Where To Look For Stars

by SolaBalena

Summary:

To myself, in darkness:
I wish I could find you, and tell you
That I’d like to know more about you.
(From Abyss by BTS Jin)

---or---

Jimin does not stare at Yoongi.

Notes:

• For mygdreaming.

This fic will probably be around 7 chapters I'm guessing? It just depends on how long it takes me to tell the story I'm trying to tell. I've been planning it for forever and I'm quite attached to this Yoonmin, so I really hope you enjoy it :)
A couple of things I didn't feel were worth tagging; there's a brief, non-explicit JiminxOC relationship in this first chapter, and homophobia exists as a subtext in some of the dialogue (but nothing overt). Also, mention of psych medication use for its intended purpose throughout the first few chapters.

For Starry <3 who is possibly the nicest person ever and always so kind about my writing. If you haven't read their fics, what are you doing with your life?

And thank you so much Vi for beta reading <3

Chapter 1: Abyss

 

     "S-so, as I hope I've been able to make clear to you all, my proposal is something new and different, something that matters, and I think—” Jimin's fingers tremble where they're clenched around his notes, so much so that he has to strain to see the text. Everyone can probably tell. He dares a glance around the crowded boardroom, pointedly avoiding that certain part of the left-hand portion of the room. “I think a piece like this will prove advantageous to SeoulNow, both as a company, and as a trusted source of relevant and thought-provoking content for our readers. I'd like to, um, answer any questions now, if I could."

     A few scattered claps sound throughout the room, and then god, there are so many eyes on him. The collar of his button-up feels like it just might be enough to suffocate him. Pull it together, Park Jimin. Just a few more minutes of this. Hands go up—more than he’d anticipated—and Jimin picks one from the right, a sharply dressed woman he thinks he recognizes as a senior editor.

     “Yes, ma’am?”

     “I don’t know that any top journalistic magazines here have done a piece like this, will this subject matter not be a bit… too controversial?” 

     The answer is on his tongue—if there had been any question he’d planned for, it was this one—but the room breaks into chatter just too loud for Jimin to muster the confidence to talk over it. He starts and stops, flustered, then tries again when it finally dies down. 

     “I acknowledge the topic I’m proposing could be risky, but we’ve covered risky things before. We did that history piece about the impeachment of government officials a few years back, and last year Son Soyeon-ssi even had success with her History of Lingerie piece.” 

     He offers Mrs. Son a quick nod and the older woman gives him a covert thumbs up before he continues. “I’ve given my approach a great deal of thought, and I truly believe if it’s done as I’ve described, the final product can thread that perfect line. Readers will be intrigued, like they always are with the taboo, but my article won’t be offering any moral judgements for anyone to be upset over. And to that end, I’ll gladly open it for as thorough a review as possible. I won’t even be writing about issues, just…”

     Jimin pauses, trying to figure out how to word what he wants to convey, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. “I just want to say, ‘see, these people are. They exist, just like the rest of us do.’ That’s all.”

     There’s a few more claps this time, maybe genuine ones, and Jimin tries to swallow down the dryness in his throat without much luck. He’s probably an idiot for trying his luck with a pitch like this when his earlier, safer attempts at a first proposal were all solidly shot down. He’s not even sure why it captured his interest so much, but he’d known as soon as the idea came to him, he needed to write it.

     Jimin fields the remaining questions as best he can—easier ones from curious interns, more daunting ones from the senior staff and board members—and tries to keep his voice from trembling enough to notice. 

     And then, there's only one hand still raised. The one in particular he's been avoiding, hoping it would go the fuck away.

     "Yes, Yoongi-ssi?"

     "Jimin-ssi," The man speaks quietly, like he always does, and Jimin has to strain to hear him. "You've covered the why, which is nice—” Jimin can’t tell if he’s being facetious or not, his expression never changes, “—and the cost, the time frame, a lot of details. But I assume you mean to have photography, too. Who is actually going to be working with you?"

     The staff photographers in the room make an impressive show of avoiding eye contact, pointedly studying their notes and tidying their papers, which—fine, Jimin saw that coming too, given the subject matter. He does his best to keep the eye roll welling up inside him safely in his subconscious. 

     You know exactly who, dumbass. As if there’s any chance a junior writer like himself would be able to get anyone but a junior photographer for their first article. Yoongi really could have kept that question for whenever the two of them have the misfortune of seeing each other in passing, instead of making a thing of it now with a full room looking on. 

     …So many people looking on, pretty much all of them more important than himself. Jimin's throat feels tight.

     “W-well, yes. Photography would be key here, if I’m going to do justice to the subjects. Any photographer would be welcome, anyone who wanted to, of course.” Someone in the group of photographers snickers, makes a poor attempt at concealing it as a cough.

     “Those sorts of details are neither here nor there,” The editor-in-chief, Mr. Lee, interjects. He’s a short man with a round stature and a performative sort of professionalism that Jimin has always found mildly unsettling. “If this proposal is chosen, we’ll be sure to assign a well-suited photographer.”

     Yoongi ducks his head and doesn’t look back up, so he probably knows it will be him just as well as Jimin does.

    "So, um, yes. Thank you all so much for your time and consideration!" Jimin says, almost breathless by now. Mr. Lee thanks him and Jimin bows, trying his best not to look like he’s rushing as he finally makes his escape amidst the obligatory claps. The second the heavy doors of the meeting room swing closed behind him, Jimin's legs turn to jelly and his tiny, quiet office seems impossibly far away. 

     With as many times as he's had to present something by this point in his life, the stage fright really shouldn't still be this bad. Maybe it’s all the rejection. Jimin presses a hand over his hammering heart and hurries down the halls, passing door after door of senior writers' offices, until he finally reaches the ones relegated to the darkened end of the hall. The glow of the fire escape's exit sign casts the nameplate in low red.

      Park Jimin - Junior Writer

     It's barely more than a closet, no window, always carrying the faint odor of old carpet and ink. The desk and chair are both hand-me-downs from some higher-up who wanted an upgrade. But it's Jimin's name on the door, his meager collection of poetry and art covering the off-yellow wallpaper, and his key that turns in the lock as he slips inside.

     Safe.

     "Well, I lived, Honey," He mumbles to the little plastic cat perched atop his computer monitor. "So at least there's that." 

     For a while, Jimin just sits there, staring at his vague reflection in the switched-off screen and wondering how he made it this far into adulthood without managing to leave behind the feeling that he’s just a lost kid. It's not until a series of soft knocks sound against his door that Jimin even realizes how long he's been sitting in silence.

     "C'min!"

     Jimin eyes the door handle, but it doesn't turn. Somewhere out in the hall another office door clicks shut. Odd.

     Curiosity gets the better of him, but when he pulls his door open with a mumbled yes?, the hallway is empty. He's turning back inside, chocking it up to someone realizing they had the wrong door, when the toe of his shoe clinks against something.

     "Oh!" 

     There's a little mug set by the door frame, and he stoops to pick it up. The water inside is steaming, color still swirling out from the tea bag as though it had just been poured. Jimin gives one last baffled look down the empty hallway, then clicks the door shut behind him.

      Ah, chamomile and honey. Even just holding the hot mug feels soothing, and he hadn't really realized how dry his throat had become until the first sip. 

     "Someone's nice, huh Honey?" He asks, and the pleasingly round calico stares back with its unblinking, glossy eyes. Jimin tries to think who it could have been, who would have known how badly he needed some small, simple kindness. Who would have known how much he fucking hates public speaking. 

     Mrs. Son, maybe. She practically mothers him as it is. Yeah, probably her.

     It's easy to lose track of time, in an office with no windows. Jimin sits down at his computer to tackle his email inbox, and by the time he finishes and checks the clock again it's just past 9pm. A good three hours past when he'd told her he'd be home, and Nabi hasn't called, or even texted, so… 

     So… what? What does he do with that? 

     Jimin ruffles his hair in frustration, and the motion takes his mind back to a month ago, sitting at his mother's table back in Busan. She'd been fluttering around the kitchen, practically vibrating with girlish excitement, while Jimin sat there with a smile plastered across his face and a hand clenched in his hair, feeling wholly outside of himself.

      'Oh, I've known this was going to happen since you two were in kindergarten, and I still can't believe it!'

      'Yeah.' Jimin couldn't believe it either. Nothing felt real.

      'How will you ask her? And when? You'll call me right after, right? I’m going to have a daughter-in-law! Oh, I'm so proud of my baby!'

     ‘T-thanks. Thanks, Eomma. Yeah.’

      Cold feet, he'd told himself, that’s all the feeling was. Everyone feels it, so it's normal. 

     Nabi is perfect; tiny and delicate, always fiercely kind and loyal, so full of life that it's impossible for anyone to overlook her. She’d been his best friend in the world for as far back as Jimin's memory can take him, childhood friends long before they’d started dating. They just clicked, and Jimin had never felt so strongly for any other girl, even with most of his friends being girls. It would be irrational not to marry her.

     So he'd reasoned it through and made up his mind, then he'd told his parents, and something unnamable buried deep inside himself had felt like it was screaming, like it was dying. It was so, so discordant from the way this milestone in life should feel, but they say it's never like it is in the movies anyways, so… 

     It's normal.

     The same inexplicable feeling settles over him now, eerie and deep and so fucking scary, and suddenly there's not nearly enough air in this stale little office.

     "Fucking… fucking hell, Honey, something's wrong with me," Jimin grits, the words too tight in his throat, making his eyes burn, "I think s-something's really wrong."

     He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt with fumbling fingers, but it's not enough, not with the crushing heaviness that's settled on his chest. Nabi deserves the world. She's beautiful. Jimin loves her, always has. He doesn't really want to go home to her.

     "Doesn't make a-any sense, this doesn't—I don't understand, why—" Hot tears land on Jimin's fingers where they're trembling against the desk, and then his feet are carrying him out of his office and into the darkened hallway before he even really knows where he's trying to reach. Just, somewhere with air.

     The magazine building is silent now, and the creaky door to the fire escape sounds startlingly loud as he pushes through, but all Jimin hears are the half-formed thoughts tumbling over and over in his head, the pounding of his own panicked heart in his ears.

     The first press of rough metal bars beneath his fingertips makes Jimin’s stomach flip, but the fire escape seems solid enough, doesn’t creak or give under his weight, so he eases himself the rest of the way out and lets the door swing shut behind him. He sinks down cross-legged, his back against the cool bricks of the building, and takes a long, shaky breath.

      Fuck.

     Seoul’s endless lights stretch into the horizon before him, a vast sea of glittering yellows and blues broken only by the dark band of the Han River. Jimin keeps breathing, in through his nose, out through his mouth, till the blurred hum of traffic and never-ceasing activity seeps into his soul. All those twinkling lights, windows into a million other lives… Do any of them feel like this too? Anyone else feeling so lost they don’t even know what misplaced pieces to be looking for? 

     Well, even if they do, he wouldn’t know.

     Scooting closer to the rails, Jimin picks at a stray chip of paint rusting away from the bars, then lets it drop over the ledge, leaning to watch it flutter away, down into the darkness. He feels barely tethered, like a strong wind could pull him away into the night. 

     The breeze kicks up a little and his whole body shudders, the city lights blurring as his breath catches, turns into a soft sob before he even realizes it, and then another, and another, till they’re coming so fast he’s gasping for air in between. Jimin’s knuckles go white grasping at the railing, desperately trying to keep himself grounded to something solid, anything.

     The sudden sound of a throat clearing from above him is so out of place it takes Jimin a moment to even register it, but he jolts when he does.

     “Ah, sorry! ‘M sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” A voice calls down, soft, careful. It’s a deep voice, gravely like it hasn’t been used in a while, and it registers as vaguely familiar in the back of Jimin’s mind. It only takes a moment of searching to find the figure perched on the landing the next flight up, obscured through the rungs of the fire escape and the darkness of the night. 

     “Oh! No, you’re fine, I’m fine, I just—” Jimin rubs away the wetness in his eyes, feeling a deep flush of embarrassment—or shame, he’s not sure—at having been caught crying at work. He must seem pathetic. “‘M sorry.” He finally squeaks out, mortified.

     “It’s alright. Hey, hey… You’re alright.” The voice is gentle, slurred with satoori and soothing like a cat’s purr, pulling soft features and sharp eyes to mind until Jimin can finally place it. Ah. Of course. “Just, you seem—I just wanted you to know, I’m up here, y’know…” Yoongi’s voice trails off for a minute, and Jimin sniffles weakly in the silence. 

     "'kay."

     “So I mean, you aren’t alone, if it helps at all. If not, I can… I can go back inside.”

     Jimin really must be coming unhinged, because the thought of being left alone up here right now, even by one of his least favorite co-workers, feels a little unbearable.

     “No, no, just stay, it—it does help, I guess. Thank you.” He says. Yoongi doesn't reply, or say anything, for that matter, which is a relief. 

     Jimin isn’t sure how long they sit there, silently breathing in the night air together, but the other man stays where he is on the next flight up and never tries to pry, his presence unimposing. And even if there are no answers, eventually the corners of Jimin’s mind stop burning, the tiredness of a long day settling deep into his bones. He whispers a final ‘well, see you, um, probably tomorrow ’ to the shadowed figure above him and gets a low hum in reply, before slipping back inside.

     It's probably a kind of self-torment. That's the only good explanation for why Jimin keeps doing this to himself. Someone passes behind him in the hallway and mumbles a professional greeting, and Jimin does the same before turning back to the meeting room door he's once again found himself lurking outside of, watching the goings on inside through the little glass window, hopefully unnoticed. 

     Inside, his voice muffled through the closed door, Yoongi is slouched backwards in a chair at the front of the room, chin resting on his arms over the back of the chair. It's not the most professional way to give a presentation, Jimin thinks, but the other photographers and editors are all leaned forward in their seats like whatever he's showing them is the absolute shit. Someone asks a question, and Yoongi's features light up as he hops up to point out some detail in the photograph displayed on the projector screen. 

     They all adore Yoongi, the whole photography department, and he hasn’t even been here half a year yet. Jimin is really not a fan of jealousy, but as his eyes follow the movement of the other man's veiny hands, gesturing gracefully while he talks, something about that knowledge settles unpleasantly in the pit of Jimin’s stomach. It's a strange feeling.

     He’s tried to talk himself out of the insecurity plenty of times—the writers here have been nice enough to him for the most part, Mr. Lee hasn’t ever raised any issues with him, and Mrs. Son took it upon herself to be his work mother from day one, personally making sure that Jimin hasn’t gone so much as a week without hearing how promising and talented he is since he started here. But he’s been here twice as long as Yoongi and it’s just…

     When Jimin was brought on, there was a junior editor in the office across the hall from him, and not even a month into it Jimin had found her packing her things up in a cardboard box. He’d asked her what was happening, having built what he thought was at least a bit of a rapport with her, but all he’d gotten in response was a glare and a curse under her breath as she turned to leave. Word around the office was that she'd been terminated due to ‘relocation of funds’, and—allegedly—Jimin’s paycheck was the place those funds had been shuffled to.

     But Yoongi’s been here a while and Jimin still has a job, so surely he’s safe?

     Yoongi glances up across his small audience, towards the door, and Jimin doesn’t quite get out of sight fast enough; can’t, really, with those sharp eyes locked on him. He stays frozen long enough to see the smile melt off Yoongi’s face, replaced by something impassive, before Jimin finally drags himself back away from the doorway, feeling struck, flustered, overheated all at once. 

     There’s just something about Yoongi that has always set Jimin off kilter, from the very first time they’d been introduced. It’s embarrassing. Jimin kind of hates it.

     “Ah, Jimin-ssi!” A familiar older man’s voice calls from down the hall, and Jimin whips around, ducking his head in greeting. The editor-in-chief smiles up at him, empty and formal, and gives him a too-hard pat on the shoulder. “I was hoping I’d run into you. I need to see you in my office when you have a moment.”

     Jimin’s heart sinks straight to the floor. “U-um, okay. Yes sir. I have a meeting soon but I should be out in an hour.”

     “I know.” The shorter man replies, and Jimin really doesn’t know how he’s meant to respond to that, so he doesn’t. After a beat, Mr. Lee continues, “And if you wouldn’t mind, tell Yoongi-ssi to come too.”

      Oh. Oh no.

     “Yes sir! You mean… both of us together?” Jimin hopes the alarm bells sounding in his mind don’t carry to his voice. 

     “Both of you. Of course.” Mr. Lee answers, already turning away, like Jimin is keeping him from more meaningful things. 

     Jimin glances at his watch. Ten minutes till his meeting starts. He hurries to his office, already hitting the speed dial as he fumbles with the lock, then slumps down into his chair.

     “Jimin?” Nabi’s clear voice carries through the line. “Are you okay?”

     “I’m fine, sorry.” Jimin grimaces, a twinge of guilt pinging in the back of his mind, that she associates his calls with something being wrong, now. It was never like that, back when they were only friends. “I just… I think I’m getting fired, in like, an hour.”

     “Oh…” There’s a tiny exhale, and he can picture her putting on her steely determination face just perfectly, “are you sure?”

     “Not like, sure-sure, but. Probably. I can read the room.”

     “Okay. Alright. You know, you really can’t cross your chickens before your bridges hatch, Park Jimin.”

     He cracks a smile. It’s stupid, so bad it doesn’t even count as a joke, and he’s heard her say it enough times that it definitely shouldn’t be funny anymore, but he also knows she said it just to make him smile, so Jimin lets it work. “Yeah, I know. It might be nothing.”

     “Mhmm, it might be. Either way, wanna go get drinks tonight?”

     “Yes, ma’am.” Jimin answers, doesn’t even have to think about it. 

     “Our usual place?”

     “Yes please.”

     “You got this. I’ll see you tonight.”

     “If you say so. I’m gonna go meet with my team for the last time.”

     “ Oppa.”

     “Okay, okay,” He chuckles, actually feels like chuckling, which is kind of amazing under the circumstances, “It might be fine.”

     “It might be fine.” Nabi echoes back. There's a click in the line, and then she’s gone.

     “Um.” Jimin wraps his knuckles against the door again, a little harder this time, but still no reply. “Yoongi-ssi? I know you’re in there.” He passed the man going into his office not ten minutes ago on the way back from the meeting, and Jimin probably would have heard him leaving, too, given that their offices are only a few doors apart. Jimin is about ready to give it up and head to the editor-in-chief’s office alone, but he tries the handle just in case. It isn’t locked, so he cautiously eases it open.

     It takes a moment to spot the photographer; he isn’t at his desk, and all the lights are off except for a small desk lamp glowing from behind a collection of empty coffee cups. 

     “Yoon—oh?” Jimin stops short. Yoongi is squatted down in the far corner of his office, arms wrapped around his knees and broad shoulders curled in a way that makes him look deceptively tiny, eyes closed, face utterly blank. Motionless. The music seeping from the headphones he's got pushed down over his fluff of black hair is loud enough that Jimin can hear it from the doorway, though he can’t quite make it out. Symphony, maybe.

     "Uh…" Jimin takes a step closer, baffled. He tries clearing his throat, but no response. Whatever Min Yoongi weirdness this is, it falls very solidly outside the realm of situations Jimin has the first clue how to deal with. At least, if this man had to be the person to catch Jimin crying on the fire escape the other night, now Jimin’s seen him doing something almost as odd. 

     He moves closer, a few more hesitant steps, till he's looming over his coworker. Yoongi still doesn't move. He has a couple strands of gray hair hidden here and there amongst the raven ones, Jimin notices, staring down at the top of his head. One could almost find it endearing. 

     Okay… Well, whatever, Mr. Lee is expecting them pretty much now, so…  

     He gives Yoongi’s shoulder a light tap, feels the other man’s body jolt, and then he’s looking up at Jimin with wide brown eyes and the most startled expression Jimin’s ever seen on his usually impassive face. He seems stunned, not even blinking, and when he finally comes back to life he makes a hasty scramble up to his feet and gives a disgruntled little half-bow. He’s wearing a tan cardigan and some black slacks—looking quite polite father today—but for just a moment Yoongi seems so much like a startled kid that some very much unbidden part of Jimin’s heart thinks, oh, cute.

     “Hello, Yoongi-ssi.” Jimin tries. Yoongi is still looking at him with those dazed, sparkly eyes, and it’s making Jimin nervous. The photographer tugs his headphones down around his neck, leaving a tuft of misplaced hair sticking straight up on top of his head.

     “‘M sorry?”

     “Hello.”

     “Oh, hey, Jimin-ssi.” Yoongi answers, with the tiniest smile. Now that he’s standing up they’re closer than Jimin is used to being with him, and Yoongi smells really nice, dark green, manly. Like a safe place. That tuft of hair is still sticking up, and Jimin frowns at it, fisting his hands in his pockets. Wanting to smooth your (rival, probably very soon-to-be replacement) coworker’s hair back into place is a fucking weird intrusive thought to have, even for him. 

     Yoongi clears his throat after a moment, the tips of his ears flushed red. “Did you not get enough outside my presentation earlier?” He mumbles, almost pouty. He has such long, delicate lashes, fanning over the tops of his cheekbones when he flutters them. Pretty, like a girl. "Hmm, Jimin-ssi?"

     “...What?”

     “Did you just come here to stare at me some more?”

      Um. A jolt of panic shoots down Jimin’s spine, and whatever else he came here for, suddenly the main thing that matters is making sure Yoongi knows. 

     “I do not stare at you.” He says, very authoritative, hands on hips. He glares at the big blue abstract painting hanging on the far wall, at the row of coffee cups, then down at the outdated carpet too for good measure. Because he literally doesn’t. Hell, he honestly wishes he didn't even have to see Yoongi at all.

     “Yeah, m’kay.” Yoongi shrugs, still standing there in the corner in his quaint brown cardigan, eyeing Jimin like a wary cat, eyebrows all sharp. Jimin shoots a glare at him, too.

     “And what were you even doing just now?” It comes out more accusatory than is strictly professional, but Yoongi just does this to him. Sets Jimin on edge.

     Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Why would you need to know?”

     “I mean, aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

     Yoongi’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and Jimin feels his heart rate kicking up, feels the flush rising up the back of his neck, that earlier jolt of defensive panic crystalizing into something more heated. He never acts like this, has never once been terse with anyone else here, and he knows damn well he’s being childish, but he can’t stop. “How would you know if someone needed you?”

     “They could come in and get my attention, like you did just now. Were you greatly inconvenienced, Jimin-ssi?” There’s a taunting lilt of satoori in Yoongi’s voice that Jimin hasn’t heard before, and now Yoongi’s got his hands on his own hips too, a look in his eyes that only makes Jimin want to keep pushing.

     “Well, whatever. I came to tell you Mr. Lee wants you in his office, ASAP. By the way.” He raises his eyebrows at the end, for emphasis.

     “Oh—really?” Yoongi looks thrown off, and Jimin tries not to feel too smug about it.

     “Yep.”

     “Now?”

     “Yep.”

     “Did he say why?” Yoongi directs an arched brow at Jimin as he steps past him into the hall. 

     “Well, no…” Jimin’s shoulders slump as he follows silently a few steps behind, nerves swirling right back up to the surface. When they reach the editor-in-chief’s door, Yoongi turns to him.

     “I didn’t actually need an escort here, you know.”

     “I know.” The only thing that stops Jimin from rolling his eyes is the knowledge that he’s being ridiculous. “He wanted me, too, I guess.”

     Yoongi’s pink lips form an ‘ah’ under his breath, then he gives the door a knock and a moment later they’re being called in. Mr. Lee is seated behind an expensive oak desk, and he looks up just long enough to acknowledge their bows and gesture to the pair of heavy chairs across from him before returning to his computer screen. Jimin drops down into the nearest one and Yoongi crosses in front of him to get to the other.

      Hmm, Yoongi’s slacks must be tailored. They fit very well around the backside...

     When Mr. Lee finishes whatever important business he was doing on his computer, he finally turns to them. “Thank you both for coming. I’ll cut straight to it.” He turns to address Jimin, and Jimin’s stomach promptly sinks down to his shoes. Their boss continues on, seemingly unconcerned for the turmoil he’s causing. “Jimin-ssi, If you can be ready to go before the first of June—”

      ‘Ready to go’. So this really is it, Jimin thinks.

     “—I can get you the funding.” 

     “...W-what?”

     “I know it’s a time crunch, less than two weeks to get everything planned, but they’ll reallocate it if I don’t use it before then, so this is the best I can do. To be honest with you, I quite like your idea, and it’s now or never. How does that sound, Jimin-ssi? Doable?”

     “Wait…” Jimin’s brain tries desperately to catch up, his hands curled into tight fists to try and keep the excitement in. His voice trembles anyways. “Y-you mean you’re sponsoring my article?”

     Mr. Lee smiles that weird professional smile of his, and oh , Jimin could hug the man right here and now.

     “I’m funding whatever you two can accomplish by the end of summer, assuming you’ll take it.”

     “Oh my god!!!” Jimin squeaks, barely managing to stay in his chair from the excitement and whiplash of it all. “Of course I’ll take it, sir! Thank you so much!”

     “Um. ‘You two’, you said?” Comes an annoying, gravely drawl from his left.

     “Yes, of course. Unfortunately all the other photographers seem to have their calendars full, and I can hardly send Jimin-ssi out on an assignment alone.” Mr. Lee chuckles. “That’s where you come in, Yoongi-ssi.”

     Yoongi cuts a side-eye over at Jimin, then smiles uncomfortably down at his lap. “Of course.” 

     “You don’t seem as enthusiastic as I expected.” Mr. Lee muses, and Yoongi looks up with round eyes. “This will probably be the most artistic license you’ve gotten yet. Is there an issue?”

     “Oh, no, no sir! I’m very excited!” Yoongi says, high pitched. Jimin’s seen Yoongi’s excited face though, courtesy of stolen glances through meeting room doors, and the grimace he’s currently sporting definitely isn’t it.

     “Did you have other plans for the summer then? Or is it the… subject matter?”

     Yoongi only looks more off. “No sir, I’ll gladly go with Jimin-ssi! And I’m very grateful for the opportunity.”

     Jimin feels a twinge of guilt at how uncomfortable Yoongi looks with this turn of events, considering it probably has a lot to do with his own behavior towards the guy. He makes a mental note to be more professional, less childish. This will be the biggest opportunity of his career so far, and he really can’t afford to cloud it with whatever weird tension he and the photographer have going on right now.

     “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Jimin-ssi, set up a meeting with me when you have everything planned so I can give final approval.”

     “Yes sir, I will. Again, thank you so much!”

     When they’ve been dismissed, Jimin practically skips down the hall to his office. He throws the door open and drops into his chair with a twirl, still beaming. When was the last time he felt this excited about something? Holy shit, he’s really getting to write his first major article.

     “Oh my, aren’t you looking cute today, did you do something different?” He singsongs, reaching out poke at the little cat figurine’s chubby face. It squishes under his finger. “We’re really about to have the greatest summer, aren’t we Honey?”

     “Honey—what?” Someone splutters from the doorway, and Jimin looks up to find Yoongi standing there like an awkward statue, eyebrows high and cheeks flushed. Jimin feels his own cheeks heating at having been caught talking to a desk toy, like a crazy person. Yoongi’s going to think he’s about to spend the summer stuck with a crazy person. Well, maybe that’s for the best.

     “Honey, do you remember hearing a knock at the door?” Jimin turns to the tiny calico, ignoring his coworker. “I don’t, but it looks like someone’s come in to see us anyway.”

     Yoongi blinks a few times, like he’s lost. “O-oh, you were talking to that thing. I thought…” He trails off in a mumble.

     “Hmm?”

     “Nothing.” He’s still standing there in the doorway in his soft cardigan and well-tailored pants, hands shoved in his pockets, rocking on his feet. Jimin reaches over to dip Honey forward towards Yoongi in a polite bow, mirroring with a nod of his own. The silliness earns him a hesitant smile, and Jimin is in such an odd mood that seeing it only makes him want to earn more smiles from the other man.

     “What can we do for you, Yoongi-ssi?” 

     “Congratulations, Jimin-ssi.”

     “Oh,” Jimin hunches his shoulders up, trying to keep his grinning in check so Yoongi won’t see his crooked tooth. “Thank you. I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into it, I know this topic is kind of….” Jimin’s not exactly sure how to finish that sentence, since he really doesn’t think the topic should be that big a deal, personally. It kind of feels wrong to treat it like one when the entire point of his project is to show that it isn’t, but he also has a knee-jerk instinct to apologize about it.

     “No, it’s… I think it’s really cool that you’re doing this.” He meets Jimin’s eyes for just a second, lashes fluttering, before dropping his gaze again. “You know, this will be the first time SeoulNow has ever published an article about anything LGBTQ-related.”

      Oh. Jimin didn’t actually know that, although it’s not surprising. He hadn’t given that sort of topic much thought until recently either. He’d been up late searching for inspiration and stumbled across an article about some foreign photographer he’d never heard of, whose work captured the ‘queer scene’ of the 1960’s. Not something Jimin had any reason to be drawn to, but he’d found himself transfixed. 

     There was something so intimate and honest about those photos, like walking right into a world he’d never gotten a glimpse of before. He wanted more. That night he’d hardly slept, and an article concept was waiting in Mr. Lee’s inbox first thing the next day.

     “Well, I’m glad to be writing it, then. I’ve been researching, but this isn’t something I know much about, so it’s not anything big, what I’m trying to do. Not really.”

     Yoongi nods, thoughtful. “Still, this could be the first representation a lot of our readers are seeing of queer life.”

     “That’s why I’m approaching it this way. I want to interview as many people as I can, and have maybe a paragraph or two per person about their experiences, and a photograph that represents them. Like snapshots into their normal lives, something simple and real.”

     “I like that.”

     Jimin bites his lip in an unsuccessful attempt to keep from smiling, feeling warm all over. “I’m glad. I’ll work hard, I hope I can do it well.”

     Yoongi smiles at him. “Same, I’ll do my research as well. And send me some concept photos if you can, so I can get an idea of your thoughts on style.”

     “I will, but your photography is always really impressive!” Jimin says, a little too loud, and he makes a mental note to tone it down. He must still be running on adrenaline.

     “Well, thank you.” Yoongi makes an awkward face that could possibly be embarrassment, and scratches behind his ear. “Guess I better start clearing my schedule and thinking about what to bring, huh?”

     “Yeah, guess so. Me too.” Jimin takes a deep breath. It settles in a bit more then, just how soon this assignment will begin, how little time he actually has to organize everything for the two of them. Less than two weeks, geez. He must look as overwhelmed as he feels, because when Yoongi speaks again his voice carries the same tone it had out on the fire escape, careful and low. 

     “Well, If you need help with anything at all you know where to find me, Jimin-ssi. I’m good for anything.”

     Jimin nods, his mind filling with a million different details he needs to work out. “Thank you, Yoongi-ssi. Is starting on the first of June alright for you? Any family obligations you need to get squared away?”

     Yoongi huffs a laugh. “No. I’m pretty unattached, all my family and friends are back in Daegu.” 

     Ah, yeah. Jimin had forgotten how new the other man was to Seoul. He wonders if Yoongi’s lonely here, like Jimin had been when he’d first moved up from Busan.

     “Maybe we can go through Daegu, then.” He glances up in time to see a brief flash of gums and teeth as Yoongi smiles down at the floor, shrugs his broad shoulders. For some reason Jimin feels disappointed that the floor is getting the smile this time instead of him.

     “That’d be nice.”

     “I mean, really, I don’t know why we couldn’t. We could probably save some of the budget if we stayed with family for part of the trip. My parents would definitely have us if we go through Busan. What about—do you, uh.” Jimin twirls his pen between his fingers, perfectly casual, without looking up. “Got a girlfriend or anything? Will she mind you being gone all summer?” 

     He’s not sure why he asks, really. Or why Yoongi holds his gaze for a long moment before answering, the background hum of the office AC filling in the silence. Or, why Jimin can hear his own pulse in his ears while he waits for the answer.

     “Ha, no.” Yoongi bites his lip, scratches the back of his neck again. “Nothing like that.”

     “O-okay.” Jimin watches the way the other man’s long fingers curl and uncurl against his neck, a careless sort of gracefulness to the motion that's somehow hard to look away from.

     “So ‘m all yours.”

     “O-oh, okay. That’s good.” Jimin clears his throat, warmth rising up to the collar of his shirt.

     “Yeah, well...” Yoongi gives a nod and a tiny smile, and then he’s ducking out of Jimin’s office like he’s in a hurry, the click of the door closing loud behind him. Jimin takes a long, deep breath.

     

     "He can't be that bad." Nabi flashes her sunshiny smile at Jimin as she throws back the rest of her drink. He's never been a lightweight himself, but the amount of alcohol Nabi's tiny body can tolerate is probably a scientific marvel.

     "Oh no, he's the worst." Jimin says, smiling back when she laughs and rolls her eyes. She motions for the bartender to bring them another round, makeup flawless and presence glowing brighter than anyone else in this quiet corner bar the two of them always choose when they need less socializing and more relaxing. She gestures for him to keep going, so he gladly does, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly under his skin.

     "Well, he mumbles a lot, for one thing. And if you ask him to say it again he just gets quieter. He works even worse hours than I do, which you know is saying something," Nabi tsks and nods in agreement. Jimin takes another deep drink of his alcohol, thinking of the night on the fire escape. Neither one of them should have still been there that late. "I don’t know, he’s been at SeoulNow, what, five months? And of course they all think him and his stupid cardigans are the greatest thing ever."

     "Cardigans?" Nabi's openly laughing at Jimin’s dramatics now, never one to hide her merriment behind a polite hand. "Aww, he sounds cute!"

     "Oh, it's not cute." Jimin chuckles, a slideshow of Yoongi outfits playing clearly in his mind. "He's our age I guess, but he can only dress like some school delinquent or a middle-aged dad, there’s no in-between. He let his hair get so long he has to keep a hair tie on his wrist, he sits on his desk more than he sits at it, and he pouts when he doesn't like what you’re saying. Literally pouts, Nabi. His lips stick out."

     “You’re literally pouting right now, Oppa.”

     He glares at her, and she gives him a playful pinch on the arm.

     “Well yeah, 'cause I can’t believe I have to spend the entire summer with him of all people.”

     Nabi hums and holds his gaze for a moment, like she's going to say something, but she downs the rest of her glass instead. They sit in rare silence for a few minutes, just people watching, and then, “Jimin?”

     “Hmm?”

     “You know how we had talked, a while back, about getting married?”

     Jimin's stomach lurches in a way that has all the fear of riding a rollercoaster, but none of the thrill. “Uh, yeah?”

     She gives him the same warm, reassuring smile he’s seen a thousand times since they were children. “Well, I was just wondering… What does your dream wedding look like? I think we’ve never talked about it, and I feel like we should. What do you picture?”

     Her tone is off, so slight he wouldn’t have noticed it if he didn’t know her so well. It’s kind of weird that it doesn’t occur to Jimin until that moment that he just… doesn’t have an answer. His glass is empty, the bartender’s back to them, and Nabi’s watching his face, waiting. Jimin clears his throat, skin pricking. “I don’t think I, um. I’m not the kind of person who dreams about weddings, I guess.”

     She’s too quiet, like she’s holding her breath. He should have an answer for this, and that awful feeling is closing in around his mind again. Like Jimin is missing something, or something is missing from him. Like the ground is falling out from under him, and he can’t begin to put a finger on why. What kind of man must he be to never once daydream about his wedding—to not even notice how strange it is that he hasn’t—when his best friend in the world will be the girl waiting at the end of the aisle for him.

     “...Jimin?”

     “Sorry, this is stupid of me. I should have been thinking about this—”

     “Jimin. Oppa...” Nabi takes his hand in her tiny, delicate one. He could count on one hand the number of times he’s heard her use a tone like this, especially with him. And he’s not sure he’s ever seen this look in her eyes, a gentle sort of hurt that makes his breath catch. “You don’t want to marry me, do you?”

     “What?! Nabi, no, of course—”

     “Wait.” Nabi gives his hand the tiniest squeeze, and the quiet seriousness in her voice instantly sobers him. “Wait for just a second, Jimin. I’m not asking for comfort. I need to know, for real, how you’re feeling.” She’s still holding his hand, her thumb following the lines of his palm, back and forth. “Don’t answer me till you know.”

     She’s such a good person. Probably Jimin’s favorite person. His longest friend, adored by his parents. Hell, the two of them moved away to Seoul together, to be there for each other. 

     So there has to be something really, really wrong with him.

Chapter 2: Honey

Summary:

Could I be someone who left a mark on you, like the rain?
Would you wait for me?
(From Rain by BTS, and Honey by Kehlani)

---or---

Okay, maybe Jimin does stare at Yoongi a little...

Notes:

Thank you for being so patient!

If at any point you think “nah this is dumb, nobody could act like this and not know they’re fruity” then you can go ahead and assume that part is embarrassingly autobiographical 😂 hooo boy, if we don’t laugh we’ll cry

     Deep breath in, deep breath out, and slowly, slowly, the blurred expanse of city lights pull back into focus. Jimin realizes he’s still clutching his phone in his fist despite ending the call minutes ago, still holding every muscle in his body tight, so he slips the phone back into his pocket and sinks down against the cool metal of the fire escape stairs. His dad had taken the news well, like he usually does with anything Jimin has brought to him, and he’d promised to help Jimin’s mother come to terms with it too. Jimin’s not sure how that’s going to be possible though, with as sparse an explanation as he’d been able to give them. 

     ‘Nabi and me… we’re breaking things off. We’re still best friends. She wants a little space, for now, but we’re still best friends.’

     His dad had been silent on the other end of the line, waiting for him to go on, but Jimin hadn’t known what more to say. Finally, his dad had sighed, and Jimin knew if he’d been standing in front of the man for this, he’d have been pulled into a hug by now. 

     ‘We love you, son. You can come home, if you need to.’

     That’s when he’d started crying, fumbling a goodbye to his dad, clinging to the rail. The past several days had been such a fog of confusing emotions and adult conversations to navigate, while Jimin tried desperately to tamp it all down and focus as best he could on making everything ready to go out on assignment. This phone call to his parents was the last big, awful thing, and now it was done too.

     All the things he could think to bring are packed in suitcases in his office, ready to leave at dawn. Jimin watches the still-busy movement of the traffic down below, hectic enough that he can make out an occasional horn or screech of brakes from his darkened vantage point on the fire escape. His eyes follow the red and white ribbons of traffic to the south, snaking away from Seoul till the dark shadows of distant hills hide them from sight. 

     He’ll be out there, tomorrow. He’d been thinking it was terrible timing, all of this. But maybe… Maybe it’s not. The air is heavy tonight, carrying the promise of a storm later, and watching that thin red trail of tail lights escaping away into the distance, Jimin feels a first, tiny hint of thrill. 

     He lingers there a while, chin resting on his knees as he watches the lights, letting the hectic brightness of the day drain away from his mind, slowly replaced by the soothing solitude that comes with watching a city night from above. He’s just about to stretch himself out and head back inside when the door to his left is pushed open with a slow creak.

     The intruder doesn’t seem to notice him at first, his gaze focused outward as he shuffles to the edge of the fire escape, leans his weight against the railing. Even in silhouette, Jimin can see the heaviness in the slant of the other’s shoulders. The breeze catches in his hair, leaving it even messier than before, and Jimin wonders if he’d been running his hands through it. Is he stressed about the trip, too? Or something else?

     “Yoongi-ssi.” He starts, though his voice comes out scratchy from disuse. And maybe from the crying, a little bit. Yoongi makes a soft sound and jerks his hand as if to clutch over his heart, then tries to play it off with a huff, turning back to the city. Jimin resists the urge to giggle at him; Yoongi hasn’t said anything yet, and it’s too dark to tell, but Jimin has a suspicion he’s being frowned at.

     “Hmm, hello Jimin-ssi.” He finally answers. “Didn’t mean to intrude, I’ll go back.” The end of the sentence is slurred off into a mumble, like he’s too tired to bother pronouncing the rest of it.

     “No, you don’t need to, this is your spot. I should head home and get some sleep anyway. I was just going—” Jimin stands, reaching for the door, but Yoongi catches him lightly by the forearm on his way past. His hand is cool and a little rough against Jimin’s skin, and Jimin instantly loses whatever he was about to say next.

     “No, no, seriously, Jimin-ssi. I should be packing my things too, I want you to stay, if you need. I just came for a little fresh air.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, like that’s proving his point, but Jimin thinks, bullshit. Yoongi came out here because he must have needed it, clearly, just like Jimin had. The air tonight is heavy, humid, even dustier than usual—anything but fresh. The other man’s hand is still lingering on Jimin’s arm, barely a touch, like he can’t commit to holding on or letting go.

     He’s doing that thing again, getting under Jimin’s skin. Setting him on edge, or… something.

     “Well, all I was out here for was a little stargazing, actually. But I couldn’t seem to find any,” Jimin shrugs, “so it’s all yours.”

     “Ah, alright, Jimin-ssi. You win.” Yoongi gives a tired chuckle and lets go of his arm, moving to hold the door for him instead. Jimin’s pulse quickens.

     “S-see you in the morning, then.” He says.

     “Hey…”

     “Yeah?” Jimin stops, intensely aware of how close the two of them are. He kind of wishes he could see Yoongi’s face better.

     “Thank you. And, I uh, I hope you find those stars.” Yoongi says gently, his voice a low rumble, and some part of Jimin’s heart gives a sharp twist. 

     Unlikely, he thinks to himself, as he slips back inside. Wouldn’t know where to even begin looking for them.

     When Jimin’s alarm drags him from his sleep, it’s darker than it should be. He forces himself out from the comfort of his blankets and stumbles over to the window, trying to blink away the puffiness in his eyes. The world outside his apartment is gray, all but the nearest buildings obscured by fog and a steady rain. Jimin watches for a while, letting his mind wake up to the plinking of raindrops against the glass. 

      Today’s really the day. A whole entire article—a topic he’s excited about, and a topic the magazine has never covered before, to boot—all his to bring into existence.  

     Jimin gets dressed in the clothes he’d spent way too long deliberating about the night before. He’d settled on a white tank top and brand-new blue button-up, and his most worn-in pair of dark jeans; nice enough for an interview, but not too bad for hours on the road. 

     He heads out, and the bus ride to the SeoulNow building passes before he even realizes it, his mind busy flitting between the details of the trip and daydreams of doing well. 

      God, he hopes they can do it well. Do it justice.

     Yoongi doesn’t seem to be in yet when he arrives, so Jimin gathers up his things from his office and sets about tracking down the company car they've been loaned. He finds it easily enough in the building garage and loads his things, then shoots a meetup text to Yoongi and pulls it around to the front of the building.

     The car is nothing fancy, but it has a sunroof, and Jimin leans his seat back to watch the mesmerizing pattering of the rain over him while he waits. Maybe it’s the little thrills of excitement and nerves that have been a constant background buzz in Jimin’s mind since he woke up, but the minutes seem to drag by painfully slow. He checks his phone at ten minutes past when they’d agreed on leaving, but still no sign of Yoongi.

     More minutes pass, and the deep near-blackness of the sky gradually shifts to a paler gray. Jimin is just about to try calling the photographer instead when there’s a light tap against his window. 

     Yoongi looks… a bit worse for wear. In one arm he’s clutching what is presumably his camera bag wrapped up in a rain jacket and hugged tight against his chest to keep it dry, the other hand dragging a big suitcase behind him through the rain puddles. His jeans, white t-shirt, and—surprise, surprise—gray cardigan all seem pretty well soaked through.

      Geez, poor guy. A rough start, then.

     Jimin pops the trunk for him and Yoongi stows his things, and then he’s sliding into the passenger seat with a wet squelch and shutting the door quickly behind him. He doesn’t move, or say a thing, or maybe even breathe; just faces straight ahead like every muscle in his body is held stiff. All Jimin can see beneath the mop of dark hair—so drenched it’s still dripping trails down his pale skin—is the man’s downturned mouth.

     “Morning, Yoongi-ssi…” Jimin says, and Yoongi’s bottom lip trembles just the tiniest bit, barely noticeable, but Jimin’s eyes catch it right away. “A-are you okay?” He tries to make his voice soft, nonthreatening. Yoongi’s lips move but nothing comes out, then he shoves his hair back out of his face, swallows harshly, and tries again. 

     “I’m so sorry I’m late, this is so unprofessional.” He doesn’t meet Jimin’s eyes, looking every bit like he’d rather not be perceived. His voice is the deepest Jimin’s heard it, just pure gravel and regret. “I think—um, it might be good if you do the driving for this first bit.”

     “Yeah, okay, that’s no problem.” Jimin forces his eyes away from where the soaked white tee is clinging, near-transparent, to the other man’s well-defined chest. “Do you want to go inside and put on something dry?”

     “No, I already made us almost half an hour late, I’m not adding to that. I’ll just change when we stop for gas or something.” Yoongi looks like he needs to be bundled up tight in a blanket and given hot soup and cuddles immediately. Jimin worries his lip between his teeth, wanting to make it better somehow.

     “I really don’t mind waiting—”

     “Please no.”

     “You’re soaking, Yoongi-ssi, you’re gonna get sick. You can just run in and—”

     “No. Please, I’m fine, r-rush hour is gonna hit soon, and—and—” Yoongi takes a harsh breath in and doesn’t seem to let it back out. He presses his palms against his brow, and maybe it’s just the rainwater, but he really looks like he might be seconds away from breaking down. Jimin’s grip around the steering wheel tightens, resisting the urge to reach out to him.

     “Okay, okay, we can go. You have everything?”

     From beneath his mop of drenched hair, Yoongi groans something that sounds like ‘don’t fucking know,’ then curls up in a ball and buries his head in his arms. Jimin tries not to gape at his coworker, once again at a complete loss for the right way to handle this situation. He’s not sure how much of this is his fault, but he can’t help but feel shitty about it.

     “Is your camera alright?” He whispers, feeling like he shouldn’t have said anything as soon as the question leaves his mouth. Yoongi doesn’t answer, just gives a small nod, obviously wanting to be left alone. 

     Has he given Yoongi the impression that he’s the type of person that would actually be mad at him for being a tad late? With a worried sigh, Jimin flicks the windshield wipers on and puts the car in drive. He probably has given exactly that impression. If they’re going to spend the next several weeks working together so closely, Jimin really has got to get his shit together and stop being weird with the guy…

     After a few silent minutes of driving they get stuck at a traffic light, and Jimin turns to study the pitiful lump of wet man in the seat beside him. Yoongi has uncurled enough to rest his head against the window, his eyes half-lidded, gazing off at nothing through the glass. He looks exhausted, greyed bags under his eyes, and so fucking sad that Jimin has to force himself to stop staring before his sympathetic crying thing becomes an issue.

      God, he wishes he knew how to make this better.

     It takes them nearly an hour to make it to the city limits, all in complete silence except for the swishing of the windshield wipers and the steady pattering of the rain. Jimin thinks about putting music on, something to ease the silence, but he’s not sure if that would help or just upset his passenger more, and he’s honestly afraid to ask.

     The crowded streets have opened into highways by now, the tall buildings of the city’s heart giving way to neighborhoods, industrial parks, and scattered trees. Maybe it’s because he always takes the train home these days, but seeing Seoul thinning away into the foggy grayness in the car’s rear view mirror feels exhilarating in a way that Jimin thinks is probably a little silly for a man his age, but he can’t help it.

     The van next to them is packed full of university students, probably traveling to the south for a summer vacation, all of them carrying on with the music they’re blasting. As soon as they reach a tunnel, the kids start honking their horn like idiots, the sound reverberating off the walls, and a few of the nearby cars join in. Jimin giggles at them as quietly as he can so as not to bother Yoongi, but it must not be quiet enough because he hears him shift in his seat for the first time since they’d left.

     “Hey, do it.”

     “Huh?” Jimin turns to him, eyebrows raised.

     “I can tell you want to.” Yoongi mumbles, face unreadable. 

     Jimin definitely had thought about it, but now it’s a little embarrassing. He hovers his hand over the center of the wheel. “Okay… I’m gonna honk it.” He warns, hesitating.

     “Hmm, are you?”

     There might be a hint of playfulness in there, Jimin thinks, though it's hard to tell. Well, either way, screw it. He’s going to do it. He lays on the horn, then taps it a few extra times for good measure, and it starts another volley of ridiculous honking through the tunnel. Jimin hears a singular ‘hah’ from beside him, and when he turns Yoongi meets his eye and the corner of his mouth sneaks up into a satisfied half-grin. It’s such a relief to see.

     The next moment the tunnel ends and they're back in the rain, and between the improvement in mood in the car and the fact that Seoul is now out of sight behind them, Jimin can’t help but feel a little giddy, almost like he’s the one heading for a summer vacation. As soon as they come to an exit that looks promising, he takes it.

     “Why? Why?” Yoongi asks, a twinge of whine in his deep voice. 

     Jimin chuckles. “Why are we stopping? Because I feel like cheese puffs, and you need dry clothes.”

     “No, ‘s fine, they’re starting to get dry.” Yoongi mumbles, picking at his shirt. 

     “Which implies that they aren’t dry. I can’t let my photographer get sick before he’s even taken one photo.”

     “You’re stubborn, Jimin-ssi.” Yoongi says, but when Jimin looks over there’s a hint of a grin curling at the corner of his mouth again.

     “I’m stubborn?” Jimin laughs in disbelief, pulling the car into a gas station. Yoongi is full-on smiling at him now, wide and unguarded. He has… a really, really nice smile. Jimin doesn’t think he’s been on the receiving end of it before, not like this.

     “Uh-huh, seems like it.”

     “Whatever,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

     “Mm, not my best morning.” Yoongi says with a grimace, getting out of the car while Jimin sets about filling the tank. The rain patters against the shelter above them, slowed to a peaceful drizzle.

     “I could tell.” He wants to ask why, what happened? And—remembering his state last night on the fire escape, too—if Yoongi is doing alright. But it's definitely not Jimin's business, and he’s not sure they're on the right terms for that sort of thing.

     Yoongi stretches out like a cat, arms over his head and shirt rising to show a sliver of tummy, then he leans forward with a groan and wiggles the stiffness out of his hips. 

     Aww… gosh.

     “I’ll get your cheese puffs while I’m in there.” He says, and Jimin thanks him, feeling the summer heat on his cheeks. On his way in Yoongi stops to hold the door for a very elderly couple, his face lighting up with the sweetest, gentlemanly little smile while he waits for them to hobble through. 

     Jimin frowns as he watches, hand subconsciously rubbing at the spot over his heart where there’s a subtle pang. Watching Yoongi go, it feels like Jimin is missing out, like he’s getting left behind.   

      Nonsensical. 

     He gets back in the car to wait, finally digging Honey out of his pocket to set her up on the dashboard. The tiny figurine looks kind of hilarious plopped there, staring solemnly off into the distance with the gray sky reflected in its blank eyes. He wonders if Yoongi will think he’s childish for bringing her along.

     “Hey, we’re gonna see the ocean today, Honey.” He whispers, his eyes lingering on the station door. “You’ll love it. I’ve never been to the Angel Islands, but I’m sure they’re just as gorgeous as the coast of Busan.” Honey doesn’t answer, but at least she’s always listening.

     Before long, Yoongi is returning with a shopping bag and two to-go cups clutched in his hands. He slides into his seat and busies himself with his seat buckle, holding one of the cups out towards Jimin without so much as a glance. Jimin hesitates for a moment, then takes it, and the scent of fresh coffee curls into the air around them.

     “Mmm, thank you! You didn’t have to get this for me.”

     There’s a grunt of acknowledgement from the seat beside him, and then he’s being presented with not only the requested cheese puffs, but gummy worms and pepero and chips as well. The last thing Yoongi pulls out is an entire bag of tangerines, which do not go to Jimin.

     “Wow, this is a lot.” Jimin says as he takes the snacks, feeling oddly shy about it.

     "Yeah well…" Yoongi just shrugs. He seems to be very busy peeling a tangerine and doesn’t look up, but his ears turn pink where they’re poking up through the hair he’d brushed behind them. He’s wearing a white button up and black slacks now, looking much more put together, though just as tired. Jimin wonders absentmindedly if those are the slacks that fit so well.

     By the time they’re back on the highway the rain has nearly stopped and the whole car is filled with the summery smell of tangerines. They’re winding through forested hills with farms and houses nestled in the valleys between, and every once in a while the sun manages to sneak a few rays of golden light through the clouds and scatter them across the landscape. It’s so much greener here, and so much more open, too.

     “Oh, before I eat the last one, do you want it?” Yoongi’s low voice breaks the silence. “I’ll peel it for you.”

      Yoongi, peeling a tangerine for him… A fluttery sort of warmth spreads through Jimin’s middle. “Wait—the last one?” He splutters, “There’s no way you ate all of those already.”

     “I did not, there’s one more.”

     “Yoongi, that was so many!” He laughs. When he glances over, the other man just grins at him, looking rather proud of himself.

     “Yeah, well. When I like something, I like it all the way, apparently...” Yoongi mumbles, with something almost like self-deprecation in his tone. He holds a section of the fruit out in offering, and with his hands still on the wheel, Jimin doesn’t think at all before opening his mouth for it, like a dumb baby bird. Yoongi puts the piece between Jimin’s lips just as the embarrassment of what he’s doing catches up. The tangerine is distractingly good though. Like, can’t-help-but-moan good.

     “Mmm god—” Jimin runs his tongue along his lips to catch the sugary juice, and Yoongi starts choking on his own piece. He seems to recover before Jimin can check if he’s alright, and then there’s another slice of fruit being quickly offered to him. Jimin is not about to let himself be hand fed by his coworker again though, so he holds out a hand for it instead.

     “I’m still sorry I was so late this morning.” Yoongi says, handing over the fruit.

      Oh. So that’s what all this is about. Jimin’s shoulders slump a little, not sure why the realization disappoints him. “Seriously Yoongi-ssi, no worries about that. I mean, the weather was awful!” He pauses. “You aren’t… You aren’t being so nice to me because you think I’m upset about that, are you?” 

     He can feel Yoongi studying him.
    “I’m being nice to you because I’m a very nice guy, Jimin-ssi.” Jimin chances a glance over, and Yoongi’s gaze quickly darts back out the window. “But are you ? Mad at me? I mean—not just for this, but before today too, have I done something…?” He’s doing that thing again, where his voice gets so quiet at the end that Jimin can barely hear the last half of the sentence, like he’s not sure he wants to be heard. 

     Jimin sighs. So Yoongi did notice the weirdness. And Jimin’s clearly the one to blame. He needs to fix this now , for the sake of the article, if nothing else. But he can’t exactly be honest, either, because what could he even say? ‘It’s just that there’s… something. From when we met to now, there’s been this something.’ 

     Jimin frowns at the road in front of them. There really is a thing, too unfamiliar to name, but it’s there, somewhere in between Yoongi’s disinterest in professional convention and his intensity for photography. Somewhere between his sharp eyes and soft voice. There’s definitely something, and it makes Jimin feel like he’s off balance in a way he hasn’t felt in a very long time. It’s somewhere between the way Yoongi speaks and moves and carries himself, and it makes Jimin’s blood feel hot. 

     Thinking about all of it at once like that just makes it even weirder. Knowing it’s there doesn’t help at all with knowing what to do with it.

     “Well…” Yoongi must have taken Jimin’s silence as an answer, because he draws in a tense breath and shifts in his seat, like he’s trying to take up less space.

     “Oh, no, sorry! It’s not that—” God, this is frustrating. Jimin runs a hand back through his hair. He really doesn’t think of himself as an awkward person at all, but he just doesn’t know how to act around this man. Still, he has to try. “I–I’m sorry, Yoongi-ssi. I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I think it’s my fault.”

     “Oh.” Yoongi blinks at him with that same round-eyed look of surprise he’d given Jimin when he’d found him crouched in his office a few days ago, and Jimin has to remind himself he’s too busy driving to keep looking back at him.

     “Yeah, um, I don’t know. There was this whole thing when I was hired; I heard somebody got fired to make room in the budget for me and I was just worried, you know, when you came on. But I think it was unfounded, and I was just being an asshole.”

     “Hmm, no, that’s an understandable worry. It’s alright.” Yoongi says gently. He seems to be a gentle sort of person in general, Jimin thinks.

     “It’s really not, and I’m sorry, I know I probably made you uncomfortable. I care a lot about this project though, and I really do think your photography will be perfect for it.”

     “Oh, well, thank you. I’m glad you don’t dislike me, then.”

     “Of course not, Yoongi-ssi. I hope we can work well together.”

     “We can.” Yoongi offers him a hesitant smile and the last piece of tangerine. A sweet guy, too.

     The next minutes are passed in peaceful silence, the sun finally breaking through the thinning clouds and spreading warm color across the landscape. The hills are growing more shallow, the trees shorter and more rugged as they progress towards the coast.

     “Hey, do you mind if I put on some music?” Jimin asks, but when a little too much time passes without a response, he turns to find his coworker sound asleep, his mouth slightly ajar and his cheek squished against the window, soft puffs of breath fogging up the glass. Something in Jimin’s chest clenches a little at the sight.

     “Hmm, looks like we’ve got a man down, Honey.” He whispers, tapping a suitable playlist on his phone. He turns the volume down and hums along, and slowly the distance blurs by. The train is faster, and usually more practical, but this is a kind of nostalgia and tranquility he hasn’t been able to feel in such a long time, he can’t help but soak it in. 

     Should he even be able to feel this at peace, fresh out of the most serious relationship he’s ever been in? What does that say about him? He sneaks another glance at his sleeping passenger, flashes of yellow from the sunroof overhead dancing across his jawline and cheek, and the thought fades out into nothing.

     And then, it finally happens. 

     Just as they crest a hill, Jimin gets a glimpse of an endless band of shimmering water stretching off into the horizon. He squeals in excitement, then smacks a hand over his mouth, peeking over to check on Yoongi. The other man is still dead to the world, thankfully unbothered by his outburst. No matter how many times Jimin sees a view like this, it never gets any less thrilling. 

     “Almost there!” He whisper-yells, reaching out to adjust the little cat figurine for a better view. “Oh—hey, this is your song, Honey. Good timing, huh?” A rich female voice and warm guitar filters through the speakers, and Jimin sings along as quietly as he can. It always feels like a secret, this song, and he loves it.

 

      I like my girls just like I like my honey; sweet, a little selfish…

 

     It’s a song for a girl, by a girl. Jimin had gotten it stuck in his head the first time he heard it, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s about a girl, though, so it makes perfect sense for a man to like it. It’s nothing strange. Still, there’s a kind of thrill that runs between the chords, something that makes him keep the song to himself, close to his chest.

 

      I like my women like I like my money; green, a little jealous…

 

     “This why you call that cat Honey? This song?”

     Jimin jolts hard enough that the car swerves a little, his heart pounding like he’s been caught. He blinks over at Yoongi, feeling the heat rising up his neck.

     “Um. Yeah, I-I guess.”

     Yoongi hums in reply, and Jimin really wants to know what he’s thinking. About the song. About Jimin. 

     “It’s nice.”

     “Yeah, it’s—wow, your voice is really deep right now.” Jimin says.

     Yoongi yawns. “Gets like that when I wake up, yeah.”

     Part of Jimin’s brain is flashing warning lights at him to stop before he gets in trouble, but the part that’s easily winning out just wants to hear more of that sleepy rumble. “You sound like some kind of sexy radio star.” He says, out loud. Yoongi chuckles, and even that is spine-tinglingly deep.

     “You think I sound sexy?”

     “I didn’t—no—I meant like, girls probably would like it.”

     “Oh, they do.” Yoongi shoots him a sly look from under his lashes. “You have a really nice voice too, you know. Heard you singing.”

     Jimin’s toes curl a little, and he can’t stop an airy giggle from escaping. “Oh, um—”

     “Angel voice.”

     “Oh my gosh.” Jimin smacks a hand over his flaming cheek to keep Yoongi from seeing. “Stop.”

     “You started it.”

     They’ve been off the main highway for a while, following a two-lane road as it winds down towards the ocean, through weathered seaside houses and small tourist shops. They cross a bridge to reach one of the bigger islands, where the road narrows down to a single lane, the pavement cracked and rough. Here, buildings are far and few between, and with the windows rolled down, the salt air fills their lungs with every breath.

     “Wah, this is gorgeous.” Jimin gasps, as they finally pull into the drive of the tiny ranger station at the end of the island. They park the car and get out, taking in the scenery as they make their way to the building. It’s small, barely more than a single room, and the door is standing ajar. There’s a sign above it that reads, ‘Dadohaehaesang National Park’.

     “Hello?” Jimin calls, with Yoongi close behind. There’s no response, so he tries again, louder. This time, there’s an answering ‘ayo’ from somewhere in the distance, and after a few moments of looking they finally spot a figure waving to them from the rocky shoreline.

     “You must be Kim Namjoon?” Jimin calls as they draw closer to the man, picking their way across the dark stones.

     “That’s me,” he answers with a warm smile from under his ball cap. “You’re the journalists from SeoulNow?” He’s tall and good looking, with a firm handshake, and everything up to his chest is covered in a pair of green rubber waders. 

     “Yes, I’m Park Jimin, writer. And this is Min Yoongi, my photographer. Thank you for letting us come speak with you!”

     “Of course, happy to help.” The way he smiles, sincere and dimpled, makes Jimin believe him easily. “You can ask me anything you’d like, but…” He reaches into the pocket over his chest, and whatever Jimin was expecting him to pull out, it wasn’t a little purple crab, waving its tiny claws and looking very put out. “I do need to finish measuring this friend so she can get back to the water.”

     “Oh—yes, you do whatever you would be doing without us here, don’t let us get in the way. And we’ll chat while you work. Is that alright?” Jimin takes out his notepad, and Namjoon nods. “Like I said in the email, we want to show the person that is you, in your normal life.”

     “Man, I wish fieldwork was my normal life. I’m trapped at the front of a classroom for the rest of the year, but summers,” He sets the creature onto a tiny scale, still squinting despite his glasses as he jots down the numbers, “summers are for the crabs.”

     It takes no time at all for Jimin to decide he likes Kim Namjoon. He really expected to be a ball of nerves, especially for this first interview, but the man has a placid sort of confidence and charisma that sets Jimin at ease in no time. Yoongi must think so too. He doesn’t join in the conversation, but his camera sits forgotten in his lap while he listens, a contented look softening his features. 

     “And what went through your mind, that moment you realized you liked men?” Jimin asks, and Namjoon chuckles, pausing to set another crab free.

     “I was like eleven, so, probably nothing brilliant. I just remember thinking, ‘I like some girls, and I feel the exact same about some boys, so it's obviously the same thing.’ Easy as that.”

     “No inner turmoil?”

     “Not really, no. Things like that are easier to accept when you’re too young to overcomplicate it, I think.”

     “Ah,” Jimin’s pen flies over his paper, “so you’ve kind of always known, then?” When the other man nods, some of the strange tension that's been coiling in Jimin’s stomach eases. 

     It’s something you’d always have known. Something you’d know young, so… 

     He lets go of the breath he’d been holding, and continues. “Is there a particular label you use that you’d like us to include?”

     Namjoon shrugs. “I’m pansexual. Or bi, you can use either. I honestly don’t care for labels, I just love people.”

     At this, Yoongi perks up from where he’d been fiddling with his camera settings, and he sends Namjoon a single nod and a very attractive lopsided smile, like he approves. Namjoon nods and grins back at him, and Jimin feels left out. 

     “How about you guys, you queer?” Namjoon asks, like it’s nothing. No one has ever asked Jimin that in his life, and Namjoon does it like it’s nothing. The waves lapping against the stones almost hide the quiet reply that comes from Jimin’s left.

     “Yeah.” Yoongi answers. Even though his voice is softer, it’s every bit as sure as Namjoon's had been. Like it’s nothing. 

     Jimin stares at him.

     The sea breeze is toying with his hair, tousling the strands not tucked behind his ears, and the evening sun sets his eyes a deep auburn. The corners of his lips turn down when he catches Jimin’s gaze, and he cocks his head to the side in question, a tiny furrow between his brows. 

     The ocean backdrop, the brilliant colors after the rain, the way Yoongi’s lashes flutter against his full cheeks… It’s all so pretty.

     “...Jimin?” Yoongi calls gently, at the same time that Namjoon says, “You don’t have to answer, of course, I was just—”

     “What—oh!” Jimin tears his gaze away from his photographer, feeling disoriented. “No, I’m not—It’s just, um, just girls, for me.” The words feel a lot like sandpaper coming out, but he figures he should be transparent if he’s going to be asking such personal interview questions.

     “Ah, well.” Namjoon gives him an accepting smile. “Women are amazing, so that’s perfectly understandable.”

     “Yeah.” Jimin can feel Yoongi’s eyes still on him, even though he doesn’t dare look. “So, um, anyways, Namjoon-ssi” he shuffles through the pages of notes he's written while they’ve talked, “I think I have plenty here, unless there’s anything more you’d want to add. If you’d like, we could grab something for dinner?”

     “I’d love that.” Namjoon answers with a dimpled smile. “There’s an amazing naengmyeon place near my motel. Which, speaking of, where are you staying tonight?”

     “We figured we’d either try to drive on to Gwangju or find somewhere cheap when we got here.” Jimin answers, as they help Namjoon gather his equipment. “Do you have a recommendation?” 

     “Well, feel free to turn this down, but as much as I love this work, I’m fucking lonely. If you guys want, you could stay over at my room in the motel? We could watch a movie, or chat some more, get ice creams from the lobby.” Namjoon looks a little shy about his offer, in a way that’s extremely endearing. His broad shoulders raise in a shrug, arms full of crabbing gear while he stands in the doorway of the ranger station, and that’s when Jimin hears the sound of the camera shutter for the first time.

     “I’m down.” Yoongi says, still squinting through his viewfinder. He takes another photo when Namjoon smiles at his answer.

     “Me too, at least if there’s room for us?” Jimin says. They walk back to the car once Namjoon locks up the ranger station, stopping to help him load his bicycle in the trunk.

     “There should be room. The sofa has this pullout bed that I can use, and you small dudes can share the actual bed, if that’s alright. I think it's a queen.”

     Yoongi narrows his eyes, giving Namjoon a onceover like he’s sizing him up. “‘M not small, I’m actually average.” He says. There’s a whininess in his voice that makes Jimin feel the way he feels when a kitten hisses at him, like he could squeeze it.

     “Ah, I see.” Namjoon says, grinning down at him. And then he gives Yoongi a wink—a wink—which makes Yoongi huff and turn pink as he slides into the driver's seat. Jimin feels his blood pressure rising.

     “We can share, sounds great, thank you.” He says, quickly sliding into the passenger seat beside his photographer. Namjoon chuckles from the back seat, although Jimin’s not sure what’s funny.

     “Not a cryer, huh?" Namjoon asks, voice a little scratchy. He cuts off any reply by blowing his nose loudly into a tissue.

     "Not for romance movies." Yoongi chuckles, munching a mouthful of popcorn while Titanic's credits roll across the screen. "I could probably cry over the cinematography though," He tucks his hair behind his ear with an artfully curled pinky, "Truly iconic."

     "Yoongi, people died!" Jimin groans from his end of the couch. He rubs away the wetness in his eyes before sending Yoongi a reproachful frown. "What kind of movie do you cry for, then?"

     Yoongi gives him a sympathetic look, eyes darting around his face. It’s probably all puffy. This is why Jimin doesn’t watch emotional movies around other people. "Usually the ones where the dog dies." He finally answers.

     “Good. I’m glad you’re not a complete monster.” Jimin says, maybe pouting a little. Namjoon gives Jimin’s leg a comforting, slightly awkward pat.

     “It’s alright, buddy. My friend in Gwangju, the one I’m sending you to? Watch a melodramatic romance with him and he’ll outcry anybody. And look fucking fabulous doing it, too. I think you’ll like him.”

     “If he’s a friend of yours, I’m sure we will,” Jimin stands up, stretching out, and walks over to the bathroom to start getting ready for bed. “Thank you again for getting us in touch with him. I had my work cut out for me finding people to ask for interviews in the first place, and then you were one of the only people who responded.”

     “Oh, of course! I think visibility is extremely important—” Namjoon’s voice gets muffled by the t-shirt he’s pulling off over his head, leaving him in just his sweatpants. “And he’ll be able to get you lots of good interviewees, don’t worry. The bar he works for is like, the literal cornerstone of Jeolla’s queer community, and they’ll trust anything he gets behind. Seriously one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.”

     “Yeah, that’s…” Jimin's brain slows down a little as his eyes travel over Namjoon’s sun-tanned torso. He’s just, very shirtless, and very fit, and very large—the kind of physique he sometimes wishes he had. “That’s, um, that’s so helpful. We’re seriously so grateful, Namjoon-ssi.” He snaps out of it in an instant though, when he spots Yoongi sitting motionless on the couch, staring up at Namjoon’s chest with something akin to wonder. 

     “I’m just glad I can help out.” Namjoon smiles and starts picking up their empty beer bottles and popcorn bowls, sincere and oblivious. And there is Yoongi, still staring.

      Well then.

     It is a bit warm in here, and they’re all a bunch of guys, and Jimin always sleeps in just his underwear in the summer anyways, so it only makes sense. Following Namjoon’s lead, he takes off his own shirt, then shimmies out of his pants, too, folding them neatly on top of his suitcase. When he steps back out of the bathroom, clad in just his black boxer briefs as he walks across the room to the bed, he can feel both men’s eyes following him.

     “Wow.” Namjoon chuckles, setting up the fold-out bed from the couch. Yoongi is lingering next to it with his arms straight by his sides, blinking slowly, eyes drifting between Namjoon and Jimin. His lip is bitten between his teeth and his cheeks are pink. He looks a little lost.

     “What?” Jimin asks Namjoon, who shrugs.

     “You’re just a very good looking guy.”

     “Oh. Thank you!” Jimin can’t help his shoulders rising with the sunny warmth that spreads through his chest. 

     “I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable, you know, since I’m…” Namjoon trails off. 

     “Oh, no, it doesn’t! Not at all.” He knows he’s grinning that grin that shows off his crooked tooth, but being complimented by a guy, one who likes other guys… It just feels so different from when women compliment him, doesn’t carry the same undertone of discomfort, of not knowing what to do with it. It makes Jimin feel like moving a little more deliberately when he crawls into bed, stretching his legs out just so over the sheets.

     Yoongi doesn’t look at either of them when he shuffles back from his turn in the bathroom, clad from head to toe in a matching set of pink silk pajamas. He’s going to burn up in that, Jimin thinks, though the ensemble is, admittedly, rather adorable.

     “You sleep on the right side, huh?” Yoongi asks, the bed dipping as he climbs under the covers. Jimin hadn’t really thought about it, but he supposes it is his habit.

     “I guess, but we can switch if you want?”

     “Oh—no—I always take the left side, so you know, ’s good,” Yoongi scrunches his nose, and as close as they are, Jimin can barely hear the end of the sentence, “it’s good you like the right side.” He darts a glance over at Jimin, just long enough for their eyes to meet, then stares resolutely at the ceiling. Yoongi looks different in bed, with his face freshly washed and skin dewy, his features relaxed, long hair spread out across the pillow. “You’re doing it again.” He whispers, after a moment, eyes still focused upward.

     “Doing what?” Jimin whispers back. He thinks he sees a flicker of a smile at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth, there and gone before he can be sure he really saw it.

     “Staring at me.”

     "I'm—no." He’s not, he’s really not. It’s just that Yoongi’s right there, in his line of sight. He’s saved from having to answer further by Namjoon announcing he’s turning out the lights and 'see you guys in the morning' , leaving nothing but darkness, the dull glow of yellow street lights outside the motel curtains, and the soft whirring of the fan. Jimin sighs, sinking into the cool sheets, his mind replaying the day. 

     It’s strange, he thinks, how the rainy morning back in Seoul feels so far away. 

      It’s been a long day, but it's been a good one too.

     It takes remarkably little time for the sound of snoring to start up from the fold-out bed, and for Yoongi’s quiet breaths to even out next to him, but Jimin’s mind is still too busy to let him drift away yet. 

     He wonders how Nabi is doing.

     He wonders what tomorrow will be like. He's never even seen a gay bar, much less been inside one, and despite his usual comfort in the bar scene, the prospect is oddly intimidating.

     His mind drifts back to the man beside him. Yoongi had said he was queer, on the beach. Jimin wonders what that means, to him. If he's being really honest—now that he's been forced to spend time so close to the man—Jimin thinks Yoongi is someone he would probably get along with very well outside of work, outside of the weird tension he's put between them. Maybe even close friend material. 

     He wonders what Yoongi thinks of him.

     It’s thanks to his restless mind that Jimin is still awake when he feels a sudden jolt of movement and hears Yoongi gasp beside him, followed by a whimpered ‘fuck’.

     “Yoongi?”

     He hears the other man draw a long, deep breath. “Sorry, I’m sorry Jimin-ah.” He says, sounding groggy.

     Jimin frowns. “No—I was still awake. Are you alright?”

     Another deep breath. “I’m okay, yeah.” God, his voice is deep.

     “Bad dream?”

     “Huh-uh, not really. It’s just a thing, with my, um.” He trails off, and his voice is barely there when he continues. “My anxiety meds, you know. Like, after I fall asleep sometimes, it’s like a jolt of lightning hits me, ‘s weird.”

     “Oh. That sounds awful.”

     Yoongi gives a resigned little chuckle, and Jimin is so relieved to hear it. “It’s not that bad, not as bad as… well, the anxiety. And it only happens when the dose gets changed. Like, when I first got on them, and I guess now that I'm coming off, it’s back.”

     “You’re coming off?”

     “Yeah, finally. At least, I think I am. Last night, before we left,” Yoongi sounds hesitant, like he’s not sure he wants to say it out loud, “I haven’t been that bad in a long time, so now I’m not so sure.”

     “Ah.” Jimin thinks back to the previous night, how Yoongi had seemed so worn down when they met again on the fire escape. And the sad state he’d been in this morning, too. “Is that why you were, um, not thriving, this morning?"

     "Yeah," Another chagrined little chuckle, "I couldn't fall asleep until like two hours before my alarm was gonna go off, and then once I finally did I guess I slept right through the alarm. I'm still sorry 'bout that."

     "You don't need to be, Hyung, I was just worried about you, that's all."

     Yoongi is quiet for a long while after that, and Jimin thinks the conversation must be over, sleepiness seeping into his consciousness. Then, "You were?”

     He sounds so vulnerable and hopeful that Jimin itches to reach out and pull the man into a hug, give him comfort somehow. He doesn’t think they know each other well enough for that though, so he settles for turning to face Yoongi instead. He wonders if Yoongi has anyone back in Seoul to hug him.

     “Of course I was! How about now, is it… are you okay?”

     He hears Yoongi shift, thinks he’s probably turning to face Jimin, too. “It’s good, right now. I’m good. I guess today it wasn’t as bad as I was afraid it would be, so I don’t know. Maybe it will be okay.”

     “It might be fine.” Jimin echoes, mind drifting back across the weeks to his conversations with Nabi.   After another pause, he says, “My girlfriend and I broke up, just a couple weeks ago. Just before this trip.” He’s not sure why he brings it up, but he feels like he can now, with Yoongi. And it’s easier to talk about like this, whispered in the dark.

     “Ah, I’m sorry, Jimin-ah.”

     “It’s alright… We were best friends, before. Like, since we were kids. And it was mutual, it wasn’t really messy or anything, so I think we’ll still be good friends. It could be a lot worse”

    “That still sucks, though. I hope things get better for you.” Yoongi says, so gently.

     “You too.” Jimin answers with a yawn, nuzzling his nose against his pillow. 

     Yoongi chuckles. “G’night.”

     “Nnn… night.”

     Soon, he’s drifting away into that place so close to sleep that everything starts to feel fuzzy, unreal. He shifts, and his hand between them brushes over something—Yoongi’s hand, his upturned palm cool and a little calloused against Jimin’s fingertips. Yoongi’s hand twitches at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away, and Jimin can’t hear him breathing, so he must already be asleep.

     Jimin is practically asleep as well. Too asleep for it to count against him, so he shifts a little more, moves his hand further over Yoongi’s. Yoongi’s hand curls around his, holding on featherlight, like a reflex.

      Oh.      

     It feels like that song. Like a secret, sweet and aching somewhere deep in Jimin’s chest. Safe, in the dark and quiet of the motel room.

      How can you want something so bad, and not know what it is?

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Hopefully I'll get to the next update a little faster this time around. How many times can I fit and there was only one bed into a single story? Stay tuned to find out 😏

Chapter 3: Fools

Summary:

Before knowing you,
My heart was filled with straight lines only.
Though I try to resist,
I still want it all.
(From Trivia: Love by BTS RM, and Fools by Troye Sivan)

---or---

The "Park Jimin Is A Disaster Gay" tag has been added 😌

Notes:

Y'all idk why this chapter took so long to finish, I'm sorry! Thank you so much for all your comments though, they were so encouraging!

     First, it’s the smell of coffee, seeping in at the edges of shallow dreams. Then, the steady warmth of sunlight falling across his skin. Jimin stirs, blindly reaching for the sheets he must have kicked off while he slept, grumbling when he can’t find them. Now that he’s a little more awake, he notices the muffled notes of a violin drifting from somewhere nearby, somewhere in the room.

     He gives himself another moment to soak up the sun’s warmth and come to terms with being awake, and then sits up, squinting his eyes open. There’s golden light streaming in through the motel room’s only window, so it must be well into morning already. The air is different here, so close to the sea and so far from the cities. Jimin breathes it in. Even behind the coffee aroma, there’s an unmistakable saltiness that smells like childhood, reminds him of home.

     Then Jimin finds the source of the music, settled on the floor beside the bed with his unruly head of hair tipped back to rest against the mattress, still wearing those pink pajamas. Yoongi has his headphones on again, his legs crossed beneath himself and his arms wrapped around his shoulders, like he’s giving himself a hug. He’s motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest and the steady tapping of a pointer finger against his arm, keeping time to a rhythm that Jimin can’t quite hear. 

     Yoongi’s eyes are closed, a peaceful almost-smile on his handsome face, and when his tongue darts out to wet his lips the sunlight catches there, and on the peach fuzz on his cheeks too, glittering gold. So pretty he seems a little unreal.

     Jimin flops back down onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Whatever time of the morning it is, it is too early for this. Way too early.

     The movement must jostle the bed enough for Yoongi to notice, because he turns to blink at Jimin and tugs his headphones down.

     “Ah, you’re finally awake, Jimin-ah?”

     Jimin’s voice gets stuck in his throat for a second under Yoongi’s gaze. “G-good morning, Yoongi-ssi.” 

     The other man doesn’t answer though, his smile replaced by a frown. 

     “...What?”     

     Yoongi shrugs, the frown now becoming a full-on pout. “I’ll get you some coffee.” He says, all deep and crackly, before getting up with a grumble and padding off across the room. Jimin just watches him and his broad shoulders go, at a loss. 

     He has a very nice build, from the back.

      When Yoongi returns he hands over the steaming mug, then sits at the foot of the bed with his knobby knees spread wide, staring absently into the middle-distance. He takes a few slow sips of his own coffee, gives his balls a scritch, looking like he’s not quite awake yet. Jimin feels a nonsensical wave of fondness, watching him. After a little while Yoongi glances up and notices Jimin is paying attention to him, and in an instant the pout is back in full force.

     “So um… Did I do something?”

     Yoongi just shrugs. Jimin frowns and reaches his leg out to poke at him with a toe.

     “C’mon, what’s your problem?”

     Yoongi eyes the offending toe, brows arched, button nose tipped up. “That is not very polite, Jimin- ssi.”

     “What?”

     “We’re being polite this morning. Apparently.” Yoongi says, with a look so unimpressed that it’s all Jimin can do to keep from giggling at him. This is so annoying. Yoongi is so annoying. It’s weird that Jimin is enjoying it so much.

     “Okay, I literally have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

     “Hmm, well, last night before we fell asleep you called me hyung.” Yoongi sighs, very heavy. 

     “...I did?” Jimin can feel himself blushing. He doesn’t remember doing that, but he also knows he can get a bit too cuddly and familiar when he’s exhausted, so it’s a definite possibility.

     “You did, yep. But now I guess I’m right back to Yoongi-ssi.”

     Jimin squints at him, sitting back up. “You want me to call you Hyung, that’s what the issue is, huh?” He means it to be teasing, but it comes out a little softer than that.

     “You could.” Yoongi pouts down at his coffee mug. “If you wanna.”

     This time, Jimin does throw back his head and giggle. “Okay, okay, Yoongi-hyung. Better?”

     “Mhmm.” Yoongi beams at him, a boyish smile that sends Jimin’s heart tripping all over itself. Just then, the door clicks open and Namjoon makes his way inside with a stack of carry-out bags.

     “Ah, good morning friends!” He says, with a dimpled grin, “You two got time for breakfast before you hit the road?”

     "Oo, definitely!" Jimin answers, and Yoongi nods in agreement. “Let us pay you back for it though, you’ve already helped us so much.”

     Namjoon just hands him one of the boxes and waves him off. “You can pay me back by keeping in touch. Don’t let this get to your heads, but I actually think both of you are even cooler than the crabs.”

     By the time the two of them are back on the road again, it’s already late morning. It’s not a long drive, and the traffic rush has mostly died down when they reach Gwangju’s suburbs. The scenery is certainly nice; verdant forests and hills surrounding the city, blending slowly into sunny streets and a comfortable sort of busyness. 

     “You alright?” Yoongi asks, not taking his eyes off the road. “That was a pretty heavy sigh.”

     “What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I think…” Jimin’s eyes linger on Yoongi’s hands wrapped around the wheel; so big and veiny and masculine, but always with a delicately curled pinky, graceful movements. He drives with the same aire he takes during meetings, a self-assured coolness that’s proving hard to look away from.

     “...You think?”

     “Oh, sorry. I think it’s just that we’re driving away from the ocean, that always messes with my mood.”

     “Ah. You like the ocean?” 

     “Love it, yeah. I know that’s cliché.”

     “It’s not.” Yoongi taps his finger against the wheel, like he’s thinking, and Jimin still can’t keep his eyes from drifting back to the man beside him. Remembering how his hand had felt last night in Jimin’s, calloused and comforting, it’s too easy to let the thought slip away from him. Too easy to imagine how those hands would feel running over someone’s skin, cool against blushed cheeks, rough trailing down ribs, firm around a waist, gentle between...

     Jimin squeezes his thighs together and shivers, and a second later those long fingers reach over to flick the AC off. 

     “You can just tell me when you get cold, you know.” Yoongi scolds, low and gentle, and that makes Jimin shiver too.

     “M’kay.” He answers, gulping when Yoongi meets his gaze with a reassuring smile. Jimin turns away to stare out the window, searching for the furthest point he can find, the peak of a forested hill barely in sight beyond the buildings. As far as possible from Yoongi’s lithe forearms, the shape of his chest beneath his shirt, his handsome features, those deeply kind eyes…

      What are these thoughts? What in the actual hell, Jimin…

     Heart pounding, Jimin pulls out his notebook and forces himself to go over his interview points again, staring blankly at the words on the page till they finally start to make sense. Yoongi lets him be, thankfully, and it isn’t long till they’re pulling into their hotel’s garage. It’s a welcome distraction, having things to busy himself with, so Jimin volunteers to handle all the luggage while Yoongi uses the company card to pay for the room.

     They get a few hours to kill with editing and answering emails, since the bar doesn’t open till the evening, each sprawled on their respective beds. Yoongi has his headphones on and his toes out, and as much as Jimin tries to focus on his own work, he can’t help but be endeared by the way the other man’s feet move nonstop while he works, like some part of him just has to keep time with whatever he’s listening to.

      So cute. He’s got some big feet for a guy his size…

     Jimin glances down at his own feet with a frown, mind nowhere near the notes he’s supposed to be turning into a cohesive article. It’s probably not even a scientifically valid thing, but it’s certainly true for himself; small-ish, chubby feet. Small-ish, chubby dick. Yoongi doesn’t really look like a guy who’d have an especially big dick, he thinks, but then again. 

      Those are some pretty big feet.

     Jimin shakes himself out of it and blinks at his accusing reflection in the laptop screen. He’s been zoning out long enough that it’s gone black, still thinking about… Um.  

     It’s really not a weird thought to have, everyone knows guys think about each other’s dick sizes. Jimin is straight and he’s always had plenty of these kinds of thoughts, so it’s not like it says anything about him… 

     He peers over at Yoongi, who seems to be sinking further and further down into the bed the longer he works, practically laying flat now with the laptop perched on his stomach, toes still going. 

     Is he just this cute all the time?

     Yoongi clears his throat and glances in Jimin’s direction, lips curled teasingly. “Yes? Can I help you?”

     “I um—w-what are you wearing?”

     Yoongi’s brows raise, and he snorts, “Rephrase that.”

     “No, I mean, like tonight, what are you wearing to the bar?” They’d both dressed more casually for the drive to Gwangju, just jeans and tees. Jimin’s not sure how to ask if the dress code for gay bars is any different than for the ones he usually goes to, now that he thinks of it. Thankfully, Yoongi seems to have already given it some thought.

     “Ah. I guess it’s time we could start getting ready” He says, going over to his suitcase, clearly looking for something specific. “These are cute, aren’t they?” Yoongi holds up a pair of very ripped jeans with hearts stitched over the back pockets, with a hopeful expression that Jimin’s pretty sure nobody with a soul could say no to.

     “They are cute. I guess I never pictured you wearing something like that, Hyung.”

     “Ah, well I’m full of surprises,” Yoongi hums, still digging through his things, “You don’t happen to have scissors, do you?”

     “Hmm…” Jimin hops up, and as he’d hoped, there’s a pair in the hotel desk’s drawer. He hands them over, wondering what they’re for, and watches Yoongi scamper off to the bathroom. While he’s gone, Jimin decides his tightest pair of black jeans and some chelseas will look at least a little more interesting with the white band tee he’s wearing, and he puts the lone chain and bracelet he’d thought to bring on as well. 

     He checks himself over in the hall mirror, combing his hair into place and feeling generally fine about his look until his coworker materializes behind him. He watches Yoongi give him the most obvious once-over he’s ever seen, seemingly unaware that he’s been caught by the mirror, his bottom lip bit between his teeth and his eyes lingering a little too obviously on his backside. Jimin huffs, too flustered to know what else to do with the idea that Yoongi might possibly like his ass, and when their eyes meet in the mirror both men have matching blushes.

     But damn, Yoongi looks… not like Jimin’s ever seen him. The jeans are cute, showing off slim legs and flashes of thigh, which is troubling. His long hair is tied back in a half-bun that looks unfairly good, and he's actually wearing makeup, smokey and alluring around his eyes, pink and glossy on his full lips—even more troubling. But worst of all, Jimin can see now the purpose of the scissors. That perfectly fine t-shirt Yoongi had been wearing all day has now been sliced into a crop-top, and Yoongi’s soft tummy is just right there to stare at, his belly button, the tops of his hip bones, the faint happy trail leading down.

      God…

     “Hmm, you look good, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi hums lowly, somewhere behind the pounding of Jimin’s heart. His stomach looks lickable.

     “Y-you too.” He manages to squeak.

     “Yeah, it turned out not bad, right?” Yoongi’s eyes crinkle, and he reaches up to give Jimin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, I can do yours too, if you wanna?”

     “...What?”

     “Your shirt? Only if you want.” Yoongi looks like he’s trying to play it cool, but his excitement about the suggestion is obvious enough that when he makes a ‘give it here’ motion Jimin has his shirt off and obediently handed over in record time.

     “How short you want it?” Yoongi asks, laying out the shirt with an assessing eye. He seems to be making a point not to glance in Jimin’s direction now that he’s shirtless, all business.

     “Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never worn anything cropped. I guess like yours?”

     “Mmm.” Yoongi makes the cut, cleans up the edges a little, then hands it over. “Try it like this.”

     Jimin puts it on and hurries back to the mirror, turning to the side a bit, then to the front. He’d never really thought he could dress like this, in such a not-particularly-masculine way. Not him. And maybe it’s just the newness of it, the cool air against his skin, but a thrill runs through his stomach. “Oh, wow… I think I like it.”

     “Yeah? It’s good?”

     “Yeah.” He runs his hands down his sides, appreciating the way the cropped shirt draws attention to the curve of his waist. When he turns to give his coworker a hesitant smile, Yoongi beams at him proudly.

     “Would you let me give you makeup too?”

      Oh. There had been many, many times that Jimin had eyed his mother’s makeup collection while she wasn’t home, or felt a pang of something almost like jealousy watching Nabi getting ready to go out. And he hadn’t ever fully registered, until this moment in the hotel room, until Yoongi’s question, how much he does want to try it. What Yoongi’s done with his own makeup suits him so well, not too much, just enough to tell. Jimin wants to try it so bad. 

     “Like yours?” He asks quietly, afraid to sound excited, for some reason. Yoongi gives an encouraging nod. “Alright. Okay.”

     Once he’s gathered everything he needs from the bathroom, Yoongi settles on the edge of the bed and pats the spot beside him. “Sit here.”

     Jimin has his eyes closed before he’s even told to. It feels like the safest thing to do with how nervous he is, with how close the other man has to be, with how many fragile things are fluttering in his chest. He doesn’t mean to, but as soon as Yoongi tries to tilt his face up with a thumb under his chin, he flinches.

     “Sorry!” He squeaks, opening his eyes to find Yoongi looking just as startled, his hand held up in apology.

     “Ah, sorry, Hyung should have warned you.” He looks so earnest that Jimin melts a little. 

     “‘S alright, you can go ahead.” He squeezes his eyes closed again, hands balled into fists in his lap, and this time when Yoongi moves his chin again he’s ready for it.

     “Nervous, huh?”

     “Yeah.”

     “We can always take it off if you feel like it’s too much.”

     "It won't be, yours looks really good." Jimin whispers. Yoongi mumbles 'thanks' while he dabs something around Jimin's eyes, and he's so close that Jimin can feel his breaths against his skin.

     Jimin sits as still as he can manage, listening to the distant sounds of city life outside the hotel and the cute little hums and huffs Yoongi makes while he works. Somewhere between the careful brushes of Yoongi's fingers across his face, the calming scent of his cologne, and that comforting masculine scent lingering beneath it, Jimin's nerves wash out into something soft and tranquil.

     "Done,” Yoongi finally says, “go check in the mirror and see if it's alright."

     “O-okay.”

      Why is this such a big deal? Jimin blinks at his reflection, touches the tip of a finger to the pink gloss over his lips, cocks his hip to watch the way the curve of his waist gets exposed. The whole time he’d been bracing to feel off-put by what he saw, or uncomfortable, embarrassed. Anything except for what he’s actually feeling now, looking at himself; this ridiculous wave of confidence.

     “Wow, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi pads up behind him, grinning at him in the reflection.

     “Hmm? What?”

     “I’ve never seen you smile like that.”

     “Oh.” Jimin can see his cheeks flushing but he can’t seem to get the dumb smile off his face. The outfit and makeup isn’t even that extreme, he still looks very much like himself, but it just… feels so good, to see himself like this. 

     He’s so transfixed that he’s caught completely off-guard when Yoongi suddenly hooks his chin over Jimin’s shoulder, grinning widely as he wraps him up in a hug from behind. It’s over before Jimin can even respond, the other man turning to pad off across the room like nothing happened.

     “Better get going soon, huh?” Yoongi calls behind him, voice scratchy, already busy gathering his camera equipment. Jimin just stares after him, feeling the same sort of baffled delight he'd feel if a stand-offish cat had decided to sit in his lap for the first time.

     "Y-yeah, I guess we'd better."

     The sunlight is fading warmly into evening by the time the two of them are standing beneath the bar’s small neon sign. From the outside, SoWhat is an easy place to miss. So easy to miss that they almost would have, were it not for the tiny rainbow flag mounted over the door and the regular stream of people making their way inside. Some are dressed in typical street clothes, but many are dressed similarly to Jimin and Yoongi, and quite a few even more boldly. It’s a relief to see that they won’t be standing out, not in this crowd.

     “Ah, Hyung, look.” There’s a hand-painted sign by the door, and Jimin points to it as he holds it for his photographer. ‘You are safe here’ it says, and Yoongi nods and sends him a happy little grin. “I’ve honestly never been somewhere with a sign like that. It feels kind of nice.”

     “Mhm, it is nice.” Yoongi clutches his camera bag closer as he makes his way inside, Jimin notices. He doesn’t seem overly anxious, smiling as he looks around at the overtly queer decor of the place, but the possibility makes Jimin feel a little protective, so he takes the lead just in case.

     The place is crowded for a Thursday night, so it must be really wild on the weekend. There’s a lively hip hop track reverberating over the speakers, and a remarkably large dance floor, the whole place lit by strings of rainbow lights that wind around the walls and ceiling beams. It would almost be more a club were it not for the casual atmosphere.

     They make their way towards the bar, Jimin leading and Yoongi hovering so close behind that he bumps into him several times along the way. They get quite a few curious looks, one pair of men eyeing Jimin up so obviously as they pass that he can’t resist sweeping a hand back through his hair and smirking back at them. It doesn’t feel as exciting as catching Yoongi looking at him earlier, but still.

     There’s a little snort from over his shoulder, and then a poke against his bare waist.

     “What?” Jimin asks, picking a bar stool.

     “You like the attention.” Yoongi teases, following suit. Jimin rolls his eyes, trying to think of a defense, because he is feeling pretty darn good about himself at the moment.

     “I mean, I’m not the only one they’re looking at.” He glances up and down Yoongi’s figure to make the point, going for jokingly flirty, but his eyes get stuck somewhere around the other man’s pale stomach and he has to clear his throat before continuing. “You look good too, Hyung.”

     “Hah, well” Yoongi’s eyes flit down to his hands, lashes fluttering, “not as good as you.”

     Jimin bites his lip and grins, leaning a little closer, and when Yoongi’s eyes meet his and drop to his lips before darting away again, he feels like he could probably give a presentation to every single employee of SeoulNow right now and not feel an inkling of stagefright.

     “Ah, sorry for the wait, what can I get you two cuties?” A bartender suddenly appears. He’s a disarmingly handsome man with a perfectly slicked-back undercut and a—a condom print shirt—Jimin has to do a double take to confirm he’s seeing it right. It’s a bold choice.

     “Actually, we’re looking for someone named Jung Hoseok?” Yoongi answers, still looking flustered. “We’re journalists from SeoulNow, we were meeting him here tonight. Could you point us in the right direction?”

     “Oh yeah! That’s me, yay! I’m glad you came!” The man claps his manicured hands together and beams at them, brimming with enthusiasm. They both get up to greet him with a bow, and he gestures to the other bartender working behind him. “Just give me a few minutes to wrap up some orders here before Jiwoo takes over. If you want, you could pick out a booth and I’ll bring you drinks as soon as I’m done, sound good?”

     “Sure!” Jimin answers, and then they’re heading off into the crowd in search of a suitable spot. Thankfully, there’s an empty booth at the back wall that looks a little quieter, and they make their way over.

     Even beyond the differences in decor and patrons, there’s a specific feeling of community here that sets it apart from any bar he’s been to. The two men seated in the next booth over are visibly a couple, their hands tangled together over the table as they have a private conversation. At the bar, on the dance floor, in the booths—all around them men are flirting with each other, dancing and holding each other close, being open with their glances and touches. The longer he takes it in, the more exhilarating it feels.

     “This place is kind of wild, huh? In a good way.” Jimin finally says, still looking around. When there’s no answer to his question, Jimin turns to find Yoongi looking off into the crowd with rounded, sparkly eyes, his mouth slightly open, like he’s never seen something like this either. 

     Sometimes—more and more, Jimin has been noticing—when Yoongi is deep in thought, he looks younger, almost innocent. He’s honestly too cute sometimes, in a way that really triggers Jimin’s cuteness aggression, even if Yoongi is the older of the two. Jimin unlocks his phone and sneaks a picture of him while he’s distracted, but something about the angle makes the result look even cuter, and he gives himself away with a giggle.

     “Are you taking pictures of me?” Yoongi squints suspiciously at him. That’s pretty cute too, and Jimin is on a roll now, so he takes another. Then he’s on the receiving end of a fearsome pout, which also needs to be photographed, and soon he’s laughing so hard he’s practically falling into Yoongi’s lap.

     “Why do you look so small?” He gasps between giggles, turning his phone around for Yoongi to see. “Tiny Hyung.” Yoongi blushes and swats him away.

     “Ah, here you are!” The bartender finally arrives, swooping in with a tray of brightly colored drinks and a blinding smile. He passes out the drinks and settles down across from them.

     “Wow, these glasses are, um,” Jimin eyes the rather unmistakable shape of the glassware while Yoongi does the same beside him, “these are dicks.”

     “Ah, yeah.” Hoseok smiles proudly. “Iconic, right? We’re kind of known for them, but I can always grab a regular glass if you’d prefer?” He caresses the one he’s holding.

     “Oh no. It’s fine.” Jimin laughs, trying to figure out what the best approach is to drinking out of something like this. It even has balls at the base. Chill and casual is probably the safest strategy, so he wraps his hand around the shaft and holds it up. “So, to a great interview? And a lovely night!” The other two raise their glasses too, meeting in the middle, and Jimin commits to it, bringing his own to his lips to take a long drink.

     “I hope whatever’s in this is strong.” Yoongi whines, eyeing his own glass with playful reluctance, and Jimin almost chokes from laughing at him.

     “Alright, um. I’d like to backtrack a little. You started working here, at a gay bar, before you knew you were gay?” Jimin looks up from his notepad. Till now, they’d been having a great discussion about queerness in Jeolla in general, the vibrant hidden culture of the community, the role this bar and its counterpart a few streets over play in giving everyone a safe place to express themselves. And, the bartender had helpfully agreed to arrange several more interviews for them with some of SoWhat's regulars over the next few days.

     But then they’d come to the more personal questions, and Hoseok’s answers–delivered so comfortably, so enthusiastically—had left Jimin shifting nervously in his seat.

     “I think… I think some buried part of me did know. I always ended up with queer friends without really trying, and I always felt drawn to everything, I just didn’t know-know. It was like… Er, I don’t know how to explain this.” Hoseok’s brow furrows while he pauses to search for the right words.

     “No worries, take your time. And remember, we can cut anything you aren’t a-hundred percent comfortable with. Even weeks from now, just email me.” Jimin encourages.

     As bubbly and funny as he’d come across on first impression, it hadn’t taken long at all to see how deeply Hoseok cares about what they’re discussing, and how seriously he’s taking the interview, too. “It was like the embers were in here, always burning,” He presses an elegant hand over to his heart, “but I’d been pouring water on them for so long that I had no idea how brightly they could burn if I stopped.”

     “Wow. How did, uh, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you figure it out?”

     “Ah.” Hoseok looks off across the crowded bar, with a melancholy kind of sparkle in his eyes, like he’s seeing something far away, something beyond the night. “Yes, so, the weekend of my twenty-sixth birthday, that’s when it finally all clicked. I’d kind of always had this sixth sense that someone in my family was going to end up coming out one day. My parents were always more open minded than most. And my sister cared a little too much about the cause for there to not be a reason, I thought, even though she always dated boys. And sometimes I’d look at my little cousins and think, ‘okay, what if it’s one of them,’ so I learned about things as much as I could, so I could be there for whoever it ended up being. And the more I learned, the more I cared. That’s how I wound up working here.”

     Jimin’s pen flies over the paper, and he’s grateful that the bartender is talking too fast for him to really dwell on what’s being said. He gulps down the rest of his alcohol and mumbles a ‘thanks’ when Yoongi notices and quickly pours him a little more from his own glass. 

     “Isn’t it funny that it ended up being me who I’d been trying to protect? The culprit I least expected!”

     “Y-yeah.” Jimin runs his hand through his hair nervously. “That’s pretty funny.”

     Hoseok goes on, laughing softly, “So listen to this, It was my birthday of all nights, when he walked in. He wasn’t one of my regulars, and he was like, dangerously handsome, so I noticed him right away. He sat right there at the bar all night, barely even drank anything, just wanted to talk to me. I had no idea a man could be that pretty.”

     Jimin glances over at Yoongi’s profile. He still has his camera put away, just listening silently. His chin rests in the palm of his hand, his shadowed eyes a little droopy, his lips wet with alcohol and gloss. Pretty, like a girl. Or, not even really like a girl. Pretty in a way that feels deeper and warmer and more thrilling than that. Dangerous, Hoseok had said. Jimin can feel a cold sweat breaking out at the back of his neck, and he takes a quick breath and forces himself not to dwell on it.

     “He stayed till the end of my shift, just talking, then asked if I would do him the honor of going back to his hotel with him. He was such a gentleman about it all, I wasn’t even freaked out. I wanted to go home with a man, for the first time in my life, and I wasn’t freaked out. I still can’t believe I found the balls to do that.”

     Hoseok laughs, and it sounds bittersweet. “Woke up next to him, expecting him to leave, but we couldn’t drag ourselves away from each other. Spent every minute of that weekend together. He was so sweet, and hilarious. And I swear that dick was like,” he makes a generous motion with his hands, "king-sized. Oh god, bro. I miss him!"

     “What happened then?”

     Hoseok’s gaze falls down to the table, and his brow furrows a little. “I don’t know why, but I just never got his number. Never gave him mine. Biggest regret of my life, but I think he must have wanted it that way. It’s been years and I still think of him, as dramatic as that is. He didn’t have Jeolla satoori, or really any satoori, so who knows where he went. Hell, he’s probably married with a kid or something by now.” He laughs, watery. “And I’m just a fling at a bar, probably one of many. But my stupid heart is convinced I’m going to look up one of these nights and he’ll be walking in, looking at me the same way he did then.”

     “Wow, that’s…” Jimin clears his throat, blinking away the mist in his eyes. How old will he have to be to outgrow this sympathy crying thing, it’s really so embarrassing. Such a hopeless sucker for star-crossed love. “That’s really sad, Hoseok-ssi. And romantic.”

     “Sorry, I know that was totally TMI.” Hoseok sighs. He pulls a handkerchief from his condom-printed shirt pocket with a flair and blots his eyes, then lets his head fall back against the seatback, smiling wistfully up at the string lights casting yellow over them. “It’s that first love, after you accept that you’re queer, you know. It’ll wreck you like you had no idea you could be wrecked.”

     “Cool.” Yoongi mumbles under his breath.

     “That wasn’t TMI at all, Hoseok-ssi! Thank you! That’s exactly what we want, and it was very kind of you to share so much with us. I really hope you find your love.” Jimin kind of wants to hug the bartender, but he thinks that might be outside the bounds of professionalism, so he smiles as comfortingly as he can.

     “Well, thank you two for humoring me while I pine. I’m so bad at being gay, huh? Come, come,” Hoseok stands from the table, gathering the empty dick-glasses back onto the tray, “Let me make you some more, on the house tonight!”

     “Could I photograph you there, behind the bar?” Yoongi finally pulls his camera from the case, his eyes lighting up.

     “Yes,” Hoseok purses his lips, “I do have a concern about that, though. A lot of these people can’t be out anywhere but here. Can you do it without getting anyone else besides me in the shot?”

     “Definitely. I was thinking about that actually, I have a plan for it.”

     Jimin finds a spot at the bar and looks on while Hoseok makes more drinks and Yoongi sets up his shots. He may still be a junior photographer at SeoulNow, but Yoongi uses his camera like he has no doubts at all of his own ability, like he knows the shots will come together how he wants them to. And he’s justified, from everything Jimin has seen of his work. He probably won’t be on junior pay for long.

     That confidence makes watching him while he works kind of thrilling, seeing the sharpness of his gaze and the extra tension in his shoulders. Even the way he moves is different. Yoongi is so intense when he works that it’s almost intimidating.

      Damn, he’s just so cool.

     Jimin sighs wistfully. He’s got some confidence about his own craft, and actually getting to know the other man has thoroughly shot through any pretext Jimin might have once had for disliking him. So why is he still feeling this undercurrent of frustration when he thinks about Yoongi, when he looks at him?

     “Just a few more, Hoseok-ssi. I think you’ll be happy with what I did here.” The photographer says from behind his camera, cool and sure. “I made a couple longer exposures, so even though I captured some of the crowd in the shot, they’ll all be a blur besides you.” 

     “Ah, cool!”

     After a few more minutes, during which Hoseok finishes making the drinks and hands them over, Yoongi lowers his camera. “Here, tell me what you think.” He says, turning his camera around for the bartender to see, bending forward over the bar a bit.

     Strands of Yoongi’s scruffy hair are hanging down around his face despite a half-hearted attempt to tie it back, and his arm flexes attractively when he reaches up to shove some of it back into place. Jimin’s gaze slides down his back, down to the pretty arch where his waist is bare, and then down further to those darn heart pockets on the backside of his jeans.

     No wonder Yoongi has been getting so many glances from the other patrons. Jimin’s not even into men and he can’t drag his eyes away. Honestly, if he were into men, or if he were a woman, somewhere in between—whatever Yoongi prefers—Jimin would date him so hard. He could come up with so many lovely places to take Yoongi, just to let him take pictures to his heart’s content. He’d buy him so many old man cardigans that their closet wouldn’t even have room for them all, and he could have tangerines peeled and ready for him every morning before work.

     They could pick out a cat. They could argue about how best to decorate their apartment. They’d know each other so well that he would be able to read right through all those guarded, nonchalant expressions to whatever was underneath. They could visit the sea, visit beautiful places, and it wouldn’t be weird for Jimin to stare when Yoongi looked pretty.

     They could go places like this together and Jimin could belong too, wouldn’t have to remind himself that amidst the safety and openness of this place, he’s an outsider. An intruder.

     He could walk over right now and slide his hand down Yoongi’s spine, and feel that soft-looking skin under his fingers, could tangle them in those dark waves and hold his gaze for as long as he wants, tilt his chin up and lean in and—and—

     Jimin whips his head back to his drink with his heart pounding, suddenly feeling as exposed as if he were naked in the middle of this crowded bar, like someone might see straight through to his jumbled up thoughts. He downs the rest of his drink, letting the alcohol burn down his throat, trying to force himself out of it. Trying to ignore the uncomfortable ache at the center of his chest. 

      Always, missing something.

     There’s a memory, pulled up from somewhere deep by all the alcohol and the upbeat surroundings. A memory he’d been suppressing, one he might be able to relive, if he drinks enough for it to not mean anything. 

     When Yoongi tucks his camera back into his bag and slides into the next seat, Jimin steals a glance at him and is met with a charming, buzzed little smile.

     “Hey there, Jimin-ah.”

     “Hi, Hyung. Oh—thank you.” Jimin smiles back, feeling a flush of shyness when Yoongi once again notices his empty glass and replaces it with a full one from the bartender. It looks like his eye liner must have gotten a bit smudged on one side from looking through the viewfinder, so Jimin quickly dabs up the condensation on his glass with a napkin and reaches up to fix it. Yoongi just flutters his eyes closed and goes lax for him, with Jimin’s hand under his chin. He looks so darn cute, round cheeks pinkened from drinking.

      Oh, hello handsome man. Handsome kitten. Wow. 

     It’s been a long time since Jimin’s had this much to drink in an evening, and the alcohol is definitely starting to catch up with him. It’s finally starting to feel how he’d hoped it would, and his gaze starts to linger on the tempting curl of Yoongi’s upper lip.

      Would be a good spot to place a kiss.

     Yoongi’s mouth must taste sweet, he thinks. The more glances he steals at those pouty lips, the more confident Jimin is that he’s right. Ugh, if he could just find out, then he could get all this out of his system. 

     Because he had dared it, once; that memory that had been tickling the back of his mind is a little clearer now. A younger Jimin, with the right amount of alcohol in his system, had kissed a boy at a highschool party just for the practice, for the girls. Then up against a brick wall outside that party, and then again under Jimin's bedroom window, before he snuck back inside. It had been good, and it had been like this, both of them drunk enough to forget all but flashes of soft lips and soft sounds, safely hidden away behind pounding music and darkness and blurred memory.
    And nothing came of it. It hadn't meant anything then, so it wouldn’t have to mean anything now…

     Would Yoongi kiss him like that tonight, if he knew Jimin wanted it?

     Eventually there’s no more eyeliner to fix, and Yoongi’s eyes blink open. When Jimin stays close, he holds his gaze.

     “Hyung.” Jimin steeles himself and focuses on the alcohol swirling warm in his veins, trying not to look too close at the line he’s about to try and cross. 

     "Hmm?" Yoongi leans forward, searching Jimin’s face with a confused chuckle, reaching up to rub at Jimin’s shoulder. “Yah, why are you pouting at me, huh?”

     When Jimin wets his lips, Yoongi watches.

 

      Please, please, just…

 

     “Oh my gosh! You guys are just too sweet!” Hoseok squeals, breaking the moment. “I’ve been trying not to say anything since you got here but ugh…” They both look back across the bar at him. “How long have you two been…?”

     “What?” Jimin smiles, his mind running pleasantly slow. It takes him a moment to realize Yoongi has gone stiff in his periphery, the hand that had been patting shoulder instantly gone.

     “You know, how long have you been a thing?” Hoseok gestures between them. Ah.

     “Oh—no—” Yoongi’s voice is nervous, higher than usual. “We’re not together. He’s straight.”

     All the syrupy warmth Jimin had been feeling starts to seep away, and he sits up on his stool again, out of Yoongi’s space. Hoseok looks baffled, like what he’s just been told is the last thing he’d expected, and then he stutters an apology.

     “Oh, I’m so sorry! I just thought, it seemed—”

     “It’s okay!” Jimin says, overenthusiastic, and a few of the other patrons glance their way. It is okay. He’s waving off the bartender’s apology when he hears a mumbled ‘m’sorry’ from beside him, and he turns to find Yoongi frowning at the countertop, ears red.

     “Huh?”

     “Sorry, Jimin-ah. Just, if that made you uncomfortable.” Yoongi speaks so quietly that Jimin can barely hear, and he still doesn’t look up, gnawing on his lips.

     “But—It didn’t! Why would I care if he thought that? Hyung—” Jimin reaches out to rub Yoongi’s arm, trying to comfort him, and his heart drops when the other man noticeably flinches. “Hell, who even cares if someone thought something, what would be wrong with that?” He means it to be confident, reassuring, but it sounds more like a plea.

     Whatever Yoongi says in answer starts with another whispered apology and ‘I was being too…’ and chokes off into trembling fingers scratching at the back of his neck. He’s got his head bowed enough that his hair is hiding his face, and Jimin has seen him nervous before, but this is something different. 

     It's such a sharp contrast to the confident photographer of only a few minutes ago, and Jimin curses the alcohol-induced fog he has to push through to get himself in gear.

     "Hoseok-sii," Jimin calls, and the bartender quickly returns from the other patrons he was serving, still looking apologetic.

     "I really am sorry, I should never have assumed—"

     "Hey, no worries, seriously!" Jimin gives him his most sincere smile, because it's true. That they could have been mistaken for a couple doesn't feel like a negative at all. If anything, the idea that it would somehow be bad to think he and Yoongi could be together feels a lot more upsetting.

     "I do think we're going to head out though, so we aren't in too bad a shape for the interviews tomorrow." He laughs, and Hoseok nods in understanding. "We really, really appreciate everything though! Your interview and the ones you're setting up for us." Jimin points to their empty glasses."And for having us here, for the drinks, too. Thank you so much, Hoseok-sii!"

     “Oh, absolutely! Listen, any time you’re in Gwangju, I’ll save seats for you!”

     “Thank you!”

     Jimin checks on the man beside him again. Yoongi is angled away from him and the bar now, like he’s trying to avoid having to be a part of the farewells, trying to hide his face. He looks small again, kind of wilted, and even though Jimin isn’t totally sure what’s going on, he feels a surge of protectiveness. 

     "Sorry—Hoseok-ssi, one last thing. If I want to go somewhere to get some air, do you have a recommendation? Is there a park nearby, maybe?"

     “Hmm... The closest park is a bit of a walk for this late.” The bartender frowns for a moment, then snaps his fingers. “Ah! Here, take this.” He digs in his pocket and hands over a key, then gestures to an unmarked door along the near wall. “Go out through there and it’ll take you to the building roof. It’s a great spot! We gotta share access with the businesses above us, so we only use it for events. It should be empty tonight though, and you can just bring the keys back tomorrow.”

     “Oh, wow, thanks! That’s perfect!”

     Jimin takes Yoongi’s hand and whisks him away, and a few flights of stairs later they find themselves walking out onto a darkened, empty rooftop. Yoongi is still clinging to his hand as they make their way towards the glass railing on the far side. The building is a story or so taller than its neighbors, giving a glittering panoramic view of Gwanju’s night lights, and even with all the lighting on the rooftop turned off, there’s enough bluish glow from the city to see that the space is cozily decorated.

     “Are you alright?” Jimin asks, searching for the other man’s eyes, still holding hands while clumsily trying to pull up a playlist on his phone with his free hand. He doesn’t really know what he needs to play, what exactly Yoongi listens to under his headphones, but he makes his best guess and starts up a peaceful instrumental. 

     Yoongi takes a long, slow breath while Jimin stares at him attentively, then shakes the hair out of his face and tilts his head up to look at the sky. “You’re sweet, Jimin-ah.” He says, all deep and rumbly. Jimin shivers in the night breeze. “And yeah, I’m alright now. This helps, ‘s what I needed. Thank you.”

     “Of course, Hyung.” Jimin gulps, gaze flickering around the older man’s profile. “What happened?”

     Yoongi squeezes his hand, then lets it go to lean against the rail instead. Jimin almost whines out loud at the loss.

     “I thought I was gonna have an anxiety attack. It felt like the start of one, but I guess I underestimated my coping skills. Definitely would have been one a few years ago, back before I started the therapy, and the meds.”

     “You’re off them, now?”

     “Yeah. Last dose was yesterday. They’re done.” He chuckles. “That’s why I drank so much, cause I don’t have to worry about the drugs and drink doing something weird. Probably not my best call though, I get a little too touchy and dumb when I drink like that, and a little, um. Emotionally up and down.” Yoongi scrunches his nose.

     “Ah, yeah, I’m the same. A lot, not just when I drink. I'm always worried guys are gonna think… something.” Think I’m gay. Huh. Jimin wishes he could take that statement back. It had never seemed remarkable, kept inside his head, but now that he’s said it out loud… It seems like something he probably shouldn’t look at too closely, not at almost two in the morning, and not this many drinks in.

     “So just… you would tell me, if I made you uncomfortable?” Yoongi finally turns to him. His eyes are so pretty, all filled with worry and the starry sparkles of the city lights around them. 

     “Uncomfortable—Hyung no, of course you didn’t? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Jimin can’t for the life of him think of anything Yoongi had done that could have made him even remotely uncomfortable. Even catching Yoongi checking out his ass before they’d left for the bar hadn’t bothered him. In fact, he’s pretty sure he was the one being weird and touchy, staring too much, all night.

     Still, Yoongi looks unsure, so just to prove the point Jimin shuffles closer and hooks his chin over the older man’s shoulder. He has every intention of just giving a squeeze and letting go, like Yoongi had done to him earlier, but now that he has him in his arms he can’t quite bring himself to do anything but cling there. He’s careful to keep his hands respectfully above the cutoff of Yoongi’s shirt, but that means having to feel just how firm and broad Yoongi is around the top half, his back solid and warm against Jimin’s chest.

     “What’s this about?” Yoongi asks, squirming a little, so Jimin squeezes him tighter.

     “Shh, we’re both cuddly drunks, Hyung. So you’re getting hugged.”

     Yoongi whines a complaint but still leans back into his arms anyway, and it sets off a fierce burst of flutters through Jimin’s middle. It feels so deeply right, so good , the way Yoongi’s body fits against his, the way he smells, the way the gentle rise and fall of his chest starts to match Jimin’s own breathing. 

      Jimin lets his gaze drift up to the night sky overhead, the summer breeze filling his lungs, and for the first time in a long while, he feels just… completely okay. Maybe even hopeful. He hides a smile against Yoongi’s shoulder.

     “The moon’s so bright tonight.”

     “Yeah, pretty.”

     “Oh, Hyung, look!” Jimin squeals, ignoring a grumble from the man in his arms to point out a single star twinkling overhead. It’s dim, washed out by the light pollution and haze, but it’s there.

     “Aish, so loud, Jimin-ah. My poor ears.”

     “Wow, another one!” This one’s even brighter and lovelier, shining directly above them.

     “Mhmm, one there too.” Yoongi points.

     “Oh yeah." Jimin sways a little, mostly in time with the music playing from his phone. "I wish there were more."

     Yoongi hums, gives Jimin's arm a pat. "We better head back, huh?"

     "I'm too tired, gonna sleep here."

     "We can't."

     "Why..."

     "No, c'mon." When Yoongi chuckles at his whining, Jimin can feel it reverberating against his own chest as much as he can hear it. "Let's go."

     Just want to stay here, on this secret rooftop, and look for stars with you, he thinks. But exhaustion is seeping into his bones, so Jimin allows himself a few more perfect seconds, then plunks his forehead against the back of Yoongi’s neck and gives a sleepy nod.

Notes:

I'm not going to say anything about how long it will be till the next chapter so I don't jinx myself this time, but I promise it will come eventually. Speaking of which, sorry the slow burn is still slow burning, this ch felt a little slow to me but I promise Yoongi and Jimin will come eventually too 😇

If you're enjoying the story please leave comments and kudos, they're keeping me sane while I try to finish this 🙏

Chapter 4: Skydiving

Summary:

It can’t be erased
Even if I hide it and conceal it
I can’t endure it anymore
I'm doing things I never would do
My pulse racing
I'm coming alive with you
You got me skydiving

 

(From Stigma by BTS V, and Skydiving by Lights)

---or---

Jimin finally does more than just stare...
(And there was only one bed, part 2)

Notes:

Okay guys... I am soooo sorry it took me this long to post this chapter in my defense it's the longest one yet, and definitely the most challenging to write so far

Thank you so much to lovely Starry for helping me figure out why I was stuck in the emotionally difficult bits and how to fix it 💜

(Also in my defense, they took my muses off to the war how am I supposed to yoonmin in these conditions 😭💔)

Note: there is a little bit of cognitive distortion/negative self-talk at the start of this chapter, I don't think it's too much but just a heads up

Note #2: I don't generally condone pointing out writer's spelling errors but I freaking KNOW I saw a misspelled word somewhere in the second half of this chapter and I cannot find it for the life of me 😭 lol someone plz tell me where it is it's driving me crazy
Edit: thank you to the two sharp-eyed ppl who already found two errors but neither were the one I was thinking of so it's still at large 🫣 I know it was a correct spelling of a word but the wrong form, like using "he is happily" instead of "he is happy"
Edit of the edit: Starry found it! phew 😌

     The summer sun filtering through the haze outside is casting their entire apartment in dreamy yellows and golds. Jimin presses closer to the man in his arms, nuzzling against his throat, till their bodies are so close they might as well be one. 

     God, If only they could be. 

     It should have soothed the ache in his chest by now, to be this close, but it’s only growing stronger even as Jimin holds him tighter. He’d crawl right in underneath Yoongi’s skin if he could, stay inside him forever. He thinks, even then, he’d probably still want more.

     Yoongi’s breathing matches perfectly with his own, his back to Jimin’s chest, their legs tangled together under the covers. Everything is so perfect, safe and warm and gilded around the edges. Jimin truly can’t remember how long it’s been since the last time he felt this light-hearted.

     “You’re my favorite, Hyung.”

     Yoongi turns enough to send a gummy smile back to Jimin over his shoulder. “...Am I?” There’s a glint in his eyes that makes Jimin want to pester him, so instead of answering he slides a hand down to Yoongi’s stomach to hold him in place, then gives a playful nip to the side of his neck.

     “Mmm… Jimin-ah…” Yoongi purrs, squirming against him in a very unconvincing attempt at escape. The contact feels so good, everywhere that Yoongi’s body heat is seeping into Jimin’s skin. Jimin grins and bites his neck a little harder, pressing him down into the mattress. Yoongi’s breathing harder now, still grinning over his shoulder as Jimin’s body covers his, cheek squished into his pillow, disheveled and devilish and maddeningly cute. The friction feels so damn good that it leaves Jimin trembling. 

     There’s an awareness floating out around the periphery of his mind, that what’s happening here needs to stay hidden away, carefully kept between just the two of them, even though it feels far too perfect to be in any way wrong. Not that it matters at all; Jimin wouldn’t want to share this part of them with anyone else anyways. This, this is how he’s wanted Yoongi. He growls a little, breathing in the scent of his skin, feeling the way his stomach tenses under his hand when Jimin presses into him again.

     “I’m so happy, Hyung.” He mumbles, slurred against the side of Yoongi’s throat. He must be drunk, everything feels so hazy, so good.

     “...Are you?”

     “I… yeah…?” Jimin frowns in confusion when the sound of his own muddled voice drags him from his sleep, the drab hotel room starting to paint over the scenery of the dream with every slow blink. The late morning sun is creeping in around the blinds, making it much too warm to sleep anymore. Jimin smacks his dry lips as he rolls over, still frowning. …Where did he go? Wasn’t he just…

      Ah. Right.

     Yoongi is sound asleep in his own bed, on the other side of the room. That makes sense. The longer Jimin lays there the less he remembers why he would have expected anything different.

     By the time he’s managed to drag himself out of bed and to the bathroom, the dream is all but erased, leaving Jimin with an odd sense of loss, a dull headache, and a useless boner. He stands in front of the toilet for a while, pouting at the bland stock image framed above it while he waits for things to calm down enough for him to actually use the bathroom, trying to remember what he’d been dreaming about to have gotten so worked up. It’s been a long time since he’s had one of those dreams—he’d definitely thought he’d outgrown them—so maybe it’s a sign that he’s a bit overdue for some self care…

     On the way back, he stops to grab two bottles of water from the mini fridge and digs through his bags for some pills. He downs his own, then leaves the same on the bedside table for Yoongi. The other man is still deep asleep, but the way his blankets have been kicked down to the foot of the bed and the sheen of sweat at his hairline suggest he hasn’t slept well. Jimin makes a mental note to ask him why he’s still insisting on those long-sleeved pajamas in the heat of summer when Jimin’s been comfortably stripping to his underwear every night.

     There’s still plenty of time till their first interview of the day, so he crawls back into bed and hides up to his eyes beneath the overwashed hotel sheets. Honey is perched on the nightstand where he’d left her the day before, and every time Jimin’s gaze drifts absentmindedly to the sleeping man across from him, he can see the little toy cat in his periphery staring him down. It’s not till then that the prior evening’s memories really hit.

      Oh. Oh god.

     He definitely hadn’t managed to get quite as drunk as he’d wanted to believe he was last night. And, as he really should have predicted, a twenty-seven-year-old mind is not nearly as lenient as his teenage one had been. There are no mercifully brief flashes of imagery from the night before, no alcohol-induced fog to safely blur away the memories like there had been back when he’d kissed that boy in highschool.

     Peering out across the space between them, admiring the other man’s sleepsoft features, Jimin’s eyes settle helplessly on the delicate pout of his pink lips. Those lips that he’d had every intention of putting his own on last night. He remembers it all far too clearly.

     A deep, horrible tug of foreboding settles at the bottom of his stomach, like he’s standing somewhere very high and about to lose his footing.

     Jimin quickly plucks the little calico figurine from her spot and pulls her down into his hideout, dragging the sheets up over the top of his head for good measure.

     Fuck Honey. I was going to kiss him…

     Him.

     He doesn’t speak to her out loud like he usually would, not with Yoongi so close, not something so mortifying, so he cradles Honey in his palm and has a silent, desperate heart-to-heart with her in his head. There’s a dreadful sort of finality to the flickers of thoughts clambering at the margins of his mind, like once he really looks at all of this, whatever this is, there won’t be any coming back from it. 

     …No, please no. I can’t do this, not yet.

     Suddenly even Honey’s brushstroke black eyes are too much, and Jimin squeezes his own eyes shut, heart twisting.

      I can’t be. I can’t. My whole life, I…

     Jimin’s really not sure what a panic attack feels like, but this feels a lot like being shoved in front of a packed auditorium with no script. He swallows hard and tries to take calming breaths, runs a finger down Honey’s glossy little back while staring miserably at her. 

     Am I going insane?

     Jimin squishes his face into the pillow and groans softly. He just needs to calm down and think this all through rationally, like he’s always done when this particular worry makes a reappearance. Put it all in perspective, instead of fixating on one single event. Nothing actually happened, it was just an intrusive thought, he reminds himself, and everyone has some gay thoughts. Hell, he’d been called ‘girl-crazy’ when he started college, his mother had even been worried about him because of it. There’s no way he would have ever had so many girlfriends, so many crushes on girls, if all along he’d been…

     No, of course not. Now that he’s thinking it through, he tells himself it was silly to have gotten so worried in the first place… He’s not… that way. He’s too old, he would have known.

      So then, what was last night?

     Jimin thinks it through till his headache is pounding, till he finally comes up with something that makes some sense; he’s less than a month out of a serious relationship, and he’s lonely. Lonely enough to wake up in the frustrated state he had a few minutes ago. Lonely enough to think about using even Yoongi—a whole man—to sooth it last night, just because he was what, convenient? 

     But then, if loneliness is the explanation he’s going with, what kind of person must he be to have moved on from a relationship with a girl as perfect as Nabi that quickly? And to try to use a coworker to do it? 

     A shit kind of person, probably.   

     An unhelpful voice in his mind says he hadn’t needed to use anyone to get over her at all, that there really hadn’t been feelings there to get over. Jimin spirals while he waits for Yoongi to wake up, ignoring that voice and testing out his depressing new theory against all his past relationships and crushes instead.

     “Ow—shit.” Jimin winces, leaning his shirtless upper half towards the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, there’s another careless nick—third one of the morning—this time right on the point of his chin. Gosh darn it.

     “Jimin-ah...” Yoongi’s hangover voice is so deep that Jimin can feel it down at the bottom of his woozy stomach.

     “I’m fine.” 

     He makes the next pass with his razor a little less aggressive, despite how worked up he is at himself. Beside him, Yoongi grunts but doesn’t say anything more, just goes back to shaving his own chin. His eyes are squeezed into such narrow slits against the too-bright bathroom light above them that Jimin isn’t sure how the other man can even see what he’s doing. Maybe he can’t. 

     A glob of shaving cream slides down Yoongi’s throat, a slow trail down onto the collar of his pink silk pajama shirt, and without thinking, Jimin turns to wipe it away.

     “What—oh, thank you.”

     “Mmhmm.” Jimin answers, keeping his gaze carefully averted. Trying to be nice and take care of Yoongi is the least he can do, given that Jimin has concluded for sure that he is an entire piece of shit. The headache and nausea is, in all honesty, not that bad anymore, but he deserves every bit of it. 

     Now, glowering at himself in the mirror, Jimin can’t help but wonder how he could have failed to realize till now just what kind of person he has, apparently, become. He’d always wanted to be a romantic, a lover boy, but here are a lifetime of actions making all those good intentions worthless. How had he never stopped to reflect on the fact that he’s not once been more than mildly disappointed any of his relationships ended? Or, that he’s never been heartbroken over a girl, even when they’d been heartbroken over him. That he’d chosen who to have crushes on so carefully, and then lost interest as soon as they reciprocated, like some kind of heartless jackass.

     He’d cried more over The Notebook than he ever had about losing a real life romance, except maybe Nabi. And since he’s really being honest with himself now, the crying he’d done then wasn’t really about losing her as a romantic partner at all. It was about worrying he’d lose her as a best friend, feeling like a failure for not being able to give her what he’d wanted to, feeling like he’d let down his family and friends...

     God , in his head he’d thought he wanted it all so bad, to have someone to love and care for and adore for the rest of her life, to find his forever person. But in practice? With real, attainable women? No matter how good he might have thought his intentions were, there’s an undeniable pattern, and really only one safe conclusion to draw from it. A pattern that looks an awful lot like using people. Fuck.

      What the fuck is wrong with me?

     “Hey, hey…” Yoongi tsks , setting down his razor with a worried frown, and it’s not till then that Jimin realizes how blurred his vision is. Or that he’s been standing motionless, razor clenched in his fist and teeth grinding, staring at his own stupid reflection for who knows how long. Oh god, he’s about to cry in front of his coworker yet again, and he doesn’t even have the right to be crying. Not when his own shittiness is the entire problem.

     “It’s just a headache, Hyung.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady, but it comes out all pathetic and sniffly. Yoongi ignores that obvious lie and shuffles around behind him, big hands coming up to rub at Jimin’s tense shoulders. His eyes are sharp and worried as he watches Jimin’s reflection in the mirror.

     “Should I reschedule the first interview?”

     “No, don’t do that. Seriously, I’m fine.” Jimin says, right as a betraying tear rolls down his cheek. Shit, he was really trying to keep that in. Jimin angrily rubs it away, and Yoongi sighs behind him. 

     “It won’t hurt anything to reschedule it for later in the day, Jimin-ah. They’ll understand.”

     “I—ummm…” Jimin tries not to groan, but Yoongi is very talented at massages, experienced fingers working over Jimin’s bare skin. “I’ll be fine, this is nothing.”

     “Well… at least let Hyung make you some tea before we head out, then.”

     It’s selfish, because he knows he doesn’t deserve anyone taking care of him, and especially not this man, not after last night’s shamefulness. But Yoongi’s massaging is turning him useless and pliant, so Jimin can’t bring himself to fight it.

     “Alright, Hyung. Okay.”

     “I hope you like honey and chamomile. It sometimes takes the edge off my anxiety, so I brought some along.” Yoongi leans down to set a glass of iced tea in front of Jimin, bringing an intoxicating waft of that deep green cologne with him, then pauses when he doesn’t get a response. It takes a moment for Jimin to surface from the mess in his mind enough to even realize the other man has spoken.

     “Ah sorry, yes I do like it, thank you Hyung-nim.” Jimin ducks his head meekly as he watches Yoongi settle in the chair across from him.

     …Honey and chamomile?

     “Jimin-ah,” Yoongi waits for Jimin to meet his gaze, offering a tentative smile. “You know… You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but I hope you know by now that you can.”

     He fully intends to just thank Yoongi and deny that anything’s wrong again, but his brain connects the dots and instead he blurts, “Wait, were you the one who left the tea for me?”

     “Huh?”

     “Outside my office, back when I gave my presentation?”

     “Oh.” Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting down and away. “Yeah. I just thought it might help.”

      Ah. Jimin takes a slow sip of the tea and forces himself to savor it, waiting for the wetness at his lashes to clear away. Yoongi is such a good person. Well, that certainly makes one of them. Fuck, Jimin can’t even remember the last time he felt this ashamed of himself. 

     Yoongi is using that hushed, comforting tone that Jimin has heard enough times to be familiar with by now, offering his friendship, and not ten hours ago Jimin was going to use him, on a whim. 

     When he finishes angrily rubbing at his eyes again, he looks up to find nothing but kindness on the handsome face across from him. Jimin kind of hates himself. You aren’t even a girl, but I’m so pathetic that I was still going to use you, just like I do to all of them. God, he hopes Yoongi somehow didn’t notice, somehow missed the eyes Jimin was probably making at him last night.

     “Did… did it make you uncomfortable? When I left the tea?” Yoongi asks. 

     Jimin blinks at him. “No? Of course not! You were right, it did help. I really needed it, I’m kind of a big chicken about public speaking. It was so kind of you!”

     “Okay. Good.”

     They settle into silence for a little while, both sipping their tea while the air con whirs and the squares of summer sun from the window make a slow journey across the hotel carpet. Jimin doesn’t know where to start or even if he ought to, but the self-loathing thoughts keep circling his mind like vultures till his vision is swimming and his chest is tight, till it hurts to breathe. 

     He just needs to get it out, and Yoongi offered to listen, so he finally gives in.

     “Hyung, you remember when I told you about my girlfriend and I breaking up?”

     “Oh. Yes?” Yoongi blinks at him, waiting.

     “Well, I’ve been reflecting on that, and some other things, and I think… I think I’m realizing…” Jimin’s breath catches and he scrunches his face, willing himself not to start crying. It doesn’t work. He ignores the hot tear escaping down his cheek and pushes on. “There’s something wrong with me, Yoongi, okay? There’s something really fucking wrong with me.”

     “Hey…” Yoongi leans towards him, brows knit and mouth downturned, scanning Jimin’s face. Oh god, his eyes are so, so pretty. “What do you mean?”

     “I mean I’m a piece of shit.”

     “You aren’t.”

     “I am. Hyung—”

     “Jimin.” The chair legs scrape across the carpet as Yoongi gets up. Jimin’s eyes go wide, staring down at Yoongi’s hand around his wrist as he’s pulled over to the sofa. “Here, sit.” Yoongi says firmly. Jimin obeys, taking the musty little throw pillow from the end of the sofa to hug to his stomach, where the fluttering is, while Yoongi settles beside him

     He glances up when a hand starts rubbing his shoulder, meeting the worry in Yoongi’s eyes. There’s an urgency to the motion, like Yoongi might be doing it to comfort himself too, which only makes Jimin guiltier. Yoongi keeps watching him for a while, then clears his throat.

     “Hey. Tell Hyung what’s going on. Did something happen?”

     “No…” Jimin fidgets with the tassels on the pillow. Something did happen, to ignite all this, but he'll have to take the way he was thinking about Yoongi last night to his grave with him. “No, I just woke up and you were still sleeping.” He pictures how soft the other man looked in his sleep. “I was trying to be quiet so I just stayed in my bed, and my mind drifted, and… I don't know. I guess I just realized some things about myself, all at once.”

     Yoongi's eyebrows go up, the hand rubbing Jimin’s shoulder stops it’s motion. “You realized some things?” He looks almost hopeful.

     “Yeah.”

     “What, um. What did you realize?

     “I think I just… I might not be…” Jimin flicks his eyes up to the ceiling, following the slow rotations of the fan, “I think I might not be capable of love.” Yoongi doesn’t respond, and Jimin isn’t brave enough to look over at him, so he forges on. “I don’t know how I never noticed, but this morning I seriously thought about every single relationship I’ve ever been in, even down to the girls I just had crushes on, Hyung. And it’s just, I got with Nabi cause I thought I was supposed to, I thought it was the best decision, everyone we knew expected it. If you knew her you’d understand how shit a guy would have to be to not want to be with her. It ended because I couldn’t—”

      God, he feels so fucking helpless. Tears are streaming down his cheeks now, and Yoongi is seeing all of it, probably losing every positive thought he had about his coworker, and there’s nothing Jimin can do to stop it now that he’s started. “A-and the girl I liked before her, I pined for her for literally an entire year straight, I thought I cared so much, and then she liked me back and literally like that—” He snaps his fingers, “it was completely gone.”

     He does glance over at Yoongi now, can’t help it, and he finds the other man watching him with his mouth ajar and his head cocked sideways. He’s cute even like that. Jimin rubs the runniness from his nose angrily.

     “I just use people, Hyung.”

     “No… No you don’t.”

     “I do! Shit, I’ve always done that! Pick a girl to crush on, then lose interest as soon as she wants me back. That’s shitty.”

     “...Pick a girl?”

     “I’m just scared I’m always gonna be alone, but hell, I don’t even have any right to think of a future partner, a future where I’m not alone, if all I do is use people.”

     “People don’t usually… pick out their crushes, Jimin-ah.”

     “Well I do I guess!” The defensiveness in his own voice seems to startle both of them a little. He’s not mad at Yoongi at all, of course, but now he’s being an asshole and lashing out at him anyway. Jimin draws his legs up on the couch and hugs the pillow even tighter. He feels like a little kid, so full of immaturity and shame. “I’m sorry, Hyung-nim, I’m really sorry. I told you, there’s something wrong with me.”

     “There’s nothing wrong with you.” Yoongi whispers. His voice is so steady and sure, like he isn’t phased at all by Jimin’s outburst.

     “Yoongi—” His voice cracks apart into a frustrated sob. “Yes, there is!” 

     There has to be, because the other explanation for his recent thoughts is something worse. 

     Strong arms are wrapping him up in a hug before Jimin can even protest, bringing a flood of familiar scent, and warmth, and safety.

     “Aish, Jimin-ah…” Yoongi doesn’t pull away, just keeps hugging him, one hand giving little pats to his back. It’s undeserved, but Jimin allows himself a moment of comfort and nuzzles his nose into the spot where Yoongi’s shoulder meets his neck, taking a long, slow inhale.

     “What if… What if I never get to have a love?” It’s a thought that physically hurts to get out, but it’s somehow scarier to keep it in. Jimin feels Yoongi’s chest rise and fall with a sigh, but he goes on. “I mean, I don’t know how I’m only just now figuring this out, but I’m not actually worthy of any girl’s love, right? If this is how I treat them?”

     “Jesus, Jimin.” The hand patting his back stops, and then Yoongi is pulling him away enough to hold him firmly by the shoulders and look him in the eyes. “That is absolutely not true. You're worthy of love, obviously. And I know you’ll find it.” He says it with absolute certainty, a furrow between his brows. He’s so serious—almost stern—and so close, Jimin can’t help but flush.

     “Okay, wow, t-thanks. Thank you, Hyung.”

     “Mhmm.”

     Somewhere, outside the hotel, out in Gwangju’s late morning traffic, a car honks. The breeze from the ceiling fan cools the wet trails on Jimin’s cheeks, flutters the pages of his abandoned notebook over on the table. Jimin studies the man in front of him, his troubled face, the sincerity in his eyes. He’s just so, so good. Good to Jimin. Good to look at. Good to sit beside on a little couch, on a lazy Friday morning. If someone out there ends up with Yoongi as their forever, they’d be so lucky, he thinks. 

     Only for a single treacherous second, Jimin’s eyes drift down to his lips.

     “...Jimin?” There’s something too knowing in Yoongi’s expression, and Jimin’s stomach sinks. The older man opens his mouth as if to speak, then hesitates, searching Jimin’s face. “Hey… I’m gonna ask you something. You don’t have to answer, we don’t have to talk about it ever again if you don’t want to, but just…” 

     Jimin shifts back into the couch like he’s cornered, crushing the throw pillow against his pounding heart. All at once, he’s sure he knows what sort of question is coming, and he can’t. He can’t do this. He’s not ready for it, not yet. Yoongi goes on anyway, with a comforting squeeze to Jimin’s shoulder and the gentlest look in his eyes.

     “Are you sure you actually like women? Romantically, I mean. Just, what you’re saying, it sounds a lot like… are you sure?”

     Jimin’s heart plummets. Knowing it was coming doesn’t make him any more prepared to hear it, and he swallows roughly past the awful lump in his throat. “I… I’ve had girlfriends.” He whispers. Yoongi nods patiently. The argument seemed so much more significant in his head than it sounds now. Now it sounds like a plea.

     “You don’t have to answer, remember.”

     “B-but don’t you think I would have known?” 

 

     In that moment, even as he says it, Jimin does know. 

 

     He knows, with a terrifying sort of finality that starts his whole view of the future—of himself—collapsing inward, like a sweater that has probably been catching snags all along, unnoticed, but it’s finally caught one too many and suddenly the whole thing’s unraveling away into nothing. 

     “Oh Jimin—you’re shaking. I’m sorry. Hey… Hyung’s sorry.” Yoongi shifts closer, features lined with worry. “It’s okay, you know, either way. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

     There is no either way though, not anymore. It’s too late. Yoongi looks like he wants to hug him again and Jimin’s pretty sure he can’t survive that without shattering—he needs space, he needs air—so he jumps up off the couch and heads for the door, only stopping to grab a shirt and his notebook and wallet along the way. He hears Yoongi call for him, softly, but Jimin can’t afford to look back right now so he answers over his shoulder, “I-I’ll see you at the interview, Hyung, I’m just gonna—”

     The sentence hangs unfinished when he pulls the door shut behind him. He ties his shoes with trembling fingers and sets off at a jog, out of the hotel, down the street. He keeps the pace till his lungs are burning, desperate to reach his destination before he falls apart.

     The bar’s rooftop feels different in the daylight, the expanse of concrete washed out by the sun, reflecting its heat back onto Jimin’s skin as he makes his way to the railing. After the run to get here his clothes are clinging to his skin, sweat beading down his brow and making his hair stick unpleasantly, so he unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall open, tousled by the breeze.

     Gwangju is busy around him, though in a way that feels somehow homier than Seoul, stretched out lazily beneath a cloudless blue-gray sky. All those people going about their day just the same as they had been half an hour ago, as if the entire world hasn’t shifted on its axis. Jimin leans on his forearms against the rail, watching the glimpses of traffic on the main road a few blocks away, waiting for his hammering heart to finally give way to the collapse he knows must be coming.

     “I-I’m… gay?” He whispers, to see if it sounds as unnatural out loud as it feels like it ought to. Nabi had been right; he'd never actually daydreamed of a wedding, a wife, the way his mother would throw her arms open to scoop up her grandchildren when he brought some imaginary future family to visit. It wasn't a dream of his, but it was still there, an assumption. An inevitable safety net. A normal life. He'd never thought he'd be one of the ones who didn't get to have it.

     Even with the ever-present city haze, the sun over the other buildings is strong enough to leave the heated air shimmering, and Jimin lets his mind drift along with it for a while, unfocused and hidden away up above the city, while the breeze dries his skin and his heart beat slowly steadies. Minutes tick by, and still, the collapse Jimin’s waiting for doesn’t come. He should be spiraling, like he had the night he and Nabi broke up, like he had been all morning. 

     Instead, he suddenly thinks about that boy he’d kissed, back when they were sixteen.

     “Is he still the worst, then?” Nabi’s voice had brought up a rush of comfort as soon as she’d answered his call. He hadn’t quite been brave enough to tell her about everything he’d realized in the last twenty-four hours, but they’d chatted and caught up, shared a little gossip, laughed at Nabi’s bad jokes. Just like they always used to.

     Jimin giggles into the receiver, scuffing his shoe against the concrete. “No. I guess he’s not the worst.  Pretty annoying though.”

     “Mhmm, I figured that would happen.”

     “What would happen?”

     “You’re fond of him, Oppa.”

     “Am not.”

     Nabi laughs. “Yah, I can hear it in your voice.”

     “How could I be fond of my literal nemesis, huh?”

     “You tell me. I bet you even agree with me that the cardigan thing is cute now.”

     Jimin gasps. “I could never!”

     They bicker on for a while, while Jimin’s mood slowly floats higher and the sun dries his skin.

     “Oh, and Jimin?” 

     “Yeah?”

     “Let's not grow apart, alright? I think it’s just… going to be a little weird, I don’t think there’s any way around that. But I want us to push through it, you know? You’re important to me.”

     “You’re important to me too, Nabi-ya.” Jimin spots the familiar form of Yoongi speed-walking up the street down below, making his way towards the bar with his camera bag slung over his shoulder. It must be close to time for the first interview, he should probably head down soon. “I won’t let us grow apart. I promise. We’ve been through some shit together.”

     “Hooo boy, we really have.” Nabi laughs, as unguarded and loud as ever. It’s a relief to hear. “I’ll talk to you later then, Oppa. Thanks for calling!”

     “Of course.” Jimin sighs. He’s so much more at ease now that he nearly forgets why he’d decided to call in the first place. “Oh, wait, before you go, I needed to ask you something.”

     “Hmm?”

     “So, long shot, but… do you remember that kid we used to hang out with in highschool? Always had paint in his hair and drew elephants on his arms? Kinda… eccentric, moved away the summer before junior year started? Tae-something, I think?”

     Nabi hums for a while, thinking. “Oh, Kim Taehyung you mean? With the cute ears?”

     “Ah, yes, him!”

     “Wow, he hasn’t crossed my mind in ages. What about him?”

     “Well, so… you don’t have his phone number still, do you?” Jimin asks, hoping she doesn’t pry for why he needs it. He’s not even sure he could answer that question for himself, he just can't stop thinking about wanting to talk to the boy he’d kissed. She chuckles, sounding confused.

     “No, I definitely don't. But maybe Lee Jinae does? She hung out with him more than we did. Want me to ask her?”

     “Sure, if it’s not a bother.”

     “Not at all, I’m on it!” Nabi says, and Jimin can picture her determined salute perfectly. He laughs.

     “Goodbye, Nabi.”

     “Bye, Oppa!”

     

     It’s only a few moments later that the door to the roof creaks open. Yoongi steps through the doorway panting, hair askew and eyes a little wild. Once he spots Jimin and gives him a quick once over, his shoulders slump back down and he breathes out a relieved sigh.

     “Oh, hey.” Yoongi stays by the door, a hesitant smile on his lips. He looks ridiculously pretty in the sun, with his skin glistening with sweat, and Jimin’s heart leaps.

     “Hyung.” Jimin smiles, feeling intensely fond all of a sudden. “Is it time?”

     “Ah—not yet, not for another half hour.” The older man tucks his hair behind his ear with an elegant flick of the wrist, then tries again when it falls right back down. “I just—I’ll go back down and give you your space, I didn’t mean to intrude again, I’m sorry. I just… I had some… not great thoughts , back when I first realized I wasn’t straight.” Yoongi looks like he’s fighting his anxiety, wringing his hands together and frowning down at his feet, seeming smaller than usual. “N-not that that’s what’s happening for you! Just, I had to make sure you were, you know. Safe.”

     Jimin’s heart aches; first at the thought of Yoongi ever having felt anything like that, and then at being so cared for himself. “I’m safe, Hyung-nim.” He walks over and separates Yoongi’s wringing hands, keeping a hold of one of them and smiling reassuringly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Yoongi’s hand. It doesn’t even take any bravery to do, his thoughts all focused on soothing the other man’s worries. “I’m sorry I worried you. I’m safe.”

     “Oh.” Yoongi’s eyes go starry, his gaze flicking from Jimin’s smile to their linked hands, then to Jimin’s open shirt. He tries to turn away, cheeks pink, after an adorably obvious double-take at Jimin’s bare chest. “Good, then I’ll head back down.”

     Jimin squeezes his hand and bites back a whine at the idea of Yoongi leaving him alone. “No, would… would you stay? Please?”

     “I—I will, if you want me here.”

     “I do, Hyung. Please stay with me.”

     Jimin lets his hand go and Yoongi nods, giving him the most earnest little smile.

     “Whatever you need, Jimin-ah.”

     They stay together on the roof until it's time for interviews, just passing time in comfortable silence beside each other, watching the city life beyond the glass railing. Jimin doesn’t try to start conversation, lost in his thoughts, and Yoongi doesn’t either. And still, the collapse Jimin’s waiting for doesn’t come.

     They meet with more people the following day, and one of the last subjects is a very muscular actor with rough chiseled features named Seungyeong, who Jimin vaguely recognizes from some supporting action roles. Even after the necessary releases are signed and the interview is well underway in a corner booth, other patrons keep interrupting to give the man their numbers or try to buy him drinks.

     “You didn’t like him?” Yoongi whispers to Jimin, after the interview is done and the two of them are alone again.

     “Hmm?” Jimin turns to the photographer sitting beside him in the booth, confused.

     “You kept looking at him funny. Even just now when he was walking away from us, you were frowning at him.” Yoongi’s tone isn’t judgemental. He just sounds curious, but even so, Jimin isn’t sure how to answer.

     “No? I thought he was cool. Interesting. He had a unique perspective.”

     Yoongi looks into his eyes for a moment then nods with a pleasant expression, like whether he believes Jimin’s answer or not, he’s accepting it.

     It's not that Jimin didn’t like the actor, not at all. But he had been studying the middle-aged man’s perfectly masculine features, buzzed hair, the rough shadow of facial hair across his jaw, deeply sun-darkened skin. He was loud and assertive and big everywhere, big frame and big muscles, the textbook representation of manliness.

     But despite really trying, Jimin couldn't find even the slightest hint of attraction to him, and it had left him troubled all over again. This man was clearly what the gay men around him were into, so shouldn't there be at least some attraction? If Jimin wasn't attracted to this perfect representation of man, had he gotten it wrong and been working himself up over nothing? Was he actually, finally going crazy?

     Jimin stops watching the man across the bar and turns to his photographer instead.

     “Um, Yoongi, you're attracted to men, right?”

     Yoongi smirks at him. “...Yeah…”

     “So… what's your type?”

     Yoongi arches an eyebrow at him and doesn't say anything for a bit, like he's waiting for Jimin to catch on to something. “Well… it's usually just whoever I have feelings for at the moment; they become my type. Their gender, or their age, what they look like, how they move, how they do their hair. Whatever they are is my favorite.”

     “Oh. Well, then,” Jimin bites his lip, feeling suddenly even more nervous, “What's your type right now?”

     Yoongi blinks at him for a moment, gaze flickering around his face, then he chuckles and sits back in the booth, arms crossed over his chest. “Hmm, I don’t know.”

    “S-Seungyeong-ssi?”

     Yoongi breaks into a startled laugh, shoulders shaking. He reaches over and ruffles Jimin's hair, leaving the younger man’s cheeks flaming. 

     “Nah, he totally would have been my type when I was dumb and twenty and full of daddy issues. Not really my thing, now.”

     “Ah. Okay.” Jimin lets out a relieved sigh. He keeps his gaze down shyly when Yoongi nudges him with a shoulder.

     “Why do you ask, huh?”

     Jimin shrugs. “Just… pondering.”

     “Mm, alright.” Yoongi looks at him fondly, then gets to work packing up his equipment. Jimin means to preoccupy himself with finishing his drink and doing a little more thinking, but instead his eyes follow the photographer’s movements as he disassembles and cleans his gear before stowing it in his bag. Yoongi’s hands are so big, yet he holds each piece with such gentleness, prominent veins shifting beneath his skin as his hands flex.

     It reminds Jimin of the way those hands had felt working over his bare shoulders when Yoongi had tried to comfort him the day before, confident and firm in their movements but just as careful. Then, how rough and masculine and safe Yoongi’s hand had felt curling around his own when Jimin had dared to hold it, hidden under hotel covers and the guise of sleep back on their first night away from Seoul.

     “Oh my god…” Jimin whispers, stunned at his own stupidity. How could he possibly have done something like that and not realized.

     “Hmm?” Yoongi hums, though he’s too absorbed in what he’s doing to look up. He’s nearly finished, only his backup camera still unpacked. He wraps his long fingers around the lens, unscrewing it from the body with a practiced twist, and for one unbidden, shameful second, Jimin pictures the movement in a very different context.

     “Oh my god.” He groans softly, dropping his head into his hands in mortification as he tries not to squirm in his seat. Finding another man’s hands beautiful in a way that he can feel between his legs is just… so, so fucking gay.

     This time, Yoongi looks up with a little frown. “Huh?”

     “I’m so dumb.” Jimin pouts. There’s a weird flurry of happiness down in his stomach, where the sinking feeling used to be.

     “Well, no. Wrong.”

     “Hyung,” Jimin casts his eyes up pitifully, “You don’t even know. I might actually be the dumbest guy alive.”

     “What’s this about, huh?” Yoongi hoists his bag over his shoulder.

     Jimin inches his way out of the booth and stows away his notepad, now full of so many meaningful stories. He wants to talk to Yoongi about his epiphany, but something about actually getting the words out feels impossible, so he shrugs instead and follows the older man towards the door.

     “Just… more personal reflection, I guess.” He grumbles. He can tell Yoongi is studying his profile, deciding if he should press further. Jimin doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed when Yoongi doesn’t.

     “Well, if you won’t tell me why you’re dumb, I’ll tell you why you’re not. You knew exactly what to say and how to say it, to make all these people we’ve met feel comfortable sharing some very personal things with you. And personally,” Yoongi reaches up with a proud grin to pat Jimin’s far shoulder, pulling him into a sort of half-hug, “Of all our writers, your style is my favorite. You can’t be dumb and still write that sensitively, with that much depth.”

     “O-oh.” Jimin huffs, warmth spreading through his body from head to toe. He’s never felt even remotely as shy of Yoongi as he does at this moment, so much so that he can barely bring himself to whisper a ‘thank you’ as they make their way through the darkening streets.

      “Mhmm, so there, not dumb. A fool maybe, but not a dumb one.”

     “Hyung!”

     The evening is especially warm and humid, a thick blanket of clouds overhead making each street feel darker and quieter. By the time they shuffle back inside their hotel room their clothes are sticking to their skin again. Jimin starts stripping down to his boxers the second the door is closed, then grabs a cold water from the mini fridge and chugs the whole thing in one go, stray drops sliding down his throat.

     “You’re really gonna leave those on the floor, aren't you?” Yoongi tsks, gesturing to the trail of clothes. Jimin answers by faceplanting onto his bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers.

     “Hyung- niiiiiim,” he whines, face squished against the relieving cool of his pillow. “I’ve never been this tired.”

     “Unbelievable.” Yoongi chuckles as he pads off to wash up in the bathroom.

     Jimin smiles to himself as he drifts off, lulled to sleep by the distant sounds of a Gwangju night and his photographer singing a melodramatic love ballad to himself in the shower.

     “Okay?” 

     “Okay!” Even the sound of the seat belt clicking into place is enough to send a little thrill up Jimin’s spine. They’d finished the last few interviews in the morning, then had a lovely farewell lunch with Hoseok and a few of the other SoWhat bar staff they’d grown acquainted with.

     Now, with the summer sun vanishing and reappearing through the billowy clouds overhead, they’re finally merging onto the highway again, towards Jimin’s favorite place on earth.

     “I figure you can drive the second half, since you know the way.” Yoongi says from the driver’s seat. 

     He’s wearing a baby blue cardigan over a white t-shirt, looking soft and effortlessly put together with his hair brushed back behind his ears. There’s really something about the way Yoongi looks when he’s driving, Jimin thinks, like he does every time Yoongi drives. He’s so unflustered and in control, even with all the vehicles around him swerving and speeding, jostling for better spots in the traffic trying to escape the city.

     Does Yoongi know how handsome he is? He’s someone who really should know. And if he does know, he ought to be reminded often. Jimin bites his tongue and tilts his phone to the side to snap a quick photo, then titters when he checks the result. The lighting is bad and the background is just sun glare on cars and concrete, but still the older man looks unfairly good, manly and pretty at once.

     “Excuse you, I’m the photographer.” Yoongi grumbles, giving Jimin a side-eye that sends him into a fit of giggles.

     “I just think we ought to be documenting our trip too, and not just our project. Don’t you think?”

     “M’kay, sure. Just remember you said that, cause I’ll get you when you least expect it.” Yoongi punctuates his threat by tossing a shrimp chip into his mouth and chomping it obnoxiously. It shouldn’t be nearly as endearing as it is.

     Yoongi is still handsome when they make it out of the Gwangju outskirts and the South’s green forests are blurring past the window. Jimin rolls the window down and pretends his hand is a bird, dipping and turning in the wind, so he has something else to do besides stare. 

     He’s still handsome when they stop at a worn down gas station a couple hours out, still handsome when he pretends he doesn’t want the unnaturally blue shaved ice Jimin runs in to buy for him while he fills up the car. He eats it anyway, and begrudgingly lets Jimin take a photo of him with his downturned lips dyed blue.

     Sometime around the halfway point, Yoongi takes an exit marked ‘Scenic Overlook’ that ends in a small parking lot at the top of the ridgeline. By now the sun has nestled down against the horizon, bathing the hills in soft oranges and the valleys between them in deep blue-greens. There aren’t any other vehicles save for themselves, and when Yoongi shuts the engine off it’s so, so much quieter than the city.

     “Wanna switch?” Yoongi asks, opening his door and stretching his arms up over his head, then bending down to touch his toes. The songs of mountain birds and the light rustling of wind through the scraggly pines filters in through the open door.

     “Sure.” Jimin gets out as well, following the other man to the overlook. It’s not terribly high, but still breathtakingly beautiful. “It’ll be dark by the time we reach my parents’,” he says, half to himself. There’s something about this view that makes him lower his voice.

     “Mhmm.”

     They stay for a few minutes, watching the sun as it melts away into a fragile shard of orange, then disappears behind the hills. Jimin turns to find Yoongi watching him, his hair tousled by the breeze, eyes deep brown in the waning light. He gives Jimin a shy smile and ducks his head before turning back to the overlook. 

     Jimin takes a slow breath and decides to see, for once in his life, what might happen if he doesn’t follow the instincts built up from a lifetime of hiding. What might happen, if he doesn’t stop himself this time.

     “You’re handsome, Hyung.”

     He’s not brave enough to do more than whisper it, heart beating far too rapidly for such a peaceful evening. At first he worries he wasn’t even heard, but then Yoongi huffs out a little sound that might be the start of a flustered laugh.

    “Well, you are.” Jimin puts his hands on his hips and eyes Yoongi up and down, trying to keep his glare from turning into a giggle.

     “Hush.” Yoongi mumbles, scrunching his cute nose while Jimin admires the pretty tinge of pink across his cheeks.

     “This is it.” Jimin says, following the last few turns he knows by heart as he guides the car into the parking lot of his parent’s building. They’re on the outskirts of Busan, and with the last of the evening light gone, the lamplit streets are empty and quiet. He’s suddenly nervous, wondering how this place that means so much to him will look through Yoongi’s eyes, what Yoongi will think of Jimin’s home and his family.

     “Do you think they’ll be asleep?” Yoongi asks, scratching his stomach and making no move to get out of the car. He looks muddled, lips dry and eyes a bit unfocused. Without thinking, Jimin reaches out to touch the pinkened imprint of what must have been the seatbelt across the side of Yoongi’s cheek, then yanks his hand away when Yoongi takes in a surprised breath.

     “Uh—were you sleeping?” Jimin asks, busying himself with collecting his things to get out of the car, trying to seem like someone who’s heart isn’t running far faster than necessary at having felt the soft peach fuzz on his coworker's cheek. 

     “Dunno. You were talking about… your mother’s cooking or something. Kimchi jjigae, I think.” Yoongi yawns, smacking his lips a little as he gets out and shuffles over to help with the luggage.

     “That was an hour ago, Hyung!” Jimin collapses in laughter, everything in his middle melted by how cute the older man is being. He somehow ends up halfway into Yoongi’s arms in the process, and it’s just too much to resist. He has to hug him.

     “Mmph. Why.” Yoongi grouses, as if he’s not happily hugging back. His flat expression only makes it funnier.

     “Y-you gotta—” Jimin gasps in between fits of giggles, “Gotta quit being so funny! I can’t breathe!”

     “Maybe you should quit laughing at your elders then, huh?” Yoongi quacks, eyebrows raised in mock offense, “Did you ever think of that, you punk?” He pushes Jimin up against the car and pinches his sides, and Jimin shrieks so loud he has to clamp a hand over his mouth, trying to bat away Yoongi’s tickle attacks with the other.

     “Stop—ah, we’re gonna wake the whole building up!”

     “One of us is.” Yoongi side-eyes him, then finally caves and gives a lopsided grin, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder. “Which one’s yours?”

     Jimin wipes the laughter tears from his waterline and points out the fourth floor unit on the far left. “That one.”

     The lights are still on, which is a relief—he would have felt guilty if they really had needed to wake his family with their arrival—and he spots a petite, familiar figure peering out from the living room window. Even from a ways away he can tell her arms are crossed, her perfectly permed halo of hair tilted to the side like a mischievous cat.

     “Oh no.” He groans, when the figure turns away from the window, disappearing into the warm glow of the apartment.

     “Hmm?”

     “Halmoni saw us.”

     “Why is that ‘oh no’?” Yoongi asks, apprehension in his voice as they make their way across the lot to the lobby doors.

     “You’ll see,” Jimin laughs, giving Yoongi a pat on the back. There’s really no way to prepare someone for Park Moonhee. He makes sure to send one last reassuring smile the other man’s way before the elevator dings at the fourth floor, and then the door slides open to reveal a very small, very wrinkled woman dressed in a purple house gown standing directly in front of them, hands on her hips.

     “Who is the man?” She asks, voice frail but full of determination.

     “I missed you too, Halmoni.” Jimin replies, bending down to hug her as the two of them move into the hallway with their luggage. Yoongi is practically hiding behind him, so she hobbles around Jimin to get to him, taking both of Yoongi’s hands in her own.

     “I-I’m Min Yoongi, Halmoni.” He bowes at the waist. “I’m the photographer on assignment with Jimin-ah.”

     “Mhmm,” She looks him up and down, assessing. Both men are silent, awaiting her verdict. “Such a polite young man. Tall and very handsome.” She finally says with a nod.

     “Halmoni, everyone is tall to you—” Jimin tries to intervene, but she pays him no mind.

     “And strong, too.” She hooks her arm around Yoongi’s for support, giving his forearm a pat. “Would you be kind and help me back inside our apartment, I’m afraid I forgot my walker.”

     "You don't even use a wal—"

     “Oh, of course! And thank you, I can certainly see where your grandson gets his good looks.” Yoongi plays along, a blush on his cheeks but all the confidence back in his voice. He looks down at her with the most devastatingly charming smile Jimin has ever witnessed. 

     Jimin doesn’t mean to scoff out loud—it’s really meant to be an inside scoff—but she brings out his inner six-year-old. The elderly woman doesn’t let him get away with it, sending him a triumphant smirk with far more sass than someone in her eighties ought to possess. Jimin just sighs enough to make sure they both hear him and lugs all the suitcases along behind them, while Yoongi compliments the floral print of the Park matriarch’s gown and she compliments his cardigan.

     But then, the door of the apartment swings open to reveal Jimin’s parents, both smiling warmly and backlit by the cozy lighting of their home, and all his pouting is instantly forgotten.

     “Eomma!” Jimin yelps, a surge of emotions hitting him as he hurries into the safety of their waiting arms. “Appa! I missed you!” 

     His grandmother takes it upon herself to introduce Yoongi to everyone—Jimin’s parents, as well as his younger brother and sister, both home from their graduate programs for the summer—and by the time all the greetings have died down into quiet small talk, Jimin can feel the exhaustion of the day settling heavily into every inch of his body.

     “Have you boys eaten?” Jimin’s father asks, rubbing the back of Jimin’s neck.

     “We stopped somewhere on the way, yes.”

     “Ah, that’s a relief, because Jihyun ate all the leftovers.”

     “Jihyun!” Jimin’s mother and sister both exclaim.

     “Hey! Nobody told me we were saving any!”

     “I’m sorry to say this,” Jimin’s mother turns to Yoongi, “But you and Jiminie will have to share his old room. With Jihyun and Jiae home I’m afraid I don’t have any guest rooms.”

     “Oh, we’ve been sharing all our hotels since we left Seoul, that’s no problem at all.” Yoongi assures her, while Jimin prays he didn’t leave his room in too much of a mess the last time he was home.

     “Alright then, there’s a spare floor mattress you could sleep on so our guest can take your bed, it’s somewhere... maybe in your grandmother’s closet?” She says to Jimin.

     “Yes, Eomma. I’ll get it.”

     Jimin’s mother sets about showing Yoongi where the bathroom and kitchen are while everyone else heads to bed. Jimin follows his grandmother and sister down the hall towards the room the two of them share, but when he tries to cross the threshold the elderly woman shuffles herself over to block him.

     “Let Halmoni find it, little prince.” She reaches a frail hand up to pat his shoulder. “Wait here.”

     “I can help you look—”

     “Yah, do I look like I need help?” She squints up at him. “Do you think I’m so old that I can’t even see a mattress, young man?” Her hands are on her hips again. Jimin shakes his head with a laugh, knowing defeat when he sees it.

     She spends a moment poking about in the closet, making unhappy noises, then returns with a melodramatic shake of her head and a glint of mischief in her eyes.

     “We must have gotten rid of it with the spring cleaning.”

     “Oh. Are you sure?”

     She nods, solemn. “I’m afraid you’ll have to share your bed with that handsome young photographer. That’s too bad.”

     Jimin blinks at her. Of course he knows better, men having feelings for men is probably not something she would even consider given her generation, but it almost sounded like she was insinuating…

     She raises her eyebrows at him.

     “O-okay, it’s a little small but we’ve shared before, I guess we can make it work.”

     She looks satisfied, and Jimin is about to escape back into the hallway when she goes on.

     “He’s a charmer, isn’t he, that Min Yoongi. I’m sure he’s taken a wife or a girlfriend by now, no?”

     “Uh, no, he hasn’t,” Jimin bites his lip. “But I’m afraid he’s too young for you, Halmoni.”

     She swats at him. “But he really is quite handsome, isn’t he?”

     “Yes…”

     “I wonder if there’s something the matter with his personality then, is he secretly unkind? Stingy? Perhaps a poor work ethic?”

     “Halmoni!” Jimin feels his temper flair a little at the line of questioning, though he pinches the bridge of his nose and does his best to be respectful. “He is none of those things, Yoongi-ssi is one of the kindest people you'll meet, he's always taking care of everyone around him, and he honestly works even harder than I do. Maybe he just doesn’t want anyone?”

     She’s quiet for a moment, smiling triumphantly up at him, then she reaches up to cup Jimin’s cheeks between her palms. “Then he’s missing out.” She says softly, her ever-present teasing suddenly gone.

     “Halmoni—” Jimin squeaks, at a loss, but then she’s quickly shooing him away out of the room.

     “Now go on to bed, little prince, how can you keep an old woman up this late? Yah…”

     

     “What’s wrong?” Yoongi is sitting cross-legged on Jimin’s bed when he comes in, in his pajamas and with his mane of hair pushed back by a hairband, face dewey like he’d just finished with his skincare. He cocks his head to the side in question as Jimin closes the door behind himself.

     Jimin scratches his head. “...Nothing. I think my grandmother might know, um…”

     “Know what?”

      God, why does this man have to look so painfully cute when he’s confused.

     “Uh, nothing.” Jimin takes his shirt off and tosses it in the laundry. “We don’t have a spare bed after all, Hyung. I can sleep out on the couch if you want?”

     Yoongi’s bottom lip juts out. “No, of course not. We’ve shared before.” He pats the spot beside him.

     “Yeah…” Jimin feels heat creeping up his cheeks, and he tries to turn to the side a little to be more modest as he drops his pants. It's not something he's worried about before, but it just feels different, now that the guise of straightness isn’t there to shield him.

     “You want the right side, right?” Yoongi asks, turned away as if to look out the window, even though the curtains are drawn. The soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp isn’t bright enough to be sure, but Jimin thinks the other man is blushing too.

     “Yes, Hyung. Thank you for remembering.”

     They spend a few minutes settling in, going over their plans for the following day. During their week in Gwangju, they’d received a return email from a group of queer tattoo artists who co-owned a shop in Busan, accepting the request for interviews. Jimin had been thrilled, both because it was a relief to have more interviews lined up, and because he’d needed to feel the comfort and safety of being home even more than usual.

     He glances around his room, soaking in the familiarity of all the growing up he’d done here. It’s a tiny room, the walls scuffed from years of boyhood, the furniture mismatched. His place in Seoul could never compare. It’s like he can physically feel his body unwinding as he snuggles into the mattress, body curving into the little dip where he always sleeps.

     “You love it here, don’t you.”

     Jimin nods happily, tugging the blanket up to his chin before turning to peer over at Yoongi. The older man huffs at him, shaking his head with a gentle smile, and Jimin sees his hand clench and unclench against the covers. They’re both quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft whirring of Jimin’s overhead fan, and beyond that the muffled noise of Jihyun playing a video game in the next room.

     “Why do you wear these?” Jimin asks, curious, reaching out to pinch a bit of the pink sleeve of Yoongi’s pajamas. “I know you get too hot.”

     “Ah,” Yoongi chews on his lip, looking down at where Jimin’s fingers are playing with his sleeve. “I always worry, Jimin.”

     “Hmm?”

     “I don’t know, I just… you know I’m attracted to men.” He glances up, back down, back up again, his gaze too shy to settle. “I think you know that includes you.”

     It’s Jimin’s turn to be shy, quickly retreating his hand back under the safety of the covers. “Thank you.” he says softly.

     Yoongi chuckles. “For being attracted to you?”

     “Yeah.”

     Yoongi’s eyes crinkle, and he gives Jimin’s hair a gentle ruffle. “Anytime. But yeah, I’m just afraid… I never want to do something to make you uncomfortable.” He shrugs, like he’s at a loss for how to explain himself better, though Jimin thinks he does understand what he means. “I want you to be comfortable around me, always. I didn’t want you to think I was wearing less clothes with some… ulterior motive towards you or something, maybe, I don’t know.” Yoongi groans and runs a hand down his face.

     Jimin rolls his eyes. “Oh my gosh Hyung—thank you—but I would literally never think that. Please don't make yourself uncomfortable just to make me more comfortable. Okay?”

     Yoongi peers at him from beneath his lashes, like he’s checking to make sure Jimin means it, then he nods. “Okay.”

     After a moment, Jimin clears his throat. When Yoongi looks up, he raises his eyebrows expectantly. Yoongi’s brow pinches in confusion for a moment, then he huffs a disbelieving laugh.

     “I’m not taking them off right now.”

     Jimin joins in the laughter. “Okay, but you can if you get too hot. Promise?”

     “Mmm, sure Jimin-ah.”

     It’s quiet again for a while, as Yoongi curls up on his side and tucks his hands between his knees, and Jimin turns his pillow over to the cool side, nuzzles it till it feels just right. Finally, he takes a deep breath.

     “Can… Can I tell you something, Hyung?”

     “Of course.”

     “You were right.”

     “Hmm?” Yoongi looks back at him with those earnest brown eyes, waiting, and Jimin is struck again with how strange it is that he doesn’t feel like falling apart over what he’s come to understand about himself—there’s even a flutter of excitement in his middle at the idea of sharing it with someone. It’s so strange that he feels this… okay. Maybe even better than okay.

     “You were right. I don’t really think I’m quite… attracted to women.”

     “O-oh?”

     “Yeah, no. I realized… I think I just assumed I was? I'm starting to feel like this was always how it's been, but I just couldn’t see it yet? Or, I wouldn’t let myself see it.”

     “Wow, Jimin.” Yoongi finally reaches for him, gives his shoulder a squeeze. “How do you feel?”

     “I feel okay. Good, I think. Relieved?” Jimin can hear his voice shaking, even though he’s not really afraid. Like his body is finally letting go of a tension it’s been holding for too long.

     “That’s amazing.” Yoongi gives him the sweetest smile, all his teeth and gums showing. “I… I knew it, kinda. I’m glad you know it too now.” He scratches behind his ear and looks down. “Hyung’s proud of you.”

     “Oh—thank you!” Jimin squeaks, pulling the covers up to hide how wide he’s smiling, trying not to kick his toes against the bed like a child.

     “Sorry I called you straight, that first day at the bar. I kind of knew you weren’t, I just panicked.”

     Yoongi looks so sweet and cute, and Jimin is so overcome by the wave of unexpected happiness that he can’t resist wriggling over to hug the other man, even if it's a little awkward. “No worries.” He mumbles against Yoongi’s shoulder, as Yoongi holds him back tightly. “I’m really grateful to you, Hyung. For being here, even when I wasn’t the nicest to you when we met. For forgiving me for that.”

     “Who says I forgive you, brat?” Yoongi grumbles, a distinct pout in his voice, though Jimin doesn’t pull back to see. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to say everything he wants to, if he has to look at Yoongi while he tries to do it.

     “Do you forgive me?”

     There’s a long-suffering sigh that makes Jimin giggle. “Yeah. I s’pose.”

     “Thank you, for being so good to me, while I was figuring out all this, everything I know now.”

     The older man’s fingers continue rubbing gentle patterns across his back. “What do you know now?”

     “I know… I know I want to be with a man.” Jimin whispers.

     “Yeah?” Yoongi pulls away to search his eyes, a hand still on his shoulder, and suddenly Jimin is intensely aware of how close the two of them are. Yoongi looks so serious, and tired too, but there’s a deep warmth at the corners of his eyes, and hidden in the soft curve of his lips.

     “Yeah. I do.” Jimin answers, watching as several expressions cross Yoongi’s face, joy and worry, and something else, but the older man bites his lip and holds it back. “What?”

     “Nothing…” Yoongi’s hand on his shoulder squeezes lightly. He leans closer, starts to say something, then stops to watch when Jimin absentmindedly flicks his tongue out to wet his dry lips. The older man’s inhale is a little shaky as he looks away, blinking a few times. “Just so happy for you. And proud of you.”

     Jimin's heart stutters.

     “Hyung...” He breathes, but Yoongi turns away to reach for the lamp. 

     “We should sleep.” Yoongi sighs, clearing his throat. A pang of disappointment settles in amidst the fluttering in Jimin's chest.

     The lamp is flicked off, and the room falls dark. Jimin turns onto his back and draws in a slow breath. He did it. He told someone, spoke the secret things in his heart out into the open. Overhead, a few stray glow-in-the-dark stars still shine their pale yellow-green from the ceiling, stragglers from all the stars he and his father had stuck up there one summer when he was a boy. 

     Jimin keeps his eyes on them, letting everything swirling in his mind wash through; relief, thrill, disbelief, worry, melancholy. There’s so much in his heart that he could probably lay here all night, watching the scattered plastic stars, and still be sorting through it by the time the sun rose.

     “Ah—sorry.” Yoongi whispers, when his leg bumps Jimin’s under the covers.

     “’s alright.”

     The other man seems restless, and Jimin absent-mindedly listens to him shuffling around for a while. Just when he seems to have settled, he’ll start to shift again. When Jimin picks up on the light sound of Yoongi’s fingers tapping beneath the covers, like he’s playing piano against the bed sheets, Jimin finally reaches out to take his hand.

     “Hyung?” He calls in the dark, closing a careful hand around Yoongi’s, stilling his fingers.

     “Mmm?”

     “Are you anxious?” Jimin dares to rub his thumb across the back of Yoongi’s hand, feeling the knuckles and prominent veins. He hears the other man swallow.

     “N-no, not anxious. More like… nervous, I guess.” Yoongi’s voice is barely there, the way it sounds when he’s not confident he wants to be heard.

     “Why?”

     There’s no answer, just a gentle squeeze to Jimin’s hand, and an almost-laugh breathed out into the stillness of the bedroom. Yoongi doesn’t move to let go, though, instead tracing the rough pad of his thumb up and down Jimin’s fingers, one by one. Jimin doesn’t breathe, his entire being focused on what the other man is doing. He’s not sure he’s ever been this aware of a touch in his life.

     “Your pinky finger is so fuckin’ tiny.” Yoongi chuckles, slipping deep into his satoori. Jimin wants to reply, but his brain seems unable to find words, so he turns his hand instead, palm to palm, lining up their fingers as if to compare. Yoongi’s skin is rougher than his, but when Jimin lets their fingers lace together, Yoongi curls his hand around Jimin’s so gently, so carefully, like he’s holding something as fragile as the butterflies going wild in Jimin’s stomach.

     “Jimin-ah…”

     A few seconds pass in heavy silence before Jimin manages an answer, the “Hyung?” leaving his lips as nothing more than a raspy whisper. He almost whines when Yoongi separates their hands, but then that rough palm is skirting up along his arm, barely a touch, then gone, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Jimin holds his breath, a rush of yearning surging through his heart so fiercely that he almost doesn’t register Yoongi shifting, moving closer on the bed.

     “Jimin, I—” The older man’s voice trails off as his fingers brush down the side of Jimin’s jaw, slow and hesitant, like he might draw away at the slightest sign of objection. His thumb grazes across the skin of Jimin’s cheekbone, and Jimin gasps softly, utterly transfixed by the realization that Yoongi’s hand is shaking. His own body is humming with so much desire that he can feel it burning behind his eyes even after he lets them flutter closed, a need so sharp he feels it tightening at the back of his throat, pooling up into his mind like he’s drowning. He wonders if Yoongi knows, even in the dark, if he can feel the way Jimin’s cheeks must be flaming with it.

     He holds his breath, and wonders, and wants, desperately, in a way that is entirely new to him.

     And then, Yoongi leans in, and kisses Jimin’s lips.

     The softest pair of lips press into Jimin’s own, wrapping shyly around his bottom lip, lingering warm against his skin, a soft exhale of breath between them. He feels the tremble in Yoongi’s lips when he presses them down again, this time against his top lip, careful and timid, making their noses bump before drawing back.

     It’s utterly silent, both of them catching their breath. The minutes feel like they’ll stretch on forever. With the darkness around them, the breeze from the ceiling fan overhead, and the rush of adrenaline in Jimin’s veins, it feels like he could be skydiving, falling and falling into an unknown night. He reaches out for Yoongi’s hand in the darkness, needing an anchor, and when he slots their fingers together again Yoongi sighs and holds him back just as tightly.

Notes:

Thank you all so much for still reading and being patient 🥺💜 hopefully their first smooch was at least somewhat worth the wait 🙏

Notes:

Thank you for reading, I hope you like it so far! This Yoonmin is very special to me, they're really trying their best so be patient with them, they'll get there.

I'm working on the rest now, but I don't have any particular update schedule so subscribe here or follow me on Twitter for updates, if you'd like :)