Work Text:
— Tuesday —
"I hate him." Jimin slammed his stack of papers down on Jungkook's desk with much more force than was probably necessary.
The younger man looked up from the bowling website he was browsing, flicked his bangs out of his eyes. Blinked once. "Okay."
"He's awful."
"Okay."
"And stupid and pretentious and tall and god, he's always here." Jimin hopped onto Jungkook's desk, crossed his legs at the ankle.
"Okay."
"Seriously, I got here at eight yesterday and he was already here. Had an empty coffee cup and everything."
"Eight's when we're supposed to get here, though, that's not —"
"Empty coffee cup! He could have been here for hours!"
"Okay." And then, "Hey, please don't flop over on my desk like you did when you were in that fight with —" Jungkook cut himself off because it was too late, Jimin had already flopped himself across Jungkook's desk and keyboard both, several papers falling down the back of the desk. Jungkook blinked a couple times. "Oh."
"Sorry," came Jimin's muffled apology, face pressed into the arm of his shirt.
"Can you pick those up when you're done?"
"Yeah."
"Do you want some coffee?"
"Please."
"I'll be right back."
By the time Jungkook came back with a cup of coffee for each of them — a plain black mug for himself and a bright green mug with 'World's Best Grandma' emblazoned on it for Jimin — Jimin was sitting on the ground cross-legged beside his desk, sorting through the papers that had dropped. "Thanks, Jungkookie," he said, reaching for the mug.
Jungkook sat down in his chair and looked down at Jimin a bit awkwardly. "I'm sorry you don't like him," he said after a moment.
"I hate him," Jimin said firmly.
"Right," said Jungkook.
"Here are your papers back," said Jimin. "I should go ... do my job or something. Don't want to give him the satisfaction of taking this without a fight."
"Right," said Jungkook. Jimin was already walking out of his cubicle, folders stuffed under his arm, when Jungkook remembered to call after him, "Good luck!"
But Jimin didn't need luck. He'd had the best numbers in the sales division for years, he had experience and charm and loyal clients, so it didn't matter that new hire Kim Namjoon had outsold him last week. It was just a fluke. Jimin was a people person and he was good at his job and this was not going to change that.
Namjoon had been hired about a month ago, some friend of Yoongi's from college who had bypassed a lot of their hiring protocol because Seokjin trusted Yoongi's judgement for some reason.
(Jimin wasn't entirely sure how that conversation had gone. Hoseok had tried to tell Jimin about it — having been within eavesdropping distance as Seokjin's assistant — but Hoseok's stories were always incredibly embellished, like individually sewn sequins embellished, so it was difficult to tell which parts of the story were real and which weren't. Jimin was pretty sure that they hadn't been singing, but that was the extent of it.)
Truthfully, Jimin hadn't expected much from Namjoon both before he first met him and in the first couple days. Taehyung had swiped his file from Hoseok and they read that he had no sales experience besides a brief stint as a barista. His resume said he'd been both working in some warehouse and doing something online — that was apparently difficult to describe on paper, because Jimin and Taehyung had had to look up half the words and had still come up with only a vague sense of it being incredibly boring — before he'd started here.
Not a threat.
And then, they'd met and his handshake had been good and he was tall, but kind of bumbling really, easily embarrassed, kind of quiet. Unobtrusive was maybe a good word to describe him. Unobtrusive, but with a nice smile.
Yoongi had shown him the ropes over the course of the first week — he'd even taken notes, god bless him — and then he'd been set more or less free. Jimin saw him asking Yoongi things occasionally, most of which received shrugs, and he'd talked to him in the break room a couple times. He'd seemed fine. Nice even. Obviously handsome, especially when he was deep in thought, face gone kind of slack and soft, or laughing awkwardly at one of Hoseok or Taehyung's bits, a dimple sinking deep into his pretty, tan cheeks.
And then Seokjin had announced last weeks numbers at the meeting Monday morning, like he always did.
"In last place last week, Min Yoongi, somehow selling only eighteen cases of product," Seokjin read off of his clipboard. Taehyung clapped excitedly and Jungkook laughed, scrunching up his nose. Yoongi had nodded like he was accepting an award. Seokjin had sighed. Seokjin sighed a lot.
"Then, we had Kim Taehyung, who sold a commendable seventy-one cases of product," Seokjin continued.
Taehyung stood and cleared his throat. "I'd like to thank Jimin, the love of my life, my so—"
"We don't have time for this," said Seokjin, rubbing the bridge of his perfect nose. "Let's all just remember the speech he gave last week." Taehyung smiled beatifically and sat back down. "Next, we had Jeon Jungkook, with a hundred and thirteen cases of product — fifty of those cases to the same company, for some reason?"
Jungkook made an embarrassed noise, waving his hands in front of him. Taehyung snickered.
"Moving on, we had Park Jimin with a hundred and ninety-one cases. Impressive, as always." Taehyung whistled, Jungkook smacked him on the shoulder with bruising strength, Yoongi clapped politely, looking just a little bit like a proud father, and Namjoon clapped, too, though he looked around a little unsure of the protocol yet. Jimin had probably thought it was cute, even. For a moment.
"And our top salesman of last week was Kim Namjoon, a new and important asset to our team, with one hundred and ninety-eight cases sold," Seokjin had said proudly. Yoongi had patted Namjoon's arm, but Taehyung and Jungkook clapped slowly, nervously, looking from Namjoon to Jimin and back again. Jungkook visibly swallowed.
"Great job," Jimin forced out, nodding.
Jimin had been inconsolable ever since.
"I hate him," Jimin said as he passed Taehyung's cubicle.
Taehyung clicked to mute his headset and said, "I know babe," before resuming passively agreeing to whatever customer he was in conversation with. Jimin couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed about interrupting. From the frequent mention of dogs in the conversation, they probably weren't talking about a sale anyway.
("Just think of it as motivation," Seokjin had said with a fatherly pat on his back yesterday afternoon when he realized that Jimin had been pouting under his desk since the meeting. Jimin had mumbled something obscene and Seokjin had let out a long suffering sigh and stood back up, stretching out his back for a moment before saying, "Just make sure you outsell at least Yoongi this week or we'll have to have a different talk."
Jimin had just mumbled something obscene again.)
"I hate him," he said again to himself, nodding at his computer.
Yesterday had been for feeling sorry for himself. Today was for revenge. And, alright, maybe that was the wrong word, revenge, because it wasn't as though Namjoon had purposefully done him some personal wrong. But it certainly felt personal. And Jimin certainly felt wronged.
He dialed the first number on his sheet with an angry stab, before taking a deep breath, pushing his hair off of his forehead, and adopting his carefully honed customer service voice. He had a title to reclaim.
—Thursday—
"I hate him," said Jimin, draping himself across Taehyung's lap.
"I know, dear," said Taehyung patting at him absently before deleting an email.
"He's awful."
"You've said that."
"Did I tell you what he did yesterday?"
"He used your stapler without asking," said Taehyung. And then, not unkindly, "Hey, can you either get off my lap or move or something? My leg's falling asleep."
"Sorry," said Jimin, sliding backwards onto the floor, not caring that he probably looked ridiculous. He leaned sideways against the desk, not ready to be done pouting. "You can't just use someone's stapler without asking, what the fuck is wrong with him?"
Taehyung deleted another email and turned to him, leaning down so that his face was close to Jimin's. He took one of Jimin's hands between his own and patted at it lovingly. "While I completely understand and support your anger, I have to ask — you're really this upset over a stapler?"
"First of all, yes, that stapler is fucking wonderful," Jimin said, pulling his hand back and crossing his arms over his chest. "I ordered it special and it staples through like fifty sheets of paper at a time. That's incredibly efficient and necessary due to the large amounts of sales that I make on a daily fucking basis. Shit, not that I think you don't—"
"Oh, no. I know," Taehyung waved him off. "You're fine."
"Good, right, but it's not just that he used my stapler, it's the principle of the matter! I mean, first, he thinks he can use my stapler whenever he wants, then he thinks he can use the copier for personal documents, and then, who knows, he may even just take my computer off of my desk and start walking around the office in his underwear because he thinks he can just do whatever he wants."
"To be fair, I don't think Seokjin will let him do the last one, not after—"
"Oh, yeah," said Jimin, remembering last year where Taehyung and Hoseok had gotten casual Friday removed for a certain period of time. It was still in dangerous territory, really, though Taehyung had been pushing at it again recently. He seemed to enjoy poking bears.
"We taught him a valuable lesson in being specific with guidelines," defended Taehyung with a nod.
Jimin hummed. Sat sullenly for a few more moments. "I should probably get back to work, yeah?"
"You're a hundred percent welcome and encouraged to work anywhere in and around my cubicle," said Taehyung, offering Jimin a hand to pull him up. "Included, but not limited to, beneath my desk, on my lap, and in the corner over there by that plant you made me get."
"You love that plant," said Jimin, standing and shaking some of the wrinkles from his pants.
"Alfred and I are in a committed relationship, but I don't know if I'm quite ready to say that I love him yet," said Taehyung with a boxy smile.
Jimin hummed, loitering. "I just hate him, you know?" he said after a minute. Because he did. That's what this was and it wasn't any more complicated than that.
"I know."
—Friday—
He was doing it to throw Jimin off, he had to be. No one was that nice for no reason. Namjoon knew that Jimin's numbers were looking good this week — damn good, even with a slight loss in productivity from his venting sessions and mostly wasted Monday — and he wanted to distract him, throw him off his game. He was here to take over.
That had to be it.
Why else did Namjoon offer to refill the coffee when Jimin complained about it being empty and even gotten up to do it, even though Jimin protested that he'd been kidding? He'd gotten out filters and the bag of coffee grounds from the top shelf, and it was strangely endearing how he'd squinted at the coffee maker like it was a strange little puzzle. (Hadn't he been a barista? Surely he was capable of making coffee.) Even when Yoongi had taken the bag of grounds from him with a practiced ease and a lazy pat on the arm, it had been ... distracting. The embarrassed smile and the way he'd ducked out of the room even more so.
And also the pair of cookies that had appeared on his desk when Jimin got back from the bathroom, store bought and settled on a little paper napkin. Surely that was just to mess with him as well.
He'd poked one of the cookies over the little half wall between his and Taehyung's desk, holding it there for him for a long moment while he heard scrabbling on the other side. Then, a quick wetness as Taehyung grabbed the cookie in his mouth and ducked back out of sight, resuming the enthusiastic conversation about the artistic merits of the Dansaekhwa movement he'd been having with some customer as though his mouth wasn't full of cookie.
Namjoon was trying to mess with him. There was no other explanation.
Jimin closed his eyes and took a deep calming breath, like he'd been taught to do in that yoga class Hoseok used to drag him to on Saturdays until he learned that the instructor was terrible in bed. (Apparently being bendy was an indicator of very little actual prowess. Great ass though.)
He took an angry bite of cookie and went back to work.
—Monday—
"Last week's numbers are just as impressive as the week before's!" Seokjin almost sounded enthusiastic. "I would like to remind all of you that if we keep this up, we'll be solid candidates for highest sales division this quarter, which, as you all know, comes with a three day company retreat to ... well, it's supposed to Hawaii this month, but they'll probably have to send us to a different one," said Seokjin, eyes flicking over to Taehyung.
"There were no signs saying that people weren't allo—"
"Yes, Taehyung. We know," cut in Seokjin, followed by a sigh.
"And it's just Maui I'm not allowed on, if there's —
"I'll keep that in mind, thank you."
Yoongi looked wistful, "We haven't had numbers like this since —"
"Hunchul, I know," nodded Seokjin.
"May he rest in peace," said Taehyung, making a cross over his heart. Jungkook nodded solemnly.
"Tae, he didn't die," Jimin pointed out, elbowing his friend. "He just moved to Florida."
Taehyung shrugged. "Same difference."
Seokjin cleared his throat over Yoongi making a joke about Hunchul being better suited for the west coast, or maybe Colorado. "Now," he said, rubbing at the crease that had formed between his perfect eyebrows and picking up his clipboard. "Last week, in last place, as usual, was Min Yoongi who sold only twenty-one cases." Yoongi did his usual proud nod. Taehyung and Jungkook cheered. Namjoon clapped, a cute smile stretching across his face, eyes pressed nearly shut. Jimin swallowed hard, clapped absently along.
"Next, was Kim Taehyung, with an impressive ninety-four cases of product. Great work this week." Taehyung stood to make his acceptance speech, but Seokjin paused only to flip to the next page, pressing on before Taehyung had gotten more than a word out. Taehyung sat back down, pouting. "Then, we had Jeon Jungkook who sold to only five companies, less than even Yoongi, but still managed to sell a hundred and seven cases of product."
Jungkook mouthed the word 'Efficiency' at Taehyung who just squinted at him. Jimin chuckled. Yoongi smiled in an oddly fatherly way, nodding slightly. Namjoon looked like he didn't know if he should clap or not and froze for a moment with his hands slightly raised off the table about four inches apart.
"Next, we have the, once again, incredibly impressive sales of Kim Namjoon, with a hundred and eighty-three cases of product sold last week," said Seokjin, ignoring the Jungkook and Taehyung interaction, past interactions having taught him that it was almost always better to not know. Taehyung sighed in relief, glancing at Jimin before clapping along with Yoongi.
"And our top salesperson of last week was Park Jimin, always imposing in his sales abilities, who sold a hundred and ninety-seven cases of product," said Seokjin with a firm nod, setting down his clipboard. Taehyung cheered, gesturing excitedly and rising out of his chair again while the rest of the room clapped.
Jimin tried to be happy, he really did, even if just to show proper appreciation for Taehyung's enthusiasm. But there was white noise droning in his ears as Seokjin finished up the meeting and before he knew it, he was dazedly following the rest of his coworkers out of the meeting room, feet dragging ever so slightly.
He'd fallen short, still, and that knowledge rattled around in his skull, driving him crazy.
Sure, he'd gotten the most sales last week, taken back his title as it were. But Namjoon had gotten a hundred and ninety-eight the week before, and here Jimin was with only a hundred and ninety-seven. Impressive, yes, but glaringly subpar. Jimin set his jaw, walking robotically back to his desk.
He hated him.
—Tuesday—
"I hate him," Jimin whined, hanging off the back of Yoongi's chair.
Yoongi, as Jimin probably should have expected, did not pause or even glance up from the overly-thorough review that he was leaving on Amazon for whichever odd piece of audio equipment he'd picked up over the weekend.
"Yoogi," Jimin whined, pulling at the back of the chair a little so that it tilted back, bringing Yoongi's knees up and dangerously close to colliding with with underside of his desk. Yoongi flinched slightly and made a noise of acknowledgement.
"I hate him," Jimin tried again.
"So you've said," Yoongi said distractedly.
"Yoongi."
Yoongi sighed and spun his chair around so that he was facing Jimin. "You beat him this week," Yoongi said flatly. It wasn't a question.
"But I didn't beat his previous weeks numbers," said Jimin, crossing his arms over his chest.
"So try harder?" offered Yoongi, smoothing his bangs flat over his forehead. Jimin must have looked more petulant than he thought, because when Yoongi glanced up at him, he frowned. "Listen. I'm not going to be the best one to talk you out of whatever weird identity crisis Namjoonie is making you go through. He's my friend and you're kind of being terrible. Go talk to one of the kids if you're going to be like this."
Jimin didn't do anything to hide the way his face fell at Yoongi's lack of sympathy. He also may have stomped all the way back to his desk. He definitely should have just waited until Jungkook was back from the IT department to complain to someone.
—Thursday—
"Have you noticed the way that he always seems embarrassed?" asked Jimin, gesturing with the remaining half of his sandwich. "It's like, what is that?"
Taehyung hummed, mouth full of burger. Hoseok patted his back soothingly. "I've noticed that, too. His dimples show a lot, though, and he puts his hands over his face and those are nice, too." He nodded to himself, a sort of wistful smile on his face.
"It's awkward is what it is," continued Jimin, ignoring Hoseok. "You can't just be ducking out of rooms all the time because you don't want to deal with the situation. It's stupid and unprofessional, just own up to not knowing how to make coffee." Jimin took an angry bite of his sandwich and plopped it back on his plate with a clatter that made the IT girl at the table over flinch in her chair.
Taehyung hummed again, still chewing. Hoseok winked at the girl who made a face and turned back to her lunch.
"I mean, he was a barista, how —"
"You're not supposed to know that," Hoseok hissed, reaching across the table to smack his shoulder.
"How does he not even know how to make coffee," Jimin said in a stage whisper, leaning forward. "That's ridiculous. Who doesn't even know how to make coffee." Hoseok just rolled his eyes, popped an orange slice in his mouth.
Taehyung pocketed the rest of his mouthful of burger into his cheek and said, mostly coherently, "Jiminnie, love of my life, I'm going to tell you something you're not going to like very much."
"You cannot have my fruit cup." He took another bite of his sandwich.
Taehyung swallowed some more of his burger, though his cheek still bulged out comically. "No, that's not it."
"Then what?" asked Jimin.
"I think you like him," Taehyung said, swallowing the rest of is mouthful.
"Him who? Hoseok? Not sober." Hoseok reached a fist across the table, which Jimin considered for a second before tapping with his knuckles.
"No," Taehyung shook his head, leaning towards Jimin conspiratorially, "Namjoon."
Hoseok started laughing immediately, throwing his head back, slapping at his knee and Jimin giggled along, because the idea was outrageous. Absolutely. He hated Namjoon, so even the idea of him liking Namjoon was absolutely ridiculous.
But when Jimin flicked his gaze back up to Taehyung's face, he wasn't laughing. He wasn't laughing at all, but he had this odd, knowing look painted across his face. Even the mole on the tip of his nose looked smug. Jimin wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, and sat up a little, feeling a bit like someone had doused him in water.
"It's so true!" Hoseok gasped out.
Wait. What?
"What are you talking about?" Jimin knit his brows together. This wasn't happening. "I'm not a middle schooler in denial. I'm not like confused about how to channel my feelings for him or something. I don't like him. At all. He's, sure, objectively handsome, but he's also awful and he fucking beat me in sales and I hate him." He crossed his arms over his chest.
"You were just like this with Taemin," Hoseok says, pointing an orange slice at him, still shaking a little with with laughter.
"I was not!" cried Jimin. "Also, Taemin was straight."
"You would complain to me every day about how much you didn't like the way he wore his hair or which tie he wore," said Taehyung, struggling to open his drink. "You told him he was an idiot when he announced that he was taking that managing job over in Akron. Also, you don't know, Namjoon could be straight."
"Well who goes to Ohio," Jimin said, taking Taehyung's drink from him to open it for him. "Also, he's not. I heard him ranting to Yoongi about how he thinks that everyone's bisexual." Jimin frowned, slid Taehyung's drink back to him. "Straight people don't think everyone's bisexual."
Hoseok was squinting at him. "So, you haven't even talked to him, but you remember conversations he's had near you?"
"Of course," said Jimin, exasperated now if he hadn't been before (he had been before). "It was a weird fucking conversation. Who thinks everyone's bisexual? Also, that's incredibly dismissive of people's identities, what kind of fucking person —"
The rest of Jimin's rant was cut off by Hoseok's cackling. He had a feeling that if Taehyung hadn't been sipping his drink, he would have been laughing at him, too.
He took a emphatic bite of his sandwich and tried not to pout.
—Friday—
"Here," said a deep, honeyed voice behind Jimin, startling him from his work and making him jerk up embarrassingly.
He glanced to the side and a long-fingered hand was setting a stack of papers down on the empty side of his desk. Jimin followed the arm up to see Namjoon hovering, just a bit awkwardly, dark hair parted and pushed off of his forehead. He wore thick, black-rimmed glasses that Jimin knew were prescription from a conversation he'd overheard between Namjoon and Hoseok the other day about him being completely out of contact lenses. His shirt was a little rumpled, he'd left his jacket somewhere, and, for some reason, there was a long smudge of ink on his cheek and, god, he looked handsome. And tall, Jimin remembered with a thick swallow, as he considered Namjoon leaning casually against the half-wall to his cubicle.
Jimin's cheeks burned a bit, remembering the conversation he'd had at lunch the day before. This was ridiculous. All of it was ridiculous. Who fucking looked like that.
"What's this?" Jimin bit out, glancing back down at the stack of paperwork.
Namjoon blinked owlishly, almost as if he hadn't expected Jimin to say anything to him. "I, uh, I had a meeting with Seokjin and he mentioned that these need to go to you, and since I was coming this way anyway, I, uh ..." Namjoon trailed off, twisting his hands and then nodding and pulling a smile onto his face, dimple sinking deep into his cheek. "Well, I figured I'd bring them to you."
"Right," said Jimin immediately, dismissively. "Thanks. Is that it?"
"Yeah," Namjoon said with a nod, backing out of the cubicle. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, add something or ... but then he was gone, rubbing absently at his nose as he ducked out of sight.
Jimin kind of wanted to kick himself, kind of wanted to sneer and lean over the half-wall into Taehyung's cubicle to talk shit, but he did neither, just sighed and ran a hand down his face and turned back to his work, ignoring the bad taste in his mouth.
For the rest of the morning he was off his game, definitely and ridiculously. The calls he made were fine, probably, he was still a great salesman. But he knew there was something missing from them, some edge he usually had or maybe his usual knack for timing. He found himself thinking of things he should have said a few minutes after hanging up the phone more than once and suppressed the urge to call the clients back and flirt shamelessly or throw himself at their feet. That would be ... absurd, probably.
He scrawled the numbers down with the situations on a sheet of paper for Jungkook to call next week, knowing that it was hard for people to say no to the younger man, especially when he pulled that stammering, this-is-my-first-real-job shit. Customers ate it right up.
It was after lunch when Yoongi stormed up to him and yanked his chair away from his desk, pulling his earbuds from his ears. He looked oddly imposing at that moment despite his short stature and slight frame, face only a few inches from Jimin's, normally passive expression pulled into ... well, it was still kind of bored looking, but definitely a more annoyed bored, verging on angry.
"You're being a fucking dick, you know that?" Yoongi spat.
"I'm just sitting here," complained Jimin, rubbing at an ear.
"No, you dumbass," said Yoongi, rubbing at his forehead in a gesture that he'd probably picked up from Seokjin. Or maybe Seokjin had picked it up from him. "To Namjoon, he hasn't fucking done anything to you, and you just keep being a fucking jackass to him because of your weird competitive thing." Jimin tried to protest, to say that that wasn't what it was, but Yoongi just pressed on, harsh words pouring out of him, "It's not fucking cute anymore Jimin. I don't know what this is, but it's been going on for too fucking long and it needs to fucking stop."
Jimin's mouth had turned down, into something between a frown and a pout, lip jutting out ever so slightly. He didn't say anything for a moment, trying to suppress the urge to fidget. Don't let them see that you're intimidated rang Hoseok's voice in his head from his first day when he'd been freaking out in the bathroom. He'd come so far since then.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jimin said flatly, placing a palm on Yoongi's chest and pushing ever so slightly. "Now, if you could, please, step back a foot or so, I don't need to be able to smell your breath for us to have this conversation."
"Fuck off," Yoongi said flatly, but sighed and pulled back a little. "'I don't know what you're talking about,'" Yoongi repeated mockingly, "Fuck off with that shit."
"Mature," Jimin noted.
"You're acting like a fucking child."
"I'm perfectly civil. I don't have to be nice to everyone, I'm not a robot."
Yoongi faltered a little, face still definitely annoyed but less angry than it had been. "Of course not —"
"You're not nice to everyone," Jimin pointed out, tilting his head.
"That's not —"
"Yoongi, you came in here swearing. You hurt my ear."
Yoongi sighed, rubbed at his forehead again. He looked kind of like he regretted coming over to Jimin's desk at all, looked up at the ceiling as though something up there might help him. "Is your ear okay?"
Jimin suppressed the urge to snicker. "Yeah."
After a moment, he said, glancing back down, "You're always like this, you know,"
"I'm not," Jimin said petulantly, though it sounded like a lie even to himself.
"Uh huh," Yoongi said, skeptical. "Either way, Boss wants to talk to you and I get the impression that he's less than thrilled with you, too."
"Great," Jimin said, sighing. "Thanks for letting me know. Anything else?"
"Nope," said Yoongi, though he lingered at doorway. "You know ..." he said after a moment, halfway out of the cubicle. "He's a nice guy."
"I'm sure," Jimin said flatly. A week ago he probably would have scoffed, but ... he just felt kind of guilty and oddly empty, instead. He rubbed absently at his ear.
He felt like dawdling, but once Yoongi had wandered off, Jimin stretched and stood, ambling his way over to Seokjin's desk. He had one of the only actual offices on the floor, the two girls in accounting in another one, and then the room of a nebulous number of IT people down a hallway who all kind of shared a weird office space that didn't really feel like an office space.
Hoseok greeted Jimin outside of Seokjin's office. "Here to see the boss," Jimin said by way of explanation, trying to pull an acceptably friendly expression. He wasn't sure he succeeded.
"Yoongi warned you already, huh," said Hoseok, a weird mixture of glee and sympathy on his bright face.
"If you could call it that," Jimin said, nodding.
"That good?"
Jimin just hummed. "Can I go in?"
Hoseok shrugged, "I don't see why not."
"I feel like you should know," Jimin said, smiling slightly, and then he was pushing through the door and into the office.
As always, the office rushed to greet him. The styling was moderate, a pair of comfortable but formal looking chairs in front of a dark wood desk, a large fern in the corner, a bookcase against one wall. It was the things Seokjin had added to the styling that tended to overwhelm. The bright pink paintings on the back wall, the loud pink upholstery on the chairs, the myriad of Mario figurines peeking about his leather bound books and tucked beside the trio of picture frames he had on his desk — one of their little office family, drunk on a beach somewhere that Jimin vaguely remembered, one of his parents and their little white dog, and one of a smiling, serene and extremely beautiful woman whom none of them had ever gotten a straight answer about.
"Come in, come in," Seokjin said, perfect face glancing up from his computer. He pushed his glasses a bit further up his nose — fake wire frames, extremely trendy.
Jimin hummed, took a seat, resisted the urge to swing his legs as his feet hung just an inch above the ground. That would probably not help ... whatever this was.
"I assume you know why I've called you in," said Seokjin, clicking something on his computer and then turning away. He always sounded a bit more like a teacher than a proper boss. Jimin wasn't sure what it was about him, really, but it was hard to put Seokjin in boxes. There was something about him that was pleasantly fake, as though each morning he carefully pulled his personality on and smoothed it out with his slightly crooked fingers. It felt sometimes as though he were playing a role or planning a prank, or both at the same time.
Jimin didn't feel like taking a stab at the assumption. "The last thing we really spoke about was my keeping my sales up, but I've done that. So I'm not sure."
"Right," said Seokjin, with an odd little smile on his perfect lips. He tilted his chair back a little, regarded Jimin — who tried his best not to squirm under his gaze — and then cleared his throat. "So. You need to cut the attitude."
"With you?" asked Jimin.
Seokjin closed his eyes for a moment, rubbed at that spot between his perfect eyebrows. "Also with me. And also in general, but mostly with Namjoon."
"I'm not —"
"I'm saying this as your boss," Seokjin said, sighing and leaning forward a bit, "You're being unprofessional and needlessly mean. He's not a temp and he's not bad at his job, he's part of our team and you will treat him like you treat everyone else on the team." He nodded slightly, almost as if he were agreeing with himself. Then, his eyes widened a little and he added, "Except for Taehyung, you should probably not treat him like you treat Taehyung, that would be ... just don't do that."
"But, I don't —"
"You should probably not treat Taehyung like you treat Taehyung, but no one's reported you lot to HR in several weeks, so I suppose that's really neither here nor there."
"I just —"
"Thank you for coming in to see me." Seokjin's smile was perfect and final. It stated very clearly You can leave now. He looked back to his computer, spreadsheets reflecting in the lenses of his glasses.
Jimin fidgeted. "Sir."
"Yes?" Seokjin looked up from his screen, unplaceable little gleam in his eyes.
"I hate him," Jimin said quietly, feeling just slightly ridiculous.
"Yes, well," said Seokjin with a sort of blasé shrug of his broad shoulders, effortless and uncaring, "Pretend you don't."
—Monday—
When he walked into the office, about five minutes early for once, things felt strange.
And, sure, it could have been because Jimin had spent the entire weekend holed up in his apartment, first stress cleaning and then watching Netflix and eating nearly tasteless low-fat ice cream until he couldn't feel his brain or his lips and he certainly couldn't think about whatever odd feeling had manifested itself in his gut from his discussions with half the office over the last couple days. It felt a little like guilt mixed with whatever had been in those bright blue shots Taehyung had pushed towards him on Jungkook's last birthday and it was not particularly pleasant. Burned down his throat and into his gut just the same way.
But if Jungkook looked alarmed when Jimin asked him to pour him some coffee, it was probably just because that's how his face looked. And if Yoongi was laughing to himself in his cubicle, he had probably just gotten laid over the weekend. And if Taehyung was smiling at him extra brightly, well, that was just Taehyung.
"G'morning," Jimin mumbled, trying to shake the odd feeling.
Taehyung hummed and petted through his hair, "Morning, love."
Jungkook set a mug down in front of him, white with some bible passage scrawled across one face of it, and then plopped down across the table from him, promptly rested his head on a forearm, and fell back asleep, fist still wrapped around the handle of his signature black coffee mug. Jimin smiled fondly, but even that didn't shake whatever strangeness he was feeling.
It hung with him while he tried to wake up properly, sipping coffee and grunting vaguely whenever Taehyung paused in his rambling. The rest of the office filed in around them, the girl from IT who they'd startled the other day covertly holding hands with Hoseok. Then Seokjin, who looked as though he'd just walked out of shoot for a cologne ad, but was complaining about how puffy his face was. The pair of girls from accounting, both of whom looked distinctly hungover.
At some point they all migrated to their desks to check emails and kill time before the weekly meeting. Jimin must have done some work, but if asked wouldn't have been able to tell anyone precisely what it was that he accomplished in that hour. Had he made phone calls? Answered emails? Filed papers? Rearranged the pictures of Youngbae he had saved on his phone?
Who was to say.
And then Taehyung was backhugging him over the back of his chair, carefully pulling his earbuds out, and mumbling into his hair that it was time to go to the meeting. So he trailed after his friend and sat down in his usual chair in the conference room. That felt weird, too, the conference room. Almost as if something was missing.
Jimin swallowed hard when he realized what exactly was missing when Yoongi wandered in by himself, eyes half closed and scrolling through some article or another his phone. Kim Namjoon, who was always on time and diligently working, more often than not with highlighter ink spread down the sleeve of his shirt, wasn't there. Hadn't stumbled in behind his friend, offering some vague opinion on the article, dimple dipping deep into his cheek. Kim Namjoon wasn't there at all.
"Hey," Jimin said, leaning a little towards an only-slightly-more-awake-than-before Jungkook who had just kind of been staring into space. Jungkook hummed, slid his gaze over to Jimin. "Have you seen Namjoon yet today?"
The reaction was immediate and bizarre: spluttering and backpedaling, hands up defensively. Jungkook looked as though he'd walked into something he shouldn't have, a step away from apologizing and wanting to dig himself a hole to hide in.
"I'm not trying to fight him or something," Jimin said, figuring he might have to clarify. "I just haven't seen him."
"Ah, no," said Jungkook, still looking thoroughly embarrassed, avoiding eye contact.
"What —"
"Jiminnie," Taehyung interrupted him, touching his elbow to draw his attention away from Jungkook. "Did you see my Snapchat story about the bird living on my balcony? Because at first, I was like, 'Hey, you're a bird. What are you doing on my balcony?' but then we bonded for a moment and I was like —"
"Hey Tae?" Jimin asked, interrupting with a somewhat sheepish smile, somewhat earnest. Taehyung hummed in answer, as if he hadn't been interrupted at all. Jimin swallowed. Why was this making him so nervous? Why did he have to know? "Have you seen Namjoon today? I haven't seen him yet."
A strange look passed over Taehyung's face, something a little confused and a little thoughtful and a little like he looked before he would walk up to a bouncer at a club, all charm and pacification. Then it was gone and he shook his head. "I heard he quit."
"What," Jimin said automatically. He couldn't have heard him correctly. Absolutely not.
"Yeah, I think someone told me that he quit," Taehyung shrugged, voice passive, nearly indifferent. "Not very long to be here, but whatever floats his boat I guess. We'll have to start looking again, maybe we can get Choi Minho from the fifth floor? I met him the bathroom once, he was really nice. Seemed smart."
This was not happening. The odd feeling from that morning seemed to have multiplied and morphed into something else, something Jimin felt like he was drowning in. He'd once done a report on a flood of molasses in Boston, back in grade school, where a storage tank had burst and covered the streets and killed more than a dozen people. He imagined that their drowning had felt something like this, thick and strange and heavy in his lungs.
"Babe, you alright?" Taehyung looked concerned, reached a hand over to cup Jimin's cheek.
"I hated him," Jimin gasped out, leaned slightly into the contact. What was this, what was this, what was this. He tried to swallow the feeling. Took a deep breath.
"You'd said that, yeah," Taehyung said with a small smile. He dropped his hand to Jimin's lap, squeezed his hand lightly, and then turned to where Seokjin had finally walked into the room, complaining about a phone call that had run long.
The meeting passed in a blur, a haze. Minutes went by, but Jimin couldn't concentrate on anything, couldn't hold on to anything that was happening. Somewhere he registered that Seokjin had allowed Taehyung to launch into his acceptance speech this time for some reason, which, perhaps not surprisingly, includes recounting in graphic detail a particularly lewd weekend he had had with Jimin and Jungkook in Atlantic City right when they'd gotten out of college that Jimin had little to no memory of, but that did not seem to be the case for Taehyung. Seokjin made a panicked choking noise, Yoongi clapped, and the meeting continued.
And then, Jungkook was nudging his arm, mumbling, "Hey, meeting's over. Want me to get you some coffee?"
"What?" said Jimin, jerking from the daze before registering what Jungkook had said. "No, no, I'm fine. Hey, Hoseok's at his desk, right?"
Jungkook shrugged, but Jimin wasn't really paying attention anyway, clapping Jungkook on the shoulder and getting out of his chair before Jungkook answered, "Yeah, probably."
"Great, thanks," said Jimin, and then he was gone, making a bee line for Hoseok's desk, where the other man was leaning back in his chair, feet crossed at the ankle and resting on the edge of his desk, the picture of relaxation.
"I need your help," Jimin said immediately, leaning onto the other man's desk.
Hoseok turned so that Jimin could see the phone cradled to his ear, but looked up at him, eyebrows raised, and held a finger up for him to wait. Waiting was the last thing Jimin wanted to do, though. If he waited he'd have time to think about what he was about to go do, what he felt in every fiber of his body that he needed to go do. He considered pacing, considered tapping his foot, but realized both would probably annoy Hoseok and he needed his help if this was going to work. He needed —
"What's up Minnie?" Hoseok asked, putting his phone down.
"I need Namjoon's address," Jimin said, and then sensing Hoseok's hesitation, "Now, if at all possible."
"Jimin, I'm pretty sure that's illegal."
"Yeah, well, if you give it to me I won't tell HR about that time you and Taehyung stole Jungkook's shirt and used it to —"
"Right!" Hoseok sat up a little straighter, embarrassed smile on his sharp face. "I don't know if blackmail is completely necessary, but I understand and recognize now that you're an obviously desperate and possibly deranged man." He exhaled forcefully, ran a hand through his hair, and pulled open a drawer of files. He was efficient, pulling out Namjoon's after just a few seconds. It was thinner than the rest of them, for obvious reasons, and it only took Hoseok another moment to find what he was looking for. He rattled off the address, mouth pulled down at the corners.
"Thank you, I owe you one," Jimin said as he typed the address into his phone, and then, glancing up and seeing the expression on Hoseok's face, "Or, possibly several. Take it up with Tae, he handles the catelogue of my owed favors. I'm really ... I know I'm being a jerk, but I don't —"
"I know, just go figure it out," Hoseok said, the start of a smile grow beneath his pout. "You're right in thinking that you owe me, though."
"Of course," said Jimin, and he was already leaving, power walking through the office and calling over his shoulder to tell Seokjin he was taking a half-day. And then he was gone, scrambling down the stairs and out into the late fall air.
He debated on taking his car, a slightly beat up little black thing his parents had helped him buy at graduation, but honestly he didn't feel like he should be driving in the state he was in — frantic, stressed, guilty, on top of whatever haze of emotions he'd been feeling all through the weekend. And Namjoon just lived a half dozen blocks over anyway, so he walked. Well, alternated between walking and jogging and bursting into nervous sprinting when he couldn't see anyone else on the sidewalk with him.
That made it entirely his fault that he showed up at Namjoon's door about ten minutes later, somewhat sweaty on top of the rest of whatever was wrong with him.
Because it had been crashing over him since Taehyung had told him Namjoon had quit before the meeting and it was overwhelming. That it was his fault, that he had done this to Namjoon with all his passive aggressive behavior and all the shit talking and his general disposition during the whole ... ordeal. (It hadn't needed to be an ordeal, it hadn't needed to be anything at all, but Jimin had gone and made it one.) It was his fault that he had handled everything poorly and childishly. His fault that he'd felt so threatened at the prospect of no longer being the best at his job. He had been awful — everyone had told him he'd been awful — and because of him someone had fucking quit their job.
He needed to apologize. He'd throw himself at Namjoon's feet if necessary, beg him to take his job back. He'd even offer to quit himself if it would make things better.
He pounded on Namjoon's door, panting just a little, and waited.
And waited.
For some reason while envisioning this in the office and on the way over, Jimin had imagined Namjoon opening the door immediately so that Jimin could apologize. Jimin would rush into the apartment fueled by passion. There would probably be sad music playing. Jimin's apology would be heartfelt and seamless and make it obvious that he was in the wrong without him seeming like a big, huge, massive jerk. Namjoon would forgive him immediately and they'd fist bump and he'd leave within like five minutes feeling good about himself.
Instead, he was left staring at Namjoon's door. Felt his confidence falter ever so slightly with his loss of momentum.
He pounded on the door again. Shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
He probably deserved this if he was being honest with himself. Namjoon was probably on the other side of the door laughing at him to himself, drinking coffee while looking noncommittally through the peephole, enjoying watching Jimin wait.
But no, that didn't really seem like Namjoon, as little as Jimin actually knew him. Someone who had left him cookies to try and smooth things over. Someone who had brought him documents despite how poorly Jimin had been treating him. Someone who had hard and strange opinions about things like bisexuality. Someone who wasn't sure when to go along with the rest of the office's bits. Someone who forgot to order new contacts for themselves on a regular schedule. Someone who had tried to make him coffee and who had smiled, embarrassed, and ducked from the room when he realized he wasn't sure how to use the coffee maker.
Jimin shook the memory from his head.
He knocked again, less emphatically. Twisted his hands together.
"Namjoon?" he tried calling, conscious of the fact that this was not the only apartment in the building. He looked back and forth down the hallway, but it told him nothing. Hopefully it being nearly noon on a Monday meant that most people were at work, but who knew honestly. He was here, Namjoon was here, maybe the whole rest of the building was present as well. "Namjoon, I need to talk to you," he tried, trying to keep his voice strong. "Please let me in, I need to apologize. I'm really —"
The door opened slowly. Namjoon, looking as though he might have still been in bed, peered out of the doorway, dark hair flat and soft across his forehead, but sticking up a little on one side. He looked impossibly soft, really, sort of sleepy, a hand coming up to rub absently at the back of his neck, a soft, over-sized sweatshirt draped over his broad shoulders, nose just slightly pink. Oh, god, had he been crying?
"Jimin?" he asked, sort of disbelieving. His voice was a bit hoarse, raspy. It was nice. "What are you ..."
"Can I come in?" Jimin asked, trying to ignore the impulse to shrink in on himself. How did one look apologetic without looking small and embarrassed?
Namjoon just shrugged and stepped back a little to let Jimin in, closed the door behind them both. Then, wandered further into his apartment, grabbed a mug of something or other from the hall table.
Jimin wasn't sure what type of apartment he'd imagined Namjoon to have, but this certainly wasn't it. Maybe something cozy and simple, with a tidy bookshelf and little white accent pillows everywhere. Maybe something bulky and masculine, all dark furniture and glass tables.
Instead, it was intensely messy. It looked as though at some point it had been somewhat homey - large bookshelves lined one wall that were half full of books in all sizes and shapes, some had tipped over, some were in piles to the side; there were notebooks everywhere with odd little phrases and notes scribbled in them, pages leaking from them and onto the floor; a stack of blankets were piled onto the couch as if someone had been sleeping there; various empty bowls filled up with tissues littered the coffee table and the floor next to the couch.
Jimin tried not to recoil, tried not to look alarmed, looked everywhere.
"Sorry for the," Namjoon gestured vaguely at the entirety of the apartment before sinking down into a chair with his mug. He pulled his long legs in, sitting cross-legged in the chair. "I wasn't expecting ... and I'm kind of —"
"No, of course not. It's fine, really," Jimin found himself saying. Namjoon rubbed tiredly at an eye. Jimin pressed forward to avoid focusing in on just how soft he looked again. The pink nose was getting to him. "I need to apologize for the way that I've treated you the last couple weeks. I, really, am just appalled at my behavior — everyone's called me out on it and I was making excuses, but it's true. It's all true.
"It's true that I felt threatened because suddenly I wasn't the best person in the office — even if any of them could probably be right up there with me if they put in any modicum of effort. I let my stupid competitive streak effect someone's actual real life? What the fuck is that? It's true that I acted like a child because of that and, and other reasons."
Jimin shifted his weight. Pushed his hair back. Figured that he might as well do all of this if he was doing this already. "You know, Taehyung brought it up last week, that he thought I was being terrible because I had a crush on you, and I just laughed it off, but then Friday afternoon when you left my cubicle looking so dejected, and then Yoongi and Seokjin both yelling at me for being terrible, and then hearing today that you quit, I just —"
Namjoon looked concerned, or maybe confused. Jimin wasn't all that familiar with his expressions. (A little voice in the back of his head whispered yet but he pushed that back, swallowed that down, whatever he had to do to it to get it to leave him alone.) He'd spent the odd moment focused in on his dimples or the way he walked or the way his eyes disappeared when he smiled, but he didn't know the man. Not really. Namjoon started to say something, though, eyebrows wrinkled, opened his mouth, started with, "Jimin, I —"
"Please just let me get this out," Jimin said quickly, ripping his eyes from Namjoon's eyebrows. He almost missed the small nod, the small smile Namjoon gave him in response to his plea.
He continued, "Hearing today that you quit, I realized that I've been acting like a nine-year-old with a crush. I fucking, I might as well be pulling your hair and running away. Only, like, a thousand and six times worse? Because I actually like really did fuck up your life? I think I thought you were cute and then you did better than me that week and I just ... became ridiculous. Irrational. And terrible, fucking terrible. You're smart — like we looked at your resume and between Tae and I we couldn't even figure out what you'd been doing for work before this because it was just too much — and cute — god, have you seen yourself when you get highlighter all over your arm and shit, I don't know how anyone could look that cute with highlighter all over their arm, what even is that — and apparently really good at this sales thing and I just, I feel awful.
"Please come back to work. Take back your resignation, I'm sure Seokjin will let you. Please, I'm so sorry Namjoon," Jimin finished, running out of steam more than anything else. He felt a little like a deflated balloon. It was an oddly helpless feeling, sort of empty. He looked down at his feet, a little shy and embarrassed and realized he was still wearing his shoes. Great, another thing to apologize for.
He realized after a moment that Namjoon hadn't said anything yet, not since Jimin had asked to keep going. He looked up at the other man, nervous, searching for ... something, but Namjoon just looked stunned and a little confused more than anything else. Jimin watched as he swallowed awkwardly around a mouthful of his tea (or, at least, it smelled like tea), Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Watched as he rubbed at the back of his neck, pulling a wry smile.
"So I, uh," Namjoon started, wrapping both hands around his mug, for something to do with them, "I mean, thanks for apologizing and uh, the rest of that ... but, I'm just home sick today."
"What."
Jimin must have heard him wrong.
He must have —
"Yeah, I, uh, I'm kind of a baby when I'm sick? And I didn't want to bother you all, so I figured I'd stay home. I'd been sneezing like a hundred times an hour until a little while ago." Namjoon took another sip of his tea, squinted up at Jimin, frowning ever so slightly.
Probably because Jimin continued to stand frozen.
"This tea is helping, I think," Namjoon offered to break the silence. "It tastes terrible, though. I think maybe because I microwaved it? But the kettle I have is kind of intimidating." He blushed slightly, looked down into his mug. Rubbed absently at the pink tip of his nose, that Jimin now realized was from being sick rather than crying.
Namjoon hadn't quit.
Relief was the first emotion to rush over Jimin. Namjoon hadn't quit, which meant Jimin wasn't responsible for making him quit, which meant even though he'd been completely awful, he hadn't been so awful to someone that he'd prompted them to quit their job. Which was reassuring.
"Yoongi told me I had to buy a kettle because 'Joon you're an adult, what kind of adult doesn't have a kettle,'" he'd adopted a gruff voice that was much better than Taehyung's strangely growly impression of Yoongi. Namjoon had probably known Yoongi longer, to be fair. He dropped it again as he continued, not seeming too concerned that Jimin hadn't spoken yet. "So, I did all my research and I bought the best one that was reasonably priced, I checked all the Amazon reviews and stuff, but, well, kitchen gadgets and I don't particularly get along."
The second emotion to rush over Jimin was something along the lines of desire to murder Kim Taehyung, who had lied to him and told him that Namjoon had quit. He had made Jimin make an idiot out of himself.
So he said so.
It was probably not the most attentive response he could have had to Namjoon, who was now mumbling something about how he hadn't yet used the stove in this apartment because of what had happened in his last apartment, but nonetheless Jimin said, "I'm going to kill Kim Taehyung. I'm going to murder — he got the whole office to just, go along with it? He's a fucking psychopath, like I love him, but what the fuck."
Namjoon made a face somewhere between concerned and amused, a soft little smile, a raised eyebrow. Which was fair, when Jimin thought about it. It was the first thing he'd said in awhile. It wasn't every day that someone came to your apartment to yell an apology at you and then completely freeze when faced with the information that parts of the apology were incorrect. And then started talking about murder.
God, he was so embarrassing.
"I'm sorry," Jimin said.
"You've said that," Namjoon said with the same smile, and then he sniffled a little, reaching for the tissue box.
Jimin paused for a moment, remembering something, "Wait, you don't use your stove? How are you eating?"
Namjoon turned a little bit pink. "Yoongi brought me over soup this weekend and then made me oatmeal before he went to work, and I, uh, thought maybe I'd order Chinese for lunch? They have that wonton soup that might —"
"No," Jimin said, waving a hand and moving to wander into Namjoon's kitchen to look through his fridge and cabinets. "I'll make you soup."
"You'll ... no, Jimin, you don't, you don't have to," Namjoon stammered, watching helplessly as he peered into the fridge frowning, half-standing out of his chair. "That's not —"
"Necessary?" Jimin finished for him, closing a cabinet. "I disagree." He turned to look at Namjoon and nodded slightly. "It's the least I can do. I know how to make soup. You have nothing in, though, so I'll be back in a bit. I saw a little grocery store around the corner on my way over. Rest. You're sick."
Namjoon watched helplessly as Jimin headed towards the door of his apartment, called, "You don't —" but then Jimin was pulling the door closed behind him.
Jimin had just reached the start of the stairs when he called Taehyung, who picked up with startling immediacy considering that he was supposed to be working. "How'd it go, darling?" Taehyung asked casually. Jimin could hear the creak of his chair as he leaned back in it.
"You're a fucking psychopath," Jimin greeted him. "I can't believe you fucking lied to me."
"I didn't lie," Taehyung argued.
"Uh, I disagree," said Jimin, rounding a landing and contining down the stairs. "You told me that he'd quit. He has very much not quit!"
"Nope," said Taehyung over the line. "If you'd be so kind to recall, I said that I thought someone had told me he'd quit."
"Well whoever told you that's a liar then."
"Not really," said Taehyung and Jimin could see the boxy grin, the shameless expression before he even heard the rest of it. "As I told Hoseok to repeat it back to me. Not a lie!"
"I'm going to murder you," Jimin threatened.
"Kinky," said Taehyung.
"I'm going to kill you and you're going to be dead." Jimin's snort of laughter made him sound slightly less serious than perhaps he meant it. "Oh, god, that's why Kookie looked like he'd walked in on someone, he can't fucking lie to save his life."
Taehyung just hummed, and then, "Oh, I've got a call. Don't get sick." And he was gone and Jimin was left alone at the bottom of the stairs, shaking his head.
The grocery store trip itself was uneventful. Jimin's wasn't really sure what Namjoon liked, so he just grabbed things for chicken noodle soup, trusting that no one had ever really hated chicken noodle soup. He'd seen him eating a turkey sandwich last week, so Jimin thought he probably wasn't vegetarian. He came back with his grocery bags to find Namjoon's apartment unlocked and Namjoon sleeping in the chair where he'd left him, long legs pulled up to his chest.
He looked peaceful, soft, the tip of his nose still slightly more pink than the rest of his face, mouth hanging a little open. Jimin was struck with an odd fondness for a moment, the strange intimacy of this all. Being in Namjoon's incredibly messy apartment while the other man slept. Making soup for him in his kitchen. Confessing his newly realized crush the way that he had — a confession that had gone almost entirely ignored in favor of another conversation, but a confession nonetheless.
Jimin imagined things for a moment as they could be — imagined taking the last couple steps over to him, running his fingers through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead. Imagined pressing a kiss to that forehead, curling up with him in the chair.
Then, Namjoon let out a rattling snore and Jimin stifled a laugh in his arm and whatever little moment he'd been imagining was gone.
He started onions in a pan, diced up the chicken and smeared whatever spices he could find in Namjoon's cupboards onto the chunks — ground pepper, a little bit of paprika, and garlic went well enough together right? — and dumped those into the pan, too. Then, with nothing to do but wait, he picked up a little, stealing little glances over at Namjoon's sleeping form. Threw away all the used tissues and other garbage, put the dishes in the sink, straightened a pile of magazines on one of the tables, stacked the notebooks up on another. Carefully draped one of the blankets from the couch over him.
Then, back to the kitchen, to flip the chicken, stir the onions, turn down the heat, start some water boiling in a large sauce pan. He worked methodically, mostly by memory. It wasn't something he had to think too much about, he'd watched his mother make soup like this a hundred times, made it himself another hundred. He wasn't a great cook, but the recipes he did know always came out fine.
Jimin was dumping the bag of vegetables into the boiling water when he heard someone padding into the kitchen behind him. He turned to see Namjoon perched up on one of the stools along the counter, hovering just a bit awkwardly, rubbing tiredly at his face. He smiled sleepily when he saw Jimin looking at him.
"That smells really good," Namjoon said.
"Good," Jimin said, trying to be as firm as he'd been when he had decided to make the soup, but he could feel a little bit of a blush creep onto his face. He turned back to the stove, stirred the onions around a little more. "I just have to combine everything and let it hang out for awhile and it'll be ready."
Namjoon hummed, though it sounded a bit strange with him being stuffed up. Jimin could feel Namjoon's eyes on his back, ghosting over his shoulders — tried to keep his movements casual. He was great with people over the phone or when he had something prepared but this ... this was different. He felt exposed somehow.
After another moment, Namjoon spoke again, voice casual, "So, did you want to go on a date or something? I mean, you've been kind of a dick the last couple weeks, but you're pretty cute and you apologized and this is really nice of you to, er, well, take care of me like this."
Jimin didn't say anything, stayed turned away from Namjoon as he felt his face grow hot. Namjoon kept talking, as that seemed to be what he did when he didn't get a response — maybe that was why he was so good at sales. "I mean, it could just be something casual. And it wouldn't have to be soon, because I'm sick right now, but just ... in the future. If you wanted to, I mean, but —"
"Yes." Jimin said, reaching to dump the onions and chicken into the pot with the vegetables.
Namjoon was quiet for a moment, but when Jimin turned around he was smiling wide and open, dimples sinking deep into his cheeks. He tried to reel it in a little when Jimin turned, covering his face a little with a long-fingered hand, biting a bit at his thick lower lip, but he looked happy. He looked really happy. And Jimin certainly felt happy.
They stared at each other kind of dumbly for a moment.
It was Namjoon who broke the silence, "So, what now?"
Jimin glanced over at the stove. "Soup needs to hang out for like twenty minutes. I could, uh ... or, do you want to watch a movie or something?"
Namjoon nodded, getting up off the stool and heading back into the living room. "I was watching National Treasure yesterday, but I'm pretty sure I fell asleep before they even properly planned to steal the Declaration. Would you want to ...?"
Jimin laughed and followed him. "Oh, god, no. Nothing with Nicolas Cage, I hate him."