Jimin came home the night before Jin’s wedding and announced that it was date night. Haru, Sun Jae, and I were sitting around the kitchen table (Sun Jae in his high chair, of course) eating dinner. As it was a Saturday, Isabel had the day off and I had spent the day entertaining the kids and trying to organize their old clothes for donation purposes. I was still wearing my pajamas from the night before, my curls were frizzy and unwashed, and I had a zit on the side of my nose. I was nowhere near ready for a date night, unless it involved laying on the couch watching television and falling asleep at 8 p.m.

“We don’t have a babysitter,” I pointed out.

Jimin grinned at me. “Jungkook said he’d watch the kids.”

I glanced at the clock. It was almost 7 p.m. If I jumped in the shower now and dried my hair with a diffuser, I might be ready by 8 o’clock. Maybe.

Did I have any clean clothes?

“Where do you wanna go?” I asked my husband, who kissed Sun Jae’s forehead and patted Haru’s curls.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Intriguing,” I replied. “What should I wear?”

“Something cool.”

“Okay, like jeans and a flannel kind of cool, or like leather skirt and velvet crop top kind of cool?”

Jimin raised his eyebrows and his lips with a cheeky smile. “Um, definitely the second outfit. That sounds incredibly y.”

I tapped my chin in thought. “Well, then maybe I’ll just put some product in my hair and throw it up. Ooh, maybe I’ll do pigtail buns. Cause that black velvet choker you have works really well with that outfit and I wanna show off my neck.”

He smiled at me, then seeing the smitten expression on my face (I could feel myself melting), shyly ducked his head down and peeked up at me through his shaggy black bangs.

So in love.

Jimin always looked so effortlessly cool that I couldn’t help feeling frustrated sometimes. All sorts of frustrated: ually frustrated, stylistically frustrated (he always looked so much better than I did!), you name it. Couldn’t the boy just look ugly every once in a while so my heart could take a break?

We’d ended up down the street in our neighborhood, Hongdae, at a concert for one of our favorite indie artists, as per usual. We hadn’t been to too many concerts since we’d moved to Hongdae, but this was Jimin’s absolute favorite type of date night. I would have thought that he’d like to take a break from music and the concert atmosphere every once in a while, but no. He stood next to me in the crowd, gently swaying to the music, head tilted back and eyes closed, singing along to the song.

The artist, a girl named Birdy, often sang a lot of covers of other songs we loved. She was singing re:stacks by Bon Iver, a solid favorite of mine. I listened to on repeat back when Jimin and I first started dating and before we lived together. I’d curl up in the window seat in my living room and write poetry dedicated to the look in his eyes when he gazed into mine, the curve of his smile, the way he brushed his hair back with his fingers and his lips. There was even one entitled “Ode to a Nose.” I did so love Jimin’s nose.

Mostly, though, I’d written about the tingles I felt on our first dates, how my blood rushed and my pulse raced when we linked pinkies for the first time, too shy to hold hands but so eager to touch. I wrote about the way it felt when he first kissed me, the ocean waves lapping at our feet. How his jacket smelled of him, how his little selfies and texts made me smile in the middle of a stressful workday. There were so many poems dedicated to the rough scratch of his sleepy voice and the way it sent shivers down my spine. So many tearstained pages in my journal when I thought he would leave me for his best friend, Gemma.

When things weren’t so new, the poetry petered out a bit, but the prose improved. I could have written a dissertation on the specific parted pout of Jimin’s lips when he was deep in sleep. If he was in the shower, I would sit outside the door with my back against it and listen to him sing absentmindedly to himself and write down the snatches of lyrics I heard, trying to glean his thoughts from them and if he was thinking of me.

I was so desperately in love with him and he never even noticed until I told him one day.

The song ended and Birdy began my favorite song, another throwback to our early days. It was called “Tee Shirt,” and I’d doodled the lyrics on a million scraps of paper while thinking of Jimin.

“In the morning when you wake up, I like to believe you are thinking of me. And when the sun comes through your window, I like to believe you’ve been dreaming of me.”

I looked again at Jimin, who was utterly absorbed in watching Birdy sing, and took his hand in mine. He turned in surprise, but quickly smiled at the look in my eyes. He interlaced our fingers and sang a bit of the song to me.

“When I saw you, everyone knew I liked the effect that you had on my eyes. But no one else heard the weight of your words or felt the effect that they have on my mind.”

Jimin’s small smile held so much tenderness, his brown eyes so much warmth. He squeezed my hand and turned his attention back to the concert, but I wasn’t ready to relinquish him quite yet. I pushed forward and kissed his cheek, then the right side of his nose (the closest side to me), then the corner of his mouth. He grinned and nudged his shoulder against mine.

When the song finished, Birdy spoke into the microphone.

“Hey guys, thank you for being a great audience tonight. It’s been so much fun; I always love playing in Hongdae! Before I go, I wanted to do a cover of a BTS song.”

Jimin squeaked in excitement.

Birdy shook out her long hair and strummed a few chords on her guitar. “It’ll just be the chorus, hope you guys don’t mind. Do you guys know the song Epilogue: Young Forever?”

A few cheers of assent came from the crowd while Jimin stood by looking shy.

Birdy began plucking the medley on her guitar, and Jimin softly sung the lyrics. I was sure that only I could hear him, but a couple of people turned around at the sound of his voice.

“Forever, we are young. Under the flower petals I run, so lost in this maze. Forever, we are young. Even when I fall and hurt myself, I keep running towards my dream.”

Jimin closed his eyes and let go of my hand, doing some of the choreography to the song.

“Forever, ever ever ever. Forever, ever ever we are young. Forever, ever ever ever. Forever, we are young.”

Jimin’s voice steadily grew louder. When Birdy paused to take a breath, she missed a cue and Jimin’s voice was the only one singing in the audience. Shocked, she stopped and peered into the crowd, eyes scrunched in concentration.

I nudged Jimin, who was still swaying to the music, which was now only in his head. His eyes flew open and he looked at me rather sourly, as if to reproach me for ruining the moment.

“Um…I know this sounds crazy and maybe I’m just imagining things, but is Park Jimin in the audience? I thought I heard him singing.”

Jimin squeaked and his hands flew to his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Was it possible to have a date night without Jimin getting recognized?

Jimin hid his face in my shoulder and I died internally at how cute he was. I wouldn’t blow his cover.

Birdy shrugged. “Okay, guess it must have just been wishful thinking on my part. Guys, I just wanna thank you for being an excellent audience. Here’s my last song.”

As she launched into the first verse, Jimin s his arms around my waist and tucked his face in the crook of my neck.

“I can’t believe she recognized my voice,” he said, his voice muffled. His breath was warm against my neck. I pulled him closer for a hug.

“Well, you have a very distinctive and beautiful voice. Maybe you’re her favorite member or something. We should totally sneak backstage and meet her or something.”

“Noooo,” he moaned pathetically into my neck. “That’s so embarrassing.”

I kissed his hair. He smelled like sweat and his expensive aftershave.

“I bet she’ll love it. I’d love it if someone I was a fan of also enjoyed my music. You guys could be mutual fans.”

“No, no. Let’s go get a drink or something. Let’s go to a club!”

Jimin knew I pretty much hated clubs. He knew I couldn’t stand the loud music, the crowded dance floor, and the way the bartenders always ignored me in favor of prettier girls. He also knew how much I loved to watch him dance, and so he always got what he wanted when he begged me to go to a club with him.

I sat perched on a barstool as Jimin danced his little heart out on the dance floor, sensually swaying his hips to the beat of the music. My drink was warm in an unpleasant way and my leather skirt stuck to the back of my sweaty thighs, but it was fun to watch Jimin enjoy himself so carefreely. A few girls and one very handsome boy danced with him, but every so often he would turn and catch my eye, then wink.

A favorite club song of his came on and I watched as Jimin smiled widely, showing his teeth. God, he looked so beautiful; I swear my brain short-circuited sometimes when he smiled like that.

Jimin was familiar and tantalizing and beautiful and everything I’d ever wanted.

He sauntered over to me, pushing his sweaty hair back from his brow, and smirked.

“Baby,” he cooed, placing his hands on my hips and drawing me towards him. Our foreheads touched.

“Come dance with me.”

I quietly refused, a little mesmerized by his eyes.

“Sweetheart, please. We never dance together anymore.” He toyed with the velvet choker around my neck.

“I just like watching you dance,” I murmured. “You’re so pretty.”

There was a certain shy, pleased look Jimin had whenever anyone complimented him. I loved that look; it made me want to spend all my time telling him how beautiful he was.

Jimin turned his face away to hide his smile, but I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. He eagerly returned my kiss, winding his arms around me in a tight hold. I ran my fingers through his hair and he moaned, just the softest little moan.

It was enough to make me wish that we were alone.

He broke away and swiped his tongue across his lips, looking at me through lowered lashes. He took my hands in his and softly kissed my cheek.

“Baby,” Jimin whispered in my ear. “Please dance with me?”

How could I refuse?

Whenever Jimin managed to coerce me onto the dance floor at a club, he was always so extra with his dance moves. It wasn’t the regular club dancing I’d done in my youth, like just grinding up against each other (although that was involved), because Jimin could actually dance. He would do his little hip s or place his hands on the small of my back until they gradually lowered to my , or he would leave hickeys on my neck like we were teenagers.

I felt a heady rush of joy at being together with him like this. When was the last time we’d gone dancing? When was the last time we’d been together without a dark cloud of foreboding and regret hanging over us?

God, it was nice to be there with him, being held and protected and cherished. I never wanted to leave the warmth of his embrace.

Jimin kissed along my ear, gently nibbling on my earlobe. “Hey,” he mumbled, “let’s get drunk tonight.”

“I’m down. But we have to wake up early for Jin’s wedding.”

He tightened his hold on me and rested his forehead against mine. “ Jin’s wedding. I wanna get drunk with you.”

“Yeah! But let’s not do it here; the drinks are too expensive.”

Jimin and I held hands on the way to the convenience store. He wore a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a black face mask so people wouldn’t recognize him, but people kept staring at him anyway. Because who the wore sunglasses at night?

“Jimin, can you please take your sunglasses off?” I hissed, tugging at his hand. He reluctantly complied, although we both knew that his eyes were pretty recognizable. They were one of his most unique features.

We bought two bottles of soju at 7-11, then walked along the Han River. It was still a little cold at night, so Jimin pulled me close to keep me warm.

“Drink,” he smiled, offering me one of the bottles. “That’ll warm you right up.”

I took a gulp and kissed his nose.

We sat down on a bench and drank, still holding hands. Neither of us spoke. I knew we would both get talkative once the alcohol hit, but it was nice to sit in the quiet for a while.

JIMIN’S POV

I had insisted on going on a date that night because Jin’s wedding was the next day. I wasn’t sure how it would go.

If I had my way, my wife wouldn’t attend. Haru and I wouldn’t be in it, and it would be just another day. We’d stay home and play with the kids. The two of us would snuggle and watch television while Haru and Sun Jae napped. Maybe we’d have , but probably we wouldn’t.

As it was, I wasn’t going to get my way. We were all going to be at Jin’s wedding, except little Sun Jae. I’d have to watch my wife watch Jin get married and pray so fervently that I didn’t see regret in her eyes.

My biggest fear? That somehow she and Jin would meet alone before the ceremony and run away together.

I looked over at her while we sat on the bench. Her hand was cold in mine, but I didn’t mind. She took a long gulp of soju.

“Don’t drink too quickly,” I cautioned her. “I don’t wanna have to carry you home.”

She grinned and laid her head on my shoulder. “I know you will, even if you don’t want to.”

“Are you getting drunk or just falling asleep?”

“Falling asleep,” she yawned, right on cue. “’M old, Jimin. I can’t party like I used to.”

I scoffed. “You’re still young enough to binge drink. You’re still my shot queen, right, babe?”

“Chiminie…take me home. I wanna kiss my babies goodnight,” my wife whined. She snuggled up against me and kissed my shoulder through my overcoat.

“Nah, girl. We’re getting drunk tonight.”

She sighed and sat up. “Okay. But I’m gonna need you to sing Ariana Grande’s ‘God is a Woman’ to me.”

I watched as my wife stood and walked towards the river. She must have been freezing in her outfit, but she didn’t shiver. A few tendrils of curls hung at the nape of her neck, and when she stretched her arms up in a yawn I could see the curves of her body.

“Jimin!” she called to me. “Come here. I wanna hug.” She took another sip of her soju and leaned her head back, exhaling loudly. “Wanna feel your strong arms around me.”

How could I resist that temptation?

She snuggled into me as I held her close, her back against my chest. She smelled amazing, like her Daisy perfume and Sun Jae in the morning.

“You smell like Sun Jae,” I whispered in her ear. She hummed and moved into my touch. I kissed her ear, her jawline, her neck. I wanted to take her home and kiss her everywhere.

Deep down, I kinda had the feeling that maybe tonight would be our last chance together.

Maybe tomorrow at Jin’s wedding, something between us would break that couldn’t be fixed. I just knew if I saw her watching Jin getting married with an emotion anything other than friendly disinterest (she didn’t like Anjali; I couldn’t expect her to be happy about it), then something in me would break.

I loved her, but there was only so much I could take.

So I wanted to spend tonight making memories. Just in case.

She turned around in my grasp and peered up at me. The silly expression on her face tipped me off to the fact that she must be getting drunk.

“You look sad,” she waved a finger in my face. “You’re not allowed to be sad. Only happy.”

I flashed her a smile. “Is that better, my love?”

She shook her head, and curls bounced around her pretty face. “No, you should actually be kissing me.”

“I’m happy to oblige,” I murmured, brushing my lips against hers. She threw her arms around my neck and pulled me in close, so abruptly that I stumbled. Her soju bottle was clasped loosely in one hand; it touched the back of my neck and the condensation trickled down my skin.

God, she tasted like Hennessy and soju and the strawberry Chupa-Chups the bartender had given her. Just for being cute, he’d said.

She was cute. Was it weird to still be so in love with her? Shouldn’t this feeling have died down after eight years?

“Jimin, you gotta drink,” she scolded me, putting the bottle to her lips. “You’re the one who wanted to get drunk! You gotta drink it.”

I tucked a curl behind her ear and kissed her forehead. “Who will take care of you if I’m drunk?”

“I!” she cried, smacking a hand across her chest, “I can take care of myself!”

I held her by her waist, feeling so fond and tender. “I know you can. I know.”

She tapped my nose with her finger and giggled. “But I like when you take care of me.”

I kissed her, hard. She moaned a little and tugged me closer, one hand curling into my hair. I placed my hands on her waist, fingers lightly brushing the exposed skin of her stomach.

“Jiminie,” she cooed in between kisses, “you’re not drunk.”

“No, I’m not,” I murmured in agreement, “but you seem to be.”

“Nuh-uh! I’m just a li’l tipsy.”

I snorted. “Girl, you just drank half a bottle of soju in ten minutes. You ain’t tipsy, you’re drunk.”

She laid her head against my shoulder and sighed. “I love alcohol.”

“I love you,” I whispered. When I turned my head to kiss her forehead, her eyelashes fluttered closed.

When my wife got drunk, she typically wanted to eat everything in sight, especially things she didn’t normally eat. That night, she had a hankering for cake and ice cream.

“Pick one,” I told her. “We’re not getting both cake and ice cream tonight.”

“Jimin! Why do you hateeeee me? Let me eat dessert, oh my gooood.”

“We can go to A Twosome Place or Baskin Robbins, but we’re not going to both! It’s too much dessert; you’ll get sick.”

“It’s my business if I want to get sick! It’s my business, Jimin.”

“Oh my god. Okay, let’s just go to Baskin Robbins. It’s right here.”

She pouted. “I wanted cake first.”

The Baskin Robbins was playing a BTS song, which my wife loudly pointed out as we walked inside. I flushed in embarrassment as she started to sing off-key, but you know, it was also endearing. People started to stare, so I herded her to a table and made her sit down. She put her head on the table and mumbled that she wanted mint chocolate chip.

There was no way for me to stay low-key when my wife was loudly calling my name across the store. I was trying to buy her some damn ice cream! Why was she harassing me?

“Hey, Jimin! Jiminie! Park Jimin! Why are your…your songs always playin’ everywhere? Why’re you so popular?”

“Oh my god,” I muttered, flushing bright red and trying to hide. People progressed from staring to taking pictures and videos. I couldn’t take this girl anywhere!

By the time our order was ready, my wife had stopped calling to me and instead just sang along to the song. She giggled to herself every so often, which was incredibly adorable, albeit still embarrassing.

I shoved the ice cream at her. “Can you just eat this and stop causing me pain?”

“But I wanted caaaaake,” she whined. “I wanted cake with my ice cream.”

“Hey! Just eat it!”

She glared at me, head cupped in one hand and curls spilling every which way. I laughed at her, and her cute little pout deepened into a frown.

“You should be…ni-nicer to me,” she slurred. “I’ve given you! The best years of my life.”

“Mmhmm,” I agreed, taking a bite of my ice cream.

“And two…two kids! That’s a lot, Jimin. That’s so many.”

“Is it? Is it that many?”

She tried to shoot me a dirty look, but ended up giggling instead. So cute.

She didn’t finish her ice cream, so I ended up eating hers as well. It was for the best; she’d be bloated and sick for Jin’s wedding in the morning.

“Jimin,” she tugged on the sleeve of my jacket. “Give this to me. ‘M cold.”

I shrugged out of it and helped her put her arms through the sleeves. Her teeth chattered as she snuggled tight up against me, grasping my arm. I took her hand and interlaced our fingers.

Wearing my jacket, with her hair up in those pigtail buns and that choker around her neck, she looked so young. Like she could have been the confident twenty-two year old that waltzed into my life and changed it forever.

I’d always thought I would find the kind of love we had. We met while I was still too young and inexperienced to be that jaded, but I had come to see the ugly forms love could take, especially as my friends got in and out of relationships.

Especially as I watched my love fall in love with someone else.

She kissed my arm, murmured something about how my skin was cold (duh, she had my jacket), and closed her eyes. I squeezed her hand and kissed the top of one of her little hair buns.

“Chim!”

“Sunshine!”

She pouted up at me and I kissed her forehead.

“Jimin, you said you were gonna get drunk, but you didn’t. I’m the only drunk one.”

“I know, baby. I know you are. But listen, it’s good because now I can take you home and we’ll all be safe.”

“Can I get a piggyback ride?”

I surveyed her outfit for a moment. “You’re wearing a short leather skirt. Do you think it’ll be okay if you put your legs around my waist?”

She nodded, trying to look serious. “Your waist isn’t even big. It’s fine.”

I knelt and she flung her arms around my neck and snuggled her face against my back.

“You smell good,” she whispered. “Chim, I’m tired.”

“Go to sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

She sang me a sleepy little song as I walked the four blocks to our apartment. It was late; all the university students were still out partying. When we were younger, we sometimes stayed out until the morning, but now that we were older my wife conked out around 2 a.m. Besides, we had kids. We couldn’t sleep in the next day anymore. But still, I missed the days when we’d hold hands and walk around Hongdae, going to concerts and eating cheap, delicious food, buying unique clothes from the street markets. It was nice to be out having youthful fun again.

“Hey,” she whispered suddenly, leaning in close so our cheeks touched. “You know what I wanna eat? Your custard tarts.”

Wow, I hadn’t heard her ask for those in a long time. I used to make them for her on a weekly basis.

“Yeah, okay. I don’t think you’ll stay up until they’re done baking, but alright.”

“Jimin, wait. I wanna eat heottok. Let’s get some heotteok. No wait, bulgogi. I wanna eat bulgogi!!!”

I shifted her thighs in my grasp. “Babe, it’s time for bed. Let’s go home so we can be well-rested for Jin’s wedding tomorrow.”

She stopped whining immediately and settled into an abrupt silence.

“Did you forget?” I prompted.

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you sad now?”

She nodded and I felt a tear hit my collarbone. I felt a visceral, knee-jerk reaction to drop her in the street and let her find her way home by herself. Why was she crying over someone else when I was right there?

Instead I gave her thigh a gentle squeeze and hummed soothingly.

“If you…if you wanna be with him, I…won’t stop you,” I offered haltingly. My voice cracked and I heard her sniffle.

She didn’t say anything, just hid her face in my shirt and started to weep.

People started to stare. We were only two blocks from our apartment, but I just couldn’t walk anymore. My wife was weeping because she loved someone else and his wedding was the next day.

I set her down on a bench and crouched down in front of her. She buried her face in her hands, but tears leaked through her fingers and fell onto her thighs.

I placed my hand on her knee and asked in a whisper, “Do you love him that much?”

She didn’t reply. I wondered if she could hear me over the sound of her own weeping.

I sat down next to her and pulled her into my lap. She laid her head on my shoulder and put her arms around my neck. Haru cried like this, too. I was used to being covered in tears and snot, I just wasn’t used to them belonging to my wife.

“It’s okay,” I patted her head. “Let it all out.”

She hiccupped once, twice, then sniffled and pressed a soft kiss on my neck.

“’M sorry,” she murmured. “I’m…drunker than I thought I was.”

“It’s okay,” I repeated. “You don’t need to apologize for having emotions.”

My wife cuddled closer to me, moving one hand to cup my face. She looked up into my eyes, and I saw how her waterproof mascara had clumped in the corners of her eyes. I brushed the residue away and gently kissed her nose.

“If there is any part of you that still loves me, please stay with me,” I mumbled. “I don’t…I don’t know how to live without you.”

“Jimin,” she patted my cheek. “Jimin, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“I know you love me,” I continued, feeling like I was trying to convince myself. “I see it in your eyes again these days. You look all warm and content, like…like Hollis when he wakes up in the morning and snuggles next to me.”

She pulled my face close so our foreheads touched. “Jimin, I think I’ll always love you.”

“Then why are you crying? Why are you weeping because Jin’s getting married?”

“I was just thinkin’…thinking about how sad you’ve been? I know you’re, like, all in’…” she paused and hiccupped, “stressed out about Jin’s wedding. But, baby, I’m not gonna leave you. I just felt so sad about how sad you’ve been. I don’t know, does that make sense?”

I stared into her beautiful, tearful eyes and whispered that yes, it made perfect sense.

“I’m just happy that you exist in the world, no matter who you love,” I told her.

She burst into tears. I stared at her, nonplussed.

“Jimin, that’s so ing cheesy and also the sweetest thing you have ever said to me?” My wife sniffled. She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. “Can you carry me home? I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh god, don’t throw up on me.”

By the time we got home, she was asleep on my back (thankfully vomit-free). I woke her up enough to get her to wash her face, brush her teeth, and change into some pajamas. While she did that, I snuck into our kids’ rooms and kissed them goodnight. Jungkook was asleep on our couch in the living room and I gave him a goodnight kiss on the forehead, too.

She wore my t-shirt and boxers to bed, her hair still up in the two little messy pigtail buns. We snuggled together on our giant king-size bed, surrounded by the cats and Yukon. She kissed my cheek and told me I was “so in’ beautiful, oh my god, how can one person contain so much beauty?” I kissed her and told her she smelled like alcohol.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she started to softly snore. I placed my hand on the small of her back and pulled her ever closer, so our legs were intertwined and our foreheads touched.

I felt so lucky to hold her like this, to have this life with her. To be able to witness the unromantic, inconsequential things like her snoring, the messy way she tied her hair up at night, the drool that always somehow managed to wet her pillowcase (gross), and the way she murmured the names of people she loved in her sleep. And also asked for dessert.

“You’re my best friend,” I whispered, kissing her beautiful face. “You have given me the best years of my life, and I could never thank you enough.”

She snuffled in her sleep and I fell a little bit deeper in love, (as if it were even possible).

It was always possible to love her more, and impossible to think of living my life without loving her.

We were for forever, she and I.