No Strings

Part 8

Softly, you open the door, refusing to look at him when you step into the hall. The door falls shut behind you, a click you hope Jimin does not hear while you move into the kitchen. The place is empty – thank god, there is your purse on the counter. Careful not to make any noise, you exit to the front hall. The entire way, you fight to be quiet, bending to pick up your jacket and freezing.

It smells like freshly brewed coffee. Glancing up, you see a red pot on the stove. It is still warm, steam rising from the top and you realize Seokjin must already be up. He is awake – startled, you glance at his bedroom door. Then, you look at your purse, recently moved from the kitchen counter.

Fuck. Seokjin must have seen your belongings still here. He must have and yet, you cannot think about that right now. If Seokjin saw, if he even realized – nope. Shoving your way out the door, you throw your jacket into your arms and thud down the stairs. Flinging open the door, you rush outside. The sun is bright overhead, air cold and you shiver, shoving your arms into the sleeves of your coat.

No one follows you though, and at the bus stop you board, lowering your gaze while walking back to a seat. Swiping your pass, you feel very aware of the fact that you look like the morning after. Already feeling a horrible headache coming on, you rest your head against the window.

The entire bus ride home, you do not think about it. If you stop to consider Jimin, you will only freak out. Right now, you need to remain clam. Later, you can fall to pieces; later, when the scent of Jimin does not linger on your clothes and when the thought of him is not driving you crazy. Right now, it is all you can do to breathe – and so, you close your eyes.

Entering your apartment, you toss your keys on the counter. Shrugging out of your jacket and looking around, you find it silent. Minsun must be asleep, which is a good thing because you –

"Ahem."

Wincing, you glance at the kitchen to find Minsun seated with both arms crossed at the table. Her gaze scans your body before rising, shocked to your face.

"Oh. My. God."

Taking a hasty step forward, you pull your purse overhead. "No," you protest, lowering your bag to the floor. "This isn't what it looks like. It's – well, it's not like that."

Minsun continues to stare at you, taking in your hair and appearance. She snorts. "Not what it looks like, my ass! Y/N – are you sleeping with... Jimin?"

Not knowing how to answer that, you glance around the kitchen. You search the stove, the floor – anywhere but at Minsun, who keeps asking questions you do not want to answer.

"Well," you sigh, plopping down in a chair to lower your head to the table. "Not anymore, I'm not."

"Anymore?" Minsun's voice is barely more than a squeak. "So you are – you two were – holy shit."

When you look up, your expression must be one of such misery, Minsun softens. "It's over," you announce, saying it aloud for the first time.

Because it is. If things keep going this way, you are going to be hurt more than you already are. Already, you see it – already you see the strings, binding you to him. These feelings, this intensity pulling you back to Jimin. If you leave, if you cut him out of your life completely – well, you cannot do that.

Which is why Jimin cannot know. If you told him your feelings and he did not feel the same way, Jimin would never look at you in the same way again. You would not blame him for it. This is why friends do not start these kinds of relationships. Friends with benefits never works – someone always, always gets hurt.

In this case, the person seems to be you.

"Minsun," you say, avoiding her eyes. "I like him."

Across the table, she inhales. "Jimin. You like Jimin?" Minsun repeats, trying to comprehend.