Chapter Text
Yoongi was dozing off, head resting less-than-comfortably against the glass of his car windows, when the passenger side door slammed shut and he shot up inelegantly.
“Please don’t have your dick out, please don’t have your dick out—”
It was Kim Namjoon, three piece suit and all, settling into the car seat with his eyes squeezed shut. “Now why the hell would I have my dick out?”
“I don’t know what you and Park Jimin get up to during your little car dates, how am I supposed to know these things?” Namjoon opened one eye first, darting from Yoongi’s face to his crotch back up to his face, before relaxing and opening both.
“Nothing involving my dick being out. I’m not wearing a beige trench coat, ergo, I’m not a fucking flasher, Kim Namjoon!”
“Yah, yah.” He folded his arms, raised his brows aggressively. “So?”
“So what, dude. I was trying to sleep.”
“So! Has anything changed?”
Yoongi didn’t really feel like engaging Namjoon in whatever heart-to-heart bullshit he had planned for them, so instead, he held up a finger and gave a prolonged yawn, prompting Namjoon to check his watch in faux irritation. When it became clear Namjoon wasn’t going to let up, because why would Namjoon let up, Yoongi droned his response. “No, Namjoon. Nothing has changed since our conversation that transpired last night. I’m still bored as hell. I still have nothing to do.”
“You’re the PA for like, 7 people.”
“Nothing… to… do!” Yoongi threw his arms up. “And I know this is a good thing and I’m taking care of myself and blah blah blah… but fuck, if it isn’t so goddamn boring.”
Namjoon, ever the archetypal Good Friend, gave an honest nod, opening his mouth to say what was probably going to be something perfectly empathetic and kind. Yoongi didn’t let him.
“I mean, Jiminie used to have a rehearsal here, then a filming there, then a shoot here, and a meeting there… we were always moving around, doing things. Things were happening! Happenings happened.” Yoongi plonked his forehead on the dashboard dramatically, lifting his head up and down on it repeatedly— he really didn’t need these brain cells anymore, he was willing to knock them out of his head and let them flitter away in the autumnal breeze. “God, I miss things. And how they happened.”
Soon enough, though, his forehead was knocking against Namjoon’s palm as he slid it between Yoongi and the dashboard. “Yah, hyung, come on. Don’t make me do the speech about the sacrifices we make for love.”
“Speech? I don't know about that, dissertation’s probably a little more accurate.” Yoongi lifted his head back up to meet Namjoon’s concerned eyes. “Look, I’m just being annoying. It’s not so bad. More time for hobbies, or whatever.”
“See! There’s always a silver lining—”
Namjoon was rudely interrupted by the consecutive beeps of two iPads, his and Yoongi’s, at the same time. Shit, Yoongi realised, as Namjoon narrowed his eyes and squinted at the notification they both received.
He was about to be found out. By Kim Namjoon. Shit.
“Namjoon, before you freak out, I have a perfectly good explanation —”
“You’re still in the Park Jimin team email thread?” Namjoon just about yelled, ears going red, and all Yoongi could do was gesture wildly, flailing for an excuse. Maybe if he moved his arms enough, it would be a visual distraction that would allow him to bolt more surreptitiously?
“I’m just there to… to, you know, observe from the sidelines, see what’s going on! I’m not doing any of the work or anything…”
“Jesus Christ, Yoongi…” came Namjoon’s broken whisper. It was his turn now to smack his head into the dashboard.
“But I mean, now that the topic has been very organically brought up, I just want to put it out there that the makeup artists’ schedules for the MAMA shows are completely wack and if you’d just let me take a look, I could—”
“Absolutely not, you lunatic!” Namjoon lifted his head off the dashboard slowly and snatched Yoongi’s work iPad from him, tapping in a frenzy as he muttered, “Bad Yoongi. Bad!”
“Woof,” deadpanned Yoongi, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. Namjoon just glared, and man, if looks could kill. Giving in, Yoongi raised his arms in surrender. “Okay! God. I’ll stop. Me is bad. Bad Yoongi.”
“Bad Yoongi!” The iPad was thrust into Yoongi’s lap and Namjoon opened the car door and stepped out, muttering incomprehensibly to himself as he stormed back into the building.
He wasn’t expecting an arterial gush of praise from the man but he could’ve at least given Yoongi some props. Yoongi had been doing such a good job, all things considered— the seven boys he was babysitting were, after all, pre-debut, meaning they spent most of their time training in the Bangtan building and never really needed Yoongi’s undivided attention like Jimin did. And as much as he hated to admit it, validation from Kim Namjoon was sweeter than anything.
The biggest exception to this rule happened to be the man that was currently sliding into the passenger seat.
“Baby!” Jimin said by way of greeting, leaning over and pecking Yoongi’s lips, all chaste. When he pulled back, his brows were all furrowed. “Why did you kiss me so grumpily? Am I late?”
Yoongi didn’t even want to know what a grumpy kiss was. Or how Jimin caught it so quickly. Was Yoongi a grumpy kisser? Did he kiss grumpy often? See, Jimin was already in his head.
“Just got ambushed by Namjoon,” Yoongi explained, catching Jimin’s hand in his. “He thought I would have my dick out. As if he hasn’t seen it… we used to live together, for fuck’s sake. The absolute child.”
Cocking his head, Jimin smiled a little. “Why does he think you’d have your dick out, hyungie?”
“Oh, he thinks we’ve already…” Yoongi trailed off, eyes flickering down to the floor. He really was all bark and no bite when it came to Park Jimin, all cynical wise-assery when he spoke but a complete dork-in-love when he actually had to do. “He thinks we’ve… you know…”
“Fucked?”
Yoongi shrugged, choosing to hide his face in the crook of Jimin’s neck and kiss the soft skin there instead of responding. Jimin sighed happily at the closeness, carding his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, and they sat there for a few moments, enjoying the few quotidian moments they got to steal with each other.
“You’re so pretty,” Yoongi groaned suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut as this foreign (yet recently, more familiar) tsunami wave of vulnerability overcomes him, washes over him.
It was this humiliating dork-in-love, repulsing instinct he despised but kept having— those bursts of inexplicable, almost soliloquy-like confessions of adoration in which Yoongi waxed poetic about the way Jimin’s eyes held all the night sky’s stars or something that was, somehow, even grosser. He felt it build up in him now.
When he had the strength to stave it off, he tended to just write it in his new journal when he got home, but he was goner at this point. The words were just behind his tongue, just behind his lips, prying their way out forcefully.
“You’re so pretty that I can’t even look at you sometimes, did you know that? You’re like… the Sun, or something. I feel like I might go blind, or burn. Or both.”
The shoulder Yoongi was resting on shook with laughter. “Is that why you’re hiding in my neck, baby?”
“Um. Maybe?”
Squeezing either side of Yoongi's face, Jimin lifted him off his body forcefully, and ouch, Yoongi was hit, right smack in the face, with the entire force of Jimin’s sunshine. He squished Yoongi’s cheeks and held him right in front of his face, their noses almost touching, as he demanded with a furrowed brow, “Do you know how hot you are, Min Yoongi?”
“I…” Yoongi couldn’t help the pathetic gulp he gave as Jimin’s eyes flickered to his mouth, as he wet his lips. “Is this a trick question?”
One of Jimin’s eyebrows shot up, as Yoongi watched as he performed the slowest once-over possible, eyes raking over Yoongi’s body unhurriedly. Yoongi wondered what Jimin could possibly be checking out— he was in a black hoodie and blue jeans, decidedly ratty-looking— but his train of thought was disrupted by Jimin’s hand on his shoulder, shoving his back into the carseat.
“I could show you how hot you are, Min Yoongi,” said Jimin, the most self-satisfied little smirk dancing on his lips, as he clambered into Yoongi’s lap in the driver’s seat, sitting astride his thighs. “Right here. Right now.”
“Oh.”
And Yoongi knew his car’s windows were barely tinted, and that this was a completely irrational idea, but fuck Jimin looked so good like this, leaning in and kissing him, hot and heavy, tugging at Yoongi’s hair forcefully as he slid his tongue into Yoongi’s mouth. He felt so fucking good like this, strong thighs resting on Yoongi’s, and it was on pure animal instinct that Yoongi kissed back, as his reticence flittered away.
And when Jimin moaned a little into Yoongi’s mouth at the hands that were sliding gently over his ass, Yoongi didn’t think he wanted to be rational anymore, ever again. He wanted to memorise every single little thread of this square in the fabric of time and space and drape it over him and lie there and die there.
“Yoongi…” murmured Jimin as his lips nipped at Yoongi's cheek, finding his jaw, arching into his touch. “Come on, let's get in the backseat …”
It certainly wasn't an unattractive prospect. Jimin, rosy and sweaty, crowded into black leather. He considered it, let the image replay behind his closed eyelids as Jimin's tongue dragged over his jawline.
There was something wrong about it, Yoongi decided. This was Park Jimin he was talking about.
“Jimin-ah— You drive a very, very hard bargain, but—”
“Oh? Is it hard already, baby?” Jimin whispered— no, breathed— into Yoongi’s ear, the smug fuck, rolling his hips forward, and Yoongi hissed, barely holding it together.
“ — But I'm not going to fuck you for the very first time in the backseat of my car.” Yoongi said with much difficulty, and equally as much finality, hands sliding up the arch of Jimin’s back to take his face in his hands, pulling him off his neck.
The ensuing pout was not unexpected, but it took Yoongi off guard all the same. “Don’t give me that face, baby, that is psychological manipulation of the highest order.”
“Hyungie…” Jimin whined, trying to lean in again, with that perfect puffy pout that Yoongi struggled, mostly in vain, to deny. But this matter was far too important to let Yoongi’s lizard brain sabotage.
Jimin deserved rose petals sprinkled on fluffy sheets. He deserved strawberry-flavoured lube and something sexier than this hoodie of Yoongi’s that had three holes, and not fashionable Yeezy-type holes— proper moth-bitten holes.
Jimin deserved more than any old car fuck.
“No, love,” Yoongi insisted with a gentle smile, squeezing the apple of Jimin’s cheek and helping him off his lap and back into the passenger seat. He had no conceivable idea how he had mustered the sheer willpower required to refuse the hottest man on God’s green Earth, not just propositioning him, but whimpering and straddling his lap. Somehow Yoongi had managed to do the impossible.
But he’d do the impossible a million times to give Jimin what he deserved.
“You’re boring! I’m bored now,” Jimin huffed petulantly, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat. “First you say I’m so pretty you can’t even perceive me, and then you don’t want to fuck me… pick a struggle, dude.”
Yoongi adjusted his belt, that Jimin had jostled in his enthusiasm, as he said, “Honest question. Have you ever encountered someone who hasn’t wanted to fuck you?”
Jimin opened his mouth, balked, and blinked a few times. “Uh. Lesbian women.”
“Straight men?”
“Funnily enough, most straight men want to fuck me too.”
Yoongi made a face like you see my point here dude, continuing. “And you think that me, a homosexual, warm-blooded man, who has actually seen you shirtless, doesn’t want to fuck you?”
“Fine, jeez. Maybe we shouldn’t fuck in the backseat at work.”
“You know baby, sometimes, very occasionally… you have good ideas, too.”
With a tightened jaw, Jimin scrunched his face into the most adorable frown at Yoongi bursting into laughter at his own joke. Yoongi could see the cogs turning in his pretty little head as he devised another comeback.
But there was another ding, from Yoongi’s iPad yet again. “Oh, you’d better go babe, you have a studio session now.”
“I do?” Jimin peeked at the iPad, cocking a brow. “You have my schedule?”
Namjoon might have been able to remove Yoongi from the mailing list, but Yoongi had his ways. He was always going to want to keep tabs on his boyfriend.
-
“You! Jimin’s lapdog! Stop right there!” came an unmistakable voice from behind Yoongi, deep and commanding.
“I have a name, Taehyung. I also happen to be your hyung,” said Yoongi as he whirled around in the hallway. He had been heading to the cafeteria for a lunch date with Seokjin, but he was early anyway— he could afford the time and excess brain cells for a conversation with Taehyung and Jeongguk. They were adorable, sure, but they were Bangtan’s resident shit-stirrers, the town tattletales, and they relished every bit of staff-related gossip they could get their hands on.
Suffice it to say, they were the reason news of Jimin and Yoongi’s Automobile Love Confession travelled down the grapevine in a record 24 hours.
Jeongguk piped up with an ingratiating smile. “Right, my bad. We meant Jimin’s lapdog -hyung.”
“Wow, much better, thank you.”
“Anyway…” Taehyung reached out a hand and walked his fingers up Yoongi’s arm with a sloping smirk and a cocked head. “How’s things with our Minie?”
Yoongi rolled his eyes at the choice of possessive. “Good to see that you’ve collectivised Jimin, very cool.” He pushed Tae’s fingers off him with the back of his hand, turning around to keep walking. He wasn’t stupid, he knew to be careful about what he said around these two. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing!” Jeongguk rushed forward and linked his arm with Yoongi’s right arm, turning to give him a wink that made even Yoongi’s cold, dead heart skip a beat.
“Yeah! Nothing at all,” Tae echoed, linking arms with Yoongi’s other arm.
“You know, you guys are saying nothing, but it really feels like something.” Yoongi struggled in vain to escape the grasp of the two rascals, but the whole ‘strict 6-hours a day workout routine’ they had going for them wasn’t really helping. “Don’t you guys have something to do?”
“We just want to know how it’s going with our Jiminie, like we said!” said Tae as the three of them walked through the hallways arm-in-arm, attracting all manner of curious glances from passers-by. Yoongi assumed it was due to the intrigue of seeing mediocrity sandwiched between such beauty.
“I’m a very lucky man,” Yoongi offered simply as he tugged them in the direction of the cafeteria, letting them manhandle him— it would be over soon, he told himself.
For an unknown reason, that pulled chuckles out of both of them. “Oh, yes you are. You’re very, very lucky, Yoongi,” Jeongguk said with a knowing sort of laugh. “One might even say you’re about to get even luckier—”
And suddenly, Tae was flying off Yoongi’s arm and running over to Jeongguk with an urgency heretofore unparalleled, pressing a hand over Jeongguk’s mouth with furrowed brows. “Shush!” he whispered, and Jeongguk’s eyebrows shot up.
With his other arm now free, Yoongi managed to pull himself out of Jeongguk’s grasp. “Whatever comic bit this is, it’s really impressive. Honestly, you guys should take it on the road,” Yoongi said, confused and mostly glad to be free from them. He walked away as quickly as he could, too distracted to decipher what exactly they were going on about.
-
“Snuggle bunny.”
“No.”
“Smoochie-poo?”
“God, no.”
“Little meow meow. Final offer.”
“Fine. Kill me meow.”
The lift stopped at Jimin’s floor and, blushing but monotone, Yoongi stepped out with Jimin’s hand in his, new nickname successfully bestowed upon him like a knighthood by the Queen herself. Yoongi liked to pretend he was annoyed, but really, it sort of soothed his damaged ego at being a dork in love when Jimin was a dork in love too.
“Okay, my sweet little meow meow,” Jimin cooed, pressing his thumbprint into the newfangled contraption on his door to unlock it. “I wasn’t planning on killing you, but I’d do anything for you, lil’ meow meow!”
They walked into his flat together, and at the sight of Jimin’s black leather couch, that unbelievably squishy, cozy couch, Yoongi dashed, and flopped onto his back with a big, satisfying, guttural groan. “C’mere!” he called, patting his belly, and with a giggle, Jimin dashed over too and laid his body over Yoongi’s, bear hugging him.
Yoongi held him close, letting Jimin nuzzle into his neck and massaging his scalp gently. “Busy week, sweetie?”
Domestic bliss. It wasn’t a concept Yoongi used to necessarily dream about the way other gay people in his circle would dream about— sticking it to the man, flipping off the rules of Heteronormative Society, settling down with someone. Grocery lists, furniture shopping, no-nonsense mid-week meals. Yoongi didn’t used to dream about it, which was why now that he had it, he felt like maybe he didn’t really deserve it. Certainly not with Park Jimin.
But Jimin hummed into Yoongi’s skin anyway, because he couldn’t hear the nonstop appraisal his consciousness was subjecting him to. “Could’ve been worse. I could have been in Chicago right now, performing my eighth show in five days or something.”
“And instead, you’re with me. Has the regret set in yet, or are you still repressing it?”
“Don’t say that!” Jimin shrieked, tilting his chin up to look up at Yoongi, smacking him lightly on the arm. “I’m happy to be here with you, baby. You know that.”
Choosing not to respond, Yoongi tried to hear those words, really hear them. He let himself believe it for a moment. Let himself truly believe that Jimin, Park Jimin, really felt that way about him.
“I’ve never been happier, hyung,” said Jimin quietly, resting his cheek onto Yoongi’s chest, and for a moment, Yoongi could feel Jimin’s heart beating against his belly, and he was sure Jimin could feel his too. “You make me so happy.”
Sighing, he let it wash over him, and tried his very hardest to believe it. “I love you.” Yoongi kissed the top of Jimin’s head. “Do you want me to make dinner? Are you hungry?”
“Oh, I’m hungry, all right,” replied Jimin cheekily, snaking up Yoongi’s body and looking down at him with a glint in his eye.
Yoongi’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Har, har. Seriously baby, dinner?” He reached up and cupped Jimin’s cheek with a smile that he hoped masked his brief heart attack, but Jimin hopped up onto his feet, all too suddenly his weight gone from Yoongi’s chest.
Jimin held his hands behind his back awkwardly for a moment, and Yoongi sat up, concerned.
There was that disappointment on Jimin’s face, that expression that made Yoongi’s heart twist. He wished he knew how to say it, convey with the felicitous words how badly he wanted Jimin, how of course he wanted Jimin, but he was so overwhelmed with inadequacy and soul-eating insecurity.
Consumed by the lingering fear that Jimin would run away again.
“Are you… can we hold off on dinner for a bit?”
“Sure. I’m not that hungry. Are you okay, love?”
“I just, um.” Jimin was rocking back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet, looking completely, uncharacteristically nervous, and it was making Yoongi nervous too. “I have something for you. Like, a surprise!”
Yoongi stood up with a start. “A surprise?”
Jimin smiled then, showing all his teeth, and skipped off deeper into the house. Hot on his heels, Yoongi brisk walked along behind him, treading the path to Jimin’s bedroom. “Yeah, a surprise.”
They stopped right before Jimin’s door, Jimin turning around to face Yoongi with pursed lips, and a scrunched nose. “Before we go in, I want you to know that I am perfectly aware of how cheesy this is.”
And with that, Jimin pushed open the door.
“I don’t want to lie to you,” murmured Yoongi, surveying the rose petals scattered on the bed, the bottle of expensive-looking champagne in an ice bath, “it’s pretty cheesy.”
“Shut up.”
When Yoongi turned away from the surprise, towards the sound of Jimin’s voice— because he’d always turn towards the sound of Jimin’s voice, it could be a bed of roses or a rabid tiger, he’d turn away from anything at the sound of Jimin’s voice— Jimin was close to him, hands unbuttoning Yoongi’s shirt meticulously.
“Let me take care of you, hyung,” Jimin said, almost shy, almost blushing. Yoongi couldn’t speak, because he didn’t know quite what to say. The frequency at which he was rendered speechless had increased exponentially since falling in love with Jimin. It was a good thing he wasn’t a lawyer anymore, he’d be useless, frankly.
Jimin pulled Yoongi’s shirt off his shoulders, hands lingering on his biceps as he swept Yoongi into a searing kiss. “Me?” Yoongi mumbled against Jimin’s lips.
There was something about Jimin that made Yoongi want to follow him. Trail behind him stupidly, powerlessly, as Jimin brought them tumbling onto the bed. As Jimin pinned him down and straddled his hips and kissed him till his mind was completely silent.
“You always take care of me, hyungie,” said Jimin, panting already, beautiful and pink, as he tugged off his own shirt, as he leaned down again to press bare skin onto bare skin. “I want to take care of you tonight.”
And there was something about Jimin that just compelled Yoongi to follow him, move in synchronicity with him, as Jimin got rid of Yoongi’s jeans, as he kissed down Yoongi’s torso. “You’re the one I want,” he was saying, he kept saying, and Yoongi realised, in a flash of clarity, that Jimin knew— he knew of Yoongi’s doubt, and his insecurity, and this crippling inadequacy. Jimin knew the inside of Yoongi’s heart, the heart he held in his hands, and Yoongi thanked his lucky stars that the first person he gave his heart to was taking such good care of it.
“You’re so beautiful,” Jimin said, looking up at Yoongi, before he took Yoongi into his mouth, dexterous tongue and deft fingers finding their way around Yoongi’s shaft as he sucked. Jimin was taking his time— he was in no rush, it seemed, and with every hiss of pleasure Yoongi made, every grunt, every sigh, Jimin smiled. “God, I love you so much,” he was saying, over and over, until Yoongi couldn’t hear anything else anymore, until that was all that was pounding in his head.
And he followed. He followed, meeting Jimin halfway as Jimin rode him, resting his forehead against his. He let Jimin kiss him everywhere, he let Jimin kiss away a tear that fell out of his right eye. He caught Jimin’s moans in his mouth and swallowed them whole, held Jimin against him as he all but groaned, “You’re perfect, Min Yoongi, you’re perfect.”
All Yoongi could feel was Jimin, surrounding him, inundating him— all he could smell was Jimin and fresh roses and all he could hear was you’re mine, you’re perfect, you’re mine, as Jimin braced himself on Yoongi’s shoulders. He picked up the pace, bouncing up and down with an enthusiasm befitting Park Jimin, throwing his head back in ecstasy.
“God, Jimin—” Yoongi grunted, his jaw tight. This was the sort of sight very few people got to see, and Yoongi couldn’t decide if he wanted to shut his eyes and drown in the sensations, or pry them open and watch Jimin come apart.
“Yoongi, I’m not going to run away again,” said Jimin, quite suddenly, rolling his hips forward and pressing his face into Yoongi’s neck. He was shuddering, breathing heavy with exhaustion and pleasure, so Yoongi put his hands on Jimin’s ass and helped him roll his hips forward, pulling him closer, closer. “I pr— unh— I promise, Yoongi, I promise—”
“I know sweetheart,” Yoongi connected their lips, “I know, now come for me, come for me —”
Jimin went very still, before giving a shuddering breath, Yoongi’s name on his lips, as he came on Yoongi’s stomach, came right as Yoongi spilled into him. Jimin slumped forward, their sweaty, panting, naked figures entangled on the bed, and as they caught their breath, Yoongi tried to blink away the steady stream of tears that was blurring his vision.
But Jimin knew.
“Do you believe me yet, hyung?” Jimin whispered low, thumb swiping at Yoongi’s cheeks.
“Yes,” Yoongi said, and he meant it. He did. He believed Jimin. Jimin loved him. Jimin loved him.
They held each other for a long moment, as the purple beginnings of dusk seeped into the room, and Yoongi loved Jimin, and Jimin loved Yoongi too.
-
It wasn’t the light of daybreak that woke Yoongi up. It wasn’t the strange smell he was now becoming aware of either— a rather nauseating mix of sour rose petals and the midnight ramyeon they’d resorted to for dinner last night.
What woke him up was Park Jimin, hitting him gently with something hard and small, crying. “Min Yoongi, what the hell?” he was crying, voice wobbly, smacking Yoongi's calves. “What the actual hell?”
Yoongi shot up immediately, that heart-wrenching sound of Jimin crying cutting through his sleepy haze. “Jiminie?” he rasped, clambering to the foot of the bed where Jimin was, cross-legged and sniffling. “What’s wrong, baby, what happened?”
“I was just…just looking for my phone in your bag and … and… this!”
Jimin brandished one of Yoongi’s small notepads, holding it out just before Yoongi’s nose. Park Jimin, Volume One, it read on its front.
“You did this for me? Volume one? Just how many are there exactly?”
“Uh. Five?”
“Five?” exclaimed Jimin with a hand over his heart, in histrionics now.
“Baby, I need you to tell me if you’re happy or angry, ‘cause I really can’t tell.” Yoongi cupped Jimin’s face in his hands, wiping away his tears as Jimin hiccuped loudly.
Jimin’s eyes widened in what resembled a glare, but his eyes were too watery and his nose was too pink for it to be anything of the sort. He flipped the notepad open to a page and read, with a shaky voice, “Jimin mentioned to Seokjin that he loves the Secret Garden. Possible birthday present.”
Yoongi furrowed his brows, still unable to read Jimin’s face. “Happy or angry? Is the jury still out?”
Flipping to another page, Jimin continued. “Things I learnt from lunch with Jimin today. Jimin has a little brother of whom he is fiercely protective. It’s cute how he can store so much aggression in that tiny little body of his. Wish he got to spend more time with his brother. Talk to Namjoon about making a trip happen.”
Jimin shoved the notepad down into the bed. Yoongi had his mouth open, concerned and still unsure, and they looked at each other, crying eyes meeting tired ones.
Finally, Jimin flung himself into Yoongi’s arms. They were still weakened by sleep, and Yoongi wasn’t sure if this was some kind of weird dream-nightmare hybrid where something confusing happens before something nice happens, but he held Jimin in his arms nonetheless.
“You’ve loved me for so long, Yoongi,” Jimin sobbed into Yoongi’s shoulder.
“Took me a while to realise it, though.”
“I should’ve told you earlier— I should’ve told you when I got drunk that Monday night because I thought you and I could never be together, I should’ve told you…” Jimin held Yoongi’s neck so tight, halfway choking him as he rambled into Yoongi’s bare shoulder.
“Why rush?” Yoongi asked in earnest, tracing his fingers up and down Jimin’s back. “Whatever happened, whenever it happened, it led us here, didn’t it?”
“I just…” Jimin released Yoongi’s neck from his iron grip, resting his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders instead. “I hate that this was right there, right in front of me, this whole time. That there was this whole world of you that I was depriving myself of.”
“Honestly, Park Jimin, it took everything that happened for me to be ready to be with you, and love you, the right way. The way you deserve. And if you’re honest with yourself, I think you’d say the same thing. Right, love?” Yoongi said as gently as he could, pulling Jimin into his chest and kissing the top of his head.
(He’d never tell Namjoon, but in times like these, he’d ask himself: What sort of deeply empathetic, painfully appropriate thing would Kim Namjoon do or say to comfort the distraught party? Most of the time, it worked like a charm.)
“Right,” murmured Jimin, collecting himself. And as he caught his breath, Yoongi couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past his lips, and then they were both chuckling. They couldn’t help it; it was the absurdity of the situation, the absurdity of them. “Damn,” Jimin said with a sigh, “It’s also the knowledge asymmetry of it all. I feel like you know so much about me and I don’t have even a fraction of that information about you.”
Yoongi thought back to their lovemaking last night, to the way Jimin knew exactly what was cycling through Yoongi’s mind, and exactly what he needed to say to make it better. It might not have been as deliberate or systematic as Yoongi, but over time, Jimin had learnt the ins and outs of Yoongi too. “You know me, Jiminie. Trust me, you know more than you think.”
They sat there in silence for a moment as Jimin considered them, Yoongi rubbing his eyes blearily, still not fully recovered from his rude awakening. “Speaking of knowledge,” Yoongi droned out mid-yawn, taking Jimin’s hands in his. “Jeongguk and Taehyung seem to know an awful lot about our sex life.”
“Oh.” Jimin cringed. “Did they tell you about the surprise?”
“I didn’t know what they were going on about at the time, but I connected the dots eventually,” said Yoongi with a laugh, standing up and stretching out. “You need better confidantes, babe.”
Jimin frowned, saying something pithy and droll about how at least his confidantes weren’t his college roommate who had so much faith in him that he thought he’d have his dick out in his car, alone.
If this was domestic bliss, Yoongi didn’t mind it so much.
-
Yoongi was shaking his leg in Jimin’s living room, impatient for his boyfriend to finish the painstaking task of styling his hair — a prerequisite for Friday date nights, he discovered — when he saw it.
Laying on Jimin’s dining table inconspicuously, it was bigger than Yoongi’s, and red, unlike the white and minimalist ones Yoongi opted for. But that stuff was peripheral. Yoongi knew exactly what it was.
Instinctively, he flicked it open to the page most recently scrawled on (well, it was hardly a scrawl. Jimin wrote in a most beautiful, almost calligraphic cursive), which Jimin had marked with a little ribbon.
coffee date with yoongi-hyungie!
- he takes his coffee black...no sugar or milk… ew. i don’t know whether to be grossed out or impressed. actually that’s pretty sexy. i might be turned on (?)
- he plays guitar! he says he plays badly but that must mean he’s pretty amazing. fender; possible birthday gift?
- whenever he says that he loves me, he gets this look like he’s waiting for me to freak out and run away. remember to always say it back jimin, always!
Yoongi flipped it shut and let out a deep breath as he set it back down. His vision was blurry, as he laughed quietly, in pure incredulity.
The door to the bathroom opened, and Jimin waltzed out, and Yoongi was looking at him like it was the first time he’d ever really seen him.
“I’m ready!” he twinkled with a twirl, with those dazzling pearly whites and those pretty crescent eyes. “You good?”
Yoongi must have been staring, because Jimin cocked his head with a worried pout. “Yeah,” he breathed out, crossing the room to catch Jimin’s lips in a kiss that Yoongi was sure messed up the hair Jimin had taken so long to style, but seemed like neither of them cared. Jimin leaned into it, sighing unhappily when Yoongi pulled away.
“I love you, hyung,” said Jimin, like he was commenting on the weather, like there was nothing he was more certain about.
There were so many things Yoongi could’ve said as Jimin stood there, and fuck, there were just so many hundreds of thousands of adjectives and bullet points and entire theses Yoongi had occupying his mind about Park Jimin. Twinkling, enchanting, pretty, perfect, dazzling… mine.
But he just stood there, and let the time slow down, let each moment last a lifetime as he looked disbelievingly at his paramour, his Charlemagne, and he loved him.
"I love you too, Park Jimin. I love you too.”