Y/N~
Plan B
Let's just say this: when Jimin goes big, he really goes big.
It's Thursday afternoon, the Great Hall is full, the ceiling charmed to show a soft lavender twilight. Everyone's mid-lunch, and I'm too busy trying to peel a shrimp skin with my wand to notice what's brewing behind me. Until—
"Excuse me, everyone!"
Oh god.
I freeze, shrimp half-peeled, and slowly—so slowly—turn around.
Jimin stands in the center of the hall like he's on a theater stage. And not just alone. Oh no. Behind him, a literal choir of enchanted suits of armor starts harmonizing. Actual harmony.
I blink. A group of Hufflepuffs looks absolutely enchanted. The Gryffindors are hooting. Lima has her hands over her mouth. Jungkook—where is Jungkook?
And then Jimin lifts his wand, and from it bursts a bouquet so massive, I think I see roses, lilies, and an entire daisies field in there. He walks toward me with the confidence of a man who knows he looks good. The choir follows behind him like he's the main character of a romantic musical.
Oh my god. I am the musical. I want to die.
He reaches my table, bouquet in hand, and grins down at me with that stupidly pretty smile.
"Y/N," he says loud and clear, "Would you do me the honor of being my partner for the Victory Ball?"
The Great Hall goes quiet.
Then, explodes.
Half of the students are screaming "SAY YES!" The others are losing their minds over the choir. I hear someone yell, "This is better than the Yule Ball!" I cover my face with both hands and peek through my fingers.
"Park Jimin," I mumble, "I hate you."
"You love me," he winks, holding the bouquet out with both hands. "Say yes, baby."
I glance over to see where Jungkook is—and oh, there he is.
Standing by the end of our table, fists clenched, jaw tighter than a snitch in a vault. His eyes are locked onto the bouquet like it personally insulted his ancestors.
"Jungkook—" I begin, but I don't even get to finish.
He storms over. One, two, three angry strides.
He doesn't say a word. Just smacks the bouquet straight out of Jimin's hands. The flowers scatter all over the floor, petals flying like snow.
The hall gasps in slow motion.
Then—
"Are you serious?" Jimin growls, stepping forward. "It was a dance invitation, not a marriage proposal!"
Jungkook doesn't reply.
He shoves Jimin.
Jimin stumbles back and nearly crashes into a suit of armor that sings a sharp B-flat in panic. I jump up, standing between them just as Jimin straightens himself and squares up.
"You want to go, Jeon?" Jimin's smile is gone.
"Don't tempt me, Park."
And before I can say anything—
"Enough!"
Snape's voice cuts through the chaos like a thunderclap.
Shit.
The professor stalks toward us like an angry shadow. His black robes billow dramatically. Of course he'd appear now.
He glares at the three of us as if we personally ruined his lunch (we probably did).
"Detention. Tonight. All three of you," he snaps, sneering at the bouquet crumbs like they insulted him. "You'll be cleaning the entire potions room. Without magic."
"But Professor—" I begin.
"Would you like to add another day, Miss Y/L/N?"
I shut up.
This was a bad idea.
—
Later That Night – Potions Room
I'm scrubbing the same damn stain on the floor for the past fifteen minutes. I don't even think it's a potion. Probably just mold.
Jungkook is on the other side of the room, silent, facing the shelves like they offended him. Jimin's beside me, whistling as he wipes a dusty cauldron. Like nothing happened.
"Stop whistling," Jungkook growls.
"You stop glaring at me like I kicked your owl."
"I don't have an owl."
"Exactly."
I roll my eyes. Boys.
After a long stretch of awkward silence, I finally brave it.
"Jungkook," I say softly, turning to face him.
He doesn't look up.
I try again. "Look, I know you're mad, and you have every right to be. But I miss you. Like, painfully miss you."
He exhales. It's not a laugh or a sigh—just a tired breath.
"Should've thought about that before you kissed him," he mutters.
I wince. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear."
He finally glances at me. His eyes are tired, guarded. "You know, I keep trying not to care. To just walk away and forget it. But it's hard when you're the one person I trusted more than anything."
That... hurts. More than I thought it would.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Truly."
He looks away. "I'm still mad."
"I know."
"I'm still not ready to forgive either of you."
"I get it."
"...But I guess it's too exhausting to keep ignoring you."
That's when I smile. Just a tiny bit. Just enough.
Because if he's talking to me again—even with an attitude—that means there's still a part of him that cares.
And a win is a win.