Chapter Text
At the sound of the others filing into the kitchen, Jimin busies himself with the utensils. Chopsticks and spoons, chopsticks and spoons, one after the next until the table is set for seven.
He looks down at his hands and frowns. His nail beds are chewed to the quick, the skin red and angry around the cuticle. It’s a nervous habit he picked up from his Eomma – one that he doesn’t plan on breaking anytime soon. He pops his thumb back in his mouth and continues to worry.
Today is the first day he and Yoongi will be forced to spend time together. The first time since the night, (well, save for the 4-hour flight back to Seoul, in which Jimin was able to hide beneath his oversized hoodie and feign sleep). All he wants to know is how can someone experience the best and worst moments at the same time? In the same night? With the same person?
It’s not that Jimin feels sorry for himself (except he most definitely does). It's just, for six years he’s been meticulous in navigating how (and how not to) deal with his crush. The looming elephant in the room that was quite literally everywhere because his crush was quite literally everywhere, living in the same house and breathing the same air. Jimin had become a professional at navigating the waters. His two weapons of choice? Deep-seeded denial and lots of cold showers. But now, with how he so gracelessly handled the night, he can’t deny the reality of the situation any longer.
Seokjin smacks Jimin on the back as he sits down at the table, forcing him out of his reverie. He tumbles chunks of steak onto both of their plates as Hoseok sandwiches between them and animatedly picks up their earlier conversation about a Gucci leather duffle look-a-like he found at Topman that morning.
“I know,” Seokjin shouts in agreement, mouth full of food and chopsticks waving in all directions. “I was telling Tae about that earlier.”
“The black leather one with the quilting on the side?” Hoseok asks, eyes wide and attentive.
“Mmhm,” Seokjin hums as he takes another bite.
The two of them rattle on about accessories and who knows what (Jimin kind of tunes out at that point, too caught up in his own dramatics to properly listen) when another pair of footsteps walks in.
Jimin tells himself not to look up, don’t do it, don't do it.
But he does anyway.
It’s a mistake of course because Jimin is met with the same standoffish look he was met with back at the airport.
The minute they lock eyes from across the room, Yoongi drops his gaze.
Jimin stabs at his rice.
Whatever. It’s not like he was expecting something else. Not so close to after what happened happened (and in front of his other hyungs, no less). At least Yoongi didn’t bolt as he did at the airport, when he oh-so conveniently swapped his ticket with Namjoon’s so he could sit two aisles back, as far out of Jimin’s proximity as he could muster.
See, where Jimin is an open book, Yoongi is some sort of a walking enigma, wrapped in secrets and bundled in the moonlight and held up by deep, stone walls he’s been building since age-fourteen. There’s no getting in unless he wants you to get in. Unless you’ve earned it. And right now, Jimin is #1 on Yoongi’s ‘Do Not Enter’ list. But where Yoongi excels at being a paradox, Jimin excels at being relentless. And by god he’s getting in one way or another, even if he has to sucker punch his way into Yoongi’s soul.
Jimin looks up at the same time Yoongi eyes him from across the room. He looks like he’s about to actually say something when Namjoon bustles into the kitchen, laptop in tow.
“I found it,” he cheers, dimples in full force.
Hoseok looks up, mid-bite. “Found what?”
“The track I was telling you about. SoundCloud released it an hour ago. We have like,” he checks his watch, “thirty minutes if you want to check it out.”
“Hell yes.” Hoseok gets up, food all but forgotten. He bounces over excitedly and wraps an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders, pulling him down the hall, away from Jimin’s sight like he was never there to begin with.
“I cook all night, and this is the thanks I get.” Seokjin looks absolutely gob-smacked as he takes in the empty place settings. “Unbelievable,” he pouts. “You’re the only one I like. You’re my favorite.” He gives Jimin’s dark hair a ruffle. “IT’S OFFICIAL,” Seokjin shouts at the top of his lungs to absolutely no one. “JIMIN IS MY FAVORITE!”
“THAT’S NOT TRUE YOU TOLD ME SO LAST NIGHT,” Jungkook’s voice shouts back from somewhere on the second floor along with Taehyung’s deep laugh.
Jimin tries to smile but he doesn’t have it in him.
-
Two nights ago, after wrapping up a press conference in the Philippines, the seven of them decided to throw a party.
It wasn’t unusual for nights like this to go from tipsy giggling to sloshingly drunk in a matter of hours. Shouts of laughter echoing down the halls and members sprawled across each other in exhausted, comforting piles. It also wasn’t strange for their handsy behavior to get even more handsy with each additional shot of soju. A slap on the ass or a grip on the neck wasn’t anything to bat an eye at.
What was unusual, however, was how Yoongi settled himself against Jimin’s side, flushed against his body while the other side of the couch sat vacant. Or how Yoongi’s slender fingers danced up Jimin’s thigh, too high and too inseam for it to be anything but intentional. Or the way Yoongi's said fingers gracefully slipped underneath the silk fabric of Jimin’s shirt, caressing just so across the taught skin of his stomach.
One minute, Jimin was pounding back shots while Taehyung rooted him on from behind the bar. The next, he was tongue-deep in Yoongi’s mouth, groping him privately in the hotel bathroom as he whispered sweet nothings against the silver hoops of his ear.
What's more concerning is he doesn’t remember the whole of it. He can only piece together random moments from that night – a flash of pale skin, delicate lashes under a mess of hair, Yoongi’s warm breath puffing life against his mouth…. The alcohol haze is too strong. The fuzzy images of Jimin's memory too blurred. And in the much-less chaotic light of the aftermath Jimin is left wondering if he imagined it all. Like perhaps the impromptu make-out session was all in his head? Or maybe he was so blissed-out on pineapple soju that he conjured up the whole thing in his mind, thanks to years and years of pent-up lust.
And the thing is, Jimin doesn’t know what’s worse – Yoongi having similar gaps missing from his timeframe, or him remembering every moment. Because when reality hits Jimin between the eyes he knows, he just knows, that something went down. Something more than an innocent make-out session. Like, the very real chance he did stuff with Yoongi’s dick.
Not just looked at but touched him.
Lovingly so.
And with his mouth.
And how the hell do you come back from something like that?
-
“What’s going on with you and Yoongi-hyung?” Taehyung asks one night as they’re cuddled together on Jimin’s bed. They’re wrapped in a fluffy, yellow comforter and ten times as many pillows as is actually necessary.
“What do you mean?”
“You know.” Taehyung raises his eyebrow. “Mission ‘get Yoongi-hyung to fall in love with Jimin’ seems to be going well.”
Jimin sighs loudly. He’s flopped stomach-down on the bed, the yellow comforter cocooning him like an emerging butterfly. He tucks his arms underneath his head to prop up his cheeks. “Sure, if you count Yoongi-hyung ignoring me for the past three days progress. Hyung hates me.”
Taehyung snorts. “Right. Like Yoongi-hyung could ever hate you,” he says with an eye-roll and a poke to Jimin’s cheek. “He’s been sick with a cold and sleeping for the past few days. He hasn’t talked to anyone.”
“He talked to Jin-hyung,” Jimin sighs again, the familiar pangs of jealously rearing in his chest.
“That’s because Jin-hyung babies everyone when they’re sick and Yoongi-hyung secretly loves it.” Taehyung cuddles closer to Jimin’s side. The bed is way too small for the both of them thanks to the giant heap of pillows taking up most of the space. Taehyung wraps his leg around Jimin’s slim waist to make up for the lack of room. “You’ll tell me the minute the two of you hook up, right?”
Jimin snorts. "Right, like that will ever happen.”
“You say that now…”
“It won’t. Don’t get my hopes up. And even if we did, no way I’m telling you. You'd tell everyone.”
Taehyung slaps him hard on the thigh. “Come on, that’s not fair. You have to tell me. It’s, like, the basic rules of soulmate-ship.”
Jimin’s about to retaliate when Jungkook bursts into the room, face flushed like he’d just been sprinting. “Has anyone seen my earbuds?” he looks around, taking in the mess of Jimin’s dorm. “I thought I left them in the kitchen next to the blender but Namjoon-hyung said I left them in the shuttle when we came back from the airport, but I’m sure I brought them in here ….” he pauses, eyes lingering over Jimin’s small frame, where he’s currently smashed face-down into the mattress. “What’s wrong with Jimin-hyung?”
Taehyung peeks up from the pillow mountain. “Jimin’s life is a K-drama and he can’t handle it.”
Jungkook situates himself next to Taehyung and pokes at Jimin’s sculpted leg. “Is this about Suga-hyung and how you have a crush on him?”
Jimin’s eyes go comically wide as he lifts himself to his elbows. “What the hell?” he demands. “Is there a memo going around I don’t know about? How do you know about this?” He glares at Taehyung suspiciously.
“I didn’t say anything,” he yelps.
“Jin-hyung and I were talking about it earlier,” Jungkook explains. “He and Namjoon-hyung were talking about it at the airport.”
“Oh my god.” Jimin tries smothering himself with the pillow. “Does everyone know about this?”
“Pretty much,” Jungkook replies, grin wide. He grabs the open box of Pepero sticks on Hoseok’s nightstand and shoves one into his mouth. “Is that a Kumamon phone charger?” he asks, zoning in on the little bear-looking contraption connected to Taehyung’s phone. At Taehyung’s nod, he grabs it. “Can I use it?”
“You can have it if you want,” Tae replies. He grabs two Pepero sticks and places them in his mouth like a walrus. “It even comes with matching headphones,” he continues. Little bits of cookie spray as he talks. “They’re in my room if you want to use them.”
“Nice!”
“Guys,” Jimin interjects. He lets out a pathetic moan from underneath the pillow. “We’re supposed to be talking about me right now. I’m in crisis.”
Tae snorts. “Chim, all you have to do is admit you like him – which we both know you do – make a move, get your man, and bam.” He makes an explosive movement with his hands. “Problem solved.”
“Hyung likes you,” Jungkook supplies in agreement, twirling the cord in his hand like a baton. “Kind of obvious, isn’t it?”
“See?” Taehyung urges.
Jimin shakes his head. “No way. Just because Yoongi-hyung likes me doesn’t mean he like-likes me. Hyung likes everyone.”
“First of all, that's completely inaccurate and you know it,” Taehyung laughs. “And second of all, he likes you. Like, he-makes-heart-eyes-at you-when-you’re-not-looking-because-he's-so-whipped-for-you likes you.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook confirms, nose scrunched in disgust. “It’s gross.”
Jimin pauses on this for a moment, considering. He wants to believe that it’s mutual, that this thing between them isn’t some pathetic, one-sided pinning on his part. That it’s actually bigger than one drunken night of hormones and mistakes. He wants to believe. He’s just not sure if it’s possible. Yoongi liking him is in the realm of learning how to fly. It doesn't happen.
Jimin gathers his legs to his chest and rests his chin on his knees. He hesitates, now curious. “How do you know he likes me?” he asks, voice not louder than a murmur.
Jungkook scrunches his face, eyes squinted towards the ceiling in contemplation. “Well,” he thinks about it. “He’s always watching you,” he replies with a shrug. He swings the phone cord around like a propeller. It comes painfully close to smacking Jimin in the face. “Not in a creepy way,” he clarifies. “Just, like.” He shrugs. “You know.”
Except Jimin doesn’t. Like, at all. It must show on his face because Taehyung chimes in with a, “Okay, remember when we went out for dinner that one night and he gave you all his steak because he knows you like steak and you didn’t order any?”
Jimin blinks. “What?”
“He. Gave. You. His. Steak,” Taehyung repeats like it means something, like it’s code for something truly romantic.
Jimin’s eyebrows knot in confusion. “What are you even talking about? You just described the most basic human interaction.”
“He did feed you straight from his chopsticks,” Jungkook throws in and Taehyung nods enthusiastically.
Jimin is still waiting for the punchline. “So?”
They both dramatically roll their eyes.
“Okay, fine,” Taehyung starts. “What about the fact that you’re the only one Yoongi-hyung ever invites into his studio?”
“Na-ah,” Jimin proclaims. He crosses his arms over his chest in a willful stance against this conviction. “No, Hobi-hyung is in there all the time.”
“That’s different,” Jungkook interjects. “That doesn’t count.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t count,” Taehyung echoes. “We’re talking about pleasure, here, not business. Just admit it. He likes you.” And with that Taehyung slips his feet under Jungkook’s thighs to warm his toes and goes back to scrolling through his phone.
“But, that doesn’t…. I mean…. He doesn’t,” Jimin mumbles. He huffs out an aggravated breath that ruffles the black fringe of his hair. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I don’t know, hyung.” Jungkook leans over to see what Taehyung’s looking at. “You both looked pretty cozy a few nights ago in the Philippines.”
Jimin just about chokes on his own spit. The idea of any of them seeing him and Yoongi as they snuck off towards the bathroom, Yoongi’s hand up his shirt and Jimin wrapped around him like an octopus... Well, it heats the blush on Jimin’s cheeks all the way up to his ears.
Jungkook eyes him with a tight-lipped smirk, too smart for his own good. He tries to catch Jimin's eye before speaking. “Wait a minute, did something happen that night?”
Taehyung's head pops up, equally attentive. “What? What happened?”
“Nothing,” Jimin lies. But he sees his two dongsaengs look at each other, silently conspiring.
After a moment, Taehyung goes back to his phone and Jungkook grabs another Pepero stick from the pack.
The youngest nibbles at the chocolate and crunches loudly around a bite. “You know,” he muses, “if it makes you feel any better, I think Suga-Hyung is just as clueless as you are.”
Jimin finally looks up. “What do you mean?”
A coy smile plays at Jungkook’s lips. “I don’t think he has any clue that you like him. The two of you are, like, a hundred times less observant than the rest of us.”
Jimin hides his smile. He punches him in the shoulder. “Shut up, Kookie.”
-
The practice room heats up like a sauna despite the industrial-sized fans beating down a steady stream of cool air.
Jimin wipes the sweat from his brow and sighs. They’ve been at it for hours now and even the easiest dance moves are proving difficult. He should be getting the routine easily, but he can’t. His mind keeps wandering back to Yoongi and the way he looked at him that night in the Philippines like he was something special.
Hoseok rewinds the track for what seems like the hundredth time. He zones-in on Jimin with sharp eyes. “Jimin-ah?” His voice carries across the room. “You with us or no? You’re a half step behind everyone.”
Jimin scuffs his toe against the dirty studio floor. Shit. “Sorry,” he utters, voice sounding as irritated as Hobi’s because he’s ticked-off at himself for stupidly messing up. “I was just… distracted,” he finishes lamely.
“Well, everyone else is giving it their all, I’d appreciate it if you did the same.”
Jimin’s blush is automatic. Shame radiates throughout his entire body. He’s not used to being on the receiving end of Hobi’s dance instructor tone and the feeling isn’t a good one. He nods his head in a show of understanding because Hoseok’s right - now is not the time to be distracted by idle thoughts, not with the comeback tour hot on their tail.
He plants his feet into his starting position and tries ridiculously hard not to catch Yoongi’s eye in the oversized mirror. But it’s basically impossible because he’s right there, standing directly behind him and boring holes into a fixed point above Jimin’s shoulder.
Mirror-Yoongi is stupidly pretty and, as of late, closed-off. He swipes at his runny-nose – still not over the cold that knocked him on his ass for a few days – and purposely looks away from Mirror-Jimin’s stare. And like so many times before, Jimin doesn’t have a clue what he’s thinking.
And just as his thoughts begin clouding his focus like they have all of practice, he's forced to snap back to attention as the volume turns up and Hoseok taps out a “5, 6, 7, 8….”
Jimin tries his damnedest to stay in sync. He really does. The 8-count is a constant staccato in his head, pounding out a rhythm he's trying to stay tuned to. They’re onto the second set of choreography, rotating to a new position when Jimin moves to the wrong spot – foot colliding with someone else’s – and he ends up slamming chest-first into Yoongi’s slight frame.
“Shit,” Jimin curses as Yoongi jolts backward and falls to the hardwood floor. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry Yoongi-hyung,” he quickly babbles. But Yoongi folds in on himself, legs tucking into the fetal position as he clutches his left wrist tightly against his chest.
“Yoons, you okay?” Seokjin lurches forward. He kneels to the floor near Yoongi’s side and gingerly takes his hurt wrist in his hand. He hisses in sympathy when Yoongi quickly pulls back.
“Shit, is it broke?” Namjoon asks.
“We need to call manager-hyung,” Hoseok interjects, voice all business as he crouches down to where Seokjin is kneeling.
“Do you think it’s broke?” Namjoon asks again, voice edging on panic.
“Jimin, go get some ice,” Seokjin orders. He gently prods at Yoongi’s skin, eyes soft and voice quiet. “Where does it hurt?”
“Right there, yeah.” Yoongi winces at the touch. “And my thumb, ah, not so hard.” He sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, face twisting in pain.
Jimin tries to get closer but Namjoon puts a hand on his chest, halting him. “Give him some space.”
“But I, I didn’t,” Jimin stutters. “I wasn’t….” He feels like the floor is slipping out beneath his feet like he accidentally kicked the lone, tiny rock that started a massive avalanche.
“It’s already starting to swell,” Hoseok comments.
“Jimin-ah. Ice. Now,” Seokjin orders.
Jimin’s stands there wide-eyed. He's about to protest when Taehyung grabs him by the hand and tugs him towards the door. “C’mon, Chim,” he says, interlocking their fingers together. “Let’s go.”
Jimin doesn’t know what to do except let Taehyung drag him.
_
Even with Tae wrapped around him, Jimin can’t fall asleep. He keeps picturing Yoongi – sick with a head cold and stuck at the hospital – and Jimin’s stomach curdles.
Out of all the mistakes he’s made, this one feels the biggest. Not only did he possibly break his hyung’s wrist and push back their comeback tour, but if he was trying to get on Yoongi’s good side he failed. Big-time.
Ever since the Philippines it’s been one blunder after the next. Jimin doesn’t know where he stands, or which side is up. It’s been too long since he’s talked to Yoongi and the missing hole that his Deagu-hyung usually takes up has his heart aching in a way that’s unbearable.
Which is why, like it or not, he knows he needs to talk to Yoongi. Not necessarily to alk about that night or to confess any deep, ridiculous feelings, but to make amends in some way. To get them back to Level One: Friendship.
And what better way to apologize than with food? At least, that’s what Jimin thinks as he slips out of Taehyung’s arms and treks over to the local convenient store – mask adjusted snugly over his chin to hide any chance of being spotted. Leave it to Yoongi to prefer gas station kimbap and cheap coffee over the fancy foods they can finally afford.
The dorm is quiet by the time Yoongi returns from his X-rays, what with Namjoon holed up in his studio and everyone else asleep. It’s nearing two in the morning and Jimin knows exactly where to find his hyung: locked inside Genius Lab, relentlessly working despite bone-deep exhaustion.
Jimin takes a deep breath before rapping his knuckles on the door. He carefully balances the cup and to-go bag in his hand.
“Hyung?” He knocks. He waits a moment when there’s no answer. He stares at the coded padlock with a frown. “Hyung,” he tries again, voice gaining confidence. “It’s, uh, Jimin. I know you’re probably busy, or maybe you fell asleep, but I thought maybe…”
Suddenly, the door clicks open and Yoongi is there, eyes blinking against the bright hallway lights with bruise-deep smudges beneath his lids. “Hey,” he says, rubbing tiredly at his face. His nose is tinged pink and his eyes are heavy. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Jimin replies. He feels somewhat tongue-tied now that Yoongi is in front of him, actually talking. “I just….” He sheepishly looks down at the floor and frowns. “I wanted to apologize. For, you know....” he trails off not able to finish the sentiment.
“Almost breaking my wrist?” Yoongi cuts in.
Jimin lets the fresh wave of shame wash over him. He peeks up to see Yoongi’s hand wrapped in a black casing instead of the expected white plaster. “It’s not broken?” He asks.
“Sprained,” Yoongi replies, showing off the brace.
Jimin visibly relaxes. “Oh thank god. I thought I really messed up,” he breathes, eyes closing in momentary gratitude. “I really am sorry,” he offers, not able to stop babbling now that he's started talking. “I brought you some stuff,” he says, holding up his arm to show off the purchases.
Yoongi zeroes in on the coffee and makes an immediate grab for the now-tepid cup. A satisfied moan escapes his throat as he takes the first sip. “Thanks,” he says, breath puffing out against the lid. “I take it this is your peace offering?”
Jimin smiles. “That depends, am I forgiven?”
Yoongi thinks on this for a minute, lips puckered in concentration. “You can do my laundry for the next month and maybe I’ll think about it.”
“A month!” Jimin giggles.
Yoongi’s lips quirk into a slight smile and he jerks his head to the side, indicating Jimin to follow. “Come on,” he says and closes the door behind them. He sits down stiffly in his studio chair, grabbing a tissue to blot his runny nose. A horrible, raspy cough escapes his lips and he hides the noise in the crook of his elbow. “Still can’t believe you body checked me,” he sniffs. “What was going on with you today, anyway?”
Jimin bites his lip. He tries to ignore the bouts of apprehension bubbling in his stomach. He shrugs. “Just an off day, I guess.”
Yoongi gives him a look like he doesn’t quite believe him. He eyes him over the rim of his styrofoam coffee cup, one slim arm crossed over his stomach.
"What are you doing up?” Jimin asks, as a way of distraction. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“Lyrics won’t write themselves,” Yoongi sighs. He leans back in a deep stretch, cracking the joints in his spine. “Sit down,” he says, pulling up a chair beside him. “You’re making me nervous standing there like that.”
“What’re you working on?” Jimin asks. He nods towards the open software on the computer as he perches on the edge of the chair.
“Nothing successful,” Yoongi admits. He scratches the back of his neck and looks dejectedly at the stack of handwritten papers littering the floor along with a handful of discarded tissues. A bottle of Cabernet sits half-empty next to a bottle of cold medicine and packets of ginseng. He huffs a breath and cups a cheek in his palm. “I’m stuck.”
“Maybe you should get some sleep.” Jimin unwraps the to-go container of kimbap. “Eat something and then go to bed. You look exhausted.”
“I’m okay,” Yoongi says, words automatic. But another yawn escapes his lips along with a body-shaking coughing attack. He fists at the bags under his eyes. “Don’t worry about me,” he says like he can see the wheels in Jimin’s head turning. “I don’t break that easy.”
“I wasn’t worrying,” Jimin shoots back.
“Oh really? So, was it your idea or Seokjin-hyung’s idea to bring me food just now?”
Jimin smiles. He shyly fusses a hand through his hair. “Mine.”
“Uh huh,” Yoongi smiles, heart-shaped lips hidden behind his cup. He continues to watch Jimin with fond eyes, the warmth of his gaze creating a buzzing feeling in Jimin’s belly.
Jimin should be used to this by now – the euphoria of being so near to his crush. His inability to think properly whenever Yoongi is this close. But he’s not used to it. Because even now it feels as if he’s floating. The soft timbre of Yoongi’s voice affects every nerve in his body.
“Tomorrow should be quiet,” Yoongi says conversationally. He pops off the lid of the container and puts a piece of kimbap in his mouth. He licks his thumb to catch the stray sesame seeds. “It’ll be nice to have a break for once," he mumbles. "Unless you’re doing that press thing tomorrow with Namjoon and the others?”
Jimin steals a piece of kimbap for himself. “No. That’s just Taehyung and Jin-hyung, I think. You’re not going either, right?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think they want me on air with a brace on my wrist and my voice sounding like death.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “Since it’s just the two of us, do you… Uh, do you wanna grab dinner or something? I can pay you back for buying me kimbap.”
Jimin can’t help the shocked look on his face or how his mouth forms a silent ‘o.’ The pounding in his ears drowns out all else and for once in his life, he’s speechless. Because as much as Yoongi is using his invitation as an excuse to pay Jimin back he’s still asking him out. Yoongi's olive branch is validation for everything that went on that night.
But in the ten seconds it takes for Jimin’s brain to catch up, Yoongi is already answering with a hurried, “Never mind, that was stupid.”
Jimin scrambles to find his voice. “No, no, I just – ”
“It’s fine,” Yoongi says, hand lazily waiving away the entirety of the situation. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, completely misreading the situation. He pulls his gray beanie further down his head, all but shielding his eyes with his matted-down fringe.
“Hyung,” Jimin starts again, but Yoongi is already swiveling around towards his equipment, back turned. His sneakers make crunching noises as they step atop the discarded papers littering the floor.
“I should get back to work,” he says as a way of parting and places his headphones over his ears. “Get some sleep, Jimin-ah," he says, nose stuffy and voice thick with exhaustion. "It’s late.”
Jimin doesn’t interject even though he wants to. He grabs his coat and walks out of the studio wondering how on earth he managed to fuck things up for the hundredth time.