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Jimin’s not sure if he regrets it. Even if he does, it was never up to him. It’s the company telling him you do this and he does it. It’s not a bad thing… but meeting Lee Jihoon is not really his decision.
He knows of them – of the rookie group that stole their title of beagledols. He knows that SEVENTEEN is fully self-produced, right off the bat. They’re popular.
It’s no surprise BigHit jumped on that lucrative bandwagon.
Jimin thinks it rankles that they think Bangtan needs this sort of exposure. They – they're just a too-big group of a bunch of brats that are perceived as talented because they make their own songs. Bangtan makes their own songs too! It’s not fair.
But Jimin is a professional. He lets all this irritation fester in his chest, then tamps it down. He smiles and says “that sounds like a cool idea!” and he’s not sure how much of that is genuine. The smile certainly isn’t, but he’s good at faking it.
Taehyung leans into him as they turn into the carpark of Pledis Entertainment. “What’s wrong?” he coos, caressing Jimin’s jaw. “This dark and mysterious look is different for you.”
He rolls his eyes, pushing Taehyung away a little. The younger pouts. “I’m always like this,” Jimin answers.
Taehyung nods; Jimin on stage and off is very different. It might seem difficult, but it’s not – not really. Jimin in front of the camera is bubbly and kind. He doesn’t let much faze him. The Jimin now… is not that. Sure, he can be kind, but he’s not bubbly. He’s human – painfully so. He’s petty and temperamental, he can get pissed off at the slightest thing. He doesn’t think he can live up to the name of Jimin from Bangtan. (He thinks he’s a little bit tired.)
In a softer voice, Taehyung says, “You’re not happy.”
“I’m not unhappy,” Jimin murmurs, leaning into his best friend. It’s just him, Taehyung and Jungkook. He doesn’t know what the maknae is doing, but he’s very intent on his phone.
Taehyung rests his chin on Jimin’s shoulder. “They have a member that has the same birthday as me,” the younger says randomly. “We’re the exact same age. We’re like twins!”
“I can’t imagine two of you,” Jimin comments, grateful for the levity, even if it’s a little bit forced. “That’s horrifying.”
“Hey!”
Jimin first thought as he looks at SEVENTEEN’s resident producer is he looks like Yoongi hyung. The observation is tinged with incredulity and maybe a little bit of panic. He feels hysterical laughter bubble up his throat, but a squeeze from his best friend’s hand calms him down.
There are four of them. Jimin feels vaguely outnumbered.
The oldest – or so Jimin assumes – steps up, introducing them in turn. Hong Jisoo (Joshua), Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi), Choi Hansol (Vernon), Lee Jihoon (Woozi). Jimin looks at Jihoon – mini-Yoongi, he dubs – and feels… strange. This one is younger (a 96-liner) and he’s shorter than Jimin by at least a head. He looks like Yoongi… but speaks like Jungkook. Jimin thinks he can hear the slightest lilt of Busan satoori in the edges of his vowels, in the way he ends his sentences.
“I hope you'll take care of us, sunbaenim,” the blue-haired boy – Soonyoung – says, bowing. Like they rehearsed it, the others follow suit.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin notices Jungkook shift uncomfortably. From the look of it, all of them look older than him. He doesn't think the maknae will ever get used to that – to his elders looking up to him. For Jimin, he doesn't think he can get used to seeing a hoobae be his age. He’s not ready for this change.
“How are they?” Namjoon asks, like the good leader he tries so hard to be.
Taehyung glances at Jimin, who pointedly ignores the question. “They're a bunch of kids,” the Daegu native says drily, a hint of a smirk at the edge of his lips.
“A bunch of talented kids,” Jimin adds, almost grumpily. He’s not bitter. He’s just thrown by the Yoongi lookalike, who’s so much like Yoongi hyung, he’s nothing like him.
The 95 liners don't mention Lee Jihoon and his similarity to their hyung. There’s this tension in Jimin’s shoulders that Taehyung knows how to read. That topic is strictly off-limits.
Unfortunately, Jungkook never liked to read.
“There’s this one hyung that looks a lot like Yoongi hyung,” the maknae comments idly, flopping onto the sofa in a mess of long limbs. “It’s kinda creepy.”
Jimin shoots the younger a glare that goes unnoticed. He announces he's going to his room and tries his very best not to slam the door. He fails.
The knock on the door is gentle, but insistent. He keeps his back to the entrance even as the door creaks opens and the mattress behind him depresses. A low sigh informs him it's the man of the hour himself, come to check up on one-third of maknae line (maknae line, maknae line, is that all he’ll ever be?).
“Jiminnie,” Yoongi murmurs, resting a hand on Jimin’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” the younger answers curtly, stiffening at the gentle touch. “Go away.”
A pause. It sits heavy in the air. The weight of it is pressing into Jimin’s chest, squeezing all the air out of him.
“We talked about this,” Yoongi sighs, trying to nurture in his own way, as one of the eldest members. “Don't shut me out.”
“There’s nothing to say.” The dismissal is clear in Jimin’s voice. Yoongi doesn't have to listen to him; after all, Jimin is at the bottom of the pyramid. It’s due to the respect Yoongi has for the younger that has him leaving the room to respect Jimin’s privacy.
Jimin can't find the words to tell Yoongi that his presence is suffocating. It presses down on him and he's struggling to breathe, to find a way to steady himself. He has all this emotion, tightly wrapped and bound. He keeps it all in his chest and he wants to scream.
Looking at Lee Jihoon is like being trapped in a nightmare. A nightmare he doesn't want to wake up from.
They’ve all found their place. Taehyung – for reasons – is drawn to Jisoo, the quiet American. Jimin knows his best friend is drawn to the other because of their shared birthday (and the fact that Jisoo is easy on the eyes might add to that).
Jungkook has found a place nestled between Hansol and Soonyoung. The young rapper (younger than Jungkook, which is probably why their maknae feels so comfortable) and the performance team leader (Jimin can't understand why there are so many leaders in one group) just make sense to Jungkook.
He hasn't felt this in a long time, this feeling of being alone. Since debuting – hell, since meeting Taehyung, he's never really felt alone. Now, sitting in this recording studio with Lee Jihoon is more uncomfortable than that very first meeting with the boy that would be his best friend.
Jimin wants to sneer and laugh. It’s ironic. He’s aware of their similarities (and their differences, which are much more stark) and that makes this all the worse.
The silence is heavy, but potent. The younger boy glances at Jimin a couple more times before sighing and slipping off his headphones.
“Do you have a problem with me?” Jihoon says bluntly, as typical of a Busan man.
“No,” Jimin answers curtly, contradicting himself.
Jihoon’s lips press into a thin line. Like that, he almost looks like Yoongi hyung when he’s in one of his moods. “I don't know you very well, but I know when someone is lying to me.” Jimin hates him – hates Jihoon for slipping into an effortlessly natural Busan accent that shatters the reflection.
“What does it matter to you?” Jimin snaps. He knows he's being harsh. He doesn't have the right to be like this – he's in SEVENTEEN’s recording studio; not even on home ground.
The young producer frowns. “Look,” he sighs, all the fight suddenly bleeding out of him, “we’re going to be working together for the next couple months. If there's a problem, I'd rather we deal with this now.”
It's so… mature of him to say that. It leaves Jimin feeling like a small child, being all petty about having to share.
The truth is… he doesn't know how to be a hyung. Jungkook is young, but not that young. The maknae – his maknae – has never needed him. It’s easy to be a part of maknae line. He doesn't know how to be Jihoon’s hyung. This young boy is more talented than Jimin could hope to be. It pisses him off.
“It doesn't matter,” Jimin mutters.
“It matters,” Jihoon says simply, succinct and to the point in the way most Gyeongsangdo men are.
“It’s not you.” Jimin is quick to point that out. In a way, Jimin realises that it’s not Jihoon’s fault. It’s not even SEVENTEEN’s fault. There’s just too much going on in Jimin’s life (Jimin’s head) and he can’t keep up. Yet… “It’s not you, Jihoon-ssi. But it’s you.”
The way he smiles, the way he looks when he concentrates. The way he walks and talks and sits. The way his fingers curl against the keyboard and mouse. All of it irks Jimin, in a way that isn’t rational in the slightest.
Unsurprisingly enough, Jihoon is confused. He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing in a way Yoongi’s wouldn’t. “I don’t follow…”
“You… annoy me.” A flicker of emotion in the young producer’s eyes, gone before Jimin can put a name to the emotion. “You – you make me feel like I’m not good enough. You make me feel small and inadequate and talentless.”
The younger’s lips part, eyes widening in surprise. “Hyung,” Jihoon breathes. “I never meant to – ”
“It’s not even your fault,” Jimin chuckles bitterly, interrupting Jihoon without remorse. “It’s not your fault at all. Seriously.” He lets out another laugh, the chain around his chest loosening that little bit. “I’m just a little bit fucked up, kid.”
Jihoon watches. He looks at Jimin with eyes that see too much. In that moment, he looks nothing like Yoongi. Jimin breathes a little easier.
“That’s alright,” Jihoon says. His lips twist into a crooked smile. “We’re all a little fucked up here.”
In hindsight, drinking might have been a bad idea.
As with all bad ideas, they originate from one Kim Taehyung. A day of hard work that followed an unexpectedly early dismissal has Taehyung in a good mood. And when Taehyung’s in a good mood…
“Let’s go out for drinks!” Taehyung cheers, draped across Jimin’s back.
“I'm not legal,” Vernon points out.
Jungkook shoots the younger a quick look. “I'm tired,” he says, shrugging when Taehyung gapes at their maknae. “Sorry, hyung.”
“Jisoo-yah, you won't leave me, right?” Taehyung’s weight disappears as he goes forward to tackle his ‘twin’. Jisoo looks overwhelmed, but Taehyung just has that effect on people.
Soonyoung bows out as well, looking at Jihoon expectantly. Strangely enough, the young producer hesitates, glancing between Jisoo and (strangely enough) Jimin.
“Got to look after Jisoo hyung,” Jihoon explains. Soonyoung’s gaze intensifies, although he doesn't call his friend out for anything.
Jimin watches the exchange. It vaguely reminds him of the way Taehyung knows him as well. Jihoon and Soonyoung spend another few seconds having their silent conversation, before Soonyoung seemingly relents.
“I'll send the kids home,” the performance team leader announces, arms slung around their shoulders and forcing them to hunch. Jungkook scowls at being called a kid, but Soonyoung is herding them away before Bangtan’s maknae can put up a token protest.
“Are you sure?” Jimin asks, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. He readjusts the mask on his face, smiling a little when Jihoon eyes him apprehensively. There’s something very unsettling about talking to someone when you can’t read their features, he knows. Something in his chest hums happily at throwing SEVENTEEN’s resident producer off-kilter like that.
“I don’t trust Jisoo hyung alone with Taehyung hyung,” Jihoon says, gaze flitting away from Jimin. He seems skittish, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
Jimin takes a step closer. He’s the smallest in Bangtan, but he looms over Jihoon. There’s this rush of satisfaction when Jihoon has to look up. “I could take care of him.”
“I’d rather you… didn’t,” the younger answers awkwardly, clearing his throat suddenly. “As vocal unit leader, I need to – ”
Jimin interrupts with a sharp bark of laughter. “You're not the vocal unit leader here, kid. To me, you're just Lee Jihoon.”
The vocal unit leader stares at him with wide eyes, regarding Jimin the way a nonbeliever would a stout Christian.
“Yah, lovebirds,” Taehyung hollers, causing both Busan natives to turn to him. “Are you waiting for my birthday or something? Let’s go!”
A rush of courage has Jimin wrapping a hand around Jihoon’s wrist, tugging the younger to fall in step with Taehyung and Jisoo. Jihoon sputters, protests dying with every step until his wrist is limp in Jimin’s hand. He's so small that Jimin’s fingers touch, circled around Jihoon’s slim wrist.
Jimin has this inkling that Jihoon’s not quite legal yet, but the ahjumma doesn't protest when Taehyung orders four glasses and soju. After all, what’s a year?
Jihoon drinks soju like a champ, albeit slowly. Then again, Jimin and Taehyung don't exactly do anything half-assed. It's either go big or go home and the main dancer has been comfortable with that for years.
What he's not comfortable with is how he can't stop watching Jihoon as he takes another sip of his soju. Jimin’s only four shots deep; his beer goggles don't kick in until he's downed a bottle.
He silently traces the features of Lee Jihoon’s young face, unperturbed when Jihoon meets his gaze. Jimin lets a smirk play on his lips, shaking his hair out of his eyes and letting his tongue peek out a little.
“Like what you see?” he asks, silently questioning himself. If anyone should be asked that question, it should be Jimin. He's the one staring at Jihoon like he’d love nothing more than to snap him up in one bite (he’s not averse to putting his mouth on Jihoon…).
“I suppose,” Jihoon answers, uncharacteristically evasive. His words slur a little. “Do you?”
Jimin lets out a chuckle that sounds just a little too sad, even to him. “You look like Yoongi hyung,” he admits, tongue looser than usual because of the alcohol. “Like… your face is similar, but you're nothing like him.”
“Oh.” The look in Jihoon’s eyes is guarded. “Okay.”
The laugh that slips from Jimin’s mouth is just a little bit cruel. “Doesn’t it bother you? I'm calling you a bad imitation of someone I know.”
Jihoon shrugs, the lip of his cap shielding his eyes from Jimin. “We’re just colleagues,” he says evenly. His fingers fiddle with his empty soju glass; it tells a completely different story to Jimin. “Just because I call you hyung doesn't mean we’re close.”
“Do you want to be?” Jimin shakes his head even as the words leave his mouth, a mirthless chuckle slipping from his lips. “Of course not. This is just business.”
Jihoon’s lips press together, but he doesn't say anything. Jimin dimly realises it’s quiet – Jisoo and Taehyung aren't there. They're probably fine, though. Jihoon is still sober enough to care about them.
“Right. Business,” the younger says flatly. “Then why – ” He bites himself off, turning away in embarrassment. “Forget it.”
“No, tell me,” Jimin insists, reaching forward with numb fingers and gripping Jihoon’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “I want to know.”
The pad of Jimin’s thumb is resting against Jihoon’s slightly chapped bottom lip. He can feel the younger’s breaths brushing the top of his thumb. Jimin counts each breath.
One… two. Three, four, five, sixseveneightnine…
“Why do you keep picking on me?” Jihoon asks on a shaky exhale.
“Do I?” Jimin murmurs, stroking Jihoon’s bottom lip. His gaze is drawn to plump flesh, wondering what would happen if he were to kiss it softly, worry it between his teeth until it darkens to red. “You know what they say about little boys and tugging ponytails.”
Pink bleeds into Jihoon’s pale cheeks. Jihoon grabs Jimin’s wrist, but doesn't pull it away. Jimin can't see his eyes, but he'd bet his career that there's conflict in those (pretty, so pretty) brown eyes.
“I'm not a girl,” Jihoon points out.
“That’s not a problem.”
“I'm not Yoongi-ssi either.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Jihoon’s lips tremble. “Do you really? Don't think I'm oblivious. I know what you mean. I'm not…” He licks his lips nervously, his tongue brushing the tip of Jimin’s thumb. “I'm not some fucking replacement.”
“You're nothing like him,” he reiterates. They're similar, but not. Jimin knows he can never have Yoongi. There's something about the rapper that he'll never understand. If there were soul mates, Jimin and Yoongi were the exact opposite of that. As friends, they were great. As more… it could never be. They'd crash and burn faster than the Hindenburg.
“Stop saying that.” Jimin doesn't know how jihoon manages to sound simultaneously angry and vulnerable. “I'm not a toy to be played with. Be honest.”
Jimin tries not to sneer. It's been too long since he's been honest to anyone outside of Bangtan. This kid is really asking too much of him.
Lucky for Jihoon, Jimin has enough soju in him to be less derisive than usual. The truth spills from his mouth without hesitation.
“I really,” Jimin breathes, leaning closer, “want to kiss you. Honestly. Desperately. I can't say why, but I want to kiss you.”
“Hyung.” Jihoon looks faintly distressed, but he’s not pulling away. Jimin considers that a minor win. “This isn't a joke.”
“Kid,” he laughs, tugging Jihoon's face closer by a centimetre. He's close enough to peek under the cap Jihoon is hiding under. “I don't have much of a sense of humour. Taehyung can attest to that.”
“Hyung…”
It’s addictive, hearing Jihoon talk to him so respectfully. Even if Jihoon says they’re not close, that they’re not friends, he’ll still call him hyung. It completely shatters the vague illusion of Yoongi that sometimes falls over the young producer. Jimin wasn’t kidding when he says Lee Jihoon is nothing like Yoongi. That’s why he questions this – this attraction he feels. He has to wonder if it’s the face or the personality.
“One kiss,” Jimin whispers, gaze fixed to the pink lips taunting his hazy mind. “Then I’ll never bother you again.”
“Never?”
Jimin doesn’t answer. He doesn’t give Jihoon a chance to ask more questions either. Somewhere between Jihoon’s twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh breath, Jimin pulls the younger closer, lips pressing to his.
Jimin’s not sure what he was expecting. Fireworks, maybe, or the sudden realisation that maybe this kid, this talented rookie, could fill the ache in his chest with the simple press of lips.
None of that happens.
What he gets is a slow burn simmering in his gut and an irreplaceable warmth against his lips. Jihoon’s lips tremble under his, only stilling when Jimin presses harder and pulls him closer. He’s searching for something he knows he’s not going to find.
Hands find his shoulders, shoving him back. Jihoon lets out a gasp, covering his lips with his palm as he stares at Jimin with teary eyes. “Satisfied?” he chokes out, grabbing his things and leaving, bumping into Taehyung and Jisoo as they reappear.
“Jihoon?” Jisoo calls, the ice cream in his hand forgotten. “Jihoon – where are you going?”
There’s a brief exchange between Taehyung and Jisoo – the former telling the latter to go after his group member, probably – but Jimin merely pours himself another shot of soju, downing it without comment. He doesn’t look up, even as Taehyung slides into the opposite seat.
“What did you say to him?” the vocalist asks, taking the bottle away before Jimin can pour himself more alcohol. He frowns when Jimin remains silent. “Hey, this is serious. The kid looked like he was going to cry.”
“I was honest,” he snaps, glaring up at Taehyung. “That’s all.”
Taehyung is admirably unimpressed. “I think you’ve had too much to drink,” he says evenly. “We’ll talk when you get your head out of your ass.”
Jimin snorts, but doesn’t comment. Good luck with that.
The next time they go for practice, Jimin gets decked.
His head snaps to the side as he stumbles back, the impact with the door knocking the wind out of him.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the stranger hisses. Jimin doesn’t know his name, but he knows that he’s a SEVENTEEN member.
“What the – who are you?” Taehyung demands, stepping between Jimin and the new face before Jimin can retaliate.
Jimin lets the rage flow through him, glare sharp as he presses his fingers to his lip. He’s mildly impressed there’s no blood, but the throbbing in his jaw tells him it’ll bruise.
“What’s your fucking problem?” Jimin demands, Jungkook holding him back from retaliating. “I don’t even know you, shithead.”
“Seungcheol!” Jisoo exclaims, joining Taehyung and keeping the two angry men apart. “What was that about?”
“He hurt Jihoon,” Seungcheol snaps, trying to push Soonyoung and Hansol away so he can fly at Jimin again (as if he would let him land another hit, this motherfucker). “He doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, doesn’t do anything but hole himself up in the damned studio. And it’s this bastard’s goddamned fault!”
Jimin stills, frowning at this Seungcheol character. “Who – what are you talking about? I didn't do anything to him…”
“Bullshit,” Seungcheol sneers. “You've been a menace to him since you guys started this entire charade. You hate him.”
“Hyung!” Soonyoung and Hansol both yell. “That’s enough,” the performance unit leader adds, although he shoots Jimin a scathing look.
“I don't hate him,” Jimin snarls.
“You don't like him, either,” Seungcheol sneers. “Leave him alone.”
The door to the studio swings open. Jimin’s heart jolts at the sight of Jihoon – the younger is drowning in his huge sweater, hair a mess and eye bags dark and puffy. He looks like someone who has been thinking too much and sleeping too little.
“Stop,” Jihoon rasps, voice scratchy from lack of use. “Please.”
Seungcheol hesitates, glancing between Jimin and Jihoon, his gaze ultimately settling on Jihoon. “Jihoonie,” he starts in a soft voice, “I’m just trying to help – ”
“Well, you’re not.” Despite the harshness in his words, there’s no emotion is Jihoon’s voice. His eyes are dead, calculative. “Jimin-ssi, if you could come in here so we could finish the recording…”
Seungcheol refuses to give up. “Jihoon, let me – ”
“No.” Jihoon whips around, eyes red. “I just want to get this over with. Go home.” The door is slammed shut behind him, leaving an ominous silence behind him.
Jungkook releases Jimin, who flicks his messy hair out of his face. He walks past Seungcheol, shoulder banging into his. Before Jimin can take one more step, Seungcheol grabs his collar. Jimin glances down at the hand crumpling his shirt, slanting his eyes to glare up at this asshole.
“If you hurt him again, I’ll make you regret it,” he hisses, slipping into Gyeongsangdo satoori like it’s supposed to intimidate him.
Jimin’s lip curls, the cruel smile he always suppresses being allowed to let loose. “We’ll see who ends up regretting it,” he replies, laying on the Busan satoori thick as he shoves Seungcheol off.
To say he wasn't apprehensive would a be a lie. There's a swooping feeling in his stomach as he lets the door shut with a quiet click. Jihoon is facing his computer monitor, looking less haggard in the dim lighting.
“Take a seat and we’ll discuss the recording,” Jihoon says, voice clipped and businesslike. His voice is devoid of emotion. It leaves Jimin off-kilter – he had expected some emotion, even if none of the emotions he had been anticipating were good.
“Can – can we talk?” Jimin manages, running his fingers through his hair. “About… what happened.”
“About Seungcheol?” Jihoon’s expression doesn’t shift as he turns towards the elder. “I’m sorry he did that. He didn't have the right. Please,” his voice falters, “don't tell our manager. I'll make it up to you.”
The elder looks away, uncomfortable with the proposition. “Whatever. I'm not angry,” he grumbles, leaning back in his seat. “I meant… the night we – I kissed you.”
Jihoon freezes, impossibly stiff. Jimin doesn't dare touch him, even though all he wants to do is make it better with a hand on his shoulder or a squeeze of his hand. He feels helpless – he can't think of anything to do that'll make it better.
“Forget it,” Jihoon says harshly, his voice wavering. “It was nothing. An experiment.”
“Is that what you think this was?”
“Wasn't it?” Jihoon turns to him then, eyes rimmed red and knuckles white. “You said you weren't going to bother me anymore.”
“You want me to leave? I'll leave.” There's a completely irrational anger welling in his chest. He wants to punch something. He wants to grab Jihoon by his stupidly pastel hair and make him listen to reason. “You're a fucking coward.”
“I'm the coward?” There's an indignant tone in his voice. He stands up, chair banging into the padded wall with a loud thud. “It takes you half a bottle of soju and a mask to come onto me and you call me the coward? You fucker.”
He looms over Jimin, arms caging the elder in before he can retaliate. He's surprisingly strong for someone so small, shoving him back until Jimin is cornered against a wall, the back of his head throbbing from the sudden impact.
“You think you can come in here and play with my feelings,” Jihoon hisses, nose inches away from Jimin’s. The elder can count the individual lashes on Jihoon's eyelid, Jihoon’s breath puffing against his lips. “You act like this is some fucking game. You son of a bitch, I'm not some fuck toy for you to string along.”
“What kind of asshole do you think I am?” Jimin demands, channelling his anger towards Jihoon despite wanting to push the prickly producer against the soft, soundproofed walls and teach him a lesson.
“The kind to string along innocent little boys just to break them.” Jihoon’s lip is curled in a sneer. There’s something fragile in his gaze as he glares at Jimin. “I'm not one of them. I'm not a china doll.”
I know that. You're so strong, Jimin thinks enviously. Jihoon is the better man here. That's why he wants to see the vocal team leader ruined. He wants to wreck the lavender-haired boy until he's on the ground, sobbing and whimpering.
“I don't,” Jimin utters through numb lips. “I'm the one who – I know what it feels like, to be played.” There's a hollow ache in his chest as he remembers what it feels like to be led on, to believe that they had forever in their hands (Yoongi hyung never meant to, he didn't know, Jimin always fucks it up somehow – ). “I'd never do that to you. Never.”
Just because he wants to ruin Jihoon doesn't mean he wants to see him broken.
The air between them is tense; Jihoon's just staring while Jimin is trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. Neither of them try to move away. Jihoon’s gaze burns, like he's trying to read Jimin’s very soul.
“Say something,” the elder begs, finally meeting Jihoon’s gaze.
He finally – finally – leans back and Jimin can breathe a little easier. “You don't hate me?” Jihoon asks.
“I could never.” The words are hard to get out, but Jimin forces it out anyway. “It was never about you.”
“Then was it about you?”
“Yes. Maybe. I think so.”
“Was it… about Yoongi-ssi?”
Always. “A little bit,” Jimin lies, words bitter on the tip of his tongue. “You're nothing like him.”
“So you've said,” Jihoon says drily. “I'm just a poor imitation.”
“You're better than that. You're Jihoon. You're not Yoongi hyung.”
Yoongi is one of his closest friends. He's hurt Jimin and broken him and put him together again. They've never been the same, but he likes to think they've gotten better.
Jihoon has done nothing but exist. Jimin keeps finding these little things that seem like Yoongi, but it's all Jihoon. The young producer has done nothing but give Jimin his time and indulge him in his stupid decisions. He deserves so much more than what Jimin offers.
“Do you hate me?” Jihoon breathes into the space between them. The younger’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
Jimin doesn't even have to think about it. “No. I don't.” He pauses. “Do you love me?”
The silence stretches. It's making Jimin nervous – he regrets being greedy and revealing too much.
“No,” Jihoon answers softly. Jimin’s hope starts to crumble, until the younger continues, “But I could. One day.”
He’ll take that. Jimin will take anything Jihoon is willing to give him.
Jimin ruffles his hair, the locks rough to the touch thanks to the copious amounts of bleach. He tries not to fiddle with it more as he knocks on SEVENTEEN’s dorm door. Their newest comeback is soon – and with it comes a new look – but he doesn't know if Jihoon will like this on him. It's… nerve wracking. Before he can run his fingers through his hair again, the door swings open.
A large figure blocks the door, muscular arms bulging as they're crossed. “It's you,” Seungcheol says scathingly. He looks like a severe parent. “So you're back.”
“I'm back,” Jimin says, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Where's Jihoonie?”
“Getting ready.” Seungcheol scowls. “Just because Jihoon's okay with you doesn't mean I am.”
Jimin shrugs. He honestly would like to give a shit, if only for Jihoon's sake, but he really can't. He's here to get on Jihoon's good side, not his pseudo dad’s.
“Not going to invite me in?” he says loftily. Seungcheol might have a few months on him, but Jimin is the sunbae.
The brunette’s eyes narrow; Jimin thinks Seungcheol is going to hit him again, but a door inside opens and out comes Jihoon, looking slightly frazzled.
The argument brewing between the two ninety-five liners dies. Jihoon’s lavender hair has faded to a soft blonde, the hair expertly ruffled with practiced hands, giving him the effect of having looked like he just got fucked (Jimin swears under his breath). The eyeliner applied on him is subtle but distinct, drawing attention to his eyes. He has on a printed tee with a leather jacket that's two sizes too big, paired with a pair of dark ripped jeans that makes his legs go on forever.
“What?” Jihoon demands, twisting his wrists so his sleeves don't swallow his hands. “Don't just stand there like idiots. Say something.”
“Yah, I'm your hyung,” Jimin and Seungcheol reply reflexively, shooting each other dark looks.
Jihoon lets out a heavy sigh, lips parting on the exasperated exhale. Jimin can't wait to taste those lips.
Pink bleeds onto Jihoon’s pale cheeks, giving him a healthy glow. “Hyung!” the blonde squeaks. The silver-haired male belatedly realises he may have said that last thought out loud.
Jimin just shoots him a crooked smile. “Come on, Jihoonie,” he says sweetly, pulling a hand out of his pocket so he can offer it to the younger. “You're ready to go, right?”
Jihoon stares at his hand like he's holding a gun. The silence stretches, growing awkward. Jimin is suddenly aware of the five boys in the living room, watching the entire exchange. There's Seungcheol, hovering like the helicopter parent Jihoon doesn't need.
Jisoo appears then, walking out of the kitchen with a mug of tea in hand. He smiles, gaze clicking between the three men at the door.
“Jimin-ah,” the American greets warmly. “Taking Jihoon out?”
Jihoon clears his throat, grabbing Jimin’s hand then. The ring on the young producer’s pinky is cold, but comforting. That's how he knows it's Jihoon, not anyone else. “Let's go,” Jihoon murmurs, ears a deep scarlet.
Jimin tightens his grip, eyes crinkling as he pulls Jihoon closer. He turns to Seungcheol.
The hip hop team leader rolls his eyes. “If you think an apology is going to help – ”
Jimin’s fist is quick to put an end to Seungcheol's self-righteous spiel. The leader goes down surprisingly easy for his size; Jimin attributes it to the lack of fights Seungcheol had to handle with his soft hands.
“There’s my apology,” Jimin tosses over his shoulder, dragging a shell-shocked Jihoon out of there.
“What was that for?” Jihoon demands, heels digging in as Jimin tries to drag him away. They manage to make it halfway through the corridor before Jimin decides it's too much of a hassle and stops.
“He punched me,” the Bangtan member says simply, turning to face Jihoon. In the soft fluorescent lights, Jihoon looks precious, sweet… and the only person capable of breaking Jimin apart.
Jihoon scoffs, but makes no attempt to pull his hand away. “That was months ago.”
“Payback is payback.”
“You can be such a brat, you know that?”
Jimin laughs, head thrown back. (He doesn't know this, but the light catches in his hair and Jihoon is just that little bit closer to falling in love.)
“I've heard that once or twice.” Jimin crowds in close, hands caging Jihoon. Unlike those many months, Jihoon doesn't look like a cornered animal. The corners of his lips are turned upwards in a sly smirk – an almost come hither expression.
“You,” Jimin murmurs, stepping closer so they're chest-to-chest, “look good enough to eat out.”
The smirk quirks a little higher. One of Jihoon’s hands slip into Jimin’s jacket while the others card through the taller male’s freshly-dyed hair. “This is a good look on you,” he comments, tugging slightly. Jimin hisses, but it's not entirely unpleasant.
“Anything is a good look on me,” he chuckles, rubbing their noses together and leaning down to steal a kiss. And another. And another.
“Hey, you're supposed to be taking me out,” Jihoon murmurs twenty minutes later, lips swollen and pupils dilated. He looks pleasantly fucked, just messy enough to let people know he's unavailable without looking dishevelled. Jimin decides this is his favourite look on Jihoon.
Jimin chuckles, stealing another kiss from Jihoon’s lips. “I will… in fifteen minutes,” he sighs, slotting his lips over Jihoon’s. The younger makes a token protest, but it’s effectively squashed by the way Jimin’s tongue slides against his.
It’s another half an hour before they’re in the car, having been interrupted by Mingyu, who had come outside to throw the trash. Jihoon’s ears are still red, but Jimin’s never felt more smug. As Jimin shifts the gear and reverses out of the parking spot, Jihoon covers Jimin’s hand with his own, the pale skin contrasting beautifully with Jimin’s own bronze skin.
Breaking has never felt so good, he thinks to himself, smiling as Jihoon hums under his breath and fiddles with the radio.