Chapter Text
Yoongi was tired. It wasn’t just the ridiculously taxing schedule, photoshoot, and interview. It wasn’t just because he’d stayed awake far too long putting lyrics to the beat he’d been working on. But that was part of it.
Stripping off his pants, he practically threw himself into the hotel bed, uncaring that he still wore his shirt. He curled into himself, back to the door, pulling up his knees and slotting his hands between them. His tired mind hummed numbly, restless, but the familiar position brought him comfort. He stiffened automatically when he heard the room door open and close softly.
“Hyung?” a sweet voice whispered into the air.
He shouldn’t be surprised hearing Jimin’s voice – they were sharing the room – but he’d secluded himself as soon as he could get away, usual behaviour for him, but not for Jimin. No matter how exhausting their day had been, Jimin would cling to the company of others for as long as possible, playing with Taehyung or Jungkook late into the night with the kind of energy only granted to kids still clinging to the last of their teen years. And maybe granted to Hoseok. The man was a goddamn human battery when he felt like it, charging even the people around him with his infectious sunshine energy. Yoongi was grateful to have been on the receiving end of that charge over the years they’d been friends.
He didn’t move or answer as Jimin rustled behind him. He hoped he’d hurry with whatever he needed from their room and let him sleep. He was surprised again when Jimin slipped under the covers with him and pressed himself to his back. Yoongi was tired, but not too tired to realize something was off. Jimin was tactile and affectionate. A cuddle from him wasn’t out of place, but this one felt different. Jimin was mature for his age, always ready to listen or mediate whenever conflicts arose. He basically had a sixth sense for picking up on distress signals that would fill those big eyes with patient concern, but Jimin would often bottle up his own feelings, only letting them spill over in bursts of explosive anger when the pressure became too much. And right now Yoongi felt like he had a Jimin-shaped bomb strapped to his back, all the more lethal for how deceptively adorable it appeared. The question was whether or not he could be defused before he blew. Yoongi was tired, but not too tired for Jimin.
“Jimin,” he spoke into the tense quiet, “what is it?”
He felt the breath Jimin had been holding warm his nape as he tucked his nose there.
“Thank you, hyung,” he answered, giving Yoongi more questions than answers.
The last thing he’d expected was to be thanked. Not knowing what to say, he let the silence stretch, waiting for Jimin to cut it short, hoping he’d keep letting out pressure on his own.
“At the interview today... what you said...” Jimin trailed off, but just with that Yoongi knew exactly what he was talking about.
It wasn’t like Yoongi to talk much in interviews, and this one had been primarily in English, leaving Namjoon to take the lead while the translator brought the rest of them up to pace. But Namjoon had been caught off-guard with a question about an old tweet from 2013 and that Macklemore song. Anyone who mattered knew damn well he supported gay rights, but with the interviewer’s eyes digging into him sharply, Namjoon had wavered:
“It’s hard to find the right words. To reverse the words: saying ‘same love’ is saying ‘love is the same.’ I just really liked that song. That’s about all I have to say.”
He was hedging, sanitizing his position for the interview and their vast audience that was still growing exponentially, alarmingly. He didn’t blame him. As their leader, he’d always faced unreasonable pressures, but this question was even worse. He had to represent Bangtan, steer clear of controversy for the company’s sake, satisfy fans split down hard lines on both sides, quell the interviewer’s prying curiosity, while staying true to his personal beliefs.
Namjoon was a responsible leader, and he didn’t blame him, but Yoongi was tired. Too tired to give a shit about the heavy demands Namjoon kept breaking his back under. Too tired to keep dancing around the question. So he’d jumped in and finished answering for them:
“There’s nothing wrong. Everyone is equal.”
“That’s not something you need to thank me for,” he said to the warm lump still clinging to his back.
There was a sharp intake of breath and, “I like boys,” Jimin exhaled, deflating all his tension from before.
“Ah...” he sucked air in through his teeth in contemplation.
Jimin’s admission wasn’t exactly shocking. He insisted on acting tough, despite being a cuddly fluffball underneath the act, and he’d often been caught drooling after bulging biceps and defined abs. He was quick to explain that he simply respected a manly physique. He respected them alright. Not that any of it had been Yoongi’s business.
He just didn’t know what to say in situations like these – that was Jimin’s area of expertise, being reassuring and shit. Hell, right now he’d even trade for Seokjin’s uncanny ability to lighten the mood with a bad gag.
“So,” he took another steadying breath, “thank you.”
“You know I didn’t do it for you, right?” Jimin stilled. Great going, Min Yoongi, way to be there for a donsaeng who just came out to you, he thought to himself with a silent curse. He couldn’t stand having his back to Jimin any longer. Turning to face him, he added, “I did it for me, but if it helped you then I’m glad.”
Jimin was looking at him with too-big eyes and pouty lips.
“I just said the obvious, so no need to thank me,” he repeated gently.
Jimin searched his face until it became uncomfortable.
“Yoongi-hyung, are– are you gay too?”
“Yah,” he said teasingly, “are you hitting on me, Park Jimin?” Jimin’s eyes stretched comically wider and his face darkened with embarrassment.
“I’m not,” Yoongi continued with a smile. “Gender’s never mattered to me. I just like people.”
“Oh,” Jimin said, letting the new information set in.
Then, thinking better of his last statement, Yoongi frowned and amended, “actually I hate people. People suck. But, you know, I like some people.”
Jimin giggled, bright and breathless, easing back into the intimate space between them. He seemed to forget his momentary fluster. They just lay like that for a while, looking at each other in the light filtering through the curtained window. Yoongi trailed his eyes over Jimin’s cheekbones. Sometime in the last year his cheeks started to lose their baby fat, but they still sat high and round beneath the slope of his eyes. He’d grown, though those eyes remained unchanged, heavy-lidded and always ready to disappear in a face-splitting smile.
He kept tracking the changes in Jimin’s face until the other interrupted his thoughts with a murmured, “what if I were hitting on you?”
He eyed Jimin’s lips long after they’d stopped moving.
“I don’t like hypotheticals,” he grumbled.
“Then kiss me.”
Yoongi jerked his eyes up to meet Jimin’s. Jimin was his sweet dongsaeng, fuck. He’d watched him grow into an adult, not that Yoongi was much older. And he was looking at him with hooded eyes, and fuck he was tired.
Yoongi was tired and he wasn’t about to waste his energy drudging up reasons why he shouldn’t kiss the cute boy curled up against him parting those goddamn eternally-pouty lips of his. So he didn’t.
He felt his tiredness slowly fizzle out beneath Jimin’s warmth pressing further against him and beneath the small gasping breaths of his kisses.
Yoongi hated people, but he liked some people. He was tired, but he wasn’t too tired for Park Jimin, and now he didn’t think he would be anytime soon.