Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Staring at your phone won't make a text come in, hyung."

Seokjin looks over his shoulder and shoots Hoseok a wry smile. Four in the afternoon should mean they're only coming down from the high of Hell Hour, but the fast-moving crowds have died down considerably and have settled on tables already, if not shuffled out of the shop with their take-out cups in tow. Which means Hoseok and Taehyung aren't too preoccupied with taking orders and charming customers, and now have time to busy themselves with taking in their surroundings and noticing every damned thing. Which means trouble for the likes of Seokjin who can't stop shifting his gaze from the 3D latte art he's just finished – "I can't believe you actually attempted to do the Jigglypuff evolution line for this, Jin. And the Diglett earlier. And the Caterpie– Are you alright?" Yoongi had whispered in his ear earlier, then leaned back and squinted at him in an effort to see better. "You don't give your 200% in everything you make. You give your 99% and then save up the remaining 1% for other things. Important things. What's up?" – and his phone. Not that he actually has anything to hide from Hoseok and Taehyung's privy eyes or from Kibum and Amber's curious ears – there's nothing to hide at all and he just doesn't want to draw attention to himself. It's just that Jimin's last message had been three hours ago, a text peppered with sad emoticons and crying faces and Ugh, I hate winter so fucking much. I hate the cold weather I hate getting sick I hate everything why does this have to happen to me??? After that, there's been nothing but static on Jimin's side of the line and unread messages from Seokjin's camp. He'd even sent Jimin photos of the latte art earlier, hoping for Jimin's enthusiastic replies or even just a series of happy, celebrating stickers, but–

"You won't be able to service customers if you keep preoccupying yourself with gossip," Seokjin says through gritted teeth after a while, then gives Hoseok and Taehyung a light slap in the ass. The two don't retaliate, don't even scream out like Seokjin thought they would, but they do look at him with wide, wide eyes, and a question in the way their lips hang parted in a small 'o' that Taehyung doesn't verbalize until a few minutes later.

"When the hell did you start giving people butt slaps for encouragement, hyung?" Taehung asks, voice faint and soft, barely above a whisper. He sounds like he's wheezing, for the most part, but maybe it's just the gentle upward curl at the corners of his mouth at work, messing with his enunciation, screwing up his words. That, and Yoongi declaring, "Our second year in prod, just before he got promoted from scriptwriter to producer. That's actually still tame. Just wait 'til he starts giving you legit butt gropes–"

"I didn't need to know that!" Hoseok half-screams, half-whispers, half tries to temper his voice with the bright smile he flashes at the customer at the counter, but the sound he makes gets muffled by Yoongi pressing even closer, humming right by Seokjin's ear, then reaching out to ruffle Seokjin's hair. It's nothing more than a light tousle, Yoongi fluffing the bouncy tuft, but if years of friendship and practically breathing in the same air 99% of the time are anything to go by then Seokjin knows Yoongi is saying only one thing – Don't count this as me saving your ass. I'm really concerned about you and you better tell me what's up before I kick my lazy ass and start investigating.

Still, Seokjin whispers, "Thanks. For the save," before Yoongi pulls away, just before Yoongi takes a few steps back and pulls his shoulders back, snaps up his spine, gives him a once over that he punctuates with a heavy sigh. To Hoseok, he says, "I give really good butt gropes, I'm just saying–"

The sickening silence hangs about for another hour, until Seokjin can finally fold his apron in neat squares and slip from the shop for a few minutes. "I'll just be quick. I'll be back in a bit," he'd told Yoongi earlier, before walking around the counter and heading out, "Take your fucking break or I'll really strap you to your bed," and Yoongi's only response was a curt nod, a roll of his eyes, faint laughter and an even fainter whatever you say spilling from the corners of his lips. Honest to God, he was ready with the details behind his unplanned trip – all Yoongi had to do was to ask – but Yoongi didn't even seem like he didn't have the slightest idea as to what Seokjin was up to. Half of Seokjin was concerned he, himself, did seem troubled by something as silly as Jimin not replying to his messages, not even viewing them and sending something over other than a plethora of sad emoticons, but the other half of him kept saying, if Yoongi ever thought that whatever you're doing was causing you more harm than good then he'd have called you out on your shit a long time ago.

He laughs to himself. It's funny and frightening, at the same time, the extent to which he and Yoongi know each other. It's funny and frightening and possibly the greatest mystery why they never figured out when the fruit was already ripe, when the time was already right, when they were already both so damn set on taking the leap and all they were waiting for was a green light from each other – not a whispered 'no' or a 'go' or a 'yes', but something as simple as a nod of the head, reaching out to link their pinkies with each other, moving forward without letting go.

"He... llo," Seokjin mumbles under his breath as he swings the door of Hug Cafe open. He looks around for a bit, squints, searches for a familiar tuft of orange hair or at least a glimpse of Jimin's templated idol smile, but to no avail – there's not a hint of Jimin anywhere. Granted, Jimin gets swallowed up by the crowd half the time and makes it impossible for Seokjin to watch him from a distance, but it's impossible to miss someone who actually has a beacon of light perched on his head and smiles brighter than the sun. That, and Jimin's the loudest when he's taking orders from customers and making sure they don't get bored while waiting for their turn to pay for their drink. So for the thickening crowd in the coffee shop to completely eclipse any sign of Jimin lingering in the cafe, for Seokjin to not be able to catch even the slightest glimpse of Jimin's face–

"You're looking for Jimin-hyung?"

Seokjin takes a deep, shaky breath and stops dead in his tracks. He isn't easily started by most things, not when he isn't focusing on a task or something that needs to be done and demands his full attention, but the familiar voice makes his insides do a funny tumble and makes him shiver all over. He's no stranger to Jeongguk, really, has had quite a number of conversations with the kid already and has even earned a smile, a laugh, and a slap on the arm those few times that Jeongguk has had the chance to talk to him while on his shift, but there's something about the way Jeongguk keeps watch over Jimin that always has Seokjin thinking he isn't supposed to be staying any less than six safe inches from Jimin. Which is fair, really, because any closer than that means Jimin will leave scars on his skin, but still. He can't help but feel just a tad uneasy whenever Jeongguk comes near and 'kindly fetches his hyung' with a perfunctory smile on his lips.

He laughs to himself. If Jeongguk knew half of what happened whenever Seokjin and Jimin stayed late in Hug Cafe, he'd probably go ballistic. If Jeongguk had the slightest idea of all those times Jimin could have tiptoed just a bit more, accidentally-on-purpose tripped on his own feet, and dragged Seokjin down with him to hell, for a kiss, Jeongguk would probably see Seokjin out personally and tell him never to come back.

He's just a dog, Jin, that's all, says a voice at the back of his mind. Two beats, then, C'mon, you can handle him! You're an animal whisperer. Just give it a shot–

"Oh, hey," Seokjin says, then, turning around to meet Jeongguk's gaze. He addresses Jeongguk with a small smile, curt and tight, then looks around for one last time, thinking maybe he'd just missed Jimin earlier. You can't blame your eyesight for your wild imagination, you know, whispers a voice in his head, and it's probably just as right as any voice in his mind that doesn't have to rethink his actions, so he nods a few times, digs his freezing hands in his pockets, and heaves a sigh. "Yeah, he... I haven't heard from him in a while–"

"A few hours?"

Shut up. Don't tell me you're judging my inability to look away from my phone, too! groans a voice in Seokjin's head, but he pushes that further back until he can let out a scoff. "Well, yeah, you know him. He loves chatting people up all the time. Can't stay quiet for too long because it... makes him feel uneasy," he whispers after a while, then lets his eyes wander again. Maybe this time he'll see Jimin pop out of nowhere and maybe Jimin will wave at him from a distance and coax him to move either closer to the counter or to the other side of the glass, outside the coffee shop where they're a lot safer when in the company of too many people. Maybe Jimin will save him from Jeongguk and from socializing that he isn't really prepared for for the nth time and–

Relax, Jeongguk doesn't bite. He's Jimin's friend, he whispers to himself in an effort to calm down the voices in his head, then addresses Jeongguk with a chuckle. "It's just... weird for him to disappear all of a sudden," he reasons after a while, "I know he mentioned feeling a bit sick and all, but–"

Jeongguk laughs. Laughs, not scoffs, because the crinkles at the corners of his eyes are soft and relaxed and the quirk of his lips is more a product of his laughter than anything else – having to put on a mask and look perfect in front of customers, having to be accommodating. Seokjin has been spending more time in Hug Cafe these days, during his fifteen-minute breaks that rarely ever coincide with Yoongi's own, but he doesn't get to see this look on Jeongguk often, doesn't get to see him let his shoulders slump and the rest of his body relax at the prompt of Seokjin's honest words. Is the kid mad or sad or in need of a hug? Is he being hilarious by being completely transparent to someone he's friends with only by extension? Seokjin isn't really sure. All he knows is that Jeongguk is nodding, clenching and unclenching his fists, and saying, "Trust him to downplay his condition, really. He got knocked down by coughs and colds and fever last night, and he looked like shit before I left for work. He wanted to clock in even for just a few hours but I told him–"

He's ridiculous. This guy's totally ridiculous. I hope you told him that, Seokjin groans to himself. Granted, he has reported to work sick a number of times, even if he already looked like he was dragging hell around with his eye sockets and his cheeks and every part of his face that sagged under the pressure of coughs and colds, but Seokjin swears he has never attempted to go to work when he's already down with fever. That would be Yoongi, because Yoongi is as stubborn as most cats can get, but even then Yoongi would end up tumbling back into bed at Seokjin's first grumble of You are staying at home and resting and watching Spongebob the whole day or I will kick your balls. You know I can do that. Don't even think I'll think twice about kneeing you. He feels around for his phone, wraps his fingers around it tightly in an attempt to steady himself, but doesn't even get to typing anything more than 'Park Jimin, I swear to God' as a response to... the message Jimin had sent just a few minutes ago, and picture of him pouting with a thermometer balanced between his lips.

His chest tightens. His throat feels so damn tight and dry and he's parched. And the pulse at the tips of his fingers keeps quickening. How do you deal with him every single day, he's tempted to ask Jeongguk, but soon Jeongguk is picking up where he'd left off, saying, "I told him I'd kick his sorry as if he actually got out of bed for anything other than peeing and cooking himself instant noodles."

Seokjin laughs a little. Jeongguk wrinkles his nose, almost in thoughtless response and retaliation, but he's laughing, too. Jeongguk is shaking his head and heaving a sigh and tilting his head in the same way Jimin does when he's suddenly struck with a realization and has retreated to the farthest corners of his mind to process things. Only Jimin... does it slightly differently, with his mouth twisted a little like he's sort of stuck in thought, with his eyebrows caught in a furrow light enough to go unnoticed but just enough for Seokjin to wonder what Jimin has been rehearsing in his mind for a while now and why. So Seokjin waits with bated breath as Jeongguk purses his lips, as Jeongguk sneaks a glance at whatever is flashing on the screen of Seokjin's phone and cocks an eyebrow at him as if saying, Well, there's your answer. "He'll be okay in a day or two, don't worry," Jeongguk begins, pausing to heave a sigh, then the corners of his mouth a pulling up into a small smile. "He just really has to rest and sleep more because he... hasn't been doing much of that. I think you know why."

Well sorry for keeping your friend up, but I'll have you know that it's him who keeps pulling me into all these late-night sessions so don't give me that look, kid. Don't you dare give me that look, he wants to retort, but nah, he's in no mood to fight. He's running low on energy and caffeine and the last thing he wants to do is to pour his strength into something fruitless, something that won't make Jimin rise from the ashes and send Seokjin a text that's more than just a sad emoticon and a long string of 'juuuuk'. So instead, he mutters, "I've been telling him to take it easy," and clasps his hands right in front of him, clenches his fists until he can feel a sharp sting shooting up his arms, thawing him out a little, making him feel alive. "Though fine, I know that's really useless because the kid doesn't know how to take care of himself at all–"

"I should have known," Jeongguk whispers, then takes a deep, shaky breath. Slowly, he twists his mouth, gives Seokjin a once over, but it's harmless for the most part. Seokjin would normally feel uneasy being on the receiving end of a scrutinizing gaze – he gets shivers when Yoongi stares at him for more than five seconds with those squinty, squinty eyes of his, and his insides lurch when Jimin watches him breathe with such a fond, fond gaze – but Jeongguk isn't even studying him right now. It's as if Jeongguk has already done all his preliminary checks and now, now, now he's sure that all his assumptions are correct and he can act accordingly, say the right things. Drop the big bomb on Seokjin's lap right here, right now, even before Seokjin can get the slightest clue as to what it is. "I always though you two were just... running around, you know. Playing games, having fun, flirting with each other over the counter or something–"

"We–" Have never done anything like that, Seokjin's about to argue, but immediately he's taken back to all those times Jimin came over to visit him in Code: Coffee and maybe hung around too long at the bar, chatting Seokjin up as he worked on his 3D latte art, called the bears on the cup but called the barista cuter, "And I'm not saying this to get a free drink– Whoops. I didn't say anything!" He recalls without meaning to all those times he went to Hug Cafe and leaned closer to the counter as he placed his order, as he let his eyes wander and trace hot, searing lines along the bridge of Jimin's nose, the jut of Jimin's upper lip, and the gentle swipe of Jimin's tongue. And he remembers oh so clearly all those nights when Jimin would look up at him with a peculiar glint in his eyes and reach out to thread their fingers together so he could pull Seokjin close, close, closer.

Then Jimin would rest his head on Seokjin's shoulder, press his nose to the soft skin of Seokjin's neck, and whisper the faintest noises against it. No words – just noises, like Jimin didn't know what to say just yet, didn't know how to string his words together, didn't even know where to begin. And Seokjin would never fault Jimin on that because if he ever figured out why he, himself, hadn't pulled away yet the second Jimin's hot breath on his skin felt more like a step closer to home than miles away from it then he would have done so a long, long time ago. He would have grabbed Jimin by the shoulders and pulled Jimin in until the loud thumping inside them was already mirrored in the press of their chests against each other, in the tight lock of their gazes, in the soft brush of their lips against each other until their mouths found a nice fit. Until their bodies aligned.

So Seokjin thins his lips into a straight, straight line, the tight corners of his mouth curling up automatically, as if to make up for the sudden shift in expression, as if in an attempt to tell Jeongguk, Sorry for interrupting when I clearly had no nice comeback, but I just had to make things clear that whatever it is you're thinking about, whatever other people think of us and what we have been doing these past few months, that's not true. "I... don't know exactly what's been happening, but I do know we're friends," he answers after a while, voice cracking as finishes. "We're just really good friends."

"Friends who hold hands a lot. Friends who look like they're about two seconds away from making out out in the open, if they actually had an exhibitionist kink." Jeongguk scoffs. There's silence for a while, rising high above the low thrumming noise in the cafe, then the chimes at the door are ringing, signifying the arrival of another customer, two more, three. For a second, Seokjin thinks of telling Jeongguk, Maybe you should attend to your customers now and just forget I even dropped by, but soon Jeongguk pins him in place with a focused, focused stare, with a steady grip on his arm and a gentle cock of the eyebrow when Seokjin attempts to look away. "Friends who, what, hang out more in the evening than in the morning because other people might see them and they're afraid that, when that happens, things will feel more real? Friends who do get caught linking pinkies every so often but can't be assed to pull away because–because–" Jeongguk takes a deep, deep breath, air filtering through gritted teeth, then he's shaking his head, breathing out, laughing as he says, "I don't know, hyung, I don't know. Jimin-hyung smiles a lot, yes, but I haven't seen him smile at anyone the way he does at you in years. He clings to his favorites but I don't think I've ever seen him want someone so badly, he might actually die if he doesn't get what–who he wants. And you might think he's the friendliest person around, but the guy's actually scared of people more than I am. Jimin-hyung– He... doesn't fancy letting people into his life so easily. He'll be nice and friendly and civil to everyone, sure, and maybe he'll tell them about his past frustrations as a trainee, but I swear to God, hyung, I swear to God, the baristas here, our friends from when we were still trainees? They don't know how this cafe came to be. They don't know that he put it up in his parents' memory. They don't know even know the real reason behind him quitting idol life, just that he had to leave the soonest to take care of more important things. That he had to take care of himself once and for all. I know he told you because he told me he was shocked he could even talk about those things with someone he hasn't know for too long already. He's– He's very comfortable with you, yeah, no doubt about that, but I know every single person he's become comfortable with to know that whatever you two are up to–"

Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek, twists his mouth, then laughs a little. It comes out short and stuttered, dry, but Seokjin catches it just the same in the shiver that crawls up his spine, in the lurching sensation that blooms in his stomach when Jeongguk says, "So if you're going to tell me that you two are just friends, I'm telling you this now: nobody's gonna buy that shit. Not me, or Soojung-noona, or Sunyoung-noona, even if we're drunk. I'm–I'm sorry, hyung. It just doesn't work that way. And I'm sorry for dumping all of these on you all of a sudden, but Jimin-hyung will never listen to me if I talk to him about this, and he'll just keep saying he's fine and he's enjoying spending time with you and that nothing has to change–"

"But he wants something to," Seokjin says, voice barely above a whisper. His hands are clammy and the pads of his fingers are cold and he feels– He feels– He can't feel anything else but the thundering pulse at the base of his throat, the back of his ears and knees and elbows, in his chest where it beats the strongest. He doesn't even know what to say. Maybe the best thing to do would be to take the first train to Sindorim and knock on Jimin's door until Jimin answers and looks at him long enough without making a single noise as he asks, Is Jeongguk telling the truth? Were all of those things just a lie, part of some strange plot you've come up with? I know you're sick and drugged and probably hallucinating but I have to know the truth: is there anyone else in this world you'd rather share coffee with? I have to know, Jimin, so please help me out. I have to know. But Jimin is sick right now and people do strange and weird things when they're tired and weak and vulnerable. And the last thing Seokjin wants to do is to run away with some medal or trophy he'd stolen while Jimin wasn't looking, while Jimin was drugged with cough syrup and medicine and a fever that muddled with his brain and his ability to make sound decisions with both his heart and his mind.

"What's keeping him from saying something, then?" he asks after a while, once the tightness in his throat has eased a little. He can feel the thrumming pulse in his palms, the stinging pain in his temples, the buzzing in his hand where he's putting off reading another message from Jimin and setting his heart at ease through the whatever weird message Jimin has just sent him. And he can very well hear the soft ticking of his wrist watch, telling him it's his time is up, break time is over, he should be going on his way. If he wanted any chance at rushing to Sindorim during his break so he could talk to Jimin for a few minutes and still be able to make it back to Hapjeong before his break ended then he should have dragged his ass to the station minutes ago, a few blocks away, but too late. He can't possibly pray for whatever gods to stop time and grant him this one wish.

There's always the evening, though, when distance thins into nothing more than a hitch of a breath and reason fades into a light brush of fingers against each other. They will always have eleven in the evening until the whee hours of the morning, the most vulnerable, sacred hours when Seokjin might just be able to convince himself that Jimin wants more than to hold his hand and mouth words on his skin and breathe him in in ways friends normally didn't. So wait, a voice in his mind tells him, wait until he's well again and until you feel the time is right and–

Seokjin's phone gives a loud, obnoxious ring. Jeongguk lifts his eyebrows in question, drags his gaze to where Seokjin's gripping his phone tightly, then his lips are quirking up little by little, with each passing second that the phone keeps ringing. The buzz of the gadget against Seokjin's palm is just powerful enough for him to accidentally loosen his grip and drop the gadget to the floor, but he manages to hold onto it tightly and to turn it over to cast a quick glance at it. And that's when he takes a deep, shaky breath, bites the inside of his cheek as soon as Jimin's name comes into focus, and gulps hard in time for the sound of Jeongguk's light, faint laughter to fill his ears and break the thick, suffocating silence all around them.

"Go, the kid's impatient. He'll keep calling if you don't answer," Jeongguk whispers, then he's taking a step back, putting more distance between them, pulling away. And that's all Seokjin needs to undo the knots in his chest, to help him breathe more easily as he addresses Jeongguk with a curt nod and a small smile before slipping out of the coffee shop.

"Hey," he murmurs against the receiver, then shuts his eyes so he won't see his crazy reflection on the mirror. If only he can stop feeling the corners of his mouth tugging up into a violent smile, as well. "It's been a while."

Seokjin looks around for a while before risking a glance at his phone. Hell Hour has just passed and he feels a lot less guilty having to check his mobile for any notifications that he might have missed the whole time he was servicing all sorts of coffee enthusiasts, but goddamit, Jin, you have to detach yourself from your phone a little, just a little. Learn to let go, groans a voice at the back of his head. It's not as if his eyes have been glued to the screen the whole time, or that he's been twitching at every vibration he feels in his pocket set to the beat of every notification that comes in – no, he hasn't. He'd like to think he can control himself a bit more than that. And if any of the baristas ever found his phone addiction mildly disturbing then they would have called him out on it already. Hoseok and Amber would have teased him about it, and Kibum would have chimed in with something just as bad. Taehyung would be legitimately concerned, asked if he was waiting on bad news from someone or if he was being too much of a coward to text someone again, but soon after he'd be teasing Seokjin and nudging him in his side. And Yoongi would have grabbed him by the back of his shirt a long time ago, yanked him away from the counters, then whispered in his ear, "What did we say about not letting personal life get in the way of work again, hmm? What did we say about dealing with personal issues during office hours?"

He's prepared with an answer for that, worse comes to worst – Jimin is not a problem. He never has been and he'll never be. Sure, Jimin's texts may disrupt Seokjin's momentum at work from time to time and Seokjin would probably be taking orders, processing them as he writes them on the paper cups, and creating latte art about a few seconds faster if Jimin hadn't been messaging him every other minute, but Seokjin could easily just be suffering the consequences of not getting too much sleep and not being able to drink milk on the regular. So really, Jimin isn't the problem. The problem is that for all of the world's attempts at convincing Seokjin to stop thinking about the guy, wondering if the bugger is still sick and down with colds exactly how much juk he needs to satisfy his craving and to make him stop bombarding Seokjin with stickers of bowls of porridge, here Seokjin still is – heaving a sigh at the empty notifications panel of his phone and biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from actually frowning at the light of his screen fading to black.

"Go home, hyung. You're sick," Hoseok groans. He gives Seokjin a playful shove, just enough to bring him much, much closer to the employee's exit and to freedom. Seokjin still has another half hour until his next break, but he might just bite the bait if Hoseok kicks his ass hard enough and forces him to take a leave for the rest of the day. Maybe if Yoongi actually grabs him by the wrist and threatens to cook instant noodles for him for the next few days, he'll actually submit to his body's whims and just rest if only to spare himself from a life filled with instant noodles. "We love you and all and thanks for always worrying about us all the fucking time, but hyung. Hyung. Kibummie-hyung's already sick. We can't have another one of us spreading the virus and eventually going down."

"Hey," Kibum groans, or at least that's what it sounds like because the sound gets muffled in the press of the mask he's wearing to his mouth. Seokjin reaches out to give Kibum's arm a gentle squeeze, a light pat, then he's mouthing at Kibum, you really should go home now, though. You look really, really beat, in an effort to bite back the impending coughs tickling his throat. Kibum almost jerks his away in thoughtless retaliation, but for the most part he looks like he's about two seconds away from saying, only if we actually clock out together, hyung. Only if we punch out together. It's almost touching, Seokjin muses, how his kids' knee-jerk reaction to rest is dragging him to hell with them. Touching and amusing. The best kind of pain he has to deal with. "I'm on my way to recovery and big boss right here's just getting started on his coughing spree–"

"I prefer to call it my 'coughing symphony'," Seokjin says with a grin, then does his best imitation of a chorus of coughs while covering his mouth. Soon, Hoseok is offering him a wry smile, Amber is turning on her heel and shuffling back to the counter, and Kibum is slapping him on the arm, shaking his head, coaxing him to leave the shop right now, or else I'll really drag you outside, hyung!

No need for that, though, he muses as he feels something hot pressed to the back of his hands, when he hears a familiar voice grumbling, "Talk," right by his shoulder. He looks to his side, then, addressing Yoongi with a small smile, and accidentally gets a whiff of the strong scent lingering in his drink. It smells a lot like... Tea? his mind registers, and if their shared history is anything to go by then Seokjin is certain Yoongi is desperate to get him talking, to share, to open up. That, or he must look pretty bad if Yoongi's stimulus to Seokjin making really bad jokes in the afternoon is to make him shut up with tea instead of trusty coffee. "You know I'm okay with radio silence and static and tension and all that, but they're not kidding when they say you've been off recently."

Seokjin drops his gaze to his tea for a moment then wraps his fingers around the cup, shivering when he feels the heat seep into the cold pads of his fingers and bleed onto the rest of his skin. He catches his reflection on the machines, then, the blurry image of his face glaring at him in all its mad and sick glory. His first thought is, There's a constellation of pimples right where my glasses sit. That explains the sting on my cheek; the second, Wow, I do look sick. Most of the time, it takes a double-take for him to be hit with the realization that he does need to rest, but he's never seen himself look this much in need of a few more hours of sleep. Dark circles under his eyes, the skin at the corners crinkling not because of age but because of fatigue, that fucking little dipper of pimples blooming an angry, angry red– It isn't even breakout season yet! He wrinkles his nose at his reflection, then, scrunches his face when he sees his eyes looking like guarded, locked doors, and jerks back a little when he hears Yoongi say, "Even your fangirls have noticed you're no longer as 'sunshiney' as before. What's up?"

Sunshiney. Seokjin almost hurls over at the memory. Often, Yoongi's inability to forget important things is his best trait, but from time to time Yoongi will use references dating to when they were ten or fifteen or twenty-two and still dancing around each other, to that time when they both accidentally confessed to each other that they've been harboring this 'teeny tiny crush' on each other for the longest time (and Yoongi flushed the brightest shade of red when Seokjin whispered, "Yeah, I figured. The flower crown was a giveaway."), to that time when Seokjin's closest cousin got married and Yoongi was there the whole time to hold his hand through the newfound loneliness, the static in the sound.

"Hey, cheer up," Yoongi had said then, as he sat down on the floor to mirror Seokjin's position just outside the reception hall. Seokjin had groaned, told Yoongi to get up because you'll ruin your pants, and those are really nice dress pants even gave Yoongi's leg a light shove, but Yoongi was unrelenting. He stayed still, cocked an eyebrow at Seokjin as Seokjin looked to his side to meet Yoongi's focused gaze, and wouldn't let on until Seokjin was huffing, until Seokjin was twisting his mouth and curling his fingers into tight fists and digging them into his thigh. So Seokjin gave in, shut his eyes at the same time that he let himself just melt against the warm press of Yoongi's body against his own, and leaned his head on Yoongi's shoulder. Heaved a long sigh as Yoongi whispered, "It feels weird when you're not... sunshiney. Or whatever the hell it's called. Come on, you know your cousin won't leave you, right?" Then Yoongi reached over, ran his fingers through Seokjin's hair, and gave the tuft a light fluff. "She just– She just got married. Your bond didn't die. And if you think you actually won't be seeing her anymore because she's much too busy to be with her favorite cousin then–then–then it's not too far off but I'm telling you, Jin, I'm telling you, a bond as strong as the one you have with her won't die so easily. Have a little more faith in what you two have, okay? Just– Have a little more faith."

Seokjin's response was a choked chuckle; Yoongi's, a light jab to the arm, a gentle squeeze, then a light brush of his lips against Seokjin's forehead. Seokjin couldn't recall if his insides had lurched then, or if he thought of pushing Yoongi away because that wasn't the time to be getting too intimate, to be unwittingly filling that space that his cousin had just left empty and barren, to be remembering them. But he was tired then, a bit too weak, relenting. And Yoongi wouldn't stop making strange faces at him in the hope of making him feel better. So Seokjin smiled, grinned, laughed in earnest, burying his face in the crook of Yoongi's neck as Yoongi said, "There you go. A smile suits you better." And he made sure to twist his elbow in Yoongi's stomach even before Yoongi could get too close and leave more scars on him.

"Why didn't we ever get together?"

Yoongi furrows his eyebrows. He wets his lips, lets them hang parted, but nothing comes out. He doesn't even make a sound. For a second, Seokjin thinks of taking it back, of actually passing off his own question as a joke and telling Yoongi he's fine, he just says weird things sometimes, when he's feeling less than optimal and he's thinking of too many things and that one person back in Sindorim who has probably fallen asleep on him sometime between Seokjin saying Hell Hour was about to start, sorry if my replies are delayed, you know how crazy things get, and Jimin sending him cheerleading stickers and misclicking that cute little sticker that looks like a dog blowing him a kiss, but it's already out there. Might as well stand by the question he'd just posed. There's no turning back.

"That's what's bothering you?" Yoongi asks after a while, soft and tentative, then scoots even closer, until their knees touch. "That's what's bothering you, seriously?"

"Well–" Yeah, it used to, but right now I'm just really genuinely curious why we never were a thing. And if Jimin is actually asleep and not just avoiding me. And if I'm just actually really paranoid about everything and if there's a cure to this... thing. "No, not really," Seokjin answers, then thins his lips into a straight, straight line. Yoongi remains silent, cocks his eyebrow even more, and that's when Seokjin turns the tiny, uncertain quirk of his lips down into a scowl, teases the admission out of his chest and to the corners of his lips, gives in to Yoongi the same way that he did so many years ago. "Okay. You have to know that not everything revolves around you, Min Yoongi. F.Y.I. You're really cute but nope, the whole world doesn't revolve around you. And fine, it's been bothering me for a while, but that's not all there is to it–" He huffs. The corners of Yoongi's eyes are crinkling and the teasing glint in his eyes is shining even brighter than before, and the last thing he needs right now is for Yoongi to slowly mess with his brain. It's already chaotic in there, as it is. Jimin has already wrecked whatever semblance of order there was in his head the night they first clinked their coffee cups in their little celebration of Caramel's rescue. And as strange as it may see, Jimin is sort of... putting things back in order with all his texts, emoticons, stickers, many little random thoughts about coffee and coughs and colds and when are you bringing me juk, hyung? "You know what? Enlighten me. Tell me: why didn't we ever get together? I mean, we had, what, more than two decades to figure things out? I'm pretty darn sure you didn't give anyone else a flower crown–"

"And you probably never learned how to master cooking eggs for anyone else. And we probably never considered letting anyone room with us back in college because it would have been really weird having a stranger around when we've been living with each other practically all our lives–" Yoongi's voice trails off to light laughter, to a sudden choke when he coughs out and clears his throat. "You are never gonna let me live that down, are you?" he asks soon after, lips pulled down a little at the corners, but he's not fooling anyone with the amusement dancing in his eyes, in the way he lifts his eyebrows just so and in the way a chuckle escapes the corners of his mouth. And he doesn't look like he's about to run away from the question, either, but then Yoongi has never displayed interest in running. He has answers, all of them cocooned at the back of his mind; it's just that it takes a while for them to bloom into real words, something more tangible than a thought and careful, curious look, a prelude to touch. "Because we were emotionally constipated?"

Seokjin snorts. "That's just you," he murmurs, "I can poop out emotions at will. You, however, take forever to digest them." Yoongi laughs at that, even rolls his eyes in acknowledgement, but doesn't brush it off. If Yoongi so much as attempts to refute that or deny anything, he'll just be wasting time and energy; they haven't been breathing the same air for the past lifetime to not have each other's habits, quirks, thoughts, and not-secrets already memorized like the back of their hand. "But seriously, why didn't we ever... take the leap?"

Yoongi looks around for an audience. The crowd in the shop is thickening, fast growing in size and number, and the noise all around them is making a shiver slowly, slowly, slowly wrap itself around Seokjin's neck, but for the most part Seokjin can still hear the sound of Yoongi's faint humming. He does that often, when he's deep in thought and still trying to form the right sentences in his mind for the perfect enunciation, but sometimes he also does that to fill the silence in his head with something more than crackles and static. A low thrum, much like the beginnings of Seokjin's snores. "C'mere, come closer," Seokjin recalls Yoongi telling him one time, back when they were still in university and they had to go through the trouble of either migrating to each other's beds for warmth or pushing their beds together so they'll have more space to roll around in. It was one of many sleepless nights and the start of their attached beds becoming their dorm's identity rather than something to spice up their domesticated life with. "You make engine noises before snoring. Helps me sleep better."

"I make engine noises in my sleep?"

Yoongi had rolled his eyes, thinned his lips into something that looks a lot like a marriage of a pout and a frown. Clenched and unclenched his fists until his fingers were splayed on the sheets, tapping a familiar beat on the surface. For a second, Seokjin was positive Yoongi was going to push him away already, be done with him, let him sleep on his side of the room once and for all, but instead Yoongi reached out, hooked his fingers on the cuff of Seokjin's sweater, and pulled him down to the cushions. "Five minutes. After that, you can roll away. Just five minutes," Yoongi had whispered, then he was burying his face in Seokjin's hair, arms tightening around Seokjin's waist, the pulse in his palms just as quick as the racing in his chest. "Promise I'll let you go in five minutes."

"Well," Yoongi begins now, then drums a beat on the table. He plays with the saucer where his cup rests, twists it a few times before looking up, then he continues, "I–I honestly don't know. It just seemed... enough that time for us to be just us. Yoongi and Seokjin, not YoongiandSeokjin." That doesn't even make sense, Seokjin wants to argue, it sounds weird even for someone who has known you your entire life and has seen you grow, but he pushes the words to the back of his throat and, instead, waits for Yoongi to continue. He gets nothing but silence for a while, though, nothing but hand gestures painting the air with the blurry movement of Yoongi's hands, but dammit, Seokjin actually gets it. It's so simple – why fix what wasn't broken or at least a bit chipped? Why change something that already seemed so good and perfect? Why ruin the perfect equilibrium that they had for the sake of one too many kisses and tangled limbs and warm nights? They could get whatever the hell they wanted and more if they remained friends. So why the hell screw things up? "You get me, though, right? I just feel that if we ever tried to be... more than that, more than us, we'd throw everything off-balance. And I didn't want that. I didn't want to lose you."

Seokjin nods. Of course, they'd know – they actually made the terrible decision of allowing alcohol to take control over their body way, way back, third year in university, after their final exam. Seokjin couldn't remember much anymore, couldn't even remember why they'd decided to take shots from those people who'd passed around alcohol in that end-of-the-school-year party because everyone knew for a fact that the Student Council was notorious for getting people drunk off their asses, but he did remember Yoongi tumbling into his lap somehow, remembered Yoongi staring at him for the longest time with the fondest gaze and the silliest smile on his lips. What are you looking at? he meant to ask, more in an effort to push Yoongi away that to actually get an answer, but in the end he didn't have to. Yoongi was already telling him everything he had to know through light laughter, a cool finger running down the bridge of his nose, then three taps on the jut of his lower lip.

Then they were kissing. At first, it felt like a struggle, like they were trying to eat each other alive, but they soon found an easy enough rhythm that Seokjin thought it would be nice to keep his mouth busy like this. It would be... nice if he could kiss Yoongi again, and again, and again, preferably not with so much alcohol sloshing around in his brain and making him too aware of every single shift of their limbs, of the way Yoongi oh so gently curled his fingers at Seokjin's nape, or the way Yoongi bucked his hips in thoughtless response to the soft moan that escaped Seokjin's lips. And it would probably be nice if they didn't wake up with the nastiest hangover the day after, if they didn't wake up with a dull ache in their jaws and the perfect recollection of what had happened that fateful night, if they hadn't somehow arrived at an agreement, over the quietest breakfast they'd ever had, to never talk about the incident even if they were held at gunpoint and the only thing they could do to get out alive was to spill.

So they didn't. And they never did it again. And maybe it was better that way, because it made believing they'd just made it up in their heads so much easier, but then his system just had to recalibrate itself and develop a stimulus to a new strain of trouble in the form of Jimin's cute smile, his bright laughter, his mischievous gaze whenever he looked up at Seokjin after setting his now empty cup down on the counter and said, "One more cup? It's already late, anyway. No sense in rushing, right?"

"And besides," Yoongi adds after a while, then licks his lips again. "It's not as if you showed any interest–"

"Excuse you?" Seokjin reaches over, hoping to jab Yoongi on the arm, but he pulls away all too quickly when Yoongi uses his coffee as a shield. The first thought that occurs to him is, rude, so rude; the second, this is why we never worked out. You keep deflecting blows you could have taken for the sake of clarity and finality. You kept looking the other way the first chance you got. And then a third, all in one breath, I held your hand kept staring at your mouth cooked for you for so many years got us out of our fascination with alcohol even before we could get hooked and make out on the first flat surface we found and you say I never showed any interest– "I thought I was being obvious already–"

Yoongi leans back a little and draws his mug closer to his lips, but sets the mug down on the table even before he could take a sip. The corners of his mouth tug up a little, like he's been tickled into submission all of a sudden. He doesn't smile all the way yet, though. Instead, he chuckles, leans back in his seat, offers Seokjin just a bit more space and buys him time to breathe. "I thought I was being obvious already," he counters, then lets out a snort. "No, seriously, I was pretty sure back then–"

"You know what? Let's just admit it: we were really scared and stupid back then."

Yoongi heaves a sigh. The faint smile on his lips remains. "Well... That, we are."

Two beats, then silence settles between them, wrapping around their throats in a tight, tight grip. Seokjin looks around, then – for an audience, just to check if anyone has seen or heard what they've been talking about for the past few minutes, if Hoseok is craning his neck in an effort to see if anything is up or if Taehyung has been slyly inching closer to where they are so he can get intel on the conversation. They're safe and the noise all around them has dipped to nothing more than a low thrum, but they might as well be listening to nothing but radio silence right now. Yoongi keeps worrying his lower lip and lifting his fingers from the table just as soon as he's rested them on it with a soft 'thud'. Seokjin keeps letting out a heavy breath, shaking his head, letting laughter spill from the corners of his lips in sputters. And Seokjin knows they both want to say something, anything, but they've already told each other everything they'd been dying to know these past few years.

"Nothing we can do about that now, though," Yoongi says after a while, heaving a sigh as he lets out soft laughter. He looks up, peeks through the narrow slits of his bangs, then gives Seokjin's foot a gentle kick in a twisted form of apology, the same way that he did back when they were still younger, when things were much less complicated than they should be. Seokjin feels a sharp tremor crawl up to the back of his knees, wrapping around them in a thick, cold cloak, then he's shivering all over, shutting his eyes tightly, looking away. "You have a new kid now, right? Coffee shop owner with a nice ass? Whatever happened to him, by the way? Kid stopped watching you through the windows like an absolute creeper or even flirting with you at the counter during work hours–"

"Jimin," Seokjin breathes out, and immediately he feels something bloom in his chest, snaking up his throat until it can score sharp lines of heat to the back of his ears. It isn't something completely overwhelming – he can still breathe, for the most part, just that every deep breath he takes feels like taking one big leap closer to where Jimin is cocooned in blankets in Sindorim instead of closer to untying the tight knots in his chest or hacking at them until the fibers come off from where they'd been woven together so tightly for the longest time. It isn't even something new – Jimin has made him feel this way countless times before. That doesn't mean it doesn't scare Seokjin the least bit, though, the way the mere mention of Jimin's name makes his insides lurch, or the way his body responds to a memory, a flash of a smile, the lightest brush of their knuckles against each other. And it doesn't mean he can keep himself from trying to come to Jimin's defense, that he can keep himself from telling Yoongi that Jimin is not a kid and repeating, "His name is Jimin."

"Whatever. Mr. Nice Ass," Yoongi says, shrugging.

"You sound jealous."

"And you sound like you're trying to change the topic," Yoongi is quick to counter, the corners of his mouth pulling up into that shit-eating grin of his that Seokjin hates a whole lot. It was the same bright smile that made him wave the white flag in surrender back in college, when Yoongi wanted to turn Tteokbokki Tuesday into a Kimbap EsKapade and hop from one stall to another in search for the perfect kimbap along the stretch of food trucks in Hongdae. Sure, Yoongi bought him three different kinds of treats from the Dunkin' Donuts just across the street before they ran to station so they could catch the last train, but in the very end it was Yoongi who had walked away with the truth that whatever shit Seokjin said about having a strong and firm resolve was a complete lie in the face of Yoongi's knowing grin. So Seokjin holds onto the last fiber of victory dangling from Yoongi's lips now, the fact that Yoongi hadn't denied being the slightest bit jealous at them talking about 'Mr. Nice Ass', and growls at Yoongi when the latter even fluffs the tuft of his hair. "Easy, kitten. No need to know me your claws; I know you have 'em. I'm just really curious: whatever happened to the kid? I was pretty sure you two were having the time of you life, then he just... stopped showing up here and you stopped returning from his silly shop with the craziest look on your face and you're actually sleeping before one in the morning and now you... look like horse shit meets Disney or something." He thins his lips into a tight, tight smile for a while, twists his lips, lifts his eyebrows at Seokjin as if teasing a knee-jerk reaction out of him, but nope, Seokjin won't let Yoongi walk away with a win so easily. So instead, he answers Yoongi with a perfunctory smile, the first one his lips remember to quirk up to, and keeps his gaze on Yoongi as the latter shrugs and lets out a long sigh and leans even closer, just close enough for Seokjin to catch the light crinkles at the corners of Yoongi's eyes. "Now, I may not be a detective, not yet, but I'm preeety sure those two are linked. 90% probability. Actually, y'know what? 98% probability."

"I'm pretty sure I want to kick you in the balls right now, now that you actually have balls," Seokjin mumbles. He flexes his fingers, curls them into tight fists, then gives Yoongi's feet a light kick in thoughtless retaliation. "He's sick, that's why he hasn't been dropping by."

"You look more miserable now than when you were without sleep. When he wasn't sick yet."

State the obvious even more, won't you? he wants to groan out loud, but it's not as if he still has to. He can already feel his face scrunching on its own accord, like his muscles have decided to stop waiting for him to act on what he feels and have every single emotion coursing through his veins show in the wicked contours of his face. And Yoongi is already scoffing and shaking his head, the grin on his lips softened only by the steam coming from the coffee he's taking sips of. If Seokjin was actually planning to dodge this bullet then he should have known better than allow Yoongi to drag him to the farthest corner of the room for interrogation. If every fiber of his being really didn't want to have the flip side of the talk that was then he should have gone against the gentle tug of Yoongi's hand on his wrist and said, I'm really busy, Yoongi, sorry. Maybe later? We can always talk when we get home. I have time, anyway. I can make time.

"I'm surprised you haven't brought him juk yet," Yoongi says after a while, once he's set his mostly empty cup of coffee back down on the table. He taps a few beats on the surface, this time slower than before, and part of Seokjin feels like the gradual peeling process is absolute torture. Sure, Yoongi is just being gentleman enough to ease him into this whole realization process, but does Yoongi really have to tease answers out of him when he already knows what Seokjin is about to say? Why can't Yoongi just shove all the realities in Seokjin's face or chuck them one by one at him so he can snap out of his silly trance of denial? Why does Yoongi have to know Seokjin so damn well to acknowledge the fact that the most effective realizations for Seokjin are those that he takes slow and measured steps to during the course of a conversation? "You do that with most of your friends, especially your favorites. And from what I've seen, you two are really close."

"Well–" Seokjin isn't too sure about him and Jimin being 'really close'. After all, most of the things he knows about Jimin are related to coffee and his job and his shop just two blocks away from Seokjin's own. How did he find out that Jimin was planning to have a dance studio built in Sindorim, about a ten-minute walk from his flat? By asking Jimin why he didn't just put up his business there and, instead, decided to establish Hug Cafe in Hapjeong. How did he find out that Jimin's brother was returning from Australia after graduating and successfully earning his master's degree? By asking why Jimin was trying so hard to come up with a new latte idea to impress 'a very special someone' with, because his brother was, apparently, a huge fan of flavored coffee and latte art. How did he find out that another one of Jimin's brilliant talents was asking for favors? By making the mistake of asking what was up when Jimin made him one of the best Piccolos he'd ever tasted out of the blue, and still pressing on even if Jimin had already brushed it off as him just 'feeling like it'.

"You're gonna give me free lessons, right, hyung?" Jimin crooned that time, then hooked his arm around Seokjin's own. They weren't done with the dishes yet, still had a few more cups to wash and dry so they could arrange them in the dish rack already, but Jimin was unrelenting, wouldn't untangle himself from where he was pulling Seokjin even closer, until all Seokjin could see was how blindingly orange Jimin's hair was and the red dot on his nose from the pimple that had just died down and how short Jimin's eyelashes were. Jimin moved them in a way so entrancing, though, that it was impossible to look away even if there was supposedly nothing particularly fascinating about the way Jimin batted his eyelashes. Seokjin would always blame it on the lighting or fatigue or his glasses making him see weird things, but a huge part of him knew too well that this whole thing was his brain and heart conniving against him, turning their backs on him, and siding with Jimin to hand Jimin victory on a silver platter. "I mean, who else would I learn from but the best, right? C'mon, hyung, c'mon–"

"Well, I... don't really have to take care of him," Seokjin answers, then drops his gaze to his tea. The wisps of smoke that were once clinging to the brown surface have now dissipated and it would be easier to drink the the tea now, but his insides keep turning in the most vicious, violent manner. Maybe his tummy doesn't agree with tea. Or his system just doesn't agree with the topic at hand. "He's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"Yeah, you don't, but you want to," Yoongi whispers. Seokjin's response is a huff, a faint snarl, another kick under the table, but Yoongi hasn't stopped smiling at him yet. And the asshole hasn't stopped looking at him with the most knowing gaze, either, as if Yoongi is reminding him, you do know that you're talking to the same person you've been living for nearly your entire life, don't you? C'mon, Jin, it's just me. You can tell me anything. "What's holding you back?"

A lot of things, Seokjin muses: he doesn’t exactly know what they are, but he does know he wants Jimin to at least feel a bit better again so he could show up at work and have late night coffee sessions with Seokjin once more. He... wants to take care of Jimin, but at the same time he isn’t too opposed to Jimin taking care of him. He wants to hop on the first train to Sindorim right now and, well, what else will he do once he gets to Jimin’s place but to make sure Jimin is doing alright, that he hasn't been straining himself the whole time he was supposed to be taking things easy, to kiss the bubu away? Seokjin knows with every fiber of his being what he’s supposed to do, but that tiny voice inside him that keeps wailing at the thought of Jimin being included in his short list of exceptions when it comes to habits and routines and the constant keeps him from taking action, keeps drumming a thundering pulse at his temples and warning him, Remember what happened the last time you formed habits around someone? Remember how that made you feel so alive and comfortable and at home but, ultimately, ruined you? Remember how you're actually the worst at weaning yourself off of a habit in the form of a person? Remember how you've been telling yourself time and again to be kinder to yourself once and for all?

Seokjin's phone sounds off – just a tiny beep, no more that a loud chiming sound that dies down as soon as it sets in. Yoongi laughs in an instant, just before the sound fades into silence and at the same time that Seokjin's breath hitches, then Yoongi is reaching over again, threading his fingers through Seokjin's hair, giving it a light ruffle. There's none of the rough crinkles at the corners of his eyes anymore, replaced instead with a softness that makes Seokjin's chest grow tight on most days, but the knots inside him loosen when Yoongi drops his hand to Seokjin's shoulder, the rough pads of his fingers leaving patches of warmth in their wake. It feels just a bit strange for Yoongi to be touching him like this out in the open, where everyone and no one but themselves can see them, but it feels even stranger that even if he keeps waiting, waiting, waiting for that familiar sinking sensation in his stomach to make his insides boil, it never comes.

It can't be that easy, whispers a voice in his head. Two beats, then, But then it's always been this easy. We just made things much more difficult for ourselves. We gave ourselves a hard time."

“Go, go, pay the kid a visit," Yoongi begins, then he's standing from his seat and ushering Seokjin to do the same, to finally take his leave, don't tell me you're actually waiting for me to drag you to the station. Kim Seokjin, you better get your ass on the train or else– "Make some juk for him or something. Or hang on, there's this really good juk place just two blocks from the dumpling shop. Just go straight from the station then you should see it there. Better yet, cure him with true love’s kiss–" Then Yoongi stops dead in his speech, grits his teeth, and shakes his head as he grumbles, "Fuck. We should stop watching Taehyung’s movies–"

"You like 'em, though," Seokjin teases, punctuating his statement with a nudge in Yoongi's side, with a light pinch on Yoongi's cheek just before his phone beeps another time. The truth is, it can easily be someone else bugging him with messages and concerns, or it can just be him getting notifications from at least half of all the celebrity accounts he'd followed when he first got a KKT account, but he knows too well that Jimin can outlast text bots and give them a run for their money if he's feeling like it, if he's actually feeling a bit more competitive than usual or just dying to busy himself with something while he does nothing but help himself recover at home. "So the kid says he's clocking in even if he's sick because he's been away for too long and–" He lets out a low groan, a faint ugh, and shakes his head. "Seriously, do I have to strap him to his bed and force him to relax or–"

"Do kinky things to him? Yeah, you probably should," Yoongi says matter-of-factly, straight face and all. Seokjin feel a bit envious – at how Yoongi can talk about it so freely whereas he has to still the lurching sensation in his stomach, at Yoongi plain being himself and dropping big bombs of realizations at Seokjin's feet in the hope of making him a better person someday. At how easy they feel now that they have talked when they could have gotten this a long time ago, if they'd just been a bit more courageous and taken a leap. "Kidding. Just... say what you want to say – that he needs to rest and, if he doesn't, you're gonna twist his nipples until he's begging you let him go, and that you're coming over with juk. Yummy juk. Because your juk's still the best I've had in years. Better than that of the shop's a few blocks away."

"Because nobody else will ever cook it exactly the way you like it."

"Because everybody else screws it up. And you're not just everybody else." Yoongi stops in his tracks, drops his gaze to his hands for a moment, then swipes his tongue along the swell of his lower lip. Peers through the narrow slits of his bangs and tilts his head just so. He looks like he's seconds away from doing something really weird, like fisting his hands in Seokjin's shirt and pulling Seokjin close enough that all they have to do to be kissing again once and for all is to breathe out, but Yoongi does none of those. Instead, he laughs a little and whispers, "I haven't seen anyone worry you this much and make you smile, at the same time. It's almost... magical."

Seokjin laughs to himself. It's been years, he muses. It's been an entire lifetime with Yoongi since someone has last shaken him up in the most beautiful, most destructive way possible.

"Why are we realizing this just now?" Seokjin asks a little later, on their way back to the other side of the counter. His fingers have thawed out now and the pulse in his palms is no longer quick, but the queasy sensation at the pit of his stomach remains. He'll have to rid himself of this later, when he finally walks up to Jimin's doorstep with whatever confession he can muster. "I mean, you, us, this?"

Yoongi laughs a little. He snakes an arm around Seokjin's shoulder just before they come within a three-foot radius of where the others are, careful not to startle anyone or draw attention to themselves. Then, taking a deep breath, he pulls Seokjin closer at the same and whispers right in his ear, a few conscious inches hanging between them, keeping them from getting too close: "We're casualties of learning, but then the war never really stops. That doesn't mean we have to make the same mistakes, though. That doesn't mean we can't make things right."

Seokjin wiggles his toes in his shoes and takes a deep, shaky breath. Halfway through winter and he has finally adjusted to the shift in temperature. Not that autumn has been any kinder to him, but he's never been the best of friends with rain and snow and the biting cold. And while his body has already thawed out, for the most part, and finally eased into the season, it doesn't mean his knees won't rebel against him or that the pads of his fingers won't feel just a tad dry from the chilling winds whipping at him every few minutes. That doesn't mean his heart won't race in his chest, against the bag he has his arms wrapped around and is gripping tighter by the second, or that he won't feel the thundering pulse at the base of his throat everytime he rehearses his lines in his head and swallows hard, hoping he won't even have to do this whole confrontation thing. In all honesty, he's a champion at confrontations – relative to Yoongi, at least, or to Kibum who has yet to make clear his intent of actually asking Amber out sometime soon, maybe in the next... quarter or so – but there are a few things he can't be coaxed to take head on unless it's a matter of life and death: cliffs, flying cockroaches, screaming in the dark that sounds nothing like sex noises at all. That heart-breaking scene where Mufasa dies in The Lion King, and the part where Jessie goes through her whole reminiscing sequence and misses the owner who'd dumped her for new toys.

And then, in hastily scribbled text, the most recent addition: talking with Jimin face-to-face after so many days of not seeing each other and feeling around through weird text messages, settling the score in the most twisted manner by finally flashing Jimin all of his cards that may or may not spell out a confession.

"I can't believe you actually came," comes a faint murmur, soft and almost garbled what with the obstruction Seokjin is holding up. He doesn't have to ask the person to repeat what he's just said, though; he knows this voice well enough that he can make out Jimin's words even if Jimin was brushing teeth or had just gotten a tooth extracted or was just too lazy to talk. He knows this tone the same way he does his own, enough that, even if he closes his eyes and doesn't touch any part of the man's face – of Jimin's sinful face – he will still be able to tell, just by listening to the little lilts in Jimin's voice or the way Jimin breathes, whether Jimin's feigning happiness or keeping himself from getting too excited or just plain tired from having to service people with varying moods for close to twelve hours. And he knows Jimin enough that he's certain of Jimin's next string of actions already because Jimin, for all of his being adventurous with his coffee decisions, isn't the type to deviate from his routines too much.

He doesn't let people in too easily, rings Jeongguk's voice in his mind, at the same time that Jimin adds, "With food. You... actually came with–" Jimin laughs, shakes his head, then tilts his head until Seokjin can catch a glimpse of Jimin's bright orange hair. "Come inside, hyung. You look like you're in pain, oh God–"

"And you look–" Seokjin shifts his gaze from where he's been keeping his eyes fixed on his feet to whatever he can see inside the bag, the fraction of the kimbap container peeking from the edges, the fruits he'd stuffed inside while running through his lines in his head, and the pack of marshmallows he'd almost forgotten he included in the 'get well soon package'. Two beats, then he's finally meeting Jimin's fond, fond gaze, getting a clear and crisp visual of the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the gentle tilt of his head, the small, weak smile on Jimin's lips that blooms into a shy one when he sucks in his lower lip, the light dusting of pink on his cheeks. There it is again, the heavy thumping in his chest, drumming beats on his skin and making him shiver, and if he had his way he'd just drop the food to the ground and hold Jimin close, but no. Right now, Jimin needs juk more than he does a hug, and he needs time to breathe else he might just be the one to rip his own resolve and lean in too close until he can press a soft kiss to Jimin's forehead and say, I... am really glad you look much better. I'm glad you're finally recovering from your coughs and colds. You have no fucking idea how glad I am to be seeing you again. "You look like shit."

Jimin snorts. The smile on his lips turns upside down, into a scowl that looks funny and not at all scary on Jimin's lips. "Well, you look worse. Just– Fix your hair, hyung. You look like you've been through a storm," Jimin mumbles, then he's reaching out, tiptoeing until he can sort of rest his elbows on the top container in the back, threading his cold, shaking fingers through Seokjin's hair. He messes it up a bit more – or maybe Jimin's just messing up with Seokjin's system even more because they're close now, too close, that if Jimin's body so much as gives a powerful jerk, he'll crash into Seokjin's arms and end up burying his face in Seokjin's neck and making puffs of heat bloom there when he snorts, chuckles, cackles, laughs. Jimin is shit at suppressing his cute little giggles, but it's not as if Seokjin's any better. It's not as if he'll shrug Jimin off or push him away for it, either. He is much too enamoured with the sound to think of shushing Jimin with anything less than a kiss. "You... didn't have to, though. I mean, go here and bring food and–"

And confess? Seokjin laughs a little. It makes Jimin furrow his eyebrows, squint, quirk up his lips a little. He looks like he's two seconds away from saying something, from asking why Seokjin is laughing, what he finds funny, why he is being weird, but if Jimin ever feels like breaking the silence that has just settled between them, he doesn't. Instead, he leans back, brushes his warm palms against the back of Seokjin's hands, and grips the bag tightly, lightening the load a little. "Did you actually bring a care package for me or something? This is huge!"

It takes a while for them to get settled down, what with Jimin constantly offering to help Seokjin out with setting the table, reheating the food, doing everything that will keep him from letting Seokjin take the reins and move around his kitchen as if it were Seokjin's own. Seokjin gets it, though, the difficulty in letting someone take care of you, in depending on that other person to make you feel better or at least ease the dull ache in your every muscle, somehow. Sure, he goes for a check up at the first sign of coughs and colds at the same time that he pumps himself up with vitamin C and he's okay with that kind of help, but have Yoongi subtly fussing over him by asking if he'd already taken his cough medicine, the one for the colds, "How about the one for your acid reflux? Aren't you supposed to be taking that thirty minutes before having a meal?" and he'll immediately feel a bit off-kilter, strange, weird.

"You know, if this is the kind of juk I'll get to eat whenever I'm sick then I won't mind having coughs and colds every now and then," Jimin comments out of the blue, words garbled by the food he's just stuffed in his mouth and the soft chuckle that makes him shake all over before slipping from his lips. Seokjin furrows his eyebrows at Jimin in response, narrows his eyes, even shakes his head in disapproval because who the hell in his right mind would even want to get sick on a regular basis just for recovery food? Who in his right mind would even want to go through bursts of pain every other day and follow a schedule of misery? Right, you're forgetting that Jimin is actually crazy, murmurs a voice in his head, but even then– He swings his leg to the side, kicking Jimin's foot under the table in retaliation, and shakes his head another time, then mouths just before he takes a generous serving of beansprouts and kimchi, don't you even dare.

"I'm not saying I'll find ways to get sick, hyung. Come on, I'm not that stupid," Jimin groans. He frowns, scowls, makes a strange noise that makes him sound like a cross between a kitten and a puppy. "But... thank you. For coming over. And the food. It's really–"

Good, I can tell, Seokjin almost blurts out, but instead he shifts in his seat, looks to his side so he's facing Jimin in earnest, and reaches over, brushing his thumb along the gentle swell of Jimin's lower lip and wiping off the excess porridge that had somehow also bled onto the corners of Jimin's mouth without Jimin realizing. Jimin's first response is wide, wide eyes and a hitch of the breath; his second, to lean back just a little only to move so much closer, relaxing against the touch, maybe even melting into it. Jimin puts on... a certain kind of face whenever he submits himself – to defeat, to Seokjin's bad jokes and equally bad dancing that one time Jimin caught him jamming to 90's music while doing his last checks at Code: Coffee, to Seokjin's light touches, more careful and cautious than curious. Jimin will flutter his eyelashes on reflex and let a soft smile tug up at the corners of his lips. He will heave a sigh that soon drops to low humming, until he's bobbing his head or shaking it to whatever tune is playing in his ears at the moment. Then he'll open his eyes from where they'd been half-lidded earlier, meeting Seokjin's gaze, and suck in his lower lip before a grin blooms on it and laughter takes over. Routine – that's what it is, and part of Seokjin wonders if Jimin does the same with other people, if he looks at every single person he knows with as much fondness and understanding and acceptance that Seokjin almost feels like he's the best dancer South Korea has ever seen even if he can't attempt to dance an entire song without wishing he hadn't even said 'yes' to Hoseok's dare.

Rude – that's what Jimin is for still being so damn attractive even with the last dregs of his flu clinging to his features, casting him a pale glow. And insane – that's what Seokjin is for even thinking of these things even if Jimin is already addressing him with a curious gaze and a knowing smile, even as Jimin whispers, "Missed me?"

Seokjin laughs a little. Not in a million years, he'd say in an attempt to save face or to dodge the next slew of questions, but nah. He's too old for this, too old to be playing games and too old to be denying himself the things he wants. So he shrugs, leans back in his seat, sits on his still shaking hands and heaves a sigh, letting out the other words he's dying to say in a murmur of breaths and going with the single statement he feels safest letting slip from his lips. "What do you think?"

"I think–" I think we should talk, supplies a voice in Seokjin's head. About our feelings, about you and me. About us. Jimin clicks his tongue, bites back whatever silly grin is about to surface on his lips and take root in his body. There it is again, the cross between a scowl and a smile pulling up and down at the corners of his mouth, keeping him from making a sound decision, but it looks just a bit different from the many different looks Seokjin has seen Jimin wear in the past. There's a bit more certainty to it, like Jimin is about 90% sure of the feeling he wants to go with, just that he's waiting for one last sign, a 'go', the green light to fill that 10% with something to calm his nerves and push him to take action.

So Seokjin gives it to him, swipes his tongue along his lower lip at the same time that he drops his gaze to the tip of Jimin's nose, the jut of his upper lip, his mouth. He catches the way Jimin gulps hard, the slow, gradual rise of Jimin's shoulders, the shuddering breath Jimin lets out as he exhales with his lips still pressed into the perfunctory smile tugging up at the corners of his lips. "No, I know you did," Jimin answers in a voice so faint, he could have just been breathing. But there's no outside noise to mess with Seokjin's hearing this time, no winds or the low humming of the coffee machines or little mewling and yipping sounds from kittens and puppies running around the cafe to drown out Jimin's words and actions. Seokjin knows he's hearing things right – Jimin's voice, the little cracks in Jimin's tone, Jimin's heavy, even breathing even as the legs of the chair he's sitting on scrape against the floor and produce a shrill, squeaking sound when he pushes himself up on his feet and away from the dining table. "Do you– Do you want coffee or anything? Tea, juice, more water, beer?"

Soju and beer and whatever else can numb me for a while and give me courage would be great, to be honest, Seokjin thinks of saying, but he pushes the words to the back of his throat until he can feel them tickling his insides no more. Taking a deep, breath, then, he answers, "Maybe later. Can't say no to coffee," and curls his fingers into tight, tight fists until he can feel his nails digging into his skin, making him feel more alive. "We... have to talk."

In hindsight, maybe Seokjin should have said, 'we have to talk now,' because Jimin keeps trying his hardest to stall, to prolong Seokjin's agony, to steer their conversations in an entirely different direction. Which is weird, if Seokjin thinks about it carefully because months of baring themselves to each other through late-night coffee sessions has taught him that every bone, every muscle, every nerve in Jimin's body is hard wired to do nothing but whatever he feels like doing, to take big and great leaps, to blindly rush into things without preamble. And Jimin isn't the type to do things in half measures. He'll either put a hundred percent of himself in everything he does, or halfass 'latte art' that looks more like a dollop of cream made to melt by the sizzling espresso underneath. He'll either grab Seokjin's hand and weave their fingers together and bury his face in the crook of Seokjin's neck so he can leave marks there with his shallow breathing and the light brush of his chapped lips against Seokjin's skin, or stay three feet away from Seokjin and watch him from a distance, from the other side of the counter, giving Seokjin time to breathe. So maybe this is Jimin easing himself into the concept of someone actually taking on his challenge and running alongside him instead of trailing far behind. Maybe this is Jimin rehearsing his lines in his head and memorizing them until he can recite them even if Seokjin cuts him haflway through with tentative touches and curious gazes. Maybe, Seokjin muses as Jimin flicks some soap suds in his direction, as Jimin leans in to blow away the suds that have collected on the tip of Seokjin's nose as they wash food containers and glasses and chopsticks, as their elbows brush every so often in their battle for dominance at the sink, this is Jimin testing the waters the same way he did before, except now he's dipping his feet into the ocean and not the cozy little swimming pool they'd been dancing around in months ago.

Seokjin doesn't even know how to swim. He sure hopes Jimin does, though, or else they'll just have to drown in this wild, wicked chase forever. He'll have to pull Jimin down to the bottom of the ocean if he has to. It's the only way he'll live.

"Go, make yourself comfortable," Jimin says now, as he shoves one of the many plushies lounging on the couch in Seokjin's chest. The living room looks more like a huge shelf of plushies and collectibles than anything else, but it's a lot better than Seokjin and Yoongi's pet shop at home, what with all the cats walking around and making themselves comfortable in every cozy place there is. The stuffed toys are actually grouped by show and by era, and Jimin has an extensive collection of Pikachu wearing different kinds of costumes in a separate couch, the critters looking as if they're holding a meeting and plotting how to conquer the world. Kind of cute, if Seokjin will be asked, but only because he has a Mario collection at home and Yoongi has recently started collecting Rilakkuma and Kumamon merchandise to rival Seokjin's treasure trove. Otherwise, Jimin wins hands down. If he can get Yoongi to create a story out of collectibles, maybe they stand a chance, but right now, Jimin has already won by a landslide. "Most of these are actually Kookie's, though he's already moved to a place of his own. He keeps forgetting to get all of his stuff from here. Can't blame him, though: we've been living together since... he retired from idol life? Kid can't be assed to go back to Busan, says it's lonely because his parents will tell him he wasted nearly an entire lifetime and a wealth of dreams and–" Jimin heaves a sigh. "Y'know how much of a downer that is. Not cool at all."

Right. They live together. Used to live together. Of course, Seokjin murmurs to himself, and immediately his mind slips into a dark, dark place where he imagines Jimin and Jeongguk lounging on the couch while play-fighting using their plushies. Does Jimin pin Jeongguk down on the cushions with a steady grip and his arms on either side of Jeongguk? Does Jimin... lean in too close and blow hot breaths on Jeongguk's skin in an effort to make him surrender? Does Jimin crash into Jeongguk and mouth words on his collarbones in a way that sends shivers crawling up Seokjin's spine and wrapping around his neck in a tight, vicious grip? Do they even do half of the trouble he and Jimin get themselves into whenever they let their gazes linger, whenever they touch?

He takes a deep, shaky breath and tightens his fists, trying to shrug off the thought, and swallows hard at the last image of Jimin and Jeongguk getting a bit too intimate that flashes at the back of his eyelids "I feel him, though. Better to stay in a happy place," Seokjin says in an attempt to push the words further back. Then, clearing his throat, he adds, "Why did he get a new place? Is the house too big for his plushie collection now?"

"Y'know, I asked the same thing when he told me he was moving out," Jimin answers, voice cracking in laughter, then he's sinking in his seat, throwing his head back against the cushions, holding a plushie close to his chest. He shuts his eyes for a moment and breathes in deep, and Seokjin allows himself to stare, to study the sharp angle of Jimin's jaw and the way Jimin slowly, very slowly, runs fingers through his hair and brushes his bangs away from his eyes. His dark circles have gotten worse and he looks ten times more tired and worn out when he opens his eyes again, like he's finally succumbed to the last wave of exhaustion telling him to just relax and breathe, but it doesn't take away from how the warm, dim lighting in the living room makes Jimin look a lot less like a threat and a lot like–like– not even the prize, but the goal. Even with the faint dusting of pink on Jimin's cheeks that probably isn't from embarrassment but is, in fact, from the coughs and colds he's recovering from, he still looks beautiful. It's weird. It's ridiculous. It's unfair. "He said it's because he's a 'big boy' now and he wants to have a plan B for when he gets sexiled in the near future."

Seokjin laughs a little. I'm sure he'll grow up to be a fine kid, he's about to say, but soon Jimin cuts him off with a warm palm on his knee, then light pressure on his leg when Jimin shifts so their ankles brush against each other. The contact makes Seokjin shiver, but Jimin eases the goosepimples blooming on his skin and steals his attention by rubbing slow circles on his thigh as he says, "So, you... wanted to talk to me about something?"

More like, I wanted to sign myself up for hell, grumbles a voice in Seokjin's head, but he shushes that away even before he can blurt out his clumsy confession. "More like, I... wanted to tell you something," Seokjin admits, then, voice thinning to a whisper as he tries to pull up the corners of his mouth into a big, awkward smile. The stretch stings a bit, feels a lot like his mouth is being pried open so he can stop pushing his words further back and just let them spill into the open air between them without preamble, but he presses on just the same, keeps his hands balled into fists as he puts his thoughts in sequence, and runs through lines he's rehearsed at least a hundred times in his head. "A lot of things," he adds after a while, when Jimin sniffles, and that's when Jimin's body gives a powerful jerk that bleeds onto Seokjin's own, where their knees touch. "Like, a hell lot of things."

Jimin snorts. "I thought we were done with the secrets thing. Don't tell me you're really a secret agent or something." He scrunches his face a little at that, shakes his head, rolls his eyes when Seokjin whispers a 'maybe', but for the most part he's still smiling, drumming a slow beat on Seokjin's knee, urging him to go on. Slowly, Jimin loosens his hold on the stuffed toy and sits it right beside him, keeping a close eye on Seokjin the entire time. And Seokjin evens out his breathing as he urges the words to come out of hiding, ready for when Jimin finally gives him the go signal – "But whatever. Go, fire away. I'm all ears."

"I'm–" A coward – that might just be a great and powerful start. He'd used something similar before, back in school, during one of those public speaking competitions one of his teachers asked him to join. He'd nabbed a gold for it and was lauded by a handful of teachers as one of the best speakers the school has ever seen, but even that didn't seem to mean much for his parents. Or for his mother, at least, since his father was neutral when it came to most things, even when it came to the type of sugar to use in coffee, whether brown sugar was superior to white. So maybe going with 'coward' isn't such a good idea. It won't be nice to beat himself up in the very beginning, knowing he has ten, twenty, thirty feet of long sentences left to say. So he clears his throat, recalibrates, gulps hard, and licks his lips as he continues, "Sorry. For not bringing you juk much, much earlier. Or for not worrying about you a bit more when you said you were sick. I guess I'm just not... used to you actually getting beaten up by coughs and colds. I should've know better when you actually stopped replying quickly–"

Jimin laughs a little. He tilts his head, worries his lower lip, then asks, "Are you serious– You really kept track of my response time? Wow."

"You think I'll even have time to do a countdown when you keep shooting out messages, one after another?" Seokjin argues. He makes sure to punctuate his statement with a small smile, though, with light laughter, nothing more than gentle tremors making his shoulders shake and coaxing Jimin's lips to quirk up. The truth is, there are even times when Jimin would ask him if he's alright just when he's about to say he's having the shittiest day, or times when Jimin would be sending him stickers at random that actually work well enough to make Seokjin feel ten times better after having a rough day. Part of him sort of believes Jimin has the ability to read people like an open book, to sift through the many thoughts in their minds even without their permission, but the more logical part of him, the one that doesn't mind losing every often, knows all too well that Jimin already has him memorized like his favorite song. After all, he isn't the hardest to figure out when he lets people study him carefully. And Jimin isn't exactly the type who'd give up trying to fully understand someone just because he couldn't nail it at first. Jimin won't give up until he's gotten what – who – he wants. "I'm a super slow typer. I got really low marks back in typing class – there's your proof."

"And this is proof of your worry, hyung," Jimin answers, voice just barely above a whisper, then cocks his head in the direction of the table they'd already cleaned up, the dishes neatly arranged in the rack, the thinning distance between them. "Honestly, I was half kidding when I asked you to bring me juk but oh man, am I glad you actually cooked for me. Best juk I've had in years!"

Seokjin bites down on his lower lip and twists his mouth in an effort to keep himself from grinning. "Thanks," he whispers, pausing only to swallow hard, then he's shifting in his position, tucking a leg under his weight, looking to his side so he can see Jimin better. Wrong move, groans a voice in his head, though, when he looks up only to catch the sweetest, fondest smile on Jimin's lips, and goddamn if Seokjin doesn't want to just throw his hands up in the air and scream out loud, Alright, Life, you win! Damn if he doesn't want to just grab Jimin by the shoulders and pull him close and kiss him senseless until Jimin is sighing into the warm slide of their mouths, moaning his name. But he should know better than to rush things and shove everything in Jimin's face, to hand his feelings to Jimin on a silver platter and urge Jimin to take generous scoops of them. Jimin stalling earlier, deflecting Seokjin's every attempt at starting this conversation until he felt comfortable enough to sit down and finally talk – that should be enough a reminder that Jimin may be the toughest-looking challenger in the arena, but he will also be first to crumble at the right kind of touch at the right time. So Seokjin wrinkles his nose in an effort to hold back and counts to ten in his head until he can say without his voice shaking, "Really was planning to visit much earlier, though. Things just got... really busy in the cafe and I kinda got sick and I– I guess, I was just–"

He heaves a shaky sigh, air filtering through his gritted teeth and making him shiver all over. That's when Jimin lifts his eyebrows in the slowest, most careful manner, head bobbing in a gentle nod as he fills out for Seokjin, "Scared?"

He wouldn't say 'scared', not so willingly, but it does fit the bill. There are only a few things that frighten him, and Jimin has awakened a lot of those fears even without him knowing. The fear of losing control, the fear of falling back into a routine that makes him feel more choked up than safe, the fear of the uncertain – all these things, Jimin has somehow given more than a gentle push off the fucking cliff along with Seokjin, and now Jimin looks like he's actually willing to jump off the same feeble edge, what with the knowing look in his eyes, the soft smile on his lip, the resolute nod he gives Seokjin in blind support of whatever Seokjin has to say, just so he'll be able to crash into the unknown with Seokjin.

"Yeah, sort of. I definitely don't want to get sick again, since I just came from nasty colds. I might even be the one who passed the flu on to you," Seokjin answers after a while. He wiggles his toes in his socks, bites the inside of his cheek, and counts to five until he feels the tightness in his throat ease just a little and adds, "So yeah, sorry about that, all of it, especially the lukewarm juk." Jimin, that ass, actually snorts at him in response, but it's better than the cold and chilling silence that had settled all around them just a few seconds ago. Soon, Seokjin is wrinkling his nose, clasping his hands together, mustering every ounce of courage that hasn't retreated to the soles of his feet yet, and taking a deep breath just before saying, "And for all the times I tried to push you away."

Jimin's lips quirk up in thoughtless response. He lifts his eyebrows, snorts, maybe even scoffs, then he's saying, voice just barely above a whisper, "That was you pushing me away? That was you pushing me away?" Seokjin nods, slow and tentative, a bit jittery towards the end. Half of him feels like he's missing something, but the other half keeps asking, what? He's pretty darn sure he didn't do anything wrong. He's just being completely honest, and if he ever sounded unrepentant or patronizing just a while ago then he can easily apologize by grabbing Jimin's hand and placing it on his chest where his heart beats the strongest just so Jimin would know he's being sincere. But Jimin isn't wearing one of his murderous smiles, isn't even fashioning his perfect corporate look, and Seokjin is about a hundred percent certain that Jimin is about to laugh at him sometime soon, if the way his lips tremble is any indicator of that. "Well, fine, you're forgiven for having such a twisted defense mechanism but hyung, hyung, if I wanted to get rid of you a long time ago, I'd have done exactly that already. I wouldn't have kept... messaging you or something, sending stickers, inviting you over, making you stay. Seriously, do I look like someone who wants drama in his life?" Jimin laughs. It comes out dry, almost bitter, because Jimin is right: the closest they have gotten to drama was Jimin telling him about why Hug Cafe was born and how. Jimin had even cut himself off even before he could go into too much detail that he later revealed once they were done with their coffee but not quite tired yet of the way their bodies fit, of the way Jimin's fingers between Seokjin's own felt a lot like gently being steered in the direction of home instead of being held down and back, tied to some bitter past he's so sick of revisitinf.

"You know my life story," Jimin adds after a while, voice dropping to a whisper. He stills, nails scratching against the material of Seokjin's pants, then he's splaying his fingers out again, relaxing, breathing out. "You know what happened to me. And as a refresher: no, I don't want– I don't need drama in my life anymore. I'm so done with that, with all the bitterness in the past."

Jimin takes a deep, shaky breath, then hooks his pinky on Seokjin's own. "I'm happy with what I have now."

Seokjin gulps hard. If, by 'what I have', Jimin means a stable business and a great circle of friends, then Seokjin won't hesitate to nod fervently, maybe even a bit too enthusiastically, but Jimin keeps pulling his hand closer until Jimin can already slot his fingers between Seokjin's own, until Seokjin can already feel the thundering pulse in Jimin's palm, until the resulting cold from when they'd washed the dishes earlier can finally melt into nothing but a comfortable warmth, like he's saying Seokjin is all he's ever needed in life. Which is silly, because they met only months ago, and it's always a bit strange to completely lose yourself to someone you've barely known for a year but feels as if you've known forever. It's a bit strange how easy things and people just fall into place without preamble, without explanation.

It's always a bit strange to oh so willingly lose control.

"You're– You're a good guy. You're almost always thankful for everything, even the bad things. Even for having friends who trick you into believing their... secret identity or something," he murmurs after a while, sort of wishing Jimin won't catch it yet wishing Jimin will hear every single thing. There are a lot of things he should be apologizing for and the whole 'Jin' disguise is just one of them. It's at the bottom of the list. "I'm... sorry about that, too. I should have stopped pretending before things–" Got too intense, felt too real, before the desire to come forward as Kim Seokjin, a regular guy who happens to love coffee more than anything else in this world, became to difficult to ignore. "–got out of hand. I shouldn't have even given you a silly secret agent name at all."

Jimin rolls his eyes and withdraws his hand. For a second, Seokjin thinks Jimin will finally walk away and leave him so he can evaluate the all the bad decisions he's been making since the day they met, but soon he's pinching Seokjin in the arm, pulling the corners of his lips down into a frown, heaving a sigh. "And you should be sorry for not listening carefully because I keep telling you, hyung, that's all in the past," he murmurs, then pinches Seokjin in the arm again, but this time his touch lingers before dropping his hand to where Seokjin's is and wrapping his fingers, cold and trembling, around Seokjin's wrist. "So listen very carefully: you didn’t ruin my life or career or whatever. You didn't mess up. You even helped me with coffee-making, hyung. You even kinda.. helped me grow my business! So the undercover thing? I'm over it, hyung. I'm over this whole... betrayal thing you keep talking about. And you should be over it, too. Now, if I hear you say 'sorry' one more time, I swear to God, Kim Seokjin, I swear to God–"

"Sorry," Seokjin mutters, then laughs a little when Jimin narrows his eyes at him as if saying, Really, hyung? Really? After what I've just said, you're gonna give me the same old shit? What good person even does that? "For even thinking that you’d ever push a friend away on a whim, even if you've been telling me so many times already to stop getting so worked up about it and just let it go." Jimin lifts his eyebrows all of a sudden, the faint groan spilling from the corners of his mouth trailing off into silence, then he draws his lips onto a small 'o' and nods, just a slow, gentle bob of the head. Two beats, then Seokjin hovers, hesistates, and inches closer and reaches over so he can trace the curve of Jimin's cheeks with the cold pads of his fingers. He can feel Jimin shivering under his touch, can hear the hitch in Jimin's breathing, can see Jimin tearing his gaze from Seokjin's eyes and dropping it to Seokjin's mouth just inches apart from his own. If this is an invitation to go on and close the distance between them, then Seokjin's going to take it and crash into Jimin, heart first. If it isn't, then he'll just have to brace himself for the impact of the fall when Jimin puts space between them, something as permanent as walking away once and for all.

"And sorry," he whispers, curling his toes in at the same time that he gulps hard, "for putting this off for the longest time."

Jimin gulps hard. Seokjin catches the gentle bob of his Adam's apple and the way Jimin sucks in his lower lip before letting the corners pull up into a smile. He... sort of wants to lean in to kiss that silly look away, maybe even suck marks on the column of Jimin's neck so Jimin won't ever forget how Seokjin went through all the trouble and turmoil just to own up to his mistakes, admit his sins, and try to make things right, but he can't just jump from point A to S in a heartbeat. That won't work work with Jimin. They will never work out if he makes the mistake of doing exactly that. So he flicks the switch on, forces logic and reason and apprehension to go on shut down, and gets the machine started for when Jimin is finally ready to pull the shots, tilting his head a little, leaning in a bit more until he feels the tips of their noses touch. If he takes a long whiff, he'll probably be able to catch the scent of sweat and coffee and a challenge in the strands of Jimin's hair. If he takes another step closer, he's certain he'll be able to taste the same on Jimin's lips that are chapped and a bit too red from being worried too much, but instead he finishes tracing the curve of Jimin's face with the pulse in his thumb, with soft taps on the swell of Jimin's lower lip. Jimin darts out of his tongue in thoughtless response, licks his lip, gives the tip of Seokjin's finger a light, kittenish lap as he does so, and, damn if that doesn't make Seokjin's abdomen coil and his insides lurch. Damn if that doesn't make him whimper a little and crush his resolve with his very own fingers and brush his lips against Jimin's own in something that feels a little less than a rough testing of waters and, instead, feels like diving heart first into Jimin's warm and willing arms. And damn if that doesn't make him nip on Jimin's lower lip in light bites and sucks in an effort to tease Jimin's lips open, if it doesn't make him steady himself with one hand curled on Jimin's nape and the other on Jimin's waist, hip, any part of Jimin he can hold onto for balance when Jimin snakes his trembling fingers up and accidentally brushes against his nipples. It makes resisting and taking things so torturously slow so damn difficult, even as Jimin methodically traces the caverns of his mouth with a broad stroke of his tongue, even as Jimin memorizes the wicked contours of his mouth with tiny nips on his lower lip or quick sucks just a tad rougher than they would have been if Jimin ever had perfect control over his body or even cared for restraints at all, if Seokjin ever had the slightest capacity to remind his limbs and his lips to not respond to Jimin's spurts of enthusiasm with a gentle coax of the tongue and soft kisses on the cheek just to let Jimin know that they don't have to rush, they are fine. There is no storm to survive, no tempest to trample. There is only distance to defeat, and Jimin is already putting in some work and sending reinforcements by throwing his head back, exposing the column of his neck, reeling Seokjin in.

"You have no idea–" Jimin gasps out, voice cracking as Seokjin tilts his head just so and laves his tongue along the sharp angle of Jimin's jaw, sucking long and hard at the base of Jimin's throat, making Jimin's pulse thrum stronger, louder than before. Seokjin feels his insides lurch at the wonderful sound and part of him wants to put the same, long, drawn-out moan on loop until the little hitches in Jimin's uneaven breathing smoothen out, but instead he pulls away for a moment, looks up, lets Jimin breathe. Sucks in a violent breath when he realizes that Jimin is straddling him, that Jimin's lunging forward and brushing his knee against Seokjin's crotch in a feather-light touch at the same time that Jimin chases after his lips. Jimin traps Seokjin's lower lip between his teeth, sucks hard, pulls away with a loud and messy 'pop', and fuck, Seokjin is seized with the strongest urge to just gander at Jimin and whisper under his breath, how the fuck are you even real? It's crazy how beautiful Jimin is with his eyes dark and alluring, with his kiss-swollen lips, slick with spit, pulling up into a lazy smile before he leans in again, drinking Seokjin up, kissing him harder. "–how long I've wanted to–" Jimin continues, tries to say, but soon the rest of his speech trails off into a low, hiccuped moan when Seokjin gives in to the voice in his head that keeps telling him, This is what you've always wanted, Jin. So take it, hold him close, don't you even think of letting go. "–how I've always wanted to–"

Kiss me, touch me, memorize every little detail of my mouth with your tongue? Seokjin has a pretty good idea of how it all began and when. Jimin has always been clear with his intentions, after all, has always been transparent with his feelings – he'd scrunch his nose if he thinks the coffee he'd just tasted was awful or a bit more bitter than he'd prepared his palate for, he'd laugh at all of Seokjin's jokes even if they were bad because he just loved passing laughter around (but mostly because he's easy to please; besides, he wasn't the greatest comedian, either), he'd reach out for Seokjin's hand if he ever needed to hold someone, feel grounded and anchored and home – and has sort of developed a habit out of watching the smallest quirks of Seokjin's mouth like he needs to study it again and again and again for a test he has no chance of passing with flying colors because Seokjin will always want to change things up and challenge Jimin and push Jimin further. It's not as if Seokjin, himself, hasn't made a habit of watching Jimin breathe, though, so they're quits. No one's winning yet. The game is still on.

Except Jimin is the wild card, the secret weapon, the magic trick, and Jimin keeps surprising him during his most vulnerable moments. Keeps responding to every little brush and kiss and bite and suck with a jerk of his body and his nails digging into Seokjin's skin. "Jimin– Fuck–" Seokjin groans out when Jimin slips cool fingers underneath his sweater, thumbs ghosting past the hem of his shirt so Jimin can slowly bundle up Seokjin's clothes and map out the muscles of Seokjin's abdomen with shaking fingers, with nails just grazing Seokjin's sensitive skin. Jimin jerks away in response too quickly, looks up, tilts his head, and sucks in a deep and long breath through slightly parted lips. Seokjin sees it, the flash of confusionshockhurt in Jimin's features and he's tempted to wipe it off with little juvenile kisses all over his face, but, words, words, use your words, Seokjin tells himself, You're both champs when it comes to body language but are actually shit when it comes to using the right words or just need a bit more practice. So he uses both, just to be safe, slips his hands in the back pockets of Jimin's pants, and pulls Jimin closer so that Jimin's sitting on his lap, so much closer, much more dangerous. "No, it's– It's okay. Just– Aren't you supposed to be–"

"Sick?" Jimin laughs. He sniffles, wrinkles his nose, maybe even frowns a little, but soon he's snaking his hands around Seokjin's waist and shifting in his position, accidentally-on-purpose rocking against Seokjin's tenting erection. Seokjin chokes on a gasp when Jimin grunts, laughs when he sees Jimin screw his eyes shut at the friction, when he feels Jimin's muscles tense where he's sitting on Seokjin's lap, but breathes out a throaty moan again when Jimin starts rolling his hips in little jerks like he means to memorize the warm sensation and make sure Seokjin doesn't forget this little game of theirs even if they aren't really touching. Seokjin can get off like this, with their unsteady rhythm and Jimin looking at him with such a fond, fond gaze like nothing, no one else in this world matters, with Jimin slipping his hands underneath his shirt again and snaking it up his chest this time, holding him with shaking hands like he still can't believe it, this, them, and that he wants to get a good grasp of things – Seokjin's chest, mouth, the snug fit of their limbs, the way their bodies align – before admitting to himself that he's not dreaming anymore, that Seokjin has breathed life into him again and that he's finally awake. Seokjin could– No, he won't mind losing control like this, in the warm cocoon of Jimin's arms. He won't mind giving in at all.

"Well, kind of," Jimin confesses after a while, pausing to place a soft kiss on Seokjin's lips when Seokjin makes a weird sound at the back of his throat. "Still sniffling, but that might just be because I'm really, really moved by your confession?"

Seokjin frowns. He reaches up, pinching the tip of Jimin's nose, then presses his lips to Jimin's own when Jimin sticks out his tongue in retaliation. He can feel Jimin's slow-forming smile on his lips, the way Jimin melts in the fit of their mouths, the way Jimin grips him even tighter and grinds down on him, yearning for more friction, for more of him, and his chest tightens almost automatically. "Yeah, you're definitely moved. I can feel that."

"Fuck you," Jimin says, chuckling, and jabs Seokjin in his chest before curling in his fingers in Seokjin's shirt again.

Seokjin hums. His voice trails off into a loud moan, though, when Jimin licks the shell of his ear, when Jimin gives his earlobe light nips before trailing soft kisses along the slope of his neck. "No, fuck you," he grumbles in response. Jimin keeps at it, though, unrepentant, fuelled even more when Seokjin grabs his ass and gives it a hard squeeze, when Seokjin bucks his hips on reflex as Jimin blows hot air on his ear with a breathy moan. "Fuck, Jimin–"

They never get to removing their clothes, though, never even get to having enough time to breathe because Jimin won't stop kissing him, won't stop drawing figures, patterns, mapping out marks on every part of Seokjin that's exposed, won't even stop fisting his hands in Seokjin's hair whenever Seokjin pulls away only to wrap his mouth on Jimin's nipples and give it light sucks, to flick his tongue on the sensitive nub through Jimin's threadbare shirt until he feels them harden and feels Jimin mercilessly grinding against him. It's rough and messy and uncoordinated, and Jimin keeps biting down on his words even before he can let them all out, but it still works, somehow. Their teeths collide whenever they kiss too soon and haphazardly, when Jimin yanks at Seokjin's hair in an attempt to make him stop teasing Jimin's nipples with his teeth, but that only gives Seokjin an excuse to ease the pain through a long and languid kiss, as he kneads Jimin's ass at the same time that he slowly palms Jimin's dick through his sweatpants. He cups Jimin's cock and maybe accidentally grazes his nails along the underside of Jimin's dick when Jimin whispers, Please, hyung, please–, but that only gives him an excuse to go slower, to draw out the dance, to commit to memory the way his name spills from Jimin's lips when he says, "Seok–jin– Seokjin, I–"

Jimin comes with a loud moan, thin and reedy, hips jerking as he spills his release in his pants. His face is buried in the crook of Seokjin's neck and his body is limp, boneless, where Seokjin holds him by his thighs, but Seokjin can feel the crazy smile blooming on Jimin's lips, making warmth seep into his skin, making him shiver all over.

"Nice pants, by the way," Seokjin whispers once he feels Jimin shift, when Jimin straightens up a little, looks up at Seokjin with soft, soft eyes and light filtering through the narrow slits of his eyelashes. "And this shirt has got to go."

Jimin groans. "I hate you," he grumbles, twisting Seokjin's nipples through his shirt, but that's hardly a form of revenge. It's a poor excuse for a comeback, for fighting back, for trying to escape with victory and Seokjin's heart in tow. Still, Seokjin knows he's far from winning, especially when Jimin shifts in his position, grinds against Seokjin's dick through his pants, and grins as mischief sparkles in his eyes, but Jimin's wild, wicked smile on his lips, Jimin's laughter blooming on his skin, the steady rhythm of their heartbeats where their chests are pressed together feel a lot like getting an Olympic gold, or running miles and miles and finally reaching the finish line, or coming home with Jimin walking right beside him, hands woven together in a nice, comfortable fit.

"Of course," he whispers right back, the presses a soft kiss to the tip of Jimin's nose. Never mind that Jimin is still mildly contagious, or that he has just recovered from coughs and colds of his own – Jimin is a fever he won't mind living with every single day of his life. So he leans in again, brushing his lips against Jimin's own, and captures the laughter bubbling at the corners of Jimin's mouth with a kiss – sweeter, bolder, much more certain than before. Remorseless. Fearless. "Of course, you do."

Seokjin bows as a perfunctory greeting and looks around. The coffee shop is still mostly filled with nothing but the low humming of the machines and the shuffling of the baristas' feet, familiar figures moving around and addressing him with a curt nod, a little more than a passing glance, a faint smile. There are little crowds here and there, though, small groups of three or couples hiding in the farthest parts of the shop, enjoying their coffee in silence before taking on the day's challenge and facing the world with a smile on their lips. It isn't a foreign scene to him – he gets this in his own shop every single day – but the customers in Hug Cafe are always a bit more peculiar than the ones he gets in Code: Coffee. Mostly young and hip and looking for something new to try, but ultimately sharing the same love for coffee as his very own patrons. Just that they like their coffee extra sweet whereas Seokjin can't even stand the thought of adding brown sugar to his coffee even if he loved canned caramel macchiato so much back in the day.

He laughs to himself. People change – sometimes for the bad, but more often for the good. Seokjin knows he has, at least, both in terms of coffee and switching things up every so often, breaking free from old habits and creating new ones with Jimin like Sugar Saturdays and Sweet Sundays and Torture Me With Whatever Cake You Want To Make Me Eat As Long As You Kiss The Excess Sweetness Away Tuesdays.

Nine out of ten times, Seokjin feels like dying a little when Jimin makes him eat anything sweet, but ten out of ten he chooses to focus on the way Jimin lights up whenever Seokjin gives him an approving nod, a thumbs up, a faint mumble of, "I'm never eating this again unless you give me a reward for munching on sugar."

"Oh, hey," comes Jimin's faint greeting from behind the counter, bright smile pulling up the corners of his lips. "You're early. Who's opening the shop?" His eyes are still a bit puffy and his nose is a bit red, but then that always happens after a long night of drinking. Seokjin has only ever seen Jimin drink until he was too inebriated to even hold up his glass twice, and the first time was that was the week after Jimin finally recovered from his coughs and colds. "Thought it warranted a celebration," Jimin had murmured as he climbed onto Seokjin's lap, then placed a soft kiss on Seokjin's lips even before Seokjin could get a word out. The next thing Seokjin knew, Jimin was peppering his face with tequila kisses and he, himself, was getting drunk and hooked on it. "Aren't you glad I'm finally well and I can finally suck you off?"

"If you wanted to have the best sex of your life," Seokjin had answered, pausing only to pull Jimin even closer, to crane his neck, to pinch Jimin's cheeks before kissing Jimin right back, "You could have just asked. Nicely. No bite marks this time. The last one stung for, like, an entire week."

"Where's the fun in that, though?"

Seokjin huffed, pressed his lips into a thin, thin line, the pinched the tip of Jimin's nose. He bit the inside of his cheek, reconsidering, then he was tilting his head, leaning close, breathing Jimin in. "You're the fun in everything," he whispered, lips brushing against the shell of Jimin's ear, and, really, he should have known better than to tease Jimin and expect the latter to stay so dangerously still. So he only laughed when Jimin groaned in response before claiming his lips in thoughtless retaliation – or maybe, Seokjin muses now, in admission of defeat.

The second time Seokjin saw Jimin drunk off of his ass was last night, during the company's Christmas Party, where he introduced Seokjin to everyone as his boyfriend, "Sorry, Sunyoung-noona, he's taken."

Seokjin laughs to himself. The way Jeongguk widened his eyes in an instant, twirled on his heel, and did some weird victory dance that looked a lot like him summoning evil spirits as soon as Jimin dropped the big bomb still makes him want to roll on the floor and laugh his ass off. It's touching as much as it is hilarious, but it's nice to know that his victories make others feel happy. And he still wants to wrap around him the way he felt that time, when Jimin linked their hands together and brandished it in the air like there was nothing, no one else he would rather call 'his' in this world – warm, content, fulfilled. Alive.

"I did, even if you made me stay in your party 'til ass o' clock in the morning," Seokjin whispers, leaning over the counter until his forehead brushes against Jimin's own. Jimin's first response is light laughter; his second, a small gasp when Seokjin actually inches even closer and presses his lips to Jimin's own. Rule number one has always been never to mix play with work, but from time to time Seokjin enjoys breaking his very own rules and seeing a flush of excitement set Jimin aglow. "Good morning, sexy-ass drunk."

"Mhmm. Good morning, babe," Jimin whispers, humming, eyelashes fluttering as he pulls away. He looks around for an audience, over his shoulders at the same time that Jeongguk looks away with a light shake of the head and equally light laughter, then he's leaning in, meeting Seokjin halfway. "Babe-hyung, I mean. Concern is really hot. Did you even sleep?"

"I–" Slept well, would have slept better if I stayed over at your place, if we could take that step already, but for all of Jimin's willingness when it comes to trying out different kinds of flavored latte, for all of Jimin's being certain about his feelings and what he wants to do with them, where he wants to take whatever he and Seokjin have, he'd still rather go at a steady pace instead of speeding up then going downhill. And Seokjin respects that, likes that aspect of Jimin more than any other facet or flavor of his. So he presses his lips together when Jimin tiptoes, leaning even closer, until the tips of their noses touch. "–kinda did. Kept worrying about a certain someone who wouldn't let me take a cab back to my place, though, even if he was the one who set a rule about only sleeping over twice a week."

Jimin blinks a few times, then furrows his eyebrows a little. If he was a bit more awake, he'd probably be staring at Seokjin in disbelief with wide, wide eyes, even slapping him on the arm, but Seokjin likes this Jimin who's still carefully tiptoeing consciousness and gathering the fragments of his memory of the night that was. It's a nice contrast to the Jimin who is always in control, to the Jimin who flashes nothing but perfect smiles at everyone, to the Jimin most people know and have been saturated with their entire lives that the concept of Jimin harboring emotions that make him feel just a tad weak in the knees is completely foreign to them. "I did that? I actually whined and was being difficult? I... told you to stay?"

No, you didn't, but you wouldn't let go even if I told you to go up already. You wouldn't let me leave even if I kept mentioning the rule. And I had to keep myself from saying 'yes,' knowing you'd hate yourself for going way too fast when you wake up

Seokjin gulps hard. He bites the inside of his cheek, then replies, "Kiiinda."

Jimin throws his head back and groans at himself. It's only eleven in the morning and Seokjin knows he can get away with the unpredictable at this hour, so he reaches over and gives Jimin's hair a light ruffle. "That's why I'm staying here for an hour, since you seem to have missed me," he whispers, pausing to drop his hand to Jimin's cheek, giving it a light pinch. "And because I can be a rather clingy boyfriend if my boy's being really cute."

"You called me 'sexy' earlier and now you're calling me 'cute'," Jimin grumbles. Still, he doesn't drop the gentle curl at the corners of his lips, or the way he holds onto Seokjin's shirtsleeve with the pads of his fingers. "Make up your mind and– Good morning! Welcome to Hug Cafe!"

Seokjin looks over his shoulder. There's a new group of three approaching the counter and Jimin won't stop recalibrating, practicing his presentation-perfect smile, making his eyes glimmer on purpose so he can somehow convince people that there's no longer any alcohol sloshing around in his brain and that the only ones who will ever know that there should still be at least a couple of shots of tequila in there are the very same baristas clinging onto coffee as their only hope of surviving the work day. So he tries to help out, lifts the link of their fingers at level with his lips, and meets Jimin's curious gaze as Jimin asks, "So, Piccolo? As always?"

Seokjin twists his mouth Jimin's lips are a bit chapped and they're pulled up the corners and they're just as enticing as ever, and he doesn't really mind getting smacked by Jimin in the ass later on if he ever decides to lean in and lick the stretch of Jimin's lower lip so it can look a lot less chapped and so that Jimin's cheeks can be a bit more flushed with life, but nah, he won't give in yet. Besides, it's a nice excuse to go so torturously slow later, after work, when they can finally back each other up against the wall and kiss until they remember they haven't turned off the machines yet. It gives him a damn good excuse to suck on the corners of Jimin's mouth before attempting to pry Jimin's lips open, gives him a really good excuse to map out red marks along the column of Jimin's throat later before Jimin drops to his knees and keeps his word after losing in their little game of 'whose Instagram videos gets more likes by the end of the day?'. So instead, he kisses Jimin's fingers one by one, the press of his lips soft and gentle until he sucks on Jimin's pinky and gives it a tiny lick, and grins when it startles a gasp out of Jimin, a wicked smile, and a challenge in Jimin's eyes that says, You're going to fucking regret this later, hyung. I'm going to kiss you senseless later and make you repent for your sins and–

"Nope," Seokjin whispers, then winks just as Jimin huffs, purses his lips, shakes his head like a practiced stimulus to every damned bout of spontaneity from Seokjin. He can't stop grinning even as he hears more people shuffling inside the shop, as the group earlier stops just a few inches away from him to discuss the new drink all three of them want to try out, as he hears Jimin whisper in endless circles, You will be the death of me, Kim Seokjin. You're my sweet, sweet death. I am giving you the sweetest drink we have and I will make sure I'll be able to taste it on your lips later, until I finally decide to lose control. And Seokjin is about two seconds away from retracting his statement because nothing scares him more than coffee he isn't well-acquainted with, but he trusts Jimin enough that he wiggles his eyebrows in response, grins, and sticks with his decision.

Besides, he muses to himself as he sticks out his tongue at a Jimin grudingly waiting and waiting while drumming a beat on the counter, while fighting off a smile, it's not as if Jimin isn't already the sweetest thing he's ever gotten hooked on.

Seokjin laughs to himself. He's too far gone. And by the looks of the flush on Jimin's cheeks and the way Jimin won't let go of the tight link of their hands just yet, so is he.

"Surprise me."