Chapter Text
“Can you give me a reasonable explanation as to why you’re not at your desk right now?”
Jimin looks at Yoongi as if he’s an alien from the movie Alien, tilting his head to the side and making his perfectly styled blonde hair turn a little less perfectly styled, with a strand falling over his eye.
“I’m on my coffee break.”
“I presume you are aware coffee breaks last for only ten minutes.”
Jimin grabs his phone, probably to look at the time. “Oh, God. I’ve been here 26 minutes, this is terrible. I’m so sorry, Min Yoongi-ssi.”
“Maybe apologize to the ancient manuscripts that are currently not being cataloged into the system.”
Jimin pouts. Like actually, truly, pouts. And Yoongi’s not a violent person, but he does imagine a piano falling over Jimin’s head like in one of those old silent movies.
“You know I’m good at my job, I’ll get it all done in no time for you, Min Yoongi-ssi.” Jimin smiles that smile that makes his eyes turn into crescents, and then he bites his lower lip in a mischievous way Yoongi’s more familiar with by now than he would like to be. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Make it up to me how?” Yoongi has no idea why he’s even asking. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
“I will.” Jimin nods, running a hand through his hair, now completely ruining the slicked back style. “For the 16 minutes I spent here instead of at my desk.”
“No need.” Yoongi’s tone is curt. “Just do your job.”
He doesn’t feel the need to say anything else, mind running with all the possible reasons as to why he was cursed with having to work with Park Jimin every day. Surely he must have burnt an entire city in his past life, or lead an army of really stupid men fighting a war that was not theirs.
Yoongi turns around after a short bow and goes back to his office at the edge of the room. He can see Park Jimin’s maddeningly messy desk perfectly from behind his own desk. It’s insane that the younger man is his intern.
Yoongi doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.
“He’s undisciplined,” he whines to Seokjin for what feels like the millionth time this year a few hours later. Seokjin dragged him to a bar. Yoongi didn’t want to come. “Sure, he’s good at his job, but is it really worth the amount of headaches I have every week?”
“Yes,” Seokjin replies immediately, which earns him a glare from Yoongi. “Nothing you say about this man makes me dislike him, by the way. He sounds like an extremely amusing person.”
“We don’t need amusement in a museum,” Yoongi argues, grabbing the beer glass Seokjin offers him. “We need work ethic and silence .”
Seokjin chuckles. “They hired him because he was the best, despite being loud and funny. Which are not flaws, Yoongi-yah. You need someone fun around you.”
“I have you.”
His best friend clicks his tongue. “I’m flattered, but you need someone else funny around you.”
“Why?”
“Because,” and Seokjin makes sure to announce every single syllable of the word. “You have become boring.”
“Well, thank you,” Yoongi grumbles. “You’re an asshole.”
To Yoongi’s dismay, Seokjin doesn’t seem offended. His best friend places a hand over his.
“Trust me on this, Yoongi-yah. We all need a little fun at work, including you.”
Yoongi shakes his head. “Our definitions of fun are very different, hyung.”
“Even so, stop being so dramatic.” Seokjin takes a sip of his drink. “He’s an intern, isn’t he? That means he will be gone by the end of the summer.”
That makes Yoongi feel somewhat better. Summer ends in eight weeks.
Only two more months, and then Yoongi will never have to see Park Jimin again.
One of the best parts about working in a museum is the wonderment that comes whenever a new piece arrives.
Yoongi never tires of it.
It feels magic to him, to see something created so long ago from up close. He can’t help but picture the people who did it; what they were thinking, what they were saying, if they were saying anything at all. What did they want with it, or what did they want it for. Sometimes he has those answers, but not always, and not as often as he would like.
Still, the entire process brings him joy. Or at least, it used to.
“That looks really heavy,” Park Jimin says, tilting his body forward so he can take a better look at the armor. “Is it going next to the other one?”
“No,” Yoongi replies slowly, massaging his temples. “They are from different time periods, Park Jimin-ssi.”
“Ah.” Jimin nods solemnly. Yoongi hadn’t noticed before, but the younger man chose to wear a bright pink sweater to work today. He massages his temples harder. “You really know a lot about this stuff, don’t you, Min Yoongi-ssi?”
Yoongi clears his throat. “I went to University for it, I imagine it would be rather ridiculous if I didn’t know a lot about this stuff .”
“Why do you always talk like that?” Jimin shakes his head, apparently amused.
“Like what?”
“Like we’re not only in a museum, but are part of the museum.” He clicks his tongue, eyes shining mischievously. “It’s kinda adorable, I won’t lie.”
Yoongi blinks. “Did you just call me adorable?”
And for the first time in the very long three weeks they have known each other, Yoongi sees Park Jimin blush. It’s modest, barely there, but it’s noticeable. His cheeks are colored in the faintest shade of ruby and Yoongi, discontentedly, finds it pretty.
“Yeah,” he says, and the bravery in his admission takes Yoongi aback. “I did.”
Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to blush. He’s not called adorable very often. Well, he’s never called adorable. He clears his throat. “Enough of that, Park Jimin-ssi, go back to work.”
Jimin pauses for a brief second, then nods. Yoongi can tell he’s trying his hardest not to roll his eyes.
“As you wish, sajangnim.”
The man turns on his heels and walks back to his desk, immersing himself in the papers Yoongi had ordered him to sign that morning. Yoongi stares a bit too long, and only darts his eyes away when his attention is called back to the armor.
Park Jimin’s taking away his concentration now. Really fucking great.
Yoongi can hardly believe that after five weeks working under Yoongi’s supervision Jimin’s desk is still this fucking mess.
He stares at the chaos, at the absolute disarray of it all and wonders just how Jimin manages to get any work done. Yoongi has given him God knows how many lectures on how to keep things organized, to keep them tidy, and he’s pretty sure Jimin wasn’t really paying attention to any of it because if he was then how is there a half eaten sandwich next to an ancient chinese manuscript?
Yoongi hates it. He hates how little Jimin cares about keeping his work space tidy and hates how little Jimin cares how much Yoongi hates it.
And if Yoongi were someone else, he would admit all of this mess fits Jimin perfectly. How the scrambled ink on his notepad matches his chaotic personality. Or how the rainbow sparkly sweater hanging on the chair could only be Jimin’s because who else would dare to wear something so obnoxious to work in a museum?
But Yoongi is not someone else. So he won’t admit it.
“Why are you staring at my desk?”
The sudden loud voice in the otherwise quiet environment startles Yoongi. He glances to his left side to see Park Jimin approaching him with his arms crossed over his chest. His hair isn’t over his forehead today, which is a surprise. He almost looks like a different person with it slicked back, black roots starting to show. Yoongi wonders how often he dyes it. Would he look too different with black hair?
Why is Yoongi even thinking about this? Fucking christ. He clears his throat, hoping he didn’t stare at Jimin’s hair for too long.
“Because I can’t believe you still haven’t fixed this tornado. How do you even work?”
Jimin sighs, shrugging. He stops right next to Yoongi and looks between the man and his desk. Jimin has dark circles under his eyes, which are a little puffy and red. His face is a little flushed, too. If Yoongi cared, he would ask, but he doesn’t care, so he doesn’t ask.
“I get the work done, don’t I?” Jimin mutters, and there’s a little edge to his voice; not the one Yoongi’s used to, full of banter and flirtation. It sounds irritated and harsh instead. It almost feels out of character, but Yoongi doesn’t really know Park Jimin, does he? This might as well be his usual self, and what Yoongi has seen so far is just his work facade. Most people have one. “That’s what matters.”
Yoongi can’t disagree with that. Like it or not (and he absolutely doesn’t), Jimin does his job really well, so it doesn’t matter how messy his desk is, or how loud he talks, or how extravagant his clothes are, he’s good at what he does. So Yoongi has to deal with it.
It’s almost 10pm and Yoongi’s still at work. That’s not something new; he always hangs back to make sure everything is in order. He can’t fathom the idea that the museum is going to open the next morning and something might be wrong, or out of place. He always checks every room, every piece, before he leaves.
Usually, that happens around 8pm, but he had too many documents to go through today. His head is pounding, but Yoongi doesn’t mind. He wouldn’t break his routine unless someone was dying — and it really depends on who.
After checking the last room, Yoongi goes back to his office to grab his bag, already thinking about the bibimbap he will order once he gets home. There’s even a hint of a smile on his lips. It’s Friday night, after all, and this week Seokjin did not manage to convince him to go out to a pub.
When he turns the corridor and opens the door leading to the offices, Yoongi stops on his tracks, staring at Park Jimin’s back, hunched over his desk.
“What are you still doing here?” His voice sounds high and tired, but he hopes it’s still somewhat polite.
Jimin sits up straight, looking back to regard him for a brief second, then turning back to face his desk. “I need to finish transcribing a manuscript. I was feeling a bit spaced earlier.”
“I see.”
Yoongi moves slowly towards his office, not sure what to make of this. He’s never seen Jimin staying up late at the museum. In fact, he’s always one of the first to leave because he always finishes his work early; that’s one thing Yoongi can never complain about.
He grabs his stuff and takes another look at his intern, catching a glimpse of his red nose. He’s been crying. Yoongi frowns. A few days ago Jimin got to work with red eyes, but that was it. The day after he was already back to normal, so Yoongi didn’t think too much of whatever might have happened (it’s none of his business). But when did Jimin leave his desk for long enough to cry today? Maybe it happened in the hour Yoongi was checking the rooms? Should he say anything, offer him water?
Yoongi shakes his head. He’s not Jimin’s friend. He’s merely his boss. Well, not even that, really. Jimin works for the museum, as does Yoongi. If he could call himself anything, it would be Jimin’s supervisor.
The younger man probably wouldn’t want his assistance, anyway. It’s not a secret the both of them don’t exactly get along that well, despite Jimin’s attempts to be amusing and Yoongi’s attempts to remain civilized. And he thinks they have accomplished their own tasks quite well so far, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud that Jimin is sometimes entertaining.
Yoongi puts his bag over his shoulder and grabs his car keys, deciding that ultimately it isn’t his problem. When he’s close to the door and ready to say a polite ‘goodnight’, he hears Jimin hiccup.
And Yoongi might be many things (uptight, perfectionist, bossy), but he is not a monster.
“What a ride home?”
Jimin doesn’t turn to look at him again. He simply shakes his head. “I’ll… grab a cab when I’m done. Thank you, Min Yoongi-ssi.”
Well, he tried.
Yoongi makes way to the door again, but his feet don’t seem like they want to move. He stares at the entrance and rethinks his entire life. Park Jimin said he doesn’t want a ride. Accept it and go home, Min Yoongi.
Yoongi sighs. “Jimin-ssi, please let me take you home. It’s late. You can finish this tomorrow.”
Jimin seems so surprised by his words that he swings his chair 180 just to look at him with big red eyes. His hair is a mess, as always, but he’s not wearing one of his colorful sweaters today. He’s dressed in a dark blue dress-shirt and Yoongi honestly didn’t think Jimin even owned something like this.
He must be really sad.
“Are you telling me to leave work to finish tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you and what did you do to my boss?”
Yoongi has half a mind to smile, but stops himself right before he makes that terrible mistake. Instead, he shrugs.
“It’s late, Park Jimin-ssi. Let’s go home.”
Jimin still seems startled by Yoongi’s words, but is quick to nod. He grabs his backpack and stuffs his phone, charger and a couple papers inside. He’s only half paying attention to what he’s doing and Yoongi does his absolute best to stay quiet. It’s not the time to complain about Park Jimin’s lack of organization.
While Park Jimin walks towards him, Yoongi cannot believe this is about to happen. He is to take Park Jimin home. They walk out of the museum side by side, but neither dare to say a word. He thinks if anyone else was still there, there would be gossip. He’s glad they are mostly alone.
Yoongi unlocks his car and is glad he doesn’t have to tell Jimin to get inside. Once they are settled in the comfortable space, Yoongi reaches out to turn on the radio, Kendrick Lamar blasting through the speakers. Yoongi’s heart speeds up, and he feels his cheeks hot. He had forgotten he got to work listening to To Pimp a Butterfly today.
Jimin doesn’t say anything, but when Yoongi briefly glances to the side, there’s a small smile on his lips.
Great.
“Where do you live?” Yoongi asks, hoping for the situation to be forgotten as soon as he changes subjects.
Jimin tells him, voice amused. He still has a red nose and his eyes are still puffed as if he’s been crying for hours, but knowing Yoongi was blasting Kendrick Lamar in his car seems to be enough to put the man in a good mood. Brat.
They stay silent for the entire ride, which makes sense. They are coworkers. Jimin is Yoongi’s assistant. They don’t really have much to talk about except ancient sculptures and manuscripts dated back to before A.D.
Honestly, Yoongi’s not even sure Jimin would even be able to hold a conversation about that because he doesn’t seem particularly interested in the subject. This internship feels like something that was thrown in his lap rather than something he chose to do.
When they finally get to Jimin’s apartment building, the blonde man turns to him. “Thank you for the ride home, Min Yoongi-ssi. I hope you enjoy rapping to Kendrick Lamar on your way home.”
Yoongi’s so baffled by the sassiness he can’t even muster up a response before Jimin hops off the car and bows to him, waving goodbye.
He watches the man unlock the front door with a smirk on his face, but then, just as he’s about to close it, Jimin’s face falls, and he’s back to feeling whatever it is he was feeling when Yoongi found him quietly sobbing on his desk.
The following week feels like hell on earth to Yoongi.
At the same time he continues on his incessant complaining of how terribly Jimin tidies his work space, or how he spends too much time on his coffee breaks, he still observes on whether the other man is okay. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s cried again. Whatever it may have happened, maybe it’s over. Or at least Jimin’s keeping it outside of the work — which is what he should do. Personal business should not be dealt with at the work space.
They don’t talk about the ride home Yoongi offered him, and honestly there’s no reason to. It was just a ride home.
Yoongi tries not to think about it, focusing all his time and energy on the perfection he has chosen to work with; the sculptures, the paintings, the manuscripts. Things that are stuck in time; unchangeable, unmoving, eternal. That he can deal with, that he can understand.
Yoongi cannot understand loud interns with messy blonde hairs and bright purple sweaters who are amazing at their job, but terrible at organization.
So he won’t try to.
Jimin offers him a polite smile every time their eyes meet, and Yoongi offers him a short nod. That’s their relationship.
It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yoongi, though, how the other man has stopped making jokes. Yoongi can only hope he didn’t offend him somehow, or made him feel uncomfortable by catching him crying.
Yoongi shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. Jimin’s internship will end in seven weeks.
There’s a knock on Yoongi’s door, and when he raises his eyes to look, he’s met with Park Jimin. Today, he’s wearing a bright denim jacket with the rainbow flag knitted on the right pocket. Yoongi can’t help but wonder if that means what that usually means or if Park Jimin simply likes rainbows.
“Yes?”
“Good evening, Min Yoongi-ssi.” Jimin bows politely and then starts fidgeting with his hands. He wants to ask Yoongi something. “I was wondering if it’s okay if I clock out 30 minutes earlier tonight.”
Of course it is not okay. Work hours are work hours. And yet, Yoongi’s mouth speaks on its own volition.
“Do you have a good reason?”
Park Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up. Yoongi thinks he was expecting a flatout no and decided to ask just to be 100% sure. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like the idea of surprising Park Jimin.
“It’s my eomma’s birthday.”
Oh. Yoongi nods, trying to disguise his own surprise.
“Very well, then. If you’ve finished your work, you may go. Get your mom something nice to eat.”
Park Jimin bows again, seemingly even more surprised. “Thank you so much, Min Yoongi-ssi.”
Yoongi thinks he’s never seen the man so happy, and he’s usually a very cheerful person (except last week when he had been crying and Yoongi’s still asking himself why even though he’s aware it’s none of his damn business and Park Jimin means nothing to him).
“You’re welcome,” he says, and then Jimin almost flies off the room, grabbing his stuff to leave.
His desk, to no one’s surprise, is still a mess.
Yoongi has been fascinated by the past ever since he was a little boy. That’s why he majored in History. He’s always loved to know more about what has come and gone, always been obsessed with the people who have been, and not the people who are. And his friends (especially Seokjin) have told him he needs to live more in the present, but what does the present have to offer him?
The past is fixed, and that gives Yoongi peace.
“What do you do on Sundays?” Park Jimin wonders when Yoongi makes the mistake of asking for his help cataloging a new set of Chinese artifacts. They had been alone and in silence for almost two hours until now. “You’re not here on Sundays, and that’s usually the busiest day here. Most crowded.”
That’s precisely why. Yoongi likes the past, not the people that visit the past.
“I don’t like crowds,” he replies honestly.
Park Jimin stops, lifting his head up to look at him. “That makes perfect sense, actually.”
Yoongi doesn’t like the idea of anything about him making perfect sense to Park Jimin. He sighs heavily, putting down his notepad. There’s a pain behind his eyes that is threatening to get worse. He should take painkillers, but Yoongi’s pretty sure he doesn’t have any. With an even heavier sigh, he downs his eyes on Park Jimin, who’s already gone back to doing his job.
“Do you have aspirin?”
Park Jimin nods without taking his eyes off the piece in his hands. “In my bag.”
“Where is your bag?” Yoongi looks around the large room they are in. It’s empty except for them and the newly arrived artifacts.
“Back in the office.”
Jimin still doesn’t look at him. He’s very carefully placing the object back inside the box, now properly labeled. Yoongi watches as he grabs another with the same grace, same delicacy. Jimin takes a close look at the teacup, even though it’s exactly the same as the one he was holding before. Yoongi imagines he’s searching for any cracks or bruises to the beautiful flowery design. After making sure there’s none, Jimin puts the object back inside the box and takes note of its perfection.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Jimin asks, and Yoongi blinks. He feels his neck and ears getting red. “It’s in the first pocket, but if you can’t find it, just bring it here and I’ll get it for you.”
Yoongi firmly nods, placing his own notebook on the floor and rushing out of the room without a word. He walks to the office without allowing himself to think, and goes straight to Park Jimin’s bag (something he never thought he would be doing, honestly). He considers just opening the first pocket as instructed, but even if the owner gave him permission, it still feels like an invasion of privacy, so Yoongi takes the bag and brings it to the other room where Jimin’s still working on the teacups box.
He places it next to Jimin and then man glances at it, sighing heavily. “It really isn’t that hard to find, Min Yoongi-ssi.” He opens the first pocket and takes out the medicine, handing it to Yoongi. “Here. Now, please take my bag back to where you found it.”
“Thank you, Park Jimin-ssi.”
Yoongi takes the aspirin, the bag and his confusing thoughts out of the room.
He’s not really sure what he’s confused about. Well. It was impressive to watch Jimin working. He never really allowed himself to pay attention before. All Yoongi ever saw was Jimin transcribing manuscripts, and anyone can do that. But the elegant way in which Jimin was handling the teacups can only be done if you actually care. Those objects are older than anyone or anything either of them know outside of this museum’s walls. Or at least anything they are actually allowed to touch and break, not ancient buildings with thick foundations.
Yoongi realizes he never actually asked Jimin why he’s here, why he chose this internship. He simply assumed he didn’t have a choice. He probably shouldn’t have done that.
Still, that doesn’t change the fact that Jimin is too fucking messy, talks too fucking loud and annoys the fuck out of Yoongi.
Yoongi places the bag back on Jimin’s chair and takes a glance at the picture he’s put up on his desk, next to the computer. It’s Jimin smiling with a huge fish in his hands, cheeks flustered. Probably from the cold. He’s wearing that denim rainbow jacket he wore a few days ago.
Yoongi smiles, shaking his head.
The fifty time Yoongi sneezes, he accepts that he’s done.
The night was hell, he even thinks he had a fever at some point. He couldn’t fall asleep at all, deciding to binge-watch The Umbrella Academy instead (very unrealistic, but pleasing show). He felt so much pain he considered calling his eomma . What a baby.
Now that the day has come and he’s still in pain, he’s decided that calling your mother when you’re sick is not a baby thing (she will be there any second).
The problem is the museum. If he can’t go to work, then certainly that place will succumb. He could ask Kim Taehyung to supervise it all, but the man’s been so busy preparing the next exhibition that he just doesn’t have the heart to give him more work (better, he doesn’t think Taehyung would be able to do both jobs without destroying one of them).
So he calls the only person he does not want to call.
“Min Yoongi-ssi,” Park Jimin greets as soon as he picks up the call (which takes longer than it should have, considering he’s already on the clock). “You haven’t arrived yet, are you alright?”
Yoongi coughs.
“Oh, you’re sick,” Park Jimin says and Yoongi can almost hear the pout in his voice. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi-ssi, I’ll take care of everything for you.”
That’s what Yoongi’s afraid of. But he doesn’t really have a choice, does he? Out of everyone who works there, Jimin’s the one who knows the most about Yoongi’s part of the job (being his assistant and all), so it’s only logical. Although extremely terrifying.
“Please, don’t burn my museum to the ground.”
Park Jimin giggles. Yoongi’s chest does something weird. He hates it.
“I won’t, I promise,” Jimin says. “You can trust me.”
“Okay.” Yoongi doesn’t trust him. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“Please, take care of yourself!”
Park Jimin hangs up and Yoongi stares at the ceiling for a long time. He knows Jimin is competent. He probably won’t fuck it all up.
Yoongi buries himself in the bed sheets, whining.
It lasted for eight days.
Yoongi was sick for eight fucking days.
His museum must be in shambles. His mother wouldn’t let him call anyone, or get out of bed for longer than a shower.
Yoongi was about to lose his fucking mind, more due to stress than the high fever (yes, the bitch came back and made itself at home for four days ).
But finally, during the eighth night of his personal inferno, his fever broke. At 6:30am, he’s already taken a shower and is ready to leave for work.
He slips out before his mother can see him.
Yoongi drives to the museum absolutely expecting the worst. He even imagines the entire thing burned out and now there are only crumbs in what used to stand one of the most beautiful museums in Korea. But he knows he’s being overly dramatic.
The museum is fine on the outside. And… On the inside. Everyone greets him when he passes by, smiles on their faces. Everything’s quiet, or as quiet as a museum can be when there’s murmurs everywhere. People are observing the pieces here and there. A normal Tuesday.
When Yoongi gets to the office, his eyes lock on Park Jimin’s desk immediately and he stops on his tracks.
It’s clean. No, no. It’s immaculate . Not one object out of place, not one single paper thrown over it. Yoongi’s shock turns into worry in the next second, though. Park Jimin’s bag is not there, nor is one of the obnoxious jackets he so often places on the back of his chair.
Has he– has he left? He’s still got five weeks of internship to go. Yoongi has been out for eight days and Jimin’s already given up?! No way.
Yoongi stomps to his office, ready to call the man, but is surprised yet again in the last two minutes. Park Jimin is at his desk.
Park Jimin is sleeping at his desk.
Park Jimin has turned Yoongi’s desk into a pandemonium.
All his papers are scattered over manuscripts, ancient manuscripts , his notebooks are open and thrown around. There’s even a McDonald’s wrapped paper on the floor, near the trash can. Yoongi feels his blood boil.
He takes a deep breath. Jimin looks so peaceful. If he’s sleeping there, it means he probably spent the entire night in the museum. His hair is sticking out, mouth slack, arms thrown around his head.
Yoongi crouches on the floor to grab the McDonald’s wrapped paper and throws it in the trash. Then, he grabs all the papers and manuscripts and places them in one of the drawers, as quietly as he can. He closes the notebooks and stocks them up in another drawer.
Next to Jimin’s left elbow, there’s the picture of him with the fish. All smiles and crescent eyes.
Yoongi takes a deep, shaky breath. Then steps out of the room, turning off the light and closing the door.
It’s a curse.
One of those ancient ones people love to make films about. Yoongi’s sure of it.
There is no other explanation as to why his eyes keep lingering on Park Jimin whenever the man so much as moves an arm. Yoongi could even offer a detailed presentation of every single thing Jimin has done today at work, which is ridiculous because he should be focusing on the shitload of work he has on his desk (Jimin eventually woke up and moved all his things back to his own workspace, blushed cheeks and not a word to Yoongi), not on what Jimin is doing in his (once again) chaotic one.
Now Jimin’s eating a sandwich. Next to a greek manuscript that arrived earlier that morning. Yoongi’s trying to make up his mind if he should go over there to complain or not. He probably should. It’s the right thing to do, as his supervisor.
But Jimin’s probably so tired after spending the night at the museum taking care of Yoongi’s workload. He deserves a break. Maybe even a foot massage.
What the fuck, Min Yoongi.
He’s lost his mind completely.
Yoongi grabs his phone and calls Namjoon, who picks it up on the third ring.
“I need to get drunk.”
Namjoon’s silent for a second.
“I never thought I’d hear that coming out of your mouth on a Thursday . Or ever, really. What’s going on?”
“My mind is playing tricks on me and I think alcohol will help.”
“Has alcohol ever helped?”
Yoongi grimaces, flashbacks to when he danced on a pole after Namjoon and Seokjin dragged him out to celebrate his graduation from University.
“Please,” he repeats, and he hopes he sounds desperate enough for Namjoon not to ask questions.
“Wow, okay, fine. I’ll swing by the museum to pick you up at 8pm.”
“Thanks.”
Yoongi turns off the call and places the phone inside his drawer, fixing the glasses on his face. He doesn’t look at Park Jimin again, but dearly hopes the intern has not dropped any crumbs on any ancient Greek paper.
Only five weeks until Park Jimin ends his internship and Yoongi never has to see him again.
Yoongi takes a large gulp of beer and drops his glass back down, ignoring how Namjoon’s staring at him. His friend is worried; Yoongi knows him enough to know that. But there’s nothing to be worried about.
He is a 30 year old man enjoying beer at a bar. How many beers, though, Yoongi has lost count so far, but that’s okay because he has a very strong resistance to alcohol.
Seokjin is blowing up his phone asking why he wasn’t invited. Simply, Seokjin would ask the questions Namjoon is too kind to ask, and drinking beer in silence is what Yoongi needs.
Well, not silence since they are in a bar, but you know.
Yoongi doesn’t understand. He was fine. He’s been fine. His life has been projected ever since he started high-school. He never allowed himself to get sidetracked or distracted by unimportant things, and Park Jimin is definitely not where his mind should be right now, but alas. Yoongi thinks he might go insane.
“I can’t take him out of my head,” Yoongi whines to Namjoon, slapping his hand on the counter. “He’s that fucking annoying.”
“Hyung… I’m sure he’s not that annoying.”
“He is!” Yoongi insists. “Anywhere I turn, there he is, with his bright pink sweater and his stupid smile. Did you know that his eyes turn into crescents when he smiles? It’s annoying.”
Namjoon takes a gulp of his drink and Yoongi wants to drown in the beer in his hands. Maybe he could, if he was a little smaller. Then, if he drowned, he wouldn’t have to think about Park fucking Jimin and his stupid chelsea boots.
“ Who wears chelsea boots in a museum?”
Namjoon stares at him. “Hyung, have you considered that, and I say this in the nicest way possible, truly, but have you considered the possibility that you, uh, might, you know, like him?”
“ What? ” Yoongi shouts, straightening up on the stool. “I do not like Park Jimin, Namjoon.”
Namjoon takes a deep breath.
“Don’t you?”
Yoongi glares at him. Then, he blinks, lowering his eyes to the drink he’s holding. Park Jimin and his annoyingly gorgeous eyes and his obnoxiously adoring laugh and his stupidly endearing questions.
“No,” he replies. “I do not like Park Jimin.”
Namjoon presses his lips on a thin line. Yoongi drinks more beer. Namjoon keeps staring at him. Yoongi thinks about punching Namjoon. Namjoon clicks his tongue. Yoongi grunts, defeated.
“ Fine ,” he says, very low. “Maybe I like him.”
Namjoon chokes on his drink. “I actually didn’t expect you to admit it so easily.”
“Oh, shut up.” Yoongi can’t believe this is happening to him. Him . He’s not built for this type of stuff. He knows about mummies and ancient gay paintings and empires ascending. He does not know about love.
Love. Why is he even using that word right now?
“I need to go.”
“What?” Namjoon stares. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” He does, actually.
After paying for his drinks and kissing Namjoon’s forehead (he’s drunk, he’s just drunk), Yoongi takes a cab and gives an address that is not his.
Yoongi’s being so stupid right now. He spends the entire car ride telling himself so. But even then, even knowing he’s being idiotic, he can’t stop himself from getting of the taxi and ringing the bell.
Park Jimin comes to the door and seems utterly surprised to see Yoongi there. His cheeks are puffed and red, and he looks a bit sweaty. Was he drinking, too?
“Min Yoongi-ssi,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“I cleaned my desk for you,” Yoongi replies. “I let you sleep on my desk and I cleaned your mess.”
Jimin lowers his eyes as if he’s embarrassed. “I know and I’m sorry. It was just easier to work from there and–”
“Park Jimin,” Yoongi sighs. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
Jimin’s staring at him. Yoongi’s losing it. He wants– fuck.
“I think you got inside my head,” he admits. “And I don’t know how to get you out.”
Park Jimin’s lips part. Min Yoongi wants to kiss them. He can’t believe it, but oh. He does. He wants it so much it kinda hurts a bit.
“Why would you–” Jimin starts, then he shrugs. “Why would you want to get me out?”
Yoongi doesn’t have an answer for that. He just stands on Park Jimin’s threshold and hopes the other man has it all figured out because he sure as hell doesn’t.
Thankfully, Jimin seems to know what to do next.
“Wanna come in?”
Yoongi nods, stepping forward. He stops right next to Jimin and looks into his eyes. Yoongi can feel the heat of Jimin’s skin. Can he drown on it?
What has happened to him?
Yoongi doesn’t know.
But Park Jimin says he will make him some tea, and that’s good enough for now.