TRIPTYCH || JIKOOK

00

It all starts with a cardigan.

A too-big, baby blue cardigan hanging halfway off Jimin's shoulder as he stands outside the café in the rain, arms wrapped around himself like he's trying to fold into nothing. His shoes are wet. His hair's dripping. His phone's at 2%, and his Uber canceled on him three times already.

And that's when Y/N sees him—right through the fogged-up window of their favorite booth. She nudges Jungkook's arm, eyes locked on the shivering figure outside.

"Look," she says softly. "He's freezing."

Jungkook glances up from his matcha latte and blinks. "Is that... a sweater or a security blanket?"

Y/N snorts. "Could be both."

They don't usually rescue strangers. In fact, Jungkook's the kind of guy who crosses the street to avoid street surveys, and Y/N once ghosted someone just because they said "LOL" in person. But something about the boy outside—the drooped shoulders, the round cheeks, the way his sleeves cover his hands like he doesn't want to touch the world—makes something stir.

Without thinking, Y/N grabs her umbrella.

And that's how they meet Jimin.

He's shy. He's polite. He talks like he's worried he'll get in trouble for it. When Y/N offers to let him come inside and dry off, he hesitates like it's a trick.

Jungkook leans out next to her, grinning like a fox. "We've got cookies."

And just like that, Jimin follows.

They don't know it yet, but Jimin's not just a regular kind of quiet. He's the kind of quiet that comes from holding your breath for too long. From being soft in a world that doesn't know what to do with soft things. From needing something you can't name.

He curls up in the booth like he's trying to disappear.

Y/N buys him a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. Jungkook offers his hoodie because it's dry and smells like vanilla detergent and boy.

They don't ask too many questions. Not that night.

They just talk. Or, well—Y/N talks, Jungkook jokes, and Jimin listens like it's the first time someone's letting him.

⸻

Over the next few weeks, Jimin sort of... sticks around.

He texts Y/N about random stuff like stickers he finds or weird dreams he has. Jungkook teaches him how to play Mario Kart and then immediately regrets it when Jimin kicks his ass with a cheerful "Oopsie!" every time he wins.

He's gentle. Soft-spoken. Loves plushies. Always wears sleeves too long. Sometimes he goes really, really quiet, and they'll find him staring at a nightlight or humming to himself in the corner.

Y/N notices it first. The little things. The way Jimin lights up when she gives him a juice box instead of coffee. How he holds her hand with both of his like he's scared it'll float away.

Then one night, it clicks.

They're sitting on the couch, watching cartoons for "nostalgia" even though Y/N's pretty sure Jimin actually just loves them. Jungkook is half-asleep, and Jimin's tucked into Y/N's side, wearing his favorite pastel socks with the ducks on them.

She hears him whisper, barely audible, "I like it here."

Her heart melts. "Yeah?"

"It feels... safe."

Y/N brushes his bangs from his eyes. "You're always safe here, baby."

And that's when it happens. Jimin looks up at her with wide, glassy eyes—those big doe eyes that are way too honest—and he whispers,

"Can I call you Mommy?"

Time stops. Jungkook's eyes snap open.

Y/N freezes for a beat, because whoa, okay, that was fast—but Jimin's already pulling back, shame crawling across his face like a shadow.

"Sorry," he blurts. "Forget I said that, I didn't mean—"

"Yes," Y/N says, before he can spiral. "Yes, baby. You can."

And Jungkook, who's now fully sitting up, smiles like he's been waiting for this moment.

"Guess that makes me Daddy, huh?"

Jimin chokes on air. "Wha—no, I—!"

Jungkook laughs and pokes his cheek. "Too late. You said it in your sleep two nights ago, don't think I didn't hear."

Jimin groans and hides his face in Y/N's lap like the world's most embarrassed kitten. Y/N strokes his hair gently.

From that night on, everything shifts.

They talk, of course. They set rules, boundaries, safe words. They learn what Jimin needs when he feels little: his paci, his favorite blankie (a worn-out one with stars on it), bedtime stories, bubble baths, and lots and lots of cuddles.

Y/N reads parenting blogs—not the actual parenting kind, but the kind that teaches you how to care for someone with the heart of a child and the mind of a storm.

Jungkook goes shopping for snacks shaped like animals and finds a stuffed ducky he swears looks like Jimin in sleepy mode.

They build a cozy little space corner in their apartment with pillows and fairy lights and a sign that reads, "No bigs allowed unless you're here to snuggle."

Jimin blossoms in their care.

He giggles more. Talks more. Sometimes he regresses so deeply he forgets to walk properly and just crawls around in footie pajamas, babbling nonsense while Y/N makes him a grilled cheese.

Sometimes he's clingy and needy, whiny when he doesn't get enough cuddles or attention.

Sometimes he's bratty. Which, okay, a lot of the time he's bratty.

But they love him.

And more importantly—he knows it now.

It all started with a cardigan.

Now it's soft beds and warm milk and two voices calling him baby like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Now, Jimin doesn't have to fold himself up to fit in.

Now, he has a Mommy and a Daddy.

And maybe, just maybe, he's starting to believe that's okay to stay in his little space.