chapter 1

JIMIN'S POV:

The sharp, medicinal sting of antiseptic and floor wax was a scent Park Jimin could identify with his eyes closed. It hung in the air of Haneul University College of Medicine like an unwanted shadow, clinging to the wooden desks and thick medical textbooks.

At twenty-one years old, being a third-year MBBS student was supposed to be a prideful milestone. For Jimin, however, it was just another quiet reminder of a path chosen for him—a life paid for by his father’s strict expectations and his mother’s sharp disappointment.

To his left, the only anchor in his chaotic world was fast asleep.

Min Yoongi had perfected the art of sleeping upright during eight o'clock lectures. To Professor Han at the front of the room, Yoongi looked like a dedicated student lost in deep thought. His chin rested in his palm, dark silky hair falling over his forehead to veil his eyes.

But Jimin knew better. They were both twenty-one and had grown up side by side since they were seven. Jimin knew the subtle dip of Yoongi's shoulders when he drifted off, and the faint twitch of his eyebrows whenever he was annoyed in his sleep.

Jimin leaned sideways, his dark eyes sparkling with playful mischief. He casually unscrewed the cap of a black marker.

Twisting closer until the scent of Yoongi’s laundry detergent—rain and sandalwood—washed over him, Jimin hovered the felt tip an inch from Yoongi's pale cheek.

Before the ink could touch skin, a broad, veiny hand shot up from the desk. Yoongi’s fingers wrapped firmly around Jimin’s wrist, stopping the marker mid-air.

"Try it, Marshmallow," Yoongi muttered, his voice thick with sleep, raspy and sharp. He didn't even open his eyes. "And I swear to God I'll replace your coffee with decaf for an entire month."

Jimin didn't pull away immediately. He couldn't.

Yoongi’s grip was warm, his thumb resting directly over the frantic pulse fluttering at the inside of Jimin’s wrist. Jimin’s chest tightened—a familiar, soft ache expanding behind his ribs. Seven years of his heart betraying him at a single, casual touch.

Quickly masking his reaction, Jimin forced a bright, teasing smirk onto his face, letting his eyes curve into effortless eye-smiles. He twisted his wrist deftly out of Yoongi's grip and snapped the marker cap back on with an exaggerated click.

"You have zero trust in me, Yoongi," Jimin whispered dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "I was simply checking if you had slipped into a coma. You look like a very pale corpse when you sleep."

Yoongi finally cracked one dark eye open, turning his head slowly to glare at him. "I was contemplating."

"Contemplating what? The inside of your eyelids?"

"Contemplating why I signed up for six years of torture when I could have just become a musician," Yoongi grumbled, sitting up straight and rolling his shoulders until his spine popped. He ran a long hand through his hair, pushing the dark strands off his forehead.

Jimin’s smile faltered for a microsecond before he caught himself. You signed up because of me, his mind whispered softly—a truth he would never dare say aloud.

When they were fourteen, Jimin had lied and told Yoongi that medicine was his ultimate dream because his parents insisted on it. And Yoongi—oblivious, fiercely loyal Min Yoongi—had quietly walked to the guidance counselor's office the next week to align his entire future just so Jimin wouldn't have to walk through university alone.

"You chose it because you love me, obviously," Jimin teased, resting his chin in his hands and fluttering his eyelashes playfully. "Admit it. You couldn't handle a single day on campus without your favorite person."

Yoongi scoffed, picking up his heavy medical dictionary and tapping the edge of it lightly against the back of Jimin's hand. "In your wildly delusional dreams. I chose it so I’d be nearby when you inevitably set a biochemistry lab on fire."

"Hey! That was a faulty burner!" Jimin gasped, nudging Yoongi's shoulder with his own. "Besides, I scored higher than you in the practical assessment last week!"

"Only because you nagged me into staying up until four in the morning to practice suturing techniques on oranges," Yoongi countered, a tiny, almost invisible curve touching the corner of his lips before he quickly hid it behind a scowl. "Pay attention. Professor Han is looking right at us."

Jimin turned back toward the whiteboard, but the smile lingered on his face. Beneath the desk, his fingers casually twirled the silver helix piercing in his left ear—a nervous habit he couldn't shake.

To the rest of Haneul University, they were just Park Jimin and Min Yoongi: same-age childhood best friends who couldn't go ten minutes without bickering, two third-year medical students who shared everything.

No one saw the way Jimin’s eyes lingered on the strong line of Yoongi's jaw when he wasn't looking. No one noticed how Jimin memorized every small detail—from how Yoongi took his coffee to the exact way his tone softened when he was worried.

And absolutely no one knew about the leather-bound diary locked securely inside Jimin’s bedroom desk at home, filled with seven years of unspoken love, written under a nickname he only dared to use on paper.

Coconut.

The late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the campus courtyard as the final lecture concluded. The autumn air was crisp, carrying a slight nip that signaled winter was fast approaching.

"I'm heading straight home," Yoongi announced, slinging his black backpack over one shoulder as they stepped out onto the wide granite stairs. "Namjoon-hyung said Jin-hyung is cooking tonight. If I’m late by five minutes, Jin-hyung will eat my portion just to make a point."

Jimin laughed softly, the sound bright and musical. "Give Jin-hyung a hug for me. And tell Namjoon-hyung I still need help reviewing legal medicine."

"You can tell them yourself when you come over this weekend," Yoongi said, turning his sharp gaze toward Jimin.

Jimin’s footsteps slowed slightly. The playful brightness in his eyes dimmed just a fraction, replaced by a subtle tension in his shoulders.

His hand instinctively reached down, pulling the soft cuff of his sweater over his knuckles—a quiet physical gesture of pulling inward whenever his home life came up.

Yoongi stopped in his tracks, noticing the tiny shift instantly. His eyebrows pulled together in a quiet scowl. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Jimin said smoothly, his cheerful mask slipping back into place seamlessly. "Just... my parents want me home for dinner tonight. Hoseok-hyung is visiting from his firm."

Yoongi’s expression hardened just a fraction. He knew the environment inside the Park household all too well.

He knew how cold the atmosphere was, how high the expectations ran, and how unfairly Jimin was treated compared to his younger brother, Taehyung. Yoongi had spent years watching Jimin shoulder quiet insults and harsh standards, only to smile through it like none of it hurt.

"Call me if it gets unbearable," Yoongi said quietly. The sarcasm in his voice was completely gone, replaced by an earnest, grounded tone that always made Jimin's heart flip inside his chest. "I mean it, Jimin. You don't have to stay there all night."

Jimin looked at Yoongi, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He reached out and shoved Yoongi's arm playfully to lighten the mood. "Don't get all dramatic on me, Yoon. I'll survive a family dinner. Go home before Jin-hyung steals your steak."

Yoongi stared at him for a beat longer, searching Jimin's eyes for any sign of a crack before finally sighing and shaking his head. "Fine. But text me when you get home."

"Yes, sir," Jimin called out with a wave as Yoongi turned to walk toward his motorcycle parked near the gates.

Jimin watched him go until Yoongi's tall, lean figure disappeared around the corner. Only then did the smile fall from Jimin's face, leaving behind a deep, tired quiet.

He wrapped his arms around his textbooks, pulled his coat tighter against the chilly Seoul wind, and began his long walk back to the Park family home.

END OF CHAPTER 1.