Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1632 BC, Kállisti (the “Loveliest”)

Quaint mornings along the seashore are Jimin’s favorite. Away from strict schoolwork and forgettable household chores like lugging water from the well in central Akrotiri, Jimin embraces the salty air and dew that clings to his messy bangs. As the silence breaks from time to time with the shallow lapping of water against black pebbly sand, Jimin feels at ease.

Sliding his feet from side to side as he treks across the sand, Jimin takes a moment to appreciate the sloping hills that morph into sharp peaks. He’s always wanted to make the journey up to the highest mountaintop; there’s an old shrine that stands, weathered and moldy, to pay respects to Euphemus, the son of Poseidon who created their island. Mother promises to let Jimin venture up once he turns twenty-one, but that still lingers three years ahead.

Jimin has a few more minutes left to spare before he has to return home to get ready for school, so he plops down in a quest to find a pebble to take back. Onyx stones make up most of the shore and Jimin thinks their polished sheen looks prettier than the gems on Father’s rings.

He sifts through a few handfuls until he finds one just right, oval in shape and glossy.

“Jiminnie!” A soft voice calls behind and Jimin doesn’t have to turn to know it’s Jungkook, his neighbor and best friend.

Jimin pockets the stone as Jungkook slides to a stop and all but throws himself onto the sand next to him, nearly planting his face into Jimin’s lap with a yelp.

“Nice landing, kiddo.”

Jungkook frowns, eyebrows slanting in juvenile mirth. Jimin coughs away a chuckle and pats Jungkook’s fluffy hair, ruffled because he probably forgot to rub oil into his locks after bathing again.

“I’m not a child,” Jungkook whines, batting away Jimin’s affectionate touches.

Although the boys are close in age, two years apart, Jimin takes his duty as the older counterpart seriously. “You're the one who came out to find me, Jungkookie,” he retorts. Since just celebrating his 18th birthday two months ago, Jimin has the new luxury of gaining invitation to the City Square with Father to watch the debates. Only men are strictly allowed entrance to discuss philosophy and things of the mind. Jimin is eager to exercise his right of age, even if that means overruling Jungkook around a little bit.

“Well,” the younger boy says, “I forgot why I even came out here, then.” He stands up, hands on his hips and makes a move to leave.

“Aw Jungkookie, don’t be like that. Let’s enjoy the morning before school starts up, hm?”

It doesn’t take much to convince Jungkook, especially when it comes to sticking around Jimin.

“Didya find a stone today?” Jungkook asks matter-of-factly. He knows about Jimin’s collection and eagerly tries to help find new additions. “I think I saw a really pretty one a few steps over that-a-way.”

Jimin pulls out the stone he had chosen and savors the beaming smile on Jungkook’s face as he examines the find. The younger boy is so easily entertained, easily pleased. Jimin hopes Jungkook will remain that way for years to come, even after they grow old and find wives and can no longer take walks together along Kállisti’s beaches.

“This is the nicest one you’ve found,” Jungkook murmurs. When he looks up to meet Jimin’s fond gaze, Jungkook cups the older boy's ruddy cheeks, slightly bitten in the morning chill. The sudden movement doesn’t startle Jimin but their closeness could be interpreted as unsightly if any adults happen to come across them.

“Jungkookie,” Jimin whispers, bringing his own hands to cover Jungkook's. Their palms feel rough against his skin, scratchy from days of work and play under the relentless Mediterranean sun. “What’re you–”

He stops when Jungkook’s face comes close, too close to his, lining their noses and lips and both of them go cross-eyed in the process. The dull thud of Jimin’s heart against his ribs quickens and Jimin feels like all the air in his chest is suddenly not enough.

Their first kiss is unplanned, but not completely unexpected, given the inseparable bond. Simple and innocent, Jimin and Jungkook let their lips glide gently, shy teeth nipping soft flesh in curiosity.

Jimin had watched a couple once before undress each other in the seedier part of Akrotiri, between solid pumice alley walls that insulated their exchange of body heat. He was intrigued more than put-off, had wondered how lovers experience such so-called otherworldly pleasure that the legends speak about. He quickly left after the male entered his lover, but the concept of sex still rings fresh in his mind.

Drawing Jungkook’s smaller frame onto his lap, Jimin wraps his arms tight, protective of his best friend who's now something more? Lovers, too? Jungkook whines into his mouth, slipping in his tongue tentatively and flicking softly. The undeniable frenzy burns through Jimin’s body and Jungkook must feel it too, judging by the way he clings eagerly.

The morning sun hides behind the clouds, but Jimin feels impossibly warm with the boy in his arms, thighs straddling his and fingers pressing insistently everywhere. The beach pebbles dig into Jimin’s tailbone but when Jungkook asks something akin to “kiss me harder, kiss me” when they breathe the same air, Jimin readily forgets the discomfort.

When the explosions in Jimin’s gut settle down to a comfortable fizzle, they pull apart and stare, leaning their foreheads together.

“Where did that come from?” Jimin manages to croak out, not trusting his voice with the intensity of desire threatening to tumble out.

Jungkook shrugs, biting his lower lip in hesitation. “I–I wanted to double check.”

“Double check?”

The flush across Jungkook’s apple cheeks spreads down to his neck and he scratches his ear in a nervous tic. “Yesterday, uh, Jisoo kissed me and well, I didn’t really like it...”

The pieces begin to click together and Jimin feels an automatic smile spreading on his face. “And?” he urges, petting Jungkook’s torso. The boy's apparent arousal rubs against Jimin’s upper thigh as Jungkook tries to squirm in his hold.

“Yeah,” Jungkook simply says, avoiding Jimin’s gaze. “Yeah.”

Jimin knows he probably won’t get much out Jungkook at the moment, but the half-confession makes him feel ridiculously happy, giddy even. “You’re too much,” he jokes, and pulls Jungkook back for another kiss, which the younger enthusiastically obliges.

When the eruption happens, no one is prepared.

And how could they be? Sometimes the ground rumbles, but only for a few seconds at a time, and most of Kállisti had grown at ease with the unexplainable shakes. The city leaders attribute the occasional, minor quakes to the gods touching down on Earth, and teach the citizens to count it a blessing when experiencing such majestic phenomena. In fact, some town folks pray at the shrine, asking for more quakes.

Of course, in modern day, scientific knowledge concludes that earthquakes are not the rewarding acts of supernatural deities, but the shifting of tectonic plates beneath the surface of the Earth or in the case of Kállisti, volcanic activity. Molten rock at a volcano’s base causes stress changes in the soil, which reach the surface as violent tremors, splitting the land. In Pompeii, people living in the infamous city reportedly feel the ground shake every single day for a long time before Mount Vesuvius erupts, but pay no heed.

If only the people of Kállisti had been more aware, too.

When Kállisti's volatile volcano erupts, the entire center of the island collapses into the Aegean Sea, only to be covered by rushing torrents of water that eventually erase any trace of the fallen land. What’s left of Kállisti, a curved horse-shoe ring, mostly left in ruins and steep cliffs, becomes uninhabitable and the few survivors retreat to neighboring islands or in due time, fade away.

The fallout of the eruption is so vast that a subsequent tsunami wipes out the rest of the sophisticated Minoan population on nearby Crete. The devastating event ends up embedding itself in history books by sparking the legend of Atlantis – the missing utopian city that disappears under the sea, never to be found again. 

Present Day, Aegean Sea, en route to Santorini

“And even though the story of Atlantis still remains unsolved, today we have Santorini!” exclaims the tour guide on the Blue Star Ferry.

"After the fall of the Bronze Age, the Phoenicians settled, which was called Thera at the time. Fast forward to the Roman and Byzantine Empires, and the Fourth Crusade, then the island was annexed to the Duchy of Nasox in 1207 AD, and renamed as Santorini after Saint Irene. Today, Santorini is considered a part of Greece. Unfortunately, there was another devastating eruption in 1956, which erased about 85-percent of the architecture. Only in the 1970's did the tourist industry really pick up and now, Santorini is a number one spot for destinations worldwide."

A smatter of applause passes before the guide signals the end of the presentation. The ferry's open air deck provides enough wiggle room for all passengers to relieve their stiff legs from sitting cramped inside for the past seven hours.

Seven hours, and one more to go until Jimin reaches Santorini – number one destination on his bucket list.

After listening to a few important instructions for passengers to follow when the ferry reaches port, Jimin wanders away from the crowd to the ferry’s bow. He grips the steel railing and looks out into the Aegean Sea, glassy and calm.

Between the rumble and sway of plasticine-like floors under his feet, Jimin can't be bothered to return back to his Economy class seat, squashed between two passengers who have no mind of armrest etiquette. He’s antsy, eager to settle onto solid ground. Traveling via ferry is the cheapest option to get from Athens, Greece to the fabled island of Santorini, but small fare also unfortunately equates to long travel time.

Passengers are offered a glass of Greek wine in the main dining area (not complimentary, so what’s the point really) but the refreshment does help to soothe Jimin’s nerves, fraying with anticipation.

Luckily for Jimin, he’s not bothered anymore while wandering out on the decks. Most passengers include families or couples, judging from Santorini’s reputation as one of the most romantic places in the world. So he has no complaints other than the tingling pins and needles in his legs. No matter, he reasons, he will more than make up for it while walking around Santorini the next ten days.

Just as he makes his way back into the ferry cabin, his phone buzzes.

From Tae:
JIMIN SEND ME PHOTOS NAO

Jimin barely suppresses the laugh welling up as he reads his best friend’s katalk. Taehyung is the only person who knows about Jimin’s plans when he had packed a suitcase and bolted, plane ticket to Greece in hand, to bus off to Incheon International Airport two days ago.

To Tae:
i'll see what i can do

Taehyung’s reply is instantaneous despite their seven hour time difference.

From Tae:
no excuses minnie, i deserve to see them since u decided to leave without me !! >:((

Twenty-five years old and still texting like a cranky teenager. Jimin sighs.

To Tae:
fine
check my ig
 

He posts a quick photo of the massive herd weaving its way out of the ferry onto Santorini's Athinios Ferry Port. Awaiting them are quaint, colorful buildings settled amongst wood and concrete foundations, tour buses lining up across the adjacent parking lot and a few donkeys-pulled carts rustling across the way.

Ignoring his phone’s subsequent buzzing, Jimin hurries to join the crowd as they make their way out of the ferry exit. The excitement is palpable, hangs heavy, alluring like a siren’s song. After all, the island isn’t famous without reason. Its historic charm and unique whitewashed Cycladic architecture lures travelers thirsting for a taste of something memorable year after year.

The port welcomes Jimin with open arms and a nearly-tangible sunkissed embrace. All around him are buzzing locals and hotel owners who’ve arrived to greet their incoming guests. Glancing up the height of the sheer cliffs dotted with looming homes built right into the caldera’s edge, Jimin barely believes he’s finally here.

Despite only docking five minutes ago, Jimin feels like he’s transported to a world stuck in time, unmoving and untouched by the frivolous worries of modern day civilization. So determined to leave it all behind, Jimin had even debated deserting his phone back in Korea. Taehyung had smacked some sense into him, reprimanding it as an obviously unsafe option. Jimin would need a prompt way to contact home if the reason arose.

“You’re being childish, Jiminnie,” Taehyung had drawled, picking at the sweaters thrown across the bed. “Don’t be foolish, you need to take your phone.”

“You don’t have a say in this,” Jimin had snapped back, then softened at the apprehension on his face. “Okay,” he murmured, halting the hectic emptying of his closet into the metallic suitcase. “I know what you mean.” He took a seat next to Taehyung who immediately slid their fingers together, a comforting gesture of home. “I won’t do anything stupid.”

This had quirked out a tiny smile on Taehyung’s face. “You’re always doing something stupid,” he countered with a poke to Jimin’s side.

After a few spears of retaliation, Jimin smiled then glanced around his messy room. Toiletries strewn across the carpet, electronics and shoes stacked at his feet. But the thrill of hightailing it out of his recent prison felt like loosening the knots around his heart, relief that he desperately needed.

“Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be okay. I’m a big boy, after all,” he had promised.

Taehyung scoffed lightly. “Right, Jiminnie. Just don’t forget to send me photos. I’ll bug your ass out if you forget.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Getting to his accommodations at Keti Hotel is a cinch. Due to Santorini’s well-developed tourist industry, Athinios Ferry Port runs like a well-oiled machine. With one hop onto a scheduled bus, Jimin finds himself in the island’s main town of Fira in less than fifteen minutes.

It doesn’t take much for Jimin to become completely immersed in the sights, studying the charming buildings that line Fira’s tiny, winding roads. As he makes his way through the quiet streets, Jimin easily loses his sense of time and direction, swallowed up by the pristine whites and pale peach walls, gorgeous arches and billowing fabrics that define the island’s Cycladic style.

The alleys are an experience in their own right. Santorini is devoid of large intersections, not a single traffic light up between Fira’s hotels and residences. Dotting along a few main roads are jewelry shops and boutiques, fronted with colorful signs; the temptation to explore through each one tugs him unconsciously closer to each display. Jimin had come to Santorini wanting to lose himself in the immersive experience, but a lingering thought reminds him that the urge had arose from an equally strong desire to forget rather than to discover. With that, Jimin huffs and walks faster.

“Oh my god...” Jimin struggles to find words as he approaches the bright white welcome arch of Keti Hotel. Decorated with a sprawling script of its namesake, the arch also opens out into the vast sea past the cliff’s end.

Booking a suite at Keti Hotel had been a miracle. Luxury rooms usually demand five to six months of advance reservation, and since Jimin had made the impromptu decision to come to Santorini with two weeks to spare, he had faced a somber list of housing options, the last picks. Most of them were cheap, but for a reason – far from the caldera, less substantial views, difficult to locate – regardless, Jimin’s heart had sunk when he realized he would be staying at the equivalent to a less than stellar motel.

But he’d convinced himself that he wouldn't be spending much time in his room anyway, instead, exploring the island, so he accepted his reality. Just three days before jetting to Greece, Jimin had received a call from Sandy, one-half of the husband-wife duo in charge of Keti Hotel, a luxury accommodation with raving five-star reviews and vistas of the sunset and Aegean Sea that made Jimin swoon. She had happily informed him that an abrupt cancelation opened up their Honeymoon Suite and Jimin had forgotten to remove his name from the waiting list. With no hesitation, Jimin had accepted.

The warm lobby of Keti Hotel is absolutely stunning, vast ceilings of Santorini’s distinctive white architecture, dotted with antique decorative furnishings, vases, tables and bookshelves. “Hello,” Jimin says, rolling his luggage up to the check-in desk. The middle-aged woman with unruly hair welcomes him with a grin, “Hello, sir. Checking in with us?”

He barely contains his excitement. “Yes, Jimin Park.”

At the mention of his name, the woman tilts her head in recognition. “Oh, Mr. Park! Nice to meet you in person. I'm Sandy, we spoke on the phone. I'm so glad you could make it under such short notice. Someone must be watching over you to have that Honeymoon Suite open up right on time, eh?”

Blushing, he replies, “Well, it’s a Honeymoon Suite for one, but I guess it’s still a miracle.”

Sandy tsks, shaking her head. Handing him the necessary paperwork and keys, she continues, “Don’t underestimate the power of Santorini. We’re not known as the island of romance for no reason.”

Jimin feels the blush intensify and curses his pale skin. But there’s no hint of condescending humor or sarcasm in Sandy’s pleasant voice, just a simple hint of encouragement. “Thank you, but I’m just here to enjoy myself.”

“And enjoy yourself, you shall, Mr. Park,” she replies. Tapping a golden bell on her desk, she calls out, “Hoseok! We have another guest, please.”

Hoseok, the bellhop, is nothing but grinning cordiality as he carries Jimin’s luggage (after much protest) up the winding stairs to his suite. As they make their way, Jimin muses about his interactions thus far. Seems like everyone in Santorini walks around with a perpetual smile. It’s a gust of fresh air, so fundamentally different from the culture in Korea. Maybe it has something to do with living in paradise. Jimin feels the start of something shifting in the deep chambers of his heart.

“I couldn’t help but notice, Mr. Park,” Hoseok says as he opens the door with a sign that reads Honeymoon Suite, “that you’re of Korean descent? It’s nice to meet a fellow peer all the way out here.”

“Yea–” Jimin starts, but once he steps foot into the room, all words slip away.

Floor to ceiling, the room is completely white and sun-lit, trimmed with sand-washed boards of grey wood, continuing the theme of Santorini’s unmistakable aesthetic, ending with gorgeous double French doors. Beyond lies the sprawling majestic caldera views and the town of Fira stretching its stunning limbs, languidly sprouting its white buildings into a haphazard, organic stacking pattern that situates directly into the volcanic and pumice ground. The sight resembles ancient cavehouses carved into red cliffs that Jimin has seen in history books, but this scene, Santorini, is very real and very now.

The photos from the booking website do the real thing no justice.

“Nice huh?” Hoseok calls, placing Jimin's luggage in the main living area “The view never gets old, I swear. Been living here for almost three years now and it still takes my breath away.”

“Amazing,” Jimin agrees, making his way to the patio. The doors open with some resistance and the full-frontal experience of standing on the caldera edge is a sheer thrill. “I can’t believe I’m finally here,” he whispers.

He doesn’t think Hoseok hears him, but the man ends up on the patio as well, leaning against the railing. “Better believe it, man. Don’t let this next week slip away, I always tell our guests. For most of them, Santorini is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Make it count.”

Nodding, Jimin replies, “For sure.” He doesn't ever want to take his eyes off the caldera. “What do you recommend as something I absolutely have to do while I’m here?”

“Hm, besides fall in love?”

Jimin’s eye roll is not as vicious as it could be since he knows Hoseok means no harm. “Definitely besides that.”

“Ah, touchy subject? Sorry,” Hoseok says. “Okay, well, then I’d visit Kamari Beach. Greece is known for white sandy shores, but you can find those all around the world. But these beaches are unique from the sand that mixes with black volcanic soil and there’s these really gorgeous onyx stones. Take a few stones home as souvenirs and I promise your friends will be satisfied.”

Jimin nods, remembering making a note to visit at least one of the black sand beaches on his itinerary. “Will do. Thank you so much.”

“Of course!” Hoseok eyes curl upward pleasantly. “Anything else I can help you with, Mr. Park?”

“No, you’ve already done so much. I appreciate it.”

He waves it off. “That’s my job. I kind of function as a part-time concierge and part-time mechanic, too, so please let me know.” The friendly man chuckles. “The phone in your room automatically connects with the lobby by pressing zero, if you need us.”

“Got it.”

“Have a wonderful stay, Mr. Park.” And with a faint click, the door closes, leaving Jimin in his little nook of heaven on Earth.
 

Blanketed by calm Mediterranean winds, Jimin doesn’t realize how long he sits out on the chaise lounge chair staring out into the caldera, but the hours pass like mere seconds. Only with the rumble of his stomach does Jimin remember that food is also on the agenda. 5:51 p.m. already, Jimin notes, heading indoors to plug in his phone. He quickly sends Taehyung a shot of the view before unpacking his belongings.

Humming to himself, Jimin is hanging up his last shirt in the spacious closet when a soft knock jerks his attention to the door. Properly confused, Jimin figures it's probably Sandy or Hoseok with more friendly advice.

“Hello?” he asks, holding doorknob still. Best to be safe than sorry.

“Mr. Park?” comes an unfamiliar deep voice from the other side. “My name is Jungkook, your personal tour guide?”

The way the phrase rises up at the end with a questionable lilt tells Jimin to still exercise caution, so he slowly opens the door a creak to find a young man, about his own age, leaning in expectantly. “My personal tour guide?” Jimin repeats, with even more of an emphasized question mark.

Jungkook, he presumes, looks just as puzzled at his reply as Jimin is, and hurries to clarify before Jimin apparently shuts the door. “Ah, uhm, I was hired by your friend, Taehyung? For the next ten days, I’ll be your personal tour guide!” This time, Jungkook says his statement with much more vigor, smiling wide and welcoming, broad shoulders sloping down to his hands where he’s got two thumbs up in a gesture of apparent emphasis.

Of course, Taehyung would. Jimin bites away his accusation and smiles brightly in return. “Oh, Taehyung. Right. Um, Jungkook, was it?” Jungkook nods, thumbs still up. “I’m sorry... He did that without telling me, as you can probably guess from my surprise. I really... don’t need a guide...”

The thumbs slowly return to Jungkook’s side and his face contorts into a look of even deeper surprise and disappointment. It doesn't sit well with his young features. “Oh, um...”

“I’m so sorry for the mixup,” Jimin tries. He feels horrible; what if Jungkook has to issue a refund? All of this hassle for something Taehyung should not have taken into his own hands in the first place. Sometimes his best friend is a little too involved with his life. Jimin ignores the fact that Jungkook just so happens to be Korean too, and is exactly Jimin’s type: tall and lean, raven shaggy hair with a handsome, boyish aura. Might as well have ordered a mail-bride. “Is there a way to, uhm, cancel?” He tries to keep smiling, but Jungkook’s obvious letdown makes it exceedingly difficult.

“Right. Cancel.” Jungkook hums, looking past Jimin for a moment. “I’ve never had this kind of mix-up, to be honest, so I don’t really know how this works...”

Jimin opens the door fully. “Well, if you give me your company’s phone number, I can make the necessary calls? I’ll clear everything up. I’m so sorry, Jungkook, for taking up your time and everything.”

Jungkook coughs, scratching his hair and looking very displeased in a pouty sort of way. “Actually, I kind of act as my own business. I do personal tours, one-on-one.”

I’m going to kill Tae.

“Ah crap,” Jimin stutters. “Okay. Well, don’t worry about it. Did Taehyung pay you already?”

A nod.

“Great!” Jimin says, already formulating a plan. “Well, keep the payment and don’t bother with a refund. That’ll teach him to keep his grubby hands out of my life.”

“Ouch, harsh,” Jungkook remarks, slowly allowing a smile back across his attractive face. Jimin can appreciate a pretty sight when he sees one: large, discerning eyes, prominent nose and curvy cupid’s bow.

“But I don’t feel very comfortable keeping the money if I don’t even do part of my job.” Before Jimin is able to interject, Jungkook insists, “Let me at least show you around for a few days? My parents used to own a summer house and we’d come every year as I was growing up. So I know a lot more than the guide books can tell you. If you don’t want me sticking around after then, I’ll get out of your face for real.”

The proposition seems harmless enough, Jimin thinks. Perhaps it would be beneficial to have Jungkook’s guidance, at least until he feels more comfortable in Santorini. “Ah... well...” The look of sheer hope in Jungkook’s gleaming eyes is all it takes to tip Jimin over into agreeing. “Fine, fine. And stop it with the puppy eyes.”

Jungkook looks pleased, smug even. “I promise you won’t regret it. And how cool is it that we’re both Korean?”

Knowing Taehyung, this fact is probably less of a coincidence and more like a devious attempt to get Jimin laid like he’d been nagging him about lately. “Right,” Jimin mutters, “very cool.”
 

Jimin manages to convince Jungkook not to accompany him to dinner that evening (“Jimin, most of the owners here know me already, I can squeeze in an extra reservation to eat with you.”), as Taehyung had apparently specifically requested as part of Jungkook’s tour guide privileges. Jimin's time in Santorini is already flipped upside down, and as breathtakingly stunning as the views and the new experience are, Jimin is too exhausted to deal with making small talk with a stranger, despite how good-looking he may be.

As Jimin walks over to Naoussa, a well-recommended Greek taverna just a few minutes away from Keti, he decides to message-scream at Taehyung.

To Tae:
you ae too much
hiring my own private tour guide behind my back!?!??!?!?!?
dont think i dont know what you're up to, kim taehyung
you sneaky bitch

Jimin hardly cares if it’s 2 a.m. in Korea and wakes him up. Taehyung deserves interrupted sleep, if anything, for what he had done. Conniving, sneaky, a brat... Jimin sighs, rounding the corner to spot the taverna dimly alight and bustling with diners. But Taehyung is his best friend, no matter what. Jimin can already guess what he was thinking in that convoluted thought process of his – hire a nice man to keep Jiminnie company and help him move on – good intentions, but not something he wants.

Dinner at Naoussa is everything the reviews claim and more – a quaint eatery of rustic atmosphere, low plaster ceilings and tacky but cute grapevines wrapping along the floor-to-ceiling beams. From his small table situated by a wide window in a sturdy, dark brown frame, Jimin drinks in the spectacular setting sun.

With a glass of recommended Assyrtiko wine – dry and dusky with fruity undertones – the entire meal from the appetizer (fresh grilled octopus drizzled with cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, “aged and syrupy perfection, of course,” his waitress explains, and sprinkled with herbs from the restaurant’s garden and pink salt) to the dessert (Greek yogurt cake soaked with fresh blueberry syrup) is easily one of the most memorable meals of his life.

He’s not eager to leave Naoussa, needs to snap a few more photos of Santorini’s caldera as it blazes alive after night hits. He steadies the DSLR with its widest aperture, pausing a few seconds in between exposures. The captured sight is possibly even more stunning after the sun goes down than it is during the day.

 

If Mykonos, another famous neighbor island in the Cyclades group, is known as the best scene for gays to party, then Santorini is known as the best scene for gays to drink wine. Jimin has made it his mission over the next ten days to taste as many glasses of local wines as he can get his stubby hands on. The next stop on the wine mission is Koo Club, located just a stone’s throw away in Fira.

Jimin finds that the venue, touted as one of Santorini’s most popular nightlife spots, lives up to the considerable hype. Posh is an understatement and although the cluster of tall coconut trees in the middle of the open-air dance floor seems a bit showy, Jimin gets it. The strung fairylights that follow the dancers on tall, raised platforms and wrap around the crowded balconies, the abundance of candles, and the roving graphic display of bright blue text on white brick walls that spells KOO CLUB in large letters – Jimin understands the appeal to go big or go home. Living large in Santorini, he guesses.

The bartender is friendly, offers Jimin a mixed drink on the house with a gaudy wink. “No, thank you,” he returns, aware of hijinks that leave some tourists memory-less after one sip of an odd-tasting beverage, stranded in someone’s courtyard and destitute to find their way back to their hotel on dark, winding roads. Nah, he’ll just stick to wine that he requests from the second, more subdued bartender, and also keeps tabs on him while he pours.

“Hello there.”

Jimin immediately recognizes Hoseok’s friendly chirp and whirls around to greet the older man, already bored with people-watching for the past half-hour. “Hoseok! What a surprise!”

“I know! I can’t say I’m disappointed to see you here.” In the flickering ambiance and dressed down to a sweater that hangs nicely from his square shoulders, thighs captured in classic slacks, Hoseok looks incredibly charming. Speaks with a subdued drawl that makes something warm coil in Jimin’s gut. Jimin steels his chin to remind himself why he’s in Santorini and what he’s not in Santorini for.

“Well,” Jimin chuckles, trying to lighten the mood, “this place was top recommended on TripAdvisor – hey, don’t give me that look, that website has its merits, okay? And I had to at least see Fira at night for myself.”

Hoseok seems to get the hint and returns to his usual grin, smolder wiped away completely. “Koo Club always takes care of us. Hey, Yoongi hyung!” Leaning past Jimin onto the bar, Hoseok signals to the quiet bartender.

The man turns to them with a half-nod, eyebrows raised. “Yo, Hoseok. Who’s your friend? He has good taste in wine.”

Jimin introduces himself to the third Korean he’s met in the span of a few hours. “Thank you for taking care of me, I’m Jimin. I was a bit wary of the other guy.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Oh, Mark? Yeah he can be kind of out there with the customers, but he’s a good guy. Some of our other ‘tenders are sketchy but I rarely work with them. Me ‘n Mark make a good team. He takes care of the flair.”

From across the bar, Mark catches the tail end of it and cackles over the buzz. “Heard that! I knew you loved me!”

The infectious energy of Santorini is endless, Jimin learns, as the night quickly flies by with bigger throngs of tourists and locals packing the place after midnight. Jimin turns down Hoseok’s offer to dance the first time, but after a few glasses of wine in his system, he’s adequately relaxed and willing to let loose a little, following Hoseok’s lead to the palm-tree decked dance floor.

EDM and house music drones readily from large speakers in every corner and the open-air venue lets in just enough breezy autumn Mediterranean air to mix in with the stifling body heat. Hoseok is a gentleman, of course, keeps his hands in chaste places, on Jimin’s hips with a light grip that never jerks him too close for comfort.

“Do you dance with your customers often?” Jimin jokes, slinging his hands behind Hoseok’s neck. They fit together easy, natural dancers, nicely inebriated.

Hoseok shoots him a lazy grin and tugs him a bit into his zone, slowing them down to a fine grind. “Only the most beautiful ones.”

So cliche, Jimin vaguely registers, but with Hoseok’s relaxed way of doing things, he plays along.

They don’t go much further than that, just letting their hips slide just right, enjoying the ease of agreeable company. Jimin gets pressed up against Hoseok, back to chest, a few times throughout the night, switching from the hard bass drop to the slower, dream-like ballads that the deejay likes to intersperse in between mixes. He can’t deny that thrill that comes when he feels Hoseok hard against his ass, punctuated breaths heavy in his ear. But even in the warm circling gusts of Mediterranean air, surrounded by crowds of people looking for love or something similar, Jimin still holds his walls tight.

He gets back to Keti Hotel with Hoseok’s help, a friendly hand that guides him back through the winding paths covered in blacky ink. Maybe it’s the mysticism of the island, but Fira at night is a completely different creature – slinky and seductive, hiding secrets behind its curves.

“Glad you got back safe,” Hoseok murmurs low, brushing away a stray fleck of hair on Jimin’s forehead, and Jimin is pretty sure all is in pretense of wanting something he can't give.

“Thanks to you,” he replies. The art of social interaction dictates that Jimin should motion whether or not a kiss is appropriate, based on body language and cues. So he shuffles backwards toward the hotel doors. “Will you be okay walking by yourself?”

A cheery laugh. “Of course, thanks. Sleep well, Jimin.” Hoseok is nothing but yielding, a soft force, like a nudge or a wink under high noon’s sun. Jimin, although elated of making his first evening in Santorini a memorable one, climbs into bed hoping that his fun with Hoseok is as far as things will go for the rest of his trip.

One Month Ago, Seoul

Jimin knows an ending when he sees it.

The end is predictable in its creeping approach, tiptoeing lightly behind view before jerking forward to catch everyone off guard. The shift should have been foreseeable; after all, Jimin is Namjoon’s first boyfriend, someone the older man had been curious to try things out with. Once the initial kick of adrenaline rush tides over into domesticity and the ups and downs of a relationship not purely based on fucking or getting off at the idea of having a dick up another guy’s ass, things change by nature.

Namjoon used to look at Jimin in awe, silent reverence even. Jimin would pretend to fall asleep, burrowing deep into their shared pillows, but he knows that Namjoon would stay up for hours into the dawn just to watch him. Breathe and murmur things like, “I can’t believe this,” or “How are you even real?”

Maybe when the initial fantasy subsides, can Namjoon really see him for who he is – far from a perfect human being, and definitely not an angel, as Namjoon likes to call him. He's just Jimin, someone with flaws, self-esteem issues and doubts, just like everyone else.

The problem with putting someone on a pedestal is that it’s rarely ever deserving.

Jimin knows when Namjoon falls out of infatuation with him, and infatuation is what he calls it – because it cannot be love. Not when their relationship sparks out of raw, primal lust and experimentation. Not when most of their free time is spent not talking over coffee or exchanging ideas and stories about their lives, but with exploring skin and exchanging spit and obscene words.

The last straw that breaks the horse’s back is when Namjoon spends Lunar New Year weekend over at his parent’s house – he refuses to bring Jimin, god forbid his parents find out that their straight-laced son is a possible raging homosexual. Prior to Namjoon leaving, they fight for two weeks straight over the pettiness of such staunch homophobia, and Jimin ends up avoiding him the whole day before he hops on a train to Ilsan. The obvious tension when Namjoon returns, stepping into their apartment, reaches a tipping point and Namjoon tries a last-ditch attempt to bury it away by nosing up to Jimin and wrestling him to the floor, stripping them both in haste.

Break-up sex, or sex that happens right when both parties know it will be their last shared intimacy, is painful. Both in its intensity and the heavy lingering aftertaste of disappointment.

Namjoon doesn’t have to say much for Jimin to know that he’ll be gone very soon. That afternoon, he makes love to Jimin on the shaggy, weathered carpet by their leather couch, gripping Jimin’s hips harder than ever before, whispering, “You’re too good for me," over and over. Through the haze of messy endorphins and a confused heart, Jimin feels cold tears prickle into the crook of his shoulder where Namjoon has his face buried, groaning his release and stroking Jimin through his own.

The clean up is rushed and Namjoon doesn’t bother to unpack. Jimin tries to make things as easy as possible, with a pat on the back and a look that says, “I know, and I forgive you.”

Silence in an empty apartment meant for two feels like burning alive.

Jimin wakes up on Day Two with a surprisingly pleasant lack of hangover and the smell of salty air. Keti Hotel includes free breakfast as part of the Honeymoon Suite package, usually delivered to the room for privacy, but Jimin mentions that wouldn’t be necessary in his case. He hopes any chance of running into Hoseok will not be awkward after last night.

But those worries are pushed aside because he’s got a needy Taehyung bombing his phone, mostly pertaining to Jungkook and consequently, defending his own honor as Jimin’s best friend.

From Tae:
it’s my DUTY minnie u_____u
i HAD to
my cousin’s sister in law’s nephew’s neighbor went to santorini a yr ago and hired him and recommended him 10/10 would hire again if u know what i mean
once i saw his pic i KNEW i HAD to
for my bestie
<3333

Jimin tries not to fake-gag as he reads through the rest of the pleading messages with good humor. Taehyung always knows what to say to get back on Jimin’s good side, regardless of whatever he’s done.

To Tae:
just shut up i have to deal with this mess bc of you
the poor guy! he looked so confused!

After sending a few rows of exasperated emojis, Jimin heads down to the main lounge where he finds an eye-popping variety of food arranged for the taking: sticks of breads covered with sesame seeds, an incredible cheese plate with Kopanisti cheese from Mykonos, aged Graviera from Naox, San Michalis from Syros, and Louza from Mykonos with salted and aged pork, sweet loukoumades honey puffs, herbal teas and freshly squeezed orange juice, a whopping bowl of Greek yogurt and local honey, smoked salmon, and of course, Greek salad.

Jimin manages to build himself an impressive plate of Everything and wobbles out onto the main pool deck, where a few parties are already eating. Someone dressed in a staff uniform comes over with a glass and offers him wine, which Jimin accepts without hesitation.

For something as mundane as breakfast, the meal is spectacular. Jimin frowns, wistfully hoping he’ll never have to return to Eggo waffles or plain oatmeal, with the view of the grey apartment across from his, as he drinks in Keti Hotel’s untarnished front-row panorama of the ocean.

Jungkook finds him like this, staring unabashedly into the horizon, breakfast completely finished and forgotten on the side table of the pool chaise he’s currently occupying.

“Good breakfast?”

With a start, Jimin jerks to attention, stunned by the sudden intrusion. “Wh – oh, Jungkook. Hello.” Dusting himself of loose sesame crumbs, Jimin stands to greet him. “Yes, my god, the food here is fucking amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed breakfast that much before.”

Jungkook's laugh is lively and spirited, just like the gentle gale that sweeps between them. “And you’re only just getting started. Taehyung sent me an email, by the way, to apologize for the confusion. It’s honestly no big deal.”

Jimin protests, “No, but it really is. You could’ve been better occupied giving tours to actual customers, not wasting your time like this. But I was thinking about it and... I’m kind of glad he hired you.”

“Oh?” Jungkook shoots him a winsome look of surprise. “Glad you changed your mind. I’m more than happy to show you around for a few days. I’m considering it a challenge to make you like me.” His grin is infectious.

Jimin bursts into a cough, choking on some residual salmon, and Jungkook rushes to pat his back. “I mean, like – so that we can continue the tour! Not like – oh my god, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

"F-fine, just peachy." As Jungkook fusses over him, Jimin internally sends up another curse against Kim Taehyung. 

“Cooking class sounds really fun,” Jimin quips as they walk toward Selene Restaurant. Jungkook had guided them up to the highest point of Santorini via bus, up past the towns of Imerovigli and Oia, to a tiny town called Pyrgos. Old neo-classical mansions dot the main road, separated by smaller white homes and picturesque churches topped with bright blue domes. And the view is the most unforgettable thing, a 360-degree vantage point showcasing everything, extending out to the enveloping miles of ocean. “I’ve always wanted to try that, good suggestion.”

Jungkook beams his way, eyebrows raised teasingly. The natural twist of Jimin’s gut doesn't help when it comes to tamping down on any attraction to his tour guide. Get it together.

“It’ll be great, trust me,” Jungkook reassures, nudging his elbow.

They approach a well-preserved building that can only be described as a real-life medieval castle, exposed stone walls and grand stairs winding around the perimeter. Jimin tries not to keep his mouth open for the umpteenth time and ignores Jungkook giggling at his awe.

“A beauty, yea?”

Jimin nods, unable to look away as they enter the restaurant. “Amazing.”

“Wait until you taste the food."

They spend the next hour and a half sampling Greek wines and strolling through the restaurant's attached folkmore museum, learning about Santorini agriculture and farm life. Jimin eats up all the knowledge he can get; for an unexplainable reason, something about the island’s past begins to resonate within him, a sort of odd relief of returning to a familiar place after battling a bout of homesickness.

Jungkook has dextrous hands, Jimin also embarrassingly learns, when they’re paired to chop famous Santorini tomatoes during the cooking course. Their instructor, a pleasant woman with thick eyebrows and a gorgeous smile, beams at Jungkook, welcoming him back with a reprimand that he has to dine with them more often.

“Where have you been, young man?” she tuts as Jungkook easily dices with neat technique. “And who’s your handsome client today, hm?”

Jimin blushes, focusing on the next ingredient to be tackled: olives.

“Aunty Evelyn,” Jungkook whines comically, as a grown man would toward his imposing mother figure, “you know I go back home during the year and come in September.” Jimin tries not to store this piece of information away for later.

She relents, then gestures to Jimin.

“Oh, right,” Jungkook says, neck jutting up once to get his attention. “Aunty Evelyn, meet Jimin. It’s his first full day in Santorini and he wanted to try classes here. He’s from Korea, too! Can you believe?”

Jimin easily makes small chat with Evelyn, whose English is strong enough to carry a pleasant conversation. She graciously tells Jimin to come back one more time before he leaves the island. “We’ll treat you, Jimin. After all, any friend of Jungkook’s is a friend of ours.”

“Did you put her up to this?” Jimin whispers after she waltzes over to another couple handling their vegetables. “I’m suspicious.”

Jungkook’s look of alarm is equal parts hilarious and endearing, squishing his fishhook nose into a cute quirk. “God, no! What kind of con man do you take me for? I’m innocent, Jimin. You need to start trusting me.”

The rest of the class passes with comfortable ease and Jimin stands proud at their finished roasted veggie appetizer. All participants sit down afterward for a full three-course meal that includes the one they’ve prepared, as well as grilled pork with cream of fava (a Santorini-famous split pea dish containing no actual fava beans), and melitini cookies and strawberries drizzled with crisp honey and brown sugar. By late afternoon wheeling around, Jimin is so satisfied, he doesn’t know how Santorini can possibly get any better.

While he voices this, Jungkook nods sagely. “You have no idea.”

On the bus back to Fira, Jimin’s skin tingles with anticipation. Maybe it’s the way golden hour strikes the caldera, saturating every inch in palpable romance, or maybe it’s the undeniable chemistry that’s been bubbling between them, sparking like flint every time their knees brush during a bumpy turn along the road. Jimin is unwilling to let his mind get the best of him, readying his heart to still itself from the quivers that feel too familiar, yet reasonably far away, as if simmering since eons ago and remaining dormant. Until now.

“Hey,” Jungkook pokes him. “You okay? Kinda spacing out there.”

“Wh–what, no, no. I’m good. Promise. Just... getting lost in the fact that I’m here, I guess.”

At the lopsided grin that Jimin quickly had learned is inextricably so Jungkook, Jimin needs to squeeze his fists to resist poking the little dimple on his right cheek.

“You’ll let me know, right?” Jungkook’s voice dips lower, almost to a whisper, hiding itself behind the rumble of the engine. “Let me know if you don’t like it, or if you do.”

“Stop being cryptic. Of course I’ll let you know,” Jimin retorts, trying to lighten the air between them, all of a sudden nervous and itching. Jungkook continues to stare, a keen question in his eyes.

“Alright,” Jungkook relents, looking away. “Ready to explore the rest of Fira?”

The tension thins out and Jimin can breathe easy again, exhaling with renewed eagerness. “Damn ready. Been ready my whole life.”

Jungkook chortles and Jimin forces himself to look away from the curved crinkle of the man’s eyes; needs to do so before he gets sucked in, too early and too quick.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do, Jimin has heard. But he’s in Santorini, closer to Hellenistic culture than that of the Romans, and Jimin really has no idea what it is that he should do, berates himself for ever thinking he could maneuver ten days completely on his own. As Jungkook slowly strolls aside him through the winding arteries of Fira, bleached stone paths leading them from shops to boutiques to art houses, Jimin feels more and more thankful for his knowledge and unlikely company.

“Sadly, there’s pros and cons of the tourism trade,” Jungkook explains, pursing his lips. Jimin nods like he’s listening, tries to avert from Jungkook’s tense biceps that curl as he shields his eyes from the sun. “You get the overly expensive shops that target people who are willing to spend money. Half of them aren’t worth looking into, unless you want to feel cheated.”

“Right, that makes sense,” Jimin says, intelligently. He’s been curating a list of mental notes about how the locals view their home, a tiny island that draws in literally thousands of strangers every year. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

Another road leads them past a few souvenir stands and Jungkook motions for Jimin to come play with the trinkets. The elderly man wearing a straw hat nods and Jimin assumes that they probably know each other.

As Jimin runs his fingers through the small keychains with paintings of Santorini’s iconic cliffs, Jungkook replies, “I mean, it keeps our economy alive. It’s just a weird type of economy. Not stable, could change any day, and sometimes it feels like I come every year to an entirely foreign place.”

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

“Jimin?” Jungkook leads them away from the stand with a wave of farewell to the owner.

“Hm?”

Jungkook hums. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brought you to Santorini? And... alone?”

The sudden question catches Jimin off guard, but he takes to silent breaths as they continue walking, focuses on the uneven, stoney ground beneath them. Telling Jungkook the truth wouldn’t be hard, not with the way they get along so well already, matching each other’s interest and natural energy. Jungkook doesn’t press on it, their shoulders grazing momentarily every few seconds as the walkways continue.

”Why don’t you tell me what you think?” Jimin finally asks instead.

Jungkook’s hand brushes his lower back just for a split second, guides them out to an open air staircase, steep steps leading to a covered balcony. The touch doesn’t go unnoticed; Jimin feels branded, dislikes how it leaves him so quickly vulnerable.

”I think,” Jungkook starts, soft and acquiescent, “you had a very personal reason to come alone. You also had a reason to not want a tour guide. You wanted to get away from something, and that’s okay. We all need to get away sometimes, myself included.” Jimin certainly doesn't expect the sudden clarity woven into Jungkook’s voice.

“I also think you’re doing what’s right for you, for yourself. And that’s all that matters right now. You really don’t have to tell me if that's where you stand.” He’s whispering again, eyes trained on Jimin with years exceeding that of a man in his early twenties.

What makes Jimin suck in a breath, as that moment hovers in stillness, is that unexpectedly, all at once, the space between them - less than a foot of pumice rock and ancient, alive land - seems to speak louder than Jungkook's words, pointing to Jimin what he realizes he has been too scared to ever want before.

Chapter Text

As quickly as the moment comes, it falls away, dispersing through the pastel walls that crowd them in.

And that’s all that matters right now.

Jungkook sways back and forth, tiptoeing in a tilt, then back onto his heels. The movement makes him look more childish than a professional member of the tourism and trade business and Jimin feels a prick of homesickness, inexplicable, like watching an old homemade video of his childhood. “Sorry to pull a Dr. Phil on you.”

Jimin waves it off, plants on a big smile just in case. “I appreciate it, Jungkook. You’ve been a great tour guide and now, part time therapist. I’ll bill Taehyung with the extra charges.”

“Oh my god, no, no,” Jungkook insists. They end up back on a winding road but Jungkook seems to be purposeful with his choice of direction; it is nearly dinnertime. “When I said you don’t have to tell me, I meant it. And plus, I’m stoked we’re able to talk about real shit like this. About half of my clients leave me hanging most of the time, like a dog left to trail along.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It’s business.”

“So,” Jimin tries, eager for a change of subject. “Where to next?” He’d basically trashed his own itinerary once Jungkook showed him a list of his own ideas. True to his word, Jungkook knows more about Santorini and its hidden gems compared to any of the online guides Jimin had perused before.

“Quiet but amazing dinner at 1500 B.C. Wine Bar and Restaurant and then my recommendation for after-dinner festivities.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows.

Today, their interactions are much more comfortable, Jimin notices. Perhaps this sudden coziness is because of the emotional hurdle they’d just cleared. Regardless, the way Jungkook tends to carry himself borders on ridiculously comical; reminds Jimin of those cute boys in uni he used to crush mad hard on. He’d always dodge out of their way to avoid making a living embarrassment of himself. That was before Jimin had come to terms with his sexuality, still undoubtedly shy and unaware of the way he was blossoming in the eyes of his peers.

Jimin tries not to think about those days, The Awkward Years, he deems them. Fumbling with his camera now, Jimin isn’t completely surprised to find those feelings of ineptitude crawling back up his spine.

“What kind of festivities?”

The path is significantly less crowded than the main one, tourists thinning out in unfamiliar areas. A hundred meters down, a chocolate brown wooden sign totes "1500."

“Have you ever been to a shisa bar before?”

Jungkook beckons Jimin to follow under the entrance arch to greet the staff. As they’re led to a table on the caldera cliff, Jimin faces yet another disciplining moment of keeping his ears trained on Jungkook while the rest of his senses infuse with 1500’s cozy charm and another view into the sunset that hits him like a powerful slap to the face.

“You mean hookah?” Jimin clarifies. He hasn’t tried that since early uni days; the temperamental smoking contraptions didn’t always sit well with his stomach.

“Yeah! Good stuff. But not required of course. Just visiting 2 Brothers is an obligatory stop. The experience is unparalleled.”

“Wow, look at you, talking all professional and stuff.”

Jungkook flushes. Not what Jimin had meant to extricate from the man, but completely worth it. “It’s true though,” Jungkook trails off and looks away in a vague direction.

“I’m kidding. I like listening to you talk about Santorini. I can tell you really love it.”

Leaning forward onto his elbows, chin in his palms, Jungkook bites his upper lip. “I do. Love it, I mean. Santorini has always been a part of me, I think. Even as a kid I knew I’d never stop coming back.”

The moments between their interspersed conversation lulls in a pleasant, warm haze, matches the orange filtered light covering the sky and meeting the horizon. Jimin doesn’t mind sitting in silence, as long as he’s got a glass of wine and, less readily admitted, Jungkook.

Remembering their earlier afternoon, he asks, “At Selene, you mentioned going home during the year. Did you mean Korea?”

“Yeah. I'm from Busan, but like everyone else in the country, now I’m in Seoul. You too?”

Jimin nods. The reaction he gets doesn't go missed: Jungkook gaze grows heavier, pupils zero in. “Busan and Seoul, too. Hm.”

“Hm.”

Their waiter swings by then, lays down a few plates, delicate sculptures of seafood, and the two men share a grin, the weighty moment overruled by sheer hunger.

Each bite is somehow better than the last and Jimin gives up trying to memorize every detail, impossible with Santorini’s effortless giving and giving of itself. Smoky, charred squid and octopus right off the grill tastes of the sea, its precious offerings worth more than gold. They dig into a fascinating, creamy crab risotto that melts off the spoon like butter, and the flakiest sea bream prepared with a simple salt and flour dusting.

“Holy fuck – excuse me – but I just don’t understand how the food here can taste this good.” Jimin tilts back in his chair and catches the quick look his way from the passing staff. He corrects his posture with a sheepish nod.

“A completely natural response.” Jungkook shrugs. “Here, you get used to being overwhelmed.”

“You mean overstimulation?”

At Jungkook's look of pure scandal, Jimin lets out light giggles, quickly coaxing out an equally robust laugh in return. Soon, they’re both doubling over in the middle of the red tile courtyard, glasses of half-finished rosé dangling between their fingertips, and the staff no longer bother to glance their way.

“Jimin,” Jungkook gasps between wheezes, “you’re a nasty boy.”

Jimin points accusingly. “You’re the one who misinterpreted it!”

“I think you’ve had enough wine, mister.”

“No such thing. In fact, I don’t know if I told you, but one of the reasons I chose Santorini was the wine. I’m on a mission.” Jimin creases his eyebrows in the most stern look he can muster. It doesn’t really work, only makes Jungkook guffaw louder.

“My kind of man.” Jungkook nods in pseudo-seriousness.

“Don’t mock me! I even did my research before you came along.”

“I know!” Jungkook lowers his voice to a hush. “I know. I’m – I’m glad you’re giving me a chance.”

The breathless reply that Jimin had been ready to toss in retaliation stills on his tongue, formless and unseemly with the earnestness on Jungkook’s face. How does he do that, and so easily? Take Jimin's mind and wipe it blank with just a few words. It’s both infuriating and disgustingly sentimental.

Laughter lifts between gusts of sunset-brushed winds, and Jimin tips his glass to down the rest in one gulp.

Jungkook does the same. “To more chances.”

Jimin makes a face. "What kind of toast is that?" When Jungkook just pouts in return, Jimin remembers the way he had convinced him at their first meeting. It's the damn puppy eyes. "Okay, okay. To more chances. But you’re supposed to do the toast before we drink, silly.”

“Sure,” Jungkook breezily agrees. Jimin finds himself halting all the over-analyticial thinking for just a moment as the man's handsome face blooms into a grin, haloed by goldenrod dusk transforming into the night.

By the time Jungkook leads them to 2 Brothers, the venue, a tight taverna with ship steering wheels dangling from the ceiling, is already packed with nightcrawlers and crowdseekers. The Greeks know how to party, after all.

“You get a free drink if you let the guys hit you with a baseball bat,” Jungkook shouts over his shoulder to Jimin, who trails as quickly as he can, unwilling to let the sea of bodies separate them.

“That’s fucking crazy.” The thick atmosphere of pure joviality is contagious; Jimin can’t resist the smile that takes over as he’s greeted by happy patrons engaging in eager gossip.

Jungkook finds a relatively empty spot at the bar’s far end, bracketed in by a couple hastily making out against the concrete slab. “You wear a helmet and they slam you,” he explains, and quickly slides a protective hand around Jimin’s waist to help them dodge a mess of staggering folks in passing. “No one’s ever gotten hurt, the guys make sure to be careful. But again, not mandatory. It’s hilarious to watch, though.”

Good thing Jimin has a few glasses of wine in his system, or else he’d be hyperventilating at the way they’re pressed so close, nearly chest to chest. Jungkook’s hand hasn’t left its place on his waist, fingers stroking his torso absentmindedly as he leans onto the bar, pulling Jimin along.

“I think I’ll pass on the head-slamming action,” Jimin tries to joke, tilts away from Jungkook to survey 2 Brothers more thoroughly.

Warm breath tickles Jimin’s ear. “Want me to do it, then?” The hand pulls him even closer, shifting to his lower back. If Jimin would only look Jungkook in the face, they’d be close enough to–

“Jungkookie!”

In a split second, the warmth disappears, along with the sturdy hand, and the both of them twist around to the voice – a young woman, striking beauty with bone-white skin and imploring eyes, weaving through the crowd right their way.

“Fuck,” Jungkook whispers, then braces his shoulders back. “Jisoo! Good to see you.” Jungkook’s smiling at her, arms outstretched. But there’s no dimple on his cheek and Jimin has barely known him for over a full day and he can already tell that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

1627 BC, Kállisti

Jimin is usually not the type of person to shy away from a challenge. If it presents itself, as long as overcoming it is a possibility, Jimin will at least forge an attempt. He’d rather walk away defeated than having not tried at all.

Such is the case when Father calls him into his room one night after coming home from helping Jungkook patch up his uncle’s back wall, crumbled stone giving way to wear and tear over the years.

“Son.” Father speaks with authority, confidence dripping off his chest in streams that Jimin hopes to wear one day, too. “Son, you’re making your way into your prime, twenty-three years old and a fine young man. I’ve watched you with pride, and as your father, I want to make sure you live a life worthy of our family name.”

The sun swells behind him, slipping in through the westward window. Father has always been a kind man, a proponent of mercy, but also justice. Jimin readies himself for what’s to come, surely a topic of monumentous weight.

“You also know I’ve been postponing your betrothal –” Jimin sucks in a breath. No. Not this. “– because you voiced your concerns against marriage. I’ve been patient, Jimin, I understand your worries. But youth will not remain in your hands forever, do you understand? It is your duty as a member of Kállisti to marry and contribute to our society.”

The words ring hollow in Jimin’s ears. Time and time again of hearing the mantra taught to Kállistian children at school from a young age – The responsibility of every citizen is to raise up strong and healthy progeny of legitimate children for the State. The day looms expectant, a dark cloud in Jimin’s future, but for the first time in his life, Jimin would rather run, and run fast, rather than accept his fate.

“Jimin?” Father wears a stern face but Jimin knows his heart is soft, hates disciplining and enforcing things with pain. This must hurt him just as much as it hurts Jimin.

“Yes Father,” he replies, face downcast. What can he say? Society demands his obedience, unbending steel and will that banishes any hesitation or thought of rebellion. Even against love. Even against beautiful, innocent Jungkook.

“Jimin,” his voice is soft now, tender as a wisp of smoke. “You know that I am not blind, right?”

“Blind? Of course not, Father.”

“I know, Jimin. About you and Jungkook. I’ve always known. I’m your blood, I can sense when my son is neck-deep in love.”

The sound of carousing men outdoors, hee-hawing and chortling as they make their way home to their wives after a long day of work, grows loud then fades just as quickly. Jimin will be one of them eventually, one day.

“You... knew?”

“And I’ve never once stopped you, right? I am a man of honor – love at is upright at its finest. Love is just, compassionate. How can I tell my own flesh who to love? Would that not revoke the very definition of love?”

Jimin smiles despite the twisting slice through his heart. He should've known that Father would try to make the first cut as painless as possible.

“But Jimin. You know how we live. How we are. You know every man must become betrothed for marriage. That is simply our life. Please, do you trust your father?”

“I do,” he replies, truthfully.

“Jimin-ah. I have arranged for you to wed with Sooyoung. She’s a bit younger but you’ve had classes with her, right?” Father grasps his hands to rub his palms in a sign of support. “She is lovely and supportive and will make a wonderful wife. I chose her specifically because I knew it would be make the easiest match... Jimin-ah, you don’t have to love her, okay?”

Jimin’s head feels like a top, teetering and spinning on its pointed edge, ready to topple over. He doesn’t reply, can’t form words through the cotton lump in his throat. He nods.

Father’s hands, the same hands that have held him as an infant, that pull weight in the blistering sun to provide for his family, for Jimin, now hold his own trembling hands. “I’m so sorry, my Jimin. I know, I know this must be the worst news I could tell you. I can see your heart breaking in front of my own eyes and I wish as your protector, that I could’ve shielded you from even this.”

Jimin avoids Jungkook for the next week, unable to face the unbearable weightlessness of light that beams from his favorite boy every time they meet. Visions of cherry-kissed lips and dazzling giggles from Jungkook’s handsome face plague him every night as he tries, unsuccessfully, for a few hours of sleep.

“Jimin.”

Jungkook looks hurt, undeniably, standing twelve paces away on the black sand. Jimin has finally built up the courage to call for him so that they could talk, but the blustering winds of Kamari Beach seem to strip away all the dirty, bold audacity he’d tried to muster.

“I’m sorry, Jungkookie. I’ve been a horrible person, avoiding you. Yes, yes I’ve–”

“Stop it, just. Stop.” Jungkook stares at his feet, shoulders slouching, so small and tired. Jimin wants to wipe it all away, if he could, and bear it for him. “Just be honest with me, okay? That’s all I ask.”

“Jungkookie. I –”

“Do you love me?”

A shudder rushes out. “Of course my star, of course. With everything in me.” Jimin hurries to stand face to face with the only person who’s ever known him in the depths of intimacy, bare and unguarded. “I love you, to and from eternity.”

This makes Jungkook crack a smile. “You sap. What a dumb poet. I should report you to the Square.”

Jimin rubs their foreheads together, heated skin that feels like home. “Jungkookie. Father has told me some bad news. That’s why I couldn’t face you. I was too – too scared to lose you.”

The distance between their lips closes for a brief moment and that’s all Jimin needs to confirm that regardless of what he’s about to tell Jungkook – they’ll be okay. As okay as two men can be in a world that denies their happiness, at least.

“I know,” Jungkook breathes, whispering a chant of love between each word that only Jimin hears, only meant for a lover’s ears. “He told me, too. Said I deserved to know. Told me I could be his son-in-law in another lifetime, maybe.”

This comes as news to Jimin. He pulls away with a gasp, slides his hands between the soft tuffs of black hair, unruly on Jungkook’s nape. “He told you?”

The smile of reluctant acceptance lingers on Jungkook’s cheeks, absent of the adorable dimple that disappears when he’s not truly happy. “I appreciated that from him. Made me respect him even more. He loves you, Jimin, maybe more than I do.” Peering doe eyes turn glassy under Jimin’s stare, tears congregating in the sweet corners of his eyelashes.

They huddle together, a brimming fire burning dusty orange between the sweeping winter air. Surrounded by midnight pebbles and worn-down rocks, Jimin wonders if he could ever last a lifetime pretending not to love Jungkook, pretending to function in a marriage without Jungkook. Wishes, with all his might, as he squeezes the tearful boy in his arms, that he didn’t have to try.

Present Day, Fira

“Ugh,” Jimin groans, gargling protests that escape his mouth, unable to form coherent words at the moment. Blearily blinking at the intruding light, Jimin’s mind goes blank for two full seconds before registering that he’s not in his hotel room and the walls have a weird popcorn texture–

Wait. This isn’t the hotel room.

Jerking up to sit, Jimin ignores the throbbing thud in his skull. Where the fuck is he?

His loud breathing echoes in the empty space, which looks harmless enough, like a typical bedroom, well lived-in. No instruments of torture or violence. Belongs to a male, Jimin guesses, with large hoodies strewn over the swiveling office chair and no vanity mirror or buckets of makeup.

As his brain clears up, Jimin finds a note scribbled on the lamptable within reach.

Don’t panic. This is Jungkook.
You passed out pretty hard last night. Take the medicine.
Pls don’t sue me.
:-)

Okay. Jimin feels the washed-over relief soak through his worried frazzle. Pops in two white pills and gulps eagerly from the water bottle pointedly waiting for him.

His phone has drained to 8-percent battery, with a slew of katalk messages waiting for him.

From Tae:
day 3 minnie, how is it going?
minmin ;3; come back to mee let’s see... u last updated at that crazy bar... were u with JUNGKOOK????

Squinting, Jimin tries to remember.

Jungkook’s hand on his waist. A beautiful girl. Jisoo, was it? Jungkook and her. Dancing. An unsolicited, odd feeling of coiling jealousy. More dancing, more wine, more coiling. The memories blur into a twisty gust after that point. Jimin groans when he pieces things together; he must’ve been a handful to handle if he got tipsy that early in the evening.

To Tae:
i’m alive don’t worry
just been busy. sorry i haven’t been replying more consistently!
jungkook’s been really helpful, turns out you might have done a Good Thing

Shooting up a thank you to the deities for at least keeping him safe last night, Jimin drags himself out of the warm bed, resisting the urge to fill his lungs with the comforting smell (what a creep, yes, he’s half-aware) and trudges out to find a bathroom and maybe Jungkook.

The inside of the typical Santorini apartment is quaint, similar white-washed walls and open windows. Mismatched furniture, shelves and a worn-down computer table, meld with the streamline taste of Santorini’s iconic visage. It’s just as messy in the living area as it is in Jungkook’s bedroom. Jimin barely suppresses the fond chuckle as he turns to the hallway.

“Oh, you’re up already.” Jungkook emerges from the furthest room, enveloped in steam and Jimin quickly averts his eyes at the sight. Bare skin, taut muscles, beads of water, a towel slung low around his waist – Jungkook is the absolute manifestation of a middle-aged suburban wife’s pool boy fantasy.

“Right, yeah. Um, thanks for taking me here – u-uh I mean, taking care of me. For the hangover! I mean–”

Jungkook’s laugh cuts through the immediate ringing in Jimin’s ears, cheeks flushing. “Don’t worry about it. I had a good time with your drunk ass self. Did you know you get like, a hundred times more touchy when you’re hammered?” He shoots Jimin a smug look, snickering under his breath and Jimin just wants to go back to sleep now.

“Oh my god, I need to throw myself off the cliff, be right back.”

Jungkook disappears into his room for minute, cackles bouncing off the smooth stone walls. He returns fully clothed, hair slicked back and bare face with a full grin. Jimin almost pouts at how effortlessly handsome he is.

Slouching onto the couch, Jimin buries his face into his palms. “Did I – um... do anything?” He’s too scared to hear the possible answer.

“Nah,” Jungkook quips, clattering in the tiny kitchen area behind the cabinet. “You just told me how gay you are, like more than a few times in a row. Might’ve tried to grope me, too.”

Before Jimin can figure out a way to vanish into thin air, Jungkook walks back in, grinning wide and holding a plate of fruit and Greek yogurt. “It’s not much,” he says, placing it on the low table in front of the couch. “But it’s something palatable. I’m sure your hangover won’t agree with some of the oilier foods we have here.”

Jimin makes a bleating sound similar to that of a castrated goat. “I’m so, so sorry...”

“You should be.” Jungkook clicks his tongue, but his voice remains light. “All I’ve ever done is be hospitable and generous and you can’t keep your hands off of me on our first full night together. Man, you could’ve at least asked me out on a date first.”

Jimin whimpers, limbs weak with embarrassment.

“Hey.”

“No, just leave me for dead. I won’t mind, really. At least my obituary can say I got to visit Santorini.”

“Jimin, oh my god, I’m kidding. C’mon, I didn’t mind, really. I had... fun...”

Jimin finally gathers his wits to glance up. Munching on an apple slice, Jungkook appears to have no qualms about their conversation. If anything, his cheeks are tinged a faint ruby red, more striking than an entire orchard.

“It won’t happen again, I promise Jungkook. Really, I won’t let myself get that carried away; I'm usually decent at controlling my intake.”

Jungkook shakes his head and throws a bunny grin, catching Jimin off guard. In the mid-morning air, Jungkook looks ephemeral, youthful and soft, sunlight highlighting his sloping cheekbones, clings to his damp fringe. Jimin nearly forgets where he is – the world’s most coveted vacation spot – instead of snacking on fruit with a stranger who's managed to burrow his way into something a lot deeper.

Only later, when Jungkook leads him across a three-hour, rocky hiking path to the town of Oia, the west point of the curved island, where sunsets are best captured in an unobstructed view, does Jimin begin to remember more bits of their night together.

Bruising hands on his hips, hungry lips on his neck, sloppy rutting against his ass – all of which would have been a really fucking hot memory if Jimin didn’t also remember that Jungkook had simply followed as he had asked, leading Jungkook into the crowd with hopeful eyes. Fuck, how pathetic. Jungkook had been dancing with Jisoo before Jimin pushed his way between them and threw a tantrum, demanding that he act on his duties. (“You’re my tour guide, Jungkook, not hers.”)

Jungkook is too generous to overlook his inexcusable behavior. It must be settled, Jimin resolves as Jungkook is explaining how the people of Santorini rebuilt the majority of their architecture right into the cliff’s edge after the most recent volcanic eruption. He would relinquish Jungkook after tonight. Jungkook didn’t need the burden of babysitting a selfish customer who obviously had to sort out some serious baggage.

“Jimin? You... alright?”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry Jungkook, today’s just an off day, I guess.”

“You’ve been staring out into the ocean for a few minutes. I didn’t want to interrupt but it looks like you’ve got some heavy stuff on your mind.”

Handsome and infinitely caring. Great. “Yeah, I... I’m okay. Let’s continue, hm? You were saying something–”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Jungkook tilts to look at him, the noon sun bouncing in waves off his forehead. “This island is famously notorious for bringing up things in our lives that we have tried to bury in the past.”

“Oh yeah? You experienced that?”

Jungkook nods. “Way more than I expected, actually.” A pair of hikers walk by, throwing up friendly waves, which they return amicably. The semi-paved trail weaves unhurriedly along the caldera ridge, with smooth rocks for resting spots and occasional trees and shade. “As a child, I always knew there was something magical about Santorini. Like I’d been here before other than with my family, but I couldn’t remember how or when. As we kept returning, I started having these dreams – like looking into Dumbledore’s Pensieve, but seeing memories of someone I only vaguely knew.”

Watching Jungkook like this, words trickling out with a melancholic reverence, is overwhelming in the Santorini afternoon. Aside from the occasional traveler or two, it’s just the two of them – them and the vibrant land. Jimin notices the way Jungkook uses one side of his mouth more predominantly when speaking in prolonged sentences, mumbles through certain words, and lets his jaw overhang with others. He’s gorgeous, untouchably so, and all this makes Jimin even more confident that he has to end their agreement before it’s too late.

“I know it’s weird, kind of freaky, but I meant to say that it’s okay to confront your thoughts. Whatever’s plaguing you, you know?”

Jimin flashes a tentative smile. The buzzing tension becomes less like electric sparks, dulls into a flatline plateau again. “Thanks. You’ve been nothing but understanding, Jungkook. I don’t know how I can ever repay you and it’s only been like... three days?”

“Three great days,” Jungkook corrects with a nudge.

They restart on the trail not long after Jimin shoots a few more photos. Tere’s no possible wrong angle for Santorini’s landscape, photo-ready and flattering from any point. Jimin inhales deeply as he jogs to catch up with Jungkook, who's already spiraling into a new spiel about volcanic soil and its importance in growing wine grapes.

Jimin hears about three-fourths of what he says, subconsciously taking in the endless topography of blonde and golden hues. If Santorini is an island, Jimin would rather think that it’s a limitless one, rocky terrain of land stretching even further beyond the sea’s edge.

The town of Oia is like a picture from a fantastic storybook come to life. Jungkook strides beside Jimin as they tread the worn-down paths, dust kicking up between their ankles, chasing the slowly setting sun. After the three hour hike from Fira, Jimin is more than ready to devour a whole animal, if his rumbling stomach is anything to go by.

“Alright, so, food.” 

“Of course,” Jungkook quickly agrees, appearing equally affected. “I’d recommend Lotza. They have this amazing spaghetti that will blow your mind of all preconceptions you may have toward it. Oh and the best baklava, ever.”

“Baklava! I can’t come here without having baklava, now can I?”

Jungkook shoots him a wink. “You got it.” Jimin crinkles his nose at the greasy gesture, but they both launch into giggles, shoulders pulling together in magnetic impulse.

Oia’s buildings are slightly more colorful than in Fira, Jimin begins to see, appreciates the calm palette of dull oranges and muted pinks that swirl with pale burgundies and seafoam greens. The slant of sunlight swathes the town in a deep tinge and Jimin really begins to perceive why Oia is touted as the most romantic town in Santorini.

They hurry under Lotza’s burnt red welcome arch and make grabby hands at the menu. Jungkook announces his firm decision for the spaghetti, but Jimin explains that feeling the old paper in his hands is a part of the experience, so he flips through it mindlessly, enjoying the crinkle between his fingertips.

Of course, Jungkook manages to snag them a table with a view, shaded under the portico. Classic, vivid blue domes dot the cliff, a speckled Picasso before their eyes.

Jungkook mumbles something about Korea and his hometown – their hometown – and the smooth rumble of his voice washes over Jimin, nesting at the base of his chest, tight and gripping. Each vowel heightens with Lotza’s glamour, words suspend then release in time to the pulsing Aegean wind. Memories of last night – of addicting lips, of sighs and questionable coherence – tucked away to be forgotten, rush back and Jimin doesn’t realize he’s clutching the menu until a delicate corner splits between his thumb and forefinger, almost slicing his skin.

“And I forgot to ask if you had any must-see places on your list that we need to include?” Jungkook fiddles with the silverware, using the fork as a makeshift sword.

Jimin steadies his voice, blinks away the memories like deleting a file into the trash. Not his to linger over. “Oh yeah, I did have a kind of messy itinerary.”

“I thought so. Show me?”

Two plates of pasta later and the most delicious, briny lobster risotto Jimin will probably ever consume in his life, and his resolve slips away against Jungkook's unassuming boyish charisma. He probably doesn't even realize the affect he wields.

“Nudist beach? Woah, Jimin, didn’t label you as that kind.” Jungkook’s eyebrows skyrocket in a tease.

“Don’t judge me, brat. It was recommended...”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and reaches over with a spoon to steal a bite of risotto. “I’ve actually never been there. Vlychada Beach is more of a tourist spot than for locals. But I’ve always wanted to go!”

Jimin recoils, clutching his plate. “You savage. Really.”

“You love it, don’t deny it.” He points back to Jimin’s list before he can retort. “And the nearby outdoor cinema is awesome. If you want, the restaurant Metaxy Mas is close by, we can hop over then.”

Immediately, Jimin almost facepalms, recalling his decision to release Jungkook that evening. But the man’s wide-eyed thrill is thinly veiled, bona fide, so righteously real that Jimin doesn’t know how he can ever say what needs to be said. So he nods, self-doubt like a tender bruise under wraps.

“Sounds perfect, Jungkook.”

The travel guides boast curated mix-n-match listings of things to do in Santorini, from which Jimin has tried to compile his own list. Wine tasting, endless restaurants, tours and beaches. But there is one singular thing that every blog, every Pinterest list, seems to include – sunset in Oia.

“O-okay, this is a huge crowd,” Jimin mumbles, feeling smaller than ever as Jungkook threads them through the congregation assembling at the lookout point.

“Fuckin’ tourists.”

“Hey,” Jimin protests, and Jungkook shoots him a dumb stare.

“Except for you. You know what I mean.”

“But still.”

Luck has it that they find an open spot along the rocky wall facing the horizon, unadulterated view straight into the setting sun and silky sea. Jimin huddles into his knees, holding his legs close, as the evening blanket turns the wind a few degrees colder, their front-row sight seizing in his mouth like the sweetest candy.

“I didn’t mean it, Jimin. Sorry, that was super insensitive of me.” Jungkook leaves a sliver of space between them, aching centimeters, a gaping chasm.

It should be easy to just nitpick things, to continue to voice his disapproval, but this is his last night with Jungkook. Jimin decides that he wants to make it the best. With a peaceful sigh, he shakes his head, tosses back his bangs. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices in soft slo-mo that Jungkook follows his every move. “I know you didn’t mean it. No big. Now c’mere, I’d say we’re close enough to share body heat, unless you’re gonna give me your jacket?”

Jungkook lets out a happy chuckle, much too similar to an excited puppy bark, and throws an arm around Jimin. Their sides press, balmy like nervous, middle school dances and sweaty palms.

It’s almost too easy to pretend, to give into the sunset’s postcard-worthy coaxing of love, love, love, and Jungkook’s lazy grin. Jimin feels brave – maybe it’s because of the impending end just around the corner – so he dares to tuck his head into Jungkook’s shoulder. The warm body tenses next to him but only for a moment, halted hesitation, before the hand holding him close resumes rubbing circles into his shoulder.

“This is nice, huh?”

The vibrations echo through Jungkook’s chest as he speaks, lulling Jimin further into the daydream of sunset-watching with someone who’s his.

“Yeah, really nice.”

“Jimin?”

“Hm?”

The whole sky, expanse of circling greys and bleached blues, shifts into a glossy satin of amber gold. Out of the crowd rises the soft roar, more like a faint resounding ovation. Everyone has their phones out, snapping shots, and with misty start, Jimin realizes that he doesn’t feel the need to do the same. Holds his breath and trains his eyes on the sunset, the supernatural transformation of Santorini, an universe stuck in time.

Jimin feels Jungkook’s eyes on him still, not turning away to catch the sight of a sky he’s more than accustomed to, piercing into Jimin's skin. He wonders if Jungkook’s heart is wide enough to bridge this confusing path, if it's deep enough to paint the Santorini skies midnight blue, if it's high enough to convince Jimin that he’s the answer to a question that won't rely on probability and chance any longer.

For awhile, Jimin refuses to look at him, fixes his sight on the horizon. But a sane man can feign disinterest for only so long, and the next moment, he’s surging up to meet Jungkook, tugging his collar close. The overlaying tones of Santorini’s cinder sky swing into a helicoid until it stops and their lips find each other’s, matching their breathlessness under the setting sun.

Jungkook leads the kiss, sturdy like the hand on Jimin’s waist last night, protective and sure, probes and coaxes an echoing whimper that has Jimin blushing, trying to pull away.

“Don’t,” Jungkook puffs, chases his lips, and there’s nothing Jimin can do to resist.

Each nip, sweet nibble along Jimin’s lower lip makes him dizzy, a high and a low buzz at the same time. The sky darkens significantly, gold gliding into gunmetal, but Jungkook keeps the arm tight, pulls Jimin to melt into him.

Jimin could have guessed that kissing Jungkook would be pleasant, enjoyable even. But nothing could have prepared him for the way kissing Jungkook tastes like forgotten legends in dusty library books, like figuring out how Atlantis found its demise and faded away under the sea’s cover.

Jungkook kisses, presses their lips to mould with wet licks, like he’s discovering something important, the key to a lifelong search. Jimin urges him on, kisses just a feverent, doesn’t want to ever find out if he ends up wandering down a dead end, empty-handed.

A flash of black stones gripped in hand, a frowning man standing at the end of a corridor, peeking into a wedding procession, one he’s clearly not a part of – scenes dart through Jimin’s eyelids as Jungkook inhales his own exhalations into his nostrils, swiping their tongues together in frantic hunt. Jimin’s walls crumble into pummeled stone and time seems to have lost its translation, years now less than a moment.

A lifetime, or many lifetimes over again, feels less like abstract concept and more like the way Jungkook’s hands cup his cheeks.

There’s cheering around them, slow clapping, but Jimin pays no heed because Jungkook laves on Jimin’s lower lip and holds him like a precious constellation, if men could grasp the stars.

Slowly they part, and Jimin reels in whiplash from the moment that strings them together.

“Wow,” Jungkook murmurs. The final rays of sunset dance in his eyes, a flickering montage as he blinks to clear his vision.

“Yeah,” is all Jimin can really say, when he just wants to ask for another kiss, anything more to elongate the moment because once the sun fully dips down for the night, Jungkook is no longer his.

The swell in Jimin’s ribs amplifies as Jungkook rubs their noses, once, twice. “You finally let me kiss you.”

“I’d hardly argue the time we’ve spent together is long enough to say finally,” Jimin counters, indulging in another kiss.

Jungkook doesn’t let his face fall far before kissing him again, presses their lips chaste over and over. Santorini's background terrain spins in Jimin’s vision with every brush of plush lips. 

“Feels like I’ve waited forever, though.” Jungkook speaks with zero fabrication, earnest eyes that search Jimin’s for a response. “Can’t explain it, Jimin... Tell me I’m not the only one, please.”

The throaty clog stops Jimin from affirming what would be an absolute truth, but he can’t deny it either. Just tugs Jungkook back into another bruising kiss, loops his fingers into his hair until Jungkook groans hot into his mouth. Maybe if he tries with enough zeal, the moment will remain in suspension as well, drifting aloft beyond the hands of the cruel ticking clock.

Jungkook’s connections become a major help that evening and instead of busing it back to Fira along dangerous midnight roads, they instead book a night in Oia, settling for a well-furnished room with a partial caldera view.

When Jimin phones Keti Hotel to alert them of his temporary relocation, he tries not to stutter when a familiar male voice answers the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Jimin Park, I'm staying in the-"

"Jimin! Hey, it's Hoseok. What can I do for you?"

Jimin hasn't seen the friendly bellhop-slash-concierge-slash-mechanic since the night at Koo Club. He hopes nothing has changed.

"I'm fine, just wanted to let Sandy know that I'm lodging in Oia for the night."

"Oh awesome, yeah I'll pass on the message as soon as possible. I'm covering the night shift."

"Thank you so much." Jimin readies the phone to hang up, before Hoseok softly speaks up.

"And... I wanted to apologize. If I made you uncomfortable that evening." He sounds genuinely hesitant and Jimin automatically wishes he could give the man a tight hug.

"No, no! I wasn't uncomfortable at all. Promise. Thank you, though..."

"Jimin?" Jungkook calls from across the living area. "You okay?"

"Yeah, one second!" he shouts, covering the phone receiver. Bringing the phone back to his ear, he asks, "Hoseok?"

He's only met with a dial tone. He frowns at the implication Hoseok could've deducted from overhearing a man in his hotel room. But with no real answer in sight, Jimin is torn. He has enough to worry about regarding a certain tour guide of his. 

The Aegean Sea sparkles, a diamond mine in the night, murmurs the origins of folk tradition and lore. Jimin sits out on the balcony for awhile before checking his messages. 

From Tae:
your photos... I D I E
can we go back together? plsss
take a pic with jungkook *__*

To Tae:
you're still quite alive, drama queen
of course. . . . if you behave
have you kept our place clean? laundry? vacuum? 
and no. 

Jungkook slides the door open to join him.

“Still lost in your thoughts?” Jungkook asks, a innocent hand on Jimin’s thigh.

“Hm.”

“Would a kiss help?”

This brings a smile to Jimin’s face, nipped and nearly frozen. “Actually...”

“Say no more.” Jungkook situates himself onto the chair, squeezing Jimin against the armrest, but once their breaths become one, Jimin has no complaints. He knows he shouldn’t agree, shouldn’t take advantage of Jungkook’s kindness, but Jungkook swipes his tongue and drags their hips flush and the protest flees his mind like it never existed.

Naturally, effortlessly, Jimin shuffles to straddle Jungkook, who slips bare fingers under his shirt, seizing his body closer.

“Gorgeous.” Jungkook says so many things, bewitching things, arresting Jimin’s heartbeat through their cotton shirts. “Fucking beautiful,” he groans, sliding to mouth down Jimin’s neck, bare column of skin that begs to be marked.

Inside, Jungkook undresses them on the bed slowly, kisses inches of sweaty skin as Jimin arches, senses on overdrive with every new grip, swipe, bite and stroke. It’s wet, so warm, when Jungkook takes him into his mouth, and Jimin struggles to still his hips, unwilling to be rude and thrust up into Jungkook’s throat, even as he hums around his cock.

“C’mon Jimin,” Jungkook whispers, hoarse between licking around the head, pushing his tongue into the slit. “Fuck my mouth, baby. I can take it.” A cry rings out and Jimin is too gone to realize it’s his own voice, wrecked, chanting Jungkook’s name. Too lost in the dark desire. Jimin grips Jungkook’s hair, holding his face and lets go, hips driving forward into the slick heat with abandon. He watches Jungkook between his thighs, eyes peering back up, and the sight of his cock rapidly fucking in and out of Jungkook's lips, sliding all the way until his nose is flush against his groin, drives him over the edge. 

“I swallowed it all, didn’t I do good? Hm?” Jungkook kisses back up his torso, swipes his thumbs against Jimin’s nipples, earning a shiver out of his boneless frame.

Jimin nods, incoherent, and chases after Jungkook’s swollen lips. “Too good,” he murmurs. “Now let me.”

The crackling fire in Jungkook’s eyes warms Jimin, bone marrow and tired muscles, a tired heart. Jumpstarts electrical fibers and Jimin wants to show Jungkook all the things he’s been feeling, strange innate impulses and affection. He lowers himself to return the favor, licks across Jungkook’s chest, kneading the tense thighs still trapped under denim. Slowly peels away the fabric, laps soft then harsh, then soft again, nosing into the hard bulge trapped under musky underwear. As Jungkook kicks off the last piece of fabric, Jimin uses both hands to stroke Jungkook's cock, appreciating the thick weight between his fingers, the twitch everytime he breathes too close, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin. Jungkook is vocal, but subtly so, and Jimin knows when he nips a tender spot on his inner thigh, marking the pale complexion with crimson bites.

“H-hurry, Jimin,” Jungkook puffs out in gasps.

“Mm, patience.” Jimin savors the drawn-out effort of stringing Jungkook taut; he might as well while the night lasts, with hours left to explore what the dawn will revoke in due time.

It doesn’t take Jungkook long to come once Jimin gets his lips around him, working his tongue down the underside vein. Jungkook’s delicate pants ramp up to outright groans, knuckles white with the force of gripping the sheets. Jimin, in sheer honesty, is proud of how he can loosen his throat, halts the constriction just enough to let Jungkook’s angry red tip slide itself back. He does just that, repeats the obscene sucking until Jungkook’s nails dig into his scalp, crying his name. The silken fabric soils by the time Jimin pulls off, coaxing Jungkook to “come on my face, all over it.”

Jungkook is sweet and touchy post-coitus, neediness evident as he tugs Jimin’s arms to hold him close. Nuzzles into Jimin’s jaw, pressing his eyelashes against the sweaty skin. Jimin complies, despite his inner conscious protest to not draw this out unnecessarily.

"So warm," Jungkook whispers against his collarbone. "You're so warm. I want to keep you."

Too tired for more, they spend the rest of the night sinking in the hundreds of words tucked into memories of hands, familiar fingerprints, and promises that have yet to be broken, even by the passing of lengthy time. 

Chapter Text

Jungkook wakes up the following morning wanting nothing more than to dig his nose into the slope between Jimin’s prominent collarbones and bruise-splotched neck, to giggle at the sight of the prettiest flush on apple cheeks.

He wakes up wanting to continue where they had left off last night, hungry hands and drowning in almond orbed eyes. With the aftertaste of the past, present, and future in every kiss.

He wakes up allowing himself to want more than he’s ever wanted in a really long time, suffice to say, considering how he subconsciously errs on the side of self-restraint rather than passion in all his romantic interests – all prior to Jimin.

He wakes up... alone.

Even more, he wakes up to no trace of Jimin ever being there – the blanket has been tucked and flattened out, pillow fluffed and immaculate. As if Jimin took the extra effort to erase himself. The suspicion impinges itself between Jungkook’s ribs, a tight water balloon on the verge of bursting into bitter disappointing much too soon.

His eyes take him from the blanket that’s barely covering his naked torso to the solitary sheet of paper on the bedside dresser.

Jungkook’s first instinct is to grouse. At least he has the courtesy to leave a note. But all thoughts blank out when he digests the words scribbled in neat print:

Dear Jungkook,
If you’re reading this – I’m assuming that you’re wondering what happened. I’m sorry.
You are a wonderful tour guide, a wonderful person. Too wonderful for me. I shouldn’t have let things go this far between us – you’ve got your own life and I had no right to barge in like that with my emotions. It was unprofessional and inexcusable of me, and I’m ashamed of myself. Don’t bother with the rest of the tour, and please keep the whole payment for all the inconvenience I’ve caused. Thank you for everything, for the beautiful memories of Santorini. I will treasure them forever.

My most humble apologies,
Jimin

Shaking in disbelief and fear, a fiery fear that kindles when a man faces the strange drop of losing something precious that he has just found after a long search, Jungkook doesn’t waste another second getting dressed and checking out of the Oia villa to jump a bus straight back to Fira.

He needs to make this right. Willing down the tremble in his palms, Jungkook rushes into the lobby, back at Keti Hotel, en route to the stone staircase that will take him four floors up to the Honeymoon Suite, up to Jimin.

“Oy! Jungkook! Wo–woah,” calls Hoseok’s chirpy voice across the wide, palatial room. If Jungkook had not been so on edge, he would stop for a chat with the friendly bellhop, who also happens to be a friend through similar circles – but this moment is a matter of importance. He has to make sure that whatever Jimin has gifted him, an open heart and willingness to try, over the past few days doesn’t bury itself away like the evanescence of Santorini’s morning dew.

“Sorry, Hoseok!” he calls over his shoulder, right about to turn into the stairwell, “Gotta find Jimin!”

“He’s out!”

Jungkook’s soles save him from skidding across the crisp white tile to what would be an unfortunate meeting with the floor. “What? Where’d he go?”

Hoseok leans against the check-in desk. “Honestly, I don’t know if I should tell you this. Weren’t you with him last night?” The bellhop wears a neutral face and Jungkook doesn’t have time to worry about why the man is speaking in passive-aggressive tones.

“Hoseok.” He slowly trods across the lobby, wary of any passing patrons who may overhear. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but Jimin isn’t with me now and I need to talk to him.”

Hoseok raises a well-groomed eyebrow.

“Please.”

After a beat of silence, Hoseok sighs, rubbing his temples. “He actually asked me not to tell you...”

“Hoseok–”

Glaring, Hoseok snaps, his usual light demeanor completely gone.”He looked terrible, Jungkook! I don’t know what you did to him but I swear–”

“It was all a misunderstanding, please–”

“Well, you done fucked up.” Hoseok speaks with smoke that rumbles through each syllable, protective ferocity. “Misunderstanding or not. I’ve barely known Jimin but I can already tell that he’s not in the best place to be confronted with anything he’s clearly trying to avoid. You should really back off if you know what’s best for him.”

At that, Jungkook has nothing to say. The man tells the truth from what Jungkook has gathered about Jimin during their short time together. Tucked away between layers of calloused skin are secrets that Jimin needs to attend to on his own accord, Jungkook is aware.

“Listen to me, Jungkook.” Hoseok’s voice is soft now, void of its initial sting. The flame in his eyes is replaced with a far-away glint. “He looked really tired this morning. Red eyes. Like I said, I don’t know him but... I do know that he doesn’t deserve to look like that.”

Jungkook agrees instantaneously. “Yeah. He doesn’t.” In his pocket, he fingers the note, feels the weight of its importance tug with every unresolved moment that passes.

“Hey. He still has six days left, right? Maybe give him a bit of time, then come back. If he’s here then I won’t stop you from going up to him.”

Jungkook nods, twisting his neck from side to side to rid the anxious knots in his spine. “Thanks man.”

Hoseok slaps his shoulder, a firm hand. “Don’t hurt him, Jungkook.”

“I would never.”

A tiny uptwist of Hoseok’s lips. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”

Jungkook paces through Fira’s meandering roads, walking aimlessly while keeping an eye out for a familiar head of puffy black hair.

He’s tried to think of ways to contact Jimin, coming up short with the exception of one possibility, one ounce of hope that might lead him in the right direction. The only thing keeping Jungkook from actually implementing this thought is the idea that he may overstep more boundaries, and as a result, inadvertently push Jimin even further away.

The time is closer to noon than Jungkook has expected, lost in jumbled thoughts and haunting memories. Jimin’s infectious laugh, Jimin’s habit of licking his lips in deep thought, Jimin’s curious way of walking with his toes pointed outward instead of straight ahead. Jungkook doesn’t even have to cross into lustful territory for his heart to beat faster, thundering drums in his temples.

Streams of white sunlight gradients freckle with sliding shadows of birds that circle above Santorini’s clustered whitewashed domes. The town’s main alleys have little wiggle room between the hoards of tourists that flock through and Jungkook is struck with the revelation that all of this – his immediate freefalling into Jimin’s orbit – would have never happened if he had been hired to guide any of the other unknowing visitors clucking around him like headless chickens.

Jimin.

Meeting Jimin on the first day at the door of his hotel room, flushed and confused about the business transaction Taehyung had concocted behind his back, had left a deep impression on Jungkook. He is never one to pursue anyone based on looks, but the moment he had seen Jimin as the sturdy door creaked open, Jungkook was a goner.

That, coupled with the way Jimin observes his surroundings, takes them in with giant eyes and a dreamy daze, how he eagerly asks for more information about Santorini, and yet still stands enigmatically guarded – Jungkook had spent the past three days wanting to get to know Jimin more, more, more.

A single kiss, originally intended to be simple, a token to accompany Oia’s sunset, had sealed the deal for Jungkook.

Last night. Jungkook shudders as the memories bolt back, a stampede over his consciousness, fuck. Jimin had been the picture of utter debauchery. Jungkook berates himself as his body instantly responds to the recollection of Jimin sucking him off.

Against all logical judgment, his legs lead him, roams into one of the more secluded back lanes, between two pastel pink buildings that shade him from the blistering sun and ever-searching tourist eyes. The slightly briny air, drafty wind that Jungkook has grown too accustomed to notice, bites disapprovingly as Jungkook curses himself under his breath and slides a hand into his jeans, grasping his dick. He’s nearly fully hard already at the thought of Jimin’s swollen lips. Facing the wall, head lolling back, Jungkook is powerless to his thoughts, so vivid and compelling, and he’s never been one for exhibition but he hurries to jerk off, sliding his thumb in circles around the leaking head that had just been nestled down Jimin’s tight throat not twelve hours ago.

Three days of the most intense attraction he’s felt toward anyone and unrelenting sparks of thick tension has left Jungkook blind to anything else except Jimin, fingers burning with a need to touch him. He strokes himself quick, needs to come fast before anyone catches him – god forbid, any of the locals who know him as their “sweet little Jungkook.”

With his other hand, he double fists his cock, pulling down the shaft one hand at a time, an endless suction of friction.

Would Jimin let Jungkook fuck him? Shit, shit, shit, too hot. On Day One, Jungkook had already decided he’d definitely let Jimin take him; the man’s hips would be deadly, could aim right for his prostate, make him cum without even a touch to his cock. Maybe they could switch, Jimin would rut back against him, get him hard all over again let him slide inside.

The night at 2 Brothers had been a a testament to Jungkook's own self-control, an amazing feat as his hands remained away from where Jimin had begged to put them, albeit under alcohol’s influence. Fuck, Jimin looked so pretty when he begged for cock. And all of their suffocating tension had led to one night in Oia; Jungkook had never reached such a wrecked orgasm as under the ministrations of Park Jimin's slick lips.

Jungkook abandons trying to keep things neat, just pumps himself in the way that he knows will get him off fast, even if less satisfactory.

Come on my face. Deadly polarity, Jimin could fool anyone with his babyface. But after everything, Jungkook wants to hear more filth spewing from that gorgeous mouth. With a muffled groan, Jungkook comes, the image of Jimin on his knees searing itself into his skull. The mess is a bitch to clean but eventually Jungkook emerges from his Alley of Shame, reinvigorated and ready to try his last-ditch attempt to find Jimin.

Living without Jimin is painful, Taehyung realizes, as he’s on the floor, tackling the insidious wine stain from earlier that evening. In a bout with his own sleepiness after a long workday, Taehyung had spilled enough wine to turn the tile a distant cousin of red bricks, and thus hastily attempted a bare bones clean-up.

Two hours later and unfortunately fully awake, Taehyung is now facing the repercussions of failing to pulling his Shit together when he could’ve, and the scrub-resistant reddish tones are nearly fully imbedded into the floor.

“Maybe we can just say it’s part of the design?” he mutters to himself. Just himself, because as previously affirmed, he’s also still struggling to adapt to life without Jimin, his rock, his salvation.

After five more futile minutes which only result in scuffed knees, Taehyung admits defeat and turns to the next best thing after pestering his best friend in person: pestering his best friend via text.

To Mochi:
i made a boo boo
idk but there’s something wrong with our tile :oooo
it absorbs wine like a sponge.....i think we should request payment from Mr. Sung since he’s the one who chose the tile
i missss yoooouuuu
girl, wae honja saranghago, honjaseoman ibyeolhae

Sighing into the couch, he flips to Instagram. If he’s lucky enough, Jimin has posted something equally stunning of Santorini, like the last few shots in his feed.

And he’s in luck, because Jimin has just uploaded a shot of what looks like an underground cavern of paintings between looming stone walls, posted exactly 27 minutes ago. It’s tagged at Art Space, which Taehyung clicks next to view the other similar photos.

“Definitely underground,” he notes, scrolling through the photos, various captures of artworks and the unique curved walls that connect as a dome above the exhibit. The absence of windows confirm Taehyung’s guess, and he spots a few stacks of wine barrels at the far end of the rooms. Wine and art, always a quintessential combination. Throw in a nude model for a surefire way to get a date ready for more anatomical exploration. If only Jimin would go with him to an art gallery...

As Taehyung clicks open the comments to leave a few words of his love, a call comes through – indiscriminately not a Korean area code and faintly similar to the type of international phone number of Jimin’s hotel. (He keeps a copy just in case all other methods of reaching Jimin fail.)

Ignoring the nagging reminder that accepting an international call will cost him an arm and a leg, come next phone bill, Taehyung goes with his gut – if it is Jimin, he’d pay any cost without hesitation.

“Uh... Hello?”

“Hello!” rushes a voice, almost frazzled, belonging to what sounds like a man in his younger years. “Is this Taehyung Kim?”

He pauses. “Who’s asking?”

“This is Jungkook Jeon. I’m in Santorini, you hired me as a tour guide for Jimin Park?”

The pieces click together and Taehyung lets out a sigh of relief, falling back into the cough cushions. “Yeah! For Jiminnie! I miss him so much. Oh, wait, uh – why are you calling?” The prospect of something dangerous happening to his Minnie kickstarts a blustery storm in his mind, possibilities brewing with the worst outcomes. “Did something happen? Is he okay? I swear, Jungkook, if–”

“He’s fine!” Despite the protest, Jungkook doesn’t sound very calm, as if everything’s fine. Taehyung halts his thoughts of doom for the moment to hear him out. “He’s fine, I promise. I’m calling for something a little different.”

“Different? Define different...”

Noisy static fills the receiving end of the call before Jungkook clears his throat. “Um. Okay. So, you and Jimin are close, right? He speaks very fondly of you.”

“The closest,” Taehyung says with absolute certainty, sinking into the swell of pillow-soft, tender affection that comes so inextricably with anything Jimin-related.

“Okay, so. I... We’ve...”

Taehyung starts to smell something fishy. “Jungkook.”

“I’ve had an awesome time showing Jimin around.” Jungkook begins, less of a waver in his tenor. “He’s a really nice guy and loves Santorini and just is the best kind of person to show around because he listens and doesn’t interrupt–”

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah, I – fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t think this through enough before calling you but... Do you think you can text Jimin for me? Or something? He kind of ran off and I don’t know how to get in contact with him.” Before Taehyung can spout into a shock wave of anxiety, Jungkook adds, “He’s safe! He went back to his hotel room and left again before I could catch up with him. He’s just... avoiding me.”

"What. Did. You. Do." Throwing all pretense to the wind, Taehyung doesn't even bother to mask his growl, but reels back any curse words for society’s sake.

Jungkook's shaky laugh is all Taehyung needs to explode. "What the fuck, Jungkook! You're supposed to be a well-rated professional and I hired you out of trust that you'd make Jimin's vacation better, not worse!"

"I know! I know, I honestly – Let me start from the beginning, okay?"

"You better, boy," Taehyung snarls. "Before I report you to whatever international travel shit I need to for inappropriate conduct."

"Yeah, no, no please don't."

As Jungkook begins rattling off some details about the first day he met Jimin – something about angel-sparkly eyes, which, true – Taehyung checks his clock app. He’s got Greece’s timezone ticking away to help keep track of what Jimin might be up to. It's about 2 p.m. there and Jungkook better explain enough to convince him not to book a ticket to Santorini and whoop his ass within the next hour.

Squinting into the slate sky of mixed blues and greys, Jimin tries his deep-breathing exercise again. Empties his mind of any clawing thoughts – Jungkook, last night, his own insufficient ability to just let things happen – and fills his lungs with the calming, fresh air. Breathes out, imagines flinging his arms up toward the sky and relinquishing all control of his circumstances. It helps, to an extent, and being in Santorini basically means Jimin has no substantial reason to be unhappy. He's here, walking the roads he's always dreamed of walking. He needs to let go and enjoy the present.

Trudging his way from Art Space in Exo Gonia, where he’s spent nearly two hours moving from piece to piece of Greek art, attempting to read into the strokes of historic paintbrushes that bring past lives into context, Jimin debates where to go next.

With a bottle of homemade bone-dry, citrusy Nykteri wine in his satchel, produced by the same hands that run the art gallery since the adjacent winery opened in 1861, Jimin feels a sense of accomplishment. He’s becoming more intuned with the land, with the grains of Santorini’s sand that tie him to stories of its past, with the way the tiny island struggles to remain afloat and true to itself amidst the overwhelming, dichotomous tourist industry that its economy needs to survive.

With the protesting rumble of his stomach, Jimin pulls up his discarded itinerary, a cluttered word doc he almost deleted from his phone once Jungkook came along. Frowning at the fleeting reminder, Jimin repeats the breathing routine again and hustles his way to the nearby bus stop, a nondescript stand with blue ribbed metal covering for shade. Maybe he’ll feel better with some food in his tummy.

“So that’s what happened,” Jungkook finishes, slightly winded with the exertion containing all the words he’s just spilled to Taehyung.

“Woah.”

Relief sweeps through Jungkook’s veins, the sharp edge numbing off. “Right. So you can understand when I say I need to find him soon. To explain things?”

“I understand,” Taehyung replies, vowels subdued in wonder. “But before I can fully help you, I need you to tell me this. Why should I trust you? From everything you’ve said, I believe that you and Jiminnie have a connection, sure, and there’s miscommunication you want to clear up. But then what? What if it’s for the best that you two don’t meet again?”

“What?” Jungkook cries, nearly exhausted with trying to convey everything he’s felt for Jimin to someone who just doesn’t get it.

“Dude, I’m not questioning your feelings for him, chill. I just – I know Jimin the most. Where he’s been and what he’s gone through. I’m just looking out for him. Say if you find him, okay, you straighten things out, he accepts you. Then what? You spend the next week with him, fall in love even more, and what happens at the end?”

The thought sweeps through Jungkook’s mind, unnerving possibilities that shouldn’t be mulled over, not this early into tasting Jimin so sweetly for the first time. What happens in the end?

The next words come out without hesitation, almost as if something lingering behind the shadows, ever-waiting, speaks for Jungkook in an unwavering tone. “Nothing. Nothing happens, because there won’t be an end.”

At this, Taehyung, who’s perched on the sofa he once fought with Jimin over during an impulse online buy from Ikea, finds that although his muscles are tense, foreboding worry for his best friend lingering above him like a lone cloud, he really has nothing to say to the tone of Jungkook’s voice.

Even thought they’ve barely exchanged enough words to call this an actual conversation, Taehyung has never heard a man speak quite like the way Jungkook talks about Jimin, about his quirks, his eyes, his evidently pure heart.

Like a man whose odyssey has led him to deny every illusion in life to find the truth.

Like a boy who breaks through into adulthood and finds that he can only trust what he perceives.

Like the concept of love breathed into pages of infinite poems and stars in captured one-dimensional photographs, finally finding the hands of its true owner, home at last.

“Alright,” Taehyung whispers, sure of what to do. “I’ll talk to him for you.”

1626 BC, Kállisti

Preparing for a wedding procession is a vital part of Akrotiri culture, a symbol of citizenship and commitment to the State. Every young man must proceed in the proper stages of marriage, from betrothal to submitting the dowry, to the seven-day celebration of feasting after exchanging extensive vows. Refusal to follow equals treason, and Akrotiri officials have never failed to indict criminal punishments, even against men who marry too late.

To Jimin, all the fuss blurs into a muddled wreck, overlain with murky browns where the sun usually shines brilliantly on the mountains’ lush greenery.

He hasn’t seen Jungkook properly since the day his family started buckling down on arrangements; everyone is thoroughly invested in the affair.

Two weeks ago, he had met Sooyoung’s family for an official lunch, complete with stifling starched linen clothing and awkward silence. The young girl, his bride-to-be, a faint acquaintance through school and various friends, had been ghost-white, blood draining from her otherwise rosy cheeks, and avoided all eye contact, including Jimin’s half-assed attempts to be friendly.

Jimin doesn’t blame her. He has heard the whispers of rumors, murmurings between covered mouths and shady eyes that Sooyoung and her close childhood friend, Seungwan, are in love, madly. They’re just as heartbroken about the deal as Jimin can imagine.

Love, requited but impossible, is no stranger in their home of a paradise island.

Jimin’s father is a man of mercy, he realizes more and more as the documents and plans become drawn out, tedious but necessary according to the State’s laws. He never rushes Jimin, always speaks with a stern, yet benevolent voice, eyes full of empathy whenever Jimin dares to gaze at him.

This mercy extends even further as Father approaches Jimin one evening, dressed in full garments, black silken robes and a locked purse wrapped around his waist. At Jimin’s look of question, he smiles. “Son, your mother and I are proud to call you a shining example of Akrotiri.” Taking a seat on the bed, Father continues, “I know this has been hard, unequivocally so. You are strong, my Jimin. Stronger than even I could have expected.”

Jimin only nods, unsure of where their conversation will lead.

“Your mother and I have talked and we think... You deserve something. A token of our thanks, I suppose.”

“I–I don’t understand, Father.” Mind full of revolving possibilities, Jimin feels his stomach growing queasy.

“I’ve spoken with Jungkook’s parents, who are fully aware of the situation, as I’m sure you’ve heard.” Jimin does, and thanks the gods that his best friend’s family is also willing to keep their mouths shut about their sons’ taboo relationship. “And they agree that you’ve handled this with stellar composure.”

A rare grin flashes on Father’s face and Jimin knows to trust the man.

“Your mother and I will be spending the next few nights at the Jeon household, taking care of business and whatnot since we work together in the Square.” Father makes a vague hand motion in the air and Jimin is even more confused. “So, Jungkook will stay here. With you.”

Faster than it takes for the crows to call when morning breaks, Jimin realizes what implication hangs in the air. He dares to breathe.

“You understand, right Jimin? This opportunity is not something to be toyed with. I am warning you. Be careful. Do not be foolish. This is a gift, something your mother and I have decided that you deserve. But we do not want you to dig yourself into something that will ultimately leave you shattered in the long run. Do you understand me?”

Father doesn’t actually say it out loud but the prospect of spending time with Jungkook, regardless of place or time, fills Jimin with a breath he’s been too afraid to realize that he’s been holding, fearful of what may happen after he exhales.

“Jimin?”

“Yes, Father. I–I understand well. Thank you. Thank you,” his words tumble out, volatile.

“My son. You know I love you dearly, yes?”

Jimin meets the eyes of the man who’s stood for his family, never favoring his own needs above those he promises to cherish forever. It begins to dawn on Jimin that in Father, there is a man who empathizes much too easily for someone who has never experienced heartbreak.

As a child, Jimin has always idolized him, clung to his tunic and followed the footsteps of his straw slippers. Now, at twenty-four years old and with an unsurpassed lucidity, Jimin realizes that the man who he once considered perfect, may be much more like him than he can imagine.

“Yes I know, Father.”

The dinner table is silent. Strained air over broiled fish from the docks and tossed beans in fresh-pressed olive oil. Jungkook doesn’t even make a face when Jimin ladles another spoonful of vegetables on his plate, too busy staring at his lap.

“Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says, willing his tone as gentle as possible.

Jungkook jerks up, rigid spine. When their eyes meet, there’s a significant slump in his shoulders, the tension slowly deflating from his neurotic eyes. They exchange faint smiles and begin to eat.

“I’m glad you invited me,” Jungkook says between bites. Jimin thinks the way Jungkook eats is the most adorable thing ever, cheeks squishing and upper lip curling with sporadic words.

“I’m glad you could come,” he replies. Jungkook’s eyes slant in the cuddly way Jimin always dreams about.

Jungkook reaches to steal a spoonful of flaky fish and Jimin is in bliss that they can laugh together again, chat aimlessly about everything and nothing. Like lovers, yet not. Jimin imagines this is what married life must be, when authentic companionship feels lighter than those chemicals he’s recently learned about, helium that rises into the skies.

When they tumble into the woodwork bed and overlain tan hides, neither of them talk about the future, specifically, Jimin’s upcoming marriage set to take place in two month’s time. Their skin itches to press flat onto the other’s, balmy with sweat, desperate to trail unsaid words onto flat planes of skin. I’m sorry, or Please don’t forget me.

As Jungkook arches into his touch, Jimin hastily mouths at the base of his neck, fingers sliding down to press against his nipples. Sensitive, Jungkook curves into him even more deliciously, cries out into the fabric crushed under their combined weights.

Somehow, they’ve strategically stripped bare before falling onto the bed and feeling Jungkook’s thighs wrap around Jimin’s hips makes his vision cloud, eyes almost rolling back. The muscular limbs clench tight, ankles hooking behind, dragging their torsos to match.

“Jimin, p-please.” Jungkook never really says much when they fuck, just repeats Jimin’s name a lot, but Jimin has no qualms about it, he encourages the breathy mantra by whispering dirty things into Jungkook’s ears, nipping lightly. The response is instantaneous, Jungkook groans, cock twitching against his pelvis with every promise Jimin lays out.

The friction between their cocks is just right but both of them don’t have time or patience for foreplay tonight, not since they haven’t so much as lain a finger on each other in weeks, so Jimin hastens to reach for the oil stored in a ceramic vial under the raised bedframe. Coats two fingers and never breaks Jungkook’s gaze as he preps himself, hovering over the panting boy who screams words of desire with his burning eyes.

“Gonna remember this, Kookie?” Jimin surprises himself by referring to it, their circumstances. Jungkook’s legs tense, hands curl into fists, but the moment passes and Jungkook just nods.

“I always remember everything,” he promises, earnest eyes. “For centuries, forever.”

It doesn’t last long once Jungkook gets to fuck up into Jimin, slowly guiding his cock into the tight heat. Nearly cums right then, gripping Jimin’s ass as the older rides Jungkook from on top. Jimin has been starved of this, Jungkook’s shallow breathing and throaty groans, for too long and he’s not even embarrassed to come first, cum pooling where their groins meet. Everything else rushes past, Jungkook flips them over and pounds in, tucking his face into Jimin’s neck, one arm propping him up and the other clutching his raised thigh. When he fills Jimin, hot and sticky inside, Jimin swears he can hear whispering, “Not yet, don’t want this to be over, please.”

Jimin knows sex should be enjoyable but lying there, chasing for a breath, fingers entwined with a man he will never have, he doesn’t think it’s very enjoyable at all.

His dark thoughts don’t stand a chance, though, as Jungkook’s drawl breaks the daze. “Round two, Jiminnie?”

Jimin grins. He never stands a chance with Jungkook. “Of course, baby. C’mon, your cum is still inside.”

When Jungkook just groans, rolling them over again, Jimin wills himself to get lost in their little sacred haven. Maybe it can be timeless and unaffected if he wishes hard enough.

Present Day, Fira

To Mochi:
hey, can you call me when you get wifi?
please. i have to talk to you about something important.
asap

Glancing at the katalk messages, Jimin pauses. Taehyung never texts with proper spelling unless something absolutely serious comes up.

The gyro he had just demolished with a side of beer from a well-known and cheap Fira establishment, Lucky’s, protests in his stomach. So much for a relaxing attempt of tackling Santorini on his own. He eyes the rest of his itinerary – bus ride to Vlychada, for some ultra-seclusion and a chance to strip down at his first experience of a nude beach, if time permits.

Free wifi spots aren’t in abundance in Santorini, but Jimin finds a guest hotspot open at the Corner Crepe Cafe down the road, bordered in with stone walls and sheets of tacky straw material. After agreeing to the terms and conditions, Jimin clicks the “call” button in KakaoTalk.

“Minnie! That was quick!”

As much as Jimin knows he needed to get away, distance himself from Korea and everything in it, he’s filled with a surge of comfort once Taehyung’s deep voice booms through the line. “Tae.” His best friend has also been his confidant through practically every season of Jimin’s life and their renewed communication strikes a resonating chord he wasn’t aware even existed.

“Minnie, for fuck’s sake, I’m never letting you travel without me ever again. I’m dying.”

Cue the theatrics and Jimin’s eye-rolling. But he wouldn’t have it any other way, so he replies with affection, “That’s good to hear.”

“Bitch. How are you?”

“As good as I can possibly be in paradise. You?”

“I just told you... dying. Cardiac arrest over and over and you’re just enjoying your ass. Hope you get sand everywhere, crack and all.”

The taut strings constricting every one of Jimin’s breaths feel like they’re loosening. He should’ve called Tae earlier when he had the chance, really.

“I’m actually on my way to the beach now.”

“Good. I’m cuddling by myself and watching Moana.”

The image makes Jimin grin even harder. “Sounds lovely, Tae. Um... so what did you want to talk to me about that was so important?”

“Right. Jimin-ah... Do you have something you want to tell me?”

Confused, Jimin racks his brain trying to remember if he forgot something important, like their Best Friendiversarry or if he left something at home that he was supposed to bring. “No?”

“Something tall, handsome, and incredibly well-informed about Santorini?”

Jimin throws his head back and nearly plonks it on the restaurant’s textured wall. “Tae. Don’t.”

“Well, I’m gonna. Do you know Jungkook called me? He’s distraught. I don’t even know how a grown man can be so fucking scared, but he was. Said something about a misunderstanding and he needs to meet you to explain.”

“I am completely capable of making my own decisions when it comes to things like this Tae, I–”

“Please, just give him a chance. I know you left him to wake up alone and I know why you did. Jungkook wants to prove all of that wrong.”

At that, Jimin nearly combusts. “How do you know? How do you even fucking know something like that? People’s hearts change. All the time. I needed to slip away to make sure no one gets even more hurt.”

A family of four, with two daughters swinging hands between their parents glance at Jimin with visible surprise. A few patrons from Corner Crepe Cafe peek out of the entrance to observe the ruckus. Lowering his voice, he continues. Taehyung remains silent. “You don’t know, okay? You just don’t.”

Once the words are out, Jimin doesn’t think he has enough energy to fight if Taehyung wants to argue any more.

Luckily, his best friend catches on when enough is enough. “Okay, Jiminnie. Just breathe. I’m not trying to patronize you, yea? I’m not gonna push it anymore. Just wanted to try. I think you’d do the same for me.”

A drawn out sigh. “Yeah.”

“Minnie?”

“Yeah.”

“Love you.”

“I gotta go, okay Tae? Text later.”

“Yes, please!”

The sweltering heat has dimmed down to a robust glow, houses casting three o’clock shadows on Fira’s swarming streets. Jimin hangs up and disconnects from the wifi. Ambient noise is an ever-present companion in Santorini but now he wants nothing more than to plop back in bed, burrow into the lighter-than-air, cloud-white sheets and sleep until he wakes up having completely forgotten.

But he’s got a list of sights he’s paid a hefty sum of money to see and a heart that tugs closer to the land by an invisible strand he can’t ignore.

Shrugging his rucksack higher on his shoulder, Jimin heads back to the bus station, toes dragging along the raised cobblestones.

“Jimin! Wait up!”

That voice – Jimin feels the air bleed with anticipation that he tries to suppress, something vastly scary, unknown. Bracing himself for the moment, Jimin turns around despite the flight sensations firing in every muscle fiber, dead legs anchoring in place.

The remainder of Jungkook’s full expression comes into view past the slight dust draft and Jimin wonders how much water he would need to quench the parch in his throat, arid at the way Jungkook looks at him. Helpless, he stands still, watches as Jungkook nears to face him with a readable expression that’s far too tender for two men who’ve met three days ago.

Written clearly, the endearment is carved into every eyelash and every blink, the way Jungkook’s lips remain parted like he’s got encyclopedias of words to spill. It should be hard to read someone who’s so foreign, but Jimin can hear it – the rough wanting, larger than the slices of land that have fallen into the ocean thousands of years ago. Jungkook smiles and Jimin thinks he may not be so mad anymore, doesn’t really mind the doubt that plagues like blight over dead grapes. Not as long as he can keep this look, tuck it away just for himself.

“Jungkook.”

“Found ya, Jiminnie.”

Chapter Text

The bus ride to Armenie is silent, save the white noise that balloons in the air. Jimin shifts in his glossy plastic seat, uneasy with the way the space between Jungkook and him is stifling and thick, far from Santorini’s brisk early-Autumn breeze. The clatter of the bus’ steel and rubber tires on asphalt drones on, an ever-present lull that keeps them aware, aware of their distance.

After Jungkook had found him, Jimin couldn’t bring himself to say much. And what was there to say? I’m sorry I left you with a pathetic note? or Why would you try to find me? His lips had parched shut, cracked fissures of empty sighs, but Jungkook had approached him silently, didn’t seem to expect anything.

Standing in the middle of the busy Fira street, framed in by streams of nameless faces and Jungkook’s solemn gaze, Jimin had acted on impulse. Unable to stand the freefall of limbo he had created when he ran away, he instead wordlessly tugged Jungkook along to the bus stop where he was originally headed.

“Jimin?” Jungkook whispers, lightly dragging his fingertips along Jimin’s knee, the sensation fading as quickly as it comes. “Are you sure you’re okay with me tagging along?”

Jimin gulps. “Well,” he gets out, “would be rude of me to refuse, anyway.” He tries leveling his voice to one without a wobble, or without any passive-aggressiveness, but the answer still tumbles out weak and unsure.

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow. “You really don’t have to. All things considered, I thought you’d try to book it when I found you.”

If Jimin was not so internally at war with himself, he’d coo over Jungkook’s effortless transparency. “You can help me find the church,” he says instead.

Jungkook hums and their punctuated conversation hangs over their heads, a dense cloud.

Turning to look back out the window, Jimin keeps his eyes tracking along the dusty roads and flecks of sunflower fields that come and go through the pane, flickering moving pictures older than time. He’d rather not talk about the current state of affairs between them. Everything that needed to be said, he had made clear in his letter.

Yet, Jungkook had called Taehyung for answers and still sought him out.

He senses Jungkook rearranging himself, a bob of shaggy brown hair moving in the corner of his eye. The tour guide remains silent the rest of the way, and Jimin tries not to think about how his eyes stay glued on him, studying, prodding, yet completely gentle.

Armeni is a less of a town by the sea, and more of a collection of houses that tickle their ways to flirt with the shoreline, cobblestones and crumbling land fusing together. Small and quaint, Armeni is a far cry from Fira’s congestion of tourists. Jimin feels strangely at home.

They rush down the bus steps, Jungkook waving a friendly hand to the smiling driver, and take in their surroundings – absolute blue, stunning turquoise that blankets the ocean beyond the horizon.

“Pretty stunning, huh?” Jungkook nudges Jimin’s shoulder just for a second and breathes in relief when Jimin doesn’t resist his jest. Maybe Jungkook craves the physical contact to reassure himself that the man doesn’t hate his guts. Or maybe he just needs to touch Jimin, run his fingertips along the tanned skin, to relieve the ache in his fingers that grows the longer this – whatever this is – remains stagnant, unresolved.

“It’s really nice.” Jimin replies with chipped phrases. The stiff formalities are glaringly obvious. It’s not like Jimin at all to remain aloof, especially with Jungkook. Since Day One, their personalities had connected in tandem, a lattice of souls.

Jimin steels himself to try again, to say something less formal and reserved as they fall into step toward the end of the port, by the single fishermen’s boats that reflect beams of sunlight with every bob of the waves. “Can you tell me what you know about the church?”

Jungkook whips his head to look at Jimin, genuine surprise dripping from his wide doe eyes. Soft, endearing.

“The church?” He repeats. “The one we’re going to?”

Jimin nods, still looking ahead, one hand cupping over his eyes to shade from the glare.

“Well,” Jungkook starts, firm voice more soothing to Jimin than he’d ever admit, “first of all, there’s no way we can even get to it without a boat.”

This, of course, is not news to Jimin. The meager information he’d gathered during his short research before flying over from Korea had shown him that the Church of the Holy Seven Sleepers of Ephesus is only reachable via boat from the Armeni harbor. Thankfully, when Sandy had contacted him about his room in Keti Hotel, he’d asked her to arrange a means of transportation. She’d directed him to a man named Jin (“Just Jin,” she said. “I don’t even know his last name or where he’s from, but he always helps tourists get to the church with ease.”) who lived in a small white house a little higher up in the port town.

“You’re right,” Jimin replies, trying not to swoon over Jungkook’s look of curiosity. “I was able to get in touch with a guy. He’ll help us.”

“Nice,” Jungkook mumbles. “To be honest, I’ve never been there.”

Jimin’s lips curl against his better judgment as he watches Jungkook’s nose scrunch upward. “Don’t worry, I won’t gloat it over you,” he reassures. The words come out a bit more teasing than their situation should call for, and Jungkook catches the quip easily. The auburn in his eyes glints like burning coals.

“You won there, though.” Jungkook replies, voice lifting up. “Beat me at my game.”

Jimin’s cheeks flare up, tinted by the relentless sun and a little bit of love. “Just had some good luck.”

Jungkook shifts closer, matching him step for step as the sapphire shoreline slips further away. “Luck, my ass. Santorini was waiting for you to come for it.”

“Oh?” Jimin lets out a quiet sigh, halfway relief and halfway ruminating. Adjusting back into quick banter with Jungkook helps some, chipping away at the staunch stiffness. “I guess I was waiting for it, too.”

Jin’s place is one of the few homes that blot the Amoudi Bay coast, white walls slightly worn down by the salty air and incessant sea breeze. Clumps of salt line the pathway to the door, crystalline gemstones.

“So, this guy’s name is Jin?” Jungkook clarifies, based off of Jimin’s quick explanation. “A fisherman?”

A nod, and Jimin reaches out to knock. Once, twice, thrice. The dull sound curls through the hollow walls, clanging like an old bell.

When no response comes after a few more knocks, Jimin decides that maybe today’s just not the right day.

Jungkook cocks his head up from where he’s slouched down on the dusty path, hands cradling his phone. “We can wait around for a bit. Maybe he’s still out in the water.”

Jimin takes in the threshold, commits it to memory, and shakes his head, even though Jungkook is sitting behind him. “Nah, we can go. If it wasn’t meant to be–”

“What wasn’t meant to be?” A gentle, tinkering voice floats from the end of the walkway, and the two of them turn to greet its owner.

Tall and broad, with a welcoming smile, the man nods slightly. “Never say it’s not meant to be. Whatever it is, I can try to help.” He shuffles toward them and Jungkook stands up to meet his handshake.

“I’m Jin, sorry I wasn’t here earlier – I had to stock up on a few supplies for my boat. Who do I have the pleasure to meeting today?”

Three pairs of feet follow the natural path of worn wooden beams, linking the land to the sea. Armeni is a port in Amoudi Bay, half of which attunes to the tourist industry with seafood restaurants and diving points. The other half is secluded, more or less the gathering of homes for the resident fishermen. Also on Jimin’s list is to visit Armeni’s Katina, touted as one of the best places to taste the gems of the Aegean Sea. As if the food here could possibly get any better.

Jimin jerks out of his thoughts by Jin’s boisterous laugh ahead, where he’s chatting it up with Jungkook. “And then Yoongi told me that he wanted to propose on a fishing boat. Can you believe how cliche he is? I absolutely love it.” Jungkook laughs along, low swell of a rumble matching Jin’s squeaks. Before he knows it, Jimin is unable to fight the smile that tugs across his face while watching Jungkook at ease.

Of course, right on cue, Jungkook turns back to catch his gaze, chestnut hues gripping Jimin’s heart. He offers a smile, and Jimin hates how easily it is to return it without missing a beat.

“C’mon Jimin!” Jin calls over his shoulder, “She’s right around the turn.” He points to the row of boats ahead, five tied to the docks in a line. Jimin hopes his stomach will not betray him once they get into the bay.

Jin carefully instructs them how to walk across onto the boat, crossing from wooden beams to a sturdy bow. “She’s been my constant companion since I moved here,” Jin says, patting the hull before loosening the rope that keeps them hinged to shore.

“When did you move here?” Jimin is nothing but curious about the intriguing characters Santorini has been bringing him to meet. They’ve settled into their seats along the middle of the boat, watching Jin at the wheel navigate the vessel out of its stall and into the calm Amoudi sea.

Once the water around them is nothing but calm stillness, the hull slicing through sapphire glass with a wisp, Jin begins his story.

“Honestly, I never thought I’d end up here. Santorini, out of anywhere in the world? I mean, it’s nice to visit, to see on postcards, maybe in a magazine, but it just didn’t make sense for me. I was just a boring kid with no real life plan, working at a desk job that make me feel dead inside, you know?” Jin rolls his eyes, guffawing at the memory and his two-person audience murmurs in agreement. “Then one of my best friends planned a spur-of-the-moment trip to Greece for his twenty-fifth birthday and dragged me along. I went, just like any tourist does, thinking I'm gonna live it up for a bit, then go home and back to the nothingness. I guess Greece had other plans for me, because my best bud fell in love with sailing, and wrangled me into it. Along the way, we kind of fell in love with each other, too.”

Jin pauses for a bit to recheck their course, steering them slightly to the west, where the jutting Santorini coastline dashes sharply up into a sleep cliff, nearly vertical. The change is jarring, almost unnatural how the caldera walls appear to have been cut by a knife, shaved down and away into the water. Jungkook must sense the tension that hardens Jimin’s shoulders, because the next thing Jimin knows, there’s a soft caress of calloused fingers along his knee, rubbing circles, rhythmic and calming. Jimin’s unease slips away immediately, tugged down to the bottom of the sea.

“The sailing trip we embarked on led us to Santorini. Can you imagine that? Two Korean boys with little to no sailing experience, falling in love, but even more, with the water. Before I could even understand it myself, we had bought a house and a boat. It’s been five years since then and I never feel like my job leaves me dead inside anymore.” Jin concludes with a blinding grin, dripping with sincerity. The way his eyes sweep across the water is honed by endless familiarity, like lovers upon the curves of their bodies.

“That’s really amazing, Jin,” Jungkook chirps. “I don’t know why I've met Yoongi but not you. I’m here every year for a few months at least.”

Their boat crosses the current and pulls closer to the ridge of land, turning swiftly in. Jimin looks behind to glance their progress and finds that Armeni is already out of sight beyond the bay’s curve. As he rights back to face the bow, he sees two things that make his heart stutter – Jungkook’s ecstatic grin, directed right at him, and the looming sight of a solitary stone building tucked between a vast breaching cave.

Jin whistles. “I don’t know why either, but there are a lot more people here than you would expect. I usually keep to my boat and the seas, so that might explain why. And welp, there it is, Jimin. Always there, waiting for its next visitor.”

In photos, the church is plain, grey hued and threadbare, alone. Jimin doesn’t remember exactly why he wanted to visit so badly, or what drew him to its appeal. But here he stands, toes digging into the mix of dead coral and sand, staring at the building that seems to entrench all of his senses.

The one-room church is empty of life, stagnant, a piece of the past that doesn’t seem to move forward or backward. Yet the moment Jimin takes his first step forward, he’s hit with an intense longing. He realizes, with a jolt, that the same feeling had gripped his mind when he’d first read about the church during his research – seemingly by mistake, skimming through visitors’ recommendations of must-visit clubs and beaches.

There is a reason why he’s here. Just, in the tangled mess he’s wound up in – Jungkook, his own damn emotions, taking things way too fast – Jimin can’t bring himself to grasp it yet. It’s right beyond, two inches too far, just like the way Jungkook holds himself a stone’s throw away with pretense.

Jin moves past Jimin to walk slowly to its threshold, a reverence in every step on the holy ground. Placing a few sticks of incense into the gravel foundation, Jin takes a moment to bow his head, and Jimin does the same; lets his eyes slide shut to bask in the waves of aching something-ness that thrum from the cave and the church.

1626 BC, Kallisti

Moments with Jungkook come by less and less as the weeks pass, between finishing days of work in the City Square and finalizing both legal and personal arrangements for the marriage.

Their families had worked out a deal that the two of them, Jimin and Sooyoung, would spend at least one day together a week to get to know each other until the wedding date that looms ahead in less than a month’s time. After all, betrothals could be less painful and mechanical, more natural and desirable, if the two parties could actually enjoy the other’s company.

At first, Jimin only attends his weekly meetings out of obedience to his parents. Sooyoung makes it painfully obvious that she reciprocates his lack of interest, answering his attempts to break the ice with clipped phrases and never meeting his eyes. Not that he minds.

Taehyung, his good buddy since birth, finally digs up the story behind Sooyoung’s heartbreak. It’s with this knowledge that he visits her today, armed with something to finally make a connection – something greater than a false cover for what is expected to be a happy marriage.

Their designated meeting spot is off the corner out of Akrotiri, toward Emporio, up the slopes of Thira. At a familiar area dotted mainly with farms and vineyards, Jimin and Sooyoung spend two hours finding ways to avoid proper conversation, walking the dusty roads toward no real destination in mind. But not today.

“So,” he says, voice laced with concern. Sooyoung eyes him warily, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers. “I want to be honest with you.”

The lines on Sooyoung’s porcelain forehead deepen. “O-okay,” she mumbles, faint. “What about?”

“Us.”

“Jimin,” she whispers, even though they’re completely alone, alone with the thriving land. “I don’t know how to be polite when I say this, but, there is no us. Right?”

Jimin lets out a sigh, though he understands her tone completely. “You’re right, in a way. But that’s just it. We’re gonna be married soon–” Sooyoung’s groan falls flat between them. “–and whether we like it or not, there will be an us. I’d much prefer it if we could make this as painless as possible.” He stops, knocking up a gust of dirt around their ankles.

Turning to face Sooyoung, he takes in her pained expression, like defeat mixed with no reason to hold on. “We’re friends. Even before all of this, we’ve known each other for ages.”

She nods. “Since childhood.”

“So let’s be honest.”

Sooyoung’s eyes are dull when they meet his, resigned. “Honest,” she repeats.

Jimin inhales through his nose, ready to take a dive headfirst. “I’m in love with Jungkook.”

The words paint themselves into the arid air, colorful and bright, the first thing in a long time that’s been more than a breath of fresh air. Sooyoung seems to get it, too, her downturned ruby lips sliding up into her apple cheeks.

“I know.”

Jimin smiles back. “And I know you’re in love with Seungwan.”

“I am.” The reply is instantaneous, shifting the ground under their rattan sandals, an epiphany that needed to be breathed out into their reality. “I love her,” Sooyoung reaffirms, reaching out to grip Jimin’s hands in hers, desperate, “like the land loves the sea. Only, they can never be together, pulled apart by the mystery of the tides.”

Jimin lets their fingers link solidly, like some taste of reassurance he never knew he needed. “Always pulling forward and back, but never as one,” he adds. Sooyoung nods, eager, eyes sparkling bright in acknowledgement.

“We’re in the same boat here,” he says. “Loving someone else. At least we can understand how the other feels.”

The last few ounces of resignation drip away from Sooyoung’s eyes, replaced by something kindling, brimming with hope. “Completely.”

They return back to their walk, shoulders much less heavier. The clutching press against Jimin’s ribs feels relieved of the gnawing animal that once gorged itself of his arteries, feeding off of his own life.

Jimin is able to pass the message onto Jungkook to meet him at their hideout. One last time, he thinks, as he slides out of his window into the blustering night wind.

Since they were children, the ocean had been their home, offering its waves as shelter and black stones as roads to live out their brightest dreams together.

When Jungkook hears Jimin’s call, he knows exactly where to meet him. The church.

Stumbling on his own two feet, Jungkook runs in haste, his heart pounding loud and louder in his ears. Thundering drums block out everything else and he nearly loses his footing as he dashes down the shoreline, around the sloping hillside, and into the cave – their cave.

The stone structure stands as a quaint devotion to one of their gods, Jungkook has never really kept track of which one, and it's usually empty unless the time comes for the festival season. Tonight, one of its windows flickers alive, orange burning that wafts to and fro from the inside.

“Jimin!” Jungkook nearly yells as his feet carry him across the threshold, falling into the warm embrace of musky ocean and home.

Jimin catches him with no amiss, chuckling into his unruly nape of hair, fingers brushing through and rubbing at the base of his neck. “Baby, you made it.”

Now is no time for Jungkook to get mushy, but he fails to keep his facade of stern masculinity as Jimin’s words sink into his skin. I’ve missed this so much. Peering up from his spot in the crook of Jimin’s neck, he responds with earnest, “Of course. You call, I come.”

Burnt brown, molten eyes meet Jungkook’s gaze and he could drown in this, this fondness and ever-consuming adoration. He’s positive he’s already drowned over and over before, only to gasp back to life with every new kiss from Jimin’s lips.

“I wanted tonight to be special, Kookie.” Jimin shuffles them closer to the solitary candle on the main table in the middle of the sanctuary. “Do you know what today is?”

Jungkook knows this. Has counted down to this day every year since he’s admitted falling in love with the older boy. Nodding, he insists, “Of course! How could I forget...”

Jimin seems satisfied, the fondness never leaving the curl of his crescent eyes. “Good, because I wanted to seal our anniversary tonight.” At the confused tilt of Jungkook’s head, he continues, “I’ve prepared everything we need. We can make it official, Kookie. Just between us, to last forever. If you want, of course.”

Only then does Jungkook begin to notice the little details of their setting – the delicate fabric draped along the sides of the church aisle, the scattered flower petals, the water in a golden disk, the rising smoke of incense, and – with a silent gasp – the two rings placed before the dripping candlestick.

“Jimin?” he manages to sputter out. “Wh–what?”

Jimin lowers his head to stare at the ground, his hands still gripping Jungkook’s hips, thumbing the bones. “Our own little ceremony. I know – I know this isn’t the wedding you would’ve wanted, god, you deserve the whole thing – big and loud, for everyone to see. But we can’t, of course. So, if you’ll have me, I’d be honored to pledge myself to you here, in heart and soul, no matter what happens.”

Jungkook struggles to gain his breath. “Us? Here? What about–”

“Sooyoung gave her approval,” Jimin says with a soft grin, teeth glinting in the candlelight. Jungkook has always loved the small chip in Jimin’s front tooth, so achingly, uniquely him. He wants every one of Jimin’s smiles for himself, just to keep. “She approves so much, she’s gonna steal my idea too, to do with Seungwan.”

“Oh my god, Jimin. You... We...” Jungkook’s tongue feels fat, useless in conveying the words he needs Jimin to know. Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.

“Marry me, bun? Say yes?”

Instead of a reply, Jungkook launches himself into Jimin’s chest, his lips finding the ones that have spoken the closest thing to truth that Jungkook has ever known. He kisses Jimin, a madman famished and hungry, needing to taste life because before Jimin, he’s been dead all along.

Jimin’s fingers tremble as they exchange their vows, moving words of pledges from their hearts into the air, into each other. No promise is new, they’ve known it since the start, but speaking them aloud in the empty night feels more real than any moment before.

“Until death do us part,” Jungkook swears.

“And then, in the next life too,” Jimin swears in return.

The rings fit perfectly, carved silky smooth and custom-made from the rocks that line their favorite black beach, ebony as coal and sturdier than diamonds. Jimin kisses Jungkook’s finger after he lines up the ring, nestling it firmly with an oath.

“You don’t have to wear it all the time,” Jimin assures with a knowing look. “Just keep it and remember me.”

There aren’t many hours left in the night before dawn breaks their spell, their little haven in a cave, but Jungkook feels like he could go on until time unwinds itself between his and Jimin’s ceremony.

“I’ll always have it nearby,” he promises.

“Good, because I will, too.”

Their vows turn into groans, moans that fill the dim-lit church, and Jungkook makes every effort to memorize the passing moments – Jimin pushing into him, Jimin mouthing at his neck, Jimin holding him close against his chest, Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.

“Want me to make you come, Kookie?” Jimin bites his lobe, still pumping into him from behind. He’s got Jungkook propped up against the pews, arms tense, gripping the seats. He feels every vein, every inch of skin sinking into him, taking him higher.

His cock jumps with each thrust, dripping between their legs onto the stone ground. God, he’s so close. “Make – make me, please, Jimin. Make me come hard.”

“Keep saying my name, baby,” Jimin croons, the slap of skin punctuating between each syllable. Jungkook is close to to crying at how much he wants this forever.

Losing it, bit by bit, Jungkook arches into Jimin’s hold. “Jimin, Jimin, give me everything. I’ll take it and keep it.”

Jimin’s groans rumble against his back, skipping along Jungkook’s spine. The slow glide of molten heat, slipping in and out, hits Jungkook pointedly right where he wants it, each and every time.

“Gonna, gonna make you mine forever,” Jimin grunts. Brings a clammy hand around them to stroke Jungkook’s cock, rough and fast, edging wanton moans from the boy under his arms.

Jungkook matches the strokes, fucking back and forth onto Jimin’s cock and his hand, stuttering hips. “F-fuck, Jimin, I’m already yours, you know that.”

“Since when?” Jimin growls, protective and fierce. The candle flickers wildly, still blazing, their shadows crawling along the wall.

“Since the start!” Jungkook cries, so close, too close. One more pump and Jimin’s tongue laving his chin, and Jungkook spills onto the floor, shivering with jolting shocks. Jimin slows to a stop, cock still buried in him, his hand rubbing Jungkook’s sensitive tip, fingers coated in thick come.

“Beautiful,” comes Jimin’s murmur, but Jungkook doesn’t want this to be over – they’ve still got time. He returns the same desire, tugs Jimin down onto the blanketed cold floor, and warms them up, thick body heat curling up, as he sinks his lips around Jimin’s throbbing arousal. Insistent, he ignores Jimin’s whispers for him to slow down, slow down baby, and mouths along the ridges of Jimin’s cock, swallowing the drips of precum that slide down each time he licks at the tip.

“Tell me what you want,” Jungkook prods, holding Jimin’s thighs on each side of his face.

“Let me,” Jimin starts, staccato pants conflicting with his words, “let me make a house inside your heart.”

“Some odd request when I’m sucking your dick.” Jungkook slides back down, stretching his throat as far as it would allow, relishing the immediate groan from Jimin above him.

“Talkin’ – talking about more than this, you dick,” Jimin giggles. “More than fucking, baby. You asked what I want, and I want to be your home.”

Jungkook pulls off with a pop, replaces it with his hands to grip the slick flesh, and digs his tongue into the slit. Kissing it over and over, he says, “You are my home.”

Rubbing the base of Jimin’s cock, Jungkook cups further down to rub his balls, heavy and moist with spit. Jimin lets out an unabashed whine, throws his head back to show the marred skin of his love-marked neck. “S-so good, Kookie. You’re so good to me.”

“Never gonna find anyone better,” Jungkook reminds, mouthing the bulbous head in circles. “No one’s gonna love you like I do.”

“No one,” Jimin repeats, and spills fast, releasing into Jungkook’s waiting mouth with a satisfied murmur, a prayer for the night to never end.

And maybe, as the hours fall into place, and the two of them eventually trudge home, fingers locked for one of the last times – the night never truly ends, not even for the Akrotiri sunrise to steal away.

Present Day, Armeni

Jimin doesn’t know how long he remains standing in the church, feeling phantom touches glide along his skin. Goosebumps raise in patterns of memorized dreams, hair raising from familiar memories that shouldn’t be so familiar.

Before he realizes, Jungkook is standing to his left. They’re not touching, no, barely standing without strength, but Jimin feels the unspoken pieces fall into place just knowing the man is there in his rotation.

“Something about this place...” Jungkook whispers, words trailing off.

“Yeah. It’s almost too creepy.”

“Creepy in a good way, though?”

Jimin turns, finally. Jin is throwing stones onto the water just outside the church, leaving them alone to breathe the same air. In, out, together.

“I’m still deciding that,” he says.

Jungkook nods, a slow resolve. “Jimin, I’m sorry.”

The words make a breath catch in Jimin’s throat, almost clogs up in anticipation and dread.

The low calm of Jungkook’s tenor continues, “If I ever pushed you, or made you feel too uncomfortable – I’m sorry. It was never my intention to make you feel like you should leave. I’ve – I want you to stay.”

There’s so much Jimin could easily cave into, to accept without resistance. Jungkook’s solemn eyes, the firm press of his lips into a line, the words of reassurance.

“I know it’s a lot, Jimin. I wanted to apologize if I pushed you too fast. Maybe – maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you that night, but I couldn’t help it... And I think you were okay with it then, under the sunset.” Jungkook rambles on, eyes darting around, cheeks peachy hued.

More tenderness creeps through the cracks of Jimin’s determination.

“I’m not the best with relationships; my track record is honestly shit. And I – fuck – I doubt the last thing you want right now is a relationship, but with you – everything in me just screams to try. If you’d just accept my friendship, I’d be more than grateful to continue showing you around Santorini.”

When Jungkook looks at him, wide-eyed and real, Jimin feels his lips moving before he even registers the words that float out, up from the deep clefts buried under his chest, away from his mouth, “Are you sure?”

Minute surprise and raised eyebrows paint across Jungkook’s features and soften into a smile. “More than sure. Never been more damn sure about anything.”

Jimin glances down to their feet, chewing his lip in thought. He could accept, rush back into the thrill of Jungkook’s company, dance the line between friendship and more. He could – he very well could and fuck, he'd really like that. Turns out, that is the most scary thing. It would be too fitting, like the slope of Jungkook’s fingers between his, faultless patterns that connect one body to the next.

“I – I think I still need to think about it all, Jungkook,” he breathes out. The words taste dry. “But I won’t avoid you if you want to still be my tour guide.”

Thick billows of wind sweep through the small church door, loudly swirling through, before emptying the room in less than a second. In that moment, a flash of white blinds Jimin, followed by a glimpse of a time before or sometime in another life.

Two rings, hewn from stone, exchanging between anxious hands – rough skin against soft – you’re my home.

With a sharp exhale, Jimin blinks away the vision, dotted black and white specks floating dizzily before his eyes.

Jungkook looks at him with concern, hands cupping his cheeks. “Jimin? You okay?”

Jin’s almond eyes peer from behind Jungkook’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“He looked dazed for a second, spaced off.”

Jimin tests his words, “I’m okay. ‘M okay.” His head feels like a weighted top, twirled a thousand times over. “Maybe just hungry.”

In another blink, Jimin is heaved off the floor, where he apparently had fallen, and Jungkook wraps a sturdy arm around his waist for support. Jin watches carefully from his other side. “Let’s get you back, okay? Food then rest.”

He nods, unsure of what to say. The vision had left him winded, throbbing skull of memories that weren’t his, yet resounded so tightly in his gut. Those words were so intimate, as if he had spoken them himself, gasped them aloud in a moment of heightened emotion.

The boat ride back is quiet, stillness mixing with the sheen of the water around them, and an otherworldly wind slowly floats them back to shore. Jungkook keeps his hand around Jimin’s waist, a firm reminder, and Jimin doesn’t refuse the support. Tries not to question why the rough hands and radiating heat is the most natural thing in the world – why Jungkook doesn’t seem to leave his mind’s trajectory, always circling back, back to him.

Chapter Text

Sleep hangs like shuttered curtains from Jimin’s lids as he blinks, his vision muddled in a groggy blur. It takes a few moments to recall that Jin and Jungkook had walked him back to Keti Hotel, telling him to take the rest of the evening easy. Maybe the lingering autumn sun had done him a spell.

Jimin shivers, pieces of the vision in the church tugging on the fringes of his memory. A familiar face, a familiar place. The scenes burn, taking up permanent residence behind his skull. He doubts they’ll leave him alone for awhile. Somewhere between the snapshots is a montage, jagged like frayed rolls of film. There was a face – a young man with details too hazy to pinpoint, but one thing Jimin could distinguish: there had been absolute emotion in the man’s eyes.

Intense, like star-crossed loving from afar, too fiery to touch.

With a shiver, Jimin rolls onto his back, shoulders nested up between two fluffy pillows. Outside, all ambient sunlight had fallen off the horizon into darkness and pale yellow fluorescents crackle from the surrounding buildings. After nightfall, Fira comes alive, a breathing body, a creature of fervency, and the town’s many lounges and clubs pick up speed well into the early morning.

Jimin wonders if tonight may grant him some time to explore, too.

Spotting his phone on the bedside table, Jimin swipes it to check for any missed messages. He chuckles. Only seventeen from Taehyung, not bad.

Tae:

6:48 PM
how dare u not answer me right away!

6:52 PM
make sure to post more pics ;3;

7:21 PM
it’s 1 am, i’m still awake and no one is here to sing me to sleep

7:58 PM
pls tell me when u and jungkook make up okay?
he is some serious A+ deal
u owe me so bad

8:05 PM
take a pic of his dicc if u can xoxo gnight

Jimin can’t help but giggle. Nothing like Taehyung’s familiar tomfoolery to make him feel like he’s back in Seoul. If the timing had been better, less messy or reminiscent of terrible teenage drama, then Jimin would’ve gladly dragged along his best friend to Santorini.

But there it is, the blunt reminder why he had jetted off to a Grecian island in the first place. The image of Namjoon’s face as they parted ways, unsaid words and fresh, persistent scars. Fluffy bangs, the ones Jimin used to love running his fingers through as an absentminded habit, pushed back in frustration past Namjoon’s flawless forehead. Jimin had initially been attracted to his forehead and nice skin, of all things, but soon realized that Namjoon had nice everything, really. A nice demeanor, nice habits, nice chivalry. Too bad chivalry is dead. Jimin sighs, shaking his head. Now isn’t the time to get sucked back into self-pity.

Jimin:

11:41 PM
sorry, i knocked out pretty hard earlier
i know! i need to up my IG game
jungkook and i are okay, we’ve made up. just friends.
he’s gonna still show me around, but that’s it
.... and don’t make that face.... i know you’re making it >:(
anyway, u will get no such dicc pic
sleep well love u

Sitting up, Jimin scans the room for his suitcase halfway across the porcelain white tile floor, belongings still messily strewn around. Stumbling out of the feather-light down covers, he runs a hand through his belongings in search for the phone charger.

He nearly passes out again at the sight of a huddled figure slouching outside at the far end of the open patio.

Okay, calm down, he reasons. Logic says that it’s probably Jin or Jungkook, or maybe even Hoseok. But no man is kind to the taste of fear, so he opts to tiptoe forward for a better glance of the stranger. Shadows of Fira’s light paints across the sleeping face. Jimin lets out a rushed sigh of relief. It’s only –

“Jungkook?” he croaks out, throat scratchy from the dry air. Before realizing, Jimin reaches out to slide the hoodie off the man’s face, and Jungkook’s eyes flutter open.

Jungkook’s instant smile suits his features so well, broad and sure. “You’re awake,” he says, standing up.

“Just got up.” Jimin hates the odd mix of insecurity and restlessness. His feet feel glued in place. “Did you wait long? You really didn’t have to.”

“Not long.” Jungkook gently guides them back into the room, pass the arched white doors. “Jin and I got you some food so that you could eat once you woke up.” Sure enough, there’s three take-out boxes on the kitchen island.

“I’m so sorry for this,” Jimin starts, ready to shoo Jungkook out and away from his seemingly continuous life of disarray. “I’ve been a huge burden already and–”

“Jimin,” Jungkook says with a knowing tone, “I thought we’ve been over this already, hm? You’re not a burden at all. Any friend would do this.”

But Jin isn’t here, Jimin wants to petulantly point out, but he’s stopped by the determination of Jungkook’s amused expression. “Alright, alright. Thank you, though.”

Jungkook waves dismissively. “I just went down the road and picked up a few things. Figured you’d want more famous Santorini food, so I got some eggplant salad, brantada fish, a gyro, sfougato – a zucchini dish, and some calamari. Everyone loves calamari.” He opens the boxes to reveal colorful, vibrant arrangements; the smells of the sea and savory spices are enough to make Jimin remember just how hungry he is.

“I really wasn’t listening just now,” Jimin admits, “but everything looks amazing.”

With a hearty laugh, Jungkook begins to scoop out spoonfuls of vegetables, roasted and charred, dripping in lush extra virgin olive oil, and bits of flaky fish topped with sea salt, onto a plate. “You’re right about that. For some reason, Santorini’s food just tastes better than anything you’ve had before. Like, fresher? Or just more satisfying.”

“Yes. Yes,” Jimin says, intelligently.

“The sfougato,” Jungkook says, pointing to the zucchini, “is a traditional egg dish entree. Kind of like an omelette, but with onions, rosemary, Greek xinomyzithra cheese, sweet gruyere, sweet paprika and sesame seeds. We usually eat it with yogurt, but I forgot to order some.”

Jimin mumbles an affirmative through a bite of food he’s currently chomping on, bliss on his tongue. Jungkook seems to understand and nods offhandedly.

He continues, “And the pretty dope thing is that most of the food here is healthy. Full of antioxidants, omega-threes, good oils, and usually organic. So even though all the oil seems rich, it’s good fats, unlike with other Western foods.”

“It’s so good.”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully, picking up a piece of calamari to dip into the marinara sauce. “You must’ve been really hungry. I think passing out meant your body was running on empty.”

A brief pause stretches across the kitchen table. Jimin doesn’t really have an answer for what happened, and he’s not particularly keen on explaining the vision yet. “I think I’m okay. My muscles feel kind of sore, but I’ll be good by tomorrow.”

“Have you tried the jacuzzi?”

Jimin had forgotten all about the outdoor tub tucked on the patio, flanked by short walls of clay to ensure privacy. He’d made a mental note to try it out before leaving. “Not yet. It’s on my to-do list.”

Jungkook nods. “It might help with the sore muscles. The pool water here is pumped from the sea, filtered, of course. So most pools are salt-water, which feels nice to soak in.”

“That sounds incredible,” Jimin groans, tweaking his neck to rub at the knot behind the base of his shoulder.

“I’m serious, Jimin. It would be good for you. Try it?”

Jimin nods. He’s too focused on the food, and all else is momentarily ignored by his stomach, including the insinuation that seems to deepen Jungkook’s husky voice. Even upon meeting, Jimin had noticed how much he liked hearing Jungkook talk. Rumbling but emotive, sometimes squeaky when he laughs. Adorable. Jimin pushes back that part with another bite.

The food is ridiculously luxurious and filling and by the time Jimin serves himself his last serving of fish, Jungkook has an empty plate, leaning back in the kitchen chair, smiling lazily at him. The look is fond and Jimin feels warmer than he should.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Jungkook says. The clock hanging above the whitewashed archway reads only 8:47.

“Sure.” Jimin picks up his plate and grabs Junkook’s before he can protest. Walking to the sink he says, “You really didn’t have to stay with me. Thanks, again.”

Jungkook appears with the rest of the silverware in hand. “It’s my pleasure. And Jimin?”

“Hm?”

“Maybe you don’t have to feel so formal around me. We’re friends, right?” It comes out barely above a whisper.

Jimin feels worse than the time he’d pushed Taehyung into the mud in third grade. Jungkook deserves none of his weird, ambiguous cold shoulder when he’s been nothing but accommodating.

“Yep,” Jimin says. “You’re right, Jungkookie. I’m sorry for that.”

Jungkook steps closer, leaning against the sturdy, farmhouse sink. “No apologies needed.”

They do the dishes in silence, sharing a washrag between the suds. Jimin feels entirely too domestic but something about the softness of the evening makes him hold his tongue. A dangerous thought worms its way up and before he can think twice, Jimin blurts, “Do you want to stay?”

“What?”

Jimin clears his throat. “I mean, for the jacuzzi? Um, since it was your suggestion and it’s a big tub...” He looks down at the bubbles in his hands, popping them away, like his dignity.

Jungkook sounds hesitant. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Yeah. I’m sure. It would be nice, right?”

Jungkook lets out a warm giggle. It sounds like liquid gold and the Santorini sunset. “It might be everything I’ve needed in life. I don’t have my swim trunks, though.”

Jimin finally reels in the courage to look at Jungkook, who’s staring at him like he’s got all the answers to the universe’s mysteries. It makes him shiver, toes tingling. “I have an extra pair,” he offers.

A wide grin creeps along Jungkook’s jaw, sharp and furiously handsome. Jimin berates himself. “Then I’m definitely staying.”

After an quick phone call, Sandy brings up a bottle of an estate wine from the hotel’s cellar and two crystal glasses. She gives Jimin a wiggle of her eyebrows and leaves him blushing with an excuse hanging off his lips. Thankfully, Jungkook is changing in the bathroom, so Jimin does his deep breathing exercises to calm down, willing away the red tint on his cheeks for a chance to breathe.

Despite the cloak of night, Santorini’s skies remain lit, dazzling with stars that Jimin could never glimpse below the dirty congestion of Seoul. The dots of the cosmos are so close, just an arm’s stretch away. He could reach up to swish his fingers through the glittering sea above.

Stripping off his t-shirt, Jimin slowly climbs into the open tub, feeling every muscle relax under the warm, bubbling water. The jet streams pulse against his back, right on the tense knots and he lets out a low groan in appreciation. He could stay here forever.

“Enjoying it?” Jungkook walks out from the double doors, stretching his arms up, the bulk squeezing as he flexes.

Jimin immediately averts his eyes from Jungkook’s smooth, bare chest, feeling the blush return. “It’s nice,” he manages to stutter.

“Oh sweet, you got some wine. Just what we need.” Jungkook makes work to uncork the bottle, tipping out enough for the two of them and hands over a glass.

“Thanks.”

Jungkook hums and dips his toes into the swirling water. “Uhhh,” he groans, “it feels amazing already.” Slowly he slides into the tub, biceps curling as his arms tense onto the ceramic tile on each side of the pool’s ledge. As the water engulfs him, he voices his appreciation. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Jimin is starting to regret everything about inviting Jungkook to stay.

There’s a respectable amount of space between them and Jimin finds some mercy in the way Jungkook keeps his eyes closed, head back against the wall, humming softly to fill the quiet air. He tears his gaze away and waddles over to the side facing the ocean, letting the sight of Fira become a panorama right before him.

“You should take a picture,” Jungkook says.

Jimin keeps looking ahead. “My camera’s inside and I’m not getting out now. Maybe next time.”

As the water splashes behind him, Jimin steadies his racing heart. Jungkook settles down next to him, leaning against the same ridge of the pool. “I doubt even the best camera can capture Santorini at night. It’s impossible.”

Jimin remembers the glass of wine that he’s yet to try. It works as a distraction and he takes a gulp, the dry sweetness coating the roof of his mouth. “Plausible,” he replies. “Nothing beats the experience in person.”

“That’s why so many people come to Santorini,” Jungkook says. “It has a magical quality.”

“It does.” Jimin is unable to control it when he turns to study Jungkook’s sun-kissed profile, leaning closer unconsciously.

“Jimin?” Jungkook whispers, facing him.

Jimin can feel the words sweep along his chapped lips. He flicks out his tongue to swipe along the dry skin, millimeters away from Jungkook’s mouth. Something raw coils inside when he hears Jungkook take a sharp breath in.

“Yeah?”

Jungkook’s staring at his lips, hooded gaze aflame from the town lights nearby. “Do you want this? Please, I want you to be sure.”

Jimin can taste the barely-there flicker of alcohol on Jungkook’s breath. It’s not fair, he knows, to reel Jungkook back into this obscure push-and-pull they have going on.

So he slides back, puts more space between them and watches Jungkook’s face fall.

“I see.” It’s Jungkook who says it, frown quickly shifting back into a gentle gaze. Jimin doesn’t deserve it.

“See?” Jimin whispers. Jungkook’s eyes never leave him. “I keep messing things up.” The words taste like the dry sand along the shore during a drought. “I’m a mess. That’s why you shouldn’t waste your time.”

Jungkook freezes then shuffles over a step, turning to look back out into Santorini, face perched on his arms. “Do you mind if I tell you a story, Jimin? Would that be okay?”

The sudden change catches Jimin off guard but he finds himself nodding anyway. “Sure.”

“You know how I told you that I go back to Seoul for most of the year? Between tourist seasons here.” He pauses to briefly glance at Jimin, who hasn’t stopped staring yet. “So we’re in that age group where people find themselves, right? Experiment, try things, take avenues and boulevards that might lead to somewhere new. In Seoul, I found myself falling into habits that weren’t necessarily safe.”

Jimin asks the first thing that comes to mind. “Drugs?”

Jungkook looks sheepish, a half-grin. “A little. Some other things, some racing and partying. Girls. Lots of girls. I had half-convinced myself that love was dead and my heart was an empty shell.” He grunts out a low chuckle. “I’d watch myself have these out-of-body experiences, all the while, I knew I wasn’t happy. But I had no reason to stop, no reason to change anything. So I kept going.”

Jungkook pulls away from the pool wall, turning in circles and running his hands through the warm, rippling water. Tousled bangs flicking over his eyes, mouth curving upward. Jimin’s head spins at how perfect Jungkook is.

“And that’s not even the whole story,” Jungkook continues. “I guess the reason why I’m telling you this is because, Jimin, we’re all in our own messes. I obviously don’t know what you’re going through and I’m not going to pretend that I know.”

Jungkook stops spinning, to face Jimin, eyeing him point blank, wide and searching. Even if Jimin wanted to hide, he’d have no chance.

Jungkook inches closer, an arm laying to the side of Jimin’s shoulder. “I’m a mess, you’re a mess. No one is immune. It can bring us down, make us question ourselves. But don’t you dare let it prevent you from at least trying to pursue your happiness when it could be right in front of you.”

In their proximity, Jimin could tilt his head forward just a trace to taste the murmurs from Jungkook’s lips. He desperately wants to, he realizes with a burning awareness.

“I know,” Jimin replies. “You’re right, I know. I’ve tried to tell myself that a lot. There’s just this shitty disconnect between what I know and what I feel.”

“Yeah.” There’s no disappointment in Jungkook’s sweet expression. He turns to grab his wine glass and Jimin does the same, fingers itching to be occupied.

Despite their words, the air remains comfortably silent, salty breeze dancing over the steaming water.

“Hey,” Jungkook quips, tone lighter now. “So what’s on the schedule for tomorrow?”

Jimin finds his face crinkling up into a natural grin. He's thankful for the subject change. “I really wanted to tour a vineyard in the countryside. I’m a huge hoe for rare wines so that’s an important one for me.”

“Damn,” Jungkook mutters. “I need to study up on my wines to impress you.”

A slow blush crawls up Jimin’s neck. He kind of wishes Jungkook wasn’t so free with his words. “You don’t have to.”

Jungkook holds his gaze. “I want to. Don’t want to waste your time here. There’s a few places I know you’ll really love. What time did you want to head out?”

Jimin knows he probably will not be able to sleep much, after his long nap earlier. “As early as possible, I guess?”

Jungkook’s dimples deepen as his smile widens. “Eight o’clock work for you?”

“Sounds good.”

They don’t talk the rest of the evening, draining the rest of the wine and breathing the same mystical atmosphere. Jungkook ends up resting his head on Jimin’s shoulder and Jimin makes no move to say anything, skin tingling where Jungkook’s torso is pressed hotly against his. His body nearly betrays him, the heat from the jacuzzi almost smothering, and Jimin desperately needs to get himself off once Jungkook leaves.

They towel dry and Jimin feels drunk on the way Jungkook’s eyes linger on him, the way Jungkook nibbles down on his lower lip.

“Sleep well?” Jungkook asks, shuffling from foot to foot at the door.

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees, sheepishly glancing down between sneaking peeks at Jungkook’s dark, dilated eyes. “You sleep well, too.”

“After spending time with you in the hot tub, I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight,” Jungkook says, the suggestion dripping like thick honey.

The towel draped around Jimin’s swim trunks is just enough to conceal his growing hardness. Fuck, he needs to reel himself back in. He forces a chuckle, gripping his towel. “Me too,” he slowly admits, “but we should try, yeah?”

Jungkook licks his chapped lips. “I’ll try real hard.” He trails off, words clearly ready on the tip of his tongue. “Um, Jimin?”

Jimin hums, steeling himself for the worst.

“Do you think... I could kiss you goodnight? Like, on the cheek? Friends do that, right?”

Jimin’s heart flatlines, brain blank. “Uhm–” But the look on Jungkook’s face reminds him of nothing but genuine eagerness, like an overwhelmed puppy ready to please. He’s so close to giving in. “Well, I guess friends do that,” he mumbles.

Mirth floods Jungkook’s face and Jimin knows he made the right decision. “Thanks, Jimin. I’m gonna, well, do that, then.”

Like the worst cliche, Jungkook’s lips press onto Jimin’s cheek in slow-motion and suddenly, Jimin can feel everything and nothing at the same time – the warm, broad hands steadying themselves on his waist, the wet towel dripping on his feet, puffs of air that fall along his temple, Jungkook’s chest so close to his, his own heart thudding in his ears. He watches Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, the wispy eyelashes, the adorable nose, the mole. Jungkook’s mouth is slightly parted, then it’s gone, the moment over.

Taking a step back, Jungkook looks strikingly smug, a tiny look of pride on his tinted cheekbones. Jimin wants to tug him back for a real kiss on the lips, then another, then another. Wants to lead him and his dopey smile back into bed and feel him all over, all inside, all around.

“Good night, Jimin,” Jungkook says, a low murmur.

“Night to you, too.” Jimin distantly notes that his own voice sounds just as hoarse.

Jimin watches Jungkook slowly make his way down the corridor, the blanket of Santorini’s night covering the slouch of his shoulders as he turns into the stairway and out of Jimin’s sight.

And he’s right – as the hours tick by, Jimin barely gets any rest, body feverish with thoughts of Jungkook. He gasps through his climax, body shuddering, pumping himself over the edge as he imagines Jungkook touching him in the jacuzzi, groaning hotly against his neck, knuckles white from gripping the tub's wall.

Only when early dawn tips the sun over the horizon, does sleep finally come.

Chapter Text

1626 BC, Kallisti

It’s another day. Warm and humid, lazy. Jimin had fallen asleep with a smile but wakes up with tuffs of bangs plastered to his forehead, bearskin covers kicked off, half draped onto the floor.

When he trudges out into the common room, he finds his mother sifting through grapes, fresh from the vine. The little smile lines around her almond eyes crinkle when she sees him. “Son.” A delicate arm reaches out.

Jimin hurries to sit next to her, eager for the familiar shroud of his mother’s presence.

“Slept well?”

“Of course, Mother,” Jimin replies, voice still rough. “It’s rare that I see you up this early.”

She eyes him with a look of amusement, running her hand through Jimin’s tousled hair. “Your father had some business at the Square. I had to let the goats out for him, instead.”

He leans into the touch, soothing. Women in Kallisti are discouraged from working outdoors, hands kept white and soft. But Jimin can’t remember a time his mother actually paid heed, insisting that the vines didn’t grow themselves. She would roll up her linen sleeves and haul the woven basket out into the burning afternoon sun. He hums, nodding against her wispy locks of hair.

“Are you meeting Sooyoung today?” she asks. “I’ve heard that she has something big planned for tonight.”

Chuckling, Jimin nods, the corners of his mouth tilting up at ease. “She does. It’s just going to be a small gathering. Jungkookie is coming, too.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“It will be,” he agrees. “Do you mind if I bring some of our house brews? Maybe a bottle or two? Seungwan always begs me for a glass whenever I run into her on the Main Road.”

“Of course,” she replies absentmindedly, plucking the plump fruit and separating them into two baskets. One for the best, the second for everything else. Perfectionism runs in the family, Jimin notes. Probably why he could only bring himself to love Jungkook.

“Thanks, Mother.” He straightens up to press a short kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be off then. Hoseok needed some help with his roof. Don’t think I’ll be home until late tonight.”

“Thanks for the warning.” She glances up, calm, and slides her palm whisper-soft down Jimin’s cheek to press away the wrinkle on his chin. “My baby, all grown up, helping the neighbors.” Ignoring Jimin’s feigned scowl, she shoos him away. “Don’t forget to sort out your linens when you get home!”

Jimin makes sure to pack two bottles in new wineskins, debating between the five year and seven year estates. Not a brew expert himself, Jimin knows the basics. The first time Father walked him through the aging barrels in their cellar, Jimin scrunched his nose at the thought of old grape juice. He thumbs the sealed bottles, bloated corks sticking out of the dark green glass, years of handiwork distilled into liquid gold. It’ll be perfect for tonight’s festivities.

He walks down the short, narrow stone road to Hoseok’s. At this early hour, the sky barely fills with enough dawn to highlight the moorland cloaked in dark blues and pale yellows. Home. Jimin’s never been much further than the island allows. He has traveled to neighboring islands, and no one resents the sea. He slows down enough to let his sandals slide over the smooth ground. The roosters have begun crowing, every day like clockwork.

Pushing through the creaking gate, Jimin lets himself into the house that has been his third home (Jungkookie’s place comes in at second) since rumble-tumble days. The worn mixture of clay and wood walls is typical for their town’s architecture, splashes of color between stark white.

“Hello?” he calls when he’s past the threshold, shaking his sandals of clingy, red dirt. His voice curls through the quiet home.

A distant crash and holler returns. Jimin catches the end note of “–nie!” Giggling at the normalcy of the welcome, Jimin wanders down the hall toward Hoseok’s room.

Barreling out, Hoseok yelps, “You’re early!” and slides his arms around Jimin’s cloak to squeeze him tight. “I told Jiwoo that you’d be here and she immediately said that you’d beat the roosters.”

“Ugh, I just missed the crowing. Sorry that I didn't meet your sister’s expectations,” Jimin replies. “Did I wake you?”

“You didn’t,” says Hoseok, hands patting down his hair, unruly, like it had been tugged over and over. He smiles, bright light sunshine, and gestures for them to head to the back room where they keep the supplies. “Father’s been nagging me to get on the roof repairs but I used waiting for your help as an excuse. So I think we’re fair.”

Jimin changes into the leather foot coverings, sturdy and protective over his toes. “As an excuse?”

Hoseok nods, hooking a few tools onto his waist strap. “I said I needed someone’s help, and that you were busy. Jiminie’s got the best skills for house repairs, I said.”

“I knew our friendship was fake all along,” Jimin huffs, puffing out his cheeks. "Here I thought we were genuinely friends." Hoseok grins in return and they hustle to lift bags of clay onto their shoulders and out onto the patio.

Jimin gets into the comfortable lull of working in line with Hoseok, who seems to return the sentiment. Jimin feels light today, especially with what’s to come in the evening. His insides buzz, urging to talk about it. “Hoseokie,” he starts, patting down the drying clay between jagged edges, “do you remember what I said about Sooyoung?”

“You don’t really talk about her much, so I’m not sure what you mean,” Hoseok says, glancing up with a frown.

“Isn’t that the thing, though?” Jimin counters. He considers using a metaphor to explain without really spelling out what he’s itching to say. Sooyoung had wanted the gathering to be small, private. “I don’t talk about her because she isn’t important to me, right? I mean, well, that sounds rude.” He pauses, not pleased with the way the words are coming out.

“Jimin,” Hoseok sounds gentle. “You know I understand the way these marriage arrangements work. You’re one of my closest friends. I think I can tell when you’re invested in someone.”

“And you’re one of mine, too,” Jimin says, full of honesty. “I know I don’t love her, and she doesn’t love me. But I think we’re working out something, like a partnership? She’s not necessarily the worst person in the world.”

Hoseok laughs, taking another slab of clay in his rough hands. “You’re right. She’s feisty, but in that quiet, sensible way.”

“That’s a perfect description. She’s kind of like a protective mother cat. Stern sometimes.”

Hoseok nods, a flash of discernment between his eyebrows. “Ah... Different from our Jungkookie, hm?”

Your Jungkookie resounds between Hoseok’s words, and Jimin agrees wholly. He dips his flat-neck scraping tool along the drying clay, watching the creases fold away under pressure. “Completely different. Jungkookie is small. He needs me.”

“He’s not small, you idiot.” Hoseok slings up a hand to rub Jimin’s shoulder. “He’s just small to you because you’ve been watching over him for ages. He’s taller than Seokjin, for all that matters.”

“You’re just mad that he’s taller than you, too,” Jimin bites back, giggling at the thought of Jungkook’s immense growth spurt years back. Always the skinnier, shrimpy kid in grade school, Jungkook had soared up one summer, surprising everyone, especially Jimin. Being hopelessly in love only made the shock more intense.

“You’re dead meat, Park,” Hoseok says, nose flaring but eyes shining. “Why did I even ask you to help me out? We’re making more of a mess than good.”

“Because I’m the only one who would sacrifice a weekend this early for something you should've done on your own,” Jimin says, throwing his head back, clutching his chest with morose drama.

Hoseok knocks his knuckles along Jimin’s forehead twice. “Idiot.” He knows Jimin well enough to cut straight to the chase, doesn’t need to fill in the silences with polite words. “So what made you bring up Sooyoung in the first place?”

“She’s planning something,” Jimin answers. “I think it’ll make our relationship a little better. Gods, that feels weird to say – ‘our relationship.’ Like it’s actually a thing.”

“Well, it is,” Hoseok says, shifting weight to his other foot, squatting over the freshly-lain material. “Soon, you’ll be linked by law.”

“The law is a funny thing. But I won’t go into that,” Jimin says. “Do you have any marriage advice for me? I’m sure Solji has taught you a number of things. You’re so much more organized now, for one.”

“She’s also raised my tolerance to handling brats like you,” Hoseok says, fondness flooding his face. “And amongst other things. Useful house reminders and social tips. Being pushed into close quarters with someone forces you to change. Whether that’s a good change or not, it’s up to you.”

“Everything’s going to change,” Jimin murmurs. Hoseok really looks at him then, and Jimin sees a kindred light in his older friend’s expressive eyes.

“It will,” Hoseok says. “But only on the surface. The change in your martial status changes nothing about you inside, if you don’t let it.”

“Obviously. I think every passing day makes it easier to accept. I don’t know how I’ll feel when Jungkookie gets betrothed.”

Hoseok sighs. “I’ve tried keeping an ear out for news if anyone’s heard of offers for his hand. Nothing so far.”

“Same here.” That’s not entirely true. Jimin knows that Jungkook is highly favored with the upperclass families in Kallisti. He’s got a good reputation, high marks in school and a physique that can only be described as blessed by the gods. There’s no reason why suitors wouldn’t be clamoring for a marriage proposal. Jimin wonders if Jungkook has simply turned them down, risking punishment by law. He wonders, then wishes he had the courage to do the same.

The roads are silent as Jimin heads down to Sooyoung’s house. Tremors of whispering winds crawl between Jimin’s feet as he hurries, doesn’t want to be late. Aunty Hana has left ashes from her Moskolibano incense resin on the ivory porch of her house, the withered rose demarcating lines of protection and prayer.

It always surprises Jimin how the winds reflect the aura of the times, how Kallisti seems to know what’s around the corner. Even though Jimin has spent his whole life here, born and raised, the land always catches him off guard. It brought Jungkook to him. And soon, it’ll take him away.

He shakes his head, refusing to feel heavy tonight when there’s about to be celebration. The stones beneath him calm the pitter-pat of his heart.

Steadying himself, Jimin lets himself into the house of marbled columns. The main rooms are empty, hallway lit by the flickering beam of candles. Sooyoung’s parents had agreed to give them the house for the night. At the arch, Jimin ducks his head to pay his respects, then tiptoes to the furthest room.

The murmurs of excited voices welcome him.

“Jiminie!” Jungkook calls. He jumps up from the purple cushion, arms wide, like he knows Jimin would never hesitate to run straight into them.

Jimin scrambles to clutch onto him, digging his nose into the hard swell where his neck meets his collar. When they were younger, Jungkook would refuse to clean off after playing in the rain, and Jimin became accustomed to the lingering scent of woodland musk between the boy’s clothes. Years later and the habitual insistence against cleaning off after rainfall remains the same. “Glad you’re here,” Jimin whispers with relief.

Jungkook beams at him and pulls back. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Right Sooyoung?” He glances at her where she's perched on a bench with an arm slung around Seungwan’s shoulders. Their heads tilt together like a pair of lovebirds. Jimin loves how sweetly they match.

“We couldn’t start without you, Jimin,” Joohyun says, coming up behind Jungkook to gather them into a group hug.

“Sorry if I held you up,” Jimin says, dragging Jungkook down into his lap, sinking into one of the plush patterned pillows arranged into a semi circle around the altar.

“Nope,” Seulgi pipes up. She has bunches of wildflowers tucked in her arms, fiery orange and pale reds. “We’re still completing the finishing touches. Sooyoung’s a perfectionist, you know.”

“Thank you,” Sooyoung sing-songs. “We’re really indebted to you all.” Burrowing closer to her side, Seungwan nods enthusiastically.

Yerim skips into the room and waves at Jimin. “You made it! Did you bring the wine?”

“Oh, right.” Jimin untangles himself from Jungkook’s iron grip to hand over the wineskins attached to his waist. “Seven year estates, perfect and dry. Mother sends her congratulations, by the way.”

“Your mother is the sweetest, thank you,” Sooyoung says. Yerim takes the bottles and arranges a line of golden goblets by the altar. Sooyoung is right, though, and Jimin knows in the deepest niches of his heart that if their world was of a different realm, another time or place, his mother would have no qualms about letting Jungkook and him wed. He sees it in his mother’s pursed lips when she listens to father’s debriefings from the Square – about law and ethics, especially when it comes to the women of Kallisti.

Jungkook’s soft lips against his cheek brings Jimin back to the present. “Something on your mind, Jiminie?” Foggy warmth blankets Jimin’s jaw.

Instead of answering, Jimin runs his palms down Jungkook’s slender sides, muscle tensing under his touch, instinctive. Shaking his head, he says, “Just things. It’s so nice to get together tonight. Seeing you is the highlight of my day.”

“You sap,” Jungkook says. He rests his head on Jimin’s shoulder, thighs slung on each side of his hips.

Jimin can’t dwell on the shortcomings of his world when Jungkook is right here, a gem in his grasp. “Your sap,” he says.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down, taking in Jimin’s parted lips, before flickering back up to look at him point-blank. “You’re right. You are mine.” Something dark clouds Jungkook’s eyes, midnight black. “And... Sooyoung said we can stay over tonight.” He chews his bottom lip timidly, like Jimin might refuse.

Caught up in thoughts of Jungkook’s hot skin under his fingertips, Jimin groans. Behind them, Yerim screeches, “We haven’t even started the ceremony! Keep it in your pants, boys. Seriously.”

Jungkook giggles, rolling off of Jimin’s lap, fingers remaining tangled together. “Sorry, sorry,” he huffs. “We’re here for Sooyoung and Seungwan now. Behave Jiminie.”

Seungwan gives Jimin a pointed look. He manages to grin sheepishly, shrugging. “I have no control when it comes to Jungkookie. You guys know that.”

Across the room, Minseok leans up from where he’s snuggling into one of the cushions. “The whole town knows Jimin’s only weakness is Jungkook.” He looks unfazed, lazy smile hanging off his lips. “Anyone could blackmail you by threatening Jungkookie's wellbeing – you should be glad that hasn’t happened yet.”

“That's so morbid. Don’t scare him,” Lu Han tuts, rubbing Minseok’s chin. “No one would do that.”

“Yeah,” Joohyun says. “Everyone loves Jimin. He’s the example of the boy-next-door.”

Jimin whines through his nose. “Please. Some dignity here.”

Jungkook snorts and rolls them over onto the next cushion, insistently rubbing Jimin’s sides through his clothing. “Anything else we can help with?” he calls toward the girls.

“We’re done,” Yerim chirps, hands clasped.

The room is dripping in opulence, golden chains slung through the columns, sheer drapes enclosing them into the intimate space, dotted with the flower arrangements. Jimin feels transported to the mountaintops where the gods make their home, in Paradise, in an untouchable haven. Sooyoung and Seungwan, wearing pristine white robes, remind Jimin of the paintings of the goddesses on the looming walls of the Square’s temples.

“Let’s commence the ceremony then,” Lu Han says, standing up. The rest of them follow and form a half-circle around the couple, hands linking.

They proceed with the traditional exchange of vows and rings, Sooyoung stuttering halfway through her speech, glowing face dotted with tears of happiness. Seungwan tries to wipe away her tears but ends up crying, too, and by the time they seal their vows with a kiss, there’s no dry eye in the room.

“Thank you for the ceremony suggestion,” Sooyoung says to Jimin softly after the glasses of wine are served.

Warmth spreads through Jimin’s limbs. He’s so happy for them. “You’re welcome. I knew it would be perfect for you two.”

She looks at him and Jimin knows there’s an ocean of restlessness tucked inside of her. Just like him. Yearning for lives they can’t fully live.

“We’re in this together, right?” Sooyoung says, but her eyes are locked on Seungwan who’s brightly chatting with Minseok, past Jimin’s shoulder.

He nods. “We’ll get through this. You and her. I know this happened for a reason. It’s all starting to make a little more sense now.”

“We will. And you and Jungkookie. Jiminie,” Sooyoung urges, looking back at him, “take care of him, okay? There’s no one else he trusts like you. It’s your responsibility.”

It should be baffling for them to be saying things like this. Jimin is marrying Sooyoung in a few weeks’ time, yet here he is, congratulating her union with Seungwan. But it makes complete sense.

When Jimin kisses Jungkook later that evening, chests pressing together, deep in the softness of the woven blankets beneath them, Jimin feels like they’re the only people alive in Kallisti. He tries to communicate the same feverish desire and sucks Jungkook’s breaths, lower lip between his own. Jungkook tastes like the best addiction, he makes Jimin feel alive. The most important thing is the way Jungkook gasps into his mouth, Jimin’s fingers tracing lines down Jungkook’s waist reverently.

He’s precious. Jimin makes sure to tell this to Jungkook as he presses into him, sinking into the wet heat. He has Jungkook’s legs hoisted up on each side and Jungkook whines as Jimin punches in faster, crinkling the fabric in his fists. Jungkook lets his fingers card through Jimin’s hair, sweaty from the urgency to make their bodies one. Jimin kisses Jungkook harder.

“You’re breathtaking,” Jimin says, connecting their foreheads, leaving a soft kiss there.

Jungkook groans something unintelligible, rolling his hips up to meet Jimin’s thrusts.

Jimin’s rhythm falters. Jungkook lights him on fire.

“I’m gonna make sure we’re together until the end,” Jimin says between kisses. His words wrap around them solidly and he feels Jungkook melt further into his palms.

“Please, please,” Jungkook chants, cock rubbing between their stomachs. “Promise me again.”

“You have my word,” Jimin says.

Two more punches forward and Jungkook cries into Jimin’s neck, warmth spilling out. The coil in Jimin’s gut frantically unwinds and his vision goes blank for two beats as he pumps into Jungkook, biting and licking at Jungkook’s lips until they’re chapped and his, only.

“You good, baby?”

Jungkook murmurs, eyes closed, arms flailing to rest on the fabric. “Give me a few minutes. Maybe ten. I’ll be ready for more.” His tense abdomen, wet with come, puffs in and out with deep breaths. Jimin thinks he looks the prettiest like this.

“Another round?” Jimin snuggles to his side, leg curled over Jungkook’s, ignoring the sweaty sheen.

“I’m taking advantage of our time together,” Jungkook snaps. His cute look of annoyance is so endearing. Jimin tries not to hear the unspoken words. Before it ends.

“You’ve always been one for efficiency,” Jimin remarks, swiping his fingers through the drying come.

Jungkook watches with intense curiosity as he brings his fingers up to lick. “You’re a menace.”

Jimin smirks. “I’ll sit on your cock this time, hm? How about that, baby?”

“A menace, I say,” Jungkook whines, but Jimin catches how his pupils quickly begin to dilate. Before Jimin can make another snarky remark, Jungkook growls and rolls them over, stealing his breath all over again.

Present Day

“Santo Wines and Volcan Wines are the most famous here,” Jungkook says, adjusting the ridiculously large camo backpack on his shoulders. Jimin isn’t sure what he would need to bring that takes up so much bag-space, but he doesn’t question Jungkook.

“I see. Which ones are we going to today?” Jimin asks. They’ve boarded the bus a few minutes prior. Words can’t express how relieved Jimin is that the winds are cooler today, some reprieve from the summer’s dusky, sweltering heat.

“Both,” Jungkook says, reaching into his backpack for a pamphlet. “Your wine addiction demands it. It would be a real tragedy if you missed out on one of them.”

A pleasant buzz runs down Jimin’s spine. He studies the tri-fold paper littered with facts. “The names sound familiar. Volcan has been around since the 17th century, right?” He’s glad he had some time to research beforehand.

Jungkook chuckles. “I should’ve guessed that you already knew.”

Jimin shies away from his look. Jungkook’s eyes are wide, expressive, asking Jimin to fall into them. He needs to resist. “The wines are in my top three reasons to come, after all.”

“Your mysterious reasons,” Jungkook echoes. “I’m learning more every day.”

“Volcan Wines,” Jimin reads from the pamphlet, its pages whipping in the wind, “belongs to the Koutsogiannopoulos family.” His tongue skips over most of the letters, and Jungkook bursts into giggles, slapping his thigh in glee. Jimin supposes he can handle the burning tinge of embarrassment if it makes Jungkook smile.

“Keep reading,” Jungkook urges. “You have a nice voice.”

Jimin swallows down a response. His stomach clenches. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten so much for breakfast? Santorini spoils him, with its rich foods and endless bounty. He continues to read, “The forefathers of the family came from Sparta and began selling oil, but switched after realizing the potential of the island’s soil to produce superior wines.”

“Centuries of work,” Jungkook adds. “I really can’t wait for you to try them!”

“Oh,” Jimin adds, “there’s an underground portion of the winery, it’s called a canava. Kind of like Art Space in Exo Gonia?”

“Exactly. Something about the cool cellar environment is perfect for storing the wines as they ferment. Brings out the best flavors of the grapes. The wood choice, too. The guys here in Santorini have the whole method down to a science and an art.”

“That’s incredible,” Jimin says. He can tell that Jungkook is itching to keep the conversation flowing, sneaking quick glances at Jimin before jerking back to the window. “You can tell me more about the wineries, if you want.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen sharply, then settle into a gentle softness. He looks at Jimin so tenderly that Jimin feels his hands tighten and spasm, and he needs to remember to breathe deeply or else he’s afraid he might do something insane like tug Jungkook’s lips down to his. Jungkook’s thigh shifts over a millimeter, denim just barely brushing Jimin’s jeans. It feels domestic, the two of them on a bus, sightseeing with a group of newlyweds on tours.

“Alright,” Jungkook starts. “Well, when we get there, the staff will guide us down into the underground rooms and show us a documentary about the winery’s history. That’ll be informative, but nothing beats actually tasting the wine. If I’m being honest, I wish we could skip to that part.”

“That sounds great. I'd vote for that,” Jimin says, arching to stretch his back. Jungkook watches him intently, eyeing the bare skin that shows under the hem of his t-shirt. Jimin settles back into his seat, cheeks flushing.

Jungkook leans onto Jimin’s shoulder, body heat scorching. Then he pulls back. Jimin hates that he feels so cold without the touch. “It will be,” Jungkook agrees. “We could probably spend all day at one winery, but you have to get to Santo Wines, too.”

The bus drops them off in Kamari, the coastal village home to Volcan Wines. Jimin watches how the black sand swallows up their footsteps, the shallow indentations erased with each rise of the ocean’s waves that lick along the shore.

“Ready?” Jungkook says, quiet, almost overblown by the blustery winds. Jimin hears him loud and clear, deep voice making his insides melt. He could listen to Jungkook speak all day and it wouldn’t get any less overwhelming.

“You better believe,” Jimin replies. “Don’t get me wasted, okay?” He tries to speak with a light tone, but Jungkook grunts, displeased.

“I’d protect you.” Jungkook's chest puffs out, jaw tighter.

I know, is Jimin’s first instinctual reply, but he stops himself. “I don’t know,” he jokes with a strained effort to sound lighthearted, “you seem like a lightweight yourself, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook's frown morphs into a chuckle, lower lip swollen from being nibbled on – a nervous habit, Jimin learns. Jungkook continues, “You should speak for yourself. I think if memory serves me right...” He lifts a smug eyebrow and Jimin wants to kiss away that silly grin.

“Shut up. We’re not allowed to speak about that. Let’s go in,” Jimin says. Jungkook nods with a bunny grin, so effortlessly handsome.

The building welcomes them with an ostentatiously large sign in English, as if the entire world needs to know where Volcan Wines is located. Jungkook leads them past the red wooden doors, briefly touching a sturdy hand to Jimin’s lower back. They get wrangled into a group, led by a boisterous tour guide with frazzled hair and an orange shirt. As the man brings them through the museum’s dim hallways, decorated with artifacts and statues, solemn words about the winery’s history, present and future, somehow blend into one muddled memory.

Jimin's hands shake as he accepts a glass of tasting wine. Maybe if he loosens up a bit, the longing for Jungkook's touch will finally slip away.

Chapter Text

The tour guide’s voice bumbles back and forth between the low stone walls, each vowel turning into a low hum as the group makes their way down the museum. Jimin grips an informational audio tape cassette in hand – he chose to forgo listening to it in favor of taking everything in stride.

Never wandering far, Jungkook slings a finger through Jimin’s backpack as a tether to keep them together. He makes a few sounds of affirmation every once in a while, eyes searching the underground coves from display to display. He reminds Jimin of an overgrown child in a candy store, and Jimin’s chest swells just short of pain.

“Wine was used as a marker for celebrating big anniversaries or victories,” their guide, Kostas, explains. He gestures to the glass cubes housing small remains of antique bottles, some cracked, others still pristine. “Since water was not overly abundant on an island like Thira, it was important to be able to preserve a drinking source for long periods of time. Wine was the perfect answer and became an integral part of society.”

“Smart people,” Jungkook whispers, nose brushing the top of Jimin’s ear. A sizzle burns down Jimin’s neck at the touch.

Kosatas leads them toward a wide, engraved dresser, old wood chipped from the years, where bare remains of weathered fabrics still hang. “This was the typical attire for a worker who tended to the vineyards. They needed proper protection from the sun, but their clothes also needed to be breezy and loose-fitting.”

Jimin doesn’t know why the sight of the sheer linen-like wraps settles in the pit of his stomach like a heavy millstone. Nostalgia submerges his senses and before thinking twice, he runs his fingers down the intricate carvings of flowers and ocean waves.

“Jimin –” Jungkook says, stopping his hand in a tight grip.

Kosatas eyes them, a raised eyebrow, then shrugs. “Please try not to touch the artifacts, but I understand the intrigue. Jungkook, you brought a curious one this year.”

The rest of their group disperses across the wide enclosed room. Jungkook smiles with a nod. “Jimin has really taken to Santorini, I guess.”

Jimin bemoans his improper behavior. What had compelled him to do such a thing and overstep respect for the ancient relics? Why had his fingers itched to feel the solid weight of the wood, as if he had somehow touched those markings before?

The two doors in front of the dresser are engraved with a scene of the shoreline. Thira, before the eruption, had natural, sloping hills dipping into the ocean, unlike the famous sharp drop that formed after the island split away. Somehow, the artist had carved enough detail to showcase the tiny pebbles where the waves meet the land, and there are two teenage boys running through the water, hand in hand, hair tousled in the wind. Jimin can’t make out their exact features but something deeply resounding tells him that they’re very, very happy.

His fingertips ache.

“I apologize,” he murmurs, pulling away from the chest. “I’ll be more careful.”

Kosatas waves him off with a good-natured grin. “We have a saying here amongst the locals: Santorini calls those it wants to, and never lets them go. Maybe you’re one of them.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook adds, “Kosatas is the best. Just try not to break anything.”

Jimin laughs. “I’ll try not to.”

“We still have to get to the wine tasting. We don’t want to get into actual trouble before that.” Jungkook’s eyes are shining, even in the cavern’s dim lighting.

That, along with the soothing rub of Jungkook’s thumb along his own, makes Jimin feel a lot lighter, eager to learn about the enigmatic land suspended in time between the past and the future. He glances at their conjoined palms, wishing he had the strength to squeeze Jungkook’s hand as a lover would, instead of a barely-there friend.

Jungkook doesn’t let go of him until the tour is well over and Kosatas leads the group out to the vineyard.

Santo Wines is located a few bus stops away from Kamari, closer to Fira, the main hub of Santorini. Jungkook asks the driver to announce their stop so Jimin can take the time to appreciate the scenic view. The deep green, lush plains rolling toward the ocean never seems to get old.

After unboarding the bus, the entrance is a few paces away, leading right to the front of the winery. Smaller hoards of visitors cluster outside the entrance, either leaving or entering. The anticipation of visiting one of Santorini’s most famous spots bubbles up Jimin’s throat.

Jungkook giggles softly, nudging his shoulder. “Excited?”

“Oh my god, yes. I’ve read so much about this place and now, I’m here...”

“That seems to be a common theme here,” Jungkook says, “Every stop has its own special touch. Santo Wines is a good place to explore on your own, without a tour guide hustling you from stop to stop. It’s like a self-guided type of thing. And plus, we have 12 wines to sample at the end, instead of the 5 at Volcan Wines.”

“It’s like heaven on earth,” Jimin murmurs, automatically curling around Jungkook’s hand to drag him in. There is no time to waste, not when Jimin is eager to take everything in.

Santo Wines lacks the museum decor that Volcan Wines has, but makes up for it with the abundance of sampling edibles. Jimin is ecstatic when he realizes that he probably won’t have to pay for lunch – the table of olives, cheese, crusty bread to dip in olive oil, and bright, roasted vegetables is more than enough to fill any hungry traveler.

Jungkook finds him with a plate of food by the time their flights of 12 wines are poured. “Got started without me?” He settles down across the small table, his plate piled high with cheese and bread.

Jimin has no shame, and returns the snark with a grin. “Don’t expect me to behave, Jungkookie. I’m in a world of indulgence and have no desire to restrain myself.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. He reaches for the first glass – a dry white Athiri, then tips it forward. “Cheers to that.”

“Cheers.”

“So,” Jungkook says, after downing a long sip. “This is day, what, five of your vacation? Taehyung told me your ferry leaves in five more days.”

The reminder crashes around Jimin abruptly. He’s already halfway through his time in Santorini, yet he’s not even close to being done mentally. “Yeah, five more days,” he echoes, the words settling tight in his jaw. “I can’t believe the days go by so quickly.”

“Then we have to make the most of your remaining time. What’s something you absolutely want to do?”

Jimin thinks through his list, downing the rest of the wine and moving onto the crisp Aidani. “You already know I wanted to go to Vlychada,” he starts, unsure whether the topic of a nude beach would be too inappropriate for their partnership – or whatever the fuck was going on between them. “That’s definitely in my top three.”

Jungkook breaks into a loud laugh. “Okay, it’s settled. We’re going to a nude beach tonight.”

“Tonight?” The idea sounds too risky. “Are you sure? I mean, you really don’t have to come...”

“And leave you alone for other wandering eyes? I’m your tour guide for a reason, Jiminie.” The nickname falls off Jungkook’s tongue easily, too easily.

The aromatic, heady thickness of the air is strong but not overwhelming and Jimin swallows past his hesitancy. “You’re right, I guess. It would feel kind of weird going alone.”

“Plus, why would I pass on a chance of copping a nice look?”

Jimin answers by slapping Jungkook’s arm and dissolving into cackles. “You’re too much.”

“And you have the body of a Greek god,” Jungkook says, face stern between sips of wine. “Like it was chiseled out of a block of marble.”

Jimin is one second away from losing it. “Oh my god, stop, please.”

Jungkook’s expression finally thaws into an eye-scrunching gaze. “You know it just as well as I do. I know you don’t wear those ass-hugging jeans for no reason.”

“I need more wine,” Jimin snaps, but his stomach is churning with those damn butterflies that won’t give him a moment of rest.

“You have seven more glasses to go,” Jungkook provides helpfully. He reaches for another, the classic Assyrtiko in a stunning shade of light pink, with notes of strawberries and cherry on the palate. “I bet I can beat you to finish.”

Jimin bristles, both worked up competitively and kind of turned on, too. “You’re on.”

After downing the last of Santo’s sweet wines, Jimin is still able to walk and talk – he’s no lightweight, but the air has perked between him and his tour guide. Jungkook’s cheeks tinge two shades pinker and Jimin ends up taking more pictures of his flushed, indignant expressions, sitting on the open patio of the winery than he’d ever admit.

Being so close to Fira, their route to the beach is just straight southward, fast and accessible by the bus, which runs its route 24/7. Jungkook wiggles in his seat, fingers thrumming on his knees, and Jimin is determined to ignore the idea that getting nude around Jungkook might only lead to no good.

“Tell me about how you grew up in Santorini,” he asks, bouncing along with Jungkook in their plastic bus chairs.

Jungkook’s instant surprise melts into amusement. “Like I said, my parents brought me here every summer since I was a kid.”

“That must’ve been interesting.”

“Oh, it was,” Jungkook agrees, “But for things you might not guess. The vacation house, the one you saw a few days ago, is where I spent most of my time. The first few years, I was so pissed that I couldn’t hang out with my friends in Seoul. They all had fun stories to tell when the school year began and I only had boring beaches and being a fucking loner. There’s not a lot of kids who live in Santorini, so I only had one or two friends to play with every year. I never understood why my parents always wanted to return. They told me I’d understand one day.”

“Did you?”

Jungkook hums. “Eventually. I had no choice but to get over it. Once I grew up enough to wander around without my parents is when I started really falling in love with the place. I got to know the locals, the business owners, the cooks. Olaf – the guy we’re gonna take a photography tour with tomorrow – taught me how to use my first camera.”

Jimin blinks at the last detail. “Cameras – are you a photographer?”

Jungkook shrugs, but his lips quirk up. "An aspiring one, I think. If you count the blurry shots and wannabe angles. It's more for fun than anything else."

"Show me," Jimin insists, "You have your camera with you, right? Somewhere in that huge ass camo bag."

"Hey," Jungkook protests weakly, "I have to be prepared as a tour guide. You never know when you'll need something important." He crosses his arms against his chest and pouts, making him look like a puppy wanting to prove his worth. 

Jimin's stomach does that flipflop thing again that makes him want Jungkook dangerously. "Of course, of course, you're right. Now show me."

"Wait, give me a few seconds to..." Jungkook's voice trails off as he unloads his clunky DLSR and starts clicking through the buttons, holding the screen directly away from Jimin's prying eyes.

"Gotta delete the nudes, huh?"

Jungkook turns an even deeper shade of red, like the wines they had just sampled. "N-no," he sputters, "Not nudes, just..."

“Just what?”

“My camera is connected to my phone so I have to transfer a few photos to make more space on my SD card."

"So you want to transfer your nudes to your phone, got it," Jimin suggests, nodding for emphasis.

"They're not nudes!" Jungkook protests, "They're... ugh, just, fine. Here." He shoves the camera into Jimin's hands and turns, swiveling his bus chair away.

Jimin isn't sure what he's prepared for when he scrolls through Jungkook's recent photos. Maybe girls in skimpy bikinis, shots stained with strobes of nightlife, a few macros of flowers or panoramas of Santorini's iconic cliffs.

What he sees are definitely not any of the above.

It's photo after photo of him. 

Looking out from the Oia wall, stealing bites of food, walking up a dusty path, standing in the middle of a Fira alley looking at his phone, mid-laugh with his hand blocking his mouth, and to his disgruntled amusement, a few shots of just his fingers clutching various items.

If Jimin didn't know Jungkook better, he'd feel really fucking awkward, but as he scrolls through photo by photo, he can't help but notice the level of artistic attention to detail and what he supposes could be called impeccable "composition." Jungkook really has talent, is the conclusion Jimin reaches, as he passes the camera back to Jungkook, who refuses to meet his gaze.

"You're really skilled, Jungkookie."

Jungkook finally turns to him, eyes wide with apprehension. "It's not weird? I'm sorry if it's weird, Jimin, I didn't mean for them to turn out to be all of you, I promise."

"Kind of weird, but more flattering. And Taehyung has your address, so if you plan on pulling something questionable, I’m sure he’ll hunt you down."

The bus announces the stop and Jungkook forgoes answering Jimin's jibe for hoisting up their belongings and shuffling them out.

The sun is halfway down its daily trail along the milky blue sky as Jimin steps onto black sand. Vlychada is separated from the busier beaches catering to families and children. The steady lapping of turquoise waters licks up the dark, endless landscape.

"The water gets colder toward the end of summer, but it's still nice for quick swims."

"Hmm." Jimin wants nothing more than to lose himself in the ocean's embrace. He hurries, steps tossing up sand, ready to strip down bare. He hears Jungkook chuckling behind him.

Once he reaches the shoreline, Jimin stops to take everything in. Vlychada is perfect. Just a few pairs of people scattered down the coast, minding their own business, cloaked by the shadows of the setting sun. "Wow."

"Does everything meet up to your expectations?" Jungkook settles their bags down onto a towel, digging his heels into the sand. Somewhere between the bus stop and now, Jungkook's shirt has come off, and Jimin drinks him in like the deepest, finest wine.

"Obviously better. Nothing could've prepared me for this." Jimin turns back to the sea and pulls off his shirt, shivering in the light breeze.

"Have a seat, take it all in."

Jimin finally tears his eyes away from the glowing horizon and plops down onto the towel, making sure to keep some distance between the contact of their skin. "So what's the etiquette for nude beaches?"

"Nothing really," Jungkook says, rifling through his bag to pull out a bottle of rosé. "Just don't stare at people? And here, more wine always makes stripping easier."

Jimin considers the glass before deciding to fuck his dignity all over again. "Got it. Thanks."

"I'll go first, if that makes it easier for you." Jungkook starts to unbutton his jeans, where Jimin's eyes naturally fall. Jungkook's bulge is really nice, he distantly notes.

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook's dick is even nicer. Jimin remembers how nice it was the night they spent together, how good it felt on his tongue. He swallows away the memory and tries futilely to maintain composure. Bare legs appear before he has a chance to take another breath that he desperately needs. Once Jungkook is completely naked, Jimin pointedly keeps his eyes respectfully to the water, inhaling more wine.

"Now your turn, Jiminie."

"God, we're really doing this, huh?"

Jungkook chuckles and reaches for Jimin's glass. "It's my first time, too. Just gotta do it."

"Just do it," Jimin repeats, wanting to jump into the water to drown away his embarrassment. He quickly shimmies off his pants, battling the inner devil that wants to make Jungkook as flustered as he feels.

"Nice." Jungkook eyes him with a smirk. "Just as nice as I recall."

"Oh my god." Jimin swats him, hating how Jungkook's arm has little to no cushion, just pure muscle. "What happened to your rule of no staring?"

"But we're here together, Jiminie, I get special privileges. And plus you’re ripped, Jimin, your body is meant to be admired."

Jimin's palms are clammy and his chest feels too tight. "You're being so greasy."

Jungkook turns onto his side, resting his face against his hand, propped up onto the sand. The obliques of his abdomen curl into prominent ridges, lines Jimin wants to feel under his fingertips. It doesn't help to see Jungkook's cock slowly hardening as the seconds pass.

"Like what you see?"

"Pffssh," Jimin mutters exaggeratedly, his pulse picking up. "You're too confident in yourself."

"More like false inflated confidence. I'm trying to make you feel more comfortable, you know. How 'bout a swim? You down?"

Wordlessly, Jimin nods. He's very down for that.

1626 BC, Kallisti

Today's the day. 

Jimin has been counting down to D-Day since Father informed him about the engagement to Sooyoung. Over the weeks, Jimin has floundered on an emotional swell of highs and lows – solidifying his love for Jungkook despite their societal boundaries, and growing closer to Sooyoung in strong, platonic trust. He knows Sooyoung has been mentally preparing for today, just as he has.

"Are you ready?" Jungkook asks, adjusting the cloak around Jimin's shoulders. The fabric is a rich purple, costly and only worn on special occasions. Jungkook's tentative fingers brush a little longer around Jimin's neck, down to his collarbones, than they should.

Jimin laughs breathlessly, going quiet as he studies Jungkook's sad, emotive eyes. "As ready as I'll ever be. Can't believe how much one ceremony changes everything."

"It doesn't change everything," Jungkook says quietly, "We're gonna stay the same, no matter what."

"I know, Jungkookie. There's no doubt about that. But you know what I mean. In the public – you and I can't ever be real."

Jungkook leaves his words in the air, hands draping down to Jimin's waist, where a thick sash holds his cloak in place. "You should know better than that, Jiminie. What the public thinks doesn't matter at all. You're gonna go out there and make your parents proud, say your vows and be an upstanding citizen. You're gonna go home with your wife, who's a wonderful woman, and raise an incredible family. And I'm going to be there every step of the way."

Jimin aches with the longing for things that he and Jungkook can't ever share in this lifetime together. He forces a smile. "When did you grow up so much?"

"You taught me well. Now, now, you can't cry today. People will take it the wrong way." Jungkook cups his cheek and runs a thumb down his jaw with tender resolve.

"You're right. No crying. Sooyoung will kill me if I crack. She promised to stay strong, too."

"That's the Jimin I know. Now give me one last kiss before you go," Jungkoo demands, eyes no longer sad, but shining with what Jimin knows must be the strength of hope.

Jimin bites down his instant smile and tugs Jungkook in, hungry to seal their lips together, hungry for Jungkook. His best friend, his eternity, Jungkook tastes timeless. Jimin clings to him, arms tightly wound around, clutching his robes. 

"I love you so much Jiminie," Jungkook mumbles against his skin.

"Good, because you're stuck with me, no matter what."

Jungkook giggles, leaning in for another kiss, then another. "Oh, how will I ever live," he croaks.

Jimin nudges Jungkook’s sides. "You'll figure out a way."

"We'll figure out a way," Jungkook corrects, looking pleased at his wit.

Instead of letting the weight of the day press down, Jimin focuses on the moment – Jungkook's breathy exhales when their lips part for air, Jungkook's roaming hands, Jungkook's heart in his lips with every movement they share in tandem. Despite being an hour away from his own wedding to someone else, Jimin knows.

Jungkook is forever.

And with that in mind, lips tingling with the taste of Jungkook, Jimin walks confidently to the ceremony room, more ready than ever.

Present Day

The water is icy when Jimin finally drags himself in, but thankfully warms up as he submerges himself below the endless sea. Jungkook lingers only a few seconds away, bobbing in and out of the waves, boyish grin never leaving his face, bangs matted down over his sparkling eyes.

As stunning as Santorini's sunset is, Jimin struggles to tear his gaze away from Jungkook.

"Jiminie," Jungkook sing-songs with a devilish edge to his voice. He paddles closer, smirk barely hidden.

"Oh no, no no, keep those hands away," Jimin warns, but his heart betrays him.

"What hands? These hands are innocent."

Jimin mildly panics. "I'm not dumb, Jeon, I know when you're up to no good."

"I solemnly swear..." 

Jungkook pauses, dramatic effect taking its toll. Then without pretense, splashes of salty waves plummet Jimin in the face, rushing over him in stubborn torrent. Behind the impromptu shower, Jungkook is cackling.

"Jeon!!! Jungkook!!!" Jimin screeches, rapidly splashing back in defense, hands slapping the tides as hard as he can manage.

"Never surrender!" Jungkook hollers, ducking under the surface to wrap his arms around Jimin's waist from behind, trapping his arms and halting their childish play.

Whether it's the wine or the exhilarating rush of their water fight, Jimin immediately relaxes into Jungkook's embrace, leaning back onto his shoulder, boneless against Jungkook's bare front. The low grunt against his ear doesn't come as a surprise as Jimin swivels back to feel Jungkook's hips jerk once, twice, cock fully hard and rubbing against his ass.

They don't call wine "liquid courage" for no reason, Jimin dimly thinks, as he wiggles again, pivoting in small circles as Jungkook's fingers dip harder into his sides.

"Tease," Jungkook murmurs, nuzzling behind Jimin's neck. "Fuckin' tease, and you know it."

Jimin groans, lacing his fingers with Jungkook's, bringing them up to flick at his nipples.

"Fuck, Jimin." Jungkook buries his face into Jimin's neck, breathing harshly. "You're so–" His voice cracks to let out a strangled moan.

"You started it, trying to drown me," Jimin whispers with a particularly sharp grind backwards.

Jungkook sucks in a deep breath, canting forward to meet Jimin's movements, all subtlety completely gone, rutting explicitly, the head of his cock sliding into the tender dip of Jimin's behind. "You wanted to come to a nude beach, sue me for appreciating the opportunity."

This is a dangerous game, Jimin knows. He knows it even as he uses the buoyancy of the salty water to tiptoe up just enough for Jungkook's dick to slide in between the backs of his thighs, and he clenches his legs around the thick, slick cock.

"God, fuckin' god," Jungkook whines, kissing down Jimin's nape, hips buckling forward. "You – you're gonna make me come like this."

Jimin guides their pace, letting Jungkook rock against him, sliding between his cheeks, smooth, wet skin. "I don't see you arguing."

"Are you kidding? I could never argue with this. Fuck, Jimin, you have no idea –" Jungkook's growl falters as the tip of his dick catches against the ring of Jimin's ass, pressing harder against the sensitive skin.

Jimin lets the flutter of pleasure thrum through his skin, wondering what it would be like to have Jungkook inside. "Couldn't hold back, hm?"

All of Jungkook's desperate movements come to a halt.

That’s it, Jimin thinks – he's done it – ruined everything.

But before he can release a strangled breath, Jungkook strokes down his stomach, fingers rippling with the water. "I remember everything you’ve said... I don’t want to be the guy who makes you do this only to see you second guess again. Is this too much, Jimin?"

"No," Jimin hurries, turning around, toes tripping in the sand. "No, no. I – uh – maybe I wouldn't have had the courage to start this, especially after everything I've told you. Jungkook, I – I don't know what I'm doing, obviously. But I –" Looking into Jungkook's face, dripping with emotion, makes Jimin more courageous. He refuses to look away as much as he wants to.

"I don't know what I'm doing either," Jungkook says, blinking, drips of the ocean framing his handsome face. "But I don't want to miss out on what this could be. Do you... feel the same?"

Jimin stands at the precipice of making the decision to be vulnerable or to keep up the front he's struggled to maintain around Jungkook. The drop is steep, just like the face of Santorini's caldera, a sheer, insurmountable wall. The fall would be shattering, too much to recover from if he lost his footing. Jimin could find his ruin if he admits to Jungkook's confession.

Just as a colder breeze ripples across the bay, Jimin decides that maybe this time, today – he already had one foot hovering over the descent.

Jungkook places some space between them, shoulders swathed in the restless ocean. Holding his breath, Jimin watches Jungkook lean in to press against a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. It's unhurried, easy and uncomplicated. Just what Jimin needs to be fully convinced.

Just what he needs to takes the next step.

"I think I feel the same way, too."

Unbearable warmth blankets Jimin's heart as Jungkook's brilliant smile lights up the small space around them, matching the last remaining rays of the Santorini setting sun.

1626 BC, Kallisti

Sooyoung looks gorgeous, dressed in their people’s finest, a veil draped over her face. In the back of Jimin's mind, he imagines what Jungkook would look like if he were the one standing at the end of the same aisle, waiting for Jimin.

The smiles of his family ring out as he shakes Sooyoung's father's hand and bows to her mother. The nimble palm placed in his quivers in nervousness and he tries to give Sooyoung a reassuring smile.

"Ready?"

Sooyoung's chest heaves as she peers at him through the gossamer fabric. "Ready, if you are."

"We’ll get through this together."

The ceremony is strict, following traditions passed down through numerous generations. A few repeated mantras and lines from the religious texts, the exchange of a wine chalice they are required to sip from. Jimin means it when he says he'll do his best to protect Sooyoung, and he knows she returns the sentiment as she promises to support him in day-to-day life.

The words, "I do," fall like stones from his lips. Jimin doesn't mean them in the way society expects him to, but he does mean he'll try to be a good partner to Sooyoung.

Scanning the audience, Jimin's eyes hone quickly onto Jungkook's glossy ones. There's a fresh trickle down Jungkook's cheek that Jimin wishes he could freely wipe away in front of everyone.

Fighting back his own prickling tears, Jimin musters a last ounce of valor and clutches Sooyoung's hand. She nods and they walk back through their family and friends for the first time as a wedded couple. Every step feels heavy, a bittersweet stride as Jimin passes Jungkook, hoping his smile is modest enough just for Jungkook to see.

As the night's festivities pass, Jimin knows that even though he's a legally wedded man, his entire heart remains in the hands of the neighborhood boy, the one person who ever managed to persuade him to take the plunge.

Maybe in another life, they'll get their chance.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

They dry off silently, grains of sand clinging to Jimin’s ankles as he tugs on a thin sweater. It scratches against his skin, salty from the sea. Grimacing, he plucks through his rucksack, a sigh of relief at the clean pair of underwear he managed to toss in that morning. The blanketing evening dim is comforting.

“You cold?” Jungkook hovers with enough distance, fully clothed, and the minuscule strain between his eyebrows nearly passable. If Jimin’s gut is right, it means Jungkook wants to get closer.

Jimin nods. “But that’s not the problem. I could eat a whole country right now.”

Jungkook throws his head back, eyes crinkling shut as he laughs in a way Jimin has become terribly familiar with over the last few days. “Didn't know you were into that.”

“Shut up.”

Jungkook grins, hair ruffling with the wind. “Well, I can’t let you go hungry. To Psaraki is in walking distance; it’s probably one of the most popular restaurants by the beach.”

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?” Jimin grunts, a firm grasp on Jungkook’s elbow.

“We're actually waiting for your slow ass to get dressed. I’d say we should make a bet to see who can run there faster, but that doesn’t sound very professional.” The sarcasm dripping back into Jungkook’s voice is reassuring, that they’re going to be okay.

Jimin tries his best to remain unaffected. The sheen of salt hugs his cheeks, bearable because of Jungkook’s response. “I could fall and hurt myself and you’d be the worst tour guide ever.”

“You’d be the worst customer ever,” Jungkook coos in return.

To Psaraki is more of a tourist trap than any of the other restaurants Jungkook has chosen so far, its prime location right by the caldera, perimeter lit with symmetric loops of strung lights that frame the wide, open-air concept. Jimin doesn’t even mind the aloof and mediocre behavior of the wait staff, too invested in every bite of food.

Charred bites of tender octopus, saline and tinged with a kiss of the sea. Fresh sardines that Jimin would’ve turned down if they were served in Korea, delectable, clean and seasoned with nothing but salt to be grilled. Robust sundried tomato dip slathered onto toasted baguette slices. And a side of piping hot fries that Jungkook tells him goes incredibly well with a bite of crab salad.

Oh, and Jungkook.

Jungkook and his eyes that catch the glossy gleam of the restaurant lights. Jimin has been trying his best to avoid falling into them, but this evening is a lost cause. His wide, ochre eyes are reminiscent of a very distant memory, too cloudy to put to words. Jimin had sensed the similarity the moment they met at his hotel room door, but the clarity only continues to grow. He wonders if Jungkook feels it, too.

“You’ve got a little bit of –” Jungkook says, halfway out of his seat, leaning across the checkered red-and-white tablecloth. “Let me get that for you.”

Jimin doesn’t have a chance to protest the ridiculous scene by the time Jungkook has swiped a thumb across his lower lip to catch whatever was apparently there. “You’re –” he sputters, clutching his napkin, “– ugh. I can wipe my own mouth, you know.”

Jungkook shrugs, a little bashful. “Can you blame a man for taking advantage of every opportunity?”

“Yes,” Jimin deadpans. “Yes, I can. It’s a lesser-known tactic called self-control. You should look it up.” But his words crack into a chuckle, tugging out a pleased smugness on Jungkook’s face that Jimin wants to kiss away into the inky sky.

“By now, you know my self-control has been questionable at best.”

“And mine too. Let’s drink to that.” Jimin lifts his wine glass, this time, a deep 2013 Gai’a Thalassitis that blooms along the tongue.

Jungkook chuckles and raises his own, downing a gulp after their glasses part. The moment brews, and Jimin takes in the man before him. Every other face in the restaurant desaturates, blurring out in comparison.

“So Jimin,” Jungkook starts, leaning forward with intent, “if it’s even possible, I still don’t know a lot about you. I mean, I know we’re still... we’ve just met, and I’m learning more every day. Most of the time we’re sightseeing. We don’t get to talk about ourselves.” He gestures to the space between them. “I’d like to know who Park Jimin is here, who Park Jimin is in Korea, anywhere. You’re still a huge mystery to me.”

Jimin can’t help letting out a soft sigh. “You’re right. I haven’t been the most... transparent with you.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way. I haven’t, either!”

“We both haven’t,” Jimin agrees. “But you’re also right about not really having the time to talk. There’s so much to take in here; I don’t want to miss anything.” Maybe he’s been missing the most important event this whole time. “Where should we start?”

Jungkook’s beam is infectious. He takes another bite of fish. “Tell me about what you were like as a kid.”

“Chubby and short.”

“So not much different then, huh.”

Jimin groans. “As if I haven't heard that one before. I also was the class president and a top grade student.”

“I'm kidding, Jimin. Brains and beauty, you're the best of both worlds.” Jungkook grins.

“Don't try to be sly with me.”

But Jungkook continues, “I bet if I knew you in school, I'd have such a huge crush on you. I'd leave secret admirer notes in your locker.”

“And I would think you're creepy.” Picturing Jungkook in high school is very close to the person in front of him now, still full of youth and vigor, eager to please and ready for the challenge.

Maybe Jimin would've crushed hard on him, too.

Jungkook smirks, lips pulling open to say something surely juvenile.

But Jimin is faster. “Oh my god, no Jungkook. Not together.”

Trudging alongside him, Jungkook hikes his own bag to readjust the straps, kicking up fine dirt between them with every step. “No fun,” he says, a whine crawling into his tone. “At least let me make sure you get back to the hotel safely?”

Jungkook asks with a trace of wary hesitancy, as if Jimin hadn’t just confessed reciprocated feelings to whatever burgeoning relationship was coming to the surface between them. His arms swing from side to side, shoulders slumped.

“Okay, okay, if you really want to,” Jimin says, hoping to dissipate Jungkook’s worries. “But will you be safe going home after?”

“I’m always trekking around alone. I grew up here, remember? I know these roads like the back of my hand,” Jungkook says, eyes no longer downcast. The privilege of influencing Jungkook’s mood tingles down Jimin’s fingertips.

Even as Santorini is swathed in darkness, Fira is still vibrant with nightlife, so Jimin has trouble registering the lack of light at all. They board the bus that will drop him close to Keti Hotel. Jungkook slides close in the plastic seats, arm swinging over Jimin’s back with no pretense.

Jimin smiles at the contact, at the silly smug pride on Jungkook’s face. He feels brave, now that he has moved on from the rotting guilt that makes him shy away from Jungkook’s touches. Enjoy this, he reminds himself, then rests his head onto Jungkook’s shoulder.

The ride is bumpy but Jimin still feels how Jungkook freezes for a split-second before warming up, holding Jimin closer.

“I’m sorry we weren’t able to stop by the outdoor cinema tonight.” Jungkook says, interrupting the comfortable calm. “I figured you had a really long day between the wineries and the beach. Tourists tend to overwork themselves, then regret it when they get sick.“

“Don’t jinx it like that,” Jimin teases.

“I’m not! Gotta be careful, is all.”

“Okay, okay. So what’s on the plan for tomorrow?” Jimin’s voice bounces off the old metal bus frame, caught in the air swishing by.

Jungkook thrums his fingers along the thin fabric of Jimin’s sweater. “We have a few options. Do you like photography? Or maybe a tour down to Black Beach?”

“I pretend to like photography. I have a camera but I only have experience posting on Instagram.”

“That’s still photography, though,” Jungkook points out. “There’s a guy, Olaf, he does a really top-notch walking tour of the best vantage points for photos. He knows his stuff.”

Leaning closer, Jimin places his palm on Jungkook’s thigh. It feels oddly domestic, easier than two strangers who have just met. Despite himself, Jimin’s cheeks heat up. What is he, a fucking teenager? “That sounds nice. We can postpone Black Beach for later, then?”

Jungkook nods just as the stop lights flash. “Here’s us.” Jimin ignores that ‘us’ is supposed to mean only him.

The lobby is empty when Jungkook opens the door. They walk in silence to his room and there’s something changing in Jungkook’s eyes when they stop at his door. Sleepy, fond and murky with dangerous things. Jimin knows he should just say goodnight and turn in.

“Stay,” he says instead, lacing their fingers. “I changed my mind. I don’t want you to trudge all the way back.”

Jungkook slowly cups Jimin's cheek. The gesture catches him off guard. He watches as Jungkook swallows then says, “Only if you insist.”

“Only if you want to,” he counters.

Jungkook shuffles closer, toes touching. He looks so nice, with little traces of age and humanism as he nods. “Do I get to cuddle you?”

Jimin reaches for the doorknob and grins. “Only if I get to be the big spoon.”

After Jimin brushes his teeth, he finally has time to check Taehyung’s texts. Jungkook is already in bed, scrolling through his phone, one arm draped behind his head, looking as sculturesque as ever. Jimin shudders with the urge to touch.

tae:
bihh i wouldnt have wanted u to go on this trip if i knew u were gonna ignore me the whole time
next time u jet off, im coming
but
that also means ure probably w jungkook
what happened!!
did u fuck him yet

Jimin grunts. Of course Taehyung would assume the most.

honestly what kind of best friend behavior is this dont u trust me!! i can protect my innocence u know and no we haven’t :<

“Tired?” Jungkook asks, propped up on a fluffy pillow. The blankets are kicked down and Jungkook is only wearing a formfitting pair of briefs.

Jimin swallows, managing a sheepish smile. He keeps his eyes from wandering down the lines of Jungkook’s body. “Kind of. I know I’ll probably pass out right away.” After a quick internal debate, he shucks off his own shirt, avoiding Jungkook’s stare.

In a daze, Jimin stretches out in the wide bed, and a very solid arm wraps around his torso, firm and unyielding. Jungkook scoots flush against him, nosing along his temple, skin burning everywhere. “Sleep, Jimin. Got a long day tomorrow.”

Tender courage bubbles up Jimin’s tongue. He curls toward Jungkook, sliding a thigh between his, a palm up Jungkook’s bare chest to stroke the hairs on his nape. “Not many nights left, though.”

Jungkook’s breathing grows ragged. “That’s a good point.”

“Are you sleepy?”

Jungkook sighs. “Halfway there. Halfway, uh, not.” The growing pressure against Jimin's thigh confirms this.

Fuck it all. Jimin presses a chaste kiss to Jungkook’s jaw. Then another, and another. “Tell me if you want to go to sleep.”

“Well fuck,” Jungkook gasps, hands suddenly splaying down Jimin’s lower back, inching further down. “When you put it that way.”

“Or you could just kiss me.”

And when Jungkook does, it begins to feel, with perfect clarity, that Jimin’s trip to Santorini, booked on complete and utter impulse to get away, has found its purpose. A purposeful comfort in being able to touch and draw patterns down Jungkook’s chest, the angles of their legs locking together with a chainlink kind of security. Hungry hands reach for more, like a traveler stumbling upon hidden spots of beauty in a land far, far away.

When Jungkook pulls away for a breath, he whispers in a nervous voice, “I said something earlier, on one of our first nights. The night in Oia. That I wanted to keep you.”

“You also said I was what – warm?” Jimin giggles, reeling his energy in. He needs to stay composed, between the stutter in his lungs and the way Jungkook’s hips hitch up to meet his, the thickness of his clothed cock.

“Yeah, that too. But I meant it, still do.”

“About keeping me?”

Jimin slides out his leg from between Jeongguk's thighs and hooks it over his hip, and Jeongguk sucks in a harsh breath when their erections rub together, straining under the thin fabrics. There's a damp spot where Jungkook's cock ends, the bulge sliding against Jimin's as he grinds forward.

Jungkook nods, a bit red in the face. “Is this...?”

Jimin watches how Jungkook reacts to his delayed reply, the nervous working of his jaw, chapped lips parting open. Feels his own hands clench, the need to just spill it out, wide and open for both of them to acknowledge – or maybe it’s the wine.

“Yeah,” he says in a rush. “This is okay. I want to keep you, too.”

Beaming, Jungkook pulls him back for another kiss, stretching the silent moment for awhile. Tasting him, Jimin melts, the slide of their lips, addictive and new, but entirely familiar. He leans into it, parting wide, hearing Jungkook inhale through his nose as Jimin clings closer, licking in. Jungkook’s hand slides lower, now appreciatively groping and Jimin almost laughs into his mouth if not for the scalding way his breath is stolen away and how desperately hard he is.

They go on like this, hips rolling, the blunt tips of their cocks catching the other, wetness seeping through their briefs until it's close to being messy. Jungkook kisses like he wants to devour Jimin, yet holds back enough so that Jimin knows he treasures this, them, even more.

As Jimin is about to combust, Jungkook pulls away with kiss-slick lips.

“Tonight, tonight, I don’t want to push it,” he explains. “I’ve pushed you before, I think, when you weren’t ready for anything. So I want to do this right.”

Jimin blinks, taking in Jungkook’s words for depth. “What does that mean?”

“We have a few days left. I don’t want to do anything that would make me have to chase you around the island again, or for you to feel any form of regret.” Jungkook wiggles down the pillow to stuff his nose into Jimin’s neck, breathing lowly against his damp skin.

“Okay,” says Jimin is a voice he hopes is steady. “I don’t want to regret anything either. I’m tired of regretting. I came here to get away from that.”

Jungkook nods, rubbing circles into his spine.

“Do you still want to know more about me? The Park Jimin back in Korea?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says so quickly, Jimin jolts with a start. Craning up for a kiss, Jungkook’s wide eyes latch on, full of curiosity.

“Okay, let me start from the beginning.”

1626 BC, Kallisti

Life as a married man is surprisingly easy, Jimin discovers.

Sooyoung is generous to a fault and is meticulous about maintaining their home, taking it upon herself to start a garden and raise two baby goats gifted from her uncle. Jimin begins his occupation in Akrotiri with his father at the City Square, training as a scribe apprentice.

He and Sooyoung fall into an easy routine, already comfortable enough to ease the tension of being in a loveless marriage. Jimin soon realizes that that even though he’s not in love with Sooyoung, their connection is still full of fondness.

“I’m home!” he calls, crossing the threshold. The sun has set and Jimin peels off his coat, ready to shake away the events of the day. The City Square had been busier than usual with citizens inquiring about the upcoming military draft recently announced by the Governor.

“In the kitchen! Dinner is almost ready!”

“Today was absolute chaos,” Jimin grumbles, walking through the main corridor. He smiles at Sooyoung and reaches for a piece of bread. “No one is ready for the draft.”

Sooyoung turns to him, a hand on her hip. There’s a slight blotch, cherry red, at the base of her neck. Jimin almost snorts – Seungwan has never been modest with leaving marks, even after Jimin had pointed out that they could spark rumors.

“No one enjoys the thought of war, Jimin. Imagine all the wives preparing for their husbands to leave, with the possibility of never returning? It’s horrifying.”

Jimin nods. He’d heard many testimonies from men at the Square, since women are unable to provide public endorsements, but had also caught bits of whispered gossips from ladies hurrying between stores and walkways. “It’s really difficult news for everyone.”

“How’s Jungkook taking it?” Sooyoung asks, carrying a platter to the table.

Jimin slouches into his seat. “He’s worried. Especially considering the fact that he doesn’t have an official occupation – he could be drafted a lot sooner than the rest of us.”

“Are you worried?”

“Of course.” Jimin inhales deeply. “But what can we do?”

They eat in comfortable silence. Sooyoung tells him about her day with the goats that she’s named Bada and Haneul, and the various errands she has to do in the upcoming week. Jimin asks her about Seungwan and if she needs him to fetch anything from the Square.

When the evening transitions into full night, they retire to separate rooms, their own spaces to exist. In Jimin’s, a large bed fit for two people, for appearance’s sake when company is over. Jimin is thankful to share a mutual respect with Sooyoung for each other’s priorities, and support in time of need.

Although Sooyoung and Seungwan continue to see each other, maintaining their relationship under covers, Jimin and Jungkook had decided to stay as platonic as possible. Being male means subjection to constant scrutiny, and secrets are difficult to hide.

It’s with that reality that Jimin curls into his covers, hands itching for the softness of Jungkook’s familiar skin. Some things are unfair, he knows. He might be cursed – so close, yet so far to the object of his pure happiness.

He hears the dull croak of his voice, talking to the walls, “Jungkookie. You’re half of me. I wish we could be whole.”

Four Months Ago, Seoul

Jimin slouches against the pristine countertop, thumbing down the side of the mug he’s got clutched, filled with lukewarm shitty coffee. He has been meaning to get a proper espresso machine, to make those Americanos that Taehyung always raves on about. But for now, shitty instant it is.

His phone vibrates.

joonie:
hey babe i’m sorry i can’t make it tonight for dinner
work is keeping me a lot longer than i expected
don’t stay up for me
love you

Of all the things Namjoon could’ve used as an excuse.

Jimin sighs. He hates excuses, number one, and he hates fake-ass excuses from boyfriends who can’t seem to settle down and commit. But most of all, and maybe the most pathetic, is the fact that he hates himself, knowing all long that Namjoon was never going to be the type to put a ring on it.

He entertains the thought of Namjoon having an affair. It wouldn’t be too hard to imagine, considering how many times he’s canceled on Jimin within the last month. Or maybe Namjoon’s homophobic parents were finally beginning to bear down too hard on their impressionable son.

alright, don’t work too hard

joonie:
thank you! <3

Jimin doesn’t reply.

He makes his way back to their bedroom and shucks off his sweater, staring at his bland reflection in the mirror. The makeup won’t be of any use now. Nowhere to go tonight, anyway.

Or maybe... there is.

He could ditch the usual Netflix routine and go out alone, get some drinks and dance. Nothing harmful, kind of like university shenanigans when the night got a bit hazy and the next morning felt like clips of a movie strung together by an amnesiac. Yeah, Jimin reasons, he put effort into getting done-up, so he might as well reap the benefits.

An hour later he enters a lounge called Lighthouse, and heads straight for the bar. Darkness swarms with thick beams of neon colors, blues and purples mingling. Bodies are swathed with glitter dust drifting from the overhead fan. Jimin feels more at home, less focused on relationship issues that seem to lead to no resolution. It’s been a while since he has last enjoyed dancing.

But none of that matters once he downs four shots and enters the flood of people, finding room to move freely. Mellow at first, swaying as the music dictates, eyes half-shut, mind completely blank. The bass line turns deep and heavy, someone singing about making love on the dance floor, and the synth wraps around the crowd like an addictive siren’s song. Jimin lets go of the hurt, the tacky self-doubt, the loss of control, and focuses on movement.

A warm torso presses against him from behind, matching his moves with precision, two stanzas of an ensemble. Jimin ignores it at first, too tired to care, but the stranger is insistent, rolling his hips right, and Jimin thinks this might be okay – harmless fun – a faceless name. As long as he doesn’t cross any lines.

So he dives in, senses on overdrive as the stranger’s palms run down his sides, closing any gap left between. Jimin hasn’t danced with someone as natural as this person in a really, really long time. He picks up on the hints – a well-built body by the width of the chest that Jimin leans on, the grip of fingertips into Jimin’s denim belt-loops, the defined swell grinding hard against his ass. Enticing breaths swoop down the back of Jimin’s neck, but Jimin tunes it all out – he doesn’t want to ruin the mystery, not now, not when the moment is in perfect singularity.

They dance, molding together, until Jimin gets a cautious thought that maybe he should be more careful. A nose rubs down the back of his ear, ghosts of thin lips pressing against his earring. The faint whisper of a husky voice asking, “Who are you?”

But all nights have an end, and Jimin excuses himself before he can drift into something irresponsible. He parts, fingers lingering on the stranger’s palm, letting the crowd swallow him away from the tuff of messy, raven black hair and obscured, wide eyes.

Namjoon still isn’t home when Jimin tumbles into their apartment. But for once, his heart doesn’t sink in disappointment. And maybe, he thinks as he falls into bed, maybe that’s a good thing.

Present Day, Fira

Jimin cannot feel his arms. He blinks, brain sending signals to wipe off the crusty stuff in his eyes, but no movement follows. He also needs to empty his bladder. Jimin tries to sit up, head spinning. Groaning, he falls back onto the pillow, pins and needles sinking into his fingertips. Fuck, he’s gone and done it now.

He focuses, blurry surroundings coming into focus – oh right, Jungkook.

Jungkook is still asleep, arms strewn around Jimin’s sides like an octopus, golden skin glossed by the faint rays of sunshine. Now Jimin can finally feel his arms, which were probably squished under Jungkook’s chest, considering their arrangement.

When had they fallen asleep? Jimin remembers talking until well past midnight, all sense of time whisked away as Jungkook calmly reassured him to keep going, to let it out.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

Jimin jerks with a start. “You’re the one who sleeps like a rock,” he bites back.

Jungkook laughs, a low rumble that edges off as a giggle. He dares to lay in the sheets looking impeccable, even after a long night. “You’re just comfortable. Better than any pillow.”

Jimin is instantly enamored. “I couldn’t feel my hands! Thought I had gone under. It’s all your fault.”

Jungkook’s handsome grin stretches wider. “At least you slept well, right? I think I heard you snoring.”

“I do not snore!”

Jungkook instantly tugs Jimin down to rest against his chest. “It’s cute. I wouldn’t mind putting up with it.”

Despite Jimin’s fight-or-flight instinct to get out and away from the syrupy-sweet sensation of Jungkook wrapped tightly around him, he stays. “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.”

But Jungkook is having none of that. He stares, unblinking, until Jimin is a second away from squirming. Then, “I’m not joking, Jimin. I meant what I said this whole time. And even if I haven’t said it explicitly, I think you know how I feel about you.”

Jimin’s mind tumbles to formulate a reply, but his stomach cuts in instead with a worryingly loud gurgle.

The seriousness melts away and they both burst into a fit. Jimin clutches at Jungkook a little tighter, using the pretense of giggling to hide his need for closeness. He can’t help the leap in his chest when Jungkook nuzzles down his jaw, smiling into his skin. It’s perfect, slightly domestic, but Jimin craves the intimacy with a need that feels supernatural – as if touching Jungkook would wipe clean the bogged-down, miry depths of his mind.

“Time for food,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed.

Jungkook nods. “Guess it wouldn’t be proper to say I want to eat you for breakfast, huh?”

Jimin shrieks, giving Jungkook a half-hearted shove. He can’t handle this so early in the morning. “You only want me for my body,” he huffs, but makes no move to get out of bed.

A palm caresses Jimin’s cheek, tender and slow. “I want you for all of you. Even if I don’t know what this will lead to, and even though we’ve only known each other for less than a week. I’ve woken up every morning wanting all of you.”

Lacking the proper response, Jimin can’t even come up with a snarky reply. “How can you be so... sure?”

“No one can be completely sure about anything, Jimin. That would be helpful, but also kind of shitty. If I knew what was going to happen, wouldn’t that take away from experiencing it?”

The rationale makes sense. Jungkook, in all of his youth and seeming restlessness with the world, is in actuality wise beyond his years. “I’d want to know,” Jimin insists. “Don’t like risking things like this.”

Jungkook holds his stare. “If the opposite of taking a risk means never taking a chance, then I’d spend more time upset at myself for not trying.”

Another loud gurgle interrupts and Jimin buries his face into the pillow, ready to fade into oblivion. Jungkook cackles and hoists them up to sit, the loose blanket pooling around Jungkook’s bare hips. Jimin glances away and hurries to find a shirt, thankful that he still has pants on. He catches Jungkook chuckling again, this time softer, before he slips out of the room, readying his wired mind for whatever Jungkook has planned, instead of the intensity of what they had just admitted.

tae:
fyi
i really hate to bring this up when youre supposed to be relaxing in paradise w that sexy boytoy
but
namjoon called me, asking about u
he... might try to reach out
i told him to give u space until u return from your trip but
just a heads up
:( sorry jiminie

Jimin’s chest tightens and he pockets his phone before he begins to overthink Taehyung’s warning.

“Hurry, we need to catch the bus,” Jungkook wheezes, grabbing Jimin’s hand. The gesture, their fingers interlocking, happens so quickly that Jimin doesn’t have a chance to retreat or freeze as they speedwalk toward the bus stop. A bright blue metal roof arches over a map and a few benches, already packed with people.

Once they’ve boarded, Jimin realizes that Jungkook is still holding his hand. He studies the way Jungkook’s tanned, calloused knuckles contrast against his, resting between their thighs. Jungkook is absentmindedly stroking his thumb, scrolling through his phone with his free hand.

Six days ago, Jimin would have probably – no, definitely – pulled away.

But the current Jimin – the Jimin who knows for a fact that his heart beats a faster tempo when Jungkook is around, for reasons that dip into permanence – chooses not to. So he squeezes, glancing at Jungkook for a reaction.

Which he gets in the form of a wide, satisfied toothy smile as Jungkook squeezes back, attention turned to him with a heavy intensity. “You doing okay?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah, really okay. Just excited, I guess.”

“Once I got food in you, everything was better? Noted. And don’t be nervous about today – Olaf is incredible with the tourists. He knows how to teach anyone with any level of experience.”

Jimin had brought a simple DSLR to Santorini but would never consider himself a pro.

Jungkook, on the other hand, clearly knows the craft. A large camera bag is slung around his shoulder and Jimin remembers the gorgeously crisp photos from the beach last night. Memories of them, frame after frame of himself, make his cheeks burn. He’s not used to this kind of admiration, feeling wanted and sought after in such a way.

“That’s helpful,” Jimin says, trying to remember what little he knows about photography. “Will you let me take photos of you?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’m not much of a subject, but up to you.”

“I feel like it’s only fair, since you have so many pictures of me.”

Jungkook immediately flushes, biting his lower lip. “You’re not upset about that?”

Jimin coos, squeezing his hand again. “I might’ve been kind of surprised. But they were really pretty, Jungkook. Do you think you’ll go into it professionally?”

“I’ve done two weddings and a few business shoots,” Jungkook says, confidence in his intonation, “but I wouldn’t say I’m anywhere near professional.”

A thought pops into Jimin’s head. “Oh! Do you have a website?”

Jungkook pauses, mouth opening then closing. He looks hesitant and Jimin worries he’s pushing the line that they’ve been dancing. “Not really, I have a Flickr account and I’m mostly on Instagram. But uh – Jimin, you see –”

Jimin gets it. He hurries, “No, no, don’t worry. You don’t have to show me!”

The bus slows to a halt, the announcer’s voice filtering through the speakers. Jungkook perks up and squeezes. “This is us.”

Jimin searches his expression for any regret or reluctance and nods in relief when he finds none. Scattering off the bus takes awhile, since Jungkook had picked a busy station as a meet-up location, a central four-way cobblestone street with two of Santorini’s most popular restaurants in near vicinity.

After settling on the side of the intersection, Jungkook takes out his phone and hands it to Jimin. His lips purse. “My feed is mostly for aesthetics. Just try to take these with a grain of salt. I’m not a fuckboy, Jimin, I promise.”

Jimin is surprised, because with such a disclaimer, he expects much worse than what he finds. A few shots of a mysterious girl, a blunt, some nightlife shots, but nothing that screams dangerous heartbreaker. He swallows, making a mental note to give Jungkook more credit. After all, everyone has a past.

Looking up, he notices the worry painted into Jungkook’s expression. His heart melts. “It’s fine, Jungkook. The way you’d reacted, I thought maybe you had photos of dead bodies or something.”

Jungkook warms up into a brilliant smile. “Good thing you didn’t see those yet.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So you’re not mad? That girl, her name is Jisoo – I think you met her on our first night? At Two Brothers?”

“Don’t remind me. I’ve officially banned that night from existence.”

“But it was fun! I promise. The whole night I kept thinking to myself, ‘wow, this guy is pretty fucking great even when he’s plastered.’ You’re also really cute when you’re jealous.”

Jimin huffs. “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Of course you weren’t.”

Jimin wants to wipe away Jungkook’s horribly handsome, smug grin. “Anyway, so, she’s an ex?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook grunts dismissively. “But that was a long time ago, really, like three years ago. We were good friends, and figured out that we should remain friends. So we keep in touch. She also models and I don’t want to deal with awkward strangers, so I usually ask her to do a photoshoot if we’re both free.”

None of the photos suggest more, so Jimin has no reason to be suspicious. But still – the inherent worry of complicated connections prods at his uneasy heart. “I see. Thanks for explaining. You didn’t have to, you know.”

“I wanted to. You deserve to know. If you have any other questions, ask. I’m an open book. Especially since you opened up to me last night. I want to make sure this is reciprocated.”

The softness of Santorini’s sea breeze wafts around, their own little space between bustling crowds. Jimin reaches for Jungkook’s hand again, seeking the anchored calm when their fingers connect. Jungkook looks at him like he’s more beautiful than the pristine beaches or the spectacular scenic cliffs.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Jungkook.” He wonders if he should mention that Namjoon is trying to reach him.

“Oy! Jungkook!” A man holding a bulky camera approaches, weaving through the street. “Nice to see you again!”

“You too, Olaf,” Jungkook says, reaching out to shake his hand. “Thank you so much for meeting up on late notice. This is Jimin.”

“My pleasure! A friend of Jungkook is a friend of mine.” Olaf offers his hand and nods knowingly. “It’s not every year that Jungkook sets up a one-on-one photo tour. You must be pretty special, huh?”

Jimin fights another blush. “I’m not sure about that. He’s said a lot of good things about you, so thank you for doing this.”

“You are special,” Jungkook insists, raking a hand through his hair. “I mean.” His eyes dart around, rose-tinted cheeks matching Jimin’s. “Yeah. Anyway. Olaf, please take care of us today.”

Olaf tuts, narrowing his gaze. “You two are playing this mating game, I see? Ah, what it must feel like to be young again.”

Jimin almost gawks, but Jungkook slides an arm around his waist. “You’re barely past middle-aged,” Jungkook says, puffing out his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re growing soft.”

“Don’t test me, kid.” Olaf wags a finger. “I have too many embarrassing stories about you, so you better be on your best behavior today if you want Jimin to stick around.”

Leaning into to Jungkook’s side, Jimin watches their banter with amusement. “I’m all for hearing those stories if you want to divulge them.”

“Jimin!”

Olaf snickers, slapping Jungkook on the shoulder. “Alright you two lovebirds, we should get on our way if we want to catch the right lighting.”

Jungkook snorts then turns to Jimin with a soft look. “Ready?”

And when Jimin nods, a sure “Ready” leaving his lips – he means it.

1626 BC, Kallisti

The news comes without warning – all able-bodied men without an official occupation must present for the Thira army.

The first thing Jimin does when he hears this is drop his inked brush. Then he runs.

“Jimin?” his father calls from across the office.

“I'll be back!” Jimin hollers, bolting through the entrance into the blistering summer heat.

The only thought possessing his mind is Jungkook as muscle memory leads his feet to the threshold of Jungkook's house, a few kilometers away. His vision is cloudy with unshed tears, fear thrashing through his veins.

Jungkook's mother looks up from her basket of herbs in the living area. “Oh! What brings you here, Jimin?”

“I apologize for the unannounced intrusion,” he says, heaving and out of breath, heart pumping wildly. “May I please speak to Jungkook?”

Obvious worry crosses her prim features and she nods. “Of course, that is no problem. You know our house is always open to you. Jungkook should be out in the garden.”

When Jimin exits out back, feet planted on the dusty pathway that meaders through a row of shrubs and low-hanging trees, he pauses. Jungkook, unaware of his presence, is humming, sitting in front of a berry bush, hands stained dark blue from the fruit. The sweet melody of a song, a lullaby Jimin recalls hearing Jungkook’s mother sing to them during sleepovers throughout their childhood. Jungkook looks so carefree, messy hair floating in the wind, olive skin smooth in the afternoon glow.

Jimin misses it. Misses them.

Jungkook is perfect. Absolutely wholesome in his efforts as a son, as a citizen, and as Jimin’s best friend. He doesn’t deserve to be thrust into the hands of war, so young and virtuous.

Jungkook stands, basket of fruit dangling from his elbow, and walks a few paces away under the shade of a mimosa tree. As he sits, leaning against the broad trunk, his eyes meet Jimin’s.

He darts up, mouth open in surprise. “Jimin!”

Jimin forces a smile, but he knows Jungkook can read him like an unraveled scroll. He walks over with a wave. “Jungkookie. Thought I’d pay you a visit today. The sun is bright and the sunflowers are out.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You’re silly. Everyone knows that sunflowers follow the sun every day, regardless.”

Jimin closes the distance for an embrace, arms fitting soundly around Jungkook’s neck. He hears the soft gasp, a low rumble in Jungkook’s chest. “Maybe I’m Clytie, then. And you’re Helios.”

“You’re calling yourself a nymph?” Jungkook asks with a shy smile. “A nymph that watches me, the sun, all day long?”

“I’m trying to be romantic.”

Jungkook chuckles, leading Jimin down to sit. “What really brings you here? You’re out of breath; did you run from the Square?” His eyebrows scrunch, lips in a blueberry-stained pout.

“I –” Jimin hesitates. He takes Jungkook’s hand, their fingers weaving together. “I heard some news from the Officials. About the war.”

Jungkook’s face hardens. “What about it? Is it happening?”

“They’re holding a draft in one week’s time. First, for all able-bodied men without occupation.”

The air stills, humid and hovering. Jimin can feel the steady thud of Jungkook’s heartbeat under his thumb, a pulse point where their hands are conjoined. He doesn’t want to ever let go.

“Jimin,” Jungkook whispers. His voice is steady, unwavering. “Then I have to go.”

Jimin knows this is their reality, that war is as intrinsic in their way of life as breathing. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? What power do we have over the greed of our rulers? I cannot do anything to change it, and neither can you. If I must serve my land as such, then I will.” Drops of amber sunlight hide in Jungkook’s eyelashes.

Jimin nods, so proud yet so torn. “I’m sorry because you and I know it could be better. I’ll be at the shrine every day, praying for your safe return.”

“Good.” Jungkook presses for a smile, one that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’ll be back soon before you know it. Can’t have you missing me.”

“Good,” Jimin repeats. “But let’s not dwell on that for now. I wanted to – needed to see you when I heard the news. I’m sure the whole town will be at an uproar in no time.”

Jungkook groans, head hitting the tree as he slouches back. “Mother’s going to be irate.”

“I wish I could help somehow.”

“Just come here.” Jungkook holds out an arm and Jimin fits snugly into his side. “You’re helping me the most like this.” Chapped lips press onto Jimin’s temple, brief yet sure.

Jimin reciprocates, kissing once along Jungkook’s neck. “You have to come back to me, okay?”

“I'd fight time and space to make it home. Don't worry Jimin, when have I ever failed?”

Jimin nuzzles against Jungkook's collarbone, leaving another kiss. “You're right. You always win.”

“That's right. I have you by my side. Everything's going to be fine.”

Ignorance is bliss. Jimin knows the war will be more complicated than what Jungkook makes light of, but he has time to pretend otherwise for now. He continues kissing up Jungkook's arched neck until their lips meet, soft and unhurried. Tasting Jungkook after so many months is satisfying, returning home.

Jungkook doesn't question how they've broken their agreement to remain platonic. In the privacy of the garden, Jimin feels at ease to show his affections, even though neighbors could likely peer over at any time.

The sun shifts along the sky as the moments pass, and Jimin eventually has to return to finish his day’s work. Jungkook nods reassuringly with a look that settles down the churning anxiety in Jimin’s gut.

“Come over tonight,” Jimin says suddenly.

Jungkook frowns. “Jimin...”

“Sooyoung won’t mind. She’ll be ecstatic, actually. She’s been asking for you to join us for dinner anyway,” Jimin rambles, itching for more. “You can sleep over.”

“You know that's asking a lot from me. To lay in your bed and not touch you.” Jungkook's voice falls to a hush. “And our agreement…”

“I'm only asking now because if I imagine you leaving for war, I don't know… I'll go crazy. I have to keep you close while I can.”

Jungkook glances around. The distant hum of the sea is an ever-present backdrop. “Don't be hasty. Isn't it too risky?”

“Jungkookie. Do you forget that I'm eternally bound to you, first and foremost?”

The reminder of the night they exchanged ceremonial vows makes Jungkook blush again. “Of course not. I'm trying to be sensible, is all.”

“Aren’t I the older one? Let me handle the sensibilities.”

Jungkook remains silent, gnawing his lower lip. “If you’re really sure about this, then alright.”

“I'm absolutely sure. Sooyoung will make sure to vouch for my invitation.”

That helps, brightening Jungkook's complexion and easing the worry lines along his brow. Jungkook finally smiles. “I trust you. Shall I arrive for supper?”

“Yes. I'll be waiting.” Jimin lifts Jungkook's hand for a chaste kiss along his knuckles.

Jungkook nods, his stare brazenly striking, burning through Jimin's skin.

Before Jimin remembers that he has to leave, he indulges in the thought of them in another lifeline, two lovers free to sit by the sunflowers and discuss plans as if their future is a given. At least he has tonight, at least he has Jungkook now, however fleeting the seconds may be.