Chapter Text
Yoongi hates the cold. If it weren’t for the warmth of Seokjin’s apartment, the promise of a beer, and the sight of Jimin, Yoongi would protest leaving his bed a lot more than he does. He’s settled on Seokjin’s sofa, he has an ice-cold beer in his grasp, but there's someone missing from the group, and arguably, the only person that Yoongi’s eyes seek to find.
Yoongi has a crush, and it’d be obvious to everyone who knows him if he didn’t stray as far from Jimin as possible when they’re all together. He’s beautiful, the kind of pretty that haunts Yoongi in his dreams, and yet, it’s as if Yoongi can’t get enough of him, leaving him a little on edge as to why Jimin is still yet to arrive. It isn’t as if he really talks to Jimin, either. He’s much too shy to even try to ask Jimin much more than surface-level questions, those awkward conversations when they find themselves in the kitchen, but Yoongi’s gaze can’t help but stray, and his hands seek to graze Jimin in any way that they can.
He doesn’t flirt, not properly at least; instead, Yoongi notices every detail of Jimin, as if it’s the only chance he’ll ever get.
But Yoongi’s thoughts are short-lived, and now, as Seokjin slumps down beside him, he turns to Taehyung. “Where’s Jimin-ah?” Seokjin asks, knowing that if Taehyung doesn’t know, then Jeongguk surely will.
Taehyung is the one to shrug, leaning forward to twist the lid of a soju bottle, and pour it into a shotglass. “His placement, I think.”
“He said he’d be late, he’s still at the hospital.” Jeongguk interjects, stepping into the room. Yoongi doesn’t miss how he lingers beside Namjoon, nor does he miss the bashful smile that Jeongguk gives him. Still, it’s hard to think of much more than Jimin, Yoongi finds, leaving his heart a little fluttery in anticipation for his arrival.
“You’re quiet, Yoongi-yah, you okay?” Seokjin’s voice cuts through that haze once more, one where Jimin’s smile imprints into Yoongi’s mind, where his laughter appears as gilded bells in Yoongi’s ears, and somehow, a golden gleam tints Jimin’s skin.
He isn’t an angel, but to Yoongi, he might as well be.
Jimin hasn’t always been in Yoongi’s circle, and maybe it’s why Yoongi feels so drawn to him. There, one day with a shy smile, he stood between Taehyung and Jeongguk, having met them in the first year of their studies. He shares classes with them both, and avoids Yoongi’s own by one year his junior, something that, rather silently, Yoongi is grateful for, knowing that he’d never be able to do anything other than look at the pretty medical student.
Yoongi doesn’t realise he hasn’t replied to Seokjin, whose eyes lie expectant, waiting for a response. It follows a little sheepishly: a nod and a barely-there “I’m fine”, just to get Seokjin off his back. But Yoongi is far from fine; in fact, his mouth feels so dry that each sip of beer only amplifies it. All until the door opens, and Yoongi’s heart catches right in his throat.
Taehyung is the first to stand, taking an unopened bottle of beer by the neck. Jeongguk follows, then Seokjin, and soon, Jimin steps towards the sofa, his eyes ink-stained and his smile tired. But to Yoongi, nothing could ever be more beautiful.
“I’m sorry, we had to hand in our notes at the end and then—” Jimin begins, his voice velveteen to Yoongi’s ears. He halts, though, as Seokjin shakes his head and shuffles over, leaving enough space between him and Yoongi for Jimin to sit.
“Don’t be, we’re glad you made it. The game has just barely started, anyway.” Seokjin smiles, and Yoongi realises he hadn’t actually noticed it had begun; instead, his mind wandered to Jimin’s lips and Jimin’s waist.
“You can sit, if you want.” Yoongi manages. It’s a bit too quick, rolling off his tongue before he even realises it falls, but in that shy, gentle way, Jimin smiles.
“I’ll be quick, can— can I just get dressed out of these?” Jimin asks now, and in place of Seokjin, rather stupidly, he thinks, Yoongi nods.
Luckily, no eyes turn to Yoongi; they fall on Seokjin’s own approval, leaving Jimin placing the unopened bottle of beer on the table right beside Yoongi’s own, before he turns to the bathroom. Yoongi doesn’t know how much time passes between Jimin in his maroon-stained scrubs and returning in an oversized t-shirt and grey sweatpants, but his thoughts cloud with nothing but Jimin, and how, even in those worn-in scrubs, he looks divine.
Jimin’s hair is wind-tousled, the final breaths of winter still bearing their chill. His cheeks are a little rosy, perhaps from the newfound warmth of the electric fireplace beneath Seokjin’s TV, or from being late, all eyes against him. Yoongi sees Jimin, even when he doesn’t want to be noticed. Yoongi sees the freckles against Jimin’s cheeks, those that smatter on his nose, and the slight sheen of peach lip oil that is always smeared against plump lips. Yoongi also sees that now, as Jimin sits beside him, his arms dimple in a shiver. Jimin’s eyes are tired, he yawns between sips of the bottle of beer, and as his head begins to slump in Yoongi’s direction, Yoongi finds it a little harder to breathe.
It’s safe to say that the game is largely unwatched, and Yoongi finds himself counting Jimin’s breaths, instead. His own breaths manage to stall in his throat, stammered and faint, and every time Jimin apologises, dipping that bit closer to Yoongi’s shoulder, Yoongi wonders how much longer he can last. That is, until Jimin stands, excusing himself to the kitchen for another bottle of soju to share, leaving Yoongi finding any excuse to follow him.
He doesn’t know why he joins Jimin, but his beer is empty and it seems reason enough, Yoongi decides. Maybe, it’s just that he wants to spend time with Jimin, to hear about his day, to get that little bit more insight into Jimin’s life. They’re friends, but there’s an unspoken distance between them, one that feels heavier than either can quite say.
Yoongi hopes that Jimin, too, has a crush on him. But all he needs to do is notice how Jimin’s cheeks redden for him alone, then, he’d have his answer.
“Want another beer?” Yoongi asks Namjoon before he leaves the living room, noticing his beer, too, is empty after a quick scan of their bottles. Namjoon smiles, a soft “thank you” on his tongue, all as his gaze never strays from the game. Maybe Yoongi’s should follow; instead, his heart takes him to Jimin.
“Are you warm enough?” Yoongi blurts out, leaning down into the open fridge. It shouldn’t fall like that, but it does, and leaves Yoongi’s cheeks ablaze. “I mean— I can lend you my hoodie,” he begins to take it off now, without Jimin even responding. “You look cold,” Yoongi adds, as if it’ll somehow redeem him.
But Jimin simply smiles, shy and sweet, divine and breathtaking to Yoongi’s eyes. He giggles, and then, placing a bottle of peach-flavoured soju on the kitchen bench, his eyes flit to Yoongi’s in that warm, delicate sort of way.
“But you’re wearing it, hyung.” Jimin doesn’t stop smiling; in fact, Yoongi swears it only grows.
“I’m warm, it’s okay. You can have it, seriously.” Yoongi shrugs it over his shoulders, leaving him in a long-sleeved shirt. “I insist.” And somehow, Yoongi sees that Jimin can’t refute it, taking it with a soft laugh.
“Thank you, hyung.” Now, Jimin’s smile turns more shy, and his cheeks bloom a sweet sort of rose that Yoongi can only think is from the newfound warmth that engulfs Jimin.
Yoongi’s hoodie is large, fitting his broad shoulders, yet it seems to leave Jimin looking a little smaller. They’re the same height, maybe a centimetre in it if they ever quabbled, but Jimin’s body is more lithe in that soft, yet toned way, compared to Yoongi’s, built on gym sessions and training drills. Yoongi aches to know how it feels to hold Jimin, and if his arms would wrap around him like he hopes they would. He also wonders if Jimin would tuck himself against his chest and let Yoongi run his fingers through that sandy blond hair.
“Hyung?” Jimin asks, his head tilting just slightly as he pouts.
Shit, Yoongi thinks.
“Sorry, I’m—”
Jimin laughs, gilded and warm, never chastising. “You look tired, hyung. I was just asking if you’ll be playing this weekend.” Jimin pauses, tugging the hood over his head, leaving soft tufts of hair to frame his face. Yoongi tries not to think about how angelic it makes him look. “I like seeing you play. You’re really good— I mean… you’re our ace for a reason, right?”
But how can Yoongi say that seeing Jimin in the stands spurs him on to win? And that every time Yoongi meets Jimin’s gaze, it settles a fire in his chest to secure that victory, so that Jimin can be proud?
“Yeah, I’m— I’m playing,” Yoongi stumbles over his words, drunk off the praise that falls from Jimin’s tongue. He always does, every weekend he plays on the court, but when Jimin’s eyes are filled with such hope, Yoongi doesn’t have the heart to let it fade. “Are you coming?”
Now, Yoongi sees it— how Jimin’s gaze falls on him alone. Jimin’s smile is shy, his cheeks are pink, and suddenly, Yoongi wonders if his crush isn’t that one-sided after all.
Jimin nods, then, “I’ll come— I’ll be sure to be there.” And Yoongi finds himself falling that little harder. “Thank you for your hoodie, hyung. I don’t do well in the cold.” Jimin’s voice draws faint, and Yoongi knows, he’s seen how Jimin tucks himself beneath the closest blanket when rain pelts at window panes, and how he shivers, even now.
“Just ask, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi’s voice is soft, a gentle croon that seems to draw Jimin deeper, commanding him and leaving him to nod. “You can always ask, yeah? I’ve always got one, so if you’re cold, come and get me.” And somehow, Yoongi sees that Jimin understands that these words lie a little deeper than they should; that Yoongi wants Jimin to come and find him, to warm his body and his heart.
“I will, thank you, hyung. We— we should get back to the game. Are we winning? I didn’t get to see…” Jimin trails off, his cheeks red and eyes shy, and Yoongi sees the flicker of a little smile tugging at his lips. So, Yoongi trails his gaze to them and watches as Jimin’s flush blooms.
“Just about, we’ll see if it lasts,” then, Yoongi steps closer, holding out his hand. It’s a bold move, one that leaves those fluttery nerves to constrict his chest, but as Jimin lets his fingers sit in Yoongi’s palm, Yoongi clasps around them. “Shit, Jimin-ah, you’re freezing. I’ll find you a blanket.”
What Yoongi wishes is to hold Jimin until he gets warm, until his eyes fall heavy and his breath follows. But he doesn’t; instead, with his hand now feathering against Jimin’s spine, they turn back to the game, and what strewn blanket Hoseok uses as a flag finds its way draped over Jimin’s lap.
“Thank you,” Jimin whispers, stifling a yawn.
Silence dawns once again, but those fleeting moments, those tender touches and shy smiles imprint on Yoongi’s mind to say that this is right. It’s softer than just friendship, the kind of warmth only bound by something a little sweeter, and so, as Jimin’s head slumps once more, Yoongi shuffles just enough for Jimin’s cheek to rest on his shoulder.
Yoongi hopes Jimin doesn’t hear the distinct thump of his heart, and how his eyes trace the sleep-hazed lines of Jimin’s face. Yoongi also hopes that the cheers of each score never wake Jimin, and that as the night draws colder, Yoongi hopes that Jimin feels how he tugs up the blanket every time it slips.
Luckily, no one sees, and luckily, Yoongi manages to shield Jimin long enough to sneak quick glances. Like this, Yoongi thinks, there could be no one sweeter, and as Jimin finally jolts back awake, the way his eyes round in a sleep-laden smile, all shy and warm and breathtaking, Yoongi wonders how he could’ve ever believed he would never fall for him.
“Sorry, I—” Jimin whispers, running a hand through his hair to fluff it up. His lips are slightly pouted, his skin is sleep warm, and for a breath, Yoongi almost loses the fight of not reaching over and holding him. Somehow, by some miracle or sheer luck, Yoongi doesn’t. He aches to, though.
Yoongi knows Jimin studies too hard, it’s a running tease in their circle, laced with deep concern. But to Yoongi, it hurts a little bit seeing Jimin so tired, those sleepless nights and early mornings, research and assignments mounting much quicker than he can get through them. But Jimin doesn’t miss a single game, even with paling skin and grey cast under his eyes. So, if he can be the anchor for Jimin to spend thirty minutes against in slumber, he’d gladly; in fact, he’d volunteer every time Jimin needed to rest.
“Don’t be,” Yoongi says now, glancing at the TV. He knows if he turned to see Jimin, his eyes would trail right to his lips. “There’s still another quarter left. We’re thrashing them.” Yoongi smiles, and misses just how Jimin’s eyes round in fondness as he watches Yoongi. “I mean—” Yoongi pauses now, clearing his throat.
He knows that Jimin still doesn’t grasp the game, enjoying spending time with them more than watching what plays on the screen. And maybe, it’s why Yoongi falls for Jimin so easily; the fact that, despite it all, he still chooses to support them each week, not for the love of the game, or to see the ace dominate the court.
It’s to cheer on his friends.
And Yoongi wonders if it’s selfish to believe that, deep down, Jimin is there, cheering him on.
“I’ll try and stay awake, I need to get the train home anyway.” Jimin smiles, soft and warm. “Thank you for the hoodie, though. It’s your training one, yeah? I should join the team just to get one of these, it’s the comfiest one I’ve ever worn.”
“Keep it for a bit, then,” and Yoongi doesn’t know why it falls, or why it comes so hastily, but it leaves him stumbling over his words to explain himself, hoping that he hasn’t overstepped. “I mean, if it’s that comfortable, just give it back whenever.” But there’s a growing, flickering feeling in Yoongi’s chest to say that, in some strange way, the thought of Jimin wearing his hoodie makes him feel giddy; Jimin finds comfort shrouded in Yoongi’s cologne and the piece of clothing that always hugs his body. It’s the hoodie he puts on once showered after practice, when the library’s heater stops working, or when the mornings are far too early to drive to training. Now, Yoongi sees how it fits Jimin that bit better, loose and oversized, but serving its purpose much more than it ever could to Yoongi.
In some strange way, it’s the very thing that tethers Jimin to him.
Yoongi doesn’t miss how Jimin’s smile turns more shy, a soft giggle on his tongue as he pulls the neckline up to his chin. “Is that okay? I’ll wash it and give it back as soon as I can.”
“Yeah, it’s fine! Don’t rush.” Yoongi’s words are too loud, too quick and expose his heart much too openly. “I don’t need it, that’s what I mean. Not at the moment, anyway.” Yoongi sighs, but Jimin’s eyes never waver; in fact, they soften. “Sorry.”
Jimin’s brows furrow, as if to ask “why?”. But he doesn’t let it spill from his tongue; instead, he hums through a sweet smile, and reaches for a sip of beer.
The thing is, Yoongi knows Jimin will wear it home, then put it in the wash to dry overnight. He knows that tonight, Jimin will still be awake, his nose buried between the pages of a textbook, whilst the sound of the dryer spells its end. And Yoongi doesn’t want that, he wants this small piece of himself with Jimin for far longer than just one night. He knows how it sounds, part of him wonders how he could be so careless in how his heart has fallen like this, but the other part, the much larger part, wants to call Jimin his own; to love and hold him, to make him laugh and to kiss him.
Yoongi doesn’t know that he’s staring, watching Jimin’s lips round against the bottle of beer, his tongue leaving a sheen in its wake. But Jimin does, and rather softly, a “hyung?” falls with a shy gaze.
However, Yoongi notices that Jimin doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t sink into the sofa cushion, or make an excuse to stand. Jimin giggles, a delicate timbre that Yoongi just barely hears against the backdrop of cheers. Yoongi’s own cheers are weak, strained and disinterested, for he’s shy in the face of the one who holds his heart, and it seems, as Jimin leans a little closer, his eyes now on the screen, Jimin falls just as easily as Yoongi does.
As the national team wins, Yoongi stands, careful not to hug Jimin, who raises his half-drunk beer to toast. Yoongi wants to hold Jimin; he aches to, but they’re not quite there yet. Soon enough, though, as the day dims and the night bleeds darkness, Jimin is the first to stand to leave. He still wears Yoongi’s hoodie, drawing it up over his head, and tucking his hands in his pocket.
Then, with his eyes on Yoongi, Jimin smiles. “I’ll see you at the game, yeah? And thanks again, hyung, I’ll get it washed when I can.”
Yoongi finds himself shaking his head, lost in Jimin’s gaze. It’s sweet, warm and glimmers beneath the strewn light cast by amber floorlamps. “There’s no rush,” now, Yoongi scratches the back of his neck. “Get home safe, Jimin-ah. I…” Yoongi pauses, his voice drawing faint, “I’ll look forward to Saturday. I’ll look for you— I—” Yoongi realises how it sounds, but it’s hard not to let the words fall from his tongue so hastily, and if Jimin didn’t laugh in that soft, shy way, Yoongi would beg for the floor to swallow him whole.
“I’ll be cheering you on: Min Yoongi! Min Yoongi!” Jimin quietly chants, waving a balled fist by his shoulder. “Thank you for tonight, hyung,” Jimin’s attention flits to Seokjin, however fleetingly, who now finds himself swept up in a video game alongside Taehyung. So, he turns back to Yoongi, that smile never waning. “I’ll— I’ll see you soon.”
Yoongi never hears the others’ goodbyes; instead, Yoongi sees how Jimin’s eyes never stray from his own.
“Get home safe, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi says again, this time, he hopes Jimin realises just how much he means it. “And get some rest, don’t work too hard tonight. You look exhausted.”
All Jimin can do is laugh, a sweet, delicate thing, born from shyness and the fondness that he seems to hold. Yoongi could never know how Jimin’s own heart flutters, and how it stops words from their fall. But somehow, Yoongi knows there’s something there, something that binds them together.
Yoongi keeps this with him all throughout the journey home, when the crimson traffic lights halt his steps, and when his mind can’t stop racing to let him sleep. There, he thinks of Jimin; of kind eyes and the sweetest smile, warm laughter, and that very ache to hold Jimin returns.
—
The library is quiet at this hour, the moon begins to rise now that the sun has set, and despite the newfound warmth lingering in the air as winter wanes, Jimin still feels a bit cold. Maybe it’s from sleepless nights; his clinical placements drain him, just as his assignments seem to mount. Or maybe, and perhaps more importantly, it’s Yoongi. Jimin doesn’t seem to get any respite from Yoongi, not from his face or his voice, how it plasters itself in Jimin’s mind whenever he closes his eyes. Jimin should find it annoying; sometimes, he does. But above all, he seems to chase it, wondering why his heart flutters so intensely when Yoongi is close, and why a knot gets caught in his throat whenever Yoongi’s touch lingers on his skin. Surely, Jimin thinks, that Yoongi could never be interested in him, a medical student, quiet and unassuming. Yoongi is the ace of the court, the one whom everyone has eyes for and cheers that bit louder for when he scores, but somehow, Yoongi’s gaze always finds Jimin in the crowd, and Jimin tries not to think about how it makes him feel.
Jimin has papers sprawled on the table before him. Anatomy, radiology, it’s all a bit of a blur, now. The practical this morning went well, and he knows he’s learning what he needs to, yet with Yoongi on his mind, he finds he has little room for anything else. So, Jimin sighs, taking a sip of his milk tea. It’s weak enough for the caffeine to wane, but sugary enough for the night to pass without too much strain. He’s long learned that caffeine leaves him jittery; instead, he always reaches for that sugar rush. There, the thoughts of Yoongi resurface, and maybe if he feels as warm as he looks. If his hugs could be strong, if his kisses are gentle or demanding, and suddenly, Jimin finds himself spiralling much quicker than he ever thought. He has stopped mid-sentence, his notes don’t make much sense despite his eyes tracing each word again and again. All he can think about is Yoongi; his smile and his eyes, how he plays with confidence, captivating Jimin, even if he couldn’t name a single position in basketball. Jimin tries, and his friends never laugh at him for not knowing and stumbling over the names of each technique; they’re all just happy he’s found a place amongst them. But part of Jimin wants to try, not for them, but for Yoongi.
Jimin doesn’t expect Yoongi to be standing beside him at a large bookshelf; all of those thoughts mask just how close Yoongi is in reality. He must’ve appeared at some point between thinking about his lips or his hands, Jimin thinks, leaving him to blush. It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to notice him, smiling shyly before a moment of hesitation, before he gives up on finding a textbook, and steps closer to sit on the adjacent chair to Jimin.
Jimin tries to ignore how his heart quickens, hoping it’s from the sugar. It isn’t, he knows, especially not when Yoongi looks at him like that.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Yoongi begins. His voice is hushed, that quiet, yet commanding tone that Jimin finds himself seeking. Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t take his gaze off Jimin, watching how his lips begin to round in a breathy smile, how his eyes glimmer beneath the fluorescent lights of the library, just like what stars begin to peek through the darkness outside. “I’ve just finished training, so I thought I should actually make use of the library before it closes. You know, I should probably study at some point in my degree.”
Jimin laughs a little, gilded to Yoongi’s ears. “I’ve been trying to catch up, I’m a bit behind with my lectures and haven’t really understood some concepts. It’s not been going very well.” Jimin pauses, his eyes cast to his notes now. “Did you find the book you were after over there? I can help you, if you’d like.” Yoongi finds himself lost in Jimin’s eyes, Jimin’s smile shier, his heart thumping right in his ears, and Yoongi would never admit the fact that he, too, feels the same.
Yoongi manages to shake his head, quickly glancing at the table where the very book sits. It’s unopened, stuck under a pile of anatomy and biostatistics books. “I think it’s that one, actually.” Yoongi gingerly points to it, leaving Jimin almost scrambling to hand it to him with reddened cheeks.
“You can use it!” Jimin says, breathless. “I took it out on a loan just now, but you’re more than welcome to use it if you need! I— I didn’t think it’d be used, so…”
Part of Yoongi wants to laugh, to assure Jimin that it’s fine. The other part of him wants to kiss Jimin until he can’t think of anything else than the shape of his lips. He decides on the former, softly smiling as he takes the book from Jimin’s grasp with a small “thank you”.
“I don’t know how you make it look so easy to play, it’s like you’re born for the courts… it’s amazing, really.” Now, Jimin whispers. It’s faint, strained from shyness, and it leaves Yoongi to fall that little harder for him. In truth, he always has, right from when he first met Jimin, when he first saw his smile, heard how sweet his laugh was. It’s easy, Yoongi thinks, and it only gets easier. “Are you still playing on Saturday?” Jimin asks, taking a sip of his milk tea. The cup is wet, leaving his fingers sheened before he wipes his hands on his sweatpants, and Yoongi can’t help how he notices every detail.
Yoongi nods, a small hum as he opens the textbook, hoping that somehow, it’ll distract him enough not to get lost in Jimin’s eyes again. Jimin fares no better; he tries to count every boba ball at the bottom of the cup, giving up when he’s sure he’s counted the slightly squared one five times already.
“And you’ll be there, yeah? You said you would, and I want to see you cheering in the stands.” Yoongi passes it off as a joke, a little tease that they can both laugh off. But he means it, there’s no better feeling than seeing Jimin standing up in the crowd, cheering on every single time he shoots. Jimin smiles, a soft giggle as his eyes round and for a moment, maybe time stills, neither really quite knows when their breaths, too, halt, but Yoongi’s leaning over, his hand around Jimin’s cup, before he clicks his tongue.
“Milk tea, got it.” Yoongi then says, and Jimin’s eyes widen, confusion etched on his face. It’s sweet because Yoongi can’t help but laugh. “You don’t like coffee. I’ve never seen you drink it. If I’m passing through after training and you need a pick-me-up, text me and I’ll stop by and get you one.”
Suddenly, Jimin feels a bit faint. Or rather, his heart beats so quickly that he isn’t sure if it’s just Yoongi. It is, the rational part of his brain knows, and as Yoongi clears his throat, Jimin finds his way crashing back down to Earth.
“You don’t have to, but thank you, hyung,” is all that Jimin can manage, hoping that his words don’t sound strained, fighting the unwavering knot in his throat. Yoongi doesn’t seem deterred; in fact, his eyes crinkle a bit more as his smile grows wider.
Then, “Jungkook tells me you’re always here,” Yoongi says, and Jimin realises that there’s no use fighting it, his mind has been occupied with Yoongi all day. So, he closes his laptop and props up his chin on entwined fingers, leaning over the table right before Yoongi. “You’re amazing— I mean, I couldn’t have the workload that you do. I don’t know how you do it; your placements, working so hard, yet you always find time for us. I don’t think you’ve missed a single game this season.”
“I am always late, though,” Jimin laughs now, missing how Yoongi swallows thickly in response. “Taehyung always tells me I am, at least. The train is always delayed and the roads are always busy; I can’t win either way. Besides,” Jimin pauses and points to the dark stains beneath his eyes, what Yoongi has tried not to focus too much on, but his gaze finds its way drawn downwards, leaving a sort of sinking feeling pooling in his chest. “I get told I should try and sleep more, but it’s hard.” Jimin shrugs, and Yoongi can see how thickly exhaustion lies on his skin. “Still, I’ll be there on Saturday,” a wink follows, a tease that leaves Yoongi blushing, and Jimin wondering if he’s stepped too far.
They’re close, part of the same solid friend group formed right when they first began university. It had started with Yoongi and Namjoon, Seokjin and Hoseok quickly joining, and then Jungkook. Taehyung followed, and Jimin was the final piece of their firm, slightly chaotic and equally as sweet, puzzle. But things have always felt strange between Yoongi and Jimin; stolen glances and touches leaving goosepimpled skin, and suddenly their friendship seemed a little more distant, and a little deeper all the same. Suddenly, it felt as if there was a completely different tie between them, one that no one else seems to hold.
“You’re doing imaging, yeah?” Yoongi then asks, trying to hide just how Jimin’s wink leaves him to melt. Yoongi’s voice wavers, his mouth is dry, and somehow, he feels a bit dizzy as Jimin nods. “Then— then can you help me with this? It’s to do with the brain, neuropsychology, I think. None of it’s making sense.”
Jimin’s eyes are warm, and he leans over, spinning the book around before he opens at the right page. “Do you have your notes?” Jimin asks, leaving Yoongi to quickly dig in his backpack for them, drawing out a spiral-bound book, neatly annotated and tabbed. “Tell me where you’re stuck, it’ll help me remember, too.” And as Jimin smiles, his eyes meeting Yoongi’s own, both find themselves swept up in their own little world. The hushed voices around them, music too loud through headphones, and librarians laughing with professors, none of that matters; instead, it’s how gently Jimin explains every concept, how easily it falls from his tongue in that kind, patient tone, and Yoongi knows this will never leave his mind, not now. If Jimin were his professor, perhaps Yoongi would ace every assignment, every exam that leaves him tugging at his hair. Or maybe, the most likely result, he’d retain absolutely none of it, dreaming of a sweet smile and those ever-kind eyes.
Jimin finds teaching Yoongi hard, not that the subject is difficult, more that he can’t breathe properly this close to Yoongi. His straw is now chewed beyond repair, he’s eaten every last fragment of the boba balls at the bottom of his cup, and he can’t stop his eyes straying to just how Yoongi’s brows furrow in concentration.
Yoongi gets it eventually, much to Jimin’s relief. In truth, he could spend hours helping Yoongi, sitting beside him, showing him exactly the tricks that help him remember every bone in the body. But when Jimin’s heart beats so fast, when his hands begin to tremble and all he can think of is just how attractive Yoongi is, then he knows he’d be a bad teacher; in fact, he’s pretty certain there wouldn’t be anyone worse than him, all because he’s distracted by the pretty basketballer and his stupidly pretty face.
And his smile.
And his voice.
Jimin also knows that he’s too far gone, something that Yoongi is, too.
“You owe me a private basketball lesson,” Jimin teases, and he’s not quite sure why this falls from his tongue, but he hopes Yoongi sees it for what it should be, a joke, not the hidden desperation to spend more time alone with Yoongi.
He doesn’t realise that Yoongi’s heart flutters, that the flush rising on his cheeks isn’t from the sudden warmth of the library having finally turned off the air conditioner just before it closes, and that Yoongi’s smile isn’t from the sole thought of holding Jimin’s waist to keep him in position as he shoots towards the net. No, Jimin just thinks that Yoongi wants them even; Jimin helping Yoongi with his studies, and Yoongi teaching Jimin the rules of a game he still can’t grasp.
So, Yoongi closes his book, swallowing thickly. “Yeah? Name the time and place, I’ll teach you.” Somehow, Jimin sees the sincerity, the hope and warmth in his eyes through the panic.
“Are you parked close by?” Jimin asks now, not wanting to stray too far from Yoongi, not yet, at least.
When Yoongi nods, the rain begins to pelt, leaving a tinny sound from the roof, they, too, pack up their things. But they don’t step too far away from each other, moving in tandem as they both hunt for an umbrella, realising that neither has packed one. It should deter them, the thought of rain-sodden clothes and a mad sprint to their cars, but somehow, as the lights of the library dim and leave them hurriedly walking to the exit before the doors close on them, they don’t seem to mind.
They still under the small porch, students braving the rain to run to their cars, or the bus stop close by, leaving Yoongi and Jimin alone, both wondering if they should wait until it eases. It only seems to get worse, heavy droplets pelting on the ground, leaving it awash in amber from the lights dotted around the carpark. So, Yoongi laughs, a glint in his eye as he asks, “How close is your car?”
Jimin points to the large oak tree. It’s closer than Yoongi’s own car, but still too far to save their clothes from getting soaked. Yet Yoongi holds out his hand, leaving time to still for a breath, and then, as Jimin grasps it, Yoongi’s lips tug into a breathless smile.
“Ready? We’ll make a run for it. Don’t let go, yeah? If we’re quick enough, our bags might not get too wet.”
Jimin’s eyes widen, and for a moment, Yoongi wonders if he’s an idiot for even suggesting it; then Jimin laughs. It’s warm and bright, heady and something that Yoongi could never forget.
Jimin’s smile reaches his eyes, crinkling beneath the weight of something so divine. “Okay,” he says, nodding. “On the count of three, yeah?”
“One,” Yoongi starts, his eyes never leaving Jimin’s own. “Two,” follows, and his ears pick up the faintest giggle as Jimin squeezes Yoongi’s hand that little tighter.
“Three!” And as their voices entwine, laughter never wavers, leaving them to run through puddles pooling in potholes and at the sides of paths that lead to nowhere.
Clothes become sodden, their hair leaves rain dripping down their skin, and each splash from a puddle drenches their socks a little more. But there’s an air of freedom, of hope, that consumes them. They run towards the oak tree, fingers laced and laughter bounding around them. Now, no one lingers in the car park; everyone has already left, but even if people remained, neither would ever notice them. Jimin’s mind is full of nothing but Yoongi; how his lungs begin to burn and his cheeks ache, but most of all, Yoongi.
Yoongi, too, can’t think of anything else; his thoughts are swept up in the sound of Jimin’s laughter against his own. Jimin’s is brighter, sweeter, like honey. Yoongi’s own is deep and unashamed, a confession almost woven through every breath that he takes. Maybe if he were bolder, he’d tug Jimin close and kiss him in the rain, but he isn’t sure just how hard Jimin’s heart flutters for him, or if those hopeful smiles mean as much as Yoongi wants them to.
“It’s here,” Jimin just about manages against the endless rain and their own laughter. He stops beside a little silver car, neat and pristine, although now equally as drenched. But Yoongi doesn’t pay it much attention, not when Jimin’s sweatshirt clings to his skin, when his eyes crinkle into little more than crescents, and his smile never dares to waver. Yoongi is certain he stares for longer than he should, but he can’t help it; he’s smitten.
He doesn’t realise that Jimin’s eyes, too, linger. They trace the curve of Yoongi’s waist, how his thin t-shirt leaves little to the imagination now, worn even in the bitterly cold winter. Jimin’s gaze also settles against their hands, still entwined without any want of letting go, and Jimin begins to wonder if Yoongi feels it too, or if it’s just a distant hope.
“Thank you for helping me tonight. I’d still be stuck.” Yoongi says, his smile softening now at the realisation that they need to go their separate ways. But it doesn’t settle dread, more of a want to see Jimin again; to hold him, to watch him smile and be the sole reason for his laughter. Yoongi wants that; he wants something more than just friendship alone can give him.
Jimin laughs again, this time gentler, a fleeting sound that Yoongi wishes to somehow keep hold of. “It’s no problem. If you ever need more, just ask, hyung. And thank you— I didn’t know running in the rain could be so fun.” Maybe he should unlock his car, get in for some belated shelter, but part of him wants to stay grounded right here, right beside Yoongi.
“Get home safely, and I’ll see you at the game, yeah?”
Yoongi doesn’t miss how Jimin turns a little shier as he nods. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” and Yoongi hopes that Jimin means it; with how Jimin’s eyes glimmer and his voice turns to a sort of sweet confession, Yoongi is pretty sure that he does. “Goodnight, hyung.” Only now do they untangle their fingers, and as Jimin bites his lip, Yoongi finds it a little bit harder to breathe.
“Goodnight Jimin-ah.”
Yoongi stays in the rain until he sees Jimin drive down the road, turning out of the car park and onto the highway. He stays in the rain as the linger of Jimin’s fingers still sets his skin ablaze, and as Jimin’s face imprints in his mind. Then, Yoongi turns to his own car, his hair and clothes drenched, the waterproof lining of his backpack the only thing to shield the notes inside. He slings his bag in the back, sitting in the driver’s seat for a breath, never minding about water stains in the fabric, or the sound of the rain against the bonnet; instead, he smiles. His arms are folded over the top of the steering wheel, and for the first time in a while, he feels as if there’s something to look forward to besides cheering crowds and games leading to victory.
This feels far sweeter than those wins ever could, all because of Park Jimin and how, without even knowing, Jimin is holding the heart of the university’s most beloved ace of the courts.
—
Jimin is late; the game started fifteen minutes ago. The carpark is full, leaving him on a side street he never knew existed, and now, he’s a little too out of breath from running into the university’s sports stadium. He doesn’t mind the ache in his lungs, in truth, not when he’s faced with seeing Yoongi; how he moves down the court, how he wipes the sweat off his forehead with the palm of his hand. Yoongi holds a focus that Jimin finds himself drawn to, and when their eyes meet, Jimin finds himself feeling a little fluttery. He’s never felt this way, and certainly not from a boy; in fact, Jimin never knew he could ever like someone like him. He’s never had a crush, never kissed anyone’s lips or held their hand with any more meaning than friendship allows, and so, these feelings consume Jimin, leaving him standing for just a breath outside the court, regaining his composure just to see Yoongi.
Jimin wonders if anyone will notice him as he enters. The doors are ajar, and shouts and cheers echo against the squeak of trainers against the floor. But Jimin’s eyes are trained on Yoongi, finding him right by the net. His gaze is focused, his steps are sharp, and there, right beside the court with a tote bag slung over his shoulder, Jimin can’t help but watch. He stands for much longer than he’d like, tucked away beneath the veil of the stands, but soon, he finds Taehyung with Hoseok beside him, and a bag placed on a chair between them, all for Jimin to sit on.
So, with a giddy sort of smile, Jimin turns to the stairs leading up to them, hoping that he hasn’t missed too much of the game.
“Jimin-ah!” Hoseok calls against the noise. His smile is bright, heart-widened and warm, whereas Taehyung’s is a little more strained.
“Sit— quick! You’re late!” Taehyung hurries to take his bag off the seat, letting Jimin sit down with reddened cheeks, and his eyes straying to wherever he can find Yoongi.
Jeongguk is on the court, as are Seokjin and Namjoon, yet Jimin’s gaze finds Yoongi, wherever he moves to. Right by the goal, dribbling a ball down the court, intercepting and letting his frustration fall with each whistle, Jimin sees it all, and he loves it; in fact, Jimin finds himself enamoured by the passion woven in Yoongi’s eyes.
“Did you get held up by traffic?” Taehyung asks, leaning over to pass Jimin a bottle of water. “Here, you look like you’ve been running the whole way. You haven’t missed much, Jeongguk-ie did score though.”
“Yeah. I’m not lucky to live close, unlike some people.” Jimin rolls his eyes, a feigned annoyance to mask how his eyes meet Yoongi’s own in a fleeting glance.
Taehyung just laughs, and as Jimin tips water onto his tongue, he hears them both cheer, the ball in Seokjin’s possession. It turns to Namjoon, then to another of their teammates, Doyoon. It’s then in Jeongguk’s possession, and as he passes, it’s intercepted, leaving a resounding hum of disappointment to echo through the stands. They’re at home, at the university stadium that Jimin only frequents during weekend games, tucked on the other side of the road beside the main campus. Now, with every pass back into their team’s hands, it seems as if the crowd erupts, all in hopes of seeing their ace score.
The timer buzzes, breaks leave teams huddled in circles as their coaches instruct their next move, and, rather shyly, Jimin waves as Yoongi smiles in his direction. A towel is around his neck, sweat glistens on his skin, and somehow, Jimin finds himself spellbound as Yoongi’s gaze never seems to wane. Neither Taehyung nor Hoseok seem to notice. Their eyes are too busy trained on their phones during half-time, or following the team as they move up and down the court. And Jimin does, still trying to grasp the game, but it’s Yoongi he can’t help but be drawn to; how easily he commands the game.
Now, it’s the last quarter, and the scoreboard spells a perfect draw. There’s little time left, overtime imminent, and from what little Jimin knows, their possession has only waned. But the ball finds its way into Namjoon’s grasp, leaving hope to flutter in Jimin’s chest, and as it makes its way back down the court to the side of their goal, then it finally falls right into Yoongi’s grasp.
Jimin notices how Yoongi looks up, a fleeting, hesitant gaze. But somehow, it seems to give Yoongi strength, bound by Jimin’s smile that only seems to bloom a little more in the face of Yoongi.
There, Yoongi lines up a shot. And in the final seconds of the game, Yoongi makes his move. Jimin watches as the ball passes from the tips of Yoongi’s fingers, right in the air, until, in a clean throw, it falls through the net.
Suddenly, Jimin’s mind blurs, and he finds himself being tugged up by both Hoseok and Taehyung. He cheers, his voice hoarse yet is still drowned out by the shouts that surround him, and the buzzer to spell the end of the game barely rings in Jimin’s ears; instead, he can’t help but focus on Yoongi, and how, despite the celebration, he never tears his gaze from Jimin in the stands.
They’ve won the game, and Jimin could never get tired of this feeling: cheering in the stands with Taehyung and Hoseok beside him, and the pride of watching Yoongi, their ace, find his home on the court.
After celebrations on the court, and those in the locker room, Jimin, Hoseok and Taehyung wait outside the stadium in their own, post-game bliss. They settle on the university tavern for drinks and a much-needed meal, just as always. The stadium is close to the campus, just over the busy highway, and the tavern’s food is good, and the drinks are arguably better, leaving it the obvious choice. For once, Jimin doesn’t have to leave in haste to a seminar or to catch up on his work; instead, he stands beside Jeongguk, whose cheeks ache from his smile, listening to every word that falls in glory.
They’re unbeaten, this season is better than their last, but Jimin can’t help but let his gaze find Yoongi’s despite the cheers that erupt, and as a chorus begins amongst the students walking back from the stadium. It’s a post-game song Jimin doesn’t know the name of, but has picked up over time, and he can’t help but join in.
It’s one of victory, of grandeur, and now, as Yoongi’s steps slow to drop beside Jimin, it’s sung with a smile.
It leads them to the tavern, where Jimin sits in the corner of the booth, a soda between his palms, and his eyes cast to the screen against the wall. There, plays a match. Jimin isn’t too sure of the logistics, but everyone around him talks about basketball techniques, what passes went well, and those that should’ve gone better, yet Jimin finds it hard to engage. He loves these afternoons after the game, spending time with his friends in that celebration glow, but he’ll admit it all feels a little too out of reach for him, leaving him, more often than not, listening with soda-stained lips.
Today bears little difference, except for the fact that Yoongi sits beside him. It’s a bit harder to focus on talk of the game when Jimin is acutely aware of every single movement, and each breath that falls from Yoongi’s tongue; in fact, Jimin doesn’t listen at all. But Yoongi notices how Jimin doesn’t speak, how his eyes are trained on the bubbles of his soda, and now, as Yoongi leans a little closer, how Jimin jolts.
“I swear you’re our lucky charm.” Yoongi whispers, a little laugh right by Jimin’s ear. “You know, I was so sure we’d lose at the beginning, then I looked up and saw you arrived.”
“I said I’d come, didn’t I?” Jimin smiles now, unable to halt the flutter of his heart. “But it’s you, hyung. You scored the final goal.”
Jimin doesn’t know that Yoongi, too, is shy. He could never know, in fact, not when Yoongi lets his breath ghost Jimin’s ear. “Then, seeing you must give me the confidence to win.” And perhaps it’s that very post-win haze that instils a little more confidence in Yoongi’s mind, all to lean closer, to let his palm press down on Jimin’s thigh, and for his eyes to flit to Jimin’s lips in that ever-obvious way.
Jimin swears that Yoongi is flirting, and somehow, Jimin can’t find it within him to hold it together.
“I— I mean, you train…” Jimin is flustered; red cheeks and a knot constrict words from their fall. “I think you look cool on the court,” he says, his voice soft and strained. But he looks up at Yoongi through his lashes, and for a breath, maybe the rest of the group seems so distant, for all he can focus on is Jimin, and just how lovely he is.
“You think?”
“Of course! You’re so passionate, it’s inspiring, really. It makes me want to learn more about it— I try, I just don’t understand it that much.” Somehow, Jimin’s cheeks redden even more, if that’s even possible. The flush spreads right to the tips of his ears, over the soft rounds beneath his eyes, and down his neck. “Sorry, I—”
Maybe it’s divine intervention, Jimin thinks, but Namjoon’s voice interrupts his fluster. “I’ll order— pizza, yeah?” He asks, standing as he takes his wallet out of his pocket. Jimin watches as he pulls out his card, shoving the rest back into his shorts, before his eyes turn expectant against him, waiting for Jimin’s response.
“Just— just a pepperoni pizza, please,” Jimin stumbles over his words, choosing the safest option whilst his heart is caught in his throat, and Yoongi is still pressed right beside him.
Yoongi leans over again, a little further than before, Jimin notices. It’s to reach the menu, but Yoongi doesn’t even skim it; instead, with a little squeeze on Jimin’s thigh, Yoongi says, “Make that two. I’m fucking starving after carrying that game.”
Namjoon laughs, nodding before he turns to the rest for their order. It leaves both Jimin and Yoongi in a small world of their own, tucked in the corner of the booth, rowdy shouts and cheers surrounding them. But Jimin seems to lean into Yoongi, seeking the warmth of his smile, the kindness of his eyes, and softness of his touch, and so, rather tentatively, Jimin places his hand on Yoongi’s own, still against his thigh. Yoongi doesn’t say anything, his eyes spell it all. It’s hope and that very same giddiness that floods Jimin’s veins, what comprises sleepless nights where Jimin can only think about Yoongi, and how his heart can’t halt its stammer at the mere thought of him.
“You say all that, but I like seeing you in the crowd.” Yoongi’s breath wavers, Jimin notices. “I look for you, you know— not as our lucky charm, although you seriously can’t convince me you aren’t.” It’s the haze of victory that leaves Yoongi’s tongue a little looser, paired with the beer he now sips. But Jimin doesn’t mind; in fact, it draws him closer to Yoongi, wondering if he, too, finds that sweet flutter from every fleeting touch. “But… I guess it’s nice to see you. I spend so much time with the team, Taehyung is in like, what, half of my classes now? And Hoseok is always with us, he could be part of the team. I know you’re busy, but you always come and cheer us on.” Yoongi pauses, fluffing his hair with a faint blush dusted on his cheeks. “It means a lot, you know— to the whole team, to me.” A smile follows, and Jimin tries to tear his gaze away in hopes that he won’t fall that little harder.
He does, hopeless in the face of Yoongi.
“I like coming. It beats studying, at least, and… I mean, I don’t understand the rules, but I enjoy watching the game.” Watching you, Jimin aches to say, and he hopes his eyes spell just that in place of them falling from his tongue.
Yoongi hears it, loud and clear, leaving words to catch in his throat, and an aching question to find its fall.
“Are— are you busy tomorrow?” Yoongi asks, stumbling over his words. “I mean, are you free to come over? To mine. We can… watch a movie or something?” Now, Yoongi’s voice draws faint, a delicate whisper, both hesitant and certain at the same time.
Jimin can’t fight his smile. Not when it blooms so achingly against his cheeks, when that flutter in his heart grows that little brighter, and definitely not when Yoongi’s eyes look so hopeful, turning against Jimin’s own. They round in a plea that Jimin can’t refuse, and so, he nods.
It’s one of the rare weekends that he is free, and he isn’t sure there’s a better way to spend it; watching Yoongi score the winning goal in the game, and a Sunday alone with him, tucked up in the warmth of Yoongi’s home whilst eyes stray from the TV screen.
“I’m not doing anything, and…” Jimin giggles, shy as Yoongi’s smile leaves his eyes little more than crescents. “I’d enjoy that, hyung. A lot, actually.”
“Is ten too early? We could watch something and then… get some lunch?” Yoongi wonders if he’s overstepping, if Jimin would even want to spend that much time with him.
But it’s as Jimin nods again, his eyes soft and warm, that leaves that very same giddy feeling pooling in Yoongi’s chest. “That sounds perfect,” then, Jimin jolts, quick to lean down to get his bag. “I forgot! I washed your hoodie,” he pulls it out, neatly folded and freshly cleaned. Part of Yoongi feels sad that the lingering scent of Jimin doesn’t stay past the detergent, but the other part of him seems hopeful, all that Jimin, too, holds.
“You didn’t have to,” Yoongi says as Jimin passes it to him, resisting the urge to draw the fabric up to his nose. “Seriously, I wouldn’t have minded if you kept it a bit longer.”
Jimin bites down on telling Yoongi just how well he slept in that very hoodie, and how he washed it twice to rid it of the deep-set scent of his cologne, just so that Yoongi could never dare to catch on. Jimin’s sleep was perhaps the best he’s ever known, those few days tucked up in Yoongi’s embrace. Or so he felt, anyway. In reality, it was just the warmth of his hoodie, but each night, Jimin fell asleep with a pillow in his arms, and his nose buried in Yoongi-scented fabric.
He’d never admit to it, though.
He’d also never admit to how a small part of him pretended that it really was Yoongi.
Jimin has never felt like this, the innate ache of a crush. He’s never fallen for anyone, especially not like he has for Yoongi. He’s never let his eyes linger, nor his heart yearn for another; instead, he believed no one could love him, and it’s why he’s never even dared to try. Not until now, with Yoongi’s hand still on his thigh, Yoongi’s lips teasingly close to his ear with each whisper, and the hope of tomorrow that now, can’t come quick enough, Jimin thinks. Maybe he’s overthinking it, maybe Yoongi doesn’t like him just as he likes Yoongi, but there’s that fluttery part of Jimin that believes Yoongi does, and it’s the very thing Jimin holds onto.
This feeling never wanes, not after they eat, and not when Jimin takes a sip of Yoongi’s beer at Yoongi’s insistence that it “tastes so good”, but really, it’s just so that Yoongi’s lips can find their way onto something that Jimin’s own have kissed. And it’s stupid, Yoongi knows, but he can’t help it. In some strange way, with Jimin, he feels much freer than ever before. Those relationships in his youth, the moments fumbling beneath cotton, and those very crushes Yoongi thought would last, they all seem so distant now; instead, this feeling with Jimin is far sweeter than all of what has ever come before. The waning sun eventually draws them apart, but it’s not without lingering gazes and ever-gentle smiles.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, hyung?” Jimin asks through the softest giggle. It’s shy and uneasy, timid in the face of the man who begins to hold his heart.
“Yeah, I can’t wait.” And Yoongi can’t, he also can’t help but let it fall from his tongue with an equally shy, yet beaming smile against his cheeks. “I’ll text you my address, and,” Yoongi pauses, pulling at the neckline of his hoodie, which now lines his frame. “You can have this whenever you want, yeah? No rush this time, and I mean it.”
Jimin laughs a little brighter now, golden and warm. “Thank you, hyung. I can’t wait for tomorrow. You can pick a show, yeah? I’ll bring some snacks if you want.” They’d decided on this between talk of the upcoming game, something that Yoongi didn’t seem too interested in. In truth, Jimin didn’t have anything to suggest, and there, with a glimmer in his eye, Yoongi wondered about a TV show instead. Partly that a movie would be too consuming, and if hearts draw closer, maybe it’d be too distracting. A show, on the other hand, is purely background noise, Yoongi thinks, leading to a possibility of sweet kisses and giddy laughter.
Or Yoongi hopes, at least, biting down that worry of if he’s misread Jimin all this time.
“Yeah,” Yoongi smiles a little giddily, as if no one else exists, that they aren’t in a circle, tucked in the corner beside their friends. They all laugh, some leaving earlier than others; Jeongguk running to his car with Namjoon trailing not too far behind. Hoseok follows, and then, as Jimin waves a little shyly, he, too, says his goodbyes.
“Congratulations on your win today,” he says, mainly to the remainder of the team, but his eyes never leave Yoongi’s, as if it’s meant for Yoongi alone. It is, at least somewhat, as Jimin’s eyes mainly stray to Yoongi on the court, even if the others are right by him. “And, I’ll see you at ten, hyung,” Jimin adds, quieter now that Seokjin and Taehyung turn their attention to a waddling duck outside, just by the lake. “I look forward to it.”
“Get home safe,” Yoongi says, daring to step closer, his fingers flexing by his hip. “Thank you for coming today,” Yoongi adds, and Jimin sees that these words mean a little more than how they fall.
All Jimin can do is smile before he turns to wave, leaving the university tavern with a giddy feeling in his chest.
He doesn’t know that Yoongi soon follows, his cheeks aching, his heart fluttering, all because of Jimin. The victory of the game seems so small now, not when, right before him, a sweeter victory lies ahead.
Jimin’s heart.
And Yoongi knows if Jimin ever let him dare to hold it, he’d never let it go.
—
Yoongi isn’t sure how many times he smooths down his t-shirt. The cotton is ironed, but it crumples every time Yoongi tries to get comfortable on the sofa. His eyes are trained on the clock, its tick is almost grating and yet, he can’t seem to tear his gaze away, even if its sound echoes in his mind. It’s just before ten, Jimin is due at the hour, not that Yoongi would ever admit to counting down the mere seconds until Jimin knocks at the door, but he begins to feel a little sick— a little giddy— as if his entire life has led up to this very moment.
He’s used to the nerves before a game, taking a vitamin shot that burns his tongue before their hands touch and raise in their pre-game ritual. No matter what happens on the court, whose eyes are watching, or if their team crumbles, it never changes, and the next weekend, Yoongi knows that he’ll drink that same shot spiked with ginger and look into the eyes of his team before facing the unknown. Now, Yoongi is very much in the throes of the unknown. It scares him more than he’d like to admit; waiting for Jimin with a confession on his tongue, hoping that he can be the man that Jimin falls hopelessly in love with.
Because Yoongi has already had a headstart, however prematurely.
A quiet knock at the door breaks Yoongi out of his thoughts, of Jimin’s eyes and his smile and his laugh and his warmth, spiralling with everything that comprises him. Yoongi doesn’t realise that Jimin, too, is falling, and as he knocks a little firmer, clearing his throat, his hand trembles as nerves bind him. Yoongi stands frozen for what feels like far too long, but as he takes a brief glance at the clock, not even a minute has passed. So, as he draws in a deep breath, he steps closer and lets his palm round the handle of his front door to open it.
Yoongi is sure that angels exist, there’s one standing right before him with the most divine smile, he thinks.
Jimin’s eyes are smile-rounded, his cheeks are rosy and his lips are glossy from the peach-scented lip oil he always carries in his hip pocket. His hair is a little tousled, the end-of-winter breeze mussing it just right, and for a breath, Yoongi just stares at him with love-laced eyes, an equally as shy smile, all a little breathless that this is really happening.
“Come— come in,” Yoongi manages, stepping aside to let Jimin pass. But he bumps into the shoe rack just beside the door, leaving a curse to follow, a bruised shin, and Jimin’s eyes are so gentle that Yoongi quickly forgets that he could ever be embarrassed. “Sorry,” Yoongi says, and he watches as Jimin shakes his head, that smile never waning.
“Don’t be. Are you okay?” Jimin asks, and Yoongi nods. “Did you decide on a show? I— I brought some popcorn and some candy, but I wasn’t sure if you had a microwave, so…” and now, Yoongi sees that Jimin is just as nervous as he is; Jimin’s gaze is hopeful, stumbling over faint words, all as he gingerly follows Yoongi further down the hall. Somehow, in some strange way, it gives Yoongi a little more confidence in knowing that Jimin, too, feels the same, and maybe it means that his heart isn’t the only one that is beginning to fall. Although, that confidence is short-lived, quickly replaced by a sort of internal panic.
Yoongi just about manages to nod again, gesturing for Jimin to sit beside him on the sofa, but he can’t help the way his lips dry and his mind draws a blank. Jimin is beautiful, all soft and sweet, and Yoongi begins to wonder if he can ever let his confession fall. His heart is caught right in his throat, his eyes trail lower, right to Jimin’s lips, and then, “Do you want a drink?” Yoongi asks, blurting out anything to stall time. He doesn’t expect Jimin to nod, the softest giggle leaving Yoongi a little weaker.
“Just some water, thank you, hyung.” Jimin smiles, and Yoongi is certain he’ll never be able to think about anything else ever again.
“Water,” Yoongi echoes now, his mind short-circuiting. “Popcorn! I’ll heat it up, right. And water. One water.”
Jimin’s laugh is a little softer, maybe concerned, if Yoongi could think of anything other than his stupidly beautiful smile. “Are you okay, hyung? Don’t be nervous, it’s just me.” But how can Yoongi tell Jimin that it’s the very fact that it is him that prompts his throat to tighten. “I’m nervous too, if that’s any consolation.” Jimin continues, swallowing thickly before he draws up a trembling hand to Yoongi’s knee. Then, a little quieter, Jimin confesses, “I really like spending time with you, hyung.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi’s eyes widen, and part of him doesn’t quite believe it. But he smiles, nonetheless, wondering how he never managed to muster the courage to invite Jimin over before. “Get comfortable, then. I’ll heat the popcorn and we can talk, yeah?”
Jimin nods, his eyes spelling hope, and for once, Yoongi truly begins to believe it. When their coach encourages his team, Yoongi knows it’s their teamwork that will secure them the victory. The pace of their steps, correct passes and accurate goals. Here, to win Jimin’s heart, Yoongi is alone, and as scared as it leaves him, that very hope is what keeps him going.
He comes back with a bowl, two glasses of water, and Jimin chewing on a peach-flavoured candy ring. The TV strings before them now, a show that neither pays much heed to, not when thighs are pressed together and glances are shy, hands brush as they reach for popcorn, and suddenly, the drone of distant conversations seem little more than a tug in their minds.
Suddenly, they find themselves leaning closer, bridging the distance that still lies between them, and neither dares to pull away.
Jimin’s lips are soft, far softer than Yoongi had ever let himself believe. Softer than the kisses in his dreams, softer than the shy touches and stolen glances they find themselves swept up in at house parties and group game nights. Jimin’s skin, too, feels gentle beneath Yoongi’s touch, and in a way, he’s afraid to press his fingers too firmly into Jimin’s cheek, out of fear he’ll break something fragile. Jimin sighs a little with every brief part of their lips, and Yoongi’s heart flutters right in his throat, leaving him a bit breathless. But Jimin is kissing him, and he wonders if he should pull away and pinch himself; instead, he lets his other hand find Jimin’s and fumble to entwine their fingers. Jimin’s cologne is stronger up close, warm pear and heady freesia, but it’s dizzying without being cloying, alluring without being sickly sweet, and Yoongi can’t think of a scent that suits Jimin more than this, all that finds himself chasing in the brief moments they’re together. Somehow, Yoongi’s mind is both blank, and his thoughts feel like a blur, like he can’t catch up with the movement of Jimin’s lips against his own and how Jimin’s fingers curl around the hair at the base of his scalp. But someone, those very moments feel drawn out, as if Yoongi tries to savour it all in case this is the first and only time they kiss.
Yoongi has always known he could fall in love with a boy just like him, right when he first saw a magazine of an idol with gel-spiked hair and thick eyeliner when he was ten. When he was fifteen, he fell in love with his best friend, or so he thought; it was nothing more than a crush, and when they went their separate ways for university, Yoongi quickly forgot about him. But the first moment he saw Jimin, when Taehyung tugged him by the arm and stood him next to Jeongguk to introduce him, Yoongi knew right then that he was smitten, and it has only grown since then.
Jimin, on the other hand, never knew who he liked. Girls always felt a bit too far out of reach, and he always tried to distract himself when his mind wandered to the boys in his classes. But Yoongi is different, somehow. Jimin feels safe under his gaze, and his heart had begun to flutter when fingers first brushed, and when they’d linger a bit too long in the kitchen after taking beers and soju out of the fridge. Everyone else was in the living room, waiting for the game to start, never aware of how Jimin’s cheeks flushed and Yoongi’s heart tightened his throat. These nights always end up with shy smiles, and they find themselves sitting closer together than before, after standing for another slice of pizza, another glass of beer, or when their team scored. In truth, Jimin doesn’t understand sports; he doesn’t understand the rules or why people enjoy it so much, but on these nights where they all gather in Seokjin’s living room, huddled on his large sofa with blankets over their laps, Jimin thinks he understands a glimpse of why people watch it. Part of him thinks that, really, it’s just spending time seeing Yoongi so happy that makes it all worth it.
Jimin’s hand slips down to Yoongi’s neck, their kiss so gentle, lips tugging into smiles as the seconds draw on. Yoongi isn’t sure he’s ever felt his heart flutter this much, and if he put his hand over Jimin’s, he’d feel how quickly it, too, thumps. Jimin is warm, he’s sweet and so kind, and to Yoongi, there’s no one more perfect than him.
They find themselves pulling back once their lungs ache and their smiles grow that bit too wide to kiss any longer. Their fingers are still laced, Yoongi giving Jimin’s palm a little squeeze, and Yoongi swears he hears Jimin begin to giggle.
“Your lips are so—”
“That was my first kiss—”
Their voices overlap, Jimin’s confession is half-lost against the tangle of Yoongi’s stumbled words, but when Yoongi registers what Jimin says, his eyes widen.
“You’ve never kissed anyone before?” Yoongi asks, almost a whisper now. He leans in a little closer and watches as Jimin tears his gaze away, looking shy and embarrassed. “Hey, it’s okay,” follows, and Yoongi slides his hand down to Jimin’s chin, urging Jimin to look at him. Yoongi sees the flush that only blooms on Jimin’s cheeks, how his smile has faded, and his gaze softens as if to say, “please don’t make fun of me” Yoongi could never; in fact, it only makes him fall for Jimin that little more.
“I— I’ve never been kissed, I’ve never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend or…” Jimin trails off, his voice faint and strained. But if Yoongi could tug him closer, he’d press as many kisses against Jimin’s lips as he wanted. Still, Yoongi’s eyes never waver from Jimin’s own. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed if I wasn’t good at it, so I didn’t tell you.”
“I wouldn’t have known if you didn’t tell me. Did you like it?” Yoongi can’t help but ask, and as that very same smile begins to pull at Jimin’s lips once more, Yoongi sees it’s now a bit softer, a bit shier.
Jimin nods, then, “I did,” he says. “I liked it a lot. More than a lot, actually.” And Yoongi wonders how he’s found someone so irresistible, because Jimin is— irresistible— and Yoongi realises just how easy it is to fall in love with him.
“So much that you’d like to do it again?”
This time, Yoongi thinks that Jimin’s smile could rival the sun; bright and giddy, paired with the sweetest laughter that’s still hesitant.
“Very much so.”
It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to close what distance remains, his hand still at Jimin’s chin, the other now against Jimin’s neck. There, Yoongi feels Jimin’s pulse, or so he thinks. He can’t be sure it isn’t his own, hurried as Jimin lets himself be led by Yoongi’s lips, but like this, with Jimin against him, Yoongi can’t help but feel fluttery all over again. Now, Jimin seems to understand the rhythm, the soft glide of his lips, and begins to hum a little as they part and rejoin. Jimin’s hands are hesitant now that Yoongi knows this is his first time, and so, Yoongi draws back just enough for every word to graze Jimin’s lips as he whispers, “You can touch me, it’s okay. Hold my cheek, my waist,” Yoongi kisses Jimin before, “it’s okay,” follows once more.
Yoongi finds himself lost in Jimin; how Jimin’s hand fumbles at Yoongi’s waist, so tentative as he eventually holds it, how Jimin’s lips wait for Yoongi’s lead, and how a smile is never too far from threatening to tug. Yoongi wonders how he never managed to find the courage to kiss Jimin sooner; there’s no sweeter taste, he thinks. He tastes of peach candy, those he saw Jimin snack on just before, and even if they’re much too artificial for Yoongi’s lips, somehow, it’s irresistible on Jimin’s own. So, they kiss until their lips redden and swell, until their hearts can’t flutter any harder, and until their stomachs begin to growl.
Yoongi is the first to laugh, soft and shy. “Are you hungry?” He says, watching as Jimin’s eyes round in something so tender, Yoongi can’t help but to laugh again, this time wholly smitten. Jimin nods, and then, without thought, Yoongi blurts out, “Let me take you out for lunch then. A date.”
Anxiety bubbles in Yoongi’s throat, worried that perhaps he’s overstepped, that he’s misread Jimin’s bashful glances and timid touches. He feels hot all over now, embarrassed and a little regretful, all until Jimin nods, smiling as he giggles in that sweet way Yoongi finds himself head over heels for. Yoongi is a man smitten, he knows, that very crush seems to bloom into something much deeper now. But he lets himself succumb to the feeling, the warmth of Jimin’s smile igniting a sort of flame within him, and so, he leans closer and presses a peck on Jimin’s nose.
“A date.” Jimin echoes through a breath, almost in disbelief. A date with Yoongi, someone he’s secretly pined over since he first saw him; Yoongi’s broad shoulders and sharp gaze, his gum-rounded smile and just how gentle he truly is.
Yoongi. The only one to ever make Jimin’s heart flutter.
Jimin doesn’t realise that Yoongi’s looking at him, expectant and wanting. He doesn’t know the knot in Yoongi’s throat, just waiting for Jimin to nod. But Jimin does, just before Yoongi accepts defeat, and Yoongi lets a wide smile paint his cheeks rosy as he begins to stand. He holds out his hand for Jimin to grasp, a small gesture that, too, blooms butterflies in Jimin’s chest.
“Where are you taking me?” Jimin then asks shyly as he shrugs a coat over his shoulders. The breeze is still too cold to leave without one, Jimin thinks, yet here Yoongi is in nothing but a hoodie and shorts. Somehow, it makes Jimin fall for him that little bit more.
“It’ll be nice, I promise. I won’t spoil it.”
So, it’s how they find themselves sitting at the back of a small restaurant close to the university dormitories. It’s warm, a tight, cosy building tucked between a coffee shop and a pharmacy, but Yoongi swears it has the best jjigae. It does, Jimin thinks as he spoons the first mouthful on his tongue, and he fights himself not to smile too widely, but as he looks over, he sees Yoongi’s cheeks can’t seem to tug up much higher, leaving a gummy smile behind. Jimin doesn’t mean to, but he sits a little closer as he leans over for some bean sprouts, and he doesn’t miss how; instead, Yoongi brings the small bowl over to Jimin. Perhaps if he were bolder, he’d push them past Jimin’s lips. But Yoongi doesn’t; he simply takes a few pieces of meat and places them on his bowl of rice, and Yoongi wonders just how he got so lucky to be here with Jimin on their first date. There’s a comfortable sort of silence that follows as they eat, only marred by little hums and shy laughter, but questions still on Yoongi’s tongue; about the kiss, about whether Jimin would want something more than just friends, and so, with his cheeks doughy with meat and rice, Yoongi can’t seem to bite them down any longer.
“Is it okay?” Yoongi asks. He’s shy, his cheeks bloom rosy even in the dim light of the restaurant, and part of Jimin relishes this side of him, no longer the confident ace on the court; instead, the sweet, bashful boy whose heart is right on his sleeve. “This— earlier… I mean—”
Jimin puts down his spoon for a moment, letting his fingers find Yoongi’s over the small table tucked right in the back corner of the restaurant. It’s busy, not too much so that their words are lost, but enough so that eyes never linger on them, everyone else is far too swept up in their own conversations.
“Do you mean when you kissed me?” And these words leave Jimin equally as shy as he leans to whisper into Yoongi’s ear. It’s a sweet sight that Yoongi finds himself biting his lip to stop the smile that only seems to grow.
“That and… our date.”
“I think you’re lovely, hyung. I always have. You… you don’t think I come to every game because I understand it, do you?” Now, Jimin laughs. It’s bright and warm, and Yoongi’s heart can only flutter as realisation settles.
Jimin, the only one of his friends who doesn’t seem to know much about the game, whose eyes always seek Yoongi’s when they’re together in Seokjin’s living room whilst the national team plays on the TV, and whose gaze is fixed on Yoongi as he plays. Jimin doesn’t grasp the rules, care about the players, or even the game itself, but when Yoongi’s on the court, Yoongi always sees a glimmer in Jimin’s eyes when he looks up to the stands, and that, Yoongi begins to understand, is why he endures it.
“Oh.”
“I’m learning about the positions— you’re shooting guard,” Jimin smiles now, his cheeks rosy and his voice a little fainter, turning back to push a spoonful of rice and jjigae on his tongue. “But it’s not the game that I come to see every week. So, whatever comes from this, I’d like to try.” Jimin’s eyes fall to the table, a wavered breath following. “I— I like you, hyung. A lot.”
Yoongi tries to bite down his smile, but it’s futile; he can’t help it when Jimin’s confession leaves his heart caught right in his throat.
“I like you, too, Jimin-ah. We can try, yeah? We’ll see what happens, but…” Yoongi trails off, a soft laugh breaking his words. “You’re lovely, like really lovely. I can’t believe someone like you exists.”
Jimin’s smile is shy, and as they settle in that heavy silence once more, the air seems a bit brighter, and hearts flutter just as before.
But one thing is certain: what lies ahead is golden, and both can’t seem to wait to see what blooms between them. So, as glances stay shy, fingers find their way back against each other once more, and both find that sweet fizzle of something much more than friendship in their hearts. It’s a fluttery feeling, warm and newborn, a little scary, if Jimin had to say. But in the same breath, it feels right, and with each fleeting glance, each soft smile, and shy touch, that hope only burns that little brighter, both wondering just what the future holds, and if, by chance, love could ever flourish.