San isn't the one to fuck with when it comes to his friends. When Wooyoung rejects one of them, instantly, he becomes his next victim to get a taste of his medication...
(remake/post of my old story from 2017)
"Are you serious," Jimin's voice booms through the phone, and I hold it away from my ear, feeling the weight of his disapproval. "You need to say sike."
"What I do isn't your business," I retort, my tone firm. Jimin's concern shouldn't dictate my decisions. If I choose to be with Mingyu despite our past, then that's my choice. "Wooyoung, he doesn't love you. He groomed you—"
"Shut up, Jimin. He didn't. We didn't have sex until I was 18," I interrupt, defending my relationship.
"Big whoop, you were still in high school, Wooyoung," Jimin counters, his voice laced with worry.
"I wanted to. He loves me," I say, but the words feel hollow even to me. Jimin's skepticism hangs heavy in the air, and I can't shake the doubt gnawing at me from within. "Mingyu and I are official, and we're going to make things better between us."
"I don't support it. He's using you," Jimin persists, his concern unwavering.
"Like you used Yoongi?" I shoot back, feeling a pang of guilt as soon as the words leave my mouth.
"What are you saying?" Jimin's voice tightens, his tone defensive.
"You know what I'm talking about," I say, my voice laced with bitterness.
"Yoongi forgave me, so shut up. My situation isn't the same as—"
"Bye," I cut him off, ending the call abruptly, not wanting to engage in further argument.
Mingyu enters the living room with drinks, and I sigh, feeling a mix of relief and guilt at the same time. "More wine."
"No, this is just juice in a wine glass. I didn't do the dishes," he says sheepishly, placing the cups down before sitting next to me. I lean into him as he pulls me onto his lap, kissing his chin affectionately.
"You're so far from me. Who were you on the phone with?" he asks, his eyes searching mine.
"Jimin," I reply, stealing a kiss from his lips, feeling a rush of desire coursing through me. I begin to move against him, but he stops me, his grip firm.
"You're not ready," he says, pulling away slightly, and I pout in disappointment.
"Am so," I retort stubbornly, but Mingyu's expression remains serious. "I don't want you to burst into tears for that loser," he adds softly, his concern evident.
