation, he couldn’t have. He didn’t want to worry his parents, because after all, he was supposed to be their brave son. Telling his friends wasn’t an option either, because as much as he loved them, he knew somehow someone would slip up and the news of Jimin being a huge fucking failure would reach his family.
Jimin starts playing with the frayed edges of his sleeves. They say sharing a problem makes it easier to carry, so maybe telling this weird guy everything could actually make him feel better. He guesses there’s no harm in trying, so he takes a deep breath and with his eyes glued to the counter in front of him, he starts talking.
“Okay, well… I’ve always wanted to dance and– Jesus, this is so awkward,” he mutters, but Taehyung only shakes his head, signalling that it’s fine, so Jimin rubs his face and continues:
“Long story short, I got accepted into the University of the Arts’ School of Dance and moved here two weeks ago. I had an agreement with one guy who was supposed to rent out a room to me, but obviously being the moron that I am I didn’t ask to sign anything before I moved. So everything would be awesome if it didn’t turn out that he fucked me over and rented it to someone else before telling me. Now I’m living in a hostel, my money’s going to run out before the semester even starts and I can’t ask my parents for help, because I promised I can do this by myself. Because I thought I could, I thought that if you try really hard to pursue your dream life will find a way of making that happen, but… I don’t know. I guess that’s not true.”
When he finally glances up, Taehyung is looking at him, leaning on his elbows. He whistles quietly:
“Woah…”
“Yeah,” Jimin agrees grimly, watching as Taehyung places a mug in front of him and pours a shot over the milk. He pushes the mug towards Jimin and Jimin nods as a thank you, before taking a sip. The latte is so hot it burns his tongue, but he welcomes that with open arms, because at least for a millisecond he forgets about his other problems.
“No, I mean– if you got into the School of Dance you’re going to have classes with that weird British professor who’s way too into Russian ballet if anyone asks me. Like, it’s definitely cool, but I don’t think you actually have to learn Russian to dance.”
“Oh,” Jimin squints at him, trying to figure out if Taehyung was trying to be funny and, if anyone asks him, failing miserably in the process. “Well, seeing as I don’t have a place to live, that one’s actually kinda low on the list of my priorities right now.”
“Oh, that,” Taehyung waves his hand as if Jimin being potentially broke and homeless was not much of a big deal. “Don't worry about that. I can fix it.”
“How?”
“How much are you willing to do for a place to stay?” Taehyung asks, taking a quick look around as if he was expecting to see someone eavesdropping, and Jimin’s life flashes in front of his eyes, followed by a vision of himself swallowing tiny bags full of heroin.
“Um, a lot, probably?” he says slowly, trying to get the image of being arrested by some airports’ security out of his mind.
Taehyung leans over even closer to him, his face deadly serious.
“Are you willing to go to Monday lectures at eight a.m. and take notes for me?”
So Jimin might not have to become a drug mule after all. Little blessings.
“Uh…” he takes a few seconds to make sure Taehyung isn’t kidding. “Sure, I guess?”
Taehyung straightens up, flashing him a wide grin.
“Great! I just moved out and my old flatmate is looking for someone to replace me. We can go check it out in an hour, if you want.”
“A-Are you serious?” Jimin manages to choke out. If this isn’t Taehyung’s cruel idea of a prank, then this is the most amazing coincidence he had ever seen in his entire life.
“Yeah,” Taehyung beams at him, before turning his attention to the obnoxiously loud group of teenagers who had just burst through the front door. “Oh, that’s going to be fun– Listen, stay here, and I’m going to take you there when I’m done, all right?”
He doesn’t even wait for Jimin’s answer, instead puts on another smile, slightly more toned down this time, and skips to the counter, where the teenagers are already shouting the names of the drinks over each other. Jimin slumps a little in his seat, silently watching Taehyung dance around the espresso machine and joke with his customers. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, after all he doesn’t even really know Taehyung; he could just as well lead him to another ruin of an apartment, but it’s difficult to stop the warmness spreading through his bloodstream. It all seems a little too good to be true, but maybe Jimin deserves that after two weeks straight from hell that the universe had thrown at him. For now, he decides to just go and see the place with his mind open.
He busies himself by observing Taehyung, the skilful way in which he prepares the orders, the ease with which he chats with the customers who seem to have finally woken up and decided to get a cup of coffee. It’s almost hypnotizing, Taehyung’s large hands becoming almost a blur when he works on the drinks, his face scrunched up in concentration, his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth. Once in awhile he glances at Jimin and his expression breaks into a soft smile, like he was trying to give Jimin courage. It’s nice, really nice, because Jimin finds himself feeling a little better with each smile. He doesn’t know Taehyung, but there’s something warm about him, something that reminds Jimin of his friends back home and he responds with smiles of his own. They probably look like a pair of morons, grinning at each other with no words spoken between them, but somehow Jimin doesn’t mind.
The hour passes in a blink of an eye. Before Jimin knows it, Taehyung takes off his apron, waves to a tall guy who had just walked out of the staff room, and turns to Jimin.
“Let me just get my bag, okay?” he asks, pushing his hair out of his face.
Jimin nods and Taehyung disappears in the back room, leaving him to squirm in his seat. Now the situation he’s in hits Jimin with double the force. One, he let a stranger talk him into going to some unknown place, which pretty much screams trouble; and two, Jimin’s shy. How is he supposed to hold up a conversation with Taehyung? What is he supposed to talk about? The weather? Jimin is just about to spiral into an existential crisis, wondering if it’s not too late to back out, when the tall guy gets behind the bar, raising an eyebrow at him.
“You’re Taehyung’s friend?”
“Uh,” Jimin blinks a few times. “That’s… a good question.”
The man lets out a quiet snort.
“Yeah, I hear that a lot.”
Jimin doesn’t have a chance to ask what he means by that, because Taehyung bursts out of the staff room, swinging his bag over his shoulder. He walks up to Jimin and cheerfully pats his arm.
“All right, let’s go. See you later, Jin.”
Jin nods at them and Jimin hops off his stool, following Taehyung closely behind. He can feel Jin’s eyes on him, so in his eagerness to get out of the cafe as soon as possible, he doesn’t notice when Taehyung suddenly stops to a halt, making Jimin bump into him.
“Before I forget, on a scale of one to ten…” Taehyung starts slowly, turning around to look at him. “How okay are you with Morrissey?”
After the plot twists of this day Jimin doesn’t even have the strength to feel surprised by his question, but he asks, just in case:
“Uh… why?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” Taehyung announces with a grim expression on his face. “You’ll see.”
*
“Okay, so, all you need to know about your potential new flatmate is that he's a very sweet kid,” Taehyung announces, sprinting up the stairs two steps at the time.
The neighborhood he had led Jimin to was surprisingly nice, close to the campus and populated mostly by young people, judging by the constant hum of conversations, the faint sound of music and an occasional laughter he had heard. So far Jimin didn’t see anything that would set off alarm bells in his head; the apartment building wasn’t anything fancy, but it was clean and looks well-kept. It got more and more difficult for Jimin not to get his hopes up, so he was damn lucky that Taehyung was the biggest chatterbox he had ever met; during the short time it had taken them to get to Taehyung’s old place he had told Jimin about his dog (a white, fluffy puppy named Soonshim), his major (creative writing, although he had a tough time choosing this one), his summer break (a short trip to Hawaii with his parents) and his breakfast (toast with jam and tea. This one felt strangely anticlimactic). The amount of information Jimin was bombarded with made his head dizzy, but at the same time he was glad about it; at least it turned out he didn’t have to worry about keeping a conversation going after all. To be honest, it was pretty surprising how comfortable he felt around Taehyung, but Jimin decided to treat it as a good sign; after all they were going to study at the same university and knowing at least one person might make the new experience less scary. At least Jimin hoped so.
“Really sweet. Very sweet,” Taehyung repeats slightly quieter, and Jimin starts to wonder if he's definitely the person the words are directed to. “He's just kinda shy sometimes, but once you get through to him, you guys are definitely going to become best friends. But he’s a bit…” Taehyung waves his hand vaguely. “So you might have to take care of him. I’m not saying you have to babysit him, but remind him to eat something other than Oreos and Cheetos? You could not do that, obviously, but then again, I’m not sure if you’d like to live with a corpse... which would make a great opener at parties, but think of the smell. Gotta weigh the pros and cons, you know?”
“All right,” Jimin announces cheerfully, trying to keep up with Taehyung’s long legs. “This sounds terrifying.”
“No, it’s just… he’s a bit younger than us. The apartment belongs to my brother and Kookie – I mean Jungkook, is our cousin. His parents are kinda…” He waves his hand again. “So Jin let him move in. Ah, here we are!” he exclaims before Jimin has a chance to ask for something more specific than that.
“And he’s home, perfect!” Taehyung adds, fishing for something in his pocket. Jimin tries to stop himself from snorting; even through the pretty solid-looking door of the apartment they had stopped in front of he can hear the slightly muffled, but very familiar sound of The Smiths’ Bigmouth Strikes Again.
Taehyung takes out the keys and opens the door. In the fraction of a second, Morrissey’s voice gets so loud Jimin flinches, his body instinctively trying to take a step back, but Taehyung just shoves him inside with a wink, slamming the door shut behind them.
“Hi, Kook!” Taehyung shrieks over the music, pushing Jimin towards the source of the noise.
The living room is small, cluttered with notebooks, empty dishes and bundled up pieces of clothing. Taehyung almost trips over them, pouncing on the stereo and muting the music.
A black-haired boy, presumably Jungkook, was sitting on the couch with a bag of chips in his lap and a controller in his hand. He was playing something that reminded Jimin of Mortal Kombat and when Taehyung stands in front of him, blocking the screen, all he does is groan and tilt his body to one side, trying to peek at the TV.
“I come bearing great news! I think I might’ve found you a flatmate, this little guy here is interested in renting my old room.”
Jimin is ready to get offended by being called a little guy, but Taehyung’s words seem to finally catch Jungkook’s attention. He turns around, looking Jimin up and down, before nodding.
“‘Sup,” he says in his general direction and then turns his attention back to the game.
Taehyung clicks his tongue.
“Come on, don’t be rude,” he says with a frown, pulling Jungkook to his feet and pushing him towards Jimin.
“This is Jungkook, and Jungkook, meet…” he turns around to point at Jimin and trails off, his expression slightly falling. He squints at Jimin, slightly tilting his head, and Jimin realizes that even though he had pretty much told Taehyung his life story, Taehyung had never asked for his name.
Apparently that doesn’t sit well with Jungkook, because he crosses his arms over his chest, his eyebrows shooting up so high they almost disappear under his fringe.
“So you brought a guy whose name you don't even know into my house.”
“Well, technically --”
“If you say it's not my house I swear I'm going to sucker punch you.”
“I’m not saying anything,” Taehyung raises his hands in a defensive gesture and that’s when Jimin finally decides to chime in:
“Jimin, Park Jimin. That's my name.”
Both Jungkook and Taehyung look at him as if they forgot he was even in the room. Taehyung is the first one to recover, and he throws an arm over Jimin’s shoulders with a wide, blinding grin.
“See, how could anyone named Park Jimin be evil? Park. Jimin,” he repeats with emphasis. “That sounds like a name of a guy hosting a children's TV show. And look at him, look at his cheeks. People with cheeks like these can’t be murderers– it’s a scientifically proven fact.”
Jungkook lets out a long, heavy sigh, but he extends his hand towards Jimin.
“Hi, nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Jimin says, shaking his hand.
“Oh,” Taehyung clasps his hands together, his eyes flickering between Jungkook and Jimin with a sort of manic happiness. “I can already tell you’re going to get along so well. Which is kinda perfect…” he adds, glancing at his watch. “… Because I have to get going. You’re gonna do fine without me, right?”
“We’ll manage,” Jungkook mumbles blankly. Jimin feels a sudden pang of panic; the prospect of having to stay alone with Jungkook without Taehyung to diffuse the tension isn’t very high on the list of things that seem like good ideas that he would enjoy. But Taehyung is already waving to him, saying something about taking his number from Jungkook, before disappearing in the hallway.
Great.
“Um,” Jimin starts eloquently. Jungkook ignores his Herculean efforts of starting a conversation, turning on his heel and flopping back on the couch. Great. Awesome. This isn’t awkward at all. Jimin hovers behind the couch, wondering if it’s his cue to leave too, when Jungkook throws his arm over the backrest and looks at him with his eyebrows raised.
“You coming?” he asks, jerking his head towards the TV.
Jimin scrambles to get moving (what the fuck, why is he acting so damn awkward) and sits down as far away from Jungkook as physically possible, his fingers digging into his knees, his elbows glued to his sides.
“In this house, we support resolving our conflicts like this,” Jungkook announces, handing a second controller to Jimin. “So I have to make sure you know how to play, otherwise it wouldn’t be fair.”
“Wait… What? So you’re… okay with me living here?”
“Why not?” Jungkook shrugs. “I was supposed to put up an ad tomorrow, but if Taehyung decided to bring you here, that means he accepts you, and I care about his opinion. He’s… an unusual guy, but he has an eye for people.”
Jimin stares at him with his mouth open. That sounded like a compliment, but currently his brain is too focused on trying to keep up with everything that happened to properly process it. Jungkook glances at him, and seeing his undoubtedly dumbfounded expression, lets out a quiet chuckle.
“Chill out, dude. You still haven’t seen the room and we didn’t talk about the rent, but I’m not going to live with someone who can’t at least come close to kicking my ass.”
With that Jungkook unpauses the game, and the sudden sound effects effectively block all but one thought out of Jimin’s mind while his fingers start to automatically smash the buttons on his controller.
Just what the fuck has he gotten himself into.