Hana

Jimin sighs, looking through the dress choices. “You need something with more punch. You’re newly engaged and there’s going to be eyes on you.”

“Just let me go ,” I grumble. “That would be easier at this point.”

“Well it would get everyone attention,” Jimin nods absentmindedly, fabrics in the designer boutique. “A little too much. I don’t think Jungkook would be too happy.”

“Oh shut up.”

Jimin cracks a teasing smile and goes back to figuring out which dress supposedly had enough impact to wear to the Christmas gala. He had picked out his own button down and tuxedo with little need for help, and I mourned the fact that men in the business world had it much better when dealing with what clothes to wear. If I didn’t choose carefully, I would be the subject of the talk for days to come.

And not all attention was good attention.

It had become our little tradition to shop for clothes for big events together. He had a much better fashion sense than I did, and therefore saved me from making bad mistakes.

“Try this on,” He drapes another dress over my arm and I feel a little like a clothing hanger.

“What about this one?” I nod towards a peach colored dress with a train.

“Your dress is supposed to say ‘I’m important and I’m engaged,’ not ‘it’s summer and I’m five years old.’” Jimin dismisses my choice and I roll my eyes at him. “Are you rolling your eyes at me?”

“No.” We both know that’s a lie.

I duck into the fitting room, pulling on dresses and getting lost in layers of fabric. I frown at the mirror and adjust the straps, not feeling the halter neck.

“Jimin, why are most of these dresses black?”

“It’s Jungkook’s favorite color on a girl.”

“What about my favorite color?”

“Irrelevant.” 

I fly out of the fitting room at that, protesting and ready to flail at Jimin to get him dresses that suit me better.

“Go try on another one.” Jimin snorts. “You look like you’re a kid who just put on her mother’s apron.”

Sulking, I duck back into the fitting room and yank at the fabric irritably. I wouldn’t be this cross with dress hunting if I wasn’t so hungry.

“No.”

“Nope.”

“No way.”

And his best reaction? Straight up laughter.

After a mound of dresses, I was starting to give up. “Try this one on,” He hands me a gown in a bag with a shrug. “The store employee suggested it.”

“Fine.” I huff, jerking the bag open and pausing as I look at it. Black, again. Regardless, I slip it on, turn to look in the mirror, and raise my eyebrows. I feel pleasantly surprised.

“Jimin!” I announce, flinging the curtains to the dressing room aside. “What do you think?” I twirl slightly, and he on the inside of his cheek.

The off-the-shoulder dress was completely black with a slight train, but it molded to my body in such a flattering way that I would be surprised if Jimin said no.

His mouth opens and the first thing he says is, “For some reason, you look like a monarch and you expect the world to do your bidding.”

“Perfect,” I smirk. It was flattering, elegant, and a bit on the conservative side. It would be perfect.

The shop employee hurries over, getting my measurements and checking if it needed tailoring. Jimin laughs when the employee says that it should be shortened by a centimeter or two, and sobers up immediately when I point out that he needed his tuxedo shortened.

I pay and we finally can leave, and the first place I drag Jimin to is the café across the street, in desperate need of food after the harrowing experience of dress shopping.

The door to the café tinkles with our entrance, and we seat ourselves into a booth. Jimin stretches and I curl my arms around my head.

“So are you finally going to tell me what I saw the other day on Jungkook’s couch?”

“Not really.”

“It looked like it was something.”

“We didn’t do that,” I say bluntly.

Jimin bursts into laughter, “Never said you did, but that makes it more suspicious.”

My voice drops to a whisper, “It wasn’t that night. It was the morning after that was the problem.”

“Please tell me you didn’t leave before he woke up again. I don’t think he needed another bruise to his ego.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get,” I toss my hair out of the way while scanning the menu. “How was it a bruise to his ego in the first place?”

“I know it wasn’t your intention,” He sighs, “but think about it from his perspective. You come back in the middle of the night, saying nothing and unable to talk to him, and he helps you clean off and puts you to sleep. Wouldn’t it be like using him?”

I pause, the words sinking in. And my gut sinks along with them. “I messed up.”

“You did,” Jimin nods, pointing at something on the menu for the waiter. “So what happened the morning after?”

I jab my finger randomly on the menu, not really caring what I ate as long as I ate something. “He asked me how far I was wi