Passion Meets Fear | JiMina

T H I R T E E N

Cloudy day, once again. By the time Jimin had shot his eyes open from a deep slumber, thick and dark clouds had already nearly covered the entire sky of Seoul. Perhaps, was a storm coming? He didn't know a thing. He hadn't been watching the news lately, which was a disadvantage. His eyelids still feeling heavy, he peered into the grey sky. The bleak environment was beginning to slowly drain his energy.

When he checked the time, he realized he had slept a little too much. Approximately ten hours. However, strangely enough, he still felt weary as if he only took a nap. Hissing in annoyance, he sighed deeply. He went to the bedside table, and only then he discovered it was a little far away from his bed. He furrowed his eyebrows as he immediately looked around, not recognizing the familiarity of his own room.

"Where in the world am I?" He muttered under his breath. He was genuinely confused, which was actually hilarious. But to be fair, he got quite drunk last night. "Whose house is this?"

With his eyes squinted, he grasped unto his long hair as he couldn't process what was going on. Thanks to that, he felt the mild pain right behind his head. As realization struck him, he asked himself, "W-Wait did I drink last night?" It took him seconds to fully remember. "Damn it right, I did drink last night. Nam. . . Namjoon hyung!"

He burst the door open, revealing an incredibly neat hallway whose wooden floor was varnished and smoothened very, very well. There were five doors; two doors on each side and the room where Jimin stayed during the night was located at the center and at the very end of the hallway. Right away, he could see the view of Namjoon's small garden outside, occupied with different types of flowers and other greens. Sadly he couldn't see the peak of its beauty because of the dull lighting caused by the absence of the sun's light.

"Jimin-ah," Namjoon appeared from the right corner where it led to the kitchen. And Jimin could tell the older guy was cooking something. "Come."

Jimin's lips twitched into a small smile. He was curious. Namjoon had never been the type of guy to cook, and he never really tried cooking, except for instant noodles or steamed rice. The aroma of the food reached to the hallway, and it inevitably excited Jimin, completely freeing him from the remaining bonds of tireness. He jogged his way to the kitchen only to find Seokjin wearing an apron while cooking, at the same time looking as handsome as ever.

"Hyung!" Jimin exclaimed, surprised to see the oldest of the squad. "I thought you traveled back to Spain?"

"Good morning, Jimin-ah," Jin greeted, a sweet smile formed from his lips. "Ah, the restaurant's in renovation currently. I'll go back there probably next week."

"That's good actually, isn't it?" Namjoon spoke, his focus mainly drawn into slicing the bell peppers. "You get to take care of your grandmother while you're still staying here."

Curious, Jimin asked, "Wait what happened to your grandmother?"

"She was diagnosed with stroke a month ago." Jimin could tell the fragility in Jin's voice, which was quite unusual, but that meant one thing: the latter surely was affected. Jimin remembered how caring and loving Jin's grandmother was; from prepping delicious lunch to attending school ceremonies and events to cheer for her grandson.

Jin was raised mostly by his grandmother, Sunhi. A bubbly old lady in her sixties—whose shoulder-length, wavy hair had always been let down and whose smile would be twice as wide whenever she witnessed her grandson's visible happiness—took the responsibility of taking care of another woman's child. Jin's parents were usually busy, with their growing business taking their time away from their son.

Especially when Mrs. Junghee, Jin's workaholic mother, succumbed to heart failure when the boy was only eleven years old. It slowed their business down for a few months, decreasing their profit. The unfortunate results pushed his father to work harder than ever, and after a couple years or so, they regained the stability they needed or at least they thought so.