Jimin

Jiyong: Gotta love rain. Looks like I’ll be there early. I’m coming alone, though. I keep looking at the words on the laptop.

Me: See you when you get here. Oh, and before you leave tomorrow, make sure you get all your out of Jungkook’s room.

Jiyong: Will he be there? Do I finally get to meet the boy who was brought to this earth for us?

Me: Yeah, he’ll be here.

Jiyong: I can’t believe I’ve never asked this, but is he hot?

Oh, no.

Me: Don’t even think about it. He’s been though too much to be added to your list of concubines.

Jiyong: Territorial, are we?

I toss my phone onto the bed and don’t even bother with a reply. If I make him too off-limits to him, it’ll just make him try that much harder with him.

When he made the joke last night about screwing him, he was trying to add humor to the seriousness of the situation, but the way his text made me feel terrified.

It wasn’t the fact that he texted about hooking up with someone. What terrified me was my knee-jerk reaction. I wanted to throw my phone against the wall and smash it into a million pieces, then throw him against the wall and show him all the ways I could ensure that he never thinks about another man again.

I didn’t like feeling that way. I probably should encourage Jiyong. Maybe it would be better for my relationship with Yoongi if Jungkook actually started dating someone else.

Whoa.

The wave of jealousy that just rolled over me felt more like a tsunami.

I walk out of my bedroom and head to the kitchen to help Jungkook get things together for dinner before everyone gets here. I pause when I see him bent over, rummaging through the contents of the refrigerator. He’s wearing the blue shirt again.

I hate it when Namjoon is right. My eyes slowly scroll from the shirt, down his tanned legs, and back up again. I exhale and contemplate asking him to go change. I’m not sure I can deal with this tonight. Especially when Yoongi gets here.

Jungkook straightens up, pulls away from the refrigerator, and turns toward the counter. I notice he’s talking, but he isn’t talking to me. He pulls a bowl out of the refrigerator, and his mouth is still moving, so naturally, my eyes scan the rest of the apartment to see who it is he’s talking to.

And that’s when both halves of my heart-which were somehow still connected by a small, invisible fiber-snap apart and separate completely.

Yoongi is standing in front of the bathroom door, eyeing me hard. I can’t read his expression; because it’s not one I’ve ever been exposed to before. The half of my heart that belongs to him immediately begins to panic.

Look innocent, Jimin. Look innocent. All you did was looking at him.

I smile. “There’s my boy,” I sign as I walk to him. The fact that I’m somehow able to hide my guilt seems to ease his concern. He smiles back and wraps his arms around my neck when I reach him. I slip my arms around his waist and kiss him for the first time in two weeks.

God, I’ve missed him. He feels so good. So familiar.