Archive of Our Own ^beta

“What did you get for question three?” Taehyung asks, chewing idly on the blue lid of his biro, his legs kicked out at an angle that makes Jimin huff and flick his hair out of his face as he skips over them, a tray of food resting securely in one hand.

He doesn’t stop walking as he replies briskly, “I haven’t done it yet.” And then he’s gone, headed off to table seven to give them their dinner. Taehyung, huddled at a corner table by the restaurant kitchen, can’t help but let out an indignant yelp.

When Jimin passes again, Taehyung snags him by the wrist. “You know this is due tomorrow?” he asks. “You’re gonna get an academic warning if you don’t get this coursework in on time.”

Jimin sighs, tucking the now empty tray under one arm. “I’ll get it done tonight, okay?” he says, clearly exasperated. “I get off work at eleven.” Taehyung checks his phone. Only an hour left.

“Have you ever thought about cutting down your hours at work?” Taehyung suggests, his tone as close to worried as it ever gets.

The suggestion startles a laugh out of Jimin, now sitting at Taehyung’s table and idly sipping at Taehyung’s double vodka and coke as he keeps a watchful eye out for his section of the restaurant. “Can’t,” he says bluntly. “My landlord is fucking me up the ass for rent that I’m barely making. I can’t even afford to turn on the heating.” He slants a sly glance in Taehyung’s direction. “D’you remember how cold it was last time you came to mine?”

Yes Taehyung most definitely does. Luckily, the two of them had found a way to pass the time that had helped to keep them warm.

“I’m actually trying to get the boss to give me some more shifts during the week,” Jimin continues. “It’d be nice not to have to eat ramen seven days a week.” He sighs wistfully as Taehyung snorts. For as long as he’s known Jimin, the boy’s diet had consisted strictly of ramen and a cheap bottles of red wine.

“You’re an idiot,” Taehyung states, voice flat.

Jimin merely laughs in reply, standing slowly because it looks like one of his tables is ready to pay for their dinner and leave. “You’re only saying that because you’re a needy fuck and you don’t like the idea of me spending less time with you.”

Taehyung takes another swig of his drink, the vodka warm and familiar on his tongue. He grins at Jimin as he walks away, eyes unapologetically fixed on his friend’s ass. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

It’s a week or so later that Taehyung collapses, sweaty and naked next to Jimin, and says, “So, you’re going to love me.” Jimin gives him a suspicious glance, but doesn’t say anything, still too busy catching his own breath. “Like, a whole lot. You’re gonna be so in love with me that I’m already going to pre-emptively reject the marriage proposal you’re going to offer me when I tell you about the awesome thing I did.”

Shifting so that he can sit up, Jimin turns to look at Taehyung properly. “What did you do?” He sounds wary, like he almost doesn’t want to know.

“You know how you said you can barely afford this shitty apartment?” Taehyung asks eagerly, leaning over the edge of Jimin’s small single bed to grab the half emptied bottle of wine on the floor. “I have found you the perfect place.” He takes a triumphant swig of his drink before placing a sloppy kiss on Jimin’s cheek, leaving a smear of red on his skin.

Jimin sighs, grabbing the bottle for himself and draining the rest of it, pulling a face when he’s done. “Tae,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining something to a five-year-old. “There’s no fucking way you found a place that’s cheaper than this.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “A friend of mine is dropping out of college and his housemate is looking for a replacement. Apparently the landlord is so desperate to get someone to sign a one year lease as soon as possible that he’s dropped the monthly rent by, like, two hundred thousand won.”

The look Jimin gives him is wide-eyed and disbelieving. It sounds too good to be true. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks.

Slinging on leg over Jimin’s, Taehyung pushes him back into the mattress. “What do you say to a celebratory round two?” He cants his hips suggestively, his dick showing a renewed interest.

Jimin laughs at his antics, wraps his arms around Taehyung’s neck, and pulls him down for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. Sometimes, Taehyung can be a pretty fucking great best friend.

Jimin packs away the last of his stuff in one of many old, worn cardboard boxes that he and Taehyung have stolen from the storage units in his building’s basement.

“Done,” he says with a flourish, taping it shut with a generous amount of duct tape. He pulls the cigarette from his lips, grinning up at Taehyung, who had arrived an hour ago to help load it into his shitty old Ford.

Taehyung pulls a face. “What happened to not smoking indoors?” he asks, before plucking the cigarette from Jimin’s slim fingers and taking a drag for himself. Jimin laughs.

“I don’t live here anymore, so I don’t give a fuck,” Jimin explains, heaving the box into his arms now he has both hands free. “It’s not like I’m gonna get my deposit back, since I fucked up the tiling in the bathroom. And the landlord is an asshole, anyway.”

Snorting, Taehyung stubs the cigarette out, now burned down to the filter, against a rickety old coffee table they’re leaving behind. “Well, Minjae said this Hoseok guy is super clean and healthy living, so look forward to that.”

Jimin sighs slightly at the mention of his new roommate as he leaves his old apartment for the last time. “Well, I hope he at least likes to drink.” Despite his words, he doesn’t sound particularly hopeful.

Taehyung closes the door behind them, the rusty lock creaking under his hands as he turns the key. “Don’t worry,” he says over his shoulder, throwing a grin at Jimin. “You’ve still got me.”

“I’ve still got you,” Jimin agrees with a decisive nod, smiling right back at him.

Jimin knocks tentatively on the plain, white-painted wooden door to his new apartment, despite having the keys sitting heavily in his back pocket. No matter how much Taehyung might tease him, Jimin wants to make a good first impression on his new housemate.

“Sorry, one second!” he hears from inside the apartment and then, moments later, as Taehyung shifts awkwardly behind him, arms laden with boxes, the door opens. Hoseok stands in the entranceway, sweaty and drowning in a too-large jumper and shorts. “I was just working out,” he says breathlessly, before beckoning Jimin in with a sweep of his arms. Inside, the apartment is light and airy, not nearly as small and dark as Jimin’s old place. The television hums quietly from its place in the corner of the open plan living room, and Hoseok hastily turns it off as he leads Jimin and Taehyung inside.

Smiling at Jimin, he asks, “You must be my new roommate, huh?”

Unable to help himself, Jimin blushes as he gives a jerky nod. He’s so horribly awkward at dealing with new people like Hoseok, who seem so forward and happy, especially if he hasn’t had anything to drink. Luckily, Taehyung knows how he gets, and smoothly steps between the two of them, setting his box down on the coffee table. He grins at Hoseok. “I’m Taehyung,” he introduces himself, “I’m Jimin’s best friend.”

“You knew Minjae, right?” Hoseok asks, directing his smile now at Taehyung while Jimin pulls more boxes in from the hallway, carefully placing them just inside the door.

Taehyung hums out an affirmative before clapping his hands together. “Right, so where’s my Jiminnie sleeping? I need to know whose room I’m allowed to sabotage when I stay over.”

Laughing, Hoseok points at a door tucked into the corner at the far end of the room. He motions Jimin over, kindly taking one of the boxes he’s struggling with and waving away his muttered thanks. “Minjae’s room is a little small, but it’s warm, and comfortable, and has a great view of the city.” He opens the door so they can peer inside, and honestly, Jimin’s just so overwhelmed and awed by how nice the place is, and how Hoseok seems to be even nicer. He catches Taehyung giving him a mischievous look and can’t help but grin back. This place is most definitely an upgrade.

“I like to dance,” Hosoek adds, leading them back into the living room to sit down. “So sometimes I play my music kinda loud in the evenings. And Yoongi, our neighbour down the hall, is pretty much like my brother, so he has a spare key and lets himself in here to eat all my food.” He glances up at Jimin like he thinks Jimin might have a problem with this. Jimin, on the other hand, is still distracted by the prospect of having central heating and a refrigerator that actually works. “We like to drink on Thursdays and Fridays before heading out to some of the clubs downtown. You guys are more than welcome to join us,” Hoseok adds, giving them both a warm smile.

Taehyung settles a warm arm around Jimin’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze. Jimin thinks, glancing up at the high ceiling and clean white walls, that he could definitely get used to living here. Sitting opposite them, Hoseok cocks his head as he looks between Jimin and Taehyung and considers the lack of space between them.

“What are you so excited about?” Hoseok asks through a mouthful of his burrito, cross-legged on the couch as Jimin prances around, holding his iPhone like it’s a prize, raised high in the air, three days after he moves in. It’s the first weekend they’ve spent together.

Hoseok and Jimin are quickly learning how to live in each other’s spaces. Jimin, nocturnal and busy with either work or school assignments, often sits in the kitchen, mainlining coffee or wine, depending on the hour of the day. Hoseok, on the other hand, only shuffles into the kitchen to make his morning smoothie, having long accepted that he’s useless at cooking. Their trashcan is full of take-out boxes.

At the question, Jimin swivels to face his new housemate, holding out the screen triumphantly, “I finally got that dumb bitch to visit me.” He crows again happily, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. His phone is opened on the Neko Atsume app, and Hoseok lets out a cackle. He’d seen his younger cousins sink hours into that fucking thing. On the screen, Sassy Fran waves from her little cardboard café.

Collapsing down next to Hoseok, Jimin lets out a satisfied sigh. “My life is complete,” he declares dreamily. “I’ve collected them all. I can die happy.”

Smiling at him, Hoseok pats Jimin on the knee. “You’re actually a huge weirdo, aren’t you?”

Jimin scoffs like the question isn’t even worth answering. “You just don’t understand me, hyung.”

Hoseok snorts, eyes trailing over Jimin’s face with a speculative, but not displeased, look. “I think I’m beginning to.”

“I’m working all day tomorrow,” Hoseok groans, leaning against Jimin’s open door. Jimin is lying on his bed, drinking rosé from the bottle as he binge watches yet another episode of Game of Thrones. Just thinking about having to work a double shift at the gym has Hosoek’s muscles aching, and despite Jimin’s unhealthy penchant for drinking alcohol by the liter, he’s found that his new roommate can commiserate with him when it comes to exercise. Jimin’s likes to keep himself in shape, but he doesn’t have as much time as he might like to hit the gym. He’d declared Hoseok his new favorite person when he’d said he could get Jimin a staff discount on his gym membership.

Jimin looks up from his screen, blurry eyed, and Hoseok isn’t sure if it’s from how much he’s already had to drink, or from the fact that he’s been marathoning season three for the past two hours.

“You’re out all day?” Jimin asks, and Hoseok hears something in his voice that makes him roll his eyes and smile slightly.

“Yeah, you should call Taehyung over to keep you company,” he suggests casually. Hoseok taps the doorframe and pushes himself upright, ready to hit the hay. It’s already getting late, and the only way he’s going to survive tomorrow is if he gets some sleep now. “Wouldn’t want you to get lonely while I’m gone.”

Jimin hums noncommittally, toying with the label on his bottle, which sits slack in one hand. Hoseok turns off the light in the living room as he leaves.

“Yo, Hoseok,” Yoongi whines, slamming the front door open, a large cardboard box under each arm, “The fucking mailman left your deliveries at mine again. I know I work from home, but can you please stop--”

Yoongi’s complaining grinds to a halt when he finally takes in the scene in front of him. Namely, two guys he doesn’t know going at it really quite vigorously over the arm of the couch.

“What the fuck,” he yells, dropping the boxes to the floor in a desperate attempt to shield his eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”

Yoongi hears muffled cursing, and one of the guys frantically pleading, “Stop, Tae, stop-- oh shit-- fuck, Tae, stop!” A couple more seconds, and then the awful slapping that Yoongi can hear ringing in his ears finally falls silent (thank Christ).

There’s a lot of rustling after that, and then a long and awkward silence, before the same guy coughs and says, “You can uncover your eyes now, we’re decent.”

Distrustful, Yoongi slowly lowers his hand. The two guys are now sitting on opposite ends of the couch, one bright red and clearly embarrassed, while the other one merely smirks smugly. Yoongi doesn’t like guy number two very much.

“Sorry about that,” guy one says, now wearing his jeans and a tee. “You’re uh- you’re Yoongi, right? Hoseok said you might come by. I didn’t know the door was unlocked.”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “Who are you?”

The guy gives a small smile, sheepish, and despite the situation, Yoongi can’t help but think it’s sweet. “I’m Hoseok’s new roommate, Jimin.”

It’s safe to say that, as far as first impressions can go, Yoongi is fairly unimpressed with this one.

Hoseok almost laughs himself sick when Jimin relates the incident to him that evening. “No, stop, stop,” he gasps, rolling around on the couch. “I can’t laugh too much, my muscles hurt.” But that doesn’t stop him from cackling even louder when Jimin, blushing bright red, groans and buries his head in his hands.

“I’m so embarrassed,” he grumbles, his voice muffled by his skin. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye,” he adds. Hoseok is laughing so hard he sounds like he’s choking. “Hyung,” Jimin whines, because Hoseok is not being helpful.

Letting out a finally chuckle, Hoseok wipes the tears from his eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. Jimin pouts. Hoseok is clearly not sorry at all.

The next time Jimin runs into Yoongi, he’s still suffering from the mortification of their first meeting.

He exits the bathroom, a small towel wrapped around his waist while he rubs another vigorously through his hair, thin clouds of condensation leaking out of the door behind him. He stutters to a stop when he sees Min Yoongi lounging on their couch, following Jimin’s progress across the apartment with a bored expression.

“Shit!” Jimin squeaks, using the towel in his hand to cover his chest like some kind of startled maiden.

“You okay there, Park Jimin?” Yoongi drawls, and the way he speaks is slow and warm, thick like honey.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin asks, flustered, and he is never going to be able to get over this.

Yoongi jerks his thumb in the direction of Hoseok’s room, watching with mild interest as a bright red blush creeps up Jimin’s neck, coloring his cheeks. “We’re going out in a little while,” he explains. He raises his voice slightly, clearly intending for Hoseok to hear him, “I’m just waiting for princess to finish getting dressed.”

From Hoseok’s room, they hear some unintelligible yelling in reply, which makes Yoongi snort. He looks back at Jimin with lazy, hooded eyes. “You and your, uh, friend, are more than welcome to join us if you want?”

Feeling a bit less self-conscious (because the way to Jimin’s heart has always been through copious amounts of alcohol), he beams at the man, nodding shyly. “As long as you’re sure,” he says uncertainly. Yoongi quirks a small grin in his direction. “I’ll change and then give Tae a call.”

Hoseok sweeps out of his bedroom with a dramatic bang of the door. “Get ready, Jiminnie,” he says grandly. “Because tonight-- we drink!”

They don’t make it out of the apartment.

Jimin isn’t sure if it was the jaeger bombs that did it, or the shots of tequila he and Hoseok had downed as they did laps around the kitchen, but somehow their plans to go clubbing turn into seeing who can get as drunk as possible without throwing up everywhere.

Taehyung has already lost the good fight, curled up on their couch, still clutching his glass, although most of the contents have spilled on to the leather cushions, and that’s definitely going to be a bitch to clean up in the morning.

Yoongi’s humour, Jimin discovers over the course of the night, is the perfect mixture of dry and ridiculous. One moment he’s cursing Hoseok out from where he’s sprawled out on the rug, attempting to drink his gin and tonic while horizontal, and, the next, he’s wiggling across the floor in some bastardized version of a dance that has Jimin rolling off the couch and jostling Taehyung awake for a brief moment, his stomach sore with laughter. It’s brilliant.

When Jimin finally stops laughing, he finds himself cheek to cheek with Yoongi, and he’s comfortable, so he stays there. They’re both sprawled across the living room floor, and distantly, Jimin can make out the sound of Hoseok cursing as he tries his best to put a frozen pizza in the oven with clumsy, tequila-stupid fingers.

Yoongi’s breathing is slow and even, and Jimin wonders fuzzily if he’s asleep. He turns slightly to peek, but finds Yoongi already looking at him, a crooked smile on his face. “You ain’t half bad, Park Jimin,” Yoongi says, shifting so he’s looking at Jimin’s profile and patting his cheek sloppily. “Y’know, when you and your boyfriend aren’t bumping uglies in semi-public places. We should really have a talk about consenting audiences.”

Wiggling to face Yoongi, Jimin whines, nudging Yoongi softly with his leg. “Hyung, we’re friends now,” Jimin pouts, having decided on their new blossoming friendship with all the wisdom and good-feeling that vodka gives him. “You’re not allowed to mention that ever again. It’s embarrassing.” And then he flops on to his back, because the room is spinning and Jimin doesn’t want to throw up all over his new friend.

“And anyways,” he adds, looking up at the ceiling, “Taehyung isn’t my boyfriend. Sometimes we just… do that.” He shrugs.

Next to him, Yoongi pauses, taking his words in. “Huh.”

“Yah, Park Jimin,” Yoongi shouts, banging on the front door with his foot. In his arms, Hoseok’s deliveries threaten to slip from his sweaty hands, and Yoongi can’t help but curse under his breath. “Park! Jimin!” he shouts again, punctuating each word with another kick.

He hears shuffling, and voices inside, before Jimin is opening the door, casually trying to zip up his pants like Yoongi hasn’t already figured out what he and Taehyung had been doing moments before.

Yoongi snorts in disgust, shouldering his way in and dumping the boxes on the kitchen counter.

When he re-enters the living room, having stolen a bottle of beer out of the fridge as payment for his delivery services, he finds Jimin and Taehyung sitting there, all neat and tidy, Jimin doing his best to look especially demure.

“What is it with you two and not being able to keep it in your pants?” he asks, hiding his smile, because Jimin colors a bright red at that comment. He slouches down onto the couch between them, taking a long sip of his drink. He thinks that making Jimin blush is one of his new favorite things.

“Hyung,” Jimin complains, leaning into Yoongi’s side and hitting him lightly on the arm. “Didn’t you promise not to talk about that anymore?” He pouts, and Yoongi raises an eyebrow at his antics.

“You asked me not to mention it again, but I didn’t promise you anything.” The shit-eating grin he gives Jimin makes the younger boy whine at the injustice of it all, and Yoongi supposes he could get used to Hoseok’s new roommate, especially when he’s so easy to rile up.

The first night they actually all make it out of the apartment is certainly an experience.

Yoongi finds himself slightly awe-struck as he watches Jimin slip through the crowd, small groups of people turning to look and reach for him. He’s small, lithe, and dances like he’s getting fucking paid to do it, and Yoongi can’t help but gulp, his throat suddenly dry. What happened to the fumbling boy that wanders around the apartment down the hall in too-large sweaters, drinking irresponsibly?

He doesn’t notice Taehyung’s presence until the younger boy is slinging an arm around Yoongi’s neck, the two of them looking on as Jimin starts grinding back against a tall, muscular stranger, his hands so big that the tips of his fingers meet around Jimin’s waist as he grips him tightly. “He’s certainly somethin’, huh?” Taehyung slurs out, amused at the dumbfounded look on Yoongi’s face.

Yoongi flounders for a moment, the bass thrumming through his veins, making him hot. He coughs, tilts his head to look at Taehyung, taking in the slope of his nose and his wide eyes. “I guess, yeah,” he mumbles, just loud enough to be heard. He darts a glance back in Jimin’s direction, and wonders what exactly he and Taehyung are. He thinks they would make a gorgeous couple.

“Aren’t you gonna go over there and step in?” he adds, aiming for subtlety, but he’s too drunk to pull it off, and Taehyung’s still sober enough to catch his meaning, and it makes him laugh a little meanly.

Letting his arms slide off Yoongi’s back, Taehyung waves the question away. “Nah,” he says, “I’ve gotta let my boy have some fun.” He turns away, craning his head to try and catch a glimpse of Hoseok, who had decided to fight his way through the crowd to get them all more drinks. He gives Yoongi one final, calculating look. “Maybe you should get over there,” he suggests, and his voice is sly.

Yoongi gets the distinct feeling that Taehyung is making fun of him. That he wouldn’t be offering Yoongi this opportunity if he thought he actually had a chance.

He doesn’t reply, just shaking his head. His palms sweat, but he keeps them tucked in his pockets.

“Come join us, hyung,” Jimin whines from where he’s settled, cross-legged, on the floor. He and Hoseok have got a beat-up Scrabble board between them, the wooden tiles scattered across the rug. He’s dressed in nothing but an old stretched t-shirt and boxers, because he doesn’t have work today, and has decided to skip his lectures.

The first time Yoongi had walked in on Jimin in this state of undress, he had merely laughed that twinkling laugh of his when Yoongi had called him a bum, saying he was taking a day for his mental health. Every now and then, he’ll sequester himself indoors, turning the heating up (because he still finds it a novelty) and padding around on bare feet, mellowing out with a bottle of wine. He had confided in Yoongi that drinking wine made him feel soft and floaty, and maybe Yoongi had laughed at that description, but they had both been fucked on too much tequila, so Jimin had just laughed along with him.

Yoongi doesn’t particularly feel like joining Jimin in a game of Scrabble, because he’s tired, having stayed up all night finishing writing an inane article about the amount of money top-tier athletes make like it’s fucking breaking news. But his editor had asked for it, and he was getting paid, so he had spent the past five hours mainlining coffee and abusing Google way more than he thinks a paid journalist should.

At least it wasn’t a fucking listicle.

Before he can reply, tell Jimin to fuck off because he is only here to steal Hoseok’s food (it’s not like the bastard even knows how to cook that chicken he bought), Hoseok reappears from the kitchen, a bottle of vodka in one hand, shot glasses in the other.

“Yoongi hyung!” he exclaims with a smile. “Did Jiminnie ask you to play?”

Tilting his head, Yoongi can’t help but be intrigued. “Are you guys playing drunk Scrabble?”

“Jimin suggested it,” Hoseok explains, dropping the glasses onto the coffee table and hunkering down to join Jimin on the floor. “Apparently he and Tae get fucked up playing this.”

“Where is that little asshole, anyway?” Yoongi asks, quickly searching the apartment with his eyes as he closes the front door behind him. Yoongi knows he’s lost the afternoon to his idiotic friends and their even more idiotic games.

Quickly measuring out drinks with steady hands, Jimin explains that Taehyung has a essay that was due two days ago, and he’s gone home to make a start on it.

Yoongi can’t help but snort. “Oh, to be young again,” he drawls. The way Jimin and Taehyung casually shrug off their responsibilities at every given opportunity never ceases to amaze him.

Jimin just tilts his head like it isn’t a big deal and hands Yoongi his shot. “It’s fine, he has an extension.”

Yoongi lets himself into Hoseok’s apartment, the door swinging shut behind him. It’s warm, and there’s something that smells good in the kitchen, so Yoongi heads in that direction, curious. Hoseok can’t cook for shit, and Yoongi had quickly learnt that Jimin’s culinary skills seem pretty much limited to pouring boiling water over ramen.

“Did they have peppers at the store?”

The guy that currently has his back to Yoongi is most definitely not either of his friends. He’s tall, broad shouldered, and his hands are a blur as he deftly cuts up onions, sliding them into the pot on the stove. He turns, having not heard a reply, and sees Yoongi standing there awkwardly.

“Ah, shit, sorry,” the guy laughs, setting the knife to one side and wiping his hands with a kitchen towel. “I thought you were Jimin. I sent him out to get some stuff for me, seeing as I’m being kind enough to cook him dinner. I’m Seokjin.”

Yoongi coughs, attempting a small grin in return, before holding out a hand to shake. He introduces himself, and Seokjin explains that he’s Jimin’s childhood friend, that the two grew up together, and that they don’t get to spend much time together anymore - “Our schedules barely ever match up nowadays, y’know? And I live on the other side of town, which can make things difficult,”- but they try and get together once a month for dinner and drinks.

The idea of Jimin as a child is an intriguing one for Yoongi, because the Jimin he knows now is filthy, swearing like a sailor and drinking like one too. When he voices the thought, he startles a guffaw out of Seokjin. “Yeah, well,” Seokjin says, once he’s stopped laughing, “He never used to be like that.”

Yoongi makes a noise of disbelief.

“No, really,” Seokjin insists. “I was a few years older than him at school, and I always used to look out for him. He was honestly a little angel back in the day. He was easily bullied, a bit of a crybaby. My mother says it’s my fault. Apparently I spoil him too much.”

Yoongi frowns at that. He doesn’t like to think of a young Jimin, coming home from school with scrapes on his knees and cheeks sticky and sore from crying. It makes his stomach churn just imagining it.

The look Seokjin gives him is appraising, clearly noticing how quiet Yoongi has gotten, lost in his thoughts. “I’m just glad he’s got friends here to look out for him now,” Seokjin adds casually, almost to himself, after a moment’s pause. “It’s good.” He turns slightly, going back to chopping vegetables. “I like you Yoongi. You’re good for my Jiminnie.”

Yoongi splutters, and doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

The first time Yoongi sees Jimin cry is when he wakes up at four in the morning to his phone buzzing insistently next to his head, making him grunt and reach out with blind hands.

“H’lo?” he mumbles, his eyes still tightly closed and his face mushed into the pillow.

“Hyung?” Yoongi hears, and a cold thrill of worry travels down his spine. He sits up in bed, grasping the phone more securely.

“Jimin?” he asks, and he can hear how the boy’s breathing is thick and ragged on the other end of the line. “Jimin? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“They left me hyung,” Jimin sobs out, and he sounds inconsolable and very, very drunk. “Hoseok got angry becuh-because I didn’t want to go Octagon with him and Tae. But I did! I went, and then- and then the bouncer wouldn’t let me in because he said I was too drunk, and they left me outside and I wanna go home. I wanna go home now hyung.”

While Jimin is explaining what happened, Yoongi pulls a coat on over his thin shirt, stuffs his car keys into the pocket of his sweats and is out of the door in less than a minute. As he takes the stairs two at a time, he whispers soothingly to Jimin, his own breathing growing uneven in his haste.

Jimin’s upset, and he’s clearly in no state to be alone, and Yoongi is going to kill Hoseok when he sees him in the morning.

He finds Jimin curled up on the curb outside of Octagon, a little ways down the street, away from the huge crowds of people waiting to get in. Yoongi can’t help but think that Jimin looks so small and lost in that moment, and it makes his chest ache.

When Jimin hears Yoongi approaching, he looks up from where he had tucked his face into his knees, and Yoongi can see that his cheeks are streaked with tears, his eyes red and puffy.

Pulling Jimin into his arms, Yoongi shushes him as he tries to apologize, leading them both back to his car. “I woke you up, didn’t I?” Jimin asks in a small voice, his words slurring together. “‘M sorry, hyung. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Yoongi assures him with a soft smile, clicking Jimin’s seatbelt in place for him. “You’re young. You’re supposed to fuck up and be stupid.”

Jimin looks at him with such wide, trusting eyes that Yoongi can feel his breath catch. “Really hyung?” he asks, like he truly wants to know the answer.

“Really,” he replies with a decisive nod, rubbing a comforting hand on Jimin’s leg as he starts the car and pulls away from the club. “How about we make a deal, huh? You get to fuck up and be dumb, and you let hyung worry about you, yeah?” Someone has to, he thinks sourly to himself. Hoseok is too flighty, and Taehyung is too selfish.

“Okay, that sounds good,” Jimin whispers quietly, rubbing at his eyes with tired hands. “Thanks, hyung.”

When Yoongi reaches a stoplight, he turns to look at Jimin and finds him asleep. He sighs quietly, and wonders what he’s getting himself into.

A few weeks after Jimin’s ruined night out, he comes out of the restaurant’s kitchen, plates in hand, to see Taehyung settled in his usual spot, smiling sheepishly.

Without acknowledging him, Jimin storms past to serve his patrons, picks up a few dirty glasses and empty plates, and also brings another table their bill before he returns to Taehyung’s side.

He sniffs, keeping his nose high in the air as he looks down at his friend. He refuses to make this easy for him. Hoseok is still walking around on eggshells at home, clearly knowing he was a piece of shit. At least, Jimin assumes so. He had heard Yoongi viciously telling him just as much the morning after he had come out to pick Jimin up.

“How’ve you been, babe?” Taehyung asks gently, stirring his little black straw in his drink, making it swirl.

“What do you want, Tae,” Jimin snarls, roughly pulling out the chair on the opposite side of the table and shoving himself into it. His movements are jerky and angry, but luckily, Taehyung’s been dealing with Jimin’s tantrums for years.

“Hey, hey,” he croons, getting out of his own seat to come around to Jimin’s side, kneeling down on one leg so they’re at the same level. Jimin folds his arms across his chest, glaring resolutely down at the pressed linen tablecloth rather than look at Taehyung. With practiced ease, Taehyung cups Jimin’s cheeks with large hands, rubbing his thumbs along soft skin. He places quiet kisses to Jimin’s nose, his lips. He can feel Jimin relaxing slightly under his grip and has to fight not to cheer. Having to deal with a bitchy Jimin is always torture. “Don’t be mad at me, Jiminnie. I was drunk, yeah? We all do dumb shit when we’re drunk.”

Jimin hums a little at that, but still refuses to speak, so Taehyung takes the opportunity to kiss him again, his lips more insistent until Jimin relents, opening his mouth and letting Taehyung in.

When they finally break apart, Jimin’s panting slightly, his lips slick with split, and Taehyung mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done.

“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Jimin says, but the venom in his voice from earlier has all but disappeared. “But you don’t get to do that to me again, Tae, okay? That was really not fucking cool.”

Standing back up, Taehyung holds his hands up in acquiescence. “I get it, Jimin, okay? It won’t happen again.”

Jimin pouts, before standing as well and straightening out his shirt. “Good,” he mutters, before picking up his tray and getting back to work.

“He’s got a great smile, doesn’t he?” Seokjin asks casually, leaning back against the wall next to Yoongi, crossing his arms. Since the night that Yoongi picked Jimin up, Seokjin has been making an effort to hang out with them a lot more. Jimin must have told him what happened. He’s clearly protective, and Yoongi can almost smell the big brother vibes that roll off of him in waves, no matter that Jimin has since forgiven Hoseok and Taehyung.

Yoongi cocks his head to the side, deciding to play dumb. “Huh?” he mutters, before taking another sip of his beer. Seokjin laughs, clearly not buying whatever Yoongi’s trying to sell, nodding toward Jimin.

Across the room, Jimin laughs again, delightedly, drunkenly, as Taehyung skips from foot to foot, twirling his best friend in tight circles. Yoongi can’t help but smile at their antics, can’t take his eyes off of the way Jimin drops his head back to really truly laugh.

“Be careful,” Seokjin murmurs, uncharacteristically sombre. “I love him. You know I do.” He rolls onto his shoulder so that he can fully face Yoongi, who is still having trouble pulling his eyes away from Jimin. “But loving Jimin is like playing with fire, Yoongi.”

Yoongi bites his lip, not replying.

“Sooner or later, you’re going to get burned.”

Over the din of the music and people shouting, Yoongi doesn’t quite catch whatever it is that Taehyung whispers in Jimin’s ear. It’s followed by a laugh and Taehyung pointing wildly into the crush of people on the dance floor, but his eyes are sharp. Yoongi, now with beers in hand, shuffles his way back over to their table, through the crowds of sweaty, drunken dancers.

He collapses back into the booth, next to Jimin, who’s frowning now, angry, his glare firmly on Taehyung.

“Did you see him?” Taehyung says gleefully, turning to Yoongi, who passes the other beer to Hoseok.

“See who?”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung replies, barely dodging out of the way as Jimin leans over to smack him, clearly pissed off.

Taking a sip of his drink, Hoseok, who is clearly just as lost as Yoongi, asks, “Who the fuck is Jungkook? Are we supposed to know who that is?”

Another laugh from Taehyung, spiteful and mean, and Yoongi knows him better now, knows how Taehyung can get when he’s had a little much to drink too early in the night. He likes to open old wounds, especially Jimin’s.

“Our little Jimin has had a crush on Jungkook since the beginning of freshman year,” Taehyung reveals smugly, and Yoongi bites his lip. “Sometimes,” he adds conspiratorially, “when we’re banging, he’ll start calling out--” He starts to rowdily hump the air, pretending to be Jimin, “‘Oh, Jungkook-ah, Jungkook, Jung--’”

Jimin jumps to his feet, breathing heavily, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

The bass is drumming through Jimin’s veins, and it’s only serving to get him more and more worked up. Taehyung’s laughter is teasing and mean, unconcerned with how clearly upset Jimin is, because Taehyung can be an asshole when he wants to. Jimin can’t help but think spitefully that he’s only acting like this because if, God forbid, Jungkook actually wanted a piece of Jimin’s ass and went home with him, Taehyung would lose an opportunity to get his dick wet.

He pushes out of their little huddle and makes his way toward the bar. Jimin only looks back when he feels someone catch his wrist in a firm grip. “Where are you going?” Yoongi shouts over the music, having jogged to catch up, tugging Jimin in close so that he can be heard.

Jimin places a hand on his chest before leaning in. “I’m getting some shots at the bar. You game?” He traces the edge of Yoongi’s crewneck with a finger, following the movement with hooded eyes.

Yoongi grimaces at the suggestion; gesturing at the beer he’s still got clutched tightly in one hand instead of answering. “I think I’m gonna pace myself for a little while,” he says. He looks guilty, clearly knows Taehyung had gone too far, but Jimin doesn’t blame him. He just wants to get away for the night. Away from his caustic best friend and his nasty jokes.

Shrugging, Jimin drops his hand and turns away. “Suit yourself.”

When he reaches the bar, there’s an uncomfortable press of people, and he’s aware of Jungkook somewhere to his left, on the periphery of Jimin’s vision. But Jimin’s small, weaving his way through the crowd with only a few people making subtle grabs for his ass. The bartender looks at Jimin tiredly when he slaps his money onto the counter. “As many vodka shots as I can get,” Jimin hisses, and he gets a nod in reply.

He watches his line of shots get filled, the promise of the strong, clear liquor the only thing that’s stopping him from throwing a tantrum.

From his left, “So I’m taking it you’re going hard tonight?”

Jimin startles, twisting to meet Jungkook’s eye. “Why?” he asks coolly, “Do you want me to share?” They’ve spoken before, but normally Jimin’s too much of an awkward mess to say much when they pass each other. They’re acquaintances, nothing more. Vaguely, in the haze of his anger, Jimin wonders why tonight, out of all nights, Jungkook has decided to pay attention to him.

Jungkook laughs at his question. “Don’t worry, I can buy my own drinks,” he assures Jimin, “but I’m interested in seeing how you’re planning on finishing ten shots without immediately vomiting all over the bartender.”

That’s a challenge if Jimin’s ever heard one. He picks up the first glass, tossing the liquid back with a confidence he doesn’t usually feel. He picks up the second, ducking his head down quickly to hide the hint of a smile that slowly, reluctantly, stretches across his face as he feels Jungkook’s hand slide around his waist.

Jimin can’t help but shiver at the press of Jungkook’s lips against his ear as he says, “That’s one. Nine more to go.”

Two hours later finds Jimin a buzzing mess, overly hot and manic as he presses his back up against Jungkook, the other man licking seductively at the sweat that trails, glistening, down the back of Jimin’s neck. He hasn’t spoken to Taehyung or the others since he abruptly left to get drinks, only seen flashes of them through the crowd, but he’s too distracted by Jungkook to really care.

“Fuck,” Jungkook swears, as the bass drops and Jimin takes the opportunity to press impossibly closer, his ass rubbing hard against Jungkook’s cock, which is definitely showing interest. “Babe, slow down,” Jungkook pants, because there’s a glint in Jimin’s eye whenever he throws glances over his shoulder at the taller boy, and Jungkook just knows that it can only mean trouble.

Instead of stopping, or even slowing down, Jimin twists in Jungkook’s grip, turning to face him, his hips never pausing in their movements. In one smooth motion, Jimin circles his arms around Jungkook’s neck, liquid courage burning hot through his veins.

As the lights flash overhead, the vibrations running through Jimin’s feet, he forgets about any watching eyes, forgets about Taehyung’s grating laughter and Yoongi’s awkward appeasements, and just feels Jungkook against him, warm and wanting. He tilts his head up; pushing up onto his toes to get Jungkook’s mouth on his, and then it’s a warm, wet press between the two of them. Jungkook groans into his mouth, his hands looking for purchase in the small of Jimin’s back.

When they finally break apart, jostled by the rest of the dancers and slowly edging toward where the crowd thins, Jimin gasps, eyes wide and pupils blown. Jungkook pulls him into an even more secluded area. “Get your jacket,” he tells Jimin roughly, “we’re leaving.”

Jimin’s mouth curls into a grin, slow and sinfully sweet, and he slyly slips his small hand into Jungkook’s as they exit the club and disappear into the cold night air.

What Jimin assumes will be a one-night stand (and maybe that’s what he needs to get over his silly high school crush on Jeon Jungkook) turns into a three-day fling. They don’t leave Jungkook’s bed unless it’s to shower or get food, and Jimin misses four seminars and a meeting with his tutor that had been scheduled for the past month.

Although, as Jungkook fucks him, his legs hooked over Jungkook’s broad shoulders and his head banging against the headboard, he thinks that it’s worth it.

“Fuck,” Jungkook breathes, as the sun begins to set on their third day of what is now turning out to be a veritable sex marathon. “I’ve never met anyone as flexible as you.”

Jimin smiles, smug, and stretches his arms above his head, laying on top of the covers, all sense of modesty in front of Jungkook now gone. His stomach pulls taut at the motion, and he can feel Jungkook’s eyes on him again, and he wonders if he’s up for yet another round. But before he lets that train of thought carry on, Jimin sighs, collapsing in on himself slightly.

“I should go,” Jimin says regretfully, leaning over the bed to search for his phone, which he finds on the carpet, the battery dead for at least the past two days.

But as he tries to lever himself up, ignoring the twinge in his back, Jungkook reels him in, Jimin’s back bumping against his chest. Jimin allows himself to relax into the hold, feeling Jungkook’s lips as they press a trail down his neck and along his collarbone. “But you’ll come back soon, yeah?” Jungkook asks, voice quiet but sure.

Jimin turns his face slightly, catching Jungkook’s lips with his own. “Yeah,” he says, his voice husky and a little sore, “of course.”

The next time Taehyung comes over, Jimin can admit to himself that he doesn’t try very hard to keep the smug look off of his face.

“Oh fuck you,” Taehyung snarls, his hair a mess and his skin pale and tight across his face. Jimin wonders if he’s had another deadline, or if he’s been picking up extra shifts at the café he works at, because he knows what Taehyung looks like when he’s acting like a sore loser, and he looks shittier than that.

But he doesn’t voice any of those concerns, instead singing in his lilting voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” because if Taehyung can be nasty, then Jimin can be just as spiteful in return.

Hoseok shuffles out of his bedroom, yawning, and finds them sitting on opposite ends of the couch, not speaking, the air icy between them. Part of Hoseok wonders why Taehyung has even bothered to come over at all, but thinks that maybe Jimin and Taehyung had been together so long they don’t know how not to.

So Hoseok does what he does best, which is ignore the situation completely. “Has the game started yet?” he asks, collapsing down between them and propping his feet up on the table while he watches the commercials before the ball game.

Instead of replying, Jimin says snidely, “Jungkook fucks me better than you do.” His eyes stay on the television screen, but his lips are pursed and his brow is furrowed. Jimin is spoiling for a fight.

Taehyung physically reacts to that remark, shifting violently in his seat to lean over Hoseok and get in Jimin’s face. “You’re such a smug prick, d’you know that?” he hisses, and Jimin turns to meet him head on.

Humming uncomfortably under his breath, Hoseok slips between the two of them and hurries out of the door, because he thinks that, in situations like these, it’s probably best to duck and cover.

Yoongi looks up from his laptop when Hoseok sprints into his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. “What’s up?” he asks, eyebrows raised at the harried expression on his friend’s face.

“I think Taehyung and Jimin are about to start throwing punches,” Hoseok groans, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “I had to get outta there, man.”

After Jimin had returned from his little escapade with Jungkook, Yoongi had acted a little like a wounded animal, throwing Jimin these hurt looks when his back was turned. It had taken Hoseok a little while to catch on, but he knows Yoongi, and he knows he just needs a little time to lick his wounds and get over his own crush. Hoseok doesn’t blame him. Jimin is cute-- intoxicating with his laugh and his smile and his body.

So he isn’t expecting the alarmed expression on Yoongi’s face, the way he slams his laptop shut and pushes himself out of his chair.

Nonplussed, he follows Yoongi back to his own apartment. Inside, Taehyung and Jimin are standing now, pushing and shoving, nose-to-nose. Hoseok sees Taehyung give Jimin a particularly hard shove, making him stumble. That only makes Jimin angrier, but before he can pull his arm back to throw a punch, Yoongi is behind him, grabbing him by his waist and tugging him back, lifting him slightly so he can’t get any traction beneath him.

“Don’t do this, don’t do this,” Hoseok hears Yoongi whisper in Jimin’s ear as he squirms in the circle of his arms. “C’mon Jimin, don’t let him get to you. Breathe. Breathe.”

Hoseok takes that as his cue to grab Taehyung, his skin running hot beneath Hoseok’s palms.

“I’m gonna take Jimin back to mine and give him some time to calm down,” Yoongi tells Hoseok, not giving him any time to say anything before he is physically carrying Jimin out of the door, their words getting muffled with every step they take down the hall.

The air in Yoongi’s apartment is heavy, the elder pressing Jimin up against his kitchen counter and keeping him there with a firm hand.

“What’s gotten into you two, huh?” Yoongi asks, his voice low and soothing, his fingertips pressed against Jimin’s sternum, feeling his deep, uneven breaths.

There’s a flush high on Jimin’s cheeks and, while normally Yoongi would take a moment to appreciate it, now’s really not the time. “He’s just being so--” Jimin says in a rush, clearly frustrated, before interrupting himself, “I can’t deal with him when he’s clearly-- ah, fuck.” Angry at not being able to voice his thoughts, Jimin slams a hand against the hard surface of the counter before shunting Yoongi to one side to get to his fridge.

He pulls it open with jerky movements before rummaging around inside and finding a half open bottle of wine on the bottom rack, pulling it out and taking a deep drink. It’s only once he’s put the bottle down on the table that Jimin finally sits still. “I really fucking needed that,” he groans, before sighing and rubbing his neck. The second pull he takes from the bottle is slower, but Yoongi can already see that he’s downed a third of what had been left of the wine.

He bites his tongue, instead filling the kettle with water and placing it on the stove before settling down opposite his friend. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?” he asks.

Jimin grimaces at the question. “I don’t know why he’s so angry with me,” he finally replies in a small voice. “Just because I…” He looks down, unable to meet Yoongi’s eyes as he fiddles with the slightly peeling label on the bottle, picking at it. “I think-- I think Tae thought I would never be able to get somebody like Jeon Jungkook. I think he’s mad at me.”

The way Jimin phrases his words, so hesitant, his tone pained, makes Yoongi sit up a little straighter. “What do you mean, you would never be able to get somebody like Jungkook?” he asks carefully.

The kettle whistles, and Yoongi lifts himself up to take it off the heat and make some coffee. His back is to Jimin when hears his quiet reply, “I mean, look at me hyung. It’s gotta-- It’s gotta be some kind of fluke, right? There’s no way someone as popular, as good looking as Jungkook would normally take someone like me home.” Yoongi throws Jimin a skeptical look over his shoulder, which earns him a small, grateful smile.

When he turns around, mug of shitty instant coffee in hand, Yoongi can’t help but ask bluntly, “Sorry, but what the fuck kind of bullshit are you spouting?”

Jimin splutters, hands wrapped protectively around the green glass bottle, but Yoongi just takes a sip of his drink, scalding the tip of his tongue, before cutting through Jimin’s attempts at a reply. “No, seriously, have you looked at yourself in the mirror recently?”

Shrugging at that, Jimin keeps his eyes trained on the table, his blush making his face an inviting shade of pink. Yoongi can’t stop staring at him. He sighs, tracing a finger along the lip of his mug. “You’re beautiful Jimin,” he says earnestly, causing Jimin to duck lower, hiding his eyes beneath his bangs. He takes a slower sip this time, appreciating the bitter taste of the coffee. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”

Jimin and Taehyung don’t speak for a week, and Jimin spends most of his time in Yoongi’s slightly smaller apartment, laughing and saying that it’s just because Yoongi has better booze, but he doesn’t like to go back until Yoongi walks him down the corridor in the late hours of the night.

But then Taehyung texts him a non-apology, something about not getting the grade he wanted on a paper, and work piling up, and Jimin magnanimously forgives him. It might be partly to do with the fact that Jungkook had called him a few hours before and invited him to bring some friends to an event he was helping run at a club downtown. There had been promise in his voice, something dark and syrupy sweet.

So, Saturday night steals over them, Jimin excitedly ushering Taehyung, Yoongi, Hoseok and Seokjin past the heaving line outside the club, straight to the bouncer, giving him their names.

They’re let straight in, and Jimin throws a smug smile to the girls shivering at the front of the line, running a hand through his artfully tousled hair as he walks through with his group.

Seokjin takes everything in his stride, heading off with Hoseok to get them all a round of drinks. Jimin holds them up. “Don’t worry about getting me anything,” he says lightly, running his tongue over his teeth when he catches sight of Jungkook at the bar, staring at him. He cuts an impressive figure in a black button up shirt and black slacks, the first three buttons undone to give Jimin a glimpse of toned chest. “I think I’m covered.”

Then, giving Yoongi a sweet peck on the cheek and Taehyung a slightly frosty smile, he slips through the crowd, leaving his friends to amuse themselves.

As soon as Jimin is within arm’s reach, Jungkook reels him in confidently, leaving Jimin breathless. He bites Jimin’s bottom lip, pulling him closer for an open-mouthed kiss.

“Glad you could make it,” he murmurs, pulling back at resting an elbow on the bar behind him. Jimin, entranced, leans closer, pressing against his chest.

He looks up at Jungkook coyly from beneath his eyelashes. He leans up on his tiptoes, and Jungkook acquiesces, allowing himself to be drawn into another kiss. “I’m glad you invited me,” Jimin says sweetly, revelling in the way that Jungkook wraps one large hand around his wrist.

“Let me buy you a drink this time,” Jungkook says with a sharp smile.

It’s nearly four in the morning when Yoongi runs into Jimin again. The event is being held in a vast space, the club little more than a converted warehouse, with bars lining the exposed brick walls. He’s grateful for the room, since it stops the place from getting too hot and humid.

He’s loitering towards the back of the main room, the heat of his back leeching into the wall as he waits for Seokjin and Hoseok to return bearing more drinks. He can feel Taehyung on his periphery, talking animatedly with a guy that Yoongi used to know from when he did the rapping circuits underground. Yoongi can’t remember if he still uses the stage name Runch Randa, or if he goes by something else now.

Jimin flits into his line of vision, being manhandled backwards by a taller boy. Yoongi assumes this is the infamous Jungkook. He grips his glass tighter between his fingers.

“No, stop, Jungkook, not here,” he hears Jimin slur, unfortunately close enough to hear them despite the heaving music. Neither Jimin nor Jungkook seem to notice him, beanie pulled low over his ears, sweat dripping down his neck. “Fuck, Jungkook,” he moans. He sounds drunk, and absolutely wrecked.

“Let’s go back to mine, huh baby?” the other boy says, biting vicious marks into Jimin’s neck, a trail of mottled red, barely visible in the dim, pulsing lights.

It’s then that Taehyung, to Yoongi’s left, catches sight of the two of them, a strange look crossing his face. He drags his friend over to Yoongi, ushering them both until the three of them are crowded in Jimin and Jungkook’s space, startling the two of them apart.

Up close, Yoongi can see how bruised Jimin’s lips are, his eyes glazed over in a way that makes Yoongi doubt that he’s just been sticking to alcohol.

“Can we help you?” Jungkook asks coolly, throwing a possessive arm over Jimin’s shoulder.

“Hey Jungkook,” Taehyung says, just a little too loudly. “You know me. We shared a class together last semester.”

Jungkook takes a moment to study him, moving a little closer. Between them, Jimin shrinks into himself slightly. Yoongi can’t rip his eyes away.

“Kim Taehyung, right?” he guesses politely.

“That’s me,” Taehyung replies cheerfully with a nod, a slightly manic look in his eyes. “And it seems you’ve met my little Jiminnie.” He pulls Yoongi and his friend further forward. “And this is Yoongi and Namjoon. We just wanted to come over and thank you for the invitation tonight. We came with Jimin.”

Jimin cocks his head at Namjoon’s introduction, but his attention is pulled away by the way Jungkook starts playing with his hair, burying his nose into the mess of black, pressing his lips to the back of Jimin’s head, moving down to his neck in fleeting touches. He takes that as his cue to tell Taehyung that he’ll see them all in the morning, but he and Jungkook have to go now. The words sound stilted in his mouth, but the pleased noise Jungkook makes in the back of his throat makes him feel all shivery and lightheaded, and he’s able to easily disregard Taehyung’s frown.

The two of them disappear back through the throngs of people, and Yoongi takes the moment to nod at Namjoon, feeling very much like an awkward third wheel.

“Wasn’t that Jeon Jungkook?” Namjoon asks, slinging his own arm over Taehyung’s shoulder, the movement just a little too familiar for Yoongi’s liking.

Yoongi hums an affirmative, eyes still searching the crowd for any last signs of Jimin, but he’s gone now, vanished in the night.

Namjoon frowns. “I’ve heard he’s caused a bit of trouble,” he says, hesitantly, like it’s not his place to say.

At that remark though, Taehyung laughs, a full-bodied thing that has him leaning on Namjoon for support. “Oh hyung,” he says, between his giggles, wiping his eyes. “If Jungkook is trouble, then I think he’s in good company with our Jimin.”

The taste in Yoongi’s mouth sours.

When Jimin arrives back to the apartment in last night’s clothes, he’s got this smug smile curling up the corner of his mouth, and his movements are languid as he collapses down onto the couch, shifting around until Yoongi sighs and starts to move his laptop from his lap, letting Jimin rest there.

Saving and closing his work, Yoongi shoves his laptop onto the coffee table before looking at Jimin and running one hand lightly through his hair, making him hum happily. “I take it you had a good night,” he says drily, feeling the dry flakes of hair gel catching beneath his fingernails. Jimin smells like sweat and weed and sex.

“The best,” Jimin sighs out, stretching his body, not even bothering to lift his head when Hoseok leaves his room and calls out a greeting on his way to the kitchen. “Why are you over anyway, hyung?”

Yoongi shrugs. “My wifi wasn’t working,” he mumbles. Which isn’t exactly a lie, but he could have just as easily gone to the Starbucks down the street if he really needed to get his work done. He tries not to grimace at the thought that he’d been waiting for Jimin to get back all morning, like a needy fucking puppy, about to wet itself at the sight of its owner.

The answer seems to satisfy Jimin though, and he just yawns, shoving himself closer and pressing his nose to Yoongi’s stomach. “You smell good,” he murmurs.

Yoongi laughs. “You don’t,” he teases. “Ya fuckin’ reek, Jimin.”

That embarrasses the younger boy, and he grumbles as he slowly pushes himself up. As he wanders slowly to the open door of his bedroom to grab a towel, he shouts out to Yoongi, “So who even was that guy with Tae last night?” Yoongi can’t help but smile slightly at his tone. Jimin’s a jealous creature by nature, wants to hoard everything to himself. He and Taehyung are truly a match for each other.

“A guy I used to run into a lot when I was rapping underground,” Yoongi tells him, pulling his Mac back onto his lap. “He came over to say hi and he and Taehyung just hit it off, I guess.”

The look on Jimin’s face is delighted when he pokes his head back out of his bedroom, in the process of undressing. “You used to rap, hyung?” he asks excitedly, and Yoongi has to hold back a groan, because Jimin looks like he’s found a new sparkly thing to play with.

“It was years ago,” he says, trying to downplay it, hoping Jimin will lose interest.

“Do you have any mixtapes?” Jimin asks eagerly, now exiting with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His chest is littered with bruises and bite marks, and Yoongi politely stares at his screen.

Hoseok, fiddling with a bottle of water as condensation drips down his hand, comes into the room and collapses next to Yoongi. “You bet,” he tells Jimin with a grin. “You’re looking at the one and only Suga. And what was it before that, hyung? Gloss?”

“Oh my God, shut up,” Yoongi growls over the sound of Jimin’s laughter.

“You’re gonna have to rap for me sometime, Suga hyung,” Jimin teases as he closes the bathroom door behind him, starting the water.

“Over my dead fucking body.”

“Where’s Hoseok?” Yoongi asks a few days later, arms laden with junk food, because the two of them have been planning on marathoning the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and he’s come prepared.

Jimin is lounging on the couch, fiddling with his phone. He’s all dressed up and Yoongi wonders if he’s going out.

He looks up when Yoongi enters, a soft smile on his face as he leans over to grab his glass of wine and take another sip. “Didn’t hyung tell you?” Yoongi shakes his head, dropping copious amounts of sugary treats onto the table and forcing Jimin to move his wine with a pout, lest it gets knocked over. “He’s been picking up shifts at the bar down the road. His mother’s not well and apparently her medicine is expensive.” He pulls a sympathetic face. “He got called in half an hour ago to cover for someone.”

Yoongi hums, vaguely remembering Hoseok complaining about having to get a second job because his gig at the gym wasn’t enough. But, unperturbed, he collapses down next to Jimin, the two of them shifting for a few moments to get comfortable, leaning against each other. “So what about you?” Yoongi murmurs, fiddling with the collar of Jimin’s shirt, knowing his hair is off-limits when it’s just been styled. “Where are you going?”

Jimin fiddles with his phone again for a few seconds, the bright screen lighting up his face in the dimly lit room. “Jungkook said he wanted to go out tonight. I think he wants me to come.”

“You think?” Yoongi echoes. “Jesus, can’t you kids just say what you mean when you talk to each other? Why does everything have to be in riddles?”

Jimin slaps him on the thigh with a quiet laugh. “Shut up, old man,” he says. “Stop talking like you’re fifty.”

Yoongi stretches his arms, resting one over the back of the couch while he picks up the remote control and begins surfing through channels. Jimin rests his head on Yoongi’s shoulder, not complaining about how bony and thin he is, merely content to be close to someone.

They sit in silence for ten, twenty minutes, the sounds of tinned laughter filling the room as they watch a rerun of Friends. It’s the jarring sound of Jimin’s phone buzzing that breaks the silence.

Looking almost reluctant, Jimin picks it up, tapping the home button, the screen lighting up his face. “Jungkook wants to meet me downtown,” he says quietly, even though Yoongi hadn’t asked him.

Yoongi turns off the television before squeezing the back of Jimin’s neck reassuringly. He knows Jimin’s not the type to go places on his own, hates being away from his friends. “C’mon,” he says, swinging his legs off of the coffee table and tugging on his jacket. “I’ll drive you over there.”

Jimin looks relieved at Yoongi’s offer, and Yoongi has to blink back the burning in his eyes.

Namjoon soon becomes a permanent fixture on the edge of their group, always there to meet Taehyung whenever they go out, the two of them disappearing for hours at a time. It takes Jimin a little longer to notice than the rest of them, being so caught up in Jungkook’s orbit.

But, eventually, he does notice that Taehyung isn’t around as much as he normally is, and he certainly seems disgruntled by the fact. They’ve only been at the club for half an hour, and Taehyung has already vanished into thin air.

“But, like,” Hoseok slurs, leaning heavily against the table that Seokjin had staked out for them, “when was the last time you two even banged?”

The humidity in the club is almost too much for Yoongi to bear and, when he licks his lips, he can taste the salty tang of sweat on his tongue. Across from him, stirring his drink with a straw, Jimin laughs the comment off. “Me and Tae aren’t really a regular thing,” he says, although two months ago, Yoongi would have argued differently. “It’s only when we’re, y’know, bored.”

The face that Hoseok pulls at that explanation is one of confusion, but that might just be because he’s drunk, having moved on from beer to hard liquors very early on in the night. Seokjin, however, frowns at that comment.

“But neither of you have ever had a boyfriend before,” he mutters, blinking rapidly with those big eyes of his. “I just thought that--”

Jimin slams his drink down with a dark scowl. “You thought wrong,” he snaps, and all Yoongi can do is stare. He’s never seen Jimin like this.

He seems agitated at everyone’s attention being on him. He breathes out a heavy sigh, dumps the straw on the table before picking up the glass and downing his drink in one go, a smooth, practiced motion.

“Fuck,” he gasps, coughing slightly at the burn. “I’m getting another,” he says, looking at them all with challenge in his eyes. “Anyone want to join me?” The atmosphere is heavier than Yoongi would like, and from the look Seokjin is shooting him, he’s having the same thoughts. But Hoseok is too drunk to notice, and he happily follows Jimin to the bar, one arm slung over his shoulder as they slowly make their way through the crowd.

“Goddamn,” Yoongi says heavily, slumping down in his seat. He takes a sip of his rum and coke just to give his hands something to do, and Seokjin is still staring after Jimin with a frown.

“Tonight’s not going to go well, is it?” Seokjin murmurs after a moment, sounding resigned.

Yoongi finishes the rest of his own drink, and he can see Hoseok and Jimin buying shots. “I don’t think so, hyung.”

“Jimin?” Yoongi calls out, banging on the door of the bathroom stall with heavy, drunken hands. He has a buzz going on between his ears, making everything fuzzy and warm. It’s the only reason he hadn’t noticed when Jimin had disappeared, suddenly missing from his side while they had all been dancing.

Apart from Yoongi, the bathroom is surprisingly empty. He supposes it might be because it’s already five in the morning, other patrons already drunkenly making their way home.

There’s an answering groan from the stall, so Yoongi bangs again. “C’mon Jimin, open up. Lemme in.”

He hears the sound of fumbling, and then the door creaks open slowly. Jimin’s on the floor, his head leaning against the rim of the toilet. He looks shiny with sweat, panting slightly.

“What’s up, baby?” Yoongi croons, ungracefully clambering down to sit beside him. He pushes Jimin’s bangs back from his forehead. He’s warm to the touch.

“Dun’ feel s’good,” Jimin slurs, his eyelids fluttering, like he’s not fully conscious any more. He breathes shallowly through his mouth for another few seconds before leaning forward and throwing up into the bowl pitifully.

“Let’s get you home, huh?” Yoongi says with a sigh, once Jimin’s finished vomiting. He’s already got his phone out with one hand, writing out a fumbling text to their group chat to let Seokjin and Hoseok know he’s taking Jimin back.

Jimin rolls slightly, pressing his clammy face into Yoongi’s clavicle, moaning quietly. It takes Yoongi several minutes just to get him standing again, and then even longer to manhandle him outside and into a cab.

The dawn light makes Yoongi’s eyes sting as they drive home. Jimin’s head lolls onto his shoulder, and stays there for the rest of the ride.

“So where did you disappear off to last night?” Jimin asks, his tone strangely curious, and the atmosphere in the room drops by about ten degrees. Yoongi had lost sight of Taehyung very early in the evening, somewhere between buying a round for himself and Hoseok, and having to haul Jimin off the dirty tiled bathroom floor after he’d pretty much passed out on it.

Taehyung sighs at the question and rubs the back of his head, the look on his face almost unreadable. “Namjoon hyung texted me asking if I wanted to hang out.” He shrugs, but even Yoongi knows by now that that won’t be a good enough answer for Jimin. He’s not the type to just let it go.

“And you didn’t think to tell me before you left?” Jimin’s tone is venomous now, his fingers tapping angrily against his thigh. “Didn’t think I’d like to know that my best friend’s decided to ditch me for the night to go hang out with some wannabe rapper--”

“Hey now,” Hoseok interrupts, slowly standing from the breakfast bar, “calm down a little, Jimin.”

The look on Taehyung’s face is no longer unreadable, but downright mad, his neck starting to flush an unflattering red. Despite how close they are, have been since they met each other, there is no one who can push Taehyung’s buttons better than Park Jimin. “Oh fuck you,” he hisses snidely, “like you don’t do exactly the same thing with Jungkook? And when’s the last time we hung out while you were sober, huh?”

“What do you think we’re doing right now?” Jimin exclaims, his voice starting to climb up to a shout. “I never get to see you anymore, Tae. You’ve never even introduced me to him properly. What, are you embarrassed of me or something?”

The room falls completely silent, save for both Jimin and Taehyung breathing heavily, fists clenched. Yoongi’s eyes dart between them from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, because Jimin looks like he’s ready to start throwing punches. Hoseok, standing across from him, looks just as cautious.

Suddenly, tone eerily calm, Taehyung grabs his jacket from where it had been discarded, slowly putting it on. “I don’t think you want me to answer that,” he says, voice deep and cutting, and then he’s walking out of the door, and Jimin’s eyes are filled with angry, hot tears.

Then he’s suddenly in Yoongi’s arms, crying loudly into his neck, and Yoongi can’t help but wonder, thin arms wrapped around Jimin’s shoulders, how long it’s going to take before he breaks.

It’s not the first time Yoongi has walked into Hoseok and Jimin’s apartment and found no one there (the two of them are just as awful as each other when it comes to remembering to lock the door), but the house is almost too quiet when Yoongi strolls in.

It’s midday on a Saturday, and Yoongi hates that he knows that most of Jimin’s shifts at the restaurant are on weekdays.

“Hello?” he calls out, shifting his laptop under one arm.

There’s silence, stretching out for few seconds, before it’s broken by a quiet “hyung?” from the bedroom.

Yoongi follows the sound, and finds Jimin curled up in bed, his eyes bleary. He’s clearly just woken up.

“What’re you doing in there all alone, huh?” Yoongi asks, keeping his tone light as he leaves his reading glasses and laptop on Jimin’s small work desk.

Jimin shrugs, snuggling back under the covers and motioning Yoongi over. The older man perches on the edge of the bed, his stomach slowly tying itself in knots over how soft Jimin looks, how delicate he is.

“Hoseok hyung picked up another shift at the gym,” he says sullenly. “Seokjin hyung had work. And you had a meeting with your editor today, didn’t you?”

“But what about--”

“And I’m not speaking to Tae,” he interrupts quickly, his tone childish, and Yoongi can’t help but huff fondly. He pets a hand through Jimin’s soft black hair, and Jimin’s eyes flutter at the touch.

“So instead of doing anything today, you just decided to sleep, huh?”

Jimin nods stubbornly. Then he lifts up the covers, and stares up at Yoongi with that look in his eyes, the one that make Yoongi weak at the knees. “Nap with me?” he asks, but Yoongi knows it’s not really a question. Jimin knows he won’t say no.

When Yoongi wakes up later, he’s sweating in his jumper, and Jimin is warm against his side, breathing out little sighs. As he stares up at the dark ceiling, the sun long since set, Yoongi wonders just what the fuck he’s doing, and isn’t surprised when he finds that he doesn’t have an answer.

Yoongi lets himself in a few days later, dropping the spare key back into the light fixture hanging beside the door. It seems like Hoseok had actually remembered to lock the door on his way to work for once.

He sees Jimin curled up on the sofa, wearing a fluffy white turtleneck pulled up to his chin, the television humming softly and the flashes from the screen lighting up Jimin’s face at intervals in the otherwise dark room.

“Hyung?” Jimin asks, his voice croaky, and Yoongi thinks that maybe the cold that has been going around the apartment block may have finally caught up to the younger boy.

He shuts the door quietly behind him, not wanting to ruin the peaceful atmosphere. “It’s just me,” he murmurs, coming down to settle by Jimin’s side. It’s become so comfortable to throw one arm over the boy’s slender shoulders and pull him in close so that they can share warmth.

Jimin shifts to accommodate Yoongi on the couch before gesturing to the bottle of wine that’s nestled between his legs. “Want some?” he asks, and his breath is hot. Yoongi knows that, if the lights were on, he would see Jimin’s lips stained red.

He merely shakes his head, settling down to try and make sense of whatever police procedural drama Jimin has playing. “Why don’t you get a glass?” he asks, slightly amused. Yoongi is long past the days of drinking wine straight from the bottle. He snorts to himself at the idea that maybe, over the past five years, he’s matured slightly.

Jimin shrugs before bringing the bottle to his lips for another sip. “Don’t want to wash any dishes tonight,” he says, voice low and soft. Then the muted sounds of the drama wash over the comfortable silence between them.

It’s only because Hoseok is picking up yet more shifts at work that Yoongi allows himself to be persuaded to come out with Jimin and Jungkook. Playing third wheel to the boy he’s pretty much in love with is not Yoongi’s idea of a good time, but somehow he’s ended up here, leaning heavily against the bar as Jimin tilts his head closer to Jungkook, laughing at whatever the younger boy is whispering in his ear.

Yoongi flags down the bartender for another drink. Getting blackout drunk sounds like a great idea to him right now.

The gin he’s drinking tastes awful on his tongue, rough and sickly, but even the strong taste doesn’t distract him from the way Jungkook’s hands are tracing along Jimin’s ribs, stretching his thin shirt slightly as they edge toward the line of public indecency.

A body brushes up against Yoongi, warm and hard and so consistent that Yoongi knows it isn’t just a coincidence. He throws one last long look at Jimin, but Yoongi knows he’s already been forgotten, an afterthought in Jimin’s fuzzy alcohol-soaked brain. So he downs his own drink, lets a shiver travel down his spine at the bitterness, and turns to the boy who has been trying to get his attention for the past five minutes.

The smile feels foreign on his face, but that doesn’t stop Yoongi. “Hey,” he says, and doesn’t move the boy’s hand as it finds purchase on his hip. It feels like defeat.

The next morning is awkward, mainly because Yoongi hadn’t bothered to learn the boy’s name before taking him to bed. He pretends to sleep through the boy stumbling around his bedroom, picking up clothes as he goes. It’s only after Yoongi hears the front door close, softly, that he allows himself to rub the grit from his eyes, letting out a heavy groan.

He can already feel the burgeoning hangover, pulsing behind his eyelids, and he can barely bring himself to fumble around for his phone, turning it on to see a string of messages from Jimin, the spelling gradually deteriorating as the night had worn on. But from what Yoongi can puzzle out, Jimin was mad that Yoongi had left without letting him know.

Yoongi knows how Jimin is, knows he should apologize now to best diffuse his tantrum. But, as he stares at his screen, so bright it’s blinding, he can’t bring himself to type out the message.

Eventually, Yoongi shoves the phone back under his pillow and goes back to sleep.

When Jimin knocks on his door later (and Yoongi knows it’s Jimin-- he’s even memorized the stupid short-short-quick rap of Jimin’s knuckles against the wood), Yoongi pretends he doesn’t hear. He feels dirty and tired, and just the thought of Jungkook wrapped around Jimin makes him feel sick. He can’t look Jimin in the eye right now. He just can’t.

Instead, he shuffles around his apartment, following up on e-mails to his various clients and then editing two of his feature articles. The house is a mess, and Yoongi doesn’t bother to eat.

Jimin leaves him another five messages.

Yoongi doesn’t answer any of them.

One week goes by, and then two, and then three, and Yoongi hasn’t seen much of Jimin or Hoseok at all. Jimin seems to have finally gotten the message, the texts to Yoongi’s phone dwindling down to zero over the past few days. He had almost bumped into Jimin in the hallway one afternoon, hiding around the corner to avoid any confrontation. Yoongi feels sick in the knowledge that he’s a fucking coward.

There’s a series of rapid taps on his door, and it startles Yoongi out of his stupor, lying across the arm of his couch, half asleep as the television buzzes in the background. He checks through the peephole, and sees Hoseok there, looking as tired as Yoongi feels, with bruised, purple bags under his eyes.

The smile he gets when he opens the door to his friend is relieved, Hoseok letting himself into the apartment and shedding his jacket, laying it over the back of Yoongi’s chair.

“You look like shit,” Yoongi mumbles, attempting a half-smile to soften the blow of his admittedly blunt words. It startles a laugh out of Hoseok as he walks through to the kitchen, Yoongi following close behind.

Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, Hoseok takes a long pull before letting out a heavy sigh. “That’s what happens when you work two jobs,” he says with a sigh, letting his index finger trace the mouth of the bottle.

“You’re working yourself too hard,” Yoongi says with a frown, taking a seat at the kitchen table, resting his chin on his hand. “I’ve not seen you in weeks.”

That makes Hoseok pause. “I heard I’m not the only one you haven’t seen in a few weeks,” he says casually, ignoring the way his words make Yoongi tense up. But he doesn’t give Yoongi a chance to reply before he’s already waving the comment away. “Sorry, sorry. Shit. Sorry, that’s none of my business,” he adds quickly, before swiping a tired hand over his face. “Fuck, I’m just so out of it.”

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks softly, his hands twisting themselves into knots. Hoseok looks worn down in a way he’s never been.

Hoseok sighs at the question, at the concern on Yoongi’s face. “It’s… It’s my mom,” he finally mutters. “She’s-- fuck. She’s getting sicker. I can’t afford to keep getting a carer to visit her. I’m gonna have to go back to Gwangju to look after her. At least-- At least for a while.”

The bottom of Yoongi’s stomach drops out, and he feels so sick, hating that this has happened to his best friend. “Fuck,” he breathes out. “I’m so sorry man. Is there anything I can do to help?”

The smile Hoseok gives him is small but genuine. He takes a sip of his beer. “Actually, d’you know anyone who needs a place? I hate to do this to Jimin, but I need to find someone to sublet to. I can’t afford not to.”

Yoongi coughs, and tries desperately to ignore the niggling thought in his head, the one that reminds him of the letter he had received from their landlord only days before, reminding him that his lease is coming to an end. But Hoseok looks so desperate and surely…

Surely it can’t be that bad.

“I, uh, I could take your room?” Yoongi says, cringing even as the words are coming out of his mouth.

Hoseok gapes at him.

“I mean, my lease runs out soon,” Yoongi adds defensively, crossing his thin arms across his chest. “And it would help you out. So. Yeah. I could take it.”

It looks like Hoseok wants to argue with him, tell him that it’s a bad idea, and he hesitates for a second before clamping his mouth shut.

Yoongi just shrugs at the look Hoseok gives him. “It’s not like I have far to go,” he mumbles. “I can just move my stuff down the hall and make life easier for the both of us.”

Finishing the last of his drink, Hoseok slowly rises from his seat. “I guess that means I can start packing then, huh?” he says. “I’m planning on getting back to Gwangju by next weekend.” But, instead of elaborating any more, Hoseok trails off and just stares at Yoongi. Finally, he strides around to Yoongi’s side of the table and pulls him up into a tight hug. “You’re a fucking idiot, d’you know that?” he hisses at his best friend.

Yoongi can just about manage a watery smile, buried in Hoseok’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Jimin’s standing, hip cocked against the door as Yoongi tries to shift his heavier furniture down the hall, cursing under his breath. There’s sweat beading along the edge of his hairline, and his shitty old sweatshirt is already feeling like a bad idea, making Yoongi feel too warm.

“Having some trouble there?” Jimin drawls, making no move to help him.

Yoongi stops shoving his dresser across the scuffed flooring, instead leaning his elbow on it as he looks at Jimin, throwing him a sheepish smile.

“Nah,” he drawls. “I’m alright, I think.”

Jimin’s eyes dart to his mouth, and his own lips pull tight into a thin line. “Good,” he says, turning his heel and walking back into the apartment, the door swinging on its hinges.

Alone, Yoongi groans, pushing his hair back from his forehead. He resists the urge to just start banging his head against the dresser.

Barely.

Hoseok’s last night in the apartment is a subdued one. Seokjin sticks to Jimin’s side, one arm thrown casually over his shoulder. Yoongi shifts uncomfortably from where he sits, perched on the arm of Hoseok’s chair.

Jimin doesn’t seem to be able to lift his eyes from the ground, and Yoongi can’t help but feel Taehyung’s absence keenly at that very moment.

He would know how to comfort Jimin.

Checking his watch, Hoseok frowns. “I guess I should get going soon,” he says quietly. He shifts his backpack higher onto his shoulder, the duffel bag at his feet overstuffed and heavy.

Yoongi takes that as his cue. He stands up, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “I’ll drive you.”

Hoseok grins at him, clearly knowing Yoongi would offer. His eyes are shining, and he blinks rapidly to drive away any tears that threaten to fall.

He pulls Seokjin into a one-armed hug, patting him on the back. Then it’s Jimin’s turn, and the two of them stand there awkwardly, clearly lost for words.

When Jimin finally chokes out a quiet, “Hyung,” his voice is wrecked, wavering as he speaks.

“Be good for me, yeah?” Hoseok asks, his own voice not completely steady. Jimin nods in reply, before throwing his arms around Hoseok’s neck, shaking slightly in his embrace. “Love you, kid.”

“Gonna miss you, hyung,” Jimin whispers.

Yoongi pulls the front door open, Hoseok’s luggage at his feet. “We should get going.”

“Oh yeah, shit. Right, I’ll call you guys when I’ve arrived.”

The apartment door falls shut behind the two of them, and Jimin almost can’t bear the silence.

“So was she any good?” Jimin asks sourly, sitting at the kitchen table on his laptop when Yoongi shuffles in to get a glass of water.

The question throws Yoongi completely off guard, and he leaves the faucet running as he looks over his shoulder at his (now) roommate. “Who?” he asks, completely nonplussed. In the three days since he’s moved in, they haven’t had a proper conversation, instead choosing to skirt around each other nervously. But Yoongi should have expected this. Jimin can’t help but pick a fight.

“Was she,” Jimin repeats, enunciating every word, “any good?”

“Jimin,” Yoongi sighs in response. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”

Jimin purses his lips, shutting his laptop with a sharp snap. “Whatever slut you went home with the other night.”

Yoongi scratches his neck, before the quiet sound of the water draining from the faucet causes him to spin around and quickly turn it off. He’s stalling, and doing a poor job of it.

“You mean the night we went out with Jungkook?” Yoongi says, playing dumb. He’s found that, in recent months, he’s gotten pretty good at doing that.

Giving a tight nod, Jimin settles back in his chair, now giving Yoongi his full attention. His eyes are piercing, and Yoongi can’t look away. He settles for a shrug, leaning back against the counter. “He was-- Shit, Jimin. He was nothing. I never even found out his name.”

“He?” Jimin asks slowly. “It was a guy?”

Yoongi nods, hesitantly. Jimin knows he’s bi. Why is he suddenly making such a big deal out of this?

“What does he have that I don’t?” Jimin demands to know, now crossing his arms, and he looks hurt, which makes no sense to Yoongi.

“Sorry, what?” Yoongi can’t help but ask, feeling completely lost. “What are you talking about?”

“Was he better looking than me?”

Yoongi breathes shallowly. He has to tread carefully. “Jimin, you know I would always rather spend time with you but-- But you and Jungkook looked pretty preoccupied, from what I can remember.”

That finally gives Jimin pause, like he honestly hadn’t even thought about that. His next words are quieter, less self-assured, less demanding. “So you’re not tired of me or anything?”

Unable to help himself, Yoongi finally laughs out loud, slightly hysterically. “Jimin,” he says fondly, already feeling himself being pulled back into Jimin’s orbit. “Jimin, you know me. You know I’ll never get tired of you.” Feeling suddenly, inexplicably brave, Yoongi leans over and presses a kiss to the crown of Jimin’s head. He can’t help the warm feeling that wells up in him when Jimin doesn’t pull away.

“I just thought--”

Yoongi squeezes the back of Jimin’s neck, breathing in the soft scent of lavender. “Don’t think,” he teases, “you’re no good at it.”

Jimin doesn’t argue with him.

“Jungkook is asking me out tonight,” Jimin tells Yoongi shyly, the two of them tangled up on the couch, streaming Netflix in the background as they fight with each other over the bowl of popcorn between them.

“Finally got the courage to ask you on a date?” Yoongi drawls, his mouth full of food. He’s still bitter, but he’s getting better at hiding it. Seokjin’s words are a constant echo in his ears, and Yoongi thinks he understands a little better now. Loving Jimin was always going to be hazardous.

Jimin blushes, ducking his head and hiding his eyes behind his bangs. Since living with him, Yoongi has noticed it’s something he does a lot, especially when he’s feeling shy.

“Shut up,” Jimin mumbles, wrestling for the popcorn, letting out a triumphant little noise when he grabs a fistful of buttery goodness. “Of course not.” He wipes a hand on his jeans, before patting his ass. “He just can’t get enough of this.”

Yoongi snorts, pinching Jimin on the waist and making him yelp. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit full of yourself?”

That makes Jimin laugh, loud and delighted. “You love it.”

Yoongi’s phone buzzes incessantly, slowly shifting across the kitchen table. He does his best to ignore it, trying to finish the article he’s working on. There’s a lull, the only noise that of their shitty old freezer, humming in the background. But, just as Yoongi’s about to let out the breath he’s been holding, the phone buzzes again.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, finally acquiescing and flipping it screen up. His editor is blowing up his texts, wanting him to come into the office before the end of the day for a pitch session. He rubs his eyes, groaning. Yoongi hates travelling to the office, on the other side of the city. It means he has to dress up and look presentable. He’s also severely behind on his deadlines, and he knows that, if he goes to this meeting, he’s going to get his ass handed to him.

The phone buzzes again, his editor threatening to cause him bodily harm if he doesn’t show up.

So, defeated, Yoongi slowly stretches, before groping around for his jacket, hanging on the back of the other chair.

It’s only once he’s toeing on his shoes, laptop bag in hand, that Jimin emerges from the bedroom, limping slightly. Yoongi raises an eyebrow. Seems like his night with Jungkook was a successful one.

“Where are you going?” Jimin says, his hair a mess, squinting in the midday light.

“Nowhere important,” Yoongi says with a shrug. “Got some work stuff.”

Jimin shuffles closer, tugging at the tie that Yoongi’s now wearing. “You clean up well, huh?” he comments, his voice thick.

“Well,” Yoongi says, fidgeting, “I’ve gotta look presentable at the office.”

“I’m sure all the girls there are in love with you,” Jimin says gleefully, tugging on Yoongi’s tie a little more. “I mean, who wouldn’t be when there’s a handsome fella like you hanging around?” He runs his hands along Yoongi’s chest, smoothing out the minute creases in his dress shirt, before tightening Yoongi’s tie for him, snug against his throat.

He’s so close, and it feels so intimate. Yoongi doesn’t know if he’s teasing. He forgets to breathe.

“Come home soon,” Jimin reminds him lightly. Yoongi can barely stutter out a reply.

When Jimin comes banging through the front door, it’s already three in the morning. The only reason Yoongi is up is because he has work, and he’s running high on caffeine pills and cans of red bull as he sits in bed and types.

He can hear Jimin muttering to himself as he stumbles along, hand running against the wall until he’s at Yoongi’s open door, peering in with wide eyes.

“What’re you still doin’ up?” he slurs, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

Yoongi pulls his glasses off and smiles at Jimin. He’s just so drunk. Honestly, Yoongi hadn’t expected him to come home tonight. He was supposed to be out with Jungkook.

“What about you?” he counters. “You’re back early.”

Jimin waves the comment away. “Fuckin’ Jungkook,” he hisses. “You know he’s such a piece a-- piece of shit?”

That gets Yoongi’s attention. He slams his laptop and shoves it to the side. “What’s up? What did he do?” he asks gruffly, because now he’s imagining all sorts of things, like Jungkook yelling at Jimin, or hurting him.

Instead of replying, Jimin just creeps slowly into the room, his footsteps the careful steps of a person who knows they’re drunk. There’s a strange look on his face, a half-smile, and he’s staring at Yoongi with coy eyes, grabbing hold of his arm once he’s close enough.

“Ya know what?” he says breathily, leaning down slightly. Yoongi can smell sweat, and booze, and the soap that Jimin uses in the shower. “Let’s not even talk about Jungkook. He can fuck around with anyone he likes, yeah?” He’s almost on Yoongi’s lap now, knees perched on the edge of Yoongi’s bed. “Because I’ve always got you, don’t I, hyung?”

Jimin bends down further, and it’s only when Yoongi feels those lips, fuck, those lips against his own, Jimin breathing hot air over his skin, that he finds the energy to shake himself out of the stupor Jimin has lulled him into. Yoongi grabs him by the wrists and hauls him off of his lap, shouting, “I’m not Kim fucking Taehyung, Jimin!”

Jimin stumbles back, until he’s sitting on Yoongi’s bed, eyes wide and glazed, but Yoongi’s finally had enough, the pressure in his chest building up past breaking point. “I’m not someone who’s just gonna fuck you,” he hisses, “because you think the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

He paces to the window, and then paces back towards the bed, Jimin following his movements quietly with his eyes. Yoongi can feel all the months of frustration finally overflowing, choking him and making his eyes water.

“I just can’t do it, Jimin,” he spits, “I’m not like you.”

And then he collapses down on the bed, away from Jimin, and hunches over, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He takes a shaky breath before adding, in a much quieter voice, “I’m so stupidly in love with you that I hate myself for it.” He can feel Jimin stiffen, the bed shaking ever so slightly, but he doesn’t let that stop him. “You’re toxic, Jimin. But I can’t stop thinking about you, and wanting to be with you. Fuck, even if being with you means spending the rest of my life watching you flirt with other guys and having to carry you home because you’ve blacked out again. Seokjin hyung warned me that being with you was like playing with fire, but I didn’t listen.” Yoongi laughs then, hollowly, not daring to look Jimin in the eye.

Yoongi’s not sure what to expect after his outburst. He doesn’t doubt that Jimin has noticed his pathetic crush, the way Yoongi pines after him.

But he certainly doesn’t expect to see Jimin crumple to his knees on the floor in front of him, placing wary, fluttering hands on the older man’s knees, his eyes now seeming so devastatingly clear. Jimin’s small fingers trace illegible patterns against the grain of Yoongi’s ripped jeans, the pressure light and fleeting. Yoongi can barely feel it.

“What do I have to do,” Jimin whispers, never pausing in his movements, “to get you to be with me?”

The next morning doesn’t feel real. Yoongi wakes to find Jimin asleep, resting his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. Sunlight seeps through the gaps in the curtain, making Yoongi wince as he feels the throbbing of his caffeine crash behind his eyes.

Before Jimin wakes up, Yoongi slowly shifts, crawling out of bed as quietly as possible. He needs coffee, and he needs it now. He also needs a moment to himself, so he can replay Jimin’s words from last night and somehow convince himself that it wasn’t all a dream.

That’s where Jimin finds him, curled up on the corner of the couch, a steaming mug of coffee cupped between his hands.

Jimin yawns adorably, having now changed out of his jeans and shirt and into one of Yoongi’s baggy white tees, with only his boxers underneath.

Yoongi can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “You’ve made yourself comfortable,” he murmurs, his breath skimming over the top of his drink and making the coffee ripple.

Laughing, not at all embarrassed, Jimin merely shrugs in response, before he curls up to Yoongi’s side, very deliberately prying one of Yoongi’s hands away from the mug so he can hold it in his own.

“I texted Jungkook this morning and said I wouldn’t see him anymore,” Jimin whispers, like it’s a secret. Yoongi swallows dryly, his throat clicking. Jimin tilts his head up to look at Yoongi. “That’s okay, right?”

All Yoongi can manage is a jerky nod. Jimin beams then, and presses a soft kiss to Yoongi’s lips. Yoongi thinks he must be imagining the peppermint taste.

The crowd is loud, the bass thumping heavily as Jimin fidgets, looking ready to run out from under Yoongi’s arm to join the writhing masses on the dance floor.

“You wanna go?” Yoongi asks, amused. The look Jimin gives him is sheepish, slightly apologetic. Yoongi chuckles, pressing a kiss to his cheek before nudging him toward the groups of people, dancing in drunken little circles. “Fine, go.”

“You’re not coming?” Jimin asks, voice wheedling.

Yoongi nods at his drink, then at Seokjin, who’s silently watching them both. “Maybe in a bit, yeah?”

Then Jimin is weaving through the crowd, five drinks in and loose enough that Yoongi knows that all he wants to do is lose himself in the music. Seokjin coughs politely, dragging Yoongi’s attention away from Jimin.

“So you two are together now?” he asks, face searching. He doesn’t seem mad, or upset, but Yoongi knows what this looks like. Jimin isn’t the most stable, or the most independent of people.

He’s the kind of person who doesn’t like to survive on his own.

So he just shrugs helplessly at the question. Since that night, he and Jimin have done little more than exchange soft, almost-platonic kisses, sharing a bed at night. Their relationship has turned ephemeral, wispy at the edges. Every time Yoongi tries to grasp ahold of something solid with his own hand, it vanishes in front of him, little more than smoke.

It almost makes him want to laugh. He’s not even with Jimin, not really, and he can’t help but feel like he’s already losing him.

Jimin’s finals crash into their life rudely, with little warning. It’s almost like Yoongi blinks, and suddenly, Jimin is spending most of his evenings curled up in his room, hiding under piles of blankets as he runs himself into the ground.

“I’ve gotta do well,” he croaks, his face pale and drawn whenever Yoongi asks if he’s okay. “Fuck, my assignments this semester were shit. Normally me and Tae-- Normally I’m not doing this on my own.” And then he’ll sniffle, his eyes watery, and mumble something about allergies before getting back to cramming.

“You know what he’s like,” Hoseok says, his voice crackling from the other end of the line, when Yoongi explains the situation to him. Yoongi holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he makes Jimin a sandwich. He hasn’t eaten all day.

He hums quietly in reply. Jimin is a perfectionist when it comes to the weirdest things. He’ll spend months shrugging off his college assignments, before bursting into tears about not getting a grade he wanted. Pulling the milk from fridge, Yoongi murmurs, “Yeah, but he’s really running himself into the ground. I don’t think he’s used to studying without Taehyung.”

Hoseok makes a noise of discontentment. “Shit, look, I’ll have to call you back later. My mom’s awake.”

Yoongi sighs, clicking off with a quick goodbye. When he heads back to Jimin’s room, the boy’s asleep at his desk, his hair greasy and matted. Yoongi places the plate of food down, along with his drink, crinkling up the papers on the desk. He closes the door quietly between him. Jimin doesn’t stir.

Yoongi has a meeting with his editor the day of Jimin’s last exam, so he doesn’t get home until the sun is already dipping down low, a fiery orange as he parks the car and climbs the stairs. Jimin’s on the floor of the kitchen, an empty bottle of wine lying at his feet as he shakily pours himself a shot of what looks like the shitty tequila Hoseok bought years ago, which had since been relegated to the back of their drinks cupboard.

“Shit, how did it go?” Yoongi asks, already fearing the worst as he dumps his laptop bag onto the table. It isn’t until he speaks that Jimin’s head shoots up, his gaze blurry and out of focus.

“How did what go?” he asks slowly, like his tongue is too thick for his mouth, making the words slur together.

Yoongi squats down and pulls the drink out of Jimin’s hand with practiced ease. “The test, Jimin,” he elaborates. “How was your last exam?”

That gives Jimin a moment’s pause. “Oh, that,” he says, like he had forgotten all about the test. “That was fine. I think. I think it was fine.”

His words are confusing, because, if the test was fine, then Yoongi doesn’t know what has made Jimin curl up here, seeking his favorite kind of refuge, the one that’s found at the bottom of a bottle of red wine.

“So what’s up?” he asks softly, folding his legs beneath him and pulling Jimin close. It smells like maybe Jimin has already made an attempt at drinking the tequila, or at the very least, he’s managed to spill a fair amount of it down his shirt. He stinks, the smell of strong alcohol almost choking Yoongi.

Jimin tries to smile up at Yoongi from beneath his bangs, but all he manages is a grimace. “Why d’you think anything’s wrong?”

“Jimin.”

The silence hangs between them for one long, awful moment.

Burying his face in Yoongi’s button down, Jimin mutters, tearfully, “Jungkook met me outside the exam hall.” Yoongi’s heart skips a beat. “He said he just wanted to talk. I swear.”

Yoongi can’t help it. His grip tightens around Jimin’s shoulders, and he has to take shallow breaths through his nose. Obliviously, Jimin continues, “He kissed me. Said he missed being with me. I said-- I said.” Jimin’s working himself up now, his own breaths erratic and heavy. “I said I didn’t wanna see him anymore. That I was seeing someone else.”

The words send a warm shiver down Yoongi’s spine, and the feeling almost distracts him from Jimin’s next words. “Please,” Jimin whispers, “please don’t leave me. I’m sorry, hyung, I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi can’t help but freeze at that. Then, before he can even really think, he’s manoeuvring them so that Jimin has to look at him face to face. Yoongi can’t stand to see his red, puffy eyes. The fear in them.

“Jimin,” he says, slowly and clearly, hoping to get this through his head, through the cloud of self-loathing and alcohol dependence that Yoongi has done his best to ignore. “Of course I would never-- I would never leave you. Even if you decided that you didn’t want to be with me romantically. Fuck, Jimin, I love you. I could never leave you.” And, it hurts to add this, but Yoongi forces himself to anyway. “I’d only ever go if that-- if that was what you wanted.”

Those words seem to break any kind of composure Jimin has, his face all scrunched up as he sobs, and Yoongi has never loved this boy more. He gathers Jimin up close to him again, and looks at the bottles littering them, and realizes that maybe it’s time he stops ignoring the obvious.

Quietly, almost to himself, he adds, “But we can’t do this anymore. Not like this.”

“You have to go see Dr. Bang tomorrow,” Yoongi says, grocery bag in one hand, the other wrapped around Jimin’s waist as he goes over their schedules in his head. “I can drive you there, since I have to go see my editor after that anyway.”

Jimin pulls a face as they cross the road. “Dr. Bang can go suck a dick,” he says grumpily. “We’re paying him way too much for these therapy sessions.”

Yoongi bumps him playfully with his hip. “They’ve been helping though,” he replies lightly, and Jimin’s thoughtful silence is comfortable, so Yoongi doesn’t push it. It’s been over five months since Yoongi had walked in on Jimin, curled up on the floor, crying his eyes out because he thought that Yoongi would leave him. The past months have been long, and hard, but their alcohol cupboard in empty now, and whenever Seokjin comes to visit, Yoongi gets the distinct feeling that he approves.

After a few minutes, however, he breaks the peace, “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin--”

“Park motherfucking Jimin!” someone shouts from further down the road, and then Yoongi makes out the sight of Taehyung dragging Namjoon toward them, his face both eager and apprehensive, as if he hasn’t quite thought through what he wants to say to Jimin. But then, that was always Taehyung, loud and impulsive and shoot first, ask questions later.

“Hey,” Taehyung says when he reaches them, voice tentative. His hair is longer now, and a lighter shade of brown than when Yoongi last saw him.

“Hi,” Jimin breathes in return.

There’s a beat of silence, and then it’s as if the two of them move in tandem, and it doesn’t matter that nearly a year has passed since they last spoke to each other, they slot back into each other’s arms with a comfortable familiarity that makes Yoongi wonder wryly if Jimin will ever love him as much as he loves Kim Taehyung.

“I’ve missed you so much, you stupid fucking idiot,” Taehyung mumbles into Jimin’s ear, but still loud enough for Namjoon and Yoongi, both standing apart awkwardly, to overhear.

Jimin laughs that special laugh of his, his eyes crinkling happily at the corners as they pull apart slightly to get a proper look at each other’s faces. “You look good, Tae,” Jimin says, his hands still gripping the crooks of Taehyung’s elbows tightly, not quite ready to let go just yet.

“You too, gorgeous,” is the reply he gets, and then the two of them just stand there grinning at each other until Yoongi coughs subtly at Jimin’s side. Then there’s a whirl of motion as Taehyung whips around to face him. “Ah, Yoongi hyung!” he says happily, stepping back to Namjoon’s side and looking at the way Jimin and Yoongi stand beside each other, the lack of space between them, with a keen eye. “I see you’ve made an honest man out of our Jiminnie.”

Jimin blushes and starts to stutter out an indignant response, but Yoongi cuts him off with a loud laugh, slinging his arm around Jimin’s shoulder and reeling him in for a kiss on the cheek. The look on Taehyung’s face is pleased and warm, his cheeks almost aching with how much he’s smiling.

“Uh, we actually have a thing we need to get to right now,” Namjoon interrupts quietly, making his boyfriend startle slightly.

“Oh shit, yeah, I forgot,” Taehyung says. “But how about we go for a drink tonight, and we can catch up?” he asks hopefully, turning back to Jimin.

Jimin stiffens a little under Yoongi’s arm, but before Yoongi can interrupt and deflect, Jimin replies, “Actually, uh, I’m not really drinking much anymore? But d’you guys wanna come over to our place for coffee? Seokjin hyung visited the other day and we have way too much cake in our refrigerator.”

Taehyung laughs, loud and raucous and familiar. “Sounds good. See you at your place later then, yeah?”

And then he and Namjoon are walking away, Taehyung strolling backwards to wave at Yoongi and Jimin before he and Namjoon disappear into the subway station further down the street. Then Yoongi gently grabs Jimin’s hand, laces their fingers together, and leads them home.