Archive of Our Own

“Please, please , can you let me put up just one Christmassy thing?” Seokjin whines, practically on the verge of a tantrum. “Just something small? All this black is killing me . ”

Taehyung, who is currently in the process of securing a fake spider’s web to the corner above the drinks table, glares at his older brother over his shoulder, brows furrowed angrily. “I’m sorry, is this your party?”

Taking a deep calming breath, Seokjin’s fists ball at his sides. “No, but—”

There’s a patronising look to Taehyung’s face; mouth pulled into a flat line and eyebrows raised to his hairline. “And do I typically make a habit of asking you to change your party themes?”

“Well, no…” Seokjin replies, frustration lacing through his voice like poison.

“Huh,” Taehyung replies, dismissively. “Then I think you already know the answer to your stupid question, don’t you, hyung .”

There’s a red tint to Seokjin’s face, teeth clamped tightly together, and if this were a cartoon, Jimin thinks there could very well be steam spilling out of his ears. “Kim Taehyung, you are so, utterly insufferable .”

The insult practically bounces off Taehyung’s skin, wide boxy smile across his face as he turns back to his decorating. “Thanks, I do try.”

Jimin jumps up from the sofa and places a calming hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “You know it’s not worth it, hyung,” Jimin warns, grip tight as he somewhat holds Seokjin back from clobbering his brother. “Take a deep breath. Count to ten.”

It takes a few moments for Seokjin to calm the flames of his anger down enough to do as Jimin says. He sucks in a deep mouthful of air, holds it for ten seconds, then lets it out in a long slow exhale.

“Feel better?” Jimin asks, softly.

Seokjin glares at him, but his face is considerably less red. “What do you think?” he snaps and Jimin smiles gingerly, ducking his head. With a long, disappointed sigh, Seokjin folds his arms across his chest. “Can’t you talk some sense into him? You love Christmas, Jiminie.”

“Bros before Christmas Hoes,” Taehyung calls from his corner. He made all the decorations himself this year with some help from Jimin and Jungkook whenever they were free from their gruelling study schedules. There’s not much horror to the spiders Taehyung painted or the little ghosts he made from recycled bedsheets. They’ve all been given big glittering eyes and cute little smiles. It looks more like a kids Halloween party rather than a college student's anti-Christmas party, but if Taehyung is happy, then so is Jimin.

“What does that even mean?” Seokjin huffs, exasperated.

Jimin giggles, returning to his spot on the sofa and curling his feet under himself. “It means that if my soulmate hates Christmas, then I will hate it with him and bitch about the damned holiday over wine and crackers.”

“Here, here!” Taehyung sing-songs as he climbs off the drinks table he’d been standing on to put up the spider’s web. “Jiminie, did you set up the apple bobbing in the bathroom?”  

Seokjin pulls a face, squatting on one of the chairs he had brought over for extra seating. “That sounds utterly disgusting.”

Ignoring Seokjin, and knowing that his moaning and complaining won’t stop any time soon, Jimin nods his head and twists the ring on his thumb. “Yup, gave it a deep clean and filled it with water, the apples are cooling in the fridge, so they don’t go soft.”

“Should we inject them with vodka?” Taehyung ponders, finger on chin.

Jimin’s lips twist in disgust. “I like alcohol as much as the next guy, but let’s have one thing in the house that hasn’t been infused with some kind of spirit, ok? Besides, I doubt people will willingly eat the apples they pull out of our bathtub.”

“If they have any common sense they won’t,” Seokjin comments, looking at his nails.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Drunk people have no common sense.” He places his hands on his hips, spying the living room and kitchen area one last time. “Do you think it looks alright?” he asks for the fourteenth time in the last fifteen minutes alone.

Jimin takes a look around their apartment once more. Under the expertly placed spiders web, with several cute spiders dangling down from it, is a large table is full of varying bottles of alcohol. The invite is also a Bring Your Own Bottle event so Jimin knows, without a doubt, that they won’t run out of booze at any point of the night. And really, to college students, that’s the most important thing in regards to a good party.

But Taehyung is a perfectionist when he sets his mind to things, and his Anti-Christmas Halloween party is his baby, his pride and joy. It’s the one thing all students on campus look forward to every year. It’s so popular that a majority of them forego traveling home for Christmas on the 23 rd in favour of attending the party, and brave the busy Christmas Eve traffic instead.

The decorations are simple, yet affective, with black and orange streamers hanging from the ceilings and over the doorways. Little handmade ghosts hang from all the kitchen cupboard handles. There’s fake blood smeared a little too realistically across the wooden flooring. Plastic pumpkins with fake candles occupy every empty surface, glowing ominously on the windowsills. It would have been nice if they were real pumpkins, Jimin loves carving them and tends to get a little carried away with it every October. But for some inexcusable reason there are no pumpkins in the stores come November 1st and Taehyung vehemently curses the Christmas Overlords for this misjustice.  

All in all, it looks like a Halloween party and that’s all that really matters.

“It looks great, Tae, you outdid yourself,” Jimin praises and Taehyung looks as pleased as punch. He giggles as he practically skips over to the couch, flopping on top of Jimin and snuggling up to him in a tight bear hug. “God you’re heavy.”

“Shut up,” Taehyung grumbles, burying his face in Jimin’s neck. “I’m so excited that the neighbours are letting us use their apartment for the party this year. More space means more party guests.”

Seokjin hums, slipping off the arm of the sofa, colliding softly into Jimin’s side. “Last year was quite literally a bit of a fire hazard.”

Jimin winces, recalling the exact moment the seven shots of tequila hit Namjoon like a double decker bus and had him keeling over onto a table full of very real, lit candles. “Is Namjoon-hyung coming this year? Is someone going to keep an eye on him?”

“Yes and yes,” Taehyung giggles, wiggling his cold bare feet under the ankles of Jimin’s sweatpants to warm them up. Jimin hisses at the cold press of toes against his shin and pushes Taehyung off his lap. “Jungkook is going to be on Namjoon duty this year.”

With a snort, Seokjin rolls onto his side and pulls Jimin into a rather awkward hug, sticking his tongue out at his younger brother.

Humming a little louder than necessary, and hopefully curbing another fight between the Kim brothers, Jimin snuggles closer to Seokjin, gratefully inhaling the scent of mangos and oranges. “I bet Jungkook was more than a little eager to spend the whole night making heart eyes at his idol,” Jimin snickers.

Taehyung swats at Jimin’s arm in a playful scold, but he’s smirking too. “Let the baby be in love.”

“Is Hoseok coming?” Seokjin asks. Jimin’s ear rests against his chest and he can hear his hyung’s voice echo soothingly against him.

Jumping excitedly to his feet, Taehyung claps his hands together. “He is, and for the first time ever he’s bringing Yoongi-hyung.”

Jimin’s blood goes cold.

“I’m sorry,” he coughs, pushing himself out of the comfort of Seokjin’s cuddle, something sharp on the back of his tongue. “For a moment there it sounded like you said my arch nemesis is coming tonight.”

Taehyung doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. “Arch nemesis is a bit of a strong term, don’t you think, Chim?”

With an angry scoff, Jimin folds his arms across his chest. “Well originally, I called him The Fu—”

Taehyung raises his hands. “We get the picture.”  

Jimin seethes where he sits, feeling his entire body bubble with anger that has now drowned out the pleasant mood he had been in. “Please tell me you’re joking,” he spits. “Please tell me that Min Yoongi isn’t really coming tonight and you’re just pressing my buttons because this is what you do.”

With a roll of his eyes Taehyung places his hands on his hips. “He’s my boyfriend’s roommate, what am I gonna do? Just not invite him?”

“Obviously,” Jimin snaps.

“He doesn’t have a problem with me, he likes me,” Taehyung supplies, adding fuel the fire. “And this is the first year ever that he actually accepted my invitation, do you know how big of a deal that is for me!”

Seokjin snorts. “We all know Jungkook isn’t the only one with a hyung he idol worships, yes.”

But Jimin’s irritation is now ringing in his ears. “Hold up.” He stands slowly to his feet, no way near matching the height Taehyung has on him, but Jimin knows exactly how to make himself look intimidating without the need for added height. “You’re telling me that you're purposefully ignoring my feelings just so you can get senpai to notice you?”

Taehyung shrinks in on himself just a little, eyes dropping to the floor sheepishly. “I mean, I don’t purposefully ignore the fact you two don’t exactly see eye to eye?” he defends, but his excuses fall weak.

Crossing his legs, nose upturned. “They hate each other, Tae.”

“Hate is a strong wor—”

Jimin kicks his best friend in the shin. “What happened to Bros before Christmas Hoes you ass ?”

“Come off it!” Taehyung exclaims limping away. “We’re all adults here, this isn’t middle school. I’m not going to not invite people I know to come to a party that everyone is invited to anyway.”

Jimin’s face is red with anger now, hands balled into fists at his sides and imaginary steam pouring out of his ears. “I cheated on Christmas for you, you bitch.”

Taehyung pouts. “That’s different.”

“How is that different?” Seokjin chimes in, and Taehyung sends a heavy loaded glare his older brother’s way. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

“Then stay out of it,” Taehyung grumbles before turning back to Jimin. “Christmas has evolved into an ugly commercialised beast that swallowed the sentimental meaning of the holiday and popped it out in the shape of overpriced Christmas presents.”

“Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year and you’re a fucking Scrooge, Tae.”

With a dramatic gasp, Taehyung takes a step back from Jimin. “Take that back!”

There’s a hand resting on Jimin’s shoulder, grip tight so as to stop Jimin from clobbering his best friend. “Calm down, Jiminie,” Seokjin soothes. “It’s not worth it.”

Jimin would very much like to disagree with Seokjin, any form of anger he feels right now is very much deserved in the case of Min fucking Yoongi.

But, Jimin does prize himself on being a bigger, better person than his personal hang ups reduce him too. So he takes a deep breath, holds it as he counts to ten, then lets it go in one big long exhale.

“Better?” Taehyung asks. Jimin dignifies his answer with a glare. “Alright, alright, sorry.”

“Look,” Seokjin chimes in once more, this time with the intent to keep the fighting at bay. “There’s nothing that can be done of it now. Guests are arriving in a few hours and neither of you two are dressed or nearly tipsy enough to comprehend the stupidly large scale of this party. So, head off to your own corners and cool off.”

With a child like sigh, Taehyung lets his body fall limp, head turned to the ceiling. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Snorting, Seokjin rolls his eyes at his younger brother. “I’m always right, you’re just stubborn.” He pushes Taehyung towards his room. “I’ll make you both a cocktail while you’re getting ready, now scoot.”

Taehyung stops in the doorway to his room and turns back to his best friend. “For what it’s worth,” he says, head tilted to one side. “I think whatever the hell happened between the two of you is just one big misunderstanding.”

“If it were that simple then our feud would have been resolved by now,” Jimin huffs. “It’s been two years.”

With a shrug, Taehyung turns back to his room. “Just something to think about, I guess,” he throws over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him.

There’s a chilling silence that settles across the apartment with the departure of Taehyung. It’s mischievous in nature and settles deep into Jimin’s bones as his brain ticks over everything that’s just happened.

Jimin may like to think of himself as a bigger better person than his personal hang ups, but that doesn’t mean he won't be a petty bitch when the occasion calls or it.

“Hyung,” he hums, catching Seokjin midway in picking up the vodka.

He turns, eyebrows raised in anticipation for Jimin’s next words. “What?”

“What Christmas decorations did you bring with you and are currently hiding in my bedroom closet?” Jimin asks.

Seokjin stutters. “I haven’t… there isn’t, I—”

Waving a dismissive hand Jimin snickers. “I find them every year, no point in lying about it.”

Placing the vodka back on the table, Seokjin lets out a long defeated breath. “Just some gold and silver streamers and some mistletoe.”

There’s a devilish gleaming in Jimin’s eyes, a wicked smirk pulled across his face. “Mistletoe, I can work with.”

____________

“He can’t wear that,” Jimin fumes, the gentle buzz of alcohol in his veins dulling.

Hoseok, who is currently bopping along to the random party mix playlist from Spotify Taehyung is playing through the large speakers, turns his head to Jimin with confusion written across it. “Who?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer and regretting it a moment later.

Jimin doesn’t bother to look at his hyung, eyes burning holes into the side of Min Yoongi’s face from across the hallway. “ Him ,” he spits, like speaking the boys name might very well bring utter misfortune to his family.

Following the line of Jimin’s glare, Hoseok cocks his head in confusion as he spots his best friend sharing casual conversation with Seokjin. “What, Yoongi?”

“Yes, him .”

Hoseok laughs, so obnoxiously loud that a few people around them turn their heads to look at him. “I thought the costume was quite fitting,” he says between giggles. “I mean, hyung really is good at holding his drink.”

There’s a moment in which Yoongi raises his cup to his lips and takes a small sip of his drink, eyes trailing lazily over to Jimin. He smirks cockily at Jimin, eyes trailing over him as if he’s nothing more than a forgotten piece of gum stuck to the underside of a lecture hall desk, before turning back to continue his conversation with Seokjin.

There’s poison surging through Jimin’s veins. “Asshole,” he mutters under his breath.

“Besides,” Hoseok continues, clearly oblivious to the thick heavy tension that’s building between both Yoongi and Jimin. “What does it matter to you that Yoongi came dressed as Dionysus?”

At this, Jimin turns an icy look towards his hyung, one eyebrow cocked before pointing harshly at his own costume.

Hoseok’s cheek’s flush. “Oh,” he mumbles, awkwardly.

It had taken Jimin several weeks to come up with the perfect costume this year. Especially considering he outdid himself last year with his slutty zombie Santa outfit. This year he wanted to go a little classier but just as extravagant. He wanted a costume that reflected his personality a little more. After several brainstorming sessions with Taehyung and coming up with nothing remotely decent, the idea finally hit him like a bolt of lightning one night whilst helping Namjoon study for his Greek Literature final.

It’s no secret that Jimin was a slut for parties and an even bigger slut for a drink.

And he could think of only one other entity that encompassed similar morals and ideals on life, the god of wine himself: Dionysus.

Jimin did not spend three weeks dying an old bedsheet grape purple and sewing together a handmade toga; hot glue gun fake leaves to a head band and spray painting the fuck out of it to make a decent gold laurel; and spend an hour and a half covering his skin in gold paint just for Yoongi to show up in the same costume .

And to make matters worse, it’s very clear that the asshole didn’t even try . He bought a cheap premade costume off Naver that came with shoddy made silver thyrsus. Jimin wishes more than anything that he had had the time to make himself a staff now, because it would be three hundred and fifty times better than the lame excuse of a thyrsus Yoongi is currently holding under his arm pit while he drinks.

Fuck Taehyung and his lame excuse of ‘no one will notice if you don’t have the stick.’    

“He’s not even wearing sandals ,” Jimin scoffs, bitterly. “The Ancient Greeks didn’t have Nike .”

“Well…” Hoseok begins, sheepishly.

Jimin silences him with a death glare. “Don’t even go there.”

Hoseok knows better than to wind up an already petty Park Jimin, so he resigns himself to leaning against the wall. “Do you like my outfit at least?”

Without looking away from his glaring match against Yoongi’s smug profile, Jimin nods. “Sure, it’s great.”

“You didn’t even really look at it,” Hoseok sniffs, dejectedly.

But Jimin already saw Hoseok’s costume last week. He helped Taehyung pull an all nighter to get the thing finished, after all. In their heads, the both of them thought making a Sally costume from scratch wouldn’t be all that hard; her dress is pretty much a patchwork quilt, in a way. But considering Taehyung had never sewn anything before in his life and was working on the very limited knowledge Jimin had on the subject to get them through the project, it had taken them a lot longer than they originally planned.

“I looked at it for 7 hours straight last Wednesday when I made it, Hoseokkie-hyung,” Jimin explained. “You and Tae make a cute Jack and Sally, now please let me get back to glaring at my nemesis.”  

The music is loud in Jimin’s ears, but he can see the heated way in which Yoongi is talking to Seokjin and he just knows that the asshole is talking about him. “Look at him, disgusting.”

“Why do you hate Yoongi so much?” Hoseok asks. “I mean, I know Yoongi doesn’t like you much, he makes that very obvious…”

“You’re telling me.” Scoffs Jimin.

“But why do you hate him?” Hoseok repeats, turning his whole body to look at Jimin, focusing all his attention on the conversation at hand and trying his very best to not get lost in the music.

The both of them would usually be in the middle of the room right about now, pulling wallflowers onto a makeshift dancefloor to really liven up the party and get people mingling. But sadly, Jimin hasn’t drunk nearly enough alcohol to curb his growing irritation enough to actually enjoy tonight.

The presence of Min Yoongi is just too strong, too much of a damper on the mood.

With a deep sigh, Jimin turns away from his nemesis and gives Hoseok his full attention. “Okay, so basically…”

“There are a number of reasons why I hate Park Jimin,” Yoongi scoffs into his cup, downing the last remains of it before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Which one would you like me to elaborate on? Because I could easily stand here all night listing out my reasons alphabetically, but I don’t think you would want that.”

Seokjin pulls a face that suggests he would hate nothing more than that. “God, please don’t. I’m still fond of Jimin.”

Yoongi scoffs, snapping his eyes over to the boy in questions. He’s no longer glaring at Yoongi, heatedly caught up in a discussion with Hoseok that leaves a bitter taste in Yoongi’s mouth. How dare his best friend, his ride or die bitch, chin wag with the enemy like this? He doesn’t give two flying fucks about the fact the two of them are on the same dance team and Hoseok is the TA for Jimin’s alternative dance class.

Bros before hoes.

“Honestly, the two of you are just as bad as each other,” Seokjin huffs, taking a sip of his own drink.

The glare Yoongi shoots Seokjin’s way is icy. “Don’t lump me in with that uncultured imbecilic.”

“You’re far more eloquent with your insults than Jimin is,” Seokjin chuckles.

Yoongi’s chest inflates proudly. “That’s because I’m not an idiot.”

Seokjin swats him on the arm. “That idiot is still one of my closest friends, so watch your mouth.” Yoongi doesn’t bother to apologise or at least look apologetic. Instead he rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. His staff falls from where it had been sitting under his armpit, but Yoongi can’t find it in himself to care enough to pick it back up.

He drank half a bottle of wine before he came and proceeded to down three vodka jelly shots the moment he walked through the front door, as per Taehyung’s request. The alcohol is currently buzzing pleasantly in his blood and perhaps his rational thinking is a little marred because of that, but who cares?

“So come on,” Seokjin probes once more. “Give me the main reason as to why you hate Jimin so much, I promise I won’t judge.”

Narrowing his eyes, Yoongi licks at his dry lips. “Does Kim Seokjin have it within himself not to be at least a little judgemental?”

Pondering on that question for a moment, Seokjin eventually shakes his head. “I’ll probably judge you a little bit, but go ahead anyway, not like we have anything better to do.”

“Alright,” Yoongi decides. “But first, let me just—” he twists his upper body round so that he can reach the drinks table and fills his cup with a vodka coke mixture that’s all too heavy on the vodka. Seokjin is patiently waiting for him to start his story, sipping on his drink, foot tapping along to the beat of the heavy trap song that’s currently reducing the apartment into a shuddering mess, almost like the place is being attacked by an earthquake.

He takes a long sip of his vodka drink, hisses as it burns down his throat, then turns his full attention to Seokjin. “Two years, nine months and sixteen days ago—”

“Specific,” Seokjin snorts.

Yoongi scowls. “Pettiness is all about specifics, hyung,” he says, taking another sip of his drink. “So two years, nine months and sixteen days ago, the music department held a recital in which music majors could practice their final projects for the year in front of a large audience and receive feedback from fellow students in the performing arts department.”

Humming around his mouthful of booze, Seokjin nods his head. “I remember that,” he says, thankfully after swallowing. “You performed a self-composed piano piece, right? Or was that this year?”

“This year I had Jungkook sing an original song of mine,” Yoongi explains. “You’re right, I did play a piano piece, and I thought I did really, really well…”

Seokjin nods. “You did,” he agrees. “I liked it, and my opinion is very highly rated.”

With a roll of his eyes, Yoongi continues. “A few days after the performance, our teachers handed back the evaluation slips the students who watched our performances wrote and I got a lot of great feedback. In fact, almost all of it was positive comments.”

There’s a look of second-hand embarrassment washing across Seokjin’s face, teeth clenching. “Oh god.”

“Now, I’m all for constructive criticism,” Yoongi begins, feeling very much like his old man retailing an incident that happened at work in which he felt he was very, seriously wronged. “I mean, we’re in the business of show, we need constructive criticism in order to be the best we can be.”

Seokjin winces. “Terrible pun, please continue.”

“Well this one slip,” Yoongi shivers just remembering the crap that was written on there. “There was nothing but spite and passive aggressive garbage written there. Not even one point in which I could improve, just a one hundred worded essay on how much I sucked and should change career paths.”  

Seokjin, for lack of a better way to curb the second hand embarrassment crawling across his skin in full force, downs the entirety of his drink and lets the bitter shivers of the alcohol rake up his spine. “Please, dear god, tell me my idiot of a friend didn’t sign his fucking name at the bottom of an essay of insults?”

With a vicious sneer, Yoongi huffs. “I told you, Park Jimin is not an intelligent human being.” Seokjin drops his empty cup, hands coming up to cover his face as he lets out a long groan. “The feedback was all meant to be anonymous but right at the bottom of the page was the name Park Jimin written in nasty little chicken scratch.”

There’s a heavy, heated feeling prickling against the back of Yoongi’s neck and he turns to find Jimin leaning angrily against the wall, eyes boring holes into Yoongi once more. Honestly, despite how much he despises the younger, Yoongi really does enjoy just how irritated Jimin gets by merely being around him.

“Two days later, my roommate introduces me to his new boyfriend, who dragged his roommate along with him,” Yoongi continues, looking Jimin directly in the eyes and feeling a cocky, vicious smirk pull up at the corners of his lips. “And when he introduced himself as Park Jimin of the Dance Department , I knew then and there that I would spend the rest of my life making Park Jimin feel continuously irritated.”

Jimin is biting on his lower lip, golden painted skin practically glistening under the low lights of the room and Yoongi can see a slight sweat to his brow. “Honestly,” he chuckles, a little darkly. “There’s no better way to make your enemies life hell than to irritate them through doing the bare minimum.”

Seokjin sighs, leaning his hip against the wall and hanging his head. “Jimin is so easy to rile up, that’s for sure.”

“You’re telling me.” Yoongi snickers, turning his whole body away from Jimin with a nonchalant flick of his head. “I could not have planned a better what to piss him off than to come dressed in the same costume as him.”

With a cock of his eyebrow, Seokjin gives Yoongi the once over. “I do believe you didn’t plan this outfit; it’s considerably shoddily put together.”

Yoongi, who was halfway through downing the rest of his drink, swallows his mouthful and looks at his hyung with utter shock. “Excuse me? At least I bothered dressing up tonight!” he exclaims, pointing to Seokjin’s blue washed jeans and pastel blue sweater.

There’s a dark look in Seokjin’s eyes however, hooded with built up anger. “I came dressed as disappointment,” he clarifies. “Of which is the scariest thing in the world.”  

A shiver makes its way down Yoongi’s spine. If there’s one thing he’s learned in regards to Kim Seokjin, it’s not to cross him when a grudge storms above his head. So instead, he finishes the rest of his drink and turns to make himself another. “Anyway,” he somewhat sing-songs, the vodka energising through his body like a warm cup of coffee on a cold day. “Ever since then…”

“He’s just been an absolute ass to me for no goddamn reason,” Jimin elucidates, eyes back to boring holes into Yoongi as the elder casually makes himself a drink. “I met this fucker once and he ignored me, talked over me, knocked an entire shaker of salt into my food and then tripped me every time I got up from the table.”

Hoseok snickers, hiding the majority of his laughter behind his cup. “That’s my best friend, petty to all hell.”

“Well, I don’t appreciate it,” Jimin snaps back, wishing more than anything he had something a little stronger in his hands. “I asked him once, what it was I did to make him hate me so much and do you know what he did?”

“No,” Hoseok replies on an exhale of bored breath. “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”

“He said one thing offended him and then gestured to all of me ,” Jimin grumbles, ignoring Hoseok’s sarcasm, the fire of irritation in his stomach unable to have him focus on anything else than bitching about Min Yoongi. “Can you believe that? Acting like a goddamn middle schooler instead of talking to me like an adult.”

Hoseok sighs. “Scandalous.” His head bangs against the wall, boredom clawing at his skin so intensely that he feels all but ready to jump out of the window if he has to listen to one more heated comment about his roommate. “I honestly regret I ever asked.”

Jimin huffs. “Thanks for your sympathy.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, you like me,” Hoseok shoots back. “Besides, I know Yoongi-hyung, and he’s not the type to just dislike someone without fair enough reason. Surely you must have done something to fuel this vendetta he has against you?”

Wiggling his body like a child about to descended into a temper tantrum, Jimin groans. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!” he exclaims. “I was out of town for the two weeks leading up to our first meeting, so there’s literally nothing I could have unknowingly done to tick him off! We met for the first time when Tae introduced us, and it was pretty fucking obvious he hated me before we met, so?”

Shrugging a pathetic one shoulder shrug with very little sympathy, Hoseok pulls his lips into a hard flat line. “I mean, come on, think about it, maybe it was something you wrote rather than said—”

Hoseok snaps his mouth shut like a mouse trap and his eyes blow wide. Jimin cocks his head to one side, watching as his hyung clearly has one of those lightbulb moments, and wishes more than anything that he could very well be apart of it.

“Hyung? You good?” he asks, waving his hands in front of Hoseok’s face as he stares off into the distance.

There’s no reply for a moment, Hoseok frozen in time as gears tick and turn in his head. Then he lets out a little yelp that has Jimin jumping out of his skin. “Crap!”

“Crap?” Jimin parrots. “Why crap? What’s wrong?”

Hoseok’s hands clamp down on Jimin’s shoulders, holding him in place. “Did you just say you spent the entire two weeks leading up to that dinner with Yoongi and Tae out of town?”

Cocking his head to one side, Jimin nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says, uncertain of what Hoseok was trying to get at. “I was in Busan, my grandmother passed away.”

There’s a strange mixture of pain and embarrassment awash across Hoseok’s face. “That utter moron.”

“Excuse me?” Jimin asks, with a furrow of his brow.

“No, excuse me,” Hoseok replies, letting go of his vice like grip on Jimin’s shoulders and bounding across the room. Jimin watches as the elder grabs Seokjin by the arm and drags him away from his conversation with Yoongi, not even bothering to apologise for his sudden intrusion into their conversation.

Jimin snickers devilishly as Yoongi is left blinking blanking at the empty space Seokjin had once been stood in.

____________

It’s not long before Taehyung is pushing a strong glass of something or other into Jimin’s hands and telling him to lighten up.

“You’re the god of wine, act like it,” Taehyung scolds, pulling Jimin into the middle of the living room to get the dancing started.

Jimin sighs, sparing one last glare Min Yoongi’s way before downing the entirety of his drink, letting out a loud woop of excitement, and then throwing his cup to the floor. He lets the drink, (of which Jimin realises rather belatedly is a mixture of vodka, rum and a splash of sprite,) warm his body and push him into the rounds of pleasantly tipsy.  

So what Min Yoongi is currently standing in his living room and taking up valuable space? Jimin refuses to let himself be brought down by that any longer. He’s going to be the bigger man he always claims to be and enjoy the night for all it is.

The music is surprisingly good, considering Namjoon wasn’t in charge of it this year, and Jimin lets his body get consumed by the rhythm, hips swaying to the beat and body tangling with Taehyung’s in the middle of the dancefloor.

He’s not sure how many songs pass, or how many jello-shots Taehyung feeds into his mouth pass before the room spins around his head even though he’s standing still. But Jimin doesn’t care, this is the best part about alcohol, the invincibility it brings.

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he lets himself sway slowly to the music. It scares him a little, snapping his head to the right and finding Seokjin looking at him a little too gravely. “Jimin, we need to talk to you.”

Pushing his hyung’s hand off his shoulder, Jimin huffs. “Right now? Your face doesn’t look fun right now, hyung.”

“Jiminie, it’s important!” Seokjin implores.

Letting out a childish groan, Jimin lets his head loll on his neck. “Fine, whatever,” he mumbles. “Just let me get a drink first!”

Seokjin looks incredibly pissed off, which makes Jimin more than a little confused. What’s his hyung got to be mad about? The party’s pumping and they haven’t even gotten through half of the alcohol yet so Seokjin has nothing to be concerned about.

He sticks close to Jimin as he wobbles over to the drink table. “Can the drink wait? It would probably be better if you were a little more sober to hear what I have to say.”

Jimin shakes his head, his brain jiggles in his skull and makes his teeth chatter. “No, the drink cannot wait, Seokjin-hyung,” he complains, reaching for the bottle of Vodka on the drinks table. “This is a party drinking comes…” his hand encloses around something warm and soft, most definently not the neck of a glass bottle. Jimin looks down to see that his hand has entangled around the hand of someone else who had reached for the Vodka too. He giggles, turning his head up to apologise to however it is he’s still awkwardly holding the hand of, but the giggle dies on his tongue when his eyes lock with none other than Min Yoongi.

He snaps his hand away from the bottle like he’s just been scolded. “Gross.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, taking the bottle and pouring it into his cup. “Why yes, yes you are.”

Jimin’s fists ball at his sides. “What are you? A kindergartener? That was lame.”

“Bold of you to assume I care,” Yoongi sighs, almost bored.

“Bold of you to assume I do!” Jimin snaps back, the heat in his voice betraying his words.

There’s a hand on his shoulder pulling him back. “Jimin don’t do this, it’s not worth it,” urges Seokjin.

“Yeah,” a new voice that sounds a great deal like Hoseok agrees. Jimin looks over to find Hoseok hovering by Yoongi’s side, a worried little indent in the middle of his brow. “I think it’s best the two of you finally talk this all out like adults.”

“Or, you know,” a new voice chimes in. “They could battle it out like men.” Jimin’s head snaps so painfully towards the third voice that it leaves a twang of pain in his neck.

Namjoon, stands before them all, looming over them like the giant he is, wobbling heavily on his feet. It’s the first time tonight Jimin’s seen him, eyes squinting at his hyung’s rather scandalous costume. He’s dressed in a baby pink corset and a matching baby pink skirt, feet squeezed into black kitten heels and rabbit ears clipped into his silver hair.

Jimin cocks his head to one side. “Are you dressed as a slutty Rabbit, Namjoon-hyung?”

There’s a little gasp that tumbles out of Namjoon’s mouth, clearly offended. “I’m Elle Woods from Legally Blonde,” he elaborates. “We love strong women in media.”

“Don’t listen to Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook chimes in, practically jumping into the conversation from no where dressed in a reindeer onesie. “He’s very incredibly drunk.”

Seokjin chuckles. “Well we can see that, captain obvious.”

“Jeon Jungkook!” Taehyung exclaims, marching his way across the room. “Are you kidding me? You’re wearing that goddamn reindeer onesie again? I told you the first time you came this is not a Christmas party.”

Jungkook huffs, arms flailing in front of him. “And I apologised for mixing up your Anti-Christmas party with an actual Christmas party. But I’m a broke college student I can’t afford to buy a new costume every year.”

With a scoff, Jimin rolls his eyes. “Lame excuse, Jeon!”

“Actually, it’s a pretty solid argument, Park,” Yoongi snaps.

Jimin looks utterly offended, looking around himself in bewilderment before looking at Yoongi. “I don’t think I asked for your opinion.”

Namjoon, steps between them, left ankle almost rolling over on its heel. “Like I said, this needs to be settled once and for all. Battle it out like men!”

“Or, you know, they could just talk it out?” Seokjin offers.

There’s a loud groan before Taehyung pushes his way into the gaggle of friends. His pinstripe suit is still very much intact despite the whole thing was a hand-me down from his dad and is held together by masking tape and sheer will power. The white and black skeleton face paint he’d spent hours one, however, is not holding up so well. It’s sweating off rather nastily in the heat of the little apartment packed with foreign bodies.  

He rests his hands on his hips. “Talking sounds lame, I wanna see them battle it out.”

Hoseok grabs his boyfriends’ hand and pulls him back. “Love, there’s such a simpler way of resolving this whole misunderstanding.”

“Oh, there’s no misunderstanding here,” Yoongi scoffs. “I very vehemently and openly hate Park Jimin.”

The anger in Jimin’s blood is at boiling point, fingernails digging painfully into the palm of his hand. “Namjoon-hyung!” Jimin bellows, far too loudly for the close proximity they all are. “What are the terms of this battle?”

There’s a wicked glint in Namjoon’s eyes, a somewhat wild smirk pulling up at the corners of his lips “That’s obvious,” he states, clapping his hands together. “A good old fashioned arm wrestle will do!”

“Is that all?” Jimin chuckles. “Too easy.”

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. “So cocky, Park. Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“Gladly!” Jimin spits, stretching his arms across his chest. “My arms are twice the size of your noodles.”

“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover.”

“I will until the book proves me wrong.”

Letting a sharp huff of breath through his nose, Yoongi dumps his thyrsus on the drinks table and storms over to the kitchen table. He swipes the empty cups onto the floor and plonks himself down in one of the uncomfortable rickety chairs.

Following closely on his heels, Jimin takes his seat opposite, resting his elbow on the table and wiggling his fingers in Yoongi’s direction. “Let’s do this, asshole.”

“I’m going to enjoy embarrassing you,” Yoongi sneers as they lock hands.

Namjoon’s larger, clammy hand clamps around them. “Listen up! On the count of three you wrestle, got it?” The pair of them nod, gazes heated. “One, two, three!” Namjoon bellows, releasing their hands.

Jimin can hear the chanting of spectators as he puts all his energy into pushing Yoongi’s hand against the table but is met with, surprisingly, equal resistance.

“What’s the matter, Park? Scared?” Yoongi goads.

Grumbling a curse under his breath, Jimin puts all his weight behind him and pushes as hard as he possibly can against Yoongi. The elder doesn’t budge much, but Jimin prides himself on his stamina.

There’s no way Yoongi can last much longer.

____________

“How long has it been now?” Taehyung asks, yawning.

Jungkook glances a look at the clock on the wall of the kitchen. “About an hour.” Namjoon has fallen asleep at one of the spare chairs around the kitchen table, head resting against Jungkook’s stomach and the younger’s cheeks have yet to cool down. “They’re clearly evenly matched and nothing is going to come of this.”

Seokjin lets out a groan. “An hour of this foolery and the two of you still won’t just give this up and talk it out?”

“Never,” Yoongi growls.

“Over my dead body,” Jimin reiterates.

Taehyung yawns once more, alcohol very much dead in his veins. “This is so dull, I can’t take it anymore,” he mutters jumping to his feet. “Come on Kook, dance with me.”

“B-but,” Jungkook stammers, hands stilling mid-way through stroking through Namjoon’s hair. “I’m on Namjoon duty.”

Hoseok shrugs. “The oafs asleep, he’s not going to be causing much destruction now,” he says. “Besides, just because these two idiots won’t let us explain how their entire feud is based on a misunderstanding doesn’t mean our night has to be ruined.”

Jimin looks over his shoulder, brow furrowed. “What do you mean a misunderstanding?”

“Yoongi, Jimin was in Busan during the recital,” Seokjin explains. “Turns out there’s six Park Jimin’s in the performing arts department because it’s the most unoriginal name in South Korea.”

“Hey!” Jimin snaps. “I resent that!”

“It’s true!” Hoseok snaps. “So, this Jimin couldn’t have been the Park Jimin that wrote all those horrible things about you. There’s just no way.”

Yoongi looks only half convinced, a myriad of thoughts tumbling through his brain and flashing across his face. “B-but…”

“Wait,” Jimin interrupts. “You thought I wrote really nasty things about you?”

Seokjin hums, sass in his voice. “Not just about him, but his piano playing.”

There’s a look of utter confusion twisting its way across Jimin’s face. “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffs. “Your piano playing is the only thing I like about you.”

“I didn’t think you liked anything about Min Yoongi,” Taehyung snickers, eyebrows wiggling. “I thought he was your arch nemesis.”

Spluttering on his own saliva, Jimin feels his face go red. “He is, my arch nemesis that is,” he’s quick to explain. “But I mean, I appreciate talent when I see it. Even if it is from people I despise.”  

Jimin can feel Yoongi’s arm go a little weak, but there’s something stopping him from slamming the elder’s arm into the table and winning. “Y-you like my music?”

“Yes?” Jimin snaps. “Problem with that?”

Yoongi shakes his head quickly. “N-no, I just—” he swallows, unsure of what he’s supposed to say. “No.”

Looking over Yoongi’s face, for the first time in what feels like forever, Jimin doesn’t see any malice or cockiness etched into his features. There’s no twinkling of irritation in his dark eyes, there’s no smirk to his thin pink lips. He looks a little confused, a little lost, and Jimin finds himself mirroring that feeling also.

Something settles between them, like the simmering of a roaring campfire finally sizzling out into small embers.

Something is changing.

There’s a sigh from their friends, Jimin isn’t sure who it’s from and he can’t find it in himself to turn and see who it is.

“Come on, I think we should leave them to it,” Hoseok finally says, breaking the somewhat heavily awkward silence. Jimin can’t hear when their friends leave them over the loudness of the music, the party still very much in full swing behind them, but he waits a while before saying anything.

Not like he really knows what to say.

“Look, Jimin,” Yoongi finally says, gaze dropping to the table. “Seokjin and Hoseok are right, we should talk this out.”

Shrugging, Jimin lets his arm go limp, calling a truce between them. “Alright then,” Jimin agrees, keeping their hands locked and in position to resume their battle if the situation calls for it. “But I am pretty tipsy so I can’t maintain that I’ll make much sense.”

Yoongi nods, shrugs, his fingers wrapped loosely around Jimin’s. “I’m not much better, but at least the alcohol will make us honest?”

“True.”

There’s another silence, heavy between them, just barely drowned out by the screaming and singing of the party behind them. Jimin looks to his left and finds Namjoon sleeping against the kitchen table, his usually obscenely loud snores drowned out by the music.

A tug on Jimin’s hand pulls his attention back to Yoongi, eyes determined. “Two years ago, I got this review from a performing arts student called Park Jimin that was really, very, incredibly, ugly,” he explains. “Was that you?”

Jimin shakes his head. “I’ve only ever been to one of your showcases,” Jimin explains. “The one this year because Jungkook was singing for you.”

Another pause.

The Yoongi lets out a long breath, head slumping against the table, eyes peering pleadingly up at Jimin. “Really?”

“Why would I lie about that?” Jimin replies. “Besides, Taehyung and Hoseok and Seokjin are my witnesses.” Yoongi shuts his eyes, letting a long groan passed his lips and Jimin bites down on his bottom lip. “Is that why you’ve been such an ass to me? Because you thought I wrote some nasty shit about you and signed my name at the bottom of it before giving the paper to you?”

Yoongi feels his entire body seize up, anticipation for a whirlwind of angry onslaught flung his way from the viciously sharp tongue Park Jimin holds. And honestly? He deserves it. Why in the hell he thought that this Park Jimin, the Park Jimin that he has so many mutual friends with is the one that wrote all that hate is utterly illogical now that he thinks about it.

He’s always been so cautious with the people he chooses to call friends; he’s always fancied himself a good judge of character and there’s no way he would call people friends who willingly hang around with someone who openly bashed him.

No wonder Hoseok was always so quick to defend Jimin, so quick to try and show Yoongi the boy’s good sides, his positive qualities.

So, the chewing out that Jimin has lined up for Yoongi is very much deserved, considering he jumped to conclusions and treated a kid that had done nothing wrong so horribly. But what Yoongi least expected to hear tumble it’s way out of Jimin’s mouth is high pitched, twinkling giggled.

Snapping his head up from the table, he’s met by a pink face Jimin, giggling his heart out, waving their conjoined hands about as his laughter overtakes him.

“Hey,” Yoongi moans, embarrassment flooding his veins. “Stop laughing, it’s not funny.”

“Oh, but it is,” Jimin retorts through his chuckling. “It really, really is!”

Yoongi really can’t find the humour in the situation, but he also can’t find it in himself to stop Jimin’s laughter. The kid has the right to deal with the mountain made mole hill however he wishes, and he has to admit that this is far kinder than the scolding he thought he was going to get.

At least laughter means there’s hope for them to move on passed this, hope that they can be friends when all this is over.

Harsh words would just have them back where they started.

“I’m so, so sorry, Jimin,” Yoongi finally whines, dropping his head back to the table, just so he doesn’t have to look Jimin in the eye, embarrassment crawling in red across his face. “This all got so out of hand, and it’s all my stupid fault. I’m sorry.”

Jimin lets a dismissive sound past his lips. “You’re right, this is all your fault and you are an idiot,” he says and Yoongi flinches. “But honestly, the weight that lifted off my chest just now is probably the best thing that’s happened to me in the last two years.”

Yoongi peaks up at Jimin between the gaps in his bangs. “What do you mean?”

There’s a slight pink tint to Jimin’s cheeks. “Well,” he coughs awkwardly, “Do you know how hard it is to see you be kind and sweet to all my friends but not me? Do you know how many nights I stayed up wondering what in the hell I could have possibly done to upset you? Wondering if there was something wrong with me?”

“Jimin, I—”

But the younger shakes his head. “I am a strong willed person; I like to save face as best I can. So, I let the anger and irritation take over the anxiety and fear that I initially had because it was just so much easier to hate you than dwell on all the things that is wrong with me that could have possibly pissed you off.”

Yoongi’s grip tightens around Jimin’s hand. “No, no, there’s nothing wrong with you. I was just blinded by my stubbornness, I should have listened to your side of things rather than be such a petty ass.”

“I’m not so easily forgiven though,” Jimin points out. “I was just as much a petty ass as you were. Combined, we made our friends lives utter hell, I’m sure.” Yoongi flinches. “But we can apologise to them later.”

Nodding gently, Yoongi looks down to their combined hands. “We’re, um—” he swallows down the lump in his throat. “We’re kinda just sitting here holding hands now, aren’t we?”

Slowly, Jimin looks down to their conjoined hands, pink dusting his cheeks. “Oh, yeah,” he mumbles. “Guess we are.”

Neither of them move to untangle their hands, however.

“So, you forgive me?” Yoongi asks, voice just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Jimin shrugs, casually. “Sure, if you forgive me too?”

“There’s not really much to forgive,” Yoongi replies. “You were just defending yourself.”

“True,” Jimin giggles again and another silence falls between them. It’s still awkward, filled with uncertainty and yet charged with hope and new beginnings.

Neither of them know how long they sit together, hands held just looking at each other, but eventually an incredibly loud snore from Namjoon pops the moment like a bubble and snaps the two of them back into the moment of the room.

Yoongi rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck with his spare hand. “I think nows about the time I should take my exit,” he says.

Chancing a glance at the clock, Jimin sees it’s only midnight. “Night’s still young? You could stay and we can drink more?”

Grimacing, Yoongi shakes his head. “I think we’ve both drunk enough tonight, I really wasn’t looking to nurse a hangover on the train back to Daegu tomorrow anyway.”

Jimin assess himself, feels the buzzing of alcohol in his body, realises the room is no longer spinning and thinks if he eats a good few slices of bread and downs a couple litres of water, he might sober up enough to dodge a nasty hangover in the morning.

But knowing Taehyung, there’s no way he was going to let Jimin sober up when the party wasn’t even halfway through just yet. At least he doesn’t have to take the train back to Busan until the evening.

“I’ll walk you to the door?” Jimin suggests, standing to his feet. Yoongi joins him, and awkwardly their hands slip apart, arms flopping limply by their side.

There’s matching red across their cheeks, eyes looking anywhere but at each other. “Thanks,” Yoongi says. “It’s a pretty long way, might get ambushed by your crazy roommate.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, stepping around his chair. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

The two of them share a moment then, a strange but wonderfully intense moment. Their eyes lock and there’s nothing but softness behind their gazes, gentle smiles on their faces, and a tingling of electricity between them that feels almost magnetic.

Now that the air has been cleared between them, Jimin thinks he wants to learn all he can about the hyung he hasn’t gotten the chance to know well. He wants Yoongi to know about him too; he wants to show Yoongi all the good sides of him, showing him the type of person he’s missed out on knowing for two years.

“After winter break,” Jimin starts, nerves in his voice. It feels very much like he’s meeting Yoongi for the first time again, a brand new Yoongi standing before him that’s not tainted in darkened thoughts. “Do you think we could—”

“What the shit !” Taehyung bellows, voice so loud it cuts through the heavy bass of the music and has several eyes snapping towards his direction, including Jimin and Yoongi’s. “Is that a dreaded Christmas decoration?” he seethes, hand pointed to something that’s dangling above Jimin’s head.

For a moment, the cogs in his head turn very slowly, eyes trailing from the horrified face of his best friend to the object of his horror hanging above him. When his eyes meet white berries and green leaves, he feels his breath catch in his throat and eyes blow wide.

“It’s called mistletoe, Taehyung and it’s not going to blow up the apartment,” Seokjin corrects, voice bellowing from the other side of the room.

Yoongi hums, eyes looking up at the mistletoe. “How’d that get there.”

Jimin doesn’t think he wants to tell Yoongi that he put it there to spite of his best friend for inviting Yoongi tonight. But considering they had made very large leaps and bounds in bridging the man-made gap between them, Jimin thinks honesty is probably the best option here.

“I put it there, to piss of Taehyung.” Well, a little twisting of the truth won’t hurt anyone.

It’s Yoongi’s turn to laugh now, shoulders bobbing up and down and mouth pulled into a sweet smile, flashing pink gums and eyes crinkled into happy little crescents. Jimin feels his breath catch in his lungs, feels a tingling across his skin and his heart skip a beat in his chest.

What in the hell was that?

“From the looks of Taehyung’s face,” Yoongi says between his laughter. “Your plan succeeded.”

But Jimin isn’t looking at Taehyung to be able to agree with Yoongi. Because his eyes are very much focused on the pretty red tint to his hyung’s soft, dumpling like cheek.

And before he can stop himself, he’s reaching over to plant a soft chaste kiss to that pretty cheek.

Yoongi seems to short-circuit, eyes blown as wide as the moon, mouth dropping open.

“Merry Christmas, hyung,” Jimin whispers. “Promise we’ll get to know each other better after Christmas break?”

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, hands clammy by his sides, Yoongi finds that any coherent thought has completely escaped his mind.

So he nods, and hopes that it’s enough to convey how getting to know Jimin better is something Yoongi very much wants to do.