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Taehyung nurses a drink between his hands, staring at the way Jimin leans into Jungkook. Making himself comfortable, Jimin rests his head against the youngest's shoulder before nuzzling briefly into the crook of Jungkook's neck. Taehyung watches, his gaze unwavering, as Jungkook then slides down the couch a little, adjusting himself for Jimin’s comfort. The moment is sweet—intimate, almost—and Taehyung can’t help but submit to the envy that tickles at the back of his throat. It rears its head, big and ugly, and twists its claws into his heart.
The past eighteen or twenty months seem to have brought Jimin and Jungkook closer, and—though neither of them would admit it aloud—pushed Taehyung and Jimin further apart, effectively distancing them. The very first time Jimin had seen him since their separation, he'd gawked at Taehyung’s markedly changed appearance and marveled at his size in a way that made Taehyung blush. In the beginning, things remained mostly unchanged. They spoke frequently, the time apart littered with phone calls. A few well-timed vacations had even allowed them to meet for drinks once or twice over the past year. Eventually, however, weekly conversations slowly dwindled into monthly texts until they stopped talking completely. And soon enough, Taehyung found himself hearing more about Jimin from the others, than from Jimin himself.
Of course, they’re still friends; and in the midst of casual conversations, Taehyung still mentions Jimin with habitual frequency and easy familiarity. But that's it, really—Jimin and Taehyung are just friends, and for the first time in over thirteen years, the word begins to feel slightly hollow.
Growing apart is not necessarily a bad thing. In some ways, Taehyung is perhaps even grateful for it. Truthfully, Taehyung has struggled for a long time with his—somewhat complex, complicated, and often agonising—feelings. It’s a secret to nobody (including Jimin, Taehyung thinks) that he had been in love with Jimin for the better part of a decade. (And at one point in time, Taehyung had let himself believe that Jimin loved him in return.)
But somehow, the timing was always just too wrong for them. Like ships in the night, opportunities evaded them, any chance at love too fleeting and too distant to chase. At first, it was simply too soon. They were too young to surrender themselves to tender feelings of longing, and too busy trying to make it in a cutthroat industry. And then, one day, it was just too late.
Looking back, Taehyung isn’t sure who might have liked the other first; was it him? Maybe it was Jimin—back when he was still an inch taller than Taehyung, and Taehyung’s nose and ears were too big for his sweet, boyish face. Sometimes, with a sinking heart, Taehyung wonders if perhaps it was only him, who had been so infatuated with the other. Maybe his feelings had remained unreciprocated all along, while Taehyung clung futilely to the listless fantasies of what-if and what-could-have-been, dreaming of almost-kisses beneath the heavy veil of long, vulnerable nights.
The two had come close to a tipping point once, long ago, as they stood beneath the long shadow of a gingko tree just before sunrise. Young and nervous, they teetered along the edge of the thin line separating friendship from something more. It was at that moment, nine years ago, that Taehyung realised perhaps for the first time in his life that he was special to Jimin; that Jimin could, and would, cry bitterly—almost desperately—because of him. Unbeknownst to them, something had shifted in that moment; it forever changed the course of their relationship in a way that Taehyung could not begin to understand or describe even to himself.
Deep down, Taehyung thinks they’d both fallen in love with each other that night. And subsequently, over the next several years, Jimin and Taehyung continued to test the limits of their relationship, pushing themselves closer to the metaphorical edge of a cliff from which there was no going back. Like forbidden lovers, they toyed with the idea of romance; always seeking each other out, but too afraid of taking things too far. Their hearts would beat in tandem, gentle eyes finding each other in every crowd; and in between the shared laughter and tender, fleeting touches, there remained something wishful—bittersweet and unspoken.
In the absence of a right place and time, they could only dance around one another, neither one brave enough to tip the scales in their favour. Like distant stars, they continued to orbit each other, too scared to come any closer lest they burned and scorched themselves at the impact. Eventually, little by little, they began to drift apart. And like the fluttering autumn foliage, they fell into the ready arms of expectant strangers who walked into and out of their busy lives. With every short-lived fling and long-term relationship, the distance between them continued to grow until it stretched for what felt like miles.
In a way, it was for the best: the distance would eventually go on to make the suffocating weight of desire a little lighter, and the ache of longing slightly more bearable. At some point, Taehyung found that it had become easier to distract himself from idle thoughts of Jimin altogether; he no longer spent the entire day fretting and wondering about him, curious if Jimin was awake or asleep. He stopped wondering if Jimin had eaten yet, if he was still at work, or if he was spending the night with somebody again—a friend, an acquaintance, a lover.
It also helped, somewhat, that Taehyung has always has always had more friends than he knew how to handle. There are so many of them—friends from the film and music industries, producers and performers, lyricists and choreographers, high school friends and even their acquaintances. Taehyung sometimes doesn’t know what to do with everybody, spreading himself out so thin that he’s tired before the week is half over. He's almost never alone; someone or the other is always there, occupying space in his life. His apartment—which had once felt too big—now feels small and cramped, leaving Taehyung with little room to unwind in quiet isolation. He isn’t unfamiliar with the concept of coming home after a long day of work and finding a friend or two in his living room, seated on the couch with a partner Taehyung can’t name or recognise.
Taehyung supposes that's the price of fame. He's seen it in movies: stories of pop stars frazzled by the constant flurry of people rushing into and out of their homes, as the hazy sands of time slipped through the cracks unchecked. Taehyung assumes it must be the same for Jimin. Jimin has countless friends who frequent his home—coming and going as they please—both in his absence and in his presence. Taehyung knows that sometimes, Jimin’s days and nights blur together dizzyingly, bracketed by the kind of unruly havoc that Jimin himself might have balked at ten years ago.
Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, they had become so detached that Taehyung found himself content with not knowing what Jimin was doing for weeks at a time. Sure, their orbits still overlapped now and then; they would come together with soft smiles and lingering gazes, but eventually, their paths would diverge again. And for a while, that was enough.
At twenty-three, Taehyung had his first boyfriend. It was the first affair in a long string of relationships that had effectively ended whatever magneticism he and Jimin had been caught in. After nearly three, emotionally intense years of what now remains only a memory—bracketed by whispered conversations at dawn and unspoken confessions—Taehyung had been the first to step away from Jimin. He found reprieve in a man significantly older but comforting all the same. For a long time, Jimin remained the only person Taehyung had confided in, wiping the dampness over his cheeks against Jimin’s clothed chest as he spoke about the way he felt around other men.
Jimin, on the other hand, had never quite come out to Taehyung, although Taehyung had his suspicions—a fling here, a date there, as both men and women took interest in him. But Jimin rarely spoke of his partners, and Taehyung didn’t ask. They grew accustomed to knowing less about each other, curiosity occasionally piquing only briefly before being quashed. At twenty-six and twenty-seven respectively, Jimin and Taehyung entered what would go on to become their longest relationships to date, brought to their end only by the anticipation of their looming military service and the niggling sense that something remained missing from their lives.
At twenty-eight, Taehyung had become convinced that he'd truly moved on from Jimin—romantically, at least. By the time they began preparing for their enlistments, Taehyung felt confident that a year and a half without Jimin would be an easy feat to conquer.
Evidently, he’d been wrong. And so, currently, this is where Taehyung finds himself: he’s warming a glass of whisky between both hands. His chest is tight, heavy, and acidic. And as he stares at Jimin and Jungkook from his seat on the couch, Taehyung feels a prickle of envy at the base of his heart that threatens to swallow him entirely.
✽
Jimin snores softly, his mouth hanging open. When Jungkook moves to get up, he makes sure to gently nudge Jimin’s mouth shut and slide a cushion beneath his head. Jungkook has always been considerate, but this kind of sweet attentiveness feels almost novel. Taehyung can’t remember if things have always been like this between the two; perhaps he had always been too singularly focused on Jimin to notice much of anything or anyone else.
Suddenly, Taehyung feels nineteen, twenty, and twenty-one again, revisiting the ages at which he used to feel the unpleasant sting of jealousy every time he saw Jimin and Jungkook together. To celebrate the end of their shared enlistment, the two of them had recently accompanied each other on a series of trips abroad, exploring new cities from one end of the world to the other. They chased the summertime sun across continents, far away from Taehyung. Unsurprisingly, Taehyung had only found out about their vacation plans through the press, scrolling through trending articles and viral photos. And though Jimin and Taehyung no longer shared every aspect of their lives with each other, Taehyung couldn't help but indulge in his bitterness a little at the time.
With an almost childish petulance, Taehyung wonders if Jimin would someday like to go somewhere with him. It would be just the two of them, sharing hotel rooms and piling their clothes into a single suitcase the way they used to years ago, back when they still called themselves best friends.
Taehyung knows they're still friends. Maybe even soulmates—although Taehyung no longer knows if Jimin would still agree with the sentiment. But are they still best friends? Truthfully, Taehyung isn't sure anymore.
He feels silly and pathetic, and frankly, ridiculous. Taehyung is nearly thirty years old, and yet here he is—nearly ill with envy at the sight of two dear friends together. But the trigger has been pulled and now, feeling restless, Taehyung can no longer stop wondering if Jimin—after thirteen years—still considers Taehyung his closest friend. An aching, hollow part of him desperately hopes so.
Jimin sits up, his head throbbing from a lack of sleep and more soju than he’d anticipated drinking. He blinks hard, his eyes squeezing together in an attempt to dull the throbbing tension that tightens around his scalp. Feeling defeated, Jimin sinks back into the dark leather of Taehyung’s couch, too tired and drunk and heavy.
“We’re leaving,” comes Hoseok’s voice, seemingly far away. Jimin hears a quiet scuffle, the scrape of a chair, and then Hoseok’s voice as he says, “No, no, don’t get up; we’ll show ourselves out.”
In the background, Jungkook is humming to himself—an earworm of a song that Jimin had been subjected to for weeks, courtesy of the youngest. Yoongi’s voice calls out from somewhere, asking, “Hey, has anyone seen my phone?”
Footsteps quietly pad past Jimin as Taehyung’s gentle, heavy voice calls out to Seokjin. “Hyung, take the side dishes with you.”
“Are you sure?” Seokjin asks. Utensils clatter together loudly, and Jimin sinks further into the couch, pressing his head into a firm cushion in an attempt to block it all out.
Everything feels too loud.
From the back, Yoongi asks again, “Does anybody have my phone?”
Jungkook’s singing continues without interruption, lyrics transforming into a singsong response as he cutely says, “I don’t know.” It earns him a giggle from Hoseok, while Yoongi presumably continues the search for his misplaced device. A heavy boot lands on the floor with a thud as someone struggles to put their shoes on, tipsy and uncoordinated.
"Wait, I need to use the bathroom,” Seokjin says, as Taehyung busies himself with a collection of tupperware.
Then, suddenly: “Oh—” Namjoon’s voice cuts through the idle chatter, sounding perplexed. As always, when Namjoon speaks, there’s a momentary lull in the chaos.
“Ah, hyung, I have your phone,” Namjoon says, sheepishly. He pauses, then adds, “Sorry, it was in my pocket.”
Yoongi exhales, amusement colouring his voice as he teases, “Glad to see you’re still the same.” The phone is handed back to him, and after a few minutes of idle conversation, the door opens and closes. From where he stands, Taehyung bids Yoongi a hasty goodbye just as Seokjin returns.
The racket continues, everyone talking all at once. Hoseok calls out to Jungkook—a playful Jyakay that earns him an equally playful Jya-hope in response. Laughter ensues, followed by some more chatter. Finally, once everyone is ready to leave, the door opens and closes again. All of a sudden: it’s silent. The remaining four leave, taking the commotion with them, and Jimin—not intentionally—breathes a sigh of relief.
I should get going too, Jimin thinks. But his head feels as though it weighs a tonne, and he can’t quite bring himself to get off the couch, where he lies half sprawled along its length. He can barely open his eyes, and the splitting headache squeezing at the sides of his temples shows no signs of subsiding any time soon.
Jimin stays like this, unmoving and untalkative, as Taehyung silently clears up his dining area and deposits a stack of plates into the sink. Enough time seems to pass that Jimin eventually finds himself drifting in and out of sleep. A small, quiet part of him is thankful that Taehyung doesn’t attempt to rouse him. He wants to tell Taehyung to go to bed—that he’ll let himself out once his headache dims—but Jimin is already teetering over the precipice of sleep, and his tongue feels too heavy to form the words.
The television switches on, its volume set low, and Jimin feels the couch dip beneath his feet as Taehyung sits down beside him. A hand—cool to the couch and hardened with the unfamiliar calluses of a difficult eighteen months in service—gently comes to rest over Jimin’s ankle, where Taehyung’s thumb rubs idle circles along Jimin’s pulse. Like this, with the familiar comfort of Taehyung’s presence and the barely-there hum of the TV, Jimin falls into a deep, unflinching sleep.
Later, Jimin stirs awake briefly as strong arms lift him off the couch and carry him out of the living room. He hears Taehyung grunt softly at his weight, slightly heavier now with the compact mass of strong, well-trained muscles. Jimin protests half-heartedly—a quiet sound from the back of his throat that goes ignored.
Carefully, Taehyung lays him down over a firm mattress. He’s quick to place a pillow beneath Jimin’s head, with one hand tenderly cradling the back of his neck until the cushion is situated perfectly. Gentle, attentive hands pull the blanket over his body, tucking him in. Jimin only fleetingly registers the weight of a soft, fleeting kiss over his forehead before he succumbs to sleep once more, both hands curled into loose fists.
✽
It’s a little after three in the morning when Jimin wakes up, his throat parched with thirst. Bringing a hand to his head, Jimin presses a palm against his temple in an attempt to soothe the remnants of a lingering headache. He’s still dressed in the thin t-shirt and sweatpants he’d fallen asleep in, and the material clings to his skin, damp with perspiration. Kicking off the heavy duvet, Jimin sits up and feels around the nightstand for his glasses.
Gingerly, and so as not to make noise, Jimin ambles out of the bedroom and into the corridor. He holds his arms out and feels his way through the dark maze of Taehyung’s apartment, punctuated with eccentric adornments that would make most people jump with alarm in the middle of the night. Walking past a large—slightly intimidating—sculpture, Jimin steps out into the spacious hallway that bridges the living area and the kitchen. He doesn’t expect company at this time of the night, so when he sees the shifting shadow of a pensive figure sitting across from him, Jimin nearly flinches in surprise.
In the near total darkness, Jimin hadn’t seen Taehyung sitting by himself at one end of the dining table. Taehyung must have been sitting there for a while. He doesn’t seem to register Jimin’s arrival, his gaze unblinking and unfocused as he stares out the window, curtains pulled back slightly to reveal the cityscape. A single cigarette has been pressed into an empty dish, its wrapping stained with smoke and tobacco. A glass of wine, half-empty, rests inches away from Taehyung’s hand, where his fingers idly trace the marbling of the table.
He must have been unable to sleep, Jimin supposes. It’s not uncommon for Taehyung to get ready for bed—stripped down to only a pair of loose, cotton shorts—only to find his way back out into another part of the house, battling sleeplessness and overthinking. Briefly, Jimin wonders if he should make his presence known or if he should, instead, quietly walk past Taehyung and make his way into the kitchen. He doesn’t have to think too hard over a decision, because as soon he steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight, Taehyung notices him almost immediately.
“Oh—?” Taehyung’s voice is soft. Surprise colours his words as he says, “You’re awake.”
Jimin smiles, small and polite, and nods. "Yeah, I’m a bit thirsty.”
“Ah,” Taehyung says. He blinks once or twice, as though trying to pull himself out of a trance. The chair scrapes noisily when he moves to get up, his body seemingly moving on autopilot as he says, “I’ll get you a bottle.”
“It’s fine,” Jimin says quickly. Taehyung stills, looking over at him, and Jimin’s smile turns sheepish. “I know where it is." Of course.
Taehyung nods but remains standing anyway, having pushed the chair back into its place. Making his way into the kitchen, Jimin finds what he’s looking for in the fridge; several water bottles have stacked atop a single shelf, lined up into a neat row. To Jimin's slight dismay, there’s little else in the fridge at the moment, apart from the side dishes Taehyung’s mother must have sent over the previous week. The rest of the fridge is occupied by various bottles of soda and a half-eaten bowl of jjajangmyeon that has cooled down into a single, congealed mass. Jimin can’t help but shake his head a little in mild disapproval. He closes the door to the fridge and turns to look back at Taehyung, whose gaze has still not yet lifted from Jimin.
It's been ages since the two of them have had a chance to be alone together. Jimin can't remember the last time they'd stood like this, just the two of them, embraced by silence of their shared company and silver moonlight. Although he feels awful for even thinking it, after so much time spent apart, Jimin can’t help but feel a little awkward around Taehyung. Of course, it's not Taehyung’s fault. Taehyung is—and has been—sweet and attentive, as always. But eighteen months feels like a horribly long time, and Jimin finds himself avoiding Taehyung's eyes.
Between their enlistments—and Jimin’s travels with Jungkook both before and after their service—he'd hardly had the time to talk to Taehyung, let alone spend time with him. To make matters worse, over the past year and a half, their days-off rarely lined up; and on the rare occasion they were on leave at the same time, they met only in the company of one of the others. Immediately after their discharge from the military, Jimin was busy, with both work and enjoyment. His days were occupied with filming, recording, and traveling, while Taehyung’s time was taken up by afternoons in Paris and evenings at brand events. Naturally, neither had the chance to see each other properly—until now, it seemed.
They saw each other in passing, of course: at Hoseok’s concert, and during Yoongi’s private discharge ceremony. They saw each other at the company, sitting shoulder to shoulder as the group gathered in one of many meeting rooms to discuss their plans for the next calendar year. They met briefly in the practice room, and then again, while getting drinks with Seokjin. And only a handful of hours ago, the seven of them had been seated in this very room, where the boys had gathered for drinks, dinner, and cheerful conversation. But this—right here, now—is the first time Jimin has been alone with Taehyung in a painfully long time. And though he’s ashamed to admit to it, Jimin realises that he doesn’t quite know what to do or say.
It’s not Jimin’s best trait, but sometimes he struggles with knowing where he stands with someone after a certain amount of time spent apart. Jimin is no stranger to burdensome thoughts and niggling worries, prone to withdrawing from people at the first sign of conflict. Jimin knows that such thoughts are nonsensical when it comes to Taehyung—his sweet, darling Taehyung—and yet, he finds that he rarely overthinks his relationships with anybody as often as he does with Taehyung.
He supposes it’s the nature of their relationship, after all. Jimin and Taehyung, Taehyung and Jimin. Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever seen a bond quite like theirs anywhere else—a relationship that is somehow both, equally easy and overly complicated, all at once.
Outside, Seoul remains asleep. The sun is not yet a sliver of light against the horizon, sunrise still an hour or two away. The only light in the room comes from a dim corner lamp and the faint glow of a waning crescent, its ivory light slipping through the gaps in the curtains. And yet, though it's hard to see, Jimin can still make out the way Taehyung is surveying him from across the room.
“What?” Jimin finally asks, feeling a little self-conscious. He reaches up unthinkingly, running his fingers through his short hair.
Taehyung blinks, almost as if he’d been caught off-guard, and then he shakes his head dismissively. He smiles, soft, sheepish, and nearly shy.
“Nothing.” Taehyung says. He seems to hesitate for a moment, as though he’s trying to find his words, and then he says, “It’s good to see you again, Jimin.”
Something deep inside Jimin's belly flips and dips. He feels momentarily flustered, and to an extent, relieved at how easily Taehyung reverts things back to normal. It’s now Jimin's turn to grow shy, and he breathes out a quiet laugh. “Thanks, but I'm not sure if it feels good to see me like—this,” he says, waving a hand over himself in a wide, sweeping gesture. “I look ridiculous.”
“You do not look ridiculous,” Taehyung says quickly, taking offence on Jimin’s behalf.
Slowly and completely, Jimin's worries begin to dissipate. It's strange. How could he have ever felt awkward around Taehyung? Things have always been easy with Taehyung—Jimin doesn't know how he could have ever doubted it.
At Taehyung's words, Jimin smiles. His cheeks dimple, as he asks, “Even with my hair as short as it is?”
“Even with your hair as short as it is,” Taehyung says, without missing a beat. He pauses, and then adds, "You look pretty with short hair."
Jimin chuckles, shaking his head lightly. “I don't know; I've gained a bit of weight,” Jimin says, grimacing. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but Jimin is well acquainted with the effort it takes to maintain a certain image for the public. He sighs, and his hands come up to cover his cheeks, where the soft contours have grown fuller over the past year.
“Hardly,” Taehyung counters. “It looks good on you.”
“You think so?” Jimin asks quietly. His voice softens, so much so that it almost gets lost beneath the steady rumbling of the washing machine situated down the hall.
“I do,” Taehyung says, honestly. He smiles, familiar and warm. “You always look good to me.”
Jimin wants to kick himself for doubting what they have together. How silly he had been, to think that eighteen months could change everything they’d built up over these past ten years. He takes a step closer, and then another, shortening the distance between them.
“To you, maybe,” Jimin says, grinning.
“Yes, and so?" Taehyung asks, his eyes twinkling with mild amusement. "Is my opinion no longer good enough for you, Sergeant Park? You must think you're too good for me," he teases.
Jimin laughs at that, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say that.” He pauses and then, playfully, adds, “Although, perhaps a little bit..."
“Ouch,” Taehyung says, a slow smile blooming over his face at the sound of Jimin’s laughter. “But you know, I did pretty well in there too; the Special Defence Team is no joke."
“Oh, I know." Jimin grins, and feigns a shudder, adding, “I know better than to argue with a decorated member of the Special Defence Team.”
“Feeling scared, Jimin-ssi?” Taehyung teases, the hint of a laugh in his voice.
“Absolutely terrified,” Jimin says, giggling. Jimin blinks then, recalling something, and his smile falters. “Ah, that’s right—Jungkook told me you’d gotten hurt a while back.”
“Huh?” It takes Taehyung a moment to register Jimin’s words, before he shakes his head dismissively. “Oh, yes, that. No, it was nothing.”
"But—" Jimin opens his mouth to protest, hesitating for a moment. Instead, he presses his lips together and holds back a sigh. He smiles thinly, nodding. “That’s good, then.”
And just like that, the awkwardness returns. Part of him wants to ask Taehyung why he hadn’t told Jimin too; a larger part of him wants to remain silent, reluctant to stoke the flames of a dying fire. He's reminded once again, that they no longer tell each other anything. Pettiness rears its horns at him, and for a moment, Jimin considers going back to bed.
His internal conflict must show on Jimin's face, because Taehyung's voice is soft and somewhat apologetic as he takes a step forward and suddenly confesses, "I’ve missed you."
Jimin blinks, taken aback. That's the last thing he'd expected to hear from Taehyung at the moment—not because Taehyung is the type to shy away from honest declarations of affection, but because Jimin is now left wondering if the awkwardness he'd been perceiving was all in his head. Had he been alone in overthinking everything these last few years? The words seem to leave Taehyung’s mouth so easily and so naturally, tugging at the weight of Jimin heart.
“I’ve missed you, too,” Jimin says, after a moment of silence. He smiles in the polite, quiet sort of way he’s grown accustomed to. It's different to his usual, brighter smiles—the kind Jimin would reserve only for Taehyung, back when they had almost become something more than just friends.
“I miss you,” Taehyung says again, a little more quietly this time. “Even now; I miss you all the time.”
Jimin's chest is suddenly a little tight. He feels a little shaken, and when he speaks, he hopes Taehyung doesn’t notice it. “I’m right here, though—I’ve always been here.”
“Are you, though?” Taehyung asks, his voice hardly above a whisper.
Jimin breathes out a short, clipped laugh. “What do you mean?”
Taehyung lifts a single shoulder in a shrug, his gaze no longer meeting Jimin’s eyes. “I don’t know—I—”
“I guess, sometimes, it feels like,” Taehyung says, his words slow and measured, “Like you’re avoiding me, sort of.”
“What?” Jimin holds his breath for a moment. He feels like he’s been seized red-handed, caught in the bright headlights of Taehyung’s quiet accusation. “No, I’m not—I wouldn't—I’m not avoiding you.”
Flustered, Jimin tries to make himself sound a bit more delicate, and a little less antagonised. He asks, as gently as he can, “Taehyung, what is this about?”
“Do you like Jungkook?” Taehyung asks hastily. He blurts it out, as though the question had been weighing on his mind all night.
“Like, as more than a friend?” Jimin is confused. He frowns, perplexed. “No, what? Why would you ask me that?”
“I don’t know,” Taehyung balks. “You two seem really close lately.”
“We’ve always been close,” Jimin says.
“Yes, but, closer,” Taehyung says, avoiding his eyes.
“Well—sure, because we’ve been spending a lot of time together,” Jimin says, by way of explanation.
“Right,” Taehyung says. He bites his lip, hesitating, and then asks, “Is he kind of like, your best friend?”
“Jungkookie?” Jimin nods. “Yeah, I mean, I guess.”
“Then,” Taehyung says slowly, “What about me?”
“Taetae, come on," Jimin says, shaking his head. "You’re all my best friends, you know that."
“No, I mean—your best friend,” Taehyung says. Beneath the childish petulance, Taehyung looks embarrassed. Reluctantly, he mumbles, “How can everybody be your best friend?”
Jimin stares at him, unsure if Taehyung is serious. “Is that what this is about, Taehyung?”
“Of course, you’re my best friend,” Jimin says. The idea that Taehyung—of all people—would feel jealous of anybody is almost laughable.
“Yeah, well," Taehyung says, "I wasn't really sure, because honestly, it doesn’t feel that way anymore." The words spill out of him bitterly, and they hit Jimin like a slap to the face.
✽
Lately whenever someone brings up the fact that Jimin and Taehyung used to argue and bicker incessantly in the past, both of them are quick to say, “We haven’t fought in years.”
The calm between them is a testament to how hard they’ve worked on understanding each other, choosing each other over their respective egos. It’s the result of years of emotional labour, the fruits of which bear tenderness where there was once childish immaturity. It’s something they’re both proud of. Neither of them has to speak for the other to know what he’s thinking. Jimin knows what Taehyung is thinking, simply by looking into his eyes, and Taehyung knows what Jimin needs before he says anything. They communicate through shared glances and lingers touches, their hearts bound together by the crimson thread that holds them close.
Jimin and Taehyung no longer fight, but sometimes, Jimin wishes they still did.
In some ways, things were a lot easier when they could—and would—argue. Now, however, Jimin longs for an outlet to his frustration whenever things begin to feel a little strained. Of course, he’s grateful for the kind and gentle words; it's not something he takes for granted. He appreciates the way they’re both so patient with each other, but sometimes, the shared understanding feels a little suffocating.
Jimin can feel it now: the suffocating weight of Taehyung’s gaze as he stares at him, waiting to hear Jimin's side of things. Taehyung looks torn—like he wants to say something, wants to lay himself bare, but can’t quite bring himself to.
To Jimin’s dismay, Taehyung’s gaze softens, apologetic and relenting.
“I'm sorry,” Taehyung says, visibly deflated. "I shouldn't have said that."
“Seriously? Why do you always do this?” Jimin asks, heaving a sigh. "Why do you say things and then just—"
"I said I'm sorry,” Taehyung says. He looks defeated, and it irks Jimin slightly.
“Taehyung, please,” Jimin says. “Can we please, for once, just talk things out?”
Taehyung flinches as that, falling quiet. Seconds pass by, stretching into minutes, before Taehyung finally musters up the courage to say, “Okay—look, I’m not saying it’s a big deal or anything, but…”
He hesitates, embarrassment colouring the highs of his cheeks. “I kind of thought that maybe—maybe you didn’t want to talk to me anymore, because…well..."
“A few months ago,” Taehyung says, struggling with his words, “It was my birthday, right?”
Jimin’s heart begins to sink. He knows where this is going.
“And you were on leave,” Taehyung says. He looks down at his hands, fingers picking at the edge of a bitten nail. “But you didn’t call me.”
“After that, you went here and there—with Jungkookie—but,” Taehyung continues, “You didn’t tell me about that either.”
Jimin swallows. His chest feels tight, a dagger wedging itself painfully into the cavity of his heart. “Yeah,” he murmurs. He doesn’t refute it.
For a moment, Taehyung looks like he’s been shot. The frankness of Jimin's reply seems to catch Taehyung off-guard, and he looks visibly hurt as he asks, “Why?”
Jimin takes in a deep breath, opens his mouth and then closes it again. The blade inside his chest twists itself deeper, threatening to sever the crimson thread that binds them together. How is he supposed to tell Taehyung that he’d taken the week off to celebrate Taehyung’s birthday together? How is he supposed to admit to the fact that he’d chickened out at the last minute, feeling small and unimportant when he’d found out about the surprise party Taehyung’s friends had thrown for him?
How can Jimin confess that he keeps overthinking everything—that he feels like Taehyung no longer needs him, or that they’re both better off knowing less about each other. How can he possibly explain that a strange, ridiculous part of him desperately wants Taehyung to be angry with him right now, instead of simply staring at him with those tender, wide eyes?
Thinking about it now, Jimin feels foolish. He doesn’t know when or how his feelings had managed to snowball into this dense, heavy mass of chronic heartache. The truth is, Jimin had never meant to pull away from Taehyung—Jimin’s truth is that Taehyung had been the first to walk away from him, seemingly indifferent to the internal wars Jimin had been waging silently for so many years. Taehyung was the one who'd given his time with Jimin up in favour of the new and shiny; Taehyung was the one who'd become too busy too quickly, surrounded by the kind of people that Jimin could never bring himself to approach.
Laying it all out like this makes him sound awful. Jimin is beyond the age at which silly, young boys feel childishly possessive over their friends—but Taehyung isn’t just any friend, and Jimin can’t help that he feels this way. Jimin had spent years wanting to fight for their friendship, and a shameful part of him had desperately wanted Taehyung to feel the bitter sting of despair as Jimin shrunk further and further away from him.
Truthfully, Jimin is weary of the passiveness they’ve settled into over the past decade. He hates this calm, lukewarm alliance they've found themselves in. He’s tired of wondering whether his presence matters or not—if his absence is indeed so easily compensated for by the company of others. Jimin wonders: why could Taehyung not see that Jimin had begun to distance himself only after Taehyung had done the same?
“Jimin..?" Cautiously, Taehyung calls out him, the silence stretching itself for too long.
“Honestly," Jimin says finally, “it's because I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”
“What?” Taehyung looks and sounds so incredulous with disbelief, Jimin almost feels embarrassed. His face feels hot once again, cheeks taking on a vibrant, red hue.
“Of course, I’d want to see you,” Taehyung says, voice softening. He looks bothered. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I—look,” Jimin says, hesitating. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just—I didn’t think you needed…to see me…?”
For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, Taehyung frowns at him—not because he’s confused, but because he’s upset. He looks frustrated and irritated, and in a strange, sick twist of emotions, Jimin almost feels pleased by it.
“You didn’t even remember my birthday,” Taehyung says, like he’s trying to make sense of it all.
“That’s not true,” Jimin says quickly, because it isn’t.
In fact, Jimin had sat with his phone in his hands the entire night, ready to text Taehyung at the stroke of midnight. But then, as they often do lately, his thoughts had gotten the better of him, and over the next twenty-four hours, Jimin had nearly managed to make himself ill with anxiety—anxiety over seeming too eager, anxiety over not seeming eager enough. He was scared that he’d expose himself, unmasking his feelings for Taehyung through the lengthy paragraph he’d typed out and then deleted, over and over again.
The thing is, Jimin knows this isn't even about the damn birthday. Taehyung isn’t so petty. It’s more than that; it’s everything, and nothing, and Jimin doesn’t really know how to explain himself.
“It’s not true,” Jimin says again, firmly. His throat constricts, eyes feeling hot. “It’s just that…you have all these other friends, and I—”
“So do you,” Taehyung counters immediately. “You and—and Jungkook, and Sungwoon, and J—”
“But that’s not the same,” Jimin interjects, feeling distraught. He can’t bring himself to look at Taehyung anymore, hands nervously wringing at the hem of his shirt. For all of his false bravado earlier, Jimin no longer feels brave enough to talk this out. “I just thought that maybe—”
“Maybe what?” Taehyung presses, confusion glimmering within the depths of his dark eyes.
“I don’t know," Jimin says. "I'm sorry, but..."
"I don’t know, okay?!" Jimin repeats. Something snaps inside him, and the tension relieves itself in the form of fresh, hot tears that slip past his lashes and fall onto his freckled cheeks. “Also, I wrote you a fucking text, alright?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Jimin confesses, shame washing over him in waves as the tears continue to fall. “I came here. I was outside your door, but—” he falters, then lamely says, “You were busy.”
Jimin had indeed come by on the evening of Taehyung’s birthday. He’d stood outside the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Taehyung’s voice could be heard from outside the apartment, animated and excited. From where Jimin had been standing, he could hear the sound of shared laughter and easy conversation, drowning out the music that played in the background. He could hear Hyungsik’s peculiar laughter, and Woosik’s distinct voice. He'd recognised the voices of Taehyung’s high school friends and even, to Jimin’s slight dismay, the voice of a past girlfriend that he knew Taehyung still reserved warm affection for.
And yes, Jimin knows that he could have invited himself in. But instead, he’d stood there, staring at the closed door until his vision had begun to blur. In his hands, a bottle of red wine and a new, patterned sweater had begun to feel too heavy.
“But, you could have just…come in,” Taehyung says slowly. He looks confused, and Jimin tries his best not to sigh.
“I didn’t want to, okay?” Jimin says, all but snapping at him. His voice is shaky and unsteady, and Jimin hates it for betraying him. “I didn’t want to be there with everyone else again, I just—I wanted to be with you.”
“It's like...it's like, you’re almost never alone, and I feel like I never get to see you anymore,” Jimin says. His jaw tenses, heart feeling heavy. “You’re always with somebody, or about to meet somebody—it’s never just us, and it’s hard for me, because I’m not used to feeling like I’m just one of the many people you surround yourself with.”
The words come tumbling out him, honest and raw, until Jimin has completely laid himself out bare. In some ways, he feels more vulnerable than he’s allowed himself to be in years.
“Min’ah…” Taehyung murmurs. He looks as though he’s at a loss for words.
“No,” Jimin says, blinking the dampness out of his eyes. “Forget it. This is stupid.”
Taehyung moves a little closer in spite of himself. His hands twitch and falter, as though resisting the urge to reach out to Jimin. He looks a little lost—confused and hurt and wronged all at once. He looks like he’s been confronted with a reality that’s never once occurred to him before, shiny and brand new even in its ugliness.
“I don't understand," Taehyung says softly. His big, beautiful eyes look at Jimin beseechingly. He looks heartbroken, like he can’t fathom a world in which he'd driven Jimin away, or given him reason to feel neglected.
“I miss being with you,” Taehyung says again. He shakes his head slowly, like he can't understand how Jimin could have felt unwanted when all Taehyung wants is to be with him. “I want to spend more time with you. I want to know what you’re doing, where you’re going—what you like, and dislike.”
“I want to spend birthdays with you, and go out with you,” he continues. “I want to watch movies with you, and talk with you, and travel with you, and—”
“I just want my best friend back,” Taehyung confesses, his voice wavering. “I miss him—I miss my best friend, Min’ah.”
“But, you—you’re the one—you’re always so busy.” Jimin closes his eyes in an attempt to steady himself. His head hurts; his heart hurts. “And I’ve just…I’ve always been right here.”
“You are constantly surrounded by so many people,” Jimin says, forcing the words out. “You’re like this big—bright and beautiful—star, and I feel like I don’t really know how to get close to you anymore.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Taehyung asks, his voice so quiet, Jimin barely hears it.
“I didn’t know how to,” Jimin confesses. “I didn’t know what to say. And I think, at one point, we were so—intertwined, I guess—and I just thought you needed space to be your own person.”
“But I’m not me without you, Jimin,” Taehyung whispers.
Jimin presses his lips together firmly in an attempt to keep his chin from trembling. His heart has swelled beyond its confines, and when Jimin attempts to swallow, the weight of it chokes him. Weakly, Jimin says, “You can’t just say things like that and not expect me to think that it means s—”
“I love you,” Taehyung blurts out. For a moment, Jimin’s world stops spinning. "I've loved you for such a long, long time."
“I thought I could get over it,” Taehyung says, rambling now, “I tried to—you know, over the past year. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“I thought of you everyday,” Taehyung confesses. “I thought of you every time the weather was good, and then I thought of you even more when it was bad. Every time it rained, I wondered if it was raining where you were, too. I wanted to know if you’d seen the snow, if you were eating well, and sleeping well. I wanted to know if things were hard for you, too.”
"I tried so hard to get over you, but I couldn’t,” Taehyung continues, sounding strangled. His voice trembles a little in the way it often does when he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Jimin, I have so much love for you, I hardly know where to put it sometimes.”
“And I’ve been so afraid of myself for such a long time, because,” Taehyung says, “I’m scared of messing things up for us."
It must be the culmination of Jimin's exhausted feelings coming together. Or maybe, it's the way Taehyung is looking at him right now—so tender and miserable and hopeful all at once. Jimin isn't sure what possesses him to do it, body moving without his permission. The breath he'd been holding rushes out in a shaky exhale.
Jimin doesn't think, and doesn't pause to consider the consequences. He just steps forward; for once, following his heart instead of his mind—the heart that yearns to be pressed right against Taehyung's, heavy with wanting. In a wordless moment of impulse, Jimin leans in to close the space between them with a quick, closed mouthed kiss that barely skims Taehyung's lips. To Jimin's horror, the act makes Taehyung stiffen in surprise. Mortified, Jimin pulls away as quickly as he'd leaned in—as though he'd been burned by the brief contact.
Jimin stumbles back, shocked; he’d caught himself off-guard. His impulsiveness quickly gives way to embarrassment, confusion, and then shame, as he says, “I—fuck, I’m sorry.”
“I’m so sorry, I don't know why I—” Jimin stammers, his cheeks darkening with colour. "I thought—"
To say that Taehyung looks stunned is an understatement. Despite looking dumbfounded, Taehyung wordlessly shakes his head in an attempt to reassure Jimin, who wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Surely, Jimin is still drunk; it’s the only explanation. He must be intoxicated, and the sweet aftertaste of flavoured soju clinging to the roof of his mouth is proof of it. Taehyung had given no indication that he’d wanted Jimin to kiss him—or that he’d wanted anything to change between them, at all. Taehyung had only asked for his best friend and instead, Jimin had acted on impulse, throwing everything away in favour of a kiss so fleeting and so brief, it might as well have not happened at all.
Jimin’s lips are tingling, buzzing where they’d grazed over Taehyung’s only seconds ago. His heart hammers loudly against his rib cage, threatening to escape its confines. Meanwhile, Taehyung—who has seemingly still not registered anything—stares at him in bewilderment. And for the first time in thirteen years, Jimin can’t make out what Taehyung is thinking. He can’t decipher the expression on Taehyung’s face at all, unable to place a finger on the look that settles over his eyes.
“I—I should probably go,” Jimin says, taking another step back. He can’t bring himself to look into Taehyung’s eyes anymore. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever face Taehyung again after tonight. “I misunderstood—”
“Wait.” Taehyung finally seems to have found his voice again. He reaches out reflexively, his hand wrapping around the slender girth of Jimin’s wrist.
In the heavy silence of their surroundings, all Jimin can hear is the thundering of his own heart. He's hot with embarrassment, heat simmering beneath the flushed skin of his rosy cheeks. Reluctantly, Jimin lifts his gaze to meet Taehyung’s. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. After what feels like a silent eternity, Jimin whispers shakily, “I’m sorry.”
But Taehyung is stuck, unable to move on from the initial shock of what had only been the ghost of a kiss. In the absence of light, the flush over his cheeks is easily missed. Slowly, Taehyung asks, “Why…?”
Taking in a shaky breath, Jimin momentarily closes his eyes in an attempt to steady himself and hopes he doesn’t sound as mortified as he feels when he says, “I-I don’t know—I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, I mean,” Taehyung tries again, quieter this time. His voice grows hushed. “Why are you sorry?”
It’s the last thing Jimin expects to be asked. Jimin breathes in sharply, his eyes fluttering open to look up at the man standing before him. Some time between Jimin’s shaky apology and Taehyung’s earnest question, the latter had stepped closer, leaving hardly a few inches of space between their bodies.
What do you mean? Jimin wants to ask. I’ve fucked up everything. He feels humiliated.
Jimin pointedly looks away, his chest tight and mind muddled with scattering thoughts. The tears he’d been holding back so fiercely until now threaten to escape the boundaries of his lashes.
“Hey,” Taehyung says softly. “Could you look at me?” Then, after a moment, he adds, “Please?”
There’s a pause, and then, “Jimin-ah.” Taehyung’s voice is so soft, so quiet, and so gentle; Jimin feels weak.
“Hm?” It’s all Jimin can manage, meek and quiet. His heart swells, breaching its cage until it’s grazing the back of his throat.
“J’minah,” Taehyung says again, the quiet murmur barely audible over the way Jimin’s pulse beats against his ears.
When Jimin finally looks back up at him, Taehyung is standing impossibly close. He’s near enough now that Jimin can almost feel the faint heat radiating off of Taehyung’s body. Up close like this, Jimin has to tip his head back a little to look up at Taehyung’s face.
In a show of false bravery, Jimin takes in a deep, steadying breath. He lifts his head and tips his chin up and back, as he faces Taehyung. Then, when Jimin least expects it, the world stops. Soft lips press over his own, gentle and hesitant, and Jimin stills. Taehyung closes his eyes, and as they kiss their noses brush together lightly. Taehyung’s lips are warm against his own, soft and plump. The kiss is chaste, innocent and brief; only the gentle press of lips over lips. And yet, Jimin’s belly swoops in a way it hasn’t ever before, butterflies rushing in to fill in the space beneath his ribs.
When they break apart, both of them hold their breaths for a moment. They stare at each other, hearts racing in tandem. The quietude stretches between them for what feels like miles before Taehyung says, soft and tentative, “So, I guess we’re both complete idiots, then."
“You’re not mad that I kissed you?” Jimin asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“Jimin,” Taehyung says quietly, his confession sweetening the tip of his tongue, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for the longest time.”
“But you said—I thought you wanted us to be friends,” Jimin says.
“I want to be whatever you’ll let me be,” Taehyung says.
Jimin feels lightheaded, overwhelmed by the power of choice. His eyes search Taehyung’s for guidance, too scared of having to be the one that changes everything.
“Hey,” Taehyung whispers, when Jimin’s face pales. Jimin can hardly hear him over the pulsating static in his ears.
“Hey,” Taehyung says again, both palms coming up to cradle Jimin’s face. His hands are rougher than Jimin remembers, calloused and heavy like his own. “It’s okay. You don’t have to decide right now, alright?”
Jimin is flustered, his mind muddled. His gaze drops to Taehyung’s red mouth, so imperfectly perfect in its distinct shape and rounded corners. Jimin almost wants to kiss him again, and the thought of it makes his throat seize. “What if it doesn’t work out?” Jimin finally asks.
He stares at Taehyung—at his cropped, tousled hair and sunkissed skin, and the ghost of a scar over his cheek. He admires the way Taehyung’s ears frame his cheeks, rounder and fuller than they had been months ago; and the longer he looks at him, the harder Jimin finds it to look away.
He hates that he feels this way; he’s so close to everything he’s ever wanted, and too scared to take hold of it. What if things don’t end up working out between them? What if Taehyung breaks his heart, or worse—what if Jimin breaks Taehyung’s? What would happen to them, then? Would they go back to being friends, or would Jimin find himself living the rest of his life without Taehyung at his side?
“I don’t want to lose you,” Jimin whispers, his voice breaking.
“You won’t,” Taehyung murmurs.
“How do you know that?” Jimin asks, his eyes big and round and miserable. His hands come up to wrap around Taehyung’s, pulling them away from his cheeks so that he can thread their fingers together anxiously. He feels so small, his heart far too big for all of him. He feels restless, emotions reaching a tipping point as they threaten to drown him completely.
Taehyung bites his lip and looks down at their joined hands. He squeezes Jimin’s hands gently, quietly reassuring even in the absence of a response. They hesitate, once again, on the precipice of a cliff, faced with two choices—to jump, and take a leap of faith, or to stand back, perhaps forever relinquishing the chance to be together. But now that Jimin knows what it feels like to be kissed by Taehyung—now that he knows how perfectly Taehyung’s mouth fits over his own—Jimin isn’t sure he can ever go back.
So, bracing himself for the fall, Jimin whispers, “I love you, too, Taehyung.”
“And I don’t want to regret not loving you,” he says. His lashes flutter slightly as Taehyung leans in, resting their foreheads together. For a moment, they breathe each other in, quiet and unmoving.
“Jimin,” Taehyung says, calling out to him so sweetly that Jimin nearly swoons.
“Mm?” Jimin hums, eyes raking over Taehyung’s features—he counts each and every freckle, every minute sign of age hinting at the years they’d spent together.
“Can I kiss you?” Taehyung asks. The words hang between them, palpable and enticing.
“Please,” Jimin breathes, even as Taehyung’s lips skim over his own.
Jimin holds his breath in anticipation, a pleasant shiver running up the length of his spine. Taehyung’s hands find home over Jimin’s hips, thumb drawing circles over the exposed skin where Jimin’s shirt rides up a little. Slowly, Taehyung leans in, until his lips are on Jimin’s. He kisses Jimin in a way that’s almost reverent, tender and pliant.
It isn’t the first kiss for either of them—with others, or with each other—but it might as well be, because Jimin’s toes curl against the floor, butterflies bursting free inside him. His heart turns somersaults, his mind struggling to string together a single thought.
Taehyung’s lips, though slightly chapped, are wonderfully soft as they press over Jimin’s mouth insistently. Taehyung’s kisses are so perfectly like him—sweet, tender, and eager all at once. For a brief, fleeting moment, Jimin wonders how many people must have been on the receiving end of Taehyung’s kisses; belatedly, he feels a spark of envy at the thought of it. But at this moment, Taehyung is all his—in a way, perhaps he’s always been Jimin’s.
Mine, mine, mine, Jimin thinks to himself, bringing his arms up to wrap them around Taehyung’s broad shoulders. Even with their chests pressed firmly together, Jimin can’t seem to get close enough.
Cautiously, Taehyung deepens the kiss, nudging forward as his lips part against Jimin’s. He takes Jimin’s bottom lip between his teeth, tongue dragging over the plush, pink cushion of Jimin’s mouth. It’s somehow both tender and sensuous, and Jimin doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath through it until he gasps, pleasantly surprised.
Taehyung’s hands come up, one cradling the back of Jimin’s neck while the other rests along the curve of his cheek. Jimin nearly melts into the touch, his lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. With his arms wrapped snugly around Taehyung’s neck, Jimin buries his hands in Taehyung’s hair. His fingers curl into the thick, dark locks, blunt nails gently massaging Taehyung’s scalp.
Up close, Taehyung smells intoxicating. He smells of lavender and musk, with the lingering, sweet notes of red wine clinging to his lips. Jimin can’t seem to get enough of it. Jimin sways a little on his feet, dizzy with want, but Taehyung holds him in place with strong arms. The hand that had been resting along the nape of Jimin’s neck slides down to press against the small of his back, keeping him steady.
Although Jimin’s body has filled out significantly over the past year, Taehyung almost seems to have doubled in size; and despite the fact that Jimin’s shoulders and arms have bulked up, he’s easily engulfed by Taehyung’s broad figure. Taehyung’s body heat is searingly warm; even through his clothes, Jimin can feel the way Taehyung’s skin burns against him.
They pull apart, a string of saliva connecting their lips. Both of them are visibly out of breath, their chests heaving together. Jimin wonders if, pressed together like this, Taehyung can feel the way his heart hammers against his sternum. His gaze begins to drift, dropping towards Taehyung’s mouth again.
Captivated, Jimin stares at the peculiar shape of Taehyung’s lips. Jimin has always thought Taehyung has a pretty mouth. He’s never quite seen any other like it—plump and shapely and pink, with a well-defined cupid’s bow that accentuates his five o’clock shadow. At rest, Taehyung’s mouth forms a straight line that droops at the corners ever so slightly. But when he smiles, Taehyung’s mouth curves up into rounded corners, charmingly lopsided and endearingly sweet.
It’s the same smile Jimin had fallen in love with, years and years ago, dotted with a single freckle along the edge of his mouth. Jimin takes his time admiring Taehyung, his eyes tracing a path from one freckle to the next. He looks the same, and yet different; where his skin had once been smooth and pliant, there are faint lines along the corners of his eyes. There is familiarity in the unfamiliar, and traces of old beneath the new; and when Jimin lifts his gaze to meet Taehyung’s again, he’s hit with a wave of emotion that nearly sweeps him off his feet.
Jimin is in love with Taehyung, and like this—caught in between these tender kisses—Jimin can’t believe how long it’s taken him to say it aloud. “I love you,” he says again, right into Taehyung’s mouth as Taehyung kisses him, open mouthed and feverish.
Taehyung kisses Jimin with the same intensity he studies him—with a quiet, unsatiated hunger. Taehyung kisses Jimin like a man starved of air, desperate and eager. It’s nothing quite like anything Jimin had imagined it would be; he feels hot and weak kneed and muddled all at once. They kiss without delay—all tongues and teeth and open, needy mouths that glide together hotly.
Gingerly—and with a quiet whimper—Jimin places his hands over Taehyung’s shoulders, his fingertips subconsciously pressing into the solid definition of a strong trapezius. Taehyung’s chest is much fuller than Jimin remembers, and when his hands slide down to rest over firm pectorals, he can’t help but feel awed. He can’t help himself; he subconsciously maps out Taehyung’s body with the palms of his hands, his fingers running over well-defined divots and ridges that are still so new to him. He touches Taehyung with a quiet reverence, his hands exploring the width of Taehyung’s shoulders and sliding down the firm definition of a toned chest. Every so often, his hands deliver a gentle, appreciative squeeze, and he feels shy the way Taehyung’s lips curve up into a small, amused smile against Jimin’s mouth.
Jimin knows that Taehyung has grown significantly larger over the past eighteen months. But his strength still manages to catch Jimin off-guard when Taehyung wraps his arms around Jimin’s midsection and lifts him up so that Jimin can tighten his legs around Taehyung’s hips. Wide hands find purchase over the curve of Jimin’s ass as Taehyung walks forward, his feet shuffling over the floor, until Jimin’s back hits the wall. The light impact knocks the air out of Jimin’s lungs, and he gets only a moment to catch his breath before Taehyung is mouthing over the column of Jimin’s neck, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin.
Jimin’s clothes prove to be a nuisance, and when Taehyung’s mouth fails to explore the skin underneath the neckline of his shirt, Jimin whines in displeasure. It’s a bit awkward at first—wedged in between Taehyung’s chest and the solid wall—but Jimin manages to tug his shirt up and off, before letting it fall to the ground. Almost instantly, his skin cools, fanned by the air conditioner that thrums quietly against the ceiling. As soon as the offending material is out of the way, Jimin draws Taehyung back in for a searing kiss, gasping softly when Taehyung’s hips press into his own.
He can feel the outline of Taehyung’s arousal through two layers of clothes, rubbing against his own hard-on with his sweatpants and Taehyung’s shorts in the way. He groans softly, cotton and fleece dragging friction along the underside of his cock as Taehyung’s hips rut up against Jimin’s. It’s a testament to how long they’ve been waiting for this—this clumsy, primal urge to find release with each other against the kitchen wall, mere feet away from the dining table. Jimin circles his hips against Taehyung’s, precum seeping into the cotton of his pants where it stains the fabric. Taehyung moans into his mouth, low and husky and wanton. His grip over the backs of Jimin’s thighs is strong enough to leave bruises in its wake, and a pleasant shiver runs up the length of Jimin’s spine at the thought.
Taehyung must be close already because Jimin feels himself sliding down the wall as Taehyung’s thighs tremble with the need for relief. Taehyung’s hold around Jimin slackens a little, quiet, broken sounds escaping his kiss-swollen lips. The back of his head drags against the wall, his hair becoming dishevelled at the point of contact, and Jimin only barely manages to put one foot down on the floor before they both stumble. His arms lock around Taehyung’s waist, their legs entangled as they fall, dazed and out of breath. Somewhere in between stolen kisses, Taehyung whispers a quiet apology and brings a hand up to soothe along the back of Jimin’s head.
At any other moment, Jimin might have laughed at the situation. In this moment, however, Jimin lifts his gaze to meet Taehyung’s, and looks up at him beseechingly. His eyes are bright, even in the dark, and Jimin puts aside any reservations he might have still had to say, “Wanna touch you.” His hands reach for Taehyung’s shorts, fingers slipping beneath the waistband, and he wastes little time in ridding Taehyung of them. Jimin’s own pants follow, and he kicks them off haphazardly, before reaching for Taehyung once again.
Taehyung is both taller and heavier than Jimin, but when Jimin stretches out his legs and pulls Taehyung onto his lap, he fits into Jimin perfectly. His bare, tanned thighs look strikingly pretty against Jimin’s soft, peachy skin. Jimin glances down between them, to the sizable, wet spot that adorns the front of Taehyung’s briefs, pre-cum soaking into the navy cotton where his cock strains against the fabric. Jimin nearly drools at the sight, his tongue heavy against the floor of his mouth. He slides a hand up the length of Taehyung’s thigh, his fingers lingering over the small 7 inked into Taehyung’s brown skin. And then up, up he goes, fingers dancing over exposed skin until his hand finds Taehyung’s hip.
Gently, Jimin guides Taehyung back, until Taehyung is straddling one of Jimin’s thighs with both of his own. Then, with his mouth hanging slightly open, Jimin bends his leg at the knee ever so slightly, so that the curve of his thigh presses firmly into the weeping outline of Taehyung’s cock. At that, Taehyung groans softly, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment.
“Go on, baby,” Jimin whispers. “Let me help you feel good.”
And Taehyung does, grinding down over Jimin’s toned thigh. Unsurprisingly, Taehyung is a vocal lover, and Jimin feels a swell of pride at every gasp, grunt, and moan that leaves Taehyung’s lips. It makes Jimin feel heady, dizzy with desire, and it’s all Jimin can do to stop himself from pinning Taehyung down onto the floor and fucking into him. The slow, rhythmic rocking of Taehyung’s hips quickens, becoming something erratic and desperate as he rubs himself over the firm weight of Jimin’s thigh. His breath comes out in short, quick huffs, punctuated with quiet whimpers that Jimin feels against at the very base of his cock.
With one hand resting along Taehyung’s waist, Jimin pulls the seam of Taehyung’s briefs aside with the other and slips his fingers beneath the cotton to wrap them around the exposed head of Taehyung’s cock. His thumb drags over the slit, smearing sweat and precum. Sliding his palm down the length of the shaft, Jimin traces the outline of prominent veins before giving Taehyung’s cock a gentle tug. It’s enough, it seems, to push Taehyung over the edge. Taehyung comes only moments later, spilling himself onto Jimin’s hand and into the dark cotton of his underwear. He whimpers, then whines, and Jimin thinks he’s never quite heard anything as beautiful as the sound of Taehyung coming undone at the seams.
Taehyung looks so beautifully wrecked, Jimin almost finds himself hoping he’s ruined him for anyone else. A part of him feels tickled, gleeful with the knowledge that Taehyung had come nearly entirely untouched—that Jimin had only needed to brush his hand over the stiff curve of Taehyung’s cock to send him reeling. He’d like to think that no one else has ever been able to make Taehyung feel this way.
✽
Taehyung feels stunned. His softening cock is sensitive as it drags over Jimin’s bare thigh, firm and toned and beautifully sculpted. He doesn’t usually come this quickly, or with such little effort from his partner. But then again, none of his partners have ever been Jimin. Taehyung feels disoriented, his body heavy and pliant. And so, when Jimin gently pushes him backwards and onto the floor, Taehyung lets himself be manoeuvred however Jimin sees it fit.
“Are you alright?” Jimin asks, his eyes twinkling as he climbs up onto Taehyung. He props himself up over Taehyung and his hands bracket either side of Taehyung’s head, palms pressing onto the marbled tiles.
Still somewhat tongue-tied, Taehyung nods wordlessly, his hands subconsciously reaching for Jimin’s slender waist. It takes Taehyung a moment to find his voice, and when he does, he’s quick to vouch for himself. “I don’t usually finish that quickly, you know,” he says, thumb drawing circles into Jimin’s side.
Giggling, Jimin nods, and says, “I’ll take your word for it, beautiful.”
The endearment makes Taehyung blush, his cheeks colouring with a schoolboy innocence that’s not uncharacteristic of him. He smiles, dimples pressing into his cheeks, and looks off to the side for a moment in an attempt to hide himself from Jimin’s endeared gaze. Quietly, Jimin leans in to kiss the corner of Taehyung’s mouth. One peck is followed by another, before Taehyung turns to face Jimin again so that their lips can press together in a lingering kiss.
Again and again, like an offering, Jimin bestows upon Taehyung kiss after kiss. Sweet and attentive, Jimin follows the line of Taehyung’s neck down to his chest, leaving a trail of fleeting kisses in his wake. Like Jimin’s, Taehyung’s body is a treasure of constellations; his freckled skin is beautiful beneath the early morning light, the sun making its slow ascent towards the horizon.
Slowly, Jimin makes his way down Taehyung’s chest. He stops every so often, as though he’s counting the spaces between Taehyung’s ribs. Here, perhaps, is exactly where Taehyung’s heart must be, Jimin seems to think, as he presses his lips over the flat edge of Taehyung’s sternum. Careful fingers trace the lines of Taehyung’s chest wall, as Jimin maps out every ridge and contour. When Jimin’s hand settles over a particularly sensitive spot—sore and tense from a recent injury—Taehyung can’t help his sharp intake of breath.
“Sorry,” Jimin whispers, wide eyed with worry. He looks down at the ghost of a wound, the skin above Taehyung’s rib still coloured a faint, mottled green. A small, delicate mole marks the skin right above it; a star hanging above a field of green.
“Does it still hurt?” Jimin asks softly, gently soothing his fingers over the area in apology.
“No,” Taehyung says, equally quietly. He thinks about it for a moment, then adds, “Sometimes—a little bit.”
Taehyung holds his breath as Jimin lowers himself, soft lips tenderly coming down to rest where it hurts. The moment is more intimate than anything that had transpired earlier, and Taehyung finds it hopelessly impossible to calm the quickening of his pulse. Before Taehyung can get carried away, swept up in the feelings he harbours for Jimin, he pushes a gentle hand through Jimin’s hair and says, “Hey, let me take care of you.”
Carefully, Taehyung pulls Jimin closer, until they’re able to roll over—Taehyung presses Jimin into the ground, before climbing up over him deftly. Jimin is still half-hard against his boxers, and Taehyung is eager to help him finish. Taehyung’s mouth is hot as he kisses Jimin’s chest; his large hands are seemingly wide enough to engulf him, and big enough to hold the entirety of Jimin’s heart in the centre of one palm. Taehyung takes his time with him, kissing and licking and suckling at every inch of exposed skin; his lips drag over the slope of Jimin’s collar bones, and circle the raised nubs of dark, sensitive nipples. He explores the raised ink of a wide tattoo, his fingers dancing over the letters woven into Jimin’s side.
He kisses Jimin’s belly, where the firm definition has softened slightly; and, making his way lower, Taehyung noses at the faint trail of hair that begins at Jimin’s navel and disappears beneath the waistband of his underwear. Now, at the level of Jimin’s hips, Taehyung lifts his head to look up at Jimin, eyes seeking permission as he asks, “May I?”
“Oh, please,” Jimin exhales. “Yes.”
✽
Jimin watches with bated breath as Taehyung carefully slides Jimin’s boxers down. He lifts his hips slightly, so that Taehyung can peel the material off, pulling it down Jimin’s thighs and then taking it off him completely. Free of its confines, Jimin’s cock springs up and curves towards his belly, where it leaks precum over his skin. Heat coils low in his belly at the look in Taehyung’s eyes—Taehyung’s eyes are alight with hunger, gaze fixated on the thick line of Jimin’s cock.
Jimin swallows, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. At the first touch of Taehyung’s hand, Jimin’s head falls back against the floor with a quiet thud. Taehyung’s hand is slightly cold against the pulsing heat of Jimin’s cock, and the weight of it makes Jimin tremble. Wordlessly, Taehyung offers Jimin’s cock a single, upwards stroke before squeezing gently along the head. It’s almost too much for Jimin, whose hips jerk up helplessly as he moans, Taehyung’s name sitting over his lips like a silent prayer.
Slow at first, and then with more confidence, Taehyung begins to work his wrist up and down. With every upward motion, his palm drags over the underside of Jimin’s cock, and with every downward pump, Taehyung lubricates the slide with the precum he smears over the head of Jimin’s dick. Without warning, Taehyung spits into his hand, and his saliva trickles down the length of Jimin’s cock, shiny and wet.
“Fuck, Taehyung,” Jimin groans, the words fading into a soft whine.
And although Jimin doesn’t expect it, his cock is soon engulfed by a wet, tight heat as Taehyung sinks into the space between Jimin’s tights and takes Jimin’s cock into his mouth. Jimin jerks, full-bodied; his thighs flex, legs bending at the knees. When Taehyung flattens his tongue along the shaft and then suckles at the tip, Jimin cries out. His thighs clamp down on either side of Taehyung’s head, trembling. It’s too much, and Jimin buries a hand into Taehyung’s hair, pulling at the unruly locks until it’s sure to sting.
Barely lucid, Jimin wonders vaguely if Taehyung has done this with other men—if he’s pleasured them with his hands and held their arousals over his tongue. His mind clouds over with both lust and envy, as he pictures the sight of Taehyung on his knees for faceless men, his cheeks hollowed out and lashes damp with perspiration. And then he imagines Taehyung on all fours, crying out in relief as he’s thrust into, his thighs shaking with the effort to hold himself up—Jimin desperately wants to be the one to do it to him.
Taehyung’s stubble, short yet coarse, is rough against Jimin’s skin. It drags over his inner thighs as he tightens his legs around Taehyung, in need of a quick shave. Somewhere between Jimin’s unravelling imagination and the warmth of Taehyung’s mouth over his cock, the sight of Taehyung alone becomes enough to drive Jimin over the edge. His vision spots, his climax washing over him with an almost dizzying force.
Later, when Taehyung comes up to kiss him again, Jimin can taste himself on Taehyung. Although Taehyung had clumsily wiped his mouth clean before coming up for a kiss, Jimin can still taste the bittersweet residue of his release over Taehyung’s tongue and lips.
Although the sun is yet to rise, the sky outside begins to lighten. The early morning light shrouds the uneven rooftops lining Seoul’s landscape, yellow-orange and warm with the summer. A little light spills into the room through the windows, where the curtains had been left slightly pulled apart—suspended within the golden glow of light, a sprinkling of stardust glitters along the floor.
Breaking away from the kiss, Taehyung lays his body down over Jimin’s. He rests his forehead against Jimin’s, and, when they’ve both managed to catch their breaths. Slowly, Taehyung’s face relaxes into a smile that Jimin finds himself mirroring with ease. He brings a hand up, affectionately brushing Taehyung’s hair out of his eyes. Out of habit, Jimin tenderly maps out the contours of Taehyung’s face; his fingers follow the slope of Taehyung’s nose, lingering momentarily when Taehyung’s long, dark lashes tickle the edge of his pinky. Finally, he drags his hand down the swell of Taehyung’s cheek; the ghost of an old scar dips beneath Jimin’s fingers, a shallow divot in Taehyung’s soft, tanned skin.
The floor is hard against Jimin’s back, and Taehyung is heavy on top of him, but Jimin can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be at this moment. His thumb caresses Taehyung’s sunkissed skin, brushing over the summertime freckles. In a quiet show of affection, Taehyung threads his free hand through Jimin’s, squeezing gently. They lie there, unmoving, both of them reluctant to pull away.
Time slowly slips through their fingers, trickling through the spaces between their intertwined hands. Jimin loses track of the minutes and the hour, too consumed with the desire to burrow himself into Taehyung so that they can become one. Pressed entirely together, Jimin wishes it was possible to somehow move closer.
At some point before noon, they find themselves in Taehyung’s bedroom, having managed to collect themselves off the living room floor and make their way to bed. Jimin’s clothes had been picked up and discarded at the foot of the bed, a pile of grey on top of a dark rug. They’re drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when Jimin turns to face Taehyung, a small smile playing along the corners of his lips.
“Good morning, pretty” he murmurs, as Taehyung cracks an eye open and peers up at him drowsily.
“Mornin’,” Taehyung answers, after a few seconds. His voice is husky, rough with sleep. Even like this, with eyes half shut and hair in disarray, Taehyung is beautiful.
Warmth blooms somewhere deep inside Jimin’s chest, fondness overflowing from his eyes as he brings a hand up to gently comb his fingers through Taehyung’s unruly hair.
“Your hair has already grown so much,” Jimin observes idly, brushing a few stray locks away from Taehyung’s forehead. “I’m jealous.”
Taehyung blinks, dazed, then smiles slowly. Like a cat, he leans into Jimin’s touch, his lashes fluttering in quiet approval.
“But you look adorable,” Taehyung says sweetly. He shifts a little closer, mattress swaying with his weight.
“Adorable?” Jimin echoes, snorting. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not,” Taehyung insists, grinning affectionately. “You look lovely.”
At the compliment, Jimin’s cheeks turn slightly pink. Flustered, he turns to roll onto his back, gaze rolling up towards the ceiling. Tongue in cheek, Jimin bites down on his bottom lip, and mumbles somewhat inaudibly, “Thank you.”
Smiling, Taehyung nuzzles into Jimin’s arm, pressing a kiss over the curve of a slender bicep. It’s only been a handful of hours, yet Jimin is already feeling spoiled with affection. Throwing Taehyung a sidelong glance, Jimin off-handedly says, “You can’t ever leave me again. I hope you know that.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Taehyung says, immediately. Somberly, he adds, “They would have to pry my dead body off of you.”
Jimin giggles at that, turning his head to look back at Taehyung once again. “Yeah? Who’s ‘they’?”
“I don’t know,” Taehyung says mildly.
“Somebody. Anyone that opposes us—the opposition,” he says, like he’s discussing debate teams or political parties.
Jimin snorts loudly at that, smacking a lazy hand against Taehyung’s bare chest. “You really just say anything.”
“That’s right,” Taehyung says, taking Jimin’s hand into his own. Then, as if to prove Jimin’s point, he says, “I love you.”
He leans in, all the way, until his nose is only centimetres away from Jimin’s. And Jimin, in a fit of playfulness, turns away immediately, teasing, “Not with that morning breath, you don’t.”
He rolls away from him, burying his smile into the pillow even as Taehyung whines in protest.
“Say it back,” Taehyung whines, pressing his face into Jimin’s back. He nuzzles closer, cheek dragging over the moon phase tattoos that span the length of Jimin’s spine. “Say it—” The words are muffled, sinking into Jimin’s skin.
When the proximity begins to tickle, Jimin squirms, his shoulders tucking up against his ears. He laughs as Taehyung disappears beneath the sheets, delivering punishments in the form of cold fingers pressing into Jimin’s sides.
Another whine, and then—from underneath the covers: “J’minah, say it back—”
“Alright, alright—” Jimin gasps amidst giggles; he’s tickled breathless. “I love you, too.”
“Properly,” Taehyung says, sulking as he re-emerges from the depths of the blanket.
“Alright,” Jimin says, laughing. “I love you, Taehyung,” he says, much more properly this time. And this time, when Taehyung dives in for a kiss, Jimin doesn’t try to stop him.