Archive of Our Own

 *

It's a somewhat miserable afternoon, the heart of Seoul beating with the tempo of an oncoming storm, when everything that Park Jimin has built so carefully, shatters. 

It begins with rumbling skies and a thicket of grey, a pressure weighing down on the inhabitants of the city and eager footsteps making their way for shelter. It begins with the whistle of a kettle, water bubbling over and an empty mug waiting on the side of the countertop.

It begins with a late stack of post, envelopes slightly moist with the damp in the air and chicken scratch scrawl smudged and unreadable against brown and white parchment. 

A flash of crimson red amongst ivory and beige is what makes Jimin pause whilst thumbing through the scraps, the mindless tune that'd been slipping through pursed lips ceasing immediately and an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat just at the sight of the tell tale senders address marked into the top left corner of said envelope.

His fingers still in surprise, thumb only half covering the scripted print of his name in the centre, and he simply gawks down at the stack in his hands, the world around him coming to the most striking of halts as he mentally recites the little slogan scrawled underneath the all too familiar crest of a vermilian phoenix wrapped in flames. 

'Justitia, in Armis.'

Outside the sky rumbles terribly once more, the threat of it's performance only looming closer, though Jimin pays no heed, not as his grip on the stack slackens, several of the bills and advertisements addressed between him and Taehyung passing through his fingertips and spilling onto the cold tiles at his feet. The air around him charges in a way that the storm shan't take credit for, and the remaining envelope in his hands does nothing but burn against his skin with such offence that Jimin would charm it into flames and watch it burn to a cinder if it were not so evidently important.

As he flips the thing over with stiff, shaking fingers, he finds that he's more than thankful that Taehyung isn't home, that Yoongi isn't meant to stop by until later.

It's been a while, since I've received such a letter.

His gut seems to roll as he rips at the wax seal, the sound almost too loud amongst the silence of the little kitchen, half clothed in darkness. He steals himself, presses his lips together to hold back a stuttering breath as his fingers close around parchment and tug-

The letter flies out of his hand, magic surging, and tears itself open before Jimins eyes. He barely has the seconds to suck in a quick breath as a high, tinny voice pierces the room like a loudspeaker, it's pitch slightly off and tone haughty and authoritative. The letters upon the parchment appear to glow with life, searing themselves into Jimins retinas with blaring passion.

"Mr Park Jimin, seventeenth generation wizard of the Park lineage and ministry recognised first grade healer,

After careful consideration of case zero-five-five-two, involving the charm induced assault of Mr Park, by a Mr Shin Daeyong, the common courts are being called into high priority session with the intent to discuss the status of the case in regards to the defendant in question.

You will not be summoned to court, though failure to comply with any further legal proceedings will result in the appropriate action being taken. 

We will be in touch with you in due time.

Regards,

Madame Yu Shyan, 

The Ministry of the Underground." 

The voice rattles out into the silence as the letter loses it's brief grasp on life and crumples to the tiles, though it continues to echo off against the edges of Jimins skull with the resounding beat of a drum, blocking out the quiet of the apartment completely. Something pummels at him with a worryingly unsteady pace, and it sounds in his ears with the sharp edge of a blade. It takes Jimin a long few moments to realise that it's the unsteady beat of his heart, it's rhythm completely skewed as though it's been swallowed whole and then spat out in a tundra of a mess. 

'The intent to discuss the status of the case-'

No.

Why now? What does this mean-

He's brought abruptly to his senses by the piercing shriek of the kettle, and moves completely on instinct, lurching forward on numb feet to turn the thing off and plunge the room back into it's stark quiet. His mug lays empty still on the countertop, condensation from the steam of the kettle lapping at it's left side.

Contrary to the now calm, soundless atmosphere that's enveloped the room, Jimin feels sick.

Outside the wind howls, the darkness perhaps more prominent now that the sky readies itself to scream, and Jimin finds himself having to hold back a pained exclamation of his own as he turns his gaze to the paper on the floor. His insides squirm, hot and utterly uncomfortable, and the world dips in and out of focus a few times as he tries to make sense of what he's just read, nerves like static beneath his skin.

'Failure to comply with any further legal proceedings will result in the appropriate action being taken.' 

His chest tightens, and he feels a little of the sanity he'd spent the past two years rebuilding slip from his grasp for a moment. If he had a tighter grip on reality he'd be scolding himself right now, for he should have known that this day was coming, should have known that it was only a matter of time before the blood red letter showed up and stained his palms.

And now what? What do I do? His mind asks helplessly, all harsh breaths and stattaco screams. The day has come, and he's finally he-

His internal monologue finds itself interrupted by the sudden crack of thunder just outside his window. Lightening follows, lighting up the room almost painfully bright for a split second, before plunging it back into an almost welcome darkness. The steady patter of rain starts up seconds later, and Jimin sucks in a spiked breath, making use of the moment in order to force himself to just move.

Its with shaking hands that he snatches up the offending letter, mind overplaying its contents like a record as he drags his heavy feet to his room and shoves the thing under his pillow. He recoils as soon as it's hidden, as though touching it will leave him poisoned, tarred with something evil and unlucky.

He's suddenly overcome with the jarring realisation that he can't let Taehyung see, he can't. 

Not Kim Taehyung, who always had faith in him, always cheered him on and screamed his name louder than any crowds he found himself part of. Not Taehyung, who cried by Jimins bedside for months on end and watched the light leave Jimins eyes over the mere thought of even thinking about dancing ever again.

He'd watched Jimin lose part of his life along with the ability to breathe, throughout the months that followed the incident. He simply couldn't remind his eldest friend of that, wouldn't.

He all but collapses onto his mattress with a faint whimper, curling over his thighs and resting his elbows on his bent knees. Beneath his bare feet, the wood of the floor bleeds cold into his skin, and yet he burns, jittery, agonising flames licking at his limbs and threatening to engulf-

He huffs, bowing his head and placing it in his hands to stop the world spinning.

-A tumultuous beat imprisoning his senses, the lick of a melody shooting through his veins like wildfire. The world spins and dips around him, light dancing at his fingertips and the hysterical roars of the crowd rendering him breathless. 

He's so at peace, bursting with-

The snap of a spark, aggressive and unexpected-

the snatch of breath and the jarring, agonising pain that explodes through his being as the air tips from under his feet-

He balks around a stuttering breath, the sting in his eyes suddenly too bitter.

'We will be in touch with you in due time.'

It's with one red letter, that Jimin's world starts to fall apart.

*

Jimin has never been very good at keeping secrets.

Be it the numerous times he and Taehyung were questioned on the mysterious disapperance of his mothers freshly made pastries as children, or his unwavering crush on Yoongi when they'd first met in a blinding chaos of snow and sharp retorts, he was simply hopeless. He knew for a fact that he just had one of those faces, the honest kind that clammed up and showed far much more emotion than he was willing to give. He couldn't really be blamed, he was just innocent, afterall.

Unfortunately though, it proved a downfall more often than not.

It's a couple of mornings after he recieved the letter from the ministry, and he's in the kitchen, a freshly made mug of coffee with Yoongi's name on it cooling down a little, when things snap.

He'd left Yoongi half asleep in his bed, proclaiming he'd prepare some coffee to wake the elder up a little more in an attempt to get him up and ready for the day, and he finds himself staring down at the tendrils of steam rising from the mug, lost in thought for what feels like the thousandth time, plush lips downturned in the way that they have been ever since he read the contents of the ministry's letter days ago.
He's done his best at avoiding the others since, knowing that it'd take just one look at his face to note that something was seriously wrong. In fact, he'd spent the weekend shut up inside of his room, only leaving to precure food and shower. He'd done a rather good job at avoiding Taehyung, all but ducking and diving back into his room each time his best friend came looking for him, but that doesn't mean that he hasn't noticed the perplexed, wary look marring the others face each time he declined the offer of spending even just five minutes alone with him.

Even so, Taehyung had seemed to respect his boundries, oddly enough. Other than the worried glances and frowns, he'd given Jimin space, let him be. 

Which only made it worse somehow.

The guilt had grasped at Jimin with eager claws, though he'd fought it down, deciding that avoidance was for the best until he could figure out a way of disposing of the letter and forgetting he ever recieved it. (Which he wouldn't, of course.) 

In all honesty, he knows that it's only a matter of hours before he's caught out. Still, he thinks, the longer that he can hold on to it for himself, he will.

The only other time he ventures out of his room is to let Yoongi inside, ignoring his budding anxieties in favour of spending the night with his boyfriend. Having only been dating for a a little over two months, he's not too surprised to note that he's still just a little obsessed with the illusionist. He'd flush in embarrassment at his own blatant neediness if Yoongi weren't just as gone for him. (The gummy smile that'd lit the elders features when Jimin opened up the door had been enough to note that.) 

If Yoongi does notice anything off about him, he doesn't say anything, instead tugging Jimin into bed with a small, shy smile, and lulling him to sleep with soft murmurings and gentle kisses that the younger can't seem to get enough of. He finds that it helps calm his nerves much more than he'd anticipated, Yoongi's familiar warmth and protective gaze almost like an antidote to his nightmares.

And so he's surprised the next morning, when he's tugged from his own thoughts at the sound of someone clearing their throat, and turns to find his boyfriend standing in the kitchen doorway, jaw set in a sharp line and fingers clasped around something red-

Jimin chokes on a breath, eyes growing wide at the sight of the envelope in Yoongi's hand. The earth shifts on it's axis just a little, and he freezes, caught under Yoongi's unwavering stare as pure dread pools in his lower stomach.

It can't be-

"Jimin." Yoongi starts, a frown marring his lips. "What is this?"

He's still sleepy, the edges of his frame tinged with dreams and a kind of softness that he only reserves for nighttime and Jimin, though even behind the gentle pout of his lips and slightly flushed cheeks, Jimin can see the hard glare of his gaze, something inquisitive and sharp about his eyes as they flit between Jimin and the letter.

The Ministry's slogan all but protrudes from where it sits at the top of the page, standing out even from the distance between them rather mockingly. Jimin's trembling hands curl into fists at his sides, and he blinks bast the glaze of his eyes, fear rippling beneath the surface. No.

"Why do you have that?" He grits out, unfounded betrayal stinging. How did he find it? He wasn't supposed to-

"You left it under your pillow. I was stretching." The elder quips rather monotone, clearly past the point of how he found it. "Jimin-"

"You shouldn't have read it." Jimin snaps, gaze flitting to Yoongis. He's never seen the elder appear so lost, his grip tightening just a little around the letter as he stares Jimin down, brows tipped and lips curled.Confusion doesn't sit well on Yoongi, it hardens his features, whittles his gaze down to something almost offensive.

He brandishes the letter as though Jimin hasn't even seen it, tapping at it with his finger. "Why do you have a letter from the underground courts? And what do they mean? Who is Shin Da-"

"Don't."

Silence blares through the room, stark and chilled, and Jimin faintly entertains the thought of transporting himself somewhere else- anywhere else so that he doesn't have to witness the hurt surprise written across his lovers face.

Yoongi takes a step forward, closer, and slowly lowers his arm. He cocks his head just slightly, taking Jimin in with something akin to genuine concern. "What's going on, Jimin-ah?" The gentle note in his voice should be calming, but all Jimin can focus on is the fact that Yoongi knows. He knows that something is wrong.

And Jimin wants to tell him, he really does, but he can't. He can't and he won't, not whilst he's still so hopelessly affected and heartbroken over it all. It's been years and he still can't bare to think about it outside of the safe walls of his bedroom, lest he fall apart all over again. He can't break down infront of Yoongi, won't let himself. He reserves such moments for the darkness between late night and early morning, for his own weeping shadow and torn up memories of what once was. Of what he once had, but no longer does because fate is cruel and people are even more so.

He can't let Yoongi see that side of him.

What if he left?

He parts his lips, wanting to speak, to say something, but all that escapes is the shortest of whimpers, deafening against the otherwise silence. Shit. He rakes in a breath, shakes his head to himself and ignores the worry flashing behind Yoongi's eyes. 

He mustn't see.

"Nothing." He finally grits out, the hard edge of his voice tearing him up from the inside out. He drags his gaze to the floor, instantly hating himself for lying to the man before him because deep down he knows that Yoongi would never judge him for it, would only treat him with respect and the fond adoration that he's taken for granted up until now. 

But still.  Still, the darkest of voices murmur the the most cruel whispers in his ears, telling him that he will never be understood.

"It's nothing, Yoongi." He repeats again, desperate. It's everything.    Or it was, everything.

"Jimin-"

"I don't want to talk about it." 

Yoongi swallows, the sound audible. When he takes another step closer, it's slow, as though he's frightened that he'll scare Jimin off. At this point, Jimin can't say that he won't.  "This looks serious Jimin..." He starts, eyes searching his face, imploring. "You can tell me-"

"Yoongi, drop it."

"You can't just ask me to do that!" The elder raises his voice, exasperation leaking through, and Jimin flinches, his heart kicking up at the sound. I can. I have to.

Yoongi curses almost to himself, looking ready to pop a vessel, and glances between him and the letter. "Jimin you're obviously upset, and-"

"Just stop!" 

He hadn't meant to lose control, not around Yoongi, but it's the panic in his voice that sets his magic off. It's the shrill pitch, the strained fear that makes the mug containing Yoongi's still cooling coffee shatter, an explosion of porcelain spraying the kitchen and hot liquid spilling over the sides of the countertop. Some of it spatters against Jimin's shirt, the skin of his arms, and he flinches at the scalding touch, a stuttering breath caught in his throat.

"Shit, Jimin-"

Yoongi curses, already moving to grab for Jimin so that he can check his arm, and it's the sight of the elder reaching out for him, genuine concern marring his features despite the way that Jimin had shouted at him, that sets the younger off. He's too kind.

"I'm sorry." He whimpers, shoulders hunching up. Far too kind.

"Jimin, stop-"

He stumbles, back hitting the counter amidst his panic, and barely has the time to whisper a trembling incantation beneath his breath, before he's closing his eyes and allowing himself to slip through the hole that swallows him.

The last thing he catches sight of, are wide, russet eyes.

"I was wondering when you'd show up." 

Jimin can't do much more than utter a faint resigned grunt, tinged with withered agitation as his eyes flicker to meet those of his best friend. He's standing before him behind the counter, cash register partially obscuring his torso. Taehyung's hands are covered in a thick layer of earth, the product of dealing with some kind of foreign plant probably, and his expression is somewhat reserved as he studies Jimin from under his fringe, dark eyes glassy in the dim light of the store.

The papers that Jimin's arrival had kicked up flutter to the ground at his feet, and he faintly registers the conglomeration of glass jars rattling in their posts on the many shelves lining the walls around him, an answer to the surge of magic he'd conjured up whilst popping up inside the shop in such a hurry. The magic around him presses for a moment, a pressure against his heavy limbs, and then it's settling, nothing but the slight howl of the wind beyond the store window to accompany the ragged tire of his breaths and Taehyung's dark, expectant look.

"You lasted longer than I expected, I'll give you that. Usually you burst after a couple hours." Taehyung continues, voice a drawl. He reaches under the counter, gaze skirting briefly along Jimin's shaking form. If he notes that Jimin's still in his pajamas, cheeks blistered red and hair an unforgivable mess, then he decides not to comment on it.

The other man brandishes what looks like an already dirty rag, seemingly doing his best to scrub at the earth coating his fingers and palms almost nonchalantly. Like this, Jimin thinks, he looks like some kind of bartender, cleaning away at an already polished glass whilst waiting to hear an evidently terrible life story from a half drunk bar-goer.

Jimin sucks in a stuttering breath, trying not to think too hard about the dishevelled state that he's just left Yoongi in. The worry etched onto the elders face flits behind his eyes, and he presses his lips together, fighting to hold back a curse or a scream.

Tell him.

"Even after all of these years, Jimin-ah." Taehyung's voice intercepts his thoughts, a heavy weight to it that doesn't sit right with Jimin. "You're still trying to hide things from me. Things that hurt you."

When Jimin summons the courage to glance up, he's met with an almost dejected stare, as though the pact they made to protect one another so many years ago has been torn at in just a couple of days. Taehyung's usually gentle eyes are lidded and laced with something close to rejection. His lashes flutter when he blinks, though his gaze refuses to soften, much to Jimins dismay.

You came here for a reason, Jimin. Tell him. Of all places you thought of to run to, it was here.

He feels heavy, tethered to the very ground he stands upon and shackled by the most unforgiving of chains. The surge of guilt and anxiety only sears at his veins, secures itself tight around his neck and threatens to squeeze-

"Tae." He finally utters, the word sounding broken and charred. His heartbeat seems to echo in his ears, unsteady and wrong, and the moment that he spots that familiar flicker of home behind Taehyung's eyes, he seems to lose the last semblance of a grasp that he has on reality altogether.

He isn't sure how Taehyung manages to move so fast, but he can only vaguely find himself thankful for it as the moment his knee's buckle, there are a strong set of arms wrapping around his waist, keeping him afloat. He hiccups, the sound almost far away, and feels the first wretched sob choke its way up and out of his throat, before the earth dips and sways around him.

"You're ok, Jimin-ah." A deep voice coo's in his ear, tinged with an edge of panicked concern. "Shit, You're ok."  

He feels almost lifeless as he's pulled against something warm and strong, his face gently pushed into what he only just manages to register is the crook of Taehyung's neck. He breathes in the familiar scent of earth and lavender, chases it and clings on for dear life because he's just not strong enough, not strong enough to do anything alone right now-

"Jimin, breathe." Taehyung soothes, long fingers pushing sweat soaked hair back from his head. "Breathe." 

The air around him converges a little, stuffy and stilted, though he does his best to ignore the steadily building bubble of panic at the base of his throat, pushes back the wave of nausea in his chest and the roar of his blood in his ears. 

I can't.

He faintly realises that he's whimpering a little, short, breathy sounds spilling between dry, cracked lips. His hand sits fisted in Taehyung's shirt, his friends front pressed up against his side and his voice in his ear, soft murmurs that Jimin's too agitated to decipher.  They're in a tangled heap on the floor, he notes, cold tile almost burning at the bare soles of his feet. Its soothing at least, the ice of it a contrast to how over heated his body feels. 

"T-Tae, please." He huffs, tries to twist to meet his friends eyes. He has to tell him before he loses the faint wisp of courage keeping him afloat, he has to.

Fingers continue to run through his hair, the touch strong and stable, and Jimin uses it to ground himself, pushing into Taehyung's hand and clasping and unclasping his fingers around the others shirt. 

"Jimin, you haven't reacted this badly in years." Taehyung starts, the strain in his voice evident, as though he's trying to hold himself together. "Just- please, tell me what's wrong. You can't lie to me, not anymore, not like this."

"I- I'm sorry. I thought I could k-keep it a secret and-" He swallows, the motion almost painful, and mentally scolds himself at how weak and breathless he sounds. "I was w-wrong." He stutters, blinking past the sting in his eyes. 

"What were you wrong about, Jimin-ah?" Taehyung presses, grip on him tightening just a fraction. "What did you try to hide?"

"Tae-"

"Jimin, whatever it is, I won't be angry, alright?" The other man reassures, chest warm against Jimin's chilled skin.The desperate edge of his voice has Jimin's pulse skittering. "I promise. I just can't bare to watch you like this, not after everythi-"

"-Tae it's him."

Jimin can practically feel his friends confusion as it rolls off of him, knows that even if he wasn't to pull back and catch a glimpse of his expression he'd be donning both a frown and furrowed brows.

He does, anyway though, a harrowed attempt at meeting his gaze. Sure enough, Taehyung's lips are caught in a puzzled downturn, eyes narrowed as he cocks his head to look at Jimin without loosening his hold. "Who? Yoongi? Did that bastard do something-"

"N-No, Tae." Jimin shakes his head, wincing just a little at the throb in the base of his skull. His hands tremble as he reaches up to cup at his friends shoulders, as though for some kind of balance. Taehyung has been with him through everything, all of the good, and especially all of the bad. He's seen me at my lowest point, seen me almost give up.

If I can't tell him then there's noone.

And so he forces himself to let the words pass through his lips, attaching as much raw stregnth to them as he can. Outside, the sounds of children calling to one another echo down the street, the winds surely ripping at their scarfs and hats as they fight the weather. Jimin almost finds himself jealous, longing for the times where he had no enemies but the wind and the bite of winter. 

Oh, how he longs. 

"It's him, Tae. He's back." He finally chokes the words out around a dry sob, his breath leaving him all in one go.

There's a beat of silence, stark throughout the store, as Taehyung ponders his words. It's as realisation starts to dawn that his friend's expression slowly darkens, his jaw growing tight and something sharp and aggressive flooding chestnut irises. It's a rare look against his friends usually kind features, but it's terrifying all the same. His grip on Jimin tightens if even possible, nails almost biting at his skin through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. Jimin only winces and looks down at his lap, his heart surely left behind in their apartment at this point, and swallows past the large lump in his throat.

"Taehyu-"

"When?" Taehyung's voice cuts through Jimin's own, so sudden that it'd give Jimin whiplash if he weren't currently losing his mind. He raises his head fast enough to catch the barely concealed ire masking his friends features, feels his stomach flip a little in response.

"W-what?" He stutters around the words, confused. What does he-

"I asked when." Taehyung grits out, turning to look at him properly. There's a mix of rage and disgust clouding his vision, though if Jimin looks hard enough, he's able to see the plumes of fear and concern just as well. His heart aches for a brief moment, because Kim Taehyung isn't meant to look so sad.

"When were you contacted?"

Jimin tears his eyes away, unable to look any longer. "I- it was a couple of days ago. You were out, the mail arrived and there was a letter from the ministry-"

"The fucking ministry contacted you?" The other exclaims, affronted. "Jimin-"

"They said that they were going to be conducting sessions to discuss the status of the defend- of Shin Dae-"

"Don't say his name." Taehyung all but growls. The air thickens around them, wrought with anxiety and ire. "So they're going to talk about what? Lessening his sentence? Releasing him altogether? Fucking-"

"I wanted to tell you, I really did." Jimin cuts him off, barely audible over the dry croak of his voice. "But I was scared, and I didn't want to bring it up, didn't want to confront it and remember-"

There's suddenly a warm hand pressed to his cheek, cupping at the soft skin and thumbing at his cheekbone. "Shh, it's alright, Jimin-ah. I understand." His friend soothes, anger gone for a moment and replaced by something so soft and broken that Jimin finds he can't look for long. He stares holes into Taehyung's chest instead, ignores the tremor that runs through him.

"Jimin I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I didn't ask you soone-"

"No, it's not your fault." He whispers, vehemently. "You-you didn't do anything wrong, I just didn't want to think about it."

The hand cupping his cheek stills for a moment, and Taehyung sighs, breath hitting Jimin's neck. "I...I don't think that you have a choice now, Jimin-ah."

And Jimin knows, he knows that Taehyung's right. It's why he told him after all, why he's here. He has no choice but to remember, no matter how much it hurts. 

And yet.

And yet there's that part of him, the part that screams and cries because why? Why does he have to hurt again?

It's not fair.

"I know." He finally whispers, breathless and tired. He can feel himself sagging against Taehyung, the adrenaline from his confession and his argument with Yoongi now gone.Taehyung doesn't mind of course, only seems to catch him as he slumps a little, his touch reassuring and kind, as it always has been.

"I don't know what to do, Tae." He utters, sounding almost like a child. "They said that they'll be in touch to discuss the results. What if he is let out?"

Taehyung's features colour with something almost sinister, his gaze hard as he trains it on the ceiling above them. "I wouldn't be fucking surprised. His uncle is rich enough to pay the jury off, that's for sure. But if that bastard thinks he's going without a fucking fig-"

"Tae."

"Sorry." The other huffs, softening just a little at the flinch of Jimins voice. He rests his cheek upon the crown of Jimins head, the pace of his heart unsteady against the elders back.

"Whatever happens Jimin, we'll fix it. Alright?" The conviction in his voice would soothe Jimin any other time, but he's not so sure that it works now.

"I know." He says, even though he doesn't quite believe it.

"I mean it." The younger presses, reading Jimin far too easily. 

He doesn't have the heart to reply.

He's wrapped up in one of the thick, woolen throws that they keep stocked in the back room of the store, when Taehyung finally asks him about Yoongi.

Jimin grows rigid at the mere mention of his boyfriend, shoulders bunching up by his ears and lips clamping up. Of course Taehyung notices right away, casting a long look over his shoulder as he sets a crate of Irius root down on the floor at his feet. He cocks a brow at the wince Jimin levels him with, clearly past the point of asking Jimin to spill everything now.

Jimin huffs against the fabric of the throw, pulls it away from his mouth just long enough to grunt out a muddled "We fought." Before he's covering himself back up again in a rather terrible effort at escaping the stores chill. The fireplace crackles with life by his side, a product of one of Taehyung's incantations, though Jimin shivers all the same.

"You fought?" Taehyung asks, brows furrowing. "But how? Why? You two are all but joined at the hip-"

"Tae." 

"-You're worse than Seokjin hyung and Namjo-"

"Tae, he found the letter." 

The other man pauses at that, lilac hair bouncing a little atop his head as he turns to look at Jimin properly. The wide eyed confusion he'd been wearing translates into something softer, more understanding almost immediately, and he hums in realisation.

"I see." He murmurs, moving to untie his apron. 

Jimin only nods, burrowing into the throw more as though it'll shield him from everything else aswell as the cold.(Honestly, it does neither) Taehyung shifts to lean up against the front counter beside where Jimin sits, gazing up at him almost expectantly, and Jimin would ignore such a look, noting that he's really not in the mood to divulge any more information, but he just knows that his friend won't let anything else slide after earliers fiasco.

And so he huffs once more, as though for good measure, and recounts this mornings altercation with a tight voice and slighty trembling fingers fisted in the tattered material of the throw. Taehyung doesn't interrupt, just stands and listens, his soft gaze unwavering and lips stretched into the slightest of frowns from where he rests his chin on the curl of his fist, elbow propped on the scratched up countertop.

By the time that Jimin's finished he's breathing just a little heavier, his eyes stinging once more with a fresh onslaught of tears that he absolutely refuses to let pass his waterline. He chokes on the lump in his throat, pulls at a loose thread and forces himself to take a deep breath. 

"Jimin-ah.." 

He blinks, shifts his gaze to meet his friends, and finds Taehyung looking at him rather earnestly. He wilts a little under the look, knows immediately what Taehyung's going to try and suggest, and can already feel his sheild rising, not sure that he's ready to-

"Jimin."

"Tae." He murmurs, glancing down at his lap."I know what you're going to say-"

"Do you?"

"You're going to suggest that I tell Yoongi hyung." He remarks, cocking his head so that he can study his friend with an unimpressed stare.  Taehyung simply rolls his eyes, scooting a little closer and slapping at Jimin's hand where it's still tearing at the throw to get him to stop. 

"Yah, it's a valid suggestion." 

"Yeah, if I want to end my relationship." 

"Why on earth would it ruin you-"

"It's not so easy, Tae." He whispers, the crack in his voice cutting off the retort his friend had surely been preparing. Taehyung slips a hand into his lap then, fingers entwining with Jimins own, and squeezes.

"I know that it's not, Jimin-ah. I know that you're terrified." The words dance between them, filling the space and leaving it heavy. Jimin wants to curl into himself even more if even possible, itches to tug the throw over his head and just curl into a ball and cry.

"But..." Taehyung starts, so, so soft. "I also know that Yoongi hyung is in far too deep to ever judge you for something like that." He scoffs then, almost to himself. "I mean, noone could judge you for what happened, you weren't to blame, Jimin. Noone would even think twice about it, least of all Yoongi, who's so gone for you that even Seokjin hyung teases him over it."

Something warm flutters in Jimins chest, almost as though on reflex. He'd long since learnt that just the mention of Yoongi's name was enough to evoke such feelings in him, and for the first time today, he can't help but find his shoulders relaxing just a little in relief.

Taehyung's right. Yoongi isn't that awful of a person, especially not to me.

He's the best.

"The past couple of years have been torture Jimin, I know that." His friend hums, thumb smoothing circles over Jimins knuckle. "But they've also proved just how strong you are."

"Strong?" Jimin asks, glancing up at Taehyung from under his fringe with what he's sure are glassy eyes. The tension of the past few days is getting to him, leaving him wrought out and ready to disperse into a pool of tears despite his adamance not to.

Taehyung's expression hardens at his wary response, jaw tightening just a little as he looks back at Jimin with such defiance, such conviction that it causes him to almost choke on his next breath.

"Park Jimin, I wish for just once that you'd listen to what I have to say."

"I do-"

"Not the good things, you don't. I'm your best friend Jimin, I've been there for everything and I'm right here, right now, and you need to listen, because I wont stand here and let you think of yourself as weak, not when I'd happily trust you with my very life." Taehyung pulls at his hand, tightening his hold and brandishing their linked fingers between them like some kind of torch. "You are the sole reason that you're here today. Not me, nor Seokjin hyung. Not the people who healed you, or even the damned magic surging through your veins. You are the one who got yourself here, and that takes the kind of stregnth that only the greatest of people possess." 

The sight of their hands blurs before Jimin's vision, and he blinks back his tears, pressing his lips together to keep in the whimper that threatens to overspill. His heart seems to have returned to his ribcage, for it blooms beneath bone, a familiar warmth unfurling throughout his torso. 

He doesn't think he's ever been more thankful for anything than for the existence of Kim Taehyung.

"Tae.." He breathes, the word coming out garbled and thick. He almost laughs around it, unused to such a spiral in emotions. His friend only shakes his head, eyes full of such fond, brotherly effection that it has Jimin itching to yank him into a breath stealing hug.

"I'm not the only one who thinks such things of you, Jimin-ah." He presses, the faintest of smiles tickling at the corners of his lips. There's something familair behind his irises as he lets his eyes roam to where their hands sit connected.

"You know, I used to pride myself on being your hero, your number one protector." He huffs, lashes fluttering. "But I think that spots been stolen lately."

Jimin frowns, brows furrowing. "No-"

"Stolen by the most pissy person I've ever had the fortune to meet to be honest. Quite short, rude too. And really bloody dramatic if I'm quite-"

"Tae." Jimin swallows the word around a laugh, his cheeks starting to flush. "You're ridiculous."

"But honest." His friend winks. He glances back down at their hands, seems to think something to himself before letting out the slightest breath. Jimin's eyes widen when an orange burst of light starts to glow between their hands, wisps of light escaping and twirling around their fingers. A warmth spreads through his veins, travelling up his arm, and he can't help but let a smile slip when it tickles. Taehyung has always been far too good with charms.

"Honestly, Yoongi hyung totally stole you from me." The man gripes, eyes on their hands. "But, if it's anyone, then I'm glad it's him. Even if he's a-"

"Don't push it." Jimin huffs around a grin. 

"My point is." Taehyung answers, mirth behind his eyes. "That perhaps being brave and telling hyung isn't such a bad idea."

When the first spark of hope ignites itself in Jimins chest, he drags his gaze from their hands, so, so warm. "It's alright to be scared, isn't it?"

"Fear is good, letting it control you though? That isn't."

"And you really think that Yoongi will understand?" Do you really think that he'll stay?

"I know that he will, Jimin-ah." Taehyung states, sounding ridiculously sure of himself. "And I think that you do too, deep down." 

And Jimin's breath stutters at that, because he knows that Taehyung's right. He knows that really this isn't about Yoongi, knows that it's more about himself, about how utterly terrified he is to go back to a time where he felt so inferior and low. It's all on him, his inability to talk about a past he'd rather forget even existed. 

And yet it does, and he can't run from that. He shouldn't.

Not when he's got people like Kim Taehyung and Min Yoongi. Min Yoongi who fell in love with him much in the same way Jimin did for him, all at once and amongst a flurry of magic and half hearted scowls. Min Yoongi, who likes to charm Jimin's coats to keep him warm when it's particularly chilly outside, who spits lyrics and poetry about the man he loves infront of nameless crowds with a fierce pride that renders Jimin a little more in love each time.

Min Yoongi would never hurt him, he knows. And he can't use him as a scape goat for his own fears anymore. 

"He'll protect me, won't he?"

At this, Taehyung's smirk grows lighter, smile stretching across his face like a burst of light. "I told you, he stole my job." He laughs, eyes bright. "I've got every confidence in him though, even if he is shorter than me-"

"Tae."

*

It's a day later, when Namjoon appears amongst a flurry of dried leaves and rattling glass, an unimpressed Yoongi in towe. 

Jimin's behind the counter at the front of the store, counting the registers contents of the day, and Taehyung's closing up for the evening, a faint surprised yelp spilling from his throat at the pure racket that Namjoon creates. Jimin doesn't bother to bat an eyelash at the sound, more than used to the carnage the elders accustomed to causing whenever he apperates, though his fingers do freeze over the drawer of the register at the sight of Yoongi, a scowl set into his lovers features and his jaw clenched. He seems to immediately look anywhere but at Jimin, gaze trained on the cracked tiled floor instead.

Ouch.

Taehyung groans from over by the door, twisting the lock shut with a loud click. "Namjoon hyung, you brought half of the park in with you." He sends the sheepish man a rather withering look, hooking a hand over each hip and sighing at the mess on the floor. He'd been rattling Jimin's ear off all day out of jealousy at missing out on their friends little gathering at the park, but as he grimaces at the wet leaves clinging to the cuffs of Namjoon's jeans, he seems almost glad he hadn't talked Jimin into closing up early and heading out.

"Ah, sorry." The blonde remarks with an embarrassed wince, raising his free hand to scratch at the nape of his neck. "It's just that Yoongi hyung got hexed again, and-"

"At the park?" Jimin asks before he can stop himself, unprepared for the sudden weight of Yoongi's stare when the elder looks up in mild surprise at him having even spoken. Dark eyes meet his, and Jimin feels something in himself lurch in response.

He supposes that he can't really blame Yoongi. When he'd had returned home the day of their argument, Yoongi hadn't been waiting for him. He hadn't recieved any messages from the elder either, explaining his whereabouts, and so Jimin had promptly spent the rest of the night alone, his empty phone in his hand and a heavy weight low in his gut. He'd almost called the elder several times, wanting to explain himself at the very least, but the irrational side of his mind had won out, forcing him to simply pull his bedsheets up over his head in an attempt to shield himself from the outside world and all of it's troubles.

Deep down he knew that Yoongi had probably been trying to give him space after his outburst, and yet it had still ached to wake up and find an empty inbox and zero missed calls. 

So when the rapper does finally stop scowling at the floor long enough to glance up at him, most likely startled at having been addressed, Jimin can't help but immediately retract his gaze, shame burning a reddish hue at the apples of his cheeks. He stares steadfastly at the countertop instead, the air within the little store immediately filling with an unmistakable tension that grapples at it's occupants.

"Uh, yes." Namjoon clears his throat, clearly sensing the divide. Jimin's sure he detects Yoongi's eyes on him, burning into the side of his face as he tries his best to grasp ahold of his courage and do something.

"Some kids recognised hyung, tried to challenge him." 

"And he lost?" Taehyung asks from over by the door, arms folded across his chest and the corner of his lips twisting into a smirk. Yoongi utters something beneath his breath, something that would sound like a curse if it weren't so garbled. The agitation is unmistakable though, and it causes Jimin to peek up at his boyfriend from under his lashes, curious and concerned.

Namjoon exhales heavily, shoulders dropping with the weight of it, and gestures to Yoongi's tight jaw. "One of them thought it'd be funny to perform the tongue tying hex."

A loud snort follows his words, Taehyung all but cracking his skull on the glass of the door as he slings his head back and laughs. "Oh my god, you really got shut up by some kids? This is amazin-"

Another agitated snarl rips itself from Yoongi's throat, something that Jimin assumes to be a rather colourful exclamation, and Namjoon simply sighs, clearly done with the whole situation. He instead, sends Jimin a rather sympathetic look as he lightly shoves Yoongi in his direction. "He deserves it after using magic in public. I'd hope this would be enough for him to learn not to do it again, but I doubt it." 

He nods Jimins way, already skirting in Taehyung's direction to take the wooden broom that the younger's shoving at him rather pointedly. "I'll let you handle it, Jimin-ah."

Ah, of course.

He doesn't miss the way that Yoongi's shoulders immediately tense up, and can't help but retract his gaze to the tiles at his feet as a pang of hurt registers somewhere behind his ribcage. The rational part of his brain screams at him to just get on with it, lest he fuck things up even further. 

And so he swallows, forcing an almost broken smile to his face as he closes up the register. "Uh, sure." The words escape his throat in a somewhat strangled mess, though only Taehyung seems to notice. His friend shoots him an encouraging look as he shephards Namjoon over towards the mess he'd created earlier, brandishing a rather exaggerated thumbs up in his direction, and Jimin tries not to shudder as he forces himself to focus on Yoongi.

It's just Yoongi. It doesn't matter that you haven't spoken since the morning that you shouted at him. It doesn't matter that he's clearly unhappy to be standing infront of you after you ditched him in your own kitchen either, just get on with it and do your job.

The elders already looking at him when Jimin turns, a small frown stretching at his lips as he studies Jimin from under his fringe, and Jimin can't help but feel a little self conscious, the desire to pick at a loose thread on his shirt or cover his face with his hands almost too much.  He seems to almost simper under his lovers gaze, feeling his body curl in on itself as he tries to deflect. 

It's as Yoongi parts his lips, clearly about to say something,(or atleast attempt to) that Jimin panics a little. Before the elder can even get a syllable out, he clearing his throat rather loudly and pushing himself away from the counter with a forced energy.

"Um, follow me I guess. I'll take a look." 

The other clearly hesitates, something akin to apprehension flickering behind his irises. He parts his lips again, and Jimin huffs.

"It's better we do it out back, I can't focus out here." He cuts Yoongi off, frustration at his own inability to behave the way he wants to swelling. He heads for the door without glancing in Yoongi's direction, trusting the elder to follow him, and surely enough, secondary footsteps soon join his, Taehyung and Namjoon's lilted voices fading into background noise sooner than Jimin would like.

He goes about his normal routine as Yoongi takes a seat on the examination bed that he's grown far too at home on, trying his best not to showcase how stilted and jerky his movements are as he washes his hands and dries them on a towel slung haphazardly over the counter by the sink. He glances into the mirror above the porcelain for a moment, a last ditch attempt at pep talking himself into doing what needs to be done. He's not surprised to find his expression strained, the dip between his brows more than prominent and an almost stricken light behind his irises. 

He sighs, mentally curses at himself to just calm down, and forces himself to turn around. If he's going to do one thing right, then it's his job. 

Yoongi's sitting on the side of the bed, legs slung over the side and lightly kicking against the open air. He's reclined far too comfortably for a patient, resting the majority of his weight on the balls of his palms, and his eyes are settled on his lap, the long thicket of his lashes stark against the pale hue of his skin. For a moment Jimin stands, affronted not for the first time at how attractive the elder is, before he's snapping himself out of it with a huff.

Now is not the time. 

"I'm going to need you to part your lips for me." He murmurs, schooling his voice into something more nonchelant. Yoongi glances up at having been addressed, and sends Jimin an almost bothered look, though does what he's told. That, Jimin thinks he can work with though. He's no stranger to Yoongi's curses and childlike glares during healing sessions, and so the sight of his boyfriend's furrowed brow and almost petulant expression is enough to have him biting back a reflexive smile, foolishly endeared by the man before him.

He crosses the room with only a moment of hesitation, before planting himself down into the stool infront of the bed. Lately he's become more used to invading the elders personal space as much as possible during healing sessions, either leaning up against his side or planting himself directly in his lap, but his awkwardness leaves him hesitant to act the same way tonight, far too conscious of the slight rift he's put between himself and his boyfriend. 

A slight ache spreads through his chest at the mere thought, and he clears his throat softly, attempting to dislodge the offending lump in his throat. Not now.

Yoongi sits quietly whilst Jimin cups at his chin to tip his head up just slightly, a thumb lightly pulling at his lower lip so that he can peer inside his mouth and assess the damage. It's no so much visible, though it gives Jimin the information he needs as a healer. Yoongi doesn't make a noise when Jimin scoots closer, nor when he hums beneath his breath to himself, brows furrowed as he thinks of the best way to heal him up.

And Jimin tries not to think too much about the heat dancing beneath his fingertips just at the touch of Yoongi's skin, schooling his expression into something close to passive as he does his best to assess what's infront of him.

He scoots back just a little, frowning as he lets go of Yoongi's chin. "That kid really did a number on you. I'll have to send a wave straight to the source so you'll have to keep your mouth open for a while, alright? If it gets too stiff or hurts we can take a break." 

Yoongi merely grunts, eyes not leaving Jimins face as the younger shifts and stands. Jimin risks a peek, and immediately finds himself flushing at the intensity of the elders gaze, dark irises ladened with a familiar mess of emotion.

The sudden urge to wrap his arms around Yoongi's shoulders and bury his face into the crook of his neck burns throughout him, and he tears his eyes away, blinking past the sharp sting behind them.

Instead he reaches out, cupping at Yoongi's cheek and ghosting at his lower lip with the pad of his thumb once more. He feels the first wave of magic surge through his veins, and hitches his breath, letting his lids slip closed and his instinct take over.

And for a moment it's silent, the atmosphere of the room shifting as it fills with the warmth and the pure power of the light bursting from the tips of Jimins fingers. His blood seems to roar in his ears, a tumultuous crash of waves that'd bowl him over if he wasn't the one controlling them. He lets the light roll beneath his fingers, manipulated at his touch and ready to answer his every call, every desire.

A few minutes in, he makes the mistake of letting his lids slip open, something screaming at him to do so, and feels his heart tumble over it's next few beats as he finds Yoongi staring right back at him, eyes round and honest, the skin of his cheeks tinged rose and fingers twitching around air in his lap. He's watching Jimin so openly, awe written across his features and gaze so trusting-

And it's that. It's that very look, that has Jimin wanting to crumble. For even after yesterday morning, even after Jimins outburst and the radio silence between them, Yoongi's still looking at him like he'd trust him with his life- with the very world around them.

And that's enough.

It's enough for Jimin, because he trusts Yoongi too. 

And so it's with a shuddering breath and damp lashes that he parts his lips. 

"I messed up, hyung."

Surprise flickers behind Yoongi's eyes, his lashes fluttering as he blinks up at Jimin, confused.

Jimin swallows past the lump in his throat, wills himself to keep going. "You..you just wanted to talk yesterday, and I let my fears push you away. I messed up, really bad." 

Light continues to pour out of his hand, power tickling at his skin, and he rises, takes a step closer to Yoongi, so that he's standing right between his parted legs, almost eye level.

"I-I was really scared, and I reacted the wrong way. I'm sorry, Yoongi-ah."  His voice breaks a little at the end, and he forces himself to keep going, desperate to speak his truth to the man sitting before him, still listening so earnestly.

"There are parts of my past that I wanted to hide, and I told myself that I shouldn't tell you out of fear of your reaction, but I was lying. And not just to you, but to myself. Because I know you, Yoongi. I know that you'd never treat me the way I feared you would. My reaction yesterday wasn't about you at all."

He sniffles, vaguely aware that he's crying but unable to stop himself now that he's started. Resolution burns in his gut, something akin to relief already starting to pool at his insides as he talks. Yoongi seems taut where he sits, hands curled into tight fists and knuckles burning white, as though he's stopping himself from reaching forward and grasping Jimin by the waist in an attempt to tug him close. Jimin can feel the fire simmering beneath the surface of Yoongi's composure, can feel the itch gnawing at the elder to reach forward and touch. 

He suddenly finds himself grateful that Yoongi can't speak right now, for it gives him the courage to finish what he has to say. He all but laughs to himself at the thought, the sound wet, and grazes his thumb across the elders lower lip, another wave of power rolling between them.

"In the end it was all about me, hyung. My inability to talk about the past without feeling like it was going to swallow me hole." His breath hitches, the tight ball in his chest starting to unravel. "I really thought that I was going to drown, you know? I couldn't bring myself to talk when doing so felt like a death sentence."

And I blamed it all on you.

He presses his lips together, desperately bites back the whine that tries to slip past. I'm sorry.

"I don't want to hide it from you anymore, hyung." He whispers, searching the others eyes with a cock of his head. "I want to tell you everything, if you'll let me."

It's when Yoongi suddenly reaches up, long, slender fingers wrapping around his wrist, that Jimin starts to shake.

His touch is infinitely warm, electricity thrumming beneath his skin and lighting up his veins. He all but whimpers, lets himself sag forward until he's practically pressed against the elders chest, right where he belongs. Yoongi remains strong against him, gaze burning with something so fierce that it almost causes Jimin to falter in his work.

The look that Yoongi levels him with is so honest, so full of adoration, that Jimin can't help but exclaim a broken whisper of his lovers name, loud against the stark silence of the room.

Something flickers behind Yoongi's eyes at that, and it's with a tightening grip around Jimin's wrist that he cranes his neck and pulls the younger down by his wrist, breaking Jimins hold on his mouth to instead, seal their lips together.

Power bursts around them, the heat of their touch almost overpowering, and Jimin's soul breaks. He melts, pushing insistently against Yoongi's lips and letting his lids slip closed against the tears that threaten to overspill. He knows that Yoongi's touch is speaking for him where his mouth cannot, and it has him relaxing against his lover, sure of the mans feelings. He can sense the magic surging between his and Yoongi's lips, Jimins very touch reaching out and healing Yoongi in a way that his hands can't. Light explodes between them, and heat licks its way through Jimins veins.

Its with just one, pure kiss, that Jimin feels some of his world right itself. 

He's not sure how long they stay with their lips melded together and fingers entwined, but by the time Yoongi pulls away, all ruddy cheeked and hazy eyed, Jimin knows that the hex has lost it's effect. He feels more drained than usual, but happy, so, so happy, and can't help but break away with the smallest of smiles, relief clinging to his limbs.

Yoongi lifts a hand to cup at his cheek, thumb smoothing along his heated skin, and Jimin leans into it, revelling in the touch. 

"I think that I should apologise too, angel."

What a relief, to hear your voice once more.

Jimin goes to shake his head, lashes fluttering with the effort it takes to keep his eyes open, but Yoongi stops him, pulling him closer and smoothing some stray wisps of hair away from his face. 

"Of course I want to hear about your past, Jimin-ah. But only when and if you want to tell me. I... I pushed you, yesterday. I should've pretended I hadn't seen it, let you come to me in your own time if you wanted to but- but I let my feelings overcloud that." The blonde huffs in what seems like frustration, tips his head forward to press his forehead against Jimin's. "I'm not here to pressure you, Jimin. I made a mistake in doing so, and I'm sorry."

Jimin ignores the tremor in his voice as he breathes Yoongi's name, arm heavy as he lifts it to thread his fingers through the hair at the nape of Yoongi's neck. 

"We both messed up, I think."

Yoongi huffs a breathless laugh, warm air hitting Jimins cheeks and making him shiver. "Can you forgive me?"

"Of course I can." Jimin murmurs, lids fluttering at the licks of pleasure that roll across his skin when Yoongi pulls him in closer by his waist, nuzzling into his neck. 

"When and if you want to tell me about your past, know that I'll listen without judgement, alright?" The elder asks, voice small. "Nothing you could ever tell me would sour my opinion of you, Park Jimin."

"Yoongi-"

"You're literally an angel." 

Jimin can't help but laugh, the sound breathless but tinged with contentment. He lets Yoongi embrace him for just a little longer, lets the world around him fall into place just a little more.

This man, he thinks, smile curling at his lips. He has no idea just how much he means to me.

I want to tell him everything.

It's what feels like mere minutes later, when Namjoon all but careens through the door, calling for Yoongi obnoxiously loudly and attempting to shake a red in the face Taehyung who's practically hanging off of his arm in an attempt to stop him from entering.

"Yoongi hyung, are you done? We really need to get started on that tra-oh, sorry-" The blonde startles a little, freezing in place where he stands, hand on the doorknob and a sheepish expression marring his features.

Jimin huffs from where he's cradled in Yoongi's lap, half asleep and red in the face from the sweet murmurings that the elder had been brushing against his ear. Yoongi pauses to shoot Namjoon an almost deadly look from under his fringe, clearly unimpressed with the interruption, and breathes a hint of a curse.

"I'm busy."

"But hyung." Namjoon practically whines, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. Behind him, Taehyung rolls his eyes, shooting Jimin a look of apology at having let their friend interrupt.

"You promised that we'd finish it tonight, and I really want to get home to Seokji-"

"Namj-" The elder starts, voice laced with a warning as his grip on Jimin tightens almost protectively. Jimin pushes past the flush he feels bury his cheeks in vermillion, and sits up a little, deciding to cut the elder off before the two friends start to really argue.

"Hyung, you should go."

Yoongi pauses, cocking his head to glance down at him. "But I want to stay with you." He sounds almost petulant, the hint of a whine to his voice as his hand tightens around Jimins.

Jimin's heart all but combusts, but he manages to summon up the will to shake his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "If you finish tonight then we'll have the rest of the week without interruptions, right? Besides, I know how much you've been wanting to finish this track."

The elder seems to realise he's right, but an adorable pout still forms at his mouth nonetheless, a sight that has Jimin's grin only widening. He tilts Yoongi's chin so that he can press a kiss to his cheek, laughing against the pinkened skin as he pulls away.

"Just go, you fool. I'll be alright."

Yoongi huffs, but it's goodnatured. "You're sure?" The look he sends Jimin is serious, eyes laced with a hidden concern that suggests he's still a little nervous, and Jimin hums in assent, wondering just when Yoongi got so soft.

When he met you, a voice that sounds suspisciously like Hoseok croons.

"Positive." He remarks.  He ignores the scandalised expression staining Namjoon's face as he detatches himself from Yoongi just enough to let the elder up, and watches with lidded eyes as his boyfriend reluctantly hops off of the bed and shucks his leather jacket on. Namjoon's practically got a hand hooked around Yoongi's bicep the second he's dressed, all but dragging him toward the door as he calls a hurried goodbye to Jimin and Taehyung.

"I'll see you soon." Yoongi glances over his shoulder, only half heartedly swatting at his friends attempts at getting him moving. It's not until he's almost out of the door, that Jimin calls out, a spark of hope lighting his voice.

"Yoongi-ah?"

The elder stops in his tracks, causing Namjoon to curse under his breath when he skids a little. Taehyung snorts from where he's standing, though only shrugs when Namjoon sends him a withering look.

"What is it?" Yoongi asks, serious.

Jimin releases his bottom lip from where he's been gnawing it, and decides to just go for it.

"Thursday night....meet me at the old abandoned dance studio round the corner." 

Yoongi frowns, brows dipping together. "Dance studio? But-"

"Midnight." Jimin asserts, determination colouring his voice. 

His lover pauses, searching Jimins eyes once more before relaxing just a little. "Alright, angel." He murmurs, nodding just slightly. "Midnight."

It sounds like a promise, a declaration of something sweeter than just the intention to go wherever Jimin tells him to.

He takes in Jimin for a moment longer, seemingly committing him to memory, before a hearty tug from Namjoon has him stumbling back. Jimin only just catches the start of a loud, aggressive curse, before a panicked recital of an incantation cuts it off and a flurry of wind kicks up. Taehyung has the sense to step back before he's pulled in, and casts the departing men a somewhat fed up look as they disappear, the lampshade attached to the light above them swinging with a startling ferocity.

Jimin holds back a snicker, shaking his head fondly at the disarray, and leans back against the bed, ready to close his eyes and let himself heal after using so much of his power. When he feels a certain pair of eyes on him though, he blinks past the haze of sleep and sends Taehyung a look, the corners of his lips tipped up.

Taehyung's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a knowing smirk trained right on Jimin. He brightens when Jimin notices him, eyes shining.

"How did it go?"

Jimin exhales, the sound long, drawn out. "It went...better than I thought it would." He pauses, thinking it through. "I really do trust him, Tae."

The other only grins wider, pure joy radiating from his being. "The dance studio, huh?" He quirks a brow, teasing.

Jimin ignores the heat that creeps along his neck, and instead shrugs and extends his friend a long, contemplative look. "You up for helping me with something?"

*

Night envelopes the inside of the empty dance studio in an ashy cast of black, moonlight producing sharp shadows through the skylight windows littered across it's ceiling and leaving it with an almost animated look.

The smell of settled dust and sweat would be enough to make anyone elses nose scrunch up in distaste, but even after years away, Jimin finds that he almost welcomes it, footsteps echoing off of the laminated floor as he treads further into the practice room and lets the faint reflections of moonlight guide him. 

He'd been expecting a heavy uneasiness to overtake him, as he crept through the studio, finally back within it's walls, but as he pauses in the centre of the room to tilt his head and consider himself before the long row of mirrors opposite him, he's surprised to find that he feels far more at ease than he has in years. There's something about coming back, standing within the walls of what was once his main source of happiness, that has his limbs itching in a way that he's worked years to suppress.

There's still a slight pang of apprehension marring his senses, a pounding somewhere in the back of his mind that tells him he should be crying or screaming or running. It's there in the slight tremble of his hands as he reaches up to readjust his coat and fight off the faint draft that slips in through the cracks in the doors, in the tremor in his breath as he inhales, long and slow. The dull ache in his chest can't be helped,he surmises, and he finds himself wondering if it's the sadness he'd assumed it to be, or perhaps a less than distant longing that he's been trying to suppress for fear of submission to it. 

Either way, it's far more managable than he'd assumed it would be, and that makes tonight's mission slightly easier.

Slightly.

He finds himself lost in his reflection for a long moment, head cocked to the side and lips parted just slightly as he studies his form against the shine of the moon, a low figure cast in a featherlight glow. He can't help but note his flaws- how he doesn't stand as tall as he used to, as proud. His arms don't hang the same way, part of his grace simply obsolete.

But.

His shoulders still slope the right way, and his feet still rest in first position, a muscle memory that he's subconsciously retained. There's something nostalgic about the sight of himself, almost poised and ready to start from where he left off, that has the column of his throat tightening in a twisted feeling that he's almost scared to acknowledge.

Wordlessly, almost before his brain even has the chance to catch up, he rolls back his shoulders and lifts his neck, straightening out his back with little effort. He appears stronger this way, and he tilts his chin up so that he can-

His breath catches at the sight of himself, feels the muscles in his thighs tense and the chill of the breeze settle along the nape of his neck, raising the hairs there.

Oh.

It's been a long, long time, since he looked this way. 

Carefully, as though frightened he'll startle himself, he reaches a hand out, fingers extended. For a moment it feels as though something tangible rests at their tips, like he's on the edge of something important.

That same feeling from earlier threatens to spill over, warms at his chest and causes his heart to stutter in it's already unsteady pace. There's a faint ringing in his ears,the distance thrum of something alive beneath his skin, and he feels, it feels-

It feels alot like anticipation.

He's in somewhat of a haze when the figure steps through the double doors cocked open to his left, and so he doesn't quite notice anothers presence until a deep, rough voice cracks through the silence light lightening.

"I thought this place had been abandoned."

Jimin startles, shoulders jumping, and drops his extended arm almost violently as he spins on his heel to regard the man standing in the doorway. Warm light spills through the entrance behind him, the elder having clearly lit himself a short pathway in an attempt to find his lover, and Jimin can only work on evening his shortened breath as Yoongi takes a step further, the smallest of smiles curving at his lips.

Gosh, what were you thinking? Jimin chides himself mentally, glancing at the mortified expression marring his features one last time before turning away from the mirrors altogether. His skin flushes with discomfort and self consciousness at how easily he'd let himself get caught up in the past, and he swallows around the tightness in the base of his throat in an attempt to respond to his love.

"An obscurer charm." He answers, voice weaker than he means it to be. "Though I doubt you're familiar with them, with the way you perform magic infront of the general public each night." 

Yoongi's lips curl up further at the joke, the ghost of a smirk crossing delicate features as he takes another step closer. "Can't say I've got experience with them, no." Mirth dances behind his features, and Jimin finds himself unable to hold back his own smile, the air between them lighter than it has been in a while.

"It came together around twenty years ago." Jimin nods , a gesture to their surroundings. "Those with magic wanted a way to practice without fear of being caught, and a teacher at the time discovered an old dance studio abandoned. She bought it, though kept up the guise that it was still run down in an attempt to deter the public. We'd meet up here nearly everyday of the week to practice, completely undisturbed." 

His voice trails off with a note of fond nostalgia, and he can't help but reminisce back to countless hours spent sweating under bright lights and letting the throw of a beat control his limbs as he danced in sync with others just like him, searching for a meaning beyond the thrill of music and magic.

He feels his grin widen when Yoongi's eyes widen just a fraction, surprise staining his face. His lips pop open, and he glances around the room once more, as though taking it all in, in a completely different light.

"You danced here?" 

It's not a secret between he and Yoongi that he'd once danced, no. But Jimin had noticed the way he seemed to hold back, when talking about it, as though he knew that perhaps it wasn't a subject Jimin was all that keen on discussing. He'd became quite attuned to the way that Jimin's shoulders would grow rigid at any mention, the way that his hands would curl into tight fists.

Jimin hums, something akin to contentment bubbling away in his chest. "This building was practically my second home."

There's a beat of silence, as though Yoongi's chewing on his words, and then-

"Why are we here, Jimin-ah?"

The way that he asks it, gently and without much volume, makes Jimin wonder if he's already guessed the reason behind the big red letter he'd found stashed under Jimins pillow.
Deep down though, he knows that Yoongi's in the dark on it, knows that the elder probably has not a clue over the dark side of Jimins past. It's in the way that he glances between Jimin and the studio's walls with clear confusion, the way that white hot anger does not yet marr his brow, unknowing to the horrors his lover has faced just yet.

Wordlessly, he crosses the room to link his fingers with Yoongi's. They're warm, strong to the touch, and Yoongi wastes no time in tightening his grip in silent encouragement, never does. Jimin can't help but find solace in the knowledge, a familiar prickling heat threading itself between them that calms the racing of his heart.

"I want to show you something." He breathes, peering at the elder from under his lashes. Yoongi's fingers squeeze at his, a reply in their touch alone, and Jimin lets himself revel in the touch for a mere moment, eyes lidded, before he starts to gently tug the other man out of the room and into the corridor.

"I told you." He murmurs, using the little floating orbs of light that Yoongi had conjured to guide his way (not that he needs their help - having practically grown up within such walls) down to the end of the corridor. "I want you to know."

Yoongi's steps falter for a beat behind him, voice tinged with a note of hesitance when he speaks up. "I told you Jimin, you don't have to feel pressured to tell me-"

"I don't." He glances back as they make a right turn, hopes that he's mustered up enough courage to prove to Yoongi that he's serious when he meets his eyes. "I want to tell you. I want you to know everything, Yoongi-ah." He slows to a stop, desperate to get his point across.

Yoongi stares back for a long, hard moment, the air around them stilted with something almost delicate, and Jimin only grips at his lovers hand tighter, his gaze unwavering.

Please, let me tell you everything.

Eventually, Yoongi must see something in Jimins gaze that proves his conviction, for his shoulders sag a little in relief, the cloud behind his own irises clearing up. A small, almost shy smile works its way across Yoongi's expression, and he nudges at Jimin to continue walking.

"Alright then, Park Jimin."

By the time that they come to a stop infront of a huge wall littered with row upon row of shelves, some of Jimins nerves have returned, brave in the way that they tease at the sweat collecting along the nape of his neck, their sharp claws penetrating the delicate skin of his chest and threatening to clench down on his heart, where it beats a dislocated rhythm behind his ribcage.

Yoongi's grip on his hand tightens briefly, thumb smoothing over the skin of his knuckles as though telling Jimin to take his time and gather his thoughts, that he'll wait for him no matter what, and Jimin lets himself take a moment to surrender to it, to let it fuel his next words.

"People often say that dancing is a good tool for catching your barings in life." He starts, voice a whisper as though it would be criminal to speak above the weighted silence that seems to settle into place around them. "They say that it grounds you."

He rakes in a breath, tilting his head to gaze up at the wall before them with lidded eyes."Not me though."

Yoongi shifts beside him, turns his head to regard him with open curiosity.

"Dancing...it did the exact opposite for me. It lifted me, made me feel weightless in a way that nothing else could. It made me feel as though I was lost amongst the clouds, the desire to never come down so fierce that sometimes I felt like I could really do it, really remain up there forever."

His lover remains silent beside him, though Jimin registers the faint hitch of his breath, the warmth of his palm bleeding into his own, keeping him tethered to reality.

He lifts his hand then, commands the lights attached to the wall to brighten just a little. His breath catches just slightly as the display before them blooms into full view, gleams of bronze, silver and gold bursting behind his irises like flashes of light themselves. Row upon row of the tangible magic that Jimin's long since told himself to forget about glittering before his eyes as though welcoming him home.

He almost startles when Yoongi takes a step closer, the gleam of it all drawing him in. His eyes naturally scan the characters engraved into each piece, widening with surprised realisation almost comically.

"Jimin-ah, they're-"

"I was something of a prodigy." He cuts Yoongi off, voice soft. "Or so they all said." A faint flush of embarrassment swells at his cheeks, and he fights the urge to squirm. "I never really thought of it like that though."

Yoongi turns to take him in, eyes round and lips parted. His awed expression seems to soften completely at the sight of him, cat eyes curving into something gentle, something that he seems to reserve just for Jimin. 

"No, you just wanted to fly."

The painful clenching of Jimins chest causes a faint gasp to spill from his lips, and he blinks past the glare in his eyes, lashes fluttering. "Yes." 

He understands.

Yoongi reaches forward to run the pad of his finger over one of the many trophies marked with Jimins name, and Jimin has to fight off the warmth blooming along his ribcage at the look of pride that stains his features.

"You-you're amazing." The blonde whispers, reverently. He turns again, lips stretched into a wide smile and gums on display, and Jimin almost wants to burst into tears right where he stands. He's already parting his lips to deny such a claim, embarrassed and weak in the heart, but Yoongi doesn't give him the chance, smile still tearing at his cheeks as he tugs Jimin into his chest with a strong pull and presses a lingering kiss to his forehead.

"I'll bet everyone fell in love with you."

Flashes of applause, bright lights and frantic cheers of his name burst behind his eyelids, and he pulls back with a stuttering breath, cheeks hot and eyes stinging.

In the end, it didn't matter, did it?

He glances over Yoongi's shoulder at the wall, lets the warmth in his chest burn harsher as fond memories replace the sad.

"The competitions didn't really matter, neither did the trophies. It was nice to be recognised, I suppose, but I was only here for one thing."

"How long?"

When he cocks a brow of confusion in Yoongi's direction, the elder reiterates. "How long did you dance for?"

At that, Jimin smiles. "Since the age of eight?" He can't help but conjure up the somewhat tender memories of his first ballet lessons, the newfound ache in his bones but a fierce fire in his gut that kept him coming back for years. 
The best of times.

"I...I stopped two years ago, after the incident." He almost despises the way that his voice takes on an almost harsh tone, something hollow starting to pick at the previous warmth in his chest. He schools his expression into something he hopes resembles nonchelance

He feels the way that Yoongi stiffens beside him, can feel the apprehensive search of his gaze on the side of his face. "Jimin-"

"That's the thing about dancing." Jimin murmurs, "It has the ability to make you feel something close to invinsible. Intangible. Until- well, until it doesn't." 

He exhales, the sound almost wrong against the stiff atmosphere. If he weren't currently burning up a little, he'd be almost surprised at how good it feels to tell Yoongi, how much of a relief it is. 

It's the open, tortured look on Yoongi's face though, that makes him decide that he's said enough, tonight. 

A step at a time, Jimin-ah.

"I think you would have liked my performances." He remarks, turning to regard his lover properly. He keeps his voice gentle, a somewhat reserved smile simmering at his lips as he takes a step back and slowly tugs Yoongi a long with him. The elders watching him almost carefully, eyes lidded and lips parted just slightly in contemplation.

"I'm positive I would've been your biggest fan." He finally murmurs, almost dazedly as he takes in the way the light casts pretty shadows across Jimins cheeks. "I am your biggest fan."

Jimin can't help but laugh at that, head slung back and shoulders shaking. "Hyung, I think you'd have to fight Tae for that."

"I don't know." Yoongi shrugs, letting Jimin tug him along with mirth written across his lips. "I can be pretty loud."

A snort escapes Jimins lips, and his heart soars, adoration for the man before him sealing some of the wounds he's picked at. It's with a hint of apprehension though that he asks his next question, nerves bubbling low in his gut at the thought of Yoongi's possible reaction.

"Would you like to see?" 

Yoongi cocks a brow, seemingly bewildered at the implications of such a question. "Your dancing? But you-"

"What's in here, I mean." Jimin lifts his free hand to tap at his temple, lips curling as Yoongi's eyes clear in realisation. 

"Oh, I mean, you-"

"Well, I thought about using my own memories, but then I realised that you'd get quite an unclear depiction, since the only time I saw myself dance was through mirrors laced with condensation." He grins, taking a step back to raise his voice. "So I thought that I'd ask someone else to help out, instead." 

Yoongi frowns, parting his lips as though to ask him what he means, when a loud clattering all but startles him out of his skin, the elder whirling on his heels toward the source of it with a jarring curse.

His shock immediately morphs into a look of unimpressed surprise at the sight of Kim Taehyung, the man careening out of the shadows with a dramatic slide as the double doors at the end of the corridor clamour shut behind him.

Jimin scoffs a laugh into his hand, eyes scrunching up, and manages a fond rolling of his eyes as Taehyung swings a wink in his direction and saunters on over, the picture of smug excitement.

"Kim Taehyung, you seem to have a knack for creeping out of the strangest of places." Yoongi remarks, rather dryly. The healer only chortles, reaching out to ruffle Yoongi's blonde locks though halting, seeming to think better of it. 

"Oh hyung, you have no idea how long I've been waiting in the shadows." He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, expression easy. 

Yoongi's lip curls up in distaste, clearly already done with the youngers antics, much to Jimins amusement. "I would have thought that now that you've finally found a place you belonged you wouldn't want to leave, but I guess I was wron-"

Taehyung whines, a pout marring his features as he all but slumps over to Jimins side. "Yah Jiminie, your boyfriends so rude-"

"Alright, simmer down." Jimin huffs, doing his best to choke back a snicker when Yoongi mutters something that sounds suspisciously petulant beneath his breath at the sight of Taehyung hanging all over his lovers back. He sends Yoongi a quick wink instead, heart jumping at the pink of the elders cheeks, and carefully detatches himself from a still whining Taehyung.

"There's a reason I asked Tae to come, Yoongi-ah."

The elder sighs, though seems to think better than voicing the reply clearly sitting at the tip of his tongue.

"Yep!" Taehyung nods with a little too much excitement."Jimin thought it'd be easier if we used my memories for this." He levels Yoongi with an almost devilish expression, eyes lit with a dangerous spark. "How about you see Jimin dance through the eyes of his biggest admirer?"

Yoongi scoffs, mutters something about him being Jimins biggest admirer, and Jimin tries not to release the flattered squeal that threatens to burst past his lips.

Instead he watches as Taehyung merely snickers, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall with the sole of one of his shoes pressed against it. The sight causes something in Jimin to fracture, and he frowns. If you didn't know him any better, you'd think Kim Taehyung the picture of nonchelance.

Jimin does though, and so he catches the slight tremble in his eldest friends voice, takes note of the flashes of apprehension behind his eyes.

"Tae.." He murmurs, cocking his head. "You good?"

His friend pushes off of the wall, shakes at his limbs as though to loosen them. "I am, it's just...are you sure about this, Jimin?"

The air around them shifts a little, unsettled, and Jimin tilts a brow. "Tae-"

"I mean, you're about to see yourself." His friend presses, concern darkening his face. "For the first time in years, and I don't want you to be hurt-"

"Kim Taehyung..." He takes a step forward to ruffle at his friends hair, fond exasperation blossoming for the man before him. "I'm alright, really. I need to do this, if I really want to be able to look ahead." He huffs, unable to ignore the threads of anticipation stitching themselves beneath his skin. "I...I want to see." 

And it's not a lie. He can't deny (despite wanting to) just how much the thought of seeing himself has niggled at his brain ever since he got the idea to show Yoongi. Whilst it terrifies him, leaves him short of breath and tense, there's something that calls to him, asks him to just watch and listen.

(If he thinks about it hard enough, he's sure it's his heart.)

Taehyung watches him for a moment longer, searching his eyes as though to look for just the slightest hint of reluctance or fear. He seems to soften a little when he finds nothing, though his shoulders still remain tense as he tears his gaze away to Yoongi, jaw tightening. It's the most serious he's appeared in a while, Jimin thinks, and can't help but mull over the fact that Kim Taehyung just isn't supposed to look such a way. Not if he can help it.

"When I do this, you can't touch me, alright?" He states, glancing between Yoongi and Jimin. "Im toying with my memories here, and they're delicate. Just one interruption could dislocate everything in a snapshot, could completely destroy something that's already weak. So no touching, or yelling, got it?"

Both he and Yoongi nod, the air around them growing tight with the rules laid out. Such spells aren't uttered often, Jimin knows, neither is he a complete stranger to the effects a disruption can have on such a delicate subject. He isn't one to toy with matters of the mind, having seen before how easy it is to rip away a persons sanity in just a breath, but as he and Yoongi take a step back and watch Taehyung's eyes slip closed in concentration, he can't help but think how desperate he is for Yoongi to just see.

That doesn't mean he won't prioritise his friends safety though. 

Which is why he chose somewhere secluded, somewhere he knew would be empty, without possible distractions or interruptions.

This is his best shot.

The temperature in the corridor seems to all but drop, and Jimin presses his lips together, readying himself for what he's about to watch. He tells himself that it'll be alright, that he's stronger now, stronger than he thought he was because he's standing here, home, and holding himself together despite wanting to kick and scream that he doesn't really have the right to call it so anymore.

Taehyung flashes him a final smile, encouraging in its entirety, and presses a finger to his temple. The words that pass his parted lips pierce the air with a frigid conviction, echoing against the ever present silence, and Jimin almost takes another step back upon reflex.

"Memoria, iecit." 

Something jolts around them, charging the space and pulling the hairs on his neck to stand on end, and Jimin only just has the chance to send Yoongi a final, reassuring glance as the air around them ripples and flares, an impossible flurry of orange light spilling from Taehyung into the space between them all.

Jimin almost chokes on a breath as the ball of light rearranges itself into something of a scene, the sight of it akin to a tangible semblance of a projection. He vaguely registers Yoongi exclaiming a hissed curse as the sound of applause and strangled screams drown the empty corridor with life, the image of an all too familiar sight rendering Jimin motionless where he stands.

A young boy, his oversized white shirt tucked messily into leggings and face scrunched up into an expression of pure concentration as he follows his peers in perfectly rehearsed steps at his first formal dance recital, cheeks a ruddy pink and eyes lit with newfound fire. The crowd of parents cheer, eyes gleaming with adoration, and the young boy stands proud, shoulders back. 

The image flits then, something akin to a timeline of sorts running it's course as it transforms from a crowd to a busy studio, sweat rolling down the boys neck as he practices the same move over and over again, another voice that sounds startlingly similar to a young Kim Taehyungs cheering the boy on. 

Again, it changes, countless flashes of performances and trophies and proud parents flitting before them. The scene switches, Jimin's eyes growing round at the sight of himself, now thirteen and coated in sweat, an expression of pure determination on his face as he slips and falls mid spin, hitting the wooden floor with a hard, pained grunt.

"Jimin! Are you ok?" Taehyung's reflection flashes in the mirror for a split second as he races to help the boy on the floor up, the worry in his voice far too strong for someone so young.

"I'm ok Tae, I can do it." Jimin grits, such defiance behind usually warm eyes. He stands without Taehyung's help, pointedly ignores the bleeding scrape running along the legnth of his knee. 

"I can do it."

The scene morphs, bursts into light as the rambunctious cheers of a crowd threaten to burst Jimins eardrums. His heart sky rockets, tumbles over itself as he watches a fifteen year old Jimin, so full of life and resolution sneak through the boisterous crowd, grinning over his shoulder to reach through and tug Taehyung along with him for the first time.

He watches as he breaks into the centre, kicking up a full on typhoon as he lets the beat of the underground overtake his limbs. Taehyung's voice is deeper now, the memory tinged with the excitement of being somewhere they shouldn't.

Something in Jimin seizes up, as further memories spill across the air before him. Flickers of bright eyes and stretched grins, his hair plastered to his head with sweat and pure excitement thrumming in every one of his movements. Memories of him reaching out to tug Taehyung into elated hugs, of Jimin dancing out his frustrations within the dimly lit studio down the end of the corridor far too late into the night for it to even be night anymore, pure exhileration singing through the air as Taehyung jumps along with a crowd, exclamations of joy and Jimins name spilling from his lips and fist raised to the air.

And then, and then there's Jimin, twenty one and so at home within the grimey interior of the underground, raven locks tumbling into his eyes and body as fluid as the impossible light that spills from his fingertips, moving with and around his body like their an entity one and the same. His movements come as easy and as smooth as breathing, limbs extended as he spins, liquid fire contorting itself to fit his body and casting a glow akin to something of a sparkler. 

The crowd roars,trying to catch up, and Taehyung's the loudest, pride in every note.  The Jimin in the centre dances out of reach, intangible and mid flight, and somewhere in the distance, the music tries its best to match the pure life he exudes.

Its in that moment, that he finds he can't quite look anymore. Instead he drags his gaze to Yoongi, seeking something akin to a distraction only to find his skin erupting into flames at the mere sight of his lover.

Yoongi's staring up at the snapshots before them, his eyes wide and round, full of the most breathtaking awe. His lips are tipped open, cheeks tinted a brilliant shade of rose as one of his hands hovers infront of him as though desperate to reach out and touch.

Oh.

Jimins heart converges at the way in which Yoongi watches him, reverent and as though he's frightened to blink lest he miss just a second, and he lets the first stirrings of warmth start to encompass his limbs, unable to look away from his lover now that he's started.

And so it's almost too abrupt, too soon, when the image bursts into a solid ball of fire, before extinguishing itself altogether. 

The silence that envelopes them is stark, almost tangible in itself. The only other sound is that of Jimins laboured breathing, accompanying Taehyungs as the other retracts his hand, letting his arm drop to his side. He looks exhausted, but attentive in the way that his gaze flits to Jimin, eyes round and searching, for what - Jimin doesn't know.

Jimin doesn't need to note the hitch in Taehyung's breath to know that he's crying. He can feel the tears burning tracks into his cheeks, can feel the numb sting in his eyes and the roaring of his blood in his ears as he tries to process it all.

He's not really sure as to how he feels, a ball of a mess of emotion rolled up right next to his heart. It burns, along with the tears lacing his cheeks, and yet-

And yet.

Oh, does it burn brightly.

He'd expected himself to feel somewhat hollow at the sight of the past that he'd turned his back on. He'd expected a terrified swell in the base of his throat, ear piercing wails and the most impossible, gut wrenching pain tearing at his last semblance of sanity.

He'd expected himself to fall.

But as he lets image after image of himself, so free and desperate for life, flash behind his eyes, the closest notion to feeling he can manage is an endless wave of adrenaline.

It's really been so long.

"Jimin-ah?" 

Taehyung takes a step forward, hesitant as though worried he'll spook his friend. His eyes are lidded, expression gentle. "Are-"

"Is that really how you saw me?" He finds himself asking, voice ladened with quiet, contemplative awe. 

His friend pauses, eyes widening a fraction. "Ji-It's how everyone saw you." The it's how I still see you, remains uspoken, but Jimin can see it, worded just as resolutely behind Taehyung's eyes, and his heart burns, because he wasn't expecting this, to feel so full.

So relieved.

He releases a shuddering breath, swallows past the jittering nerves that threaten to escape. "Wow." 

He feels almost weightless as the first wave of laughter bubbles up and out of his throat, stark. It ricochets off of the walls, causes an answering smile laced with warmth to grace Taehyung's features. He laughs again, eyes glazing over as he tries to make sense of everything. He's suddenly a mess of emotion, terrified, lost, excited, fearful- and yet-

Why am I so happy?

He turns to ask Yoongi what he thought, suddenly desperate to know, though feels his words die on his lips at the sight of his beloved, his heart stumbling over it's next few beats as he comes to note that the elder's already looking right at him, eyes round and cheeks a brilliant shade of pink. He appears almost frozen in place, the wonder written across his face so breathtaking that it causes Jimin to stutter over his own voice.

The expression that's embedded itself into Yoongi's features is enough to have Jimin flushing furiously, a simple state of reverie leaving the elder man gazing upon him with such fierce adoration.

It takes a whisper of his name, almost broken, to get him to move.

Jimin just barely has the chance to speak it, lips pursing around a weak "Yoongi." Before the elder is closing the space between them to cup at Jimins cheeks and bring their foreheads together.

An erupting warmth implodes between them, and Jimin feels himself fall all over again, grasping at handfuls of the elders shirt to keep himself stable. Yoongi's stare is unwavering, russet irises seeking him out. He releases a shuddering breath against the flush of the youngers face, and then breaks out into the most beautiful, heart stopping smile that Jimin's ever found himself witness to.

Yoongi laughs, the sound so joyous, so proud, and blinks past the sheen in his eyes. "Park Jimin." He breathes, unable to look away. "You're beautiful." 

Jimin feels his own lips stretch into a tremulous smile, elation searing him from the inside out. 

I want to tell you everything.

As Yoongi gazes down at him, the sweetest "Thankyou's" spilling from his lips, Jimin reminds himself to take it a step at a time.

For tonight though, his entire being sings with pride.

It's later that night, amongst skin warmed sheets and soft, delicate fingertips that Yoongi pulls Jimin in close, voice slurred with sleep but so, so full of conviction, and presses continuous praises into the younger.

"I know that there's a lot that I don't know, Jimin-ah, but I'm willing to learn all about you, no matter how long it takes. Tell me when you're ready, if you're ready, and I'll stand by your side through it all."

It's through tear glazed irises that Jimin watches Yoongi's bigger hand engulf his own, pulling it towards his face so that he can press a gentle kiss to the golden skin.

"I won't let go of your hand." The elder preaches, reverence bleeding through his sleep addled timbre.

Jimin can't help but believe him.

*

-"Why do you love dancing so much, Jimin-ah?" 

Taehyung's voice sounds scratchy as he sinks to the wooden floor at his feet, thoroughly danced out and clearly exhausted from the routine Jimin had put him through. He's panting, all but gasping as he reaches for the half empty water bottle to his left with an exaggerated groan, long limbs heavy and head probably swimming with the same exhilarated delirium that Jimin's currently dealing with.

Jimin huffs a faint laugh, voice tinged with the sweetness of youth, and shifts to stretch out his limbs, refusing to retreat to the floor like his best friend lest he succumb to his fatigue and refuse to budge once having done so.

"It's special." He grunts, ignoring the bead of sweat that rolls down the heated skin of his neck and bleeds into his tank top. The heavy bass that'd been blasting through the speakers for the past two hours has bled out, now faded after Taehyung had desperately called for a break between rasping breaths and ruddy cheeks tinged red. Jimin pushes back the itch to turn it back up, to start to let his feet wander again, and mentally insists on himself taking this break lest his dance teacher scold him once again for fainting during practice.

"Yeah, but why?" Taehyung scoffs, all but rolling his eyes as his voice returns to him. "You always give the same answer-"

"Shouldn't you work on practice?" Jimin cuts him off, blood roaring in his ears. "Mrs Ahn said that you've gotta join in if you want to spend your afternoons here with me."

The blonde groans, the epitome of an angst ridden teen, and levels Jimin with one of his best heart shaped pouts. "The things I do for you, Jiminie."

And Jimin smiles, because he knows. Taehyung's never had an interest in dancing, not like Jimin, and yet he's all to eager to subject himself to what he deems torture nearly every day of the week just to stay by Jimins side. 

Something in his chest warps, blooming with a fond warmth, and he sighs, extending his hand for the other boy to grasp onto.

"Breathing." He states, smirking at the blanch of confusion that masks his friends features. His heart races in his chest, blood shooting through his veins like electricity, untouchable.

Why do you love dancing so much?

"It's just like breathing." 

Recognition flickers behind Taehyung's eyes, and he finally reaches out with a smile, warm fingers enveloping Jimins own-

-Jimin shoots up, a pained whimper spilling from chapped lips and limbs tangled in sweat soaked sheets. A familiar spike of agony blistering at his skin and marring his chest has him raking in a shuddering breath, his eyes wide and his heart in his mouth as he rejoins the world of the living.

Shit.

He brings a hand to his forehead, pushing strands of damp hair from his skin in an attempt to calm himself down. A cold chill bites at his skin, sharper than usual, and he vaguely notes that he's bleeding a thin sheen of sweat, his hands trembling with the remnants of his dream.

What was that?

He exhales, the edge of a whine tacked onto it, and stares down at his hands, illuminated pale blue by the moonlight that blares through the window.

A dream about dancing. He surmises, chest feeling unaturally tight. 

Oh.

He ignores the unstable pace of his heart as he draws his knees up to his chest, pushes aside the lump in his throat. The urge to cry or shout is somewhat stronger than he'd wish, and he has to press his lips into the skin of his knee to bite back a sound lest he-

"Jimin-ah?"

His breath catches in a balled up mess at the base of his throat, and he lets his head spin, eyes adjusting to the darkness in an attempt to seek out his lover. Yoongi's propped himself up on his elbow, eyes barely open and hair a ruffled halo atop his head. The concern in his voice is evident though, hand already reaching out to fall at Jimin's waist where his bedsheets pool.

"Are you alri-"

"I'm alright." Jimin whispers for fear of his voice breaking if he raise it any higher. "I'm here, go back to sleep."

"But-"

"Shh." He hushes, reaching out to thread a hand through Yoongi's hair. His hand shakes, and he pleads internally that Yoongi won't notice. 

I'm sorry. He wants to breathe, words condensing into the darkness, and yet he doesn't.

He merely scratches at Yoongi's scalp until the elder falls back to sleep, faint breathing almost rhythmatic enough to lure Jimin after him. 

As the moon starts to bleed into the sun, Jimin finds himself facing the skies, underlying anxieties blooming in his gut as he mulls over his dream and how easily a memory that he'd worked so hard to suppress had come back to him.

What have I unlocked?

*

It's as though the dream yanks open a firmly shut door with grappling claws, because all too suddenly, Jimin finds himself subject to multiple nightmares a night. 

Glimpses of an all too familiar practice room, sweat beading his skin and endorphins high as he laughs through the dull burn in his limbs, and flashes of a crowd, lights beating down on golden skin as he twists, breathes.

A burst of a spark, the jarring of his body and the indescribable pain that suffocates his-

He'll wake with weighted cries, all but wrenched from agonised slumber back into the real world, where his heaving chest and stiff muscles are his only reminders of the horrors that lay in wait within his own mind. He'll try with vain to screw his eyes shut and concentrate on his breathing, his heart skipping a few unstable paces at the triggering reminders laced with terror soaked nostalgia that've come to frequent him without permission.

More often than not, Yoongi will wake too, will ask Jimin with a sleep added slur what happened and if he's alright, and each time Jimin will lie, will pretend that he doesn't see the concoction of worry and fear swirling behind the elders dark irises as he helps Jimin settle back into the sheets, ear pressed to the elders chest in order to focus on the steady beat of his heart in an attempt to stabilise his own.

The absence of a fruitful sleep does nothing to help him during the day, not when even a glimpse of the simplest of objects is enough to have him recalling something related to his past, triggering even the smallest of distant recollection and the quickest flashes of memories tinged with remnants of a life that he'd worked so hard to paint over.

Multiple times a day he'll trip over his own feet, or he'll drop something, faint bursts of frustrated apologies spilling from his lips. Within just a week of interrupted sleep, he's shattered countless phials and accidentally ripped the back door off of it's old, squeaky hinges. He's spilt truth serum all over the floor, and even released Rithimus gas twice much to Taehyung's annoyance, causing the two of them to spend the entire day talking in tongue tying ryhmes until it wore off.

And he knows, he knows that he's doing a hopeless job at hiding how distracted he is. He's caught Jungkook casting him worried glances, has had to deal with Namjoon of all people steadying him whenever he's tripped over simple air, and Hoseok squeezing him tighter to his chest than he's used to, as though he's worried Jimin will crumble apart if he doesn't keep him sandwiched together.

Too many times, he's glanced up in time to catch Seokjin exchanging knowing glances with Taehyung, as though the two are engaged in silent conversation. It's left Jimin with a nasty taste in his mouth, an underlying current of frustration threatening to force itself up and past the ball in his throat.

Still, he says nothing.

He doesn't even say anything when Yoongi skips out on one of his competitions underground to spend the night at Jimins, taking it upon himself to feed Jimin by his own hand and tuck him up against his own chest in an attempt to lull him to sleep, the soft, gravelly slur of his voice the only thing that seems to be able to pull Jimin into unconsciousness lately. 

And when Jimin wakes up, rasping through tortured lungfuls and lashes damp with saltwater, Yoongi only hushes him, threading strong fingers through his hair and humming something sweet and so unlike the illusions that Jimin's used to him spitting out on stage.

If Jimin notes that Yoongi had already been awake, as though watching over him whilst he slept, then he says nothing - only presses kisses laced with adoration to his boyfriends lips the next morning, his heart blooming with indescribable warmth.

And yet still-his past tries as desperately as it can to catch up to him, claws open and ready to pierce.

It doesn't take long for Taehyung to intervene.

It's a rainy afternoon, his friend having insisted on closing up the shop early due to a slow day and slower weather. The clouds cast a rather miserable grey scale across the streets of Seoul, damp clinging to the air and puddles lapping the edges of the pavement with the threat of more rain on the horizon.

Taehyung's humming under his breath as he pulls shut the blinds and locks up the front door, a somewhat sultry tune that suits the husk of his voice. He's quick, practiced in his movements, and pays no attention to Jimin who sits behind the counter, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth and his mind somewhere else- as it always is these days. 

In fact, he's mentally tallying how many hours of sleep he's had this week (not a lot), brows furrowed and lips pursed, when Taehyung makes his move.

Really, Jimin should've been expecting it. It's Tae, after all.

And so he really has no right to act surprised when a large, tanned hand gently slaps down onto the worn countertop before him, and a familiar face swims into view.

Jimin almost chokes on a gasp at how close his friend is, clearly never having had a penchant for allowing others their personal space, and jolts in his chair, eyes snapping wide.

He's about to part his lips and scold the other for shocking him out of his thoughts, his blood simmering beneath his skin, when Taehyung hunches over the counter, brows furrowed and eyes holding that knowing, piercing look that they get whenever he's serious.

"Alright, when did they start then?" He asks, voice a drawl, and Jimin huffs, because really, I should have known.

He blames his lack of sleep on having not seen this coming, because without the reminder of nightmares and the thick red envelope currently weighing down his dresser drawer back home, he'd totally be on his game.

But alas, Taehyung's watching him like a hawk, gaze scarily unwavering as he stares Jimin down with a mixture of concern and frustration. 

"W-when did what start?" Jimin almost curses aloud at how he stutters over the words, feels his face growing hot with self consciousness. 

"Don't test me, Jimin-ah." His friend states, his own voice annoyingly steady.

Jimin presses his lips together, clearly unimpressed, and glances over Taehyung's shoulder at the locked door. He vaguely entertains the notion of running for it, or doing a vanishing act on him like he'd done with Yoongi, but he'd promised himself no more of that, not when his heart still scrunched up rather painfully each time he thought about the look of hurt that'd flashed behind Yoongi's eyes when he'd disappeared on him.

Taehyung watches him search for an escape route, the corners of his lips tipping up into something smug because he knows that it was always going to play out this way, knows that he's got Jimin trapped with no way out.

And maybe Jimin's not as frustrated as he thought he'd be at getting caught, because perhaps he's been waiting for it all along too. 

Perhaps, he's just a little bit relieved. (Which Taehyung also knows, too.)

Taehyung cocks a brow expectantly as he watches Jimin visably deflate a little, and the air around them tightens, pressure gathering fast.

"Tae..." He whispers, unsure of himself. He'd almost resigned himself to not telling anyone, but the underlying relief that his eldest friend is standing before him now, expectant and ready to stay rooted to his very spot until Jimin spills is what makes him release a staggering breath, because after everything, he finds that the idea of loosening is burden to someone that he trusts is far too appealing to keep hiding.

"The nightmares, Jimin." Taehyung murmurs, sensing that he needs a little help."When did they start?"

And Jimin isn't surprised that he knows, not just because he's Kim Taehyung, best friend and Park Jimin protector number one (two now?) , but because he was there two years ago, during the lowest months of Jimins life. He was there, and he watched Jimin battle demons he never should have had to, watched over him whilst he lost sleep to nightmares that reigned far too real and true. 

And Jimin can't help but be scared, so, so scared, because even though he's different now, even though he's nowhere near as low, the possibility of falling into that trap once more is always there, waiting with the tap of sharp claws against wooden floor and counting the ticks on a watch.

It's with a tight voice that he finally responds, unable to look his friend in the eye. "The...the night we w-went to the studio." 

And Taehyung hums, as though he's been expecting such an answer. 

"Are they the same as before?"

And that's what has Jimin stopping, his muscles growing taut, because no, they're not.

And that's what terrifies him.

Of course a few remain the same, the actual incident imprinted on his retinas and each nodule of his mind surely for the rest of his life. Those never change.

But it's the new ones, that leave him trembling.

He shakes his head, eyes on a couple of scratches on the countertop. Dare he discuss such nightmares, lest he make them real?

Except for the fact that they are real. All of them.

"Jimin-ah." Taehyung scoots closer, voice laced with a contemplative warmth. "Can you feel yourself slipping?" 

And he sounds so worried, so on the edge of something himself, that Jimin doesn't have the heart to lie.

"A little." He whispers, the lump in his throat back. "N-not like last time, but it's there. Waiting."

"Is there anything that I can do?" 

Jimin pauses, because is there? There wasn't last time, not when he was so low that he thought he'd never be able to pull himself out of the ditch he lay in. It was up to Jimin to get himself out, because at the end of the day, he knew that his worth depended on how he thought of himself, not how others saw him. He knew that he had to trust himself, and he knows that even now.

He swallows, lips dry and surely cracked. "Just...just be there." He states, knowing that Taehyung won't take no for an answer. "I feel a little lost right now, Tae."

The other nods. "I know, Jimin-ah. But you won't be, not for long."

"It's just alot." He explains, fights down the urge to fist his sweater and twist in an attempt to distract himself. "I don't know where to begin."

"It's normal not to really understand it all." Taehyung presses, looking up at him from under his fringe. "You're overwhelmed."

"Thats the thing, Tae." He huffs, finally looking up to meet his friends eyes. "I do understand, and that's what's so terrifying." There's something in his voice, a note that has Taehyung stiffening slightly, his eyes widening with something close to realisation, yet not close enough.

"Jimin-ah..."

There's a pause, and Jimin gazes up at him with something akin to apprehension. His friend sucks in a breath, frown marring his features.

"Jimin, what do you dream about?"

And there it is, the root of his problems. 

Because if he were only dreaming about the part of his past that warrented such fear, then he could atleast fight it the way he did last time. He could reach out and grasp it as though it were something tangible.

But this-

He inhales a little shakily, and blinks up at Taehyung. When he speaks, his voice is laced with something bitterly amused.

"Breathing, Tae."

The air around them thickens, drawn taut like a bow string. Jimin sighs, almost wistful. "I dream about breathing."

The silence that stretches between them is tight, and Jimin half expects his friend to release a huff of a laugh, something akin to surprise written about his golden skin, and yet-

And yet he doesn't.

No, Kim Taehyung only reaches across the table, effortlessly threading their fingers together like he has done too many times before. He merely breathes out, the ghost of a soft smile curling at his lips.

"Oh." He murmurs, almost inaudible.

Jimin nods, ignoring the faint rumble of relief at having said it. "Yeah."

There's another beat of silence, and then,

"How long has it been since you dreamt of dancing?"

"A while. Atleast when it comes to dreaming about it like this."

Taehyung hums. "And where do your memories take you?"

For some reason, when he's sitting by Taehyung's side, wide awake and warmed by his friends presence, he finds that it isn't quite so scary to talk about his past. In fact, he can't help but almost smile as he parts his lips.

"To the studio." He whispers. "You remember when I had to teach you that street dance? Just so that you could stay in the group?"

Taehyung scoffs loudly at that, slumping forward a little. "I had to! I wanted to stay and watch you dance after all, I just didn't expect that they'd make me do it."

Jimin nudges at his shoulder, voice laced with something nostalgic. "You weren't awful."

The stink eye that he recieves in return has him muffling a laugh against his free hand. For a moment, the warmth that fills him feels somewhat comforting, a reminder of a moment in time where he just felt good.

"And these memories..." Taehyung starts, gently. "They're what leave you terrified to close your eyes at night?"

Jimin shifts, discomfort flaring. He knows that he's completely valid in his feelings, knows now that it's not the actual memories per se that leave him grasping his sheets and gasping for air. It's something more than that.

"That's the thing, Tae." He presses, the words gracing the air around them with a note of sadness. . "It's not the memories that scare me." 

He cocks his head, meets his friends eyes, and wonders where the sudden surge of courage to speak his truth come from. 

The air around them dances with anticipation, and Taehyung frowns, clearly uncomprehending. "What is it-"

"It's the way those memories make me feel, Tae." He breathes, finally letting go. "It's the absolute longing attached to them." 

Alarm dances behind his friends irises, and his lips part, surprise evident. Something in Jimin shifts, and perhaps the weight that'd been crushing at his shoulders lessens just a little, gives him some more space to breathe.

And then Taehyung nods, his grip on Jimins hand only tightening. "Oh." He whispers, thickly. 

Jimin hums. 

"Oh, Jiminie." His friend breathes, shifting so that he can rest his head on Jimins shoulder. He huffs, staring right ahead, as though the very air before them has offended him. "My dearest friend."

Jimin blinks past the sting in his eyes, pretends that he doesn't feel saltwater track it's way down his cheek. 

"Two years of suppressing it all..." He ponders aloud, pulse racing. "And now it's all I can think about."

Taehyung doesn't answer him, not yet. 

He only scoots closer, sadness evident in the way that he squeezes Jimins hand tighter. 

I want to breathe, again.

*

It all comes to a head, a few days later, when he's jerked rather violently from a mottled recollection of his first performance underground by demons that hiss he'll never experience such a feeling again. 

For a stark moment he feels suspended, the roaring in his ears almost deafening and the rumble of thunder outside of the window far too aggressive. He's panting, feels sticky and cold and on the verge of throwing up. The knots that thread tightly together in his chest have him sagging forward, and he doesn't hear the ragged cry that rips itself from his throat, no-

But Yoongi does.

It takes him a moment to register that his boyfriend's grasping at his side, gentle hands rubbing at his back and dark irises filled with so much fear that it's almost enough to shock Jimin out of the state that he's in.

Because never, has he seen Yoongi so frightened.

And it's all because of him.

Yoongi's saying something, lips moving against the faint blue hue that the moon casts against his pale features, and yet Jimin can't hear him, not over the tremulous tempo of his own heart. He simply shudders, leans into Yoongi's touch all the more and tries to suppress the painful sob stuck in his throat.

When Yoongi pulls away to cup at Jimins cheek and thumb over the tears that've collected along his skin, Jimin feels a wave of nausea pick at him, itching beneath his skin. He lets Yoongi push his hair out of his face, lets the elder pull him into his lap, where he can press up against his strong chest and feel the beat of his heart beneath his palm. He finds himself seeking it out, sneaking his hand beneath the fabric of Yoongi's sleep shirt so that he can press there against the bare skin, the unsteady beat of his lovers heart reminding him that Yoongi's real, that he's here.

Thump, thump, thump.

His breath escapes shaky and insecure, and he nuzzles into the warmth of Yoongi's neck, itching to feel the elders touch. He's here. He's not leaving.

And Yoongi only pulls him closer, murmurs praises and hums that soothingly familiar tune beneath his breath as he lets Jimin calm down in his own time. 

For a while it feels like he won't, feels as though the ghosts of his past have too tight of a grip now, have too much of him wrapped up in chains, a slave to their musings and games. He focuses on the way that Yoongi breathes, the rise and fall of his chest against him, and the sweet melody of the song he croons against the side of Jimins head. It feels right now, feels like it's Jimins, and eventually, he feels the trembling subside and the dangerous whispers in his ears slowly fade away into nothing.

And when he reluctantly pulls his face away from the safety of Yoongi's tear dampened neck, he only finds his love watching him with an expression so soft, so protective, that he can't help but wrap his arms tighter around his shoulders and gaze right back, eyes lidded and his veins charged with something akin to heat.

"Y-Yoongi..."

He wants to part his lips over an apology, wants to cry his apologies for the thousandth time because he knows that he can't keep hurting Yoongi like this, but as though the elder reads his mind, he simply raises a hand to press it over Jimins where it rests against his heart. His larger hand envelopes Jimins own, and even through the fabric of the shirt it's warm, safe. Jimin's breath catches in his throat, and fresh tears spring to his eyes.

It's a proclamation, Jimin thinks. An assurance that Yoongi's with him, that he's not going anywhere. 

That his heart belongs to the hand that lingers over it, grasping at it's beat as though it's a life line.

And Jimin realises that this is, that Yoongi is. 

He already knew, he thinks, but it's as though it's blindingly obvious now, a huge neon sign flashing before his very eyes. He half wants to laugh, half wants to cry, because the man before him has everything of his, his heart, his soul, and it's almost hilarious that he's been so lucky to stumble upon something so pure.

And so he doesn't even think as he parts his lips around a sentence he's become far too eager to phrase, voice hoarse and eyes red rimmed.
"Yoongi, I want to show you everything."

The man beneath him pauses, eyes rounding with understanding. The last remnants of sleep that'd clung to the elders gaze all but vanish, and his jaw stiffens a little, uncertain even now, only wanting the best for Jimin.

"Jimin, if you're not ready-"

"I told you before, didn't I? I want to." He presses against Yoongi's heart more insistently, a reminder that he's just as real to Yoongi as the elder is to him, and it seems to do the trick for Yoongi swallows, lashes fluttering as he gazes at Jimin as though he can't quite believe in his existence.

"There's something that I want you to see." He whispers, calmer than he's felt in weeks. "And its- its not pleasant, but it's part of me, whether I like it or not."

He will protect me, he won't leave. His brain rattles off, insistent and resolute. His heart jumps, and follows.

"Is it what's kept you awake each night?" Yoongi asks, voice stiff with quiet apprehension. 

"Partly." Jimin hushes, tracing the gentle slope of his lovers nose with his eyes. "I just- it'll explain alot." 

"But you'll be reliving it-"

"I relive it each night, hyung." He whispers, a somewhat broken smile curling at his lips. "And yet it's still not what leaves me crying in your lap and grasping for your heart for reassurance that you're real." 

Yoongi exhales, the motion catching, and presses his palm against Jimins hand through his shirt again as though to make sure that it stays there. The skin beneath Jimins palm feels warm, though it thrums with life, keeps him stable in a moment that he should be wavering.

"Alright, Park Jimin." Yoongi finally breathes, voice rough. "Please show me." 

There's so much trust in his voice, such gentle spirit, that the remaining dregs of nerves that'd been tapping insistently at Jimin thoughts seem to apparate altogether, paving way for something sweeter and more honest.

Trust.

And so he lets his lids slip shut, abandoning the last of his fears as he opens his soul up to the man who's heart he holds so dearly, the man who holds his with strength and adoration in return.

"Memoria Iecit." 

The words graze the air for the lightest of moments, and Jimin thinks that he hears the slightest of gasps slip through Yoongi's lips before an impossible light implodes throughout the room, lighting it up as the past joins the present.

And Jimin, he remembers.

-The crowd before him moves to a beat of their own, cries of pure elation dancing between their lips and fists pumping the air, a desperate attempt to catch up to Jimin, to join him in the pace that he's reserved just for himself, high above the clouds. He moves in a way that the crowd simply can't, fluid and strong and raw, and completely unrestrained.

The room spins around him as he shifts his weight, as light dances from his fingertips, the heat of it all grazing his skin. Somewhere in the distance Taehyung's loud, deep cheers of his name permeate the air, and the faintest of breathless laughs spills from Jimins lips.

The feeling of freedom leaves him high, limbs bending and moving with a grace akin to the air itself. 

There's no other feeling like this, he surmises.

The air around him lights once again with flames, circles of heat coccooning him like a lit up tornado, almost shielding his body from the crowd gathered around him. The screams grow in volume, and Jimin soars.

The fire around him bends to his body, runs circles around his torso and casts a fierce glare in his irises that sends the crowd wild. His hips swing, and heat dances along the bare skin of his arms, licking at his curves and lighting the underground up in a firework display that'd rival even the biggest shows. 

And he spins, hair tumbling into his eyes and his body weightless, his blood roaring in his ears to a symphony of-

Something in him jerks when he notices it, a spark crackling just beneath the heel of his left foot. He falters only for a second, liquid fire simmering like a crowd around the top of his head.

Wha-

Again, sparks crackle too close to his foot, too dangerous to be his own.

The faces of the crowd blend into one as he twirls, back arching and eyes scanning the audience of bright eyes and excited smiles. Several calls of his name have him pitching forward, ignoring the suddenly heavy feeling in his gut. He rises on one foot, limbs extended and almost completely off the ground. He feels as though he's full of air, chest ballooning with pure freedom and-

It happens fast, far too fast.

The crackle that sounds by his foot is loud, frighteningly loud even against the cheer of the crowd. He's running on pure adrenaline, and so when light bursts beside his foot once more, sparks cracking up the side of his leg and eliciting a sharp, burning scratch of pain, he reacts in surprise.

A yelp spills from his lips, and he jolts, pain flaring up his leg. He attempts to balance himself, body lurching the wrong way. His weight shifts, all too quickly and all too wrong, and the sound of a loud snap rings out amongst the crowd, over the music and the cheers.

Jimins world shifts, lurches, and a sharp numbness spreads through his limbs, liquid ice spreading through his veins.

He hits the floor with a crash, a familiar face swimming before him, expression laced with barely concealed contentment.

And then the screaming begins.

He's not all that aware of much, as frantic voices and warm, stiff hands work around him. 

There's an overly loud bustle, faint, sniffling sobs that sound painfully familiar, and various presses of words that sound decidedly like incantations being muttered as hands smooth over his skin and call for him to remain calm in tones that sound anything but stable.

Remain calm?

The air is rife with an unfamiliar urgency, and Jimin doesn't try to keep his eyes open, not whilst he's so desperate to sleep.

"Jimin? Jimin stay calm. We'll fix you up."  A voice panics, attempting to sound reassuring yet failing.

Confusion knocks at the side of Jimins skull, and he grows taut at the feeling of warmth seeping into the skin around his hip. 

Wha-

The sniffles sound again, and he wants to reach out because he's sure it sounds like Tae-

But then the most searing of pain starts, and he blacks out.

The air in the ministry's courthouse is nothing like the air of the underground at night. It's not charged with elecricity and anticipation, no, it's charged with simmering frustration and a dark apprehension.

The silence is stifling, every cough, every intake of breath and shift of clothing almost painfully audible.

And Jimin wants to scream.

His heart sits like a rock in his chest, his limbs numb and thoughts blank as he looks down to the brace around his leg. Countless hours of agonising healing sessions and tear filled pleas for everything to just stop spring to mind, and he bites back the bile that threatens to rise in his throat.

The hand wrapped around his tightens, and he finds he can't quite look at Taehyung, hasn't really been able to since he watched his best friend break down over his limp body weeks ago.

A deep voice sounds amongst the courthouse, and Jimin glances up, feels his stomach lurch at the sight of the man standing in the box.

"Shin Daeyong, your crime seeks a punishment only fitting for it's calibre." The judge summons, the authority in his voice enough to make Jimins jaw clench.

"You targeted an innocent in a deliberate attack, and show not an ounce of remorse for your actions."

The man in the box only lifts his gaze to meet Jimins, something fierce dancing behind obsidian irises. The corners of his lips tilt up into a smirk, and for the first time, something akin to hatred flares in Jimins gut.

Beside him, Taehyung's grip on his hand tightens even further, and Jimin redirects his gaze to his lap, unable to look for any longer lest he do something he shouldn't. Horrific, awful dread pools in his chest, and clamps his lips shut to stop himself from screaming.

He doesn't even bother to listen to the verdict, knows that any sentence that he recieves won't be long enough, not when it was a crime commited underground, an illegal setting to begin with.

He only lets Taehyung and Seokjin gently lead him from the room once Daeyong has been wrapped in cuffs, feeling not an ounce of relief.

The still of the night is something that Jimin used to find comfort in. 

He used to take to lighting up the night with life of his own as he danced, eyes on the star littered sky and limbs extended as though he could reach the heavens - could surpass them.

Now though, he reserves the nights for agonised sobs and a broken heart.

He sits on the edge of his bed, phantom pain clinging to his long ago healed leg, and stares up at the sky with a searing desperation he's never felt before.

And it's in that moment, that he realises that he can no longer breathe.-

Jimin almost feels weightless as he wills the memory to fade, orange light dancing it's way into oblivion around him and Yoongi. Darkness re-encompasses the room, and Jimins glad for it, feels as though he can hide behind it's blanket for just a second more. For a moment, the atmosphere pulls taut with something, a pressure pushing down on Jimins chest, and he finds that it takes more courage than he'd expected to part his lids and rejoin reality.

He isn't sure as to what he's expecting from Yoongi, perhaps sadness, or shock, but still, he forces himself to look because he trusts him. 

The moonlight bathes Yoongi in an almost silvery glow, blonde locks lit up into something of a halo, and for a moment Jimin finds himself almost hypnotised at the pure beauty before him.

He sucks in a scorching breath, eyes flickering from Yoongi's lips to his eyes, and feels the world around them shift on its axis a little at the look Yoongi's giving him.

The elder watches him with something akin to awe, his eyes wide and lips parted as though ready to profess something sweet. His brows knit, and Jimin shudders slightly at the fire that dances behind his lovers eyes. Shouldn't he be angry? Shouldn't he-

"Yoongi..." He cuts his own torrid thoughts off, feels his brows knit together as Yoongi continues to peer at him, seemingly lost.

"I'm sorry." 

The words leave Yoongi's lips in an almost broken whisper, breaking across the silence with little tact. They have Jimin faltering in place, confused, and he reaches out to lay a palm at Yoongi's neck.

"W-what? You-"

Yoongi swallows, something torturous flitting across his features, and releases Jimins hand still pressed to his heart in order to thumb along his cheek, touch gentle.

"I- Shit, Jimin." He rasps, and Jimin feels something jolt in him, because Yoongi's eyes are glazed over, the threat of tears lingering at his waterline. He gazes at Jimin with such sudden sorrow that the air around them feels weighted with it. drenched in its sadness.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't there to protect you." Yoongi finally whispers, voice cracking toward the end.

And Jimin wants to cry.

Quick as a flash he's grasping Yoongi with both hands, palms pressed against his cheeks and gaze unwavering as he wracks up the most conviction that he is able to. Something fierce flares within him, and he shakes his head, defiant.

"No, Yoongi. That-that's not what this is about." He breathes, heart breaking at the pure despair reflected right back at him. "We didn't even know one another, there was no way-"

"And yet." Yoongi cuts him off, eyes lidded. "I'm so fucking angry, Jimin. Because- Because that bastard hurt you and I can't do anything about it." He curses, voice ladened with rough ire. "Shit, Jimin. The things that I'd do for you, you have no idea-"

Oh, my heart.

"I do, love." Jimin presses, voice thick. "I know." 

"If I could go back and fucking destro-" 

Jimin chokes out a breath, heart lurching. "It's in the past, Yoongi-ah." He breathes, tries to believe it, wants to. 

Yoongi shakes his head, blinks past the tears in his eyes. "Is it though? That piece of shit hurt you, Jiminie. He hurt you and years later, you're still bleeding."

And he sounds so sad, so broken for Jimin, that it leaves his eyes stinging.

"He hurt me, yes." He murmurs, nodding just slightly. "But I recovered. I worked hard, hyung. And then that letter arrived and-" He swallows around the lump in his throat, feels his chest tighten for a split second. "But that...that was just the trigger."

Yoongi exhales, the sound shakey. "Jim-"

"What I just showed you...that isn't what keeps me up at night." Not just that, not anymore. 

The surprise that flickers across Yoongi's face is almost wretched, Jimin can't help but think. 

Without pause, he tips his head and slots their lips together, hoping that the pure love that he feeds into his lover is enough to ease his sorrow. Yoongi grasps back just as desperately, as though terrified he'll lose grip on his lover altogether.

"Yoongi, I want to show you my all." Jimin whispers when he pulls away, shifting to press their foreheads together. He looks up at the elder through his lashes, his heart a ball of fire in his chest.

"Will you let me?"

They spend the rest of the night wrapped up in one another, breaths intermingling and hearts soft. He tells Yoongi everything - all about his nightmares, about the real fears that plague him. He recounts fond memories of dragging Taehyung out of bed for late night dance practices and countless performances, and lets himself feel that familiar pull that has him so frightened just lately, if even just for a moment.

And Yoongi lights up. 

His smile only brightens as he listens to Jimin talk. He sings his praises, tells Jimin over and over again that he's never seen a more beautiful dancer, has never felt as inspired as he did the night that Taehyung showed him the past.

And for a moment, one single moment, Jimin lets himself revel in it.

*

The dreams continue over the span of the next week, though Jimin doesn't let them get to him as much as he had before, not with Yoongi by his side. They still pull him from slumber a little roughly, still leave him breathless and sheethed in a frigid layer of sweat- and there's still that sharp sensation in his chest, a sensation that he doesn't quite have the courage to acknowledge as of yet. It's a dark kind of pain, a feeling that makes him question himself more than he would if it were simply just physical.

It's only when the surprising presence of a dull throb along his left femur starts to announce itself, that he begins to realise that the dreams mean something more than the notion of triggering a cast aside past.

For he knows that his leg healed years ago, knows that it's working perfectly fine and that the pain is nothing but phantom-and yet. It's presence leaves him lost in thought more often than not , mulling over endless possibilities because why? Why now?

He only tells Yoongi and Taehyung at first, though he knows that his other friends have caught on, whether it be in the way that he sometimes hesitates to put weight on his leg, or the way that he takes to rubbing at the muscle when he can, teeth grit and eyes clouded with frustrated confusion.  After he snaps at Hoseok for asking him if he's alright for the fourth time in two days, he finds himself weighed with guilt, all but apparating to the studio that the rapper shares with Namjoon and Yoongi later that night, apologies tumbling from his lips and shoulders hunched in embarrassment.
Hoseok of course, accepts his apology, and Jimin tries not to spend too long thinking about the empathatic, almost knowing glint in his eyes when the elder ruffles at his hair and tells him to head home and rest.

He heads home feeling almost self concious at the way Hoseok had looked at him, though pushes the thought aside in favour of getting a few hours of much needed sleep before the nightmares take hold once more.

And when he wakes up to a throbbing leg and his chest feeling as though a huge hole has been carved out of it, he questions himself all over again.

The evening's sun has long since dipped behind the skyline when Jimin starts to busy himself with locking up the shop.

He's been picking up more late shifts lately, finding it easier to waste his time at the shop than spend extra hours laying in bed caught between dreams and nightmares. He decided a while ago, against Taehyung and Yoongi's wishes, that if he's going to spend half of the night awake then he might aswell spend that time actually doing something.

And so, he finds himself hiked up on the shops rickety old ladder around one am, cursing lightly beneath his breath as he attempts to balance on one leg and lean across to the next shelf over in order to carefully stack a couple of jars housing Bog Root without toppling over.

He'd flicked on the radio earlier, desperate for some semblance of sound other than his own laboured breathing as a form of accompanyment. Spending after hours alone in the shop always had him on an unexplained edge, and so allowing himself to hum quiet melodies beneath his breath gave him a little more encouragement when it came to braving the silence of the place when everyone else was currently tucked up in bed, probably already wisked away by dreamland.

Must be nice, he almost scoffs to himself, motioning with his right hand in order to send a few jars in his direction. The glass floats through the air, glinting off the low light he'd set once Taehyung had left with a gentle goodbye, and sails right for his open palm. The others dance about the air behind him, waiting for his grasp as he sets about stocking up the last of the root. 

Once he's finished he scoots down the ladder, huffing at how wobbly the things legs have become. He frowns at the thought of either him or Taehyung getting into a serious accident because of it, and makes a mental note to look for a new one before either of them end up needing a trip to the healers themselves.

A glance beyond the window assures him that the wind has picked up during the past hour, and he almost scoffs at the way he shudders, muttering to himself to get back to work before the sun start to rise.

It's only around two am when he realises that he's starting to get tired. His eyes have taken on a heavy, itchy feeling, his lashes fluttering every few seconds as he resolutely attempts to sift through the stock registers. The characters blur before his eyes, and he finds himself blinking past the hazy feeling that's wrapped itself around his skull, intent on finishing up before he head out. 

"Shit." He slurs, as he finds himself reading over the same word six times. He huffs, frustrated and tired, and throws the clipboard down onto the countertop with a half hearted grunt of displeasure. However desperate he is to get this done tonight, it just isn't happening.

With a resounding sigh of contempt, he pushes himself back from the counter, swaying on his feet for a moment to stabilise himself. His sleeping pattern's royally fucked, and so he's not surprised to find himself weighed down with a heady fatigue at just two am. He's used to holding passionate claim to the night owl status, spends most of his time that way, and yet now look at him - eyes half scrunched shut and cheeks a ruddy pink from exertion. 

Ridiculous.

He glances at the grandfather clock that Taehyung had brought home from the antique store around the corner a year back, notes that it's just gone two, and shifts as though to grab for the ring of keys lying on the countertop, ready to just lock up all of the display units and use the last dregs of his energy to apparate himself home and into his bed. 

And it's just as he's reaching out, eyes half lidded, that he hears it.

Piano.

He halts, the tune achingly familiar, and glances up at the speakers attached to the wall as though answering the call of his own name. He'd made an effort not to switch the radio to a channel anything close to classical, more content with rap and alternative, (He didn't feel like encouraging his dreams any further) and so how were the speakers currently crooning the softest, sweetest rendition of one of Jimins favourite classical pieces?

A piece that he'd grown up watching his teachers gush about, that he'd spent walks and bus rides home from school listening to through the tiny speakers of his earphones (to Taehyung's annoyance). The very piece that he'd spent years creating endless and varying dances for, elegant and contemporary and soft.

A piece that he brutally exiled from his life two years ago, when he cast aside that part of himself with a bitter curse.

"Oh.." He whispers, almost afraid to interrupt the flow of the melody that graces the space of the tiny shop.

The gentle exchange of piano keys continues, almost assaulting in it's presence but still calming enough in it's memory to have Jimin dropping his arm from where it'd been stretched out to grasp his keys, neck curved and head tilted up toward the sky as though to press his ear closer, to listen harder.

The melody thrums through him, twists itself into his bloodstream and curls up along the previously hollow crevices in his chest and alongside his heart. A heart breakingly familiar warmth blooms even in the air around him, and the charge of it has him sucking in a choked up breath, suddenly wide awake. It's with the tune wracking up in it's tender intensity, that he forgets the dregs of numbing fear picking at his brain and surrenders to his heart and the promise of home.

My dear friend, it's been so long.

The music seems to greet him with the most fierce of familiarity, and he can almost feel it, reaching out with warm, open arms to embrace-

He spins on his heel, feeling light, smooth, and lapses into the most gentle of dips before slinking back up, up toward the sky. His back arches and his arms lift so gracefully, fingertips extended toward the air above in open invitation. He pushes himself to his toes, finds himself shifting along with the changes in the melody. It's almost as though something of a spell has been cast, rendering his own mind blank as he lets it lead him through the motions of a dance that long since become a second home to him. He knows this path, knows where he's going and completely lends himself to it for just a moment, body flushing and bare and sure. 

Muscles drawn taught and head curved toward the sky, he moves, and oh, how he moves. A sway of his hips has laughter bubbling past his lips, and his next spin has him feeling light in the head, open air curling around him and skin flushing with an indescribable heat. He's breathless as he curls in and out, body following the life of the most gentle waves and his lashes tickling his cheekbone where his lids had slipped closed long ago.

It's under a two am sky and muffled speakers that he finds himself raking in lungfuls of air in a way that he hasn't in years. 

Oh, it's been a while.

It's as the piece begins to fade, the shop returning to nothing but silence, that Jimin slips up.

He's caught up in a spin, twirling on the ends of his toes and marvelling at the fire burning his lungs, when he catches sight of himself in the old mirror perched against the back wall. He's a blur at first, wrapped in motion and singing with light, until the music stops, and he recognises the stutter of his breath and-

He jolts to a stop, eyes rooted to the finger marked mirror infront of him. Catching himself in such a position has him taking a couple steps backward as though the mirror itself has become a wretched beast he ought to escape. As he takes in his appearance, he notes that it's not the sight of his heaving chest, nor the way that his hair has plastered itself to his head with sweat that has his eyes misting over. It's not even the clear, satisfied exertion marring his features, no.

It's the blinding, unrestrained smile that's stretching his lips without permission, pure elation written across his face in a display so frightfully familiar that he suddenly finds he can't breathe.

He backtracks, stumbling away from his reflection with a hitched gasp, eyes growing wide at the sight. Something kicks in his chest at the feeling of liquid fire pumping about his veins, the sensation of air lit by sparks tickling at the surface of his skin and raising his hairs on end. He's suddenly wracked with fatigue once more, but the satisfying kind, the kind that settles in your bones and pulls at the strings of happiness rooted deep beneath your ribcage.

A sensation that's dauntingly familiar.

"Oh no." He murmurs, the words pressed out against laboured, wheezing breaths. He's flushed a healthy pink, a sheen of sweat coating golden skin, and he's close to tears. Oh god, no.

What have I done?

He's jerked from his shock by the unwelcome sound of static fizzling through the speakers. It interrupts the peace that the previous song had brought, a startling contrast to it's tenderness, and has him lurching forward in his haste to turn it off. He yanks the plug out as though for extra affect, before turning on his heel to look up at the thing with an unimpressed kind of glare, as though it's wronged him personally.

He grabs for the keys halfheartedly, adrenaline controlling each and every one of his movements now, and starts to lock up the cabinets with shaking, sweating hands. He does his best to ignore the ringing in his ears, refusing to answer their call for fear of unleashing something too terrifying, and finishes locking up in record time. 

He catches sight of himself again in the mirror as he shucks his jacket on, feeling the chill of the shop now for the first time. It creeps in past the doorjamb, slips through the cracks by the window pane. (Or so he tells himself.)

"You're alright." He tells himself, voice hoarse. It's the letters fault, for making me remember.

He can't quite shake the feeling though, as he pats at the red of his cheeks and presses a steadying palm to his chest through the sweat soaked fabric of his shirt as though to lessen the frantic pace of his heart, that he's lying to himself.

The truth is, I never forgot.

It's not until he's garnered enough courage to leave the shop, that he realises that his leg isn't even hurting.

The following evening see's Jimin letting himself into Yoongi's little apartment nestled amongst crooked little shops and slightly crumbling buildings of Seoul. The sun has long since dipped beyond the horizon line, and Jimin's already nursing something of a dull thrum at the base of his skull, ready to all but collapse onto his boyfriends bed and gather at much sleep as possible before the inevitable.

He's surprised, however, to find himself greeted with the all too familiar soft press of piano keys, a series of lingering notes filling the otherwise silence of the place and passing over his shoulders and into the hallway. 

Wha-

For what feels like a long moment he's motionless, frozen on the brink of the entryway with a hand still pressed to the doorknob and his lips parted in surprise. It's not a tune that he's heard before, that he's sure of. It's not upbeat or joyous like the pieces he grew up perfecting performances to, not at all. In fact, there's something heavy to it, a lingering touch of nostalgia, or perhaps a sorrowful longing?

Why would Yoongi have something like this?

The dip in the melody has his a lump forming at the base of his throat, for there's something so sad, so tangible about the piece, that it feels almost as though it's calling out to him.

Wordlessly, he takes a step over the threshold, ignoring the unsteady pace of his heart as he lets the door fall shut behind him and follows the gentle croon of notes down the narrow hallway. The closer he gets, the more the piece seems to wrack up in intensity, to his surprise. It almost feels like it's wrapped a cord tight around the ball in his chest, like it's tugging with all of it's might to summon him closer to it.

The soles of his trainers almost soundless against the tile beneath his feet, he finds himself ducking into the livingroom without hesitation, as though the awful foreboading that's settled in the base of his gut at the prospect of hearing the familiar keys of a piano after his last brush with such a tune back at the shop has all but dissolved, completely buried by his sudden desperation to get closer to what he's hearing- to hear more.

And what he finds, leaves him breathless.

For in the corner of the room, standing proudly by the floor to ceiling windows that Jimin's spent many a tiring night gazing out of at the cityscape of Seoul, is the most elegant, ornate grand piano that Jimin's ever found himself witness to.

And Yoongi is seated right at it, fingers moving along the keys with a rehearsed grace that Jimin had never thought him capable of.

All sleek mahogany and delicate golden trim, the piano all but dominates the small space of the livingroom. Polished wood brushed with the upmost care, and adorned with the most ornate clawed feet and intricate little carvings, it takes up more space than perhaps even the sofa, stands with a pride that has Jimin's hair standing on end, because he's sure that he'd remember such a glorious instrument making it's home within Yoongi's apartment, so why doesn't he?

And why is Yoongi playing it?

The air in the room rings charged, pressed with a magical kind of simmer as Yoongi continues to play, lids having slipped closed probably long ago. He's in one of his ratty old jumpers, the kind that he's become far too accustomed to tugging over Jimins head whenever he complains that he's cold, and one of his slouchy beanies, probably concealing his mop of messy hair, and yet-

To Jimin, he's never looked so beautiful.

When Yoongi's underground, up on stage spitting rhymes and fierce poetry with the aim of leaving his opponants in the dust, he reeks of confidence and arrogance and something hot.  In those moments Jimin's often floored, a roaring heat travelling up the column of his neck and burning his skin with something akin to want. It's then that Yoongi's striking and abrasive in his beauty, nothing sweet about how he looks at Jimin from under his lashes and tips his head back to flash the skin of his throat, marked with the press of Jimin's lips and tongue hours before in a show of who he's given his heart to.

But that Yoongi, he's far from present here, right now.

No, the Yoongi that coaxes sad, sweet melodies from the keys at his fingertips, does so quietly. There's a peace about his features, cheeks sprinkled with a dusty rose and lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His lips remain parted, soft exhales passing through in time with the tune, and his shoulders remain slumped almost, nothing but easiness to his gait. He appears nothing but serene, as though he's trapped in a dream. He's heavenly.

Min Yoongi may belong on the stage, Jimin thinks as his heart threatens to crack his ribcage, but he's at home before the piano.

The melody lifts into something sweeter, bathing the living room and cocooning it in something light and wispy, and for a moment he almost thinks that he hasn't been caught, that Yoongi hadn't heard him enter, until the elders eyes flutter open and he and sends him that look, the one that has Jimin's knee's feeling a little weak and a stutter marring his next exhale.

A ghost of a smile tugs at Yoongi's lips, and he nods as though in greeting, as though the sight of him sitting in his living room playing a grand piano like an expert isn't all that surprising.

Jimin lifts an arm to swipe his hood off from where it still conceals a little of his face, and completely ignores the flush that tickles at the skin of his cheeks as he takes an aimless step closer, lulled in by the way that Yoongi regards him, as though he'd been waiting for him all night.

"Yoongi..." He whispers, too afraid to raise his voice lest it crack. The elder continues to graze piano keys, beckons Jimin closer with just the glint in his eyes. The younger doesn't hesitate, gingerly taking a seat to Yoongi's left on the bench, eyes trained on the glossy piano keys as they bend beneath Yoongi's will. There's a moment where he mulls over his words, heart still unsteady and ears still ringing a little, before he's throwing caution to the wind and parting his lips.

"You play." 

It's more of a statement than a question, because it's clearly obvious that the elder's something of an expert. He almost isn't expecting an answer, sure that Yoongi's so wrapped up in his conversation with the instrument before him, and he finds that he can't quite blame the elder, not when the shift in tempo has the melody becoming something vibrant with yearning once more. 

"I haven't in a while." Yoongi's reply has Jimin's gaze flickering to the side of his face, though he's unsurprised to note that the elder's staring rather resolutely down at the keys.

"Why not?" He asks, almost inaudible over the music.

The elder shrugs, "Once I started getting big underground I just...lost time. It became more and more difficult to find an hour or two to settle down and play."

Jimin frowns, brows furrowing. "But you're...you play beautifully, Yoongi." And he means it not just for how expertly he commands the keys, no. It's in the pure passion that laces each shift, each press. He's never seen someone play something with such heart before, and it has something in him lurching in recognition, because he knows just how that feels.

So why couldn't he find the time?

The elder seems to flush a little under his praise, the tips of his ears burning a vibrant red. "I started when I was much younger, went through the whole recital and music class thing. After a while though, I learnt that I enjoyed piano most when I simply played for myself." He murmurs, a smile still playing at pouted lips. "There's something... un-troubling, about it I think."

"And that's why you haven't played in so long, right?" Jimin questions softly. "It's something that kills your stress, something that you're connected to emotionally. You can't just sit down and belt out a melody for ten minutes then leave for the studio with the others."

Yoongi swallows, adams apple bobbing and something knowing creeping across his features. He nods, letting a couple notes ring out in legnth. "I need to take my time with it, let it guide me, not the other way round."

And god, Jimin doesn't think he's ever related to anything more. Nostalgia burns in his chest, the familiar pang of longing that he's been experiencing and ignoring too often as of lately coming back with a force that has him wincing. He rakes his hair away from his eyes, hopes that Yoongi won't notice the slight tremble of his hand.

"I don't think I've ever heard a melody so sad." He finally murmurs, glancing back down at the keys.

Yoongi hums, lashes fluttering. "I haven't composed in a while, though I can always rely on the piano to drag my own feelings out and translate them into music I suppose. It sounds....." He cocks his head, brows dipping in thought. "It sounds alot like-"

"Longing." 

The elder sends him a look at that, something understanding in his gaze. His lips part around an exhale, and the expression that marrs his features at the sight of Jimin is far too soft.

"Yeah." He murmurs, still playing. "It's alot like longing." 

Jimin drags his own gaze away before he starts to breakdown or cry, and focuses it instead on his jean clad thighs. The hole in his chest feels bigger when he remembers how he'd felt last night, flashes of exhileration and the sensation of coming back home tickling at him, demanding his attention. 

God, it'd felt so good to move like that again. 

He'd spent the entire night lying awake after that, and for the first time it wasn't due to his dreams - the opposite, in fact. He'd been thrumming with an indescribable adrenaline all night, fingers tapping mindless beats against the skin of his stomach and the fabric of his bed sheets, and legs itching to carry him to the tune of something sweet, something full of fire.

It terrified him, the longing.

And so did finally starting to acknowledge it.

And as he watches Yoongi switch to something slow, careful, he finds himself wondering if he now feels the same as Jimin did last night.

He's parting his lips before he can stop himself, forming the question that's been burning the inside of his skull for the past few minutes.

"Did it hurt?"

Yoongi cocks a brow in question at that, confused, and Jimin summons his bravery and tries again, voice wavering just slightly.

"Did it hurt to stop playing?" Did it hurt you as much as it hurt me? As it still hurts me?

Yoongi's fingers finally still at that, and when one of his hands slips from the piano to cover Jimins where it sits on his thigh, Jimin finds his breath hitching. The elders hand is warm, laced with a familiar comfort that lulls Jimin's heart into a beat more steady.

Wordlessly, Yoongi lifts Jimins hand and presses it against the keys of the piano, the surface warmed by the elders previous touch. He encompasses Jimins hand with his own, arranges Jimins fingers carefully and applies the most gentle of pressures until a long, lingering note echoes out beneath Jimin's pointer finger. It brandishes the room with a weight that the other notes had not, a sad answer to Jimins question.

"For everything that I have missed, I have gained something more." Yoongi murmurs, voice rough with thick emotion that Jimin can't quite place. The change in it though, causes Jimin to glance up from the keys, lips parting around a shaking inhale when he finds the elder watching him with an unwavering intensity.

He realises that he'd been lying to himself, when he thought that Yoongi wouldn't be capable of such elegant movements. No, he knew all along that Yoongi held a tenderness to each of his touches, for he bore the attention of them himself with each passing minute of being in the elders company.

"Besides, I promised myself that I'd come back." The slightest of smiles lifts at his lovers lips, so sure of himself. "There is always time, for our dreams."

"What if there isn't? What if you're not supposed to follow your dream in the end? What if the story isn't written like you thought it would be?" His voice sounds weak even to his own ears, strained with remnants of the truth, of endless nights spent awake, thoughts lingering on broken dreams and what could have been.

At this, Yoongi shakes his head. "Noone else is to decide such a thing for you, Jimin-ah. In the end, it's up to you, what you do. Others can produce setbacks, try to stop you, but a dream is invincible, so allow your passions to be so too." 

The elder plays a couple notes, movements swift and fierce, and presses down on Jimins finger once more, eyes shining at the flow. He hums, eyes flickering back to where their hands remain joined. "Your passions lead you to your purpose, don't you think?"

The words melt into the silence around them, and Jimin feels some of his fear slip away with them. He doesn't think that he's ever heard Yoongi speak with such conviction, with such heart, and it has him wanting to smile in sheer awe despite the every growing bloom of desire to breathe once more rearing it's head. 

He shuffles closer to Yoongi, so that their sides are pressed together, the warmth of the elders body bleeding into his own. Yoongi tilts his head to press a lingering kiss to Jimins temple, fingers threading with his where they remain on the piano's keyboard.

"Park Jimin, I think that you might just be the most passionate person I know."

And Jimin knows that Yoongi's saying much more with that statement than just the surface meaning. He knows what the elders trying to tell him, and it has his stomach lurching with butterflies, his mind whirring with an endless litany of thoughts.

Min Yoongi.

"What made you start to play again?" He asks with a murmur, unsure he can delve any deeper into the idea of pursuing passions for now. 

There's a short pause, where Yoongi seemingly mulls over his own thoughts. The air around them settles with a homely warmth, and Jimin finds himself leaning even closer if possible, eyeing their linked fingers.

"I don't know." Yoongi finally states, voice smooth. "It called to me." 

Jimin hums, a genuine smile curling at his lips. "I think I get it." More than you know.

"Besides." The elder continues, grasp on Jimins hand tightening. "I wanted to show you everything too."

Jimins sure his heart combusts on the spot at that.

He huffs a breathless giggle against the fabric of Yoongi's shirt, pressing his forehead against his shoulder and scrunching his eyes shut as a burst of adoration envelopes his being. "Min Yoongi. " He breathes, so, so fond.

"For someone who spends his evenings spitting sinful rap, I never thought that your piano compositions would sound like that." 

"Oh, really?" The elder tries, and Jimin can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"I mean it." He slaps at Yoongi's side halfheartedly, cheeks flushing. "It just...it sounds-"

"What does it sound like, Jimin-ah?" His boyfriend is definitely grinning. Jimin scoffs, lets his voice fall into something softer, lighter. Yoongi's free hand fiddles with the keys, producing something sorrowful yet pure even one handedly, and Jimin burrows closer, feels his heart slip and fall further for the man beside him and how he makes him feel.

"The truth." He breathes, face buried into the curve of Yoongi's shoulder so that he won't notice the sting in his eyes nor the beginning of tracks grazing his cheeks.

"It sounds like the truth."

After that night, Yoongi takes to playing the piano whenever he can.

*

As the days pass between the blur of winters edge and long nights spent coccooned within the warmth of the shop, Jimin finds that he has alot to think about. 

In reality, he doesn't really have any other choice than to lay awake mulling through the messy throng of thoughts filling up the space of his mind. It'd been chaotic before, an endless string of something that he didn't want to confront pecking away at his conciousness, but now, after having spoken to Yoongi that night at his piano, he's found that the terror and apprehension that he'd been feeling before have only morphed into something more.

Because now, he's aknowledged the bundle of desperation and the niggling pangs of longing that threaten to drag him down a familiar hole, and whereas before he'd all but recoiled from the very thought, now....

Well now, he feels different.

Because with each night that he slips through the crooked, worn door of Yoongi's apartment, he finds himself greeted with the nostalgic, heart warming bloom of the tap of keys, delicate little melodies easing the tautness of his muscles and the crick in his neck within moments.

And Yoongi will always be there, wrapped in a ratty t-shirt and the ends of his hair dampened from the shower, or still clad in his work clothes, leather jacket tossed aside and a sleepy expression painting his pretty features. 

He's always there, and the smile that he sends Jimin each time that he glances up, eyes brightening, is almost enough to keep the nightmares at bay for the rest of the night.

Each time Jimin will let himself listen, ignoring the slight bubble of tension in his gut that tells him that he shouldn't, that he should run as far as he can and block the noise out lest he start to want just a little more.
You're a fool. He tells himself each time, a withered breath escaping between parted lips. You already want too much.

And so he'll perch himself at Yoongi's side, will press his cheek to his lovers shoulder and let his eyes slip closed, let the soft seep of the sounds of his past lull him into a moment of the present where his memories simmer down for a moment and let him think about now, because that's where he is. Right by Yoongi's side, breathing in the scent of ceaderwood and home, and on the edge of something big, something not like the past, but close to it.

At night he thinks about dancing so much that he's not even sure if the flashes of memories laced with want are even part of his dreams anymore. It'll only take a glance at the window to his left, moonlight encompassing the room, or the rhythmic patter of Yoongi's heart beneath his fingertips to remind him that he's awake, not wrapped up in a frigid nightmare like he'd thought.

He doesn't know what scares him more, the memories that guide his dreams or the thoughts that keep him awake.

He and Taehyung are just minutes from closing up for the night, the shop full of life due to the unexpected arrival from Namjoon and Seokjin, when he finds himself cornered in the stockroom, the darkness of the basement leaving him to let a high pitched squeal pass his lips as Kim Seokjin's face swims into vision under the dim light.

"Shit- Hyung!" He rights the box full of phials of Hellblair ashes that he'd been in the midst of returning to their shelves, and sends the elder a withering glare that he hopes appears intimidating. (Judging by the mirth that lights Seokjin's eyes, it doesn't.)

"Can you stop doing that please?" He huffs, phials clinking together when he shifts. "It's really not appreciated."

"Nonsense." The elder grins, all white, pearly teeth and bright eyes. "Everything that I do is appreciated."

Jimin levels him with a look that he thinks shows just how much he disagree's with such a statement, and moves to shoulder past his friend, squinting past the flickering light to search for the shelf where he keeps his fast depleting stock of ashes, only to find himself with nowhere to go when Seokjin takes a step to block his way.

He pauses, slightly frustrated when he looks up at the elder and cocks a brow in question. "Uh, are you going to let me past?"

Seokjin merely huffs, as though he can't quite believe that Jimin's trying to work, and crosses his arms over his broad chest, a frown tugging at his lips. 

"Seokjin hyung-"

"How are you feeling?"

Oh. Jimin thinks, understanding. He's trying to check on me.

Somewhere upstairs he can hear the far away chuckling and squealing from Namjoon and Taehyung, finds the sound a fair contrast to the air between him and Seokjin, stilted and suddenly laced with a discomfort that he knows comes completely from himself.

He sighs, shifting the box in his grasp. "Hyung..."

And he can see the concern in Seokjin's eyes, can really feel it emnating from his elder friend, and it has that sinking feeling in his chest only intensifying because he hates seeing his friends like this - worried about him. He's only seen Seokjin like this one time before, and it still hurts to think about the pale, waxy complexion of the elders skin, the fear and sorrow that'd clouded the usual light in his eyes. 

Seokjin had been there, through everything just like Taehyung, and now he's here again, standing under the dim light of a couple of wall lit candles, piercing gaze trained right on Jimin and a hauntingly familiar spark in his eyes.

And Jimin daren't lie to him - not after everything they've been through together.

"I mean it, Jimin-ah." The elder starts, voice rounded with a sudden softness against the surrounding silence. "I know that things haven't been easy lately, and I just-"

"Honestly hyung?" Jimin cuts him off, words lilting just slightly. A chill tickles at his skin and he ignores it in favour of hunching over to place the box at his feet, dust kicking up off the floor. He rakes a hand through his hair, not able to meet his friends eyes this time as he parts his lips.

"I'm not great." He murmurs, almost afraid to voice the truth. "But I'm nowhere near as bad as I was two years ag- that time."

"Because of the letter?" The elder questions, so, so gentle.

Jimin hums, lips twisting into what he thinks might be a frown. "Yes-no. Perhaps it was the letter at first." He cocks his head, throat feeling dry. "But now...now it's so much more I think."

Seokjin breathes out and it sounds almost painful, as though the rise of his chest is weighed down by something a little too heavy. "It's not the letter." He remarks, tone delicate."It's what it's made you remember, right?"

And Jimin only nods, because he's right. He stares almost resolutely at the dust coated floor, fingertips picking at a loose thread on his jumper. There's nothing else to say, is there?

And he thinks that that's it, that Seokjin will just comfort him, tell him that it will pass and that he'll be alright, but he should have known by now, known that it's just not how his friend works, that he's full of surprises and Jimin will forever be trying to catch up.

And so when Seokjin parts his lips around his next sentence, Jimin finds his neck almost snapping with how fast he looks up, eyes growing wide.

"How long have you been thinking about dancing again?"

For a moment, it feels as though the floors been swept out beneath his feet, that the floorboards have snapped and left nothing but dark, empty space for him to go hurtling through - because how did he catch on so fast? How could he-

"It's really not that hard to read you, Jimin-ah." The elder continues, cocking his head. "I noticed a while back."

And it hurts, because Jimin thought that he'd atleast managed to hide such feelings from anyone other than himself. He didn't want anyone knowing, not when he felt like he couldn't do anything about it. It was embarrassing.

"H-hyung-" He starts, only to be cut off.

"Your leg started hurting again, Jimin-ah." 

"You-"

"I worried at first, thought something had happened, but then I really thought about it and- well, it's phantom pain, isn't it?"

And Jimin swallows, the sound probably audible, as bile threatens to bubble up his throat. He presses his lips together, only able to nod his head in reply because he's far too scared that if he voices his assent he'll fall into a heap. 

The elders expression softens, and he reaches out, squeezes oh so gently at Jimin's shoulder. The heat of his hand bleeds through to Jimins skin, and he finds himself almost leaning into the touch.

"It's ok, Jimin-ah."

"Is it?" He voices, strained. He looks up through his fringe, feels some of the ice in his chest shift and melt. "Because it doesn't feel ok."

"Oh, Jimin." Seokjin appears almost as lost as him, something dire flickering behind his irises as he shakes his head. "You're strong, so impossibly strong." 

"Perhaps, but I don't really know how to deal with this hyung. I can manage the fear, can manage the crippling dejection and sadness. I've done that before. But this?" He rakes in a breath, winces at the heartbroken shake to his voice. "This is different. I don't know how to deal with this."

I'm lost.

There's a beat of silence, and then Seokjin levels him with a look thats far too knowing. "With what, Jimin-ah?"

And Jimin almost hates him for a beat, because he knows that Seokjin knows, knows that the elders just trying to make him say it, because once he does, it'll be real, so much more so than if he'd just left it to the niggling thoughts at the back of his mind.

And that's the scariest notion of all. Thats what keeps him awake at night now, the idea that his nightmares have transitioned to join him in the world of the living.

But, he thinks with a sharp pang in his chest. They already did that a while ago.

It's with a crack in his voice, with a sting in his eyes that he wilts and gives himself up. 

"The longing, hyung." 

And Seokjin's expression all but breaks. Brief pain flickers behind his eyes and his lips part with a hitched gasp, his grasp on Jimins shoulder all but tightening for a split second. There's something there, something so agonised, and it has Jimin wanting to turn heel and run himself.

Because the recognition, the pure flicker of heartbreak that Seokjin seems to falter under, is almost too much.

Jimin lets the elder pull him in, all but burying his face into his friends chest. Seokjin seems to murmur something, though it's inaudible beneath the roaring in Jimins ears. Strong hands grasp at his back, wrap him up close, and the familiar smell of cinnamon and spice warms at his nostrils. 

"Jimin-ah."

Jimin braces himself for the elders next words.

"You want to, don't you?" The other asks, voice full of resolution despite it's quiet. His words carry in the air around them for a moment, charged and weighted, and Jimin knows that if he speaks the truth, he can't go back.

But he's already come this far...

"I fear that if I admit that to myself, I'll be weak enough to act upon it."

The unsteady pace of Seokjin's heartbeat echoes like drum against his cheek where it sits pressed against the others chest, and Jimin more so feels than hears his friend's breath hitch.

"Jimin-" The elder pulls him away to level him with a long, hard look of conviction, and Jimin gnaws on his lower lip, chest welling with something stifling.

"Acting upon your dreams is far from weak, my friend." Seokjin states, voice devoid of the heartbreak it'd been laced with just moments ago. He peers at Jimin with such resolution, such fierce difiance that it's almost frightening in it's power.

Jimin is unsure of how to answer, remnants of Yoongi's previous words echoing in his ears. 

"A dream is invincible, so allow your passions to be so too." 

Seokjin looks as though he wants to say more, but holds himself back, for now. Jimin isn't sure if he's grateful for it or not, but he doesn't really have the time to think about it when the two of them are interrupted by the tell tale shatter of glass somewhere upstairs, followed by Taehyung's exasperated yells and Namjoon's frantic, only slightly terrified apologies. 

Jimin flinches at the sound, though finds himself easing up when Seokjin lets out an exasperated sigh, clearly annoyed. "That man, he's hopeless."

And Jimin can't help but smile, because the fondness in Seokjin's eyes completely negates the frustrated strain in his voice. 

"I didn't mean to!" Comes Namjoon's muffled squawk, and the elder only rolls his eyes. He shoots Jimin a soft look, gently reaching out to press a hand to the youngers cheek.

"I'm here, Jimin-ah. Remember that, alright?"

Jimin nods, the movement stilted but nowhere near as on edge as it once had been. He feels something close to comfort, when Seokjin bats his lashes and produces that megawatt smile of his, a sight that does everything to remind Jimin of home and countless nights spend wrapped in charmed throws that keep the heat in, Seokjin and Taehyung on either side of him and laughter interrupting the silence of the elders little livingroom. It reminds him of endless dinners and self stirring pots, Seokjin's voice echoing throughout the apartment in fond frustration whenever he or Tae took it upon themselves to steal a bite here or there.

Kim Seokjin is so, eternally important to him, he thinks as he watches the elder tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Just like Taehyung, and now the others, he's a symbol of strength.

And as his friend nudges at him to scoot up the stairs and survey the damage his boyfriend has created, Jimin can't help but feel a familiar bloom of relief unfurl in his chest.

One step closer.

"You're always playing lately." 

Yoongi looks up from where he sits at the piano, eyes lighting up a little in surprise as he watches Jimin shuck off his shoes by the open doorway, the healers teeth chattering from the cold.

"And?" The elder asks, cocking his head. Jimin presses his lips together to stop himself from smiling at how adorable his boyfriend looks, and crosses the room to seat himself at the bench beside Yoongi as usual, pressing up against the others warmth. If Yoongi's bothered by the chill that's still clinging to his body from having been outside for so long, he says nothing, only pushes in closer and continues to sweep his fingers over the piano keys.

"I was just wondering why." Jimin shrugs, almost transfixed by the way long, pale fingers move across the keys. It's a somewhat sweet tune today, laced with a quiet temperment that has Jimin feeling immediately at ease. 

"You must be tired, waiting up for me each night is all." He presses. And he knows that he's right, can see the fatigue written about Yoongi's features each night that he slips in through the front door. Whilst he knows that Yoongi's fond of piano, and completely understands the feeling of wanting to enjoy your passion even when you're exhausted (hell, Jimin would've danced with his final breaths if he could've), he knows that Yoongi's also playing in order to keep himself awake for the nights that Jimin chooses to sleep at his apartment, and it can't be healthy.

Also he's noticed more often than not lately, that Yoongi's taken to charming the piano to play his compositions long after he's finished himself. He'll enchant the thing to continue on the melody without his touch, and when Jimin will wake in the night, a tangle of limbs and sheets, he'll find himself immediately lulled back to a semblance of security at the sound of soft, fluid notes fluttering in through the crack in the door that Yoongi leaves ajar.

And god, does it make Jimin's heart shake.

Something about his question seems to make Yoongi pause, he realises once he's snapped out of his own musings. He shoots the elder a swift glance, worried that maybe he's said something wrong, and whilst he's expecting to see something close to annoyance or frustration behind the elders eyes, he finds himself surprised to find his lover blushing, the tips of his ears a cherry red and his cheeks bleeding with warmth. 

Wha-

Jimin's brows furrow, and he cocks his head."Hyung?" Why does he look embarrassed?

The elder raises a hand to scratch at the nape of his neck almost sheepishly, only adding to Jimins confusion, and all but glares steadfastly at the keyboard. Jimin frowns at that, and cranes his neck to get a better look at his boyfriend.

"Yoongi hyung? Did I say something-"

The elder mumbles something then, tangled and muffled beneath his breath, and Jimin feels his chest squeeze because he's still far from used to the brief, rare moments where the elder appears so embarrassed and adorable.

He can feel something of a smirk pulling at his lips when he leans closer and cups at Yoongi's chin so that the elder will look at him properly. Stomach churning with butterflies, he meets Yoongi's eyes and cocks a brow.

"What was that, hyung?"

"Yah, Park Jimin." The elder complains, swatting slightly at his hand. Jimin only snickers, chest bubbling with something triumphant as he scoots closer. He loves embarrassing Yoongi, perhaps more so than embarrassing Taehyung just lately whenever Jungkook's in the shop.

"What? Is it for the same reason that you've enchanted the piano to play your compositions whilst we sleep? Hyung tell me-"

Yoongi looks ready to scoff, cheeks blazing as he huffs against Jimins hand. He pulls away just to level him with a stern look, as though he really doesn't want to admit something, but Jimin knows how weak he is for him, has been since they met (As Namjoon and Hoseok often remind him), and so it only takes a few seconds and the presence of the infamous Park Jimin Pout for Yoongi to heave a tortured breath and repeat what he'd mumbled earlier.

"It seems to keep away your nightmares."

Silence.

Jimin's sure that he's gawking at Yoongi, all wide eyes and slack jawed, and he's positive that he's a furious shade of red, can feel it flushing at his cheeks and the slope of his neck. His heart gives a feeble kick, and he almost lets out a whine of torture, because oh, I really do love this man.

Yoongi's watching him a little carefully still, lashes fluttering as he looks between Jimin's eyes and his lips, clearly unsure of how to act. He swallows, adams apple bobbing, and Jimin snaps.

Wordlessly, he cups at both of Yoongi's cheeks with trembling hands, and pulls him in gently enough to capture his lips with his own.

The air around them seems to erupt with sparks, and Jimin can't help but feel like he's all but freefalling as Yoongi sighs against his lips and presses closer, harder so that they both shudder at the presence of the fire that tickles it's way up their spines.

Yoongi tilts his head and pulls Jimin in closer by the waist, and when he muffles a hint of a groan against the healers lips, Jimin has to fight an army of reluctance to pull away. He presses his forehead against Yoongi's, relishes in the puffs of hot air that hit against his cheeks as Yoongi desperately tries to catch his breath along with him. Happiness hurries along the frantic pace of his heart, and he sighs, peeking up at his lover from under his lashes.

"Min Yoongi." He whispers, voice thick. "Fuck, do I love you." 

Yoongi's reply is a stuttering breath, a choked up gasp, and wide eyes that seem to bare the elders soul in a way in which Jimin's never seen before. He pulls back just enough to run a thumb along Jimins lower lip, the touch of his skin heated and as smooth as silk.  He gazes at Jimin with a reverance that the younger doesn't think he'll ever become used to, and uses his free hand to thread their fingers together.

Jimin watches, transfixed, as Yoongi lifts his hand to his mouth, lips grazing over the skin in a whisper of a kiss. His stare is resolute when he parts his lips against Jimin's knuckles, unwavering in it's intensity.

"I love you, Park Jimin." He breathes, speaking with such conviction. He's never seemed so sure as he presses another kiss to the back of Jimins hand, and the air around them fizzles with something tangible, something hopeful.

"Whatever I have to do to chase the nightmares away, I'll do." 

And Jimin just about breaks.

Without bothering to waste another second, he launches himself forward into his beloved's lap, eyes stinging with unshed tears as he wraps his arms around Yoongi's neck and buries as many kisses as he can across the elders face. He covers him in kisses, the wet sound of his laughter joining the silence in the room. Yoongi snorts a laugh against him, arms winding around his waist, and Jimin wonders how he got so lucky.

As he lies by Yoongi's side later that night, fingers tangled together and the soft lull of piano music in the next room seeping through the open doorway and sending him to sleep, he realises that perhaps, it's time.

"Acting upon your dreams is far from weak, my friend."

*

The air is frigid with the promise of ice when Jimin slinks out of bed, brow set in a furrow and jaw clenched with a sleep dazed determination. He's not sure how long he's slept for, having resigned himself to not look at his alarm clock, but he does know that it's the second time just tonight that he's woken up with a strangled cry, his heart in his gut and his blood roaring in his ears.

I need to get out of here.

It's with a sleep addled, all but dazed mind, that he tugs a pair of trainers on and dons his jacket, something akin to blind desperation forcing his feet to just move. He slips out of his and Taehyung's apartment without waking his friend, breathing uneven and unsure of where he's going but craving the urge to just be outside, where the airs clearer and he might just be able to breathe.

Outside, it's the kind of cold that seeps into your bones, holds them stiff and tight beneath goosebump riddled skin. With each inhale, Jimin winces at the sharp, numbing feeling that slices at his throat. If he tries hard enough though, he thinks he might be able to fool himself into thinking he's breathing.

A white, frosty mask coats the empty streets, and part of Jimin revels at the knowledge that he's the only one out. 

He shakes off the chill, keeps his head down and blindly follows the hammering of his heart, letting his feet carry him wherever they want to go, because his mind just isnt cutting it - hasn't in a while.

I can't breathe.

And so it's by following his feet, that he finds himself lingering in the entrance of a too familiar doorway, teeth chattering and a shiver rippling up his spine for a reason far from the presence of the cold. 

He peers up at the worn down sign, lettering faded and illegible, and takes in the chipped paintwork and smashed up windows. From the outside, the building appears anything but habitable. There's a heavy layer of history clinging to it, appearing not to have housed any life in years and years. He supposes that once - long ago - the building was home to someone, had been told at some point that it used to be an old furniture shop that went bankrupt, though finds he doesn't quite care as he releases a shuddering breath, not even bothering to question himself as to why out of all places his sleep worn feet dragged him here.

Gritting his teeth as though to starve off the cold and the heavy weight settling in his gut, he whispers an incantation beneath his breath, and pushes through the crooked open door, its hinges creaking in loud protest beneath his touch. 

He makes sure to lock up behind him, almost too afraid to really look up and take in the familiarity of the place. He knows that it's stupid, that it hasn't been all too long since he's last been here in reality, but that'd been with Taehyung- with Yoongi, and it hadn't felt quite so intimidating then. 

It's just a building, Jimin.

With a harsh swallow, the sound probably audible within the silence of the hallway, he forces himself to move.

The corridors of his old dance studio haven't changed much, he notes. Last time he'd been here he'd forced Taehyung to all but run down them, lest he become too caught up in his own nostalgia. Now though?

Now he's all alone, and he has no choice but to confront those feelings.

He follows a familiar path, knowing the way even despite the limited light from the moon beyond the ceiling's windows. Soles of his shoes slapping against tile, he can't help but rake in a steadying breath, seeming to inhale the past as familiar scents poke at his nostrils and jog his memory. Despite the wound up ball in his chest, he can't help but feel almost content with the air around him.

To know that his teacher was still teaching, that they still had a glimmer on the little broken down building in the centre of town, created just for kids with magic to dance without feeling afraid, well - it left him with a wave of almost giddiness lapping at his feet. 

Atleast this stayed the same.

He almost scoffs at himself, taking the next left down the hallway. You were the only one that changed, in the end.

The dislodged beat of his heart picks up with a startling haste as he comes to a stop outside a set of double doors. There's a lingering trace of sadness here, and when he peers through the little glass windows and makes out the familiar lines and angles of the studio, all walls of mirrors and boxy speakers, he knows why.

This...this was his.

He'd found himself here last time too, feet rooted to the laminate in the centre of the room, the moonlight nothing but a guide as he'd peered at himself in the mirror. He'd almost burst into tears that night, far too overwhelmed with the feeling of home as he studied himself, just like he used to.

He presses a palm to the wood of the door, feels cold seep into his skin, and shivers against the pang of longing.

Because that is what brought him here, isnt it?

It wasn't the nightmares, nor the fear, he knows.

With a grating, almost pained inhale, he pushes on the door and it opens with a nostalgic squeak . Anticipation charges the air at his fingertips, and he steps over the threshold.

- " You've always taken to the moves so quickly, Chim." Taehyung's drawl is listless, the teen's body all but heaving as he rests on the floor, back propped up against the cold of the mirror so that he can watch Jimin. Everyone else has long since retired, but Jimin had insisted on staying back, desperate on perfecting a couple of the moves from their latest routine.

"It's called hard work and practice, Tae." Jimin breathes, rolling his eyes at his friend when the other only scoffs. He slips into position, skin tingling with anticipation. Professor Lu had tasked them with learning the process of a fouette, and despite her barking at him to head home after practice ended, he'd stayed back, the lingering desire to perfect such a beautiful movement preventing him from resting any time soon.

"Seriously." Taehyung huffs, clearly tired. "You've already practically nailed that foot-"

"-Fouette." 

"Whatever. You're practically an expert at it already, is what I'm trying to say. In fact, you're an expert when it comes to everything. It's like you were built for it, yet here I am, slugging along like a fool-"

"You're not a fool!" Jimin relaxes, rolling his shoulders and slipping into first position. He glances at Taehyung through the mirror, cocks his head slightly. "I'm hardly an expert either."

When his friend extends him a withering look in the reflection, Jimin sighs.

"I don't really get it either." He shrugs slightly, lips perking into a purse. His gaze drops to his own form in the reflection, the muscles in his legs straining against his tights. 

"It's like my body just knows what to do." 

Taehyung hums then, seemingly content with the answer. "Like breathing." He grins, repeating the words Jimin had spoken to him years go.

At this, Jimin laughs. "Yeah, just like that."

His friend's eyeing the way Jimin cranes his neck toward the light when he next speaks, deep voice tinged with a kind of awe. 

"You know what that means, Jimin-ah?" He lights up, eyes bright. "It means that you'll never forget." -

He hums the ghost of a laugh to himself, from where he stands before the stream of mirrors. Pale moonlight strips through the windows, casts a shade of night against his skin and lights his hair like a halo. The softest blue.

His jacket drops to the floor with a faint rustle, and before he has the chance to question himself, he's slipping off his shoes and socks, all but kicking the items over to the far wall before he lets the fear in the back of his mind stop him. He barely wastes any time in stretching out, ignoring the snapping voice that commands for him to. 

Tonight, it's not about that. 

"I don't really get it either."

There's a faint roaring in his ears and a race of a tempo from deep within his chest as he slowly shifts into first position. 

He seems to almost hold his breath, pausing for one long, weighted moment to simply stare at his reflection, the way that his shoulders slope and the muscles in his thighs strain against the thin fabric of his sleep trousers. 

He just want's to breathe.

His eyes slip closed, and it's as his brain seems to search for a melody, that something surprisingly sweet fills the static in his ears, something familiar and full of the kind of adoration that only a certain pianist can bring. He shudders at the recognition, muscles easing. The air around him tilts, shifts on it's axis, and before he has the guts to shock himself out of it, he moves.

It's almost terrifying, how quickly his walls crumble - or it would be, if he could even think about that.

Time seems to collapse in on itself and his brain seems to shut off, for the moment he starts moving, all he can focus on is the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

His footfall is light, inaudible above the hammering against his ribcage and the steady press of piano keys in his ears. It's second nature, the way that he pulls into a twirl, the air messing at his locks. Adrenaline thrums beneath his skin as he extends his arms, fingertips searching for a taste of heaven. 

He twists his body with ease, the balls of his feet extending him to new heights. The air bends around him, molds to his body perfectly as he moves with a fluidity that has his breath hitching in his throat. His limbs pulse, scream with desire and exhaustion and so much longing, and Jimin can't help but crane his neck tilt it up toward the moonlight as though answering it's call.

When his back arches, skin and muscle pulling taut, he can't stop the breathless laugh that spills from his lips. 

"It's like my body just knows what to do."

He's lithe, the curve of his body easy and full of the kind of grace that snatches breaths and hearts alike. He's sure that he's beaming, can feel the beat of his heart throughout his entire being as the piano in his ears trickles into something more vibrant, a ferocity taking over the sweet sadness. 

Oh, how he surrenders himself. 

For one, endless moment, he possesses the bravery to reach for the skies.

For a moment, he realises, he can breathe.

And it's almost laughable, when such a deafening realisation finds itself interrupted by the rather loud, shattering gasp that sharpens the air somewhere behind him.

Quickly, frighteningly so, hes ripped from his reverie.

Eyes snapping open, he stumbles into a stop, his limbs flailing and breath hitching with a note of surprise. His gaze first falls to himself, swathed by moonlight and sweat far from where he'd started in the centre of the room. The melody in his ears cuts off rather unceremoniously, and his ears ring with something akin to startled shock, almost offended at having been cast aside.

Wh-

The choked cry that assaults the room is what has Jimin turning on the heels of his feet, his gaze snapping over to the other side of the room only for his heart to stop and his lips to part in unconcealed surprise.

Because standing by the doors, half hidden by the dark and cheeks tracked with tears, is Kim Taehyung.

No-

"J-Jimin..." His friend croaks, voice hoarse from sleep and cracking with emotion. He's wide eyed, pyjama bottoms peaking out from under his coat and such an expression would be funny if Jimin weren't currently succumbing to the pool of dread licking fast at his ankles.

How did he find me? This-

I cant-

He swallows, attempts to school his voice into something that isn't laced with fear, and parts his lips. 

"Tae.." 

The numbing press of cool glass against Jimins back does nothing to chill his nerves, as Taehyung sits beside him, slightly trembling hands clasped together and unable to meet Jimins eyes without his own misting up all over again.

It's a painfully familiar position, the one that they're in. Many a time the two of them had reclined this way, backs pressed against the mirrors and legs extended infront of them,breathing laboured. Only back then, they'd both been exhausted after constant rounds of practice, had sat there and laughed with an air of satisfaction and happiness instead of the heavy, cloying atmosphere that surrounds them now. It pokes and prods at Jimin, threatens to suffocate him, and he has to ball his hands up for fear of Taehyung seeing just how hard they shake.

"How long has this been going on?" Taehyung finally asks, voice low and wavering with something that Jimin can't quite place. His friend keeps his gaze focused well ahead, shoulders rigid, and Jimin tries to quell the unfounded guilt threatening to bubble up his throat and out.

"I haven't been sneaking off to dance behind your back if that's what you're thinking." He summons the bravery to say, his own voice stilted. "I don't know how I even ended up here tonight, I wasn't really thinking-"

"Jimin, you were dancing." Taehyung exclaims, disbelief lingering on his tongue. "You were dancing and it was like you'd never even stopped-"

"I did though,Tae." He grits out, tired. So tired. "I stopped, and it fucking destroyed me." When he rakes in a breath, it sounds almost weak in comparison to how easy it had been when he was dancing just moments ago. 

Actually dancing.

"Jimin..." His friend murmurs, something warm in his timbre. He turns to look at him, and Jimin can feel the sadness that laces his entire disposition, more so than ever. The guilt forming a heavy weight in the bottom of his gut only grumbles in response, and he refuses to meet his friends eyes, refuses to acknowledge the heavy burn of them on the side of his face.

"It happened once before too." He whispers, almost too frightened to raise his voice. "In the shop." 

Taehyung's breath hitches, as though he gets it immediately. (And he does, he always does.)  "You danced?" 

"It was late, and you'd already headed off home for the night." He hums, craning his neck to peer up at the ceiling. A muddled black is transforming into a slow, murky blue beyond the glass of the window, the beginning of a new day, and Jimin can't help but wish to shy away from it.

"I had the speakers on and they just started playing this song, Tae. That piece that I fell in love with when we were younger-"

"The one that you used to ignore me to listen to on the bus?" His friend questions, voice awed. Jimin's sure that his friends eyes are wide with astonishment despite not being able to see him, and the mental picture, along with his words, is enough to bring the simmer of a smile to Jimins face.

"Yeah, that one. I choreographed so many little pieces for it, you remember?"

Taehyung hums, unfolding his hands in his lap and letting out a long breath. "You said you could never get it right. That nothing fit."

Jimin nods, recollecting the sleepless nights and countless breakdowns over the piece. "It surprised me so much to hear it, you know. I froze in place, completely blank."

It felt a little like fate.

He doesn't tell Taehyung that though, knows far too much of his friends penchant for believing so whole heartedly in such things and doesn't want to encourage him too much for fear of his own hopes being raised that it was a sign.

(Perhaps he's too fearful to succumb to the small part of his brain that screeched that it was.)

"I didn't even really realise when I started to move." He murmurs, almost lost in his thoughts. "And by the time I did, I couldn't really stop. I was real shocked after though, went home and hid under my sheets like I'd just confronted some kind of monster."

Taehyung hums again, almost mournfully beside him. "Perhaps in a way, you did." The words carry a weight with them, jarring within the empty room.

Something in Jimin flickers in response, and he swallows. Maybe you're right.

There's a lull between them then, as Taehyung's words sink in and take place, rooted to his heart beneath his ribcage. Jimin lets them, finds that part of him actually wants to nurture such a thought. Maybe it's a sign that I'm closer to something better.

"Jimin?"

"Hm?"

Taehyung exhales, as though he's almost apprehensive about asking his next question. It's an unfamiliar sight for sure, Jimin realises. He notes though that the air around them isn't quite as stiff with tension as it had been before, perhaps now more open with the possibility of answers and tinged with a slightly sorrowful nostalgia.

"Why?" 

Jimin cocks his head at that, brows furrowing. "Why? What do you-"

"Why did you start again? What brought you here?" The other questions. "I know that you had no control over where your feet took you, but it atleast means there's something in your subconscious that's screaming at you to dance again. Why now?"

His friend speaks with a sobering gravity that Jimin isn't quite used to, the words filling the silence with a solemnity that has him pausing, mulled over answers lingering on his tongue. 

Why now?

"Is it the letter?" Taehyung asks, voice suddenly tight. "Is that it?"

And Jimin almost laughs at that, because honestly? At this point he's forgotten he even recieved a letter. Even when visualising the little menacing red envelope in his head, he can hardly bring himself to really feel anything other than slight contempt, and picturing Shin Daeyong's signature sneer surprisingly causes nothing but a faint squeeze to his heart and a knee jerk flush of distaste. It almost shocks him really, because that letter had been the beginning of it all after all. It'd been the catalyst, the trigger-

But that's just it. That's all it ever was, really.

The trigger.

But this, here now? If he really thinks about it,then no - it's not all down to the letter still tucked up in one of his drawers back home. 

"A little, I suppose." He finally answers, tasting the words on his tongue before he lets them out into the air around them. "But not as much as you might think. Sure, it's what began everything, what lead me to the nightmares and garbled thoughts - but that's it. It's not what caused the phantom pain in my leg, nor what had me crying at two in the morning. It's not what's behind the hollow feeling in my chest, or what lead me here tonight."

He takes a breath then, looks back down at his hands in his lap, where his fingers clutch at the fabric of his jumper just a little too tightly, knuckles burning a pale ivory. 

It's so much more than that little red envelope.

"That, I think....That's down to a wish I'd cast aside two years ago." A wish I no longer could bare to grant myself.

Taehyung makes a confused sound at the back of his throat, a frown marring the tone of his voice."A wish? For what?"

And perhaps it's too much, perhaps it's too deep and too real, but he's with Taehyung, Kim Taehyung - his best friend, and if anyone will sit with him at five am on a dirty practice room floor , half shrouded in darkness and filled to the brim with heartache? It's him.

If there's anyone on this earth that'll understand Jimin just fine, it's Kim Taehyung.

And so he only parts his lips with the slightest jump of his heart, words slipping out with quiet ease.

"To breathe again."

This time, when he feels Taehyung's eyes on him he tilts his head to meet the mans gaze. He's unsurprised to find the others jaw slack, Taehyung's eyes clouded with moisture and astonishment. Jimin can't help but smile, almost in disbelief at his own words, his own feelings. It's laughable really, how he ended up here.

"Jimin-ah." His friend breathes, looks the epitome of a broken heart. "I...shit."

Jimin huffs a laugh at the tactless choice of words, skull knocking back just slightly against the mirror. There's an odd feeling in his chest, something wrapping itself daintily around his heart with a surprising security. He lets it, decides that the warmth it brings is a comfort.

"Yeah, I know." He draws his legs up to his chest, hands still curled into fists at his sides. "It surprised me too." Did it really though?

"Do you regret it?" Taehyung asks, voice tight. He looks almost as though he doesn't want to hear the answer, a wariness set behind his irises that has Jimin softening.

"No." He presses the word out gently, surprisingly sure of himself. "I don't regret it one bit."

And it's true. What does he have to regret? Whilst he's kept fear and apprehension bottled up for years, he can't quite help but find that the moment he let that go, just for a brief span of time, he'd never felt more alive.

During those few, precious minutes, he regained something he lost.

Taehyung's smile is enough to tell him that it was the answer he hoped for. Jimin almost reaches out to ruffle at his hair, entirely fond of the man he's grown up with.

"There wasn't any music." His friend suddenly mumbles, and when Jimin shoots a look at him, confused, the other elaborates. "A minute ago, when I caught you dancing. It wasn't to music."

At that, Jimin flushes. 

It simmers beneath his skin, the embarrassment, charring his golden a vivid shade of red and causing him to press his lips together, heart threatening to pummel it's way through bone. He knows he has no reason to feel embarrassed at dancing along to one of Yoongi's self composed pieces, has come to terms long ago that the elder is simply his muse in everything, in every way, and yet there's just something...

Something so personal about letting Yoongi's creation take possession of his very body as well as his heart. 

And yet Taehyung is looking at him expectantly, eyes filled with an eagerness that Jimin feels in his own chest, and so-

"I danced to a piece." He murmurs, burying the lower half of his face into his knee's as though they'll cover the reddening of his cheeks. 

"But-"

"It was in my head." He states, warmth curling at his insides. "I replayed it in my head."

"Oh.." Taehyung mumbles, cocking his head to the side like a puppy. "I just-I've never seen you dance like that. I know it was off since it's been years, but even so, there was something more to it..."

Jimin furrows a brow at that, leaning back to study his friend properly. He's right after all - it's been so long since he danced that it's obvious he isn't quite as graceful as he once was, limbs now tinged with slight hesitation and apprehension. His body probably lacks the same level of fluidity it once had, a fluidity and grace that only came with training consistantly. And yet even with that knowledge, he can't help but feel like there was something more in the way that he-

"You felt it more." Taehyung finally states, nodding more so to himself than Jimin. "I could see it in the way that you carried yourself. You've always danced with feeling and emotion but this- this was you. Laid bare."

His voice turns soft then, and his gaze flickers back to Jimin, something gentle overtaking his features.  "It was like you relied purely on your heart to guide you."

Oh.

And something in Jimin burns, lighting up almost blindingly, because he knows why. His heart feels ready to all but burst through bone and skin, thrumming at such an unsteady pace that he finds he has to catch his breath. He almost shakes his head, incredulous because of course, of course it's-

"Whatever that piece was, inside of your head." Taehyung starts, a smile playing at his lips. "It must've meant alot to you."

And Jimin laughs.

He curls in on himself, almost losing balance and face planting the floor with the force of the laughter that wracks through his frame, because whilst he knows that being here right now, letting himself take such a huge leap and breathe for just a small moment, is all down to him and his own bravery, it's as though even unknowlingly, his beloved has opened his heart up all over again.

God, is he in love.

He all but collapses back against the hard surface of the mirror, the glass warmed from the press of his body, and shoots Taehyung an elated, dazed look through the locks of hair that've fallen infront of his eyes. His friend merely gawks back, eyes round with surprise at his display. He looks almost concerned, like Jimins lost it, stuck inside his old practice room with the homely scent of sweat and passion cloying at his nostrils, and the sight only broadens Jimin's smile.

"Tae." He breathes around the curl of his lips. "I'm so in love."

And it doesn't take his friend too long to get it after that, having been privvy to far too many of Jimins hour long gushes over his boyfriends ability to play piano during the past couple of weeks. He almost lights up even brighter than Jimin, a deep, awed laugh bursting forth from his lips as Jimin tries to right himself beside him. The other man huffs shakes his head almost incredulously, and studies Jimin with a long, hard look of amusement, fondness creeping around the edges.

"You danced to his piece, of course you did."

The red is there again, Jimin's sure, staining his cheeks. He's positive that it never actually left, and he can't help but shift so that he's leaning up against Taehyung's side, elation curling at the warmth around his heart and his pulse singing.

Min Yoongi, what have you done to me?

He rests his head against his friends shoulder, exhaling rather forcefully. "Ever since I heard him play for the first time - shit, Tae. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, what it'd feel like moving to a melody like the ones he composes."

Would it feel just like magic?

Taehyung reaches a hand out to clasp Jimins smaller in his own, warm and reassuring. "You should tell him."

And Jimin shrugs at that, feels his shoulders hitch with a bloom of shyness and embarrassment.  He can't deny that the idea of Yoongi knowing he'd done such a thing is exhilerating, but...

"I don't know...Isn't it too fast?" What if it added some kind of pressure? What if it made me want to dance more?

Do I want to?

He hurriedly dispels that thought, already knowing the answer despite the tell tale lump of apprehension balling up at the base of his throat.

Think about that another day. He tells himself, far too desperate to let himself just be happy today.

They sit in silence for a while longer, listening to the sounds of the city beyond the decrepit walls of the studio. Outside the sky continues to brighten, and he knows that they'll have to leave soon, despite the stirring in the base of his gut practically begging him not to.

"What happens now?" It's Taehyung who eventually asks the same question that Jimin's been too afraid to ask himself, his voice laced with faint fatigue and a glimmer of hope. Jimin tenses a little at the words, uncertainty thrumming through his veins at the realisation that he doesn't actually know.

Taehyung seems to sense this, and squeezes at Jimins hand with a silent reassurance. "You don't have to decide just yet Jiminie."He murmurs fondly. "Move slowly, yeah?"

And Jimin nods, because he doesn't think that there's anything else that he can do.

"I'm scared of what I want, Tae." He voices, suddenly sounding small within the large confines of the studio. His breath hitches, and he presses his lips together, limbs itching with the want to move in a way that has a familiar longing tickling at his skin.

Taehyung shifts at that, dark eyes burning into his with a rapt intensity. "Fear is good, Chim. Letting that fear stop you though..." 

Something within Jimin flutters at that, something that knows that Taehyung's right. He thinks he's heard similar words from Yoongi before, perhaps even from Seokjin, and the thought summons another flare of warmth.

I can fool myself into considering my options,  but I think that from the very moment I stepped into this room, part of me had already decided.

Perhaps that is the realisation that frightens me.

"It was wonderful, by the way." Taehyungs voice breaks Jimin from his musings, a tired smile curling at his lips. "The dance."

Jimin huffs around an embarrassed laugh, adrenaline having left long ago but a familiar feeling of satisfaction still numbing his bones. "I haven't practiced in years Tae-"

"Didn't I tell you once before?" His friend interrupts, so, so sure of himself. "You'll never forget. Not you, ever."

He shouldn't be so surprised that Taehyung remembers his own words from so long ago, and he can't help it when his own eyes sting, a faint laugh ripped from his lips at how the memories rush back up to greet him. 

Yeah, I remember.

When they finally do move, Jimin's all but ready to collapse into bed despite the new feeling of excitement that's settled somewhere amongst his bones. Fatigue clings to his form, and Taehyung doesn't look like he's doing much better. Jimin would curse him for sneaking out and following him, but he's too glad that his friend saw - that they got to have a conversation that Jimin's been keeping bottled up for weeks.

A big part of him sings in relief, and he can't help but relax just a little. (Just for tonight.)

It's just before they apparate home, slight speckles of sun peeking through the glass to warm their skin, that Taehyung speaks again.

"How did it feel, Jimin-ah?" He asks, voice laced with nostalgia. Outside,an orchestra of birds begin their morning song, and Jimin shivers under the slight chill that seeps in through the crack under the door.

He brightens though, heart giving a weak little kick as he considers his friends words.

"Like breathing, Tae. Just like breathing." 

*

It's not until a couple of nights later, that it really hits him.

He's spending the night at Yoongi's, and he's swaddled up in a mess of warm sheets and nestled against Yoongi's pillow, half heady off of the scent of the elder's shampoo embedded into the fabric and half off of the soft lull of piano music that swims throughout the apartment from beneath Yoongi's skilled fingertips.

He's cracked the door open for Jimin so he can watch, the elder seated smugly at the piano as he slips between closed lids and lingering glances in Jimin's direction, his fingers never once stalling with hesitation. Outside, the wind howls, the promise of rain on the horizon, and Jimin can't help but snuggle closer into the sheets, bare feet poking out of the bottom and a chill rippling up his spine whenever an airy draft catches his skin despite Yoongi having cranked up the heating the minute he'd gotten home.

A smile weaves at Jimins lips as he watches Yoongi play through hooded lids, warmth tickling at his insides and creating a keen flush along the delicate skin of his neck and cheeks. He thinks that he could quite possibly lay here all day - every day, just to watch his beloved like this, oh so in his element. 

As Yoongi catches his eye once more and cocks a brow, Jimin can't help but laugh a little breathlessly against the pillow, cheeks surely burning at how obvious he is in his adoration of the older man. He sits up a little, just to rest his chin on his palm, and bites down on his lower lip to hold back another chuckle as he looks up at Yoongi from under his thicket of lashes.

The other man only rolls his eyes, the corner of his lips lifting into a knowing smirk as his gaze travels along the curved lines of Jimins body, evident even through the swell of the sheets. His fingers keep moving, something slow and sultry permeating the air, and Jimin stifles a snort.

"Who's being obvious now?" He purrs rather sweetly, lashes fluttering when Yoongi's eyes drift to linger on the exposed skin of Jimin's clavicle. He'd thrown most of his clothes off when he'd reached Yoongi's earlier, eager to slip beneath the elders warm sheets in nothing but his underwear and an oversized, wide necked shirt of his boyfriends.

Yoongi's cheeks are smattered with speckles of pink when he returns his gaze to Jimins, though he continues to play with an air of something thick and cloying, something that does nothing to quell the warmth in Jimins lower gut.

Sighing, Jimin lets his own eyes slip closed, lashes tickling at his skin as he lets the music slip through his bloodstream and move with each drag of his breath. It suspends him, keeps him boneless and sated in a way that not much else can.

It's when his limbs start to itch with an unspoken desire that he opens his eyes once more, anticipation on his tongue and at the tips of his fingers.

Something on the inside all but claws to get out, knocks at the wall of his chest and begs for a moment - just a moment of grace. He wonders for one long moment if he's gotten worse at ignoring it, or if the desire has only grown stronger, for the swell behind his ribcage seems to have snuck up on him in its intensity, and he finds he no longer possesses the heart to contest its pleas.

It's with a hitch of a breath, that he slips out from under the sheets and starts to pad across the cold laminate, the evenings chill causing goosebumps to trail along the skin of his arms. He shakes it off, taking slow, careful steps toward his beloved, who merely cocks a questioning brow in his direction. Jimin smiles, the air pulsing with something soft and hazy, and for a moment, he feels as though this is it- just him and Yoongi and his piano, nothing but them and the soft beat of the beginnings of rain against the windowpane. 

It's with a pounding heart, that Jimin pauses infront of the piano, eyes lingering on the way Yoongi's fingertips trail along the keys to create something so utterly wonderful. As he watches Yoongi, he thinks that music has never sounded more honest.

I want to be brave.

Using his last swell of courage, he rakes in a steady breath and slowly, oh so slowly, he reaches a hand out. He ignores how it trembles just slightly, ignores the faint specks of fear tickling at his nerve endings, and instead focuses on the way that Yoongi's eyes widen just slightly, his lips parting in gentle surprise.

"Ji-"

"Keep it playing." He whispers, unsure if he's even heard over the spring of keys. Yoongi does hear him though, of course he does, and so it's with a weak sounding whisper of "Exolvuntur", that the elder slowly stands, bigger hand slipping into Jimins without hesitation and blanketing it so sweetly with his warmth. 

Jimin pulls him away from the piano, right into the centre of his little livingroom, and lets Yoongi's free hand come to wrap around his waist.  He brings his own to Yoongi's neck, an attempt to thumb along the bare skin there where the collar of his shirt hangs too lose. The skin to skin contact comforts him immediately, has his taut muscles relaxing and a hint of a smile tugging as his lips as Yoongi pulls him in closer, the heat of his palm pressing hot against the small of his back.

The music continues to play around them, the melody slipping into something slower, more kind and earnest.

"It's been a long time." Jimin murmurs, leading the elder in a gentle sway. Yoongi picks it up easily enough, eyes round with wonder as their bare feet glide about the chilled floorboards. They dip and rise, and Jimin has to hold in a laugh of joy at the eager way in which Yoongi tries to follow.

Yoongi's grip on him tightens just a little, and there's nothing but adoration behind his irises as he speaks.

"You were scared, love." It's not your fault. 

Jimin nods, something static shooting through his veins when Yoongi starts to take the lead. He lets himself go where his lover leads him, eagerness flowing from every step. To dance against another body, to feel their heart beating through the skin of their chest...

"Are you scared now?" Yoongi asks, a whisper of a question. There's no judgement, no frustration. 

Jimin can't quell his own, wry smile at that. "Terrified." Yoongi cocks a brow, and Jimin shakes his head, just slightly. "But that's ok."

And it is, he knows that now.

The elder studies him carefully, before he's taking a slight step back and releasing Jimin to guide him into a slow, lingering spin. It screams 'over the top romance film', Jimin thinks, but oh does it make him happy. His grin widens, utterly content with the way that Yoongi catches him when he comes back, fingertips catching under the fabric of his shirt and slowly travelling up until his hand can splay out along the bare skin of Jimins waist. His touch sears, and Jimin's airborne, he's sure.

"What changed your mind?" The question comes with an air of gentle delight.

With a gasp of laughter, Jimin peers up at his love from under his lashes. "You." He presses, the words thick with resolution. He releases Yoongi's hand so that he can wrap both arms around his lovers neck, pushing their chests together so that Yoongi can slip his left hand up the back of Jimins shirt to join his right.

"The music." Jimin continues, breathier as Yoongi's touch glides up his spine, to the skin between his shoulder blades. They continue to move, and Jimin finds he can't even hear the music anymore over the scream of his own heart. Yoongi's lips tip up, knowing, and they continue to sway.

"And?" The elder presses, gaze unwavering. 

Jimin swallows, ignores the warmth that blossoms along his cheeks. He parts his lips, letting the happiness surging through his veins guide his next answer.

What changed my mind?

Most importantly...

 "Me." At that, Yoongi's grin widens, a brilliant display of a smile that has Jimin feeling dizzy. It's as though that'd been the answer Yoongi was waiting for all along, and the thought only has Jimin giggling a little breathlessly, utterly gone for the man before him. He cares, so much.

"You play stories, hyung." He whispers with reverence, breath catching when Yoongi dips in to nuzzle at the skin of his jaw. 

Such wondrous, honest stories.

"Hm?" The elder replies, lips grazing the skin of Jimins earlobe. Jimin swallows, one of his hands travelling to Yoongi's hair so that he can thread his fingers through it and scratch his nails along his scalp. Yoongi groans, and tilts his head to press a lingering kiss to Jimin's cheek.

"Who's are you playing now?" Jimin tries not to feel embarrassed at the high lilt of his voice, especially when one of Yoongi's hands moves to his front so that it can splay out across his hipbone. 

The notes blend from chaos into harmony, a sweet, lovely press that sings of anticipation and quiet awe. It's the sound of adoration, of captivation and desire.

Yoongi huffs a breath of a laugh against Jimin's cheek, pulls back just to gaze into his eyes.

"Mine."

And that, has Jimin flushing all over again.

The elder releases him just to spin him once more, irises lit with liquid fire and skin pinkened. There's a happy little smile curling at his lips, a lightness to his movements that Jimin feels deep in his own bones. It guides them, coccoons them in contentment.  Something in Jimin thrums, and he all but jerks Yoongi back towards him with a laugh, the mans chest colliding with his own. He steadies himself with curse and a solid grip around Jimins waist, breathless and on fire against him.

"Yah, Jimi-"

"Hyung, I'm going to be brave." He whispers, blood roaring in his ears. I'm going to take a leap.

At that, Yoongi's eyes widen with realisation, his gummy smile working at his lips as he pulls Jimin in to press a searing kiss to his lips. 

"And I'll be right here." He murmurs, breathless with joy and anticipation. "Right beside you, Jimin." Always.

Jimin laughs through the moisture in his eyes and the roll of nerves in his stomach, yet feels impossibly lighter as Yoongi presses kiss after kiss to his skin.

And when the elder hikes his hands up Jimins waist to tug his shirt off, gaze far too heavy and touch too hot, Jimin can't help but surrender.

That night they lose themselves amongst crisp sheets and blistering skin.

 Jimin feels one step closer to breathing.

*

The screams of the crowd are impossible to mute as he makes his way down the familiar hallway, music pounding in his eardrums and sweat rolling down his temple, a side effect of the familiar routine of screaming and jumping around. A babbling Taehyung follows behind, voice drowned out by the ringing in Jimins ears as he gently shoulders past small groups of people and heads for the door at the end of the corridor.

He's aching a little from the time he'd spent within the walls of a familiar little dance studio earlier on today, yet he's on fire, the adrenaline coursing through his veins a symbol of homely satisfaction and the knowledge of finally recapturing something he thought he'd lost.

The act of keeping it a secret only fuels the hunger in his gut.

He can't wipe the stupid smile off of his face as a couple passerby's cast him knowing looks and encouraging quick pats on the back. One guy in particular laughs through a 'good luck' as he scoots past, and Jimin merely cocks a brow. He won't need it.

He reaches the door at the end of the corridor, not even bothering to knock as he pushes it open and peers inside.

He's greeted with an all too familiar sight, Seokjin shouting obscenities into the phone in the corner, a snickering Jungkook leaning up by the wall and concerned parents Namjoon and Hoseok bent over the sofa at the end of the room, eyes on the figure sitting in the centre, the biggest pout known to man (and wizard) stretching his pretty lips as he stares straight ahead, arms crossed and expression stormy.

Behind Jimin,Taehyung chokes on his spit, unconcealed laughter spilling past his lips. Jimin feels his smirk broaden, fingers already tingling with the promise of magic as he takes in the thick black whiskers on either side of Yoongi's (now pink) nose.

Cute.

Yoongi's expression darkens when he spot's his boyfriend, though Jimin catches the faint wisps of fondness that the elder reserves only for him.

He cocks a brow, lips curling up as he parts them.

"Somebody call for a healer?"

Yoongi all but hisses at the words, totally unimpressed with the pure smugness that radiates off of his lover. Jimin only smirks, rolling the sleeves of his jacket up and all but bounding over toward the ratty old sofa. Namjoon and Hoseok cast him furtive, almost sheepish glances, and Jimin merely rolls his eyes, nudging the two out of the way to regard his boyfriend.

"That signature growl of yours would be so much more intimidating if you didn't look so adorable, hyung." 

Yoongi mutters a curse beneath his lips, his cheeks burning ruddy and arms crossed over his chest - the epitome of severe distaste, and somewhere behind them, Jungkook releases a barely concealed snort into his hand, clearly enjoying himself.

"Yah, just hurry the fuck up." The elder snaps, shooting a sharp, withering glare over Jimins shoulder. He thinks he hears Jungkook mutter a curse and shift to stand somewhere behind Taehyung, and forces himself to press his lips together to hide the laugh that threatens to spill over. 

"Hyung, is that really any way to talk to your loving, caring boyfrie-"

"Park Jimin, I swear to-"

"Alright!" He huffs, blowing his hair out of his eyes so that he can squat infront of Yoongi and see him better. His fingers are already tingling, warm and bursting with the need to release the power within, and yet he can't help but take a moment to study his boyfriend, really taking him in.

He really is adorable.

He takes each of Yoongi's cheeks into his hands, cocking his head and scrutinising the whiskers under his gaze. Whoever had hexed Yoongi had done a good job of it, and if Jimin weren't so fiercly protective of his boyfriend he'd be congratulating them himself. (As it stands though, he still might - Yoongi's just too pretty like this.)

He thumbs over the elders cheeks and feels his smile deepen at the intense stare he recieves in return. He's sure that Yoongi knows he's loving this a little too much, but he doesn't do much to stop him as Jimin thumbs over his soft skin and internally squeals. 

When he does meet the elders eyes, they're laced with a familiar warmth, and so Jimin doesn't feel too awful when he reaches out and gently pings at one of the whiskers.

He snorts, eyes scrunching up, because oh my god-

A hand, strong and warm suddenly grasps at his wrist halting his movement, and it's owner shifts forward, unimpressed and surely embarrassed. Yoongi's lips are twisted into a frown, eyes narrowed and pink heat creeping down his neck, and it's just so funny-

"Park Jimin, you did not just twang my whisker." 

Somewhere behind him someone laughs, the sound followed by a few hacking coughs in a weak attempt at a cover up. There's a voice that sounds suspiciously like Namjoon's stuttering over if Jimin has a death wish, and Jimin can only snicker because even though he's a dead man, he's in love.

"I can't help it, hyung." He bats his lashes, attempting to sway the man infront of him. "I've never seen something so cute-"

"Guys." Seokjin interrupts, shoving his phone into his pocket. He shoots Jimin a withering look despite the mirth in his eyes, ignoring how red in the face Jungkook and Taehyung are beside him. "Lets just wrap this up before Yoongi kills you, or worse, me. I've got to be back at work in half an hour and I'm not keen on showing up with a hex of my own." 

Jimin snorts, giving up on bothering Yoongi anymore, and nods with a slight murmur of ok.  The heavy thump of rhythm beyond their little room vibrates beneath Jimins skin, reminding him that the night is far from over just yet. 

"Are you ready, hyung?" He beams, lashes fluttering.

"Just get on with it, I can fucking hear Hoseok taking pictures."

There's an indignant squawk from over Jimins left shoulder, and he makes a mental note to ask his friend for the photos later. 

Rolling his eyes, he shifts to get more comfortable between Yoongi's legs, his knees biting into the gnarled fabric of the sofa, and reaches up to take Yoongi's face into his hands again-

-only to have the elder suddenly scoot forward and wrap his arms around Jimins waist, all but heaving him up until he's settled over Yoongi's lap, legs either side of his thighs.

"Wha-"

"It's easier like this." Yoongi grouches, not bothering to meet Jimins questioning gaze as he stares down at his lap. "You'll be here for a while, and the floor's uncomfortable so..."

Jimin hides another squeal into the palm of his hand, and presses forward just for a second to plant a kiss on his boyfriends forehead, so incredibly fond for the man beneath him. He thinks he hears the sound of a camera shutter click again somewhere to his left, and ignores it in favour of grinning at his lover like a fool. 

"Thankyou, Yoongi."

The elder only shrugs, though his quiet delight is evident in the way that he settles his hands at Jimins hips and squeezes, feeding his warmth into the younger.

"Lets get you all fixed up then." Jimin sighs, his own cheeks pinkened and hot, suddenly eager to have his boyfriend all to himself. A familiar warmth creeps up his fingers and he lets himself commit the sight of his beloved with whiskers to memory one last time before his lids slip closed and the magic connects them.

And if the whole time, he can feel Yoongi's gaze tracing trails over his face, he only smiles wider.

It's not until much later, when they're all gathered in the living room of Seokjin's tiny, worn apartment on the edge of town, that Jimin decides to spill.

They're a mismatch of limbs, Seokjin, Namjoon and Hoseok wedged onto the small yellow sofa, and Jungkook and Taehyung a tangle of legs and arms on the old armchair Seokjin's grandmother had gifted him a few years ago. Jimin's cuddled up between Yoongi's legs, the two of them nestled up on the fluffy rug on the floor. Yoongi's got his arms wrapped around his waist and his chin hooked over his shoulder, and every now and then Jimin will reach up behind himself and thread a hand through Yoongi's hair, scratching softly at his scalp.

The elder says nothing, though presses closer, and Jimin thinks that if he were a cat, he'd be eliciting little purrs of content.

His limbs are really feeling the brunt of practice today, the ache whilst satisfying, also heavy, and so he can't help but appear a little too obvious as he stretches around Yoongi's hold, a low groan slipping from between parted lips as he stretches out his legs in front of him, the ache hot and weighted.

Jungkook shoots him a look from the armchair, brows dipped together. "You ok, hyung? You've been doing that all night."

Jimin cocks a brow, stilling in Yoongi's grasp. "Have I? Sorry, just a little tired."

"Have you started working out again?" Seokjin asks, voice dipping into something serious. "You know how I feel about that. You always go too hard-"

"He's a grown adult, hyung." Hoseok huffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You can't baby him-"

"I can do what I bloody want." Seokjin all but whines. He shuffles impatiently on the sofa, jostling both Namjoon and Hoseok in turn, and narrows his eyes at Jimin. "Yah, do you need me to work a muscle charm for your legs? What on earth have you been doing all day to warrant that? You're ridiculous Park Jimin, utterly ridiculous."

And Jimin can't help but huff a laugh, because he should have known his friends would be worried. He shoots Taehyung a look from across the room, feels his own smile marr his lips at that one Taehyung mirrors right back at him, knowing in it's entirety.

And well, Jimin's always been awful at keeping secrets, he knows.

"Actually hyung, I wasn't working out." He murmurs, grin widening at the way Yoongi's grip on him tightens. Both he and Taehyung are the only ones he's had the bravery to tell whilst everythings still so new, and yet-

And yet.

As he watches Seokjins brow twitch in confusion, and catches Taehyung practically vibrating in his seat out of the corner of his eye, he can't help but think it wise to be brave just once more.

I want them to see. I want to be brave.

"You weren't?" Seokjin asks, utterly lost."Then what? You and Yoongi couldn't have gone that hard, sur-"

"Ok, no." Yoongi interrupts, voice thick with what Jimin thinks might be mortification. "Lets please not fucking go there." He mutters a curse, and Jimin only rolls his eyes. Amazing.

"Well I'm lost then." The elder huffs, eyes raking over Jimins frame with curiosity."Did you hurt yourself? What if you-"

"Hyung, I was dancing."

The silence that follows would be funny, if Seokjin's irises didn't immediately mist over.

"You- what?" The eldest questions weakly. He cocks his head, as though he can't quite understand what Jimin's getting at, and Jimin's grin only widens. 

"I danced. Today." He specifies, some of the weight on his shoulders all but dissapating. It's a heady feeling, he realises, as he watches Hoseok exchange a wide eyed look with Namjoon and Jungkook shift forward, as though he needs to get closer to hear properly. Taehyung merely grins from ear to ear, unable to hold himself still, and Yoongi huffs a snort of a laugh , hot breath fanning over Jimins neck.

"Jimin, you- you danced?"Seokjin tries again, clearly dishevelled. "You actually danced?" His eyes all but bug out of his head, completely flustered as he shoves Hoseok's legs off of his lap and stands.

"He did, hyung." Taehyung interrupts, pride colouring his voice. He jabs a thumb in Jimins direction, features lit with amusement. "I watched him and everything."

More silence follows, and Jimin has to press a fist to his mouth not to laugh. 

Something fierce wells up in his chest, and he can't help but beam, feeling warm and light and so, so good-

"When?" 

He cocks a brow at that, heart tripping over a beat at the way Seokjin watches him, all wide eyed and full of a frantic disbelief. 

"I... there was this one night." Jimin presses, leaning into Yoongi's touch in an attempt to ground himself. "I couldn't sleep and-well it just called to me. I had to move,hyung. So I found myself at the studio and I just moved. I moved like I haven't in years and I realised that I could breathe again and I just-"

"Park Jimin." The elder chokes out, sounding all about ready to cross the room and manhandle Jimin into some kind of submission. "You danced."

"Yeah." Jimin murmurs, the tell tale sting behind his eyes suddenly too much. "I did." 

In the split second it takes for Jimin to scrub at his eyes, Seokjin's crossing the room and squatting infront of him. The rest of the room has fallen silent, the air about them charged with something he can't quite touch, and when he looks up into Seokjin's eyes, he's suddenly two years younger again, frightened and in pain and broken.

Except he's not now.

Not anymore.

He grits his teeth past the memories, pushes through the waves that'd consumed him years ago, and finds himself on the shore, hands outstretched toward the sky as though greeting an old friend.

Because now, he's braver than he's ever been.

"And I will." He states, stronger now. "I'll dance, again and again and ag-"

He's all but smothered by the hands that reach out and tug him from Yoongi's grasp, a startled yelp spilling from between his lips as his forehead makes contact with something solid and warm. Face muffled by Seokjin's jumper, he can't help but grin, elation tickling at his insides as the elder holds him close and all but squeals.

"I can't believe this, fuck, I don't even know what to say! Park Jimin, you brave, wonderful huma-"

"Yah hyung." He whines as best as he can with his face smushed against cotton, attempting to disentangle himself. "Seriously-"

"I'm just so happy for you, Jimin-ah." His friend huffs, letting go of him with a flourish. His hands don't stray far though, instead reaching out to cup at Jimins cheeks. Dark, chestnut irises bore into his own, full of wonder and something Jimin thinks might be relief, and thick lips curve into a smile.

"I knew it was going to happen, I just knew it." Seokjin grins, blinking past the sure sting in his eyes. "Dancing is your home, Jimin. You were always going to come back to it."

The words choke Jimin up a little, and he laughs past the threat of tears, sure he's burning red. "Perhaps. I think somewhere, deep down, I knew that too." 

The elders expression softens at that, and he nods."I'm sure of it."

It takes Yoongi's less than gentle prompts and Namjoon's fond natterings to finally wretch Seokjin off of him, and Jimin can't help but laugh at the way his boyfriend pulls him back into his chest, nose nuzzling into the curve of his neck in a display of mine. He flutters under Yoongi's attention, warm both inside and out after everything. 

He settles back into Yoongi almost sheepishly, schooling his expression into something a little more serious once he's taken note of the expectant looks marring his friends features. 

"I've started practicing again, since I've missed alot." He explains for himself, lips pulled into an almost apprehensive frown. "I know that it's not much, and I need to pace myself - but it's something."

It's everything.

"I think it's perfect, Jimin-ah." Namjoon nods, arm wrapped tightly around Seokjin's shoulders. "One step at a time, right?"

"Exactly." Jungkook huffs. "You can't expect the best results straight away."

And Jimin nods, because he knows. He knows that it's been oh so long since he were at his best, knows that he has alot of building up to do - but as he thinks back to that night in the practice room, limbs buzzing with energy and adrenaline shooting through his veins, he's sure it's worth it.

"You'll do it, Chim." Taehyung pipes up then, eyes clouded with something he thinks might be hope."You've never been frightened of hard work before, physical and mental."

"And if I can't?" He only half jokes, all but deflating under Taehyung's immediate, harsh glare. 

"Yah, that's not possible." He tuts, crossing his arms and jostling Jungkook in his wake. "Don't forget how well I know you, Park Jimin."

Jimin huffs a laugh, chest fluttering. That's right. He knows me almost too well.

"I wish I could've seen you." Jungkook sighs, peering around Taehyung so that he can see Jimin properly. He props a cheek up on his palm, clearly displeased. "If only I'd been old enough to get into the underground."

Taehyung snorts, shaking his head."Yah, we weren't even old enough. We just used to sneak in every week and hope noone would rat us out."

"You're honestly terrible." Seokjin scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

"You act as though we were criminals, hyung." Jimin grumbles half heartedly, a ghost of a smirk dancing at his lips. "You didnt miss much, Kook. I just fooled around for most of it-"

"Now thats a lie." Taehyung gripes, sitting up higher. "Park Jimin, you were the best fucking dancer there! Every week there were new faces in the crowd, whole groups of people showing up just for you-"

Jimin flushes under his friends praise, skin tickled with specks of embarrassment. Kim Taehyung.

"You know, he's not lying." A voice points out, and it takes Jimin a moment to realise that it's Hoseok, expression almost sheepish as he studies Jimin. He cocks his head, staring up at the elder from his position on the floor in surprised confusion. 

"How would you know?" He asks, brows furrowing. He's never-

"I may or may not have seen you one time?" Hoseok phrases the sentence almost like a question, embarrassment marring his features. He shifts in his seat a little, scratching at the nape of his neck. "Or more than once, I suppose."

And Jimin balks, because what?

Jung Hoseok, member of one of the most popular rap trios underground, watched me perform?

Seokjin lets out an inhumane little squeaking sound, and Taehyung almost launches himself off of the armchair, eyes growing wide. "What? You watched Jiminie perform? But-"

"Ah, it was years ago - really." The man whines, all but hunching over his knees. "Our trio had just started out, and we were still getting a feeling of things underground." 

"But- you watched me?" Jimin would crane his neck back to shoot a look at Yoongi if he weren't so surprised. Instead, he finds himself leaning forward where he sits, eyes probably as wide as Taehyungs as he peers up at his friend.

"I took to visiting the underground on days we weren't rapping." Hoseok shrugs, folding his arms together. "I wanted to see what else it had to offer, and I like dance, alright? I just wasn't expecting to find myself stuck in the biggest crowd the underground had to offer at the time. Seriously, I've never seen anything like it. The whole floor was packed out - just for one guy."

A familiar heady feeling prickles at the insides of Jimins skull, and he reigns in the slight flashes of satisfaction, a reminder of how good things had felt back then. 

"So I decided to stay and check the mystery guy out, and shit, Jimin. I was hooked after that." Hoseok grins, sitting up. "I came all the time after, even tried to wrangle Yoongi hyung into coming with me. Now imagine that.."

Jimin does turn at that, levelling his boyfriend with a wide eyed, wondrous look. Yoongi only seems to pout in reply, as though annoyed at himself for not having listened to Hoseok back then.

"They probably still would've started off on the wrong foot." Taehyung snorts, hanging half off of the armchair.

Jimin grumbles at that, but finds himself silently agreeing. Something tells him that his and Yoongi's story was written this way for a reason.

"So you really saw me, huh?" He asks Hoseok, surprised at how quiet he sounds. He clears his throat, a lump tickling at the base of it, and wonders not for the first time how things would've been if he hadn't stopped.

Hoseok nods, shooting him a small, warm smile. "You were something, Jiminie. Really. You are something. I'd been watching you for about a month before you disappeared, came back to a stranger who couldn't dance for shit and a confused crowd. It sucked, really. There were mutterings and whispers behind closed doors and between small groups, rumours over what'd happened to you, but from what I gathered noone ever really spoke the truth."

Jimin hums, drawing into himself a little. "I didn't really explain myself, when I left. Things were a bit- well, a bit much."

What would've happened if I'd came back?

"I didn't recognise you at first, when I saw you again." Hoseok huffs a bit of a breathless laugh, clearly embarrassed at his admission. "It was whilst you were healing Yoongi that I got it. I almost screamed your name right there, honestly."

'I'm surprised you managed to hold yourself back." Namjoon shoots his friend a short look, brows tipped up and amusement crawling at the corners of his lips. The others laugh, and Hoseok sinks back into the sofa with a scandalised pout.

"Yah, I did well! I didn't want to push anything, y'know? I gathered that whatever had happened, had to have been serious. You don't just stop dancing when you can move like that."

"You're right on that." Jimin hums, shooting the man a fond look. He flushes at the compliments, grateful and overwhelmed. Happiness threads at the hollows left behind within him and he shoots the group a smile, eyes scrunching and cheeks almost aching.

"And what about Shin Daeyong?" Seokjin asks carefully, voice tinged with something bitter. "You...how do you feel?" Beside him Namjoon tenses up, gaze knowing.

Jimin sobers a little at that, smile threading into something shaky. The others know about everything by now, have seen the letter and heard the story of his past. They know of the name that evokes havoc in his mind and the current possibilities that steal his breath.

And yet, as he regards Seokjin's question, he finds that he doesn't really feel all that much as he thought he would.

"I...It's always going to bother me, the fact that they're releasing him." He murmurs, the atmosphere dipping with something severe. "If it were up to me he'd be forbidden from using magic ever again." He'd never be allowed to hurt someone again.

"But?" Taehyung asks, eyes shining with hope. Beside him Jungkook swallows, eyes round with anticipation.

"But." Jimin nods, pressing closer into the warmth of Yoongi's back, as though for support. "This isn't about him, not anymore. This is about me, and my story, and I think it'd be a waste of words to worry over someone so worthless."

"The evolution of Park Jimin." Yoongi drawls, breath fanning across Jimins ear. "A story worth telling, don't you think?" The pride in his voice is unmistakable, and it only fuels the determination in Jimins gut. The others murmur in agreement, contentment marring their features.

Yes, he's starting a long, painful journey.

And yet.

"I have a long way to go." He states, gazing around the room. "But I'm ready to breathe again."

Behind him, Yoongi tilts just to press a lingering kiss to his neck. Taehyung beams, and Seokjin and Hoseok scrub a little helplessly at their tear tracked cheeks.

The time is now.

*

The ground tips beneath his feet, sweat dampened wood sleek and smooth against bare skin. He grins, lightening rippling through his veins and deafening in his ears.
Fluid, limbs an extension of the wings that keep him afloat and burn with the push and pull of the waves that guide him - he's home.

He twists, lets searing heat simmer along his form as he glides across the floor, lids clamped shut and the world turning for him - around him, with a ferocity that's been left dormant for far too long. 

Oh how he moves, the story of a young, tortured man and his heart guiding each new step and leading him toward something bigger, something better.

He's weightless.

One, two, three, four-

He pushes himself, harder and faster and-

And oh, how it hurts. Nails rake heavy along sweat slicked skin, and his heart beats out of time as something ugly and familiar rears it's head. He's not good enough, he can't be, won't be-

"Take it slow." Yoongi tells him, hands massaging knots from his tired muscles and lips pressing soothing kisses to every bit of tarnished skin he can map out beneath him.

"It'll find you just as you've found it once more."

And he cries, because he's so far and yet-

and yet.



Five, six, seven, eight-

He spins, the air nothing but an ignored existence as he transcends space and time. His hair sticks damp to his forehead, and he laughs, because gravity can't even fathom a competition with him. Someone laughs along with him, a deep baritone echoing off of the walls that reminds him of years past.

Arms extended to the heavens, he lets himself fly.



One, two, three, four-

He falls, hitting the ground with a grunt that knocks the breath from his lungs. The world shifts again, and he trembles in reply.

He looks up with wilting strength, cocks his head in contemplation at the sight of the young man reflected back at him. If he peers hard enough, desperately enough, he thinks he might just see the wings stitched into the skin of his back.

He falls,

and he picks himself back up.

Five, six, seven, eight-

Liquid fire purges the fear and the anger, and makes way for something more like resolution.

Sweet reverie leads him to where he wants to be, who he wants to be.

There are voices, tangled voices laced with excitement and wonder and hope, and he lets those propel him forward, the air in his lungs painfully sweet as he arches his back and leaps-

"Chim! You got it!"

The only sound louder than his breathing is that of the gentle press of piano keys, the story of a young man's dream burning white behind Jimins closed lids.

It's the only call other than that of his own heart that he'll let guide him through the darkness, the only call that he aches to answer. 

Eyes burn into his being, and he flutters under the attention, chest searing with warmth under the ghost of his lovers touch. He pushes himself up, lets air pass through his fingertips and his lungs swell with song as a sweet, tangible melody bleeds throughout the room.

"Perfect." A voice murmurs, blanketed with awe.

And he doesn't stop dancing, writing out the rest of his story with his limbs and the temper of his heart.

One, two, three, four, 

five, six, seven, eight.

*

It's been months.

Months since he last stood in the centre of his little kitchen, the kettle whistling and rain smattering an uneven tempo against the window pane, a crisp slip of red between his palms and a bead of sweat trapped in the curve of his neck.

It's been forever, since he knelt to the chaos of his own thoughts and let tears burn tracks along his cheeks and fear seize his heart with iron bars, his past finally grasping at him with wretched claws and threatening to drag him back under.

And yet it's been months since he surrendered himself to the begging - the desires to let himself be swept under with the hopes of dragging himself up onto shore, where the light shone brighter than it ever had before and a familiar fire rekindled itself deep beneath layers of skin and bone.

Months, since he finally raked in a deep lungful of air and felt it.

And so it's almost laughable, how he finds himself once again standing in the half dark of his kitchen, the mornings storm enveloping the apartment in a grey scale blanket. It's not raining this time, only the threat lying at wait, grey speckles against white beyond the window pane in a sight hauntingly familiar.

The kettle's not whistling this time either though, and his hands are surprisingly steady where they grasp the thick sheet of red, a familiar image and slogan printed across its surface. It glares up at him just as menacingly as before, and yet he finds himself fighting the urge to scoff.

His limbs are heavy, though not with fear or apprehension - more so the weight of endless hours of satisfying practice, and it's with only a seconds hesitation that he pulls on the knob of wax holding the paper together, ready to hear what it has to say.

A flurry of light and movement ripples in the air between him and the envelope, and suddenly it's floating before him, contents spilt out and a high, authoritive drawl filling the space of the apartment.

"Mr Park Jimin, seventeenth generation wizard of the Park lineage and ministry recognised first grade healer,

The common courts of the Wizarding world are writing to inform you of the impending release of a Mr Shin Daeyong. 

After intensive consideration, the courts have awarded the release on grounds of exemplary rehabilitation and positive psychological testing results, and are confident in the notion of the perpetrator commiting no further offenses in the future.

Mr Shin's release date pends at six months from now, and you shall be notified upon official release in the near future. 

The court thanks you for your compliance.

Regards,

Madame Yu Shyan,

The ministry of the Underground. "

The silence feels somewhat deafening, perhaps more so than the whistle of the kettle had been all of those months ago. There's a funny feeling, low in Jimins gut, and yet-

He can't really find himself to feel anything close to fear, or sadness.

There's a faint swell of disappointment, he thinks, niggling away at the recesses of his skull, but-

"Jimin?"

He jolts, cocking his head to regard the figure standing in the doorway. He's half asleep, eyes almost shut and cheeks reddened from the flush that you only get whilst warm and cosy wrapped up between sheets. There's a stiffness to his gait though, shoulders pulled up and a slight frown tugging at pouted lips, and Jimins heart jumps for a whole new reason.

"Hyung, go back to sleep." He murmurs, the dawn far too early for his love.

Yoongi only shakes his head, padding across the hallway, closer to where he stands. "I heard somethin-" He cuts himself off when his eyes flit to the floor, where the discarded letter now lays, having spent it's few seconds of life. Jimin almost snorts at the way his expression immediately hardens, eyes snapping up to meet his.

"Jimin-"

"It's alright, hyung." He breathes, soft and delicate against the distaste that rolls off of Yoongi in sharp waves. "Reall-"

Bare feet pad across the tile in succession, and Yoongi stoops to pick up the scrap of paper. He's quick enough to scan the characters printed in red, knuckles burning white with how hard he grips it between his fingers. He seems to sharpen all at once, expression darkening as his gaze flits from the letter to Jimin.

"Jimin, what the fuck?" He breathes,voice razor sharp. "They're really fucking releasing him? You can't be serious."

"I don't-"

"Exemplary rehabilitation? What the fuck?"

"Yoongi, reall-"

"I bet the fucker had a pay out, the whole systems fucked!"

Jimin huffs, something fond tugging at the strings that tether him to the man before him. He barely listens as Yoongi continues to rant, voice growing gruffer and sharper between hate fueled sentences.  Instead, he sinks down the floor, perching with his back pressed up against the counter and legs stretched before him. He waits for his lover to simmer down a little, a slight smile playing at his lips.

It takes a few minutes of spitting and cursing, before Yoongi glances back at him, none of the remnants of sleep that'd been tugging at his features earlier in sight. 

"Jimin-ah..." He sighs, eyes growing round with concern. "Are you alright?"

And Jimin almost huffs all over again, the fluttering in his stomach shooting up and down a little uncomfortably. He cocks his head up at his lover, a little lost.

"I think so." He murmurs, voice thick with something he can't place.

"But- he's getting out Jimin, they're letting him out." The elder states, clearly upset. "He's going to be walking around like he never did anything wrong, and it's fucking awfu-"

He chokes on a whisper of a yelp as Jimin closes a palm around his wrist and tugs, going a little too easily as he's dragged down so that he can sit beside the younger on the floor. He grumbles a little, but settles in nonetheless, hand slipping into Jimins lap to thread their fingers together and back pressed against the wooden counter behind them. 

"Jimin." He breathes, chest rising and falling with the weight of the letter now left at his feet. He cranes his neck until the back of his head hits against the counter, eyes somewhere on the ceiling and voice lilted with a softness completely opposite to the venom it'd manned seconds ago.

"I'm sorry." 

Jimin hums, tightening his grasp on Yoongi's hand. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my love." 

"You don't get it-ah." Yoongi grunts, face contorting into something displeased. A sneer pulls at his lips, tight and unforgiving. "I couldn't protect you then, and it gnaws at me. And now that scum is going to be free, and I just don't know how to not seek him out and make him pay for what he's done."

At that, Jimin pauses. Something clicks within him, and he tilts his head to study his boyfriend, before promptly bursting into breathless laughter.

His body all but curls forward with the force of it, cheeks flushing with warmth and giggles spilling past his lips. He's vaguely aware of Yoongi studying him with wide, confused eyes, and it only makes him laugh harder, so, incredibly fond.

I'm oh, so lucky.

He shakes his head, falling back against the counter with a slight thwmp!  Before he's cupping at Yoongi's right cheek, a lighthearted effort at capturing the mans attention.(It isn't needed, Yoongi's always only looking at him.)

"You're adorable." He breathes, eyes crinkling at the edges as he studies his beloved. Yoongi only seems to stutter under such a look, cheeks immediately pinkening and his grip on Jimins hand tightening even more if possible. 

He gives a halfhearted attempt at shaking out of the youngers grasp, though Jimin see's right through him, grin widening at his wasted efforts.

"Hyung, I really am ok, you know. Like I said, it's not about him, anymore. None of it is." He is nothing but a memory.

Yoongi falters at that, tilting his head to face him properly. Warm breath fans across Jimins face, and the fire in his ribcage only intensifies. 

"Whatever happens next, you're not alone." Yoongi finally breathes, reverence igniting behind dark irises. 

And Jimin flushes, because he knows. He shifts to get more comfortable on the kitchen floor, lets his lids slip closed as he parks his cheek on his lovers shoulder. Yoongi presses closer, familiar, safe warmth bleeding through the fabrics seperating their skin, and lets Jimin just take a moment. If he pitches a series of kisses to the youngers forehead, hands entwined between them, then neither say anything to break the moment.

It doesn't take long for a second door to crack open, dim light spilling into the darkened hallway. Jimin smiles at the sound of light feet on cold tile, and doesn't even bother to open his eyes when a second figure drops itself to the floor on the other side of him. Taehyung's familiar scent dwarfs him, makes him think of home, and he finds himself relaxing even further as his bestfriends body cuddles up to his, a knowing notion to his touch when he reaches out to take Jimins other free hand. 

They sit like that for a while, the three of them. Jimin remains sandwiched inbetween, and the smile on his face doesn't waver for even a moment.

The letter only lay discarded on the tile, remnants of his past already banished from his thoughts.

This time, the sky does not weep for him.

It does not need to.

*

TEN MONTHS LATER

The warm weight of light beams burn harshly against the bare skin of Jimins arms, and his muscles coil, ready to spring as waiting power surges through his veins.

Somewhere to his left, the sound of a piano starts up, the press of keys igniting awed whispers about the underground that die down as the sweet match of a melody strikes itself. Jimin's heart lurches a little in his chest, the erratic pound of it almost frightening, and he presses his lips together to hold back a smile, giddy in all of his glory.

Wait, just a moment more.

The tension in the air picks up, ready to light itself, and somewhere, somewhere close Jimin hears the unmistakable cheers of his name passing through familiar lips. He wants to open his eyes, feels the need to catch those of his friends where they hoot and holler, though decides that for now, he has a rather pressing matter to attend to beforehand.

Breathe.

He almost shudders under the feeling of his beloved's gaze on him, lets the intensity of it raise the hairs on his arms and stoke the flames in his chest as he pictures the proud smile surely marring Yoongi's features, long fingers hovering over keys and spelling out a story, the story.

The melody surges in intensity, and Jimin dips with it. Whispers spur into gasps followed by cheers, and he relishes in the first notes of fire that dance at his fingertips. Like this, with his arms extended towards heaven and sparks curling around his torso, his story unfolds before the crowd around him, and with lids slipped closed, he lets it. He guides it with a flourish of his limbs and the curve of his spine.

The smile that curls at his lips is eternal, for he has never felt such grace. 

One, two, three, four,

Five, six, seven, eight.

He moves, and he breathes.