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...So Jimin sang. Something low, half-forgotten from the bar, but gentler here under the stars. His voice slipped through the smoke and the cicada hum, cracked once from the cider, then steadied.
Yoongi’s playing followed him instinctively, as if the song already lived in both of them. The guitar softened under his hands, matching Jimin’s voice. For a heartbeat, the whole world seemed to breathe in time with them.
When Jimin sang the last word and the last note faded, no one spoke. But someone clapped too soon, then everyone did, loud and warm.
Jimin ducked his head, cheeks hot. And Yoongi was watching him—really watching, like he hadn’t expected the night to turn like this. There was a faint smile, the kind that felt private even in a crowd.
“Guess you can sing,” Yoongi said, voice rougher than before.
“Guess you can play,” Jimin answered, grinning despite himself...
OR how Park Jimin and Min Yoongi fell in love surrounded by horses, rodeo riders and old wounds.
