Chapter Text
Everything needs it: bone, muscles, and even,
while it calls the earth its home, the soul.
So the merciful, noisy machine
stands in our house working away in its
lung-like voice. I hear it as I kneel
before the fire, stirring with a
stick of iron, letting the logs
lie more loosely. You, in the upstairs room,
are in your usual position, leaning on your
right shoulder which aches
all day. You are breathing
patiently; it is a
beautiful sound. It is
your life, which is so close
to my own that I would not know
where to drop the knife of
separation. And what does this have to do
with love, except
everything? Now the fire rises
and offers a dozen, singing, deep-red
roses of flame. Then it settles
to quietude, or maybe gratitude, as it feeds
as we all do, as we must, upon the invisible gift:
our purest, sweet necessity: the air.
-”Oxygen”, Mary Oliver
First, an enigma:
Kim Taehyung, 1995, male. 179 cm tall. Hair of varying colors, lengths, styles. Brown eyes. Vocalist and dancer for BTS.
On paper, he’s nothing mysterious. If Jimin wrote out all the simple facts on a clean white page, he wouldn’t seem so different from the other members. In fact, on paper, he could almost be Jimin himself, save for an imbalance in height. Sometimes, it’s easier for Jimin to think about him like this. Simple little facts in simple black ink--maybe a resume, maybe an advertisement, maybe a warning.
But Kim Taehyung, in all the years Jimin has known him, has never been easy. He’s never been simple, little, clean. He could never even begin to be fully explained by black ink on a white page.
To some degree, they all stand out, of course. They all have their perks, their quirks. They all shine, because they’re idols, and that’s what they do. Jimin has heard many stories of idol groups where personality is practically assigned-- you’re the happy one, you’re the tsundere, you’re the eomma-- but BTS has never really been like other idol groups. There were certain encouragements, of course, especially in the beginning when they were all still struggling to make themselves known and likeable and marketable. But at the end of the day, they were still told to be themselves, and, well--
It worked. Clearly.
So they have their roles, but they can weave in and out, give themselves space to breathe when needed. Hoseok is known for his infectious laugh and brilliant smile, but they’ve all seen the frightening sharpness in his gaze when he raps, or felt the deadly focused stare of critique during dance practice. Namjoon always stands out as their responsible, stoic leader, but it’s impossible to forget his wild eyes and restless energy when he’s had too much coffee. And the internet will never stop raving about Jungkook’s chest or arms or smirk or really, any part of his body, but no Bangtan member can think of him like that. Jungkook will always be the boy with wide eyes and a wider grin and a personality that can light up any room.
And Taehyung--
Well, as much as Jimin understands that they all have their facets and filters, Jimin thinks that maybe, he’s never understood all of Taehyung’s.
Which is dumb. That’s dumb, right? It’s incredibly dumb, because Jimin and Taehyung are--well. Jimin and Taehyung. The chingus, the 95s, the soulmates.
But the thing is--Taehyung isn’t easy to understand, and he never has been. He wasn’t easy to understand at 18, all tense, sealed lips and darting eyes and sudden, raucous laughter at untimely moments. He wasn’t easy to understand at 19, uncontrollable energy and tousled bangs and stage presence. He wasn’t easy to understand at 20, mood swings and too many edges to accompany a new smirk and light in his eyes. And he certainly wasn’t easy to understand at 21, screaming over dumplings and sleeping through practice and existing somewhere outside of Jimin’s circle half the time.
And it went on like that, even as they grew closer. Their fights lessened, as did the space between them, both physically and emotionally.There has always been something about the pair; that, at least, is no secret. But their relationship changed and grew with them, mostly for the better. And there are days when Jimin truly does feel like he understands his friend. There are days when Jimin feels like the only thing he understands is his friend. He doesn’t need the resume, the advertisement, the warning. Those little characters, neat and orderly and not wrong, but so very wrong, are not Taehyung. Not who Taehyung is.
So who is Taehyung, Jimin?
And Jimin could smile and open his mouth and say a hundred things without even nearing the mark. Because that’s Taehyung. Indescribable, maybe. Other-wordly, maybe, but that just makes Jimin laugh.
So--
An enigma.
---
Second: a secret.
Kim Taehyung is not straight.
(That’s not the secret, exactly.)
Jimin isn’t sure how long he’s known, or what gave it away, or even if the others know (they have to, don’t they? They have to know.) Taehyung has never told him, exactly. And surely when Jimin first introduced himself, he hadn’t thought ah, yes, gay at “Kim Taehyung, ‘95, vocalist”. But it’s a fact of life now, one that Jimin hasn’t thought about that hard. Which is a little funny.
Because Park Jimin is not straight.
(That’s the secret.)
He’s seen the jokes, of course. He’s seen the whiny tabloid articles, the reporters who suffer from a deprivation of personality and an excess of time. He’s seen the fan’s “analyses”.
Sometimes, they make him want to laugh. Sometimes, they make him want to cry.
Mostly, though, he doesn’t think about it, because it’s happened to all of them. It used to drive him up the wall, to the point where he would cringe away from make-up artists if they lingered too long, to the point where he’d wear those dumb muscle shirts everyday, to the point where he had cried in his dorm for thirty minutes after the performance when that man stared at him with curled lips and narrowed eyes and a slur between his teeth.
(Looking back, it shouldn’t have affected him that much, he supposes. If he really did have nothing to worry about.)
But, like everything, that changed. He grew more comfortable in his skin. They all did. The comments didn’t go away. If anything, they increased with Bangtan’s growing popularity, only now they were drowned out by the screams of the crowds and the endless praise, popularity, paradise. And to some degree, he thought the snide remarks about makeup and earrings and pink hair were just… hate. And like all hate, he shrugged it off. You’re wrong. You don’t know me. You know nothing about me.
So maybe that’s why it took so long for Jimin to realize. He became so caught up in not getting caught up, repeating that mantra of they’re wrong, they’re wrong, they’re wrong about me, that he didn’t even notice what was right under his nose. And anyways, he told himself, he’d liked girls before. Girls were hot! Of course they were. He had a girlfriend once upon a time. He liked girls (he wasn’t wrong about that), period (he was about that).
So he went on like that. His own skin kept getting more comfortable. He fluttered his eyelashes at himself in the mirror when his makeup was done. He lost his carefully, painfully constructed abs and let it happen with a shrug. He tsked every time a member tried “ but men don’t--” until they stopped for good. He ignored personal space. He let himself relax, and it was good. It still is.
Except there’s still a space between his skin that he doesn’t quite fit in. He could, maybe, if he wanted to, but he’s not sure he does yet. He wasn’t even aware of the space until around the time Persona was produced, when he met none other than Halsey. And Halsey… she swept him off his feet. He wasn’t in love with her (mostly) but he was fascinated. The word brave was the first that came to mind, even before he found out she was openly bisexual. She was just the sort of person that commanded the attention of the room, no matter who was in it. She was fun. She was bright, and fierce, and Jimin liked her so much. He didn’t even speak her language--which was why, when she offhandedly mentioned an ex-girlfriend, Jimin simply thought he misunderstood.
There was a strange twinkle in Namjoon’s eyes when Jimin turned to him for a clearer translation.
“She says thank you,” the older member told him when Jimin complimented Halsey’s earrings and she replied a bit too quickly for him to comprehend perfectly. “They were a gift from her ex-girlfriend, but she still thinks they’re cute anyways.”
Jimin’s eyes widened at that, even though that probably wasn’t the most appropriate reaction. And he didn’t say anything in reply more than a stilted “yeah” before the choreo director entered the room and they got to work. But that night, Jimin typed “Halsey” into the Google search bar on his phone and then, after a moment’s hesitation, added “girlfriend”.
He couldn’t believe he had missed it the first time he found out they were collaborating. It seemed to be everywhere, in every article: “Halsey On Being an Openly Bisexual Icon”, “Halsey, Singer and LGBTQ+ Activist”, and “Why Do Gay People Love Halsey So Much?”, which made him chuckle weakly.
He remembers staring at the bright whiteness of his phone screen until the characters blurred together and he had to shut it off before they were burned permanently into his eyes. He laid in bed with his phone pressed against his chest, staring at the dark ceiling until the blinding screen was less imprinted on the back of his eyelids.
Bisexual.
He’d heard of it before. He knew what it meant. Of course he did. He wasn't ignorant. He huffed and squirmed uncomfortably in his bed, kicking around in the suddenly too-warm sheets and turning onto his side. How could he feel embarrassed when he was alone in his own bed, just lying there? Yet his face felt hot and his skin prickled at the thought of himself. Or, not himself, exactly; at the thought lurking beneath his skin. At what he knew was fast approaching. Still, he squeezed his eyes shut tight and resisted it for another couple minutes of his life. Bisexual. Like, he’d always known it was an option. Just, you know, not for him. Ever. Because girls. Girls, right? Which, yeah, okay, bisexual people also like girls, but...
Jimin growled as that weird embarrassed sensation washed over him again, physically creeping up his bones and compelling him to stuff his face into his pillow. He didn’t know why it was hitting him so hard. Maybe it never really felt real until then, until it was right there in his face, so up close and personal he couldn’t possibly look around it. Maybe that was arrogant of him.
It was as he was lying there, swathed in the foreign sheets of a hotel bed, that he remembered a day several years ago that he’d almost forgotten about. Jimin didn’t quite remember what the band was doing that day--maybe shooting a music video or a photoshoot. Cameras were on. Nothing live of course, but it was enough to get the members to act up. Hoseok in particular was messing around that day, shimmying and giggling around the others until they either joined in or got embarrassed and left. Namjoon had just done the latter, so Jimin was Hoseok’s next victim. He had watched Hoseok coming too, and had prepared himself, letting a grin spread across his face as Hoseok wiggled his shoulders and swung Jimin into an uncoordinated, bopping sort of dance. They laughed and moved together, and Jimin was genuinely having fun--and then Hoseok took his face in both his hands and swooped in.
And for one terrifying, exhilarating moment, Jimin had thought Hoseok was going to kiss him square on the lips.
He didn’t, of course. He stopped and ground their foreheads together, squeezing Jimin’s cheeks from their grimace and cooing something affectionate before pulling back and abandoning him for whomever would be so unfortunate as to cross his path next.
Jimin fled.
When he was in the safety of a locked bathroom, he let out a shaking exhale and tried to wipe the sweat from his hands.
It was absurd, of course, because it wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, exactly. They’ve all done their fair share of bits like this, some more and some less. So there’s no reason why Jimin should be freaking out like this, except--
Except there was little part of him that had gasped to life when Hoseok had pulled their faces together, a little part of him that was excited, a little part of him that had wanted to lean into it.
20 minutes later, he left the bathroom stall with a brave face and a resolute, immoveable conviction: it was just because it was Hobi-hyung. Aren’t we all a little bit in love with Hobi-hyung?, and refused to think about it again.
Which… fine, that’s not entirely damning by itself. But there were other scenarios too; small ones that he had ignored at the time, only for them to all come rushing back to him as he laid there staring at the ceiling of his hotel bedroom. A dry mouth and a staccato heartbeat at 17 when one of Seokjin’s cool college hyungs stopped by and gave him a cocky smirk and a wink. Sweaty hands again and a raised eyebrow from Namjoon at 21 when one of the young camera directors on a talk show gave him his number after the shooting wrapped. Heated cheeks and a subtle peek to see if Hoseok had joined in when all the members whoop and whistle at the sight of Jimin’s exposed abs on an after-show review. Small things, really. Isolated incidents. But they were all flooding his mind now as he sat in the dark and thought “bisexual, bisexual, bisexual” over and over again.
First thing next morning, Jimin cornered Halsey in the practice room and said in English, a little out of breath “Talk, please?”
Halsey blinked with a rather taken aback smile. “You want to talk? We can talk.”
Jimin rushed to stop her when she began to wave Namjoon over. “Not with hyung--uh, RM,” Jimin insisted quickly. “Ah--quick talk?”
Halsey nodded, of course, with that same bemused smile.
Jimin took a deep breath and tried to remember what he practiced. “How did you know,” he began slowly, hoping his translator app hadn’t failed him this time, “you were bisexual?”
He butchered the last word, he was sure of it. But Halsey’s eyebrows raised instantly and from the way her eyes softened, he could tell she understood.
She took him outside and they tried to stumble their way through a conversation that really should have taken place with a translator. It may or may not have ended with Jimin holding back quickening breaths and shaking his head hastily when Halsey asked, “Do you think--?”
She didn’t press, and in the end, it never came up again.
But that was when Jimin figured it out. Finally. Even if he kind of already knew. Life is funny like that. He just had to meet one right person for it all to click into place and make him miserable.
And so now, he had a secret. From the world, yes, of course, but also from his band. Which was stupid, he supposed. This whole thing was stupid. It was so frustratingly, terrifyingly stupid that he wanted to scream it into the sky some days. Because he could just tell them. It wouldn’t be hard. It’s not like they would-- hate him, or, or--or kick him out? Half the time, Jimin doesn’t even know what he’s so scared of. There’s a group dinner when it crashes over him with a dizzying intensity--the realization that he could just say it, just like that, out loud. He could just say it, right then, because it’s just words and words are easy and they’re not hard to say at all, he could just speak and it would be out. It swells in his chest and sinks its claws into his lungs and doesn’t let him breathe for several seconds.
He doesn’t say anything. He keeps his mouth shut, because if he didn’t, they would change. That’s what he’s most frightened of. At the end of the day, he’s not scared of their anger or disgust (Sometimes, on his loneliest nights, he thinks he’d almost prefer that. At least then he’d be able to be angry back). He doesn’t have to be frightened of that, because he knows it--they--wouldn’t be like that. It would just be changed . Their relationship would simply shift. It would be discomfort in Seokjin’s gaze as he pulls away from a hug. It would be stiff, late replies from Hoseok to his 1 am texts. It would be awkward laughs from Jungkook and jokes that fall flat.
It would be Taehyung, putting up walls because two queer men don’t do what Jimin and Taehyung do with each other. If Taehyung knew, it would be over. There’s no more stumbling into each other’s beds at 3 in the morning, no more holding hands at the airport, no more affectionate skinship during concerts. Taehyung is gay, yes, and that’s not a secret, but if Jimin is gay too, that means--
Well, if Jimin is being honest, he doesn’t let himself think too much about what that means. Yet.
And so we come to the third.
---
Third: a revelation.
(Several months into his hiding his secret.)
Park Jimin is--
Well, he can’t say it yet. (It’s stupid, it’s fucking stupid. Everything is stupid. Jimin is stupid, Taehyung is stupid. God, Taehyung is so fucking stupid, from his stupid smile to his stupid voice to his stupid everything. And Park Jimin is in--)
It’s like falling off a skyscraper rooftop at 1 in the morning. Not that Jimin has experience, of course, but. He imagines it’s something awfully goddamn close, because it’s like this:
It’s 1 o’clock in the morning and everything eye-level is dark. Your head is in the clouds and the clouds taste like smoke and water and the vapors of the city below you. Your head becomes light, first from that taste, and then from the realization that nothing supports you. Only your feet on the edge of the roof keep you where you are, and really, feet are just a part of your body, and bodies are such fragile things, aren’t they? And the more you think about it, the more your legs shake, and the more your legs shake the harder your heart beats and the more your heart beats the more your body becomes overwhelmed with the need to move . And you start to think that maybe falling wouldn’t be so bad, if only you didn’t have to hit the ground so hard.
You fall. The darkness retreats even as you close your eyes. The last thing you see is the city lights around you, streaking by like waterfalls of melted gold. You were wrong: falling is bad. Falling is the worst. Your heart is in your throat and your lungs don’t work anymore. But you were also right: Falling is freedom. It is flying. It’s sinking into the city of glimmering jewels and reaching for the stars above you, no matter the fact that they just keep shrinking away. It’s mind-numbing euphoria and it’s body-shattering terror.
That’s what falling in love with Taehyung is like.
(Oh. He said it.)
---
Now, Seoul, South Korea
They were drinking, which is how bad stories always start. (Or good stories, depending on who’s telling them. If Taehyung told the story, would he say it was a good one? Jimin doesn’t know. Taehyung isn’t telling the story, Jimin is. And to Jimin, the story is pretty fucking shitty.)
All seven of them were together, which probably made it worse. Group mentality and all that. Although maybe it would have been worse if it had been just the two of them; just Jimin and Taehyung. The dumb shit would have turned into dumber shit which would either have turned into fighting or kissing, neither of which Jimin wants to do with Taehyung while drunk.
The song was something skin-deep and American and it could not have more obviously been a bedroom song. Jimin didn’t understand all the lyrics, but Namjoon seemed to find it hilarious. The throaty voice and heady beat gave it away anyways, hiding little about the content of the song even before the woman singing started practically moaning halfway through. It’s just the sort of song that would be popular in America, and it’s just the sort of song that makes you drink a little quicker and laugh a little louder and roll your hips a little harder. Apparently.
It was Namjoon first, which surprises them all, though maybe it shouldn’t have. He’d always had an extra screw loose after a couple shots of soju, more so than the rest of them. Maybe it’s more tempting to lose yourself when you’re the one who always can’t , and maybe that’s why he pulls Seokjin close and starts dancing on him.
The members roar with laughter as Namjoon shimmies his hips near Seokjin’s, waggling his eyebrows and moving his arms to the flow of the music, drink still in hand. Seokjin is the most sober of them right now, second only to Jimin himself, which makes it all the more funnier. His face is bright red and he’s laughing too, but he keeps gingerly placing a hand on Namjoon’s chest like a safeguard whenever the leader gets a bit too close.
When it becomes too much for the eldest member (when the chorus hits for the second time and Namjoon grabs Seokjin’s shoulder to twirl him around and dunk him, a very dangerous thing for even a sober Namjoon to try), he exclaims incredulously, “ Yah, why am I the only one suffering?” and grabs Yoongi by the hand.
Yoongi lets out one of his overly-dramatic screams and attempts to flee back to his seat but Hoseok jerks forward and splays his entire body across it, a joyfully mischievous grin overtaking his face. “Not so fast, hyung!” he crows. “Show us your sexy moves!”
Hoseok eventually surges forward to join the other hyungs, corralling Yoongi with his body until the older member is blushing even harder than Seokjin, which is a feat in and of itself. Hoseok drops into a squat and starts doing his version of twerking and Yoongi rolls onto the floor, laughing so hard no noise comes out. Jimin leans into Taehyung with his own body-wracking laughter and for a dizzying moment can’t think of the last time he was this happy. There’s no cameras, no script, not even a staff member: just them.
Jungkook is hiccupping beside Jimin, tears of laughter streaming down his flushed face. Jimin slaps him on the back when he starts choking on his drink, and turns back to playfully tell the others they have to quit or they may very well lose their maknae. And then he chokes too. Because Taehyung has joined the show, and--
And there’s not an ounce of humor on his face. Taehyung has gotten good at that; hooded eyes and straight lips and fixing the camera with an unbreakable deadpan. Usually it’s funny, but right now… Right now, Taehyung is running a hand from his chest down to his thighs and biting his bottom lip and staring directly at Jimin. His shirt has opened up another button and when he leans too far in one direction there’s a hint of nipple. The loose shirt flows with his movements easily but his pants are villainously tight, something that is quite impossible to ignore when Taehyung snaps his hips forward with the beat of the music.
Jungkook is still wheezing with delight, but Jimin can barely hear him. He has a strange ringing noise in his ears and his face feels warm. Why does it feel so warm? It’s just the liquor, he’s sure, it has to be, even though Jimin has only had a shot or two. Taehyung tears a hand through his hair and distantly, Jimin hears the members’ ohhhhh. When he manages to blink away he finds them watching Taehyung with identical shit-eating grins on their faces.
And then there’s a hand on his jaw and his gaze is yanked forward and oh, wow, Taehyung’s face is way too close. Jimin can smell the alcohol on his breath, a reminder of why, exactly, Taehyung is climbing into his lap with his shirt half off at 11 in the evening.
Somehow, Jimin plays along. It’s not hard to, actually. It’s instinct at this point, playing with Taehyung, even when every siren in his head is blaring at once. Taehyung is giving him a goddamn lap dance to a goddamn sex anthem with every goddamn member in the room but somehow, he keeps up.
They’re drunk. Taehyung is drunk. Otherwise he would never do this. Probably. Maybe. Jimin doesn’t know. He’s not drunk enough for this.
Drunk Taehyung has at least enough decency to not sit directly over Jimin’s crotch. It’s all for show of course, to make them laugh. Mostly to make Jungkook laugh, probably. Jimin doesn’t like that thought and then doesn’t like that he doesn’t like that thought and then wonders what that thought even was because Taehyung grinds down as the electronic bridge reaches its climax. Jimin doesn’t even know what the others are thinking about this right now. Have they stopped laughing? Is this weird? Are they weird? This is probably weird. Taehyung should probably stop. Jimin should stop laughing. If he stopped laughing, maybe Taehyung would mean it.
The song ends. Taehyung slides off his lap. Sort of. The world becomes real again. Sort of.
Titters and slurred chit-chat resume. Taehyung still has half a leg across Jimin’s thighs and one hand is tracing lazy shapes on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin is feeling… tight. In too many places. He rubs absent-mindedly at his chest and he’s stopped laughing now. Taehyung’s not even looking at him anymore and Jimin really doesn’t know what the hell just happened.
Maybe this is normal for them. Maybe Jimin is the one making it weird.
Jimin watches Taehyung down a shot, feeling much too lightheaded for the relatively small amount of alcohol he’s consumed. Everything around him seems blurred, like he’s just gotten off a carousel and the world hasn’t noticed it’s time to stop spinning now, leaving him nauseous and wrestling with vertigo. Time has stopped moving the way it’s supposed to. Jimin slides his gaze away, but it doesn’t go without a fight, catching on Taehyung’s coal-dark eyes, the mark on his nose, his cupid’s bow. Eventually, though, it makes his way to his own drink, and stares blankly at it. He’s almost surprised to see the liquid isn’t rippling with tremors from his hands. He literally feels like jelly. He scowls down at the glass. Your fault, he scolds.
In the end, Jimin is the first to leave. He says he’s tired, even though his body still feels like he just touched an electric fence. When he stands up, Taehyung hooks two fingers to his belt loop, pulls him down, and whispers more into his neck than his ear “Had fun, baby?”
This is normal. This is normal. “Baby” is normal. They’ve called each other that before.
Jimin swallows with a dry click and leans back, trying not to shiver as Taehyung’s fingers ghost his waist before sliding away completely. He leaves the scene with Taehyung wrapping his arms around Hoseok’s waist, trying not to be bitter about the way he drunkenly pulls their hyung to his chest.
In his room, he gets undressed. He turns the shower on and the steam rises behind him as he stares at himself in the mirror. He looks himself over, from his bubblegum pink hair to his blotchily flushed cheeks to his small hands to the space between his legs where he’s been half hard for the last 10 minutes. In the shower, he doesn’t touch himself. He digs his fingernails into his scalp when he applies shampoo and rakes them down his sides when they’re slick with soap. Just to focus on anything other than the press of Taehyung’s thighs and his throaty breath against Jimin’s neck.
It doesn’t work. By the time he turns the shower off, the situation has gotten… worse.
In bed, with the lights off, it’s easier. Easier to think about Taehyung like that and not feel like the most disgusting human on the planet. Easier to envision his lips on his neck and his chest and his stomach and his thighs and not feel like the worst friend on the face of the earth.
He wants him. He wants him so bad that he feels it in his gut, under his fingernails, between his teeth. There’s not an inch of his body that doesn’t want Kim Taehyung. He wants him so badly that he can almost pretend the caress of bed sheets are feather-soft kisses, that his ragged gasps in the night are a melodic duet instead of a pitchy solo. His hand is reaching between his legs before he’s even truly aware of what he’s doing, and even when he is, he can’t bring himself to stop. His soprano, breathy grunts are embarrassing to his own ears as he touches himself and thinks about how Taehyung would sound. Could they perform a perfect harmony even like this?
Jimin’s eyes shutter closed and he whimpers as he rocks his hips against the mattress. He’s not even doing it properly; it’s just a messy combination of grabbing and grinding and groaning, and with Taehyung’s bitten lip and dark eyelashes on his mind, it’s enough. The hand that isn’t preoccupied finds its way to his mouth and he secures his teeth around the meat of his shaking palm to muffle the noises that he can’t seem to tamp down.
The thought strikes him as he’s climbing to his peak: that Taehyung doesn’t want him. That Taehyung would be sickened if he knew what Jimin was doing right now. What he was thinking of. He should stop. He needs to stop. He squeezes his eyes shut against the sting. His chest aches and his breath catches and he thrusts his hips and he thinks about Taehyung grinding on his lap.
Jimin comes, and he bites down his hand. Hard.
When he comes back down, his face is wet with tears. He’s not sure if it’s better to ignore that or pretend it’s from the fresh teeth marks on his hand. The fact that he can’t make up his mind really ruins the illusion anyways.
---
It’s around noon by the time they’re all awake the next day, everyone somewhere on the hangover scale from groggy to half-dead. On one end is Seokjin whose hair sticks up in scraggly cowlicks but maintains his usual bright attitude as he pours coffee, while Namjoon falls flat on the other end with a single appearance to grab painkillers before disappearing again, giving only a disoriented “don’t” when Jungkook says good morning.
Jimin is singing on a whole different scale--something minor, something offkey.
“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks with a yawn, poking his pinky to the corner of his eye to rid it of crud. “You look weird.”
Jimin doesn’t think that’s a very fair thing for him to ask when they all witnessed Hoseok fall asleep into his brunch not two minutes ago. They all look weird.
When Jimin doesn’t reply right away, Taehyung frowns and drops his hand to peer closer at him.
“I’m fine,” Jimin says at last. “You up for ramyeon?”
“Sure.” Taehyung keeps looking at him oddly.
They eat their meal without talking. It’s a normal silence, but still.
Jimin’s chest hurts.
---
There’s a monster that lives in the space between his skin and his bones, and sooner or later it’s going to break one of them. Jimin isn’t sure which he’d prefer: bursting through his skin to rear its ugly head for the entire world to see, or shattering his bones until Jimin can’t even hold himself up. Or maybe it will come out his throat; maybe he will vomit it up when this goddamn body of his refuses to stomach it a moment longer. Or maybe, maybe it will simply die, quietly and gradually, before it ever sees the sun.
---
Several months earlier
It’s the holding hands. That’s what does it.
Their hands have always been a bit of a thing, Jimin supposes, so maybe that has something to do with it. Yoongi thinks they’re weird for it, and Jungkook finds it sweet, and Seokjin mostly ignores it, and Namjoon has written lyrics for it, and Jimin isn’t quite sure what Hoseok thinks of it, because he says “ Cuuuuuute ” every time he sees it but in the sweetened syrupy voice that he doesn’t always mean, but sometimes does? But sometimes doesn’t.
But Taehyung likes it.
So Jimin does too.
It’ll start with one of them (usually Taehyung) absent-mindedly brushing their pinkies together. For all his physically affectionate tendencies, Jimin is not a person who touches someone else without thinking. He touches on purpose--a hand ruffling Jungkook’s hair, seizing Yoongi’s hand before the elder can move away, pressing his body into Hoseok’s arms for a tight hug. Taehyung is not like him; he touches like he breathes.
So after they brush pinkies--after Taehyung subconsciously reaches out to him--Jimin will link them, wiggling his much more diminutive finger until it can slip around Taehyung’s larger one. It’s like clockwork from there. Their other fingers will follow like dominoes, falling into place in between each other until Taehyung and Jimin are happily holding hands. Taehyung will still shift his pinky against Jimin’s every now and then, even after they’re clasped tightly together.
“Cute,” he murmurs today, eyes soft and voice fond. He does that sometimes.
“Don’t make fun,” Jimin mutters, because occasionally his stubby fingers still embarrass him in front of Taehyung, even after all this time. (Taehyung has nice hands. Hands that look like they’re supposed to play a piano. Long-fingered and firm and good to hold and good to look at.)
They’re in the smaller of their dance studios, in the middle of an extra choreography practice. It wasn’t necessary, exactly, but they’d been less than pleased with their most recent performance and had agreed to take the day to practice. Sungdeok wasn’t here, so it was off the official charts, but Hoseok more than made up for the absence of their choreographer. The members hadn’t decided if this was something they were happy about yet, especially after their fifteenth run-through of the second verse where they were having particular trouble. Taehyung ended up with his back on the floor, perfectly fine but giving Hoseok the stink eye with an intensity that could curdle milk. Hoseok saved himself by giving them a 20-minute break and wandering off with Yoongi to fetch water.
Now, Taehyung’s gaze is briefly separated from his phone screen to study their intertwined fingers, a somewhat goofy smile softening his features. Not five minutes ago his jaw had been clenched with concentration, eyebrows furrowed as he performed the same move over and over again. But now, even though the sweat still trickles down his temples and mats his hair to his forehead, he seems at ease.
Jimin watches him, feeling his shoulders relax as well. He looks good like this. He always looks good, but Jimin likes this Taehyung a little too much. His skin is flushed and his hair is messy and tangled across his eyes in a way that would drive Jimin insane if it were him. He’d need to rake his fingers through it and push it completely out of his way, but Taehyung just peers through it as he texts with one hand on his phone.
It strikes him then, leaning against the mirror in the fluorescent lights at a completely unassuming hour of the afternoon. It strikes him that he likes holding Taehyung’s hand a lot. It’s not like he didn’t already know that exactly, but as he stares at their hands he realizes that it’s not just about holding hands; or at least, that’s not the only part of it that he likes. He likes looking at their hands, thinks they look good together. He likes the way nobody even takes a second look because this is so commonplace, so… domestic? He likes that Taehyung touches Jimin like he breathes. He likes that Taehyung’s pinky twitches out the beat to their most recent song and that Jimin can feel it. He doesn’t even mind the inevitable sweaty awkwardness caught between the two palms.
Carefully, Jimin brushes his thumb against Taehyung’s hand. He lets out a quiet exhale, a breath through his mouth that shouldn’t be shaky.
And then, the other shoe.
Oh, Jimin thinks dumbly. Oh, no.
That’s all it took, after all these years. Taehyung holding his hand like he’s done a hundred thousand times before.
Jimin recoils, causing Taehyung to blink up from his phone screen and watch as Jimin jolts to his feet.
“You okay?” he asks, already closing his phone and diverting his full attention to his friend.
Maybe he’s overthinking this. Maybe he’s being dramatic. He’s very good at both. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s leapt to conclusions and spun out disastrously because of it. Be real here, Jimin. It’s Taehyung. It’s just Taehyung. It’s just this kid from Daegu who happens to be kind of hot and has a decent voice. It’s just Taehyung, just this incredibly weird guy whom Jimin has seen commit unspeakable crimes of oddity, like eating an entire styrofoam cup or roleplaying a good 30 minutes of a romance drama with Yeontan or threatening to murder his Jimin plushie when he missed his best friend a little too much. He’s weird, it’s weird, everything is weird. Having feelings for him would be weird.
And yet--
And yet when Jimin thinks about all those incidents, only fondness blooms in his heart. Maybe it’s telling that Taehyung is sitting here, drenched in perspiration, smelling like sweat and his fried takeout lunch, and Jimin is all over him, not even caring about the clamminess between their conjoined palms. It’s amazing, almost. Amazing, how much Jimin can feel his chest expanding over it. Amazing, how blind he’s been. Amazing, how it has all come down to this: a sweaty boy in overpriced workout shorts, staring up at him with wide chocolate eyes.
“I’m--fine,” Jimin mutters, suddenly unable to even look at Taehyung. “I, uh. Gotta go to the bathroom?”
He flees. He runs away just like he did all those years ago, when Hoseok almost kissed him. The world feels weird right now. His chest is all tight and he can’t really feel his feet hitting the ground. He can’t fucking believe this. When did he get so goddamn stupid? He turns down a hallway or two, completely unaware of where he’s truly headed. He may end up in the bathroom. He may end up walking home.
He’s in love with his best friend. And then, another thought, almost worse--that it’s not just his best friend, that it’s Kim Taehyung, that it’s V, V from the globally successful superstar icon idols insert-starstruck-adjective-here boy band BTS.
Ah. This is bad. This is when the panic actually sets it. There is quite possibly no worse person on the entire earth to have fallen in love with. Once Jimin sets aside all the endlessly complicated parts of being in love with his best friend (an incredibly difficult feat, and one that he does not successfully complete in any way) there comes the absolute terror of having fallen for one of his bandmates. It’ll fuck everything up. Jimin will fuck everything up. He’ll fuck his friendship up, he’ll fuck his career up, he’ll fuck their careers up, and oh god, he’s going to end BTS just because he’s caught feelings for his hot coworker--
Jimin’s fingers fumble for the nearest door handle until it gives. The door swings open and--
For at least a full five seconds, Jimin doesn’t even know what he’s looking at. Then--
“Oh my god,” Jimin croaks.
“Well,” Yoongi drawls, pulling his hand back from where it had tangled in Hoseok’s hair. Hoseok had jerked back the second the door had slammed open, and stares now with almost comically wide eyes, mouth agape. “Shit.”
It’s sort of funny, actually. Any other day, Jimin would be having thirteen mental crises about walking in on his Hobi-hyung sucking Yoongi’s dick. At the moment, though, he’s only giving it about three or four. He’s still sort of caught up in his strange fog, thinking panicky thoughts about Taehyung and himself and how everything is going to go up in flames and trying to decide what he values more, his friendship with Taehyung or the entire band’s career. Which one would hurt more to lose, when he inevitably does.
Yoongi has his pants back up so quickly that Jimin would almost be impressed in different circumstances. His movements are relaxed, smooth, nonchalant. He looks almost rueful, in a sorry-you-had-to-see-that sort of way, but besides that, he seems unconcerned.
Hoseok, on the other hand.
“You can’t tell anyone,” he gasps, after moving halfway across the room to get closer to Jimin. He seems to not know what to do with his hands. They keep flexing or spasming like they need something to hold onto, but Hoseok doesn’t let himself touch Jimin, much less seize him. “Please, Jimin-ah. You can’t--nobody can know. Please, don’t tell anyone.”
“What?” Jimin says faintly. He’s still trying to catch his breath. This is all happening too quickly.
“Give him a moment, Hobah,” Yoongi mutters. Since Hoseok spoke Yoongi’s features have hardened somewhat. His initial carelessness has toughened into something frozen and bitter.
“You have to promise not to tell,” Hoseok is still babbling. “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have done this here, but you can’t--”
“What?” Jimin repeats blankly, gaze flickering over Hoseok’s shoulder to Yoongi, who just avoids his gaze mutely. “Sorry, I… I gotta go.”
He leaves the scene with Hoseok staring with his too-wide eyes and Yoongi’s jaw clenched a little too tight for casual.
He means to find that bathroom. He means to go back to the practice room.
He goes home instead.
---
When questioned, Jimin just said he was feeling ill that afternoon and caught an early ride home. Jimin so rarely takes time off practicing that nobody really gives him shit about it, for which Jimin is grateful. The team seems to think that if it was bad enough that even Jimin felt the need to go home, then it was probably a worthy reason, and after about an hour of sitting around feeling weird and sorry for himself, he makes the excellent decision to simply get over it. He was panicking over nothing. It was just another one of his overreactions. He gets a note wrong in a song, misses a step, and he’s inconsolable, absolutely crushed, but the next day it’s fine. This will be like that. He can be fine. He can be so good at being fine, he swears, and he spends the next couple of days decisively not sulking. He goes out shopping, buys a few drinks with some old friends, sits in the studio with Namjoon for a bit, gets a bit of prerecording done on an upcoming track. Jimin is so caught up in not looking at Taehyung and not thinking about Taehyung and just not absolutely not never even considering Taehyung that he doesn’t even realize he’s avoiding him until Seokjin asks him about it.
“Huh?” he says blankly, heart doing a weird little electric slide in his chest at the mention of his friend. He’s severely annoyed with his heart right now. It’s like he’s some dumb teenager in some dumb teenage movie where love moves too quickly and too cleanly, full of cliches and yearning and first kisses. It’s really irritating and frankly, more than a little embarrassing.
“You’ve hung out with me for like, the past two days,” Seokjin points out.
“So?”
“And Namjoon says you guys spent time together too.”
“Ah, you’re right. My bad. I forgot that spending time with my hyungs was a crime. I’ll back off.”
“Well,” Seokjin huffs, rubbing his arms like he does when he’s nervous. “Is something wrong? ”
“Why in the world would you think that?” It sounds ruder than Jimin intended, and Seokjin narrows his eyes slightly.
“If you’re fighting with Taehyung, don’t take it out on me.”
“What are you talking about?” Jimin snaps, and this time he doesn’t care how mean he sounds. It’s been four days. Jimin didn’t think anybody would realize anything in four days. Fuck, he’s not gonna make it. He’s gonna ruin the band. He’s gonna--
“I saw you run out of the practice studio after talking with Taehyung and you never came back. And then you’ve barely seen him since.”
Jimin lets out a breath. “You’re just jumping to conclusions. Nothing happened, we’re not fighting.” He bristles further. “What, have you been stalking us? Do you have a little diary where you record every time Tae and I speak to each other? Maybe we see each other every night and you don’t even know it.”
“Okay, Jimin,” Seokjin says really softly, like how he used to years ago when Jimin was angry like this all the time and nobody really liked him but Taehyung, and even then they fought every other conversation. “Come on.”
Jimin worries at a sore spot in the inside of his cheek with his teeth, then exhales slowly. “Sorry.”
“Taehyung talked to me about it.”
“Oh.” Oh. Oh, fuck, it’s not Seokjin who noticed, it’s Taehyung, and oh, that’s so much worse--
“He didn’t say you were fighting or anything, he just asked if you’d spoken to me about anything. He said you’ve been quiet lately. He said that when we have this much downtime you guys usually do something together and you haven’t. He said it was okay if you needed some alone time but if something was wrong he wanted to know.”
Despite himself, Jimin softens. Of course Taehyung would be thinking of him. Breathing hurts, all of the sudden. Guilt squeezes its claws around his lungs as he thinks about Taehyung, left alone by his best friend, and not even thinking about being hurt. Only being worried for Jimin, knowing in that annoying yet touching way of his that when Jimin pulls back, it’s because something’s not right. Jimin sniffs. “That’s sweet of him.”
Seokjin gives him a really fond look, and Jimin huffs. “Sorry, hyung. I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“Yeah,” Seokjin scoffs lightly. “Have I been giving you too much leash lately? Yah, the disrespect… I’ll have to start cracking down on my eldest hyung status.”
“I’ll tell Taehyung and Jungkookie to watch out.”
“Mm, not Jungkook. I’ll always be nice to him. He’s my favorite.”
Jimin squawks and Seokjin ruffles his hair and then it’s all good again. But there’s a little prick in his chest from then on, a little warning sign that reminds him that Taehyung will notice. It’s a softly ticking alarm clock that counts down to the day it all clicks for Taehyung and Jimin probably loses his best friend for good.
There’s another matter at hand as well. Jimin had honestly forgotten about it until he gets a knock on his door and Yoongi lets himself in.
“Jimin,” he says flatly. “This is going to be… really awkward, but we need to talk.”
Jimin peers up at him from where he lies on the floor of his dorm room. They’d just gotten home from a staff meeting at their company building, after which Jimin had promptly slunk off to not sulk with a side of not feeling sorry for himself in his room. He hadn’t realized Yoongi had followed him, but now he sighs and sits up.
“What’s up?” he asks wearily.
Yoongi clears his throat, once and then twice, and then three times for good measure. He’s barefaced today and Jimin can see the hint of a flush spreading across his face, but then Yoongi juts his chin out determinedly, shoves his hands in his pockets, and says “I’m sorry that you walked in on Hobi and me. It was unprofessional of us and we shouldn’t have done it there and then. It’s bothering me because it’s bothering you and I just thought you should know that Hoseok and I have agreed to be, ah, more subtle about it from now on. But also I want you to know that this doesn’t change anything, and also--” he looks even more reluctant now, but he presses forward. “Also, Hoseok wants you to know that he’s not gay, so don’t worry about him.”
Jimin blinks.
Yoongi looks miserable, all angry and annoyed and sad at the time. “And I want you to know that I am very much gay, and that it’s not a fucking thing to worry about.”
Jimin feels like the floor is not the right place to be sitting right now, so he pulls himself awkwardly to his feet. Then he takes a page from Yoongi’s book and clears his throat, and clears it again. “I, ah. I didn’t know.”
Yoongi frowns at him, eyebrows drawn together in a confused crease. “Yeah, I know. Which is why you were like, obviously so upset and shocked when you found out--”
“I meant that you were gay,” Jimin clarifies quickly.
“Oh.” Yoongi frowns even harder. There’s a moment of silence. Then, “How the fuck didn’t you know? Half of fucking Army knows, Jimin, it’s not like I’m subtle about it.”
“Well,” Jimin feels himself going red now. “I mean--you had a girlfriend.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “If we’re being technical, I’m bisexual.”
Cool. That’s pretty cool. Super chill and cool. Jimin is also bisexual. There’s two of them.
Jimin is hyper aware of his body tensing, of trying to look so casual and failing miserably. “O-oh. Really?”
Yoongi gives him a look. “Look, that’s not exactly what I came here to tell you. You’re focusing on the wrong thing. Just say you forgive us and I’ll go tell Hobi and you can stop being so weird and sad and Hobi can stop being weird and sad and everything will be chill again.”
“Wait, why is Hoseok-hyung weird and sad?”
“Because you’ve been weird and sad ever since-- then, and Hoseok thinks you hate him because he sucked a dude’s dick or something, I don’t know. It’s dumb, it’s all dumb, can we please be done here?”
Yoongi’s face is definitely red now, but that sad, angry look is back in place and Jimin just stares in shock for a moment.
“Hyung, I,” he splutters, “I’m not--I’m not upset that you two--I mean, it was weird, but that’s not why I’ve been upset or anything.”
Yoongi’s expression shifts towards confusion now. “So… you’re not, like… disappointingly homophobic? Not that I thought you were,” he rushes to say when Jimin’s eyes narrow. “It’s just, Hoseok kept…” His hand comes up to rub the back of his head, and now he won’t meet Jimin’s eyes. “I mean, I knew you were probably upset about the walking in on us part, that’s understandable. But Hobi really thought that you were upset with hi--with us.”
Jimin opens his mouth hotly, maybe to be annoyed with Hoseok for really having so little faith in him, before closing it. Isn’t that exactly what Jimin had been thinking for months? Even now the thought of confessing makes him sick. Oh Yoongi-hyung, don’t worry, of course I haven’t been miserable because I saw my hyungs hooking up! I’m miserable because I’m very much into men! In fact, there’s one in particular, you know Kim Taehyung? Yeah, I’m madly in love with him and it’s really freaking me out!
“Well,” he says aloud. “I’m not. I’m not… disappointingly homophobic. Or whatever.”
“Good,” Yoongi says. There’s a moment of silence. “So, what were you upset about if it wasn’t us?”
Jimin scrambles. “Ah, just a dance move I couldn’t get right. It’s been bothering me. Y-you know how I get.”
It’s a weak excuse and they both know it. Thankfully, Yoongi seems to want to leave as much as Jimin wants him to, so he accepts without much grief.
“Right,” he mutters. “Anyways, then. I’ll tell Hoseok you’re cool. Good talk.”
Then he’s gone. Jimin has the startling urge to yell after him, to say Wait! I’m bisexual! Like you! Like a lot of people! And it’s cool, everything is cool! But he doesn’t.
He lies back down on the floor, and underlines his mental note in red: Get over it.