[A/N: This is a triple update, starting at Chapter Four. 

 

Trigger warnings: repeated bad decision making; toxic relationships]

 

 

 

 

 

At age twenty-eight, Jimin has new friends.  He lives in Ilsan, in a new flat, with a new living room.

 

It pales in comparison.

 

It’s not quite far away enough to excuse his old friends from visiting – but he won’t call them out on it. The journey’s a bit of a nuisance.

 

They text, sometimes.

 

It’s nice.

 

He’s thought about calling them, of inviting them to visit.

 

But.

 

He’s never convinced that they would want him to, and he’s terrified of holding on too long.

 

Jeongguk calls – via the internet, of course. He’s still in America, too early for a citizenship but not so early he isn’t thinking of it. They video chat, sometimes, though that always seems to make Jimin feel floaty. Jeongguk always looks well, if a little tired. Jimin thinks he probably just looks tired, because whenever Jeongguk sees him he looks at him with big pitying eyes that make Jimin grit a smile in response. Jeongguk smiles back, sometimes. Jimin is glad that after all these years he can still make Jeongguk smile. Wishes he could see it in person. He probably could, if he really wanted to, but.

 

But.

 

He’s never convinced that Jeongguk would want him to, and he’s terrified of being a nuisance.

 

Admittedly, Jeongguk has recently hinted at the possibility of visiting each other. But he can’t bring it up, right? Can’t ask him. Can’t risk asking him for Jeongguk to say no. They skirt around it, and it’s never been clear – never enough for Jimin to risk it.

 

“I want to see you before the wedding, though.”

 

Until now, apparently.

 

Jimin is in the middle of a fridge isle at his local supermarket, holding a carton of yoghurt.

 

“The wedding is in two months, Gguk.”

 

Jimin reminds him patiently, trying to decide on a flavour, or if he wants the yoghurt at all.

 

“So?”

 

Jimin sighs. Shivers. It’s cold.

 

“I can’t just drop everything and come to Boston you know, no matter how cool you make it sound.”

 

“It’s not actually that cool, I’ve just been trying to get you to visit – but apparently that was too subtle for you.”

 

Jeongguk is teasing, Jimin can hear the smile in his voice. He grits a smile back. Puts the yoghurt back.

 

“Well you were awfully convincing.”

 

“How about I come early for the wedding, stay in Ilsan for a week?”

 

Moves out from between the fridges.

 

“Why would you do that?”

 

Jimin doesn’t mean the harsh edge that colours his response, but he can hear it there as clearly as Jeongguk must be able to and he wishes he could change the subject. Feels people looking at him as he pulls his trolley to a stop.

 

“Oh, hell, I don’t know, to see you?”

 

Jeongguk sounds like he’s frowning. Jimin frowns too.

 

“I’ll have work, Gguk.”

 

The edge is still there. People are still looking.

 

“Well I could come the weekend before, then? Chim, I just want to see you.”

 

Jeongguk sounds placating, tone gentle. Jimin bristles.

 

“You’ll see me at the wedding.”

 

Jimin doesn’t know why he’s struggling so much with this. Why he’s being so needlessly confrontational. Marches back into the fridge section and glowers at the yoghurt again.

 

“I miss you.”

 

But he deflates at that. Can’t help but smile, floaty.

 

“I miss you too.”

 

“Promise?”

 

Laughs, a little.

 

“Promise.”

 

He really does miss him.

 

“Okay, good.”

 

Jimin wonders if he wants strawberry or vanilla.

 

Jeongguk is quiet.

 

“You don’t sound like you believe it.”

 

Jimin is sad that, after all these years, he makes Jeongguk quiet.

 

“Sometimes I think you put on a show.”

 

He won’t deny it.

 

“I try not to with you.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Stares at the vanilla.

 

“Is that enough?”

 

Jeongguk sighs.

 

“Guess it has to be.”

 

Jimin hates how quiet Jeongguk has gotten. He wants to fix it, but he’s scared. He’s scared that he shouldn’t miss someone like Jeongguk. Scared that he should. Doesn’t know if he should want to see him, or not.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Picks up the vanilla, moves it to the cart.

 

“I loved you, you know that, right Jimin?”

 

Freezes. Nearly drops the ing yoghurt. Shoves it back on the shelf and moves out of the isle.

 

“Don’t say like that.”

 

“I mean it, though.”

 

Jimin glowers, yanking the trolley to a stop.

 

“Then you should have told me then.”

 

He knows he sounds angry.

 

“Chim-”

 

Jeongguk sounds panicked.

 

“What use is it now?”

 

He sounds angry. He sounds upset.

 

“Jimin-”

 

“Jimin?”

 

Jimin startles at the new voice. Turns around to face it and freezes.

 

“Jimin, please tell me you know.”

 

Jeongguk still sounds panicked.

 

Jimin stares.

 

“I’ll call you back, Gguk.”

 

“Jimin-”

 

He hangs up.

 

Lowers the arm holding the phone.

 

Watches as Taehyung lifts his, offering him that stupid carton of yoghurt.

 

“Strawberry’s your favourite, right?”

 

Jimin knows this is a bad idea. He knows it – a ten year old’s fear in his throat and in his stomach all the way down to his toes – but. But.

 

But.

 

He takes the yoghurt. Taehyung beams.

 

“Do you have plans for lunch? There’s a little place around the corner, has that brand of ramyun – the one you can never find.”

 

“I-” Jimin pauses. “The soupless one?”

 

“Mmhm. In onion.”

 

“Okay. What the are you doing here?”

 

Taehyung laughs.

 

“I can tell you over lunch. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Jimin doesn’t ask why, or what has changed. He knows the risk, but now that they’re here, in the same space, and Taehyung is smiling at him – the risk can itself.

 

They are older now, more mature. Jimin is warier of Taehyung’s boundaries. It can be different this time.

 

Third time’s the charm, after all.

 

Quietly, Jimin thinks that Yoongi is going to kill him, if Jeongguk doesn’t get to him first.

 

But.

 

It’s too easy to slip back into their old dynamic, laughing at Taehyung’s antics over convenience store ramyun. Too easy to reminisce about old friends and past lives, when his new friends and new life pales in comparison – memories tinted pink.

 

He hates his living room.

 

It’s too easy to exchange numbers and promise to meet again soon, ignoring the fact it’s a new number now. Too easy to pretend Taehyung never left, now that he’s back – because he always comes back.

 

Taehyung smiles so wide, and laughs so loud, and makes Jimin feel like he has something to hold on to.

 

It’s too easy to act like that’s enough, when Jimin knows it shouldn’t be.

 

It’s too easy to be Taehyung’s sometimes-important person, as long as he’s worth something.

 

Is he worth something to Taehyung? Jimin hopes he’s worth something. He remembered Jimin’s favourites, that has to mean he’s worth something.

 

Taehyung was never perfect, and Jimin needs to be needed.

 

That has to be enough.

 

Jimin knows it isn’t enough.

 

It’s too easy to act like it’s enough.

 

But.

 

But.

 

But.