Where your misery finds its company.

travel worn as he is, he can’t even remember where he’s supposed to be at the moment, or where he’s going. not like it matters. yoongi honestly doesn’t even care. he’s 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 it’s 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 it’ll make him feel even shittier than he did before, making him more agitated and pushed to his wit’s utter end that only adds onto his burning ire.

he doesn’t mean to be a grouchy bitch, but sometimes just…

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.

“why are you holding my hand?” yoongi comments, much as one would about the weather, or a book, or the latest surge in value of cryptocurrency.

“becuase it fits perfectly with mine,” jungkook replies, matching yoongi’s matter of fact tone as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. duh.

“but why is your hand on my hand?” yoongi’s brow rises a fraction of a millimeter higher, staring down at their entwined fingers and back up at the giant maknae’s side profile, where a tiny grin is threatening to break free.

somewhere behind a couple feet to yoongi’s right, namjoon’s 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.

“you’re so weird,” yoongi turns back to gaze out into the inky depths, a whisper of a smile playing on his lips.

it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still dead fucking tired, and in dire need of a hot shower and a bed.

the only response received was a high pitched cackle-scream hybrid that had jimin flinching, probably bursting one of his eardrums as well. hoseok’s 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.

“yoongi please,” jimin was just that close of chucking his controller at the tv, nostrils flaring with annoyance at how crap he was at this game. “three hours, tops.”

“fuck no,” yoongi effectively managed to nudge both jimin’s and taehyung’s characters off the blimp, sacrificing his own partner with no remorse. (”hey! what the heck!”). “what part of no don’t you understand?”

“but i said please,” 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 yoongi’s chin with the softest puppy pout he could muster. “i thought we were bros.”

“no,” yoongi somehow managed to continue playing with a single hand, freeing the other to produce a swift flick on jimin’s forehead (”ow.”). “i am your elder, and you are a pint-sized peanut stuffed full of teenage gay angst and i don’t know why i put up with you.”

granted, jimin supposed that was true. yoongi was technically two years his senior. but they’d 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.

“but i thought you were my fam,” jimin plopped his body like deadweight and stretched his full height across the couch. “my homie for life, piña to my colada, the half to my whole, soy to my latte-”

“you can fuck right off with that.” 

 “and after all i’ve done for you,” jimin swooned, arm tossed over his eyes in a dramatic effect. he snuck a peak to glance up at the pointy end of yoongi’s nose.

the elder’s eyebrow was in serious danger of shooting up and out through the roof. if jimin didn’t know any better, and he liked to think he knew better than most, yoongi’s expression was definitely in danger of being permanently fixed the way it was, what with yoongi’s 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.

“pray tell, what exactly have you done for me?”

“like that one time,” jimin started, straightening out from his maiden’s swoon and poking up at yoongi’s left piercing. “you 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.”

“damn boiiiii!” hoseok screeched.

“exposed!” taehyung followed. “i know i’m hot shit and all but daaaaang!”

“i will literally set your hair on fire, you oversized carrot top,” yoongi gritted through clenched teeth where jimin caught a muscle twitch. (”you love my glorious orange hair, don’t lie.”)

jimin could truly say that episode had been one helluva fuckin’ 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, jimin’s 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.

“it’s true though,” hoseok’s mirth was clearly visible even through the shitty wifi connection. “jimin did do you a solid.”

“the sex was really good though, you gotta admit.”

“first of all, you piece of shit,” yoongi’s game controller went to join jimin’s across the coffee table. “i did not thirst after taehyung-”

“you were so thirsty your skin was flaking,” jimin smirked, shortly before he was shoved off the couch to land in a puddle at yoongi’s feet. “ow, fuck that really hurt.”

“i am the king of gang beasts!” taehyung’s shrill deep voice echoed in jimin’s ears. “all hail king tae! bow, peasants, and kiss my feet!”

“the fucking disrespect,” yoongi’s toe nudge into jimin’s side, making him jerk sideways half under the table. “it was mid winter and i have eczema you snot rag. second of all,” yoongi continued on his tirade and jimin wheezed with laughter. “what you managed to do was set everyone up for fuckin’ centuries of cringeworthy humiliation that is bound to have my descendants curling in misery.”

“you’re so dramatic,” 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 yoongi’s knees. “i totally helped you get dat ass. i am the best wingman.”

“you are a fucking nightmare, is what you are,” yoongi deadpanned, ruffling jimin’s already mussed up, pitch black hair.

“i know, but please,” jimin tried again, throwing on his best sulk face and capitalizing on the best asset god bequeathed him with. his plush, pouty lips. “just this one time,” he bat his lashes, just for good measure. “how often do i ask for favors?”

“all the fuckin’ time!”

“like when do you not?”

“did i ask for your opinion?! i think the fuck not!” 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.

“why do i put up with all of you,” yoongi let out a long suffering sigh.

“because you lo-”

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.

“back to the subject,” he licked his lips, settling against the coffee table with his knees drawn to his chest. yoongi let out another heavy sigh, but that didn’t deter jimin. “just one time please. one date,” he attempted the most forlorn look, like stepped on flowers, run over a dog’s tail, cookies got burnt disconsolate. “taemin is gonna be there.”

“how do you even know this,” yoongi sighed. again.

“with jongin.”

jimin pouted extra hard.

“who the fuck is jongin,” 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 yoongi’s life. he could attest to this.

“who is,” jimin's face crumpled. “who the fuck. jongin!” his arms shot up into the air. “kim jongin! the third year ballet twink with the good ass thighs and facial structure crafted by the gods! dance prodigy jongin!” jimin’s voice escalated with every syllable, in speed, pitch, and volume.

“that kim jongin. the one taemin dumped me for,” jimin was now truly feeling really sad. this was not how he’d anticipated this conversation to go down.

it still hurt. three weeks had passed since the evening that shall not be spoken of. and jimin’s 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 year’s worth of happy memories. the sacrilege, how dare?

“i found someone else,” taemin had said.

“well good riddance! ‘cause i was gonna break up with you first!” jimin’s brain to mouth filter completely went on vacation, leaving him with utter regret and despair. but why stop there? “i found someone else too!”

the look of surprise on taemin’s face had almost been worth it.

almost.

now jimin was stuck with empty words and no boyfriend to show for it.

“please,” jimin tried again, clutching at yoongi’s artfully ripped jeans, which was saying something as they were so tight they clung to the elder’s very legs like second skin. “i just gotta prove to him that i do have somebody else and i’m not like desperate-taylor-swift-binge-eating-sobfest-heartbroken.”

“you are heartbroken,” yoongi muttered, pulling off his headset and running a hand through his soft brown hair. “there’s nothing wrong with that. the asshole literally broke your heart. i’m pretty sure that’s the definition of heartbroken.”

“just to prove i have a boyfriend,” jimin could sense victory in the soft sigh leaving yoongi’s lips.

“but you don't.”

“minor detail,” jimin waved a nonchalant hand.

“i’d say that’s a big fucking detail,” yoongi replied gruffly, rubbing his face with his open hand.

“i’ll buy you dinner,” jimin enticed, coming up to his knees and peering up into yoongi’s face.

“it better be a good fucking dinner,” yoongi sighed, finally relenting.

success.

--

“i can't believe i let you talk me into this,” yoongi shook his head, jimin chancing furtive glances over his menu to look for that familiar face.

“just,” jimin finally caught taemin and his new boyfriend at the far side of the cafe, tucked away in a discreet corner booth. “pick something to eat while i do some recon.”

“fucking ridiculous,” yoongi released a long, deep breath but picked up his own menu and began to look through the list of foods. “recon,” yoongi snorted, a crease forming in between jimin’s 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 didn’t 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 taemin’s lips and the way his eyes curved into that precious moon smile that was jimin’s 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 other’s hand and pressed butterfly kisses along every knuckle. something he used to do for jimin too.

it felt as if he’d 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.

“what the fuck,” jimin’s expression puckered, rubbing at the sore spot on his shin that was very likely to bruise. yoongi’s brow quirked, arms crossed over his chest looking bored as hell while jimin’s world came crashing down around his feet for what was probably the thousandth time since he’d been dumped.

“you’re supposed to be having a good time,” yoongi’s 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.

“do you want me to take you home?” the elder asked gently, and jimin shook his head faintly. “then what do you want to do?” yoongi enquired, head tilted to the side.

inhaling a shaky breath, jimin willed himself to calm. “can you just,” he answered after a moment of silence. “talk. just talk. about anything, i don't care. just please,” jimin didn’t 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 day’s time, but he’d procrastinated up until now because who fuck care anyways? he commented on the weather, about Pokémon GO, about a new movie that had come out, about the upcoming spring break and how their mothers expected them back home because yoongi’s older brother wanted him to meet his fiancé’s family and how jimin was going to come with him or else he’d 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.

“do i get a free meal out of it?” 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 elder’s adam’s apple. but he waved it off as just his imagination.

“freeloader,” a hand leaned over the table to ruffle jimin’s hair before he could swing out of yoongi’s reach.

“knock it off,” jimin huffed, batting the hand away. “and no i’m not.”

“you are soft as fuck,” yoongi laughed at the excitement that lit up jimin’s face. “yes, you’re getting a free meal out of my brother so you’re ass is coming.”

“okay.”

“and you act like you never get a free meal whenever you come banging on my doorstep anyway,” yoongi said in a deadpan tone, sliding his credit card into the check folder the waitress brought over. “you know how much my mom loves you.”

“i can’t wait to play with holly,” jimin hummed with a content smile, sipping on his watered down coke zero.

--

“thanks for, you know,” 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 jimin’s dorm.

they’d 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.

“thank you for being the best fucking bro in the whole fucking world?” yoongi prompted when he’d paused for long enough, jimin snorting with amusement and retuning somewhat back to planet earth.

“yeah, that,” he conceded, fingers clasped behind his back for lack of anything better to do with them. “thank you.”

something warmed inside jimin’s chest at the soft grin that spread across yoongi’s 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 hadn’t known yoongi his entire life, since toddlerhood, something foreign yet altogether completely familiar thrumming in his chest.

“’night.”

“good night,” 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?

--

“i’ve been doing some thinking.”

silence.

“can i ask you something?” 

the only response jimin received was a muted grunt.

“and hear me out, okay? don’t just completely write this off,” jimin continued, staring at yoongi’s back from his current position of lying perpendicular across the elder’s bed, head hanging upside down over the edge.

yoongi didn’t even glance up from the composition project he was working on. the one he’d procrastinated on for weeks now. the one that was due within the next twenty-four hours, holy fucking shit rest in pieces.

“i think we should try kissing a go,” jimin blurted out, body tensed, as he watched for yoongi’s 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, “don’t be stupid,” and resumed his work once again as if jimin hadn’t said anything at all.

“but i’m being serious,” jimin rolled over onto his front, chin propped up on his clasped fingers and boring holes in the elder’s 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 jimin’s forehead.

“ow what the fuck?!”

--

“i cannot believe,” 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.

“is that jongin over there? can y’see him? i can’t tell if it’s him or not,” 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.

he’d lost count of how many shots of tito’s he’d downed in the past few hours they’d been camped out at the congested bar. jimin was a man on a mission. and yoongi’s 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 didn’t, only breaking his stare when taehyung dipped by to pass him another shot of something or other.

“drink bitch!”

“i think not,” yoongi swooped in before jimin could reach to intercept the small glass rimmed with salt.

“ooh tequila?” jimin pivoted on the stool without warning, nearly knocking the drink out of yoongi’s hand and quite suddenly placing the elder to stand in between his legs. 

“but i have limes!” taehyung’s boxy smile stretched so wide, jimin couldn’t help but grin back as he tried to grab the shot.

“i think you’ve had enough,” yoongi stretched his arm away from jimin’s circumference of reach.

“but i have limes!” taehyung repeated as if that tidbit of fact made it even more important. and quite frankly, jimin couldn't help but agree.

“give it,” he pouted, one hand grasping onto yoongi’s shoulder and the other reaching out making grabby hands at the glass.

“why you gotta cock block?” taehyung whined, having already downed his own and cramming the lime wedge into his mouth.

“no,” 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 let’s-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 yoongi’s waist to bring him even closer, extending his wiggling arm to the best of its somewhat stunted abilities to reach, reach, reach...

oh.

“shit!”

“ow.”

“y’okay?”

the stool ended up tipping over, both of them landing in a puddle of confused limbs and pained grunts. but jimin’s fall had been miraculously cushioned by yoongi’s 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 taehyung’s loud shrieking.

“hey,” jimin rested his chin on yoongi’s chest, his already muddled brain just a tiny bit overwhelmed by the stale and bitter scent of beer that lingered on the other’s lips. “you’re kinda cute, how did i never notice before.” 

yoongi snorted, groaned, jimin couldn't tell which.

“i’m gonna kiss you,” jimin said before his consciousness could actually catch up with his brain. “y’know, not because we’re best bros or anything, but like because you’re kinda cute right now and i’m kinda drunk and i couldn't think about anything but this for the past few days since-”

“just fucking shut up,” yoongi leaned up and pressed his lips onto jimin’s. 

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.

“literally you are such a piece of shit,” yoongi smiled fondly when they finally came up for air.

“get dressed,” yoongi replies, a secretive smile playing on his lips.

“why?” jimin allows yoongi’s 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. 

“where are we going?” 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.

it’s the strangest thing, jimin thinks, this inexplicable sense of somethinganythingnothingatall that passes through his core. but yoongi’s palm is warm against his, and there’s nothing in the world that can ruin the moment because they are here, together, in the now. and jimin lets the fleeing thought pass.

“are you going to tell me where we’re going?” jimin asks again instead, the weight of yoongi’s hand anchoring him down in this changing world that seems to be veering off its axis, so subtle and barely noticeable, but there.

“wait and see,” yoongi turns to press a kiss onto jimin’s temple, so soft, so gentle, so warm.

it’s honestly not that long of a walk.

“you woke me up at this indecent hour to bring me to a cafe?” 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.

“i was craving some caffeine,” yoongi shrugs, sliding into the booth after jimin has settled. 

“you could've just asked,” jimin pouts, nudging an elbow softly into yoongi’s arm. “all this secretiveness. i thought there was something wrong,” he grins, peering into yoongi’s eyes with a hint of playfulness.

maybe it’s the halogen lights above that shine just a little too bright. maybe it’s the godforsaken hour of three in the morning. 

but whatever it is, there’s a hint of something uncertain, something infinitely sad, something desperate flashing in yoongi’s gaze that bores back into jimin’s 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 jimin’s pouted lips.

“i’ll go place our order,” yoongi leans back with a tender look. “matcha tea with whip, as usual?”

“yeah, sure,” jimin hums, might as well since he’s 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. it’s a homey place. and quite familiar.

“this is where we first met,” yoongi slides back into the seat beside him, placing a steamy mug of hot tea before him. “do you remember?”

jimin blinks, before realization sets in.

freshman year.

summer break.

he’d just finished his finals for the year.

“how can i forget,” jimin laughs, thinking about how he’d 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.

jimin’s 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...

“i thought you’d murder me in my sleep,” jimin hides his amused grin behind his mug, taking a slow, measured sip as yoongi does the same. “i purposely avoided you for an entire quarter.”

“i contemplated it,” yoongi says thoughtfully, leaning in to wipe a small puff of whip cream from jimin’s lips. “but you were so damn cute, with your puppy dog eyes, offering to do my laundry forever and buy me dinner. i couldn’t get mad at you.”

“funny,” jimin snorts, nipping at yoongi’s thumb. “for the record, i did your laundry for an entire month.”

“that you did,” yoongi affirms, blowing gently and sipping his americano. 

“that was two years ago,” jimin sighs, smiling softly at the reminiscence. 

“hmm.”

“how’s work-”

“jimin i-”

“you first,” jimin offers, bringing the warm mug to his lips.

“no, it’s nothing important,” yoongi seems to hesitate, if only for a second. “you were saying?”

“you sure?” jimin tilts his head to the side, receiving confirmation in yoongi’s nod. “well, i was just gonna ask how’s work going. have you decided which paintings you wanted to display at the exhibit?”

“mm, i’m still working on it,” yoongi answers slowly, thoughtfully. “i started a new painting last night and i just...” 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.

“i’m sure it’ll be beautiful,” jimin places a comforting hand over yoongi’s, fingertips trailing over the tense knuckles before lacing palm to back of the hand and holding firmly. “you always pull through with the best pieces.”

“thank you, jimin,” yoongi flashes a lopsided grin, but the corners don't quite reach the top.

“are you sure you’re okay?” jimin doesn't want to push, but he can sense that hint of unease tricking through his veins once more. “is that why you needed the caffeine?”

“i...,” yoongi starts to say, but he seems to make a snap decision to readjust his words. “yeah, i couldn’t sleep and i wanted to keep working, but i seem to have... hit a brick wall.”

jimin isn’t sure if that’s what he really wanted to say, but he accepts it nevertheless. if yoongi had something going on, something really important to say, he’d let him know when he is ready.

“also, i just really wanted to see your face,” yoongi gently squeezes jimin’s fingers curled over and into his hand. “hear your voice.”

“i’m here,” jimin squeezes back, once, twice. “i’m always here.”

yoongi seems to take great comfort in that.

“i...,” yoongi starts again, jimin nodding in reassurance. “i have something to give you.”

“hmm?” 

“here, hold on,” yoongi releases his grasp on jimin’s fingers and slides his hand away. there’s so much curiosity bubbling in jimin’s stomach, something like the flutter of a thousand butterfly wings. yoongi reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, jimin peering over inquisitively.

it’s a box, so small and innocuous as it rests on yoongi’s palm.

but jimin feels something warmsoftcoldsizzle catch in the back of his throat.

“two years ago, exactly, at this time,” yoongi murmurs, jimin’s eyes seem to sting something furious. “a freshman boy came into my life,” (jimin sniffles), “he was the most beautiful thing i’d ever seen in my life, and that’s saying something as an art major. he came stumbling into my life, and threw up on my favorite shirt.”

jimin can’t help the watery laugh that bubbles through his lips.

“he promised to do my laundry forever,” yoongi smiles, gently lifting the lid of the box. there’s 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 jimin’s finger, and it sparkles as bright as the sun against the shining light of the moon.

“yes,” jimin’s voice is low and soft and resonates with all the love he never knew he could possibly feel in one lifetime.

“yes,” jimin repeats, eyes twinkling with brimming tears that don’t quite escape. “i promise to do your laundry forever.”

‘i love you,’ yoongi doesn’t speak but jimin understands. he smiles, leaning in for a kiss that speaks more than a million words. jimin’s world doesn’t end with a crashbangtumble, nor does it end with the smell of sulfurous brimstone raining bloody hell of the apocalypse across the world.

jimin’s world begins, and then it ends with yoongi’s 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.

of death, of destruction, of decay.

of past and present, and the end of the future.

“i’m 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,” 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 maknae’s unending curiosity. not today.

“like i said,” jungkook’s large warm hand floats in the general vicinity of jimin’s privates. “for science.”

the strong forearm resting snugly in between the elastic waistband of jimin’s sweatpants and his stomach radiates ripples of heat that does little to calm jimin’s skittering nerves.

“do you mind?” he raises a brow, waving around his toothbrush with minty toothpaste just barely clinging precariously off the bristles.

“not at all,” 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 jungkook’s pinky grazing slightly across the sensitive skin of jimin’s inner thigh.

jerking away from the accidental touch, jimin’s 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.

“you guys!” seokjin’s muffled voice bleeds through the shut door, followed by incessant banging. “we have to get going!”

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.

‘not today,’ 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.

“we’re at a fricking fansign,” jimin hisses under his breath, twitching nervously as jungkook’s 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.

“and?” jungkook hums, smiling pleasantly as a grinning teenager sidles timidly up to kneel across from him at the table. the fingers on jimin’s 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.

“hi,” she mumbles shyly, twisting her fingers nervously as she settles on her knees across from him.

“hello,” 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.

“you’re so cute,” 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... 

... which never actually makes it to the fan’s hand because jungkook’s own decides to take that moment to make its presence known, progressively sliding up and around jimin’s 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 jungkook’s 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 jungkook’s 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 jimin’s ribcage.

he mentally recites the long list of monarchs he’d 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 he’s constipated.

jungkook collapses over the table, snorting loudly as jimin wishes fervently for the ground to swallow him whole.

--

“you okay?” taehyung plops down in front of jimin slouched inside the furthest booth hidden in shadows at a local mom-and-pop cafe. 

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 jimin’s chest.

“i can’t,” jimin breathes, after five minutes of taehyung sipping calmly at his beverage.

“you can’t what?” taehyung asks, long fingers curled around his paper cup.

“jungkook,” jimin whines, staring beseechingly at the artfully decorated ceiling fan for answers it won’t give.

“ah,” taehyung nods in understanding. and jimin opts for redirecting his pleading gaze towards his best friend.

he is utterly at his wit’s end.

please.

“sorry,” his good for nothing best friend shrugs. “i can’t help you there.”

the world seems to crumble around his feet, jimin’s inner turmoil continuing to wage fierce battle inside his rattling chest cavity.

“you are utterly useless,” jimin sighs, pressing his face flat against the table.

“he knows judo,” taehyung states as if that answers all of jimin’s 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.

“what the hell?”

and he doesn't know how it happens.

this isn't even part of the choreography.

jimin blinks. and as if it’s 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. 

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 jimin’s 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 jimin’s inner thigh to just above the hem of jimin’s crotch.

for science, jungkook mouths.

warmth spreads from the point of contact straight to jimin’s groin, which isn't very far since jungkook seems to have made it his personal mission in life to attach his hand to jimin’s 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 jungkook’s elbow to pull him out the practice room door even as namjoon hyung shouts that they’ll be heading back to the dorms in a little bit.

like he gives a damn.

there’s 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 can’t guarantee that either of them will make it out of this alive.

“so,” jungkook’s lilting voice curls through jimin’s system like a drug through his veins. “eight days.”

down the hall, to the left. further down another hall.

“what?” 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 jungkook’s parted mouth is a small feat of victory in jimin’s books.

“according to my data,” jungkook continues with that same breath, however, without even a hint of remorse. “it takes eight days for you to pop a boner without my hand actually touching your dick.”

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 can’t seem to find it in himself to care if the others have seen or not because jimin is fucking aroused by the image of jungkook’s hand tracing the tent of jimin’s pants, just this close to touching, but not actually doing so. and jimin thinks he’s going to implode, and take everything within a ten mile radius with him.

everything is so, so hot.

“want me to blow you?” jungkook’s lips quirk into a lopsided grin as jimin bodily shoves against him, lips attached to the maknae’s 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 he’s 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 jimin’s tongue licking deep into jungkook’s throat because fuck all if he doesn't get what he deserves after enduring an entire week of jeon’s fuckery.

“on your knees,” jimin commands as he pulls away, with some small measure of difficulty considering how soft and warm the maknae’s lips are. but jungkook seems more than happy to oblige with jimin’s demand as he gently pushes jimin to lean back against the rails, before sliding gracefully down face-to-crotch. and it’s all jimin can do to not shove his pulsing dick down jungkook’s throat and make him choke on it.

which makes for a pretty image indeed, in jimin’s opinion.

and finally.

it’s relief like nothing jimin has ever felt before, jungkook’s 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. it’s like jungkook is coming after him to tear him right down to the very bones until there is nothing left.

the sound of jimin’s moans intermingled with the wet of lips on dick ricochet off the walls of the enclosed stairwell, ringing loud and clear in jimin’s 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 jungkook’s fingers wrap around the base of jimin’s spit slicked cock, pumping fast as jungkook takes an almighty suck that drains the life right out of jimin’s soul.

jungkook’s kiss bruised lips swallow down every inch of jimin they can possibly reach. and whatever is left, jungkook’s deft fingers cover as if to claim land.

“fuck, jungkook.”

there’s 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. it’s 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, jimin’s body bowed over him as he pulses right through his orgasm.

holy shit.

it takes a long moment for jimin to catch his breath, jungkook’s 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 jimin’s slowly softening dick still dripping with jungkook’s spit. he’s mildly grossed out, but considering everything else that had just happened, this should be the least of his worries. 

a spasm passes through jungkook’s frame that takes jimin with him for the ride, ropes of white spurting down the side of the stairs into the black unknown.

“see?” jungkook hums breathlessly into jimin’s sweaty skin. “science is fun.”

“shut up,” 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.

it’s only jaebum’s first week of captaincy, and he already feels like he’s about to lose his mind.

it’s 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.

“your serve would be so much better if you’d just-”

“enough!”

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.

“what?” jackson’s mouth is still hanging slightly agape.

“oh shit,” 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.

“let’s go,” jaebum grabs hold of jackson’s 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.

“let go!” jackson’s voice echoes across the court, tennis racket reaching every inch of jaebum’s body that he could possibly get at. and he’s sure he’ll 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.

“what about practice?!” 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.

“unhand me!” jackson yanks at the arm still locked firmly in jaebum’s 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.

“what is wrong with you!” jackson shouts, dropping the racket and pushing at jaebum’s hand curled around his wrist.

“what is wrong with me?” jaebum shouts back, unrelenting with his hold. “what is wrong with me? what is wrong with you?!”

jackson shoves at jaebum’s arm.

 “why are you acting like this?” jaebum tugs jackson towards him, nose to nose now. “what have i done so wrong that you’ve been bullying our team like they’ve done you personal injustice?!”

“bully?!” jackson’s nostrils flare. “bully?! if you would just be a better captain then maybe the team would actually have the skills to-”

captain.

jaebum’s 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.

“is that what this is all about?” he sighs, finally releasing his grasp on jackson’s wrist that has his boyfriend stumbling backwards at the sudden lack of balance.

“what?” 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.

“why didn’t you tell me it bothered you that the team voted for me as captain,” jaebum sighs, jackson’s elevated heart drumming loudly against his own.

“what?” jackson sputters, pushing without real intention at jaebum’s chest. “no! that is not- what?”

“you should have told me it was bothering you this much,” jaebum presses his lips against his boyfriend’s temple. 

“it doesn’t!” jackson insists, still pushing. “i don't even know what you’re talking about!” 

but jaebum can already feel jackson deflate against him. and he wishes he’d addressed this earlier, because it would’ve saved everyone from this week of nightmarish hell that has been tennis practice.

“i don't know what you're talking about,” jackson mumbles, and jaebum can feel the pout of his boyfriend’s lips pushed against the shirt of his shoulder.

“baby,” jaebum presses a kiss into jaebum’s hair. “just because i was voted captain doesn't mean they think you’re a lesser tennis player.”

jackson huffs, but jaebum notices that he’s stopped pushing.

“it doesn't mean you aren’t an amazing tennis player, nor does it mean they aren't your friends.”

“i never said that,” jackson humphs, and jaebum can't help the smile that quirks at the corners of his lips.

“i know you didn’t, baby,” jaebum pulls away just slightly to look his boyfriend in the face, who seems to be looking at just about everywhere except for jaebum’s eyes.

shaking his head with a grin, jaebum cradles both hands on jackson’s cheeks and places a sound kiss on his boyfriend’s lips.

--

“son of a-” 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.

“hello?” he asks in a whisper of a voice, peering through the peephole.

“package,” the fedex guy replies in a bored tone.

“but i didn’t order anything,” jimin frowns, confused, as he unlatches the door.

“sign here please,” rude fedex guy shoves an electronic pen into jimin’s hand.

“but i never ordered a package,” 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. 

“for the love of-” jimin huffs, glaring at the familiar name. “can’t you just leave it across the hall?” 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.

“you have got to be fucking kidding me,” he grumbles, marching back inside his apartment to grab a pen and sticky note from the kitchen. 

“every fucking saturday,” 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. “if i ever get one more damn package.”

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 ‘26′ on the door, jimin spins on his heel and marches back into his own apartment to resume his sulking and finish the damn movie.

--

“this asshole has to be fucking with me,” jimin’s nostrils flare angrily, all but breathing literal fire as he stares with disbelief at the fluorescent green sticky note stuck to his door. 

“please be gentle with my packages,” jungkook hovers over jimin’s shoulder to lean closer to the door, shifting one of the paper grocery bags into his other arm. “they are fragile.”

“fragile my effing foot!” jimin rips the note off the door and crushes it into a tiny pulp. “so help me, if another fedex package ever makes it to my door i will shove the thing so far up his ass, he’ll-”

“our door,” jungkook corrects, gently pushing jimin to the side and unlocking said door. “no need to make a scene about it.”

“i’ll show you scene,” jimin mutters dangerously under his breath as he lobs the small, crumpled paper at his neighbor’s 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.

“you gonna answer that?” jungkook shoots him a curious look, jimin shooting a pained glance at the door.

“if it’s kim-fucking-taehyung from apartment number twenty-six i’m going to strangle him straight through to next week,” jimin turns, resigned, back to answer the door.

“package for-”

“what?” jimin interrupts, gaping blankly at the usps girl standing with a small box in her hand.

“i just need you to sign here please,” she hands jimin a pen and clipboard.

“it’s freaking sunday!” jimin thinks his liver might have imploded inside.

“it’s amazon,” usps girl nudges the pen into jimin’s free hand.

“so?!” he really shouldn’t be yelling at her.

“it’s amazon prime,” she shrugs, taking back the pen and clipboard once jimin has automatically signed. it’s become second nature now.

“for christ’s-”

“we deliver on sundays,” the girl places the package into jimin’s still open hand, leaving behind a spluttering jimin to stare helplessly as she retreats.

“who was that?” jungkook’s voice calls from inside.

jimin has completely forgotten about the bag of groceries in his arms.

--

“no,” jimin stamps his foot, totally not pouting like a teenage girl. “i refuse to sign it. you can’t make me. there’s no law that states that i need to sign for my absent freaking neighbor’s damn packages every two, three days.”

the poor dhl girl stares beseechingly at jimin as if begging him to cut her some slack.

no.

there’s nothing on this god green earth that will make jimin sign for the damn package on this godforsaken wednesday evening when he’s 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.

“can you just-”

“no,” jimin huffs. “can you just please put the damn box over there,” he points with a tilt of his chin. “where it belongs?”

“i can’t leave without a sign,” she seems to be on the verge of tears and jimin’s blazing determination falters just the tiniest bit.

“do you know how many packages i’ve signed for my damned neighbor in the three months since he’s moved in?” jimin’s voice takes on a quality reminiscent of a whining puppy. the girl’s lower lip quivers.

“twenty-five!” he throws his hands in the air, forgetting that he’s still holding onto his work bag which knocks into the side of his head as it swings up. “how do you even,” jimin forgets that he’s standing out in the open hallway, shouting for all the world to hear. “what the hell does anyone even need to order twenty-five packages for?!”

“can you keep it down over there?” 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.

“i am done with kim-fucking-taehyung. do you hear me?” jimin burning rage slowly fizzles as jungkook steers them both into their apartment.

“sure, sure,” jungkook guides the fuming jimin towards the couch and pushes him down by the shoulders take a seat.  “you stay here and try not to hurt yourself while i go put this by our neighbor’s door.”

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 jimin’s mind as he flips the yellow envelope over in his hands. 

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 o’clock 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 neighbor’s doorway.

what if there’s some secret information in this envelope that jimin isn’t meant to see?

he needs to-

“hey.”

“holy shit!” jimin all but lodges his head through the wooden door, leaving a nice and pulsating lump to grow where he’d made collision. 

and this is how he dies, jimin thinks morosely while hunched on the floor with his head in his hands.

“you okay?” 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.

“that sounded pretty painful,” hot, oh so hot, neighbor actually looks concerned, and jimin doesn't know what to do with this information.

“i’m fine,” he answers haughtily, brushing off the imaginary dust from his hands. he’s 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?

“was that my mail you were cramming under my door?” kim-fucking-taehyung interrupts jimin’s inner spiral down to hades and has the gall to look amused.

and jimin bristles.

“speaking of which,” his utterly diminished irritation simmers once again. “would it really kill you to order less crap over the internet or be at home once in awhile to sign for your own packages?”

the amused quirk of the lips stretches even further up his neighbor’s adorable cheeks, flashing a boxy grin that leaves jimin feeling somewhat robbed and bereft inside, of what he’s not really sure.

“i mean it,” jimin tries to cover for his flustered nerves by crossing his arms as a protective shield over his chest. “i’m sick and tired of signing for your shit and passing it on to your door for whenever you decide to show up.”

“hi, sick and tired. i’m taehyung,” his neighbor stretches out a hand with a delighted twinkle in his eyes. “i don’t think we’ve actually met.”

“why do i get the feeling that i’m going to regret ever signing for your damn packages in the first place,” jimin takes the preferred hand nevertheless, marveling in the soft warmth of the fingers enveloping his.

--

“what is it that you’re ordering all the time anyways?”

“haha, body parts.”

“that’s not funny.”

“stop it,” the younger laughed, twinkled, the corners of his lips curving up into a crescent moon that shimmered with the reflected light of the sun. “what are you doing?”

“hush,” yoongi murmured against the silken depths of jimin’s 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 jimin’s skin to replace each one that escaped his warm, plush lips that yoongi continuously ravaged into glowing embers.

he could feel the lashes of jimin’s 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 couldn’t breathe.

he couldn’t think.

he was drowning.

“hyung,” jimin’s voice promised mercy, of grace, of absolution from all the transgressions he’d ever made, the man named min yoongi, and he knew he wasn’t alone.

“yoongi hyung,” 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.

“hyung,” jimin’s breath stuttered, the convex of his chest pressed flush against yoongi as small, desperate fingers clawed at the backs of yoongi’s knuckles.

“what,” his mouth pressed into the column of jimin’s neck, the roaring pulse of of life beating underneath his parched tongue like a raging river, maddening.

“i=“ jimin arched into the touch, breaths escaping short and quick.

“hm?” 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 world’s 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.

jimin’s 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 jimin’s shoulder as a pleasant buzz filled his ever listless mind.

“hyung,” jimin paused, and yoongi turned in to press his mouth into the gracious line of jimin’s neck.

“hyung,” the younger tried again, and yoongi lifted his head, albeit somewhat annoyed.

“what?” he lifted a brow.

“i still can’t see,” jimin’s brow mimicked, somehow still seeing, and yoongi laughed. inching down the gentle slope of jimin’s nose, yoongi lowered his hand until jimin’s eyes sparkled just above like the rising run peaking out over the horizon.

“funny,” jimin nudged at yoongi’s wrist, a delighted smile dancing across his features.

tiny, hardly legible pink letters etched across the newborn’s 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 yoongi’s parents felt such grief for the years of foreseeable pain and heartache foreshadowed in their precious son’s 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 parents’ 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 soulmate’s 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, yoongi’s 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 life’s 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 he’d 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 wasn’t.

“hey, can you pass me the bucket?” 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 couldn’t clean if it depended on his life.

“get it yourself,” 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 didn’t look even remotely as threatening as she wanted him to believe.

“lazy bum,” 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.

“hey!”

“sorry,” yoongi whispered, staring numbly at her wrist. “my fault.”

–

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, yoongi’s 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.

–

as the days, months, years slowly passed, yoongi found himself becoming more and more discouraged. with every jimin that passed that wasn’t the jimin, with every jimin that came into his life and walked straight back out, with every jimin that wasn’t 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?

–

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.

“so, this is where you’ll be dorming with the rest of them,” 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.

“namjoon,” 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. “show the kid around, yeah? he’s new.”

“no way,” yoongi drawled, returning his gaze back to the lyrics he’d been developing for the past three months. “we never would have guessed.”

“don’t be such a pain,” manager hyung snorted, patting the new kid on the shoulder, before turning right back out the door.

“come on,” namjoon’s jovial voice boomed. “i’m namjoon, like he said. what’s your name?”

yoongi looked up, annoyed.

the kid looked like he was about to throw up whatever remained of his lunch.

“uh,” his flushed cheeks puffed with embarrassment. “my name’s jimin. park, jimin. and i’m… new?”

“i like you, kid,” hoseok laughed from his sprawled position on the floor, turning away from the film he’d been watching.

somewhere in the distant, dusty corners of yoongi’s chest, something unremembered thudded uncomfortably against his ribs. 

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 wouldn’t do this. not again.

focus, yoongi.

for months, he refused to so much as acknowledge the kid. not until he was sure his heart wouldn’t 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 he’d 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 he’d 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 other’s name because he wasn’t ready to deal with it yet.

until the little brat decided upon himself it was time to address the issue.

“hey, hyung,” the kid tapped on his shoulder, insistently, irritatingly so, until yoongi finally had to toss down his pen and glare.

“we have to talk,” 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.

“no, we really don’t,” 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.

“look,” the other sighed, running his hands through the soft fluff of black hair that made yoongi’s fingers itch with longing. “i know you don’t like me, and i’m not sure what i did wrong. but would you please let me know what it is so i can fix it?”

what?

“i just,” the kid’s lip was trembling, dear god someone please smite yoongi now because he wouldn’t survive this. “i really need for this to work out, and if you don’t 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.”

yoongi was at a total loss.

how was he supposed to tell him that the only thing he’d done wrong was that his parents had named him a certain name on the day of his birth?

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” yoongi found his traitorous mouth utter. “you didn’t. i’m just an asshole, and antisocial. it takes a while for me to warm up to people.”

the kid blinked, tilting his head to the side.

“it’s not you, it’s me.”

the bubbling laughter that erupted from the kid’s throat seemed to thaw a chip of the ice that surrounded yoongi’s heart.

“well, i’m glad about that,” 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. “i was starting to think i unknowingly ran over your pet cat or something.”

for the first time in what yoongi felt was years of loneliness and despair, he found himself smiling back.

–

bangtan boys debuted on the thirteenth of june.

and it was honestly the most emotional day of yoongi’s life.

their outfits were a bit clinky, what with all the gold chains and excess jewelry, a little more gaudy and flashy than was yoongi’s taste.

their performance was a bit not-to-yoongi’s-standard, a little mistake here, a little mistake there, due to jitters and nerves.

but everything was perfect nevertheless.

“oh my god, can you believe it?” 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.

“out of this world,” taehyung grinned, leaning his forehead onto jungkook who muttered something about “sweaty” and “gross” but did nothing to shove the other away.

“out of this world,” jimin echoed breathlessly, peering into yoongi’s eyes with endless emotion and joy and love and happiness. yoongi couldn’t stand it.

too much.

without even realizing just how close they’d been leaning together, yoongi’s hand reached forward and swept around the curve of jimin’s flushed cheek, tracing his thumb along the warm skin that seemed to vibrate with energy.

i can’t.

jimin’s hand followed, pressing yoongi’s palm flat against the side of jimin’s face as the younger leaned further into the touch.

“yoongi hyung.”

his smile radiated the sun itself, and yoongi was certain he’d been blinded.

and his eyes flickered down.

a spread of smooth skin.

yoongi.

to yoongi’s great irritation, the boy doesn’t 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!

“i mean it,” yoongi growls, fingers clenching tighter around the pad of detention slips he’d brought with him. park jimin is seriously begging for a one way trip to a weeklong sentence of detentions with all the rules he’s 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.

“get down. now.”

“if you say so,” jimin shrugs, tucking an earbud back into his ear.

yoongi’s heart actually stutters for a milli-fraction of a second as the boy simply hops off the wall (holy sweet jesus he’s gonna break his neck), landing nimbly right in front of him still smiling that infuriatingly endearing smile.

“see you around,” 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 hadn’t written jimin up for detention.

bummer.

–

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. there’s just no other explanation for it.

“what the hell are you doing?” yoongi honestly doesn’t even want to know the answer to that question, but he is startled into asking it nevertheless by the sheer ridiculousness of the situation he’s walked in on.

“i’m dyeing my hair, duh,” 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 doesn’t help that the second floor boy’s bathroom now reeks of ammonia.

“you need to be in class,” 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. “why aren’t you in class?”

he’s trying very, very hard not to stare at the wonderful view of jimin’s rear end as he leans closer to the mirror with an appraising look.

through the mirror’s reflection, jimin merely arches a brow in a manner that clearly says duh, isn’t it obvious?

“i’m dyeing my hair,” he repeats, utterly matter-of-fact.

yoongi wants to punch the wall. or jimin’s face. or something. or maybe not jimin’s face. because that would probably get him suspended for sure.

“and you’re doing this here, now, why?”

“because,” jimin shrugs, eyes trailing back to his own reflection. “i didn’t like the shade of blonde the salon lady gave me.”

“of course,” (because that makes total sense) yoongi is battling an oncoming wave of a pounding migraine because this really can’t 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?

“hey, will you give me a hand?” 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 didn’t see anything.

–

yoongi is pretty sure he’s facing some type of identity crisis or existential disintegration because he really can’t find it in himself to tell the boy off for not tucking in his shirt as the dress code dictates he’s supposed to.

not even taking into consideration that he should be in class, but once again isn’t.

the look on yoongi’s face probably resembles one of someone caught in the middle of a thunder storm or maybe constipation, but he can’t seem to school his expression into anything other than polite suffering.

“if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were stalking me,” an amused smile teases jimin’s lips as yoongi tries to stamp the bubbling urge to run away.

“you’re really pushing it,” he mutters instead to jimin’s growing delight at spotting the elder dithering uncomfortably by the bio lab doorway. that sparkling grin stretches across jimin’s cheeks as he pats the spot on the teacher’s 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 jimin’s 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 isn’t. he had been on his way to taking the class attendance sheet to the front office when he’d spotted jimin’s telltale shock of blonde hair through the window blinds.

“here, wanna listen?” jimin proffers an earbud, to which yoongi actually accepts with nothing but a brief second’s hesitation. he’s relatively stunned and inexplicably satisfied to discover that jimin’s taste in music is rather much more sophisticated than the way he dresses.

“you like classical?” yoongi asks, pleasantly surprised by the younger’s choice of music selection. mozart’s 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. he’s so ensconced in the weaving melody surrounding his mind that he completely misses when jimin’s head snuggles comfortably onto his shoulder, the tips of the blonde tresses tickling underneath yoongi’s chin.

he utterly fails to notice as a senior hall monitor slips in through the doorway until it’s entirely too late. and they are both standing by the whiteboard, head’s hanging down, and the upper classman scolding them for playing hooky and trespassing on an empty classroom.

yoongi’s cheeks burn with embarrassment but the subtle upward tilt of jimin’s lips as he hides his face in the cascading curtain of hair makes his stomach churn with something entirely different.

–

it doesn’t sit well in yoongi’s stomach at all that someone else had gotten jimin into trouble that isn’t 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 today’s 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.

“i’m bored,” jimin announces, flashing a winning smile as he rakes his hand through that soft head of hair that makes yoongi’s fingers itch with longing.

“and that’s my problem because?”

“i dunno,” jimin leans down, almost nose to nose, with his chin cupped by loosely curled hands propped up by his elbows resting on his thighs. “entertain me.”

it takes all the effort in the world for yoongi not to just shove the boy’s face away and scream because this is honestly not how he thought he’d be spending a perfectly good thursday afternoon.

“entertain yourself if you’re so bored,” yoongi grits through clenched teeth, waging an internal war of irritated bewilderment and awe wreaking havoc in his body. it’s completely unsettling how one boy can make him feel all kinds of conflicting emotions and feelings that he’d 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.

“this is all your fault,” yoongi grunts, not really knowing what exactly he’s blaming him for. the detention? the confusion? the utter unassuming hotness he probably doesn’t even realize he oozes with every pore of his being?

“well, you know,” jimin, seemingly amused by yoongi’s inner plight, straightens back out and flashes a shining grin that puts even the blinding sun to shame. “gotta live life on the edge.”

time seems to stop, and yoongi thinks maybe he’s broken.

“show you living life on the edge,” he mutters under his breath, fingers jerking forward of their own accord to wind around jimin’s already messed up tie, and yanks down. hard. it takes all of zero point four seconds to have his mouth latched onto jimin’s lips, slightly parted with surprise.

if it was under any other circumstances, yoongi would be laughing at the startled look on jimin’s face. complete victory. but at the moment, he is otherwise very well occupied with the task of sucking out jimin’s 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 jimin’s mouth and tongue and lips playing against his own, teasing and tugging and nipping until both are flushed and panting.

yoongi’s hands continue to card through jimin’s disheveled hair without his bidding, even as they separate just enough to catch their breaths. he finds himself thinking that maybe his afternoon isn’t completely wasted after all.

“so,” jimin’s voice has taken on a breathy quality that does a little something to the pit of yoongi’s stomach as they press their foreheads together. “i guess you don’t hate my hair all that much.”

“shut up,” yoongi laughs, tugging at the tufts of jimin’s locks still woven through his fingers. “you are such a menace, you know that?”

jimin graces him with another brilliant smile that does little to quell the jolting butterflies in yoongi’s belly.