Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jimin’s coat doesn’t fit right.

The arms are far too long and the hem falls past his knees, but he likes the way the beige color looks against his skin. He’s generally not one to buy oversized clothing like some of his friends, but there’s just something about it. It looks passable enough to be considered stylish, so he shrugs it off and wears the coat anyway. 

The whole day through, Jimin finds himself constantly pushing his sleeves up, reminded of the awkward fit every time he accidentally sits on the coattails and they bunch beneath his thighs. Jimin can’t quite put his finger on it, but he doesn’t seem to remember where the coat came from in the first place.

***

“Do you think we were like, fated? Like this was predestined,” he asks Yoongi sometime later while they’re lying in Yoongi’s bed, passing a joint back and forth. 

Yoongi’s dark hair is sticking up in every direction, messy but still soft from where Jimin’s fingers had raked through it not twenty minutes earlier. Yoongi’s still shirtless, and his briefs sit askew against his hips from pulling them back on haphazardly. The smoke leaves Jimin’s lungs burning and chest aching, and Yoongi’s face is just as unreadable as usual.

“Fate is a myth. We make our own destiny,” he replies before taking a drag. 

They don’t smoke often. Yoongi doesn’t particularly care for the smoke or the lingering smell, but they do it every now and again when one of them is feeling stressed. Yoongi, in this case.

“Does it make you feel better to think that we chose this rather than it being chosen for us?” Jimin snatches what little is left of the joint from between Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi’s right hand is behind his head, left fiddling with the white duvet, and he stares at the ceiling as he exhales. The cloud of smoke swirls milky above their heads. 

“Fuck if I care. We fuck, it’s good, what else matters?” Yoongi rolls off the bed and into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft thunk. 

Jimin agrees, thinks about how easy it is for them to just exist in each other’s lives for hours at a time before going their separate ways. Not having to answer to someone is nice, and not having expectations of each other is even better. 

Jimin stands and collects his sweater from the floor, shrugging it on as he makes his way toward the bedroom door to leave. The laptop Yoongi has been hunched over for days now sits on his desk near the bed, just far away enough that he hopes Yoongi actually sleeps tonight rather than works on his music. That beige coat is draped over the chair next to it and Jimin racks his brain again, wondering if it was one of his stoned 3am purchases. He pulls his phone out to make another.

***

“I’m really into collaging right now, Jimin-ah. You should try it, it’s very therapeutic.” 

Taehyung is sitting cross legged in front of their wooden coffee table, slight fingers thumbing through an old copy of Vogue that Jimin vaguely remembers him buying from their campus bookstore. He handles a pair of bright pink safety scissors and cuts out a picture of a model’s smoky eyes before setting it in a pile with the other clippings. Jimin watches as Tae concentrates wholeheartedly on finding the perfect set of lips to match.

“I’m trying not to hyperfixate on my friends’ hobbies, so I’ll stick to dancing,” Jimin drawls. He’s wearing nothing but a sweater and briefs, sprawled on the faded orange couch they bought second hand a few years ago. Tae’s never been bothered by him dressing this way before, so Jimin doesn’t really care.

“Wasn’t dancing Hobi’s thing until you hyperfixated on it?” Tae doesn’t look up from Park Shin Hye in Vogue until Jimin hits him in the head with one of the couch cushions. 

“I’ve been dancing my entire life, dick,” Jimin complains before pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts for Yoongi’s name. They don’t usually text during the day. Jimin doesn’t click on it, just lets his thumb hover for a moment before he hears Tae whining from the floor below him.

“Heyyy, that was a couch cushion, not a throw pillow!” Tae whines, but only grins his boxy smile when Jimin hits him again.

***

“I think Tae is spending too much time with Seokjin,” Jimin complains. “He made a throw pillow joke when I hit him with a couch cushion.” At the sound of Jin’s name, Jeongguk’s head pops up before he leans back in casually feigned disinterest.

“You think they’re spending a lot of time together?” Jeongguk asks much too nonchalantly, moving his bibimbap around with chopsticks. Jimin settles back in his chair and eyes his younger friend.

“None of my business, but no. I don’t think they’re spending that much time together, yah,” he replies before wagging his eyebrows, a wicked smirk playing at the edges of his lips. 

The light from the shop’s neon Now Slurping! sign casts them both in a faint blue glow, and Jimin likes the idea of them sitting in the only discolored part of the dining area. Like they’re stuck in a snapshot of time, sequestered in their own little slice of the universe while the rest of the world moves at the speed of light. 

Jeongguk looks up at him, noting Jimin’s expression and sighing heavily before dropping both his chopsticks and facade at once, slumping in his bright red chair.

“Nothing’s really happened between us yet,” Jeongguk complains. “I think he thinks I’m too young, and it’s like. It’s only five years! Not the end of the world.” 

He props his elbow up on the flimsy purple tabletop, resting his chin in his palm, dark hair just falling over the tops of his ears. He’s keeping it wavy now with a bit tied up on top, and while it looks ridiculously good on him, Jimin cringes at the idea of the hairstyle on himself. 

“I really like him,” Jeongguk continues. “More than the weird ‘we’re fucking but not talking about our feelings’ thing that you and Yoongi have going on.” Jimin’s mouth opens with a pop at that. “I want to hold his stupid hand. Have you seen his shoulders?” Jeongguk continues with a groan, throwing his head back dramatically and burying his face in the crook of his elbow.

“Yoongi and I talk about our feelings,” Jimin scoffs and Jeongguk fixes him with a dubious look that says, Oh really. “We do! We’ve even talked about how us being together is fate,” Jimin supplies. 

Jeongguk’s expression doesn’t change. Jimin throws his hands up in exasperated silence. 

“Whatever. It’s not like we even have feelings we need to talk about. We don’t do baggage. We don’t do unpacking.” That’s the best part of casual sex, Jimin thinks, not having to deal with unnecessary drama.

“Whatever that means, Jimin-ssi.” Jimin kicks Jeongguk under the table at the affront, but all he does is pick his chopsticks back up. “Anyway. I’m just going to tell him. I’ll just be a man and tell him flat out that he is not too old for me.” Jeongguk scoops up chicken from the bowl in front of him. “That we’d be great together,” he finishes with a mouthful. Jimin sighs into his steamed rice and wonders if Yoongi has to put up with this kind of behavior from Namjoon and Seokjin too.

***

The first time Yoongi and Jimin kiss isn’t the first time they’ve kissed.

Their actual first kiss, no matter how much he may deny it, was initiated by Yoongi. He was drunk and tired of the sexual tension that had been building as a result of their initial hostility, so rather than tell Jimin to be quiet he found another way to shut him up. That was that. The kiss was sloppy and wet, and Yoongi still claims he has too much finesse to have ever kissed Jimin without proper technique.  

Who initiated their second kiss a few weeks later though—that remains a mystery. It was all pulsing neon lights and strong hands fumbling under each other’s shirts in the club’s bathroom stall; Yoongi’s teeth glinting in the dim light and scraping against Jimin’s lips, his neck; Jimin on his knees and Yoongi’s fingers in his hair, blunt nails against his scalp.

It’s funny, Jimin thinks, how he and Yoongi hated each other so fiercely in the beginning. There wasn’t really a reason, just a clash of personalities—Jimin constantly wanting to please others, Yoongi just wanting to be left alone.

“But that just makes the sex so much hotter,” Yoongi always tells him now as skin presses against skin. And it does. But Jimin likes Yoongi’s brain too. Likes talking to him despite the haze they’re both caught in after good sex sometimes; likes the sound of Yoongi’s rasp as he talks about music and recording software and fate. But they don’t do feelings, and Jimin makes sure to actively respect Yoongi’s boundaries. It’s enough for him, honestly.

***

Jimin fingers the silver hair falling over his forehead. 

“Should I go back to black? Or maybe do another color like that pink again? That one was fun.” 

He’s starfished across the bed, looking over to Yoongi where he’s sat against the headboard. He has a thick book on music theory spread across his lap and he’s contorted to see the computer at his side. The laptop is like a fixture in their non-relationship, ever present in Yoongi’s hands and always in the foreground. 

When Jimin waits and still doesn’t get a response, he slaps Yoongi’s dick. It’s a love tap. Minus the love, of course.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi slaps Jimin’s forehead in retaliation.

“I asked you a question, hyung.” Jimin grins. He tries to actively take up as much space as possible, hoping that if he’s everywhere Yoongi looks, Yoongi will finally pay attention.

“Oh now it’s hyung after emasculating me, huh. What’s the damn question,” Yoongi sighs as he finally looks away from the screen and down at Jimin’s face. Yoongi looks weird upside down. Still fuckable though. Jimin wonders distantly if that’s what Yoongi is thinking about him in return.

“Hair color.” Jimin points at his head. “Black? Pink? Shave it?” Yoongi rolls his eyes and shoves his shoulder, the only part of Jimin he can reach.

“Dumbass. Don’t change it. I like the silver.” He returns to his work, some music production software for a song he’s been working on relentlessly. Yoongi closes the book resting on his thighs and shoves it away, pulling the computer fully into his lap.

“You like it like this?” Jimin asks after a small stretch of silence. Yoongi looks over at him deadpan.

“Really? You know what you look like Jiminie.” He looks resolutely back down at the program he has running, and Jimin ignores how that nickname has become solely Yoongi’s at this point. He wonders when everyone else stopped calling him that, or if it had only ever been Yoongi in the first place.

Jimin groans and flops back onto the pillow on his side of the bed—not that he has a side in Yoongi’s bed. “You only ever tell me I’m hot when we’re fucking. I’m like a plant but instead of needing sunlight to survive, it’s compliments.”

“So you mean you’re human?” Yoongi remains unimpressed.

Propping himself on an elbow, Jimin digs his chin into Yoongi’s shoulder. “If needing compliments makes me human, then what are you?” 

Yoongi shoves his face away without looking up.

“Annoyed.” 

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Perpetually.”

***

He isn’t sure when it started, but Jimin is fairly certain he wants to hold Yoongi’s hand.

Not that it’s a standing date, but Yoongi stops questioning it when Jimin shows up on his doorstep at night after rehearsals. It’s become something of a habit, so when Yoongi automatically opens his door wider at the sight of Jimin, he slips over the threshold easily.

“I have work that needs to get finished tonight, sorry Jimin-ah. You can stay here if you need some quiet though.” 

Jimin briefly considers Tae and Jeongguk at home, the chaos that’s bound to ensue, and ultimately decides to spend a few hours at Yoongi’s instead. He would rather be here than try and fail to get work done at his own place.

The thought hits him as he watches Yoongi handle his iPad. It’s something so mundane, so commonplace, that it takes Jimin by complete surprise. 

They’re just settling into the couch, Yoongi holding the iPad, a water bottle balanced between two fingers of the same hand as he tries to get comfortable. His skin looks like porcelain and his veins are just visible under the overhead light, silver rings glinting invitingly. Jimin’s brain computes the idea faster than he can actively think it—I should hold his hand—before he realizes that that’s not something two people having casual sex do. He quickly looks away, afraid the thought will cross his mind again and he’ll actually act on it. 

“You look pale, Jimin-ah. I told you not to come here without a coat, you’ve probably caught a cold,” Yoongi scolds him. Jimin rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine, hyung, how thoughtful of you to care.” Jimin reaches over to circle his fingers around Yoongi’s wrist playfully before realizing that his hands are precisely what Jimin is trying to avoid. He goes for Yoongi’s water instead and steals it from him.

“That was mine, dick,” Yoongi huffs, reaching for the bottle in Jimin’s hands but Jimin just laughs in response.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Jimin asks as he lunges off of the couch, already twisting the top off and then downing as much as he can in one go. The bottle is tugged out of his grip, water spilling down his chin and onto his chest as Yoongi pulls it away from him.

Jimin sputters at the attack, laughing as Yoongi pushes him back down onto the couch and kisses the air from his lungs, all thoughts of handholding gone from his mind.

***

Jimin has this thing about wanting to be good, okay. 

It probably stems from his compulsion to please every person he’s ever met, and the obsessive need to achieve perfection in every aspect of his life—even when he knows he never will. So when Yoongi fucks him for the first time and calls him good, he tries to ignore how quickly it makes him come. Yoongi absolutely loves it, and absolutely loves reminding Jimin of it too. Yoongi is so nonchalant about their sex life, doesn’t care who knows what, and loves that it flusters Jimin to no end. 

Yoongi knows every bit of Jimin’s body just as Jimin knows every tell of Yoongi’s. Jimin knows how Yoongi likes to be kissed and how he likes to be touched. In return, Yoongi knows how Jimin likes his hair to be tugged and how he likes it when Yoongi leaves marks with his mouth, reminders for when Jimin inevitably wakes up alone in his own bed the next morning. Not that he’s pining—he just likes the way they look against his skin.

Feelings and talking and comforting others are things that Jimin has never been particularly stellar at, even though he wants nothing more than to do them well. He’s been known to take things to the extreme, to try and perfect what can’t be perfected. That being said, dancing is the only thing that Jimin has ever genuinely been good at, and he’s okay with that.

When he’s in the practice studio on campus, he doesn’t have to focus on anything but the way his body moves, the way his joints ache from rehearsing the same few counts over and over again. It’s repetitive and familiar and, most of all, it’s the one thing he can control. 

So when things start to get out of control, it’s the perfect place for him to work out his aggression, his insecurities. There are plenty of things on the list: his Chem 201 lab, figuring out where that stupid beige coat came from. Why he suddenly can’t stop thinking about Yoongi. When he dances though, he doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to feel anything but the rhythm. Jimin relies solely on muscle memory and each passing measure of counts. 

He actively ignores the thing with Yoongi. Doesn’t know when wanting to fuck him evolved into maybe wanting to hold him too. It’s terrible, truly, especially considering Jimin couldn’t decipher Yoongi’s thoughts if they were being shouted through a megaphone. 

Yoongi is a blank slate. He does what he wants to do when he wants to do it. Fucks Jimin beautifully, then goes right back to writing lyrics or layering instruments on his laptop. It’s cool. Yoongi has rap and Jimin has dance and sometimes they have each other but never for too long, just for the length of the gaps in between their respective interests. Sometimes Jimin lets himself want more. Then he reminds himself to come up for air.

So Jimin dances, and he dances well. He studies it at their university and enjoys every second of it, even if he hates the general classes he’s forced to take too. Jimin has nothing to complain about, no real reason for his heart to ache over someone who doesn't want to kiss him without it leading to more.

***

Jimin is leaving the practice studio when Hobi stops him, dark sunglasses perched on his nose and wide smile spread across his face.

“Jimin-ah! Can you talk for a minute?” he asks, eyes crinkling into small crescents with the force of his grin. 

Hoseok is one of the few people who is always completely honest, even if it’s something Jimin might not want to hear. He’s not afraid to tell Jimin when a move in his choreography doesn’t work, or if his footwork is getting too sloppy. He doesn’t pull his punches but Jimin doesn’t mind; Hobi is older, more experienced, and he would never criticize without good intentions. Jimin appreciates it even though he envies Hobi’s candidness, admires how hard Hobi has worked to get where he is now.

“Sure, hyung. What’s up?” The Starbucks cup hanging from Hobi’s slim fingers reminds him to grab coffee before he leaves campus, caffeine a necessity when he considers all the coursework he still has to do before tomorrow.

“I just wanted to let you know that you’re being seriously considered for a solo piece in the showcase at the end of the semester.” Hobi reaches out for Jimin’s bicep, squeezing it as they start heading for the building’s entrance. 

A solo piece.

Jimin repeats the thought out loud. “Are you serious? I’m only a second year though?” 

A second year performing a solo piece isn’t exactly unheard of but, well, it’s not common either. This would be huge for him. It would also mean even more time spent at the studio.

Hobi shrugs his shoulders, grin never faltering. “That’s what I’ve been told. When I heard I was so shocked!” Hobi stops walking and his eyes go wide, expression twisting into a dramatic gasp as he recreates his initial reaction. Jimin laughs in response and Hobi’s eyes gleam before he goes on, “Not that your dancing isn’t great of course. I’d take it seriously if I were you! If you want any help in the studio just let me know.” Hobi looks so excited at the prospect, and Jimin loves how genuine the other man is no matter what the conversation entails.

Jimin chews on his bottom lip when he considers the full weight of the sentiment. Hobi is the best dancer currently enrolled at their university, and any extra help from him would be instrumental in securing a solo spot in the showcase. 

“Yeah, of course. Thanks, hyung,” he replies earnestly. Hobi leaves him with a reassuring pat on the shoulder, tugging his headphones out of his pocket as he heads in the opposite direction. 

It isn’t until Jimin is in line at Starbucks that he realizes the first person he’d wanted to share the news with was Yoongi.

***

They only ever fuck at Yoongi’s place.

It makes sense, considering Yoongi is in his final year and lives alone, whereas Jimin still lives with Tae and Jeongguk in their cramped apartment with that horribly orange couch. Jimin enjoys the time they get to spend by themselves; he feels less embarrassed watching Yoongi when he isn’t looking now. Only does it because he knows no one is around to catch him. 

Yoongi has this look about him. 

He’s every contradiction, every juxtaposition, that attracts Jimin in a way he can’t ever seem to figure out. Yoongi is small, just barely shorter than Jimin, but the energy he exudes fills the space in every room he enters. One moment of looking at Yoongi feels like an entire lifetime and Jimin thinks he won’t ever get his fill. 

His gummy smile and sharp, feline gaze live in a box in Jimin’s mind labeled Not Safe For Work. But nothing compares to Yoongi’s bedhead, to his sleepsoft gaze that only makes an appearance first thing in the morning. The look that Jimin only rarely allows himself to imagine actually signifies something deeper, more. The look that lives in a box by itself labeled Not Safe At All.

After the first few times it happens, Jimin realizes he can’t allow himself to spend the night anymore, can’t handle the intensity when he knows it means nothing.

When they’re in the thick of it, skin on skin, breathless and wrapped around each other, Jimin doesn’t think things could get any better. Yoongi’s there, against him and inside of him and everything is suddenly okay. Nothing else matters—not Jimin’s choreography or Yoongi’s laptop. It’s good, better than good; it’s hot and sweaty and all consuming. It’s odd, to wish for something to never end when you’re not sure anything ever actually began in the first place. There’s a sea of multitudes pulsating between them—a never ending tide pushing and pulling, back and forth, always brushing against his thoughts with a soft will they-won’t they until it drives Jimin crazy. 

Will they or won’t they.

Above him now, Yoongi is flushed and wanton and every inch of Jimin aches with a need so beautiful, so desperate. When this started a few months ago, Jimin would have never been on his back and clinging to Yoongi’s shoulders this way—would have been flipped up onto his knees, one hand bracing himself against the mattress and the other getting himself off. But things change, and now they know each other’s bodies even better than they know their own, so Jimin is flat against the bed with Yoongi’s hand tight in his hair. 

Jimin wants to nuzzle into Yoongi’s cheek, wants to look into his eyes, but keeps them closed instead. His body arches up toward the ceiling as Yoongi moves smoothly against him, gasps sweetly as their chests stick together and their legs tangle in the sheets.

When Yoongi comes, he doesn’t stop fucking Jimin until he finishes too. It’s nice.

***

“I’m getting really sick of waking up every time you decide to sneak back in at 4am,” Jeongguk starts. “The walls here are thin as hell, why don’t you just stay at Yoongi’s?” 

Jimin can’t really blame him for the complaint.

He and Tae have pulled out all the stops for the movie night they’re having and Jimin is impressed with the amount of snacks they managed to fit on the coffee table. Jimin unwraps a Choco Pie and lightly nibbles at it—remembers a time when he wouldn’t have even looked at one.

“He doesn’t want me to stay over,” Jimin shrugs in response. The honest answer would be a bit pathetic—I can’t stay the night anymore because Yoongi’s bedhead makes my heart feel all weird—so Jimin compromises. 

To be fair, Yoongi has never actually asked him to stay the night, so it’s not an outright lie. Tae and Jeongguk both level Jimin with eerily similar expressions before turning back to the most recent episode of a drama he isn’t familiar with.

“So let’s just say that’s actually true for the sake of this argument,” Jeongguk begins as he picks through the items on the table, “Have you told him that you want to be more than just fuck buddies?” He picks up the roasted seaweed and Jimin raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t necessarily want to be more.” They both make faces at that, but Jimin continues anyway. “I just want to have actual conversations once in a while. And besides, have you told Seokjin that you want to hold his hand?” 

Tae’s head whips around to Jeongguk in response. 

“You want to what?” The tips of Jeongguk’s ears flush but he maintains his composure otherwise. 

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Jeongguk responds proudly as he puts the seaweed back and picks up a banana milk instead. Tae is still gaping at Jeongguk as he rests back into the couch. “And he wants to hold my hand too, thank you very fucking much. He also may have mentioned something about Yoongi’s feelings about you.” He says smugly. Jimin waits for him to go on, but he doesn’t.

Tae is still processing Jeongguk's comment about Jin, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, Well that's news to me.

“Okay,” Jimin says, ignoring Tae and watching as Jeongguk takes his sweet time opening his milk. 

“What did he say?” Jimin slaps the cushion behind him. He can’t decide if he really wants to know or not, if he wants that insight. It’s not like he has feelings for Yoongi. He just wants to know where Yoongi thinks they stand. Jeongguk just rolls his eyes.

“Dramatic. Jin didn’t say much, just that Yoongi said he was cool with you.” Tae’s brow furrows at the information and Jeongguk has never looked more self-righteous.

Cool with you.

Cool with how things are, with no feelings involved? Or cool with the idea of being with Jimin in general? Cool with you is vague, and nothing is more frustrating than vague. Jimin sits back against their stupidly orange couch and can feel a spring poking up through the cushion beneath his right thigh.

Before the handholding incident, Yoongi being cool with him would have been normal. But all of a sudden everything has some kind of deeper meaning to Jimin and he hates it. It’s all very dramatic.

“So…” Tae starts. “I think that’s pretty obvious. I mean, for Yoongi it’s obvious, right? The guy doesn’t have a positive thing to say about most people.”

Jimin releases a deep sigh. “Is it? Because I’ve got absolutely no idea.” He ignores the twin groans he hears from either side of him and lets Jeongguk steal the rest of his Choco Pie.

***

Jimin doesn’t know how to bring it up and it might be killing him.

Cool with you.

He pushes himself even harder in the studio, hoping to simultaneously get practice in and distract himself from thinking about it. What does it mean for Yoongi to be cool with something? Obviously, Jimin knows it’s not a bad thing. It’s positive, but he’s hesitant to let himself be too hopeful. The second he admits to wanting anything more than occasional spooning or handholding, it’s over for him. Jimin doesn’t know what he’ll do if his feelings end up being the catalyst that ruins what they have. It honestly pisses him off that he can’t just be content with the way things are now. Yoongi clearly is. 

Or is he.

Jimin decides something needs to be done. He can’t handle sitting in this limbo any longer, and, after a week of trying to drop subtle hints, he realizes that Yoongi’s definition of cool is broader than he could’ve imagined. 

Yoongi is just. He’s cool with everything, and Jimin doesn’t know how to feel about that. Doesn’t know how to feel about the person he maybe-likes describing his feelings for Jimin in the same passive way he talks about Drake’s newest album. Yoongi thinks that’s cool too. It settles under Jimin’s skin like an itch he can’t reach, this desire to mean something to someone who doesn’t outwardly care about anything at all.

So he does what any sane twenty-something does. He ignores Yoongi’s late night texts.

Min Yoongi

you coming over? 

i got naengmyeon takeout

11:45 pm

Jimin is lying upside down on his bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling that he swears he sees move out of the corner of his eye. The sweater he has on makes him feel like he’s trapped inside of a furnace, but he refuses to move. Moving makes this reality and Jimin hates the reality where Yoongi is just cool with him. Unpacking that thought is something he’s delegating to Future Jimin, because Present Jimin doesn’t even know what he really wants.

Min Yoongi 

?

12:07 am

Ignoring messages has never been something they’ve done to one another. They don’t text often, mostly just late night requests to meet up, but there’s almost always a response. Jimin hates that he still has his phone in hand. Hates that he still wants to respond to Yoongi, share those cold noodles with him, and ride him until they both pass out. 

He’s using the beige coat as a makeshift pillow and wants nothing more than to be lying with Yoongi instead.

Min Yoongi

cool

12:22 am

Jimin groans at the word.

***

When Jimin opens the door to his apartment after a morning of rehearsals at the studio, the last thing he expects to see is Yoongi on his orange couch, squeezed between Jeongguk and Tae. 

Slowly making his way into the living room, Jimin sets his bag on the floor. Yoongi’s posture is calm, his shoulders relaxed and—there’s actually a smile across his face as he laughs at something Tae has said. Ridiculous. 

“Is this a hostage situation?” Jimin is afraid to know the answer to that. Yoongi is wearing all black, as usual, but it looks so good that Jimin has to shift his gaze elsewhere. They’re watching an American movie with subtitles and Jeongguk has the audacity to look offended.

“I’m choosing to ignore that slight. Why has it taken Yoongi-hyung this long to come around?” Jeongguk turns to Yoongi, smiling devilishly, “It’s so cool to have you over!” Tae laughs and Jimin only flushes slightly at the use of the word, immediately picking his bag back up and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Well in that case, I need a shower. Yoongi, try not to kill anyone please.” 

The thing is, Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even wants to kill anyone. Jimin gets slapped away anytime he so much as tries to take Yoongi’s attention off of his computer, but these two wrangle him into watching a romantic comedy on their shitty couch, trick him into laughing at their shitty jokes, and he’s just—cool with it? Whatever. 

The two of them haven’t actually spoken in the last few days, and haven’t seen each other in person in a little over a week. Jimin knows avoiding a problem doesn’t make it go away, but he’s been so tired lately and can’t figure out why Yoongi’s name makes his stomach twist in knots. The urge to reach out to Yoongi has been nearly suffocating, but if Jimin can’t withstand a week Yoongi-less, how will he feel when Yoongi ends things altogether? It’s only a matter of time before he gets tired of Jimin’s clinginess and wants to move on. It’s fine, really, Jimin gets it. He’s just not really looking forward to it.

Jimin wasn’t lying when he said he needed a shower, rehearsals having gone on longer than usual now that Hobi is helping him perfect his technique. His body aches and there’s a muscle in his back that won’t stop spasming due to a tricky part of his choreography. 

He’s under the spray of the shower, trying to massage the tender spot in his lower back when the curtain is abruptly pushed open.

“Fuck!” Jimin almost slips in his surprise, but Yoongi’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist and steady him.

“Mind if I join?” Yoongi is already stripping his clothes off, one layer at a time, and there is no world in which Jimin would ever say no. 

He turns into the spray, wiping a hand down his face even as the water continues to blur his vision. They haven’t talked in four days, haven’t slept together in eight, and Jimin wants nothing more than to touch him, wants to feel skin on skin. But Jimin is scared it might trigger something within himself, some sort of emotional response, so he’s been trying to keep his distance. 

They’re only supposed to be having fun.

Once he’s in the shower, Yoongi’s hands go for the hot pink loofah hanging from one of the hooks in front of him. Jimin wants to point out that it’s actually Tae’s, but he’s too distracted by the way Yoongi’s arm comes in contact with his ribs. It feels intense, deliberate. Jimin almost makes a sound but swallows it down; he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this.

Yoongi’s fingers close around the loofah and he pulls away, their brief contact coming to an end. Jimin’s ribcage aches at the loss and it’s like his heart is trying to escape from his chest, like it’s fighting to return to its rightful owner. Which is ridiculous.

“Why are you here?” Jimin asks, trying to sound as devoid of emotion as possible.

“Figured I should make more of an effort with your friends,” comes Yoongi’s reply and that—Jimin wasn’t expecting that. 

He wants to ask why, wants to ask if it’s just because Yoongi’s tired of only having Jimin over for company. Not in a sexual way; Jimin just knows that Yoongi doesn’t have many people to hang out with. He’s close with Namjoon and Seokjin, and even Hobi, but Tae and Jeongguk had always been closer to Jimin in that respect. Jimin had always thought it was intentional, but maybe Yoongi wants to branch out, expand the small circle of people he tends to surround himself with.

 “You’ve been ignoring me,” Yoongi goes on and thoughts of anyone outside of the shower suddenly evaporate from Jimin’s brain. Jimin can just barely hear him over the spray of the water. He doesn’t immediately trust himself to speak, so he begins lathering shampoo between his fingers. If he doesn’t keep his hands busy he’ll do something stupid like turn around and press Yoongi into the wall.

“Been busy. Practicing and all. For the showcase, you know,” he responds halfheartedly, hands moving to his hair and scrubbing at his scalp. 

Jimin is being weird. He’s being painfully weird and he knows it but he can’t help it. Doesn’t know how to go back to a time before he considered holding Yoongi’s hand rather than just rubbing up against it.

The loofah is suddenly pressed gently to the back of Jimin’s neck, soapy and sweet smelling, and Yoongi begins washing his back like this is normal. Like washing each other is something they do, something they’ve ever done. Like they’re lovers and not just two people who use each other when it’s convenient.

Yoongi hums in response. His left hand comes down to Jimin’s waist to hold him in place while the right moves to Jimin’s front, scrubbing across his chest and stomach. Jimin turns around, breaking Yoongi’s hold and leaning back into the spray, closing his eyes as he rinses the shampoo from his hair. 

Yoongi’s fingers don’t disappear though; they ghost along his chest and shoulders, his clavicle and the column of his throat. Phantom caresses, there one moment and gone the next. Jimin can almost imagine that Yoongi’s missed touching him as much as Jimin has missed being touched.

He feels Yoongi’s lips on his throat next, and Jimin knows that he can’t hold out for much longer. His hands move from his hair to the tops of Yoongi’s shoulders, his fingertips tracing the subtle definition of muscle there. Jimin’s eyes stay closed but Yoongi’s hands are on his hips and they fit just as nicely as he remembers. 

Droplets of water bead along Jimin’s eyelashes as he blinks, focusing his attention on anything other than Yoongi’s gaze. He’s scared that he’ll meet Yoongi’s eyes and everything will be different, ruined. Jimin spots his favorite freckle on Yoongi’s bicep and is happy in knowing that at least some things never change.

Together they smell like sweet vanilla body wash and hibiscus shampoo and there’s suddenly nothing he wants more than for Yoongi to kiss him. He goes breathless with want, like he’ll pass out if it doesn’t happen in the next ten seconds. Yoongi knows him—knows Jimin’s every tell—so when he finally moves in to press their lips together, Jimin lets it happen.

Strong hands are on Jimin’s jaw immediately, cupping his face and holding him firmly. Flames devour Jimin but the shower’s spray soothes the burn. Eyes closed and feet slippery, Jimin allows Yoongi to take whatever he wants. Happy, even, to give Yoongi everything even if it means he’s left with nothing in the end. Deft fingers leave a blazing trail in their wake along Jimin’s neck; it’s been so long since he’s felt this even if it’s only actually been eight days.

Suddenly the white tile of the shower is spinning and Jimin finds himself pushed against the wall opposite from the showerhead. The surface is cold against his front but Yoongi is hot against his back and the simultaneous sensations make Jimin let out a strangled cry.

Yoongi shushes him, fingers already trailing down the small of his back. Jimin presses his cheek to the tile and distantly remembers something about thin walls. He can’t really bring himself to care. Not when Yoongi is all over him like this. Yoongi’s fingers trail down to rub against where Jimin wants him most, but they haven’t fucked in a week and Jimin doesn’t keep lube in the shower, so he reaches down to touch Yoongi’s wrist.

“Fuck my thighs,” he says breathlessly and Yoongi’s head falls forward onto Jimin’s shoulder with a groan.

“Say that again,” he requests. Jimin just lets out a sharp laugh in response. He can do this. He can act normal, can act like he’s not on the precipice of some huge revelation. 

“Come on, don’t make me ask twice.” Jimin’s hand tightens around his wrist and it’s Yoongi’s turn to laugh.

“Don’t gotta ask me twice. Just let me—ah.”

Jimin moves his legs together and feels Yoongi press in between his thighs, reaching forward to get his hand around Jimin in the process. It’s hot and cramped and doesn't last very long at all, but Jimin cherishes every moment of it. 

Yoongi’s teeth scrape along the back of his neck, sucking marks into his shoulder, left hand slick around Jimin and right tugging at his hair. Jimin’s front is against the wall, his fingers grasping to hold onto anything, and the hand Yoongi has in his hair keeps his neck arched backwards.

Yoongi is stroking him quickly, moving in and out of the space between his thighs at the same pace, and Jimin briefly wonders how something so simple can feel so good. 

“Jimin, baby, you’re so—ah, so good,” Yoongi gasps into the side of his throat. It’s only a matter of time, Jimin knows, but he also wants to savor this first for them. Their first time in a shower and their first time in Jimin’s apartment. Not that it means anything but—maybe it could.

“God,” Jimin gasps. The hand in his hair moves to wrap around Jimin’s throat, not hard enough to cut off his air, but just enough pressure to remind him that Yoongi is here and Jimin is absolutely on fire; flames licking beneath his skin and electricity thrumming in his veins. Jimin moves one of his hands from the wall to grip Yoongi’s wrist beneath his chin, memorizing the soft skin and fine bones in his grasp. The sound Jimin makes is something between a gasp and a moan but he couldn’t care less because this is how he wants to spend the rest of his life. 

He comes like that—Yoongi in his ear, one hand on his throat and the other around his cock, and for a moment, he can’t remember why he would ever choose to go without.

***

Later, when they’re sitting on Jimin’s bed eating cold leftover pizza, Yoongi looks at him with an odd expression on his face. Jimin raises an eyebrow.

“That was okay, right?” Yoongi asks. Jimin takes another bite out of his slice, chewing for a moment before responding. He’s thinking of asking Yoongi to define cool with you, to define any feelings he might have for Jimin at all, but ultimately decides against it. Jimin vows to figure out what he actually wants from Yoongi before asking.

“That’s how we communicate isn’t it? We don’t really do words,” he says after he swallows and Yoongi just looks at him for a moment before nodding to himself. Before Jimin can take another bite of his pizza though, Yoongi pulls him in by the back of the neck for a brief kiss before going off in search of napkins.

***

So, things go back to normal. 

Or, at least as normal as they can be with Jimin actively trying to decipher his feelings and Yoongi being completely oblivious to them. It’s kind of working.

It’s true that they tend to only spend time together at Yoongi’s, but when they do hang out outside of the apartment, it’s on the rare occasion that Seokjin or Namjoon drag Yoongi out to clubs with their circle of friends. Everyone knows about him and Yoongi—they never attempted to keep it secret—but the pitying looks he receives from Seokjin and Hobi are starting to get a bit ridiculous. He isn’t hopelessly in love, despite what they might believe, he just thinks it would be nice to spoon sometimes. 

They’re at a local club that Jimin can’t recall the name of—something cliche like Euphoria or Serendipity, he can’t remember—but the drinks are half priced and Namjoon is paying for their shots because of a bet he lost with Seokjin earlier in the day. (Namjoon huffs about it, but Jimin knows he secretly loves taking care of his friends. Seokjin not-so-subtly orders more drinks than he can consume at once, laughing delightedly and relishing in the free alcohol at Namjoon’s expense.)

Jimin paces himself while the others slowly descend into chaos—Hobi and Jeongguk are on the dance floor, one doing a remarkably good robot while the latter does something strange and uncomfortable looking with his legs, sweeping them in wide circles while smiling broadly. Namjoon is pressed against the bar trying to get the overwhelmed barkeep’s attention, looking apologetic in advance for how many drinks he needs to order. Taehyung is still sitting across from Jimin at their booth, but he’s fixing the googly eye of a pet rock he made earlier before making it dance across the table. He laughs as he rolls it along Seokjin’s hand, but Jin’s eyes are focused wholly on Jeongguk.

“Look at those leg kicks!” Jin exclaims, as if Jeongguk’s dramatic dance moves are a sight to behold.

“Very impressive,” Jimin replies drily from across the table. He’s sitting next to Yoongi, doesn’t even realize that he’s leaning into Yoongi’s side until he feels an arm come up around his shoulders.

“Damn right it’s impressive! Look at the height he’s getting!” Jin’s shoulders begin to shake with one of his belly laughs, and Jimin watches as Jeongguk beckons Jin to join him on the dance floor, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Jin shoots up, all gangly and broad shouldered, and climbs over Tae without asking him to move. 

“So that’s finally happening then,” Yoongi drawls over the music and Jimin huffs out a laugh, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. He’s torn between pulling away to look at Yoongi’s face and keeping the warmth of his arm around his shoulders. He opts for pulling back—doesn’t want Yoongi to get the wrong idea and think he’s being too clingy.

Jimin reaches for his drink; it’s pink and has a cute umbrella, and he likes that it’s just on the sweet side of sour. 

“Guess so, he’s been whining about it for ages.” Jimin’s eyes crinkle as he takes a sip, the tartness of the drink making the corners of his mouth twist a bit. He looks up to find Yoongi already staring, eyes fixed on Jimin’s mouth as he brings a glass of whiskey to his own.

“Good for them,” Yoongi replies loudly, gaze never leaving Jimin’s lips, “they need to get laid.” Jimin laughs aloud again at that, batting Yoongi’s arm for his boldness. Yoongi sets his drink down and brings a hand up to rub at his other shoulder, like the pain that lives there is a ghost which makes its presence known at the worst times.

“Bothering you again?” Jimin asks. 

Yoongi shrugs in response. “Same as always.”

Jimin sets his drink on the wooden tabletop of their booth, making sure to put a napkin beneath it, before turning back to Yoongi and gesturing for him to spin. Yoongi does it without question, and then Jimin is tenderly massaging his shoulder where he knows it twinges the most. He’s spent a lot of quality time with Yoongi’s shoulder since they began sleeping together, so it’s no surprise when Yoongi goes pliant beneath his hands. If this gets brought up later, Jimin will blame it on the alcohol.

“Thanks, Jiminie,” he thinks he hears, but the music mostly drowns it out.

Yoongi leans back into Jimin’s touch, and if the club wasn’t so loud he knows he’d hear the soft exhales Yoongi makes every time Jimin targets a particularly sore spot. The bass is throbbing, pounding in time with Jimin’s pulse, and he wishes he could slide his hands under Yoongi’s shirt and recreate their first kiss. Doesn’t care what the others think, what anyone thinks—Jimin wants to put his mouth on Yoongi. Badly.

The heat inside the club makes Yoongi’s white shirt cling to his back, transparent under the occasional strobe lights that pass over them in their otherwise dim booth. Jimin’s fingers brush the skin that peeks out from Yoongi’s collar and he sees the goosebumps that his fingers leave in their wake. The world around them slips away as Jimin focuses on not pressing his lips to Yoongi’s neck. He can’t imagine being anywhere in this club that’s not here with his hands on Yoongi.

Jimin flushes at his own thoughts, at his boldness for offering to massage him in the middle of a crowded club. Intimacy is usually something reserved for the apartment—or Jimin’s shower, now—so it feels odd for him to have his hands on Yoongi where anyone can see. Where everyone can see.

He must have drank more than he thought.

Before Jimin can pull his hands away though, he realizes that Tae has finally looked up from his pet rock and is saying something to him over the music. Jimin lets his hands wander along Yoongi’s back for another moment before pulling away. Subtly taking a breath to compose himself, Jimin tries to parse Tae’s words from the noise around them.

Eyes glassy and mouth stained blue from whatever he’d been drinking, Tae repeats, “I said, I think Jin and Kookie left! I can only see Hobi dancing now.” Jimin’s eyes scan the dance floor, but he doesn’t see any sign of the other two either. Yoongi turns too, but Jimin thinks Yoongi’s eyes are searching his face rather than the club for their friends.

“Oh—” Tae says abruptly, now looking down at the phone he gingerly holds, “they did leave.” Namjoon reaches the table as he says it, arms full of their drinks and eyebrows scrunched together.

“Who left?” he asks.

“Seokjin and Jeongguk,” Yoongi supplies, a hand coming down to rest nonchalantly on Jimin’s thigh. Jimin feels the heat of his palm through the fabric of his pants. 

Namjoon just sighs and looks down at the drinks before him, mouth twisting so that a dimple appears in his cheek.

“I guess we’ll need to drink all of this ourselves then.” 

Jimin immediately reaches for another cocktail.

Namjoon is saying something that has Yoongi knocking his head back, laughing with his whole body and small eyes squinting in the dark. Jimin wants to know what it was, but his brain keeps short circuiting with every drink he takes. He takes another, idly wondering what kind of alcohol it is and how much it would take to get drunk on it. He wasn’t planning on drinking this heavily, but he doesn’t really know how else to get through the night with Yoongi watching him this way in public. 

Yoongi’s hand is still on his thigh, tightening every time Namjoon makes him laugh. Hobi walks back over then, panting and sweaty from his time on the dance floor, and eyes the hand gripping Jimin’s leg. Jimin shoots him a look and Hobi’s answering expression reads, What? I didn’t say anything!

Hobi throws back a shot of soju before saying, “Jin and Kookie were like dogs in heat, so I sent them home.” 

Namjoon almost spits out his drink, “Wait, together?” he gasps in shock. “When did those two become a thing?”

“Recently,” Yoongi replies easily. “Surprised you hadn’t noticed with how much Seokjin talks about Jeongguk. It’s pathetic, honestly.” Jimin elbows Yoongi in the side playfully at the jab, but Yoongi just squeezes his thigh a little tighter and Jimin goes still. 

Oh.

So maybe Jimin isn’t the only one who was affected earlier.

He tunes back into the conversation as Namjoon says, “I miss a lot of things like that,” and laughs good naturedly.

“Ah Joonie-ah,” Hobi pipes in, “you see all the positives in life though and that’s what we love about you.” Namjoon shoots him a happy smile and Jimin can’t help but be endeared despite the alcohol in his veins and the heat slowly growing in his stomach.

“I just don’t think about it,” Namjoon continues. “Anything the rest of you need to tell me then?” Namjoon jokingly asks and a smirk slowly spreads across Yoongi’s face.

“You know me, Joon. I’m married to my music.” 

Jimin rolls his eyes at the comment, refusing to let his heart sink. He knows that Yoongi is married to his music, knows it’s why Jimin has never seen him show serious interest in anyone—not for anything other than sex at least. Jimin understands that; he’s been married to dance for as long as he can remember, so it really shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s always been this way, and it’s precisely why they started sleeping together in the first place. It always went unspoken, but Jimin knows they both just wanted all of the fun and none of the commitment. 

When his stomach lurches at the idea of Yoongi not being serious about him though, Jimin blames it on the alcohol. He thinks that he might not want to stay at the club for much longer after all.

The conversation continues and Jimin can only make out a few words here and there. He’s flushed; he’s so hot and sweaty and he needs to find a place where he can breathe. He stands abruptly, knocking Yoongi’s hand from his leg and hitting his left hip harshly against the tabletop. Wincing at the sharp pain, he gestures to the entrance with his thumb over his shoulder.

 “Gonna get some air.” He grabs one of the extra shots and gulps it down before bending to place the glass back on the table. Jimin’s throat burns as he slides out of the booth and into the crowd around them, slipping carefully out the front entrance. 

The air outside is brisk and Jimin considers that he should have brought a jacket when he realizes he isn’t alone. He peaks over his shoulder at the man following him and breathes a small sigh of relief when he recognizes the shadow as Yoongi. 

Jimin needs to let the breeze cool him down, ease the flush in his cheeks and the rapid pulse of his heart. He meanders toward the side of the building, gathering himself as he slumps against the brick. Then Yoongi’s there, sidling up next to Jimin and leaning against the wall too.

Jimin stares up at the stars, wondering at how brightly they shine even over a big city like this.

“Jiminie, you look so serious,” Yoongi says with a low laugh. Jimin squints at him in the darkness, noting how loose the alcohol has made him.

“Of course I’m being serious, I’m always serious when it comes to the stars. We have a front row view of the entire universe, it’s all just—right there.” Jimin looks back to the sky. “It’s so beautiful,” he sighs. 

What he really wants to say is Of course I look serious, I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel about you for weeks now. We’re at university, I’m only supposed to be worried about having fun, not having feelings. Isn’t that how this is supposed to go?

Jimin doesn’t know if it’s because of how much he’s had to drink or if it’s because Yoongi always makes him weirdly introspective in a way that no one else does. But he pushes aside his thoughts and says, “I want to be that beautiful. To be something that people look at and wish on.” He turns his head toward Yoongi. “Is that stupid?”

Yoongi looks at him for a moment, eyes glassy and shining in the starlight. “Yeah, Jiminie, it is.” 

Jimin scoffs and shoves at him, the moment shattered, and he nearly loses his balance before Yoongi grabs his arm. Yoongi is just always there to catch him. 

It makes the dancer in him scream; makes the romantic in him swoon.

Yoongi laughs at his clumsiness and goes, “It’s dumb because they’re just balls of gas floating in space. There are millions of them, nothing special. You have all these grand notions of what your place should be in the universe, what your existence means and whether you’ll leave your mark or whatever, when you should just focus on what you mean to the people around you. What you mean to yourself and whether you’re happy with that or not.”

“Whatever,” Jimin grumbles, eyes flicking back toward the specks of light above them. “They’re still pretty.” He clasps his arms behind himself, wrists crossed and palms flat against the bricks.

Yoongi moves in front of him then, and Jimin refuses to look at him, but Yoongi just keeps coming closer. The wall is already digging into Jimin’s shoulder blades—there’s nowhere else to go—and Jimin feels Yoongi’s breath on his neck, warm and familiar in contrast to the chilly night around them.

“You know you can see twenty quadrillion miles when you look up into the night sky,” Jimin says, trying to seem unaffected despite being wholly affected.

“Is that right?” Yoongi’s lips are a breath away from Jimin’s neck now, just barely making contact with the skin there. Jimin swallows loudly, eyes fluttering at the sensation.

“Yep,” he responds with only a little difficulty. “And black holes don’t actually suck. It’s just really strong gravitational attraction, or—something.”

Jimin tries not to move his hands from the wall, tries not to move at all. Yoongi just hums in response, lips touching that spot behind Jimin’s ear that makes him shiver.

“This is where you make the joke, the one where you know something that does suck,” Jimin laughs breathlessly.

Yoongi hums again, and Jimin’s gaze flits down to see Yoongi’s eyes closed, the shadow of his eyelashes fanning delicately over his cheekbones. 

“I know something that does suck,” Yoongi parrots easily, his mouth moving to glide down the column of Jimin’s throat and Jimin breaks; he can’t help it. His hands come up to press against Yoongi’s shoulders, eyes squinting as he lets out a loud laugh that makes Yoongi breathe a low chuckle against his collarbone in response.

“Who are you, hyung? What have you done with Min Yoongi?” 

“I’m choosing to blame it on the alcohol. Or the way you’ve looked all night.” 

Well, Jimin can’t laugh at that.

Yoongi leans back in and starts kissing up Jimin’s neck, causing another shiver to crawl up his spine.

“Come home with me,” he whispers at the corner of Jimin’s lips. Jimin kisses him fiercely in response.

***

It takes Jimin much longer than he’s willing to admit to realize he’s in love with Min Yoongi. 

Jimin has long since given up on ignoring Yoongi, especially after their night out, and he’s spent nearly every night in Yoongi’s bed since. Honestly, between his extra dance rehearsals and Yoongi’s bedroom (and kitchen, and living room, and now his shower too), Jimin is absolutely exhausted. He still doesn’t ever stay overnight, refuses to subject himself to that kind of torture, so he travels between their respective apartments a lot more than he’d like. Jimin can’t decide if the commute is worse than the embarrassment of being rejected should he ask to stay. 

So—he’s tired. Bone tired. But he still makes it to Yoongi’s before ten o’clock and pats himself on the back for it. He doesn’t really have the energy for sex, but he also doesn’t have the willpower to pass up the opportunity to see Yoongi, so.

“You have bags, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says by way of greeting. He opens the door wearing a black hoodie and sweats, and by no means should it be as attractive as it is. His hair is damp like he just finished showering and Jimin wants to make a joke about waiting for him next time, but his brain feels like it’s ready to dissolve at any moment. Jimin walks through the doorway and looks down to the duffel he’s holding full of his sweaty practice clothes.

“Oh yeah, just the one,” he responds with a furrowed brow. Yoongi laughs quietly and takes the bag from him, setting it on the breakfast bar in the kitchen.

“I meant under your eyes. You look like the walking dead.” Jimin makes an affronted noise (even though he feels like the walking dead) and shuffles closer to the couch so he can flop down. His hair falls  in disarray over his forehead but he can’t muster the strength to fix it, opting to close his eyes instead.

“You saying you’re a zombie fucker?” Jimin can hear the sound of Yoongi’s footsteps as he walks back and forth between the living room and kitchen, moving Jimin’s bag to the floor and opening the fridge to take out what Jimin assumes are leftovers.

“Only if that zombie’s name is Jimin,” Yoongi replies from where he stands at the electric stove. He’s heating up something Jimin’s nose immediately recognizes as the japchae Yoongi probably had as a side dish with his dinner. 

Jimin’s eyes squint open. That could almost imply that they’re exclusive. Like they’re an actual couple. Jimin still slouches into the arm of the couch but he stares straight ahead, wondering if Yoongi will pick up on the implication of his own words.

“So you’re not like, sleeping with other zombies then.” It comes out as more of a statement than a question and Jimin can’t seem to look away from the blank tv screen in front of him, the smell of beef wafting over to him and making his stomach growl. 

What a stupid thing to say, Jimin scolds himself but it’s already out of his mouth. 

He can hear Yoongi stirring the food as it heats before, “When would I have the time to fuck other zombies?” When Jimin doesn’t respond, Yoongi pads over to a cabinet for plates and grabs two waters from his fridge. “And besides, why would I want to?” He says it nonchalantly. Jimin turns to look at him over the back of the couch, hair still in his eyes, but Yoongi is too busy taking the pan off of the burner to notice.

Jimin turns back around and falls further onto his side, burying his face into the couch with a silent scream. He rights himself in time to see Yoongi come back with their food, setting them down on the coffee table.

Yoongi picks up his bowl and chopsticks before leaning back into the couch, eyes settling on the screen as he starts an action movie that Jimin isn’t familiar with. 

“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he says as he takes his first bite. “Hobi told me you’ve been working really hard lately.” Jimin slowly leans forward to take his bowl.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve been there a bit more than usual. Thanks, hyung,” he says in response, making a mental note to ask Hobi what the full conversation had entailed.

Jimin isn’t all that surprised that Yoongi is a good cook—the times when their whole friend group actually manage to fit family dinners into their schedules, it’s usually Yoongi and Jin who end up in the kitchen—but he is surprised that Yoongi prised himself from his laptop long enough to make dinner.

Jimin has always loved Yoongi’s cooking, but something new and strange tugs at his stomach now as they sit in the apartment alone. Tae isn’t there doing arts and crafts, Jeongguk isn’t bouncing off the walls, Namjoon isn’t deciding who’s on clean up duty; it’s a quiet feeling. He can’t decipher it, doesn’t know why Yoongi cooking for him now feels so intimate. Still, he wants to remember how it feels. Keep it tucked somewhere between his ribcage and his heart so he never has to wonder what a domestic Yoongi is like again. 

He looks over at him and catches Yoongi’s small mouth pulled into a barely there smile as something ridiculous happens in the movie.

“You’re in a good mood,” Jimin remarks, already halfway through his meal. He keeps sneaking peeks over his bowl at Yoongi as he unabashedly works through his japchae. The bright colors from the tv’s screen are dancing along his skin, and Jimin thinks idly that he would love being with Yoongi even if it meant only ever sitting on opposite sides of a couch. 

Yoongi swallows and waits for an explosion to finish before nodding.

“Joon and I found out today that the song we’ve been mixing has been selected for submission to a big time record label.” The right side of Yoongi’s mouth quirks upward. “There’s no guarantee anything will come from it but it’s like, a big deal to us. It’s really fucking cool actually.” He runs a hand through his hair and it flops over to the side before sliding back across his forehead softly.

Jimin is speechless for a moment before breaking out into a massive smile.

“Why didn’t you say anything? That’s great, hyung! I know you’ve put a lot of work into it.” They’re facing each other on the couch now, bowls forgotten on the coffee table and Yoongi looks away, rubbing a hand down his face. He knows Yoongi is trying not to let it show too much, but Jimin can still see where the corners of his mouth are turned up, eyes still shining with pride.  

 Jimin doesn’t know much about Yoongi’s music, has only ever heard things second hand, but it’s enough to know that Yoongi and Namjoon are good at pretty much everything they do. Jimin isn’t surprised.

Everything hits him at once: Yoongi cooking for him, subtly noting that he’s only sleeping with Jimin, defining this incredibly important opportunity as cool. 

It must be the way Yoongi’s eyes are suddenly so bright, his lips stretched across his face in one of those rare, effervescent smiles Jimin loves so much. It must be the way Jimin gets a sudden burst of energy just watching Yoongi glow like this; a flower feeding off of the sun’s light. He can’t help it, can’t stop himself from crawling over to Yoongi and kissing him deeply, no matter what it may reveal about his true feelings. 

It tastes a little like reheated japchae, but mostly just like Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t verbally respond, doesn’t get bashful or embarrassed by praise. He knows how good he is, confident in what he’s doing and that he deserves what he’s worked so hard to achieve, so he just pulls Jimin closer, kisses him deeper. 

Panting and practically in Yoongi’s lap, Jimin doesn’t think his heart should be so fond of someone he’s not supposed to have feelings for, so proud and happy and bursting with light at the thought of Yoongi being pleased. They’re breathless and gunfire sounds from the tv, but they both wear small matching grins and it feels far too intimate for two people who are just fucking.

And so he realizes that this is love and that’s scary as hell, but his brain is too overwhelmed to deny it. 

Wanting nothing more than to keep kissing Yoongi, Jimin begrudgingly pulls away from him. His eyes flutter open and he appreciates the sight of Yoongi up close. 

He breathes in deeply before asking to take a shower, needing a moment alone. Jimin wasn’t lying when he said he was too tired for sex; his mind whirs and he’s unable to process even the idea of love, let alone the idea of a naked Yoongi pressed against against him right now.

Fuck.

Yoongi’s cheeks are flushed, the happiness in his eyes unmistakeable, and he breathlessly nods in response.

Once under the spray, Jimin thinks about what they could be just given the chance. His breathing is uneven, bordering on ragged, and he isn’t sure if it’s because he has just realized he’s in love with Yoongi or if it’s because Yoongi is sitting in the next room decidedly not in love with him. How could he be when he only ever wanted casual sex in the first place? 

They never talked about it—never defined sleeping together or gave it a name—it just happened and they went with it. But Jimin knows Yoongi—knows that Yoongi has never talked about settling down or finding love, finding anything more than someone to take home for the night. 

You know me, Joon. I’m married to my music.

And that’s fine. 

Technically, that’s what Jimin wanted when this all began. He wanted someone to take his mind off of the constant pressure he puts himself under, whether it’s due to dancing, or school, or just living up to the unattainable standards he always sets for himself in general. Yoongi was supposed to be that. A distraction, nothing more.

Jimin doesn’t care about knowing what cool with you means anymore, or what Yoongi’s talked about with Jin or Hoseok, nothing matters except this life altering revelation he’s just had.

One of the tiles on the far side of the shower’s wall is chipped pretty badly and he lets himself fixate on it until the water runs cold. Then, and only then, does he force himself to face the fact that he actually wants to be with Min Yoongi. Wants to hold him, and fuck him, and talk to him, and—most of all—just wants to exist with him. Wants to share the same space as him, and not just when they’re sleeping together.

Jimin turns the shower off.

Yoongi is sitting against the bed’s headboard when Jimin opens the bathroom door, nothing but his black briefs clinging to his hips as he dries his chest with a white towel. The overhead light is off, but Yoongi’s bedside lamp casts his skin in a faint glow, a smile still lingering on his soft mouth, and it almost makes Jimin forget what he’d been panicking about in the first place. 

But then he thinks Oh, I love him, and he absolutely does not know how to approach the conversation—doesn’t know if he even really wants to. He towels off his hair and actively rejects the idea that Yoongi would ever be callous or cold towards him; he knows it isn’t rational to think that way.

“Do you have something like, inherently against cuddling?” Jimin doesn’t know what compels him to ask it. This is exactly what he’s been trying to avoid, but Jimin has never been one for subtleties so it’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

Yoongi, predictably, doesn’t seem phased by the question—or anything, ever. He just looks up from his iPad and settles Jimin with an inscrutable look. Jimin already regrets asking.

“Do you have a particular fondness for it?” One of his eyebrows is arched and Jimin feels foolish for even bringing it up.

“Well, I mean. No, not really,” he lies before he can stop himself and he can tell Yoongi sees right through it. 

Yoongi just looks at him like Okay, then what are you asking me for? Jimin breaks eye contact. Silence fills the space between them and he figures that’s the end of the conversation until—

“You’re the one that skips out every night.” Yoongi’s stare is mildly accusing in the way that he always seems to get away with, and Jimin feels so dumb, feels suddenly defensive even though he was the accuser in the first place.

“Well it’s not like you’ve asked me to stay.” This is childish, Jimin is being childish and he knows it. His hair still isn’t dry and it’s pissing him off.

“Well, do you want to stay?” Yoongi shoots back, smiling that secretive smile of his despite Jimin’s frustration, and Jimin is just so. He feels transparent, like an open wound or an exposed nerve. He’s frustrated and he’s a little embarrassed and Yoongi knows it. Jimin hates it.

“That’s not the point,” he stresses and flings the damp towel behind himself. It lands somewhere on the floor with a soft thud and his hair sticks to the nape of his neck. Yoongi’s eyes follow the towel as it hits the floor and a few droplets of water race down Jimin’s shoulder blades to the small of his back. “This is your apartment, I’m just intruding on your space.” Yoongi’s eyes cut back to Jimin’s face at that.

“If anyone is doing the intruding, it’s me,” Yoongi responds drily and Jimin throws his hands in the air.

 “You—I—That was awful.”

“And,” Yoongi continues as if Jimin hadn’t said a thing, “You’re here nearly every day. If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here, end of.” Both of his eyebrows are raised now, as if daring Jimin to argue with him.

Yoongi is being so talkative; he’s still in such a good mood. This is the most open Yoongi has ever been with him about their non-relationship and he can’t pass the opportunity up, can’t remember this as just another moment he almost knew. But, on the other hand, it’s the result of Yoongi still riding on the good news he and Namjoon had received, and Jimin doesn’t want to be the one to disrupt or taint it. 

He hates not being in control of the situation or of his feelings or of anything in general.

“Okay sure,” Jimin replies as he walks fully into the room. He doesn’t know where this sudden urge to know where they stand came from. Hates that it bothers him now like a knot in his stomach, refusing to let him think of anything else. 

His eyes flit back to Yoongi, and he recognizes the look on his face as the same one Jimin wears when he can’t figure Yoongi out (see: all the time). Jimin’s brow furrows and he sits on the edge of the bed furthest away. 

Things used to be simple. They used to fuck and not overanalyze, never felt the everpressing need for conversation, but Jimin crossing that boundary has made everything horribly complicated and confusing. 

He loves Yoongi, that’s the only thing he’s sure of now.

“Sometimes I think I have you figured out, but then other times I think I don’t know a thing about you,” Yoongi muses. Jimin scoffs.

“I’m an open book. A little too open. You’re the one I can never seem to read,” Jimin responds and Yoongi is quiet at that. 

Looking down, Jimin notes a darkening bruise on his right thigh, purple and angry, and he fleetingly wonders how he got it. Wonders if he bumped into the corner of a table or if it’s from Yoongi’s fingers pressing against his skin, holding him in place. 

Jimin has no problem telling people how he feels most of the time, but looking up at Yoongi now he just breathes in and thinks, I can’t do this. He can’t ruin this day for Yoongi; he wants to remember how happy and proud he’s been without the weight of an unrequited love confession clouding the memory. 

So, he asks to stay the night instead and it must be a trick of the light, but he swears Yoongi’s eyes twinkle, just a bit.

“Don’t know why you don’t usually just stay over,” Yoongi grumbles, acting annoyed but not bothering to suppress a small grin and Jimin’s eyes go soft no matter how much he wills them not to.

All he says in response is, “Can we just sleep?” and then Yoongi is there, soft hands on Jimin’s skin, pulling him further onto the bed. 

“Come on then.” Yoongi’s voice is gruff, but his expression is lax—a juxtaposition that Jimin will never not like. 

It’s only a second but also an eternity before he’s up by the headboard, next to Yoongi as he’s pulling the duvet back and stretching his lithe body out.

The lamp gets turned off, the only light in the room filtering in through the window curtains, but there’s no mistaking the content look smoothing the lines of Yoongi’s face as Jimin slides beneath the covers too. Jimin can’t believe all he’d ever needed to do was just ask, tries not to let himself believe that maybe this love isn’t unrequited after all. 

And then Yoongi is there behind him and they’re both in just their briefs but somehow it all goes unspoken. No building tension or flames or electricity, just the brush of Yoongi’s arms folding Jimin closer to him, wordlessly pressing his front to Jimin’s back. 

The steady beat of Yoongi’s heart murmurs against his spine and Jimin wonders if it could ever belong to him. If Yoongi would ever trust him enough to let him hold it in his hands the way he so desperately wants to.

Jimin forces himself to stop thinking and begins to drift off, content in being happy over something as trivial as spooning. And if he’s right about that soft gaze he wakes up to in the morning, Jimin has the tiniest bit of hope that he’s not the only one.

***

The cuddling isn’t something they talk about, but it is something that keeps happening. 

Spooning definitely should not be the best part of Jimin’s day, especially considering the other things he and Yoongi do together, but it’s what he daydreams about in his Chem lab; it’s Yoongi’s hands on his body that he imagines when he practices duets in the dance studio. Suddenly everything comes back to Yoongi but, what surprises Jimin the most is how not sudden it actually all seems. He realizes he’s always thought about Yoongi this much, he just never let himself realize the depth of his feelings before. 

When Jimin finds out that he doesn’t get the solo in the upcoming showcase, he doesn’t let himself get worked up over it. Yoongi, on the other hand, is fucking livid. Their time together is almost exclusively spent between the sheets on Yoongi’s bed, but after Jimin hears the news, he knows there’s only one person he wants to talk to about it. 

He texts Yoongi almost immediately, telling him and asking if they can meet for coffee. The music building is a fifteen minute walk from the coffee shop, but he’s already there by the time Jimin shows up ten minutes later.

“What do you mean they chose someone else? Was it a mistake? A misprint? Why would Hoseok get your hopes up about this?” They aren’t questions, but demands being made by a man on a mission. Jimin sighs and anxiously rakes his fingers through his fringe again. He doesn’t like it when other people are upset, especially if it’s because of him. 

“Hey it’s okay, it’s not his fault,” Jimin says, looking back up to Yoongi. “He just told me they were considering me, not that it was a sure thing."

They don't have to wait long before the baristas finish making their coffees, and then they're making their way towards a table in the middle of the cafe. Jimin sips at his drink, eyes fixed on the tabletop, and he feels like shit purely because he hates seeing Yoongi like this.

"And anyways," he continues, "I really didn’t let myself believe I was going to get it anyways. They said they preferred someone with more experience and that’s kind of what I was expecting.” Jimin reaches out to put a soothing hand on top of Yoongi’s before thinking better of it and going for his coffee again instead. 

Yoongi isn’t one to get this frustrated—usually only acts annoyed as a joke—so seeing this kind of behavior strikes Jimin as strange. 

The small table they’re sitting at does nothing to conceal Yoongi’s very obvious frustration. Fidgeting and bouncing one knee, a constant slew of harsh words fall from Yoongi’s lips as he continues to mutter about how big of a mistake it had to have been.

“It’s honestly fine,” Jimin tries to reassure him. “I have two more years ahead of me, plenty of other solos to look forward to.” The smile Jimin wears feels a little like glass, but he feels ridiculous for being even a little frustrated. Yoongi is so visibly rattled, but Jimin really isn’t even that upset. Yoongi rubs his hands over his face before letting out a long sigh.

“I just know how hard you worked for this. You’ve been killing yourself over it.” 

“I promise, it’s fine.” Jimin pushes up the never ending sleeves of his beige coat as they continue to fall over his hands, “Let’s talk about something else. How is your song coming along?” 

Yoongi tilts his head and squints at Jimin in that catlike way he tends to do but says, “It’s coming along. We’re getting closer to the deadline so Joon and I are booking to finish it.” Jimin nods along, doesn’t really know what that facial expression is supposed to mean, so he just takes another sip of coffee rather than try to analyze it. 

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever fully understand Yoongi. 

“That’s good. I’m sure it’ll be great. You’ve been working really hard too, you know.” 

Yoongi hums in agreement but the tension along his jaw is still evident. Jimin doesn’t know how much longer he can sit around while Yoongi is still visibly upset, so he moves to pack his things.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, hyung, I appreciate you talking with me about it.”

“Oh, right, sure. I should probably head back to the studio anyway,” Yoongi replies, fingers drumming along the table quietly.

“I’ll see you later, I have work I need to get done too.” Jimin grins apologetically and hopes it reaches his eyes before he begins to turn away from their little table. 

Before he makes it more than a step though, there’s a hand on his wrist turning him back around, and then Yoongi’s there with a hand reaching towards Jimin’s face. Jimin freezes, is Yoongi going to kiss him? In public? That’s just not something they do. He doesn’t know what to think, what to do, so his hands stay glued to his sides and his eyes go big.

Yoongi doesn’t kiss him.

He isn’t reaching for Jimin’s face at all, no, he’s reaching for Jimin’s ear and Jimin is immediately taken back to their last night in the club together, his hands on Yoongi’s shoulder like they weren’t in the middle of a packed nightclub. 

Their friend group being physically affectionate isn’t something shocking; holding hands and feeding each other, sitting in someone’s lap or giving piggyback rides—that’s all normal. But Jimin and Yoongi don’t really do that. They mostly reserve touching for when they’re alone, and that’s the only thing that gives Jimin pause in this moment.

His lips part but he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if people are looking at them because he couldn’t take his eyes off of Yoongi even if he tried. Yoongi is all harsh lines up against the shop’s soft interior, stark black clothes against cream beige walls, and he’s suddenly focused on fiddling with Jimin’s earlobe. Yoongi’s eyes flit up to meet his for a brief moment before focusing back on the task at hand.

“Your earring,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is something Yoongi has done before.

“Oh,” Jimin says quietly, dumbly. 

He can’t move—can’t think—which should be stupid. They’ve fucked for crying out loud. They have literally been the most intimate they possibly can be on a physical level together. But they don't normally do close proximity in public, not before the nightclub happened and certainly never by Yoongi’s doing. 

And then Jimin realizes Yoongi has never looked at him like this in front of others. That sleepsoft gaze Jimin refuses to let himself think about. The tension in his face is gone, and his usually sharp eyes have turned gentle like he’s handling something delicate, precious.

The clasp on Jimin’s earring must be broken, but Yoongi manages to find a way to get it to stay. His eyes are still downcast, fingers still brushing Jimin’s earlobe when he says, “It’s okay, you know. It’s okay if you’re not upset, but it’s also okay if you are.”

Each sentence is a statement of absolute, unwavering fact. As if Yoongi has some kind of all encompassing knowledge that he’s allowing Jimin to be privy to. There’s that feeling again: not electricity or fire, but the steadiness he felt when Yoongi spooned him that first time and has felt every time since. It makes him want to reach out and pull the other man towards him, feel him close again.

But then the moment is over and Yoongi is stepping back, stepping away from Jimin like nothing happened in the first place. It’s akin to whiplash—feeling so much at once and then suddenly having it ripped away in the matter of a few seconds.

Jimin blinks, and then blinks again for good measure, just to keep Yoongi in his sight for another moment.

I love you, he thinks.

“Yeah,” he breathes instead. 

He’s no longer rooted to the spot, and he’s reaching up to his earring before he even realizes that he’s doing it. He’s acting like they’re in a drama, like now that he knows this is what love feels like, everything suddenly must mean something.

Jimin opens his mouth to speak again but only manages an exhale before turning and walking away.

***

There is a stark contrast between the two ways Yoongi and Jimin operate around each other. 

It’s either all consuming passion and skin on skin, or it’s two almost-friends on opposite ends of a couch. Jimin likes to think that there’s a way to bridge the gap, to turn casual hangouts with their friends into casually hanging out as a couple, with their friends. Somehow.

“He touched your ear! In public? This is a sign!” Jeongguk’s shouting startles Jimin from where he sits against the front of the couch.

“Yeah, a sign of Yoongi not wanting Jimin to walk around with only one earring.” Jin rolls his eyes in response. Jeongguk makes a disgusted sound but doesn’t move away from where he’s sprawled across Jin’s lap—and the entire expanse of the couch. “He was being nice, yah, stop breaking Jimin-ah’s poor heart.”

Jimin groans, starfishing across the floor. The crown of his head is pressed to the couch’s front and he stares up at the ceiling, regretting ever telling them what happened in the first place. 

“Both of you stop, please. I’m not spending every waking moment analyzing every touch we share.” He absolutely is. “My heart isn’t breaking, Seokjin-hyung, I was just surprised that he was acting kind of intimate in public. It wasn’t like him.” The sound of Jimin defending himself is bordering on whining the longer he goes on, so he resolutely shuts his mouth and hopes no one catches onto the Big Revelation he’s recently had.

“I think it was sweet, even if he was just being nice,” Tae chimes in. 

He’s sitting on the floor next to Jimin with an elaborate painting station set up on the coffee table. Swiping a paintbrush back and forth across his canvas, the watercolors mingle and transform the blank space into something soft and dewy. Tae is concentrated and works like each stroke is intentional, but from where Jimin props himself up on his elbows all he can make out is what might be a sun and some feeble flower stems.

“It was sweet because they’re in love with each other,” Jeongguk says accusingly and Jimin shoves at his calf where it hangs off the couch.

“Dick.” Jimin literally cannot come up with anything else to say. He is in love with Min Yoongi. It terrifies him to no end.

Jimin hadn’t meant to tell anyone about the brief non-moment he and Yoongi shared in the midst of the bustling Starbucks, but Tae and Jeongguk confronted him about it almost immediately, claiming his face said everything they needed to know even before he opened his mouth. That moment had felt surreal, and it shouldn’t have meant anything; he shouldn’t have been transported just as he’d been while sitting in the blue glow of that Now Slurping! sign with Jeongguk. A little slice of their own universe. Maybe there were infinite slices of infinite universes and infinite possibilities of Yoongi and Jimin.

There has to be at least one universe where they work, he thinks to himself, at least one. 

He hopes it’s the one they’re in now.

There’s something about Jeongguk’s face as he looks at Jin, and vice versa, that makes Jimin’s heart ache just a fraction. He knows it’s silly for him to want something so desperately with Yoongi, but it’s hard when half of the relationship is already there. They’ve been casually sleeping together for months; if they could just get the emotional part worked out they might stand a chance.

Jimin sits up and pulls his knees to his chest, leans his head back against their terribly orange couch, and tries not to notice the way Jin’s arm tightens around Jeongguk’s shoulders every time he laughs at one of his own jokes. It’s awfully domestic and Jimin doesn’t even know if they actually have their feelings sorted, but it’s slightly discouraging that they seem to have gotten everything together in such a short period of time. 

Fuck. He needs to tell Yoongi.

Jimin abruptly stands and makes his way to their front door, grabbing his wallet and keys on his way.

“Jimin-ah, where are you going? Our drama is coming back on!” Jimin doesn’t acknowledge Tae, doesn’t even look back, just runs an anxious hand through his fringe and closes the door on his way out.

***

When he knocks on Yoongi’s door, he hasn’t planned a thing. 

Jimin doesn’t know what he’ll say—honestly, he’s afraid he’ll just word vomit every disgustingly endearing thing he’s been thinking for the past month (has it been longer?) and he’ll embarrass the fuck out of himself. He breathes in, breathes out.

There’s no answer.

Jimin tries again, knocks until his knuckles turn red and ache from the rough wood of the door until—

The door opens and there’s a bleary Yoongi standing in front of him, wiping the sleep from his eyes. God.

“Jiminie?” He asks.

“Were you napping?” It’s all he can think to say back. Yoongi just squints at him in response before opening the door a little wider. That’s all the invitation Jimin needs to siddle through the entryway, taking care not to touch Yoongi on his way in. He doesn’t know how this conversation is going to go, especially with a Yoongi who’s just been forced from his bed. 

He faces the living room, his back to Yoongi, until he hears the sound of Yoongi clearing his throat from behind him.

“Did you need something, Jimin?” Yoongi sounds tired, but Yoongi is always tired so Jimin tries not to let that discourage him. Wringing his fingers together, he turns around.

The look on Yoongi’s face makes it clear that he wants nothing more than to go back to sleep, and Jimin can’t help but think that he’s about to ruin everything they have. They never laid a foundation for this, never made ground rules, so he doesn’t even know if he’s crossed any lines in growing attached. 

He’s totally and utterly fucked. He can’t do this.

“So, we can’t sleep together anymore.” 

That’s not Jimin was supposed to say. 

He knows that’s not what he came here to say; he came here to confess his feelings, not to cut ties. But it’s scary, and it means change, and at least this is a change that he can control.

Yoongi blinks once, blinks twice. “What?”

“Yeah, I mean—I mean we just, we just can’t. It needs to stop now.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, and he desperately tries to get a grip. Jimin is so stupid, always letting his emotions get the better of him. Yoongi’s brow furrows.

“Are you—why?” 

Jimin’s throat is dry—when did it get so hot?—and he can’t bring himself to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Doesn’t want to know what he’ll see if he does, scared at the lack of emotion he might find there, no matter what Yoongi’s voice cracking might imply.

“It’s just. Things are getting complicated and it has to end, so like—sorry.” His mouth is forming the words faster than his brain can think them and, if he was scared he’d ruined everything before, he certainly has now. Yoongi isn’t moving and Jimin is afraid he might cry, wants to take it all back already, but he can’t and it’s all just so terrifying.

“I’m not sure I understand.” The perpetually calm timbre of Yoongi’s voice slices into Jimin’s panicked thoughts and he notices that stupid beige coat hanging on the back of a chair at the breakfast bar.

“Jimin, what’s going on?” Yoongi says it so softly, so tenderly, that Jimin lets himself believe it’s because he’s upset too. But just like Jin had said about Yoongi fixing Jimin’s earring, Yoongi is just nice. Despite his hardened exterior and constant nonchalance, Yoongi is just a really nice person and Jimin can just be really, really stupid sometimes.

Jimin doesn’t acknowledge the question, still can’t meet Yoongi’s gaze.

“That’s—yep that’s what I came to say, so I’ll. I’m going now.”

Jimin moves forward towards the front door. 

How could he have been so sure of himself such a short time ago, sitting on the floor of his shitty apartment’s living room? How could things have gone so incredibly wrong in such a small stretch of time?

Jimin only makes it a few steps before Yoongi’s hand is on his wrist, tugging him to a stop.

“No.”

Jimin doesn’t turn around, doesn’t respond, afraid he’s going to keep making things worse no matter what he says.

“No, you don’t get to have your dramatic exit, Jimin. You’re going to turn around, look me in the eye, and explain.” 

God he is being dramatic; when did they become so dramatic?

Jimin can’t breathe, doesn’t know what to do so he tears his arm from Yoongi’s grasp and makes for the door. If he can just get away from Yoongi, get some space, he’ll be able to think clearly. 

Yoongi isn’t having that. 

“Jimin,” he reaches out to catch Jimin’s arm again, “Jimin, wait. Where are you going,” Yoongi demands, doesn’t ask. His tone is flat now, and Jimin senses the anger as it bleeds into the sound of his voice.

“I just—I’m trying to figure some things out, hyung. Sorry, we can talk later.” He has no intention of talking later, as this entire conversation has been absolutely mortifying. He makes it to the door and it swings open before he can even touch the knob.

Namjoon is there, a massive smile spread across his face, and Jimin is so flustered that he just barely catches himself before tripping over his own feet and into the other man.

“Jimin-ah! You’re here! Just wait until you hear the news, you won’t believe this!” His eyes travel from Jimin’s face to where Yoongi is standing behind him and must not sense the tension, somehow doesn’t notice Jimin’s panic, because all he does is exclaim Yoongi’s name next. “They’ve accepted it, Yoongi! They like our song! The label actually wants to work with us as a trial run for future projects!” 

The look on Namjoon’s face is absolutely ecstatic, he’s glowing with pride, and Jimin peeks over his shoulder to see the conflicting emotions flit across Yoongi’s face as he registers what he’s just heard.

“They liked it,” he repeats more to himself than to anyone else. “They want to work with us? They want to work with us!” He’s happy now, and that makes Jimin happy in turn even though his heart is still racing with anxiety. 

Namjoon forces his way through the door and scoops Yoongi up into a bear hug. Jimin distantly registers the sound of them laughing and slapping each other’s backs.

“That’s so great, I’m so proud of you guys. Knew you could do it.” Jimin’s voice sounds distant even to his own ears, like he’s speaking underwater. Like it’s filling his lungs and the pressure is building and building until the only thing he can think is I have to get out of here. 

He forces a smile onto his face and Yoongi looks back at him like he’s just remembered the conversation that had been interrupted. 

“I’ll let you guys celebrate. Congratulations again!” Jimin slips out the front door before Yoongi can grab him again, his name a faint whisper on Yoongi’s lips as Namjoon animatedly talks like nothing is amiss.

***

Min Yoongi

are we going to talk about it

5:16 pm

Min Yoongi

jimin

5:34 pm

Park Jimin

Congratulations on today

7:04 pm

Min Yoongi

?

7:06 pm

***

Turns out, Jimin really doesn’t want to talk about it. 

He doesn’t even want to think about it really—can’t imagine a world without Yoongi making snide comments about Jin’s dumb jokes or sitting together silently, contently, on opposite sides of the same couch. A world where they don’t sleep together, hold each other. 

It’s not like they were actually together, so why does it seem so hard to be apart?

Jimin doesn’t cry like he thought he would—turns out he isn’t quite that dramatic. He is, however, resolutely still ignoring it four days later when Jeongguk enters his room without knocking, eyes locked on the screen of his phone in front of him.

“What are you wearing?” Jeongguk doesn’t look up as he asks.

Jimin looks down at his white shirt and joggers.

“Uh, just a shirt but I was thinking of putting a sweater on,” he replies, brow furrowing and fingering the hem. Jeongguk finally looks up and spares a look down at Jimin’s outfit.

“You’re wearing that to Yoongi’s party?” Yoongi’s party?  

“Um,” is all Jimin manages to say before Jeongguk cuts him off.

“The party tonight that Yoongi and Joon are hosting,” he says slowly, like it will jog something in Jimin’s memory. “To celebrate the label choosing their song?” Jeongguk stares at him expectantly and all Jimin can do is blink in response.

“I was never invited to any party,” he says as he gets up from his bed. An alarming amount of pops sound from his body as he stands, and he reminds himself that that’s what happens when he spends too long in one position. 

He shouldn’t be mad about not being invited if he was the one who technically ended things with Yoongi, right?

“Yoongi didn’t invite you? That’s weird. He probably just assumed you’d already be there.” Jimin doesn’t correct him as Jeongguk moves toward his closet and begins rifling through the clothes there. Jimin sighs, not wanting to go to the party but also not wanting to have to explain why.

“Yeah, I can’t go, I’ve got coursework to do. Exams coming up, you know,” he says as he shuts the closet doors and nudges Jeongguk out of the way. Standing in front of the closet, Jimin leans against the doors and puts on his most convincing smile, the one that makes his eyes go all squinty. “Have fun though.” 

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t have any exams coming up, you took them all last week. You’re coming.” He sounds firm, confident, but Jimin can be stubborn too. 

Jimin crosses his arms. “I’m really not going, sorry Kook. Maybe another time, I need to rehearse more for the showcase. Tell them congratulations for me.” 

The thought of Jeongguk wishing Yoongi congratulations in his place causes Jimin a twinge of guilt, but the idea of actually going to the party and seeing Yoongi in person feels even worse. What would he even say? Would he even be able to look Yoongi in the eyes? 

Stop thinking about it.

Debating it will only make him feel worse, and he just wants a night to himself, no thoughts of broken hearts or loneliness, or missed opportunities.

Jeongguk levels him with a determined look, eyes round and mouth firm. 

In a flash, he shoves Jimin away from the closet.

“Hey!” Jimin exclaims, but Jeongguk is too preoccupied with Jimin’s clothes, pulling out some inevitably sheer top and tight pants.

Jeongguk ignores his protest. “Okay, these should work. We’re leaving at nine, so do something with your hair before then please.” Jimin reaches up to touch his hair; it isn’t that oily.

“Kook—” he starts but Jeongguk cuts him off, pushing the clothes he’d selected into Jimin’s hands.

“If you say you’re not going I’ll throw you into the shower myself.” Jimin’s mouth snaps shut at that. “You’ve been basically sleeping at the studio for the last four days, Jimin, you practice enough as it is. You need sunlight, hyung—you need to have some fun. I’m doing this for your own good.”

The grip Jimin has on his clothing tightens as he petulantly grumbles, “What sunlight, it’s already getting dark.” 

Jeongguk moves to push him again but Jimin dances out of reach, a high pitched sound escaping from him as he goes.

“Alright, alright! But I’m not staying for long. And if I have to watch you and Jin go at it like dogs I’m leaving immediately.” 

Jeongguk just smiles sweetly in return. “Now that’s what I like to hear. And the phrase is ‘go at it like rabbits’, which we do. Frequently.” 

“Ugh.” His nose scrunches and he waves Jeongguk from his room, backing him out through the doorway.

As soon as he’s gone, Jimin sits on the edge of his bed, clothing in hand. He can do this. He just has to go long enough to satisfy Jeongguk and then slip back out when no one is paying attention. 

He might not even run into Yoongi at all.

***

He runs into Yoongi when he’s on his second drink.

The party is crowded and Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi knows half of the people here; they must have been invited by Namjoon. It’s dark, but someone brought a karaoke machine with a disco ball attached that’s bathing everything in scattered dots of light, fractured slices of white that shine on every surface, every person, in the living room and in the open kitchen.

There’s some psychedelic pop song being sung in the background. Jimin can hear the person crooning I miss ramen noodles and laughing at you over all of the chatter, and he thinks it’s funny how applicable those words are right now. It’s not all that loud, the volume relatively low due to the fact that they’re still in an apartment complex, but there are more people than Jimin thought could actually fit in the apartment itself.

He’s sipping on something fruity that Jin pushed into his hands before tugging Jeongguk away and getting lost in the crowd. It tastes faintly of vodka and blue raspberry and lemonade, and Jimin reminds himself to ask Jin about it later. There’s someone smoking nearby and it clouds the air around him. Something about the way the lights pass through it reminds Jimin of the clouds after a storm—dissipating but trying to regain balance in the wake of the disturbance. What he and Yoongi have is kind of like that, Jimin thinks. Never strong enough to conquer the storm, but always steadfast enough to weather it (he hopes).

And then he sees Yoongi and all he can focus on is the pulsating music and their conversation from four days ago as it plays on a loop in the back of his mind.

Hands, knees, please, tangerine, sugar, honey, sweet

Got what I need, tangerine

Yoongi hasn’t seen him yet, and Jimin hopes his black clothes help him blend into the dark corner he’s been hiding in since he got there earlier. Yoongi is wearing a shirt Jimin immediately recognizes as his own, a silky, iridescent silver—almost blue—button up that leaves nothing to the imagination. Jimin silently curses to himself and takes another drink, great.

Watching Yoongi is pure torture, and Jimin is fully aware that he’s only doing it to himself.

If he had just told Yoongi how he feels, told him that he’s been going insane, maybe he would be out there with Yoongi now as he’s congratulated time and time again. Every person he passes claps a hand to his back and Jimin can make out the shape of his lips each time he says thank you, really. Jimin could be on the receiving end of that smile.

But Jimin could also be on the receiving end of a rejection and he really doesn’t think he can handle that. Movies make moving on look easy, and dramas make everything a bit too dramatic, so there has to be some middle ground there. But Jimin really doesn’t want to find out. Doesn’t want to have to face Yoongi if he doesn’t return Jimin’s feelings. 

It’s all so ridiculous and repetitive to him; he knows his thoughts are going in circles and that he’s not actively solving anything by stewing on it. He just doesn’t really know what else to do.

Yoongi sips his beer as It’ll never be okay, you’re a star of the past, gonna miss that sweet little tangerine plays in the background.

The lights from the disco ball suddenly turn neon and Jimin can see the way half of Yoongi’s face is bathed in bright pink, his shirt reflecting the color almost blindingly. There’s a metaphor there somewhere about how bright Yoongi shines, but all Jimin can focus on is how Yoongi, unbeknownst to him, is slowly making his way towards Jimin through the crowd.

Jimin looks around for an escape route. He also can’t look away.

The lights dance along the left side of Yoongi’s face, first purple then blue, and then back to pink again as he wades through the kitchen and further into the living room. He’s making sure everyone is having a good time, gracious host that he is.

Hands, knees, please, tangerine, sugar, honey, sweet

Jimin decides then that it’s time for him to leave.

Attracting Yoongi’s attention will just bring up what happened and he doesn’t want to ruin the party, doesn’t want to be the reason Yoongi can’t celebrate his hard earned success. So he turns from the sight of Yoongi washed in the rapidly changing strobe lights and slips out through the front door, got what I need, tangerine echoing behind him.

***

He’s still walking home when he checks his phone and sees an unread message waiting for him.

Jeongguk

where are u? if u left i will be murderign  u

10:15 pm

Jimin rolls his eyes at the empty (and drunkenly misspelled) threat.

Park Jimin

Felt sick, walking home now. Don’t kill me!! Be safe!!!!!

10:20 pm

Jeongguk

gonna kill u tmrw but jinnie is taking care of me dw

10:22 pm

Jimin pockets his phone as he continues walking, the night sky seemingly endless above him. The stars remind him of standing outside of that club, the cold air sobering him up much like it had that night as well. Only this time Yoongi isn’t there to get him riled back up again.

When he finally makes it to his building, the complex’s elevator is broken and it must be an omen for how the past week has gone, so Jimin takes his time climbing the stairs. The fluorescent lights are harsh on his eyes when he opens the door to the stairway, and he’s dreading having to walk up three flights while still mildly drunk. The wood of the stairs is chipped in some places but he can smell the fresh coat of paint on the white walls so he figures at least their management is trying.

He eventually opens their apartment door, back of the orange couch coming into view as he flicks the light on and kicks his shoes off. Jimin gulps down a glass of water to sober himself a little more before taking his phone back out of his pocket. There are two more unread messages from Jeongguk that he missed after stowing his phone earlier. 

Jimin has to squint to make the small print come into focus.

Jeongguk

yoongi isasking ab u. told him u were here butleft. said to judt go talk to u himself!!!

10:23 pm

Jeongguk

dw i told him tonknock first

10:23 pm

He rereads the messages once, then rereads them again. Jeongguk did what?

Park Jimin

You told him to come here??

10:40 pm

Park Jimin

Jeongguk, is Yoongi on his way here?

10:40 pm

After no response to either message, Jimin tries calling Jeongguk only for it to go straight to voicemail. If Yoongi really is on his way to Jimin’s, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. How do you make small talk with someone you kind of broke up with even though you weren’t actually dating? 

Jimin tries calling Jeongguk three more times, but each of them goes unanswered.

And then, because of course his life is a fucking drama, there’s a knock at the door. 

***

Yoongi is still wearing Jimin’s shirt.

He’s out of breath, like he’d run here, and it’s funny, Jimin thinks, that Yoongi is so disheveled when he’s usually the most put together person Jimin knows. Jimin just looks at him through the open door, doesn’t say anything—can’t say anything—as Yoongi catches his breath, shirt sticking to him in the cruelest way.

“You came to my party,” Yoongi pants.

“Yeah,” Jimin nods. The door is wide open between them but Yoongi stays just a step beyond the frame. The hallway light flickers like Yoongi is taking up every ounce of energy in the space around them. 

“You didn’t say anything.” It could almost pass for a question.

Jimin doesn’t know what to say to that, so all he says is, “No.” 

Yoongi huffs out a sharp laugh and leans his head back to look at the ceiling, breathing in deeply.

“That’s really not fair,” he says as he looks back to Jimin’s face. “I was trying to give you the space you wanted but you come to my apartment without even talking to me?”

“Sorry,” is all he can think to reply. The hair at the nape of Yoongi’s neck sticks to his skin with sweat and Jimin feels cornered. He brings one hand up to the back of his neck, he can already feel his heartbeat starting to surge at the idea of a confrontation.

Yoongi’s face turns hard. “Don’t say sorry like you’re going to avoid this again. You ignore me and then end things for no reason, but then still show up to my place.” Yoongi sucks air in through his teeth. “You don’t get to have it both ways, Jimin. Tell me what you want from me, one way or the other, but you need to commit to it. I’m right fucking here, just talk to me.” 

Jimin looks away from Yoongi, breath huffing out of him sharply because he knows. Yoongi is standing right in front of him and Jimin is still finding it hard to confess his feelings.

It kills Jimin to think that Yoongi is hurting in any way. Jimin is pissed at himself, because why is being honest just so fucking hard. Everything leading up to this has been Jimin running away from his feelings, running away from potentially ruining what he and Yoongi have, but he’s already done that.

Yoongi has caught his breath now and Jimin is sick of being indecisive, of getting tripped up every time he tries to say what he wants to say. 

“I have this thing about wanting to be in control,” Jimin blurts. He runs his fingers through his fringe roughly before continuing. “I just don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen. But I know that I can’t control the future, and I can’t control other people’s feelings. I can control myself though and I’ve been a massive dick.” His voice sounds strangled and he doesn't know what to do with his hands.

Yoongi starts at that but Jimin continues. 

“Nothing really scares me quite like you, because all I know is that you’re just cool with me, but I’ve been so wrapped up in my own head that I haven’t stopped to consider anything else—anyone else.” Jimin’s hands fidget at his sides, moving erratically as he tries to gather his thoughts. “It’s bullshit, really, that things have gotten this out of hand. Fuck, I didn’t want this to be so dramatic,” he laughs self-depricatingly, tugging at his collar. “I didn’t plan on having this big moment where I finally tell you that I love you and then get all emotional, that just—wasn’t part of it. But we’re here now so—”

“Christ,” he hears Yoongi say and then Yoongi is on him, kissing him, and Jimin immediately responds in kind. 

Yoongi’s hands slide over his jaw, into his hair, and it’s all Jimin can do to keep from jumping into his arms. Jimin clings to him, hands never settling in one place, getting their fill after not having touched Yoongi in what feels like forever. 

They’re still standing on the threshold of the doorway so Jimin moves them inside, haphazardly closing the door behind them.

“You absolute—idiot,” Yoongi pants into his mouth. They’re moving through the living room and the orange couch is suddenly beneath Jimin as Yoongi pushes him down. 

The only light in the apartment is coming from the kitchen by the entryway and it lands on Yoongi’s face in the softest way, illuminating his black hair and making his eyes gleam in the darkness. Jimin is out of breath and he can’t tell if it’s from how he was just being kissed or from the sight of Yoongi standing above him.

Yoongi drops to his knees in front of the couch, leaning in to press their mouths back together. It’s hot and wet as Yoongi licks into Jimin’s mouth, tongue meeting his in a way that sets Jimin on fire. One of Yoongi’s hands tangles in Jimin’s hair while the other frames his jaw, and Jimin leans into the touch like he’s starving.

Yoongi pulls away just for a moment. “You’re the only one who believes that I could ever be just cool with you.” He lets out a laugh. Jimin jerks his head back.

“What?” Jimin huffs.

Yoongi stares at him for a moment, face just a breath away. “We’ve been fucking for months,” he says, “and you couldn’t even talk to me?” He leans back in and Jimin’s hands are sliding down Yoongi’s arms where they’re stretched between them, slipping over his shoulders before spanning across Yoongi’s ribs. His fingers fit in the divots between each bone and he never wants to leave, never wants to give this up again.

“I just—” Jimin tries to breathe between kisses. “I didn’t know how to tell you. Didn’t want to push you away. Didn’t want to lose you.” 

Yoongi’s fingers are undoing the buttons of his shirt then, the fabric slowly slipping from Jimin’s chest as he pops each one open. The shirt hangs limply from Jimin’s shoulders and Yoongi reaches a hand in to rub along his chest, Jimin’s nipples hardening beneath his touch. 

Jimin returns the favor and peels Yoongi’s shirt from him as well, his pale skin glowing in the low light. Yoongi’s grip tightens as he pushes Jimin to lie flat along the couch, stretching above him and pinning Jimin’s wrists to the arm.

He’s nosing along Jimin’s jaw as he says, “But you did push me away, didn’t you? And after I tried so hard with your friends too.” Yoongi brushes kisses along his neck and Jimin swallows audibly. “Been waiting for so long for you to finally realize,” he grumbles into the hollow of Jimin’s throat.

“Realize what?” Jimin breathes, a small noise escaping him as Yoongi continues lower. 

Yoongi doesn’t stop, just keeps shifting further down until he’s low enough to work on the zip of Jimin’s jeans. He watches as Yoongi pulls them down Jimin’s legs before dropping them to the floor, and it takes everything Jimin has to keep his hands on the arm of the couch above his head. Jimin’s briefs still cling to his hips though and Yoongi lets a fingertip trail the edge of the waistband. 

“Realize,” Yoongi starts, one finger dipping below the briefs and a wicked gleam in his eyes. He pulls his hand back to rub over the hardness he finds there. Jimin gasps at the sudden friction.

“Fuck,” he pants and Yoongi’s eyes never leave his face.

“Realize,” Yoongi repeats, his hand never letting up. “Just how hard I’ve been dating you.”

Jimin can’t forget about Yoongi’s hand rubbing against him—couldn’t even if he tried—but what Yoongi says definitely pulls him out of the moment because that’s. Dating.

What?

Jimin reaches down to grab Yoongi’s wrist. “Not that I’m not loving this but. What? You have not been dating me. I think I would know if you were dating me.” He leans up and props himself on his elbows to get a better look at Yoongi’s face, flicking the hair from where it falls into his eyes. Yoongi just looks annoyed—aroused, but annoyed nonetheless. It’s Jimin’s favorite look on him.

“Jimin-ah, please just. Please shut up and let me date you. I love you too.” Yoongi looks like talking at this moment is the most arduous thing in the world, but Jimin could honestly get off from just those words alone.

Jimin takes a deep breath, processing the words before a grin slowly spreads across his face. He tackles Yoongi back onto the couch, now on top of him and kissing him fiercely; hands raking through Yoongi’s dark hair like his fingers were made to be there. Jimin had spent so long agonizing over Yoongi’s reaction that he never really let himself believe Yoongi would return his feelings—worried so much about making some grand gesture when it was Yoongi who made one in the end, running from his own party and straight into Jimin’s arms.

“I’m so stupid,” Jimin pants. 

“So stupid. Perpetually stupid,” Yoongi agrees easily, hands on Jimin’s back and pulling him even closer.

Jimin inhales Yoongi, and exhales happiness.

He’s the one trailing down Yoongi’s body now, knows that Yoongi likes it when they play this game. When Jimin pretends to be in control even when he’s just waiting for Yoongi to egg him on, praise him for being good. Jimin mouths down Yoongi’s throat, down his chest to his toned stomach, just light enough to leave Yoongi groaning in frustration. 

Jimin is still only in his black briefs and Yoongi still has his pants and shoes on, so he pulls Yoongi’s shoes off before reaching up to pop the button of his pants. Jimin’s fingers undo Yoongi’s zip as he sucks a bruise onto his ribs, biting down occasionally before soothing the skin with his tongue. 

Pulling away, he slips Yoongi’s pants from his legs and looks up to meet his gaze. Yoongi is just staring at him from where he’s propped against the arm of the couch. Mouth wet and red, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed; Yoongi looks like something straight out of a dirty magazine. Jimin can’t wait much longer, wants every part of Yoongi he can have now that he knows what this actually is.

“My bed,” he says, voice hoarse. “My bed now, please,” and Yoongi groans at having to stand but does it anyway.

They make their way across the living room, hands never leaving each other and hips bumping furniture along the way. When they finally get to Jimin’s bedroom door, he pulls away to open it and leads Yoongi inside.

Jimin immediately falls backwards onto the mattress and pulls Yoongi on top of him. The sheets are already ruffled and Yoongi nestles between Jimin’s legs, one knee pressed firmly between Jimin’s thighs as a cruel taste of what’s to come.

“Yoongi-yah,” Jimin sighs into Yoongi’s mouth. His arms lock tightly around Yoongi’s shoulders and Yoongi’s hands rake up and down his sides, but Jimin wants more.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Yoongi reassures him.

Jimin knows he does, is the thing. Yoongi is just always there—always catches Jimin by the wrist before he can fall, and always takes care of him during sex.

Jimin rolls away just long enough to turn on the lamp and rifle through his bedside table for a condom and lube. Yoongi takes them both delicately, eyes never leaving Jimin’s face.

“There’s so much I wanna do to you, always so much I want when I’m with you,” Yoongi says quietly. Jimin flushes at that, one hand coming up to press against his own cheek, willing the heat to fade. Yoongi always gets so intense during sex and it drives Jimin wild.

Yoongi sits back on his knees and watches Jimin intently, looking absolutely devastating in the low light.

“You look so good, Jimin-ah. Annoying really, how good you look.” A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips and Jimin grins, blushing harder even though he loves the attention.

“Shut up and fuck me then.” Jimin can’t help the smile that spreads across his mouth. Yoongi huffs a laugh before flipping Jimin onto his front, a small gasp leaving him at the sudden friction against his cock.

“Alright, baby. We’ll do it your way then.” 

Yoongi wastes no time as he strips Jimin's briefs off and then spreads his thighs, leaning down to lick him open. Jimin’s eyes go wide at that, exhaling sharply and eyes rolling to the back of his head. If Jimin thought he was hard before, he’s absolutely aching now.

“Fuck,” he breathes into the duvet and he can feel Yoongi smile against him.

Yoongi’s hands are kneading the flesh of his thighs, tongue getting him wet and messy all over. This is one of Yoongi’s favorite things to do—one of Jimin’s favorite things too—and it feels so fucking good every time.

Yoongi’s mouth is hot against him, fingers digging into Jimin’s skin like he can’t get enough, and Jimin is hot. Skin sticks to skin as Yoongi devours him, Jimin’s fists clenching the duvet and accidentally knocking the pillows from the bed as he squirms. 

“Be good,” Yoongi pants and the noise Jimin lets out in response is shameful.

Yoongi noses along Jimin’s cheeks as he pulls back, hands moving to pull Jimin up onto his knees and gripping him so tightly Jimin is sure there will be marks come morning. 

His fingers brush up Jimin’s thighs before he hears Yoongi uncapping the lube behind him, taking care to warm it between his fingers first. 

Jimin jumps at Yoongi’s touch when his fingers nudge against him, rubbing in small circles to let Jimin get used to the sensation. Yoongi folds himself over Jimin’s back carefully, not wanting to rush.

“Ah,” Jimin sighs as Yoongi’s fingers press forward to open him up so nicely that it aches—deeply, desperately. He’s always so gentle in the beginning, and Jimin especially appreciates it now that they haven’t fucked in almost a week.

He’s steadily working Jimin into a frenzy, his pace never faltering. Jimin makes an effort not to touch himself, wants this to last, so he only barely rocks against the mattress for friction to take the edge off. He pushes back against Yoongi too, silently asking for more, and Yoongi’s other hand comes up gently to his throat.

“Don’t be greedy,” he says into Jimin’s ear. “I thought you were being good.”

Jimin doesn’t mean to whine in response, it’s involuntary, but Yoongi refuses to change his pace, moving steadily in and out of Jimin both cruelly and beautifully.

“Nngh,” Jimin groans but Yoongi doesn’t let up, just fingers him to the point that Jimin feels the corners of his eyes going damp. 

He blinks the wetness away though and turns his face into Yoongi’s cheek to say, “Come on, fuck me.” 

Jimin can feel Yoongi’s sharp exhale against his cheek. “You gonna do what I tell you?”

“Never,” he grins before Yoongi hits a spot inside of him that makes Jimin gasp.

“Then I guess I won’t be fucking you,” Yoongi says nonchalantly, like this isn’t affecting him just as much.

Three fingers in and they’re both panting heavily against each other, Jimin forcing himself not to reach down and get himself off. Yoongi’s hand is still on Jimin’s throat, and his rings just barely bite into Jimin’s skin. His fingers are wrapped just tight enough to keep Jimin’s head up and facing the headboard. Jimin doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to hold out—he’s glad that Yoongi’s hand is at his neck, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do when that hand inevitably moves to other parts of his body.

Then Yoongi’s fingers slip out of him, suddenly leaving him empty before Jimin is rolled onto his back. 

Yoongi looks at him as he shuffles out of his briefs. “Only giving in because you admitted to loving me, even if you didn’t actually say it to me.” They’re both still breathing hard as Yoongi gets completely undressed, Jimin’s eyes trailing down his smooth body and lingering over all of the bruises he’d left with his mouth.

“What do you mean I didn’t say it? I said it,” Jimin breathes as Yoongi reaches for the condom.

“No, you said it while you were monologuing,” Yoongi corrects, tearing the foil packet. “You didn’t tell me.” He’s rolling the condom on now, picking the lube back up, and Jimin doesn’t want to look away, but his eyes flit up to Yoongi’s face.

“I told you. We said it to each other. Now please will you fuck me?” Jimin’s tone sounds eerily similar to begging, but he doesn’t really care at this point. He will beg if needs to.

Yoongi just wraps a hand around one of Jimin’s ankles and tugs him down the bed.

“I’ll let it go this time,” Yoongi compromises, “but after this I’m not fucking you until you say it. To my face. That you love me.” Jimin rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue—he does love Yoongi. Loves him so much it hurts. But this little game they’re playing, this back and forth, is what they’ve always been about. This is what sex used to feel like between them: easy, fun, hot. It makes Jimin curse himself for being so caught up in his own head for so long.

Yoongi scoots up the bed and lifts Jimin’s legs to wrap around his narrow hips, sliding forward until his thighs support Jimin’s lower back.

“Not sure I do anymore actually,” Jimin starts, but then Yoongi is pressing into him smoothly and something deep in Jimin’s body aches at the feeling.

“Ah fuck,” Jimin breathes, head snapping back to lay flat against the mattress. 

Yoongi gives him a moment to adjust, rubbing the tops of his thighs and conveniently ignoring how hard Jimin is just inches away from his fingertips. One of Jimin’s hands reaches forward to brush against his cock before Yoongi’s hand is there grabbing him by the wrist.

“Come on now, Jimin-ah. Want this to last.” Yoongi doesn’t let go of Jimin, one hand circling his wrist and the other braced against his thigh as he slowly starts to rock back and forth. Jimin’s eyes squeeze shut at the sensation, breathing deeply and focusing on how deep he can feel Yoongi inside of him.

Yoongi readjusts then, smoothly handling both of Jimin’s wrists and pinning them above his head, folding Jimin so that his ankles cross behind Yoongi’s back. It pushes Yoongi even deeper inside of him and Jimin lets out a low moan. Yoongi pulls out almost completely before sliding back in.

“Yoongi-yah,” he pants, “please—more—please.”

Yoongi doesn’t disappoint, starts moving faster, deeper, and Jimin is so overwhelmed. One of Yoongi’s hands keeps Jimin’s wrists above his head but the other comes down to grip the back of Jimin’s thigh, using it as leverage to move faster.

It’s all Jimin can do to keep himself from crying out. Yoongi is ethereal above him, dark hair hanging between their faces and eyes cast down to where their bodies meet in tandem. Jimin’s hips roll to meet every thrust, the muscles in his thighs straining as he does. The hand on Jimin’s thigh moves to the small of his back, angling him to Yoongi’s liking as his pace turns punishing.

Jimin doesn’t think he can hold out much longer, he’s been hard for what feels like forever, but he also can’t get there untouched.

“Touch me,” he gasps. “Please, I need—”

Yoongi pulls away for the briefest of moments, uncapping the lube before his hand is suddenly on Jimin, stroking him in time with his thrusts and thumbing the head on every pull. Noises are pouring from Jimin’s mouth; he can’t help it. Yoongi releases Jimin’s wrists to put a clean hand on the side of his face, leaning down to kiss him deeply.

Jimin’s entire body seizes as he comes, every part of him clenching and time standing still. His stomach is sticky with it but he's in absolute bliss, a high that Jimin will never get tired of.

When he comes down, Yoongi is still fucking him and Jimin is oversensitive but he wants to be good for Yoongi; lets Yoongi use him however he wants. His face is buried in Jimin’s neck and he’s talking mindlessly—Jimin wonders if he even knows what he’s saying.

“God, look so good,” Yoongi says. “Always so good for me. So pretty. Love you so much.” 

"You love me," Jimin mumbles into Yoongi's hair.

"I really, really do," Yoongi groans in return, pace never faltering.

Jimin can feel his eyelashes sticking together, but he can’t remember when he started crying. 

He lets himself go absolutely pliant, just docile enough for Yoongi to move him as he pleases. Jimin reaches a hand up to Yoongi’s face, soft and sweet even as Yoongi continues to fuck him into the mattress, and—

“I love you too.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi lets out a breathless laugh as it sends him over the edge. “No fair,” he groans. 

“Yes fair,” Jimin replies and clutches Yoongi closer with a grin.

***

The first time Park Jimin wears his beige coat, Yoongi knows he’s in love.

It happens two months into them sleeping together and Yoongi isn’t really shocked by the revelation. Jimin is breathtaking and hardworking and kind, even if he’s chaotic too. He’s all of these things but still somehow thinks he’s never enough, which is obviously bullshit and it drives Yoongi insane.

Jimin is one of the few people who makes the world stop spinning so fast, makes Yoongi’s deafening anxiety fade into background noise—makes the heaviness in his bones disappear. Jimin doesn’t solve Yoongi’s problems, but he gives Yoongi the courage to face them himself, even if he doesn’t realize it. He’s one of the only people who will sit quietly on the opposite side of the couch from Yoongi as he works on his music, creating the kind of calm atmosphere Yoongi can’t find anywhere outside of his studio. 

So, Yoongi debates whether to tell Jimin that the coat belongs to him, but ultimately decides against it. He likes the way it looks on Jimin, and especially likes the way it smells of him every time he inevitably leaves it in Yoongi’s apartment. He doesn’t want the coat to lose that Jimin-smell is all; he thinks it smells something vaguely like home. 

Every time Yoongi sees it, he’s happy with his purchase.