Hahm Yunhee is nothing special, just an average girl trying to make ends meet. She adores her boyfriend, Kim Taehyung; he's sweet, charismatic and a little bit mysterious, but twelve months into their relationship and things are going down the pan.
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Jimin was concerned. No, concerned wasn't the right word.
He was categorically livid.
Yunhee wasn't answering her phone. The device was switched on, he'd called and called, but she was not bloody answering. Like his day hadn't been detrimental enough after his run-in with Suga, he'd returned home in a lousy mood, stumbled across a half-naked Yunhee again, and later discovered her gone from the apartment.
Jimin knew, as he paced the living room, that he would not be satisfied until she either picked up his call or walked through the door. He'd made the mistake of presuming she'd gone to bed after storming out of the bathroom. It never crossed his mind, not for one iota, that Yunhee would sneak out while he was sleeping.
Was it because she was pissed at him?
Jesus Christ, he'd been an ass.
Regardless of the pain, the high emotions, and the hindrance of being stuck in a parallel universe, there was no excuse for the way he'd behaved earlier. He was the one who'd barged in while she was taking a shower, and yet, Yunhee had still put her irritation aside and tried to help.
What had he done? Thrown it back in her face.
Despite multiple warnings for her to leave, she'd stayed put and drove him to the brink of insanity. Her wet hair, the water droplets on her smooth skin, the slender curve of her thighs.
Jimin could feel the tension building in his loins, and the second she'd touched him, it was like something inside of him had flipped. He'd wanted to remove her towel, lift her onto the counter, and bury himself inside her while staring into those innocent eyes.
Running his hands over his face, Jimin looked up to the heavens and prayed for an ounce of patience.
Later, when Namjoon and Jin retired, he'd collapsed onto the sofa and tried to convince himself that he only wanted Yunhee because it had been too long since he'd lost himself in the pleasure of a sweet woman. But the truth was, she was so much more than the meaningless harlots who batted their eyelashes his way, and for that, he wouldn't touch her.
Giving up on sleep, he'd made three cups of tea, broken a mug, sank a bottle of beer, and read two pages of one of Jin's books before finding himself outside Yunhee's bedroom.
What did he want to say to her? That he was sorry for almost kissing her again? That he was incensed that Taehyung had threatened them with indecent photos? He had yet to tell her about the images hidden away in the dresser drawer. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. She would freak out.
It was easy.
He would knock, enter the room, apologise for acting like an inconsiderate and volatile fucktard, and then leave. But when he'd rapped on the door, there had been no response. Not after one knock or two, not even after banging his fist on the wood and yelling her name.
