Archive of Our Own

The roads are closed because of the storm. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to try again. I’m sorry, Mimi.

Jimin squinted at the message on his phone. The words were harmless enough on their own, reasonable even, but when paired with the circumstances that awaited him as a result, he felt betrayed.

He rubbed at his runny nose, turning it a darker pink than it already was, before forcing himself out of his car. Jimin would have to face him eventually. Better to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Pull it off like a bandaid.

Right.

The wind cut at Jimin’s cheeks like shards of glass as he trudged up to the imposing cabin that was really more of a mansion. Everything about the place was picturesque, from the way the snow clung to the branches of the pine trees, to the way the icicles hanging from the eaves glistened in the sunlight. It was as though Jimin had stepped into the pages of a travel magazine.

He huffed, annoyed. This was such overkill compared to the usual cabin they rented for their annual ski trip. Leave it to Jungkook to pick the most romantic place in the country to celebrate his engagement. He would never fess up to it, but Jimin knew his best friend was a huge sap, especially when it came to Kim Seokjin.

Too bad Jimin had to spend his first night in this winter wonderland with the Grinch.

He finally made it up the winding drive to the front door of the cabin and rapped his knuckles against it. Ignoring the sting of his frozen hands on the cold wood, he hung back a step and waited to be let in.

It was absurd, the way Jimin’s nerves pinched at him under his skin. There was nothing to be anxious about, and yet he was. He always was. Around him, ridiculously, foolishly, he always was.

When the door finally swung open, Jimin rushed inside without a second glance at the man who’d opened it, leaving him with a frown and the wind at his back as he whirled around to stare at Jimin.

“Uh—”

“Shut the door, it’s freezing out,” Jimin complained, sniffling.

He began to unravel his fluffy yellow scarf and shook as much of the wet snow from his hair as he could.

Yoongi scoffed at him but complied, probably only because he himself was cold. He could be petty like that.

Jimin rushed toward the lit fireplace, holding his bare hands out in front of him to absorb some of its heat as Yoongi followed after him and flopped down on the couch.

“Where are hyung and Jungkookie?” he asked. His voice was rough, deep, and caused an inadvertent shiver to slip down Jimin’s spine. It was just the cold, he told himself.

“They won’t be here until tomorrow,” Jimin said. He threw a sidelong glance over his shoulder, trying not to think about how handsome Yoongi looked with his mussed dark hair and drowning in a fluffy white sweater. “Neither will the Kims or Hoseok hyung.”

Yoongi sat up a little straighter, eyes widening. “What? Why?”

“There’s a storm coming. They couldn’t get up the mountain before the roads closed.”

Yoongi scrambled to check his phone for a text from his brother, his frown growing as he flicked through his notifications. “Shit.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, turning back around to check out the cabin. It was predictably as luxurious inside as it looked from the outside, which irritated him. Massive wooden beams spanned the entirety of the vaulted ceilings. The stone fireplace he stood in front of stretched large and tall, taking up half the front wall of the living room. Its mantle reached higher than Jimin himself and was decorated with a plethora of fancy figurines and expensive decorations.

Jimin wriggled his socked feet against the plush rug, turning next to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the frozen lake outside. He imagined the windows probably gave a lovely view of the moon and stars at night.

Jungkook had outdone himself this time, but that was really no surprise. He was as whipped as a person could be and rich enough to afford the expenses that came with that.

“Hyung?” Yoongi’s voice cut through Jimin’s thoughts, a little huffy and as irked as Jimin felt on the inside. “Yeah, he just got here. He told me. Well, there’s nothing anyone can do if the roads are closed. I’ll just have to deal.” He hummed. “It’s fine. I won’t. I won’t. C’mon, Seokjin. Yeah, yeah, ‘hyung,’ whatever.” There was a bit more back and forth before Yoongi finally hung up, tossing his phone on the coffee table with a sigh.

“What’d he say?” Jimin asked. He focused on the flames in the hearth, watching as they licked the walls of the fireplace, the way they curled up and crackled like sparklers.

“Same as he told you. They’ll all be here tomorrow after the roads open back up. He said to make sure we don’t kill each other in the meantime.”

Jimin scoffed, lips curling into a smirk despite himself. “He told you not to be a dick to me, didn’t he?”

Yoongi made a noncommittal sound that Jimin took as an affirmation. Seokjin was fond of Jimin, probably even more fond of him than Jungkook was, and he hated that Jimin and his brother didn’t get along. But that was just the nature of things—Jimin and Yoongi had never seen eye to eye about anything.

And now, without the buffer of their friends to keep them from fighting, Jimin wondered how they’d survive the night.

As soon as he’d gotten the feeling back into all of his limbs in front of the fire, Jimin scooped up his travel bag and made his way upstairs to pick out a room. The house was big enough that no one would have to share their space, which was one perk Jimin absolutely didn’t mind.

The room he chose was spacious, with a four poster bed at the center of it and big bay windows letting in plenty of natural light. Jimin noticed it had started to turn a little dreary outside as clouds rolled across the sky and snow began to fall in earnest.

He changed out of his wet clothes into long fleece pajamas and fuzzy socks, figuring they’d be stuck in the house all day, and then traipsed back downstairs when his stomach complained for food.

He found Yoongi in the kitchen, apparently with food on his mind, too.

Unaware of Jimin, he was much more relaxed. He shuffled around the kitchen, gathering ingredients for whatever it was he wanted to make and humming under his breath.

Jimin had heard from Jungkook that Yoongi was a good cook. He wondered what it would take to finagle a meal for himself.

“How long are you gonna stand there gawking at me?” Yoongi asked, startling Jimin where he leaned against the open doorway.

Jimin straightened with a huff and padded into the kitchen. “I wasn’t gawking.”

“Right,” Yoongi said, in a way that made it clear he didn’t believe him.

Jimin reminded himself he needed to get Yoongi to agree to cook for him, so he didn’t argue. But that was immediately suspicious, because he never missed an opportunity to bite back.

Yoongi glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

“Why do you think I want something?” Jimin fluttered his lashes innocently.

“Jimin.”

“Yoongi.”

“That’s ‘hyung’ to you.”

“When have I ever called you ‘hyung?’” Jimin asked before he could stop himself.

When have you ever earned it? he didn’t say.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, setting down the knife he’d been using to chop scallions, and turned to face Jimin. Tension hung in the air like a fog as they stared off and for a moment Jimin thought he’d get chewed out for being disrespectful. But then, Yoongi heaved a sigh and spun back around to resume his work.

Jimin blinked. “What? No snark?”

Surprising, since Yoongi never missed a chance to pick on Jimin.

Before Yoongi could reply, though, Jimin’s phone rang in his hand, startling him. The sight of his manager’s name and photo lighting up the screen made him groan out loud. He’d been naive to think he could get through even a day without hearing from her. She didn’t know the meaning of the word “vacation.”

Jimin answered at the last possible second, before the call could be redirected to voicemail, and tried not to sound as irritated as he felt when he greeted her.

“Hi, noona,” Jimin said, pressing the phone to his ear.

In the one-second-too-long that it took for her to reply, he realized Hee-yeon was already only half-paying attention.

“Jimin-ah, where are you right now?” she asked, brisk and no-nonsense.

“I’m—” Jimin looked around the massive kitchen a little bewilderedly. He ignored Yoongi’s curious gaze on him and turned away. “I’m in the mountains, noona.”

Hee-yeon faltered. “The mountains? What—oh, that’s right. Your ski trip,” she said. “Damn. How quickly can you get home? I managed to score you an invite to sit in Kim Ki-bum’s box at the opera tomorrow.”

Jimin’s heart skipped a beat. Shit. Kim Ki-bum was probably the most well-connected photographer in the country. Getting in his good graces meant having an endless stream of gigs and a standing invitation to every party in town.

“Noona, I can’t leave,” Jimin told her. He leaned against the kitchen counter and pulled a frustrated hand through his hair. The sound of Yoongi setting something in a pan to sizzle reached his ears. “There’s a snow storm.”

“They’re million won seats, Jimin,” Hee-yeon replied, voice a little shrill like a snow storm wasn’t a good enough reason for Jimin to miss the opera. “It’s Kim Ki-bum.”

“I know,” Jimin sighed, “but the roads are closed. Even if I wanted to come back, I wouldn’t be able to.”

“A million won, Jimin,” Hee-yeon repeated, stretching out each syllable of each word.

Jimin pinched the bridge of his nose. She was always like this. It wasn’t as though he wanted to miss the chance to become friends with Kim Ki-bum.

“They might be million won seats to the best opera on the planet with the coolest guy in the industry, but unless I walk down the mountain, there’s no way for me to make it,” Jimin said.

He heard a scoff from behind him that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

“I mean—”

“Noona!”

Hee-yeon heaved a sigh and Jimin knew he’d won. She was a little eccentric, but in the end, she had Jimin’s best interests at heart. Most of the time. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell Kim’s assistant I fucked up the dates and ask to reschedule. Maybe he’ll be nice and give you another chance.”

Jimin could only hope.

Hee-yeon talked his ear off for a few more minutes before blessedly allowing him to hang up. His shoulders sagged, weighed down by his disappointment, but that quickly dissipated when he turned back to Yoongi and caught him shaking his head.

“What?” Jimin asked as he pocketed his phone. He shuffled a bit closer, tapping his fuzzy socked-feet against the kitchen tiles.

Yoongi shrugged and continued stirring the stew on the stovetop. “Nothing.”

There was a note of something sour in his tone, something that nagged at Jimin.

“What, Yoongi?” Jimin folded his arms over his chest.

“It’s nothing, Jimin, just let it go,” Yoongi replied.

But that would be too easy.

“It’s clearly not nothing,” Jimin bit out. He didn’t know why he was so determined to get an answer out of Yoongi. His skin prickled with hot anticipation, goading him forward and stoking the flames of his ire. But this was always their schtick, wasn’t it? The reason why their friends constantly worried about them being in each other’s company. The reason why Jimin couldn’t stand to look at Yoongi too long. Because his delicate features and pretty eyes and pouty lips were a gilded facade hiding all the ugliness of his personality. “If you have something to say to me, say it.”

Yoongi scoffed again, and just the sound of it made Jimin’s hackles rise. “Just—your priorities are so fucked up,” he said with another disbelieving shake of his head. “There are people who don’t even have clean water to drink and you’re—million won opera seats, seriously?”

The words, made of steel, sharp at the edges, and laced through with condescension cut into Jimin in a way only Yoongi could manage. Color and heat rose into Jimin's cheeks.

But Yoongi wasn’t finished just yet. “You work in an industry that prides itself on its own frivolity. Fuck, Jimin, don’t you see how ridiculous that is?”

Jimin’s hands curled into fists at his sides as his anger boiled over and began to spill out of him.

He hated the way Yoongi made him feel—like Jimin was somehow lesser because his interests didn’t align with Yoongi’s, because he felt that Jimin’s career was foolish or somehow unworthy of being respected.

“As if what you do is so righteous,” Jimin snapped. “Designing buildings for the rich and wealthy and kissing up to developers who wouldn’t think twice before stepping on those less fortunate than they are. You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re just a fucking hypocrite.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed. The expression on his face took on a familiar darkness before immediately clearing once more. His shoulders dropped and he huffed out a sigh. “I just—You’re so smart, Jimin, and so capable. Why are you limiting yourself?”

Jimin couldn’t believe the nerve of him. He leveled a glare at Yoongi that he hoped conveyed all the anger he felt burning away at him on the inside. “You arrogant bastard. Just because you don’t agree with something doesn’t make it worthless. But you’re probably stuck so far up your own ass that you’ve never even considered that, have you?”

Yoongi’s eyes widened minutely, but Jimin didn’t give him a chance to answer. He shouldered past him to the stove, where the pot of stew, forgotten by its maker, was still bubbling away.

“Jimin, listen—”

“No thanks. I’m done with this conversation.”

Jimin grabbed the whole pot off the burner, wooden spoon and all, before spinning on his heel and retreating from the kitchen.

❅

Jimin stayed in his room for the rest of the evening. He ate the stew straight from the pot because maybe he’d forgotten to grab a bowl, and then spent the rest of the daylight hours laying around in bed and playing games on his phone.

A waste of a perfectly good mansion, perhaps, but he’d have done anything to avoid running into Yoongi after that awful argument.

It was par for the course, though. He and Yoongi were like oil and water. They lived on opposite ends of every spectrum, disagreed on everything they’d ever discussed.

But the worst of it was knowing what Yoongi really thought of him. While Jimin took a lot of pride in his career and his success and though the rational part of his brain understood that Yoongi was wrong, it still hurt. In some dark corner of Jimin’s heart, a tiny bubble of vulnerability popped every time Yoongi expressed his opinion on Jimin’s work.

And Jimin was strong, resilient, but he was also human. The thought of someone his friends looked up to and respected thinking less of him made him feel terrible.

As the day wore on, the snowfall outside grew heavier, covering the earth in a blanket made of pearls. Jimin could barely hear himself think over the pounding of the storm by the time the sun dipped beneath the horizon line.

But that was a problem in itself. Jimin hated storms.

He couldn’t believe he was such a wimp but the wind’s howling and the trees casting shadows across the walls of his bedroom scared him stiff. Every wail of the wind, every creak of the house set his nerves on edge. He couldn’t close his eyes long enough to fall asleep for fear of a tree branch falling through his window or the roof collapsing from too much snowfall.

An hour after he’d crawled into bed, Jimin found himself pushing the blankets off and slipping his feet back into his slippers.

With a sigh, he trudged down the stairs against his best judgment, hoping a fire in the hearth and a mug of hot chocolate would help him relax.

Instead, he found Min Yoongi, huddled up into a blanket burrito and staring blankly into the flames of a roaring fire with a pout on his lips.

“Oh,” Jimin murmured. He unconsciously retreated a few steps.

The blanket burrito wasn’t cute, Jimin told himself, it wasn’t. He was still angry at the blanket burrito. Very angry.

Yoongi spun around to look at him, blinking away the daze from his eyes. “Oh, Jimin...”

“Can’t sleep?” Jimin ventured. He pulled his open night robe a little tighter around himself.

Yoongi hummed. After a moment, he cleared his throat, began to unravel his blanket, and offered, “I can go, if you want to be alone…”

Jimin peered at him for a long moment, contemplating. He could stay mad. He could chew Yoongi out some more. Or he could just go back to giving him the silent treatment as usual. He could do all of those things.

But he was tired of this.

So, instead, Jimin heaved a sigh and sat down on the couch beside the blanket burrito.

“We should talk,” he said. Then, glancing at Yoongi from the corner of his eye, he added, “Really talk. And listen to each other.”

Yoongi nodded, staring into the tall flames in the hearth. One half of his pretty face was lit up by the burning glow of the fire, the other shadowed in the blues and purples of the moon peering in through the massive windows.

“You know your logic is flawed, right?” Jimin said when it became apparent Yoongi wanted to leave the ball in his court. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on top of them. “You think an industry that strives toward aesthetic perfection must be inherently superficial and thus somehow inferior. And maybe it is superficial, maybe it is frivolous. But that doesn’t make it less worthy of respect.”

“I know that,” Yoongi murmured.

“Do you?” Jimin asked, looking at him. “Because the thing you say is limiting my capabilities is the reason I’ve gotten as far in life as I have. In fact, there’s a whole world of people in fashion who work really damn hard and deserve more than your condescension.”

The winds howled outside as more and more snow covered the earth, but the sound felt more muted here than upstairs. Before the fireplace, despite the conversation, Jimin felt cocooned in warmth.

“You’re right.”

Jimin faltered. Of all the thing Yoongi could have said, this was the least expected. “I’m—what?”

Yoongi wiggled out of his blanket like a new butterfly fluttering out into the world for the first time and repeated himself. “You’re right. You always have been. After you got mad earlier, I started thinking about what you said and… you’re right.”

“Oh.”

Jimin flopped back against the couch cushions, a little thrown off by Yoongi’s sudden declaration.

This had never happened before. He didn’t know what to do.

Yoongi continued before Jimin had a chance to fall too deeply into an existential crisis. “You are smart and you are capable and that’s not despite you being a model. You just are.”

Jimin felt a lump rise in his throat. The surprise from Yoongi admitting his wrongs wound through him and lit up his nerves like a Christmas tree, leaving him wired and jittery.

For once, he was at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said, glancing at him briefly.

Jimin couldn’t string together a response that made any sense, so he gave a brief nod. This was surreal.

“I know you think I’m a dick,” Yoongi went on. Jimin looked down at his socked toes when he found he couldn’t look him in the eye. His words were resigned, maybe laced with the barest hint of regret. But that couldn’t be right. Yoongi didn’t seem like the kind of man who regretted things. He sighed when Jimin didn’t argue the fact. “I guess I’ve never given you a reason not to. It’s just—there’s something about you—every time we’re around each other, it feels like my insides are on fire. It makes me want to get a rise out of you.”

Jimin huffed out a sardonic laugh, ignoring the way his cheeks blossomed at the unexpected admission. “You make it sound like you have the hots for me or something, Yoongi,” he said, but he couldn’t quite manage the kind of confidence in his tone that his words would suggest.

“Of course you’d make a pun right now,” Yoongi replied, rolling his eyes.

Truth be told, the pun had been unintentional. Still, a small, sheepish grin spread over Jimin’s lips as he unfolded his legs and rose to his feet. He was too keyed up to sit still, so he shuffled a bit closer to the fire, holding his hands out in front of himself to warm them.

“So, is that a yes, then?” he asked with his back to Yoongi.

A beat of silence, then he heard Yoongi shift. Jimin swallowed around his nerves.

“Yes.”

Yes.

Yoongi had said yes.

Jimin wasn’t the only one, it seemed, who’d been struggling with an attraction he didn’t want to admit to.

As his heart threatened to pound out of his chest, Jimin moved away from the fire and padded over to the wall of windows. The snow was still coming down hard, leaving the world in a haze of white fairy dust that sparkled under the light of the moon.

A few things were certain.

Yoongi infuriated him. He held himself so smugly, so haughtily that it made Jimin’s skin crawl. And yet, the way his heavy gaze tracked Jimin’s movements through the room, white-hot and intense, the way the heat bloomed and curled around Jimin’s bones, made Jimin want to kiss him a little, too.

But a two-ton pink elephant had wedged itself between them. It needed to be addressed.

Jimin leaned his back against the cool windows and leveled a discerning stare at the unraveled blanket burrito on the couch.

“You know a sure-fire way to ensure you don’t get in my pants?” he asked, tilting his head.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at him.

“Putting me down,” Jimin said. “Not just about my career, but how I live my life in general.”

At this, Yoongi cringed.

“This time it was the opera seats, last time it was the wine I ordered at dinner.” Jimin bit his lip, trying to formulate his words in a way that wouldn’t give up just how much Yoongi had really hurt him. “Admitting you were wrong today doesn’t erase all the times you went out of your way to make me feel bad. Neither does admitting you like to get a rise out of me.”

“Jimin, listen—”

Jimin held up a hand to stop him before Yoongi could go on. Yoongi's mouth snapped shut, his lips curling into a pout. “My friends think really highly of you so I’m inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. But that doesn’t mean I won’t call you out on your bullshit. If this,” he motioned between them, “happens, I’m going to need you to respect me.”

Yoongi hung his head and nodded. “Okay.” He glanced up at Jimin through his dark fringe, smoldering gaze as serious as Jimin had ever seen it. “You’re right.”

Jimin knew they had a lot they still needed to work out, years of bad history and words made of poison traveling in both directions, but his body thrummed with a desire that was almost overwhelming.

“Then...” he said, holding his arms open.

Yoongi rose to his feet, blanket wrapped around his shoulders once more, and paced over to Jimin in a few long strides that matched the pounding of Jimin’s heart. Blue moonlight fought its way through the snow outside to shine across his pretty features, casting him in an ethereal glow.

Jimin swallowed around his nerves. He couldn’t believe this was really happening.

Yoongi stopped short, biting his lip like he didn’t know what to do next, until Jimin made grabby hands and pulled him closer by the wrists.

“C’mon, c’mon, I want kisses,” Jimin whined.

Yoongi’s hands fell to his hips, warm to the touch and solid, as Jimin breathed out a relieved sigh. It felt like he’d waited an eternity for this moment.

Then, his lips curved up into a familiar, infuriating smirk, the kind that usually made Jimin’s blood boil, that made Jimin feel like Yoongi knew exactly what he was thinking.

Yoongi leaned in a little closer, til his breath fanned across Jimin’s lips and caused a shiver to slip down his spine. “Needy,” he murmured.

Jimin wound his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, slipping his fingers under the collar of his pajama shirt. “Are you going to do it or…?”

Yoongi’s grip on Jimin’s hips tightened. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” Jimin assured him without an ounce of hesitation. To prove his point, he pulled Yoongi closer, so close that Yoongi’s knee slipped between his legs. Jimin’s breath stuttered. He met Yoongi’s eye as his fingers carded through the hair at the nape of Yoongi’s neck. “I’m sure.”

And that was all it took.

Yoongi closed the distance between them, sealing their lips together in a way that made Jimin feel like his insides had turned into warm, sweet hot chocolate. His hands scrabbled for purchase against Jimin’s hips before slipping beneath his flannel pajama shirt to roam over his bare torso. He pressed Jimin against the windows, deepening the kiss as Jimin let out a moan. He didn't bother to hold himself back. They were alone, after all. Jimin could be as loud as he wanted.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Park Jimin.” Yoongi murmured against his lips.

Jimin couldn’t resist smirking. He pulled back from the kiss long enough to trail his mouth across Yoongi’s jaw and up to his ear. “Likewise,” he said, “hyung.”

Jimin had been afraid that kissing Yoongi would be strange or disappointing, that acting on his attraction would make their complicated relationship more complicated. But, here, warmed by the fire and under the light of the moon as fairy dust fell from the sky outside, his worries melted away.

Yoongi was unexpectedly careful in the way he touched Jimin, almost as though Jimin were too precious to be mishandled. His kisses were gentle, sweet, but left Jimin breathless and his body thrumming. It was better than Jimin had allowed himself to imagine.

❅

At some point they ended up sprawled out on the fluffy rug in front of the fireplace, Jimin straddling Yoongi’s hips and flopped, boneless and sated, across his bare chest.

With his cheek squished to Yoongi’s heart and his eyes closed, Jimin mumbled, “First time I've ever had sex against a window.”

Yoongi huffed out a tired laugh as he dragged his knuckles over Jimin’s back in a gentle caress. “Yeah? First time I've ever had sex on a rug.”

“Yeah?” Jimin murmured.

Yoongi hummed.

“How’d you like it?”

Yoongi pretended to think for a moment, before he replied, “Solid 9/10 recommend.”

Jimin lifted his head to look at him, brow raised. “Not a 10/10?”

“Rug burn’s a bitch.”

“Ahh.” Jimin nodded sagely and then returned to his position against Yoongi’s chest.

It was calm like this, with the fire still burning merrily in the hearth and the sound of the wind a little less harsh than before.

They were quiet for only a moment, both lost in their own thoughts, until Jimin mustered up the courage to ask, “So… what happens now?”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away, and his voice was quiet when he did. “What do you want to happen?”

Jimin stared into the fireplace, watching the flames dance before his eyes. He knew what he wanted. He could only hope Yoongi wanted the same thing.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he said.

He felt Yoongi’s arms wind around his back, pulling him close. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Jimin rested his chin on Yoongi’s chest. He looked sleep-soft and blissed out, expressions Jimin had never seen on him before. His heart fluttered at the thought of being the cause of it.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Yoongi reached up to card a hand through Jimin’s hair as a smile lit up his pretty eyes. He pulled Jimin forward a little, close enough that their lips brushed together when he spoke. His voice was soft. “Yeah.”

Jimin closed his eyes and leaned in the rest of the way to kiss him.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay.”

“We haven’t given each other much of a chance til now, huh?” Jimin continued, trailing kisses down Yoongi’s chest.

“No, but I would like to,” Yoongi told him. “Wanna make up for being a jerk.”

Jimin smiled. “Me too.”

They were quiet a moment as Jimin made his way around Yoongi’s torso, kissing over love bites from earlier that had already started to bloom.

“Jungkook is gonna have my ass,” Yoongi mused, sucking in a sharp breath when Jimin nipped at a spot beneath his chin. His hands traveled down to Jimin’s thighs and hooked under them to bring Jimin closer, closer.

“Oh, absolutely,” Jimin said.

“Worth it, though.”

Jimin fluttered his eyelashes as he looked coyly at Yoongi. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi replied with a smile. Then, his nose scrunched. “Still can’t believe you stole my jjigae earlier, though.”

Jimin shrugged. “I was hungry.”

“How was eating it without a bowl and rice?”

He felt heat blossom across his cheeks, but Jimin was nothing if not sassy. “Solid 9/10 recommend.”

A surprised laugh bubbled out of Yoongi.

Jimin grinned back at him, nuzzling a little closer. The snow was still coming down outside, but the fire and Yoongi’s arms and Yoongi’s laughter warmed him up from the inside out.

He felt content.

The fear of not knowing how things would turn out between them was silenced by Yoongi’s gentle hands and soft gazes.

Jimin wanted to give him, them, a chance.

the next day

“I can’t believe you defiled my precious Mimi,” Seokjin huffed.

Jimin and Yoongi had been woken up in the morning, stark naked on the living room floor by the loud arrival of their friends. Needless to say, Seokjin and Jungkook weren’t very happy.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, trying to ignore Jungkook’s glare on him. “Pretty sure your precious Mimi defiled me.”

“This isn’t what I meant when I told you not to be a dick.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“We’ll have to bleach the whole house.”

“Seokjin—”

“I'll never be able to look at you the same.”

“Seokjin, really—and, Jungkook, would you please stop—”

“Don't try me, hyung.”

“You didn't fuck on the couch, too, did you?”

fin