Chapter Text
The studio buzzed with life the moment Jimin stepped in.
Music thrummed low from a speaker in the corner, something upbeat and messy, constantly interrupted by bursts of laughter and overlapping voices. Wheels spun, tools clinked, someone arguing over color choices.
Normal and comforting.
Jimin dropped his bag by his station, tying his apron around his waist in one practiced motion.
“Finally,” Minsoo’s voice cut through the noise. “Thought you’d ditched us for good.”
Jimin scoffed, not even looking up as he arranged his tools. “Please, you’d cry in a day.”
“Bold of you to assume I didn’t already.”
A few people nearby laughed. Jimin huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he settled onto the stool.
Same people. Same place.
Same everything.
His hands found the clay easily, pressing, shaping. Muscle memory taking over as the world narrowed down to texture and movement. The cool dampness grounded him instantly, pulling him into something familiar, something his.
And yet, his fingers paused. Just for a second.
The clay dipped slightly under the uneven pressure before he corrected it.
'Focus.'
He exhaled, steadying his hands, forcing them back into motion.
It was just work.
A week. That’s all it had been.
A week in a house too big, too quiet. A week of fixing something delicate under a gaze that never quite left him.
Jimin frowned faintly, shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the thought.
“Hey, pass me that tool.” someone called out.
He reached for it immediately, handing it over without looking.
“Thanks.”
“Mm.”
Everything was normal.
No heavy silences pressing against his back. No feeling of being watched, observed, like every small movement meant something more than it did.
No Jeongukk.
The name slipped in uninvited.
Jimin’s grip tightened around the clay.
He wasn’t even that talkative. Half the time, Jimin had been the only one speaking anyway.
And the rest.
Just quiet stares. Annoying habit of appearing out of nowhere, saying one thing and disappearing again like it was enough.
Jimin scoffed under his breath, pressing his thumb into the clay harder than necessary.
“Problem?” Minsoo asked, glancing over.
“No,” Jimin replied quickly. “It’s uneven.”
“Looks fine to me.”
“Well, it’s not.” he muttered.
Minsoo raised a brow but didn’t push.
The chatter around him swelled again, someone turning the music louder, another group breaking into laughter at something ridiculous. A brush clattered to the floor somewhere.
Jimin forced himself to follow.
His phone buzzed lightly against the table.
Jimin didn’t look at it.
Didn’t need to.
Probably a group chat. Or spam. Or nothing important.
“You gonna check that or just let it vibrate itself to death?”
Jimin clicked his tongue. “You check it.”
“Not my phone.”
“Exactly.”
Minsoo snorted, backing off.
The buzzing stopped.
Jimin’s hands slowed. Just a little.
Then picked back up again, quicker this time, almost deliberate.
He didn’t reach for the phone.
Didn’t turn his head. Didn’t care.
Because why would he?
There was nothing waiting for him there.
Nothing that should be.
Nothing that made sense.
Because they had never exchanged numbers.
Jimin was feeling the absence of something he hadn’t realized he’d gotten used to.
Something quiet. Still.
Something that, somehow, had made its way under his skin in just a week.
And left without a trace.
Jimin exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly as he looked at his work.
Perfect.
Exactly how it was supposed to be.
“See...” Minsoo leaned in. “Told you it’s fine.”
Jimin stared at it for a moment longer before nodding once.
“Yeah..." he said softly.
“It is.”