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The Standee

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“Why did you even get that thing?” You have the real thing a phone dial away. Jungkook would say, but Jimin’s eyes are shining too bright for the light to give out. “It was a dare, don’t be jealous kook.” Like ashes, the youngers expression willows. “Oh come on, what’s there to be jealous of?” Jungkook rolls his eyes but something tells him that Jimin’s gaze is hiding back unkind words.


“You’ll understand when you get older.” It’s bullshit, and they both know it. Jungkook was alright with the standee, it was only a little weird when Jimin moves it next to the closet door in their room—just a little. He was fine with it, until the sun said that his love would die in less than a year. 


And there it was, bold figure standing next to the wardrobe—blending directly into the darkness like Taehyung at four AM using the microwave. Did it scare the living shit out of him? Yes. Did he throw a bottle of lube at it? Indeed. “What the fuck?” It’s Jimin, groaning and moaning as he reaches to turn on the lamp beside him. “Did you just harass my second boyfriend?” A tone of movers fills the room and though Jungkook wishes he could laugh he doesn’t, instead a sigh of relief as he realizes it’s the cardboard shit stain he’d have to beat later after this affair. “Holy shit, I thought that thing was going to fucking stab me. Literally turn on that light and see for yourself you idiot.” Jungkook breathes out, Jimin only complies. 


“Look, it’s okay. Just whenever you see that it’s just Taemin, I swear.” 


“And what if it’s not?” Jungkook needed a sandwich. 


“Then I guess you’ll have a second pussy but the end of this week.” 




The second encounter was the worst. 


It was the middle of the night and Jungkook passed out on the couch after a long day of practice and meetings. It’s when he woke up that all hell broke loose, he rose for his mid-night piss and a glass of water. Once he washed his hands, checked out his abs for a few seconds, h stirred to the kitchen as he billowed through the dark to reach for the fridge handle. He slowly grabbed the pitcher and poured the water into the glass, missing a few times and spilling it on the floor. He shrugs, and maybe it’s karma, because he turns and a tall shadow is starring at him six feet apart from him. A scream is running up his throat but before he can say anything, his left foot stops mid-in the air and glides across the tiled surface. His body thrashes down and hits the floor, cold, freezing water staining his shirt and underwear. 


Stilled by shock Jungkook sits in the sopping mess and cries a little, hair dripping, nose dripping, eyes red and heart racing through a marathon. He’s pretty sure he broke his wrist because he feels it start to numb as soon as his instincts start to spartan again. He looks back up the figure in a flash, and it’s still there, standing dumbly. Jungkook whimpers out as tears stroke his face and he grabs his now empty glass and throws it at the figure. 


And suddenly with the touch of a little force the figure comes crashing down and well was the glass. It explodes into thousands of pieces and chaos is sprinting down the hallway. 


Park Jimin comes to his aid. 


Light floods the room and all is left is some broken glass, a fallen hero, and a crying middle-aged man. “Jesus fucking Christ!” Jimin peaks, “Jungkook, are you alright? Sweet baby boy, what the fuck happen?” Concern spikes in Jimin’s tone, and this time Jungkook’s sure their done for. Nothing but sputters and pointing comes from Jungkook, all accusingly leading to an innocent cardboard print out of nonetheless, Lee Taemin. 


“I think I understand what happened now, but are you okay?” Jimin repeats himself, Jungkook thinks—and then shakes his head, because Jimin must think he’s crazy now. 


“Come on, let’s get you into some warm clothes and cuddles, how about it?”


Jungkook thinks again—this time he nods.