Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

jimin leaves his hand in taehyung’s all the way to the train station. they let go (is it mutual? does taehyung loosen his grip first, or is it jimin?) to scan their cards. when they get to the platform, jimin holds himself sort of awkwardly apart from taehyung, enforcing a boundary that has never before existed between them. the lack of taehyung’s sempiternal closeness is jarring, an ache welling up in the cavity in jimin’s chest, perhaps a space taehyung has left now that he is missing from it. jimin is suddenly and irrevocably aware that since the moment he and taehyung met, they have spent more time touching each other than not. it’s their shoulders pressing together with layers of sweaters between them in the winter. it’s the brush of knuckles against the backs of each other’s hands because they’re walking so close that their skin can’t help but touch.

ache, ache. maybe jimin just aches now because the truth is out. the truth will always out, and maybe jimin always knew it eventually would. because here’s the thing: jimin has always, always been in love with taehyung.

taehyung doesn’t know. hasn’t known until now, at least, and jimin kind of thinks he still doesn’t really know -know. jimin doesn’t think that taehyung has secretly been aware of jimin’s feelings and doesn’t feel the same, that he’s saving them both the embarrassment of saying something and forcing them through a conversation that ends in jimin’s heartbreak. taehyung is just oblivious, and the best friendship taehyung and jimin share is so multifaceted and settled-in that jimin really doesn’t mind taehyung not knowing.

except now he sort of does know. maybe. even if jeongguk is only half-right: about jimin’s part in this, not about tae’s. if tae were in love with jimin, jimin is sure there would be no keeping that cat in the bag. taehyung is far too effusive with his love for something like that.

“so,” taehyung says, sounding about as normal as he possibly could given all of what’s just happened. “um. you wanna have our own movie night when we get home?”

jimin swallows and gazes up at taehyung, tentative in a way he hasn’t been with taehyung literally ever. “sure, taetae,” he agrees, trying to grin and mostly succeeding.

taehyung looks back and forth, scanning the platform. he must decide that they’re safe from curious eyes, because suddenly he’s stepping forward, shattering the no man’s land between them with determination and familiarity, and he offers his arms with a gentleness that suffuses him so unconditionally it makes jimin’s stomach flip.

and jimin and tae are like so in love it’s ridiculous.

“thanks, taetae,” jimin says, acquiescent (forever indebted) to the gravity pull between them that tugs him forwards so he taehyung can hold him up.

“leave all the awkward not-talking to our friends,” taehyung whispers into jimin’s hair.

“no angst,” jimin nods, the words sticking on the threads of taehyung’s sweater like raindrops, clinging there and glittering but not quite sinking in.

“you’re feeling it, though,” taehyung says, which is true. “relax, minnie. listen to your own advice. no angst.”

jimin sighs. “tae.”

“noooo. stop freaking out. it’s not a big deal.”

“i know,” jimin says, nodding and finally wrapping his arms around taehyung’s narrow waist to hug back.

“you didn’t freak out like this when we kissed,” taehyung points out, a shy-trilling note in his quiet voice.

“i’m not freaking out.”

“you are. a little bit, at least.”

“i did freak out when we kissed,” jimin admits, pulling away to meet taehyung’s eyes, a low chord of fear ringing dark in the latent depths of him.

taehyung furrows his brow, going from ethereal fae-beautiful to masculine and strong in an instant. “you seemed fine at the kebab place after?”

jimin sighs, and years of careful hiding in plain sight dissipate out of him, leaving him defenseless and vulnerably honest. “i mean the first time. like…”

“new year’s four years ago?” taehyung asks, shaking his head so his hair flies out around his temples in a warm yellow halo. “you freaked out? it was just truth or dare.”

“i know,” jimin whispers, ducking his head. “but i…yeah. i freaked out when i got back to my dorm that night.”

taehyung’s eyes widen, going almost as moony as jeongguk’s are all the time. “oh,” he says. “i didn’t know.”

jimin shrugs and leans back into taehyung’s embrace, hating himself for wondering if taehyung will even allow it.

of course he does. “hey. c’mere,” taehyung whispers, even though jimin is undoubtedly already here. taehyung nuzzles jimin’s neck with his nose. “hey. we’re us, okay? nothing will change. we’re static characters; we don’t need some grand transformation for our story to be good, to mean something. leave all that revelatory hero’s journey stuff to jeongguk and yoongi.”

jimin huffs. “sure, kim namjoon.”

“hey! i resent that,” taehyung giggles, all former hurt healed in a second’s teasing from jimin. jimin tugs taehyung in to rub their noses together; he knows the wound from his mistrust might be closed but what if there’s a bruise, what if taehyung is still achy and sore from it?

a rumble flares up through the platform, and then the train is pulling up to stop in front of them. taehyung lets jimin go, and jimin hooks his fingers inside taehyung’s sleeve as they meander forwards into the car. taehyung smiles as they sink into seats halfway down the length of the bench.

“so,” jimin whispers, leaning over to drop his head on taehyung’s shoulder.

“so?” taehyung asks, nudging his foot against jimin’s ankle, tilting his head so his cheek is resting on jimin’s head.

jimin laces their fingers together and traces patterns on taehyung’s forearm with his other hand. “you didn’t know.”

taehyung turns so his nose is pressed into jimin’s hair. “didn’t know what?”

right. he still hasn’t figured it out. or maybe he just doesn’t know how to believe . jimin swallows. “maybe i shouldn’t…”

“tell me,” taehyung says. “you would’ve told me yesterday, or the day before. we tell each other everything.”

the same guilt from earlier, sticky and hot and awful in jimin’s stomach, clawing up his throat. “that’s just it,” jimin whispers. “i wouldn’t have told you yesterday, or the day before. i wouldn’t have told you before now because i didn’t .”

taehyung stiffens. jimin swallows hard on the sickening feeling in his chest, nauseated and dizzy.

“what is it, jiminie,” taehyung murmurs after a pause, calm as anything. not hurt, or at least hiding it well—but taehyung doesn’t hide, not from jimin.

“when i freaked out about the kiss, it was like. not bad freaking out. more like…picture little 20-year-old me blushing all the way home, getting inside and squeeing all over the place. wondering if you liked me, but just glad that i got to kiss you either way. that kind of freaking out.”

taehyung is very gentle with his big hands, very poised in his seat suddenly. he shifts, swallows, breathes. “is it okay if i’m picturing you with your dark hair and chubby cheeks getting home and like. touching your lips, just sort of remembering the glow of it? was it like that, jiminie?”

“yeah,” jimin whispers, because that sounds right. may as well be honest. “like. just the purest sort of crush, i guess. it was…a long time ago.” not that jimin doesn’t still feel that way now: grapefruit pink behind his eyelids, sugar crystalized on the outlines of the suddenly abstract world of absurdity jimin is stuck in until he sees taehyung again. they were already friends back then, of course—best friends, even. but they didn’t exist, then, in the fully realized symbiosis that is the foundation of their existence now.

“really? you felt like that and you didn’t tell me?” taehyung asks, flicking his tongue out over his bottom lip and then biting down over the glistening pink of it.

jimin sighs and ducks his head. “i didn’t want to ruin anything. i was worried that you’d realize i was in love with you and then you wouldn’t want us to be friends anymore.”

taehyung looks devastatingly hurt this time, not just vaguely tense. he’s not faking it, and the guilt from earlier flicks its oily tongue to lash jimin’s insides, the viscera of him.

“you. you just said you were…”

“yeah.”

taehyung’s eyes are wide and disbelieving. “you could have told me,” he whispers. “i wish you’d trusted me enough to know you could have trusted me with that. we tell each other everything.”

“i know,” jimin whispers. “i know. i’m sorry i never told you. and, um. i’m sorry i um…kissed you at the club.”

“huh?” taehyung asks, practically a gasp. he pulls away from jimin, perched suddenly at the edge of his seat. “you’re…sorry?”

“i shouldn’t have taken advantage,” jimin whispers, near-drowning in the guilt eating up his insides. “i—you were drunk, and i was too but that’s not an excuse, i mean i shouldn’t have—not when i knew i’ve always been so unreasonably smitten with you, like i shouldn’t have—wanted to kiss you and then manipulated you into a position where you’d be okay with kissing me—”

“noooo, no no no, jiminie,” taehyung begs, taking jimin’s hands and squeezing, pulling them into his lap. “no, no don’t say that, please i wanted to kiss you, i loved kissing you so bad, jiminie. don’t be sorry. i was so happy during that.” there’s something so earnest and childlike in taehyung’s gaze, something like the near-subspace jimin remembers seeing in taehyung’s eyes that night, after the kiss.

jimin squirms. “tae…”

“it’s okay,” taehyung whispers. “i’m not mad, not even a little. i couldn’t—i love you too much to be mad at you for that. if anything, i’m just mad at myself for making you think you wouldn’t be safe, like, sharing your love with me from the get-go, just because like. we share everything. you even help me do silly sound effects and stuff. like whoooooooooooosh—”

“ding,” jimin finishes, the inside joke long-standing between them. jimin’s part is half-hearted but only because he’s kind of worn thin, emotional about everything at the moment. taehyung offers a weak but genuine grin, and jimin returns it. “taetae, um. i mean. you didn’t even guess until tonight? even after the kiss at the club, and just all of everything…you really had no idea i was in love with you?” jimin threads his fingers through taehyung’s. taehyung deserves this much.

and taehyung allows the affection, squeezes hard and holds on. “no,” he agrees, “i didn’t know.” he’s quiet for a second, and then he shakes his head. “but don’t say it like that. that you were in love with me. i didn’t know we were in love with each other. ”

a rush of blood to the head. “we—you—what?”

“we’re in love with each other. like, together. we do everything together. so we’ll do this together too. obviously.”

jimin sits up, turning to meet taehyung’s eyes. “i don’t even know what…i mean. what do you mean, ‘do this’?”

taehyung shrugs, looking a little more confident and assured than he had even thirty seconds ago. “i know it’s silly, but…yeah. i didn’t realize. i mean, maybe i did and i just never really thought too hard about it? me being in love with you, i mean. or you with me. we’re just—i mean, we’re just us, and i just went with it.”

pretty words that sit like glittering gemstones in jimin’s chest—shining and strong but unhelpful in any practical sense. taehyung is in love with jimin, or so he thinks, so he claims—but what does that mean? how does it impact the future? jimin sighs. “so.”

“so.”

“things don’t have to change.”

taehyung shakes his head and smiles, unassuming now, warm, lovely. “of course not, jiminie. we can just be us. like we’ve always done.”

jimin swallows. he shouldn’t say it, he can’t, he won’t be reckless—

or maybe he will. in a whisper, though, something small and unstoppably delicate: “and if that’s not enough?”

taehyung’s eyes are wide and wild. jimin will never get over it: the intense ferality that sometimes haunts taehyung’s ever-bright gaze. there’s something wonderful about eyes, all eyes—the way yoongi’s always look a bit sad, jeongguk’s overwhelmingly pure. hoseok’s are constantly dancing like the rest of him, and namjoon’s are so knowing. seokjin’s are confident, and jimin likes to think his own are honest.

but taehyung’s—

taehyung’s eyes can flash from innocent to cocky in an instant. can look soulful, or goofy, or intense, or playful. can look all of those things at once, somehow, and jimin looks into them and feels like they pierce right through him.

“do you think it’s not enough,” taehyung whispers, softer than anything in the middle of this completely average, run-of-the-mill train car, on a perfectly normal friday night. the sudden recognition of that normalcy brings a smile to jimin’s lips. maybe this isn’t some new thing even if putting a name to a feeling is apparently a revelation. this is just them .

jimin shakes his head. “no, taehyungie,” he promises. “this is plenty.”

taehyung nods, but there’s a hesitance to him. “okay. but let me know, okay? if it’s ever not.”

jimin threads their fingers together, and taehyung closes jimin’s smaller hand into his own. “i’ll tell you,” jimin says. “i promise.”

taehyung nods, sufficiently reassured. “okay. then let’s go home.”

“text jeongguk first? see if he needs us?”

“sure,” taehyung agrees, pulling out his phone. jimin reads over his shoulder as he types out a message.

~v~: hey kookie <3 <3 <3 u okay hon <3 <3

~v~: we’ll come over if u want

it takes a few more stops before the answer comes, but when it does, jimin and taehyung squeeze each other’s hands tighter, surprised.

jungkookie: it’s okay, hyungs <3

jungkookie: thanks tho

~v~: sure??

jungkookie: yoongi hyung and i are talking at his place

jungkookie: like for real this time

~v~: ok honey, stay safe <3

jungkookie: i will

jungkookie: love u taehyungie hyung. and jiminie hyung <3 <3 <3

jungkookie: srry about

jungkookie: like

jungkookie: saying stuff, idk im just

jungkookie: asdfkjwaerks sorry :(

~v~: honey it’s jimin now,,, bb ur fine promise promise

~v~: everything is fine, honey just worry about u and yoongi hyung, okay??

jungkookie: ok jiminie hyung

jungkookie: thank you

jungkookie: love u im sorry still tho

~v~: love u too bb <3 <3 <3

~v~: see u soon <3

“home?” jimin whispers when taehyung puts away his phone. theirs is the next stop, and jimin is nervous to leave the safe bubble of trust and normalcy that they’ve established on the train.

“home,” taehyung confirms, smiling bright.

when they stand up and walk out into the night, taehyung holds jimin’s hand as tightly as ever, and as it turns out, the precious trust bubble travels with them.

the story of jimin and taehyung goes something like this: they’d met their first year of college, both new to seoul and struggling to keep friends. not struggling to make them—jimin and taehyung have a shared talent for impressing people right off the bat, collecting ten new acquaintances in as many minutes (or fewer), being offered vague invitations of future plans—and somehow failing to actually get close to anyone.

so when they’d met in fashion class and jimin had tentatively offered they get coffee, and then taehyung had texted him frequently and adoringly and actually made that coffee date (not a date, okay) happen, it had kind of shocked both of them. by sophomore year, they were rooming together. they met hoseok in a dance class they both took (more because of jimin’s interest than taehyung’s, but taehyung was still good and jimin will never ever forget the way his best friend can move his hips), and hoseok knew everyone else so—the rest of the group had just kind of followed.

but jimin and taehyung. they are each other’s core, they are the ones who never falter. the group has gone through fights and breakups (to be fair, mostly namjoon and hoseok’s), hook-ups and fall-outs and even a few games of monopoly complete with board flipping from none other than the most elegant and poised kim seokjin. jimin and taehyung may have technically been on opposing sides of several of those fights, but when they’d come home at the end of the day, they were always quick to forgive, quick to sink into the couch and pour out their souls, quick to hold each other tight and know that even if they sometimes disagreed, it really didn’t matter, because they were jimin and taehyung.

and jimin and tae are like so in love it’s ridiculous.

well. yeah. obviously.

by the next morning, jimin and taehyung have relaxed back into their easy, calm domesticity, no angst between them at all. something in jimin feels settled, the puzzle pieces of life put together now that taehyung knows, now that jimin knows his love is returned in all its multifaceted planes, all its vertices.

still, there’s no revolutionary newness to the day, nothing extraordinary except for everything, but that’s nothing unusual. the world is always extraordinary when kim taehyung is around. they drink a couple glasses of wine together on saturday night, just enough to get taehyung childlike and giggly and jimin warm and soft. they dye their hair in the bathroom, getting purple and blue paste everywhere because taehyung is flailing around and singing some girl group song while jimin giggles and scolds taehyung to please just finish, it’s gonna be all different colors now because half my head will have dye on it for an hour and half for only like five minutes, tae!

but it comes out okay, washes into a spring lavender under taehyung’s watchful gaze. they share the shower like always so jimin can help taehyung wash out the dye for his new vibrant cobalt. they don’t do anything they haven’t been doing for the past years of their friendship; everything is easy and comfortable, and jimin luxuriates in the simplicity of it even as his heart pounds love, love, love.

on sunday, seokjin calls an emergency friend meeting at his gangnam apartment to discuss his (and namjoon and hoseok’s) queerplatonic relationship development. well, okay, they don’t say that outright, but taehyung and jimin have a very frantic and finish-each-other’s-sentences-y conversation about it, so yeah. that’s definitely what’s going to happen.

when they arrive at namjoon’s apartment, however, they’re not really expecting the thing they find.

yoongi and jeongguk are holding hands, a shy smirk on yoongi’s face as jeongguk sits all bubbly and effervescent beside him on the couch, legs thrown across yoongi’s lap. they’re stealing glances and sharing giggly whispers and displaying the kind of comfortable relationship secrecy that jimin hasn’t had in years.

well—no, that’s wrong. because jimin looks at yoongi and jeongguk and sees taehyung and himself. jimin has had that, for ages and ages, ever since he and taehyung first met and fell into each other’s pockets so thoroughly they couldn’t possibly get out. jimin doesn’t want to get out. if anything, he just wants to snuggle in deeper, make even more of a home for himself in taehyung’s chest, be a warm fuzzy starlight security item for taehyung to cling to, something sweet and pretty and glowing, a thing whose existence keeps taehyung grounded and safe and comfy forever and ever.

taehyung squeezes jimin’s hand in his own and leads him to the couch.

“so?” taehyung asks, sounding amused and mischievous and as brilliant as he ever is, a firefly a butterfly a fae creature a naiad a prince gifted to the world by a beneficent god. “did everyone end up in a relationship in the past 36 hours?”

“you two clearly did,” yoongi drawls, glancing away from jeongguk just long enough to look pointedly at jimin and taehyung’s joined hands.

“they always hold hands; that doesn’t mean anything, hyung,” jeongguk says, shoving at yoongi’s shoulder and looking gleeful and mischievous. yoongi rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink from the attention.

“but you don’t,” jimin says to yoongi. “and you don’t either.” he and taehyung turn twin fake glares at the trio on the couch.

seokjin and hoseok exchange a shy, fleeting sort of glance that namjoon, distracted by something on his phone, does not notice. yoongi and jeongguk peer up from underneath their dark bangs, sort of matching what they’re wearing—leave it to them to already have couple outfits.

“to be fair, all their clothes did already kinda look the same. black and slightly darker black, and sweatpants,” taehyung whispers in jimin’s ear, apparently reading his mind. or just noticing the same things—they’ve always done that. quick to think in the same ways, lazy enough to toss half-formed ideas into the always scant space between them—

“i keep noticing stuff,” jimin blurts, a breath in taehyung’s ear, he’s too scared to share this with anyone else. not with taehyung, not after their talk on the train. he wants to give taehyung everything, not when jimin’s deepest secret has been taken and is now cradled warm in the hearth of taehyung, the hearth and the heart as well. even if they haven’t been transformed by their admissions, even if jimin likes that they haven’t been transformed. it’s just—well, maybe jimin thinks it silly that taehyung never realized jimin was in love with him, but then jimin also didn’t ever realize that taehyung loved him back. “i keep noticing, like—”

“that we think the same things,” taehyung whispers back, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip like always (really, he does it like fifteen times per conversation and it’s distracting —but jimin tries hard not to stare too long at taehyung’s lips, a skill he’s had to develop since new year’s four years ago, or maybe before that even). jimin blinks back instead of nodding, and taehyung’s lips purse— i know, this is just a thing now, we’ll have to deal with it.

jimin’s lips quirk up and he goes to turn away, but taehyung reaches out a hand to ruffle jimin’s hair. “hey hold on, you’ve got fuzzies.”

and then jimin’s gaze is roving taehyung’s cheeks, his chin, the slope of his nose. taehyung’s own line of sight is fixed on whatever is caught in jimin’s hair, and jimin reaches up a hand and skims his fingers along taehyung’s cheek just because.

taehyung glances down in surprise. “oh,” he breathes, blinking at jimin’s hand, frozen between them, half covered by a black sleeve.

“what?” jimin asks, mouth caught in something like an entreaty, devastated, like his lips are flower petals crushed underfoot at the end of april. taehyung’s throat is right there; jimin could just lean in and hide himself there in that hollow, could unfurl his anxious breath into the curve of that collarbone—not that jimin is anxious, but it’s the end of the day and jimin always tends to get vaguely wound up by this time of the evening. taehyung knows well how to temper it, knows to temper it at all, with his calm delight, the teacake pastry sugar of himself.

taehyung swallows and jimin watches the bob of his adam’s apple before flicking his eyes back up. “your hands are so cute,” taehyung whispers, low and sweet but not in the usual way. not firecracker popsicles and lemonade in the summer—but dark, brown sugar molasses candy, sultry and raw and sticky like candied figs—

jimin pulls his hand back in a sort of reflex, moving so taehyung can look more intently, can settle his diviner’s gaze on jimin’s fingers straight on. taehyung pulls his own hand out of jimin’s hair and grabs jimin’s wrist, cradles it. there’s cotton between them but jimin still feels the touch like fire, like ice, like the orange twilight moon in the chest-warm cider evenings of autumn, like the deepest animal comfort.

“oh,” taehyung breathes again, “it’s not even winter and you still manage to get sweater paws.”

“my sleeves are always too long,” jimin whispers back.

taehyung nods, all serious and intent, eyes clear and open behind the lenses of the round gold-rimmed glasses resting across the bridge of his nose. “you’re so cute.”

jimin blushes and swallows and ducks his chin just barely, coquettish, eyes never straying from taehyung’s—

“ so, ” seokjin says, dragging jimin’s attention back to the present scene. everyone is looking at him and taehyung, and jimin blushes harder and clears his throat. taehyung doesn’t bother to let go of jimin’s wrist, though—he drops his hand lower, actually, and takes jimin’s hand, casual as he leads them over to the armchair and sits, and then tugs jimin into his lap. “so?” taehyung asks, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, like they haven’t just been doing— that —in front of all their friends. “what’s up, buttercups?”

“so,” seokjin says, “hoseok and i are dating. and namjoon is also included, but in a queerplatonic way that will entail a lot of communication on our parts, which we have historically been terrible at—”

“but will definitely do a better job at starting now,” hoseok cuts in, grinning and squeezing seokjin’s hand. “because it turned out jeonggukkie was right. after we all talked, it made a lot more sense for me and hyung to date each other, because we, like, wanna be all romantical and date-y with each other—”

“and i never have to fake romantic love for anyone ever again,” namjoon says, finally setting his phone down. “i get the kind of non-commitment that works for me, but i still get damn good orgasms. none of that faking orgasms shit, for me or my partners.”

“you’ve faked love but not orgasms?” jeongguk blurts, earning him a “kookie!” from yoongi and guffaws from everyone else except namjoon, who shrugs.

“wait, have you faked an orgasm, jeon jeongguk?” hoseok asks, wrinkling his nose. “i thought only girls did that.”

jeongguk rolls his eyes. “first of all, lots of people who aren’t girls fake orgasms. second, maybe i shouldn’t say in front of yoongi-hyung.”

yoongi stages a gasp. “have you faked with me?”

jeongguk’s eyes go comically wide. “no, i—it’s not—you’re very good at—”

“because i would be really fucking sad if you ever felt uncomfortable with me to the point that you thought you had to fake an orgasm to, like, make me stop, or give me an ego boost or something,” yoongi finishes, forceful at first but soft at the end, soft like fresh-washed cotton sheets in the spring, like morning breath and morning sex and morning love.

jeongguk blinks rapidly and then lets out an embarrassed squeak, hiding his face in yoongi’s neck. “ hyung. ”

“that got very sappy very quick,” hoseok announces, entirely unashamed as he leans into seokjin for a messy kiss.

“yeah,” seokjin says when they break apart, looking delirious. good for them, jimin thinks, settling back into taehyung’s chest. taehyung hums happily and wraps his arms around jimin’s waist, squeezing tight and then just letting his warmth sit comforting across jimin’s body.

“anyways, what about you guys?” jimin asks, nodding at yoongi and jeongguk’s joined hands. “i take it from the previous fake orgasm talk that you’ve worked things out? like actually this time?”

jeongguk’s grin is so wide he can’t even talk around it, and he ducks his head into yoongi’s chest and giggles. yoongi turns a lovely shade of pink and clears his throat. “um. we’re—well.”

“you finally stopped being all angsty and thinking you’re midas but with ruining stuff,” namjoon says, looking a little bit sharper than he normally does, a little bit more intense. yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but namjoon shakes his head—“i’ve heard all your spiels about that, hyung, and the metaphor is getting old. you don’t ruin everything you touch, and you’re certainly not going to ruin jeon jeongguk.”

“that’s true, he’s really strong,” taehyung says, nodding against jimin’s shoulder. “and you’re tiny. he could definitely pick you up and throw you out a window if you break his heart some more.”

“hey!” yoongi protests, holding jeongguk a little tighter to him as jeongguk covers his face in embarrassment. “i’m not tiny—wait. not important.” yoongi’s tone is so aggrieved then that jeongguk stops his smiley, sort of fake moaning and looks up, all concerned and careful. “i, um. i feel like i should say this in front of everyone. because you’ve all sort of been involved, or had to watch me do—what i’ve done. so. i’m really fucking sorry, jeongguk. i can’t believe i—just. fuck.”

“it’s okay, we talked about all this,” jeongguk says, but yoongi shakes his head. jeongguk frowns. “hyung? are you okay?”

“he said—tae said,” yoongi starts, and stops, and takes a breath, and swallows hard, eyes all sad. “tae said break your heart more. and i mean. i knew i was hurting you i guess, but i thought it was—i thought it was for the best. i thought you didn’t like me that much i thought it had to just be a passing thing i don’t even—” yoongi pauses. “i was so, so wrong.”

jeongguk ducks himself down into yoongi’s embrace and jimin can see the desperation in both of them, the frantic angst. thank god taehyung and jimin aren’t dealing with that .

“hyung, it’s okay,” jeongguk whispers. “you didn’t mean to, we talked about this, you didn’t—”

“but i did,” yoongi says, like it’s hitting him all over again how much he hurt the precious forest creature in his arms. yoongi seems torn between tugging jeongguk closer and pushing him away. “god, jeongguk, everyone knew— everyone …they knew that you…”

“have been in love with you for years and it hurt so much not to be with you, hyung?” jeongguk mumbles, soft like the moment is private, and probably it should be, but no one makes a move to leave.

“yeah,” yoongi says, sounding stunned and overwhelmed and terrifyingly in love, reciprocating every single iota of jeongguk’s ridiculous adoration for his tiniest hyung.

(jimin is obviously a centimeter taller than yoongi, so he’s not the tiniest. he’s not. )

“yeah,” jeongguk says. “now come on. we went through everything. it’s okay. you didn’t hurt me that bad.”

“i think i did,” yoongi says, but his voice is wavery, like he knows that even if he did, it doesn’t matter, because the way to heal is through giving love, not withholding it. even when you’re trying to protect someone. “but you—you still want me. you forgive me.”

“yeah, hyung,” jeongguk says, smiling again as he lifts his head, meets yoongi’s gaze. “i forgive you so much, and i love you, and i want you more than anything. now and forever.”

“oh,” yoongi says.

“what, um.” jimin starts, burning to know what changed in the past 48 hours that could have led to this. “what happened?”

jeongguk and yoongi exchange a look, and jeongguk opens his mouth but yoongi shakes his head, turning determined eyes out to the rest of the room. “he told me he wasn’t going to let me take my trauma out on him anymore.”

“i think he’s probably done that before, hyung,” jimin ventures, still a little guilty for enabling this for as long as he did. he just wanted jeongguk to be happy, to get to be with the boy he’d loved forever, but—maybe that had been naive. the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

but maybe they’re all kind of living in romanticized fantasy world after all, the story jimin and taehyung had started writing at the beginning of all this—because yoongi is nodding, but he’s taking jeongguk’s hands in his, he’s taking a breath and steeling himself as he makes eye contact with everyone in the room one at a time, pointedly, unflinching. “i was wrong,” yoongi admits, the knell of is resolute. “i was wrong to treat jeongguk how i treated him for so long. it was cruel, it wasn’t okay, it was—” yoongi chokes, not like he’s going to cry but just low and horrified. “you can’t just take a toxic relationship and fix it overnight, but…”

“did you threaten to leave for good, kookie?” taehyung ventures, although he sounds like he knows this can’t be quite right, like he knows jeongguk could never manipulate that way. if jeongguk had told yoongi he was going to leave, then he would’ve meant it, and he would’ve left.

“he told me he was going to stay,” yoongi whispers, turning to jeongguk, meeting jeongguk’s moon-bunny eyes. “that i can’t take out my trauma on him anymore, and he’s going to stay.”

“if you want me,” jeongguk whispers, looking sheepish. “i said it would only work if he wanted me.”

“it was never that i didn’t want you, jeonggukkie,” yoongi whispers, and now jimin really does think the rest of them should leave.

jeongguk smiles. “i know. i just needed to show you me, to show you that you can’t hurt me. not irreparably. i should’ve told you all along that i loved you, that i didn’t just want to use you. it was my fault.”

“nothing was your fault,” yoongi says, aggressive now. maybe those two aren’t quite done hashing through all this, but no one stops them. “jeongguk, i was cruel, i was—i was borderline abusive. i was—”

“ stop, ” jeongguk insists. “you were not. you were always honest with me, about what you could reliably give me. you never promised me anything or tried to manipulate me or—you didn’t get that i was in love with you. and even if you did, you didn’t owe me anything because of that. you always told me the truth, that you didn’t want to get involved. and i kept pushing, which wasn’t okay of me either. you were trying to protect me, and i was—i mean. did you understand? did you really, truly, genuinely understand that i loved you and you just didn’t care, or whatever?”

“no,” yoongi whispers, and jimin can feel the truth of it resonating through the room. “no, kook. i didn’t understand. i really, really didn’t understand.”

“i believe you,” jeongguk whispers.

“it still wasn’t your fault. i treated you cruelly, and even if i didn’t mean to, i still did it. good intentions aren’t entirely worthless, but they’re not some cop out for doing things wrong. they don’t change the fact that you got hurt. i will not shirk responsibility for that; i won’t do the ‘i’m sorry if i hurt you but i didn’t mean it that way’ bullshit. i want to respect you, and treat you as my equal, and not hurt you.”

“you’ll do all that, you won’t hurt me,” jeongguk says. “i told you, i won’t let you hurt me. i’ll call you out when you need it, and i know, i know that you’ll try so hard and you won’t repeat the same mistakes again. i can weather your insecurities, and i’ll be patient but not to the point of enabling, i’ll boost you up instead of indulging your weaknesses or fostering dependence. i don’t want to change you, like—i hate when people say that, that they made their s.o. ‘better’ or something. but that doesn’t mean i have to let you hurt me. i will stand up for myself, and we will talk, and that’s what i want, hyung. i love you because of all of you, and i want to commit every day to this, i want every day to renew us and fulfill us and teach us something and strengthen us together.”

yoongi looks a little bit overwhelmed, floored really, as he stares at jeongguk with suspiciously wet eyes. “that’s—i want that too, jeonggukkie.” then he leans in and whispers something that jimin can’t quite catch.

whatever it is, it doesn’t make jeongguk cry or smile or look shy or sweet or even small.

whatever it is, in that moment, min yoongi makes jeon jeongguk laugh.

it’s the loveliest, most melodic sound jimin thinks he’s ever heard, and maybe it has only been 48 hours since the blowup, but something already feels healthier in the room, like a festering wound of burned-raw flesh has finally been excised and healing has begun. new flowering growth, the sort of reparations the body craves, the life force animating all the universe.

“would you stop dancing on the train pole like that, you’re getting looks, taehyung—”

taehyung’s eyes widen as he splutters in offense. “calling me ‘ taehyung ’ now, what is this, the spanish inquisition?”

“the spanish inquisition, what does that have to do with what i chose to call you?”

“it just seemed appropriate—”

“in what actual context?”

“are you just using the word ‘context’ to sound smart because honestly i think you mean ‘way’ which is technically a different thing,” taehyung muses, not judgmental but like he’s actually thinking hard about this problem.

jimin smiles. “yeah, you got me. i just thought ‘context’ sounded cooler.”

taehyung nods, serious and satisfied. “glad we’re in agreement.”

jimin snorts. “sure, taetae.”

taehyung glances away, gets distracted looking at the ad playing on one of the tv screens in the train car. when he looks back, his eyes are wide, owlish.

“so.”

“so,” jimin responds, wondering where this is going. if anywhere.

“yoongi and jeongguk.”

“what about yoongi and jeongguk,” jimin murmurs, delicate like fine-strung lace, like spiderwebs glittering in the moonlight.

taehyung ducks his head. “i always thought we shouldn’t…well.”

“what, tae,” jimin whispers.

taehyung looks sensitive, all unguarded and vulnerable as he shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet. “i thought it wasn’t our place to get involved,” he admits. “with yoongi and jeongguk, i mean. but also…”

“that yoongi’s behavior really wasn’t okay,” jimin ventures, certain that the guilt they are feeling is the same.

“yeah,” taehyung nods, shrugging helplessly. “i didn’t want yoongi to be the bad guy. i mean—i believe he didn’t really get that jk actually loved him, i really do. and jeongguk did keep pushing even when yoongi would try to distance himself, which is also not great—and we don’t know the whole story, we don’t know everything—but did yoongi just think jeongguk was messing him around, or i mean—i just…”

“i know,” jimin whispers. “i feel kinda bad for writing erotic friend fiction about it. also for not actually helping them, or realizing what was going on, but like.”

“maybe we all messed up,” taehyung says, dull and listless. “and all we can do now is be better in the future, but what if we fail? what if we do something wrong?”

“um. do you want the namjoon answer, or my answer?”

taehyung huffs. “namjoon answer first?”

jimin nods. “okay. if i were namjoon, i would quote futurama: ‘when you do things right, people won’t be sure you’ve done anything at all’.”

“isn’t that quote talking about how to be a god?” taehyung scrunches his nose and jimin is hit unexpectedly with the intense desire to lean in and kiss it, even though they’re in the middle of a serious conversation.

jimin shrugs. “we were initially trying to get them together, which turned into erotic friend fiction writing. isn’t all that kinda playing god anyway?”

taehyung thinks about it, and then he nods. “yeah, that’s—that makes sense.”

jimin nods. “so. yeah, maybe that whole thing was really not good, and we all enabled it, and we fucked up. but now we know. now we can all get better, and not—i mean, it’s not like i’m saying that it’s good to do things wrong because then you get more attention, but—”

“‘sin is behovely’,” taehyung says. “julian of norwich. namjoon quotes her too. ‘sin is behovely’ because it teaches you way more than doing things right, it brings you closer to what you want to be, you just—you grow, you become better.”

jimin feels how all the breath goes out of him, a long exhale but unstoppable nonetheless, desperately in the love with the man before him. “yeah,” he whispers, because he was thinking the exact same thing. “like yoongi-hyung did. when jeongguk finally got through to him, made him understand what he was doing. and when yoongi realized jeongguk was genuine in wanting them to be together.”

“yeah,” taehyung whispers. there’s more to be said—on this, on everything, because jimin and taehyung always have more to say—but perhaps now is not the time. maybe they both need a while to let the budding fruits of this conversation ripen red and juicy, to let themselves grow from the uncomfortable feeling of guilt—it’s good to feel a sting now and again—

“hey, um, taehyung?” jimin starts, not sure where he’s going with it, but it turns out not to matter, because taehyung’s head jerks up to look at the subway map and then he’s jumping up and down, frantic.

“our stop!” taehyung shouts, grabbing jimin and hauling him out the closing doors of the train car they’re in. they barely escape, and as startled giggles echo out of their throats, taehyung scoops jimin up into a sudden bridal carry.

“put me down—”

“say you’ll never call me ‘taehyung’ again, it’s weird —”

“that was like four conversations ago!”

“don’t care! say you won’t.”

“ nooooo let me gooooo —”

“say it!” taehyung shouts, scanning his t-money card and reaching into jimin’s shoulderbag to extract his. he scans that one too and carries jimin out of the gate.

“fine! i won’t! i’ll only call you cute things, promise promise!”

“pinky promise!”

“okay, okay! put me down —”

“when we get outside—”

“ tae— ”

when they’re finally out on the street, the bright lights of seoul shining neon around them, taehyung holds out his pinky seriously. “here,” he says, pressing his forehead against jimin’s.

jimin giggles and intertwines their pinkies, and both of them lean down and kiss their own fists. “there. pinky promise, okay, tae?”

“okay,” taehyung nods, smiling quietly for a few long seconds, eyes roving up and down jimin’s frame, taking everything in. “your sleeves are covering your hands again,” he whispers, like it’s a holy thing he’s stumbled upon and he just can’t let it go.

jimin swallows and nods, wondering what would happen if he leaned in right now, tilted his chin, pressed a kiss to taehyung’s pink pink lips. it would feel different from that time in the club, different from their new year’s peck four years ago—it would feel normal, probably, but glowy and lit-up just the same—jimin can just feel it, not even like a ghost but like it’s really happening—

“jiminie,” taehyung breathes, calm and accepting of whatever happens, and a voice at the back of jimin’s head says not yet—

jimin smiles. “taehyungie. i love you.”

“i love you too,” taehyung whispers back, right there in the middle of the street in the summer in seoul, the pavement splashed with just-fallen rain that has luckily ceased, making way for them to stroll home without rush, to delight in the dazzle of city lights reflecting in the puddles on the dark, narrow streets.

“come on,” jimin whispers, keeping their pinkies locked as he steps away. “let’s go home.”

they keep their pinkies intertwined the entire walk, in step like it’s the easiest dance in the world and they know every move the way they know each other:

perfectly, relationship-secret, a promise.

on wednesday, jimin wakes up to the sound of rain slamming into the windows and wind battering tree branches against the side of their building. taehyung is asleep on the pillow next to him, arms around jimin because he can’t fall asleep unless he’s holding onto something, and jimin closes his eyes and groans as he reaches for his phone, hoping he’ll have a few more minutes left to sleep.

instead, there’s a text from jimin’s boss. don’t come in, the typhoon warnings are looking bad and everything is shut down. stay safe and don’t go outside. a not atypical occurrence during this time of year, and jimin presses his thumb to the home button on taehyung’s iphone (they have each other’s fingerprints in their touch id settings just in case) and finds a similar text. assured that there’s nothing to do today except relax and luxuriate in mid-week, unexpected-day-off closeness, jimin closes his eyes and snuggles deeper into the soft covers (and taehyung’s koala cling) and falls back to sleep.

when he wakes up, taehyung is shaking him and freaking out. “minnie, we have work, we overslept, we—”

“everything’s closed,” jimin murmurs, caught somewhere between asleep and awake. he tips into taehyung’s arms and taehyung starts petting his hair and it’s nice, it’s so nice this way. a teasing tendril of heat aches up in the hollow of jimin’s body, the deep dark chasms of him that are still functioning as if in dreams, asking for touch, asking for—

fuck. jimin swallows against the indelible arousal and tries to wake up. “don’t have to go ’cause the typhoon.”

“oh. oh, ” taehyung says, all happy and awed, and then he flops back into the covers and cuddles jimin like a teddy bear, kissing the top of his head repeatedly as he talks: “so we can stay in bed all day? or watch movies? play board games that won’t result in brawls because we’re good at cooperation?”

jimin smiles with his eyes closed, whining a little when taehyung stops the word-interspersed kisses. his stomach feels tight and fluttery, his skin tingling with tenebrous restless aphrodisia. “movie sounds good,” he murmurs, rested enough now that he doesn’t want to stay in bed, but too out of it for a game of any sort. there is also, of course, the added benefit of potential (who is he kidding— definite ) tae-cuddles if they watch a movie. “if you carry me out to the living room, i’ll let you pick whatever movie you want.”

“ lord of the rings marathon!” taehyung announces, scooping jimin up with that surprising puppy dog strength of him, nuzzling into jimin’s neck as he drags a whole pile of blankets along with them. the curtains in the living room are still open, and the storm outside rages dark and wild.

before starting up the movies, taehyung and jimin stumble around their kitchen in search of breakfast. they settle on leftover kimchi fried rice because it’s the easiest thing to dish up and put in the microwave, and they lean on each other while they stare sleepily at the timer waiting for it to beep. finally they settle into the couch with one bowl of rice split between them, and they bring two sets of chopsticks over but then taehyung ends up feeding them both off just one.

finally, taehyung starts up the movie and jimin offers to make tea, and then they settle in for the long haul that is the lord of the rings extended edition trilogy.

here’s the thing. of all the movies taehyung likes, the lord of the rings is the series that jimin has the least interest in. this is one of the few secrets jimin keeps from taehyung, because taehyung would turn them off in a second and deprive himself of his love for them if jimin actually said anything, so as far as tae knows, jimin loves these movies, obviously. so as the opening credit music starts up, taehyung sits giddy and eager, humming along but normally he likes to say the lines along with his favorite movies but since they watch this series in english with korean subs, he can only do the few lines he likes enough to have begged namjoon to teach him the english pronunciation and cadencing of. he trills away with all the music instead.

jimin settles in, falls back asleep for a while through the first movie (head cushioned on taehyung’s lap), plays around surreptitiously on his phone once taehyung changes the disc out for the second one. they’re maybe halfway through the two towers when jimin finally gives up and admits that he’s bored.

“taehyungie. tae. ”

“hmm,” taehyung says absentmindedly, still enraptured by the—um, whatever’s happening that involves a lot of running and, like, open space, and some one-liners that jimin is fairly certain he’s heard namjoon and hoseok referencing before. yeah. that. that’s…what’s happening.

jimin slumps lower against the back of the couch, nearly on the floor between the cushions and the coffee table. he ruffles up his hair, slaps on the poutiest look he can muster—which is pretty pouty, because jimin can be cute and bratty and sweet almost as well as jeon jeongguk, master of pout. almost.

“ tae. ”

taehyung blinks and finally turns away from the screen. his hair is sticking up on one side but it’s super flat over his forehead; his eyes are puffy and there’s a hint of stubble on his chin. so, like, beautiful. taehyung looks beautiful and stupid and perfect and jimin hates him so much. the restlessness in jimin’s chest is foreign; he’s loved taehyung forever and nothing has changed since they realized it, and that hadn’t seemed like a problem even last night when they fell asleep cuddled up together, but—

well. jimin woke up horny, kind of buzzy and wanting like there’s a whole swarm of honey-sweet bees trying to burst out of his chest. everything the hair-trigger that will make him light up for taehyung’s delicate long-fingered hands, his dark fucked-out gaze from the club, from when jimin accidentally walked in on tae after the only hookup jimin remembers tae ever having, from those shocking unavoidable moments when taehyung gets like that for jimin by accident because jimin doesn’t mean to put tae’s head there but sometimes it just happens—

“what’s the matter, jiminie?” taehyung asks, intrepid fingers swiping hair out of jimin’s eyes. there’s something so simple and arresting in the gesture, easy and casual but filled with the purest desire, like taehyung knows he can just reach out and take this moment from jimin because even if he is taking, he is also giving. he is giving jimin the diamond-clear yearning of himself, giving jimin the old, worn, soft-fabric-eternal craving for jimin, and jimin aches with how much he hates it, the easy affection they’ve built up after years of being best friends. all of a sudden, after all this time, the countdown clock has run out. this isn’t enough.

“minnie?” taehyung calls. the sound system blares to life all of a sudden, as it is so wont to do during these movies—why is the dialogue so quiet if the living room is going to get sonically decimated every time someone pulls out a fucking sword?

“i’m bored,” jimin complains, sinking down so his head is in taehyung’s lap. he looks up at the mole under taehyung’s lower lip and blinks coquettishly.

taehyung frowns and glances at the tv. “but jiminie, it’s almost your favorite part!”

jimin shifts to look at the screen like he’s checking, like he even has a favorite part or at least knows what his favorite part is supposed to be. “oh, right,” he chuckles, half-heartedly, “they’re about to get to, um…”

“rohan!” taehyung chirps, unbothered or just not noticing jimin’s caught-out fumbling. “they’re gonna play the theme song, it’s your favorite!”

“oh, right,”  jimin says, sitting up so he doesn’t have to look in taehyung’s eyes. “um, yeah, right—i just. can’t focus, today, i don’t know.”

“is it the typhoon?” taehyung asks, sitting up straighter and looking all concerned as jimin settles back into the arm of the couch with a sigh. “i know it sounds scary outside, all the whoooosh and the bambam branches and the thrrrrrrrr sorta rain sound. if it’s freaking you out, we can go huddle in my bed. that’s why i lofted it, you know.”

“so that when a typhoon came, we could take shelter underneath?” jimin asks, a smile lifting the corner of his lips.

taehyung huffs and flops his head to the side like an irritated golden retriever, his blue hair falling limply across his forehead. “ no, ” he says, rolling his eyes and then turning back to jimin with the world’s brightest grin angling his mouth into a box. “it was so we could huddle under there and tell secrets and eat ice cream and paint our nails! as we do every thursday.”

“we do that on tuesdays,” jimin giggles, angling himself cross-legged so he can stop taehyung’s rambling with a hand over his mouth. “and you should know that, because you’re the one who instituted it.”

“you know i confuse tuesday and thursday, they’re the same day everyone knows they’re so sandwiched by the other days so they’re obviously just the same—”

jimin giggles and reaches out to clap his hand over taehyung’s mouth, admiring the contrast in the tones of their skin, the variant shades of gold and caramel and creme brulee.

taehyung blinks his stupid, beautiful, annoying brown eyes at jimin, eyebrows curved into a plea. “ m-hmm-hiii, ” taehyung whines, all muffled and soft. “ hmmmmmm .”

jimin giggles and pulls his hand away, and taehyung seizes the opportunity to drag jimin in. jimin throws a careless thigh across taehyung’s lap, settles down so their hips are all aligned. there’s a shock of heat up his spine at the closeness of it, an echo of the morning’s aching glowing desire. intimate warmth curls a vine around jimin’s heart, he’s strung taut into a conduit for sensuous heat, for breathtaking overwhelming unadulterated love—

“jiminie,” taehyung sing-songs, carding his fingers through jimin’s hair. they both look a mess right now, curled up on the couch in hoodies and boxers, piled with blankets, teeth unbrushed and faces un-looked at in the mirror. there’s a zit on taehyung’s cheek and jimin is sure the one on his own chin isn’t gone.

and here is kim taehyung, beautiful-stupid-annoying- jimin-hates-him-so-much kim taehyung, wrapping jimin into a warm embrace that only amplifies the oversensitive shiver running like electrical currents across the planes of his skin.

“jiminie?” taehyung asks, “jiminie, you like me, right?”

jimin blinks. his face is squished into taehyung’s sternum, but like, squished in a good way. squished like jimin belongs here, like taehyung is vehemently aware of jimin’s presence and is refusing bodily to take it for granted.

“i—yeah?” jimin responds, kind of confused, his hands finding taehyung’s hips and squeezing. there’s a layer of fabric between his palms and smooth skin, for taehyung’s stomach isn’t as wonderful and divine as the rest of him. jimin has seen that stomach a zillion times: pierced belly button shown off by a summer croptop, a lovely swath of golden skin slivered between taehyung’s shirt and his pajama pants in the morning or at night.

but jimin has only gotten to touch that part of taehyung without fabric in the way a few times. at a party when they were drunk and in each other’s laps all night, jimin’s hands mapping the skin around taehyung’s hips, stretched taut by arching bones. play-fighting in the warm shallow waves along the beach one time on a trip back to busan on which taehyung had accompanied jimin with a wide-eyed, eager: “i’m great at families, minnie, your parents will love me, promise, please let me come?”

now, though, taehyung’s confidence seems shaken, he looks tired —maybe when jimin woke up stir crazy and buzzing with unresolved sexual tension, taehyung woke up insecure and uncertain like he sometimes gets. maybe it’s because of the earlier panic over going to work, some chemical reaction set off from that. but then maybe it’s not because of anything. maybe it’s just because life is like that sometimes.

the worst part is that while jimin has been harmlessly hiding his apathy towards the lord of the rings , hiding the strung-out craving-tug in the depths of his stomach telling him to cling to taehyung and press their bodies together until something amazing happens, taehyung has been sitting right next to jimin hiding this feeling all day. jimin hurts with it, the way taehyung goes quiet and subdued every now and then, when he’s overthinking something or feeling left out or undeserving of everything he has. it hurts, but maybe it’s the highest honor in the world, seeing taehyung feeling insecure, getting to suffer with him that which he is suffering with. jimin sees taehyung like that now: biting his lip and casting his gaze down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket lying over the arch of jimin’s shoulders. jimin snakes his arms between taehyung’s back and the couch cushions, sighing into his stomach. “tae, of course i like you. what is this about?”

taehyung takes a second before answering. there’s something prescient in the cadence of it, something like an offer, although jimin isn’t sure yet what it is. “a lot of people have said i’m pretty but not worth it,” he says. “at parties when i was like. trying to hook up, or whatever. i guess it’s been a while, but i was just…thinking about it. because it always surprises me that you actually want to, like, do stuff with me. hang out, and whatever. i mean, people like me while i’m around for like five minutes while i entertain them or just look pretty at them or whatever, but then. i don’t know.”

jimin sighs. “taetae, where is this coming from? are you okay, baby?”

taehyung sighs back. “i’m okay. just—restless, i guess. it’s driving me crazy. being cooped up here. my skin feels all electrical.”

jimin nuzzles his nose into taehyung’s unapologetically poochy stomach. “i’m sorry, honey.”

“i just—i’m so sick of people acting like they like certain things just so they look cool. it makes me sad. it makes everyone boring, because every person you meet is just like—a cardboard cutout of a person.”

jimin huffs. “at least i’m a pretty cutout.”

taehyung’s eyes open wide, affronted and concerned. “no, no, jiminie you’re not a cardboard cutout person, you’re so—you’re so everything, you have so many thoughts and motivations and you’re multifaceted and raw and real. a whole lovely round character, not a flat one.”

jimin smiles. “thanks, tae.”

taehyung nods. “thanks for being all those things. so i can get to know you, and feel really proud of it and how you’re my best friend.”

“you’re mine,” jimin whispers, nuzzling his nose into taehyung’s skin. “anyways, you’re not a cardboard cutout of a person either. and i don’t think our friends are, not really. not namjoon and seokjin and hoseok and yoongi and jeongguk, at least.”

“they’re not,” taehyung admits. “just. most people i talk to. my coworkers, and stuff.”

jimin buries his smile in taehyung’s collarbone. “you know, you’re one of the few people i know who actually likes things.”

“i love liking stuff,” taehyung pouts. “liking stuff is literally the best. because then you get to go through life being enthusiastic and happy and liking all the stuff, instead of just doing things ironically because it makes you look cool.”

jimin draws back and scoots up a little higher so he can cup taehyung’s cheeks in his palms. taehyung’s legs have fallen open somewhere along the way, and jimin is lying between them, suddenly uncomfortably aware that they’re both in just their boxers, that taehyung’s hoodie is riding up and he’s not wearing anything underneath and now his stomach is flush against jimin’s—

“tae-ah, i like you.”

“really?” taehyung asks, whispering, submissive.

“really,” jimin affirms, holding determined eye contact. “i like you, my taetae, the guy who wears blouses meant for aging professional women and/or grandmas, and matches his hair colors to his clothes, and overuses purple heart emojis to show how much you really care. the person making me sit through these ridiculous fantasy movies i really couldn’t care less about for literally sixteen hours.”

taehyung blinks, and blinks, and jimin realizes—“fuck, i mean—i don’t—i don’t not like them, i mean i—know that you like them—”

taehyung bursts out laughing, all happy-shocked and low and lilting. “oh my god, wait, you don’t like them and yet you sit through them with me every single time i want to watch them? i don’t—okay, okay, i guess you really really like me lots. oh my god. oh my god. ”

“shut up,” jimin demands weakly, flapping a hand at taehyung’s chest half-heartedly. “they’re just—yeah, okay, i don’t really like them. i also don’t pay that much attention ever, so um. yeah. i’m sorry if you thought i…that we liked them together.”

taehyung shakes his head and buries his face in jimin’s shoulder, arms tight around jimin’s waist. they’re sitting up now and jimin really is just flat out in taehyung’s lap, and there’s a protectiveness to the way taehyung is holding him—jimin thinks, for just a split second, wait is he—does he want to—

but then taehyung drops his arms and shakes his head, teeth bright and shining as he smiles. “you wanna just get drunk instead?”

jimin pouts. “i always wanna get drunk.”

taehyung smiles. “there’s wine in the pantry.”

“there’s always wine in the pantry,” jimin says, standing up out of taehyung’s lap to stretch. “come on. i’ll get it and we can play a drinking game with the rest of the movie.”

taehyung’s eyes light up even more, if possible. “you—really? you don’t wanna just turn it off?”

jimin smiles fondly and he brushes taehyung’s tangled bangs off his forehead. “i really don’t. you like it, i’ll be drunk so i won’t care…plus you’re cute when you’re liking stuff.”

taehyung  blushes and digs up his phone from between the couch cushions, still grinning as he leans into jimin’s touch. “i’ll find a lord of the rings drinking game! also, promise you’ll stroke my hair more when you come back, because this is really nice.”

“promise,” jimin assures, chuckling as taehyung whimpers sort of like a puppy and presses harder against jimin’s hand, making jimin’s heart thump hard. “you’re really cute, taetae. and very worth it, no matter what anyone has ever said.”

taehyung closes his eyes and tilts his head, mouth a lovely line as he grins all sweet and preening under jimin’s attention. he doesn’t make a sound, but his contentedness radiates out from him, bright like the gold of his smooth skin, like the glint of his silver earrings. “love you, jiminie,” taehyung murmurs, shoulders slumping as he relaxes, and jimin lets the shock of heat pool up inside of him, lets a rose-petal blush bloom in his cheeks as he finally pulls away to get the wine, trying hard to ignore taehyung’s bratty whimper of distress when the contact between them ends. maybe he—maybe—

by the time jimin comes back with the wine and two mugs (they kinda still don’t own wine glasses), taehyung has started the movie back up, and that rugged guy with the dark hair is asking something about elf eyes.

“hurry up,” taehyung yelps, grabbing jimin’s arm and yanking him back down onto the couch, ducking out of the way as the wine bottle nearly slams into his eye socket.

“ careful, ” jimin giggles, trying hard to keep the bottle well away from taehyung’s face.

“we’re supposed to take a drink every time there’s an iconic line, which just happened and you missed it,” taehyung whines, liberating the wine bottle from jimin and cracking it open to take a long swallow. “thank god that’s a twist-off. drink, jiminie, they’re taking the hobbits to isengard!”

jimin has no idea what this means, but he accepts the proffered bottle and swallows the wine, humming thankfully even as he tries not to cringe at the bitter taste. it’s not that jimin doesn’t like cheap pinot grigio—jimin definitely likes cheap pinot grigio—but it’s still always shocking how bad it can taste. “god, we should really be doing this with soju,” he comments, setting the mugs down on the table and wondering if they’ll even get used.

taehyung steals the wine back and shakes his head. “i’d be on the floor. like, instantly. remember that time we got super lit wandering around gangnam at like 8:00 p.m. and almost didn’t make it home?”

“ you almost didn’t make it home,” jimin says, nudging his shoulder into taehyung’s. “i almost left you puking in the flowers outside that convenience store.”

“ minnie, ” taehyung whines, taking another gulp of wine even though jimin is pretty sure there are no iconic lines happening right now. “that’s mean. you’re mean; i should just call you meanie instead.”

jimin giggles and grabs for the wine, swallowing more, reveling in the way it sits warm and homey in his stomach. jimin loves the ease of tipsy pleasure that gets his head thick and calm like this, loves how it’s even better here with taehyung next to him, chugging more wine which is dangerous for such a lightweight. “hey, careful, baby. remember when we had video game night and you got so trashed that you couldn’t even beat the first boss in dark souls?”

“it was dark souls three, and the first boss is hard, ” taehyung pouts, eyes still fixed on the screen even though he’s allowing jimin to talk over the movie. he curls up against jimin’s side, sleeves pushed up to reveal the smooth gold skin of his forearms.

“that boss fight happens like two minutes into the game.”

“i hadn’t eaten anything and hobi kept tilting the bottle to my lips so i just kept swallowing —”

(ignoring that, because—yeah.) “you were so drunk you could hardly keep your character from falling off the cliff before you even aggro-d iudex gundyr,” jimin giggles, tipping his head to rest against taehyung’s.

taehyung looks away from the movie, eyes narrowed and lips pursed as he regards jimin with their foreheads squished together once again. have they been doing that a lot lately, like more than usual? or is jimin just imagining things with the wine sitting comfortably in his stomach, with the softness of the throw blankets (there are four, because taehyung loves soft things) in a nest around their legs. “i was really drunk, yes.”

jimin smiles fondly. keeps their faces close-close. “two minutes after you started drinking.”

taehyung huffs cutely and turns back to the movie. “watch, jiminie. this is your fake-favorite part.”

they get through the bottle of wine way too quickly, and taehyung somehow ends up on the floor between the coffee table and the couch after like four minutes. seriously, lightweight. his cheek is pressed to the couch cushions and his eyes are closed; he’s whining that he needs to eat because he doesn’t feel good but also he doesn’t want to eat because he doesn’t feel good. jimin, head buzzing happily and nowhere near as drunk as taehyung despite having had more than half the bottle himself, pats taehyung’s head and feels his heart pang at the distressed sound he makes at the jolt of the motion, and then he goes into the kitchen to find more wine (for himself) and to make something to eat (for taehyung).

“gonna puke?” jimin asks when he returns a few minutes later holding a plate of steaming eggs.

taehyung cracks open his eyes. “no. sorta better now. gonna be way better once i eat.”

“here,” jimin says, placing the dish before taehyung on the coffee table and settling next to him, situating the blankets so that they’re all wrapped up together. outside, the wind howls, and rain lashes the windows.

taehyung drags himself upright to fumble for chopsticks and start eating. he makes it through one bite and blinks. “never mind. don’t wanna stand up. don’t even wanna eat this.”

“you should’ve listened to me when i said not to drink so fast,” jimin chides softly, leaning over to press a kiss to taehyung’s cheek. maybe it’s the alcohol that makes him do it, and maybe it’s the alcohol that makes taehyung lean into the kiss, whining for another instead of teasing or leaning away with a delighted laugh. either way, jimin ends up kissing taehyung’s cheek once, twice, and taehyung blinks miserably and forces more eggs into his mouth as jimin pulls away, both of them sort of blushing. maybe that’s the alcohol too.

“thanks, jiminie,” taehyung whispers as he finishes the eggs. “this is stupid. we haven’t even gotten to helm’s deep and i’m too drunk.”

jimin pets taehyung’s hair again, again, could spend his whole life petting taehyung’s hair and taehyung would still deserve more. taehyung will always deserve more hair pets, more too-drunk eggs, more movie marathons, more cuddles and blankets and typhoon days and reassurance that jimin really likes him, not ironically likes him. and love. taehyung deserves more love. whatever jimin can promise, taehyung will always deserve more love.

“you want me to stop drinking too?” jimin asks, tugging taehyung into his arms after he’s cleared the plate of remaining bits of cheese.

“no, it’s okay,” taehyung whispers into his chest. “i know you have a higher tolerance than me, even though you’re tiny. ”

“hey! i’m not tiny!”

“everyone thinks you’re tiny,” taehyung points out, which isn’t untrue. “even the tattoo guy, remember, he wasn’t even sure the whole ‘nevermind’ was gonna fit on your ribs—”

“he was not —”

“but he had to make it smaller,” taehyung drunk-mumbles. “he had to scale it down to make it fit right and it took forever and i had to sit there freaking out for longer because of it. ‘cause you’re tiny. ” taehyung’s arms are around jimin’s abdomen now, his hands slipping under the hem of jimin’s hoodie to rest at the small of jimin’s back.

jimin shifts slightly, swallows another drink of wine before he can hope to respond and not make a fool of himself just because he’s getting goosebumps over the gossamer touch of taehyung’s fingertips at the dimples of his back. “you were freaking out more than me. and i’m the one who actually got the tattoo.”

“mmhmm,” taehyung acknowledges. his head is tilted so his temple rests against jimin’s collarbone. when jimin looks, taehyung’s eyes are closed, his dark lashes fanned in starbursts across his rose-gold cheeks, his mouth soft and relaxed, his cheeks round and full but still somehow chiseled. taehyung has those fucking cute bread-cheeks and also strong brows and a sharp jawline and eyes that go bright like firecrackers and dark like the molten heart of the earth itself, and fuck jimin is lucky to have that sort of a creature curled up in his arms, sort of too drunk but recovering, at 2:30 in the afternoon on a random wednesday with a typhoon raging outside.

“taetae?” jimin asks as the sky darkens further, as 2:30 becomes 3:00. the typhoon sounds like it’s getting worse, and jimin isn’t worried about the rain and the wind—isn’t scared enough to warrant sitting under taehyung’s loft bed—but he is a little bit worried about taehyung. the position they’re in isn’t really comfortable, and taehyung’s neck will almost definitely hurt later, but jimin doesn’t want to move because he’s bordering on drunk and his skin still feels all electric and his heart is fluttering and taehyung’s hands are still touching his bare skin. “tae, did you fall asleep, or are you still feeling weird?”

“better now,” taehyung responds right away, soft and slurry and not enunciated, just the bare-bones coherency he needs when they’re this close and jimin is listening intently, paying attention . “wasn’t really sleeping. too spinny.”

“you okay?”

“yeah,” taehyung says. “just imagining the movie in my head as i listen to the dialogue. also thinking how nice your tattoo is.”

jimin can’t help the tingly shiver that runs down his spine, burning like a sparkler in his abdomen. “yeah? you don’t think it’s—you really like it?”

“yeah,” taehyung whispers. “really-really. ’s hot.” it’s still a drunk-mumble, the sort of secret that they whisper to each other all the time but—but not like this. or, like, exactly like this really, only jimin always tamps it down, presses the significance out of his mind.

but now they know. only for a few days, but here they are, they know, and jimin’s skin is so hot and his abs are clenching and he’s spinny-warm and dizzy with taehyung—

“jiminie,” taehyung says, drawing back, looking considerably better than he had even a half hour ago. his blush is shy, his eyes downcast. “minnie, i—”

whatever he’s going to say, it gets interrupted. taehyung turns to the tv with a bright, tipsy grin and starts reciting dialogue, cracking up at some one-liner about a box ( what? ) as he throws his head back against the couch cushions, face lit up in sheer delight. his throat is bared towards the ceiling, and jimin studies it and thinks— that spot, that one place right at the juncture of taehyung’s neck and shoulder, that’s where jimin wants to leave a bruise. that spot would look so good stained with the evidence of jimin’s mouth, his teeth—and jimin can picture it, taehyung with his head thrown back in pleasure instead of laughter as jimin discovers all the spots that make his precious taehyung shudder and writhe—only maybe it would be best if it were both at the same time, this very laughter interspersed with jagged gasps of ecstasy, pretty as ocean-smooth sea glass—

“minnie, i feel better,” taehyung grins, rolling his head over to look at jimin, still leaning back against the couch. “kinda want fried chicken.”

jimin tips himself over, careful to let his head rest in taehyung’s lap and not against his stomach. if taehyung is feeling better, then jimin definitely doesn’t want to do anything that might re-upset taehyung’s sensitive stomach. (not as sensitive as poor jeongguk, but then jeongguk has yoongi to coddle him, and that’s, like, an established thing now with express verbal consent for coddling, not whatever thing is going on right-now-slash-always with taehyung and jimin.)

“minnie.”

“it’s typhooning,” jimin says, kind of slurry because he’s feeling lazy, not because he’s really drunk. “everywhere is closed.”

“remember when we were drunk and seokjin came over with fried chicken and it was the best fried chicken ever?” taehyung muses. now his fingers are in jimin’s hair, and jimin hums happily, wishing he could be sleepy too, but he’s still too keyed up for it even with wine humming complacency through his bloodstream, leaving him languid and lovely and warm.

“i remember you thinking it was the best fried chicken ever,” jimin says. “you ate your whole order in, like, four minutes. and seokjin-hyung didn’t even get you the kind of sauce you like.”

“i know, ” taehyung pouts. “but i was really drunk and it was the best chicken ever.”

jimin smiles and opens his eyes. “you were really cute eating it.”

taehyung’s blush starts at his throat, pale pink darkening the gold spot jimin had been eyeing earlier—is eyeing now, and maybe taehyung—

notices.

“jiminie,” taehyung says, only it’s more of a murmur, and he sounds really shy and uncertain. it’s jarring; jimin and taehyung are never uncertain of each other, they always know— but this. even if they’ve said they love each other, are in love with each other—this is—

jimin sits up and blinks at taehyung. “tae-baby,” he whispers, gaze flicking down to taehyung’s peach-pink lips and then back to his eyes. “tae.”

there’s no sound except the rain lashing the windows. the movie must be paused, but when taehyung did that, jimin isn’t sure. taehyung is just sitting here with his legs crossed, looking at jimin’s mouth—and then he scoots forward with his legs open, his knees on either side of jimin’s ribs, his ankles pressing at jimin’s back. jimin’s breath catches.

“hey,” taehyung whispers, hands fiddling with the blanket still resting between them. his eyes meet jimin’s and they’re dark, wild, wanting.

there’s alcohol in jimin’s bloodstream but it’s not the thing driving this, it’s not the heat in jimin’s belly or the sparks lighting up his veins. that’s all the magic proximity of taehyung. “hi,” jimin whispers back, hands coming up almost automatically to cup taehyung’s cheeks.

taehyung bites his lip. “remember that time…”

“when we said this was enough,” jimin finishes, a whisper, hardly a question. yes, he remembers.

“i asked you,” taehyung says, tipping his cheek into jimin’s palm, restive and tinged with inchoate pleasure. “i asked you to say. to tell me. if it’s ever…”

“not enough,” jimin agrees, soft and patient, no inebriate hurry.

“is it?” taehyung asks, emboldened by jimin’s caress, unselfconscious and warm. “jiminie, is this not enough?”

“of course it is,” jimin whispers, dipping in so their foreheads are touching. “anything you give me is enough.”

“but…”

“i want more,” jimin admits, brushing his thumb beneath taehyung’s eye. “taetae, i’m in love with you. and you know me, you know how i’m—how i want, how i like physicality and kissing and—and sex. i want to kiss you awake every morning and kiss you to sleep every night. i want to stay in and cuddle with you on weekends and make out on the couch for hours. but i also want to make you…um.”

“i know,” taehyung nods, smiling. “me too.”

jimin’s breath catches. “you do?”

taehyung closes his eyes. “everything, jiminie. i want everything you want. that’s how we’re wired to be, i think.”

“oh,” jimin says, barely daring to breathe.

taehyung’s eyes flick back open, all heavy and lidded, his expression laced with unshakeable crystalline adoration. jimin leans in and the air between them shifts, taehyung’s eyes go dark and galaxy-wild, and he’s daring as anything when he leans in to ghost a kiss over jimin’s cheek, the tip of jimin’s nose. jimin closes his eyes, feels the tenebrous glimmer of lips over his right eyelid and then his left—the gasp spills all delicate and sweet out of jimin’s mouth, his fingers clench in the fabric of taehyung’s shirt. they make eye contact again and all the asking and the offering, all the taking, is spelled out right there, the diaphanous thread of meaning impossible to misinterpret, not between them.

“yes,” jimin whispers, barely more than a breath that flutters sparkling and bright over taehyung’s pink pink lips.

“yes,” taehyung whispers back.

there’s a moment where they both hold their breath. jimin can feel the tension of it in his diaphragm, his abs, can feel his chest constrict with the waiting, and then taehyung leans forward and jimin moves too, equals in everything and definitely in this. jimin feels the soft heat of taehyung’s just-parted mouth, smells human musk and face-wash and strawberries, tastes wine and eggs which is weird but not terrible, because it’s taehyung, and jimin kind of fucking loves taehyung.

when taehyung pulls back, there’s a smile on his lips. his hands are cupping jimin’s cheeks so they’re mirror images of each other. “come on, minnie, kiss me,” taehyung whispers, playful, and then he does the job for them and presses his mouth to jimin’s again, harder, coaxing and smiling as jimin parts his lips.

heat sparkles like fireworks bursting in jimin’s belly and he leans back so taehyung has to work to keep him upright. taehyung scoots forward, wraps his arms tight around jimin’s back, fits himself close between jimin’s spread legs.

taehyung is a really good kisser: playful and sweet, mellifluous and whimpering soft when jimin bites his bottom lip and sucks . they trade sultry, saliva-sticky presses of tongue on tongue, teeth playful and hands brave as they clutch each other close. taehyung is kind of all over jimin—his thighs are up around jimin’s waist, arms around jimin’s back, and jimin holds taehyung as well as he possibly can because he really likes taehyung, like really-really, because taehyung is earnest and warm and true all the time and he deserves not to feel bad for that, not to be told he’s pretty but not worth it.

“tae,” jimin whispers, breaking them apart with a wet smack. taehyung whines low in the back of his throat and starts trailing his mouth down jimin’s neck, and jimin tilts his head back with a giggle bubbling up in his throat even as heat fizzes through his core. “ tae. ”

“like you, jiminie,” taehyung mumbles, finally drawing back.

“you’re drunk,” jimin says, tentative and probing.

taehyung shakes his head. “buzz went away once i ate.”

jimin takes a shuddery breath. “then…”

“are you?” taehyung asks, eyes searching jimin’s frantically, like he’s worried he’s done something irredeemable—as if this could ever be something for which taehyung would need to be redeemed.

“tipsy,” jimin admits, because honesty is important and he trusts taehyung. “i’m okay. i’m not—this isn’t because of that.”

“oh,” taehyung whispers, like maybe he doesn’t quite believe it but also he doesn’t quite not. “okay. then should we…”

“move to the couch because my butt is going numb and then make out for real?” jimin suggests, raising his eyebrows.

“oh,” taehyung whispers. “yeah, we should—okay, jiminie.”

there’s something a little too acquiescent in it, unsure but willing to follow along. jimin halts taehyung’s motion with a hand on his arm, a finger under his chin. “wait, tae—taehyung, what’s wrong? do you not—do you not really want to?”

“no, i— do, ” taehyung says, looking all kind of ruffled now, and kind of stressed. he runs a hand through his hair. “i do, i do. but you—what if you don’t want to when you’re not drunk, this could be just because—i mean we already kissed it’s too late but—”

“please,” jimin whispers, cradling taehyung’s cheeks in his hands. “please, taetae, i wanna—please, i wanna kiss you. we don’t have to do anything else, but i’m fine, trust me, i’ve wanted this, it’s not—this isn’t anything new for me. okay? trust me?”

“that’s not fair,” taehyung whispers, looking conflicted. “i mean. i mean i do trust you, of course, but…i don’t know. you know i can be weird about alcohol.”

jimin pauses to reevaluate. maybe he is being pushy, even if he’s the one who’s tipsy and taehyung is not. he nods. “you’re right. i’m sorry. that’s why i apologized about kissing you at the club.”

taehyung nods. “it’s okay. i wanted to. but you’re right, it’s—alcohol makes things problematic.”

jimin smiles. “i just want you to be comfy. maybe we could just cuddle? would you feel comfy with that?”

“yeah,” taehyung says, and then together they stand up, eye the couch—

“come on,” jimin murmurs, because they need somewhere more secret, more special. he leads taehyung down the hall, and when they end up in jimin’s tiny bedroom, bathed in yellow fairy light and cozy with its pale pink decor, taehyung shudders and lets jimin cradle him in, hands gentle in taehyung’s hair. “you okay?”

“i’m okay,” taehyung assures, tipping into jimin’s embrace. he’s getting spacey, jimin can tell. maybe slipping into subspace, maybe just feeling cozy and submissive and sweet. “thanks for putting up with me.”

“i’m not putting up with you,” jimin whispers, smiling against taehyung’s temple. “i love you. so, so much, tae, i love you so so much.” taehyung nods. jimin nuzzles at his throat. “you wanna lie down?”

taehyung takes a shuddery breath. “if it’s okay.”

“of course it’s okay. that’s why i brought you here,” jimin says. he presses at taehyung’s shoulders, his back, guides taehyung through the motion of lying down on the bed, and taehyung looks so sweet and cared for like this that jimin can’t help but want to have taehyung like this all the time, all the time, every moment for the rest of their lives.

“wanna—here, come here, ” taehyung says, a pleading note staining the depth of his voice almost hoarse. jimin kneels on the bed before falling next to taehyung, curling so they’re facing each other, breathing the same air. taehyung opens his eyes and they’re hazy again, like the club, and jimin wants nothing more than to take care of him. always.

“hey,” jimin whispers, tangling their fingers up together.

“hi,” taehyung murmurs back, shy as his eyes track the play of their fingers in the space in between them.

“you wanna kiss more, or you wanna take a nap,” jimin offers.

taehyung’s peaceful expression cracks. “i wanna—talk. i wanna talk.”

“about what?” jimin asks, smiling to show that he’s as happy with this as he would be with either of the options he listed.

taehyung bites his lip. “you like me.”

“yeah, honey,” jimin says. “i love you, i’m in love with you. you like me, right, baby?”

taehyung’s eyes are wide and frantic as they meet jimin’s. “yeah, i—yeah. of course.”

“and you want to explore that physically, yeah?” jimin asks, probing, gentle.

“yeah,” taehyung admits, just this side of too dreamy, and jimin wonders now that the alcohol is wearing off whether it’s really wise to keep taehyung in this headspace. if it’s keeping him calm, having jimin coddle him like this, or if it’s just muddling things up for both of them. “tae, do you think we should talk about this tomorrow? or later, once we’re both sober and—not, um…”

“vulnerable,” taehyung whispers, closing his eyes, his brows furrowed like he’s in pain. “i don’t—i don’t know why i always feel like this when you’re taking care of me, minnie.”

jimin bites his lip. he hasn’t been imagining things. “you’ve felt like this before, with me, haven’t you.”

taehyung nods, eyes still tightly shut. “at the club, and…when i’ve been sick, or hungover, or just—when we’re leaving a place and you put your hand on my back to, like, lead me out or whatever…”

“oh,” jimin says. he swallows. “i didn’t mean to put you in this sort of mindset without permission, taetae—”

“it’s not your fault,” taehyung says, blushing rose and tilting his head down even further. “i just—get like this. with you. when you act in-charge. i’m sorry.”

jimin pulls taehyung in close, gets his chin resting on the crown of his head as taehyung whimpers and curls up into his arms. “hey there,” jimin whispers, closing his own eyes and feeling the rhythm of taehyung’s breathing. “hey, you’re okay. don’t be sorry. it’s really—you’re really amazing, and sweet, and i don’t mind if you’re like this. i want you to be okay with it, and give consent and stuff if we ever decide to play with this, but we can do whatever you’re comfy with, honey. we can not do anything you’re not comfy with.”

taehyung’s whimper is sudden and deep, like it’s overflowing from the heart of him. “you don’t mind? you don’t think it’s weird?”

“shh, tae, i like you. it’s not weird. i don’t mind at all.”

taehyung shrinks smaller in jimin’s arms, all lovely and soft-smelling and musky with typhoon-day bare-faced sweetness. “okay. i don’t…i’ve felt this before with people but—i always resist it, don’t wanna—i don’t trust them but—”

jimin waits for taehyung to finish his sentence, but it doesn’t seem like he can. jimin hums and cradles taehyung closer, and more carefully, like taehyung is expensive and fragile and worth the care he receives. taehyung is worth everything.

he shudders like he can feel it, the affection of jimin’s handling. “you can trust me, tae,” jimin affirms after a quiet moment. “i promise.”

“pinky promise,” taehyung mumbles, and jimin smiles and draws back to meet taehyung’s eyes. they’re sharing the pillow, it’s dark in the room except the yellow fairy lights, the storm is howling outside.

“pinky promise,” jimin whispers, offering up his hand. taehyung links their fingers together and meets jimin’s eyes for the first time in a while, and he looks so small and shy that jimin can’t help leaning in to kiss his forehead.

taehyung licks his bottom lip and looks stupid-beautiful-perfect, and jimin hates him, in the most romantic and adorable way possible. “love you, taetae.” there’s a new weight to it now, something shy and secret and satisfied, something that’s been waiting to bloom out of those words for a long time. jimin is blooming so bright it aches.

“love you too, minnie,” taehyung whispers back. “you wanna nap for a while?”

“until the wine wears off, yeah,” jimin murmurs. “then we should shower. actually go about our day.”

“it’ll be, like, 5:00 o’clock by then,” taehyung says, a smile creeping into his voice.

jimin taps him on the nose. “shh. we’re adults. we can do some chores or something, make up for all the nonsense at the beginning of this day.”

“ minnie, ” taehyung whines, “ the two towers isn’t nonsense!”

jimin giggles. “i was talking about the kissing.”

“hey,” taehyung pouts, and jimin darts in and kisses the jut of his bottom lip, causing a smile to bloom across those perfect, child-round cheeks.

“you’re so lovely, taetae,” jimin whispers, tucking them close together and grabbing the throw blanket tangled up by the wall so he can snuggle them up underneath it.

“mm—you’re really nice, jiminie. want you to take care of me.”

“i wanna take care of you, baby,” jimin promises. “i will, honey. get you nice and pliant and safe and vulnerable and make you feel really good.”

taehyung whines. “minnie, gonna—thought we were napping. ”

“when we wake up, then,” jimin says, a smile edging into his voice as it crosses his lips. “or tomorrow, whenever you’re ready. whenever we’re ready. want our first time to be all sleepy and relaxed and cozy.”

“okay,” taehyung agrees, his head resting heavy at jimin’s collarbone. “that sounds nice, minnie.”

jimin hums his agreement, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

on saturday morning, jimin wakes up and the room is bright, the typhoon long over. the blankets are soft and warm, and taehyung is asleep on the pillow next to him, mouth open around the rhythm of his breaths. jimin wakes up like this more mornings than not—has for the past four years—but somehow this particular day punches all the breath out of him, his stomach clenching with a mixture of fond reverence and the sort of innocent, naive desire for closeness that fills him every time he looks at taehyung.

jimin kisses taehyung’s forehead and is hit with the realization that now, this familiar motion is allowed to mean love , like in-love love, like jimin’s heart bursting swollen and sticky out of his chest in unadulterated adoration love. this is no longer something to push aside in favor of more demure longings—now jimin can want, physically as well as mentally, and taehyung will embrace jimin’s neediness, will encourage it even if he doesn’t want exactly the same way in return. jimin and taehyung are both touchy, but where jimin’s sexuality can be desperate and consuming and fevered, the drive for physical pleasure is more reticent in taehyung, something that has to be coaxed forward and comforted and cared for.

it’s not that he doesn’t want jimin; taehyung has been very adamant about that. he’d assured jimin of this last night, in fact, after a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice instead of wine, because i want to be sober for this, jiminie . they hadn’t done anything but talk, late at night and snuggled in this very bed, jimin on his back with taehyung resting between his legs, head tipped onto jimin’s chest, lighting jimin up from the core.

i want what you want, taehyung had said, fingers toying with jimin’s, their hands hovering in the air next to them, turning around each other, a galaxy in themselves.

taetae, you know me, jimin had returned, soft and accepting and content. you know how i—how desire works for me. how i hook up, how i need touch enough that sometimes i have to make do with the kind of sex that doesn’t include—

intimacy, taehyung had finished, nodding, eyes sage and still and deep.

and you need the intimacy, jimin had whispered.

i’ve done without, taehyung had acknowledged, which jimin knows to be true. taehyung doesn’t have sex very regularly, but he’s never hidden his partners from jimin.

you want the intimacy more than touch, though, jimin had said, stroking taehyung’s hair with the hand not tangled up in taehyung’s own.

taehyung had hummed. i want both, he had said, fingers clenching around jimin’s hip, going all smiley when jimin had tensed beneath him, already hot on the possibility of this.

the rest of the night had been spent in easy wonder, their hands exploring without any agenda, without the goal of some inveterate end—there was only the warm touch of fingertips on smooth stretches of skin, palms gliding along angles and curves heretofore uncharted even in the previous four years of soulmatehood between them.

“tae,” jimin had whispered, taehyung’s hands everywhere on his back, up under the worn-thin cloth of taehyung’s shirt puddling around jimin’s frame.

“minnie,” taehyung had whispered back, pressing kisses along jimin’s neck. they’d fallen asleep that way, all tangled together, still mostly clothed but somehow closer than they’d ever been, even without the traditional pursuit of carnal pleasure.

now: the morning, the gold-gilt sunlight, the high thread count sheets, taehyung’s hair splayed across jimin’s down pillow.

taehyung’s eyes flutter open just enough for jimin to glimpse his sleep-warm blur, the just-awoken lack of clarity jimin has known since he and taehyung moved in together. since before, even, because they used to share their beds during sleepovers all the time when they lived in different dorms. there’s the yawn, the slow blinking of eyes the same shape as taehyung’s smile, perhaps slightly more geometric. taehyung lifts his head an inch and then drops it back to the pillow, too disoriented for any more than the small motions he’s already made.

jimin’s mouth is cracked open like a cantaloupe, summery sweet and wistful in the smile only taehyung can elicit. he revels in the wonder of it, this feeling that’s giddy and punchy and lovedrunk.

taehyung’s eyes open for real this time, and he’s still drowsy but jimin can see that he’s processing. his words will probably be all a jumble—it’s one of jimin’s favorite things about taehyung, the way he doesn’t ascribe to traditional word choice or order; maybe he can’t. jimin loves it, loves everything about his precious tae.

“morning,” taehyung whispers, trying for something louder and incapable of it, probably.

“hi,” jimin says, practically giggling.

taehyung presses up so his weight is resting on his elbows, shivers even though it’s warm under the blankets. “what,” he asks, eyes slipping closed again, and then open, brighter than before. jimin shakes his head, pulling taehyung in closer. taehyung shudders in his arms and wraps jimin all up in his embrace.

“ what, ” taehyung drawls, whinier and sweet.

“nothing,” jimin says, bubbles in raspberry-fizzling champagne.

“ jiminie. ”

jimin ducks down, meets taehyung’s supernova gaze. “just this,” he says, leaning in, telegraphing his intentions with a pointed, sultry gaze at taehyung’s lips.

taehyung’s breath stutters, and jimin can feel him tensing, strung taut—not uncomfortable, not preparing to flee. sharp like ceramic, heating up and set to crack, to shatter—oh—

taehyung hadn’t been lying. jimin can feel it, the desperation with which taehyung wants , now that they are this.

“taetae.”

“please,” taehyung whispers, eyes closed, brows furrowed, hips coquetting towards jimin’s.

jimin lets his hands stroke down taehyung’s back, takes care in the settling of his fingers around taehyung’s hips. taehyung arches into the touch, grinding forward at jimin’s guidance, all warm and sweet and morning-y.

“like this?” jimin whispers, pressing a kiss to taehyung’s cheek, his earlobe, the column of his neck.

“yeah,” taehyung whispers, clinging to jimin’s shoulders.

“do you want to?”

“i— please, i want to,” taehyung whispers, anchoring his mellifluous self against the solidity that is jimin. for all that taehyung is an earth sign, a true capricorn, he is a malleable and liquid spirit, the sort of thing that cannot be contained, or seen at once from every angle.

and then there is jimin, libra to the end, ruled by venus and sensual beyond the boundaries of love and lust. every touch he is allowed, every brush of skin on taehyung’s—each moment is somehow more sparse and more full than anything jimin has felt before, every brush of skin a symphony, every hitch in taehyung’s breath a litany of prayers.

“can i touch you, taehyungie,” jimin whispers, careful not to delve even his pinkies under the hem of taehyung’s shirt until he gets the confirmation they both need.

“yes,” taehyung whispers, squirming a little, all cuddly and cute even when he’s turned on like this. bare-faced and stubbled and lovely, lovely, lovely. “please, minnie. please.”

jimin smiles. “okay, baby,” he whispers, hardly meaning anything by the endearment, but taehyung shudders and his brow furrows in some elusive pleasure that shocks goosebumps over his skin for jimin’s fingertips to trace. jimin’s blood runs hot at the feel of it. “love you, taetae.”

taehyung shudders again and lets jimin ply him into a new shape, spread out on his back with jimin above him. “is this okay?” jimin asks, and taehyung nods, eyes still closed, breathless and juddering. jimin kisses taehyung’s nose then, his cheek. taehyung shivers, shakes, fingers clenching and unclenching around jimin’s wrists, legs splayed open across the twin mattress.

“can you tell me what you want, baby,” jimin requests, kissing taehyung’s nose again.

taehyung whimpers. “kiss me, please,” he says, all kinds of spacey, and jimin chuckles as heat butterflies through him. he leans down and fits his mouth against taehyung’s, bailey’s and milk, kahlua and cream. “please, please. ” when jimin pulls away, taehyung makes the most desperate sound jimin has ever heard. it’s the most sought-after thing jimin never knew he needed: just taehyung, lying vulnerable and so utterly trusting in jimin’s bed, as trusting as someone who’s never been hurt before, and oh, taehyung has been hurt and jimin knows and his whole heart aches to know it—

but taehyung is here now, with such utter faith that jimin won’t hurt him, will in fact the opposite—keep him safe, bring only good things, like strawberry candies and champagne pink taffeta dresses and pillows the perfect size for holding while you fall asleep—

“please, jiminie,” taehyung whimpers, and jimin could bow before him, so he does.

“tell me what you want.” a kiss above taehyung’s hip, across the supple flesh of his belly, along the gleam of his dangling belly button ring. “tell me now, before we start, because i love you.”

“love you too, minnie,” taehyung gasps. “want you to—touch me. make me feel good, and small, and safe, minnie. ”

jimin leans up and kisses taehyung slow and deep. sensual, tongues hot and insistent against each other, taehyung’s mouth honey-sweet like syrupy nectar. “say it clearer,” jimin whispers, “so i know what you mean. exactly what you mean, because i want it to be so good for you.”

“ minnie. ” taehyung is wrecked, writhing with shivers, all pleasure and electric nerve endings and glowing gold in the middle of jimin’s bedsheets.

“tell me. please. i love you, i want to hear you spell it out. i won’t do anything you don’t want, i promise.”

so taehyung spells it out. it takes him a while and the words come tangled like taehyung’s fingers in jimin’s, like their lives and their spirits and their everything . jimin waits patiently for him, lets the words and the promise of them wash over them both like the warm waves at a busan beach, like home, and jimin follows them all the way through. cresting over gentle swells, floating them both out to sea and carefully back to shore, each stroke a push-pull negotiation of force against fluidity, guiding without mandating. like mermaids navigating the deep. taehyung’s hair all lush and blue. taehyung’s gasps are the rush of water bearing sunlight glimmers and phytoplankton nutrients to the bright color swaths of coral along the reef.

at the end of it all, once the waves have mounted and broken, taehyung lies gasping and sticky with jimin so honored to be above him, so gifted with the fact that he’s allowed this. “are you okay, taetae,” jimin whispers, quiet so as not to disturb the heady delirium he’s sure taehyung is still lost in, drowning except for the back and forth of jimin’s thumb over his hip, intended to ground. jimin has been in that headspace before, and while he’s found he prefers being in charge of someone else’s cloud of acquiescent pleasure, he knows from pleasant memories that the way back is often foggy and overwhelmingly bright.

“i’m okay, jiminie,” taehyung murmurs, still out of it but eyes clearing.

“let me clean you up, honey,” jimin whispers. “i can carry you to the bath.”

taehyung ducks his head. “minnie ’m—it’s not—bath bombs, gone we don’t keep them.” the words all a jumble, and jimin aches that he’s allowed to hear.

“i have a couple,” jimin says, smiling as he tucks hair behind taehyung’s ear. “come on. you can pick, and we can stay in for as long as you want to.”

“okay,” taehyung agrees, consciousness slipping away—not to sleep, not quite, just not-there. jimin can tell by the way taehyung’s breathing stays deep, his fingers clenching and unclenching around jimin’s hand. it’s that sort of nap-daze you get when you’re still just the slightest bit too wired to actually sleep, peaceful in its own right but not quite a doze.

jimin lifts taehyung into his arms, glad for all the hours at the gym and the dance studio, and carries him to the tub.

taehyung picks the bath bomb with bergamot and green tea and cornflowers and camellia. it leaves little trails of flower bits in the water, meant to soothe aching muscles. it’s probably good for taehyung to soak up the beneficent magic of it. he lies in between jimin’s legs, back to jimin’s chest, head tipped onto jimin’s shoulder. the long line of his neck is love-bitten and rosy; taehyung doesn’t like the hurt of a bruise, but he’d asked jimin to mark him just lightly, watercolor instead of oil paint. jimin likes the look of it, too; pink instead of purple, easter pastel velvet instead of chuseok rich royal.

they lie in the bath for a long while, content as they’ve ever been. finally, taehyung rouses, eyes clear and shining and curved with his smile.

“breakfast,” jimin offers, eyes lingering on the just-crooked line of taehyung’s perfect white teeth.

“okay, jiminie,” taehyung nods, blushing the same color as the kisses smeared across his neck. his lips, too, are that stunning, heart-rending pink.

“can i kiss you again,” jimin whispers.

“yeah,” taehyung says, and leans forward, and lets himself be kissed.

they climb out of the tub, let the flower petals swirl down the drain as they take care drying each other off. breakfast is slow to cook because they’re so wrapped up in each other, all pink and gold and white button-downs that hang off their shoulders, all morning sunlight and saturday coffee in creamy ceramic mugs and open expressions that make a promise like forever.

“think we should tell the others?” taehyung asks, a whispers like it might break this magic spell hanging over them.

jimin buries his face into taehyung’s chest. “no,” he whispers. “they’ll figure it out.”

“i think they maybe knew before we did,” taehyung admits, quiet in the morning light. he pauses. “did i ruin the moment bringing them up?”

“no,” jimin giggles, letting a little bit of their permanent silliness echo into his laughter. “no, we’ve always been like this.”

“not usually this quiet, though,” taehyung muses, face tipped up towards the window, looking out at the sky.

“i like it this way,” jimin admits, tucking himself in closer. “anyways, we’ve never needed to talk. not really. now, we’re just more aware of it.”

“and i can touch you,” taehyung nods, looking down at jimin with a startling calm in the depths of his eyes. “i mean—we did before. but now it’s a language that means something. like, we’re not just thinking it when we touch; we’re really saying it.”

“yeah,” jimin whispers, understanding washing over him in a warm summer wave. “we know now. i’m really glad, taetae.”

taehyung hums. “yeah, we know now. but maybe really we’ve always known. it’s just now we’re evolving and we’re, like, extra aware of it. how in love we are. our love is explicit. nc-17.”

“that’s—i think not exactly what you meant, and i love you,” jimin giggles, shaking his head at taehyung and rolling his eyes. “i’m in love with every bit of you, taehyungie, love.”

“i’m in love with every bit of you , jiminie,” taehyung smiles. “promise.” he offers up a pinky.

their pinkies link together, taehyung’s long and delicate, jimin’s short and encircled by a thin silver ring. in the morning light, when jimin looks up and leans in for a pastry-soft, sugar-glazed kiss, he thinks taehyung’s eyes are shining bright: all earnest love, and mischief, and a clever, unwavering gleam.

jimin matches the expression with everything he’s got. kisses taehyung hard. “promise.”