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It sticks to his throat, permeating his lungs, sitting heavy on his stomach. He sees him, hand low on the woman’s waist, saccharine smile, all over her personal space. Jimin feels sick, actually sick, bile threatening to rise.
He shouldn’t feel this way, has no right to feel this way, and yet, when he sees him, every single time, with another person glued to his sunny self, he feels like throwing up.
But then, Hoseok catches his strained smile from afar, before Jimin drowns his feelings in champagne and petit fours, and joins him.
“You look radiant tonight.” Hoseok tells him, his hypnotizingly dainty fingers curling around his elbow, and Jimin wants to break something, tear the entire catering apart because he’s sick of pretending like it doesn’t hurt not to mean anything to someone he desperately wants to bask under the warm light of.
But, instead, his features soften and he catches Hoseok’s fingers between his, moving slightly closer to him.
“I knew you would be there, made an effort.”
Hoseok huffs, looking away for a second, and Jimin wants to see him like this, happy and blushing, just his, all the time instead of having to draw some momentarily satisfaction from their exchanges.
“You could wear nothing but your pyjamas, I would still struggle to attain your seductiveness.”
Jimin grins, eyes creasing in pleasure. He knows it’s just words, that he doesn’t mean what he says, that’s what they do, and Jimin’s good at pretending, he’s just tired of having to.
“Your efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. Too bad you’re offering them to others.” He says, thinking every single word of his bait, still playing this game of theirs, doesn’t know why.
“A word of yours and I’m not going home with her.” Hoseok jokingly says, winking, and Jimin wonders what he would do if he actually asked him to bring him back to his place in her stead.
❒
The first time Jimin lays his gaze on him, he feels like time slows down, his focal vision tunneling on the man’s features. His chest feels tight as he shallowly breathes in, standing in the doorway, fingers clasped around the frame, the rest of the room unaware of his arrival. He’s never seen him before but he can piece simple elements together, and given Namjoon’s warm embrace over his shoulders, he can guess it’s Hoseok, Jungkook’s new friend he’s told them so much about.
Jung Hoseok, 24, dancer, solar.
No one told him he’s handsome, terrifyingly so. Hoseok’s watching Yoongi talk, and he notices Jimin from the corner of his eye. He turns his head towards him, and for a split second, he looks serious, almost menacing, his high cheekbones razorlike, his piercing eyes boring into his very soul, and his lips stilled into a thin line Jimin immediately wants to feel under his lips. It lasts for an infinitesimal second, and then Hoseok’s brightly smiling at him, looking like he could power at least three blocks around just by breathing. Of course Jimin smiles back, feeling shy for the first time in years.
The only free spot at the table is next to him. So Jimin grins, extending a hand and, fuck , his hand is soft against his, fingers grazing at his skin as he introduces himself with a honeyed voice Jimin replies to with all the charm he possesses.
He acts coy, head tucked to the side, meeting his eyes with an amused grin, licking his lips when he talks, and Hoseok’s eyes don’t leave him, even when Jungkook asks him to tell them about when Yuhui Choe came to greet him.
❒
It’s New Year’s Eve and Jimin’s hoping, like he always does, that the night will hold some secret mystery that will make it worthwhile. It’s a yearly tradition with himself where he hopes that when midnight strikes, something exciting has happened in his life, instead of drinking himself under the table.
He’s not unhappy , nor is he waiting for a miracle to change his life. He just wants an element of surprise. He has amazing friends, a loving family, a precarious and short-lived job that encapsulates everything he’s ever dreamed of. He just wants to feel alive , like time is really moving forward instead of him having to fight to maintain a status quo.
Like every year, his friends are dancing with each other, eating food from the buffet in between songs. Jimin’s dancing, of course, he just needs to snack a little and catch his breath before swaying his hips back on the dancefloor.
For the first time in years, there’s an addition to their celebratory reunion: Hoseok is there, smile blindingly radiant, his date, another hip-hop dancer, tall and muscular, attached to his side. Jimin’s own date is scrolling on her phone, distracted. She’s a girl he’s been seeing for a couple months, nothing really serious, she’s more a friend with benefits than someone he’ll bring back home. Anyway. There are new people inside Namjoon and Yoongi’s studio, and Jimin eyes them, gaze hooded, the telltale signs of envy, of subtle desire burning their way up his throat, upholstering his palate.
And when, late into the night, past midnight, when the new year is fresh and brimming with possibilities, Hoseok asks him to dance with him. Their dates are talking to each other, unaware of their discussion, and Jimin, as he takes Hoseok’s hand in his, dances with him, hips flush, breaths hot against each other’s throats, jokes murmured, he thinks that maybe this year is going to be different.
❒
It is not.
Jimin maintains the status quo.
❒
Spring comes swiftly, soft and tender, burgeoning trees carrying promises of renewal, of hope.
Taehyung invites them all to his art gallery exhibit opening. His photographs are to die for, and Jimin has seen them as he developed them these past months; has complimented him along the way, and now warmly looks at him from afar, sipping his drink, happy for his friend.
He sees Hoseok from the corner of his eyes, slightly frowning, deeply focused, examining Taehyung’s work. He looks stunning, like he nonchalantly dressed this way and didn’t spend three hours looking this sharp, this sumptuous.
Jimin walks up to him.
“What’s gotten you so troubled?” He asked, bumping their shoulders together.
They’re pals, not friends exactly, haven’t hung out enough for him to call him his friend, but they see each other fairly often. Hoseok has become a regular in his group of friends. He’s able, along with the younger ones, to make Yoongi yield and accept whatever he wants as long as he looks cute. And he does look cute. Jimin finds himself endeared, a bit scared as well, as someone that hot shouldn’t be able to look so gentle at the same time.
He doesn’t know if the man is gay, but given the perfect record of them all being queer in the group makes him believe he might be at least a little open, just a smidge of gay, one of them. He hopes so, has seen his gaze linger on his profile when he thought Jimin wasn’t looking, remembers the contact of his hand against his waist when they danced together. Jimin only wishes for the faintest possibility of him being interested. Then they could get to learn about each other.
Hoseok smiles.
“It feels alien to think people can just waltz around and decide how much an artwork is worth .”
Jimin hums, sour.
“They decide our artistic value based on the market, on what will be presently bought, they don’t care about art itself.” He looks at Hoseok from head to toe, smirking. “You should be careful, the buyers are slowly coming in and they might try putting an option on you as well given how good you look.”
Hoseok grins, eyes disappearing with glee.
“You think the big money wants me?”
Jimin figures he should try his luck. Maybe Hoseok’s straight, maybe he isn’t but won’t be interested, maybe he’s coming home with him tonight, kissing him in his old elevator, unable to wait a handful of seconds longer.
“Who wouldn’t?”
And maybe they aren’t friends per say, but they could become so, or become something different.
Hoseok gives him a private smile, gaze slightly dropping, and Jimin’s mesmerized. When he stares at him again, he looks ravenous, Jimin smiling back at him in a disingenuously innocent way.
“I think the competition with you would be strong.” He finally replies, and Jimin’s heart speeds up.
Hoseok takes a step closer, and Jimin feels the air shift, heart hammering in his chest. He looked for trouble and he’s happy to see he’s managed to hopefully find it.
“Hyung!” Jungkook grins as he appears between them, wrapping an arm around Hoseok’s, kissing Jimin’s cheek, and, for a moment, Jimin wants to scream because, when he looks up, Hoseok looks warm and gentle and saint-like, nothing like the promise his gaze carried seconds ago.
❒
“Life is shit and nothing matters.” Jimin groans, splayed on their kitchen table, Taehyung wrapped around him like a human plaid, trying to coax him into drinking his tea.
“Darling. It’s okay.” He replies, kissing his cheek, his nape, and then disentangling himself to sit next to him on their stool. “He’s had lovers in the past.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, nervously sipping from his mug. On Hoseok’s Instagram’s stories, you can see him in bed with this ridiculously hot man, someone he actually brought to one of their nights out.
“It never lasted more than a couple weeks, you know, nothing more than a hot fuck and then he’d be single and free again.” Jimin whines.
“And you wouldn’t make a move.” Taehyung gently tells him, a hand on his arm.
Fuck, Jimin feels awful.
“I have tried to.”
Taehyung laughs. There’s no malice in it, it’s tender, non-judgemental.
“You’ve been too worried about ruining the friendship you have with him, the friendship we have, the seven of us, to truly come strong onto him.” He grins, because he knows him, knows he can get anyone interested to undress in the closest utility closet in less than fifteen minutes if he really wants to.
“It’s different.” Jimin mumbles back to cuddling with their wooden table.
“Because you want more than getting into his bed.”
Jimin groans, digging his heels into the ground, making Taehyung softly laugh.
“I just want to know him for real, you know? I wanna understand how he works, how he manifests so much warmth, what makes him smile and happy, and, yeah, I wanna get him naked, but, surprisingly, it comes second.”
“Thus you being scared.”
“Thus me being this close from buying him an outrageously huge bouquet and inviting him to the restaurant.”
“But now he’s got a boyfriend.”
❒
It’s Friday night and they’re at the club.
It’s just Namjoon, Hoseok and him, the three of them hanging out in Itaewon, Jungkook and Taehyung busy, Seokjin and Yoongi trying a restaurant like they do every month. Namjoon wants to drink himself silly after a very long week surrounded with idiots and conservative morons. Hoseok loves to dance, he doesn’t need another excuse. And Jimin? He wants both. He wants to forget about Hoseok, dance with him, drink with Namjoon, and go home with a stranger. He wants distraction.
So he drinks, legs crossed, listening to Namjoon next to him, screaming to be heard, talking about a man in another booth. Jimin nods, but he’s watching Hoseok, wearing skinclad pants, enclosing his thighs and ass in what had to be a prayer to the devil because Jimin wanted to commit every possible sin for them. His shirt is loosely buttoned, one sleeve falling every couple moves Hoseok makes, uncovering a naked shoulder, and the black strap of his undershirt.
Jimin’s throat is dry.
Namjoon’s hand pats his leg and he disappears to go and talk to the man in the other booth.
Hoseok is dancing with someone smaller than him. It’s easy imagining himself in his stead. They haven’t danced with each other since that time on New Year’s Eve but the feeling of his hands around his waist have burned themselves in his mind. His breath shortens, thinking about Hoseok’s thigh between his legs, how it’d feel to have his breath hot against his neck. Most of all, he thinks about kissing him.
His friend catches his stare, and smiles, gaze relentless, like he can read his mind. Jimin grounds himself, trying to muster the strength to join him on the dancefloor, but he’s stuck, his anxiety overpowering the alcohol coursing through him.
And then some dude slides to the spot Namjoon occupied minutes ago.
“Hey there, handsome.”
Jimin’s smile is strained. He doesn’t want to talk to him. The man looks charming, he’s handsome, and he knows he should seek the distraction, but he only wants to join Hoseok on the dance floor and pretend for a song or two that Jimin’s his and they’ll get home together.
The stranger doesn't stop talking. He’s coming on strong, strong enough to make Jimin feel uneasy. He tries backing off, telling him he’s not interested, but the man slides closer, hands sliding over his shoulder blades, not listening to his demand to stop. Jimin’s starting to feel pissed, and a little scared, when someone leans over their table.
“Babe.” Hoseok calls him, his tender smile reaching his eyes as he puts his hand on his cheek, closing the distance between them, stopping right before kissing him, eyes open, searching, reassuring. Jimin nods, faintly, and Hoseok kisses him. It’s a barely there touch, it’s a salvation kiss, something to make the stranger back off, but Jimin’s head is spinning nonetheless. “Sorry for taking so long.” He warmly tells him, a hand on his nape, shivers running down from it. “Are you okay?”
Jimin smiles, feeling the stranger’s hand disappear.
“Yes, I was just trying to tell this man about you. I’m sorry, I think you might’ve misunderstood the situation.” Jimin tells him fakely apologetical. “You might want to try your luck elsewhere.” He tells him, tucking his head to the side, glancing at Hoseok who’s shooting daggers at the stranger, fingers still caressing his nape. Jimin feels his head spin, not from the alcohol but from the kiss, the proximity, the protection, this feeling of being his for a second.
The stranger scrams away and Jimin deflates against Hoseok’s shoulder, laughing.
“You saved me.”
It makes Hoseok wholeheartedly laugh.
“Always, I wasn’t going to let some boor bother you.”
It feels good to be in his arms, heart pounding in his chest, Hoseok arm closing around him, grounding him.
❒
Jimin doesn’t even pretend to like the guy, to be interested in him. He’s lonely, and so is he. He guesses where to touch, how to like, the pressure to put, and Jimin can simply close his eyes and enjoy the ride, eyelids fluttering, flying away from his day-to-day life. The man is good, and, for a while, distracting. But he’s not good enough to make him forget what he’s trying to block out from his thoughts, who he’s running away from, the man he whispers the name of when he’s alone, sighing against his pillow, whining under his shower, permeating his every thought, even in a stranger’s bed, he thinks about him. He thinks of his dainty fingers running over his collarbones, dreams about everything he’d want him to do, every prayer he’s had about him, cantillated on his knees, venerating.
It never quite works.
Every time he tries finding distraction in a stranger's arms, Hoseok’s heart shaped smile always ends up on his mind, the idea of his body ghosting over his, letting him aching and pliant for something that won’t happen.
❒
Jimin’s mind is pleasantly buzzing after hours of partying, drinking, laughing. He’s lightheaded, thoughts fuzzy, bubbly, carefree. Everyone has left Namjoon and Yoongi’s place, and the few who still are there are either sleeping in the guest rooms, or sprawled on the couches. Save for Hoseok and him, everyone joined Morpheus in their sweet embrace.
Hoseok’s on the balcony, drinking what looks like multiple coffee shots merged into a single mug. Jimin mimics him, joining him with a fuming cup.
They stay silent for a while, watching the sky turn purple, reddish pink. Jimin likes this moment suspended in time, living it with a man he’d like to kiss, he’d like to explore with curiosity and hunger. But for now, he enjoys this pause, this hanging instant where the city is silent, save for a few birds joining them. Right now, the sky’s a pastel orange.
“It’s funny, this feeling you get when you pull an all-nighter.” Jimin says mostly to himself, but Hoseok hums nonetheless.
“A part of me has to tell you it’s a mix between alcohol and exhaustion, but another part simply agrees with you.” Hoseok replies, smiling softly at the sky. He ponders over something for a while. “These moments make me feel like I’m alone in the world, but in a good way, like the universe has been waiting for me this whole time and everything's possible. Of course I crash during the afternoon, but for these early hours of the day, I feel absolutely wonderful.” He turns to Jimin looking open, soft, somewhat vulnerable. “It’s the first time I’m sharing such a feeling with someone.”
“What do you want to do, king of the world?”Jimin asks, grinning, feeling his heart shedding its usual carefulness.
“I don’t know, consort king.” Hoseok gins back. “It’s been a while since we’ve last danced, our subjects await.”
They softly laugh, and Hoseok puts music on, something soft and low enough as not to wake up their friends or the neighborhood. He stands up and Jimin joins him.
It’s different from the other times they danced together. There’s no heavy bass, no languid rhythm excusing their proximity and contact. It’s just them, a gentle ballad, Hoseok’s arms wrapped around Jimin’s back, and his own hands wrapped around his waist, the two of them carefully moving around on the balcony.
It’s different from their usual parties, mingling with others, Jimin thinks, seeing the sky turn golden. He can smell Hoseok’s perfume, spicy and with a hint of fresh lemon, mingling with the scent of his body, and Jimin knows he’s got it bad when the scent of his cold sweat doesn’t turn him off but makes him curious, makes him want to map him out, wants to lick his way up his throat and suck on the spot between neck and ear.
It’s different from what he’s used to, because desire weaves itself with longing, with the innocent wish to have this moment last forever, to stay in his embrace, head tucked against his shoulder, maybe even kiss. Kissing would be nice. Jimin’s sure Hoseok’s a good kisser. He’s a good dancer, this fact alone holds so many promises.
It’s different from their routine, sensual and direct, disguised under the pretend of dancing with another friend. Hoseok’s cheek is pressed against Jimin’s, and when he moves slightly, his skin brushes the tender one along Jimin’s jaw, eliciting shivers traveling down his nape. He moves and Jimin pretends not being acutely aware of his every movement, not hanging on the feeling of Hoseok’s lips ghosting over his temple, one of his arms pressing him closer, safer, his other hand caressing his vertebrae, one by one, delicate, attentionate.
Jimin finds it hard to keep his breathing calm and collected. His eyes are closed, imprinting the moment like notes on the sheet of his mind, touches of colors, feelings put into thoughts, crystallised so he can revisit this incredible instant later on in his life.
It’s different because he puts pressure in his hands, silently tells him he wants him ever closer, face carefully moving, the corner of his lips grazing against his cheek, his temple as well.
He’s completely aware of his body, every nerve on fire.
And then, he yawns, terrible and comically loud.
They laugh, and the moment is broken.
His heart flaps around in his ribcage, which feels hollow, filled with helium.
“Do you want to use the futon?” Hoseok asks, and they’re absurdly close.
“Sure. You gonna sleep?” Jimin replies.
“If you don’t mind me joining.”
Jimin shrugs, and he can feel it already, this imperceptible distance between them both, like this has been an illusion, and maybe it was and Jimin had been deluding himself.
He falls asleep with Hoseok’s body twenty tortuous centimeters away from him.
❒
The place is packed, and Jimin’s pressed against him. Even if the place had been empty, he would’ve been grinding on Hoseok’s leg, the other man firmly holding his waist.
The music’s deafening, the club definitely favoring bass boosted tracks.
He doesn’t care.
They’re grinning, foreheads pressed,
Jimin’s drunk on Hoseok’s gaze, on the pressure of his body against his, on his blinding smile, on the feeling of his nape against his fingers. He loves him, he realizes belatedly. It doesn’t come like a revelation, it feels like something he should’ve realized eons ago. God he loves him.
His smile brightens and he dances closer - if that’s even possible.
Hoseok’s dazzling, eyes almost closed from the strength of his smile, and he tilts his head. He tilts his head and Jimin doesn’t think it through, tilts his own and kisses him.
There’s a moment where Jimin stops breathing, stops thinking, doesn’t realize what he’s done, and then, Hoseok’s kissing him back, intensity matching the song’s, open mouthed and hungry. His hands tug him closer, clasped tight against the low of his back, fingers creeping over his pants, and Jimin’s nails dig into his waist. He’s not sure whether they’re still somewhat dancing or if they’re performing some kind of light exhibitionism. He doesn’t care, body taut, filled with the desire to ravish the other, get to his core moan by moan. Jimin’s losing himself in the idea, high on the feeling, craving to unveil each secret he’s ever carefully hidden away under his skin until he realizes Hoseok will leave him like all the others as soon as they fuck.
His chest tears open, the feeling ugly, seeping into every part of his body, nauseatingly permenating.
It should be okay, he thinks. He’s used to things going like this, people being attracted enough to him to want to fuck him, but not wanting to go further with him, to build something meaningful.
It should be, but it’s too much for Jimin. Actually getting to experience what being intimate with Hoseok feels like, only to never experience it again is too much. He can’t handle nor could he process it, be it the moment itself or the sweet pillowtalk afterward.
Jimin grins as he steps back, away from Hoseok, apologetically smiling, shaking his head. No, it’s not going to happen, for his own good, it can’t happen.
He flees the place, feeling cold and empty, burying the devastating feeling under cheap booze he buys at the convenience store on his way home. Hoseok’s too good for Jimin to lose him against a divine night.
It’s for the best.
❒
To say things are awkward between them is an understatement.
Hoseok sends him a few texts but he quickly stops when he realizes Jimin doesn’t answer.
Jimin doesn’t, but he spends hours miserably sitting on their kitchen stool, drinking bitter tea that’s gone cold for hours already, staring at pictures of him, reading his texts.
sorry. is the first text he received. Jimin doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. He’s the one who initiated anything, and he’s the one who stepped away from the possibility of something more happening.
tell me how you feel . is the second, and Jimin considers reaching out, but he can’t bear the idea of exposing his true feelings, his fears, to someone who can discard them as easily as one throws away a flyer found in their mailbox. Jimin got his heart broken one too many times to try and tell his friend that he fell in love with him along the way. He just has to find an excuse.
just talk to me, tell me what i’ve done wrong. is the third and last. Jimin stares at the message over and over again. He has nothing to reply to this. Hoseok hasn’t done anything wrong. He just needs to protect himself.
He’s been avoiding him, cancelling their group’s plans. It hurts too much to pretend he’s not in love. He can’t do this for now.
Taehyung replaces the cold and disgusting tea cup with a new one, fuming and smelling delicious.
“You should tell him.” He says, leaning over their table, a hand on Jimin’s wrist, but his best friend shakes his head.
“It’s been weeks. I’m just going to let it slide.” He replies as carelessly and light as possible, but truly, he’s feeling deeply ashamed and guilty. He had the hubris to think something could happen with his friend, then fled, and ignored him. It’s thrice the horror he has to live with. And, as he said, it’s been weeks. It’s too late.
“You don’t look like you’re letting it slide.” Taehyung gently counters, voice soft and careful.
“I just need time.” He says, as if these past few weeks helped with the way he feels like he’s been torn apart, body trampled over and left to painfully rot, because of his own audacity and carelessness.
“Will you manage seeing him at both of your shows?”
Jimin shrugs.
“Guess so. He’s still a friend, I just need to get over this entire thing.”
Taehyung frowns.
“You know… I know he keeps a lot to himself, and it feels like everyone’s basking under his warmth and attention, but maybe it’s not foolish to hope..?” He tries, but Jimin shakes his head.
“Experience has taught me it’s better to shield myself.” He replies, jaw clenched, and his best friend sighs.
“Okay.” He looks at his own mug. “I respect that.”
Taehyung stays silent for a while.
“But still, maybe it’s worth a shot.”
JImin doesn’t believe him.
❒
It’s been almost two months and Jimin now feels able to put on a human face and get out in the open.
Hoseok’s show is amazing, his presence stealing the spotlight, dance moves precise, stroboscopic movements hypnotizing the crowd, Jimin’s breath caught in his throat.
He spends the entire time with his heart beating twice too fast for his own good.
He may be able to put on a front but he still is devastatingly in love with him.
Taehyung knows better, holding his hand throughout the show.
When their group of friends meet Hoseok afterwards, glowing in his stage makeup, hair damp from exertion, Jimin wants to reach out and feel his body against his.
He politely smiles instead.
His friends have all hugged and congratulated him, there’s only Jimin left. They’re distracted, unaware of the root of Jimin’s absence, talking with each other. Jimin’s floating in an instant between a second and another, carefully admiring his friend.
Hoseok turns towards him, gaze still sharp from earlier focus. He’s unbearably handsome and Jimin isn’t sure how to properly breathe.
“Hi.” Jimin says, soft and tender, and Hoseok bites his bottom lip, looking somewhat vulnerable.
“Hi.” He replies, careful and just as soft.
“You were wonderful.”
Hoseok’s smile warms, his hand lifting a couple centimeters towards him, halting, suspended in the air.
Jimin takes a step forward, but doesn’t dare to reach for him.
“I’ve missed seeing you dance.”
And Hoseok’s smile grows tenfold, sunrays warming Jimin’s entire being.
“I’m sure we can arrange to dance together again soon enough.”
Jimin nods, feeling as light as a feather carried by the wind.
“Sure.”
He hears absolution in Hoseok’s words, basks in his presence as long as he can before Seokjin puts his head on his shoulder and asks them to speed up because he’s been preparing dinner all day and just wants to eat.
It makes them laugh, and Jimin thinks that maybe they can find a sense of normalcy again despite his overwhelming feelings.
❒
He’s not sure what normalcy should be, to be honest.
They’ve seen each other twice since the show, always with their friends, never alone, even less creating a situation where the both of them are left with each other.
Jimin’s left aching. It’s for the best, of course, because he has to reel it in, this desire to ask for more - for something, anything really.
Hoseok is gentle and funny, his conversations agreeable, and Jimin follows, replies with wit and candor, but it stays safe, his hands kept to himself, Hoseok’s as well. Long gone are the times where fleeting touches were as numerous as fireflies during summer nights.
Maybe it’s why he’s surprised, after his last show of the season, when their friends congratulate him, and Hoseok greets him with a deliriously huge flower bouquet. It makes Jimin bark out a laugh, blushing, accepting the absurd amount of flowers in his arms.The bouquet is at least twice the size of his head.
Hoseok walks into his personal space, warm, so warm, warmth pouring out of him, Jimin basking in it. He’s close and his fingers find Jimin’s waist, hesitant and delicate, and Jimin has to focus on his breathing to not shiver at the touch.
“Meeting Yuhui Choe amounts to nothing compared to the privilege of seeing you dance.” He tells him softly, unheard by their friends, and Jimin’s so moved that he has trouble breathing, throat tight, biting his tongue.
“She’s the greatest ballerina, though.” He croaks out.
“She’s not the one I came to see.” Hoseok replies.
Something quivers inside of Jimin. He thinks it’s his heart. There’s too much floating between them, at least on his side. His feelings for him threaten to spill out, cascading out of his lips, because Hoseok is too much. Hoseok and his sunny self, his blinding smile, his warmth, his humanity.
“She wouldn’t dance with you.” Jimin tells him with a lopsided smile, barely restraining himself from confessing to him.
“And I wouldn’t want to dance with her.” Hoseok winks.
Jimin laughs, ducking his head.
“Thank you for the flowers. And for coming, of course.”
“Always.”
❒
Jimin’s having fun. Everyone’s gathered at Hoseok’s place, the music joyful and full of promises.
He talks with Jungkook, unwinds as he observes Seokjin and Namjoon arguing and amused about something, Yoongi laughing next to them. Taehyung’s slow dancing with Hoseok, the dance absolutely uncanny next to the nature of the song playing.
Maybe he can live like this, carrying his love like a precious treasure inside his heart. It’s beautiful as it is, maybe it doesn’t even need to be reciprocated.
Hours pass, as they play video games, trying not to scream too loudly in outrage and frustration as to not disturb Hoseok’s neighbors. It’s nice, and maybe Jimin enjoys it a little too much when Hoseok leans against him and whispers in his ears “I’m not sure I understand. We’re playing a video game with characters coming from other video games?”. He actually giggles, high from Hoseok’s proximity, chest brushing his shoulder, lips grazing his ear. Better to laugh than sighing in longing.
When everyone starts leaving, Jimin groans.
“I don’t have the money to call for a cab.” He whines. “Can someone let me crash?”
Six people turn to him, but one voice replies before the others.
“I’ll lend you my bed, don't worry. We haven’t hung out in forever.”
And Jimin nods, feeble, trying not to tell Hoseok this is a very dangerous idea for his heart.
When everyone’s left, Jimin watches Hoseok stretch, lithe and mesmerizing, and he thinks that maybe he was completely wrong, maybe he can’t live with such a secret to carry when the mere existence of his friend makes him dizzy with love, affection and desire.
“You sure I should take your bed? I mean, I’m intruding.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes at him, opening his couch into a bed.
“Guests come first.” He smiles, and Jimin finds himself unable to answer.
It’s almost five in the morning. It feels like he’s meant to be with Hoseok and Hoseok alone only when the city stops bristling with life, when the night enshrouds everything with silence and stillness.
They get ready for bed, Hoseok lending him a shirt and some sweatpants, disappearing only to reenter the living room shirtless, his shirt thrown over his shoulder.
Jimin tries not staring and slowly retreats into Hoseok’s room, wishing him a good night.
Hoseok’s room is terrible to be in, it smells so much like him , a smell so warm and inviting that Jimin has to stand still for a minute, watching the space before him lit by street lamps, hazy and surreal. When he slides under the covers, it’s so easy to imagine being in his bed with him. The sheets are soft, caressing his skin as he tosses and turns, tries imprinting the sensations to his memory. This is Hoseok’s bed he’s in, a place so perfect, and yet, Jimin’s left craving for his owner to be in with him, to have him in his arms, for him and him alone.
There’s a clock on his nightstand, and Jimin sees it moving forward as he finds himself unable to sleep, restless.
The sky is slowly changing colors, becoming clearer. He sighs.
Carefully exiting the room, he tries going to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water without waking his host up. As he enters the living room, he sees Hoseok sitting on his makeshift bed, scrolling on his phone.
Their gazes meet and they laugh.
“Blue hours cast a spell on us.” Hoseok says, and Jimin grins.
“Why don’t we watch the sun rise?”
“I’ll make coffee.” He replies, moving like a shadow in his silent apartment presently colored in hues of midnight blues and blacks.
It takes some time, the coffee machine purring, Hoseok sitting on his counter, Jimin leaning against the doorframe. He hasn’t turned the light on, navigating via memories of habit etched into his skin. Jimin barely discerns him, guesses more than he sees him, and he finds this discovery of him in negative very sensual, his senses heightened, feeling Hoseok’s soft hums tremble in his chest, tracing the shape of his nape with his gaze, longing.
Once he’s done, Hoseok hands him a fuming cup and leads him to his couch bed, the window in the room bigger than in his bedroom.
Jimin sits cross legged, mimicking Hoseok’s posture, their knees touching, putting his mug down.
“Do you think we’re full moons to each other?” Jimin asks, softly smiling.
“Maybe we do have a connection, each other’s tides and moons.” Hoseok replies, and Jimin bites his bottom lip.
“That’s a very beautiful thing to say.”
“You’re not used to hearing these kinds of things?” Hoseok asks, but it feels rhetorical.
Jimin thinks of Taehyung’s warmth, his words of affirmation, of his friends’ care and love.
Times before sunrise are promises of secrecy, enabler of honesty and vulnerability.
“It doesn’t feel the same. And I’m not sure how to embrace these kinds of declarations.”
“You don’t think you deserve to hear such words?” Jimin feels the sincerity of his genuine question, and he winces, exposed.
“I’m not used to it.”
Hoseok harshly breathes in.
“A list of names and I have some friends who could beat up everyone who hasn’t been gentle with you, telling you the truths you deserve to hear.”
The sky is painting itself pink, golden, and Jimin thinks about the last time they saw such a sky together, recalling this morning with fondness and longing.
“It’s okay.” He replies, carefully putting his hand on Hoseok’s thigh. “Really.”
Hoseok turns towards him, back to the window.
“You’re going to miss the sunrise.” Jimin tells him, and he can discern Hoseok’s frown.
“It doesn’t matter. I need to know.” The hand not holding his coffee mug finds Jimin’s on his leg. “Why did you avoid me after that night at the club?”
Jimin stops breathing for a second, then huffs, head hanging low.
Hoseok’s fingers find his chin and tilt it up.
“Was it because of me?” He asks, and Jimin harshly bites on his bottom lip.
“It could never be you, god, never.” He says, before he can think better, but it’s too late, he feels his heart unfurl, feeling rattling his chest, overwhelming and bristling. “There’s too much at stake, I can’t lose you. Amazingly, stupidly you. This couldn’t end well, so I stopped it before it could happen.”
Hoseok’s fingers are tracing his jaw, and Jimin’s heart aches. It's painful, he feels so raw and vulnerable.
“Has it stopped?” Hoseok asks, voice barely above a whisper, and Jimin shakes his head.
“No.” He replies with a bitter huff. “I tried.”
“What do you think would’ve happened if you had kept-” He stops, evaluating what can be said between night and day, what can be uttered when time has stopped. “-if you’d stayed in my arms?”
Jimin indulges, eyes fluttering close as he leans his head into Hoseok’s palm.
“Another dance of ours, for a night, unveiling the secrecy of your desires for a few hours, and letting our friendship crumble away for the absurd price of a night feeling and breathing you in.”
Hoseok leans forward, meeting Jimin’s gaze where he’s looked down. They’re so close, Jimin can smell the laundry softener of his clothes from his proximity.
“Has it never occured to you it could’ve played differently, evolved into something different.”
Jimin’s breath is shaky.
“Something ours, yes, but it has always felt like, with you, with everyone else, that I was always meant to be a discarded night.”
“Oh.” Hoseok leans away to put his coffee on the ground. “Jimin.” He says, fingers finding his cheek again, the others tangling in his hair. Jimin’s hands find Hoseok’s waist.
“If everything has to dissolve under the sunlight, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you of the dreams I’ve had of having you in my arms, of building something with you, something more, something worthy. I’ll tell you you haven’t left my thoughts from the day we met up until today. I’ll tell you my entire body calls for you.”
“Like oceans to the moon.”
“Exactly like them.”
Hoseok’s thumb raises Jimin’s chin, and they’re so close, Jimin’s hand travelling up his waist, his chest, palm pressed against his heart.
It’s beating so fast.
“There’s no one but us and the sleeping city, no one to hear that I want this too, I want you, in your entirety, for yourself and your fears, your passion and fragilities. If you’d let me be someone different, someone who’s more than a friend in your life, I would use every inch of my power to be your silent night.”
Jimin leans forward, forehead pressed against each other, noses brushing, and when he speaks, their lips graze.
“I’ve fallen in love with you so long ago already.” He says, voice barely a whisper.
“And I love you so much it keeps me up at night, haunts every waking moment, makes my body ache.”
They stop talking, suspended in absolute stillness, save for the lulling movement their breathing provokes, lips dancing around each other, almost touching.
When Jimin licks his lips, his tongue grazes Hoseok’s.
“Fuck.” Hoseok says, huffing, and he closes the distance.
Jimin sags against Hoseok when their lips meet, trembling and hesitant, and Hoseok catches him, an arm pulling him closer, tugging him against him as they kiss. Jimin feels like crying from relief, from joy and exhaustion, pouring the extent of his feelings into it. Long forgotten are their coffees, and Jimin climbs over Hoseok’s lap, lets himself be cradled as they laugh into their kiss, so tired and happy at the same time. Hoseok kisses like early morning feels like, filled with promises and hope, and Jimin lets himself believe him, lets himself love him like he’s restrained himself not to for months. He kisses Hoseok’s eyelids, kisses his jaw, hands roaming up his arms, up his shoulders and neck, fingers playing on his nape, and Hoseok’s breathy laughter is intoxicating.
His skin is burning from where they’re touching, like Icarus reaching for the sun, only having him melt into one’s arms and not falling from the sky and drowning. Or maybe a kind of drowning, a kind where Jimin sheds away and bids farewell to this fear of his, this certainty of unworthiness. Jimin’s straddling him, their bodies flush, chest pressed against one another, and Jimin feels their uncertain breathing, like a discussion of their bodies alone, eyes closing, head lulling to the side when Hoseok licks his neck, presses kissing under his jaw, Jimin’s fingers tugging at his hair, trying to dissolve into nothing but these feelings of pleasure, of reassurance, of coming home to a place he’d never thought he’d step foot in. He’s Icarus, he’s Ulysses, he’s Patroclus. Anything for him, anything, and he catches his lips against his again, tries communicating all the aching, the desire, the affection he’s been locking in his heart, in every fiber of his body for over a year.
It feels like dancing, grins and embrace morphing into a ballet of theirs, tongues grazing, exploring each other, hands like butterflies gathering nectar, like snakes carefully wrapping around limbs, their fangs holding promises of heated dizziness, of warm love, of everything Jimin has never dared letting himself dream about. His hands find their way under Hoseok’s shirt, against the solid weight of his back muscles, Hoseok letting them fall back into the mattress, air pushed out of their lungs, laughing.
The moment etches into an eternity, until the sun is up and Hoseok and Jimin are almost passing out from tiredness. Hoseok takes Jimin’s hand in his and brings him to his room, to his fluffy bed, and he kisses him until they fall asleep, limbs entangled, clutching at each other like they might disappear during their sleep.
❒
It’s like a waltz, slow, careful. Hoseok’s attentive to him, to his fears, his needs of reassurance. A step. He makes him laugh, and Jimin does as well, the both of them finding comfort in each other. Another step. Jimin finds it easier than what his past experiences have led him to expect. Of course, sometimes he stumbles, uncertainty and anxiety keeping him from voicing his fears aloud, Hoseok gently coaxing them out of him, Jimin letting himself be vulnerable, Hoseok exposing himself in return.
For a while, they spend all of their free time together, exploring each other’s dreams, desires, feelings of longing.
They map out each other’s bodies and hearts, and Jimin feels exhilarated, like a kid opening his birthday presents, like he just performed in front of his first crowd, like he’s learning how to breathe for a second time.
They don’t announce it to their friends. They show up one night at Seokjin’s place, shoulders pressed against one another, hands linked, and Seokjin groans a “Thank god, finally.”, followed by the rustling of their friends to the door, Hoseok and Jimin’s blushes, money exchanged after a year old bet, but mostly congratulations and hugs.
Jimin catches Yoongi and Taehyung fondly staring at them multiple times throughout the night, and he feels warm, happy to have such loving and caring people in his life.
❒
A month stretches into three, six, and then a year. A year and Jimin thinks that maybe Hoseok’s right, maybe they’re each other’s tides and moons. They build something, something valuable, something that makes all of his hesitation and past fears worth it. He even sometimes catches himself thinking about living this forever, and believing it. Maybe they can keep dancing under the rising sun, an eternal promise of flowers opening, of birds coming to life, of feelings blooming just before the city comes to life.