Chapter Text
Jimin sees the same man with blonde hair and the prettiest face he’s ever fucking seen every single evening. Jimin boards the brown line at Washington and Wabash, with the mysterious man climbing into the same exact car as him every evening at Clark and Lake. The man sits down in one of the single seats, places his briefcase in his lap, pulls out his wireless headphones from the front pocket, slides them in his ears, and settles in. He does it every evening without fail, even taking the same exact seat, every time.
He must be a man of habit, Jimin muses as he watches this mystery man. He notes over the course of a few weeks that the man has a sharp sense of style, always wearing suits that are tailored perfectly. He doesn’t wear a ring. He wears a fancy galaxy watch (distinctly not an apple watch) and carries a Samsung galaxy phone. When he pulls open his music app upon settling in on the train, Jimin can even make out a few of the covers though he can’t exactly place the artist or album names. Slowly, Jimin angles himself to the exact door that the man enters, just barely catching a whiff of the man’s fading cologne every evening.
Jimin dubs him the “cutie on the Brown Line” in his head. He rushes from the office he’s temporarily working on while living in America for the time being, only a three-month assignment this time, convincing himself that he’s not trying to make the exact same train every evening just to catch a glimpse of his stupid crush. Surely someone so handsome and put together must already have a million suitors, ones that don’t split their lives between two different countries like Jimin does. Where the mystery man gets off, Jimin doesn’t quite know. The man is still comfortable, tapping his shoe along the floor of the train car when Jimin exits at Armitage to head to his temporary apartment.
What Jimin absolutely doesn’t expect, is when the man’s mother calls him. The man’s phone switches to the incoming call screen and his ringtone plays for about half a second, not enough time for Jimin to catch what song it is. “Yeoboseo?” he greets, nearly making Jimin’s head spin from the singular word while the other line says something to the mystery man. He’s Korean? “Ne, mama, arraseoyo.” There’s another break in the conversation, the man shaking his head even though his mother can’t see him. “No, I’m still on the train, can I call you when I’m at my stop?” he switches to perfectly accented English. Korean-American, Jimin settles. Still, the seed of curiosity blossoms in the back of Jimin’s mind.
A week later, the mysterious man doesn’t get on the same train for two days in a row. For two days, Jimin watches as the building shift from skyscrapers to low-rise apartment buildings and the sprawling Chicago suburbs and wonders what his friend he’s never talked to is doing. Is he riding an earlier train? A later train? Did his work hours change? Did he buy a car? Did he move? Jimin can’t help the thoughts spiraling out of control as the train zips past the back of apartment buildings.
It’s a drizzly, terrible, cold evening when Jimin sees the man board the train again at Clark and Lake. He’s got nothing to lose at this point and so when he locks eyes with the man, he gives a slight bow and says “Annyeong hashimnikka.” The surprise in the man’s eyes is worth it, his narrow, pretty eyes widening as he hastily does the same. They both look to the man’s usual seat to see it taken by some other train rider who’s also just boarded the car. “Sorry,” Jimin apologizes once they look back at each other, the man choosing instead to stand next to Jimin with his seat occupied. The doors close and the train departs the station, warmth flooding the car once the doors are closed.
The man shakes his head, “It’s fine, it’s not like my name is written on the seat or anything.” He stumbles a bit on matching Jimin’s honorifics, sounding like he’s second-guessing himself and whether he’s speaking correctly, just a tiny thing that suddenly endears him in Jimin’s heart. Jimin’s not at all surprised; if the man didn’t do business in Korean, there likely weren’t many instances where he was forced to use such honorifics.
“We don’t have to speak so formally,” Jimin says, watching as the man visibly relaxes a bit at that, “Polite language is fine. I’m Park Jimin.”
“I’m Min Yoongi,” Yoongi replies, sticking his hand out instinctively for a handshake, before pulling it back and giving a small, awkward bow instead, “Sorry. It’s been a while since I spoke Korean to anyone besides my family.”
“You’re doing great,” Jimin encourages, seeing the way that Yoongi’s cheeks turn the softest shade of pink at the compliment, “Seriously, my English is probably lightyears behind your Korean.”
The doors slide open at Merchandise Mart, along with a cold gush of wind and rain, Yoongi quickly ushering Jimin a bit further in the train to shield him from the majority of the blast. “So you’re from Korea then?” Yoongi asks, Jimin nodding as the doors close, thankful that the heat can circle through the train again. “Sorry for the shitty Chicago weather then. It’s always windy, but when it’s rainy and cold too, that’s the worst.”
Jimin laughs a little bit at that, his experience backing up Yoongi’s claim about the weather. “It’s fine, you can’t control the weather.”
Yoongi nods, “So how long have you been in America then?”
“Only a month,” Jimin says, “I have a three-month long contract here and then I’ll head back to Seoul. My company has a major branch in Chicago, so they usually send me here like every year or two.”
“Wow,” Yoongi marvels, “That’s so cool though. Getting to live two different lives like that.”
“I only get sent here because I’m not married and I don’t have kids. The company thinks I can just go wherever, but it’s kind of hard to make friends moving so much,” Jimin laments, aware of how whiny he must sound, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind it at all.
“I get that,” Yoongi consoles, “so you haven’t made many friends here then? Or are you just relying on your coworkers for socialization?”
“Well, my coworkers took me to go get Korean food, but it was just a burger with some kimchi and gochujang mayo sauce on it.”
Yoongi laughs at that, his laughter making Jimin’s heart leap wildly in his chest. He’d probably do anything just to hear that laughter again. “You need to eat some actual Korean food,” Yoongi pulls out his phone and quickly swipes to an app, “Do you have Kakaotalk?”
The blonde taps on the familiar yellow icon as Jimin scoffs, pulling out his own phone. “I’m Korean, of course I have Kakaotalk.”
Yoongi is faster in opening up the search function though, already getting a head start, and shoves his phone into Jimin’s hand, “Put in your ID and I’ll send you some recommendations.”
“Are they places I can get to by the train?” Jimin asks as Yoongi sends him a little sticker of Ryan waving.
“You don’t have a car?” Yoongi says surprised until he takes a moment to think about it, Jimin almost seeing the thought process behind him trying to figure out why Jimin would have a car. “Oh, well, then I can take you to them instead. What stop do you get off at? I live near Diversey.”
“Armitage,” Jimin says almost at the same time that the train announces that it’s the next stop. A quick glance at the station map above the doors shows that Diversey is only two stops away from where Jimin gets off.
“Are you busy this weekend?” Yoongi asks as Jimin shakes his head. His weekends are always boring, spent in his apartment and watching dramas on Netflix, “I’ll drive if you pay?” Jimin gives him a thumbs up as the doors open and the cold air assaults them both, Jimin stepping out onto the wet wooden platform. “I’ll message you the details!” Yoongi says quickly as the doors shut. Jimin doesn’t particularly care if he looks stupid waving goodbye as the train departs.