No Strings

Part 8

Managing to smile, you nod and walk into your room. "That sounds good. Just give me an hour, okay?"

When your bedroom door closes, the smile disappears. All that is left is a tangled pile of nerves; nervousness and misery, an empty ache which refuses to close, even as you toss your purse on your bed. Changing your mind halfway, you quickly grab for your phone.

Quickly, you text a number you know by heart.

Y/N: Can we meet tonight? We need to talk. [9:23 AM]

Jimin: Yes. Time and place? [9:24 AM]

You choose a coffee shop, one not far from either apartment. You arrive five minutes before 8:00 PM, glad to see Jimin has not arrived yet. Exhaling, you cross to the counter and order one for yourself – not one for him, as you would have done before.

It is several minutes before Jimin enters; you swallow when you see him, eyes trailing the length of his body. It is hard to keep the butterflies from your stomach from spiraling. Now that you know the true extent of your feelings, you see how stupid you have been all along. Of course you like Jimin, you always have – and now it is even harder to look at him. You two have always been close, such good friends that this could have only ended in disaster.

Jimin is dressed in a black crewneck and jeans, his hair styled messily back from his face. He smiles when he sees you, although his smile fades as he gets closer.

Your mouth drops open a bit. "Your hair," you gasp. "It's blonde."

"Oh, yeah." Looking up, Jimin runs a hand through the locks. "The pink kept fading, so I went to the salon and asked them to take it out. The bleach is still there – but I don't know, I kind of like it."

"It looks nice," you say, voice stiff. It does, the blonde on Jimin is soft and inviting and – you swallow.

Jimin's eyebrows rise when he sits, glancing over his shoulder. "No coffee for me?" he jokes, despite your silence. "Six years of friendship, countless orgasms and all I got was this sweatshirt?"

You start, realizing that, yes – you did buy him the sweatshirt he wears. For Christmas, a year or two ago; you cannot believe he kept it. You cannot believe Jimin is wearing it. The thought twists your stomach and you fight to regain your sense of balance, because you want to ask about other things Jimin has kept but refrain, pressing your lips together.

"Y/N?" Jimin's brows draw together. "What's wrong?"

Exhaling, you find yourself at a loss. "This is over," you blurt.

Jimin stills, something like shock crossing his expression. It disappears almost as quickly as it came. "I – what?" Jimin does not move. "Why? What did I do?"

The fact that he automatically jumps to himself makes your chest clench. "It was nothing you did," you say. "It's me – it's my fault."

"Your fault?" Jimin's gaze is curious. "What do you mean by that?"

His tone is so insistent, you find yourself uncertain of answer he searches for. For a moment you consider telling him the truth. If you just told Jimin you like him, need him, maybe even love him. You could reach across the table and tell Jimin what the sight of him in that sweatshirt does to you – but no.

Slowly, you look down at the table. "I'm giving Sungmin another chance," you announce. "It was unfair of me to date him while hooking up with you. I feel guilty about that and – I'm going to try dating him. Just Sungmin," you clarify, glancing back up.

Jimin's face has paled. "I," he stops, taking a breath. "I thought you didn't like him."

Fuck. You should not have said that last night. "I think I was confused," you respond gently. "Sungmin is a great guy – I really want to give him another chance."

Across the table, Jimin snorts. "You said when he kissed you, there was no spark. That you felt nothing," he declares, almost accusatory.

"I – I may have said that," you admit. Jimin seems angry, although you do not understand why. "Look, I was being dramatic," you say, palms flat on the table. "This is what I want, Jimin – to give Sungmin another chance. I want to end our arrangement – we both said this was temporary, right?"

After staring at you for a few seconds, Jimin gives a curt nod. "Right."

You gesture weakly around the shop. "Okay. Then this is what I want. I think it's for the best, honestly."

Anger flickers in Jimin's eyes – an anger you do not understand. "Right," he scoffs, looking away.

"Jimin." You wait until he looks back. "Are you... mad?"

"Mad?" Jimin's eyes glint, meeting yours. "Why would I be mad? I don't care about this, I never did."

His words hurt, making you recoil. "I – okay, then," you mumble, eyes stinging with tears. As you stand, your fingers fumble for purse and coffee. "I wasn't trying to say you did, Jimin. There's no need to... fine."

Jimin sits there for a moment before he exhales. Pushing himself upwards, he starts to move forward. "Wait, Y/N," he mutters, reaching out. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"

But you are already brushing past, shoving your way out the door. "Don't bother," you mutter, shaking your head. "I guess I'll see you around, Jimin."

His hand falls from your arm, pushed away by your own. Heart hammering in your chest, you walk into the night. The door nearly hits the wall as you go, shoving both hands into your pockets. Your car is only a short distance away and once inside, you slam the door shut. Exhaling, you lower your face to the wheel – you stay that way for a good, long time.

Jimin's words keep replaying themselves in your mind. Over and over, like a broken record, a tune which splinters your feelings to nothing. The pain drags you through the dirt until at last, too hurt to speak – you cry.

He does not care about this, he never did.