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As far as things go, it could have been worse.
Taehyung’s in the middle of the kitchen, hands on his hips, looking into the pot he’s set on the stove. He’d meant to make a calming potion — just something to calm Jungkook’s nerves — and it’s the right texture, but wrong everything else.
“Jimin!” he yells without looking up.
As though he was just waiting for this, Jimin appears a second later, pressing a kiss against Taehyung’s sweater. “What is it?”
Taehyung doesn’t answer, instead getting a spoonful of the mixture and holding it up to Jimin’s mouth, doing his best interpretation of puppy eyes. “Please?”
Jimin rolls his eyes but sips at it thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Crunchy,” he says after a long moment, smacking his lips together. “And kind of — spicy?”
Taehyung groans. It’s meant to be a gentle cinnamon flavor. “Back to the drawing board, then,” he says, tossing the mixture (pot and all) into the trash.
Jimin pats his arm consolingly.
*
Taehyung isn’t a terrible witch, all things considered.
He’s been in tune with emotions since he was a small child, able to influence the people he loves with a carefully-placed smile. (Jungkook insists that’s not witchcraft, that’s just his personality , but Jungkook doesn’t know what he’s talking about.)
Unfortunately, when it comes to casting specific spells, he’s not sure what he’s doing.
He purses his lips while he reads through the hastily-scrawled spell Seokjin gave him, looking at Jimin thoughtfully. “You’re sure?” he asks.
Jimin nods. He has a sheet tied around his neck, hands folded in his lap, looking at Taehyung through the mirror in front of them. “Please,” he says.
“And you don’t want me to just buy a box of dye? Because I can definitely—”
Jimin glares at him until Taehyung shuts his mouth. “Cast the spell,” he insists.
Taehyung sighs, rubbing at his eyes and pushing his glasses on top of his head when he’s sure he has the spell memorized. “If you say so,” he allows.
Jimin grins, bouncing in the kitchen chair. “Blonde, please,” he tells him.
Taehyung nods, taking a few breaths to focus himself, to feel the power , as Seokjin has told him on more than one occasion. He’s not sure what it means, but the thought is grounding.
He says the spell, closing his eyes, feeling the power rush over him, and —
Jimin’s giggle breaks him out of his reverie.
He winces, opening his eyes. “Fuck,” he whispers, running his fingers through Jimin’s bright pink hair.
Jimin’s face is nearly the same color. He covers his face with his hands, little giggles pushing their way through. “Well,” he says once he’s gotten a handle on his laughter again, voice only jumping a couple more times, “it could have been worse.”
Taehyung runs his fingers through Jimin’s hair. It’s softer than before, that’s all, he tells himself; no other reason that he has the urge to touch, to nuzzle his face against the back of Jimin’s neck. “Well, at least it’s not sparkly. That one would be hard to explain,” he agrees gravely.
Jimin laughs, shaking out his hair and pouting at himself in the mirror. “True, but I’d look very nice,” he considers.
“You always look nice,” Taehyung says, feeling down his arm. After a hesitant second, he kisses his head, smiling into his now-pink hair.
*
“I’ll buy you a box of bleach,” Taehyung offers over dinner, later. He ordered takeout rather than risking himself in the kitchen again.
Jimin rolls his eyes, shoving his feet under Taehyung’s thighs. “Ah, stop it,” he insists, giving him as threatening a look he can manage with his mouth full of noodles. “Are you suggesting I don’t look good with this?”
“Of course you do, but—” Taehyung is going to protest, really, but Jimin’s look doesn’t fade, and he sighs. “Fine, fine. No bleach.”
“Good boy,” Jimin says easily, holding out a piece of meat to Taehyung to take.
Taehyung rolls his eyes, but he feels his face heat up when he takes it.
Jimin finishes first, as always, and sets his dishes on the table, curling up against Taehyung’s side with a little sigh-yawn. “I really do like it,” he tells him, one hand on his thigh, rubbing against the outer seam of his sweatpants. “I’ve always been too brave to do a color like this.”
Taehyung hums, fingers finding their way into his hair. “Good,” he says, letting some tension leak out of him with every breath Jimin takes. He can’t help feeling like a failure, ready for Jin’s disappointed lecture next time he sees him, but. It’s nice, sitting here with Jimin, the living room lit by the low glow of fairy lights.
“Hey,” Jimin says, fingers fluttering into Taehyung’s hair, gently scratching his scalp. “You’re lovely. You just need more practice, that’s all.”
Sometimes, Taehyung wonders if Jimin is the magic one — he’s so attuned to what the rest of them are thinking, knows what to say and when to make Taehyung smile. “I’ve been practicing for months,” he groans, nuzzling his face against Jimin’s hair and pouting.
“You big baby,” Jimin says, and Taehyung can hear his eyes rolling. “It’s been one month.”
Taehyung wrinkles his nose. “Jungkook knew more than me then.”
Jimin snorts, shoving his fingers against Taehyung’s side to tickle him. “Jungkook’s a genius, come on,” he insists, laughing against his shoulder. “He also picked up Japanese faster than anyone else, hm?”
Taehyung pouts, shifting down until he’s curled up on the couch, leaning against Jimin. “Still,” he mumbles.
“You’re the worst,” Jimin tells him, though his fingers tangle in his hair. “I have no idea why I put up with you.”
“Access to my magic potions, I assume,” Taehyung says, and there’s a second of silence before they both giggle.
*
They end up in Jimin’s room. Taehyung has the bigger bed, but Jimin has the nicer sheets. Taehyung tried, when they started living together, to steal them, take them to his room so they could have comfort and enough space. Jimin looked so upset that he’s never tried again.
Taehyung crawls into bed, getting his arm around Jimin’s waist and smiling at him. “The pink really does work for you,” he tells him thoughtfully, fixing a bit that’s fallen into his eyes.
“Obviously,” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No idea why you’d doubt that.”
Taehyung laughs, pressing closer so he’s laughing against his neck, his shoulder. “Well, forgive me for wanting to reassure you,” he says, muffled.
Jimin pets his hair again, humming. “I think you’re trying to reassure yourself ,” he tells him.
When Taehyung pulls back, face slightly sweaty and probably red, Jimin is smiling. He looks — beautiful, of course, but also nervous, on the edge of something.
“You’re,” Taehyung pauses, trying to get his thoughts together. “You’re too important to fuck up this kind of thing with.” He shrugs. “So.”
And then—
Jimin’s laughing, quietly, the sound soft in the quiet room, and he’s leaning in, and they’re kissing.
Kissing . Jimin. Okay.
Taehyung laughs into it, can’t help it, tilting his head and kissing over his jaw when the grin is too much to continue the kiss.
“Asshole,” Jimin mumbles, though Taehyung can feel how pleased he is. “You’re ruining a perfectly good romantic moment—”
“Every moment is romantic with you,” Taehyung says, just to make him laugh.
It works, and between Jimin shoving at his shoulder and pulling him back in, Taehyung kisses him, fingers gentle on his jaw. He leans over him, propping himself on one elbow, so he can touch him — softly, with a reverence he didn’t know he had.
They kiss, and kiss, until —
“Hey,” Jimin whispers, nudging his nose against his cheek, giggling lightly.
“Mmph,” Taehyung says, frowning. He rolls onto his side, though, when Jimin pushes at him, onto his back.
The glow-in-the-dark stars above Jimin’s bed are — well. They’re glowing, emanating light much brighter than their plastic should allow.
“Look at that,” Jimin whispers, and takes Taehyung’s hand, running his thumb over the back of it.
Taehyung has always known he was good with feelings — his own and other people’s. He’s never seen them like this before, though, never felt so much that the room around him was affected.
It makes sense, though, he thinks when he curls close to Jimin again, kissing his pink hair (it smells, lightly, of strawberries, and the realization makes him huff out a laugh).
It makes sense.