Crush Me /Jikook/

24

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The morning sunlight spilled over the streets of Seoul, reflecting off glass buildings and painting the sidewalks in gold. Among the crowd of rushing commuters, one figure moved deliberately, small suitcase in hand, blending in yet impossible to miss.

He was Park Jimin. Alive. Walking the city streets that had once been the stage of his worst nightmares, breathing the air of a place he had been forced to leave behind years ago. His pale, delicate features caught the light: the soft curve of his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the faint pink of his lips. He carried himself with quiet purpose, and though he didn’t look threatening, there was a sharpness in his gaze that suggested he had seen—and survived—far too much.

For years, everyone who had known him believed he was gone. Buried, erased, forgotten. But here he was, moving through Seoul as if it were his own private stage, observing the people, the streets, the city that had once hurt him. Park Jimin was back, alive, and no one—not his enemies, not anyone from his past—had any idea.

He paused for a moment outside a small café, adjusting the strap of his backpack and taking in the scene. People bustled in and out, laughing, hurrying to work, oblivious to the fact that one of their former classmates—the boy they had all thought dead—was watching them. The irony was sharp, but Jimin allowed himself only a small, controlled smile.

---

Jungkook, driving through the congested morning traffic toward his office, hadn’t expected to notice anything out of the ordinary. But as he slowed behind a red light, his eyes caught a glimpse of something familiar—someone sitting outside a café, hands folded loosely in his lap. The sunlight hit the figure just right, and for a heartbeat, Jungkook’s world froze.

The soft, delicate features. The pale skin. The faint pink of the lips. That hair.

It couldn’t be… but his gut twisted. That face. I know that face.

He blinked, swore he rubbed his eyes, and when he looked again, the figure was gone. Vanished, as if it had only existed for a moment, a trick of the light, or maybe his imagination.

But he couldn’t shake it. All the way to the office, Jungkook’s mind refused to let go. I swear I saw him. Was it Jimin? The question looped over and over in his thoughts, gnawing at him.

---

Meanwhile, Jimin didn’t notice. He moved quietly through the streets, observing, calculating. He ducked into a quiet park and sat on a bench, pulling out a notebook from his backpack. His handwriting was neat, precise, every line deliberate. He wasn’t planning chaos yet. Not today. Today was about positioning, understanding, getting a sense of the city and the people who had once controlled his life.

Every so often, his gaze lifted, scanning the streets. The city was alive, moving, oblivious to the storm that had silently returned to its heart. Park Jimin sipped his water, letting his eyes trace the flow of commuters, the shape of the buildings, the rhythm of a city he would soon navigate like a predator in plain sight.

---

Back in his car, Jungkook couldn’t focus. He sat in his office later that morning, staring blankly at reports and emails, his thoughts drifting to that fleeting glimpse outside the café.

Then in his car after work, Every time a pedestrian passed the window, he instinctively looked, hoping, unwillingly, that the figure might appear again.

It can’t be him. That’s impossible. Jimin… gone. Buried. Dead.

And yet, the image persisted: soft, pale skin, delicate, androgynous features, and eyes that seemed to burn with a quiet fire. Jungkook shook his head, trying to convince himself it was a trick, a memory playing games on his mind. But the gut feeling wouldn’t let go.

---

Jimin left the park and continued walking through the streets, blending in with the morning crowd. He paused outside another café, observing the people entering and exiting, a small smile on his face. Every step, every look, was purposeful. He was Park Jimin. Alive. And one day, everyone who thought they had buried him would know it.

For now, he remained unseen, unnoticed. Just another young man walking in Seoul, but the city itself, unknowingly, had a ghost in its midst.

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Jungkook’s commute home in the evening only intensified the lingering thoughts. Every time the light caught someone’s hair or face just right, his eyes flicked instinctively. His heart rate spiked when he thought he might see that same figure again, the one who had vanished as quickly as he had appeared that morning.

He didn’t speak to anyone about it. He didn’t text, didn’t call. He simply sat with the memory and let curiosity build, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

I saw him. I know I did. But… it can’t be.

And all day, that thought lingered, haunting him, refusing to be ignored.

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Short chap ig....