(Y/N) POV:

"I wondered if it'd take me all night to get your name."

"If it'd take you all night then maybe you're already behind Seokjin."

His eyes intensify, the look in them turns heady and dark, eyes tracing the curve of my mouth when my own aches to feel his crush to mine, to tug him closer, to know whether that seemingly unflappable patience and toying translates into so much more. Whether that control extends deeper, further...

"If it takes me all night then it means I got plenty to give."

"I dunno... you don't seem too impressive."

"What do you find impressive (Y/N)?"

"You're incredibly fit. I like a guy with a broad build."

"Like the one you were dancing with?" curiosity, not a trace of jealousy or the sense that anything about Jungkook makes him feel threatened or on edge. Unphased.

"Sizing up your competition?" a grin tugs at my lips.

"Not really. If he was competition I figured you're the type of girl to not have bothered to have wasted time talking to me. If he was competition then he'd be here muscling in." Seokjin points out, voice unwaveringly calm. Unflappable. Almost... almost irritatingly so. Or maybe... maybe I want to see him lose composure, maybe I want to be the reason he loses composure. Maybe I want to see the shift from this to what he could be when he's losing control.

He doesn't miss the way my lips curl up, mind flashing with a mental image that sends a visceral jolt of heat to burn through my veins. Heat sizzling under skin, a hot flash that makes my limbs feel molten before I grapple back the restraint.

"I don't know whether you're astute. Or just confident."

"Can't it be a bit of both?"

"I suppose... I suppose it can Seokjin. What else are you confident about?"

"Apart from this?" gesturing to himself with a lazy grin, something about it provokes a flash of amusement as I look at him.

"Apart from being cocky about how you look."

"I'm confident that you're at least as much attracted to me as I am to you."

My brows rise.

It should be disconcerting how much hold he's able to have, eyes dragging mine back to his, gaze flitting over him multiple times. It should be disconcerting that without lifting a finger he knows the pull he has on me.

But in turn he offers knowledge of that same pull, that same yank of attraction being reciprocated.

It invites me a step nearer, it emboldens some part of me that for a while I've shut off.

"Are you confident about the way you can hold your alcohol down Seokjin? Cos I'd hate to invite you back and have you struggle-" the words unspoken, letting the desire sit so readily on the tip of my tongue.

His eyes, intense and fixated, flash as they turn darker, glimmer with the rise of challenge, with the offer, with the prospect of letting actions play out in the same way we've let our words.

Not so much as a push and pull game as it is a constant pull-pull-pull towards him.

"Already eager to get me out of here?"

"Something about you doesn't strike me as a party guy."

"No?"

"No... something about you tells me you like your time private. That's all I was offering wasn't it?"

"Of course." He concedes with a glimmer of tease.

"Do you want to leave with me?" mind too clear to be drunk or tipsy and yet everything seems to blur around the edges around him, as if the man in front of me drags my every shred of focus to him, commandeers it.

Clutches it captive to him.

It's a dizzying feeling but one I want to lean into rather than away. It's a feeling I welcome because why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I let myself be desired? Why shouldn't I desire him in return?

And for all his toying, for all that he plays with the slither of space between us, holding back on the electric static that sparks between us... for all that he seems to relish toying with it all, with me... his answer is straightforward.

A sharp sear of desire that burns through me.

"Yes."

"Wanna have a drink with me first?"

"What were you thinking? Gin for Seokjin?" amused as he looks at me.

"I might need something stronger. Tequila?"

"I didn't realise you need liquid courage to follow through."

"Careful Seokjin-" I begin.

"You seem like a woman who knows what she wants and goes for it. Whether that's dancing or whether that's me."

"Indulge me then. If you can hold your own after a drink then maybe I'll have one of the answers I'm looking for." Whether the buzz in my veins is alcohol or him. Whether that buzz remains even after the drink fizzes out in my veins. Whether my mind is clear even after trying to cloud it.

Whether or not I want this. Want him.

The answer already sits there, I know it already, but maybe he's right. Liquid courage.

A final bolstering shot of something to spark the indecisiveness into action. I wanted this, I deserved this, I had every right to feel good in my own skin with the way Seokjin promised it could be.

"Two tequilas coming up."

And then-then the first brush of contact. Of a hand that drags across my waist, hand sprawling and heavy seeming to map out the shape of my waist before he uses the closeness to tug and twist so we've swapped places. So instead my body presses to a counter, so he can move past to get drinks.

Eyes drifting, searching aimlessly through the crowd, the din of the party, the life and chaos of it all limited more to the living room, to the hallways and the rooms that spill out further. A familiar pair of eyes briefly snag mine, flicker with curiosity and then his face shifts into a grin. A motion to call me mouthed before he disappears into the fray again, lets a familiar hand curl around his wrist and tug him back towards him. Amusement lingering where Kook had briefly been.

The sound of steps moving back towards me, the glimpse of Seokjin in my peripheral, eyes drifting back towards him.

I don't expect the lime or the salt. Don't expect a dark playful heat to reel me closer as he steps into my space, more confident in invading it at the easy welcome of my body tilting back, hands against the counter.

"If you're going to have a drink with me, let's do it properly. Yknow how to take a tequila shot?"

"I'm not getting onto a counter for you to do a body shot off me. No matter how much we both might enjoy that."

"What are we? 18? Taking a shot with you means it's just with you (Y/N)."

And there it is. The subtle recurring reminder that Seokjin seems to relish in keeping even the taunting flirting moments private. Shared only between him and the person he chooses to.

Legs nudging against mine, the subtle press of a leg slotting between mine and yet he doesn't press himself nearer, doesn't press himself into me. Glasses clunking against the counters, hands vacant before he reaches for my waist, before Seokjin angles his head closer, broad frame pressing into mine, hovering, hovering until he's not. Until my senses are overwhelmed with him, surrounded by his presence. Hyperaware of the hand dragging from my hip to my waist, the other that grips my jaw, touch skimming but then it firms. Angles my head up to his. Slow and deliberate.

Testing the slither of distance, the frayed patience until neither of us have it in us to hold back. I don't know whether he leans in first or whether I reach out first. Hand crumpling into his shirt to tug him nearer, lips twitching into a faint smirk before they're finally... finally on me.

A low throaty groan at the way my mouth chases his, fuelled by pure selfish want of the man, teeth that'd been aching to sink into his bottom lip finally do. No precursor, no toying, wanting and taking, teeth sinking harsh against his lips, chasing the hissed exhale of breath, tongue sweeping over the seam of his mouth. The taste of salt is a shock to the system, but it makes that buzz of lust fog up my mind when I hear a laugh ripple against my mouth, fingers dragging against my jaw to rake into my hair. To tilt my mouth further for the eager sure press of his lips chasing the taste of my own, tugging out a pleasured sound from the back of my throat. Lips tingling and still feeling the weight of his as he draws back slightly. Thumb dragging heavy across my lips.

"Lime?" voice low. Rough.

I tilt closer, fingers dragging from his shirt to rake the tips of my nails across the sharp jut of collarbone, delighting in the hiss of breath, lime wedge pressed between his teeth, puckered out in invite. Dancing dark eyes that just watch me.

Wait for me to let my lips hover nearer, teeth sinking into the wedge of lime, tart sourness across my tongue, eyes tracing the minute expressions of my face before I tug it free from his lips.

Glasses clinking in toast. Of us. His eyes silently speak.

The toast is to us, to whatever the rest of the night could bring. To wild reckless abandon of whatever fizzes in both our veins.

The shot of tequila doesn't burn on its way down. It lets heat travel down my throat and pool where it seems to have settled in the low of my gut. And something about it, smoother and stronger than the drinks I've had tonight, something about it-my eyes flicker up to Seokjin's.

"Been raiding the cupboards?"

A tilt of his head, a slyer tilt to his mouth, playful and sharp. Shrugging loosely as he looks at me.

"Is it raiding if you know where it is?"

The clunk of the glass is a finality. An answer as it thuds down onto the counter next to me.

The taste of the salt, the sour, the faint brush of liquor on his tongue and the sure, firm way he presses me back into the counter, the whole world, the party shrinking around the edges until there's us, until he demands so much of my mind and senses... he refuses to let my attention drift. Tongue chasing mine, hand gripping me tighter.

"Wanna come back to mine?" I murmur against his lips, teeth dragging slow against his lip, sinking in when his breath wavers.

When his eyes briefly dart to the hallway and then drag down to mine, answer swimming heady in his eyes and on the tip of his tongue.

"Yes."

I've gotten a taste. I want more.

---------------------

There's a hand at my waist, curled to grip at my side. There's a voice at my ear, lips brushing against me and then tongue and teeth and ghosting breath hot and teasing against the slither of skin below. There's a low throaty press of words against skin, hand steering me into the back of a cab.

There's a hand at my thigh tracing circles and patterns making my mind swim with how much the slow purposeful drag of fingertips against fabric can pull such a strong wave of want from me, dark dilated eyes meeting his and mouths ghosting near each other, his own pulling away with a teasing tilt.

There's a voice in my ear, low enough and only for my hearing, asking if I want to go back to his. Head rearing back, eyes flitting over shadowed features in the back of the cab.

"Mine. Let's go back to mine. My dorm's near."

A curious tilt.

"You're an athlete at the uni too?" Too. Huh. Somehow... despite it all... somehow despite meeting him at an off-campus party, the chances had been high that he was an athlete too. But still... still it takes me by surprise. And in the back of the cab my eyes appraise him again with a renewed intensity, eyes raking over his build. Broad and muscular and trained. It shouldn't be as attractive as I find it. it shouldn't be as much of a turn on as I find it. He's not the first athlete I've been with. But still.

"You live on campus?"

"Off it now." Lips quirking briefly.

"Guess being an athlete gives you an advantage now."

"And what's that?"

"At least now I know you got the stamina to match mine. I expect you to anyways."

The hand at my thigh slowly brushes upwards, the air charged and heavy with anticipation, breath wavering with the sharp fixed gaze set on me.

"Good to know that I'm already high in demand before even getting there."

The cab comes to slow, my hand at the handle, body tilting back and away from him, his body unconsciously tilts nearer feeling the same pull. But rather than tilt back, he follows me out of the car door, stumbles out after me, hands righting me before my hand tugs him towards me.

Head tilting up.

"Keep up Seokjin." Mischief colouring my voice. Teasing him as he straightens before crowding my space. Hand dragging up my back and then down.

Hand looping around my wrist to tug me down towards the dorms.

A short ripple of a laugh, low and husky, as he tugs me closer, a stumbled half-step into his side.

"Keep up (Y/N)." he echoes.

-----------------------

In my dorm room he's in my space. In my dorm room, I have the upperhand. And yet he manoeuvres himself into my space, crowds it, seizes it and takes it for his, hands grasping at me. A hand at my hip and the other tangling into my hair. Lips demanding and wanting against mine, tongue and teeth and lips chasing the press of my mouth, swallowing down the startled sound, fingers winding tighter, tilting my head back. Arching my mouth to his for the taking, my throat curved in invite for the drag of tingling lips to trace their way down my throat leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

There's the slow drag of his lips against my skin, steps unrushed as he steers me back, my own steps fumbling, body gripped and moved back towards the bed, the back of my legs hitting the bed before he's tilting nearer and nearer. My body falls against the sheets, pushing myself upright on my hands to move up across the mattress before hands loop around my calves, drag themselves down to curl against my ankles. A boot thuds against the carpet and then the other, fingers pressing to skin, the touch loose and his gaze contemplating. Light. A flicker of something appreciative and wanting flares to life in his stare as he looks at me. And it's all the warning I get before the hands at my ankles tighten and yank me down across the sheets. Hands fisting into them as Seokjin's lips curve deep, promising ruination, body seeming to tower over mine at this angle, in this position.

And then he lowers himself down onto his knees, fingers squeezing at flesh before he looks at me from between my legs. Nothing but arousal and hunger and want pooled into his stare. All he'd have to do is reach out to touch me, legs pushed open and astride his frame. He makes his space there.

"Jeans off (Y/N)." voice low. The words a ripple of command, eyes watching in bated anticipation, flitting constantly as if they don't know where to settle. Over the breadth of his shoulders seeming massive as he sinks between my legs, in the curved playful sharpness to his soft, soft swollen lips or to the way his fingers trace across a slither of skin, dragging against my calf, up and then down, sending sparks across my body, senses driven haywire by the minute touch.

Fingers reaching for my waistband, thumbing the button open and dragging the zipper down. The intensity in Seokjin's eyes sharpens, gaze tracking my movements, hips rising up to drag the denim down and off my legs, his hands finally... finally reaching up to tug the fabric off. Fingers a hot branding grip across my thighs, sweeping closer across the inside, inching up to trace the slither of fabric between his touch and my body, hips shifting to chase the featherlight touch.

I don't know Seokjin well but already I know he's thrilled and delighted in the teasing and taunting and toying. That the way his eyes darken, he relishes in the way my body twists, responding to his touches... barely there ghosting pressure of fingers against my centre before his hand eases back. Before his lips are replacing the taunting touch, hot breath skimming across my skin, mouth lowering across my core, dark baiting eyes silently encouraging, silently waiting. Hand threading through his hair to tug before he deigns the first touch. Mouthing along the fabric, the pressure of his tongue dragging slowly before his teeth lightly scrape, hips bowing off the bed, a sharp curse as I rock my hips up towards his mouth.

Driven insane by the way he takes it slow, unrelenting as his mouth tugs out pleasure, taunting touches until he eases back to draw the final scrap of fabric off my body, trace it down my legs. Hands hooking under the back of my thighs, a groaned "fuck I can't-" impatient and rough before he grips me closer, yanking me towards his mouth, lips and tongue buried between my thighs.

Nails dragging against his scalp, chasing the tormenting pleasure of his tongue against my centre, hands gripping me with a tight strength that's unyielding, hips rocking up, a hand easing from my thigh to drag slow maddening brushes of his thumb against my nub, fingers parting me for his tongue to fuck into me, pleasure splinters white-hot, blanking out my vision for a few moments, breaths sharp and caught in my throat as he yanks the pleasure out of me. Demands it and takes it.

"Fuck... Seokjin I-"

"Yeah?"

And I haven't heard his voice like this all night.

Rough and strained. Restraint cracking.

"More."

"More?" a rough echo of a laugh, a groaned hiss of words against the inside of my thighs before the press of two fingers easing into me, pleasure blanking my mind as my back arches, thighs trembling at the press of his fingers sinking deeper and deeper. The angled crook of his fingers seem to push deeper, reach deeper, mounting the pressure and pleasure that's winding tighter and tighter and tighter to amplify, a broken plea for something, anything, more, for him tears past my lips, nails dragging against his scalp. Hand yanking him closer, eyes clenching shut at the pleasure shooting across skin, at the way his fingers press and crook, angle themselves as they thrust in, curl and twist before drawing out slowly.

The onslaught of his tongue and fingers wind that band of pressure tighter and tighter, prolong it even as it snaps. Grip turning loose, hand gripping at him, pushing until his mouth eases away, until that feeling of my legs turning into jelly, trembling and shaky, fall from his shoulders, twisting to try push myself upright. But that same loose-limbed wobbly feeling in my legs makes my arms feel unsteady as I prop myself up, pleasure shooting through my body, setting my nerve cells alight.

Dazed blackened eyes peering up at me, mouth slick, trembling breaths as he looks at me. Trembling mussed, slick lips parting into a loose grin and the sight of him between my thighs sends another wave of arousal to burn its way through my veins.

"That fucking mouth-" the air in my lungs rattle. Still uneven. Watch his lips part, slick fingers dragging against his tongue, tasting me on his tongue as if he hasn't had it buried in me.

"Knows how to be put to use. Thought all I was a pretty pair of lips?" voice crooning.

Hand smoothening across my thigh, palm sprawled across there in a heavy weight, reminding me of how easily he'd clamped them across my legs, kept me pinned under his touch.

"I don't know what I thought."

"Can't think straight cos of me? I'm flattered." He teases, body shifting slightly and when he draws himself up, knee pressing between the space of my legs, my eyes dip down. A bolt of heat that ripples through me when I see he's unbuttoned his own jeans, dragged the zipper down to alleviate some of the pressure. That he's so turned on by what he's done, by the way my mind swims in that blur of pleasure and its aftershocks still jolting through my legs. Hand reaching to drag him nearer, fingers curled into the silky material, dragging the fabric up, nails raking across his abdomen and up. Muscles tense and contracting at the touch, the firm press of his torso against my hand, pushing into it as he crowds closer to me. Hovers.

"Don't go getting a big head."

"I don't know about big headed... but if you wanna praise other parts of me as big it'll get my ego going that's for sure."

Fingers tugging at buttons, rushed and hurried to get the shirt off, body tilting up towards his. Hands helping me, muscles rippling as he drags the shirt off to toss aside hastily, my own hands dragging upwards across his chest, fingers lingering to brush across his nipple, the tortured sharp hiss of breath, a hand darting up to catch my wrist, to still the motions. Eyes dropping to watch the way the pad of my thumb drags slowly, circling with the tip of my nail, body shuddering at the touch.

"I don't need your ego going, I need you ready to go."

Body crowding closer and closer. Seizing the space between our bodies as his, close enough that he's almost overwhelming on my senses, close enough that his lips work their way across my jaw, distracting open-mouthed presses, fingers toying with the hem of my top. Tracing his hands up my torso in the same distracting way my hands continue to brush across his, fingers trailing against his collarbone. Hands winding around his nape, fingers tugging at his hair, entangling them into dark strands. The low groan that's muffled against my skin turns into a heavy pant of breath, hips rocking into my touch, hand brushing down his abdomen, toying with the open zipper before trailing up. Fingers toying with his waistband before my hand bypasses his boxers, slipping down to loosely curl around him. Encircle him.

There seems to be a warring unspoken sense of tension and control that brews between the heaviness of his stare lowering down to where my hand is, slipped under his jeans. A charged heaviness that thickens as he waits for me to make the first move, fingers curling bruising tight into my waist, mouth dragging against the curve of my chest, tracing his way down. Lips hovering over me, pressing down with a harsh pressure when my hand slowly moves, grips him in a loose fist, the drag of my hand against him, thumbing across, feeling him rut into my palm.

"Don't fuck around and tease me (Y/N)." warning and plea thick in his voice. Hearing that edge to his tone, something that teeters between slipping control makes my blood burn with desire.

"Why not? You're a guy who likes teasing. Who likes taking his time... who knew you were so impatient yourself Seokjin?" lips against the hollow of his throat, chest arching at the stinging bite of teeth and tongue sucking a mark across my curves, hand pushing me down against the sheets and my hand trapped between the two of us where he chases the movements of my hand with the impatient circling grind of his length against me. Pace never quickening even as his own movements turn harried, rough and rushed, lips trailing down across my chest, fingers gripping my hips to rock his hips down into mine, eyes heavy with need.

"I don't remember me being slow about anything. Or was it I was slow, and you were too easy to unwind?" voice carrying a taunting edge, something in it that makes my lips curl up, riled and wanting. A faint smirk pressed to his shoulder, teeth scraping playfully, grip tightening. A firmer circling pressure as my hand drags up and down.

"Wait wait... fuck-"

Feel the bucking of his hips stutter and falter, losing pace, a sharp curse bitten into my skin, mouth parted, and heavy breaths exhaled against me. Arm trembling where he props himself up over me, hand falling from me to yank my wrist, to tug my hand free from him, pinning it to the sheets beside my side.

Lips pressing thin, a glower in his stare.

My lips stretch wider into a satisfied grin.

"Playing games with me (Y/N)? I thought there was one endgame we both had." Eyes narrowing, warning and sharp.

"You didn't want me to tease. So I stopped. Now what's the problem Seokjin?"

"The problem is you're racing to finish me off before I've even gotten all my clothes off."

"Didn't know you were too easy to unwind." I echo, amusement colouring my voice.

Something heavy and dark flashes viscerally in his eyes. The grip at my wrist reflexively tightens, pinning me tightly to the bed, body tilting nearer.

Suddenly it's more pronounced the sheer size of him as he looms over me, dark hair falling in front of his eyes, shadowing the intent in them. There's something so more vividly present about the way he fills the space and owns it, eyes trailing down slowly over me and then back up. Raking over my curves with an assessing hunger that does little to quench the heat in my veins, stirs it up wilder and stronger.

The laughter that'd welled in my throat gets stuck there, withers under the warning gleam in his eyes, silently daring me to try.

Suddenly the fact that I'm entirely undressed, and he's not makes another surge of arousal and heat bubble at the way his eyes rake over me thoroughly.

Perusing me, his palm grounding down against his front, hissing low under his breath. Turned on by looking at me.

"Think a pretty face justifies you being a brat?" voice low against my skin.

"Think a pretty face gets me far if it got you on your knees." I taunt.

"Besides... it's cos you have a pretty face that got you in my bed."

"Touche." A grin gracing the curve of his lips, softens the fiery intensity of his eyes.

"But... I think you're being a brat on purpose."

"And what would I have to gain from that?" voice lilting, lofty.

"Something tells me you like messing with my head, messing with the control I'm trying to have."

"Oh Seokjin~" It's all I want.

"Where's the fun if there isn't any mess?"

[......]

On top I control the pace. On top gives me the leverage of controlling the pace of my hips rocking down to his, drawing deep grinding circles and slow deep thrusts, guiding and leading the pace of each thrust, of how deep he reaches and how between each thrust there's a toying torture for the both of us in the way my body stills. Breaths drawn in sharp and staccato, hands pressing against his torso, steadying myself. Blown out eyes and flushed cheeks and bruised lips and wanton hands, gripping my hips tighter, trying to tug me down to sit astride him. Him buried deep inside. Muscles and limbs taut with shredding restraint, fingers digging into the flesh of my hips, his own canting up, chasing the peak of pleasure that the two of us rush towards, words rough and shuddered between the space of our bodies.

"Now who's making the mess?" hazed, arousal-blown pupils glittering as his eyes track the way he thrusts up into me, sheathing himself in with a sharper snap of his hips, puncturing the air from my lungs. A rough exhale of breath, moan torn from my mouth. Hand dragging from my hip to the inside of my thigh, to circle rough harsh pressure against my nub, touch unforgiving and unrelenting. Sending sharper pained-pleasured jolts through my body, stutters the movement of my hips, hands curling into skin, nails raking across his chest, head falling forward as he grips me tighter.

"Tongue tied? When I'm not even using your mouth." Voice rasping and low, filled with thick intent, eyes tearing away from the centre of our bodies to drag up the length of my torso, to trace my body, to where my teeth sink in harsh against my bottom lip, failing to stifle the sounds he pulls out of me.

"You should be so lucky." I goad, fingers tracing up from his chest, across his collarbones, thumb brushing against his lips, the brush of teeth and tongue flicking teasingly against my fingertips.

"Guess luck was on your side that you got my tongue between your legs." Words breathless and immediate. Lips curling into a lazy smirk, eyes lidded as he looks at me.

And when my hands reach to thread themselves into his hair, to grip at long dark strands to yank his mouth into mine, tongue against his, groaning against the parted seam of kiss-bitten lips, chasing the way his tongue sweeps through his mouth, curls and thrusts, hips rocking slower, more deeper grinding circles that tighten his grip before he moves. Hands dragging against my sides, body pushing upright, jostling mine, half-reclined as he draws himself up.

Hands gripping my thighs, dragging up. Flitting with a feverishness as if he doesn't know where to have his hands settle. Dragging across my curves, tugging me further into him, pushing our bodies flush to one another. Legs pinned open further across his, thighs astride his lap.

The harder snap of his hips thrusting up into her pushes my body into his, hands clinging his shoulders, teeth at his shoulder, biting down the sound wrenched out of me of how he's so much deeper in this position.

"Fuck Seokjin..."

"You already are." He teases, laughter rippling across skin, hands guiding the movements of my hips down to his, eager to tug out broken moans against his skin, hot-white pleasure sparking blinding when my eyes clench shut. I might be on top, but he takes over the pace, he takes over the control I'd wrestled from him, he yanks back into his grip the same way he pulls me nearer.

A hiss of breath, jagged and low and throaty against my chest, teeth sinking in harsh at the drag of my nails raking from his shoulders down his back, gripping at him tighter and tighter, digging into skin.

Hand fisting into my hair, a sharp yank that arches my throat for the inviting press of lips and tongue bruising marks against the line of my neck, winding the taut pressure in my body tighter, body arched as it shudders with waves of pleasure crashing into every crevice, every corner, mind blanking at the way the pleasure's pushed further and further, the motion of his hips unrelenting, unwavering. Limbs taut as a bowstring until that tension snaps, boneless and slumping into him, pleasure clouding every thought, hazed as my hands grip at him, clutch at him. Eyes pooled with arousal as he drinks in every expression, body twisting to press the slumped line of my spine into rucked up sheets.

Motions slower, the drag of limbs against limbs, sweat-slick skin pressing into mine, dark hair tousled and damp as it falls forward, featherlight where it brushes against skin. The slow drag of each thrust sending splintering pulses of pleasure to skim across my limbs, hand curling around his nape, mouth parted to press lazy dragged kisses across the curve of his bicep. Teeth skimming playfully.

The intentionally slow deep thrusts turn erratic, breaths turning shakier, propping himself up on a hand, drawing himself out, condom tugged off. Rough quick bucks of his length into the tight fist of his hand.

"Where... fuck, fuck... where do you want me to-"

"Take your pick Seokjin." Voice hoarse, hands pushing myself upright, ignoring the flash of satisfaction that colours his gaze at the wobble in my arms.

Streaks of release across my torso, low sharp curses and the groaned rasp of my name, the curve of his spine bowing forward, half-slumped, half-propped over me. Eyes hazed as he takes me in.

"Fuck." A low rasp.

There's a loose-limbed satiated feeling deep in my veins, suffused with the heat and pure sheer attraction at the sight of Seokjin. All broad and ruined tussled sex-hair and flushed, skin gleaming with sweat. The sight of him shouldn't jumpstart the desire and lust that's just settled, a coiling heat that has my body stretched bonelessly across the sheets he's just wrecked me on

It shouldn't.

It does.

"Fuck is right. Although I might need a few minutes to go again." Lips curling up loosely and slowly.

An incredulous laugh, the teasing nip of teeth against my shoulder, body close to slumping into mine before he rolls to the side and sprawls heavy beside me.

"I might need a few more minutes on top of those minutes."

"Getting old huh. Takes time to get it up again." I laugh, the sound lazy, indolent.

Fingers pinching the side of my waist, body jolting and squirming half-heartedly.

"Watch that mouth brat." Amused.

"Not denying you're old."

"I'm older than you. Not old. There's a difference."

"Care to explain?"

"I think actions speak louder than words."

"Oh?"

"It means give me a couple of minutes brat and I'll be glad to show you."

A hand hooking under the back of my leg, gripping me to twist my body half onto his. Eyes sharp and wicked with promise.

------------------

"Sorry...sorry, sorry... I didn't mean to fall asleep and stay over." Voice slightly panicked, still thick and groggy with sleep. Hovering somewhere over me, blurred figure blinking into focus as I tilt my head up, body twisting to peer at him.

"Hm? Huh... 's okay. No harm done." Mind still clouded with sleep, body twisting in the sheets, eyes blinking dazedly, half-asleep as I watch him straighten up, dragging a hand through his hair, features half-shadowed. It's early. Too early to be awake on a weekend.

His silhouette hovers over me, a glimpse of softer, drowsier eyes peering down at me, half-rising from the bed already, propped up on an arm.

"Shit... what's the time?" eyes darting around the room, fumbling to find his phone, though it's probably somewhere on the floor scattered in between discarded clothes.

"Too fucking early." I groan, twisting to burrow my face into a pillow, dragging the blankets with me.

The tug seems to be reflexive more than anything, but his voice is hesitant and careful.

"I'm sorry. We didn't talk about whether you wanted me to stay or go. I shouldn't have fallen asleep." He echoes again, voice soft.

"Awww don't blame yourself. I tired you out. And those old bones needed a rest." Voice teasing, words half-muffled into the pillows, twisting my head to peer at him as he rolls his eyes, clambering out of bed.

Eyes tracing the red trails across his shoulders and back, tracing broad shoulders and a narrow waist, trailing lower.

He'd dragged his boxers on at some point then, some point after he'd been careful, damp towel cleaning me down, a less gentle toss of a sweatshirt at my face, body slumping beside mine, worn out and breathless, stretching out for a few minutes.

"Yet you couldn't stop yourself jumping my bones could you?" tease a huff of words, a sleepy rasp that does things to my insides, twists them with a strong yank. Fuck. A voice shouldn't be so attractive either.

My eyes trail over the scattered marks across his front, watch him lazily as he redresses, drags denim back over his thighs, hands quick to button up his shirt, glimpses of skin before it's hidden away.

Something much much softer in his eyes, drowsy and droopy, softening the effect of sharp features and full lips, of knowing eyes and a smirking mouth.

"You're more than a pretty face I'll give you that Seokjin." Yawning as I stretch out, dragging the blankets over me, snatching them up from the discarded side of the bed. And when I roll into them the sheets are still warm, smile dopey. A hand propping myself up to look at him walk towards the door.

"Don't go falling for it that's all."

I snort.

"I'll survive. Somehow I'm sure I'll survive." Lips quirking up. One night. No strings. No connections. Nothing. Just fun. Easy and light.

Amusement flickers in his eyes, grin deepening.

Movements sluggish slow as he reaches the door, eases it open carefully. Posture careful and watchful as he peers out into the corridor.

"I'm sure big bad Seokjin knows how to make his way out the dorms." Entertained as I watch him ease out carefully, head popping back into sight for a few moments. Voice drawling slowly.

A wink as he looks at me. Mischievous and playful.

"An honour to have been in yours." Words drawling and teasing.

"Fucking sweet talker." Laughing as I sink back into the sheets.

"That's not how I remember you liking me talking to you last night (Y/N). See you."

And then he's out the door.

Clicking it shut, soft and quiet.

Lips still curved up as I let my head sink into the pillows.

A quieter ripple of amusement flits through me.

"Not if I see you first."

JIMIN POV:

"Wanna go for a run?"

"Don't have better things to do on a weekend?"

"Never more important than you Jimin-ah."

The sincerity in the words, so easily said, makes a warmth sink into my chest, makes the pressure behind my ribs ache with a fondness and gratefulness for the soft eyes behind curls, the half-sloped smile and the hand leaning down to yank me into bed rather than tumble into it.

Drawing me out of bed as if he knows it's not giving enough rest, as if he knows I haven't had a lie-in but instead lain awake for the past odd hour or so.

"You could always just stay in. Have a lie-in."

"You and I both know you're not tired. And you and I both know nothing beats breakfast like the one after a run. Besides... and I can't believe I'm saying this. But there's plenty of stuff to do than lie about."

"Like what?"

"You could workout with me instead of Joon... or take me with you. We both know nothing's dragging Yoongi hyung out on a weekend. He strictly doesn't practice two days out of the seven."

"Maybe he's onto something."

"He's gearing off season. You're heading into a competitive season."

"You know... you're starting to nag."

"Someone's got to." Smile easy, boxy and warm.

"You know I'm older than you?"

"Barely. I just knew I had to be born in 95. Some wise old cosmic power was telling me to be born early."

"Your angel?" I tease lightly, feel his fingers curl to grip my hand, tugging me before he lightly shoves me in the direction of the bathroom, voice calling out to me.

"My angel looks out for me. The universe sent me out to be your angel. To look out for you... big baby. Now get dressed. We'll go for a campus run."

"Breakfast at the diner?"

"You're paying."

"You're dragging me out."

"You're older remember?"

[......]

"How's training going?"

"I think it's going a bit better." I admit.

There was something to be said about how I felt slightly more clear-minded after training with Joon. Something about working hard and feeling some sense of satisfaction that was backed up by Joon's approval, breathless exhilaration and strong firm nod, hand dragging me into him, tugging me off the ice.

There was something about training with Joon that made me feel tethered. Gave me something to be rooted to, something to be rooted by.

Something to tether my focus to the training, to keep my mind centred.

To keep it drifting to-

"And how are you?"

"I'm fine Taehyungie."

"You sure?" voice cautious, pressing forward, prompting. Eyes looking at me with a gentleness that feels softer and more careful than I've ever known him to be, to ever look at me with.

"I've been better." I admit.

There's a watchfulness in his gaze, something that's silently searching and probing, sifting through the answers in my eyes to questions he hasn't asked yet, but he's found sitting in my stare regardless.

"Than now. How you feeling?"

"Honestly? You really want the honest answer Tae?" my throat dries out, voice disbelieving as I stare at him. Nothing but unwavering firmness staring back at me. Eyes encouraging and soft and prompting. Gaze unwavering from mine.

"I do."

"I feel like shit. I feel like training's the only thing keeping me from going insane."

"Because it keeps you distracted?"

I shake my head.

"It keeps me focused." I correct.

"If I stay focused... I have something to keep going, something to do. In clear steps. With a clear mind. I can't be muddled that way, I won't-"

"Think about her?" Tae's voice grows softer. Eyes knowing. Understanding.

"I've made loads of mistakes Tae. But this... I really fucked up. And cos-cos there's no going back.... I have to keep going forward."

"Why not?"

"She doesn't want to see me ever again. I don't blame her. Because I've ruined everything there's no going back. So I have to-"

"Hold onto what's left?"

I nod.

"Training. And being the centre. And winning."

"You're forgetting something Minnie."

"What?"

"We're holding onto you too. So hold onto us too."

"Since when did you get so wise?"

A loping shrug.

"I told you Min-ah. Someone's got to look out for you. So the stars sent me to you." he sighs, hand clutching his chest.

A stronger wave of fondness wells up inside me at the low warmth in his voice. At the earnestness in his eyes and the way he sidles round the booth to press closer to me. To sling an arm around me and drag me into a hug that's squeezing, that doesn't care about how tight of a squeeze it is, doesn't care that it jostles the table and sends my cup teetering and spilling. Hand darting out to catch it.

Arms squeezing me tightly as he hugs me as close as he can.

"This tight. You've got to hold on at least this tightly."

[......]

"You know this might count as babysitting."

"Oh boo hoo-I've come to watch you practice before!" Tae protests, slowly shuffling his way down the steps, slower as he trails after me, the muffled clunk of skate guards against the floor different to his lighter treads, speeding up to be but a half-step behind me, peering over my shoulder out at the ice.

A low whistle as he traces its shape.

"Something tells me this time your motive is babysitting." Unsure whether it's something that should elicit a feeling of shame, of knowing that in his mind...Tae's decided to overlook my practice because some part of him doesn't trust me to be alone or whether to feel touched that he wants to-it's an odd sensation, thoughts twisting round each other when the sight of his face popping up beside mine, eager and wide-eyed chases away the negative furl of emotion before it even gets to linger.

"It is not!"

"Tae..." I stare pointedly at him.

"Okay okay... Yoongi hyung's practice got cancelled and he headed over to the medic bay and-"

"You thought you'd come pester me instead?" I say wryly before the rest of his words sink in, head twisting around with alarm.

"Is hyung okay?"

"He's milking it is what it is. Not a flinch when I accidentally sent the basketball into his side but he's insisting on going to the medic bay. Yknow... I think he's scoring on all those heat massages and lying down that a trip to the infirmary automatically gets him."

"They'd send him back if he's fine, there's always athletes that need training-"

"Then he'll head back to his flat. And I know he's silently really pleased I decided to head over and come watch you practice."

"Better me than him huh?" lips twitching slightly.

"Jiminie... you say it like you want me to go? Do you? Cos I'll go." He half-threatens, head turning away as if making a move to leave but the hands that'd snagged around me still linger, easing away after a few long moments with a despaired sigh, sigh, sighing of breaths, hand catching his before he leaves, lips curving up into a grin.

"Did I say that? To my Taehyungie?" yanking him into me, stumbling down the final few steps before my skates are stepping onto the ice and his body's half tilting, half rearing back to steady himself.

Expression turning scandalised, affronted when I give another yank, one wobbling foot stepping onto the ice, tugging himself back.

"I'm watching you practice. Not practicing with you."

"Oh but it'd be so fun."

"I can't skate for shit."

"I'd hold your hand." I tease.

"As romantic and sweet and perfect that could be-I can't skate. And that wouldn't be practicing... that's what you came here to do isn't it?" hand pulling back suddenly, clutching it tight to his chest. A wary suspicious look of doubt directed towards me as he slowly retreats, standing behind the safety of the rink's barrier.

"It'll be boring."

He raises a brow, expression bemused.

"Believe what you want. But I'm not here to babysit. Now-show me what you got Minnie."

--------------------

"Why don't you try playing a sport that uses skating? You love going to the rink this time of year? You really enjoyed the show we saw in Daegu-remember that one Min-ah?"

"But skating's fun. Just fun. I don't wanna make it boring or hard eomma-"

A soft pinch to my cheek, a softer cooing sound as eomma's eyes crinkle as she smiles down at me, fingers skimming up to brush lightly through my hair.

"If you don't like it then that's okay aegi-ah. But because you like it so much eomma just thought you might enjoy getting to spend more time on the ice. If you want to skate...skate. If you want to do more... do more. Whatever makes you happy my Minnie."

"Really? Really, really?" head tilting up to peer up at her.

"Anything my aegi wants to do. Anything that makes these mochi cheekies bunch like that." fingers brushing over my cheek, my lips stretching wide as eomma tilts to brush a kiss to my cheek. A playful nom gobble sound as she pretends to take a bite.

Laughing, the sound all tinkling soft, tugging out a laugh from my own throat. Arms wrapping around her, slung tight around her neck. Arms gathering me to her.

"Want me to get you a trial session booked? See what you like? Choose whatever you want?"

"Eomma thank you."

"Whatever makes aegi-ah happy."

[......]

My eyes flit across the different teams, flit over them multiple times. Eyes unable to rest solely on just one, eyes wide with awe and amazement-looking at the different range of skaters everywhere, hand clasping eomma's just that much more tighter. Feel her hand squeeze back, soft soft palm against my own. Hand enclosing mine.

"It's amazing isn't it? I didn't even know you could do this many sports on ice." A marvelling tone in eomma's voice, eyes sweeping more slowly, steadily as she takes in the different sports being advertised, the different stalls all selling sport-specialised items and skating-starter kits.

There's something so intimidating about the way that the junior-convention is filled with different professions but they're all... somehow... somehow there's so much to do on the ice than just go skating.

The feeling of being overwhelmed, swarmed by all the options, all the prospects of getting to try even a couple of them out... to get to have the chance of doing more, more, more with skating. To have the chance of doing a sport on the ice.

The buzz of something fizzy and excited and thrilled bubbles up in my veins, clutching at eomma's hand tighter, body drifting nearer to her. To the soft comfort, to the reassurance the squeeze of her hand holding mine gives.

"I didn't know either." Voice hushed. Intimidated.

"And you can always try something... dislike it, hate it... it's fine. Can always drop it or can always change it. You know that right Jimin-ah?"

"Won't that mean quitting? You always said to not quit-"

"Until you've given it your all. Not until it's too much. There's nothing wrong with knowing to step back. And there's definitely nothing wrong with knowing your limits."

My head tilts, puzzled.

A fondness in eomma's face as she peers down at me, her other hand coming up to briefly brush her thumb across my cheek.

"You're so young Jimin-ah. My little mochi. Only seven-"

"Turning eight!"

"Turning eight." She nods with a warm smile.

"Got your whole life to try new things. To learn new things. Today's just about seeing what there is. We can get you to try out the ones that look interesting. Okay aegi?"

"Okay eomma."

I should feel embarrassed, holding eomma's hand so tightly when I can see kids my age, kids younger than me hurrying around, eyes bright with excitement, void of the overwhelmed, slightly panicky feeling that wells up about the idea of going forward, of talking to the adults-imposing and bigger and not eomma. Not appa. They don't understand me the way eomma does. They don't know that I just want to skate, want to play on the ice.

Or maybe they do.

Their own eyes almost fierce with the burning intensity of their eyes, softening as they crouch down, talking at eye-level, peering up.

Maybe they do know.

Maybe they know what it feels like to have your skin buzzing, body wanting nothing more than to whirl and dash and skate around the ice.

My fingers don't clutch at eomma's as tightly, less fearful as I tug her hand gently, shuffling towards a sign. Speed skating.

Zoom zoom ZOOMS!

That sounds like a good starting point.

[......]

"I don't like speed skating anymore!" I huff, lips jutting out as I poke at tteokbokki with my chopsticks, shoving a big chunk into my mouth. Stare morose as I tilt my head up to look up at appa.

Beside him, eomma clucks. Hand reaching out to wipe the sauce from the corner of my mouth to pat-pat-pat-pat-pat against my cheek, puffed up and full against her hand. Chewing quickly.

"What's wrong Jimin-ah?"

"You're paying for lessons that are just what I do on the ice anyways! It's racing!"

"But I thought you liked that." brows furrowed slightly, confused.

But appa doesn't get it.

It's not the thrill I'd been waiting to feel, I wanted to do more with skating... not just the same thing.

Though it is different, the air cold and rushing against my skin, slithering into my clothes. A cold, cold rush that makes my heartbeat echo in my ears, the ice and skates blurring together as I whizz around the ice, looping and in wide circles, skates pushing quicker and quicker and quicker and quicker, eyes stinging, cold prickling at them. But it's the same. It's building speed. Then it's building speed. Then it's building speed. It's the same cycle. Over and over.

"Why don't you like it Min-ah?" eomma prompts.

Eyes warm. Encouraging.

"It feels like... a circle. That I keep skating over and over." I mumble, staring at the tteokbokki before stabbing at another piece, words muffled around it.

"Doesn't feel like fun?"

"It does but-"

"Okay." My chopsticks waver over another piece, drag the tteok through sauce.

Drawing it up to shovel into my mouth to stifle the sigh.

"Change it. Try another sport."

My fingers grow loose, unfurl slightly.

"I'll pull you from classes now then. We'll find you something else Min-ah."

The chopsticks fall from my loose grip, the tteok splashing into the sauce, splattering slightly.

A soft huff of laughter, appa's voice warm and playfully scolding, clearing up the mess as he shakes his head.

Eomma's eyes bright and warm and encouraging. It's okay she says with a firm nod.

The soft dab-dab of a tissue against the back of my hand before he ruffles my hair.

"Never waste time doing something that's not making you happy. Always give time to chase what does though." He advises.

"Really? You're not... disappointed?"

"That's a big bad feeling that someone as young as you shouldn't ever have to worry about. Not now, not ever. Happiness first Jimin-ah. Your happiness first." Eomma's voice tutting, lightly reproving. Both a scold and a promise. A nudge to always choose me first. Choose what makes me happy first.

A fluttery shaky feeling of warmth that seeps into every last bit of my body.

Cheeks curving up, smiling so hard, so bright that my cheeks ache with it.

"I love you eomma, appa."

"We love you too."

[......]

"Yknow... for a little while..." I begin hesitantly, feeling Yoongi hyung's gaze briefly flit to me, cut to the side before it returns to facing forward. Shifting his posture slightly, adjusting the heat pack he holds to his shoulder.

Listening but not looking.

Giving me the space to say what I want to say.

"When I was with (Y/N) I thought... I thought I was doing really well at ice hockey. I thought I was doing better even if I wasn't working my ass off you know?"

"When you were getting time for yourself." Hyung murmurs quietly.

"I used to think I was training and feeling incredible about where I stood in the team. In myself. I knew what I wanted."

There's a question that hovers there but one he doesn't ask.

Lets my voice fill the space instead.

"But then it seemed like I was doing good, but she was doing better. She was incredible-her practices... hyung she looked so out of my reach, so much better than me and I was..."

"Jealous?"

"No!" the protest comes so sharply, the possibility of it tastes bitter and foreign on my tongue. Not jealous.

I'd never felt jealous watching (Y/N) practice. There'd been awe and admiration and respect for the talent she held and the training and dedication she gave to it. I'd felt it then-what it felt to watch an award-winning figure skater... but jealous hadn't been the feeling, hadn't been the sentiment.

"Then?"

"I thought that maybe I was a bit distracted... I admit that I was. But not to the point that it'd affect my sport. So then I wondered... I realised that I'd never actually taken the time to really notice how demanding figure skating was... how much it needed until I stopped to watch it."

I watch as Yoongi hyung shifts slightly, legs stretched out across a bed, eyes skimming quick across the other beds.

I already know (Y/N) isn't here, I already know because I've already searched, eyes unable to help the sweep across the medic bay, knowing that Yoongi hyung met her here.

There's a greater surging sense of relief that she isn't here, because then she's not injured, she's fine. It's stronger than the sting of ache that since the day she walked off the ice...since then I haven't seen her, she's vanished into thin air.

Beside me, Yoongi hyung's gaze briefly flickers. Noting my own drifting eyes.

But still he doesn't say, he doesn't call me out on it.

"But that's not what you said to her. You told (Y/N) that she didn't know what it meant to work hard. That she didn't know what it meant to bleed for her sport-"

A pool of blood on melted and scuffed ice. A phantom I can't seem to find no matter how much my eyes have searched. The slam of my back hitting the back of the rink's barrier, a voice hot and snarling in my face, pain blooming across my jaw, a fierce hard warning to stay away, that she'd suffered and bled and hurt enough.

I can't quite manage the flinch, the bodily shudder that bolts through me.

"I don't know why I said it." I do. Liar. I said it because at that moment all I could think of was her racing ahead and me being stuck. Of her doing so well and her Coach recognising it when mine was noticing all my flaws and shortcomings.

"I think you do." The soft quiet groan of relief, the tilt of hyung's body as he reclines further back against the pillows propped up against his back.

"I... I felt like shit."

"You were made to feel like shit."

"Hyung it's not like-"

"Jimin-ah. I... I respect your sport, I respect your discipline for it... I respect you but I don't give a single fuck about that Coach of yours."

"He knows what he's doing."

But slowly slowly the words are beginning to feel hollow, less imbued with complete unwavering faith in the man.

"He does. The problem with him is he knows exactly what he's doing."

There's derision and contempt in his voice, something harsh and ugly and coldly cutting towards Coach Choi, a deeply rooted resentment that's only seem to have grown in the past couple of weeks.

A part of me wonders how much of it is because of the way things ended.

The way things fell apart.

"Your Coach uses your weaknesses to his advantage. No Coach worth their talent, worth their skill and history in the sport should ever be putting you down."

"It's called tough love hyung. You don't see Joon cracking under the pressure. Which means I'm the soft one."

The snort that leaves his mouth is perhaps harsher than he intended, the derisive sound sharp around the edges.

It sounds more frustrated, more disdaining than it does amused.

"You soft? Nothing about the way you've fought and kept your position as centre is soft Jimin-ah. You've earnt your place there time and time again... you work so much more harder than us."

My shoulders hunch, head ducking lower, a warm ache settling in the pit of my chest at his words, at the way they chip at the ugly, tainted feeling of worthless, not enough, not good enough, inadequacy that a certain look or words can pull out of me. Yoongi hyung's words combat it. Force that feeling away.

There's a soft groan of pain, muted and hushed, the flex of fingers against his shoulder as he gives it a slow rotatory turn. Expression pinched, brows furrowed as he slowly turns the stiff limb in a slow, wide circle, trying to ease some more motion back into his shoulder even though the quiet pinched look betrays the stiffness and extent of the pain rippling through his body.

He's still in the med-bay.

(Y/N) isn't.

Hyung is though. And hyung's hurting.

The surge of guilt that wells, the knowledge that maybe...maybe I'd been too distracted and lost in myself to notice hyung was hurting to this extent... that he was easing back onto more regular physio and heat therapy...

"It's not as bad as it looks. In fact I'm pretty sure (Y/N) accused me of milking it just to get a bed to lie on." A soft huff of laughter, this time amused and genuine, the sound low and the spark of it warming dark eyes that flit briefly to me. As if to test and gauge whether that rouses anything me. Steadfastly ignoring the lurch my heart gives, sudden and violent before it squeezes painfully, crushing the air from my lungs.

Her name feels like a knife to my chest, the blade forged of ice as it drives itself into my ribs.

"She's great yknow?" he adds conversationally.

Missing the warmth and ease he says it with, missing it because I've lost the right to. Because hurting her was already too far. I didn't deserve to cling onto memories and instances like I hadn't torn them down myself.

Burnt bridges beyond repair. Beyond ashes and smoke, until I couldn't hold onto the meagre traces that were left of it.

"I know."

"Your Coach ruined things there."

"...."

Coach told me to end things.

I broke things.

"I ruined them."

Because I couldn't put it all on Coach, not with the way I let my words and fear spiral, not with the way I let insecurity and hesitance force its way forward and tear apart everything I thought... I'd felt that perhaps we were building.

Coach might've told me to, but things happened the way they did because of me.

"Have you apologised?"

"She wasn't at her dorm."

But the excuse is hollow. It isn't enough.

"I know... I know you're a long way from maybe ever getting the chance to make amends...maybe this-you guys were meant to end this way." Hyung begins, expression shifting into one of sympathy, of knowing. And somewhere in those eyes, unspoken and unexpressed, sits some semblance of shared ache, as if somewhere he hurts for me too, for (Y/N) too.

"But...but one day, and you can't leave that day too late, too far gone Jimin-ah, she's owed an apology for everything. An explanation for why you lashed out. And then the space to do what she wants with her choices afterwards."

"You're right hyung." my voice cracks as my head tilts away, staring down at my hands, blinking back the sharp prickle

A shuffle of his legs on the bed, the slight brush of an arm nudging against mine and if I was to turn my head I know already hyung wouldn't be looking at me.

I dart a glance sideways, a soft tilt to my lips at the way hyung just chooses to lean back, busy the motion with clasping the heat pack.

"Hyung's always right. I just wish you knew that when I meant it about your Coach."

Something sticks in my throat.

At the quiet plea there.

Trust hyung the look in his eyes say.

And I do.

----------------------

[......]

"You're really good-you should play with us!"

Surprise jolts through me, head twisting round to the voice, a mixture of apprehension and nervousness at the cluster of boys that clamber onto the ice. Each of them skating forward in a rush of movement, crowding round me, head turning to take them in. A group of them-all of them look bigger and therefore older than me, a shiver of tense apprehension trickles down the line of my spine.

Body stiff and hands burying into the depths of my coat pockets, hiding the faint nervous tremble to them.

"What'd you mean?" I ask, voice wavering slightly. Turning to face the tallest one of the group, eyes ducking away quickly, their gazes fixed onto me. Something about it makes me feel cornered, closed in, no way of escaping or rushing away because they circle me from all sides.

"Playing!"

"On the ice?"

"Yeah! Ice hockey-"

"I've never played."

I never realised you could do a group sport on ice, didn't know that a game could be played that took so many people to play it.

"But your skating is so cool!"

"You zoomed across the ice!"

"It'd be amazing if we had someone quick like you on our team-"

"YEAH!"

"Why don't you play with us?"

"Play with you guys? But you're all-"

So tall, so big, so much older... so much stronger. I know that at first glance. I know it more and more with the way they seem to take up space in a way I don't know how to.

As if they're taking over the ice and space somehow.

Intimidated and cowed when one of them steps closer, feel my body step back half a step, hands clasping on my shoulders with an eager shake that makes alarm well up in my throat.

About to yell to get off, to let me go, to go away when-

"Strangers? No we're not-we skate at this rink too! We just saw you for the first time today... we didn't know anyone else skated. Not this good yknow?" an eager grin tugging at his face.

He's slightly smaller than the others but he seems unfazed by it.

He's closer to my height now that I notice it, but it doesn't seem to bother him that he looks slightly younger, slightly slighter than them.

"Older..." I finish, voice going quiet at the noticeable pause, the silence and then the burst of laughter, of overlapping voices and bodies all piling forward, eager in haste, eyes bright with amusement and lips stretched wide into big toothy grins.

"I'm 10!"

"I'm 9!"

"Me too, I'm 9 too!"

"I'm 8!"

My head twists with surprise at the voices overlapping, the grinned eagerness on their faces.

Turn to face the ones who're the same age as me.

Startled by the realisation that there's also one that's younger than me.

"I'm 9 too."

"Perfect!"

"Could be 8-I almost thought we scared you by picking a baby." A voice teases with a laugh but my shoulders hunch. Smile falling slightly.

An arm slung around me, apology and contrition both laced onto his face.

"But this one is nearly 11 and he's smaller than most of us." Pointing out a face amongst the others. An easy careless grin on his face, hand punching him with a roll of his eyes.

He seems so... so much older and cooler regardless of the fact that he's smaller and slighter than a lot of the boys. The group of 10 of them.

"So it doesn't matter?"

"That you're smaller?"

"Nah-that means you're quicker. That means people will see those cheeks and not see the super awesome hidden skills until BAM!" words laced with laughter and excitement. Nodding eagerly. Encouragingly.

There isn't a trace of tease or meanness, or some sort of cruel joke etched in any of their faces, they all look at me like they really want me to play with them.

It's just like making friends at school.

But on the ice.

Nothing else is different.

Just making friends.

I know how to make friends.

My lips tug up.

"If I'm bad don't complain you chose me. If I'm good... I just wanna play. Just for fun."

Eyes brighten.

A hand stuck out to take mine.

"I'm Taemin."

"Jimin."

And just like that... I make a friend.

[......]

"Jimin-ah it's your eomma!" Taemin calls out, voice loud as he stops skating, blades screeching to a halt-I can almost hear the rough grind of blades against the ice, taking out a solid chunk from it as he grins at the figure leaning at the rink's edge.

A warmth blooming strong as I rush towards her, hear Taemin's skates pick up speed as he chases after me, the two of us coming to still, hands darting out to grab onto the rink's edge-not quite knowing how to stop all of a sudden. Almost tumbling into arms that stretch out to steady us, eyes lined with laughter as she shakes her head gently scolding.

"Careful boys."

"Sorry eomma."

"Sorry imo."

"Where's the rest of your bunch?"

"Hm? Oh me and Jiminie were gonna skate together-yknow? Not ice hockey just skating." Cheeks flushed from rushing around the rink chasing each other. From being on the ice and just being on the ice.

Hockey practice was once a week during holidays, every fortnight when school started.

But Taemin lived nearer.

And Taemin wanted to skate too.

So Taemin was here. With me.

Skating together.

Without having to think about what needed to be done with the puck or the hockey stick or the rush of a whole team all chasing the same goal. This was easier. Fun.

It was also showing off to Taemin how much quicker I was than him while he complained and grumbled that he couldn't skate nearly as cleanly, nearly as quickly.

"Taemin's slow eomma." I tease.

"Minnie-" she begins to cluck.

"It's true imo... I don't know who taught him to skate or if you had him in extra classes... he's the quickest out all of us! He could totally be a speed skater or an ice dancer or a figure skater or-or anything he wanted to be."

"My Minnie's tried a lot of different activities on the ice-whatever way he wants to go, he'll be great."

"I'm not that great at ice hockey." I mumble.

A shove from the side, voice pitched with incredulity.

"He learns so quick imo!"

"You'll pick it up in time... if you don't... plenty of stuff for you to still do. I don't think Taemin-ah would mind learning to skate quicker-"

"Imo!" he huffs.

Fingers reaching out to pinch his cheek gently, fingers smoothing out messy hair.

"I'm teasing sweetheart. Now I need you boys to do me a favour."

The two of us lean forward.

Peer over at the bag she's got set down beside her, see it clustered and filled with snacks.

"I thought there'd be more boys to feed but can you do me a favour and eat as much as you can? It'll make it lighter to carry walking back."

"We'll help you carry it eomma."

"Yeah imo don't worry!" Taemin says eagerly beside me, the two of us already rushing to scramble off the ice, skates clattering, her eyes crinkling as the two of us rush towards her, hands steadying us. A fond warm laugh as she sinks down onto a seat, the two of us either side of her.

"Big growing boys." Hands tousling hair.

"Eat up."

[......]

"Did you mean what you said?"

"Hm?"

"About me being able to do anything I wanted to?"

"Sure I did... you see I can't do the extra, extra precise skating... yknow like that older noona does at the rink-all those pretty turns and twirls." A sigh in his voice, wistful, cheeks pinking.

"Got a crush on that noona?"

"Shut up! Like you don't?"

"She is very very pretty." I agree, feeling my cheeks warm.

"And she's amazing! I think the others are scared by it. Cos figure skating looks so hard-I dunno how that noona does it or how she manages all those tricks. So I think the others are scared... in.. in-intim..." trying to form the word.

"Intimidated?"

"Yeah! It's scary to do new things. Harder things. So I think the others are scared. I wouldn't mind ever trying-"

"Figure skating?"

"Yeah!"

"You don't think it's girly?" word hushed as I echo the same wording I've heard, a wave of embarrassment that washes over me at the surprised and then slightly reproachful look Taemin gives me.

"Of course not! What does that even mean?"

"Yknow... that it's not the same as ice hockey-we're a team of boys and..." although the words even as I'm saying them sound like a pathetic, empty excuse.

And?

I'd seen an ice hockey girl team on TV, had seen them rush forward, just as strong and fierce and powerful as the men team was. Maybe more so too.

I know the parroted words are wrong.

And hearing Taemin reject them too brings a stronger wave of resolve that bats away at the embarrassment.

"Yknow...noona's probably stronger than all of us put together. And girls can be strong and cool! Cos she doesn't need a team to look cool... she does it by herself." he advocates fiercely.

I nod along.

"You're right! I wanna be a stronger skater one day-that even if I'm in a team or not... that I can look cool and feel strong."

"Even without the boys helping." Taemin assists. Arm slinging around me, legs knocking into one another.

"Even without them."

I wanna be strong even without a team needing to make me feel that way.

-----------------------

"Not impressed Jimin!" the scolding harshness makes me flinch, head falling low.

Cheeks burning hot at the hushed whispers. No one dares giggle, no one says a word, my steps come to a stumbled stop.

My eyes dart up briefly. Terrified at the sight of Coach's face hardened with a frown, shaking his head as he looks at me.

"Sorry Coach... I don't really know how to play ice hockey... not in the way-"

Not the way these boys do... not in the way these boys want to. I don't know the first thing about it. Not in the way the boys at the local rink seemed to.

Regret blooming at having let the boys at the local rink having wheedled me into it, having pulled and pouted and protested until I'd caved.

And I knew I'd caved too easily.

I knew I'd done it because the boys I'd started spending time at the rink with were becoming friends...they were friends, and I hadn't wanted to let them down.

Although standing shame-faced in front of a stranger, in front of an adult, a Coach and hearing the disappointment even if it's said softer than I've heard tales of, some of the other Coaches yell loud and angry. This Coach looks at me. And I feel my stomach twist, feel sick that somehow I've messed up and ruined it for the other boys who stand in deathly silence. Waiting for some sort of sentence to play out.

I don't like it.

I don't like the way it makes me feel.

Like being in a team somehow makes my flaw, my mistake all the more easy to pick apart. All the more easy to make fun of-I know the boys are waiting. I know that they're not the same as the ones I play at home with in that small rink because half of them I don't even know. And I know they're looking at me, I know the friends I've made are silently feeling bad for me, sorry that I sucked. That I ruined it.

I know that when my eyes sting and an embarrassing sniffle leaves my lips, hand rubbing quickly at my nose and then scrubbing at my eyes that I don't want to stand here, I don't want to play, I don't want to be here, I want... I want...

I don't realise I've stumbled off the ice until eomma wobbles as she moves onto it too, hands already reaching out for me. Only aware when I feel her hands, gentle against my wrists, steering me into her.

I don't care that half of the rink is made up of strangers staring, judging, whispering inside their minds... I don't care, I just want to go, I just want to go-

"I don't know what kind of programme you're trying to run Coach, but no-one puts a child down like that. It's a game so lighten up."

But her scolding doesn't sound like the way it does when she tells me off, it's different. It's harder. Angrier. Like she's really, really cross.

Face pressing into her, feeling shame and embarrassment, feeling my skin burn and feeling a flush crawl its way up my skin, eyes stinging as I press damp cheeks into her front, feel her hands cradle me to her.

"We start teaching discipline early-"

"Make no mistake about it Coach there's a very clear line between guidance and discipline. A line between coaching and using it as an excuse to be horrible to kids."

There's the sound of a voice pinched with surprise. Arms fiercer and tighter than ever bundling me nearer to him, fingers oh so careful in my hair.

Cupping a cheek and then the other, fingers chasing away streaks of shame off my cheeks, voice softening as she tilts her head to me.

"Don't cry aegi-ah."

"M sorry eomma... I didn't play properly."

Fingers stilling against my cheek.

The hard press of her lips to my forehead, the soft brush of her perfume against my nose, sniffling as I curl into her. Press nearer. Tilting into the touch.

"What're you sorry for aegi?"

"For messing up."

"On your first proper try-out lesson?"

I nod.

Scrubbing at my eyes, a sad watery sound pushing past my lips, eyes feeling damper when eomma looks at me with this gentle ache, hands gathering me nearer. Pressing me into her, her cheek to my hair.

"Oh aegi... you've got nothing to be sorry about you know that?"

"But that Coach said-" I begin, voice wavering.

"Listen to what eomma's saying not Coach. Eomma's saying she's proud of you for trying it out. Eomma's proud that you were willing to try something new with your friends even if you weren't sure what to do."

"But-they're all gonna laugh at me." I whisper, mortified.

"They're all gonna have to spend time with that nasty, horrible Coach. And you know what you get to do Jiminie?"

"What?" voice teary. Heavy.

Hands continuing to brush away streaks from my cheeks, lips pressing briefly to the tip of my nose.

"You get to escape. And if that means we go do something fun we can do that. If that means we go home and do something together then we do that. What've I always said little mochi?"

"Happiness first."

"Happiness first." Voice warmer. Proud.

A kiss pressed with a loud mmmwah to one cheek and then the other, hand steering me closer to her and away from the rinks.

"So what does happiness look like for today my Min-ah?"

My hand slips into hers, fingers tightening to hold onto hers. Peering up at her.

"Home?"

"Home."

[......]

It wouldn't be the first time eomma told me, it wouldn't be the last. It wouldn't be the first time quitting seemed so much easier than trying again and again. It wouldn't be the first time I'd be so in love with the ice and so out of love, so disconnected with trying to find something more to do with it.

It wouldn't be the first time I'd feel bad or the first time eomma would remind me that it was okay to not be okay or in love with everything I tried.

That it came with growing up.

It wouldn't be the first time I'd want to just skate and do nothing but skate, but it'd be the right group of friends, the right sort of Coach and the right sort of buzz in my veins that'd put the hockey stick in my hands and finally the want to learn it, to play it, to be a part of it.

"What matters at the end of the day isn't what the Coach thinks. It's not even about what me and appa think about you."

"No?"

"It's about what you think of yourself. Stick to that... stick to staying true Min-ah and you'll never have a problem you can't solve."

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

---------------------

"As you already know we're not doing any more shared training... this means you have time to specialise and focus on the sport that matters. Your own sport, your own training." Coach Choi reiterates, a firmness in his voice as the entire time comes to line in front of him.

Uniform lines of each athlete, kitted out and waiting for instructions.

It's not the first time I've noticed that there's a militant approach to his training, a hard iron-fist he rules with, coaches with. More discipline and orders than there is space for experimentation and independent growth and exploration.

It's perhaps the time I'm spending with Joon training, slotting in our usual shared paired practice, playing on ends with each other, the two of us baiting the other, drawing out weaknesses and using each other's strengths against each other... it's perhaps time I've taken to think about the way I'm playing that makes me realise Coach trains us to be the perfect team he envisions for us.

He sees the end result, he knows how to get us there.

Overworked sore muscles are a testament to it.

But then again... so are the wins and victories. So are the titles and the advancement we've made this year, on the cusp of winning the national title. Of becoming the team that aces ice hockey across all of South Korea.

He works us hard.

But he gets us the results too.

His eyes are hard and unwavering-looking at us and already knowing what way to mould it.

"That also means there's plenty of time for reviewing, revisiting and reforming our practice as individual hockey players and then combining that to make us the team that'll win Nationals this year."

There's a ripple of assent, one that grows louder with the firm nod of encouragement, the echoes of want, for victories, for the title, for the sponsorships that await on the other side of it. The potential to do more, to be scouted. The possibilities seem endless.

"So I need you training harder than ever boys." Not men.

"I need you putting your everything on the line because you're all chosen for a reason. You've all got potential, you've all made it this far because I know there's more in you to give."

It seems to me, it feels like his eyes settle on each and every one of us.

It feels as if his eyes turn heavier as they sink onto me, as they stay there.

As if his words hold more reproach and warning in those words when they're directed at me, as if they're praising and bolstering the others and reminding me that I've yet to meet his expectations. That recently... recently I've let myself slip. And now more than ever if there's anyone who needs to put it all on the line. It's me.

My shoulders straighten, feel a ripple of tension echo through me, posture stiffening to stand taller, feel the line of my spine harden, feel the subtle shift of something in Coach's gaze, a miniscule nod, a flicker of his gaze morphing into something expectant, something that says I know you got this Park so I need you to show me it too.

I won't let Coach down.

He's seen the potential in me, he scouted me for that potential.

Now it's on my shoulders to carry it through.

"I'm going to be assessing skills as a team before monitoring individual performances on drills, goal-shooting, defence and passing between teammates. You've got your specialisations, your roles on the team but a well-oiled team is able to help support its teammates when there's small failings."

But what I hear, condemning and loud and sneering.

What I hear isn't just in Coach's voice, but it laces itself together with a sharper, poisonous low hiss of my own voice-distorted and cruel and unlike I've ever heard the voice in my head.

You're going to be watched on what you can manage to do right and everything you screw up on. This is your way of proving you got what it takes, that you're more than your role, more than the letter you wear on your jersey. It's about testing to see who can fix your fuck-ups, who I know has got the team's back cos right now you don't.

Dimly, I wonder, watching as the others split off at Coach's yell to split off into teams, skates pushing off to weave my way towards the team I know, the team within the batch of hockey players that I've played alongside for years...dimly I wonder when I started failing them. When they realised I'm a liability, a weak link and whether they regret putting me in centre position.

And as if reading my thoughts before I let them take root, Joon's eyes seem to find mine, lips tugging up into a dimpled smile, eyes blazing with a ferociousness as if he's already read the thoughts inside my head, heard the voice as it rings there and promises to tear it all down. The switch between leader and hyung is usually so noticeable. But right now as he looks at me, calls out to me to explain the gameplay the two of us had been working on-I can't tell which part of him looks out for me more in that moment. Whether it's hyung or captain. Whether the weight of his arm sprawled across my shoulders is grounding or encouraging more.

But I do know that the subtle nudge of his skate to mine, the look of pride gleaming in his eyes does in fact chase away the assessing sharpness I'd read in Coach's. That I train with Joon, not Coach. And Joon has confidence in me, that he works me just as I hard as I work him to train.

That he knows and believes the talents I bring to the team.

That maybe... maybe I need to start reminding myself of them too.

Namjoon believed in me.

Tae believed in me.

And Yoongi hyung believed in me.

Trust hyung.

The one in front of me is hyung too.

I nod, let a layer of doubt be peeled away by the wider, deeper, warmer smile Joon gives me, tilting his head in subtle invite to continue talking. To step forward.

I'll trust this hyung too.

And somewhere in my head, I can hear the echo of eomma's voice. Warm and encouraging. A pang of wistfulness and ache lacing together with the strong warm strength of her voice.

Stick to staying true Min-ah.

I know ice hockey, I know my role, I know my worth.

I need to stick to it.

(AND SCENE SCENE ERIGEHIGORHGIO COS WHEW JIN THE MAN THAT YOU ARE AND THE WAY I'VE WAITED FOR JIN FOR SO SO LONG THAT I HOPE THIS CHAPTER DID HIS LONGLY AWAITED ENTRANCE JUSTICE AND I HOPE YOU FEEL THE SAME LEVEL OF CHAOS THAT I DID WRITING ANDQ WEEGWBEOGBEWGBWEGBWE KIM SEOKJIN. JUST. KIM. SEOKJIN. WHEW. EWINGEIWNGEIWGNWEIGNWIEGWEOIG THE WAY I'VE WAITED SINCE DAY ONE FOR HIM TO FINALLY ENTER THE STORYLINE BUT KNOWING WE HAD TO BUILD OUR WAY TO IT--- WEOGWEGWE SCREAMING. AND JIMIN... JIMIN FINALLY GETTING TO SEE, TO REMEMBER THE PERSON HE IS, NOT THE PERSON HIS COACH WANTS HIM TO BE @Midiiplier DID SOMEONE CATCH YOUR EYE THIS CHAPTER?)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie