Jimin Nsfw If You Squint - Tumblr Posts

Tonight | PJM x Reader One-Shot 

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Pairing: Jimin x Reader ft. Jungkook (mentions of Taehyung)

Genre: fluff, slight angst if you squint, idol!Jimin au, idol! Jungkook au, bar au, strangers to lovers, romance, new york au, one-shot

Audience: 18+

Warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, intimacy, touching, mentions of anxieties, deceit, brief inner turmoil, slightly NSFW if you squint ... yes, there’s a little tongue-kissing action; Jimin stares into your soul as he is one to do

Word count: 6.5k

Summary: During a visit to New York, Jimin stops in front of a bar in passing and takes notice of you inside; lonely, gloomy, and so beautiful. He’s immediately drawn to you and can’t shake the image of you. He returns later that night, hoping he can still meet you. But will you feel the same way?

“Are you lonely?”

I have been feeling like I deserve somebody And you burn so bright you can blind somebody

Song: flight of the stars

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A/N: hi! I’ve been working on this little one-shot for a bit now. It’s very different from my other fic, which you can find in my master list and will be linked below. I wanted to try something a little more lighthearted, and I’ve always daydreamed of running into Jimin at a bar, don't ask me why, lol. I came up with something short and sweet that you will hopefully enjoy! Thank you for being here! I am grateful you’ve decided to give me and my work a chance. If you liked this, let me know! Your kind words and support mean so so much to me and fuel my writing hehe. 

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New York City, New York

(About midnight)

“Jimin, take a picture of me in front of this bar,” Jungkook says, raising the camera from his neck and signaling a thumb behind him. “The bright lights look cool for an Instagram picture,” he urges, lifting his camera from around his neck and extending it to Jimin. An impatient hand waves the camera around when Jimin doesn’t react. “Hurry, Jimin-ssi, it’s cold!”

It’s snowing outside, and it’s beginning to rain. Jimin flinches and glances up at the dark sky polluted with streetlights. He brings a hand to shield his eyes and reaches for the camera. “It’s raining,” Jimin comments, feeling the droplets dribble down his chin. “And it’s so cold, man!”

Jungkook bounces on the heels of his shoes, rubbing his numb hands together and blowing into them for warmth. “Do I keep the beanie on?” He wonders, bringing his fingers up to slip it off. Jimin nods, and Jungkook takes his cue to stand up straight once he sees the camera lens in view. Jimin squints behind the lens, motioning for Jungkook to lift his chin and look to the left. “The red letters look so cool,” Jimin remarks, flipping the camera parallel to Jungkook, now instructing him to point at the sign and smile. “Your smile looks cute,” he notes, passing the camera back to its owner for close examination.

“Ah,” Jungkook gaped, clicking back and forth between the few shots Jimin took. “Ah, Jimin, I look so cool.” He scrunches his nose, smiling. “Can I take some of you?”

Jimin pretends to think it over, bringing a finger to his chin. “It’s not my best outfit,” he says apologetically, taking Jungkook’s place in front of the bar beneath the glowing neon sign that reads LOVELY NIGHT in red cursive lettering. “But get my good side like I did for you!”

Jungkook laughs at that and falls to the ground in a crouching position without warning, turning the camera sideways to get Jimin’s upper body in the frame. He motions for Jimin to point at the sign and makes a shocked expression for Jimin to mimic. “Oh, Jimin!” He shouts enthusiastically, causing an embarrassed Jimin to bring a hand to his face in hiding. “Sorry! But wait, do that again, the wink… Yes! Like that!”

The duo huddles close, their bodies humming in protest of the chilly air. Jungkook clicks on Jimin’s last photo, nudging Jimin to look over. Distracted, Jimin approves of the image.

Jimin doesn’t mind his numb fingers or the way his lips tremble. His stare is fixated on a girl sitting alone with a gloomy aura about her, resting her chin on her folded arms. This girl is more than pretty; she’s enchanting. Jimin feels his heartbeat accelerate, his breath getting stuck in his throat, clammy hands on each side, and he realizes he can be seen. He quickly looks away, coughing and pretending to check his phone.

“Who’s that?” Jungkook raises a curious eyebrow, exchanging looks between his entranced friend and the lonely girl wearing a pitiful expression, wanting to make sense of it.

Jimin feels warmth spread throughout his face, and he scoffs. “Nobody; I thought I saw someone I know.” Jimin doesn’t look up from his phone. Pretending he reads something, he changes the subject before Jungkook has time to protest. “Are you going to the rooftop party with Taehyung later tonight?”

Not wanting to let it go, Jungkook smiles a wide toothy grin, and his dark eyes glowing with mischief are busy looking in the window in search of what held Jimin’s attention.

“Jungkook, stop; I said I didn’t know anyone! Stop; they can see you looking in!” Jimin desperately grasps Jungkook’s sleeve, pulling him away from view. Jungkook pries free and rushes to peer in again, making Jimin groan out for him to stop again, his voice getting higher in defense.

“Jimin-ah, let me say one thing! Let me say one thing!” Jungkook’s laughing, enjoying the reaction of a flustered Jimin struggling to lie. “Okay.” “You don’t know anyone in New York. Who could you have seen?”

“You can’t have my leftovers anymore,” Jimin scorns, raising a finger in Jungkook’s face, pointing aggressively at him for emphasis.

“Oh, Jimin, don’t be like that. You already said I could. Truce, okay? Let me eat the dessert later, please.” Jungkook brings his hands together to further his plead. “Yes, I am going with Taehyung, and you?”

Jimin shrugs. “I might go out to drink or something. It’s been a long week, Jungkookie. I need a beer, or two, or three or seven.”

“Just to drink?”

“Yeah, I want to drink. Is that bad?” Jimin pulls a beanie from his jacket and adjusts it over his head. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Jungkook pulls his phone out, cracking a smile as he snaps photos of the way Jimin’s beanie ties under his chin. “You don’t want to find a girl?”

“I want to drink.”

“And to find a girl.” And Jungkook points at the window. “That one in there.” He raises and lowers his eyebrows, shaking his shoulders and making finger kisses.

Jimin brings his forehead to Jungkook’s, head butting him playfully. Both of them pushed forward against each other, laughing out cold puffs of air. “You get no desserts,” he says, laughing at Jungkook wincing and pretending to faint. “We’re enemies, sorry. You didn’t know? I don’t give leftover desserts to enemies.” Jimin shrugs, ending the discussion.

Jungkook giggles, breaking away and pulling his phone to text. Not looking up, he says: “You said I could have the desserts…Oh! Taehyung is passing through here soon; he can pick me up and take me with him. For sure you don’t want to come?”

“Nah.” Jimin kicks at Jungkook and flinches when he retaliates. “I think I decided I’m going back to the hotel and change. I might come out to a bar for some drinks,” Jimin says, sticking his cold hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Tell Taehyung I can go tomorrow if he’s still staying over there with the guys.”

Jungkook nods, typing furiously on his phone. “Will do. I’ll catch you later, bro. He just texted me he’s waiting at the parking lot around the corner.”

“Okay, give me a hug before you go.”

The two hug firmly, Jimin patting Jungkook’s back. Jungkook sneaks a hand up to Jimin’s face and gives his cheek a tight pinch, instantly bolting down the street screaming as Jimin chases after him, shouting at him and running out of breath against the New York air. 

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Out of breath and shivering, Jimin walks back to the rental parked up the block. Fingering the keys in his hoodie pocket, his mind is elsewhere; back in the bar, this melancholy girl is beautiful and alone, and Jimin struggles with fathoming the latter. Jimin's mind is enthralled at the thought of her. Even when he’s in the car with the heater slowly coming to life, he’s thinking of her delicate face. Remembering this girl and her downcast eyes, a sad air about her, and for a moment as he’d peered in, he could’ve sworn she offered him a small smile. He blushes, thinking about how long he’d stood staring, wondering if she’d noticed or considered him. Was she somewhere else now, thinking of the stranger that lingered outside, or was he unmemorable and maybe even off-putting for staring?

He turns the radio on, shifting through the stations and settling on a Christmas song. He hums along, reversing out of his parking space with a smile plastered. His full lips outstretched at the recollection of this girl, appearing to be just as lonely as he. Haunting his every thought, he’s just arrived at the hotel when deciding to return to LOVELY NIGHT in hopes of seeing her again. He can’t get her out of his head; it’s the only way.

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Jimin receives a text from Jungkook with one of the photos he took of him attached with a message that reads: post this one on insta bro ;0

The last photo he likes best is where he winks and crosses his arms. He thinks he looks cute.  He’s about to respond to Jungkook thanking him when he sees her, almost beside him, seeming smaller from a distance inside the bar. In the picture, she’s looking in the direction of his back. He was so sure that he could tell she noticed their photo session, and she was smiling, and he felt his heart awaken at the sight.

In a rush, he pulls his hoodie over his head, changing into a black long-sleeve and leather jacket to match and keeping his jeans on. Passing by a mirror on the way out, he runs his fingers through his hair and takes a deep breath. She has to be there. He has to see her up close. He almost feels as though he’s dreaming it all up until he steps outside and is greeted with the assault of a cold gush of wind to his face. The air outside is jarringly harder than before. The cold stings his cheeks, numbing over his face and fingers as he walks down the street, outstretching a hand calling out for a taxi.

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LOVELY NIGHT, New York, New York

(12:40 AM)

The bar’s crowd is slowly dwindling aside from the few single men slumped over their tables, their droopy eyes glued to the TV playing a football game while they grumble disapprovingly at a touchdown from the opponent team; and near the rear of the bar, there are a few couples that begin to get handsy. The unamused bartender that wipes down the counter in front of you gives you a shy smile. This smile lets you know he’s noticed how long you’ve been sitting here, nursing your third drink and fidgeting with your napkin, unaware of how often you’ve anxiously glanced at the door every time it's pushed open.

You’d agreed to a date with a friend of a friend who, according to her, was one of the nicest guys she knew. Your evening plans consisted of staying in and catching up with your drama while soaking in the tub, so when you received a text from him asking if you’d be interested in grabbing some drinks and catching a movie, of course, you said yes. You scoff, remembering how you’d lit up when he showed interest in you the first time you met; he smiled at you and flirted with you all night, complimented you, and asked questions about you as though he cared. He was nice, though now, your opinion has been slightly altered, and you’re two drinks in, basking in regret at agreeing to this impromptu date.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the time on the TV in front of you, and you feel your stomach hollow out. You’ve been here for over an hour… how have you not noticed? Chewing your lower lip, you reach for your phone and check your messages, swiping up and down on your screen, a pitiful hope of seeing an apology or an indication of your date’s whereabouts.  Your heart thumping in your chest, you flip the phone face down on the bar to avoid the temptation of sending a message first. God, where is he?

“They’re not coming!” A voice shouts, bursting into laughter, earning a few scattered disapproving sounds and a few extra chuckles.

Your cheeks always get hot first at any moment of humiliation. You try to hide the redness of your cheeks by pretending to read something on your phone, but the comment makes you feel small. There’s a sick feeling in your stomach twisting away at your insides, making you physically wince, your hands perspiring around their grip on your phone. You’re about to gather your things, ready to end the evening and try again tomorrow elsewhere, when the door opens, bringing in a gust of cold air, freezing you in your seat.

A man walks in and makes his way to where you’re seated. His black boots echo a graceful sound with each step he takes.

“Can I sit here?” The stranger asks you, their hands reaching for the stool beside you.

You nod, dumbfounded. You’re rendered speechless; he’s beautiful. Your heart beats like a bird in a cage, and you put your phone away. You look over, not hiding the way your eyes scan his face. It’s as if you’re in a trance; you don’t know how to look away. Is he real?

Jimin walks in, his heart racing wildly, his cold hands sweating in his pockets, and for a brief moment, he fears you’ve left already. Then, he sees you. You’ve moved closer to the bar, storing your phone away when he approaches. His mind races a mile a second; he worries he won’t know the right thing to say. He swallows hard at the saliva in his throat and, despite his anxieties, decides to sit next to you.

“I’m Jimin,” he says cooly, not looking at you, flagging down the bartender. He orders a Kirin Ichiban Beer for himself and motions to your empty glass as he asks, “Wine?"

You don’t respond; you only nod, dazed. Undoubtedly, you’re beginning to worry about losing your speaking ability. Your throat is dry, and the proximity of this man makes your empty stomach feel like a well without end. Among the few remaining in the bar, wearing light denim jeans and a black leather jacket, a dangly earring on his left ear, dark eyes, and the skin of a porcelain doll, this stranger takes a sip of his drink, not looking at you. You’re sure you’ve never seen a man or person this beautiful. You’re staring, unblinking, when he slides a glass over to you, takes another swig of his beer, and very calmly asks: “And your name is…?” He glances over to his left, briefly meeting your eyes. Before you respond, he quietly asks: “You have a date?” He winces at the drink hitting the back of his throat, and looks over your way once more, this time fixing his gaze with yours.

His stare is intense, but the easiness that succumbs you is undeniable. His full lips twitch into a smile, and you mirror it.

As for his question, you think your alternatives to the truth: Your friends were just here not too long ago, but they had to leave early; You just got here, wanted to pop in for a quick drink, and there is no date. You could say anything; he’s a stranger and won’t know the difference, and what would it even matter to him if you’d been stood up again? You could flat-out lie, but when you open your mouth, you say: “I’m Y/N, and the date didn’t work out.”

One truth, one lie.

Jimin looks at you for what feels like ages. His dark eyes locked on you, unmoving and glowing. He raises an eyebrow, takes another swig of his beer, and offers you his bottle to clink with your glass of wine. “We can fix that,” is his response.

Jimin savors the beer, hoping he’s coming off a lot calmer than he is. Internally, a nervous storm of emotions rattles him, and his right leg shakes. Was he too forward? Will you get up and leave? He knows there’s no date; he’s caught you in a lie. Why did you lie?

You sit still. He’s looking at you intently, and your face feels hot. You’re overcome with a lapse of desire for him to stay by your side, wishing he’d look away for the sake of your burning cheeks but secretly enjoying the attention. You realize that you haven’t said anything, and without realizing it, you’re now holding a staring contest with him. Unblinking, his dark eyes trace over your entire face and linger on your lower half, bringing a slight smirk to his lips when you raise a curious eyebrow at him in feigned protest.

“I like your dress,” he says to you, breaking the silence. He’s smiling, unblinking, daring you to be the first to look away. You thank him, and when he shrugs in response, you lose the battle and blink, making him laugh.

It’s a good laugh, you think. It’s deep and lively and makes you laugh in turn.

“No fair,” you whine, defeated. “You do that often, don’t you?”

He shrugs and winks at you as he takes his last beer swig. “Maybe I do,” he drawls. “You were pretty good, though. Good match, good match.”

That makes you blush. He takes notice and smiles to himself as if proud.

“And your date?” You ask him. You bring your drink to your lips without any real intention of drinking, simply shielding your smile from his unwavering stare.

“My date?” Jimin can’t hide the victorious grin on his face. So you might be interested after all.

You nod, trying to maintain a poker face.

“Don’t have one,” he replies, eyeing you, biting back a grin.

You try to hide the relief that overcomes you, and you nod, not knowing what else to say but not wanting the conversation to end. Feeling brave, you clear your throat and follow up with: “Are you married?”

This makes him laugh. He throws his head back, brings a hand to shield his face, and continues to shake with laughter. “Oh no, no, married?” He looks younger when he laughs. His eyes are two little crescent shapes, and your heart begins to race at the sight. He comes down from his laughing fit and wipes his eyes, continuing with: “Not married. You?” You shake your head at this, and he whispers, “Good.”

Again, his eyes lock with yours, and this makes you nervous. Deciding against another staring contest, you shift and finish the rest of your drink. Already beginning to warm, you grimace at the taste and earn a chuckle out of him.

“So, Jimin,” you say, not daring to face him as you begin. You can sense him smiling. You want to look over and catch another glimpse of his daunting face, but you go on watching your reflection across from you. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. You?”

“Twenty-five.”

His lips curve into a smile. “I’m a Libra,” he announces. This makes you turn over to him, your lips forming a gasp.

“No,” you say. “You’re kidding.” Of course, he is, you think. The flirtatious stare, the compliments, the pretty full lips….

“No joke,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Is that bad?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, it’s just so obvious. That is so cute.”

“You’re cute,” Jimin retorts, his eyes raking freely over your face.

You can’t help but smile at that. You shy away from his stare, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you thank him. This man's stare is far more enchanting than you’d like to admit, and your face was already beginning to flush before his arrival; now, it’s embarrassing for him to take the credit.

“This place is nice,” he says, looking around. Craning his neck back, he stares up at the twinkling lights that decorate the sky of the bar, and he catches you staring. Smirking, he quickly looks you up and down, making you turn away again. “I won’t do that again, sorry.” There’s a laugh in his voice when he says that, and you roll your eyes, feigning no effect.

You take small sips of your drink, adverting Jimin’s gaze. You can feel it. His dark eyes follow your movements closely, a smile resting on his face, almost amused. He’s flirting with you; you know that. Yet, you’re unsure how to go about returning the affection. What’s happening to you?

Jimin chews the inside of his cheek, unable to shake the memory of the sullen expression you wore hours before, wondering if you’d offer him the truth if he asked. Considering his loneliness and longing to be comforted, he asks: “Are you lonely?”

You look straight ahead at the bottles in front of you behind the counter, your hazy eyes boring into the mirror that rests across from you. Your eyes are heavy with sleep, reddened with the alcohol of the night, and the apples of your cheeks sting with heat from your last drink. “I guess so,” you admit, watching the words leave your lips in a low effort. You almost resemble a puppet. Did you speak out loud, or did you respond internally? You can’t tell because your confession is followed by silence.

You look over to the man on your right, staring at you, quiet and unmoving. He wears a painful expression as though he wishes to weep.

“I am, too,” he finally responds. “I walked around the city all night long, and I can’t get rid of this emptiness.” He brings a hand to his chest for emphasis. He isn’t smiling anymore. He’s down two beers now, and his eyes look your face over as if searching for something. A small smile invades his serious face as he asks: “Want to dance?” He begins to stand, stretching out a hand adorned with silver rings. “It can be in the back, near the dark parts of the room, if you’d like,” he says like he knew you’d decline and say you didn’t know how. “Come on, Y/N, let's put this lonely night to rest.”

He recites your name, and it suddenly sounds foreign to you. A name you’ve heard your entire life slipping from the lips of a beautiful stranger asking you to dance. This could very well be a dream; who’s to say? His voice is soft and inviting, and the way his eyes have lit up has your limbs feeling weak.

“I don’t know how to….” you nervously glance at the waiter nearby, hoping they aren’t eavesdropping and hearing how easily you fumble a friendly invitation after a night of neglect and too many lonely drinks. He shrugs, his outstretched hand reaching for you. You take his hand in yours, enveloping him in a warm grip, and he guides you off your stool. His fingers tighten their grip on your hand, and his thumb grazes your knuckle. A perfect stranger is bringing you such ease. He scrunches his nose at you with a smile, assuring you. “I’ll teach you, okay?”

You laugh, agreeing.

Jimin leads you through the sparse bar like he’s been here a hundred times. His cheeks hurt from smiling, but when you laugh behind him, he grins so wide he can’t see in front of him.

Your heel rolls beneath you, and you stumble and bump into his back. “Sorry,” you exclaim, recomposing yourself behind him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he laughs, not looking back. His laugh is low and deep and fills you with a joyous sense of disbelief. God, where has this man been hiding? “I think I tripped just when you did,” he assures you; now facing you, he smiles, showing teeth. Your eyes absentmindedly fall to his front teeth, slightly crooked and overlapping, and it’s the most endearing sight. He takes your spare hand in his, not caring that you stare, and raising an eyebrow, asks if he can place a hand on your hip. You nod, watching his arm snake around your waist, bringing you close to him. “You smell good,” he comments.

He’s slightly taller than you, and you find yourself craning your neck to look at him, watching you react to the proximity between you.

“Follow my lead, ok?” You silently nod at him, obeying.

Flight of The Stars is playing, and your heart sinks. A bitter memory clouds you, and you remember the last time you danced with your then-boyfriend at your brother’s wedding. The same song was playing then. You don’t notice how your grip tightens on Jimin’s shoulder, your knuckles taking on a pale white.

Jimin feels your grip tighten suddenly, a pained expression taking over you. He furrows his eyebrows, bringing a hand to your face. Gently, he holds your cheek, and your eyes widen at the touch before your face softens. Your eyes fall to the floor, and you usher a quiet apology.

“You okay?” He wonders, his eyes never leaving you.

“Yes. Sorry, I just….” You sigh. “Bad memory, I guess. But it’s gone now.” And you offer him a tightlipped smile to further your argument.

You take a shaky breath, remembering that it was years ago and you’re here now, with Jimin, and though a stranger, he brings you a deep solace you’d gone so long without. He’s rocking back and forth with you, grabbing your waistline tighter than before. You both miss a step and almost collide face-first into each other but manage to stumble back away. Your face is warm, and he shakes his head at the almost collision, chuckling. Embarrassed, you look down at your feet to follow along. “You sure you’re okay?” He quietly prods. You nod despite the bitter memory. “I like this,” he admits, grinning at you, his eyes closing alongside his confession.

And the truth is, he loves this. Being close to you, taking in your scent, his heart flutters, and he momentarily wonders if you consider him too.

“You don’t like this song?” He inquires, reading you.

“I love it; that’s the bad thing, I guess,” you sigh, leaning closer to him. Wishing to melt into him and leave behind the distant recollection of the only other person you ever danced this close with. “You’re right, though. I like this.”

Jimin blushes under the dim lights, uncaring if his feelings betray him and show themselves to you. “I can choose the next song; which should it be? Let it be slow so we can stay like this. I like holding you,” he admits.

“Let's stay like this a little longer, then.” You hold a cautious hand to his waist and earn a nod. It’s okay; you can do that, it says. “Do you live here?” You ask, slowly following his pace to a song you can’t recognize, beginning to play overhead.

“South Korea, I’m here on… business,” he says, stepping in closer. You can almost feel his breath on your face. “I’m here with friends,” he pulls you into his chest, and your hands begin to sweat. “We went out tonight, and I didn’t feel like going home yet. I don’t think I ever get enough time for myself. Do you ever feel like the world moves on without you?”

“All the time,” you sigh, relaxing in his grip.

“Whoa, hold on tighter,” he exclaims, grabbing your arm as your heels roll under you again. You realize that you can’t stand well enough on your own. “Here, hold on to my waist a little tighter; it won’t hurt me,” he instructs, placing your free hand on his waist to guide you.

Your fingers grip the smooth material of his jacket, and you close your eyes, leaning into him as the music blends into incoherent sounds. He smells of sweet oranges, vanilla, and roses. You’re resting your cheek against his chest, rocking back and forth with him, smiling to yourself. His chest is firm, and you can hear the rapid thudding of his heart.

“Are you a New Yorker?” He asks, compelling you to look up at him.

His lips are slick and look soft. You wonder how they’d feel in a kiss.

“No, but it’s no better than where I am from.” You scowl, recalling a home you left long ago.

“Where?”

“Guess.”

“I don’t know many places here, but maybe California?”

“Cold.”

“Cold? Okay, maybe Chicago?”

“Freezing!”

He laughs, making you smile.

“One more try or you have to go home without a prize.”

“What’s the prize?”

You chew the inside of your lip. “It’s a mystery.”

“In that case….” His eyes linger on yours, his lips parting slightly. “You’re from space?”

You thrust your forehead into his chest, laughing at this. Jimin feels his cheeks burning, bashful; he quietly adds: “You’re like a star.”

“Oh, really?” You laugh, shaking your head.

“Yes, really.” He’s painfully aware of the rapid thudding of his chest beneath you, the closeness making him feel warm.

“Oh,” is all you say. Your cheeks are flushed. You’re staring again, swallowing at a lump in your throat.

Jimin runs a hand through his blond hair, tousling it, attempting to hide his embarrassment. “Sorry,” he says, shrugging despite the pink blush that creeps on his cheeks.

“You’re blushing,” you comment, smiling.

“It’s hot in here, I think….” He breathes out, beginning to fan himself.

“I’m not hot,” you say, teasing him instead, enjoying the sight of a flustered Jimin.

“Yes, you are.” His eyes are serious now, looking you over. He runs the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and meets your gaze. “Now you’re blushing,” he smirks.

You’re both in the shadows, near the couple that only stops kissing for air, and he’s walking you towards a loveseat, where he sets you down like you’re made of glass. Sinking into the seat, gazing up at him hovering over you, you think he has to be the prettiest person you’ve ever seen. With the slight buzz from your drinks lingering, your vision doubles momentarily, and you’re grinning at two Jimins readjusting his jacket sleeves.

“What?” He smiles at you. Your sudden attention has him swooning.

“There’s two of you,” you comment, giggling.

“Oh, is there?”

“Come sit,” you pat the spot next to you. “You don’t have to stand.”

“Let me go close my tab. Do you want water? We should drink water.”

Jimin returns, shooting finger guns your way and handing you a cold cup of water. Sitting down beside you, he glances your way. “I can’t believe you were still here,” he remarks, still in disbelief that he’s near you. You shoot him a quizzical look, and he clears his throat. “I saw you earlier.” His face grows hot admitting this.

“You saw me when?” Then, your eyes widen, remembering the two people who photographed each other outside the window. It’d been the only thing to make you crack a small smile all night. You’d yearned to be with them; they looked so close, you wondered what it was like. “Outside with the…” your mind piecing everything together. “…I smiled at you; that was you?” He nods, a dreamy look taking over his serious face.

“Me and my friend Jungkook were out there. He really likes to take pictures. I saw you when I took his pictures, and it was so strange I couldn’t focus on anything after that.” Jimin's heart thuds so hard he fears you can hear it. His hands are sweating despite the cold, and he swallows hard at saliva, anxious at your response.

“I saw you and smiled for the first time all night; not kidding.” You’re smiling now, in shock at how this night came to be. He’d returned for you?

“No way.” He’s giggling; he looks so different now. Flustered and giddy. “I’m glad you were here.” His eyes are boring into yours now, and a panicked part of you almost feels he might lean in for a kiss.

When was the last time you kissed anyone? You’re struggling to remember. Internally, you begin to recount the few kisses you’ve shared with people and wonder if you still know how.

“You’re good,” is all you can say.

He looks confused. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it. “I’m serious; if you’re lonely and I’m lonely, we can be together just like this. We don’t have to leave together; you don’t have to give me your number; I just want to pretend tonight. I want to pretend like I have a choice.”

Now you’re confused. “A choice?”

“Yeah, I don’t have time for this dating thing. I don’t have the energy to keep it up; it never works out, so I like to pretend that, for once, it does. I meet a pretty girl, she dances with me, talks to me for a bit, and we go our separate ways; that’s not so bad.”

“You don’t want to try?” Your voice comes out quieter than you’d intended. You hiccup, curling up in the seat, tucking your dress between your legs; your eyes are almost frantic as you look his face over. Alcohol makes anyone bold. It allows you to talk to strangers and ask imposing questions you would otherwise keep to yourself.

He chuckles, shaking his head, his thumb grazing his lower lip. “Well, yes, I don’t try. Not because I don’t want to but because it’s no use.” He flags the waiter, that wipes down tables, asks for another water, and looks away when he says: “I want love like anyone else does. I saw a couple at the museum this week, it was an older couple, and the gentleman is holding up his wife as she bent down to throw coins in the fountain, and I thought to myself how that moment is so tender and wholesome, and then I wonder if I’ll get to have that.” You focus on his full lips, quietly going on. “Then they walk past me, and he grabs a cane for himself and nods at me. I stare at a painting for the next fifteen minutes and listen to him ask his wife if she’d like a cup of tea after they leave. I almost cried.”

You smile at this recounting. “That’s sweet; you tell this to all the girls you meet?” You say teasingly. His lips frown. “I take it back,” you quickly add.

“It’s true; let me ask you this: why do you come here, and why do you choose these guys that don’t choose you?”

You feign a stab in your chest, and he laughs. “Don’t spare me,” you groan. “Loneliness does a lot to people. Real solitude, I can’t get rid of it.”

“Real solitude,” he repeats, mumbling it to himself like a foreign phrase he shouldn’t forget. “I dance or write a song when I get those feelings.”

“You dance and sing?” Your eyebrows shoot up comically, a stunned look on your face.

“I do. I sing and dance; if I had more drinks, I’d show you.”

“Sing something,” you urge.

“Here?” He glances around him, his eyes widening at the people nearby casually glancing his way.

“Unless you’re shy.”

“I’m a little shy.”

You both laugh, looking away from each other, and shaking your heads. This might be the first triumph of your night, making him blush and turn away from you for a change.

“I sing mostly in Korean.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard a song in Korean,” you admit.

“I can write you a song on a paper, and you can look it up online later when I leave, deal?”

“Deal.” You reach into your purse, grab a receipt, and spread it out on the table. You rummage through your purse and pull out an eyeliner pen. “This is all I got.”

He takes the eyeliner pen, grazing your hand with his, and motions for you to hand him the receipt. He starts writing on the back, concentrating, knitting his eyebrows as he finishes his message and folds the receipt into thirds.

“There. But no looking until I am gone,” he hands you the pen, shooting you a coy look. A stare that burns your face moments after you look away.

“You look so,” you begin to say, frustrated at his beauty and little effort.

“So what?” And there it is again. He’s watching you, you notice his stare on your lips, and then he meets your eyes.

“Why do you do that?” Your cheeks are stinging with heat, and your heart is thumping hard in your chest. “You look at me like that, making me feel so messed up.”

“Oh, does it?” He laughs, standing up. “I didn’t know.”

“Jimin?” He nods. “You are very good.”

He starts laughing and gestures at your seat to ask for permission, and you oblige, scooting over to allow him space beside you.

He brings a hand up to sweep his hair back, a habit you’ve picked up on already. “You are very pretty,” he says lowly. “I can’t help it.”

You can hear the loud scrapes of the chairs being dragged out from their place to be set up on top of the tables by the tired bartender, but you don’t dare break the trance Jimin has you in as he begins to lean in closer to your face.

“You’re very pretty too….” you begin to trail off as his lips graze yours lightly, the sudden touch making you shiver despite your warm state. He doesn’t fully kiss you. Instead, his nose is brushing yours, resting his forehead against yours, and quietly mumbling that he wishes to kiss you. He utters your name, and not wanting to wait for the moment to be over, you lean in and mash your lips against his.

“Open your mouth,” Jimin murmurs. You open your mouth. Jimin’s tongue touches yours, a warm shock. You let him kiss you. You kiss him back, leaning more into his grip, your clothes a sudden obstacle you wish to tear away. He’s hovering over you, a jean-clad leg in between your legs, and his adorned hands wander over your waist before he settles his right hand around the base of your neck, deepening the kiss. Joining the feverish couple nearby, you both become entangled with each other on the loveseat. He’s almost entirely on top of you, kissing you hungrily until you’re both out of breath, dazed, and smiling at each other as he draws back, your lipstick smeared across his chin and staining his swollen lips.

You sit up, grinning at his disheveled state.“I wish I could be here longer,” he whines, bringing a hand to cup your face. “I like you. I don’t know you, I know, but I like you. I saw you, and it followed me all night.”

You wipe the corners of your lips, looking over your shoulder to see if anyone’s watching the strangers that collapsed together in a loveseat, hungrily kissing each other as if it’d be the last kiss of their lives. No one is watching, and it brings you quiet relief.

“Jimin, I liked meeting you,” you admit, avoiding his eyes and chewing your lower lip.  

The first person you’ve met in over two years that revived a part of you you forgot existed, and he lives in Korea. Life is cruel, you think to yourself.

“I visit the states often,” he says, taking your hand. His touch is warm, and with his spare hand, he moves stray hairs from your face, and with his thumb pressed to your jaw, he wills you to look at him. “Forget what I said earlier about the numbers. Give me yours.” He almost looks desperate. “I don’t want this to be it.”

“Only if you sing to me over the phone,” you respond, your heart racing at the smile he shares with you. “I don’t want this to be it either.”

➽ ──────────────

taglist: @luaspersona thank you for helping me brainstorm and for reading a bit of my unedited mess hehe <3

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