#always drafts

It’s a Tuesday evening after working overtime when it happens. Your best-friend-slash-roommate-number-one Jimin gives you a pitying pat on the head as you lean against him on the plush sofa.

“I wanna die,” you tell him for the fifth time in two days. “I want to literally keel over at this very second and literally never wake up again.”

“I know,"Jimin sighs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "You’re not allowed though. I won’t let you.”

You crack a smile. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Wanna bet?” And in no more than half a second later, Jimin’s hands find your sides, and he’s tickling you into your early grave.

You’ll admit you left yourself open for that. And maybe you’d say it wasn’t intentional, but a part of you may have been hoping. Just Maybe. You shriek at the feeling of fingers and hands dancing across your torso in rapid, light movements that feel like a cross between torture and ecstasy.

But as quick as he starts, Jimin ends the tickling, knowing that you’d appreciate the small break in mood but that any more would result in an irate roommate.

“Say it,” he laughs, having pinned you on the sofa. On any other day you would have won. Except today you were in a weakened state.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Jimin’s smile grows wider. “You do realize you’re in an extremely vulnerable position. Chance number two: say it.”

“Go to hell?” is your flippant response, and you even pucker your lips in a cheeky, faux kiss after your words. Jimin’s grip on your wrists is light, and you could probably wiggle out of it, but….

It feels nice to laugh and pretend like nothing mattered for while. Maybe it was the years of voluntary singledom, but your heart begins to thump just a tad faster when Jimin looks you straight into your eyes. His gaze gets about forty percent harder when you tell him to go to hell.

“Last chance.” Jimin’s voice is low, and he’s pressed down the weight of his body on top of yours. It’s not an unfamiliar weight. The two of you had always been affectionate and touchy by nature, but you can’t help but to feel some sort of pull at this very second telling you to tilt your head up to meet his lips for a kiss.

It’s a jarring thought.

“You win,” you gulp, attempting to blink away the desire to pull out of his grasp and hug him to your body fully. “You win.”

Jimin doesn’t move, and you know him well enough to know he’s felt something too.

“What did I win?” he asks.

“Whatever you want.” Risky. It’s a risky statement, but you’re also impulsive enough to throw it out there.

Jimin lets go of your hands and climbs off your body. His face is pensive when you sit up as well.

“That got sexual… Right?” you laugh nervously.

He shrugs. “A little. It’s not something that hasn’t happened before though.” You know Jimin is referring to the undercurrents of tension that bubble beneath the surface from time to time. “We’re always like this. We stop before it gets too much.”

You close your eyes and sigh. “Yeah…”

“I don’t always want to stop,” Jimin admits after a second, “Like now… Ah, nevermind.”

Your eyes snap open to see Jimin running a hand through his hair in frustration. He’s blushing the faintest bit. And that’s all the encouragement you need.

“I don’t want to stop either.”

Jimin swallows. “You are my very, very good friend.” Your heart stops for a second at this because it almost sounds like a rejection until he continues. “I want to kiss you so bad sometimes… But you’re my friend, and we’re not friends just because I want to get in your pants.”

It’s not a rejection. It’s pretty much a question nestled within a confession.

“Jimin… Um… Same…”

“Oh. Oh…” Jimin clears his throat and fiddles with his hands. “That’s… Good to know.”

He’s not moving, and you’re not going to wait. You slide six inches to your left towards Jimin and touch his face so that he looks at you. “Can I?” you ask.