Ch. 5 – The Reunion

The city night was noisy—horns, neon signs, and the thick haze of cigarette smoke clinging to the streets. Jimin hadn’t planned on being there. He was just out for a late errand, slipping away from Tae’s suffocatingly watchful guards, when he turned a corner and froze.

There he was.

Jeon Jungkook.

Not the mafia boss with his sharp suits and colder-than-ice glare. Not the name that people whispered with fear. But Jungkook—the boy who used to laugh with him under the summer sun, who once held his hand while running through alleys, who used to share candy and secrets.

For a heartbeat, Jimin couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened, memories rushing back like waves crashing all at once.

Jungkook was leaning against a black car, cigarette between his fingers, looking every bit like sin wrapped in leather. His jaw was sharp, his tattoos peeking from his shirt collar, his dark eyes scanning the street with that detached, dangerous calm.

But when those eyes landed on Jimin, something shifted. The cigarette lowered. The tension softened, just slightly.

“...Jimin,” Jungkook said, his voice low, almost uncertain.

Jimin swallowed, his lips parting but no words coming out. He hated how his heart skipped, how the sight of Jungkook made him feel like he was fifteen again, standing barefoot in the summer rain, daring Jungkook to climb rooftops with him.

“You…” Jimin finally whispered. “It’s been a while.”

A smirk tugged at Jungkook’s lips, but it wasn’t sharp—it was almost soft, almost shy, like the boy he used to be. “Yeah. You look… different.”

Jimin let out a shaky laugh. “So do you. More… dangerous.”

Their eyes locked, and for the first time in years, Jungkook looked away first. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling smoke, and for a fleeting second Jimin swore he saw something human slip through the cracks of his mafia mask.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jungkook murmured. “This street… it’s not safe for someone like you.”

Jimin tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

“You’re still too soft,” Jungkook said, almost like an accusation, but his gaze softened when it landed on Jimin’s face again. “The world hasn’t burned that out of you yet.”

Jimin’s heart ached at the way Jungkook said it—like he knew exactly what it felt like to lose that softness. Like he’d lost his own long ago.

“Maybe I don’t want it to,” Jimin whispered.

The silence between them was heavy, thick with words unspoken. Jimin wanted to ask what happened to him, why the boy he loved like a brother was standing there now, shrouded in violence and power. But the answers sat in Jungkook’s tired eyes already.

Finally, Jungkook chuckled, but it was bitter. “You haven’t changed. Always looking for the light in people.” He shook his head, eyes lingering on Jimin with a rare gentleness. “Don’t do that with me, Jimin. Not anymore.”

And yet, despite his warning, there it was—that tiny slip. That rare softness Jimin remembered. The way Jungkook’s voice trembled just slightly when he said his name, the way his shoulders seemed to relax in his presence, the way his eyes searched Jimin’s face like he was still someone that mattered.

“Too late,” Jimin said softly, almost to himself.

Jungkook flicked the cigarette away, stepping closer. For a moment, the city noise faded. It was just them, two boys who used to share everything, now standing worlds apart.

“Be careful, Jimin,” Jungkook murmured, voice so low it almost broke. “Because if you stay close to me… I won’t be able to let you go again.”

Jimin’s breath caught. His heart raced. And just like that, the past collided with the present, tangled in smoke, danger, and a softness that neither of them wanted to admit still lived between them.

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