Archive of Our Own

     Deep breath, in and out.

     Jimin presses his forehead against the cool glass of his bedroom window, trying to soothe away some of the heat. His breathing fogs up the pane, blurring the darkened street into a formless abyss. As quietly as he can, he pries the window open, till there's just enough of a gap.

     Cool night air seeps into the room, fluttering the curtains and filling his lungs with the faint scent of coming rain. Tonight, the moon is hidden away by clouds and city smog, but it must still be there, he thinks, somewhere beyond it all.

     To be so lucky.

     Muscle memory guides his movements as Jimin pulls his mattress from its spot against the wall and unrolls it across the linoleum. The sheets are cool against his overheated body, and his eyes flicker shut almost as soon as the covers are drawn up. He’s always slept the deepest after he's cried like this. Lately though, it’s become something more than sleeping. Jimin still isn’t sure what it is, or how real it is, but whatever it is, it can’t come quickly enough.

     ‘You better stop crying.’ His father had snapped, over a dinner of samgyeopsal and rice that tasted like cardboard in Jimin’s mouth. ‘Your mother doesn’t even cry this much.’ Jimin had seen his mother’s chopsticks stop on the way to her mouth, out of the corner of his eye, but she didn’t say anything. She never said anything, when his father was in one of those moods. He knew better than to give an answer, but not answering was ‘disrespectful’, too. It was a lose-lose, these kinds of conversations with his father. But of course, Jimin was never meant to win.

     ‘Is it because you’re going to have to start working?’

     It wasn’t, not even remotely, but there was no way Jimin could have even begun to explain to them why he was crying for no apparent reason at the dinner table, and his father took his silence for a yes.

     ‘Ya, you’re eighteen, Jimin-ah. What did you think adulthood was, huh? You think I go to the office six days a week to drink soda and play games with my friends?’

     A particularly strong gust of wind rattles through the blinds and startles Jimin from his dozing. For a moment he thinks that maybe it’s happened, but no. His body is solid and real, his nose still stopped up from the tears, his limbs too heavy. The glowing red display of his alarm clock changes from 11:46 PM to 11:47, counting down the minutes until he’ll have to be up and headed to his freshman classes. He didn’t manage to study at all today, which isn’t like him, so he prays there won’t be any quizzes.

     Breathe in. Breathe out.

     Jimin closes his eyes again and forces himself to relax back into the sheets. Behind his eyelids, he pictures the alleyway just outside his open window, then the main road it opens onto. He traces the steps it takes to reach the bridge, the pedestrian pathways that lead to the island’s shorefront, the little tour boat pier. He thinks of the boy who’s waiting there for him, and a tiny surge of thrill kicks up in his exhausted heart.

     For a while, Jimin just drifts, caught in the restless void between consciousness and dreams. He pictures the ghostly, unreal appearance his skin always takes when it happens, when the distinction between real and surreal at last blurs away and—at least for a few hours—he’s allowed to be free.

     He envisions it all, and then suddenly, it is.

     Jimin sits bolt upright, his heart beginning to race as he peers down at his hands, the faintest hint of blue glowing in the darkened room. 

     It really happened.

     He rushes to the window and holds out his arms, gasping in relief at what he sees in the artificial yellow of the streetlights. Even without the moon, his form still glimmers, an ephemeral, dreamlike version of his conscious self.

     He’s free.

     The journey ahead of him will take the better part of half an hour, so Jimin wastes no time swinging first one leg, then the other through the open window and jumping the short distance down to the sidewalk. The first droplets of rain have begun to fall, and he watches with the same curiosity as always at the way they catch for a moment on his skin, outlining his ephemeral form before passing through.

     The alley at the back of the apartment building is dark and narrow, save for the single humming streetlight at the corner of the building. It’s bleak enough in the daylight, the view from his bedroom window nothing more than the grey brickwork of the adjacent building. At night, with the web of power lines tangled between the roofs and the piles of trash bags along the street casting inky, formless shadows, it makes Jimin’s hairs stand on end.

     His feet carry him quickly to the end of the alley, across the empty street, and on to the next. It’s not cold—or if it is, the cold can’t reach him—but Jimin still tucks his arms around his middle and hides his hands in his sweater sleeves as he makes his way towards Hangang bridge. A right, two lefts, then straight the rest of the way. The first times this happened—over a year ago now—he never ventured far, too unsure of what was happening to risk it. Now, though, he has a destination.

     He’s so focused on his goal that Jimin forgets his usual route will take him by the twenty-four hour convenience store he’d interviewed at earlier that day. He thinks nothing of it until he’s already passing by the place, the garish orange and green signage reflecting across the puddles that have begun to form in the street. It’s still open, a single attendant dozing at the counter.

     He means to hurry by, to not give the memory more of his time and energy than it had already stolen, but his eyes catch on the magazine stand he’d stood frozen in front of a few hours ago and it comes back anyways. The interview had gone fine, the owner clearly couldn’t have cared less who he hired, just needed a body to fill the position. Afterwards, Jimin had been staring blankly at the magazines, waiting for his father to finish checking out a carton of milk and trying not to think about how mind-numbing the job would be.

     Two men had walked past him, chatting about nothing of note, he hadn’t really paid them any mind. It had come out of nowhere. ‘Sorry to hear that man, he couldn’t have even been that old, right?’ One of the men had said, giving his friend a stiff pat on the shoulder. The other had shrugged, drawing air in through his teeth. ‘He wasn’t, only had a couple years on me, but it’s like my aunt said. He chose to live that lifestyle, and AIDS is a consequence. I didn’t even know the guy was a gay till she told me. He caused his mother so much pain.’ 

     It took a moment for the words to even register, but once they had, Jimin turned to watch them leave the store with his mind reeling. He followed numbly behind his father on the walk home, staring at the backs of the man’s worn dress shoes while his thoughts spiraled over each other. It was just… such an unnecessary thing to speak in public, so pointless. Such an avoidable hurt to leave another human being with, and they wouldn't even known the affect their words had had.

     Jimin's father had looked back at him and chuckled humorlessly. ‘Growing up isn’t so fun, is it? This is how it is to be an adult, son. Maybe they’ll give you a discount on milk if you get the job.’

     The arched trellises of the Hangang bridge are like a lighthouse, illuminated in yellow and beckoning Jimin onward towards his destination. His feet pick up their pace as he steps onto the bridge, his hand running over the pedestrian railing as the rain plinks against the metal support beams overhead. Almost there. The falling drops have grown heavier, occasionally outlining his form in an iridescent shimmer. Rainbow, like the surface of a bubble, he thinks.

     Halfway across the bridge the little island park emerges, a reprieve of gardens and footpaths amidst the inky black currents of the Han. Jimin leaves the bridge and its sparse late-night traffic behind, abandoning the paved walkway in favor of cutting through the tree grove, just because he can. He revels in the almost foreign sound of heavy raindrops splattering amongst the overhead leaves. Here, the air doesn’t smell so strongly of car exhaust and fine dust, just wet earth and vegetation, and he inhales deep breaths of it as he goes. 

     The island is small, so it's only a few minutes before the trees give way, opening to a riverside walkway illuminated by occasional lamps. Jimin makes his way towards the simple wooden dock a few yards ahead. It's a popular stop for tour boats during most hours, but this late it lies empty, the entry gates padlocked.

     Almost empty, at least.

     Jimin's heartbeat picks up when he spots the figure sitting at the end of the dock, staring out across the river—a figure illuminated with that same faint, otherworldly glow. He scales the gate easily and hops down onto the floorboards, feeling the dock rocking slightly beneath his feet. He wolf-whistles and the boy at the end of the dock turns sharply to look for the source, then sends Jimin a lazy wave.

     "Hey, Hyung." Jimin greets as casually as he can manage, trying to keep the childish excitement out of his voice. He plops down onto the space saved for him and immediately there's an arm snaking around his shoulders, pulling him against the other boy's body. "Did you miss me?"

     "You wish." Yoongi scoffs, his gaze fixed out across the water—a picture of stoicism. He hasn't loosened his hold around Jimin at all though, and when Jimin drops his head onto Yoongi's shoulder he chuckles fondly. For a while they just sit like that, content to watch the rain dimpling the surface of the water below their dangling feet, soaking in the warmth of each other's presence.

     Jimin follows Yoongi's gaze outward, to the endless high-rises and office towers rising up beyond the distant banks of the river, the ribbons of steadily streaming traffic that never cease flowing. The rain gives it all a hazy, unreal quality, blurring the twinkling lights and painting them in scattered brush strokes across the shimmering surface of the river. There's always something odd, he thinks, about seeing Seoul from the island. They're surrounded on all sides by the sprawling city, a part of it, yet somehow still outsiders.

     Always outsiders.

     Jimin's eyes are stinging with tears before he even realizes what's happening, and he side-eyes his friend to make sure it hasn't been noticed, careful to keep his breathing regular. The arm around him pulls a little tighter, and Jimin loops his own around his hyung's middle. Yoongi always feels smaller than he looks, drowning in his oversized hoodie.

     "If you want me to hold you, just say so." Yoongi huffs, trying to drag him into his lap.

     "I'm an adult."Jimin protests weakly, even though he's shuffling to drape his legs across Yoongi's.

     "Just come'er." Yoongi gathers him up against his chest and Jimin goes lax, nuzzling beneath the older boy's chin as much as he thinks he can get away with. "What are you snuffling about, huh?"

     "I'm not snuffling, it's the rain." 

     "Ah, okay." Yoongi's nails scratch light circles against the back of Jimin's sleep shirt. 

     "Do you think I'm weak?"

     There's no answer for a few seconds, and then Yoongi lifts his hand to brush the rough pad of his thumb across Jimin's cheek. Jimin resists the urge to lean into the touch, to press a kiss to the tip of his finger, never sure exactly where the line is, if there is one. Yoongi hums and gives his cheek a pinch. "You're soft."

     "Aish, Hyung!" He bats the hand away. "Are you calling me chubby?" 

     Yoongi trails his hand down Jimin's arm, to his bicep, and gives a squeeze there, too. "Nope."

     "How do I stop being soft?" 

     "Do you want to?" The older boy's brow furrows.

     "I don't know. I think I get hurt too easy."

     "Huh, maybe so. You must not be weak though, if you're taking all that hurt and still staying soft." Yoongi says, eyes full of sincerity. Then, he pauses for a moment, scratching behind his ear and redirecting his gaze outward, across the river. "Hyung thinks you're strong."

     "Hah, you just like me for my body."

     "Mm, dancer's body." Yoongi smirks, running his tongue over his lips. Jimin reaches up to flick his nose, but Yoongi catches him deftly by the wrist before he can. The grip around his wrist stirs something fluttery in Jimin's chest, but he doesn't really have time to identify it before Yoongi is shoving at him. "Hey, get up."

     "Why?" Jimin scoots until his butt is back on the wooden planks of the dock, and Yoongi stands up with an overdramatized grunt of effort.

     "Cause. C'mon." He offers his hand, the rain catching on his outline, tinting his skin where it lands with faint swirls of translucent color. Jimin takes it, feeling the strength in Yoongi's wiry muscles as he's pulled to his feet. There's a single lamp hanging over the middle of the dock, and Yoongi leads him into the small ring of yellow light it casts against the deep blue of the night.

     "You're like, a badass dancer, right?" Yoongi turns around to capture his other hand too, guiding Jimin's hands to his hips. Jimin doesn't confirm or deny the assertion, just giggles at him and holds his hips a little tighter over the hoodie. "And see, life has given us in particular a fucking lot of rain, huh? So you know what that means, Park Jimin?"

     Suddenly Yoongi is much closer, his arms coming up to wrap around the back of Jimin's neck, dark eyes glinting with mischief and gold. Jimin thinks he can hear his own heartbeat over the pattering of the rain. He shakes his head a little numbly, not daring to take his eyes off the older boy's.

     "It means you better show me how to dance in it, baby." Yoongi grins, wiggling his hips back and forth playfully, teasing. Jimin lets his feet find an easy rhythm, moving the two of them across the wooden planks, swaying Yoongi along with his body while his mind lingers behind.

     "Y-you're the first boy to call me that, Hyung."

     "What?" Yoongi's face is so blank Jimin genuinely can't tell if he's playing or not.

     "Baby."

     "Oh?" Yoongi tilts his head to the side and blinks a few times, like he's weighing that thought. "But I call you that all the time?"

     "No you do not, you say I am a baby, that's completely different."

     "Baby, baby, baby mine!" Yoongi singsongs, his voice pitched high and scratchy, and Jimin spins them a little faster, till the rain starts to blur and they're both smiling wide and childish. Yoongi looks so different when he smiles like this, his usual coolness replaced by pure honey, and Jimin wonders how often the older boy shares this smile in the sunlight, if anyone else gets to see it or if it’s a special one just for him. He pushes Yoongi out by the hip and twirls him, earning a delighted, breathy giggle, then pulls him back into his arms.

     “Oo hey, Jiminie! Think you can do that dippy thing?” Yoongi asks, already leaning back, and Jimin scrambles to hold onto him. 

     “Mmph! I hope so, cause you're gonna whine so much if I drop you.”

     Yoongi beams up at him as Jimin eases him down, till Yoong’s top half is horizontal and their noses are brushing. The urge to kiss the man under him right on the tip of his button nose is almost overwhelming, and Jimin hurries to pull them upright again. He manages with only a small grunt, and the sound of the rain falling around them must hide it, because Yoongi’s smile hasn’t lessened in the slightest.

     “Ah, what a prince, I could swoon!” Yoongi quacks, throwing a hand dramatically across his forehead. “Do that again and I’ll show you my ankle!” 

     Jimin’s hold on his hips naturally turns into tickles, and Yoongi squirms in an attempt to escape. He only just manages it, scampering back towards the end of the dock, and Jimin calls after him with a laugh. “Like I haven’t seen your bony little ankles, you weirdo.” 

     Yoongi gasps like he’s scandalized, and Jimin ignores him as he drops down to sit beside him, immediately letting his head fall back onto the older boy’s shoulder. These nights always pass too quickly, he thinks. Whether they sit in thoughtful silence like they are now, just watching the city lights and soaking in each other’s presence, or whether they fill the quiet air with their bickering and laughter–it never feels like enough. 

     “Hyung, I… I’m not ready to go home.” Jimin sighs. It’s still dark as ever, but the distant traffic has grown a bit busier, a sign that Seoul will reawaken soon.

     “Are you safe at home?”

     The question catches him off-guard, and Jimin turns to look at his friend. “I-yeah? I’m safe.” 

     “Good. That’s good.” Yoongi breathes out, and Jimin gets a sense that there's something more there, somewhere, but he's not sure what it is.

     “I overheard some guys saying shit today, like, you know, unnecessary stuff. It sucked." Jimin holds his hand out, palm up, watching the pretty colors dancing across his hand where the rain lands, and Yoongi pulls him a little closer.

     "'M sorry, Jiminie."

     "And Appa—I've been thinking—he's already so disappointed by me, and he doesn't even know about me … I have to do well with my degree, and get a good job, and make it all work out." Jimin feels his throat tightening, the familiar panic of all the assignments and deadlines and expectations reaching him easily, even here. "I have to, and I'm so fucking scared I can't do it."

     "Jimin, I'm not just saying this, you're gonna do great.” Yoongi pushes his forehead against Jimin’s temple, like he’s trying to press his thoughts into Jimin’s conscience. “You care so much about doing well, I just know you'll be fine. Hell, I barely care and I'm still passing everything."

     There's no point in arguing, so he doesn't, just lets himself enjoy the feeling of Yoongi so close, of the older boy's fingers scratching gently at his shoulder for a few more minutes. There are more windows lit up in yellow now, in the buildings across the river. He's not ready to be there yet, back in the grey city, impossibly far from here. Something in the words of their past conversation finally clicks into place, and Jimin sits up, turning to look at Yoongi.

     "Hyung?” 

     “Hmm?” 

     “Are you safe?” 

     Yoongi squints out across the river, like he's looking for something far away. He’s silent for too long, his features neutral, calm, and so ethereal. In the falling rain and dim blue light, he looks like a memory— one Jimin will have to convince himself was ever real. He blinks quickly a few times, then turns to Jimin with a cheeky smile. 

     “Ah, Jiminie, does this hyung not look like he can take care of himself?” He chuckles, a big hand ruffling Jimin’s hair.

     When Jimin is pulled from his sleep by the blaring of his alarm clock, it’s still dark, still raining, and he drags himself out of bed to pull his window shut. The scent of burnt breakfast food wafts into his room as he rushes about getting ready for his classes, the door not quite muffling the angry complaints of his father and his mother’s frantic apologies.

     “Have you ever seen the Milky Way?” Jimin tilts his chin up to look at Yoongi’s face, his head resting in the older boy’s lap. The hand that has been lazily carding through his hair slows to a stop as Yoongi considers, till Jimin whines for him to keep doing it. 

     “I don’t think so?” Yoongi frowns up at the crescent moon above them. It’s too early in the year to really be spring yet, and the air is full of the stillness that accompanies bitterly cold nights. Even the Han seems stiller than usual, its dark surface glassy, barely rippling. 

     “You’d know if you had. You should go to an observatory some time, Hyung.”

     Yoongi shrugs, his gaze still on the moon, and Jimin lets himself give in to his latest secret indulgence. A few nights back, the two of them had been laying side by side on the dock, giggling and trying to catch falling snowflakes on their tongues. Yoongi’s cheeks and the tip of his nose had been flushed pink even though the cold couldn’t reach them, and Jimin had found himself fascinated. It had occurred to him then, how alone they are like this, how there’s no one here to catch him looking. So he has been looking, like he’s starving for it, ever since.

     “Oh yeah?” Yoongi’s voice is low, quiet, and his adam’s apple bobs when he speaks. With his head tilted back to watch the sky above them, the line of Yoongi’s neck seems delicate, his skin pale and soft looking, glowing with the same faint blue light as Jimin’s own. Jimin lets his eyes trace upward to the delicate pout of Yoongi’s lips.

     “Yeah. Y-you shouldn’t go your whole life without seeing something that beautiful.” Jimin whispers, feeling oddly breathless. Yoongi looks down at him, his lips parting then closing again, his hand still playing through Jimin’s hair. 

     “Hey Jimin?” 

     “Yeah?”

     Yoongi blinks a few times, swallowing hard, and his voice seems scratchier when he speaks again. “You know how it’s like… it’s kind of like… you’re me, and I’m you?” There’s a furrow between his brows, and it gets a little deeper when Jimin shakes his head in confusion. “You know, how we’re both made of moonlight and shit.”

     “You mean, how we’re both gay.”

     “You’re gay?” Yoongi peers down at him with a look of faked horror, his hand leaving Jimin’s hair to clasp over his own mouth. Jimin immediately reaches up to snatch it back, firmly returning Yoongi’s hand to its rightful place atop his head. He drags his lip between his teeth and makes his best sultry eyes up at the older boy. 

     “Mmhmm, obviously. Have you seen boys?”

     “Ha yeah,” Yoongi chokes, his eyes darting away, then hesitantly returning to Jimin, flickering around his face like he’s scared to settle any one place for too long. “I have.”

     “Aish, that was so cliche it hurt me, Hyung.” Jimin giggles, and Yoongi wrinkles up his nose adorably and looks away again. 

    “What I mean is…” He huffs, reaching with his free hand to capture one of Jimin’s, which isn’t something new. But then long fingers are tracing over the lines of Jimin’s palm, slowly up to the pulse point at his wrist, then down the back of his hand to his knuckles, caressing— and that is new. There’s something unplaceable in Yoongi’s eyes, something less sharp and more vulnerable than his usual dark gaze, and Jimin isn’t sure what it means. He turns his palm back over in offering and Yoongi slots their fingers together.

     “What I mean is, I’ve never felt less alone than when I’m here, with you, Park Jiminie.” 

     “Oh.”

     Oh. 

     Jimin feels like he should have something to say in return, but Yoongi is still looking at him with too much intense sincerity, and Jimin’s mind falls quiet while his heart races. He knows he’s blushing, knows they’re too close for the older boy not to notice, but he keeps looking up at him and lets the warmth of it wash through him. It feels daring, and he can tell by the way Yoongi’s pretty lashes are fluttering that he’s fighting the urge to look away too, choosing to keep his eyes on Jimin. 

     “Yoongi-Hyung? Do you think we'd go out on dates if we met in real life?” He tries to pitch his voice to make the question playful, but it probably sounds just as fragile to Yoongi’s ears as it does to his own.

     Yoongi just looks at him, still playing with his hand. “Sure we would. Where would you take me, hot stuff?”

     The moonlight catches on Yoongi’s soft features again, a burst of ephemeral color over high cheekbones and gentle eyes, and Jimin doesn’t even have to think about his answer. “I’d take you to see the stars.”

     The cherry blossoms look almost white in the full moonlight, fluttering down around Jimin with every gust of fragrant spring air. His destination calls as strongly as ever, but he lets himself linger here for a few moments, soaking in the magic of this quiet grove, hidden at the center of a noisy city. Eventually he does leave the trees for the riverside path, and when the dock comes into view, the peaceful smile on Jimin’s face morphs into a jolt of fear.

     There were plenty of nights when Jimin’s dreams were of the mundane, unreal variety, with no midnight strolls and secret friends— the normal kind he’d always had, the kind anyone has. These moonlight escapades into freedom seemed only to come when he needed them most, somehow. Yet whenever Jimin did awake to find his skin glowing with ephemeral blue and made his way to the island dock—without fail—Yoongi was already waiting there, just like he’d been the first time. He’d hardly even considered the older boy’s absence a possibility. 

     Jimin strains his eyes as he approaches, willing them to find a familiar figure somewhere on the dock, but it stands ominously silent and empty. “Yoongi-Hyung?” He calls, but the only answer is the hushed waves of the river meeting the shoreline. Jimin scales the gate, makes his way to the end of the dock and slumps down onto his usual spot, staring at the empty space beside him. What could have happened?

     He’s not sure how much time passes—several restless hours at least—before he spots a bicycler making their way across the Hangang bridge towards the island. It’s an odd time of night for biking, and this person seems to be in quite a hurry judging by their speed. Jimin’s eyes follow the figure, albeit absentmindedly, until they pass out of sight behind the trees and he turns back to the river in front of him.

     A few minutes later, Jimin is startled from his troubled thoughts by a shout coming from somewhere down the footpath. He turns to see the bicycler now peddling straight towards the dock, and a familiar voice calls out, “Jiminie?”

     There’s a strange tightness in Yoongi’s voice that makes Jimin’s blood run cold. Yoongi abandons his bike as soon as he reaches the gate, letting it clang to the ground as he clambers over the gate and onto the wooden planks of the dock. Jimin stares at him, mouth agape, as Yoongi draws nearer, taking in the older boy’s disheveled appearance, the overstuffed backpack slung over his shoulder, the pained look on his face as he bends in half, hands on his knees, and gasps for air.

     There’s something… different. Something is very wrong, and he can’t place what exactly it is. Jimin jumps to his feet when Yoongi calls for him again, much more quietly this time.

     “Yoongi, what—what happened?”

     Yoongi doesn’t answer, running a hand back through his messy hair before straightening up and staring motionless past Jimin to the end of the dock. A cold shiver runs down Jimin’s spine as he draws closer, his mind still reeling. Yoongi looks… well, he’s beautiful, almost stunningly so—even in his current state—in a way that makes Jimin’s heart hurt. But there’s something else, too. Yoongi takes a slow step closer, his arms wrapping tight around his middle and his shoulders hunched.

     “Hyung, you’re scaring me.” Jimin whimpers, but Yoongi still isn’t really looking at him. “Hyung, what’s—”

     Yoongi takes another step, and another, till they're so close they almost touch. Jimin feels frozen, holding his breath, though for what he doesn't know. 

     Then, Yoongi walks right through him, and Jimin doesn’t feel a thing. 

     And suddenly Jimin realizes—there’s no blue glow on Yoongi’s pale skin, no shimmer of impossible colors, even with the full moon clearly illuminating his face. They'd never been certain how much of it was real and how much was a dream, those nights they'd met in the moonlight. But looking down at his own glimmering form, then at the older boy's very solid one, Jimin is certain of one thing. 

     Yoongi isn't dreaming at all.

     He makes a choked sound as Yoongi moves past him to the end of the dock, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to hear it. Of course he doesn't . Yoongi slumps down at his usual spot and Jimin watches him hesitantly from a few steps away. The older boy is silent, gazing out across the water like he always does. His hand reaches out to the spot beside him and Jimin watches it flex helplessly, like Yoongi is trying to hold something that isn't there.

     "J-Jiminie—" Yoongi tries, his voice scratching out roughly. "Fuck, please be here, Jiminie." A tremor runs through Yoongi's body, and Jimin drops to his knees beside him, his hands clutching uselessly over Yoongi's hand, trailing up his arm to grasp at his oversized hoodie.

     Jimin whimpers as hot tears begin to cloud his vision. He blinks them away fiercely, he needs to see, even if that's all he can do.

     "Hyungie…"

     "I tried so hard to fall asleep, but I couldn't, Jiminie. I tried—" Yoongi cuts himself off with a choked sound, his eyes squeezing shut. "Shit, I'm such an idiot."

     “Y-Yoongi-Hyung…”

     Yoongi checks his watch, his movements almost frantic. “Fuck, Jimin, please tell me you’re here tonight.” Everything in him wants to scream that he’s there, that Yoongi isn’t alone, but Jimin knows it’s useless. Yoongi lets out a shaky sigh. “I have to tell you… There’s so much I have to tell you.”

     For a moment, the two boys seem frozen in place, Yoongi sitting slumped at the end of the dock, his head in his hands, and Jimin just behind him on his knees, his hands hovering helplessly over Yoongi’s shoulders. Maybe if he runs home, he could shake himself awake somehow? Would there be time to return to the island? Was that even possible? The last night they’d met here had been just as perfect and free as any of the others, nothing had been wrong, but maybe if Jimin could have somehow known—

     “I wrote a song about you, Jiminie.” Yoongi says solemnly, his chin tilted up towards the moon, his features almost calm. “It was a damn good one.” Any other night, those words would have set off a rush of butterflies, but there’s something flat in the older boy’s voice that settles uneasily in the pit of Jimin’s stomach. “I wrote you a song, but I’m such a fucking idiot. I put it under my pillow.”

     Yoongi catches a fistful of his hair between his fingers and tugs, the most horrible whimper escaping between his gritted teeth, and Jimin tries desperately to loose his fingers, but—of course—to no avail. Yoongi’s whole body is shaking, his eyes red and watery in the moonlight, though he still hasn’t shed a single tear. Jimin’s heart sinks. He knows where it’s going before Yoongi even continues.

     “I put your song under my pillow, and Eomma changed the linens while I was at my classes. And I wasn’t subtle, about—” Yoongi swallows roughly, then continues. “About it being for a boy. She showed it to my dad before I even got home.” Yoongi shakes his head and makes a sound that could almost be a chuckle, but there isn’t an ounce of humor in it. 

     “I guess she figured out pretty quick she shouldn’t have done that. She brought me this—” He points a thumb at the backpack over his shoulder, still talking to the moon. “And a train ticket. I’ve gotta go to Daegu, live with my Halmeoni, or be fucking homeless, I guess. Jimin… She was scared shitless about what Appa might have done to me, if I went back home. That man gave me piggy back rides when I was little.”

     Yoongi sits there for a few more minutes, almost motionless, and Jimin drapes himself over the older boy's shoulders and weeps. He feels like he should be doing something, anything, to be there for Yoongi. A tiny part of his mind suggests that maybe this is just a nightmare, that nothing will have changed next time he returns, but he can't bring himself to believe it.

     Yoongi checks his watch again, dragging himself to his feet with a curse. He makes his way back down the dock and Jimin follows anxiously after him. When they've scaled the gate and reached the trail and his abandoned bike, Yoongi digs in his pocket for something—a thin chain with a guitar pick hanging from the center. There’s something scratched into its surface, though Jimin can’t make it out in the low light.

     “Made this for you.” Yoongi mumbles, his eyes darting around till they settle on the flower bed beside the path. “I’m gonna leave it here, and you can come get it, if you want. It’s not much.” He squats down next to the flowers and moves a decorative stone to the side, deposits the necklace safely beneath it, and puts the stone back in place. Jimin watches, memorizing exactly where the stone is, praying he’ll recognize it by daylight. 

     Yoongi rises to his feet again and dusts off his knees. “So yeah, it’ll be there, if you’re even…” He trails off, staring at something in the flower bed, though Jimin can’t see anything of note. Then, Yoongi carefully plucks one of the flowers—a dandelion puff—and holds it up in front of him, a tiny furrow forming between his brows. The breeze is only barely blowing now, the slightest flutter through the dandelion, and Jimin realizes what Yoongi is thinking. “Jiminie, if you’re here, you might be able to… show me?”

   With his heart pounding in his chest, Jimin draws closer, cupping his own hands around Yoongi's and the dandelion. He can't help but take a moment to let his eyes travel over the older boy's moonlit features— his dark, intelligent eyes, the faint scattering of freckles across his high cheekbones, cute little nose and pouted lips, his round chin and the curve of his neck—committing every bit of him to memory. 

     Yoongi really is beautiful, maybe more than Jimin ever realized before, but tonight the realization twists sharp and painful in his chest. Jimin whimpers, blinking away a few more unbidden tears, before drawing in as much breath as he can. He purses his lips in front of the dandelion puff, squeezes his eyes shut, and blows as hard as he can.

     Jimin keeps his eyes closed for a few moments—whether in concentration or fear he isn't sure—until he hears a hesitant, disbelieving giggle, so quiet it's almost inaudible.

     "Hah, Jiminie…"

     Jimin opens his eyes to find Yoongi's eyes wide, his mouth opened in a little 'o' and a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. A little cloud of dandelion seeds drift slowly through the air between them, occasionally catching and glowing white in the moonlight. One settles in Yoongi's long lashes and Jimin reaches up to brush it away on instinct. It doesn't work of course, but this close, he realizes Yoongi is trembling.

     "Wait, here!" Yoongi shuffles back over to the flower patch and retrieves another dandelion puff, holding this one up as well. "Do it again, try again, Jiminie!" There's an edge of excitement in his tone that Jimin feels reflected in his own quickening pulse. Of course I'm here for you, Hyungie .

     This time, he keeps his eyes fixed on the older boy when Jimin leans forward to blow, sending the puffs drifting up into the air. Yoongi giggles again, breathy and happy, his gums showing and his eyes all but disappearing with how wide he smiles. Jimin smiles wetly back, cupping Yoongi's precious face between his palms, wishing he could feel the warmth of his skin.

     "You're here , Jiminie! It's r-really, y-you're really… here."

     Yoongi crumples. A single, wretched sob escapes into the night before he falls to his knees, and Jimin can do nothing to catch him. "I'm so sorry, Jiminie, b-baby." Yoongi gasps, in between sobs. His fingers tangle in his hair, pulling again, and he leans forward till his forehead is pressed to the pavement of the footpath in a full bow. "Hyung isn't supposed to cry, I was so stupid, I'm s-so sorry!"

     Jimin falls to his knees next to him, his own cries drowned out by Yoongi's sobs. Yoongi, who he's never seen shed so much as a single tear. I love you, Hyung, I love you, Jimin wills Yoongi to somehow know. Please don't bow to me like this, please don't say you're sorry. I love you for writing me the song.

     Yoongi doesn't cry for much longer before he pulls himself to his feet, snuffling as he drags the sleeve of his hoodie roughly across his tear-streaked face.

     "Listen, I gotta get to Seoul Station to catch the train soon." Yoongi says, looking down toward his sneakers. Then, he tilts his gaze up to the moon, a look of resolve settling across his features. "Don't be afraid, Jiminie. You're gonna be fine."

     Hyungie, no…

     "You've gotta look out for yourself alright? Don't take stupid risks, don't be afraid to protect yourself, don't think you can't make it, cause Hyung knows you can." 

     Please don't go.

     Jimin presses as close as he can, even if they can't really touch, his sobs punching the air from his lungs. Yoongi picks his bike up, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of the night, and Jimin feels as if something is being physically torn from him.

     Don't leave me.

     "You're gonna be alright, okay?" Yoongi says, his voice edged with pleading. "You’ve gotta be alright, Jiminie. Please." He takes one last slow look around the park, looks to the dock, down the footpath, over to the grove of trees. He looks towards Jimin—through him—then swings a leg over his bike and starts to pedal.

     I need you. I need you.

     Jimin wakes up crying. 

     For the first time in his life, he tells his mother he's headed to his classes, then goes the opposite way as soon as he's out of sight from their apartment instead. His fingers are shaking as he lifts the stone that's nestled beside the patch of dandelions, exactly where he remembers it being. 

     It's there. Jimin lifts the little necklace from its spot and clutches it to his chest, his eyes stinging and his breaths shallow. He traces a finger over the little crescent moon carved roughly into its surface. He gets a few strange looks from passersby as he stands crying beside the flowers, but Jimin can't bring himself to pay them any mind. 

     He has Yoongi’s necklace. All of it was real. He was real. And now, the necklace is all he has.

     A week passes. A month, a year. Another. Military service becomes a memory, a breath held for too long and finally released. An internship becomes a career, and with it comes so much more freedom.

     Jimin moves out, moves cities, and lives, in ways he wasn't sure he'd ever really be able to. A quickened pulse and shy glances become strong arms and heated kisses, then even hotter tears, then a dull ache. The world changes around him, and Jimin changes with it.

     Some things don’t change nearly as much as a younger Jimin would have prayed they could.

     A little girl squeals as she runs by, her pig tails swishing behind her as she makes what must be an escape, judging by the worried calls of the young woman who jogs past Jimin a few moments later. The little girl darts behind a tree, the flared edges of her bright red skirt still clearly visible, and she shrieks with laughter when her mother finally scoops her up. Jimin can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he walks down the trail past the pair. 

     “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you?” 

     The young mother returns his smile breathlessly and wipes the back of her hand across her brow. “Oh my gosh, yes. And she’s only four, I have no idea what I’m doing!” The little girl starts to wiggle fiercely to be put down, still giggling, but her mother only holds her tighter. 

     “Looks like you’re doing a pretty great job anyways.” He answers, and she blushes, nodding in thanks.

     The island park hasn’t changed much in eight years. There are a few less trees and a few new buildings, but his feet still seem to remember which footpaths will carry him to the tour boat dock, even after all this time, and even with how different it all looks in the sunlight. 

     His heart beat picks up when he spots its familiar shape jutting out into the Han–muscle memory, perhaps. There’s no one waiting for him, of course, but the gates are open and a long line of sightseers are queuing for the next boat down the length of the dock. He eyes the crowd, then checks his watch; not too long until he needs to be at his parent's for dinner. Jimin sighs. 

     He settles down onto a park bench across from the dock, and spends the minutes until he needs to leave watching the tour boat fill and depart, watching the steady stream of park-goers strolling up and down the path. He's not even sure why he keeps doing this every time he finds himself back in Seoul, but he keeps the ritual anyway. Muscle memory .

     The dust-hazed sunlight beats down on Jimin's skin, the world around him vibrant and moving and bright, but in Jimin's mind it's deep blue moonlight, quiet waves against the dock posts, cool night air. He doesn't remember exactly, when those dreams stopped, and the memories have grown unfocused, obscured by time. But sometimes–if he lets himself–it's an ephemeral face, too, and a secret smile just for him.

     Later that night, after an amusingly awkward family dinner, Jimin lies sprawled on his floor mattress, deep in the same nostalgic contemplation that this room seems to always bring him back to. It leaves an odd feeling beneath his skin, to be back here. Unlike the rest of his surroundings, unlike his relationships, and unlike himself, this room is still exactly how it had always been. Even the dinosaur-patterned sheets beneath him are the same.

     His eyes trace over the familiar skyline beyond his window, and a rush of unbidden memories flood his mind, ghosts of the pain and fear and unsureness that once held a younger Jimin captive. His eyes had lingered over that skyline so many sleepless nights, and though he's made it far beyond that now, the phantom pangs still blur his vision and leave a tightness in his chest.

     Younger Jimin would be so proud, he thinks, to know that this is who he's become. He's done well for himself, he's made it all work out, he's okay. Better than okay. He wonders if he'll ever stop wishing he could go back in time and let that scared, lonely kid know.

     'Hyung thinks you're strong.'

     Sometimes, it comes back like this. A voice buried deep in his mind, a dear friend from long forgotten dreams. Someone had been there. Jimin shuffles around on the mattress till he can draw the sheets up over himself, feeling suddenly cold. His hand comes up to rub over the shape of the crescent moon tattooed at the back of his neck, a nervous habit. 

     He'd put the little guitar-pick necklace around his neck the day he'd found it and stubbornly refused to ever take it off, till the string holding it had grown threadbare and weak. One day he'd gone to classes as usual, and when he returned it had been gone. Jimin wonders if that pang of loss will ever lessen, too.

     And, not for the first time, he wonders if he could somehow make it back to those dreams, if he just tried hard enough. It feels a little silly, at twenty-six, but no one will know. So Jimin smiles to himself, and closes his eyes, and starts to imagine familiar streets, familiar views, a familiar surreal glow of moonlit skin.

     A right, two lefts, then straight the rest of the way. The Hangang bridge, like a lighthouse. The small island, the sheltering trees. The dock, almost empty.

     He tosses and turns, but the dream doesn't come to him. Neither does sleep at all.

     When his clock reads 2:30am, Jimin pulls himself out from under the covers with a groan and pushes his messy hair back out of his face. It's a good thing he has tomorrow off to sleep in, he thinks. Even dreamless sleep would be better than this. He stands and shuffles over to the window, telling himself he's only pulling it open for the fresh air.

     Or, maybe a walk would help.

     By the time the lights of the bridge come into view, Jimin is shaking his head in amusement at himself. His slip-on shoes pad across the sidewalk, his way lit by the occasional headlights of passing traffic and the overhead lights of the bridge tresses. He shouldn't be so comfortable, he thinks, trekking across the city alone in the middle of the night. But the summer night air is just the right temperature that Jimin can almost let himself believe he's not quite real, that his skin will be alight with a soft blue glow if he looks closely enough.

     It's much more comfortable to come here at night than it had been during the day. Jimin still follows the footpaths, rather than cut through the trees like he used to. He doesn't see a single other person as he makes his way along the riverfront, and it adds to the surreal, soothing feeling of invisibility. Still, when he reaches the locked gate to the dock he pauses, glancing up and down the path to make sure he really is alone.

     He wonders, as he lifts a pajama-clad leg to swing over the gate, how much trouble he could actually get into for being caught trespassing like this. Probably not much more than a slap on the wrist at worst, he hopes. And the serenity of sitting at the end of the quiet, empty dock to watch the distant twinkling of a ceaseless city is definitely worth the risk.

     Jimin drops down onto the other side of the gate, and no sooner have his feet landed on the wooden planks of the dock than he suddenly registers a voice in the distance. His heart leaps into his throat as he squints down the path, praying that the figure slowly making their way in his direction won't pay him any mind. Oh god, it's going to be so embarrassing if they do… 

     "... left the studio twenty minutes ago, I'll be back soon, I swear. Stop worrying."

     It's a man, he can tell now, dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, busy chatting with someone on his cellphone despite the hour. There's a self-confidence in his stride that doesn't quite match walking alone in a city park so late at night, and Jimin wonders who he is, what he does, why he's here when no one really should be.

     It almost seems as if he's coming straight for the dock, and the closer he gets, the faster Jimin's heart races. He's just beyond the nearest circle of lamplight, only a few paces from where Jimin is standing frozen behind the dock gate, when the man comes to an abrupt stop. He's looking right at Jimin, his features just darkened enough to be indistinguishable, and something strange tingles up Jimin's spine, an anticipation he can't quite place.

     "H-Hoba, I'm uh… gonna have to call you back." The man says quietly, pocketing his phone and still staring motionless at Jimin. He should probably be planning his getaway now, coming up with some kind of excuse for being on the wrong side of the gate, but Jimin feels oddly transfixed. There's something about that voice…

     "Jimin?" The man takes another step forward, and then the yellow lamplight falls across his face. "Jiminie?"

     It's instant, the recognition. 

     His posture is different, his shoulders stronger and a little broader, his presence somehow heavier. The ripped jeans and oversized hoodies have been replaced by expensive name brands, and the messy black hair is now a sharp, cleanly styled undercut. His features, illuminated under the glowing lamp, are more mature, though still soft. 

     But the gentle, almost reverent look in his eyes as he takes Jimin in— that is exactly the same, even after all these years. 

     "You— Yoongi, you're…" Jimin trails off, his mind a haze of disbelief, something in his core twisting so sharply it aches. He clasps his hand over his heart, trying in vain to form anything coherent to say. 

     It starts as the slightest curl at the corner of Yoongi's lips, still parted in surprise. A choked, breathy chuckle finally breaks their silence, and suddenly Yoongi is beaming at him, brighter than sunlight, pure and full of unchecked joy. Jimin squeals and rushes to the gate, and Yoongi is there in an instant. The metal clangs between them as strong arms wrap around Jimin's shoulders, pulling him into a hug so desperately tight it's almost suffocating.

     "Park Jimin! Holy shit!" Yoongi practically yells, holding him back at arms length, still smiling wide and gummy. "Why the fuck are you wearing pajamas?"

     "I couldn't sleep!"

     "Oh yeah?" Yoongi shakes his head, the disbelief shining in his eyes. He grunts softly as he hoists himself over the gate. As soon as he's landed safely on the wooden planks he tilts his head toward Jimin, flirty and cocky, and it's every bit as enticing as it ever was. "So," He croons, the giddiness in his tone not at all concealed. "Come here often?"

     Maybe it's because of the adrenaline, or because he's still not completely believing that any of this is real. Maybe it's because there's not one part of him that feels uncomfortable in this man's presence, even though it's been far too long for such feelings. 

     Whatever the reason, a wave of laughter hits Jimin so hard it nearly knocks him off his feet. His giggles peel out across the water as he all but falls into Yoongi. Tears of joy and overwhelm and feelings he can't even name well up and spill over until Jimin is breathless. Yoongi just shakes his head and smiles, looking so, so fond.

     "Hyung, oh my god! I-I can't believe you're here!"

     Once Jimin has finally quieted and caught his breath again, Yoongi holds out a hand for him to take and intertwines their fingers as he leads Jimin to the end of the dock. He drops right down and lets his legs dangle over the water, patting the space beside him and looking up at Jimin with a demanding little raise of his eyebrows. Like eight years haven't passed, and not a single thing has changed. 

     Maybe, Jimin thinks, between you and me, nothing has changed.

     For a while, they sit together in silence, watching Seoul's sea of flickering lights, the way they dance over the dark surface of the Han. It feels like an unbelievable treasure, to be suddenly given this again, this secret place and secret friend. 'How have you been' doesn't feel at all adequate, there's so much Jimin wants to know, so many years to catch up on. But he's buzzing, giddy and overfilled with happiness, and it has to start somewhere.

     "So, tell me, Hyung." He giggles at how resolutely the older man keeps his eyes fixed outward across the river when Jimin nudges him. 

     "Huh?"

     "How are you? How have you been? I don't know if you noticed, but it's been a while."

     "Oh." Yoongi finally turns to look at him, grinning. There are a few little lines at the corner of his eyes that hadn't been there eight years ago. Jimin wants to trace them, and the ones around his lips, too. "I've been doing really well, Jimin. Really well. It took some time to get my feet under me, but, you know."

     "What do you do?" Jimin leans a little closer into his space, till they're shoulder to shoulder and the heat of Yoongi's body is soaking through his sleeve. 

     "I make songs."

     And that, that actually catches him off guard. The gasp of delight probably sounds a bit childish, but Jimin doesn't try to hold it back. "That's—Yoongi, are you serious? That's amazing!"

     Yoongi shrugs, scrunching up his nose. So, the years haven't made that face any less adorable. "Yeah, it's nice."

     "Are you famous?"

     Yoongi hums and makes a funny, flat-lipped expression that is probably supposed to look neutral, but the very corner of his mouth quirks up. "I'm doing alright."

     "Oh my gosh. Hyung, you're so cool!" 

     Yoongi huffs and turns his face away, scratching a spot just behind his ear, so Jimin leans in closer. Yoongi smells like warmth, the faded remnants of a masculine cologne, and maybe whiskey, too. He's so grown up. Jimin feels oddly proud of him, despite being younger. He lets his head drop to Yoongi's shoulder, and a moment later, Yoongi leans into him, too.

     A scratchy recording of a hip-hop track suddenly shatters the silence, and Yoongi digs his phone out of his pocket. The screen shines brightly in the darkness as Yoongi declines the call. It's nearing 4am, the screen says. Yoongi huffs when the phone immediately starts ringing again.

     "Ya, Hoba—" Whoever is on the other end of the line is speaking so loudly that Jimin can easily hear the worry in their voice. He giggles at Yoongi's particularly cat-like frown, the dramatic jut of his lips. "I know, I know, I'm sorry." Yoongi whines, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes like he's being deeply troubled.

     He looks irresistibly cute. Jimin takes advantage of his attention being elsewhere and ever-so stealthily lays his hand down over the top of Yoongi's thigh.

     "No, I swear." Yoongi whines into the phone. "Not kidnapped, not under duress. I just ran into an old friend." He closes his hand over the receiver and points a long finger down at the hand on his leg. "What's that?" He whispers to Jimin, arching his brow in a way that is unnecessarily attractive.

     Jimin doesn't answer, just gives a light squeeze to the meat of his leg. Yoongi's lashes flutter as he returns his attention to the call. "Yes, I promise. I'll be back before sunrise, I swear to god. Okay? Okay. Yes, goodbye." Yoongi curses under his breath but even in the low light of the dock lamp, Jimin can tell it isn't heated.

     The river beneath their dangling legs slaps lightly against the dock post, the barest hint of a cool breeze rising off the water. Yoongi wiggles a little, clears his throat.

     "Ah, Jiminie," He pokes at Jimin's hand. "Are you putting a move on me?" 

     Jimin just quirks an eyebrow at him and shrugs. Yoongi squints suspiciously, his gaze flitting around Jimin's face, pausing at his lips before quickly returning the distant city lights.

     Everything feels warm, and Jimin smiles softly to himself. He'd missed those dreams so much, and he'll always hold a nostalgia for them—the weightlessness, the relief of having somewhere to escape to, where he was truly out of reach of everything, hidden in the moonlight. But this, he thinks, turning to let his eyes wander over Yoongi's soft features—this is better. He doesn't need the dreams.

     "Hey, Hyung?"

     "Huh?" Yoongi turns to look at him, and again, his eyes drop straight to Jimin's lips.

     "Are you seeing anyone?"

     "No…" Yoongi leans closer, just barely, and Jimin doesn't miss the way his breathing stutters. "A-are you?"

     Jimin shakes his head. There's a train making its way across a rail bridge further down the river, and he smiles as he watches its progress, feeling Yoongi's gaze on him. Even in his periphery, he can feel the weight of it, the thrill it sends down the back of his spine.

     "Jimin… Please." 

     He shudders at the gravel in Yoongi's voice. It's a plea, spoken low and hesitant, yet it sounds so loud in the quiet summer night. The world might be holding its breath just for them, he thinks. Jimin turns back to Yoongi, and instantly wishes he'd never looked away. Yoongi's eyes are soft, and deep, and holding everything Jimin hasn't been holding all these years. 

     "Please kiss me."

     It starts so soft. Jimin leans in, and Yoongi is already there, meeting him. Even after his eyes fall closed, Yoongi is still there, still real, the softest touch of tingling warmth against Jimin's lips, the faintest puffs of stuttered breath. A heady need hums through his veins, a yearning too big to hold inside himself. Yoongi's lips glide against his own, setting him alight, and Jimin loses himself to it, so easily.

     Yoongi presses his forehead to Jimin's and pulls away to breathe, all too soon. Jimin's fingers cling to the collar of his shirt, bunching the fabric, keeping him close. The older man's long fingers are tangled up in his hair and Jimin doesn't even remember when they got there. Soft puffs of breath ghost across Jimin's lips, where Jimin can still taste him.

     He needs to taste more.

     He pulls Yoongi back in and kisses him harder, whimpering when Yoongi gasps and parts his lips for him. He licks into his mouth, nips at his lips, takes everything he can, and Yoongi gives all of it to him so willingly. 

     "Are you alright?" Yoongi whispers between breaths, when they finally separate. "You’re shaking like a little leaf, baby." 

     "So are you, Hyung." Jimin giggles breathlessly.

     "Hah, yeah, look at me." Yoongi holds his hand out under the moonlight, the cutest look of wonder in his wide eyes. And oh, Jimin is helpless to resist—why should he? Yoongi gives a surprised little huff when Jimin captures his lips yet again.

     "This isn't a dream?" Jimin asks, pecking the corner of Yoongi's mouth, where his lips curl so alluringly. It's half a statement, half a question.

     Yoongi blinks slowly, his eyes unfocused and barely open, like he's coming back from somewhere far away. "N-no, baby. This is real."

     Jimin hums, smiling against Yoongi's mouth. A memory tugs at his mind. "So then, Hyung… Can I hear the song now?"

     "The song?"

     "You know, the one you wrote for me. The one that…" Jimin pauses, frowning, and sees a matching crease between Yoongi's brows. It's been a while since he's really thought back over everything that happened that night, and though it's not a sharp pain anymore, it's still something deep blue in his mind. 

     "Of course you can hear it, Jiminie." Yoongi looks into his eyes, searching and so close, and his answering smile holds the same hint of sadness. But it holds hope, too, and something that burns hot and low and persistent beneath all of that. Yoongi cups his jaw, kisses him again. "You can hear all the songs I wrote for you."