Archive of Our Own

The dance studio has become a lonely place in these past couple of years. Jimin remembers stepping foot into the place for the first time as a child and staring, awestruck, at everything it had to offer. He remembers the dance team that had practiced there almost religiously, shoes burning counts of five six seven eight into the floorboards until even Jimin knew the routine by heart.

It wasn’t easy, watching them go一off to university or college or straight to work一but if Jimin knows anything from living like a town like this, it’s that most leave and never turn back. No one wants to stay in this dying, smaller than suburban town, and it’s only the failures who never chased the could have beens that keep the place alive.

Jimin stares numbly into the mirror. An empty studio stares back and he sighs, wonders, where did we all go wrong?

The sun is setting by the time Jimin leaves the studio, still red-flushed and sweaty from dancing. He needs to get home and take a shower, he thinks, grimacing at the way his shirt sticks to his skin, only made worse by the already muggy summer air, and quickly swings a leg over his bike to start on his way.

The air cools considerably as the sun disappears behind the horizon, sinking into a slumber beyond where Jimin’s eyes can see. It’s a wild feeling, air rushing past his ears as his legs piston him through streetlamp-stained sidewalks and white-picket-fence neighborhoods. This is almost as good as dancing, he thinks, allowing himself to bask in the warmth of something that tastes a lot like freedom.

Of course, like most of the good things in Jimin’s life, this feeling is interrupted by a phone call from his mother asking, is he coming home soon? And oh good, since he’s already on his way, he doesn’t mind picking up some vegetables for dinner, does he? Oh, thank you Jimin-ah, eomma will see you later, goodbye.

There’s a grocery near their house, and Jimin could easily weave it into his route without much of a hassle, but he turns around and starts on the ten minute ride to another family-owned shop instead. It’s for his own good.

“Jimin! P-park Jimin!” A voice calls out just as said boy swings his leg over his bike. He turns, head tilted at a curious angle as he comes face-to-face with a winded Jeon Jeongguk.

“Hey,” Jimin checks his watch一he has a few minutes. “Jesus, you look like you got run over by a train, what happened?

Jeon Jeongguk is a year younger than Jimin, but he’s their town’s golden child. He could make it big in anything, people say, and Jimin wouldn’t disagree. Jeongguk has always hated academics with a passion, but he’s not dumb by any means, and it’s film that he wants to go into anyway. And then, even if that falls through, then he’ll have his parents’ motel or flower shop to take over. Jimin can’t help it in himself to be just a little bit jealous.

Jeongguk laughs hoarsely, “I, um, sprinted all the way here f-from, uh, the other grocery? Like, the one near the gardens? Next to the candy shop, the one the Mins own, and, yeah, you know the place.”

Jimin nods slowly as Jeongguk rambles on about the exact location of the grocery一Jesus, he always seems to forget that Jimin’s spent his entire life here and he’d probably know which store Jeongguk was talking about just by the way he said it.

“I was,” Jeongguk pants, still catching his breath as he brushes sweaty strands of brown hair out of his eyes, “y’know, working front desk at the motel, and he just came. Yoongi, I mean, he’s staying at our motel.”

Yoongi?

It takes Jimin a moment to process the name, and when he does, all he can come up with is, “oh,”. Jeongguk looks a little bit expectant for something more, so Jimin manages a question “that’s cool, uh, how long is he staying?”

“For two months. We gave him a pretty major discount since a friend, so it’s like paying rent,” then, here, Jeongguk shifts, looking a bit serious, “look, I know it’s been a while, and you two were close, like really close, but he’s still一he’s still Yoongi, y’know? I talked to him and he’s really nice, and well, you should stop by sometime. Talk to him, spend some time with him before he has to head back.”

“Yeah,” Jimin tries to meet his eyes, “I’ll try. Um, thanks for telling me, I appreciate it, Gguk.”

Jeongguk nods, “welcome, hyung. Figured you’d wanna know, but um, I really need to get going now. See you around?”

Jimin nods, waving a stiff goodbye as Jeongguk jogs away. He just stands, unmoving, for a good minute, and then gets back on his bike. He’s not going home.

Jimin has no idea where he’s going.

He had headed in the general direction of the dance studio on instinct, but Jimin had found himself veering away from the loneliness of the place. It only felt worse at night, mirrors throwing unfriendly shadows over cold floorboards and moonlight drawing an unwelcome chill over his skin.

He ends up at the park. No good child is out at this time, which leaves it empty for Jimin to do whatever he likes, which is apparently sitting down on one of the swings and swaying back and forth, toes digging dimples into the sand.

He’s back. Yoongi is back after two fucking years of radio silence and Jimin一Jimin doesn’t know what to do.

Yoongi一Yoongi who Jimin grew up with through hazy summers and long winters and the springs and falls in between. Yoongi, who loved music in a way that Jimin had never seen anyone love anything.

(Yoongi, who had been Jimin’s first friend, first inspiration, and then, first love).

It’s dark by the time Jimin wheels his bike into the old garage, the old bulb flickering weakly above him to offer some form of light. With a bag of greens in one hand, he kicks the brake on his bike, steadying it until it stands on its own.

The Parks do own a car, an old Toyota that’s probably seen more than its fair share of years. Jimin’s parents don’t like him driving it around, but he’s fine with that一he’d choose his bike over the sad piece of scrap metal any day.

“Jimin-ah!” his mother greets him when he steps into the kitchen, hair still wind-mussed and tangled, “you’re home!”

“Yeah,” Jimin musters a smile, glancing around her at the stove, “you’ve already started on dinner, huh?”

She nods, taking the bag of vegetables Jimin hands her, “Thanks, dear. It wasn’t too much trouble, was it?”

“None at all,” Jimin lies. The cashier at the grocery had been uncomfortably flirty, and Jimin’s legs had started to cramp on the way home. “I’m, uh, gonna take a shower.”

“Dinner should be ready by the time you’re done, then. Get dressed well, okay? We’re going to have guests over.”

Jimin hums an acknowledgement, turning on his heel to head upstairs. It’s probably the Kims, he thinks, they’ve been over a lot lately, now that Taehyung has gone off to college and his parents have nothing else to occupy their time.

Speaking of Taehyung一Jimin checks his phone as he heads up the stairs, pleased to find a few new texts from his best friend.

Taetae <3

JIMIN

SEOOUL IS SO COOL

YOU WOULD LOV EIT HERE MIINIE

THERES A STREET DANCER IN FRONT OF MY APARTEMNT

HES REALLY NICE I THINK WE’RE FRIENDS NOW

HES ALSO REALLY GOOD AT DANCING AND HES REALLY COOL AND I GOT HIS NUMBER BUT I THINK HE HAS A BOYFRIEND ALREADY FUCK

HEY I MISS YOU ALREADY BITCH <333333

Jimin smiles at the messages. He misses him too一had begged Taehyung to stay for the summer and leave for university come fall, like most students, but Taehyung had been insistent on scoping out the city and making friends before the semester started, social butterfly that he was. He was staying at his old friend’s place for the summer; Bogum doesn’t mind, apparently.

Jimin texts back an equally enthusiastic response, all caps lock and exclamation marks and I MISS YOU TOO !!一sure, these days he kinda feels like shit, but Taehyung doesn’t have to feel the brunt of it.

Jimin tries not to think about the feeling that stirs deep in his gut when he presses send一the feeling of getting left behind, stuck in this smaller-than-suburban town while everyone runs ahead, to bigger brighter futures while he’s doing his best just to keep up. Maybe it’s his stupid thoughts and hopes and dreams dragging him down, but as much as he tries, these things won’t wash away, no matter how hard he scrubs at them.

Jimin does not sleep that night.

For once, at least, it’s not thoughts of his future (or lack thereof) keeping him awake, nope, just fucking Min Yoongi.

It’s summer break, Jimin realizes belatedly, but even then, it doesn’t change much. Yoongi hadn’t come back for summer break the year prior, nor had he returned during winter break to celebrate Christmas like he promised. Min Yoongi didn’t do promises anymore, Jimin had realized, that first January without him.

So why is he back now?

I don’t know.

the truth of it all was that jimin wanted yoongi to come back.

before yoongi left for university, jimin clung to him like they were six year olds again. six year olds一yoongi curled up alone under the slide and jimin coaxing him out, come play with me, yoongi hyung! / don’t run! / hold my hand, stay with me一something out of the past.

but this time he wasn’t begging for him to stay. no, that would have been unfair and jimin knew he couldn’t be selfish like that. it wasn’t his place to ask that of a boy who had been dreaming of leaving for so long that jimin wondered what it was that he hated so much about this place anyway.

come back sometime, was all that jimin said. i know you don’t like it here, but come back to visit me? and taehyung and jeongguk, come back to see us, alright?

yoongi had promised. then pinky-promised because jimin had insisted.

and then he was gone.

Jimin used to be mad at him. Not for leaving, because everyone left, at some point, and he knew that. No, because Yoongi promised that he would stay in contact, and that gave Jimin hope. But then that fell through and there was a certain level of humiliation that came with it, that Jimin would have been so gullible to think it would have worked.

But now, Yoongi is back and Jimin can’t find it in himself to be mad, not really, not anymore. He has other things to worry about, and Yoongi is a small thing in the scope of it all, and he shouldn’t change anything.

So that’s it. Jimin will drop by to see him tomorrow, and it’ll be all good and casual and then he’ll get back to his life, the life he’s adjusted to, the life without Yoongi in it.

(it would be nice if Jimin believed his own words).

Like most buildings in this small town, the Golden Motel is quite unremarkable. To their credit, the Jeons keep it in fair shape, and Jimin’s sure that the once-in-a-blue-moon guests that come to stay have a fine experience, but there’s a limit to how much something one can make out of nothing. Even well-groomed, it’s still just a run-down two story building whose glory has been paint-stripped down over the years.

Jeongguk is sitting behind the front desk, head bent over a rather impressive number of math problems. Jimin watches from the doorway as he twirls his pen between his fingers, fringe hanging long over his eyes and concealing what might be the creases of a rather nasty frown.

“Hey,” Jeongguk says, when he finally takes note of his visitor, “nice to see you again, hyung.”

Jimin nods, stepping up to the desk where he gets a first-class view of Jeongguk struggling with his summer homework, “yeah, um, I decided to stop by for a visit. Like you said.”

Jeongguk’s still looking down, but Jimin knows he’s smiling, “Yoongi-hyung’s staying in room 106. He’s probably still asleep right now, so don’t be too hard on him if you’re gonna yell at him.”

Jimin nods slowly, “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Jeongguk looks up to wave, and his expression is soft, “don’t worry about it too much. You two will figure it out.”

Jimin doesn’t really know what ‘it’ is, specifically, but he says, “I hope so.”

(this is how it starts).

yoongi, six, settled in the nook between the bottom of the slide and the rest of the play structure. it’s a little dark under here, where the sun doesn’t reach, but yoongi feels safe, comfortable.

no one ever bothers him around here. not the kids who tease him because sometimes his words gets mixed up, or his dad who yells at him because he still counts on his fingers, or his mom who scolds him because his tests don’t come with the sticker that means you did a good job.

apparently not the boy two grades down with a smile too big for his face and a laugh too big for his body. yoongi always sees him around, being cheek-pinched by the neighborhood aunties or praised by his teacher for his enthusiasm and keenness (whatever that means) to learn.

“what are you doing all alone down here?” says the boy. his name is jimin but yoongi thinks he will call him butterfly boy because yoongi’s seen one nestle in his hair before. also, there’s a ketchup stain on his shirt that vaguely resembles said creature and yoongi will take what he can get.

still, that doesn’t mean yoongi has to answer his question. he sits still, looking off into the somewhere beyond nowhere, and waits. butterfly boy sits beside him, criss-crossing his legs neatly.

“why are you alone?” he asks, again.

yoongi shrugs, (because sometimes (most times) it’s better than having company).

butterfly boy furrows his brows, looking determined to get yoongi to say something, “can i be alone with you, then?”

yoongi frowns, it doesn’t work like that. butterfly boy sits down anyway.

“It doesn’t work like that,” yoongi vocalises.

butterfly boy looks confused, “sure it does. if we’re alone together, then the ‘alone’ cancels out the ‘together’ so we’re back at zero, restart.”

yoongi has no idea what he’s talking about.

he pulls yoongi up in a surprising show of strength. they almost bump their heads on the slide.

“so here, i’ll go first! i’m jimin and i’m going to be four soon一that’s so cool, don’t you think? i’ve been three for too long, but my birthday will be soon and then i don’t have to keep telling people i’m three anymore! oh, also my birthday is october 13th, which is like halloween but reversed! that’s cool, right? i think it’s super cool!” he gasps for a breath, “anyway, eomma always says i talk for waaaaaaaay too long, she says it’s called ra-rambl-ing, but appa just says i have a lot to say, all the time, and i’m very chatty, and i should let the other person talk sometimes, so,” another long breath, “i think you’re smart and cool and i wanna be friends with you so, um, you talk now!”

yoongi blinks at him a long moment. jimin talks a lot but yoongi doesn’t really talk at all so it all balances out okay, he thinks.

“i’m yoongi. and, um, i’m six, and um, my birthday is march ninth. which isn’t really special but i like it anyway.”

jimin smiles, too big for his face, “that’s okay! If it’s your birthday then i like it too! march ninth… i’ll remember that! i forget a lot of things, oops, but now that we’re best friends i promise i’ll remember, okay?”

yoongi’s eyebrows spring to his hairline, “we’re best friends? already?”

jimin tilts his head, “why not?”

“why not,” yoongi echoes.

“okay, then you have to pinky-promise that you’ll be my best friend forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and一”

“okay,” yoongi interrupts, “i promise”

so they lock pinkies and jimin beams.

“now we’re officially, officially best friends! which means we play together! and watch movies together! and have ice cream together! and, um, do other things! together!” he laughs, bright and clear and he sounds like a summer day.

“so come on, let’s go, let’s go!”

oh, yoongi remembers thinking, as jimin took his hand, i thought the sun didn’t reach all the way down here.

-

100. 102. 104.

106.

Jimin swallows hard. The door plate is chipped and hung at a crooked angle, but this is it. Room 106.

He raises his fist to knock, knuckles trembling. The door seems to move further away the closer he gets to it, but Jimin ignores it, ignores how his whole body shakes with a feeling a dread so long kept that it’s nearly become a part of him now.

Somehow, he makes it. Knocks, once, twice, then thrice for good luck.

Jimin stumbles backwards immediately, catching himself on the sun-baked railing. The metal burns under his palms, and Jimin knows he should probably back away before his clumsy ass falls backwards out of a two-story building, but he stays frozen.

In all honesty, it probably only takes Yoongi ten seconds to unlock the door, but it feels like it takes both much longer and much shorter for the fucking thing to open. None of this matters, though, not when Jimin is actually staring a very soft and sleepy-looking Yoongi in the face. Yoongi rubs his eyes, long eyelashes brushing his cheekbones as he blinks repeatedly, adjusting to the light.

Goddammit. God-fucking-dammit, Jimin is so over this.

“Hi,” Yoongi says, looking tired but not at all surprised. He yawns, “come in.”

Jimin opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Closes it as he follows Yoongi inside.

The first thing he notices about Yoongi’s room is that it’s fucking hot. The whirring AC unit under the window is old and, for all the clattering it makes, doesn’t seem to work at all. Yoongi doesn’t seem to be bothered, though, trudging around in a black sweater and sweatpants while Jimin sweats his ass off in a t-shirt and shorts.

Yoongi sits down on his bed, gesturing for Jimin to do the same. Yoongi’s a generally neat person, from what Jimin remembers, and he has to raise an eyebrow at the mess of clothes scattered across the floor, but he says nothing as he join Yoongi on his unmade bed.

“So,” Yoongi says after a moment, “it’s been a while, Park Jimin.”

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees, playing with his fingers, “sure has, hasn’t it?”

Yoongi smiles, but it’s sad, as he looks down at the floor, “I’m sorry about that.”

“Yeah,” Jimin hears himself say, “me too.”

Yoongi raises his head and Jimin locks eyes with him and two years don’t mean a fucking thing anymore.

He not who starts it, but somewhere betwixt between-the-lines apologies and not-quite-there forgivenesses, they meet一Jimin falls into Yoongi’s chest and this is the home he hasn’t come back to, the home that hasn’t come back to him. This is 2 pm playdates and 3 am coffee runs and they meet somewhere in the middle, somewhere in-between. Jimin is okay with that.

Alone together. Back to zero. Restart.

“First of all,” Jimin starts, “you were kind of a dick for disappearing off the face of the earth for two years, you know that right?”

Yoongi hums.

They’re lying down, side by side and feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Muted daylight drifts through the only window in the otherwise dimly-lit room. Jimin watches dust motes swirl in the slice of sunlight that spills across the carpet.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Yoongi mumbles. His eyes are closed and he sounds sleepy. Jimin doesn’t have the heart to point out to him that he just got up ten minutes ago, “what’s changed since I left?”

“Well, Taehyungie headed off for college,” pride creeps into his voice, “he’s studying fashion and design, and he already got an internship at a pretty famous company.”

“Ah, really?” Yoongi whistles, “that’s amazing.”

Jimin hums, nodding, “he’s doing really well,” almost-jealousy stirs in his gut and he clears his throat, “Jeonggukkie’s doing pretty well in school, too.”

“The little twerp hasn’t dropped out yet, huh?” Yoongi laughs, “accomplishment all on its own, but,” he cracks one eye open, “I was wondering一what’s up with you? Your life?”

Jimin blinks, “oh. I mean, well, not a whole lot一”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, “you said it yourself一it’s been two years. C’mon, at least, what are you studying? Wait, let me guess一dance?”

“Oh,” Jimin laughs, but it sounds thin, weak, “um, well, not really?” he scratches at the back of his neck, “I mean I am on a gap year right now, but dance, um. I-I thought about it, but it’s probably not right for me. I might just do business or something.”

He chooses this moment to look at Yoongi, which is probably a mistake, because Yoongi is staring at him too, both eyes open and entirely disbelieving, “oh, bullshit, have you watched yourself dance? Even just once? Park Jimin, I’ve never seen anyone fucking dance like you.”

Jimin would be lying if he said he didn’t blush, “o-oh come on, hyung. I’m not really all that. Plus dance is just,” he hesitates, “a hobby.” it burns to say.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything this time. He doesn’t say anything for a very long time, actually, and Jimin almost wishes he would一call him out on his lie or scold him for it一but he doesn’t. Doesn’t say anything for a long long time.

Jimin lifts his shirt to wipe at the sweat beading on his forehead. He hasn’t even been on his feet for that long一Jimin shakes his head一he’s getting soft.

“Look who it is,” a voice crows from the entrance, and Jimin snaps his head up, a fresh layer of sweat flushing his skin as he spots him, leaning against the doorframe.

Yoongi’s smiling lazily, in the way that he does, with his lips barely pulled back, exposing the tiniest sliver of amusement.

“Look who’s here,” Jimin returns, brushing his damp fringe out of his eyes. They’ve fallen back into their old rhythm, almost. Even two years and a shitload of pent-up feelings can’t knock too much of a dent into a 15 year friendship一or at least, they won’t let it.

Yoongi goes to turn off the music一halfway into another track by now一while Jimin lies down on the floor, watching the fans whirr above the open-ceiling rafters. Yoongi scuttles into his line of sight after a minute, holding Jimin’s water bottle in one hand.

“Thanks,” Jimin mutters, voice croaky, as he unscrews the cap. He tries (unsuccessfully) to drink the water while still lying down, which ends in a colourful array of curses, a soaked collar and an amused Min Yoongi.

“Careful.”

Jimin mock-glares at him, “Would’ve been real helpful 10 seconds ago.”

“Wouldn't have been as funny, though.”

Jimin hmphs, but he opts to take a sip of his water (sitting up) instead of retorting. “What are you doing here?” he asks once he’s wiped his mouth.

“I was bored,” Yoongi shrugs, “today’s my day off.”

“Day off?” Jimin sits up straighter, eyes widening, “you have a job?”

Yoongi snorts at the incredulity in his voice, “don’t sound so surprised, dipshit.” Jimin flushes, “Jeongguk’s parents may be letting me stay for cheap, but I’m still a broke-ass student and I gotta make money somehow, even if it’s for minimum wage at the ice cream shop.”

Jimin squints, thinking, “doesn’t Jeongguk’s classmate run the place?”

“Yeah, Kim Yugyeom. Jeongguk got me the job, which was,” Yoongi makes a face, “more than a little humiliating, I have to say.”

Jimin laughs. This is nice, he thinks, talking about Yoongi and his life. Jimin is good at that.

But then Yoongi turns to him, and says, “Okay, no more lies, Park Jimin, why aren’t you studying dance when you love it so much?”

Jimin doesn’t answer for a moment, so Yoongi continues, “and really, I would leave you alone about all this, but look at me一just look at me and tell me that you don’t love to dance. Look at me again and tell me it’s just a hobby, or it’s something you could live without.”

Jimin can’t.

“It’s something else, isn’t it?” Yoongi says, as if he’s read his mind, “it’s something else.”

Nothing about his voice is rough. Not the kind of rough Jimin is used to, and maybe that’s what makes his open his mouth and talk. Or maybe it’s because it’s Yoongi, and he’s always been easy to talk to, at least for him.

“‘Cause my parents wouldn’t want it,” Jimin admits, quiet and small and unsure, “‘cause my entire life I set myself up as a child they would be proud of, and if I did this一then what? I wouldn’t even be the child they thought they raised anymore.”

It’s strange. Jimin’s parents have never expressed any disdain for his hobbies一

(not like Yoongi’s)

一but he figures they never thought he would actually end up wanting to to pursue dance when they dropped him off at the studio for the first time all those years ago. Dance had just been a placeholder, a lottery-picked after-school activity to fill Jimin’s schedule. Even he didn’t expect for things to turn out the way they did, so how could his parents possibly know? How could they possibly want this?

“Jimin,” Yoongi says, after a moment of thought, “can we make a promise?”

“For what?”

Yoongi looks up, faint smile grazing his lips, “by the time the summer ends一by the time I have to head back to Seoul, you’ll know. You’ll know what you want to chose, be it dance or business or otherwise, you’ll have made your decision and you’re going to pursue the fuck out of it.”

Jimin laughs, but he raises his hand and he and Yoongi lock pinkies.

It’s a promise.

“jimin,” yoongi starts, picking up a green crayon and frowning, “i think i might be dumb.”

jimin doesn’t even look up, “no. why.”

“well, my grades suck,” yoongi ticks the reasons off his fingers, “i’m bad at everything in school. you’re probably smarter than me and you’re, like, six. and everyone except for you thinks i’m dumb.”

jimin puts down his crayon. they’re colouring in one of those printable black-and-white cliparts that yoongi’s teacher made him work on instead of going outside for recess like the other kids because he didn’t finish his math worksheets. she probably, realistically, would have made him stay inside and work on his math, but jimin insisted on staying in with him, so she, as most adults did, softened the punishment considerably.

“your grades are not that bad.”

yoongi coughs.

“well, you know, grades aren’t everything.”

yoongi puts his head on the desk and groans.

“you’re good at music,” jimin continues, only looking slightly deterred.

“but mrs一”

“mrs. lee hasn’t heard you play the piano before,” jimin continues firmly, “and of course i’m smarter than you, are you serious?”

yoongi snorts, “oh, you brat.”

jimin grins, “you walked right into that one.”

yoongi sticks out his tongue.

they go back to colouring. yoongi’s tummy rumbles一it’ll be lunch in fifteen minutes but he didn’t have time to eat breakfast today. jimin pulls a pack of honey cookies out of his pocket一he always has them, for some reason.

“thanks,”

jimin nods.

then, after an almost silence of quiet chewing and wrapper crinkling, yoongi sighs, “jimin一”

“you’re not dumb,” jimin says, chewing on his lip as he considers between a purple and orange crayon. he chooses the orange and colours in the hair, “everyone else just can’t see how smart you are. only other smart people, like me,”

yoongi scoffs at that, “yah, park jimin, don’t just say that to flatter yourself.”

“i’m not! promise!” jimin sticks out his lower lip, petulance catching in his voice.

yoongi laughs, i know, “yeah, yeah, sure,” he ignores jimin’s offended gasp, “but you know what? that’s fine, ‘cause we’re gonna be super rich anyways, right?”

“millionaires.” jimin agrees.

“billionaires!”

“quadra-double-triple-bilmilio-naires!”

yoongi nods sagely, “can’t beat that.”

yoongi’s debating over red or black for the shoes when jimin pipes up again, “how do you get rich?”

“i dunno. maybe there’s a class for it. i should ask my parents, but i think the fastest way is just to win the l一wait!” yoongi snatches the crayon from jimin’s hand, “his hair is too orange now. no one’s hair is that color!”

jimin shrugs, “so?”

yoongi shrugs too, “so..?” he doesn’t remember his point either.

“he’ll be the first,” jimin decides, taking the crayon from yoongi’s hands. he resumes coloring.

Jimin has orange hair.

Yoongi would make fun of him, but his hair is mint green so he hardly has room to say anything.

“Why,” Jimin asks, “did you dye your hair that ridiculous colour.”

It’s a Friday afternoon, and Yoongi is pushing through the last hours of his shift. Jimin is just there to keep his company一there’s nothing much else to do, and Jimin figures watching Yoongi struggle with the constant stream of children is enough to cure his ever-increasing boredom. At least temporarily.

Yoongi unconsciously reaches up to pull at a few strands of his hair, “What, you don’t like it?”

“Hyung,” Jimin says, leaning over the sticky counter, “you and me both know you would never dye your hair green on your own will.”

The bell jingles, then, and a mom enters with her eager son, who wastes no time running over to the selection of flavours and telling Yoongi which ones he wants in which particular order. Jimin watches, half-smile playing on his face as he watches Yoongi struggle with the 5 year old’s demands.

The shop is usually more busy during weekends, when Jimin has to press against the walls of the small shop to avoid being run over by the crowd of impatient children and their accompanying guardians. Sometimes, when it gets too crowded, Yoongi will let Jimin behind the counter, and he’ll help out, just for the heck of it.

It’s a nice shop, very american-retro inspired. Jeongguk’s mentioned Yugyeom’s eye for decor before, having met him at art club, and Jimin has to admit that he’s right. There’s a warm atmosphere here, with low-hanging lamps casting a nice light over the pink-orange walls, which are plastered with bright posters. Small chairs tucked into quaint tables sit on black-and-white checkered tiles, and the counter is crowded with all sorts of vintage-y decorations.

“Have a nice day! Please come again!”

The bell rings again as the door swings shut and Jimin snaps out of his daze, spinning around once in his bar stool before turning to face Yoongi again, who looks rightfully exhausted. Jimin checks the time.

“Your shift is over in ten minutes, right? You wanna grab something to eat?”

“Mm. Where?”

Jimin shrugs. “What do you feel like?”

Yoongi grins, a mischievous, wicked thing, “Cheap and greasy and fuckin’ unhealthy?”

“Oh my god,” Jimin snorts, “you know what, let’s do it.”

They end up at a dead-end open-24-hours burger shack. The food is the epitome of cheap, greasy and fucking unhealthy and it tastes better than anything Jimin has eaten for a long time.

“It was a dare, y’know,” Yoongi takes a sip of his drink, some sprite-coke-orange-soda concoction, “the hair thing.”

“A dare?” Jimin rolls his eyes, “hyung, I thought you would have learned from all the times you got your ass beat playing truth or dare.”

“No一okay, it was a bet. Seokjin and I were guessing how many times Hoseok and Namjoon talk about the other in that fucking一” Yoongi cringes, “一gooey way and apparently it’s way more than I thought.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow at the new names, and Yoongi just waves his hand dismissively, “Friends. Hoseok and Namjoon are oblivious fucking idiots and Seokjin really wants my scalp to fall out.” he touches his hair with his non-greasy hand, “last time it was pink, so I guess this is an improvement.”

“Wait,” Jimin narrows his eyes, “you dyed your hair pink and didn’t tell me? That’s violating Rule 12 of our best friend protocol!”

“What the fuck is that.”

Jimin shrugs, “no clue. But I don’t get to see you with pink hair, then this friendship is over.”

Yoongi makes an expression of mock-hurt that makes Jimin laugh into his soda一just coke because Jimin is a normal human being. He reaches for a handful of fries and leans forward, grinning.

“So friends, huh? Tell me about them.”

Yoongi does.

He doesn’t say too much, says they’re people you have to meet to know.

Namjoon is Yoongi’s roommate, a music major who takes daily hour-long walks around Seoul and still manages to get his work done. He’s some sort of genius, Yoongi explains, says his lyrics are something else.

“Don’t think anyone will ever be able to write the way Joon does,” Yoongi mutters, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

Seokjin, the oldest of them all, more or less keeps them alive. He’s dug Yoongi out of instant-noodle-red-bull hell more than once, and preaches home-cooked meals like no other. Yoongi swears he could make it big in the culinary world, but after being undeclared for two years, Seokjin opted to branch off into acting instead.

“He helped me out a lot,” Yoongi admits, “when I was missing home and stuff. Made it a little bit easier.”

And Hoseok. Yoongi says that there’d been a sort of innate connection between them when they’d first met, an affinity that he couldn’t explain. Sitting down with him was like having a conversation with the sun一beyond bright and beautiful, it had seen a thousand years’ worth of ugly things一and maybe like the moon, the sun had a dark side too.

“He’s a dance major,” Yoongi explains, “reminded me of you a little bit when we first met. Maybe that’s why I liked him so much.”

They walk home together that night, loosely holding hands out of habit from years past. Even though it’s summer, it’s still a bit too chilly for Jimin to only be wearing a thin t-shirt and jeans. Yoongi offers his sweater, and after refusing three times, Jimin finally takes it.

“Hey, Yoongi-hyung?”

“Yeah?” his voice is throaty, fuzzy from disuse. Jimin squeezes his palm a little bit tighter一his hands are warm.

“D’you ever feel like you’re, like, getting left… behind?”

Jimin doesn’t know why or how the words slip out the way they do. Maybe because nighttime always makes him just that tiny bit more honest, or maybe because he’s been toying with the thought for a while now. Maybe because it’s Yoongi, and Jimin always loses his guard around him. Maybe he doesn’t mind.

“I feel like I’ve spent most of my life trying to catch up.” Yoongi says, as they round the corner, leaving another block of picket-fence neighbourhood behind them, “and I’m still not sure if I ever have.”

Jimin wonders how similar he and Yoongi are.

Some days, Yoongi invites Jimin over without any sort of plan in mind. They lie around for hours on hours on end and those afternoons are Jimin’s favorite.

It’s an excuse, more than anything, to do absolutely nothing. Alone, Jimin wouldn’t let himself sit around for hours just thinking, or not thinking. Alone, Jimin would force himself into something laborious that would bear fruit, as bitter as said fruit would come to be.

He wonders if Yoongi feels the same.

Yoongi invites him over on a sticky afternoon. The air is sweet that day, tastes like cherry lip balm and 50 cent lemonade.

“Let’s watch a movie,” Yoongi says, when he gets there, and Jimin is surprised but not opposed to the idea, so they sit down on the floor of Yoongi’s motel room with the broken heater and put a movie on Yoongi’s laptop.

“Let’s watch this one,” Yoongi says, pointing, and the cursor pauses over it, blinking.

“”We’ve already seen it.”

“I know,” this will have been their fourth time, “but let’s watch it again.”

Jimin has seen The Perks of Being a Wallflower on three separate occasions, but he still cries watching it again for the fourth time. Yoongi doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t say anything for a long long time after it’s ended and Jimin knows he’s thinking, letting the last lines of the movie sink in.

(this is his favorite movie. They may have seen it together four times, but Yoongi has seen it alone a hundred times more).

“Let’s go biking,” he says suddenly, and stands up.

Yoongi’s bike is older than Jimin’s, who bought a new one just last year. It’s chipped in places and rusted in others, and it squeaks if he makes too sudden a stop. But also, it’s seen summers and winters and places that Jimin doesn’t quite remember anymore, and Yoongi will still pat its memory-fused-metal with a look of old fondness.

It’s spent its last two years locked up in Jimin’s garage, and they’d spent a good afternoon fixing it back into shape, but now it works almost as well as ever. Jimin wonders if anything’s really changed at all.

Yoongi leads the way, like he used to. He doesn’t seem to have a destination in mind, just starts down the straight road that, if followed far enough, will give way to a big sparkly city with big sparkly schools and big sparkly futures.

They won’t ride that far but sometimes Jimin aches to.

They ride past trees, houses, parks. Ride until houses and parks have blurred into the backdrop and Jimin’s arms are cold from the wind. Ride until Yoongi slows, a little, not stopping, and gestures at Jimin一go on, take the lead.

So he does, wind whipping faster, colder, up front, legs pistoning harder, harder. The road stretches out into the endless horizon, and maybe it’s not the same as in the movie, but in that moment一

i swear we were infinite.

jimin is lying face-down on the floor when yoongi arrives at the dance studio.

“what the fuck park jimin, what are you doing.”

“language,” jimin scolds soulessly into the floorboards.

yoongi ignores him, “you sent me a text that said,” he clears his throat, “i am dying. in the studio. kindly come save me before i die or you will have to deal with my body. thank you.”

“i don’t see what’s wrong,” jimin mumbles, “i am dying in the studio. please save me.”

yoongi rolls his eyes, but he comes to sits down beside jimin, “okay, what’s wrong.”

jimin doesn’t answer for a long moment. “i have dance block.” he says, finally.

“what?”

jimin rolls over. his face is red, and he looks frustrated beyond frustrated, “i don’t know what i’m doing. dance is too hard. hyung, i think i’m dying, i really do, help.”

“whoa, okay, stop, what’s happening, seriously.”

jimin sits up, hair an absolute mess, “i have to choreograph something for class,” he explains, finally, “it’s not working out.”

yoongi sighs, “yah, park jimin, i thought something was actually wrong.”

jimin scowls, “something is wrong, hyung, weren’t you listening?”

yoongi shrugs, “sure. you just need to get inspired.”

jimin falls back onto his back. “impossible.”

“have you tried freestyling?”

jimin groans, “i’m shit at freestyling.”

yoongi clicks his tongue. “so what, you’re just gonna lie here and mope about it? c’mon you’re gonna have to do a lot better than that if you’re gonna be a big famous dancer.”

“you’re so mean, hyung,” jimin whines, but he gets up and immediately begins stretching. yoongi hides a grin as he heads to the speakers.

“‘m ready,” jimin says after a few minutes, and yoongi nods, hitting play on his phone.

the first song is lively, a brisk jazz piece that immediately throws jimin into a quick, upbeat sequence of steps. the music is fast moving, but so is he, moving so seamlessly to the music that it looks like he’s practiced it. yoongi makes a note to scold him later for claiming he can’t freestyle.

the second track is bass-heavy, an american hip-hop track that reverberates throughout the studio. it’s high energy, a pulsing rhythm that jimin moves in time with, using a technique yoongi vaguely remembers to be popping. jimin’s been practicing hip hop more often these days, and it shows, in the calculated, precise way that he moves.

and the third track一

there is something incomplete about it. something fleeting, temporary, ephemeral. jimin dances like he’s chasing after something, something that teases at his fingertips but always slips out of reach, and yoongi finds himself lost in the way that he moves. it’s late into the track when he remembers to press pause, and then there’s just stunned silence.

jimin is half-kneeling, eyes closed and arms raised as if reaching for something. he folds back into himself after a moment, and then he stands up.

“hey, yoongi hyung,” he mumbles, “that one was yours, wasn’t it?”

yoongi answers after a pause too long to be deliberate, “how’d you know?”

“mmm. just sounded like it. sounded like you.”

“oh.”

jimin tilts his head, “what’s it called?”

truth be told, yoongi didn’t have a name for it. it was just one of the too-many unnamed files he thought he would never finish. but when he opens his mouth to tell jimin this, the word just slips out and yoongi knows一this is it.

“It’s一um. butterfly.”

jimin hums and yoongi knows he likes it. he should. the song is for him.

Jimin wonders how Yoongi could ever have thought that he was anything remotely close to stupid. If anything, Yoongi is the smartest person he’s ever known, even if he spouts the best wisdom half drunk at 2 am.

It is, in fact, 2 am on a Thursday night一maybe morning. Jimin had been ready to go to bed somewhere around 11 pm, being the responsible adult he was. Yoongi had been ready to drink.

This is how they end up in Yoongi’s motel room at, yes, 2 fucking am, sipping red wine and bullshitting their way through drunk conversation. Yoongi is drinking from a wine glass that he conveniently brought back from Seoul (Jimin wonders if he does this often). Unfortunately, he probably hadn’t expected Jimin to join him on his late-night-early-morning alcohol runs, because he only has one cup, which leaves Jimin drinking awkwardly from a spare bowl they had found lying around.

“W-what you need,” Yoongi gestures wildly, wine sloshing around precariously in his cup, “is confidence.”

Jimin snickers, “hyung, I think I’m good.” he feels floaty, on top of the world, like he could do anything at this very moment.

“No! This is the alcohol speaking! Do not let the grapes speak for you!” Jimin has never seen Yoongi look so passionate about something before,” Do not let the grapes conquer you! Fuck the patriarchy! The grape-triarchy! Fuck them!”

Jimin giggles, “Fuck them.” he echoes hazily.

“Yes! That’s the spirit! Down with the alcohol!” Yoongi pauses his speech to take another sip of wine, “No more capitalism!”

Jimin slumps against the couch, “ooh, hyung, you’re so hot when you get mad,” he mumbles. It’s supposed to be a joke but he swears Yoongi’s cheeks flush a little. Maybe it’s just the alcohol. Or Jimin’s just hallucinating. It’s more likely than it sounds.

Yoongi clears his throat, “sorry, got a little off track there一but as I was saying一confidence! Jimin, what you need is not skill, or talent, but,” he gestures at Jimin to finish the sentence.

“Confi一”

“Confidence.”

“一dence.”

Yoongi waves his hand dismissively, “we’ll work on it.”

Jimin hums distantly. Alcohol always makes him sleepy.

“You already have the t-talent. You could wipe every dancer out there’s ass,” Yoongi frowns thoughtfully, “Except Taemin, probably.”

“Taemin’s so hot,” Jimin agrees sleepily.

“That he is,” Yoongi pauses for a moment to silently pay his respects, “the only man ever.”

“What was your point again?” Jimin says after an appropriate silence.

“Oh. Right.” Yoongi yawns, “Be confident. You already know what you want, but you’re scared, ‘cause you ain’t got enough confidence. So get that confidence, bring down the grape-triarchy, and then do whatever the fuck you want一be gay, do crimes, love Taemin.”

Jimin applauds. Then he promptly falls asleep.

The garage sale was Jimin’s idea.

It happens on a Tuesday afternoon, after they’ve biked back to Jimin’s house from the ice cream shop. Jimin runs inside to grab water while Yoongi pokes around his garage. By the time he returns, plastic water bottle in hand, Yoongi has successfully unearthed an old box of what Jimin probably marked as junk too many years ago to count. Now that Yoongi’s holding it, though, it doesn’t look like junk.

“Man, I haven’t looked at this stuff in years,” Jimin says, walking over to where Yoongi’s standing. He hands him his water, which Yoongi accepts with a grateful hum, “where’d you find it?”

Yoongi swallows a gulp of water and wipes at his mouth, “just over there. Thought I saw something moving, but it was just my imagination.”

Jimin nods as he sifts through the box, looking varying degrees of surprised as he goes through it, “damn, some of this stuff is valuable. Could sell it on ebay or at a garage sale or something.”

Yoongi makes a noise of agreement as he pulls out a box of Pokémon cards, well-worn from all the lunchtimes they had spent poring over each others collections. There are some good ones in there, he knows, rare cards that could sell for a pretty penny on any collecting site. “Garage sale sounds doable. You know how many people show up for them around here.”

So Jimin pulls up two lawn chairs from another corner of his garage that apparently doubles as a storage unit, and they sit for a few hours, just going through boxes and boxes of things that are valuable beyond their price tags.

They sit outside, because garages, especially during the summer, are a stuffy as hell. Yoongi complains about the sunlight, as he does, but he shuts up after a few minutes of sorting一keep, sell, donate.

Jimin owned a lot of fucking stuff as a kid. To be fair, half the toys are Yoongi’s because of course they are, but that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he probably ran his parents ragged buying action figures and toy cars.

“It’s a miracle you didn’t turn out incredibly spoiled,” Yoongi tuts, carrying another box of miscellany out of the garage, “everyone was too good to you as a kid一do you know how many times we got out of trouble because you could charm your way out of it? Park Jimin, you absolute devil child.”

“Don’t you mean angel?” Jimin pouts, “c’mon, think about how many times I saved your ass as a kid. If I got paid for it, I’d be Bill fucking Gates by now.”

Yoongi snorts and they lapse back into almost-silence. Jimin’s neighbor has a penchant for blasting his music at the strangest times. Today, it’s the 80s during late afternoon.

And maybe it’s because the music makes Jimin feel nostalgic, but less and less things start joining the keep or sell pile. Everything he picks up brings a memory with it, and oddly, childishly, it’s something he’s not quite ready to let go of yet.

That was his favorite car to play with. This was a present from Yoongi on his seventh birthday. He used to hug this teddy bear to sleep. He points these things out to Yoongi sometimes. Other times he just holds it to himself, a secret, almost, even though he feels like Yoongi knows anyways.

And then he comes across a box with no toys or cards or stuffies, just a cardboard box full of photos. Some of them are from a time he doesn’t recognize, with people he doesn’t know, somewhere within his parents’ youth. Then there he is, tiny and smiling and crying and according to Yoongi, when he peers over his shoulder, likely the loudest fucking baby in the entire world.

First day of preschool. Meeting Yoongi. Kindergarten. First grade. Yoongi. Playdates. Second grade. Dancing. More Yoongi. Summer. Winter. Third grade. More Dancing. More Yoongi.

Jimin stops there.

“Hyung,” he says, “I don’t think一”

“Yeah,” Yoongi puts the photo album he’s holding back into the box, “me neither.”

(so the garage sale doesn’t happen. jimin wonders if he was silly for ever thinking of it in the first place一how could they ever have thought about selling a childhood?)

Yoognie hyung <3333333

hey jimin

jimmiinn

i know you’re awake its 12

hey hey hey

come over

quick

Jimin parks his bike against the side of the motel. He waves at Jeongguk一bent over his homework as always一and heads up the stairs to the second floor. Room 106.

The door flies open before he even knocks, revealing a mildly disgruntled looking Yoongi. His mint hair is a mess, tangled and uncombed, and he’s still in his pajamas. Jimin gives him a curious glance before he’s ushered inside, door slamming behind him.

“Fucking finally,” Yoongi grumbles, “I’ve been stuck with these idiots for the past half hour.”

Jimin blinks, suddenly aware of the presence of others in the room. Three others in the room, none of whom he recognizes

“Oh my g一what the fuck?”

“Oh, I knew he’d say that!” one of them squeals, “Jinnie hyung, you owe me 15 000 won!”

“Hoseok, I did not agree to this一”

“What is going on?” Jimin asks.

“We got bored,” Yoongi explains, “so they were betting on your reaction. Seokjin here thought that you would be completely unfazed or whatever the fuck, so he loses, okay moving on.”

Seokjin sniffs.

“Oh!” Jimin realizes, “oh, these are your friends from Seoul!”

“Mmhm,” Yoongi yawns, “they wanted to talk to you.”

“Me?”

“Yoongi hyung told us a lot about you,” says the person who, by process of elimination, Jimin has deduced to be Namjoon, “and we thought that maybe we could help you out with your, uh, problem.”

Jimin seems to be buffering for a few moments before he realizes. “Do they all know?” Jimin hisses to Yoongi.

“Um. Maybe?”

Jimin glares at him.

“Well to be fair,” Namjoon continues smoothly, “he’s told you about us too, right? What do you know?”

Jimin shrugs, “um, let’s see. You’re Namjoon and you’re a music major and you write really good lyrics. That’s Seokjin and he’s an acting major and good at cooking and Hoseok, dance major, 24/6 sunshine. Oh, and you two are in love.” He doesn’t gesture at either Namjoon or Hoseok, but they both flush and shoot glares at Yoongi, who will probably have a lot to deal with after this conversation is over.

Seokjin whistles, “shit, did Yoongi make you study?”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head, “you guys just seemed like interesting people, I guess. Not easy to forget.”

“That is the nicest thing someone has said to me in a long time,” Namjoon says, already recovered, putting a hand on his chest, “I like you, Park Jimin.”

Yoongi clears his throat, “Yes, that’s all very good and nice, but isn’t there more you should tell him?”

“Oh, right,” Namjoon exchanges glances with Hoseok and Seokjin, “so who’s going first?”

“yoongi hyung,” jimin sings as he glides into his room, “guess what i have~”

yoongi doesn’t even turn around from where he’s seated at his desk. “yah park jimin, i’m working.”

jimin pouts, throwing himself onto yoongi’s bed and ignoring his grunt of protest, “okay, but hyung, you’re really gonna wanna see this! it’s your birthday present, okay?”

jimin is big about birthdays and yoongi is not heartless, so he pulls his headphones off and spins around, “okay, but make it一”

jimin pulls two pieces of paper out of his pocket and yoongi’s eyes go wide as saucers.

“park jimin, how did you一”

jimin bounces out of reach as yoongi leans forward, “nope! first you have to apologize for ignoring me.”

yoongi gives him a look.

jimin gives him a look.

yoongi sighs, “okay, i’m sorry jimin, i won’t snub you next time.”

jimin grins, handing him his present with a flourish, “you’re forgiven.”

“okay, wait, so these are real?”

“yoongi!” jimin looks disgusted, “i’m not a scammer, of course they’re fucking real!”

yoongi nods slowly, turning the tickets over in his hand. two concert tickets for september 18, to see一

“epik high!” jimin cheers, “we’ll have to take the train there, but it’s the closest一”

yoongi tackles him in a hug, “what the fuck, park jimin,” he laughs, “how the fuck did you even get these?”

“i know people who know people,” jimin says, then teasingly, “what, no thank you?”

yoongi pulls away so he can look jimin in the eyes, “park jimin,” he says slowly, “this is, like, the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, will you fucking marry me.”

jimin snorts, but his cheeks are pink, “you’re so weird, hyung.”

yoongi laughs, too, “no, but seriously, thanks a lot. it means a lot to me, you know that?”

jimin thinks about his extra shifts at the convenience store, the candy shop. thinks about the odd jobs he’d taken up, thinks about scrubbing the kitchen floor and mowing the lawn. thinks about how it’s worth it, “yeah, hyung,” he says softly, “i know.”

Seokjin goes first.

“Yoongi told you I was undeclared, right?”

Jimin nods, “Yeah, I think so. For two years, right?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin purses his lips, “was real hell for those two years.”

Kim Seokjin is frustratingly good-looking, plush lips and a long, sharp jawline. He’s tall一at least, taller than Jimin by a good few centimeters (hey, look, there’s someone shorter than Yoongi-hyung!一Hoseok). He’s also not as fucking crazy as Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon, with their respective orange, mint, and pink hair一opting to keep his hair a conventional shade of brown. Jimin takes this as confirmation that Yoongi has probably lost every ridiculous hair-dyeing bet they’ve ever made.

“To be fair, the first year wasn’t completely awful,” Seokjin recalls, “but I had virtually no friends, which was great.” he grimaces.

“Wait, seriously?”

“I know, right? With my face?” Seokjin sighs, “but yeah, it was hard. Got stuck with a shitty roommate and, I dunno, just couldn’t find anyone.

“Then, the second year, I started feeling the pressure. I still had no idea what the fuck I wanted to do with my life, not a single fucking clue. Yoongi and I became friends, though, and he was just as much of a mess as I was,” Yoongi makes a noise of indignance, “so that was somewhat of a reassurance.

“But you know what?” Seokjin smiles, “this one night, I decided I was done with being miserable all the time and I fucking went out there. Tried the weirdest fucking things and found something that I liked. Two things I liked, I guess.”

“Acting and singing,” Namjoon interrupts, “which was a total letdown, dude, I thought you were gonna take up professional skydiving.”

“How do you major in skydiving?”

“Why’d you try it out if you couldn’t major in it then?”

Seokjin sighs dramatically, “Soul-searching, my dude. You wouldn’t understand.”

“13 000 feet in the air? The only thing you were searching for was一”

“Ladies, ladies.” Yoongi interrupts, “as much as this is entertaining to watch, we have places to be. Could you just wrap it up, hyung?”

“Places to be?” Jimin glances around and realizes apparently everyone is aware of this except him.

“We’re going to the dance studio,” Hoseok grins, “I want to see you dance, Park Jimin.”

Jimin gulps, suddenly feeling intimidated as Seokjin quickly finishes up, “Yeah, so that’s it, I guess. A major in acting and a minor in vocal performance. My parents aren’t exactly rolling with that decision, but what the fuck, I’m happy. Take risks, Jimin, take the right risks and they’ll take you places you could never reach otherwise.”

Namjoon goes next.

He tells his story on the way to the dance studio一on foot because the three of them didn’t bring their bikes; they’re only staying two days anyway.

“Unlike Seokjin hyung,” he starts, “I knew what I wanted to do the moment I moved to Seoul. It was music, for me, my entire life. But I guess, I guess other people thought otherwise.”

Namjoon walks with Jimin, Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok trailing behind them. “I, um, okay, people thought I would go into some other industry ‘cause of my grades. I don’t know why, I mean they’re weren’t that good, i一”

“His IQ is 148,” Hoseok hollers, “don’t believe a word out of his mouth.”

Namjoon blushes, “Well, you know,” he mumbles, “sometimes I get lucky.”

Jimin gives a stilted nod, jaw still hanging open as he gestures for him to continue.

“So, yeah. Choosing music was hard, ‘cause I knew it wasn’t just my family I was disappointing, it was so many other people too, y’know? Thought I could be the pride of my town一it’s a small one, just like it is here, so word spreads fast, y’know? People were angry, and I hated myself so much for choosing what I did一can you believe it?” Namjoon laughs, “IQ of one hundred fucking forty eight and I couldn’t understand what was so wrong about people I didn’t even know getting fucking mad at me for living my own life.

“It took me months to forgive myself for something that I had nothing to apologize for. But when I did finally realize that it’s my life一it’s my life to live and possibly fuck up一it took such a weight off my chest. So Jimin一remember that it’s your life. It’s yours and no one else’s and you don’t let it be anyone else’s, okay?”

Jimin nods. My life.

Don’t let it be anyone else’s, okay?

this is their first concert. needless to say, they are maybe a little bit unprepared for the grandeur of the venue and the size of the crowd, but halfway into the night, jimin thinks it might be the best of his life.

at some point, jimin peels his eyes away from the stage long enough to check on how yoongi is doing. and oh, even now, jimin remembers the sight.

that night, yoongi looked like he had stars in his eyes. something beyond passion burned within him, something rare and beautiful and oh so fleeting that jimin only barely glimpsed the surface of it.

(he wanted to know what was beyond that).

but jimin is still dumb and a teenager and even as something new and strange simmers in his stomach, he turns back to the stage.

a second too early. maybe if he kept on watching, he would have seen what lay beyond the shallows.

(two people fall in love that night. yoongi falls in love with music. jimin falls in love with yoongi.

yoongi has been in love with him since they were six and jimin rescued him from under a blue plastic slide where the sun didn’t reach).

By the time they get to the dance studio, after twenty minutes of walking and Yoongi complaining, they’re all properly sweaty. Summer may be trickling away, but the heat certainly isn’t letting up.

“You three hooligans go wait outside,” Hoseok says, who looks as put together as one can be after walking in 40 degree weather, “Jiminnie and I have some dancing to do.”

Seokjin and Namjoon immediately start protesting, which Jimin admits is probably fair, but Yoongi drags them outside, mumbling that they’ll be at the cafe that’s close by. It’s only a five minute walk, but looking at them, Jimin doesn’t know how much more they can take.

“So,” Hoseok says, once the door shuts, “let’s get moving!”

They do some light stretches first, making light conversation. Jimin tells Hoseok that the studio belongs to his old dance instructor, who gives him a copy of the keys in exchange for a small fee every month.

“No one really dances in this town,” Jimin explains, “they used to, when I was a kid, but something happened, it died out.”

“Bummer,” Hoseok says sympathetically, “they don’t even know what they’re missing out on.”

Jimin hums as he does some toe touches, “how ‘bout in your town?”

“Oh, no,” Hoseok laughs, not unhappily, “in my neighbourhood? Dance is completely fucking extinct一we didn’t even have a proper studio. I practiced in my basement.”

“Oh,” Jimin says, and feels terribly lucky.

Hoseok shrugs, “it was alright. My neighbour’s daughter was a dancer, so he knew a couple things. He would teach me sometimes, and his daughter too, when she was around. But that was about it, dance didn’t exist elsewhere. Now,” he claps, hoisting himself to his feet, and briskly changing subjects, “let’s do some freestyling!”

“Oh, I’m not so good at t一”

Hoseok shrugs, “but you can do it, right?”

Jimin blinks, “y-yeah?”

“Great!” Hoseok smiles, wide, and only now Jimin realizes that his smile is shaped like a heart, “so let’s dance our fucking hearts out.”

So they do.

“Fu-fucking liar,” Hoseok pants, trying to catch his breath, “that was some d-damn good dancing back一back there.

Jimin tries to laugh, but he’s too tired and it comes out as an amused breath instead, “Th-thanks. You too.” he finds that with Hoseok, it’s maybe better to just accept his compliments than refuse them.

They’d circled through a lot of songs in the past 10-ish minutes. It was fascinating, Jimin thinks, to dance alongside someone to the same song and see how differently their bodies move to it. He misses this一dancing with someone else一there’s something different about it that Jimin’s been deprived of for the past few years.

“Hey,” Hoseok says, once he looks a little less drop-dead exhausted, “you wanna hear another story?”

Jimin just gestures for him to go on.

“Hope you like this one,” Hoseok smiles, and he looks like the afternoon sun一soft-edged and languid, “‘cause it’s about yours truly.”

“I wanted to start dancing after I saw a group perform on TV,” he leans back on his hands, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, “thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.”

“It was a hobby at first,” Hoseok admits, “I just danced when I felt like it. And then I guess I just… always felt like it. Started taking it a lot more seriously, and my grades sort of weren’t doing that well anymore. I knew my parents suspected something, but they didn’t speak up about it until I actually injured myself.”

Jimin’s eyes widen, “What happened? Was it bad?”

“Nah, just a light sprain, I was being careless and tripped over something,” Hoseok shrugs, “but for them, it was enough of an excuse to get me to quit.”

“But you didn’t,” Jimin guesses.

“Fuck no,” Hoseok laughs, loud, “just ‘cause I didn’t have a teacher anymore, didn’t mean I couldn’t teach myself. I could only dance at night, though, as long as I got to do it, right? I got good enough to make it into university, I guess, and here I am,” he exhales, “and, um, that’s it.”

Neither of them say anything for a while. Then Jimin stands up, stretches, and says, “Thank you. You and Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung, too. For everything.”

Hoseok just looks at him. Shakes his head, smiles一heart shaped.

“Another round?”

Jimin can hardly refuse.

They’re halfway through when Jimin finds himself snapping out of the haze he falls into when he gets too into the dance, into the music. He feels the ache of his limbs when he moves, the pull of gravity at his ankles when he jumps, the exhaustion that traps itself between his ribs with every breath he takes and begs to be let out.

(this is the feeling he craves).

Jimin could be happy like this, dancing forever until his limbs give in. Dancing until the sun goes down and the moon comes up, because he knows the studio won’t feel so cold anymore. Because he knows that this is what he wants, for the rest of his life, and maybe even after.

(this is the first of many realizations).

Jimin throws his head back, smiles so hard it hurts. It’s here that he catches sight of a not-unwelcome visitor. Yoongi’s propped up against the back wall of the studio, watching the two of them dance. And, well, he's used to this, used to the quiet, light-footed way Yoongi will make his way into the studio whenever he feels like watching Jimin dance, but there is something different about his gaze this time that Jimin feels in his bones.

Jimin knows this look. This is Yoongi coming back for the summer after two years of radio silence, the same but all of entirely different. This is cold summers and warm winters, 99 cent soda and 5 dollar coffee, it’s blue slides and swings sets and meeting somewhere in the middle. This is Yoongi and Jimin, at their best and their worst, this is that something rare and beautiful that Jimin had only barely just glimpsed all those years ago.

(this is beyond).

Jimin stumbles out of step. Exhaustion and confusion and whatdoesitmeanwhatdoesitmean hits him all at once and it’s probably only because Hoseok catches him in time that Jimin doesn’t hit the floor.

“Hey, Jimin, are you okay?” he asks, eyebrows knitting in concern, “that w一”

“Just peachy!,” Jimin interrupts loudly, springing to his feet, “I-I’m just tired, we should一should head back now. I’ll go get them一uh, Namjoon hyung and Seokjin hyung.”

And before Hoseok can remind him that this is the 21st century and cell phones do, in fact, exist, Jimin is out the door. Hoseok and Yoongi watch in stunned fascination.

“You remember when Seokjin hyung was talking about taking risks?” Hoseok asks, watching as Jimin trip-runs out of the studio.

Yoongi turns to him, eyebrows raised, “yes, and?”

“Jimin. Take risks.”

Yoongi chokes.

Hoseok tosses his hair and smiles, “He’s a good kid. I like him, hyung.”

Yoongi laughs, but quietly, face turned away so that Hoseok can’t see the pink flush that creeps over the bridge of his nose, he says, “me too.”

Jimin doesn't see much of Yoongi for the next few days. He takes time off for himself, thinks about everything there is to think about and everything there isn’t. He takes himself where he wants to go and does the things he wants to do and after three days of this, Jimin feels a lot less miserable than he has for a long time.

He talks to Hoseok, Seokjin, and Namjoon a little before they leave. They all exchange numbers, and say that Jimin can reach out to them if he ever needs help, and Jimin thinks it only makes sense for Yoongi to make friends with some of the kindest people to ever walk this earth.

He gets close with Hoseok, especially. They dance together one more time before he has to leave, but this time Hoseok teaches him one of his routines and Jimin promises he’ll have it perfected the next time they meet. It turns out, too, that Hoseok is the street dancer that Taehyung had told him about一it really is a small world after all. Hoseok promises he’ll tell Taehyung how much Jimin misses him when he gets back to Seoul.

“Don’t you fucking give up,” he’d said, as a parting, “no matter what, you keep fucking going.”

And then the three of them are gone and it’s just Jimin and Yoongi again. Like it’s always been.

“Hey.”

Jimin looks up. This feels like déjà-vu一Yoongi standing in the doorway of the dance studio一all mint hair and warm eyes and an easy smile. “Hey,” Jimin answers, gesturing for Yoongi to come over, “where’ve you been for the past few days?”

“Working on something.”

“Oh?” Jimin tries his best not too sound too interested.

“You’ll see it soon,” Yoongi replies ambiguously, “been doing some dancing?”

“Not really. I’ve just been sitting here for the past hour,” Jimin admits, “just doing some thinking.”

“About what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Yoongi snorts, “whatever, keep it to yourself. Let’s dance.”

“What?” Yoongi stands up and Jimin springs up after him, “let’s dance? As in you and me dance? As in you dance?”

Yoongi stares at him, “Yes? Problem?”

Jimin stares back, “you know how to dance?”

“For this song, yeah, I guess so,” Yoongi plugs his phone into the mp3 and grins, “c’mon, I’ll teach you.”

Jimin looks like he’s going to faint.

“And then you turn, right foot一no, right foot.”

“Hyung,” Jimin deadpans, “it’s the left foot. You told me so the first time we ran through this.”

“I did?” Yoongi scrunches up his nose, “wait. I did. Oops”

“Oops,” Jimin echoes, “okay, I think I’m good with this part, can we move on?”

“One more time,” Yoongi insists, replaying the song from the beginning.

It’s lyricless, just a wandering melody that filters dimly through the speakers. Jimin’s never heard it before, but he has a feeling he knows where it’s from.

This一dancing with Yoongi一it’s the last confirmation Jimin needs. To know what he wants. To know he wants dance.

Jimin’s doing well. Yoongi, too, is a surprisingly not-horrible dancer, especially considering how he keeps getting the steps mixed up. But Jimin’s the one who fucks up, on the last step, no less, because he turns with his right foot instead of his left (really, this is Yoongi’s fault) and they go crashing right into each other.

Yoongi’s arm instinctively wraps around Jimin’s waist, who, after flailing wildly for a moment, latches onto Yoongi’s free in absolutely heat-of-the-moment desperation. Also, maybe it’s something he’s wanted to do for a long time, because he still remembers the comforting warmth of Yoongi’s hand walking from home from that burger shack, but, no, Jimin shakes his head, that’s not it.

“Uh,” Yoongi’s voice is little lower than usual, “you okay there?”

Jimin opens his eyes and oh nope nope nope Yoongi is so close. He shuts his eyes again, “fine.” he squeaks.

Yoongi laughs, and Jimin feels warmth bubble up in him. He cracks one eye open in curiosity, and that feeling stirs in his stomach. Jimin doesn’t know what to call it一it’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but it certainly is strong, and Jimin certainly has no idea how to deal with it.

Yoongi swings him back up to his feet and calls for a water break, which is good timing because Jimin’s face is fucking burning and his throat has suddenly gotten dryer than Yoongi’s humor.

What does it mean?

“i can’t believe you’re leaving for seoul tomorrow,” jimin laments, from where he’s propped up sideways against yoongi’s bedframe. his feet are in the air, and jimin kicks them a few times in frustration.

“me neither,” yoongi admits. he casts a wary glance at his luggage, neatly piled up near the door, “how did i even fucking pass high school.”

“a fair question.”

yoongi glares at him, “whatever happened to calling me smart? man, you treated me way better when you were, like, four.”

jimin laughs. they’re both joking, obviously. yoongi’s gotten a lot smarter since they finished middle school一adults will say it’s because of cram school but jimin knows yoongi had it in him the entire time.

(he’d never admit it, though一maybe he really has changed that much).

“you ever think about how we stayed friends for that long?”

yoongi scoffs, “no? c’mon, how do you think we’ve managed to stay friends with tae and gguk?”

“we literally met them, like, last year.”

“well, for tae, it’s been two years.”

“fuckin’ smartass.”

the sun is starting to set. jimin will have to head home soon, but maybe his parents won’t mind if he’s a little late.

“it is kinda impressive, isn’t it?” yoongi admits, “how many years now?”

“don’t make me count,” jimin groans, “it’s summertime, no math.”

“no math,” yoongi agrees.

they sit there for a little bit longer in silence. jimin figures they should be doing something more exciting for yoongi’s last day, but maybe this is more their pace.

“i gotta go,” jimin says, once the sun is just about out of sight. he checks his watch, “‘m already late for dinner.”

“oh,” yoongi manages. he doesn’t want jimin to leave.

“i’ll wake up early tomorrow,” jimin says, “i swear.”

yoongi’s lips twist, “pinky swear?”

they haven’t pinky-promised anything for a while, but if there’s any time to start again, it’s now.

“okay,” jimin says, “but for something more important than just that. you have to pinky promise that you’ll come back sometime. to visit me and taehyung and jeongguk and everyone一you have to come back soon. as soon as you can.”

yoongi scoffs, “easy,” but he still sticks his hand out and they lock pinkies.

“Okay, let’s finish up,” Yoongi claps, “water break over.”

Jimin snorts, “why are you so serious about this?”

“I have no fucking life,” Yoongi deadpans, and beckons Jimin to join him at the centre of the room.

“Did Hoseok choreograph this?”

“No, I just pulled this routine out of my ass,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, “of course he did.”

Jimin pouts, “geez, hyung, why are you in such a bad mood all of a sudden?”

Yoongi just shrugs.

They move onto the second half of the routine. It takes Jimin much longer to learn, not necessarily because it’s more difficult, but because the feeling is getting much worse and he still, for the life of him, cannot figure out what it is or what it’s trying to tell him.

“Like this,” he mutters to himself, miming through the steps in an attempt to memorize them. Usually, he’s good at this, but right now, nothing seems to be sticking.

“No, here, like this.”

Yoongi gently takes his hands, “see, this comes first, and then一”

Jimin doesn’t hear the rest of it over his heartbeat, thrumming loud in his ears and reverberating throughout his body. He’s pretty sure that he’s shaking.

Yoongi’s hands are hot hot hot against his skin, and it’s all Jimin can feel, the burn of skin on skin. It’s strange, addicting, and Jimin wants more.

He looks up, and maybe this is a mistake, and maybe it’s not, because Yoongi is close, close like the first time, but this is different. Jimin’s back is against his chest and Yoongi’s holding him tight tight tight, and if Jimin looks hard enough, he can see the faint sun-spread freckles that are splayed across Yoongi’s cheekbones.

“Yoongi-hyung,” he manages, and Yoongi looks at him, really looks, and he knows.

It’s comfortable when Jimin falls into him, like nothing has changed, really. He’s not sure who leans in first and it doesn’t really matter, because it’s finally happening, and in the moment, Jimin’s not really thinking about those things.

It’s a good kiss.

When they pull back (Jimin’s not sure who pulls back first, either, but that’s okay), Yoongi mutters something under his breath and Jimin laughs, asks him to repeat it.

“I said,” Yoongi grumbles, redder than Jimin’s ever seen them in the however-many years of their friendship, “that I fucking love you and you better fucking say it back.”

“Hyung,” Jimin says, still holding his hands, “I fucking love you.”

Yoongi goes impossibly redder and Jimin loves him impossibly more.

“Jimin!” his mother calls from the bottom of the stairs, “come help me with something?”

“Sure, eomma!”

Jimin hops off his bed, remembering what he and Yoongi had talked about the day before. This is the time to talk to her about it, he thinks to himself, now or never.

“Will you help me with the dishes?” she asks.

Jimin tries his best not to look surprised. His mother doesn’t ask him to help her with a lot of household chores一they used to do the dishes together when he was a kid and he had to stand on a stepstool to reach the sink, but those times have long since passed.

“Sure,” he says, anyway, and follows her into the kitchen.

They work in silence, at first. She soaps and Jimin rinses, and for a while, only the intermittent running of the sink fills the silence.

Jimin’s the one who breaks it, “Eomma,” he says quietly, “I think there are some things I should tell you about. About this summer.”

She hums as a signal to go on, so Jimin does, “You know, I-I spent a lot of time with Yoongi and I realized some things一”

“Are you guys finally together?” she interrupts, handing him a plate and Jimin almost drops it.

“What?”

She sighs, “Look, Jimin, believe it or not, I was young once, and I know what it’s like to be in love for the first time. And I’ve never seen two people look as ridiculously, obliviously, enamored as you two, so are you together yet?”

Jimin continues to stare at her, completely bug-eyed.

“Yes?” she guesses, “you are. You are?”

Jimin feels himself nod.

“Oh, that’s great Jimin-ah! I would give you a hug right now, love, but I might get soap in your hair,” she clears her throat, “go on, please.”

“Right,” Jimin says slowly, “um, yeah, I was actually going to say something else, but you know, that’s fine too.”

She watches him expectantly.

“It’s about my future? My major. University and stuff.”

It’s my life.

“Ah,” she says, immediately sobering up.

“Yeah,” Jimin bites his lip, “I made my decision.”

Take risks.

“Eomma,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Be confident.

“Eomma,” he says, louder. His voice shakes but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t fucking matter, because, “I want to do dance.”

Her expression is blank.

Don’t you fucking give up.

“I thought about it a lot, you know that?” Jimin stares down at the plate he’d been washing. He can see his reflection in it, “I did. I almost convinced myself to do something else to make you and Appa happy. But you know,” he takes a slow breath, “this is一this is my life? And I love dance so fucking much and I don’t think I could live without dancing every day in my fucking life and maybe at the beginning of the summer, I thought that living the life everyone wanted me to live would make everyone happy, but now I don’t even want to think about it, it’s so一” he chokes, “just, this is what I want, Eomma, you can agree or disagree, but this is what I want and I hope you can accept that. One day.”

You already know what you want, but you’re scared.

You already know what you want.

(Say it).

“Oh, Jimin-ah,” she laughs, but there’s a note of tearfulness in it, “I never wanted you to do一what was it一business? I mean, it would have been nice, but Jimin, all I ever wanted was for you to be sure.”

Jimin feels some kind of choking noise leave his throat, and his mom reaches over to hug him. He’s pretty sure there are soap suds in his hair.

“I’m sure, Eomma,” his voice catches in his throat, “I’m sure.”

Yoongi is leaving tomorrow. Jimin wants him to stay but he won’t ask him to.

They’re sitting in the ice cream shop. It closes early on Sundays and technically this is Yoongi’s last day so he probably isn’t allowed to be here anymore, but Yugyeom is a nice guy and he just tells Yoongi to lock up when he’s done.

They sit at the counter facing the window. Sunset is nearing. It’s their favorite time of day.

Jimin has a double scoop of vanilla, because after spending a whole summer with Yoongi here, he’s tried just about every other flavour. Vanilla is good, though. Sometimes it’s nice to go back to the basics.

“Hey,” Yoongi says, taking a lick of his chocolate-coffee popsicle, “you wanna hear another story? Even though you’re probably bored of them now, after Joon and S一”

“Tell me the story.”

Yoongi laughs, “okay.”

“It’s the story of a boy who broke his promise,” he starts, looking down at the sticky counter, “so it might be a little bit sad.”

“So, there’s a little boy一his name is Yoongi. He grows up with this idiot named Park Jimin and somehow they’re best friends for their entire lives. But one day, Yoongi has to leave for university and Jimin can’t come with him.

“They make a promise, though,” Yoongi smiles, not unhappily, “that Yoongi will come back to visit as soon as he can.”

Jimin remembers.

“So he leaves. Yoongi is majoring in architecture, and he likes it at first. But he meets these three people, and they all seem to love what they’re doing, and Yoongi wonders why he can’t love architecture the way they love music and singing and dancing and acting. Maybe it takes him a little bit too long to realize, but he does, eventually, realize that maybe it’s music that he loves too. It’s music that he wants to do for the rest of his life.”

This makes Jimin smile.

“So, of course, he wants to go and tell his friend from back home, that idiot Park Jimin. First he tells his parents, though, and, huh, they don’t react at all like Yoongi wished they would.”

Yoongi swallows, “I knew they wouldn’t be happy,” he mumbles, “but the things they said一they made me feel so ashamed, Jimin. You know, there’s a reason I’m living at the motel and everything. They won’t let me back home, and I didn’t want to come back either, ‘cause I thought you would一would be disappointed in me. Too. And that was the fucking scariest thing of all, was the thought that you wouldn’t like me anymore.”

“Why?” Jimin can’t help breaking in, “why一how could you even一”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi laughs, coldly, “it’s ridiculous now that I think about it, but in the moment, it felt so fucking real. So I didn’t come back. I shut you out and I didn’t come back until, well, now, I guess, because it took me two fucking years to build up enough courage.”

“It’s okay, hyung,” Jimin says quietly, after a moment. He runs a hand through Yoongi’s hair一the mint is fading out and Jimin wonders if he’ll dye it pink again, “being brave is hard. We all know that.” He’s still not brave enough to stick half a foot into the grocery store that Yoongi’s family runs.

“Yeah,” Yoongi mumbles.

Jimin gives him a hug and doesn’t pull away for a long long time.

“You know the first song you wrote for me?” Jimin smiles softly, looking at the sunset through fingerprint-smudged glass, “butterfly, that one?”

Yoongi hums.

“I think when I was dancing to it, freestyling, and I didn’t have to think about it一when I just knew what to do and where to go and how to dance一like really dance一that was when I realized I wanted to dance. For real,” he coughs, “obviously, that got twisted later, but y’know, that一that was it.”

“Oh,” Yoongi breathes, and he’s smiling so big that it takes all of Jimin not to kiss him silly, “that’s一wow.”

Jimin laughs, and they lapse back into comfortable silence. The sun goes down, slides beneath the horizon to mark the end of summer一for real, for real. Jimin’s heart clenches and he doesn’t know why.

“I think, then,” Yoongi says suddenly, “the moment I wanted to do music, for real, was when we went to that concert, and I saw you having all that fun and looking on top of the world and I wanted to make you feel like that through my music too. I wanted to make people smile as big as you did listening to music that I一that I made.”

Jimin can see it.

“You will,” Jimin says, “one day, for sure, for certain, you will. I know it.”

“I guess this is it,” Yoongi checks his watch. The train is leaving in five minutes.

“We have five minutes,” Jimin points out, peering over his shoulder, “you can do a lot in five minutes.”

Yoongi laughs, “really.”

“Yes!” Jimin insists, pressing a package into Yoongi’s hands, “here, it’s a gift for you. Don’t open it ‘til you get to Seoul.”

Yoongi gives it a shake, “what is it?”

Jimin gives him a look, “hyung, are you even listening? It’s supposed to be a surprise, dumbass.”

(scrapbooks. from the garage sale they never had).

“Alright, alright.” Yoongi agrees, “anything else?”

“Oh yeah!” Jimin sets his backpack down on the floor and rummages through it, “some letters. For you and Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung and Hoseok-hyung and Taehyung.”

“I can’t open mine until I get to Seoul,” Yoongi guesses. Jimin beams.

“That’s it, then.” he says, “it’s all I had time for.”

“Well then, I guess it’s my turn.”

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “Oh no, hyung, you really didn’t h一”

Yoongi gives him a look.

“It’s small, anyway.” Yoongi slips a CD out of his jacket pocket, “here. Another song. For you. Well, not really, it’s, um, kinda our song. But yeah. For you.”

“A CD though? Hyung, really?”

Yoongi scowls, “look, kid, it works as well as any digital file,” Jimin snorts, “plus this is supposed to be. Like. The. Romantic? Waytodoit.”

Jimin coos at him. Yoongi seems to be awfully good at turning red these days.

“Anyways,” he says, “it’s the song we danced to. Just completed一I did the rap part and Seokjin-hyung did the vocals for me. Namjoon helped produce it and Hoseok, well y’know, choreographed it. For you, Jimin, so you better love it.”

He knows he will.

“The 8:30 train for Seoul is now departing,” the intercom announces, “all passengers please line up at the gate with their tickets. Thank you.”

Jimin looks sad, “well, um. That’s you.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi kisses his forehead, “look, there’s no radio silence this time, I’ve fucking skyping you every chance I get,” he smiles, “keep dancing, okay?”

Jimin sniffs, “I will. You have to come back next summer too, okay?”

Yoongi grins, “how about during winter break?”

Jimin jump-hugs him.

When Jimin gets home, eyes absolutely dry, he puts the disk into the old CD player they still keep lying around. So Far Away, it says on the cover, scribbled in black Sharpie.

To butterfly boy, to the greatest dancer in the world, to my fucking sunshine, park jimin.

Jimin presses play and listens.