Chapter Text
“No matter the wreckage.
There will be someone to find you beautiful, despite the cruddy metal.
Your ruin is not to be hidden behind paint and canvas.
Let them see the cracks.
Someone will come to sing into these empty spaces.”
--
Music starts to play and Yoongi crouches down, camera ready in his hand just as the bright lights slowly start to dim. Beside him are a few other dozen photographers, all with a keen and sharp eye for their art. Yoongi feels a little bit out of place – he doesn’t normally do runway shoots, but one of the label brands had asked for him specifically, and Yoongi would be an idiot to say no to Burberry.
He’s not a contracted photographer, is the thing – and maybe that’s why the calls don’t often stop when his name is slapped right under a new fashion spread in all the magazines, when he’s pestered, over and over again, to take a look at this new line – maybe you could do the shoot for it. Some of the requests are overly formal while some are a tad bit too informal, bordering on uncomfortable for Yoongi, given that he’s a man who takes his job seriously, even if he does goof around a little bit too much once he’s put the camera down.
Beside him is another photographer, a little bit too talkative as he mumbles to himself while setting up. Yoongi thinks he should’ve gotten a better spot – but he’s smack dab in the middle, this is the best spot – away from the younger, less seasoned photographers who’d talk his ear off during the whole show. He prefers to work in quiet – he doesn’t need to hear what everyone else is saying when his mind is already screaming at him to get the perfect shot.
One thing Yoongi loves about being a fashion photographer is that he gets to see. See new places all the time, see new people, see all sorts of art come to life on the runway.
One thing Yoongi hates about being a fashion photographer is how fucking hard it is, especially if stages want to go for something more elaborate – like Burberry tonight, a little bit of flair could go a long way but for the first part of their show, they’re making use of strobe lights that bounce off the floor, the walls, his lens – everywhere. It’s annoying, all these distractions that hinder him from that perfect shot, but he gets the job done, anyway.
He pulls back after the first set, a pleased sort of look on his face as he goes through some of the photos. Beside him, the talkative boy peers over to get a look at the screen, and then gasps.
“That’s a beautiful shot,” He says, head nodding in appreciation.
Yoongi looks back down at it and smiles, yeah, it kind of is.
“Thanks, can I see some of yours?” It’s only common etiquette, he thinks. The boy is all too eager to show him his own shots. “Are you new?” He asks, the boy’s camera in his hands now as he flicks through to the other photos, a little bit amazed at the quality of them.
“Well, I haven’t been doing this as long as you,” He says, sheepish. “Maybe two years? This will be my third,”
Oh, so apparently he knows Yoongi, and Yoongi should probably stop being so surprised every time a junior comes up to him, but he is – it’s still a shocking thing to be recognised, even within your own community.
“I’m Jung Hoseok, by the way,” He sticks his hand out for Yoongi to hold and Yoongi shakes it, the boy’s grip strong.
“Min Yoongi,” He replies, smiling slightly, “Your photos, so far, are pretty good,”
And Hoseok grins at him, wide and proud at being acknowledged just as the lights start to brighten up a little bit to signify the start of the second half of the show.
Yoongi tunes everything out and focuses again on the runway, camera poised and ready. When he sees the first model, he finds that he’s holding his breath.
Park Jimin’s walk is unlike any of the other models – there’s something about his every step, even about the way he breathes that just changes the whole look, that makes anyone, even those without much knowledge in modelling or photography, think that this boy’s got something.
Jimin’s eyes are fixed and determined as he makes his way down the ramp, his facial expression stoic.
It’s only after Park Jimin disappears to the backstage again that Yoongi finally lets out a breath. He doesn’t need to check the photos to know that that they’re perfect.
--
All the models are strutting down the runway now, led by the designer who’s got her hands clasped demurely in front of her, a small smile on her face at the applause and standing ovations.
Leading one line is Jimin, who has a small, even teasing little smile on his face as he makes his way down the catwalk.
Yoongi notes how much of a change he’s just gone through – from aloof and stoic to a shy boy smiling just that little bit for all the cameras.
The ending is always Yoongi’s favourite – the designer is obviously happy and all the models come out looking relieved and pleased with themselves, a job well done given that nobody’s fallen on their ass or broken a heel.
Yoongi watches as they all make their final walk, notices the glint in Jimin’s eyes, and finally gives in, and offers the boy a small smile. Jimin doesn’t respond with his usual grin, but he does tilt his head slightly to the side, his eyes squinting a little bit as they train on Yoongi – and that’s just as big a reaction as Jimin grinning at him; they’ve worked out a secret code already, silent smiles and tilts to the head that mean something only to the two of them.
When you’ve been in this industry as long as them you start to create your own secrets, and wildly acclaimed professional fashion photographer Min Yoongi and top model Park Jimin’s relationship is just one of their little secrets hidden behind friendly pats on the back and respectable congratulations after a job well done.
Yoongi finally settles back on the floor, camera now tucked in its bag and his legs stretched in front of him, exhausted from a full night’s work.
Beside him, Hoseok stretches his arms and laughs, “Wow, that was something,”
Yoongi thinks about Jimin, beautiful under the lights and practically dominating the whole runway, and nods, “Yeah, it was.”
--
Apparently, Yoongi isn’t too exhausted to attend the after party.
Hoseok’s constantly by his side the whole night, the younger boy asking if he could hang around him – this is his first after party from such a huge brand and Yoongi had raised his hand, said okay, because he knows exactly the nervousness that comes from meeting everybody else – the other photographers, celebrities in the show, the models, and the designer, even.
Two hours into the party and Yoongi loses Hoseok, the boy running up to a few models he had previously worked with already to exchange casual “hellos”.
Not minding it, Yoongi just goes to hang by the bar, head a little bit light already from the drinks he’d overly indulged himself in.
When a hand settles on the small of his back, he knows exactly who it is without even chancing a glance. A second later the pressure is gone and beside him Park Jimin is sliding onto the empty stool, a smile on his face.
“Good job tonight,” Jimin tells him, voice friendly.
Their little game of charades isn’t quite over yet, but in a dimly lit room with half the guests already quite drunk and everyone riding off from the high of the show’s success, they can afford to be a little bit looser, a little bit friendlier than what they usually show to the public.
“Likewise,” Yoongi gives Jimin’s hand a little tap and instantly wants to hold on to it longer, but he pulls back and smiles at him instead, the boy positively glowing now. “You were beautiful,” His voice is a whisper as he leans closer to Jimin.
Jimin flushes and it’s so obvious even in their current lighting. When he shakes his head no, a tired little laugh escaping from his lips, Yoongi feels like a rock’s just been dropped down into his stomach.
There’s no mistaking the downcast look in Jimin’s eyes or the deflated way his shoulders have fallen.
“Jimin,” Yoongi grabs for Jimin’s hand right there in the bar, fingers locked around the boy’s wrist. “Not tonight,”
And Yoongi wants to press kisses down the back of his wrists, wants to push his hair away from his face so he could see, and he wants to bring him in front of a mirror and force him to look, because he’s beautiful, on and off the stage.
Slowly, Jimin’s expression turns a little bit lighter, “Sorry, but, yeah, okay,” His words tumble over each other and Yoongi drops his hold around Jimin’s wrist, notes, a little bit dejectedly, how good it had felt to hold even just his hand.
Jimin’s finger traces around the rim of his glass and Yoongi watches him, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the counter.
All around them are friends and colleagues who know nothing of the true nature between them. It kind of sucks sometimes not being able to kiss Jimin silly after a show, tell him he’s so fucking beautiful, but for now they’ll settle on this.
Being in a relationship with a model, as a photographer, isn’t exactly unheard of – it’s common, even. It’s just that the country might not be too ready for a relationship between a male photographer and a male model. Yoongi’s only afraid it might damage Jimin’s career – he’s so good, so brilliant, he isn’t at the top of this cold game for nothing.
Jimin finally stands up when a couple of his friends call him to the middle of the room, a toast already waiting for him. Before he walks off, he leans down, mouth so dangerously close to Yoongi’s ear, and whispers, “Let’s go home after,”
--
With Jimin’s fingers in his hair and his mouth sucking lightly on the base of his throat, Yoongi finds that he isn’t tired at all.
He kisses Jimin back with as much heat and fervour, hands already working at the buttons of his shirt. They stumble blindly into their apartment, and Yoongi whines when his hip bumps into a corner of the table, the pain burning a little bit.
Jimin tries to smooth over the hurt by rubbing gently on Yoongi’s hip, touch innocent until Yoongi starts to bite down on Jimin’s neck, his own hands finally managing to unzip the boy’s pants.
Yoongi swallows the breathy moan that Jimin exhales when they finally find their way into the bedroom, all heavy breathing and hot touches.
He pushes Jimin onto the bed and manages to pull his pants off of him before he clambers on top of him, fingers splayed on the boy’s naked chest. God, he can’t quite make out Jimin’s face, the only light in the room are from the bright lights in the neighbouring building. It’s so dim but they’ve done this a hundred dozen times already that Yoongi’s memorised all of Jimin, from the top of his head all the way down to the tips of his toes.
He doesn’t need a bright light to find Jimin. Yoongi’s pretty damn sure that he can find Jimin in a forest, under the sea, in the darkest tunnel – anywhere.
And then all thoughts quickly stop when Jimin’s hand cups him through his pants, hips bucking up from under him and Yoongi moans because he can feel Jimin’s growing arousal, can feel himself hardening with even the lightest of touch.
Jimin pulls him back down and their mouths crash together in a kiss, tongues dancing expertly and teeth just biting down enough on lower lips in the perfect way to get the other to moan at the whole sensation.
That night, Yoongi fucks Jimin breathless, fingers twisted in his hair and Jimin’s legs locked around him, pulling him in deeper, dragging him even closer.
They make love in the dark again that night, and as Yoongi rolls over to his side of the bed, he thinks, not for the first time, about how much of a sight it would be to finally see Jimin come undone with the bright orange light from the lamp in their room.
Jimin winds an arm around Yoongi and burrows to his side, a little bit sweaty and sticky but completely spent and happy.
For now Yoongi won’t mention the lights because Jimin is enough, really. Instead, he slips his hand under Jimin’s neck, allows the boy to lay his head on his chest, and traces soft circles down the length of Jimin’s shoulder.
Just before they both drift off to sleep, Yoongi kisses Jimin’s forehead, and whispers, voice soft, “Good night, beautiful,”
Jimin stiffens in Yoongi’s hold but after one more kiss to his forehead he finally sighs out, “G’night, love you,”
Yoongi can feel the small smile that Jimin presses into his chest, lips brushing lightly against his naked skin.
--
Rain falls lightly outside as Yoongi moves around the kitchen preparing breakfast. He sets mugs of coffee on the table and looks up from rifling through the drawers for forks when Jimin emerges from their room, tousled hair and pink cheeks.
“Good morning,” Jimin says, ignoring the coffee to patter off towards Yoongi, arms automatically coming around his waist, and chin propped on Yoongi’s shoulder. “What’re you making?”
Yoongi smiles into the hug and turns a little bit to his right to kiss Jimin absentmindedly on the edge of his jaw, “Toast and eggs. Are you going to eat?”
Jimin ignores the question completely and just presses kisses down Yoongi’s exposed shoulder, the boy’s hands slipping under his shirt to rub gently on his stomach. Any other day and Yoongi would’ve indulged Jimin, hell, he would probably already be on his knees by now, but yesterday was a tiring affair that Yoongi knows Jimin can’t bounce back from unless he gets food in him, so he extracts himself gently out of Jimin’s hold, kisses the pout away from his face, and turns back to the stove.
“You’re eating,” His voice comes out a little bit harder than usual at the sight of Jimin grabbing for the lighter on the counter. “Do that after,”
Jimin drops the lighter back on the counter and settles, a little bit pouty again, on the table, the cup of coffee in his hands.
“Here, eggs, they’re good for you,” Yoongi says, pushing a plateful of eggs and toast to Jimin who looks at it blankly, fingers still tight around the cup of coffee.
Any other day and Yoongi would’ve dragged him outside for a smoke, but today simply isn’t one of their usual days.
Jimin’s got another show next week and Yoongi would really rather he didn’t faint in the middle of his walk.
“Jimin,” His voice is definitely harder now, a steal in his tone. “Please eat,”
“Yeah, later,” He takes a sip of the coffee tentatively and when he finds that it doesn’t burn his tongue anymore, takes a larger gulp.
Yoongi doesn’t look away until Jimin finally sighs and breaks a piece of toast in half. It’s the only thing he nibbles on for breakfast.
It’s painful watching Jimin pick through his food, painful seeing his cheeks getting a little bit more hallow now from how he’s pushed away eating anything heavy just to prepare for a show or a shoot. It’s actually a physical kind of pain that Yoongi feels and his eyes start to sting a little bit as he desperately tries to clutch at any idea, anything at all, that might help Jimin out.
“You look really good today,” Yoongi says after a few minutes of silence. Jimin’s just finished a full piece of bread and is now stabbing the egg rolls with one chopstick. “Really beautiful, Jimin,”
Jimin welcomes the kiss that Yoongi presses to his lips, smiles halfway through it, and even pulls Yoongi back in for a second one. They kiss for so long over breakfast that when they next glance at the clock, it’s already nine and they have to go get ready already.
“Five more minutes,” Jimin whispers, fingers loosely twined with Yoongi’s.
Yoongi pushes him against the sink and kisses him again, “Okay, five more minutes.”
They end up late to their respective appointments for the day because Yoongi ends up on his knees, mouth around Jimin’s cock and the boy’s fingers tugging at his hair, because, fuck, Yoongi.
--
Beautiful, Yoongi thinks, is the perfect word for Park Jimin.
Beautiful, he decides, isn’t exactly the most perfect word for Jimin because for some reason it’s not quite enough.
Beautiful, a word that he will settle on for now until he discovers a new word that will somehow describe Jimin perfectly, because beautiful is the boy from the way his eyes almost disappear, forming half-crescents when he smiles too much; beautiful is when he laughs, loud and clear, and then a little softer, a breathless laugh that always gets Yoongi’s attention; beautiful is Jimin early in the morning, the sun dancing across his face and his hair fanned against the pillow; beautiful, as expected, is Jimin on the runway and in the photos, so fucking beautiful that Yoongi is at his wits end just trying to make Jimin listen to him, to believe him.
Beautiful is something he tells the boy every day and beautiful is a word Jimin shies away from, ducking his head or just brushing it off, dismissing the word like its trash he needs to throw.
--
His next scheduled shoot is with Jimin for a DKNY campaign.
When Jimin had found out from his agent, he’d called Yoongi all excited and laughing. Yoongi had only cursed – how is he supposed to keep his hands off of Jimin in a fucking DKNY photoshoot?
The night before the shoot, Jimin pushes Yoongi against the wall, a little smirk on his face, his hands already running down eagerly on Yoongi’s sides.
“So, tomorrow,” He says, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.
Yoongi swallows, his fingers hooked on the loops of Jimin’s belt. “Tomorrow,”
Jimin kisses up the length of his jaw, nibbles on his ear quickly before he finally gets to Yoongi’s mouth, his lips hot against Yoongi’s.
He wants to suck bruises into Jimin’s skin, wants to leave scratches down his back, but he knows better than to do that, so he keeps his fingers from digging in too deep and forcefully pulls away when he starts to bite down on Jimin’s neck.
Jimin groans against him and bumps their foreheads gently, “Why?”
“Because you have a shoot tomorrow,” Yoongi reminds, his hands now settled on Jimin’s waist, fingers pressing in gently into his skin. “With me. If you don’t remember,”
“Yeah, but it’s probably going to be suits and formal wear, so maybe – “ It’s totally unfair for Jimin to be begging with this tone of voice, especially when his hands have travelled to knead into Yoongi’s ass, fingers insistent and head tilted slightly back to give Yoongi way.
A timer going off in the kitchen saves Yoongi from the difficult decision that had to be made, and instead of kissing Jimin, he gives the boy a gentle push and turns away from him to deal with dinner.
Jimin is outside when he sets the plates and the food.
Yoongi slides out the door to find Jimin looking down at the streets. They’re so far up that sometimes Yoongi is afraid to peer too far away from the railings, afraid that the floor might betray him.
He watches as Jimin smokes, the cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. Jimin gives him a half-smile when he glances at him and passes him the pack.
“Dinner,” Yoongi says, sounding a little bit defeated because he lights a cigarette of his own. He holds the smoke in for as long as he can, wonders how much he can take in one inhale, but then it starts to sting, and he exhales.
“Yeah, okay,” Jimin flicks the cigarette to the side and they both watch as the wind blows the ashes away.
Jimin’s wrist is looking really thin these days, his eyes more tired than usual.
“Have you eaten anything today?” Yoongi leans against the railing, hands stretched in front of him as he twists his body to look at Jimin.
Jimin stalls his response by taking a long drag from the cigarette, his lips pursing when he finally exhales.
“Jimin,” Yoongi repeats, hand reaching out to tug on Jimin’s shirt. “Please,”
It’s a problem they’ve both struggled with, not just Jimin.
Jimin eats, sure, but barely. On the nights that he manages to scarf down all of his dinner, he’ll often sneak out of bed when he thinks Yoongi is asleep already, slip out from under his arm and then sneak into the bathroom.
Yoongi can’t sleep for the rest of the night with the sound of Jimin retching so clear in his mind. Nights like those are the hardest – they fuel his nightmares; nightmares of one day losing Jimin, of him breaking in two from the stress and abuse he puts his own body through.
He presses a thumb into Jimin’s cheek, smiling a little bit sadly. When he’d first met him a few years back, Jimin had chubby cheeks.
“Squirrel cheeks,” Yoongi recalls the memory fondly, thumb swiping up the length of Jimin’s cheek. “Do you remember?”
Jimin puts the cigarette out against the concrete and turns to fully look at Yoongi now, his eyes a little bit wide.
Three years is sometimes too long, especially when it comes to people changing.
Jimin hasn’t changed, not exactly – still the bright, beautiful young boy with the loud laugh that can make Yoongi’s bones rattle. It’s amazing, Jimin’s effect, it’s almost an instant thing when he walks into the room.
The grip he has on Jimin’s shoulder is gentle and reassuring, the look in his eyes pleading, his mouth open but the words failing him.
Yoongi has never been good with words or with acting on things, but he finds that with Jimin, there’s always a little voice in his head that tells him that he can do it, that he can strive harder. The little voice in his head sounds oddly similar to Jimin’s.
“Yeah, everyone used to tease me about it,” Jimin tries for a smile but falters, his face falling. “You used to tease me about it,”
Yoongi had been foolish, a little bit reckless back in the day. “Yeah, but it was the good teasing, right?”
His other hand comes up to pinch Jimin’s cheek. Not as chubby anymore. He’d grown out of his baby fat, though he’d still retained the boyish features. Yoongi kind of misses it, honestly.
“Only because I had a thing for you,” Jimin leans into his touch, cheek rubbing gently against Yoongi’s palm. “Always had a thing for you, Yoongi.”
Yoongi is trying, he really is, to find the strength to say the words. But it’s so hard when he knows that it’ll only make Jimin pull into himself, so instead of berating him for his day’s food choices, he just pulls the boy into a hug, hand coming to rest on the back of Jimin’s head.
“Come here, beautiful,” Yoongi whispers into Jimin’s hair.
Jimin responds to the hug eagerly, melting into the hold the instant Yoongi’s got his arms around him. He wraps his arms around Yoongi’s waist and just holds him steady, face buried in the nook of his shoulder. “You always say that,” He whispers, breath warm.
His hold around Jimin only tightens when he says, ever sincere and serious, “And I mean it every time, Jimin.”
--
Yoongi’s getting ready for the shoot when a familiar voice calls his name. He looks over his shoulder to find Jung Hoseok waving at him, a huge smile on his face.
“Are you here for the DKNY shoot, too?” Hoseok asks, beaming. “What a dumb question, yeah, sorry. Of course you’d be here for that,”
Straightening up, Yoongi takes a quick survey around the room – a few dozen staff milling about, his assistants setting up in the side, and over half a dozen models getting ready in the back.
“They’re assigning me to the women’s shoot, so I guess you’re gonna do the men’s? And then all the models together?” Hoseok rattles on, hands moving animatedly as he talks.
Yoongi finds it amusing, a little bit. Hoseok has the energy of a novice but the skill of a seasoned photographer. It’s refreshing.
He nods his agreement and tells Hoseok that if he needs anything then he’ll know exactly where to find him. With a final wave and a short chuckle, Hoseok bounds over to the female models, voice all too loud and happy when he greets them.
Yeah, he’s absolutely refreshing.
“Yoongi? We’re starting,” It’s one of his assistants who tells him, giving a light tap to the computer screen in front of her. “We’re starting with Kim Seokjin, and then Park Jimin’s next. Solo shots first,”
“Alright,” Yoongi mutters, fingers already clasping the camera. He strides to the centre of the room where Seokjin’s already standing, looking as dapper as ever – or even more so, given the suit he’s donning.
“Hey, Yoongi,” Seokjin greets, a friendly smile on his face.
Yoongi returns the smile – he’s known Seokjin ever since he’d first started out, is actually quite good friends with him. “Try to do it perfectly, alright?” Yoongi says, teasing.
He knows he doesn’t have to ask that of Seokjin – the boy’s a professional and every shot Yoongi takes of him comes out picture perfect. The stylists fawn over him from behind Yoongi, and he even hears his assistant sigh when Seokjin starts laughing for the camera.
“Good job,” Yoongi tells him with a thumbs up.
Seokjin shoots him a humble smile, his hands folding in front of him to bow to all the staff. Some people in the industry aren’t as humble or as gracious – and Yoongi avoids them like the plague, they’re just bad energy. – Seokjin clearly isn’t one of them, and Yoongi’s only thankful for the boy’s work ethics.
The next model is Jimin, who comes out with his hair perfectly styled to look all tousled and windswept, his makeup done in a way that gives him that perfect, smoldering look.
Christ, Yoongi can’t even breathe properly.
Jimin sneaks in a small smile, their special little code, and Yoongi relaxes, smiling back at him.
And then they’re dancing their secret little dance – so secret that there isn’t even any music playing, it’s just the sound of their breathing and the secret smiles they try to hide.
Taking photos of Jimin in his spare time is different to taking photos of Jimin as professional fashion photographer Min Yoongi. The former is casual and filled with a lot of sleepy laughter and indulgent smiles, while the latter is more – well, intense, and oddly enough, a little bit intimate, too.
Just before they start, Yoongi notices the crooked tie. Normally, he would’ve called for a stylist to fix it, but before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s already gone up to Jimin, his fingers working expertly to pull on the tie, their face so close at such a distance.
Yoongi can’t help but think how easy it would be to kiss him here and now, right in the middle of this photoshoot. He knows Jimin will kiss him back, can see it in the way his eyes are darkening, and in the way Jimin’s tongue peeks out from his lips, swiping quickly on his bottom lip. It’s so obvious, they’re so fucking obvious it’s actually painful how nobody’s caught on yet.
His fingers linger a little too long as they brush past Jimin’s neck, the boy’s eyes glinting mischievously, his smile barely contained.
He breaks the moment before they both get too lost and gives Jimin a friendly pat on the chest, his smile shaky, “Let’s get started, yeah?” and Jimin takes his stance, back to being a model, all want and need for Yoongi pushed away for the meantime.
--
Jimin is really good at his job – he isn’t hailed and praised just because of his face. There’s something magical about him, that’s the word. What he lacks in height – compared to the other models, he’s not too well off on that – he makes up for that spark in his eyes that not everybody has.
Yoongi is lost whenever Jimin so much as smiles at him. Amazing, really, how a person can have that effect on you. But maybe it shouldn’t be surprising anymore, especially with how fucking gone Yoongi is for the boy.
That night, Yoongi stumbles home earlier than Jimin and waits for him on the couch. Just past eleven, he hears the familiar beeping of a password being punched in and he starts to slowly stir awake from his nap.
“Did you wait up?” Jimin drops his bag to the floor and then proceeds to climb on top of Yoongi, making himself completely at home on top of him, Yoongi’s chest a pillow yet again. “I’m so tired,”
Yoongi can’t help but notice how fucking light Jimin has become. There’s muscle on the boy, sure, but other than that it’s just pointy elbows and knees.
“You did great today,” Yoongi tells him, hands pushing past Jimin’s shirt to settle on the warm skin of his hips, “Really beautiful, babe. You took my breath away,”
Tonight, Jimin feels a little bit kinder to himself because he smiles at the compliment, eyes fluttering.
That look is beautiful on Jimin, Yoongi thinks. When he accepts compliments and really takes them to heart, not just take in all the negativity, it’s absolutely radiant.
Jimin’s weight on top of him is something Yoongi welcomes all too eagerly, his arms wrapped around him to hold him securely in place. “Do you wanna sleep like this? You’re gonna end up with a stiff neck tomorrow,”
He feels Jimin stir on top of him, his lips grazing the tip of his nose, hair tickling Yoongi’s face.
“What, and like you’re going to have the perfect sleep like this?” Jimin pulls Yoongi up with him, laughing a little bit when they both end up falling off the couch.
“Why do you keep worrying about me?” Jimin asks, their legs tangled and Yoongi now on top of him, arms braced on either side of Jimin.
Yoongi can’t answer the question without sounding too pathetic, too overprotective – he’s afraid, see, afraid that if he takes his eyes off Jimin for even a second that the boy will collapse, fall to the floor and shatter like broken glass. He’s afraid that Jimin might forget just how important he is, afraid that the boy in his arms will forget how special he is, won’t realise just how beautiful Yoongi thinks he is.
And Yoongi won’t have it, not even for a day. This fierce protectiveness over Jimin is normal when you’re in love with a boy who tries to pull himself apart every day, who smokes cigarettes just to stave off the hunger, who looks at the mirror and sees all the flaws and not any of the wonder that Yoongi sees. It’s so hard to love someone who thinks they’re broken, who can’t quite accept a lot of the things they are – it’s hard but Yoongi tries, he really does, and if it means having his heart broken over Jimin’s quiet sobs that he tries to hide at three in the morning when he thinks Yoongi’s so deep into sleep, then he’ll take it.
“Because I love you,” Yoongi says instead, the answer just right and summing everything up. He looks down at Jimin, his hair fanned out around him on the floor, a smile on his face and his eyes twinkling.
He leans down, his lips so close to Jimin’s ears when he whispers, “Take me to bed, Jimin.”
That night, they don’t make love or even touch each other in a less than innocent way, no. Jimin does exactly what Yoongi asks for, and with a strength that even Yoongi’s surprised at, Jimin manages to reverse their position, his hands now coming around Yoongi to lift him up, up, up, and higher until he’s got him right in his arms, cradled close to him.
Yoongi laughs because it’s hilarious – he’s nearly twenty five and Jimin’s got him carried like a bride, all smiles and laughter following Yoongi’s own outbursts.
“If you drop me, Park Jimin – “ The threat dies on Yoongi’s lips as Jimin swoops down to kiss him, his arms perfectly stable as he holds onto Yoongi. He doesn’t shake at all under Yoongi’s weight, carefully manoeuvring them into their bedroom.
Yoongi reaches his hand out to flick the switch on, and it truly is a rare night because Jimin doesn’t object, just continues to the bed where he drops Yoongi unceremoniously, laughing a little bit louder now as Yoongi scrambles for a pillow, the sheets – the headboard, anything, just to get a hold and not roll off the side.
“You’re terrible,” Yoongi says, glaring at him once he finally manages to burrow under all the blankets.
Jimin shrugs out of his shirt and kicks his pants off to the side somewhere before he crawls to Yoongi, feet cold when he finally manages to slide under the covers.
The lights are on and Jimin is practically half naked, and Yoongi doesn’t let his touches linger, but he does kiss him, an innocent and chaste kiss that’s more a pressing of their lips than anything. Jimin sighs against his lips and Yoongi smiles because the night is beautiful, and Jimin is beautiful, and they’re sleeping with the lights on.
--
“Yoongi, I’m scheduled for a quick shoot in Japan next week, is that okay?” It’s eight thirty in the morning and Jimin is running his fingers down Yoongi’s spine.
“I’m not your agent, you idiot,” Yoongi responds, flipping to the next page of his book. “But yeah, sure, leave me alone for three days,”
“Yoongi,” Jimin whines, fingers pressing harder into Yoongi’s back. “Don’t be a brat,”
Jimin’s fingers are replaced by soft kisses down the length of his spine, fleeting and soft as Jimin makes his way down to the small of Yoongi’s back. “Don’t be a brat,” he repeats, this time sucking harder to leave a bruising mark.
It’s not fair for Jimin to be asking him that when he’s practically manipulating Yoongi’s emotions right now, so he just turns around and almost knocks Jimin off the bed with a foot too close to his face, and looks at him rather petulantly.
“Shut up,” Yoongi mutters, fingers going up to brush distractedly at Jimin’s hair. “And can’t I come? I get really jealous when other people get too close to your face,”
He gets a rousing laughter from Jimin at that, the boy practically shaking with amusement.
“It’s true,” Yoongi continues, fingers pinching Jimin’s sides lightly. “I guess makeup artists and stylists are an exception, but other photographers – I know exactly what they’re thinking because I’m a photographer, and it takes a lot of willpower to just not jump your bones during shoots,”
Jimin dissolves in a mess of giggles against him, hands gripping tightly onto Yoongi’s shorts, and Yoongi savours in the sound, likes this better than the way Jimin had sounded last night at around four in the morning when he’d crawled out of bed to turn the light of, his body shaking a little bit when he settled back beside Yoongi.
Yoongi finds this change a thousand times better because it’s infinitely much better to wrap your hands around a giggling Park Jimin than to hold onto a Park Jimin that’s just shaking, too afraid to close his eyes and succumb to sleep.
--
Before Yoongi lets Jimin go on his three day trip to Japan, he makes sure to leave at least one mark that’ll definitely go unnoticed in a photoshoot. Five hours before Jimin’s flight, Yoongi has him on the couch, legs spread and biting down on his lip, hard, as Yoongi kisses into his inner thigh, biting gently at the skin, and sucking down on it that it goes red the second he pulls away.
Jimin doesn’t let him go after that, though, and this time slides down from the couch to crawl towards Yoongi, fingers already unbuttoning his jeans. Before Yoongi can even blink, Jimin’s got him on his back, fingers already around his cock.
It’s nine in the morning and all the curtains are drawn. They fuck on the floor of the living room, Jimin thrusting so hard that Yoongi ends up seeing spots on the back of his eyelids. He grabs hold of Jimin, fingers digging into his hips and rocking back on his every thrust, the both of them completely lost in the moment.
When he comes, it’s to see black spots graining up his vision, Jimin breathless and leaving a mess on his stomach.
Yoongi lets out a heavy exhale and struggles to sit up, his back aching a little bit.
They fucked on the floor without even thinking about rug burn.
He cups Jimin’s cheek and leans forward to kiss him lightly, “If I end up with a rash tomorrow, Jimin, I swear,” He starts, already smiling halfway into his sentence. “And I think I might have left a few scratches,”
Jimin is absently rubbing at his shoulder – Yoongi had ran his nails down the length of his bicep, harsh and so into the heat of the moment that Jimin had welcomed the sting – a spaced out look on his face.
“Wow,” Jimin says, voice a little bit quiet. “Did I hurt you?”
And Yoongi’s back may be aching a little bit, not to mention his hips, but he’s just had the daylights shagged out of him so he shakes his head, “Nah, you were perfect.”
Jimin leans into the touch, his own hand coming up to clamp down on Yoongi’s.
“I’ll miss you,” Jimin says, pulling their joined hands closer to his face. “And I won’t let some Japanese photographer seduce me,” He kisses the back of Yoongi’s hand, knuckles meeting soft lips.
Yoongi laughs, slumping against Jimin. “Fuck you won’t, or else.”
--
In the three days that Jimin is gone, Yoongi worries. He doesn’t have any appointments lined up – so fucking convenient, the one time he actually needs a distraction from worrying about Jimin and his schedule just magically clears up.
He gets texts from Jimin about the day, about the concept, about the shoot, and also about the photographer – a middle aged woman who had dragged her kid to the shoot on the first day – and Yoongi texts him about his uneventful day, about running into that one photographer, y’know, Hoseok – yeah, him, and then having coffee with him.
At night, Yoongi tries not to think about how Jimin would lie awake, tossing and turning, Yoongi not beside him to calm him down. He tries not to think about how Jimin would be pushing at his food – if he even considers eating an actual meal, doesn’t think about the two packs of cigarettes Jimin must be going through just to get by in Japan, and he certainly doesn’t think about the boy waking up in the morning and looking into the mirror to see a reflection he doesn’t smile at.
Yoongi doesn’t think about any of that but of course he fails, because when does he not worry about Jimin?
The constant texts of: “Did you eat? Please eat.”, “Hey, eat first, smoke later.”, “Sleep early, wake up early, you’ll feel good in the morning.”, and “Take care of yourself.” are probably already annoying and all too repetitive for Jimin, but Yoongi doesn’t stop sending them, anyway.
On the second night, Jimin sends him a photo of dinner – a sandwich with a side of salad. Yoongi sends him a photo of himself giving him the thumbs up.
On the morning of the third day, Jimin doesn’t send him a photo of breakfast, lunch, or dinner, and dismisses his question when Yoongi asks if he’s eaten with a, “Yeah, I had coffee and an apple.”
On the fourth day, Jimin is back, bags discarded near the door and steps light as he tries to surprise Yoongi.
But Yoongi is already awake and outside the balcony, smoking.
When Jimin comes out to join him, he turns around, arms spread wide on either side of him, a clear invitation.
They don’t say “hello” or anything like that, Jimin just folds into his hug and smiles against the side of his mouth, humming a little bit when they finally get to kissing each other.
Yoongi does tell Jimin he’s beautiful, though, and when Jimin’s face falls a little bit, Yoongi pretends that his heart isn’t aching. Instead, he kisses the small frown off of Jimin’s face and inhales his exhale, fingers twisting into Jimin’s hair.
“I missed you,” Jimin tells him later in the afternoon when they’re finally in bed. “Wish you could’ve gone with me,”
Yoongi could have – he was free for three days, but then coming along to top model Park Jimin’s overseas shoot when he’s not even the photographer or an associate to the brand will raise eyebrows, and for now it’s too hard for them to deal with. They like their quiet little love, it’s nice, and it’s completely theirs.
“Next time,” Yoongi promises, kissing the tip of Jimin’s nose. “We’ll go wherever you want.”
--
Some days are easier than most.
Yoongi can tell when it’s going to be easy: Jimin sleeps through the night, rolls out of bed, makes coffee for two, and prepares toast. He doesn’t smoke in the morning and he sings in the shower, voice loud when he demands for Yoongi to join him.
And he can also tell when it’s not, when he knows it’s going to be difficult for the both of them: Jimin tosses and turns the whole night, always fluffing his pillow up and trying to burrow closer against Yoongi and ultimately giving up when he finds that he can’t sleep at all, and in the morning he wakes up with dark circles under his eyes and his face pale. Yoongi often has to coax him out of bed with at least a hundred kisses and a promise for more if he’ll go grab breakfast with him.
Jimin has had consecutive bad days – two, three days at most – but never a bad week, so when Jimin stumbles home every night with the same tired look in his eyes, hands shaking whenever Yoongi pushes his plate towards him, Yoongi starts to worry.
It’s not until the morning after the fifth bad day that Yoongi finally finds out just what’s wrong. Jimin hadn’t mentioned anything to him at all, just brushed away Yoongi’s question with an evasive answer that could mean one thing or the other.
He finds out from Kim Seokjin.
They bump into each other just outside a bakery. Yoongi’s been stacking up on sweets in the hopes that Jimin would wake up the next day just craving for a blueberry cupcake.
Seokjin eyes the bag and then smiles a little bit wryly at Yoongi, “How are you?”
Yoongi has to sit down for that question. “Fuck, if I know,”
Seokjin rubs at his temple, lips pursed, “Is Jimin okay?”
The question comes as a surprise because, as far as Yoongi knows, Jimin has been fine on the outside, to the public. It’s only at home that he collapses into Yoongi’s arms, a frail little shell hiding the scared little boy inside of him.
“What?” Yoongi asks, voice instantly coming out sharper just at the thought of there being anything else wrong with him. “Did something happen?”
Seokjin settles into his chair, hand running through his hair. He looks a little bit uncomfortable, torn between telling Yoongi and keeping his mouth shut. After a few more beats of complete silence, he finally says, “Jimin’s shoot in Japan – I don’t think it went really well. I heard from his agent, she was really disappointed in him. Apparently, he just seemed – I don’t know, “lost” is the word she used and “not himself”, but I’m not sure, Yoongi.”
He continues, relays what the agent had told him in a hushed whisper, that the photographer wasn’t happy at all, that she’d berated Jimin, again and again, and even the staff had less than praise to share.
“I think he’s just anxious about the shoot. The magazine’s still going to use his photos, yeah, but I feel like he’s just dreading the whole thing.” Seokjin finally finishes, an unsure look on his face.
Yoongi’s hands are shaking and he’s already standing up before he knows it, words sounding detached when he tells Seokjin that he has to go.
All his texts are unanswered and his calls aren’t coming through – Yoongi is a worrier but he’s also a fighter, so he fights through the unease and fights back the urge to run all the way back to their apartment. He fights for control over his emotions – he will be calm about this, not come home rushing and demanding, his voice raised.
When he finally does get back to their apartment, the bag of cupcakes discarded on top of a counter, he realises that it’s quiet – a little bit too quiet that it starts to unnerve Yoongi.
“Jimin?” He calls, heart thumping wildly in his chest. “I’m home,”
There’s no answer, no call for him from anywhere in the room.
If Yoongi wasn’t worried before, then now he’s damn near close to panicked. He rushes to their bedroom once he’d checked that the living room was devoid of Jimin, and finds that the sheets may be a mess but the bed is unoccupied. The bathroom isn’t running and he doesn’t hear anything that might tell him that Jimin’s just somewhere hiding.
Wind blows coldly through the open sliding door to the balcony, and Yoongi finally sighs.
Jimin is curled on one of the chairs outside, loosely hugging a pillow he’d dragged out from their room.
Yoongi wakes him up with a hand pressed against his forehead, fingers carding through his hair, and then a quick kiss on either side of his cheeks.
“Jimin,” Yoongi says, giving him a little shake. “Wake up, you’re gonna catch a cold out here,”
At the sound of his name, Jimin stirs, eyes slowly fluttering open. His smile is slow and sweet when he registers that Yoongi’s finally back from afternoon errands.
“Welcome home,” Jimin greets, hand reaching out to grab for Yoongi’s. “Did you get me anything?”
Yoongi wishes he could buy Jimin exactly what he needs, but drug stores don’t sell reassurance and self-confidence in a bottle.
“I got you muffins,” Yoongi says, trying for a smile. It ends up a little bit shaky and not quite reaching his eyes. “Hey, we need to talk,”
He manages to drag Jimin out of the balcony and back into their room. Jimin slides under the covers immediately, head the only thing visible from under the thick blankets and large, puffy pillows.
Yoongi doesn’t hesitate at all when he says that he’s heard from Seokjin. He holds Jimin’s hand the whole time he talks, tells him that he’s beautiful, of course he is, and that these are just bad days, not a bad life. He tells him that the spread will be out of this world, that he’ll find an increase in his growing fanbase because he’s just so, so good.
Finally, Yoongi tells him, lips pressed into the back of Jimin’s hand, that he loves him, and that there’s nothing that could make him happier than for Jimin to be happy, too.
The words aren’t foreign or new on his tongue, they’re familiar and words that he’s repeated, over and over again, and words that he will repeat, over and over again, until Jimin finally starts to believe him.
“You smashed that photoshoot, I wasn’t there but I already know, Jimin,” Yoongi continues, his hold around Jimin’s hand tightening.
Jimin hasn’t said anything at all, has just looked at him with wide eyes and a flushed face.
“And you really don’t need rude photographers to tell you otherwise, because I’m a photographer, and a pretty awesome one at that, and I can tell you right now that you’re a work of art,” Yoongi smiles a little bit now, his attempt at coaxing Jimin out of his little shell a success.
Jimin crawls out from under the blankets, an unsure look on his face when he pulls Yoongi closer towards him.
“You’re so beautiful, baby, and I don’t know why you don’t see it,” Yoongi has managed to pull Jimin on top of him, Jimin now straddling him, so red in the face and his lips twitching. “So, so beautiful,” Yoongi repeats, hands running down Jimin’s sides.
“Why don’t you see it?” Yoongi’s never asked Jimin that question because he understands – he knows the poisonous environment they both chose to work in, knows that behind all the expensive brands and confident cat walks are bones that won’t stop rattling.
Jimin cups Yoongi’s cheeks, hands on either side of his face, and when he blinks, Yoongi notices that his eyes are glistening. Jimin blinks again and the first tear runs down his cheek.
“Don’t you get tired?” Jimin asks him, his thumbs tracing small circles on the sides of Yoongi’s face. “Of saying that all the time? Don’t you get tired of me?”
It’s the most absurd question Yoongi’s ever heard because it’s absolutely impossible to get tired at pointing out the most obvious thing ever – that Jimin’s beautiful, really. And to actually tire of him? Fat fucking chance.
Yoongi pushes himself to sit up, careful not to knock Jimin off of him when he does so. His hands wind around Jimin’s waist, a loose hold around him.
“No,” Yoongi says, voice fierce, and his hold around Jimin tightening. “I would never, Jimin.”
And suddenly Jimin’s tears are falling even harder, his vision blurring. Yoongi holds him through it, Jimin safe in his arms and his tears soaking the front of Yoongi’s shirt.
All throughout, Yoongi whispers that he loves him and that he’s beautiful, flaws and all, again and again, until it’s late at night and Jimin finally calms down enough to fall asleep, nose red and hiccupping slightly.
Yoongi will never tire of it – he’s pretty fucking sure he could do it every day for the rest of his life, if that’s what Jimin wants.
--
The next morning, Yoongi wakes up to the smell of toast and bacon. Jimin is already awake, his side of the bed empty. Yoongi pads out of the room to find Jimin pouring coffee into two mugs, tongue peeking out of his mouth in concentration.
“What’s this?” Before he pulls on a seat, he kisses Jimin softly on the cheek, smiling at him.
Jimin’s eyes are still a little puffy, his nose red, but other than that he looks fine, if his bright smile is any indication.
“Breakfast,” Jimin sets a plate of toast in front of Yoongi and hands him his cup of coffee, slipping into the seat right across from him. “I was hungry,”
He mumbles the last word, his cheeks colouring slightly. Yoongi only laughs and breaks off a piece of toast.
This is a good start for a great day for the both of them.
--
Yoongi gets a call from DKNY on a Wednesday afternoon asking if they could get him again but this time it’s for their fall fashion show. He doesn’t give them an answer immediately because he’s booked for three other fashion shows in the same week – it’s a taxing job and he appreciates that his talents are recognised, but with his current schedule, he’s not too sure if he can take on another job.
Years practising this profession has made Yoongi a little bit wiser when it came to picking up jobs, especially now that he can actually choose which ones to do. He’s flattered, of course, but everybody knows that fashion week is just a nice term for hell on earth.
That night, Jimin comes home with a grin, announcing that his agent had just called him to say that he’d be opening for DKNY. Yoongi basks in his happiness, catches him in a hug when Jimin runs the short distance from the doorway to the kitchen.
Yoongi manages to lift Jimin up slightly off the floor, arms so tight around him he’s afraid that he might crush the boy, but Jimin holds him just as tightly, his laugh muffled when he finally kisses Yoongi.
“You’ll be perfect,” Yoongi tells him, fingers now in Jimin’s hair, tugging his face closer, closers, until they’re barely a breath apart. “Absolutely fucking perfect, Jimin,”
Jimin is up against the wall, one leg wrapped around Yoongi to keep him close, hold him steady.
They fuck against the wall with the lights off, and when Yoongi tells him he’s beautiful, Jimin buries the word with a deep kiss, stealing the breath right out of Yoongi.
--
To say that the days leading up to fall fashion week are the worst he’s seen Jimin is a clear understatement. Yoongi has been busy with photo shoots of his own, some of them halfway across the country, so far away that he ends up leaving for two days, Jimin constantly assuring him that he’s fine, that the house still hasn’t crumbled.
The truth is, Jimin isn’t fine. One month before fashion week and he’d dropped everything again, exercising more than usual, eating even less, and smoking so much that Yoongi actually asks him to stop. Yoongi, who goes through a pack maybe half as quickly as Jimin asking him to stop because it’s too much already, Jimin’s fingers are trembling and his lips are so dry that when Yoongi kisses him, he doesn’t feel the usual warmth and softness.
Jimin has become a shell, one Yoongi barely notices.
But his boy is in there somewhere, huddled in a corner and scared, hiding behind two packs of cigarettes that’s gone after day, behind half-eaten fruits and crackers, behind an insane amount of coffee, and a harsh starvation diet he dubs, with as much of a smile he can manage given his current state, as water therapy.
Two weeks before fashion week and Jimin is terrible, can’t even get any sleep. Yoongi stays up with him on most nights, holds him if he wants to be held, and doesn’t when Jimin scoots a little farther away from him, practically hanging off the edge of the bed.
The breakfasts he prepares before work is still on the plate untouched when he comes home. Dinner goes cold all the time because apparently, Jimin had already eaten with Jeongguk before he came home – and Yoongi doesn’t buy it because he’s seen from Jeongguk’s social media account that the boy’s doing a photoshoot in Australia.
One week before fashion week and the only thing Yoongi had managed to force on Jimin is a full plate of noodles that Jimin, smile weak and eyes devoid of their shine, eats slowly. When Yoongi goes out just before bed to smoke, he hears the water in the bathroom running and then the flush of a toilet.
He throws the cigarette over the balcony and when he flings the door to the bathroom open, too much force in it that the door swings harshly back into the wall, he finds Jimin hunched over the sink, his hair sticking to his face and his cheeks wet.
Yoongi is angry but he’s also defeated, too, so he pushes his anger away for the moment to pull Jimin against him, his arms a cage to keep the bright, beautiful angel boy safe from the cruel world.
“Jimin, why do you do this?” Yoongi whispers, his voice breaking. He doesn’t know when he’d started to cry, too, because all he knows right now is Jimin crying into his shoulder, fingers clasped so tightly into his shirt that Yoongi’s sure it’s going to end up ripping soon.
He only knows the sound of Jimin sobbing, his body shaking from fear, shame, and insecurity – all of the things that Yoongi wants to protect him from, all of the things that he shouldn’t be feeling because he’s so much more than his flaws, so much more than all the superficial expectations thrusts onto him.
He’s Park Jimin and Yoongi will sooner run into a speeding train than let a day pass without him saying just how important he is, just how much he really means.
Jimin doesn’t hear any of his words, and although he’s stopped crying, he’s still sobbing, an uncontrollable shaking mess in Yoongi’s arms.
And Yoongi’s heart breaks for him, his whole world shattering with every strangled sob that escapes from Jimin. He doesn’t say anything to him other than the long, endless stream of “I love you” that he will, most definitely, never tire of saying, and Jimin trembles in his hold, eyes shut tight and fingers cold.
Just before Yoongi closes his eyes, sleep pulling him under, he hears a soft, distant whisper, Jimin’s silent cry for help reaching even the smallest cracks in Yoongi’s bones.
--
Five days before fashion week, before the DKNY fashion show, and Yoongi starts to think that Jimin is better, that he’s in a much better place than he was just a week ago. He’s smiling a little bit now, his eyes regaining their characteristic twinkle.
Four days before fashion week, Yoongi is practically dragged into their room, Jimin pouncing on him the second he’d walked through the door.
Jimin sits on top of him, a smile on his face and his cheeks flushed. The lamp on their bedside table is on and Yoongi breathes in deeply, lets it out as a sigh of relief when Jimin shrugs out of his shirt and pulls Yoongi’s off right after.
The sole lamp in their room is on and their positions are reversed now, and Jimin looks absolutely beautiful spread underneath him, mouth glistening and wet, his eyes burning with a fire that Yoongi hasn’t felt in a while already.
When his hands start to pull at Jimin’s boxers, the boy squirms from under him, teeth worrying down on his bottom lip. Yoongi doesn’t notice, his hands already busy around Jimin, tongue licking his lips to give it more moisture. He ducks down and takes Jimin into his mouth, hears the boy moan deeply, Jimin’s fingers twisting in his hair.
He tugs a little harshly on Yoongi’s hair but Yoongi doesn’t mind, not when the lights are on and Jimin is finally burning, the flame inside of him reignited.
And just as he hallows his cheeks, tongue tracing a small circle around Jimin’s cock, he hears something crash from beside him that’s quickly followed by the room going dark.
“The lamp,” Jimin manages to say in between pants, “Sorry, I was trying to turn it off – and it – ah, fell – “
Well, at least the lights are off and Jimin can’t properly make out the expression on his face, because the look on Yoongi’s face is defeated, yet again.
But they don’t stop because Yoongi will indulge Jimin in everything, will always spoil the boy rotten. They make love with the lights off, the lamp broken on the floor, and Yoongi tells Jimin he’s beautiful, the word whispered straight into his ear, teeth grazing down Jimin’s jaw as he pushes himself further inside, his hands braced on either side of Jimin’s waist, fingers digging in none too gently into his skin.
Jimin doesn’t hear any of it, but he does breathe out a strangled, “I love you,” right before he comes, and for tonight that will be enough.
--
Three days before fashion week and Yoongi is busy with a photoshoot, this time with an up and coming model named Kim Taehyung. He calls for a quick break for a retouch on Taehyung’s makeup and also to answer a call, Kim Seokjin’s name flashing on the screen.
“Yoongi, where are you? I have bad news,” Seokjin says, words spilling so quickly out of his mouth that Yoongi struggles to make sense of them.
There’s a cold, empty feeling in his gut now the longer he waits for Seokjin to reclaim his normally usual calm demeanour, grip on the phone so tight that his fingers turn white.
“I’m at the hospital right now with Jimin,” Seokjin finishes, out of breath and voice shaking.
Yoongi would’ve dropped his phone from the shock already if not for the fact that he needs details, fucking details – “What the fuck happened?”
And while his phone is still tight in his grip, his heart is somewhere on the floor, a broken, beaten mess at the thought of Jimin passed out in a hospital bed and so, so pale, Yoongi, I was so freaked out, and nobody knew what to do, so we called for an ambulance and – Yoongi, calm down, please breathe, fuck, Yoongi, not you, too.
Yoongi tries not to fall apart but he doesn't quite succeed at it.