Chapter Text
Wednesday morning at the office feels like the calm before the storm.
To clarify: Park Jimin isn't even exactly sure what the metaphorical storm is, but something has been triggering every flight-or-fight response in his body. He can almost hear the birds fleeing before the typhoon.
A few sleepy stragglers are trudging their way into the office. The completed budget for the Cursed Meeting tomorrow is stapled and pinned to Jimin's corkboard, safe from the haphazard paperwork pile covering his desk. Jungkook's still slapping himself awake in the cubicle across.
Nothing to worry about.
It's just another morning in the office.
Tap. Tap tap. “Jungkook-ssi.” Jimin calls slowly, voice silky smooth even as he taps his poor pen on his desk over and over again. “What day is it?”
A creak escapes from the too-old swivel chair. From behind the divider peeks Jungkook — complete with uneven rolled sleeves, a crumpled collar, and a post-it peeling from his cheek. He squints at Jimin before plucking a suspicious red lollipop from his mouth to answer. “...Why? If this is about cleaning the kitchens, I swear, it wasn’t my turn yesterday, just ask Yugyeom-ssi.”
Jimin narrows his eyes, jabbing the pen at him. “Are you eating candy from yesterday’s batch —”
“GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS???”
‘Ah’ , the waves finally crash against the shore. ‘ There it is.’
Jungkook chomps down on the lollipop with an audible crack . Jimin doesn’t bother further interrogating him about the candy; he has bigger problems to worry about now. Judging by the otherworldly chill that immediately races down his spine, either a ghost’s just wandered through the halls, or —
“Hey hey, it’s a special day, friends!”
Or, Kim Seokjin, Head of Floristry and devil incarnate, just wandered into their wing.
Rrriiippp. That… isn’t good, Jimin ponders to himself, holding up half of the ingredients list for the rest of the week. Jungkook may have needed that.
“Sorry, you might’ve needed this,” Jimin says mildly.
Jungkook’s eyes shift back-and-forth between the tightly crumpled ball in Jimin’s fist and the figure approaching their cubicle. “Uh-huh… respectfully, I think that’s kind of useless, gwajangnim.”
“You do know that adding ‘respectfully’ to whatever you’re saying doesn’t actually make it respectful.”
Flashing a cheeky grin, Jungkook spins back in his chair. Whatever he means to say is drowned out by a certain wheezing, grating, annoying laugh. A certain laugh that somehow manages to break every law of of physics and echo louder and louder than scientists ever thought possible until finally —
“Good morning, humans and homo sapiens!! C’mon, what day is it? You’ve got three guesses and the first two don’t count!”
Jimin feels something within him snap.
Brushing off the clumps of burnt sugar that have gathered in his fists, Jimin shoots up from his chair. Enough . He’s Park Jimin, he’s the head of the Confectionery department (the youngest department chief, by the way, not that he’s kept track or anything) and today’s the day he’s finally, finally, going to give that glorified garden gnome a piece of his mind—
“Why do you bother even asking us? You always yell the punchline before we get the chance to guess,” Jimin halts in his steps when he hears Jungkook — Jungkook, who happens to be bowing in greeting to the other department manager. And Seokjin, who happens to be leaning against the wall, ruffling Jungkook’s hair. Turned away from Jimin. Clearly here to talk to Jungkook.
Jimin swallows.
(Not that Jimin keeps track of, or cares, who Seokjin talks to.)
“Just as much of a brat as yesterday, I see,” Seokjin clutches a hand to his chest with a melodramatic sigh. “I can’t believe I raised you straight from the womb for this disrespect.”
“Uhm, we literally didn’t know each other until two years ago—”
“It’s Hump Day!” Seokjin, twirling on his toes and striking a ‘ta-da’ pose. It’s only then that Jimin realizes, with dawning horror, there’s a camel-printed pocket square tucked neatly into Seokjin’s otherwise classic navy suit.
Maybe this is just one bizarre dream, Jimin thinks to himself. Maybe, today’s the day Jimin finally drowns in his coffee and wakes up from... whatever the fuck this is supposed to be. Hump Day.
“It’s the same thing,” the words slip out before Jimin can help himself. “Homo sapiens and humans are the same fucking thing.”
It couldn’t have been more than a whisper, but Seokjin hears anyway. Jimin does his best impression of a deer facing headlights when Seokjin spins way too fast to face him. Why does he have to do that. (It’s because he’s a fucking demon.) Jimin dips his head in greeting on sheer instinct, even as he splutters.
“Well, well, well,” Seokjin drawls after a pause. “Look who finally rose to the occasion?”
Jimin bites his tongue before plastering a smile on his face identical to the one on his staff ID. “Are you lost, by chance, Kim-gwajangnim? The greenhouse is in the East Wing, in case you forgot. I’m happy to print out a map.” The taste of blood lingers in his mouth.
“Wow, so helpful!” Seokjin says in astonishment even his lips stretch in a very infuriating grin. “Always so considerate. See, that’s why everyone calls you a great team member, Jimin-ssi.” When Seokjin claps a few times in mock applause, Jimin wonders whether it’s really against the rules to punch a coworker.
“Please call me gwajangnim—”
“But no, I just wanted to make sure Jungkook-ssi here was all set up with the special instructions for next week’s orders. We have some elixirs and herbs that are a little sensitive, you know, the ones that require a delicate touch —”
“Kim-gwajangnim,” Jimin is not going to lose his cool. Really. He’s a professional, he reminds himself, and he’s worked too hard to get fired over something like assault on a Wednesday morning (despite what the devil on his left shoulder is whispering). “We have a weekly meeting to literally go over this. There really isn’t a reason for us to meet in person, well, ever — we do have phones!”
Seokjin rubs his chin in apparently thought before finally letting out a deep sigh. “Well… you caught me. The truth is, it’s been a while, and I was worried you missed me—”
“Our weekly meeting is literally tomorrow .”
A patronizing pat on Jimin’s shoulder stops him, and Jimin fantasizes about slapping a handful of hot melted taffy onto those pesky fingers. Gritting his teeth, he reminds himself that yes, he has dealt with worse in his career as he hears another burst of hiccuping laughter.
“Yah, relax a little! I was just pollen your leg. I have a meeting with Namjoon-nim so I just swung by to say hello to my two favorite bakers,” The atrocious hand finally removes itself, only to pull a sunflower out of thin air next to Jimin’s ear. “Here, a parting gift to cheer you up. You look like you need it!”
Jimin feels the sunflower’s stem crack under his grip as Seokjin’s farewell cackle rings through the air. He shoots a poisonous glare at Jungkook, who lets out a few snickers despite not looking away from his computer, and yanks his chair back.
“ What did I say about Rule #1? No fraternizing with the enemy! Also, quit stealing candy from other teams’ batches, you don't even know what's in them.”
——————————————
It’s not that Jimin has issues with Seokjin, specifically.
“Oh, you totally hate his guts,” Taehyung replies breezily on the other side of the wooden dining table. He pitches his voice to be heard over the loud cafeteria. “Like, scientifically speaking.”
Jimin throws a cookie crumb from his lunchbox at Taehyung, who catches it in his mouth without missing a beat. “Okay, but not more than, like...the average department manager.”
He’s met with a flat stare. “Okay, first of all—” Taehyung lunges across to grab another pastry, ignoring Jimin’s protests. “Come on, Minnie, these are so much better than my lunch— who else are you going to feed them to?— okay, first of all, the only other department managers are Hoseok-sunbae and Yoongi-sunbae, one of whom your mom literally invites over whenever she makes her amazing bossam - I’m still upset about last time, by the way, don’t think I forgot - and the other you had a crush on for three years all— oomf”
“Perish.” Jimin smiles sticky sweet even as he shoves an entire roll of kimbap in Taehyung’s mouth.
Anyway, before he was interrupted: It’s not that Jimin hates Seokjin, specifically, or has any issues with him on a personal level.
It’s just.
(There’s the way Seokjin somehow befriended half the building—Jimin’s half of the building, mind you—within his first three months. How every time he catches sight of Seokjin, it’s at the cafeteria or at the trendy cafe adjacent to their building, and he’s always sitting in the middle of a crowd, or exchanging business cards with a new friend. Even on the rare occasion Jimin ends up at the greenhouse to visit Taehyung, Seokjin is hardly ever in his office.)
Jimin’s socks feel wet. He doesn’t look down; he knows that if he does, he’d see his feet, submerged in dark, murky water.
(And on an unrelated note, there’s the fact that Jimin was only promoted to department manager last month, after years of working his way up as a young, meek assistant. It took four years for the previous head of Confectionary to even let him work on his own recipes! Meanwhile, Seokjin was promoted to the same rank as Jimin within a year despite only joining the company three years ago.)
His body feels heavy, pulled down by the weight of wet clothes.
(And now Seokjin is Taehyung’s boss. And is therefore the reason Taehyung now works a different schedule than Jimin. But it’s fine, because Jimin is fine , while Seokjin is perfect at everything he does, even if he does nothing. )
Like the sea, his thoughts tunnel downward.
(And all this isn’t even including that incident, from when they first met.)
It’s just. Complicated. That’s all.
(Or, considerably less complicated: maybe Seokjin is just particularly easy to dislike.)
“You guys look like you’re having fun,” a voice teases from behind Jimin, jolting him out of his stupor. Jimin blinks before twisting to see Hoseok, who’s already studying the quickly depleting tupperware.
The dry tupperware, sitting in the middle of the dry dining table, on the very dry land.
Right.
“Oooh, are these peach tarts? What’s in ‘em?” Hoseok asks, already biting into a flaky pastry.
Jimin clears his throat to get rid of the taste of brine in the back of his mouth.
“Sunbae ,” Taehyung whines from across the table. “Don’t hog all of Jimin’s snacks!”
“Wow, wow, wow. You see the unprofessionalism I put up with?” Hoseok reaches over to flick a finger at Taehyung’s forehead. “Don’t act like you didn’t wolf down half the box in the minute it took me to walk over here. Be careful not to get sick.”
Taehyung jolts a little in his seat. “It’s fine, you don’t need to baby me so much,” he says, his words deceptively casual for the way he looks at Hoseok like he’s the last piece of barbeque on the grill.
Hoseok plops onto the empty stool next to Jimin, who immediately moves the box of pastries closer to himself. “I’m HR, it’s my job to baby you. You’re all my babies,” he hums.
Jimin glances at Taehyung, then at Hoseok — who is now decidedly staring at anywhere but Taehyung’s hungry expression — and resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“Uhm,” Jimin finally interjects, butting into the tension and reminding everyone that, hello, he’s still here. “Yeah, the peach tarts have an extra energy boost mixed in, and the egg custard ones are charmed for focus. Nothing too strong, just diluted in with the milk and syrup.”
“You’re so good,” Hoseok sneaks a glance at Taehyung before turning to Jimin, sighing loudly in bliss and slinging an arm around him. “Have I ever mentioned how good you are?”
“ Sunbae,” Jimin whines as Hoseok leans against him, preening at the praise anyway. He closes his eyes to avoid making eye-contact with Taehyung. “You’re gonna make us both fall off.”
“These are gonna be a lifesaver, thanks,” Hoseok chirps, ruffling Jimin’s hair despite his complaints. Hoseok’s eyes slide over towards Taehyung when he thinks nobody’s watching and Jimin just about loses his mind. “Anyway, what’s this about someone having a crush for three years? Is Taehyung-ssi finally experiencing the springtime of youth?”
Before Jimin can even react, Taehyung immediately blurts out in a panicked voice, “Not me — Jiminie! We were talking about Jimin-ssi and Kim Seokjin-gwajangnim!”
Several things happen in quick succession: Hoseok chokes on an egg custard and coughs both pieces of crust and possibly his lungs out; Jimin snorts the soymilk he was drinking up through his nose and violently splutters, kicking Taehyung in the shin in the process; and Taehyung ends up falling off his chair with a shrill yelp.
Good. Jimin glares daggers at the heap of Taehyung on the floor even as he wipes his mouth. Karma works instantly sometimes.
“What, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck. ” Jimin not-so-quietly hisses at his (former) best friend.
Sorry , Taehyung mouths back with a not-so-guilty shrug. This is what Jimin gets for hanging out with a fucking Aries moon. (You know who else is an Aries moon? Kim Seokjin.)
“Yah, is this the magic of the 500 meter gays rule?” Hoseok shakes his head. At Taehyung’s questioning glance, Hoseok draws his mouth into a mini-pout and says, in a certain Daegu drawl: “According to Yoongi-sunbae, all hot gays within 500 meters must have already or will inevitably hook up at some point.”
“We are not hooking up,” Jimin says flatly before the conversation can continue. “Yoongi-sunbae’s sample size is like… two and a half. On a good day.”
“Love the fact that you’re not denying you’re a hot gay.” Taehyung snaps his fingers into a one-handed finger gun. “Love that for your energy, Minnie.”
“...Okay, but you’re also not saying that Seokjin-ssi isn’t hot.” Hoseok waggles his eyebrows.
Jimin opens his mouth. And then he remembers that morning. The way Seokjin’s tall figure commanded everyone’s attention as he swept through the halls. His suit that, ridiculous print aside, was perfectly tailored to hug his tight waist, pulling against shoulders broad enough to set a full five-course meal on. And that irritating face , with those infuriating, plush, lips—
Terrible.
“He’s terrible.” Jimin squeezes his soymilk carton too hard, and ends up having to wipe the mess. “Can we please talk about something other than him for once? It’s bad enough I have to work with him tomorrow.”
Taehyung bumps Jimin’s shoulder. “Yeah, but you also get to work with me tomorrow. Plus, I think we have a few cuttings of orange blossoms ready, Kim Seokjin-gwajangnim’s been—”
“ Don’t even say his name.”
——————————————
It isn’t until 5 PM that Jimin realizes he needs a date. Or rather, a handful of them.
Mint. Lavender. Ginseng. Rose. Basil. Colorful glass jars filled with dried goods line the shelves in the cool pantry below the kitchens. The only exception is the empty jar labeled “Jujubes”, in Jimin’s hands: only a few red crumbs sprinkle to the floor when he opens it.
“I can add it to the order list for tomorrow?” Jungkook offers as he hops off the ladder, patting his sweaty brow with the towel hanging off his apron. The hair-cap he’s been wearing since lunch has started to slip in the heat of the kitchens.
Jimin taps the jar against his hip, and thinks. They’ve had a busy day overall, between a box of bungeoppang - with five different flavors, of course, of course, nothing is ever easy - for someone’s birthday and a batch of strawberry rice cakes for an anniversary, both of which were picked up about an hour ago.
But just as the apprentices started to wipe down the counters, Jimin had received a call from the northern outskirts of Gyeongsangnam, so. Here they are, an hour before close, gathering the ingredients to make baesuk.
“No,” Jimin decides. “The dates will need time to dry properly. We need to get them as soon as possible so we can deliver the baesuk by the first train tomorrow at the latest,” He rubs his forehead, making up his mind.
“The first train? Is that even legal?” Jungkook blanches, leaning dangerously against the wall of herbs. “At the latest ?”
“Can you call the Greenhouse and let Kim Seokjin-gwajangnim know I’m going to stop by to pick up fresh dates?”
“You’re gonna go meet with sunbae-nim. You . Now? ...Twice in one day?”
Jimin finally twists around to shoot Jungkook a pointed look, tapping the doorframe impatiently. “Are you coming , Jungkook-ssi? ”
“Okay, okay , fine,” Jungkook flings his arms up helplessly and tugs the hair-cap off his head. “Just—there must be something really special in Gyeongsangnam, for you to go over there. What happened to not taking rush orders from outside Seoul ? ”
“Not something special,” Jimin says. He doesn’t bother replying to Jungkook’s other comment. It’s not like he’s forbidden from the Greenhouse. “Someone. The family that called owns a mill in Hapcheon. They’re one of the few places left that supply pure Anjeunbaengi wheat.”
Jungkook stops in his tracks. “Whoa, pure Anjeunbaengi—”
“Everyone, from the children to the halmoni, partake in rites to purify the harvest,” Jimin answers the unspoken question. “All three current generations live there, and the ashes of their ancestors are scattered on the fields.”
Anjeunbaengi wheat: considered one of the golden ingredients for not just its nutritional content but also its magical potency. Once, decades ago when the berries were burned and the wheat was blessed, the grain single-handedly kept villages across the Southern Plains alive through the Great Famine. A different kind of magic runs through that grain, a deep and old magic strengthened by generations of blood, sweat, and tears mixed into the soil. Local magic.
But local magic is fickle: Anjeunbaengi wheat, invincible to floods and blight in the south, refuses to take root anywhere but in its native earth. And even in the southern farms, it’s rare to find mills that treat the history of the land right, that honor the gods so that the gods give back.
It’s one of the reasons this otherwise tiny catering company has grown to attract high-profile clients from all over the world. It’s also what drew Jimin and Jungkook to work and study in Seoul of all places, despite the concrete stifling the magic currents in the earth unlike the wild fields and wild tides of Busan. Apart from the local hedgewitch or obscure mudang, this is the only official place that sells products using the magical wheat.
And now the mill’s halmoni is sick and craving poached pears, and it’s up to Jimin to deliver.
Although the Eastern and Western wings are, in theory, side by side, only one open-air bridge connects the twin towers. It takes Jimin over ten minutes to cross offices, meeting rooms, and a kitchen before reaching the walkway, and another short walk before he finally reaches the Eastern Wing — or, as most employees refer to it: the Greenhouse.
The Greenhouse takes up the majority of the Eastern wing, the former warehouse’s industrial framing clashing with plants that seem to have adopted a sense of ferality from their caretakers. Jimin squints at a large vine that looks to be drooling and ducks underneath another awning. Eventually, he reaches a well-lit maze sectioned off with more steel poles, glass walls, and wooden desks.
When Jimin finally reaches the office in the far corner, he finds a neon yellow sticky staring back at him, garishly bright on the otherwise pristine glass wall.
‘ :-)’
Jimin tugs at the door. It’s locked. He pushes it, just for good measure, and then tries yanking it again using all his weight. Maybe he tries body slamming the ridiculous glass door. It’s still fucking locked .
“Minnie...why are you roundhouse-kicking Seokjin-gwajangnim’s door?”
Jimin looks up to meet the eyes of his one and only true friend in this dark, cursed jungle sent straight from hell. Taehyung is holding a pot of… something in his hand, the vines wrapping around his arms in a concerningly hostile manner.
“Roundhouse kicking? Seokjin-gwajangnim? Who? Never heard that name before in my life,” he says before grabbing Taehyung’s hand — the one that isn’t being attacked by a feral green specimen. “But more importantly, hi, hello, my best friend ever ever…are you here to save my life? Please.”
"Of course.” Taehyung answers easily, without even asking what exactly he’s signed up for. Jimin grins, cheeks warming like they always do when he’s near Taehyung’s glow.
Taehyung knocks their hips together before leading Jimin down the hall. “Honestly, I’m just surprised you didn’t come ask me first.” Unlike the neatly arranged cubicles in the Western wing, everyone sits open-office style in the Greenhouse. Jimin resists a shudder at the thought.
“Why? Because I’m dumb enough to still get my hopes up and think I could rely on Seokjin-gwajangnim for something? You’d think I wouldn’t have any expectations left to disappoint, but here we are,” The words were meant to come out as a sarcastic joke, but they have more of a bite than he means. Or maybe Jimin does mean it. “What’s his excuse for leaving early this time? A family emergency, again? Or a hair appointment?”
When it comes down to it, Jimin isn’t sure what leaves a worse taste in his mouth: the fact that Seokjin is only ever present until the moment Jimin needs him, or that Jimin needs someone like Seokjiin at all.
Taehyung pauses and shoots a concerned glance at Jimin. “You know that’s not what I meant, Jim—”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Jimin waves his hands, power-walking past Taehyung. “Whether I like it or not, Seokjin-gwajangnim is the department manager. I may have to check in, but that doesn’t mean I actually bet on him ever being around. It’s just protocol, that’s all.”
Still, Taehyung’s shoes don’t budge. “Listen…” he finally says. “I know he usually doesn’t stay late but—”
“Tae, I’ve literally never seen him in his office, ever,” Jimin interrupts flatly. “Forget the fact that we don’t even close for another half-hour, I’ve never even seen him after lunch. Now that I think about it, does he even come in before lunch?”
Taehyung frowns for another beat before shrugging helplessly and catching up, slinging an arm over Jimin’s shoulder. “Well, it’s a good thing you have me here, right?”
“It’s always a good thing I have you,” Jimin laughs. “Especially in enemy territory.”
“That’s right, here and ready to fatally poison my own boss for my best friend .”
“Say, what would you do if you actually had to poison him? You’d need to look for a new job.”
“To be honest, I just figured you’d hire me for Jungkook-ssi’s position.”
——————————————
"Medium latte with soymilk, no sugar."
The hot cup against the back of Jimin's neck jolts him out of his daze. He whips his head around — the office and kitchens have long since emptied out, and even the custodial staff left a half hour ago — but his glare immediately drops when he sees who it is.
"Ah, Yoongi-hyung," Jimin relaxes into an easy grin, dropping any air of formality when he recognizes the familiar sleepy pout. "You surprised me, jeez. What are you doing still here?"
"I could ask you the same." Yoongi nudges the offending cup toward Jimin, who swirls the cup counter-clockwise twice and clockwise once, waiting until the drink glows golden before drinking. The now caramel-tinged coffee warms his veins, relaxing his aching muscles and soothing his aching head.
"Thanks, hyung," Jimin beams.
"You still didn't answer my question." Yoongi sits down in Jungkook's empty chair and spins around lazily. They're the only two left in the entire wing.
"I'm drying dates."
"...What?" Yoongi squints.
"We ran out of dried jujubes, and we need to deliver baesuk first thing tomorrow morning. I've got another...three hours, maybe? Until they're done?"
Jimin looks up to face a flat, unimpressed look. "And...you can't just leave them here overnight? Or, oh, I don’t know…let someone else on your team take over, for once?”
“I don’t trust anyone else to do it right.” Jimin darts his eyes away, squirming in his seat. “These dates are really finicky, so I’m checking on ‘em in the kitchens every 15 minutes to make sure they stay potent.” It’s one thing to outgrow his teenage crush on Yoongi, but another thing entirely to brave Yoongi’s slightly disappointed, very concerned eyebrow-and-nose scrunch combo in close quarters. Jimin’s only human, after all.
“Uh huh…yeah,” Yoongi drawls. “Somehow I get the feeling Kookie knows how to turn over some dried fruit in an oven, no?”
“Mmmm…” Jimin knows the face he’s making, knows that Yoongi knows the answer. “ Anyway , I wonder who’s the new person on Seokjin-gwajangnim’s team. I tried a bite earlier - there’s no way he grew this batch. The new assistant’s got some kind of green magic, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t try to change the subject, you suck at it.” Yoongi reaches over to gently poke Jimin’s pout. “Don’t you have to be back here at eight tomorrow for the departmental meeting? You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep letting your ego keep you here.”
“Why are you picking on me when you have to be at the meeting, too? Why are you still here— hasn’t the lobby’s coffeeshop been closed since 5?” Even with the time it takes to clean up the giftshop and cafe in their lobby, there’s no reason Yoongi should be anywhere near the offices at this hour.
“Mmm, was grabbing dinner with Seokseok, and came back to grab my stuff. He was just mentioning your thing , actually.”
"What do you mean my thing ? What are you talking about?" Jimin can’t help but whine. "Hyung!”
Yoongi just twirls in his chair. "Please, I've known you for years. I know how you act at your best and your worst.”
Scowling, Jimin flicks an eraser at Yoongi's forehead. It lands perfectly with a thuk.
Suddenly, he has an awful thought. Ignoring Yoongi’s deadpan groan of pain, Jimin twists in his chair so fast he almost falls over. “Wait,” Jimin stage-whispers. “What did you just say?”
Yoongi blinks in confusion, still rubbing his head. “I know what petty looks like on you?”
“No, before that.”
“... I’ve known you since high schoo—”
“No, no, no— Hyung, who's ‘Seokseok’? ”
And then, a very magical thing happens. Jimin watches in fascination as Yoongi’s cheeks shift from their normal peach to a dark brownish red. Like someone applied rouge on his face. Like that time last year at Jimin’s birthday party, when he chugged two bottles of Soju after losing to Namjoon in the arcade. Fucking incredible.
Or, it would be, if Jimin’s own gut wasn’t being filled with horror at the same time.
“It’s noth—”
“Hyung, did you eat dinner with Kim Seokjin?”
For a second, there’s only stunned silence lingering in the air between them. It’s not that big of a deal, Jimin knows this in some rational corner of his mind. They’re all co-workers, they’ve all had chances to become friends outside of Jimin’s direct line of sight, and he’s never explicitly asked his friends to stay away from Seokjin — it would be so unfair of him to do so — but. But still, as he watches Yoongi stare back with an unreadable expression, Jimin can’t help the way the back of his neck flushes with indignation.
It wouldn’t be right for him to say so, it would be out of line for him to say so, but. Still, Jimin bites the inside of his cheek.
“What?” Yoongi finally asks, slowly, like he can’t believe what Jimin is asking.
“It’s fine if you did,” Jimin rushes to fill in the space between them. “I just. Wanted to know. I didn’t know you guys were that close. That’s al—”
“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi interrupts flatly. “I was with Hoseok-ah.”
Oh. Oh.
“Oh.” Jimin falls into a slump and studies his fingers.
“You know...” Yoongi talks slowly and softly, handling Jimin like something that needs to be treated with care. His chair rolls closer so that he can take Jimin’s hands into his own. “Jin-hyung and I do hang out pretty often.”
“Mmkay.” The words come out in a mumble.
“You’ve got four years on him though. That’s a head start he’d never be able to catch up to.”
“Okay.”
“Plus, I got the honor of being your first gay love confession. That has to count for someth—”
“ Hyung!”
Yoongi breaks out laughing even as Jimin flings a pen at him. “Bringing up something you promised you’d forget at the cost of your life… I hope you’re prepared for the consequences,” Jimin mutters, scowling even as his face remains flushed.
Yoongi leans back, eyes closed and arms raised high. “Kill me then, coward.”
Rays of dim periwinkle have already begun to filter through the upper windows by the time Jimin opens the pot’s lid on the stove. The warm aroma of ginger and cinnamon wraps around him as he carefully lifts two porcelain bowls from the steamer. Each holds a soft and freshly poached pear, sliced in half to hold the ingredients inside. Using a teaspoon, Jimin gently lifts the upper half of one, and grins in delight at the sight of the stewed dates, soaked in ginger and honey syrup, sitting inside the scooped-out center. Grabbing a piece of twine and ceramic lids, Jimin whispers an incantation over each container as he packs them up. Decorated in blue-and-white glaze, both porcelain dishes were magicked to keep their temperature and protect the contents, but it never hurts to be careful.
After one last check to make sure every pan is in its right home and every counter is wiped clean, JImin finally locks the kitchen and pauses at the stairs to study the cityscape, visible through the wide windows. The skyline still glows golden with the scattering of night lights, but the sky’s already taken on a wash of pale purple with ribbons of deep blue. In another hour or two, the colors will shift lighter and brighter with the rising of the sun.
WIth a shiver, Jimin resumes his shuffle back upstairs to his cubicle. Still slumped in Jungkook’s chair is Yoongi, asleep and swathed in Taehyung’s cow-printed snuggie. Jimin had snuck into Taehyung’s cubicle to find it earlier, when he had returned from yet another trip to the kitchens to find Yoongi dozing off and curled into the tightest ball possible.
“Hyung,” Jimin whispers with a light nudge. No response from Yoongi. “ Hyung,” Jimin tries again, louder, shaking Yoongi’s shoulders with more strength. Finally, Yoongi lets out a throaty grumble and attempts to roll over in the chair — only for both of them to realize belatedly that he was, indeed, sleeping in a rolling chair. Yoongi crumples to the floor in a messy pile with a yelp as Jungkook’s chair rolls away.
“Ugh,” says Yoongi. He lifts a tousled head of messily dyed brown hair. “Done?”
“Done,” chirps Jimin, shrugging on his trenchcoat over his now very-wrinkled collared shirt, tucked inside a v-neck sweater. There’s been a dip in temperature, and the nights especially have been uncomfortably chilly the past week. He tosses on his scarf for good measure, and collects his bag. Across from him, Yoongi’s dressed in a padded leather jacket and hoodie, messenger bag slung across his shoulder.
“Thanks again for keeping me company.” There’s an open-air hallway in the middle of the building, between the two wings, that they have to cross in order to reach the center elevators to the lobby. Their shoes click against the tiled floor as they briskly walk across, hands shoved deep in pockets, and Jimin shifts his weight back and forth to stay warm as they wait for the elevator. “You know you didn’t have to spend the entire night with me.”
Yoongi scoffs. His nose has turned slightly red in the sudden chill. “What, and leave my dongsaeng by himself where he could accidentally lock himself in the pantry or the freezers when he’s too tired from overworking? It’s fine, Jimin-ah.” He knocks their shoulders together. “It’s not like anything important is ever mentioned in the executive meeting, anyway. I’ll just nap through it like I always do.”
Jimin feels a shy smile stretch across his face, and he ducks his head down. “But still. Thanks.”
It’s times like this, when the sun and moon are in the midst of changing shifts, when Yoongi is there to hold Jimin’s hand right when he feels a little untethered, Yoongi with his runny red nose and overgrown roots, that Jimin remembers: I once loved him. That he thinks: Yoongi is everything good. Deserves everything good.
“Do you like Hobi-hyung?” he asks right when the elevator dings .
The rosy red blooming across Yoongi’s face answers Jimin before Yoongi even replies. “Yeah,” his words come out soft, but firm. Like he’s putting a piece of himself in everything he says. That was one of Jimin's favorite things about Yoongi. “Yeah, I like him a lot.”
As Jimin steps into the elevator, he releases a long exhale - one that carries both a prayer and a promise with it.
“Good,” Jimin answers with the same voice Yoongi used. “Hobi-hyung is lucky.” The odd scene between Taehyung and Hoseok at lunch flashes to his mind briefly, but Jimin shoves it away. It’s probably just his imagination.
(He’ll ask Taehyung about it later, anyway.)
“I was trying to say this earlier, but we spent more of today chatting about you than anything else.” Yoongi’s voice drags Jimin from his musings.
“Oh. What were you guys talking about?” Jimin’s known Hoseok for even longer than he’s known Yoongi - Hoseok, the second friend Jimin made after coming to Seoul. Hoseok, who said with all his heart, “any company would be lucky to have Park Jimin on their team,” and helped him land this job with all passion and no experience.
Jimin’s not sure how he feels about Hoseok and Yoongi talking about him behind his back.
“Hmm…well, to be more accurate, we were talking about you and Jin-hyung.” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck, then, and looks up at the elevator ceiling before turning back to Jimin. “We’re a little worried about you two.”
Jimin is saved from replying when another ding rings, signaling their arrival in the lobby.
“There’s nothing to worry about. We’re professional if we have to be.” Jimin speaks directly to the hallway in front of him. “Or at least, I am.”
He hears a sigh next to him. “Look... I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but. I want you to know, I think he’s good people.”
“Do you know who gathered the jujubes for me?”
Jimin turns to Yoongi, who only tilts his head in question. They both know how things work: the Floristry department takes care of any direct orders from clients as well as any ingredient needs from Confectionery. The department chief is supposed to manage orders and inventory, especially with some of the more delicate plants so that no magic is lost in the harvesting process.
“Seokjin-gwajangnim was gone by five today,” Jimin continues, voice steady over the tides of his emotions. “Taehyung had to break into his office for the keys to the fruit trees and harvest them, on top of taking care of all the perennials he’s already in charge of. He didn’t leave until past eight because he was so busy.”
Yoongi’s face pulls into a concerned frown. “The Floristry department does so well, but it’s always been understaffed. Even more so recently, now that orders have been increasing so much—”
“And yet, somehow Seokjin-gwajangnim still leaves earlier than everyone else.” The words drop like heavy stones, with nothing to soften the blow aside from the space between them. “Am I the one going out of my way to be rude? Or is someone just present when it’s inconvenient and yet gone when I need him?”
Yoongi stops walking, and Jimin turns to meet his searching gaze. They’ve only been outside for a few minutes, but the twilight chill has already brought a cherry flush to Yoongi’s face. Pale golden streaks have started to paint the purple sky; dawn will break in less than an hour. Already, passersby trudge past them on their way to the first train.
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’d be fair for me to answer that on his or your behalf,” Yoongi finally sighs. “I think the answer to that is something you two need to work out, together. I think that’s part of being on the same team - that you need to work. Together. Not just when it’s for a client, but for each other’s sake.” He rests his hand on Jimin’s head. “Don’t you think you might be avoiding him just as often?”
There’s a petty sort of petulance that rises in Jimin's gut. He ducks his head away to wave pointedly at the train station sign. “Get some rest, hyung. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Nodding, Yoongi raises a hand in a lazy wave back. “Text me when you get home.”
Jimin doesn’t bother replying or looking back as he jogs down the stairs.