Chapter Text
Jimin had been working in restaurants for the greater part of his teenage years. He had started as a busboy and a dishwasher in a diner. Early mornings spent slicing potatoes for homefries and scrapping hollandaise sauce and runny eggs into the trash. It had felt wasteful.
Eventually he had made it to a host position- greeting every guest at the front door with an award winning smile and menus in hand. He had topped up cups of coffee and pots of tea, setting cutlery and wiping down tables. Never faltering. Always giving his best effort.
At some point the owner had taken a liking to him and promoted him to be a server. He had gained a regular crowd of customers he had learnt to recognize every weekend morning. Sometimes it even felt like they had come to the restaurant to see just him- to wish him a good morning and a good afternoon. To have specifically Jimin serve them their first cup of coffee in the morning.
It had made him feel appreciated and wanted. As though all of the hard work was worth it. That having line cooks and managers complain over every nit-picky thing made it worth his while to serve his customers.
Yet he had graduated high school and moved out of his parent’s house at the edge of the city. Traded in his cozy, rewarding job for something with flexible hours that complimented his school schedule. Working for a catering company was familiar, but not as forgiving as the diner had been. Jimin had considered quitting half a dozen times but had always decided against it.
He liked his coworkers for the most part and the pay was good. It was just the job itself that was terrible. His manager wasn’t too bad either- he often complimented Jimin for his hard work ethic and let him bring leftovers home after an event. Sometimes his manager would even give him a ride home after late shifts.
Jimin didn’t think much of it.
But the worst part, for him, was that he no longer had regular. No recurring crowd that called him by his name. He missed the familiarity. The comfort in a standardized routine.
The second worst part was having to remain unseen. Catering entailed a different set of skills altogether. Mostly tending to weddings and wakes, bar mitzvahs and galas that meant Jimin was to go unnoticed. Nothing but another figure in the crowd- distinguished only by his uniform. He was nothing more than a tray of goat cheese napoleons and tuna melt canapés.
Catering also meant a lot of waiting. Waiting to serve meals between courses. Waiting to clear plates away. Waiting for his shift to finally end so that he could go home and pass out.
It wasn’t a long commute back to his apartment in Chinatown. It was about twenty minutes by streetcar and a ten minute walk. He enjoyed the twenty minutes to unwind at the end of the day before he made it home. It was twenty minutes where he wasn’t obligated to smile or talk to anyone. Twenty minutes with just him, his music, his thoughts and the streetlights flickering in through the windows of the windows of the streetcar.
It was still September- the city was bustling and constantly moving. Never still. Outside teenagers laughed and first year students attempted to acquaint themselves with a city Jimin had lived in his entire life.
It was an in-between sort of time of night. Too early for party-goers and night-life seekers to flock to the streets, but too late for rush hour traffic. It felt quiet. As though the city was growing drowsy, settling in for the night. A calm before the storm.
But Jimin was restless as he watched the world go by. Physically exhausted, tired beyond belief.
But he lacked the necessary lull required to fall asleep or quiet his thoughts. His eyes had no weight to them. He was wired. As though the restlessness of the city was giving him energy to feed on. Forcing him awake.
It was only when he unlocked the door to his apartment and flicked on the lights he felt a little more at ease. He shoved the leftovers from the catering event into the fridge without a second thought and immediately stripped out of his work uniform in the entrance way. Not bothering to wait until he reached his bedroom. Too shameless to be shy. Too familiar with his roommate to be uncomfortable. Besides, he was used to being home alone at this time of night. His roommate,
Taehyung, was typically locked away in his studio or at a club meeting.
He threw on his sweatpants and an old t-shirt he’d gotten while still in high school. One that advertised a band he didn’t particularly care for anymore.
He ruffled his hair and sighed. It was too quiet. Too empty in the apartment without his roommate there. Without the frivolous, wonderful chatter of his best friend the apartment felt dark and cold and far too big. The shadows seemed to stretch too far over the floors and walls.
The silence was too large. Suffocating the space and making it impossible to breath.
Jimin didn’t know how to fill his lungs with air when he was alone. He wasn’t good when he was alone. A shadow of himself. As though being with other people somehow made him whole.
Jimin took a deep breath as he cracked open his bedroom window and stepped outside onto the fire escape. The fresh air did him some good.
The air was slightly chilled due to the breeze, but not uncomfortably so. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Taehyung had never let him smoke in the apartment and would religiously spraying air freshener at Jimin until the chemical stench of smoke had been eradicated entirely. Jimin would reek of passion fruit and tropical breeze for days.
So Jimin had taken to only smoking when Taehyung wasn’t home- sure to do it on the fire escape.
It was a bad habit that Jimin wanted to quit but an addiction was an addiction and he’d been doing it for so long. It was developed from his years working amongst stressed kitchen staff and waitresses looking for a release between rushes. Besides, there were worse things to be addicted to. Drugs and alcohol and people most of all.
Outside the city was loud and rambunctious, a defiant contrast to the suffocating quiet of the apartment. Inside, every creak of the floorboards and scurry of near-silent mice in the walls were just more reminders that Jimin was alone.
But the city was alive and calling out to him in between the shrill of sirens, the rumble of traffic on the main street. It was steel and concrete, brick, and asphalt and life that somehow always found a way.
He loved all of it. Its wildness and ferocity. It’s hate and it’s love and the gritty, dirty parts that no one else seemed to love except him.
“Oh-shit- sorry. I didn’t know someone was out here.” A voice grumbled much to Jimin’s surprise. He had been to lost in his thoughts- or lack thereof, just taking a moment to be alive and to feel everything and nothing all at once- and he had dropped the cigarette from his fingers. It fell between the cracks in the metal grating and into the alley below.
Jimin turned to see a boy straddling a window sill- one leg inside of his neighbouring apartment and the other reaching out to the fire escape. Jimin recognized him as one of his neighbours he had passed by on several occasions but never bothered to speak to.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m going inside soon anyways.” Jimin replied, reaching into the pocket of his sweatpants for another cigarette and a lighter.
“Sorry to bother you.” The boy said, leaning up against the rough brick of their apartment building after finally clambering outside with very little grace.. He looked perfectly content just standing there. Like he was born to lean against walls and look cool and passive. So indifferent to the world.
He looked like the sort of boy Jimin loved to hate. Unresponsive and terrible and all too pretty.
Jimin shrugged. He tried not to stare. “It’s fine. You wanna bum a smoke?”
The boy wrinkled his nose and shook his head in distaste. He had a cute, round, little nose that was slightly downturned. “Not really my thing.”
“Sorry, dude.” Jimin said, waving his hand to fan away the smoke carried by the breeze. “I’ll be done soon.”
“It’s fine. Really.” He said and then after a pregnant pause added, “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so. I’m Jimin.” He said, extending his hand to shake. Somewhere on the busy street around the corner an ambulance sped by, sirens wailing.
“Yoongi.” He replied. Jimin wasn’t really sure why he had addressed him so directly. There wasn’t a reason to. Perhaps he just liked the sound of his name. “Are you in school?”
Jimin nodded, flicking away some of the ash. It was such a common question. Almost always effective in filling the silence between two students. “Ryerson. Fourth year.”
Yoongi made a face.
“It’s one of the best nursing programs.” Jimin stated. He arched his brew and quipped his lip. He wasn’t about to take shit from a self-important student after working eight long hours on his feet.
Yoongi smiled. It wasn’t exactly cruel, but it held a certain kind of malice that was ingrained in students who had come to value their university and status as a student. “I’d be more impressed if it was a real school.”
Jimin forced a smile. He knew it was just some playful banter between schools but it hurt nonetheless. There was something cruel in telling someone that they were wasting tens of thousands of dollars on their education. That there efforts and time was meaningless.
“And what are you studying then?” Jimin asked challenging. He wanted the boy to say something he could critique. He wanted to hear that he had dropped out of school. That he had failed out of his communications degree and was now working the graveyard shift at Tim Hortons.
“I just finished a double major in micro-economics and architecture- specializing in sustainability and urbanization. Right now I’m doing a masters in architecture at UofT but focusing more on urban planning while looking at sustainable living in an attempt to make sure lower income neighbourhoods in Toronto are still self-sufficient and don’t become further victims of gentrification.”
It was the sort of pre-prepared speech one saved for aunts and uncles and dotting grandmothers at holidays and family reunions.
Jimin blinked at him three times.
“That’s-”
“It sounds more impressive than it is.” Yoongi admitted, hiding his face. Jimin could just make out the smallest hint of a smile. “I mostly just hide in my studio and complain about math.”
Jimin smiled a little sadly. It seemed as though everyone around him was constantly hidden away in their studios working- labours of passion and hard work.
“Relatable.” Jimin laughed. “It’s the second week of school and I cried just looking at my textbooks.” In truth, Jimin had paid for his books, mourned his bank balance and then stuffed them on his bookshelf where they would remain unopened until the pressure of midterms
became too much.
Yoongi laughed. It was short and stuttered. Only silenced by the boy biting down on his bottom lip when he realized just how loud his voice was against the distant sounds of the city.
Jimin flicked away the last of the ash of his cigarette. The heard a voice call out from inside his apartment- low and honeyed. Syrupy sweet and whole. He tried his best to ignore the fluttering excitement that the voice gave him. He pushed it down deep inside of him. Into the dark, empty caverns of his being. Hollowed out grottos where he stored all of his secrets.
“I’m going to head inside but it was nice meeting you.” Jimin smiled.
“Have a good night, Jimin.” There was something soft in his expression. Something dreamlike and not all there. His gaze was fixed on Jimin, never wavering but it looked more like he was seeing through him, rather than looking Jimin directly.
He didn’t like the way Yoongi looked at him, Jimin decided. It didn’t want to be invisible. He wasn’t translucent. He was there and real and present.
Jimin quirked a grin nonetheless. “You too, Yoongi.”
Jimin climbed back inside of his window and closed it behind him, drawing his curtains shut.
“Who were you talking to?” Taehyung asked, poking his head inside the door frame to Jimin’s room. It looked as though he had just gotten home. There was charcoal smudged on his hands as though he had tried to clean it off but hadn’t quite succeeded.
Taehyung was messy- impossibly so. But his messiness was a character unto itself- a distinct, integral part of him. It did nothing to cover up his fine features though. It wasn’t a blemish to be rid of. If anything it made Taehyung so much of who he was.
“Just one of the neighbours on the fire escape.” He replied.
Taehyung furrowed his brows. He still looked handsome. “Was he kind of tall with dark hair and big eyes and sort of stuck up but also a dork?”
“No.” Jimin said skeptically. He wouldn’t use any of those words to describe the not-so stranger he met on the fire escape. Except maybe a dork. He seemed a little dorky. Probably more so the more someone got to know him.
“Good. Because I already met one of the neighbours and we’re in love.” He professed as he collapsed upside down on Jimin’s bed. His silvery blonde hair fell over the floor. It was cute.
The swelling, growing ache in Jimin’s gut was not. But he pushed it aside. Locked it away.
Jimin rolled his eyes. He had known Taehyung since the younger had transferred to his school in the tenth grade. They’d been inseparable since. And in that time Jimin had seen Taehyung fall in love at least twice a week with anyone and everyone who looked at him for more than three seconds.
“What’s his name?”
“His name is Jungkook and one day we’re going to get married.” Taehyung said matter-of-fact.
“At least we know two of the neighbours now.” He stated. There was an uncomfortable itch growing. Running up and down his skin and making his hairs stand on end.
He tried to rid himself of the feeling as he wandered out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. He knew Taehyung would automatically follow. “Tell me about him.”
Taehyung skipped up behind him, impossibly light on his feet. There was only the soft patter of bare feet on hardwood. “He’s an engineer? Or in computer science? He does math. He’s smart.”
Jimin tried not to be hurt. Tried not to let it show. Because he was smart too. He didn’t flaunt it.
Didn’t make it a ready available fact about himself. But sometimes he wanted someone to recognize his efforts for what they were.
“He’s going to make a lot of money one day. Buy me a nice house with a backyard for our kids to run around in.” Taehyung gushed.
Jimin smiled quietly to himself, flash of anger fading away.
Taehyung had once been a cluttering, clambering child. But at some point in the past two years he had settled into himself. Almost like wearing a new pair of jeans or breaking in new shoes.
Now he was elegant and broad, yet somehow still slim and narrow. It was all sorts of perplexing.
But the amount of space he seemed to occupy still surprised Jimin. He wasn’t really a boy, not quite a man. But definitely more comfortable in his skin than ever before. Still a dreamer.
And Jimin was still waiting for that to happen to him. It wasn’t that Jimin felt uncomfortable in his skin, per say. But rather that Jimin was uncomfortable with who he had grown up to be.
Constantly weighed down by the expectations he had placed upon himself.
Sometimes Jimin looked in the mirror and didn’t really recognize himself. Sometimes he would sit in coffee shops or food courts, quietly eating and trying not to scream. Often wondering if anyone else felt the same way- wondering how they managed to stay quiet and how they got through it.
He didn’t scream though. He never did.
But Jimin thought he would be living in a nicer apartment by now. Working a job that he didn’t hate. He would have a boyfriend that loved him. He would work hard and be diligent in his studies in order to earn his grades. He would amaze his professors. He would have the respect of his peers.
But in truth Jimin just complained. He whined that he was tired or that things were too hard. He put in half the effort he should have and constantly came up empty handed.
He was unfulfilled. Dissatisfied.
“Oolong or jasmine?” Taehyung asked while he stood on his toes to reach into the cupboard in search of tea bags.
“Earl grey.” Jimin decided, slightly distracted as he rinsed two mugs from the sink- one with an Andy Warhol print patterned all over it and another that was plain white. Tea and coffee always tasted better from a white mug.
Taehyung peaked his head out from the fridge. “You forgot to change the bag of milk.” He complained.
Jimin hummed in response. He didn’t apologize. He wasn’t about to make any changes to his habits anytime soon.
“Are those leftovers from work? What did your manager give you this time?”
“Some sort of stuffed chicken I think.” Jimin said. In all honesty the catering event had been a complete blur. He couldn’t even remember if it had been a wedding reception or a conference. Had there been a bride?
“You need to start catering more vegan and vegetarian events. I can’t steal your food if you keep bringing home shit I can’t eat.” Tae grumbled to Jimin’s amusement.
“Why do you need to steal my food at all?”
Tae shrugged. “Gets the adrenaline going. I never know if I’m going to get caught.”
“I hate you.” JImin muttered under his breath, watching the steam rise from the kettle. He had needed to check to make sure it was plugged in correctly since half the outlets in their apartment didn’t work.
“You love me.”
It was a routine. One the pair of them had settled into years and years ago. It had originated from days when they had walked home in the cold of winter and yearning for hot chocolate or tea to warm their frigid bodies. In university it had turned into late nights at the dining table sipping tea and catching up on missed days when they hadn’t seen each other.
Because, in truth, despite living together, they didn’t see each other very often. Between the long hours Taehyung spent locked away in his room painting, work schedules and their respective class schedules they were rarely home at the same time save for quiet hours of the night.
“Tell me more about this boy.” Jimin encouraged while cleaning away the mess of dirty dishes from the table. Jimin liked to pretend he was a clean, organized person. He tried to be.
Taehyung skipped over and crashed into a chair before collapsing into his usual seat. “He’s just… nice? He helped me carry my art shit up the stairs ‘cause he saw me struggling with my portfolio. And he’s awkward and shy and pretty.”
“Sounds like prince charming.”
Taehyung shook his head. “No. he’s better…. Prince charming was this lame wet noodle. Too full of himself- you saw Shrek two. This guy had fucking meat on his bones. Like he played hockey or lacrosse or something in high school.”
Jimin wrinkled his nose. He knew just the type. “Sports are gross and hockey boys are worse.”
Taehyung nodded. “True… but like, his arms… his thighs! I hated to see him leave, but I loved watching him go.”
Jimin arched an eyebrow. He feigned interest. He was good at that. “Really? That good?”
Taehyung nodded. “Heavenly.”
He sipped his tea. “Good luck with that.”
“Would it be weird if I just started hanging out in the hallway and waited for him to walk by?”
Jimin didn’t even consider it. His response was instant. “Yes.”
“I’m going to do it anyways.” Tae said and Jimin didn’t question it.
Instead Taehyung reached for a discarded pencil on the table and a napkin and began doodling a pair of doe eyes and a small, round mouth. It was hasty and the pencil lines looked harsh. But the features were nice, though generic, nonetheless.
“How was your day aside from work?”
“It was okay. Dull. Long. Uneventful.” Jimin droned on, an automatic response. “ The usual.” He sighed when he saw his phone go off.
“Is it your boss again?” Taehyung asked, trying to read Jimin’s message. “Tell him you can’t work Wednesday. You have a lecture.” Taehyung advised.
Jimin scrolled through the message.
“It’s a party invite for Friday.”
“You going?” Taehyung asked. He didn’t really look like he was listening anymore. Instead he was cross-hatching lines over the napkin in what looked to Jimin like a feral game of tic-tac-toe.
Jimin shrugged. “I guess. I don’t have anything better to do.”
They left it at that.
But somewhere, at some point, someone else had decided that Jimin liked parties. It hadn’t been his decision. It was a fact someone else had made for him and presented on his behalf.
An assumption that had been made on his character and had stuck.
It was probably because Jimin had a hard time saying no. He had dated boys he didn’t like because he didn’t know how to reject them. He had eaten meals at restaurants he didn’t order because he didn’t want to bother the server and send it back. He had made friends with people he didn’t even like because he didn’t know how to let them go.
He had done countless things he didn’t want to do simply because he didn’t know how to refuse.
But Jimin liked being around people. Found it far more preferable to being alone.
But still.
He didn’t enjoy the binge drinking culture. But at some point it became a prominent part of his being.
But he was good at turning himself into the person people needed him to be.
“Do you want to come with me?” Jimin then asked. He needed someone to go with him. Someone he could count on to stop him from making poor decisions or making a fool of himself. He had enough regrets as it was.
“Sure. Why not. But you have to come to the next art installation with me. I need to make fun of it with someone or else I’ll die of boredom. We can even play fuck/marry/kill with the portraits!”
“I don’t know… your art friend can be a bit much? Does it have to be an art installation? Can’t I go to some other event? Like a march or a protest or something?”
Taehyung nodded in understanding but then looked at Jimin with such a desperate expression. “Please? This is the only art installation you need to come to all year. It’s important! All the proceeds and donations go to my friend’s top surgery.”
Jimin agreed to go with a renewed enthusiasm, but still a little hesitant. Jimin was a patient person but there was nothing more exhausting than a room full of art students.
“You saw him right?” Taehyung asked as they exited their apartment building into the street. They popped out the door next to a pho restaurant that stayed open until the early hours of the morning. Taehyung and Jimin had been regulars there for quite some time. Jimin assumed they would probably end up there later that night.
“Yeah. He was cute. You’d look good together.” Jimin assured Taehyung. Though in truth he had no recollection of what the object of Taehyung’s infatuation looked like even though they had just met in the hall moments prior.
He had seemed a little plain in contrast to Taehyung. Not deserving of the praise.
“I don’t even know if he’s gay.” Taehyung grumbled, kicking at a discarded coffee cup on the sidewalk while they made their way to the subway station.
“I saw the way he looked at you. He was having a full gay panic.”
Taehyung snorted. “He was not.”
“C’mon walk faster I don’t want to be late.” Jimin encouraged. He didn’t really want to talk about their new neighbour any longer.
“Late? You’re always late! Besides you don’t even want to go!”
“I changed my mind. I love art!”
The art exhibition was just as bad as Jimin thought it would be. It was long, dull, full of people he didn’t really know how to hold a conversation with no matter how hard he tried.
They all seemed all too concerned with new age philosophies.
But after watching the hands of a clock tick by for fifteen minutes Jimin found someone to keep him entertained.
Jimin saw him in passing at first.
A mess of black hair and black clothes. He would have blended perfectly into the crowd of artists and students- almost dressed identically to everyone else while trying to present themselves as wholly original- had it not been for Jimin’s keen eye.
He had always been good at finding what he was looking for. Even if he didn’t really know what it was he was supposed to be looking for.
He had found his chance ten minutes later. A fraction of a second to slip away while his friend was distracted amongst his peers- discussing the use of brushstrokes and mediums. A topic that Jimin didn’t really have any expertise or insightful input on.
Besides, Taehyung looked confident among his art friends- having finally found his footing in a community that praised itself on being highly accepting but unforgiving of people who couldn’t hold their own.
Art was competitive and Taehyung had a kind but sensitive heart.
“Hello stranger.” Jimin said, stepping up beside Yoongi. He was sure to announce himself. He was known to accidentally spook people due to the lightness with which he stepped.
The boy only looked taken aback for a moment. A slight surprise. But not an unpleasant one.
“What are you doing here?” He asked. His eyes were dark, skin pale in the forgiving lighting of the gallery. The shadows were dark across his face, accentuating the finer features he had been graced with.
Chiaroscuro. It was a word he had heard Taehyung use. Light and dark. Stark contrasts. A juxtaposition.
That was what Yoongi was. A juxtaposition of character.
“Do you like art too? Or do art?” Jimin asked, neglecting Yoongi’s own question. He asked it in a way a nervous mother might ask her son if they had ever done drugs.
Yoongi shrugged. It looked good on him- a shrug. Something so simple- casual. Indifferent. It complimented his character, contrasted against the button up shirt and pressed slacks he wore that implied that he did, in fact, care.
“I like photography but it’s not something I’d make a career out of or go to school for.” He replied. “I have to draw for my program and draft. But nothing like this.”
“Thank god I’m not the only non-art kid here.” He said with great relief. “Last night, Taehyung- my roommate- spent an hour talking to about about the representation of orientalism and primitivism in the female nude throughout history. I feel like I learnt something important, but I’m not really sure what it was.” He admitted a little nervously. He only realized just how dumb he sounded only after he spoke. He needed to hold his tongue more.
Yoongi laughed nonetheless. “Probably something about the male gaze and man’s insatiable lust or man’s inherent right to the female body?”
“Those do seem to be reoccuring themes.” Jimin replied, looking over his shoulder at the feminist exhibit behind them. He turned back to Yoongi. “Do you… appreciate the… female nude..?” Jimin asked.
The painting in front of them depicted a traditional pose of a lounging nude female except her mouth had been replaced with a venus fly trap.
“Aesthetically I suppose.” Yoongi’s ears had turned pink. “But I think I prefer a good Greek statue to be honest. A good Roman column. Look up Fillette by Louise Bourgeois. I’m sure you’ll like it.” He grinned. All cheek.
“You sure know a lot about art for an architect.” Jimin observed while eyeing a caterer with a tray of appetizers.
“In my undergrad I had to take a couple of art history classes to learn about aesthetics and how they change over time. “
Jimin hummed in response as he tried to smuggle as many crab cakes as possible into the pocket of his coat. He walked quickly to catch up to Yoongi who had moved on to gaze at the next piece.
“Do you appreciate the female nude?” Yoongi asked once Jimin regained his place beside him.
Jimin looked at him. He was a little hurt.
His personal aesthetic was one that was carefully crafted. One that had taken several years to refine. A considerate balance between stereotypical heterosexual male fashion with the finer details and accessories that spoke to the gay community.
A subtle scream that only made his own sexuality known to those of the gay community.
Yet here he was, standing in front of one of the prettiest boys he had ever seen in his entire life, a fellow connoisseur of men, and he had been made to feel invisible.
Jimin sputtered. “I’m fucking gay.”
Yoongi laughed. It was full and loud. Just as it had been a few nights ago on the fire escape. But his laughter came to a sudden halt when several patrons turned to glare at them.
Yoongi’s face burned a shocking shade of red. “I know. I was just teasing. I didn’t think you were actually straight. You don’t need to look so hurt.”
“That’s mean! You embarrassed me!” Jimin squealed as he elbowed him slightly as they tried to regain some of their composure. But it was hard to remain dignified after you had already attracted a great deal of attention to yourself for being inappropriate in public.
Yoongi smiled at him. His cheeks had faded to a softer pink colour. “It was cute.”
“It was not.” Jimin scoffed.
“I hope you know a crab cake just fell out of your pocket.”
“Oh shit!” He said, stepping away from the evidence. He made no effort to pick it up. Stuffing crab cakes in your pocket to save for later was one thing. Picking them up off the floor was another.
“You know… it’s funny. This isn’t really my sort of thing. But I’m having a good time. My roommate- Namjoon, would probably enjoy the actual art more. I’m just here to support a friend.”
“Me too.” Jimin replied. He had donated half of his disposable income from his monthly budget to help in aiding the young artist’s top surgery.
“I’m kind of bored of the art.” Yoongi said then.
Jimin smiled. “Do you wanna get out of here?”
“Desperately.”
Jimin looked briefly to see if he could spot Taehyung in the crowd in order to tell him that he was leaving. He spotted the young artist amongst a large huddle of people who seemed absolutely enthralled by what it was he was saying. They laughed loudly at something he said. They were instantly enamoured with him.
How could they not be?
“You alright?”
Jimin so desperately wanted to be that person. The sort that just radiated sunlight and positivity. You didn’t even need to speak to Taehyung to know that he was friendly. He was easily approachable. Impossible to resist.
Jimin hummed. “Never better. Shall we?”
In truth, Jimin didn’t really know where they were headed. It was much too late for any stores to be open. Leaving only dive bars, coffee shops, diners and late-night restaurants that tended to serve Asian-fusion. Which was really just a fancy way to say the head chef really liked to make an eclectic assortment of stir fry.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Jimin asked after a couple of city blocks.He wasn’t really familiar with this part of the city. Only really knowing his way to and from the nearest subway stop. The neighbourhood was filled with too many homeless shelters and dispensaries for his liking.
Though Yoongi appeared mostly unbothered as he walked down the street.His black hair was tousled by the evening breeze and his eyes remained fixed ahead of him. Whenever he spared a glance to Jimin he felt as though he was the only person that matter.
The only person on a deserted street in the sinking purple haze of twilight.
“Not really.” Yoongi admitted. “I thought you did?”
Jimin sputtered. He had been following Yoongi’s lead. He had walked with such a self assured confidence that it was impossible not to follow him.
“Why don’t we go find some place to eat or something?” Jimin suggested. “I lost all of my crab cakes.” he added a little sadly.
Yoongi ended up escorting Jimin to a popular student bar called The Green Room on College St. a couple blocks away from their shared apartment building in Chinatown.
It was a little tacky looking, but cute nonetheless.
When they had entered the bar Yoongi had declared it to be a historical institution and an integral part of his undergrad at the University of Toronto.
Jimin didn’t really think it was anything all that special but it was nice to hear Yoongi speak so animatedly while he nursed his overpriced drinks.
They spoke about everything and anything. Recounting stories about school and the horrors of living in the city. They talked about music and their roommates and their jobs.
And Jimin learnt that Yoongi was surprisingly political for someone who initially appeared so unbothered. Yoongi presented his ideas in a manner which rational and persuasive to the listener. It made Jimin feel as though Yoongi cared about his stance on certain matters- or maybe did care for Jimin’s opinion or maybe he didn’t.
But it made Jimin feel wanted.
“It was, like, three weeks ago… I was sitting in my room watching The Office again and I hear this scream. And I’m mildly worried- mostly annoyed- so I get up and go check it out. Jungkook- my youngest roommate- he had just moved in a couple days earlier- was standing in a towel, shivering, soaking wet.
“What happened?”
“Well in my apartment- maybe yours too- you can’t do laundry and shower at the same time because it messes up the water pressure and temperature because its shitty. So Jungkook was boiling himself alive in the shower while Namjoon was doing laundry and the water turned to ice.”
“That’s what that scream was? I thought someone died. I thought you guys had killed some poor girl.”
“No. Jungkook just had a cold shower.”
“Is he always that dramatic?”
Yoongi didn’t even need to consider it. “Yes.”
They were laughing in a late night diner over a shared plate of fries and spilled pop that stretched over the surface of the table. Yoongi was desperately trying to soak up the sticky-sweet liquid with an assortment of napkins to little avail.
His hair looked purple under the neon and chrome lights of the diner. Face lilac painted hues cut with dark shadows. His smile was wide.
It was like the whole city was flirting with him and he was flirting right back.
And Jimin, at the time, didn’t recognize this as one of the happiest moments in his life. He sincerely believed there were happier moments to come. Because how could anyone, especially someone still so young, go on living knowing that everything could only get worse. No one ever wanted to believe that they’re currently experiencing the happiest moment in life. The heart could only handle so much.
And perhaps some part of Jimin knew- with his cheeks sore from smiling, stomach muscle aching and stretched from laughing, how could he not feel the sheer golden weight of the moment.
Especially when Yoongi looked at him like that.
How could he not know when they walked home from the diner after Yoongi paid their bill and took his hand in his. Hands rough and thin and calloused. So big compared to Jimin’s.
How could he not know when Yoongi looked at him- eyes half lidded and a crooked smile, the faintest hint of freckles on his nose.
Especially when Yoongi kissed him with a nervous, urgent passion that pressed Jimin’s back up against the storefront of a 7/11.
His hands skimming over Jimin’s slender waist- skin warm and sensitive to Yoongi’s touch. Especially with Yoongi’s lips on his neck.
And Jimin couldn’t really remember the last time he was drunk on a kiss like that.
Jimin decided he liked seeing Yoongi in his bed. He lay nestled on his side, one leg exposed and sticking out from the mess of grey sheets, pajama pants rolled up to his thigh. He seemed to have kicked off his sock in the night. There was an arm thrown up over his face, concealing his eyes and spreading his fringe back over the pillow which had somehow ended up sideways.
“You’re a restless sleeper.” Jimin murmured.
Yoongi didn’t respond, still fast asleep and coiled in the sheets.
Jimin began to kick aside a dirty pair of jeans and discarded sweater in the hopes that he could fake being a clean person when Yoongi woke up. The room had been much too dark the night prior for him to take notice.
He looked around the room. Jimin was somewhat satisfied with the results. His textbook laid open on his desk, making him look more studious than he was. His bookshelf was organized alphabetically, with Kurt Vonnegut and George Orwell titles on full display. An Andy Warhol print that Taehyung had hung up sat above his dresser.
It was, perhaps, a little pretentious. A room decorated with all the things he wanted to enjoy, but didn’t really. Those things belonged to dusty intellectuals who knew far, and cared that much more about art and literature than he ever would.
But it was how he presented himself to those around him. A rouse of sorts. People liked well-rounded individuals. People who were not just pretty, but also smart and athletic and cultured. Capable of holding a conversation about all sorts of things.
And Jimin fell short in a vast majority of those areas.
He liked working out, but didn’t really consider himself athletic or an athlete.
All of which he knew about art came from Taehyung.
His music taste was largely comprised of top 40s hits and a mildly successful Britney Spears stan account on twitter.
He hadn’t read a proper novel since high school and even then he didn’t really care for it.
Jimin knew he was lying to those around him. He knew he was lying to himself most of all- convincing himself to be someone he wasn’t- but he didn’t really know how to stop.
He had been doing it for so long.
He wasn’t really sure who he was deep down, buried beneath his various presenting personas and interpretations of who everyone else wanted him to be. Hidden under an ideal, romanticized person he so desperately wanted to be.
“Good morning.” Yoongi grumbled, voice low and raspy. He sounded like he was sick- voice thick and dry as though he had been traversing a desert.
“You stayed the night.” Jimin observed. He didn’t mean to sound so affronted, but it was there nonetheless- laced around his words and fixed with a knot. Inextricably bound and never to be taken back.
“I… yeah. Is that okay? I can go…?” He stumbled. Whatever trace of joy or content that had once been spread over his face disappeared immediately. He hung, still and stiff, waiting for Jimin’s response.
“No. It’s fine.” He didn’t know why he sounded so sour. But he had spent the greater part of his morning curled up in sheets wondering how he was going to sneak Yoongi out of the apartment without Taehyung knowing. He had considering telling Yoongi that he had to leave through the fire escape but he thought that might come across as a little rude.
But he really didn’t want to introduce Taehyung to Yoongi. He didn’t want them to sit together and eat breakfast and drink their morning coffee together.
“Clearly it’s not.” Yoongi retorted as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He hung his head and clasped his hands together, elbows balanced on his knees. It was awkward and uncomfortable. “I had a lot of fun last night but if that’s not what this is…” he sounded a little hopeful.
“I don’t know what this is.” Jimin admitted.
Yoongi raised his head to meet Jimin’s gaze. And though Jimin was the one standing, he felt so small.
Yoongi smiled a crooked, suggesting grin. “it doesn’t have to be anything. It can just be this.”
Jimin nodded, hoping to follow Yoongi’s train of thought. “I can do that.”
Yoongi smiled and picked up his jeans from the bedroom floor. “Can you pass me my shirt?”
Jimin did as he was asked. He tried not to stare at Yoongi as he got dressed. But Jimin wasn’t a very shy person. He had few reservations. Though he did blush a little when he saw the red markings on Yoongi’s collarbone.
“Can we keep this just between us?” Jimin asked. His voice was steady, low so that he couldn’t be heard through the thin walls of the apartment.
Yoongi nodded. “Yeah, no problem. Just hit me up if you ever want to hang out again, I guess.”
Jimin smiled. “Just knock on my window.”
Yoongi left a moment later, crawling through the fire escape. It had been his own idea. Yoongi didn’t seem that enthusiastic about entering his own apartment in a traditional fashion in fear of facing his own roommates.
Jimin looked around the room quickly to make sure nothing looked in disarray before he made his way to the kitchen in search of coffee.
“What was that?” Taehyung asked, emerging from his own room. His moppy hair hung over his eyes and stuck up on the sides. It was in desperate need of a cut. He always looked younger whenever his hair got too long.
“Hmm?” Jimin hummed in response as he flicked on the coffee maker.
“You were talking to someone.” said Taehyung as he slumped down at the kitchen table. His eyes were still closed, heavy with sleep.
“No I wasn’t.” Jimin insisted. He held up a mug to Taehyung who only nodded in response.
“There was someone in your room.”
“Was there?”
“Jimin, I’m not dumb. Who’s the guy?” Taehyung urged, suddenly much more awake. He wore his sly, sideways grin. He wore it well.
Some smiles ended wars. But Taehyung’s started them. People would conquer whole civilizations just to gain his favour.
Jimin shrugged. “Someone I met last night. No big deal. One time thing.”
He might have been one of the few graced with one of Taehyung’s smile but he’d never have his favour. Not in the way he wanted it.
Taehyung arched his brow. “If you say so.”
“What’s your star sign?” Jimin asked Yoongi. The pair were sitting on the fire escape, not doing much of anything.
Yoongi was listening while Jimin read aloud buzzfeed quizzes from his phone.
It was another good, bright sort of day in September. One of the last warm, sunny ones before October would bring its chilled winds and grey skies.
“Pisces. Why?”
Jimin had initially stepped outside on the fire escape for a breath of fresh air. He felt cramped and sullen in his room as he attempted to get through some of his readings for his lecture later that day. He had been taken back when he saw Yoongi already outside standing idly, listening to music.
Yoongi looked as though he was just waiting for the day to end.
“I’m doing a quiz to see what kind of pie you are.” Jimin admitted. In truth he was hopelessly bored. Taehyung was busy campaigning for all sorts of different clubs he was an executive for and it was too early in the semester for Jimin to have any assignments.
“What?”
“If I don’t like what kind of pie you are then I can’t see you again. I’m sorry. No more sex.”
Yoongi smiled. It was close enough to a laugh in Jimin’s mind. “Can we still be friends?”
Jimin frowned. “I’m afraid not. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”
“Bitch.”
“I’m sorry.” Jimin apologized with a pout and a bat of his lashes.
“No you’re not.”
“Yeah you’re right. I’m not- wait, I thought you didn’t smoke?” Jimin asked, watching Yoongi cup his hands around his mouth with a lighter.
“I don’t smoke cigarettes.” Yoongi said, exhaling smoke. It was incredibly fragrant. It reminded Jimin of high school parties and his first year of university. “This isn’t a cigarette. Dank kush is different.”
“Dank kush?” Jimin said, mildly perturbed by Yoongi’s use of the word.
“The dankest.” Yoongi grinned. He seemed proud of himself. Smile wide enough to display his teeth and gums. His eyes disappeared into his face.
Jimin frowned. “You’re not funny. Please stop.”
“Why? Whatcha gonna do?”
Jimin didn’t even need to think about it. “I’ll tell your mom you do drugs.”
Yoongi laughed to Jimin’s dismay. Clearly amused that Jimin considered smoking recreationally to be considered ‘doing drugs’.
“I’m pretty sure she already knows.”
“God if my mom knew I smoked then she kill me.” Jimin sighed, watching as Yoongi took a long drag from the joint.
Yoongi pulled Jimin close to him. His presence suddenly felt very real. Impossible to ignore even if he wanted to.
Jimin didn’t like the way the hair on his arms stood on end. Didn’t like the way his throat tightened.
Yoongi leaned in for what looked like a kiss. Jimin didn’t pull away as Yoongi breathed smoke into his mouth.
Jimin gasped into the kiss, feeling, the ghost of Yoongi’s chapped lips against his as Jimin inhaled the smoke.
Yoongi pulled away, leaving Jimin to collect his thoughts. “I guess you’re a deadman then.” he chuckled to himself.
“You’re lame.” Jimin laughed, stepping away from Yoongi. He did his best to regain what little composure he was left with. “What are you even doing out here anyways?”
Yoongi sighed. “I’m hiding from Jungkook. He’s been listening to sad love ballads for two days straight. I’m pretty sure he’s been crying too.”
Jimin laughed at that. “I hope they make each other happy.” He meant it. He really did it. Above all else he wanted Taehyung to be happy.
Yoongi seemed to sense some sort of trepidation in Jimin’s words because he hitched an eyebrow and crooked the corner of his mouth. “Are you happy?”
Jimin could still taste the smoke. He didn’t really know what to say.