Work Text:
2012
I still freshly remember when he first came to Seoul. Even more so, the weeks following his arrival. Those days were full of surprises and awkward interactions that sometimes I just wonder, how the hell did we get here?
When they said there would be another trainee to join our group and live in the dorm with us, I immediately thought, “Another one? I guess seven rings better than six.”
I was then told that the new addition was a dancer from Busan, the same age as Taehyung.
A dancer again?
But then again, we were not going to be a hip-hop group anymore. We were actually going to be an idol group. To be honest, I kept forgetting it back in the day, no matter how much we had been practising to dance.
Ah, Bang Si Hyuk PD.
Anyway, there he was, with bags full of clothes, fresh out of Busan.
“Hello everyone, my name is— my name is Park Jimin. Nice to meet all of you,” he introduced himself, voice high and ambitious, yet gentle on the edges. I remembered his most prominent features: a pair of plump cheeks, with a face that looked way too cute for someone his age. His eyes lit up with embers, actual sparkles glittering when a bit of light shone at them, the telling hint that he sure was a kid with big dreams on his back.
And when we started to see him in the practice room, we realised that Hoseok was in for a good competition.
His moves were sharp and precise (he was really into popping back in the day) but even to my inexperienced eyes, the smoothness and elegant characteristic of his movements were striking enough, that I could just see how much potential he possessed.
I saw him danced for the first time, and I could not stop watching ever since. I was entranced, sucked into a world that I had known before yet somehow felt unfamiliar and all-around new when he was the one showing it to me. Not unfamiliar in a negative connotation—more like exciting. Looking at him dance was a hobby I picked up since then. I knew the way his arms would move in the air, in extreme detail, before I even knew how soft his voice would sound when he was not nervous.
In fact, our encounters outside of the practice room have not been very… great. And I could take responsibility for all of it.
This one time, we were lounging in the dorm, doing this and that—we had completed our practice for the day. And I saw him tidying up his clothes, clumsily taking a pair of pants out, putting them back in, taking another one, then putting that one back in again. I laughed seeing him in his natural state, awkwardly talking to himself about fashion and whatnot.
“Hey,” I called out to him, in an effort of getting more familiar with the boy I have been observing in the past five minutes, or perhaps centuries. Just because it felt like it. He looked up at me and smiled, greeting me back with a polite yes? and a slight gesture of bowing.
I froze for a split second, not knowing what to say. What’s the second step of social interaction again?
I licked my bottom lip, waiting for the sound to come out from my own mouth just the same.
Fuck it.
“You know what?” I went, trying to come up with anything as if I was bullshitting a test. He only stood there, a smile still wide on his lips, waiting for another word from me. “You gotta throw your entire wardrobe away. No one wears those in here.”
I laughed. But the room was silent. That was a joke, by the way, I belatedly thought. And then his face was one full of pure shock and horror in a way that I have never seen. His smile slowly turning into nervous laughter before he nodded a bit too hard, face blushed red to the edges.
“Oh! Yes, hyung!” He half-yelled, sounding harsh and biting, like what I said was an order. “I’ll just— I’ll do that, I guess.”
I just stood as still as a rock. Of course I just had to say that, right? Of course I got to make a joke, trying to be funny in front of a fellow countryside, born and raised. He stared at me dead in the eyes, as I quickly gave him a forced smile with an apologetic intent (albeit failing it) and rushed out of the room into the endless abyss of I-hope-I’m-never-going-to-see-him-again.
Wow, great job, Min Yoongi.
2017
“Yoongi-hyung?”
Knock, knock, knock.
I knock on the door to his hotel bedroom three times, just enough to alert him if he’s still awake.
And knowing him, I’m a hundred percent sure he’s still awake.
“Jimin?” I hear his voice calling my name back, soft but loud enough to be heard through the door. “Wait a second.”
There were rustling noises from inside of the room, followed by what appears to be sound of his footsteps walking closer to the door. He opens the door lazily, not even bothering to look at me in the face. He goes right back to where he was instead. In front of his laptop, working on music.
Nothing new.
“What are you doing here?” He asks, looking up from where he’s sitting down, finally questioning my sudden visit.
“Hmmm, just visiting you,” I say, looking through the stuff in his bedroom while walking to his bed, avoiding his eyes with all my might.
“And you’re visiting me for?”
“Just, nothing! Damn, can’t even have a pure intention of checking up on my older brother!”
“Don’t lie.” There is no change of expression on his face. I look at him with the fakest act of looking offended, if it can be called acting anyway.
“I’m not lying!”
“Checking up on me, huh?” He chuckles, softly. “What’d I do anyway?”
He knows full well what he did.
I mean, of course I lied. I didn’t just come in here out of the blue just to bother him. It’s not like he’s Seokjin or Jeongguk. Or Taehyung. It’s just that he’s been holed up in his room since our last schedule for the day. And while that’s perfectly fine and normal, I know that something did bother him today.
You see, we always have one of the best times of our lives when we are in the United States, that’s for sure. But the schedule’s just way too packed. Sometimes they even almost overlap with each other. Interviews are stressful and exhausting in the first place, but the cultural difference just makes it worse, often resulting in inevitable miscommunications here and there. That, combined with one wrong question asked by an interviewer today, had left a bitter taste to Yoongi’s mood all day afterwards.
And I noticed that, no matter how hard he tried not to show it.
Come on, I know the guy.
“Be honest with me,” he is saying again, this time finally letting his sight off me and onto his laptop’s screen. “Why didn’t you just come to Seokjin-hyung’s? Or Jeongguk’s bedroom instead? The three of you are always together lately.”
I freeze on my spot for probably half a second, before continuing my journey to the bed that felt like a quest that went on for half a century already.
“Well, Seokjin-hyung is already fast asleep, while Jeongguk along with Taehyung went out to the nearby Koreatown, looking for… whatever,” some of my words got caught up in my throat before I let them out, and he has one edge of his mouth going up in satisfaction.
Park Jimin, you’re truly the best liar in the world.
He only scoffs, shaking his head low and slow. He obviously isn’t buying everything I just said, but he just ignores it and get back to type something on the keyboard, while I just smile, finding comfort on the edge of the hotel bed.
“How’d you know I’m okay with you visiting anyway? I don’t think I answered your text.”
“Easy! I texted you, hyung, I’m coming to your room! but you didn’t text back something like, no, or go away, and instead you left me on read,” I go on, somehow excitedly, “and if I didn’t know you, I’d hate you, but I do, so I hate you less.”
He looks over at my direction once more, eyebrows raised to the back of his head.
“Okay, not that. What I meant was, I know you, so leaving Jimin on read even though that’s the thing that he hates the most must mean sure, whatever, I don’t mind your presence”—I pause to take a breath—“or something like that.”
“Alright, Sherlock. You can stop analysing me.” He turns back around. The smile still lingers on his face. “You can stay, but I’m still gonna be working.”
The room is silent after that, with only the lingering click-clacks of his fingers hitting the keyboard shortcuts he has memorised better than his own phone number. His desk is crammed with all kinds of gadgets: his tablet unlocked with the beat-making program opened, at least three different headphones are visible (two neatly placed on the table, one sitting around his neck) and then there’s a tiny Bluetooth speaker next to them, a very early birthday gift from Jeongguk. Even the usual phone and wallet combination were there. But as always, they are positioned very orderly. Almost perfect, not askew one bit, that I cannot help but think how it’s the most accurate scene to describe Min Yoongi: a mess, but delicately put together, making up something else more admirable than not.
His room feels similar to Hoseok’s and Namjoon’s, even Jeongguk’s lately, with all the essential music-making instruments on the desk, much more straightforward than the complicated ones back home. And like Hoseok’s, the air smells like perfume. They both pretty much have the same feeling to them when they’re focused on making music—it is just that Hoseok’s so much chattier.
He hums to an unfamiliar tune that already sounds beautiful to my ears, so I shove my body forward a little right from behind his shoulder, to peek at his laptop screen.
“What are you workin’ on?”
2012
Weeks after the entire group met him, Jimin was already getting along with everyone. Almost everyone.
Taehyung was the easiest one. They just clicked perfectly with the same outgoing and bubbly personalities while also complementing one another with their differences. Taehyung, being the confidence burst for Jimin’s shy tendencies. And with the comfort of being same-age friends, they were bound to be best friends for life. We all could see that since day one.
Hoseok was more of the same, mostly because of the charm he exudes that gave off a sense of familiarity to the people he just met. And then there was the advantage of him being a year older, providing the much-appreciated closeness feel of an older brother. They also danced together often and shared their different experiences in modern dance.
And then there was Namjoon, being his usual charismatic self, enchanting the simple and naïve boy with the wonders of his words, saying some crapshit like the importance of a good hairstyle to protect your brain from damage. Unfortunately, the only damage happening there was the very hairstyle that he sported when he said it. That, and countless innocent household appliances I had to mend after him.
Meanwhile, Seokjin was having the time of his life. Although being pretty new to the team himself, his natural sass and bold personality (complete with age that had given him the utmost authority) allowed him to enjoy a method of getting along with Jimin by asking him to do stuff he knew the younger could never say no to. A demon spawn, that guy.
Even shy, little Jeongguk got along with Jimin surprisingly fast. I asked him once about it, “How do you get along with Park Jimin so quickly?” because of how unusual it was for him get so comfortable with a stranger in a matter of weeks.
The grin was bursting with happiness, and then he very honestly and excitedly confessed to me, “The fact that he looks much younger and child-like than me was enough to boost my confidence, hyung!” I furrowed my eyebrows in my best attempt to show off my honest pity for him. “I bet the last time you saw someone stuttered that much in an introduction was the day I came to Seoul,” he continued. “He’s so cute.”
So, at the end of the day, I was the only one left still finding myself jolting in discomfort whenever I came across him on my way to the bathroom, and it bothered me a lot. That was unusual for me, because despite my quiet, private façade I actually get along with other people quite easily. Tête-à-tête conversations are especially my thing, but fuck with that shit, I could not even stand being alone with him in the same space other than the practice room.
Well, practising together was one thing. Most of the time, we did not really mind or maybe even notice each other’s existence. But passing by each other when we had different practice schedules? Now that was tough and embarrassing, as he would be quick on his feet and be the first one to greet me, while I just brushed by him with an uneasy smile, although still praying to God he wouldn’t dislike me for that.
But we both know he already disliked me way before that. I did, after all, saw a sight of bewilderment from him for my foolish action, which surely had succeeded in making him dislike the proud asshole he met in the city of Seoul, who speaks with a crooked accent of a weird mix between Gyeongsang dialect and standard Korean.
Those days I actually thought he might never going to be able to be as friendly with me as he was with anyone else, which totally would be a striking contrast to my relationships with the other members of the group.
And I really did think I fucked up then.
2017
“Hm?” He mumbled, missing the thing I just said.
“What are you working on this time?” I repeat my question, eyes studying the interface of the program he always uses to make music while travelling.
“It’s a new song, but it’s my song,” he smirks proudly, leaning his body back a little to look at the screen like it’s his firstborn. His shoulder reaches far enough to touch my chin, so I just rest my head comfortably on it. “Like, for a mixtape, Agust D the second?”
“Oh! Are you going to release a new mixtape?” I say, too excitedly.
“No, no,” he denies softly. “Hoseok hasn’t even released his, I got to give him his time to shine. And this is still a very rough draft of the first song anyway.”
I nod, softly hitting his shoulder in the process. “Can I listen to it?”
“As I said, this is only a draft,” he repeats, sounding slightly annoyed with me. “But you can be the first one to listen when it’s finished— or almost finished.”
“Oooh, that’s nice!” I exclaim, blood rushing to my ears out of excitement.
It is always interesting to hear Yoongi’s rough drafts. Since most of the time, he showed Namjoon first, then Bang Si Hyuk PD, then a couple of other company producers, and then us. Sometimes the rest of us did not even get the chance to hear it until it was released. So, it is scarce, if I might say. And of course, the quality of his music also doubles up the excitement. It is always different every time while also unique to his own characteristic—Yoongi’s own special sound.
“I can’t wait,” I continue. He cannot even see my face, but a smile perks upon my lips anyway.
“Be patient,” he says nonchalantly, patting twice on the side of my cheek softly with the palm of his hand while sitting straight back up that my chin lost the warmth it had before. “This piece still has a long, long way to go.”
“I’m already tired just thinking about it.”
He snickers at that.
The room falls into silence one more time, so I take my phone out of my pocket, to perhaps mess with a bunch of new applications I had installed earlier (getting your makeup done is boring, you see) and let my body fall back onto the nice comfy bed behind me.
“Don’t fall asleep, brat,” he says, still focused on the work in front of him. I stared at the back of his head, the light blue has faded into silver, and I noticed how he was shining on the edges from the brightness from the screen.
“Yes, sir!”
2012
“Hyung? Yoongi-hyung!” I heard a soft voice calling me out of my slumber. I fluttered my eyes open, trying to focus them on a person in front of me. His face was too close to mine. I felt the hair on my neck stood up annoyingly quick when I was woken up enough to recognise the owner of the voice.
Ah, Park Jimin…
It was very unusual to see him that early in the morning. Because when it comes to waking up, I always did before his alarm would even go off. On the other hand, the people I was very used to see the first thing in the morning were either Seokjin, or Hoseok, the early risers who knew I was the easiest to be woken up in the morning.
Back then I never bothered to wake Jimin up in the morning, no matter how urgent. I would usually just force Taehyung to go and annoy him until he woke up, or Seokjin, or literally just anyone else but myself. My ass would be too nervous to do that.
“Huh?” I asked him instead of sitting up, still processing the reality of his presence, of him hovering above my head, of his eyes that were fixed on mine—or my body, or something on me.
“You slept so late last night, working on a song,” he responded, laughing softly while pausing. “It’s time to wake up, hyung.”
“Ah.” I did go to sleep after everyone else, in the early morning. But how did he even know that? I was in the studio the whole time, and I was pretty sure he fell asleep before me.
He patted me on the shoulder, gentle but still firm, as if saying, Aw, tired? Well, try to go back to sleep again and I won’t be nice again hidden behind the touch. I shuddered as he let go of the contact, before walking away to leave me right where I was lying down.
“It’s not a song,” I said softly, directing it to him but also not expecting he would hear it.
“Hm?” He turned back around, waiting for me to finish.
“It was… a beat,” I stuttered, slowly sitting up because I found it incredibly weird to talk to him while lying flat on my back. Even though sitting up still wouldn’t help the fact we were still embarrassingly uncomfortable with each other. “I was making a beat, not a song.”
“Ah, so that’s what been getting you up at night, then,” he replied, which seemed like a little pleasant surprise to me because of how much he actually paid attention to me. “I thought you were making a song already.”
“Not yet,” I smirked at him, then slowly turning the smile into the widest smile I had given him. “But I will try and make a nice song with that.”
He looked at me longer than usual, as if he was reminded of something when I said the words.
“I’m excited to listen to it when you’re done,” he grinned, then turning around to leave. “Get up quick and shower, hyung! Everyone else is waiting for you.”
He left and I found myself smiling at the sight of his back.
Excited, you said? Kid, get in the line.
2017
“Hey,” he turns his chair around, after a good five minutes of silence lingering comfortably between us.
“Sing for me.”
“What… are you talking about?” I ask him, peeking from behind my phone, looking confused but also not minding it if I got to belt out some notes here and now.
“Sing for my mixtape!” He tells me, sudden bursts of excitement showing up in between his words, shining in his eyes. “I’ll feature you on my next mixtape.”
“Mini-Mini?!” I sat up straight so fast. “Tony Montana Remix number two??”
“Tony Montana Remix number two!” He repeated my words in eagerness, but then pausing for a moment to force a smile. “...and Mini-Mini. Yeah.”
“Wait, why are you like that?” I questioned him, faking a frown. “What’s wrong with Mini-Mini?”
“It’s just that, why did we name it that?” He chuckles, although regret was plastered all over his face. “Why were we attacking our own heights?”
I burst into laughter, loud. My eyes are tearing up. “Our heights... that was the joke wasn’t it?”
“That was,” he laughs a little louder, though a hint of actual bafflement still entangled in his voice.
“You don’t wanna use Mini-Mini?” I asked him, teasing.
“No, no, I don’t want to change it, of course.”
His voice is deep and calming, like a sea of melting cheese. Like he is actually making sure that the name’s fine. That a promise is a promise, I guess.
Well, it’s just a silly little name, Park Jimin, I think to myself, still looking at him who doesn’t seem to move even an inch since a thousand minutes ago. You’re always so dramatic.
“I was just joking,” he continues. “You made that name, and I loved it. It was just a bit funny when I think about it again.”
“A bit,” I noted. “More like a lot.”
He grins, gummy teeth and all, and eyes closing adorably. “I really can’t wait to work on a song with you.”
“Then, why don’t we do it now?” I asked, too excitedly.
“Save the best for the last,” he jokes, his face was faking sincerity. “Just kidding. I’m working on something else, brat, get in the line.”
He chuckled, and I laughed, and I was looking at him like I wanted to stay the night inside his eyes, for the sole reason of them looking so warm and familiar today, like his whole life he only ever wanted to do this song—like he loved it so much. That was not a lie, though, he does live for music after all.
“Oh, hyung. It’s an honour!”
2012
“Hyung,” I heard Hoseok calling me, walking closer with his temple drenched with sweat and a water bottle half-empty in his hand.
“Huh?” I lazily nodded at him, not having the energy to greet him back properly with an excited jump and a celebration dance to go along with it. We were in the practice room, soaking in sweat after hours of practising the overly repeated dance routine we were so used to doing but still couldn’t help but hate, and I would be lying if I wasn’t dying from all of that. I chose to rest and sit down since almost half an hour ago, while Hoseok just decided to end his session. Jimin was there too, practising the same thing he’d been practising for three hours now, refusing to give himself a break.
Hoseok sat down next to me, resting his back on the mirror. Despite calling me earlier, he just stared at Jimin in the middle of the room instead of saying something.
I looked at him confused but I did not mind. Who would blame him? Jimin was a moving statue, a living piece of art. If Hoseok hits his moves right on the beat powerfully, Jimin flows like a bird and slows down before he turns. If Hoseok’s running fast to leap, Jimin’s flying.
I know right, Hoseok? I’d stare at him too.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” he crooned, eyes still on Jimin, following his every move. “I mean, him and his dance. He looks amazing when he’s in his element like that.”
I turned my head to my side, trying to get him to look back at me, finding an explanation for the words he just said. My cheeks burned like fire. You’re right, damn, you’re absolutely right. But what the hell are you on about right now? My heart was skipping ropes in abnormal speed inside my chest, but I had guessed it was just the after-effect of the practice. It was the dance getting me exhausted, nothing else.
“Don’t need to hide it, I know how much you observe him every day. I’m always here, damn it. I can see you ogling at him, of course,” he continued, complaining while his eyes finally let Jimin go to look at me instead. “He probably doesn’t notice it though. He’s too focused with his practice and too afraid of you.”
But in my ears, his words fainted at the end. As if the volume knob of the world was slowly turning low, right before an absolute silence. A silence that went only for a split second before a loud pop exploding in the walls of my ears, unblocking the deafening quietness as I caught Jimin’s eyes on mine through the mirror, his body still busy with the dance.
“Afraid of me?” I asked Hoseok, trying my best not to look away from the pair of tired eyes reflected in the mirror. A bit longer, I thought, not wanting whatever it was we were exchanging to end. Don’t look away.
My heart was still doing all kinds of sports, but I didn’t give one shit about it.
“Why?” I asked him short, not even bothering to turn my head. Jimin’s eyes still fixed on mine, through the mirror, and I was confused. Lord, I had no idea why it was happening or even what it was. Hoseok was looking down, probably. All I knew was he must be doing anything other than noticing the tension in the air.
“Your voice got high when you talk to him, but you barely ever talk to him anyway because you’re always avoiding him. You don’t even want to wake him up in the morning. Of course the poor guy would be afraid of you.”
“So, he’s afraid of me?” I repeated the question, only half-listening to what he said. I could not care less—I got something more important gazing deep into my soul. Hoseok just shrugged, while my lips tugged into a smirk as Jimin finally looked away, He then sat down right on the spot, finishing his practice at last. I saw his cheeks blushing out of exhaustion from where I sat down, and I silently told myself not to overthink it.
“I thought he was never going to stop practising today,” Hoseok said quietly, before getting up to leave the room.
I bring a hand to my head, massaging a spot that feels too much like a headache, all of a sudden.
That’s what you call afraid?
2017
“What honour, you punk,” he scolds me. “We’re in the same group, don’t you dare talk as if we’re not.”
I just giggle, hearing him getting unnecessarily mad. I was obviously joking, but he took it very seriously. He really does put our friendship and history together above everything else, as with the rest of the members as well. It is as if he puts us up in a pedestal, a trophy to remind him how life has turned out so much better for him.
“But really, I’m excited,” he says, the same glitter on his eyes showing up again. “I’ve been wanting to do it. Ever since Tony Montana, I realised your voice fit mine so well.”
“Oh? I thought the same whenever we performed our part in Spring Day!” I told him. “Like, they just worked beautifully?”
“Right?” He agrees, a feeling of satisfaction lingered in his voice. “A perfect combination, you and I. Don’t tell Hoseok and Seokjin that.”
“Betraying your soulmates, I see.”
“Shut up.” He smiles, then turns around to his computer. “Here,” he drags his mouse and points to a green bar on his laptop’s screen and continues, “why don’t you try and sing this part?”
And he said he was working on something else.
2013
A few months before our big debut, an issue surfaced.
Jimin was a really hardworking trainee, with a skill set of dancing and singing complimenting each other perfectly. Everyone could admit he was a well-rounded performer. But the issue that came up was whether or not he fits our group’s image—idols with a twist: hip-hop.
I remember thinking, that’s bullshit. If the guy can dance and sing well, then let him be in the group. I could only dance half as well as him, and I was not going anywhere.
So, one evening the higher-ups of the company along with the teachers and trainers held a meeting, to ask us a long, dragging question that pretty much meant, “Is Jimin worthy or not?”
And even now, I still can vividly remember that I told them, “Our group will only be complete if Jimin is in it too.”
I might have cursed too. Can’t remember. But everyone soon joined. Taehyung, in particular, was talking about, imagine how sad he will be if hears about this, and I cannot say that didn’t work. Pretty sure that did the most in persuading them.
So, the next morning, they told us that all seven of us were going to debut together, with a side apology note directed to Jimin for doubting him. He just smiled, softly yet still the widest he could give them.
That was only right.
I did not care about whatever concept we were going for. Whatever it was, Jimin had to be there with us. Years from then, I never once regretted that decision.
2016
The stage is lit, and I was watching from behind the stage. It was dark, but he was not. He was red and bright and beautiful.
I thought, this can’t be wrong. This will never be wrong. He was swimming, and the lights were his water. I remember him that night—he was drenched in lights, dipped in gold. His hair was cast in silver, and he never looked more beautiful. He never looked more right than that night.
And I was in love.
But it has been four years, and I have witnessed him dance countless of times, have seen him doing it since his first day in the practice room, have seen him making the exact moves he was making on that stage that I could remember every twist and turn—and I’ve seen him. I’ve seen it all. He was a book I have read every page of, and yet I still found myself wanting to turn more pages, wanting to read more sentences, wanting to overthink each of the words, and wanting to sleep in between the letters.
It has been four years, and feelings supposed to die at some point.
I thought mine did when we argued in the dorm about trashcans and whatnot. Or when we were joking around, but then he said, “no, you’re not doing that right,” and then he walked away pissed off like I said something wrong and we didn’t talk for a week after that and I thought I hated him. I hated him for not talking to me, for not greeting me first when we passed by in the practice room, for not doing all the right things I wanted him to do.
There were several and more reasons he could have hated me.
That night—when he danced, and I was in love—we got out second Daesang, and our first artist of the year award, one of soon to be many. The early dawn after, he came knocking on the door of my hotel room. He knew I was awake, and he was beaming when I opened up the door, silver hair still wet out of the shower. Like him, I had just washed up and changed clothes to clean, comfortable ones.
“Hey,” I greeted him first.
“Hyung,” he replied while getting inside, and I closed the door behind him.
I watched him, and he looked at me, right before bursting into laughter.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked, and we were just standing face-to-face in a hotel room. He was busting a lung. I was confused.
“You cried today,” he grinned, then he got closer to hug his laughter out at me.
I smiled, embarrassed.
“I know,” I whined, not trying to push his hug away, not reciprocating it either.
“Min Yoongi cried today,” he continued.
“Stop teasing me.”
“That’s okay,” the grin persisted, he looked magnificent. “You looked cute.”
I gave him a smile. In my head, I was counting the ashen silver hair on his head. I watched him as he laughed, then he was hugging me so tight. Close to my ear, he repeatedly said, we did well, we did well, patting a spot on my back.
We really did. He really did. The boy from Busan with twinkling eyes and desire to dance in his veins.
It has been four years. And no, the feelings did not die at any point.
2017
Jimin visited my hotel room.
The initial intention of it was left unconfirmed, but I had a gut feeling that it had something to do with my ugly mood throughout the day.
He was grinning the whole time, probably trying to make me feel better. He didn’t know that even if he just showed up without saying anything, my mood would still get better. So much better.
Somewhere along trying out verses in my song that would fit Jimin’s voice, the boy had succumbed to exhaustion and sat closer to the pillow. Closer and closer, until he fully surrendered to my bed. His laughter got lower in volume, and then he was just humming to my words, and soon it was silent.
I stare at him from my seat, dyed blond hair messy on his head. His phone is still on his grip, and it looks like falling asleep was not his intention at all.
Why are you like this, Park Jimin…
I told him not to fall asleep, but there he is anyway. I mean, I get that it has been a long and extremely exhausting day, but isn’t he going all the way just to bother me today?
Did something happen to him today? Shit, now I’m regretting not asking him about it.
My laptop dinged alerting me that it is shutting down. I stand up, fixing the positions of some of the stuff on the desk, then I climb up to bed. I pick his phone up off his hand and put it on the bedside table next to me, then settling down on the spot next to him, leaning my head against the palm of my hand by the cheek, staring at him again.
He’s so cute, I thought.
The golden ray from the bedside lamp shines a bit of his face, his light blond strands, the lips, the cheeks, the nape of his neck...
He looks like he was dipped in gold.
I stop myself, looking away from the view beside me, palm cooling my cheeks from burning. Dipped in gold, I repeat.
Ah, yes, of course.
His chest goes up and down as I stare, my body is still. At times like these I always get reminded of how much I’ve seen him asleep. Or not asleep. I’ve pretty much seen all versions of him. The bad ones, the ugly ones, the good, the naïve.
Golden, I thought again, gold strands of hair sticking out in awkward places.
I miss his black hair.
His plump cheeks.
His terrible fashion sense.
“Hey,” I call him, only managing to make it out faintly. He just stirs, stretching away his legs slowly but not a hint shows he is going to wake up soon. So, I perk up, carefully reaching for the lamp beside him to turn it off. Then I slide into the blanket, positioning myself in the most comfortable way.
When I am ready to sleep myself, I whisper to a very much asleep person next to me, “Good night.”
2020
Yoongi released another mixtape in 2020.
The song that he made personally so it will sound amazing with Jimin’s voice did not make the cut. Namjoon scolded him for it, but he told him he was saving the best for the last. Yoongi did not tell the leader that the real reason was his selfish desire of keeping the song to himself. No one else should get to hear it. It is for Yoongi’s ears only.
And then there was the Grammy nomination. God, it still sounds so strange.
The Grammy nomination felt ridiculously pleasant. Yoongi could’ve sworn he had felt all kinds of happiness before. But then they got a Grammy nomination, and it’s like he has been brought to a new height of joy.
It felt stupid. Like he was a kid again, and everything was pleasing and delightful again. All, and every little thing, feels like it was in place.
The only thing that felt out of place was being in a hiatus.
2021
In five months, it would be their eighth year since debut. In those eight years and more, these people never got bored of each other, apparently. It is actually kind of insane. When Yoongi announced that he was returning from the hiatus, they were yelling and celebrating. As if he had not visited the dorm and met them during his hiatus—hell, he literally slept at the dorm. They had dinner together the previous night, too.
Still, they would not stop telling Yoongi how happy they are that he is coming back.
It feels good.
It feels really good, actually, if Yoongi should be honest. he could literally bask in their love. In return, he loves them just as much, if not more.
Tonight is one of those nights where they all spend it at the dorm. And in between schedules, shootings, and drinking nights—tonight is the one night where everything was much calmer. The members are getting to beds early, and the dorm feels so serene. So serene, that Yoongi finds the TV room to actually be as quiet and comfortable as his own bedroom. He is spread across the sofa, scrolling into the news and trends and politics.
There is a noise from the dining table, and Yoongi perks his head above the sofa to check.
“Hyung,” Jimin calls. Voice sweet as always, like they hadn’t seen each other today. “I couldn’t even see you there,” he teases, the corners of his eyes crinkle.
Yoongi huffs, but he is smiling. “What are you doing?”
Jimin shrugs. “Just tidying up.”
“Since when do you tidy up?”
“What?” Jimin's expression is an offended one now, and he is walking over to the sofa. “Since I’m a grown, responsible adult, of course.”
The older scrunches his nose at that. “You’re a brat.”
Jimin circles around the sofa then he sits down next to the older. He gets himself comfortable, slumping onto the couch, and Yoongi cannot help but feels happier for the closeness.
“Hyung.” A frown. “I am twenty-six this year.”
“You are not,” Yoongi whines, and now he is the one frowning. “You are sixteen, remember?”
“Aye, what are ya talking about?” Jimin replies, a perfect Busan dialect slipping out of his mouth.
Yoongi bursts out laughing, gummy teeth and all. “Exactly like that! It is Park Jimin, after all.”
“Of course, it is me.”
Yoongi stares, and he is thinking of how the peroxide blond looks more like Jimin’s natural colour now. Then he says, “Remember when you first came to Seoul?”
“Oh my god.” Jimin grimaces. “You were so scary.”
“I was not,” Yoongi interjects. “I just didn’t know how to talk to you.”
“Sure,” Jimin says, more on a cheeky note than a serious one.
No one says anything for a while, but then Jimin starts talking about his terrible fashion sense in the past. And then he is talking about the hairstyles, then the old practice room, and then the old dorm. The typical talks. And in the middle of staring into Jimin’s magnificence, Yoongi remembers Hoseok, when the younger had confronted him about observing Jimin every day. He never brought it up again, but he was very spot on that day.
Yoongi watches him, then and again.
And then Jimin starts talking about when he had turned an adult and got to drink alcohol for the first time, and Yoongi actually remembers it—he was there. He is always there.
Then they both reminisce about the days they used to drink together, just the two of them. Jimin would run to him when he was upset or unsure about something, and they would drink. They would drink all the worries away.
One time, Jimin came to Yoongi, right after he just had the biggest fallout with his best friend for life. They laugh over it now, but it was a big deal for both of them. When Jimin was too drunk to whine, Yoongi had convinced him to talk it out with Taehyung. And that’s exactly what they did: resewing their friendship until there is no telling they had ever fallen apart.
Yoongi loves being that part of Jimin’s life. To be there when the younger needs someone to hold onto. He is not even asking anything in return—just a beautiful smile, two crescent-eyes, and a sweet voice calling him hyung.
No, he doesn’t need Jimin to love him back. And he knows if he says I love you to the younger right now, he will receive a reply in a heartbeat. The same words, different meanings.
Yoongi is fine with that.
Soon it will be ten years, twenty years, and maybe fifty years if they are lucky, and Yoongi still does not know for sure If he will ever tell Jimin. He is not sure if he will tell him that when he says I love you, it is more than what the other could ever imagine. That when Yoongi had been nineteen, he had fallen in love with a certain boy who held so many stars in his eyes. That when Jimin had Taehyung around his arms again the entire day after they had fought, Yoongi was the next person who felt the biggest relief.
“Hyung,” Jimin calls him again, the same sweetness as it always been. “You worked so hard.”
And Jimin will never know that Yoongi loved him. And that after a hundred songs, awards, stages, late-night talks, and a Grammy nomination later, he still loves him the same.
“You too.”
Jimin grins. “Good night, hyung. I love you.”
Yoongi blinks. Then he says, “I love you too, brat.”
Min Yoongi is never a liar.