Names- Jikook (✔️)

Chapter Twelve

Jimin's POV
"Are you tired of me yet?" -Cut My Hair, Mountika feat. Cavetown

"Jimin..." His mother trailed off, scarlet lips twisting as she pulled him roughly to her paisley dress. "I'm sorry, Jimin," She whispered, head pressed up against his collarbone. "Please forgive me. I'm so glad you came." From behind her, he heard footsteps- his father, face twitching against his usual stony mask as his eyes swept over his son. "Come inside. We... we need to talk about this." Jimin's heart beat a little faster inside his chest. Will they still let me see Jungkook?

He sat on their deep blue couch, the same one he had passed out on more than a week before. It seemed as if a millennia had passed since then; his parents felt this way too, seemingly, judging from the newly-creased wrinkles folded wearily around their eyes.

His mother sucked in a breath of taciturn air. "So... do you love him?" The question was unexpectedly direct; Jimin flinched, and her eyes narrowed a fraction at his reaction. "Is that a no?" She asked, hands absentmindedly smoothing down the front of her dress.

"I... I'm not sure what I feel for him right now," Jimin answered carefully, honestly. "But I'm definitely attracted to him, and not just physically." His mother nodded quietly, and he tried not to let the slight sag in his father's shoulders get to him; he realized that it was still a lot to take in.

"And... I'd like to keep dating him, too," He continued, subtly crossing his fingers. "Please."

His mother nodded again. "I think, given time and exposure, we can both handle your... preferences." She scrutinized him, leaning in closer to examine his eyes. "Have you... done anything with him?"

Jimin's features contorted into a look of disgust, though some part of himself twisted with an emotion almost like regret. It surprised him, admittedly, that some part of him wished had gone further with Jungkook; the more conscious part of him hadn't really considered it. "No, Mom," He made sure to enunciate the distaste in his voice. Satisfied, the woman leaned back in her chair, jet-black hair mixing with streaks of gray as it pooled around her relieved shoulders.

"Good, I was afraid of that," She sighed, heavy brown eyes drifting to the wall behind her son. "Now that that's out of the way, I want you to know that we're both so, so sorry for how we treated you." Her gaze flitted to her husband, sitting prone beside her, then to Jimin. "It was just such a shock. And, you know, we were both raised to believe certain things." Jimin's father nodded solemnly, and his glimmering eyes rose to meet his son's. Something apologetic lurked behind them, which was more than Jimin would have hoped to ask for from him. "But we still love you, and that won't change, no matter who your partner is." She glanced at her husband. "We both realize that now." Jimin nodded, relieved. It felt as if something that had been missing since he learned the identity of his soulmate had been replaced; he jumped up and bent down to envelop his mother in a tight hug, inhaling the scent of her straight, straight hair. He spared his father a half-hug, the older man reassuringly rubbing his shoulder before they broke apart. Jimin straightened, running his fingers through his hair.

"I'm gonna go to my room," He tilted his head. "... I love you guys."

His father, surprisingly, answered back first. "We love you too, Jimin."

-

He collapsed into the soft folds of his bed, the gentle caress of the afternoon sun falling gently across his face from the window positioned beside his desk. Drowsiness hit him like a weighted pillow as he closed his eyes, treasuring the subtle warmth sewn meticulously into the blanket surrounding him. It had been a long week- sleep, having been warded off by his own nervousness, had evaded him. His eyelids closed heavily over his onyx pupils, pulling him gently, slowly, into a wavering void...