Chapter Text
The smoke drifts through the gentleman’s club and Jimin’s nose wrinkles in spite of himself. Someone has a truly atrocious pipe going across the room and it’s drowning out the good notes of this brandy. He sets the glass aside, suddenly weary of the crowded room; the inane chatter going on all around them.
Seconds later that feel like hours, Jeon notices he’s fallen silent.
“Something plaguing you, viscount?”
“Urgh.” Jimin complains, “Don’t call me that.”
Jungkook smiles; Jimin’s best friend loves to needle. Well, Jimin can poke right back.
“Not unless I can call you the Duke of Hartfordshire, your grace.” He says, emphasizing the honorific.
“The duke of Hartfordshire is my father, currently languishing at the duchy instead of cramped into a London club.” Jungkook is quick to reply.
Jimin raises his glass to toast Jungkook’s father, choking down the spoiled brandy. His friend smirks at his obvious grimace, “Ah, the viscount is picky.”
“Oh? So, it’s picky now to be able to tell that smoke is rancid?”
Jungkook sets down his own glass, “It is to let someone ruin that very good brandy you ordered on my tab.”
“Next time maybe the duke will have the good sense to order the room to cease smoking the random weeds they found by the side of the street so as not to ruin his cherished companion’s good humor.” Jimin grouses and he can see the exact moment Jungkook decides not to take him to task for improperly using the title.
Jungkook’s smile turns coy; he leans in and bumps his shoulder against Jimin’s, “If I was tasked with minding your humor I daresay I’d have no time for any other activities.” They sit there for a long beat, just smiling at each other. Jungkook stands up,
“Come. Let’s away to the terrace and finish drinking your good health, Viscount Park.”
Jimin goes to follow him, reluctantly bringing the vial of amber liquid with. It’s a mellow evening, but there’s enough of a breeze to have Jimin twisting the buttons on his waistcoat closed when he joins Jungkook on the balcony. London is dim and glowing with gas lamps through the gloom, but it is pretty in its own way.
Jungkook raises his glass when they meet eyes, “To having you back in London, my friend.”
Jimin drinks dutifully, appreciating the spirit more in the quiet. “Not sure I’ll be used to it anytime soon.”
Jungkook barks out a laugh, “You need a distraction or two—managing your family’s affairs has made you so serious.”
Jimin frowns at him, “You will be too, when the time comes for you. Maybe then you won’t scoff at it. The ledgers never end—some fathers are better at managing their estates than others.”
“How is Trembey Hall? It’s been ages since I’ve been.” Jungkook’s hair ruffles in the breeze as he leans out over the balcony and Jimin is hot with a wave of fondness as he recalls the many summers they’d spent in the lake and running roughshod through the halls of Jimin’s country seat.
“I hadn’t been either. It was looking a little overgrown and wild, but things are all in order now.” When Jimin’s father had died suddenly of a fever a year ago Jimin had been on the third of year-long excursions to the high and wild places of the world. He’d left Cambridge after being bit by the travel bug through his anthropology professors’ lectures and never looked back. He was meant to see the world; to discover all there was to be had from life. The letter about his father’s passing had hit him hard in more than one way. Not only was he minus his kin; he was plus an entire estate to manage as well as three younger siblings and a widowed mother. A prisoner of duty; Jimin had reluctantly put away his packing trunks, quit mapping out excursions, and returned to London.
The city had been the huge and looming stuff of myth to him as a young boy but now, fettered by obligation, it seems as claustrophobic as a closet and a good deal less private.
Maybe it wasn’t the smoke that had spoiled his drink with an old friend; it was the eyes. They were everywhere, these society types. And their gaze was calculating and unrelenting. He shakes his head ruefully. He supposes he’s one of those society types now, drinking brandy as the unmarried viscount with the heir to the duchy of Hartfordshire.
Jungkook seems much less concerned about it all.
Although that tracks, because Jungkook’s father still has his health, and it isn’t real for him yet.
“I should like to see it then, I think.” Jungkook muses.
“I would be happy to host you, although I think we’d all be surprised at you willingly tramping off to the country and leaving your London life behind.” Jimin teases. The future duke has apparently been carving out quite the reputation for himself in Jimin’s absence. They’ve been greeted by no less than a dozen people Jimin have only every passingly recognized. It’s exciting, in its own way, to see Jungkook blossom after being basically glued to Jimin as they grew up.
“Everyone needs a vacation now and again, don’t you think?” Jungkook points out, “Plus if it was to be with you, I wouldn’t find the country a burden at all.”
“It’s certainly much quieter.” Jimin sips at his brandy.
“Not when the two of us are in residence; don’t you remember?” Jungkook sticks out his tongue at him and Jimin feels a little hot, even in the cold wind. He hopes he’s not getting sick.
“How could I forget? You used to get me in trouble with the staff all the time.” Jimin playfully elbows Jungkook, who gives it right back,
“No more than you did me when we were in Hartford Hall. My father even gave us the crawlspace to try and confine our noise and mess to one place."
"With only marginal success; after that no one could ever find us unless they picked their way into the attic and dragged us down.” Jimin and Jungkook share a laugh that dissolves into thoughtful silence. “I miss it.” Jimin says after a moment.
“As do I.” Jungkook says, “More than most things I’ve experienced.”
Jimin leans on the balcony. The mood has turned decidedly wistful, “Strange that these times of boyhood should be so important to us. One would think the idea would be to create new and better experiences to take the place of the past.”
Jungkook grins at him, “Well then; we should get to work. You and I have a lot of experiences to replace and improve upon.”
Jimin eyes him in his loose-limbed, magnetic charisma, “I suppose you have something in mind?”
Jungkook smirks at him, “Oh yes.”
~~~~~
The mood is languid and drunken as he and the future duke pull the chorus girls down the hall of Jungkook’s London apartment. Jimin is deep in his cups, feet getting tangled and leaning heavily on this sweet girl who merely giggles and twines her fingers with his. She’s got lovely wide doe eyes, nearly as large and luminous as Jungkook’s, and curly, unruly blonde hair that is barely held at bay by her pins. She makes him laugh with a deft joke and pulls him along behind where Jungkook and his companion have their heads pressed close together as he fumbles with his keys.
Jimin comes to rest heavily against the wall, pulling her flush against him. He brushes a stray curl away from her mouth and leans down to steal a kiss—she presses back eagerly. “The viscount is impatient,” she teases.
His brain is slogging through an interminable swamp, “You’re beautiful.” He comes up with. It must be good enough because she blushes and leans up to kiss him again. He wraps two good handfuls of her silky hair around his hands and gets a little more serious with his kiss.
Jungkook conspicuously clears his throat a moment later.
They look over where he’s smirking at the pair of them, mischief dancing in his pretty eyes. “The door is open, if you would prefer to not spend the night in my hallway.”
Jimin keeps challenging eye contact with Jungkook as he leans down and mouths at the spot behind her ear, “M’ doing okay right here.”
Jungkook chuckles, and so does his warm, lovely new friend and together they tug Jimin into the apartment.
He gets lost for a little while in the swimmy focus of unlacing her bodice and picking apart his own buttons, but Jimin can always briefly resurface to catch eyes with Jungkook across the room as he busies himself with the same pursuits.
Jimin is in the middle of kissing her while tugging her shift over her head when he realizes he can’t remember her name. He mouths down her neck and sucks gently at the side of her jaw while he watches Jungkook across the room kiss down the belly of his companion and disappear between her legs. Jimin can’t remember if she told him her name and he’s forgotten or if he never bothered to ask. He doesn’t ask now.
She straddles him on the chaise and pulls at his hair as he rubs at her, teasing her, getting her ready for his cock. Jungkook comes up for air across the way, hair tousled, and they lock eyes for a long, inappropriately heated moment considering how they’re supposed to be otherwise engaged. Jungkook smirks at him, infuriating, lips and chin shiny, before pressing himself down flat on the lady and entering her, swallowing her gasp with a filthy kiss.
It’s bothersome, the heat in Jimin’s cheeks and the way he’s suddenly grabby, needing to be inside where his companion is warm and inviting and wet. He does so, and his drunken attention is finally pulled back to his own pursuits when she starts bouncing in his lap, moaning at the stretch of him inside her. He kisses her all over, hips jumping to meet her rhythm, hands toying with her ample breasts, and that feels pretty good. It’s not long, though, before he’s pulling her in close to thrust up faster and peer over her shoulder at Jungkook’s hips and the way they roll, sinewy and obscene, framed between shapely thighs. He’s unconsciously matching the speed, trying very hard to not think about why.
The coil of heat in his low belly is winding tighter and tighter and he can’t help a throaty groan and to clutch her waist harder.
Jungkook’s hips stutter across the room. And Jimin might just be drunk, might just be imagining the timing of it, but his best friend makes this thin, desperate sound and then the pair of them over there slow down to something languorous and wet.
Jimin likewise is close, reaches between their bodies to swirl his thumb around her clit, rock his hips oppositional to that speed, and pull pretty gasps and whines out of her mouth before she clenches so tight little black spots pop behind his vision and he’s pushed over the edge, roughly riding his own release out with a nip to her shoulder.
When he chances a glance over, Jungkook is looking at him—staring, he would say, although he’s so drunk it may not be the case.
“Ah!” This lovely girl rasps in his ear, “The viscount is a biter.” She pulls back and he does a heroic job of making eye contact, “How shall I perform tomorrow with such a mark?”
“My most sincere apologies,” he slurs, “I seem to have forgotten myself.”
She giggles and leans into him to kiss along his neck, he flinches at the sensitivity of where he’s growing soft still sheathed in her.
“Are you ready to go, Maggie?” The other girl calls from across the room.
Maggie! That’s her name. Jimin becomes uncomfortably aware in that moment that he never even asked.
“Yes, yes don’t rush me.” She pouts and climbs off of Jimin, leaving him in a sweaty sticky heap of his own mess on the chaise.
He can’t feel his legs, “I can’t feel my legs.” He mutters.
Jungkook’s musical laugh accosts his ears from much too close. Jimin twists and peers up behind him where Jungkook is running his gaze up and down Jimin’s fucked out form. When did he get over here? Jimin looks around. When did the girls leave? Gosh he’s absolutely drowning in his own inebriation.
“She was that good, huh?” Jungkook murmurs, dropping a linen towel on Jimin’s face. He snatches it up, grumbling to himself. He proceeds to clean himself up, feeling weirdly shy and self conscious which is silly. They went to Cambridge together; they used to do this kind of thing all the time.
“Good noises.” Jimin comes up with as an answer, although if pressed the only thing he can really remember is the way Jungkook sounded when he came. His voice is normally so husky and smooth, but that whine was…something else.
“Good evening all around, I’d say.” Jungkook lilts, shirt tossed haphazardly over his shoulders and trousers unlaced and low on his hips.
“Mm, yes thank you for the welcome home party.” Jimin manages. He’s pretty proud of himself for his articulation.
“Anytime.” Jungkook says, tone a bit intense for the casual nature of the conversation. Jimin squints his general direction, but he’s turned away, no way to make out what expression he’s making or if he’s making fun of Jimin.
“I am certain I am about to pass out.” Jimin slurs confidently.
Jungkook snorts, all strangeness gone from his voice. “Well get on with it then you drunkard. If you snore, I’ll throw things at you.”
“Your aim is terrible I think I’ll be fine.” Jimin hums and burrows deeper into the chaise, nakedness be damned, catching a chill be damned.
~~~~~
The sunshine finds him in a terrible state. Jimin’s tongue feels glued to his teeth and like each individual part of his body has staged an elaborate protest against him. He’s brought back from oblivion to find himself naked and caked in mess, sprawled on Jungkook’s lounge and a housekeeper standing over him and tittering.
“Shit—” he flails for the blanket Jungkook must have brought to him at some point and yanks it across his hips. His foot tangles and his scrambling sends him to a heap on the floor.
“Good morning, Lord Park.” The housekeeper says evenly, stern brogue curls and silver-rimmed glasses giving him a strong impression of a disapproving governess. She’s known Jimin ever since Jungkook’s family employed her probably…10 years ago so he can’t be much of a surprise. However, he does try to minimize the amount of people who see him naked and covered in cum.
“Ugh.” He manages, through the sheet and his hangover.
“Will you be staying for breakfast, my lord?” she asks evenly, apparently unperturbed by his general appearance. He feels a bit defensive. It’s been many years since she’s seen him; would it kill her to be a little more shocked to find him in such a state?
“Um.” He says, brilliantly, casting about for his pants and trousers. He curses under his breath when he sees them folded on a chair all the way across the room. He gallantly gathers the sheet around his waist and staggers to his feet. “No, Miss Pierce, I do not think so.” He shuffles past her, attempting a ‘dignity at all times’ manner of walk but coming off a bit like a limping goose.
His clothes are all neatly folded on the chair, and he cringes as he imagines the staff fishing his various layers out of the mess in the morning room and collecting them here. What on earth was he thinking last night? A flush sluggishly creeps down his neck as flashes of his…activities last night swim through his hungover head. Well, thinking clearly wasn’t playing a big part. He shakes his head as he fumbles with the sheet and his clothes to get redressed—despite how gross he still is—Jungkook always brings the most reckless and intense parts of his personality out. Maybe he was the foolish one to think that would’ve changed in the last five years.
One night out in London with an old friend and here he is, pounding head, turning stomach, disheveled and fucked out and creeping back to his flat with the dawn.
“Miss Pierce,” he says once he’s (relatively) decent. He’s fiddling with his suspenders, so he doesn’t look up, but he knows she’s still there. He’d felt her eyes on him the whole time he was dressing, “Do tell Jungkook I’ll call on him later, in a less embarrassing state.”
“You could tell me yourself.” Jungkook’s voice is unbearably smug and self-satisfied. So, not Miss Pierce’s eyes, then. And he doesn’t sound nearly as hungover as Jimin. Prick. Jimin’s eyes fall closed, and he swears gently.
He turns, giving his best friend a sheepish grin.
“Over breakfast.” Jungkook clarifies, “No way I’m allowing you to creep away before I’ve fed you.”
“I was hoping you were much drunker and would sleep the morning away.” Jimin admits.
“You’re the one out of practice, Jimin. Keeping up with the rabble of London is a finely honed skill.” Jungkook has a glass in his hand containing what is most probably an egg cream and he has dark circles around his eyes but is all in all much less affected by their adventures.
“I think I’m getting too old for this.” Jimin ruefully admits, leaving his jacket on the chair since he’ll be staying.
“Oh, definitely.” Jungkook claps him on the back and Jimin concentrates very hard on not falling over, “Come. Let us recover before we decide what to do with the day. I heard the opera is in town, we should go.”
Jimin chuckles, even as he allows himself to be steered out of the parlor and down the hall to the dining room. “I can’t. Some of us have work to do.”
Jungkook plops him into a chair before drawing another and sitting right next to him at the long table. It looks quite silly, the two of them bunched together, but Jimin can’t pretend he’d rather Jungkook be on the opposite end.
“You have all the daylight hours to work. And then you will go to the opera with me.” Jungkook says simply.
“I don’t suppose you’d have mercy on me and let me sleep instead?” Jimin tries, reaching for his own hangover concoction Miss Pierce has quietly deposited to the right of his hand.
“Not a chance. We have to build up your stamina.” Jungkook shoots him an absolutely greasy grin and Jimin is slingshot back to last night, staring into Jungkook’s eyes and listening to him find his pleasure from mere meters away.
“I daresay it’s yours that needs a little work.” Jimin murmurs before he can think better of it, and he’s rewarded with a brilliant blush on Jungkook’s cheeks and him ducking to avoid eye contact. Victory.
The silence is thick with…something, so it’s a relief when the kitchen staff arrive with breakfast, and they have an excuse to focus on something else. Thick rashers of bacon and exquisite little tarts and a pile of eggs do make Jimin’s stomach turn upon first viewing, but he gamely chokes them down. He knows he’ll feel better when there’s food in his system.
Their knees are basically touching, but Jungkook is first absorbed in his food and then by his paper and the various documents brought to him by his valet. Jimin attempts to become one with his plate by inhaling food at tremendous speeds until Jungkook snorts and draws his attention. His friend is grinning at him over the rim of his glass as he slaps a pamphlet down by Jimin’s plate.
“What’s so funny?” Jimin mumbles around a mouthful of bacon.
“The marriage season is upon us.” Jungkook says, cheekily.
“Doesn’t seem particularly funny to me.” Jimin hums, flicking his eyes down to the pamphlet. “What’s that?”
“Your doom.” Jungkook says theatrically.
Jimin finally puts down his silver, “Are you planning on making sense any time in the near future?” He picks up the pamphlet, reading out the header, “Lady Whistledown? Who is this, some spinster knitting paper or something?” He shakes out the parchment and makes a derisive face at Jungkook, “I didn’t take you for the type to subscribe to ladies’ hobby papers.”
He scans the paper for only a moment before his friend’s amusement becomes clear. His own name jumps at him from the page, and he reads aloud, “The newly returned and very handsomely available Viscount Park seems to be back in London with auspicious timing for the beginning of the season. Should we, dear readers, take this as the obvious sign it is that the Viscount is looking to find a wife among our ton? A true gentleman come back from abroad in wont of a wife…how enticing for any marriage-minded miss in our ranks—Jungkook what the hell is this?”
Jungkook seems barely able to contain his amusement, “A scandal sheet. You’ve missed quite a lot in the last five years good friend. Apparently, your return has been noted and they’ll be gunning for you—all those meddling mamas and their chaste, desperate daughters.”
Jimin sets down the sheet like it scalded him, “What kind of…do people take this sort of thing seriously??”
Jungkook nods gravely, amusement still twitching up the corners of his mouth. “Oh yes. You’ll be the talk of the town now simply because Lady Whistledown brought you up.”
“But I’m not—what does ‘handsomely available’ mean??” Jimin chokes out.
“Rich and titled. It also covers young, good reputation and manners, and very good looking, dear friend.” Jungkook’s eyes sweep him from head to toe, “They’ll eat you alive.”
“I have no intentions to marry!” Jimin splutters, “I had not even thought about it—the estate is still in no position to welcome a Viscountess.”
Jungkook chuckles dryly, “It’s not going to matter now that Lady Whistledown has remarked upon it. I doubt you’ll have a moment of peace all season.”
Jimin returns moodily to his cup, head still throbbing. “Hey now, why aren’t you getting harassed by the scandal sheets? You’re young and rich and good looking and titled—much better titled than me, I might add.”
Jungkook shakes his head, “It doesn’t work like that. I don’t have my title yet; they don’t harass the men about their place in society quite like they do the ladies…except in special circumstances. I have all the time in the world.”
“Where now I am expected to find a wife during this season? Impossible. I have no interest.” Jimin says sharply.
“I would have rather thought you were missing female company after last night.” Jungkook says silkily, “You’ve buried yourself under duty.”
“Whom do you think does the burying?” Jimin clinks his silver against the pamphlet, “Do you think I would do all this left to my devices? Pray you don’t find yourself in my position for many years, dear friend. These expectations are heavy; made heavier by foolish gossip rags aiming all these salivating society types my direction.” He abruptly pushes away from the table and rises, “I have to get to work.”
Jungkook rises as well, “I did not mean to ruin your good humor.” He says quickly, “Forget we read it; perhaps it will die away.”
“I assure you I’m perfectly fine.” Jimin says tersely, contradicting himself with every line of tension in his jaw and shoulders, “I just cannot dally here with you and the idle musings of the unemployed and anti-intellectual rabble of London’s dance halls.”
Jungkook does look openly concerned now. “Jimin, it’s not—”
Jimin claps him on the shoulder shortly, “Good day, your grace.”
Jungkook’s mouth twists at the use of his future title, and he reaches up to catch Jimin’s arm before he can pull away, “Shall I still see you at the opera? I promise a gossip-free evening.” He seems upset at Jimin’s reaction.
Jimin softens at the earnestness in his tone, the expressiveness of his big pretty eyes, and makes a ‘tch’ sound as he turns to the door, “Fine. Yes. I’ll see you tonight.”
Jungkook’s smile spreads warm and sweet like cream and Jimin internally chastises himself for being so weak even after all these years. He picks up his jacket from the morning room and emerges into London’s sunshine.
Jungkook sees him out, standing at the door watching him as he strolls down the streets towards his own flat.
Jimin is annoyed at himself for getting so worked up as he walks. He blames it on his hungover state and the disordered nature of his mind after a night of debauchery. But honestly, how could he have been expected to react to this most aggressive proposition of getting himself married? Especially when he has not even begun to untangle what it means to be the Viscount and to take his father’s place in society. He has to stop three streets away and lean against a stoop, out of breath and feeling like his chest is being pinched. In truth he has been avoiding the thought. The very idea of marrying someone, of settling into a familial life with a woman…Jimin groans and leans back against the cobbles. For all his talk of duty this particular one sets a cold stone in his stomach.
He lets himself sink against the wall for only a moment longer before gathering his wits about him and continuing down the street. He doesn’t need to endlessly worry over a scandal sheet’s assertion. He needs a bath and some hair of the dog and to tend to his accounts.
~~~~~
The sunshine finds him in a terrible state. Jimin cracks an eye against the morn to find himself almost identically sprawled on Jungkook’s chaise with Miss Pierce bustling around in the background. He pushes himself up onto an elbow, rubbing at his eyes. He’s pleased to find this time that he’s got the sheet properly covering all his intimate parts, at least.
Last night comes back to him in a smoke and music-filled haze. Jungkook’s delighted face swimming in the periphery of the performance and then, later, his lust-addled face fixing him from across the room with that peculiar intensity. It had been more competitive last night; Jungkook apparently taking Jimin’s quip about his stamina to heart with the lead soprano he’d enchanted into his flat. Jimin had kept pace with one of the costume seamstresses, and he’s once again embarrassed to find in the light of day that his memories are mainly Jungkook’s voice and Jungkook’s body like a voyeur, and not her name or anything remarkable about her. This is not how a gentleman behaves. This is not befitting his new station. But those strangely heated glances…Jimin knows if Jungkook asks him to accompany him out again tonight he’ll go without much of a fuss.
Jimin’s body disagrees that he’ll be able to keep this sort of thing going indefinitely and he groans and rolls to make contact with his feet to the floor.
Jungkook bursts out into the parlor whistling and Jimin winces, hands coming up like he could physically push the loud disturbance away. “Gods be good, Jungkook. How can you cavort like this day in and day out?”
“I am blessed with vitality and energy, my good friend.” Jungkook remarks, “Now clean yourself up and join me for breakfast—I have a new club to drag you to tonight and you’ll need your strength.”
Jimin dives back under his sheet, “Oh spare me, please. A club? Have we learned nothing about my predilections?”
“I rather believe I can turn your ‘predilections’ whichever way I desire.” Jungkook quips, “You would not deny me, let’s not pretend.”
“You are a vicious and cruel demon of ribald and debauched dealings.” He says through the linen and Jungkook comes over and playfully wrestles the sheet away. They’re giggling and rolling about like so many puppies when Jungkook’s valet appears like a shadow in the doorway.
“Your grace?” He says, and the tenor of his voice makes both Jimin and Jungkook look up. A very unwelcome feeling has suffused the room.
“What is it?” Jungkook says after a moment, “Out with it.”
“It’s…” the valet’s face is pinched, his expression shifts between the two men, “…your father, your grace.”
Jimin has a terrible front row seat to watch the world break for Jungkook. He tries to leave but Jungkook bids him stay as it is explained to him how his father had caught a chill that had lingered…and lingered…until the doctors were shocked when he just slipped away. He wasn’t a desperately old or unfit man. It was a shock to everyone.
Most especially to his son. Jungkook listens with a face blown blank with uncomprehending fear and sadness. Jimin too, feels the sting. The Duke of Hartfordshire was beloved, and in many ways was a second father to Jimin—to say nothing of the great influence on Jungkook himself. Needless to say, they do not go to the club that night. When Jimin takes his leave of his friend in the afternoon it is because Jungkook is travelling to the Duchy that has now become his. He asks if Jungkook wishes to be accompanied but isn’t surprised when his friend declines. At a certain point all men want to be alone with their grief. Jimin has seen a glimpse of his own experience of having to step into shoes he never wanted to fill by the way Jungkook does not weep.
His face stays permanently fixed in a mask of inscrutable darkness as he hugs Jimin and takes his leave of London to do what Jimin had to a year ago.
The most unwelcome symmetry Jimin can imagine.
And just like that, right after getting his friend back, Jimin must say goodbye again. He returns to his apartments alone. After all, he still has an estate to manage, and the new Duke will likely be gone for quite some time. Everything Jimin had to deal with will be tenfold for Jungkook in the wake of taking over his father’s title. He expects to not see Jungkook again for quite some time.
~~~~~
So it’s a shock, some three weeks later, to see the Duke of Hartfordshire appear like a ghost at the Maybury Ball. Jimin is nursing a glass of lemonade and fending off the never-ending buzz of the mothers of the ton when the crowd becomes uncommonly quiet between songs. The quartet is slow to start playing again, leaving a vacuum of eerie silence. He looks over the shoulder of the dowager Lady Reinhold and jostles the table with his hip in his surprise. Jungkook is there. Thinner, unsmiling, and alone, but he’s there. Jimin practically swallows his tongue.
He has heard nothing since Jungkook disappeared into that coach. He sent several letters, fully expecting them not to be answered: merely as a comfort. But he also expected that it might be months or years before he glimpsed his friend again. Yet now here he is; out at a social engagement within the month. Still clad in black as a nod to his mourning but, as Jimin watches, approaches a young lady and asks for a dance. Soon, a knot of women has formed up around the duke as his dance card is quickly filled. For the first time in many weeks Jimin is not being accosted by mothers or debutantes. He is left to sip at his lemonade in wallflower fashion as everyone sets their sights on that most attractive piece of manna; a duke.
Jimin is left to stalk the edges of the party, watching Jungkook spin various ladies around the floor. A couple unclaimed ladies eye Jimin hopefully, but he only has eyes for his grieving friend. Jimin had resigned himself to attending the very bare minimum of the ton’s activities for the season. If not for his own amusement, at least to keep this Lady Whistledown from her lascivious speculations as to why he wasn’t courting a wife…and to not insult the wives of his friends who were hosting said events. After weeks of Jimin’s quiet refusal to dance or chatter with anyone, Jungkook’s appearance and enthusiasm for the event must be like an oasis of hope for these mothers and daughters.
Who could resist the possibility and allure of becoming a Duchess?
For himself, Jimin can admit his bewilderment. Surely Jungkook isn’t ready to be back in London, let alone in the thick of things like this. It had taken mere hours at one of these events to have the members of the ton paint a picture of Jungkook as quite the roguish rake before his father’s passing. None of them seemed to believe Jungkook’s participation in the courting season would be a possibility for many years based on his prior reputation.
Now, however, all that seems to have been made a foolish mockery as Jungkook twirls lady after lady around the ball, offering them conversation and smiles and interest. Jimin is sure of all of the above because he follows his friend’s movements for the entire evening. He looks for a quiet moment to speak to the duke, but it seems to not be forthcoming.
Jimin resolves to find his friend in the aftermath of the ball to know his mind. Hopefully he’ll see what could have possibly sent Jungkook back to London a mere handful of time after his father’s death. He ends up having to chase Jungkook to his carriage after the ball, feeling very like he is accosting his friend,
“Your grace!” Jimin calls to Jungkook’s retreating back, and the duke stops, shoulders hitching up, and turns. His face softens when he sees Jimin, but privately Jimin thinks he’s never seen his friend look so tired and drained. They appraise each other for a long moment. Jimin finds it’s not very easy to think of things to say and settles for, “You are returned?”
Jungkook cracks a wan smile, “I am.”
The silence is strained, an absurdity. They’ve never had trouble talking before.
Of course, they’ve never both been fatherless with the weight and expectations of the titles on their shoulders before either.
“I am…glad to see you. I find myself also surprised.” Jimin says tentatively, “Did my letters find you well?” Here, Jimin sees a genuine smile.
“They were a great comfort to me, my friend.” And then, after a beat, “May I give you a ride home?”
Jimin smiles, grateful for the dissolution of the tension. “I would love that. Let me send my man on.” Jimin tracks down his own coach and sends them back to his residence. He clambers into the coach with the duke. “How are you doing?”
Jungkook cuts his eyes to him as the coach pulls out of the drive, “I am just fine.”
“Seems like awfully quick to be back in London.” Jimin points out gently, “How is your family? Your affairs?”
“Father was well organized; things are well in hand.” Jungkook says, tone short and clipped.
“Such a relief.” Jimin murmurs, studying the side of his friend’s face, “I am glad to see you, but I confess I have concerns for what you’re doing here. Is this not a strain so soon after—”
“I am back in London only for the season. I return to Hartford Hall as soon as I have achieved my aims.” Jungkook says, now staring absently out at the city as they clatter through the streets.
“Aims?” Jimin can’t help himself.
Jungkook slowly turns to face him; eerily quiet. They sit in protracted silence for street after street. “I am here to find a wife, Jimin. I must take a duchess and my place and have the matter well settled.”
Jimin gasps before he can think better of it, “So soon? Surely there’s no rush to—”
Jungkook cuts him off, “I need it done. I need it done this season.”
Jimin absorbs that, watching the physical tension of his friend. “It seems very sudden.”
“The change in my circumstances was sudden.” Jungkook says, “It is paramount to have things well taken care of. I would think you, of all people, would agree. You’re the one who spoke of how things were different now and you were correct.” The coach clatters to a halt. They have arrived at Jimin’s flat. Jungkook is doing a heroic job of this veneer of the haughty gentleman, but Jimin simply knows him too well.
He could fight this, he supposes. He could point out that Jungkook is compromised and in no position to be choosing a wife in this state. He could mention that no one would expect him to participate in the season since he’s mourning, and he could quietly go home and sit with his grief and come to terms with his new life without forcing such an obviously desperate move. But then Jungkook might push him away; might not let him stay by his side and give him good council. It’s an easy choice. He props the door open and lingers for a moment,
“Alright, my friend. Then I will help you weather the season. I’ll help you find your Duchess.”
The relief and gratitude on Jungkook’s face goes straight to Jimin’s chest and he knows he has made the correct choice. He claps his mournful friend on the shoulder and descends from the coach. They wave at each other and Jimin the first to turn away, towards his door.
“May I call on you in the morning?” Jungkook says, voice tremulous.
Jimin turns back over his shoulder, “Of course, your grace.” Jungkook’s mouth twitches down into a frown for a second so brief Jimin isn’t convinced he didn’t imagine it. “We have a tea and a promenade tomorrow with the ton.”
Consternation passes across Jungkook’s face, “Gods above that’s right.”
“Now neither of us has to be alone.” Jimin smiles at him.
Jungkook smiles a real smile back. He leans forward and coaxes his driver to move on. Jimin turns back to his door and lingers, keys in hand. He hopes he hasn’t just made a horrible mistake.