Chapter Text
park jimin has known min yoongi for as long as he can remember. they grew up in neighboring houses and yoongi has been slumming around his back yard since before jimin could walk, playing with his toys and swimming in the small above-ground pool his parents installed the same year yoongi’s parents refused his request for one even when jimin got old enough to complain that yoongi was mean and didn’t deserve to be shared with.
they both grew out of it, sort of. yoongi was still mean to jimin but jimin didn’t mind much because yoongi was still, inexplicably, his best friend. jimin still complained that yoongi was mean and should go back to his own house, but never really meant it, and would whine and apologize when yoongi threatened to actually leave.
they grew up together, spent every day of their childhoods together, and jimin knew yoongi better than anyone. he knew what a nerd he was, even if he pretended to be cool once they started to meet other kids in school, and he knew that yoongi was scared of the dark and would only sleep curled up between jimin and the wall during their sleepovers, and that he had a nightlight in his own room until he was thirteen, and he knew every embarrassing thing that yoongi had ever done, either because he had the pleasure of witnessing the moments or they were later relayed to jimin by yoongi’s parents, despite yoongi’s loud complaining that they all shut up.
yoongi knew just as much about jimin, but jimin always trusted his secrets to be as safe with yoongi as yoongi’s were with him.
jimin had never thought of yoongi as more than just his obnoxious, nerd of a neighbor, who he would still probably trust with his life, even after years of exposure to yoongi’s shockingly slow reflexes and tendency to nap at inappropriate moments, like, during classes or while he and jimin are working on homework together at the library.
until, suddenly, yoongi starts to change.
it’s unexpected. jimin is walking through the halls, as casual as always. taehyung ducks away from him halfway to his destination to talk to one of their teachers about late assignments and jimin passes yoongi a few meters later.
as he often does, jimin pulls a disgusted face at yoongi to show the older boy exactly how he feels about him, and, as he often does, yoongi sticks his tongue out in response, and when it happens, jimin swears he’s having a heart attack. yoongi’s tongue pokes out of his mouth and jimin’s heart rate skyrockets so fast it has to be cardiac arrest.
right in the middle of yoongi’s small, pink tongue is a brand new, shining, silver ball.
“he pierced his tongue,” jimin moans into the wooden desk he’s sitting at, cheek pressing against the surface as he stares out blankly towards the empty classroom. taehyung is behind him, jimin can feel where his feet are propped up on the back on the chair jimin is in, just barely touching his shoulder blades. jungkook is somewhere on the other side of the room, probably sitting in the windowsill because he watches too much high school anime and thinks it makes him cool and mysterious.
“why do you sound like you’re about to cream your pants over it?” jungkook asks and jimin swears he’s only a little hard about it.
“it’s hot,” jimin whines, “yoongi isn’t hot! he’s like, one hundred centimeters.”
“you’re literally the same height,” jungkook mutters. jimin ignores him.
“and he’s mean,” jimin continues, “and none of his clothes fit, and he’s always got bed head, and-“
“i didn’t know,” taehyung interrupts, knocking his heel gently into the back of jimin’s neck. his voice sounds greasy, and when jimin glances over his shoulder at his friend, he finds him wearing a weird, gross smirk that he wishes he’d never seen, “that you were into bad boys.”
jimin nearly jumps out of his seat to argue, not sure if he’s defending yoongi or himself, that yoongi is not a bad boy. he cites all the trash anime that yoongi watches and how he sits up in his room playing around with his computer every moment jimin isn’t dragging him out to do something more fun and spills that yoongi once cried while they were watching a movie about a talking dog (he conveniently leaves out that yoongi was only seven and jimin started crying first).
he continues to claim that yoongi isn’t a bad boy, but as time goes on, it gets harder to deny. yoongi doesn’t stop with the tongue piercing. he starts coming home at all hours of the night. (jimin is never looking for him, really, he just happens to glance out his window at midnight and see yoongi wandering down the dark street towards his house.) all the sudden, yoongi has abandoned his wardrobe of baggy sweaters and ill fitting jeans for slim black t-shirts and the tightest fucking pants. they’re probably, like, eight sizes too small, jimin thinks as he watches yoongi’s thin legs and the black denim clinging to them.
jimin is pretty sure that yoongi has joined a gang. not because of the tongue piercing that has jimin losing his mind and not because of the t-shirts, though, yoongi has never been interested in skinny jeans and jimin is sure someone else would have had to convince the boy to conform to such a fashion trend, but because he doesn’t text jimin much anymore and they don’t walk home from school together and he’s never at home until like, two in the morning, and one day when jimin is sitting outside watching the sidewalk, not because he misses him and not because he wants to catch a glimpse of his newly attractive best friend, but just because it’s a nice evening and jimin wants the fresh air, really, that’s it, yoongi comes walking down the street in combat boots and a leather jacket and fuck, he’s really hot.
“jimin!” yoongi calls, and his stupid, happy smile doesn’t match his outfit, “what’s up!”
yoongi’s grin is just big enough for jimin to see the smallest flash of gold, because, apparently, yoongi’s gotten a new piercing to replace his silver stud, and jimin is speechless.
yoongi makes it another block closer, giving jimin ample time to answer, but jimin has no idea what to say.
“are you okay?” yoongi asks, once he’s just a couple feet from jimin’s porch, and jimin can see a little gold star peeking at him from yoongi’s tongue. yoongi’s leather jacket fits perfectly, curving over his slight shoulders and hanging open so jimin can see the white t-shirt stretched taut over yoongi’s chest and jimin is not okay.
“you’re ruining my entire life,” jimin decides, and then realizes what he says, and before his embarrassment can show, he turns and promptly slams back into his house.
it’s true, though, jimin fumes four hours later when it’s three a.m. and he’s lying in bed, wide awake, thinking about the boy next door. it’s all yoongi’s fault. yoongi and his stupid tongue piercing that jimin finds undeniably hot and his stupid leather jacket and his dumb shoes and his dumb face and all the dumb, fond memories and jimin thought that this all started with the piercing, but, as he stares at the ceiling and time ticks slowly past, cutting into his precious beauty sleep, he wonders if the excited thrumming in his veins and the quick beat of his heart and the smile that finds its way onto his lips even though he wants to be furious at the rush of affection in his belly are maybe nothing new, and maybe have been there for a lot longer than he’s willing to admit.