Jimin had never been in a car wreck before- in fact, he had only driven a few times. Yet, he learned what it was like to have the world stop in a slam of noise and confusion. He knew the sounds of something like metal shredding to pieces, of glass shattering on the floor. He knew those things because he felt them in his chest, snapping his bones and pushing the air from his lungs like a malevolent wind.

“She’s beautiful isn’t she?” Jungkook said. Perhaps he was the one who had stolen all of Jimin’s air, because as he whispered Jimin could hear each breath that ghosted across his lips. The boy’s black eyes were trained on a girl, a girl that was petite and strong and smiling for one hundred cameras. Their flashing lights hurt Jimin’s thoughts almost as much as Jungkook’s flashing smile. The voices of a few dozen k-pop groups, thousands of fans, and just as many members of the media, faded to a dull roar around him.

“Yeah,” Jimin rasped, his voice barely audible. Not even the others could hear their conversation, too busy smiling and standing coolly for pictures. “Yeah, Kookie. She looks really good.” Jimin could not even remember the actress’s name. The only name he could remember was Jungkook’s, as it was the only name he would ever need to know. It was the name he heard as he slept, the name he heard when the older members cried out in annoyance, the name that left his lips when he was sad or complaining or happy enough to fly. He looked away as Jungkook kept walking. There were days when Jimin could leap, sing, and twirl his way across a gleaming stage. At the moment, he could not even find the will to lift his feet.

BTS accepted their award with gratitude and smiles and shouts of victory. Jimin thanked the fans, and thanked his brothers, and thanked his company, and for a short time he managed to forget the look in Jungkook’s eyes as they trailed over the dips and curves of a girl’s body. He forgot it all the way home, and all the way through dinner, and all the way until he was in his bed. When he was in his bed he let himself remember that moment, and then he pushed it into a drawer and locked it up tight where he could never find it again. He put that moment with all of the other times he had looked at Jungkook and thought of nothing else besides reaching out and forcing the boy to look him in the eyes.

Jimin fell asleep telling himself that boys were not allowed to stare at other boys. He told himself that maybe one day he would be allowed, but even then he could not stare at his maknae. He could not stare at Jungkook, because Jungkook would never stare back. He hated himself for falling for anyone, most of all the silly, arrogant, baby-faced eighteen-year-old who had made his life a chaotic symphony of heaven and hell. He hated a lot of things, but he also loved soft black hair and blinding white teeth and smooth skin over tight bone and muscle. He loved the torn and winding path that he had scrambled just to get into this very dorm room, and he loved the six boys who had welcomed him.

Jimin did not know where being an idol would get him in thirty years, or even ten, but he knew he would spend every minute of every day memorizing the feeling of dancing beside the strange and special person he had discovered when he joined Bangtan. That knowledge kept him from the edge as he closed his eyes and drifted off into a world where rules meant nothing and his songs were all about another boy.