Archive of Our Own

MARCH 20, 2024

Yoongi puts the phone on speaker and listens to the metallic ring as the call tries to connect. He puts the device on the low table and then sits on the wicker chair; it’s been raining all day, but the heat is already getting to him. Here on his balcony, with raindrops dropping over the metal rail, a cacophony of wet thuds, the air is humid and stale. 

He’s not going to reply.

Yoongi doesn’t have it in him to be disappointed. He probably doesn’t even have Yoongi’s number saved anymore. Or he blocked it.

Yoongi lights up a cigarette and watches the smoke falling to the ground, heavy with the water in the air.

A click. Silence. “ Are you fucking serious?”

Yoongi smiles to himself. “Told you I would.”

“I can’t fucking believe you.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t block my number.”

“I’m going to, as soon as I end this call.”

Yoongi laughs quietly, his fingers shaking around the cigarette. “How are you, Jimin?”

For a while, no one speaks. Yoongi watches the numbers on the screen as the call continues. Twenty-three seconds, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty—

“I’m fine. ”

Yoongi hums, flicking the cigarette over the ashtray. “Good to know. Is it raining in—wherever you are?”

“No.”

“Where are you, anyway?”

“Hyung.”

“Mh?”

“Hyung, what are you doing?”

“I’m just calling you.” Yoongi puts the cigarette between his lips, looks at the rain bouncing off the balcony rail. “And you answered.”

“Biggest mistake of my life.”

“Second, actually.”

“Fuck you.”

“Where are you?”

From the other side of the phone, Jimin sighs. Yoongi can almost picture him rubbing a hand over his face, his jaw tight, eyes sharp. 

“I’m in Busan now.”

“Back so soon?”

“ Drop the attitude. And it’s just for a few days. ”

“Isn’t Jungkook in Busan too? Did you guys meet?”

Jimin takes a few seconds to answer. Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty— “I’m meeting him tomorrow.”

“Tell him I say hi.”

“Sure.”

Yoongi nods to himself. His heart is beating too hard. His voice is going to come out cracked if he speaks now.

“Hyung, why are you doing this?”

Yoongi breathes out, rubbing at the corner of his eyebrow, the tip of the cigarette almost catching his hair. “I don’t fucking know.”

“You—”

“Why did you answer?”

No reply. One minute and three seconds, four seconds, five, six, seven, ei— actually, he can’t bear the silence.

“Look at us,” Yoongi whispers, staring at the opposite building. Their balcony is prettier than his, with plants and more than just an old wicker chair and shitty table. “Holding our promises.”

“ Are you in Seoul?”

“Why, are you gonna come and see me?”

“Fuck off.”

“Then no, I’m not in Seoul.”

“I’m ending this call.”

“That’s a smart idea.”

“Don’t call again.”

“Ah, but I will. And you’ll answer.”

“I fucking—”

“Happy anniversary.”

Jimin starts laughing. The sound comes all cranky and cold from the phone’s speaker, and Yoongi frowns at it. He’s sure Jimin’s laugh didn’t sound like that when they met.

“It’s not even—” Jimin pauses, then sighs. “Whatever.”

“Not gonna say it back?”

“I hope you trip on your own feet in front of a shitload of people.”

“Have a good day too, Jimin.”

The call ends. His screen stares back at Yoongi with a damn vengeance. Three minutes and twelve seconds. 

Yoongi leans back and smokes in silence, eyes closed, listening to the rain.

“Could have gone worse,” he murmurs, and tries to believe it.

MARCH 20, 2022

Yoongi squints his eyes. There’s a LED panel attached to the wall that tells the time with big, red lights: 23:26:29.

With a sigh, he looks down to his basket. He came for a new toothbrush and ended up getting five different cups of instant ramyeon and three sodas he’ll never drink. The bottles were pretty though, and he has the terrible habit of collecting pretty bottles; Namjoon always scolds him for it, tells him it’s bad for the environment, that he fell for the capitalistic trick of colorful sodas with too much carbonation and sugar. Yoongi’s not sure how bad it can be to buy glass bottles that he never throws out, but whatever.

Glancing at the cash register, he finds the poor clerk working the graveyard shift half asleep on the chair, arms crossed over his chest. 

It’s just them in the 7Eleven. An old pop song plays from the dusty speakers and there’s a strip of blue LED that criss-crosses over the fridge aisle and buzzes way too loud. 

Yoongi glances back to the panel: 23:26:46.

The door opens just as another second ticks by, and someone comes rushing in. Yoongi ignores them and looks at the shelves of chips. They have his favorite brand here, the one that has corn chips dipped in honey, and once Hoseok tried them and almost spit them back in his hand. Not everyone has good taste, it seems.

For a while, he debates on whether or not he should get them. Then, Yoongi turns to his left just as someone grabs him by the arm and pulls him behind a tall shelf before ducking, dragging Yoongi down as well.

“The fuck—”

“Shut. Up,” the stranger hisses.

Yoongi frowns. Whoever this is looks to be around his age, and he smells of passive smoke and sugary booze. He looks past Yoongi, up to the monitors that livestream the security cameras footage and curses under his breath just before the door opens again. 

“Someone’s following me,” he says, glancing at Yoongi. 

Yoongi hums, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

“I was out with a friend and when we split up this dude just—” He hesitates, looks back at the monitor and scoots back. He’s still holding onto Yoongi’s arm, pulling him back with him. “Just started following me. I don’t know what he wants. Once I started running he started too.”

At this, Yoongi twists around to also look at the monitor. Internally, Yoongi curses himself for ever stepping out of his apartment tonight. Screw good dental hygiene, the guy looks fucking huge even on the large screen.

“I ran here to hide, but when I saw him through the window I freaked out.”

“And you grabbed me?” 

“Yes.”

“How exactly is grabbing me gonna help you?” Yoongi looks at this stranger who decided to turn Yoongi’s night in a bad thriller drama and frowns. “Not for nothing, but we’re literally the same size. And I can’t fight.”

He shrugs. “Strength in number.”

“We’re half his size. Two of us make one of him. What kind of numbers—”

“ Fuck, fuck fuck .” 

He’ss dragged away again, almost falling flat on his ass as Yoongi and the stranger scurry around the shelf to the other side. 

“Listen,” Yoongi sighs, crouching in a more stable position. “Picking me was a shit idea. Just call the cops.”

“My phone is dead.”

“Okay, then we use mine.”

“Sure.”

“...Ah.”

“What?”

“I forgot it at my place.”

“You—”

“Screw this.” Yoongi drops his basket, silently lamenting the loss of decent snacks and a new toothbrush. And for what? For a stranger.

Without thinking too much about it, he grabs the other’s hand (and it’s shaking, actually shaking) before he rushes towards the end of the aisle. One glance at the screen tells him that that fucking Hulk of a man is just about to walk into them. Yoongi sprints to his feet and runs, dragging the stranger behind him; they squeeze through the opening sliding door, and then, blindly, Yoongi starts running down the street. 

“Oh, great plan!”

“As if you had a better one! Just run!”

Oh, he does run. No wonder this guy had almost managed to lose his chaser, he might be short but runs like a damn athlete. So much so that he’s quickly sprinting in front of Yoongi, their hands still clasped tightly together for really no reason, and soon enough Yoongi is being dragged once again.

Just before they turn left, past a small kiosk, Yoongi glances behind him: no one is following them, and the streets are empty. They keep on running.

When they finally stop, Yoongi wonders if he’s about to bust a lung. Or if his kidneys might be giving up on him. Or both.

Wheezing, he finds himself squatting against the wall of a huge, newly built condo, hands on his knees for support. He’s never been the athletic type, not even when he actually went to the gym at least once a week. And it’s not even May yet, but the evening is surprisingly warm and stuffy; sweat starts collecting on his back, trickling down his temples.

“Shit,” the stranger gasps, panting and dabbing at his forehead with the palm of his head. He looks a lot more put together than Yoongi, frustratingly so. 

“You’re good?”

The stranger looks at him, frowning. “I should be asking you that. You look like you’re ready to pass out.”

That’s—

“Well, screw you too. Next time you’re being chased, find yourself a runner instead of me.”

“Sorry. I’m—” he hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head. “Whatever.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you. For helping.”

Yoongi feels like it’s in his right to be a bit more annoyed at this whole situation, but then he remembers how badly this guy’s hand was shaking, and he’s not a complete asshole. Not yet, at least. “It’s fine.” He straightens up, leaning heavily against the wall. “You have a name, or—?”

The stranger’s frown deepens. His hair, dark and long enough it curls at his nape, is sticking everywhere after the run.

“I don’t really see how knowing my name matters.”

This fucking—

“Cool, fine, don’t tell me, see if I care.”

“Jimin.”

“Oh, now you’re telling me.”

Jimin gives him a slow, deliberate roll of his eyes. “You asked.”

There’s no winning with this one. 

Eventually, Yoongi feels like he’s gained control of his lungs again, so he pushes off the wall and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Do you know where you are? Do you live nearby?”

Jimin looks at him for a moment before nodding. 

“Then I’m off.” Yoongi starts walking away, heading back towards the 7Eleven. Running away like this, he actually ended up a lot further from his flat than he had anticipated. “Be safe on your way home.”

He gets no response. Which, again, frustrates him to no end but he decidedly forces himself to not care. He just wants to get back home, drop on his bed and sleep. Forget about a new toothbrush, he’ll just use the old one. He will have to go back tomorrow though, he does want to get those soda bottles.

Before he turns the corner, Yoongi throws one last look behind him: the street is empty, Jimin already gone.

Once in a while, Yoongi finds himself questioning his life choices. 

He came to Seoul to study because his brother did too. No other particular reason. When he was still in highschool and his brother would come back home at Chuseok, he wouldn’t stop blowing Yoongi’s ears off about how cool Seoul was, and how fun the parties he went to were, and that you meet so many new people, all kinds of people. Yoongi, sixteen and in his worst teen-angst era, had immediately decided he would follow his older brother’s path. He’d live an interesting life, find interesting people, get a boyfriend too without his parents around to pick apart his sexuality. 

Turns out, his brother either lied or Yoongi’s imagination ended up romanticizing the college experience by a long shot. Probably the latter.

It’s not like his brother was wrong: Seoul is fun, and people are interesting. But his brother failed to mention how damn miserable it is sometimes to be in your small, rented flat with nothing except cacti to keep you company. 

That being said, Yoongi was still stupid enough to stay for two extra years for a master’s degree that he probably doesn’t need.

Despite all of this, what Yoongi questions most often than not are his friendship choices.

“I’m not coming.”

“That’s what she—”

Yoongi grabs his notebook from the desk and flings it in Hoseok’s general direction. Hoseok dodges it, which is frustrating enough that Yoongi considers throwing his whole laptop at him.

“You’re so violent sometimes, hyung.”

“I’m busy,” Yoongi says, staring back at the laptop’s screen.
They’re in Hoseok’s flat, sundown approaching, and it had been peaceful up until a few moments ago. Yoongi likes Hoseok’s flat: it’s bigger than his and it’s in a quiet area, where there isn’t a truck speeding by every five minutes or the neighbors yelling over groceries because he forgot about the cabbage again when she clearly wrote it on the list. When the noise gets too much for Yoongi to ignore, he always ends up here to work and crash on the couch. 

“Where’s Namjoon?”

“Part time. And don’t change the subject.” Hoseok stretches out his legs over the carpet. “It’s not like you have to stay all night. You just have to show up. Taehyung would appreciate it a lot.”

Yoongi hums, fighting off a grimace. Taehyung had been looking forward to this gig for weeks. Taehyung looks forward to a lot of things in general, and that’s because Taehyung is incredible and talented at a lot of things in general, too, but this one means something terribly important to him. Jazz is a new passion, but it’s a strong one, and Taehyung has the voice for it so it makes sense that he’ll sing for—Yoongi doesn’t remember the band’s name. Some hipster jazz band that sixty-five people in total know.

“You know he wants you there. Plus, I feel like a night out wouldn’t kill you.”

Yoongi hums. “A night out in a hipster bar that will smell of overpriced tobacco and bad drinks. Yeah, sounds like a dream.”

“Hyung.”

“Hoseok.”

“He’ll be sad if you don’t at least show up.”

Well, shit.

He knows Taehyung cares about him. Hell, Yoongi would kill for that kid. Taehyung is endearing, and all kinds of smart and great, and Yoongi ended up doting on him a lot more than he ever expected when they started hanging out.

“Fine.”

“Was that so hard?”

“Do you have to be a dickhead about it?”

“Look, classes just started, and once they really kick in we won’t have as much free time or nights to waste. We gotta take advantage now. You’ll have fun. I bet.”

“How much?” Yoongi asks, looking at Hoseok. “Give me a number right now, let’s bet. I’m short on cash.”

Hoseok makes that noise he always does when he’s extremely annoyed, tutting and half-assing a curse under his breath. “As if I’m doing any better.”

“Thirty thousand won.”

“It’s a deal.” Hoseok grins, wide and sunny, with his skin tanned now that spring has come and he gets to be outdoors more often. “It’ll be fun! Taehyung invited some friends as well.”

Yoongi hums as he focuses back on his laptop screen, layers of melodies climbing on top of each other, making absolutely no sense.

Yeah, maybe a night out will do him good.

The bar is called La Cle , and it’s in Samcheong-dong of all places. From Yoongi’s flat it’s a full hour’s walk and since it’s a Friday, buses are packed. Yoongi doesn’t do well with those crowds, so he ends up leaving almost an hour and a half early just to make sure he gets there on time. Last time he was in Samcheong-dong he ended up getting lost in the maze of old wooden houses and red brick-wall buildings that looked too similar no matter where he turned.

As he walks, Yoongi ends up both regretting his personal vendetta against the idea of owning a car and appreciating the cool evening air. Spring is nice in Seoul, and the sky is pink with the kind of sunset people take pictures of.

He doesn’t get lost in the end, and ends up at the bar early. 

From the outside, La Cle looks more like a modern restaurant than a jazz bar, all high glass walls and pale green canopies. Right next to it there’s a small café, dusty red bricks and a deer sticker plastered on the window, and there’s a closed bakery opposite that still smells of butter and fresh dough. 

The street isn’t crowded, but it’s lively; students and older people alike walk by, their voices layering together in a sort of hum.

“Hyung?”

Yoongi twists around and finds Namjoon standing in the middle of the alley right next to the bar. “Hey.”

“You’re early.”

“So are you.”

“Taehyung said he was nervous to come alone for soundcheck, so I went with him.” Namjoon gestures at him to join him. “They’re just done.”

“Is this a staff exit?”

“Nah, everyone uses it to come out for a smoke.”

“Ah.” Yoongi glances at Namjoon. He’s wearing his glasses today, round thin frames that look like they might break if squeezed too much. And he styled his hair. Wore actual jeans. “Yah.”

“What?”

“You’re trying to fuck Taehyung or—”

“So damn vulgar,” Namjoon mutters, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “And yeah.”

“Either his standards are very low or you’re aiming too high.”

“That’s so mean, and for what?”

“I think I’m hilarious.”

“Whatever. Gonna come in?”

“I’ll have a smoke first.”

“Offer me one.”

“Buy your own.” Still, Yoongi pulls out his pack and a lighter, and waits for Namjoon to light himself a cigarette before doing the same. “Hoseok?”

“He’ll be here soon. Jungkook’s coming too.”

“Didn’t he work tonight?”

“Asked a colleague to cover for him. Seokjin can’t make it, though. And Taehyung’s friends are coming too, apparently. Have you ever met them?” Namjoon clicks his tongue, head leaning to the side. “Man, he talks about them all the time and I’ve never fucking seen them. They’re almost mythical beings at this point. Especially that—what’s his name? Ah, Jimin.”

Yoongi stills, fingers curled around his cigarette. “Huh?”

“Yeah, a friend of his from Busan. Met him when they were kids before he moved back to Daegu. He goes to APU too, but I’ve never met him.”

Yoongi thinks about the empty 7Eleven, air buzzing with LED static, and a shaking hand pressed against his. “Joon-ah.”

“What?”

“Jimin is a common name, right?”

Namjoon frowns, a deep line creasing right between his brows. “I’d say so.”

“Cool.”

Right. It’s probably one of the most used names in Korea. Coincidences happen, and they’re freaky, but they’re just that: a coincidence. 

Inside, La Cle looks a lot more like Yoongi expected it to be.

Dimly lit, with fairy lights hanging off the ceiling in clumsy lines, dark wooden furniture and bookcases full of books no one reads. There’s no stage, only a cleared space where they keep instruments and microphones propped against the wall. 

When Taehyung sees Yoongi, he smiles so wide Yoongi feels like he could count his teeth. It’s a good thing he came.

A few minutes before the set is meant to start, more people than Yoongi expected show up. They sit at the rounded wooden tables, chattering lowly as they wait for the band to come out; that’s how Yoongi meets Taehyung’s friends. 

He’s—bad at introductions in general, and especially with handsome city boys like these. Hoseok joins them at that exact time, followed by Jungkook, and so Yoongi ends up leaving the small talk to them and Namjoon as they go sit on sunken couches around a small, square table. 

“Oh, it’s uncomfortable as shit,” Yoongi whispers to himself as he settles down and he hears Jungkook snorting by his side. 

“I like this place,” Jungkook says, scratching his knee. His pants are ripped there, and not because it’s a fashion statement, but just because Jungkook doesn’t care about these things and ends up looking unfairly attractive despite it. “Look, there’s an old oven there.”

Yoongi turns to where Jungkook is pointing and frowns. “Why is that there?”

“Aesthetic.”

“What aesthetic? Iron ovens that no one uses?”

“Hyung, you need to be more romantic.”

“Should we order something to drink? And to eat?” Namjoon grabs the menu and scans through it, eyebrows rising as he reads. “This looks—classy.”

“What he means is expensive,” Hoseok tells Taehyung’s friends, and they all laugh. “We can share a couple bottles of wine?”

Namjoon nods. “Let’s do that.”

“Ah, Jimin-ssi?” One of Taehyung’s friends (Woosik? He’s got the face of an actor and Yoongi is trying not to be jealous about it) says once he picks up his phone. “Yes, we’re here alright. Ah, I see. Alright.” He ends the call, pocketing the phone and smiling towards the rest of the group. “He said he had some issues, but he’ll be here soon.”

Yoongi blinks. Formal speech. Maybe they’re not familiar with each other? Yoongi expected this Jimin to be part of the friend group, but maybe he’s just close with Taehyung.

Just then, the band walks across the room, followed by polite clapping and Taehyung’s friends cheering like mad men. Hoseok quickly joins him, and Namjoon pretends to be deeply engrossed in the menu again. 

When Taehyung stands behind the microphone, he looks stunning, and amazing, and so damn nervous that his hands are shaking. Then, the music begins.

It takes Yoongi exactly fifteen minutes to realize that he does not understand Jazz. But the band is good, and Taehyung’s voice is deep and rich, so he can’t find anything to complain about.

That changes when Park Jimin arrives.

Coincidences are just coincidences, but fuck, are they creepy.

He looks different tonight, put together, hair styled back, clothes fresh out of laundry. He stands by the sunken sofas, staring at Yoongi with wide eyes, and for a moment Yoongi is convinced Jimin is going to mention what happened, that he will say something like, “Ah, it’s you! Man, what a coincidence.”

Quickly, Park Jimin schools his expression and bows. “Sorry, I’m late. Pleasure to meet you.”

Huh.

Hoseok, who’s one glass of red wine into the night and already flushed and loud, quickly introduces himself before motioning for Jimin to sit next to him. 

“Hey,” he says, looking at Taehyung’s friends. They all wave to him, but that’s about it. Hell, if anything it got awkward all of a sudden. Then, Jimin turns to Namjoon and smiles. “You are—?”

“Kim Namjoon. Taehyung told me about you.”

“Ah, yes, likewise.”

“That one is Jungkook. And that one is Yoongi.”

Jimin looks at him, smile gone. He nods, and that’s all he does before shrugging off his thin coat. 

Yoongi takes a sip of his wine and tries not to be offended.

He fails. Sue him.

“Taehyung told me you’re from Busan,” Jungkook says, voice loud so he can be heard over the music. “I am too!”

Jimin smiles again, and it’s genuine, effortless. “Yeah? I lived in Geumjeong. When did you move here?”

The conversation flows easily after that. Yoongi listens for a while, then gets distracted by the pressing rhythm of a double bass and ends up turning his attention back to the band and Taehyung.

Minutes tick by. Songs are performed one after the other between the cheers of the diners, they order a third bottle of wine and Yoongi hears conversations somehow faintly, like they’re very far away.

Taehyung’s friends are clearly very close, and they do join with the rest of the table at times, but mostly they keep to themselves. Hoseok and Namjoon are good at making Jimin feel comfortable, and they talk animatedly about school; what’s your major, how have we never seen you on campus when Hoseok is in the dance department too? Ah, you have different courses, you live in the dorms? Isn’t that expensive? Woah, a scholarship, you must be some sort of genius. 

Yoongi, inevitably, fades into the background. And that’s fine, it’s welcomed even. He’s not used to being around so many people at once, especially when he doesn’t know a good chunk of them. If Seokjin was here it would be different, they’d be chatting with each other. But as it is, Yoongi is more than glad to stay quiet and catch moments of conversations here and there.

Sometimes, though, he glances at Jimin. He’s—Yoongi’s not sure. 

Jimin replies to every question and smiles at everyone, asks questions in return, listens to their replies actively, nodding and humming along. He downs wine fast but doesn’t seem to get tipsy, and acts pleasantly, but there is something about him that Yoongi can’t exactly pinpoint. Something that sticks under his skin, and itches.

Their eyes meet and Jimin’s expression shifts to that neutral, blank stare again.

“Jimin-ssi.” It’s Seojoon who speaks this time, leaning over, elbows on his knees. He’s grinning. “Wasn’t Jihoon supposed to come too?”

Smiling, Jimin replies, “Why do you care?”

The table goes silent. Yoongi slouches in his seat, the pillow so damn thin under his ass he can feel the ridges of the wooden plank beneath it, and drinks his wine.

Seojoon blinks, grin quickly disappearing. “What did you—”

“He’s running late,” Jimin says, and then turns back to Hoseok. “Hoseok-ssi, what were you saying?”

Hoseok, too drunk to really notice the icy awkwardness that took over the group, throws himself back into a passionate retelling of that time he ended up getting lost on campus in his first year, and only managed to find the exit once the gates had already been closed.

Just then, the band performs their final song. There’s clapping, and cheering, and then the live music is quickly replaced by some lofi playlist that fills the bar’s ambient nicely. 

Taehyung joins them a few minutes later, smiley and flushed and flustered when everyone welcomes him with praise and cheers. He hugs Jimin tightly, burying his face against his neck, and Yoongi swears that for the first time since the evening started, Jimin smiles genuinely.

“You did great,” Namjoon says, filling a new glass of wine for Taehyung.

“Ah, hyung, don’t say that.”

“You did. You were amazing.”

Taehyung’s smile turns small, and fond. 

These two are terrible, Yoongi thinks.

“Actually, I need the toilet,” Taehyung says, standing up. “Be right back. Order another bottle? It’s on me.”

The moment he’s gone, Jimin’s phone starts buzzing. He picks it up, staring at the screen for a few moments, then sighs. “I’ll be back too.”

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asks.

“My—” He hesitates for a moment. “My boyfriend is outside.”

Yoongi watches him go, tapping his fingers on the side of the glass, and turns his attention back to the table once Jimin slips outside from the secondary exit.

The fifth bottle of the night reaches their table while Taehyung is still in the toilet, glasses quickly being filled.

“He’s such  a fucking prick.”

Yoongi frowns, glancing towards Seojoon. 

“Stop it,” Woosik says.

“He is. I don’t care, he’s an asshole and I don’t understand how Taehyung is friends with him.”

“Seriously, drop it,” Hyungsik murmurs, a pinched expression on your face. “I get it you have some drama going on, but you’re being unfair.”

“I’m unfair?” Seojoon scoffs, shaking his head, cheeks red with wine. “He’s so goddamn rude. Fucking full of himself too, the way he barely said hello to us. That’s why he only has Taehyung as a friend, he’s the only person kind enough to deal with his fucked up attitude. And—”

“I think talking behind his back is just as rude.”

They all turn to Yoongi, staring at him with wide-eyed stupor. 

Ah. He did not mean to say that out loud.

With a sigh, Yoongi puts down his glass and stands up. “I’ll go have a smoke,” he tells Namjoon, and then climbs his way out of the sunken pit.

What the hell is he doing? Sticking up for someone he doesn’t even know and who, granted, had been rude to Seojoon. And now they probably don’t like him either, which Yoongi wouldn’t care about if only Taehyung wasn’t involved.

Whatever.

He steps through the secondary exit and finds himself in the alley next to the bricked building. The air is crisp and cool, colder than when he left his flat, but it’s pleasant enough. It was starting to get stuffy inside the bar, and he tends to get restless sitting still for so long.

“Jimin-ah, can’t you just listen to me?”

Yoongi glances to the left. Just by the alley’s corner, he spots Jimin’s back and another man standing in front of him. Probably the boyfriend he mentioned.

“I am listening,” Jimin replies.

“Then say something.” The man (Jihoon?) rubs a hand over his face, clearly distressed. He’s tall enough that he almost towers over Jimin, with the kind of handsome face you stop to look at for a moment or so when you cross paths with him. 

Jimin hums. “What do you want me to say?”

“That’s—”

“You cheated on me. There’s nothing else to say about it.”

Well, shit. Yoongi should probably leave and not eavesdrop on a clearly delicate conversation.

For whatever reason, he leans against the wall and lights a cigarette, wondering if they’re even going to notice him at all.

“It didn’t mean anything,” Jihoon says, voice serious. “I swear.”

“If it didn’t mean anything, why did you do it?”

“Jimin-ah, please. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you even tell me?”

“I wanted to be honest. You deserve that much.”

Jimin nods, hands in the coat’s pockets. “I think I also deserved not to be cheated on.”

Jihoon looks at him for a moment, then steps back. “Hey. Do you even care at all? It doesn’t look like you do. Like, you’re here talking to me but your face is—”

“Hyung, I think you’re not understanding something.” Jimin shrugs. “This is on you. It does not concern me.”

Jihoon blinks. A car drives by at that point, carrying loud rap music that fades as it sprints through the road.

“I mean.” Jimin shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “You knew what you were getting into when you insisted we’d become boyfriends. You knew why I accepted in the first place. The only thing I asked of you was to show me some respect, if you were gonna go around calling me yours. But you couldn’t even do that.”

“You’re being cruel right now.”

“I’m not the one who had to get his dick wet with someone else, though.”

“What?” Jihoon straightens his shoulders, looking broad and menacing. “The fuck did you say?”

“Did I stutter? You’re the cheater here, not me.”

Jihoon scoffs, starts pacing in circles. 

Yoongi brings the cigarette to his mouth and thinks that he really should not be here right now.

Then, Jihoon points a finger to Jimin. “How do I even know that?” 

“Are you being serious?”

“How do I know you didn’t cheat too, huh? I mean, with the way you are—”

“Why, what am I?” Jimin’s voice becomes sharp. “Jihoon-hyung, I did what you wanted. And I did it because at the end of the day, I was getting something from this relationship too. But you’re the one who broke the rules. You’re the one who’s standing here, telling me you fucked someone else and that you want me to forgive you. I won’t. We’re done.”

Jihoon looks at a loss for words for a while. He stands there, looking somewhat pitiful, unable to even close his mouth. Then, he frowns and looks Jimin up and down. “You—are you relieved? It’s not that you don’t care, you-you’re fucking glad I made a mistake.”

Jimin takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before replying, “I am. I’m glad I can break up with you.”

Jihoon does not move for a while and then he grabs Jimin’s coat, pulls him closer, lifts a hand in the air, and a part of Yoongi is frozen while the rest of him screams, Move, fucking move.

Except that Jimin starts laughing. Jihoon hesitates, hand still raised mid-air, and Jimin just laughs, loud and real. And just as abruptly as it started, the laughter disappears.

“Are you gonna hit me?” Jimin asks, voice steady, hands still in his pockets. “Go on. Try. Let’s see how that goes.”

Jihoon shakes his head and, slowly, he lowers his arm. “You’re fucking crazy.”

Without a word, Jimin slaps Jihoon’s hand off of him. “You should thank me. Now you can get your dick wet without having to feel guilty about it.”

“Fuck you,” Jihoon grits out before turning around. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I most certainly will.”

Jihoon leaves, stomping away and cursing under his breath. 

Rationally, Yoongi thinks that this might be a very good time to walk back inside. He throws the cigarette in the apposite bin that stands precariously by the exit and turns to walk back in the bar, but that’s when Jimin turns around and looks at him straight in the eyes.

“Had fun?” He asks.

Well, nevermind then. “You knew I was here?”

“You smoke very loudly.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You have one for me?”

Nodding, Yoongi pulls out his cigarettes again. When he looks up to hand it to Jimin, he’s already standing in front of him. They don’t speak while Jimin lights up his cigarette, nor when he gives the pack back to Yoongi.

Jimin stares at the wall in front of him and Yoongi looks at him instead. “You’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Yoongi hums. He doesn’t mention that Jimin’s fingers are shaking around the cigarette and stores the thought away. “Why were you dating a prick like that?”

Jimin shrugs. His lips are full when they pucker around the filter, shiny with balm. “I didn’t even want to date him.”

“But you were.”

“Yoongi-ssi, you must be a detective. Your deduction astounds me.”

“Drop the honorifics, they make me uncomfortable. You can speak comfortably.”

“Who says I want to?”

Yoongi snorts. “Shit.”

“What?”

“That guy—Seojoon—he’s right. You’re rude.”

Jimin hums, glancing at Yoongi. “Seojoon doesn’t like me. But it’s alright, I don’t like him either.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi leans back against the wall, inwardly wondering as to why the hell he’s still entertaining this conversation. He must be bored. “Why is that?”

“We slept together once, and then I ghosted him.”

“Why did you ghost him?”

“I got bored of him.” Jimin grins. “He’s not wrong.”

Yoongi looks at him. Jimin’s mouth curves up, into his cheeks. But the rest of his face isn’t really following through with it. He sighs and looks away, towards the bricked wall, counting the cracks on one. “So? Why were you dating that guy?”

“He asked me to.”

“Do you date anybody who asks?”

“I don’t date.” Jimin blows out a thin column of smoke. “I don’t do relationships. I’m not good at them. He and I just used to sleep together, but then he said he wanted us to be together for real. And like—” He frowns, then shakes his head. “I told him I’m not good at relationships, and that I didn’t want one. But he insisted, said to at least give it a try and see how that went. I was very clear that I didn’t particularly care about the relationship at that point, and that I said yes mostly because I just wanted to keep sleeping with him. He said he was fine with it, and that I was going to change my mind. My one request was that since we were supposed to be the real deal then we both wouldn’t have sex with other people.” He pauses, then shrugs. “I think honesty is important even when you don’t necessarily love that person, it’s about mutual respect. And I hate liars.”

Laughter spills from the bar out in the alley, fading out until only the lofi playlist can be somewhat heard. 

“Did he ever hit you before?”

Jimin looks at him and Yoongi regrets asking, he does. It’s none of his business, and he did not even mean to speak at all.

“No,” Jimin replies, flicking his thumb against the cigarette’s filter. Ash falls on the tip of his boot and he shakes his foot. “But I think he would have, had I given him a reason to. That’s why I was glad I could break up with him.”

“Were you not scared just now?”

Jimin shrugs again, and there’s this annoying thing about him, that his expression never really changes; it’s fucking impossible to understand what he might be thinking. “Had he hit me, I would have hit him back.”

“What about when we met? Were you scared then?”

Jimin blinks, looks away. Yoongi swallows down the frustration that keeps on climbing up his chest. He really has no right to be annoyed, right? He barely knows Jimin, he has no reason to be so curious, nor to ask questions like this. 

“I was shitting myself that night,” Jimin says in the end, voice quiet. “I’ve never been followed before. It was fucked up.”

“Did you tell anyone about it?”

“No.”

“Not even that guy?”

Jimin grimaces, glancing at Yoongi. “Now why would I do that?”

“Woah, you really are shit at relationships.” Yoongi sighs. “You tell stuff like that to your partner.”

“Wouldn’t that just worry them?”

“Sure, but they’ll be there for you. To comfort you, calm you down, make you feel safer. Not just that, you didn’t tell anyone. So no one was there to help you.”

“You helped.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He—did? Kind of. Not that he had a choice in the matter. “I meant after the fact. I mean, you—”

“Why are you guys still out here?”

Yoongi turns to Namjoon, who’s half-leaning through the door. His eyes are wide, mouth a bit slack and there’s a pink flush on his cheeks, his hair messy like he kept dragging his fingers through it. “Are you drunk?”

“Maybe.”

Jimin says, “We’ll go back inside as soon as I’m done smoking.”

Namjoon frowns, eyes flitting down to the burnt out cigarette between Jimin’s fingers. “Sure. You said your boyfriend was here?”

Jimin smiles. “He’s not anymore.”

“Here?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Oh, shit.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Well then, congrats.” Namjoon sniffs and goes back inside, stumbling on his own feet and cursing under his breath as he regains his balance.

“Your friends are nice,” Jimin says. “What were you saying?”

“I honestly don’t remember.”

Jimin snorts, shoulders shaking with a quiet, almost silent laughter. He looks at the road, past the alley, where a group of girls are walking by. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you good at relationships?”

Yoongi thinks about Haewon. 

Haewon would always cook breakfast whenever he slept at Yoongi’s, and he’d laugh when Yoongi would walk out of his room still half-asleep. He thinks about that time they got stuck at a bus stop in the middle of the night during a sudden rain storm, and how they laughed about it, hands held together, mouths wet.

He thinks about Haewon and wishes he hadn’t.

“I guess I’m not.”

Jimin walks to the trash bin, stubbing the cigarette against its side before throwing it. “Why not?”

Yoongi notices a small scar just under Jimin’s cheekbone. A small dent in his skin, difficult to see unless you’re close enough. “I hate liars too.”

Jimin nods and doesn’t look at him when he asks, “Are you looking for a relationship then?”

“Fuck no.”

“Mh.” Jimin breathes in, then straightens his shoulders. “Let’s go back inside?”

“Sure.”

When they finally leave, the roads are empty and Jungkook has to keep reminding the group that they can’t be that loud, people are sleeping and they’re gonna call the cops on them.

But Namjoon is absolutely gone, and he keeps on hugging Taehyung and kissing him on the cheeks, and Hoseok—well, he was drunk after his first glass, so at one point he fell asleep in the middle of a conversation only to wake up still drunk but also with way too much pent up energy in his body. Taehyung seems to be too overwhelmed with Namjoon’s sudden displays of affection to really do anything, but his friends are absolutely smashed and they have not stopped singing Gee once in the past twenty minutes. 

If Jimin is drunk, he doesn’t show it. And Yoongi doesn’t even remember the last time he managed to get drunk.

“I’m driving them home,” Jungkook says, nodding towards Namjoon and Hoseok. “You guys—?”

“I’m designated driver for the night,” Hyungsik mutters, glaring at his friends. “If I make it alive to my car, obviously. Jimin-ssi, you need a ride?”

Jimin shakes his head, staring at his phone’s screen.

Fucking rude.

Yoongi hides a smile behind his fist.

They bid their goodbyes, promising to meet again (they most definitely won’t, that’s how it always goes with new people), and then Hyungsik is dragging four drunk singing men across the street, the final rendition of Gee fading into the night.

“Jimin-ah,” Taehyung says as he stumbles backwards with Namjoon fully leaning his weight against him. “You need a ride, don’t you?”

“I’ll just call a taxi,” he replies.

“Nah, don’t be silly. We can fit in Jungkook’s car.”

Jimin looks up from his phone. “‘s that okay?”

Jungkook nods, all smiles and bright eyes. “Of course, hyung. We’ll totally fit.”

They do not, in fact, fit.

“This has to be a safety violation,” Yoongi mutters, pointedly staring out the window.

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Jungkook laughs, eyes ahead on the road. “There’s no one out at this time. And we’re almost at Hoseok and Namjoon’s flat.”

Yoongi hums, pressing his mouth against the palm of his hand, elbow aching against the dull edge of the car window. It doesn’t roll all the way down, but it became clear quite early on that he was gonna need the extra oxygen.

They forced Namjoon on the front passenger’s seat since he’s the largest of the bunch, but then they failed to consider that Taehyung’s legs are longer than half of them put together, so the poor guy ended up squeezed against the car door with Hoseok half asleep against him. And like a bad rom-com, that left Yoongi and Jimin trying to decide who was gonna sit in whose lap.

They played rock paper scissors. Yoongi lost.

Jimin is not heavy, but he’s—definitely a whole man sitting on Yoongi’s lap. 

“Are you okay down there?” 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You keep squirming.”

Yoongi closes his eyes, and thinks, You’re quite literally squashing my dick and balls. “Don’t worry about it. I’m good.”

Jimin hums and Yoongi swears that the asshole is amused by this whole situation. There’s a bump in the road then, and Jungkook tries slowing down, kind of fails at it. Jimin bounces on his legs with the bump and slams his head against the car’s rooftop.

“Fuck!”

“I’m so sorry!” Jungkook says. “I tried avoiding it.”

“It’s fine,” Jimin groans, rubbing the back of his head. “That really hurt.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath. Yeah. That hurt him, too.

He should have walked home.

Things are easier once they get to Namjoon and Hoseok’s flat. The two get out of the car with an effort so monumental they look as if they just fought a war, and they all end up waiting for Hoseok to actually open the condo’s door before driving away, just to make sure they don’t end up passed out on the sidewalk.

Jimin insists Yoongi can go sit on the single front seat, and Yoongi is silently grateful for that, his legs are in dire need of decent blood flow.

“Just sleep at our place, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung says once Jungkook starts driving again. “You’re past the dorm's curfew anyway, and you’re shit at climbing that gate.”

“Yeah, I’ll steal your couch.”

“Just share the bed with me.”

“Fuck no, you snore.”

“I do not!”

“You do,” Jungkook sighs. “Aren’t you in trouble if you’re not there for curfew check in?” 

“No, they’re not strict about that.”

So they drop Yoongi off first, driving without a rush through Seoul’s empty streets, and it’s quiet now, so quiet Yoongi could doze off like this, head lolling to the side, night air smelling of spring and incoming rain.

Once they get there, Yoongi unfastens his seatbelt, turning around towards the backseat. “You were great, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung blinks, sleepy and tipsy, but then he smiles, soft and lovely, Taehyung is always so lovely. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Drive safe,” Yoongi tells Jungkook as he gets off. 

“Sleep well, hyung!”

Yoongi hums, rounding the car and stepping on the sidewalk, house keys dangling between his fingers.

“I’ll see you around, hyung.”

Yoongi halts, turning around. Jimin is looking at him, face carefully blank, hair tousled from the wind.

Before Yoongi can reply, Jungkook drives off, car engine rumbling too loud in the night’s silence. 

MARCH 20, 2025

It’s early.

Early enough that the sun has barely any warmth, and the sky is still wan. Sitting on his balcony, Yoongi breathes in and feels his lungs ache with the morning chill. 

There’s not a sound around him; the blinds of the neighboring flats are shut, and in the last fifteen minutes only one car has driven by, and it was a cleaning truck.

So Yoongi calls Jimin, because even if he doesn’t answer it’s fine, at least the beeping of the call trying to connect will fill the silence. 

Eight seconds go by. Nine. Ten.

“ Hyung? ”

Yoongi blinks. His fingers grip the phone tighter, a shiver runs down his spine. He should have put the call on speaker; it’s been too long since he last heard Jimin’s voice so close to his ear. “Why are you awake?”

“ You’re the one who called. And I should ask you that question. ”

“What?”

“I’m in Madrid right now. It’s, like, 9 P.M. Wait— ”

“Shit, Madrid? I’ve never been.”

“ Hyung, it’s not even five in the morning in Seoul. ”

“Why are you in Madrid?”

Jimin sighs. “ Workshop. I leave tomorrow. ”

“You’re always around. It’s hard to keep track.” Yoongi rubs at his nose, feels like he’s struggling to breathe right. “How are you?”

Jimin stays silent for a few moments. “ You called again. ”

“And you picked up, let’s skip the obvious bits and get to how you’re doing.”

“ I’m fine. Why are you up so early? ”

Yoongi smiles to himself, and he hopes it doesn’t bleed in his voice. “Started jogging.”

“ Don’t be ridiculous. ”

“That wounds me, how do you know I haven’t turned into a gym rat?”

“ Hyung, did you go to sleep at all? ”

Yoongi looks at his hand; the tips of his fingers are dry and red with cold, skin numb when he presses his thumb in the middle of his palm. “Of course I did.” Turns out that lying to Jimin when he’s not there in front of him is a lot easier than he thought. “The damn cleaning truck woke me up.”

Jimin doesn’t speak for a while after that. But Yoongi can hear his breathing, slow and calm, and if he closes his eyes he can almost pretend nothing changed, that they’re in Yoongi’s bed and it’s too early in the morning, and so Jimin is asleep next to him, against him, with him, with him—

“Why did you call so early then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hyung.”

“I missed you.”

Shit.

“ Don’t say that.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“ You— ” Jimin makes a frustrated noise, something between a groan and an insult that got lost along the way. “ Forget it. Go back to sleep.”

“Sure,” Yoongi says, knowing well that’s not going to happen.

“ Don’t call again .”

“I will most definitely call again.”

“Hyung. ”

“‘til next year, Jimin. Happy anniversary.”

Yoongi ends the call before he can listen to whatever slew of curses Jimin has ready for him.

Dropping the phone by his side, Yoongi sighs as he leans back into the wicker chair, eyes closed. 

He feels better; the sun is warmer on his skin now.

 APRIL 12, 2022

Seokjin graduated two years ago.

Top of his course, enough merits to fill a book, and a widespread fame at APU for having had the main roles in every single play the university put up since his first year, and for having broken enough hearts one could make a couple of movies about them.

Seokjin now works full time in a café an hour from campus and has auditions almost every single day, and every single time the role he’s going for is given to someone younger, richer, from a bigger company, with a better manager. 

For some reason, Seokjin is not bitter about it.

“It’s almost romantic,” he said once. “The struggling actor with dreams of fame who works to support himself. I feel like the aesthetic fits me. And every single one of our regulars is madly in love with me, as they should be.”

Yoongi thinks Seokjin is great. That he should be getting booked for every single thing he auditions for and more. That one day he’s going to be on some huge fucking billboard, and he will look incredible, and everyone will adore him. 

Yoongi thinks he wouldn’t have made it through the first year in Seoul without Seokjin. That he owes him his life.

But the problem with Seokjin is that he can’t say no to Hoseok.

So in theory, tonight’s party is hosted by Hoseok but in actuality it’s in Seokjin’s flat, because it’s bigger, and it has a terrace, and Seokjin hates this place anyway because it actually belongs to his parents, and family matters are never simple when it comes to Seokjin.

Either way, Yoongi’s not sure what compelled him to come here tonight.

“Midterms are soon, and we’re gonna be hermits when that happens,” Hoseok had said as he compiled a list of alcohol to buy. “It’s not gonna be huge and you’re gonna know everyone, so I don’t want to hear whatever excuse your brilliant brain is coming up with as we speak. You’re gonna be there, and I’ll make sure you get wasted.”

Three things happen when Yoongi finally shows up at the party:

1. He realizes that he does not know everyone. He knows his friends and that’s about it.
2. He finds himself wondering why Hoseok even throws parties at all given the fact that he’s terrible at drinking and ends up passed out on a couch after three drinks.
3. There are definitely two people fucking on Seokjin’s balcony.

So nothing new: a usual Friday night when it comes to these parties.

Yoongi ventures towards the kitchen, navigating through the swaying, tipsy crowd (and screw Hoseok for saying it wasn’t going to be a huge party, half the dance department is here) and sighs in relief at the sight of Jungkook aggressively mixing drinks in a shaker. 

“Fix me something that will make me stop regretting leaving my house.”

“On it,” Jungkook says. “Hope you like tequila and strawberry syrup.”

“I do not.”

“It’s what you’re gonna get.” 

Yoongi resigns himself to his fate and leans against the kitchen door, glancing into the living room. Past the sea of unrecognizable faces, he spots Taehyung animatedly talking about something, eyes wide and hands moving wildly, his drink sloshing dangerously close to his face, and sitting on the couch in front of him is Namjoon, staring at him like a lovestruck fool. 

“Look at them,” Yoongi sighs. “Young love.”

Jungkook snorts. After a minute or so, Yoongi is presented with a tall glass filled to the brim with an awfully pink concoction, and floating ice cubes that are already melting. “Here!”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“Please, hyung, try to sound more sincere.”

“I promise I tried very hard.” Yoongi sniffs the drink and grimaces. “Oh, no.”

“Just try it.”

“I swear just smelling it burnt my nostrils.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook whines, lips pulling into a pout. “I made it for you!”

“I’m aware. Do you secretly hate me, or—fine, fine. Hyung will drink it.” Yoongi is well aware there’s no point in arguing with Jungkook when he’s half-drunk, so he takes a sip under Jungkook’s watchful eyes. The tequila burns its way down his throat, followed by so much sweetness and sugar that it itches. “It’s good,” Yoongi croaks out.

Seemingly satisfied, Jungkook goes back to the kitchen counter, already refilling the shaker with vodka this time. He didn’t even clean the damn thing.

“Ah, there’s my favorite person in the world,” Seokjin exclaims once he walks by the kitchen, grinning wide once he sees Yoongi. “Fashionably late as always.”

“Thanks, it was on purpose.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Poison, I believe.”

“I heard that,” Jungkook mutters, and then his voice is replaced by the rattling of ice inside the shaker.

Hoseok appears seemingly out of nowhere, flushed and shiny with sweat. “I think I’m about to throw up.”

“Drink that down,” Yoongi says, forcing his glass in Hoseok’s hands. 

“Did Jungkook make this?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I might die then. Cool.” He downs a generous gulp and grimaces, eyes shutting closed. “Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“But I’m glad you came.” Hoseok smiles, leaning in closer, and he smells of weed and cheap vodka. “Jimin’s here too.”

Yoongi frowns. “Why are you saying it like I’m supposed to care?”

It’s not that he’s avoided Jimin. They met a few times on campus; ran into each other from one lecture to the other, and it’s ironic how up until before the night at La Cle they never knew of each other’s existence but now suddenly it’s so easy to spot each other even from a distance. They never really stopped to talk, both always clearly in a rush; a nod of their head, or a wave is all they’ve shared in the last couple of weeks.

But now Hoseok is staring at him with this weird look on his face, like Yoongi abruptly grew seven inches. “You don’t?”

“Not really.”

“Huh. I thought—” Hoseok shrugs. “Nevermind. Anyway, he’s here somewhere. Lost sight of him at one point.” He pats Yoongi’s shoulder then. “Gonna go dance. I’m not even gonna ask if you want to join me.”

“Very smart of you.”

Hoseok laughs, loud and real when he wasn’t even being funny, head thrown back, and Yoongi can’t help but smile with him, can’t help but think he wishes he could trap the sound of Hoseok’s laughter into something pretty, something that would allow him to replay it when it rains, and everything is too noisy.

Somewhere in the house, something crashes and breaks. 

“Why do you even allow him to throw parties in your house?” Yoongi asks once Hoseok is gone. 

Seokjin hums, eyes sweeping over the crowd. “I appreciate chaos.”

“That’s terrifying.”

The night goes on and after a while, time seems to stretch, and thin out. Yoongi doesn’t know what time it is and he finds he doesn’t particularly care to find out.

Whoever was going at it on the balcony came back inside at one point, and someone broke another vase. The music got louder, somehow, and the energy in the house has not fizzled out whatsoever. Drinks are being constantly passed around, and from somewhere deep in the flat the smell of weed wafts strong. Hoseok passed out on the couch at one point, then woke up and went back into the crowd as if nothing happened. Yoongi blinked and Jungkook was making out with Seokjin, but then ten minutes later Jungkook was also making out with Taehyung. It’s not like that’s a surprise—it’s routine now, even Namjoon doesn’t care.

 As Yoongi walks out of the kitchen with probably the only beer left in the fridge, he spots Jimin on the balcony. He has the mind of going there to warn him, to tell him Two people fucked here, you might want to check where you’re stepping, but he doesn’t. Jihoon is there too.

Maybe they made up, Yoongi thinks, and then immediately throws that away. No way Jimin would take him back when he doesn’t even care about the guy.

Leaning against the wall and nursing his beer, Yoongi looks at them. It becomes clear quickly enough that what they’re having is not a pleasant conversation, if Jihoon's stormy expression is anything to go by. But Jimin—he’s just standing there, arms crossed over his chest, face blank as he listens. Then, he shakes his head, lips thinning into a barely there smile, and he says something. Jihoon stares at him, steps forward and maybe he’s screaming, maybe not, Yoongi isn’t sure. Jimin’s expression doesn’t waver. His stance remains the same. Something in Yoongi’s head tells him that if he were to walk out there, if he were to look at Jimin’s hands, he’d find them trembling. Jimin looks away, towards the street below. Jihoon grabs him by the arm, shakes him, and Jimin just looks at the hand wrapped around him with a frown, like he can’t believe this is really happening. With a harsh tug, he pulls his arm free and says something. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make Jihoon storm away, rushing into the crowded living room red-faced and stiff. Yoongi watches him head out of the room, headed to the entrance. A door is slammed. No one notices except him.

When he looks back to the balcony, Jimin is already looking at him. The same blank, detached stare as always, like he’s seeing him but not really watching. Yoongi breathes in, feels his neck flushing, his skin prickling.

Wordlessly, he heads to the entrance as well. 

“Where are you going?” Seokjin asks him once he walks by.

“Up. Too loud.”

“You remember the code, yeah?”

Yoongi nods and walks out the house, closing the door behind him, music suddenly muffled and still so loud it grates in his head. 

The terrace can only be reached from outside, and there’s a gate that keeps strangers from reaching the stairs, locked with an electric padlock. Yoongi punches in the code and pushes the gate open, climbing up on unsteady legs. He’s not drunk, but the alcohol still buzzes low and warm beneath his skin.

The terrace is probably the only part of the house Seokjin genuinely cares about. Once he moved here, he made it a mission to make it pretty, useful. Yoongi remembers how many nights they spent up here last summer, grilling meat and dozing off on the cheap loungers they had bought together while Seokjin watered the plants, cooing at them, half-drunk and so damn kind to them, all of them, the strays he had found along the street and picked up effortlessly.

Yoongi leans off the terrace rail with a sigh, half-full beer bottle swinging in the air. It is better up here. The music is just a lingering background, and the air is cleaner, fresh. Closing his eyes, Yoongi focuses on the sounds of Seoul; the whistle of spring breeze between the buildings, the cars driving in the distance, footsteps—

Yoongi turns around and frowns when he sees Jimin standing by the stairs, looking at him. “How did you get up here?”

“Jin-hyung gave me the code.”

“Ah.”

Jimin nods, hands in his pockets. After a moment, he walks to him. “Give me a smoke.”

“Where’s my please?”

Jimin just rolls his eyes. 

Fucking rude.

Yoongi can’t help but smile as he pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He hands it to Jimin without a word, lighting the cigarette for him when Jimin puts one between his lips. “Why are you here, though?”

Jimin takes a drag of smoke, lets it out slowly. “Want the honest answer?”

“Sure.”

“You looked like you wanted me to follow you.”

Yoongi hums, and doesn’t confirm it. He doesn’t deny it, either.

“Why did you come here?” Jimin asks.

“Too loud.”

“Was it?”

“I don’t do well with so much noise.” Yoongi glances at him. “You’re okay?”

Jimin shrugs. The flimsy material of his shirt sticks to his skin when the breeze picks up, and his hair isn’t styled as nicely tonight, tousled and curling at his nape and Yoongi keeps looking at it, at that spot. His fingers twitch.

“I don’t know why he came,” Jimin mutters, nail scratching along the cigarette’s filter. “What he thought he could accomplish. Or why he was so hellbent on us being together. I don’t get it.”

“Maybe he loves you.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Jimin clicks his tongue, head tilting back. “You don’t cheat on someone you love.”

“That’s the line you don’t cross?”

“Huh?”

“You also don’t try to slap someone you love.” Yoongi looks down to Jimin’s arm. “You don’t grab them to shake them either.”

Jimin smiles, eyes lighting up with mirth. “You notice these things, don’t you?”

“Couldn’t really avoid noticing when I was looking.”

“Yeah,” Jimin breathes. “You were looking.” He brings the cigarette to his mouth, blows out smoke. It thins out in the air and fades. “You know what he said? He told me I should give us a second chance, because after we broke up he didn’t fuck anyone else. He said it like I was supposed to praise him for that.”

Yoongi grimaces. “Man, he’s fucking stupid.”

“He’s pathetic. He got mad when I told him.”

“I feel like he gets mad too easily.”

“Pathetic people get mad all the time. That’s all they have.”

“What did you tell him that made him leave so pissed off?”

“That unlike him, I did fuck someone else after we broke up.” Jimin snorts suddenly, shaking his head. “It’s not even true.” Then, his expression shifts and for a moment, just one, he looks—not sad. Something similar. “If he really loved me he would have realized I was lying. I’m not a good liar.”

For some reason, Yoongi doubts that.

“Hyung.”

“Mh?”

“Did you mean it when you said you don’t want relationships?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi replies. “Don’t have time for them and last time I tried one it didn’t end well. I’m good like this.”

“I don’t want one either.”

“I’m aware.” Yoongi takes another wing of the beer, now lukewarm and bitter on his tongue.

“Good. Wanna fuck?”

Yoongi promptly chokes on the drink, spluttering for a few moments, throat raw with it. “What the hell?”

Jimin is smiling again, soft and amused, eyes bright. “I think I’d like it.”

“That’s—” Yoongi frowns at him. Heat is creeping up his neck again, his fingers feel numb. “Are you serious?”

Jimin nods. “I like sex, but I don’t like fucking around. Takes too much effort, and it’s full of assholes in this city.”

“How do you know I’m not an asshole too?”

“You’re not.”

“So what are you suggesting exactly? That we have sex and then pretend we didn’t?”

“I’m suggesting we have sex more than once. Whenever we feel like it. And we don’t have to pretend we don’t, but we don’t have to make it matter.”

Yoongi blinks. “You want me to be your fuck buddy?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Literally why?”

It’s Jimin’s turn to look confused. “Why not?”

“Just—”

“I think you’re nice. And that I’d like having sex with you. You’re also surprisingly attractive.”

“That does not sound like a compliment.”

“It is. People never surprise me.”

Yoongi makes a noise at this, something between a groan and a sigh. He can’t stand Jimin’s smile right now, so he looks away and pretends that the corner of the alley beneath them is interesting enough to stare at for a while.

This really makes no sense. And is he that desperate that he’d say yes to something like this?

Kind of.

It’s not even that Yoongi craves sex that badly. It’s more about those nights that show up unannounced once in a while—the cleaning trucks driving by outside his house, making too much noise, how that noise echoes in his head, and then it’s the neighbors yelling and that gets under his skin until he wants to scratch it raw and pink; when he gets like that he’d give anything to have someone there with him. Someone to touch, to hold, to fuck, to tell Talk about something, anything, distract me, make me listen to you.

“Look,” Jimin sighs. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Forget I asked, really.”

“I’m thinking, be quiet.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you could sound like that.”

Yoongi looks at him. “Like what?”

Jimin still has the cigarette between his fingers, barely smoked it, paper burning away slowly. “You’re so…soft-spoken. I didn’t know you could make your voice sound like that.”
Yoongi’s fingers tighten around the neck of the beer bottle. He thinks Jimin might not even be doing it on purpose—being alluring. It’s probably an effortless thing.

With great patience, Yoongi says, “What would it—this deal, what are your boundaries?”

Shrugging, Jimin answers, “Unless you’re into some really weird shit, I’m fine with basically everything. As long as you don’t get all emotional about it I’m good.”

“As in, as long as I don’t catch feelings?”

“Yeah.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Who says you won’t catch feelings?”

“I can confidently say I will not. Just so you know, sometimes I keep my socks on.”

“Excuse me?”

“In winter my feet get really cold. So, socks. But I have some pretty ones I can wear.”

“I do not care about your socks.” Yoongi turns around, leaning against the rail with his back. “Do you have some cliché rules? Like, no kissing allowed?”

Jimin grins, and there’s just this—this thing about him when he smiles like that. Something that has Yoongi holding his breath. 

“I like kissing,” Jimin says and he’s closer now, turned towards him. “Do you want to? Kiss?”

“What, right now?”

Jimin nods. He’s way too nonchalant about this. Like it doesn’t matter, not even a bit.

Ah.

Isn’t that the point? That it doesn’t matter?

That realization lifts something off Yoongi’s shoulders, a weight he hadn’t even realized was there, and he’s not sure how to name it ( guilt, it’s guilt, it’s Haewon ) but suddenly this whole thing looks easy.

So he reaches for Jimin’s belt-loops, and when he pulls he meets no resistance. 

Jimin’s arms rest at the sides of his neck, the cigarette’s smoke itching at his nose, and like this Jimin doesn’t look as intimidating so much as so fucking stunning it’s hard to breathe right. 

“Yeah?” Jimin asks, quietly, eyes flitting to Yoongi’s mouth.

Yoongi nods, and then he’s being kissed. 

When was the last time he kissed someone? Actually kissed, open-mouthed and eager, clumsy with impatience, wet and deep. Must be months. Maybe more. Someone in a dark club corridor, faceless and conveniently there. 

It didn’t matter then just like it doesn’t matter now, but it’s good. Jimin’s lips are warm, and he tastes like soju and lingering smoke, and normally he wouldn’t even like it but he does now, and that’s fine for him. He pulls him closer, until Jimin has to slot a leg between Yoongi’s to fit, and his back arches against the rail, feels the hitch in Jimin’s breathing against his mouth. Yoongi nips at Jimin’s bottom lip and Jimin tugs his hair hard enough it stings, like some sort of petty vendetta, and Yoongi likes that too, likes it enough a shudder of heat goes wrecks through him. He makes a noise, and Jimin hums, his leg pressing harder against his groin. They pull back for a moment, look at each other, and then Jimin kisses him again, slower, less like he has something to prove.

“You’re getting hard,” he murmurs.

“I’m aware.” Yoongi doesn’t have the mind to be ashamed about it. 

“Let me suck you off.” Jimin’s mouth is red, slick. “Say yes.”

On Seokjin’s holy terrace? Where anyone who has the gate code could walk up to?

“Yes.”

Jimin manages to push the half-smoked cigarette between Yoongi’s lips before he drops to his knees, fingers quickly working his belt and zip.

This part is always awkward. Yoongi takes a drag of smoke and looks away, gritting his teeth together when Jimin palms him through his underwear. And then it’s his tongue over the fabric, then his mouth when he lowers the briefs and takes his cock in his mouth.

“ Fuck .” Yoongi looks down and Jimin is looking straight at him, lips stretched and wet, his hand wrapping at the base of his dick. 

Yoongi is almost annoyed that this guy manages to look good even when he’s sucking someone off, but he pushes that away in favor of focusing on the slick heat of Jimin’s mouth instead. 

And Jimin makes it messy, makes it good. Bobs his head fast and sucks when he pulls back, licks along the length, strokes what he doesn’t reach, takes him deeper without warning and hums around it, a satisfied glint in his eyes when Yoongi moans low and quiet. 

At one point, Yoongi feels like he’s being too loud, that they’re still outdoors and anyone could walk by, or a neighbor could hear them and go out on the balcony to see what the fuck is going on and they’d see two idiots being gross on a terrace. But Yoongi’s mind is in the gutter today, and he’s easy enough that the idea turns him on, makes him almost lose his grip on the beer bottle. 

He throws the cigarette away to finally, fucking finally, bury his fingers in Jimin’s hair, down to his nape. Jimin’s eyes flutter closed at this, a moan coming deep from his chest. Yoongi hisses, pulls. “Close, get off.”

Jimin grabs his wrist and wrenches his head off his head just to suck harder, faster. 

He comes in Jimin’s mouth with a choked, fucking embarrassing noise, and Jimin just lets him, keeping his cock in his mouth and blinking up at him. Then, he gets up while Yoongi furiously fixes his clothes back on, not even looking at him as he leans over the rail and spits down the streets.

“Oh, that is fucking foul,” Yoongi groans, buckling his belt.

“I don’t swallow unless I feel like it.” Jimin looks at him. Blank stare, mouth a thin line (and red, swollen). “Next time I’ll just spit your cum in Jin-hyung’s pretty plants, how about that?”

“Next time we’re not doing anything on this terrace.” Yoongi lets his eyes travel down Jimin’s body, to the bulge in his jeans. “Want me to—”

“No.” Jimin pulls out his phone, taps a few times and then brings it to his ear. “Taehyung-ah, I don’t need a ride back home. Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry. Sure. Have fun.” Then, he turns to Yoongi. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Your place.”

“My place.”

“Dorm’s closed at this hour and we haven't had sex yet.”

"Who says I want to have sex?"

Jimin just snorts, sending him this unimpressed fucking look and Yoongi can't stand him. 

That being said, Yoongi always had terrible taste in men. 

It turns out, unsurprisingly, that Jimin manages to be rude even when he's getting fucked.

He's all nasty jabs and demands, Can you please do it right?, Had I known it was gonna take this long to finger me I would have done it myself, Just fucking— do it, Move faster before I fall asleep, Fuck me harder, Fuck me faster, Fuck me.

But when Yoongi does fuck him faster, harder, deeper— the way Jimin asks him, the way Jimin craves— he stops being unbearable. Instead, he turns surprisingly quiet.

And warm. All of him, from his flushed cheeks to his hands where his fingers wrap right around Yoongi's wrist next to his face, to the arch of his back. Pliant, too, easy to move around, to bend when Yoongi lifts up one of his legs over his shoulder, when he rolls Jimin on his back because suddenly he wants to see what kind of face he's making now.

And then he’s not quiet anymore, not even rude—he clings onto Yoongi, kisses him, asks him, Does it feel good?, Tell me I feel good, yeah? Tell me, I like it so much, tell me you like it too, say it.

When they’re done, and they’re just pressed together on Yoongi’s unmade bed, with sheets clinging around their legs in the most uncomfortable way, Yoongi wishes he didn’t like it as much as he did. He wishes he could say that it was fine, fun even, felt good enough for what it was, and so they’re never gonna end up doing this again, not ever. They’ll treat this night as a stupid thing they did because they drank a bit too much and the mood was right, and maybe they’ll even talk about it once in a while while having a drink, they’ll say Hey, remember when we slept together? That was stupid. But it was fun.

The problem is that it wasn’t just fine, and it wasn’t just fun. It was good. It felt perfect.

They fit too well, that’s the issue.

Yoongi knows that it will become a problem. Now, as he looks at Jimin’s half-asleep face, smelling of Yoongi’s shower gel and a fresh change of sheets, Yoongi wonders if Jimin thinks the same thing.

Probably not.

“I can sleep, right?” Jimin asks, words quiet and messy.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll leave in the morning, promise.”

“It’s fine. We can grab breakfast.”

“Mh, sure.” He stirs a little, hugs one of Yoongi’s pillows under his head. “We should definitely do this again.”

Looking back, Yoongi will wish he’d said no.

“Yeah. Let’s do it again.”

For some reason, he doesn't tell anyone about what happened with Jimin. Not Namjoon, not even Hoseok.

Granted, he's pretty sure Jimin isn't exactly waving flags about it either, and whenever Yoongi meets Taehyung on campus nothing is different in his behavior, or in how he looks at Yoongi. So he probably doesn't know either.

Either way, it doesn't matter. Yoongi barely has time to breathe with midterms looming over him and the others, let alone to think about what is going on between him and Jimin—to think, truly, actually, about what he’s agreed to.

The morning after they slept together they went to eat at a nearby café, drank their coffees in absolute silence and sat on opposite sides of the table.

Then, just before getting up and leaving, Jimin looked at him and said, "You know, there's no need to overthink this. I had fun, you had fun too. So that's really all there is to it. We're gonna meet often anyway, Tae is hellbent on making sure I'm friends with all of you and luckily I like you all, so let's just act as always. And when you're bored, call me. I'll answer if it's you."

And all Yoongi could do was watch him leave, still trying to put together the flash of Jimin's hurried, frantic sentences. 

It was the first and last time he sensed any sort of insecurity in Jimin.

So life moves on, and it does so at an extremely tedious rate. Once, two days before midterms start, Hoseok manages to get everyone together for a study group date at his and Namjoon’s flat (including Seokjin, who doesn’t even go to college anymore but shows up anyway with enough alcohol to fill a bathtub) and they study for a grand total of forty-five minutes.

Then Seokjin gets bored, and he pulls out the soju, and an hour later they’re drunkenly binging a show Yoongi doesn’t even remember the title of. Outside it starts raining, and Taehyung falls asleep with his head on Namjoon’s lap, and Seokjin is kind of flirting with Hoseok, and Hoseok is kind of flirting back, but that’s just what they do. Jungkook decides he’s actually very passionate about the show and keeps commenting on it even though no one is paying attention. At some point, and Yoongi swears he doesn’t know when, Jimin ends up on the couch next to him, his head leaning over his shoulder, and he feels warm and sleepy against him, solid, real— there , with him.

So life moves on, and Yoongi is glad it does.

MAY 15, 2022

It’s already too damn hot. Yoongi goes to sleep dry, sleeps sweaty and wakes up sweatier. 

He misses winter.

“Taehyung is on a date,” Jungkook says, his voice muffled and static on the phone.

Yoongi hums, phone pressed between shoulder and cheek as he surveys what options he has for dinner. Nothing. Great. “Does Namjoon know?”

“I would hope so, given he’s Taehyung’s date.”

“Fucker didn’t tell me anything.”

“He didn’t want anyone to know in case it goes badly.”

“It won’t go badly.”

“I know, but they’re stupid,” Jungkook laughs, full of fondness, full of love, always so full of love he could smother himself with it all if not careful.

Staring at an empty fridge won’t magically fill it, so Yoongi closes the damn thing with a sigh and puts the call on speaker, moving to the other side of the kitchen. He probably has noodles somewhere. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Jin-hyung is treating me to dinner.”

“Wish that was me.”

“Wanna join?”

“No thank you, I’d rather not spoil my appetite with Seokjin’s presence.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Traitorous little—” His phone buzzes suddenly. 

It’s a text from Jimin and all it says is, Call me right now .

Huh.

“Kook-ah, hyung will see you tomorrow, yeah? Gotta make a call, enjoy your dinner.” He waits for Jungkook to bid his goodbye and then he’s pressing on Jimin’s contact. 

He’s not excited.

He isn’t.

Since this whole thing started they slept together a grand total of three times and it was always Yoongi calling Jimin. This is just—new.

“Hey,” Jimin says when he picks up and he’s cheerful. Too cheerful. “What’s up?”

Yoongi frowns. “What do you mean what’s up, you told me to call you.”

“I’m good, you?”

“What the fuck?”

“I’m in Seodaemun. At a restaurant.”

Yoongi blinks. “Are you alright?”

Laughing, Jimin replies, “Not really.”

“What restaurant?”

“Ah, what’s it called again? Jiyeon’s BBQ. ”

Yoongi searches for it on the phone, finds the directions for it. “Ok.”

“Nearby?”

“No. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Yeah, sure!” Jimin exclaims, still cheerful, voice all high and melodic. “See you then.”

The call drops just as Yoongi hears voices, cheers, someone calling for Jimin’s attention. 

Grabbing his house keys, Yoongi walks out of his flat.

The restaurant Jimin mentioned is a small, cramped place with tables too big for the room’s layout and pushed too close together. 

He finds him at the biggest table, surrounded by a group of people and even from a distance they all look built like damn athletes, and they’re all too loud, too happy, but then there’s Jimin, just fucking sitting between them, staring at his untouched foot, knee bouncing like a goddamn springtrap, and Yoongi walks to the table. 

Only when he stops in front of it does he realize he left the house in his pair of knock-out Crocs, but whatever.

“Hey.”

The table goes quiet and Jimin’s head snaps up fast, eyes widening, like he’s surprised Yoongi is there. Then, he schools his expression, forces this huge stupid smile on. “You’re here!”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sniffs. Everyone’s looking at him. “So—”

“Are you gonna join us?” A girl asks, drunk smile at full force. “‘m sure we can fit another chair, yeah? Yah, Chae, babe, get another chair.”

Before Chae (fucking wardrobe of a woman, looks like she could slap him across all of South Korea) can get up for another chair, Jimin stands up. “We’re leaving actually.”

“So soon?” A guy asks.

“Yeah, we were meant to meet up.”

“Oh!” The first girl grins, swaying a bit on her stool. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Jimin snorts, shakes his head, “He’s—”

“He doesn’t do boyfriends, right?” It’s the guy again, speech all slurred with beer and soju, but his voice isn’t unkind. “Right? Jimin just fucks people, right?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. Chae, on the other hand, elbows him in the ribs hard enough she probably broke a couple. “Shut up.”

“What? He does, right? ‘Cause wasn’t he with—”

Jimin’s smile doesn’t falter for a second when he says, “Leewon-ssi, this is why this is the first time we invited you to dinner ever since the semester began.” And then, “Hyung, let’s go.”

And they go. Fast, too, with Jimin grabbing his arm and digging his nails in the meat of his wrist. Yoongi looks back to the table and finds it eerily silent.

“So.” Yoongi frowns at his lighter and shakes it a couple of times. Finally, he manages to light up his cigarette and he hands it to Jimin. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Jimin blows out a thin cloud of smoke. “Why are we at a bus stop?”

“Don’t have a car.”

“You got here by bus? In twenty minutes?”

“I got a cab.” Yoongi lights up a second cigarette for himself and leans against the plex wall of the bus stop. “Fucking expensive.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“Forget it.” He looks at Jimin. He’s sitting on those unbearable bus-stop benches, made for the comfort of absolutely no one. “You good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. That’s why you made a pretend call? ‘Cause you were enjoying your night out and—”

“Fuck!” Jimin turns to glare at him, all barely held anger and unease, his knee still frantically going up and down. “I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it!”

Yoongi holds his gaze until he doesn’t. He turns to stare at the street instead, thumb flicking at the cigarette’s butt. In the end, he just hums.

They smoke in silence, waiting for a bus that should have showed up already, the air thick with humid heat.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says after a while, quietly. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. You were nice enough to show up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I learned that getting offended with you takes me nowhere.”

“Is it fine?” Jimin shakes his head. “I keep doing this. I keep lashing out at the people I actually like while playing nice with the ones I can’t stand.”

“Like that Leewon?”

“He’s so goddamn unbearable on a good day, but when he’s drunk he’s just insufferable.” Jimin drops the cigarette, stubs it under his shoe. “He’s friends with Jihoon.”

“Ah.”

“I think Jihoon has been going around telling people I fuck around and that’s why we broke up.” Jimin scoffs. “Which, y’know, really ironic considering—”

“I’m sorry.”

Jimin blinks, then frowns, and he looks like he wants to say something but nothing comes out.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi repeats. “He’s doing something awful. I’m sorry that you have to deal with that.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything. He looks at Yoongi for a second too long, and then looks like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. 

In the distance, Yoongi sees the bus approaching. “Are you still in time for curfew?”

“Yes.”

“Then—”

“Can I sleep at yours?”

“Sure,” Yoongi replies, too quickly and too easily. 

The bus is mostly empty so they sit in the back, arms pressed together and hands awkwardly set on their laps. Jimin stays silent for most of the ride, staring blankly outside, and Yoongi wants to ask him, just one more time, if he’s really okay.

Then, out of nowhere, Jimin says, “I had such a bad week, hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“I miss Busan.”

“Mh.”

“Does it get easier? Missing home?”

“After a while.”

“I want to drown Jihoon in his own piss.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I didn’t even want to go out for dinner.”

“Then why did you?”

Jimin shrugs. “I’m bad at doing things people don’t expect of me.”

Yoongi nods. “Maybe that’s why you’re so fucking rude. Why you lash out.”

“Well, fuck you too.”
“I like that you’re rude.”

Jimin slowly turns to look at him. He says, “I wouldn’t brag about that.”

Yoongi smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You didn’t call for a while.”

“Did you want me to?”

“Did I say that?”

“You didn’t call either.”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

“But I have to call.”

“You don’t have to do anything unless you want to do it.” Jimin sighs. “But I told you that I’ll answer if you call.”

“Always?”

“I mean, unless I’m fucking dying or—”

“Tell me you wanted me to call you.”

Jimin turns to look at him, and Yoongi notices that the light of the streetlamps they’re driving by make his eyes look warmer, that they cast thin, outstretched shadows over his face. “I wanted you to call,” he says in the end.

Yoongi nods. “I wanted to call too.”

“Do it then.”

“Too busy to call you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sure, if you want to.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, looking fully unimpressed with him. And Yoongi, who has terrible taste in who he ends up liking, laughs.

It’s not like it’s routine, because they haven’t been doing this for long enough to even call it anything, but Jimin is always the one who ends up kissing him first. The one who pushes him against the wall, and smiles against his mouth when Yoongi inevitably bashes his head against it. He’s the one who gets his clothes off and the one who straddles Yoongi when they’re in bed, the one who says, I wanna ride you, and then you ride me, yeah? Say yes. Say yes, come on.

Yoongi doesn’t get it. Even if Jimin didn’t ask, he wouldn’t be able to say no.

So he says, Yes yes yes, anything, yes, whatever you want.

The next morning, he ends up thinking about this. That he always says yes. 

He does it while shopping for food too early in the morning, and keeps doing it once he’s back in his flat with Jimin still asleep in his bed. And then he keeps on thinking about it while he’s stirring soup.

He shouldn’t just mindlessly say yes. He shouldn’t just call Jimin because he asked him to and then rush like a fucking idiot to a random restaurant just because Jimin doesn’t know how to get out of an uncomfortable dinner.

“Time.”

Yoongi turns around. Jimin is standing by the kitchenette, eyes still half-closed. “Huh?”

“The time.”

“You need to learn how to put more than two words together in the morning. And it’s almost lunch time.”

Jimin finally manages to blink his eyes open and looks at him. “Late.”

“It’s a Sunday, who cares?” He focuses back on the simmering pot of soup. It should be about done, right? 

After a moment, Jimin is pressed against his back, arms wrapped around his stomach, mouth trailing over the side of his neck.

Yoongi sighs. “Try not to get horny while I cook.”

“I like that you can cook. It’s hot.”
“Turns out we both have terrible taste.”

“Should I suck you off?”

“Not in front of the food, please.”

“Then—” Jimin hesitates. He leans over Yoongi’s shoulder and blinks at the pot. “Are you making dwaeji gukbap?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know if you like it. I just googled what food is famous in Busan. I’ll let you know, I woke up bright and early for this so if you end up hating it keep it to yourself, ‘cause—”

Jimin grabs his chin, tilts it just enough for him to press a kiss to his mouth. And Yoongi, again, wants to point out that this is not the time to get nasty, because there’s food on the stove and food is fucking precious when you spent money you don’t have for it, but nothing else happens. Jimin just kisses him, gentle and soft, and then pulls away.

“I’ll take a shower then we can eat,” he says before leaving the kitchen.

Yoongi stares at the soup. 

He thinks that he probably added too many green peppers. 

He thinks this is the first time Jimin has kissed him just for the sake of kissing him.

MARCH 20, 2026

Yoongi thinks he might throw up.

It hasn’t rained in a month, the air is stuffed in his flat, and there’s dust settling over his furniture. He’s going to be sick.

He stares at the clock, phone pressed against his ear, each ring another second that goes by, and it’s been thirty seconds already. It’s too late, Jimin won’t pick up, it’s almost midnight and it’s been a year, it’s been a fucking year, and yesterday he swore that he couldn’t remember—

“ Hyung, it’s so fucking late. ”

“Shit.” Yoongi closes his eyes, a lungful of air escaping him all at once. “You picked up. Hi. Hi. Shit. Happy anniversary. I made it in time, yes? Yeah. Fuck.”

Silence. Yoongi’s stomach twists and aches.

“ What’s wrong? ” Jimin asks.

“Nothing. Nothing, sorry for waking you. It’s fine. Next year, I’ll call you next—”

“ Yoongi, what’s wrong? ”

He makes a sound at this. Something pathetic, and wheezy, and Yoongi wishes he could crawl in a corner, and stay there until the dust settles on him as well.

“ Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin says, and his voice always sounded too good when it curled around his name. “ Tell me what’s wrong. ”

“I’m so tired,” Yoongi whispers, mouth bitter and teeth heavy. His gums are burning. “And there’s dust everywhere.”

“ Okay. Go drink water. ”

“Huh?”

“ Just do it. ” 

So Yoongi goes to the kitchen, and he drinks water so fast he almost choked on it, and his throat fucking burns with each sip. 

“Tell me about your day,” Yoongi manages to croak out after a moment.

“ Screw my day, take a shower and go to sleep. ” Jimin heaves a long, deep breath. “ And then tomorrow you’re gonna open the windows, and you’ll get rid of the dust. You always get rid of it. You’ll be fine. ”

Yoongi hums, leaning against the wall. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Jimin he hasn’t turned on the lights in his flat in the last six days. That he hasn’t eaten since last night and that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do it tomorrow either. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“ You will be. You have to call me next year too. ”

Yoongi snorts, and his lungs pinch when he does. “Just say you want me to call you.”

“ Whatever floats your boat. ”

“Jimin-ah.”

“ What? ”

Jimin-ah, sometimes I forget what your voice sounds like and that’s why I keep calling you. Jimin, I wish I had said no from the first time. Jimin, Min-ah, you know I loved you, right? 

“No.” Yoongi clears his throat. “Nothing. Until next year.”

This time, when the call ends, and Yoongi is left alone in his dark flat, with its settled dust and stale, smoke-heavy air, he thinks he doesn’t want to call next year. His heart is already broken enough as it is.

JUNE 21, 2022

Classes ended not even two hours ago and Yoongi has been invited to eight different house-parties. Yoongi doesn’t even know how these people know him, or why they want him there at all, but the eighth invitation is from Hoseok so he can’t avoid that one.

It’s not at Seokjin’s house but somehow he’s there anyway. Fucking celebrity that one, even freshmen know about him. Hoseok said that the house belongs to a friend of his but he’s not actually home either, and the one who organized the party just borrowed the place and it doesn’t make any sense, but fine. Most things don’t make sense with Hoseok, it’s part of the charm.

All Yoongi knows is that Namjoon took over playlist duty so the music is decent, and there’s enough booze to feed an army. Weed everywhere too—how the fuck do APU students always have access to so much weed?

“Art students,” Jimin says. “We always have weed.”

“Speak for yourself,” Yoongi replies. He glances at Jimin and frowns. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You look—like you’re in a good mood.”
Jimin clicks his tongue. “Yeah, I’m capable of that.”
“Wasn’t aware.”

“Maybe you bring out the worst in me.” 

“Or maybe you’re just atrocious most days.”

“I like it so much when you call me atrocious. You’re fucking my thighs tonight. As a treat. Don’t thank me.”
“I really was not going to.”

He kind of was.

Then Jimin is gone in the blink of an eye, rushing into the crowd to snatch Taehyung out of Namjoon’s arms to drag him downstairs, where the music is louder and people are dancing. Namjoon just stands there for a moment, staring at his now empty hands, then shakes his head and goes to grab himself something to drink.

Hoseok appears after a while, all flushed cheeks and huge smile, grabby and clingy. “Hyung, what a sight for sore eyes.”

“I’m so popular these days,” Yoongi mutters. “It’s terrible, being this attractive.”

Hoseok laughs, head thrown back, then he ends up choking on his own spit and looks miserable for a couple of moments.

They end up on a balcony, sharing a crooked joint that Hoseok barely managed to put together. 

“So.” Hoseok coughs in his fist. “Can I ask you something?”

Yoongi hums, taking a drag of smoke. It sits acrid on his tongue, makes the inside of his mouth dry like a bitch. 

“Look.” Hoseok twists around, elbows braced on the rail, pupils fucking huge. “Are you and Jimin dating?”

Yoongi looks at him. “No.”

“Huh.”

“We don’t do that.”

“Excuse me?”

“We don’t date.” Yoongi passes him the joint, looks at Hoseok’s lean, long fingers for a while. “Relationships aren’t exactly something either of us care about right now.”

Hoseok nods, slowly, eyes squinted against a streetlamp’s light. “So what do you do? You fuck?”

“Wash your mouth.”

“Hyung.”

“Yeah, we fuck.”

“Just that?”

Three weeks ago it started raining out of nowhere, and Yoongi found himself stuck under the canopy of a café next campus. Jimin appeared at the same time, rushing under it, cursing under his breath and squeezing water out of the sleeve of his jumper. So they went inside, because it was a downpour and they were both damp and tired.

They ordered food, and sat in absolute silence in the empty store, the quiet filled by the radio playing whatever song was trending on Melon that day. Jimin pulled out a book at one point, and Yoongi couldn’t read the title because it was covered by a dust jacket, but he found it so goddamn rude that Jimin just started reading out of the blue, in front of him, that he kind of wanted to kiss him.

When the food arrived, Jimin didn’t even notice and kept reading. Yoongi cut a corner of Jimin’s sandwich and pressed it to his mouth. He watched as Jimin’s lips opened around it as he kept reading, looked at him chewing. So he fed him another piece, and then another, without saying a word.

“You’re so unguarded sometimes,” Yoongi said, mostly to himself.

Eventually, Jimin replied, “It’s ‘cause it’s you.” He went back to reading.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says now. “We just fuck.”

Hoseok nods again. He takes a drag of smoke, puffs his cheeks around it before blowing it out. “I don’t really get it.”

Yoongi frowns, and he steals the joint out of Hoseok’s fingers. “Says the one who never had a stable relationship ever?”

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand. “No, this isn’t about me. I don’t get why you’d be fine with just fucking him. I don’t know Jimin that well yet and, don’t get me wrong, I love him but, I can see why he wouldn’t want a relationship. But you?” Hoseok looks at him. “Hyung, you love being in love.”

Yoongi shakes his head, breathes in smoke, and his lungs turn icy with it. “Good thing I’m not in love, then.”

“All I’m saying is that it doesn’t make sense that you’re not in a relationship when you’re good at them.”
“I’m not—” Yoongi sighs. “Whatever. It’s just for fun. We have fun, and it’s all good.”

Hoseok makes a noise that could very much mean Oh, alright, or, That’s such a load of bullshit. Yoongi decides that, for his own peace of mind, he won’t try and pick one of the two options.

“Anyway!” Hoseok pats his shoulder, then drops a kiss on his cheek for good measure. “I think I’ll go make out with Jin-hyung.”

“That is disgusting, don’t ever tell me that again.”

So Hoseok goes back inside, to do unspeakable things, and Yoongi smokes the rest of the joint by himself. Then he goes inside too, finds Namjoon and Jungkook, and the three of them down a bottle of strawberry vodka that has them gagging at each sip. Eventually, Jimin and Taehyung appear, so there’s more alcohol, and a collective groan when Taehyung and Namjoon start dry humping against the fridge, so the rest of them move downstairs. Then outside, for a smoke, then upstairs again.

Yoongi is having fun. He doesn’t care that it’s so loud tonight, and that there’s so many people he doesn’t know. Turns out that Jimin gets clingy when he’s in a good mood, and keeps kissing him when they’re alone, or when the others are distracted, and Yoongi keeps a hand on his waist, around his shoulders. Keeps him close for no real reason, and for no real reason, Jimin lets him.

It’s a good night. Yoongi is glad he came.

It’s far too late for them to be still so loud, and for the music to be even louder, but somehow there haven’t been any complaints yet. Small miracles.

Yoongi is back on the balcony, brain a bit muffled by booze and noise, a cigarette between his lips and it’s good. June is warm but the night air is chilly against his skin, and Jimin said he’d be back soon with beers, or weed, or both.

“Hey.”

Yoongi’s head snaps up. 

To Haewon’s defense, he looks as surprised as Yoongi feels. Unfortunately, Yoongi also feels like he wants to jump off this balcony.

“I didn’t—” Haewon breathes out a laugh, something awkward and winded. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Yoongi doesn’t speak. A block of ash falls off the tip of the cigarette and ends between his feet. Haewon stares at him and then does the worst thing possible: he walks out on the balcony too, and pushes the door closed behind him.

Panic, Yoongi found out ages ago, tends to grab him by the stomach.

“It’s been a while,” Haewon breathes out. His smile looks the same as Yoongi remembered it. That, for some reason, makes his insides turn in on themselves. “You look good! You—yeah. Sorry, this is more difficult than I thought. It’s just that I saw you from inside and thought—that we could talk?” Haewon stands in front of him, and shrugs. “We haven’t talked. In a while.”

Haewon isn’t as tall as Namjoon, and he’s not as built as Jungkook. He’s all kind eyes and easy smiles, Yoongi always liked people who smile easily. His hair is longer than before and it makes him look like he walked straight out of some overhyped romance novel.

Yoongi wants to run away. He thinks he might be sick.

“Yoongi,” Haewon sighs, rubbing a hand behind his neck. “Look, I know I was awful to you. I was. I-I know that. And when we broke up we were both too angry to really talk it out, but I always thought that if we had it wouldn’t have ended that way. I think about you, you know? I really think I ruined it all, and I regret it. I really do.”

Yoongi brings the cigarette to his mouth, inhales too much smoke, and he can’t tell if his fingers are shaking or if he’s just making it up.

“Yoongi,” Haewon whispers and he’s closer, close enough Yoongi can smell his cologne, the faint alcohol in his breath. “I really loved you so much.”

Yoongi grips on a column of the rail and thinks, for a moment, that he wishes this thing snapped and broke and fell down.

“Can’t we just go back to at least being friends?” Haewon looks at him with this pitiful goddamn expression, like he’s the one who got hurt in the process, like he has the right . “And then we could—you’re not seeing anyone, right? So maybe we can try going out? Once in a while? Just to see, because we were good, right? We used to be so good, and I would never treat you like that again, I wouldn’t. I swear it.”

Yoongi feels like the music's over and that now the speakers are playing their arguments instead, that everyone in this stranger’s house are listening to how Haewon’s voice cracked when he yelled at him, how it went sharper whenever he’d say, Is that how little you trust me, Yoongi, do you think I’m a fucking slut? You think your boyfriend is a fucking slut?

Then Haewon’s fingers are on his cheeks, and the weight of them are so familiar Yoongi’s knees almost give out. His stomach churns, the cigarette drops from his fingers. 

“Yoongi, let’s just try. You still love me, right?”

“Please, don’t touch me,” Yoongi says and then wants to scream because he spoke too quietly, he barely heard himself.

“And it’s fine even if you don’t love me!” Haewon nods, a little desperate, his palms now cradling his face like nothing bad ever happened. “You don’t have to! We can take it slow? We can just try again, let me try again.”

Yoongi stares at him. Everything about Haewon is the same, Even the way he looks at Yoongi before he is about to lean in to kiss him looks the same.

All Yoongi can think about is that Jimin would ask him to say yes if he was here. 

The door opens again and Haewon startles, steps aside with wide eyes.

Jimin looks at them for a few moments, eyes moving slowly from Haewon to Yoongi. His face is that careful blank sheet again, mouth a firm line. 

He says, “Hyung, let’s go.”

Yoongi breathes in, out. He pushes himself off the rail and makes it to go back inside. Haewon grabs his wrist, not unkindly, not even harshly. It freezes Yoongi in his tracks anyway.

With a pleading voice, Haewon says, “Yoongi, just a moment, let me just—”

“You remind me of a snake.”

They both turn to Jimin. He is looking at Haewon with a thinly veiled hostility, the kind you really have to look for in order to notice it. But Yoongi does notice it. 

“Who are you?” Haewon asks, his grip around Yoongi’s wrist tightening just so. 

“But not the venomous kind of snakes. The other ones.” Jimin steps between them and, very intently, fits his fingers between Yoongi’s skin and Haewon’s hand until his grip falters. “The kind that wrap around prey, to smother them.” Now his hand curls around Yoongi’s wrist, his palm clammy, his hold like steel. “It grosses me out.”

Then Jimin turns around, tugs at his arm and Yoongi follows after him.

He makes it a point not to look back to Haewon. He likes to imagine it’s out of spite, but the truth is that if he were to turn around he might get stuck again.

They walk out the house in a hurry, without warning the others, and internally Yoongi is glad for it. Soon enough, they’re out in the street. Students pour out bars and houses and no one pays any mind to them as they walk straight ahead, Jimin’s hand still viciously gripping his wrist, nails digging in his skin.

When they stop, the road is empty and quiet. 

Jimin lets go of him and turns around, looks at him for a moment. “All that bullshit you feed me about how I handle bad relationships and then you handle them even worse.”

“Fuck off,” Yoongi retorts, weakly and stupidly. He eyes the sidewalk’s ledge for a bit and in the end he sits down on it heavily. “Fuck off, Jimin.”

The asphalt is damp and too warm, but Yoongi feels like this is a perfect spot to mope for a while. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it up after too many attempts and it’s stupid, because his hands aren’t even shaking anymore. The first drag of smoke is too long and Yoongi fights off a fit of cough before sniffing, and dropping his head down, forehead pressed to one of his bent knees. “Fuck off.”

After that it’s silent for so long Yoongi thinks Jimin might have really gone and fucked off somewhere far from Yoongi’s miserable ass. For some weird, unknown reason, Jimin is still there and is sitting next to him, on this damp fucking sidewalk, and it’s stupid but Yoongi suddenly feels like crying.

“At least you weren’t lying,” Jimin says. “You do have terrible taste in men.”

Yoongi huffs out a noise that really can’t be called a lugh, but it’s close enough. “What, you thought I lied about that?”

“Maybe you said it to swoon me or something.”

“I feel like I don’t need to swoon you.”

“Unfortunately you’re right.” Jimin presses his shoulder against Yoongi’s. “Hyung.”

“Mh?”

“Why the hell were you so scared?”

Yoongi lifts up his head and sighs, long and heavy. There’s sweat cooling at the small of his back, and his head is pounding. “I couldn’t raise my voice.”

“You never raise your voice.”

“I mean that I couldn’t even speak. So when he touched me and I told him not to it was so quiet he didn’t hear me. And—” He swallows, looks down to the cigarette burning away between his fingers. “He was going to do something stupid like kiss me and I wouldn’t have been able to stop him, ‘cause I couldn’t speak.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a while. But Yoongi looks at him, at his profile, the slope of his nose and the dried balm on his lips. 

Jimin then clicks his tongue. “Should we kill him?”

“Well, damn.”

“I bet Jungkook could beat the shit out of him. And that Seokjin would be good at burying a body.”

“He would be.”

Jimin then smiles at him. “Hyung— Yoongi-hyung — it’s not your fault you couldn’t speak.”

Yoongi has to look away. He blinks, really hopes he’s not going to start crying, and smokes. 

Then, like a dam broke, he says, “You know how many times he cheated on me? Four. Four different people. The first time I found out because a girl in one of my classes saw them at a party. And the first time I pretended I didn’t know. Then the second time because I saw them in a restaurant. And I pretended I didn’t see them. Third and fourth I saw his texts with them by mistake. I just put the phone down and pretended I didn’t see. You know what made me speak out? Not those four people, not that. He tried kissing Hoseok at a party.” Yoongi laughs this time, really laughs. “ Hoseok. Fucking—Hoseok! He told me in fucking tears, that idiot, came to my flat the next day sobbing like a baby, telling me he swears he pushed Haewon away, that he slapped him across the face so hard he fell. Begged me to forgive him as if he was his fault. That’s what made me speak out, and not because he tried cheating again, but because he made Hoseok so damn miserable. And it—” Yoongi frowns. “We fought for three days straight. Every day we’d try to have a conversation about it and it never worked, and so we’d try the next day. He yelled the entire time. Tried to make me the bad guy, tried to-to make me think I was imagining shit, that I was being jealous for nothing. When we broke up we didn’t even say it out loud. He just went and left.” He takes one last drag of smoke then throws the cigarette to the side. “Fuck, I loved him so much it hurt.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t look at him either. At one point, he grabs his phone and starts texting someone.

Yoongi thinks maybe Jimin is disappointed; for all the righteous bullshit he spew and laid on him and then acting like a fucking idiot in real life.

Jimin pockets his phone and, finally, looks at him. He’s got some ferocious light in his eyes, and this steel resolve on his face when he says, “Of all the people I met, I think you’re the one who deserves decent love more than anyone else.” And then, “I also think you need a therapist.”

Yoongi bursts into laughter and he doesn’t miss the pleased little grin on Jimin’s face. “Well, fuck, I think you need one too!”

“Can’t afford one.”

Yoongi rubs his nose, nodding. “Jimin-ah, has it ever occured to you that maybe you also deserve decent love?”

Jimin hums, seemingly thinking about it. Then, he stands up and brings Yoongi up with him. “I think I don’t want it. Let’s go home?”

Home, apparently, is Yoongi’s small flat constantly surrounded by cleaning trucks.

Home must have become, at one point or another, the limited confine of Yoongi’s bed, and the space between his arms when they fuck, the spot just under his neck Jimin keeps kissing, the line of his spine where Jimin drags his nails. 

Terrifyingly enough, Yoongi thinks home is becoming Jimin’s voice when he says, Let me make you feel good, let me do it, say yes.

The next morning, Yoongi wakes up to his phone buzzing with texts. Jimin is still passed out next to him, face fully into the pillow, and it takes Yoongi a while to really read Seokjin’s texts, but when he does it’s—

Just so you know, yesterday after you two left Jimin texted Hoseok that Haewon was there. So Hoseok punched him in the face. 

Then Haewon punched him back because Hoseok has the wrists of a five year old.

So then Jungkook beat the shit out of him.

It took like eight people to pull him off the guy.

It was great, honestly. I took a video.

AUGUST 27, 2022

Summer is slow.

Yoongi goes to Daegu for a couple of weeks, spends time with his family, endures the questions, “Did you get a girlfriend yet? Or a boyfriend? You can tell your mom, yeah? Did you meet someone?” 

All in all, it’s good. 

Then in July the seven of them go on an impromptu weekend long camping session and it goes as badly as one can imagine: the first night they get so drunk they lose Jungkook in the woods for a good hour, then Seokjin completely goes nude because he wants to skinny dip but there are no lakes or anything nearby so what the fuck, then next day Namjoon gets bitten by the biggest goddamn wasp Yoongi ever saw, and Hoseok keeps screaming through the night because there’s spiders and ants and worms. On the last night, Jimin gets so drunk off a godawful concoction Jungkook put together that he ends up cooing at a patch of daffodils.

But that, too, is good. This is the last summer Yoongi spends as a grad student, he’ll be done by the next one.

Then August rolls in and it’s not good anymore.

Namjoon and Taehyung went on a trip together. Good for them.

Hoseok went back to Gwangju to spend the rest of summer with his family.

Seokjin one day woke up and decided he wanted to travel to Spain, because why the fuck not?

Jimin and Jungkook went back to Busan together.

Yoongi stays in Seoul.

His mistake. He should have made another trip to Daegu.

He’s pretty sure his phone died two days ago and he never bothered charging it again. One day he wakes up with his stomach hurting and his bladder burning like a motherfucker and realizes he stayed in bed for almost thirty hours. The sun is too hot and the light a bitch to deal with so Yoongi closes the blinds and doesn’t open them again. But then the cleaning trucks are too noisy, so he closes the windows as well.

On a Thursday afternoon he realizes he hasn’t eaten since the morning before. He walks to the dark kitchen and finds the last bag of chips he bought last month and that becomes his meal for that day and the next one. He smokes through three packs and then leaves the house just to buy five more, and the guy behind the counter looks at him like he’s seen a ghost. The house smells like ash and dust and unwashed dishes. His bed has been unmade for so long that the corner of the bedsheet ends up in the center of the mattress and he leaves it like that.

He thinks he might die if this goes on. That he should drink some water at least. 

Instead he goes back to his unmade bed and sleeps another day off.

On the eighth day he wakes up to his doorbell ringing like the apocalypse is about to wipe them all out.

Yoongi has half the mind of ignoring it but then the noise starts grating in a specific spot of his brain so he gets up and almost falls on his ass. Huh. Maybe he should eat. Or drink. Or both.

Yoongi opens the door, just a smidge, and then the rest of it is pushed to the side by Jimin.

“Do you know how many fucking texts I left you? How many times Hoseok tried calling you, you—” he hesitates. Then his shoulders drop, and his eyes become huge. 

Yoongi’s skin crawls with heat for a while. Shame grabs him by the throat. 

Then, Jimin takes a long, deep breath and walks inside, pushing past him. He takes his shoes off and walks into the flat, silent, and heads to the bathroom. Yoongi stands by the entrance for a while, then decides to close the door and go sit on the couch. Jimin comes back after a few minutes and he’s—a bit too gentle when he grabs Yoongi’s arm and pulls him up to drag him to the bathroom. 

He starts undressing him the way one would with a very frail thing, one layer after layer, and then he helps him into the bathtub. “Are you gonna drown if I leave you in there?”

“Fuck off,” Yoongi croaks out and shit, he hasn’t spoken in too long.

“Cool.” And he’s gone again.

Yoongi stays in the tub until the water goes lukewarm. So he empties it out and fills it again until it’s so hot his skin turns pink and splotched red. When Jimin comes back Yoongi looks for any hint of disappointment, or anger, or disgust. All he finds is that blank stare Jimin has sometimes.

A part of him wants to complain when Jimin starts washing his hair, but the other one quells like a tamed feral cat. He lets it happen. It doesn’t feel good, but it feels like something , which is more than he got during these last days.

Getting out of the tub is a whole ordeal, because his blood pressure must have reached a new low record, but he manages. Jimin forces clean clothes in his arms and then he’s out the bathroom again, looking like he’s very busy with something. 

When Yoongi walks back into the living room, the windows and blinds are wide open. His ashtray has been emptied and cleaned. Dust specs fly everywhere with each warm gust of wind. Jimin appears again holding his dirty bed sheets and he drops them on the floor before grabbing Yoongi’s arm and dragging him to his bedroom.

“You’re surprisingly aggressive with your care,” Yoongi mutters.

“I’m aware.” 

Then he’s forced back to his bed. Clean bed sheets and everything, all neatly done. Jimin makes him drink water, then pushes him down and says, “Sleep.”

“I slept enough.”

Jimin just looks at him. “No, hyung, I don’t think you did.”

Which is bullshit, because Yoongi might be a bit fucked up at the moment but he knows damn well that he slept way too much. 

And yet—exhaustion clouds his head in a matter of seconds. So he sleeps again.

When he wakes up it must be close to evening. 

Jimin is dozing off next to him, on top of the covers, an arm slung over his stomach. The room is—bright. All warm oranges and summer heat. When he pushes himself up on his elbows, Yoongi realizes Jimin cleaned it. That he folded his clothes and left them on top of his desk. 

His eyes start burning, his throat a knot. He bets that if he were to walk into the living room, he’d find it spotless. That his kitchen is clean too now. 

“Hey.”

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face and drops back on the mattress, tilting his head to look at Jimin. “Hey.”

“I can see it in your face that you wanna thank me,” Jimin says, words a bit thick with sleep. “Don’t. I’ll kick your ass if you do.”

“Okay, fuck you then.”

“That’s better.” Jimin rubs a thumb over Yoongi’s stomach. “Next time, call me.”

Yoongi hums and doesn’t say that he probably won’t. “How was Busan?”

“Pretty,” Jimin replies. “I’m hungry.”

“Tough shit, there’s no food in the fridge.”

“I know.” Jimin leans in and kisses his cheek. “Let’s go out.”

Yoongi stiffens. 

Quickly, Jimin says, “Somewhere quiet. Promise. But if you don’t want to, we can order food, yeah?”

Yoongi looks at the opened window. He hears yet another cleaning truck drive by, and sees a pigeon fly by. “Quiet?”

“Mh. Quiet.”

“Alright.”

It’s not as warm as it was when Yoongi had to close the blinds. Summer seems to be starting to fade, at least at sundown. Jimin takes him to this part of Yeouido park that Yoongi’s never been to, and they sit at the tables outside a small café. It’s quiet at this hour, with barely anyone walking by, most people probably still on vacation, or back home for dinner.

Jimin orders them food and Yoongi’s not sure what he’s eating, but it tastes mild and a bit boring. He scarfs it down. 

They don’t speak for the best part of the meal, and then smoke in silence for a good while. There are no cars here, no cleaning trucks. Just trees, and paved roads for people to walk beneath them. 

Yoongi feels entirely and utterly small. 

“Sometimes,” he starts saying, “I don’t feel very human. Sometimes I feel like I’m bones and flesh and nothing else.”

Jimin hums, leaning back in his chair, thumbing at the rim of his empty plate. “Isn’t it exhausting?”

“Feeling human?”

“Feeling like you’re not human.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.” Yoongi stubs the cigarette under his shoe. “Most things are exhausting, though.”

“Do you wanna leave?”

“Let’s stay a bit more.”

“Sure.”

“Are dorms opened yet?”

“Nope. They open next week.”

“Where are you staying, then?”

Jimin arches an eyebrow at him. “Try and guess.”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head. “Fine.”

“Tomorrow we’re going to buy groceries though.”

“Okay.”

“And I need a toothbrush.”

“We’ll get that on the way back.”

Jimin nods, staring at a particular spot across the paved path. “Hyung, no matter what happens in the future, you’re gonna be fine.”

Yoongi makes a sound at this, something that could mean anything. He doesn’t look at Jimin and instead thinks that the weight of his bones is still a physical thing.

“You will be,” Jimin insists. “Dust settles but you can always get rid of it.”

Yoongi grits his teeth, grinds them together. His jaw hurts for a moment, and his throat clogs up again. He swallows the knot down and blinks the burn off his eyes. 

Three days later, Namjoon is back in Seoul and convinces Yoongi to go out for dinner, his treat.

“You look like absolute mayhem, hyung,” is what Namjoon tells him as soon as he sees him.

“I have not, as the kids say, been thriving.”

“What kids?” Namjoon sighs, then gives Yoongi this awkward fucking hug and shit, they’re so bad at this. When they’re done with it, they both look like they’d rather be anywhere else.

The place Namjoon picked is the one he always picks. Namjoon is a creature of habit and comfort: he finds a place he likes and holds onto it like a lifeline. But the food is good, and the prices are reasonable. Namjoon likes it here mostly because they play good music and it’s never too loud or too quiet. And because once every couple of weeks they do the special menu where you get unlimited amounts of meat to grill for half the usual price.

Namjoon tells him about his trip with Taehyung in extensive detail, shows him pictures, and laments about how in love he is for about forty-five minutes. 

When they’re too full to eat anything else, they order more soju and drink without speaking for a while, listening to the low chatter of the few people in the restaurant while an old song plays from the speakers quietly.

Yoongi is the one who breaks the silence. “Jimin is staying at my place for a while. Just until dorms open again.”

Namjoon frowns at him, nursing his glass. “He’s back in Seoul?”

“He came back for—” Yoongi grimaces. “I think I worried him. He’s not used to—y’know.”

“Ah.” Namjoon nods. “Mh.”

“Very eloquent.”

“No, it’s just—” Namjoon’s brows furrow for a bit. “Why are you telling me this?”

Yoongi kind of wants to slap him. It’s impossible to be subtle about anything with this guy. “He and I hook up sometimes.”

“I’m aware. You’re not exactly discreet about it.”

“Thanks.”

“Since when are you into hooking up with your friends?”

“It started because we were both bored and weren’t looking for a real relationship.” Yoongi shrugs. “Y’know, it works surprisingly well.”

“Good for you two then.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi drinks some of his soju. “I’m falling in love with him.”

Namjoon doesn’t look surprised. He doesn’t look much of anything, really. His face tends to go into full neutrality when he’s really focused on something, so Yoongi lets him do his thing and refills both of their glasses. A waitress walks by and collects the last of their empty dishes, smiling at Yoongi as she does. 

Suddenly, Namjoon starts moving: he shifts on his seat, head tilting this way and that, tongue wetting his lips. “That’s probably not good.”

“I figured as much.”

“Him?”

“Pretty sure he has a very hateful relationship with the sole idea of being loved by someone.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Why him?”

Yoongi breathes in. “He’s so rude.”

“God, your taste is terrible.”

“He got rid of the dust in my flat.” Yoongi taps his finger on the rim of his glass. “Joon-ah, sometimes I look at him and I feel like fucking crying.”

And Namjoon doesn’t say anything else.

Yoongi’s best conversations with him have always been the ones where no words are spoken.

That night, when he’s back in his flat, Yoongi finds Jimin in his bed, dozing off while scrolling on his phone. And for a while Yoongi just—looks at him.

Something in his chest starts hurting like a disease.

And then later, when they’re both in bed, lights off, Yoongi keeps on watching him. Jimin sleeps on his stomach, with his arms under the pillow, and even now he doesn’t look relaxed. He never does.

“Jimin-ah.”

“Please, go to sleep.”

“Jimin-ah.”

“ What? ”

“Have you fucked anyone else during these months?”

Jimin opens his eyes and, in the dark, their color looks much lighter. “Have you?”

“It’s impossible to have a conversation with you, y’know?”

“It’s impossible to have a conversation with me because I want to fucking sleep.” Jimin sighs. “I haven’t. Why should I? You’re right here.”

That single sentence hurts and pleases him at the same time. “Alright.”

“So? Have you?”

Yoongi rolls on his side, moving his arm to rest his hand over the curve of Jimin’s waist. “Don’t ask questions when you already know the answer.”

That night, Yoongi thinks that whatever he will get during this last year, he will make it enough. 

He was stupid then. He should have been greedier.

MARCH 20, 2027

Yoongi stares at the phone screen for a while. It’s close to midnight. For once, he isn’t anxious about Jimin being asleep.

He loosens the tie and undoes the first buttons of his dress shirt, then leans back on his couch and takes a deep breath. He dials Jimin’s number. He waits.

Three seconds, four seconds, five, six—

“You keep calling at ungodly fucking hours.”

Yoongi hums. “I knew you’d be up.”

“How?” Jimin asks and there are voices all around him, loud and cheerful, laced with drunken happiness.

Yoongi smiles. “You’re gonna get mad.”

“I’m already mad.”

“I worked on the score for this show, and the director bought me tickets for a show today. Said his friend worked on the music for it, and thought I’d like at least that even though I’m not a fan of contemporary dance.”

Jimin stays silent, barely breathes. 

“I swear I didn’t know it was your—” Yoongi closes his eyes, and it takes him too long to speak again. “Jimin-ah, I saw you today.”

Silence. In the background, a bottle pops open and there are more cheers, glasses clinking together.

“Okay,” Jimin says in the end. “Alright.”

“I wanted to leave when I realized. You weren’t in the opening act and I glanced at the pamphlet, saw your name, put two and two together and really thought about leaving. But then you were there.” Yoongi feels his breath leave his lungs slowly. “You were there. ”

“How many years has it been now?”

“You were so fucking close.”

“ Three? Three years you’ve been doing this. We never talk outside of this fucking day and I don’t even know why you picked this day, and still you— ”

“Yes, still.”

“Hyung.”

“You did great,” Yoongi says, and then, “You were beautiful.”

Jimin makes a sound, something hissed and upset. At one point, Yoongi thinks Jimin might have lowered the phone, and there’s rustling, the noises of celebration fading into a muffled faraway thing.

Jimin says, “Don’t make me miss you, Yoongi. I can’t handle it.”

“You don’t want to?”

“Fuck no.”

Yoongi hums. “Then should I just not call you next year?”

Jimin curses under his breath. “ You’re such an asshole sometimes.”

“Learned from the best.” Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. “Jimin-ah, if you truly told me to stop calling you—”

“I already told you to.”

“If you meant it , then I would.”

“Hyung. Yoongi-hyung.” Jimin heaves a sigh. “Just say it.”

Yoongi smiles. “Happy anniversary.”
“Go fuck yourself.” 

The call ends.

It will take hours for Yoongi to realize that maybe, this time, Jimin was asking him to say something else.

SEPTEMBER 29, 2022

Sometimes Jimin shows up before Yoongi calls him. When it happens it’s always late at night, in the middle of the week. Jimin will knock at his door and he will always be wearing the same tired, upset expression, and he will say something like, “I’ve had a shit day.”, or “Couldn’t sleep at the dorm, two people next door were fucking.”, or “I’m so stressed for the next examination because the steps are awful on my spine and the professor hates me, I need you to fuck the stress out of me.”

Yoongi lets him in everytime, says yes whenever Jimin tells him to, fucks the stress out of him, listens to his rants for hours.

Yoongi thinks everything would be so much easier if Jimin were honest for once in his life and simply told him, “I missed you and wanted to see you.”

DECEMBER 23, 2022

The club is sweltering with people, the walls trembling with each low bass line coming from the speakers.

Jungkook won rock paper scissors so he got to choose where to spend the night this time, to celebrate the end of the fall semester. But he was nice about it, took Yoongi to the side and said, “Hyung, if it’s too much we can go somewhere else.”

Yoongi just wants all of them to have fun, and hates it when Jungkook feels bad for something that isn’t his fault, so he said that he’d be fine, that it’s not going to be too much.

It is too much, but the drinks are cheap and Seokjin sticks by his side the whole time. Mostly because Seokjin only likes to go clubbing so that he can lounge by the bar and let strangers buy him drinks, but Yoongi appreciates the company nonetheless.

“Got an audition next week.”

Yoongi hums, downs half of his bitter cocktail in one large gulp. “Yeah? For what?”

Seokjin is nursing this ridiculous looking glass filled only halfway with booze and replies, “Big drama. Same director of Goblin. ”

“Well, shit.”

“Mh.”

“Any part in that would be a godsent.”

Seokjin nods. “I’m auditioning for the male lead.”

Yoongi looks at him for a moment. A group of people squeeze between him and the counter and he flinches away. “Are you serious?”

“My manager said that apparently the director is looking for new faces.” Seokjin shrugs. “I’m kind of shitting myself, but it’s a good opportunity.”

“You’ll get it.”

“Mmh.” Then Seokjin smiles. “Maybe one day I’ll star in a drama and you’ll compose the music for it.”

“Isn’t that a nice dream?” Yoongi leans back against the bar counter. His head is pulsing with the noise, with the voices, the music. 

Seokjin looks at the dancing crowd and says, “You know, Yoongi, sometimes I find it really admirable that you’re so good at keeping your ambition on a tight leash. You never get disappointed by things. But then I also think that’s your biggest flaw.” 

Yoongi shrugs. “It’s just work.”

“I’m not talking about just work. It would be fine if you acted that way about only work.” Seokjin turns to him, mouth a faint curve. “Yoongi-yah, how much longer can you go pretending you don’t love him?”

Yoongi looks away. He lost Jimin inside the crowd an hour ago and hasn’t been able to spot him again ever since. “Am I so obvious about it?”

“Actually, you’re not. I’m just too damn smart.”

“Of course you are.”

“Brilliant, even.”

“Yes, hyung, you’re a miracle on Earth.”

“I don’t think he knows.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way.”

“I also think he doesn’t know about his own feelings. But that’s another problem.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. 

For a while, after summer, Yoongi started fooling himself just a bit. Tried to look for some signs that Jimin might love him back into every single thing Jimin said or did. When he failed, he decided to stop ever trying and save himself the pain.

“That’s because there aren’t any feelings he should be knowing about.” 

Seokjin opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates once Jimin does emerge from the crowd. He walks straight to them, dabbing at his neck with the back of his hand.

“Hoseok-hyung and Jungkook started making out,” he says once he’s close enough. “Had to run.”

“That’s my cue to join them, actually,” Seokjin says, grinning wide and pressing his drink between Jimin’s hands. “Free love and all that.”

Left alone, Jimin takes a sip of Seokjin’s drink and grimaces. He puts the glass away and instead tastes Yoongi’s cocktail. “This one is nice.”

“You can finish it.” The floor is sticky with spilled liquor. The air is stale and smells of sweat and booze. Yoongi closes his eyes and breathes in, out.

Carefully, Jimin curves his fingers around Yoongi’s nape. “Let’s go out? For a smoke.”

“Sure.”

Outside the club’s entrance it’s so cold the exposed skin of his face and hands starts burning immediately. They light up their cigarettes and keep moving to keep warm, shifting from one leg to the other, jumping on the spot, looking miserable and stupid.

“Why did you come if you knew you were gonna be uncomfortable?” Jimin asks.

“Jungkook wanted to come. So did Tae and Hobi.”

“What about what you want, though?”

Yoongi blows out a fat cloud of smoke. “I lost rock, paper, scissors. My wants are irrelevant. That’s democracy.”

“I’m pretty sure rock,paper, scissors is the exact opposite of democracy, but okay.”

“I’m fine now.”

“Yeah, well.” Jimin sniffs. “I’m freezing my ass off.”

Yoongi hums. “Want me to warm it up?”

“Fuck off.”

“I try to be funny and this is the response I get.”

“Stop trying, you’re not very good at it.”

“You’re the one who said we should go out for a smoke.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. They’re the only ones out, everyone is crowding inside because the cold is that bad. For a few moments, Yoongi entertains the idea that they’re the only people out on the streets in all of Seoul, which he knows is impossible, but it’s still a somewhat comforting thought.

Then Jimin presses himself against him, and wraps his arms around his shoulders. He rubs his nose against Yoongi’s neck, rests his chin on his shoulder and holds him like that.

“What’s up with you now?” Yoongi asks, curling an arm around Jimin’s back.

Jimin sighs, holds him tighter. “Just cold.”

Yoongi hums. He rubs his hand over the padded fabric of Jimin’s coat, careful to not burn anything with the tip of the cigarette. “Wanna go back inside?”

Jimin pulls back just enough so he can look at him. “I want to go to your place.”

Yoongi bites off a smile. “Yeah?”

“Your bed is more comfortable than the dorms’ one.”

“Is that so?” Yoongi takes a drag of smoke, then throws away the cigarette. “I think you just wanna fuck.”

“That too,” Jimin replies. He presses a kiss to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth, then one to the line of his jaw. “Say yes.”

He says yes. 

Of course he does.

FEBRUARY 2, 2023

“Did you know that if a lot of rats end up in a very tight place their tails end up all intertwined together in, like, this huge knot? And they can’t undo it, and their tails just get more and more tangled together, and so they just end up circling around, tied together.”

Yoongi looks up from his laptop and stares at Jimin for a while. “Well, I know now.”

It’s a Sunday afternoon and Jimin showed up around an hour ago. This time, he didn’t give Yoongi an excuse. He just walked inside, grabbed Yoongi’s pack of cigarettes and sat next to the window to the balcony, leaving it slightly open to blow the smoke out. 

Through the whole hour, this is the first time he spoke up.

He asks, “Any reason you’re telling me this?”

Jimin seems to chew around words he doesn’t speak for a couple of moments. He looks like he hasn’t slept in two days. Like he sees everything as an enemy.

“I feel like that sometimes,” Jimin says in the end.

“Like the rats?”

“Like the knot of tangled tails.” Jimin closes his eyes and he breathes in, long and deep. “At least the rats are moving. I’m the knot stuck in the middle.”

Yoongi puts the laptop away and gets up. He sits on the ground in front of Jimin and, slowly, reaches for his face. “Jimin-ah.” He swipes his thumb over Jimin’s cheekbone, presses his fingers under his chin. “Tell hyung what’s wrong, yeah?”

Jimin’s face, that perfect blank veil he puts on sometimes, breaks in a moment. His features twist, his mouth pulls down, eyes red and dry. “I’m so tired today.”

“Alright.”

“I’m really so tired. I’m trying so hard and it’s getting me nowhere. It’s my last year in this school and it’s not going anywhere, it’s not—” He takes in a shaking breath, looks down to his lap. “I’m tired. ”

“Do you want to sleep?”

Jimin blinks. “What?”

“Like. This is gonna sound stupid, but do you wanna take a nap?”

Jimin’s eyes go wide, his mouth slack. Then he whispers, “I would love a nap.”

“Okay. Let’s take a nap.”

“You’re terribly smart sometimes.”

“I know.”

So they get into bed, and cover themselves with the blankets up to their cheeks, and Jimin bullies Yoongi into being the big spoon even though they’ve been quite clear about spooning dynamics before, but fine. Just for today.

“I’ve applied for six different contemporary companies. Four rejected me, the other two never gave me a reply,” Jimin says after so long Yoongi thought he had fallen asleep.

“It’s still early,” Yoongi replies.

“Most students in my course have already started applying and auditioning. Most of those got their first pick.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not most people.”

“Okay, I know you meant that as a compliment but—”

“Was it only Korean companies you applied to?”

Jimin rubs his nose behind Yoongi’s shoulder blades. “Obviously.”

“Then look internationally too.”

He hesitates. “I don’t know.”

“What’s the worst that could happen? That they reject you? It‘ll suck if that happens, but you’ve already had four rejections already. A fifth or sixth won’t change much.” Yoongi finds Jimin’s hand under the blankets, against his stomach. He holds it in his own.

“I have everything to lose, hyung,” Jimin admits under his breath.

“Yes. But so much more to win.”

After a long silence, all Jimin says is, “I hate it when you act cool.”

“Go to sleep, asshole.”

MARCH 20, 2023

“I feel like this rock, paper, scissors game has been rigged.”

Yoongi grabs a six-pack of beers and manages to fit it in his basket. “Explain to me how you rig a game of rock, paper, scissors. Quickly.”

“I don’t know how they did it, but they did.” Jimin scrutinizes the alcohol shelf for a moment, then blindly grabs three bottles of liquor. “Don’t underestimate Taehyung.”

“Let’s not get too much stuff. This is heavy already and we have to bring it all the way to Hoseok’s.”

“If we don’t get enough they’ll bitch about it.”

“Fuck it. Get the expensive soju, it’s Seokjin’s money anyway.”

Yoongi turns around and he freezes.  There’s a LED panel attached to the wall that tells the time with big, red lights: 20:24:17.

“Ah.” 

“What?” Jimin asks.

“This place.”

Jimin frowns at him. “What about it?”

“This is where we met.”

“Oh.” Jimin looks around himself. “Yeah. You’re right.” Then he grabs Yoongi’s basket. “I’ll go pay.”

“Sure.”

It’s not just that it’s the same 7Eleven. It’s the same day, too. 

It’s been a full year already. Jimin probably doesn’t remember. Jimin never remembers things like this.

For a moment, Yoongi wants to say something stupid, like “Happy anniversary.”

Instead, he grabs an extra six-pack and brings it to the cash-register.

MAY 17, 2027

Hoseok has been sitting very still for a very long time. That does not happen often, but it happens when he’s busy thinking about something very seriously.

Yoongi is just happy to see him, honestly. After their time at APU ended and they all, somehow, ended up following their dream paths, meeting and spending time together got tougher and tougher. Especially since Hoseok is, like, actually kind of a celebrity. Started as a backup dancer for an idol, went viral in like three seconds, got his own fancams and everything and now owns a huge fucking dance studio and company. Crazy guy, effortlessly making it so people can’t ignore him.

Yoongi lets Hoseok think and looks around the room. The café is mostly empty at this hour; usually it’s packed with highschool students, but it’s almost ten in the evening and a weekday, so it’s just the two of them, the poor bastard who just clocked in for the graveyard shift and a woman who furiously types away on her laptop in a corner.

“Okay,” Hoseok says abruptly, straightening up. 

“Collected your thoughts enough?” Yoongi asks.

“Ah, Yoongi-hyung, it’s always so refreshing that the attitude didn’t disappear after college.” Hoseok takes a sip of his iced tea. “It must have been hard. Seeing him again when you weren’t ready to.”

Yoongi hums. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to see him, but it wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be.”

Hoseok nods. “Then how was it?”

Yoongi keeps thinking about that night. Him, paralyzed on his seat as Jimin appeared on stage. Staring at Jimin as he moved, and danced, and looked like molten gold. 

“Honestly,” Yoongi breathes out. “It was just miserable.”

“Hyung.”

“You know, everytime I call him he just sounds like he’s trying his hardest to be angry at me. You see him more than I do; is he actually angry?”

Hoseok makes a face, like he doesn’t know if he should laugh or grimace. “Has there ever been a day when Jimin wasn’t angry at something?”

“There were,” Yoongi replies, and a nasty jab of nostalgia kicks him in the ribs. “He just didn’t like to show those days to people.”

Hoseok smiles. “But he showed them to you.” Before Yoongi can reply, Hoseok adds, “These days Jimin either seems angry or deeply saddened by life. You ask him why, and he shrugs. So you push, because you gotta push with him, you ask him if it’s because of work and he always says the same thing: no, hyung, I love my job. I love how my life is going. It’s something else.” Hoseok collects a drop of condensation from the glass with the tip of his thumb. “I think that something is you.”

“Hoseok-ah,” Yoongi sighs. “I tried making him love me for more than a year.”

“Yeah, you did. My point is, I think you succeeded.” Hoseok takes a deep breath. “And I think that’s the problem.”

Yoongi glares at his own iced drink. “You should have brought me to a bar.”

“I’m trying to stop you from fucking up your liver.”

“That’s terrible. But forget about this, that’s not why I wanted to see you. Tell me about you. Yeah? Tell hyung what’s going on in your life.”

At this, Hoseok smiles, small and a little shy, and suddenly it feels like they’re twenty-two again, drunk on Seokjin’s terrace, watching the night sky as if they could see the stars masked by light pollution.

Yoongi still has a personal vendetta against cars and licenses, so he walks home. It’ll take him a full hour, but it’s fine. The weather is warm but the air is cool, and the streets are glowing with restaurants’ fairy lights hanging across their outdoor areas, and bar’s red and green neon signs.

Then, at one point, Yoongi looks to the right, across the road. On a billboard there’s a huge promotional photo of an upcoming film and the only reason Yoongi cares to look at it is because he wrote and recorded the score for it. His name is somewhere on that billboard too, written very small in the credits at the bottom. But what makes him stop dead in his tracks is that staring up at the same billboard stands Jimin. 

Yoongi hates that he can recognize Jiming just by the tense line of his shoulders, but he does.

Slowly, Yoongi pulls out his phone and dials Jimin’s number. He watches as Jimin reaches inside the pocket of his jacket and then stays very still as he stares at the phone.

Yoongi wonders if he will pick up. Maybe not. Five seconds go by, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—

The call connects as Jimin brings the phone to his ear. “ Hope there’s an emergency and that’s why you’re calling, ‘cause I know for a fact it hasn’t been a year yet. ”

“Glad you’re keeping track,” Yoongi replies. His heart is beating in a way that should worry him. “No emergency.”

“ Then I’m hanging up .”

“I met with Hoseok today. Felt nostalgic.”

“ Ah, yes, the good old times .” Jimin shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “ I’m in a good mood, so I’ll tell you something: felt nostalgic too. ”

“Yeah? Any particular reason?”

“ Just one. I’m standing in front of a ridiculously big billboard and your name is on it. ”

Yoongi laughs, eyes burning. “Yeah?”

“ It’s written very small though. Almost didn’t catch it .”

“Mh, I know.”

“ Didn’t you win an award or something? For best original score? ”

“I did. Like, two years ago.”

“ You didn’t go to the award ceremony .”

“You watched it?”

“ I did .”

“Can you imagine me at an award ceremony, though?”

Jimin laughs, quiet and genuine, and he turns around. Not fully. But enough for Yoongi to see his face. “ I guess not. I think you’d hate it .”

Yoongi nods to himself. “You know what else I hate?”

“ No, but you’re gonna tell me anyway. ”

“I hate the face you’re making right now, Jimin-ah.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. He stands still for a moment, then turns around, looking far too alarmed, and then—

Then he finds Yoongi. 

What hurts the most is that Jimin looks at him the same exact way he used to four years ago. 

But the expression on his face, that subtle, hurt fucking pinch to his face, doesn’t leave.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says and his voice comes out too thick, too quiet. “Is that the face you make whenever I call you?”

Jimin doesn’t say anything. He holds the phone so tight Yoongi can hear the sound of his skin against the plastic case from the speaker. 

“Okay.” Yoongi smiles and wonders if Jimin can see it. “I really—I know it was selfish, what I did. I knew that every time I called. But I thought—no. No, nevermind. I just never meant to hurt you and I’m sorry I did anyway. I hope you know that.”

“ What are you doing ?” Jimin asks and for a moment it looks like he’s going to step forward. 

“I’m saying goodbye. We should have done it four years ago.”

“ Wait .”

“I—” Yoongi feels his throat clogging up, his tongue like sand in his mouth. “ Fuck , I really can’t say it, huh?”

Again, Jimin’s body jerks and then stills, like someone pulled up all the strings at once.

Yoongi wishes it felt good to see him so restless. “Bye, Min-ah.”

He ends the call, pocketing his phone. Yoongi doesn’t linger, doesn’t stay there to stare at Jimin hoping that maybe one of them will really cross the street to reach the other; they’ve been trying to do that since the day they met and it never worked.

He leaves.

Jimin doesn’t follow after him. 

Yoongi hadn’t expected him to.

JUNE 17, 2023

This party is for graduating students. So, naturally, everyone is absolutely piss drunk twenty minutes after it starts. 

Seokjin’s apartment is in disarray: broken vases, carpets all messed up. Someone vomited on his perfect leather couch. But it’s fine, because Seokjin wanted to get a new one anyway.

Seokjin isn’t even here. He got the part he auditioned for and is filming as they destroy his house. He welcomed them to, though, so no one feels bad about it.

“I can’t believe we’re graduating in February,” Taehyung says at one point, juggling a very drunk Namjoon in his arms. “That’s fucked up.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jungkook says. “I still have one more year to go.”

“Good for you, actually. God, hyung, get yourself together.”

“Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon whines, cradling Taehyung’s face in his hands. “Baby. My baby.”

“Oh my god.”

“Let’s get a house together.”

“Shut up,” Taehyung hisses, burning red. 

“Let’s get married, Tae.”

“Hyung, you don’t even believe in marriage!”

“I believe in it if I marry you.”

“We can’t get married!”

Namjoon’s face goes ashen and slack. “You don’t love me anymore.”

“We legally can’t get married.”

“Fuck. Let’s get pretend-married.”

“Oh, shut it.”

Jungkook looks at them with a mix of horror and awe. Yoongi just wishes he was drunk. 

He looks around the room. Hoseok is passed out on the couch, dangerously close to the vomit stain, but he’s gonna wake up soon enough. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Where’s Jimin?” Yoongi asks.

“Terrace,” Taehyung replies. 

“I’ll have a smoke then.”

“Ah, yes, and that’s all you’ll have,” Jungkook mutters, grinning.

Yoongi flicks his forehead in retaliation before wading through drunk students and sloshing glasses of beer. 

On the terrace, Jimin is standing by the rail, his back pressed against it. Yoongi looks at him for a moment, then, he pulls out two cigarettes, and lights one up for Jimin. Jimin takes it from him wordlessly, staring at something in a corner of the terrace.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks, lighting up his own cigarette. There’s sweat cooling on the back of his neck, and the breeze carries heat in the most uncomfortable way.

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a long time. He smokes the cigarette without looking at Yoongi, and then throws it off the terrace. Yoongi’s cigarette is only half-way smoked through.

“I have to tell you something,” Jimin says tonelessly.

“What?”

“I got a call from a dance company. Contemporary, avant-garde.”

“Shit.”

“They invited me for a workshop over the summer. They only invite five international dancers every year. They want me in the fall exhibition.”

“That’s great. That’s fucking—Jimin-ah. That’s what you wanted.” Yoongi smiles and still, Jimin doesn’t look at him.

“It’s in Edinburgh.”

“That’s far as fuck.” Yoongi scratches his nail over the cigarette’s filter. “Heard the weather there is shit during summer too.”

Finally, Jimin looks at him. He’s blank again. Barely held together. “They want me in the company. They want me to move there.”

Yoongi’s first reaction is to say, Don’t go. Don’t go there. It scares him, how badly he wants to say it, so he stays quiet. It’s his turn to stare at a corner of the terrace and smoke through his cigarette so fast his throat burns. Once he’s done, he throws it off the terrace too and looks at Jimin. “You should go.”

Jimin’s expression doesn’t waver. “Should I?”

“It’s a great opportunity. It’s what you wanted.” Yoongi rests his elbows on top of the rail. “It’s what you deserve, too. So, yeah, you should go. Just so you know, I’m gonna call you on purpose at ungodly hours. That’s a promise.”

Jimin nods. Then, “Is that all you have to say?”

Yoongi’s fingers twitch. A knot in his stomach starts undoing itself. “What else should I say?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” 

Yoongi wets his lips. “What do you want me to say?”

“That’s not—”

“We’re not together, right? So what do you want me to say?”

Jimin’s face hardens. His eyes turn terrifying when he allows himself to be angry, fully angry. “So that’s the problem. What, feeling petty? Bitter?”

“Jimin-ah, I say this with every fucking ounce of passion I own.” Yoongi pushes himself off the rail and steps closer to Jimin. “Go fuck yourself.”

What happens next is, for a while, kind of a blur. Yoongi is aware of his body, of his legs taking him down the terrace’s staircase and into the street, but his head is a buzz of static and that goddamn knot in his stomach is fully undone and loosely tangled together.

When someone grabs his arm, Yoongi shakes the hand off and turns around so fast he almost trips on his own feet.

“Don’t do this,” Jimin hisses. “It’s not how we do things.”

“Right.” Yoongi sniffs. “Right, no, usually we just fuck and sleep in the same bed, but god forbid we fucking talk about it.”

“You wanted it too,” Jimin exclaims, his voice louder than before. “Didn’t look like you were complaining.”

“Usually we just fuck and then occasionally we just kiss, and sometimes we go on dates but we don’t call them dates, and then sometimes we spend a weekend at my place because why the fuck not, or you come to me when you feel lonely, or I call you when I feel lonely. And then, maybe, once in a while you get rid of the dust in my apartment and I get rid of your sadness. But at the end of it all, we’re just fucking, right? Right ?”

“ You. ” Jimin’s hands clench into fists, his mouth a trembling line. “You said yes! Every time, you said yes to everything!”

Yoongi steps in front of him, holds Jimin’s face between his hands. “Jimin. Jimin-ah. Because it was you . I said yes because you told me to.”

“No.” Jimin pushes Yoongi’s hands away and shakes his head. His skin is flushed, his eyes wild. “No, no, don’t do this now.”

“Would it have changed anything if I did this a year ago?”

“No. Yes!” Jimin starts pacing back and forth, and then stops in front of him. “Yes! Because if you did this earlier than I would have put an end to this!”

“You’re putting an end to it just fine, you’re going to Edinburgh.”

“You told me to!”

“So if I told you not to, you'd stay?” Yoongi yells, and he’s never been good at raising his voice. Even now, it cracks and makes him feel mean and pathetic. “Look at me! Would you? For fucking what ? I don’t get to tell you not to go because we are not together, Jimin! You made fucking sure of that.”

“You don’t even want to be with me,” Jimin yells back. 

“Oh, fuck off. Fuck off, Jimin, what are you talking about?” Yoongi pushes his hands between his hair, then down his face. “Jimin, what do you want me to do? I mean it. Do you want me to tell you to stay? And then what? You stay and you hate me for making you stay? Or do you just—just want me to remain your fucking lap dog, calling you whenever I miss you so much that I’m fine just being the one you fuck around with? God, Jimin, I’m so in l—”

Jimin rushes to him and presses a hand to his mouth. 

This entire argument, Yoongi could have dealt with. He would have made peace with it eventually. But this?

Carefully, he holds Jimin’s wrist and pushes it down. He says, “Look at you. You don’t even want to hear me say it, but you want me to ask you to stay?”

Jimin presses his lips together, teeth biting them red.

Yoongi breathes in. He lets the air out in a slow, deliberate exhale and doesn’t feel any better. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“What?”

“You’re the one who moved his fucking things in my house ‘cause dorms are closed now. So let’s go home.”

So they walk all the way back to Yoongi’s flat without speaking a single word. They change into their sleepwear, they brush their teeth side by side in Yoongi’s bathroom, and then get in Yoongi’s bed, their backs to each other.

Yoongi doesn’t fall asleep and he feels Jimin is just as awake. But he doesn’t dare to move, not even when his arm hurts and the side of his pillow gets too hot.

And maybe between the two of them, it always had been Jimin who was the brave one. Or just the greedier one. It doesn’t matter.

Jimin rolls around, then sits up. He grabs Yoongi’s shoulder and pushes him on his back, gets on top of him and looks at him for a while. For once, his expression is open.

“Hyung,” he whispers. “I’m not gonna tell you to say yes. So you can just tell me to lay back down, or to get out and sleep on the couch, but I—”

Yoongi grabs his nape and pulls him down. He kisses Jimin just like he always has, like he learned Jimin likes to be kissed, moves his hand between Jimin’s legs to feel him shudder, and he rolls them around just because he knows Jimin will arch against him if he does, will drag his nails down Yoongi’s spine. 

One last time.

Just one last time.

The next morning, Yoongi wakes up to Jimin sitting at the edge of the mattress, fully dressed, with his clothes and things all neatly packed in a battered sports bag.

“I’m an asshole but not that much of an asshole,” Jimin tells him. “I’ll stay at Tae’s.”

Yoongi nods, rubbing sleep off his eyes. “Fine.” 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Yoongi looks at him. “When are you leaving? For Edinburgh, I mean.”

“End of the month.”

“Mh.” 

“If you really have to call me, don't do it at ungodly hours like you said.”

“I most definitely will.”

Jimin smiles and then he leans forward. He presses a kiss to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth and lingers there, just for a moment. “I won’t pick up if you call.”

Yoongi huffs out a short-lived laugh. “I don’t believe that.”

And then they say nothing else. Jimin picks up his bag and leaves. There’s no hesitation when he closes the door and Yoongi is glad for it.

They don’t say goodbye, and maybe it was a mistake. Worse than that, it was on purpose.

MARCH 20, 2028

It’s four minutes to midnight.

Yoongi sits on the wicker chair on his balcony, knees drawn to his chest, fingers restlessly tapping over his legs. He stares at the phone propped on the coffee table and watches as the minutes tick by. Three minutes to midnight.

He’s not going to call Jimin.

Yoongi will sit here and wait for midnight to strike and it will no longer be March 20th anymore, and he won’t call. And he won’t call next year either. He’s done with this, with chasing after Jimin when Jimin never wanted him to in the first place.

It doesn’t make any of this easier. His skin is prickling so bad he wants to scratch it raw. His fingers keep fucking twitching, trying to reach for the phone, and it’s taking him way too much strength not to give in the urge. 

Two minutes now.

Yoongi buries his face between his knees and focuses on his own breaths, how they sound to his ears, how they feel in his lungs. He won’t call. Tomorrow morning he’s going to call Jungkook and check if he’s in Seoul, and if he is then he’s going to treat him to dinner. He’ll take Jungkook to their favorite place, and they’ll get lamb skewers like they used to do back in college.

He picks at the phone again. A minute.

He starts counting the seconds: fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine and—

The numbers on the screen switch to 00:00 and there. It’s done. That was surprisingly easier than he thought.

“Well,” he murmurs to no one. “I feel like shit.”

The phone starts buzzing. Jimin’s name appears on the screen.

Yoongi stares at it for a few seconds. Then, he says, “Fucking asshole.”

Wouldn’t it be nice to let the call fall through? What if he just didn’t pick up? That would be really mature and cool of him.

But Yoongi is neither mature nor cool, so he picks up.

“ You meant it when you said you wouldn’t call me again, ” Jimin says as soon as the call connects. “ I’m almost proud. ”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay, now I know how you felt whenever you called and I reacted like that. Score to you.”

“Jimin, go fuck yourself.”

“So how was your day?”

Yoongi’s jaw ticks. “This is fucking annoying.”

“ Right? Now you also know how I felt. ”

“Uh-huh.”

“ Do you still live in your old flat? ”

Yoongi makes it to say, What’s it to you?, but then the cleaning truck drives by, loud and clangy as fucking always. Yoongi hears it from his balcony, and he hears it from the phone’s speaker.

His body moves before he can stop himself and he’s at his door in the blink of an eye, phone forgotten on the chair, and wouldn’t it be fucking hilarious if there was no one outside his house?

Yoongi swings the door open and Jimin is there, phone to his ear, a grimace on his face.

“Well, there goes the element of surprise,” Jimin says before ending the call and putting away the phone.

“Not for nothing,” Yoongi says, “But right now I really hate you.”

“Fair enough. Can I come in?”

“Fuck you.”

“Cool, but can I come in?”

They end up on the balcony, nursing two mugs of tea while the sky darkens with clouds and a thin, noiseless rain starts falling. Jimin ends up sitting on Yoongi’s favorite chair so Yoongi has to sit on the other one, the one that he hates for no reason.

“Why do you still live here?” Jimin asks.

“Rent is cheap.”

“You’re, like, loaded.”

“Even if I moved I would have picked a house as small as this. Big houses make me uncomfortable.”

Silence for a while. It’s not awkward, but it’s not the best night of his life either. He drinks the tea and realizes too late that he didn’t even put honey or sugar in it. Which would explain why it tastes so bad, but whatever.

“Do you remember that night when I almost threw your ex off the balcony?”

Yoongi snorts. “Yeah.”

“Remember you told me I needed a therapist?”

“I remember you saying the same thing to me.”

“I finally got one.”

So did Yoongi, and he’s pretty sure his therapist kind of can’t stand him sometimes. “Good for you.”

“Had seven sessions with her. Wanna know what she told me at the last one? ' Jimin-ssi, I think you want to be in love and want to love someone, but the idea of being loved back makes you deeply uncomfortable '.” He takes a sip of his tea and grimaces. “We’re still figuring out why. Probably relates to my parents. Turns out most things do.”

Yoongi looks at him. Jimin’s hair is a lot longer now. He moves differently now, too, like he finally learned how to hold his anger together without it showing. 

“Okay, I was trying to be polite but this tastes like piss.” Jimin puts the mug down on the coffee table. “I figured it out.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I kept wondering why you called on the 20th of March every time.” Jimin glances at him. “I’m bad at remembering dates. But it’s the night we met, right? At the 7Eleven.”

Yoongi smiles, nodding slowly. He takes his pack of cigarettes from the table and holds it out for Jimin, waits for him to be done with lighting his cigarette before doing the same. “Very romantic of me, I know.”

“I got mad when I figured it out. Like, so fucking mad. And then I got extremely sad.” Jimin smokes. “I kept thinking of it. About why you remembered and I didn’t.”

“Probably has something to do with my very bad coping mechanisms.”

“Probably.”

They finish smoking and stub the cigarettes in Yoongi’s ashtray. 

Jimin says, “You know, I signed a contract with a Seoul based contemporary company. One of the ones that rejected me back in college.”

“Bet your petty ass loved that.”

Jimin snorts, but nods. “I gotta find an apartment now.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Thanks.” Jimin’s expression shifts. It turns softer, and minutely frightened. “I’m not good at this.” He gets up only to crouch in front of Yoongi. Slowly, he rests his cheek on Yoongi’s thigh, his hand on his knee. “I want you to know something.”

Yoongi resists the urge to bring his hand to Jimin’s face. “What?”

“Being loved by you never felt uncomfortable. Not once.”

Yoongi says, “That’s because you didn’t know I loved you.”

“I knew.” At Yoongi’s silence, Jimin adds, “Of course I knew. No one ever treated me like you did. But it was so much easier to pretend I didn’t know. And when I couldn’t do that anymore, even then, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just scary.”

Yoongi gives in, in the end. He brings his hand to the side of Jimin’s face, and strokes his thumb over Jimin’s cheek. “I didn’t want you to be scared.”

Jimin leans into his hand. “I know that now, too”

For a while, it’s quiet. Then, Yoongi says, “Well. This is a better goodbye than the last one.”

“What?”

“I mean.” Yoongi pauses at the sight of Jimin’s frown. “Telling me all of this is closure, right? You didn’t have to come all the way here for it though.”

Jimin blinks at him and then straightens, setting both hands on Yoongi’s knees. “Hyung,” he says. “I’m really trying here.”

“Trying what?”

Jimin makes a frustrated sound, jaw clenching. “Just—listen. You’re not listening.”

He doesn’t want to listen. 

“I don’t know how to be loved,” Jimin says, strangely serious, “and it was worse, back then. I didn’t want it. I was awful at it.”

“That sounds like something to bring up with your therapist.”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says. “But I was even worse at loving you.”

Yoongi goes still. His throat makes an audible click as he swallows. “No, you weren’t.”

“I was.”

“No,” Yoongi says. “No, you weren’t. You weren’t in love with me.”

“I think I’d know.”

“Clearly not.”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says again, eyes warm. “I was.”

Yoongi’s hand is still against Jimin’s face. His fingers twitch. He thinks of ‘ Cause it’s you , of You deserve a decent love , of I wanted you to call , of Do you know how many fucking texts I left—

“You got rid of the dust.”

Jimin takes Yoongi’s hand away from his face to hold it between his palms, lips pressed to one of his knuckles. “I can get rid of that anytime.”

“That sounds a lot like a promise.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches, hard. “Does it?”

“I chased after you for four years, I fucking hope it does.”

Jimin stays very still. “Hyung.” His fingers dig into Yoongi's hands. “That scares me too.”

“What does?” Yoongi waits for Jimin to answer and when it doesn’t happen he asks again, quieter, “What’s scary, Jimin?”

“How easily you’d take me back.”

After a moment, Yoongi leans down. “Jimin-ah, I think we made this whole thing unnecessarily hard for enough time.”

Jimin’s eyes flick down to Yoongi’s mouth, then he looks away, to the side and his voice is a whisper when he asks, “How do we make it easy then?”

“Well, we have four years to catch up on. We can start with that.”

“What if it ends badly?”

“Then we break up and hold grudges for a while.”

“Oh, that sounds vile. ” Jimin’s mouth twists into a genuine expression of discomfort. He says, “I spent these four years fully convinced I was over you and now I’m back to the start. That, too, is scary. Worst part is that all it took for me to fuck up these four years was seeing you across the street.”

“I’m just that attractive, I can’t help it.”

“You—” Jimin scoffs. “I can’t even take you seriously when you look ready to bawl your eyes out.”

“Shut up.” Still, he quickly rubs his eyes. “Jimin-ah. Let’s try to make this easy for once.” And then, “Say yes.”

There are a few moments, quiet and grey with rain and clouds, where Yoongi thinks that saying no is much easier for Jimin than saying yes. That it could take that single word to end this, and if it feels unfair that something that fucking small is the one force that could break them apart for good.

Very quietly, the quietest Jimin has ever been, he says, “Yes.”

MARCH 20, 2029

Yoongi is startled awake by a pillow being violently thrown in his face. “Fucking ow?”

“You didn’t wake me up, prick,” Jimin seethes as he runs around the room, collecting clothes from the ground. “God, fuck you, I have practice in twenty minutes.”

Yoongi groans and rolls onto his stomach, pulling up his blankets. As soon as he does, Jimin pulls them back down. “I hate you for doing this to me.”

“I knew I should have gone back to my place last night.”

“Then you should have.”

“Oh, ‘cause you made that so easy for me.” Jimin frantically puts on his trousers, cursing under his breath when the zip gets stuck. “ Stay the night, Min-ah, hyung will wake you up, I swear, if you stay I’ll fuck you nice and slow. Asshole.”

Yoongi hums, collects the blankets again. “Yeah, you were so hard to convince.”

Another pillow connects with his head. Yoongi wonders where Jimin is even finding so many, given he only has two.

“Where the hell is my bag? Hyung.”

“Probably where you left it.”

“You’re so useless, it’s crazy. Crazy .”

“Love you too, Min-ah.”

Jimin hesitates, keeps on going around the room, then out. He comes back into the room holding his bag. “I love you too.”

Yoongi grins to himself. “Only took you fifteen seconds this time. New record.”

“Stop keeping count, it makes you look pathetic.”

“I am, so—”

Jimin climbs on the bed and leans over him to kiss his cheek, then his mouth when Yoongi twists around. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mh, don’t skip lunch.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it. I know when you skip lunch.”

“I won’t, so shut up.” One more kiss, this one lingers, stretches on. Then Jimin gets off the bed and rushes out. 

Yoongi hears the apartment’s door closing and he considers getting out of bed bright and early. He could go out for a walk, have breakfast somewhere nice. 

Or he could sleep more. That sounds very smart.

The door swings open again and Jimin appears back in the bedroom, panting. “Fucking hell.”

“You forgot something?”

Jimin glares at him. He stands on the threshold, gripping his bag like he holds a personal vendetta against it, like it killed his family or something.

Eventually, all Jimin says before rushing back out is, “Happy anniversary.”