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What do you do when your straight friend calls you at the ass crack of dawn, asking you about the mechanics of how to have gay sex, when you have been crushing on said straight friend with a heartboner the size of the Eiffel Tower?
â
Or, the one where Taehyung is too curious for his own good and Yoongi takes it in stride the best that he can.
One second, Jimin is staring at the back of Taehyungâs head, exactly where he should be, until the two of them need to slide away to create space for Jungkook to step forward.
The next, a sudden jolt to the core has him veering off into the completely opposite direction.
What the fuck?!
â-
Or, the one where Yoongi wants to play and Jimin just wants to brush his damn teeth.
a twt has been made if ur interested in chaptered fic updates, headcanons, maybe social media aus (KEY TERM MAYBE), and just generally me crying over one park jimin, love of my existence, apple of mine eye ;u; this has been a psa.
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âHow are you so casual about this?!â Heâs still screaming, voice going a bit shrill.
âWell, Iâshit happens? I guess?â
âHoly shit,â the breath is punched right out of Jiminâs lungs as a thought occurs to him. âFuck! Does this mean everyone online can see?! Is my dick being broadcast internationally?!â
â-
Or, the one where Jimin is a really big Jungkook stan and he accidentally manages to connect with him via a glitch on V Live? While heâs in the shower? Dick hanging out?
âHow the fuck did this even happen?â Yoongi glares, reaching for a napkin and yanking it across his mouth.
âDo I really need to go over the Birds and Bees with you,â Jimin says flatly. âBecause if you think I will, then you have another thingââ
âYou little shit. That is not what I meant and you know it,â Yoongi intercepts, unamused. âI thought you were on suppressors.â
âI was,â Jimin intones, staring blankly out the window thatâs crystallized around the edges from the bitter winter frost. âIâve been taking suppressors religiously since I was fifteen years old. I would be the fucking zero point zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, one percent statistic.â
â-Â
Or, the one where Jimin finds out he's pregnant and sacrifices the love of his life in order to save said loveâs career.
itâs a beautiful sunny day with not a cloud to be seen in the pristine sky above, birds chirping, flowers dancing, and puppies rolling about in the lush green grassâŚ
somewhere out there in the fucking world, but definitely not here.
with a weary sigh, yoongi stares off into the long, long distance, thinking about the million and one better things he could be doing aside from standing in the middle of this deadass terminal, waiting for the next red eye flight that will take him from point a to point b.
travel worn as he is, he canât even remember where heâs supposed to be at the moment, or where heâs going. not like it matters. yoongi honestly doesnât even care. heâs just longing for the stiff, generically detergent scented comfort of a hotel bed so he can at least remain horizontal as he drifts off into dreamless half-asleep, half-awake limbo.
it feels like itâs been a century and half since yoongi had last felt even remotely well rested, which does nothing to ease the exhausted irritation that will rear its ugly head and cause him to snap at the next innocent victim to unwittingly incur his sleep deprived wrath.
then yoongi will feel guilty for making jimin or hoseok cry, and itâll make him feel even shittier than he did before, making him more agitated and pushed to his witâs utter end that only adds onto his burning ire.
he doesnât mean to be a grouchy bitch, but sometimes justâŚ
smooth fingers slide in to curve into his own, and tired as he is, yoongi turns to cock a bemused brow at jungkook standing next to him, gazing out the darkened window reflecting the godforsaken terminal, their own reflections somewhat hazy from the proximity to the frosty glass.
âwhy are you holding my hand?â yoongi comments, much as one would about the weather, or a book, or the latest surge in value of cryptocurrency.
âbecuase it fits perfectly with mine,â jungkook replies, matching yoongiâs matter of fact tone as if itâs the most obvious thing in the world. duh.
âbut why is your hand on my hand?â yoongiâs brow rises a fraction of a millimeter higher, staring down at their entwined fingers and back up at the giant maknaeâs side profile, where a tiny grin is threatening to break free.
somewhere behind a couple feet to yoongiâs right, namjoonâs rumbling snore-snort hybrid rips through the silence. but no one seems to be phased by it in the slightest.
jungkook shrugs, rolling his hand out to lie flat, palm against palm, before slotting their fingers back together and squeezing all the more firmly.
âyouâre so weird,â yoongi turns back to gaze out into the inky depths, a whisper of a smile playing on his lips.
it doesnât change the fact that heâs still dead fucking tired, and in dire need of a hot shower and a bed.
if jungkook happens to become a factor in the sleeping arrangement that yoongi so desperately desires, he wonât really complain too much about it.
something foreign but altogether completely familiar
âthe fuck?â
âplease?â jimin all but whined, head tucked comfortably atop yoongiâs lap as both sets of fingers moved rapid-fire against his ps4 game controller.
âno,â yoongiâs green humanoid blob managed to shove jiminâs blue twerky thing to go plunging to his doom off a rotating blimp.Â
âhah!â taehyungâs screech could be heard through his headset. âteam taegi wildinâ out!â
âcome on, just one time,â jiminâs eyes remained glued to the tv screen where he adamantly tried to body flop his way over taehyungâs yellow goop man that tried to throw him off again âhoseok! you fuckinâ suck! youâre supposed to have my back!â
the only response received was a high pitched cackle-scream hybrid that had jimin flinching, probably bursting one of his eardrums as well. hoseokâs little red floppy dude went plummeting to his doom all on his own at the opposite end of the screen far from the melee going on between the other three players.
âyoongi please,â jimin was just that close of chucking his controller at the tv, nostrils flaring with annoyance at how crap he was at this game. âthree hours, tops.â
âfuck no,â yoongi effectively managed to nudge both jiminâs and taehyungâs characters off the blimp, sacrificing his own partner with no remorse. (âhey! what the heck!â). âwhat part of no donât you understand?â
âbut i said please,â jimin finally tossed his controller and waved his metaphoric white flag of surrender. he opted for rolling flat on his back and lifting his gaze to stare up at the underside of yoongiâs chin with the softest puppy pout he could muster. âi thought we were bros.â
âno,â yoongi somehow managed to continue playing with a single hand, freeing the other to produce a swift flick on jiminâs forehead (âow.â). âi am your elder, and you are a pint-sized peanut stuffed full of teenage gay angst and i donât know why i put up with you.â
granted, jimin supposed that was true. yoongi was technically two years his senior. but theyâd been practically biffles for life since childhood because their dads were fishing buddies. and jimin would rather have every last one of his teeth pulled out with steel pliers than to actually admit, but he picked this university for the sole purpose that it contained one min yoongi.
because.
best bros.
âbut i thought you were my fam,â jimin plopped his body like deadweight and stretched his full height across the couch. âmy homie for life, piĂąa to my colada, the half to my whole, soy to my latte-â
âyou can fuck right off with that.âÂ
 âand after all iâve done for you,â jimin swooned, arm tossed over his eyes in a dramatic effect. he snuck a peak to glance up at the pointy end of yoongiâs nose.
the elderâs eyebrow was in serious danger of shooting up and out through the roof. if jimin didnât know any better, and he liked to think he knew better than most, yoongiâs expression was definitely in danger of being permanently fixed the way it was, what with yoongiâs constant skepticism and no-fucking-nonsense-stick-up-his-ass-you-mess-with-me-i-will-shove-this-lamp-pole-up-your-fucking-dickhole attitude.
âpray tell, what exactly have you done for me?â
âlike that one time,â jimin started, straightening out from his maidenâs swoon and poking up at yoongiâs left piercing. âyou were thirsting over taehyung hardcore like the dehydrated prune ass bitch you are. and i had to step in and play cupid so you could finally man up the courage to tap dat.â
âdamn boiiiii!â hoseok screeched.
âexposed!â taehyung followed. âi know iâm hot shit and all but daaaaang!â
âi will literally set your hair on fire, you oversized carrot top,â yoongi gritted through clenched teeth where jimin caught a muscle twitch. (âyou love my glorious orange hair, donât lie.â)
jimin could truly say that episode had been one helluva fuckinâ ride, an experience. to be honest, yoongi seemed to be hellbent on pretending the entirety of last winter holidays had never happened, it was that embarrassing. in the end, jiminâs efforts had been in vain and yoongi snapped right the fuck out of it when he realized taehyung was not the soft, sweet cotton fluff he thought and a whole lot of nasty, panty dropping extra that could not be contained.
yoongi shot him a brief, tight lipped smile that looked more constipated than anything else.
âitâs true though,â hoseokâs mirth was clearly visible even through the shitty wifi connection. âjimin did do you a solid.â
âthe sex was really good though, you gotta admit.â
âfirst of all, you piece of shit,â yoongiâs game controller went to join jiminâs across the coffee table. âi did not thirst after taehyung-â
âyou were so thirsty your skin was flaking,â jimin smirked, shortly before he was shoved off the couch to land in a puddle at yoongiâs feet. âow, fuck that really hurt.â
âi am the king of gang beasts!â taehyungâs shrill deep voice echoed in jiminâs ears. âall hail king tae! bow, peasants, and kiss my feet!â
âthe fucking disrespect,â yoongiâs toe nudge into jiminâs side, making him jerk sideways half under the table. âit was mid winter and i have eczema you snot rag. second of all,â yoongi continued on his tirade and jimin wheezed with laughter. âwhat you managed to do was set everyone up for fuckinâ centuries of cringeworthy humiliation that is bound to have my descendants curling in misery.â
âyouâre so dramatic,â jimin smiled fondly, rolling back out from under the table and sitting himself up. he rested his chin along his arms crossed on the edge of the sofa by yoongiâs knees. âi totally helped you get dat ass. i am the best wingman.â
âyou are a fucking nightmare, is what you are,â yoongi deadpanned, ruffling jiminâs already mussed up, pitch black hair.
âi know, but please,â jimin tried again, throwing on his best sulk face and capitalizing on the best asset god bequeathed him with. his plush, pouty lips. âjust this one time,â he bat his lashes, just for good measure. âhow often do i ask for favors?â
âall the fuckinâ time!â
âlike when do you not?â
âdid i ask for your opinion?! i think the fuck not!â jimin straightened out like a snapped spring and bellowed into his headset mic. through his peripheral vision, he saw yoongi take of his own headset and slowly rub at his temples.
âwhy do i put up with all of you,â yoongi let out a long suffering sigh.
âbecause you lo-â
jimin turned off the tv, remote arm out, cutting hoseok off mid-sentence. yoongi looked at him like he might kiss him. or not. with a shrug, jimin tossed the remote on the carpet by his feet.
âback to the subject,â he licked his lips, settling against the coffee table with his knees drawn to his chest. yoongi let out another heavy sigh, but that didnât deter jimin. âjust one time please. one date,â he attempted the most forlorn look, like stepped on flowers, run over a dogâs tail, cookies got burnt disconsolate. âtaemin is gonna be there.â
âhow do you even know this,â yoongi sighed. again.
âwith jongin.â
jimin pouted extra hard.
âwho the fuck is jongin,â yoongi rubbed his temples with his middle and forefinger, as if he was warding off an oncoming migraine. which is nonsense. because jimin is the light of yoongiâs life. he could attest to this.
âwho is,â jimin's face crumpled. âwho the fuck. jongin!â his arms shot up into the air. âkim jongin! the third year ballet twink with the good ass thighs and facial structure crafted by the gods! dance prodigy jongin!â jiminâs voice escalated with every syllable, in speed, pitch, and volume.
âthat kim jongin. the one taemin dumped me for,â jimin was now truly feeling really sad. this was not how heâd anticipated this conversation to go down.
it still hurt. three weeks had passed since the evening that shall not be spoken of. and jiminâs chest still throbbed with an empty longing at the memories of how taemin had broken up with him at their favorite mom-and-pop cafe that had been the center point of almost a yearâs worth of happy memories. the sacrilege, how dare?
âi found someone else,â taemin had said.
âwell good riddance! âcause i was gonna break up with you first!â jiminâs brain to mouth filter completely went on vacation, leaving him with utter regret and despair. but why stop there? âi found someone else too!â
the look of surprise on taeminâs face had almost been worth it.
almost.
now jimin was stuck with empty words and no boyfriend to show for it.
âplease,â jimin tried again, clutching at yoongiâs artfully ripped jeans, which was saying something as they were so tight they clung to the elderâs very legs like second skin. âi just gotta prove to him that i do have somebody else and iâm not like desperate-taylor-swift-binge-eating-sobfest-heartbroken.â
âyou are heartbroken,â yoongi muttered, pulling off his headset and running a hand through his soft brown hair. âthereâs nothing wrong with that. the asshole literally broke your heart. iâm pretty sure thatâs the definition of heartbroken.â
âjust to prove i have a boyfriend,â jimin could sense victory in the soft sigh leaving yoongiâs lips.
âbut you don't.â
âminor detail,â jimin waved a nonchalant hand.
âiâd say thatâs a big fucking detail,â yoongi replied gruffly, rubbing his face with his open hand.
âiâll buy you dinner,â jimin enticed, coming up to his knees and peering up into yoongiâs face.
âit better be a good fucking dinner,â yoongi sighed, finally relenting.
success.
--
âi can't believe i let you talk me into this,â yoongi shook his head, jimin chancing furtive glances over his menu to look for that familiar face.
âjust,â jimin finally caught taemin and his new boyfriend at the far side of the cafe, tucked away in a discreet corner booth. âpick something to eat while i do some recon.â
âfucking ridiculous,â yoongi released a long, deep breath but picked up his own menu and began to look through the list of foods. ârecon,â yoongi snorted, a crease forming in between jiminâs brows as he tried to subtly, not so subtly, crane his neck as if he could actually catch what the other two were talking about if he stretched far enough.
he didnât even notice as the waitress stopped by to take their order, squinting as he attempted to lipread what taemin was saying to jongin.
damn, it was hard to see exactly what words were being exchanged from this angle and distance.
but what wasn't too difficult to see, even for jimin from this length of space between, was the brilliant laughter playing on taeminâs lips and the way his eyes curved into that precious moon smile that was jiminâs favorite and had always been reserved for him and him only.
the dull thud in his chest echoed like a bucket dropped all the way to the bottom of an empty well.
he watched, breath held, as taemin pulled the otherâs hand and pressed butterfly kisses along every knuckle. something he used to do for jimin too.
it felt as if heâd fallen into that empty well along with the bucket.
it hurt.
like a fucking bitch, it hurt.
he really thought he could do this. but he couldn't. not when taemin looked for all the world like a man completely smitten. and the other person wasn't jimin.
a sharp kick to the shin finally jolted his attention away from the other couple, a startled whine escaping through his parted lips as a bright hot pain traveled up his leg from the point of abuse.
âwhat the fuck,â jiminâs expression puckered, rubbing at the sore spot on his shin that was very likely to bruise. yoongiâs brow quirked, arms crossed over his chest looking bored as hell while jiminâs world came crashing down around his feet for what was probably the thousandth time since heâd been dumped.
âyouâre supposed to be having a good time,â yoongiâs face softened when jimin bit down on his lower lip that had started to quiver. he blinked repeatedly, forcing back the burn that had begun to emerge around the corners of his eyes. it was becoming somewhat hard to breathe.
âdo you want me to take you home?â the elder asked gently, and jimin shook his head faintly. âthen what do you want to do?â yoongi enquired, head tilted to the side.
inhaling a shaky breath, jimin willed himself to calm. âcan you just,â he answered after a moment of silence. âtalk. just talk. about anything, i don't care. just please,â jimin didnât really know what he was begging for. he just needed the pain in his chest to stop.
so yoongi began talking.
he started with a teacher aide in his music comp class that none of the students liked because he was a total pompous bitch. he talked about his latest assignment that was due in a few dayâs time, but heâd procrastinated up until now because who fuck care anyways? he commented on the weather, about PokĂŠmon GO, about a new movie that had come out, about the upcoming spring break and how their mothers expected them back home because yoongiâs older brother wanted him to meet his fiancĂŠâs family and how jimin was going to come with him or else heâd die of boredom and the younger owed him a favor after this anyway.
the words flowed freely, and jimin was content to just listen to that deep silken voice wrap him softly like a bandaid over a wound.
he listened and he ate as yoongi talked, gradually forgetting the reason that he was here in the first place and began to actually engage in the conversation.
âdo i get a free meal out of it?â jimin tipped his head to the side, popping a french fry in his mouth and licking the bit of ketchup off the end of his middle finger. at that, he thought he caught a near imperceptible dip in the elderâs adamâs apple. but he waved it off as just his imagination.
âfreeloader,â a hand leaned over the table to ruffle jiminâs hair before he could swing out of yoongiâs reach.
âknock it off,â jimin huffed, batting the hand away. âand no iâm not.â
âyou are soft as fuck,â yoongi laughed at the excitement that lit up jiminâs face. âyes, youâre getting a free meal out of my brother so youâre ass is coming.â
âokay.â
âand you act like you never get a free meal whenever you come banging on my doorstep anyway,â yoongi said in a deadpan tone, sliding his credit card into the check folder the waitress brought over. âyou know how much my mom loves you.â
âi canât wait to play with holly,â jimin hummed with a content smile, sipping on his watered down coke zero.
--
âthanks for, you know,â jimin stared down at his feet, scuffing the point of his right shoe against the concrete. he glanced up to see yoongi shrug, hands tucked away into the pockets of his jeans while they stood outside of jiminâs dorm.
theyâd done this a million and trillion times before in the past. but why did jimin feel somewhat nervous?
yoongi was as familiar to him as his own right arm, or his favorite blanket back home.
there was something different though, hanging in the crisp night air between them... something that was never there before.
âthank you for being the best fucking bro in the whole fucking world?â yoongi prompted when heâd paused for long enough, jimin snorting with amusement and retuning somewhat back to planet earth.
âyeah, that,â he conceded, fingers clasped behind his back for lack of anything better to do with them. âthank you.â
something warmed inside jiminâs chest at the soft grin that spread across yoongiâs face, eyes traveling down his side profile as the elder looked up into the starry deep sky above.
when their eyes met again, it was as if jimin hadnât known yoongi his entire life, since toddlerhood, something foreign yet altogether completely familiar thrumming in his chest.
âânight.â
âgood night,â jimin licked his suddenly dry lips. he watched as yoongi turned, breaking into a light jog as he moved back towards his car parked in the no-parking zone with the emergency lights flashing.
what the hell?
--
âiâve been doing some thinking.â
silence.
âcan i ask you something?âÂ
the only response jimin received was a muted grunt.
âand hear me out, okay? donât just completely write this off,â jimin continued, staring at yoongiâs back from his current position of lying perpendicular across the elderâs bed, head hanging upside down over the edge.
yoongi didnât even glance up from the composition project he was working on. the one heâd procrastinated on for weeks now. the one that was due within the next twenty-four hours, holy fucking shit rest in pieces.
âi think we should try kissing a go,â jimin blurted out, body tensed, as he watched for yoongiâs response.
there was the briefest of pause in his constantly moving hand, the soft pen scratches going even quieter still until it had completely stopped.
jimin held his breath, if only to not break the utter silence. the room was so thick with it, he thought he could put a knife right through it and cut a slice straight out of the air.
cricket cricket bitch.
after several minutes had passed, jimin was about to laugh it off as a joke when yoongi finally responded, âdonât be stupid,â and resumed his work once again as if jimin hadnât said anything at all.
âbut iâm being serious,â jimin rolled over onto his front, chin propped up on his clasped fingers and boring holes in the elderâs back between his shoulder blades.
yoongi finally turned, shooting jimin a long, searching look that had him squirming to the very tips of his toes.
without another word, the elder lobbed a crumbled up composition sheet that landed squarely in the center of jiminâs forehead.
âow what the fuck?!â
--
âi cannot believe,â yoongi exhaled a sigh of resignation, glaring up at the ceiling flashing technicolor strobe lights as if it had done him some personal great injustice.
âis that jongin over there? can yâsee him? i canât tell if itâs him or not,â jimin was just this close to overbalancing and tipping over the barstool with how far he was stretching his neck to catch a glance of the familiar looking couple dancing amongst the drunken crowd.
heâd lost count of how many shots of titoâs heâd downed in the past few hours theyâd been camped out at the congested bar. jimin was a man on a mission. and yoongiâs palm was warm against the small of his back, propped there to prevent his fall, made all the warmer by the inebriating flush that spread across his cheeks.
nibbling on his parched lips, jimin leaned even further out to squint at the blond haired man that looked kind of like taemin and kind of didnât, only breaking his stare when taehyung dipped by to pass him another shot of something or other.
âdrink bitch!â
âi think not,â yoongi swooped in before jimin could reach to intercept the small glass rimmed with salt.
âooh tequila?â jimin pivoted on the stool without warning, nearly knocking the drink out of yoongiâs hand and quite suddenly placing the elder to stand in between his legs.Â
âbut i have limes!â taehyungâs boxy smile stretched so wide, jimin couldnât help but grin back as he tried to grab the shot.
âi think youâve had enough,â yoongi stretched his arm away from jiminâs circumference of reach.
âbut i have limes!â taehyung repeated as if that tidbit of fact made it even more important. and quite frankly, jimin couldn't help but agree.
âgive it,â he pouted, one hand grasping onto yoongiâs shoulder and the other reaching out making grabby hands at the glass.
âwhy you gotta cock block?â taehyung whined, having already downed his own and cramming the lime wedge into his mouth.
âno,â yoongi said in a no-nonsense tone that should've brooked no argument.
but jimin was buzzed and had no shits to give at the moment, completely forgetting that his best bro for life had promised to please, please, please play designated letâs-not-let-jimin-do-anything-utterly-stupid-whilst-in-his-intoxicated-state.
however, that was besides the point.
what was the point again?
instead, jimin opted for wrapping his legs around yoongiâs waist to bring him even closer, extending his wiggling arm to the best of its somewhat stunted abilities to reach, reach, reach...
oh.
âshit!â
âow.â
âyâokay?â
the stool ended up tipping over, both of them landing in a puddle of confused limbs and pained grunts. but jiminâs fall had been miraculously cushioned by yoongiâs chest, the elder having fallen flat on his back against what jimin could only imagine was the disgustingly alcohol-sticky tiled floor. gross.
yoongi groaned, his voice barely audible over the pounding bass intermixed with taehyungâs loud shrieking.
âhey,â jimin rested his chin on yoongiâs chest, his already muddled brain just a tiny bit overwhelmed by the stale and bitter scent of beer that lingered on the otherâs lips. âyouâre kinda cute, how did i never notice before.âÂ
âiâm gonna kiss you,â jimin said before his consciousness could actually catch up with his brain. âyâknow, not because weâre best bros or anything, but like because youâre kinda cute right now and iâm kinda drunk and i couldn't think about anything but this for the past few days since-â
âjust fucking shut up,â yoongi leaned up and pressed his lips onto jiminâs.Â
it tasted bitter, but it was warm and soft. and it tasted like something foreign but altogether completely familiar, like a promise of the past and present and future.
it tasted like home.
âliterally you are such a piece of shit,â yoongi smiled fondly when they finally came up for air.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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a/n: for my smolbean @sugageek who i have promised this drabble some time last year ;;;;;;
--
itâs not the loud resounding crashbangtumble that wakes jimin up, nor is it the smell of sulfurous brimstone raining bloody hell across the planet that has jimin opening his tired, puffy eyes one at a time.
itâs the soft feel of warm lips pressed gently on his temple and the tender finger tips dancing across the curve of his cheek that has jimin stretching languidly across his mattress, peering out into the sluggish darkness still blanketed with the starry night sky.
sleepy eyes meet the gaze of tender, unconditional love. and jimin smiles as yoongi leans down and presses a velvet kiss on his lips, fond and familiar.
âwhatâre you doinâ here?â jimin asks, lashes fluttering against the apples of his cheeks as yoongi cards his fingers through the soft brown fringe to tuck a wisp behind his ear.
âget dressed,â yoongi replies, a secretive smile playing on his lips.
âwhy?â jimin allows yoongiâs large hands to dwarf his own, allows the man he loves to pull him out of the comfort of his bed where the contours of his body still remain.
the night is dark, but the moon shines softly enough that jimin is able to do as yoongi has asked in the absence of the fluorescent light above. the air is silent and the world still sleeps save for the chirping crickets and the twinkling stars.Â
âwhere are we going?â jimin asks, and the only response he receives is an enigmatic smile as yoongi wraps a thick, woolen scarf around his neck. there are more questions he wants to ask, but jimin doesn't speak, merely allows the other to lead him out the door into the chill of night, droplets of dew clinging to the air.
itâs the strangest thing, jimin thinks, this inexplicable sense of somethinganythingnothingatall that passes through his core. but yoongiâs palm is warm against his, and thereâs nothing in the world that can ruin the moment because they are here, together, in the now. and jimin lets the fleeing thought pass.
âare you going to tell me where weâre going?â jimin asks again instead, the weight of yoongiâs hand anchoring him down in this changing world that seems to be veering off its axis, so subtle and barely noticeable, but there.
âwait and see,â yoongi turns to press a kiss onto jiminâs temple, so soft, so gentle, so warm.
itâs honestly not that long of a walk.
âyou woke me up at this indecent hour to bring me to a cafe?â jimin quirks a curious brow. but he allows yoongi to drag him to a corner booth nevertheless. the only other nocturnal being is the girl at the register, blinking twice before realizing that customers have actually strolled on in indeed.
âi was craving some caffeine,â yoongi shrugs, sliding into the booth after jimin has settled.Â
âyou could've just asked,â jimin pouts, nudging an elbow softly into yoongiâs arm. âall this secretiveness. i thought there was something wrong,â he grins, peering into yoongiâs eyes with a hint of playfulness.
maybe itâs the halogen lights above that shine just a little too bright. maybe itâs the godforsaken hour of three in the morning.Â
but whatever it is, thereâs a hint of something uncertain, something infinitely sad, something desperate flashing in yoongiâs gaze that bores back into jiminâs eyes. but it is ephemeral as the sunset. and it passes as soon as jimin tries to make sense of what he feels, before yoongi smiles warmly and leans in to press a chaste kiss on jiminâs pouted lips.
âiâll go place our order,â yoongi leans back with a tender look. âmatcha tea with whip, as usual?â
âyeah, sure,â jimin hums, might as well since heâs here. he watches yoongi head for the girl at the register, tapping his fingers against the laminate table as he waits for yoongi to place their orders. jimin glances around the small cafe, eyes traveling across the vintage feel of the establishment with a modern spin, from the chalkboard wall with hand drawn menu and accompanying decor to the hanging succulents encased in glass orbs and golden chains draped throughout the ceilings. itâs a homey place. and quite familiar.
âthis is where we first met,â yoongi slides back into the seat beside him, placing a steamy mug of hot tea before him. âdo you remember?â
jimin blinks, before realization sets in.
freshman year.
summer break.
heâd just finished his finals for the year.
âhow can i forget,â jimin laughs, thinking about how heâd stumbled into the cafe from a rowdy house party, seeking directions to the freshman dorms because holy hell he just wanted to sleep, and ran straight into a disgruntled junior on a caffeine run already running on fumes just to finish his end of the year art project.
jiminâs unhappy stomach had decided to make itself known at that exact moment in the form of projectile vomit.
needless to say, the cafe owner was unimpressed and the junior, well...
âi thought youâd murder me in my sleep,â jimin hides his amused grin behind his mug, taking a slow, measured sip as yoongi does the same. âi purposely avoided you for an entire quarter.â
âi contemplated it,â yoongi says thoughtfully, leaning in to wipe a small puff of whip cream from jiminâs lips. âbut you were so damn cute, with your puppy dog eyes, offering to do my laundry forever and buy me dinner. i couldnât get mad at you.â
âfunny,â jimin snorts, nipping at yoongiâs thumb. âfor the record, i did your laundry for an entire month.â
âthat you did,â yoongi affirms, blowing gently and sipping his americano.Â
âthat was two years ago,â jimin sighs, smiling softly at the reminiscence.Â
âhmm.â
âhowâs work-â
âjimin i-â
âyou first,â jimin offers, bringing the warm mug to his lips.
âno, itâs nothing important,â yoongi seems to hesitate, if only for a second. âyou were saying?â
âyou sure?â jimin tilts his head to the side, receiving confirmation in yoongiâs nod. âwell, i was just gonna ask howâs work going. have you decided which paintings you wanted to display at the exhibit?â
âmm, iâm still working on it,â yoongi answers slowly, thoughtfully. âi started a new painting last night and i just...â he trails off. jimin shoots him what he hopes to be an encouraging smile. he knows how yoongi can get sometimes. with his art. so meticulous. so precise. everything has to be perfect.
âiâm sure itâll be beautiful,â jimin places a comforting hand over yoongiâs, fingertips trailing over the tense knuckles before lacing palm to back of the hand and holding firmly. âyou always pull through with the best pieces.â
âthank you, jimin,â yoongi flashes a lopsided grin, but the corners don't quite reach the top.
âare you sure youâre okay?â jimin doesn't want to push, but he can sense that hint of unease tricking through his veins once more. âis that why you needed the caffeine?â
âi...,â yoongi starts to say, but he seems to make a snap decision to readjust his words. âyeah, i couldnât sleep and i wanted to keep working, but i seem to have... hit a brick wall.â
jimin isnât sure if thatâs what he really wanted to say, but he accepts it nevertheless. if yoongi had something going on, something really important to say, heâd let him know when he is ready.
âalso, i just really wanted to see your face,â yoongi gently squeezes jiminâs fingers curled over and into his hand. âhear your voice.â
âi...,â yoongi starts again, jimin nodding in reassurance. âi have something to give you.â
âhmm?âÂ
âhere, hold on,â yoongi releases his grasp on jiminâs fingers and slides his hand away. thereâs so much curiosity bubbling in jiminâs stomach, something like the flutter of a thousand butterfly wings. yoongi reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, jimin peering over inquisitively.
itâs a box, so small and innocuous as it rests on yoongiâs palm.
but jimin feels something warmsoftcoldsizzle catch in the back of his throat.
âtwo years ago, exactly, at this time,â yoongi murmurs, jiminâs eyes seem to sting something furious. âa freshman boy came into my life,â (jimin sniffles), âhe was the most beautiful thing iâd ever seen in my life, and thatâs saying something as an art major. he came stumbling into my life, and threw up on my favorite shirt.â
jimin canât help the watery laugh that bubbles through his lips.
âhe promised to do my laundry forever,â yoongi smiles, gently lifting the lid of the box. thereâs a small silver band nestled in the velvet blue cushion inside reflecting the halogen lights in fractals of shimmering crystals.
 yoongi slips the ring on jiminâs finger, and it sparkles as bright as the sun against the shining light of the moon.
âyes,â jiminâs voice is low and soft and resonates with all the love he never knew he could possibly feel in one lifetime.
âyes,â jimin repeats, eyes twinkling with brimming tears that donât quite escape. âi promise to do your laundry forever.â
âi love you,â yoongi doesnât speak but jimin understands. he smiles, leaning in for a kiss that speaks more than a million words. jiminâs world doesnât end with a crashbangtumble, nor does it end with the smell of sulfurous brimstone raining bloody hell of the apocalypse across the world.
jiminâs world begins, and then it ends with yoongiâs lips on his, fingers intertwined. and time goes blank.
--
in a studio, sits a canvas. the paint has yet to dry, still wet around the edges of each detailed stroke.
at this point, jimin has just about experienced enough odd circumstances in his lifetime to know that this has got to put the-cherry-on-the-fucking-cake to that long list of what-the-fucks heâs compiled over the years.
âfor science.â
okay.
âbut what does that have to do with your hand,â jimin briefly chances a dubious gaze downward, âin my pants?â
please just shoot him now.
âiâm trying to determine the length of time it would take for you to pop a boner with my hand remaining in close proximity but not actually touching your penis,â jungkook comments naturally as if one would about the weather, which is a bright and sunny fucking forecast thank you very much.
jimin lets his eyes fall shut, inhaling steadily through his flared nostrils, as he prays for divine providence to give him a never ending supply of patience before he actually does jungkook physical harm because he just does not have it in him to humor the maknaeâs unending curiosity. not today.
âlike i said,â jungkookâs large warm hand floats in the general vicinity of jiminâs privates. âfor science.â
the strong forearm resting snugly in between the elastic waistband of jiminâs sweatpants and his stomach radiates ripples of heat that does little to calm jiminâs skittering nerves.
âdo you mind?â he raises a brow, waving around his toothbrush with minty toothpaste just barely clinging precariously off the bristles.
ânot at all,â jungkook shrugs, utterly impassive as if the current predicament he finds himself in at seven in the damn morning isn't the most bizarre way to start off the day.
inquisitive fingers wiggle a bit experimentally down below, the nail of jungkookâs pinky grazing slightly across the sensitive skin of jiminâs inner thigh.
jerking away from the accidental touch, jiminâs blob of minty toothpaste bullets across the bathroom to splatter against the tiled wall with a feeble plop.
seriously, what the hell?
jimin is this close to knocking out the little punk flat on his back, if ever such a miracle were allowed to occur, what with jungkook taking on fucking judo as a hobby these days.
âyou guys!â seokjinâs muffled voice bleeds through the shut door, followed by incessant banging. âwe have to get going!â
the pulsating warmth disappears.
without so much as another word, jungkook turns and goes, leaving behind an utterly bemused and disgruntled jimin to stare lamely at the toothpaste sliding down the wall.
--
oh, hell no.
ânot today,â jimin thinks, for what he feels is the fiftieth time today.
the little nightmare had somehow managed to jack the seat beside him, shooing an amused hoseok all the way to the other side, and bullying jimin into a far corner of the draped table where he is least likely to be seen.
âweâre at a fricking fansign,â jimin hisses under his breath, twitching nervously as jungkookâs palm curves delicately around his knee. jimin hopes to god nobody will notice when he drags the right little terror off to a maintenance closet to strangle him to death.
âand?â jungkook hums, smiling pleasantly as a grinning teenager sidles timidly up to kneel across from him at the table. the fingers on jiminâs knee remain fixed upon its destination, like a king on its throne, as jungkook continues to laugh and sign the album with his other hand.
gritting his teeth, jimin manages to plaster a pained smile across his cheeks as the girl moves toward him next.
âhi,â she mumbles shyly, twisting her fingers nervously as she settles on her knees across from him.
âhello,â jimin breathes, willing himself to let his face relax into a more natural smile as he accepts the album to sign. his heart warms at the small sticky note stuck to his page, cute and tiny script saying what a fan she is and asking him to write her name with a heart.
âyouâre so cute,â he beams, scribbling her name on the sticky note with tons of hearts and smileys to follow. the glowing blush on her cheeks further warms his heart, raising his hand to give the girl a high five...Â
... which never actually makes it to the fanâs hand because jungkookâs own decides to take that moment to make its presence known, progressively sliding up and around jiminâs leg towards his inner thigh in a sinuous line of fluttering fingertips all but screaming for attention.
son of a bitch!
jimin suddenly twists in his chair, glaring bloody murder at the side of jungkookâs head that downright ignores him as he continues to chatter jovially with another fan.
disrespect!
clenching his fists, jimin tears his gaze forward, attempting to subtly shirk jungkookâs hand away. but it clings tight to his thigh like a starfish suctioned to a rock.
the girl seems to have moved on whilst jimin internally waged battle with himself. to throttle, or not to throttle. that truly is the question of the day.
fuckfuckfuckfuck.
breathe.
relenting just for the moment to address an excited fanboy standing before him, jimin refuses to allow jungkook the satisfaction of undermining his authority, the little punk. because if that precedent ever set in, jimin would never hear the end of it.
he refuses to admit that those treacherous fingers are distracting him into mind-numbing oblivion, so he continues to trudge along through the event as if that damned hand isn't dancing dangerously close to his dick working up a rather tempestuous thunderstorm inside jiminâs ribcage.
he mentally recites the long list of monarchs heâd learned in grade school, in order of dynasty, as his fingernails dig welts into his own palms and a forced smile is fixed to his face.
a curious fan tilts her head to the side and innocently questions if heâs constipated.
jungkook collapses over the table, snorting loudly as jimin wishes fervently for the ground to swallow him whole.
--
âyou okay?â taehyung plops down in front of jimin slouched inside the furthest booth hidden in shadows at a local mom-and-pop cafe.Â
jimin doesn't respond.
and taehyung doesn't mind it, allowing a comfortable silence to settle around them as he takes a whiff of his chai latte. the silent hum and drum of coffee-goers and the whir of the grounds being made somewhat eases the ire steadily building inside jiminâs chest.
âi canât,â jimin breathes, after five minutes of taehyung sipping calmly at his beverage.
âyou canât what?â taehyung asks, long fingers curled around his paper cup.
âjungkook,â jimin whines, staring beseechingly at the artfully decorated ceiling fan for answers it wonât give.
âah,â taehyung nods in understanding. and jimin opts for redirecting his pleading gaze towards his best friend.
he is utterly at his witâs end.
please.
âsorry,â his good for nothing best friend shrugs. âi canât help you there.â
the world seems to crumble around his feet, jiminâs inner turmoil continuing to wage fierce battle inside his rattling chest cavity.
âyou are utterly useless,â jimin sighs, pressing his face flat against the table.
âhe knows judo,â taehyung states as if that answers all of jiminâs problems.
jimin winces into the wooden surface.
--
comeback season is nigh, and dance ssaem is on a manic drill sergeant mode to whip them into perfection, as he likes to call it. jimin thinks he just enjoys seeing them sweat.
but his limbs are sore, deliciously so, and his brain floats on an adrenaline-fueled high that makes everything so beautifully numb. which is perfect because jimin is in dire and desperate need of a distraction from a certain someone who he is all too adamant to ignore, he-who-must-not-be-named moving sinuously within his peripheral vision, like a spring breeze through rippling grass.
nope.
delete.
redirect.
this is the reason he went into dance in the first place.
everything hurts and the world is the way it should be for the first time in days as he pushes his body towards the final stretch, reaching for that last burst of energy as the song finally comes to a close.
âwhat the hell?â
and he doesn't know how it happens.
this isn't even part of the choreography.
jimin blinks. and as if itâs the most natural thing in the world, he finds jungkook right before him, with his fingers just dangerously short of nudging against his crotch.
how did he even get to jimin from all the way from across the room?
the fuck?
jimin isn't even sure what shocks him more.Â
the fact that the little punk would even dare doing this in such a public space, or the fact that no one seems to notice or find this situation even remotely odd or out of place because this has got to top the list of jiminâs what-the-fucks that seems to grow at an exponential rate for every single day that he has known one jeon jungkook.
this can't be real.
and for a brief moment, jimin thinks maybe it is just a dream.
what else could explain this insanely impossible scenario jimin currently finds himself in?
but he glances at the image of the two in the celling-to-floor length mirror that wraps around the entire room, blended in with the scene of utter normalcy and reflected back for all to see in all of its high definition glory.
a long, delicate touch slides from midway down jiminâs inner thigh to just above the hem of jiminâs crotch.
for science, jungkook mouths.
warmth spreads from the point of contact straight to jiminâs groin, which isn't very far since jungkook seems to have made it his personal mission in life to attach his hand to jiminâs nether regions permanently. but the intensity of it has him gasping.
and jimin has just about had it with the brat and his ridiculous desire to slowly torment him into insanity.
enough.
the song barely ends, ssaem just beginning to remind them all that they are expected to be back promptly by one the next day for another round of boot camp dance practice. but jimin doesn't hear as he pivots on the spot, glaring at jungkook with a low, feral growl that only the maknae can hear.
and he has the gall to smirk.
jimin grits his teeth, hand grasping at jungkookâs elbow to pull him out the practice room door even as namjoon hyung shouts that theyâll be heading back to the dorms in a little bit.
like he gives a damn.
thereâs only one thing he gives a damn about right now, and that is getting the fucking little terror far, far away from where anyone can hear because jimin really canât guarantee that either of them will make it out of this alive.
âso,â jungkookâs lilting voice curls through jiminâs system like a drug through his veins. âeight days.â
down the hall, to the left. further down another hall.
âwhat?â jimin growls, pushing past a bright green exit sign to an empty stairwell, using jungkook to shove the door open as the two of them falter forward. the gasp of breath that exhales through jungkookâs parted mouth is a small feat of victory in jiminâs books.
âaccording to my data,â jungkook continues with that same breath, however, without even a hint of remorse. âit takes eight days for you to pop a boner without my hand actually touching your dick.â
and it is then that jimin pauses, eyebrows furrowed, to take a moment to realize that, yes, his dick is hard and quite obviously visible under the fabric of his sweatpants. but he canât seem to find it in himself to care if the others have seen or not because jimin is fucking aroused by the image of jungkookâs hand tracing the tent of jiminâs pants, just this close to touching, but not actually doing so. and jimin thinks heâs going to implode, and take everything within a ten mile radius with him.
everything is so, so hot.
âwant me to blow you?â jungkookâs lips quirk into a lopsided grin as jimin bodily shoves against him, lips attached to the maknaeâs mouth if only to shut the little shit up because fuck yes jimin wants jungkook to suck him off so hard that he forgets every choreography he has ever done, which is a hard thing to do considering muscle memory.
but jimin is on a rush higher than any dance practice heâs ever had, blood sizzling with electric fire that is jeon jungkook and everything that has culminated to where they are today, right here, right now, the two of them in their own little world with jiminâs tongue licking deep into jungkookâs throat because fuck all if he doesn't get what he deserves after enduring an entire week of jeonâs fuckery.
âon your knees,â jimin commands as he pulls away, with some small measure of difficulty considering how soft and warm the maknaeâs lips are. but jungkook seems more than happy to oblige with jiminâs demand as he gently pushes jimin to lean back against the rails, before sliding gracefully down face-to-crotch. and itâs all jimin can do to not shove his pulsing dick down jungkookâs throat and make him choke on it.
which makes for a pretty image indeed, in jiminâs opinion.
and finally.
itâs relief like nothing jimin has ever felt before, jungkookâs warm, wet mouth gliding smoothly to wrap around his aching cock, sweatpants shoved down to his knees and knuckles going white from the force of his grip around the metal rail that is the only thing keeping him up.
jungkook gives head the way he dances, all energy and tension that builds up to a crescendo, like a cresting wave, as if jungkook is racing towards a singular goal with a smoldering look that has jimin burning. itâs like jungkook is coming after him to tear him right down to the very bones until there is nothing left.
the sound of jiminâs moans intermingled with the wet of lips on dick ricochet off the walls of the enclosed stairwell, ringing loud and clear in jiminâs ears. and somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes to god no one is out there to hear.
but any thoughts of modesty are wiped clear of his mind as jungkookâs fingers wrap around the base of jiminâs spit slicked cock, pumping fast as jungkook takes an almighty suck that drains the life right out of jiminâs soul.
jungkookâs kiss bruised lips swallow down every inch of jimin they can possibly reach. and whatever is left, jungkookâs deft fingers cover as if to claim land.
âfuck, jungkook.â
thereâs physically no way jimin can last much longer, not after the weeklong torture that said maknae had submitted him to. everything is too fast, and too hot, and too much. itâs a race to the finish line, and jimin is pummeled with the wave of his orgasm that hits so hard and out of left field, it knocks the breath right out of his lungs.
his blood boils, toes curling inside his shoes, as he finally releases the tension that had been building inside him for eight days. one-hundred and ninety-two hours. eleven-thousand five-hundred and twenty seconds.
and jungkook drinks up every last drop, jiminâs body bowed over him as he pulses right through his orgasm.
holy shit.
it takes a long moment for jimin to catch his breath, jungkookâs forehead pressed against his naked thigh. jimin watches in fascination through hooded eyes as jungkook desperately jacks himself off, strands of dark brown hair clinging wet against jiminâs slowly softening dick still dripping with jungkookâs spit. heâs mildly grossed out, but considering everything else that had just happened, this should be the least of his worries.Â
a spasm passes through jungkookâs frame that takes jimin with him for the ride, ropes of white spurting down the side of the stairs into the black unknown.
âsee?â jungkook hums breathlessly into jiminâs sweaty skin. âscience is fun.â
âshut up,â jimin replies, with no real malice, as his body slides down the metal rail of its own accord, legs still bound by his sweats around his knees. he winces from the shock of cold against his bare bottom, but does nothing about it because his motor movements have entirely gone to shit.
âletâs see how long youâll last before putting out the next time.â
 a/n: for @thoroughlycollected one year late. i apologize i am a piece of trash ;u;
--
jaebum is earnestly trying to be a good team captain.
really he is.
but jackson makes it exceedingly hard for him to do so.
especially with the way jaebumâs aggravating (and excessively endearing) teammate (and boyfriend) continues to undermine his authority in front of the rest of the team.
âlord, why?â jaebum beseeches to the high heavens above, releasing a loud sigh that tells of all the woes and sorrows of having to deal with his untamable boyfriend.
itâs only jaebumâs first week of captaincy, and he already feels like heâs about to lose his mind.
itâs been one unholy week of jackson raining terror down on the entire team.
and jaebum is honestly at the end of his tether.
his fingers curl around locks of his hair, as if to prevent his head from impending explosion, as jackson continues to lord around the tennis court as if he owns the place.
jackson continues on a nonstop rant of criticisms, racket swinging just dangerously short of thwacking yugyeom across the head. and jaebum is grasping at the last straws of his patience.
âyour serve would be so much better if youâd just-â
âenough!â
jinyoung, standing closest to jaebum, starts, jackson staring back at the captain with eyes wide and mouth hanging open mid-sentence.
jaebum thinks he may have started himself too.
âwhat?â jacksonâs mouth is still hanging slightly agape.
âoh shit,â jaebum breathes, wincing as he watches jackson pull himself back together at the speed of light, eyes squinting and shoulders rising like a lion ready to pounce. the captain can physically see his boyfriend gearing himself up for what jaebum knows will result in an almighty fight.
âletâs go,â jaebum grabs hold of jacksonâs wrist and jettisons in the opposite direction, heading towards the empty locker rooms to bypass the impending train-wreck collision that is sure to happen.
âlet go!â jacksonâs voice echoes across the court, tennis racket reaching every inch of jaebumâs body that he could possibly get at. and heâs sure heâll have a couple of fine bruises at the end of this. but jaebum is a man on a mission, and it doesn't faze him in the least.
âwhat about practice?!â youngjae calls out, but the captain is on a single train of thought which only involves getting one hissing jackson wang to the locker rooms and avoiding the embarrassment of having an impressively loud argument in front of their friends and teammates.
âunhand me!â jackson yanks at the arm still locked firmly in jaebumâs grasp, racket clanking loudly against the lockers as the captain continues to drag his too loud boyfriend into the safety of the empty locker room.
âwhat is wrong with you!â jackson shouts, dropping the racket and pushing at jaebumâs hand curled around his wrist.
âwhat is wrong with me?â jaebum shouts back, unrelenting with his hold. âwhat is wrong with me? what is wrong with you?!â
jackson shoves at jaebumâs arm.
 âwhy are you acting like this?â jaebum tugs jackson towards him, nose to nose now. âwhat have i done so wrong that youâve been bullying our team like theyâve done you personal injustice?!â
âbully?!â jacksonâs nostrils flare. âbully?! if you would just be a better captain then maybe the team would actually have the skills to-â
captain.
jaebumâs rising anger pivots in the other direction, the heat of irritation draining and leaving behind a sudden realization into why his boyfriend had been behaving like an agitated cat the entire week.
âis that what this is all about?â he sighs, finally releasing his grasp on jacksonâs wrist that has his boyfriend stumbling backwards at the sudden lack of balance.
âwhat?â jackson splutters, rearing up for another wave of shouting.
but before jackson could even start, jaebum pulls him into a hug which startles his boyfriend into a stupefied silence which the captain takes advantage of.
âwhy didnât you tell me it bothered you that the team voted for me as captain,â jaebum sighs, jacksonâs elevated heart drumming loudly against his own.
âwhat?â jackson sputters, pushing without real intention at jaebumâs chest. âno! that is not- what?â
âyou should have told me it was bothering you this much,â jaebum presses his lips against his boyfriendâs temple.Â
âit doesnât!â jackson insists, still pushing. âi don't even know what youâre talking about!âÂ
but jaebum can already feel jackson deflate against him. and he wishes heâd addressed this earlier, because it wouldâve saved everyone from this week of nightmarish hell that has been tennis practice.
âi don't know what you're talking about,â jackson mumbles, and jaebum can feel the pout of his boyfriendâs lips pushed against the shirt of his shoulder.
âbaby,â jaebum presses a kiss into jaebumâs hair. âjust because i was voted captain doesn't mean they think youâre a lesser tennis player.â
jackson huffs, but jaebum notices that heâs stopped pushing.
âit doesn't mean you arenât an amazing tennis player, nor does it mean they aren't your friends.â
âi never said that,â jackson humphs, and jaebum can't help the smile that quirks at the corners of his lips.
âi know you didnât, baby,â jaebum pulls away just slightly to look his boyfriend in the face, who seems to be looking at just about everywhere except for jaebumâs eyes.
shaking his head with a grin, jaebum cradles both hands on jacksonâs cheeks and places a sound kiss on his boyfriendâs lips.
shadowed claws spread across the ceiling, like gnarled tree roots stretching through the heart of the earth. the little girl hides trembling in the closet, clutching her tattered bunny rabbit tightly to her chest, small fingers clasped over her mouth to muffle her terrified sobs.
the jagged tips of the dark, horrifying fingers edge into the crack between the door and the ceiling, reaching ever so slowly.
reaching.
feeling.
an unnamed shiver travels down the little girlâs back.
terrified eyes widen...
BOOM.
BOOM BOOM.
âson of a-â jimin startles about ten feet off the couch, shaking hands grasping desperately at the blanket he has clutched up to the nose.
the banging persists, and jimin sighs, pressing pause on the remote before hauling himself onto his feet.
the blanket drags as he inches toward the door, the remnant feelings of terror and adrenaline tearing through his constricted chest despite the brilliant, two in the afternoon saturday sunlight streaming in through the window.
âhello?â he asks in a whisper of a voice, peering through the peephole.
âpackage,â the fedex guy replies in a bored tone.
âbut i didnât order anything,â jimin frowns, confused, as he unlatches the door.
âsign here please,â rude fedex guy shoves an electronic pen into jiminâs hand.
âbut i never ordered a package,â jimin repeats loudly, signing for the box nevertheless. he glances down at the sizable box pushed carelessly into his arms, squinting at the name and address taped to the corner.Â
âfor the love of-â jimin huffs, glaring at the familiar name. âcanât you just leave it across the hall?â he whines, the utterly useless fedex guy cocking a brow and turning to leave without a word.
jimin watches him walk away, irritation blooming inside his chest as he readjusts his laser glare to point at the door right across the hall.
âyou have got to be fucking kidding me,â he grumbles, marching back inside his apartment to grab a pen and sticky note from the kitchen.Â
âevery fucking saturday,â he stabs the pen across the paper, leaving an angry, scribbled note for kim-fucking-taehyung-from-across-the-hall to please stop ordering so many damn packages or be at home to sign for your own damn fedex thanks. âif i ever get one more damn package.â
stomping back out the door, jimin carelessly lets the box drop loudly onto the floor, slaps the sticky note on the door, then gives the harmless package a small, quick kick to push it close up against the wall to prevent anyone from tripping over it while walking down the hall.
shooting one last annoyed squint at the little brass â26Ⲡon the door, jimin spins on his heel and marches back into his own apartment to resume his sulking and finish the damn movie.
--
âthis asshole has to be fucking with me,â jiminâs nostrils flare angrily, all but breathing literal fire as he stares with disbelief at the fluorescent green sticky note stuck to his door.Â
âplease be gentle with my packages,â jungkook hovers over jiminâs shoulder to lean closer to the door, shifting one of the paper grocery bags into his other arm. âthey are fragile.â
âfragile my effing foot!â jimin rips the note off the door and crushes it into a tiny pulp. âso help me, if another fedex package ever makes it to my door i will shove the thing so far up his ass, heâll-â
âour door,â jungkook corrects, gently pushing jimin to the side and unlocking said door. âno need to make a scene about it.â
âiâll show you scene,â jimin mutters dangerously under his breath as he lobs the small, crumpled paper at his neighborâs ugly, maroon doormat. with a satisfied humph, he turns and follows after his roommate with his own load of groceries.
jimin barely manages to make it ten paces into his apartment when a soft knock stops him standing halfway into the kitchen, staring longingly at the neapolitan ice cream jungkook is currently shoving into the lack of space inside the freezer.
âyou gonna answer that?â jungkook shoots him a curious look, jimin shooting a pained glance at the door.
âif itâs kim-fucking-taehyung from apartment number twenty-six iâm going to strangle him straight through to next week,â jimin turns, resigned, back to answer the door.
âpackage for-â
âwhat?â jimin interrupts, gaping blankly at the usps girl standing with a small box in her hand.
âi just need you to sign here please,â she hands jimin a pen and clipboard.
âitâs freaking sunday!â jimin thinks his liver might have imploded inside.
âitâs amazon,â usps girl nudges the pen into jiminâs free hand.
âso?!â he really shouldnât be yelling at her.
âitâs amazon prime,â she shrugs, taking back the pen and clipboard once jimin has automatically signed. itâs become second nature now.
âfor christâs-â
âwe deliver on sundays,â the girl places the package into jiminâs still open hand, leaving behind a spluttering jimin to stare helplessly as she retreats.
âwho was that?â jungkookâs voice calls from inside.
jimin has completely forgotten about the bag of groceries in his arms.
--
âno,â jimin stamps his foot, totally not pouting like a teenage girl. âi refuse to sign it. you canât make me. thereâs no law that states that i need to sign for my absent freaking neighborâs damn packages every two, three days.â
the poor dhl girl stares beseechingly at jimin as if begging him to cut her some slack.
no.
thereâs nothing on this god green earth that will make jimin sign for the damn package on this godforsaken wednesday evening when heâs barely just made it home after a twelve hour shift at work with his work uniform still on. this is where he puts his foot down, not just literally but in every sense of the word.
âcan you just-â
âno,â jimin huffs. âcan you just please put the damn box over there,â he points with a tilt of his chin. âwhere it belongs?â
âi canât leave without a sign,â she seems to be on the verge of tears and jiminâs blazing determination falters just the tiniest bit.
âdo you know how many packages iâve signed for my damned neighbor in the three months since heâs moved in?â jiminâs voice takes on a quality reminiscent of a whining puppy. the girlâs lower lip quivers.
âtwenty-five!â he throws his hands in the air, forgetting that heâs still holding onto his work bag which knocks into the side of his head as it swings up. âhow do you even,â jimin forgets that heâs standing out in the open hallway, shouting for all the world to hear. âwhat the hell does anyone even need to order twenty-five packages for?!â
âcan you keep it down over there?â an elderly woman peeps her head out and glares from a few doors down.
jimin seethes, ready to give her a piece of his mind, when jungkook finally arrives and takes the situation into his own hands.
which typically means that jungkook signs for the damn box and apologizes to the dhl girl while jimin huffs and puffs to the side like an angry hippo.
âi am done with kim-fucking-taehyung. do you hear me?â jimin burning rage slowly fizzles as jungkook steers them both into their apartment.
âsure, sure,â jungkook guides the fuming jimin towards the couch and pushes him down by the shoulders take a seat. Â âyou stay here and try not to hurt yourself while i go put this by our neighborâs door.â
jimin eyes the small package sullenly, contemplating doing the innocent thing harm. but jungkook whisks the brown box away and heads out the door before jimin could do so much take another breath.
--
at least this time its a manila envelope.
which still requires signing.
which, in turn, leaves jimin curious as to what the hell his neighbor could possibly be receiving in a flat envelope that would require someone to physically sign for it as proof of receipt.
is his neighbor a member of the mafia?
is he dealing drugs or running some kind of clandestine crime ring?
thousands of thoughts pass through jiminâs mind as he flips the yellow envelope over in his hands.Â
oh my god. could this guy be a secret assassin and jimin is his next target for leaving several rude and angry notes on his door?
jimin even kicked a few of the packages.
dear god, he was going to end up on the nine oâclock news as the sad victim of a well concealed hit job.
this is it.
this is how his life ends.
his breathing hitches. and in a fit of panic, jimin hurtles across the apartment hallway and tries to shove the manila envelope under the thin crack of his neighborâs doorway.
what if thereâs some secret information in this envelope that jimin isnât meant to see?
he needs to-
âhey.â
âholy shit!â jimin all but lodges his head through the wooden door, leaving a nice and pulsating lump to grow where heâd made collision.Â
and this is how he dies, jimin thinks morosely while hunched on the floor with his head in his hands.
âyou okay?â a deep, concerned voice asks.
jimin steals a tiny peek up at his oh so elusive neighbor.
holy balls.
with the speed of light, jimin quickly gathers himself and straightens out to (totally not) gape at the hot as hell neighbor, kim-fucking-taehyung, from apartment twenty-six.
âthat sounded pretty painful,â hot, oh so hot, neighbor actually looks concerned, and jimin doesn't know what to do with this information.
âiâm fine,â he answers haughtily, brushing off the imaginary dust from his hands. heâs totally not embarrassed right now. nope. not at all.
he just really wants to get back to his own apartment and sulk for the remainder of the damn afternoon in blissful silence, thank you very much.
that is, until jeon jungkook decides to show up.
holy hell, how the fuck did he get himself into this situation in the first place?
âwas that my mail you were cramming under my door?â kim-fucking-taehyung interrupts jiminâs inner spiral down to hades and has the gall to look amused.
and jimin bristles.
âspeaking of which,â his utterly diminished irritation simmers once again. âwould it really kill you to order less crap over the internet or be at home once in awhile to sign for your own packages?â
the amused quirk of the lips stretches even further up his neighborâs adorable cheeks, flashing a boxy grin that leaves jimin feeling somewhat robbed and bereft inside, of what heâs not really sure.
âi mean it,â jimin tries to cover for his flustered nerves by crossing his arms as a protective shield over his chest. âiâm sick and tired of signing for your shit and passing it on to your door for whenever you decide to show up.â
âhi, sick and tired. iâm taehyung,â his neighbor stretches out a hand with a delighted twinkle in his eyes. âi donât think weâve actually met.â
âwhy do i get the feeling that iâm going to regret ever signing for your damn packages in the first place,â jimin takes the preferred hand nevertheless, marveling in the soft warmth of the fingers enveloping his.
--
âwhat is it that youâre ordering all the time anyways?â
âhaha, body parts.â
âthatâs not funny.â
âno really, iâm a designer and iâve been ordering different sized mannequin body parts for my next project.â
yoongiâs hand curved gently over the contours of jiminâs eyes, the stretch of his fingers barely kissing the slight upturn of the nose, his cheekbones, the soft graze of eyelashes whispering against his palm, flesh burning with an electric fire at the nucleus of every point they touched.
âi canât see,â jimin breathed into yoongiâs kiss, sweet laughter whispering against his lips in the most exquisite melody of liquid gold that poured into his racing blood and molded against yoongiâs once dead heart like a protective shield.
it was glorious, agonizing torture, the way in which they curled into each other like two pieces of a puzzle. so close, always close. but close was never close enough. and wherever they didnât touch was brought glaringly to the forefront, and yoongi was determined to remedy the situation by breathing jimin in entirely until there was nothing left of either of them but one single, living whole.
âstop it,â the younger laughed, twinkled, the corners of his lips curving up into a crescent moon that shimmered with the reflected light of the sun. âwhat are you doing?â
âhush,â yoongi murmured against the silken depths of jiminâs collarbones, the tip of his nose trailing after the heated breaths he blew, of life, of love, of sin, all pressed into the plains of jiminâs skin to replace each one that escaped his warm, plush lips that yoongi continuously ravaged into glowing embers.
he could feel the lashes of jiminâs eyes flutter into the palm of his hand, soft, delicate butterfly wings whispering to break free. and something struck deep inside his chest, a remote cavern of dark, endless nothingness, a spark of light, a bell tone ring. and it struggled to the surface of everything yoongi had always held so close and dear, hidden, unknown to the world.
it threatened to consume.
he couldnât breathe.
he couldnât think.
he was drowning.
âhyung,â jiminâs voice promised mercy, of grace, of absolution from all the transgressions heâd ever made, the man named min yoongi, and he knew he wasnât alone.
âyoongi hyung,â jimin mouthed, his breath chasing after the very name he spoke as yoongi pushed in hard, pushed in deep until his very core shook off kilter from the gravitational pull of the axis.
yoongi felt relief.
he watched with keen eyes as jimin unraveled at the seems, falling apart underneath his touch and it was utterly breathtaking, exhilarating, better than any high any drug could ever give.
âhyung,â jiminâs breath stuttered, the convex of his chest pressed flush against yoongi as small, desperate fingers clawed at the backs of yoongiâs knuckles.
âwhat,â his mouth pressed into the column of jiminâs neck, the roaring pulse of of life beating underneath his parched tongue like a raging river, maddening.
âi=â jimin arched into the touch, breaths escaping short and quick.
âhm?â yoongi urged, plunging in deeper and faster as he eased jimin closer to the ledge until they both stood at the precipice, toeing at the perimeter of the worldâs end with everlasting infinity stretched out before them.
it was a race to the finish line, and yoongi pitched forward with his every last breath.
jiminâs thighs shook, anchoring yoongi into place as they hurtled towards oblivion, of mind-numbing apotheosis until they were both reborn into something new.
and then it was silent.
blessedly still and silent save for the quivering breaths and thrumming hearts that beat simultaneously, as one. and yoongi felt a taste of euphoria.
the afterglow hummed underneath his skin like a lullaby, and yoongi leaned into the curve of jiminâs shoulder as a pleasant buzz filled his ever listless mind.
âhyung,â jimin paused, and yoongi turned in to press his mouth into the gracious line of jiminâs neck.
âhyung,â the younger tried again, and yoongi lifted his head, albeit somewhat annoyed.
âwhat?â he lifted a brow.
âi still canât see,â jiminâs brow mimicked, somehow still seeing, and yoongi laughed. inching down the gentle slope of jiminâs nose, yoongi lowered his hand until jiminâs eyes sparkled just above like the rising run peaking out over the horizon.
âfunny,â jimin nudged at yoongiâs wrist, a delighted smile dancing across his features.
yoongi smiled back, promptly replacing his hand and pressing a kiss into jiminâs amused lips.
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nobody really understood why, the whole mechanics of it. the strategic yet natural amalgamation of arteries and blood vessels that materialized across the oh so delicate skin of the inner wrist in raised scarlet script.
the human body was a curious thing. and even in the twenty-first century, our modern scientists had not yet been able to figure out exactly why it was that we were born with our soulmateâs names engraved upon our very flesh.
nothing extravagant, nothing so noticeably garish and tasteless like a drunken mistake of a tattoo the youth of the nation were prone to partake in.
a tiny little thing it was, half an inch at best, formed in neat red cursive along the path of the sinuous veins that flashed just barely through the transparency of the skin.
when min yoongi was born to the world, his mother despaired.
tiny, hardly legible pink letters etched across the newbornâs wrist revealed the name to be something far less than a welcome sight that set grey clouds over what should have been a joyous occasion.
jimin was such a common name, encompassing both the male and female genders alike. and yoongiâs parents felt such grief for the years of foreseeable pain and heartache foreshadowed in their precious sonâs future. how awful it must be to search for one person in a sea of millions that fit the one description he was given to find his soulmate.
yet yoongi was a placid child by nature, calm and untroubled, much more mature beyond his years than anyone could have expected of a child of four years old.
at a young age, he felt, understood, his parentsâ sadness and held onto his growing curiosity and hope of life and love because he did not want to upset his mother any further.
while his friends went around and flashed their soulmateâs names like a shining trophy, yoongi kept it to himself as a treasured, closely guarded secret. for his to keep and his alone.
he never asked his parents when he would meet his soulmate as other kids his age were apt to do.
instead, yoongi held onto his budding dreams of a deep and intimate understanding between two people that would someday fulfill his life with everything he could ever hope for.
as he grew, yoongiâs curious nature led him to seek and search despite the practical side of him whispering caution and foreboding into his ears.
from the age he turned old enough to understand the concept of holding hands and sharing a juice box, that cooties were just a figment of the imagination, he made it his lifeâs mission to find his soulmate, the one whose name was tattooed across his wrist that he held so close and dear to his heart.
halfway through the winter semester of his sixth year, a new student by the name of park jimin transferred into his classroom.
she had sweet pigtails and a cute button nose that yoongi felt a strange desire to poke. his excitement grew when the teacher assigned her to the open seat right next to his and made a to-do about showing the new girl around the campus during break because this girl could be the one heâd always been waiting for.
sitting along the stairs as a stream of students came and went, yoongi listened with rapt attention as jimin regaled him of stories from her home town. she came from a place called thailand, where they spoke a different language and the sun was hot, hot, hot and the ocean was sparkling and blue and beautiful.
he learned of her love for music, a passion they both seemed to share.
and as yoongi listened, watching her lovely cheeks turn pink with joy and animation, he felt that maybe he could learn to love her.
they became the best of friends, thick as thieves. and no one could stop the pair of them when they were completely lost in their own world in the music room at every free moment of the day they could afford.
with every day that passed, every time he traced that delicate name framed across his wrist, his certainty grew that she was it.
until one day, he knew she wasnât.
âhey, can you pass me the bucket?â jimin reached her hand back in the general direction of where yoongi stood with his back against the art room wall. they were assigned for cleaning duty, which typically meant yoongi would stand there while jimin cleaned up after him because she said he was a slob and couldnât clean if it depended on his life.
âget it yourself,â yoongi gently nudged the bucket with his foot, but bent down to pick it up as jimin exhaled an irritated huff followed by a glare that really didnât look even remotely as threatening as she wanted him to believe.
âlazy bum,â jimin snorted, rolling her eyes as she rolled back the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows. and yoongi was about to retort when his words were jammed right back into his throat in a ball of rancid eggs and shattered needles.
kunpimook.
what the hell kind of name was that?
it was the first time yoongi ever felt such a thing as heartbreak, and maybe somewhat understood exactly why his mother was so dismayed every time she glanced at his wrist.
his fingers slipped around the bucket. and the water inside splashed in a tidal wave of grime and despair around his feet even as jimin quickly scrambled away from the onslaught.
âhey!â
âsorry,â yoongi whispered, staring numbly at her wrist. âmy fault.â
â
there was another girl by the name of jimin.
shin jimin, her name was.
and she was a regular frequenter at the cafe in which yoongi worked.
every time she came by to order her vanilla latte before heading out for her saturday lessons, yoongiâs heart would beat just a little bit faster, just a little bit harder, as she flashed him that sweet kitten smile.
he knew she attended the music and dance academy on the weekends, enjoying the lithe and smooth way in which she carried herself as a result of endless hours of dance practice.
he was working up the nerve to scribble down his number and pass it to her with her cup of latte on her next visit. gently fingering the name etched on his wrist, he smiled as he thought that maybe this was his chance.
but the next time she came, it was with her tiny, delicate fingers curled around the elbow of another boy.
shattered, yoongi tossed the piece of paper with the coffee grinds.
â
as the days, months, years slowly passed, yoongi found himself becoming more and more discouraged. with every jimin that passed that wasnât the jimin, with every jimin that came into his life and walked straight back out, with every jimin that wasnât the right one inscribed across his skin, yoongi lost hope.
he shut his heart off as a last ditch attempt at self-preservation.
because.
how else was he to survive?
â
the day yoongi turned eighteen, he walked out of his house with a small suitcase in one hand and a one way train ticket to seoul in the other.
he was on his way to realize his dreams as a musician because it was all he had left to hope for.
it was a hard and grueling life, the path he decided to walk. but it was one in which yoongi knew he could succeed, one in which he chose, because that was very important to him.
choice.
it was his and his alone, because what else was there in his life?
he worked his way straight from the ground up, establishing a name for himself in the underground, through blood, sweat, and tears, until he found himself in a label.
this was it.
all those years of hard work and endless hours of running on nothing but the pen and paper in his hands, finally paying off the fruits of his labor.
an idol group was not something yoongi ever envisioned for his future, but this was something more that sitting around waiting for that one shot that would gain him the recognition as an established artist.
namjoon and hoseok seemed to be alright. he could work with it.
it put his mind into a place of focus and determination. he would succeed at this.
âso, this is where youâll be dorming with the rest of them,â their manager opened the door to the small, one room apartment, guiding in cheeky, fluffy haired boy who peered around the dingy room with awe and fascination.
yoongi glanced up from his laptop screen, disinterested, because he was certain this new kid would drop, just as the others before him, at the first signs of stress.
ânamjoon,â manager hyung jerked his chin forward, and the gangly boy hauled his lanky body off the ragged couch and made his way to the new recruit. âshow the kid around, yeah? heâs new.â
âno way,â yoongi drawled, returning his gaze back to the lyrics heâd been developing for the past three months. âwe never would have guessed.â
âdonât be such a pain,â manager hyung snorted, patting the new kid on the shoulder, before turning right back out the door.
âcome on,â namjoonâs jovial voice boomed. âiâm namjoon, like he said. whatâs your name?â
yoongi looked up, annoyed.
the kid looked like he was about to throw up whatever remained of his lunch.
âuh,â his flushed cheeks puffed with embarrassment. âmy nameâs jimin. park, jimin. and iâm⌠new?â
âi like you, kid,â hoseok laughed from his sprawled position on the floor, turning away from the film heâd been watching.
somewhere in the distant, dusty corners of yoongiâs chest, something unremembered thudded uncomfortably against his ribs.Â
he refused to acknowledge it.
he refused.
his brain began to shut down without his express consent, and the words on his screen lost meaning. he wouldnât do this. not again.
focus, yoongi.
for months, he refused to so much as acknowledge the kid. not until he was sure his heart wouldnât tear straight out of his throat at the very sound of his name because that would be one embarrassing situation in which he was sure heâd never be able to live down.
years spent on desensitizing himself, and he was not about to let some punk get away with destroying everything heâd worked so damn hard for.
yoongi called him the kid for reasonable purposes and only addressed him when absolutely necessary.
it set his nerves on edge and his teeth clenched whenever the others would call the otherâs name because he wasnât ready to deal with it yet.
until the little brat decided upon himself it was time to address the issue.
âhey, hyung,â the kid tapped on his shoulder, insistently, irritatingly so, until yoongi finally had to toss down his pen and glare.
âwe have to talk,â the kid frowned, nibbling nervously on his lower lip as yoongi internally begged, pleaded for him to stop because it was slowly driving him insane.
âno, we really donât,â yoongi drawled, feigning disinterest because this practice room was way too small for the both of them, and he really needed the brat to get out of his space.
âlook,â the other sighed, running his hands through the soft fluff of black hair that made yoongiâs fingers itch with longing. âi know you donât like me, and iâm not sure what i did wrong. but would you please let me know what it is so i can fix it?â
what?
âi just,â the kidâs lip was trembling, dear god someone please smite yoongi now because he wouldnât survive this. âi really need for this to work out, and if you donât like me, for some god almighty reason i did something terribly wrong to you, you have to let me know because i want us to work through it and make this work.â
yoongi was at a total loss.
how was he supposed to tell him that the only thing heâd done wrong was that his parents had named him a certain name on the day of his birth?
âyou didnât do anything wrong,â yoongi found his traitorous mouth utter. âyou didnât. iâm just an asshole, and antisocial. it takes a while for me to warm up to people.â
the kid blinked, tilting his head to the side.
âitâs not you, itâs me.â
the bubbling laughter that erupted from the kidâs throat seemed to thaw a chip of the ice that surrounded yoongiâs heart.
âwell, iâm glad about that,â the kid smiled, running his fingers through that thick thatch of midnight hair again. yoongi really needed to make a list of things the kid needed to stop doing in front of him. âi was starting to think i unknowingly ran over your pet cat or something.â
for the first time in what yoongi felt was years of loneliness and despair, he found himself smiling back.
â
bangtan boys debuted on the thirteenth of june.
and it was honestly the most emotional day of yoongiâs life.
their outfits were a bit clinky, what with all the gold chains and excess jewelry, a little more gaudy and flashy than was yoongiâs taste.
their performance was a bit not-to-yoongiâs-standard, a little mistake here, a little mistake there, due to jitters and nerves.
but everything was perfect nevertheless.
âoh my god, can you believe it?â seokjin seemed close to tears as they rushed off the stage, the resounding chants and screams still thundering in their ears even as they entered the dressing room. namjoon and hoseok were already hugging it out, immersed in their own little bubble.
âout of this world,â taehyung grinned, leaning his forehead onto jungkook who muttered something about âsweatyâ and âgrossâ but did nothing to shove the other away.
âout of this world,â jimin echoed breathlessly, peering into yoongiâs eyes with endless emotion and joy and love and happiness. yoongi couldnât stand it.
too much.
without even realizing just how close theyâd been leaning together, yoongiâs hand reached forward and swept around the curve of jiminâs flushed cheek, tracing his thumb along the warm skin that seemed to vibrate with energy.
i canât.
jiminâs hand followed, pressing yoongiâs palm flat against the side of jiminâs face as the younger leaned further into the touch.
âyoongi hyung.â
his smile radiated the sun itself, and yoongi was certain heâd been blinded.
one completely ordinary, nothing special at all tuesday morning, jimin shows up to school with hair as bright as the golden sun above topped off with studded piercings glittering up and down his earlobes in a fashion that would be heavily frowned upon in the front office.
and min yoongi finds himself in a unique and frankly awkward position of civic duty to hand the boy a detention for his egregious lapse in judgment with regards to the school dress code, being on the student council and all that.
but damn why does this heathen have to look so criminally hot?
ugh.
shoving his hands into his pockets and steeling his nerves, yoongi stifles an exasperated sigh as he inches a hesitant step closer.
âget off of there. itâs not a place for you to just park your ass as you see fit and loiter.â
to yoongiâs great irritation, the boy doesnât even look ruffled as he spares a casual glance down from his elevated perch on top of the semi-high brick wall that circumscribes the school building. how did he even get up there? jimin flashes back a cheeky grin, making yoongi positively bristle like an agitated cat.
the nerve on this kid!
âi mean it,â yoongi growls, fingers clenching tighter around the pad of detention slips heâd brought with him. park jimin is seriously begging for a one way trip to a weeklong sentence of detentions with all the rules heâs stomping on with his unlaced, filthy red chucks as if they were nothing but garbage. and yoongi would definitely feel no compunctions about being the one to put him there.
âget down. now.â
âif you say so,â jimin shrugs, tucking an earbud back into his ear.
yoongiâs heart actually stutters for a milli-fraction of a second as the boy simply hops off the wall (holy sweet jesus heâs gonna break his neck), landing nimbly right in front of him still smiling that infuriatingly endearing smile.
âsee you around,â jimin leans in close, hitching his backpack over one shoulder. and yoongi fights off the crazy urge to step back.
he has the absolute gall to loosen his tie as he walks off, leaving behind a flummoxed yoongi who belatedly recalls that he hadnât written jimin up for detention.
bummer.
â
not even a week later, yoongi is positively convinced park jimin has risen from the deepest, darkest crevices of his nightmares and exists to utterly torment him into a complete mental breakdown. thereâs just no other explanation for it.
âwhat the hell are you doing?â yoongi honestly doesnât even want to know the answer to that question, but he is startled into asking it nevertheless by the sheer ridiculousness of the situation heâs walked in on.
âiâm dyeing my hair, duh,â jimin hums as if its the most natural thing in the world. and yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose in order to prevent literal steam from firing out of his nostrils. it doesnât help that the second floor boyâs bathroom now reeks of ammonia.
âyou need to be in class,â he shoots the boy a pained look as jimin merely bends over the sink, tilting his head this way and that with his hair thickly saturated with blonde hair dye. âwhy arenât you in class?â
heâs trying very, very hard not to stare at the wonderful view of jiminâs rear end as he leans closer to the mirror with an appraising look.
through the mirrorâs reflection, jimin merely arches a brow in a manner that clearly says duh, isnât it obvious?
âiâm dyeing my hair,â he repeats, utterly matter-of-fact.
yoongi wants to punch the wall. or jiminâs face. or something. or maybe not jiminâs face. because that would probably get him suspended for sure.
âand youâre doing this here, now, why?â
âbecause,â jimin shrugs, eyes trailing back to his own reflection. âi didnât like the shade of blonde the salon lady gave me.â
âof course,â (because that makes total sense) yoongi is battling an oncoming wave of a pounding migraine because this really canât be happening right now. why was he even indulging the kid by talking to him and not turning him in immediately? as he should have done the week before when jimin had first strutted onto campus with more dress code violations than the entire freshman class put together?
âhey, will you give me a hand?â jimin tosses a come hither glance over his shoulder. and yoongi promptly walks right out the bathroom door.
for the next few hours and class periods, he tries to convince himself he didnât see anything.
â
yoongi is pretty sure heâs facing some type of identity crisis or existential disintegration because he really canât find it in himself to tell the boy off for not tucking in his shirt as the dress code dictates heâs supposed to.
not even taking into consideration that he should be in class, but once again isnât.
the look on yoongiâs face probably resembles one of someone caught in the middle of a thunder storm or maybe constipation, but he canât seem to school his expression into anything other than polite suffering.
âif i didnât know any better, iâd say you were stalking me,â an amused smile teases jiminâs lips as yoongi tries to stamp the bubbling urge to run away.
âyouâre really pushing it,â he mutters instead to jiminâs growing delight at spotting the elder dithering uncomfortably by the bio lab doorway. that sparkling grin stretches across jiminâs cheeks as he pats the spot on the teacherâs desk beside him. and yoongi is startled to find himself actually stepping forward to occupy that space.
not really knowing what to say, yoongi shifts nervously in his seat as his gaze travels around the empty classroom cast in muted beams of sunlight streaming in through the slotted window blinds.
he is definitely not trying to avoid the soft way jiminâs hair actually glows even in this shadowed lighting. yoongi is merely being alert to his surrounding in case a teacher comes walking by because the last thing he needs is to be told off for skipping class. which he isnât. he had been on his way to taking the class attendance sheet to the front office when heâd spotted jiminâs telltale shock of blonde hair through the window blinds.
âhere, wanna listen?â jimin proffers an earbud, to which yoongi actually accepts with nothing but a brief secondâs hesitation. heâs relatively stunned and inexplicably satisfied to discover that jiminâs taste in music is rather much more sophisticated than the way he dresses.
âyou like classical?â yoongi asks, pleasantly surprised by the youngerâs choice of music selection. mozartâs piano concerto in number 23, second movement is definitely not something he would have thought jimin would enjoy.
jimin shrugs offhandedly and yoongi continues to listen as the haunting piece pans out, the attendance sheet lying completely forgotten on the floor by the smiling skeleton. heâs so ensconced in the weaving melody surrounding his mind that he completely misses when jiminâs head snuggles comfortably onto his shoulder, the tips of the blonde tresses tickling underneath yoongiâs chin.
he utterly fails to notice as a senior hall monitor slips in through the doorway until itâs entirely too late. and they are both standing by the whiteboard, headâs hanging down, and the upper classman scolding them for playing hooky and trespassing on an empty classroom.
yoongiâs cheeks burn with embarrassment but the subtle upward tilt of jiminâs lips as he hides his face in the cascading curtain of hair makes his stomach churn with something entirely different.
â
it doesnât sit well in yoongiâs stomach at all that someone else had gotten jimin into trouble that isnât himself.
brushing aside the fact that now he is sitting in detention along with the little brat.
thanks for that.
he really only has himself to blame.
smothering back a withering sigh, yoongi slowly bangs his head against the wooden table in a tempo that matches the rhythmic tick of the clock. time itself seems to be drifting by at an antagonizingly slow pace because every time yoongi looks up to check, the minute hand actually seems to be going backward.
the only small comfort that yoongi can take out of this entire situation is that the miscreant is finally put into detention where he belongs. but even that satisfaction seems to be take away from him because jimin seems positively at ease, leaning back against his chair with his feet propped up on the desk.
life is never fair.
blowing out a huffy breath of irritation, yoongi trains his gaze away from the freshman and opts for staring at the blank stretch of wall space until bursts of purple flash behind his lids and his eyes water from the burn of not blinking for far too long.
a throaty cough and a stern look is flashed in their direction as the instructor watching over todayâs detention rises from her desk, coffee mug firmly fixed in her hands, and turns out the door.
the sound barely clicks before yoongi somehow has a face full of jimin planted on his desk, his neck craning at an awkwardly uncomfortable angle as his body leans away to make up for the vanished and utterly lack of personal space.
âiâm bored,â jimin announces, flashing a winning smile as he rakes his hand through that soft head of hair that makes yoongiâs fingers itch with longing.
âand thatâs my problem because?â
âi dunno,â jimin leans down, almost nose to nose, with his chin cupped by loosely curled hands propped up by his elbows resting on his thighs. âentertain me.â
it takes all the effort in the world for yoongi not to just shove the boyâs face away and scream because this is honestly not how he thought heâd be spending a perfectly good thursday afternoon.
âentertain yourself if youâre so bored,â yoongi grits through clenched teeth, waging an internal war of irritated bewilderment and awe wreaking havoc in his body. itâs completely unsettling how one boy can make him feel all kinds of conflicting emotions and feelings that heâd never even thought existed within him.
because, quite frankly put, jimin is a walking paradox.
a delinquent with a penchant for breaking all the school rules, but also enjoys classical music.
a freshman who, upon first glance, engenders an overwhelming protective desire to wrap him in blankets and feed him cookies, but still manages to look insanely hot at the same time.
âthis is all your fault,â yoongi grunts, not really knowing what exactly heâs blaming him for. the detention? the confusion? the utter unassuming hotness he probably doesnât even realize he oozes with every pore of his being?
âwell, you know,â jimin, seemingly amused by yoongiâs inner plight, straightens back out and flashes a shining grin that puts even the blinding sun to shame. âgotta live life on the edge.â
time seems to stop, and yoongi thinks maybe heâs broken.
âshow you living life on the edge,â he mutters under his breath, fingers jerking forward of their own accord to wind around jiminâs already messed up tie, and yanks down. hard. it takes all of zero point four seconds to have his mouth latched onto jiminâs lips, slightly parted with surprise.
if it was under any other circumstances, yoongi would be laughing at the startled look on jiminâs face. complete victory. but at the moment, he is otherwise very well occupied with the task of sucking out jiminâs every last breath to ease the clenching pain in his own lungs.
long, insistent fingers weave through handfuls of tousled blonde hair that feel as silky soft as it looks. and yoongi purrs contentedly as jimin tilts his chin just so in order to slot their mouths better together. all coherent thoughts are wiped clean from his mind, solely focused on the wet and warm feel of jiminâs mouth and tongue and lips playing against his own, teasing and tugging and nipping until both are flushed and panting.
yoongiâs hands continue to card through jiminâs disheveled hair without his bidding, even as they separate just enough to catch their breaths. he finds himself thinking that maybe his afternoon isnât completely wasted after all.
âso,â jiminâs voice has taken on a breathy quality that does a little something to the pit of yoongiâs stomach as they press their foreheads together. âi guess you donât hate my hair all that much.â
âshut up,â yoongi laughs, tugging at the tufts of jiminâs locks still woven through his fingers. âyou are such a menace, you know that?â
jimin graces him with another brilliant smile that does little to quell the jolting butterflies in yoongiâs belly.
âcan you just, you know, at least tie your shoelaces when youâre in school?â